idk man im just doing my job | almost 30 | mental health dependent on australian man's driving skills | you probably wont get race talk from me on main though | believe it or not we're top!osc only in here
see, ppl see the pfp, they hear "bottom yearning eyes," and they think sub. what they dont understand is that osc isnt a dom of force, he's just a master fucking manipulator
looking up at max like that while he's throwing a fit, asking "are you done with the attitude yet? is it getting you anywhere?" and half the time it fizzles max right out the first time
pouting at max when he keeps pulling away from oscar, saying "oh, sweetheart, come on i could really use the company right now" and max is suddenly stuck to him for the rest of their trip, where oscar likes him to stay
max is trying to be demanding, so oscar's swaying from side to side with his hands behind his back and smiling so sweetly when he asks "you're going to let me do whatever i want with you, aren't you?" and yeah. max is.
i fear there is a drought of so many of our wonderful ships these days... hopefully this drabble can tide you over until i finish my maxcar fic hehe.
idk how this became 1.5k words umm. whatever!! post abu dhabi 2025 drabble
Blessedly, there's nobody waiting in Oscar's drivers room.
He'd thought - assumed, really - that there would be. Artturi with a protein shake in hand and a face carefully devoid of anything Oscar could misconstrue as pity. Andrea, maybe, whose embrace would force tears of frustration to Oscar's eyes regardless of the restraint he would try to exercise. His parents, who he knows haven't had their fill of him yet; who will be asking him to go back to Australia with them after this, to take time to heal (his mother) and regroup (his father).
But the room is empty when he gets there, his soft breath of relief the only sound. There's something mocking about the way it echoes back, the sound of it wounded and edged with a sadness he's doing his utmost to keep at bay.
If he strains his ears he can hear the continued celebrations raging on outside the walls. Laughter and music and fireworks, booming voices over microphones, a raucous crowd that will be partying well into the early hours of the morning.
A few races ago, he was so sure this celebration would be for him. Now he looks up from the bottom of a wreckage he created.
It wasn't good enough. He wasn't good enough. And somehow that knowledge hurts more than the loss, a punch to the gut that has him physically stumbling over to the small couch, hands scrambling for purchase on the arm as he folds into the cushions.
He's still there, sinking back into the sofa with his head in his hands, breaths blooming and sticking in his throat, too fast and too harsh, when he hears the snick of the door opening.
"I'll be out in five," he manages, voice muffled by his palms. His heart sinks at the intrusion, mind screaming at him to get it together; find some strength so that he doesn't look like the loser he is, but he can't. He needs -
Time. More than five minutes, but that's not going to happen here.
"Fuck that," the response is amused, accent curling abruptly around the vowels. "At least take ten, mate."
The familiarity of it has Oscar's spine zipping from top to tail, hands falling immediately into his lap. He senses his cheeks flushing as what feels like all the blood in his body rushes to them, coughing awkwardly as Max steps into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.
"Um," Oscar manages, cringing at the way his voice sounds - high and airy, his surprise at Max's presence blatant. "Hi?"
Max doesn't answer him for a moment. He takes a few more steps past the threshold, eyes bright and inquisitive as he looks around the room with clear interest before they come to settle on Oscar.
"Huh," he comments, still amused. "It's smaller than the red bull rooms."
The nothingness of the comment has Oscar's shoulder relaxing a little, albeit not totally. There's an absurdity to the situation that makes him snort; this idea that Max has come to find him to - what, exactly? Measure room sizes?
Unlikely.
"Probably cheaper too," he arches a brow.
Max grins, too big for his face. "Definitely. You got any good snacks at least?"
He's already moving towards the small fridge in the corner, purposeful and like he's been here before. He hasn't. At least, Oscar thinks he hasn't and it would be pretty weird if he has, actually, so...
He shrugs, resisting the urge to pinch himself, like checking whether he's really awake after a bad dream. "Protein shakes, probably."
A few high-carb, high-protein snacks curated by Artturi, if he's lucky. He hasn't even looked in the fridge today, his stomach an anxious knot, but now he recognises the hunger in it. It growls loudly, forcing a deeper shade of pink to his face when Max half-smirks at him.
"Do you mind?" He asks but he's already reaching in and grabbing a packet of peanut butter protein balls, so Oscar's response seems superfluous at best.
Still.
"Knock yourself out," he mutters.
It's - weird, definitely. Max being here. Has him on edge, fingers drumming nervously over his thighs as he waits for Max to explain himself, make sense of this whole thing. He feels like he should - get up. Offer Max a drink or something, offer him his seat. But it's not like he invited Max here, and Max seems perfectly content to make himself at home anyway, so.
Oscar stays sitting, apprehensive as he watches Max make his way around the room, noisily ripping into the packet and shoving two of the balls in his mouth at once.
"They're a bit dry," he winces at the sight, unable to stop the sigh that leaves him when he realises he's definitely going to have to offer Max a drink now. Reaching across to the table, he grabs one of the full water bottles, handing it over. It's room temperature by now, but he wasn't exactly expecting any guests, so Max'll have to make do.
"Thanks," Max says around a mouthful, immediately washing it down with a gulp from the bottle. "These aren't very good," he shakes the packet under Oscar's nose. "Do you want one?"
"You haven't really sold them to me, mate."
Max shrugs. "Suit yourself."
A silence descends between them, awkward and stretching. Oscar can't figure out what he's meant to do or say, so he does and says nothing. It's probably not the best course of action but, honestly - he's starting to feel slightly irritated with Max the longer the silence remains. He's the one who has forced them into this situation and he's not making any effort to explain himself.
Oscar's throat itches.
He looks at the clock on the far side of the wall, following the minute arm around three more times before he cracks.
"Look," he frowns. "I'm not really in the mood for - whatever this is. Don't you have somewhere to be?"
Instantly he feels bad about the rudeness of it; can hear his mother's voice in the back of his head, telling him she didn't raise him to be like this. But it's a shit day at the end of a season that's torn him apart from the inside out, and the last thing he needs is Max and his weirdness.
Max seems to take it on the chin well enough. "Not really," he shrugs again, taking another slow, long mouthful of water. Oscar's eyes catch on the bob of his Adam's apple briefly before he forces his gaze back up. "Thought you might be holed up in here, of course," he continues, something careful in the way he looks at Oscar. "Feeling sorry for yourself."
It stings because it's true. Oscar feels heat prickle behind his eyes, horror rising like a tide in his throat, suffocating. Jesus. The last thing he needs is to cry in front of Max Verstappen.
Clearing his throat, he keeps his tone painstakingly neutral. "Yeah, well. Not everyday you lose a championship."
"No," Max says agreeably. "But it is just your first."
Just. Like it doesn't matter somehow. Oscar wishes it didn't. But it's everything - Max of all people should know that, right?
"Easy for you to say," he says listlessly. "You've got four already."
He hears the soft chuckle Max makes, more of an exhale than anything of substance.
"Losing doesn't get easier, though."
Yeah. Oscar can appreciate that, he thinks, and that's even worse, really. The idea that he could feel like this again - that he probably will, over the course of his career. Hopefully, because at least that means he's going to be in the game for a long time. Silver linings, he supposes.
He doesn't know why, but Max's presence carves out a hole in his chest; has him confessing before he can truly think it through, this weakness he's about to show one of his strongest competitors.
"I'm worried I won't get another chance."
After, he doesn't risk looking at Max. Can't. Embarrassment floods him, fingers picking at an invisible piece of lint on his fireproofs, head down as he stares at the curves of his own thighs.
He didn't realise, really, how scared he's been until he said it. And it feels all at once like both a weight lifted and a weapon given. He doesn't know how to balance the confliction of those emotions, waves roiling in his stomach.
"Maybe you won't," Max says quietly.
Oscar does look at him then, surprise colouring his features - for a moment, he expects to feel - anger, maybe, at the fact that Max could say that. But he doesn't. With shock, he realises he feels relieved at the honesty, the way Max isn't handling him with kid gloves.
It speaks of a level of respect he's always wanted but has never been sure he can obtain, not from Max.
"But for what it's worth," Max offers him a smile. "I think you will have another chance. I think you will have plenty."
Oscar swallows around the lump in his throat, blinking at Max - there's something appreciative warming his chest now, together with a different kind of nervousness.
"Of course," Max continues. "I will be there to try to take it away from you."
Oscar is laughing before he even realises it, a shocked, loud bark that loosens everything that little bit more. "Wouldn't have it any other way," he admits, and he knows he means it, too.
android and engineer! maxcar au / part 3
dialogue:
lando: come on, hurry up, we're late!
max: okay-okay, I'll take Oscar to recharge...
lando: aren't you tired of hanging around with this wreck?
max: this is my engineering breakthrough, moron!
oscar: [ analyzing the situation ]
look im no authority but i do think people are sleeping on maxcar
youve got:
-younger rookie-ish guy but separated enough from the slew of 2025 ducklings that its comfy to fit in max's adopted kids
-(younger top for mama max uwu)
-quiet adoration (oscar) meets open adoration (max)
-quiet rage meets lashing out (violently) :)
-i mean can you imagine if max and oscar do switch teams and then oscar starts performing better in the car max gave up
-brr max is running him off the track and then oscar yells and they have filthy makeup sex later
-sorry back on track (me not oscar he dnf'd)
-"...do you want to skip [event] stay in?" "Oh thank god, yes"
-both are extremely easy to au (while leaving one a driver if you want)
-libra max with his people pleasing and caring nature and aries oscar with his quiet passion and steady determination to move forward
-(max learns that blunt does not always mean direct and oscar learns how to tell when max is deflecting in two words flat. if there's one thing they wont fall victim to, its miscommunication)
Oscar Piastri/Max Verstappen, rated: E, words: 5,452
Summary: Max Verstappen and the Art of Vexing People.
I… don't really know what to say about this one. It was supposed to be hot and short, and somehow it turned into this absolute monster… with a whole lot of angst, especially toward the end. So, please mind the tags!
Also, I can't write smut for shit… and then I went ahead and made most of this fic exactly that. How presumptuous of me.
Hope you'll still enjoy it! I'm pretty nervous about posting this one, though. I really hope I did Maxcar justice 🥹
Next up: Vertonelli with a choking kink. This one won't be nearly as angsty—or angsty at all—I promise!
alpha oscar who actually has a lot of trouble controlling his instincts and is just really good at hiding it
alpha oscar who grumbles through his words a lot to hide frustrated growls
whose fangs drop whenever he gets the teensy bit jealous
who has to wear scent patches and blockers constantly otherwise his phermones will react to whoever is around and no one likes when the garage is full of his scent
and he has the messiest den anyone has ever fucking seen, drenched in way too many scents because oscar never goes back over them when anyone visits because he can't keep his scent stable long enough to make it worthwhile
Max tries to top Oscar after a bad race and Oscar is just... letting him try. And he's being sooo condescending about it, but just nice enough to leave Max more confused than anything.
Sure, baby, go ahead. Yeah, I'll get on my knees. Here, you've got bad leverage, try holding me here, see how it works better? It's alright, you've never done this before.
Eventually Max is so frustrated that he can't make it feel as good as he wanted it to that he begs Oscar to do it instead. Oscar's more than happy to fulfill his request, but not without making a point.
Just let me take care of you, sweetheart, you don't know how to handle yourself. I know, I know, you wanted to try, but you can't be good at everything. See, isn't that better?
