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grillthegridmydear · 1 month ago

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Valentines | OP81

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: [STAR-CROSSED LOVERS AU] A love written in the stars, doomed to be lost and reborn, until it finds its way home.

Warning(s): Angst, fluff, death, heartbreak, violence, historical tragedy, reincarnation, loss, heavy emotional themes. Hopeful open ending.

"If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I’d like to do, is to save every day ‘til eternity passes away, just to spend them with you.”

13th Century, (before Valentine's day was created)

The night was cool but serene, the kind that held the heavens close to earth.

The stars, bright as scattered diamonds, seemed to hang lower than usual, as if listening to whispered secrets from the mortals below.

On a gentle hillside above the village, Y/N and Oscar lay on a woven blanket. The faint glow from distant lanterns barely touched the edge of the meadow, leaving the two lovers bathed in moonlight and shadow.

Y/N’s gaze was fixed upon the heavens. Her hair, dark as the midnight sky, spilled across the blanket, and her eyes glistened with unshed thoughts. “Do you ever think,” she began softly, “that there is more to this world than we can see? That the stars themselves hold our fate?”

Oscar, lying beside her with one arm tucked beneath his head, turned his face to hers.

His gaze was steady—dark, earnest, and filled with something too vast to name. “I think the stars are envious of us,” he said. “They shine so bright, yet they cannot love as we do.”

Her lips curved into a small, wistful smile. “You are ever the poet, my Oscar”

“And yet my words are unworthy of you.” He took her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “What we have—no words or stars could ever capture it.”

Their wedding was but a few hours away. In the village below, preparations had already begun. Fresh flowers adorned the chapel, bread had been baked, and garlands of ivy hung from every doorway.

Yet there was an unspoken fear lingering between them—a shadow over their joy. Their love, though strong, had drawn the ire of some. Envy was a dangerous thing.

“Do you think the world will ever change?” Y/N asked after a long pause. Her voice was barely more than a breath. “That love will one day be celebrated, not try to be stolen from us?”

Oscar’s grip on her hand tightened. “One day, there will be a day for lovers. A day when the world will honor love itself—no matter the cost.”

Her brow furrowed. “You speak as though such a thing could truly be.”

“It will be.” His gaze never left hers. “And when it comes, our love will be remembered. Even if we are not there to see it.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she did not let them fall. “Such a promise is a weighty thing, Oscar. Do not speak it unless you mean it.”

“I mean it with all that I am. My darling Y/N.” He leaned forward, his forehead brushing hers, his breath warm against her skin. “Should the world tear us apart, let it be known—our love will endure beyond time. And one day, it will be honored, forever.”

Her tears spilled then, though she smiled through them. “I shall hold you to that, my love. For our forever lives beyond eternity”

“Then hold me tightly,” he whispered. “For the stars may change, but my heart never will.”

They kissed beneath the moon—a kiss filled with promises, hope, and desperation. Yet even the stars, ageless and wise, could not save what was to come.

When the dawn broke, the bells did not ring for a wedding.

They rang for mourning.

_____________________________

Salem Witch trials. February, 1692

The sky was heavy with the weight of storm clouds, as if the heavens themselves mourned the scene below. Smoke curled around the edges of the village square, where a towering pyre stood ready.

The scent of damp wood mixed with something darker—the fear of what was to come.

Y/N was bound at the center of the pyre, her wrists tied cruelly behind her back. Her white shift clung to her skin, torn and streaked with mud. Despite everything, she held her head high.

Her gaze swept over the crowd, but she found no mercy in their eyes. Only fear and hatred, fed by lies and jealousy.

And then she saw him.

Oscar.

Her Oscar.

He stood at the edge of the crowd, held back by two guards. His dark tunic was torn at the collar, and his knuckles were bloodied from struggling.

His eyes—those eyes that had always looked at her with such tenderness—were now wild with desperation.

“Let her go!” His voice was raw, filled with a grief too large for his body to contain. “You know she’s innocent!”

No one moved. The villagers, once neighbors and friends, now turned their faces away.

The elder stepped forward, his voice booming across the square. “This woman has bewitched our men, cursed our land, and threatened our very souls. By the law of God and man, she is condemned.”

Oscar surged forward, but the guards yanked him back. “No! She has done none of those things! You know this is a lie!” He looked to the man standing smugly by the elder—a former suitor of Y/N’s, whose jealousy had poisoned the entire village. His lips curled into a cruel smile.

Y/N’s throat tightened, but she refused to let tears fall. If she was to die, she would not give them the satisfaction of her fear.

The elder turned to her. “Do you have any final words before you meet your fate?”

Y/N’s voice, when it came, was steady and clear. “I have never cursed you. I have only ever loved.” Her eyes softened as they found Oscar’s. "And I will love still.”

Oscar’s knees buckled. His hands trembled as he reached toward her, though the distance between them was too great. “No,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Don’t say goodbye. Not like this.”

“I’m not saying goodbye.” Her lips curved into the smallest, saddest smile. “You promised me, remember? Our love will endure.”

“And I will keep that promise,” he swore. “I’ll find a way, Y/N. I’ll save you. Just hold on a little longer—”

The elder gave a signal. The executioner stepped forward, a lit torch in his hand.

“No!” Oscar’s scream tore through the square.

He fought with every ounce of strength he had, but the guards held firm.

The first flame touched the base of the pyre. The fire was small at first, but it grew quickly, crackling as it devoured the wood. Smoke rose in thick tendrils, curling around Y/N like a shroud.

Oscar’s struggles turned frantic. “Stop it! Stop! You’re killing her!” His voice broke on the last word, shattered beyond repair.

Y/N felt the heat licking at her feet, but she forced herself to stay calm. In her mind, she was no longer here. She was with Oscar, lying on a blanket beneath the stars. The sky was endless, and the world was kind.

But the fire did not care for dreams.

The rose behind her ear—the one Oscar had tucked there just last night—caught the first ember. It burned slowly, its petals blackening before curling into ash.

Oscar saw it happen. Something inside him snapped. He fell to his knees, his strength gone. His hands dug into the dirt as if he could anchor himself there, in that moment, with her.

“You promised me!” he cried, tears streaming down his face. “You said we would have forever!”

Y/N’s eyes met his one last time through the smoke and flames. Her lips moved, though no sound escaped.

Forever lives beyond fire.

The flames consumed her then.

Oscar collapsed. The guards released him, but it did not matter. He was broken.

The crowd began to disperse, their faces drawn with unease. The man who had condemned her lingered for a moment longer before turning away, victorious.

But Oscar remained. Long after the fire had burned itself out, he knelt at the base of the pyre. The ground was cold beneath him, but he did not feel it. All he felt was loss.

In the ashes, a single petal remained—a fragment of the rose. Blackened, but whole. He picked it up with trembling hands, cradling it as if it were the last piece of her.

The wind howled through the empty square, carrying with it the memory of her voice.

One day, their love would prevail. But not today.

Today, love had burned.

_____________________________

Somewhere on the Western Front, February 14, 1917.

The trenches stretched on endlessly, a scar carved into the earth. Mud, tar, blood, and shattered hopes soaked the ground beneath Oscar’s boots. The air was heavy with frost and ash, the horizon swallowed by gray clouds that refused to break.

Yet, for a moment, there was peace.

Oscar sat beneath a makeshift shelter of broken wood and canvas, a small oil lamp flickering beside him. His uniform, frayed and caked in mud, felt too tight across his chest. His hands shook from cold—or perhaps it was the weight of what he was about to write.

In the dim light, he pulled a worn photograph from his breast pocket. It was crumpled from constant handling, the edges soft and frayed. But the image was clear. Y/N’s eyes smiled back at him, the sunlight behind her turning her hair into a golden halo. They had taken the photo the day before he left.

He could still hear her laughter. Still feel her hand slipping into his. He’d kissed her goodbye that morning, swearing that he would return before the war could claim their love.

Now, that promise felt like a dream.

With a deep breath, Oscar placed the photo beside him and opened his letter. The paper was yellowed from age and damp with the trench’s cold, but it would do. His pen hovered above it for a long moment before the words finally came.

My Dearest Love,

Every breath I take is yours. Every sunrise belongs to you. And tonight, beneath this shattered sky, I write to you with one truth: my love has never wavered. It never will.

Today is February 14, my darling Y/N. I imagine you standing by the window, watching the rain fall softly against the glass. You always did love the rain—how it made the world new again. I wonder if you think of me as you watch the storm. If you wonder where I am, if I am safe, if I still carry your heart with me. I do.

He paused, pressing his hand to his chest where his locket rested—a gift from Y/N. Inside was another photo of her and a tiny pressed rose, its petals brittle but intact.

You once told me that love would endure anything. That we would endure anything. I believe you. The world may crumble beneath our feet, but we are unbreakable. I see it in every star, every breeze, every moment I close my eyes. I feel you there.

Oscar swallowed hard. His throat tightened as the memories flooded in. Her laughter. Her touch. Her voice calling him home.

When I return—because I will return—we will live the life we dreamed of. No war, no distance. Just us.

The pen trembled in his hand as he added the final line.

Until that day, I am yours. Forever.

Your Oscar.

He folded the letter carefully, pressing it to his lips before tucking it into an envelope. For a moment, he sat in silence, the weight of the world pressing down on him. But then he reached for his pencil.

On the back of the envelope, he sketched a heart—simple and imperfect, but filled with everything he couldn’t say.

He had just finished when the ground trembled beneath him.

A low rumble echoed across the horizon, growing louder with every second. The peace that had settled over the trenches was gone, replaced by the unmistakable howl of incoming artillery.

“Take cover!” someone shouted.

Oscar barely had time to move.

The first shell hit twenty yards away, sending a spray of dirt and shrapnel into the air. The world erupted in chaos—men shouting, the earth splitting open, smoke and flame consuming everything.

Oscar scrambled to his feet, the letter still clutched in his hand. His mind was a storm of thoughts.

Y/N. I have to send the letter. I have to make it back.

The second explosion was closer.

He stumbled as the blast threw him to the ground. Pain flared in his side, sharp and unforgiving.

Blood soaked through his uniform, but he didn’t notice. His eyes were fixed on the envelope that had slipped from his grasp.

It lay just inches away, next to the photograph of Y/N. Both were stained with mud but still intact. Still whole.

He reached for them, fingers brushing the edge—

The third shell hit.

The force of the explosion shattered the world. Heat and light consumed everything, a deafening roar that drowned out all sound.

When the dust settled, Oscar lay on his back, gasping for air. His ears rang, his vision blurred. Pain radiated through his body, but it was distant—muted, like the world had been placed behind a veil.

Through the haze, he saw it.

The letter.

It lay a few feet away, flames licking at its edges. The photograph was beside it, the image of Y/N already blackening.

“No,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He tried to crawl toward it, but his limbs refused to obey.

The fire spread quickly. In seconds, the paper was gone—ashes scattered by the wind.

Oscar felt something inside him break.

His vision darkened, but he fought to stay awake. He couldn’t close his eyes. Not yet.

The last thing he saw was the sky above him. The clouds had parted, revealing a single, brilliant star. And for a moment, he thought he heard her voice.

Forever lives beyond fire.

Then everything went dark.

______________________________

Melbourne, 14th February 2025

Oscar Piastri hated Valentine’s Day.

He hated the gaudy red roses drooping in every florist window, their petals curling from being left in the sun too long.

He hated the plastic-wrapped chocolates that melted before you got home and the relentless couples holding hands as if the world were made just for them.

It was all tacky—a hollow masquerade of love.

Jogging along Melbourne’s Yarra River, he tried to drown it all out. His breath clouded the cool evening air, each inhale measured, each exhale laced with unspoken frustration. The city around him buzzed with life—shops closing for the day, street performers drawing their last crowds—but Oscar barely noticed.

He just wanted the day to end.

The ache had been there for years—a hollow pit in his chest that throbbed every February 14th. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t name the shape of the sadness that settled over him. It wasn’t tied to anyone or anything in particular. It was just..there.

Why does it feel like I’m missing something?

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city in hues of indigo and gold, Oscar turned a corner into a quieter street.

It was almost dark, the streetlamps just starting to flicker to life, their dim halos casting long shadows.

That’s when he saw it.

A scuffle, under the glow of a single streetlamp.

A man—a hulking figure dressed in a dark coat—grabbing a woman’s bag. She struggled, pulling back with all her strength, but the man was relentless.

Oscar didn’t think. He sprinted toward them.

“Hey!” he shouted, the sound echoing through the narrow street.

But before he could reach them, the woman acted.

With a sudden burst of movement, she wrenched free and drove her elbow into the man’s ribs. He staggered back, cursing, but she didn’t stop.

A swift kick to his shin sent him stumbling, and within seconds, he was fleeing into the night.

The woman stayed where she was, leaning against the brick wall. She pressed a hand to her chest, her breath coming fast and shallow.

Oscar slowed, his heart still pounding. “Are you—”

And then he saw her.

The streetlamp’s light fell across her face, illuminating every angle, every shadow. Her hair, wild and wind-tossed, framed her features like a halo.

There was a thin cut on her cheek, a small trail of blood just beginning to dry. Yet she stood tall, unyielding, her dark eyes burning with a fire that seemed both fierce and familiar.

His breath hitched.

There was something about her—something he couldn’t place. A memory just out of reach.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now.

She pushed herself off the wall, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. Despite everything, a grin tugged at her lips. Mischievous. Defiant.

“I’m fine. He just picked the wrong girl tonight.”

Her voice was low and steady, but there was a spark behind it. That fire in her eyes—it was more than defiance. It was something older. Something that had withstood storms. Fires.

Oscar took a slow step forward. The air between them felt charged, electric. “You sure?”

“I’ve had worse,” she said, still smiling. But as she looked at him, her grin faltered—just for a second. Her gaze softened, confusion flickering behind her eyes.

Oscar felt it too. That ache in his chest—the one he couldn’t name—tightened. His hand reached out before he even realized it, fingers brushing against hers.

The moment their hands touched, the world shifted.

A sudden warmth shot through him, racing up his arm and spreading through his chest. It wasn’t painful—it was a spark, a pulse, a memory. Something he couldn’t explain but felt. And it wasn’t just him.

She froze too, her eyes widening as if she’d just seen a ghost.

For a moment, the world fell away.

And then, unbidden, a phrase whispered through his mind.

Forever lives beyond fire.

Her expression changed. Her breath hitched, her hand tightening around his—just slightly. And in the dim light, he noticed something he hadn’t before.

A rose.

It was tucked behind her ear, half-hidden beneath her dark hair. Its petals were deep red, velvet-soft, but the edges were singed. Blackened, as if it had been touched by fire long ago but refused to wither.

He couldn’t look away.

She took a step closer, their hands still intertwined. Her eyes searched his, as if she too were on the edge of remembering something just out of reach.

Finally, she broke the silence. “What’s your name?”

“Oscar,” he said softly..

Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Y/N.”

There it was again—that spark. That connection.

And as they stood beneath the streetlamp’s flickering light, Oscar felt something shift inside him. The ache that had haunted him for years didn’t disappear entirely, but it softened.

For the first time, Valentine’s Day didn’t feel so hollow. For the first time, it felt like the beginning of something good.

_____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

If you liked this story please leave a like a comment and a reblog!

This came to me, in a nap, it was me and blurry guy( that I definitely have a crush on now), and it felt so real, so I had to write it down. My writers block isn't writers blocking..idk. anyway, hope you like this little piece. It took me only an hour to write. Now I'm going back to sleep. Happy Valentine's day to all!

Jules♡

Taglist: @anamiad00msday @evie-119 @that-one-little-soybean @six-call @stressed-cherry @il0vereadingstuff @whatevenisthisxxxxx @freyathehuntress @nina-or-anna-or-nora @allthings-fandoms @larastark3107 @myescapefromthislife @wertyuizxcvbnm @halleest @hs2016 @lucyysthings @justaf1girl @bernelflo @mendes-bae @chelseyyouraverageluigi @llando4norris @sid-is-gr8 @henna006 @hurtblossom @quinquinquincy @ts1mp0ne @spidercat-soccerfan @kodzuvk @wherethefuckisthething @hellowgoodbye @prttylight @l4ndonorizz @edgyficuselastica @k-kaliop @charlesgirl16 @chloes-book-corner @1mverstappen @inchidentofftrack @blackmage24 @angelluv16 @alice-went-away

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grillthegridmydear · 2 months ago

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nico rosberg is a triple threat. haunting the narrative, being haunted by the narrative, and sometimes narrating the narrative (on sky sports)

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grillthegridmydear · 2 months ago

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i just read jackie and wilson and i’m so😭🤲🥰 it was so CUTE !!!! and as a certified hozier lover, the fact that it was jackie and wilson made it even better <3

AHH THANK YOU 🥹

I was so worried I almost rewrote the damn thing like 3 times so I'm glad everyone is enjoying it.

#f1 fanfic

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grillthegridmydear · 2 months ago

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Oscar and number 7 🫶🏻 Thank u so much!

Spotify Wrapped - No. 7

Jackie and Wilson ~ Hozier

OP81 X Reader

Oscar spends his winter break on an extended holiday in Ireland after Lando and Logan decide they want good beer, good culture and a (hopefully) White Christmas.

Meeting her was the last thing he was expecting.

A/N: Kicking it off with Hozier is terribly on brand, set in Dublin cause it's my hometown.

The sheer volume of people trying to battle their way through Grafton Street could have filled a grandstand. This was the only thing that Oscar could think as he tried his best to follow Logan and Lando down the busy street, trying desperately to avoid bumping into passing strangers, their arms loaded with shopping bags as they dart between stores trying to get last minute gifts as the snow fell above them. It was December 17th and instead of spending Christmas at home with his family in Australia or even in his new home in Monaco that he has been living in for less than a year, Lando essentially made the decision for him.

Oscar was added to a groupchat with all of the remaining single drivers and Lando dropped the bomb that he was organising a trip for the winter break to let off steam and enjoy themselves before the 2025 season kicked off. Logan was going because he had recently signed to drive with a new team in a different series, so it would probably be the last time they would be able to see him for a while due to everyones busy schedules. Everyone else had plans with their families or another convenient excuse not to attend, but Oscar was still riding the high of their Constructors Championship victory over Ferrari, and with the promise of spending time with Logan he was very quickly sending a thumbs up to the plan and booking a plane ticket. A month in Dublin, Ireland so that they could be close enough to home that if Mclaren called them back to the MTC they could be there within a few hours. What could go wrong.

After apologising to the third person he bumped shoulders with in the last five minutes Oscar was beginning to regret agreeing to leave the apartment they had booked. It was cold and crowded and honestly he would have been happy with going to a quiet dinner with the boys before relaxing. Lando finally managed to guide them to the mouth of the street and across the road to stop somewhere out of the way of traffic. "Pub anyone?" Lando voiced their collective opinion out loud, the cold was starting to eat through their jackets and honestly with the amount of sightseeing they had been doing since they arrived a week ago, just sitting down with a drink sounded great to Oscar.

Logan started trying to google where they should go while Lando was arguing that they should just start walking in a random direction. Looking back to that moment Oscar was sure that it wasn't a coincidence that they managed to stop directly outside the gates of Trinity College University (a place Oscar only remembered the name of because of the tour they took a few days prior, to look at some old book, it was Logan's idea) because just as they finally seemed to settle on a place Lando immediately searched for the first person he could see to ask for directions. "Excuse me love, could you tell us how to get to The Temple Bar?"

Oscar heard her laugh first, but once he turned to look at the poor girl his teammate was harassing he was a goner. She was dressed far better for the cold than they were, her long black wool coat matched her boots and by the smile on her face he could tell that she thought the question was ridiculous. There was a sparkle of recognition in her eyes as she took in the trio of racers stood in front of her. "I could, but you'd be spending outrageous money for a shit pint and its so crowded this time of the day you might not get a table for hours." Out of the corner of his eyes Oscar could tell that Logan and Lando were content to start looking for other people to ask but he bet them to it. "Would you know somewhere better we could go?" His voice made the other two boys stop in their tracks and look at the her expectantly, and good god Oscar was not ready for her to aim that megawatt smile at him, he could physically feel his heart stutter and begin racing. "I might, I'm actually heading there myself if you boys want to join me?"

That was how they ended up on the other side of the big river that Oscar couldn't care to remember the name of right now, joining a table of four people in the beer garden of Fibber Magees. They had been there for two hours but he wouldn't have been able to tell if not for the fact that the band that was playing music inside the pub when they arrived had ended their set, another one quickly taking their place. Lando had disappeared with one of your friends to grab another round of drinks, and Logan was too busy talking to another one about the NFL. But Oscar, he was completely captured by her. The night stretched on with the Aussie hanging onto her every word, learning about her studies, her hobbies, the man was so whipped that by the time the bar was calling for the last orders of the evening he knew her favourite bands by name and had the names of her dogs (Jackie and Wilson) comitted to memory.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ ✦

As the group tumbled out onto the streets that were started to become littered with snow, everyone was having a blast, and clearly, no one wanted the night to end. However, the promise of early engineering lectures and a date with that absurdly old library from earlier in the week had the girl that Oscar was sure he could sketch in perfect detail deciding to retire for the evening, but not before she whipped her phone out of that obscenely warm coat she wore and held it out to him.

It took a beat before Oscar figured out that she wanted his number, and despite how cold his fingers had now gotten he triple checked that he had in fact not mis typed the wrong digits, the name 'Oscar (from Fibbers)' being his final addition before he handed it back to her. The laugh that left her was warm, so much so that his nearly frost bitten fingers were completely forgotten in that moment. She started typing on the screen and when she pivoted the screen back to him so he could read it, where his contact name had originally sat on the top of the now open chat a new name took its place, 'lucky number 81 🧡' now filled the space and before he could think about how he hadn't ever actually told her that he was the famous Oscar Piastri that drove for Mclaren F1 and not just Oscar the Australian tourist that had been slowly falling in love with her for the last 6 hours, she stood on tip toes to land the softest kiss on his cheek. And with that, she gathered her friends, and before he could move from the spot he was rooted to, the group had already turned the corner at the end of the street and was gone.

When the trio finally made their way back to the apartment and stopped making fun of him for his smitten behaviour, Oscar was distracted by his notification tone. The text was simple, and attached was a Google maps link to Irish International Circuit Mondello Park.

Unknown Number: you did really well last season, but I want to see if you've still got those karting skills. Friday at 12, don't be late!

Fibbers girl xx

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The season had officially drained Oscar and best believe that he was ready for his winter break to start, the final laps of the Abu Dhabi GP had his entire life's dream in its grasp, Mclaren has already secured their fourth constructors championship in a row and now he and Lando were neck and neck for the drivers championship. Not starting from pole was not ideal for the aussie but after an intense back and forth overtaking fight with Max and Lando and a red flag pitstop from Esteban in his Haas, Oscar found himself leading the final lap of what has to be the drive of his life. Tears welled in his eyes and the rumble of screams from the grandstands could be heard over the throttle. The last corner was finally behind him and before he could process that his championship fight was finally over, with him victorious, he was out of the car, weighed for the FIA and being hoisted onto the shoulders of his team.

But the moment that finally grounded him to reality was when he finally managed to escape from the clutches of Zak and his extreme enthusiasm and let his eyes fall on his family still stood crowding the barriers. His sisters finally managing to hop the fence and tackle him into the biggest hug the three girls could muster. There were times that Oscar felt like the worst brother in the world. Leaving his home and family to chase what seemed like an impossible dream, leaving Mae Edie and Hattie behind only experiencing them growing up through photos in family group chats, late night face time calls and flying visits to his home between races. They were proud of him though, he could see it in their eyes as they finally relented their vice grips on him.

His mother stood in place behind the barrier, the tears in her eyes and the smile on his face telling him that all their sacrifice was worth it, that her pride in him would never waver and that before he was the new world champion, he was her son.

Finally, his eyes landed on her.

The warm wool winter coat that he met her in that day was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a papaya dress that did absolutely nothing to hide her growing belly, or the ring on her finger. The smile on her face split his heart in two the same way it did in the freezing cold years ago, and for a second, he considered pulling a Rosberg. He was world champion, he had nothing left to prove, so disappearing from the racing world to spend his life wrapped up in you, in your growing family, and Jackie and Wilson who were no doubt snoozing on their couch at home in Monaco.

Well it didn't sound bad, not one bit.

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Did I start this over a month ago?? Yes.

Life got busy for a hot sec so I'm extending this event until the season starts in March.

Hope you enjoyed xx

A xx

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you

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grillthegridmydear · 2 months ago

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A collection of men who’s hugs could probably solve all my anxiety, they just feel like warm people who would just melt into a hug and not let go until you do

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grillthegridmydear · 3 months ago

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I'm like 90% sure that person you were arguing with has made a new account, I won’t @ bc screw giving them attention but I thought of you and thought you might get a laugh at the fact they're still screaming at the void

Go forth and keep being a lil fanfic freak <3

Fanfic Freaks Rise Up 🧡

#formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #x reader

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grillthegridmydear · 3 months ago

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My requests are staying open for any type of F1 X Reader stories because this has been absolute nonsense

I still don’t understand why people waste time writing fan fiction, especially about real people—like footballers—with absurd, unrealistic scenarios. For example, I stumbled upon a ridiculous story about an F1 driver and a plus-sized girl. Let’s be honest: it’s not about whether plus-sized women deserve love; it’s about facing reality. How likely is it that a rich, young, handsome celebrity, who could have any woman he wants, would date someone who doesn’t meet conventional beauty standards?

This isn’t some fairytale about being “not like other girls.” It’s about the carefully crafted image these men project—flawless, desirable, and unattainable. Instead of pouring your time and energy into these fantasies, maybe focus on yourself. Waiting to be “chosen” by a man, especially one as untouchable as an athlete, is a delusion.

These men don’t date everyday women for love. They date models, influencers, or celebrities because it’s mutually beneficial. Their relationships are often calculated business moves designed to boost their image and line their pockets with more endorsements. In a world where money equals power, dating someone who doesn’t fit that aesthetic offers no advantage.

And where does that leave you? As nothing more than a pawn, stripped of autonomy, your life reduced to the strings someone else pulls for their PR game. Stop dreaming about these unattainable scenarios and start working on yourself. The real world doesn’t care about your fantasies, and neither do they.

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grillthegridmydear · 3 months ago

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That response proves my point that all you are intending to do is try and cause harm to people.

You think so lowly of people that you are spending your time creating an entire tumblr account to create a rage bait post to argue with strangers on the internet that are trying to mind their own business.

Nobody in the F1 fandom or any other for that matter have any reason to feel ashamed for the media and stories that they create or consume.

However you are clearly intent on trying to make them feel that way. It's sick.

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grillthegridmydear · 3 months ago

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Your original post had nothing to do with seeking genuine and honest debate and had everything to do with trying to foster shame and embarrassment in people who are simply using their time and creativity to closer connect themselves to art, media and fandoms that mean something to them.

If you don't find that x reader content is something that you enjoy that is perfectly fine, but making an entire post that essentially in it's core argument boils down to calling people silly and delusional for creating pieces of fictional media centred around things that they enjoy is just plain rude and extremely condescending.

Believe me no one is under the impression that their works of fiction that they choose to share with other people who enjoy that type of consumption is going to suddenly lead to them in that scenario in real life. We write fiction to closely connect ourselves with the people, authors, artists, and creators that give us joy, and to expand the scope of content that exists for us to consume because that is what we enjoy.

Your post reeks of a superiority complex and a genuine motivation to hurt people who did not ask you to invade our spaces that we have created for ourselves to share in the joy and appreciation of the things we love.

So maybe instead of wasting your time trying to shame people on the internet for minding their own business, you should take your own advice and "maybe focus on yourself."

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #x reader

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grillthegridmydear · 3 months ago

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We did it guys

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grillthegridmydear · 3 months ago

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Spotify Wrapped Event

To celebrate the end of the 2024 F1 season I will be opening my requests until the new season begins in March.

Simply pick a driver and a number from 1 to 100 and I'll write a mini fic based on the song and driver chosen.

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #f1 fanfic #ollie bearman #x reader #max verstappen #lewis hamilton #pierre gasly x reader #liam lawson #oscar piastri

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grillthegridmydear · 5 months ago

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The fact that I need to spend time deliberately blocking any tags that are dedicated to spreading hatred towards any drivers is fucking insane. You all need to grow the fuck up.

This is a sport, these men are literally there to drive their cars and compete for a championship, be that the WDC or the Constructors.

I promise you that Lando Norris doesn't care that you claim to love him so much that you would post truly awful things about Oscar, the same goes for the things some of you 'fans' are posting about Liam Lawson in some alleged defence of Daniel. Or any of the drivers for that matter.

If you don't like a particular driver, that's fine, no one is expecting you to. But some of the stuff I see on this app is actually disgusting and the rest of us normal fans that are here to appreciate this sport for what it is (A COMPETITION) don't see you as fans, you're just seen as sad people who can't regulate their opinions and emotions enough to be a fan of something without justifying your love for one driver without perpetuating hatred towards another.

These men are not put on this earth to serve as punching bags for people who can't keep their nasty comments to themselves.

Get a life and stop dedicating your time trying to cyberbully grown men who don't even know you exist because the rest of us who are trying to go about our days as respectful fans of this sport and its drivers who have all worked hard all their lives to reach this point in their careers are the ones who have to deal with your nonsense.

Quit embarrassing yourselves.

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #rant post #like yall seriously need to get a life and go touch some grass its pathetic

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grillthegridmydear · 5 months ago

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Hurricane - Franco Colapinto x Reader

summary: When a hurricane leaves Y/N stranded at Charles’s Monaco apartment with a few of his friends, Y/N has to navigate both the storm outside and the one brewing inside. (5k words)

AN: The absolute confusion I had when I saw a hurricane warning from my government yesterday (I live in south of France); they later changed it to a regular storm warning, as it was a mistake but it did inspire me to write a lil something :) Hope you all have a lovely day cuties <3

__________________________________________

The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the wide-open balcony doors, casting a golden hue over Charles’s perfectly pristine Monaco apartment. I sat cross-legged on the plush rug, sipping wine and admiring the explosion of shopping bags Alexandra and I had managed to accumulate during our day out. Monte Carlo had definitely been kind to us, and the light buzz from the wine wasn’t hurting either.

“I swear, you have this insane ability to sniff out the best deals,” I said, holding up a silk scarf I knew I’d never wear but had bought anyway. “How do you do it?”

Alexandra, always composed, gave me a sly smile from where she lounged on the couch, a glass of wine cradled effortlessly in her hand. “It’s all about instinct. Plus, I had to keep up with you. You were like a woman possessed.”

“Possessed by a very stylish demon,” I quipped, draping the scarf over my shoulder dramatically before laughing. The kind of laughter that happens when you’re a bit tipsy and surrounded by a friend who knows all your quirks.

“I still can’t believe we’ve kept this monthly tradition alive,” Alexandra mused, swirling her wine. “Feels like just yesterday we were running around Paris pretending to understand every art piece in the Louvre.”

I smirked, raising my glass. “Fake it till you make it, right? Look at us now — two very sophisticated, responsible young women.”

Alexandra burst into laughter at that, nearly spilling her drink. “Yes, responsible. Totally why we blew our budgets in today.”

“Hey, this is what reunions are for. Besides, Charles is always dragging you to fancy dinners — we need to keep up appearances.”

“Cheers to that,” Alexandra laughed. These reunions had become a tradition ever since they both left Paris. Shopping, gossiping, and generally pretending they had their lives together for a few days before returning to reality.

“I do wish I could stay longer,” Y/N said, glancing at her watch. “But I’ve got a flight back to tonight.”

Alexandra pouted in a way that could have convinced anyone to cancel their plans. “Come on, just stay for dinner.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I really can’t,” Y/N replied, laughing. “I don’t have a private jet. Air France is not going to wait for me.”

As if on cue, the front door swung open, and there was Charles, as effortlessly polished as ever, with a smile that seemed to say, I’m trying not to stress but also, I’m probably going to stress.

“Bonsoir, ladies,” he greeted, dropping his keys on the counter. “Good day of shopping, I assume?”

“The best,” I grinned, waving a hand over the spread of bags surrounding us. “Your appartment is stunning by the way.”

He smiled, giving a mock bow. “I do what I can You should stay for a bit, a few people are coming over tonight — nothing too crazy. Just some of the guys.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “The guys?”

“Yeah, nothing too big. Just Lando, George, Max, and Franco. A little pre-birthday thing before we head out later.”

I exchanged a quick glance with Alexandra, who was already giving me her classic stay for dinner look. Before I could protest, the apartment door swung open again, and in walked George, looking as composed and proper as ever. His eyes scanned the apartment critically before zeroing in on Charles.

“I still think hiring a private chef is a bit over the top,” George began, without so much as a greeting. “We could’ve managed something ourselves, you know. Is this private chef going to stick to traditional recipes? I’m just saying, none of that modern fusion nonsense. I don’t want to find some deconstructed tartare on my plate. It should be classic and-”

“Hi, George,” I cut in, giving him a pointed look.

He blinked, suddenly remembering that Alexandra and I were present. “Oh, Y/N, Alexandra. Didn’t see you there. Apologies, m’ladies.” He gave a polite nod before turning back to Charles. “Anyway, as I was saying—”

“George, we’ve got it covered,” Charles sighed, looking like he was already regretting inviting his overly particular friend.

Before George could launch into another monologue about culinary disasters, the door swung open again, and Lando breezed in with his signature chaotic energy. He didn’t just walk into a room, he practically exploded into it.

“Ladies, gentlemen, I have arrived!” Lando declared, grinning widely as if he’d just been announced at a royal ball. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on me and Alexandra. “Ah, the usual suspects. So, what’s the plan? Dinner, drinks, maybe a little dancing after?”

“That’s the idea,” Alexandra said, raising an eyebrow. “But Y/N is trying to bail for her flight.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest in exaggerated shock. “What? Absolutely not. We’re not letting you leave before you at least see how this chef performs under George’s expert critique.”

I rolled my eyes, smiling. “You’re all ridiculous. I really do need to catch that flight.”

“You’ll miss the best part of the night!” Lando said, leaning back with a knowing grin. “But fine, if you have to go, you have to go.”

As if on cue, the door opened again, and in walked Max — no dramatic entrance, no greetings. He headed straight for the bar, poured himself a gin and tonic, and turned to the group with a small nod, holding up his glass.

“Evening,” he said, like this was all completely normal.

“Hi, Max,” I replied, grinning at his predictable, casual demeanor.

“Y/N. Alexandra,” Max greeted, raising his glass in acknowledgment before taking a long sip, completely unfazed by Lando’s lingering excitement or George’s quiet simmer of judgment.

It didn’t take long for everyone to fall into their usual rhythms. Charles, now somewhat resigned to the chaos, was behind the counter mixing drinks. George, still hovering like a concerned parent, muttered under his breath about the chef’s qualifications. Meanwhile, Lando was already plotting mischief, and Max was sipping his gin as if nothing in the world could faze him.

I found myself laughing at how these gatherings always followed the same unpredictable-yet-predictable pattern. It was hectic, but in the best way. As much as I hated to admit it, I would probably miss it if I left for Paris tonight. But I already had my ticket, urging me to start packing.

As I sat there, mentally preparing to say my goodbyes, the door opened again. In walked someone I didn’t recognize. He moved with a relaxed, almost casual confidence, and instantly, the energy in the room seemed to shift. He didn’t need to announce himself or make a grand entrance like Lando had — his presence was subtle but noticeable.

His hair was slightly tousled, the kind that looked soft and effortlessly styled in that perfectly imperfect way. The moment he smiled, a warm, very cute grin, I felt a brief flicker of something, my heart beating a little faster in my chest. There was something disarming about him. He had the kind of smile that made you feel like you’d known him forever, even though I’d never seen him before.

He stepped closer, his green eyes flicking to me. “You must be Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth and pleasant as he extended a hand.

I blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the easy charm he exuded. It wasn’t forced or showy, just... natural. Recovering quickly, I shook his hand. “That’s me. Nice to meet you.”

“Franco,” He held onto my gaze for a moment, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot.”

“All good things, I hope,” I replied, trying not to be too obvious as I shot a quick glance at Alexandra, who was absolutely soaking up this moment.

“Always,” he said with a playful glint in his eyes before releasing my hand.

Alexandra didn’t waste a second before giving me that knowing look, the one that practically screamed I told you you should stay. I elbowed her lightly, trying to suppress my smile and the butterflies that were fluttering in my stomach.

Before I could continue the conversation or ask Franco who exactly had been talking about me, Charles’s phone buzzed loudly from across the room. As he glanced down, and the expression on his face shifted so fast it was almost comical — the laid-back vibe of the evening vanished instantly.

“Oh no.”

“What is it?” I asked, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach.

Charles stared at his phone, his brow furrowed. “It’s a hurricane alert.”

“A hurricane?” Lando immediately perked up, jumping off the couch as if the word itself had given him a burst of energy. “In Monte Carlo?”

Charles nodded, his expression darkening. “Yeah. Whole south of France. All flights are grounded, transportation is suspended and residents must stay inside.”

My stomach sank. “My flight…”

Alexandra, not missing a beat and clearly enjoying the chaos unfolding, sipped her wine and smirked. “Looks like you’re not going anywhere.”

Lando, ever the opportunist, grabbed Charles’s phone from him and squinted at the screen. “Ouragan? That’s the French word for hurricane? That’s got to be a joke.” He wrinkled his nose, making it sound even more absurd than it already did.

Max, sitting comfortably and sipping his gin, raised an eyebrow laughing. “That’s why I live in the Italian speaking part.”

“Lando, right now is not the moment to be critical of the French.” George said, looking concerned.

Charles let out a frustrated sigh, running his hand through his hair, now visibly stressed. “Everything’s closed down. We’re stuck here for the night.”

Franco, now fully settled into a chair beside me, shrugged casually. “There are worse places to be stuck,” he said, his voice light, as if we weren’t all just stranded.

I glanced over at him, and he smiled again, that same easy warmth that seemed to make everything feel a little less chaotic. The thought of being stuck suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

Lando, on the other hand, looked positively thrilled. “Guess we’re having a proper night in!” He clapped his hands together, already mentally planning the night ahead.

Meanwhile, George, who had been standing to the side, immediately shifted into problem-solving mode. “We need to secure the windows, check supplies, make sure we have—”

“George, mate,” Max cut in, raising his glass without looking up, “it’s a little hurricane, not the end of the world. We’re fine.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the ridiculousness of the situation beginning to sink in. As subtly as I could, I turned to sneak another glance at the guy next to me. His presence, along with that gentle, easy smile, had a way of making everything else feel a little less chaotic. For a brief moment, the reality of being stuck in here didn’t seem so bad.

It didn’t take long for the mood in the apartment to shift, Lando, of course, was the first to act, bouncing off the couch and making a beeline for the Bluetooth speaker.

“If we’re stuck here, we might as well make it fun!” he declared, pulling out his phone and connecting it to the speaker. Within seconds, upbeat music filled the room as Lando scrolled through his playlist, queuing up tracks to keep the vibe alive. “Max, you in?”

Max, who had been lazily sipping his gin and tonic, grinned and gave a small nod. “Always.”

With the music pumping, it was clear that Lando and Max were determined to turn the situation into a party, despite the looming hurricane. I glanced at Alexandra, who simply shook her head, amused.

Meanwhile, Charles was pacing near the kitchen, still on the phone with the now-stranded private chef. His frustration was evident in the deep sighs he kept letting out. “Yes, I get it. But seriously? Not even a chance? Yeah, okay. Fine. Thanks,” he muttered, hanging up with an exasperated expression. “The chef can’t make it. We’re on our own.”

“That’s our cue,” Alexandra said, standing up and rolling her sleeves. “Y/N, you ready to help me chef it up?”

“Lead the way,” I replied, following her into the kitchen. The ingredients we had weren’t extensive, but Alexandra was already surveying the options with a critical eye, assessing what we could make work. “How about a classic tarte tatin to start and coq au vin for the main course?” she suggested, her eyes gleaming with the challenge.

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re feeling ambitious.”

She smirked. “We’re in Monte Carlo, aren’t we? Let’s do this properly.”

We quickly got to work, but as we gathered ingredients, I could feel someone hovering. Sure enough, George had appeared at the edge of the kitchen, arms crossed, watching us with that critical, calculating look. He looked ready to swoop in at any moment.

“I just want to make sure everything’s going according to plan,” George said, his tone a little too intense for a casual night stuck in a storm. “Are you sure you want to sauté those vegetables at that heat? I mean, it’s important we get the timing just right…”

Alexandra and I exchanged a quick glance, both of us trying not to laugh but also feeling the mounting pressure of George’s constant observations. It wasn’t that he was wrong, but his looming presence was starting to make things awkward.

Before either of us could respond, Franco, who had been leaning against the counter, stepped in with perfect timing. “You know, George, you’re really the only one here who knows how to handle a hurricane situation properly. I mean, I wouldn’t know the first thing about securing an apartment for a storm like this,” Franco said, his voice sincere but with a hint of playful exaggeration.

George, caught off guard, turned to Franco with a raised brow. “Well, thank you for noticing! Finally someone who takes my expertise to heart.”

Franco nodded, widening his eyes slightly as if he were genuinely impressed. “Yes! You’ve got to come up with gameplan, George.”

George’s posture shifted, the critical kitchen gaze giving way to the more pressing issue of hurricane preparedness. “Well, I suppose someone should check the windows… and the doors. And make sure we have everything we need in case it gets worse.”

Franco smiled, giving him a reassuring nod. “Exactly, and you’re the best person for that. Don’t worry about us in here. I’ll make sure everything’s under control while you handle the important stuff.”

George stood a little taller, clearly feeling validated. “Right. I’ll get to it, then.” With that, he turned on his heel and started making his way toward the windows, leaving the kitchen — and us — in peace.

I let out a quiet breath of relief as Franco turned back toward us with a mischievous grin.

Alexandra chuckled, tossing him a knife. “Not bad. We owe you for that one.”

Franco caught the knife easily, giving a mock bow. “Happy to be of service. Need any help? Shall I chop something? Stir?”

I exchanged a glance with Franco, who had already rolled up his sleeves and was looking at the ingredients with a playful grin. “You any good at this?” I asked,

“I’ve got some skills,” he said, flashing that same warm smile from earlier. “Just tell me what you need, and I’ll take care of it.”

I blushed a little, which Franco seemed to notice. He let out a soft chuckle, brushing his hand over my lower back as he walked to the other side of the kitchen to grab a cutting board.

As we got deeper into the cooking, Franco’s talkative side started to show. He moved smoothly through the kitchen, cutting vegetables, making jokes, and occasionally breaking into exaggerated commentary about our process.

“You know, this tarte tatin is already looking better than any I’ve ever seen. Michelin-star level for sure,” he said with a grin, watching as I arranged the caramelized apples in the pan.

“Oh, absolutely,” Alexandra chimed in with a teasing tone. “I’m sure we’ll have food critics knocking down the door any minute now.”

Franco raised his hands in surrender, still smiling. “Hey, I’m just saying, if this racing thing doesn’t work out, I now got a backup plan.”

The smell of the coq au vin simmering away filled the apartment, a comforting aroma that seemed to blend perfectly with the upbeat music still playing from Lando’s speaker. Max, now fully entertained by Lando’s ridiculous dance moves, was swaying along with him, both of them taking occasional breaks to sip their drinks and laugh at each other.

I glanced back at Franco as he finished chopping, handing the neatly diced vegetables to Alex. “You’re a natural,” I said, impressed by how quickly he picked up the rhythm of the kitchen.

“Guess you bring out the best in me,” he replied with a wink, and I felt a warmth rise to my cheeks despite myself.

I couldn’t help but smile at that, the stress of the hurricane melting away little by little as we worked. Franco was good at keeping things light, his constant chatter and easygoing attitude making the cooking feel more like fun than an obligation.

After placing the tarte tatin in the oven, I wiped my hands and glanced out toward the rest of the apartment. George was now in full storm-prep mode, diligently checking windows, making sure everything was locked tight, and muttering under his breath about emergency plans. Charles, though still somewhat stressed, had at least stopped pacing and was leaning against the counter, sipping a drink as he watched Lando and Max’s antics.

“Not bad for a last-minute Plan B, huh?” Franco said, standing beside me as he washed his hands at the sink.

“Not bad at all,” I replied, feeling a warm sense of accomplishment as the scents filled the apartment.

Dinner was a success, much to the delight of everyone in the apartment. The tarte tatin had been perfect, golden and crisp, and the coq au vin rich and flavorful, enough to win over even George, who begrudgingly admitted that “for a last-minute dinner, it wasn’t bad at all.”

The energy in the apartment was buzzing, and the storm outside seemed like a distant hum. With Lando’s playlist still thumping in the background, we settled in the living room, everyone lounging comfortably after the meal. But George, predictably, couldn’t handle the idea of sitting idle for too long.

“Right,” George announced, standing up and clapping his hands together. “Now that we’ve eaten, how about some games? We could do something like charades or—”

Max, already sprawled out with his drink in hand, rolled his eyes. “Boring,” he drawled. “Let’s play something fun, like a drinking game.”

Lando’s face lit up immediately. “Now that’s more like it!”

George looked appalled. “A drinking game? We just had dinner!”

“That’s exactly why,” Max said, raising his glass. “Got to flush it down for dessert.”

Lando, grinning ear to ear, was already hopping off the couch. “Alright, but it has to be something chaotic. Max, what’s that one game we talked about? The one from New Girl?”

“True American,” Max replied, slouching further into his chair with a smirk. “That’s the one.”

George frowned. “What in the world is True American?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “It’s a drinking game, but with no clear rules, lots of chaos, and a touch of American history thrown in for fun.”

“And the floor is lava,” Lando added, already rearranging the room, pushing chairs and cushions into strategic positions.

“The floor is… lava?” George echoed, still looking deeply confused.

“Yep! So you have to move from piece of furniture to piece of furniture without touching the ground,” I explained, grinning as I grabbed some throw pillows to use as extra stepping stones.

Franco chuckled beside me, shaking his head. “Sounds like absolute madness.”

“Exactly,” I said, laughing. “You’ll love it.”

Max, now fully invested, sat up slightly. “Also, there are random trivia questions, mostly American history. And whenever someone shouts, ‘JFK!’ you have to drink.”

George raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “None of us are American. Can’t we do a British variant instead?”

“That wouldn’t be fair, mate,” Lando chuckled, stretching out his arms as if preparing for the chaos that was about to unfold. “You’re practically the lovechild of David Attenborough and the Encyclopaedia Britannica.”

“Yeah, at least let’s pick something where we all have an equal chance of winning,” Alexandra added, already on her feet and moving chairs around with an excited bounce. “Let’s call it True F1.”

Charles, who had been quietly observing the conversation from the couch, finally chimed in with a grin. “I’d actually love to see how you guys twist F1 trivia into a drinking game.”

Lando, never one to waste a good opportunity, was already hopping between the coffee table and the armrest of the nearest chair. “Alright! Here’s how it works: the floor is still lava, obviously. But instead of random American history facts, you shout out random F1 facts — the weirder, the better. If someone calls out a track name, you have to switch ‘circuits’, aka furniture, without touching the floor. Got it?”

Max smirked, finishing off his drink. “Sounds ridiculous. I’m in.”

Within minutes, the living room had been transformed into a messy obstacle course of chairs, pillows, and random objects. Lando, the unofficial captain of chaos, had already hopped onto the coffee table, gesturing for everyone to join him.

The game quickly descended into the same kind of chaos that Lando had promised. Max and Charles were the first to yell out random facts.

“Did you know Toto’s real first name is Totoro?” Max announced confidently, clearly just making things up for the fun of it, earning a glare from George.

“Very funny, mate,” Lando called back, leaping onto a chair. “But did you know Michael Schumacher once raced a kangaroo in Australia?”

Charles, balancing on the armrest of the couch, raised an eyebrow, amused but skeptical. “I’m pretty sure that didn’t happen.”

George, meanwhile, looked completely bewildered. “Wait, what? Is any of this true?”

“Doesn’t matter!” Lando shot back, moving to a footstool.

I found myself laughing uncontrollably, trying to maintain my balance as I stood on the armrest of a chair. Franco, standing nearby on the coffee table, reached out a hand to help me jump to the next ‘circuit’ — in this case, a cushion on the floor.

“Careful,” he teased, his hand steadying me. “You don’t want to fall into ‘Turn 13 at Monaco.’ It’s a tricky one.”

“Monaco? I thought we were in Silverstone,” I replied with a grin as I took his hand.

Franco chuckled, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “It’s a complicated circuit.”

As I jumped, I almost lost my balance, wobbling slightly. Franco, quick to react, caught me, his arm wrapping around my waist to steady me. His touch was warm, and as our eyes met, the playful atmosphere between us shifted, feeling suddenlya bit more charged.

“You good?” he asked softly, his smile still warm but with a little more weight behind it.

“Yeah,” I breathed, trying to ignore the blush creeping up on my cheeks. “Thanks.”

I honestly didn’t mind standing like this. For a second, it felt like the rest of the game had faded into the background, the noise dimming around us. But then, just as quickly, Charles shouted from across the room, “Spa-Francorchamps!”

The spell broke. Franco let go, and I hopped onto the next chair, trying to suppress the grin that was forming on my face.

The game continued with more nonsensical facts. Max tried to convince George that Fernando Alonso once moonlit as a matador, while Lando made up a story about Kimi Räikkönen secretly being Oscar Piastri’s dad.

Meanwhile, Alexandra, acrobatically clinging a nearby bookshelf, caught my eye, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “T’as capté? Il te lâche pas du tout.” (Did you catch that? He can’t stop looking at you.)

I laughed, shaking my head. “Arrête…” (Stop…)

She raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer. “T’inquiète, ma puce, j’dirai rien... mais c’est cramé!” (Don’t worry, sweetie, I won’t say anything… but it’s so obvious!)

We giggled, and across the room, Charles, who had clearly understood the exchange, raised an eyebrow, amused. He didn’t say anything, but his knowing look said enough.

Lando, noticing the laughter but missing the French, put his hands on his hips dramatically. “Oi! What’s going on over there? You two plotting in French again? That’s not fair!”

Alexandra and I burst into laughter, but before I could explain, Lando waved a hand dramatically. “Fine! You know what? Max! We’ll speak Dutch and leave them out.”

Max raised his glass, thoroughly entertained. “Go ahead, mate.”

Lando nodded, puffing up with mock determination. “Absolutely. Let’s go!”

Max leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Alright, your turn.”

Lando furrowed his brow in concentration and attempted his best Dutch. “Uhh… Ik… spreek beetje Nederland… ja?”

Max nearly choked on his gin. “That’s… good effort.”

Undeterred, Lando kept at it, much to Max’s amusement. “Lekker... uh… ja?”

Max waved him off, laughing. “Stop. You’re embarrassing the language.”

The game continued late into the evening, with everyone’s laughter filling the room. Despite the storm outside, the chaos, and the completely nonsensical F1 trivia, it felt like we’d turned the night into something unexpectedly fun.

The night had wound down after hours of conversation, laughter, and chaotic games. The storm outside was still relentless, but inside the apartment, everything felt warm and comfortable. Conversations had softened, and people were beginning to yawn, signaling the end of the night.

Alexandra and Charles were the first to head off, exchanging quiet goodnights before disappearing into their room. The rest of us remained scattered around the living room, tired but still riding the wave of the evening’s energy.

Max, who had been slowly sinking into the armchair with his sixth gin and tonic, stood up, stretched, and made a beeline for the guest room without a word. It was clear he was done for the night. Lando was half-asleep on the larger couch, sprawled out in his usual dramatic fashion, leaving little room for George, who had claimed the other side.

Franco, who had been lounging on the small two-seater sofa, stretched his arms and looked over at me. “Looks like this is my spot for the night,” he said with a grin, patting the cushion beside him. “Not much room, except between Lando and George. You might as well join me.”

I hesitated for a second, but the way he said it — so casual and light, yet with that playful spark in his eyes — made it clear that the offer wasn’t just about space. The tension between us was undeniable.

I smirked, feigning reluctance. “Alright, but if you take up all the room, I’m kicking you off.”

Franco chuckled softly, shifting over to make space for me. “Deal.”

I sat down next to him, the proximity between us much closer than I had anticipated. The couch was small, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, being close to Franco felt easy, natural. His arm rested across the back of the sofa, and as we settled in, his fingers lightly brushed my shoulder.

We sat there for a moment in silence, the only sounds coming from the soft rumble of the storm outside and the occasional rustling from Lando’s half-asleep movements on the other couch. The apartment had gone from a chaotic whirlwind of noise and laughter to a quiet, almost serene atmosphere.

Franco shifted slightly, his fingers moving gently to stroke my hair. The movement was soft and rhythmic, calming, and I felt my heart skip a beat. I leaned into him, resting my head against his chest. His touch was tender, each stroke of his hand sending a warm shiver through me as I relaxed into the closeness between us.

We didn’t need to say anything. The silence between us spoke volumes, and as the storm continued to rage outside, I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the blankets or the fire. Franco’s presence next to me, his fingers softly tracing through my hair, was all the comfort I needed.

As we lay there, my eyes growing heavy, Franco leaned down just slightly, his breath warm against my hair. “Sleep well,” he whispered.

I smiled, closing my eyes. “You too.”

And with that, the storm outside became nothing more than a distant hum as I drifted off, cocooned in the warmth of Franco’s embrace, his hand still softly stroking my hair.

The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the apartment. The storm had passed, leaving only the gentle patter of rain ticking against the window. stirred slightly, realizing that Franco’s arm was still wrapped around me, and my head rested comfortably against his chest. It might sound a bit odd but waking up like this — still wrapped up in his embrace — felt surprisingly natural.

Franco shifted beneath me, his arm tightening briefly before he blinked awake, his eyes meeting mine with a soft, sleepy smile.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice still low and heavy with sleep.

“Morning,” I replied, matching his smile.

Neither of us moved for a few moments, letting the quiet of the morning linger between us. I could hear faint sounds coming from the kitchen, the telltale signs of someone already up and making breakfast. I lifted my head slightly, glancing over toward the kitchen, and saw Lando and George huddled near the stove, clearly trying not to be obvious as they watched us.

Lando, with his ever-present grin, didn’t miss a beat. “Well, well, well. Look who’s finally awake.”

George, more restrained but no less amused, added, “Breakfast is almost ready... in case you’re interested.”

I sat up, reluctantly pulling myself away from Franco’s embrace, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks under their teasing gazes. Franco, however, seemed completely unbothered, sitting up with a lazy stretch and flashing them a grin. “You guys couldn’t give us a few more minutes?”

Lando flipped a pancake with dramatic flair. “Mate, I’ve been up for hours. Go do that lovey dovey stuff some other time.”

Before I could respond, more footsteps approached from the hallway, and soon enough, Max and Charles appeared, both looking groggy but curious. Charles raised an eyebrow when he saw Franco and me, but he said nothing, just exchanged a knowing glance with Alexandra, who had wandered into the room with a smile.

She looked between Franco and me, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Leaning in, she whispered, “Je vois que tu as passé une très bonne nuit�� “(I see you had a very good night...)

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking my head at her teasing. Franco glanced between us, clearly picking up on the tone but not the words. “What did she say this time?”

“Just more girl talk,” I replied with a grin, standing up.

The kitchen smelled of pancakes, coffee, and eggs as everyone gathered around the table for breakfast. The atmosphere was relaxed. Even Max, still hungover, managed a grin as the lighthearted banter continued.

After breakfast, as everyone began packing up and getting ready to leave, Franco pulled me aside. His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “So... I was thinking.”

I turned to him, curious. “About what?”

He hesitated for just a second, but then smiled. “I live in Madrid, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me for a few extra days. It’d be nice to spend some more time together... before you head back to Paris.”

Hearing it made my heart flutter. Madrid. A few extra days with Franco. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

“I’ve had a lot of fun and I’m not ready to say goodbye yet. If you let me, of course.”

“I’d love that,” I replied softly.

Franco’s grin widened, the excitement clear on his face. “Perfect.”

Before I could say anything else, Lando’s voice cut through the room. “Oi! What’s this about Madrid? You two planning a romantic getaway?”

Franco didn’t miss a beat. He leaned down, planting a soft kiss on the top of my head, and then turned to Lando with a mischievous grin. “Jealous?”

Lando clutched his chest dramatically. “A little bit, yeah! Where’s my invite?”

Everyone laughed, even Max managed a small chuckle behind his coffee cup. The teasing flowed easily as we packed up, and the mood in the apartment was as bright as the morning outside. Whatever had started between Franco and me felt natural, fun, and as I grabbed my things, I couldn’t help but feel a little giddy about what was next. I wasn’t nervous, just excited —a new adventure waiting to unfold.

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grillthegridmydear · 5 months ago

Text

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Love You Like A Love Song - Part Two :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

F1 Grid X Reader

The grid reacts to a love song you wrote about them.

Part One

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

Pierre Gasly

- Lover - Taylor Swift

The winter break in the F1 yearly calendar was possibly your favourite time of year, any time that you didn't have to miss your boyfriend for days at a time was time you cherished. During the season it was common for you and Pierre to pass each other like ships on the ocean. His early morning starts meant that you were waking up just as he left for the gym and with your days being spent in the studio you wouldn't arrive back to your shared home until long after he had eaten dinner, walked Simba and spent some time on the simulator to prep for that weekends upcoming race.

But winter break meant a few different things, the first being just over two months of freedom between the end of one season in Abu Dhabi and the beginning of testing before Bahrain kicked off the next. The second being that you and Pierre would spend a week visiting both of your families to spend some time with them before the two of you holed yourselves up in Strasbourg for the Christmas period, your apartment there playing host to the most wonderful time of year until New Years called you both down to Monaco for the annual celebration with your friends.

But tonight was more important than thoughts of the upcoming season, Christmas Eve was here and after you both got back from touring the Christmas market with Simba, the front door was locked and the curtains mostly drawn, the fireplace lit and the croon of old records on your player sealed you all inside your apartment for the night, wrapping you up in your own little snow globe. It was a picture perfect scene, you on the couch with Simba curled up in your lap, Pierre grabbing the wine and pasta that you were eating for dinner, with Miracle on 34th Street playing on the TV, snow falling past the window.

Every Christmas followed this routine since you and Pierre first celebrated the holiday together as a couple, and you couldn't picture a better way to spend it.

But of all of the traditions you followed there was one that seemed the most special, as a child Christmas gifts were locked away never to be opened until the morning, but being adults who made their own rules, you two always sat under the tree on the evening of the 24th and opened your gifts for each other. This year you could feel yourself on the edge of your seat because of the wrapped record that sat at the bottom of his pile, a surprise that you had been working on for about a month.

"qu'est-ce que c'est?" his goofy smile made you giggle as he got to the last gift in his little stack, a stack which had also contained a new watch, a silly t shirt with a photo of him and Charles when they were kids in their little karting suits (a matching one sat in a gift bag with the Monegasque's name on it) and a Cartier chain that now sat in its rightful place on his neck. The flat square was wrapped immaculately in the same gold and silver paper as his other gifts but once the paper was ripped off Pierre was met with a simple brown cardboard record sleeve, completely blank besides a polaroid that had been glued to the front, it was from your first Christmas together, taken in that very apartment when it was empty bar the Christmas tree and sofa you were currently sat on. One word decorated the bottom border of the photograph "Lover" written in your familiar handwriting.

Your own smile only grew when he immediately abandoned all his other gifts to swap out the current song for his mystery gift. Smooth guitars filled the room as he pulled you up to dance with him, your own voice echoing through the room as you settled into a slow sway.

Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close forever and ever? And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever) You're my, my, my, my Lover

The songs end was met with the muffled crackle of the needle but you couldn't pull your eyes away from his. without breaking away from your gaze Pierre pulled a small box from his pocket and knelt on the spot. Love and admiration never leaving his eyes.

Your Lover, Forever.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Charles Leclerc

- Feels like This - Maisie Peters

There were a select few honours that you had managed to have in your life this far, the first being the music you were able to give to the world. Since you were old enough to babble you held a tune and the passion you had for music translated to the songs you wrote and shared with the world as your career.

The second being the honour you had to be the long time girlfriend of the most amazing man you had ever known. Charles met you when you were traveling in Italy a few years ago as a well deserved treat to yourself after finishing university. A coffee shop in Maranello played host to your meet cute where you sat in a cosy corner next to the most beautiful piano, when the owner saw you eyeing the instrument she insisted that you play something, and among the crowd of café patrons stood a transfixed Charles Leclerc. He was still in his first year of racing with Ferrari at the time, and once you finished playing a song that you had written the patrons applauded while he worked up the courage to ask you for your name, and eventually your number. The relationship that followed was nothing short of a fairy tale and as his career in formula one grew so did yours in music, both of you growing into notorious and respected individuals in your respective fields.

All this to say that your third and most recent honour came in the form of a request 6 months ago. It was inevitable that Charles brother Lorenzo would eventually propose to his long time love Charlotte but when the day finally came it was magical. This exciting chapter in their lives came with a very special request from the future groom himself, as he pulled you to the side at the family dinner held to celebrate the upcoming nuptials and explained that he wanted to surprise Charlotte with a song for their first dance as husband and wife, and he wanted you (renowned artist and his brother's girlfriend) to write and perform it.

Which led you to tonight, mere hours before the wedding, where you were sat at the piano in the ballroom of the beautiful historic mansion in the Italian countryside that would play host to the reception the following day. You were so engrossed in your secret rehearsal that the footsteps of your love went unheard until you felt him sit with you, the both of you sharing the piano stool. Charles made a successful distraction as your fingers left the keys and you turned to look at him, joy dancing in his eyes as he took you in, sat in your happy place.

"So this is what you have been working on? It sounds beautiful."

Charles was just as much in the dark about your song as the rest of the family, the only one who had heard the song being Lorenzo when you sent a voice note to him three weeks ago for final approval, the phone call you received minutes later held his glowing admiration and you could almost swear his voice was heavy with emotion as he thanked you what must have been a hundred times, citing the songs perfection.

"Enzo asked me to write it, its his gift to Charlotte for tomorrow, their first dance."

You fiddled with the keys absentmindedly before launching into the full song, this time with the vocals which echoed through the empty room, the world coming to a standstill as Charles watched you with eyes full of love.

Who cares about star signs? I'm hardwired to be with you You're like a sunrise and I'm scared that I'll never get enough of you Nobody called it a starfall Come out the blue I'm all butterflies I'm sky-high for you When it feels like this, like a light came on And you look at me like I'm all you want I got everything at my fingertips How can I resist when it feels like this?

The final notes echoed through the room as you met Charles' gaze for his approval, you were met with his hazel gaze staring into your soul.

"How do you do it?" He whispers in awe.

"I write them about you."

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Carlos Sainz

- A Thousand Years - Christina Perri

You and Carlos never fought, in the three years that you have been lucky to love him it had never happened.

You were convinced that you were soulmates, twin flames that slotted together like puzzle pieces, your personalities fit in a way that you had never seen before, not in the love your own parents shared, not in the movies you grew up watching or the books you read, not even in the love you saw everyday between strangers on the streets that you would never meet again. Since the day you met Carlos Sainz you were convinced that he was the answer to the wishes that the little girl inside you once made on stars looking to find a handsome prince to love her forever.

Couples fight, it was normal, healthy even. The words bounced around your head, hitting the walls of your empty home in a never ending loop. Couples fight, but you never did.

Which is why you were so frazzled, why you sat in a trance in your living room, alone in your big empty house while your fiancé was on the other side of the world. Because you and Carlos never fought, until you did.

The argument became insignificant the second it ended, you couldn't even remember what it was about or what had started it in the first place, but it was enough to leave you in tears as Carlos picked up his keys and left two days before he was set to leave for Singapore. Your phone lay on the table in front of you, screen dark and notification bar empty. He had yet to reach out, no calls or texts since he walked out the day before, but neither had you. You didn't know what to say, and it wasn't for lack of trying, but every time your finger hovered over his contact you froze, what if he didn't want to speak to you? The Singapore Grand Prix was a difficult race in its essence, it was held at night in blistering heat and it was dangerous if the driver couldn't command their full focus, so the idea of distracting him before he raced left a pit in your stomach.

You were brought out of your thoughts when your phone finally lit up, the screen coming to life with a feint buzz, heart leaping into your throat you scrambled to open it, hoping for a message from him, but it was instead from Lando, one of Carlos' closest friends on the grid. His message was simple, a brief 'saw this on twitter' followed by a video.

Opening the attachment you were met with an edit, clearly made by a fan, of moments that the media and other fans had caught in your relationship. Clips and photos from the last three years of you and Carlos strung together in a video that captured the story of you both, from early days to the many races that you were in attendance for, snippets from interviews where the other was mentioned to the photo that had announced your engagement to the world. Every public moment of your love captured in a two minute video that had you smiling and filled with warmth.

The song took three days from start to finish, your extensive training in as many instruments as you could get your hands on let you compose the piece in record time, and the final product sat nestled in your phone as you boarded the flight to Singapore, the sixteen hour flight let you catch up on the sleep you had lost and when you landed on Sunday evening you were an hour away from the start of the race, you wouldn't make it to the track before Carlos was in the car but the audio file was sent as you settled into a taxi.

When you reached the paddock the race was well underway and a staff member from Ferrari waited at the gates with your pass. There were 10 laps to go when you finally made it to the garage, Alexandra waving you over as you both watched your boys in the final stint of the race, when the checker flag waved to signal the end of the race you accompanied the rest of the crew out to the parc ferme barriers, Max, George and Lando settled into their podium spaces and between them you could see him.

Your eyes met, and the world stopped.

As he jogged over the crew around you began their congratulations for his P4 finish, but your eyes never left his, not until he reached you and his lips crashed onto your own. The frozen world around you began to speed up, lights brighter and sounds louder as you poured you entire being into the kiss.

"mi para siempre" were the words that he mumbled, breaking the kiss with your foreheads pressed together like if you were to separate the world would end.

Couples fight, you and Carlos fought, once, and never again.

And all along I believed I would find you Time has brought your heart to me I have loved you for a thousand years I'll love you for a thousand more

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Daniel Riccardo

- Enchanted - Taylor Swift

It was official, you had finally lost your mind.

"I hope you guys are enjoying the show tonight" you spoke into the mic as the stadium crowd cried out in deafening screams, your usual tour costume had been swapped out for the most gorgeous purple gown of your dreams, this entire section of the show was brand new to debut tonight and close out your Sydney show. A new song that had never been heard by the crowd, or by the man who stood with your friends and family in the VIP tent.

You and Daniel had been friends for as long as either of you could remember. Attached by the hip all your lives you were best friends, well, you were his best friend, you were madly in love with him, which was inconvenient.

As the crowd died down you continued "It's so special to be back in Australia, this has been a pretty epic welcome back to my home so thank you all for coming out tonight." You could feel the love pouring back at you from the crowd, which was giving you courage to do what you were about to do, if this whole thing blew up in your face like fireworks then at least you knew that they would have a new song.

"So I have this song, its a new song that I wrote for my next album but I think that tonight is the perfect night to sing it to you all for the first time." Your eyes bounced between the floor and the section of seats to the left of the stage, where you knew Daniel was watching.

Yep, you had finally gone insane.

"This song was written with someone really special to me in mind, He is someone I have known all my life, and he just so happens to be the person I love most in the world, so I hope you enjoy."

The band played the intro to the song, guitars ringing through the venue which riled the crowd up once again into cheers, there was no going back now.

There I was again tonight Forcing laughter, faking smiles Same old tired, lonely place Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy Vanished when I saw your face All I can say is, it was enchanting to meet you

Thousands of lights began to erupt around the stadium, looking like the fireflies that you and Danny used to chase in the summer. This song contained your entire being, all of your feelings, memories, and dreams condensed into six minutes. Years of neighbouring desks in school, sneaking out to watch the stars, lounging on the sofa in his garage while he fiddled with his kart. It spanned all the cities that you followed him to, watching him race, every victory and every loss, different formula categories and varying teams over the years as he made a name for himself. All the years of talent shows and sleepless nights on porches with your guitar and your notebook, to the sold out shows that led you to tonight. Every single moment shared with him.

This is me praying that This was the very first page Not where the story line ends My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon I was enchanted to meet you

The consequences of your extremely public declaration of your feelings were glaringly obvious, it could all go horribly wrong. You knew that Daniel wouldn't exit your life if he didn't feel the same, but no matter the outcome, either he returned your feelings or you just publicly humiliated yourself on stage and you weren't entirely sure that you could live with the rejection that you would face if he didn't love you the way you wanted to be loved by him.

Daniel Riccardo held a tight grasp on your heart and he had the power to shatter it into a million pieces.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew This night is flawless, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you

Your voice rang out to a final deafening cheer from the crowd as the lights went dark. The show was over, and now you had to face the music.

As the venue began to empty you paced the length of the backstage area, Daniel always met you back stage after a show if he was in attendance, and as the minutes ticked by and the tulle of your dress brushed the floor with every step dread started to seep into you.

Maybe you made a mistake.

Before you could wish for the earth to swallow you whole pounding footsteps came to a sudden halt behind you. When you turned to see him he looked out of breath, like he ran to get there. His expression was unreadable and a final strike of dread sent a shiver down your spine.

This was a mistake.

Before you could say anything, before you could fumble for the words to explain yourself, make up any excuse to save your friendship from the catastrophic end that your mind was envisioning he marched up to meet you.

The kiss was unexpected, you would have thought you were dreaming but even in your dreams, Daniel never kissed you like that. It lasted what felt like forever and as you both eventually came up for air the unreadable look in his eyes suddenly became glaringly clear.

"I'm not in love with anyone but you."

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Part two as promised, This one was a lot of fun to write so I hope you enjoy.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel riccardo x reader #Spotify

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