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papayadays · 26 days ago

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communication — op81

⋆˚✿˖° engineer!oscar x driver!reader — you want your engineer to loosen up, he wants you to win ⋆˚✿˖° warning: mentions of hungary 2024 (curse mclaren for that) ⋆˚✿˖° wc: 8.6k+ | a/n: she's a long one! I've been working on this for months, and it's finally here :) first time writing a longer fic so lmk what you think of it <33 enjoy engineer oscar, after being plagued with this vision

OSCAR PIASTRI WAS WAY TOO UPTIGHT. and it had been this way since your first day at mclaren.

you had been giddy to meet everyone on your first day at the factory after signing for the 2023 season. lando was energetic and funny, andrea was focused, and zak was… well, zak. but then, you were introduced to oscar, your race engineer. he looked young, like fresh-out-of-uni young. it was definitely out of the norm, but your instincts trusted him. what could go wrong? he shook your hand and nodded, merely saying, “welcome to mclaren.” and then proceeded to not talk to you for the next two days.

it wouldn’t be a big deal if he wasn’t your race engineer. regardless, it truly wasn’t as serious as you were making it out to be, but it summed up oscar’s personality well: quiet, reserved, direct. cool, calm, and collected, one could even argue. coming from f2, your relationship with your race engineer was basically a friendship rather than a work partnership, so this was something you had to adjust to coming to mclaren.

you found yourself falling into a routine: arrive at the mtc at the start of the week, debrief with oscar, and then head to the race for the weekend before going back to the mtc. in all honesty, you hadn’t seen oscar laugh or even crack a smile in your time at mclaren. it was baffling to you how someone could be so serious every single waking moment.

and you had tried to get him to open up. god knows you’d tried. throughout race weekends, you had cracked jokes, retold stories, and brought up anything in hopes of getting him to open up beyond his stoic facade, but to no avail. it genuinely seemed like he was incapable of loosening up; at least, at work.

the one thing about oscar, though, was that he was dedicated to his work and good at it, too. your rookie year was better than you had expected, nabbing a podium in suzuka and even a sprint win in qatar. oscar was able to turn the data into helpful tips and points for improvement, which was something you really liked to hear as a driver. but it was so hard to talk to him simply because he was so reserved.

“osc,” you protested as you walked on the track. you had first used the nickname to try and crack a smile out of him, but it stuck despite not doing much. “have you tried the hungarian palinka yet?” maybe the mention of drinks could get a reaction out of him?

oscar sighed, as if you’d asked him something mundane, like the weather, rather than if he wanted to try a drink. “no, but i would think you should be focusing on maximizing the kerb here,” he responded wryly. occasionally, you’d be able to get a sarcastic response from him, like now, which you considered a win.

“me and some of the team are headed to the club after sunday, you should come,” you suggested, mentally taking a note of turn three. you weren’t sure why you did this; oscar never seemed to come out of his shell, yet you kept asking, despite knowing he wouldn’t—

“sure, but only if you end up on the top step,” your race engineer countered in an even tone. you gaped at him, eyes wide with surprise. there was no way he was serious, right?

“so you think it’s impossible i’ll win here, then?” you asked. “y’know, since you never come out with the team.”

“jesus christ, it’s not a character flaw that i like to stay in rather than go out to clubs,” oscar said defensively, eyes cast upwards, as if he was sending a prayer up to the heavens for dealing with you.

you held your hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say that!” you protested. “and you’re avoiding the question.” pointedly, you raised an eyebrow.

“what, i can’t set a wager now?” oscar rebutted, though it wasn’t serious from his tone. and was that a sliver of an amused smile you saw? you had hardly seen oscar grin, if ever. the only time he’d crack a smile is if zak said something out of pocket or lando made a joke that had the whole factory laughing. so, a win was a win in your book. “just thought you could use some friendly fire.”

your rolled your eyes, tapping at your tablet as you took note of the blind-on-entry in turn six. “yeah, sure, mate,” you chuckled. “if i win, you also have to do shots with me.”

“nope.” and there was the emotionless oscar again, though maybe he looked a bit less stern. “now focus, so you actually might have a good chance at winning.”

you could start to see why oscar had his doubts. in fp1, you’d done pretty well and got p7, with the pace feeling decent. however, fp2 was challenging, with you in p13 while lando topped the timesheets. hell, if you couldn’t even close in on your teammate, how were you supposed to reach the front?

“are you even listening?” oscar’s voice cut into your thoughts, words still calm, just like the rest of his demeanor.

“sorry, yeah,” you nodded. “just remembering about our deal and how it seems you made a secure bet.”

a noise rose from your engineer’s throat that sounded like either a groan of annoyance at your self-reproach or a tsk. knowing oscar, it was likely both. “listen, it’s not as bad as you think,” he stated. “the car has pace, and with the tweaks i’m going to suggest to the crew, it should be even better tomorrow. and plus, you just need to fine tune some things to get set for qualy.”

you blinked at him in surprise. usually, a “head up, we still have tomorrow” or a “don’t worry, you’ll get it next session” was all you would get from oscar. “thanks,” you nodded. “so what do i need to work on?”

fp3 was a nice boost of morale, with you and lando second and first in the timings, respectively. the car was starting to come alive, like your engineer had said, and the points you went over also contributed. now came qualifying, but you were hopeful. hopefully.

as you were sitting in the car before q3, you glanced at the data display in front of you, oscar’s voice in your ear. “okay, so cars with two new sets are verstappen, sainz, hamilton, and yourself.” it was quite a blessing that his voice was so soothing, so you could never get jumpscared. and in tense scenarios, his constant inpour of information didn’t get too annoying either.

“gotcha,” you replied, pulling out of the pits. you got onto the track, briefly taking note of the rain clouds that you knew were going to be rolling in soon.

after doing an out-lap, you set off on a flying lap, knowing that it could potentially come down to this should the rain start pouring. as you crossed the line, 1:15.763 showed up on the screen of your steering wheel, causing you to frown under your helmet. you were roughly four tenths off where you wanted to be, where you knew lando was lapping at.

“you can keep the pace up on the in-lap. if rain is imminent, we can get out quickly on the second set,” oscar informed you.

the universe had a funny sense of humor, because right as the radio message ended, drops of water started landing on your visor. “rain on my visor now,” you reported, peeling back into the pits.

once back in the garage, you hopped out of the car and took off your helmet, heading to oscar. “i just don’t get it,” you lamented, sitting up on the cabinets. “how am i still four tenths off?”

oscar didn’t say anything, simply folding his arms and giving you a pointed look. his almost withering look made you want to shrink a little, feeling embarrassed. “c’mon, you know you have it in you,” he remarked. “and rain only makes it easier for you. keep the corners precise and tidy, especially in turn three. we’re sending you back out.”

you nodded, putting on your helmet again and sitting back into the car. oscar leaned over the halo, adding quietly, “you got this” and patting your helmet.

peeling out of the pits again, you headed back on track in clean air. this time, you were determined to make the most of it, to try and seal the deal this time.

“doesn't look like the rain is going to be super-heavy on the radar. i think you can do a normal out-lap, you don't have to rush it,” oscar told you over the radio. you pressed confirm as you drove through the last few corners, weaving to warm up your tyres.

as you slowed down around the last few corners, you took a steadying breath under your helmet and started your flying lap. this time, you made sure to nail every apex and brake later like oscar had told you to. gritting your teeth, you had tunnel vision, drowning everything else out until you were rounding the last corner. passing the line, a new time flashed on the display: 1:15.249.

“where are we now?” you asked oscar, voice hopeful. holding your breath, you awaited the sound of the radio on the other side.

“looks like we’re in, uh, p2 now,” oscar reported, and maybe you were delirious, but you swore you heard a smile in his voice. “two hundredths off of lando. nice lap, well done.”

you smiled under your helmet, knowing that there was only two minutes left on the clock and that this could be your determining lap. no, scratch that, this was your last lap. there wasn’t enough time, so this would have to be enough for you.

after heading into the pits, you jumped out of the car and bumped fists with oscar, pushing up your visor. “is that it?”

oscar glanced at his screen, headphones around his neck. “yeah, it’s been red flagged,” he responded, turning to look at you, and to your surprise, there was a wide smile on his face. he patted your helmet, the smile still on his face. “mega job out there. told you that you could do it.”

“yeah, yeah, mate,” you grinned, pulling him in for a hug. “thank you, osc.” he seemed to freeze for a second before wrapping his arms around you and patting your back, the relief evident as his shoulders sagged.

“all you,” he chuckled, making you do a double-take. was this the same oscar? “now, go do your interviews so we can debrief after.” ah, there he was again. you gave him a playful salute and headed off with your press officer.

when you came back to debrief, changed into a t-shirt and cargo pants, you sat down across from oscar, who was dialed in, eyes honed in on the telemetry while you could practically see the gears spinning in his mind. “okay, so here’s the strategies we’re considering,” he said with no prelude, jabbing at his computer screen with the back of his emotional support pen.

“gotcha,” you nodded. “tyre preservation, i know.” oscar continued on, showing you the data on his computer.

“wait, so what’s the deal with me and lando tomorrow?” you interjected. “is- are there going to be any team orders?”

oscar’s mouth pinched into a tight line as he met your eyes. “i think the team is a little, uh, ambiguous about it, but i’ll make sure they’ll give you a fair chance.” so, they wanted to prioritize lando, is what you heard. of course. at least oscar was in your corner, but would he really fight with the team just to make sure you didn’t get team orders?

“thank you,” you said quietly, mind mulling over what could possibly happen tomorrow. lando was obviously doing well in the driver’s championship, so it was within reason for the team to swap positions. even if oscar said he would get you fair competition, who was to say the team couldn’t override it? given that you couldn’t even outqualify your teammate, it would be clear to see who would be given priority, as much as it stung.

“hey, are you with me?” oscar asked, waving a hand in front of your face. his eyes scanned your face, eyes holding the type of gaze that figured you out and saw right through you.

you blinked, quickly refocusing. “yeah, sorry.” you needed to get a grip, to get your head back in the game.

oscar frowned, closing his computer. the quick action surprised you—oscar wasn’t one to abandon his work haphazardly. “you’re getting in your head,” he said, matter-of-factly, almost gently if you didn’t know him well enough. “i promise, you’re just as likely to win tomorrow as lando.”

“right,” you mumbled, fiddling with a zipper on your pocket. because mclaren definitely had no bias, and even so, was there any fighting chance of a win if you were two tenths off in qualifying?

“hey, look at me.” you glanced up, seeing oscar’s face stern. “i don’t know why you’re doubting yourself, you’re a mega driver. you won a sprint race in your rookie season, and you’ve bagged multiple podiums already. you’ve got what it takes.”

“it’s not that,” you sighed, fingers folding and unfolding the corner of your debrief paper as if the paper would give you answers. “it’s just- i want to win, but there’s so many things out of my control that could go wrong, and that’s… pretty intimidating.”

if possible, oscar’s eyes softened as he glanced at you, setting the pen he had been clicking nonstop for the past few minutes down. “i’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t feel intimidated, but you also shouldn’t feel like you don’t have control,” your race engineer said, the gentlest you’d seen him. “you and i know that we can’t let crucial moments come to us, you have to make them. and i know you can, so if you’re ready, let’s debrief so you can win tomorrow.” you glanced up at him, taking a moment to mull it over. oscar was right, you of course knew that, but seeing oscar this encouraging struck you differently.

“i thought you weren’t supposed to help the other side in bets?” you joked, an attempt to lighten the mood. in return, oscar rolled his eyes, snorting.

“well this is kind of my job.”

it was race day, the umbrella over your car shielding you from the hungarian sun and prying eyes.

“you, uh, good?” oscar asked, leaning over the halo to look at you, rays of sunlight peaking over his head like a crown. today, he was extra diligent in checking in with you, making sure you were in the right mindset. and you appreciated it, having someone care amidst the draining cycle of interviews, pr activities, debriefs, and training. it was steadying; grounding, almost.

“yeah, i’m fine,” you replied under your helmet, visor up. “everything looking good?”

oscar blinked at you, as if he were confused why you were asking that. “since you last asked before you got into the car, yes, nothing broke,” he snorted. maybe it was just you, but oscar seemed more sarcastic this weekend. you wondered what got him in the mood—maybe lando forcing him to stop eating salmon during debriefs. “anyways, formation lap is about to start, but just remember to keep your cool.”

“i always do,” you grinned, knowing it was a complete lie. oscar, of course, knew it too.

“right, silly me,” he deadpanned, patting your helmet once before leaving with the rest of your pit crew.

now it was just you and nineteen other drivers, itching to start.

the formation lap went by quickly, your mind dangerously wandering down the road of all the possible outcomes. the scenarios blurred by, your grip on the steering wheel tightening. the radio crackled, and “all good?” came from the other side.

“‘m fine,” you said, pulling yourself out of that headspace and taking a steadying breath. focus. speed, i am speed, your brain continued, making you smile.

it was just you and lando, awaiting the start on the front row. you could feel the anticipation, the collective breath held by fans. the lights went on, your foot anxiously waiting, and then it was lights out. away you went.

your foot went down on the pedal, and you knew you’d gotten the better start. you got the inside line down the straight, managing to pick your way past lando in the corner to snag the lead of the race, braking late enough to make the move stick.

holy shit.

you were in first after turn one. in your periphery, you saw the red bull of max verstappen run wide while moving ahead of lando.

“nice one,” oscar said after the first lap, smile evident in his voice. “alright, good job, drs enabled soon.”

you replied with a “copy,” but were more focused on increasing the gap. you did not want max verstappen closing in on you with drs.

glancing in your mirrors as you pulled further ahead, you saw max giving lando the place back, more assured that mclaren was going to have it’s 1-2.

as the laps went by, you were almost relaxed, like it was just a nice summer drive. if only. you were watching after your tyres, oscar occasionally giving you bits of advice.

“cars behind will soon build pit windows to stroll in p7. this would be a good opportunity to pull away if you can,” oscar suggested.

“copy, how far of a gap?” you asked, making your turns more clinical, less lax from how you were previously driving.

“i’ll let you know,” he assured you. “for now, we just need you to pull ahead.”

“gotcha.” and with that, you were flying. spiritually. metaphorically. whatever.

after a while, it was cruising again before oscar asked, “are you happy with the front wing?”

“er, yeah, ‘s good,” you responded, anticipating a pit stop based on his question. “maybe down half if you’re getting nitpicky.”

as predicted, oscar told you to box and you did, peeling into the pits. you got on some new hards in a tidy stop and were sent back on your way. now you were in the top five, managing your tyres while praying to the motorsport gods that the strategy wasn’t fucked.

luckily, you watched as the cars in front of you pitted as the laps went on, confidence slowly seeping back into your veins. as you watched the ferrari ahead dive into the pits, you took in a breath, knowing you were back in the lead.

“leclerc has pitted, so you now have clear air. tyre management looks similar across cars. you're doing a really good job,” oscar reported. you blinked under your helmet. what was in the hungarian air because oscar was clearly less stoic this weekend?

“thanks, osc,” you replied, comfortable enough with the race to joke around. “you sure i’m not giving you grey hairs?”

you heard a snort before oscar chuckled, “well, can’t say that you aren’t, but don’t let me hold you back.” under your helmet, you let out a laugh, though you hadn’t pressed the radio button.

the laps went on when you saw lando peel into the pits. “what’s happening? do i need to box?” you asked. oscar hadn’t said anything about the next round of pitting, which had made you assume everything was fine.

“lando boxed to cover hamilton. we need best pace now. don't worry about lando,” oscar replied, yet even as he said it, his voice was tight. you called bullshit.

“fuck, don’t tell me-” that lando’s undercutting me. the words were on your tongue, though you didn’t dare to voice them, mindful that radios could be broadcast.

“yes,” oscar said tersely, the way he tended to talk when he was figuring out an issue. closing your radio, you swore, bewildered as to why the fuck they were undercutting lando.

“oscar, what’s the gap to hamilton?” you questioned, voice tight. the last time he had updated you, it was thirty seconds, which was more than enough.

“over half a minute.” so what the fuck were mclaren playing at?

“any reason why we didn’t pit?” you were close to snapping, thinly veiling the accusation as an innocent question.

“i’ll check,” oscar sighed, sounding as defeated as you. “box this lap.”

“the fuck?” you scoffed, unable to restrain your temper. “at least give me a chance to undo the undercut.”

“i’m sorry, but we need to box,” oscar told you, a wince evident in his voice. you wanted to scream in frustration, but did as instructed and went into the pits to put on some mediums.

as you headed out onto the track, lo and behold, you were behind lando. “fucking hell,” you cursed, jabbing the radio button with your thumb so they could hear you. “how far am i from hamilton?”

“er, three point seven seconds.” what the actual fuck. “verstappen pitting now.”

you gritted your teeth, any thoughts of tyre preservation thrown out the window. this was not going to be the way you lost a race win. mind focused, you set off on lapping faster, braking later, and controlling your steering.

“okay, so lando’s going to swap positions when we get up, but for now, we don’t want him losing a lot of race time,” oscar informed you.

“mate, he’s trying to set flying laps, if you hadn’t noticed,” you retorted. “how do you want me to catch up without destroying my tyres? i dunno how he’s going to nurse his tyres later.”

“will is, uh, talking to him.” oscar tried to assure you, but with no sign of slowing in lando’s pace, it did nothing.

as the laps dwindled to the last nine, you grew increasingly irritated. “he’s not swapping, is he?” you questioned.

“will’s…on it,” oscar winced. “maximum focus, we need best pace.” you almost rolled your eyes at that; you were looking after your tyres.

“so no tyre management?” you confirmed.

“nope, last few laps,” he stated.

and that was all you needed to hear. you could feel the gap shrinking, lando’s car growing bigger and bigger in your view. the fuck was everyone thinking, acting as if you hadn’t taken the lead of the race into turn one and led it the whole time. fuck them.

soon, you were on the rear wing of lando when oscar let you know, “three laps to go, lando’s letting you through.” finally. though, in full honesty, you weren’t mad at lando. sure, you felt that it was your win, but mclaren were the ones who fucked up the strategy when they had the time to do it the other way. no, lando saw an opportunity and took it; to be honest, you couldn’t say you wouldn’t do the same if you were him.

and you obviously weren’t blaming oscar. you trusted him to fight for you, as evident from his radio messages. there was no doubt in your mind– he was just the messenger.

you were back into p1, though it didn’t send the same shivers down your spine as it had back on lap one. oscar occasionally updated you on the last two laps, but it was all background noise.

between your frustration and confusion, elation rose in your chest. elation for your first race win. you were actually going to win this thing.

as the last lap wound down, your heart drummed wildly as you rounded the last corner, a smile working its way onto your face. you crossed the chequered flag, letting out a shocked breath.

holy shit.

you just won your first f1 race. you did it. you won. but that adrenaline very quickly faded as you recounted the headache of a race that led to it.

“p1, p1,” oscar reported, and you swore you could hear pride in his voice, though you couldn’t say that you felt like celebrating.

“yeah, thanks to everyone here and back at the factory. nice one-two for the team, despite the hurdles,” you responded, unable to resist adding that little jab in there. “first win in the books, thank you.”

in parc ferme, you took your time getting out, not to rein in your excitement but rather your anger; this was not like lando in miami. you obviously couldn’t pull a danny ric suzuka 2018 despite wanting to. per tradition, you got up on your car and pumped a fist before hopping off and walking over to the team. yeah, this definitely was not like miami.

passing by team members, you stopped when you reached oscar. your visor was up so you could see the apology in his gaze as you let him see your frustration. “thanks, osc,” you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder briefly, letting him pull you in for a hug, and patting him on the back. in exchange, he let you process, recharge your batteries, and reset your headspace for a moment

“hey, mega job out there,” he said quietly beside your helmet. you could hear the apology in his voice, the ‘i’m sorry you had to go through that,’ and you squeezed his shoulder for a split second.

nodding, you went back and took off your helmet while making yourself look presentable, watching as lewis was being interviewed by nico rosberg. ironic, especially considering today’s events.

lando went up, and you internally winced as you heard the disappointment in his voice. you and lando got along well, so you felt for him, your heart feeling a little cagey.

finally, you were up and handed a mic, doing your best to smile at nico. “congrats,” the german said. “first formula one win on a sunday. how awesome does that feel?”

and with that, you were truly grinning. “very, very awesome,” you beamed. “this is what we all dream of as kids, and to be able to get a win is really special. obviously the end was, uh, a bit complicated, but i managed to get a good start and from there we were able to get the win. of course, i have to give props to my team for giving me a car to drive, lando for helping me grow as a driver, and oscar for being the voice of reason.”

“and how impressed are you with the car that mclaren has given you at this moment?” nico continued. “i mean, it just looks phenomenal out there.”

“pretty damn impressed,” you chuckled, the sound loaded with emotion. “for starter, if you looked at us last year in bahrain to now, with a one-two here in hungary, it’s been a hell of a ride with ups and downs.”

“speaking of the one-two, it seemed like the team orders situation was a bit out of control. how worried were you that lando might not actually let you pass?” nico pressed. jesus christ, what a question. you had to give it to him, the man knew how to stir up shit. part of you wanted to throw it back at nico, ask him about his experiences with team orders with lewis, but it was a fleeting thought.

“yeah, it was a bit hairy, but everything got resolved,” you answered, choosing your words carefully. you knew it was a thin line that you were walking. one small misstep and headlines would be plastered all over the internet. “i would’ve felt the same as lando, y’know, but it worked out in the end.”

nico nodded, eyes darting to cast a brief judgmental glance at the team before smiling at you. he was on your side, thank god. “well, congrats on the maiden win,” he said.

“thank you,” you replied, smiling. walking back over to the team, you took a sip of water and asked oscar, “you’d tell me if i fucked up, right?”

oscar scrunched his nose slightly, the microexpression new to you. “you’re going to need to specify,” he deadpanned, leaning on the metal barrier. “there’s a lot you could be referring to.”

“oi, shut up,” you protested, half-heartedly hitting his arm. “but for real, you’d let me know if i said the wrong thing, right, osc?” the question kind of manifested itself; you just needed someone to tell you that you hadn’t messed up the team dynamic, that you hadn’t royally screwed up and fed into the media’s crap by supplying clickbait headlines.

oscar gave you a confused look, as to why you were asking if he would randomly assume the job of your pr manager as extra work, a question that you didn’t even know the answer to yourself. he shrugged. “yeah, of course.”

“you’re lying,” you laughed, still on the high of winning. idly, you adjusted your hat, needing something to do now that you weren’t driving a formula one car.

“no, it’s just, i reckon it would reflect poorly on me somehow,” oscar chuckled, and seriously, what the hell was happening? because your race engineer was joking and laughing all weekend when he would normally have his chill and neutral demeanor on.

“typical,” you snorted, rolling your eyes. “hey, aren’t you coming on the podium?”

the corner of oscar’s mouth twitched, as if itching to flatten into a straight line. “i, uh think andrea is going up since it’s a one-two.”

your brain seemed empty as you searched for a response, settling on a classy and sophisticated “oh.” then you continued, “i guess that’s fine. but i think you should be up there in my unbiased opinion.”

oscar let out a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners, and had he ever laughed this hard at something you’ve said? if you had looked at him now, you wouldn’t even be able to tell that he was a quiet, collected person you’ve known for a season and a half. giving oscar a thumbs up, you went down to the cooldown room and instantly regretted doing so.

your eyes landed immediately on lando’s cap on the ground and the slight wince lewis had, presumably from his own trauma. well, shit.

you pressed your lips together, shuffling to your seat next to lewis. the race highlights started to play, and you watched attentively as a way to escape the frosty tension. lewis seemed to pick up on the lack of words between you and your teammate, starting to comment on the race. you jumped in, grateful for the distraction as you and lando added little pieces of commentary. granted, it was still awkward, but between wincing as max went over lewis’ tyre and watching a ferrari and a red bull duke it out, it was better. thank goodness for lewis hamilton.

as you headed to the podium, lewis seemed to want nothing to do with his old hauntings and booked it out of the cooldown room. that left you and lando walking in line with each other. casting a quick glance at him, you saw that he was looking back at you as well. “so…” you dragged out, unsure what your teammate would say.

“y’know i’m not mad at you, right?” lando asked, dragging a hand through his unkempt curls and down his face. “just pissed that it was so messy when it didn’t have to be.” your older teammate let out a sigh, eyes cast upwards.

honestly, same.

“it’s how i feel too,” you responded, mouth pinched into a line. looking at him, an apology was on the tip of your tongue, but at the same time, you didn’t say anything. it wasn’t your place to apologize, you had earned that win. if anything, mclaren should be apologizing. “you going to the party tonight?”

“i suppose i will,” lando shrugged, fixing his race suit. “is the team going?”

you nodded. “pretty sure. i mean, even oscar’s going tonight, so full house.” your teammate paused, tilting his head in confusion.

“wait, what do you mean ‘oscar is going'? you know he never goes out.” lando raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out what kind of sorcery you had used.

“it was a bet,” you explained, waving a hand. “he’d never go on his own.” arriving at the podium, you stopped and waited while lewis went out, glancing out while lando blinked, taking in your words.

“sorry, what? he agreed to a bet?” lando questioned, head tilting. “as in oscar piastri, your race engineer, oscar?”

“yeah?” you replied, eyebrows furrowing. before lando could continue asking you questions, he had to go up on the podium.

what was the big deal? sure, you knew oscar was a bit of a reserved guy, but surely lando didn’t have to be that theatrical. it was a 1-2 for the team—of course he was going out. and plus, he was your engineer, which meant your win was a cause for celebration for him as well. yeah, that’s what you kept repeating to yourself. it’s not like he was a robot, and a bet was a bet. lando was just being dramatic, you concluded.

regardless, you didn’t have any more time to ponder as you went up to the podium. walking out, the sun hit your eyes a little too strongly, and it was weird seeing your face on the big screen with first place under it. but the cheers of the crowd, the sea of fans, and then standing atop the top step? it was glorious and better than you ever could’ve dreamed up.

when you were little, you used to love going on the swing rides, claiming it felt like flying. you were wrong. this, the feeling of standing on top in victory and having the crowd cheer your name, was soaring; you were soaring. spiritually. metaphorically. whatever.

when the beautiful porcelain trophy was handed to you, you had to restrain yourself from tossing it in the air. you did not want a repeat of last year, and the result of max’s broken trophy. the trophy itself was beautiful, white with rich green swirls that you knew were hand-painted on.

then, your anthem played, your head held high. it was relief, ecstasy. you had done it, you were here. glancing down, your eyes met oscar’s, who gave you a smile and a thumbs up, a swoop of hair falling over his forehead. he should be up here. yeah, it did make sense for andrea to come with you and lando since it was a 1-2, but also, it was your first race win. oscar deserved to be here with you.

before you knew it, it was time for champagne, with lewis on your left and lando on your right. you shook the bottle, taking it all in as you were drenched. andrea joined in, much to your amusement. the confetti fell—red, white, and green rain as you soaked it all in.

but if oscar were here, he’d probably awkwardly stand to the side until you went over and started drenching him. he’d chuckle and probably surprise you by dumping the champagne on your head, citing how it was a rite of passage. oscar would politely clink his bottle with yours, and you’d grin at him, and you didn’t know where your brain was going with this, but—

you wished oscar were here. you wanted oscar to be here with you, to share this moment with him.

after the picture, you hopped off the podium and back to the pits, eager to be back with the team. as you returned, champagne bottle in hand, the garage erupted into cheers; mechanics, engineers, marketing—they were all huddling around you to extend their personal congratulations.

you didn’t care for them right now. making your way to the front, your eyes met warm chocolate. as oscar saw you, his eyes widened a fraction for a brief second, the way he did when he heard something particularly interesting or surprising. “osc!” you grinned, shaking the remnants of what champagne you had left, some fizz spraying onto oscar’s shirt. he just stood there, a fond look of incredulity on his face as he didn’t move. shaking his head, your race engineer leaned forward to let the champagne drip onto the ground, chuckling.

“you couldn’t have waited until after team photos?” he asked with a sigh, eyes still crinkled at the corners from smiling.

“you know me,” you snickered, patting him a tad too hard on the back.

“unfortunately, i do.” oscar rolled his eyes as you shuffled over to where the rest of the team was getting ready to take the picture. grinning wide, you slung an arm around oscar and your number one mechanic as you held up a finger, careful not to poke your engineer.

once the picture was done, you jumped, feeling cold liquid seep down your spine. twisting around, you saw oscar dumping a bottle of champagne, a shit-eating grin on his face. you gave him a choice finger, dodging out of his reach. safe, you thought. wrong. your race engineer shook the bottle once, twice, and pointed it right at you.

you think you yelped as you scrambled off, dodging past papaya personnel, laughing with oscar on your heels. as you kept going down the pit lane, you stopped when ferrari team members were in the way, turning around and being met with a face of champagne. “wow, lovely. thanks, osc,” you said sarcastically, wiping your face as you two headed back to mclaren.

“had to get you back,” oscar shrugged, a faint smug grin on his face. “and i told you that you had this in the bag.”

“yeah, but you lost the bet,” you snorted as you arrived back at your garage. “you have to come out with us tonight.”

“pretty sure i was going the be forced either way.” oscar simply blinked with a nonchalance that you were still trying to understand. “i mean, it is a one-two.”

“okay, i get it,” you scoffed, waving him off with faux annoyance. “you’re a witch and you saw the outcome in your crystal ball, gotcha. we ought to pull a salem witch trial.”

you heard a laugh, turning around to see oscar folded over, shoulders quaking. you’d never heard this, a true, gleeful laugh. but it made you smile, made you feel like you were in on a secret where oscar laughed at your very extremely funny jokes.

“mate, it wasn’t that funny,” you protested, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

that only made oscar snicker, turning around as will called for him. “to each their own,” he responded. taking a step towards will, he hesitated, turning back to make sure you hadn’t left. his eyes were softer, chocolate syrup rather than chestnut with a gleam of amusement. “see you later tonight?”

“yeah,” you nodded, unsure why your voice dropped in volume as well, ignoring all of the mclaren personnel moving around you.

the venue was packed; soft music floated over the hum of chatter, and champagne flutes were in most people’s hands as they talked to each other. as you arrived, team members raised their glasses to you with the occasional cheering while you smiled and thanked them awkwardly, not knowing how to respond. after all, it was your first time doing all this on such a large scale.

you had already spent an hour deliberating on your outfit before settling with orange because, c’mon, it was a mclaren party after all. you flitted around absentmindedly, stopping for a quick chat with andrea, zak, and lando. but as ten minutes passed, oscar was still nowhere to be seen. (well, that’s what you thought since you definitely weren’t checking.)

then, the tap of cool fingers on your shoulder made you almost jump, whirling around to see who it was. warm chocolate eyes met yours, instantly giving you an answer. “you’re late,” you teased, raising an eyebrow at his simple fit of a white button down and some khaki shorts.

oscar let out a strangled chuckle, fingers running through his swooped hair as he leaned in to hear you better over the noise. “yeah, didn’t know what to wear and had last-minute second thoughts.” he pursed his lips and did that scrunkle thing with his face when he was uncertain. you mentally paused for a second, taking in oscar’s appearance. sure, he looked polished and pristine from the outside, but you weren’t just anybody. he was your engineer, you were his driver.

you noticed how he shoved his hands in his pockets, hesitant. you noticed how his eyes would occasionally drift before settling back on you. you noticed how he was rocking on the balls of his feet, something he only did as he was watching telemetry data during crucial testing or tense moments when you were driving.

you noticed oscar piastri. and now you couldn’t stop noticing him. you remembered how he had squeezed your shoulder when you won the sprint in qatar, a smile on his face. you thought back to how gently he spoke when you were on the verge of tears after a disappointing qualifying session in your rookie season, one hand steadying your back. but most of all, how he was always there for you in your corner, with his soft eyes and princely swooped hair.

holy fuck. this—this was dangerous. you were in love with your race engineer. it was a bad idea, you knew that. it would feed headlines for the rest of the season, distract you and the team, and end up with oscar losing his job, plus his career. you would love him, and then eventually, mclaren would take him away. you knew that.

“you want some champagne?” you offered, turning towards the bar. oscar quickly shook his head, a curl falling over his forehead, making your heart pang.

“nah, i prefer sprite,” oscar shrugged. you nodded, heading over to the bar and asking for a sprite. you were the race winner; there was no way the bartender could’ve said no.

the can was still cold, metal chilling and condensation beading up and dripping down your hand. maybe it was your imagination, it likely was, but as you handed oscar the drink, it turned red in your vision. crimson trickled down your wrist as veins and arteries stuck out. you could feel the gentle pulse, thrumming in your hand.

carefully, you held your bleeding heart out to oscar, hoping he’d take care of it now that you had given it to him. with a precise yet gentle movement, he took it with two hands, as if you had given him a trophy rather than a can of sprite. or was it your heart? you couldn’t tell at this point.

and then you forced yourself to snap out of it. oh god, you were hallucinating. giving oscar a quick nod, you turned and headed for the little outdoor area where less people were. this was too risky, too reckless. and sure, sometimes you drove like it, but this was too uncalculated, even for you.

exhaling, you leaned against the wall, a hand on your head in an attempt to steady your thoughts. not a moment, oscar came into your peripheral, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “hey, are you okay?” he asked, stepping closer to try and see what was wrong. “did you have too much to drink?”

you shook your head, words still struggling to form from the weight of it all. and also because oscar was dangerously close to you. but you chose not to think too much about that. “i haven’t had any alcohol,” you managed to get out. you stood up properly and promptly decided to sit back down on a bench, basking in the cool evening air and the faint moon, a hole of light in the star-scattered sky. after a slow breath, you had calmed down and collected your thoughts, turning to face oscar, who had wordlessly sat down next to you. “i didn’t drink any alcohol because i want to remember every moment from tonight, not forget it all in a hangover.”

your stomach underwent metamorphosis, butterflies bursting to life as oscar dragged his gaze from the full moon to you, soft lighting hitting his face perfectly. “i think i would do the same,” he nodded, something deeper than understanding in his eyes, something softer. blinking, you turned back to the sky, hoping that if you just avoided the issue, everything would be fine.

“i wouldn’t have won without you.” the words left your mouth without prelude, and you kept your eyes trained forward. “so thank you. i don’t thank you enough.” you could feel oscar looking at you, his calm gaze burning your skin.

“i don’t think that’s true,” he responded after a beat of silence as if gathering his thoughts like he did with his post-it notes after a debrief. “i think you would’ve won anyway. you’re a mega driver and a fighter too.”

that got a smile out of you, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards even as you tried to stay cool. “still, i don’t think many other race engineers have the courage to go and ask the team about team orders on my behalf,” you protested, determined not to let oscar sell himself short. “and you always know where i can find more time, and you say the right thing. osc, i mean it, i wouldn’t have won without you.”

this time, you glanced over at him, watching as the tips of his ears flush pink as a bashful smile filled his face. “thanks,” he murmured. “glad i ended up working with you.”

oh your heart. he couldn’t just say things like that because then it would cause you to say irrational things. your cheeks flushed as you fidgeted with your hands, heart setting a flying lap. silence fell over you two before you said, “y’know, i wish you were on the podium with me today. would’ve made it perfect.”

a flicker of surprise crossed oscar’s face, a fond smile forming. “yeah?” he asked, voice soft. “still got to see you on the top step. i’m so proud of you.” his hand went to squeeze your shoulder, the gesture making your head spin.

“are you going to leave mclaren?” you blurted. your brain had just said what came to mind, what you wanted to know, one of the fears nagging at your brain. with the win, you had started to notice how easy things were with oscar, how you enjoyed his presence, and if he were just to leave, you didn’t know if you could handle that. you turned away from oscar, mortally embarrassed that you apparently had no brain-to-mouth filter.

oscar opened his mouth and closed it, caught wildly off-guard, eyebrows furrowing in a way that really shouldn’t make your heart pang. “what? why would i be leaving mclaren?” your engineer asked, slightly panicked and confusion evident with the way he tilted his head, trying to deduce why you would say that with his engineering ways.

you shook your head, still not meeting his eyes. “never mind, stupid question.” your voice was clipped, nails picking at the hem of your dress. now, the silence engulfed the conversation, a black hole that you wished would take you with it.

“hey, it wasn’t stupid, something’s wrong,” oscar frowned, shifting forward to meet your gaze. “you know i’m here for you.” his hand came to gently pat your back, fingers warm through the fabric of your dress. if you weren’t here messing things up, you’d think it was romantic, even.

“i don’t want you to leave, osc. like ever,” you said, voice quiet to the point where it was barely audible. “i don’t want any other race engineer.” the implication hung heavy with your words, the stars blinking at you as you stared at them. turning back, you watched oscar’s eyes widen a fraction as realization settled in them. too late, now you had gone and messed things up permanently. but, you supposed there wasn’t a way to make things worse. “i want you to keep using that stupid mclaren corporate pen to debrief. i want you to keep telling me that i’m doing okay after rough sessions. i want to keep bugging you to come out to clubs during track walks. i want you to keep believing in me, osc. i couldn’t stop thinking about you on the podium; i always can’t stop thinking about you. i really like you but i know you wouldn’t want to fuck up your career and i respect that. but you’re the reason i’m here, and i can’t stop thinking about you.”

you were rambling, the kind you did when you got panicky and didn’t know what to do. oscar blinked once. twice. he was waiting, and it left you wondering if you needed to clarify. and then he moved, hand cupping your cheek as he looked at you, brown eyes scanning your face, lips dangerously close to your own. “i thought i was going crazy,” he admitted softly. “i’d admired you while telling myself that all you needed me to do was analyze the data. but you’re so amazing and you inspire me every day. i don’t care what the team says, i’ve waited too long for this.” he licked his lips, an unfiltered longing on his face as his gaze dropped down your face. “can i kiss you now?”

one second you were nodding your head, the next, oscar’s lips were against yours, reaction time almost rivaling yours. butterflies instantly threatened to break out of your stomach as his lips were warm and soft, one of his hands finding a home on your waist to tug you closer, as if he was afraid that you would drift away. your hand finally wove into the hair you had admired for some time, one wrapped around oscar’s neck to pull him down to you.

you pulled back, catching your breath, as oscar leaned forward and pecked your lips one, two, three times, making your knees weak despite sitting. and it all sunk in—oscar had kissed you. that caused you to break into a smile, mouth curving upward on its own volition. it felt surreal, like you were in a lucid dream. but then oscar reached for your hand, squeezing it as his fingers intertwined with yours to give you something to ground yourself.

“so,” oscar started, eyes crinkling as he gave you a soft smile. “if that happens every time you win, you should really try to win the championship.” you laughed, hitting his chest playfully.

“oh, shut up,” you snorted, leaning into his side. instinctively, oscar’s arm came to wrap around shoulder, keeping you close. you could tell how relaxed he was, a stark difference to how he was months ago. ��you don’t know how much i’ve been wanting to do that.”

oscar’s eyes flitted down to you, a smile so fond, and sickeningly sweet on his face that made you melt. “i’m flattered,” he chuckled, reaching forward and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, a gesture that made your heart flutter at how gentle he was.

your gaze turned back to the stars, beautiful though they had nothing on oscar. letting out a contented sigh, you turned back to find oscar observing you with a shy grin, fingers still tangled with yours. leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his in a lazy kiss because you had time. even though you’d have to face the team again, if you didn’t know what was going to happen, you kissed him gently under the stars—you had all night.

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