Formula 1 | One Shots

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda | Oscar Piastri

Authors Note: This storyline was requested by user: -PIASTRISWIFE-

⚠️ Skip if you don't want to read angst, no happy ending.
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Oscar laid back in the leather chair at McLaren's headquarters, as he waited for Zak and Andrea to begin. The walls felt like they were closing in on him, and the tension in the room was palpable. His manager sat to his left, looking annoyed, while his PR manager sat to his right. Across the table, Zak and Andrea exchanged a look, one of those silent exchanges that made you realize, you were in trouble.

"Oscar, you've got to get your shit together," Zak started. "Your behavior recently, it's not just risky for you...it's risky for the entire team. You're a professional athlete, and right now, you're acting like...like a reckless gossip magnet."

Oscar smirked, slightly proud of the nickname. "I'm just blowing off some steam, Zak. It's no big deal."

Andrea's raised his voice as he jumped in. "It is a big deal, Oscar. Look at the headlines. Every week, a new scandal, photos of you stumbling out of clubs, arm in arm with random girls, rumors about fights in nightclubs. It's like you've turned into a completely different person since the breakup."

Oscar's jaw clenched at the mention of his recent breakup. "It's not like I'm breaking any laws," he mumbled.

"No, but you are breaking down the reputation you've built, and ours," his manager cut in sharply. "We worked hard to shape you as a talented, promising young driver. This...this behavior doesn't match that image."

Zak nodded in agreement. "The media is relentless, Oscar. It only takes a few bad stories, and suddenly the narrative is 'wild, unreliable driver.' And that's not what you want, is it? Not after how far you've come."

Oscar swallowed hard, feeling defensive. He opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Andrea held up a hand.

"Listen, we get that you're going through something. It's normal to have a rough patch, especially after a breakup. But this...whatever you're doing, it's only going to hurt you in the end. You have to think about what kind of driver you want to be known as, and whether these headlines, these images, are the kind of legacy you want to leave behind."

There was a heavy silence in the room, the weight of their words pressing on Oscar's chest. He shifted uncomfortably, frustrated. Part of him wanted to tell them that they didn't understand, that he was just having some fun. But another part of him knew that they were right. He was throwing everything away.

Oscar looked up, meeting Zak's gaze and then Andrea's. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. "Alright," he said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.

After that meeting, everything Zak and Andrea had discussed went in our ear and out the other. Oscar barely batted an eye when he left. At this point, he was too numb to care. He knew he should've taken the ultimatum more seriously, but he couldn't bring himself to stop.

The clubs, the random girls, the chaos, it was more fun than he wanted to admit. He had always been the calm and collect one, but now it was his turn to let loose. So, he brushed off Zak's warnings, thinking he could get away with it, just like always. But when another photo of him, this time, arm around a party girl at a rooftop bar in London, went viral on social media, it hit a little harder.

The images quickly became a favorite of the gossip pages, and within hours, Zak's number flashed on his phone. Oscar sighed and answered, bracing himself for the dad lecture. Zak's voice came through the line, anger than Oscar expected.