Traitor (OP81)

That Night (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x Reader! smut

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Summary:

It was a fling, a one night stand;

A drunken mistake made in a moment of weakness.

But did he regret it?

Fuck. No.

Where Oscar Piastri, the hometown hero, sneaks his way to the end of your bar. No words spoken as he drinks his sorrows away after royally screwing up his home gran Prix. Oh, and to top it off his girlfriend left him.

Warnings: Smut! Alcohol consumption, p in v, unprotected sex (seriously wrap it before you tap it, who can afford kids in this economy?) slight!dom Oscar, angry sex, swearing

word count: 2k

A/N: Okay y’all here is a little Oscar smut for you all, written in my anxious state as I'm holding out for Monaco quali (i'm so nervous i'm gonna throw up). This is my first time writing smut in years, I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think, and what I should write next :)

Masterlist

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Oscar thinks about that night, more than he will ever admit. His (ex) and him had decided to take a break- that’s what the media team told the press anyways.

In truth Oscar was crumbling under the weight of expectation, the ever growing pressure that comes with a growing career in formula one. He was acting out, pushing away anyone and everyone he could, cornering himself in a continuous cycle of sleep, wake, eat, simulator testing, data checking, press interview- you get the idea.

He stopped answering her texts and calls, stopped reaching out.

So, she told him she needed time, and space. Oscar respected her decision of course, knowing how self destructive his behaviour had been.

Oscar hated himself, disgusted in the idea of the man he had become. He had lost the one girl who had stood by his side through it all. He let her slip through his fingers as his world titled on his axis.

And to top it all off, he has just royally fucked up his home race, the first race of the season.

Fuck.

So, he drank.

Melbourne Australia, a dingy pub on the corner of a random street in some rundown and no doubt sketchy neighbourhood;

He sat alone, the time on the clock reading 1:15 am, last call had been announced and patrons slowly shuffled outside into the unknowing night. He had shuffled into he doors sometime past ten, sat there with his black hoodie pulled up over a hunched frame, eyes cast down on his shaking hands.

Hours ticked by on the clock as he ordered drink after drink, a polite yet taught exchange with the bartender, not once meeting her eye.

You had recognised him instantly as he made his way into the dimly lit room. His hood pulled up and hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Situating himself at the far end of the bar, sitting his phone, wallet and keys on the sticky surface without a care.

You watched as he breathed a deep sign, shoulder slumping and his rests his elbows on the bar, palms cupping over his tired and sore face. His rough hands cupping the dry and sensitive skin under his bloodshot eyes, the area red raw and stained with hot and heavy tears.

You heart skipped looking over at the man, his broken demeanour only accurately described as a sick puppy that had just been kicked.

You had watched the race- heartbreaking and shouts angering your neighbours as Oscar Piastri, the home hero, loses control and ends up stuck in the mud. You cheered for him, in your shittiy mould infested apartment as he reversed his McLaren out of the mud, and cried as he crossed the finish line.

Okay.

Be cool.

This. Is. Totally. Fine.

You walked over to him slowly, he clearly didn’t want to be recognised. So you weren’t about to go ask for his autograph or number or anything like that.

“Hi, my name is-“ he raises his hand to stop you. He huffs a deep sign and swallows harshly, biting back the sting of a sob in his throat.

“Just a vodka soda. Please-“ he stops, hand retreating back to his side, pulling out a stack of cash.

“I don’t want to talk, just keep my glass full.” His words weren’t harsh, or snobby like other guys you have had to deal with. He wasn’t here to flaunt his cash or try to pick up- he just wanted to drink.

And we’ll; it is sort of your job to comply.

And he is tipping so very generously.

So, as the night went on and the crowd got rowdy, demanding your attention. You continuously checked in on the man at the end of the bar. Filling his drink silently and stuffing his tips into your bra.

You flirted with the men around you, drinking in their attention. Low cut shirt revealing just enough to keep their money flowing your way. You weren't ashamed of your job. Flashing a bit of skin and doing shots while flirting with hot guys- all the while paying off your shitting apartment- not much to hate.

But as the night carried on, you couldn’t help the nagging feeling pulling on your chest. Dragging you towards the driver hiding at the end of your bar.

You never cared about the guys you meet, never paying much mind to their comments. Never wanting to know more.

But, you couldn't drag your mind away from him. Wanting to know his every thought, his every feeling.

As the night slowed to a crawl and last call was announced, you studied Oscar as he sat unmoving in his chair. You coworkers whispered, questing if they should get security or not. You wave them away, sending them home and closing up shop yourself.

As your coworkers shuffle out the door- kowling smiles on their faces- you lock it behind them, cussing out a good buy before latching the door closed.

You shuffled behind the bar, humming low to yourself as you cleaned away the mess of a busy night.

Oscar eyes peer at you through hooded lids. Dragging slowly up your frame as you lean over the bar. Tight jeans hugging your hips as you stand on your tiptoes, arm raising as you put away fresh glasses.

Your top raises with your movement, exposing the smooth skin on your side, Oscar’s eyes catching a brief glimpse of the soft black lace of your bra. He swallows and shifts in his chair as he watches you cautiously. Pulling his lip between his teeth unknowingly, unable to tear his eyes away.

You knew he was watching you, and could feel his hearted gaze burning into your skin. your body is warming under his watch. shaking off a shiver as it crawls its way up your spine, your stomach dropping and core tightening.

You shake your head, not missing the low chuckle rumbling from Oscar. Continuing your closing routine as you desperately tried to ignore the broad shouldered man. The air in the room seemed to thicken, a heavy blanket on your already warm skin. Oscar's demeanour seemed to change as he leaned back slightly- eyeing you up like a predator to prey.

The old bar stool croaked in protest as Oscar slowly rose to his feet, hands placed firmly on the bar- leading forward just slightly. The deep blue veins of his forearms presenting themselves under the strain of his body. A slight tilt to his head as his jaw clenched, tongue sliding over his teeth. His eyes were wild, breath escaping his nose in forced puffs.

Adrenaline spiked in your blood, stopping still. Hands growing clammy as you watched the man close, a wicked smile forming on your lips.

“You know-“ you started, slowly making your way towards him.

His face contorts in surprise, as he leaned back. The action sending gives you a boost of confidence.

“I know who you are.”

A sharp, manicured nail reaching forward. Lightly grazing Oscar's cheek. His skin flushing deep and eyes falling closed at the contact.

“And I’ve felt you staring at me all night.”

Your voice grew hushed as you leant across the bar. Oscars eyes falling unapologetically down to the hanging neckline of your stretched shirt. His cock jumping at the sight of your black lace bra, staffed and overflowing with cash. The sight awakens an unknown and hungry desire within him as a low groan rumbles in the back of his throat.

He was panting now, mind focused on nothing but the woman in front of him as he lifted his head to meet your sharp eyes.

“you going to keep staring at me Piastri or are you going to do something?”

In an instant he was in front of you, hopping with ease over the worn bar. His arm snaked around your waist as he pulled your body to his in an electric hold.

A gasp escaping your parted lips as his hardened cock presses into your thigh. One hand coming up to grasp your jaw, his grip firm but not uncomfortable. He titled your head, leaning forward slightly as his lips brushed yours. Stopping short, his gaze softening as he blinked at you.

“I need you to tell me what you want sweetheart.”

His voice was gruff as he spoke, his accent thickened as the words flowed from his mouth like honey.

“I want you to fuck me. Please Oscar.”

Your words dragging a feral growl from the man as he attacked your lips. His kiss burning with passion and anger- all Teeth and tongue as he swallowed the moan bubbling in your throat. Histhigh coming to rest between your legs, lifting to apply pressure to your soaked cunt. He rushed hands exploring your body, igniting your every nerve. Grabbing and clawing over your every curve, ripping the frail fabric of your worn tee.

His large palms come to rest on the rounds of your breasts. Tearing his mouth from yours as he kneaded the soft tissue, a small whimper escaping you as the rough edges of the notes stuffed in your bra scratched the sensitive skin.

“God, look at you.’ Oscar spat.

A huff coming from the man as he spins you in his arms, forcing your body down onto the cold bar. Yours hips tilting upwards as you stand on your tiptoes. arms coming forward to grip the edge of the counter, a soft whine escaping your lips.

”You want me to fuck you like thus huh?”

His hand coming down to strike your ass, the sound echoing through the crowded room. A sinister chuckled on Oscars lips as he leaned forward into you, his hard cock pushed against your hot core. His hand winding around your throat as he pulls your head back, his teeth grazing your ear as he whispered

”I need words pretty thing. Come on. Tell me how bad you want it.”

His emphasised his point with a teasing movement of his hips, drinking his hips into your core.

Your mind had gone blank, tongue tied and unable to form a sentence.

he hasn’t even touched you yet.

another pathetic whine escaping you as his free hand planting firmly on your waist- effortlessly stopping your desperate attempts to grind your hips into his.

“Please Oscar, need you. Please”

The last part stretching into a strangled moan as Oscar makes quick work of your jeans and panties, tearing the fabric down your legs. A teasing finger running over your desperate heat. Your body shuddering.

“Fuck your soaked. Okay baby girl. Give me a second here.”

He placed a firm hand on your back as he made work of his belt. Freeing his erection and hissing slightly as he pumped himself slow. His other hand leaves your back to land on your heat.

His fingers ghosting over your dripping slit, teasing you as he spreads your arousal over your folds. His thumb coming down over your clit in soft, precise motions. Watching as you shake and stutter under him. A shocked gasp escaping you as he prodded two fingers into your desperate heat.

“Fuck baby. So tight. You think you can take me huh? Gonna be a good girl for me?”

he drew his hand away, replacing it with the angry, leaking tip of his cock. Dragging it over your folds as you whisper his name in a silent plea, all the permission he needed to push into your dripping walls.

Moaning in unison as Oscars cock stretched the walls of your tight heat, his painstakingly slow pace driving you wild as your body is ablaze. Your mind is hazing as Oscar’s hips reach your ass, thrusting deep as he bottoms out inside of you.

He shakes behind you as his hand grips your hips, applying pressure that will sure blossom a bruise or two in its wake- not that you will complain.

Hes gasping, breathing heavily as he desperately clings to any sense of self control he can muster.

He holds you there for a moment, allowing your body to adjust to him. His resolve quickly crumbling as you jerk your hips back into him. A quick thrust sending you toppling forwards, his arm holding you in place.

his pace if battling, rough thrusts snapping his hips into you. The slapping of skin and dragged out moans filling the room.

The sounds coming from the man were anamalastic as buries his cock deep inside you. Grunts and moans falling from his lips as he fucked away all his anger and frustration.

”fuck yeah baby- thats it. Take it.” He speaks through clenched teeth, his hand winding in your hair.

You were completely powerless, body overcome with pleasure as Oscar pounded into you. Your mind fuzzy as you focus on the forming knot in your stomach.

“I can feel you clenching around me. Your gonna cum- huh?”

You could only moan in response, body falling limp as Oscar’s fingers find their way to your pleading clit. His movements sending you toppling over the edge unexpectedly as your came around Oscar’s cock, pussy gushing. The knot forming in your stomach unraveling as Hot tears spilling from your eyes

He didn’t stop, his hands coming down to grab your hips once more. Fingers burying deep in in your skin as dragged your hips into his, desperately chasing his own high.

his head thrown back as moans tumbled from his swollen lips, his eyes blown wide with lust, reveling in the way your body was spamming around him.

“Fuck pretty girl. Gonna cum.”

Oscar pulled himself out of you, pumping his cock in his fist as explodes onto your back.

He didn't kiss you, he couldn’t even meet your gaze as you offered to drive him home. He refused, shoving his hoodie in your hands as he made his way towards the door. Stoping once to turn and look at you one more time, before slipping into the night.

A pre-race premonition from my boyfriend

For context; he is a long term f1 fan (and the reason I got into the sport).

He awakens from the dead (his pre race nap);

Him- I’m seeing a rear break lockup onto turn one, as the go into the apex.

Me, now quaking in my slippers; Who?

Him- Who knows…

It’s important to me that you know, he was staring out the window unblinking during this exchange

Oh hey y’all it’s me again!

Since you guys liked “Qatar Heat” I will be working on a part two.

However! I currently am fixating on the thought of an overprotective/jealous Oscar, so I’m going to be mixing up a little sustenance to feed that desire within me. Care to join, later this evening?

Overprotective! Oscar x Reader

I’m hoping to have this done in time for qualifying tonight! (It’s currently 7:30pm here in the land of down under)

the only person who had a worse race than ferrari was oscar piastri – and when the leaderboard listed him as 'out', he reversed out of the grass and got back on track. he was not going to DNF at his home race without the stewards physically wrenching a front axle from his hands.

oscar piastri is a goddamn phoenix, and he will rise again and again and again. i love charles, and he is il predestinato - but oscar being a champion is not even predestined. it's literally inevitable.

Masterlist

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A/N: let me know below if you would like to be added to a permanent tags list!

Formula One:

Oscar Piastri (OP81) :

Traitor (Part One)

Traitor (Part Two)

That Night {Smut!}

Qatar Heat

Overprotective/Angry Oscar

Unexpected pet name (Requested by anon!)

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Stranger Things

Eddie Munson:

Broken Nails and Broken Promises

Shackled to you (part two of Broken Nails and Broken Promises)

Broken Nails and Broken Promises

Eddie Munson x Reader

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Summary:

Where Eddie Munson comes banging down Jim Hoppers door, desperate to fix you relationship. One he truly and entirely destroyed in a single moment.

Warnings:

angst! (I tried), Slight mention of cheating! Very minor mentions of violence! Eddie pining over reader! Slight father son bond between Hop and Eddie! I think that’s it!

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: Y’all, it’s been a while! Now I know I’m late to the party however, Eddie Munson is one of my many fantasy husbands and I’ll be damned if you think I’m not going to change cannon just to bring him back. Hope y’all enjoy!

PART 2 HAS BEEN POSTED! “Shackled to you”

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Eddie Munson is a royal pain in Jim Hoppers ass. An annoying, persistent, smart ass prick. Shoplifting, DUI, petty theft, assault. You name it, Hopper has caught Eddie doing it. But to be fair, Hopper had always been soft on the boy. Usually slapping him in cuffs before circling around the block and releasing Eddie with a few choice words and threats of actual, serious consequences next time. Hopper was always met with Eddies wicked grin and a mock salute as the boy stalked into the night.

But, that little prick did help save the world, and yeah he did try to be a hero and sacrifice himself, winding him up in the hospital for three months. Which is why, when Eddie comes crashing through Hops door, at 6am, on a goddamn Sunday, Hopper was ready to strangle the curly haired devil and drop his body in the lake. But he was stopped with an exaggerated raise of Eddie's pointer finger in his face. Eddies other hand lay perched dramatically on his hip as the boy heaved, years of smoking and minimal cardio was enough to wind the poor stoner. Who moments earlier had barreled out of his van, not even bothering to turn the damn engine off. The machine wining angrily in the distance at the decision.

“Okay I fucked up. Big.” Eddie manages to wease out, his hands emphasising his words with an exaggerated flap.

“And I need your help. And! Before you say anything, please just.” He stopped, eyes wild, scanning the room, looking anywhere but at Jim. Breath coming out heavy through his notisriles, lip pulled tight between his teeth. Still pacing the worn floor his fingers fly through his thick hair, curling into a fist at the back of his scalp. The familiar burn as his rings tug the unruly strands proves enough to ground him. His eyes flick up to meet Hoppers, desperate and wild.

He pushed out an exasperated breath as he started again;

“Please just, let me explain.”

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16 hours earlier:

You has been so excited, giddy even. Staring down at your freshly manicured nails. The ends rounded into a perfect point, coated in a deep, shiny crimson. Eddies favourite colour. A striking black “E” applied so delicately to your ring nail.

You had saved for months; pocket money, coins foraged from the depths of sofas, completing odd tasks for neighbours and friends.

Griminising at the memory of deep cleaning Steve Harrintons car, a tasks that most definitely wasn’t worth the twenty bucks.

All in an effort to surprise Eddie. Your Eddie.

You two tended to have wild conversations in his trailer, legs tangled together in the sheets. Bodies entwined so perfectly it’s as though you were made just to fit with him. ‘Sculpted from the gods like clay, moulded in their image’, thats what Eddie always said. It was one night, minds fizzy with a smoke filled haze, thoughts coming and going, bouncing between each other with smiles and quiet laughter. When he grabbed your hands in his, fingers tracing so delicately over yours.

“You know what would make you, like, even more breathtaking that you already are?” The boy pondered, that wicked grin encompassing his features,

“Oh. And what would that be, pretty boy?” You queried back, the nickname causing heat to rush to Eddies cheeks. His deep eyes meeting yours as he slowly lifted your hand closer to his face. You knuckles grazing lightly over his lips as he spoke.

“I’ve always been, distracted.” He hesitated, his lip becoming trapped by his teeth; “By a girls nails, you know?”

He answered his own question before you could speak.

“The way the look.” His free hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer, ever impossibly closer.

“The way they feel.” His breath hot in your ear sending a shock down your spine as you arched your back.

“wrapped around me, dragging down my back leaving your mark on me. Pushing into my neck.” He had to stop, eyes closing as he inhaled in your scent. Fingers curling into the soft flesh of your hip. Bodies so close, his everything encompassing yours. Twisting together into one.

“Just something that crosses my mind is all sweetheart.” He nuzzles into your neck, stumble tickling your soft skin. Mouth inching closer to your neck, the area tensing as your heartbeat crashes against your eardrums.

Yeah, that night. That was the night you made your decision and began hatching your plan.

You were going to get your nails done if it was the last thing you do. For Eddie.

Which is why when you found him, lent so casually against a pole, with Crissy fucking Cunninghma’s tounge down his throat. He left hand pressed firmly on his chest, a perfectly manicured French tip of her right grazing his cheek. One single finger nail dragging down his neck. The fucker leaning into her touch, chin lifting to grant her more access.

Well, you lost your shit. Stalking up to the pair, reaching our to practically rip the petite blondes body away from his. Shoving her away, your brain went into overdrive, letting emotion take hold. Fist flying in the air before you could even comprehend your actions, colliding hard with the left side of Crissy’s dumb, perfect face. Her body hit the ground with a hard thud, a small steam of blood flowing slowly from the girls bottom lip. You sieved in anger, letting the emotion corse through your veins.

He had tried to explain, even dropping to his knees as he pleaded, begged. Hands clasped firmly together as he tried to be heard. But you weren’t listening, angry words spitting from your mouth in a hot rage. Crissy had come to Eddie to purchase from his illicit business. The girl practically coiled herself around him, limbs encompassing his like a cobra. She had tried to convince Eddie to allower her to pay him in a other way. Before he would refuse her lips were on his, stained with strawberry lipgloss.

He didn’t want this. But he didn’t stop her. He couldn’t, feet glued in place as his brain stopped communicating with his body. And that’s how you found him. Your anger was justified, of course he knew that. But what he didn’t expect was for you to just leave, to turn on your heels and walk away, as he sits on his knees in the dust.

“Princess. Please.” He pleaded, to wrecked to even pick himself up. One arm stretching slowly in your direction. Rind glad fingers grasping at the empty pace between you.

You turn, and for a moment, the boy has hope. He looks up at you, tears falling from his darkened eyes, staining his red face with hot tears. His arm lands pathetically in his lap, waiting, hanging on your every word.

You throw something at him. The impact as patietic as he feels as the small object bounces off his chest. His eyes darting to the small, burgundy oval, tip filed to a perfect point. A crack runs through a prominent ‘E’ in dark black block font. The letter stars up at him accusingly.

“You.” You point another sharp nail in his direction, his eyes widening in surprise at the new extension. “You, Edward Muson. Are an asshole. And I never want to see your face again.”

As you walked away Eddie slammed his palm over his lips. Wiping angrily at the lingering remnants of pink sparkled lipgloss. The sweet sticky substance clinging to his skin, mocking him as the sparkles engrave themselves into the deep filberts of his jeans. His stomach twisting and throat burns as electric stomach bile rises. He spits violently, doubling over onto his hands and knees and he gags and cries. The content of his stomach landing in front of him in a wet, steaming heap. And Eddie swear he will never taste strawberries again.

Eddie tried to talk to you. If only he could explain. If only he could just see your face again, even if it’s for the last time. To touch your face, to kiss your soft lips. Ones that taste of Vanilla Coke and dark chocolate, a deep lingering of smoke cutting through all your sweetness. He called what feels like a hundred times. Even drove to your house, which he found dark and empty.

No, he needs to see you again. He needs to hear your voice. He needs to explain. To say he’s sorry.

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So that’s how Eddie ended up in Chief detective Jim Hoppers living room at 6am on a goddam Sunday morning. Pacing the floor in a chaotic and unhinged fashion, long arms flailing around him, har bouncing wild with his movements. He hadn’t slept, too caught up in his plan. His plan to get you back.

Eddie knew that if you didn’t want to interact with someone, they would never know you even existed. Which is why he also knew that words wouldn’t work in you. No, actions speak louder than words.

Jim sits in his armchair, head placed heavily in his hands. Eyes screaming at him for sleep, head pounding as Eddies words bounce around his skull. Reverberating off every bone.

As Eddies words stop, his story coming to an end. He looks at Hopper, arms pressed harsh against his sides as he waits on the older man’s reaction.

“And what exactly do you want me to do about this?” The man grunts, annoyance and fatigue evident in his tone.

For the first time in a long time, Eddies thoughts screeched to a halt. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know where you are. And most importantly he doesn’t know why he even came here. Jim hoppers house of all places, to beg the older man to help him.

The feeling claws at him, the scars etched deep in his skin burn. A reminder of the battles he fought in the past. Of the people he saved, the ones he brought back, and the ones he lost along the way.

Eddies wasn’t about to lose you to.

No way.

No. Fucking. Way.

Oh Oscar, I’ll check it out for you 🫠👀

Too much information, mate...

Oscar with a 1.11.546 slapping that shit on pole where he belongs! 🎉🥰

Happy to be of service

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This pic makes me feral;

Something about playing Oscar in pool and him losing on purpose to make you smile…