hi! first of all i love your writing and all of your stories. i really enjoy them and im always looking forward to read anything u post
so i’m here to make a request
can u write about oscar piastri being very private about his personal life, so personal that no one knew he had a girlfriend let alone a wife
so one day something happens and everyone finds out that he’s been married all these years and it’s a PR scandal and all
u can do whatever u want with the rest of the plot i just want that explosion to happen
THANK YOU SO MUCH
The Great Papaya Meltdown - OP81
Warnings: secret relationship, oscar piastri x reader, cheating, swearing, pregnant reader, angst, couple argument, +smau at the end. Word Count: 4.2k
Your heels clipped against the tarmac, the sound of your son’s dummy clicking in your ear as he rested against your hip. This wasn’t how you were supposed to make your debut, hell you weren’t supposed to make a debut at all.
But when Rebecca, his PR manager, called you at 6am in a panic, her voice tight and shaking, explaining that a certain tabloid had doctored photos of your husband and another woman, and in about two hours from now, were going to run the story unless they could prove it’s untrue, you took a deep breath and finally agreed it was something you would do.
So here you were, walking through the paddock gates with Alex, your one year old son on your hip and your pregnant belly on full display, about to detonate your husband’s carefully constructed privacy in front of the entire Formula 1 circus.
Alex babbled something incomprehensible, his tiny hands fisting your hair as you navigated the maze of motorhomes. A woman this heavily pregnant didn’t exactly blend in, especially not one wearing a VIP lanyard and walking with the kind of purpose that suggested she belonged here.
You spotted Rebecca first, waiting by the McLaren hospitality suite with her expression shifting somewhere between relief and dread.
“I’m so sorry, thank you so–” she breathed, her lips struggling to keep up with her ramblings. “He doesn’t know you’re coming,” she glanced down at your bump, then Alex, guilt flashing across her face. “I’m really sorry, I know this isn’t what you wanted for them.”
You forced a smile, unable to let it reach your eyes. “It’s fine,” you lied, adjusting Alex’s weight on your hip. “Just tell me what you need us to do.”
Her shoulders sagged slightly, a small glimmer of relief appearing in her eyes, quickly replaced with something sharp and focused. “Oscar’s photographer has already been caught up to speed, she’s waiting inside. We just need family photos?” she continued, “candid but clear photos that there’s no room to question anything.” She gestured to your stomach, “Something that screams devoted family man.”
You nodded, throat tight. Five years you had managed to avoid the media circus. Five years of carefully avoiding this exact moment. Five years of agreement that your little family would remain private, so Alex would have a normal life away from flashing cameras and social media comments.
“He’s going to be furious, Rebecca.” you murmured.
“I’m sure he’ll understand…eventually.” Rebecca replied, even though she didn’t sound fully convinced. “It’s that or let a story run wild and possibly even ruin his reputation.”
You reached for her arm, stopping her from opening the door. “Out of curiosity, who was in these doctored photos?”
Rebecca took a deep breath for a moment, almost like she was building up the courage to say the words out loud. “Does the name Lily Zneimer mean anything to you?”
Of course it does.
“Uhm–it rings a bell,” you lied.
“There’s photos of Oscar and her in a restaurant outside of London. We figured that the press are using old photos of them and making them look more–current.” Rebecca answered, tapping her pen nervously against her diary cradled in her arms.
She pushed the door open to the hospitality suite and the air conditioning hit you like a wall. Inside, the space was eerily quiet – almost too quiet for the usual chaos of a race day. Oscar’s photographer was pressed against the wall overlooking the room, camera already grasped in her hand for the first photo opportunity.
And there, standing with his back to you, phone pressed against his ear, shoulders tense beneath the bright papaya polo, was your husband.
“–I really don’t care what they’re threatening to publish, we can sue them if we have to–”
“Oscar?” Rebecca interrupted softly.
He turned, and the phone almost slipped from his hand.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop. His eyes grew wide, darting from your face to Alex, who immediately started babbling excitedly, recognising his dad, then back to your swollen belly, then back to your face. You watched him process it all, you here in his space, the secret he’d so fiercely protected suddenly standing in the harsh fluorescent lighting with his photographer armed just a few feet away.
“What–” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, lowering the phone from his ear. “What are you doing here?”
Alex made the decision for you, arms outstretched cooing for his dad.
Oscar moved with instinct, crossing the room in three strides and taking Alex from your arms. Your son immediately wrapped his little arms around his father’s neck, burying his face in Oscar’s shoulder with a contented sigh that made your heart clench.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, watching Oscar hold Alex like he was the only thing that was keeping him grounded.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly, but his jaw was tight. His free hand came to rest on your bump, thumb stroking over the fabric of your shirt in a gesture so automatic you weren’t sure he even realised what he was doing. “We’ll figure this all out.”
The photographer shifted, clearing her throat gently. “Whenever you’re ready we should–”
The doors burst open with a dramatic flare, even making the baby kick.
“Osc, I just heard Liam say a pregnant woman walked in here and–”
Lando stopped dead in his tracks, George nearly colliding with his back. Both of them stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the scene before them - Oscar Piastri, his teammate and friend who they’d never seen with a girlfriend, holding a toddler while standing next to a very pregnant woman, with a ring so big it almost blinded them.
“What the f–” Lando breathed.
George’s mouth had fallen open. “Is that Oscar–with a child?”
Alex chose that exact moment to lift his head from Oscar’s shoulder and wave. “Hi!”
“Oh wow he talks,” George said faintly, as if that was the most shocking thing.
Oscar’s expression had shifted into something carefully neutral, the same face he gave when reporters asked him something he didn’t want to answer. “Lando, George, this is my wife–” he said your name like it was sacred. “And this is our son, Alexander.”
“Your wife?” Lando’s voice had gone up an octave. He looked at you, then back at Oscar, then at your belly, then at Alex, his brain clearly short-circuiting. “Oscar mate, we’ve been teammates for three years. How the hell did you hide a wife?”
“And a kid,” George added, still staring. “Oscar, we didn't even know you had a girlfriend. We thought you were– I mean, we had a betting pool about whether you were actually a virgin.”
“George! “ You couldn’t help the startled laugh that escaped, though it sounded hollow even to your own ears.
Oscar’s face had gone red. “Can we not–”
‘No, we absolutely cannot not,” Lando interrupted, stepping fully into the space. His shock was giving way to something else – hurt, maybe or confusion. “Oscar, I’m your teammate. Your friend. I tell you everything. And you just–you have a whole family? How long have you been married?”
“Five years,” you said quietly when Oscar hesitated.
“Five years?” Lando looked like he’d been slapped. “You’ve been married for five years and you never – not even once –” He broke off, shaking his head. “Did you not trust us? Did you think we’d sell you out to the press or something?”
The room fell silent except for Alex’s babbling as he played with the collar of Oscar’s shirt.
You watched Oscar struggle with the answer, saw the weight of five years of secrecy weighing down on him. Rebecca shifted uncomfortably by the door.
“We wanted our privacy,” Oscar finally said, his voice quiet but firm. “We decided to keep our marriage private because we knew people would agree getting married so young and we wanted Alex to have a normal life,” he looked at you, something desperate in his eyes. “We just wanted to keep this part of my life separate.”
“Separate from us?” Lando’s voice had gone soft, wounded.
Before Oscar could answer, the door opened again. Carlos appeared, then Charles, then Max, all clearly having heard something was happening. Within minutes the small hospitality suite was crowded with drivers, all staring in various states of shock.
“Piastri has a kid?” Charles said, his accent thick and confused. “Mate, how did you pull this off?”
“And another on the way apparently,” Carlos added, nodding at your bump. “Oscar you’ve been a busy boy.”
“I honestly thought the closest you got to reproduction would’ve been a wet dream.” Max deadpanned, but even his joke fell flat.
Alex was getting overwhelmed by all the attention, whimpering and pressing his face back into Oscar’s neck. You stepped closer instinctively, your hand finding Oscar’s arm.
“Alright, alright.” Lando said, seeming to shake off his shock. He looked at Alex, then at you, and his expression softened despite the hurt behind his eyes still visible. “Look, I’m still processing the fact that Oscar has a whole secret life, but–” He held out his arms, “Can I hold him?”
You blinked, surprised. Oscar looked at you, silently asking.
“He’s a bit shy,” you warned.
But Alex, contrary to expectations, leaned toward Lando with his arms out. Lando lifted him carefully, like he was made of glass, and Alex immediately grabbed his curly locks.
“Ow–okay, proper strong grip on mini Piastri,” Lando laughed, but it sounded strained. He looked back at Oscar with something complicated in his eyes. “He looks like you mate, seriously.”
The other drivers crowded around, all wanting to see, asking questions at rapid fire. Oscar fielded them with his usual calm, but you could see the tension sitting in his shoulders, the way his eyes kept darting to you like he was checking to see if you were okay.
You weren’t okay. Your feet hurt, your back ached, the baby decided to do gymnastics against your ribs, and you were standing in a room full of strangers who were looking at you like you were some sort of magic trick.
Rebecca materialised at your elbow. “We should do the photos now, while everyone's here. It’ll actually look better – more genuine.”
The next twenty minutes were chaos. The photographer directed everyone, getting shots of Oscar with his arm around you while you both smiled at Alex in Lando’s arms. Candid shots of the other drivers laughing, Oscar’s hand on your bump, Alex reaching for his father.
You smiled until your cheeks hurt. Leaned into Oscar’s touch even though something felt wrong, off-kilter in a way you couldn’t put your finger on. You let the camera capture what looked like the perfect family reveal.
Finally, Rebecca called time. “We should have enough now. I’m going to send these to the outlet now and they better kill this story.”
The drivers started to filter out, all promising to keep it between them until the story was officially out, but their excitement suggested that promise wouldn't last five minutes.
Lando lingered, Alex still in his arms and now half-asleep against his shoulder. “Hey,” he said quietly to Oscar. “I get it, you know. Wanting to protect them.” He looked down at Alex with something tender in his expression. “But mate–we’re your friends. Or at least, I thought we were.”
Oscar swallowed hard. “You guys are. I’m sorry.”
“Are we though?” Lando’s voice was gentle but the question cut deep. “Because friends don’t hide entire families from each other for five years, Oscar. Friends trust each other.”
The silence was stretched between them, painful and raw.
Lando seemed to shake himself, forcing a smile. “Look, do you need anything? Want me to take the little guy for a walk and you two can chat? You look like you need a minute.”
You and Oscar exchanged a glance. There was too much you needed to say, and you hadn’t had a moment alone since you’d arrived.
“Actually,” Oscar said slowly, “That would be–yeah. If you don’t mind.”
“Mind? I’m going to get even more attention from the ladies now,” Lando replied, his usual cheerfulness returning but not quite reaching his eyes. He looked at you. “Is–uhm–that okay?”
“Well after all the ladies you’ll woo, can you make sure he gets his nap,” you warned. “And his bag is–”
“I’ve got it,” Lando shouted back, already heading for the door with Alex. “Come on little Piastri, let me show you how fast cars equal constant attention.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly it was just you and Oscar in the quiet suite.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence felt heavy, oppressive. You could hear your own heartbeat, could feel the baby shifting, could see the way Oscar’s hands were trembling at his sides.
“Let’s go to my driver’s room.” Oscar finally said, his voice rough. “We should talk.”
Something in his tone made your stomach drop. The way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes. The tension in his shoulders that had nothing to do with the chaos that had just happened.
You followed him through the motorhome, down the narrow corridor to his driver’s room. It was small and impersonal, just a small sofa and his race suit hanging in a cupboard posing as a wardrobe. You’d never been in here before, five years of marriage and you’d never seen his driver’s room.
Oscar closed the door behind him and leaned against it, running both hands through his hair. When he looked at you, there was something broken in his expression. Something that made your blood run cold.
“I need to tell you something–something that I shouldn't have–” he stuttered through the words, his voice hoarse.
“Oscar just tell me, you’re scaring me.”
“The photos,” he said quietly. “They weren't doctored.”
The world stopped.
“What?”
“I met with Lily.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Three weeks ago. In London. We had dinner.”
You couldn’t breathe. The room tilted, and you grabbed the arm of the sofa to steady yourself. Your other hand went to your bump instinctively, protectively.
“You–” your voice cracked. “You met with your ex-girlfriend? Whilst I’m six months pregnant with your child? Oscar what the fuck–”
“It wasn’t like that,” he said quickly, desperately, pushing off the door. “I swear, it wasn’t – she reached out and said she needed to talk and I thought –” he broke off, shaking his head. “I thought I could just handle it privately. I didn’t think anyone would see us. I didn’t think–”
“You didn’t want to tell me either?” The words come out as a shout, and you didn’t care. “Oscar I just walked into your world, exposed our son to cameras and strangers and fucking chaos–I brought Alex into this circus to protect you from photos that were real?”
The betrayal hit you like a physical blow. You’d left your safe, quiet life. You’d put your son in front of cameras. You’d smiled and performed and let everyone stare at your pregnant body. All to save Oscar from a scandal that’d he’d actually caused.
“I know,” His eyes were red-rimmed. “I know and I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I should’ve told you she contacted me, I should have–” His voice broke. “But nothing happened, I swear to you.”
“Then why did you hide it?” you demanded, your voice shaking with rage and hurt. “Why not just tell me?” You gestured to the door, helplessly. “Why make me do all of this if you knew the photos were real.”
“Because I knew you’d be upset!” he shot back, then seemed to realised what he’d said. His face crumpled. “Because I knew it would look bad, and I thought if I just didn’t tell you, you’d never have to worry about it.” He slid against the door until he was sitting on the floor, head in his hands. “I’m so sorry. I was trying to protect you and I’ve made everything worse.”
“Protect me?” You stared at him, this man you’d married, the father of your child and the baby currently practicing karate against your ribcage. “You lied to me, Oscar. You met with your ex-girlfriend behind my back, and then when you got caught, you let me humiliate myself in front of your entire world to cover for you.”
“It wasn’t like that–”
“Then what was it like?” Your voice broke. “Because where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been keeping secrets from everyone–including your wife. What else haven’t you told me?”
“Nothing!” He looked up at you, tears streaming down his face. “I swear there’s nothing else. I fucked up with Lily, I should’ve told you, but I would never – I would never cheat on you. You have to believe me.”
“That is cheating, Oscar. You took another woman out for dinner, whilst your wife put your son to bed.”
The words hung between you like a death sentence.
Oscar made a wounded noise, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I love you–I love Alex, I love–” His eyes dropped to your bump. “I love our family. I made a mistake, huge, stupid mistake, but it was just dinner. It meant nothing to me.”
“Yeah, well it means everything to me.” You were crying now too, angry tears that you couldn't stop. “You met with the woman everyone thought you’d end up with, and you didn’t tell me. And then you let me parade our family in front of cameras to protect you. I know we promised for better and for worse, but this tips the scale.”
“I know,” he sobbed. “I know, and I hate myself for it. I hate that I hurt you. I hate that–” He couldn’t finish, breaking down completely.
You wanted to go to him. Every instinct screamed at you to drop to the floor beside him, to hold him, to comfort him like you’d done a thousand times before. But you couldn’t. Your feet rooted to the floor, your heart too shattered to know how to start putting the pieces back together.
“Rebecca seems to think that the photos are enough,” you said eventually, your voice hollow and distant. “The tabloid will kill the story. And everyone will see that you’re actually a devoted family man with his pregnant wife and his adorable son. They’ll forget about your little rendezvous and your little dinner date.”
Oscar looked up at you then, his face blotchy and wet. “I am a devoted family man. I am. I made a mistake but I–”
“Stop,” you cut him off. “Just stop.”
He fell silent, watching you with desperate, terrified eyes.
“We’re going to go out there,” you said slowly, each word carefully measured, “and we’re going to smile for whatever cameras are waiting. We’re going to collect our son from Lando. We’re going to play our part as the happy family that everyone now thinks we are.”
“And then?” His voice was so small, so broken.
“And then, we go home,” you said. “Back to our life, our house. And figure out how to fix this mess you’ve made of our marriage, my trust.”
He looked at you from the floor, it was like you were his entire world and it was falling apart. “Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll quit racing. I’ll tell everyone the truth, I’ll–”
“I wouldn’t ever ask you to quit racing, Oscar.” you said tiredly, “I’m asking that you give me the time to learn to trust you again.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.” And that was the truth. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to forget the image of him sitting across from her, smiling at her in that restaurant, while you were at home with Alex, pregnant and completely unaware.
“Are you–” He couldn’t seem to get his words out. “Are you going to leave me?”
You took a deep breath, your hand landing gently across the top of your bump. “No.” You whispered, “For all your faults Oscar, I love you. You’re my husband, the father of my children, you have to work at this, not me.”
He curled in on himself, sobbing so hard his body shook. You stood there watching the man you loved fall apart, and felt nothing but numbness spreading through your chest.
After what felt like hours but was probably only a minute, you spoke again.
“Get up,” you said quietly. “We have to get our son.”
Oscar looked up at you with red, swollen eyes. “I love you,” he whispered desperately. “Please believe me. I love you so much.”
“I know you do,” you said, and that was the worst part. You did know. You knew he loved you, knew he loved Alex, knew he loved the baby kicking like a footballer. But love and trust aren’t the same thing, and right now the trust was shattered.
You held your hand out.
He stared at it for a moment, then slowly, carefully laced his fingers around yours. Let you pull him to his feet. His hand tightened around yours, shaking and terrified.
“We need to fix your face,” you said, not unkindly. “You can’t go out there looking like that.”
He nodded, releasing your hand to splash water on his face from the small sink in the corner. You watched him try to pull himself together, watch him become Oscar Piastri the McLaren driver and not Oscar the broken husband.
When he turned back to you, he looked almost normal. Eyes slightly red, but the casual observer would never notice.
“Ready?” you asked.
He nodded, but it was insincere. “No, but let’s go anyway.”
You walked back through the motorhome together, not touching but close enough that it would look natural to anyone watching. The silence between you felt like a living thing, heavy and suffocating.
When you emerged into the hospitality area, Lando was there with Alex completely passed out in his shoulder, drool dampening his McLaren polo.
“He went out like a light,” Lando said softly, then looked between you both. His expression shifted, something knowing and sad crossing his features as he took in Oscar’s puffy eyes and your careful blank face. “Everything okay?”
“Pefect,” you lied, reaching for Alex carefully. Your son stirred but didn’t wake, just a small noise escaping his lips and then settled against your shoulder. His warmth a small comfort against the ice spreading through your chest.
“Thanks for watching him,” Oscar managed, his voice rough.
Lando’s eyes lingered on Oscar for a beat too long. “Anytime mate. I mean it.” He hesitated, like he wanted to say more, but before he could continue, Rebecca returned with a tablet clutched in her arm. “The tabloid dropped the story!” She exclaimed, “They’re now running a piece about McLaren’s secret family man instead.” Rebecca looked up, her expression optimistic. “It’s all over now.”
It’s all over now. The words tasted bitter.
Oscar walked you back to the car, people stared, whispers were shared, your pregnant bump and toddler hard to miss. Someone shouted a congratulations that sort of sounded like Kimi, but you didn’t look.
He opened the back door without a word and you carefully transferred Alex into his car seat. Your son didn’t even stir as Oscar buckled the straps with practiced precision. For a moment, watching him adjust the chest clip and double check the harness, you saw a glimpse of the man you married. The one who stayed up all night researching car safety when you were pregnant the first time, who had practiced how to buckle in a baby twenty-something-times with a stuffed bear.
But then you remembered him sitting across from Lily, and the image shattered.
You pulled yourself into the driver’s seat, clicking the engine over and rolled down the window. Oscar leant on the doorframe, his eyes still red, his skin still blotchy. The image made your heart skip a beat.
“I’ll meet you back at the hotel,” he said, but it sounded more like a question rather than a statement.
All you managed was a nod, your lips falling into a straight line as you fought the tears again. He stood back, taking one more look at you like this was the last time he’d see you, like he wanted to lean in and kiss you.
But he didn’t. “I’ll see you later,” he turned, walking back to the paddock, his shoulders hung heavy, his gate guarded and slow.
As you reached to put the car into gear your phone buzzed. Then again. And again.
You pulled it out of your bag to find your notifications exploding. A tagged photo thread from the official McLaren account. Three photos from today. One of Oscar, Lando and Alex, another with you and Oscar, his arm wrapped around you, your hair flowing behind as he pulled you close and lastly, one of you and your bump, proudly showing the newest addition to the Piastri family.
❤️ liked by lando, zakbrown, mclarenuser1, and 30,000 others
Tagged: Y/username
McLarenF1 Introducing the Piastri's. We're thrilled to announce that we have two mini Oscar's a part of our papaya family.
user1 WHAT? OSCAR'S A DADDY??? user2 He's married? Excuse me user3 That baby is literally a carbon copy of Oscar user4 no one think it's weird he hid them all this time?!
Your stomach dropped at the comments. You locked your phone and stared at the window, searching for the man who was no longer in view.
Because the worst part was, even now, after everything, you still loved him. And you didn’t know if that made you stupid or strong.
The baby kicked again, and you placed both hands on your bump. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “We’re going to be okay.”
You weren’t a hundred percent sure you were talking to the baby or yourself. Either way you didn’t believe it.
Not yet, anyway.
