Oscar Piastri X Reader Fluff - Blog Posts

Hey my darling. Hope you're doing well xx

Please disregard this if you're no longer taking requests.

However, could I please request an Oscar fic? The first time he calls reader "baby" he sees their reaction and how much they love it (think butterflies and major grinning) and makes it a habbit to use baby as a go to nickname for reader.

Love your work darling. Speak soon

🇦🇺💜 anon xx

Unexpected Pet Name (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x Reader {major fluff!}

A/N: OMG hi anon! I absolutely loved this idea, i hope i did it justice.

P.s i love you 🫶🇦🇺

Masterlist

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.

it was early when Oscar finally made it home. Bordering delirium as he approaches the thirty-sixth hour of being awake.

Race weekends were always brutal, and without you by his side (a luxury he has come to depend on it seems) he just couldn’t sleep.

His heavy footsteps shuffled through the entryway, each muscle twisting and tightening as he walked. His shoulder screamed as his backpack and duffel bag thump to the ground.

Oscar breathes deep, the welcoming smells of home flooding his senses. A satisfying crack of his back as he stretched high. Eyes closed as he settled into the quiet, a small smile forming on his lips.

The golden rays of sunrise threatened to breach the curtains as Oscar quietly opened the door to your shared bedroom. Leaning heavy on the wooden door frame as his strained eyes fell on you, for the first time in forever it seemed.

Your body curled deep in the mattress. The large comforter of your king bed swallows your relaxed frame. Oscar counted six pillows on the bed, with a further three lying forgotten on the floor. Your hair lay tucked under the hood of your his hoodie.

Oscar felt his cheats tighten, blinking away a stinging tear. His watch announced with a splitting beat that his heart rate had spiked past resting. His fingers twitch at his sides as he fights to hold himself in place.

You just looked so peaceful. Like an angel he compared silently.

He stood like that for a moment, slightly creeping himself out as he watched you sleep. The steady rise and fall of your body with each breath. The slight twitch in your face muscles as you dream.

His stare breaking only to look up, thanking whatever god or dead guy who was watching over him. A silent prey of ‘what did i do to deserve such a wonder?’

He made his way silently around the bed, coming to sit by your side. His large hand reaching out for your cheek, the rough skin of his fingers sinking into the warmth.

He cursed silently as your eyes flutter open, a deep breath escaping you. Your hand coming to rest atop his as you blinked up at him.

Oscar swears he felt his mind fuzz to a stop as a crooked smile stretched onto your face. Your voice thick with sleep as you whisper

“Your home.”

You scanned his face, your sleep heavy eyes burning deep. He looked tired, a little worn. His eyes squinted and a smile that didn't quite reach to where it should. A dark shadow staining under each blood shot eye.

You sat up slow, maneuvering on the bed to give Oscar more space. You raise the blanket as Oscar slips under the sheets. One arm slipping under your head, the other winding itself around your waist. Coming to rest heavily as Oscar’s body relaxes into the mattress.

You two lay in silence for a moment, holding each other close as you both revel in each others presence. Your fingers tracing slow, delicate patterns over the decal of his McLaren tee, exploring the heated skin of his neck.

He spoke first, his voice gone gruff with fatigue. Hooded eyes trailing your face

”I missed you so much baby, never gonna let you go again.”

You felt your skin flush, attempting to hide your heating cheeks and quickly forming smile in the crook of his neck.

Oscar wasn’t one for pet names, at least in the six months you have been dating he hasn’t been.

But the way it rolled off his tongue, his accent thickened by sleep. You felt your tummy tightened, swallowing back an embarrassing giggle as your toes wiggled. And his voice, god his voice. Strung out from post race celebrations, gravely and torn. Laced with a thick layer of exhaustion, dropping lower with each word.

you had tried to hide it, your body betraying you as your muscles tensed. Wriggling against your boyfriend like a content worm.

Never would you think Oscar would call you that.

And you definitely didn't expect the effects of it.

But the thing about Oscar, he didn't miss anything when it comes to you. He could read you like an open book, you had even gone as far as accusing him of being a mind reader. He knew your every tell, and you sometimes hated that.

His body protested as he pulled you away from him, straining at your fleeting attempt to stay in place. He held you at an arm's distance, a glint now shining in his eyes. His hair falling onto the pillow as he tilted his head, studying your reaction to his words. A devilish grin slowly creeping onto his face.

You had gone red, your skin emanating a new kind of heat. Your eyes cast down, refusing to meet him. You lip pulled hard between your teeth as you desperately bite back a grin.

”what’s wrong, baby? Your looking a little flustered over there.”

Oscar captures your wrist, blocking your bashful attempt to strike his cheats. A laugh bubbling at your actions. His blunt call out of your behaviour had a new wave of butterflies straining your insides. Your smile now shining bright as you met his eyes, the deep brown orbs swirling with adoration and love.

Putting you out of your misery he pulls you close. Entwining your body once more, his larger frame holding you flush.

Your name quickly fell out of Oscar’s vocabulary.

The new nicknames taking its place over the course of a short nap. Oscar couldn’t help it. He was floored with your reaction, and would do anything to keep that glowing smile on your face. A perminate red tinge flushing your heated skin.

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Tags list

@wherethezoes-at @fangirlmusicbiashoe @landosbabe4

(If you would like to be added please comment on my master list and let me know!)

Overprotective/Angry Oscar x Reader! (OP81)

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Summary:

It wasn’t that he was jealous.

No, that wasn’t the right word for it.

You were his.

He knew that, you knew that- hell, the whole world seems to know that.

So why didn’t this fucking guys get the hint?

A/N: something about a man defending your honour, just makes me absolutely feral.- also think is kind short but I hope y’all enjoy! 🫶🤍

Masterlist

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Oscar has been throwing daggers all evening. Sharp stares and ever sharper comments at the prick investor sat across from the two of you.

He hated these events, even claiming he wasn’t going. But when you sauntered your way out of the bathroom, adorned in his favourite black dress- your hair and makeup making you appear as a goddess in front of him- he was done for.

Now stuffed into an uncomfortably tight suit, being held hostage at the dinner table. Forced to suck it up and smile, nod politely and laugh at the dumb idiots jokes- well, that was the usual script.

Oscars mood has been soured the second you two had sat down. The snobby rich investor refused his outstretched hand to grasp onto your wrist, which had been laying casually on the table- barley clutching onto a half empty glass of wine.

You had tried to pull back in a shocked response. But instead of letting go, the man held you tighter. Causing the golden bangles adoring your wrist to bite into your skin. Your body went stiff at the unwanted touch of the man.

Oscar was on his feet quick, his hand slammed hard onto the table. silverware clanging together, your wine toppling over- staining the white tablecloth. His narrowed gaze burned holes in the man, his face gone red as his chest heaved. Now leading forwarding on the table, arms straining as he towered over the man. He spoke; low and deadly.

“Don’t fucking touch what’s not yours.”

A snarl-like growl bubbled in the back of his throat as he watched the man’s hand retreat slowly. Almost jumping the table the way the man’s fingers lingered on your skin.

Only becoming seated once more after forcing the man to apologise, twice.

Ignoring the mumbles and whispers of his colleagues and mangers as he lowered himself back into his assigned seat, one last sharp glare sent across the table as his hand found yours. A tight reassuring squeeze as you tried to hide your smile, a heated blush burning your neck at your- usually reserved- boyfriends actions.

Oscar didn’t miss the way you had retread yourself. The way your shoulders slumped as your hands fiddled in your lap, gaze drawn down. A small pout on your lips, the sparkle of the evening no longer shining in your eyes.

Since then, he hasn’t payed attention to a single thing that came out of the man’s mouth. His attention fixated instead on you,

His fingers tracing yours as he holds your hand in his lap, an occasional brush of your hair over your shoulder. Light kisses placed in your knuckles.

You didn’t mind, reveling in the grounding touch of your love.

“Don’t you agree, Mr Piastri?”

The question caught Oscar off guard, his head snapping back to meet the man’s eyes. His eyes narrowing slightly, jaw clenched as he spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

The man chuckled, his gaze flicking to you. Oscars hand squeezed yours tighter as you fidget under the hungry stare of a stranger.

“I said; you are a very lucky man Mr Piastri. With such a beautiful woman by your side.”

The man stopped, and for just a second, you thought that was it. But no- of course he had to keep going;

“The things I would do to her, given the chance.” His comment topped up with the wiggling of his eyes browns and a wink sent your way.

The whole table fell silent as their attention fell on Oscar, watching him close as he processed the sickening comment. The man’s laugh dimming to a worried chuckled as he looked to the table for backup, his hands raising in mock defence as he met Oscar's eyes.

“Hey man, it was just a joke. No need to bite my head off.”

Oscar laughed.

A manic cackle that shook the room. You turned to him with a horrified expression, watching as he practically doubled over on himself. The laugh grew lounger as Oscar’s anger reach its boiling point.

The action was so out of character for the man, it had almost everyone staring at him as if he had grown a second head. Zac’s face twisted in shock and horror as he switched between Oscar and the investor, mouth opening and closing- never finding the right words to say.

You stood, a hand placed on Oscar's shoulder as you turned from the table. A silent plea to just leave. Oscars hand coming to rest atop of yours, his eyes softening slightly as they met yours.

But he shook his head, palmed you the keys for his car as his head snapped back to the man. Like a lion hunting its prey.

Your wide eyes meet Landos in a desperate attempt to communicate with the amused Brit- who was leaning back on his chair, arms crossed. A wide smile on his face as he watched the show.

‘Fuck. Oscar might actually kill him.’

You could see the veins in Oscar's neck, his suit bulging under the strain of his tightened muscles. -God if he flexed anymore the fabric might just disintegrate-

His fist clenched as he rose to his feet, slow and deliberate. Never breaking eye contact with the man.

He moved with purpose, sauntering his way over to the man. Each footstep a rattling echo in the silent room. Stopping mere inches from the man, his throat bobbing nervously as his eyes met yours in a desperate plea.

-please miss, call off your hound-

Oscars demeanor was one you had never seen, his eyes blackened, his face now calm, deadly so. Eyes brewing with a storming rage, His voice like ice;

“If you so much as think about her again-“

A large hand land heavy in the man’s shoulder, causing the man to jump. Oscar smirked, satisfied with the man’s reaction

“I’ll kick your fucking teeth in.”

The line delivered with a smile as the man choked back a shocked breath. Coughing to cover his discomfort under the weighted hand of your steaming boyfriend.

“Is that clear?”

The man nods quick, a sigh of relief leaving him as Oscar’s hand retreats from his shoulder.

Oscar has taken two steps away from the man, stopping dead as the idiot wouldn’t shut his mouth

“Whatever man, what do you expect when she’s dressed like that.”

The sickening crack of the man’s nose ran true, as Oscar’s hand collided with the now fractured appendage. The man’s chair tipping back from the action, sending him flailing to the floor, suit slowly turning into a bloodied mess.

The man shouted as Oscar turned on his heel, making a b-line for you. His arm slinging around your shoulder in a protective stance, coming to rest heavily across your body.The man’s shouts falling on deaf ears as Oscar steers you towards the exit.

His final act; the simple extension of his middle finger to the man as the heavy doors closed behind you.

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Tagged:

@fangirlmusicbiashoe

(If y’all want to be apart of a permanent tag list, let me know on my masterlist post and I’ll start adding everyone!)

.

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

This pic makes me feral;

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

Hi everyone!

I’m currently in the process of making an Oscar Piastri x female f1 driver reader!

OP81 x Female Driver! Reader

Essentially, reader is Oscars teamate for McLaren, and gets her period before the Qatar GP (the hottest race of the year), the engineers ,forget to fill readers water before the race. That’s all y’all are getting from me for now teehee

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Sneak peek;

He couldn’t stop the way he stepped closer to you, hand reaching out slightly as your arms came around your stomach once more.

“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.

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If you’re interested let me know below, and I’ll tag you once it’s done!

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)

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.

Traitor Pt.2 (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x Femeal Webber!Reader

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Summary:

(go read part 1 tee hee) a bit of Oscar’s POV of previous events plus my boy saving the day!

After a shock contract with Aston Martin, y/n Webber attends one last McLaren gala before the start of her dream career. The recent PHD graduate in aerodynamics saying goodbye to her friends and family to study under Andrian Newey.” Oscar hadn’t spoken to you since the announcement, but when you need him most he always shows up.

A/N Ahhh okay it’s HERE! I hope y’all enjoy. Let me know what else you would like to see! Oscars my boy give me reasons to write about him I beg

Masterlist

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Twenty minutes.

It has been twenty minutes since he has seen you, lingering in the crowd. Your soft hair shining, your sweet laugh bouncing from the walls around him; ringing in his ears. Your sickly sweet perfume invading his senses, derailing any coherent thought in his head.

Something was wrong.

Oscar knew it, he could feel it. The way his skin pricked and his stomach dropped. It twisted and churned as a chill ran down his spine. He wiped his sweaty palms on his dress pants, eyes scanning the room.

He was composed on the outside, his face and body a perfect image of calm, but on the insides he was going wild. Adrenaline flooding his veins and panic slowly settling into his chest.

Maybe you ditched the event?

Oscar scoffed at himself, yeah right. You were set on torturing him; the image of his hands running slowly over the plunging beaded neckline of your dress (the one you more or may not have picked specially with Oscar in mind), his lips trailing lightly over your neck, down your skin-

Oscar shook his head, he needed to find you. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

As if the gods had taken mercy on him, his phone buzzed in his pocket, your name flashing across his screen. Accompanied by a picture of you, close up with a wide and cheesy smile, eyes sparkling through the phone. The man didn’t hesitate, quickly clicking accept and bringing the phone to his ear.

He answered the call with a huff, his voice coming out harsher than expected, frustration and anger slowly taking hold. He scanned the room again, praying to catch a glimpse of you. Praying to see you leaning against the wall, laughing at the power you hold over him while explaining how this was all a joke of some sick creation.

“Osc. I need your help, I’m scared.”

His blood runs cold at the sound of your voice, strung out as you sob over the phone. He moved quick, maneuvering his way through bodies and out of the crowded room.

“Okay sweetheart, I need you to talk to me. Where are you? What’s going on?” His words are rushed, his mind racing.

He runs his hand through his hair, dress shoes clicking against the marbled floor. He received a grunt from you in response, his breath quickening.

“Baby listen to me-“ he voice cracks as hot tears sting the corners of his eyes. Clutching his phone with two hands as he speaks, a desperate plea;

“I can help you, but I need you to tell me where you are.”

”I'm so tired Osc, jus’ wanna sleep.” Oscar could barely make out the words, your speech slurred as they fell from your lips.

He wanted to scream

He was panicking now, voice shaking as he tried again;

”Please sweet girl, where are you? Look around, tell me what you see.”

he listens close, short breaths escaping his nose as he hangs on your every word.

”S’ cold”

“Okay good- that’s really good baby.” He fights to keep his voice calm, desperate to find you. “What do you see, sweet girl, what’s the room like?l

“S’ bright an-“. Hiccup breaks your sentence, a quiet sniff emanating from the phone. The beat of silence seems to stretch for Oscar, a single second aging the man by years.

“smells funny.”

Cold, Bright and smells funny

Your words play in his mind. Running over and over as he tried to connect the dots. He needed to find you. Needed to make sure you were okay. He needed to hold you and kiss you, to tell you he loved you and apologise for acting like a total tool these last weeks.

He stops dead, mind catching up to him.

BATHROOM!!! It shouted at him, alarm bells ringing.

His feet moved quick, practically breaking into a sprint in his desperate attempt to get to you. A heavy foot planting firmly on the wooden door and shoving it open with a forced motion. The noise of the wood slamming the tiled walls falls upon deaf ears as Oscar finally catches a sight of you.

Body slumped against the wall, legs stretch in front of you. Your head lay heavy to the side, short breaths puffing from your lips. You look up at him, eyes stained red as a sloped grin makes its way onto your features. He can’t help his chest swelling and heart skipping at that crooked grin.

Your smile faded and eyes dropped as your head jerks, falling harsh to the side once more.

Oscar feels the anger wash over him, hitting him in white hot waves.

Who had done this to you? Whoever it was, he had decided, he was going to find them and make them pay.

Nobody gets to fuck with her and get away with it.

He runs towards you, knees cracking on the hard floor as he falls next to you. Arm winding around your waste as he pulls your limp body into his arms. A sob escaped him as he buried his face in your hair, a shaking hand rising to cup cheek.

He ran his eyes over you, methodically scanning for any visible injury, his other hand reaching blindly for his phone.

He couldn’t call Mark, not yet. Knowing the older man would burn the building down if he saw you like this. He would probably kick Oscars teeth in if the older man knew Oscar was the one you called. He shook his head, mind focused on one thing; getting you out of here. The rest he could figure out later.

The phone rang twice before Zac picked up, voice loud and cheery as he greeted the Aussie driver with exaggerated joy. Oscar spoke quick, voice ruff and dropping low as he barked orders at Zac from down the line.

“Call the hospital and tell them to stand by. Y/n is hurt. I'll get her there quicker than an ambulance. Call Mark and have him meet me there.” Oscar didn’t give the man any room for questions as he hung up the call.

His arms come behind your knees as he lifted you bridal style in the air, moving fast out the emergency exit towards his car. He places your body in his passenger seat, clipping your seatbelt before running to the driver's side. Tyres screeching as he reveres out of the parking lot. Knuckles white on the steering wheel as he speeds towards the hospital.

He doesn’t know how fast he was going, vision tunneling with one thought clouding his mind. Years of training and competing at high speeds allowing the man to weave in out out of traffic with ease, cars honking in the distance at his erratic behaviour. His gaze falls over to you, a hand coming off the wheel to grasp yours, limp and cold.

“Don’t worry-“ he whispered, more to himself than you. “I’ve got you now, it’s going to be okay.”

His car screeches into the emergency bay, stopping with a huff. A crew of nurses waiting for him as he arrived.

His car left running as he follows you inside, trying his best to answer the questions being thrown his way.

Oscars knees felt weak as he watched the hospital staff wheel you away, his mind racing a million miles and hour while his chest strained. His vision blurred with fresh tears as the sounds of the ER fade together. Everything is passing him in a blur, his whole world collapsing around him.

Without you, he was nothing.

A shell of a man standing alone in a crowded ER. Shoulders slumped as he gazed down at the sanitised floor, the smell attacking his senses. He didn’t register the hot tears streaming down his face, the lost and longing gaze in his eyes.

Oscar whimpered out a small sob as a hand was planted firmly on his broad shoulder, spinning him.

Oscar is met face to face with Mark, his composure falling as the older man pulls him into a tight hug. Oscar falls heavily on the man, legs giving out as silent cries wreck his body. He shakes violently in the man’s arms, no words spoken between the two.

After ushering Oscar towards the waiting room, Mark watched him closely. The Aussie leaned forward slightly, hands resting firmly in place gripping the arm rests. His jaw clenched as his knee bounced in a nervous pattern, stuttering and starting again as his eyes scanned the room. Jumping slightly at the sound of alarms, head snapping towards the doors.

He ran a stressed hand harshly over his scrunched face, coming to rest over his tired eyes. Palms pushing flat against his eyes in an unsuccessful attempt to warm away the pounding settling in behind them. He sighed heavily as he slumped in his seat, defeated.

“Oscar-“ Mark started, stopping quick as the younger man flinched slightly from his voice. Mark clearing his throat before continuing;

“Thank you, I don’t know what might have happened. If you weren’t-“ Mark is stopped by the sudden movement of Oscar’s arm, his hand raising in defeat.

“Don’t.” Oscar sniffled, wiping his nose on his (way too expensive) suit jacket.

“Please, just don't. I can’t. I-I won’t sit here and think about ‘what if’s’”

Mark blinked once. Then nodded. The two falling into an understanding silence.

Oscar is shaken awake, having passed out once the adrenaline had worn off. Mark crouched in front of him. The older man looked worn, his stained eyes framed with dark heavy bags. A small, warm smile crossing his features.

“She’s awake.”

Oscar sighed in relief, closing his eyes and allowing his body to relax just slightly. You were awake, that meant you were okay.

“She’s been asking for you.”

He was up quick, tripping over Mark as he followed the doctor back to your room. He stood in the door as you gazed up at him from your bed. A weak smile crossing your features. Oscar didn’t miss the way your heart monitor skipped as he walked in the room, nor did the nurses as they shuffled their way out. Eyeing Oscar and giggling quietly to themselves as they closed the door.

He didn’t notice, his gaze stuck firmly on you. His movement is slow and unsure, approaching you in the way one would a wounded animal. His eyes wide and breath steady, as if the smallest breeze would cause you to shatter.

You reach out for him, arm shaking and heavy. The drugs running through your system slowing your movements.

Oscars heart clenched as you spoke, voice small and unsure.

“You came.”

He chuckled slightly, kneeling beside your bed shaking his head in disbelief. Oscar takes your hand, his large hands cupping yours in his grasp. Moving to play soft and delicate kiss to your knuckles. He peers up at you, a small dropped out smile on your face as you run your other hand through his unruly hair, doing your best to tame the frizzles nest.

“Of course I did. And I’m staying right here by your side for as long as you will have me.”

You tuck your lip into your teeth as tears brim your eyes, heart swelling at the man in front of you. Down on his knees, his big doe eyes starting into yours. Emotions swarming in them as he inspects your reaction, trying desperately to read your emotions.

Your dad has explained it to you. Oscar finding you in the bathroom. Him breaking just about every road law to get you here in a “actuality quiet impressive” (his words no yours) amount of time. Him breaking down in your dads arms in the waiting room.

“Oh just shut up and kiss me already.” You say, cupping both hands on Oscar’s jaw as you pull him into a strained kiss.

Oscar rising to his feet to lean over you, his tall frame hovering over yours as he breaks the kiss. A small, boyish smile on his lips, his cheeks flaming red.

The moment interrupted by the sounds of a voice. Mark leaned casually against the door frame with his arms crossed, a glint in his eye.

“Better watch yourself Piastri. Just because you got to play hero tonight doesn’t mean you can go around kissing my daughter right in front of me now.”

Traitor (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x Female Webber! Reader

(reader is Mark Webber's daughter)

Part Two!

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Summary:

Basically it’s very quick Drabble I wrote to get it off my brain. Reader is Webbers daughter and moving to Aston Martin to study under Adrian Newey. Oscar and reader pining over each other and Oscar saving the day?

After a shock contract with Aston Martin, y/n Webber attends one last McLaren gala before the start of her dream career. The recent PHD graduate in aerodynamics saying goodbye to her friends and family to study under Andrian Newey.” Oscar hadn’t spoken to you since the announcement, but when you need him most he always shows up.

Warnings:

Mentions of drugs/reader getting spiked, mentions of smut

Masterlist

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The gala was extravagant, bold, and expensive.

You attended as a honoured guest of McLaren. Y/n Webber, Mark Webber's daughter. Recent graduate of her PhD in aerodynamics and soon to be mentee of Andrew Newey in a shock contract with Aston Martin for 2026.

Yeah, you had become talk of the paddock. Your dad was proud of course (if not just a little betrayed), but the opportunity to work alongside and learn from the man was too good of one to pass up, and everyone knew it.

Everyone, except Oscar Piastri.

Who; ever since the news dropped, had refused to acknowledge your very existence.

The cold shoulders and silent glares sent your way burning deep under your skin. Never admitting the man’s recent demeanor change was affecting you. You just shrugged it off in front of your dad, acting like all those years of friendship meant nothing.

Like the nights you spent studying while he slept in your lap- your finding running absentmindedly through his hair- meant nothing.

Like the way he pushed you against the counter of your parents kitchen as he kissed you, -deep and desperate, hips grinding as he trapped you between the wooden counter and his towering frame- meant nothing.

Like the stolen kisses and sweet words whispers closely in your ear, meant nothing.

You swallowed it down, pushing any invading thoughts of the brown haired Aussie driver deep down into the pit of your stomach, letting it twist and turn as nerves wrecked your body.

As you walk into the gala, sleek sparking gown of deep cherry red illuminating the room, the whole crowd seems to quiet in awe.

Oscar leans casually on the bar, a scoff escaping his pink lips as he downs another swallow of his awful martini. An eyes roll following the action as he places the glass rather haphazardly onto the bar, lip tucking between his teeth as he allows himself to gaze upon you once more. Your hair flowing effortlessly down your shoulder, the small chuckle escaping your dark lips swaying the dazzling stoned earring dangling from your ears.

Oscar couldn’t help his hand twitching, the burning sting in his fingers like glass, a desperate sign to run them through your soft hair. To curl them around the back of your neck and pull you close to his chest. He couldn’t help the tightening in his stomach and the chill that runs down his spine as he pictures his large hand tracing over your jaw. A pointed finger under your chin raising your gaze to his, eyes burning as he leans down to place a scorching kiss to the vanilla scented skin of your neck.

Oscar coughed as your striking eyes met his, a wicked smile forming on your lips. A shock ran through the man like lightning, awakening his every nerve. He swallowed harshly as he scrunched his face in a desperate attempt to control his cock straining against the lush material of his perfectly tailored dress pants. Smoothing over the material on his thighs as he tore his gaze from yours, eyes the room around him for the best possible exit strategy.

All night, it seemed wherever he looked, there you were.

Talking with Zac. Dancing rather embarrassingly with a very drunk Lando. Perched so gracefully up at the bar, legs crossed as you leaned forward slightly, breasts squeezing in your tight dress. Practically begging to be freed of their encapsulating confines, and worshipped by only those devoted enough to be blessed by the sight of them.

You see Oscar didn’t just see you as his manager's daughter, or as that weird friend he picked up in life. He didn’t even think of you as a traitor.

No. He saw you as a goddess.

A woman worth worshipping. A woman he would get on his knees for if you so beckoned. You had him wrapped around your finger, and you were complete and utterly clueless. The way you flutter your eyelashes at him could have the man burning down cities if that’s what you wished.

He saw your mind, your humour, your strengths and weaknesses. And he so desperately wanted to be the one to bring you pleasure, to be the one to hold you while you were in pain, to laugh with you and cry with you.

The way you occupy his brain, his every thought consumed by you. It was obsessive, borderline creepy the way you possess him. The tightness in his chest when he sees you with other men, the bruins hot rage that threatens to spill over when they so much as breathe in your direction.

It wasn’t healthy, so he had to let you go.

At least, he had to try. That’s what he told himself.

You smile at him from the bar, a shy wave of your hand as you order your drink. A small smile perched on your lips as you stepped towards him.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched Oscar basically run away from you. Your face burned red hot in shame as the man practically jumped over the bar to avoid your conversation. You walk away, shoulders slumped in defeat, a slight sniffle as you collect your pride and ego off the floor. The task wasn’t easy, as you get shoulder checked by a man on the dance floor, your drink spilling slightly on your dress as you swear.

Fuck Oscar Piastri.

You didn’t need him, didn’t need his sweet words of encouragement, or his soft shy chuckles at your lame jokes. You didn’t need his soft touches as he passed you in the McLaren garage. You didn’t need his soft lips or his strong arms, you didn’t.

So you drank, and danced, laughed with strangers as you let the party consume you.

That was until you made your way to the bathroom, you mind fading away from you as the loud music thumped in the distance, every beat of the rhythm reverberating in your bones. You stumble, mind numbing as the room shifts. A wave of nausea burns through your chest, acidic bile rising in your throat as you swallow down a choked sob. Tears staining your eyes as you desperately reach out, hands crumpling into the cold wall, your body soon following as your arms fold under the weight. Your hip hit the wall first with a loud thud, a purple bruise sure to blossom at the sight of the impact. Your shoulder is next, a burning pain rippling through you, a small cry escaping your dry and burning lips.

With a graceless thud you yield as gravity pulls you down, back sliding down the cold tiled wall.

You sit.

Alone.

Mind racing as time blurs, a chill taking hold of you. Skin pricking as a shiver runs down your spine.

Your head lulls to the side as you fight the heavy weight in your eyes, jerking you upright from your now slumped position.

You reach for your phone, calling the first person who floods your mind in any sense of danger.

He picked up on the first ring. Oscars voice gruff and firm as he spat out; “what do you want?”

You bottom lip quivers at his harsh tone, a small whimper leaving your lips as the tears welling in your eyes fall. Your words escaping in a hushed whisper

“Osc-“ the nickname hit the man hard, his chest tightening with worry at the sound of your strung out and frightened whisper. “-I need your help. I’m scared.”

You sob down the line as your hand clutches the phone, knuckles turning white as your body shakes, a hiccup bubbling from your chest.

It wasn’t just alcohol, you knew that for sure, whatever this feeling was, it wasn’t anything you had ever experienced. Your mind raced as your body began to numb, eyes rolling back slightly as you speak again

“I’m so tired Osc, jus wanna sle-“

Oscar interrupts you with a frantic yelp, questions firing through the phone at you as he desperately begins to search for you. Your half conscious mumbles leading him to the woman’s bathroom, his mind not registering the room as he hurried inside.

Oscar stopped dead in his tracks.

Your body lay slumped on the cold tile floor, phone discarded beside you, call still running. You looked like a doll left forgotten in the corner of a toy store, legs and arms astray and your head slumped unnaturally over.

He quickly skidded to his knees, sliding off the slick floors. His arm winding themselves around your frail frame and his hand comes up to cup your cheek.

Oscar hadn’t released he was shaking, hot breath escaping in puffs as his chest heaved. He scanned your face, calling your name in a desperate plea to wake you.

“Please baby-“ he croaked out in a desperate plea.

His voice echoed in your skull as your body gave in, dead weight pushing into Oscars arms as you allowed the darkness to take hold. No energy left in you to fight any longer.

You knew you were safe now, because Oscar was here.

Let me know if y’all want a part 2?? 👀👀