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elliebubblee · 1 month ago

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Last Minute Driver (Part 1)

Pairing: Female Driver x Oscar Piastri Genre: Romance / Sports Drama / Friends to Something More Warnings: Some tension, playful teasing, mild language, mentions of menstruation and related discomfort Summary: In a world where speed is everything, their rivalry is just the beginning. As the races heat up, so do their feelings — but neither is ready to admit it yet.

Contains: Fast cars, sharper words, secret smiles, moments that make hearts race faster than the track, and the ups and downs of menstruation reality.

English isn’t my first language, so thanks for your patience with any mistakes! 💖

Last Minute Driver

Your phone rang after midnight. And nothing good ever comes at that hour.

Half-asleep in bed, you turned over and glanced at the screen— your reflexes kicked in instantly.

Andrea Stella – McLaren.

Your heartbeat spiked. Why would the team principal call you at this time?

“Hello?” Your voice still laced with sleep, but adrenaline was already creeping in.

Andrea didn’t waste a second: “Lando broke his arm while cycling and won’t be racing in Imola. He might miss the next three races. Pack your bags; you’re flying out tomorrow morning.”

A heartbeat of silence.

People always say, “Be ready.” Now, the moment had arrived— and you didn’t even have time to wonder if you were ready. You were already packing.

When you arrived at the paddock, all eyes were on you.

Your name was printed on the back of your team shirt. Wearing the McLaren race suit as the only female driver on the grid meant carrying a weight that wasn’t visible, but felt with every step.

Team personnel, rival drivers, the media— every glance was laced with curiosity, some even with clear skepticism.

When it was time for the press conference, the microphones came at you like a storm.

“How do you plan to seize this opportunity?” “Does being the only woman on the grid put extra pressure on you?” “What will it be like teaming up with Oscar Piastri?” “Do you think you actually deserve this spot?”

That last one hit a nerve. But you smiled—cool and controlled. Your voice steady, your words sharp:

“Being on the grid isn’t a surprise to me. If it is to some of you, you better start getting used to it.”

Oscar was standing at the back of the room. No smile, no nod. Just watching. But in that one moment, his eyes told you something loud and clear: He never underestimated you. He had already taken you seriously.

When Oscar entered, he silently sat next to you, and for a moment, your eyes met.

“How were the boring press questions?” he asked, his tone flat, eyes fixed on the screen— just a few words. But still, he was there.

“One of them looked shocked when they realized I’m a woman,” you replied.

Oscar’s lips twitched—almost a smirk.

“F1 fans,” he said. “Expectations are low. Very low.”

“You too?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

A short silence.

“I only care who’s fast,” he said. “Everything else… just noise.”

That was it. And somehow, it was enough to steady your nerves.

The Morning of Free Practice 1

When you walked into the garage that morning, your reflection in the mirror looked strong— but there was still a slight knot in your stomach. Today, the track was yours. Or at least, it had to be.

Oscar was already there. His helmet set aside, eyes on the screens with an engineer. When he noticed you, he gave a small nod. In Piastri language, that meant: “Good morning.” You returned the gesture. Nothing dramatic. A quiet kind of harmony—oddly... comfortable.

Track Walk

It was time for the track walk. You had to walk side-by-side. Andrea, a few engineers, and a data analyst followed behind. You tried to focus on the racing line, but Oscar spoke out of nowhere:

“Anyone who brakes late here is either very brave... or very stupid.”

You smiled. You were starting to realize how few words he used— but how precise they were.

“I’m one of the brave ones,” you said.

“Then make sure you’re not the stupid one,” he replied, eyes never leaving the white line.

Classic Oscar.

At the end of the walk, when everyone started to split up, Oscar paused. He turned to you. There was something in his eyes— a seriousness that hadn’t been there before.

“If you have questions, don’t hesitate. I’ll help.” And then, even softer: “This… isn’t easy.”

Coming from him, that was practically a declaration.

You dipped your head slightly. “I’ll manage,” you said. “But thanks, Iceman.”

And then it happened— the corners of his lips twitched. Almost a smile. But of course, Oscar Piastri doesn’t smile. He just… looks.

Free Practice 1

When the session started, every corner of the track was a personal challenge. The vibration through the steering wheel, the engine’s growl, the engineer’s voice in your ear… And each time your heart raced, your eyes flicked to the timing screens— looking for Oscar’s lap times. Every time, you reminded yourself:

“I belong here — I really belong here.”

By the end of the session, you returned to the garage. Oscar was already there. He took off his helmet—hair matted with sweat— but his expression was unchanged.

He approached you and said just one word:

“You were solid.”

“Just solid?” you asked, your lips curving slightly.

He repeated, “You were solid. Not fast yet, but… consistent.”

Then he turned and walked away. And that— from Oscar— was high praise.

You smiled to yourself and thought:

“Everyone on the grid might be watching me… but him? He sees me.”

After Practice

The exhaustion lingered in your muscles. You had taken off your team shirt, your hair loosely tied up with a clip. The idea of staying alone in your quiet hotel room felt suffocating.

You decided to head downstairs to the hotel lounge. Maybe a hot tea… maybe just a moment of stillness.

But fate has a twisted sense of humor.

There he was— Oscar—sitting in one of the corner chairs. His back slightly hunched, a book in his hands. No coffee. No phone. Just him… and the pages.

You paused.

You weren’t even sure he’d noticed you, but the way he turned the page shifted. Without lifting his eyes, he spoke:

“If you want to sit here, there’s space.”

His tone was flat— predictably Oscar.

You slowly took the seat next to him. One cushion of distance. Silence stretched between you. The sound of pages turning, the occasional inhale.

Eventually, you tried to break it.

“What are you reading?”

“A book,” he replied without looking up. Then, a moment later— as if he realized that was unnecessarily blunt:

“Murakami.”

“Of course,” you said, chuckling. “You’re like the personification of a cool bookstore.”

Oscar turned slightly, just for a second, to glance at you. Quick enough to miss—if you blinked.

Then, unexpectedly, he asked:

“Today… when you were on track, what did it feel like?”

The seriousness in his voice caught you off guard. You shrugged— but your words came out honest.

“I wanted to prove I belong there. To myself. To them. To you.”

Oscar was silent for a while. Then he closed his book.

“You did.”

Just two words— but they carried weight.

Validation. Respect. Quiet admiration.

You looked away.

Oscar leaned back in his chair. Without turning his head, he spoke again:

“As long as you keep racing, the media will keep coming after us. If they ask who I support, I won’t answer.”

A strange heaviness settled between you.

You raised your brows.

“Why not?”

“Because if I answer... it’ll draw attention.” He finally turned his eyes to you. “And watching you without all the noise… is better.”

Your heartbeat stuttered. It sounded like something else—if spoken in another language.

But this was Oscar. He didn’t say what he felt. He just… hinted at it.

“So is that a compliment, or... something creepy?” you teased, smiling.

“Neither,” he said. “But maybe… a bit of instinct to protect.”

Another pause.

But this one didn’t suffocate.

It… settled.

Safe. Familiar.

Then Oscar stood up.

“Not goodbye. Just… sleep time.”

He paused, studying you for a second.

“Tomorrow, the grid’s going to be more interesting with you on it. Hope you wake up in time.”

And then, he walked away.

You stayed on the couch. Your heart raced— but not from an engine this time.

Race Weekend – Saturday Morning

You woke up before your alarm. Your mind was full… but clear. Today was qualifying day—your first official race weekend as the only female driver on the grid.

The moment your feet hit the floor, you felt something unusual. Not the pressure of eyes watching you— but a strange sense of power in knowing they would.

Team Meeting – 09:00

When you walked into the meeting room, Oscar was already there. He had two cups of coffee— and silently slid one across the table toward you as you sat down beside him.

No empty seat between you this time. Subtle.

The engineer started the briefing: track conditions, wind speeds, slipstream scenarios… the classic F1 morning script.

Then: simulation data.

The screen displayed lap predictions: Oscar: 1:16.445 You: 1:16.812

Your facial muscles tensed—just for a second.

Almost identical. But not quite. And that “almost” gnawed at you.

Engineer: “Sim says Oscar will have the edge. That gives us a chance to plan positioning—if timing’s right.”

Oscar cut in immediately: “Not worth it. Lap time should stay clean.”

The engineer raised an eyebrow. “You sure? DRS might help.”

Oscar looked at you. Directly. His next words weren’t for the team— they were for you.

“It’s your first quali. It’s more important you find your own rhythm.”

You hesitated. It was a kind gesture— but some part of you, fiery and ambitious, didn’t want to just accept the gap.

Instead of thanking him, you nodded slightly, voice firm:

“You beating me today is expected. But one day, I’ll be your equal. And after that… I’ll beat you.”

A few heads turned. Oscar didn’t flinch. Just a slight smirk—barely there, but right at the corner of his eye.

“Could happen,” he said. “Would be... interesting.”

After the Meeting

As you grabbed your bag, you heard his voice again:

Oscar: “Maybe we do the next sim session together. What do you think?”

You froze.

Internally: “Wait, what?”

Outwardly, you squinted:

“If I work with you, your data might finally get realistic,” you said.

A tease, but it landed.

Oscar nodded. “Cool. I’ll text you next week.”

Then, he left. You stood still for a few seconds.

You weren’t the fastest sim yet… But close enough to be respected. And close enough to be invited.

This—this was the real beginning.

Free Practice 3

The garage was quiet in the morning. Outside, engines were warming up— Inside, your crew worked with surgical precision, prepping your car.

Before FP3 began, you picked up your helmet. In the mirror, you caught Oscar’s gaze. He gave you the slightest nod—no words, no smile. Just a look that said: “You ready?”

FP3 went live. The track was still a little damp during the first run. Keeping the car stable until the tires reached temp was like walking a tightrope.

But on your second attempt… In Tamburello, you lifted off the throttle just a fraction too early.

It cost you 0.150 seconds.

Timing screen:

Verstappen – 1:15.892 Oscar – 1:15.918 You – 1:16.042

As you returned to the pit:

Engineer (on radio): “Nice run, but early braking out of Turn 9.”

You: “Copy.”

But deep down… You already knew— That mistake? It wasn’t repeating in the race.

Qualifying – Q1

Short stint. Steady push. The track was still cool. You just needed a clean lap to make it through.

You posted a 1:16.4—P5. Oscar went 1:16.2—P3. Verstappen’s radio: “This traffic is a joke.”

Classic Red Bull complaint.

Your radio: “Clean air. Good entry. Target +0.20 delta next run.”

You were locked in.

New softs. Track evolving.

First sector: purple. Second: green. Tiny understeer in the final corner— but you floored it.

On screen: P2. Oscar: P4. Verstappen: P1, one lap later.

The three of you—separated by just 0.250 seconds.

This was it. Two laps. Two shots.

First attempt: Clean, but a bit too much kerb on the final corner. Time: 1:15.912

Radio: “P3 for now. Verstappen ahead. Oscar hasn’t gone out yet.”

Then Oscar launched his final lap. The engine note faded at pit exit.

Timing screen lit up:

Sector 1: Purple – Oscar Sector 2: Purple – Oscar Sector 3: Green – but enough!

P1 – Oscar Piastri – 1:15.748 Verstappen – 1:15.801 You – 1:15.834

You were only 0.086 seconds behind. P3 on the grid.

A brief silence on the radio— then:

Engineer: “Unbelievable lap. Well done. P3. We’re proud of that.”

Your hands stayed on the wheel for a moment. Deep breath. Helmet off—sweat on your face, but fire in your eyes.

Oscar had stepped out of his car. He didn’t speak when he approached you. Just looked you up and down— Then gave a subtle nod.

You: “Nice lap.”

Oscar: “Close again.” Then came that signature, cold-but-smirking line: “You alright… or are you getting a little faster?”

You raised your brows, tilted your head. You: “What do you think?”

Oscar didn’t laugh. But his eyes did.

And just like that— Race day was approaching.

The front three of the grid: Piastri, Verstappen… and you.

Imola – Quali Night

When you walked into your hotel room, it felt like your feet were still dancing between throttle and brake.

You dropped your helmet bag. Slowly peeled off your team shirt. The mirror showed a face that was tired… but proud.

You’d just qualified P3 in your first ever F1 weekend. Among dozens of men on the grid, you were thirteen hundredths behind Verstappen. Just six hundredths behind Oscar.

If you’d just braked a fraction later in Sector 3… Maybe the narrative would be different.

But it didn’t matter. Because you were here now. Your name. Your speed. Your everything—was enough.

You lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Thinking about one thing.

Oscar.

His short replies. His refusal to act warm. And yet—every glance left something behind.

When he came over in the garage after quali, those few words nearly cracked open your chest.

“Close again.” “You alright… or are you getting a little faster?”

From Oscar, those nearly-compliments were worth a thousand words.

Your phone buzzed.

Engineer: “Briefing tomorrow at 14:45. It’s race day—let’s plan it together.”

Short. Clear. Disciplined. Just like you in race mode.

Race Day – 10:47

The breakfast room already had a few team members scattered around. You had oatmeal and coffee—something light. And then the door opened.

Oscar. Messy hair. Thermos in hand. That gray hoodie.

You made eye contact. He gave you a small nod. A silent hello. One he didn’t give anyone else.

As he passed by: Oscar: “Sleep okay?”

His voice was cold—like morning air— but the concern peeked through.

You: “Not bad. You?”

Oscar shrugged.

Oscar: “Dreamed I passed Verstappen. Woke up in P1.”

For the first time, you smiled wider than breakfast required.

You: “Nice try. But maybe today… I’ll pass Verstappen.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes.

Oscar: “I already want to see you on the grid.”

And then he walked off.

What did that mean? Did he really want to see you? Or just see you in his mirrors?

You walked toward the garage, your mind still tangled in that question.

The flutter in your belly— wasn’t from breakfast. And definitely not PMS.

Garage – 13:41

There’s never true silence in the paddock. But today… there was harmony.

Everyone was in place. Cameras set up. FIA officials with tablets walking around. And you— You hadn’t zipped up your race suit fully yet. Half-zipped, standing outside the motorhome. Helmet bag on the ground. Your hair dancing in the wind.

A team member approached: “Engineer will call you in five minutes. Final briefing.”

You nodded, but your mind was elsewhere.

Oscar was a few meters away, walking past the Red Bull hospitality. Race suit in hand. Headphones around his neck. Serious face.

You made eye contact.

His face? Poker-straight. But his eyes… They held yours for a second too long.

And just as he turned to walk away— he stepped back.

Oscar: “I’m on the left at the start. If you get a good launch… inside line is yours.”

Your brows furrowed. Was that advice? A challenge?

You: “If I take the inside… you gonna give me space?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. Then—a barely noticeable curl at his lip.

Oscar: “No. But at least now you know where I’ll be.”

And he walked away.

You swallowed.

Not sure what you felt. But your heart? It was pounding loud enough to drown out the engines.

14:49 – Inside the Garage

Your suit zipped up fully. Engineer stood waiting, tablet in hand.

Engineer: “Verstappen’s likely to squeeze inside. Your reflexes are strong—Alonso behind might apply pressure. Strategy: A1 – soft, medium, soft. If Safety Car comes out, switch to B2. Agreed?”

You: “Got it. I’ll avoid contact in Turn 1, but I’m not giving up position.”

He paused. Then quietly added:

Engineer: “Remember, it’s your first race. Know your limits.”

You glanced at the screen. Your name—P3. Oscar—right next to you.

Just like yesterday.

The paddock’s eyes were on you. A woman in a grid full of men. Each step carrying the weight of history. But that weight… it gave you strength.

Oscar’s car was already on the grid. As you passed by, he was crouched with his engineer. Yet his head turned slightly—at the sound of your footsteps.

A small, deliberate wink.

Your face flushed with heat. But this time… You didn’t hide it.

16:00 – In the Car

Helmet on. Radio check complete. Your fingers trembled slightly on the wheel.

Your engineer’s voice came through:

Engineer: “Drive clean. Start smooth. Be safe, but don’t be slow. Remember—you’re not just a name on the grid anymore.”

You closed your eyes. Took a deep breath. Oscar’s voice echoed in your mind:

“I’m on the left.” “You gonna give me space?” “No.”

You smiled.

This was it.

The battle was about to begin.

Imola GP – Race Start – 16:02

The engines roared.

The world… went silent.

Five red lights lit up— And just before they went out, you whispered to yourself:

“Come on, girl. Show them who you are.”

Your launch? Sharp. But Max, cool as ever, sealed off the inside line. Still—you were right there, side-by-side.

And the race had only just begun.

You had to take the outer line at Turn 1. Oscar had already rocketed ahead. But you held position.

P3.

But you didn’t come here just to be in the story. You came to write it.

Lap 11 – Incident at Turn 11

Stroll spun out exiting Turn 11, slamming into the barriers. Yellow flags waved. Seconds later, the Safety Car was deployed.

Over the radio, a quick update came in:

Engineer: “Safety Car deployed. Mind the delta. You're P3.”

Just ahead—Verstappen.

This was a strategy flashpoint. One of those moments that could flip a race.

After the Safety Car

Once the Safety Car peeled in, Oscar nailed the restart. But you…

You were breathing down Max’s neck.

Radio: “Green flag, green flag!”

One corner. Two corners…

At the third, Max stayed wide.

You dove inside.

Wheel to wheel. You braked just a beat later. The tires locked—briefly. But you held the car.

Radio (screaming): “BEAUTIFUL MOVE! You’re P2!”

Your heart was punching your ribs from the inside.

But then… something felt off.

At first, it was just… dampness. Heat. Uncomfortable, but familiar.

You tried to stay focused. Tried to keep your mind in the race.

But the sensation grew stronger.

Moisture was spreading underneath you. With every bump, every turn— There was weight. Pressure.

“No… Not now.”

A dull ache spread across your lower belly. A twisting tension, crawling deeper.

Period.

Inside your helmet—you exhaled. You thought about telling the team… But the whole world was watching.

And you didn’t want to make it a thing.

You had to stay in this race. At least… for now.

Verstappen was still haunting your mirrors.

He attacked. Again and again. You defended. Again and again.

But there was a cost: your tires.

Those softs that had carried you through the first stint? Now, they were screaming for mercy.

Oscar, out front in clean air, was stretching the gap.

The difference? 6 seconds. Then 7. Then 8.

Radio: “Box, box. Plan A. Soft to Medium.”

When you pitted, the seat felt unmistakably wet. The pressure… heavier now.

But you didn’t say a word.

The pit crew? Perfect.

2.4 seconds. Clean. Cold-blooded. Professional.

Final 5 Laps

With five laps to go, The cramps in your belly were no longer whispers— They were demands.

But Verstappen was behind you now. And Oscar…

Oscar was too far ahead to catch.

One thought rang in your head:

“P2 is enough. Just for today—enough.”

Final Corner – Finish Line

As you rounded the last turn, The pit wall erupted into applause.

Oscar was first to see the chequered flag.

But you?

You crossed the line with a P2 that would go down in history.

Under the helmet, you exhaled. And your eyes welled up—not from pain— From victory born in pain.

P2 Board

You stopped the car carefully. In front of you, a bold white sign: P2.

You didn’t take off your helmet. Just leaned forward on the steering wheel.

The warmth spreading beneath your suit was still there. But you didn’t care.

Because today…

You had won a battle. Both on the track— And within your own body.

Minutes After the Race

The race had ended minutes ago. But you were still in the car. Still.

Your breathing had begun to settle, But the dampness beneath you, The cooling fabric of your suit— It told no lies.

Oscar’s POV – Pit Wall

Back at the McLaren pit wall, A team engineer leaned over to Oscar and whispered discreetly:

“P2 car hasn’t exited yet. Something might be off. Keep an eye.”

Oscar was already planning to check on you. But this? This changed everything.

Oscar – Approaching You

Still buzzing from post-race adrenaline, His eyes locked onto your car. You hadn’t taken off your helmet. Your arms rested on the steering wheel. The nose of your car pressed against the P2 board.

It didn’t look like you wanted to move.

Oscar’s walk quickened into a fast stride. Cameras followed him, but he didn’t care.

He crouched beside you, tapped your visor gently.

Oscar: “Hey… still alive in there?”

You cracked open your visor. Your eyes met his. Your voice was shaky.

You: “I’m fine. Just… something small. I… I think I got my period. It might have… gone through. Cameras… everyone’s watching.”

Oscar’s face said it all: “That’s it? That’s all?”

He smiled. Soft. Unbothered.

Oscar (grinning): “Still drove like hell though. Bravo.”

Oscar Gets Into Position

Oscar leaned in. You did exactly what he said: Zipped your suit down to your waist, pushed it below your hips. In his shadow, shielded by his body, you stepped out.

Then...

The world tilted. Your vision blurred. One hand instinctively grabbed Oscar’s shoulder.

Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around you—steady, firm.

Oscar (softly): “Breathe… just breathe. I’ve got you.”

The crowd, the cameras, the team’s cheers— all became a dull hum. Your world spun only in Oscar’s eyes.

The blackout passed within seconds. You gave a slight nod.

You: “Okay… it’s gone. I need to go celebrate with the team.”

Oscar didn’t let go. He stepped forward with you.

Oscar: “P2. On your period. And still standing. Now that’s worth celebrating.”

Celebration With the Team

As you neared the McLaren wall, cheers grew louder. Oscar stayed just behind you—subtle, instinctive. No one noticed.

Finally, you smiled. Not just smiled—beamed. Genuinely, triumphantly.

Cameras flashed. Oscar raised your hands in the air beside you.

Almost whispering to the world, he said:

Oscar: “Look what she did… bleeding and still flying.”

Post-Race Interview Zone

Your race suit still unzipped to the waist. Lower part carefully adjusted—no visible stain. But the cold sticky discomfort lingered; cramps, pressure building. Your ears buzzed. Your steps steady—but deep down, uncertain.

Reporter: “That was an incredible performance today. Watching your battle with Verstappen was thrilling. But after the race, you didn’t get out of the car right away. Is everything alright?”

You smiled—thin, professional, exhausted. Faint shadows under your eyes, unnoticed by cameras.

You: “Ah… just a minor hiccup. After a race that intense, sometimes your body asks for a little attention. But everything’s under control.”

The reporter nodded, eyes hunting for juicier details. Oscar stood close, ready to shield if needed.

Reporter: “Piastri, congratulations on the win! We noticed your teammate had trouble getting out of the car. Do you know what happened?”

Oscar paused. Silence hung heavy. His gaze flicked from you to the camera.

Then, in his cold, signature tone:

Oscar: “There was nothing that impacted her performance.”

The reporter blinked, caught off guard. Oscar said no more, walking straight to the podium.

You looked away. Ears ringing. Sweat beading on your brow.

Cool Down Room

All three drivers entered the room. Max grabbed water immediately. Oscar sat down. You stayed standing. You leaned lightly on Oscar’s chair, keeping distance. Your pulse still racing.

Max (eyeing you): “Hey… you okay? You look a bit pale.”

You couldn’t explain, but Oscar stepped in.

Oscar: “She’s had better days. Still beat you though.”

Max chuckled. You smiled faintly, nodding. Inside, suppressing growing cramps. Race suit still damp. Mind echoing into silence.

Podium Celebration

The moment arrived. Champagne exploded. Oscar and Max lifted bottles high— You clutched yours with effort. Smiled, posed— But lips pale.

Oscar came close, gently touching your shoulder.

Oscar (whispering): “Hang in there. Just a bit more.”

Behind the Podium

Celebrations ended. All three started walking off. Max led. You followed Oscar.

Then— Your legs grew heavy. Vision blurred. Ringing filled your ears, then silence. You grabbed a wall. Nails scraped metal. Your knees gave out.

Oscar (turning and seeing you): “You okay?!”

Last thing you remembered: slowly collapsing— Oscar catching you. Warm grip. World blurred around you.

High-pitched ringing replaced by Oscar’s urgent shout:

Oscar: “Shit! Someone—medical team! Now!”

He ran to you, hands trembling, gripping your shoulders.

Oscar (softly): “Stay with me… just stay…”

Last thing your eyes saw before closing— Shadows on the metal floor… And terror mixed with worry in Oscar’s eyes.

In the Medical Room – Afterwards

You opened your eyes. White ceiling lights hit your pupils. Room cool. Light blanket on you. Faint antiseptic smell.

You (whispering): "...what happened..."

Chair scraped beside you. Oscar.

Oscar (deep breath, smiling): “Welcome back. You scared us all pretty badly.”

Your eyes fixed on his face. Pale, but alert. He held your wrist, stroking your skin gently.

You: “How many people saw? They’ll say I’m weak... so many watched...”

Oscar leaned in, husky whisper:

Oscar: “Hey, no. You just… pushed too hard. That’s not weakness. That’s humanity. And… you’re still one of the strongest on the grid.”

A nurse came to check your blood pressure. You looked away, buried deeper in the pillow. Shame gnawed you. But Oscar stayed. Didn’t leave.

Oscar: “The team’s proud of you, you know? If someone gives that performance—drenched in sweat and pain, still standing tall on the podium… they’re not weak. They’re a legend.”

You closed your eyes, smiled faintly. Outside whispers, race chaos, internet noise—all stopped. Because Oscar was there. And he didn’t let you fall.

Press Room – After the Race

You sat center stage, tired but clear. Eyes sparkling like glass.

Journalist #1: “There are rumors you collapsed and fainted after the race. What’s your health status? Doesn’t that shadow your performance?”

You took the mic. Paused. Looked straight into the camera.

You: “Yes, I had a brief drop in blood pressure after the race. But no, it didn’t affect my performance or skills. We’re human. Sometimes the body reaches its limits. When men have this happen, you call them warriors. Why is it a ‘fitness debate’ for me? I’m genuinely curious.”

Murmurs rose.

Journalist #2 (annoyed): “But some say women aren’t physiologically suited for this sport. Your thoughts?”

You lifted the mic slightly, calm but sharp:

You: “Those comments come from people who don’t even know my finishing position. If you question my suitability, talk to the two people who finished ahead of me. One’s sitting right next to me now.”

You looked to the camera, adding:

You: “Our media training taught us respect. Maybe one day some journalists will get that too.”

Oscar nodded, faint smile.

When Oscar took the mic:

Journalist #3: “Piastri, your rookie teammate struggled. Surprised she pushed so hard so early?”

Oscar, short and cool:

Oscar: “No. Not surprised. She finished second.”

The journalist blinked. Oscar continued:

Oscar: “If she were a bad driver, why were 18 men behind her on the grid?”

Silence.

Oscar: “If she were a man, everyone would call it a legendary debut. But because she’s a woman, you ask ‘can she handle it?’ I don’t accept that double standard. She’s on my team. If she were my rival, I’d still be worried.”

Back in the Paddock

You returned to the team, applause ringing. Your boss said, “Takes guts to be that clear with the press.”

Oscar brushed your shoulder lightly as he passed.

Oscar (quietly): “Still drove like hell, huh?”

You nodded, smiling.

You: “And you saw us shut them up.”

Oscar let out a soft chuckle. The reply came, short and classic:

Oscar: “Good.”

Celebration Party — Imola Night

The night shimmered like the Imola sky. Your team’s sponsor had thrown a luxury party, packed with F1 stars and flashing cameras. But Oscar only had eyes for one person. You.

You wore a short black satin dress. Hair down, makeup simple—but impossible to ignore.

When Oscar spotted you, he paused—just for a second—like his mind had short-circuited. Then he made a beeline for you.

Oscar: “If I’d known you’d show up looking like that, I’d have dressed to impress.”

You (laughing): “You already do. Don’t you know that?”

He rolled his eyes, but the pink in his cheeks betrayed him.

As the music thumped louder, you danced, twirled, laughed. He stayed close—always a step behind. Sometimes offering a drink. Sometimes just watching you like you were the only one on the floor.

And every time you smiled, tossed your hair, or caught his eye—there it was again: The silent question.

"Are you okay?" "Still dizzy?" "Want to take a break?"

You just grinned, brushing it off every time.

You: “I’m fine.”

But at one point, the lights spun just a little too fast. You lost the beat. Oscar caught your arm, smooth and subtle, before anyone else even noticed.

Oscar (leaning in, whispering): “We’ve celebrated enough. Come on, let’s get some air.”

On the Hill Above Imola

Below you, the city glittered like scattered stardust. You sat on a bench, shoulder to shoulder.

Oscar: “I know you’re trying to prove how strong you are… but there’s a reason I’ve been checking on you all night.”

You (looking away): “I know. I just... don’t want people thinking I’m weak.”

Oscar: “Weak? The weak are the ones who couldn’t even step into that car with you. You raced. You passed. You spoke up. You stood tall. If anyone else had done what you did today, they’d be worshipped.”

You: “What would you do if I actually won a race…?”

Oscar (smirking): “Carry you around the track on my shoulders.”

You (laughing, wide-eyed): “Me? On your shoulders? You sure about that?”

Oscar (playfully offended): “What—are you saying I’m not strong enough?”

You (grinning): “If I win... then we’ll talk.”

He narrowed his eyes.

Oscar: “When that day comes, I promise you the wildest celebration the world’s ever seen.”

A silence settled between you. The kind that makes you forget everything else.

But the distant hum of music reminded you: the night wasn’t done yet.

Oscar reached out his hand. And without a second thought—you took it.

One night. One podium. One look.

And someone who sees all of you—and still says, "You're enough."

If you enjoyed this part, please feel free to leave a comment! I’d be happy to continue with a part 2 if there’s interest. Thank you so much for reading! 💕

Part2 is here <3

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri one shot #f1 x reader #f1blr #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula one #f1 #motorsport #female driver #grid girl #slow burn #slow burn romance #mclaren formula 1

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monacodive · 1 year ago

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today in the chronicles of women in motorsport...

#found this in ig comments and couldn't resist #this is the woman behind ferraris strategy in the early days of sebastian vettel btw #so yeah #happy international women's month #dont forget the 'you like f1 because it was made into a netflix show'#and his equally charming twin 'you only like f1 because the drivers are hot'#my brother in christ #shut the fuck up #i love it here sm #scuderia ferrari #f1 #formula 1 #women in motorsport #motorsports #ruth buscombe

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cloudslou · 2 months ago

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chloe grant posted this reel on on insta that i just saw and i know it’s pretty par for the course for girls and women in motorsports but it just reminded me how many talented and driven women r in motorsports who simply do not have the funding or sponsors to compete at the same level as men.

#men who could literally be the most lacking and boring drivers out there #yet somehow too fucking many manage to compete in f2 and f3 and f4 etc etc.#anyways. i’m grateful abbi has a full funded seat this year.#chloe grant #women in motorsport #f1 academy #<- she used to be in f1a okay it’s relevant

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jungwnies · 1 month ago

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to lovers | kimi antonelli

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi antonelli ୨ৎ : synopsis : best friends to lovers, what else do i need to say.

୨ৎ : genre : fluff ୨ৎ : word count : 447

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

it started the way these things always do — with a look.

not a loud declaration. not a dramatic kiss in the rain. just… a look.

you’d known kimi since you were both teenagers, your lives forever intertwined through circuits, red-eye flights, and late-night karting sessions that turned into lifelong memories. he wasn’t one for big emotions or flowery words. but he looked at you like you were everything.

and you pretended not to notice.

the two of you were curled up in the quiet of his hotel room in barcelona, post-practice, post-pasta, post-everything. the air smelled like his cologne and the faint citrus of your body spray, mingling into something comfortably familiar.

you were scrolling through his phone, teasing him over his terrible camera roll.

“why do you have five pictures of a pigeon?”

“it looked funny,” he mumbled, face hidden under a pillow.

“and blurry,” you added, snorting. “god, you’re so bad at taking pictures—”

“yeah?” his voice was muffled but steady. “you’re in most of them.”

your heart stuttered.

he peeked out from under the pillow, eyes a little too open, a little too serious. “don’t look at me like that.”

you blinked. “like what?”

“like you don’t know what i’m talking about.”

the tension hung there — thin but heavy, buzzing in your ears like a radio tuned just off-station. you tried to laugh it off, but it came out nervous. “kimi…”

“i’m just saying,” he said softly, “you always ask why i don’t talk to girls or go on dates. it’s because no one else is you.”

silence.

“kimi,” you said again, this time quieter. “we’re best friends.”

his jaw clenched, just a little. “yeah. i know.”

you sat up slightly, trying to get your thoughts in order, but they were all crashing together in one stupid, messy wave of oh.

because now it made sense — the way he always stood a little too close when you were cold. the way he let you rant for hours even when he didn’t care about the topic. the way he always drove just a little slower when you were in the passenger seat.

you reached for his hand, your fingers brushing. “so what if i don’t want to be just your best friend?”

his eyes flicked to yours. “then i’d probably do this.”

and then he kissed you.

soft. steady. like he’d been holding it in for months and now that the door was open, there was no going back.

when he pulled away, his voice was low, almost shy. “don’t look at me like that either.”

you smiled, leaning in again. “like i’m in love with you?”

he exhaled. “exactly like that.”

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ferrarifudds · 7 months ago

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What Are We. ✷ Paul Aron

Pairing: Paul Aron x Friend!reader

Summary: When all signs start to point that maybe you guys are more than friends.

Word Count: 2.1k

Vera’a Voice! Free time for me!!!! Which means I get to write and get down and dirty and grind. (Write.) this blurb is for my bbg Ellis. Hai. Suhhhhh. ok now adding this bit but I already wrote everything so its too late but im giggling bc I just searched and learned estonia is not that much of a warm beachy country oops. Ok Bye. my b. OH WELL.

The long-awaited summer break was something you had looked forward to since the season began. Climbing the ladder as a media intern in motorsports had been tough, but landing your big break in Formula 2 made every late night and early morning worth it.

It was one step closer to your ultimate dream.

Sure, it had been thrilling, but also more stressful than you’d ever imagined. Capturing the perfect shot, fumbling with your camera settings at the worst moments, and racing against deadlines—it was far from easy.

But despite the challenges, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Being young and working as an intern came with its own unique perks too—like getting to know some of the drivers on a personal level.

Not even a year ago would you have ever thought you’d be on a little friend vacation to Estonia with people like Paul Aron or Dino Beganovic and a couple other beloved interns that you had the pleasure of meeting.

And if you told yourself seven months ago you’d be in this scenario, you’d actually laugh.

Paul had been thoughtful enough to organize this entire trip, excited to share the beauty of his homeland with everyone.

Even after traveling halfway across the globe for this sport, Estonia easily ranked as one of the most stunning places you’d ever seen.

It was day two of this unforgettable getaway, and the late afternoon was approaching fast. The group had spent the day soaking up the sun at the beach, swimming in the crystal-clear water, and enjoying the luxurious villa you’d all pitched in to rent for the week.

But now, it was time for something even more special—Paul was finally taking you all to see his true home, where his mother had prepared a dinner that promised to be just as warm and inviting as the country itself.

Dinner in Paul’s family home was as cozy and picturesque as you’d expected. His mom had gone all out, setting the table with traditional Estonian dishes that filled the room with delicious aromas. Paul was effortlessly charming, introducing everyone to his siblings, Anna and Ralf, and making sure no one felt out of place.

You’d always known Paul had this way of making people feel special—it was part of his personality, the charm that came so naturally to him. To you, he’d always just been Paul. Sure, he was flirty sometimes, but that was just who he was, right? Nothing more.

Or so you thought.

The meal was going smoothly until Anna, his sister, casually leaned across the table and asked, “So, how long have you two been together?”

The entire table froze for half a second before erupting into giggles and suppressed laughter.

Your fork clattered against your plate as you nearly choked. “What?” you sputtered, eyes darting to Paul for backup. “We’re not—no, no. We’re not together.”

Anna blinked at you innocently. “Really? You sure? Because I would've thought—”

Ralf snickered, adding fuel to the fire. “Yeah, the way you two act—it’s like, I don’t know, kind of obvious?”

Your face burned, and you glanced at Paul, who had leaned back in his chair with a faint smirk, clearly enjoying your flustered state. He wasn’t rushing to clear anything up either.

What an idiot.

Before you could stammer out another denial, Paul’s mother chimed in, her voice light but curious. “Paul, you never told me you had a girlfriend?"

Your jaw dropped. “I’m not his—”

Paul cut in smoothly, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Ema,” he said, addressing his mother, “Don't worry, I would've told you.”

The laughter at the table got even louder. Dino, seated to your right, practically doubled over as he tried (and failed) to keep his drink from spilling. One of the others whispered something that sent him into another fit of giggles.

“Sorry, but this is too good,” Dino said, wiping at his eyes. “You should see your face right now.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands for a moment, your cheeks blazing. “We’re just friends!” You insisted again, though the way everyone at the table was grinning made it clear no one believed you.

Paul leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Relax,” He said, his voice low and teasing. “You’re making this way more awkward than it needs to be.”

“You’re enjoying this,” You quietly gritted through your teeth back, side-eyeing him.

He shrugged, completely unbothered as he whispered. “A little.”

The laughter slowly died down, but the tension lingered. You tried to focus on your plate, but it was impossible to ignore the flutter in your chest or the way Paul kept sneaking amused glances at you.

It was just Paul, you told yourself. The same Paul who flirted with everyone, who loved teasing you, who couldn’t possibly mean anything by it. But tonight, under the warm glow of the dining room lights, surrounded by his family and friends, the line between teasing and something more felt blurrier than ever.

And the way he winked at you before taking another bite of his food only made that flutter worse.

Soon, the evening had settled in beautifully, the Estonian coastline bathed in hues of amber and violet as the last traces of sunlight dipped below the horizon.

After dinner, the group returned to the villa, laughter and chatter filling the spacious living room as everyone settled into their version of post-dinner relaxation. Dino had taken to challenging the others in a card game, while the rest debated over who would make the best DJ for the night.

You had excused yourself after a while, craving a quiet moment away from the lively energy. The villa's balcony called to you, with its perfect view of the shore and the gentle sound of waves rolling against the sand. The cool evening air kissed your skin as you leaned against the railing, letting the salty breeze fill your lungs. The horizon stretched endlessly, the water shimmering under the soft glow of the moon.

For a while, you simply let yourself get lost in the serenity of the moment, your thoughts wandering back to the chaos of dinner. The teasing, the tension, the way Paul’s gaze had lingered on you just a little too long. You shook your head, trying to brush it off as nothing more than his usual antics.

It was just Paul.

Or was it?

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the door to the balcony slide open until Paul’s voice broke through the quiet.

"Got room for one more?"

You glanced over your shoulder to see him step closer, joining you anyways, his familiar smirk in place. He leaned against the railing beside you, his arm brushing lightly against yours. The touch was subtle, barely there, but it sent a small jolt through you nonetheless.

"You okay?" He asked.

“Just needed a little air.” You glanced at him, half-expecting him to move away, but he didn’t. If anything, he leaned closer, his gaze fixed on the horizon, as if he didn’t notice—or maybe he did.

For a while, the two of you stood in silence, the only sound the distant waves and the occasional rustle of the breeze. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly easy, either. The day’s events had left too much unsaid.

Finally, Paul broke the silence. “You know,” he began, his tone a little hesitant, “I almost planned this trip just for the two of us.”

You turned to him, surprised. “What?”

He gave you a small, self-conscious smile. “Yeah. I wanted it to be just us. I thought it’d be nice to show you where I’m from, spend some time together without… racing being in the way.” He let out a quiet laugh.

“But Dino found out, and he wouldn’t let it happen. Said it’d be too obvious, especially since we aren't, you know…”

“Together?,” You finished, your voice barely above a whisper.

Paul nodded, his gaze fixed on the shoreline. “Yeah. And I couldn’t really argue with him.. he said I could've scared you off.”

Your heart was racing now, the implications of his words sinking in. He’d wanted this trip to be just the two of you? You hadn’t even realized he’d thought about you like that.

“You actually planned this for us?” You asked, your voice soft.

He shrugged, his smile a little shy. “I wanted to show you something important to me. I thought maybe it’d mean something more.” He paused, then added with a teasing edge, “But I guess I didn’t do a great job of getting my point across.”

You blinked, the memories of all the lingering glances, the playful teasing, the way he always seemed to find a reason to be near you during race weekends were suddenly flooding your mind.

You’d brushed it off every time, chalking it up to Paul just being Paul.

But now…

“I guess.. I didn’t realize,” You admitted quietly.

Paul chuckled, his arm brushing yours again as he leaned a little closer. “Yeah, I got that impression. You’re not exactly the most perceptive when it comes to certain things.”

You shot him a half-hearted glare, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “Oh, come on!" You nudged your arm against his, now even closer than ever.

"Okay, maybe I’m a little oblivious. But in my defense, you flirt with everyone. How was I supposed to know you’re serious?”

He tilted his head, his expression softening. “I do flirt a lot. But not like this—not with you.” His voice dropped slightly, the sincerity in his tone making your chest tighten.

“You’re different.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. You swallowed hard, your thoughts a jumbled mess of confusion and something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Paul shifted, turning to face you fully now. “Look, I’m just going to say it." He laugh, probably feeling embarrassed it's taken this long to properly ask you.

"I’ve been trying to make it obvious that I’m interested in you, but maybe I’ve been going about it the wrong way.” He let out a breath, his lips quirking into a now nervous smile. “So… what are we? Because I know what I want us to be. I’ve known for a while now. And it sucked having to deny to my family that you're my girlfriend.” He paused.

"And you have no idea how badly I wanted it to be true." He laughed softly again, shaking his head.

“I want this—us—to be something more. I’ve been dropping hints for months, and either you’re really good at ignoring them, or I’m terrible at this.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you glanced down, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was and how genuine he was.

“I just… I didn’t think you've ever been serious,” You admitted.

“Well, I am,” He said simply, his voice steady now. “And I don’t want to dance around it anymore. Let me take you on a proper date. Just us. No Dino, no friends, no interruptions.”

You looked at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he was looking at you—open, vulnerable, and completely earnest—made it impossible to say anything but yes.

“Okay,” You said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’d like that.”

Paul’s grin widened, and he let out a breath of relief, his hand brushing against yours briefly before he pulled back. “Good. Because I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while now.”

As the waves crashed softly in the distance, the two of you leaned against the railing once more, shoulders touching. This time, the spark between you wasn’t just a fleeting moment. It was a promise of something new, something real—and you couldn’t wait to see where it would lead.

comments , likes , & reblogs are appreciated ! ^_^ kinda fw this one!!!! Ur Welcome Ellis Baef.

tags! @wdcbox @planetpedri @halfwayhearted ofc.

#paul aron #paul aron x reader #paul aron x you #paul aron x y/n #paul aron fic #dino beganovic #formula 2 #racing #motorsports #paul aron fluff #paul aron x friend #vacation #estonia #confessions #formula one #formula 2 driver #f2

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dedeinthewild · 2 months ago

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paul aron x reader, no labels

-“You’re snoring. Like, offensively.”

summary : she has two golden balls of mischief now, and she's happier than ever

They say that, for the right person, you’re capable of pushing yourself to the edge of the world and doing things you wouldn’t even consider otherwise.

And that day, Paul couldn’t help but feel like the living embodiment of that timeless cliché, gripping the leather of his steering wheel as he drove down a countryside road in early May—when the sun had started to show itself, but sweaters were still necessary.

He’d left the city behind: the skyscrapers, the modern buildings, trading them for roads that led to open fields full of wildflowers, cared for by farmers who had known each other for generations, with the occasional horse wandering freely through the tall grass, its mane swaying in the wind.

He reminded himself to bring her there, once she had time. He knew she’d love spending the day with the animals.

A random playlist hummed softly through the car speakers while he drove on autopilot, shifting gears with the paddles, missing his favorite passenger—the one who never stayed quiet for more than five minutes and somehow made simple afternoons the most important thing in his world.

There was a disarming calm around the farmhouse he’d driven to—calling in a favor from an old friend of his sister’s, an opportunity Paul had jumped on because it felt perfect.

He walked back to the car with something warm and squirmy in his arms: a little sausage-shaped pup with fluffy blond fur and a tiny pink nose that almost convinced Paul to adopt every single puppy the man had shown him in the barn, right alongside the mares.

“You have no idea how important you’re about to become,” the Estonian murmured, stroking the puppy’s little head as it wriggled in his hands and let out the sweetest sneeze, making Paul chuckle while searching for his car keys in his hoodie pocket.

“She’s going to lose it. I mean actually lose it.” He smiled, placing the puppy on the blanket the old farmer had given him, securing it in the passenger seat so it wouldn’t roll out of its makeshift bundle if he had to brake.

A horse neighed in the distance as he got behind the wheel, and for a second, Paul allowed himself to imagine a future—a farmhouse like this, a beautiful car in the garage, and her, coming home late just to smell the cake he baked before catching a flight around the world.

The car had barely five hundred kilometers on it, still carrying that unmistakable new car smell.

“Don’t you dare throw up in here,” he mock-scolded, one hand on the top of the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, glancing sideways at the puppy every so often. “I just got this car.”

The little golden retriever rested its head on the center console with a soft whine, brown eyes locking with Paul’s.

“…Okay, fine. I’d forgive you,” he grinned, turning onto a narrow road that would take him home through orchards and open fields, chatting to the puppy like he’d known him forever, already certain they’d be good friends.

“You have no idea what kind of life you’re walking into,” he told the pup, waiting for her to get home—Anna had taken her to some sort of market downtown. “She’s going to spoil you rotten. And talk to you like you’re a person. And you’re going to go on more walks than you’ll know what to do with.”

Paul had his feet propped up on the coffee table in the apartment his sister shared with her. The puppy had nestled against his chest, breathing in his scent, comforted by his steady rhythm, while Paul gently stroked his tiny body.

The little thing let out soft, pleased sounds—like it was smiling.

“She’s been talking about getting a dog for months. ‘Just waiting for the right time,’ she says. Meanwhile, she’s got an entire Pinterest board full of dog names and knows exactly which harnesses look best on golden coats.”

He spoke about her like that—his voice soaked in love and affection, using a tone usually reserved for babies, whispering to the puppy that was quickly becoming part of his life just as much as hers.

“God, she’s going to love you,” he said again, watching the pup chew on one of the bracelet strings she’d once tied around his wrist.

It wasn’t just a dog.

It was something she’d wanted—something he knew would make her feel good, really good. The kind of warmth you only feel when you do something for the person who matters more than anything.

And then, the girls came back—finding him standing at the door just as they were putting their shopping bags down.

She was wearing a blue hoodie she’d stolen from him the previous spring and forgotten to give back, her hair tied at the nape of her neck, a few loose strands falling into her eyes, surprised to see him there unannounced.

He’d used the spare keys Anna always forgot in Tallinn and decided to bake cookies while figuring out how to earn the puppy’s trust, who, as soon as they got home, had shown his mischievous side.

“Hey,” he greeted, trying—and failing—to hide the wide smile on his face.

“Paul?” she blinked in disbelief. She hadn’t seen him in months—his schedule kept him busy, and school hadn’t exactly been kind to her either. She hadn’t been able to find the time to hop on a train or plane to visit him wherever he was.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, noticing his slippers and how settled he looked. “I thought you weren’t coming until next week.”

She was trying not to smile too hard.

“I was in the area,” he shrugged. “Had something to drop off.”

Anna shook her head and disappeared into her room with one of the shopping bags, leaving the two of them alone, hoping her brother had finally made the move she’d been waiting for.

“Every time you say that, it’s something ridiculous.”

“Define ridiculous,” Paul teased, raising an eyebrow.

“So? What are you hiding?”

She crossed her arms over the hoodie, bracelets clinking softly on her wrist—half of them matching the ones on his.

She was trying so hard not to launch herself at him and hold on like he might vanish again for months.

“Nothing.”

“You are literally hiding something. You have ‘guilty puppy smuggler’ energy.”

Paul bit his cheek at her word choice. Meanwhile, Anna leaned against the wall, stealing one of his cookies, watching everything unfold without being noticed.

And then… something stirred inside his hoodie.

A tiny head peeked out from the neckline. Two sleepy eyes and fuzzy ears twitching gently.

She gasped.

“No. No, no, no, Paul.”

He felt his heart swell at the look on her face—arms falling to her sides, her bottom lip caught between her teeth to keep from tearing up.

“Wanna say hi?” Paul pulled the puppy out of the hoodie, holding him up.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Is that…?”

He nodded.

“Is that the puppy? The puppy?”

“Yup.”

“In your hoodie.”

“Yup.”

He placed the little thing into her hands and pulled her into a side hug, his fingers running through her hair while her heart hammered in her chest and her hands cradled the fluffball against her.

“You’re serious?” she whispered. “He’s for me?”

She looked up, locking eyes with Paul—those blue eyes she loved so much. The ones that always made her feel like nothing could hurt her and all she needed was a car ride with him and the road ahead.

“I didn’t think you were actually listening,” she laughed quietly, blinking fast to keep the tears in.

“I always listen,” he said softly. “Especially when it’s you.”

And in her eyes, Paul saw something clear, raw, and full of love—so obvious it made his chest ache.

Anna, melting at the doorway, watched the whole scene unfold, overwhelmed by her brother’s gesture and the unspoken bond between the two.

“I might start crying,” she whispered, just as the puppy settled into the little bed Paul had bought, surrounded by new toys and bowls he’d picked out just for her.

“That’s okay,” he murmured, pulling her into a full hug, her arms wrapping tight around his torso, his hand cradling the back of her head, keeping her close.

They didn’t move.

Not when Anna stole another cookie.

Not when the puppy barked softly.

Because in that moment, the way they fit together felt like the most natural thing in the world.

That night, Anna was out of the apartment—off celebrating a friend’s birthday—so the three of them (two humans and one tiny golden ball of mischief) had the entire place to themselves.

They’d ordered a pizza from the restaurant downstairs, and Paul had gone to pick it up in his slippers, wearing the kind of smile that only comes when you feel so at ease, nothing in the world can touch you.

Then, after laying a blanket down on the parquet floor, they sat cross-legged and started trying out names the puppy might actually respond to—just in case it already had a favorite and they didn’t want to disrupt it.

“Waffles,” she offered. “Because her ears are soft and sweet.”

“Aron Junior,” Paul countered. “For legacy.”

She laughed and threw a fry at him, watching the little pup weave between Paul’s legs, hinting she was getting sleepy.

After finishing the pizza and watching the tiny belly rise and fall in a slow, rhythmic motion, they headed to the bedroom, flopping down onto the same bed.

The girls lived in a very quiet neighborhood, so the night felt still, peaceful—and sleep, when they were together, always felt even more restorative.

Paul had collapsed on the mattress, lying face down in a starfish sprawl, sunk deep into a sleep that had him dreaming about the kind of life he’d thought about all day. She, who tended to move around a lot in her sleep, had ended up draped across him, her stomach pressed to his back and her lips brushing against his jaw.

It was around 3 a.m. when she woke up, not quite realizing they were tangled together like that, startled instead by a loud sound breaking through the quiet.

“Paul,” she mumbled, half-asleep. “You’re snoring. Like, offensively.”

Paul tried to turn over, but something was stopping him—and once he realized what that something was, he figured it might be the best thing that had ever pinned him down.

“What?” he muttered, rubbing his face, pretty sure he had never snored in his life.

“That noise. It’s coming from you.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You do. It sounds like a bear trying to breathe through a straw.”

Paul shifted slightly so he could look her in the eyes, catching the soft scent of sleep and comfort her skin gave off—so warm.

But the sound persisted, echoing in the darkness of the room, cut only by the small nightlight they’d left on outside the door to keep an eye on the pup.

“…Okay,” she whispered. “That wasn’t you.”

He put his hands on her hips and gently moved her aside so he could get up and check, rubbing his eyes as she sat up in bed.

And that’s when they saw it.

The dog, lying belly-up inside one of the pilot’s slippers, clearly deep in a dream, tail flicking back and forth, head tilted to the side—emitting the stupidest snore imaginable.

“I was ready to smother you with a pillow,” she laughed as Paul flopped back onto the bed. She lay back down on top of him, wrapping her arms around his well-built torso.

“Guess I’m off the hook,” he murmured, voice raspy from being half-asleep.

“You’re lucky he’s cute.”

Her fingers absentmindedly played with the seam of his T-shirt as she chuckled sleepily and whispered:

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Paul said, pressing a small kiss to her arm where it rested against his.

“You think I’m cute?”

She didn’t move—head resting on one of his broad shoulders, lulled by the sound of his breathing in the quiet of the bedroom.

“I mean… you’re fine, I guess. For someone who steals all my clothes.”

They stayed like that for a while, both knowing, deep down, this was one of those moments where everything shifts—where something changes.

Where maybe, just maybe, it would start to have a name tonight.

Or tomorrow.

“Why’d you really bring him to me?” she asked.

Paul looked at her, adjusting so she rested fully on his chest without being uncomfortable.

The way their legs were tangled together, the way her long hair followed her with every movement, the way his old T-shirt covered her like a blanket—like safety.

He could’ve deflected. Made a joke. Teased her or simply stroked her hair.

But instead, he spoke the way someone does when they’re talking to the person they love.

“Because I wanted you to have something good. Something constant.”

She smiled, her face resting on his chest, wearing his shirt, after he’d come back to her—again.

“You’re good,” she murmured. “You’re constant.”

Paul closed his eyes as the puppy started snoring again, making them both chuckle softly, while that particular kind of silence—the kind that follows a confession—settled in between them.

And there was no need to explain.

Because the simple feeling of spending time with the one person you’d do anything for…

That’s the perfect definition of everything.

I'm just writing paul fluff about lazy and slow mornings, and I know you'll eventually get bored of it but I just need him.

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