The 2025 Formula 1 season was in full swing, and Oscar Piastri was on the rise. The young Australian driver had proven his mettle, securing consistent podium finishes for McLaren and giving the top teams a run for their money. But the buzz in the paddock wasn’t just about Oscar’s meteoric climb — it was also about Y/N, a rookie engineer who had just joined McLaren’s pit crew.
Y/N wasn’t your average recruit. At 24, she was already renowned for her sharp analytical mind, having worked in simulation and data modeling for a leading motorsport firm. Her transition to the live-action chaos of F1, however, was a new challenge. She was determined to prove herself, but she hadn’t expected Oscar Piastri to complicate things.
It was the third race of the season in Melbourne, Oscar’s home Grand Prix. The McLaren garage was abuzz, with engineers running diagnostics and mechanics fine-tuning the car. Y/N was deep in conversation with the lead strategist when she heard a familiar Australian accent behind her.
"New face?" Oscar asked, leaning casually against a stack of tires.
Y/N turned, startled. "And you must be the guy who’s always late to meetings."
Oscar’s grin widened. "Guilty. And you are?"
"Y/N. I’m working on the aero simulation for your car. So, technically, I’m your best chance at staying ahead this weekend."
"Confidence. I like it," he said, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement. "Guess I’ll see if you’re as good as you say."
"You’ll see it on the timing sheets," she shot back, before returning to her work.
As the season progressed, Y/N and Oscar crossed paths more often. She was always the first to debrief him on aerodynamic adjustments, and he was always the first to challenge her decisions — not out of doubt, but out of curiosity.
"You’re always so sure of yourself," Oscar said one evening after a team briefing.
"Because I’ve run the data a hundred times," Y/N replied, packing up her laptop.
"And what about when the data’s wrong?"
"Then I figure it out. Quickly."
Oscar chuckled. "I like that. Quick thinking. It’s a good quality."
Over time, their interactions became more playful. Oscar would tease her about her meticulous notes, and she’d mock his habit of tapping his helmet three times before every race. Beneath the banter, though, was an undeniable connection.
Monaco was supposed to be McLaren’s breakthrough weekend. Oscar had qualified P3, and Y/N had spent hours perfecting the car’s setup for the tight, twisty circuit. But on Lap 42, disaster struck.
Oscar misjudged the entry into the Nouvelle Chicane while defending from Carlos Sainz. His McLaren clipped the barrier, damaging the front wing. The team scrambled to prepare a replacement, and Y/N was in the thick of it, analyzing the telemetry to adjust the balance for the new wing.
Oscar stormed into the garage moments later, his helmet still on. "What happened to the balance? The car felt off in Sector 1!"
Y/N stepped forward, meeting his frustration head-on. "The setup was fine when you left the garage. Did you check the tire temps after the safety car?"
Oscar paused, realizing she had a point. He exhaled sharply, removing his helmet. "Sorry. Heat of the moment."
"Just get back out there and finish strong," Y/N said firmly. "We’ve got your back."
Oscar nodded, his expression softening. "Thanks."
He finished P6, salvaging valuable points, and when he returned to the garage, he sought out Y/N. "You were right," he admitted. "About the tires."
"I usually am," she said with a small smile.
The Singapore Grand Prix brought a rare moment of downtime. After a grueling day of practice sessions, the McLaren team went out for dinner. Y/N found herself seated next to Oscar, their usual banter giving way to a more personal conversation.
"You’re not like most engineers," Oscar said, swirling his drink.
"Is that a compliment?"
"Definitely. Most of them just stick to the numbers. You… you seem to actually care about how it all feels on track."
"Well, I’m not the one risking my life at 300 kph," she replied. "The least I can do is make sure you have the best car possible."
Oscar studied her for a moment, his gaze softening. "It means a lot, you know. Having someone who gets it."
Y/N felt her cheeks warm. "You’re not too bad yourself, Piastri."
By the time the season reached its climax in Abu Dhabi, Oscar was in contention for P3 in the drivers’ standings. The pressure was immense, and Y/N found herself working longer hours than ever, tweaking every possible variable to give him an edge.
The night before the race, Oscar found her alone in the garage, staring at a wall of data.
"You should be resting," he said, leaning against the doorframe.
"So should you," she countered without looking up.
He walked over, placing a hand on the desk. "Seriously, Y/N. You’ve done enough. The car feels perfect. Whatever happens tomorrow, that’s on me."
She finally looked at him, exhaustion etched into her features. "I just… I want to see you win."
Oscar smiled, his voice soft. "And I want to see you believe in yourself as much as I believe in you."
For a moment, the garage was silent, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging between them.
Race day was electric. Oscar started P4, and Y/N watched from the pit wall, her heart pounding with every lap. A perfectly timed pit stop and a daring overtake on George Russell in the final laps secured him a podium finish.
When he climbed out of the car, champagne-soaked and grinning, he sought out Y/N in the chaos of the celebrations.
"You did it!" she exclaimed, her voice barely audible over the cheers.
"No," Oscar said, pulling her into a hug. "We did it."
In the weeks that followed, their bond only grew stronger. Whether it was late-night strategy sessions or stolen moments away from the paddock, they became each other’s constants in the whirlwind world of F1.
And as the next season approached, Y/N knew one thing for certain: working with Oscar Piastri wasn’t just about chasing victories — it was about building something far more meaningful.
