Chocolate - The 1975

✶ FOR THE HOPE OF IT ALL

summary: the italian sun shines on you and oliver's summer idyll, but the month of august trickles away rapidly─ what will happen when it reaches an end? ✷ IVY'S POETRY DEPARTMENT EVENT: « will you love me in december as you do in may? »

F1 MASTERLIST | OB87 MASTERLIST

pairing: oliver bearman x f!reader

wc: 5.2k

cw: summer romance, bittersweet, fluff, hopeful ending, reader has an anxiety disorder, use of y/n, oliver has an injury for plot purposes

note: requested here! first time writing for ollie so i'm kinda nervous, hope i did him justice! also there's not near enough fics of the '25 rookies it's scandalous

♫ like real people do - hozier, august - taylor swift, let it happen - gracie abram

THE LASTING WEIGHT on your shoulders was something you became accustomed to. It settled there long ago. The quickened breaths, the sharp sting behind your eyes almost comforting in its regularity. The clatter of your pen dropping to the floor during another restless study session and the ache in your ribcage as you fought for hopeless takes of serrated air no longer startled you. Your newly-appointed therapist told you, scribbling away on her notepad— “Maybe you need fresh air, time away from university.” As if sunlight could smooth out the tension etched into your bones.

That was what the seaside house was meant to be.

It wasn’t a cottage per se. Just a weather-worn brick-walled home tucked near the Italian coast, kissed by salt and sun and blue shutters faded to memory, ivy hugging the balcony tenderly. You rented it with the help of your parents, who insisted that you go on this trip, but the silence you were standing in was yours alone. You, twenty years old, burnt out, along with a diary you promised your therapist you’ll write in every day, from the soft, sunlit beginnings of May to the cold end of August.

The house in itself was as isolated as it could get, perched above the sea along eroded rocks and concealed from the nearest town and its tourists. It stood alone, in all likeness to you, waiting for inhabitation. The only hint of human life you noticed, as you mindlessly sipped your iced tea from the back doorway, sun warming your knees, was the distant outline of another house, a few kilometers down the coast. Far enough that it’d take a good ten-minute walk to reach it, but close enough so that you could discern the silhouette of a tall man standing in its overgrown backyard.

You didn’t linger much on it. He was but the ghost of civilization— a shadow at the edge of your retreat you weren’t ready to let back in. This was the time to center on your thoughts, peel back the numbness eating at your heart, and relearn yourself. You stepped back inside, glass empty, and didn’t think about him again.

At least, not then.

The month of May passed slowly, honey dripping down the rim of a jar. You mostly stayed in your little alcove of the world, letting the days stretch out in silence. Mornings were slow— toast with jam, milk coffee, the dog-eared pages of half-read books sitting on the sunlounger outside. You wrote in your diary about it, about how you’d paint your nails one day and chip them off the next, or how on other days you’d lie out on the balcony, the crash of the waves lulling you in and out of sleep. You watched the ivy grow and the sky change. For a while, it was nice, soft, and still.

But solitude, even chosen, eventually turns sharp at the edges. By the third week, the silence wasn’t so romantic: you started counting the hours between meals, pacing the kitchen tiles barefoot, and you reread your own diary entries even if you hadn’t spoken aloud in days. The stillness you once craved had started to feel like a trap— yet the worst of it was yourself: thoughts of precious hours you were wasting away instead of sitting at the desk of your dorm room haunted your boredom, similar to a ghost.

Which is why, now and then, when the breeze shifted just right, you found your gaze drifting down a few centimeters down the coast, toward the other house, and the man you suspected might still be there.

To the unknowing eye, you’re sure it could have looked unsettling, but truthfully, you didn’t have anything else to do but to observe. He was a welcoming presence, something that didn’t make you feel so secluded. Some days, the man would tinker with a bike for hours until the sun bled orange. Other times, he’d vanish with a towel slung over his shoulders and goggles in his hand, not returning until dusk. Occasionally, he’d mirror you, barefoot in the garden, basking in the sun. And sometimes—only sometimes—you swore he tilted his head upwards and caught your eyes. On those days, you always turned away first, slipped back inside, and retreated for the night.

Your personal game of people-watching stretched for a week or two before you spoke for the first time.

You spent the afternoon on a small, sheltered beach just a few minutes away from your house. The dry air had nipped at your skin just enough for it to become uncomfortable after a few hours, and the sun-turned—from warm to punishing—had your cheeks tight with the start of a sunburn. You packed up as the sky began to blush with the first hints of sunset, already fantasizing about the cool shade of your living room and the steady hum of the fan. It would have been glorious.

Would have, if you hadn’t locked yourself out.

You jiggled the handle once, twice, but nothing. Your towel slipped from your arms, and you cursed under your breath, pressing your forehead to the wooden door. Saltwater still clung to your skin, your hair stuck to the back of your neck, and the stupid key was sitting smugly on the kitchen counter inside.

A posh, British accent spoke from behind you. “Do you need some help?”

You turned, confused about the origin of the sudden voice, and there he was. The man from the neighboring house.

It was unmistakably him— there was just something about the tousled mess of brown, semi-curls falling in front of his face, the soft eyes crinkled at the corners with barely contained amusement. His skin, darkened by the sweep of summer, looked like it had soaked up every hour of its beginnings. There was familiarity in the delicate shape of him and the easy way he stood, towering over you. The towel in his hand was the same deep navy you’d seen slung over his shoulder days before. His gaze—sharp, steady, curious—felt exactly like it had when you’d caught him looking up at you.

“I, uh… I might?” You stumbled on your words as you answered.

He chuckled, leaning slightly against the fence in front of your house. “Locked yourself out?”

“I wish I could say no,” you nodded, making a noise somewhere between a whine and a laugh.

The man, who looked increasingly more boyish the more steps he took toward you, gripped the door handle. He twisted it a few times before kicking the bottom of the wooden plank and, before your stunned expression, it snapped open. He looked at you with a proud smile. “Don’t worry, people who rent this house usually don’t know about this trick.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Does that mean you come here often?”

Mortification crashed over you along with realization— you threw an accidental pick-up line at a complete stranger. A stranger who, objectively speaking, was very cute, yes, but still a stranger. You opened your mouth, already halfway through a flustered attempt to walk it back. “Wait— I didn’t mean that like— I wasn’t trying to—”

He let out a surprised, wheezy laugh. “No, no- you’re fine,” he said, grinning now. “I come here every summer, actually. I’m in the house further down the coast.” He seemed to catch the flicker of recognition in your eyes and gave you a knowing smile. “My name’s Oliver, by the way.”

“I’m Y/N,” you replied. “I… I think I’ve seen you around. Sometimes.”

Oliver’s traits softened, and you could see the playful interest behind the darkness of his irises. “Yeah.” His voice dipped slightly. “I think I saw you, too.”

Both of you stood there with the hesitant awkwardness usually reserved for teenagers— which, to be fair, you weren’t far from. He couldn’t have been older than you, early twenties at most. The silence stretched until he announced he had to go, something about needing to work on his bike. You had to abstain to say I know. 

Yet, before he could disappear completely around the corner, Oliver paused. He looked back over his shoulder. “If you ever want company, it’s just me down there. Come by whenever.” You didn’t have to add that you were alone as well. In a strangely comforting sort of way, it looked like he knew.

And it didn’t take you long to take him up on his offer.

It started when your trips to the beach began to align— first by coincidence, but then by something more deliberate. You came to realize that you and Oliver had claimed the same forgotten stretch of land where the sea kissed the rocks, and you drifted toward each other like its tide. At first, it was just run-ins: you, stretched out on your towels, half-asleep due to the sizzling heat; Oliver, standing over you, droplets of salt water falling from his hair onto your flushed cheeks. “What are you doing here?” you’d ask, squinting up at him.

“I like running,” he’d say with a shrug, before his characteristic, mischievous smile reached his lips once again. “And a dip after a run keeps me motivated.”

Oliver started sticking around. He’d keep the last of his water bottle to rinse the sand off your feet, sharing watermelon he’d always accidentally cut a little extra from. He would walk you home, and you’d lead him with slow, lazy steps, to drag the moment longer. Your laughter would echo against the rock and sea walls paving the way to your house, and he’d talk about little things—the birds and the heat—then about bigger things, how the ocean seems to always stay the same but feels different every year, for example. You’d match him, word for word, stories unfurling like waves, and miss him when he’d continue his way without you.

It wasn’t long before the space between your houses stopped mattering. One afternoon turned into an invitation to see the inside of his cluttered living room, and that was it. The next week, Oliver was sitting on your ivy-covered balcony, sipping homemade iced tea with your legs draped over his. Eventually, your days began to blur— his shirt left on the back of your chair, your books forgotten on his windowsill. You stopped counting whose house you were in until it became the house you were in together.

The month of May slipped into June in tentative brushes of the hand and peals of laughter lost to the warm air of summer nights. Oliver had become Ollie by the fifteenth—the nickname fell off your lips naturally—and you spent most, if not all, of your days in each other’s presence. The rhythm between you was almost domestic: you’d wake up and see his bare back at work in the kitchen along with the scent of coffee and discarded pans, or how you now knew his schedule by heart. He’d spend most of his Wednesdays and Fridays fixing up the old bike he’d found rusting in the garage, and he was partial to running on Saturdays. Swimming, however, was reserved for when you were with him. Any day. Every day, if he could have it.

By the time Ollie finished repairing the bike, the first month of summer was waning. One golden morning, with grease all over his fingers, he turned to you and asked if you wanted to visit the nearby town— a trip made easier now that the bike worked. To your own surprise, you said yes.

The town had become another stepping stone in whatever you and Ollie were building. The days spent weaving through the local market were your favorites, brushing past stalls of sun-ripened fruits and handmade trinkets, among which you both stumbled through clumsy Italian that vendors gently poke fun at you for. You’d mangle a greeting, and Ollie would butcher a question about apricots, and still, they’d smile like they knew what you were saying. You chuckled and asked him what the point of living in Modena was if he didn’t speak Italian. “My family’s still British, you know,” he answered. It only made you laugh harder, a sound he seemed to chase.

You never discussed the reason that brought you both to this isolated part of the Italian coast. It never came up, the questions drifted in the periphery— hinted at in the pauses between conversation, but never spoke out loud. It was a silent agreement: you didn’t ask, and neither did he.

But there was one evening, on the crumbling stone wall nearing the edge of town. Your legs were swinging gently over the drop— the cicadas had begun to quiet, the last smear of strawberry gelato clung to your fingertips, and the world was exhaling into night. Somewhere below, a dog barked once and fell quiet. That was when Ollie asked. “So… what brought you here?”

You didn’t answer right away. You wiped your fingers on a napkin that smelled faintly of lemon, tossing and turning the way you could shape your response in your head. “Uni,” you said finally. “Or… me, I guess. Everything just got really loud, and I could barely think about anything else. I stopped sleeping, I stopped eating… setting myself up for failure before I even started, basically.”

Ollie nodded, yet no pity or needless apologies fell off his tongue. “My therapist sent me there to remember how to be a person again,” you added to his silence.

“What about you?” You quickly asked, hasty to get the attention off.

He looked at you, mouth agape in a desire to say something, but ultimately deciding against it. Long seconds passed before the British spoke again. “I race professionally, right now I’m in Formula One.” One look at your face was enough for him to understand you didn’t know anything about motorsports. He continued with a crooked smile. “I, uh… I crashed back in March. Nothing huge, but enough to knock me out for the season, apparently. The doctors told me to rest and take it easy.”

You glanced over, catching the way his profile softened in the lamplight. You had noticed his grimace after long days spent walking around, the painful stretches in his living room when he thought you were still deep in slumber. You never brought it up.

“No one tells you how hard that part is—” Ollie continued. “The not-doing-anything part. I figured I’d go somewhere familiar to make it better, you know?”

Taking your mind off an obsession, when you made it a part of yourself so integral you’re unable to define yourself outside of it, can feel similar to the tearing of a limb— it’s something you carry around, an itch you can’t scratch because your fingernails will start digging for blood. It’s something you knew all too well, it was the reason for your presence on this stone wall.

“Well,” you murmured. “I think you’re going to get into your car next season and show them all the talent they’d missed.”

Ollie huffed a laugh. “Thanks for believing in me, but the car isn’t even—”

“You worked on your bike. You can work on a car.”

“It’s not even remotely the same thing.”

“Tomato, tomato.”

He laughed, curls catching the breeze, nudging his knees with yours. “Then you’re going to make every teacher regret putting you in this state when you go back.”

“That’d be assuming they care.” You rolled your eyes with nothing but fondness. “You’re too nice for the ruthless world of university, Ollie.”

The realization came as gently as the brush of his fingers above yours: you hadn’t thought about it at all. The tint of your skin had darkened, moles and sun-born freckles dusted your shoulders, your voice had picked up hoarser inflections from laughing, salt stuck to you like a robe, and you hadn’t noticed the oppressing heaviness of your shoulder ever since you ran into Ollie. You noticed, though, with a pleasant warmness swirling in your chest, that it seemed to have vanished. You couldn’t recall the last time you felt like the air around you wasn’t enough for your lungs.

In that moment, as the sky bruised deep violet and you could still taste the faint hint of strawberry on your tongue, it didn’t really matter what had broken you both to get there. You were here now, and that was what mattered.

The bike ride back to your house was spent in a sleep-induced haze. Your arms were loosely wrapped around Ollie’s middle, and he was pedaling slowly, not in a rush to get anywhere else but to you. When you reached the front door, you didn’t ask. He just followed you inside, barefoot and spent, and slept in the spare twin bed across from yours. The window stayed open all night. You could hear the sea mixing with his breathing. For the first time in a while, sleep came easy.

June made way for July, arriving in harsh, blinding sunlight, and days that stretched lazily into midnight. With it came a quiet shift, the startling and fluttering understanding that you might want to kiss Oliver Bearman.

It wasn’t in theory, in some hypothetical sunset-glazed movie scene. You wanted to kiss the real him, your Ollie, the one on the stone wall: the boy who stole your sandals to water your neglected garden, the one who wrangled in catastrophic Italian with a vendor for a pack of cherries you craved, the same one who read aloud from whatever your liking had set upon to make fun of it, only to keep reading when you weren’t paying attention.

In the delicate dance of almosts that blossomed over the month of July, you allowed yourself to think he might want to kiss you, too.

The first time it happened, you were both locked out of his house— for a change. A tragic incident involving a missing key and a dinner reservation you were already late for had left you standing outside, your arms crossed, and his sheepish grin doing nothing to help the situation. Ollie suggested the bedroom window. You, naturally, thought he was joking. He wasn’t.

You’d both ended up clambering through the fragile wooden frame like teenagers sneaking in past curfew, laughing so hard your ribs hurt. It was stupid, and maybe a little childish, but it was part of why it always felt so easy with Ollie. When it was your turn to hop off the ledge, he helped you, hands steady around your waist. His hands lingered there a moment too long and as laughter died down, leaving you breathless and dazed, something pulled you closer ever so slightly. Never close enough to break, however.

There was a second time, when Ollie brushed a stray strand of hair after you’d both ran from a summer shower and the touch warmed your forehead for hours. A third, when you fell asleep over each other in the garden during a heat-drenched day and you woke up with his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. There was a fourth, a fifth, an amalgamation of disarming instances during which your breath hitched in anticipation of what never seemed to come. When he caught you watching him, and never looked away.

The day you kissed him, you found yourself in a predicament you never thought would happen to you. Ollie had just leapt off the cliff.

There was no hesitation or second thoughts in the clean arc his body sliced through the air. The splash below was clean, and right when you thought he’d never find the surface again, his voice echoed upward, bright and breathless as he laughed. “Come on!” he shouted, waving at you. “It’s not even that high!”

You stood at the edge, toes curled against the rock, and you could only disagree with the brown-haired boy the way the water spiraled beneath you. “You’re insane. This is suicide.”

“Oh, you’re the one who climbed up there!”

“I climbed up to watch, not die!” you yelled back, heart hammering. “Also, aren’t you injured? Should you even be jumping off cliffs?!”

He shrugged. “The water’s deep enough.”

You glared, which only seemed to egg him on. “Come onnnn,” he complained. “You said you wanted to feel like a real person again, right? Nothing realer than that!”

Even in the lighthearted argument, you had to see the truth in what Ollie said. You had come to this quiet corner of the world to shake something loose inside of you, to try and find the pieces of yourself you misplaced among the tangy taste of tangerines and the soft mornings. This was the summer you were supposed to stop clenching your fists around fear, and to get rid of the anxious feeling lodged in your throat. Your heart had beaten loudly and unapologetically until now, what was slowing it down except for yourself?

So you took a breath. Two. Then a few steps back.

And jumped.

The fall was sharp, dizzying, and the scream that escaped your lungs was nothing short of horrified. Yet, laughter was wedged between the hiccups of it, and you broke the cold surface with a disbelieving gasp. Ollie was already swimming toward you— his eyes wide in wonder, and his hands reaching for your figure. “You did it!”

“I actually did it,” you sputtered.

Ollie’s hands found the dip of your waist under the water, steadying you against him. There were seconds of silence, filled with the splash of waves and your all too loud breathing. That was when his eyes dipped to your lips.

You hadn’t come there to find something as unreachable as love, and you especially hadn’t expected to fall for someone like Ollie, but somehow he had folded himself into your days and the smallest gaps of you— a placeholder until you could fill them yourself, you imagined. Still, you couldn’t envisage a version of your months without him, his voice, or the steadiness of the soul that comes with the brush of his fingers.

I jumped off a cliff, you thought. I can kiss Oliver Bearman.

So you did.

You surged forward before you could talk yourself out of it, arms slipping around his shoulders as your mouth crashed onto his in impatience. He stilled for only a second— more than enough to make you doubt your actions. But he kissed you back. Just as eager, the smile he put into it charmingly familiar. You could taste sea salt on his tongue, his sun-warmed lips moving hungrily against you, breathing your air and taking it away in the slow rocking of the waves.

You didn’t want it to end, but the lack of oxygen pulled you apart. Ollie’s forehead bumped against yours. “I was waiting for you to do that,” he murmured, dropping another quick kiss to your lips.

“Then you could’ve done it sooner!” You punched his shoulder with a laugh.

“I don’t know, I like it when you take the lead.”

You rolled your eyes, heat climbing up your neck, and dunked him into the water. You didn’t resist when he pulled you under.

The transition from July to August slipped from your attention, seawater between your fingers— impossible to hold onto but clung to your skin all the same. You barely noticed the days shifting; they blurred into one another with a sleepy sentimentality, each marked by rituals you and Oliver had grown to create. Mornings bled into slow breakfast where he’d sneak a bite of your toast before making his own, and you’d pretend to be mad about it even though you always saved the corner piece for him anyways.

There were afternoons spent with your ankles tangled together in the back gardens. He kept a bottle of your fragranced sunscreen in his bag. You knew what music to play when you both cooked dinner with the door open to let the cooler air of the evening sift through the kitchen. It wasn’t dramatic, nor was it sickeningly romantic. It simply came as a natural progression, an obvious evolution in the most beautiful sense— like something that could last, if you let it.

You kissed more often, now, much to both of your delight. At first, it was shy, quick, smiling kisses stolen between absentminded conversations. The further you got used to it, the slower they became: curious, confident, eager to know more about each other in a way you couldn’t quite grasp before. Your hands knew each other’s mapped faces and bodies, your mouth recognized the other’s rhythm. Once, you kissed Ollie with your knees still scraped from a hike he’d convinced you to go to. Once, he kissed you beneath the pouring rain, soaked and giggling like children.

There were times you stayed over, and times he did the same, and it would just happen with no clear decision. Ollie would just end up asleep beside you, together beneath the light covers— somehow, even in deep slumber, his hands would always find yours, his breathing even and warm against your neck and lulling you to sleep.

You thought that maybe you had gotten too brave during your stay, enough to turn your cautiousness foolish, because you caught yourself believing this wouldn’t end. That it didn’t have to. August had felt achingly saccharine, it made you wonder where all that sweetness would go when it ended.

The last weeks trickled like sand in an hourglass in front of your eyes. The weight of each moment slipped past you, yet you tried nothing to catch them. It’s what hurt the most: you had all taken it for granted, you let yourself believe time could stretch forever for the sole reason it felt right. It wasn’t the truth, because the truth was in the dates printed in your calendar and the unread emails from your university. The suitcase under your bed, you carefully avoided.

Another year will start again soon. The patterns you persisted in peeling off—stress, anxiety, the pressure to perform until exhaustion and still look perfect—would be ready to claw their way back beneath your skin, circling you. Ollie knew it as well.

Neither of you said it out loud, yet the end was coming whether or not the words spilled out. It hovered just out of reach, a promise of winter in the chill of the end of summer. You’d catch him staring at the sea a little longer than usual, or watching you tie your hair up before journaling, memorizing the motion. You stopped taking pictures, and he stopped making plans for tomorrow. You still laughed, still kissed, and gripped the hours as if they weren’t running out. There was a grace to the silence— a fragile kind of pretending which somewhat felt like mercy.

But try as you might, pretending can never last long.

The sky was painted deep shades of violet and rust, cicadas humming low in the nature around the steps of the back porch you and Ollie were curled upon. His hand was brushing absent circles on your ankle, head resting between your thighs as your fingers curled in his locks. A pot of pasta was cooling in the kitchen. It should have been a perfect night.

You stared at the horizon, then at your chipped nail polish tangled in his hair. You don’t know what pushed you to ask, what made tonight different. The only thing you knew is that it would have happened nonetheless. “What happens when this ends?” It came out as something similar to a whisper.

Ollie’s fingers paused. He looked up at you, turning around completely, and there was nothing but expectancy in his dark irises.

“I was wondering when one of us would ask,” he answered, voice low.

You breathed out through your nose. No matter the number of times it happened to you, you never succeeded in hiding the tremor in your hands correctly. “I don’t want to keep pretending it’s not happening. I’m leaving because of uni. You’re leaving because of racing. We’ve both known that since the beginning.”

Ollie nodded. “Yeah.”

“I just—” You paused, trying to find the thin breath you were holding onto. “I don’t know what happens next.” You looked at the crescent moons your nails had drawn on the inside of your palms. “I’m going back to school. There’s going to be deadlines and all-nighters and the pressure, and– it’s going to be hard to breathe. I don’t know how long it’s going to take before I… I slip again.”

Your voice cracked. “You never saw me like that, Ollie. You were lucky enough to get the version of me that wasn’t drowning, and I– I don’t know if you’d still want me if you did.” The confession came quiet and vulnerable, but you couldn’t linger on it when you had so many things to say and so little time. “And you’ll be racing again. You’ll have a whole world that doesn’t include this place, or me. I don’t expect you to hold space for me when everything changes.”

You were offering him a bright exit sign, the sole opportunity to be honest and to bring the sunset-colored haze you’d been navigating this relationship with down as softly as he could. There was no promise your heart would be spared the shock, but there was also no need to put it on display if it was the case.

Ollie stared at you for agonizing seconds. The traits of his face, the same you could trace with closed eyes, shifted into something different. It wasn’t fear, nor was it sadness, but a gentler thing that looked like something close to a quiet resolve. He took your hands into his, detaching each fingernail digging into your palm.

“I don’t know what happens either,” he admits, slowly, “and I’m not going to pretend I know what it’s going to look like. I just know I thought about it—about you—a lot. And…” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Listen, I don’t need you to be okay all the time. I care about your stupid overthinking, the spirals, the bad habits that drive you crazy. All of it. That stuff’s not going to scare me off. I want you, not just the half of it I met this summer.”

“I’ll be racing, yeah,” he added with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I’ve got time. I can make it.”

Ollie leaned in, just a little closer but enough so you could feel the warmth of his breath along the shape of your lips. “I don’t know what you’ll be like in December, but I want to find out.”

It broke the pressure behind your ribs, only for the burn to rise behind your eyes instead. There was a need in his voice that you hadn’t expected, or maybe was it its intensity. Ollie wasn’t asking you to be better, he was just asking you to stay.

“I want to find out,” he repeated, quieter, in the shape of a promise.

You tried to blink back the tears forming on your lashes, failing miserably. “Okay,” you whispered. Your voice gave up in the middle. “Okay.”

Ollie kissed you tenderly and unhurried, a gentle, wordless reassurance in the movement of his mouth against yours in which you sank, a ship in a storm. Summer was ending, yes, but the world wouldn’t be. This could still be something, and maybe it would.

You couldn’t guess what December would bring, and you didn’t know who you’d be when the skies turned grey and the noise returned. Yet, you hoped.

And for now, hoping was enough.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

hayden anhedonia, angel diaz of vyva melinkolya on vibraphone, and ryan brewer of good night and good morning on guitar

I’m not even exaggerating I literally think about the anonymous person who donated €1,000 to Nader’s campaign every single day. i’ll be at work making a cocktail and suddenly remember the person who donated €1,000 to his campaign to save his family. idk who you are but I love you thank you

while I’m on the topic you should donate to my friend Nader @abdalsalam1990’s campaign. He’s a 17 year old boy who’s trying to raise money for his family in gaza, including his father who needs cancer treatment and his 1 year old niece so they can survive the genocide in Gaza

DONATION LINK + VETTING (#4 on the spreadsheet)

I WISH IT HAD ALL BEEN DIFFERENT!!!!!

Echoes of Broken Promises | OP81

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: Oscar faces a silence he can't escape, one filled with memories and unspoken words, leaving him to grapple with a past he can't forget.

Warning(s): Mild Language, angst, guilt, regret, kind of open ending.

"I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met."

Oscar Piastri sat at the press table, his usual calm demeanor in place as reporters fired off questions. The day’s pre-race interview was routine—at least, it was supposed to be.

The sun poured in through the large windows of the paddock, casting long shadows across the table and softening the tension in the air. The ambient noise of the bustling paddock outside barely reached them here, a stark contrast to the intensity of the moment.

Oscar’s answers were measured, polite, he was used to the interviews now, he tried to make his face as polite and as less expressive, as he could.

“So Oscar,” the interviewer began, her tone light, “we’ve recently heard around the paddock that you used to build karts with whatever you could find when you were little?”

Oscar laughed softly, a small chuckle escaping him as he nodded. “Oh yeah, I loved making karts. It was my favourite thing to do when I was young. I’d find some parts, and then me and y/n —” He stopped abruptly, his mind frozen on the name that was about to come out. He blinked, caught off guard, suddenly aware of the slip-up. The name.

Her name.

The one he hadn’t said in so long. The one he wasn’t ready to say.

For a beat, neither he nor the interviewer spoke. The room went oddly silent, the camera capturing the huge shift in Oscar’s expression.

The background chatter of journalists, the rustling of papers, the sound of clicking pens—all of it seemed to fade away.

It felt like the air thickened around him, each second stretching out longer than the last. A low hum of awareness seemed to reverberate in his ears, as if the room had suddenly become too small for all the feelings he’d kept buried.

As soon as the name left his lips, Oscar felt a wave of emotion surge through him. His breath caught in his throat. His heart hammered in his chest, a rapid, chaotic pulse that didn’t seem to belong to the calm and collected version of himself that everyone knew. He fought to regain control, but it wasn’t enough. The crack in his composure had been exposed.

The interviewer, caught off guard by the name, blinked at him in surprise. Her voice softened, a note of confusion creeping in.

“Y/N?” she asked cautiously, her eyes narrowing as if trying to process the sudden shift in Oscar’s demeanor.

The air around them grew heavier, and it was as if the entire room leaned in, sensing that something deeper was unfolding.

Oscar’s face froze. He realized what had just happened, his mind scrambling to regain control. The name was out there, hanging in the air between them, and suddenly, it felt like the room was closing in on him.

Y/N.

His childhood friend, the one person who had always been there. The one person he hadn’t spoken to fo so long. The one person he hadn’t let himself think about in so long. She was more than just a name now—she was a weight, an entire chapter of his life that he had long since buried. Or had tried to, at least.

For a moment, Oscar couldn’t speak. The weight of the memory, the loss, it was all too much. His usual polished exterior cracked, just slightly, and his eyes seemed to lose focus.

He blinked, but it didn’t help.

It was as if the world around him had blurred, and all he could see were flashes—images from his past, fragments of a time before everything became… complicated.

The interviewer leaned in a little, her voice unsure now. “Is… is Y/N someone important to you? A friend, perhaps?” she asked, a touch of empathy in her voice, but the question felt too intrusive, like she was pushing into a place Oscar wasn’t ready to go. The room had shifted, and suddenly, this wasn’t just about a race. This wasn’t just about Oscar as a driver. It was about something much more personal.

Oscar blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear the fog from his mind. He swallowed, his throat dry. “Yeah… she was a friend,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. The sentence sounded so final, like he was cutting something off, like he was slamming a door in front of everything that came before. But the ache in his chest grew stronger the more he tried to distance himself from the memory. The words felt like a surrender, like admitting he had no power over the way his past was creeping back up on him.

The interviewer, sensing his discomfort, didn’t back off. “What happened between you two? Did you two just… grow apart?”

Oscar felt the prickle of tension rising in his shoulders. He was a man of few words, preferring to keep things professional, to keep everything on the surface. But this was different. This was personal, and he didn’t want to go there.

Not here. Not now.

His jaw tightened, and the muscles in his neck stiffened.

“Uh…” He faltered, the words failing him. He glanced to the side, his mind briefly racing for an escape. It was all too much. The questions, the memories. He wasn’t prepared for this.

Lando Norris, who had been standing nearby, his arms folded and leaning casually against the wall, had been quietly observing the interview. He had been listening, half-smiling at Oscar’s nostalgic recounting of his childhood, but when Oscar had slipped and mentioned Y/N, something changed in his expression. Lando’s sharp eyes caught the shift in Oscar’s demeanor before anyone else did—the way his teammate’s face lost its usual warmth, the way his smile faltered. It was subtle, but Lando knew.

He could see it in the way Oscar’s gaze turned inward, distant, as if he were no longer sitting there in front of the press. Lando knew this was more than just a slip of the tongue.

He knew the name Y/N meant more than Oscar was willing to admit.

Without missing a beat, Lando stepped forward, his tone casual but with a subtle urgency. “Hey, Oscar,” Lando called out, a hint of playfulness in his voice. “I think I saw the engineers needing you for a quick debrief. You’re gonna want to check on that tire data.”

Oscar blinked, shaken out of his reverie.

His eyes focused again, and he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. But it was clear to Lando that he wasn’t okay. Not even close. Oscar's jaw was tight, his face pale, and his hand trembled slightly as it rested on the table.

Oscar’s gaze flickered back to the interviewer, his eyes still distant, as if he were seeing her through a fog. “Right, I think you’re right, Lando. I’ll—”

Lando gently but firmly placed a hand on Oscar’s shoulder, giving him a small, encouraging squeeze. He smiled brightly at the interviewer, trying to steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable path it had taken. “Sorry, folks, but we’ve gotta get going. Oscar’s needed elsewhere,” Lando said smoothly, flashing a grin that was both disarming and purposeful.

The interviewer hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to push further or to let it go. But the mood in the room had shifted.

The once-easy atmosphere had become thick with an unspoken understanding. Oscar had stepped back, pulling away from the question with Lando's help, but the damage was done. The name Y/N had made its mark, and now it lingered like a shadow over the interview.

As Lando guided Oscar away from the press table, the weight of the moment still hung in the air. Oscar didn’t look back, his eyes focused straight ahead, but Lando could feel the tension radiating from him.

Oscar was lost in his thoughts, in that fleeting moment where the past and present collided. Lando knew his teammate well enough to understand that this was more than just a brief memory—it was a raw, unfinished chapter that Oscar wasn’t ready to face in front of the world.

The doors to the press room closed softly behind them, and the noise of the paddock rushed back in. But inside, Oscar was still somewhere far away, lost in the ghosts of his past. And Lando knew it would take time for him to come back to the present.

But for now, all Lando could do was walk beside him, offering his presence, a silent promise that Oscar wouldn’t have to face this alone.

_____________________________________

The moment the interview aired, it sent shockwaves through the F1 community. Fans were left bewildered, glued to their screens, as Oscar’s unexpected mention of Y/N stirred up more questions than answers. His sudden change in demeanor, the way his face fell, and the clear discomfort that followed, sent ripples of concern through the fanbase.

The uproar didn’t die down. In fact, it only intensified. As fans began to analyze every second of the interview, the mention of Y/N became the subject of endless speculation.

The hashtag #OperationFindOscarsYN took off like wildfire, with fans dedicating themselves to figuring out who Y/N was, what happened between them, and, most importantly, making sure Oscar was okay. It was as though the entire F1 fanbase had collectively decided to take matters into their own hands.

Twitter exploded with comments:

@SpeedJunkie94: “Okay, I’m officially joining #OperationFindOscarsYN. There’s something more to this than just a slip of the tongue. We need answers, people.”

@F1MysterySolver: “It’s time. We’re piecing this together. Who is Y/N? Oscar’s clearly struggling with something and we’re going to find out what happened.”

@PiastriFan93: “The way Oscar’s face changed… something’s up. We NEED to get to the bottom of this. OperationFindOscarsYN is ON.”

@Lando4Life: “Lando stepping in like that was so sweet, but I’m worried about Oscar. This can’t be ignored. We’re going to get to the bottom of it. #OperationFindOscarsYN #TeamPiastriSupport”

As the hashtag spread, fans began digging. Some scoured old karting photos, pulling out any hint of a person named Y/N, while others began tracing any mention of her in interviews, articles, and past social media posts. Forums and subreddits became flooded with theories, each fan convinced that they were the ones who would crack the case.

Reddit Thread Title: Has anyone else noticed Oscar’s reaction when he said Y/N’s name? We NEED to find out who this is.

Comments:

@KartingPro88: “I found an old interview from when Oscar was 13. He mentioned racing with someone named Y/N. Could this be her? He was super close to her back then, but I haven’t seen her mentioned since...”

@F1Whispers: “Guys, I’ve been digging through some old Instagram accounts and I found a picture of Oscar with someone who fits the timeline of when he used to race karts. It’s a long shot, but it could be her. I’m going to send it out now.”

The internet was buzzing. People who had once been indifferent to Oscar’s private life were now combing through his past, desperate to connect the dots.

Instagram was no different:

@OscarPiastriOfficialFanPage posted a video clip of the interview with a caption that read: “What happened here? Oscar seemed so emotional after saying Y/N’s name. If you know anything about Y/N, comment below. We’re all in this together. #OperationFindOscarsYN”

Fans began tagging Oscar’s previous teammates, his family, anyone who might know more. Some of them were serious. Others, a bit more comical.

@MaxVerstappenWorld: “Okay, so we’re all worried about Oscar, but can we please not bombard him with questions right now? #OperationFindOscarsYN can be paused for now. But seriously, Oscar’s well-being comes first.”

@YukiTsunodaFan: “I’m just here for the drama, but I seriously hope Oscar’s okay. Whatever happened with Y/N, he doesn’t seem fine.”

The fans’ determination only grew stronger as they pieced together more details. Every person who followed Oscar closely began to feel like they were part of a giant puzzle, trying to solve the mystery of the man who had always kept a stoic mask on.

The question everyone wanted answered now wasn’t just about Y/N. It was about why Oscar was so visibly shaken by the memory.

Was it a bad breakup? A falling out with a close friend? Or maybe something more painful that he had never shared with anyone?

Oscar hadn’t commented, but the flood of fan support, mixed with a rising tide of concern, was undeniable.

They wanted to know who Y/N was for all the right reasons—because, deep down, they wanted to help Oscar heal. They didn’t just want to uncover the mystery—they wanted to make sure he was okay.

_______________________________________

Oscar stood by the swings, his hands nervously clasped behind his back. He was always the quiet kid, content to watch the others play, unsure how to join in. The sun shone brightly on the playground, but Oscar felt a little out of place, his feet shuffling against the sand.

It was during this moment of quiet observation that she appeared, like a burst of sunlight in a grey world.

A girl, with wild, untamed hair and bright, curious eyes, skipped up to him with a big grin. “Hey! I’m Y/N!” she said enthusiastically, offering her hand without hesitation.

Oscar blinked in surprise. He had never seen someone so confident, someone so willing to step into his world. But before he could say anything, she was already talking again, “Do you want to play with me? We can build a fort or something!”

Oscar stood there, unsure, and then something inside him clicked. She wasn’t just talking to him—she wanted to spend time with him. She wanted him to be part of her world.

A tentative smile crept onto his face, and he slowly nodded, taking her hand. “Okay, I guess so.”

"But the sand is very slippery because Billy poured all of his water on it, so make sure to hold my hand tight, okay?" Y/N asked.

Oscar's grip to her hand tightened. "I'll hold your hand, promise"

From that moment, they were inseparable.

"I promise that I'll always be there to hold your hand"

______________________________________

It was a typical Saturday afternoon, and the two of them were at Oscar’s house, lying on the living room floor, watching TV. Oscar’s mum, Nicole, was preparing dinner in the kitchen, but the two kids were caught up in the wedding scene playing out on the screen. A bride in a white dress stood beside a groom, both holding hands with smiles that seemed to light up the entire room.

“Why are they getting married?” young Oscar asked, furrowing his brow as he stared at the screen.

Nicole, busy stirring the pot on the stove, glanced over and smiled. “Because they love each other, Oscar. They want to spend their whole lives together with the person who means the most to them.”

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat, and without thinking, he turned to Y/N, his eyes wide with a sudden thought. His small hand reached out to hers, his fingers brushing against her skin. “I’m going to marry you one day, Y/N,” he declared, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he even realized their weight.

Nicole gasped, and Y/N’s eyes widened. “You’re gonna marry me?” she asked, blinking in surprise. But then, without missing a beat, she leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, making Oscar’s heart flutter. “Okay! I’ll marry you too, Oscar!”

Oscar’s face turned bright red, but his heart swelled with joy. That simple kiss, that innocent gesture, made him feel like the luckiest boy alive. In that moment, Oscar truly believed that nothing could ever change between them. They were meant to be together.

"I promise to grow old with you"

____________________________________

The day had finally come, and Oscar stood with his bags packed, ready to leave. His parents were with him, standing by his side, but Oscar’s eyes were focused on one person: Y/N. She was standing there, her back straight but her face betraying the sadness she was trying to hide.

Oscar walked up to her slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. “I’m really going, Y/N,” he whispered, feeling the lump in his throat tighten. His eyes searched hers for any sign of the bond they once had.

Y/N’s eyes welled with tears, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hold them back. “I know, Oscar... I know.” Her voice trembled, the words barely coming out. “But... don’t forget about me, okay?”

Oscar could feel his heart breaking, but he took a deep breath and promised her, “I won’t. I’ll write to you. I’ll never forget you, I swear.”

Y/N nodded, but her lips trembled. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he said, locking his eyes with hers, the sincerity in his voice clear.

“I’ promise to always be there for you"

They hugged then, long and tight, and for a moment, it felt like nothing could break them apart. But as the airport loudspeaker blared, calling for the final boarding of his flight, the moment shattered.

Oscar pulled away, his hand brushing against her cheek as he looked down at her one last time. “I’ll come back. And we’ll keep in touch"

She nodded, but the sadness in her eyes told him she didn’t quite believe it. With one last lingering look, Oscar turned, walking toward the gate, his heart heavy in his chest.

As he boarded the plane and looked out the window, he saw her standing there, her face a blur of tears and hope. The image of her, her figure fading in the distance, was burned into his memory, and he promised himself that he would carry that moment with him forever.

"I will always remember you"

______________________________________

Years had passed. Oscar had gone on to become a Formula 1 driver, living the life he had always dreamed of. The world had become his oyster, with fans and teammates praising him. But something was missing. Something he couldn’t quite place.

It was during a brief visit back to Australia when Oscar had been walking to a local cafe and just as he rounded the corner, he bumped into someone.

“Ouch! Sorry!” Oscar quickly apologized, but his voice trailed off as his eyes locked onto hers.

“Y/N?” Oscar asked, unable to believe it.

She blinked, her face lighting up with shock, and in that moment, it was as though no time had passed. She looked older, more mature, but still the same Y/N he had known all those years ago.

“Oscar?” Her voice cracked slightly, disbelief clear in her expression.

They stood there for a moment, both unsure of what to say, before Oscar spoke up. “It’s really you... after all these years.” He smiled, a little nervous, but his heart skipped a beat when he saw the familiar twinkle in her eyes.

The silence stretched between them, awkward at first, but it didn’t take long for Oscar to ask, “Do you want to grab a coffee? Catch up?”

They sat across from each other, the air between them thick with unspoken words. They talked about their lives, their achievements, their struggles. But no matter how much they tried, it was impossible to ignore the distance between them, the things left unsaid.

After a while, Oscar grew frustrated. “Why does it feel like... we’re not the same anymore?” His voice was soft, but there was an underlying hurt there that he couldn’t mask.

Y/N looked down at her coffee, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her cup. She took a deep breath before finally meeting his gaze. Her voice was almost a whisper when she replied, “Because silence created by broken promises can never be filled with words, Oscar”

Oscar’s heart stopped. The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had made promises to her, and now, here she was, telling him that silence—his silence—had destroyed them.

She stood up, grabbing her bag, and looked at him one last time. “Goodbye, Oscar.” And with that, she walked away, leaving him sitting there, frozen in place, feeling like he was suffocating.

Oscar had tried to contact her after that day. He reached out, sending messages, emails, trying to find her again, but it was like she had vanished into thin air. He went constantly to the same cafe, hoping that she would show up there, and maybe he could stop her, and convince her to talk to him.

Convince her to give him another chance. A chance he knew that he didn't deserve.

The guilt gnawed at him. He had broken his promises. He had let her go without even realizing it. And now, all he had were the broken pieces of a friendship, a relationship, and a past that seemed so distant, so unreachable.

And in that cafe once again, sitting alone with his coffee, Oscar realized the truth: it wasn’t just the promises he had broken—it was her. She had been the one thing in his life that had always been constant, and now, she was gone.

"I promise to keep on loving you, no matter what"

________________________________________

The night had fallen over the paddock, but the buzz from the race still lingered in the air. Oscar and Lando had just secured their spots on the podium—Lando in first, Oscar in second.

The team was celebrating, everyone basking in the euphoria of a hard-fought victory. But amidst the cheers and laughter, Oscar felt a heaviness settle deep in his chest. It was supposed to be a time of celebration, but something, someone, was missing.

Lando had pulled him away from the party, leading him to a quieter corner of the paddock. The loud music faded into the background as they settled down with drinks in hand. Oscar had already had more than enough to drink, the alcohol flowing freely through his veins. But it didn’t numb the ache inside him. If anything, it made it worse.

“You know,” Lando said, his tone unusually soft, “you should be enjoying this. You’re on the podium with me, mate. This is a big moment.”

Oscar half-smiled, his head tilted back as he stared at the stars above. “I know,” he mumbled, his voice low, barely audible over the noise of the celebration behind them. “But it doesn’t feel... right.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. “What do you mean? We’ve been through this. It’s a huge achievement. You earned it.”

Oscar let out a bitter chuckle, his fingers tightening around his drink. “Yeah... but you’re not the one carrying this weight.” He looked at Lando then, his eyes dark, haunted. “There’s something else on my mind. Someone.”

Lando didn’t need to ask who. He could see it in Oscar’s eyes, the way the energy drained out of him the moment he mentioned it.

“Y/N,” Lando guessed, his voice quieter now. He didn’t push, but Oscar’s silence was answer enough.

Oscar’s gaze dropped to the floor, the words tumbling out of him before he could stop them. “It was her, Lando. She... she was the one. The girl I loved.” He paused, as if the weight of it was too much to bear. “The girl I still love. Why am I trying to kid myself? I still think about her every.damn.day.”

Lando’s heart sank, and for the first time, he saw Oscar not as the confident, driven teammate he admired, but as a man who had been carrying the scars of the past for far too long. He leaned forward, placing a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “You deserve to be happy, Oscar,” he said quietly, his voice full of empathy. “You’ve worked so hard for this. You’ve earned it.”

Oscar’s eyes met his, and for a brief moment, Lando saw the deep sadness in them. “No. No, I don’t deserve her, Lando.” His voice cracked slightly, and he took a long drink, his hands trembling slightly. “I hurt her... I broke promises. She trusted me, and I let her go. I was so caught up in everything... racing, fame, success... and she... she faded away. And now? Now, I’m just a guy who doesn’t even know how to fix what I broke.”

Lando sat in silence, his heart aching for his younger teammate. He had always known Oscar was a bit of an enigma, but this... this raw vulnerability hit him harder than he expected. Oscar wasn’t just lost in the world of racing. He was lost in his own regrets, in a past that had shaped him but also broken him.

“I don’t know what to do, Lando,” Oscar said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I keep trying to convince myself that I’m okay, that this—this life—is enough. But every time I close my eyes, all I see is her face. All I feel is the guilt. She was the best part of me, and now... I can’t even reach her anymore. She’s gone. And it’s my fault.”

Lando’s throat tightened, and he wanted to say something to make it better, to fix it, but he knew he couldn’t. There were no easy answers, no quick fixes for something like this. He only had his friendship to offer, and the deep sorrow that weighed down on him as he watched Oscar crumble under the weight of his own heartache.

“You’re not a bad person, Oscar,” Lando finally said, his voice thick with emotion. “We all make mistakes. But... sometimes you’ve gotta let go of the past. You can’t change what happened. But you can learn from it. And if she really meant that much to you, maybe it’s not too late. Maybe there’s a chance...”

Oscar shook his head, the alcohol in his system starting to cloud his thoughts even more. “It’s too late for that,” he said softly, his words heavy. “She’s gone. I’ll never be able to fix it.”

Lando could feel the weight of Oscar’s pain, and in that moment, he realized how much his younger teammate had truly suffered. It wasn’t just the loss of a relationship—it was the loss of a part of himself.

The two sat in silence for a while, the noise of the celebration fading into the background. Oscar’s eyes were distant, his mind caught in a place he couldn’t escape from. And as much as Lando wanted to help, there was nothing he could do to take away the guilt and regret that had haunted Oscar for so long.

When the silence finally stretched too long, Lando stood, clapping a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “You’ll get through this,” he said softly, trying to offer some comfort, but knowing it wouldn’t be enough.

Oscar nodded slowly, a sad smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know, Lando. I really don’t.”

And with that, Lando left him there, standing alone in the quiet of the night. The sound of the celebrations continued behind them, but Oscar didn’t feel part of it.

He felt like an outsider in his own life, caught between the past he couldn’t change and the future that seemed uncertain without her in it.

And as he sat there, drowning in his thoughts, he realized that no matter how many victories he had, no matter how many podiums he climbed, there would always be a part of him that would be lost without her.

____________________________________

Later that night, after the race and the celebrations had faded into the background, Oscar lay in his hotel room, exhausted. His body ached, and his head felt fuzzy from the drinks Lando had insisted on—just a few, to celebrate, he said. But it wasn’t the race or the alcohol that kept Oscar awake. It was the same thing that had been on his mind for so long now: Y/N.

Lando had been relentless in trying to cheer him up. But as the night wore on, Oscar couldn’t escape the weight of his past—the guilt, the broken promises. He felt emotionally wrung out. Every laugh with Lando, every casual word, only reminded him of how far he’d fallen from the person he once was. How far he was from the girl he once loved.

He pulled out his phone, hoping for some distraction. The screen lit up with a new message from Lando.

Lando has sent you a link

Lando has sent you a link

Lando: Hey mate, you might want to check this out. Fans are seriously going after Y/N for you. They think they might actually find her this time. It’s crazy. They're rooting for you. Don't give up yet.

Oscar’s chest tightened, but he pushed the thoughts aside, willing himself to focus on something—anything—else. His eyes lingered on the screen, and then another notification popped up.

It was from Instagram. He stared at it blankly for a moment, his heart skipping a beat. He would recognize that face in the profile picture anywhere.

"Y/N L/N ✅ wants to follow you"

________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

I tried to end it in a sad ending but I don't think I have that courage in me, especially for Oscar.

If you like this, please leave a like, comment and reblog.

Jules♡

the inhaler girls on tumblr are starving 💔 you're a pioneer 🫡🫡

one word ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟrobert keating

✧: part two

paring: robert x fem!oc

summery: some times luck is on your side, and kate just happens to find this out after her show.

A/N: hey everyone! so i originally uploaded these to wattpad, but i wanted to have a bit of a platform change. please let me know what you guys think. my requests are currently open so pleas feel free to send in an idea you have. enjoy!

wc: > 1k

*reblogs, likes, and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

My ears ring as I feel the final vibrations of our last song melt from my drumsticks down into my arms. It's like I'm on another planet. Then, as my breath steadies, my vision becomes clearer.

I stand, walking to the front of the stage and slipping my sticks into the back pocket of my baggy jeans before taking my band members' hands into my own. Yes, we recognize that this is slightly fancier, but the girls and I have always done it. Letting the energy between us flow as we bow. Once our hands unclasp, my smile grows more prominent as I reach into my back pocket, splitting my sticks from their usual pair and throwing them to the people closest in the crowd. Finally, my fingertips touch my lips as I give the crowd a 'goodbye kiss' before I finally exit the stage.

"Tonight was fucking amazing!" Willow, the band's bassist, says as she throws herself on the couch, hands pushing her hair back as a small chuckle leaves her lips. Kira, our lead singer, takes Willow's and I's hands as she speaks, "Yeah, who knew that so many people would want to see four girls going by The Honeysuckles. I'm so proud of us."

Ahh, The Honeysuckles. My band. My first love. I remember when the three of us picked out that name. We were sixteen, determined to become a band. To make it. We would always ramble, bad name after bad name until we ended on The Honeysuckles. It's so funny how one word can significantly impact your life—one silly little word.

"I say it's time to go out for drinks!" Fawn, our final member and lead guitarist, says as she sets her guitar in its case.

The rest of us nod in agreement as we pack our things. It was always a band tradition for us to go out after a good show. So once we were all packed up, we headed out to a nearby pub.

It was a beautiful early spring night in Dublin. The cobblestone streets were wet with dew. Our boots gently clicked down it, music and chatter spilling out of restaurants dotted along the street. After a couple of minutes of walking, we finally reached the pub.

"I'll go get us some drinks if you guys find a table," I yell slightly, having to talk over the crowd's chatter already in the small pub. The girls nod, saying a quick "see you soon" before splitting off from me.

Slipping my jacket off, I walk up to the bar, turning my horseshoe ring located on my pinky finger. It was a nervous habit I had picked up once I started wearing it. However, there was something about it that always seemed to make me feel comforted - even in the most stressful situations.

After a moment, the bartender approached me, "Four Guinness, please," I smiled, still twisting my ring. Once they stepped away to fill my order, I looked around, trying to fill the time between waiting and being able to get drunk. That's when something caught my eye. A hand sat next to me on the counter with a similar yet slightly larger horseshoe ring on their pinky finger.

"Holy shit!" laughing to myself, I gently tap the person's shoulder. Once they turned around, I was met with the most piercing blue eyes I have ever seen that put me in a slight trance that the other had to snap me out of.

"Uh, yeah?" he says, blue eyes staring intensely into mine, his hand with the horseshoe ring now wrapped around his dark, half-empty glass of Guinness.

"Oh, sorry," a nervous chuckle slipped through my berry-stained lips. "I just wanted to say that you have good taste" As I speak, I hold up my hand, showing the blue-eyed boy my almost matching ring. "Oh my fucking god, that's crazy!" laughing, he holds his hand next to mine, eyes darting between the two rings. "I never would've thought I'd meet someone with the same ring as me." He smiles, eyes meeting mine once again as a gentle flush presents itself on his cheeks. "Hey, Great minds think alike! I'm Kate. It's nice to meet you" I hold out my ring hand, which he takes in his own, shaking it gently.

"Robert," he smiles.

It's so interesting how one word can impact your life—one silly little word.

Shadows of the past

Hello, I made this blog solely to publish this fan fiction I wrote because the idea for the plot has been tugging at the back of my mind for months. I tried requesting it from a few writers but since they didn’t write it I remained unsatisfied. Then I remembered I also do have the ability to write.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x named!female character

Plot: Oscar's new relationship is strained by his family's constant reminders of his ex, Lily, and he fails to notice how this is affecting his girlfriend.

Tag: angst, hurt/no comfort, sad ending.

Word count: 2989

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though. I also haven’t written any work of fiction since I was a teenager, so this could be bad, I just had a need to get this fan fiction out of my brain. And once I wrote it, it felt like a waste to keep it on my laptop.

The new girlfriend has a name as I wasn’t able to write this without a name, I apologize, I made it a shorter name so it can be skimmed over. There is no physical description of them.

I would like to explain that I do not think that Oscar's family would behave this way. This idea came from watching Nicole's interview in which she spoke highly about Lily and an unrelated conversation that day about families still speaking about and with ex-girlfriends.

Oscar sat in his motorhome, absentmindedly scrolling through social media notifications and posts. He wasn’t really paying attention to them. His mind was already on the track, anticipating the feel of the car and revising the strategies for the weekend. But, even as he tried to focus on the race ahead, something distracted him at the back of his mind. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on yet, something that had been running in his head for weeks.

Across from him, Mia sat quietly, going through her phone, though he knew it wasn’t holding her attention either. She hadn’t said much all day, her silence stretching thin between them like a thread on the verge of snapping. It wasn’t like her. At least, it wasn’t like how she used to be. When they first met, Mia had been a burst of energy, her laughter infectious, her smile like a safe heaven that had pulled him out of the chaos of being a public figure. But now… something had changed.

"Oscar, did you hear what I said?" Mia’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he had been paying attention to what she had been saying. But he hadn't.

Oscar blinked, eyes tearing away from his phone. "Sorry, darling. What did you say?"

Mia smiled, a small, strained smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "I was asking if you wanted to go out for dinner later. You know, somewhere quiet, just the two of us. I found this place…"

Oscar nodded absentmindedly, his attention already drifting away. "Yeah, sure. Sounds good."

Mia noticed his lack of attention, but she didn’t press the issue. She had grown used to his distracted responses over the past few months, so she just sat there, her fingers gripping her phone a little too tightly, and the silence between them growing heavier. It had been like this for a while now—Oscar lost in his racing, and Mia fading quietly into the background, unnoticed.

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when his attention had been solely hers, when Oscar had looked at her with the kind of focus he reserved for the track. Lately, though, she had started to feel like she was slipping out of view, like she was losing her place in his world. And Oscar, so wrapped up in his career, didn’t see it. Not yet.

-----

It had started subtly, in ways Mia hadn’t been able to notice at first. When she had met Oscar, she knew this relationship wouldn’t have resembled her previous ones; she was stepping into a world of fame, pressure, and expectations. But she had been prepared for that—at least, she thought she had been.

The first time she had met Oscar’s family had been over a casual dinner. Nicole had been polite, her eyes studying Mia a little closely but never purely cold. And then there were his sisters, who seemed stuck between curiosity and indifference, their questions friendly but calculated.

It wasn’t until halfway through the meal that Mia first heard the name.

“Do you remember when Lily got us pizza in Monza?” Hattie had asked with a deliberate tone, her gaze flickering toward Oscar.

Mia had frozen for a second, her fork suspended midair. Lily. She had heard the name before, of course, Oscar had talked about her, the ex-girlfriend who had been with him through his early career. Mia hadn’t worried about her, assuming she was just part of his past.

“Oh, yeah,” Mae chimed in, laughing. “From that little family-run restaurant, right? God, I miss that place.”

Nicole smiled, her eyes lighting up. “Lily was always so thoughtful. She always knew how to make us feel at home, no matter where we were.”

Mia’s chest tightened, the casual and affectionate mention of Lily, compared to how she had been addressed throughout the evening, slicing through the conversation like a shard of ice. She forced herself to smile, to nod along, pretending it didn’t bother her. But it did more than she wanted to admit.

Oscar had shifted uncomfortably beside her, clearing his throat. “Yeah, Lily was great” he had said quickly, then tried to change the subject. But the damage was done. The ghost of Lily hung over the rest of the evening like a shadow, lingering at the edges of every conversation and Mia’s mind.

-----

As the months passed, Mia couldn’t shake the feeling that she was living in someone else’s place, that no matter how much Oscar claimed to love her, no matter how much she tried to integrate herself into his life, she was no comparison to Lily. It wasn’t that his family was blatantly rude towards her, they were kind, but there was a warmth in their voices when they spoke about Lily that they didn’t extend to Mia.

Every race weekend, every family gathering, even every private moment with Oscar was tainted in her mind by the weight of someone else’s ghost.

It wasn’t until one afternoon in Monaco, when Mia stumbled across the ring, that the full weight of it hit her.

She had been tidying the bedroom while Oscar was out, taking advantage of the free time to clean the apartment, cleaning up a drawer of old clothes when she found it—a small, velvet box. Her heart had skipped a beat as she opened it, revealing a stunning diamond ring.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She wasn’t unrealistic, Mia knew this wasn’t meant for her, her relationship with Oscar still too young to warrant a proposal. No. This ring wasn’t for her. It had been bought for someone else. For Lily.

Mia closed the box with trembling hands, her chest tightening as the realization washed over her. Oscar had been planning to marry Lily. He had been ready to propose, to make her his wife, to share his life with her in a way that as of lately Mia wasn’t sure he would ever want to with her.

She had never brought it up to Oscar. She couldn’t. How could she confront him about something like this? How could she admit that she had found evidence of a future he had once planned with someone else, a future that might have happened if things hadn’t fallen apart between them?

From that day on, the weight of it pressed down on her like a constant reminder. She tried to ignore it, to push the self doubt away, to remind herself it was all part of the past. But every time Oscar’s family mentioned Lily, every time they talked about her like she was still part of their world, Mia felt herself slipping further away from the confident, energetic woman she had once been.

-----

The Monaco GP was supposed to be a new start. Mia had somewhat convinced herself that her doubts were unreasonable, that her presence in Oscar’s life was concrete. She had been trying so hard to convince her mind, to smile through the subtle slights, to act as if Lily’s constant presence in conversations didn’t bother her. But Monaco was different. Monaco was where everything changed.

The paddock was buzzing with energy as usual, the yachts in the harbor reflecting the morning sun. Mia stood beside Oscar, her hand in his as they made their way through the crowd. Fans called out to him, snapping photos, but Mia barely noticed. Her attention was elsewhere—on the small group standing near the McLaren garage.

There stood Oscar’s family. And Lily.

Mia felt her heart skip at the sight. Lily was just standing there, laughing with Nicole, looking as comfortable and at ease as she had in all the stories Mia had had to listen to in the past months. She was so effortlessly beautiful, with an air of confidence that Mia had always admired but now found unbearable.

Nicole’s eyes found Oscar, lighting up as she waved him over. “Oscar, darling! Come say hello.”

Mia felt herself stiffen, her stomach twisting into knots. Oscar hesitated for a moment, glancing at Mia before offering her a quick, apologetic smile. “I’ll just be a minute,” he murmured, squeezing her hand before walking over to his family. To her.

Mia couldn’t bring herself to do anything but watch as he greeted them, his interactions with Lily casual but friendly, too friendly in her doubt filled mind. It was like watching him slip into an old role, a role he played with ease, with a counterpart Mia couldn’t quite replace.

They talked for what felt like hours, though it had only been minutes. Mia stood there, frozen as her heart pounded in her chest as she watched Oscar laugh at something Lily said, as his mother beamed at them, as if this was how things were supposed to be. As if Mia was the outsider, the intruder in a story that had never been hers to begin with.

-----

That night, the silence in their room was deafening.

Oscar had been talking about the race, but Mia hadn’t been able to focus. She hadn’t really said much all weekend, her responses short and her mind elsewhere.

“Mia?” Oscar called, his brows furrowed as he looked at her. “Is everything okay?”

She just stared at him for a moment, unsure of how to put her thoughts into words, unsure of how to explain the feelings that had made a home in her mind. “Oscar… Do you ever think about her?”

He frowned, confused. “Who?”

“Lily,” Mia whispered, voice barely audible. “Do you still think about her? About… what could have been?”

Oscar blinked, startled by the question. “Mia, no. Of course not. I’m with you now.”

She shook her head, as she fought her anxiety and tried to gather the courage to say what had been haunting her mind for months. "You say that, Oscar, but… it feels like I’m always competing with her, against her presence in your life. And I don’t know how to stop feeling like I’m constantly fighting against someone who’s not even here anymore."

Oscar’s expression softened as he stepped toward her, one of his hands reaching out to gently cup her face. "Mia, you are not. I don't think about Lily like that anymore. That part of my life is over."

"Is it?" Mia’s voice cracked, her eyes searching his for the reassurance she so desperately needed. "Because I’m not sure your family feels the same way. They still talk about her, still invite her to races. Nicole talks about her like she could still be a part of your life, like she is supposed to be a part of your life. And Oscar… I found the ring."

Oscar’s hand dropped from her face, his eyes widening in shock. "What ring?"

"The one in your drawer," Mia said, her voice trembling. "The engagement ring. The one you bought for her."

Oscar froze, his breath catching in his throat. "Mia… I didn’t mean for you to find that. I—I should have gotten rid of it a long time ago."

"Why didn’t you?" she asked. "Why didn’t you get rid of it if you had moved on? You kept it, Oscar, that has to mean something. And every time she is brought up, every time I notice her presence still somewhat in your life, I feel like I’ll never be good enough. Like I’m standing in her shadow, no matter what I do."

Oscar sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Mia, I didn’t keep the ring because I still have feelings for her. I kept it because… I never knew what to do with it. You are right, I did want to propose to Lily at some point, I couldn’t see that our relationship was dying, I was trying to deny it. But I didn’t propose in the end. I realized it wasn’t right. I never told you because I didn’t want to hurt you."

Mia hugged herself, staring at the floor. "But it does hurt now, Oscar. And it hurts every time they bring her up, every time they talk about how perfect she was, how much they loved her. It feels like I’m just… filling a spot that’s still meant for her."

Oscar stood up and reached for her again, his voice carrying an underlying urgency. "Mia, you’re not filling a space. I love you. I want to be with you. I thought you knew that."

"I thought I did too," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. "But… I don’t know anymore. And I feel like I’m losing myself trying to live up to the memory of someone I’m not while you didn’t even notice how much it’s been affecting me."

Oscar’s heart sank as he took in her words, the weight of his and his family’s actions finally settling on his shoulders. He had known that they still cared for Lily, but he hadn’t understood how much it had been hurting Mia. And he hadn’t noticed how distant she had become, how her bright light had started to dim under the constant comparisons.

He sat back down, hands resting in his lap as he stared at the floor. "Mia, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… I didn’t know it was this bad."

Mia took a deep, shaky breath, tears staining her face. "You didn’t. I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Oscar. I love you, so much so that I have been willing to hurt myself to be with you, but I can’t keep feeling like I’m not enough. Like I’ll never be enough."

Oscar looked up at her, desperation in his eyes at the implications of her words. "You are enough, Mia. You’ve always been enough."

She shook her head, wiping her eyes. "If I was enough, your family wouldn’t still be holding onto Lily. They wouldn’t be talking about her like she’s still the one for you… They wouldn’t make me feel like I’m always in second place in a one person competition."

Oscar felt his throat tighten, his guilt and frustration rising to the surface. He had been so focused on his career, on the races, that he hadn’t noticed how much this had been affecting Mia. And now, standing in front of him, she looked so lost, so hurt, that he wasn’t sure how to fix it.

"I’ll talk to them," he said, his voice firm. "I’ll make sure they understand. They can’t keep doing this to you—to us. I’ll set boundaries. I don’t want to lose you, Mia."

Mia’s gaze softened for a moment, but the pain in her eyes was still there. "It’s not just about them, Oscar. It’s about how I’ve been feeling invisible, like I don’t matter as much in your life. I don’t know if talking to them will change how I feel about myself now. I don’t know if it’ll be enough to fix this."

Oscar’s heart clenched. He could see the cracks in their relationship now, the ones he had been too blind to notice before. And he realized, with a sinking feeling, that this wasn’t something he could just fix with a few words or promises. This was deeper.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly, his voice almost breaking. "Tell me what I can do to make this right."

Mia stood there for a long moment, staring at him, the weight of the decision she had come to after months of suffering heavy on her shoulders. She loved him, she had given everything to this relationship, but the constant reminders of his past with Lily had killed her confidence, her sense of security.

"I think…" she began, her voice shaky, "I think I need some time. Time to figure out if I can keep doing this, if I can keep being in this relationship without losing myself further."

Oscar felt a chill run through him at her words. "Mia, please don’t say that. Don’t say you’re leaving."

"I’m not leaving," she clarified, though the look in her eyes betrayed her uncertainty of their future. "But I need space. I need time to think about what’s best for me, because right now… I don’t feel like I’m good for you. And I don’t feel like this is good for me."

Oscar’s chest tightened painfully as he stepped toward her, his hands trembling as he reached for hers. "I love you. I don’t want to lose you."

Tears spilled from Mia’s eyes again as she looked down at their hands. "I love you too, Oscar. But love isn’t enough if I don’t feel like I belong in your life. If I don’t feel like your family accepts me. Like I can accept myself."

He swallowed hard, fighting his own tears. "I’ll make them understand. I’ll fight for us."

She pulled her hands away gently, taking a step back. "I need to fight for myself first."

Oscar felt the floor drop from under him as Mia turned toward the door. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the doorknob, before looking back at him with tears in her eyes.

"Please don’t hate them," she whispered. "I know they didn’t mean to hurt me. But… they did. And I don’t know how to fix that."

And with that, she slipped out of the room, out of the apartment, leaving Oscar standing alone, silence deafening around him. The weight of his family’s actions, of his own inaction, pressed down on him.

He had always thought he could balance everything—his career, his family, his relationship—but now, as the door closed behind Mia, he realized that he had been wrong. He had been so focused on winning races, on making his family happy, that he hadn’t seen the cracks forming beneath the surface of his relationship and in the heart of the woman he loved.

And now, he wasn’t sure if he would ever get her back.

PERFECT STORM

pairing elijah hewson x fem! reader

trope established relationship

warnings pure fluff. nudity mentioned but not sexual

summary she gets caught in a storm and elijah helps her stay warm.

words 1.2k

Every part of her body was soaked. Her blouse had become see-through. Her skirt had become pounds heavier. Drops of water slid down her bare legs. Every time she walked, her Doc Martens squelched. Her socks were wet, and her feet were cold and pruny. She let out a shaky sigh as she walked up the stairs up to her apartment. Her soaked hair was in a clip that was digging into the back of her head.

He heard the sound of keys jangling. The door was unlocked. She came in and was already leaving a puddle of water on the wooden floor.

He chuckled. "What the fuck happened?" He asked, a bit amused but also concerned. He left his spot on the couch and walked over to her.

"I got caught in the rain. Didn't bring my umbrella."

"I told you to take an umbrella this morning."

"Yeah, whatever." She snapped. She dropped her bag on the floor. His mouth closed before making a snarky remark. She was obviously pretty annoyed. He watched her take off her boots.

"Come on." He said then took her hand and dragged her into the bathroom. He turned on the faucet of the tub. Temperature is pretty warm. "Sit." He commanded while motioning to the toilet cap. She did.

He pulled off her drenched socks. Then he unbuttoned her white blouse. He did everything tenderly. She kept staring at him. He looked tired. She knew he had been up very late writing. He took her bra off. Shame was no longer in the picture. He had seen her bare body many times. He wasn't even looking at her that way.

"You don't have to do this." She whispered to him. He finally looked her in the eyes as he pulled her up to take off her skirt. "I know." He replied, then unzipped her skirt. She felt warmth through her chest. That was in big contrast with the way her body felt. He always made her feel warm.

He helped her get out of her underwear. He also pulled her hair clip off and stuck his fingers through her scalp. He massaged her head, and she sighed. A moan escaped her, and he chuckled. Then he stuck the tips of his fingers in the water to check the temperature. It was a good type of warm now. He gave her a hand and helped her get in the tub. He caressed the top of her head.

"I'm going to go make you some tea. You're probably going to catch a cold." She was shivering slightly. Her nose was red, and she was sniffling. She nodded, and he stepped out of the bathroom.

He put the kettle on. He wasn't upset at her for snapping. Or the way she obviously was in a piss-poor mood. She tended to be a little moody. Whenever she ran out of patience or was annoyed at something, she was a bit intense. He never took it personal. It brought humor to him — which she hated. He usually got her to come around, though.

The kettle was taking forever. He heard the sound of the drain. Hopefully she was warmer now. She left the bathroom and went to their room. He messed with the settings of their stove. Increasing the heat. Her small frame came into the kitchen. Sweatpants, fuzzy socks, and a hoodie she stole from him on her body. He was leaning back on the counter facing her. She looked shy as she got closer. They didn't speak. She was ringing her hands. He grabbed one of her hands and pulled her into him. Her face nuzzled into his neck.

"Sorry, I snapped at you. She murmured into his skin. He scoffed, the sound vibrating through her body.

"That was nothing. It didn't bother me."

"Still. I don't like it when I'm mean to you."

"You're always mean. That's why I like you so much." He kissed her cheek, and she smiled. He looked down into her eyes lovingly. He could decipher anything she was feeling by looking at those gorgeous big green eyes of hers. "Are you warm? Your lips are still kind of blue."

"I'm good now." She nodded while looking up at him.

"Want me to warm them up?" He asked with a cheeky grin, and she chuckled. He pulled her in and placed his lips on hers. His lips were soft and warm against hers. She could taste the remnants of a cigarette in his mouth. He had probably had a smoke earlier. He cupped her face. Calloused hands against soft, cold cheeks. He slipped his tongue in her mouth, and she shivered. This time it wasn't from the cold. He tasted her. She was his favorite flavor. She hummed. His hands left her cheeks and settled them on her hips. Pulling her closer. He could do this forever. He ran his hands up her sides. The kettle whistled. It scared them both, and their lips separated with a smack.

"Shite." He cursed, then grabbed a handcloth and placed it over the handle. He poured the hot water into the two mugs. Her favorite mug. It read, 'Dibs on the lead singer.' His was a U2 mug with his dad's face plastered on it. It was a gag gift from her. He made both their teas how they liked it.

"Careful. It's hot." He warned before he passed the mug to her. She blew on the hot liquid. Smoke fanned her face. They moved to the couch and just sat there in comfort and silence. Elijah and her could always relax together. Especially when he's in vocal rest. She can tell what he wants without him even speaking.

He was being so sweet to her. It made her eyes burn. He wasn't looking at her, but she was looking at him. Sometimes when she looked at him, feelings would choke her. Sitting at her throat, waiting to be spilt. They had been dating for around 6 months. She hadn't said it yet. The word had always made her uncomfortable. She had warned him about it. He said it to her first. Sometimes he drops it in conversations.

Right now though. The words were at the tip of her tongue. Ready to stumble out.

"Eli..." She let out breathlessly. His head turned. He saw her expression. His brow raised in question. "What is it?"

"I..." She gulped. She didn't know why this was so difficult for her. She cursed. He sat up straight. He could tell her. He just knew. Taking a sip of his tea before speaking.

"You don't have to say it. I know."

"What?" Her mouth agape. Eyebrows furrowed. He couldn't possibly know what she was about to say.

"Oh, come on. Did you think I didn't know? I see it on your face every day." He chuckled at her face.

"See what on my face?"

"Love."

"Fuck off." She rolled her eyes. He laughed louder this time. She crawled towards him. He smirked at her.

"You're such a bloody eejit." She sat on his lap. A peck to her lips.

"That you love."

"Yeah, whatever, fucker. I love you." He smiled widely now. Almost giddy. His cheeks turned pink.

"Are you blushing?"

"Yeah, whatever. I love you more."

lay all your love on me - op81

📍santorini, greece

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (6.0K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

index guide:

01: The Thermodynamics of My Hot Mess 02: Love, Sweat, and Secondhand Embarrassment 03. Making a Splash In the Pool of Love

summary:

On a summer getaway to Santorini, Greece, Y/N finds herself staying in a charming Airbnb with her family, soaking in the breathtaking views and vibrant atmosphere of the island. However, what was supposed to be a peaceful vacation takes an unexpected turn when she discovers that they’ll be sharing the house with none other than Formula One driver Oscar Piastri, who’s also vacationing with his family.

At first, the arrangement feels awkward, the two worlds of celebrity racing and her relatively normal life as a collegiate student colliding in the most unforeseen way. But as the days go by, the initial surprise gives way to something deeper. As they explore the sun-drenched beaches, dine in quaint tavernas, and experience the lively nightlife of Santorini, Y/N and Oscar find themselves drawn to each other in ways they hadn’t anticipated.

As the sun sets over the Aegean Sea, and the lively energy of the island comes alive at night, Y/N and Oscar find themselves spending more time together, entertwined in a steamy and fast-paced romance. The backdrop of Santorini's iconic white-washed buildings, azure waters, and the laid-back Greek lifestyle set the stage for a summer romance that's as unexpected as it is intense.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09

we used to have more pt. 3 | oscar piastri, pato o’ward

part 1 part 2

pairing: oscar piastri x reader, hints at pato o’ward x reader

summary: while working at indycar, you found yourself growing closer to a certain mclaren driver, but those plans get interrupted when you have to get back home and oscar drops a bomb on you

fc: different girls from pinterest

warnings: some more inaccurate work dynamics, this is mainly text messages <3 sorry <3 i got carried away

a/n: work and school have been keeping me very busy this past few days, but i hope you’ll enjoy this part! tysm for all the support, i really really appreciate it ❤️‍🩹

—

liked by elbaoward, declanmurray and others

yourusername ain’t no love in (texas) 🤠🐎🧡

view all comments

username i’m being delusional and taking this as a sign that she’ll go to the grand prix in austin and all the f1 races after that

username we’re different because i’m taking this as a sign that she’s dating pato and she’s staying at indy

username girl is that freaking norbi? 😭

username she really thought she was slick

username not to be THAT person but everything about this post screams patricio o’ward

username ahhh i love casa rio!

milesbaldwin they say you don’t go to san antonio if you don’t go to casa rio 😋

miguelsossa great mexican food! absolutely recommend

username omg they all went TOGETHER?

username not me thinking it was just y/n and pato …

username not but honestly when is y/n not with any of them

elbaoward beautiful! 💗

yourusername elbaaa💘

username nahhh this is all the confirmation i need

liked by gfusername, landonorris and others

oscarpiastri i ❤️ split

view all comments

username ignoring that second slide

username i love that he’s in croatia!! 🥰

username so boyfriend coded

username UGH oscar give me a chance i swear we’re not gonna fall into a toxic cycle of breaking up and getting back together

username you might not be his type in that case! sorry!

username you know what you might be right 😔

username my brain can’t stop comparing this to y/n’s post ….

username no they’re both in completely different parts of the world with the wrong people!!

username they HAVE GOT to get together at some point

username no really they’re just delaying the inevitable

gfusername ❤️ (liked by oscarpiastri)

yourusername’s instagram stories

[caption 1: 🎀] [caption 2: 🍝]

liked by patriciooward, oscarpiastri and others

yourusername it’s incredibly sad to say goodbye to this place that has become my absolute favorite in the entire world. i had some of the best days of my life in these race tracks and i met the most amazing people during my time here ❤️‍🩹 i loved everything about this experience and i can’t wait to come back (hopefully very soon)🏎

view all comments

lissiemackintosh i’m gonna cry 😭

yourusername my honest reaction

davidmalukas so sad y’all are leaving 😔

yourusername we’re gonna miss you!

declanmurray specially lissiemackintosh

davidmalukas good ☺️

lissiemackintosh you’re dead declanmurray

milesbaldwin what if we just stayed? :(

miguelsossa we stayed like four more months

yourusername rebecca would fire me actually

fernandoalo_official happy to have you back soon y/n 👍🏽

yourusername i’m happy to go back! 🤍

username SHE’S COMING BACK LET’S GOOOO

username im dyingggg she’s mourning her lasts days in america and everyone in the comments is celebrating 😭

username is not everyday the people princess returns where she belongs 😩

—

taglist; @heavy-vettel @a-beaverhausen @astroniii @chunkpiboli @theonottsbxtch @eclecticcreatorweaselsalad @charli123456789 @stopeatread @coriyaps @nina-or-anna-or-nora @ninasw0rld @loveelylani @marauders-wife @dramallama9 @mxdi0 @piastrigate @ladyoflynx @prudyhoo @idkwtdwml123 @southernbaguette @ellelabelle @emryb @fastfactory @comicalivy @seasonswinter @no-144444 @lunamelona @saachiep81 @nataliambc @patis643 @softtina @chemiru @obxstiles @eiaaasamantha @youre-on-your-ownkid @wcnorris @hwalllllllelujah @soleilgrec