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sir, your id? - oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

theme: fluff; comedy

a drabble

a/n: inspired by my favourite current event also known as oscar's paddock pass not working. i have not stopped rewatching it; it makes me laugh so bad so naturally I had to write this as I sit in the parking lot waiting for my parents to finish their errands 🤓 happy race week!

+ also new dividers! i have one for all drivers i write for. what do we think? :)

Her laugh echoed along the Monaco walkway, bright and entirely unhelpful. "Baby, don't laugh, it's not funny," Oscar muttered, though it was hard to sound threatening when he was looking like a sad but frustrated puppy. His paddock pass had just flashed a ruthless bright red at the turnstile. Now, they were stuck: her on the inside, and Oscar trapped on the outside, looking less like a driver and more like a tourist who has gone too far.

"How does yours work and mine doesn't?" Oscar asked, eyeing her badge. "Are you sure you didn't accidentally steal mine?" That only made her laugh harder. "Osc, it's my face, and my name," she said through giggles, turning the ID around to show him.

Oscar turned back to the towering security guard. He puffed out his chest slightly, trying to look imposing. "Sir, I'm a driver for McLaren. I raced here last year." The guard looked down at Oscar. Then down at Oscar’s outfit. Then back up to Oscar's face. Without breaking eye contact or moving a single facial muscle, the guard slowly raised his walkie-talkie to his mouth.

"We have a breach at Gate 3," the guard droned into the radio. Oscar groans; she clutches her stomach and chest, trying to breathe but failing as she continues to burst out laughing. How was it only getting worse?

A few feet away, Mark was supposedly handling the situation with the race officials, though he was very obviously failing to hide a smirk, thoroughly enjoying Oscar practically begging the guard with his eyes. Finally, after the head of security cleared his name over the radio, he was quickly swept off to the side entrance. She immediately jogged over and grabbed Oscar’s hand, still wiping a tear of laughter from her eye.

"I can't believe they didn't believe I was a driver," Oscar grumbled, the faint pout returning as they walked. It was entirely endearing, but she couldn't help the fresh wave of amusement. Leaning up, she planted a soft, apologetic kiss on his cheek. "Well, maybe you should stop dressing like a 90s dad on vacation and more like an athlete?"

Oscar stopped, giving her a look of pure betrayal.

"I'm joking!" she laughed, tugging his arm. "Seriously though, babe, we are burning those khaki shorts tonight."