Request from @marspastries - oscar's always been a really reserved guy, we all know it and always did, but i guess it would be so him to randomly drop bombs like "kids?yeah umh..got one, second on the way" "marriage?oh yeah, my *wife* is really happy with ours" if you get what i mean, so i can totally picture this scene of him having a dinner with lando, maybe a few others and just randomly start talking about his life things, like showing off his kid's first steps on the phone or just randomly mentioning little sibling on the way or things like anniversary dinner planning
Word count: 1.6k
Oscar never really considered the fact that so many people were unaware of his home life.
That he's married, he had a little boy at home with another baby on the way and they're settled into a routine and life together even with F1 shaking it up.
They met while they were young and he didn't see point in wasting time in prolonging their inevitable marriage and naturally Alfie came a few months after that.
"How are you feeling?" Oscar asks as he sits in the car on the way to the track.
"My back hurts a little but nothing to be concerned about." Y/n shrugs with a soft smile before sighing. "Alfie is down for his nap. So I'll call you later to chat with him."
"Thank you." Oscar smiles earning a small nod before she sighs softly looking at him. "What?"
"Nothing, I just miss my husband sometimes-and before you feel guilty, it's not about anything other than I am so turned on 24/7 right now."
Oscar almost chokes at her candour, though he recalls this part of her first pregnancy which he took great joy in being part of even if he was terrified about causing any damage or harming the baby.
"I'll make it up to you once I'm home."
"You really don't have a choice." Y/n states earning another laugh.
-
Oscar yawns as he walks in for a dinner that has been planned ahead of the weekend, they have these sorts of dinners a few times a year. The most famous being the Abu Dhabi end of season meal.
"Hey, mate. How you feeling?" George asks as the two McLaren drivers sit down but the question being directed at Lando.
"I'm good. Already looking forward to the weekend being over." Oscar sighs making George frown.
"Already having doubt in yourself?"
"No. God definitely not. But y/n is at a certain point in her pregnancy and I just want to be there for her." Oscar states casually making George's eyes bulge in shock. But he's not the only one since the table falls silent.
"You have a baby on the way?" Max asks making Oscar look around.
"Yes...I've got a toddler too. He's about to turn 2." Oscar smiles just thinking about Alfie.
"How did you never mention that? I've never even met your girlfriend." Lando states making Oscar clear his throat and shift a little.
"You never asked...My wife and I got married at the end of 2023." Oscar states making the table go into a sequence of questioning, some even accusing him of lying.
"I'm offended I wasn't invited." Lando huffs crossing his arms jokingly.
"Any other secrets? We're asking now." Fernando questions making Oscar think for a moment.
"No. I don't think so. Wife, toddler, baby on the way. That's everything I can think of." Oscar shrugs then frowning as his phone rings. "Her ears must be burning, I gotta take this."
He steps out knowing the group are going to question if any of them had any suspicion but not one of them realised just how little they knew about Oscar. An assumption that Logan may have been aware since he's known Oscar so much longer and at one point was very much considered near family.
"Hey, baby. Everything ok?" Oscar asks softly making y/n huff out trying to make a sniffle. "Y/n?"
"I have braxton hicks." Y/n hiccups making Oscar sigh, hating that he's not there to help but she's officially in the third trimester and the doctor is advising against her travelling especially so far. A short couple hours might be allowed but from Las Vegas to Qatar then Abu Dhabi for the final triple header to round off the season. "Where are you?"
"Nowhere important."
"Oh you're at that dinner. I'll-I'll call back later I don't want to-"
"You are my priority, especially if I can't be there physically. Anyway they're all processing the news that I have a wife and kids since no one knew."
"What? How did they not know?-I mean I know I try to keep out the way of people when I'm there, but we don't act like strangers." Y/n rambles. "Did they think you were single?"
Oscar smiles a little sensing her getting possessive over the idea these men might've thought that Oscar would be up for another woman. He's not sure if she'd usually be so offended at the idea of Oscar being single but maybe he should've figured that pregnancy would be a little more upset at the thought of her husband being assumed single.
"Don't worry, I'll make it very clear from here forward that no one else thinks I'm single." Oscar promises earning a hum. "You know...when I get back there is something to celebrate."
"Our anniversary I know. I might be pregnant but my mind hasn't lost me yet." Y/n smiles lightly.
"Leave it all to me. I've got some plans."
The talk for another 5 minutes before y/n insists Oscar get back to the meal and he promises that they'll be talking again later when the dinner is over.
He returns to find the food has arrived and smiles sitting down, though he doesn't get more than a couple bites before George has to ask more questions and Max joins him as a new father on the grid, he's intrigued about Oscar's own journey with fatherhood. Though he doesn't word it quite in that way.
"Got any pictures?" Lando eventually asks and Oscar is happy to provide since despite him not making it a priority to discuss his private life, he is more than happy to share is someone asks.
Everyone make assure to let Oscar know he has a beautiful family, Lando also makes sure to let him know that he's batting out of his league by bagging his wife. Obviously joking but Oscar will take the compliment to y/n.
"We're coming up to the anniversary, thankfully it falls after everything for the season is done." Oscar states earning a small smile from the group since it's really nice getting to know this side of Oscar.
Some of them even realised he wears his wedding ring on his right hand but none of them had thought anything of it earlier when they'd noticed. They definitely didn't think it was a wedding band.
It's not till later when Oscar is on phone call with y/n and Alfie is finally on the call. He's grinning and yapping away with Oscar, mainly gibberish that is an attempt at real words. Y/n and Oscar understand most of what he's saying but when he's especially excited and just talking to talk, he stops using words and make noises that sound like words but aren't.
Oscar captures a couple screenshots and y/n is about to hang up but he asks if he can stay on call for the bedtime routine with Alfie. Plus he just wants to talk to y/n alone and after saying goodnight to Alfie, y/n leaves him in his room. Oscar always have to credit y/n as the most amazing mum because she has got Alfie in a routine and he sleeps through the night almost every night without fail.
"You don't usually want to stay on call for so long. What's up?" Y/n smiles as she settles down with a donut to finish her day. Something in Oscar wants to comment about that choice of snack purely out of concern for her blood sugar (his inner athlete is so nutrient focused but pregnancy hormones don't give a fuck and he learnt that in the first pregnancy) but he also doesn't want to be hung up on and ignored.
"I just want some extra time with you. My beautiful wife." Oscar smiles softly while y/n immediately pouts. "I love you, baby. Not because we have kids together, not because we're married, not because of anything but because you are such an incredible person and sometimes I don't make it obvious but that's how I feel."
Y/ bursts into tears, having to cover her mouth to make sure she doesn't sob and trigger Alfie's reappearance.
"You dick. You did that on purpose." Y/n hiccups while Oscar smiles a little. "I love you too, and you might not make it obvious to everyone else. But you make just how much you love me obvious to me. I never doubt it."
"Well I spent the rest of that dinner bragging about you and our family without apology." Oscar states earning a grin. "I'll be home soon and you will not be lifting a finger. I've got a lot of daddy duties to make up for and you...should not have to be doing this stuff on your own with Alfie when you're this far along."
"Oscar..." Y/n warns since she has never allowed him to feel guilt about working and just doing what he has to for his career. "I'm fine. I miss you like hell, but I missed you like hell before we were married and before we had kids. Alfie is doing great. I'm doing great, baby is doing great. We're all great. You own me nothing."
"I owe you so much more than you realise" Oscar whispers suddenly before smiling. "I'm going to let you sleep. I love you, we'll talk tomorrow. I'm going to play padel."
"I love you too, talk tomorrow and have fun. Try to win...unless it's Carlos, Lance or Fernando. In which case accept a gracious defeat."
pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader
summary: in which you and your best friends brother accidentally eat aphrodisiac chocolate OR you and oscar get so fucking horny while on a yacht in the Maldives.
warnings: smut smut smut, all smut basically. oral, p in v, dirty talk, language, marking kink, slight voyeruism, exhibitionism??, not sure what else...NOT PROOFREAD! (might be some typos)
word count: ~3.9k
author's note: SURPRISEEEE ITS OUT EARLY (I worked hard over the weekend lol) hope you guys enjoy!! THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR OSCAR EVERRRR (aside from a one shot i've had sitting in my drafts for months lol) comment and let me know what you think!!! xoxo
Everyone knew it. Oscar especially. He used to tease you over it when you were younger. Would point out when your fingers were sticky with something sugary.
He never said it unkindly. Just amused. Soft. Something like youβve got chocolate on your face and then passed you a napkin you didnβt ask for.
Heβs always been like that. Gentle. Kind. The boy who was never loud. More of a listener than a speaker.
And he never made you feel silly. Not when you cried after falling off your bike and scraped your knee. Not when your towel slipped. Not even when you accidentally spilled juice all over your shirt on a long flight. He just handed you a new one from his backpack like he knew itβd happen.Β
Youβd grown up like that.Β
And now here you were, years later. Sunburned and salty on a private yacht in the Maldives, still with a sweet tooth and one of his old McLaren shirts he gave you when he first got signed. Pulled over your bikini.
His sister, your best friend, left on in the morning for a tour with the rest of the group. Something about history and snorkeling. Youβd both waved your hands declining. Something about being too burned and too sleepy for it.Β
βSheβs going to get bored halfway through,β You sip on your drink. βProbably will call us in two hours.β
Oscar gives you a shrug. βI give her one.β
βShe said it was a once in a lifetime experience.β You throw up your hands while repeating her words. Mocking her almost. Smiling.
βSo is sitting here.β
And you laugh.
Heβs sitting across from you, towel slung around the back of his neck, sun catching his shoulders. His hair is damp. Skin flushed from the sun. No shirt. Just a pair of swim shorts and bare feet.
You shift slightly where you are. Curled up in the shade. Bare legs stretched out. The oversized shirt clinging to you just a little too much where your bikini top was wet.
He glances at you when you move. Doesnβt speak. Just tracks it with his eyes. And looks away again.
His hand reaches for the table. βWhatβs this?β
You look over.Β
A little box. Dark. Red ribbon wrapped around it.
βSome welcome thing, I think.β You shrug. βDropped it off yesterday.β
Oscar pulls the lid open, brows lifting. He picks up a wrapped square, amused.
βWell, well.β He says, looking at you. βYour kryptonite.β
You grin. βShut up.β
βYou gonna pretend you didnβt spot this the second we sat down?β
βI did not.β
He tilts his head, giving you a look.
βMm, youβve got that look.β He says.
βWhat look?β
βThe one you used to get before stealing cupcakes at birthday parties.β
You roll your eyes, but blush. Cheeks reddening. βI did not stealβ¦β
βYou did.β He cuts you off. Already unwrapping one of the chocolates. βAlways had sugar on your hands. Icing on the corner of your lips.β
You open your mouth to protest, but he tosses a piece toward you.
You catch it.
You watch him bring the chocolate to his mouth, tongue darting over his lip without thinking.
Peel open your piece and press it to your tongue. It melts fast. Rich.Β
You hum, licking a smear of it off your finger. βThatβs actually really good.β
He doesnβt respond right away.
You glance up and catch him mid-swipe across his bottom lip. Looking dazed. Distracted.
Then he blinks, clears his throat. And nods. βYeah, pretty good.β
He closes the lid of the box, slides it to the side. Then leans back, looking at the water.
And you sit there with him. Across from him on the cushioned benches. Chewing slowly. Feeling that heat bloom beneath your skin.
Itβs soft at first.
Then deeper.
A warmth in your chest. A pulse between your thighs.
The wind sweeps your skin. And the fabric of your bikini suddenly feels too damp. Too thin. Too tight.
You swallow. Trying not to fidget.
Oscar hasnβt moved much. His gaze is still on the ocean, but it isnβt really. And you watch the way his jaw flexes. The way his foot shifts on the deck. Like he was grounding himself.
He doesnβt look at you.
And he always looks at you.Β
You shift again. Cross your ankles. Press your thighs together.
You glance at Oscar again.
And his lips are parted. Just a little bit. And his brow is slightly furrowed.
You sit up slightly. βYou okay?β
He shifts. Then clears his throat, blinking. βYeah. Justβ¦hot.β
You nod slowly. βSame.β
He leans forward, breathes out. But his fingers twitch. And you notice as his back muscles roll slightly as he drops his head down, towel slipping down.
He stays like that for a few seconds. Then rubs a hand over the back of his neck.
His voice is quiet. Flat. βWhat was in that chocolate?β
You donβt answer right away. Because youβre fucking throbbing now. And your bikini is definitely soaked.
βDo you feelβ¦β He swallows, throat bobbing. βStrange?β
You nod. And then remember he isnβt even looking at you. βYeah.β
His jaw clenches.
He shifts again. Still not looking at you. And thatβs how you know something is wrong.
Because he never acts like this.Β
Youβve seen him flustered, sure. After a race, dealing with the media, around too many people. But never like this. Not this tense. As if heβs afraid.
βI didnβt think chocolate couldβ¦.fuck.β His voice cracks. And he laughs under his breath.Β
He grips the bench. Looking like heβs in pain.
βI think I need to go inside.β
And he stands too fast. Towel falling down. Hands clenched at his sides as he turns on bare feet and walks toward the main cabin.
You stare at his back. His shoulders. And he disappears down the stairs.
Youβre so hot that you could cry. Unbearable.
You press your palm flat to your stomach. Like itβll help.
But it doesnβt.
Because itβs not just the chocolate.Β
Itβs him. Oscar.
Gone for less than a minute and his voice is the only thing in your head. The way his mouth looked when he licked the chocolate off his thumb. His hands. The muscles of his back straining as he leaned forward
The silence stretches heavy.
You make a quiet sound in your throat. Barely audible. And you canβt sit still. Can barely think. Canβt stop seeing him.
Your hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt. Youβre hesitant at first. But then trail your fingers to the center of your ache.
And your hips lift off the cushion. A heavy breath escaping.
Your other hand grips the bench as you rock slowly against your own fingers. Over the bikini. Slow circles. Each one, pressing harder.
You let your head fall back. And the sky above is almost blinding.
βOscarβ¦β
You donβt even realize you said it out loud. It just slips.Β
And a few moments later, you donβt even hear him come back. Your fingers still at your bikini. Rubbing.
You lift your head. Heβs there.
Flushed. Hair ruffled like he ran his fingers through it a million times. Eyes fixed between your legs like heβs in some sort of trance.
He just stares. Doesnβt even speak.
βI canβt stop,β You whisper. Honest.
βYouβreβ¦β He blinks. Voice low. Stunned. Like he just walked into his favorite fantasy and doesnβt know what to do. βYouβre fucking touching yourself?β
You nod. And he groans.
βTo me?β
βCouldnβt stop thinking about you,β You whisper.
βJesus.β His hands twitch at his sides.
You shift, spreading your legs a little wider without meaning to. Unable to stop rubbing the tight circles.
βYou look so pretty like that,β He mutters.
You tremble. βI need help.β
And his eyes widen.
βPlease,β you whisper. βI canβtβ¦Osc, please.β
He groans. Hands dropping to the front of his swim shorts, palming the hard line of his cock through the fabric.
βCome closer.β You plead.
And he stares at you with wide eyes. Flushed. He doesnβt move. At least, he doesnβt at first.
But then his gaze drops back down to your legs. Spread open. Your fingers rubbing slow, desperate circles. And his hands twitch.
βIβ¦β He says, but heβs already squeezing himself. βI shouldnβt.β
βOscarβ¦β
βI shouldnβt be seeing this,β his mutters. βAnd I shouldnβt be this fucking hard.β
Your eyes fall to where his hand squeezes against his cock. Like heβs trying to fight the ache between his legs.
And you whimper. Hips jerking. βI canβt. I needβ¦.I need help.β
His hand squeezes himself tighter.
βFuck.β A pause. A few silent moments of heated stares. βDo you know how many times I used to think about this?β
His voice has gone rough. And you blink at him. Heart stuttering.
βI used to jerk off in my room and feel sick after,β He whispers. βBecause it was you. My sisterβs best friend. Always walking around in those tiny shorts. That blue bikini. Always so fucking sweet.β
Your fingers slow. Jaw falls slack.
βIβve thought about it,β His voice shakes. βFuck. Iβve thought about this. When we were younger.β
Your breath hitches.
βThought about your pussy more than I shouldβve.β He mutters. βWondered how soft youβd feel. How tight. If youβd let me take my time or if youβd beg me to fuck you rough.β
Your back arches.
βWondered what youβd sound like when you come.β He continues. βIf itβs all breathy. Or if youβd cry. If youβd say my name.β
βIβd press the pillow over my face after so no one would hear me,β He admits. βEvery time.β
You gasp.
βI would.β You gasp.
His hand pushes harder into his cock. Groaning. βIβve thought about fucking you with my tongue. Holding your legs and licking you for hours.β
You press your fingers even harder.
You whimper, other hand reading for a pillow or something to grab onto. βOsc, please.β
βYou want my fingers?β He whispers. βRight here? Want me to fuck you with my hand?β
You nod. Repeatedly. Fast. Almost pathetic.
Oscar lets out a whimper. And then heβs kneeling in front of you before you can blink. Hand still pressing into his cock. The other trembling as his fingers brush your thigh.
βYouβre so warm.β
Your hand falls away and he replaces it instantly. Pressing two fingers against the soaked fabric. Groans loudly when he feels it.
βFuck, prettyβ¦β He groans. βYouβre soaked. Fuckinβ dripping.β
And then he pushes the fabric aside, stares. Pupils blown. βGod, look at youβ¦"
You shake your head. βPlease.β
βIβve thought about sliding my fingers into you since I was seventeen,β He pushes them in. Half-laughing. βThought about curling them deep and slowβ¦.hearing you moan just like that.β
Oscar swears under his breath, leaning closer. Jaw locked tight. βIβd keep you like this for hours if I could. Legs spread and needyβ¦.mine to play with.β
You cry out. Rocking your hips.
And he curls his fingers. Watching your face.
βYeah?β His thumb circles your clit now. Slow. βRight there? Knew Iβd find it.β
And you careen forward. Hands flying to grab his shoulders.
βCome for me,β He mutters. βRight here. In my fucking shirt. On my yacht. On my fingers.β
And you do.
Hard.
And he watches every second. His lips parted. Cock throbbing.
And then he drags his fingers out of you slow.
Brings them to his mouth.Β
Licks them clean. Eyes locked on yours.
βTaste better than I ever dreamed,β He says softly.
And then heβs grabbing the back of your neck. Pulling your lips to his. Kissing you like heβs starving.
His tongue licks your mouth like its his. Like he already knows how to pull those sounds out of you and wants to hear every single one.Β
And his hands slip down your body. Down your shoulders, over your ribs. Brushing the dip of your waist. Until heβs gripping your thighs.
βWanna see bruises here,β He says. βWant people to see bruises and know.β
He stays kneeling between you, chest heaving.
βYouβre soaking, baby.β His voice cracks.
He leans forward. Kissing your inner thigh. And then opens his mouth, sucking hard. Pulling a moan from you.
You feel the bruise forming as he licks over it. Sucks it again. Fingers pressing into your skin, gripping it.
βThatβs one,β He mutters.Β
He leaves another one. Higher.Β
Then a third on the other leg. Right by your cunt. So close that it makes your hips jerk into his mouth.
And then heβs standing. Grabbing you under your thighs. And lifts you.Β
Laying you down on the table. The welcome basket crashes onto the deck with a thud, but neither of you acknowledge it. The box of chocolates dangling on the edge.
He grabs it.
βWhat are you doing?β You ask. Breathless.
He doesnβt answer. Opens the box, takes out a single piece and holds it up. Gaze dropping down to your cunt spread open for him.
βNeed to taste you with this,β He mutters.
He leans over you. Pressing the chocolate between your lips. βBite.β
You do.
The sunβs hot against your skin.
And then he kisses you hard. Tongue lapping against yours, sharing the chocolate. You both moan and groan into each other before heβs dropping back to his knees.
βLook at you,β He breathes. βAll messy. Want my mouth, baby?β
You nod.
And he leans in. Licks you.
One long drag up your slit.
You cry out. And he groans into your cunt. Licking you. Tasting you.
βFuckin heaven.β He drags a hand to your leg. βCanβt believe I waited this long.β
βOscarβ¦β
He doesnβt stop. Just hooks his arm under your thigh, and pulls you closer to the edge. Legs over his shoulder.
And buries his face in your pussy.
You grind into him instantly. Chasing every flick of his tongue.
Your hands fist into his hair, dragging his face closer against you. And he moans. Wrecked.
βFuck,β you yell. βOscarβ¦oh myβ¦fuck.β
He drags his tongue through you. Flicking your clit over and over.
βKeep fucking my face,β his voice is hot.
βYou soundβ¦my God..Oscar, you sound obsessed..β
βI am.β He grunts. Fingers curling in you as he nudges your clit with his nose.
And then he pulls one arm away. You barely notice it. Until you hear it and look down.
Heβs got his hand wrapped around his cock, fisting it fast. Leaking.
He jerks his cock faster. Hips twitching into his own fist as his mouth works harder against you.Β
βGonna come,β he confesses. βGonna come from tasting you.β
You cry out.
βCβmonβ¦β He urges. βLet me taste it, yeah?βΒ
And it breaks you.
You moan into the open sky. Grinding against his face. Jaw slack. Eyes squeezed shut.
And then he groans, standing up and comes hard onto your cunt.Β
Hot, messy ropes of it. Spilling over you.Β
And then heβs dragging you off the table without a word. Not giving you time to even breathe. Panting.Β
His hands tight around you, and then heβs spinning you. Forcing you to face the ocean. Chest hitting the metal railing.Β
And heβs behind you. Silent.
You start to turn your head, βOscarβ¦?β
βNo.β He says. Voice rough. βStay just like that.β
His hands drag your shirt up. Slow.
His name in bold letters stretched across your back.
He groans. Violently.
βI shouldβve fucked you in this years ago.β
Your breath falters.
βFucking knew it,β He grabs a fistful of the shirt, twisting his hand in it. βKnew one day youβd bend over in this and Iβd lose my fucking mind.β
You feel the heat of his body behind you, shoving your bottoms down with one swift flick of his hand. Cock thick and heavy. Dragging through your folds, collecting his come and your wetness.
He groans. You shake.
He presses forward, hips rocking against you. Grinding into your thighs.
βYouβve no idea what you look like.β His breath is heavy behind you. βBent over. My name on your back. Come still dropping down your cunt.β
And you bite your lip. Arching into him harder.
One hand grips your hip, the other fisted around the shirt.
βYou wore this shirt for years like it meant nothing,β His voice quieter. Mean. βDidnβt think about what it did to me every time you wore it.β
βOscβ¦β You attempt to say his name, but he shifts his hips into you harder and your voice cracks.
He laughs.
βNow look at you. Dripping all over me. Wearing my name like you belong to me.β
He sinks in slow. So slow that you feel every pulse. Every ridge.Β
And you whimper. He groans behind you. Like heβs in pain. Like heβs trying so hard to not ravish you.
But when his hips meet you, and heβs bottomed out. He justβ¦.stops.
Breathes in heavily.
βFuck.β He says soft. βYouβre so fucking tight around me.β
His fingers dig into your hip even harder. Bruising. Marking.
βYouβve ruined me,β He laughs. βYβknow that?β
And you donβt even get a chance to answer.
Because he pulls back and slams into you. Hard.
You cry out, hands gripping the railing that your knuckles turn white.
His pace isnβt gentle at all. Itβs feral.
βFucking ruined me,β He says again. βYou in this shirtβ¦.you in my fucking name..do you even know what that does to me?β
You moan. So loud. And his hips smack into you. Over and over.
βYouβve been walkinβ around in it for years.β He spits. βLike itβs nothing.β
He thrusts deep, angling his hips at a better angle. βLike I havenβt been dreaming of fucking you in it since I gave it to you all those years ago.β
Youβre babbling now. Unable to breathe properly. Your entire body trembling.
His hand slips from your hip and slides up your spine. He grabs the back of your neck and pushes you down. Just a little bit harder. Forces you to arch even more.
And fuck, he nearly collapses when he feels you clench tighter around him.
βYou should see yourself,β He grunts. βSqueezing around me like youβre desperate to never let me go.β
And heβs lost all rhythm. Heβs just slamming into you. Cock so deep.Β
βCanβt believe this is real.β Heβs panting. βCanβt believe I get to fuck you in my shirt. Pussy covered in me.β
Your orgasm is close. And youβre shouting. Moaning.Β
"Bet she'd lose her mind if she knew what a slut you were f'me..."
You cry out. He feels you teetering on the edge.Β
βDonβt.β He snaps.
And you cry, βOscarβ¦please.β
βYouβre gonna wait.β He demands, fucking into you more rapidly.Β
And heβs losing his mind. Itβs sooo good.Β
βSay whoβs inside you.β His hands squeeze the back of your neck. βSay it.β
You gasp. Jaw falling slack. Chest pressed harsh into the metal railing. βYouβ¦Osc..fuck, itβsΒ so good..β
You sob out his name and Oscar fucking snaps.
βThatβs it, baby.βΒ
His hips hit you faster. Deeper. The filthy sound of it heard over the waves lapping the hull.Β
You sob into the railing.Β
He leans into you, head falling forward.
βGonna come,β He chokes out. βGonna come right inside you. Stuff you full. Let it leak out.β
And you break.
Orgasm ripping through you. Violent and hot. Back arching so hard into him. You sob out his name. Your walls clenching around him in a tight grip.
And he crashes with you. Body shuddering. Cock throbbing. Spilling into you.
Heβs still panting against you when he pulls out. And itβs a fucking mess in between your thighs.
But before you can say anything, heβs dragging you upright. And youβre stumbling as he drags you across the hot deck. Hand across your stomach. Keeping you close.
And then heβs shoving you into the rinse off shower.
He reaches up. Turns the handle. And the water is so cold that you gasp from it.
Oscar laughs behind you. βToo cold?β
Your head falls onto his shoulder. βAsshole.β
And then he turns the temperature warmer, and then itβs all steam and heat again.Β
You expect him to rinse you off gently.
Instead, he grabs the shower head. Detaches it from the hook. And pulls your back against his chest.
βGonna clean you up.β
Youβre about to ask what exactly he means. But then he;;s nudging your legs apart. Brings the shower head straight to your cunt.Β
And you jolt forward with a sharp cry.
The heat. The pressure.
βOh my godβ¦Osc,β Youβre mumbling.
And he watches you. Holding one leg to keep them apart.
βStay open,β his voice is soft. βWanna see you come again.β
And you whimper. Begging. βToo muchβ¦fuck.β
But he doesnβt stop. Just tilts the shower head just right. Hitting your clit.
βThought Iβd have to work harder for this,β He mutters. βBut youβre soaking already.β
βFuckβ¦fuck.β
"Y'like this, hm?" He whispers into your ear. "Being used like some filthy secret?"
Your hands reach behind you and slip their way into his hair. Pulling it. He groans. Rutting his hips into your backside for some friction.
βCβmon, pretty.β He grunts.Β
And the water just keeps hitting you.Β
You sob. And then crash again.
Your legs shake. Cunt clenching around nothing.Β But he holds you up, turning you to face him. Pressing your back against the wall.
He finally sets the shower head down. Lets it spray onto the deck.Β
And then his hands are back on you. One at your lower back, one gripping your thigh, pulling it up to wrap at his waist. You balance on one leg.
He presses a kiss to your temple. βYβokay?β His voice gentle. Caring.
And you nod, pressing your head into his neck. And his heart stutters when you lean into him. Like he can finally breathe.
βIβve got you,β He whispers.
And then, he sinks back into you.
Slow. Gentle.
Your mouth falls open. The stretch still almost unbearable after everything. But the way he slides in, feels too fucking good.
You gasp. Digging your nails into his skin. And he cradles you against the wall.
He moves slow. Rocking. No rhythm. And he feels massive. Thick.Β
βOscar,β You hush into his skin. βYou feelβ¦Yβfeel so good.β
He nods. βI know, baby. I know.β And his voice is a whisper.Β
He grinds deeper. Barely moving but pressing into you. βCanβt believe youβre still this wetβ¦β He grunts. βStill want more? Want me to stuff you full again, hm? Fuck you til it leaks down?β
You nod. Mouth open. Moaning.
βCβmon,β He pants. Hips jerking. Cock throbbing.Β
Itβs quick. The feel of you wrapped around his cock. The overstimulation of the stretch.
You both come quick. Crying out into each otherβs skin. Soft kisses in between the moans.
And then youβre both laughing. Smiling at one another.
-
βHoly shitβ¦Iβm dying.β Your best friend announces. βNever let me go on another tour ever ever again.βΒ
Oscar snorts from beside you on the bench, looking at his phone. βTold you youβd hate it.β
βYou didnβt say Iβd almost drown.β
You keep your face still. Sipping your drink.
And she plops down on the lounger across the deck, sighing.
And for a momentβ¦itβs quiet.
Until Oscar leans in slightly, elbow brushing your arm.
His voice low. βYβthink she noticed?β
You glance at him. Shake your head.
βSheβs never been less observant,β You whisper back.
And he grins. One of those fuck-you grins that makes you stutter.
And you hold back a smile.
Your best friend groans across the deck. βGod, I feel disgusting. Should we order dinner in an hour?β
Oscar clears his throat. βSure.β
βYeah,β You say.
And then you lean, just slightly, into his side. Just enough that his thigh is touching yours again.Β
He doesnβt move. And he doesnβt stop smiling.
"Hey, what happened to the welcome basket?"
Oops?
taglist (holy shit SO MANY OF YOU ILY): @landoscarinthefastlane @dudenhaaa27 @330bpm-whiplash @xoln04f1xo @sainzluvrr @minjiahyung @madicecream123 @star73807-blog @simpfortoomanymen @art-h1ve @annaswrites00 @forumlabee @butterfly-daisies07 @nothereneverherever @widow-cevans @suns3treading @fmejenson @megatrilss1885 @10iceicebaby @sh1nedreamsm1le7 @ptrickbateman @chasingosc @uuoozzii @idkwtdwml123 @pinkdeadtopia @chiara8104 @ellie-bellie-29 @piastri-my-boy @1-of-my-many-obsessions @8junejpg1 @jaydensluv @astrlape @idontknow0704 @whistlef0rthechoir @op814kitty @asmoothoperator @illicit-affcirs @lilith-123321 @teddybearbeth @saudianna @skylyn-vais @fleurdangz @angxedxtz @marekmybeloved @liafics @dxrlxb @gabyasworld @treebranch23 @drysdalesv @morganalatina21 @bigcatharmony @ilovemuppets @acina27 @angelabunbun @megatrilss1885 @ilikecarsalotsometimes @roxanne-ragnvindr @euphoriapillz @luminouskalopsia @trinity2058 @livsturnioloo @wdsara48 @ini3103 @shimmermotorsport @marslovesran4eva @wherethezoes-at @monsterdesandia @mythicalmaven @3in1shampooconditionerbodywash @ella284-3 @landossainz @redcrescentmoons @jaeger-chan @altaccount283927 @ericasdumbworld @aerie717 @the0twst0shrimp0mc @ysavelelelel @phillza-my-beloved @thenalovescars @zicosbitch @scaroscar8115 @wertyuizxcvbnm @needy02 @dessashippr @quill-vy @o6hellnah @enchantedwaspwhisper @awesome-fandom-panda @biancathecool @lilorose25 @wowzees (not sure if all these worked but I took them straight from my comments on the sneak peak)
oscar piastri x yn! bellingham | request β here | masterlist
"i like your big sister, she has your same face, and I tried to win her, Over with my cynical humor and yacht rock music taste." despite being the older sister of jude and jobe bellingham, that doesnβt stop them from being protective when itβs revealed who oscar piastri has a crush onβ¦
face claim : zendaya
note β (manips by me as always) thank you for the request, hope you enjoy !!!! likes, reblog's and comments are appreciated β‘Λ౨ΰ§β
Liked by user1, user2 and 273,825 others
F1Gossip Does Oscar Piastri have a crush...?
In a recent video the McLaren drivers were asked "Who is your favorite football player?" in which Norris replied "Oscar is going to say Bellingham, but not Jude..." upon further inspection the only Bellingham that Piastri follows is Y/n Bellingham the sister of Jude and Jobe Bellingham π
view all comments...
user1 oh i'd never go outside again
user2 oscar should've slapped tf out of him
->user3 LIKE?!?? why are you outing my crush man!@!?!?
->user4 i would've exposed him right back π
user5 i mean she IS gorgerous so..
user6 he's so messy for saying that bruhh
user7 his reply being to blush
->user8 he was SPEECHLESS
->user9 bro was SO red oh my-
user10 now why the hell would he say that?? π
user11 lowkey scared to see bellingham's reaction to this
user12 oscar might need to hire security after this
Liked by judebellingham, oscarpiastri and 1,318,362 others
ynbellingham ooh what a life
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user1 vibes are perfect
user2 no selfie :(
->ynbellingham didn't want to embarrass the bros
->judebellingham alright
->jobebellingham that's crazy
->user3 well is she lying..?
user4 oscar still in the likes, he really dgaf
user5 you are such a sade song π
user6 TRULY living the life
user7 alright what do y'all think of oscar? judebellingham jobebellingham
->judebellingham no comment
->jobebellingham β¬
->user8 oscar you might wanna watch out...
->user9 either he doesn't gaf or he REALLY gives a fuck.....
user10 do you need a sister in law..?
user11 come on oscar daon't be shy... leave a comment
Liked by judebellingham, oscarpiastri and 3,118,262 others
ynbellingham omw π«
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user1 this hair is so so good i can't
judebellingham where???
->ynbellingham do i need to tell you everywhere i go?
->judebellingham YES
->jobebellingham 100%
->ynbellingham you're welcome to tag along
->jobebellingham I HAVE PLANS
->judebellingham IM on my way
->ynbellingham i was joking jude
->ynbellingham JUDE
->ynbellingham i hate you
->user2 THEY ARE SOOOO
->user3 such a little brother i canttt
user4 living my dream life im sick
user5 the face card is always so insane im speechless
user6 the hello kitty keychain... i knew i liked u for a good reason
->ynbellingham im a woman with excellent taste
->user7 TRUST we know mama
Liked by ynbellingham, judebellingham and 4,736,518 others
oscarpiastri Enjoyable one that!
view all comments
judebellingham πππ₯
->ynbellingham easy with the π
->judebellingham damn my bad
->user1 she said "oscar is not a group project"...
->user2 that's HER man
->user3 the heart eyes was a little much π
user4 Killing it brother
user5 GO OSCARπ§‘β¨π
ynbellingham so so so proud π
->oscarpiastri thank you for coming angel π
->judebellingham easy with the "so"
->ynbellingham this is why jobe is my favorite
->user6 jude takes the role of being the middle child very serious
->user7 he somehow always finds new ways to annoy y/n..
user8 MY GOAT OSCARRR
user9 okay ynbellingham be honest did they interrogate him..?
->ynbellingham lot's of threats but it ended with everyone getting ice cream so it was fine lol
->user10 not surprised πβ
user11 just tried to sneak in y/n...
user12 audibly gasped when i saw the 5th picture
user13 so deserved!! well done
jobebellingham where was my invite..?
->ynbellingham in the group chat..
->judebellingham i have the messages!!
->user14 the kids are fighting again
->user15 omg they are such siblings i canttt π
user16 MY FAV DRIVER IS A WINNNNNER
user17 i can't believe he bagged THE y/n bellingham π
user18 he's got all the bellingham's approval how cute π€
summary: You thought escaping to the bathroom would save you from a drunk and clingy Oscar, but you were wrong. He follows you, intent on proving that his stamina extends far beyond the race track. A story about overstimulation, denial, and an Oscar Piastri who refuses to let you finish until heβs completely satisfied.
pairing: Oscar Piastri x fem!reader
word count: 4.8+ k
raiting: 18+
genre: smut, pwp, romance, established relationship, fluff (at the end).
warnings: drunk Oscar (but sweet and consensual), bathroom sex, counter sex, mirror sex, overstimulation, edging, dirty talk, slight roughness, praise kink, unprotected sex (creampie), aftercare, cuddling
The electronic key gave a quiet click, and the hotel room door opened. You walked inside, supporting Oscar, who, although capable of walking on his own, had decided he couldnβt manage without you. He was heavier than he looked at first glance. Oscar leaned his entire body weight against your shoulder; his usual composure had melted away somewhere at the bottom of his third glass of gin, giving way to a relaxed, warm heaviness.
A third consecutive victory at the Miami Grand Prix was the reason for his celebration. Oscar usually didnβt drink muchβhe always kept himself in check, even at parties. But this time, teammates and sponsors had insisted: "To first place! To the hat trick!" And he gave in.
Not to the point of total intoxication, noβhe understood everything, but he spoke a bit lazily, drawing out his words. Alcohol made him completely unlike himselfβmore relaxed, more playful. A slight sway in his step and a warm smile that wouldnβt leave his face made him look both cute and funny at the same time. You couldnβt remember the last time you saw Oscar like this. Perhaps on his high school graduation day, when he got drunk with friends.
You gripped him tighter under the arm, feeling his muscles tense under the thin fabric of his black t-shirt, and involuntarily leaned closer to his neck.
The expected sharp smell of alcohol was there, but it was lost, receding into the background before what you adored to the point of trembling knees. He smelled like a storm that had finally subsided. It was a scent you would recognize among a thousand others. The smell of sun-dried wood and sea salt.
Heat radiated from Oscarβs flushed skin, and this scent was unfolding in a special way right now. It held the freshness of the wind on the Melbourne coast and the tartness of sage, which, mixing with the barely perceptible notes of expensive gin, created an intoxicating cocktail. Oscar always smelled like home.
But this dreamy moment was interrupted by his careless movement toward the bed, and you almost fell with him. You helped him land on the soft mattress, and your boyfriend fell, absolutely exhausted from the party. You ran a quick gaze over his body, sprawled across the middle of the bed, and shook your head, smiling. His black, tight-fitting t-shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing part of his flat stomach, and his white shorts had slipped down a bit on his hips.
"Champion, you definitely overdid it with the victories today," you said and sank to your knees in front of the bed to pull off his massive sneakers.
"Iβm so tired..." he mumbled from somewhere above. His legs dropped limply to the floor as you removed his shoes. "But so... happy. Three in a row. Can you imagine?"
You stood up, walked to the nightstand beside the bed, and placed your purse and phone there. He turned his head toward you, and his smile grew wider.
"Are you proud of me?"
Warmth spread through your soul. You were prouder of him than he could imagine.
"I am proud of you," you whispered, leaning down to him and bracing your hands on the bed. Your lips gently touched his temple, and you felt him instantly bury his fingers in your hair. You hadnβt planned anything, just wanted to kiss him gently to express your pride. But Oscar craved more. He intercepted your lips, and his tongue slipped inside your mouth, deepening the kiss. The longer you kissed, the wetter and more chaotic it became.
Oscar pulled you toward him. You tried to resist, but he was stronger. Even drunk, he easily, effortlessly pulled you down next to him. But that wasnβt enough for him. He didnβt want you just lying next to himβhe needed to feel all of you. With agility surprising for his state, he threw a leg over your thighs and in a moment, using inertia, pinned you under him.
The air was knocked out of your lungs. He was heavy. His relaxed body seemed to weigh a ton, and he didn't even try to hold himself up, trusting gravity completely. He sprawled over you, pressing you into the mattress with every inch of his body.
"Oscar... you're going to crush me," you laughed, trying to move his shoulder, but it was like moving a rock.
"No," he mumbled into your neck, and you felt his wet, hot smile against your skin. "I'm holding you. You're my main trophy today."
You were too tired for what Oscar had in mind. It was almost three in the morning, and after such a long and eventful day, you only dreamed of sleep.
"Oscar... I want to sleep..." you said. He began rubbing his nose against your cheek, then moved down to your neck, inhaling your scent as deeply as if it were oxygen. And then followed the kisses. His movements were languid, the trails wet, and the desireβobvious.
"You smell... tasty..." he whispered, lazily running his tongue over the sensitive skin behind your ear, sending a herd of goosebumps through you.
You realized: this had to end while you still had the strength to resist. Because a little moreβand his lazy, hot kisses, his weight pressing you so pleasantly into the mattress, his scent filling your lungsβwould do the job. You could already feel the response warming between your thighs, your body forgetting the fatigue and starting to reach for him. So you gathered all your will into a fist. Firstβgently. You ran your palm down his back, as if soothing him, and laughed quietly.
"Oscar... you really will crush me. I can't breathe."
He chuckled lazily but lifted his head slightly, looking down at you with those drunk, shining eyes.
"Then I'll make it lighter," he mumbled and tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but the alcohol made his movements clumsy. Instead, he just rolled a bit to the side, still holding you in his arms, and you seized the moment.
Sharply, but playfully, you twisted out from under him, as if wrestling, and slipped downβbetween his arms, past his chest, past his stomach. He tried to grab you by the waist, but his fingers only slid over the fabric of your dress. You were already at the edge of the bed, on your feet, laughing quietly so as not to wake his hunting instinct too strongly.
"No, no, champion," you said, retreating back toward the bathroom. "The trophy chooses a shower and bed today."
Oscar lay on his side, propped up on an elbow, looking at you with an offended, drunken smile. His hair was disheveled, and in his eyes, you could read disappointment mixed with desire. You saw that he was aroused: the fabric of his shorts was taut, his breathing accelerated. He reached a hand out in your direction, as if wanting to pull you back.
"Hey, come here..." he drawled lazily. "I haven't celebrated properly yet..."
"Celebrate in your dreams," you replied, already standing in the bathroom doorway. "I'll be quick. And don't touch yourself without me, got it?"
He just chuckled, falling back onto the pillow, and you closed the doorβnot all the way, out of habit.
In the bathroom, you exhaled with relief. Fatigue washed over you in a wave. You took off your dress to feel free, and before getting into the shower, you started washing the makeup off your face. Although there wasnβt much, skincare was mandatory. The face in the mirror looked tired but happy. You managed quickly and leaned down to wash with cool water.
When you lifted your head, drops were running down your cheeks, and when the water finally stopped blurring your vision, you saw Oscar in the mirror. He was standing in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame. The black t-shirt was still slightly ridden up; the white shorts, low on his hips, did not hide his erection. He looked at you silently, and you saw mischievous sparks in his eyes. You wiped your face with a paper towel and turned to him.
You looked at his arousal and raised your eyes, meeting his.
"What? Want to shower first?" you asked, not without a dose of sarcasm, hinting that he needed to calm down.
But Oscar didnβt answer. He pushed off the doorframe and slowly approached you. There was not even a hint of drunkenness in his movements now. His eyes ran from bottom to top over your almost naked body. You turned back to the mirror and realized that now you were definitely trapped. In a moment, he was behind you. His large, solid body pressed you against the vanity with the sink. His lips found your neck again, and his fingers, which just a moment ago were on your waist, slid down your stomach to the place that had begun to pulse. You felt his aroused cock against your buttocks.
"Oscar, I'm really tired," you said almost inaudibly, because his fingers had already found their way to your wet folds. You felt his touch and gripped the edge of the cold marble countertop with your palms. The mirror in front of you fogged up from your breath, but you still saw his reflection: eyes dark, shining, a sly drunken smile, but absolutely confident.
"I know," he answered right by your ear. "But you said it yourself... don't touch myself without you. Besides, you started it..."
His fingers on your pussy moved slowly, you would even say teasinglyβnot penetrating, just circling around your center. You reacted instantly: your hips pushed forward on their own, seeking more pressure, but he evaded, keeping you on the edge.
"Mmm..." you tried to protest one more time, but nothing came out, just an uncontrollable moan escaped.
He pressed harderβyou felt his full length, hot and hard, through the thin fabric of his shorts against your buttocks. With one hand he held you by the waist, not letting you pull away, with the otherβhe continued these slow, unbearable caresses.
"You're wet," he whispered, as if surprised, as if it were a discovery for him. "Very wet. And this is after you were 'tired'?"
You bit your lip, trying not to give away how much this turned you onβspecifically this drunken confidence of his, this playful cruelty, knowing you wouldn't run away now.
He turned you to face him. You ended up sandwiched between his body and the sink. His lips found yoursβthe kiss was greedy, passionate, wetter from the alcohol, but one that made your head spin. While he kissed you, his fingers slid down againβthis time inside, unhurriedly sinking into you. You arched, pressing against his palm. Your own hands slipped under his t-shirt, lifting it up as if urging him to take it off, and Oscar, without thinking twice, got rid of it in a moment, remaining only in shorts.
He returned to your lips as soon as he fulfilled your silent request and tore away from you only when you both needed air. He looked into your eyesβand smiled. This Oscar was not at all like the one you were used to seeing in bed.
He touched your thong and pulled it down. It fell, gathering at your ankles, and the cool air touched your moist folds. Oscar grabbed you by the thighs. One sharp, confident movementβand you were off the floor. The cold of the marble countertop burned your bare buttocks and thighs when he sat you on it, but that cold instantly vanished under the pressure of his hot body. Oscar unceremoniously spread your knees wider, settling between them so tightly that not a millimeter of free space remained.
Now your faces were on the same level. In his eyes splashed dark, intoxicating pleasureβhe saw you trembling, and he liked it.
"Osc..." you tried to say something, but he didn't let you finish. His lips attacked yours againβnot just kissing, but as if consuming you. But this time he didn't stop at the lips.
He began real torture. Oscar covered your jawline with kisses, descending to your neck, intentionally lingering on the most sensitive points where the blood pulsed. He sucked on the tender skin, alternating it with light bites that made you arch back, nearly hitting the back of your head against the mirror.
He didnβt take off the bra you were still wearing; he just yanked it, and it rode up, freeing your breasts.
His lips fell to your aroused nipples, and he caressed them with his tongue. The arousal intensified from these caresses because your breasts were an erogenous zone for you, and Oscar knew it well.
His hand ended up between your bodies, found the place that was the main trophy for him. And he acted ruthlessly.
His fingers moved inside in a rhythm he set himself, completely ignoring your chaotic attempts to adjust. He would speed up, sharply thrusting deeper and forcing you to throw your head back, then almost stop, barely touching, teasing you to tears. It was masterful, planned overstimulation. And you didnβt know what you were being punished for. Was it for running away?
You felt everything at once: the cold stone under your palms, the heat of his breath on your chest, and this unbearably sweet pressure below. Your moan became louder, echoing off the tiled walls of the bathroom.
"Shhh..." he whispered right into your mouth, stealing your breath. "The neighbors will hear..."
"Then... you... need... to stop..." you barely said, and your voice still broke into a loud moan from the overstimulation. Oscar had no intention of stopping, and you realized this when he sped up his movements. A wave of pleasure was already rising to your throat, your body tensed, preparing for the explosion. You instinctively squeezed his shoulders, pushing your hips toward his hand, begging for the finale.
But he sensed it. And abruptly stopped.
His fingers froze inside, ceasing movement exactly the second it was vitally necessary. Your body trembled treacherously from the incompleteness, and you opened your eyes, looking at him with a mixture of indignation and despair.
Oscar looked at you, breathing heavily, with a self-satisfied smile atypical for him. He ran his thumb over your lower lip, enjoying your reaction.
"Hmm... I'd like to try something else," he said. You let out a loud breath, feeling resentment that he tortured you so much but didn't allow you to come.
When he dropped to his knees and his face was right between your legs, you felt your walls contract in anticipation of his actions.
Oscar placed his palms on your thighs, spreading your legs even wider and securely fixed you in this defenseless position.
At first, you felt only his hot, ragged breath scorching your most sensitive skin, causing your stomach muscles to contract involuntarily. And then his tongue touched youβsoftly, broadly, from bottom to top, gathering all your juices.
"Mgh!..." you threw your head back, pressing the back of your head against the mirror. The cold of the glass sobered you a little, but the heat below was unbearable.
Oscar was in no hurry. It seemed he decided to taste every millimeter of you. He kissed the inside of your thighs, slowly approaching the center, teasing you with his slowness. His tongue moved confidently and wetly, and you felt him enjoying the taste as if you were his favorite vanilla ice cream.
But the real torture began when he focused on your clitoris. He didn't apply strong pressure, no. He barely touched it with the tip of his tongue, vibrating quickly, then suddenly switched to slow, wide circular motions. It was maddening. You wanted harder, faster, rougher, but he kept you in this state of weightlessness where pleasure bordered on the pain of tension.
"Fuck..." you exhaled, trying to move your hips toward his mouth to increase the pressure. "Oscar... please..."
He reacted, but in his own way. His hands gripped your thighs to the point of bruising, not letting you move on your own.
"Quiet..." his hum vibrated against your skin, sending a new electric shock through you.
Suddenly he added fingers. Two fingers abruptly entered inside, filling you, and began to move in the same rhythm as his tongue. This double attack knocked the air out of your chest. You grabbed his hair with your hands, clutching the strands, trying to hold on to reality, which was blurring before your eyes.
He played with you like a race car on a trackβaccelerating you to a crazy speed, forcing you to breathe raggedly and moan loudly, then abruptly dropping the revs, leaving you trembling at the very peak, but not letting you cross the finish line.
He pulled away for a second, and you felt the cold air on your wet skin. You opened your clouded eyes and saw him looking up at you from below. His lips were wet and swollen, his chin glistened with your juices, and that same devilish, drunken satisfaction burned in his eyes.
"You're so tasty when you beg," he rasped, his voice vibrating with arousal. "Want to come?"
He knew the answer. He saw your body taut as a string.
"Yes... Oscar, yes!" you almost shouted.
He smiled, and that smile promised you everything. He fell upon you again, but this time without games. His tongue moved fast, hard, knowing exactly where to strike. He began sucking on your clitoris with such intensity that you forgot how to breathe. His fingers moved inside madly fast, curling, seeking your G-spot, and when they found it, the world exploded.
A wave of pleasure crashed over you with such force that your vision went dark. Your legs trembled, and if Oscar hadn't held you with his strong hands, you would have just slid off that countertop onto the tiles. You gasped for air, trying to calm your heartbeat, which seemed to echo even in your ears.
But Oscar didn't give you time to rest.
He stood up from his knees, his face wet with your juices, and his eyesβdark and even greedier. He didn't even kiss youβjust ran his hand along your wet thigh, as if checking the result of his work, and grunted with satisfaction.
"Thought that was it?" he rasped. "I haven't really celebrated yet..."
He easily lifted you off the countertop. Your legs gave way, your knees were like cotton, but he pressed you firmly against him, not letting you fall. He led you deeper into the bathroom, to the toilet, the lid of which was down.
"Stand here," he commanded softly. You leaned your back against the cool wall, watching him through a fog of pleasure. Oscar stood before you, flushed, incredibly handsome in his drunkenness and desire. His fingers, a bit clumsy from alcohol but impatient, gripped the waistband of his white shorts. He jerked them down, along with his underwear. The fabric fell to his ankles, and he carelessly kicked them aside, standing before you absolutely naked.
You involuntarily lingered your gaze on him. His cock stood straight up, hard, engorged with blood, pulsing with impatience. On the pale skin of his thighs, where his shorts usually were, the contrast with his tanned legs stood out. He looked powerful, and at the thought that all of this would be inside you right now, a wave of arousing heat ran through your body again.
Oscar sat on the toilet lid, spreading his legs wide, and pulled you by the hands toward him.
"Come to me," he called, looking you straight in the eyes. "Sit on top."
You took a step toward him. His warm palms rested on your buttocks, guiding you. You threw a leg over him, straddling him. His thighs were hard under yours.
You felt his head press against your wet, swollen entrance. It was a sensation on the edgeβyou were so sensitive after the orgasm that any touch seemed almost excessive, but at the same time, you felt an emptiness that only he could fill.
Oscar put his hands on your waist, helping you find your balance.
"Slowly..." he warned, though his own breathing was ragged.
You began to lower yourself. Centimeter by centimeter, he entered you, stretching, filling every corner with himself. You felt his hot hardness, his girth, and it made you throw your head back and moan loudly.
"Oh God..." you groaned.
When you lowered yourself all the way, your buttocks touching his groin, Oscar pressed his face into the curve of your neck with a noisy exhale. You sat face to face, tightly intertwined, skin to skin. It was intimate, hot, and incredibly tight. You felt his heart beating against your chestβjust as madly as yours.
You tried to take the initiative and start moving yourself to find a comfortable rhythm, but Oscar stopped you. His large palms squeezed your waist, fixing you in place.
"No..." he mumbled, burying his nose in your hair. "I'll do it myself."
And he began to move. These were not the fast, rhythmic thrusts you were used to. Because of the alcohol, his body worked in a different mode: his movements were slow, languid, but incredibly deep. He would toss you up with his hips, and then forcefully lower you onto himself, burying himself in you to the very hilt, hitting your cervix.
For your body, which had just experienced an explosion of pleasure, this was a real test. Your walls were still spasmodically contracting, nerve endings were exposed, and every deep movement of his felt too sharpβon the border between pain and pleasure. You bit your lips, trying not to scream, because the sensations were so intense that tears gathered in your eyes.
"Oscar... that's... too deep..." you groaned, bracing your palms on his shoulders, trying to lift yourself at least a little to reduce the depth of penetration.
But he didn't listen. Or simply couldn't stop. Alcohol played a cruel joke on him for the first time: it dulled his sensitivity. What was overstimulation for you was insufficient for him. To feel you, to get closer to release, he needed more friction, more pressure, more time.
"I don't feel... the edge..." he rasped, and in his voice, irritation mixed with lust could be heard.
He began to move more insistently, rougher. He entered you at different angles, searching for that point that would finally allow him to break. He rubbed his pubic bone against your clitoris, which was already burning, forcing you to shudder with your whole body. It was like an endless loop: he stretched you, filled you, withdrew almost completely, and burst inside again, giving you not a second of respite.
You felt sweat trickling down your back, hair sticking to your neck. The air in the bathroom became heavy and humid.
"Oscar, I can't take it anymore..." you exhaled, feeling your legs starting to go numb from the awkward position, and everything inside burning from the continuous friction. "Please, finish..."
He raised his head and looked at you. His eyes were clouded, pupils dilated. He saw your fatigue, but that seemed to turn him on even more. He was aroused by having complete power over you, that you were entirely at his disposal, even when you had no strength left.
"I'm trying, baby..." he said playfully. "But you're so tight... and wet... I want this to last forever."
He changed tactics. Instead of deep thrusts, he began to grind into you with his hips, creating frantic friction inside. He squeezed your buttocks so hard that you knewβtomorrow there would be marks from his fingers there.
"Damn..." you cursed when he hit that same, overexcited G-spot again, forcing your body to treacherously react again, preparing you for a second wave you didn't ask for, but which he was striving for. "You're mocking me..."
"A little," he smiled crookedly, and a drop of sweat rolled down his temple. "That's for running away." He confirmed your guess as to why he decided to just kill you today.
You realized that if you didn't take the situation into your own hands (or ratherβinto your own body), this drunken marathon would last until dawn, and you would simply pass out right on top of him. You needed to push him over the edge, break through that alcohol haze that had dulled his sensitivity.
Gathering the last crumbs of strength, you stopped resisting his chaotic rhythm and did the only thing that could work without unnecessary movement. You hugged him around the neck, pressed your cheek to his wet temple, and squeezed your internal muscles with all your might.
Oscar hissed, freezing abruptly. You felt his cock twitch inside from this unexpected tight ring.
"Oh..." he exhaled, and his fingers dug painfully into your thighs.
You didn't let go. You continued to rhythmically squeeze him, combining it with short, barely perceptible pelvic movements to meet each of his thrusts. It worked. The pressure and heat finally did their job, switching something in his brain.
His breathing turned into a hoarse moan. The chaotic movements became short, sharp, and frantic.
"Yes... yes, like that... don't let go..." he babbled into your shoulder. You felt yourself relaxing, and his cock hitting exactly where it needed to. A second orgasm covered you today, and your walls began to contract around his again.
He made a few more deep, desperate thrusts, burying himself in you with the full weight of his body, and finally broke. His body tensed like steel, his back arched, and with a loud, drawn-out moan, he poured into you. You felt the hot, pulsating waves of his orgasm, which seemed to never end.
When the last spasms subsided, Oscar went limp. He dropped his head heavily onto your chest, breathing as if he had just run a marathon. You were completely exhausted too. Legs trembling, heart pounding, eyelids heavy as lead.
"I think I died..." you protested, having no strength even to move.
Oscar made some undefined sound, similar to a chuckle, and lazily kissed your collarbone.
"I'll revive you... tomorrow," he mumbled in a hoarse, sleepy voice.
"Shower," you whispered peremptorily, realizing that if you didn't wash the sweat and everything else off yourselves right now, you would simply fall asleep right here, on the toilet in the bathroom. "And this timeβonly to wash."
He laughed quietly, the vibration from his chest transferring to you.
"Yes, ma'am."
He helped you stand up. Your legs barely obeyed you, trembling after such tension, and Oscar, noticing this, just scooped you up under the arm, pressing you tightly to his side. Together you walked into the shower cabin.
Oscar turned on the water, and in a moment, pleasant warm steam enveloped you. When the streams of water hit your skin, you barely held back a moan of relief. The water washed away the stickiness, fatigue, and the remnants of the alcoholic haze.
This time he was surprisingly tender. Oscar took the shower gel and lathered it in his palms. He slowly ran his soapy hands over your shoulders, back, moving down to your lower back. His touches no longer demanded or teasedβthey soothed. He washed the traces of his fingers from your thighs, kissing the wet drops on your neck.
You, in turn, just leaned your forehead against his chest, allowing the water to run down both of you, and lazily moved your palm over his torso, washing away the sweat.
"You can barely stand on your feet," he mumbled into the top of your head, rinsing the foam from your hair.
"Whose fault is that?" you tore yourself away from his chest and looked up at him. He smiled, and now this man looked like "your Oscar" and not that wild lover who barely left you alive. The combination of three consecutive wins and a large amount of alcohol had revealed a new version of your boyfriend to you. And you would definitely never forget it.
Having dried off with one towel for twoβquickly and carelessly, because the cold of the bathroom had already started to bite at your heated skinβyou finally left the bathroom.
Reaching the bed seemed like the last task for today. As soon as you were near it, Oscar simply collapsed onto the mattress, pulling you with him. The cool bed linen seemed like the most pleasant thing in the world.
He immediately scooped you under him, settling into the "little spoon" position. His hand possessively lay on your waist, pressing your back to his chest, and his legs intertwined with yours. You felt his warmth, his even breathing by your ear, and that familiar scent, which was now clean and fresh.
Darkness and fatigue instantly swallowed you both. And although Oscar won the race in Miami today, his main victory, undoubtedly, was you, peacefully sniffling in his arms right now.
i know requests are closed, but i just want to send this in incase i forget π
oscar winning the championship, he celebrates with his girl, the reader, after. fast forward a couple weeks, they found out they're pregnant, i think it'll be hilarious if it were triplets! fans are starting to think something bad happened to reader, because they havenβt appeared at the paddock in months. but then they just post about the birth of the triplets 9 months after abu dhabi, and everyone just starts clowning oscar. π
Our Little Podium - OP81
pairing: oscar piastri x fem!gf!reader
summary: Oscar wins the World Championship in Abu Dhabi, and he and Y/N celebrate accordingly. Fast forward a few months: Y/N has vanished from the paddock, F1 Twitter is convinced sheβs a spy for Ferrari, and Oscar is up at 3 AM googling the aerodynamics of a triple stroller.
wc: 3.2k
π this one will stay as a standalone :)
The radio crackles, cutting through the deafening roar of the crowd, but to you, everything else sounds underwater.
"P1, Oscar. P1. You are the World Champion!"
Tom Stallardβs voice is cracking, losing its usual composure, and thatβs what finally breaks the dam. Youβve been crying since lap 55, tears silently tracking through your makeup, but now? Now you are openly sobbing into your hands, huddled at the back of the garage near the monitors.
On the screen, Oscar screamsβa raw, uncharacteristically loud release of tension that sends shivers down your spine.
The atmosphere is electric. Fireworks are exploding over the Yas Marina Circuit, painting the night sky in gold and red, but your eyes are locked on the papaya car. Oscar climbs out, standing on the halo, punching the air. He looks like a titan. He looks unstoppable.
But then he hops down, and the first thing he doesβbefore acknowledging the mechanics, before weighing in, before removing his helmetβis scan the crowd. His head whips left and right, frantic.
Heβs looking for you.
You push past a camera operator, slipping through the gap in the barriers. "Oscar!"
He freezes. Even with the helmet on, you can feel his gaze lock onto you. He rips the helmet off, his hair a mess of sweat, his face flushed with the purest joy you have ever seen.
You run. He doesnβt wait. He steps forward, meeting you halfway, and the collision is desperate.
He doesn't just hug you; he scoops you up. One arm around your waist, the other supporting your legs, he lifts you completely off the asphalt.
"We did it!" he yells, his voice hoarse, burying his face in your neck. He spins you aroundβonce, twiceβright there on the track. Your feet dangle in the air, and for a moment, the world is just a blur of floodlights and papaya.
"You did it," you sob, clinging to his race suit, not caring about the sweat or the smell of burnt rubber. "You're the champion, Os."
He sets you down but keeps his forehead pressed against yours, oblivious to the cameras circling you like sharks.
"We did it, love," he corrects you, his breathing heavy, his hands trembling slightly against your back. "We."
The next few hours are a blur of champagne, interviews, and flashing lights. But there is a pattern to the chaos.
Oscar is pulled away to weigh in. Five minutes later, heβs back at your side, pressing a kiss to your temple.
Oscar is dragged off to the podium. As soon as the anthem ends and the champagne is sprayed, heβs looking down at the crowd, pointing right at you.
Oscar is ushered into the team photo. He refuses to take it until you are standing right next to him, his arm draped possessively over your shoulder.
Throughout the garage celebrations, the team starts making bets on how long he can stay away from you. The answer is never more than five minutes. He slips away from billionaire sponsors and team principals just to find you in the corner, holding your face in his hands, kissing you like he needs to recharge his battery.
"I have to go do the media pen," he whispers against your lips, smelling of sticky rosewater and victory. "Wait for me?"
"Always," you smile, wiping a smudge of champagne off his cheek.
You stand off to the side, watching the press conference on a monitor. Oscar is sitting in the center seat, the World Drivers' Championship trophy gleaming in front of him. He looks exhausted but radiant.
"Oscar," a journalist from Sky Sports asks, "you stayed incredibly calm all season, but tonight we saw a lot of emotion. What kept you grounded during those final, stressful laps?"
Oscar doesn't hesitate. A soft, genuine smile breaks across his faceβthe kind usually reserved only for you.
"My girlfriend, Y/N," he says into the microphone. A collective aww ripples through the room. "Sheβs been my rock. Honestly, sheβs my lucky charm. I don't think I could have kept my head straight without her in the garage."
You press a hand to your heart, feeling fresh tears prick your eyes as the press swoons over the answer.
Itβs 3:00 AM when you finally get back to the hotel room. The adrenaline is fading, leaving behind a heavy, happy exhaustion. Oscar places the heavy trophy on the dresser and immediately turns to you.
He looks at you with an intensity that makes your knees weak.
"I meant it, you know," he says softly, walking over to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you into the quiet of the room. "I wouldn't be standing here, holding that trophy, without you."
You reach up, running your fingers through his hair. "You did the driving, Mr. World Champion."
"And you gave me a reason to drive fast so I could get back to you," he mumbles, leaning down to kiss you deeply. "Best night of my life."
You smile into the kiss, having no idea that in a few weeks, your lives are going to get even crazier.
The high of the championship hasnβt worn off, but the adrenaline has. Now, itβs just the lazy, golden haze of the off-season. You are currently in Australia, staying at his familyβs place, supposedly to "relax."
But this morning, relaxation is the last thing on your mind.
You wake up feeling... off. Not sick, exactly, just strange. A weird flutter in your stomach, a sensitivity to the smell of Oscarβs coffee brewing downstairs that makes you dizzy. You slip out of bed while Oscar is still downstairs and take the test you bought yesterday "just in case."
You leave it on the bathroom sink, too nervous to look, and go back to bed, pulling the duvet over your head.
Five minutes later, Oscar walks into the bedroom. Heβs holding two mugs of coffee, wearing nothing but sweatpants, looking every bit the relaxed champion. He heads into the en-suite to brush his teeth.
You hear the water run. Then the water stops abruptly.
Silence.
A very long, very heavy silence.
Then, a clatter, like he dropped his toothbrush.
"BABE."
Itβs not his usual calm, race-engineer voice. Itβs high-pitched.
He bursts out of the bathroom, holding the little plastic stick like itβs a live grenade. His eyes are wide, his face pale but flushing pink at the cheeks.
"THEREβS TWO LINES."
You sit up, heart hammering against your ribs. "Is it... is it faint? Or dark?"
"Itβs... itβs very red, Y/N! Itβs two lines!" He stammers, rushing over to the side of the bed. He looks at the test, then at you, then back at the test. "That means... that means we..."
"We're having a baby," you whisper.
Oscar freezes. The panic in his eyes melts instantly, replaced by a glassy, overwhelming emotion. He drops the test on the nightstand and practically collapses onto the bed next to you.
"A baby," he repeats, his voice cracking.
He pulls you into a hug so tight it knocks the breath out of you. You can feel him shaking. When he pulls back, there are tears in his eyesβthe second time youβve seen him cry in two weeks.
"We made a tiny human," he laughs, a wet, joyful sound. "Iβm going to be a dad."
"A World Champion dad," you smile, wiping a tear from his cheek.
"I don't care about the trophy anymore," he says immediately, looking at you with intense seriousness. "This beats the trophy."
For the rest of the morning, Oscar is glued to you.
Weirdly, heβs already acting like youβre six months along. He keeps his hand flat against your stomach, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the fabric of your shirt, even though your belly is completely flat.
"Oscar, itβs the size of a poppy seed," you laugh, trying to get up to make breakfast.
"Careful," he says, gently pushing you back down. "Iβll make the toast. You and the... poppy seed... need to rest."
Later that night, you find him on the couch with his phone, brows furrowed in deep concentrationβthe same face he makes when analyzing telemetry data.
"What are you looking up?" you ask, peering over his shoulder.
He jumps slightly, angling the screen toward you. The Google search bar reads: when can baby hear my voice??
"It says 18 weeks," he says, sounding disappointed. "Thatβs so far away."
He looks at your stomach again, then leans down, putting his mouth right against your belly button.
"Hello?" he whispers. "This is your dad. I drive fast cars. Please be nice to your mum."
You giggle, running a hand through his hair. "Youβre ridiculous."
"Iβm prepared," he corrects, looking up at you with a grin that could light up the entire Melbourne grid. "I think weβre going to be good at this."
Little does he know, he's going to need a lot more than preparation. Heβs asking the baby to be nice, not realizing there are three of them in there.
The room is dim, lit only by the glow of the ultrasound monitor. The gel on your stomach is freezing, but your hand is sweating because Oscar is holding it so tight he might actually break your fingers.
Heβs staring at the screen with the same intensity he uses for Turn 1 at Monaco.
The doctor moves the wand around, humming softly. Then, she stops. She frowns, leans closer to the screen, and adjusts the contrast. She moves the wand again, pressing a little harder.
The silence in the room stretches for ten seconds.
Oscarβs grip tightens painfully. "Is... is everything okay?" rarely does his voice sound this small. "Is there a heartbeat?"
The doctor turns to you both, her expression unreadable for a split second before softening into a professional smile.
"Oh, yes. There are heartbeats." She pauses. "Actually, that was why I was checking again. I wanted to be sure."
She points to the grainy blobs on the screen.
"Well... both are healthy."
Oscar blinks, his brain buffering. "Both?"
"And the third one too," she continues cheerfully, moving the cursor to a smaller shadow behind the first two. "Congratulations... theyβre triplets."
SILENCE.
Absolute, vacuum-sealed silence.
You stare at the screen, your mouth falling open, trying to comprehend the math. Three. Three humans.
Oscar, however, has simply ceased to function. He literally stops breathing. His chest doesnβt move for a full five seconds. He is staring at the doctor as if she just told him he has to drive a tricycle in the next Grand Prix.
"Three?" you manage to squeak out.
Oscarβs eyes are wide, unblinking. He looks from the screen to your stomach, then back to the screen. His face has gone a shade of pale that usually indicates food poisoning.
He leans back in his chair, exhaling a breath heβd been holding since the doctor frowned. He runs a hand down his face, dragging the skin.
"We celebrated too hard..."
He whispers it. Itβs a low, horrified realization spoken into the quiet room.
"Oscar!" you burst out laughing, the shock breaking into hysteria.
The doctor starts chuckling, wiping the gel off your belly. "It happens more often than you think with natural conception, but yes, itβs quite a surprise."
Oscar isn't laughing yet. Heβs looking at his hands. "Three seats," he mutters to himself. "We need a car with three back seats. Do they make baby racing suits in bulk?"
Then, he looks at you, seeing you laughing with tears in your eyes. The terror finally cracks, and a bewildered grin spreads across his face. He starts to laugh tooβa nervous, slightly manic chuckle that grows into a full laugh.
"Triplets," he shakes his head, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, though he looks like he might faint. "Iβm going to need a bigger trophy cabinet. And a lot more coffee."
The Formula 1 season is well underway, but somethingβor rather, someoneβis missing.
You havenβt been seen at a Grand Prix in four months. You haven't been in the background of McLarenβs "Unboxed" videos. You haven't even been spotted at the airport.
Naturally, F1 Twitter has lost its collective mind.
The internet has turned into a digital crime board connected by red string.
@.piastrifan3 Guys, Oscar looked at his phone during the post-race cool down room and didnβt smile ONCE. They definitely broke up. Love is dead. Iβm burning my merch.
@.user45 Hear me out: She was seen wearing red 6 months ago. Sheβs currently in Maranello training to be a strategist for Ferrari. Sheβs a double agent. Wake up sheeple.
@.user12 McLaren is hiding something. Is she the new stig? Is she driving the spare car? WHERE IS SHE ZAK BROWN?
@.f1fan5 Y'all are blind. Sheβs pregnant. Look at Oscarβs interviews. He has that 'Iβm terrified and tired' dad energy already. 100% confirmed.
While the internet debates if you are a spy for Ferrari, the reality is much less glamorous and much stickier.
It is 3:00 AM in your Monaco apartment.
You are sitting up in bed, surrounded by a fortress of pillows, balancing a tub of Ben & Jerryβs on your massive bump. The triplets are currently having a kick-boxing tournament against your ribs.
Oscar is sitting next to you, the blue light of his iPad illuminating his focused, frowning face. He is wearing his reading glasses, looking extremely serious.
"Babe," he says, breaking the silence.
"Hmm?" you mumble around a mouthful of cookie dough.
"Do we really need three cribs?"
You stop chewing. "Oscar. There are three babies."
"I know, but..." He turns the iPad toward you. "Look at the logistics. Three cribs take up 4.5 square meters. If we stack them... no, we can't stack them. But what if we get one mega crib?"
He taps the search bar. You can see his search history.
Oscarβs Google History:
triple stroller aerodynamics
how to hold 3 babies with 2 arms
noise cancelling headphones for infants
can triplets share one crib?? pls help
"They can't share one crib, Os," you sigh, patting his arm. "They will kick each other in the face. Like they are doing to me right now."
He sighs, defeated, and rubs his face. "Right. Strategy error. I'll go back to the drawing board."
He closes the tab on the "Mega Crib" and looks at your ice cream.
"Can I have a bite?"
"Get your own," you growl playfully, pulling the tub closer. "I'm eating for four. You're just stressed."
"I am stressed," he mumbles, resting his head on your shoulder. "The internet thinks we broke up. I saw a TikTok analyzing my eyebrows to prove I'm heartbroken."
"Let them talk," you grin, resting your spoon on the lid. "Just wait until they see the surprise."
It is a quiet Tuesday morning. There is no race this week. The F1 world is bored, still debating why you haven't been seen since testing.
Then, at exactly 10:00 AM, a notification pops up on millions of phones.
@.oscarpiastri just shared a post.
There is no warning. No "expecting" announcement. No gender reveal cake. Just the drop.
Monaco. A black and white, slightly grainy photo taken in your living room. Itβs unpolished and raw.
You are sitting on the couch, hair in a messy bun, looking exhausted but blissfully happy, cradling a tiny bundle wrapped in a white blanket against your chest. Oscar is sitting on the floor next to your legs. He looks like he has been hit by a truck (in a good way). He has bags under his eyes, stubble on his chin, andβcruciallyβhe is awkwardly holding two more bundles, one in the crook of each arm.
The expression on both your faces says: "We love them more than life itself, but we have slept 40 minutes in the last three days."
Caption: "Welcome to the world, our little podium. π§‘πΆπΆπΆ P1, P2, and P3 arrived safely. (Send coffee.)"
The post stays up for 30 seconds before the comment section crashes. When it finally loads, it is pure chaos.
@.mclaren Getting three tiny fireproof suits ready immediately. We're going to need a bigger garage. π§‘π§‘π§‘
@.f1fan45 TRIPLETS??? WTF. I thought she was just hiding a bad haircut??
@.piastriszn "Bro didn't just celebrate. He CELEBRATED." The math is mathing. 9 months after Abu Dhabi exactly... Oscar you absolute legend.
@.danielricciardo Three?? Mate, you donβt do things by halves do you? Congrats!
@.lewishamilton Amazing news. Congratulations to you both.
@.gridgossip Oscar Piastri single-handedly repopulating the grid. By 2045 the entire podium will just be Piastris.
@.user99 Everyone was worried they broke up and meanwhile Oscar was fighting for his life changing three diapers at once πππ
Oscar tosses his phone onto the couch, ignoring the buzzing that sounds like a swarm of angry bees.
"Well," he yawns, leaning his head back against your knee. "Cat's out of the bag."
"The internet is going to clown you for the rest of your life," you whisper, careful not to wake the baby in your arms (Baby P1).
"Let them clown," Oscar smirks, looking down at the two sleeping babies in his arms. "I won the championship, and I got three trophies nine months later. I'd say that's a pretty good season."
"Go to sleep, Oscar."
"Can't," he whispers back. "P2 just grabbed my finger. Iβm trapped forever."
For the first time in seventy-two hours, the apartment is silent. No crying, no bottle warmers beeping, no lullaby machines playing white noise at full volume. Just the soft, rhythmic sound of breathing.
You tiptoe out of the kitchen, clutching a lukewarm mug of tea, and stop in the doorway of the living room. The sight before you makes your heart squeeze so hard it actually aches.
Oscar is sprawled out on the big gray sectional. One arm is thrown over his eyes to block out the afternoon sun, his mouth slightly open in deep, exhaustion-fueled sleep.
Curled up right in the center of his chest, rising and falling with his steady breathing, is the third triplet. Oscarβs other hand is resting protectively over the babyβs tiny back, a reflex he doesn't even drop when he's unconscious.
You shift your gaze to the large playpen-bassinet combo set up near the window.
The other two are fast asleep, their heads turned toward each other. And there, in the space between them, their tiny fingers are interlaced. Holding hands.
You lean your head against the doorframe, letting out a long, shaky breath.
Your hair is a mess. You have a stain on your shoulder that is definitely spit-up. You haven't watched a race or checked the news in weeks. Your life is a blur of diapers, formula, and deciphering which cry means "hungry" and which cry means "I just want to scream."
But looking at themβyour "Team Five"βyou wouldn't trade a single second of the madness.
Oscar stirs. He doesn't open his eyes, but he shifts slightly, sensing your presence in the room. He pats the baby on his chest gently.
"Is everyone alive?" he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.
"Everyone is sleeping," you whisper back, smiling. "Go back to sleep, champ."
He hums, a satisfied sound, and settles deeper into the cushions. "Best off-season ever," he slurs, before drifting back off.
You take a sip of your tea, watching the sunlight dance over the three tiny faces that look so much like him.
He was right. He won the trophy in Abu Dhabi, the gold, the glory, the history books. But this? This messy, exhausting, loud, overwhelming life in your living room?
summary: when your brotherβs teammate, oscar, decides to rage bait him by hitting on you, it actually turns into something else entirely (or maybe that was his plan all along) but he may or may not (he definitely) fucks it up
face claim: ruby lyn & random pinterest baddies
authorβs note: shoutout to my fav @piastreline for hyping me up while making this!!! hope it lives up to your expectations loool
ynnorris
β‘ liked by lando, oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux and others
ynnorris trench coat buttoned to the TOP
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piastreline and these ballerina ass slippers. whatβs going on?
lando why are you so performative
β€· ynnorris why are you so bitchless
oscarpiastri cute cat ππ»
β€· ynnorris thanks ππ»
β€· lando delete this
oliviarodrigo only brit i like
β€· louispartridge_ ???
user67 im sensing oscar has a little crushβ¦
β€· user5 how did you even reach that conclusion
β€· user67 trust me on this guys
β€· user14 youβre DELUSIONAL
oscarpiastri
β‘ liked by lando, mclaren, ynnorris and others
oscarpiastri mega weekend π big thanks to the papaya team and a special someone who was there to support me today
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lando what. who?
β€· ynnorris why? scared someone will steal your boyfriend?
charles_leclerc great job son
β€· ynnorris why would you not censor j*b π
user67 waitβ¦ yn was at the gp todayβ¦
β€· user9 ohmygod be serious rn she was there for her brother
β€· user67 no HEAR ME OUT
ynnorris do you have a mirror in your pocket? because i can see myself in your pants
β‘ liked by oscarpiastri
β€· lando ????????????????????
oscarpiastri
β« Β· you might be sleeping - jakob, clairo
β‘ liked by oscarfan5, mclaren, ynnorris and others
oscarpiastri very much needed break
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mclaren recharging
lando is that my sister you PEDO
β€· oscarpiastri sheβs a year younger than meβ¦
β€· lando damn right PEDO
user8 ohmygod? aesthetically pleasing post? clairo? heβs in DEEP
ynfan1 IS THAT YN IN SLIDE THREE HELLO???
β€· ynosctruther right like is this a soft launch???
β€· partypooper maybe theyβre just friends lol
oscarslefttoe iβm shaking this is too couple coded
ynnorris these shorts donβt look good on youβ¦ theyβd look better on my bedroom floor looooool π«¦
β€· oscarpiastri fair
β€· lando WHAT THE FUCK
β€· norrisfan7 oh i just know the pr team hates her
β€· ynnorris THEY CANT STOP ME HEHE
user67 need them to kiss rn
ynnorris
β‘ liked by oscarpiastri, iheartynosc, user67 and others
ynnorris guys chill im just doing charity work (teaching him how to dress)
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oscarpiastri i dress fine actually
β€· ynnorris no you donβt
β€· oscarpiastri no i donβtβ¦
user67 TEACHING HIM HOW TO DRESS IS GF BEHAVIOR SORRY
piastriluv the last slide β¦ sheβs leaning into him??? guys hello.
lando im blocking you both
β€· ynnorris love you too big bro
ynlover you two look like the couple that argues in ikea and then kiss in the parking lot
β€· ynnorris β¦maybe
oscarfan89 they are either deeply in love or deeply unserious no inbetween
user14 oscar loves women who bully him confirmed
iloveop81 oscar blink twice if sheβs holding you hostage in a thrift store
f1gossip
β‘ liked by user19, ihateynnorris, oscarfumbleastri and others
f1gossip βGOD NOβ? ππ₯
Oscar Piastri shuts rumors down hard when asked if he and Y/N Norris are dating and fans are LOSING it. In a new paddock interview, Piastri responded to a question about his rumored relationship with Y/N with a quick: βGod, noβ¦ me and Y/N? No. I donβt see her like that at all.β No clarification. No βweβre just close friendsβ. Just straight rejection or was it?? Clips are going viral, with some fans calling his response cold, while others argue he was simply trying to shut down speculation. What do you think? Was this: A) just poor wording, B) a public rejection, or C) something heβll regret later?
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user81 bro couldβve said ANYTHING else
user7 imagine hearing the guy you like react like that⦠yikes
norrishearts π¨π¨ fumble of the century
oscarmidasstri that was unnecessarily harsh wtf
user2 did he just call her undateable?
user56 he didnβt mean it like that
β€· user65 then he shouldnβt have said it like that
iluvyn wtf? y/n is literally an angel
landonorizz i just know lando is going to bury him alive
user67 oh
β€· user99 itβs so bad weβre even losing user67
unfollow oscarpiastri | cancel
ynnorris
β« Β· all i wanted - paramore
β‘ liked by lando, alexandrasaintmleux, 18lovers and others
ynnorris reconnecting with nature after whatever the frick that wasβ¦
ynnorris has turned comments off on this post
f1gossip
β‘ liked by ynosc4ever, user67, ilovecillianmurphysobad and others
f1gossip Wellβ¦ that escalated quickly. π After THAT interview, Oscar Piastri and Y/N Norris were spotted meeting last night β first seen talking quietly while walking, then caught kissing on the street shortly after. No statements have been made by either party yet, but weβre pretty sure actions speak louder than podcasts, interviews, and PR teams. Enemies to lovers?Miscommunication to makeout? What chapter are we in??? π«£π₯
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user70 I WAS JUST RECOVERING FROM THE INTERVIEW WHAT
random3 i bet lando is somewhere punching a wall rn
β€· user67 heβs quitting to start his very own matchmaking business actually
loveyn if he apologized like that iβd forgive too tbf
user69 imagine going to make up and then that happens on the street im screaming
ynoscfan3 i love communication
β€· oscarsimpastri that wasnβt communication that was desperation in 4K
georgerussell63 fav romcom
user67 WE ARE SOOOOO BACK
ynnorris
β« Β· crush - ethel cain
β‘ liked by oscarpiastri, lando, mothercain and others
ynnorris make upβ¦ make outβ¦ same thingβ¦
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oscarpiastri i prefer the latter
β€· ynnorris who?
β€· oscarpiastri me
β€· ynnorris asked π€£π€£
lando FINALLY
β€· lando wait wrong acc
β€· user67 FINALLY
ethelcainlover22 ethelcainlover22
β€· ynnorris marry me
β€· oscarpiastri ?????
user7 he is down bad
papayagirl everybody act surprised
oscarfan8 yk oscar is a dog person.. are you gonna get a dog too?
β€· ynnorris my cat is like oh no no no weβre not getting a dog donβt even thing about it girl
synopsis: y/n is a popular influencer who was invited on a brand trip to the miami gp. there, a particular driver catches her eye and she takes to her private account to fangirl a little, where he can't see... right?
pairing: oscar piastri x influencer!y/n
genre: crack & fluff - smau
fc: random pinterest baddies
note: hii first post! was lowkey fighting for my life formatting all of this and it came out super long but i hope you enjoy!! <3
INSTAGRAM
yn.ln
liked by f1 and 830,724 others
yn.ln i love u miami. thank u sm for having me π
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user1 you are gorgeous!
f1 Thanks for joining us! β€οΈ | liked by yn.ln
user2 queen of the paddock i guess π
user3 literally wish i was you omg
user4 yn and lando in the same place????? my worlds are colliding
-> user5 ikr i was gagged πππ
-> user6 brb reading yn x f1 driver fanfics lol
-> user5 @/user6 real af drop the links
user6 <33
ynupdates
liked by user1 and 143,857 others
ynupdates Y/n spotted at the Miami GP! She posted, confirming she had been gifted the trip by Formula 1.
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user7 ahh this is such a crazy crossover
-> user2 i couldn't believe my eyes bro
-> user5 i hope she got to meet some of the drivers π€
-> user2 @/user5 yearning to see their interactions or whatever
user3 this is the content we deserve
user8 they just invite her to anything these days what
-> user1 someone's mad she got the invite and they didn't
user9 drop the hair routine lowkey π
TWITTER
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ynupdates
liked by user2 and 342,826 others
ynupdates Y/n has created a new, private twitter account, which was made public briefly yesterday. We wonder what she's been posting π.
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user1 i just missed it πππ i wanna see what shes been posting
-> user3 ikk im so annoyed
user2 i saw someone on tiktok saying she was talking about an f1 driver
-> user3 omg no i have to know???
-> user5 wait i saw that too, i wonder which one tho π«
-> user6 you are actually feeding my delusions rn omg @/ynupdates pls confirm
-> ynupdates @/user6 While our account has not been accepted by Y/n yet, we do accept submissions from fans so if anyone is on the account, they can send us screenshots.
user4 so all of us are just sitting in her requests fr
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oscarpiastri
liked by yn.ln and 283,239 others
oscarpiastri Another race down. Thank you everyone! π§‘
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user1 Amazing as always
user3 smashing it!!!
user4 the racing gods blessed you fr this time π₯Ή
-> user3 finallyyy he deserves it
yn.ln congrats!! π | liked by oscarpiastri
-> user6 ariana what are you doing here????
-> user7 HUH
-> user5 giggling to myself because im on her priv so this makes perfect sense
-> user2 this NEEDS to happen.
-> user3 oscar likeddddd π€π€
ynupdates
liked by user1 and 472,973 others
ynupdates It seems Y/n has a little crush on Formula 1 driver Oscar Piastri π. She has made numerous tweets about him on her private account and even commented on his recent post! (Thank you to those who sent in screenshots).
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user3 THIS IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN MISSING???
user6 nooo whoever sent these is lowkey a snitch
-> user2 girl please y/n made that comment publicly π
user1 oscar liked her comment too ... new ship?? π€
-> user2 this is actually my dream couple i can't even lie
user6 i don't know if i want to be him or be with him
yn.ln .... π
-> user4 GIRL πππ
-> user5 i love u but u are literally a public figure π it was going to be exposed eventually
-> user2 brb making edits of you and oscar...
-> ynupdates Sorry! I promise we love you!!!
user6 do not let any f1 fanpages hear this im scared
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yn.ln
liked by oscarpiastri and 782,933 others
yn.ln you ain't got no mrs, but you got a sports car.
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user3 THE CAPTION pls
-> user4 in the words of ms tate mcrae herself π
-> user1 her acting so nonchalant on the main is sending me lmfao
oscarpiastri I do have a sports car actually | liked by yn.ln
-> user8 WJEBJDUXKDWHSHDJS
-> user5 oh my god. im floored
-> user3 HELPPO WTFFF
-> user7 this is what the people wanna see!!!!!!! holy shit
