Traitor Pt.2 (OP81)

Qatar Heat (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x female! Driver! Reader

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Summary:

A team rivalry for the world championship always makes for tension in the McLaren garage. But what happens when that tension breaks? An unexpected period and an under filled water supply maybe just the thing to break the tension brewing between teammates and rivals, but at what cost?

‘“What’s going on? Are you okay? Should I get the medic.”

The questions fly from Oscar in a panic strain, his eyes inspecting your hunched frame. Scanning quickly for any visible injuries you may have.

Coming closer to you now he places a soft hand on the swell of your back, gentle movements as he rubs small circles on the area. His face crunched in concern as he squinted down at you.’

Warnings;

Dehydration/ fainting, slow burn, both of you are idiots unaware of your feelings, swearing

A/N: ahhh here it is! By far the longest piece I’ve ever written, I hope y’all enjoy. Thank you guys for the support, please Feel free to sent ideas my way for what you would like to see next!

Masterlist

Word count:

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No, no, no.

Not today, now now.

You paced around the drivers room, hands running over your face in frustration. Stomach twisting with the familiar sensation that ran a cold shiver down your spine. This wasn’t just pre-race nerves.

Your face twisted as you felt the first drop of blood, a low spike in anxiety as you scan the room. Gingerly opening drawers and cabinets in search of a tampon.

Drawer after drawer, cabinet after cabinet, your turn up with nothing. A frustrated groan escapes as your movements become frantic, grabbing items from your view and tossing them behind you. Of course, a room full of medical supplies and not a single tampon. You take a mental note to give Zac hell for this after the race. That is, if you can get to the car before the dang event starts.

You bite your lip as frustrated tears fill your eyes. Twenty minutes until lights out and you're stranded in this stupid room.

Of course the room was fitted with just about anything a formula one driver could need, a male formula one driver that was.

You place both hands on the cool counter of the vanity, leaning forward slightly as a wave of cramps wreaks havoc on your insides. A loud shout echoing through the halls of the McLaren garage as your foot collided with the bottom of the cabinet, the force rattling the mirror. Your reflection stares back at you, skin slightly damp and pale. Eyes sunken just enough that the camera will for sure pick up on it. Your mind is swirling with the possible headlines following the race.

The media- a constant criticism of your very existence in f1- not so subtle in their objections to your racing ability, always on the hunt for the next reason why you just aren’t cut out for this sport. (Despite the fact you were currently in position to strip your teammate of his current hold on the championship).

You weren’t about to pull out, that just wasn’t an option.

But the damp sticky feeling of your lower half accompanied with the gut wrenching cramps steadily stabbing your organs weren’t about to make for any easy race.

A soft knock echoes on the door, your ears perking and your heart skipping at the sound. Your head snapping in the direction as a voice spoke, low and controlled, through the wooded blockage.

“Y/n”- it was Oscar.

What did he want? Probably here to play mind games with you. Your eyes rolling at the reminder of the Australians drivers tricks. He barely spoke to you, always a taught and quick exchange between the two McLaren drivers. And when did he speak? A sarcastic response, a witty remark, a comment on your performance not matching up to his. the way he wore that shit eating grin after a good qualifying. The way he flicks his tongue over his lips before he speaks.

God, you hate him.

“I-I heard a shout, are you okay?”

Oscar was shocked as the door to your driver's room flung open, practically flying off its hinges. Your fist collided with his fireproofs- his race suit slung low on his hips- grasping the material before pulling the man inside.

He stood confused as you slammed the door, body whipping around to stare at him- eyes wide in panic as you press your back firm against the wood. Your heart hammering as your mind spirals for ways to ask Oscar what you’re about to. A steady stream of anxiety pulling at your lungs as you fight a losing battle to breath.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

He had never seen you like this. You were always calm, never allowing anyone to see ever the smallest of your cracks. You smiled tight for the cameras, answered questions and criticisms with poise and decorum. Your face on race day never shifts from a hardened stare, a tight line and focused eyes. He respected that about you, never letting anything slip. You never gave anyone the chance to call you emotional, not that they didn’t try.

Now you stood in front of him, shoulders slumped and eyes brimming with tears, heaving heavy breaths. Your driver's room- usually left in a pristine state- ripped apart. Towels and miscellaneous items lay forgotten on the floor, drawers and cabinets left open. Your Face flushed with- anger? Embarrassment?

The Aussie wasn’t too sure, could never get a full read on your emotions.

“What’s goin-“

Oscar was stopped with the raise of your hand, the motion quick as a low groan escaped you again. Your eyes screwing shut tight as you grind your teeth through another shock of cramps.

He couldn’t stop the way he stepped closer to you, hand reaching out slightly as your arms came around your stomach in a tight hold. Your posture hunching over slightly.

“What’s going on? Are you okay? Should I get the medic.”

The questions fly from Oscar in a panic strain, his eyes inspecting your hunched frame. Scanning quickly for any visible injuries you may have.

Coming closer to you now he places a soft hand on the swell of your back, gentle movements as he rubs small circles on the area. His face crunched in concern as he squinted down at you.

Your tensed posture relaxes slightly under his hand, a small smile gracing his lips. This is the closest he’s ever gotten to you, the faint smell of your shampoo, the light bouncing from your shining hair. Even scrunched in pain Oscar took a moment to study your features. Your soft skin dampened with a thin layer of sweat, pretty lips parted just so. His eyes scanning over each line, following the scattered pattern of freckles and moles in a dazed trance.

His heart skipping slightly as another, barely audible, groan fills the room once more.

His stupid cologne fills your senses, making you want to slap him in a hormone filled rage. The very fact that his presence is soothing you, enough of a reason for your anger to spike once more at your teammate.

You scoff at him, rolling your eyes at the pity in his voice. Shoving his hand away from you as your turn to look at the older man in front of you. One hand placed on your hip as your spit;

“Jesus Christ Oscar I’m not dying, I just got my period.”

Oscar blinks, the hand that caressed your back now drawn close to his body. His cheeks flush a deep red as hot embarrassment climbs up his neck. His hand coming up the cup the back of his neck, rubbing over the area bashfully at your words. His biceps flexing under the strain of the action, those godforsaken fireproofs clinging tight to the skin.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’. Can you help me?”

He swallows harsh as he averts his gaze. Eyes casting to the door behind you, seemingly lost in thought. He’s brought back by the clicking of your fingers, hand waving in his face.

“Earth to Oscar are you there? I need a tampon, and I can’t exactly just leave to go and ask for one.”

Oscar nods slow, mind absorbing this information. The frustration in your voice is evident as your bite your lip, willing away the hot tears threatening to spill. Oscars eyes widening slightly before darting around the room, refusing to meet your burning stare. His jaw clenching slight as his eyes flutter closer, a deep breath escaping his nose.

He turns without a word, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Once again leaving you alone in the trashed room.

You sigh as you sink down onto the couch, focusing on your breathing as your attempt to slow your racing thoughts. You allowed the room the blur as your eyes shut, basking in the silence once more.

Little did you know Oscar has prepared for this. Once finding out he had a female teammate at the very start of the season, he recruited the help of sister to create an ‘emergency bag’ for you. One he carried with him to every race, PR event, you name it.

The bag was Stocked with pads, tampons, pain killers, various hair and makeup products his sister picked out. Snacks of various varieties, protein bars and chocolates being the main offenders. Oscar ever going as far to buy fresh pants and undergarments in your size- just incase.

Oscar wasn’t dumb, he saw the way you were treated differently to him as a driver. He also saw that the McLaren management net refused to acknowledge that you didn’t have a penis between your legs. Which usually, is a good thing. The very idea of critiquing your abilities as a driver based on gender has been scared out of the staff by a few (heated) words from Zac in an all employee meeting.

But he also knew the chances of getting you a tampon, without bothering any female employees- was next to none.

Plus, Oscar knew if he did ask a female staff member, you would wring his neck out of embarrassment. He knew you held the weight of the world on your shoulders, the first female to driver a formula one car, the idea of this incident going public enough for the man to cringe.

A soft knock echoes through the room, a simple two strikes.

You opened the door slower this time, your body now hidden behind it. Peaking your head out the gap your eyes meet Oscars back.

Allowing yourself a moment to run your gaze down the rippling curves, hugged taught in his black fireproofs. You don’t register your lip between your teeth as you stare at his waist, a white hot jealousy coming over you as you view the shrunken point of the man’s body. His waist pulled in taught, his broad shoulder extenuating this feature. The race suit hung lowly on his hips, mocking you slightly as it obstructed the perfect view underneath.

He turns to meet you, his biceps tensing slightly as he extends his hand towards you.

Like a shitty drug dealer, Oscar palms a small black makeup bag into your open hand. His face burns red as he scans the hallway.

You can’t help the small chuckle escaping you as you grab the offending item from him. Ignoring the tingling sensation of your skin meeting his, the way his long fingers lingers on yours before pulling away.

“Thanks Osc-“ the new nickname hitting the man like a truck, accompanied with your whispered thanks. Your eyes staring up at him through thick lashes, your head tilted just to view his face.

“I appreciate it, seriously.”

Oscar coughs out a faint reply, something along the lines of “no problem” and “don’t worry about it” escaping him in a rushed string of words. Turning on his heels as he rushes towards the exit, praying nobody will notice the way he has to shift himself in his race suit as he jogs away.

A wide grin spreads across your face as you open the bag, pulling out not only a tampon, but two painkillers, a pair of fresh (tags still on) underwear, a protein bar and a small bottle of water.

Okay maybe Oscar Piastri wasn’t always an asshole.

The roaring groan of engines surrounds you as you pull up to the grid, your car planted in P3. Damp sweat stains your skin from the residual heat emanating off the track, the thick air entering your lungs. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, the blinding lights shining down over the perfect row of cars.

The crackle of your radio rings in your ears as your race engineers announces over the radio

“Piastri and Leclerc ahead. Head down, let’s show them what you're made of.”

A wicked grin creeps onto your face as you shut the visor, hands gripping the wheel tight, your eyes trained on the lights ahead.

The car jolts as the lights go out, your foot planted hard on the floor.

Your reaction was good, getting the jump on leclerc on the first corner. Cars pulling side by side as they speed their way down the track. A quick glimpse in your right mirror tells you Charles is right on your six, a fresh surge of adrenaline courses through your veins.

You're late onto the brakes into turn one, locking up your front left as you squeeze your way past leclerc, his car veering off into the gravel slightly as your escape unscathed. Pushing the car hard as you pull away.

But he’s right on your back, steering his way around your left side through turn two as you go side by side down the straight.

Cars rising to full power as you battle again though turn two, your hands battling with the twitching steering wheel.

You pull ahead of Leclerc once more, revelling as you manage to creep your way out of his DRS zone.

As the race continues you settle into P2. Mind focused on tire management and your strategy in place for the race. Your face is hot as you feel beads of sweat crawl down your skin, mouth drying as you push your car and body to limit. You struggle slightly as another wave of cramps wash over you, teeth biting on the straw of your water supply.

Desperate for relief you try to take a sip- key word here being try.

Nerves spike as nothing comes from your actions. Trying again you pull the straw harder into your mouth, desperate for even a drip of the sweet cool liquid. A frustrated growl rumbles from your chest as your car shifts slightly, a snap of understeer as you speak over the radio, voice harsh as your bite;

“What’s going on with my water supply.”

Your met with silence for a moment, your engineers reasoning;

“Checking now. Head down, let’s catch Oscar.”

Lap after lap you get no update on your water situation, as pit stops come and go the frustration and anger inside you grows. Along with the steady pressure intensifying behind your eyes, your body slumping slightly in the seat.

Your head pounded, your hands had begun to shake. Your breath was coming out in short gasps as you desperately tried to focus on the car in front of you. The shining helmet of Piastri mocking you from P1.

You have given up on the radio, every attempt to get an answer met with a quick dismissal.

“Oscars got the jump on you in sector one, but you're faster in two and three. Overtake is available.”

You can help the words flying from your mouth as you shout over the radio, voice strained with frustration and fatigue, not soaring a thought to anyone who may be listening in;

“Shut up. maybe he’s quicker in sector one because he had a working fucking water supply in his car.”

The words were harsh, spat out between clenched teeth. You can’t help the scoff and roll of yours eyes as the radios crackles again

“Understood.”

Head down. Focus.

You ignore the shaking in your hands, the hot sweat stinging your eyes. The fuzzy feeling in your head and slight blur in your vision. You were not about to let the incompetence of a few shitty engineers ruin your chance of snatching the championship.

Your close being Oscar in the final corner, DRS opens as you scream your way down the main straight. Crowd roaring as the two McLarens come racing side by side down the track, a game of chicken as to who will break first.

A quick glimpse in your mirror shows Oscar taking the inside line, aware of his tricks you go wide around the outside, front wings touching as you cut him off outside of the turn. He breaks hard, both fronts locking as he steers out of your path, a yelp of disbelief escaping the Aussie as you take P1.

You fight Oscar hard through turns two and three, pulling away from him down the next straight.

5 laps to go

Your car veers left into the gravel slightly as the weight of your head strains your neck, your muscles tight as you fight away the ever growing feeling of fatigue. You snap the car back right, body slamming hard against the side of your pod.

You felt heavy, the weight of your body pressed firm in the seat. Your arms burn as you struggle to keep hold of the wheel, not missing the slight snap of the back end. Eyes straining under the weight just to keep them open, knuckled white as you bite back the bile rising in your throat.

Oscar watched from behind you, his heart jumping into his throat as he watched your car closely. Your actions were sloppy, the car slipping and sliding around the track as you battled to keep a straight line.

This wasn’t like you, something had to be wrong.

“What’s up with y/l/n? Something seems off.” He pondered over the radio, voice tight with worry.

“Head down Oscar, focus on the race.” Was the only response granted to him.

His body flushed with anger at the dismissal, his eyes narrowing slightly and jaw clenched tight. He watched your every move closely, not just to find a way around you, but to tame the pit forming in his stomach.

The team hangs from the barriers as you cross the line, cheering loudly at the McLaren win. Their cheers rise as Oscar finishes P2, a picture perfect finish.

You sit in your car as you pull into the pits, lining the car on the P1 position. Your head leans heavily on the steering wheel as shouts echo over the radio.

Something about the championship lead, a race well ran.

A hot and heavy sob ripples through your chest as hot tears stream down your face, your body grown limp in your seat. You couldn’t move, your body muscles screamed with every twitch. Your mind swirled as the noises around you faded into a low whistle in your ears.

Oscar was quick out of his car, ignoring the shouts and yells from the team as he makes a b-line straight to you. His large frame blocking the lights above as he looms over your potions in the car, visor flipped to look at you. His eyes shone with worry and burned with a hint of anger as your head rose, titling up to meet his gaze. His hands tense into a fists as you flip your visor, revealing a rest wave of tears as your hiccup a broken and tired sob.

His voice was cold, dangerous. Disgust filling his words as he forces out a strained whisper. Eyes narrowing as he spoke

“What did they do to you.”

You shiver slightly from his words, his tone dark and eyes darker as the burn into you.

“M-m w-w-water. didn’t ha-have any wa-water.”

Oscar has to fight back the urge to scream at the wall of mechanics behind him. He closes his eyes in frustration as he leans down closer to you. His heart hammered hard in his chest, eyeing your slouched position in your seat.

His now shaking hands making quick work to remove the steering wheel. His frantic movements capturing the attention of everyone around him, the noise quieting into a hush. Cameras flashed as teams look on with worry.

He makes easy work of your helmet, removing the encompassing material of your balaclava as you let out a sharp breath of relief. The slight breeze flowing over your heated and slick skin. Oscars hands come under your shoulders, lifting you with ease out of the car. The sudden movement causes the world to shift, your head leaning heavily on his shoulder as he pulls you from the car, your body practically gone limp.

Charles runs over to the two of you, taking some of your weight from Oscar as the two men steady you.

You were thankful for their driver reaction times as your knees buckle, their arms holding your weight as they lower your gentle to the ground. Oscar kneels beside you, his hand coming to rest on your back for the second time today.

You don’t push him off this time. Too focussed on the tightness in your throat, sobs shaking your frail frame as your gasp to catch your breath.

You feel the burn of bile rise in your throat as you throw up the remaining liquid in your stomach, your hands coming to clench your stomach in a pained cry. Doubling over onto the heated tar of the pits.

Oscar moved quick shouting for a medic, not caring about the flashing cameras or judgmental stares of those around him. His strong arms wind around your waste as he pulls you to sit in his lap, his legs outstretched. His large frame envelopes you as he tightens his hold, his helmet covered head coming to rest on top of yours.

A gloved hand coming up to cup your cheek, holding your gaze firm but gentle as he ran his thumb over the flushed skin of your cheek. Your eyes fluttering closed as you lean heavily into his hold.

“Shh it’s okay. It’s going to be okay, I’ve got you now.”

His voice was a soft whisper, muffled accent thick with emotion as he held your body close.

Your mind a haze of frustration and fatigue as you focus on the steady breathing of your teammate. His soft words the last thing ringing in your ears as your mind goes blank, body succumbing to the heat as you grow limp in Oscars arms.

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Tag list:

@piastri-my-boy @wolfbc97 @presleycaudle @haunteddestinykryptonite @feyrecarol @edgyficuselastica

Y’all! this FUCKING RACE

I have so many feelings, but it’s late here in the land down-under and I need to sleep

01/06/25 (McLaren)

Hello again. Don't mind me popping in again!!!

But, i was just at work and I had someone come in wearing a McLaren hoodie. And you were the first person I thought of!!

And that Oscar fluff piece was EVERYTHING 🥹🥹

Much love

🇦🇺💜

Oml stop it, this is too kind 🥹😭🫶

Don’t mind me I’ll just be sobbing in the corner

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.

Send me requests!

Okay so, I’m being dragged in a 4 day camping trip and I need entertainment. Send me some requests!

I’m really in love with Eddie Muson right now but I’m also bored and procrastinating uni deadlines. So if you have an idea I want to hear it!

About me:

Hi! Guess who decided to rejoin tumblr after 3 years, that’s right its me. Just a little bit about me; I am fandom obsessed and looking for a place to share my writing and interact with some lovely people!

I will write for pretty much anyone as long as I’m familiar enough with the person/character. I’m going to list my current toy hyper fixations just for you guys to get an idea! I’m all for smut and angst and fluff, all of it! (So long as the person you are requesting is not a minor of course)

Feel free to request to your little hearts explode! Or just come say hi :)

Formula One (Oscar Piastri is my boy, but I love and will write for most of them!)

Stranger things (Eddie Muson in my love) I WONT write about any of the CHILDREN because that’s makes me feel icky 🫶

Marvel (Loki and Matt Murdock have my SOUL)

Supernatural

Happy to be of service

💜🇦🇺

🫶🏼🫶🏼🥹

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)

“By god he’s hot. What? Don’t look at me like that… I’ve just never seen him that up close and sweaty before. I understand why the ladies like him.”

An actual comment from my boyfriend during Oscars podium this weekend.