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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
happiest birthday to my loveliest devyn! ❤️ i hope your day is extraordinarily good! you deserve all the sweetest treats and pretty things in this world 🫵🏻💋
fall in ⭐️ · au: demigods. angst, hurt/comfort, romance ft. son of poseidon!oscar piastri x daughter of hephaestus!reader. 13k.
“will you carry me out of hell?” he murmurs against your skin. it’s a question that sounds more like a confession. you don’t hesitate for a second. “of course i will.”
training wheels 🔞⭐️ · smut ft. best friend!reader. 8.2k. sequel to fast learner.
you end up on oscar’s doorstep after your date with lando.
in between 🩵⭐️ · romance ft. divorce attorney!oscar piastri x wedding planner!reader. 20.4k.
oscar’s heard every joke in the book: irony, opposites attract, doom-and-gloom meets happily-ever-after. he just nods and says, “we make it work.” short, clipped, but it’s the truth. somehow, you and him fit.
fast learner 🔞⭐️ · smut ft. best friend!reader. 8.5k.
oscar teaches you everything you need to know before your date with lando.
if i know nothing else (i know you) ⭐️ · romance ft. childhood best friend!reader. 4.5k.
the five times oscar doesn’t know, and the one time that he does.
watch this be the wrong thing 🔞⭐️ · smut. 5.7k.
“say it again,” he murmurs, pressing against you. “say thank you, oscar.” (or: unbeknownst to you, the person you’ve been sexting might just be somebody you know.)
tug of war 🩵⭐️ · romance ft. fashion journalist!reader. 12.3k.
oscar can’t tell if he wants to impress you or ruin your day. probably both.
this one’s for you, babe! ⭐️ · fluff ft. girlfriend!reader. 1.8k.
you don’t usually believe in jinxes, but the track record is damning. every time he says it—this one’s for you—something goes horribly, comically wrong. like the universe is actively penalizing him for being besotted in public.
“aita (m24) for constantly avoiding my coworker because i’m (hopelessly) in love with them?” and “aita (m24) for being so emotionally constipated that i made my coworker think i hate her because i can’t function properly when she’s around?”
heads will roll · au: fraternities & sororities. romance ft. frat dj!reader. 3.9k.
that, my friends, is house music! it doesn’t judge you! (but oscar might.)
most assuredly 🩵⭐️ · romance, friendship. 15.7k.
you approach his table, pen tucked behind your ear. he opens his mouth to ask for the special. instead, oscar says, “would you like to get married?”
an act of pure defiance ⭐️ · fluff ft. girlfriend!reader. 1.3k.
“you know, moles are where your soulmate kissed you the most in your past life.”
i hope this finds you well 🩵⭐️ · au: little women. romance, friendship ft. childhood best friend!reader. 10.2k.
“you’ll be bored of him in two years,” oscar says flatly, “and we will be interesting forever.”
say it first ⭐️ · romance, humor ft. ex-girlfriend!reader. 3.3k.
this is something that demands the truth that oscar has spent years running from.
autumn leaves · sequel to cold coffee. romance ft. girlfriend!reader. 4.9k.
oscar loves you through the seasons.
so pretty ⭐️🔞 · smut ft. girlfriend!reader. 1.4k.
he’s so pretty when he goes down on you.
cold coffee ⭐️ · romance ft. café owner!reader. 4.8k.
“best thing about your hometown?” “apparently it’s the coffee. i don’t drink coffee so i don’t know. for me, it’s just that it’s home.”
⸻ multi!
isimo 🩵 · hurt/comfort, romance ft. best friend!reader & logan sergeant. 5.1k.
look at you, you made it out.
pushing it down and praying 🔞 · au: sugar dating. smut, romance ft. billionaire!oscar piastri, actress!reader & rally driver!lando norris.
for the longest time, it’s just been you and oscar. the introduction of a cocky, curly-haired rally driver changes everything.
racing for your number part one, part two · au: challengers. romance, angst ft. mclaren f1a driver!reader & lando norris. 23.1k.
“obviously, we’re both here to try and fight for a world championship,” says oscar. “we wanna fight for it the whole time we’re in mclaren. we’re both on long contracts, so we wanna make sure we’re fighting this for the foreseeable future.”
the summer you turned pretty · inspired by the summer i turned pretty. romance ft. mclaren marketing admin!reader & lando norris. 12.2k.
the story of you, mclaren’s golden boys, and the summer that changes everything.
⸻ drabbles!
romance isn’t dead ⭐️ · fluff ft. girlfriend!reader. 1k.
you and oscar have a privacy sign on the door. (and on your whole world.)
but i’ll do it for you · fluff. 1k.
oscar has a soft spot for you. (or: the one where oscar does karaoke for the first time.)
not a lot (just forever) ⭐️ · childhood bestfriend!reader, romance. smau.
they should call you sugar · fluff, romance. 0.9k.
📂 𝐋𝐍𝟒, LANDO NORRIS.
𝐂𝐒𝟓𝟓, CARLOS SAINZ.
one way mirror · spider-man!carlos x wife!reader, romance. 7.5k.
just to know you’re alive 🩵 · ex-girlfriend!reader, angst, hurt/comfort. 2.1k.
change me at all costs 🩵 · girlfriend!reader, romance. 2.8k.
come find me 🩵 · childhood best friend!reader, angst with a happy ending. 4.4k.
𝐀𝐀𝟐𝟑, ALEX ALBON.
puppy love · pet shelter volunteer!reader, romance, fluff. smau.
formula fake-mance · fake girlfriend!reader, romance, friendship. 7.5k.
the way i do · pr officer!reader, romance. 1.7k.
love you like i mean it · childhood best friend!reader, romance, angst. 10.2k.
to be honest · girlfriend!reader, fluff. 1.4k.
something to you · fluff, romance. 0.9k.
𝐆𝐑𝟔𝟑, GEORGE RUSSELL.
paging doctor russell 🩵 · emergency physician!george x emt!reader, romance. 11.2k.
not what it looks like · girlfriend!reader, fluff. 0.6k.
| WORK FOR DRIVERS I DON'T REGULARLY WRITE FOR.
𝐂𝐋𝟏𝟔, CHARLES LECLERC.
never the star (always an asteroid) · bridgerton au, romance. 3k.
fortune favors the feline 🩵 · girlfriend!reader, romance. 4.1k.
not worth the mention · ex-girlfriend!reader. 2k.
𝐃𝐑𝟑, DANIEL RICCIARDO.
it’s kind of a funny story · girlfriend!reader, romance. 2.8k.
house handy · girlfriend!reader, romance. 1.6k.
loml (loss of my life) · drive to survive producer!reader, romance. 1.3k + smau.
𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒, LEWIS HAMILTON.
a good run · ex-girlfriend!reader, angst. smau.
𝐌𝐕𝟏, MAX VERSTAPPEN.
wait for me (reprise) 🩵 · au: orpheus & eurydice, romance. 5k.
𝐉𝐃𝟕, JACK DOOHAN.
cool for the summer · surf instructor!jack x childhood friend!reader, romance. smau.
𝐙𝐆𝟐𝟒, ZHOU GUANYU.
boy of the summer · childhood friend!reader, romance. 3.5k.
just call me yours · childhood crush!reader, romance. 3.2k.
⸻ INDYCAR.
𝐏𝐎𝟓, PATO O’WARD.
better than revenge 🩵 · romance. 15.3k.
from friends to this · best friend!reader, romance. smau.
request guidelines ⛐
i primarily write driver x female!reader fic. my work does not represent the drivers i write for in any way, shape, or form.
ⓘ WHAT REQUESTS ARE OKAY?
🟢 fluff, romance, angst, crack/humor. established relationships, platonic/friendly relationships, poly relationships. a range of au's i.e. bf!f1, brother!f1, husband!f1, non-driver au's (e.g. uni, other professions, etc). reqs based on media (i.e. movies, series, songs), tropes, or prompts.
🟡 smut/suggestive content, cheating/infidelity, age gaps, emotional hurt/comfort, themes of grief. drivers not indicated above. romantic content for any drivers below 20 y/o.
🔴 explicit character death, emotional manipulation, gender swap, sa/sh/ed, terminal illnesses, yandere, content for team principals.
📟 BOX, BOX! · MAKE THAT REQUEST! CURRENTLY: CLOSED
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
PAIRING: oscar piastri x mercedes!f1 driver!fem!reader
SUMMARY: the step to your dream is there: your debut season of formula one. determined and laser-focused, nothing can stop you from cruising by. not even the recently available papaya-dressed aussie you call your first love... right? you think you've moved on—two years oscar-free. you're sure of it. but those same childhood feelings resurface when you're racing beside him, leaving you with one question only: will you ever be free from this heart of chambers?
WARNING: fluff, angst, three-year age gap (younger reader), best friend's brother, childhood friends to lovers, unrequited love, some 18+ content, misogyny, f1 politics, verbal and physical abuse
TURN ONE .𖥔 ݁ ˖ — one step forward, three steps back (6.6k)
it's 2025. and your 'new year, new me' is about your debut as the first woman in formula one in over thirty years. busy with moving and training, you aren't focused on the past. but things seem to take a turn when hattie relays some new information.
TURN TWO .𖥔 ݁ ˖ — lucky number eight (6.8k)
the first race of the season doesn’t come without any drama. and crossing the finish line is just the tip of it. between a home race and an impromptu family dinner with the piastri’s that has everyone going down memory lane—who knows what this week will bring?
TURN THREE .𖥔 ݁ ˖ — stranger danger (7.8k)
the great wall provides chaos unlike any other: a truth, a problem, and a bet. and in his effort to be friends again, oscar finds reconciliation a lot harder when the past two years of your life begin to unravel right in front of him, reminding him once again of the only thing he now knows about you: almost nothing.
TURN FOUR .𖥔 ݁ ˖ — baby steps (7.1k)
so far your debut has been pretty good. one may say too good. that cloud nine comes crashing down under the cherry blossoms in japan when one interview sets everything alight. but fret not. oscar seizes the opportunity to remind you of one thing very clearly: he has your back.
TURN FIVE .𖥔 ݁ ˖ — man i need (6.9k)
your tug of war with the journalists never quite seems to end, keeping your name in all the headlines and everyone's mouths. with things looking bleak, your radio silence has people worried. particularly oscar, who can't exactly explain his newfound concern for you.
TURN SIX .𖥔 ݁ ˖ — bad omens and souvenirs (11.7k)
just when things seem to be looking up for you, your world coming crashing down from the unexpected. on the brink of burning out, you threaten to succumb to those wishing for your downfall. but you forget you have plenty of support. especially the boy just ten minutes away from you who seems to always be one step ahead of you.
TURN SEVEN .𖥔 ݁ ˖ — that's monaco, baby! (10.3k)
it's monaco. tight walls and narrow roads, leaving limited space for anything out of the ordinary. but again, it's monaco. everything is out of the ordinary. so with a dash of regret, a hint of anger, and a little something more creates the perfect recipe for destruction.
TURN EIGHT .𖥔 ݁ ˖ — labyrinth (8.5k)
they say the spanish are natural romantics. and oscar intends to find out how romantic they truly are in round nine but gets thrown off course when the people in his life point out what he had obviously been denying. after the chaos of canada, the answer in front of him becomes clear.
A/N: yes! another new seriessss! just what you and i both needed after this messy season mwahahahah! so buckle up bc while this one is childhood friends to lovers, it's gonna be angsty and a whirlwind! and as always, i'm happy to hear your feedback and ideas ♡︎ PLAYLIST (lmk if you want to be tagged!)
The roar of the engines at the karting track was deafening, but at seven years old, she was louder. Perched on the edge of the metal bleachers, she was a whirlwind of frantic energy, her tiny fists clenched as she tracked the blur of a neon helmet circling the asphalt. Her parents were right beside her, their voices lost in the mechanical scream of the karts, but her focus never wavered from her brother. When Kimi finally streaked across the finish line, she didn’t wait for the official signal. She scrambled down the bleachers, her light-up sneakers hitting the pavement in a dead sprint, reaching him before their parents could even notice.
“Grande grande grande!” she squealed, her voice high and breathless as she threw her arms around Kimi’s neck, the hard plastic of his racing suit pressing into her chest.
Kimi was vibrating with an adrenaline high he didn’t yet have the words to describe. He hopped in place, his helmet still tucked under one arm, his face flushed and streaked with a bit of track grime. “Did you see me? I was so fast, wasn’t I? I felt like I was flying!” It was his first time in a competitive kart, and it was immediately clear to everyone watching that he was a natural, a prodigy in the making. She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, nodding with the fierce conviction only a twin could possess. “I saw, Kimi! You were like a rocket ship!”
As the years passed and the stakes climbed, that bond only solidified. When Kimi made the leap into the brutal world of competitive karting, she was his shadow. She was never without him; through every race session, through every rain-soaked and sun-drenched podium, she was there. She had only ever missed a single race in over a decade, a weekend when a 102°C fever had left her delirious and weak, leaving their mother practically tying her to her bed and nailing her bedroom door shut just to stop her from crawling into the car with Kimi.
She had spent those three days in a state of inconsolable heartbreak, crying into her pillow because she couldn't be there to give him his pre-race twin fist bump. When Kimi finally returned home, trophy in hand, he walked straight into her room, sat on the edge of her bed, and draped his winner's medal around her neck. Kimi was the same way; he hated it when she wasn't on the pit wall. To him, the car felt unbalanced, the air felt thin, and the victory felt hollow if she wasn't the first person he saw when he climbed out of the car.
While Kimi lived for the thrill and loud engine roars, she lived for the peace and quiet chirps of the birds. She was the creative of the family, her hands usually stained with paint or glue rather than engine oil. Her lifelong dream was sketched out in a tattered notebook she carried everywhere: a floor plan for a boutique flower shop, complete with a sun-drenched coffee nook in the corner where the steam from the espresso would mingle with the scent of fresh blooms. Kimi would spend hours sitting on the floor beside her while she drew, never complaining about the boredom. He’d grab a colored pencil and carefully fill in the petals of her drawings, his tongue poking out in concentration, sure to color only within the lines and in one motion, or else he'll never hear the end of it. He loved picking flowers for her, raiding the neighbors' gardens whenever they played outside, just because he loved the way her entire world seemed to light up when he handed her a messy bunch of hydrangeas or wild roses.
Then, the duo became a trio. Kimi met Ollie Bearman in the competitive circuit, and the connection was instantaneous. They bonded over a shared obsession with the high-speed chases and late-night video game marathons. Not long after, Ollie became a permanent fixture in their home. He knew which floorboards creaked, where the hidden stash of the good cookies were kept, and he practically had a permanent roll-out bed in Kimi’s room, with a corner of the closet dedicated to his spare hoodies. He was the brother Kimi had never had, but for her, he was something entirely different.
They became an inseparable, chaotic trio. Where Kimi and Ollie went, she followed, acting as the bridge between their high-octane world and the quiet life she dreamed of. They spent their days at the track, the boys racing until their tires were gone, and her cheering until her throat was raw. Afterward, their parents would pile all three of them into the car and head to the local gelateria. They’d sit on the curb, melting gelato dripping down their hands, talking about nothing and everything. Ollie, much like Kimi, became glued to her side. He didn't just tolerate her presence; he sought it out. He would show up at their front door with a new box of video games for them boys, but perched right on top of the plastic cases would be a freshly picked flower he’d managed to source from a nearby garden. Even though Kimi’s room was right at the top of the stairs, Ollie would always walk to the very end of the long hallway to knock on her door first.
"Special delivery," he’d say with that effortlessly polite, lopsided grin, handing her the flowers. Every time his fingers brushed hers, her heart would kick into a gear it didn't know it had, leaving her giggling and blushing as he retreated to go play games with her brother. He was her first real crush, a deep-seated, soul-aching kind of love that only grew more intense as they transitioned from children into young adults.
It first became a problem when Kimi started noticing the way the air changed when Ollie and his sister were in the same room. Kimi was one of, if not the most, observant person in the world. He would notice how Ollie's eyes would always drift to her when she walked in the room, or the way his sister would laugh at his terrible jokes without missing a beat, and by the time they reached Formula 4, the childhood innocence had started to fray. Back when they were seven, the rules were simple:
Always share your snacks (unless it’s mom’s homemade brownies).
Don't crash into each other on the track.
If one of us goes down, we all go down.
But as the karts got faster and the engines grew louder, the stakes shifted from plastic trophies to professional reputations, and Kimi decided the silent understanding between them wasn't enough. So, during a practice session at Silverstone, Kimi added a fourth rule to their childhood pact. "Anyone but my sister, Ollie. Don't go there." And because Ollie was a sweetheart, a boy raised on manners and a deep, soul-level loyalty, he never did, but that wasn’t to say he didn't want to.
He loved Kimi like a brother, but she... she was never just a sister to him. He had always carried the quiet, heavy inkling that she was the one. Yet, the promise he had made to Kimi acted like a restrictor plate on his heart; it was too strong to break, so he settled for staying just within reach. He was the shadow at her side, the one who caught her eye across a crowded room, staying close enough to be there the second she needed him, but never close enough to ignite the bridge between them. She was his mirror in every way.
Kimi was relentless, acting as a human barricade between his twin and his best friend. He would nag her the moment Ollie walked through the front door with a fresh batch of freshly picked flowers, his eyes narrowing as he watched the telltale redness creep into her cheeks. “Not my best friend, gemella,” was Kimi’s go-to line, delivered with a protective edge that left no room for negotiation. She would only nod, her heart heavy but her resolve firm. She loved Kimi too much to ever jeopardize the sacred bond they shared; it had always been Kimi before anyone else, a pact made in the womb. So she forced herself to be content with the almost. She was okay with the stolen glances, the way her breath hitched when they were left alone for a few fleeting minutes without Kimi, and the lingering scent of his cologne after he’d hugged her goodbye. A single thought was the anchor that kept her grounded whenever her heart threatened to float away. To her, Ollie’s kindness wasn't a sign of hidden feelings; it was just... Ollie. He was the boy who had seen her lose her baby teeth and survive her awkward teenage years. In her mind, she was no more than a girl he cared for deeply but would never crave.
Eventually, the years of grit and grease paid off. The two men were recruited into the elite, dizzying world of Formula 1. It was the dream they had chased since they were seven, but for her, it meant they were gone for most of the year. The house felt too quiet without the sound of their arguing or the smell of track tires after a session, but a few thousand miles wouldn't stop her. She still attended every race she could, navigating the labyrinth of F1 logistics with a fierce determination. She found ways through those exclusive paddock gates, even if it meant a cheeky, well-timed email to Toto Wolff himself (which, to her delight and Kimi's confusion, had actually worked).
She became a regular in the paddock, a familiar face amidst the chaos. She’d find herself hanging out in the Mercedes garage first, watching Kimi with a twin's pride, before slipping away to loom around the Haas garage. She’d wait by the cooling fans, eyes searching for a familiar head of messy hair, her heart still doing that same somersault every time Ollie stepped out of the car and looked straight for her in the crowd with his gentle smile.
Then came the race in Emilia Romagna. The air was thick with the scent of espresso, expensive sunblock, and the distant, high-pitched whine of engines. It was a beautiful day for racing, but even better for drama. She strolled through the paddock, her VIP pass swinging proudly around her neck, stamped clearly with the Guest of Kimi Antonelli. Being the twin sister of a Mercedes prodigy had its perks, mainly that she got to attend the world's most exclusive sporting event. It was a long morning. For someone who has lived in Italy for all her life, she almost always lost her way. The long travel to the circuit induced hunger, which eventually led her toward the Paddock Club buffet, her mind focused entirely on finding carbs. Distracted by the menu board, she turned a corner and thump. She collided squarely with a very solid chest. "Oh, shoot! Sorry! I wasn’t looking at all," a soft voice apologized. "No, I’m sorry! I was definitely distracted," she countered, looking up.
Standing before her was a man who looked like he’d been synthesized in a lab specifically to be a heartthrob. He froze for a second, his eyes widening as he took her in. He looked genuinely stunned, she was so beautiful. "I’m, uh... I’m Arthur. Arthur Leclerc," he said, extending a hand. She giggled, the sound light and musical. "I know. You’re kind of hard to miss." She shook his hand, giving her name. "Are you here to give Charles moral support or just for the catering?"
"A bit of both," Arthur admitted, recovering his charm. "The food is usually the highlight if Ferrari has a bad pit stop."
"In that case, help a girl out," she said, gesturing to the buffet. "I’ve heard truffle pasta is to die for. Can you confirm the rumors?" Arthur made a face of mock contemplation. "The truffle is good, for sure. Very classic, but if you want the real deal, go for the Garlic Basil. It’s life-changing." She tilted her head, looking at him with an amused smirk, but she caught a glimpse of the clock behind him and decided that a single pain au chocolat would do for now. "Okay, Mr. Leclerc. I’ll hold you to that recommendation for next time, but I’ve got two drivers waiting for me who get very cranky if I’m late. I'll see you around."
She gave him a playful wave and headed off. She didn't see Arthur linger, his gaze following the sway of her hair until she disappeared into the crowd. By the time she reached the Mercedes garage, the two boys were already on high alert. Kimi was leaning against a stack of tires, talking to Ollie, who looked remarkably relaxed in his Haas kit, until he saw her. "Hey! What took you so long, amore?" Kimi asked, pushing off the tires to wrap her in a massive brotherly hug.
"Sorry! I got turned around," she says, burying her face in his shoulder. "I ended up by a hotel entrance talking to the concierge for way too long. I unfortunately forgot how to get to the paddock.” Ollie let out a soft snort, his eyes warm as he stepped forward. He reached out, pulling her into a hug that lasted just a beat longer than a friendly hug should. He leaned down, planting a soft, lingering kiss on the top of her head like he always does, but everytime, it made her stomach do a flip.
"You should have called me, darling," Ollie murmured, his hand resting casually on her shoulder. "I would have come and picked you up." She shook her head, smiling up at him. "No way. I know you guys are busy. Besides, the concierge was lovely! He even pointed out the best local flower shops for me to visit tomorrow." They stood there for a while, the three of them falling into their usual rhythm, cracking inside jokes about the absurd outfits the celebrities were wearing and debating whose car looked more like a glorified lawnmower that weekend.
“What are your thoughts on the fans having a giant head cutout of yours?” she asked, taking a messy bite out of her pastry. “It’s kind of funny, actually,” Ollie answered, sounding so matter-of-fact before leaning down to take a bite out of her bread, which made her laugh. “I mean, if they’re fine with staring at a gigantic version of my face for two hours, then why not, right?”
“It’s hilarious to see my head that big,” Kimi chimed in, gesturing vaguely in the air to demonstrate the size. “Like, imagine if you woke up tomorrow and your head was actually that big. You wouldn’t be able to get through the door. You’d just be stuck in your room forever, staring out the window like a giant balloon.” It was exactly the kind of absurd, ridiculous comment Kimi always made, the kind that kept them grounded even when their lives were moving at two hundred miles per hour. All of it was perfect. The sun was warm, the laughter was easy, and the company was even better. It was home.
Then, the vibe shifted. Kimi was the first to notice. His eyes narrowed, his protective twin sensors pinging. "Why is Arthur Leclerc looking at you like that?" he muttered, adjusting the brim of his cap. She followed his gaze. A few yards away, Arthur was leaning against the railing, looking effortlessly cool. When he caught her looking, he didn't look away. Instead, he offered a polite, lingering wave and a slow, charming smile. She felt a flush hit her cheeks. She started to lift her hand to wave back; it was only polite, after all, but she didn't finish the motion. Suddenly, Ollie was there. He moved into her personal space with the grace of a driver taking the apex, effectively stepping between her and Arthur’s line of sight. He reached out to her; his body acted as a human barricade.
His jaw was set in that terrifyingly tight line. His shoulders were squared, and he looked twice his usual size. "Shouldn't he be with Charles?" Ollie’s voice was suddenly clipped, almost cold. He didn't look back at Arthur. He kept his eyes fixed on her, though his focus felt more like he was guarding a treasure than having a conversation. "He’s going to get in the way of the mechanics standing there." She looked at Ollie in genuine shock. Ollie was the sweet one. He was the endlessly polite one. Hearing him sound so possessive and riled up was like seeing a golden retriever turn into a wolf.
She reached out, patting his arm gently with a smile that made Ollie melt even if he didn't want to admit it. "We just met in the Paddock Club. He was just being nice and giving me pasta recommendations."
"Yeah? The truffle is the only thing worth eating there," Ollie snapped, his eyes flashing. "Actually, Arthur said the Garlic Basil was the one to die for," she replied. She saw Ollie’s teeth clench. A muscle in his jaw leaped. For a split second, he looked ready to march over there and start a very public, very unsweet argument about pasta and boundaries, but then he caught himself. He saw her confused expression and immediately forced a breath out, softening his features.
"Right," he muttered, his voice dropping back into its usual sweet tone, though the edge was still there. "He’s just... trying to be charming. Don't listen to him." He gave her a one-armed side hug, squeezing her tight before Kimi pushed him away for their respective pre-race briefings, making sure to turn and give her sister their signature twin fist bump right after.
Left to her own devices, she wandered over to the cooling fans to escape the Italian heat. "I thought they’d never let you go," a voice joked. She turned to find Arthur approaching with an easy stride. "Your brother and Bearman are like a two-man security around you. I wasn't sure if I needed a background check just to say hello." She laughed, the tension Ollie had created finally starting to dissipate. "It’s a twin thing. Kimi is... well, Kimi. And Ollie? He just takes everything that happens during the race weekend very seriously."
Arthur leaned against the railing next to her, looking down at his phone for a second before looking back at her. "So, I saw those peonies you posted on your Instagram story yesterday. They were stunning." Her heart skipped a beat. "You... you follow my Instagram? I didn't even know you knew it existed."
"I did some light investigations after we bumped into each other," Arthur teased, his voice attentive and kind. He started asking her about all the things someone would do during the first time they met. Eventually, they talk about her dream shop, the coffee nook, and which flowers grow best in the Italian climate. For a moment, she forgot about the engines, but unbeknownst to her, deep in the shadows of the Haas garage, hidden from the world by the roar of the crowd, Ollie stood perfectly still. His engineer was trying to show him telemetry data on a tablet, pointing out where he could gain time in sector two.
Ollie wasn't looking at the screen. Through the open garage door, he had a perfect, unobstructed view of the cooling fans. He saw Arthur leaning in to hear her over the noise. He saw the way they were smiling. He saw Arthur laugh at something she said, something that was probably supposed to be his joke. Ollie didn't move. He didn't say a word, but the grip he had on his helmet was so intense that his knuckles turned a sharp, ghostly white. The sweet Ollie seemed to be lost at that moment.. In his place was a man who felt like he was watching someone try to steal the very air from his lungs.
"Ollie? You good, mate?" his engineer asked, stepping closer with a water bottle. Ollie snapped his gaze away, his face instantly smoothing into a mask of professional, cold indifference. "I’m fine," he bit out, his voice vibrating with a dark, restless energy. He snatched his balaclava and pulled it over his head, hiding his eyes. "Let’s just get on the grid. I’m ready to move some people out of my way."
After the chaos of the podium ceremony, the spray of sticky champagne, the deafening roar of the crowd, and the frantic energy of the post-race interviews, the world finally began to quiet down. The sun was dipping lower over the circuit, painting the paddock in long, golden hues that reminded her of the track from their childhood. She stood by the front of the Mercedes garage, her heart still thumping in rhythm with the engines. When she saw Kimi approaching, still glowing with the adrenaline of a podium finish, she couldn't contain herself. “Bravo, gemello! Complimenti!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the lingering mechanical hum of the pit lane.
Kimi didn't even slow down; he practically tackled her into a hug, his sweaty fireproof undershirt damp against her skin, but she didn't care. They clung to each other for a long moment, the silent twin language of I’m proud of you and I’m glad you’re safe passing between them, before Kimi was swept away by their parents’ tearful, ecstatic embraces. Ollie trailed behind him a moment later. He looked exhausted, his hair matted to his forehead and a faint smudge of grease on his cheek, but his eyes brightened the second they landed on her. She held her arms wide open, a silent invitation he never declined.
“Congratulations, Mr. Bearman,” she teased as he pulled her in. “P7, huh? Absolute magic out there. You moved through that field like you owned it.”
One of the million things Ollie loved about her, the thing that kept him up at night, was how she was so effortlessly good with words. Whether he was standing on the top step of the podium or nursing the sting of a DNF, she always knew exactly how to sway his mood. She was his North Star, the person who made the high-pressure vacuum of racing feel like a home. “I’m just glad you're here to see it all,” Ollie murmured into her hair. He tightened his grip. She giggled, the sound light and domestic, anchoring him back to earth. “I wouldn't miss it for the world,” she says, pulling back just enough to see both boys. “How about celebratory gelato? Like the old times? My treat.”
The word gelato acted like a command to Kimi. He snapped his head toward them, his eyes wide. “I want pistachio! And lemon! Let’s go right now!” Without waiting for a response, Kimi spun on his heel and started sprinting toward the parking lot, his trophy still clutched in one hand. They stood in stunned silence for a beat before bursting into simultaneous laughter. “He hasn't changed a bit,” Ollie chuckled, shaking his head. As they started to walk, following in Kimi’s frantic wake, Ollie reached out and threw his arm around her shoulder. It was a heavy, warm weight, a familiar tether. Without a second thought, she snuggled into his side, her head resting perfectly against his shoulder as they moved through the cool evening.
But as they walked, Ollie’s gaze drifted toward the Ferrari motorhome, reminded of what happened this morning. For years, Ollie had played the part of a loyal soldier, the perfect best friend, the man who respected Kimi’s fourth rule above all else. He had stayed on the sidelines because Kimi asked him to, and because he feared losing the only family he had ever truly known, but seeing that look in Arthur’s eyes changed something deep inside him. The almost was no longer enough. The what-if in his heart had become a when.
Ollie tightened his arm around her, his fingers grazing her arm in a way that felt less like a brother and more like a man marking his territory, and as he looked down at the girl tucked against his side, he realized he couldn't stay on the sidelines anymore. Not when someone else was finally starting to realize exactly what he had known since he was eleven years old.
He might just be done obeying and pretending.
── .✦
🔒︎ msantonelli
𝖤𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝖺-𝖱𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗇𝖺
liked by kimi_antonelli, olliebearman, georgerussell63 and 40 others
msantonelli beyond proud of you, gemello! 🩵
kimi_antonelli grazie, amore! I couldn't have done it without your support!
↳ msantonelli 🩵🩵🩵
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── .✦
olliebearman posted a story!
kimi_antonelli replied to your story: 😆🖕🏻🩵
msantonelli replied to your story: why am I always third wheeling you two i'm sick of it
↳ olliebearman would you rather have me kiss your cheek instead?
↳ msantonelli Oliver!!!!! 😳😣
↳ olliebearman i'm kidding!! 🤪
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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pairing: oscar piastri x bestfriend!reader, artist!reader
theme: fluff
wc: 6.4k
fc: 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗌!
a/n: 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝗎𝗇𝗄𝗒! 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗎𝗇𝖾𝖽 :) OH MY GOD I posted using my other account, apologies!
I'm the first to admit that I'm reckless
I get lost in your beauty
And I can't see
Two feet in front of me
— Fool's Gold, One Direction
MIAMI, USA
── .✦
herinsta
♫ 𝖮𝗇𝖾 𝖣𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 - 𝖡𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖲𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗋
liked by hattiepiastri, oscarpiastri, lando, kimi_antonelli, georgerussell63 and others
herinsta go easy on them, champ 😮💨🧡
oscarpiastri never, i like it when you see me win ♥︎ by author
↳ lando ok we all know you just like it when she kisses you at parc ferme
↳ georgerussell63 lmao i thought i was the only one who noticed
↳ alex_albon bro practically JUMPS out of his car to get to her
↳ estebanocon oscar is this true?
↳ oscarpiastri everyone get off of my girlfriend's post, how did you even get here????????
↳ herinsta 😆
nicolepiastri You guys are adorable, Congrats again, son! ♥︎ by author
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── .✦
The whirlwind of the last few races had left her heart feeling less like it was soaring and more like it had been through a heavy, high-speed collision. It was bruised, tender, and utterly exhausted from the constant, low-frequency vibration of what-ifs. Every time she felt she had finally found her footing on the shifting sands of their arrangement, the ground would move again. She was left breathless, constantly reeling in the wake of Oscar’s presence, caught between the girl she used to be and the woman he was accidentally making her become. The morning after the Miami Grand Prix, the room was bathed in a soft, humid glow. Oscar was awake before the sun had fully cleared the horizon, fueled by a restless energy humming in his veins since the checkered flag dropped.
The podium in Miami had been a literal spray of gold. He had stood tall, drenched in expensive champagne and the deafening roar of a crowd that screamed his name, looking every bit the champion the world expected him to be, but as he stood on that top step, his eyes were glued to the sidelines where she was smiling, her face flushed with a heat under the Florida sun. She was clapping and shouting his name until her voice cracked. It was a strange, dizzying paradox; as fake as their relationship was supposed to be, he knew her support was the only genuine thing in that entire stadium.
For a while, Oscar debated on the fact that he, at some point, had to admit a truth that terrified him: the real high hadn't been the champagne or the cooling sensation of the trophy’s metal in his hands. It was the kiss. It had evolved into a ritual, a prize he found himself chasing with more desperation than the championship points. It was a beautiful, jagged irony that he held a physical trophy to prove his worth to the world, yet it was her touch he treated like the only finish line that mattered. To him, that kiss wasn't just a performance. It was a jumpstart to a heart that was already idling too fast. It made them nervous in a way that felt dangerous, sparking a fire that was quickly burning, always making it feel entirely too real for a game.
Unable to sit still earlier that morning, Oscar had gone for a run, even if he was never the type to pad through concrete on his feet. As his sneakers hit the pavement of the humid Miami streets, his thoughts drifted back to Japan, to the moment the air between them had first changed. The feelings he had started to feel then, the ones that had scared him into silence, seemed to have finally filled his entire body. It wasn't the steady, comfortable warmth of a lifelong friendship anymore. It was electricity. He felt it in his fingertips every time they brushed; he felt it in the back of his throat whenever she laughed. He didn't see her the way a friend sees a friend. He saw her as the center of gravity he was helplessly circling.
Now, he sat on the edge of the sprawling hotel bed. The room was silent, the soft sound of her breathing being the only sound that echoed. He turned his head, watching her sleep for several minutes. Her face was peaceful, a stray lock of hair fanned across her cheek, and for a moment, the intensity of his own heart felt like a physical weight. He looked away, staring out the massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlooked the waking city of Miami. The neon lights were fading as the pastel sunrise began to bleed across the skyline. He needed to move. He needed to do something before the sheer insanity of his feelings caused him to wake her up and confess everything.
Then, an idea flickered into his mind, a distraction, a way to channel this frantic, golden energy into something that didn't involve staring at her until she woke up. It was a plan that could surely get his mind off the terrifying reality that he was no longer pretending. She stirred awake not long after, the soft rustle of the sheets drawing his attention. Oscar turned away from the window, the morning light catching the sharp, happy line of his jaw. “Good morning, bub,” he said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that only existed before the world rushed in. She blinked, squinting against the brightness, her lips curving into a sleepy, lopsided grin. “You’re up early.” Then a pause. “Like a winner,” she joked, her voice thick with sleep.
Oscar didn’t even hesitate. He snatched the spare pillow and whacked her over the head with it. “Give it up!”
“Never!” she squealed, shielding herself with her arms, laughing as she scrambled to sit up. “That commercial is tattooed on my brain forever. It stays there until you do another goofy-ass commercial to replace it.” Oscar let out a long, dramatic sigh, but a snicker escaped him anyway. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her with an expression that was softer than he probably intended. “What if we extend Miami for one more day?”
She paused, her hand frozen in the act of smoothing her messy hair. “Wouldn't Tom and Zak kill you if you missed your debriefs or your flights?” He shook his head, a playful glint in his eyes. “We have nothing on for tomorrow. The next commitment isn't until Tuesday, and I know you have to be back to continue painting for the exhibit, so I thought... one more day for us. Today. Then we go home tomorrow. We deserve it, don’t you think?”
She tilted her head, a teasing brow arched. “We deserve it? I don’t remember winning a Grand Prix yesterday.”
“No, but our plan is rolling quite well, isn't it?” Oscar’s smile was triumphant, though it carried a flick of something she couldn't quite name. “Lily’s been in my DMs since Bahrain. And you... you seem to be getting along with Ollie exactly the way you wanted to. That counts as a win, too, right?”
For a split second, the air left her lungs. Her face fell, a shadow passing over her eyes before she caught herself. She forced a bright, jagged smile onto her face, praying he wouldn't see the way it didn't reach her heart. Right. The plan. “Yes! You’re right,” she feigned excitement, throwing back the covers and rolling out of bed to head toward the shower. “That is a massive win. Okay, one more day! So, where are we going?” It was still a shock to her system that Formula One drivers moved through the world with such a specialized set of perks. Within an hour, a McLaren Artura Spider had materialized in front of the hotel entrance, looking like a sleek, predatory insect under the palms.
“Can I drive it, Jackie?” she asked, reaching for the keys. Oscar laughed, shaking his head as he held them high out of reach. “No way, bub.” She frowned, crossing her arms as she hopped into the passenger seat. Oscar never let her drive the company cars; she was convinced he was terrified she’d find a way to stall a supercar or, worse, drive it too normally.
“Okay, first stop: Maccas,” he announced. Her mood shifted instantly. “Yes!”
It was their sacred tradition. Since the days of karting and RC cars, every Piastri win was followed by a nugget box, two cheeseburgers, a side of fries, and a Coca-Cola for him. For her, it was always orange juice. When they pulled into the car park, the smell of grease and salt felt like home. “Cheers,” she said, lifting her burger in a mock toast. Oscar smiled at her, his gaze lingering a second too long. “Cheers.”
As they ate, the high-stakes pressure of the paddock vanished. They talked about the things they’d missed,the quiet details of life that got swallowed up by travel schedules and training. They watched the Miami traffic drift by from the quiet sanctuary of the car. “I’ve always wondered what the exhibit would actually look like,” she admitted softly, her thumb tracing the rim of her juice cup.
“I know, bub,” Oscar said, his voice unusually gentle. “Ever since we were little, you talked big about having your own show.”
“I know, but it was always a dream, y’know? Now that it’s about to come true, I’m... I don’t know. Scared? What if no one likes what I do? What if they see the paintings and just see a girl who’s spent too much time in garages?” She kept her eyes on the passing cars, her heart hammering against her ribs. Suddenly, she felt his hand slide over hers. His grip was warm, steady, and certain.
“I love what you do,” he said, forcing her to look at him. “And I’ll be there. If no one else cheers for you, I’ll be the loudest one in the room.” The sincerity in his voice made her throat tighten. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jackie.”
They were sitting in the car, the engine idling, when both their phones chimed almost in unison. A text for her, a text for him. The plan was working with terrifying precision. The targets were moving in, the bait had been taken. They both looked at their screens, then looked at each other. They offered up small, forced smiles, the kind of smiles you give when you’re supposed to be celebrating a victory, but all you can think about is how much you’re going to miss the person sitting in the seat next to you. They stayed there for a while, hand in hand, the silence between them comfortable and heavy all at once. When they finally set off again, the music was louder, an upbeat track pulsing through the speakers, but their hands stayed interlaced over the center console. Oscar didn’t let go, and she didn't want him to.
── .✦
herinsta posted a story!
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── .✦
When he finally pulled into a lot, she looked up and saw the giant, neon signage of an arcade. “No way, Jackie!” She was out of the car before he’d even cut the engine, jumping around on the pavement. “An arcade!”
It was their childhood sanctuary. The little arcade near their houses in Melbourne was where they’d spent every spare second when Oscar wasn't racing and she wasn't locked away with her canvases. “Oh, you’ve done it now! You’re going down, Piastri!” she screamed, sprinting toward the entrance.
Oscar stood by the car for a moment, watching her. He felt a warm, terrifying bloom in his chest, a feeling so expansive he had to press his hand to his ribs as if he could physically hold it in. No, he told himself. Focus. This day was supposed to be a reminder that they were best friends first. He just had to keep reminding his heart to stay in its lane.
“Oh, you wish!” he shouted, a genuine, wild grin breaking across his face as he chased her into the neon glow.
The arcade was a kaleidoscope of flashing neon and synthesized music, and for the next three hours, the rest of the world, the paddock, the contracts, and the looming shadows of an ex, ceased to exist. They moved through the aisles like a whirlwind. It started with air hockey, a game that quickly devolved into a high-stakes battle of reflexes. Oscar played with the same clinical precision he used on the track, his eyes narrowed as he defended his goal.
“That’s cheating! You’re using your aero-brain!” she accused, breathless as the puck flew past her at a speed that felt borderline illegal. “It’s called physics, bub! Maybe try a different line!” Oscar retorted, a rare, competitive cackle breaking through his usually calm exterior.
They moved from the air hockey table to the basketball hoops, where she managed to outscore him by three points after he got distracted. She did a victory lap around the machine, her laughter ringing out over the sound of clattering tickets. Oscar just leaned against the side, his chest heaving as he watched her, that warm, uncontainable glow in his eyes refusing to dim.“Next!” she commanded, pointing toward a pair of linked racing simulators.
Oscar’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re really going to challenge a Grand Prix winner to a driving game?”
“It’s an arcade, Jackie. The physics are wonky and the steering wheel feels like it’s attached with rubber bands. You’re in my territory now.”
They sat in the plastic bucket seats, the screen glowing blue against their skin. For five minutes, it was absolute carnage. She drove like a maniac, bumping his virtual car into the barriers every time he tried to overtake. “Hey! Dirty driving!” Oscar yelled, his hands white-knuckled on the plastic wheel. “That’s a five-second penalty! Where are the stewards?”
“No stewards in Miami, Piastri! Only chaos!” In the end, she truly took the win by a hair, he reached over the divider and nudged her shoulder with his. “Not bad. I might have to tell Zak to keep an eye on you for the reserve seat.”
By the time they reached the prize counter, they were laden with thousands of paper tickets that trailed behind them like a wedding train. They spent fifteen minutes debating the merits of a giant stuffed dinosaur versus a pair of neon sunglasses and a plastic ring that changed color with your mood. “The ring,” she decided, sliding it onto her finger. It immediately turned a deep, vibrant purple. “What does purple mean?” Oscar leaned in, squinting at the tiny chart on the back of the box. “It says… ‘Enchanted.’ Or maybe ‘Confused.’ The font is tiny.”
“I’ll go with enchanted,” she whispered, looking up at him. The air between them shifted, the arcade’s frantic noise fading into a dull hum. They were standing too close, her hand still clutching the cheap plastic ring and his hand resting on the counter right next to hers. Oscar’s gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second, a habit he was becoming helpless to stop, before he cleared his throat and looked away, his ears tinged pink.
“Come on,” he said, his voice a little husky. “I think there’s a photobooth in the corner. We need evidence of today's insane results.” They squeezed into the cramped, velvet-curtained box, shoulders pressed together, thighs touching in the tiny space. The camera flashed four times. The first flash, they both made goofy faces, sticking their tongues out, The second flash, she tried to bunny-ear him, and he caught her wrist, laughing. In the third flash, they both looked at the camera, smiling wide and genuine, and in the last flash, just as the timer hit one, Oscar turned his head to look at her. He wasn't smiling anymore; his expression was raw and full of an ache he couldn't hide.
The strip of photos slid out of the machine, still warm. She grabbed it, her breath hitching when she saw the final frame. Oscar was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. “I’m keeping this one,” she said, tucking it into her pocket before he could see it too clearly. “Fair enough,” Oscar murmured, his hand finding hers as they stepped back out into the neon lights. He didn't let go as they walked toward the exit, the humid Miami night air waiting for them outside. “Best day ever?”
“Best day ever,” she agreed, squeezing his hand. For a moment, it was easy to forget that tomorrow they had to go back to being the world’s favorite fake couple. For now, they were just two best friends from Melbourne, lost in the lights, terrified of how much they didn't want the day to end.
── .✦
oscarpiastri posted a story!
MONACO, EUROPE
The Monaco Grand Prix was a shimmering blur of yachts, tunnels, and the relentless pursuit of perfection. For Oscar, securing P3 was a triumph, but as he brought the car into Parc Fermé, his focus wasn't on the trophy or the points. He was buzzing, a low-voltage electricity humming under his skin. Every nerve ending was primed for the moment he stepped out of the cockpit, not for the cameras, but for her. He was looking for any excuse to feel her pulse against his, to taste the salt of the race on his lips as they met hers, but when the visor went up and he scanned the sea of papaya orange, she wasn't there.
His eyes darted through the crowd, his heart sinking a fraction until he spotted her several yards away, tucked into a conversation with one of his engineers. She was laughing, her attention entirely elsewhere. A sharp, hot spike of annoyance, something that felt suspiciously like possessive jealousy, flared in his chest. Oscar didn’t wait. He moved through the crowd with purpose, reached out, and pulled her by the arm toward him. Before she could even register the movement, he crashed his lips onto hers with a sudden, desperate intensity. From behind them, Lando let out a loud, theatrical laugh. "My god, mate! Calm it down," he teased, patting Oscar’s back before disappearing toward the cooling rooms.
When they finally separated, she was breathless, her eyes wide and sparkling as she giggled. "What was that all about?" Oscar didn't answer immediately. He let a slight, stubborn pout settle on his lips, his brow furrowed. "You weren't there when I got out," he muttered, sounding more like the boy she grew up with than the podium finisher. She chuckled, reaching up to cup his face. "Sorry, Jackie," she whispered, planting a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek that did more to soothe his ego than any trophy ever could.
The adrenaline of Monaco eventually faded into the quiet comfort of her apartment. While Oscar claimed the sofa, flipping aimlessly through channels, she retreated to her sanctuary, the corner by the window where her canvases lived. She was lost in a world of pigment and brushstrokes, the scent of linseed oil filling the room. "We’ve been invited to a party tomorrow night," Oscar said casually, his voice cutting through her concentration.
She paused, a streak of cerulean blue halfway across the canvas. "Jackie, what party? What do you mean we?"
"We are invited," he said, turning to look at her over the back of the couch. "You’re my girlfriend. Of course you’ll come with me. It’s some Formula Party, I think it’s black tie, formal wear. I don't know, they just emailed the details. I’ll send them to you later."
She stood there, brush in hand, trying to process the casual weight of his words. It wasn't just the short notice; it was the way girlfriend had rolled off his tongue so effortlessly, like it was a fact of nature rather than a line in a contract. She shook the feeling off, turning back to the painting to hide the sudden heat in her cheeks. "You have to buy me a dress," she called out over her shoulder. "Whatever you want, bub," he replied nonchalantly, but the moment the words left his mouth, Oscar felt his heart vault into his throat. He stared at the TV screen, the colors blurring, wondering, waiting, hesitating.
The next morning, the sun crawled across the living room floor, finding Oscar on the couch. He’d stayed over, claiming he was too tired to drive the five minutes home, though he knew, and he was certain he’d never admit this even under oath, that he just wanted to be near her. He liked the quiet of her home, the way they could exist in the same space. She emerged from her bedroom with her brows knitted together, the universal sign that her brain hadn't fully booted up yet. She didn't even acknowledge him, merely letting out a low, grumpy hum. Oscar chuckled, standing up. On autopilot, he walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. She was too sleepy to jump or protest; instead, she simply let her head fall back against his chest, a soft sigh escaping her.
"Coffee," she grumbled into his shirt. Oscar laughed, the sound vibrating through her. "Alright, sleepy monster. I’ll make your coffee. Go take a seat on the sofa."
She nodded obediently and trudged away. Oscar gripped the edge of the marble kitchen island, taking a deep, steadying breath. Why did I do that? his brain screamed. His heart was hammering like a drum of liberation against his ribs, loud enough that he was sure she could hear it, but there was no going back now. He moved through the familiar motions, grinding the beans, brewing it exactly the way he’d memorized she liked it. When he returned to the living room, she was sprawled on the sofa, eyes closed, the morning light hitting her face in a way that made her look like a masterpiece he wasn't allowed to touch.
"Bub? Here’s your coffee," he said softly, setting the mug on the table. He plops down beside her and turns on the TV. His arm instinctively finds the back of the sofa, and within seconds, she begins to tilt. She dropped onto his chest, leaning her full weight against him.
"Modern Family please, Jackie," she murmured. He didn't argue. He just pressed play on her favorite show. She was laying on him now, her warmth seeping through his clothes. It was crazy, she had always been like this. She had a habit of treating him like a human pillow, and he had spent a lifetime pretending he didn't mind, but now, with everything hanging between them, every touch felt magnified.
Keep it cool, Piastri, he told himself, sighing deeply. His arm slowly landed on her belly, his fingers twitching slightly. She snuggled closer, her breathing evening out.
It’s nothing, he lied to himself. She always does this. It’s not that—
And then she shifted, turning her body fully to wrap her arms around him in a proper hug, tucking her face into his neck.
—serious.
Oscar stared at the ceiling, his heart doing a frantic solo in his chest.
The morning was an exercise in patience for Oscar, though he’d never admit he secretly enjoyed the domesticity of it. She had dragged him through every corner of the city, bypassing the gleaming glass fronts of designer boutiques in favor of dusty thrift shops tucked away in narrow alleys. She moved through the racks with the eye of a curator, dismissing stiff, branded labels with a flick of her wrist. To her, beauty wasn't something you bought with a logo; it was something you discovered. On their seventh shop, just as Oscar was beginning to voice his hundredth complaint about the lack of air conditioning, she stopped dead in her tracks.
It was a floor-length, yellow satin dress. It was the kind of garment that felt like it belonged in a different era, something only Kate Hudson would wear to deliberately lose a guy. It was simple, elegant, and glowing, and when she held it up against herself, Oscar’s complaints died in his throat. She bought it for a fraction of what his suit cost, and they headed home in a blur of anticipation.
When the knock finally came on her door later that evening, Oscar was standing in the hallway, adjusting his cuffs and feeling strangely like a teenager on prom night. The door swung open, and the breath he was holding didn’t just leave his lungs, it was snatched away. The yellow satin clung to her like liquid sunlight. She looked breathtaking, her hair swept up, her skin glowing. “I—uh—wow, bub,” was all he could manage, his usual cool composure dissolving into a puddle of stunned silence. She let out a bright, melodic laugh, reaching out to tap him under the chin. “Pick your jaw up off the floor, Jackie,” she teased, sweeping past him toward the elevator. The venue was a sprawling, opulent space packed with the elite of the racing world. As they stepped inside, she instinctively tucked herself closer to him, her hand gripping his arm with a tight, nervous energy. Oscar, usually the one to shy away from the spotlight, felt a sudden, fierce surge of protective instinct. He slid his hand down to catch hers, interlacing their fingers and giving her a firm, reassuring squeeze.
“Is it okay if I introduce you to them?” he asked, his voice low and private. “It’s okay if you don't. We can hide out by the balcony if it’s too much.”
It was these moments that made her heart ache. He understood her silence; he caught the tiny tremors of her anxiety before they even formed. He was the most observant man she knew, yet he was somehow missing the giant, neon sign that said she was hopelessly in love with him.
“It’s fine, Jackie,” she smiled, emboldened by his grip. “Lead the way.”
They approached the long table where the drivers had congregated. It was a chaotic scene of laughter and clinking glasses. “Hey guys,” Oscar announced, and for the first time in front of the whole grid, he didn't hesitate. “This is my girlfriend.” The reaction was immediate. Lando leaped up, nearly knocking his chair over, and pulled her into a massive hug. “Oh, finally! I get to meet you properly without Oscar’s face being on yours,” he joked, earning a chorus of whistles from the table. She blushed but laughed along. “Sorry about that. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Good things, I hope? Sit beside me, ‘kay? We’ll talk properly when the food arrives,” Lando said, already pulling out a chair for her.
One by one, the titans of the track introduced themselves. Alex Albon was kind and easy-going, immediately promising a playdate with his pets if they get the chance; Carlos and Charles were charming, talking about everything but racing, asking her questions she never thought people would like to know about her, which made her feel at ease; Max was surprisingly domestic, talked about how much he loved both his daughters, making her fall in love with them through his stories, leaving her asking to visit them one day and Max agreeing almost immediately. To her surprise, she found common ground with almost all of them, and through the entire conversation, Oscar never truly let go. His hand remained firmly on her lap under the table, a heavy, grounding weight that reminded her she wasn't alone.
The peace was momentarily interrupted when the younger drivers arrived. Her eyes lit up instantly as she spotted a familiar face. “Ollie!” Ollie Bearman jogged over, a wide, genuine smile breaking across his face. He pulled her into a tight hug, whispering, “You look beautiful,” just loud enough for her to hear. “And you look ravishing,” she replied, beaming. She pulled back to spot the young Italian trailing behind him. “Kimi!” She lunged forward, running to hug Kimi, who was already eyeing the chocolate mousse on the dessert display with intense focus.
Lando looked over at Oscar, noticing the way his teammate’s jaw had suddenly tightened. Oscar’s hand had slid off her lap as she stood up, and now he was watching the rookies with a look that was decidedly un-calm. He watched the way Ollie trailed behind her like a loyal shadow, his eyes never leaving her, and that alone made him want to flip the table. When the appetizers rolled in, Lando made good on his promise, talking her ear off about paddock gossip, Twitch streams and everything in between. She bonded with him quickly, her laughter echoing across the table. Oscar tried to be happy for her, he really did, but from the corner of his eye, he kept catching Ollie stealing glances at her, and worse, he saw her stealing them back.
The main course came and went, and Oscar’s patience finally hit its limit. He couldn't stand the way Ollie was looking at her. He needed to reclaim the space. “Want to dance?” he said, perhaps a bit too loudly. She nearly choked on her wine, coughing as she looked at him in shock. “Uh, yeah. Sure, Jackie.”
“Jackie?!” Lando crowed, delightedly turning to the rest of the table. “Oh gosh, that’s cute! She calls him Jackie, mate! Did you hear that, George?” Oscar ignored the impending lifetime of teasing. He stood up, took her hand, and led her toward the dance floor. He pulled her in close, his hands settling firmly on her waist, while she looped her arms around his neck. They swayed to the slow beat, the light from the disco ball scattering across her skin like fallen stars. This, finally, calmed the storm in Oscar’s chest. She was here. She was in his arms. “Your friends are amazing,” she murmured, resting her temple against his chest. “I know,” Oscar smiled, his thumbs tracing small circles on the satin of her dress. “But sometimes they get on my nerves.”
“You get on my nerves, but I don't say anything,” she teased. He let out a soft laugh, his eyes locking onto hers. “But that’s different. You love me.” He said it so matter-of-factly, as if he were stating the weather. You love me. The words hung in the air, heavy and shimmering. It was true. She had loved him for more than half her life, as a best friend, as a confidant, as a protector, but looking at him now, under the dimmed lights of a ballroom, she realized that best friend was a title that had become too small to hold everything she felt.
“Well,” she replied quietly, her voice barely a whisper against the music. “True.”
The tunes from the ballroom were just a muffled thump behind them, and the air on the patio felt cool and real. They walked to the edge of the stone railing, looking out at the water. Monaco was always pretty at night, the way the moon made the sea look like it was glowing from underneath. They found a small stone bench tucked away in the shadows. Oscar sat down first, and she followed, smoothing out her dress. They sat close, the way they always did, but tonight the space between them felt different. Oscar rested his hand on the bench, his fingers just a few inches from hers. He wanted to move that extra inch. He wanted to feel the warmth of her hand against his, to just hold on and not let go, but he stayed still, his heart thudding against his ribs.
"It’s so quiet out here," she said softly, leaning her head back to look at the stars. "Better than inside." Oscar agreed. “Lando is never going to let the ‘Jackie’ thing go. I’ll be hearing that over the radio at every race.”
She laughed, the sound carried away by the sea breeze. “Well, don’t let him call you that, It’s my nickname for you.” She looked out at the water, her expression turning thoughtful. She went quiet for a second, watching a boat move slowly across the harbor. "Jackie? Can I ask you something kind of stupid?"
"You know you can, always."
"What is love actually supposed to feel like?" she asked, her voice small. She looked down at her lap, picking at a loose thread on her dress. "I mean, I’ve never actually had a boyfriend. Not a real one. This whole plan with you... this is the first time I’ve ever done any of this. The holding hands, the dates, the... everything. Is it supposed to feel this confusing?"
Oscar looked at her, and his chest felt tight. He thought about how he felt when she walked into a room, or how his day didn't really start until he’d talked to her. "I don't think it’s supposed to be confusing," Oscar said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I think it’s just... a person. Someone who makes you feel like you don't have to try so hard. Like you can just sit in a room and not say anything for an hour, and it’s still the best part of your day."
He looked at his hand on the bench, then at hers. "Why? Are you thinking about Ollie? Is that how he makes you feel?" She bit her lip, staring at the dark horizon. "Ollie is so nice. He’s sweet and he’s easy to talk to. It’s what I always thought I wanted. Someone who just shows up when I ask or even when I don’t.” She says. Her description of him piercing through Oscar’s heart like a sharp knife. Didn’t he do all those things, too?
“We're making so much progress. I’m finally getting close to the guy I wanted." She smiles, but not enough that it reaches her eyes. "Yeah," Oscar said, the word feeling heavy. "And Lily’s back. She’s been texting. The plan is working. We're getting closer to the goal every day."
"We’re doing it, aren't we?" she whispered, giving a little, sad laugh. "We’re actually winning."
"Almost there," Oscar said, but as the words left his mouth, the air between them felt heavy, almost suffocating. They were talking about winning, but it felt like they were losing everything. Every step they took toward Ollie and Lily was a step further away from each other. They were so focused on the finish line that they were missing the truth staring them in the face, that they had been each other's person for all their lives, and neither of them knew how to survive the win.
He wanted to reach out then. He wanted to grab her hand and tell her that he didn't care about the plan anymore. He wanted to tell what he really felt, but he didn't move. He couldn't. He was too scared that if he spoke the truth, he’d break the only thing he had left. "I'm happy we're making progress, Jackie," she said. "We're almost at the end," Oscar replies, his hand feeling cold and empty at his side. Oscar was looking at her in the moonlight, his heart aching with the realization that winning the game might mean losing her. "We're almost there."
The quiet of the patio was broken by the sharp, persistent ring of Oscar’s phone. He pulled it from his pocket, the screen illuminating his face in the moonlight. The name Lily flashed in bright, bold letters. She saw it. She saw the way his thumb hesitated for a split second before he looked at her with an apologetic, almost pained expression. "Take it, Jackie," she whispered, forcing a small smile that felt like it was breaking her face.
Oscar nodded slowly, his jaw tight. "I’ll just be a minute," he said, already turning away. As he walked toward the far end of the terrace, his voice dropped into that soft, attentive tone he used to save just for her. She watched him go. The second his back was turned, her smile vanished, replaced by a look of such profound longing it was almost physical. She stared at the silhouette of his shoulders, her heart screaming for him to turn around, to hang up, to tell her that the plan didn't matter anymore, but he kept walking, disappearing into the shadows of the stone pillars. She wrapped her arms around herself, the yellow satin of her dress feeling like a costume she was tired of wearing.
"You look like you're a million miles away." She jumped slightly, looking up to see Ollie standing there. He looked kind, his eyes full of the soft, uncomplicated warmth that had initially made him the perfect target for their plan. He immediately takes off his blazer, draping it onto her shoulders.
"Oh—hey," she said, wiping a stray tear before it could fall. "Is this seat taken?" he asked, gesturing to the spot Oscar had just vacated. She shook her head, and Ollie sat down, not quite as close as Oscar usually did, but close enough to be comforting. He didn't ask why she looked sad; instead, he pulled a small, silver foil-wrapped chocolate out of his pocket. "I stole this from the dessert table. Kimi was guarding the mousse, but I’m faster than I look."
A small, genuine laugh escaped her. "You’re a lifesaver, Ollie."
"I try," he grinned, nudging her shoulder playfully. He started telling her a ridiculous story about a mishap in the simulators earlier that week, his voice light and easy. For a moment, the heavy fog in her chest lifted. She leaned into the conversation, her laughter growing louder as he acted out a particularly chaotic maneuver. Across the patio, Oscar clicked his phone shut. The call with Lily had been everything he’d spent weeks working toward. She was charmed, she was interested, she kept telling him that she wanted to see him when he got back to the UK. It was a total victory, but as he turned back toward the bench, the sight felt like a punch to the gut. There she was. She was glowing under the moonlight, her head thrown back in a beautiful, unrestrained laugh, and Ollie was right there, leaning in, his hand resting casually on the back of the bench behind her. They looked perfect. They looked like the kind of couple people wrote songs about.
Oscar stood frozen in the shadows, his heart aching with a sharp, jagged jealousy he could no longer pretend was part of the act. He had cleared the path for Ollie to take his place, and now that it was happening, he felt like he was watching his entire world being handed to someone else. He walked toward them, his footsteps heavy and slow. When she noticed him, she didn't stop laughing immediately, but her eyes quickly searched his face.
"Everything okay with Lily?" she asked, her voice bright, though she didn't move away from Ollie. "Yeah," Oscar said, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears. "Everything is exactly how it should be.” He stood there, the third wheel in a trio he had helped create, realizing that while he was busy winning over a girl, he had officially lost the girl.
── .✦
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oscarpiastri posted a story!
lando replied to your story: simp! 🫵🏻
lando replied to your story: jackie is so down bad ain't he? 😛🫵🏻
oscarpiastri has restricted lando
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oscarpiastri
♫ 𝖮𝗇𝖾 𝖣𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 - 𝖫𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌
liked by hattiepiastri, herinsta, lando, kimi_antonelli, georgerussell63 and 700K others
oscarpiastri thanks for having us :)
user87 bro says thanks for having us then uses the most romantic song ever and posting a picture of him looking at his girl like she hung the stars
user16 LMAOOOO bro thinks he can get away with being the most in love man
user33 Notice how he never uses house music when he posts her!!!!!
lando JACKIE THE SIMP
↳ oscarpiastri didn't I restrict you?
↳ lando you WHAT
↳ oscarpiastri nvm
↳ oscarpiastri also please don't call me jackie, only my girl calls me that
georgerussell63 you cannot convince me you know who one direction is
↳ oscarpiastri did you forget that i'm a genz you old man?
↳ lando he's lying, i asked him if he listened to harry styles' new album and he said "harry who?"
↳ oscarpiastri @.lando how do you keep popping up I limited your access
↳ oscarpiastri @.georgerussell63 it's @.herinsta 's favourite band
↳ herinsta @.lando dm me I have thoughts about HS4 I need you to weigh in on
↳ lando already typing
↳ oscarpiastri ????
☁️ The ultimate guide to every F1 fic (fake texts and freaky agendas) I’ve posted on my blog. You’ll find everything organized by driver, so you can easily find exactly what you’re in the mood for. The list will be updated regularly.
☁️ Everything I write is:
purely fictional, and just for fun;
18+, explicit, and contains mature/sexual content, unless specified (please, always read the warnings);
“she/her reader”, because you guys won’t catch me dead using Y/N, it’s just not working for me, sorry :(
my duets can be read as standalone pieces (unless specified), but I do recommend reading them as a package.
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