chicken shop date - OP81 x reader
syonopsis: oscar goes onto y/n's famous dating show and sparks fly!
word count: 4.1k (part 2 will be longer!)
pairing: oscar piastri x fem! reader
chicken shop date masterlist + includes lando's date(s)!!
includes: romance, fluff, mutual flirting, playful banter, ALOT OF Y/N IS USED!, 3rd person perspective,
a/n: IT'S TIMEEEEEE, it's finally here! once again all my inspo goes to amelia's chicken date shop on youtube. i apologise for keeping everyone waiting forever, but i hope you enjoy it!
THURDAY. . .
Now Playing: OSCAR PASTRY | CHICKEN SHOP DATE
ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ: ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
A soft, familiar ding of a bell echoes as the camera cuts to the interior of the facility. Instantly, the mood shifts - inside, it’s warm, inviting, and humming with a quiet sort of electricity. The clink of glassware and Tupperware overlaps with the low sizzle of something frying in oil. The air smells of comfort food and possibility. There’s an unmistakable energy to the scene as this episode feels new. Refreshing, even. Like the start of something unexpected. Or like a cool beverage taken out from the fridge.
The camera pans to Y/N and Oscar, seated across from each other at a small table. A beat passes, neither speaks. Y/N’s gaze is fixed on him, eyes subtly tracking every angle of his face: the curve of his jaw, the way his brow furrows slightly as he focuses on the food. He’s entirely unaware of her, far too invested in dipping a hot chip into sauce with quiet dedication.
Y/N finally glances toward the camera, expression unreadable except for a tiny smirk that seems to say: get a load of this guy.
". . . I have a feeling you’re only here for the food," she says at last, crunching into a chip. Her tone is light, but there’s a careful edge to it, playful, yes, but not fully settled into the comfortable rhythm of teasing. She’s testing the waters.
Oscar finishes sipping from a can of cola, slow and casual. He sets the drink down, fingers toying with the straw, twisting it slightly between two knuckles like he’s weighing the possibilities of how entertaining his answer might be.
"Really? What gave it away?" he replies, tone dry but with a hint of amusement curling into the edges.
Y/N lets out a performative sigh, shoulders dropping in exaggerated exasperation. But Oscar isn’t fooled, there’s something sharper under the surface. He’s done his homework. He knows this is more than just light-hearted banter. This is a game. And Y/N always plays to win.
"Let’s call it a gut feeling, Mr. Pasty - I mean, Pastry." She corrects herself smoothly, lips curling as she watches his face for a reaction. Her grin teeters between innocent and shameless. “I am so sorry, my mistake.”
Oscar doesn’t even blink. He’s played this game before. Still, there's a moment, a tiny pause where he visibly fights the urge to grab the nearest plate and make a run for the exit.
". . . It’s Piastri," he corrects, deadpan, though the faint crinkle of his nose gives away just how many times he’s had to deliver that correction. It’s muscle memory at this point.
"I know," Y/N replies sweetly, as if revealing a well-kept secret. Her grin widens, clearly pleased with herself. It's not about the name, it’s about the reaction. And Oscar, despite himself, seems perfectly fine with giving her one. He turns his head slightly, pretending to ignore her, but the smile breaking across his face betrays him. His eyes flick back to hers, just for a second, and it’s enough. The subtle pink coloring his cheeks gives him away. Y/N’s grin spreads just a little too wide to be purely self-satisfied. She watches him like she’s studying an unfolding experiment and loving every minute of it.
Oscar, still feigning nonchalance, exhales a breath that’s almost a laugh. He glances at her again, warily amused.
"So," he says flatly, "how long have you waited to do that?"
There’s a flicker of something, curiosity, maybe beneath his words, even as he tries to keep his expression unreadable. But the corner of his mouth betrays him again, tugging upward against his will. He’s intrigued. Just like everyone else watching .
"Since the second you walked in here, Pastry," Y/N replies brightly. Her hands shoot up in mock surrender, her grin practically glowing. There’s a glint in her eyes, as if she’s entirely pleased with herself.
Oscar rolls his eyes, biting back the smile he refuses to let her earn, at least not so easily. Still, the flicker of curiosity doesn’t leave his face.
There’s a slight shift in Y/N’s demeanor. Something in her posture relaxes, her shoulders dropping a touch as the comfort of the moment settles into her bones. The spark of a genuine connection flashes through, small but fleetingly. Oscar doesn’t seem to catch it. He leans back and takes another sip of cola, gaze drifting somewhere just past her shoulder, as if trying to maintain the illusion of distance. And just like that, the camera cuts.
It’s something the audience has come to expect by now. It’s almost cruel, leaving them hanging, again. But maybe that’s the point.
✩
“Okay, rapid fire questions, are you ready?” Y/N announces dramatically, wiggling her eyebrows with a mischievous glint in her eyes. The look she throws Oscar is borderline menacing but it seems to be all in good fun. Across the table Oscar freezes mid bite, a half devoured chicken wing suspended inches from his mouth. His eyes widen at her sudden burst of energy.
“What? I-” he starts, baffled, but she steamrolls right over him.
“Would you say you like your job?” she asks, leaning forward with mock intensity. Her palms press to the table like an interrogator about to press all the answers from him. Oscar’s gaze flickers toward behind the camera to someone clearly lurking off screen, probably his boss. “Are you trying to get me fired?” he says, raising a brow, though the amused grin tugging at his lips betrays him.
Y/N shrugs and leans back into her chair, casually flashing him a wink. “Maybe. Anyway, next question: pineapple on pizza. Yay or nay?”
Oscar hesitates, his expression caught between deep philosophical thought and mild panic. Though it’s unclear if it is from grappling with the pizza question or the sudden wink sent his way. He swallows hard.
“I really don’t want to get cancelled on Twitter. Plus Italians scare me. Kimi would also 100% dive bomb me off the track if I say yes. So I’m going with . . . no.” he declares at last, sighing as if he’s answered a question that will alter the course of human history.
Y/N cocks an eyebrow, sending him an unimpressed look. “I don’t think you understand the concept of rapid-fire questions, Pastry.”
He sends her a glare just as the cameras cut - right when things were heating up.
✩
"Okay, since you’re so bad at rapid-fire questions, I’ve prepared some more interesting ones," Y/N announces, her tone deliberately exaggerated as she leans forward, planting her elbows on the table like a game show host about to deliver the final round. She enunciates each word with theatrical flair, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Across from her, Oscar remains surprisingly composed, lounging in his chair like he has all the time in the world. His shoulders are loose, head tilted just enough to give him a lopsided, curious expression. He raises an eyebrow and sighs softly through his nose, his eyes flicking up to meet hers with amused patience.
"If you insist," he mutters, a low chuckle hiding behind his words, like he's pretending to be reluctant but clearly enjoys every second of the exchange.
"Do you miss Australia," Y/N begins, her eyes narrowing slightly in mock seriousness, "or are you still recovering from the trauma of Vegemite?" Her voice is light, playful, testing the waters as she gauges his reaction with a raised brow and a half-suppressed grin.
Oscar’s reaction is immediate. He sits upright like she’s just insulted a beloved family member. "Whoa-hold on. No Vegemite slander in my presence," he declares, one hand lifting in protest while the other jabs a finger in her direction with mock offense. "Absolutely not. That’s sacred."
Y/N blinks, clearly not expecting such a fierce (if theatrical) defense. Her lips twitch with restrained laughter, but she keeps a straight face, barely. "Highly protective of foods he likes. Duly noted," she says under her breath, her eyebrows arching as she pretends to jot a note in the air with her finger.
Oscar falters for just a second, the lines between jest and curiosity beginning to blur. He watches her carefully, eyes squinting just enough to betray his interest.
"Duly noted for what, exactly?"
Without missing a beat, Y/N shrugs.
"For our wedding, obviously," she replies matter-of-factly, like it’s the most logical answer in the world. She tosses her hair over one shoulder and rolls her eyes, as if Oscar has just forgotten about their imaginary engagement and she’s had to remind him, again.
Oscar huffs a breath through his nose, lips twitching as he fights the urge to grin. He studies her, his gaze lingering a beat longer than before. "And how exactly does that come into play at our wedding?"
Y/N’s eyes practically sparkle. She leans forward like she’s about to share a secret, then pauses just long enough to build tension. "Wouldn’t you like to know, Pastry?" she says, brows wiggling, grin smug and unbothered. Oscar plays along, resting both forearms on the table and leaning in like he’s listening to the most important gossip of the century.
"I would love to know," he says, voice low and dramatic for effect, his gaze fixed on her with mock intensity. On the other side, Y/N sinks back into her chair with a sigh, crossing one leg over the other with deliberate grace, like a queen in her throne.
"Well," she says, as if unveiling a grand plan, "since the only thing you’ll be responsible for, aside from choosing the dress you’ll wear, is the food, now I know not to doubt your taste."
Oscar’s brows shoot up, a laugh escaping him before he can stop it. "Oh, I’m wearing a dress?" he echoes, feigning shock while barely containing the grin already spreading across his face. Their eyes meet again, and for a moment, something playful turns almost tender.
"I just know a tiered skirt would suit you perfectly," Y/N sighs, resting her chin on her hand as if she’s already picturing it, lace, ribbons, the whole fantasy. Oscar nods solemnly, lips twitching with effort to stay serious.
"Good to know. I’ll take that into consideration," he hums, like he’s mentally flipping through bridal magazines. Y/N breaks. A full laugh bursts out of her, loud and unfiltered, and she slumps into her chair like her ribs hurt from holding it in. Her head tilts back, hands briefly covering her face before she peeks out from between her fingers, still laughing. Oscar just watches her, eyes crinkling at the edges, his smile softer now. He doesn’t say anything, but the way he looks at her suggests he doesn’t want the cameras to cut. Not yet.
But of course, the feed cuts there, just as things were getting really good.
✩
"Who is the most annoying person on the grid, and why is it Lando?" Y/N asks, tone casual but eyes gleaming with mischief. She delivers the question with the confidence of someone who already knows she’s stirring the pot, and doing it very intentionally. Across from her, Oscar visibly hesitates. He blinks once, caught slightly off guard by the directness of the jab. It’s clear he’s weighing his options: defend his teammate, or lean into the chaos.
There’s a beat of silence. Then, finally he answers. "Well, that’s very presumptuous of you," he says, brows raising in mock scolding, "but I’m not a liar… so I’ll tell you." He says it with a shrug, voice dry but amused, like he’s making peace with the betrayal. Y/N lights up, eyes widening as she leans in, elbows on the table, fully invested now.
"Please do. I’m considering bringing him on the show," she says, her mouth curling into a grin that’s far too satisfied. The moment the words leave her lips, Oscar’s expression drops. "Whoa, hang on a second, you're already thinking about your next boyfriend?" he says, looking genuinely affronted. "I thought we were getting married?"
He stares at her, mouth slightly parted in disbelief, and honestly? If someone walked in mid-conversation, they’d have no trouble believing this was a real couple. The conviction in his tone is too convincing. Y/N gasps, dramatically, her hand flying to her chest like she’s just been accused of treason. She scans the room theatrically, eyes wide.
"I mean, what? No! Who said that?" she exclaims, her voice rising in faux innocence. Oscar lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh, shaking his head slowly, like he’s actually disappointed. His fingers drum lightly against the table as he stares her down. "Unbelievable," he mutters under his breath. "Anyways-" Y/N says brightly, brushing off the imaginary tension. She picks up a chip and flicks it at him without thinking. It arcs through the air and hits Oscar square in the forehead, then bounces perfectly into his drink with a soft plop.
They both freeze.
Y/N’s eyes go so wide it looks like they’ll pop out of her head. "I did not mean to do that," she blurts out, horrified but already starting to laugh. Oscar slowly turns to look at the chip now floating in his cola, then back at her, expression blank. "Hey!" he protests, mouth agape. "That was personal."
"Swear on my life it wasn’t," she wheezes, now using her sleeve to cover her face as she tries and fails not to lose it completely. Oscar rolls his eyes, but there’s zero real annoyance in it. His lips twitch, threatening a smile as he mutters a subtle, "I hate you." that the mic juuusst picks up.
Y/N is already halfway doubled over, silent-laughing at the absurdity. The tension between them is easy now, organic. Unforced and free. There’s a spark that’s grown just enough to feel familiar. And then, just as Oscar lifts the ruined drink and opens his mouth to say something-
The camera cuts.
Again.
It’s the show’s signature move by now: ending just as the moment peaks. A tease, a taste. It's maddening and addictive.
✩
“How do you handle pressure? Asking for when you meet my mother.” Y/N’s voice drops just a notch, calm but with that unmistakable teasing edge. Her eyes lock onto his, sharp and curious, as if this isn’t just a question, but a test she’s been waiting to see how he handles.
Oscar takes a moment to think, a slow, confident smile spreading across his face. His posture is relaxed, but there’s an unmistakable strength in the way he holds himself, the kind that says he’s been under pressure plenty of times before. “I drive at 300 km/h,” he says smoothly, voice steady and sure. “I think I’ll survive your mum.”
His chuckle is easy, lighthearted, as if he’s just shared a joke only they’d get. But Y/N isn’t buying it so easily. She leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing with playful skepticism, lips pressed together in a knowing smirk. “I wouldn’t be too sure if I were you.”
Oscar raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the challenge. There’s a glint of amusement flickering in his eyes as he braces himself, the slight tilt of his head daring her to say more. “Oh really?” he says, voice teasing and laced with curiosity, “What makes you say that?”
She scoffs softly, a sound that’s more amused than offended, as if she’s about to reveal some secret truth. “How do you think I came to be like this, Pastry?” she says, the nickname rolling off her tongue like a playful jab.
Oscar’s grin flickers, his expression tightening just for a moment as if he regrets his next words the instant they escape. “I thought you were born like it,” he quips, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he watches her reaction closely. Y/N’s eyes flash with mock indignation, and she rolls them so dramatically it’s almost theatrical. “Wow,” she mutters, shaking her head with a faint laugh. “My mother will not like you.”
For a beat, Oscar goes quiet, the room’s energy shifting ever so slightly as those words settle in. Then, without missing a beat, he meets her gaze with unwavering calm. “That’s fine,” he says quietly, voice low and sincere, “as long as you like me.”
The warmth of his words hits Y/N in an unexpected way. Her cheeks flush a delicate shade of pink, and she straightens up, trying to steady her breath. A nervous, breathy laugh escapes her lips, more of a startled shriek as she searches for the perfect comeback, one that matches his confidence without giving too much away.
“Woah, getting a little confident, are we, Pastry?” she teases, but the slight wavering in her voice betrays how much she’s trying not to be caught off guard. Oscar grins, hands shooting up in a mock surrender. “What can I say? I’m quite the charmer,” he says, eyes sparkling with mischief. Y/N leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other with a slow, deliberate grace. She studies him for a moment, then counters with a challenge of her own. “That only matters if you can charm my mother.”
Instantly, Oscar’s eyes light up, the thrill of the dare clearly igniting something in him. He leans forward, voice dropping to a confident whisper. “Consider it done.”
Y/N’s lips curl into a genuine smile, a flicker of impressed amusement shining through as she watches him. There’s something in that simple promise, daring and earnest that makes the air between them electric. She shakes her head lightly, half laughing, half admiring, as if secretly wondering what she’s just gotten herself into.
And then, just as the moment reaches its peak, the camera cuts.
✩
“Would you date someone who knows nothing about Formula One?” Y/N muses aloud, her fingers lazily swirling the untouched drink before her. The glass catches the light with a soft clink against the table as the ice shifts, but she hasn’t taken a single sip since the start of their little date. In fact, most of the food placed in front of her remains untouched, crisps and finger foods sitting neatly, as if waiting for a different kind of appetite.
Oscar’s eyes flicker to the neglected plates, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Without hesitation, he leans forward, his hand reaching across the table to slide the nearest plate toward his side. Y/N watches him with a calm, almost amused expression, eyes narrowing slightly in challenge as she waits for his answer.
“It depends,” he says, his voice smooth but teasing, “is that person you?”
Her scoff is playful, a quick roll of her eyes punctuating the comeback. “Obviously.”
Oscar shrugs with a casual confidence, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Then that’s the greenest flag I’ve ever seen,” he replies, words spilling out with the ease of someone who’s never doubted himself for a second.
There’s a pause, just long enough for the surprise to register on Y/N’s face. She blinks, momentarily caught off guard by the depth of his confidence, a rare loss for words that would have been unthinkable mere minutes ago. Slowly, she folds her arms across her chest and leans back in her chair, adopting a posture that’s half-defensive, half-entertained.
“Ugh, you’re so desperate. Just tell me you love me already,” she scoffs, the playful sarcasm hanging thick in the air. But it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. There’s an undercurrent of sweetness behind the teasing sigh she lets out, as if she’s masking something softer beneath the bravado.
Oscar’s grin widens, and without missing a beat he fires back, “Moving a little fast, aren’t we?”
Y/N gasps dramatically, her hand flying to her chest in perfect theatrical exaggeration. “Just tell me you hate me then,” she counters, her voice dripping with faux offense. Oscar leans forward, matching her tone with a flourish, as if performing just for the cameras or maybe just for her. “Wait- No-” he begins, voice playful and full of mock desperation, eyes twinkling with a warmth that suggests he’s anything but serious.
She chuckles softly, shaking her head. “I mean, how can I compete with all that speed and skill anyway?” she teases, her gaze flickering to the plate he’s devouring. Oscar pauses, fork halfway to his mouth, eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’re right” he says, “but off the track? That’s different.”
Y/N leans in slightly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you saying I might have a chance?”
He pretends to consider, tapping his chin thoughtfully before flashing a cheeky grin. “Maybe.”
✩
“Do you get annoyed if people beat you in Mario Kart?” Y/N asks, tilting her head slightly as she stirs her untouched drink with slow, deliberate circles. Her eyes sparkle with mischief, fixed on Oscar as if daring him to confess.
Oscar leans back in his chair, a cocky smirk pulling at his lips. He taps his fingers rhythmically on the table before meeting her gaze squarely. “Only if they use a blue shell. That’s personal,” he says, voice low and teasing, like recounting a deeply unfair battle.
Y/N snorts quietly, shaking her head as a playful grin spreads across her face. “That’s completely valid.” She folds her arms on the table and leans forward, narrowing her eyes with genuine curiosity. “So, who’s your go-to character?”
Oscar’s expression softens, and he lets out a theatrical sigh. He drapes one arm over the back of his chair and props his chin on the other hand, gazing into the distance like a man reminiscing. “Luigi. He’s just so sat on as a character, always being outshined by Mario,” he says, voice thick with faux melancholy.
“Do not get sad and sentimental on me right now, Pastry,” she says, wagging a finger at him. “Do you know how much my mascara costs? Inflation is real.” She tilts her head back with exaggerated drama, as if her tears would ruin her perfectly applied makeup. She places a delicate finger to her eye and feigns wiping away an invisible tear. Oscar throws his head back, laughing. When he lowers it again, he shoots her a playful glare, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m very in touch with my emotions, thank you very much,” he retorts, leaning forward just enough to invade her space. His voice drops to a mock serious whisper. “And clearly, it seems you should be too.”
Y/N meets his gaze, eyes narrowing mischievously. Her mouth falls open as if scandalized. “Are you calling me cold-hearted?” She challenges.
Oscar leans closer, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. “Maybe I am,” he confesses, voice low and teasing.
A spark ignites in Y/N’s eyes, and she straightens up abruptly, laughter bubbling just beneath the surface. “Unrelated, but can you say: ‘Crikey, mate!’?” she asks, biting back a giggle, already knowing she’s got him. Oscar leans back in his chair, crossing one ankle over the other with practiced ease. He hums thoughtfully, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You just crack yourself up, don’t you?” His eyes lock onto hers, amused and unbothered.
Y/N leans forward again, hands splayed on the table, her voice dropping into a mock-serious plea. “Please, it will be so funny. Don’t you want to be funny?”
Oscar raises one eyebrow, a slow smile spreading as he shakes his head. “I’m funny without trying,” he says, shrugging with casual confidence. “Doing that will just make me look desperate.”
Y/N leans back, folding her arms with a smirk that’s equal parts teasing and victorious. “But you are desperate,” she counters, eyes gleaming with challenge. “For you, maybe,” Oscar replies smoothly, his gaze lingering on hers a moment longer. “But not this.”
Y/N huffs dramatically, throwing her hands in the air with mock defeat. “Ugh, fine then. Remain unfunny, you loser.” Oscar chuckles warmly, reaching across the table to lightly tap her hand. The brief contact lingers, both of them caught in the quiet electricity of the moment before Y/N pulls her hand back with a smile and the camera cuts.
✩
“Can I be your plus one for the next grand prix?”
“Only if you bring food.”
“Too easy. Then afterwards maybe you can introduce me to Carlos Sainz.”
“Nevermind, I take it back. I can’t believe you would suggest such a thing.”
“No wait, I was joking.”
“Tell that to Carlos Sainz.”
“So that’s a yes to introducing us?”
“I hate you.”
“Actually you love me, you said it before, no take backs.”
“I believe you were the one who said that.”
“You’re crazy, I would never. Have some shame.”
And just like that, the video concludes.
a/n: thank you so much for reading! look out for part 2 coming soon !!
taglist time!: @anamiad00msday @curlylando @verogonewild @90smania @clarksgf @knivesdoingcartwheels @ezzi-ln4 @evie-119 @strawberry-rainclouds @fastcarsgonyoem @lina505 @guacala @linneaguriii @tamimemo @hydracassiopeiadarablack @willowpains @alireads27 @gigigreens @rifran @fairyjinn @superlegend216 @cryinghotmess @esw1012
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