#barcelona 25

[tieheartbreaker]

jesus christ.

[hearteyes4logan]

this one's dedicated to you — op⁸¹ oscar piastri x fem!reader dedicated to @charlesmarchervepercevalleclerc word count: 1048 words! fluff

Gif by @delulujuls on Tumblr!

synopsis: you experience your first grand prix celebration when oscar wins the spanish gp

note: this is inspired by when he dedicated his win to edie, his younger sister

You had been saving for three whole months. Unfortunately you were unable to join Oscar at the Australian GP — family priorities and commitments to other things tied you back from watching your boyfriend but you still cheered from home and sent 'good luck' messages before he sat in the car. You pulled extra shifts and budgeting your own spendings to afford and book the flights, hotel and paddock pass. You didn't tell Oscar right away — you wanted it to be a surprise but once you name was printed on the McLaren weekend list, it was a surreal feeling.

You called him from your hotel room the second you landed in Barcelona. The Facetime call rang twice before he picked up, hair messy and voice warm.

"Hey, gorgeous." He said, grinning.

"Hold up." You smiled, propping your phone against your water bottle as you connected your Macbook to the Facetime call. He briefly disappeared from your screen before full-screening onto you laptop screen. "You've been upgraded."

He laughed through your speakers as he too set his phone down against something, already shaking his head. "Only you would bring a whole setup just to Facetime me. You do know your hotel isn't that far away from mine, right?"

"Yeah.. Well, it's late at night and I figured why not. I did cross the world to watch you drive around in circles, cut me some slack."

"Drive fast in circles." He corrected, that lazy smile softening as he looked at you. "God, it's good to see your face again."

And then came the soft part. The casual part. The way only couples who have done this for a while know how to do — talking about your flight, about his schedule, about how his mum already texted you asking what time you'd meet them at hospitality. You teased him about his bed hair, and he rolled his eyes when you threatened to wear your handmade "#PIASTRI'S #1 GIRL" shirt in the paddock.

"You'll jinx me." He murmured, half laughing. "Cost me my win."

"No." You smirked. "I'll wear your McLaren jacket to bring you good luck. That's what girlfriends do."

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The McLaren hospitality was buzzing, but your eyes were glued to the screen. Engineers, reporters and other F1 personnel walked around you but you were too busy watching the gap times of different cars. You sat beside Oscar's parents and siblings, oversized headphones over your ears as you turned into his team channel. His engineer sounded loud and clear as you anxiously watched him fight sector after sector against Lando and Max — your heart climbed a little higher into your throat before it happened.

Oscar Piastri. P1.

First in qualifying. First in the formation lap. First on the grid.

The room erupted — the McLaren garage cheering, his siblings screaming beside you and Nicole clutching your hand. Even though it was only qualifying, his younger sisters erupted in cheers as they 'wooped' at their brother on screen.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Oscar looked sleepy when he picked up — hair damp from a shower and a hoodie slung around his frame.

"You wore the jacket." He said immediately, his face crinkling.

"Told you." You whispered. "Lucky charm."

He looked at you like he could kiss you through the screen.

"Thank you for being there." He murmured. "I know it wasn't easy. I know you worked your arse off.

You smiled softly. "For you? Always."

You talked about tomorrow. About the nerves you had about to the race and he told you about the balance on the final lap and how he almost lost it at Turn 10. You both laughed at silly antics and talked well into the night.

"I'm gonna try and find you right after tomorrow." He whispered. "Even before the team. I just need you to know how much this means to me."

You blew him a kiss and he caught it with a sleepy grin.

The next day the energy in the garage was electric. You stood with his family — headsets on and fingers crossed with your heart pounding. Every lap, every radio call you held your breath as you watched his car and others turn corners and battle for positions. You watched as Lando got aggressive but Oscar held his position, gaining speed in DRS zones and holding his position in other drivers veering off to the pit stops.

And then.. checkered flag.

P1. Race win. One of many which he's placed in.

You didn't scream — not right away at least. You stood there in stunned silence as the garage exploded around you — arms flying up and engineers screaming. Nicole hugged you hard as one of his younger sisters cried against your shoulder.

And then you saw him. He kept to his word, skipping the media and anyone from the team. His helmet was off, cheeks flushed and scanning the garage crowd. When he found you, it was like nothing else existed.

He didn't wait for a break in the crowd. He jogged straight over and pulled you in, kissing you so hard and fast that your knees nearly buckled and gave way beneath you. The camera's panned towards the two of you, the team whooped behind and you heard someone yell 'We found his lucky charm!'

You barely pulled back, hands in his hair.

"You did it." You whispered, crying now.

"No." He said. "We did."

After the trophies and the champagne spray, the sea of orange faded away and he came back to you and his family with an unopened champagne bottle in hand.

"After party gift." He said, grabbing a sharpie. "But it's not for them.."

You watched him scribble across the front. The pen moving with ease as you watched the gold liquid etch across the glass.

'To the one who made me believe I could. I love you.' — Oscar

Your eyes filled with tears again. You felt his mother hug you from behind as his sisters handed you tissues with teasing and knowing smiles. Knowing them, the probably knew about it but all you could do was cry and hold onto the bottle as Oscar handed to you pressing a kiss to your forehead — warm, gentle and soft.

He dedicated his Spanish win to you.

© hearteyes4logan

[irasarchives]

let’s play a game…… who is oscar looking at!?

his loving girlfriend lily

his older tan muscular curly haired ocean eyed teammate of 2 years

Voting ended onJul 11, 2025

[solarvee]

SCENE TITLE: “Pancakes and Side-Eyes”

OP81 x reader

oscar piastri the series

scene four / scene ten

The smell of vanilla and warm batter filled the Piastri kitchen as you flipped a pancake, golden and perfect, onto the growing stack beside the stove. Hattie sat at the bar with her legs curled under her, scrolling through her phone and humming along to the lazy playlist coming from the speaker in the corner.

Oscar strolled in a minute later, fresh from a run — shirt clinging to his chest, curls damp, cheeks flushed from the morning heat. He paused, taking in the scene.

“Is this… breakfast service?” he asked with a grin, grabbing a glass from the cabinet.

“Only for people who say please,” you replied without turning.

“Please,” he said, voice low and half-playful.

You looked over your shoulder, met his eyes for just a second too long. His smile faltered for a beat — softening into something quieter, something that felt too big for this kitchen.

Then Hattie looked up.

Her eyes moved from Oscar… to you… and then back to Oscar.

You felt her stare before she said anything.

“Okay. What was that?” she asked slowly, setting her phone down.

You turned back to the stove. “What was what?”

Oscar poured his orange juice too quickly. “Yeah, what?”

Hattie narrowed her eyes, leaning forward. “That look. The eye contact. The weird energy. Don’t act like I imagined it.”

You laughed, forcing it out. “You watch way too many rom-coms.”

Oscar nodded quickly, clearly on your wavelength. “Seriously. We’re just co-existing peacefully for once. Let her enjoy her pancake masterpiece in peace.”

But Hattie didn’t smile. She leaned her elbows on the counter and tilted her head, studying you both like she was putting puzzle pieces together in her mind.

“Since when do you two… talk this much?”

You blinked. “We don’t.”

“She’s right,” Oscar said, sliding onto the stool across from her. “Usually we argue over whose fault it was when Hattie broke her arm in year six.”

“I broke my arm trying to rollerblade down a hill,” Hattie muttered. “Neither of you were involved.”

“Exactly,” Oscar smirked.

You finally set the last pancake on the stack and brought the plate over. You felt Hattie’s eyes on you the entire way.

“Okay,” she said after a pause. “But if I did think something was going on—”

“There’s not,” you and Oscar said at the same time.

Silence.

Oscar grabbed a pancake. “You’re acting weird.”

“No,” Hattie said, crossing her arms. “You’re acting weird. Both of you. Something is off.”

You swallowed hard, but your smile didn’t break. “We’ve just been around each other more this trip, that’s all. It’s not a conspiracy, Hatt.”

Oscar added, “If we were up to something, don’t you think we’d be a little more subtle?”

That earned a snort from her. “No. You two are both terrible liars.”

You gave a laugh and handed her the syrup. “Then it’s a good thing we’re not lying.”

She watched you for another second — long enough that your pulse raced — then finally sighed and dropped it.

“Okay, fine. Maybe I’m just paranoid. It’s weird seeing you two not at each other’s throats.”

You sat beside her and reached for your own plate, stealing a quick glance at Oscar, who was already looking at you.

It was subtle. A flicker of a smile. A quiet kind of understanding.

Hattie didn’t catch it.

But she almost had.

And both of you knew: the clock on staying “careful and quiet” was starting to tick.

[wimbledonstrawberry]

[i-regret-a-lot]

🚨 casper ruud won a tennis match 🚨

[redbullhateblog]

a 10 second penalty is NOT enough for deliberately crashing into somebody

[solarvee]

SCENE TITLE : Slipped Threads

scene five/ scene ten

oscar piastri the series

It started with a hoodie.

You had thrown it on without thinking — soft, dark grey, smelled faintly of Oscar’s cologne. It had been draped over the arm of the couch that morning when you came downstairs half-asleep. You were cold, and it was there. No big deal.

But Hattie noticed. Of course she did.

She leaned against the kitchen doorway, squinting at you as you poured cereal into a bowl.

“Hey… is that Oscar’s hoodie?”

You froze, spoon in mid-air. Slowly, you looked down at yourself.

Crap.

“I mean—probably,” you said, too casually. “You know how your house is. Clothes everywhere. I thought it was yours.”

Hattie stepped closer, examining the sleeve. “Nah, this one’s his McLaren hoodie. He doesn’t let me borrow this one. Says it’s his ‘media day luck charm’ or something dramatic.”

You tried to laugh it off. “Well, maybe he’s growing as a person.”

“Or maybe he didn’t know you took it.”

Behind you, Oscar walked in — wearing a white t-shirt, hair still damp from the shower. He froze for a split second when he saw you in his hoodie. You both knew Hattie was looking.

Oscar recovered quickly. “Hey, you stole my hoodie.”

You shot him a look — subtle, but sharp. Not helping.

He smirked, walking past you to grab his phone. “I’ll bill you later.”

Hattie narrowed her eyes. “Okay, but why are you so chill about that? You used to get all dramatic when I even touchedyour jackets.”

Oscar shrugged. “Because she’s not gonna stretch it out like you do.”

You snorted into your cereal.

Hattie made a face. “You two are being weird again.”

Oscar looked over at you and tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to defuse the tension with humor. “Weird like… friendly?”

“Weird like… suspicious.”

You put the spoon down, turning toward her. “Hattie. It’s just a hoodie. I’ll give it back.”

She studied your face, eyes scanning like she was looking for a crack in the wall.

Then, finally, she sighed. “Fine. But if I catch you stealing his racing gloves next, we’re gonna talk.”

Oscar raised a brow at you and smiled.

You rolled your eyes and muttered under your breath, “She’s onto us…”

Oscar leaned in and whispered, “Not if we keep playing it cool.”

But you both knew that wasn’t going to work for much longer.