chipstatoest

[chipstatoest]

part 3 soon… i’m really busy with my thesis yall 😭

✧･ﾟWhere the Track Begins (Part 2)

Oscar Piastri x Reader - 1.2k - childhood friends to lovers

Summary: The first time you met Oscar Piastri, he beat you in a go-kart race and called you slow. The second time, he gave you an orange ice pop and made you believe in impossible things. Years later, he’s in Formula 1—and you’re still in Melbourne. But when an unexpected message arrives, inviting you to Silverstone, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he never really left.

part one

warning: slow burn, fluff, mutual pining, unresolved feelings, soft tension, oscar being very much in love but not saying it (yet).

═════════🏁═════════

The first thing you noticed was the air.

Silverstone air smelled different.

Not like Melbourne’s salt and sun and eucalyptus, but like engines warming, like rubber heating, like something electric was permanently pulsing under your feet. The sounds were sharper, too— buzzing golf carts, voices in accents from every corner of the world, the steady hum of energy that seemed to coil tighter with every passing minute.

You clutched your paddock pass, fingers unconsciously running over the embossed lettering.

Your name. His invitation.

Your heart hadn’t stopped fluttering since you boarded the plane. And now, standing just outside the McLaren hospitality suite, you wondered if this had all been a mistake. What if too much time had passed? What if he wasn’t the same boy who handed you orange ice pops and made impossible promises on sunburned afternoons?

But then you saw him.

Oscar.

He stood a few meters away, deep in conversation with one of the engineers, headset resting around his neck. His back was to you at first, but even then you recognized him instantly— the way his stance was slightly off-center, weight balanced on his left leg like always, his hair a little longer than you remembered, his posture now touched by the quiet confidence of someone who had learned to carry the weight of his own ambition.

And then he turned.

Your breath caught.

His eyes found yours in an instant— like he’d been scanning for you even before you arrived. For a second, everything around you dimmed: the paddock noise, the photographers, the crew rushing past. It was just you and him, suspended somewhere between who you were and who you had become.

A slow smile spread across his face— not the polished smile you’d seen in interviews, but the familiar one. The one that always reached his eyes. The one that made him look like your Oscar again.

“There you are,” he said, walking toward you, voice softer than the chaos around you.

And before you could fully process it, his arms were around you. Not the brief, careful hug you were expecting — but a real one. Warm. Familiar. Steady. His hand settled at the small of your back like muscle memory.

You hadn’t realized how much you missed him until this exact moment.

“You made it,” he murmured near your ear.

“You invited me.”

He pulled back slightly, enough to see your face, but not far enough to break the closeness. “Didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you smiled. “You literally bribed me with an all-access pass.”

He chuckled, releasing you but letting his hand linger for just a second longer than necessary. “Well, I had to play my best card.”

For a few seconds, neither of you said anything. It was like standing on the edge of something neither of you were brave enough to name yet. The gap between childhood and now. Between friendship and whatever this was turning into.

“You look different,” you said finally, voice quiet.

“Yeah?” He tilted his head slightly. “Good different or bad different?”

You smiled. “Good different. You look like you belong here.”

His expression softened, but there was a flicker of something unspoken behind his eyes. “I’ve missed having you around.”

You wanted to say it back. You wanted to say so much more. But the words stuck in your throat.

Instead, you fell into the comfort of old patterns. Teasing. Deflecting.

“Careful, Piastri. That almost sounded emotional.”

He laughed, and it was the same laugh you remembered.

The one that always felt like home.

✧･ﾟ

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur.

Oscar gave you a personal tour of the paddock, introducing you to mechanics, engineers, even a few other drivers. The weight of his hand occasionally brushing your lower back as he guided you through tight spaces made your stomach flip every time.

People looked. Whispered. Wondered who you were.

But you barely noticed.

You were too busy stealing glances at him when he wasn’t looking— at the way his brow furrowed during briefings, at the way his fingers tapped his thigh when he was restless, at the way his smile lit up when someone congratulated him on his last race.

And sometimes, when you glanced over, you caught him watching you too— like he couldn’t quite believe you were actually standing there.

The distance between you hadn’t disappeared completely. Not yet. But for the first time in years, it felt like you were both reaching across it.

And that was something.

✧･ﾟ

Later that evening, you found yourself standing near the edge of the paddock as the sun dipped low, casting long, golden shadows across the tarmac. Oscar appeared beside you quietly, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“Walk with me?” he asked.

You nodded, and the two of you slipped away from the fading crowds, finding an empty stretch where the buzz of the paddock softened.

The silence between you was different now— heavier, but not uncomfortable.

“I was nervous, you know,” he said after a while.

You looked up at him, surprised. “Nervous? You?”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Asking you to come here. After all this time.”

Your chest tightened. “Why?”

He glanced sideways at you, voice lower now. “Because I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to be part of this world… part of my world.”

You stopped walking.

“Oscar.”

He stopped too, turning to face you fully.

“I never left your world,” you said softly. “You just… went ahead.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for a long time. His gaze dropped to your hand briefly before meeting your eyes again.

“Then maybe it’s time I finally catch you up.”

Your heart was hammering now, and you didn’t trust yourself to speak. So you just smiled, and nodded.

As the sun disappeared entirely, leaving only the glow of paddock lights behind you, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was where everything began to change.

Maybe it already had.

═════════🏎️═════════

✧ Author’s Note: Hey! This is my first time posting something like this on here, so please go easy on me. I’m still figuring things out, especially with this kind of story. Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate you being here! Maybe more imagines to come— who knows? Possibly part three <3

[chipstatoest]

✧･ﾟWhere the Track Begins (Part 2)

Oscar Piastri x Reader - 1.2k - childhood friends to lovers

Summary: The first time you met Oscar Piastri, he beat you in a go-kart race and called you slow. The second time, he gave you an orange ice pop and made you believe in impossible things. Years later, he’s in Formula 1—and you’re still in Melbourne. But when an unexpected message arrives, inviting you to Silverstone, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he never really left.

part one

warning: slow burn, fluff, mutual pining, unresolved feelings, soft tension, oscar being very much in love but not saying it (yet).

═════════🏁═════════

The first thing you noticed was the air.

Silverstone air smelled different.

Not like Melbourne’s salt and sun and eucalyptus, but like engines warming, like rubber heating, like something electric was permanently pulsing under your feet. The sounds were sharper, too— buzzing golf carts, voices in accents from every corner of the world, the steady hum of energy that seemed to coil tighter with every passing minute.

You clutched your paddock pass, fingers unconsciously running over the embossed lettering.

Your name. His invitation.

Your heart hadn’t stopped fluttering since you boarded the plane. And now, standing just outside the McLaren hospitality suite, you wondered if this had all been a mistake. What if too much time had passed? What if he wasn’t the same boy who handed you orange ice pops and made impossible promises on sunburned afternoons?

But then you saw him.

Oscar.

He stood a few meters away, deep in conversation with one of the engineers, headset resting around his neck. His back was to you at first, but even then you recognized him instantly— the way his stance was slightly off-center, weight balanced on his left leg like always, his hair a little longer than you remembered, his posture now touched by the quiet confidence of someone who had learned to carry the weight of his own ambition.

And then he turned.

Your breath caught.

His eyes found yours in an instant— like he’d been scanning for you even before you arrived. For a second, everything around you dimmed: the paddock noise, the photographers, the crew rushing past. It was just you and him, suspended somewhere between who you were and who you had become.

A slow smile spread across his face— not the polished smile you’d seen in interviews, but the familiar one. The one that always reached his eyes. The one that made him look like your Oscar again.

“There you are,” he said, walking toward you, voice softer than the chaos around you.

And before you could fully process it, his arms were around you. Not the brief, careful hug you were expecting — but a real one. Warm. Familiar. Steady. His hand settled at the small of your back like muscle memory.

You hadn’t realized how much you missed him until this exact moment.

“You made it,” he murmured near your ear.

“You invited me.”

He pulled back slightly, enough to see your face, but not far enough to break the closeness. “Didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you smiled. “You literally bribed me with an all-access pass.”

He chuckled, releasing you but letting his hand linger for just a second longer than necessary. “Well, I had to play my best card.”

For a few seconds, neither of you said anything. It was like standing on the edge of something neither of you were brave enough to name yet. The gap between childhood and now. Between friendship and whatever this was turning into.

“You look different,” you said finally, voice quiet.

“Yeah?” He tilted his head slightly. “Good different or bad different?”

You smiled. “Good different. You look like you belong here.”

His expression softened, but there was a flicker of something unspoken behind his eyes. “I’ve missed having you around.”

You wanted to say it back. You wanted to say so much more. But the words stuck in your throat.

Instead, you fell into the comfort of old patterns. Teasing. Deflecting.

“Careful, Piastri. That almost sounded emotional.”

He laughed, and it was the same laugh you remembered.

The one that always felt like home.

✧･ﾟ

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur.

Oscar gave you a personal tour of the paddock, introducing you to mechanics, engineers, even a few other drivers. The weight of his hand occasionally brushing your lower back as he guided you through tight spaces made your stomach flip every time.

People looked. Whispered. Wondered who you were.

But you barely noticed.

You were too busy stealing glances at him when he wasn’t looking— at the way his brow furrowed during briefings, at the way his fingers tapped his thigh when he was restless, at the way his smile lit up when someone congratulated him on his last race.

And sometimes, when you glanced over, you caught him watching you too— like he couldn’t quite believe you were actually standing there.

The distance between you hadn’t disappeared completely. Not yet. But for the first time in years, it felt like you were both reaching across it.

And that was something.

✧･ﾟ

Later that evening, you found yourself standing near the edge of the paddock as the sun dipped low, casting long, golden shadows across the tarmac. Oscar appeared beside you quietly, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“Walk with me?” he asked.

You nodded, and the two of you slipped away from the fading crowds, finding an empty stretch where the buzz of the paddock softened.

The silence between you was different now— heavier, but not uncomfortable.

“I was nervous, you know,” he said after a while.

You looked up at him, surprised. “Nervous? You?”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Asking you to come here. After all this time.”

Your chest tightened. “Why?”

He glanced sideways at you, voice lower now. “Because I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to be part of this world… part of my world.”

You stopped walking.

“Oscar.”

He stopped too, turning to face you fully.

“I never left your world,” you said softly. “You just… went ahead.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for a long time. His gaze dropped to your hand briefly before meeting your eyes again.

“Then maybe it’s time I finally catch you up.”

Your heart was hammering now, and you didn’t trust yourself to speak. So you just smiled, and nodded.

As the sun disappeared entirely, leaving only the glow of paddock lights behind you, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was where everything began to change.

Maybe it already had.

═════════🏎️═════════

✧ Author’s Note: Hey! This is my first time posting something like this on here, so please go easy on me. I’m still figuring things out, especially with this kind of story. Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate you being here! Maybe more imagines to come— who knows? Possibly part three <3

[chipstatoest]

Where the Track Begins

Oscar Piastri x Reader - 1.6k - childhood friends to lovers

Summary: The first time you met Oscar Piastri, he beat you in a go-kart race and called you slow. The second time, he gave you an orange ice pop and made you believe in impossible things. Years later, he’s in Formula 1—and you’re still in Melbourne. But when an unexpected message arrives, inviting you to Silverstone, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he never really left.

part two

Warning: This chapter contains mild emotional tension, themes of growing apart over time, and nostalgic reflections on childhood; no explicit content or heavy angst appears in this part.

═════════🏁═════════

Melbourne summers had a very specific feeling. They clung to your skin like sunscreen and sweat, and smelled faintly of eucalyptus and cheap fuel. For you, summer had always meant three things: sunburned shoulders, ice pops melting too fast, and Oscar Piastri.

You met him when you were eight. Or nine. You couldn’t quite remember the exact day, only that he’d been wearing a shirt two sizes too big, muddy sneakers, and the most determined expression you’d ever seen on a kid’s face. He wanted to race. That much was obvious. The local go-kart track had just opened its junior program, and Oscar Piastri had shown up like it was the Monaco Grand Prix.

You weren’t there to be competitive. At first. Your parents thought it would be fun, and you’d only agreed because your cousin bailed and left you with a free helmet and an orange kart with peeling stickers.

But Oscar? He was different.

From the moment he adjusted the strap on his too-loose helmet and climbed into that red kart of his, you knew you were dealing with someone who had a different kind of fire. You didn’t understand it then— the obsession, the intensity— but you would.

The first race? You lost. By a lot.

“Oi!” you called out as he sped past on the third lap, practically flying around the bend while you wobbled like a baby deer. “You pushed me!”

Oscar didn’t even glance back. He just laughed, high-pitched and carefree, the sound of a kid doing exactly what he loved.

After the checkered flag waved, you stomped over to him in your oversized racing suit, chest puffed out in mock rage. “You totally cheated!”

“Did not,” he said, a smug grin stretching across his sun-dusted face. “You’re just slow.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Maybe. But I’m faster.”

You hated him.

You also liked him. A lot.

Later that day, the two of you sat on the curb behind the pit building, helmets discarded, sipping lukewarm juice boxes and pretending the pavement wasn’t burning your legs. Oscar rummaged through his backpack and pulled out two ice pops— one red, one orange.

Without asking, he handed you the orange one.

“How’d you know?” you asked, surprised.

“You always take orange,” he replied with a shrug. “Since last time.”

That was Oscar. He noticed things.

“You’re gonna go pro one day,” you mumbled between bites, voice sticky with sugar. “Like… Formula 1 or something.”

Oscar looked at you then. Eyes full of something too big for a ten-year-old. “Yeah. And you’ll be there, too. Maybe running the team. Yelling at everyone. You’re good at that.”

You shoved his shoulder, and he fell back laughing. The kind of laughter that echoed into your bones.

That was years ago.

Now, your childhood best friend was on TV. In interviews. On podiums. On planes to places you’d never even heard of before. Oscar had left Melbourne and never really looked back— not in a cruel way, just in that way people do when dreams start unfolding faster than their feet can keep up.

You still talked. Sometimes. Mostly texts. Quick, harmless things. A happy birthday here. A “Did you see that move on lap 42?” there. A heart emoji when he won his first Formula 2 race. But those conversations were fading, stretched too thin over time zones and silence.

You watched him grow into someone the world admired, and wondered if he still remembered what it felt like to sit on that burning curb with you, juice box in hand, dreaming about the future.

Then, one quiet Wednesday night, your phone buzzed.

Oscar Piastri [10:02 PM]:

Silverstone next month. Got a paddock pass with your name on it — literally.

You in?

You blinked at the screen.

Was he serious?

You hadn’t seen him since before his F2 debut. Three whole years. So much had changed— not just with him, but with you. He was a household name now, a McLaren driver. And you were… well, still in Melbourne, finishing your degree, working part-time at a café, and pretending it didn’t ache to be left behind.

But here he was.

Reaching out.

Inviting you back.

You stared at the message, your heart thudding too fast, your fingers hovering over your phone like it might burn you.

So many things you could’ve said.

“Why now?”

“What does this mean?”

“Do you miss me like I miss you?”

But in the end, you kept it simple.

You [10:04 PM]:

Always.

And you meant it.

═════════🏎️═════════

✧ Author’s Note: Hey! This is my first time posting something like this on here, so please go easy on me. I’m still figuring things out, especially with this kind of story. Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate you being here! Maybe more imagines to come — who knows? Possibly part two <3