Fanfic Freaks Rise Up 🧡

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

I’m laughing way too hard at this.

Credits: napqueenn1 on Instagram

You tell them, king

I wholeheartedly agree and will support every wrong or right it takes for him to get there

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

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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.

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.

Reblog if, no matter the size of the role, you would agree to work with the Muppets if offered the chance to do so, no questions asked

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.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　The Good Witch　:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

pairing. F1 Grid x Leclerc!reader, Ollie Bearman x Leclerc!reader

summary ~ The baby of the Leclerc family experiences the worst heartbreak of her life while living in London, so she writes an album.

faceclaim ~ Maisie Peters

notes ~ This album has been my roman empire since it dropped and I am making it everyone else's problem now. My school level french is no use to me here so please pardon any terrible translations.

yourusername

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, arthur_leclerc and 12 621 others.

yourusername London I love you, you'd have to drag me away kicking and screaming <3

view all comments!

arthur_leclerc still cant believe you moved out before I did

yourusername cry about it I guess

user1 begging for the next ep drop on my hands and knees

charles_leclerc would it kill you to come home every once and a while?

yourusername voir maman ou Lorenzo? non. Pour te voir TOI ? oui, oui, ce serait le cas. (to see mom or Lorenzo, no. To see YOU? yes, yes it would) liked by lorenzotl

alexandrasaintmleux gorgeous as usual ❤️

yourusername Je t'aime belle fille ❤️❤️❤️ (love you beautiful girl)

yourusername Let me know when you finally get rid of my idiot brother, I wanna get a custom cake

charles_leclerc QU'EST-CE QUE J'AI FAIT ??? (WHAT DID I DO?)

yourbfusername my london girl ❤️

loved by yourusername

yourbff girl you're never allowed to leave you have witnessed too much that involves tequila

yourusername blackmail for life

user4 baby leclerc literally eating up the streets

user5 i need to see her in paddock again soon ITS BEEN TOO LONG

302studio

gridgossip

gridgossip singer-songwriter y/n leclerc has blacked out all her social media pages and made them private, this comes following the abrupt news that the ferrari drivers sister cancelled the rest of her european tour dates. sources say that she has blocked her long time boyfriend yourbfusername. could the couple's split be the reason for the radio silence?

liked by user11 and 320 612 others.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

f1gossip

f1gossip Heartbreak for baby Leclerc as photos of her long time boyfriend yourbfusername were released earlier this week outside of a popular london nightclub kissing another girl. y/n was spotted leaving Nice Côte d'Azur Airport with her brother Charles Leclerc late last night. The 21 year old pop star seemingly escaping her ex boyfriend and guitarist to return to Monaco.

view all comments!

user10 ok this is why we dont give men rights cause WTF

user11 poor y/n, i cant believe it

user12 not what i was expecting

user13 THIS MANS DAYS ARE NUMBERD

loved by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 864 others.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

It took 3 days to finally pull myself out of the pit of my childhood room. The sun bleeding through the crevices of the blinds screaming to be opened for some fresh air. coming back to Monaco felt like defeat but I knew that staying in London would kill me, plus the hushed whispers coming from downstairs reminded me that this was the best thing I could do, my brothers were dramatic enough without deciding to go on strike from racing until I finally agreed to come back.

Small snuffles under the door broke the serene atmosphere in the air, followed by tiny nails scratching to get in. finally pulling myself out from under the covers I cracked open my door enough to let a tiny four legged blonde into my cave, Leo weaved his way between my legs, herding me closer to the door. his persistence finally made me scoop him into my arms and make my way downstairs.

The already whispered conversation died as I took the last few steps into the living room. Four heads turned on a swivel to see me enter the living room. Maman sitting on the sofa with Arthur and Alex, Charles sitting at the piano in the corner of the room. "Bébé ? tu veux manger quelque chose ? nous étions sur le point de préparer le déjeuner." (baby? do you want to eat something? we were about to make some lunch.)

the idea of food made my stomach lurch, I skipped dinner last night in favour of crying into my sheets. Heartbreak had always seemed so stupid when I was young. How could girls spend all their energy loving someone who hurt them? I owe all those girls an apology. I could only nod as I set Leo down on the floor, he trotted over to Alex and with my arms free from the wriggling pup I sat down on the piano stool next to my brother. the guilt over cancelling my tour had been eating my alive for the last week, so many people would be so disappointed. I hadn't even entertained the idea of opening my phone since I landed, but Arthur had reassured me through the door that people were just worried about me, whether I was ok?

I had no idea if I was.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 101 892 others.

yourusername drastic healing measures activated. thank you all for being so patient with me, here's a little treat. Blonde is streaming now!

view all comments!

maxverstappen1 funeral anthem

yourusername nurse! he's out again!!

user16 no cause max is so real for this, this man has a bounty on his head

alex_albon lily hasnt stopped playing it since it dropped. neither has logan.

yourusername i knew you were my number one fan logansargeant

logansargeant its going platinum in my house

user15 AHHHH THE GRID IN THE COMMENTS!

user16 i love their friendships so much

lilymhe WHAT A GORGEOUS GORGEOUS GIRL

yourusername wifey 💍💍💍

alex_albon today is not the day and i am not the one 🤺🤺🤺

alexandrasaintmleux face card is never denied!

loved by yourusername

user27 oscar in the likes 👀👀👀

user21 girl EVERYONE is in the likes

oscarpiastri where was this energy for cates brother?

yourusername tbf Hattie ATE in her cover so its not my song anymore

arthur_leclerc i think maman is still weeping that you went that light with the bleach

charles_leclerc

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, arthur_leclerc and 13 253 others.

charles_leclerc I remember the day you were born and you cried so much we couldn't hear ourselves think. you demanded to be heard and since that day you have had music in your soul. it has been an honour and a privilege to watch you grow into the woman you are today. happy birthday ange, thanks for letting your big brother watch you make an album.

view all comments!

user21 ALBUM!?! SAY SIKE RN

user22 part time driver, full time stan

user23 can we blame him though?

user24 happy birthday!!! now back to the ALBUM ANNOUNCEMENT!!

user25 EVERYBODY STAY CALM

user26 not charles leaking the album announcement 😂😂

yourusername thanks cha! DID YOU JUST LEAK MY ALBUM!

yourusername

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and 468 648 others.

yourusername ok since SOMEBODY couldn't keep a secret for 3 seconds 😠 my father always taught me that boys weren't worth the energy and to hit them back twice as hard. so here I am papa, making you proud.

The Good Witch is now streaming on all platforms!

view all comments!

carlossainz55 spoken like royalty princesa, congratulations!

yourusername gracias chilli !

charles_leclerc je t’aime ange, sorry again.

yourusername i might forgive you

landonorris album of the year i'm afraid

yourusername how tragic 😱

oscarpiastri y/n please Hattie wont stop playing it, im begging you take the album back

yourusername you are the worst piastri

user 15 eating this up

user36 GIRL THIS WAS AN ATTACK! WENDY!!! NO BODY TALK TO ME!

user39 this may go down in history as the cuntiest slay of all time

user40 OH SHIT, HE LOST THE BREAKUP

loved by olliebearman

user40 ARIANNA? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE??

yourusername

liked by landonorris, olliebearman and 792 721 others.

yourusername are you gonna feel the way I feel? are you for real?

comments are limited on this post

olliebearman

liked by georgerussell63, arthur_leclerc and 87 621 others.

olliebearman this is in fact a john hughes movie and the girl does in fact get the guy ❤❤

tagged yourusername

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Hey yall! just something a little short and sweet to get back into the swing of things.

i do want to eventually do a series based on this album for the grid cause i am obsessed.

let me know what you think

-A

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