#oscar piastri friends to lovers

[scuderiahoney]

Color Theory

Oscar Piastri x artist!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Oscar’s an old friend of yours. This time when he comes home to visit, things get messy. Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: alcohol, mild drug use, sexual content 18+ MDNI, overuse of color descriptions

It’s summer in Australia, your favorite time of year despite the overbearing sun and the overwhelming heat. Sweat spikes on your brow, but the sunlight that pours through the windows makes you happy. The door to the back garden is open, the smell of wildflowers blowing in with the breeze. You can hear your roommates chattering in the other room. You hold a paint palette in one hand, a brush in the other. There’s something just slightly off about this piece, some part of the light you’re not capturing quite right. You step back from the painting, trying to get a better view of the whole picture.

Someone calls your name from inside. You ignore them. By the third time you hear your name, you give in, setting the palette and brush down and heading inside. You’re still wearing your apron, covered in paint marks.

Lizzy, one of your roommates, smiles at you. “How’s it going?”

You sigh heavily. “Can’t get the light right.”

She nods in understanding. “We’re ordering pizza. Oscar’s on his way. Thought I’d give you a heads up in case you decide to try painting in your underwear again.”

You laugh. “It was one time,” you say defensively. “It was hot out and I was trying to become-“

“-one with the art, I know, I know,” she teases. “Just giving you a warning!”

You lean on the counter and let out a long breath. “It’s gonna be weird, isn’t it? Him being here?”

Oscar’s an old friend of yours, and your roommates, too. Old, like preteens old. He left for the UK so long ago that you’d probably barely remember what he looked like if it weren’t for video calls and social media and now, his face being plastered everywhere. You’ve kept up, have stayed friends through it all. But it’s the first time you’ll be seeing him in person in over a year, the first time he’s ever going to visit your shared house, the first time since… since he became Oscar Piastri and not just Oscar.

Lizzy shrugs. “Only weird if we make it weird, right?”

She’s right, to a certain extent. Your other roommate, Leo, shows up with Oscar in tow, and you do your best to not be weird about it, and you think it works. He greets you and Lizzy with long hugs. He smells like sea salt and something warm. His body’s much more firm and filled out than he was the last time you saw him, which makes sense, you suppose. He still smiles like golden yellow sunshine, though, crinkled eyes and round cheeks and that near permanent blush on his face.

The pizza arrives shortly after he does, and you all settle into the living room to catch up. Oscar tells stories about racing, about his first year in F1, about his teammate and his competitors. You’ve been keeping up with the races more than you ever did before- Leo always wanted to watch but you hadn’t cared that much before it was Oscar, before the guy in the orange car was the same kid who used to finger paint with you in the backyard, your mother worried about the mess. Now you sit glued to the TV most Sundays.

In turn, you, Lizzy, and Leo update Oscar on what he’s missed. All about your family lives, your jobs, your other friends he’s lost touch with. He listens intently to each story, the way he always has.

“What are you doing for work?” He asks, nudging your knee.

You sigh dejectedly. “Nothing fun.”

He pouts. Leo elbows you and speaks up, though.

“She’s still painting, though,” he says brightly. “You should see the sunroom.”

Oscar’s face lights up. “Is that your studio? You always said you wanted a sunroom.”

He’s always been one of your biggest supporters when it comes to your art. He’s the one who’d join you in the art room at lunchtime in school, eating his lunch at one of the counters while you worked on your latest piece, unable to put the paintbrush down. He’d attended all your art shows, had bought you paints and brushes and sketchbooks for birthdays and Christmases, and had even posed for a portrait you’d been required to paint for class. He’d had a hard time sitting still for that long without falling asleep.

You nod with a smile growing on your face. “Living the dream with that one.”

The night slips away from all of you, caught up in conversations about everything under the sun. You find yourself feeling sad when Oscar goes to leave. He does it with hugs and a promise to be back in a few days. When he leaves through the front door, you feel that emptiness again, that hole that’s never healed quite right after he left.

Lizzy sees it on your face and squeezes your shoulder. “He’ll be back.”

Two days later, you’re deep in painting mode, eyes beginning to ache as you stare at the canvas in front of you, when there’s a noise from the sunroom doorway. You turn and find Oscar standing there, eyes wide, brows raised. He chews on his lip sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he says, quietly. You hold back a laugh. “Leo said to come over and just let myself in, and I heard a noise, and- sorry-“

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, tilting your head and smiling. “Leo should’ve told you, he ran to the store for drinks.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, and his shoulders drop. “Right.”

“You’re welcome to hang out, though,” you say, nodding at the chair off to the side in the sunroom. “Don’t want you getting bored all by yourself.”

He hesitated. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

He never would have questioned it before. He would’ve already been sitting, would’ve already known what you were painting, would’ve helped you get your palette set up. It’s different now. He’s been gone a while.

You jut your chin towards the chair again and wave a paintbrush in that direction. “Please. You’ve never been a bother.”

He was always the only one of your friends that you allowed to watch you paint. He knew when to stay quiet, and when you needed the background noise of his voice, without ever having to ask. He shuffles over to the chair and sits down. Oscar’s gaze dances through the room with wide eyes, and when you turn back to the canvas, you can feel him watching intently.

“What do you think?” You ask, just to break the silence. You gesture at the paintings lined up around the room. “Have my skills improved?”

He lets out a slow breath. “They’re amazing,” he says, and your heart twists in your chest. “I’m so glad you kept up on it. That you didn’t lose your… you know. Passion. Sounds cheesy, but I mean it.”

You nod. Most of your friends and family had spent your teenage years trying to convince you to learn any skill other than art. You’d continued pouring yourself into the paintings. Oscar had been one of your only cheerleaders through it all.

“It’s not easy,” you admit. “Bills and shit, you know? Real adult stuff. But I’ve been trying to get into some galleries recently. I don’t know if it’ll ever be something I can make a living off of, but I’ve gotta try.”

Oscar nods in understanding. “How about when I win my first championship, I’ll make good on my promise?”

You laugh. There’d been a night just before he’d left for the UK where the two of you had stayed up late, out far past curfew at the local park. You’d laid under a tree next to him, giddy on the high of breaking the rules and the late hour. He’d told you all about his big dreams. About F1 and championships and how he was going to make it big. And when you’d asked if he’d remember you, he’d smiled and turned his head towards you, eyes wide in the pale moonlight, nose nearly touching yours.

“I’ll use my money and open a gallery,” he’d promised. “And I’ll fill it with all of your paintings.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “Even the bad ones?”

He’d nodded, so seriously. “Especially the bad ones.”

Now he sits next to you in your makeshift studio, so close to reaching his dreams. You can only hope you’ll get there, too, someday.

There’s a party at your house that night. There’ll be more people there than usual, wanting to talk with Oscar and taking up his time. But for now there’s just you and him in the studio you’ve always wanted, the one you talked about under the tree in the park. You’ll take what you can get.

Oscar finds you later at the party, in the back corner of the backyard. The sun is nearly gone, the last bits of daylight slipping away. When he walks up, you’re leaning back in an outdoor armchair, and you smile hazily up at him and hold out the joint you’d been smoking.

He shakes his head. You pout.

“I get drug tested,” he says, and you suppose that’s understandable. “And I think my trainer would kill me over the lung damage.”

“It’s just once,” you friend says next to you, “can’t do that much damage.”

“Oscar’s a high performance athlete,” you tease.

Someone finishes the infamous Daniel Ricciardo quote for you, complete with the sound effects. You’re not really listening, more focused on how Oscar rolls his eyes as he sits down on the arm of the chair. You tilt your head to look up at him.

The late sun is hitting the bridge of his nose, a bright orange band against his freckled skin. He blinks at you with thick lashes, and you wonder how you’d capture the look on his face with paint- the softness of his cheeks, the care that sits heavy on his browbone, the restlessness in the curve of his mouth. You don’t like to do portraits- Oscar’s one of few people you’ve painted, but it was years ago. He was a skinny kid with a bad haircut. Now his jawline is chiseled and sharp, and his hair falls over his forehead in a soft swoop. He's pretty.

He cocks his head at you. You’ve been staring too long. You force a giggle and nudge his knee. He laughs right back.

You’re not sure how he ends up squished into the chair with you, his arm over your shoulder, his bare thigh pressed to yours. You think maybe it was your doing- you grabbed his arm, pulled him until he sunk in next to you. The sun is gone, now, the evening chill taking over, and it’s nice to have him next to you, keeping you warm. His cheek is pressed to the top of your head.

“You can go, you know,” you say quietly. Most of your friends have abandoned the corner you’re in, moving to the lit back deck, or the firepit area. You and Oscar have stayed put, though.

“D’you want me to go?” He asks.

You shake your head. He laughs. “I just don’t wanna take up all your time,” you say with a shrug.

His fingers play with the ends of your hair. “I’m right where I want to be.”

You curl in closer to him. You’re right where you want to be, too.

Eventually, the two of you rejoin the group. He stays glued to your side most of the night, though. His shoulder presses against yours, and in turn, you lean against him. He grows quieter as the night goes on. That’s when you remember that his time spent with you while you were painting wasn’t just for your benefit. He’d been a quiet kid- popular, but easily exhausted by socializing. He’d liked the solitude and comfort of the art room nearly as much as you had.

In the backyard full of your old friends, he seems content to stay stuck on you. When he shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, you wiggle one of yours in alongside his, hoping you’re not crossing a line. Or maybe, really, you’re hoping it’s a line he wants you to cross. When he knits your fingers together, you sigh happily.

People leave one by one, with hugs for Oscar and promises to watch the next season. He says goodbye to them and then returns quickly to your side. Soon enough, Lizzy shuffles off to bed, and then Leo stretches and does the same, and it’s just you and Oscar. You hide a yawn. You don’t want to go to bed, not yet.

He squeezes your shoulder, his arm around your back, now. He has his cheek pressed against your temple. For a moment, you wonder if you could stay stuck to him long enough to keep him here. If eventually, the two of you would fuse together. That’s probably just your wavering high speaking. He mumbles something into the side of your head. You break from your staring at the coals and make a noise of confusion.

“Missed you,” he says. “Sorry I haven’t…”

This feels like too heavy a conversation to have now, when things have felt so good and warm all night. You know it’s coming at some point, but you’ll avoid it all costs. You turn further into him and wrap an arm around his middle, and let your eyes fall closed.

“I missed you too,” you say, rubbing your thumb against his rib cage through his sweatshirt.

The two of you sit quietly for a few moments. Then, you say, “you know, I still have that portrait I did of you. How many races d’you think you need to win before I can make some money off that?”

He laughs into your hair. His hand has fallen to your side now, and he squeezes- you nearly gasp at the feeling. “I was a scrawny baby in that painting. Nobody wants to buy that.”

You giggle against him. “You were a cute scrawny baby, though.”

It’s not something you would have said all those years ago. You’d have never been caught dead admitting that you thought he was cute. But now… in the safety of the backyard, in the darkness, pressed against his side…

“You’re cuter now, though,” you say.

“Yeah?” He asks.

You nod confidently. He slips his other hand from his pocket. It comes up to hold your jaw, gently. You hold your breath. He tilts your face up towards his.

“You’re prettier than ever,” he says, softly. “And I thought you reached the limit a long time ago.”

His lips are on yours within seconds, then. It’s not the first time he’s kissed you. By now, you know it probably won’t be the last. You let it happen, opening up for him. You slip your tongue past the warmth of his lips. His hand cups the side of your face as that warm feeling melts across your skin, the one that only he brings. You’ve been searching for a replacement since the last time this happened. Nothing comes close.

He uses the arm around you to pull you into his lap. You reach up and thread your fingers into his shirt, something to anchor you in the swirling feeling of him on and around and against you again. His hands fall to your hips, trying to do the same. He kisses like Australian summers, hot and long and sunny and bright orange. His touch leaves sparks behind everywhere he goes.

When you finally break away for air, his hair is a mess, and your lips feel puffy. He grins sheepishly at you. You chew on your lower lip as he brushes a finger over the arch of your cheek.

“Sorry,” he says. Always apologizing. You know he’s not sorry for kissing you. He’s sorry for how this will eventually end.

“Don’t be,” you say, quietly. “Please. Let’s just…”

He nods, then swallows before he says, “okay.”

Then he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your temple. You giggle at the feeling and let your fingertips dance against his face and neck. He muffles another laugh into your skin.

“Missed you,” you say again.

“I missed you too,” he says.

He walks you inside. You think about inviting him to stay the night, but you think that might be a bad idea. Instead, you give him a hug and watch him walk out the front door, into the only black and blue night.

…..

You meet up with him and a few other friends at a bar a couple nights later. You walk over from your house with Lizzy, who either doesn’t notice your nervous energy, or is nice enough to just not mention it. You shouldn’t be nervous. It’s the people you’ve known for years, and it’s just Oscar. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Except for the still fading hickey he left on your neck, covered by strategically placed hair, and the way you feel his lips on your every time you close your eyes. Yeah. There’s that, sure.

The bar is crowded even before all of your friends arrive. Oscar comes in with Leo, having been out all day while you and Lizzy had to work. There are at least five people there who are acting like they haven’t seen Oscar in years, even though they were all at the party a few nights ago. You try your best to hide your jealousy. He has other friends. He probably likes them way more than he likes you, anyways.

He finds you later, standing at the bar, waiting to order a drink. He’s just- there, all of the sudden, warm shoulder pressed to yours, elbows on the countertop. He smiles softly at you when you turn to him, and he leans into you.

“Hi,” he says. “I was looking for you.”

You want to laugh, because surely he wasn’t, but- there’s something so serious in his eyes. You lean into him in response, just to watch him raise his brows and smile wider. There’s a little mole on the swell of his cheek. You want to reach out and touch it. You refrain.

“I’m here,” you finally say, nodding towards your crowd of friends in the corner. “You’ve been a busy man tonight.”

He sighs, heavily, like it’s been difficult for him. It probably has been. He’s a quiet person in general. Not one to really like being the center of attention. You wonder if he’s exhausted as easily by it now as he was before, or if his years of podium celebrations have dulled the sensation a bit. Wonder how much of your Oscar is still left, under the facade.

He chews on his lower lip lightly, and you smile softly. That’s an old habit. That’s one you recognize. You also think of the night by the firepit, how you’d pulled that same lip between your own teeth, and the noise he’d made in response. Your face grows warm.

The bartender finally turns to you. Oscar orders for both of you, because of course he knows what you’re drinking. Then you follow him back to the crowd of your friends. When he grabs your hand to pull you along, you don’t complain. You just squeeze his fingers in response.

You stumble out of the bar with him, hand in hand, hours later. He’s insistent on walking you and Lizzy home, claiming that Leo won’t be enough to keep an eye on the both of you. You’re just happy to have his fingers locked with yours, to have his shoulder brushing against you as you both sway down the sidewalk. It’s comfortably warm outside, and you hum to yourself as you walk, listening to Lizzy and Leo arguing about nothing important.

Your journey home is stopped by Oscar, who stops in his tracks suddenly. You turn back to look at him. He’s staring across the street, where there’s a neon sign lit up in the window, the word Pizza flashing like a beacon. You laugh as he tugs on your hand.

“No, come on, we’re going home,” Lizzy calls out.

“I want pizza,” Oscar says in response, deadpan.

You turn to your roommates and shrug. “He wants pizza.”

Lizzy sighs. “I want to go home.”

“You guys go,” Oscar says with a dismissive wave. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

Less than ten minutes later, your legs are stuck to the vinyl of the pizza parlor booth, knee bumping Oscar’s underneath the table. There’s a pepperoni pizza between the two of you, far too much for you to actually finish.

“Yknow,” he says, waving a piece of pizza around in the air. “Logan dips his pizza in ranch.”

You laugh at the disgusted look on Oscar’s face, at the way he says ranch. You take a sip of the soda he insisted on buying for you, along with the food.

“Bet it’s good,” you admit, shrugging.

Oscar wrinkles his nose. ���I’m not a picky eater, but… isn’t pizza good enough on its own?”

You shrug, pretending to think deeply about it. Except that Oscar knows you well enough to know you’re pretending, so he starts laughing. And then you follow suit, doubled over in the booth, grease from the pizza on your fingertips.

As his laughter fades, he presses his knee against yours. It feels deliberate.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he says.

Something twists in your chest. “Missed you, too, Osc.”

Your friendship goes through cycles. When he’s here, it’s almost like nothing has changed. But when he’s gone… the two of you aren’t good at long distance friendship. Or maybe, really, you’re better at it than most. You can go months without talking and pick up like nothing has changed. The tough part comes when he’s here, within reach, and then he leaves. That’s the moment you dread, the part you don’t handle well. It would probably be easier if you stopped kissing him every time he came home. But you look across the table, and his lips are soft and cherry pink and slightly shiny from the pizza, and you know that would be impossible.

“I’ve missed you too,” you say, because you know he needs to hear it even if he already knows it. “I was worried that maybe now that you’re in F1, you’d gotten too important for… us.”

You really mean me, but it feels a bit too much to say out loud. You think he knows, anyways. He reaches a hand across the table, lays it over top of yours. There’s a sad smile on his face.

“I could never,” he says, eyes drilling right into yours. “Promise.”

He walks you home, hand in hand. The front porch light is on, probably Lizzie’s doing. He insists on coming all the way up to the front door, which is sweet and does absolutely awful things to your brain. Because he’s right there, his hand in yours, and you’re fumbling for your house key in your purse, but really you’re thinking about kissing him. When his fingers squeeze yours, you give up on the key and turn to him.

He knows it’s coming, you think. When you cup his face in your hand, he’s already leaning in.

The kiss is softer, messier, than the other night. You’re both still a little tipsy. But it’s less frantic, more comfortable. His other hand falls to your hip, and you lean back against the front door to your house and melt into him. He presses against you, warm, firm muscle against every curve of your body. You don’t want this to end. You want to wrap your arms around his neck and beg him to stay right here, to never leave, to come back to you.

He pulls away first. You try to kiss him again, hands tugging at his hips as he pants through reddened lips.

“You’re drunk,” he mumbles.

You shake your head no. “Not that drunk.”

He leans in close and kisses your cheek. “This is a bad idea.”

That makes your gut twist, makes your chest hurt. You roll your eyes and turn away so he won’t see the way your tears well up. He’s right, you know, but it hurts to hear it.

“I care about you. A lot,” he says, quietly. “And I… if things were different…”

“I know,” you say, because you do know. “Yeah. Bad idea. You should go.”

You leave him standing on the porch and disappear inside the house. When you lay down in bed, you lay awake for hours, swirls of color dancing behind your eyelids.

…..

The next night, you find yourself in your studio, alone. There’s paint on the canvas in front of you- not the good stuff you’d normally use, but the cheap kind you keep on hand for moments like these. Children’s finger paint, runny and thin and non-toxic. It’s running down the palette and dripping down your wrist. You’re in a pair of shorts and a sports bra, and frankly, you’d probably be wearing less if you didn’t know your roommates were due home eventually.

Oscar’s leaving tomorrow morning. At this point, the last you’ll see of him for a while will be when you left him on the porch. You swipe a bit of blue on the canvas. You’re not really painting anything, just trying to put color to the feelings. He’s leaving and he’ll be gone for a while again, and things are weird again, because he kissed you and then you kissed him and now he has to leave. You add a swipe of orange. Papaya, you think, gritting your teeth.

You wonder if things really would’ve been different. If he’d stayed, would you be together? Would he love you the way you want him to? Maybe. Or maybe, no matter the universe, this is how it ends. Maybe there’s always a bigger dream waiting. Maybe you’re not enough for him.

There’s a knock on the door. There’s red paint on your fingertips.

“Busy,” you call out.

Someone sighs. You freeze, hand halfway to the canvas. It doesn’t sound like Lizzy or Leo.

“It’s me,” Oscar says. “Can I come in?”

You huff. “Sure.”

He opens the door and blinks owlishly at the sight of you. You know you probably look crazy. He steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. The silence is deafening. Paint runs off the palette and onto your leg.

“Rough day?” He asks, because he knows.

You laugh bitterly. “You could say that, yeah.”

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize,” you say with a sigh. “I’m not sorry.”

“No?”

“No,” you say. “I’m just… frustrated.”

Frustrated that he gets to live out his dream while you wither away in the hot Australian sun, waiting for your chance. Frustrated that every time he comes back it sends you into a tailspin. Frustrated that he’s leaving again. Frustrated with yourself for kissing him, frustrated that you want to do it again.

He crosses the room and stands next to you. You watch his shaky fingers drag through the mess on the palette. Then he reaches out and drags them through the mess on the canvas. He’s the only one you’d let do that, the only one who’d be brave enough to even try.

You follow suit, dip a finger in the yellow and smear it in a line over the canvas. Oscar’s finger falls to your wrist, scoops the bright blue from your skin and draws a squiggle with it. Cadmium Yellow and Phthalo Blue mix on the canvas and turn into envy green. Oscar dips his hand into the Cobalt Violet and draws a line of it up your arm like a bruise. You laugh and pick up the Ultramarine Blue to match the empty feeling in your chest. It leaves behind rivers on his cheeks when you hold his face in your hand and kiss him. Gently, first, and then with all the color you can muster up. You drop the palette on the floor. It splatters everywhere.

You wonder how you’d go about painting this. Red for the brush of his tongue, the bite of his teeth against your neck. Blue for the way his fingers dig into your hips. Bright pink for the way he moans into your mouth, breathy and broken and oh-so-lovely. The way you drop to your knees is lavender purple. The feeling of him heavy on your tongue, the way he sighs over it, is sunflower yellow.

He gets paint in your hair when he pulls you off of him, and then he sinks to his knees with you. You think about suggesting the couch, but then he’s pulling you all the way down onto the floor and you can’t bring yourself to protest. He cleans the paint from his hands first, always a gentleman. Then his fingers slip into you in a rush of an orangey-yellow feeling, one that turns more and more pink with each press of his hand, each swipe of his thumb against your clit. And when he finally presses his cock into you, it’s the brightest burst of sky blue behind your eyelids.

The colors melt together in your mind. You’d never be able to put this onto a canvas- not the way he breathes so heavy in your ear, the way his fingers drag against your skin, the way you shake as you clench around him and he spills himself inside of you. There’s no way you’d get the color right.

You drag him upstairs afterwards, both of you giggling, and you gasp when you hear the front door open just as you pull him into your bedroom. You head for the attached bathroom first, drag him under the hot spray of water and watch the rainbow mix into brown and wash away down the drain. There’s paint crusted in his hair and yours- you do your best to scrub it out as he leans heavily against you.

You don’t even bother asking if he wants to stay. You just drag him to the bed and toss him a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants you think are Leo’s. He doesn’t question it. You can hear your roommates downstairs talking. You wonder if they know.

Oscar flops onto the bed and reaches for you, tugging at the hem of the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing. You go easily, willingly, eagerly. He wraps you up in his arms and presses his face into your neck.

“I…” he starts, then cuts himself off.

“I know,” you murmur, because you do. “Me too.”

I love you. I wish it was different. I would stay if I could. I’ll miss you.

You wake up in the morning to his lips against your cheek. You drag yourself out of bed to walk him to the door. Your chest aches, and the feeling is a color that you can’t quite put your finger on. Someone’s there to pick him up and take him to the airport, take him far away for a long time.

He kisses you on the forehead and squeezes your shoulder. “I’ll see you soon,” he promises.

You nod and lean up to kiss his cheek. “Yeah. See you soon.”

The ache he leaves behind is a muddy mix of all your favorite colors.

…..

Six months later, you stand in an art gallery full of people. Your paintings hang on the wall nearby. You sip your drink and try to pretend like you’re not waiting and watching their every little reaction. Like you’re not searching for validation in the faces of strangers.

It’s strange to have these paintings hung up for everyone to see. When others look at them, they see pretty landscapes or flowers or a simple still life. They don’t know the meaning of it all.

You step away to grab another drink, something to quell the anxiety rising in your chest. When you come back, the one person who might just see through the facade is standing there, staring, wide eyed.

You swallow tightly and walk up next to him, and let your shoulder bump into his. “You made it.”

Oscar’s eyes stay trained on the paintings, but he leans into you. “Of course I made it.”

You want to tell him that there’s no of course here, that you’d invited him without really expecting him to show up. You keep your mouth shut though. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that he is here.

“What do you think?” You ask, quietly.

The truth is, of all the people in the gallery, his opinion is the one that matters most. You wonder what he sees when he looks at the canvases. Does he see the rays of sunlight on a table for what they truly are- a poor recreation of the sun on his skin? Does he realize that the deep purple of the plums in the still life matches the bruise on your knee that lasted for weeks after that night in the studio, the one you’d press your thumb into when your heart ached? There’s the painting of the orange lilies, color matched to the papaya of his car and race suit. There’s a painting of an empty table setting, a painting of a wide open blue sky over the backyard, and most telling of all, there’s the fabric study of his t-shirt, left behind, draped over the chair in the studio.

The collection is the closest thing to a portrait that you’ve done in years, even though there are no people in it. It’s the closest thing to a self portrait that you’ve ever done. Does he know?

His hand brushes against your elbow. He points at the empty plate on the empty table. “That’s how leaving felt for me, too, you know.”

You could cry, just knowing he understands. Instead, you nod and lean into him. You have people to talk to, art critics to impress and studio owners to try to convince, but the truth is that Oscar will always be the only one who truly understands. You stay with him for just a moment longer.

He stays the whole time, even as people begin to leave and the catering staff starts clearing the tables of food and drinks. You find him after you’ve had the last of your conversations with the important people. He’s standing near the door, looking only slightly out of place, scrolling on his phone.

“You didn’t have to stay the whole time,” you say.

He shrugs and smiles. “I know. I wanted to. There’s a pub down the street, it’s one of my favorites. D’you have time for a drink?”

You nod and pout. “Maybe some food too? M’starving.”

He nods eagerly in agreement. He leads you out of the gallery, holds the door for you and everything. The cool London night air hits you like a blast as you step outside.

Right. You’re not in Australia.

It’s a strange feeling, being here with Oscar- his chosen home for all these years, and yet it’s the first time you’re seeing it with him. He reaches for your hand on the sidewalk and tucks it into his jacket pocket, right alongside his. The pub isn’t far- when you get there, it’s crowded and warm, and he helps you slip your jacket off your shoulders. You smile at him in thanks. When he smiles back, your heart skips a beat.

Ten minutes later, you’re at the bar, beers in front of each of you and a pile of chips between the two of you. Your knee is pressed against his under the countertop. He’s smiling at you, his face lit up golden yellow in the inky gray light of the bar.

“So. What did you really think?” You ask, leaning towards him.

He shakes his head, almost disbelievingly. “The same thing I always think. Your paintings are amazing. It was like I could feel it, you know? Like I’m staring at, I dunno, fucking plums, but feeling something completely different.”

You nod, chest feeling tight. You’re unsure of what to even say. How to explain to him that maybe he’s the only one who feels that, because all the paintings are about him. You think of the portrait you did all those years ago, sitting in your storage, and how it doesn’t even begin to do him justice.

“How much?” He asks, and you blink widely. “I wanna buy them. I want- yeah.” He has this dreamy, hazy look on his face. “Can I buy them? Or even just one-“

“Osc,” you murmur. You reach out and press your hand over his on the countertop. “You don’t have to do that.”

He tilts his head at you, and when he speaks, his voice is almost raw. “I meant what I said, you know. The plate. That’s how I’ve felt. All of the art, it’s… you know.”

“I know,” you say. “But they’re not for sale.”

He deflates. You squeeze his hand and try not to grin too widely. “Right,” he says. “No, of course, sorry. Just thought it might be cool to have some of them in my apartment. We could get prints made, right?”

“Sure. “ you pause and take a deep breath. “The gallery wants to extend them,” you say, and his face lights up again. “The curator spoke to me after the show. She wants to keep them up for a few months.”

“That’s amazing,” he gushes, leaning over and pulling you into a hug so tight it almost topples you off the barstool. “Oh, wow, baby, that’s- and I could go see them, then, even when you’re gone?”

You laugh against his chest. “Yeah. Sure. Or, um…”

He freezes, the hand that had been sweeping up your back stuck in place. He’s holding his breath. You might be too.

“They offered me an artist’s residency,” you blurt out. “They want me to come stay for six months, maybe longer if it goes well. Work out of their studio, show art, teach some classes.”

Oscar’s voice is breathy and high pitched when he says, “here?”

You nod against his chest. “I mean. I’d have to find an apartment. And move all my stuff. And probably break Leo and Lizzy’s hearts.”

“But you’d be here,” he says. “Here, like… it took me twenty minutes to get here tonight. And you’d- this is what you’ve dreamed of, isn’t it?”

You nod, eyes burning with tears. “Would that be okay?”

Oscar laughs- you feel it more than hear it, in the shake of his shoulders and the rumble in his chest. “Yeah. I could live with that, I think.”

He kisses you in the bar, nearly pulls you off the stool with the force of it. You kiss him right back, bracing your hand on the countertop, not a care in the world who sees it. Fireworks light up behind your eyes like splashes of paint.

…..

There’s not a sunroom you can turn into a studio in your new apartment in London. It’s a smaller space, and you end up doing most of your painting at the main studio anyways. But Oscar is there, perched on the edge of a table watching you paint whenever he can. And in the entryway of your new place, you hang up the old portrait of him, right next to a photo of the two of you taken just after you moved to London.

In the photo, his arm is around your shoulders, his lips against your temple. He’d asked you to be his girlfriend officially seconds after it was taken, but there’s a light in both of your eyes that tells you it was inevitable, really. It’s something in the way he’s smiling, in the way his cheeks burn red and his lips are pink and the way you smile at him, too. Like you’ve both known it all along. That the two of you have always been complementary colors, just waiting for the right moment.

a/n: been working on this one for a while finally got it! hope you enjoyed thanks for reading!

Taglist: @4-mula1 @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @ggaslyp1

#oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri friends to lovers #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri oneshot #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fic #formula 1 oneshot #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfiction #formula one fic #formula one x reader #formula one fanfic #formula one oneshot #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 oneshot #x reader #honeywrites #op81

[soamericn]

𝜗𝜚 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

🐰ྀི₊˚⊹ ‘ one night he wakes strange look on his face pauses, then says you're my best friend and you knew what it was he is in love ‘

𝜗𝜚… summary , ( f!yn x oscar piastri ) oscar piastri is head over heels for his best friend, though he keeps his feelings a secret. he wins his first race in f1 and after seeing her cheering him on in the crowd he can’t hide his affections any longer.

𝜗𝜚… type , irl

𝜗𝜚… faceclaim , up to your imagination <3

𝜗𝜚… triggers , there is none

𝜗𝜚… authors note , my first f1 one shot! I'm really proud ngl and it's as cute as I was hoping! hope ya'll enjoy!

🐰ྀི₊˚⊹ masterlist

all he could hear was his heartbeat in his helmet; it flooded his ears like static on a radio. After getting out of the car without a thought in his head, he stepped onto the car in front of the halo putting both of his arms into the air. 

Adrenaline flooded his senses, his colorful helmet shined under the night race lights. The cheers were overwhelmingly loud as each voice blended together into the sea of people. 

Subconsciously so, his ears searched for one voice in particular, one that was soft and comforting. The one he’d share a laugh with until three in morning. Or would tease him inexplicably. But the voice was stirred in with the rest. 

Oscar stepped down from the car, and the first thing he did was run into the ocean of papaya. Many hands covered him, patting his back or helmet hearing many compliments on his win. After a minute or so of drowning himself in the praise and affection from his team he stepped away removing his helmet and placing it on a pedestal. 

He ran a hand through his damp hair, it staying in place as he did so. A hand landed on his shoulder and he turned, seeing a man in a matching suit who pulled him into a hug. “Mate you did great.” He complimented, his voice directly in his ear.

The Australian didn’t realize how truly speechless he was until someone directly spoke to him. The words formed in his throat but never made it out of his mouth. 

Lando pulled away with a light two taps on his back. “Thanks, maybe not pelting me with champagne could be a good job present.” Oscar jokes. 

The Brit lets out a small laugh and shakes his head, “Oh c'mon you need the full podium experience-” Oscar’s attention on Lando was cut off, the voice. 

The one he’d scanned for, moments before the voice had made itself known. She shouted his name from behind the short fence with the rest of the crowd desperately trying to get the man she’d known for most of her life’s attention. Oscar’s eyes searched the crowd, until they found her, he could’ve picked her out in any crowd his entire being always seemed drawn to her.

“Oscar!” His best friend. The only one he’s ever really known. Always supporting him, even today adorning herself in all papaya wearing a jersey he’d known for a fact had a huge eighty-one on the back (and might’ve been stolen from his closet), all for him. 

Oscar rushed over, as soon as he’d spotted her after the race, he just knew he needed her in the moment. The calm, composedness of his being suddenly dissolved into the smokey air. Still with a small fence between them he wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her into a tight hug. Her arms naturally floated around his neck, they fit together perfectly like two puzzle pieces made just for one another. Camera flashes flooded their sudden embrace, and he lightly lifted her into the air as he tightened their hold on one another. They could’ve done the whole podium ceremony, everyone could have gone home and Oscar would’ve stayed here with his arms around her always.

“You did so well today.” Her voice was soft, the words only meant for him. She only wanted him to know how proud she was of him. How much her heart raced as he crossed the checkered flag, and how much support she’d carried with her for him through everything.

His impulsiveness took over as soon as he heard her speak, he wasn’t thinking about anything in that moment, not the cameras, the thousands of people that surrounded the pair, and certainly not the feelings he carried for her for many years; the feelings he kept deep down for too long, way too long. He only thought of her, the way her soft voice tickled against his skin and the flush it brought to his already red cheeks.

Placing a delicate but firm hand on her cheek which she covered with her own hand, her cheeks turning a light and kind shade of pink and a gentle smile formed from her lips. The lips Oscar just happened to notice how pink and heart shaped they’d been and how soft they looked compared to his own chapped ones.

Oscar slightly looked down and she’d looked up at him, her eyes seemed as if they were looking into him, as if she could’ve read his thoughts. Standing like this for a second, there was a moment where the Australian had contemplated, was he going to possibly ruin a friendship over his own feelings? Before he could even think about not doing it, her eyelashes fluttered warm and innocent and he filled the gap between them. 

They were perfectly made for one another. They moved in sync, and she’d tasted of an orange mocktail and strawberry chapstick and everything that's made her, her. His thumb lightly stroked her cheek, and his arm snaked around her waist holding her tightly. 

Both her arms ended up around his neck, smiling sweetly into the kiss and giggled lightly into the Aussies mouth. Not hearing the reactions from the crowd surrounding them. 

When Oscar pulled away they’d both missed the warmth and comfort of one another. But realization hit him like a tidal wave, remembering all of his actions so clearly except for how her arms fit so perfectly around him, and the way she’d smiled at his affections. 

His hand removed itself from her waist and mind started to race and he pictured missed calls, a missing eighty-one jersey in the crowd, losing the praise of a voice that motivated him to be better. He’d completely zoned out at this point and she’d used her hand placing it back on his freckled cheek and directing him to look at her. Of course she’d know what he was thinking. 

She always did. 

She’d looked up at him, a small glint in her eyes, that made Oscar wanna kiss her all over again but he held back, fear filling his chest so tightly he’d felt like he’d choke on it. He’d race cars at 300km/h without as much fear as he felt now. 

Placing a hand on his other cheek, she stood on her tippy toes reaching his lips giving them a light peck. Her way of saying everything was gonna be okay. His cheeks flushed a deep shade of red and his arms comfortably made its way back around her waist and his hand slid up her back.

She looked up at him, anticipating him to make a move. Though she was impatient, she pulled his racing suit collar down and her lips landed on his once again. He gasped in between his lips, a small surprise of her sudden affection. 

“I think I’ve always loved you.” He whispered into her mouth in between kisses, her heart shaped lips formed in a smile against his. 

She pulled away, lightly biting his bottom lip, “you think I didn’t?” She grinned a light giggle leaving her lips. 

It was like a candle had been relit in Oscar’s head, a candle that flamed only for her. A flame that reminded him how much he needed her, how much he’d been needing her. His arms tightened around her almost possessively so, he reveled in the taste and feeling of her, and how she finally knew that most of him was hers.  

𝜗𝜚… tags , @whitcferrari @miguelasdr @lcvelctters @cedarbcws

#𝜗𝜚˖ ࣪₊˚ soamericns works! #friends to lovers is everything to me #formula 1 #formula one #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one x y/n #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #lando norris #f1 fic #formula one fic #formula one fanfiction

[alltoowelltom]

ice princess ⛸️

oscar piastri x figure skater!reader (+ toto wolff's daughter!reader)

from this request HERE

skateupdates: Olympic figure skating pair Y/N Wolff and Valeriy Angelopol have called it quits! Despite competing together since they were children and dating for the last year and a half, Valeriy has released a statement that the duo would be 'going [our] separate ways for the upcoming competition season'. He also stated there were 'no hard feelings regarding the separation, [the couple] just turned out to have irreconcilable differences'. Our reps reached out to Y/N Wolff for a statement but she has declined to speak on it at this time.

user1: WHAT

user2: MUM AND DAD SPLIT UP?

↳ user3: and they won't compete together anymore??

user4: wait will they be retiring? or will they compete in separate categories?

user5: 'she has declined to speak on it at this time' I just KNOW mother is LIVID

↳ user6: no hard feelings my ass 💀

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbestie, lewishamilton

yourusername🔹️: 🎧😴

comments on this post have been disabled.

liked by oscarpiastri, susiewolff, yourbestie

yourusername🔹️: back at it ⛸️❄️

user1: DOES THIS MEAN SHE WILL STILL COMPETE

danielricciardo🔹️: That's our girl!

user2: oscar being the first to like as usual

lewishamilton🔹️:🔥🔥🔥

↳ yourusername🔹️: don't you dare send fire to melt my ice??

↳ lewishamilton🔹️: I was being empowering bozo

↳ user3: they're so sibling energy 😭

user4: I'M SO PROUD OF YOU Y/N

oscarpiastri🔹️: 🐧🐧

liked by yourusername

↳ user5: is this him 'making a move' 🥴

liked by yourusername, landonorris, charlesleclerc

oscarpiastri🔹️: Good day, pumped for a p5 finish 👊

yourinstagram🔹️: WOAH

↳ user1: SHE"S SO REAL FOR THIS

↳ oscarpiastri🔹️: What?

↳ yourusername🔹️: jawline sharper than my skates 😳

↳ oscarpiastri🔹️: Why are you always bringing my jawline into things?

↳ yourusername🔹️: OHMYGOD PASTRY ITS CALLED FLIRTING READ SOME SMUT

user2: UHHHHH WHAT WAS THAT INTERACTION WITH Y/N

↳ landonorris🔹️: IDK MATE

liked by oscarpiastri, danielricciardo, susiewolff

yourusername🔹️: thank you for having me @.mclaren!

mclaren🔹️: The pleasure was all ours Y/N 🧡

landonorris🔹️: *oscar's

↳user1: LANDO TELL US WHAT YOU KNOW

landonorris🔹️: I didn't even make it onto the post 😔other priorities i guess

↳yourusername🔹️: I WAS PROUD OF YOU TOO LANDO

oscarpiastri🔹️: I can't believe you'd post my ducks

↳yourusername🔹️: NO ONE IS HAPPY WITH ME POST

user2: soooo...the shoes?

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1, susiewolff

oscarpiastri🔹️: Proud is an understatement 🧡🩵

user1: OUR GIRL WON THE GOLD 🥇

↳ user2: the way we haven't heard a peep from her ex skating partner too-

user3: IS THIS AN ANNOUNEMENT FINALLY

yourusername🔹️: 🧡🩵

↳ user4: ohmygod do the hearts represent them the papaya for mclaren the ice for y/n

danielricciardo🔹️: Congratulations Y/N!

user5: daniel being y/ns biggest supporter for like a decade😭🥹

user6: LOOK AT THEM TOGETHER

user7:what the hell does toto think of this 😭

↳ yourusername🔹️: believe his exact words were 'will oscar come to mercedes now 🙂'

user8: @.yourusername so you and oscar DID go skating 🥹🥹

↳ yourusername🔹️: was like bambi on ice

↳ user9: been waiting for them to realize for so long...like i knew it

↳ landonorris🔹️: preaching to the choir mate

a/n: thank you for reading! reblogs and feedback help sm <3

i really want to be posting more as I'm so busy with work and also graduating in a few months and that seems to be taking up all my time 😩 but I really appreciate the support I've been receiving and will be working through your requests asap 🤍

#oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x y/n #f1 smau #formula one smau #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #mclaren #lando norris #figure skater!reader #oscar piastri fluff #friends to lovers

[oscarpiasstri81]

i wanna ruin our friendship - oscar piastri

part one / part two

summary ~ in which oscar and his childhood best friend discover their feelings for each other through an… unconventional way

pairing ~ {oscar piastri x childhoodbsf!reader}

content warnings ~ smut! vaginal fingering, oral (m and f receiving), language, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids!!), angst?, fluff, aftercare, probably horrible grammar, etc.

a/n ~ i’ve never written one of these before, so please be nice. also, english is not my mother tongue, do let me know if i’ve made a mistake, or if i missed any content warnings!!!!

word count ~ probably like 3.5k?

As you looked at the group around you, you had finally noticed there was no place to sit. You were meeting up with some friends from the grid plus their friends and significant others. In total, there were at least 30 people, so it shouldn’t have came as a surprise that even Charles’ Monaco home didn’t have enough seating.

After a minute of scanning the room, looking lost, you met eyes with your best friend, Oscar Piastri. He noticed that you had been clearly looking for somewhere to sit, with your drink in hand, and patted his lap, beckoning you over. Naturally, you had gone to sit with him without argument. As you sat down, he rested his hand on your knee.

This wasn’t unnatural behavior between you and the rookie driver. The two of you had been friends since childhood. Both having grown up in Melbourne and living on the same street, you were bound to grow such a strong bond. You’d been through everything together. From petty childhood arguments to friend breakups and even a real breakup at one point. As young, inexperienced teenagers, you had dated for a total of three weeks before deciding you were better off as friends and going back to normal. Now, you two were as close as ever, which is why the rest of the group didn’t bat an eye when you had chosen to sit on his lap, or when his hands suddenly moved from resting on your knee to gripping your hips.

You had just leaned forward in your seat on his lap to grab your drink when his hands shifted. You felt his breathe on the back of your neck as he softly whispered to only you, not wanting to grab anyone else’s attention.

“You’ve got to stop moving, y/n.”

He said in a low tone. It sounded as though he was almost out of breathe. You turned to look at him confused, not quite understanding why, but ultimately abided by his request and stayed still.

After a few minutes of drinking and conversing with some of the other people in the group, you had completely forgotten about what had transpired just minutes ago. You set your drink down in front of you, and wiggled a little to get more comfortable. Oscar took in a sharp breath, and spoke softly to you once again.

“Can you just stay still, please?”

He sounded a little more desperate this time, and you turned to look at him in the face, concerned.

“Why, is everything okay? You’re getting a little snappy” You said, jokingly.

A light blush dusted over his cheeks, barely visible, but still there. You hadn’t even noticed how his hands were still sat comfortably on your hips, and how his shallow breaths had picked up quite a bit. Still with a concerned look on your face, you reached your wrist up to check the temperature of his forehead.

“You feel a little bit warm. Are you feeling ill?”

At this point, you were wondering if he had somehow gotten sick over the last few hours, or if he was a little buzzed by the amount of drinks he’d had.

You shifted in his lap once more to face your body towards him better when you felt it. The obvious imprint of something rather… hard beneath your lap. Finally understanding what was going on, you looked up at Oscar with a matching blush on your cheeks. Eager to fill the awkward silence, you resorted to your best coping mechanism.

“Um… Oscar. You seem to have a bit of a growing problem. Down there” You joked as you inconspicuously pointed towards his nether region.

The awkward laugh that left you just made Oscar feel even more humiliated than he had already been.

“I’m really sorry, y/n. Trust me, this is just as uncomfortable for me as it is for you.” He said bashfully.

Maybe it was the look in his eyes, or maybe it was the amount of drinks you had already downed, but a surge of confidence came through you.

“Oh, I’m anything but uncomfortable right now.”

Again, you had no idea where this confidence was coming from, but the look on Oscars face when you said that made the feeling grow tenfold, and it seemed to have effected him as well. He did a quick sweep of the group, making sure no one was paying the both of you too much attention. Once he came to the conclusion that everyone was entirely invested in one of Lando’s stories, the grip on your hips tightened. He tested the waters by gently pulling you down onto his growing member, grinding your hips against his.

The soft moan that left your lips would’ve attracted everyone’s attention if not for the loud music playing in the background. You looked back up at Oscar with lust filled eyes, silently begging for him to do it again, and how could he say no to such pretty eyes. He gently ground his hips up against yours one last time, leaving a gently kiss on the back of your neck. Feeling how aroused he was growing, you leaned to whisper in his ear.

“We should go somewhere a little more private.”

With a soft smirk and a hint of mischief in his eyes, he nodding enthusiastically. You stood up from his lap slowly, ignoring the aching feeling coming from between your legs. You were too focused on how Oscar was making you feel to hear whatever lame excuse he told the group before taking you by the hand and leading you into another room.

You barely made it the whole way to the door before Oscar was grabbing you by your hips and pulling your back against his chest, rutting into you as he walked. You turned around against him, looking at him in the eye, feigning seriousness.

“Stop it, Oscar.” You said with a laugh and a gentle swat on the arm “What if someone sees?”

He let out a scoff, “Please, with the way you were just grinding against me in front of everybody, I doubt they’d care much.”

The cocky tone in his voice sent shivers down your spine and left moisture gathering in your pussy. You were already so wet from what he was doing to you while you were in his lap, there was no way you weren’t soaking through your panties right now. You turned away from him playfully, and started to walk up the stairs, only turning back to look at him when he planted a slap on your ass.

When you finally got up the stairs and into one of the many guest rooms of the Monaco penthouse, the nerves were finally catching up with you. Were you really about to have sex with your childhood best friend? The simple answer, yes.

Oscar shut the door quietly, the only sound to be heard was the lock on the door carefully turning. He shifted to look at you slowly, taking cautious steps towards you until your back was pressed up against the wall. The eyes that were previously filled with nothing but lust momentarily turned soft.

“Are you sure you want to do this, y/n. If this is going to make you uncomfortable, we can go back downstairs and pretend this never happened.”

Hearing his words made your heart drop into your stomach. Knowing that he could so easily forget about this entire situation, unbeknownst to your feelings, left a tinge of pain in your lungs. But this was too good of an opportunity to pass up, so you quickly nodded at his question. He let out a tsk sound, and let his hand to softly caress your jaw. He brushed your hair out of your face, leaning down until he was within centimeters of your lips. So close, you could feel his breath mixing with yours as he spoke.

“I need words, pretty girl.”

You closed your eyes slightly as he spoke, the feeling of his lips so close to yours so hard to pass up.

“Please, Oscar. Kiss me.”

He quickly succumbed to your request, pushing his lips against yours. The feeling was nothing you could’ve ever imagined. It was almost as if the universe had created his lips to fit perfectly against your own. He took the opportunity of your surprise to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moaned softly into it, the both of you fighting for dominance of the kiss. In the end, he won.

Without warning, he leaned down slightly to put his hands on the back side of your thighs, lifting you around his waist with ease. Wrapping your legs around him, you slipped your hands into his hair and deepened the kiss.

So caught up in the moment, you barely noticed him walking backwards towards the bed until he let go of his grip on you, letting you gently fall against the comforter. Without a second thought, he reached his arms to the underside of his shirt and brought it over his head, leaving him in just a pair of low rise jeans.

Without his shirt, you had a better opportunity to examine his toned body. You had seen him without a shirt before plenty of times, but something was different now with the sexual tension in the air. You let your eyes wander over his chest, collarbones sticking out so beautifully. His stomach was completed with toned abs, looking incredibly soft from where you were sitting below him. Gazing further down, your eyes resting on the defined v-line near the waistband of his jeans, the elastic of his boxers sticking out.

Too busy staring at his body, you hadn’t noticed the way he suck to his knees, and pushed the hem of your dress up to rest around your waist. You watched his as he looked at the pair of lacy white panties surrounding your swollen cunt. He couldn’t help but notice the wet patch near the bottom of the set.

You snapped back into reality when you felt the soft kisses he was leaving on your inner thighs, the occasional bite leaving you gripping the sheets on the bed.

He made eye contact with you as he moved his fingers to gently massage the wet patch covering your panties, his fingers exactly where you wanted them. He had a cocky grin on his face listening to the sounds that escaped your pretty lips when he applied a bit more pressure near your clit.

“Can I take these off?” His question broke the silence. Again, you found yourself without words and nodded in compliance.

“Words, pretty girl. I need to hear you say it.”

“Please, Oscar. I want you to touch me.” You whined in response.

With your consent, he wasted no time in pulling the panties off of your body, leaving kisses down your legs as he takes his time. Never once did he break eye contact with you, and the thought made the butterflies in your stomach flutter. At this point, all thoughts of the potential consequences from this moment in your friendship were lost in the back of your mind.

He made his way back up to you, smiling softly before planting his lips on yours in a slow, passionate kiss. You felt his fingers tickling their way over your chest, down your abdomen and stopping on top of your clit. He starts gently rubbing along the edge of your entrance, teasing you slightly. The feeling lets a loud whimper escape from you, your body desperate for his attention. He chuckles against the skin of your neck as he slowly drags his fingers down and into your tight hole. With a ‘come hither’ motion, his long fingers quickly find that spongey spot inside of you, caressing it. His kisses trail down from your neck until his face is between your thighs and you can feel his hot breath on your most sensitive parts.

He makes eye contact with you, silently asking for permission to put his mouth on you, desperately wanting to find out what you taste like. You nod with a whine and a quiet ‘please’ before he does exactly what he wants with you. His tongue expertly finds your clit and he begins sucking on it while his fingers work inside you with ease.

“O-Oh, Oscar! Please… please, go faster. I’m so c-close”

Your cries only seem to edge him on as he increased the speed of his fingers, working their way into you faster. He works his tongue around your pussy, trying to memorize the taste of you as you come.

Letting out a loud moan, the knot in your lower stomach finally comes undone. Oscar can feel the way that you clench around his fingers, and pulls them out of your hole before instantly replacing them with his tongue. He laps up all of your juices as they drain out of you, and your body falls limp momentarily from the overstimulation.

With his face still between your legs, you feel the vibration of his moans resonating through your core. Looking down at him, you see the way he is rocking his jean covered hips into the bed beneath him. Once he finally pulls away from your pussy, you take the opportunity to roll him underneath you.

“What are you doing?” He asks in a breathless tone. Not that he is complaining. The sight of you on top of him with your dressed pushed over your waist, and a sheen of sweat covering your flustered skin. It’s a dream come true.

Without answering his question, you slide your body down until your face comes level with his growing erection. You push his hips down flush with the bed, and begin working on undoing the tight jeans he is wearing. Finally undoing the buttons, he lifts his hips so you can pull them down, leaving him in just his boxers. You brush your fingertip over the wet spot in the front from his leaking precum, and palm his member, applying some friction. Hearing his groans, you finally pull the boxers down over his hips, throwing them aimlessly across the room.

His swollen, red cock hits his stomach with a wet smack, and you take a moment to really take in how he looks. He also has a shiny sheen of sweat covering his body, and the flush across his cheeks makes him look entirely delicious. His cock is lengthy and thick, the bright red tip still leaking precum. You lean down to run your tongue across it, making him moan out loudly. Sucking gently, focusing on the tip, you take your finger to run across the bulging vein on the underside of his dick. After a minute of teasing and listening to Oscars breathy moans, you take as much of his member in your mouth as you can. Hallowing out your cheeks, you bob your head up and down as a fast pace, hoping to get him to the edge as fast as possible.

Just as you think he is about to come, his hands come to grab your hair and pull you off his cock with a pop. You look at him confused for a second before he speaks.

“If you kept that up, I was going to come way too fast.” He says with a slight chuckle.

“Maybe that was my point.”

“Baby, if I’m going to come, it’s gonna be deep inside of you.”

His words leave you breathless and clenching your pussy around nothing. Oscar sits up only to grab you, and flip you back underneath him. Grabbing you by the jaw, he turns his face towards you and kisses you with the most passion he could possible portray through a kiss. Without warning, he aligns his cock up with your hole, and pushes in slowly. As much as he wants to go hard and fast, the ache between his legs becoming almost too much for him, he refrains. He pulls out of you slowly, almost all the way before grinding his hips into yours and pushing himself back into you fully.

The slow and intimate pace has you feeling things you shouldn’t, feelings you had so desperately tried to forget resurfacing. For you, this isn’t just sex, it feels more like the connection between you and Oscar you were so miserably wanting.

When you open your eyes, you see Oscar staring down at you with adoration filling his expression. He moves one of his hands from your hip to rest on your cheek, gently pulling you in for a slow kiss.

As your tongues wrestle together, you feel his remaining hand snake around your body to rub gentle circles on your clit. The combination of his cock stretching you out and his fingers rubbing against you has you seeing stars.

“I’m not gonna last long. I need you to be a good girl and come for me.” He says between moans.

Obeying his request, you feel yourself pulsating around him for the second time that night. Your vision goes white and you feel as if you are floating outside of your body. The most intense orgasm washes over your entire body as you let out moans you’re sure the neighbors could hear. Feeling your cunt squeeze around his cock has him coming within seconds. He moans into your mouth as he feels himself close to coming. Pausing his movements inside of you, he looks up at your blitzed out face.

“I’m gonna cum, where do you want it, baby?” He says with a desperate tone, obviously resisting the urge to empty his load inside of you. Your next words surprise him.

“Inside… please. I want you to fill me up, Oscar.”

Momentarily stunned by your words, he snaps out of his daze quickly. With a quiet string of cursed, he feels him balls tighten, and then he’s coming, burying his load deep inside of you.

The both of you lay there for a minute, his softened cock still deep inside you, trying to catch his breath. He takes this time to brush the hair out of your eyes and really look at you. The fucked out look on your face really isn’t helping his growing affections for you. Your eyes are glazed over, mouth parted ever so slightly. It is the most beautiful you have ever looked, and Oscar can’t get enough of it.

With a gently kiss in your lips, Oscar removes himself from you and walks around the bed to the connected bathroom for a warm towel to clean up with. When he returns, he gently wipes you down, making sure you’re not left sticky.

“Oscar?”

You break the comfortable silence with your sudden words, and he stops what he is doing to look at you.

“Yeah? Everything okay?”

You pause for a second.

“This isn’t going to ruin our friendship, right? Because… I really can’t lose you, Osc.”

Hearing the sad tone in your voice, he immediately wants to reassure you and tell you no, you’ll still be friends, no matter what happens. But he doesn’t.

“I don’t want to be friends, y/n”

He couldn’t even manage to look you in the eye as he said this, only after he heard you sitting up in the bed did he manage to meet your gaze. The tears gathering in your eyes almost broke him. You had wrapped yourself in the sheets, as if you were trying to hide your body from him.

“What? W-What do you mean you don’t want to be friends anymore?” Your voice breaking as you speak.

“I just-“ He looks up at you exasperated. “I don’t want to be friends because… I love you, y/n. I love you so much and I can’t go on any longer pretending that I don’t”

He meets your gaze once again, and the tears in your eyes are trailing over your cheeks, falling onto the sheets below you.

“Osc…”

“No. Let me finish” You give him a sad nod. “I have been in love with you since the first time we kissed when we were 16. Every time I see you, I get reminded how perfect you are for me, and then I have to remind myself that you see me as nothing more than a friend. I just- I can’t do it anymore. I’m miserable, and my life jus-“

While Oscar was talking, he hadn’t noticed that you had slowly gravitated towards him. He also hadn’t noticed the smile that grew on your face as he talked about how he felt. He did finally notice something when you cut him off with the most perfect kiss. Just as suddenly as you had kissed him, you pulled away. Laughing at his confused face, you began to speak.

“Sorry. I had to shut you up somehow. Oscar, I love you too. I have no idea how you didn’t notice, I mean, I’ve literally been in love with you since we were 12.”

Now it was his turn to cut her off. As he kissed her once again, he couldn’t help the smile that took shape on his face. He pulled himself away from you for only a moment to admire your face before pulling you into another kiss.

He slotted himself into the bed, next to you, gently covering the both of you in the soft sheets of the bed. Pulling you close in his arms, he left soft kisses along the back of your shoulders until he heard the familiar sounds of your soft snores. Letting himself admire you for a moment, his heavy eyes finally shut, leaving him to fall asleep in a way he’s always wanted, next to you.

a/n ~ I really hope this is good. If it’s not, pls don’t be mean to me :) thank you if you read this ¡hasta la próxima!

#oscar piastri #formula 1 #smut #fluff #angst with a happy ending #childhood friends #friends to lovers #lando norris #charles leclerc #op81 #ln4 #cl16

[unformula1]

day THREEE!!!! of loscar posts until we get a loscar podium!!! do we start writing fics now instead of photo posts?!!!

#f1 #formula one #formula 1 #f1 fandom #loscar post #loscar fics #loscar #oscar piastri #mclaren #logan sargeant #williams racing #taylor swift #this is why we cant have nice things #tiwwchnt #reputation #lover taylor swift #its nice to have a friend #inthaf #not shipping #this is not a shipping post

[ricciardosgirl]

THAT WAS THEN

&

THIS IS NOW.

oscar piastri x fem! reader.

teaser for my next fic.

stay tuned (:

TRIGGER WARNINGS ; angst , mentions of smut.

————————————————————————

BACK THEN OSCAR PIASTRI — would do anything for her , he'd give her all his time , he'd give her everything if she had just asked for it. he would've given her the world if she asked.

NOW OSCAR PIASTRI — doesn't linger on the feeling of all of the distance memories. he finds solace in giving all of his time towards his rightful girlfriend. he'd give her the world now if she asked.

BACK THEN OSCAR PIASTRI — would've said no. he would've just walked away from the offer. it was her contract , not his.

NOW OSCAR PIASTRI — doesn't feel guilty anymore , at least that's what he tells himself. he deserved to be in formula one , he had almost forgotten what he had taken.

BACK THEN OSCAR PIASTRI — remembered everything. he remembered her solemn voice as she whispered sweet nothings in his ear , like friends would. he remembered the feeling of her touch on his body whenever she gave him the time of day to do so. he remembered the way she cried beneath him when he took her precious purity from her as she took his own.

NOW OSCAR PIASTRI — forgot how she felt. it was only one time , a forgettable time. two kids lost in their conflicting emotions taking it out on each other. nothing more. but he would never admit to sometimes seeing her face as he fucked into his girlfriend who isn't her.

BACK THEN OSCAR PIASTRI — could never imagine what their last conversation would've sounded like. he never dreamt of losing her , or taking the one real thing she'd ever known away from her. he kept her like an oath.

NOW OSCAR PIASTRI — has those last words spoken by her etched into his shrouded mind. " you . . took it ? you really . . ? " the tears plastered on her face finds their way back into his mind every once and awhile , and mentally he tells her not to cry whilst wiping her away her deserved tears. she had every right to be upset.

" i'm sorry. "

" are you ? "

#fanfic #writing #formula 1 #oscar piastri #op81 #op81 x reader #slow burn #friends to lovers #f1 #f1 one shot #f1 imagine #i can't wait to write this omg omg omg

[schvmacher47]

venus | oscar piastri (preview II)

1 | quick pause in conversation (preview word count: 2054, total word count: 4044)

»Maybe it wasn't boiling enough… Maybe I just have no talent… I think this might be the biggest issue here«, Oscar mumbled. His body language was very much giving signs of early defeat, as if he’d already accepted his fate, when Robert went and whispered something into his ear. I couldn’t quite make out what Robert said, but I was pretty sure it was something along the lines of ‘You’re so doing this on purpose, I know you’re not that bad…’.

»There’s microphones on!«, Oscar exclaimed and looked straight into the camera, or more like behind the camera, to see if anyone of us heard what was being said.

»They’re not listening«, Robert reassured him and grinned knowingly. Sure, nobody was listening…

»So let’s try this again«, Oscar said. »I’m sticking to the ‘no swirling’ technique«, he added and immediately put the second raw egg into the boiling water.

»This one’s even worse!« He sounded very disappointed, especially as he watched Robert attempt and then succeed the challenge with his second try.

»That one’s actually pretty good!«, Oscar exclaimed, as he inspected Robert’s attempt. Robert started celebrating, being very sure of his second victory in a row. »He actually did a good job on that…«

»Did I split the yolk? Maybe… Is that a problem? No…«, Oscar mumbled with a wry grin on his lips, as he took out his mishap of a poached egg. Both he and Robert erupted into a fit of a full body laughter, as they inspected the poached egg. »And to think this was my best bet–«, Oscar laughed, as he presented his rock solid poached egg to the camera. I chuckled, innerly thanking God for choosing to make Oscar a racing driver and not a cook. 

»I bet Kaia is very impressed by your cooking skills!«, Robert said, laughing.

»Oh I sure am!«, I grinned, but also started laughing. Their laughter was simply too infectious to not join in.

Robert’s egg was the definition of a perfect poached egg, the yolk was still runny, when he cut the egg open. Both he and Oscar went to try the poached egg and were visibly impressed by how good it was. 

»You seriously have to try it!«, Robert said and waved me over to the kitchenette.

»Are you sure you don’t want to poison me?«, I joked, but still got up and left my spot behind the camera, to take the fork loaded with bits of the egg, which Oscar held out to me.

»Poison you? I don’t think we’re that bad…«

»That’s why your egg is rock solid… but sure, you’re not that bad«, I grinned, as I finally took the fork from Oscar, our fingers brushing as he passed it to me. 

I inspected the egg one last time, for safety reasons, before I got over myself and gave it a try.

»Yeah, Robert definitely wins this round… Without a doubt, which also means I get the honour of driving you to the airport…«, I grumbled, giving Oscar my best deathglare, to which he only raised his hands in surrender, as if he were rejecting all blame. »Just to warn you now, I get to choose the songs we’re going to listen to. Capito? My car, my rules«, I playfully said.

»Yeah, whatever, as long as I’m getting to the airport, that’s fine with me…«

Oscar did end up winning the fried egg, but over easy challenge, but it didn’t change a thing about Robert’s overall win. As soon as the cameras were off, Robert put on that mischievous grin again.

»Well, I guess you’ll be having the honour of driving Mr. I don’t get rental cars to the airport. Please do my car rides justice and don’t be too nice«, he said, a big grin playing on his lips.

»I’ll make sure he’ll still get the Robert experience,« I chuckled, as I started packing up the camera equipment.

»I know that’s not gonna happen because you’re most definitely not as reckless of a driver as Robert. So that’s a relief for me because I for once won’t be carsick.«, Oscar said, getting rid of his apron and chef hat.

»On the expense of my dinner, thank you very much«, I joked.

»Now you’re making me feel bad…«, he mumbled as he helped me clean up the kitchen.

»If I remember correctly you’re the one who lost the challenge, so I think that’s deserved.«

»Evil!«

***

»Do you have everything?«, I asked Oscar as I grabbed my bag and car keys. 

»Yes!«

»Are you sure?, I asked again, making sure we wouldn’t have to turn around. I remembered all the countless times Robert had to turn around because Oscar forgot something. At this point, the only important thing he didn’t leave behind was his phone. I hoped I didn’t just jinx it… If his head wasn’t permanently attached to his body, there would’ve been a great chance of him losing it somewhere around the world.

»Yes«, he confirmed as he pushed his suitcase to the main entrance. I quickly grabbed a water bottle from the minifridge before I followed him to the main hall. Oscar had already brought his luggage outside and was waiting for me to unlock the car.

As I stepped outside, the crisp evening air sent shivers down my spine. The sky was painted in beautiful hues of oranges and pinks, as the sun began its descent. I unlocked the car and opened the trunk for Oscar to put his, multiple weeks worth, of luggage into it.

»Buckle up, you’re in for the ride of your life!«, I told him as I got into the driver’s seat. I connected my phone to the car’s bluetooth and chose a playlist as Oscar also got into the car. The first notes of ‘Red’ by Taylor Swift sounded softly from the sound system as I pulled out of the car park. Loving him was like driving a new maserati down a dead-end street.

»As long as we don’t end up in a dead-end street, that’s fine with me«, Oscar said, a knowing smile resting on his lips as he made himself comfortable. It took a minute for my brain to process the ambiguity of his words. He for sure knew how to use his words, how to send my brain cells into a frenzy. Still waters could run deep. Very deep. 

»Are you questioning my abilities right now?«, 

»I would never!«

»You better not, since you’re relying on my abilities right now…«, I said, grinning as I drove onto the carriageway. 

»I promise I won’t complain«, he said. »This is definitely an upgrade, came here thinking I was going to have to deal with Robert’s horrendous driving, but got an unexpected upgrade to first class.«

»As if you didn’t lose on purpose to get this upgrade, let’s be honest.«, I stated, quickly glancing over to him. He shook his head, but had a knowing grin on his lips. He of course did it on purpose.

»I would never!«, he repeated his statement from before.

»Yeah, as if I’d believe you… Just say it, you enjoy my company.«

»I thought that was obvious…«

»No shit Sherlock, it was obvious from the moment where you all of the sudden forgot how to boil an egg to get me to drive you to the airport«, I joked.

»So where’s the problem?«

»I don’t know, you tell me?«, I asked, grinning.

There was a quick pause in conversation, we fell into a comfortable silence, as I focused on the traffic ahead and Oscar was doing God knows what. Probably just staring out of the window for most of the time. 

At some point, I turned the music up. I felt the need to fill the void with some background noise. A few songs in, which I classified as my ‘warm up’, I started humming along to One Direction’s ‘No Control’. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Oscar glancing over at me. A grin spread across my lips. Oh, he had no idea of what he was going to witness. I wiggled in my seat, as I started to sing along to the last lines of the first verse. The One Direction carpool  karaoke video was my roman empire, the choreography to No Control was engraved into every single one of my brain cells and everytime that song popped up in my playlist, I couldn’t help but dance along.

Oscar chuckled softly next to me, shaking his head in amusement as I belted out the lyrics. Once the chorus hit, the last bit of self-control left my body and my hands left the steering wheel to do the choreo justice. I was challenging my inner Harry Styles. I literally had no control.

»First of all, I would very much appreciate it, if you would keep your hands on the steering wheel and focus on the street head…«, Oscar mumbled, a terrified expression resting on his facial features as he watched my impromptu performance. »Secondly, I sometimes wonder if your mothertongue really is English or you’re just fucking with me…«

»Why?«, I asked, once the chorus was over.

»The way you sing these songs with so much confidence really has me questioning if you know what you’re singing about«, Oscar chuckled. I raised an eyebrow. He thought this was bad? I made a mental note to introduce him to Zara Larsson’s music in the future.

»This isn’t even the worst one…«, I said, grinning as I continued to bob my head to the beat.

»There’s worse?« I just nodded in amusement and watched him shake his head.

»Could you take the next exit please?«, Oscar asked, when we were halfway through our journey to the airport.

»Why, do you need to use the toilet?«

»Just do it, okay?«, he practically begged me as we approached the exit he was talking about. It was a service station area that even accommodated smaller versions of supermarkets. I sighed and moved over into the exit lane, slowing down as I reached the parking lot.

»I’ll be quick«, Oscar said, as he got out of the car. He rushed over to one of the service points, but then disappeared behind a passing truck. As I waited for Oscar to come back, I decided to also open my door and stretch my legs out of the car. I reached for the water bottle that I’d placed behind my seat, and opened it to take a few refreshing sips. 

A few minutes later, I saw Oscar coming back. He was carrying a brown paper bag, seemingly from one of those supermarkets. I raised an eyebrow when he opened the door and flopped down on the passenger’s seat. 

»Why are you looking at me like that?«, he asked and fastened his seatbelt again. 

»I thought you had to use the bathroom?«, I asked, tilting my head in confusion.

»I lied, my bladder is not that weak –«

»Funny coming from you, when you have to go to the toilet right before getting in your race car, but sure, go on«, I chuckled, earning a death glare from Oscar.

»If you’d let me finish, you’d know the reason why I lied«, he stated. »I felt bad, when you said you still had to go grocery shopping and since I am basically the reason for you not having a proper dinner tonight, I got you something…«, he mumbled and pointed to the brown paper bag. I blinked in surprise, caught off guard by his thoughtfulness. 

»You did what?« He didn’t even acknowledge my question, instead he put the bag on his lap and reached into it.

»I got you dinner.«, he said, pulling out what looked like a big salad bowl, bread and a bar of chocolate. »Consider it a thank you for driving me to the airport.« I couldn’t help but stare at him in disbelief.

»You didn’t have to do that«, I mumbled. I was at a loss for words. »Thank you…«, I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. »I really appreciate it.«

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #f1 oneshot #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #f1 x you #oscar piastri x female reader #best friends to lovers

[leclerking]

Fic ideas because i have too many 😀‼️

If you use any of these pls tag me I'd love to read your fic! ⠀ You don't have to stick to the genre or the drivers mentioned, you can write it with anyone (if it's in pink tho I'd really like for it to be the one mentioned)

Fucking in missionary so they can continue arguing — Sebastian Vettel enemies to lovers

Medical au series with some or few of the drivers. Grey's anatomy style ukwim? Include some of the older drivers like Jenson and Mark as attendings, Seb as a resident, current ones on the grid as interns.

Medical au alternative Seb as an intern with reader as the attending. And they sort of get into a relationship — slow burn, fluff, angst

Reader is part of a rival team (not a driver!). She's drunk during one of the post race celebrations (very beginning of the season, full of hope). There's another driver (in my head I'm thinking a driver who's cocky af seb jenson ) who's drunk and they hookup. So they get into this sort of fwb situationship. And then further into the season it just keeps going from bad to worse to the point the reader has given up on the team. But it's going extremely well for this driver. — One night after the worst race ever, reader is crying in her room. Driver knocks on door, reader is surprised he'd rather spend time with her since they don't really have anything deep going on (can make this part very angsty by asking driver to fuck off to his celebration parties). So the driver goes to the party, comes back later in the night but drunk. Confesses love or they have a conversation idk how this ends! — hopefully happy ending

One night in the city every year— reader (local) meets driver one night in the city and they have a great time. But the driver is there only for a few days for the race. He leaves and comes back a year later, so this slowly turns into a yearly tradition... So many years later the driver is about to retire so he meets the reader for one last time since he won't be visiting anymore — can be left as an open ending fluff angst unrequited (?)

Drifting date !! — driver teaches reader how to drift (Idk why this hasn't been written yet / I've not read a fic about something like this yet so yeah) this is giving Charles vibes

Frat/fuckboy fic based on this lore in his teenage dirtbag phase (tldr; Jenson woke up on somebody's yacht sofa post Naomi Campbell's Cannes after party. He had to do commentary that day and walked on to the paddock like sex on a stick) + he is reputed to have the playboy image dating various models.

Biker boyfriend Lando who takes reader (a struggling uni student) on late night drives for stress relief.

Friends to Lovers — Oscar and reader are uni students who work at the same cafe on campus. slice of life, fluff

Open to any and all fanfic writers. Pls make my maladaptive dream scenarios an actually amazing fic that I can read ! Again PLEASE TAG ME, ID LOVE TO READ THEM !

#!honey.fic #formula 1 #charles leclerc #sebastian vettel #max verstappen #f1 fic rec #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 #lando norris #lewis hamilton #oscar piastri #jenson button #mark webber #redbull racing #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #medical au #f1 driver x reader #f1 wags #Brazilian gp 2023

[codebianchi]

One's Company, Two's a Crowd, and Three's Cheating Pt. 1

summary: logan and oscar were childhood best friends, but time pulled them apart. now, logan is trying to make it as an athlete while oscar is being a nerd. logan misses his best friend, but he knows distance is the only thing that will help him achieve his career.

Logan had spent the past 3 years trying to be the best football player he could be. His life revolved around lacrosse and football. There was no world where he would opt to do something else with his time. For a while, his best friend would sit on the bleachers with his nose buried in a book or the mountain of schoolwork he always managed to accumulate. Once Oscar realized that he was slowly being replaced by Logan’s new girlfriend, he slowly spent more time in the library than on the cold bleachers. When Oscar disappeared from the sidelines, Logan didn’t notice. He claimed he didn’t notice at least. After all, why would he notice if his gorgeous girlfriend was still there cheering him on?

Oscar had planted himself in the back of the library. The corner was darker than the rest of the space, mimicking what many would picture as the basement of the library. A loud thud on the table caused the brunette to look up from his gargantuan calculus book. Seemingly all of the blood drained from his face as his eyes looked up to meet a pair of angry blue orbs glaring into his soul. 

“Logan?” Oscar whispered, his head tilting slightly to the side. He had never known the blonde to be so angry, yet that was all he was met with.

“I need you to leave me alone,” Logan hissed, his fingers nervously drumming against the football helmet he had slammed onto the table. Oscar’s face morphed into confusion. He had been leaving Logan alone, so why was he making such a bizarre request? 

But, before he could ask, Logan had scooped up his helmet and stormed off. Oscar ran a hand through his hair, slumping farther down his seat. He felt like he was playing a game of connecting the dots with his childhood friend, but the crayon he was using had broken along the way and ended up being white. How had he become Logan’s nemesis? 

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #loscar #logan sargeant #oscar piastri #jock x nerd #friends to lovers #logan sargeant fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic

[scuderiahoney]

Oscar Piastri x reader // in motion pt 1

hockey au part 1: moving in, family dinner, and the first game of the season. also featuring: a whole bunch of other f1 cameos. 4.9k words

warnings: alcohol, slight reference to injury, my limited knowledge of college hockey, it’s a bit slow burn-y but i hope you get the vibe

You’re sitting in Lando Norris’ room, a basket stuffed to the brim with goodies perched on your lap. You’ve just finished going through them with Lando, explaining each one in excruciating detail. There are snacks, -both healthy and non healthy- study items, some school gear, and everything in between.

“You’re crazy,” Lando says, brows raised. “Like. Clinically. Coach told me to keep an eye on him, not… mother him.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t you want him to feel welcome? S’gotta be scary, coming to a new team his junior year.”

The two of you are talking about Oscar Piastri, the hockey prodigy who, for two years, has been playing at a different school. Now he’s headed to play with Lando’s team, and his coach had strongly suggested that Lando take him under his wing. He’s moving in as one of Lando’s roommates in their off campus house today, so you’d made him a welcome basket. You’d been thrilled about the whole idea. Lando’s less excited, it seems.

“I do want him to feel welcome,” Lando says, collapsing backwards onto his bed and sighing. “This just seems a little overboard.”

“When am I not overboard?” You ask, hugging one knee to your chest.

Lando purses his lips, then shrugs. “You’ve got a point.”

You hear a commotion downstairs, and both you and Lando sit up a little straighter. You can hear Max Verstappen, the team captain, talking, probably showing Oscar around the house. You wiggle your fingers on the bed in excitement. Lando sighs in mock annoyance. He’s smiling, and you can tell he’s excited too. You know him well enough to know that. You’ve been friends for years and years now.

Lando stands up and nods towards the open bedroom door. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

You follow him down the stairs and into the living room, where Max is standing with Oscar, explaining something and waving his hands around as he speaks. You and Lando lean in the doorway, his head stacked above yours, and wait patiently for them to notice you. Max does first, and his eyes light up. He waves the two of you in and introduces you both to Oscar, who smiles politely.

You’re holding the basket of goodies in your arms, and you hold it out to him. “This is a little welcome present,” you say, blinking softly.

Oscar takes the basket into his hands and blinks softly. His cheeks have gone red, and you feel your own face grow warm as he looks up at you. His hair falls over his forehead, and he smiles. Oh. Oscar Piastri is cute.

“Wow, thanks,” he says, quietly. “This is great.”

Lando leans over your shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

You elbow him, so hard he hunches over and groans. “Fuck off, Norris, you did nothing.”

Oscar laughs, muffling it behind his hand, and you feel quite proud of it. Max is quick to pull Oscar away after that, muttering something about showing him the rest of the house. Lando, having recovered, stands up and glares at you. You shrug. Then something pops into your head.

“Hey, family dinner is at 7:00 tonight,” you call after Max and Oscar, and Lando winces at the volume of your voice. “Don’t be late! I’m talking to you, Max.”

Nearly everyone shows up to the family dinner that night, which isn’t how they usually go. The whole team doesn’t live at the house, but Sunday dinner is open to everyone, and people make appearances based on their schedules. The guys who do live in the house are almost always there, of course. And you, because you almost never have anything better to do.

Oscar comes down to dinner in a Timberwolves hoodie that you recognize from the gift basket, which makes you feel a bit giddy inside. He stands on the edge of the crowd of people in the kitchen, like he’s a bit afraid to even put a toe in the wrong place. You smile softly at him from across the room as you open a bottle of soda. That same pretty blush returns to his cheeks.

Someone notices him, finally, and announces his presence. They’re hockey players, so they jump straight into teasing and far too aggressive handshakes. You let out a little sigh of relief as you see some of the tension fall from his shoulders. He looks happy to meet everyone, a smile slipping across his face. You can’t help the matching one on your own lips.

“Told you he’d be fine,” Lando says, nudging your shoulder.

You nod. “Yeah.”

Across the room, you hear someone comment on his hoodie as they tug on the front of it. “Nice, already repping the team!”

He nods, looking towards where you and Lando stand at the counter. “Oh. Yeah. Lando and his girlfriend gave it to me.”

The room falls silent for just a few seconds, and then they all erupt into laughter. Oscar looks around, bewildered, face even redder than before. You roll your eyes at the rest of the boys.

“I’m not his girlfriend,” you state, and Oscar scrunches his face up sheepishly. “And, like I said before, Lando did absolutely nothing to help.”

“You know, you could sound less disgusted at the idea of being my girlfriend,” Lando suggests.

You roll your eyes and pick your drink up off the counter. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Alex, a goalie on the team who’s leaning on the counter nearby, nods along. “Besides, it’s not like you could ever pull Bunny, Lando.”

Lando puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. Alex’s comment is met with resounding agreement. Oscar looks even more confused. There’s a little furrow in his brow that you think is honestly quite adorable.

“Bunny,” Max says, pointing at you, always happy to explain something, “is her nickname.”

“It’s a long story,” Alex pipes in.

Oscar doesn’t ask more than that. When everyone sits down for dinner, he’s quiet, especially compared to the rest of them. He’s still settling in, you remind yourself. A new team must be daunting. As everyone talks about class schedules and syllabuses and how they can’t wait for the hockey season to start, you relate to him more than he’ll probably ever understand.

After dinner, the rest of the team files out. Eventually, you’re left at the dining table with Lando and Max. Their other roommates, George, Alex, and Charles, are in the kitchen cleaning up the leftovers. Oscar has disappeared, off who knows where doing who knows what. He’s probably still unpacking. It’s a Sunday night, and when you decide to head back to your own apartment, Lando offers to walk you home. When you leave his house, you look up at the window in the corner from outside. The blinds are closed, but Oscar’s light is on.

…..

You quickly find out that you and Oscar must be in the same major, or at least a similar one, because you keep bumping into him during the first week of classes. The strange thing is that he doesn’t seem to notice you, or maybe it’s just that he doesn’t care to. You’re in at least three lectures with him. He barely looks at you in any of them, and never acknowledges you.

He’s just as withdrawn at the hockey house, where you spend most of your free time. He’s not mean, he’s just not exactly social, either. After the first family dinner on the day he moves in, he misses the next three, which is nearly unheard of for someone who lives in the house.

Lando seems to think it’s fine. “He’s showing up to training, he’s talking to the team, he listens to the coaches well. Maybe he’s just not a social guy.”

“Or maybe he just doesn’t like you,” Charles, the alternate captain on the team, suggests.

You glare daggers at him, reach into the mixing bowl in front of you, and lob a bit of cookie dough at his head. He dodges it with expert precision. It smacks against the wall and sticks. Damn athletes and their good reflexes.

“Hey, hey, no food fights,” Max says, having walked into the kitchen at the worst time.

He’s glaring at Lando, who throws his hands up in innocence. “It wasn’t me this time!”

Max turns to Charles, who points a finger at you. The captain gives you an exasperated look, resting his hands on the counter. He usually reserves that look for Lando, or one of his other teammates when they’re causing trouble. You hate having it directed at you.

You shrug. “He was being mean.”

“Was not!” Charles whines, and you roll your eyes at him. “All I did was suggest that maybe the reason Oscar’s quiet around her is just that he doesn’t like her.”

Max hisses through his teeth. “Charlie, that’s mean. Come on, who wouldn’t like her?”

You smile brightly. “For that, Max, you can have the first cookie.”

Max grins widely and reaches over to rub his hand against the top of your head. It’s the same way he rubs his gloves against his teammates' helmets when they’ve done well. You think it’s the only way he knows how to show affection. As he steps past you, Oscar walks into the room. You’d be worried he overheard the four of you talking, but you know he’s just arrived at home- you’d heard the sound of the front door. He greets everyone with a nod, sidesteps you, and heads for the fridge.

“Want some cookie dough, Oscar?” You ask, waiting with bated breath.

Charles narrows his eyes at you, obviously offended by your offer compared to you throwing it at his head. Lando’s watching you with amusement on his face. You want to punch both of them.

“Oh, no thanks,” he says.

He grabs a protein shake and then leaves the room again with just another nod. You pout at his back as he disappears.When you turn and look at Max, he’s giving you a solemn frown.

“We’ve found the one man immune to Bunny’s charms,” he says, shaking his head.

The cookies take a while to bake, and by the time they’re done, the house is empty. Everyone’s off at practice. You pack them up into a container, knowing if you time it right you’ll catch them on their break. Then you walk over to the rink, which is only a short distance away, cookies in one hand and a book in the other. You sit in on practices sometimes. Their coach only acts mildly annoyed about it. It usually helps when you bring baked goods along with you.

You take your usual seat down near the bench when you get there. A couple of the guys wave when they spot you. The head coach glares at you from the corner of his eye and then makes his way up into the stands, headed for you.

“Hi, Seb,” you say as you smile up at him as you take the lid off the container of cookies. “I made chocolate chip this time.”

Sebastian, or Coach Vettel, as everyone sane calls him, sighs and grins before reaching into the container. “They’re still warm!”

You nod, watching as he takes a bite. The smile stays on his face, which is a marker of a job well done. He turns over his shoulder, and you cover your ears just before he whistles to the team.

“Take a break!” He yells. “Cookies!”

Half the team scrambles over to the bench. Sebastian waves you down towards them. You follow him out of the stands and down to the bench, where Max is leaning over the wall, hands outstretched.

“I was promised the first cookie,” he says, elbowing Charles when he gets a little bit too close.

You hold the container out to him. Behind him, Oscar is face to face with the goal on the ice, shooting pucks like he doesn’t realize they’ve called for a break. Your heart sinks. Not even the cookies can make him look your way. Max catches your gaze as everyone else takes a cookie and scatters away, either to sit down or meander on the ice. He nudges his hand against your wrist and smiles softly.

“Give him time,” Max says with a shrug. “He’s trying to find his footing. Trying to prove himself. He’ll open up when he’s ready.”

You sigh heavily. “I don’t know why I care so much.”

“Because you’re a good person,” he says, and you feel your face heat up. “Because he’s new and you worry about him just like you worry about all of them. But that’s my job, too, okay? So trust me.”

You nod. He nods back. Then Lando comes barreling up, yelling something about cookies. You hand him a couple and listen to him whine about the practice as Max tries his best to keep the morale up. Behind them, Oscar shoots another puck into the net.

When they go back to practicing, you watch for a bit before you open your book. The season is ramping up, and their first game is only a few weeks away. The first practice was rough, it always is- you remember Max coming back to the house, so frustrated he wouldn’t even speak to anyone. They’re in sync now, though- passes connecting seamlessly, moving like a unit on the ice. You’ve missed it, you’ll admit. The scrape of the skates on the ice, the slap of the sticks against the pucks. When Lando asks if you’re excited for the first game, you’ll fake a yawn, just to keep his ego in check, but really, you can’t wait.

After practice is over, Lando yells up to you in the stands. “We’ll walk you home, yeah?”

You nod in agreement. You give them time to get packed up and changed and then meet them in the lobby of the rink. Slowly but surely, they all filter out. Lando’s first, hair soaking wet, and he shakes the excess water on you. Then Max and Charles, deep in a conversation you’ll never understand. George and Alex follow them out, and you peer behind them, looking for Oscar.

Max nudges you towards the door. “Oscar said not to wait for him.”

You try your best to hide the frown. Nobody but Max seems to notice, and he doesn’t point it out. He just smiles softly at you, like he’s trying to be reassuring. It works a little bit.

Your apartment is a few blocks down from the rink, sort of on the way to their house, if you don’t mind making a small detour. They always insist on walking you home, whether it’s one of them at the end of a family dinner, or a whole group on their way home from practice. Tonight, George and Alex peel off to head straight home, while Max and Lando accompany you. They’re chatting about the team, about practice, and you don’t really start paying attention until you hear them say Oscar’s name.

“I think he’s downplaying it,” Lando says, kicking a rock down the sidewalk. “I think with him, we have a real chance at the championship this year.”

Max is quiet. You know this is a sore spot for him. The team hasn’t won a championship since before Max and Lando’s freshman year. They’re seniors now. They’ve been in the playoffs every year. The championship has been just out of reach every time. They all want it so badly.

“Let him downplay it,” Max says. “Don’t put too much pressure on the guy, you know? Besides, better than him being a cocky asshole, huh?”

Lando twists his face up, but he nods. “Guess we’ll see at the game next week.”

You perk up even more at that. The first game is only days away. The whole campus is buzzing about it, yourself included.

“You’re going to be there, right?” Max asks, turning to you. “Can’t go without our resident cheerleader.”

You nod eagerly. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You’ve reached your apartment building. They each give you quick hugs and then send you upstairs. By the time you reach your bed, you’ve forgotten all about Oscar Piastri and his unwillingness to act like you even exist. You fall asleep and dream of cookies flying across the ice rink like pucks.

…..

You don’t sleep over at Lando’s house often, preferring your own bed to the couch or the air mattress, or, god forbid, sharing a bed with Lando. The two of you are close, but never close enough to be that comfortable with cuddling, beyond long hugs when you’re feeling sad or he’s lost a game. But you’d had a movie night that went on long and when you’d fallen asleep leaning against his headboard, he’d suggested you just spend the night. Then he promptly curled up next to you and passed out.

You’d done the same, but now it’s 1am and you’re wide awake, blinking around the room. The poster the guys all tease him for stares at you from the back of the door- Lewis Hamilton, former Timberwolves prodigy and first round draft pick. It’s a bit ridiculous that he’s still got the poster, really, but you know he’s had it for years. You drag yourself out of bed and head down to the kitchen. Maybe if you can get some cold water, you’ll be able to fall back asleep.

You nearly scream when you walk into the kitchen and find that it’s not empty. Someone’s standing at the fridge, his back to you. It’s Oscar- he’s shirtless, and he turns to look over his shoulder like he knew you were coming. He probably did, you suppose- the house is old and the stairs creak, along with every other floorboard.

“Hi,” he says, quietly. You’re trying not to stare at the smooth expanse of pale skin on his back, or his toned arms. “Can’t sleep?”

You blink a few times, then take a step into the kitchen. “I was asleep. Then I woke up.”

He nods in understanding and turns back to the fridge. You watch as he pulls the pitcher out, then reaches for a glass- two glasses. Something about that makes your heart catch in your throat. You swallow the feeling down and take a few steps closer. His arm tenses as he pours the water. You’re trying not to stare, because really, it’s his kitchen and you’re an outsider here. You’ve never felt like this in this house before, so out of place. He’s the only one who makes you feel that way. You don’t think he’s even doing it on purpose. So you’re trying not to stare, and failing, because honestly, Oscar Piastri is hot. You’re only realizing it now, because you’ve been too focused on him ignoring you before this.

He clears his throat. “So. You’re not Lando’s girlfriend?”

That startles you out of your stupor. He slides the glass of water across the counter, and you step forward to grab it. You drum your nails on the granite and shake your head.

“Nope. Just friends. Strictly platonic.” You state. He raises his brows- you’re not sure what to make of that. “I know me being here at 1am sort of contradicts that, but, yeah.”

Oscar nods. “Sorry. I don’t mean to pry, I just…”

He just wants to know why you are here, if it’s not because you’re dating his teammate. He doesn’t understand. You get it. Between the nickname and your penchant for hanging out around the house and the practices, he probably does think you’re some sort of puck bunny. You fight the urge to jump to your own defense. Oscar’s given you almost nothing. You don’t owe him an explanation in return

You shrug. “It’s fine. Logan asked the same things,” you say, referring to the freshman rookie. “I promise I’m not trying to fuck all your teammates or whatever you assumed. I’m just friends with them.”

You see his whole body tense. You take a sip of your water and study his face. You can’t quite read his expression, not in the same way as you can with most of his teammates. It’s annoying that he’s so easily unknowable. He’s not even trying.

“That’s not why I asked,” he says, quietly.

You almost believe him. You would, really, if he hadn’t been so standoffish towards you for the first few weeks you’d known him. You try to remember what Max said a few days ago. He’ll open up when he’s ready. Or maybe, never at all.

You take the glass with you when you head back up to Lando’s room. “Good luck on the physics quiz tomorrow.”

He calls out a soft, “you too,” at your retreating figure.

It’s a kind gesture, but you’re definitely going to fail the quiz. He doesn’t need to know that, though.

…..

You file into your seat at the first game of the year surrounded by the smell of hot dogs and soft pretzels and cheap nacho cheese. Lily, Alex’s girlfriend, is already waiting in her spot next to yours. She’s wearing Alex’s varsity jacket. You’re clad in a hoodie you stole from the hockey house, one you’re pretty sure used to be Max’s at one point. It’s been passed down to other people so many times it doesn’t matter, now. Lily smiles at you when you sit down and tears off a chunk of her pretzel for you. You accept it gratefully. Between the pretzel, the chill in the air, and the sound of Shut Up and Dance by Walk The Moon playing in the background, you feel right at home.

The Zamboni is down on the ice, making its last round. “Did you ask Alex if we could ride the Zamboni this year?”

Lily nods. “He said ‘we’ll see’” she says, mocking his accent and letting out a puff of air. “So. We’ll see, I guess.”

You sigh heavily and lean back in your seat. You’ve been begging them to get you out on the Zamboni for years now, trying to bribe everyone from the players to the coaches. None of the bribes have worked yet. You swear you’ll get your chance one day, but this is Lando and Max’s last year. They’re your best shot- they’re the ones you’re closest with, and the most easily convinced to go along with any of your antics.

The Zamboni leaves the ice, and the players come out of the tunnel, and for the next 60 minutes-plus breaks- you’ll be glued to the game down below. It feels like the whole school has been waiting with bated breath- it’s Seb’s first year as head coach, they’ve got Oscar now, this could be the year. They could win it all. Maybe this is it. When you look over, Lily’s hands are gripping the armrests tightly. You place a hand on her wrist, just to remind her you’re there. She smiles gratefully as Alex takes his place in front of the net, and the rest of the boys take their places on the ice.

Oscar scores 30 seconds in. The two of you lose your minds in the stands, screaming your heads off. Down below, you watch Max rub his glove against Oscar’s helmet, watch the way Lando comes barreling into the younger boy from across the ice. The electricity of it crackles in the air. For the rest of the game, you can’t take your eyes off of him, off of number 81. He’s captivating.

They win with a solid 4-2 score, and the team they played is one of the easier ones, but it still feels good, and bodes well for the rest of the season. Oscar scores two of the goals. Another goes to Max, and the fourth to Charles. You and Lily head to the house before they’re even off the ice, knowing full well what’s about to come. You make quick work of clearing any breakable items from the common spaces of the house, you make sure all the bedroom doors are closed, and you remove anything they wouldn’t want stolen or spilled on- blankets, random hoodies, Charles’ entire week’s worth of homework strewn across the kitchen table. Lily pulls the mixers from the fridge, while you take the bottles of alcohol out of the cupboard. The two of you set up beer pong in the backyard together.

When the boys get home, they bring a crowd with them- the rest of the team, minus the freshmen, the team’s girlfriends and friends and some of their families, and anyone else they’ve picked up along the way. The house already feels full, and you start to usher people towards the backyard, knowing it’ll only get more crowded from here on out. Max pulls you into a hug as he slips past you on his way outside- you pass him a shot, and he smiles gratefully before he tips it back. Lando is hot on his heels, and you repeat the process. They’re freshly showered and starry eyed, riding the adrenaline high. The two of them shove at each other, and they bump into you in the process.

“Good game, boys,” you tell them, smiling brightly at your friends.

“Fucking Piastri, mate,” Lando says, snapping his fingers in a way that makes you wonder if he’s had a shot on his walk here. “I mean, come on!”

Max laughs and shakes his head. You pour another round of shots for the three of you, and Max shrugs, as if to say, why not. You tip them back and all collapse into fits of laughter afterwards.

When you look upstairs, you just barely catch sight of Oscar, disappearing into his room. He makes eye contact with you for just a second, and he smiles softly, cheeks rosy pink. You smile back, and then he turns and shuts the door behind him. It’s the last time you see him that night. The whole team is talking about him, and he’s not even there. You think that maybe you’ll never understand him. You don’t have time to worry about him, though, not when your friends are dragging you outside and begging for a round of beer pong. Oscar can take care of himself.

In the morning, you wake up on the couch in the living room. The sun is just peeking through the blinds, and you’re surrounded by empty plastic cups. Someone has tucked a blanket over you haphazardly, and there’s a hoodie shoved under your head as a makeshift pillow. Max or Charles’ doing, probably, or maybe a joint effort. It’s early, far too early, and you close your eyes to try and fall back asleep when you hear it- the noise that probably woke you up in the first place. Someone’s in the kitchen.

When you lean over the back of the couch and look through the doorway, you find Oscar. He’s surprised to see you this time, it seems- he stops in his tracks, eyes going wide. His cheeks are red, and his eyes are, too- he’s been crying. After all his pretending you don’t exist, you shouldn’t care, but the sight of him makes your heart twist in your chest.

“Hey,” you say, quietly. “You okay?”

His eyelashes flutter, and then he closes his eyes and sighs. “M’fine.”

He’s clad in a hoodie and a pair of shorts, and his running shoes. He’s carrying a water bottle, too. He probably thought he could sneak out of the house and go on a run before anyone else was awake, and that nobody would even know. But here you are. Watching him fight back tears.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” you say, quietly. “I won’t tell. I get it.”

He opens one eye and stares at you, unconvinced. You nod.

“The pressure of the first game,” you suggest. “And you won, but now the pressure’s even bigger to keep it going. And everyone is talking about you but you don’t like the spotlight.”

He nods, chewing on his lower lip. “Yeah. Exactly.”

You rest your chin on your hands on the back of the couch. “It gets easier. Promise. And the guys- they’re just happy to have you on the team. It’s not all on your shoulders.”

He lets out a little huff and rolls his aforementioned shoulders. You can tell he doesn’t believe you, and for a moment, you wonder how shitty of a team he played with before. Max’s first priority as team captain has always been making sure his teammates are okay. Winning comes second. You know it’s not always like that for other teams.

“D’you… do you wanna come on a run with me?” He asks, and you blink in surprise.

You groan and flop back down onto the couch so he can’t see the way your face twists up. You do want to, actually. This feels like an olive branch. But a run is out of the question for you based on the ache in your right knee. Your physical therapist, Lando, and Max would probably all kill you for saying yes. So you say no instead.

“Piastri, I am violently hungover and I think I fucked up my knee last night, so I think I’ll pass,” you say. You hear him walk towards the door, and when he gets there, he turns back to look at you. His cheeks are still red, but his eyes are less watery. “But have a good run, yeah?”

He smiles. “Thanks.”

You can see him through the front window as he gets ready to take off. His breath curls into misty spirals in the cold morning air, and he’s silhouetted by the morning sun. It’s a bit breathtaking, really. When he disappears from view, you close your eyes and try to go back to sleep, comforted by the thought that maybe he doesn’t hate you, after all.

find part two, Change Of Heart, here!

a/n: i know it feels a little slow rn but we had to do some intro! let me know what you think!!

main taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @ggaslyp1

series taglist: @sourskywalker @ivyvlair @gwginnyweasley @annispamz @bearlul @aresriiots @lightsoutletsgo

if I’ve left you off a taglist on accident please let me know!!

#oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri angst #Oscar Piastri x reader #Oscar Piastri x you #Oscar Piastri series #oscar piastri friends to lovers #oscar Piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #formula 1 fic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 series #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 angst #formula one fic #fomula one fanfic #formula one x reader #formula 1 x you #formula one x you #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #fic: in motion #op81 #x reader #fanfic #honeywrites

[thewritingofspencerrose]

Spilling All the Secrets

Oscar Piastri x OC!Grid Psychologist

No one knew exactly who was the cause of the newly employed "grid psychologist", they just knew that one had been hired and the entire grid was required to sit down for a meeting to establish a "baseline".

There was a reasonable amount of pushback, but with a lot of convincing from the team principles, everyone had agreed to their individual meetings, they all just had to be introduced first.

"Ok folks, the responsibility has been given to me to introduce you all to the FIA appointed psychologist that you will all be meeting with once a week between media duties on Thursday," Toto explains, glancing to Christian who stands behind him, the two most imposing of the principles assigned to wrangle the drivers. "This is Ms. Beatrix, she pursued a degree in psychology from Harvard, earning her masters from the same institution, digitally."

"Given her degree and understanding of human behavior, as well as a special knowledge of Formula 1, she will be a fantastic addition to the paddock," Christian adds, nodding offstage to a woman with blonde curls piled on her head in a clip, a white button up tucked into black pants, absolutely no clear association to any team. "Come on up, miss."

"Please, just call me Bea," Bea addresses not only the principles but also the crowd, consisting of 20 men who devote their lives to speed. "And hello, it's a pleasure to be here with you all," She greets the boys in what sounds like a Dutch accent. "As you have been made aware, you will each be meeting with me once a week, just to chat. Whether you want to tell me all your deep dark secrets, " Cue an elbow to Max Verstappen from Lando Norris, "Or just use the time to cool down, either is perfectly okay with me. I'm not here to force you to talk, I'm here to make sure you're all in your best head space to safely do what you love."

"Does anyone have any questions for Bea?" Toto questions, looking over the boys.

"Don't be afraid boys, I don't bite," She assures, accent getting even thicker as her smile grows.

"Where are you from?" Logan is the one to speak up, Oscar shoving his shoulder at the bold question.

"I grew up in Zonhoven, Belgium until I was thirteen, and then went to boarding school at Château de Rosemont in near Paris," She answers, having no issue. "The accent just never got the message, if that's why you were asking Mr.Sargent."

"So you know who each of us is?" Carlos asks, one thick eye brow raised in question.

"I do. I was informed on the basics of each of you, Mr.Sainz."

"Will you be traveling with us?" Oscars voice is the next to ask, a faint blush covering the woman's face.

"I will," She answers, nodding gently. "My daughter and I will be traveling with you from race to race."

"Daughter?" Checo asks, accent as thick as his judgement.

And she can't help but sigh, "Yes, my daughter. She's almost 8 months," She confesses, and although you can sense the insecurity, the twenty-two year old smiles at the thought of the baby, their baby.

"Well, I think I can speak on behalf of the whole grid that we look forward to sitting down with you," Lewis says, making her smile.

"As I all of you. Prepare to spill all the secrets."

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and 86,931 others

oscarpiastri is thrilled that his wife and babygirl will joining him on the GP circuit this season (does this count as spilling all my secrets?)

landonorris ... is this the same baby as the one that belongs to psychologist.bea?? are you married to our psychologist??

oscarpiastri i can neither confirm nor deny?

psychologist.bea i can. he's my husband, much to logansargeant's chagrin

logansargeant i will be talking about this in my session.

#original character #the writing of spencer rose #best friends to lovers trope #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 #oscar piastri #short blurb

[moviecritc]

part 2, from the start ⋆ oscar piastri series

pairing: oscar piastri x driver!oc (named Margo Castello)

tropes: childhood friends to lovers

summary: margo gets ready for the FIA event in Baku, meeting eyes with oscar for the first time in years

warnings: none

a/n: english is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes and poor storytelling.

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

part 2 of the from the start series

She had arrived in London the previous afternoon. It was already past one in the afternoon, and she had just woken up to a row of replicas of her trophies won in that championship, because the real ones had been kept by the team, to place on their shelf. She knew going to London wasn't a great idea, because in a few days she would have to rush to Baku for the FIA gala. But it was where she had her flat and her dog, a white chihuahua named McLovin, whom she hadn't seen in months.

She made herself breakfast; now that she had a bit of freedom to eat and drink what she wanted, she felt quite liberated. She had always struggled to stick to a diet, although now she was faced with the fear of eating something she shouldn't.

While having breakfast, she took a look at the Alfa Romeo profile. There were a few days left before they announced her as a driver for the 2024 season, along with her teammate, Zhou Guanyu.

She couldn't even believe it yet. After almost fifteen years in the industry, she was finally going to reach where she had been wanting to get for so long: Formula 1. She had given it her all and she had made it. She had fulfilled her dream, and that generated a strange sensation in her body. Plus, her best friend would also be around the paddock, as a reserve driver at Ferrari.

The only problem she saw was Oscar. Oscar fucking Piastri. Almost two years without exchanging a word or seeing each other. Sometimes Margo wondered what had gone through Oscar's mind the day he decided to leave her on read and stop seeing her stories, although he continued to follow her, probably to avoid causing a stir on social media.

But it burned inside her that her former best friend had become a complete stranger overnight. She tried not to talk about it with her friends; she was supposed to have gotten over it, she had cried a little for him, out of frustration, and had moved on with her life. But deep down, she still wanted to confront him and scream at him: Why?

・🫧・

Baku

She had jet lag, a lot of jet lag, but she still went to have breakfast with Zel and Théo Pourchaire. The three of them had achieved the top three positions in the championship and were in Baku to collect their prizes at the FIA gala.

"You showed up!" Zel exclaimed upon seeing her. They greeted each other with a kiss on the cheek, and then she fist-bumped Théo.

He had been her biggest competitor that season; because of him, several races had become more challenging, although not enough for her to lose the championship. Also, now that the season was over and they weren't working anymore, Théo was back to being the French guy who crashed into her in go-karts.

"Good morning to you too," she said to Zel, with a slight glare, although she quickly changed it to a calm smile.

"Isn't it amazing that we're here?" Théo commented, putting both hands on the table, with a glint of excitement in his eyes.

"Yeah," Zel agreed, before adding, "although I think Margo is a little nervous."

Margo, who was in the middle of a yawn, shut her mouth instantly.

"Why would I be?" she questioned, pointing to herself.

"Because of Oscar," Zel spoke, in a whisper.

Margo rolled her eyes exaggeratedly; Oscar would also be at the gala, to collect his Rookie of the Year award, even though it was the second time he had won it.

"Whatever," was all she said.

"Don't deny it!" Zel emphasized, with all the excitement in the world.

Théo looked at Margo with a curious look; she shook her head slightly to prevent him from asking questions she didn't feel like answering.

"Zel, I just want to pick up my trophy, celebrate it, and go back to London with my dog and my mom," Margo nodded, pressing her lips together.

"Aw, well," Zel made a face, taking a sip of her coffee.

Margo watched as her agent entered the dining room and walked to their table. "Girls, you need to start getting ready now."

They looked at each other and then at Théo with a little pity for leaving him alone. But he wrinkled his nose a bit and told them not to worry, that he would go to his room in a while.

Margo was the first to shower; meanwhile, the dresses for the gala had arrived, and the makeup artists would come in an hour. When she came out, Zel was lying on the bed on a video call with Logan.

"Logan! Tell your girlfriend to stop messing around and come help me!" Zel laughed, and Logan laughed a little too.

"We'll talk later, okay?" Zel said, blowing a kiss to the camera. "Bye, love."

"Bye, beautiful," came from the phone.

They hung up, and Zel got up under Margo's curious gaze.

"Why haven't you guys said 'I love you' to each other yet?" she asked.

Zel shrugged. "Can I help you with the dress?"

Margo didn't dwell on that question any longer, and they started getting ready. Her stylist had brought her a pink satin dress with a slit in the leg and white gloves. Zel had opted for a sleeveless white dress with black details and a bit of flare. They felt like complete princesses.

"Look at us, the next Alfa Romeo driver and the next Ferrari reserve driver," Zel said as they looked at themselves in the mirror.

Margo took a couple of photos in the mirror, with them posing. "I can't believe we'll be in Formula 1 next year."

"I can't believe you're going to reunite with Oscar," Zel said, with total excitement.

Margo rolled her eyes unpleasantly and left the bathroom. Shortly after, the makeup artists arrived, and they left them looking beautiful. Margo sent her mother a few photos of Jezebel and herself.

While waiting for the car to pick them up, they stayed in the room watching episodes of Community. It had been Margo's favorite series since she was little, and whenever she was a bit nervous, any episode of Community would calm her down, at least for twenty-one minutes.

The car arrived to pick them up very punctually; Théo met them in the elevator and praised their outfits. In the car, Margo's hands were already sweating; it would be her first contact with the Formula 1 champions that year. Margo had vague memories of watching Max Verstappen debut in the Australian Grand Prix in 2014, and since then, he had become her favorite. Knowing that she was going to compete against him after so long seemed like an incredible madness.

There were cameras everywhere, although they weren't the ones that the journalists wanted to take more photos of. All the journalists were waiting for the three Formula 1 champions to arrive, so Margo felt like the flashes of their cameras were only out of pure compassion.

First, on the small red carpet, they posed separately, but Margo quickly waved them to come closer, and Zel and Théo joined her, and they posed together.

Margo slightly turned her head to the left, exchanging glances with Oscar Piastri by mistake. Two years without seeing each other, and there he was, in a suit and waiting to pose after them. They looked at each other for a moment, and Margo could see a hint of a smile in Oscar's expression. She remained completely serious and turned her gaze back to the front, showing a smile that was now fake.

"Look. Oscar is on the carpet," Zel said, after leaving the camera area. She looked back again, but this time he didn't turn. He seemed a bit overwhelmed by the cameras, but she forced herself not to care.

Margo made an unpleasant face. "I don't care."

"Sure," Zel said, pursing her lips.

"I'm serious, damn it. I come to pick up my award and I'm leaving," Margo declared, putting her hands on her hips. "No, wait. I pick up my award and I'm going to the PREMA party to drink."

Zel burst out laughing, and when she turned around, Margo locked eyes with Oscar again, biting the inside of her cheek.

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x female oc #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri x oc #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri series #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff #f1 x female oc #f1 x female driver #f1 x oc #op81 #logan sargeant x oc #logan sargeant #childhood friends #childhood friends to lovers #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #noraverse 🫧

[oscarpiasstri81]

i wanna ruin our friendship - Oscar Piastri

part one / part two

summary ~ oscar and reader telling the grid about their newfound relationship… but they already know.

pairing ~ {oscar piastri × childhoodbsf!reader}

content warnings ~ language, mentions of sex, mostly fluff, carlos sainz being a menace

a/n ~ i did NOT think so many people would read, let alone actually like my first ever ff. thank you guys so much!!! Los amo mucho a todos, gracias. <3

word count ~ again, idk. like 1k or something ?

You woke up to the feeling of the warm sun resting over your face. Shifting a little in your still half asleep state, you felt a slight weight over your waist. Confused for a split second, you look down to figure out what it is. Seeing a strong, tanned arm, you’re reminded of last nights events.

Oscar had been awake for a few minutes before you, staying completely still in order to not wake you. Once he noticed you were awake, he spoke to you with his rough, sleep coated voice.

“Morning, pretty girl. How did you sleep?”

Hearing his voice made you flip your body around to face him, a smile already plastered on your face. You gave him a quick peck on the lips before replying.

“I slept pretty good, especially since I was next toyou.” Your words left a faint blush over Oscars face, completed with the prettiest of smiles.

He returned your previous gesture with another, much longer, kiss. As you felt him tongue running across the bottom of your lips, you let the kiss go on for only a moment longer before pulling away.

“As much as I would like to lay here all day, Charles has probably got breakfast going downstairs. You know how impatient he gets.”

Oscar responded to your statement with an annoyed groan. Rolling his eyes before pulling you into a short, but just as sweet, kiss. He quickly got out of bed, getting dressed as you began to do the same. Once you were both done getting ready, Oscar headed to the door. You quickly stopped him.

“Wait, Oscar.” He stopped and turned to look at you confused.

“Yeah? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just… are we going to say anything? To anyone? You know, about us?” You asked as nicely as possible, not wanting to come off as if you were ashamed. He seemed to understand what you were implying.

“We can if you want to, pretty. I have no problems in telling the whole world that you are my beautiful, lovely girlfriend.” He said with a soft smile.

“Good, good. I don’t want to keep anything a secret, especially from our friends.”

Glad to hear your words of affirmation, you both had agreed to tell each of your friends together, over whatever horrible breakfast Charles was cooking downstairs. As excited as you were to tell everyone about your relationship, you were not excited about Charles cooking skills, you could smell the smoke from upstairs.

The both of you headed downstairs together. As you walked into the room, you noticed all heads turn towards you and Oscar.

There were only about 12 people who had stayed over for the night, all of them being either from the grid, or one of the WAGs, as the internet had dubbed them.

Although you were confused as to why everyone had so suddenly looked, and then just as quickly averted their gaze, you headed to sit at the large table. Charles cooking hadn’t been so miserable today, only about half of it being slightly charred. Oscar took his seat next to you, laying his hand onyour thigh. You turned to look at him, and gave him a silent nod as the go ahead to tell the group about your news.

Just as Oscar was about to speak, a sharp voice suddenly interrupted him. Carlos.

“So, you two got up to some fun last night, sí?” He said with a smirk, he was a very forward and teasing person.

The blush that covered both you and Oscars faces confirmed whatever Carlos was insinuating, and that only made the groups laugh even harder. You turned to Oscar with an embarrassed look. It was obvious how oblivious the both of you were to how loud you had been last night. It now made sense how Lando, who you considered to be a brother, couldn’t meet your eyes earlier when you offered him a ‘good morning’.

It was clear that Oscar was equally as embarrassed as you, although the slight smirk on his face said otherwise. The usually quiet and introverted man was sort of proud that everyone heard how good he could make you feel. He broke everyone’s laughter as he spoke.

“Well, at least now we don’t have to tell you guys. But, we’re together, for clarification.”

Everyone offered their congratulations, still quietly laughing about the whole situation. Lando, on the other hand, was not finding this as amusing.

“I am happy for you guys, just… don’t be so loud next time. I don’t need to hear any of that. Y/n is like a sister to me!”

This sent everyone into a fit again, laughing at not only you and Oscars expense, but Lando’s as well.

“Yeah,” Carlos speaks up, “You didn’t need to tell us anything, we all heard.”

a/n ~ again, thank you guys so much for the support on part one!!! i really appreciate it. let me know if you have any requests for writes, i’ll do pretty much anyone. hasta la vista, bebé

#oscar piastri #carlos sainz #lando norris #charles leclerc #formula 1 #formula one #childhood friends #friends to lovers #fluff #so fluffy #op81 #ln4 #cs55 #cl16

[cutielando]

question !!!!

hello, lovelies.

as the year approaches its end, there is a question nagging at me.

while the love you've shown me for my one shots and imagines in general has been amazing, i had a thought.

i am still going to post my classic imagines, would you guys want me to start posting social media aus?

i've noticed they're popular in fandoms i write for, so would you guys want me to give it a shot? I have some drafts already done, so would you guys like that?

#imagines #oneshots #fanfiction #character x reader #one shot #formula 1 #harry potter #outer banks #formula one #movies #drabble #masterlist #fluff #angst #friends to lovers #lando norris #charles leclerc #oscar piastri #max verstappen #rafe cameron #jj maybank #george russell #carlos sainz #theodore nott #theo nott #lewis hamilton #draco malfoy

[rosyblooom]

love (to hate) u | ln4 smau

PAIRING: lando norris x fem!reader A/N: hey! love this idea sm!! hope it's as u imagined :)

Twitch

Twitter

Instagram

yourusername

liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and 121,004 others

yourusername me and my bestie 🥰❤️ (fyi max this is OUR cat now)

view all 1,489 comments

username so what i'm seeing is if i punch lando we'll be besties??

username I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE (sry lan) username bye💀💀

landonorris What a loser...

landonorris A cat is your best friend now?🤣

yourusername wdym everybody knows it's cats>everyone else>lando 🤭 username damn😭 username take a shot everytime lando and y/n make digs at each other, i dare you username lol no thanks i choose life

username AHH BOTH OF YOU ARE CUTE AF LYYY <333

maxfewtrell You mean my cat?

yourusername **OUR cat 🔫🙂

landonorris posted to his story!

[ caption: Best night with the gang ❤️ ]

[ tagged: maxfewtrell + more ]

Twitter

f1gossipofficial

liked by username, username, username and 11,903 others

f1gossipofficial Y/N L/N was spotted today by fans attending the Australia Grand Prix alongside Oscar Piastri. Despite her and Lando Norris famously not getting along, it comes as quite a surprise to see her accompanying his teammate, especially considering their shared friend circles.

Who knows, maybe there's a relationship announcement on the horizon?👀

view all 919 comments

username Y/N 100% KNOWS WHAT SHE'S DOING LOOL

username she's so 😭 still gonna stan tho !!

username bruh they're literally friends

username oscar and y/n??? i would like to see it pls🙂‍↕️

username imagine having ur number 1 opp not only in the paddock but also in ur fucking garage like💀

username such nasty work omfg

username BREAKING MY SILENCE ‼️ they have the opportunity to pull the biggest enemies to lovers in todays day and age if they rlly wanted to👀

username lord there y'all go again... username i want whatever the hell u're fucking smoking cause what😀

username wait did he break up with lily???

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: why would a man be there?? 🤨]

[ tagged: landonorris ]

Twitter

Instagram

landonorris posted to his story!

[ caption: My lucky charm ❤️🙏 ]

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, maxfewtrell and 509,886 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername alright fun's over, congrats bby xxx (happy now oscar?)

view all 7,942 comments

oscarpiastri As you can all see, we are NOT dating

yourusername oscar i'm sry😭😭 oscarpiastri 😑 username aw man...😞

username Y'ALL ARE GOING TO FUCKING JAIL

landonorris Us 🤝 the drama

yourusername 🤭🩷 username match made in fucking hell😭 you guys are SICK

username WAIT WHAT? lemme move my bang and read this shit again cause wtf

username oh! 😀

username s(he) be(lie)ve(d)😓

username theyre both liars smh

username I TRUSTED YOU😭💔

username this whole time ppl were clowning me and i was right all along?🧍‍♀️IVE BEEN SAYING THERE'S SEXUAL TENSION OMFG

username on behalf of literally everyone i'd like to apologise babe. shoulda never doubted you x username lando and y/n need to apologise to u cause they played us all🤡

username you guys are fake as shit, but ig you're cute or whatever🙄

0:09 ㅇ──────────── 3:17

#f1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #f1 imagine #ln4 x you #lando norris smau #lando norris x female reader #lando x y/n #lando x you #lando norris fanfic #smau #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #f1 instagram au #fanfic #f1 fic #lando x reader #ln4 fic #f1 scenario #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #lando norris one shot #formula 1 x you

[ricciardosgirl]

currently cooking up a slow burn oscar piastri fic 🤫 this idea has been cooking for a few weeks now and IT'S SO GOOD. i will not disappoint 🫡 let me know if you wanna get tagged when it comes out. <3

#oscar piastri #f1 one shot #f1 #fanfic #writing #op81 #op81 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #fan fiction #slow burn #friends to lovers #childhood bffs <3