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frankie , kiki any pronouns adult eng/fil inbox is open for requests, questions, or thoughts ! click here for my fic recs ⟢ @designedforsomethingeternal

⟢ — writing for all current grid drivers ('26) ⟢ — read my ongoing kimi antonelli smau ⟢ — masterlist under the cut

୭ popular (1k) | 𝄞 personal favorites | ℘ 18+

OSCAR PIASTRI #81

▸ kind of type of way ୭ with just one look, he knew he'd love you forever, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, 13.2k ▸ he loves me yeah! (the sequel) 𝄞 ℘ what will it take to keep loving each other through everything? established relationship, fluff/suggestive, 14.5k ▸ in a lifetime (the finale) you and oscar finally live the life you promised each other, established relationship, fluff, domestic life, 1.6k ▸ too little way too late you and oscar look back on three years of wasted opportunities, angst, 13.8k

LANDO NORRIS #4

▸ if it's meant to be, then it will be you kept waiting for him to choose you, but he never did, angst, hurt/no comfort, ft. piastri, 12.1k ▸ god bless, even the mean girls she was all sharp edges and lipgloss, he was all chaos and charm, fluff, 6.4k

KIMI ANTONELLI #12

▸ like real people do when the freedom wall page announces you have a crush on your seatmate, you're the last one to know, highschool!au, f2l, fluff, smau, ongoing

ALEX ALBON #23

▸ couples therapy ୭ you take a stranger to couples therapy, fluff, crack, 4.2k ▸ where you are held alex brings you back after you pushed yourself beyond your limits, fluff, 7.4k

MAX VERSTAPPEN #33

▸ but i am flesh and blood (and this flesh has needs) ℘ you fight your way up to his tongue so you can die up on it, smut, 3.4k

CHARLES LECLERC #16

▸ price of the music decades later, the world rediscovers your ghosts, and so does he, angst, 6.3k

GEORGE RUSSELL #63

▸ secret door (fools on parade) george finds himself falling more and more in love with his team principal's daughter, fluff, 11.3k

⟢ — note proceed with caution when reading explicit material, i am not responsible for the media you consume.

[srebrocedes-deactivated20260531]

you are not scared of no knock on the door (or maybe you are)

[darkisms]

do i kill oscar or myself

[darkisms]

group suicide when

[darkisms]

5 mins guys let’s go

[piastriprincess]

drop dead ⸻  oscar  piastri  x  reader  .

featuring  oscar  piastri  ,  popstar!reader  ,  secret  relationship . author’s  note  hiiiiii  so i just realized that monday was the one year anniversary of this blog !!  what da hale... time flies . thank you soooooooo much for reading my stuff, i feel so grateful and literally have so much fun writing for yall !! this is just  something  silly  to  tide  you  over  while  i  work  on  other  pieces  ...  as a longtime stan twt lurker i had fun including some of my fav references . also who  else  can’t  wait  for  OR3  .  i  wasn’t  on  tumblr  for  guts  so  i  need  yall  to  know  now  that  i  do  NAWT  play  about  my  daughter  olivia  !!  also ALSO dropped some deep oscar lore in this very briefly for the OG piastriprincesses . anyway  i hope  you  like  this  and  as  always  let  me  know  what  you  think  or  just  come  chat  to  me  !!  title  is  obviously  from  drop  dead  by  olivia  rodrigo  .

ynln • 6m ago 🎵 Just Like Heaven - The Cure

ynln i hope you never finish that beer liked by oscarpiastri, audreyhobert and 2,584,370 others

conangray you’re glowing mama ♥ liked by author ⤷ ynln LOVE YOUUUU flyereduppppp this is sooooo lovergirl of her… whats going on allamericanyn actually unfair that she’s hot AND cool AND a grammy winner like okay save something for the rest of us lac.yn glad you’re enjoying your vacation queen but my boyfriend just broke up with me so let’s get back in the studio !! ⤷ taydaughter um did you see the third pic bae i don’t think she’s got anything for you tokyotonistrucking ummm third slide WHO DAT IN THE BAAAAACK lizzymcalpine gorgeous gorgeous girl ♥ liked by author oscsnoopy oscar in the likes AGAIN i said oh i'm sure ⤷ piastriluvr he’s such a ynnie lmaoooo ⤷ buzzing.pop who is oscar      ⤷ oscsnoopy oscar piastri? formula one driver? famously obsessed with yn, he’s mentioned her as his celebrity crush in like every interview ever       ⤷ piastriluvr dont put our boy on the jumbotron like this LMAOOO we cant let his loserness about yn breach containment!!       ⤷ buzzing.pop wait why he kinda — ynfan42069 this soft launch NOOOOO i need more sad songs :(

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⸻ replies to ynln's instagram story !

letsgolesbians  •  30s omg  is  the  caption  a  song  lyric??

gracieabrams  •  2m You  and  Oscar  are  so  cuteeeee  🥹  Let’s  do  a  double  date  soon  or  something!  ♥  liked  by  user

yns.traitor  •  6m who  is  he who  is  he who  is  he who  is  he who  is  he

deuxmoi  •  15m THE  SOFT  LAUNCH  IS  SOFT  LAUNCHING…

oscarpiastri  •  25m Can  you  send  this  one  to  me? Your  shadow  looks  so  pretty  and  I  want it  as  my  lockscreen  ♥  liked  by  user

⸻ replies to oscarpiastri's instagram story !

ynln  •  2m oh  my  god  this  lighting  ??  you  literally  look  like  an  angel my  boy  is  so  hottttttt  ♥  liked  by  user

oscarcito481  •  3m the  way  the  song  isn’t  even  related… oscar  piastri  you  are  so  devoted  to  your  crush  it’s  unbelievable  i  sincerely hope  you  meet  her  while  she’s  in  monaco

logansargeant  •  8m Bro  😭😭😭  You  know  you  already  got  her  right

piastriprincess  •  14m ARMS…  I’M  LOOKING  SOOOOO  DISRESPECTFULLY  ‼️️

lando  •  15m absolutely  shameless  mate  lmfao can  u  tell  her  i  want  tickets  to  her  show  tho pleas 😄

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yndaily • 24m ago

yndaily  yn  in  monaco  AGAIN  today!  fans  saw  her  this  morning  grabbing  a  coffee,  and  she  later  posted  a  story  of  herself  playing  tennis.  a  bit  surprising  given  she  was  just  spotted  in  london  earlier  this  week  outside  sarm  studios,  fueling  rumors  a  new  album  is  on  the  way.  glad  our  girl  is  enjoying  some  rest  and  relaxation  but  what  do  we  think  ynnies?  is  YN3  coming? liked  by  ynnieshq,  hattiepiastri,  and  36,582  others

prissytomboyrecords  playing  tennis…  babe  that  was  another  soft  launch  it’s  okay  we  can  be  honest ⤷  jesuswasacarpenter  it’s  so  obviously  PR  for  an  album  rollout,  like  those  cryptic  ass  captions  are  definitely  lyrics  she's  so  transparent h0pium  oscar  posting  a  thirst  trap  story  using  her  song  immediately  after  she  was  spotted  in  monaco…  he  is  suchhhh  a  loser  i  love  him yn.world  Of  course  I  want  new  music  but  this  break  is  obviously  good  for  her,  she’s  looked  so  healthy  and  happy  recently!  ♥  liked  by  author popculturechat  she’s  been  in  monaco  so  much  omg  do  we  think  her  man  lives  there ⤷  ilyarozanovofficial  that’s  like  basically  confirmed  at  this  point  right ⤷  princessyn  YOUR  MIND  oh  my  god.  and  her  playing  tennis  today  too!!  could it be carlitosalcarazz  maybe?????      ⤷  gamesetmatch  tagging  him  is  insane  but  EEEEEK  they’d  be  sooo  cute  together…  my  new  agenda  !!      ⤷  richbich  hate  to  burst  the  bubble  but  i  think  she  was  playing  padel  actually           ⤷  princessyn  wait  you’re  so  right.  maybe  an  f1  driver  then?  i  think  lando’s  single?                ⤷  f1.gossip  LANDOYN  WOULD  BE  SOOOOO  BUZZY                ⤷  forzafemme  or  hear  me  out…  she’s  working  on  a  track  for  the  new  album  with  charles?? amishwillbyers  can  we  please  give  her  privacy  jesus  christ  like  maybe  she’s  in  monaco  bc  no  one’s  supposed  to  be  able  to  take  pictures  of  her  there impradaurnada  she’s  gorgeous  oh  my  days piastr81  a  certain  superfan  f1  driver  just  fell  to  his  knees  seeing  this  post ⤷  everythingyn  i  know  he  was  running  around  monaco  fanboying  out  trying  to  find  her ⤷  oscarpiastriwdc  hold  awn…  walk  with  me  here...  what  if  the  soft  launch  is  oscar...      ⤷  spillurguts  bffr  as  if  he  could  act  normal  around  her  long  enough  to  carry  on  a  conversation  much  less  start  a  relationship         ⤷  oscarpiastriwdc  ykw  im  living  in  my  oscyn  truth... ur all gonna see  #DELUSIONISTHESOLUTION ynnieshq  🤫🤫🤫  ♥  liked  by  author ⤷  yndaily  oh  my  god  admin  WHAT  DO  YOU  KNOW?????

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⸻  replies  to  ynln’s  instagram  story  !

oscarpiastri  •  30s Oh  so  you  CAN  be  romantic.  Noted Love  you,  so  proud  of  you  sweetheart  ♥  liked  by  user

f1.gossip  •  2m THE  CAR  IN THE COLLAGE OMG  I  KNEW  IT  WAS  LANDOOOOOO

gethimback.com  •  6m GIRL  IM  AT  WORK  HOW  DO  YOU  EXPECT  ME  TO  FUNCTION  AFTER  THIS  ?!?!?!?!?!?!

taylorswift  •  15m The  way  this  made  me  cry  and  I’ve  already  heard  the  song  five  times  🥹  Can’t  believe  it’s  out  in  the  world  already!  So  happy  for  you  ♥  liked  by  user

ynradio  •  25m STREAMING  ON  MY  SAMSUNG  SMART  FRIDGE  RN  IM  GETTING  YOU  THAT  BILLBOARD  NUMBER  ONE  ON  GOD  YN

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ynnieshq  •  35m  ago 🎵 drop  dead  -  YN  LN

ynnieshq  hey  did  you  see  the  LOVE  note  from  yn?  her  new  single  “drop  dead”  is  yours  now  🫧🩷  stream  on  all  platforms  and  stay  tuned  for  more  surprises  coming  soon! liked  by  ynln,  oscarpiastri,  and  1,987,194  others

obsessedwithurex  all  her  captions  recently  are  making  soooo  much  more  sense  now  lol poopcrave  need  the  analysts  to  do  a  deep  dive  on  this  IMMEDIATELY ⤷  americanteenager  no  like  i  need  a  behind  the  lyrics  video  raynowwwww      ⤷  poopcrave  baby  no  shade  but  im  talkin  bout  the  man… numberoneynnie  might  get  cancelled  for  saying  this  but  this  song  sounds  like  it’s  been  copied  from  somewhere?  the  beats,  the  melody,  it  all  sounds  so  familiar.  i  just  can’t  pinpoint  exactly  where  i’ve  heard  it?  oh  wait…  i’ve  figured  it  out…  it  sounds  like  THE  SONG  OF  THE  SUMMER  ♥  liked  by  author ynified.xx  most  alive  i’ve  ever  been  but  kiss  me  and  i  might  drop  dead?  oh  she’s  down  BADDDDDD ⤷  marybethbarone  No  for  real  WHO  is  this  man  because  I’ve  never  heard  her  sound  so  in  love  🥹      ⤷  rachelberryofficial  clearly  if  she  wanted  us  to  know  she’d  just  say  it!!!  let’s  give  her  space!!!           ⤷  marybethbarone  Okay  but,  alternatively,  consider:  I  am  nosey. maisiepeters  YN3  IS  COMING  YESSSSS  ♥  liked  by  author vivaciousskin.com  Slide  2  has  to  be  a  screencap  from  the  music  video  right? ⤷  ynnieshq  👀👀👀 ⤷  ynluvr51  ADMIN  STOP  BEING  CRYPTIC  WE’RE  NOT  SWIFTIES… left4rat  sour  to  guts  to  LOVE  now  that’s  what  i  call  a  holy  trinity  ♥  liked  by  author emptychairdoasolo  second  slide  jfc  she’s  so  fineeeee…  whoever  her  man  is  i  hope  he  can  fight ⤷  opiastrix2  Dw  I  can      ⤷  brutallyn  bro  thinks  he’s  on  the  team  🫵🤣🫵🤣  who  invited  my  man  blud ynluvbot  stream  drop  dead  for  a  free  drink  at  starbucks!!  🌷🫧🩷 ⤷  starbuckscoffee  This  is  not  a  valid  Starbucks  offer,  and  this  comment  is  fake.  To  confirm  any  Starbucks  promotion,  you  can  check  your  Starbucks  app,  reach  out  to  our  customer  care  line,  or  ask  your  Starbucks  barista.      ⤷  ynluvbot  did  i  ask?  mind  your  own  business

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ynln  •  35m  ago 🎵 drop  dead  -  YN  LN

ynln  thank  you  for  all  the  LOVE  on  drop  dead  🫧🩷  i  wrote  this  song  on  the  floor  of  my  apartment  after  the  best  night  of  my  life.  i  was  shaking  and  laughing  and  it  felt  like  i  couldn’t  get  the  words  out  quick  enough.  i’ve  never  written  anything  so  fast  or  so  honest  and  turns  out  it’s  my  favorite  thing  i’ve  ever  made.  should’ve  expected  it  because  it’s  about  my  favorite  person!  thank  you  for  listening  and  i’m  so  happy  you  LOVE  it  as  much  as  i  do

ps:  pretty  boy  is  pretty  happy  about  it  too  xx liked  by  oscarpiastri,  sabrinacarpenter,  and  1,992,501  others

gossipgirl  white  boy  with  a  cute  smile  WRITE  THAT  DOWN  WRITE  THAT  DOWN dan_nigro  Wowwww  I  wonder  what  the  album  title  could  possibly  be  ♥  liked  by  author ⤷  ynln  it’s  a  mystery! thankunext327  third  slide  ohhhh  okay  i’m  gonna  go  lie  in  traffic  now ⤷  iluvyn  Wait  til  LOVE  drops  please  we  can’t  lose  sales thesearemyconfessions  curly  hair  theory  🥹  she’s  so  in  loveeeeee ynssour  im  already  missing  the  purple  eras  but  the  pink  is  so  cute  on  her  too costarastrology  Fun  fact:  Aries  and  Gemini  are  two  of  the  most  compatible  star  signs!  You  really  will  go  nice  together  ♥  liked  by  author shnnetwork  Okay  does  anyone  else  think  this  pic  is  so  inappropriate.  Like  she  does  not  need  to  be  showing  them  kissing.  You  guys  are  disgusting  and  weird  for  defending  a  literal  weirdo ⤷  dropdead.diva  i’m  17  and  AFRAID  of  yn  ln lasculturistas  ynnies  let’s  mobilize  we  need  to  figure  out  who  this  man  is,  we  have  half  his  face  and  his  star  sign!!! oscarpiastri  Congratulations  ♥  liked  by  author ⤷  boxboxbaby  LMAOOOOOOOOOO  posted  this  with  tears  in  his  eyes      ⤷  landowecanbewdc  no  bc  the  way  he  commented  the  exact  same  thing  w  the  exact  same  energy  on  lando’s  post  when  he  lost  the  wdc  like  this  is  really  that  level  of  serious  for  him ⤷  scuderiayn  did  you  like  the  song  though  oscarpiastri ⤷ 81sweetheart TAGGING HIM UNPROVOKED ??? audreyhobert  Tewwww  cute  ♥  liked  by  author ⤷  ynln  love  yewwwwww  xx oscarpiastriwdc  i  know  y’all  are  gonna  clown  me  again  but…  3rd  pic…  i’d  recognize  that  meepful  smile  anywhere… ⤷  sharleclerc  baby  he  can’t  even  get  a  reply  back      ⤷  oscarpiastriwdc  but  he  got  a  like  this  time!  alexa  play  baby  steps  by  olivia  dean

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REDDIT:  TOP  POSTS  TODAY

r/popculturechat  •  crossposted  to  r/ynln  and  r/popheads  •  6h  ago posted  by  u/ynspilledmyguts

who  is  drop  dead  about?  let’s  discuss  👀

first  of  all  GO  STREAM  DROP  DEAD!  so  proud  of  our  girl  yn,  it’s  her  biggest  debut  ever  and  such  a  beautiful  song  🫧🩷

but  let’s  get  to  the  elephant  in  the  room:  we  have  no  idea  who  it’s  about!!!!!  not  to  be  parasocial  but  i’m  kinda  obsessed  with  figuring  it  out  so  i’m  compiling  all  the  clues  we  have  so  far.  i  need  the  internet  sleuths  to  play  detective  with  me  because  i  haven’t  been  able  to  narrow  it  down  enough  and  it’s  driving  me  crazy

what  we  know  so  far:

from  the  lyrics  of  the  song:  he’s  an  aries,  he  likes  the  cure  (or  at  least  just  like  heaven),  he’s  “so  so  pretty”,  she  stalked  him  online  before  they  met  (which  means  he  is famous and would  have  to  have  been  single  at  least  after  march  2025  when  she  and  the  evil  ex  broke  up)

from  context:  she’s  been  in  monaco  a  lottttt  recently  but  was  also  recording  in  london,  she  posted  a  story  playing  tennis/padel  with  him,  she’s  been  soft  launching  for  a  few  weeks  now  but  they’ve  clearly  been  dating  for  a  bit

i  listened  to  the  deux/u  podcast  this  week  but  it  only  got  me  more  confused  because  they’re  suggesting  it’s  an  athlete  and  i  just  don’t  see  her  with  a  jock.  YNNIES  HELP  ME!

⬆  81.4K  ⬇  •  🗨 534  •  ➦  SHARE

TOP  COMMENTS

u/YNNATION  •  3h  ago “not  to  be  parasocial”  babe  that’s  kinda  what  this  subreddit  is  for  ⬆  3.4K  ⬇

u/grandchelem  •  1h  ago i  really think  it’s  an  f1  driver.  they  basically  all  live  in  monaco,  and  does  anyone  remember  when  she  randomly  canceled  a  show  during  guts  world  tour  last  summer  and  then  people  spotted  her  in  the  airport  flying  to  ZANDVOORT  of  all  places  ⬆  1.7K  ⬇ ⤷  u/everythingyn  •  35m  ago  OK  I  just  looked  it  up  and  the  only  two  Aries  drivers  on  the  F1  grid  are  Alex  Albon  and  Oscar  Piastri?  Oscar  kinda  seems  more  like  her  type  out  of  the  two  of  them  ⬆  81  ⬇      ⤷  u/ln4norris  •  26m  ago  oscar  get  off  your  burner  account  buddy  ⬆  4.8K  ⬇      ⤷  u/pitstoppiastri  •  8m  ago  LMAOOO  i  love  oscar  but  be  so  fr  rn  ⬆  2.1K  ⬇

u/neverendingmidnightsun  •  48m  ago Unpopular  opinion  but  I  think  it  might  genuinely  be  someone  non-famous.  “Stalked  you  on  the  internet”  could  just  mean  she  found  his  Instagram.  Not  everything  has  to  be  a  celebrity!  Sometimes  the  answer  is  boring!  ⬆  2.5K  ⬇ ⤷  u/fauxmoi  •  9m  ago  the  answer  CANNOT  be  boring  i  refuse  to  accept  that  ⬆  332  ⬇

u/monacoinsider  •  39m  ago wait  lowkey  the  deuxmoi  podcast  was  soooo  inaccurate  like  they  did  NAWT  do  their  research at all.  half  of  the  guys  they  talked  about  aren’t  even  aries,  alex  albon  is  literally  engaged,  and  oscar  piastri  is  too  busy  being  yn’s  reply  guy  to  pull  her  ⬆  992  ⬇ ⤷  u/sinnerista  •  11m  ago  thank  god  you  said  this  bc  i  listened  and  i’ve  been  rebuking  the  zv*r*v  allegations  all  day  ⬆  597  ⬇ ⤷  u/friedandprejudice  •  2m  ago  my  money’s  on  berrettini  but  honestly  it  could  be  someone  who  doesn’t  live  in  monaco?  maybe  they  were  just  vacationing  there  or  something  ⬆  133  ⬇

u/fromthediningtable  •  2h  ago genuine  question  but  does  it  matter  who  it  is?  she’s  clearly  happy,  she  wrote  the  most  joyful  song  of  her  career  n  whoever  he  is,  he’s  obviously  good  for  her.  respectfully  maybe  we  should  just  let  her  have  this  one  n  let  her  tell  us  when  she’s  ready  ⬆  689  ⬇ ⤷  u/ynspilledmyguts  •  35m  ago  this  is  such  a  beautiful  sentiment  bae  but  i  will  not  rest  until  i  know  who  he  is  🫶  ⬆  731  ⬇

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oscarpiastri  •  22m  ago 🎵 drop  dead  -  YN  LN

oscarpiastri  Think  we  might  go  really  nice  together liked  by  ynln,  lando  and  1,584,370  others

ynln  LMAOOOO  you’re  insane ynln  saw  the  vision  didn’t  you.  i  love  you  baby  xx  ♥  liked  by  author ⤷  oscarpiastri  Love  you  more  :) oscmega  OH  MY  GOD????  OSCAR  PIASTRI  I  WAS  UNFAMILIAR  WITH  YOUR  GAME  MY  GOAT oscarpiastriwdc  oscyn  truthers  WE  WONNNNNNNN ⤷  spillurguts  issuing  my  formal  apology  to  you  now  queen xopiastri  third  pic  oh  ik  you two  are  freaked  out. oskuromi  mclaren  hate  train,  down  bad  allegations,  ynnies  and oscarinas all calling  him  rizzless…  he  had  one  chance  and  he  locked  the  fuck  INNNNNN popculturechat  when  ynnieshq  said  more  surprises  coming  soon  ain’t  no  way  this  is  what  they  meant  😭 ⤷  ynnieshq  i  can’t  control  either  of  them  tbh  i’m  just  along  for  the  ride      ⤷  vivacioushairandlashes  admin:  who  drivin  this  bus… ynpilled  wait  he’s  kinda  cute  AND  he  has  a  job  yayyyy i love him already piastriszn  no  bc  his  manifestation  rituals  must  go  so  crazy  like  how  does  he  keep  pulling  his  favs!!!  first  lando  then  jannik  then  this!!!!  ♥  liked  by  author ⤷  lando  now  why  am  i  in  it  :0 good4u Uhhhh  the  leopard  jumpsuit???  Are  you  saying  they’ve  been  together  since  MILAN???  That  show  was  like  8  months  ago logansargeant  Thank  god  the  lying  was  getting  exhausting  ♥  liked  by  author piastriarchive  the  way  we’ve  been  clowning  oscar  for  years  but  yn  was  in  the  likes  in  seconds  and  was  the  first  comment…  like  she’s  just  as  down  bad  for  him ⤷  ynln  yeah  :)      ⤷  piastriarchive  girl  you  weren’t  even  tagged  😭😭😭  GET  UP!!!           ⤷  ynln  pretty  happy  right  where  i  am  actually  ♥  liked  by  author

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⸻ bonus !

[notbullockgirl]

THE REAL LANDO

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: A London graphic designer dates a charming, ordinary guy named Lando who claims to work in marketing. When she discovers through a friend that he's actually famous Formula 1 driver Lando Norris, she leaves him heartbroken over the lies. After a conversation with his best friend Max, she shows up at a Grand Prix to see him and decides whether to give him a second chance.

Warning: Lies by omission, emotional angst, reconciliation.

Words: 8K

LONDO IN AUTUMN WAS a symphony of grey skies, wet pavements, and the smell of roasted chestnuts from corner carts. You lived in a small flat in Battersea, within walking distance of the Thames, where you worked as a freelance graphic designer. Your life was quiet, predictable, and gloriously anonymous—and that's the way you liked it.

Until you meet Lando.

It was Thursday afternoon in a bookstore in Shoreditch.

The bookstore wasn't a trendy one. Instead was a tiny, cramped second-hand shop that smelled of old paper and dust, the kind tourists walked past without noticing. You were hunting for an out of print design book. He was hunched over a shelf of racing biographies, muttering to himself.

“You’re good?”

“Sorry?” He muttered, still staring at the bookshelf as if he'd been personally offended.

"You've been standing there for ten minutes," you said, without looking up from your own search. "Are you trying to read the entire shelf?"

He turned, and you saw him properly for the first time. Curly brown hair falling over a clear forehead, a smile that was ninety percent teeth and ten percent pure mischief. He was wearing a worn out hoodie and jeans with a small rip at the knee. He looked like every other twenty-something in London.

"Busted," he said, his voice a soft British drawl. "I'm trying to decide if this biography is actually interesting or just has a good cover."

"Which one?"

He held up a book with a photo of Ayrton Senna on the front. "Racing. Probably boring, right?"

"I wouldn't know." You shrugged. "I don't follow sports."

His eyes lit up. Not with recognition—with relief. "Me neither. Well, I mean, I work in sports. Kind of. Marketing. But watching it? Put me to sleep."

You laughed. "So you sell something you don't even like?"

"Someone has to pay the bills." He grinned, extending a hand. "I'm Lando."

You told him your name. His handshake was quick, almost shy. "So, Y/N, what do you do? Besides judging strangers in bookshops?"

"Graphic design. Freelance. I make other people's visions look good."

"Sounds stressful."

"Sounds like staring at a screen until my eyes bleed." You smiled. "But I love it."

He nodded like he understood completely. "The grind. I get it."

You talked for another twenty minutes—about books, about the best coffee in London (he insisted on a place in Soho you'd never heard of), about his irrational fear of pigeons ("they're just seagulls in suits," he said). He was funny, easy, and when he asked for your number, you gave it without hesitation.

He texted you that night: Since you don't know good coffee, I'm taking you to that place in Soho. Saturday. 10am. Don't be late.

You weren't.

The coffee date turned into a walk along the South Bank. The walk turned into dinner. Dinner turned into a pattern: weekends at galleries, weeknights at your flat watching terrible reality TV, lazy Sundays with takeaway and his head in your lap.

It was easy, simple, and peaceful.

He never stayed over at his place. "Roommates," he said, waving a hand. "Thin walls. You don't want to hear them."

You accepted that. London was expensive. Everyone had roommates. So you just stop asking.

He travelled a lot. "Work trips," he explained. "Meetings. Conferences. The marketing grind never sleeps."

You accepted that too. He always brought you back something small—a keychain from Bahrain, a magnet from Melbourne, a ridiculous hat from Miami. He was thoughtful. Present. When he was with you, his phone stayed in his pocket, his eyes stayed on your face, and his laugh filled your small flat like sunlight.

"You're really bad at talking about your job," you teased one night, curled up on your sofa. "Every time I ask, you say 'meetings.' That's it. Just meetings."

"Boring meetings," he said, not looking up from your laptop screen where he was losing spectacularly at a game of digital chess. "Trust me, you'd fall asleep."

"Try me."

He paused. Just for a second. Then he smiled—that easy, disarming smile. "Okay. Last week, I had a meeting about vertical integration of cross-platform synergies."

"That's not a real thing."

"It's absolutely a real thing. It's so real I fell asleep in it. Twice."

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it, laughing, and pulled you into his arms. "See? Boring. Now let me focus. I'm about to lose my queen."

You let it go. Why wouldn't you? He was just a normal guy. A normal, charming, slightly mysterious guy who worked a boring marketing job and had terrible taste in chess moves.

You loved him. You hadn't said it yet, but you did. And he loved you—you could see it in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching.

The lie, when it came, didn't arrive through a laptop screen.

It arrived through a mutual friend.

Chloe. You'd known her since university—a loud, lovely woman who worked in event planning and had a habit of accidentally gatecrashing the most exclusive parties in London. She didn't know Lando well. She'd met him twice, briefly, and remembered him as "your cute, vaguely mysterious boyfriend."

One Friday night, she called you, breathless.

"Y/N. Y/N, you are not going to believe this."

"I'm in the middle of a deadline, Chloe. Make it quick."

"I was at this thing tonight. A private event. Corporate. Really fancy—like, champagne fountains fancy." She was talking so fast the words tripped over each other. "And I saw him. Your Lando."

You frowned, still staring at your design software. "He's on a work trip. He said he was in—"

"He's not on a work trip, love." Chloe's voice went soft, almost apologetic. "He was on a stage. In a fireside chat. With a moderator. Talking about his season."

"His season?"

"Formula 1, Y/N. Your boyfriend is Lando Norris. The McLaren driver. He was sitting there in a team polo, talking about tyre degradation and championship points, and I nearly choked on my canapé."

You stopped breathing.

"That's not—" Your voice sounded strange. "He's in marketing. He told me—"

"Babe." Chloe's voice was gentle now. Heartbreakingly gentle. "I Googled him on the way home. Just to be sure. There are billboards. Sponsorships. Interviews. He's not in marketing. He's one of the most famous drivers in the world."

You hung up. Then you Googled him.

The results came back in 0.4 seconds.

Lando Norris. Age 26. McLaren Formula 1 driver. Winner of multiple Grands Prix. Net worth: millions. Endorsements: everything from watches to energy drinks. And there, in photo after photo, was his face. The same face that had fallen asleep on your shoulder last night. The same hands that had made you tea this morning.

But the smile was different. Sharper. More polished. A product.

You scrolled. And scrolled. And scrolled.

There was no marketing job. There never had been. There were only race weekends, simulator sessions, media obligations, and a life so far from "normal" that you felt dizzy just looking at it.

He wasn't just lying. He'd constructed an entire alternate identity. And you had believed every word.

You called him. It went to voicemail. You texted: Come over. Now.

He arrived an hour later, still in his "work trip" clothes—a hoodie and joggers, like always. He was smiling, holding a bag of your favourite Thai food.

"Hey. Sorry, I was in a—" He stopped. Saw your face. The smile faltered. "Y/N? What 's wrong?"

You were sitting on the sofa, your phone in your lap, the Google results still glowing on the screen.

"Chloe saw you tonight," you said quietly. "At a corporate event. She said you were on a stage. Talking about your season."

Lando went pale. The bag of Thai food slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

"Y/N—"

"You're Lando Norris." Your voice cracked. "You're a Formula 1 driver. You've won races. You have millions of fans. And you told me you worked in marketing."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. His hands were shaking.

"I was going to tell you," he whispered. "I was going to—"

"When?" You stood up, and he flinched like you'd struck him. "When were you going to tell me, Lando? After I moved in? After I said I loved you? After I built a whole life with a person who doesn't exist?"

"He exists." His voice was raw. "I exist. This—what we have—it's real. The job was the only lie. Everything else—"

"Everything else was built on that lie." Tears were streaming down your face now, hot and unstoppable. "Every time you said you were on a work trip, you were racing. Every time you said you had roommates, you were going home to your empty luxury apartment. Every time I asked about your day, you invented a fiction."

"I was scared." His voice broke. "I'm always scared. Everyone I meet wants something—money, access, photos. But you didn't. You just wanted me. And I couldn't—I couldn't risk losing that."

"That's not your choice to make!" You were shouting now, and you didn't care. "You don't get to decide what I can handle. You don't get to protect me from the truth by lying to my face for six months."

He reached for you. You stepped back.

"Please." His eyes were wet. "Please don't go."

"I can't." You grabbed your coat from the hook by the door. "I can't look at you right now. I don't even know who you are."

"I'm the same person. I'm the same—"

"No, you're not." You opened the door. "The person I fell for wouldn't have lied to me every single day."

You walked out. Behind you, you heard him say your name once—soft, broken, desperate. You didn't look back.

If you had, you would have seen him sink to his knees on your floor, head in his hands, the Thai food growing cold beside him.

Four weeks passed.

You threw yourself into work. You redesigned a client's entire brand identity in three days. You went for runs along the Thames until your legs gave out. You deleted his number, blocked his social media, and told yourself you were fine.

You weren't fine.

Everywhere you looked, there he was. On bus stops. On billboards. On the news. Lando Norris finishes P2 in Brazil. Lando Norris involved in a first-lap collision in Las Vegas. Lando Norris is seen leaving London restaurant alone, looking "subdued."

How could you not have noticed before? How did it take you so long to realize the lie?

The world saw a driver. You saw the man who'd pretended to be allergic to cats because he was scared of them. Who'd let you win at Scrabble even though he definitely knew the word "xi." Who'd kissed your forehead every morning like it was a prayer.

Your friends were supportive but confused. "So he's famous? Isn't that, like, a win?" one asked.

"It's not about being famous," you said, staring at a cup of tea you had no intention of drinking. "It's about lying. How could I trust anything he ever said?"

They didn't understand. How could they? They hadn't spent six months falling in love with a ghost.

You were sitting on your fire escape one evening, watching the London lights blink on across the skyline, when your phone buzzed. An unknown number.

Y/N? It's Max. Max Fewtrell. Lando's best friend. Do you have five minutes?

You stared at the message. You'd heard Lando mention Max a hundred times—the same Max who was "always late." The one who'd introduced Lando to terrible reality TV. The one Lando called when he couldn't sleep.

Your thumb hovered over "delete." But something—curiosity, loneliness, a stubborn ember of care—made you type back: How did you get my number?

Lando. He's a wreck. But he'd never use it himself. Can we talk? Please? Just a call. No pressure.

You sighed. The night was cold, and you were tired of being angry alone.

Fine. One call.

His voice was softer than you expected. Max Fewtrell had a face made for grinning—you'd seen photos—but on the phone, he sounded like a man who'd been carrying something heavy for a long time.

"Thanks for picking up," he said. "I know you don't owe me anything."

"I don't owe him anything either."

"No. You don't." A pause. "Can I tell you a story?"

"Did you ask to talk to me to tell me a story?"

“Please?”

"I'm not promising I'll stay on the line."

"That 's fair." He took a breath. "When Lando was fifteen, he was just a kid from Glastonbury who was really, really fast in a go-kart. No one is famous. No one is special. He'd go to school, get bullied for being small, then go to the track and lap everyone. Racing was his escape."

You didn't say anything.

"When he started getting noticed, the attention was… intense. People didn't see him. They saw a helmet. A potential paycheck. A stepping stone." Max's voice hardened. "He had 'friends' who only wanted paddock passes. Girls who only wanted Instagram followers. Even some family members got weird about money."

"I'm not those people."

"I know. That's the problem." Max laughed, but there was no humour in it. "He met you, and you had no idea who he was. You didn't care about lap times or podiums. You asked him about his day. You made him laugh. You let him lose at Scrabble."

Your throat tightened. "That doesn't excuse the lie."

"No. It doesn't." Max's agreement was immediate, absolute. "He was a coward. He should have told you the first week. The first month at the latest. But he got scared, and then he got trapped, and every day the lie got bigger and harder to undo."

"That's not my problem to fix."

"No," Max agreed again. "It's not. But here's what I'm asking you to consider." His voice softened. "He didn't lie to control you. He didn't lie to hurt you. He lied because for the first time in years, someone made him feel like a person instead of a product. And he was terrified of losing that."

You pressed a hand to your mouth. The tears were back.

"I've known Lando since we were kids," Max continued. "I've seen him win races. I've seen him crash. I've never, ever seen him cry. Until four weeks ago. He sat on my couch and he didn't speak for two hours. Just stared at the wall."

"Max—"

"I'm not telling you to take him back. I'm not even telling you to forgive him. I'm just telling you: he's not a liar. He's a scared twenty seven year old who made a catastrophic mistake because he fell for you too hard and too fast." He paused. "And maybe that's worth one conversation. On your terms. No pressure."

The silence stretched. A siren wailed somewhere in the distance.

"Where is he?" you asked.

"He's in Abu Dhabi. Final race of the season tomorrow." Max's voice was careful. "But he'll be back in London on Monday night. If you want to see him."

"I'll think about it."

"That 's all I ask. Thanks, Y/N. For listening."

He hung up. You sat on the fire escape for a long time, the phone warm in your hand, the ghost of Lando's laugh echoing in your chest.

You didn't decide to go. You just… went.

You'd spent the whole night thinking about that conversation, remembering every moment you'd spent with Lando those last six months. So Sunday in the morning arrived, and you booked a last minute flight to Abu Dhabi. You told yourself it was for closure. You told yourself you wanted to see the world he'd hidden. You didn't tell anyone—not Chloe, not your mum, not the small, hopeful voice in your head that whispered maybe.

The Yas Marina Circuit was overwhelming. The noise was a physical wall—engines screaming at a pitch that vibrated in your bones. The smell of burnt rubber and hot asphalt. The crowd was a sea of team colours: papaya orange for McLaren, red for Ferrari, blue for Red Bull.

You'd bought a grandstand ticket, high up, where you could see the sweep of the track. You sat on your hands to stop them from shaking.

You watched the formation lap. Watched the grid line up. Watched the lights go out.

And then you watched him.

Lando Norris in his natural habitat was nothing like the man who'd held your hand on the South Bank. That Lando was soft edges and self-deprecating jokes. This Lando was a predator. Precise. Aggressive. He defended against a Mercedes with ruthless intelligence, overtook an Alpine on the outside of a corner that made the crowd gasp, and when he crossed the finish line in third place—P3, a podium on the final race of the season—he screamed over the team radio with a joy so pure it made your chest ache.

That was the part of him he'd kept hidden. Not the fame. The passion.

As he climbed out of the car and pulled off his helmet, sweat-soaked and grinning, you saw the boy Max had described. The one who'd been bullied. The one who'd escaped to the track. The one who just wanted to be loved for who he was, not what he drove.

You stood up. Your legs were unsteady.

You didn't have a paddock pass. You didn't have a plan. But you had something better: a memory of a bookshop, a terrible chess player, and a laugh like sunlight.

You found Max first.

He was leaning against a barrier near the McLaren garage, watching the podium celebrations on a monitor. He was holding two bottles of water and looking vaguely lost. When he saw you, his eyebrows shot up, then softened into something like relief.

"You came."

"Don't look so surprised." You hugged your arms against the desert evening chill. "I need to see him. But I don't have access."

Max grinned—the real grin, the one from photos. "Leave that to me."

He led you through a labyrinth of temporary walls and security checkpoints, flashing a credential that seemed to open every door. The paddock was chaotic—mechanics in matching shirts, journalists with boom mics, drivers in team kits walking with the focused stride of people who'd just risked their lives at 200 miles per hour.

And then you saw him.

Lando was sitting on a crate outside the driver's room, still in his fireproofs, the top half unzipped and tied around his waist. He was alone, head bowed, phone in hand. He hadn't changed. He hadn't celebrated. He was just… there. Small. Tired. The podium champagne was still drying in his hair.

Max touched your elbow. "I'll be right over there." He pointed to a catering unit fifty metres away. "Take your time."

You walked forward. Your footsteps were silent on the asphalt.

"Lando."

He looked up. And the expression on his face—shock, hope, fear, disbelief—was more real than any podium celebration.

"Y/N?" His voice cracked. He stood up slowly, like he was afraid you'd vanish if he moved too fast. "What—how—"

"Max." You stopped a few feet away. Close enough to see the tear tracks on his cheeks beneath the champagne residue, the exhaustion in his eyes. "He's a good friend."

"He's an idiot," Lando whispered. "I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"I know."

The word hung between you. He didn't move. He didn't reach for you. He just stood there, trembling slightly, waiting.

You took a breath. "I'm still angry."

"I know."

"I don't trust you."

"I know." His voice broke. "But I'll earn it. Every single day. If you let me."

"You lied about everything."

"Not everything." He swallowed. "The pigeon thing was real. I hate them. They're just seagulls in suits, I stand by that. And the Scrabble thing. I let you win. Every time."

"Every time?"

"Okay, most times." A tiny, trembling smile flickered across his face. "And the way you look when you're concentrating on a design—your tongue sticks out a little. And I love that. I love—"

"Don't." You held up a hand. "Not yet."

You knew how Lando felt, and despite all the lies and the four weeks apart, your feelings for him hadn't changed either. But you didn't want it to be like this, for the first time you said it to be under these circumstances.

He closed his mouth. Nodded.

You stepped closer. One step. Two. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the small scar on his chin from a karting accident at twelve.

"I came here because I needed to see if you were real," you said quietly. "The Lando in the car—that driver, that competitor—that's part of you. And you hid it. And that hurts."

"I know."

"But the Lando who brought me coffee in Soho? Who pretended to have roommates so he wouldn't have to admit he lives alone?" A tiny, reluctant smile tugged at your lips. "That Lando is also real."

His breath caught. "He's the only one I want to be. With you."

You reached out and took his hand. His fingers were calloused, still warm from the gloves, and they closed around yours like you were the only solid thing in a spinning world.

"I'm not promising anything," you said. "But I'm here. And I'm listening."

He pulled you into a hug—gentle, desperate, his face buried in your hair. He was shaking. So were you.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you. Thank you."

From fifty metres away, Max Fewtrell raised a water bottle in a silent toast and grinned.

Three months later, you stood in the paddock at Silverstone. This time, you belonged there.

Lando had kept his promise. He'd answered every question, introduced you to every awkward family member, and let you watch every simulator session until the numbers blurred. He'd even let you design a custom helmet—a pigeon with laser eyes, which the internet either loved or hated.

You still had moments of doubt. Moments when the lie echoed. But he never deflected again. Every time you asked, he told the truth—even when it was embarrassing, even when it was painful.

And now, standing in the garage as he climbed into the car, you felt something you hadn't expected: pride.

He looked up at you through the visor, and you saw the smile even through the helmet.

"Bring me back something nice," you said.

He gave a thumbs up. Then the engine roared, and he was gone.

Max appeared at your side, holding two cups of terrible paddock coffee. "He's going to win today."

"You don't know that."

"I know him." Max shrugged. "And he's got something to prove now."

The lights went out. The cars screamed into the first corner. And somewhere in the chaos, a boy from Somerset who'd once been too scared to tell the truth drove like his life depended on it.

He finished first.

And when he climbed out of the car, tore off his helmet, and ran straight past his entire team to wrap his arms around you—soaking wet with champagne, laughing and crying at the same time—you didn't pull away.

"Thank you," he said against your ear. "For giving me a second chance."

"Don't make me regret it," you whispered back.

"I won't." He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes bright. "I love you. The real me. The whole me. Every stupid, racing-obsessed, pigeon fearing part."

You kissed him—right there, in front of the cameras, the crowd, the world.

"I love the real you too," you said.

And for the first time, there was no lie between you. Only the truth, finally told.

[threeinchminimum]

like real people do, 17 "(do the) act like you never met me" (kimi antonelli x reader)

warnings none wc 4.4k ignore timestamps taglist is open

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It had been two long days since Isack and Ollie had the bright idea to send you and Kimi out to shop for props together. But since then, there was always something off.

It wasn’t obvious, not the kind of thing anyone could point at and name in a single sentence. But it was there, you knew it was there.

It started in the spaces between things.

Between greetings that came a second too late. Between laughter that didn’t quite reach the right people anymore. Between conversations that ended just a little too quickly, like someone had cut the thread before it could unravel naturally.

Morning in C-302 unfolded like it always did. The scrape of chairs, the low hum of overlapping voices, the soft shuffle of papers being passed forward. Sunlight spilled through the windows in long, pale streaks, catching on dust that drifted lazily through the air.

You slid into your seat beside Kimi.

“Morning,” you said, setting your bag down.

“Morning,” he replied, glancing up from his notebook.

His voice was steady. Normal. But his eyes lingered on your face for just a second longer than usual, like he was checking for something.

You didn’t think much of it.

Not yet.

You pulled out your book, flipping to the page you’d marked the night before. Your fingers traced the edge of the paper absentmindedly, grounding yourself in something familiar. The routine helped. It always did.

Across the room, Isack was already talking.

That wasn’t unusual; what was unusual was how quickly he stopped when you looked over.

He had been mid-sentence—something animated, judging by the way his hands were moving—but the moment your eyes met his, his voice cut off. Franco frowned. “Bro, what?”

Isack blinked like he’d just forgotten what he was saying. “Nothing.”

Franco stared at him. “You were literally in the middle of—”

“I said nothing,” Isack repeated, sharper this time.

The table went quiet for a second.

You frowned slightly, then looked away. Beside you, Kimi had noticed it too.

He didn’t say anything, but his pencil paused mid-note, hovering just above the paper. His gaze flickered briefly toward Isack, then back to his notebook.

The teacher walked in, and the moment passed.

Or at least, it tried to.

The lecture began. Chalk against the board, words filled the air. You took notes, your handwriting precise, lines neat and evenly spaced.

It should’ve felt normal, but it didn’t. You could feel it like an annoying itch on your nape. That slight shift.

Halfway through the lesson, the teacher asked a question. You raised your hand out of habit, answering easily when called on. A few heads turned toward you. Some nodded.

When you sat back down, you caught Ollie’s eye for a second.

You stared at the back of his head for a second longer than necessary.

You shifted slightly in your seat, trying to shake the feeling. Maybe you were overthinking. Maybe everyone was just tired. It had been a long week. Rehearsals were intense. People got weird when they were stressed.

That had to be it, right?

“You okay?” Kimi murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You blinked, turning to him. “Yeah. Why?”

“You look…” He hesitated, searching for the right word. “Distracted.”

You let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “Do I?”

He nodded slightly.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms loosely. “Just tired, I guess.”

He studied your face for a moment, like he was deciding whether to push further.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

And that was that.

That was what you appreciated about Kimi.

He noticed.

But he didn’t press.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. Chairs scraped back all at once, the room filling with movement and noise again. Conversations picked up mid-thought, laughter returning like it had never left.

You stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Rehearsal after class,” you reminded Kimi.

He nodded. “I’ll be there early.”

“You’re always early.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “Habit.”

You smiled back, small but real.

And for a second, everything felt normal again, until you turned toward the door.

Ollie was already there, talking to Isack.

They were close—too close for casual conversation. Their heads bent slightly toward each other, voices low. Isack’s arms were crossed, his posture tense. Ollie looked off.

You approached without thinking.

“Ollie—”

Both of them froze.

Isack straightened, taking a step back like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Ollie’s expression shifted so quickly it was almost impressive—whatever had been there before was replaced by something lighter.

“Hey!” Ollie said, turning to you with a grin.

It didn’t reach his eyes.

You slowed slightly.

“I was just going to ask about the updated prop list,” you said, watching him carefully. “For rehearsal later.”

“Oh—yeah,” he replied quickly. “All good. I’ll handle it.”

“You said yesterday—”

“I remember,” he cut in, still smiling. “It’s under control.”

You felt something in your chest tighten.

Isack didn’t say anything.

He just stood there, gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, jaw set like he was actively avoiding looking at you.

That, more than anything, made your stomach drop.

“Okay,” you said slowly.

Ollie nodded. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

You looked at Isack, “Are you okay?”

His eyes flickered toward you for the briefest second.

Then away.

“Yeah,” he said. You felt it now, something was wrong.

And it had something to do with you.

“I’ll see you guys later,” you said finally, your voice lighter than you felt.

“Yeah,” Ollie replied quickly. “See you.”

You turned and walked out into the hallway.

The noise hit you immediately—voices, footsteps, lockers slamming—but it felt distant, like it was happening behind glass.

Behind you, the classroom door stayed open.

Inside, Ollie’s smile dropped the second you were out of sight.

Isack ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“I hate this,” he muttered.

Ollie didn’t answer right away, he just stared at the doorway you’d walked through.

“…We just have to get through it,” he said quietly.

Isack shook his head. “She noticed.”

“I know.”

“And you’re just going to keep acting like—”

“What do you want me to do?” Ollie snapped, voice low but sharp. “Walk up to her and say, ‘Hey, sorry we ruined your life a little bit, hope that’s cool?’”

Isack flinched.

“Keep your voice down, and, ruined?” he muttered.

Ollie laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“This was your idea.”

“I know,” Isack said again, softer now. “I know.”

Silence settled between them.

Across the room, Kimi lingered by his desk.

He hadn’t left with you, but he saw.

Not everything, not the full picture yet. But enough to know that something wasn’t right.

By the time rehearsal started, the feeling hadn’t gone away.

If anything, it had settled deeper. The auditorium was already half-lit when you stepped inside. The familiar scent of wood, dust, and old curtains wrapped around you instantly. It should’ve felt grounding. It always did.

Today, it didn’t.

People were scattered across the space: some onstage, some in the seats, some near the wings adjusting props or running lines under their breath. The low hum of overlapping voices filled the room, but it felt disjointed.

You dropped your bag at the control booth and scanned the space.

Ollie was near the prop table, laughing.

Franco had said something, and Ollie doubled over slightly, shaking his head as he tried to respond. Isack stood nearby, grinning, adding something under his breath that made Franco shove him lightly.

For a moment, you just stood there, watching.

That was the version of them you knew.

You exhaled quietly and stepped forward.

“Alright,” you called, clapping your hands once. “Places. Let’s run Act Two from the top.”

The room shifted immediately.

Conversations died down. Scripts were picked up. People moved into position. The structure of rehearsal took over, steady and familiar.

You climbed up onto the stage, script in hand, scanning the setup.

“Lights?” you called.

“Ready,” someone answered from the booth.

“Sound?”

“Good.”

You nodded once. “Let’s go.”

The scene began.

Lines flowed. Movement followed. The rhythm you had built over weeks of rehearsal settled into place like muscle memory.

You watched everything.

Every misplaced step. Every hesitation. Every line that landed too early or too late. Your eyes moved constantly, tracking, adjusting, recalibrating.

It was easier to focus on that.

On the work.

Because the moment you let your attention drift, you notice.

Ollie crossed from stage left to right, carrying a prop tray. His timing was perfect. But when he passed you, he didn’t even give you a quick glance.

You felt it like a small drop in your stomach.

It was such a tiny thing, but it wasn’t normal.

Ollie always checked in with you. Even mid-scene. Even silently. A glance, a nod, something.

Today, nothing.

You forced your focus back onto the actors.

“Hold,” you called suddenly.

The scene froze.

“Lara, your cue is a beat late. Give it half a second more after Sophia’s line,” you instructed.

“Got it,” Lara nodded.

“Again from that mark.”

The scene reset.

You stepped back slightly, crossing your arms loosely.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Isack near the wings.

He was watching you. Your jaw tightened slightly.

“Focus,” you murmured under your breath.

The scene resumed.

This time, your attention is split. Half on the performance, half on the edges of the room.

Trying to piece together something that didn’t want to be seen.

Midway through the run, you moved offstage to check the prop table.

“Gloves,” you said, flipping through the items. “Where are the replacements?”

Ollie stepped forward immediately.

“They’re here,” he said, placing them down.

Your fingers brushed the fabric briefly.

“These aren’t the ones we picked,” you said.

He nodded quickly. “Temporary. I’ll switch them out tomorrow.”

You looked up at him.

He met your eyes this time.

But only for a second.

“Okay,” you said slowly.

There was a pause.

You waited for him to say something else. To elaborate. To joke. To explain more than necessary, like he usually did. But he didn’t.

He just nodded and stepped back.

“Fine,” you said, turning away.

Behind you, Isack shifted his weight.

By the time you called for a short break, your patience had worn thin.

“Ten minutes,” you said, stepping offstage.

You grabbed your water bottle from the control booth, taking a long sip as you leaned against the railing.

Your eyes scanned the room again. Ollie and Isack were near the back.

You pushed yourself off the railing and walked toward them.

They didn’t notice you at first.

“…we can’t keep doing this,” Isack was saying, voice low.

“I know,” Ollie replied. “Just—give it time.”

“Time for what?”

“For things to settle.”

Isack let out a quiet, frustrated breath. “It’s not settling. It’s getting worse.”

Your steps slowed.

You were close enough now, close enough to hear.

“…she’s already noticing,” Isack added.

Your stomach dropped.

Ollie ran a hand through his hair. “I know.”

“Then what are we—”

You stepped forward fully.

“Hello?”

They both froze, their heads snapping towards you like they had just been caught. Your gaze moved between them.

“What are you guys talking about?” you asked, your voice calm.

Too calm.

Ollie blinked. “Nothing.”

Isack didn’t say anything.

You tilted your head slightly. “You keep saying that.”

Silence.

“Is there something I should know?” you asked.

Ollie shook his head quickly. “No. Of course not.”

Isack’s jaw tightened, and you felt it again. Something cold settled in your chest.

“Okay,” you said slowly.

You nodded once.

Then stepped back.

“Break’s almost over,” you added, your tone returning to neutral. “Get ready.”

You turned before either of them could respond. And as you walked away, the silence between them stretched.

Isack exhaled sharply. “This is bad.”

Rehearsal didn’t fall apart.

That was what made everything worse.

From a distance, it looked fine—better than fine, even. Lines were remembered, cues were hit, transitions were smoother than they had been the day before. If someone had walked in without context, they would’ve assumed everything was running exactly as it should. But you felt it immediately, the same way you’d felt it all morning: something was off, and no one was saying it out loud.

You stood near the front row with your script tucked against your side, eyes moving between the stage and the wings. The actors ran through Act Two again, their voices steady, their movements practiced. You corrected small things where necessary, but nothing major. There was nothing obvious to fix.

That didn’t make it feel right.

Gabi delivered his lines cleanly, grounded in a way that usually made the rest of the scene easier to shape around him. He didn’t overdo anything, didn’t rush, didn’t hesitate. He just… did it right. And yet, even that felt different today. Not worse, just more contained. Like he was holding something back, keeping himself carefully within the lines of the script instead of letting anything spill over.

More than once, you caught yourself waiting for him to glance at you the way he usually did—quick, instinctive, like he was checking whether something landed the way you wanted it to.

He never did.

You forced your attention elsewhere.

Near the prop table, Kimi moved quietly, adjusting placements between scene changes. He handled everything the way he always did—efficient, precise, without needing to be told twice. If anything, he seemed more focused than usual. Every object was placed exactly where it needed to be, every reset done faster than expected.

But you noticed the small things.

The way he checked the same item twice before stepping back. The way his shoulders stayed slightly tense, even when he wasn’t actively doing anything. The way his gaze flicked toward you every now and then, not lingering, just enough to register where you were before returning to whatever he was doing.

It wasn’t obvious unless you were looking for it.

You were.

“Hold,” you called, cutting through the scene.

Everyone froze mid-position. A few actors shifted their weight, waiting.

“The transition’s dragging,” you said, stepping a little closer to the stage. “You’re taking too long to reset. Keep it tighter.”

A few nods. A couple of quiet “okay’s”.

You glanced briefly toward the wings. Kimi was already moving, adjusting a chair that had been placed half an inch off its mark. He didn’t look at you this time, but you could tell he’d heard.

“Again from the last cue,” you added.

The scene reset quickly. This time, the movement was sharper, more deliberate. It flowed better.

Technically, it was what you wanted.

It still didn’t feel right.

You stepped back, crossing your arms loosely, and let the scene continue. Your attention drifted again—not away from the performance, but around it, catching everything happening at the edges.

Isack was leaning against the wall near the wings, quieter than you’d ever seen him during rehearsal. He wasn’t interrupting, wasn’t making comments under his breath, wasn’t even reacting much. He just watched.

And every time your eyes moved in his direction, he looked somewhere else. Too quickly for it to be a coincidence.

Once could’ve been nothing. Twice, maybe. But it kept happening, and it was starting to feel intentional.

You exhaled slowly and stepped away from your spot, heading toward the prop table under the excuse of checking something. Your fingers adjusted a glass that didn’t need adjusting, straightened a folded cloth that was already aligned.

You didn’t turn when you heard footsteps behind you.

“You’re being harder on them than usual.”

Kimi’s voice was low, careful, like he wasn’t sure how much space he was allowed to take in the conversation.

You glanced at him, then back at the table. “They’re off.”

“They’re distracted,” he said.

You let out a quiet breath. “That’s not an excuse.”

He didn’t argue. He rarely did.

For a second, neither of you said anything. The sounds of the scene continued behind you—voices rising and falling, footsteps crossing the stage—but it felt distant, like it was happening in another room.

Then you looked at him again.

“Do you know what’s going on?” you asked.

The question wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t casual either.

Kimi paused, just slightly. It wasn’t dramatic, not the kind of hesitation that would stand out to anyone else, but you caught it.

“No,” he said.

You held his gaze a second longer than necessary, searching for something—anything that would tell you he meant it completely.

There was something there.

Not a lie, exactly. But not the full truth either.

You nodded once. “Okay.”

You stepped away before the silence could stretch any further. “Back to work,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

When you returned your attention to the stage, the scene was nearing its end. The pacing had improved. The actors hit their marks cleanly, the dialogue landing the way it was supposed to. By all accounts, it was a solid run.

When the final line was delivered, there was a brief pause—the kind that usually led into chatter or someone breaking character first.

You didn’t wait for it.

“Good,” you said, your tone even. “That’s enough for today. We’ll run it again tomorrow.”

Relief moved through the room almost instantly. People relaxed, shoulders dropping, conversations picking up again in low, overlapping voices. Scripts were set aside, props returned to their places, the structure of rehearsal dissolving into something looser.

You didn’t stay in it.

You moved quickly, stepping offstage and heading straight for the control booth. Your bag was exactly where you’d left it. You grabbed it without hesitation, slinging it over your shoulder in one smooth motion.

You didn’t look around.

Didn’t call anyone over.

Didn’t wait.

“Hey, y/n—”

You heard it, faintly, from somewhere behind you. You couldn’t tell who it was.

You didn’t stop.

The auditorium doors creaked as you pushed them open, the cooler evening air hitting your face as you stepped out into the hallway. The noise from inside dulled immediately, replaced by the distant echo of footsteps and voices from other parts of the building.

Only then did your expression shift.

Not dramatically. Not enough for anyone passing by to notice.

But your jaw tightened slightly, and your brows pulled together just enough to betray the thought you’d been trying to ignore all day.

This wasn’t nothing.

And it wasn’t just in your head.

Something had changed.

Behind you, inside the auditorium, the shift didn’t go unnoticed either.

Kimi was the first to glance toward the door you’d just walked through, his movements pausing for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to continue packing up the props. Gabi followed a moment later, his gaze lingering a little longer, his expression unreadable but quieter than usual.

Ollie stood near the middle of the room, watching the same door, his usual energy nowhere to be found.

Isack didn’t move at all.

He stayed where he was, leaning against the wall, staring at the exit like he already knew what the rest of them were only starting to realize that whatever they had tried to keep contained was slipping, and it wasn’t going to stay quiet for much longer.

You didn’t expect anyone to follow you.

By the time you reached the front gates, the sky had already dimmed into that soft blue-gray that came just before night fully settled. Students were filtering out in small groups, voices overlapping, laughter rising and falling as people made their way home. It was normal. Familiar. It should’ve helped.

It didn’t.

You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and stepped onto the sidewalk, already bracing yourself for the quiet walk ahead—just you and your thoughts, which you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to sit with right now.

“Hey.”

You paused.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Gabi caught up to you in a few quick steps, falling into pace beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. For a second, neither of you said anything. The rhythm of your footsteps synced easily, the kind of silence that had always been comfortable between you.

That hadn’t changed.

Not yet.

“You left pretty fast,” he said after a moment.

You let out a small breath, eyes fixed ahead. “Rehearsal was done.”

“Yeah,” he replied, glancing at you briefly. “Still.”

You shrugged slightly. “I had stuff to do.”

It wasn’t convincing, and you both knew it.

He didn’t call you out on it.

They passed a small convenience store, its lights already on, casting a warm glow onto the sidewalk. A few students lingered near the entrance, talking over snacks and drinks. The sound of a motorbike passed behind you, loud for a second before fading into the distance.

“You okay?” he asked.

The question was simple.

You exhaled slowly, shifting your grip on your bag strap. “Do I not look okay?”

“You look like you’re thinking too much,” he said.

You huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s not new.”

“No,” he agreed. “But it’s different today.”

That made you glance at him.

He wasn’t looking at you. His gaze stayed forward, expression calm, like he was just stating something obvious instead of asking a loaded question.

You hesitated.

Then looked away again.

“They’re acting weird,” you said.

He didn’t ask who.

He already knew.

You continued, the words coming a little easier now that you’d started. “Ollie. Isack. Even earlier in class, it felt like—” You stopped, trying to find the right way to explain it without sounding like you were overthinking. “Like they were filtering everything they said around me.”

Gabi nodded slightly, like he’d expected that answer.

“You noticed it too?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said simply.

That made something in your chest tighten.

Because if it wasn’t just you, then it wasn’t in your head.

“Did something happen?” you asked, turning to him again. “Like, something I don’t know about?”

He hesitated, just briefly.

“No,” he said.

It sounded more certain than Kimi’s earlier answer.

Still, you studied him for a second, then looked forward again.

“I don’t like it,” you admitted quietly. “I’d rather they just say whatever it is.”

“They probably think they’re helping,” he said.

You frowned slightly. “Helping what?”

He didn’t answer right away.

The sidewalk stretched ahead, dimly lit by streetlights that flickered on one by one. A stray dog wandered past on the opposite side of the street, pausing briefly before continuing on. The night felt still in that way it sometimes did, like everything had slowed just enough for thoughts to catch up.

“Sometimes people think giving space is better than saying the wrong thing,” he said finally.

You considered that.

“Yeah,” you said after a moment. “But this doesn’t feel like space. It feels like… avoidance.”

He glanced at you then, something quieter settling in his expression.

“That’s because it is,” he said.

You blinked slightly. “Then why?”

He didn’t answer that either.

Instead, he shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing yours for half a second before he adjusted his pace again.

“You don’t have to figure it out tonight,” he added.

You let out a small breath. “I know.”

But you were going to try anyway.

Silence settled again, but this time it felt a little easier to sit in. Not because anything had been solved, but because you’d said it out loud now. It wasn’t just stuck in your head anymore.

After a minute, you spoke again.

“Kimi asked me the same thing earlier.”

Gabi’s expression didn’t change, but his attention sharpened slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He said I looked distracted.” You smiled faintly, the memory softening your tone a little. “Which is ironic, considering everyone else is the one acting weird.”

Gabi huffed quietly. “He notices things.”

“He does,” you agreed.

There was no hesitation in your voice.

No second-guessing.

Just a simple truth.

You adjusted your bag again, glancing down at the sidewalk as you spoke. “He’s been helping a lot, too. With the props, I mean. More than I expected.” You shrugged lightly. “Not that I expected him not to, but I don’t know. He’s just really consistent.”

Gabi nodded once.

“He’s reliable,” he said.

“Yeah,” you said, a little more quietly this time. “He is.”

There was something in the way you said it that lingered.

Gabi felt it.

You kept going, almost like you hadn’t realized you were saying more than usual. “And he doesn’t make things complicated,” you added. “If something’s wrong, he just… waits. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t assume.”

Your steps slowed slightly as you spoke, your thoughts lining up in a way they hadn’t earlier.

“I like that,” you said.

The words landed softly.

Gabi’s gaze dropped briefly to the ground, then lifted again.

“Yeah,” he said.

That was all.

Just one word.

But something about it felt heavier than the rest of the conversation.

You didn’t notice.

You were too busy thinking, piecing things together, trying to make sense of a day that had felt slightly off from the moment it started.

By the time you reached your street, the houses were quieter, lights glowing warmly behind windows. The air felt cooler here, less crowded, more still.

You stopped near your gate.

“Thanks for walking me,” you said, turning to him.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Of course.”

There was a pause.

You hesitated, then added, “And… thanks. For listening.”

He gave a small nod. “Anytime.”

You smiled faintly, pushing your gate open. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he said.

You stepped inside, the gate clicking shut behind you.

Gabi stayed where he was for a second longer than necessary.

Watching the space you had occupied a moment ago.

Then he exhaled slowly and turned away, hands slipping into his pockets as he started walking back the way he came.

The conversation replayed in his head, not all of it, just certain parts.

The way you said Kimi’s name, the way your tone shifted when you did, and the way you described him.

Things Gabi knew he wasn’t, not in the same way at least.

And for the first time, it wasn’t just a possibility.

It wasn’t just something he’d been ignoring or pushing aside.

It was clear how you saw Kimi.

And that meant something, something Gabi couldn’t ignore anymore.

By the time he reached the corner where he’d have to turn, he already knew what he was going to do.

He was going to go straight to the only person who mattered in this, and he wasn’t going to dance around it.

@dessashippr @hannahmotors10 @jaelaconsuela @hadjarist @multi-des @angelonyourspeeddial @thechosen-neo @junklockets @maebejustmaebe @lyssescloud @zhqvie @snoojpg @losraire @circe4u @linasmarbles @sandyysamwich @acethedinosaur @q8rapha @gr1mesgirl @nobodysnew @fangirl4antonelli @piastr1lvr @beabadoobee81 @swthngs @jsprien213 @thegirlinblackgreensilver

helo,,, it's me...

[p1astrism]

pretty baby let’s last awhile ✩ op81

wc/summary: 3.7k ~ After a wonderful day spent celebrating your anniversary, Oscar has one more surprise that makes you cry for the best possible reason.

contains: established relationship, oscar piastri x fem!reader, pure fluff, title from gap tooth smile by djo (he’s so peak btw)

💌: happy race week finallyyyy 😋 based on this request! <3

✩ ✩ ✩

Oscar woke up first. He usually doesn’t. Back to back race weekends exhaust him too much for him to ever be up earlier than you. He made sure to set an alarm about half an hour before his usual wake up time and was thanking every deity that’s ever existed that you slept through the first two that went off. He did spend a few minutes just admiring you though. It’s almost like Oscar couldn’t possibly slip out of bed so soon when he had the most beautiful girl in the world sleeping so soundly against his chest, her own gently falling and rising; both heartbeats steady. 

He carefully moved your head to the pillow just beneath his arm and assured that you were comfortable. You had a soft smile pressed between your lips, one that you usually had when you got to finally sleep in the same bed again and one that mirrored Oscar’s while watching you adjust a bit before getting into a good position again. He threw on a hoodie with the shorts he tossed to the floor the night before, grabbed his keys, and headed out. 

Oscar knew exactly which flowers to get you from the floral shop just down the road, your favorite ones since you were a kid. You had told him about them on your first date, something about them being the only ones you weren’t allergic to, plus they were your mom’s favorite. Your childhood home once had a lawn covered in them. He smiled and thanked the florist as he paid for the bouquet before making his way to a small market around the corner then going back home.

You woke up without your boyfriend in bed but you had sworn you two had fallen asleep together. The sun was well up and filtering through the curtains that had been slightly drawn unlike the night before. With the sweet smell of vanilla and cinnamon in the air wafting into your bedroom and instantly filling your lungs, your lips pressed into a small and knowing smile. 

He was in the kitchen, his broadened back to you as he held his phone in one hand, squinting at the screen and a measuring cup in the other. Oscar is always very particular when it comes to following instructions, he doesn’t deviate too much as he does not want to fuck anything up and have to start over. That being said, he already had burnt the first few pancakes and did have to start the recipe over even though he was so sure the heat was turned down enough. You crossed the room, slipping right between him and the kitchen island behind him, sliding your arms around his waist and laying your head against his back. Usually, he was the one to be doing this to you and the crook of your neck while you stood at the stove. Oscar always wanted to be in your space, whether it was a simple hand hold through the paddock or limbs tangled while in bed, just enjoying the little time you had together most weekends. 

Without turning around, he placed a freed hand over your forearm and rubbed small circles into it with his thumb. 

“Mornin’, you were up early.” You murmured in his ear after kissing just under it. 

He poured the last of the batter into the pan, the low sizzling of it hitting the butter was the only sound in the kitchen besides Oscar’s breath hitching when some of the oil hit his forearm. He then set the bowl and his phone down on the counter and turned around to face you, leaning in with a smile to kiss you gently. 

“Good morning, beautiful. Happy Anniversary.” Your cheeks went warm as he placed another kiss on your forehead. “I had to run a couple errands before getting our day started. Plus, uh, we ran outta eggs and milk. Can’t really make pancakes without ‘em.”

“Happy Anniversary, baby.” You wrapped your arms around him once again, this time with them around his neck, pulling him in for another kiss. “Glad you’re back, the bed is way too cold without you in it.”

He pulled away and scoffed, “Is that all I am to you, babe? Just a human furnace?”

“Yes.” You quipped with a teasing smile that reached your eyes. The smile dropped quickly, eyes widening when you pointed behind him. “Uh, Oscar-“

His head whipped around to the stove. Shit. 

Smoke arose from the pan and it wasn’t long before the fire alarm just across the room started beeping. Oscar quickly turned off the stove, eyeing at the small stack of pancakes that ended up not burnt. You came to his side, a hand smoothing over his back then hooking onto his shoulder, turning him towards yourself. 

“Baby, I’m sorry, I was trying to surprise you with all your favorites! Today’s too special to fuck anything up.” He sighed deeply, his hands slightly trembling as he fidgeted. His gaze was fixed to the floor. “I cannot believe I burnt almost two batches of pancakes.”

“We’ll share! You didn’t fuck anything up, it’s barely even 10am. Nothing counts before then.” You took his hands in yours and squeezed them twice, your eyes locked onto his as soon as he glanced back up. “I’m the one who can’t believe you made two batches, I would’ve cut up some fruit and called it a day. Actually, I might just do that.” 

He hugged you, kissed your temple, then took the plate of pancakes to the table. You joined him soon after slicing some apples, oranges, and watermelon. While the two of you ate, Oscar had gotten up halfway through. He went down the hall that led to the front door, coming back twenty seconds later with the bouquet. He stood in front of you with it; bright pink and orange petals bundled together, brown paper and a white bow wrapped around it. He inhaled sharply as you stood up, taking the bouquet and leaning into it. The sweet, floral scent filled your nose. 

“They’re beautiful, Oscar!” You smiled brightly at him, the outer corners of your eyes crinkling as you hugged the bouquet close to your chest. 

“And they’re perfect, just like you.” He softly whispered, smiling, his own eyes never leaving you. 

You never needed to do much for him to be impressed by you. Oscar admired you deeply, whether you perfectly styled yourself for any and every outing, something you teased him for when he’d show up to the paddock in the plainest of outfits or when you two had been talking about the intricacies of that year’s car. He always made it known as well, making sure to mention it in an interview that ‘my girlfriend knows how to do that’ or that ‘she knows a lot about everything’. The truth is, you could do anything and he’d look at you as if you had hung the moon, the stars, and pretty much the entire universe. 

You were never bored, which meant neither was he. There were so many nights you’d talk his ear off about something you learned that day in a lecture or at a local attraction you’d gone to during the practice or qualifying session. There was no reason to always sit in the paddock so you made use of your time in all the different countries you two got to travel to throughout the year. He loved wandering whichever city you two were in that weekend, fingers interlaced as you excitedly told him about the sweet locals you ran into throughout the day or the food you tried and saved a bite or two for him, of course. 

After a sweet and (almost) peaceful breakfast, Oscar took you to a museum you had been wanting to visit since moving in with him. He watched you wander from painting to painting or sculpture to sculpture, your eyes laser focused on the brush strokes or the info cards next to each piece. Oscar was enamored with seeing you in your element as you soaked in every bit of history and life within every art piece. You were the same when it came to him and cars. Much like your ability to ramble, he had it too and you loved to listen as well, it was one of your favorite things about him. He could go on for hours, your own personal podcast of racing facts that the average person wouldn’t know off the top of their head like he does. 

Later on as you two walked around the museum gift shop, you picked up a book. It was a pantone book full of almost every known shade and color.

“Look!” You rushed over to your boyfriend who had been furrowing his eyebrows at the price of a water bottle in a gift shop, inspecting it and trying to find which part of the cheap plastic was worth almost $50. You presented the book with a smile, excitedly shoving it in his arms as he set the bottle back down. 

“A book of colors? What do you need this for?” He asked, taking the book and starting to flip through it. 

“Decorating the apartment, picking out some paint for my new canvases I just got, or maybe even planning our wedding.” You answered, shrugging. 

Oscar’s breath hitched and he choked on the air, suddenly coughing.

“Sorry, what was that last bit?” he spit out while his eyes widened right at you.

You patted his back and leaned in, “Relax, I was joking.” You took the book back from him and pivoted on your heel, heading back to the table you grabbed it from.

“I wasn’t joking about decorating though, it was way too plain in that damn apartment before I got there.” You threw over your shoulder, he could hear the smirk you said it with. 

He placed a hand over his chest and let out a sigh before following you, coming to your side and placing said hand around her waist as you walked around the store a bit more. 

He brought you to the bakery where you shared your very first kiss and where you now were sharing a slice of carrot cake. It wasn’t long after your first date, maybe a few weeks after it. 

“Can you believe it’s been so long since we’ve been here? I don’t think we’ve been back since taking my mom here so she could ‘have her daily croissant, even while abroad’.” You said before gleefully popping a spoonful of cake in your mouth. 

“It feels like just yesterday.” Oscar replied, his chin resting in his palm, a sheepish grin spread across his lips as he looked over at you.

“Remember when she told you that you looked good in an apron so you should bake for me more? I should text her about this morning, she’d laugh her ass off!” You chuckled while flipping your phone over to check the time. 

The screensaver on it was a picture of you and him hugging after his first win, a day you never wanted to forget and certainly one of your favorite weekends that followed right after. You took him out to dinner that Wednesday when you both got home and settled. He was always giddy around you, that was no surprise but that night it was a level you hadn’t seen before. He was stoked when you two had gone out for drinks with the team the night of, even if how the win came to be left a sour taste in his mouth. But the dinner alone with you was where he revealed just how much the win meant to him and what it meant for his career. You being there, being his rock, was everything to him and he made sure you knew when kissing you all over the second getting home from dinner. His hands found your waist, then your back, and finally your neck, pulling you flush against him and never letting go the entire night. 

Your anniversary was just as perfect as that night, at least to you it was. Although, a few things had not gone Oscar’s way. From the pancakes to dropping a mug (and having to pay for it) in the museum gift shop. He was also so distracted by you talking about your favorite Monet painting you wanted to see someday, he had taken a wrong turn on the way to the very same restaurant you took him to after that first win. 

A day was had, your stomachs were full and your bodies were tired from the amount of walking and wandering you’d done. By the time you two had gotten home for the night, you passed out in the passenger seat. He held you close as you, half asleep, could barely stand up in the elevator. You woke up nuzzled into Oscar’s side in bed. Your lips were ghosting just next to his throat, so you kissed it as soon as you registered where you were. He was awake and scrolling on his phone, one arm wrapped around you with the comforter mostly draped over your body rather than his. 

“Osc? What time is it?”, you murmured.

“About 11. We got home around 6:30 ish.” He hummed in response. “You knocked out in the car and I had a surprise for when we got home but you looked so cute all sleepy and shit, so I figured I’d just let you be.”

“You let me nap for four and a half hours? In the evening? Oscar, I’m gonna be up all night!” You whined into his neck before rolling over. You then sat up and immediately felt his hand rubbing your back. 

“Oh come on, I'll stay up with you.” He urged.

“What’s the surprise? I’m kinda curious now even if I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.” You turned your head to pout at him, still blinking away the sleepiness.

Oscar took his hand back, using it to push himself up and off of the bed. He disappeared for a minute before returning with an envelope and a heart shaped box of chocolates. He sank onto the bed right next to you, placing the chocolates on your bedside table and handing you the envelope. 

The envelope was deep red with a matching wax seal that had yours and his initials stamped into it. You smiled, tears already pricking the corners of your eyes from the gesture. As you opened it, your chest tightened at the sight of a letter, one full of his love and only his love which was never constricting, much like the flowers that morning, it was always a breath of fresh air. In the card, he thanked you for loving him gently and earnestly even when he had pushed you away, promising to always return the favor. You two had always been patient with each other, it was a given with your schedules and the life you two lived. It’s all you could ever ask for. He mentioned how you see through him, especially on his worst days and how he will never be able to describe how much he loves it. 

The last paragraph of the letter had tears welling up in your eyes, only because they struck a part of your heart only he could reach. 

I always want to be there for you how you are for me, no matter where we both are in the world. Speaking of, you’re so hard working. You work on the road, on a plane, you'd find a way to do it on a boat I’m sure but it’s what I admire about you most. Your resilience is one of the best things about you and makes me so proud to call you mine at every given chance. Please let me love it about you forever. 

Racing may be his job but you’re his whole world, there was no doubt about it. 

You had been so wrapped up in the card, sniffling your way through every word written that you hadn’t heard Oscar’s shuffling nor had you felt the emptiness next to you on the bed. You looked up to see him steadily kneeling on one knee in front of you, a velvet box opened in his palm. Your breath hitched, both hearts pounding already. His usual grin had been replaced with widened brown doe eyes looking up at you and his lips parted, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was going to say next. 

“Yes!” You squealed, leaning down to grab his face and kiss him immediately. 

“Baby, I haven’t even got the question out yet.” He huffed out a small laugh while leaning into your touch. 

“Oh, right! Fuck, sorry, go ahead!” You pulled back as he steadied himself once again, still kneeling. He cleared his throat but his cheeks were still flushed, knowing your answer already. 

“You are the most important person in my life. I’m so lucky to spend pretty much everyday with someone who understands me so deeply and I never want not to be in your arms, baby. I’m really the happiest man alive every time I wake up next to you and I cannot imagine a morning where you’re not mine.” He sighed and pulled the ring out from where it sat cushioned in the box then looked up at you. “Will you marry me?”

You grabbed him by the collar of the white dress shirt he was still wearing from dinner and smashed your lips into his once more. It definitely answered his question (again). 

He pulled away, slipping the sparkling ring on your finger, a smile plastered to his lips as he got up to sit back on the bed again beside you.

“One more surprise.”

He reached behind him on his side of the bed for his phone and swiped to a video, only about a minute long. You recognized it instantly. It was Oscar the night of your first date just a few years ago in the same shirt, his hair a bit shorter than currently, and a flushed cheeks under his dim car light. That night…you remember it well. You had both been able to contain your excitement for the most part, but his was concealed even more. His calmness was what attracted you to him in the beginning. Being far from hysterical was a trait you both shared and it was useful for two people who always had something big happening in your life. But as soon as you pressed play, you’d seen his mask that night slip away and turn into a beaming young man. 

“Mate, I’ve just gone on a date with the woman I'm gonna marry. I know, that sounds insane but she’s the one, I just know it. I need to see her again. I need to know her. She's so gorgeous, but she's more than that. She’s- she’s got to be the smartest person ever. She kept telling me about the history of even the restaurant we were in. Honestly, I couldn't stop staring from how impressed I was, God, I really hope she didn’t get creeped out. She’s been at both races this month and barely knew me but hugged me after both quali’s and told me she knew I'd ‘do better tomorrow’ and then I did! She's like a good luck charm, the most perfect one.”

The video ended and your jaw just could not close no matter how hard you tried to put words together. Not a second after, full on tears spilled from your eyes. They were not tears of hurt, but of love. Love filling your chest, spreading to your arms as you hugged him from the side. 

“Is this why today had to be perfect?” Your eyes sparkled brighter than the rock sitting on your hand. You craned your neck to look up at him, your head resting on his shoulder now. 

“Yeah, uh, I really hope it was at least. I love you too much to have a shitty anniversary.” Warmth spread through his chest as he kissed the crown of your hair. 

You sighed out of pure content, “I love you too, baby. It was perfect, even if now I’ll be up all night. Maybe we can call my mom, we wouldn’t be bored then!”

You pulled away and reached for the chocolates on the table, opening them and popping one in your mouth, groaning at the taste of sweet, sweet sugar hitting your tongue after the long day. Oscar watched as you read the back of the box, looking at the description for each of the chocolates and excitedly pointing out the ones that sounded like they tasted the best. 

The two of you changed into some comfier clothes then crawled to sit against the headboard, your head turned towards him and resting against it. Your knees were huddled up to your chest as his were laid out straight on the bed. He had an arm wrapped around you, his thumb stroking your arm. The TV was on now, playing some romcom you insisted on watching to ‘set the mood’. Oscar didn’t argue, he wanted to do whatever you wanted tonight (and forever). He had also had his head towards you, a gentle smile pressed between his lips and a blush that hadn’t left his cheeks practically all day. 

“Hey, you’re not asking me to marry out of pressure from half of your friends on the grid getting engaged too, are you?” you asked with an eyebrow cocked up. 

“No, obviously not.” He rolled his eyes then huffed out a small chuckle. “Although now that I think about it, we have a lot of weddings to attend including our own.”

“I get to see you in a tux and you get to see me in a pretty dress like a million times for the next year and not only for the FIA awards, what’s there to complain about?” You quipped, popping the last chocolate in your mouth.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk, his eyes flickering to your lips as he leaned in to kiss you once more that night, “Not a damn thing, love.”

[piastriscenes]

OUT OF MY LEAGUE ⭑ KA12

MASTERLIST

pairing: kimi antonelli x reader

you thought andrea kimi antonelli was just your childhood classmate. then he became a formula 1 driver. then he became technically family. then he started looking at you like that.

genre: rom-com, soft romance, teenage feelings, emotional support boyfriend (in training).

warnings: kimi antonelli being a cocky menace, idiots in love behavior, hands appreciation (sorry not sorry), terrible and mildly suggestive jokes, mutual pining, fluff levels may be dangerous, one (1) very smitten driver, one (1) girl trying to survive it, poor attempt at italian.

word count: 9.7k

a/n: guys, oh my god, this took me such a long time to finish! i’ve done my best to proofread it, but there might still be some pacing, structural, or grammatical hiccups. i apologize in advance if anything slipped through! this is my first long-form story, and i really hope you love it as much as i do.

The story of every legend begins… simply.

First, you are born. Then you grow. Then you live through childhood. It would be possible to quote Batman and say, “you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain,” but this isn’t that kind of story.

No. These are different kinds of legends.

Take Lewis Hamilton as an example: born in Stevenage, a small town north of London, England. He spent part of his childhood with his mother, and it wasn’t until he was ten that he chose to live with his father to focus on racing. At five, with a remote-controlled car, he was already making a name for himself, and at six, with a small used kart, he kept chasing it.

Years later, after countless hardships and difficulties, a legend emerged. Seven-time world champion, three teams in Formula 1, he now stands among the most remembered and respected names in motorsport history, not only for his skill, but for what he represents.

And it isn’t just him: Senna, Prost, Schumacher, Vettel, and so many others who shaped the sport into what it is today are remembered as symbols of determination, greatness, and pride for their fans and their nations.

For years and years, that was all Kimi Antonelli ever talked about.

You were never close to him, even though you studied at the same school. In fact, the only thing you truly shared was a photo from a recital you both took part in at five years old — the one where you thought it was perfectly appropriate to kiss his cheek and cause a chorus of “awww” around you.

But proximity was never the point.

You didn’t have to be part of his inner circle to know that Kimi Antonelli was in love with motorsport. Anyone who cared to listen had heard him say he would become a legend one day — just like those drivers.

For that reason, during the second-to-last year of high school, you weren’t surprised at all when he told the entire class he was going to Formula 1 the following year.

Kimi had already climbed the other steps. He had already been champion in lower categories more than once. There had been tributes to him on ordinary school days — celebrations of his talent and the pride he brought to both the school and to Italy. But Formula 1… Formula 1 was different.

It was big.

A step closer to the dream he had chased for so long: becoming one of the best.

And at that age, he was already considered a rising promise in the racing world. The golden boy. The next prodigy. It wasn’t just Formula 1, that alone would have been enough, but for Kimi Antonelli?

Kimi Antonelli would begin his first Formula 1 season driving for the Mercedes AMG PETRONAS F1 Team, personally chosen to take the seat of none other than sir Lewis Hamilton himself, a fact that earned him his own Netflix documentary.

So many good things followed that, if the announcements hadn’t been officially published, you wouldn’t have believed them.

Oh — and you had the biggest crush on him.

Having a crush on Kimi Antonelli was hardly absurd. In fact, at school it was the most normal thing in the world. After all, he wasn’t just famous, well-managed, and surprisingly intelligent, he was also kind to everyone and very, very cute. And, perhaps, just perhaps, you had occasionally caught yourself daydreaming about rebellious wavy hair that only behaved under a cap and an easy smile that gave his face that boyish look.

And his hands.

In a completely appropriate way, of course.

But that had only become a thing during the final year, when one of your best friends shoved her phone in your face to show you the photoshoot he had done with George Russell. The focus was very specific: Kimi putting on his helmet, his hands fully on display. You had never noticed them before. Naturally, you were completely normal about it.

Totally normal. Completely normal. Nothing unusual whatsoever. Just a normal boy with long fingers and prominent veins and…

Yeah. Right. Sure.

Now school was over. All of that (cute boys, inappropriate hands, endless books about subjects you never quite mastered) had been left behind. A great relief, if anyone asked you — and yet, now that it was over, you missed it too. Years and years with the same classmates, hearing updates to the same stories, walking through the same hallways had quietly created a sense of attachment.

You hadn’t really wanted it to end.

And some people might have wondered whether that feeling could, at some level, be related to a certain prodigy driver who, by a twist of fate, had studied alongside you since early childhood, but… life is strange. And it does even stranger things, because after everything — after the whole year had passed and Kimi Antonelli had traveled the world and become a rookie with two podiums in his debut season, making history — he ended up spending Christmas in your living room.

Because your sister had done you a great favor: she had said yes to becoming an Antonelli.

It was there, on December twenty-fifth, two thousand and twenty-five, that you discovered your sister was engaged — not to Kimi Antonelli, thankfully, but to one of his older cousins.

You didn’t even know she was dating anyone! That’s what happens when your sister decides to move to another country and forgets to tell you about her dramatic new relationship.

Anyway, you were happy for her all the same. And it happened. So… somewhere between plates that were never empty, constant hugs, and elegant clothes, Kimi Antonelli had his first proper interaction with you.

You stood near the Christmas tree, finishing adjusting the bow on the head of one of your younger cousins, who refused to stay still for more than a second. She kept talking nonstop about how badly she wanted to open the presents, and you had to keep reminding her that it wasn’t time yet.

With an exaggerated pout, she ran off, leaving you behind with a fond laugh lingering on your lips.

Beside you, however, with steps far too deliberate to pass as casual, Kimi Antonelli approached.

“I didn’t know your sister was dating my cousin,” he said, taking a relaxed sip of his drink.

He was talking. To you. As if that made perfect sense. And, well… technically, it did. Aside from a couple of his cousins, you were the only person there who was actually his age.

You smoothed a hand down the skirt of your red dress. Blink. Blink. Blink. An attempt at normalcy. You had to make a double effort not to stare at the ring resting on his index finger like a complete weirdo.

“O-Oh! Yeah. Yes. Well,” you said, a little awkwardly, your gaze drifting toward the couple. They looked comfortable, happy. Your expression softened. “I didn’t know either. But I think they really like each other. From what I can tell.”

What a stupid answer. My God. You sounded like you had never learned how to speak. Kimi didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he was just too polite to comment on your painfully obvious lack of composure.

“Yeah. I can see that too,” he agreed, his eyes following yours in the same direction. It didn’t last long, though. His attention returned to you. “We studied together.”

Yes, Kimi. We did. I know that. I know that very well.

You nodded, because words suddenly felt unreliable.

“That’s cool. And now we’re family,” he said, sounding so casual about it that it bordered on absurd.

It wasn’t normal. It was the complete opposite of normal. You hadn’t thought about it that way before, but… thinking about it now, he was kind of right.

You were going to faint right there.

Except you didn’t. You did something far more human — far more reasonable and, honestly, surprising: you smiled like a perfectly normal person.

“That’s crazy, right? It’s nice,” you replied.

You were actually quite proud of yourself.

He laughed softly and pointed toward the table with his thumb.

“Should we get dessert before it’s all gone? Maggie was planning to finish everything.”

You, who had fully expected the conversation to end after the first sentence, laughed quietly and followed him to get dessert, still not entirely convinced this was actually happening.

It had been a nice night — you had to admit that. Your sister announced her engagement, your nonna made your favorite dessert, your mother somehow won at karaoke, and two families met for the very first time. And you, somewhat shyly, allowed yourself to laugh until your stomach hurt at the silly things Kimi Antonelli kept saying, as if he were just a boy like any other.

When it came time to open the presents, the festive Christmas evening slowly drew to a close. It ended with him unwrapping the gift his mother had chosen for him — a plush version of himself dressed in his Mercedes race suit — which he immediately declared, laughing, “this one’s going into the collection,” before she handed him the actual present.

Nice. Very nice, actually. Something interesting to tell your friends, something that would absolutely blow their minds. You would see Kimi again at the wedding and… that would be it. A very interesting story to tell. Maybe you’d run into each other at another family event or a school reunion — both unlikely, considering his packed Formula 1 schedule — and life would simply move on from there. You were already happy with the night you’d had.

But the next day, he texted you.

“Okay, I have thoughts about your farm take.”

And the day after, he texted again.

“My mum says you’re exactly like your sister. I don’t agree with her, but that’s not a bad thing. Hear me out…”

And the next day. And the one after that. Always something new. Always a conversation that somehow wandered into unbelievable directions, music tastes, colors, dinosaurs, terrible internet jokes, about how much he knew about Formula 1 or motorsport in general, and that topic could go on forever. You had never imagined Kimi could talk that much.

The messages became so constant they turned into… normal. So normal that you forgot to ask how he had gotten your number, considering you had never given it to him.

Everything had gone completely off script, assuming there had ever been a script to begin with. So far removed from anything you had imagined that, on a random day in the middle of January, you somehow found yourself at his family’s house.

Because he wanted to show you his new helmet. The one he would wear for the entire racing season.

He had actually come back to town just for that.

Ah! You said house? No, no, no. Bedroom. You ended up in his bedroom.

“Wait here, I’ll grab it!” he said, already heading toward the closet.

And you waited, sitting on the bed.

During the three minutes Kimi took to grab the helmet and bring it back to you, you had enough time to look around and understand a little more about him. First, you needed to calm your racing heartbeat and the slight tremor in your hands. Then you noticed all the motorsport posters — and basketball?! — on his walls. There were some books too. Everything was organized in a way that suggested no one really lived there for long.

You knew Kimi didn’t actually live there anymore — he had his own apartment now, or so your sister had said. Somewhere else.

Kimi came back carrying the helmet inside a black case, holding it carefully with both hands. You had never seen a Formula 1 helmet in person before, so you hadn’t realized it was that big.

“Are you ready? I haven’t opened it yet. I don’t even know how it turned out,” he said, placing it on the bed as you stood up.

He hadn’t seen it yet? You frowned.

“Okay… show me,” you said, stepping closer. “I’ve never actually seen one before. It's my first time.”

“Hm, is it?” he asked, looking at you thoughtfully. “Alright. I’ll be gentle. No need to worry. It doesn’t hurt.”

Wait.

You blinked.

Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

The corner of his mouth twitched, like he was barely holding back a laugh, and you immediately covered your face with both hands.

“Oh my God,” you groaned. “You are such a boy. Just open it already!”

And Kimi was laughing. Really laughing. Until he wasn’t anymore, and all that remained was a cheeky grin. He walked back to the bed and unzipped the helmet case.

“You got all flustered. The way your neck turns red when you’re embarrassed is really cute,” he said casually, taking the helmet out of its cover.

Your heart skipped a beat. Your brain didn’t quite manage to process his words, looping instead on a single thought — compliment, compliment, compliment. Much to Kimi’s obvious delight, you turned even redder. Your hands suddenly unsure of where to exist, and for one terrifying second, you forgot entirely how conversations were supposed to work.

Apparently, this was going to be a recurring problem.

You went quiet, didn’t answer, and honestly wouldn’t have been able to. If Kimi noticed, if he had been expecting a response, he didn’t show it. In fact, he picked up the helmet to examine it, now genuinely focused on the object. He turned it from side to side, running his hand along the inside to test the padding before lifting it over his head to look inside it.

“What do you think?” he asked, holding it out to you.

Stepping closer, you took the helmet carefully into your hands. The first thing you noticed was the weight of it. Heavier than you had expected, solid in a way that immediately made you adjust your grip.

You glanced up at Kimi instinctively, as if searching for confirmation that this was normal. Your eyes landed on his neck. Very… different… from a normal neck.

Right.

Neck training.

Mandatory.

Just a neck. But bigger. Nothing unusual.

That long voice message he had once sent you about G-forces. You knew about it, of course.

You swallowed and forced your attention back to the colors, and there were many. A very colorful helmet. Very Kimi.

“Doesn’t this one have stars?” you asked.

He tilted his head to the side.

“Stars?”

“Yeah, stars. Like those on last year’s helmet.”

Kimi raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. You looked up at him, confused.

“You know what my helmet looked like last year?”

Oh. Oops. You had just revealed that you knew an extremely niche detail about an object he used exclusively for work. Haha. So funny. You were very tempted to put the helmet you were holding straight onto your own head and disappear inside it forever, but you didn’t get the chance, because Kimi gently took it from your hands.

“You’re going to help me put it on,” he said.

Wait, what? A sudden flutter settled in your stomach.

“You don’t know how to put it on by yourself?” you asked, instinctively hiding your hands behind your back.

Kimi shrugged and pushed his hair back from his forehead with his free hand.

“I don’t have a balaclava. It’s harder,” he said, as if that explained everything, which it absolutely didn’t. His eyes drifted back to yours, like he couldn’t quite understand what was holding you back.

He adjusted his grip on the helmet and waited.

“Hm… you’re not coming over here?”

“Over there?” you repeated, still rooted to the spot.

Kimi tilted his head, a hint of amusement tugging at his mouth.

“Unless you have magical powers I don’t know about, I think you’ll need to stand a little closer if you’re going to help me adjust the helmet.”

“Right. Okay. I’m coming over,” you said.

“Okay.”

You took a step toward him. Kimi wiggled both eyebrows, a mischievous smile spreading across his lips. You rolled your eyes, glanced away, and threatened to take a step back. He clicked his tongue.

“The three longest steps I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Your arms stayed relaxed at your sides as you looked back at him.

“Could you put the helmet on so I can adjust it, please? You’re talking too much.”

Kimi let out a quiet laugh but lifted the helmet anyway, lowering it carefully over his head before looking back at you through the visor opening.

“You’re very bossy.”

You stepped closer, raising your hands hesitantly toward the sides of the helmet.

“I thought you wanted me to adjust your helmet.”

He tilted his head slightly so you could reach better, but instead of answering right away, his gaze lingered on your face, far too amused for someone supposedly focused on racing equipment.

“Oh, no,” he said softly, his voice muffled behind the helmet. “I just wanted you closer.”

Fuck.

Once again, there were no words in the world that could fully describe what had just happened. You were starting to lose all dignity at an alarming rate. You blinked once, twice, your gaze slipping away from his, even knowing Kimi was still watching you, dropping instead to focus on fastening the helmet strap beneath his chin. Without the balaclava, your fingers brushed softly against his skin.

When that happened, Kimi closed his eyes.

“Done?” he asked, voice low.

“Yes,” you agreed, taking a step back.

Kimi lifted a hand to close the visor and tilted his head slightly, testing the fit. Then he took a step back and turned toward you. Even with his eyes hidden behind the dark visor, you had the distinct feeling he was looking right at you.

“Is it good?”

At one moment, your eyes were on the helmet. You really wanted to say it was beautiful, that you loved it — the colors were vivid and cool. But your eyes had a habit of betraying you, and now they drifted slightly downward… his neck again… his shoulders… the movement of his arm as he lifted his hand to test the tightness of the strap. And his hands themselves. You’d already mentioned the hands, hadn’t you? The rings around his fingers and… well. Yes.

You cleared your throat.

“It looks good,” you managed, swallowing right after.

For one brief moment longer, the two of you stayed like that: the helmet visor lowered, Kimi standing still, and you not quite sure what to do with your own hands. The silence stretched just a little too long, your heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears. You tucked your hair behind your ear, glancing around the room as if searching for something to anchor yourself to — and your bag on the bed became the perfect excuse. You stepped toward it, grateful for the movement. When you looked back at Kimi, he was finishing taking off the helmet, unsuccessfully trying to fix his hair with one hand while holding it with the other.

“Are you leaving already?” he asked, setting the helmet carefully inside its case as he spoke.

“Yeah, I… have to help my mum with a few things.” You shifted the strap of your bag on your shoulder. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t entirely the truth either.

Kimi watched you, his gaze steady enough to make you suddenly aware of yourself. You straightened your posture without meaning to. His hair was a mess, his face slightly flushed from the helmet.

“I’m traveling tonight,” he said suddenly, glancing down as he adjusted the zipper of the case before looking back at you.

“I thought you were staying there until testing started,” you replied, fingers absently brushing the pendant at your neck.

“I was. I am.” He hesitated, one hand resting on top of the helmet case. “But I wanted to come here to see the helmet at home.” A small pause followed as his thumb traced the edge of the case. “I chose the details, so it felt fair that the first time I put it on would be somewhere important.”

For someone who had worn special helmets so many times before, he seemed to consider this new one something particularly meaningful. You still hadn’t decided why that was.

Your gazes met again, and you became fully aware of the soft shiver that ran down your spine. At last, Kimi let the helmet rest and stepped away from it, moving closer to you.

“I guess this is a goodbye, then. For now.” He said, cutting through the growing tension that had nearly become tangible. But there was something hopeful in the way he looked at you. “I’ll be back soon and, well, you can watch me through the pre-season testing cameras if you want.”

A little breathless, you nodded, and a second later remembered to smile.

“Yeah, okay. I will.” you replied, trying to match his enthusiasm.

Kimi let out a laugh, light and melodic, and then did something you would have never, not in a million years, imagined would ever happen to you: he lifted his arms, closed the distance between you, and pulled you into a tight hug, as if you were close friends who had known each other for years and not… Andrea Kimi Antonelli and, well, you.

Your face had never felt so warm before, so close to being mistaken for a fever. When you hugged him back, uncertain, trembling, hesitant, he destroyed whatever remained of your sanity:

“Thanks for coming. I’ll text you when I land.” as if it were unthinkable that you wouldn’t be informed of his safe arrival in another country.

You weren’t entirely sure how you made it to the front door. All you knew was that your heart was beating so loudly it could probably have been heard from the other side of the city.

That night, while Kimi was crossing continents, you stayed home, reading a book in bed, trying to decide whether you should ask your mum to take you to a doctor just to make sure you weren’t experiencing some kind of delusion or if you should look for someone specialized in the supernatural to confirm you hadn’t accidentally slipped into a parallel reality.

You knew there were plenty of movies like that.

There was that one… 16 Wishes, right? The one with Debby Ryan, where her character receives a box of candles on her sixteenth birthday that grant the wishes she had written in a letter as a child. Maybe that was what had happened to you, just by accident.

You set the book aside and threw yourself onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. For a long moment, you simply lay there, stretched out and thoughtful, thinking that after spending so long liking a boy from afar, hearing him say sweet things to you should have felt like a dream coming true. Especially when the boy in question was him.

So why couldn’t you fully sink into the idea that someone like Kimi Antonelli was deliberately flirting with you because something about you had caught his attention?

The thought made you laugh.

You knew the kind of girls he was surrounded by. Not at school, outside of it. The kind of girls he had access to, the kind of girls other drivers dated. Beautiful women, models, actresses, famous singers. They all wanted to be with guys like them. So it was better to be realistic, because if Kimi Antonelli hadn’t been within the realm of possibility back when he was just a little boy dreaming of becoming a kart driver, how could he possibly be now?

But all of that, that entire spiral of thoughts, was a cliché too. Everything about this whole story felt impossibly unreal anyway.

You let out a childish little whine, pretending to cry as you rolled onto your stomach, burying your face in the pillow.

You remembered his scent.

That scent. God.

At the time, everything had felt so overwhelming that you hadn’t stopped to notice it properly, but your brain had kept it anyway. Even through the frenzy, you could still remember the smell of his cologne: something so unmistakably Kimi that you couldn’t even begin to describe its notes.

Oh, no. I just wanted you closer. Handsome, smug bastard. Pulling off something that smooth without a hint of shame. And you fell for it. Of course you did. Honestly, you’d fall for it again and again and again. He should stop saying things like that. Stop doing things like that.

But really, the most pathetic part of this entire situation was you treating it as if it meant more than it did. Honestly, what an exaggeration. Kimi flirted as naturally as he breathed, and now, as he had already made clear at Christmas, you were family.

Except he still hadn’t seen the finished helmet and had flown all the way there to see it with you. In a place that mattered.

And he hadn’t even needed to be there. It was the middle of his work week. Kimi had made the trip just to spend a single day in his hometown to see the helmet somewhere important, when he could, and probably should, have seen it with his teammate and the staff who would actually help him put it on properly, balaclava and all.

You switched off the bedside lamp and slipped beneath the covers as if you were trying to escape your own thoughts. It felt dangerous. Like a ritual, you whispered, stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking, and finally closed your eyes.

Falling asleep that night wasn’t difficult. What was difficult was stopping your brain from deciding to dream about WAGs and magazine covers where you were holding hands with your handsome driver boyfriend.

You liked the dream, of course. You would never admit that out loud.

Kimi really did send a message saying everything was fine. Except he was late. He texted two hours after landing and apologized for it.

Apologized. Right.

He said his mum had been worried sick and that he’d had to send her a photo with his engineer just to prove he was alive. Oh, yes he’d been late texting her too. Which, in all the unnecessary explanations he insisted on giving, basically meant he had texted you right after replying to his own mother.

You knew how much Kimi adored her.

You were trying not to let that go to your head.

The following days passed silently. You didn’t hear from Kimi as often because he had a lot to do: interviews, team videos to film, birthdays coming up that required him to record something thoughtful, photoshoots, and pre-season preparations in general. And you were busy in your own way too. University was coming up. You had to study twice as hard if you wanted to get into that specific one you had dreamed about since you were very young.

But he still showed up.

Kimi was there — in the messages you read a little too late because of the time difference, in the photos of odd little things he found around the paddock, in the selfies he sent covered in silly filters. And you sent things back too.

The bubble grew so comfortable that, before you realized it, you had settled into it.

With time, he became just… Kimi. Even from the other side of the world. Even knowing he was there, racing in one of the most expensive sports on the planet.

He called you two weeks later.

You were still asleep when you heard your phone ringing. Annoyed, you reached out to grab it and bring it closer to your face to see who could possibly be calling. And then you saw his name on the screen. You almost declined it. If it had been anyone else, you probably would have.

But you answered.

It was a video call. Kimi appeared in all his effortlessly beautiful glory, Mercedes cap on and that constant smile that seemed permanently etched onto his face. You, however, had your camera turned off — and he noticed immediately.

“Ehi, buongiorno! What is happening? Where are you? Why is the camera off?”

You let out an irritated groan.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“My God, your voice… I woke you up?” Kimi asked, his voice softening instantly.

“What do you think?” you muttered.

Kimi let out a laugh and glanced upward, away from the camera, answering someone nearby. It didn’t take more than two seconds before his attention returned to you.

“Okay, doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m about to get in the car for testing, and if I don’t see your face now, I’ll have very bad luck and the car will crash. The fans will know it was your fault.”

“They will? You’re going to tell them?” you asked.

He looked momentarily surprised by your answer. A good kind of surprised.

“You get quite mouthy when the camera’s off, don’t you?” he said, amused. “Let’s see if that attitude survives once I actually see your face. Come on.”

You rubbed your face and sat up in bed, yawning audibly. It took you a moment to fully wake up, running a hand through your hair until it looked at least somewhat presentable.

“You’re very annoying,” you said. A lie, of course.

He dragged his tongue slowly across his lips and nodded in approval. With a long sigh, you finally switched the camera on.

“There she is.” he said, his face lighting up at the sight of you. “I really did wake you up, look at you. Che carina.”

Your face turned red, and you buried it against the pillow beside you. Kimi burst out laughing. He was clearly having far too much fun with your reactions.

“Stop,” you said.

“Stop what?”

“That.”

“I’m literally walking toward the Mercedes motorhome. I can’t stop.”

“Very funny. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You looked back at his face, brushing the strands of hair away from your eyes only to be met with his smile again. You were starting to suspect this call didn’t actually have any real reason to be happening.

Your stomach flipped.

“Is Kimi talking to someone?” you heard a strong British accent ask from somewhere behind him — somewhere you couldn’t see.

He shot a quick glance toward the voice, but before he could stop whoever it was from approaching, an arm wrapped around Kimi’s shoulders and George Russell’s face suddenly appeared on screen, curious and openly amused.

“Oh! It’s a girl!” he announced. Not to the camera, but to the nearby team members. Then he turned back to Kimi, who quickly lowered the phone, leaving you staring at nothing but a section of his T-shirt. “Your girlfriend?”

“Mate, give me a second. We’ll talk later,” Kimi replied, his tone noticeably different from the confident one you were used to hearing.

He sounded… shy.

“Aaaah, so it is your girlfriend,” George teased.

“She’s not my girlfriend…” Kimi said, uncertainty slipping into his voice.

“Yet,” the voice called from farther away, as if George had already walked off.

The tips of your ears burned red when Kimi lifted the phone back toward his face. And it wasn’t just your ears that were red: Andrea Kimi Antonelli’s entire face was flushed too.

He cleared his throat.

“Sorry about him.”

“Oh, it’s okay.”

“He’s an idiot.”

You laughed.

“He seems nice, though.”

Kimi smiled.

“He is. He just likes to mess with people.”

Your laughter faded into a small smile, almost matching his. Then Kimi glanced away from the phone, finally coming to a stop, clicking his tongue softly.

“I should go. Duty calls.” His attention drifted back to the screen. “Are you going back to sleep?”

You shrugged, letting out a fake sigh of annoyance.

“I don’t know. Someone kind of ruined my peaceful morning.”

“Ah, mi dispiace.” He didn’t sound sorry at all.

“Bye, Kimi,” you said, biting your lower lip to hold back your smile.

He looked at the screen for a second longer.

“Bye, carina,” Kimi said, then ended the call, leaving you with every butterfly in the world fluttering in your stomach.

Five minutes later, he sent another message:

Ah! I forgot to tell you. You and your sister need to stop by my mum’s house later to sort something out for the wedding. I told her I was going to call you, and she asked me to let you know.

You smiled to yourself in your room, your phone resting on your chest, because he had actually had a perfectly legitimate reason to call you and had simply forgotten.

Cute. Cute. Cute. Cute. Ugh, cute.

Somehow, in a way completely beyond your understanding, Kimi had managed to get time off from pre-season testing with only two weeks left before the first Grand Prix of the year just to attend his cousin’s wedding.

Before, you hadn’t realized what that truly meant. Now you did. For a Formula 1 driver, days reserved for family were almost a luxury, yet Kimi talked about it as if it had taken no effort at all to convince the people in the garage — as if being there had always been the obvious choice.

It was incredible.

You didn’t saw him when he arrived, even though you knew exactly when it happened because he had told you. You knew he was having a serious problem with his tie and that “you would be a great help in solving this situation, but he wasn’t going to force anything because you were busy being the bride’s sister” — his words. You knew when he made it to the reception, and just how handsome he looked, because he sent you a photo that nearly made you lose track of all your responsibilities that afternoon.

Only fifteen minutes before leaving the room where your sister was finishing getting ready for the best day of her life did you finally feel panic threaten to swallow you whole.

You stopped. Just… stopped. Your breathing came out uneven, your body refusing to respond the way it should. The anxiety was strong enough to make your stomach ache.

Through the mirror, your sister noticed you. She was already ready — spectacular, so beautiful you wouldn’t even know where to begin describing her — and definitely the person who actually had every reason to be nervous. And she was. Still, the moment she saw the slight tremor in your body, she stood up to help you.

“What is it, shorty?” she asked, cupping your face gently between her perfectly done hands.

Your eyes refocused and met hers.

“I think he’s waiting for me downstairs,” you admitted, biting the inside of your cheek.

The smile she gave you was so sweet it nearly gave you a sugar rush. Her laugh was just as soft, like she couldn’t quite believe that was your problem.

“You’re more nervous than I am, you know that? And it’s my wedding.” She sighed, her fingers brushing affectionately along the side of your face before settling on your shoulders. “Go talk to him before the ceremony starts. Kimi’s just a silly boy. I’ve seen him throw socks at the man I’m about to marry, a grown adult. They’re all ridiculous. Don’t let yourself be intimidated by those idiots.”

You let out a nervous laugh and lifted your hand to touch hers. The smile lingered as you thought about what your sister had said, turning her words over in your mind. Slowly, the smile faded, a small crease forming between your brows as you clearly drifted into thought. The sudden change made your sister’s expression shift into concern.

“What if he hugs me?” you asked, almost in a frightened whisper, as if that alone were something dangerous, something forbidden.

Her expression dropped instantly before she rolled her eyes. The hands resting on your shoulders turned purposeful as she spun you around and started pushing you toward the door. You let out a startled, “Wait! Hey!” but she had already grabbed the handle and pulled it open.

“You’re going to do me a favor and go talk to that boy right now! I need my own panic moment in peace. Go!”

Before you could protest, the door closed in front you with a soft click.

“She’s quite intense, isn’t she?” he said from behind, his voice lightly amused, a hint of laughter tucked into the words.

Oh, no. No. No. Oh my God, no.

You froze, still standing there with your back turned to Kimi.

“How much… um, how much of that conversation did you hear?” you asked, your fists clenched at your sides.

Footsteps. Getting closer. Oh no.

“That last part. The one suggesting there’s a boy you didn’t want to talk to… was that me?”

His voice was so close now. You could feel his presence behind you.

“No. It wasn’t you,” you answered quietly.

“Oh. So there’s another guy I should be worried about, then.”

“No! I mean… no…” You hurried to correct yourself, words tangling together. “It was you. Just… not like that.”

You didn’t see it, but the corner of his mouth curved into an amused smile.

Kimi took another step closer. Close enough now that you could feel the warmth of him at your back. Close enough that your heart felt one beat away from escaping your chest altogether.

“How was it, then?” he asked, more quietly.

You swallowed hard but didn’t answer. Kimi bit his lower lip, thoughtful for a moment, as if weighing a decision, and then he made up his mind. He placed his hands gently at your waist, and you felt electricity rush from your head all the way down to your feet.

“Can I turn you around?” he asked softly. “I want to see you. Your dress.”

You let out a shaky breath, worrying the skin of your upper lip between your teeth before finally nodding.

His fingers tightened slightly at your waist, and you instinctively closed your eyes. Slowly, carefully, Kimi turned you until you were facing him.

Your eyes stayed shut.

He laughed, a boyish sound, tipping his head back for a second in disbelief.

“You’re really not going to look at me?”

“No…”

“That hurts my feelings,” he said lightly. “Do you think I’m ugly?”

“No! No—”

A strand of hair had fallen across your face; he reached up and gently brushed it away from your eyes, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Then open your eyes,” he murmured. “Look at me.”

Slowly, you did.

Your knees nearly gave out.

Oh my God, he was beautiful. Truly, unfairly beautiful. His smile, his eyes, the softness of his cheeks. Those stupid eyebrows lifting again just to tease you.

You dropped your gaze almost immediately, but his hand moved to your chin, guiding your face back up until your eyes met his again.

“You’re torturing me,” you whispered.

“Oh, so you do think I’m ugly,” he said, the smile never leaving his face.

“Shut up.”

He laughed softly.

Then silence fell, charged, impossibly fragile as the two of you simply looked at each other.

His gaze flickered briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.

“I could kiss you right now,” he said quietly.

Your eyes widened.

A beat passed.

“But I won’t.”

You weren’t sure whether you felt relieved or completely, hopelessly doomed — and he noticed.

His hand slipped away from your waist only to find yours instead, his fingers threading gently through yours.

“At some point tonight,” he said, “I’m going to kiss you. And it’ll be a surprise. You won’t see it coming.”

Still holding your hand, he stepped back slightly. His gaze traveled slowly from your head to your feet, and suddenly you became painfully aware of everything: the way you were standing, your dress, your hands, your breathing.

But he looked… awestruck.

Kimi drew in a deep breath and let out a quiet hiss.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s unfair.”

Then he tugged you gently toward the exit.

The wedding was ruined.

Not properly, of course. Everything unfolded exactly as it should: your sister was still the most beautiful woman in the room, and you cried appropriately (excessively, actually) when she finally walked down the aisle. The groom looked at her as if she were the only woman in the universe, exactly as he should, and the ceremony was beautiful.

While you stood at the front, Kimi was beside you, both of you witnessing one of the most important moments in their lives. He looked genuinely moved, repeatedly lifting a finger to his eyes to brush away falling tears, far more discreetly than you.

When it was over, your sister raised the bouquet for photos and was quickly pulled into a kiss that bordered on excessive. Everyone applauded, celebrated, and embraced one another — perfection. It was the most beautiful wedding you had ever attended.

And it would have remained perfect, just as it had been planned from the very beginning, if not for one small interruption: the memory of Kimi’s voice. At some point tonight I’m going to kiss you. And it’ll be a surprise. You won’t see it coming. The words lingered over every quiet moment, impossible to ignore — and having him standing right beside you did nothing to calm the feeling.

Before the two of you walked down to join the reception, you lifted your eyes only to find his already fixed on you. Warmth rushed to your cheeks. He smiled soft, knowing and headed downstairs ahead of you.

The dance began, and you stood beside a pillar with a stolen little dessert in hand, watching the newlyweds spin across the dance floor. Your sister looked so genuinely happy that you couldn’t help the soft smile resting on your face, your head tilted slightly to the side as you watched her.

She deserved to be loved like that — completely, devotedly, breathtakingly. Nothing could have made you happier than seeing her that way.

The music drifted softly through the room, warm and golden, wrapping itself around laughter, clinking glasses, and conversations that overlapped into a comfortable blur. For a moment, you allowed yourself to simply exist there — unnoticed, safe behind the pillar, watching love unfold from a distance.

You took another bite of the dessert, barely tasting it.

At some point tonight.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, eyes still fixed on your sister as she laughed mid-spin, her dress catching the light with every turn.

Focus. This isn’t about you. This is her day.

You cleared your throat, as if that alone could convince you that you were fully present, appreciating what you were supposed to be appreciating: the beautiful solemnity of witnessing a love so strong it had to be made official, announced to the world.

You liked weddings. A lot. You wanted to get married someday too. You just didn’t know when that would happen, obviously — especially considering you didn’t even have a boyfriend who could… you know… propose… or—

Your train of thought derailed completely.

Because somehow, your traitorous brain teamed up with your equally traitorous eyes, and together they landed on Kimi across the reception, laughing with his cousins on the other side of the room.

Kimi stood in the middle of a conversation he seemed deeply invested in. There were animated hand gestures, frequent nodding, a lot of “yeah, yeah, yeah” slipping into the discussion. You could tell he genuinely liked the people around him.

None of that stopped you from noticing other things.

His tie was slightly crooked, apparently still losing its battle. The subtle tension along his jaw whenever he clearly wanted to say something but was politely waiting for the other person to finish. And his eyes.

Which shifted focus the very next second.

Toward you.

When your gazes met, his expression changed instantly — as if he had been waiting for you to notice him. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Not teasing.

Not smug.

Just… fond.

Your stomach flipped so suddenly you nearly dropped the dessert in your hand. When you lifted your eyes to find him again, Kimi was no longer there.

Oh, no. Oh, no. No.

Your gaze swept across the room, searching instinctively, as if spotting him first might somehow prepare you for whatever he was about to do. Without thinking, you set your plate onto a passing waiter’s tray and turned quickly to keep looking.

Thud.

Your hands collided with something solid — a firm wall of very well-trained muscle belonging unmistakably to driver number twelve. Perfect timing. Almost suspiciously perfect.

Your shoulders pulled inward as you instinctively stepped back, just one step.

But Kimi’s hand closed gently around your elbow before you could go any farther.

“I want to show you something,” he said simply.

“You do? What is it?” you asked, still trying to steady your breathing.

“The maze out back. The garden.”

You blinked. “You want to take me to the maze? Just you and me?”

He laughed softly, like the answer was obvious.

“That’s the idea.”

Oh, no.

You drew in a slow breath, suddenly very aware of how close he was standing.

“You look scared,” he observed, amusement slipping gently into his voice.

“Me? Scared?” you said, a little too loudly. “No. Uh-uh. We should absolutely go to this… this… maze. Just you and me.”

He narrowed his eyes, clearly seconds away from laughing, his teeth catching his lower lip as he tried, and failed, to look serious.

Smug idiot.

Then he took your hand.

Smug. Idiot.

“You’re shaking a little,” he said, tilting his head, thumb brushing lightly over your fingers. “Cold?”

Smug. Idiot. He knew exactly what it was.

“Mm-hmm,” you murmured, barely parting your lips. Words were failing you at the moment.

Oh, God. He was leading you through the crowd, past people giving you that look — the unmistakable one that said they knew exactly what was going on and were fully rooting for it.

“Give me a minute,” he said casually. “I’ll warm you up. We just need somewhere a bit more private.”

Excuse me?! Your grip tightened around his hand, and Kimi laughed immediately.

“Wow, that came out terrible,” he said. “I meant my suit jacket. I’m lending it to you. I swear I’m normal.”

You took a deep breath. A very deep breath. This was actually happening. Andrea Kimi Antonelli was leading you by the hand toward the maze, his intentions suspiciously ambiguous, while your heart felt so tightly squeezed it almost hurt.

You hadn’t known it was possible to be this nervous.

As you passed beneath the archway, your eyes followed the leaves overhead. You had walked through there earlier in the day with your sister, seen the place in daylight — but it felt completely different now. Not just because of the lighting, breathtaking under the night sky, or the stone sculptures that gave everything a faintly mystical atmosphere, but because of the situation. Because of what the moment meant.

Kimi guided you toward the bench. Before either of you sat down, he loosened his tie, slipping it off without looking at you — his gaze fixed on the entrance as if making sure no one would interrupt. Then he turned back to you, tucking the fabric neatly into his pocket.

He smiled.

You blinked.

Oh.

Suddenly, you remembered school. Every time you had sighed when he walked past you in the hallway. All those chaotic mornings when he entered the classroom with his friends — loud, unmistakably boys, always seconds away from announcing something ridiculous.

The corners of your notebooks with his name written at the top. The silly games you and your friends used to play — who are you going to be happy with forever? — and every time it landed on Andrea Kimi Antonelli, you clapped like it was the revelation of the year.

You used to watch him from afar. The boy on the rise. So untouchable. So handsome. So… so many things.

You swallowed hard.

Kimi noticed.

“Hey. What is it?” he asked gently, draping his suit jacket around your shoulders.

His scent was everywhere now, and you needed an extra second just to steady yourself through it. God, you liked that smell.

“I… was thinking,” you admitted.

“Oh no,” Kimi said playfully.

You laughed, and a half-smile tugged at his mouth in response.

Then you looked up at him again. He waited patiently, giving you his full attention, ready to hear whatever you were about to say.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of getting my heart really, really broken.”

“Fair,” he said softly.

You hesitated, gathering courage you weren’t entirely sure you possessed.

“Because I’ve liked you for… for a very long time,” you said, your voice coming out small and fragile. “And if what we’re doing here is just… just this… you need to tell me.”

Your breathing felt uneven. Saying those words had taken everything out of you, and Kimi seemed to understand that. He watched you carefully, like someone choosing his next words with care.

“I don’t want it to be just this,” he said softly. “Really… I don’t.” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I like you. A lot. I thought maybe I was being obvious, but… maybe not enough. And maybe I arrived a little late compared to you, but… I cannot stop thinking about it.”

His hand lifted, gently catching a single strand of your hair between his fingers, absentmindedly playing with it.

“But?” you asked, already bracing yourself.

Kimi shook his head.

“No but,” he said quietly. “It’s simple for me. I like what we have. I don’t want it to end. I don’t think I could just… go back to before.”

You swallowed.

“But you’ve seen my routine. You know being a driver comes with… things. And being the… girlfriend…” He cleared his throat, suddenly shy. “The girlfriend of a driver, she has to deal with… Well, it comes with things.”

You nodded and stepped closer, closing the distance between you.

“I think… we could try,” you said softly. “Not everything right now. But we can start.”

You looked up at him.

“Okay?”

Kimi lifted his gaze to meet yours. He didn’t answer, but his eyes moved slowly across your face, as if mapping every detail. You didn’t interrupt him — you simply watched, feeling the anxiety begin to creep back in.

And then his lips were on yours.

Just like that. Sudden.

You didn’t even register the moment Kimi leaned in to kiss you.

It didn’t last long. He pulled back just enough to look at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay,” he finally murmured. “I told you I’d catch you by surprise.”

You laughed. Silly boy. The warmth of his lips still lingered against yours.

He lifted his hands, gently cradling your face just to look at you again — that soft, boyish smile you’d already learned you were helpless against. And then… he wiggled both eyebrows.

“Stop doing that,” you said, sticking your tongue out at him as if your heart wasn’t currently dancing wildly inside your chest.

He rolled his eyes playfully and pulled you closer by your cheeks.

This time, when his lips met yours, his arms slipped around your waist, drawing you in — and you finally… gave in.

Your eyes closed.

So did his.

Your hand found the back of his shirt before you even realized it, fingers curling into the fabric as if you needed something solid to hold onto. He pulled you closer in response, arms tightening around you as the kiss deepened, gently guiding your head to tilt toward his.

Would it be cliché to say it felt like fireworks were going off above you?

“Do you hear that?” he murmured against your lips.

You opened your eyes — only to gasp softly when you saw fireworks bursting across the sky overhead, actual fireworks, bright and undeniable, not just something your overwhelmed heart had invented.

“Oh my God. I thought that was just in my head,” you admitted without thinking.

Kimi pulled a smug little pout.

“Am I really that good at kissing?”

You rolled your eyes, ready with a comeback, but he kissed you again between a laugh before you could say a word. A warm, tender kiss — full of affection and the quiet promise of a happily-ever-after that had once felt unreal in childhood but somehow now belonged to you.

Andrea Kimi Antonelli might one day be remembered as one of Formula One’s next great legends. But there, on an ordinary night wrapped inside an extraordinary day, he was just your boy.

MELBOURNE, MEDIA DAY (Australian GP) — 2026.

No one knew you were there yet. Not even him.

All you knew was that the past few days had been chaotic — managing to secure paddock access much later than you should have, with tickets nearly sold out, scrambling to find a hotel and a last-minute flight, and still having to adjust to the completely unhinged time zone of that country.

It was a lot.

Even so, on the morning of media day, you had already landed — and after only a few hours of sleep, you were in an Uber on your way to the circuit, your anxiety growing with every turn the car made.

You kept wondering what Kimi would say. Would he be surprised? Would he be annoyed? How were you even supposed to introduce yourself? Were you his friend? Someone he knew? Or… could you actually say what you really were?

Had anyone in the garage even heard about you yet?

You had absolutely no idea.

When you stepped out of the car and thanked the driver goodbye, your stomach very nearly filed an official complaint.

You knew he was in the cafeteria having lunch, and you also knew you’d have to get past security to reach the Mercedes facilities. That part scared you too, because if you weren’t welcomed there, a very real possibility, your entire surprise plan would fall apart on the spot.

Still, you made it through the turnstiles with your paddock pass and suddenly… you were there.

There was so much to take in. So many colors, so much movement: drivers walking past toward their motorhomes dressed in their team merch, others stopped for interviews, surrounded by journalists carefully kept at a distance by security. The place buzzed with energy, crowded and alive in a way that made everything feel bigger than you had imagined.

For a few seconds, you fidgeted with the strap of your bag, turning slowly in place as you looked around, completely lost. There were no signs pointing toward the cafeteria or the Mercedes area, but you figured you’d just keep searching.

That was the problem with doing things without a plan.

A security guard approached, clearly noticing your confusion, stopping at a polite distance.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

You blinked, startled, then quickly held up your access pass.

“I’m looking for the Mercedes facilities. I…” you said, glancing around uncertainly. “I’m… acquainted with Kimi Antonelli.”

Ah, yes. Very convincing. Excellent delivery. Truly flawless.

Of course, he looked at you suspiciously, one eyebrow lifting. Maybe you should show him the photos on your phone? Would he even believe them? With AI these days, you doubted it.

“Yeah, alright. Sure. This way,” he said, already gesturing for you to follow him in the opposite direction.

“Hey! I am telling the truth!” you protested, hurrying after him.

He didn’t even spare you another glance, simply continuing forward while making sure you stayed close behind him.

For nearly an hour, they left you waiting in the public paddock courtyard — without your phone, without your bag, completely alone while they carried out the standard security check. Apparently, showing up at the paddock with a specific driver’s name on your lips qualified as a crime of the highest order and had to be handled with maximum seriousness.

On one hand, you were oddly relieved it meant Kimi was safe. On the other, it was incredibly frustrating to stand there unable to send him even a single message to explain the mess you had somehow gotten yourself into. At last, you were pulled out of your momentary trance when you felt a light poke just behind your ear.

“I think you let them take this,” a familiar voice said right behind you, your bag swinging lightly in his hand.

With an enormous, inevitable smile, you jumped up from the bench and threw yourself into his arms. Kimi let out a warm, surprised laugh as he hugged you back, dropping your bag onto the table beside him.

“What are you doing here?!” he asked, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands, as if he needed to make sure you were actually real.

But you didn’t say anything. You were too busy looking down at him — at the team kit, at the sight of him standing there in his Mercedes colors, dizzy from that unmistakable scent you were no longer satisfied experiencing only through the sweatshirt you had stolen from him.

You hugged him again, hiding your face in the curve of his neck.

“You’re so handsome. This feels like a dream,” you murmured, and he laughed softly once more.

Kimi gently ran a hand through your hair, resting his head lightly against yours.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you admitted, “but security didn’t believe me. Not even when I answered your favorite sock color.”

“That’s a very strange question. What kind of interrogation was that?” he said, amused.

You laughed and pressed a quick kiss to his chin.

“Thank you for coming to get me.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back, lacing your fingers together and picking up your bag so he could carry it himself, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Always.”

“Now let’s get you somewhere actually decent. It’s ridiculously hot out here.” He glanced at you, already guiding you forward. “And after media day, I’m having a word with that security guy. Nobody leaves my girlfriend waiting.”

Girlfriend.

Okay.

Hehe.

You hid your smile behind your free hand and let him lead you wherever he wanted to go.

[threeinchminimum]

like real people do, 16 "root of all evil" (kimi antonelli x reader)

warnings swearing wc 3.6k ignore timestamps taglist is open

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Lunch in C-302 always carried a certain texture to it.

The scrape of metal chair legs against the floor, along with the soft snap of lunchbox clasps, the faint hum of the electric fan rotating overhead, blades cutting through warm midday air. Someone in the hallway shouted, laughter echoing off the tiled walls outside, and the sound slipped in through the open door like a draft.

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows on the left side of the room, landing in soft rectangles across the desks. Dust particles floated in the beams, drifting lazily as if they had nowhere else to be.

Most of the class had already settled into their lunch routines. Franco and Liam were at the back, hunched over Franco’s phone, watching some video that made Liam burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter every few seconds. Megan sat across from them, legs tucked under her chair, chewing slowly while scrolling through her feed. Every now and then, she’d look up just long enough to toss in a comment that made the boys groan or protest.

Near the front, by the windows, you and Kimi sat side by side, your chairs pushed slightly closer together than the rest, the way they always were.

It had started as something practical. Somewhere along the way, the gap between your desks had disappeared, until it felt strange when there was even a few inches of space between them.

Now, the closeness felt different, like the air between your shoulders carried something unsaid.

Your eyes hovered over the page, but they weren’t really reading. Every few seconds, your gaze would drift toward the window, toward the door, toward nothing in particular. Then you’d blink and refocus, tracing the same paragraph again like you were trying to memorize it through sheer persistence.

Beside you, Kimi’s notebook lay open. His pencil rested lightly in his fingers, the tip touching the margin of the page. He looked like he was deep in thought, brows slightly drawn, posture bent forward just enough to look engaged.

But the page was still blank.

He tapped the pencil once. Twice. Then again, in a quiet, steady rhythm. Not loud enough to be annoying—just enough to give his hands something to do.

Every now and then, he’d glance sideways. Not fully turning his head. Just a small shift of his eyes, like he was checking the time.

Each time, he’d find you reading. Or pretending to.

And each time, he’d look back down at his notebook.

The air between you wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t stiff or hostile. It just felt… careful. Like both of you were walking across a floor you weren’t sure would hold your weight.

From across the room, Isack noticed.

He had just dropped into the seat beside Ollie near the door, his lunch barely touched. His eyes moved around the classroom, taking in the usual chaos of lunch period until they landed on you and Kimi.

He watched for a moment.

You reached for your water bottle, twisting the cap open. Your elbow brushed lightly against Kimi’s arm. It was nothing. Barely even contact.

Still, you pulled your arm back, muttering a soft, “Sorry.”

Kimi shook his head quickly. “It’s okay.”

Then silence again.

Isack exhaled through his nose. “Fuck, man, look at them,” he murmured.

Ollie followed his gaze.

He didn’t need long to understand what Isack meant. The tension wasn’t dramatic or obvious. It was quiet. Subtle. The kind of thing you’d only notice if you were looking for it.

But once you saw it, it was impossible to ignore.

“They’re trying too hard to act normal,” Isack continued under his breath. “It’s painful.”

Ollie didn’t answer right away. His fingers tightened slightly around the edge of his sandwich.

Across the room, you turned a page in your book. The movement was slow, deliberate, like you were making sure the paper didn’t crinkle too loudly.

Kimi adjusted his notebook, aligning it with the edge of the desk. Then he adjusted it again, even though it was already straight.

Ollie swallowed. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

Isack leaned back in his chair, letting it tilt onto its back legs. The movement made it creak faintly.

“I hate this,” he muttered.

“Then you shouldn’t have posted that confession,” Ollie said.

Isack winced. “I know, okay? I know.”

He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it until it stuck up unevenly. For someone usually so loud and carefree, he looked strangely restless.

“I thought it’d just… nudge things,” he said. “Push them to talk. Maybe get Kimi to finally say something. I didn’t think it’d spiral into this whole—” he gestured vaguely toward the room “—fucking emotional disaster.”

Ollie kept his eyes on you and Kimi.

Kimi had finally written something down. Just one line. Then he stopped again, staring at the words like he wasn’t sure they belonged there.

You closed your book and rested your chin lightly on your palm, eyes drifting toward the window. The sunlight caught in your hair, softening the edges of your profile.

For a second, you looked peaceful.

Then your expression shifted, and the tiredness underneath showed again.

Ollie sighed. “We can’t undo it,” he said. “What’s done is done.”

“Yeah,” Isack muttered. “But we can fix what happens next.”

Ollie glanced at him. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Isack’s eyes flicked to you and Kimi again. He studied the space between your shoulders. The way your chairs were close, but your bodies were angled slightly away from each other.

“By getting them alone,” he said.

Ollie immediately shook his head. “No.”

“Just listen—”

“No,” Ollie repeated. “Every time someone gets ‘alone’ with someone lately, it turns into some emotional breakdown or almost-kiss situation. I’m not adding fuel to that fire.”

Isack frowned, thinking. Then he leaned closer.

“What if it’s not dramatic?” he said. “What if it’s just… normal? Something small like running an errand together.”

Ollie didn’t respond.

Isack’s eyes lit up like a switch had flipped in his brain. “Wait. You and Y/N are supposed to go prop shopping after school, right?”

Ollie’s expression changed. “Isack.”

“You’re the props lead,” Isack continued, ignoring the warning tone. “And Kimi’s your assistant.”

Ollie stared at him.

“You’re not seriously suggesting what I think you’re suggesting,” he said.

Isack spread his hands. “I’m just saying. If something suddenly came up—something very important—and you couldn’t go…”

Ollie groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You want me to send Kimi in my place.”

“Delegate,” Isack corrected.

“That is the same thing.”

Isack shrugged. “But it works.”

Ollie stayed quiet. Across the room, you stretched your arms above your head, shoulders rolling back. The movement was slow, almost sleepy. Kimi noticed immediately, his eyes flicking toward you before he forced them back down again.

You caught the movement anyway.

For a second, your eyes met.

You looked away first, reaching for your lunchbox to close it.

Ollie watched the exchange, something heavy settling in his chest.

“They look miserable,” Isack said quietly.

Ollie nodded. “All of them.”

“Exactly,” Isack said. “So we got to do this.”

Ollie hesitated.

He thought about you, trying so hard to stay composed. About Kimi, who looked like he was constantly choosing his words even when he wasn’t speaking. About Gabriel, who had been quieter than usual these past few days.

“What if it makes things worse?” Ollie asked.

Isack didn’t answer right away. He just watched you and Kimi for a moment.

“Then we stop,” he said finally. “But right now? They’re stuck. And nothing’s changing. Come on, Ollie, you know Y/N likes him and not—you know!”

Ollie sighed.

Across the room, you stood up, brushing imaginary crumbs off your skirt. Megan waved you over, saying something about rehearsal schedules. You nodded and started walking toward the door.

As you passed by your shared desk, you paused beside Kimi.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Don’t forget—after class, we’re meeting about the new props list.”

Kimi looked up, startled. “Oh. Right. Yeah. I remember.”

You gave a small nod. “Good.”

It was a simple exchange. Normal. Casual.

But when you left, the space beside him suddenly felt too empty.

Kimi stared at your chair for a second before looking back down at his notebook.

Still just one line written.

From near the door, Isack leaned toward Ollie again.

“See?” he whispered. “They just need time.”

Ollie exhaled slowly.

He hated the idea of meddling. Hated the thought of pushing people where they weren’t ready to go.

But he also hated watching his friends slowly drift into silence.

“…I’ll think about it,” he muttered.

Isack’s mouth curled into a small, satisfied grin. “That’s basically a yes.”

“It’s not,” Ollie said. “It’s a maybe.”

Isack leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself.

The classroom felt smaller than usual after lunch. You sat beside Kimi, as always.

The arrangement had become instinctive. Your chair angled slightly toward his, your shared table bearing the quiet evidence of collaboration: a notebook with your precise handwriting stacked atop his messier scrawl, a ruler, three different highlighters, and the folded prop list Ollie had revised twice already. Your elbows almost touched whenever you leaned forward. Sometimes they did.

You told yourself you didn’t notice.

Across the room, Ollie had been watching.

He wasn’t obvious about it. He rarely was. But he leaned back in his chair more than usual, fingers drumming absentmindedly against the edge of his desk while his gaze flickered between you and Kimi in calculated intervals. Isack sat beside him, unusually quiet, eyes forward, pretending to be deeply invested in the teacher’s explanation of post-war political transitions.

The truth was, neither of them were listening.

Because Ollie had already set something in motion.

The idea had formed that morning—half born out of guilt, half out of something softer. Watching you carry yourself with such measured calm lately, watching how careful Kimi had become around you, how his shoulders subtly straightened whenever you spoke, how his attention sharpened like a compass aligning north—Ollie had decided he needed to interfere.

The teacher dismissed the class ten minutes early for independent study. The room erupted into the low hum of shifting chairs and half-conversations. Some students stood to stretch. Others stayed seated, phones immediately appearing from pockets like reflex.

You flipped a page in your book—an annotated copy of the script, margins dense with notes in different ink colors. Your handwriting was neat, deliberate, and angled slightly right. Kimi leaned closer without meaning to, his forearm brushing yours.

He didn’t move away.

Instead, he followed the direction of your pen as you underlined a line in Act Two.

“I think this beat needs a pause,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “Half a second longer.”

Kimi nodded immediately. “Yeah. It’ll land better.”

His voice was soft but sure. He didn’t overstep. He never did. He waited for your cues, responded when invited, watched carefully but never intrusively. There was something grounding about it.

Across the room, Ollie straightened.

He stood abruptly, stretching his arms overhead in an exaggerated yawn. “Director!” he called lightly.

You glanced up, blinking.

“Yes?”

He walked over, sliding into the empty seat in front of your desk backward so his arms rested over the backrest. He gave you a sheepish grin.

“So. About the additional props list.”

You frowned slightly. “What about it?”

“Well.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I double-checked storage inventory. We’re still short on a few small things.”

You instinctively reached for your notebook. “Which ones?”

“Vintage pocket watch. Two extra silk gloves. Replacement lace fabric for Martha’s dress.” He listed them too smoothly.

You nodded, already making notes. “We can check the supply room.”

Ollie shook his head quickly. “Checked. Nothing usable. We’ll have to buy them.”

You paused.

“That’s fine,” you said. “We have budget clearance.”

“Right,” Ollie agreed, nodding. “So you should go.”

You blinked. “I should?”

“Yeah.” He gestured vaguely. “Director approval and all that.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “You’re the props lead.”

He coughed. “Technically.”

Kimi shifted beside you, glancing between the two of you.

You folded your arms. “Ollie.”

He held up his hands defensively. “Okay, okay. I have—” He hesitated for half a second too long. “—a council document thing. After class.”

You stared at him.

“I wasn’t aware.”

“Yeah, well, I actually just heard it from Sophia, and I wanted to help,” he said quickly.

“With what?”

“Paperwork.”

You continued staring.

From across the room, Isack looked like he might actually burst from the effort of not laughing.

Kimi, meanwhile, was quietly observing.

Your expression softened into something unimpressed but not confrontational. “Fine,” you said finally. “When?”

“After school,” Ollie replied immediately, relief flooding his voice. “Before rehearsal.”

You nodded once. “I’ll go.”

“And take—” Ollie glanced at Kimi deliberately. “—the assistant props lead.”

Kimi straightened instinctively.

You looked at him, then back at Ollie. “Kimi?”

“Yeah,” Ollie said casually. “He knows the dimensions and measurements better than anyone.”

That part wasn’t even a lie. You considered it for a moment. It made sense. “Okay,” you agreed.

Kimi blinked. “Oh.” You turned to him. “Is that fine?”

His throat felt oddly dry. “Yeah. Of course.” Ollie beamed. Perfect.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the free period. Students began filing out for their next class. You gathered your things neatly, sliding your script into your bag.

Kimi did the same, though less gracefully—his pencil rolled off the table and you caught it before it hit the floor.

Your fingers brushed when you handed it back.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

You nodded once.

The hallway outside C-302 was crowded, footsteps echoing against tiled floors. Lockers slammed. Someone laughed too loudly near the staircase. The late afternoon light cast long shadows across the corridor, stretching silhouettes thin and gold. You walked side by side.

“Do you have a specific store in mind?” Kimi asked after a few steps.

“There’s a fabric shop near the corner bookstore,” you replied. “And a vintage stall beside it.”

He nodded. “I know it.” Of course he did. Behind you, Ollie slowed his pace deliberately so you and Kimi would move ahead first. Isack fell into step beside him. “You’re unbelievable,” Isack muttered under his breath. Ollie grinned. “Trust the process.”

“You don’t even have a process.”

“I absolutely do.” Isack rolled his eyes, but there was something softer in his expression now. Something almost hopeful. Ahead, you adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

Kimi noticed the small crease forming between your brows. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

You blinked, surprised. “Yeah.”

“You looked… distracted.” You hesitated for half a second. Then shook your head gently. “Just thinking about rehearsal pacing.” He nodded slowly. He didn’t push. That was what you appreciated most, though you might not have consciously realized it.

The afternoon passed quickly. Lectures blurred into one another. Notes were taken. Assignments assigned. The usual rhythm of weekday routine.

But beneath it, something else hummed quietly: anticipation.

When the final bell rang, you packed your bag methodically. Outside the classroom windows, the sky had shifted into early evening hues—soft orange bleeding into pale blue. The air would be cooler now. The streets are busier.

You glanced at him once. “Ready?”

The late afternoon air felt different outside the school gates.

The campus always held a kind of structured tension. But once you stepped beyond the gates, the noise dissolved into something softer. You adjusted your bag strap again, scanning the street before stepping off the curb.

Kimi stayed half a step behind you. When a motorcycle sped past too close to the pedestrian lane, his hand instinctively hovered near your elbow. He didn’t touch you. He just stayed close enough to steady you if needed.

The fabric shop was three blocks down, tucked between a narrow bookstore and a photocopy center with peeling signage. The bell above the shop door chimed softly when you pushed it open.

The inside smelled like new cloth and faint perfume. Bolts of fabric lined the walls in towering columns, colors stacked in gradients like carefully arranged paint swatches. Warm yellow lighting cast everything in a gentle glow.

You exhaled slowly.

“I love this place,” you murmured.

Kimi stepped in behind you, letting the door swing shut. “It’s quiet.” You hummed softly, already scanning the shelves. He watched you instead.

There was something about the way you entered spaces, as if you absorbed the room before allowing yourself to fully exist in it.

You pulled the folded prop list from your bag, smoothing it out on the counter near the entrance.

“Lace fabric first,” you said. “Off-white. Not too bright.”

Kimi nodded and moved toward the left wall, where lighter fabrics were displayed. His fingers brushed gently over different textures, assessing thickness and flexibility without pulling anything down yet.

You followed, stepping closer to inspect a roll of delicate ivory lace.

“This might work,” you said, holding the edge between your fingers. The fabric was soft, patterned with intricate floral designs. Under the warm lights, it almost shimmered. “It’s thinner than the current one,” he observed quietly. “Might tear easier during quick changes.”

You paused, considering. “True.”

Your fingers brushed when you both reached to test the stretch at the same time.

Neither of you pulled away immediately.

It was subtle; the contact was barely there, just the side of your hand against his. But something about it felt louder than the street outside. You cleared your throat softly and stepped back first.

“We’ll compare it with something slightly thicker,” you said, voice steady.

Kimi nodded, though his pulse hadn’t quite settled yet.

The shop owner approached with a polite smile, offering assistance. You explained what you needed in concise detail. Your tone shifted naturally into leadership mode: confident, articulate, precise. Kimi watched with quiet admiration.

He’d seen you stressed. Seen you quiet. Seen you withdrawn lately. But this version of you—focused and steady—felt like home.

After selecting two possible lace options, you moved toward the accessories section for the silk gloves.

The display rack was near the back corner, half-hidden behind a rotating stand of ribbons. You crouched slightly to inspect a lower shelf.

“They need to look vintage,” you murmured. “Not costume-y.”

Kimi crouched beside you.

“Maybe cream instead of pure white,” he suggested, picking up a pair carefully.

You glanced at them. “Too modern.”

He nodded and put them back immediately.

You reached for another pair, this one softer, slightly worn at the edges in a way that looked authentic rather than damaged.

“These,” you said.

He studied them. “Yeah.”

Your shoulders brushed lightly as you both leaned closer to check the stitching.

There it was again, that quiet awareness, the kind that made small spaces feel smaller.

You stood almost at the same time, hands full of selected items.

“One more stop,” you said. “The vintage stall.”

Outside, the sky had deepened into gold-tinged blue. Streetlights flickered on one by one. The bookstore next door was playing soft music through open windows—faint enough to blend into the evening noise but present enough to shape the atmosphere.

The vintage stall sat under a striped canvas awning. Old clocks, trinkets, jewelry, and small antiques filled the wooden tables in carefully arranged clutter.

You approached slowly, scanning. “The pocket watch,” you said softly.

Kimi stepped closer to the center table. “There,” he pointed.

An old brass pocket watch lay among a cluster of mismatched keys and brooches. It wasn’t overly polished. The metal had dulled slightly with age.

You picked it up carefully, flipping it open. The hinge creaked faintly. The inside face was simple, Roman numerals slightly faded but still legible.

“It works,” Kimi said after a moment, noticing the second hand ticking steadily.

You nodded. “It’s perfect.”

The vendor quoted a price. You negotiated gently, firmly enough to shave a small amount off.

Kimi watched you again, noticing how you balanced kindness with confidence.

You paid from the allocated budget envelope and tucked the watch securely into your bag.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The evening breeze lifted a few strands of your hair across your face. You brushed them back absentmindedly.

“Thank you for coming,” you said quietly.

Kimi blinked. “It’s my job.”

You shook your head slightly. “I mean… you didn’t have to.”

There was something softer in your tone now. He hesitated.

“I wanted to,” he admitted.

The words hung between you. The streetlight above flickered once before steadying.

“You’re easy to work with,” you said after a moment. His breath caught almost imperceptibly.

“Is that… a compliment?” A faint smile touched your lips. “Yes.”

He smiled back, the kind that reached his eyes, and for the first time in days, the tension between you didn’t feel like something fragile or strained. It felt like a possibility.

From across the street, unnoticed by either of you, Ollie stood half-hidden behind a parked jeepney. Isack beside him.

They had not planned to follow you. But they had anyway. Isack lowered the phone he’d pretended to be checking. “They’re just… standing there,” he whispered.

Ollie squinted slightly. You and Kimi were still near the stall, shoulders almost touching, talking quietly.

“They look okay,” Isack said. Ollie exhaled slowly.

“Yeah.”

Back on the sidewalk, you adjusted your grip on the bag strap again.

“We should head back,” you said. “Rehearsal starts soon.”

Kimi nodded.

You began walking side by side once more, steps falling naturally into rhythm.

This time, when your hands brushed briefly as you walked, neither of you pulled away immediately.

taglist: @dessashippr @hannahmotors10 @jaelaconsuela @hadjarist @multi-des @angelonyourspeeddial @thechosen-neo @junklockets @maebejustmaebe @lyssescloud @zhqvie @snoojpg @losraire @circe4u @linasmarbles @sandyysamwich @acethedinosaur @q8rapha @gr1mesgirl @nobodysnew @fangirl4antonelli @piastr1lvr @beabadoobee81 @swthngs @jsprien213

hellooo sorry for disappearing for a whole month, school has been super hectic. anyway, i'm so excited for the new season, this year will be oscar's (trust)!!

[threeinchminimum]

like real people do, 15 "karma police" (kimi antonelli x reader)

warnings changes povs once (3rd to 2nd), swearing wc 5k ignore timestamps taglist is open

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

The call ends.

Ollie stands there in the dim light of his room, heart heavy, anger still simmering beneath his ribs.

He knows this is going to change things. The only question left is how much.

The sun isn’t up yet when Ollie pulls out of his driveway.

The streetlights cast long, tired shadows over empty roads, the world washed in that strange blue-gray that only exists before morning. He drives with one hand on the wheel, and the other clenched in his lap, jaw tight, thoughts racing faster than the car.

He keeps seeing Y/N’s face in his head. Calm. Composed. The way she smiles when she’s holding something together with sheer willpower. The way Gabriel looked yesterday—too quiet, too careful. The way Kimi watches everything without saying a word.

And Isack. Loud, impulsive, well-meaning Isack, who never thinks before jumping and is always shocked when he hits the water too hard.

“Idiot,” Ollie mutters, though there’s no real heat in it. Just worry.

He pulls up outside Isack’s house and honks once, short and sharp.

The front door flies open almost immediately.

Isack comes out looking like he hasn’t slept at all. Hoodie half-zipped, hair a mess, eyes rimmed red—not like he’s been crying, but like he’s been staring at the ceiling replaying every bad decision he’s ever made.

He gets into the passenger seat and slams the door shut.

For a second, neither of them speaks.

Then Isack blurts, “I’m so sorry.”

Ollie starts the car.

“Seatbelt,” he says automatically.

Isack fumbles with it, clicks it in, then immediately launches into a frantic stream of words.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, okay? I swear. I thought it’d just… nudge things along. Like, you know, a little push. Kimi needed it, and Y/N—”

Ollie pulls out of the driveway, maybe a little too fast.

“Slow down,” he says. “Start from the beginning.”

Isack laughs, sharp and humorless. “The beginning is I’m an idiot.”

“That part I know,” Ollie replies, eyes fixed on the road. “Details. Now.”

Isack drags a hand through his hair. “I wrote it because Kimi would never. He just—he looks at her like she’s a miracle and a math problem at the same time, and he does nothing. Ever. So I thought if she made a move, maybe he’d finally open his eyes. Maybe he’d feel brave enough to say something.”

“And Gabriel?” Ollie asks quietly.

Isack’s mouth opens. Closes.

“I didn’t think about him,” he admits. “Not really. I mean, yeah, he flirts, whatever, but I didn’t think it was serious. I didn’t know he liked her like that. I mean, dude, Franco flirts too, but you can literally tell that guy fawns over Sophia!”

Ollie grips the steering wheel tighter.

“That’s the problem, Isack,” he says. “You don’t think.”

“I know!” Isack’s voice cracks, the panic finally breaking through the bravado. “I know, okay? I see it now. I see all of it. I saw them yesterday, and I just—my stomach dropped. Because that wasn’t nothing. Something happened between the two of them.”

The car approaches an intersection, the light already yellow.

Ollie should slow down, but he doesn’t.

They pass through just as it turns red, the thump of adrenaline loud in Ollie’s ears.

“Jesus,” Isack breathes, grabbing the door handle. “Ollie—”

“I’m fine,” Ollie snaps, then immediately softens. “Sorry. I’m just—this is bad.”

“Bad doesn’t even cover it,” Isack says. “I might’ve wrecked something before it even started. Or made it worse. Or—God, what if Y/N finds out it was me?”

Ollie says nothing.

That silence is worse than yelling.

Isack turns to him, eyes wide. “She can’t find out, right? Please tell me she can’t find out.”

Ollie swallows.

“No—we’ll figure it out,” he says finally. “But first, you’re going to tell me everything. No jokes. No shortcuts. Because right now, people are hurting, and whether you meant to or not, you’re part of why.”

Isack nods, small and frantic.

“I know,” he says again, voice barely above a whisper. “I really do.”

The car speeds on toward the school, the sky just beginning to lighten, morning creeping in whether they’re ready for it or not.

The road stretches out in front of them, long and pale beneath the early morning sky, and Ollie can’t shake the feeling that they’re driving straight through the aftermath of something that already exploded.

Isack keeps talking and apologizing, explaining, circling the same points, but Ollie only half-hears him now. His mind keeps drifting backward, replaying the last few days like a highlight reel he didn’t ask to watch.

Isack was laughing too loud at breakfast. Isack cannonballing into the pool. Isack teasing Y/N like always, light and harmless, never cruel. He was normal. Too normal.

That’s what gets to Ollie the most.

He tightens his grip on the wheel, jaw set. “You know what I don’t get?” he says suddenly.

Isack stops mid-sentence. “What?”

“You.” Ollie exhales through his nose. “You acted fine. The whole time. Even when things started getting… weird.”

Isack shifts in his seat. “I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

“That’s my point,” Ollie replies. “Y/N was holding herself together, Gabriel went quiet, Kimi looked like he was thinking himself into a hole, and you were cracking jokes as if nothing happened.”

The words aren’t accusatory. They’re confused. That somehow makes them worse.

Isack stares down at his hands. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Ollie glances at him briefly before returning his eyes to the road. “So you just… didn’t do anything?”

“I thought if I stayed normal, it wouldn’t get worse,” Isack says weakly. “Like if I didn’t acknowledge it, it would blow over.”

“Right, and now it did.”

Isack swallows. “Yes. And I panicked.”

That lands heavier than Ollie expects.

He thinks about yesterday. About the way Y/N smiled through rehearsals, calm to the point of looking unreal. About how Gabriel didn’t walk her home. About Kimi watching from the sidelines like he always does, eyes sharp, expression unreadable.

Ollie doesn’t respond right away.

He lets the silence stretch, filled only by the low hum of the engine and the faint sound of wind rushing past barely-open windows. The sun is higher now, light spilling over the edges of buildings, exposing everything it touches.

“You know,” Ollie says slowly, “being the funny one doesn’t mean you get to opt out when things get hard.”

Isack winces. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Ollie continues. “Because Y/N doesn’t get that choice. Gabriel doesn’t. Kimi definitely doesn’t. They sit with it. They carry it. You—” He shakes his head. “You waited until it scared you.”

Isack’s shoulders slump. “I was scared the whole time.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because if I said it out loud,” Isack whispers, “it would make all this shit ten times worse than it already is. And I thought that if Kimi and Y/N worked out, I wouldn’t have to tell anyone, I could just forget about it, and I was going to be okay with that.”

Ollie exhales, long and tired.

He understands that instinct more than he wants to admit.

There’s a red light ahead this time, and Ollie slows properly, stopping at the line. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, lost in thought.

“I keep wondering,” he says, “if you were trying to help… or if you just wanted to feel useful.”

Isack looks up sharply. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

Isack opens his mouth, then closes it. His eyes burn, but he doesn’t let the tears fall.

“I wanted to help Kimi,” he says after a moment. “I really did. He’s my friend. He’s been stuck on Y/N forever, and watching him do nothing was driving me insane. I thought if something pushed him, he’d finally move.”

“And Y/N?” Ollie asks.

Isack hesitates. “She deserves to be loved.”

“She already is.”

Isack sighs. “You know what I mean.”

“She knows people care, she knows we’re here.” Ollie clarifies. “What she doesn’t need is to be turned into a crossroads.”

The light turns green. Ollie pulls forward.

“Do you know what the worst part is?” Ollie adds. “You didn’t give anyone a choice. Not Y/N. Not Kimi. Not Gabriel.”

Isack’s voice drops to almost nothing. “I didn’t think Gabriel liked her.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Ollie says. “Feelings don’t need permission to exist.”

The words hang between them, heavy and undeniable.

They pass the school gates now, still closed, the building looming quiet and indifferent. Ollie parks along the curb instead of pulling in, engine idling as if neither of them is quite ready to step out and face the day.

Isack stares straight ahead. “Do you hate me?”

Ollie blinks, surprised by the question.

“No,” he says honestly. “But I’m disappointed.”

That hurts worse. Isack nods, accepting it like a sentence.

“I’ll fix it,” he says quickly. “I’ll tell them. Or—I don’t know—I’ll delete the account or—”

“No,” Ollie interrupts. “You’re not doing anything without thinking this through.”

Isack lets out a weak huff. “You sound like Y/N.”

Ollie’s lips twitch despite himself. “Yeah. And look how well that’s worked out for her.”

That sobers them both.

Ollie turns the engine off. The sudden quiet feels loud.

“You don’t get to choose when consequences catch up to you,” Ollie says, turning to face Isack fully now. “They just… do.”

Isack nods, eyes glassy. “I know.”

“And when this comes out,” Ollie continues, “because it probably will—you don’t get to hide behind ‘I meant well.’ You own it.”

Isack squeezes his eyes shut. “Okay.”

They sit there for a moment longer, the weight of everything pressing down, the day just beginning to breathe around them.

Ollie finally opens the car door. “Come on.”

Isack hesitates. “Where are we going?”

“Inside,” Ollie replies. “Because pretending nothing happened is how we got here in the first place.”

As they step out into the morning light, Ollie can’t help the thought that lingers, stubborn and unresolved:

Isack didn’t break when things got hard for Y/N.

He broke when he realized he couldn’t outrun what he’d done.

And Ollie isn’t sure yet whether that makes it better or worse.

The school gates loom ahead like nothing’s changed.

That’s what hits Isack first, the normalcy of it. The faded blue paint on the railings, the security guard sipping coffee by the entrance, the scattered groups of students trickling in with backpacks slung over one shoulder, half-asleep and half-alive. Morning light stretches thin and pale across the concrete, too gentle for how violently his chest is pounding.

Ollie slows the car to a stop near the curb.

For a moment, neither of them moves.

The engine idles. A pop song hums low from the speakers, suddenly inappropriate. Ollie reaches over and turns it off.

“You okay?” Ollie asks, quieter now.

Isack swallows. His throat feels tight, like he’s been holding his breath since 4 a.m. “Yeah,” he lies. Then, after a beat, corrects himself. “No. But—yeah.”

Ollie nods once, accepting that answer for what it is. “Text me later.”

“I will,” Isack says quickly. “I promise.”

He hesitates with his hand on the door handle, then looks back. “Hey. Thanks. For not… I don’t know, leaving me.”

Ollie exhales through his nose, a tired half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Isack gives a weak laugh, then steps out of the car.

The door shuts with a dull thud that sounds louder than it should.

As Ollie gets out of the car and starts walking inside, Isack stands there for a second longer than necessary, grounding himself. He adjusts his backpack straps. Straightens his shoulders. Puts on the version of himself everyone expects to see.

The composed one. The joking one. The one who didn’t write a confession that cracked something open and then pretended it wasn’t bleeding.

He shoves it all down and starts walking.

The hallways smell like floor cleaner and cheap perfume. Lockers slam. Voices echo. Somewhere down the corridor, someone’s already laughing too loudly.

Then he sees them.

C-301 is down the hall to the left, its door wide open. Inside, Gabriel is leaning against a desk, sleeves rolled up, posture relaxed in a way that feels earned. He’s laughing, head tipped back slightly as Sophia says something animated with her hands. Jack snorts at whatever Oscar adds, and Gabriel shakes his head, smiling like the world hasn’t shifted under his feet at all.

The sight of it punches Isack straight in the gut.

Guilt flares hot and immediate.

Because Gabriel looks happy. Or at least lighter than he should, considering everything. Like someone who hasn’t spent the night unraveling the consequences of his own actions. Like someone who didn’t almost cross a line in a locked stock room and then choose restraint instead.

Isack looks away before Gabriel can notice him staring.

He doesn’t deserve to insert himself into that space. Not right now.

He turns and heads toward C-302.

The classroom door is already open. Morning sunlight pours in through the windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air. The room hums with a softer energy.

And then he sees Kimi.

Kimi is slumped over his desk, cheek pressed against his folded arms, curls a little messy in that unguarded way he never allows himself in public. There’s a faint crease between his brows even in sleep, like his thoughts don’t ever fully turn off.

Next to him sits Y/N.

She’s upright, back straight but not stiff, one leg crossed over the other. A book rests open in her hands, fingers lightly holding the edges of the pages like she’s careful not to crease them. Her expression is calm, absorbed. Peaceful, even. Too peaceful.

Isack’s chest tightens.

She looks fine. Put together. Exactly the way she always does when something inside her is fraying.

As if sensing movement, Y/N glances up.

Their eyes meet.

There’s no shock. No accusation. Just recognition and something softer, unreadable, passing through her gaze before it smooths over. She gives him a small smile. Polite, familiar, normal.

It almost breaks him.

“Morning,” Franco calls from behind him, clapping a hand on Isack’s shoulder. “You look like death, dude.”

Megan peeks over Franco’s shoulder. “Pull an all-nighter or something?”

Liam waves lazily from his seat. “He always looks like that before quizzes.”

Isack forces a grin onto his face, the muscle memory kicking in. “Wow. Love the concern. Truly.”

His voice sounds right. Light. Easy.

No one suspects a thing.

He slides into his seat, a row behind Kimi, backpack thudding softly against the desk. He can feel it, the weight of the secret pressing against his ribs, the knowledge that he’s sitting in the same room as the two people most affected by what he did.

Kimi shifts in his sleep, murmuring something unintelligible.

Y/N glances at him again, just briefly, before turning back to her book.

She doesn’t say anything, and Isack thinks that might be worse.

Isack leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as the bell rings, its shrill sound cutting through the room.

Class begins like nothing’s wrong. A teacher walks in. Attendance is called. Notes are written on the board.

Isack copies them down, hand steady despite the storm inside him. He laughs at Franco’s whisper. Nods along when Megan complains about the homework. Plays his part perfectly.

But every now and then, his eyes drift forward.

To Kimi, now awake, rubbing sleep from his eyes, posture slowly straightening as he re-enters the world.

To Y/N, calm and composed, turning pages with practiced ease.

And all Isack can think is—I did this. And sooner or later, the truth is going to catch up to him.

The bell rings again, and the day keeps going.

The bell cuts through the room, sharp and familiar, and chairs scrape back as everyone exhales at once.

You close your book and slip it into your bag, stretching your fingers like you’ve been holding tension there without realizing it. Around you, the classroom loosens, voices rise, someone laughs too loudly, and Franco immediately starts complaining about how the lesson made zero sense.

You stand, sling your bag over your shoulder, and head toward the door.

That’s when you see Ollie.

He’s standing just outside the classroom, hands in his jacket pockets, weight shifted onto one foot like he’s been waiting a while. His hair’s messier than usual, eyes a little tired, but when he spots you, his face brightens instinctively.

You smile automatically. “Oh—hey, Oll—”

You don’t even finish the word.

Isack bolts past you.

It’s sudden enough that you flinch, his shoulder narrowly missing yours as he bursts through the doorway, eyes locked straight ahead. “Ollie,” he says, urgent and low, grabbing Ollie’s sleeve before he can react. “Come here. Now.”

Ollie blinks, startled. “What—Isack, wait—”

But Isack is already pulling him down the hall, fast, like he’s afraid if he slows down, he’ll lose his nerve. Ollie stumbles once, shoots you a confused look over his shoulder, mouth opening like he’s about to apologize—

And then they’re gone.

You stand there for a second longer than necessary, your hand still half-raised in a wave that never landed.

Your stomach tightens. Something about the way Isack moved, the way Ollie didn’t argue, sticks in your head.

You glance down the hallway, but they’ve already disappeared around the corner.

Franco nudges your arm. “You coming or are you gonna stare at nothing and keep blocking the door?”

You blink, then laugh softly. “Sorry. Yeah. Coming.”

You let it go.

Or at least, you tell yourself you do.

The group migrates toward the courtyard in a loose cluster—Franco, Liam, Megan, Sophia, and Gabriel falling into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The air outside is warmer, the noise softer in a way that feels earned.

You sit on the low concrete wall, legs swinging slightly as Megan launches into a story about a professor mispronouncing her name so badly it sounded like a different language altogether.

Gabriel stands close. It’s subtle, the way he positions himself. Slightly angled toward you. Close enough that if someone bumped into you, he’d be the first thing you’d hit. When Franco gestures wildly, Gabriel shifts half a step, making space without making a show of it.

“Are you okay?” Gabriel asks quietly, not cutting into the conversation, just threading the question into a pause like it belongs there.

You look at him, surprised—not because he asked, but because his voice is softer than usual. Less teasing. More careful.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “I’m good.”

He studies your face for a brief second longer than necessary, then nods. “Okay.”

The stock room doesn’t come up. Not once.

Not in the way his gaze lingers a fraction longer when you laugh, not in the way his tone shifts when he talks to you, like he’s learned something fragile and is determined not to mishandle it. He doesn’t avoid you. He doesn’t act strangely. He’s just him.

Like he’s decided something on his own and doesn’t need you to carry it with him.

Sophia leans against your shoulder dramatically. “If we fail the next quiz, I’m blaming all of you for emotionally distracting me.”

“You emotionally distract yourself,” Liam says.

“Rude,” she replies, unbothered.

You laugh, the sound coming easily. Your chest feels lighter than it has in days. No buzzing anxiety, no constant replaying of moments you wish you could edit. Just warmth, sunlight, the hum of voices you care about.

You glance back through the classroom windows. Kimi is still inside.

He’s seated at his desk, notebook open, pen moving steadily across the page. His brow is slightly furrowed, lips pressed together in concentration. He doesn’t look up, not even when someone passes by the door. The bright rays of the sun shine through the window next to him, coloring his hair a lighter brown with gold tints. If you looked hard enough, you could see the dust particles on his black hoodie, his messy curls moving with the wind, and how he slightly squints and tilts his head when he’s confused. What the hell are you even doing?

When you turn back to the group, Gabriel catches your eye again, offering you a small smile, one that doesn’t ask for anything. You return it with no hesitation.

The bell rings soon after, and everyone groans in unison, but you stand easily, brushing dust from your hands. Whatever Isack and Ollie are dealing with—whatever that was—you tell yourself it’s not yours to carry right now.

It’s sometime in the early afternoon—right as you’re packing your things for the next class—that a knock sounds at the classroom door. Not the casual tap of a late student, but something firmer. Intentional.

The teacher pauses mid-sentence. “Yes?”

A council member steps in, it’s FASC Secretary Manon Bannerman, with a clipboard hugged to her chest. Her eyes scan the room until they land on you. “Y/N Y/L/N?”

You straighten instinctively. “Yes?”

“We need you for a quick meeting. Now, if possible.”

A few heads turn. Franco lifts an eyebrow. Megan mouths what?

You blink once. “Uh—okay.”

You feel everyone’s eyes on you. You feel it on your skin as you walk out—curiosity, whispers already forming—but you push it away, following Manon into the hallway.

“What’s this about?” you ask quietly.

“Sudden meeting,” she replies, already walking. “Council stuff. We need Ollie, too.”

You pause mid-step. “Ollie?”

She nods. “Could you grab him from three-oh-one?”

“Yeah,” you say automatically. “Of course.”

You turn down the hall toward C-301, your steps quick but unhurried. As you near the doorway, you knock on the door, three precise taps before opening the door, slowly peeking inside.

That’s when you see Gabriel.

He’s leaning back in his chair, his attention focused on the lecture. For a split second, his gaze lifts and finds yours.

The smile doesn’t fade, but it softens. You look away quickly, remembering what you were in their classroom for.

You don’t wave. You don’t linger. You don’t step fully into the room, instead opening the door more, scanning for Ollie instead. You notice Sophia and Jack aren’t in the room, probably waiting for the two of you, and sent Manon to come and get you.

The professor looks up. “Everything alright?”

“Good morning, Sir Sainz, may I excuse Ollie for a minute?” you call quietly.

He looks up like he’s been jolted. For half a second, panic flashes across his face before he schools it into something resembling his usual easy grin.

“Hey! Uh—what’s up?”

“Sorry,” you say, already feeling a little bad. “Manon needs us for a council meeting for the play. She asked if you could step out for a moment.”

Ollie swallows. You notice it this time, the way his shoulders tense, the way his hands curl into the edge of his notebook like he needs something solid.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he says quickly, standing a little too fast. His chair screeches against the floor.

He gives Sir Sainz a thin smile on his way out, mouthing, “Council thing.”

The professor waves him off, and Ollie grabs his bag like he might need it for emotional support. As you turn to leave, you feel it again, that brief awareness. Gabriel’s eyes on your back. But you don’t turn around.

The hallway feels quieter as the door shuts behind you.

You walk side by side toward the council room, your footsteps echoing faintly. Ollie’s usually chatty in these in-between moments, filling silence with jokes, observations, and nonsense.

Today, he’s quiet.

You glance at him. His jaw is tight, eyes fixed straight ahead. There’s a stiffness to his posture that doesn’t belong to him.

“Hey,” you say gently. “You good?”

He blinks, like he forgot you were there. “Huh? Yeah—yeah, I’m fine.”

You tilt your head, unconvinced. “You sure? You’re acting… weird.”

He lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Weird? Me? Never.”

The joke lands flat. You slow slightly, studying him. “Ollie.”

He stops walking.

For a second, you think he might actually say something. His mouth opens, closes. Guilt churns behind his eyes, thick, heavy, unmistakable if you know what to look for.

You don’t.

Or maybe you do, just not enough to name it.

“Sorry,” he says finally. “Just tired. Long week.”

You nod, accepting it easily. Too easily. “Yeah. Same. This play is stressing me out, too.”

He exhales, relieved, and starts walking again. You follow, brushing the moment aside like you always do, with trust.

The council room door looms ahead, and whatever knot was forming between your brows loosens just a little. This is familiar ground. Rules, logistics, problems you can solve.

As you reach for the handle, Ollie glances at you again.

Guilt washes over him so hard it’s almost physical.

You’re still unaware, still kind, still assuming the best, and that makes his chest ache worse than if you were angry.

Inside, the other council members look up. Sophia smiles, standing up, “Great. You’re both here.”

You step in, ready to focus, ready to lead, ready to compartmentalize everything else.

Behind you, Ollie hesitates for half a second before following.

By the time you and Ollie stepped fully into the council room, it was already clear you weren’t early.

Sophia sat at the head of the long table, posture straight, tablet propped neatly in front of her. She looked like she’d been there a while, hair smoothed down, expression calm but focused in that way she only ever wore during official matters. To her right was Oscar, leaning back in his chair with his blazer half-off, pen spinning lazily between his fingers. Lara sat closer to the window, legs crossed, notebook already open on her lap, eyes flicking up the moment you entered. Jack stood near the whiteboard, arms folded, quietly listening to something Sophia had just finished saying.

The room felt settled. Like the meeting had already started and you’d just joined midway through.

“Okay,” Sophia said, glancing up with a small nod. “Director’s here. Props lead too.”

You smiled apologetically. “Sorry if we’re late.”

“You’re not,” Oscar said easily. “We just got called in early. Coordinator wanted a head start.”

That explained it. Sophia being called first made sense, president duties and all that. The rest of them being here already felt inevitable in hindsight.

You slid into the empty chair beside Lara, Ollie taking the one across from you. As soon as he sat, he straightened his back like he was bracing for impact.

Sophia clasped her hands together. “Alright. I’ll keep this efficient. The department coordinator asked for a formal checkpoint on the play’s progress. Nothing punitive, just documentation. Since rehearsals are well underway, they want to know where we stand. I already know most of what happens anyway, since I am—well—Veronica, but this is necessary, so,” she looked at you first. “Y/N. Directing.”

You nodded. “We’re on schedule. Blocking for all major scenes is done, including transitions. Ensemble timing still needs polishing, but that’s expected at this stage. Tech-wise, we’re pacing well. No major setbacks.”

Jack tilted his head. “Any concerns about pacing overall?”

“Only minor ones,” you said. “Second act emotional beats need breathing room, but that’s more performance refinement than structural.”

Sophia typed something quickly. “Noted.”

Oscar leaned forward. “Attendance issues? Burnout? Any cast members falling behind?”

You shook your head. “Surprisingly, no. People are tired, but they’re committed. Morale’s been steady.”

Lara glanced up from her notes. “That tracks. From an acting standpoint, the environment’s been intense, but productive.”

You offered her a small smile in agreement.

Sophia turned to Ollie next. “Props.”

Ollie cleared his throat. “Uh—right. Inventory’s complete. All primary props are finished and labeled. We’re still testing durability on a few handhelds, but nothing critical. Storage is organized, and we’re not exceeding budget.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Any delays?”

“No,” Ollie said quickly. “Everything’s on track. If anything, we’re ahead.”

Jack gave a low whistle. “Ahead? That’s rare.”

Ollie shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Good team.”

Sophia nodded approvingly. “Good. That’s exactly what they wanted to hear.”

There was a brief lull as she reviewed her notes, the sound of tapping filling the room. You leaned back slightly, hands folded in your lap, letting the tension ease out of your shoulders. This was familiar territory, administrative, structured, and safe.

“The coordinator also asked about communication between departments,” Sophia continued. “Any friction we should be aware of?”

You exchanged a glance with Ollie.

“No,” you said honestly. “Coordination’s been one of our strengths. Props, lighting, sound—we’re aligned.”

Ollie nodded along. “Yeah. No issues.”

Oscar smiled. “Look at that. Functional leadership.”

You rolled your eyes lightly. “Don’t jinx it.”

That earned a small laugh from around the table, even Sophia’s lips curving just slightly before she smoothed them back into professionalism.

“Alright,” she said. “Last thing. They wanted reassurance that leadership is handling pressure appropriately.”

Jack snorted. “That’s a polite way to say ‘no breakdowns,’ right?”

“Essentially,” Sophia said dryly.

You let out a breath. “If you’re asking whether we’re managing—yes. It’s stressful, but nothing unmanageable.”

Sophia looked at you for a moment longer than necessary, like she was assessing something beyond your words. Then she nodded. “Good.”

The meeting didn’t last much longer after that. A few more clarifying questions, a reminder about documentation deadlines, Oscar cracking a joke about bureaucracy before Sophia shut him down with a look.

When it wrapped up, chairs scraped softly against the floor as everyone stood.

“Thanks for coming on short notice,” Sophia said. “I’ll relay everything.”

“No problem,” you replied. “Thanks for looping us in.”

Lara packed up her notebook. “See you at rehearsal later.”

Jack gave a quick two-finger salute before heading out with Oscar.

As the room slowly emptied, you turned to Ollie. “You survived.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Barely.”

You studied him again—still a little tense, still not quite himself—but he met your eyes and smiled, softer this time.

“Thanks,” he said. “For, uh. Covering.”

You frowned slightly. “Covering what?”

He waved it off. “Nothing. Just—thanks.”

You let it go, because that’s what you did. You always did.

As you stepped back into the hallway together, the bell rang in the distance, signaling the end of the period. The day rolled on, indifferent to the undercurrents moving quietly beneath it.

For now, at least, everything looked exactly as it was supposed to.

i hope this isnt too boring guys sowwy

@dessashippr @hannahmotors10 @jaelaconsuela @hadjarist @multi-des @angelonyourspeeddial @thechosen-neo @junklockets @maebejustmaebe @lyssescloud @zhqvie @snoojpg @losraire @circe4u @linasmarbles @sandyysamwich @acethedinosaur @q8rapha @gr1mesgirl @nobodysnew @fangirl4antonelli @piastr1lvr

[darling-flora]

you're still the one

oscar piastri x yn!singer - social media au

fc: sabrina carpenter

─── oscar masterlist !

summary — a singer who everyone thinks will break oscar piastris heart does the opposite

note — (manips made by me) i love "you're still the one by shania twain" and this is heavily inspired by it so if you don't know it give it a listen! probably some misspellings since this took a while to make but hope u enjoy !! reblog's and comments are always appreciated ❤

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motersportsnews Y/n L/n seen with Formula 1 driver Oscar Piastri. The pair reportedly met at a brand after party in London and have been talking for the past month.

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user1 OSCAR RUNNNN

user2 get ready for a year of PR dating 🙄

user3 y'all gotta be normal about this, he's a grown man

->user4 it's just good old misogyny sadly

user5 looking for music inspiration?

user6 mclaren pr starting?

user7 they're both cuties! good for them

user8 i give it a few months then she puts out a break up song

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oscarpiastri Still not over this week. Shout out to the fans and those giant heads.. YukiTsunoda0511 👀

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user1 it was a nice weekend

user2 treats made by oscars grandma is so adorable!!

user3 who's surprised y/n made the insta post? u shouldn't be! it pr babes

->user4 they would've walked in hand in hand all over each other if it was really pr ->user3 they'll probably build up to that ->user4 yeah they will because as a COUPLE they'll get more comfortable, not because it's pr... weirdo

user5 the koala needs to be at every race

user6 y/n looks so cute!!!

user7 Well done mate 👏

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deuxmoi Trouble in paradise? Y/n L/n and Formula One driver boyfriend Oscar Piastri were recently seen around Italy for little break.

While the fun is over for Piastri it doesn't seem like the partying is over for L/n 👀

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user1 she hasn't been to every race this season.. so why is it a story that she's not ?

user2 y'all lowkey got to stop posting about y/n when it's always speculation or just made up, it's corny

user3 really love how you only post y/n when you have something negative to say!!

->user4 most drama pages do :/ ->user5 they make shit up just to get some clicks

user6 why are u so annoyed she has a life outside her boyfriend??

user7 it's going to be so funny when she's at the next race

user8 she also planned his birthday party recently or does that not fit your narrative?

user9 weird ass take, she looks good tho!

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f1 Oscar Piastri and Y/n L/n are ready for the Hungarian Grand Prix!

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user1 she looks like she's about to freeze

user2 we really dont gaf

->user3 obviously you do since you commented 😭

user4 i always forget how short she is, she makes oscar look tall

user5 hopefully she'll be a good luck charm 🤞

user6 they finally arrived together!

->user7 pictured* together! they always arrive together and you can see her walking behind him in all the pictures 😭 ->user6 yeah but she's so short you can never see her 💀

user8 get her some gloves!! she's cold 🥶

user9 im so in love with her wow

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yourinstagram <3

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user1 that oscar picture 🥺

palomaidaliasandoval we look so cute 🎀

->yourinstagram the cutest 🤗 ->user2 u 2 most lethal eyes ever wow

user3 this is so major

user4 you are completely unreal

user5 she had all her closet friends with her :')

->user6 and oscar won 😭

user7 the only insta post ever

user8 drop the album queen

user9 princess 💍

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oscarpiastri Nice winter break now onto 2025

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user1 looking adorable in the first picture king

user2 y/n in glasses is so cute

user3 love how he's always posting her and she barely post him...

->user4 she literally just posted the same picture of them together that oscar just posted ->user5 & posted about his first win but whatever ->user6 also they started dating this year... let her be cautious

user7 my favorite influencer

user8 looking at that hand in the 7th picture sir...

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vogue Y/n L/n talks about her plan for new music and dealing with the price of fame.

"People have ideas of me in their minds, they see a few posts saying she's 'a heartbreaker' or she 'uses guys for inspiration' and just run with it. The concept of thinking I couldn't just make something up instead people jump to me using guys, it's a little funny."

"Dating while being in the public eye hasn't been that bad, it is definitely easier for me right now because I don't really care. When you're with someone who you love and care deeply for it's hard to let the outside opinions get to you, there's no one I'd rather have by my side."

"I've been very inspired recently, not just with music but with photography as well, it's something I've always loved. While traveling I've been taking pictures nonstop and writing about anything and everything. I do have a song I plan on releasing pretty soon, so you can look forward to that."

Click the link in our bio to read more.

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user1 damn she really does see everything

user2 people have been talking about her relationship for a year only for her to say idgaf 😭

user3 her saying the cynthia erivo "the concept of" in a vogue article is so hilarious

user4 "there's no one i'd rather have by my side" is so sweet

user5 actually the most beautiful woman alive

user6 a y/n love song will heal me

user7 not her laughing at people being dumb

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yourinstagram 🤠💌

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user1 country y/n >>> 💞

oscarpiastri not pictured was the bbq

->yourinstagram i don't think it needed to be pictured for everyone to know you got bbq in texas... ->user2 we all know he's part texan ->user3 we've seen the platters of bbq that oscar has eaten 😭

user4 forever jealous of that man

user5 whens the single announcement?

user6 he better watch that hand....

jennaortega you are so cute

->yourinstagram ily so much 🤍 ->user7 cuties

user8 can't wait till we get music!!!

user9 i kinda love the vibes

user10 she’s perfect your honor

user11 dreamy woman

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FormulaOneNews Oscar Piastri on the "Beyond The Game Podcast" talks about the publics opinion his relationship with Y/n L/n

"I didn't really enjoy seeing the way some of the public was talking about her [Y/n] we had a conversation about it when it was overwhelming, we both agreed on not saying anything. It was weird that people didn't like us dating because of the possibility of Y/n making a song about me if we broke up. Which I think says that people thought I was going to be such a bad guy that if we broke up it would be a song talking bad about me."

"When you meet someone who just makes your days better by standing by you is rare, after a race week I look forward to spending time with her or just calling her for hours. Im a very lucky guy."

Watch the rest of the video on Beyond The Game Podcast Youtube channel!

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user1 if they talked about it at the time the hate probably would've gotten worse so good on them for just laying low

user2 his smile when he said he's a lucky guy 🤭

user3 wait the whole "she'll write a song about him" really is shade to him

->user4 like "it would be a a song saying he was a bad bf" AND WHO'S FAULT WOULD THAT BE!?!?!? ->user5 "you're so vain" is like the only "shady" song she's ever made and it's not even that shady 😭

user6 glad they didn't let the public ruin their relationship!!

user7 the interviewer saying "sounds like you found the one" and he was over here giggling while nodding

->user8 so happy for them 😭❤

user9 love how they actually sound like they're in love

user10 bro couldn't keep the smile off his face when talking about y/n

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yourinstagram My single "You're Still The One" out March 14th!

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user1 OHMYGODDD

user2 Thank you for your service

whitneypeak ready for SOTY

user3 what do all 6.4M of you know about y/n l/n omg back up

user4 we’re SAT 👏💖

user5 "You're Still The One by Y/n L/n" SOUNDS LIKE SOTY ALREADY!!!

user6 we are SOO back

user7 and just when we needed her the most SHE RETURNED!!

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F1Updates Y/n L/n mentions meeting Oscar Piastri for the first time in new interview with Zane Lowe!

"We met at a after party, it was very brief when we first bumped into each other, but through the night I kept looking for him and wanting to bump into him again. Then I saw him across the room and he was looking at me and started smiling, he walked over to me and we just gradually started moving outside, so we ended up talking on the outside patio for 2 hours. After a week of us hanging out we started dating, we just clicked instantly."

"I don't think either of us really expected the reaction to be so divided, the majority that I saw was negative and I remember him [Oscar] just saying 'It's us in this relationship, no one else so who cares what anyone else thinks' and that has been my mindset since then. People might not like us together because of the 'what if they break up' but neither of us are really thinking of that."

Check out the video to hear more about L/n's upcoming song.

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user1 i really love how they don't gaf about what people are saying

user2 standing across the room smiling at each other???? love at first sight fr

->user3 given how awkward oscar is im genuinely surprised HE crossed the room ->user4 ik when i heard her say that i was shocked

user5 rightttt so they just live in a romance movie??!?!!

user6 hate that they had to see any of the negative stuff written about them when it was all just bs

user7 "sounds like you found the one" and her saying she's not thinking about breaking up... locked in fr

user8 looking for each other in a crowed room ohhhh they were gone from the start

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Liked by yourinstagram, georgerussell63 and 4,672,786 others

oscarpiastri the only one 🤍

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user1 PARENTS FRRRR

user2 okay make sure to invite me to the wedding in a few years

user3 the cat picture... my shayla

georgerussell63 I took that last picture 🙂

->yourinstagram you were mean about it ->georgerussell63 ??????? ->oscarpiastri "you might want to grab a stool so you can be in the picture" ->georgerussell63 BUT I WAS RIGHT! ->yourinstagram not the point 🙄 ->user4 oscar came with receipts 😭 ->user5 i fear he had a point y/n....

user6 i bet his camera roll is 80% y/n

user7 "the only one I dream of" 😭

user8 LOOK HOW FAR WE'VE COME MY BABY

user9 the only couple EVERRRR

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✎…… those hungarian gp arrival pictures were so annoying to make, so don't look to close, they aren't my best work 😔

also a plus side of using the same face claim is i can use manips i already have :D

[pughsbelova]

writing smut knowing the only experience i have is from my imagination and tumblr

[threeinchminimum]

like real people do, 14 "i'm your man" (kimi antonelli x reader)

warnings swearing, personal shit, emotional damage maybe, smau + written wc 7.6k taglist is open

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

Lunch break always arrived like a held breath finally let go.

You could feel it ripple through the auditorium the moment the clock ticked over, the collective shift in posture, the rustle of scripts closing, water bottles being capped, chairs scraping softly against the floor. Voices grew louder, looser, freed from the discipline you’d enforced all morning.

“Okay,” you said, clapping once to get their attention, your voice echoing lightly. “That’s lunch. One hour. Be back by—” you checked your watch, “—1:40 sharp. Please. I’m begging.”

Groans and laughter followed immediately.

“Yes, Director,” Franco called from the back, overly formal, earning him a light glare from you and a laugh from Megan.

“Props team, don’t forget we’re reblocking Act Two after,” you added, already flipping through your notes. “And Gabriel—”

You glanced up instinctively, because you always did when you said his name.

Gabriel was already looking at you.

“Yeah?” he asked, easy, calm, like he always was. Like he hadn’t noticed the way the room seemed to tilt slightly whenever the two of you locked eyes.

“If you have time after lunch,” you said, measured, professional, “I want to go over that transition into your solo again. The pacing felt off.”

He nodded once. “Sure.”

Then, after a beat so small most people wouldn’t catch it. He added, “I can stay now, too, if you want. Just to run it once.”

You hesitated.

It wasn’t unusual for people to stay behind. You stayed behind all the time. But something about the way the rest of the cast was already filtering out, with Isack loudly arguing with Ollie about cafeteria food, Megan corralling people like a second director, Franco and Lara laughing near the exit, made the auditorium feel like it was emptying faster than it should.

Still.

You swallowed the thought and nodded.

“That’d be helpful,” you said. “Thanks.”

The doors banged shut one by one as people left, voices fading into the hallway until the space settled into something quieter. The air felt heavier without the constant movement, dust motes visible in the shafts of light cutting down from the rigging above.

Gabriel stepped closer to the stage, script tucked under his arm. You stayed near the front row, flipping to the page you needed, pen tapping absently against the margin.

“From the line before the pause,” you said. “I think if you let it breathe just half a second longer—”

He climbed the steps onto the stage with ease, movements familiar, comfortable in the space. “Like this?”

He read, voice steady, filling the empty auditorium with practiced clarity. You listened closely. Gabriel always understood tone instinctively. He didn’t overthink the emotions; he let them sit where they were meant to.

When he finished, you nodded slowly. “Better. Still—hold the silence a bit longer. The audience needs time to feel it.”

“Got it.” He smiled faintly. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

You didn’t realize you were smiling back until he noticed, and then you immediately looked down at your notes, heat creeping up your neck.

There was a brief pause. The kind that lingered a second too long.

“Hey,” Gabriel said gently, not pushing. “You okay?”

You looked up again. “Yeah. Just busy.”

He accepted that answer the way he always did. Didn’t press. Didn’t demand. Just nodded, easy.

“Do you need help with anything else before lunch?” he asked.

You hesitated again, then glanced toward the side door leading to the stock room. The props inventory had been a mess all week, items pulled and returned without notes, shelves half-organized from the rush of rehearsals.

“Actually,” you said, “yeah. Could you help me grab the extra mic stand? I think it’s back there.”

“Sure.”

You grabbed your keys and headed toward the side of the auditorium, footsteps echoing softly. The stock room door was tucked just past the curtains, a narrow hallway barely wide enough for two people to pass comfortably.

Gabriel followed, unhurried.

The stock room smelled faintly of dust and metal and old wood—like every storage space ever. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead as you stepped inside, shelves stacked high with labeled bins, costume racks shoved against the far wall, stray props leaning wherever they’d fit.

You set your notebook down on a crate and scanned the shelves. “It should be somewhere near the back. I think.”

Gabriel stepped in fully behind you, the door swinging closed with a soft click.

You didn’t think anything of it.

You moved deeper into the room, weaving between shelves, fingers brushing labels as you searched. “I swear I saw it here yesterday.”

“I’ll check the other side,” he offered, already moving, voice calm in the enclosed space.

The room felt smaller than it had a moment ago.

You bent to peer behind a stack of folded backdrops, hair falling into your face. As you straightened, you glanced back toward the door and noticed, distantly, that the handle didn’t have a lock on your side.

You frowned. That was odd.

Still, you pushed the thought away. Someone would be back soon. Lunch was an hour. People were always late returning.

Right?

“Found something,” Gabriel said from behind a shelf.

You turned. “Is it the stand?”

“Not exactly,” he said, holding up a tangled mess of cables. “But it might explain why the sound team’s been annoyed.”

You laughed softly despite yourself. “Add it to the list.”

As you reached for the cables, your elbow brushed his arm.

The stock room seemed to quiet further. The door closing behind Gabriel hadn’t registered as anything more than background noise.

You were too focused on the shelves, on the way the labels had been rearranged again, on the familiar frustration that came with trying to keep a production running with limited time and too many moving parts. Your mind stayed where it was safest: logistics, structure, lists.

Still, something about the stock room felt altered.

Maybe it was the way sound carried differently in here. How every small movement seemed amplified—the soft scrape of a shoe against concrete, the rustle of paper as Gabriel flipped through the stack of loose cue sheets someone had shoved into a bin.

Or maybe it was the silence between those sounds.

You stepped back, holding the cables he’d handed you, and bumped lightly into a crate. “Okay, we can deal with this after lunch,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “Let’s just grab the mic stand and go before someone steals it.”

Gabriel hummed in acknowledgment, already scanning the back shelves. “You’re assuming it hasn’t already vanished.”

“Nothing ever truly vanishes,” you said. “It just ends up somewhere it shouldn’t be.”

“That feels like a metaphor,” he said mildly.

You snorted. “For this entire play? Absolutely.”

He smiled at that, brief and soft, before turning back to the shelves. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered once, then steadied, casting a pale glow over the cramped room.

You moved toward the far wall, crouching to peer behind a stack of prop boxes labeled ACT I — MISC. Dust clung to your fingers as you pushed one aside.

“Found it?” Gabriel asked.

“Not yet.”

You reached further, arm stretching, and felt your sleeve catch on something. You tugged gently, then harder, until—

“Careful,” Gabriel said, stepping closer. “You’re gonna pull the whole thing down.”

He reached past you, bracing the stack with one hand. For a second, his arm hovered just beside your shoulder, close enough that you could feel the warmth through the thin fabric of your shirt.

You froze.

“Sorry,” you said, quietly.

“For what?”

You swallowed. “I don’t know.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. Just held the boxes steady until you managed to free your sleeve, then stepped back, giving you space again.

Too much space.

You straightened, exhaling slowly, and finally spotted the metal base of the mic stand tucked behind a rack of costumes. “There,” you said, relief creeping into your voice. “I see it.”

You both reached for it at the same time.

Your fingers brushed.

This time, neither of you pulled away immediately.

It was ridiculous. A fraction of a second, really, and yet your pulse spiked so suddenly it made you dizzy.

Gabriel cleared his throat first. “I’ve got it.”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Yeah, okay.”

He lifted the stand carefully, angling it so it wouldn’t knock into anything else. You stepped aside to make room, back pressing lightly against the opposite shelf.

For a moment, he was right in front of you. Too close for the narrow aisle to be comfortable, close enough that you could see the faint crease between his brows when he concentrated.

You forced yourself to breathe normally.

“Thanks for helping,” you said, because silence felt dangerous. “I know you probably wanted to eat.”

He glanced at you, expression unreadable. “It’s fine. You’ve been… quiet lately.”

You looked up sharply. “Have I?”

He nodded. “A little.”

You considered deflecting. Turning it back to the play, it would’ve been easy.

Instead, you shrugged, the movement small. “Just tired.”

Gabriel studied you for a moment longer than necessary. Not in a way that felt invasive, like he was filing the answer away, even if he didn’t fully believe it.

“You don’t have to carry everything yourself,” he said, gently.

You laughed, breathless. “Someone has to.”

“Not always you.”

You looked away, focusing on the mic stand now leaning against the shelf beside you. “If I don’t do it, it doesn’t get done.”

“That’s not true,” he said.

You met his gaze again, and for a second, the room felt unbearably small.

Before either of you could say anything else, you shifted, turning toward the door. “We should head back,” you said. “Lunch is ticking.”

You reached for the handle and pulled.

Nothing happened.

You frowned, trying again, this time with more force. The handle didn’t budge.

A strange, hollow feeling settled in your chest.

“Uh,” you said. “That’s weird.”

Gabriel set the mic stand down carefully. “What?”

“The door,” you said, stepping aside so he could see. “It’s not opening.”

He tried next, grip firm, pulling once, then again. The door stayed stubbornly shut.

He paused, then checked the latch. “It locks from the outside,” he said slowly.

Your stomach dropped.

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.”

You stared at the door, heart starting to race. “Why would it—who would—”

“Probably someone closing it without realizing,” Gabriel said, calm despite the situation. “It’s lunch. People rush.”

“But no one else is here,” you said, the words tumbling out faster now. “Everyone left.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

The silence that followed was different from before—thicker, heavier, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

You folded your arms, suddenly aware of how enclosed the room felt. “Okay,” you said, forcing steadiness into your voice. “It’s fine. Maybe a ghost pushed it. Someone will come back. They never actually eat for a full hour.”

That earned a small smile from Gabriel. “Right.”

He glanced around the room, then back at you. “We can wait.”

You nodded. You could do that. Waiting was something you were good at.

After the initial spike of panic faded, the room settled into something eerily calm.

It wasn’t immediate. At first, you paced—two steps forward, two steps back—checking the door again like it might magically change its mind. Gabriel stayed closer to the shelves, hands in his pockets, eyes following you without crowding your space. Neither of you spoke much. You didn’t need to. The situation spoke loudly enough on its own.

Eventually, you stopped trying.

You slid down the side of a crate and sat on the concrete floor, back resting against cold metal. The chill seeped through your clothes, grounding you. Gabriel hesitated only a second before sitting a short distance away, mirroring your posture, knees bent, shoulders relaxed but alert.

“Well,” you said finally, voice echoing softly, “this is… not how I planned lunch.”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter. “I’ve had worse.”

You glanced at him. “That’s concerning.”

“Occupational hazard,” he replied lightly, then, after a beat, added, “I mean that metaphorically.”

You smiled despite yourself. The tension loosened a notch.

Minutes passed. Maybe ten. Maybe fifteen. Time felt slippery in the stock room, unmoored without windows or noise from outside. The hum of the lights became background static. Your breathing slowed.

“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly.

Gabriel turned his head toward you. “For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” you said. “You could’ve been eating. Or anywhere else.”

He shrugged. “I stayed because I wanted to.”

The words landed heavier than you expected.

You stared at your hands. “Still.”

“You know,” Gabriel said eventually, voice quieter, more careful, “I don’t mind small spaces.”

You looked up. “Really?”

He nodded. “They make things… honest. Harder to pretend you’re not feeling something.”

Your throat tightened. “That’s one way to put it.”

He leaned his head back against the shelf behind him, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “When I was younger, my mom used to lock herself in her room when things got bad. Not in a scary way, just to breathe, I think. I’d sit outside the door and talk. Didn’t matter if she answered. I just wanted her to know I was there.”

You stayed quiet, instinctively sensing this wasn’t something to interrupt.

“I learned early that silence doesn’t mean nothing’s happening,” he continued. “Sometimes it’s just where the truth waits.”

You swallowed. “Is that what this is?”

“Maybe.”

He turned his head, finally meeting your gaze. There was no teasing in his expression now. No easy charm. Just something bare.

“I don’t talk about this much,” he said. “Not because it’s a secret. Just because people don’t usually ask.”

“I’m listening,” you said softly.

He exhaled, slow and steady. “I grew up knowing exactly what was expected of me. Be calm. Be capable. Don’t cause trouble. I was good at it, too good. People think that means things don’t get to you.”

You shook your head faintly. “I never thought that.”

He smiled, small and grateful. “Still. Sometimes it feels like I’m only allowed to exist when I’m useful. When I’m steady. When I don’t need anything.”

Your chest ached. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” he agreed. “But it’s familiar.”

He shifted slightly, closer now, and you felt the warmth of him. “Being around you, it’s different. You don’t need me to be anything specific. You just see me.”

Your breath caught.

“I see you,” you said. “But I also worry I ask too much. I don’t want anyone to feel like they have to hold me up.”

He looked at you then. “You don’t,” he said. “You just let people choose.”

The silence stretched again, thick with words that didn’t quite make it out.

Gabriel’s hand rested on the floor between you, palm up, fingers relaxed. You noticed without meaning to. Noticed how close it was to your knee. How easy it would be to bridge the gap.

He noticed you noticing.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

Then slowly, he leaned in. Not all the way. Just enough that the air shifted, that your breath mingled, that the moment sharpened into something fragile and bright and terrifying.

Your eyes flicked to his mouth.

His breath stuttered.

And then he stopped.

He pulled back just a fraction, enough to break the spell without shattering it entirely.

“I won’t,” he said quietly. “Not like this.”

You nodded, relief and disappointment tangling in your chest. “Thank you.”

He smiled, sad and kind. “We’ll get out eventually.”

You leaned your head back against the crate, closing your eyes. “Yeah.”

The stock room hummed on around you, holding the secret of the almost between its narrow walls—patient, unjudging, waiting for whatever came next.

After the almost, the room felt different.

Not awkward, like something had been carefully set down between you and neither of you wanted to step on it. The air no longer buzzed with panic or uncertainty, but with a quiet awareness that made every movement feel deliberate.

You shifted first, stretching your legs out in front of you. “We should probably… sit like normal people,” you said, attempting lightness.

Gabriel let out a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Define normal.”

You angled yourself against a crate so you weren’t directly facing him, the closeness still there but dulled enough to breathe through. He followed suit, leaning back against the opposite shelf. The mic stand lay forgotten on the floor between you like a neutral third party.

Minutes passed.

You checked your phone: no signal bars, no notifications. Of course.

“Figures,” you muttered.

“Nothing?” Gabriel asked.

“Nothing.”

He nodded, unsurprised. “We’re in a concrete box.”

“Ah, romantic.”

That got a real laugh out of him, low and quiet. The sound eased something tight in your chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this still with someone,” you admitted suddenly. “Without feeling like I should be doing something.”

He glanced at you. “You’re always doing something.”

“I know.” You sighed. “That’s the problem.”

You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve. “Sometimes I think if I stop moving, everything I’ve been avoiding will catch up to me.”

Gabriel considered that. “Does it ever?”

“Not yet,” you said. “But it feels close.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You don’t have to outrun everything.”

“I don’t know how not to.”

Another pause. The kind that invited honesty.

“When people talk about ambition,” you continued, voice softer, “they always frame it like this clean, admirable thing. But for me, it’s loud. Demanding. It doesn’t let me rest.”

Gabriel nodded slowly. “I think ambition gets lonely when you don’t let anyone walk beside you.”

You looked at him then. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“I think you’re trying to protect everyone, including yourself.”

Your throat tightened. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I know,” he said gently. “But you can’t keep shrinking your own needs to keep the peace.”

The words settled into you, heavy but true.

You stared at the floor, tracing cracks in the concrete with your gaze. “You’re very good at saying the right thing.”

He smiled faintly. “Only because I’ve said the wrong ones enough times.”

You huffed. “I doubt that.”

“Believe it,” he said. “I just learned when to stop talking.”

The fluorescent lights flickered again, briefly dimming the room. You both looked up instinctively.

“Still alive,” you said.

“For now.”

You shifted again, this time turning fully toward him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Why do you stay?” The question slipped out before you could overthink it. “With the play. With… all of this.”

He didn’t answer right away.

“Because I like being part of something that matters,” he said finally. “And because—” He hesitated, then shrugged. “Because you care. That makes people want to care too.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “That’s dangerous logic.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s honest.”

The word lingered between you.

You leaned your head back, eyes closing again. “I don’t regret this,” you said quietly.

“The lock-in?” he asked.

“No,” you said. “The talking.”

He smiled to himself. “Me neither.”

The stock room remained still, time stretching and folding in on itself. Outside, the rest of the world continued on—lunch trays clattering, footsteps echoing in halls—but in here, you existed in a pocket of calm, suspended between what was and what might be.

Neither of you knew how long it would last.

Neither of you tried to end it.

Time inside the stock room didn’t pass so much as it softened.

It lost its edges. Minutes no longer announced themselves; they blurred together, stitched by the steady hum of the fluorescent lights and the faint smell of dust and old paint. Somewhere above you, a pipe clicked as it cooled. The sound echoed, then vanished, leaving behind the awareness of how quiet everything else had become.

You shifted again, because staying still felt unfamiliar. Your back pressed into the crate behind you, wood rough even through your shirt. When you adjusted, the crate creaked softly, the sound too loud in the enclosed space.

“Sorry,” you murmured instinctively.

Gabriel glanced over, confused. “For what?”

“Making noise,” you said, then laughed under your breath. “That’s not normal, is it?”

He smiled a little. “You’re allowed to exist.”

The words settled slowly, like dust drifting down after something’s been disturbed.

You let your head fall back, eyes tracing the faint cracks in the ceiling paint. Someone had written a number up there in marker—maybe an old inventory code, maybe nothing at all. You wondered how long it had been there, how many people had stood in this room without ever looking up.

“I forget sometimes,” you said. “That I don’t have to be… useful every second.”

Gabriel adjusted his position, stretching his legs out, shoes scuffing lightly against the concrete. “You don’t act like you forget,” he said gently. “You act like you don’t believe it.”

You turned your head to look at him. His profile was softer in this lighting, shadows smoothing out the sharp lines of his features. He wasn’t looking at you—his gaze was fixed on a point somewhere ahead, thoughtful, distant.

“That’s worse, isn’t it?” you said.

He didn’t deny it.

You sat up slightly, hugging one knee to your chest. The movement made the room feel even smaller, your awareness sharpening: the way your shoulder brushed a hanging costume sleeve, the faint smell of fabric cleaner, the cold seeping through the soles of your shoes.

“Do you ever get tired of being steady?” you asked quietly.

Gabriel’s fingers flexed where they rested on the floor. “Sometimes.”

The honesty in the single word made your chest tighten.

“I think people assume I don’t need help,” he continued. “That if I don’t ask, I’m fine. But it’s not that I don’t need it. I just don’t want to burden anyone.”

You frowned. “You’re not a burden.”

He smiled, small and rueful. “I know that logically. Emotionally is harder.”

You nodded. You understood that too well.

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t empty. It was layered with unsaid thoughts, with the shared understanding that came from recognizing pieces of yourself in someone else.

Your phone vibrated suddenly against your thigh.

You both startled.

“Oh—” You fumbled for it, heart jumping, only to see the screen light up with nothing but a low battery warning. No messages. No signal. Just the quiet reminder that the outside world still existed.

“False alarm,” you said, setting it down beside you.

Gabriel let out a breath. “For a second, I thought that was our rescue.”

“Not yet,” you said. “Guess we’re stuck with each other a little longer.”

He glanced at you, something warm flickering in his eyes. “I don’t mind.”

The words weren’t dramatic. He didn’t dress them up. That made them land harder.

You swallowed, suddenly aware again of how close he was. Close enough that the space between you felt intentional, charged.

You noticed things you hadn’t before. The way his sleeve was rolled just enough to reveal his wrist, faint tan lines from a watch he must wear often. The quiet way he breathed, steady and grounding, like he was anchoring himself.

“You know,” you said, trying to keep your voice light, “this is probably violating some safety protocol.”

He huffed. “Yeah. I don’t think ‘locked in a storage room during lunch’ is in the handbook.”

“Add it under ‘things not to repeat.’”

“Or,” he said, “things to remember.”

You smiled, slow and unguarded.

The lights flickered again, and you felt a flicker of nerves stir in your chest. You hugged your knee tighter, grounding yourself in the physical sensation of being there. Of being present.

“If someone comes back and opens the door,” you said, “this will all feel… smaller.”

Gabriel tilted his head. “Smaller how?”

“Like it was just a weird accident,” you said. “Instead of this.”

“This,” he echoed.

You didn’t define it. You didn’t need to.

Another stretch of quiet passed. You could almost forget the rest of the cast existed. Almost forget the noise, the expectations, the careful balancing act you performed every day.

In here, you were just a person sitting on the floor, talking to another person who saw you.

And for now, that was enough.

You didn’t plan to talk about your family. It wasn’t something you ever consciously decided to share. It just surfaced, the way things do when there’s nowhere to rush off to, no task to hide behind.

You exhaled slowly, eyes still fixed on the floor. “Can I say something kind of… heavy?”

Gabriel didn’t move, didn’t rush to reassure. He just nodded once. “You can say anything.”

That did it. That simple permission.

“My dad,” you began, then stopped. Restarted. “My dad lives abroad. Has for years.”

Gabriel stayed quiet.

“He’s not a bad person,” you said quickly, reflexively, like you’d rehearsed that sentence a thousand times. “He’s just… very firm about priorities. School first, always. Stability. Everything else comes after.”

You traced a small circle on the concrete with your finger. “When he left, someone had to step up. So I did.”

Gabriel’s gaze softened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I help my mom with bills. With schedules. With my brother.” You smiled faintly at the mention of him. “He’s still young. Smart, but sensitive. He needs someone steady. And I guess that became me. I learned early that if I stayed organized and calm, things didn’t fall apart. So I made myself necessary. Straight A’s. No scandals. No distractions. Be the good daughter. The reliable one.”

The words echoed softly in the stock room.

Gabriel leaned back against the shelf, listening like this mattered—because it did.

“Sometimes it feels like I’m holding everything together with my bare hands. Like if I loosen my grip even a little, something will break.”

He spoke carefully. “And who holds you together?”

The question landed right where it hurt.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Your shoulders slumped just a fraction. “That’s the thing,” you said softly. “I don’t know. I love my family, I really do. But loving them doesn’t make it lighter. It just makes it harder to admit when I’m tired.”

Gabriel nodded slowly. “You shouldn’t have had to grow up that fast.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Tell that to life.”

You shifted, hugging both knees now, making yourself smaller without realizing it. “Sometimes I feel guilty even wanting things. Like if I want more than what I already have, I’m being ungrateful.”

Gabriel leaned forward slightly.  “Wanting more doesn’t mean you don’t appreciate what you have,” he said. “It means you’re human.”

You looked at him then, eyes bright. “You’re very good at saying the right thing.”

He smiled gently. “I’m just saying what you deserve to hear.”

Your throat tightened. You looked away, blinking hard. “I don’t know how to stop being… the responsible one.”

“Maybe you don’t have to stop,” he said. “Maybe you just don’t have to be the only one anymore.”

The idea scared you more than you wanted to admit.

You leaned your head back against the crate, eyes closing. “If my dad knew about half the things that happen in my life now,” you murmured, “he’d be disappointed.”

Gabriel’s voice was steady. “Or he’d be surprised by how strong you are.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know which is worse.”

The fluorescent lights hummed on, indifferent to the quiet unraveling happening beneath them. Somewhere outside, lunch was still ticking away, but in here, you felt like time had paused long enough for the truth to surface. The room seemed to hold the weight with you.

The stock room felt warmer now, a place sure does after something important has been said aloud. The fluorescent lights no longer grated as much. Even the smell of dust and old fabric softened into something familiar, almost comforting.

You didn’t speak again right away.

Instead, you let your gaze wander, really looking this time. The shelves were unevenly stocked, some bins carefully labeled in your handwriting, others scribbled over by people who didn’t expect to be remembered. A chipped crown from Act One leaned against a box of coiled wires. Fake flowers wilted in their plastic wrap. All the remnants of other scenes, other stories, waiting patiently to be used again.

Gabriel sat next to you, shoulders relaxed but posture attentive, like he was always quietly bracing himself for responsibility. You’d noticed that about him long before today: the way he never slouched fully, never let himself completely unwind in public spaces. Even at ease, there was a readiness to him, as if he’d learned early that being prepared was safer than being surprised.

You thought about how often he stayed late to help without being asked. How he listened more than he spoke.

The realization settled slowly, reshaping your understanding of him. Gabriel wasn’t steady because life had been kind to him; he was steady because he’d chosen to be. Again and again.

You wondered, briefly, how much of yourself you’d recognized in him before today, and how much you’d been avoiding.

Your eyes drifted back to the door, the unmoving handle. Locked from the outside. Out of your control. Normally, that would’ve made you restless, counting minutes, building contingency plans in your head. But now, the stillness forced you to sit with thoughts you usually kept moving past.

Memories surfaced uninvited.

You remembered being younger, sitting at the kitchen table long after homework was done, waiting for your mom to come home, listening for the click of the door. Remembered packing your brother’s lunch while reminding him gently not to forget his jacket. Remembered your father’s voice over the phone, measured and distant, asking about grades before asking how you were.

You’d learned early that being capable made people feel safe.

You’d learned early that safety often came at the cost of softness.

Gabriel shifted slightly, resting his head back against the shelf, eyes closed. He looked younger like this.

You wondered what he’d learned early.

The room felt suspended, like a photograph taken between moments. You were aware of the sound of your own breathing, slow and even. Of the way the concrete pressed cool against your palms. Of how, for once, you weren’t performing a role. Not director, not daughter, not the dependable one. Just you.

You thought about how strange it was that being locked in here had brought more clarity than any long conversation ever had. How, stripped of distractions, you’d been forced to look inward and outward, at someone you’d known for a long time without truly seeing.

Gabriel wasn’t trying to fix you. He wasn’t trying to claim anything. He was simply present. That, you realized, was rare.

The lights flickered once more, briefly dimming the room, then steadied again.

You barely reacted this time; you don’t even know how long you’ve been sitting like this.

Time has loosened its grip completely now. There’s no bell, no voices in the hallway, no reminder that the world outside is still moving. Just this room. Just the two of you. Just the feeling that something is waiting to be acknowledged.

You open your eyes without realizing you’d closed them.

Gabriel is already looking at you.

His gaze is steady, unguarded in a way you’ve never quite seen before. Whatever composure he usually carries has softened at the edges, worn thin by the quiet and the honesty and the way the walls have closed you into something more intimate than either of you planned for.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Then you shift. Enough that your knee brushes the mic stand on the floor, enough that the small metallic sound feels thunderous in the stillness. Gabriel’s eyes flick down at the noise, then back up to your face.

Your heart stutters.

This is the point where, normally, you’d look away. Where you’d make a joke or stand up or find something productive to do. Where you’d remind yourself of everything you’re supposed to be.

You don’t. Instead, you hold his gaze.

The air between you feels charged now, taut like a wire pulled too tight. You’re suddenly hyperaware of every detail: the way his lashes cast shadows under his eyes, the faint crease at the corner of his mouth when he’s thinking, the way his hand rests on the floor between you, palm open, fingers relaxed.

You realize, distantly, that you’re leaning toward him.

The movement is small. Barely there. But it’s yours.

Your breath catches from the sheer weight of choice. From the knowledge that this time, no one else is moving first.

Gabriel’s breath hitches too. You see it. Feel it, almost, like a ripple through the space between you.

He doesn’t pull away.

So you close the distance. Not all at once, though, you lean in slowly, giving him every chance to stop it, to shift back, to break the moment if he wants to. Your hand presses into the concrete to steady yourself, the cold grounding you even as your pulse pounds in your ears.

You’re close enough now that you can feel his warmth. Close enough that the world seems to narrow to this single, fragile point.

You pause.

Waiting.

Gabriel leans in too.

The movement is instinctive, unguarded. His eyes flick to your mouth, then back to your eyes, like he’s checking, asking without words. His hand lifts slightly from the floor, hovering near your knee, not touching.

Your breath mingles.

And just before it happens, just before the space between you disappears entirely, he stops.

It’s subtle. A hesitation more than a withdrawal. But it’s enough.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low, steady despite everything. “Is this what you really want?”

The question lands gently, but it lands.

Reality rushes back in all at once.

Your chest tightens. The moment fractures. It cracks, fine and sharp. All the thoughts you’d pushed aside surge forward: the play, the rumors, the expectations, the careful lines you’ve been walking for so long. The way you always choose responsibility first. The way wanting feels like a risk you can’t afford.

You pull back, just a little.

“I—” Your voice falters. You swallow. “I’m sorry.”

The word feels small. It’s insufficient, but it’s the only one you have.

Gabriel doesn’t look upset. If anything, his expression softens further, concern replacing the intensity that had been there a moment ago. He doesn’t ask you to explain. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t fill the space with reassurance you didn’t ask for.

Instead, slowly, deliberately, he reaches out.

His hand closes around yours.

The contact is gentle. Grounding. His fingers are warm, steady, curling around your hand like it belongs there. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to decide anything right now.”

Your throat tightens. You nod, unable to trust your voice.

He gives your hand a small squeeze. A silent reminder that you’re not alone in this space, in this moment, in this confusion.

You sit like that for a while, hands linked, shoulders almost touching. The stock room hums on around you, unchanged and indifferent, holding the echo of what almost happened without judgment.

The almost doesn’t haunt you the way you thought it might.

Instead, it settles into something gentler. Something that feels like understanding.

And as you sit there, your hand is still in Gabriel’s, fingers loosely laced, palms warm where they touch. Neither of you has said anything since. You don’t need to.

The stock room hums on, indifferent to the fact that something important just almost happened inside it.

Time slips again. The edges blur.

You’re aware of details in a strange, distant way. You lean back slightly, shoulder brushing the shelves behind you, but your hand stays where it is.

Gabriel doesn’t let go.

He isn’t gripping tightly, just enough to remind you he’s there. That he’s present. That he meant what he said earlier, about not needing to decide anything right now.

You stare at the floor, tracing the cracks in the concrete with your eyes. Somewhere in the building, a clock is ticking toward the end of lunch. Somewhere else, people are laughing, eating, existing like the world hasn’t narrowed down to this room.

You wonder how long it’s been.

“Do you think—” you start, then trail off.

Gabriel hums softly, encouraging but not pushing.

You shake your head. “Never mind.”

He doesn’t press. Just shifts slightly closer, his knee brushing yours. The contact sends a small spark up your leg, but it’s muted now, gentler than before, less overwhelming. Safe.

It occurs to you, suddenly, that you don’t feel trapped anymore.

Not by the locked door. Not by the silence. Not even by your own thoughts.

The realization is almost startling.

You’re about to say something when it happens.

The door opens.

There’s no warning. No footsteps you hear first. No voice calling out.

Just the sudden, jarring click of the lock turning from the outside, followed by the creak of the heavy door swinging inward.

Light spills into the stock room all at once, harsh and blinding after so long under fluorescent hum. You flinch instinctively, heart leaping into your throat.

Gabriel does too.

Neither of you lets go.

The door opens fully, and there stands Isack.

He freezes.

One hand still on the door handle, backpack slung over one shoulder, lunch half-finished and peeking out of a crumpled paper bag in his other hand. His eyes flick from the room to the overturned crate, to the scattered equipment, and then to you. Specifically, to your hands. Intertwined.

There’s a full second of silence.

Then Isack’s eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly disappear into his hairline.

“Oh,” he says.

You swear the word echoes.

Gabriel stiffens beside you, finally realizing what Isack is seeing. He starts to pull his hand away—but the damage is already done, and the movement just makes it more obvious.

Isack’s mouth curls slowly, dangerously, into something feral.

“Oh wow,” he says, already grinning. “So this is what happens when I skip the last twenty minutes of lunch—”

“Don’t start.”

The words leave your mouth sharp and immediate.

You look up at him with a stare that could cut glass.

Isack pauses mid-sentence.

You don’t blink.

Your expression is calm, but there’s steel under it. The kind that says you are not in the mood, that whatever joke he’s winding up is about to die a swift and painful death.

For once, Isack reads the room.

He lifts both hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay. Not starting. I see the vibe. Respecting the vibe.”

Gabriel exhales beside you, something like relief slipping into his posture. You finally untangle your hand from his—not abruptly, but with care—and rest it in your lap.

The room feels different now. Wider. Louder. Real again.

Isack clears his throat. “Uh. So. You guys good?”

You nod quickly. “The door was locked from the outside.”

“Yeah, figures,” he mutters. “This place is basically a safety violation waiting to happen.”

He steps fully inside and nudges the door open wider, letting more light spill in. The stock room looks smaller now, stripped of its intimacy under the glare of reality.

Isack glances between you and Gabriel again, curiosity practically vibrating off him. “I came back early to grab my water bottle. Heard nothing from you guys and figured—”

“We’re fine,” you repeat, firmer this time.

Another look. Another raised brow.

Then Isack smirks. “Right. Cool. Totally normal. Just two people… hanging out… in a locked stock room.”

Gabriel finally speaks, rubbing the back of his neck. “Isack.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, already reaching for the door. “I’ll shut up. Promise.”

He pushes the door fully open and gestures grandly. “After you, lovebirds—”

You shoot him another look.

He zips his lips.

You stand, legs stiff from sitting so long, and Gabriel follows. As you step past Isack into the hallway, the noise of the school rushes back in: distant chatter, lockers slamming, footsteps echoing. Lunch is ending. Life is resuming.

Isack lingers behind for a moment, glancing back into the stock room like he’s filing the image away for later.

Then he jogs to catch up with you, lowering his voice. “For the record,” he says, “I’m very glad I didn’t take the full hour. You’d probably still be in there having a very intense staring contest.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

He grins. “And yet, indispensable.”

Rehearsal resumes the way it always does: with the scrape of chairs against the auditorium floor, the shuffle of scripts being picked up again, the low hum of voices settling into place. The lights warm slowly, casting their familiar glow across the stage, and the moment from earlier folds itself neatly into the background, packed away, labeled, and left untouched.

You step back into your role with practiced ease.

Your voice, when you give directions, is steady. Measured. Calm in a way that feels almost exaggerated, like you’re performing a version of yourself that knows exactly where to stand and how to move. You call cues, remind people of blocking, and redirect attention when it drifts. The rhythm of it all comes back naturally, muscle memory taking over where emotions might have slipped through.

From the outside, nothing is wrong.

Gabriel returns to his place without comment. He listens when you speak, nods when instructions are given, and adjusts his stance when asked. There’s a subtle distance to him now, like he’s chosen a step back and committed to it fully.

There is no lingering eye contact.

No quiet check-in. No reference, however small, to what almost happened behind a locked door. Time moves forward anyway.

Scenes run. Mistakes happen and are corrected. Laughter breaks out briefly when someone misses a cue or stumbles over a line, then fades just as quickly when focus is called back. The cast settles into the productive tiredness that comes after a long day: shoulders loosen, energy dulled but determined.

You remain composed through all of it. Too composed. And of course, Kimi notices. He always does.

From where he sits near the side of the stage, script resting loosely in his hands, he watches you in the way he watches everything else: quietly, attentively, without demanding to be seen. His gaze lingers longer than usual when you speak, when you gesture, when you move across the stage with clipped precision. There’s something different in the way you hold yourself, your posture a touch straighter, your expressions carefully neutral.

You are calm in a way that feels intentional.

Controlled.

Kimi doesn’t interrupt. He never does unless necessary. He follows directions when they’re given, adjusts his pacing, and projects when reminded. When his turn comes to perform, he does so with the same thoughtful clarity he always brings: words enunciated carefully, tone deliberate, presence quietly compelling.

But his eyes flick back to you often.

He notices how your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes when someone jokes with you between scenes. How you keep your hands busy adjusting papers, smoothing fabric, checking notes you don’t really need to check. How you don’t linger near Gabriel, even by accident.

The distance between you and Gabriel is subtle but unmistakable.

It’s in the way you pass each other without pausing. In the way your attention shifts smoothly elsewhere when he’s nearby. In the way he listens intently when you speak, yet never seeks you out once rehearsal pauses again.

When the day finally winds down, exhaustion settles in fully.

The auditorium empties slowly. People pack up bags, gather jackets, and complain lightly about sore feet and long hours. The energy thins out, leaving behind echoes and the faint smell of dust and stage lights.

You dismiss everyone with the same even tone you’ve used all afternoon, reminding them of the next rehearsal time, the expectations, the deadlines. It’s efficient. Professional. Familiar.

Kimi lingers for a moment after most have gone.

Not close enough to start a conversation. Just long enough to observe.

He watches as Gabriel approaches you briefly near the exit. There’s no tension in the exchange, only a genuine softness. Gabriel smiles at you in a way that’s smaller than usual, more careful, and offers a quiet goodbye. You return it, matching his energy exactly. There’s warmth there, but also finality.

Then he turns and leaves on his own; he doesn’t wait for you.

The sight lands differently than it might have earlier that day. It doesn’t hurt; it simply settles, like something acknowledged and accepted.

You gather your things methodically, checking the stage one last time before turning off the lights. When you step out into the evening air, the sky has darkened fully, the campus lit by scattered lamps and distant streetlights. The day feels long behind you, stretched thin and finally complete.

Kimi walks a few steps behind you. He doesn’t rush to catch up. Doesn’t slow you down either. The distance feels intentional, respectful. You walk the same path as always, footsteps falling into an easy rhythm side by side but not quite together.

You look calm.

Still, Kimi glances at your reflection in a darkened window as you pass, noting the familiar set of your shoulders, the way you carry yourself like someone who refuses to let anything spill over. He wonders, briefly, what it would look like if you didn’t hold it all in so carefully.

But he doesn’t ask, he never asks questions you’re not ready to answer.

When you reach the point where your paths diverge, you exchange a brief glance. A nod. The usual quiet acknowledgment that has always existed between you. It’s enough.

He watches you walk away, your figure gradually swallowed by shadow and light alike.

You don’t look back, life will move forward with the same relentless steadiness it always has.

And what happened, or what almost happened, will remain exactly where you left it.

@dessashippr @hannahmotors10 @jaelaconsuela @hadjarist @multi-des @angelonyourspeeddial @thechosen-neo @junklockets @maebejustmaebe @lyssescloud @zhqvie @snoojpg @losraire @circe4u @linasmarbles @sandyysamwich @acethedinosaur @q8rapha @gr1mesgirl @nobodysnew @fangirl4antonelli @piastr1lvr

[threeinchminimum]

like real people do, 13 "break" (kimi antonelli x reader)

warnings one (1) fat joke, swearing, kinda cyberbullying, filler chap ignore timestamps taglist is open

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olliebearman

liked by seglaforteza, nzlawson, and 543 others olliebearman weekend escape

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colapinto why do i look like your boyfriend in the third slide ⤷ olliebearman you're not my type mate

meiy0k isack baldjar

riotgrrl FRANCO CHEATED IN UNO BTW. ⤷ colapinto KEEP MY NAME OUT YO FUCKING MOUTH

colapinto proof that ollie should never be allowed to drive again ⤷ olliebearman I GOT US THERE SAFELY???? ⤷ gbortoleto debatable ⤷ hadj6r heavy on debatable ⤷ antonellis we survived ⤷ olliebearman see? kimi agrees with me

user kimi was there??!?!?!?

user KIMIYN CRUMBS!!!

user thank you ollie bearman for giving us smiley y/n · ♥︎ by author

user omg kimi and y/n on the balcony!!!

antonellis thanks for letting me finish the pizza ⤷ meiy0k fattie ⤷ riotgrrl it was like 9 in the morning too...

user kimi and y/n in the third slide oh im sick

user no yngabi pic? ollie is team kimi confirmed comment unavailable.

seglaforteza cuties!!! · ♥︎ by author

riotgrrl

liked by piastri, jdoohan, and 674 others riotgrrl one month of rehearsals! few more weeks to go and it's lights out. so so incredibly proud of my cast and crew :)

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user I LOVE YOU Y/N Y/L/N

seglaforteza that's my director!!!! ⤷ riotgrrl veronica!!!!

nzlawson doing homework while you guys get to be theater kids after school life is so unfair ⤷ riotgrrl hey so i actually told you to audition and you said no ⤷ nzlawson let me have my moment

user y/n blink twice if you want to choke the life out of franco ⤷ meiy0k franco catching strays im crine

user y/n is winning the idgaf war

user queen do not open twitter it's a total mess ⤷ riotgrrl it's ok i stay winning

@dessashippr @hannahmotors10 @jaelaconsuela @hadjarist @multi-des @angelonyourspeeddial @thechosen-neo @junklockets @maebejustmaebe @lyssescloud @zhqvie @snoojpg @losraire @circe4u @linasmarbles @sandyysamwich @acethedinosaur @q8rapha @gr1mesgirl @nobodysnew @fangirl4antonelli @piastr1lvr

[coeursainz]

RAGEBAIT ౨ৎ ln4

🥯 ── ❝ YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE BUT I LOVE YOU ❞

౨ৎ instead of going on the sim like usual, lando spends his winter break on his fake fanpage account to ragebait his long time online rival, berrypiastri,. however, after seeing your face reveal, he might start rizzbaiting.

౨ৎ lando norris x f!reader, smau, set in the current winter break, enemies to lovers, lando is his own fan, lots of bantering and ragebaiting! fc: yunjin from lsfm

from rianca, leaving u guys with this fic while i prepare for exams ! unfortunately i have a gfx exam that will last me a whole week 😵…

f1 masterlist .ᐟ

[hearteyes4logan]

favourite things about your body — op⁸¹ oscar piastri x fem!reader fluff

(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) im so happy my page is bursting with interactions such as likes and reposts! thank you so much for the follows as well, makes me feel so happy!

ᯓ➤ synopsis: oscar's favourite things about you! (i loved writing this one, enjoy!)

word count: 763 words!

requested by @elegantzipperherringskeleto-blog

masterlist | join taglist | requests here! | discord server | message me for inquiries

YOUR HAIR: oscar understands that f1 off seasons with him are always spent with him and his family in australia in the dead heat of summer. whether or not you've been used to it by now, you always find yourself absolutely sweating despite the cold the city of melbourne advertises. during a run you did with him in the early morning, you caught him watching tutorials on how to tie up female hair in ponytails and other hairstyles and you wondered whether it was for you or for his siblings.. spoiler alert, it was for you! he knows how much you complain about your hair sticking to the back of your neck as the flies swarm around you despite the weather NOT needing them so when you're both alone for a moment in his family home, he asks you to sit down as he 'tries' to configure your hair. his gaze is so focused as he twists and knots but at the end it's just a heap of hair which falls apart once he lets go. you love how well he pays attention especially to your complaints.

YOUR FACE: he's a 'face cupper' and he's not afraid to show it — around his family and around the paddock. despite his introverted nature, he's loud when it comes to showing how much he loves you. a single hand or both hands cupping your face when you kiss is all he needs to fall deeper despite how long you've been together. he loves the heat rushing to your face when he cups them, your cheeks radiating tolerable warmth and your smile turn shy as you look up at him.

YOUR NECK/BACK: although oscar loves holding your hand around the padock, he won't hesitate to guide you by placing a hand on the small of your back. he knows how much the f1 season can be — engineers, track marshals and team principles all over the place even your eyes can't keep up and the thought of his hand being the only thing keeping you grounded from being overloaded keeps him stress-free. for your anniversary, oscar a matching necklace, bracelet and earring set — as you carefully put the earrings and bracelet on, he moved the two of you to a mirror as he held it over your head and gently placed it on your neck. as he fastened the clasp, your head rolls back to land on his chest as he places a small kiss on your neck and shoulder.

YOUR WAIST/HIPS AND ASS: oscar watches as you slide onto his lap during his sim racing session. you had asked him earlier if you could try and drive and he smiled, saying yes without hesitation. he laughed as your feet rested on the top of his unable to reach, using them as the accelerator and break as he moved the chair back so the two of you could fit comfortably. the whole time you drove the driving sim of the f1 car, his hands were around your waist watching with awe how smoothly you handled the controls despite having no experience with them. oscar won't deny that when he thinks no one is watching him on the paddock, he'll give your bottom a little squeeze — not out of lust but of reassurance and love, a sign to let you know that he's always with you and behind you. literally. he'll often look around guilty to see if anyone caught him in the act and he'll often spot lando staring at him with raised eyebrows, knowing it's something the two of them will discuss either after the race or later. for a quiet and reserved person, he's quite touchy.

YOUR MOUTH: and finally, the best thing oscar loves about you. your lips. the way they mould onto his when the two of you are embraced and nothing in the world seems to matter at that exact moment. you recall new years eve, counting down the minutes and seconds with him as you both were whisked away in his monaco residence. his family was on a facetime call nearby but they were too busy with their own activities as they appeared and disappeared off screen. as the final seconds counted down and the suspense of the new year was coming, finally the fireworks in the marina bursted with many colours and the two of you shared a new years kiss. despite his family on call, he pulled you in for a deeper meaningful kiss — one that meant forever and that he would always be there for you no matter what.

© hearteyes4logan

ignore the taglist!

@asficdiary @valeelavvale @jamesiesposts @max33-1

[threeinchminimum]

godddd i love how real people do!! i was reading the latest chapter and i had to take a lap. i LOVE how you write gabi and i genuinely felt bad reading his text. do you think you’ll ever write something for him?

hellohello!! i already answered an ask like this, but yes i absolutely will! i have been very busy at the moment, so i haven’t been able to think of good plots for him, but my inbox is always open for requests if you want me to write something [specific] for gabi. thank you for reading my work!! ❤️‍🩹