You Should Watch This Show Yeah It Made Me Want To Eat Microwave Rice In A Motel 6 For Two Months. Let’s

I love squished helmet Oscar!

something something squishy oscar something something

A pre-race premonition from my boyfriend

For context; he is a long term f1 fan (and the reason I got into the sport).

He awakens from the dead (his pre race nap);

Him- I’m seeing a rear break lockup onto turn one, as the go into the apex.

Me, now quaking in my slippers; Who?

Him- Who knows…

It’s important to me that you know, he was staring out the window unblinking during this exchange

Overprotective/Angry Oscar x Reader! (OP81)

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Summary:

It wasn’t that he was jealous.

No, that wasn’t the right word for it.

You were his.

He knew that, you knew that- hell, the whole world seems to know that.

So why didn’t this fucking guys get the hint?

A/N: something about a man defending your honour, just makes me absolutely feral.- also think is kind short but I hope y’all enjoy! 🫶🤍

Masterlist

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Oscar has been throwing daggers all evening. Sharp stares and ever sharper comments at the prick investor sat across from the two of you.

He hated these events, even claiming he wasn’t going. But when you sauntered your way out of the bathroom, adorned in his favourite black dress- your hair and makeup making you appear as a goddess in front of him- he was done for.

Now stuffed into an uncomfortably tight suit, being held hostage at the dinner table. Forced to suck it up and smile, nod politely and laugh at the dumb idiots jokes- well, that was the usual script.

Oscars mood has been soured the second you two had sat down. The snobby rich investor refused his outstretched hand to grasp onto your wrist, which had been laying casually on the table- barley clutching onto a half empty glass of wine.

You had tried to pull back in a shocked response. But instead of letting go, the man held you tighter. Causing the golden bangles adoring your wrist to bite into your skin. Your body went stiff at the unwanted touch of the man.

Oscar was on his feet quick, his hand slammed hard onto the table. silverware clanging together, your wine toppling over- staining the white tablecloth. His narrowed gaze burned holes in the man, his face gone red as his chest heaved. Now leading forwarding on the table, arms straining as he towered over the man. He spoke; low and deadly.

“Don’t fucking touch what’s not yours.”

A snarl-like growl bubbled in the back of his throat as he watched the man’s hand retreat slowly. Almost jumping the table the way the man’s fingers lingered on your skin.

Only becoming seated once more after forcing the man to apologise, twice.

Ignoring the mumbles and whispers of his colleagues and mangers as he lowered himself back into his assigned seat, one last sharp glare sent across the table as his hand found yours. A tight reassuring squeeze as you tried to hide your smile, a heated blush burning your neck at your- usually reserved- boyfriends actions.

Oscar didn’t miss the way you had retread yourself. The way your shoulders slumped as your hands fiddled in your lap, gaze drawn down. A small pout on your lips, the sparkle of the evening no longer shining in your eyes.

Since then, he hasn’t payed attention to a single thing that came out of the man’s mouth. His attention fixated instead on you,

His fingers tracing yours as he holds your hand in his lap, an occasional brush of your hair over your shoulder. Light kisses placed in your knuckles.

You didn’t mind, reveling in the grounding touch of your love.

“Don’t you agree, Mr Piastri?”

The question caught Oscar off guard, his head snapping back to meet the man’s eyes. His eyes narrowing slightly, jaw clenched as he spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

The man chuckled, his gaze flicking to you. Oscars hand squeezed yours tighter as you fidget under the hungry stare of a stranger.

“I said; you are a very lucky man Mr Piastri. With such a beautiful woman by your side.”

The man stopped, and for just a second, you thought that was it. But no- of course he had to keep going;

“The things I would do to her, given the chance.” His comment topped up with the wiggling of his eyes browns and a wink sent your way.

The whole table fell silent as their attention fell on Oscar, watching him close as he processed the sickening comment. The man’s laugh dimming to a worried chuckled as he looked to the table for backup, his hands raising in mock defence as he met Oscar's eyes.

“Hey man, it was just a joke. No need to bite my head off.”

Oscar laughed.

A manic cackle that shook the room. You turned to him with a horrified expression, watching as he practically doubled over on himself. The laugh grew lounger as Oscar’s anger reach its boiling point.

The action was so out of character for the man, it had almost everyone staring at him as if he had grown a second head. Zac’s face twisted in shock and horror as he switched between Oscar and the investor, mouth opening and closing- never finding the right words to say.

You stood, a hand placed on Oscar's shoulder as you turned from the table. A silent plea to just leave. Oscars hand coming to rest atop of yours, his eyes softening slightly as they met yours.

But he shook his head, palmed you the keys for his car as his head snapped back to the man. Like a lion hunting its prey.

Your wide eyes meet Landos in a desperate attempt to communicate with the amused Brit- who was leaning back on his chair, arms crossed. A wide smile on his face as he watched the show.

‘Fuck. Oscar might actually kill him.’

You could see the veins in Oscar's neck, his suit bulging under the strain of his tightened muscles. -God if he flexed anymore the fabric might just disintegrate-

His fist clenched as he rose to his feet, slow and deliberate. Never breaking eye contact with the man.

He moved with purpose, sauntering his way over to the man. Each footstep a rattling echo in the silent room. Stopping mere inches from the man, his throat bobbing nervously as his eyes met yours in a desperate plea.

-please miss, call off your hound-

Oscars demeanor was one you had never seen, his eyes blackened, his face now calm, deadly so. Eyes brewing with a storming rage, His voice like ice;

“If you so much as think about her again-“

A large hand land heavy in the man’s shoulder, causing the man to jump. Oscar smirked, satisfied with the man’s reaction

“I’ll kick your fucking teeth in.”

The line delivered with a smile as the man choked back a shocked breath. Coughing to cover his discomfort under the weighted hand of your steaming boyfriend.

“Is that clear?”

The man nods quick, a sigh of relief leaving him as Oscar’s hand retreats from his shoulder.

Oscar has taken two steps away from the man, stopping dead as the idiot wouldn’t shut his mouth

“Whatever man, what do you expect when she’s dressed like that.”

The sickening crack of the man’s nose ran true, as Oscar’s hand collided with the now fractured appendage. The man’s chair tipping back from the action, sending him flailing to the floor, suit slowly turning into a bloodied mess.

The man shouted as Oscar turned on his heel, making a b-line for you. His arm slinging around your shoulder in a protective stance, coming to rest heavily across your body.The man’s shouts falling on deaf ears as Oscar steers you towards the exit.

His final act; the simple extension of his middle finger to the man as the heavy doors closed behind you.

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Tagged:

@fangirlmusicbiashoe

(If y’all want to be apart of a permanent tag list, let me know on my masterlist post and I’ll start adding everyone!)

.

Traitor (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x Female Webber! Reader

(reader is Mark Webber's daughter)

Part Two!

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Summary:

Basically it’s very quick Drabble I wrote to get it off my brain. Reader is Webbers daughter and moving to Aston Martin to study under Adrian Newey. Oscar and reader pining over each other and Oscar saving the day?

After a shock contract with Aston Martin, y/n Webber attends one last McLaren gala before the start of her dream career. The recent PHD graduate in aerodynamics saying goodbye to her friends and family to study under Andrian Newey.” Oscar hadn’t spoken to you since the announcement, but when you need him most he always shows up.

Warnings:

Mentions of drugs/reader getting spiked, mentions of smut

Masterlist

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

The gala was extravagant, bold, and expensive.

You attended as a honoured guest of McLaren. Y/n Webber, Mark Webber's daughter. Recent graduate of her PhD in aerodynamics and soon to be mentee of Andrew Newey in a shock contract with Aston Martin for 2026.

Yeah, you had become talk of the paddock. Your dad was proud of course (if not just a little betrayed), but the opportunity to work alongside and learn from the man was too good of one to pass up, and everyone knew it.

Everyone, except Oscar Piastri.

Who; ever since the news dropped, had refused to acknowledge your very existence.

The cold shoulders and silent glares sent your way burning deep under your skin. Never admitting the man’s recent demeanor change was affecting you. You just shrugged it off in front of your dad, acting like all those years of friendship meant nothing.

Like the nights you spent studying while he slept in your lap- your finding running absentmindedly through his hair- meant nothing.

Like the way he pushed you against the counter of your parents kitchen as he kissed you, -deep and desperate, hips grinding as he trapped you between the wooden counter and his towering frame- meant nothing.

Like the stolen kisses and sweet words whispers closely in your ear, meant nothing.

You swallowed it down, pushing any invading thoughts of the brown haired Aussie driver deep down into the pit of your stomach, letting it twist and turn as nerves wrecked your body.

As you walk into the gala, sleek sparking gown of deep cherry red illuminating the room, the whole crowd seems to quiet in awe.

Oscar leans casually on the bar, a scoff escaping his pink lips as he downs another swallow of his awful martini. An eyes roll following the action as he places the glass rather haphazardly onto the bar, lip tucking between his teeth as he allows himself to gaze upon you once more. Your hair flowing effortlessly down your shoulder, the small chuckle escaping your dark lips swaying the dazzling stoned earring dangling from your ears.

Oscar couldn’t help his hand twitching, the burning sting in his fingers like glass, a desperate sign to run them through your soft hair. To curl them around the back of your neck and pull you close to his chest. He couldn’t help the tightening in his stomach and the chill that runs down his spine as he pictures his large hand tracing over your jaw. A pointed finger under your chin raising your gaze to his, eyes burning as he leans down to place a scorching kiss to the vanilla scented skin of your neck.

Oscar coughed as your striking eyes met his, a wicked smile forming on your lips. A shock ran through the man like lightning, awakening his every nerve. He swallowed harshly as he scrunched his face in a desperate attempt to control his cock straining against the lush material of his perfectly tailored dress pants. Smoothing over the material on his thighs as he tore his gaze from yours, eyes the room around him for the best possible exit strategy.

All night, it seemed wherever he looked, there you were.

Talking with Zac. Dancing rather embarrassingly with a very drunk Lando. Perched so gracefully up at the bar, legs crossed as you leaned forward slightly, breasts squeezing in your tight dress. Practically begging to be freed of their encapsulating confines, and worshipped by only those devoted enough to be blessed by the sight of them.

You see Oscar didn’t just see you as his manager's daughter, or as that weird friend he picked up in life. He didn’t even think of you as a traitor.

No. He saw you as a goddess.

A woman worth worshipping. A woman he would get on his knees for if you so beckoned. You had him wrapped around your finger, and you were complete and utterly clueless. The way you flutter your eyelashes at him could have the man burning down cities if that’s what you wished.

He saw your mind, your humour, your strengths and weaknesses. And he so desperately wanted to be the one to bring you pleasure, to be the one to hold you while you were in pain, to laugh with you and cry with you.

The way you occupy his brain, his every thought consumed by you. It was obsessive, borderline creepy the way you possess him. The tightness in his chest when he sees you with other men, the bruins hot rage that threatens to spill over when they so much as breathe in your direction.

It wasn’t healthy, so he had to let you go.

At least, he had to try. That’s what he told himself.

You smile at him from the bar, a shy wave of your hand as you order your drink. A small smile perched on your lips as you stepped towards him.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched Oscar basically run away from you. Your face burned red hot in shame as the man practically jumped over the bar to avoid your conversation. You walk away, shoulders slumped in defeat, a slight sniffle as you collect your pride and ego off the floor. The task wasn’t easy, as you get shoulder checked by a man on the dance floor, your drink spilling slightly on your dress as you swear.

Fuck Oscar Piastri.

You didn’t need him, didn’t need his sweet words of encouragement, or his soft shy chuckles at your lame jokes. You didn’t need his soft touches as he passed you in the McLaren garage. You didn’t need his soft lips or his strong arms, you didn’t.

So you drank, and danced, laughed with strangers as you let the party consume you.

That was until you made your way to the bathroom, you mind fading away from you as the loud music thumped in the distance, every beat of the rhythm reverberating in your bones. You stumble, mind numbing as the room shifts. A wave of nausea burns through your chest, acidic bile rising in your throat as you swallow down a choked sob. Tears staining your eyes as you desperately reach out, hands crumpling into the cold wall, your body soon following as your arms fold under the weight. Your hip hit the wall first with a loud thud, a purple bruise sure to blossom at the sight of the impact. Your shoulder is next, a burning pain rippling through you, a small cry escaping your dry and burning lips.

With a graceless thud you yield as gravity pulls you down, back sliding down the cold tiled wall.

You sit.

Alone.

Mind racing as time blurs, a chill taking hold of you. Skin pricking as a shiver runs down your spine.

Your head lulls to the side as you fight the heavy weight in your eyes, jerking you upright from your now slumped position.

You reach for your phone, calling the first person who floods your mind in any sense of danger.

He picked up on the first ring. Oscars voice gruff and firm as he spat out; “what do you want?”

You bottom lip quivers at his harsh tone, a small whimper leaving your lips as the tears welling in your eyes fall. Your words escaping in a hushed whisper

“Osc-“ the nickname hit the man hard, his chest tightening with worry at the sound of your strung out and frightened whisper. “-I need your help. I’m scared.”

You sob down the line as your hand clutches the phone, knuckles turning white as your body shakes, a hiccup bubbling from your chest.

It wasn’t just alcohol, you knew that for sure, whatever this feeling was, it wasn’t anything you had ever experienced. Your mind raced as your body began to numb, eyes rolling back slightly as you speak again

“I’m so tired Osc, jus wanna sle-“

Oscar interrupts you with a frantic yelp, questions firing through the phone at you as he desperately begins to search for you. Your half conscious mumbles leading him to the woman’s bathroom, his mind not registering the room as he hurried inside.

Oscar stopped dead in his tracks.

Your body lay slumped on the cold tile floor, phone discarded beside you, call still running. You looked like a doll left forgotten in the corner of a toy store, legs and arms astray and your head slumped unnaturally over.

He quickly skidded to his knees, sliding off the slick floors. His arm winding themselves around your frail frame and his hand comes up to cup your cheek.

Oscar hadn’t released he was shaking, hot breath escaping in puffs as his chest heaved. He scanned your face, calling your name in a desperate plea to wake you.

“Please baby-“ he croaked out in a desperate plea.

His voice echoed in your skull as your body gave in, dead weight pushing into Oscars arms as you allowed the darkness to take hold. No energy left in you to fight any longer.

You knew you were safe now, because Oscar was here.

Let me know if y’all want a part 2?? 👀👀

Hey y’all, I’m Here to tell you I am almost finished Quart heat (OP81) Pt 2!

I’m sorry it’s taken a while, I’ve been going through it teehee (we laugh or we cry)

Part two should be out either Sunday or Monday!

Anyways… here is a little snake peak for you….

Pt. One - go read it

🍂🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🤍🍂

Mark stood unwavering in front of the door, mimicking Oscar’s stance watching the young driver intently. His eyes daring Oscar’s to speak first, a smirk itching on Marks features at Oscar’s indifferent expression.

“Before you go out there, there are some things you should know first.”

Marks gaze met Oscar’s, the older man’s face hanging low. His shoulder weighed with the knowledge of a terrible truth. One he truly didn’t believe Oscar was ready to hear- At least not in his current state.

Marks movements were slow, hesitant as he extended out his arm. His hand clutching a stack of papers, jerstering for Oscar to take them.

Oscar’s hands shook as he gazed the papers, they looked identical to his racing contract with McLaren. The only difference being your name staring back at him.

He thrust the papers back towards Mark, the pile burning deep in his hands. His eyes gone wide as he stared accusingly at his manager;

This was your racing contact.

🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🤍🍂

Hello again. Don't mind me popping in again!!!

But, i was just at work and I had someone come in wearing a McLaren hoodie. And you were the first person I thought of!!

And that Oscar fluff piece was EVERYTHING 🥹🥹

Much love

🇦🇺💜

Oml stop it, this is too kind 🥹😭🫶

Don’t mind me I’ll just be sobbing in the corner

the only person who had a worse race than ferrari was oscar piastri – and when the leaderboard listed him as 'out', he reversed out of the grass and got back on track. he was not going to DNF at his home race without the stewards physically wrenching a front axle from his hands.

oscar piastri is a goddamn phoenix, and he will rise again and again and again. i love charles, and he is il predestinato - but oscar being a champion is not even predestined. it's literally inevitable.

Hi everyone!

I’m currently in the process of making an Oscar Piastri x female f1 driver reader!

OP81 x Female Driver! Reader

Essentially, reader is Oscars teamate for McLaren, and gets her period before the Qatar GP (the hottest race of the year), the engineers ,forget to fill readers water before the race. That’s all y’all are getting from me for now teehee

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Sneak peek;

He couldn’t stop the way he stepped closer to you, hand reaching out slightly as your arms came around your stomach once more.

“What’s going on? Are you okay? Should I get the medic.”

The questions fly from Oscar in a panic strain, his eyes inspecting your hunched frame. Scanning quickly for any visible injuries you may have.

Coming closer to you now he places a soft hand on the swell of your back, gentle movements as he rubs small circles on the area. His face crunched in concern as he squinted down at you.

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

If you’re interested let me know below, and I’ll tag you once it’s done!

ready for the spanish gp tomorrow!!

Oscar with a 1.11.546 slapping that shit on pole where he belongs! 🎉🥰