summary oscar and yn are childhood best friend but fans want them to be together
pharmacy student x oscar piastri
series masterlist ⋆ masterlist
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
oscarpiastri not the home race i wanted but it's always good to visit australia🇦🇺
tagged yourusername
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user we love you (mclaren do better!!)
user not u tagging them😂
user omg someone give him a spiritual cleansing or something 🙏🙏
user that second pic😂 looks a 100% real
user wait who is the girl????
user yn, his childhood best friend!!
user they are so cute<3 i love that they maintained their friendship after so many years
user i know🥺 he posts her every time he visits
yourusername your welcome for helping you with your workout 💪
oscarpiastri so that's what they are calling it these days🤨
yourusername yes!☺️
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername "a pharmacist is just an educated drug dealer" i joke as my eyes blur from all the hours i spent studying
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friend lol same girl i am extremely tired😭😭 i need exams to be done
yourusername me too but we are almost there!!
yourusername i am prescribing myself a gilmore girls sized coffee and keep going
user imagine looking this beautiful while stressed with uni i could never
user we stan an educated queen
oscarpiastri you got this✊
yourusername thank you osc<3
user she calls him osc too??🥺
user you didn't know?? you HAVE to watch that video mclaren posted last year where she and lando are fighting about it😂
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername uni dump & supporting my boy from afar 🫶🫶
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user they are adorable
user is it wrong if i say i ship it?
user girl join the club we've been here YEARS
user ynoscar nation rise🙋♀️
user she calls him my boy and you want me to believe they are not in love???
user me when i am delusional
user they are just friends let's not make it weird
user how am i making it weird if they are posting as if they are dating😭
user WHERE? they are literally not omg do none of you have friends?
user whatever i will come back to this when they hard launch
user sure🤡
oscarpiastri i can't wait to see you
yourusername getting on the plane rn<3
user wait is she visiting for the gp????
user and his bday is soon too🤭
user oh my god i love them
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
oscarpiastri posted a story
facetime buddy
story replies
↪user calling her buddy as if she's not the love of your life, you are not fooling anyone
↪user just kiss already
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
piastriupdates oscar and yn at the japan gp
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user they are in love.
user please god let oscar have a good weekend🙏 i can't take it anymore
user heart eyes piastri🥺🫶
user my mind can't process the fact that they are not together like i am sorry but that's a long-term relationship
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername japan gp in papaya
tagged mclaren, oscarpiastri
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user her face card is Unreal
oscarpiastri was that pic of me really necessary?
yourusername yes🫶
user lmaooo
friend sorry to be annoying but i have a question about your notes😩🙏 when you have a minute please explain it to me bc i feel like i don't understand anything and i am panicking
yourusername call me babe! i studied on the plane, so it's fresh in my mind. don't panic we can go over it<3
user she is GORGEOUS if oscar is not going to date her i will
user back off she's mine🤺🤺
user no way, i loved her first
hattiepiastri i think oscar loved her first🤭
user JFJFKDKD HATTIE WHAT
user is this— is this confirmation?
mclaren you are pharmily yn🧡 ♥︎liked by author
yourusername THE PUN JWJFKDJ ily mclaren (but the car better work this weekend 🔪🔪)
mclaren yes ma'am we'll try🤝
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
oscarpiastri p2 and then an amazing birthday week! thank you all for your love❤️
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yourusername YES OSC P2 LETS GOOO so proud of you🫶🫶🫶🫶
user the way she was smiling during the podium ceremony>>
user and how he searched for her?? they are so in love
user yn in that first pic: "you are doing amazing sweetie!!" ♥︎liked by yourusername
user two weekends where he didn't get to race, yn shows up and he gets a podium... i am just saying
user i like your theory keep going-
user you cannot convince me this is not a soft launch
user this is practically a hard launch
user you belong on the podium🙏🙏
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername happy birthday to the one who has been with me through it all💖 so glad i decided to befriend you when we were little because now i can say i know a formula 1 driver
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user lmaooo the caption
user not them sleeping at school 😂
user wake up!! baby oscar and baby yn pics just dropped!!
user how did she convince him to do facemasks lol
oscarpiastri thank you yn❤️
oscarpiastri i am so glad we met too🫶
user 🥺🥺🥺
user he's the softest boy ever i love him
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piastriupdates oscar was seen at an airport
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user he looks so good😩😩
user where is he going? does he have any sponsor's event we don't know about?
user and if i say this us bc yn is graduating this week what then🤭
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
oscarpiastri she's officially a pharmacist!! but i knew that already because she always makes everything feel better. i love you❤️
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user user I TOLD YOU SO
user okay perhaps you were right...
user THANK YOU
user congratulations yn👏🎉
user WE GOT CONFIRMATION
lando congrats yn!! oscar, how does it feel dating someone smarter than you?
oscarpiastri pretty good ngl 🤭
user hard launch🥺🥺
yourusername i'm addicted to you and there’s no cure (i would know lol)
sometimes all i think about is you ⸻ oscar piastri x reader .
featuring oscar piastri , roommate!au , friends to lovers , smut , use of fahrenheit (im american sorry deal w it) , unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it bbys !)
word count 4.2k
author’s note 18+ MDNI !!! once again (and probably every time i write smut) i will say i have no excuse for this one . if oscar piastri doesn’t want me to write smut about him then maybe he should stop posting slutty little photos where he’s all tan and sweaty !! like really … what was i meant to do with that . anyway let me know what you think , i hope you all enjoy <3 title is from heat waves by glass animals !
You’re halfway through your research when you notice the silence.
It’s not the comfortable, productive kind of quiet that tends to fall over the apartment while you work. This feels different. Ominous, even. Like there’s something you’ve gotten used to that’s suddenly gone missing.
You sit up straighter in your chair, frowning down at your laptop as you blink sweat out of your eyes. The cursor blinks back at you like it knows something you don’t. The air feels off — heavier, a little more stagnant, pressing down on your skin. Something about it makes your stomach twist nervously.
You push back from your desk and open your bedroom door. Your roommate is exactly where you expected him to be: sprawled on the couch, laptop balanced on his thighs as he types relentlessly away at the coding project he’s been “almost done with” for the past two weeks.
“Hey, Osc?”
He pulls out one AirPod, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he turns to look at you. You can hear his music even from your doorway, the house beats bumping through the tiny speaker. “What’s up?”
“Do you…” you pause, stepping fully into the living room. “Does it feel kinda hot in here to you?”
He presses up on his elbows, tilting his head slightly like he’s registering the temperature for the first time. “Yeah, actually. Weird.” He tosses his laptop on the coffee table, exchanges it for the air conditioner remote. When he points it at the unit and presses a button, nothing happens.
Your eyes flick to the AC unit. There’s no air moving above it. No breeze blowing through the leaves of the plants you’ve stacked across the windowsill.
Oscar tries again, pressing the buttons more frantically as you’ve ever seen him (which is to say, slightly harder than he did before). “It’s not working.”
“Shit,” you say, dread rising in your stomach. “You’re kidding.”
He raises an eyebrow at you, deadpan. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
He doesn’t. He looks mildly concerned at best, cheeks flushed and sweat starting to dampen the hair at his temples, brow furrowing in that calm, clinical way of his. You can tell he’s already cycling through possible fixes in his mind; to him, this situation is just another puzzle to be solved, an amusing diversion to take up his afternoon.
You, on the other hand, are spiraling.
“Oscar,” you say, words dripping off your tongue, “it’s nearly a hundred degrees outside. There’s been an extreme heat warning this entire week. I saw someone on TikTok this morning fry an egg on the sidewalk. And you’re telling me our AC is out?”
He points the clicker at the unit one more time for good measure. Nothing. Your chest tightens, as you glance down at your phone. 98º, the weather preview reads, next to a bright little sunshine icon. 98 degrees, and it’s barely 9 AM.
“Oh god,” you whine, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead. It comes away damp. “Oh god, we’re gonna get heatstroke and die in this tiny shitty apartment.”
“Whoa. Okay. Don’t panic,” Oscar says softly, eyes wide, like he’s not quite sure what to do with the freaked-out version of you. He walks past you into the kitchen, filling a glass with water and handing it to you. “Drink this. I’m gonna check the breakers, yeah?”
He disappears down the hall to the fuse box, and you collapse onto the couch where he’d been laying. It’s still warm from his body heat, which somehow makes everything worse. You can already feel your hair sticking sweatily to the back of your neck. The water is lukewarm, but it helps a little.
Oscar’s back a few minutes later. “Did it work?” you ask hopefully, but he’s already shaking his head, holding his phone out to you. You can read the giant, size 128 font your super always uses in his emails from across the room: Building-wide HVAC outage. No ETA for repair.
“Okay,” you say slowly as you sit up, trying to channel some of his calmness. “Okay, we can figure this out. Ice packs. Cold showers. We can handle this. It’s gonna be fine.”
He nods uncertainly. There’s sweat starting to bead at his hairline. “I think there’s a fan in the closet that the people who lived here before us left. I’ll grab it.”
When he returns, he’s carrying the fan under one arm, biceps flexed around the frame. It’s an old thing — white plastic going yellow at the edges, wide square cage locked around three dusty blades, power cable frayed from use.
“That thing looks like it’s going to electrocute you,” you say, eyebrows raised.
He grins, plugging the cord into the wall. “C’mon, it adds character. Ready for sweet, sweet circulation?”
You scramble to the floor, sitting cross-legged directly in front of the fan. “Hit me, Piastri,” you say decidedly, and he flips the switch.
The fan wheezes to life, sort of. The blades creak into motion like they’ve woken up from a decade-long nap, and it only takes a moment before the first gust of air hits your waiting face.
Hot air.
“No,” you moan, and Oscar crouches next to you, hand in the corner of the frame like he’s trying to run his fingers through the breeze. “I thought this was gonna help. It feels like sitting in front of a fucking hair dryer.”
“Maybe it just needs a second to warm up?” he tries, but you’re already shaking your head.
“It is warm. That’s the problem.”
He sighs and sits on the floor next to you, knee brushing against yours. The fan keeps pushing the stifling air at your faces, like it’s mocking you. “Verdict: the fan is shit.”
“The fan is worse than shit,” you groan, letting your head loll against his shoulder. You can feel his skin even through his shirt, warm beneath your cheek. “The fan is actively taunting us. The fan is betraying us.”
“Okay, drama queen,” he says fondly, pulling the cord out of the wall. The fan stutters to a stop and silence falls again, the air feeling even swampier than before.
“We’ve got other ways to beat the heat,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself and you. “It’ll be fine.”
It’s absolutely, completely, one hundred percent not fine.
“This is hell,” you moan, fanning yourself with an old takeout menu. “Actual hell.”
Oscar swipes lazily at the menu, pulling it out of your hand. “Give me that.” He fans it at himself a few times, before letting it drop out of his hand with a groan.
For a while, it had kind of felt like an adventure. The two of you had dragged your stuff into the living room, worked side by side with bags of frozen peas pressed to your heads, cold beers sweating on the coffee table. The day dragged on, temperature climbing higher, and you’d been forced to get creative. On one trip to the kitchen, you’d figured out it was the shadiest place in the entire apartment, and promptly moved to lay out on the floor, tiles cool beneath your skin. The two of you took turns sticking your head in the freezer, too hot to be self-conscious about how stupid you looked. At least you’d gotten an ancient, frostbitten box of Bomb Pops out of it, long forgotten behind your ice tray. You’d spotted it, pulled it out and split the entire box between the two of you, rationing them like wartime supplies.
But now the popsicles are gone, the last of the beers going lukewarm, and you’re both pleasantly tipsy and running out of ways to keep yourself entertained. Judging from the way the sun is slanting golden through the window, you’re guessing it’s late afternoon, but you don’t dare get up and check your phone. That would mean expending energy and leaving the cold tiles behind, two things you are very much not prepared to do.
“This is such an undignified way to die,” you mumble instead, cheek flat against the cool floor. Your bottle is dripping with condensation, pressed into the skin of your neck.
“We’re not going to die,” Oscar says automatically, sliding down the cabinets until he’s on his back next to you. His hair is plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed.
You roll your head to the side to look at him. “I’m pretty sure this is how we go out. I’m wilting. I can feel my brain literally melting. Dripping out my ears.”
“Nah, I think that’s just sweat,” he grins, eyes sparkling.
“Ew, Osc.” You wrinkle your nose. “Gross. And also not helping.”
He lets out a laugh, lazy and breathless, forearm thrown over his eyes. “At least we’re going out together.”
“Yeah, put that on the tombstone,” you snort. “‘Here lies two idiots who died because they were too cheap to rent in a building with a competent super.’”
“We’re not cheap,” he protests weakly. “We’re… financially responsible.”
“Yeah, ‘cause it’s so financially responsible to just die of heatstroke.”
Oscar sighs, taking a long swig and then setting his beer down. The glass clinks against the tiles. “Okay. Well, we’re definitely not gonna survive if we keep wearing this much.”
You blink, propping yourself up on your elbows. “What?”
But he’s already shimmying his shorts down his legs, kicking them across the floor to the corner of the kitchen. “It’s basic heat management. Less layers means our skin’ll cool off faster.” He pulls his shirt over his head next, one clean, graceful movement.
And — okay. Okay. You weren’t prepared for Oscar to be shirtless.
You’ve lived together for almost two years. You’ve seen him before, on laundry day in a ratty muscle tank, on the way into the gym, even one particularly embarrassing moment when you walked into the bathroom before he’d gotten dressed, towel slung dangerously low on his hips. But you’d filed the moments away in your head as normal roommate occurrences, nothing to think twice about.
Clearly, you hadn’t been paying enough attention. Because now you don’t know what to do when he’s sitting on the kitchen floor in a pair of grey Calvins, skin flushed golden and peppered with moles, covered in a sheen of sweat. There’s a drop trailing down his chest, catching in the grooves of what look like very defined abs.
You know you’re staring. It’s shameless. You feel a little bit insane, actually. Oscar is… hot?
“You okay?” your roommate says, a little too casually.
“I —” you stammer, forcing your eyes up to his face. “What the hell, Osc. You have muscles.”
“Humans tend to have those,” he replies dryly.
“No, but like, I thought you had programmer muscles. Slouch over a computer all day and code muscles,” you try to explain. “But you look like you could be in like, a sexy sunscreen ad or something. When did you get so jacked?”
He laughs, a little breathless, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears look a little pinker than they were before. You’re not sure if it’s the heat or something else entirely. “I’ve always been like this. You just never noticed.”
You shake your head. “No way. I would have noticed that.”
“Apparently not,” he says, voice a little rough in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
He gestures at your sweat-soaked tank top. “Heat management, remember?”
“Right, yeah. Makes sense. Equal opportunity stripping,” you breathe, trying very hard to sound casual even though your pulse is racing under your skin. You take a breath, averting your eyes to the floor, and tug your tank top over your head.
The air hits your skin first, surprisingly cool. And then, unmistakably, Oscar’s eyes next, trailing down your body, heavy and lingering.
“You’re staring,” you note, and his gaze snaps back to your face.
He swallows hard, rakes a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry, I —” His eyes flick back to your chest, like he can’t help himself, then quickly back up to your face. “Jesus.”
You raise an eyebrow, tiny smile on your face. “Humans tend to have those,” you echo him, gesturing vaguely at your bralette, and Oscar makes a strangled noise like he’s choked on his own tongue.
He rolls toward you on the floor slightly, one arm falling lazily over his waist as he looks up at you with those big brown eyes. “You can’t just do that.”
“Hey. You were the one who told me to take my shirt off,” you say, suddenly defensive.
He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Well, I didn’t think you’d do it and look like that.”
“Like what?”
“Hot,” he says lowly, and now it’s your turn to sputter around your own breath.
“I mean — it is the middle of a heatwave,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes find yours. Hold them with an intensity that makes you shiver even in the heat. “You know that’s not the type of hot I meant.”
The air doesn’t feel stagnant anymore. It feels alive between you, some kind of simmering tension that’s using the heat as an excuse to finally, finally boil over.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, voice pitching high and unsteady.
His brows knit together. “What do you mean?”
“You’re looking at me like you want to kiss me or something,” you say, breathless.
A beat. Oscar’s lip catches in between his teeth as he looks at you, and you can feel your traitorous eyes drop to his mouth. His grin spreads slowly across his face, like he’s won something he didn’t know was up for grabs.
“I do want to kiss you,” he says. And then he leans in, slow, like he’s giving you the chance to stop all of it in its tracks, until there’s no space left between you.
When his mouth finally finds yours, it’s careful. He tastes like cherry popsicle, lips sticky with the leftover sugar and a salty twinge of sweat. One hand cups your cheek, the other resting tentatively on your waist, thumb skimming at the hem of your bralette like he’s still trying to figure out how far he’s allowed to go.
You don’t want him to be careful anymore.
You swing a leg over his lap, straddling him, knees knocking against the tile. His breath hitches as you settle against him, muscles tense beneath you. “You’re allowed to touch me, you know,” you murmur against his mouth.
He pulls back, chest rising and falling unevenly as he looks up at you. “Just — trying to be respectful,” he says roughly, fingers digging into the skin at your waist.
You smirk, rolling your hips against the obvious bulge in his briefs, hard and thick and throbbing. The groan he lets out is nothing short of filthy. “Osc, I’m literally half-naked on top of you. I think we’re way past the point of respectful.”
It’s like the permission flips a switch inside him. His mouth attaches to your neck, sucking little bruises into the soft skin, and suddenly, his hands are all over you. One sliding down your back, splaying over your hip and rocking you against him, cock rutting against your wet heat through your shorts. The other palming at your chest through your bra, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the way your nipples pearl under his touch.
“So fucking hot,” he breathes into your skin, pausing between words to suck another mark at the swell of your breast. “Driving me insane, you know that? All fucking day with those shorts and that little tank top.”
You don’t respond. Just reach behind you, fingers nimbly unhooking your bralette, clasp damp against your back. The fabric falls away easily, straps slipping down your arms until you’re bare on top of him.
For a second, you think Oscar might have stopped breathing, hands frozen on your hips, eyes fixed on your tits.
“Oscar?” you say, breathless, rutting your hips against his in a shameless attempt to bring him back down from whatever planet he’s on. He blinks hard, shakes his head slightly like his brain is an Etch-a-Sketch he’s trying to reset. His pupils are blown, eyes wide as he stares up at you.
“Sorry, yeah, I —” he mumbles, and then his head is ducking down, mouth closing around your nipple, warm and wet. His tongue flicks sharp over the nub of it, his other hand coming up to palm at your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.
It feels like he’s everywhere, all hands and lips and tongue, and you gasp, arch your back like you’re trying to get more of your tits into his mouth. He groans around you, teeth grazing against the sensitive area gently. The vibrations go straight to your core. “Osc — fuck — ”
“Good?” he mutters against you, and you nod frantically. His free hand wraps under you, fingers splaying against the curve of your ass, and he picks you up and presses you into the kitchen tile without taking his mouth off you. The move is so absurdly, unfairly hot that the only thought in your mind is why you didn’t let him do it sooner.
He pulls back, and you’re about to whine at the loss of contact until you feel his mouth against you again, pressing messy open-mouthed kisses in a trail down your stomach, tongue dragging against your skin like he needs to taste you. Your fingers weave easily into his hair, tugging loosely at the roots, and he whines.
“Can I —” he breathes when he gets to the waistband of your shorts, looking up at you through his lashes, and you’re lifting your hips in reply before he can even really get the question out of his mouth.
“Please,” you gasp, like he needs any extra confirmation. Like he’s not already hooking his fingers into the elastic and tugging your shorts and panties down your legs.
“Fuck,” he rasps once you’re laid bare in front of him, hand sliding slick up your thigh to your center. “You’re unreal.”
He kisses the inside of your thigh gently, then again. Higher and higher he goes, mouth dragging just shy of where you need him most. “Taste so fucking good already f’me,” he mumbles to himself, almost reverent. “Can’t believe I get to do this.”
Your hips kick involuntarily at the vibration from his words, his breath teasing at your cunt. “Then do it, Osc,” you whimper, fingers tightening in his hair. “Please.”
Apparently your begging does the trick. He plants one hand on your thigh, uses it to pull you towards him, spreading your thighs wide enough to keep them apart with his shoulders, and then presses the flat of his tongue to you, licking a long, hot stripe up your center.
He eats you out like he’s been dying to do it, like he’s trying to figure out exactly what makes you tick, what will make you fall apart the fastest under him. It’s a little sloppy, hot and wet and reckless, but it works — tongue circling around your clit in a way that makes you moan high and breathless. The sound only seems to spur him on, fingers slipping into you a second after that.
Your back arches off the tile at the feeling of his fingers, fucking you open slowly. Not that it’s doing a thing to cool you down anymore. With his mouth and his hands on you, you feel like you’re burning up from the inside out.
When he sucks your clit into his mouth, crooking his fingers inside you, the sensation is nearly too much to bear. “Osc, don’t stop — I’m gonna —” you pant brokenly, hips rocking against his face, his hand.
“Let go. Come on, baby, let me taste it,” he murmurs directly into your core, and your orgasm rips through you, thighs shaking around Oscar’s shoulders. He works you through it, tongue lapping at you like he wants to devour you as you writhe beneath him.
When you finally come back down to earth, you tug him back up your body until you’re face to face. “You good?” he asks breathlessly, looking down at you. He’s so pretty like this — wild-eyed, flushed and panting, hair mussed, mouth shining.
“Yeah. Yes,” you nod, dazed. “So fucking good.” He grins down at you, obviously pleased, if the way his hips twitch into yours is anything to go by.
You reach up for him instinctively, suddenly desperate to taste yourself on his tongue. The resulting kiss is hot and sticky and perfect, even better when you let your hand slip between the two of you to palm at his cock through his briefs. He hisses, jerks his hips forward as you work your fingers beneath the waistband, pulling them down just enough for his length to spring free, hard against his stomach.
He breaks the kiss just enough to shove the briefs down, past his ankles, kicking them to the rapidly growing pile of clothes in the corner of the kitchen. When your hand wraps around him, thumbing across the tip and spreading the wetness gathering there down his length with one experimental pump, he gasps, hips canting against your hand.
“Fuck, you can’t — I’m not gonna last if you do that,” he admits, eyes closed and breathing uneven.
Maybe it’s the heat that makes you bold, or maybe it’s his honesty, saying straight out how badly you affect him. But something makes you grin up at him and say it: “Maybe you should hurry up and get inside me, then.”
His eyes snap open, and he makes a wrecked little noise at that, something between a whimper and a growl. “Fuck. Okay. Condom. In my room, I think —”
You laugh, breathless, hooking one leg around his waist and pulling him down to press his forehead against yours. “I’m on the pill. And I trust you, Osc.”
His eyes flutter shut like that might legitimately be his undoing, cockhead pushing at your slick folds, barely holding himself back. “Jesus fucking Christ. Okay.”
He lines himself up, sinks into you so slowly that it’s torture. The feeling is overwhelming, the stretch, the heat of it. He’s thick, perfect, pressed so deep into you when he finally bottoms out that it nearly steals the breath from your lungs.
“Shit,” Oscar chokes out, helpless. “You feel — fuck, you feel insane.”
You dig your heels into his back, nails dragging over his shoulders. “Probably feel better if you move,” you breathe, and his eyes go dark, pulling out just to slam back into you with a long moan.
He finds a rhythm fast. Messy, desperate thrusts that echo filthily against the tile every time his hips snap into yours, skin sliding against skin. He’s bracing one hand beside your head, the other gripping under your thigh to keep you spread open, flushed and panting beneath him.
“You’re so —” he starts, voice breaking into a moan as you rock your hips to meet him with each thrust, your cunt gripping him warm and tight and ready. “Fuck. Wanted this so bad.”
“You thought about this?” you manage between gasps, and he nods.
“All the fucking time. Jesus, you feel so good,” he groans, voice rough and hot against your ear. “So fucking tight, baby — m’not gonna last.”
You’re a mess beneath him already, gasping and clawing at his back as he fucks into you. “Don’t have to,” you whine as he hikes your leg up his waist, opening you up even more for him. The angle has your vision blurring, seeing stars every time his length scrapes that one spot inside you. “Want you to come, Osc, please, need to feel you.” You clench around him on instinct, and he shudders, hips stuttering.
“Fuckfuckfuck, don’t do that, I’m so close,” he grits out, hand sliding between your bodies to your clit, rubbing tight little circles against you. “Need to make you come first.”
You let out a moan, almost incoherent. You can already feel it building, coiling low and tight in your stomach, sparked by the heat and his voice and the frantic way he’s moving inside you. “Osc, I’m gonna —”
“Yeah?” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut as you pulse around him, so close to falling over the edge. “Do it then. Want to feel it on my cock.”
You come with a yelp, back arching and cunt fluttering around him. A moment later, Oscar’s rhythm falters inside you, and then he’s gasping your name, spilling into you with a groan that vibrates against your skin.
He stays like that for a moment, shivering in the aftermath, pressed fully against you, skin slick and sticky, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.
“...So,” he breathes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “That definitely didn’t help us cool down.”
You laugh, breathless. Fucked out. “Not even a little bit.”
“Cold shower together next?” he grins, dazed, cheeks flushed as he waggles an eyebrow at you. You smack him on the arm lazily in response, no real heat behind it.
But you don’t say no. And when he scoops you up off the floor into his arms and carries you to the bathroom, you get a distinct, giddy sort of feeling that no matter how long the heat wave lasts, whatever is happening between the two of you isn’t cooling off anytime soon.
not to praise the chinese government, also china is NOT communist—this is oversimplifying but they are basically a form of state-run capitalism. people in “the west” however, ARE lied to by their corporate owned governments and corporate owned media about china and a lot of other places in the world. and about socialism and communism in general.
(gn reader / fluff / 742 words) waking up next to oscar on the morning after
THE NIGHT HAD PASSED IN A BLUR. you blink awake early in the afternoon with a striking headache. sunlight streams in through the hotel’s sheer curtains. it reflects against the nearby shoreline and fills the room with enough light that it makes your head ache and the world spin. memories come in flashes. a party. a few more drinks than usual. your back pressed against a mattress.
behind you, OSCAR PIASTRI stirs quietly. his arm lays gingerly wrapped around your bare waist. your legs are tangled beneath the sheets and his chest is pressed against your back. he groans softly as he awakens, leaning in closer to nuzzle his nose against your body.
“morning,” oscar whispers. his voice is deep and gravelly, still heavy with the weight of sleep. you squirm softly when he shuffles even closer. oscar presses his forehead against the crook of your neck. stray strands of his hair tickle against your skin.
you hum. oscar curls his arm around your side. shivers wrack down your spine when he begins tracing small, miscellaneous shapes against the side of your hip. “good morning.”
the sheets feel silky against your bare skin when you roll onto your side, now facing oscar. he smiles softly when you reach his gaze. he blinks tiredly in the sunlight. his eyes shine the color of caramel. stray strands of his golden hair stick up at odd angles. you chuckle at the sight before reaching up to brush the strands out of his eyes.
“how are you feeling?” oscar asks, voice quiet. his hand slips away from your waist for just long enough to brush against the base of your throat. he frowns softly as his fingertips trace against fresh bruises trailing down your skin. “i wasn’t too rough, right?”
“osc,” you let out a quiet laugh. you reach up, catching his hand in your own. his movements still when you intertwine your fingers together. he takes the opportunity to tug you even closer. oscar’s lips brush against the center of your palm, short and sweet and intimate in a way that makes butterflies flutter throughout your stomach. “i’m fine. it was good.”
oscar smiles softly. the corners of his lips curl upwards, fond but small. quiet in a way that was so familiarly oscar. it’s the kind of look you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it.
“and you? how are you feeling?” beneath the sheets, oscar intertwines your legs together. he pulls you impossibly closer until your bodies are all but melded together. “i wasn’t exactly easy on you, either.”
that earns you a quiet chuckle from oscar. he shakes his head softly. “‘m alright. just sore. maybe a little scratched up.”
“are you sure?” you push yourself upwards just enough to trace your fingertips against the bruises littered across oscar’s collarbones. the marks were light - hues of pink and purple decorating the bones across his chest. they were low enough to be easily hidden and just dark enough for you to know they were there. “can i see? i want to make sure you’re not hurt.”
oscar obliges, reluctantly letting go of your hand and turning over to his side. you trace your fingertips against oscar’s shoulderblade as you trail along the curve of his back. thin, red scratches contrast against his pale skin. you frown softly at the irritated patches. “these look bad,” you murmur.
“it doesn’t hurt, i promise.” oscar says. you gingerly brush your fingertips against a particularly deep scratch. he flinches in response. shivers run down his spine at the feeling. he huffs out a soft laugh at the ticklish feeling.
“sorry,” you chuckle. you lean in, pressing a chaste kiss against an unmarked patch of skin. your arm snakes around oscar’s waist to rest against his stomach as you curl your body around his, now mirroring the position you had woken up in. “forgot how ticklish you are.”
oscar rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest otherwise. instead, he reaches up to grab your hand once again. “we can go get some ointment for them later,” he says quietly. oscar traces his thumb against your knuckles like it’s second nature. an unconscious habit he had picked up throughout your years spent together.
you hum contently. your eyes flutter shut once again as you lean in, tiredness settling in once again. “can we order some takeout, too?”
oscar chuckles softly as he nods. “we can get anything you want, baby.”
notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed! f1 reqs are open and greatly appreciated <3 this was a half-baked idea so forgive me if it doesn't make much sense, need the 2026 season to start already i'm so excited
if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or reblogging!! and if you want to support me, consider checking out my f1 masterlist <3
hai lovely! i was wondering if you could write a little something about jealous oscar :] the reader & osc don’t necessarily have to be in a relationship— something like “pre-dating” 🎀 myb lando & reader r bffs and oscar realizes he isn’t fond of how touchy the pair is :D suddenly it all hits him at once……. he is in loveeeeeee >_<
don't tease me / and keep me around like it's easy
(gn reader / fluff / 1.2k words) during a night out, oscar realizes he isn't fond of how touchy lando is (or, oscar gets over his denial)
the night is young. dusk stretches along the coast, golden light reflecting across calm ocean waves and filtering into the car’s tinted windows. “it’ll be fun,” lando promises, fingertips excitedly drumming against the steering wheel. a pop song plays through the car’s stereo. the melody fills the otherwise quiet drive. “besides, your lover will be there.”
beside him, OSCAR PIASTRI scoffs. he rolls his eyes with no malice though lando can’t see. instead, he shifts in his seat, watching the buildings pass alongside him. “we’re not dating.”
“yet.” lando glances at him, raising his eyebrows in a way that makes oscar shake his head with an annoyed sigh. “i still can’t believe you don’t see it. you guys are so gross around each other. i feel like a third wheel.”
oscar simply sighs at that, letting silence fall between them once again. admittedly, he did blush more around you. and laugh harder. and he had started going out with lando more often in the hopes that you would go out and he could catch a glimpse of you between the crowded room and cigarette smoke. but that didn’t mean he was interested in you. right?
lando pulls the car into a parking spot near the entrance before they slip out of the car. jimmy’z stands before them with the promise of loud music and cheap drinks inside. “just have a good time, alright?” he says as he pats oscar’s shoulder. “we’re on break. you deserve it.”
oscar nods along. he brushes his hands against his jean-clad thighs, letting out a breath. “yeah. thanks, lando.”
pounding music and the smell of cigarette smoke greet them when lando pushes the door open, quickly followed by oscar wandering inside. the security guard flashes lando a smile when they show their ids. oscar glances at him but lando simply shrugs with a sheepish grin.
“lando!” your voice carries through the already-tipsy crowd despite the music playing through the speakers. the bass rattles oscar’s bones but the sight of you is what takes his breath away.
you’re rushing towards them with a bright smile, quick to wrap lando in a tight hug. lando readily accepts, his arms sliding around your waist and lingering on the small of your back with familiarity. oscar’s stomach twists. “hi,” lando chuckles.
you pull away after a moment, smiling brightly at oscar. his uneasiness disappears ever so slightly. hesitantly, you take a step forwards before wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a brief but sweet hug. “it’s good to see you,” you say.
“you too.” oscar blushes but doesn’t say much more.
“come on.” you reach out, taking lando’s hand into your own. he stumbles slightly when you tug him forwards before quickly regaining his footing. “let’s dance.”
oscar clenches his jaw, then chuckles. lando’s whines are drowned out by the dj’s newest remix as you drag him further into the crowd. oscar lingers on the sidelines for a few minutes before he settles for finding a somewhat quiet spot away from the chaos at the bar.
the night progresses slowly. oscar’s eyes follow you between sips of his drink as you bounce around the dance floor, jumping along to the beat and humming to the melody. lando, similarly, had alternated between teasing oscar when he ordered drinks at the bar and dancing with you. oscar grits his teeth just a little tighter when lando’s hand casually brushes against your side, his fingertips trailing along the curve of your waist.
alcohol burns against oscar’s throat as he nurses his drink, careful not to get too drunk in front of unknown eyes and unseen cameras. he waves the bartender off with a polite smile. pop music becomes r&b and then edm as different djs filter in and out of the booth, each with a different setup and remixes of various qualities.
people filter in and out of the dance floor. oscar had lost sight of you at some point. lando had disappeared even further into the crowd, making the most of his night out. oscar was greeted with a bright smile and two thumbs-up from across the room that he had laughed at but otherwise ignored.
oscar leaves a now-empty glass on the counter when he slips out of jimmy’z entrance, finding solace in the cool night air. outside, he was no longer suffocated by cigarette smoke and music so loud he couldn’t hear himself think. his eyes flutter shut as he takes a breath, finally relaxing for the first time in what feels like hours.
he blinks in surprise for a moment when a familiar silhouette catches his attention. you’re standing near the edge of the bar, leaning against a thin metal railing as you watch the horizon below.
“hey,” oscar says quietly, catching your attention.
“hi,” you murmur in response. “fun night?”
oscar chuckles. “something like that.” the cool night air sends goosebumps arising against the exposed skin on his forearms. he places his hands against the railing as he leans forwards slightly, so close that his shoulder just barely brushes against your own. the cool metal sends shivers racing down his spine. he turns to face you. “how are things with you and lando?”
“lando?” you shrug, glancing at him before turning back towards the city. the lights reflect in your eyes, sparkling along the horizon. oscar looks at you like you’re a work of art - someone impossible to look away from.
in the dim light, oscar just barely catches the ghost of a smile gracing your lips. his cheeks burn but for once, he doesn’t look away. instead, he stares. dark eyes bore into your own with an intensity that felt like he was seeing you, not just looking. your heart skips a beat.
“lando is touchy, but he’s just a friend. i promise.” you hold your hand up, pinky extended towards oscar. he blinks at you for a moment. you wait expectedly. “come on. pinky swear.”
oscar chuckles - a low, deep sound that makes your smile grow. it’s the first genuine smile he’s had all night, he thinks. he raises his hand, interlocking his pinky with yours. his skin feels warm against your own. oscar’s cheeks flush and for once he’s grateful for the cover of darkness. “i believe you.”
“you better.” your hand lingers for just a few seconds too long before you reluctantly pull away, fingertips drumming against the metal railing. oscar rests his hand next to yours, so close that the proximity almost takes your breath away. “besides, i’m interested in someone else.”
oscar raises an eyebrow at that. “are you?”
“yeah,” you smile softly, turning to face him once again. you take a step forward, raising a hand to gently cradle his face. oscar’s breath hitches in his throat. he freezes. his heartbeat pounds loudly in his ears, impossible to ignore.
in a short, smooth movement, you lean in, pressing your lips against oscar’s cheek in a chaste kiss. your hand lingers against his cheek. your thumb swipes against his cheekbone gingerly before you pull away, still smiling softly at him. “goodnight, oscar.”
he’s still standing there, frozen as you slip away into the darkness, probably finding a friend for a ride home. oscar’s cheeks flush. he raises a hand, swiping his fingertips against the apple of his cheek. maybe it’s the alcohol. or maybe it’s just you.
shit. he’s in love.
notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! f1 reqs are open and greatly appreciated <3 this isn't really jealous oscar as much as it's him being in denial that's my bad, maybe i'll write a jealous f1 reaction or smth, considering a part two if anyone reqs it, thank you so much for the request!! i hope you enjoy :)) title from tate mcrae - run for the hills
if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or reblogging!! and if you want to support me, consider checking out my f1 masterlist <3
the life may leave my lungs / but my heart will stay with you
♫⋆｡♪₊˚ bring me the horizon - deathbeds
(gn reader / fluff / 1k words) attractive stuff he does :)
leaving his hand on your lower back to guide you
the paddock becomes a living creature on race weekends. the crowd swarms around you, little more than a series of flashing cameras and a blur of people calling your name from all sides. someone’s eyes are on you everywhere you look. you almost feel small before their prying gazes. your stomach churns at the thought of having to fight your way through the crowd, already stuck somewhere in your own head.
beside you, oscar darts away from a reporter to close the distance between you. “stay close,” he murmurs. his hand slips to wrap around your waist like second nature. his hand settles against your hip, pulling you into his side until your shoulders brush with each step. oscar leans in so close that his breath ghosts against the shell of your ear.
you steal a quick glance at him before your eyes dart back to the mob of cameras surrounding you on all sides. it’s almost surreal to watch how they follow your every move, no doubt flickering every single second. “there’s so many people here,” you say quietly.
“don’t worry.” the corners of his lips curl up into a small smile — one just reserved for you. oscar leans so close that his lips just barely brush against your temple. “i’ve got you.”
using his hand to block the counter when you bend down
you don’t notice it. neither does oscar — lando does.
the mclaren hospitality unit has lost much of its liveliness, settling into a somewhat peaceful post-race haze. debriefs and press duties and meetings had stretched well into the night. the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, leaving only a few stars sparkling in the dark skies above.
you’re only semi-conscious of lando’s voice from across the table. he’s talking about an overtake on the back straight, complete with big hand gestures and a larger-than-life animation to his movements. oscar nods along beside you, only occasionally adding his own commentary when lando pauses for breath.
at some point you lean down, fingertips tugging at the laces of your shoes. your body contorts as you fold yourself in half in an attempt to readjust their feeling around your feet. lando’s story abruptly stops. the sentence instead collapses into a soft chuckle.
you sit up, only slightly confused by the sudden change. lando grins fondly but you don’t miss the teasing glint in his eyes. “mate,” he says, pointing across the table at oscar. “you don’t even realize you’re doing it, do you?”
“doing what?”
“you’re blocking the table’s edge with your hand,” lando explains. “you didn’t even break eye-contact when you moved.”
oscar turns, glancing at his hand as if it doesn’t belong to him. his fingers are curled around the table, effectively blocking the corner’s sharp edges. his arm is outstretched towards your side.
you smile softly. oscar simply shrugs, though you don’t miss his bashful smile. “didn’t want you to hit your head,” he explains. “just in case.”
you lean in, pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek. “thank you, osc.” you pretend not to notice the way the tips of his ears burn a deep shade of red or how he turns away from you, biting back a larger grin.
“simp,” lando mutters.
including you in conversations — even when they’re unrelated to you
sponsor events were always a drag. there were only so many pointless introductions you could exchange and glasses of overly expensive champagne you could drown your boredom in before you began to feel unsteady on your feet, just aching to go home.
the ballroom is too cold and too humid for your liking. shivers raise along your bare skin as you offer yet another tight-lipped smile to a businessman you don’t recognize. you’ve been standing for too long, bouncing around between making idle small talk when oscar is pulled away and zoning out in the corner.
the curtains are too long, dragging against the floor. the chandelier hasn’t been dusted in months. the waiters wander around you in circles, as if practicing a choreographed dance all of their own. you anxiously drum your fingers against your glass of champagne, willing the time to pass just a little bit faster.
you almost startle when oscar returns to your side, sliding an arm around your waist like it’s second nature. an older man in a tailored suit follows him, effectively dragging your attention away from the furniture and misplaced decor.
“this is my partner,” oscar introduces, gesturing to you briefly. you repeat the same pleasantries you have all night — shake his hand firmly, but not too tight, muster up the biggest smile you can, nod along as miscellaneous points, awkwardly chuckle when oscar does.
you let their words flow in and out of your ears, little more than background noise. that is until oscar’s grip around your waist tightens ever so slightly, dragging you back into reality just quickly enough for you to register his words. “actually, my partner is interested in that as well,” oscar says with a soft smile. “right, babe?”
making space for you in his life
“do you want anything from the store?”
oscar glances up at you from his phone, eyebrows furrowing as he thinks the question over. he shakes his head after a moment. he shuts his phone off with one click before setting it down on the table in front of him. “no, i don’t think so. what are you planning to get?”
“i ran out of shampoo,” you shrug. “and i need some other stuff, too.”
oscar blinks at you. “check under the cabinet, on the right side. i got another bottle for you a while back.”
his words make you stop in your tracks entirely. you pause, turning to face him with wide eyes. he looks younger in the mornings — more human. the wear of the day hasn’t yet taken its toll. his movements are slightly more sluggish than usual and his voice rasps at the ends. a t-shirt hangs off his broad shoulders. an old pair of sweatpants drag along the floor behind each step.
it’s domestic. almost sickeningly so. you can feel butterflies swarm throughout your stomach. your heart beats wildly in your chest. heat flushes your face. you can’t help the way your lips curl into an almost unconscious smile, overwhelmed by the casual affection underlying his actions.
“really?”
oscar simply shrugs. he leans in to steal a kiss like it’s the easiest thing in the world. his lips are soft when they meet your own. you find yourself chasing the feeling, even unconsciously. “didn’t want you to run out.”
notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! f1 reqs are open and greatly appreciated <3 if this is incoherent it's bc i only got four hours of sleep to watch spa live (congrats kimi!!) i'm obsessed with this picture he's so cute, inspo from this fic by @sof1rs :)
if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or reblogging!! and if you want to support me, consider checking out my f1 masterlists here and here <3
why is there an upgrade button on gmail. why does twitter want me to scan my palm to get into my account. why is google a chatbot. why does the transit app make a transit app wrapped for me. why does youtube keep shoving its infinitely scrollable shortform content down my throat. why do my doctor and psychiatrist and therapist want to use an ai notetaker during our appointments. why do free trials want my credit card number. why are most scholarship websites just data brokers. how do i make capitalone stop sending me mail. why is my school making its own special chat gpt powered chatbot. why is every third video on instagram an undisclosed ad. why is nothing online real anymore. why is everything so FUCKING STUPID
