Itâs always been youâŚ
oscarxfemÂĄreader â^. .^ââ
.á warnings 18+, friends to lovers, graphic sexual content, Strong language, emotional intensity, power dynamics, public sex, prof athlete, crying, loss of friendship, oral.
⥠Ýâ . synopsis: Y/n has always been just the best friend of Formula 1 driver Oscar Piastriâthe girl who stood beside him long before the fame, the podiums, and the world knew his name. But one race weekend changes everything. As childhood feelings rise to the surface and the line between friendship and love finally blurs, theyâre forced to confront the truth theyâve both been too afraid to admit: maybe they were never meant to be just friends.
I leaned against Oscarâs kitchen counter, stealing one of his strawberries and popping it into my mouth before he could swat my hand away. His apartment smelled like coffee and whatever stupidly expensive cologne heâd started wearing since becoming a F1 driver. He noticed, of course. He always noticed.
âOi,â he said, narrowing his eyes at me as he pointed the knife in my direction. âThose arenât for you.â
I grinned, chewing slowly just to annoy him. âYou literally bought them yesterday.â
âYouâre soooo selfish now.â
He scoffed, rolling his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth. âIâve always been selfish, thanks.â
I laughed, nudging his arm with mine. We fell into that easy rhythm weâd always had, like no time had passed at allâlike he wasnât flying across the world every other week going two hundred miles per hour.
âSo,â he said casually, turning back to the counter, though I caught the way he glanced at me from the corner of his eye. âI have a race this weekend.â
I hummed âYou do that sometimes, yeah.â
He bumped his hip into mine harder this time. âShut up. Iâm being serious.â
âYouâre always serious, Oscar. Itâs very tragic.â
He signed dramatically. âDo you want to come or not?â
âTo the race,â he said, like it was obvious. âWith me.â
I searched his face, trying to tell if he was joking, but his expression had softened into something almost⌠hopeful.
âYouâre inviting me?â I asked.
âNo,â he deadpanned. âIâm inviting the wall. Yes, Iâm inviting you, idiot.â
I gasped. âYouâre so rude to your honored guests.â
âYouâre not an honored guest,â he said. âYouâre a pest.â
Because he was smiling too.
By the time I got home, the reality of it finally hit me.
I was going to a Formula 1 race.
Not just any race. Oscarâs race.
I stood in the middle of my bedroom, staring into my closet like it had personally betrayed me. Hangers scraped against the metal rod as I shoved them aside, my fingers pushing past dresses Iâd worn a hundred times and tops that suddenly looked painfully ordinary.
âThis is stupid,â I muttered to myself.
It wasnât like I needed to impress anyone.
Oscar, who had seen me in braces. Oscar, who had seen me cry over a boy in year nine. Oscar, who once held my hair back while I threw up after drinking too much at nineteen.
Oscar, who was now a F1 driver with cameras on him constantly.
I yanked out a white sundress. Held it up. Grimaced. Threw it onto the bed.
Soon my room was a disaster zone, clothes scattered across the floor, spilling off the mattress, hanging halfway off my desk chair. I stepped over a pile, chewing on my thumb nail as I kept digging.
Why did this suddenly matter so much?
My fingers paused on something shoved near the back.
It was simple. Effortless. Something that looked like meâbut better.
I held it against myself, turning toward the mirror.
Not like I was trying to impress him or anything.
But I still left it hanging at the front of my closet where I could see it.
The dress slipped on easier than I expected.
It fell perfectly, like it had been waiting for this moment too.
I smoothed my hands down over my hips, turning slightly in front of the mirror, my reflection staring back at me like someone I almost didnât recognize. Not different. Still me. Just⌠polished. My hair fell the way I wanted to for once, my skin warm in the morning light pouring through my window.
My phone buzzed against my nightstand, making me jump.
I tried to sound normal when I answered. âHello?â
âThereâs a car outside for you.â
âYes,â he said, like this was obvious. âTo bring you here.â
I walked to my window, pulling the curtain back.
And there it was. A black McLaren. Sleek. Low. Beautiful.
My mouth fell open. âOscar.â
âWhat?â he asked, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
The driver stepped out the moment I opened the front door.
âMiss,â he greeted politely, opening the door for me.
Miss. I tried not to laugh.
âThank you,â I said, climbing inside.
The interior smelled like leather and money. My hands sat awkwardly in my lap as we pulled away, the world outside blurring past the tinted windows.
My heart beat faster the closer we got.
The circuit rose in front of us, massive and alive.
When the car stopped, the driver opened my door again and handed me a lanyard.
The noise hit me first when I stepped out. Voices. Laughter. The distant scream of engines. People everywhere. Men in team kits. Women in designer dresses and heels that probably cost more than my rent.
Everyone looked like they belonged.
I walked slowly, taking it all in, my eyes darting everywhere at once. The garages. The hospitality buildings. The movement. The energy.
I clutched the pass around my neck, suddenly very aware of myself.
Very aware that I had no idea where I was going.
I turned in a slow circle. And froze.
Oscar was walking towards me. McLaren polo. Black baggy jeans.
His hair messy like heâd run his hands through it a hundred times already.
He looked⌠right. Like he belonged here.
His eyes found mine. And he smiled.
For a moment, I couldnât move.
He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could see the faint flush in his cheeks from the heat, the tiny crease between his brows he got when he was focused. His eyes swept over me once, than again, slower this time.
âWhat?â I asked, suddenly shy under his stare.
He shook his head slightly, like he couldnât believe it. âYou look⌠amazing.â
Heat rushed straight to my face.
I let out a small laugh, looking down at my shoes. âItâs just a dress.â
âItâs not just a dress.â
His voice was quieter now.
âAnd Iâm really glad youâre here,â he added. âI was worried youâd get lost or kidnapped on the way.â
I scoffed. âPlease. I can handle myself.â
I opened my mouth to argue, but he reached out before I could.
His fingers brushed my temple gently as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
Heâd done it a thousand times before.
This time it sent heat flooding through my entire body.
He didnât seem to notice.
His hand lingered for half a second too long before he pulled it away.
âI was stuck doing media interviews,â he said. âThey wouldnât stop talking.â
I nodded, still trying to recover. âVery important celebrity things.â
âCome on,â he said, jerking his head behind him. âI want to show you where youâll be watching.â
I followed him automatically.
People moved out of his way as we walked, greeting him, nodding at him. He returned it all easily, but his attention kept drifting back to me, like he was making sure I was still there.
We stopped at a private instance.
He opened the door and gestured for me to go first.
The balcony came into view slowly.
It overlooked everything.
The track stretched out below us, the garages, the grandstand, the city in the distance. It was beautiful. Unreal.
I stepped forward without thinking.
Oscarâs hand settled on the small of my back as he guided me out.
The touch burned through the thin fabric of my dress.
I turned to him, my eyes wide.
âAll this,â I said. âFor me?â
Not the polite smile he gave the cameras.
He stepped closer, his hand still warm against my back as he pulled me in just a little.
âOnly the best,â he said softly.
âFor my best friend.â
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because thatâs what I always did.
Because he was my best friend.
Thatâs all weâd ever be.
I saw it in the way his smile falteredâjust barely. In the way his fingers flexed against my back like he wanted to take the words back and swallow them whole.
Best friend. He didnât correct himself. Didnât say anything at all. And neither did I. I turned away first.
The view blurred for a moment before it settled again, the track stretching endlessly in front of me, sun glaring off the pavement. I forced myself to focus on it instead of the way my chest felt tight.
âItâs incredible,â I said quietly.
He nodded beside me. âYeah.â
His hand slipped away from my back.
The loss of it immediate.
âI, um,â he started, rubbing the back of his neck. âI have to go get ready soon. Briefings. Practice.â
I nodded quickly. âOf course. Go. Donât let me distract you.â
He huffed a small laugh. âYou could never.â
My heart twisted at that.
Like he wanted to say something else.
âIâll come find you after,â he said instead.
I stood there for a moment longer before stepping back inside.
The lounge was beautiful. Quiet. Cool. Filled with people who looked like they belonged in places like this. They spoke in low, effortless voices, dressed in crisp linen and dark sunglasses, watches flashing under the light.
I suddenly didnât know where to put my hands.
A man in a white shirt approached me with a polite smile, holding out a glass.
âOh. Yes. Thank you.â
The glass was cool in my fingers.
I moved back toward the balcony, drawn by the sound.
The cars screamed past the track below.
The noise wasn't just loud.
It rattled through my bones, through my chest, vibrating inside me until I could feel it in my teeth. My heart jumped every time one flew past, impossibly fast, colors blurring together.
I wrapped my fingers tighter around the glass, lifting it to my lips again as I watched.
Time slipped away without asking me.
Before I knew it, the sun had shifted lower in the sky, the air heavier, thicker with anticipation. The lounge had filled, the quiet murmur of conversation replaced with nervous energy. Everyone had moved closer to the balcony.
His papaya-orange car sat perfectly still in its grid box, sunlight gleaming off the halo, off the sharp angles of the bodywork. It looked fast even standing still. Dangerous. Beautiful.
My fingers curled around the railing.
The commentatorsâ voices echoed faintly from speakers behind us, but I couldnât focus on the words. My eyes stayed locked on that one car. The one with his number.
I wondered if he was nervous.
If his hands were gripping the wheel tightly.
If his jaw was set the way it always was when he was focused.
The cars exploded forward.
They launched off the line, tires screaming, engines roaring so loud it punched the air from my lungs.
His car surged forward, hugging the inside line into Turn 1. One of the cars ahead tried to close the gap, but Oscar was already there, braking impossibly late, slipping alongside with inches to spare.
I gasped, he took P2. Just like that.
Lap after lap, he chased the leader. He stayed close, so close. The gap flickered on the timing screen. 0.9 seconds.
My heart pounded harder every time he closed in.
He moved with precision, every turn was deliberate. He braked at the last possible second. Accelerated earlier, cleaner, smoother. He wasnât just fast, he was hunting.
The first pit stops came, the leader dove in. Oscar stayed out, the crowd murmured, my stomach twisted. A lap laterâ
âOscar Piastri stays outââ
His car flew into the pit lane, the crew swarmed him.
My hands flew to my mouth.
The gap behind him shrank.
âTheyâre closing inââ
I couldnât breathe. âCome on,â I whispered. âCome on Oscar.â His car stayed calm, stable, perfect. He didnât panic, he never panicked.
The crowd stood, everyone stood. Including me. He took the final corner, clean, smooth, untouchable. The checkered flag waved.
âOscar Piastri wins!â
My vision blurred instantly. Tears spilled down my cheeks before I even realized I was crying. I laughed, choking on it, my hands covering my mouth as his car crossed the line.
I watched his car slow on the cooldown lap, watched him raise one hand from the wheel, a small wave. I thought about the boy who used to sit on his bedroom floor with me. The boy who dreamed about this. The boy who made it. My best friend. He did it, and I cried harder, not because I was sad. But because he wasnât just chasing his dream anymore. He was living it.
I didnât think, I just ran. Out of the lounge. Down the stairs. Through hallways I didnât recognize. My pass slapped against my chest with every step, my shoes catching on the concrete as I followed the noise.
I pushed past people, muttering apologies, my heart racing just as fast as the cars had been. I didnât know where I was going. I just knew I needed to get to him.
I stumbled outside and stopped behind a massive crowd gathered in front of the podium. And there he was.
Standing in the center, holding his trophy. Smiling, iâd never seen him smile like that before. Not the small, shy smile he gave me. Not the sarcastic one. This one was bigger, brighter, uncontained.
His race suit was unzipped at the top, his orange hat crooked on his head. The trophy gleamed in his hands, heavy and real.
Beside him stood his teammate, his other best friend. Lando. P2, laughing as they shook their bottles. The champagne exploded. Spraying everywhere.
Oscar laughedâreally laughedâas he soaked Lando, his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut. And I cried, I didnât even try to stop it this time. The tears streamed down my neck as I watched him.
Watched him live the moment heâd dreamed about since he was a boy. He deserved it, every second of it. He turned his headâ
And saw me, even in the crowd. Even through the press, even through everything. Oscar froze. His smile faltered, not in a bad way. In a stunned way, his eyes locked onto mine. My white dress, my tear-stained face, his expression changed, softened.
The champagne bottle slipped from his fingers, clattering somewhere behind him as he stepped down.
Someone tried to stop him, he didnât listen. He moved through the press, through the cameras, through the crowd. Straight to me. My breath caught when he reached me.
His hands came up to my face instantly, warm and firm, like he needed to make sure I was real. His thumbs brushed under my eyes, wiping away my tears, his own eyes searching mine so intensely it made my knees weak.
Up close, I could see everything. The sweat, the emotion, the disbelief. âYou came to me,â he whispered.
I let out a broken laugh âOf course I did.â
His thumb lingered on my cheek, his gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes. And thenâ
His hat shadowed his face, but I could see the way his eyes closed, the way his hands held me like he was afraid to let go. The world erupted around usâcheering, shouting, cameras flashingâbut it all faded.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath uneven. And for the first time, he didnât call me his best friend.
His lips were still close enough to touch when he spoke.
âDo you have any idea,â he whispered, his voice rough now, unsteady in a way Iâd never heard before, âwhat you do to me?â
The words werenât for anyone else. Just me. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear, sending a violent shiver down my spine.
âIâm in love with you.â
His lips pressed just beneath my ear, a small, lingering kiss that made my stomach flip so hard I had to grab fistfuls of my dress just to stay standing.
Electricity flooded every inch of me. âOscarâŚâ I breathed.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes darker now. Certain.
He didnât wait for an answer. His hand found mine, fingers lacing together, and he pulled me through the crowd. Through corridors. Through doors marked âTeam Onlyâ
I stumbled after him, breathless. âOscarâwhere are we going?â He didnât answer, he just kept going. A man in a McLaren uniform stepped into the hallway ahead, grinning when he saw him.
âOscar! There you are. Youâll be at the after party, yeah?â
Oscar slowed. His hand tightened around mine, he looked back at me. His eyes dropped to my lips, a slow smirk spread across his face.
âI donât think I will.â
Heat rushed through me. He kept walking, faster now, until we reached the garage. The McLaren garage.
People turned to look at him, congratulating him, clapping him on the back â but he didnât stop. Didnât let go of me.
He led me to a door at the back, private. He pulled it open, guiding me inside. And then shut it behind us, the click echoed in the quiet room. My back hit the door a second later.
His body followed, close. So close I could feel his chest rising and falling. His hand came up beside my head, bracing against the door, trapping me there without ever really touching me.
My pulse roared in my ears. His forehead rested against mine for a second. Like he was holding himself back. Like he was losing the fight.
âI canât take this any longer,â he said. His voice broke on the words.
The air between us burned. Neither of us moved at first. We just looked at each other. His eyes searched mine like he was afraid to blink, afraid Iâd disappear if he did. And I let myself fall into themâthose warm brown eyes Iâd known my entire life. Theyâd always been beautiful.
Now they looked at me like I was something else entirely. Like I was his. My breath hitched.
His hand slid down from where it braced against the door. Slowly. Intentionally. His fingers brushed my temple, then my cheek, his touch featherlight at first.
My skin tingled everywhere he touched. His thumb traced the curve of my jaw. Then his hand moved to my neck. He paused. Giving me time to stop him. I didnât.
His fingers wrapped gently around the side of my throat, not squeezing, just holding. Grounding. His touch sent a shockwave through me, straight to my core, my pulse fluttering wildly beneath his fingertips.
âTell me to stop,â he whispered.
But his lips were already hovering over mine. I couldnât. Didnât want to. So I shook my head, that was all it took. His mouth crashed into mine, it wasnât soft this time, it was desperate. Hungry.
All the things weâd never said poured into that kiss. Every almost moment. Every lingering look. Every time weâd stood too close and pretended not to notice.
His other hand found my waist, fingers digging into the soft fabric of my dress, pulling me firmly against him. I gasped into his mouth.
My hands slid up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his dryfit team shirt, gripping him just as tightly.
I kissed him back with everything I had, years of buried feelings finally breaking free. My body moved against his without thinking, drawn to him like gravity.
He made a low sound in his throat at that. My name fell from his lips like a confession. Like a prayer. And in that moment I knew everything was about to change.
We melted into each other, letting the kiss deepen until it consumed us completely. His hands slipped down my waist, fingers tightening as they slipped beneath my thighs, lifting me effortlessly from the floor. A gasp left my lips as my legs wrapped around his waist, my back pressing firmly against the cold door behind me. The contrast between the chilled surface and the heat of his body made me shiver.
I could feel himâhard, insistentâthrough the thin layers between us, his need unmistakable.
My fingers laced into his hair, tugging at the soft light brown strands, and he groaned into my mouth. The sound sent a rush of heat straight through me. I rolled my hips against him without thinking, searching for friction, for relief, for more.
âOscarâŚâ I breathed.
He answered by capturing my lips again, fiercer this time, before pulling away just long enough to carry me across the room.
He laid me back against the leather couch, my hair fanning out beneath me. For a moment, he just looked at meâhis chest rising and falling, his eyes dark and hungry, like he couldnât believe I was really there.
Then he sank to his knees.
My breath caught in my throat.
His hands slid up my thighs, pushing my dress higher, the cool air kissing my heated skin and pulling a sharp inhale from my lungs. His touch followed, warm and slow, reverent enough to make my back arch.
He pressed a soft kiss to my inner thigh.
âOscarâŚâ his name slipped from my lips like honey, helpless and trembling.
He hummed softly against me, the vibration making me yelp. My fingers tightening in his hair.
And then his mouth finally found my clit. His tongue pressed flat against me. The sensation tore a cry from my throat, my whole body lifting toward him. Chasing him. Needing him.
His tongue slipped through my wet folds, and my stomach knotted instantly at the feeling. My eyes slammed shut, my head falling back as pleasure coursed through me, stealing the air from my lungs. I could feel his gaze on me, and when I forced my eyes open, I found him staring up from between my legsâthose same soft, wet, puppy-dog eyes Iâd always loved. The sight alone made me quiver.
My hips bucked into him on instinct, chasing the glide of his tongue, desperate for more, for anything that would ease the unbearable tension building inside me. Just when I thought I couldnât take it anymore, I felt his fingers slide into me, filling me completely, curling in a way that hit exactly where I needed.
My fingers tightened in his hair at the root, tugging hard as my release climbed higher and higher, my whole body trembling on the edge. His fingers drove into me more deliberately now, deeper, faster, and I broke apart with a scream, the knot in my stomach unraveling all at once.
I collapsed back against the couch, panting, sweat beading along my forehead, my chest rising and falling in frantic breaths. But he didnât stop. He stayed there, still pressed to me, drawing out every last wave until I squirmed beneath him.
âPlease, Oscar⌠IâI canâtâŚâ
Only then did he pull his fingers from my dripping core. His mouth left me slowly, and when I looked at him, his expression was differentâglazed, dark, speaking a language I didnât recognize but felt everywhere.
He leaned back slightly, never breaking eye contact.
Then he brought his fingers to his mouth.
And pulled them out with a soft, obscene pop.
âGod,â he murmured, voice low and wrecked. âYou taste like candy, baby.â
I could only stare at him, my lips parted, my entire body heating all over again at the sight.
He stood, firm and certain, his race suit falling to his hips. His eyes dragged slowly over my body, dark and hungry.
âOff,â he said, nodding toward my dress.
The single word wasnât loud, but it was a command.
My fingers found the hem, sliding the fabric up and over my body. At the same time, he shoved his race suit down, stepping out of it along with the thermals underneath. My breath caught as I took him inâhis body toned and hard from years of training, all sharp lines and strength.
He was already stroking himself.
Heat pooled low in my stomach as my dress fell to the floor.
He reached behind him and dragged a chair forward, sitting down, spreading his legs slightly as his hand continued its slow guide along his cock. He licked his lips, eyes never leaving mine.
âTouch yourself,â he said, his voice low, rough. âI want to watch you.â
The words sent a shiver straight through me.
My hand slid down my body, over my stomach, between my thighs, until my fingers found my clit. I gasped softly at the contact, my other hand rising to my chest, squeezing my breast, my fingers pinching my nipple.
His gaze sharpened instantly.
He watched me like a predator.
His hand moved faster now, the wet, filthy sounds filling the room, matching the rhythm Iâd found with my own fingers.
His tucked beneath his teeth.
His stomach flexed with every stroke, his jaw tight, his breathing heavier.
The sight of him touching himself because of me lit my entire body on fire.
My pleasure climbed quickly, my movements growing more desperate, more needyâ
In two strides, he was in front of me.
He grabbed me, lifting me like I weighed nothing, carrying me to the arm of the couch. He bent me over it, his hand firm on the back of my head, holding me in place while his other hand gripped my hip.
Then, a firm slap on my ass.
The sound echoed through the room.
I cried out, my body jolting.
âFuck,â he groaned behind me, his voice wrecked. âKitten⌠itâs even better than I dreamed.â
His hand left the back of my head, both of them settling on my ass, squeezing the soft skin possessively. From this position, I couldnât see him, and the loss of his faceâthe loss of his eyes on meâmade my chest ache with need.
Just as I began to steady myself, a sharp yelp tore from my throat.
I felt him spit from above, the warmth landing on my already dripping pussy.
One of his hands left my ass. I heard the wet glide of his hand stroking himself, and then the head of his cock pressed between my folds, spreading the spit along me, teasing, coating himself in me.
âMmm,â he groaned. âBaby, youâre so fucking wet.â
The sound of his voice sent a violent shiver through me.
âDo you think youâll be able to handle this cock?â
His voice was deeper than Iâd ever heard it. Rough. Possessive.
I nodded quickly, a breathless, âMhm,â falling from my lips.
âUse your words, darling.â
My fingers tightened around the pillow beneath me.
A low, animal growl rumbled from his chest.
The head of his cock pushed at my entrance, stretching me slowly as he slid inside. Inch by inch, he filled me, his grunts and broken whines spilling into the air as my body struggled to take him.
Both of his hands returned to my ass, his fingers digging into my skin like he needed something to hold onto.
âFuck,â he choked. âYouâre so tight⌠oh my god.â
Moans slipped helplessly from my throat, my hands clawing into the pillow as I tried to adjust. He wasnât just long.
He bottomed out inside me, and I gasped at the fullness, at the way he reached deeper than anything ever had before.
âPlease⌠OscâŚâ I whimpered. âMore.â
He smirked behind meâI could hear it in his breath.
The room filled with the sound of skin slapping, of our moans tangling together. His name fell from my lips over and over, like I couldnât stop saying it, like it belonged there.
Tears blurred my vision, spilling down my cheeks as the pleasure became too much.
His hips snapping harder into me, losing rhythm, losing control.
One of his hands slid around my body, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing slow, perfect circles.
My orgasm hit me like a wave, ripping through me, my cry breaking apart in the air.
He followed with a groan, his hips stuttering, his breath ragged as he pulled out at the last second, his release spilling across my back.
But his fingers never stopped.
Still guiding me through it.
Making sure I finished completely.
I collapsed against the couch, trembling, ruined.
Behind me, he went still.
His release painting my skin.
He tipped his head back, exhaling shakily, before reaching for the box of tissues nearby. He cleaned me carefully, gently, with a tenderness that made my chest tighten.
âYou look so beautiful like this,â he murmured.
I could hear the smile in his voice.
When he finished, he helped me stand, his hands steady on my waist. He sat down on the couch and patted his lap.
I obeyed, settling sideways onto him, my arms wrapping around his neck.
His hand came up to my face, brushing my hair behind my ear. His thumb lingered against my cheek, soft, reverent.
âI love you, y/n,â he whispered. âBe more than my best friend. Please.â
I leaned forward and kissed him.
âI wouldnât want anything else, Osc.â
Our foreheads rested together.
authors note: hello everyone! If youâre new welcome! This is my first f1 fic! Fun fact about me I love formula 1 and osc is my fav driver :) along with McLaren being my favorite team. I really wanted to do him justice I hope I did! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this I poured my entire soul into it. Please donât hesitate to like or repost. xoxo
