#Oscar Piastri x reader

[liocas]

at least the win went to oscar

[norristrii]

WINNERS OF ALL HEARTS.

People love your and Oscar’s relationship since the beginning; Moments of you and your boyfriend Oscar during Drive To Survive season 7.

pairing. Oscar Piastri x fem! reader

warnings. est. relationship. In honor of Oscar’s win in Bahrain! 🫶🏻 I have never seen a single episode of dts and I definitely don't plan to. Everything here is made up and doesn’t relate to the actual season. // I’ll do Lando version too!

[episode one]

The season opener buzzed with energy. You walked hand in hand with Oscar, people and cameras around you. It was nice to be back after winter break.

As you strolled along, you glanced down and noticed your shoelace was untied. Stopping mid-step, you turned to Oscar, handing him your handbag with a casual smile.

“Could you hold this for me, please?” you asked with smile.

Oscar ignored your question, but instead of standing there as you’d expected, he knelt down beside you, his movements swift and deliberate. His fingers worked deftly to tie your shoe, the knot firm yet careful.

“Thank you,” you said, your smile soft and genuine, appreciating his thoughtful gesture. He returned the warmth with an easy smile of his own. “No problem,” he replied with smile.

Netflix editors made it funnier by cutting to Lando rolling his eyes as he walked past you.

[episode two]

The atmosphere in the McLaren garage was relaxed as you lounged before practice. Lando, leaned over with his phone in his hand, sly grin across his face.

“Y/n, look what Oscar sent me,” he said, showing you a TikTok video that was anything but innocent. You couldn’t help but laugh at the dirty text, but before you could say anything, Oscar’s voice cut through the moment.

“I already apologized!” he exclaimed, his face flushed with embarrassment as he overheard your conversation. His reaction only made the situation funnier, and you burst into laughter.

“How can this even happen?” you managed to say through fits of laughter, struggling to catch your breath.

Oscar, still blushing furiously, threw his hands up in defense. “It was an incident!” he protested, his voice almost cracking under the weight of his embarrassment, which only made you laugh harder.

As you and Lando laughed, the editors cut to Oscar, subtitles read: [tremendous embarrassment]

[episode three]

Before the race, the cameras captured a quiet yet heartfelt moment. You carefully adjusted Oscar’s helmet, ensuring everything was perfect. Satisfied with your work, you smiled warmly at him. “Good luck,” you said, pressing a light kiss on his helmet.

“Thank you,” he replied softly, his voice full of gratitude. Then, with a tender smile under the helmer, he added, “I love you, babe.” The simplicity of his words carried the weight of something steady and true.

After this clip was published, fans went crazy and it became viral on tiktok.

[episode four]

Oscar had done it—his first Grand Prix win, a moment he’d dreamed of and worked tirelessly for. The roar of the crowd faded into the background as he climbed out of the car, his eyes immediately scanning for you. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward you, his emotions overwhelming him.

Before you could say a word, he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you, the world seeming to pause in that heart-stopping moment. The victory was his, but the celebration was yours together.

While you celebrated his achievement, the camera cut to Nicole and Hattie doing heart from hands as they pointed at you two.

[episode five]

Oscar moved through the fan zone with ease, signing caps and shirts as he greeted the crowd. In his hand, his phone rested casually, the screen occasionally lighting up with his touch. Each time it did, it revealed his wallpaper—a candid photo of you, beaming with joy as you cuddled your dog. It was a quiet reminder of what grounded him amid the chaos of his world, a glimpse of the happiness he cherished most.

Fans took photos and posted it online saying, “He loves her so much it can’t be even real.”

[episode six]

With the cameras buzzing in the McLaren garage, the two of you had too much time on your hands. Oscar was focused, attempting to braid your hair—a task far more challenging than he anticipated.

“Oh my god, this is so hard! It’s like a puzzle,” he groaned, frustration clear in his tone.

You couldn’t hold back a laugh. “You drive a F1 car and can’t do a braid? Osc, c’mon,” you teased, your grin widening as his struggles made the moment all the more entertaining.

Netflix narrative saying, “Let’s hope Oscar is not hairdresser in his next life.”

[episode seven]

The interviewer beamed as they addressed Oscar, “So Oscar, great job today, your first pole position, how do you feel?”

Oscar’s smile was radiant as he replied, “Yeah, just great... the car, the team,” but his gaze shifted, seeking you out in the crowd. His expression softened even more as his eyes landed on you. “My girlfriend’s here, so it’s the best,” he added, his grin unmistakably proud.

The camera panned to you, catching the sweet moment as you blew him a playful kiss, drawing even more smiles from the onlookers.

“Would you say your girlfriend is your biggest supporter?” the interviewer pressed.

Without hesitation, Oscar nodded. “Definitely, she’s just perfect,” he said, his voice brimming with sincerity and affection. It was a small yet touching moment that reflected how much you meant to him.

Fans kept saying in comments under this clip when F1 posted it, “May this love attack me.”

[maxtermind]

ONE WHERE YOU HID A BABY FROM YOUR F1 EX!BOYFRIEND PT.2

( texts masterlist \ main masterlist \ let's talk )

★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ★ : genre :: my irl bsf said i post too much angst so this isn’t angst

(part 1) (part 2)

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

★ : a/n :: ignore the typos, feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

[tsunodaradio]

say it first! ⛐ 𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏

THIS IS: FORMULA ONE, A MILESTONE EVENT 📀 this is something that demands the truth that oscar has spent years running from.

♫ starring: oscar piastri x ex-girlfriend!reader. ♫ word count: 3.3k. ♫ includes: romance, humor. mention of food. reader is a mclaren social media admin, exes to friends to ???, bad-at-being-exes, everyone is sick of your shit. anon requested any role model song (my choice: say it first). ♫ commentary box: this was in my drafts for too long. i'm pretty sure i overthunk it, but now... have whatever this is <3 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Oscar is the one who slips up. On your first day of work, he unceremoniously blurts out a “bye, love you.” 

It’s just three words, but it’s three words that has the entire McLaren team short-circuiting. Lando chokes on the marshmallow he’d been chewing on for the video challenge. Your fellow social media officer nearly drops her phone. 

Oscar— well, Oscar freezes for just a second.

And then he’s moving, walking out of the driver room like it never happened. There are small signs, though. How the tips of his ears burn red. How his pace is a little quicker than usual. How he barely glances over his shoulder when Lando sputters out, “Hey, hey, wait a second! What was that?!”

You try to keep your expression neutral. It’s hard, though, when you know exactly what caused the ‘mistake’. 

It’d been the typical ending to all of your conversations back when the two of you conversed on the regular. Bye, love you. While it’s been years since, it seemed like Oscar was still a man of routines. 

Old habits always did die screaming. 

When you run into him in the McLaren hospitality later on— after a free practice he dominates, to no one’s surprise— you can’t help but bring it up. 

“Hi,” you greet cheekily, sliding into the seat across from him. “Love you.” 

He levels you with an unamused glare. 

“It’s your first day,” he deadpans. 

“And here you are, already declaring your love for me.” You nudge his foot under the table. “What happened to keeping it on the down low, huh?” 

It was something you both agreed on, after all. You weren’t cruel enough to show up at the McLaren headquarters without a word to Oscar; when you’d gotten the acceptance letter, he was one of the first people you told. 

I didn’t show up in any of the background checks?, he had responded. Congratulations, though. 

The two of you settled on being lowkey. It wasn’t like you got the job because you were Oscar Piastri’s ex-girlfriend. You’d bagged the social media marketing role completely by your own merit; being Oscar’s ‘the one that got away’ (his joking words, not yours) was an entirely different chapter altogether. 

Present-day Oscar runs a hand over his face. Despite the frustration rolling off him in waves, you feel some semblance of relief at the recognizable gesture. Despite the coveted orange polo and the thousands of adoring fans, this was still, even just a little bit, the same Oscar from back in boarding school. 

“I don’t know why I said that,” he says, his tone a touch distressed. “It just came out.” 

“It’s alright if you still love me, Osc,” you coo. 

The taunt earns you another glare, though there’s something softer underneath it. If you squinted, it might look a lot like hope. 

But that flicker of softness is gone in an instant, replaced by Oscar nudging your foot in retaliation. “Boundaries,” he chides. 

“I wasn’t the one who said bye, love—” 

“Okay, okay. I got it!”

You laugh. It’s a bright, warm sound. The closest Oscar will get to a verbal confirmation of I missed this. I missed you. 

And when you notice Oscar watching you, when you see him fighting back a smile, you have some idea of his unspoken response. The quiet, tender, I missed you, too. 

Oscar already knows he’s going to hate whatever this is.

It’s written all over his face, probably, because Lando keeps side-eyeing him like he’s waiting for Oscar to say something snarky. Which he might, if he wasn’t using every last ounce of patience to get through this brainstorming session without visibly disassociating.

“And then we can do the ‘who’s most likely to’ challenge,” one of the social media girls chirps, scrolling through a doc on her tablet. “Like, who’s most likely to cry during a movie, or forget a teammate’s birthday.”

Oscar doesn’t sigh, but it’s a near thing.

They’re seated around one of the conference rooms tables, the kind usually reserved for media interviews and PR obligations, but today have been carved out for social media content. Content that, apparently, involves getting through as many TikTok-style gimmicks as humanly possible.

Lando, to his credit, looks amused by all of this. The man thrives on chaos.

Oscar? Not so much.

“That’s not really my thing,” he says mildly, which is the diplomatic version of, I’d rather not.

It’s then that he hears your voice. “We’ll keep it quick.”

Oscar looks up.

You’re standing just behind the admin with the tablet, your tone curt, your smile a little conspiratorial. There’s a glint in your eye he remembers well— from late-night debates in the common room, from dares whispered under breath, from that first time you kissed him behind the science block just to prove he wouldn’t chicken out.

And just like that, he’s toast.

“Fine,” he says, too fast. Crap, he thinks. He clears his throat, tries again. “Yeah. Okay. If we keep it quick.”

Lando lets out an exaggerated snort. “Wow. Alright, then.” 

Oscar doesn’t dignify that with a response, doesn’t attempt to scrutinize his co-driver’s knowing look. He’s too busy watching you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, pleased. Too busy noticing the way your shoulders relax now that he’s said yes.

It shouldn’t matter. It’s just content. Just a bit for the team page. Just another post in the endless stream of media obligations. 

The way you look at him— like you still get him, even after all these years—makes it feel like something more, though.

Oscar presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, schooling his expression. He’s not getting ahead of himself. He’s not.

But when you glance back at him and wink, the act just discreet enough to go under everyone else’s radar? Oscar knows old habits aren’t the only thing that die screaming.

Hell, it looks like there are some things that don’t die at all.

The paddock is buzzing even hours after the checkered flag. McLaren’s 1-2 finish has everyone riding high, which is great— for morale. Not so great for the person stuck editing half the day’s content while the rest of the team flits between press obligations and celebration drinks.

You’ve posted the podium shots, clipped the best soundbites from the post-race interviews, and now you’re in the process of syncing audio over one of Lando’s Instagram stories when someone’s shadow blocks the light from your screen.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” comes Oscar’s voice, exasperated. “Why are you crouched in the corner like some kind of content goblin?”

You don’t even look up. “Because every other surface in hospitality is either sticky with champagne or covered in people celebrating. I needed quiet.”

Oscar huffs, clearly unimpressed with your chosen hideout. Wedged between a drinks cart and a flight case, your laptop balanced on your knees, headphone cord tangled like your patience. “You know there are desks. Actual ones. With chairs.”

You glance up. “And coworkers who won’t stop asking me for post copies or tagging me in memes when I’m trying to sync reels. Let me have my shady little corner, Piastri,” you say, the slightest hint of annoyance edging your tone. 

He crosses his arms. You had to give him credit. Oscar had always known when to push and when to back down. “Fine,” he says. “Just don’t electrocute yourself when someone spills Red Bull back here.”

“Thanks for the concern, champion.” 

He turns like he’s going to leave, but you call after him before he’s taken more than a few steps.

“Hey. Congrats on P2.”

Oscar pauses. Looks over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he says, and for a moment, he looks like he might stay.

It’s not a look you’re particularly accustomed to. You’re used to his leaving, to his coming-and-going’s, so you’re unsurprised when he walks away. 

A few minutes pass. You’re just syncing the final cuts when he returns, this time with a paper plate in hand, stacked with food from the driver’s party. He sinks down next to you, legs bumping yours slightly as he sets the plate between you.

You shoot him an amused look. 

“Don’t say I never bring you anything,” he mutters.

“Didn’t peg you as the sharing type.”

“I was taught to always give to the needy.” 

You pinch his arm. He swats your hand. You don’t say it out loud, but it’s written all over your face— your gratitude for the gesture. 

For a moment, there’s peace. The buzz of the paddock fades behind the drone of your laptop fan and the occasional clink of a fork. Oscar picks at a spring roll, and you quietly nibble a mini quiche, your shoulders brushing every now and then.

A passing teammate does a double take. That’s the night that sparks the rumors; everything else before that had been negligible. The bye, love you had been chalked up to the moral equivalent of accidentally calling your teacher ‘mom’. The easy acquiescence had been blamed on Oscar just wanting things to end faster. 

This one, though, where podium-finisher Oscar Piastri is squeezed into a corner with you instead of celebrating his win? 

Well, there are some things people can’t deny. 

The sun’s high, the court’s dusty, and Lando’s just served another shot with too much spin for Oscar to return cleanly. He grunts, scrambling to his left, barely getting the edge of his paddle on it.

“That’s 4–2,” Lando calls, smug.

Oscar wipes his forearm across his brow. “Only because you cheat.”

“Please. I’m just better.”

Oscar shoots him a glare, but Lando’s already sauntering back to position, twirling his paddle like he’s auditioning for Wimbledon.

Then—

“So, what’s your actual score with her?”

Oscar misses a step. "What?"

Lando grins. "You know. You and our lovely new social media admin. Are you, like… just awkward exes or awkward exes with unresolved tension and late-night texting?"

Oscar serves without answering. Lando returns it easily.

“I’m not wrong.” Lando catches the ball and tosses it back lazily. "You've been weirder than usual. And you’ve been normal-weird since you joined the team."

Oscar exhales. This was bound to come up one way or another. There was no use dancing around it. “We dated,” he answers tersely. “In boarding school.”

Lando whistles. “Serious-serious, or school-serious?”

“Four years.” 

“Damn. That’s basically a marriage.”

Oscar shrugs. Lando hits another shot across the court, which Oscar barely scrapes back.

“So,” Lando calls as he skids across the court, “why’d you break up?"

“Picked racing,” Oscar shoots back. 

It’s the short story. The long story is fraught with evenings spent in Oscar’s dorm, the two of you turning over and over the prospect of the relationship surviving his climb through the ranks. A part of him knows he could say it was mutual, that the two of you called it quits and both simply grew around your first love. 

That would be a lie. You had let him go; he had reluctantly walked away. He knows, he knows it’s why he got as far as he did, and he’s grateful. But sometimes, he can’t help but think— 

“Shit,” Lando huffs as he narrowly misses the padel ball. Whether he’s cussing out Oscar’s lackluster answer or his own shitty reflexes, Oscar doesn’t bother to find out. 

They rally for a few beats in silence, the rhythm filling in what words don’t. Lando, inevitably, is the one who asks the million-dollar question. 

“And now?” Lando presses. “You getting back together?”

The question comes while Oscar is turning mid-swing. 

He promptly trips over his foot. The ball sails past him, and Lando whoops excitedly. 

“Game,” Lando announces gleefully.

Oscar groans from the ground.

You’re elbow-deep in editing footage when Oscar finds you again. 

The McLaren media room is unnaturally empty; you’ve tucked yourself into a corner desk near the window, headphones in, focus locked on syncing B-roll to Lando’s commentary about tire degradation. You don’t hear Oscar approach, but you definitely feel the stare.

He’s the last person you want to see right now. 

Earlier, the two of you had gotten into some petty spat. Oscar was known to buck on producing social media content, but this one he’d felt particularly strongly against. And maybe you had pushed, gotten upset because you were used to his easy acquiescence. 

He stormed off to free practice. You nearly cracked the McLaren-mandated phone’s case. 

Your expression is flat as you focus on the screen in front of you. “If you’re here to complain about the TikTok trend again—”

“I’m not.” Oscar’s tone is no-nonsense. “I’m here to apologize.” 

That gets your attention.

You pause the video, swiveling in your chair to face him properly. Oscar is still in his race suit, a towel slung around his neck, damp hair curling at the ends. There’s a smear of dried sweat along his jawline, and a kind of crumpled look about him, like someone who’s spent most of the afternoon spiraling through self-recrimination.

His FP1 results weren’t the best. P12 raised a couple of eyebrows, especially with Lando setting the fastest lap. For the most part, commentators just assumed Oscar was holding back ahead of qualifying. (The rest of the team figured it might have to do with your little tiff.) 

“You didn’t have to be so dramatic about it, y’know,” you say lightly, picking at a thread on your sleeve. “I wasn’t asking you to dance. It was one trending audio. Lando did it.”

Oscar exhales, slow and steady. “I know. I was just— frustrated. With myself. Not you.”

You shrug, feigning indifference. “You were a dick.”

“I was a dick,” he agrees immediately, and his sheer desperation to get back in your good graces almost has you folding. 

Silence stretches between you for a few beats. Then, he awkwardly stutters, “Can I…?”

“Can you what?” 

He opens and closes his mouth once. Then, as if powering through sheer muscle memory, he leans down and gives you the most stilted, painfully tentative hug you’ve ever received. His arm hooks over your shoulder like a coat hanger. His chin grazes your temple for a split second before he’s already pulling away.

You frown up at him, the annoyance from earlier replaced by an annoyance at this. “What was that?” 

He looks at you like you’re the insane one. “A hug,” he snipes. 

“That was not a hug. That was a hover,” you huff, arms crossing over your chest. “Try again.” 

You’re pushing it, you know. It’s the type of petulance he got a front-row seat to when the two of you were dating, and if things truly haven’t changed, then Oscar would still be a little weak to it. 

He mumbles something under his breath, but steps forward again. This time, he actually commits— arms around your back, chin resting on your head. The kind of hug that feels like a home you forgot you missed.

You don’t uncross your arms, giving some semblance of distance between the two of you. It’s all you can do to keep yourself from returning the embrace and never letting go. 

Just as he’s about to pull away, he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. It’s so natural, so familiar, that neither of you realize what’s happened until it’s already done.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he. 

To say something would be to acknowledge that the two of you fall in to old routines when it comes to each other— bickering like an old couple, seeking touch like you’re starved for it.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are flushed. And unfortunately for you, the blush does not go unnoticed. 

He blames it on the heat. You say it’s because it’s cold. 

The McLaren team glance at their weather apps— the perfect, lukewarm temperature glaring up at them— and heave out heavy sighs. 

Oscar hears the door click before he really registers that it’s shut. 

It’s a distinct click, sharp and final, like the punctuation on a sentence you didn’t realize was ending.

He twists the handle. Then tries again.

Locked.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters.

You look up from where you’re half-sprawled on the lounge, phone in hand. “What?” 

Oscar jerks his head toward the door. “Locked.”

Your brows shoot up. “Locked locked?”

He tries the handle again, harder. “Locked locked.”

And then, as if summoned by tension, a text chimes on your phone. You glance at it, snorting before you angle it towards Oscar. He barely has time to feel a pang of jealousy for Lando’s contact name, which features an absurd amount of emojis, because he’s too fixated on the taunting text: 

no one comes out until a move has been made. don’t bother calling. this is zak approved. 😋

Osca’s eyebrows raise. “He did what?”

“Apparently, it’s a team-building exercise now.”

Silence follows. The kind that’s so heavy it could tip over into something else, something messier, if you let it. Gracefully, you don’t— not when you lead with “They’ll have to let us out eventually. Wanna play 20 Questions while we wait?” 

The mention of the game actually makes Oscar wince. He doesn’t remember the last time he played it, though it was probably all the way back in school. Hell, it’s what had gotten him the courage to confess to you in the first place. How, as a teenager with sweating palms, he had sprung the penultimate query at question 18. Is there anybody you have a crush on? 

He buries the memory and forces himself to come back to where the two of you are right now. He could tease you, could joke about it being a trap and a ploy. Instead, he sighs out, “Sure. Why not.” 

“You go first.” 

He thinks for a moment. “What’s your favorite city on the calendar?” 

“Singapore.” You stretch your legs out toward him, socked feet nudging his knee. “My turn. Question two: Do you think we should get back together?”

Oscar freezes.

For once, the quick reflexes honed by years of racing fail him.

His eyes search yours like he’s looking for the catch, the punchline. There’s none. Just you, sitting there like you hadn’t just sent the entire emotional scaffolding of his world tilting sideways.

He licks his lips. “Is this part of the game?”

You shrug, but there’s something vulnerable in the gesture. “I just figured… we’re stuck. They want us to make a move. Might as well be honest.”

Oscar lets out a shaky breath. The question hangs between you like something sacred and dangerous all at once. Outside the driver room, he hears laughter— probably Lando and the others camped outside, pretending to look for a key. But here, it’s quiet.

Too quiet. The kind of quiet where what’s unspoken will stay just that— unspoken— unless a voice is given to it. 

This isn’t the flirtations of the past couple of months, isn’t the slips of the tongue and the affection that runs far deeper than what’s propriety. No, this is something that demands the truth that Oscar has spent years running from. 

He reaches for the words slowly. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I think we should.” 

Your eyes widen slightly. He fights the urge to call you out; it’s not like it’s unexpected. He hasn’t said anything out loud, sure, but he hasn’t been hiding either. 

Oscar had missed you. Oscar still loves you. 

He didn’t think he had to say it, not until he notices the way you try to tamp your giddy smile. This had always been Oscar’s way— love you, bye had been his thing, because he never said the words first, but he was going to make damn sure he said them last. 

He clears his throat. Tries to not smile too wide, either. “My turn,” he chirps. “What’s your favorite song right now?” 

“We are not changing the topic!” 

Oscar can’t help it. He lets out an affectionate laugh, a laugh that only you can pull out of him. 

It sounds an awful lot like I love you, I love you, I love you. ⛐

[sharlsworld]

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆ the sainz effect — 𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏 ❁

( 𝗈𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝗂𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂 𝗑 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗓 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ）

（ 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 ）𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗓 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋， 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍？𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝗒 𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖾

✫ i kinda really hate this i got lazy at the end sorry

🝮

yn

liked by pierregasly and 1,834,175 others

yn i’ll be back japan 😋🫰🏽 kinda boring race, happy birthday oscariño, getting fined for having a tummy ache is crazy, me & lily were munching alllll weekend, 8/10

lilymhe My favorite date 🥰🥰

⤷ alex_albon sigh

lando you’re so cute

lando 😍😍😘😘🥰 i’d eat sushi for you btw

⤷ yn do it then

⤷ lando okay let me mentally prepare myself. let’s go to dinner tomorrow tonight

⤷ yn i do not like the way you said that

⤷ lando may we please go to dinner where i’ll eat sushi for you at 8pm tomorrow night sweet beautiful kind princess?

⤷ yn 👍

⤷ lando chat is that rizz

⤷ alex_albon never beating the norizz allegations

⤷ lando oh who is you

carlossainz55 Saying “tummy ache” at your big age is crazy

⤷ yn fuck i’m glad you got fined you bitch.

⤷ carlossainz55 I was just teasing bug don’t be upset with me please

⤷ yn shut up i don’t like you right now

oscarpiastri Thank you! 🥰❤️

⤷ nicolepiastri I didn’t even get a thank you that sweet Oscar

⤷ oscarpiastri Mommmmmmmm

francolapinto i miss you mami

⤷ yn i miss you too franco

charles_leclerc I think you should fly back to Monaco with me I need some consoling after that race you know? 😢😢

⤷ yn awhh poor baby come pick me up

⤷ charles_leclerc omw mon cœur

⤷ carlossainz55 No???

⤷ yn fuck out my face you cunt

⤷ yn take my stuff back with you too

⤷ carlossainz55 Guess I’m the butler now

⤷ yn obviously. don’t scratch my suitcase either or i’ll punch you in the throat

⤷ carlossainz55 Okay gyash 💔

maxverstappen1 Should’ve been in my garage

⤷ yn i was in your garage in china though

⤷ maxverstappen1 I just miss you schat

⤷ yn i miss you too maxie

⤷ redbullracing he’s giggling rn

lewishamilton Hey I had a bad race too

⤷ yn yeah but you took my brothers seat so…☹️

⤷ lewishamilton I’ll give it back I’ll drive the Williams

⤷ scuderiaferrari No??

⤷ lewishamilton Such a cockblock 😒

🝮

lando

liked by oscarpiastri and 1,455,163 others

lando just ate sushi no biggie

yn good boyyyyy

⤷ lando my pants were JUST on

⤷ carlossainz55 No i’m sorry bug you have to find someone else lando has too big of a playboy reputation. Sorry lando.

⤷ lando oh but when she does it it’s okay?

⤷ yn what are you trying to say?? cause i’ve never done anything with any of the drivers. i think i’ve kissed charles twice

⤷ charles_leclerc thrice…and it was amazing

⤷ lando nothing you’re perfect babylove you can do wrong cause you’re so perfect and beautiful and amazing and smart and kind and funny

⤷ yn yeah that’s what i thought

maxverstappen1 Fuck you’re beautiful

⤷ yn aw thanks maxie 🥰

⤷ maxverstappen1 of course baby

⤷ alex_albon looks like max is going up in the lineup

⤷ danielricciardo wait tell me who’s winning wtf

⤷ alex_albon 1. charles 2. lando 3. max 4. lewis 5. franco

⤷ charles_leclerc fuck yeah

⤷ lando how am i not number 1 i just ate fucking sushi for her

⤷ francolapinto fuck me than damn

olliebearman bro ate an ice cream sundae while lando was conquering his biggest fear

⤷ lando hey don’t make her sound bad i loved it so much i didn’t even gag. breathing exercises work guys

charles_leclerc 😾 she likes me more

⤷ lando and what makes you think that?

⤷ charles_leclerc we’ve literally kissed thrice. THAT MEANS SOMETHING. and, she hangouts with my family so

⤷ lando oh yeah? she hangouts with my family too and me and her dad go golfing together SO HA

⤷ charles_leclerc oh yeah? really? me, her, her mom, and her sisters went out to brunch in spain last year SO HAHA I WIN

⤷ lando FAWK

⤷ yn guys…no…stop...seriously

⤷ lando whatever you say babylove

⤷ charles_leclerc whatever you say mon cœur

🝮

yn

liked by badgalriri and 1,785,302 others

yn 🍉🍓🍒

charles_leclerc so radiant 😍 let’s kiss 🌹

⤷ yn no ❤️

⤷ charles_leclerc aw man 💔

lilymhe My beautiful babe 😩😍😍

iamrebeccad The most gorgeous girl 😍😍😍❤️

francisca.cgomes oh girl i’ll be stealing that dress 🥰 you look so sexy 🫦🫦

⤷ yn omg i’m blushing

oscarpiastri 😍

⤷ carlossainz55 Oscar?

⤷ charles_leclerc wtf oscar you’re my son

⤷ lando my own teammate? 💔💔💔

⤷ maxverstappen1 Oscar I’ll push lando off the track in bahrain if you cut all contact with y/n…promise

⤷ francolapinto b-but you said you’d learn spanish for me… was that a lie??? a disguise?

⤷ pierregasly yoooooo get in there oscar

⤷ lewishamilton 😐

oscarpiastri Very pretty

⤷ yn thank you oscariño 🥰🥰

⤷ georgerussell63 Oh! Just in we have a new man in competition for y/n’s heart, things just got crazy. Who will get the final rose? Stay tuned

⤷ charles_leclerc fuck my life

⤷ lando naurrr don’t do this to me

⤷ lewishamilton i’m literally richer than him

⤷ francolapinto AGHGDHEJSJDNENS

⤷ maxverstappen1 Guys, she’s obviously gonna choose me. Just back out now

⤷ charles_leclerc fuh nah i have the best chance out of everyone else we’re literally neighbors

⤷ lando ok and i go on her family vacations??

⤷ francolapinto yk what, i quit

⤷ lewishamilton me too 💔🥀

⤷ georgerussell63 JUST IN FRANCO COLAPINTO AND LEWIS HAMILTON ARE DROPPING OUT OF THE COMPETITION FOR Y/N’S HEART

⤷ kimi.antonelli touch grass

⤷ georgerussell63 You cannot be talking rn

⤷ kimi.antonelli you right you right

🝮

yn

liked by nicolepiastri and 1,890,502 others

yn p1 for oscariño, p3 for lan, dnf for carlitos (you’ve been a bad boy yuki), 7/10

carlossainz55 At least you still have my back when you’re mad at me

⤷ yn yeah now can you bring me a shirley temple

⤷ carlossainz55 Making it now 😒

oscarpiastri Maybe you were my good luck charm, you should hangout in my garage more

⤷ lando 😾😾

charles_leclerc You looked so beautiful in the paddock mon cœur ❤️

⤷ yn awh thanks charlie 🥰

lando why did oscar get cute pictures and i got the one where i wasn’t paying attention

⤷ yn well why wasn’t your attention on me???

⤷ lando please don’t guilt trip me right now i’ll cry

⤷ yn whatever get me sushi

⤷ lando going right now

⤷ georgerussell63 Thoughtless obedience, I love to see it

⤷ lando frick off

nicolepiastri I can’t believe you got Oscar to pose for a picture so easily, and with such a big smile too! 😂

⤷ oscarpiastri Mom, please.

⤷ maxverstappen1 Okay I didn’t push lando off the track but you still won!!

⤷ yn ???

⤷ maxverstappen1 I quit, I’m going out tonight

⤷ yn stay safe maxie 😊

⤷ maxverstappen1 Always schat

⤷ alex_albon wait i’m gonna cry that was so 🥲

⤷ georgerussell63 With a bittersweet goodbye, Max Verstappen drops out of the competition leaving Lando, Charles, and Oscar. We’ll be back next week folks.

🝮

oscarpiastri

liked by iamrebeccad and 1,615,243 others

oscarpiastri She said she knew a spot

yn do you like my fab oscar???

⤷ oscarpiastri What’s that?

⤷ lando i like it babylove

⤷ oscarpiastri What’s a fab?

⤷ charles_leclerc I love it mon cœur

⤷ oscarpiastri WHAT IS A FAB??????

⤷ yn fuck ass bob 😾

⤷ oscarpiastri Oh yes I love your fab honey!

⤷ charles_leclerc HONEY??? WERE LOSING HER LANDO

⤷ lando can’t we just be a throuple + one? ☹️

reyesvdec So cute! ❤️

♥︎ by author

georgerussell63 In the city of love? 👀

yn i love traveling with you oscar

⤷ oscarpiastri I love traveling with you too honey

lando friends, family, fans, it is with great sorrow that i admit that i, lando norris, drop out of this competition. i will be going out tonight

⤷ yn stay safe lan 🥰

⤷ lando always babylove. i’ll always cherish our time we spent together

⤷ yn we’ll always have miami

⤷ lando always

⤷ yn so i’ll see you in a few days at dinner with my family right?

⤷ lando of course

⤷ georgerussell63 And then there were two, the competition dwindles down to Charles and Oscar after Lando surprisingly drops out of the competition with a heartfelt goodbye just a few days after Max dropped out. They’ll always have Miami, see you soon folks.

🝮

yn

liked by francisca.cgomes and 1,185,907 others

yn kinda nervous

carlossainz55 Dafuq 🤨

oscarpiastri ❤️

⤷ carlossainz55 DAFUQ

⤷ charles_leclerc DAFUQ

⤷ charles_leclerc no mi mon cœur

⤷ lando dis gur

nicolepiastri 🥰🥰❤️

alex_albon i smell someone else dropping out of the competition 👁️👁️

olliebearman first date kinda nervyy

⤷ carlossainz55 Ollie don’t make me call Charles.

⤷ olliebearman Party pooper.

charles_leclerc Ladies, with gentle hands…I come to this comment section today to announce that I will be dropping out of the competition, it’s been a great few years and we’ve shared many great moments together but it’s time, I quit. Catch me at the club tonight.

⤷ yn stay safe charlie ☺️

⤷ charles_leclerc always mon cœur

⤷ yn i’ll always remember us sneaking off in the middle of the night and just talking

⤷ charles_leclerc i would listen to you for hours mon cœur

⤷ carlossainz55 Oh so you’re a slut.

⤷ georgerussell63 And with that, we’re left with the last one standing, the one who joined last, the one who no one thought would win, the one that stole the heart of y/n. We have the winner of the competition, the man, the myth, the one who gets the final rose, Oscar Piastri. What a ride that was, thanks for following along folks.

🝮

oscarpiastri

liked by charles_leclerc and 2,704,186 others

oscarpiastri my honey 💛

yn my babyyyy 🩷🩷🩷🩷

danielricciardo Aussie’s on top

⤷ yn oh he’s on top alright

⤷ carlossainz55 DAFUQ

⤷ yn jkjk (not jk)

⤷ carlossainz55 STOP

⤷ charles_leclerc Oh I know Oscar is never bored

iamrebeccad the sainz effect is real

yn you’re so sweet i wish australians were real

⤷ oscarpiastri ???

pierregasly What a love story, i’m getting emotional I just need a minute 🥹

kimi.antonelli HAHAHA OLLIE OWES ME 5 THOUSAND DOLLARS AHAHAHAHAHAH

⤷ olliebearman darn it 😒

⤷ yn wtf??

⤷ olliebearman i had my bet on charles

⤷ pierregasly Me too I thought those bitches we’re getting married. So happy for Osc though this is so sweet 🥹

⤷ olliebearman let’s get you back to bed grandpa

georgerussell63 The last man standing, thanks for following along this crazy love story folks. ❤️

[itsnesss]

𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐝 | oscar piastri × fem!reader

summary | you meet oscar by chance, and one race turns into something much more

warnings | fluff, mild swearing, romantic tension, kissing

word count | 1.1 k

You were never someone obsessed with racing drivers. You didn’t collect posters, you didn’t know the names of every circuit, and you never imagined yourself dreaming about gasoline and adrenaline. But it only took one race to change everything. For him to change everything. Oscar Piastri.

At first, it was casual. You were at a friend’s house watching the Monaco Grand Prix just to be polite. And there he was—calm, young, with a kind of presence that doesn’t scream for attention but is impossible to ignore.

You started following him. At first under the excuse of “trying to understand the sport.” Then it was interviews, then TikToks. Then came the secret Twitter account for updates, and finally your first live race. Silverstone.

The air smelled of burnt rubber and excitement. Your hands were trembling. You had won a McLaren giveaway for an exclusive meet & greet. You didn’t know what to say to him, how to act, whether to smile or freeze completely.

And then you saw him.

He saw you.

Oscar was talking to someone from the press when your eyes met. It wasn’t the look of a star at a fan. It was fleeting, curious... as if he too was wondering if he’d seen you before.

“First time in the paddock?” he asked when it was finally your turn. His Australian accent was even more charming in person.

You nodded. You swallowed hard. You weren’t sure whether to shake his hand or just stand there awkwardly. You somehow did both.

“I’m Oscar,” he said, like you didn’t already know exactly who he was.

“I know,” you replied, and instantly regretted how obvious it sounded.

He smiled. That kind of smile that shows up when someone wins a silent battle. And you noticed how his gaze lingered on you just a little longer than it should have.

“Are you enjoying the race?” he asked.

“Very much. Though… I still don’t fully understand the strategies. Sometimes I just hope you don’t crash.”

He laughed. A genuine, soft laugh.

“Well, that’s what I’m hoping for too.”

Before he said goodbye, he took your cap. And with a marker, he wrote on the brim:

"For the girl who made me laugh before the race. O.P."

He handed it back with a wink.

You went home with your heart racing faster than any car on the track.

You didn’t expect more. It was a moment. A fleeting second among thousands. But a month later, you got a notification:

@oscarpiastri followed you.

And then a message.

Oscar P.: “Would you like to come to Monza as a McLaren guest? I’ve got a spare pass…”

You nearly dropped your phone. You hesitated. Was it real? Was it a mistake?

But you went. Of course you went.

Monza, Italy.

The speed of the cars didn’t compare to the speed of your heart as you stepped into the McLaren hospitality. And there he was, dressed in team gear, relaxed, as if he’d been waiting for you.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he said, adjusting his earpiece.

“I thought it was a joke,” you admitted, shrugging.

He smiled. This time, slower. More… interested?

“What do you think now?”

“Now I’m worried I might be enjoying this more than I should.”

There was a silence that hung between you, but it wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Like he felt something too, something neither of you could quite name.

The race was a whirlwind. You watched him drive, watched him gain positions, watched him so far away and yet somehow so close.

And at the end, when he returned to the hospitality still sweaty from the race and buzzing with adrenaline, the first thing he did was look for you.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

“A lot. Although…” you hesitated. “I think what I liked the most was seeing you happy.”

Oscar blinked. Then looked down, almost like he was trying to hide something.

“Want to go for a walk tonight?” he asked. “No F1. Just you and me. Italian pizza and a city that doesn’t sleep.”

You felt like the ground was disappearing under your feet.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I’d love to.”

That night.

Monza under the lights was magical, but walking beside him made it feel even more surreal. You talked about everything and nothing. About what he liked to cook when he wasn’t racing. About your favorite books. About how strange it is to have thousands of people watching you, but still feel alone.

“Sometimes I feel like no one really knows me,” he confessed, sitting beside you on a bench. “Everyone sees me as the driver. The quiet guy. But they don’t know who I am when the helmet comes off.”

You looked at him. Not like a fan. Not like someone who idolized him from a screen. You looked at him like someone who had felt that too—the weight of pretending to be okay.

“I want to know you,” you said, almost without thinking.

Oscar looked at you. This time, with no walls. No filters.

He leaned in.

And when his lips brushed yours, there were no fireworks. There was peace. There was that feeling of everything falling into place.

“I don’t care if this is weird,” he murmured. “But with you, for the first time in a long time… I don’t feel alone.”

He kissed you again. Slow. Gentle. And you knew no podium would ever compare to that moment.

Days later…

The relationship became the perfect blend of secret and sincerity. You didn’t tell anyone. You didn’t need to. There were glances exchanged at circuits. Messages at midnight. Calls between training sessions. And even though you weren’t a driver, every time you were with him, it felt like you were racing toward something worth it.

One night, before another big race, he wrapped his arms around you from behind as you stared at the lights of the paddock.

“What are we?” you asked softly.

Oscar rested his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re my escape. My calm. And if you want… we can be something more.”

“Something like what?”

“Like what no one finds on a racetrack. What you don’t win with speed, but with time.”

You turned around, looked at him. And for the first time, without fear, you said:

“Then let’s take that time. But promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“That when you finish a race… the first thing you’ll do is look for me in the crowd.”

Oscar smiled. He kissed your forehead.

“Always.”

[ari-ana-bel-la]

i was wondering if you could write a fic where reader is kelly’s older child from a past relationship and feels left out at times cause kelly and P are much closer than she is with kelly. but basically max is overprotective of her and always wants to involve her in things

he brings her to races, makes sure she doesn’t feel left out at family gatherings or f1 events. he even brags abt her accomplishments to other drivers

More Than Words

The paddock buzzed with its usual energy—mechanics in motion, media everywhere, fans cheering from behind barriers. Max walked through it all with a quiet purpose, his eyes searching the crowd until he spotted her: Yn, sitting on a low wall near the Red Bull hospitality unit, her arms wrapped around her knees, earbuds in, chin resting on her folded arms.

He made his way to her slowly, giving her time to notice him. She didn’t. So, he tapped her shoulder gently.

"Hey," he said softly.

Yn looked up, blinking out of whatever world her music had her in. Her face immediately softened when she saw Max. “Hey,” she mumbled, pulling one earbud out.

"You alright?" he asked, crouching in front of her so he could be eye level.

She nodded, but it wasn’t convincing.

Max tilted his head. "That was a very enthusiastic nod."

She gave a tiny smile. “Just tired.”

Max didn’t press her. He knew that tired didn’t always mean sleep-deprived—it was the kind of tired that settled into your bones when you felt invisible.

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “We’ve got ice cream in the motorhome.”

She hesitated, glancing toward the hospitality unit where she knew Kelly and Penelope were. “I think I’ll just stay here.”

Max’s smile faded, just slightly. He sat next to her instead, letting his knees bump against hers. “You know, I told Checo yesterday that you got a 94 on that science paper. He asked if you were tutoring.”

Yn blinked at him. “You did?”

“Of course. I mean, how many sixteen-year-olds can explain astrophysics to me without even Googling stuff?”

She flushed, hiding a small grin. “I didn’t explain that much…”

“You talked about black holes for twenty minutes. I nearly re-evaluated my whole existence.”

She giggled. “I didn’t even think you were listening.”

Max turned to face her fully, his voice firm but kind. “I always listen to you, Yn.”

She went quiet again. After a beat, she said, “Mom doesn’t.”

Max felt that one land in his chest like a punch.

He didn’t speak for a moment, just gently placed a hand over hers. “I know it feels like that sometimes.”

Yn nodded, biting her lip. “She and P are always laughing together. Watching TikToks, doing their little dances… She doesn’t even ask me how school is anymore unless I bring it up. And then it’s just, ‘That’s good,’ and she moves on.”

Max swallowed. “I see it, too. And it’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to ask for her attention.”

She looked down, her voice smaller. “I don’t even talk to my dad. He texted me ‘k’ last week when I said happy birthday. That’s the only thing I’ve heard all year.”

Max exhaled slowly, his fingers curling protectively around hers. “That’s not okay. That’s not your fault, Yn. He doesn’t get to make you feel unwanted.”

She didn’t cry—but she looked like she might. Her voice shook just a little. “Sometimes it just feels like I’m… extra. Like I’m just there, and no one really notices unless I mess up or get in the way.”

Max shook his head. “Not with me.”

Yn looked up at him.

“Listen,” he said. “You’re not ‘extra,’ okay? You’re you. Smart, funny, a little sarcastic—okay, a lot sarcastic—but also kind. You always help Penelope when she needs something, even when she’s being annoying.”

“She’s always being annoying,” Yn muttered.

Max grinned. “Exactly. And you still help her. You let her play with your hair. You let her steal your hoodies.”

“She stretched out my favorite one…”

“And you didn’t even yell at her. You deserve to be seen, Yn. You deserve to be loved loud.”

She blinked again, her eyes a little glassy. “You always say the nicest things.”

“I just tell the truth.”

Yn leaned her head against his shoulder, and Max rested his head against hers.

After a long pause, she asked, “Do you ever wish I wasn’t around?”

“What?” Max pulled back to look at her properly. “Not for a single second. If anything, I wish I met you earlier.”

She laughed softly. “That would’ve been hard, I was like… eight.”

“Exactly,” Max said. “I could’ve started bragging about you sooner.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now.

Max stood and offered her his hand again. “Come on. Let’s get ice cream. You can pick the flavor this time.”

“Even if it’s cookie dough?”

“You know that’s my weakness,” he said dramatically. “You’re exploiting my love.”

She finally took his hand, letting him pull her up. As they started walking, Max slung an arm around her shoulder. “Also, I signed you up for that STEM summer camp you mentioned. Don’t worry—I’ll drive you every day if I have to.”

Yn stopped in her tracks. “You did what?”

He smirked. “It’s not until July. You’ve got time to prepare. Or pack.”

“You’re serious?”

“Completely. I figured you might not push for it if you thought no one cared.”

Her face was unreadable for a moment, then she slowly whispered, “Thank you.”

Max gave her a one-armed hug, squeezing her into his side. “Always. You’re stuck with me, Yn.”

As they approached the motorhome, Penelope darted out with a grin and ran straight to Yn. “Can we do your hair again? I brought the glitter clips!”

Yn blinked. She looked to Max for a second—he just nodded.

“Sure,” she said finally, and Penelope squealed, pulling her inside.

Kelly stood near the door, distractedly on her phone. She glanced up briefly. “Oh hey, sweetheart,” she said, barely meeting Yn’s eyes. “Did you eat lunch?”

“Yeah,” Yn answered automatically.

Kelly smiled for a second and returned to texting.

Max watched the exchange silently, then stepped closer to Kelly.

“You know she got a 94 on that science paper, right?”

Kelly glanced up. “Oh… That’s great.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you should tell her that.”

Kelly blinked at him, then looked over at Yn and Penelope giggling inside. For a moment, her face shifted���something like guilt or realization washing over her.

Max didn’t say more. He just turned to follow Yn inside.

Because he meant it.

She was his kid, too.

And he was going to make sure she always knew it.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[p1astr81]

hii queen i love your fics so much!! do you think you could write a really fluffy smut with oscar? just very domestic and cuddly and slow and relaxed with the reader and oscar just feeling super connected to one another and just being rlly in love ?? 🙏🙏

an: hiiii thank youuuuu!!!! I’d also like to start by apologizing for how CRINGEY this is omg😭

You blinked the fog from your eyes, waking from your nap. The room was dark, the sun already dipped under the horizon. “Hi, Osc,” you greeted with a soft smile, clinging on to the figure next to you.

He was already awake, watching something on the television. “Mhhh good morning, baby.” His arms encased around your torso, holding you loosely.

Your eyes landed on his chest, bare, toned, fully on display. And then your gaze trailed up to his face, relaxed, eyes on yours, full of love. Up further to his hair, unkept in the most attractive way.

It was impossible to resist. He was impossible to resist.

Your lips found his neck, placing messy kisses all over the exposed skin. Before you knew it, your hips were dragging along his thigh, agonizingly slow.

He clicked his tongue. “Aw, my girl woke up needy.” He teased. There was no use in denying it, so you nodded against him. His hand soothed over your hair. “You want me to take care of you?” He was still teasing, but if you said yes, he wouldn’t deny you.

So when you nodded, his hand found it’s place on your ass, holding you in place, forcing you to grind down harder on his bare thigh.

He flipped you over, careful not to jostle you too much. Reflecting your earlier actions, his kisses began on your neck. He gave a small tug to the hem of your shirt, and you responded by arching off the bed, allowing him to slip the fabric off of you.

It gave him a wonderful sight of your lacy red bra—one of his favorite colors. His finger traced over the design. “You look so pretty in this color.” He murmured close to your ear. You could feel his breath as it fanned across your neck.

“Oscar,” you whined, arching your back, trying to coax him.

He shushed you lightly, a hand on your stomach to ease your body back to the cushion of the mattress. “Be patient. I’ll take care of you, I promise.” You frowned and he mirrored the expression. “Have I ever not given you what you want?” He smiled when you shook your head. “Alright then. Just relax. I’ll make it worthwhile, I promise.” He kissed both of your cheeks.

A hand slipped behind your back, undoing your bra with practiced ease. He slid the straps down your arms, agonizingly slow. Too slow for you, but he only wanted to take his time. To savor the moment.

Sensing your impatience, he decided to speed things up a bit—skipping right to slipping your panties down your legs. “Oscar,” you called, less whiny and more breathless.

“I know, baby. Im keepin’ my promise.” His voice was low and rough but still flowed with love.

And keep it he did, dipping two fingers into you. A suppressed moan slipped passed your lips, conscious of the neighbors. And he could read your worries easily. “I heard them leave not too long ago, be as loud as you want, love.” He eased.

Whether you heard him or not, he wasn’t sure. But you continued to suppress your sounds. Oscar responded by adding another finger. You couldn’t help the loud moan that tore through you. “Oscar- ah! Please!” You reached out to him, pulling his hair to redirect his lips from the shell of your ear to your plush, pink ones. You moaned into his mouth and he swallowed it with greed. “Mh, Oscar please, just fuck me!” You mewled.

Oscar kissed your face again. “‘M just making sure you’re relaxed.” He eased.

You didn’t like his answer, squirming underneath him. “I am!” You insisted.

“Baby, you’re alright tight around my fingers.” He gave a soft smile and kissed the apple of your cheek.

“But- hm!” Your protests were cut off as his fingers found that sweet spot. “Shit,” you all but whispered as he continued to hit that spot. His thumb found your clit, pressing into it, circling it slow. It’s all you needed to fall apart completely.

Oscar held you down while you writhed and shuttered, continuing his ministrations. He only pulled away when you let out a pained mewl and made a sorry attempt at pushing his hand away.

He kissed his way down your body, waiting for you to come back to your senses. He knows you have when you mutter out his name and reach for him.

“Relaxed now?” He mumbled against your skin, his lips tickling your stomach. It wasn’t a question meant to be answered, but you did anyway, with a small nod.

Oscar freed himself from the restraints of his pants, reaching for the drawer of his nightstand where he kept the condoms. “Don’t, I wanna feel you.” You said, a hand cradling his cheek, thumb stroking the apple of it. He wouldn’t argue, and wasted no time to slide into your awaiting pussy. He reveled in the arch of your back and your lewd moans. “Yes!” You gasped.

He stilled, allowing you time to adjust. Allow him time to adjust—to not blow his load embarrassingly early. “So perfect. Everything about you.” He praised. You squeezed around him in—an involuntary—response. “I love you.” He confessed, lips caressing the shell of your ear.

“Hmm, I love you too. Now please do something.” You were already panting.

Just as his fingers were, the movement of his hips was slow, gentle, like he was afraid you’d break. He wasn’t, obviously. But he wanted to savor the desperate look in your eyes, and how you squeezed around him—trying to coax him to fuck you harder and faster.

He wouldn’t. Because like this—though he admitted it was cheesy—it seemed like he could feel your souls intertwining, lacing together in a tight fixture.

And eventually, your pleas for more tapered off and your nailed eased on his back. Because you felt it too. Not just every ridge and vein of his dick—‘cause you had felt that, too. But that soul tie. You could feel the fire of his love zip up your spine with every measured stroke.

You pulled his closer, hugging his broad form. “I love you, so much.” You muttered against his lips, your eyes locked on his desperate ones.

Desperate not just for the sex, but for all you had to offer. For the unconditional support, love, forgiveness when he’d fuck up. He squeezed his eyes shut, your words adding to the pleasure, fogging his brain. He nodded in agreement. “More than you could imagine.” He panted, and you could feel his eyelashes on your cheek when his eyes fluttered open again.

He wrapped his arms around your legs. He hit deeper parts inside of you. Stars sparked behind your eyelids and he devoured your moans with a kiss.

“‘Wanna marry you one day.” He didn’t think, the words just spilled out. But he wouldn’t take them back. He meant them. And evidently you’d made no protest, only squeezing around him. Your moans and his blended together in a gorgeous harmony.

He whined, pressing his forehead to yours. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum.”

You nodded, a hand on his cheek. You pulled him down to take his lips in yours. You came together, swallowing the other’s moans and whispered confessions of love.

Oscar pulled out, settling next to you momentarily before standing. He kissed your forehead and returned with a towel to clean you up. He muttered apologizes and kissed your thighs when you whined. Still sensitive.

He settled next to you once more, and drew you up his chest. A best of silence. And then, “did you mean what you said? You want to marry me?”

He nodded but scrambled for the appropriate response. “Only if you want that.” The stumbled.

You smiled and hummed, burying your head in his chest. “Yes, very much.”

His lips split, displaying his bunny teeth as he smiled. He kissed the top of your head.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗧'𝗦 𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗗, 𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗬 oscar piastri  x  girlfriend!reader ( fluff ) fic summary . . . you attempt to prank your boyfriend oscar by telling him you can't pay your half of the rent this month, he takes it surprisingly well.

( my master list | more of oscar piastri ) ( requests )

You’re sitting cross-legged on the couch, staring at the coffee table like it insulted your entire lineage.

There’s an envelope—unopened—labeled "RENT DUE" in bright red Sharpie. Dramatic, yes. Authentic? Not even a little. You made it yourself. The ink is still wet.

Oscar should be home any minute now. You even pulled out your phone to record his reaction for posterity (and potential TikTok virality).

You clutch your head in your hands and start muttering nonsense.

"How am I going to afford groceries? How am I supposed to live, laugh, love in these conditions—"

The door clicks open.

You immediately shift into Oscar-winning performance mode. (Pun 100% intended.)

“Babe,” you groan, as he walks in wearing a hoodie and gym shorts, hair slightly damp from a post-workout shower. “We have a problem.”

Oscar doesn’t even blink. He steps inside, drops his gym bag by the door, and eyes you with the same calm expression he reserves for red flags in Turn 1.

“Okay. What’s up?”

You dramatically shove the envelope toward him like it’s radioactive.

“I… can’t pay rent this month.”

Silence.

He blinks. Once.

“Okay,” he says. Like you just told him the sky is blue or that Lando wears bucket hats unironically. “That’s fine.”

You blink back. “Fine?”

Oscar shrugs, walking past you toward the fridge. “Yeah. I got it.”

You stay frozen, confused, suspicious. “Wait—what?”

He pulls out a yogurt like he’s in a chilled dairy ad. “I’ve been paying half anyway. What’s the difference?”

You’re blinking so fast you might take flight. “Well… this would be all of it.”

Oscar stabs his yogurt with a spoon, finally giving you a look. “My salary tripled this year. I’ll live.”

Damn it.

You pause the recording.

He walks back over and sits beside you, yogurt in one hand, cool as ever. “Was this… a prank?”

You groan, throwing your head back. “It was supposed to be! I saw this girl on TikTok freak her boyfriend out and he panicked and offered to sell his gaming PC. Yours was boring.”

Oscar deadpans, “Sorry I wasn’t financially incompetent enough for TikTok.”

You snort.

Then he adds, casually, “Also, I’m paying rent from now on.”

You sit up. “Wait, no. That’s not—this was a joke. I can—”

Oscar raises a single brow. “You want to pay rent while I make six million a year? Be serious.”

You flop dramatically back onto the couch. “So the prank backfired.”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums. “And now I’m the landlord.”

“Oh my god. I’m dating a landlord.”

He grins. “But like, a hot one.”

You groan again. “I should’ve just prank-called Lando.”

“Please do. He’ll probably Venmo you five grand and forget why.”

[dannyriccsystem]

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER TEXTS

Summary: F1 boyfriend drunk texts you

Warnings: VERY suggestive, Y/N usage, alcohol mention

Featuring: MV1, DR3, LN4, CL16, LH44, CS55, OP81

I have one more idea I might finish tonight… And then I will get back to requests… But!

Feel free to send some in! Requests open! Check pinned for more

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

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DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

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LANDO NORRIS - LN4

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CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

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LEWIS HAMILTON - LH44

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CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

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OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

[cressidagrey]

Bribery remains effective

We are interrupting our regularly scheduled programming to celebrate Oscar's 4th career win!

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar Piastri thought doing kindergarten drop-off for his daughter would be easy — until Bee negotiates like a Formula 1 strategist and declares that the chickens at home are better friends than her classmates.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Oscar knelt beside Bee at the gate, one hand steadying the tiny bee-shaped backpack on her back, the other gently tucking a rogue curl into her cap. The air smelled like damp grass and crayons, and the sound of squealing toddlers echoed faintly from the building.

Bee was not impressed.

Normally, Felicity did the drop-off. Normally, Bee clung to her mama’s leg until she was gently convinced inside with the promise of a post-kindy snack and a story. 

But Oscar was home for the day…and so he had decided that letting his wife sleep in and doing the drop off would be a simple way to make her week easier. 

So here he was, still bleary-eyed, in his team hoodie, coffee in hand—as the designated parent.

The other parents stared at him, and Oscar wasn’t surprised at all. He was pretty sure that he still looked like half a teenager playing at being a dad. Oh well. They could believe whatever they wanted. 

Bee stared at the school gate like it had personally insulted her.

“I don’t want to go,” she said, in that tiny, serious voice of hers.

Oscar sighed, crouching to her level. “We talked about this. You’re just going to be here until lunch.”

“I know,” Bee muttered, arms crossed. “But it’s so loud, Papa. Everyone is shouting. And they don’t even wash their hands properly.”

Oscar tried not to smile. “You don’t have to shout. You just have to be kind. And listen to Miss Eleanor.”

Bee made a face. “Miss Eleanor made me sit on the carpet. It was sticky. Someone put raisins in their shoes.”

Oscar blinked. “…Why would someone put raisins in their—never mind. Look, I know it’s not your favourite, but Mama and I just want you to spend time with other kids your age. It’s good for you.”

“I’d rather be with the chickens.”

He chuckled. “The chickens don’t teach social skills, Bumblebee.”

“Yes they do,” Bee said seriously. “Vettel always shares the feed. And Lauda only pecks if someone’s rude first.”

Oscar rubbed his face. “You named chickens after F1 legends. That doesn’t count as a peer group.”

Bee scuffed her boot in the gravel. “I just don’t like it here.”

Oscar softened, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “I know, sweetheart. I didn’t like school much either. But sometimes we do hard things because they help us grow.”

Bee gave him a withering look. “I’m already growing, Papa. Mama said I grew out of my shoes last week.”

“…Technically not what I meant.”

She looked up at him, frowning. “Are you going to leave?”

Oscar nodded slowly. “Just for a bit. Mama or I will pick you up. She promised mochi if you were brave today.”

Bee’s eyes lit up, but then she narrowed them suspiciously. “With sprinkles?”

“Yes.”

“And chocolate milk?”

“With the bendy straw.”

She considered this. Very seriously.

“…Fine,” she said at last, with the air of a queen making a reluctant royal decree. “But tell Mama the carpet was sticky again and I still think the chickens are better friends.”

Oscar leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Deal. Go be your brilliant self, okay?”

Bee nodded solemnly and allowed herself to be led inside by the cheerful classroom assistant, her boots squeaking slightly as she walked.

Oscar watched until the door shut behind her, then pulled out his phone and texted Felicity.

Drop-off complete. Still prefers chickens over humans. Also, she wants chocolate milk with the bendy straw.

A second later, Felicity replied:

My girl. Bribery remains effective.

Oscar smiled down at the message. 

***

The gravel crunched under Oscar’s tyres as he pulled into the drive of their home, the morning still misty with leftover rain and the gentle clucking of chickens from the coop drifting lazily through the air. He left the car with the windows cracked and the doors unlocked. No one around here stole things, and even if they did, they'd have to face Senna the Chicken first.

He toed off his sneakers at the back door, rubbed the sleep from his face, and called out, “Fliss?”

No answer—just the low hum of music coming from upstairs. The kind Felicity only played when she was home alone and getting things done. Oscar followed the sound of it, yawning as he went, and when he reached their bathroom door, it was fogged from steam and slightly ajar.

The shower was on.

He grinned.

The clothes she'd dropped on the floor were her pyjamas, an oversized cricket shirt of his from their school days, that by now was threadbare and thin, and  had a hole in one sleeve…and also had the name PIASTRI emblazoned over her back whenever she wore it. 

Oscar stripped off his hoodie and pants and quietly stepped inside the steamy bathroom, pushing the door open gently.

Felicity was already halfway through washing her hair, head tilted back under the stream of water, when she felt the shift of air behind her.

She didn’t jump.

“Morning,” she murmured, voice calm and lazy. “You’re late.”

“Bee negotiated hard,” Oscar said, stepping into the shower behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. “Full mochi package, plus the chocolate milk. With the bendy straw, or she said the deal was void.”

Felicity laughed, leaning back into him. “She’s terrifying.”

“She said the carpet was sticky again.”

“She always says that.”

Oscar nuzzled into the curve of her neck, pressing a kiss to her damp shoulder. “She also said she’d rather hang out with Vettel the chicken.”

“I mean,” Felicity said, turning slightly to look at him, “I get it.”

Oscar laughed softly, the sound muffled against her skin. “Hey… I was thinking.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“About Silverstone,” he said, tightening his arms around her. 

Felicity stilled just slightly. “…Oscar.”

“I think you should bring her. For the weekend. She would love the paddock.”

Felicity sighed. “You know what that means, though. If we bring her to a Grand Prix—that Grand Prix—she’s going to start asking the karting question again. And we both know what happens after that.”

Oscar was quiet for a second, his breath warming her spine. “I know. I just… I think we’re kidding ourselves if we pretend she’s not already five steps ahead of us. She’s been watching the telemetry from my onboard and taking notes since last year.”

Felicity groaned. “I know. She told me last week your braking into Turn 4 was ‘too soft.’ Then she decided to write a better strategy for you.”

Oscar smiled against her shoulder. “She’s not wrong.”

Felicity turned around, suds still in her hair, eyes serious now. “Oz, I don’t want her to think she has to be anything just because she’s good at it.”

“I know,” he said, brushing her cheek. “And we won’t let it be like it was for you. No pressure. No proving anything to anyone. Just… if she wants to try karting, we let her. That’s all.”

Felicity studied him for a long moment. “And if she decides she wants to race?”

Oscar’s voice was steady. “Then we’ll make damn sure she’s not alone doing it.”

There was silence, except for the steady stream of water.

Felicity sighed, a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “She is going to ask for a kart for her birthday if we bring her to Silverstone.”

“Like Father, like daughter.”

“You’re unreal,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Oscar grinned, pulling her into him again. “So that’s a yes?”

Felicity groaned. “Fine. But you can explain it to our bank account when she wants a sim rig upgrade at seven.”

Oscar pressed a kiss to her wet forehead. “Deal.”

And just like that, she relaxed into him, the water still running, their quiet little world still intact—just with the inevitable reality that their tiny, terrifying genius was about to make her Silverstone debut… and probably ask for race gloves in size XXS.

Felicity was still smiling when Oscar leaned in again, water cascading down over both of them, warm and comforting. She had her hands flat against his chest, fingertips tracing the faint lines of his collarbones, her eyes searching his like she was looking at something she’d never quite get used to having.

He bent slightly, brushing his nose against hers. “I missed you this morning.”

“You were gone for thirty minutes,” she murmured.

“Too long.” His lips ghosted over her cheek, slow and tender. “You smell like my shampoo.”

“You used all of mine,” she countered.

“I regret nothing.”

She let out a breath of a laugh, but the sound caught slightly when his hands slid from her back down to the curve of her waist, thumbs tracing her hips with practiced ease. The tension that had been knotted in her spine slowly started to ease, the hum of the water drowning out everything else.

Oscar kissed her, finally—soft at first, a gentle press of lips that deepened as Felicity responded, curling her fingers into the damp hair at the back of his neck. The kind of kiss that wasn’t rushed or frantic, but warm and familiar, full of the kind of affection that only comes from building a life with someone.

Her back pressed to the cool tiles, the contrast against the heat of his mouth making her shiver. Oscar pulled back just a little, resting his forehead against hers.

“You know I’d do anything to protect her,” he whispered. “You too.”

“I know,” she said softly, voice barely audible over the sound of the water. “That’s why I said yes.”

His hand skimmed up the curve of her spine, drawing a quiet sigh from her lips. She tilted her face toward his again, their kiss deeper this time—slower, surer. They didn’t have to say much anymore. They��knew each other’s rhythms. Knew exactly where to touch, where to pause, how to press close and just breathe in each other.

The steam wrapped around them like a cocoon. His hand cupped her cheek, the other still tracing the dip of her lower back, drawing her closer until there was no space left between them.

Oscar murmured something into the corner of her mouth—something about how beautiful she was when her eyes softened like this, how she always smelled like motor oil and vanilla, how he loved her more every time she argued with him about torque ratios.

She kissed the words off his lips.

The rest of the morning could wait. The mochi, the chickens, the race prep—all of it could wait.

Because right now, in the steam and the quiet, it was just the two of them. And the water, and the warmth, and the familiar ache of loving someone so deeply it made the whole world feel still.

And Oscar wasn’t going anywhere.

Felicity’s breath hitched as Oscar leaned in again, slower this time—his lips trailing from the corner of her mouth, down the curve of her jaw, to the spot just beneath her ear that made her knees weaken, even after all these years. She held onto his shoulders, grounding herself against the solidity of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her chest.

“I didn’t expect you back this fast,” she whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

Oscar’s voice was low and warm, his hands firm around her waist. “Bee marched in like a soldier on a mission. She barely looked back. Well, after she remembered to negotiate for mochi.”

Felicity laughed softly, the sound turning breathless as his lips grazed her collarbone. “Our terrifying little extortionist.”

“Our terrifying little genius,” Oscar corrected, pressing a kiss to the top of her shoulder. “She’s so much like you.”

“She’d probably rather be here with the chickens and engine parts.”

Oscar smiled against her skin. “She’ll be in her own garage by seven at this rate.”

Felicity ran her fingers down his chest, slow and deliberate, tracing the path of a water droplet down his sternum. “You say that like it doesn’t terrify you.”

“I am terrified,” Oscar admitted, his voice husky now. “But I’m also completely in awe of both of you.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes softer than usual, something unspoken lingering between them.

Oscar leaned in again, this time with more urgency—his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that said everything he hadn’t. One hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, the other gripping her waist as she leaned into him, letting him anchor her against the tile.

Felicity kissed him back, slow and deep and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world.

Because for now—they did.

The water pounded around them, hot and steady, fogging the glass, fogging the mirrors, wrapping them in the kind of intimacy that didn’t need candlelight or silk sheets. Just warm water, a quiet morning, and the one person who had always chosen her—again and again.

When Oscar finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, they were both breathless.

She smiled lazily, the curve of her mouth soft and familiar. “Are you trying to convince me to bring Bee to Silverstone or seduce me into saying yes?”

He grinned, brushing his nose against hers. “Can’t it be both?”

Felicity hummed. “You’re lucky you’re charming.”

Oscar kissed her again, slow and lingering.

“Luck,” he murmured against her lips, “has nothing to do with it.”

Felicity’s laugh was quiet and close, her lips brushing Oscar’s as she whispered, “Mm. Arrogant.”

“Confident,” he corrected with a grin, kissing her again before she could roll her eyes.

She didn’t stop him.

The water kept streaming down over them, warm and constant, soaking her hair, running in rivulets over his shoulders. Felicity’s fingers found their way into his damp curls, and she pulled him closer—like she could anchor herself there. Like maybe she needed to.

Oscar felt it in the way she held him. Not urgent, not rushed—just present. Wanting to be known, held, seen.

And he did. He always did.

His hands slid lower, framing the soft curve of her hips, the dip of her waist. Her skin was warm and slick beneath his palms, and she leaned into him, kissing him like she wasn’t afraid of being vulnerable anymore. Like she trusted him to carry her weight.

“Do you really want her at Silverstone?” she murmured, her breath catching as he kissed her neck again, just beneath her jaw.

“I want her to see me win,” Oscar said against her skin. “I want her to feel what it’s like to be part of this. To know she belongs here if she wants it.”

Felicity’s hands stilled where they’d been trailing down his back.

“She’ll start asking about karts.”

“I know.”

“She’ll want to race.”

Oscar leaned back just enough to look her in the eyes. His thumb brushed a bead of water from her cheek. “Then we get her a kart. And we let her have fun. Not pressure. Not expectations. Just fun. We’ll protect her from the rest.”

Felicity searched his face for a long, quiet moment.

And then she kissed him.

It was slower than before. Deeper. Like a thank-you. Like a surrender. Like she was choosing this life again—messy, chaotic, tender, filled with love and sharp edges and tiny rainboots on kindergarten mornings.

Oscar kissed her back with equal reverence, pulling her fully against him until the water, the steam, and the rest of the world faded away.

Eventually, the water started to cool.

They didn’t notice.

Not for a while.

***

Oscar could tell something was wrong the moment they stepped through the kindergarten gates.

Usually, Bee came barreling toward them like a sugar-powered rocket, her little boots stomping across the yard, curls bouncing, arms outstretched like she might take off. But not today.

Today, she was sitting alone on the edge of the sandbox, clutching her bee-shaped backpack in her lap like it was armor. Her cheeks were flushed—not the sun-kissed kind, but the blotchy, too-still kind. Her mouth was set in a small, tight line. Her curls were messier than usual, and there was a faint smudge of dirt on her elbow.

Felicity saw it too. She didn’t say anything. She just handed Oscar her bag and strode across the yard without hesitation.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said softly, crouching beside Bee. “You okay?”

Bee didn’t answer right away. She just stared at the sand, her tiny fingers clenched tight around the strap of her bag.

Felicity’s chest ached.

Oscar arrived behind her, crouching too. “Bumblebee?”

Bee finally looked up at him, her lip wobbling. “Papa,” she whispered, and then, without warning, she lunged into his arms.

Oscar caught her easily, lifting her against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him like she was afraid the world might fall apart if she let go.

“What happened?” Felicity asked gently, brushing a damp curl off Bee’s forehead.

Bee didn’t answer at first. Her little voice was muffled in Oscar’s shoulder. “I don’t wanna come back.”

Oscar’s arms tightened around her. “Hey, hey. You don’t have to right now. It’s okay.”

“They were mean,” Bee choked out. “They said I was weird ‘cause I know stuff. One boy pushed me. I fell on my hands.”

Felicity’s face darkened with a fury only a mother could manage. She gently took Bee’s hands and turned them over—her palms were scraped, faint pink scratches just starting to sting.

Oscar looked like he might kill someone. “Who pushed you?”

“Oscar,” Felicity said quickly. “Not here.”

He closed his eyes, jaw tight. “Right.” He kissed Bee’s temple. “Did a teacher help?”

Bee sniffled. “Miss Eleanor said it was an accident. But he pushed me.”

Felicity looked at her husband. “We’ll speak to the school. Tonight.”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. We’re not letting this slide.”

Bee’s grip on his hoodie tightened. “I just wanted to talk about the moon. They said that was boring.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Felicity said softly. “It’s not boring. It’s amazing. You are amazing.”

Bee blinked up at her, bottom lip trembling. “Then why don’t they like me?”

Oscar felt something in his chest splinter.

Felicity stepped in close, wrapping both of them in her arms. “Because sometimes, people are mean to the ones they don’t understand. But that doesn’t mean you have to change.”

Bee buried her face in Oscar’s shoulder again, quiet now. Small.

Oscar looked at Felicity over her head. “No more kindergarten this week.”

Felicity nodded. “Agreed.”

“We’ll fix her hands, give her chocolate milk,” Oscar murmured, rubbing Bee’s back, “and tomorrow we can spend the day in the garage. Just us.”

Bee sniffed. “With the chickens?”

Oscar smiled. “With all the chickens.”

“And Mama?”

Felicity kissed her forehead. “Of course. I’ll even let you polish the headlamps.”

Bee perked up just a little at that, the tiniest glimmer of hope returning to her eyes.

Felicity smoothed her hair back. “Let’s go home, baby.”

Oscar stood, Bee still in his arms, holding on tight.

She didn’t let go the whole way to the car.

***

The kettle was humming on the stove. A mug sat on the counter, waiting for Bee’s chocolate milk. Felicity had already added the whipped cream and sprinkles, just the way she liked it. Bee sat on the kitchen island wrapped in one of Oscar’s oversized hoodies, sleeves dangling past her fingers, a chicken-patterned bandage on each scraped palm.

She was still sniffling occasionally, but the tears had stopped. Oscar leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching his daughter with a familiar ache in his chest.

He glanced at Felicity, who stood on the other side of Bee, gently brushing out her curls with careful fingers.

It was the right moment.

“Hey, Bumblebee,” Oscar said softly.

She looked up, lower lip still pouting slightly. “Yeah?”

Oscar came closer and tapped the tip of her nose. “How do you feel about coming to Silverstone?”

Bee blinked. “Like… the track?”

“Yeah,” Felicity said, setting the brush down. “Silverstone. We were thinking… maybe you’d come along.”

Bee’s eyes went wide. “Really?!”

Oscar grinned. “Really. You, me, and Mama. In the garage. With the team. You could wear a headset and everything.”

Bee stared at them both, her mouth slightly open. “But—Mama said it was too loud. And too busy. And there’s too many people.”

Felicity nodded slowly. “It is all those things. But… you’re a little older now. And you’ve been very brave lately.” She glanced meaningfully at Oscar. “And we thought maybe it was time.”

Bee’s whole face lit up like the sun had risen behind her eyes. “I get to come to the paddock?” she squeaked.

“Yes, you can come. You’ll be in the garage with me and Mama. You can watch the cars, take notes if you want—” Oscar said with a smile. 

Bee gasped. “Can I bring my whiteboard?”

Felicity smirked. “Only if you don’t correct Papa’s Boss in the middle of a briefing.”

Bee looked between them, her eyes glowing. “Wait, does this mean I get my kart now?”

Felicity groaned, eyes closing. “Called it.”

Oscar pretended to consider. “Maybe. We could go look at some after Silverstone.”

Bee gasped again, dramatic and joyful, and threw herself at Oscar with all the enthusiasm of a sugar-fueled missile.

“You’re the best papa ever!” she cried, hugging him tightly.

Felicity smiled behind her hand, watching the way Oscar wrapped his arms around their daughter like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I love you so much,” Bee added. “But also, I need to design my helmet tonight. It has to be perfect.”

Oscar kissed her head. “Start sketching after dinner. You’ve got some time.”

Bee nodded furiously, then paused. “Can the chickens come too?”

Felicity didn’t miss a beat. “Absolutely not.”

Oscar grinned. “Maybe just a sticker of Senna on your backpack.”

Bee gasped. “YES.”

And just like that, the scraped palms and unkind words from the morning melted into distant memory—replaced with whiteboards, karting dreams, helmet designs, and the quiet, unshakeable safety of being seen.

[no-144444]

all roads lead home- o.piastri

꩜ summary: oscar misses you while your gone

꩜ pairing: oscar piastri x fem! reader

꩜ banner creds: bronzewasp

Oscar had been used to not being ‘home’ for a long time. He left Melbourne when he was 14 to follow his dreams all the way to the top, and his parents allowed him. He was more than grateful, and he showed it whenever he was home, despite being unemotional. He really did appreciate the sacrifice they made for him. He appreciated that his sisters never much minded that he missed their lives, and now, their phone calls. He was grateful that, though his mom teased him, neither her, Tim, or his dad took his not-responding too harshly. He realised how lucky he was, and he knew it wasn’t the same for everyone. Sometimes he wished he was a bit better on his phone. Sometimes he wished he could call his sisters more. Sometimes he wished he could catch a cricket game with his mates back home, or maybe just get lunch, but they understood he was busy until December, but maybe he’d see them over summer break or something.  

He’d never felt this before. 

He’d never left this lingering, longing feeling in his chest that made his heart hurt. He’d had girlfriends before, but only in boarding school, so they were never very serious. This was new. This was serious. He was serious about you. He didn't understand the way his heart leaped up to rest in his throat every time your name was mentioned in conversation. He didn’t know why he kept opening the messages app when he knew you hadn’t texted him. He didn’t know why being in his own apartment felt so lonely, even if you didn’t live there. 

He distracted himself with walks, or sim work, or even just training. He even attempted cooking (went pretty well, he could make a stir-fry now!), he went surfing, he walked Charles’s dog with him, he and Lando went for dinner, he even played padel with Alex, Max, and Pierre. It all felt hollow, because he knew he was just waiting on a message from you. He’d wanted to pick you up from the airport, but you didn’t text him your flight time, and you’d been busy the whole week, so he wasn’t going to blame you. He sat at home, nervous energy flowing through his body. He just needed to see you, to kiss you, to make sure you were still real and then he’d drive you back to your apartment (if he couldn’t convince you to stay). He’d begged you when you’d last texted to come to his apartment so he could see you, and you’d accepted without a fight. 

The rustling of keys. Yes, he’d given you keys to his apartment. 

“Oscar! I’m home,” your sweet voice was like a light in the dark, and he felt himself well up with emotion. He missed you, more than he could’ve ever thought he would. He jumped up from his couch and rushed to the front door, engulfing you in the tightest hug you’d ever received. You chuckled as he lifted you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist as he held you tight. “Wow, you must’ve missed me,” you teased as he let you back down, his face still buried in your hair as he hugged you. 

“You have no idea,” his voice cracked and everything stilled. Fuck. He didn’t want to do this now. He shouldn’t have- he didn’t mean to- he didn’t want to-

“Osc?” your voice was so soft, so gentle, so caring. Something in his chest tightened. “What’s wrong?” you asked, pulling back to see tears falling down his cheeks. His perfect, bunny-like cheeks that made you want to kiss him. You placed a hand on his cheek, wiping them away as he chuckled at himself, his eyes focused purely on you. 

You didn’t have to ask, he’d tell you anything. “I just… missed you, I guess,” he shrugged, feeling like a bit of an idiot. “Just don’t like you not being here.”

You nodded, a soft smile returning to your face. “I know how you feel,” you pulled him back in for another hug, and again, it was as tight as before. You could feel how he felt, every waking moment had been leading up to this one, for the both of you. Race weekends were easier, it was a familiar lonely for the both of you. Oscar was busy racing, while you were busy either watching him, going out with friends, or catching up on work. But Oscar knew you were watching. You knew Oscar was racing. This was uncharted territory for him, he’d never been left with nothing to do without you. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “I’m home now.”

Home. Technically, you were in his apartment (though he’d be very happy to make it yours as well), your apartment was 10 minutes away. 

“I missed you so much,” he whispered, trying to calm the tears, but they wouldn’t stop coming. “So much.”

You nodded. “I know. I missed you too,” you pulled back and pressed your lips against his, not caring that his face was wet with tears, or that he would continue crying as you kissed him. You missed him too. 

It was a life-changing kiss, though all with you usually were. His favourites were the small kisses you gave him, out in public, or sometimes just before you got up for the day. Tiny kisses just to remind him that you were there, that you loved him, that you cared. He liked these kisses too. The long, emotional, passionate ones you usually gave him when he got home from a race weekend. He didn’t say it much, but he hoped you knew he loved you. You hadn’t exactly… said it to each other yet, but he wanted to. Every time he’d been close, he chickened out, thinking there would be a better moment. There never was. Now or never. 

“I love you,” he pulled back, his grip on your waist tightening. 

You stared up at him for a moment, still wiping his wet tears as his jaw tightened to stop himself from crying more. You saw Oscar, your Oscar. The boy you loved. You smiled. “I love you too.” 

He hadn’t realised when it happened, but that ache in his chest was gone. It could’ve stopped the second you walked in the door, the moment he heard your voice, maybe it ceased when he felt your hands on his, or maybe he just needed to hear that you were as attached as he was. He needed to know you were as in love with him, as he was with you. He nodded and pulled you in to kiss him one more time before he took your bag and let you sit down on the couch. You didn’t say it, but you both knew you were staying over tonight. 

“You eat yet?” you asked, turning to him. 

“Nope,” he shook his head, hoping he knew what sentence would come next. 

“Want pasta?” you offered, walking into the kitchen behind him. He smiled, his favourite dish made by his favourite person.  “Sounds perfect,” he smiled and started helping you get out the ingredients. You talked the whole night long, exchanging stories from your week apart as the sauce stewed. He missed this, these soft nights indoors when he didn’t have to make much of an effort, or even talk very much because he knew you had him. He had you in the exact same way.

mclaren masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[camille-aurelie-deveraux]

Hi queen! I hope you have an amazing day. Could I please request Oscar with an Asian reader and her teaching him a bit of Japanese or something. When McLaren films some content everyone is like really impressed Oscar speaks such good Japanese. And he is like all thanks to my girlfriend

Language of Love

McLaren’s media team was buzzing with energy on a sunny Thursday morning in Melbourne. The garage had been cleaned and cleared to make space for a casual filming setup. Two director’s chairs were placed in front of a backdrop that read “Language Challenge – Aussie Edition,” with small Japanese flags printed in the corners.

Lando was the first to arrive, grinning as he read the sign. “Language challenge? What is this, Duolingo: Driver Mode?”

Oscar followed closely behind, a coffee in hand, looking way too calm for what was about to unfold. “You’ll see,” he said with a mischievous smile.

They took their seats, and a member of the media team handed each of them a little whiteboard and a marker.

“Okay boys,” the director began, “we’re doing a Japanese word guessing challenge today. You’ll each hear a word in Japanese, and you’ll have to write what you think it means. Winner gets... bragging rights.”

Lando groaned dramatically. “Why do I feel like Oscar has an unfair advantage?”

Oscar just smirked and leaned back in his chair. “Well... I might have had a little help.”

The camera rolled, and the first word was played through the speaker.

"ありがとう (arigatou)"

Lando looked like he was having a brain freeze. “I’ve heard this before,” he muttered. “It’s in anime, right?”

Oscar was already scribbling confidently.

Lando finally wrote something down: ‘Good morning?’

Oscar held up his board: ‘Thank you’

“Correct!” the media person called out. “Oscar gets the point!”

Oscar turned to the camera and grinned. “All thanks to my girlfriend. She’s been teaching me.”

Lando narrowed his eyes. “Wait, since when do you speak Japanese?”

Oscar chuckled. “Since I met her, really. She moved to Australia from Japan back when we were still in school. Her English was still a bit rough, and I kind of... helped her out. And she helped me with Japanese. It became our thing.”

Lando’s eyes widened. “Mate, that’s like... so romantic. You’re casually bilingual now?”

Oscar shrugged modestly. “I wouldn’t say bilingual. But I can hold a conversation.”

The next word came through:

"猫 (neko)"

Lando blinked. “What the hell was that?”

Oscar grinned. “Come on, you’ve seen enough memes to know this one.”

Lando shook his head. “Nope. Not a clue.”

Oscar wrote down ‘Cat’ and lifted his board.

“Correct again!” the host called.

Oscar smiled fondly. “She taught me that one when we saw a stray kitten near the station. She just went ‘あっ！猫！(Ah! Neko!)’ and ran to pet it. I had no idea what was happening at the time.”

Lando laughed. “You were probably like, ‘Is she casting a spell?’”

Oscar laughed too. “Pretty much.”

“Say something in Japanese!” Lando urged. “Impress me.”

Oscar glanced at the camera and then straightened up a little, his voice soft but confident.

“彼女は僕のすべてです。”

(“Kanojo wa boku no subete desu.”)

(“She is my everything.”)

The room went quiet for a moment. One of the media girls in the background softly whispered, “Oh my god.”

Lando clutched his heart. “Okay, that’s not fair. That’s like weaponized sweetness. How is Yn real?”

Oscar laughed, cheeks tinting pink. “She’s the best. Honestly. I wouldn't have survived half my teen years without her.”

Another word popped up:

"勉強 (benkyou)"

Lando scratched his head again. “Nope. This one’s a mystery.”

Oscar wrote quickly: ‘Study’

“Correct!”

Lando sighed and tossed his marker down. “Okay, clearly you’ve been holding out on us. You’re secretly a genius.”

Oscar laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not even close. It was just hours of flashcards and cuddles and helping her with pronunciation. She wanted to get better at English so badly. I remember staying up with her, going over vocabulary, watching movies with subtitles. We made a deal: if she learned a new English word, I’d learn a new Japanese one.”

Lando stared at him. “You guys are like... the most wholesome couple in F1.”

Oscar smiled shyly. “I’m just proud of her. Moving countries at that age? Learning a whole new language? She’s incredible.”

The last word came up:

"愛 (ai)"

Oscar smiled instantly, no hesitation. He wrote ‘Love’ and lifted the board.

Lando peeked over and then sighed in defeat. “You know what? I’m just going to go cry in the car.”

The media team burst into laughter.

“I think we all need to find someone like Yn,” one of the camera guys said.

“She sounds like a dream,” another added.

Oscar leaned toward the mic. “She’s real. And she’s watching this, probably shaking her head because I still mess up my particles sometimes.”

Back at home, Yn was sitting on the couch, curled up with a blanket and a cup of matcha, her laptop open and the McLaren video playing.

When Oscar said, “彼女は僕のすべてです,” she smiled so hard her cheeks ached.

She grabbed her phone and texted him:

“You’re such a show-off. But I love you.”

He replied a minute later:

“愛してるよ (Aishiteru yo). You taught me that.”

Later that evening, Oscar came home to find Yn waiting at the door, arms crossed, a playful glint in her eye.

“You know, now everyone’s going to expect you to be fluent.”

Oscar grinned and wrapped his arms around her. “That just means you’ll have to keep teaching me.”

She raised a brow. “Alright, then. Let’s see if you remember this one—‘おかえり (okaeri)’.”

He leaned in and whispered, “ただいま (tadaima).”

(Welcome home / I’m home.)

She kissed him softly. “Perfect.”

And somewhere online, the McLaren video was trending under the caption:

“Oscar speaks fluent love.”

🧡🦊🪸🍁🧡🦊🪸🍁🧡🦊🪸🍁🧡🦊🪸🍁

Hello, my lovely reader. I hope you all enjoyed reading my story. Send me some requests if you have any wishes.

Also, I tried my best with Japanese, so please forgive me if there are any mistakes.

See ya next time!

-Cami🧡🦊🪸🍁

[maxtermind]

ONE WHERE YOU HID A BABY FROM YOUR F1 EX!BOYFRIEND

( texts masterlist \ main masterlist \ let's talk )

★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ★ : genre :: angst; explanation in part 2 :p

(part 1) (part 2)

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

★ : a/n :: ignore the typos, feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | juno positions

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : every driver and which juno position from sabrina carpenter's tour suits them >.>

୨ৎ : genre : suggestive... kinda smutty idk (i don't really write smut anymore so this is a rare one...) obv some are the same positions.. i couldn't sit through an 8 minute video of all the juno positions LMFAO ୨ৎ : tws : suggestive ୨ৎ : word count : 597

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : i couldn't help but post this so soon LMFAO it was such a fun request i couldn't leave it sitting there waiting to be queued ... too good ty anon <3

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen - standing doggy no time for nonsense, just efficient execution. aggressive, locked-in, and somehow still makes you feel completely taken care of. terrifyingly good at everything, including this.

yuki tsunoda - cowgirl tiny menace. gives full chaos and control. jokes around, then ruins you. he’s in charge, not you. don’t be fooled by the baby face.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell - legs up missionary textbook performance, but with precision and tenderness. prepped for this moment like it was a championship strategy. probably asks if you’re comfortable mid-way through.

kimi antonelli - bridge young but scarily talented. pulls it off like it’s nothing and casually shrugs after. doesn’t even realize how hot he looks doing it.

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc - reverse cowgirl quiet in interviews, dramatic on the radio. gives you “hopeless romantic who pretends not to care” energy. lets you take the lead but still makes it cinematic somehow.

lewis hamilton - spooning luxury. candles. playlist curated to the vibe. everything is intentional, soft, and meaningful. says “i got you” and means it.

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris - ballet dancer starts off laughing, then surprises you with full performance energy. twirls you around like it’s a rom-com, then bites your neck for fun.

oscar piastri - tucked missionary he’s calm, quiet, and absolutely calculated. very into the technical details. doesn’t make a fuss but has you clutching the sheets like ??? how???

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso - squatting cowgirl age is just a number. balances like a yoga master, keeps eye contact, and somehow turns it into a motivational speech halfway through.

lance stroll - one-leg-up missionary chill, not flashy, but shockingly good at this exact position. leans into it casually. acts like it’s nothing but has you seeing stars.

ʚ・williams

alex albon - kneeling oral sweetest boy alive. loves making you happy more than anything. says “tell me what you like” with the softest voice. gold star giver.

carlos sainz - doggy classic. passionate. in control. the man thrives under pressure and it shows. focused, intense, and somehow turns this into a performance worthy of applause. probably whispers something in spanish that short-circuits your brain. makes you feel like it was your idea the whole time.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman - one-leg spoon baby boy energy. tries his best. a little shy but committed. accidentally makes it romantic. 10/10 would comfort you with snacks after.

esteban ocon - missionary starts off shy, but the moment kicks in and suddenly it’s like he’s been rehearsing this in the mirror. soft-spoken, maybe even a little awkward beforehand, but he’s determined to prove himself. will absolutely debrief the whole experience afterward like it's a post-race interview.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson - splits unsuspecting menace. looks like he’d hesitate, then surprises you with flexibility and full commitment. asks afterward if he did good. he did.

isack hadjar - the arch absolutely shows off. confident, slightly cocky, but backs it up. makes eye contact while doing it and smirks when you blush.

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly - reverse cowgirl he’s not doing the work — you are. but he’s there for the view, hands behind his head, sunglasses still on indoors. makes smug comments the entire time like, “yeah, just like that.” fully vibing while somehow still running the show. would wink at you mid-movement and say something unhinged in french.

jack doohan - cowgirl confident in theory, flustered in practice. lets you take the lead but lowkey panics when you actually do. tries to act chill but you can literally feel his heart pounding through his chest. afterward, he’s all pink-cheeked and smiley, like “that was great… did I do okay?” you reassure him. he did amazing.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[diqldrunks]

TEXT IMAGINES: oblivious!reader

requests are open! send me anything!! [nav | inbox]

an: i see these all the time and really adore them <3 if you want a part two to these, this prompt with other drivers or a different prompt, lmk!

drivers: charles leclerc, oscar piastri, franco colapinto, lando norris

charles leclerc

oscar piastri

franco colapinto

lando norris

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