#the better norris series

[lancestrollsgf]

# THE BETTER NORRIS ! F1 GRID X ADOPTED NORRIS! READER, SMAU

introduction master list request list

part one, part two, part three.

# WARNINGS : cussing, i know nothing about the parents of lando so everything is fictional. lowercase intended, spelling errors (english isn’t my first language). lando's actual siblings are not really mentioned in this since I don't know anything about them. reader hitchhikes. an excessive usage of emojis such as “🙄, 🤫, 😝, 😭,😊,😉”. reader is 17 in the story btw (the age isn’t really mentioned so i guess you can imagine it however you want)

# SUMMARY: the adventures of the formula one driver lando norris adopted sibling, y/n norris.

# AUTHORS NOTE : this is my first smau (that i’m posting). there’s no meaning behind this story i really just wanted to make it for fun. backstory for how reader (you) were adopted is not explained. reader is kinda of portrayed as bisexual, sorry only like three times. pretend lando is a soccer/football fan (and likes messi). some of these scenarios/comments actually happened to face claim.

# FACE CLAIM : marian guevara/theatomicbabe on instagram (i love her so much)

VOTE FOR FUTURE LOVE INTEREST (now closed)

— instagram !

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 529,289 others

thebetternorris visited jamaica once again, spent every moment with the children and made memorial memories that i will remember forever, thank you @junglenonprofit for making this event happen🤍🇯🇲

landonorris: very cool hair style in the last photo is that your new look?

-> thebetternorris: maybe it is. you should also try finding a new look instead of looking like a washed up mop you have on your head that you call curls

-> carlossainz55: ay no, she got you with that one 🤣

-> landonorris: I WAS LITERALLY BEING NICE. WHY DID YOU COME AFTER ME??

landonorris: since when did you go to jamaica???

-> thebetternorris: since two days ago, man keep up with the times 🙄🙄

maxverstappen1: y/n does your mom know you’re in jamaica??

-> thebetternorris: no.. don’t tell her, she doesn’t have instagram 🤫

-> ciscawauman: y/n norris.. you said you were with friends for this week?

-> thebetternorris: hi mama 😊😊 im with bsf/n. but im on my way home! (max emilian verstappen this is all your fault, im coming after you)

-> maxverstappen1: sorry y/n.. hi mrs.wauman!

-> ciscawauman: hello max 👋 y/n please don’t threaten someone through comments

username1: y/n’s interactions with the drivers will never fail to make me laugh

username2: i love you y/n!!!

username3: will forever appreciate how y/n is not pr trained. her posts and comments heal me

-> mclaren: that will change very soon, sadly.

-> thebetternorris: @.mclaren YOU WILL NEVER CATCH ME ALIVE

lewishamilton: good work, little norris, very proud of you, keep doing good in the world 🥰

-> thebetternorris: I LOVE U SIR LEWIS

-> lewishamilton: love you too

-> landonorris: lewis please ignore her

username4: y/n’s reply to lewis’ comment is so real

username5: the third picture is so cute 🥹

view all 5201 comments

april 21, 2024 (dates are for the post above ^^)

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 661,201 others

thebetternorris 🍸🪩🌃🍾

landonorris: who is that guy in the last photo?

-> thebetternorris: i have no clue, i js chose it because i looked good. i think he was trynna lure me into a cult?

-> landonorris: WHAT?? CALL ME RIGHT NOW

username4: you can always rely on y/n to never disappoints with her outfits 😫😫

oscarpiastri: how come you never invite me to party out with you?

-> thebetternorris: because you steal all the girls and guys too 😕😕 also you’re too old

-> oscarpiastri: i’m barely 23??? and thank you or sorry idk man, you confuse me

username6: y/n’s life is so entertaining

username7: i wanna be like y/n when i grow up

username8: my goal in life is to party like y/n does

view all 6229 comments

april 25, 2024

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, girl3, and 786,929 others

thebetternorris no caption 🌞 👤: @.girl1 @.girl2 @.girl3 @.guy1

girl3: i had so much fun y/n see you soonnn

-> thebetternorris: me too! see you soon 😊😊

-> landonorris: y/n what is this???? what do you mean see you soon???? ANSWER MY CALLS Y/N

landonorris: who are those girls and guy on the last two photos???

-> charles_leclerc: leave your sister alone, as if you weren’t doing crazy stuff this week either 🤣

-> thebetternorris: @.landonorris they have names you know, you shouldn’t just call them “those girls”. i thought mama taught you better. 🤨🤨

-> landonorris: @thebetternorris sorry..?? but you didn’t answer the question.. also please @charles_leclerc don’t expose my doings of this week onto the internet

username9: you’re the loml in a another universe 😔

-> thebetternorris: why not this universe 😉

-> danielriccardo: damn little norris has more rizz than her brother 😭 @.landonorris

-> landonorris: why do i keep getting attacked 💔

username10: having the caption as “no caption” is having a caption

-> thebetternorris: 🤓🤓

username11: does y/n like girls cause that third photo is a bit suspicious LMAOO

-> username12: i think so, especially because of her response to oscar's comment on her previous post

view all 3620 comments

april 27, 2024

liked by landonorris, newyorkcityfc, and 887,292 others

thebetternorris thank you @.newyorkcityfc for inviting me to document the New York City fc vs charlotte game. visiting the new york city fc game made me want to try out soccer, turns out it might be time that i change career path 😝

landonorris: you’re in new york??? since when. and @.newyorkcityfc just invited you???

-> thebetternorris: since two days ago and is that an insult?

-> landonorris: who are you staying with?

-> thebetternorris: man stop asking so many questions 😕

charles_leclerc: weren’t you in jamaica like less than a week ago?

-> thebetternorris: weren’t you in china less than a week ago? why you judging where im traveling, i don’t judge you. you literally fly somewhere each week for your go karting 🙄

username13: y/n’s post are so unpredictable each time 😭 she was just helping children in jamaica and is now at a soccer game in nyc

-> thebetternorris: gotta keep y’all on your toes 🤫

-> username13: toes 🤤

-> thebetternorris: NAH GTFO LMAOOO

username14: y/n becoming a soccer player when??

username15: all of the norris siblings are so talented

view all 2928 comments

april 29, 2024

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 997,929 others

thebetternorris miami grand prix day 2 & day 3 🤙. found out some guy with the same last name as me won? idk but congrats @.landonorris

username16: dang her brother just won his first race and she doesn’t even make a post about him?

-> username17: for real, like everyone congratulated him right after but not even his own sister

-> username18: @.username17 well she is adopted 🤣

username19: it was so fun meeting you y/n!!!

-> thebetternorris: thank you pretty

username20: thank you for the water y/n 😊😊

-> thebetternorris: of courseee, had to give you that rich voss water 😉😉

-> landonorris: you gave a stranger water?? when?? you were with me the whole time???

-> thebetternorris: hey man you gotta start appreciating the people that support you, he was a worker ✊🏼

username21: hey i was the guy you were signing “way 2 sexy” with lolll

-> thebetternorris: AYY MY MANNN, i posted u on tiktok look at it 😉

jamescharles: omg i met you!! you’re gorgeous 🥰

-> thebetternorris: JAMESS HEYYY, i put you in my tiktok 🤙🤙

username22: omg you hugged me, remember i picked you up 😭

-> thebetternorris: I REMEMBER YOUU, that hug was great thanks man i needed that 🫵🏼 posted a full tiktok abt you

username23: your first outfit is so art teacher-coded

-> thebetternorris: is this a compliment or?? thank you though 😭

-> landonorris: @.username23 THATS WHAT I TOLD HER

landonorris: the number of people commenting that they met you is insane. @thebetternorris

-> thebetternorris: what can i say i'm js that guy 😼

view all 6282 comments

may 5, 2024

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 1,000,010 others

thebetternorris congrats to @.landonorris for winning your first grand prix, in america 🦅🇺🇸, i’m so so proud! turns out having an adopted sister isn't so bad for your racing career after all 😜. btw to everyone in the comments section getting their gears all tangled because I didn't congratulate him sooner, chill out. I was busy practicing my own racing skills. yk, just in case he needs some real competition 😴 sorry @.maxverstappen1. i’m so proud of you, i'm forever grateful that i got picked from the “bin” i was found according to you 18 years ago, and it resulted in me being your sister :) 👤: @.landonorris @.oscarpiastri

landonorris: thank you for the congratulations, but did you really have to use those photos of me?

-> thebetternorris: damn you got your congrats just be grateful man 🙄

oscarpiastri: so this is why lando was crying, btw thank you for using a good photo of me

-> thebetternorris: OSCAR ARE YOU SERIOUS. @.landonorris YOU CRIED?? LMFAOOO

-> landonorris: @.oscarpiastri YOU SNITCH.

maxverstappen1: thank goodness you’re not a f1 driver, you’d be some real competition. we need to try go karting together soon 👍🏼

-> thebetternorris: i know this is a joke but thank u max 😔 we should go karting soon so i can beat you at it 😈

-> username24: i would pay to see y/n kart against max

username25: i don't even know anything about f1 but this made me tear up

username26: y/n getting hate for not congratulating her brother is insane

username27: people getting mad about y/n not congratulating lando as if they know anything about them

username28: y/n was one of the first people to congratulate lando, yall are hating a literal kid for smth so little 💀

view all 4593 comments

may 7, 2024

liked by landonorris, leomessi, 1,102,920 others

thebetternorris pov that one unemployed friend on a tuesday (saturday). thank you @.mles for the invite and for letting me meet the goat @.leomessi 🩷🩷

joyboy: finally found someone that is everywhere like me

-> thebetternorris: paris fashion week next 😉?

-> landonorris: NO???

username29: IS THAT LIONEL MESSI??

-> thebetternorris: that’s literally oomf what are you talking abt 🙄

ueername30: y/n is literally everywhere but home

username31: y/n's smile 🥰🥰

carlossainz55: Real Madrid CF>>>

-> thebetternorris: carlos get outta here 😕😕

username32: te encantaría ser un hombre nunca lo vas a ser y eso es lo que te jode (you’d love to be a man and you’ll never be a man and that fucks with you)

-> thebetternorris: @.username32 me encanta ser mujerrr (i love being a womann)

-> username32: @thebetternorris pues lo disimulas fatal (well you hide it well)

-> thebetternorris: @.username32 que es ser mujer para ti? (what is being a woman to you?)

-> username33: SHE GOT YOU THERE 💀@.username32

landonorris: you meeting messi before me insane 😔

leomessi: gracias por tu apoyo 🩷 que chistoso la caption 🤣 (thank you for your support 🩷 how funny the caption is)

-> landonorris: oh you’re joking.

-> thebetternorris: @.leomessi 🩷🩷 (i’m so normal abt this..)

username33: i wanna be y/n's camera man

username34: who is taking these pictures of y/n

-> thebetternorris: for this game, some guy named jarvis took these photos idk but we're homies now

-> landonorris: WHO IS JARVIS???

view all 12920 comments

june 5, 2024

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 1,293,021 others

thebetternorris i look sunburnt, swear it's just the lights 👤: bustarhymes

bustarhymes: it was nice meeting you little norris

-> thebetternorris: it was great meeting you man, your music is great

danielriccardo: mate i think you need a new cameraman because most of these are blurry...

-> thebetternorris: my pictures look better than yours, you're letting your jealousy show

landonorris: nah bro how did you meet busta rhymes before me.

-> thebetternorris: because i'm better than you

username35: you dead ass look like han jisung omg

-> thebetternorris: thank you, idk who that is but i get that a lot 😭

username34: y/n looks so much like young miko it’s insane

charles_leclerc: you look scary in the first picture

-> thebetternorris: i saw your paparazzi picture from the beach, your shoulders look scarier, learn how to put on sunscreen 😬

username36: y/n’s style is so 🥰

view all 5934 comments

june 30, 2024

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 1,304,393 others

thebetternorris back at the big apple 🍎🏙️

itsyoungmiko: hi twinn

-> thebetternorris: hey twin, we should meet up soon

lancestroll: how do you travel everywhere?

-> thebetternorris: walking and hitchhiking

-> lancestroll: hitchhiking? be safe norris

-> thebetternorris: yea hitchhiking. not all of us have private planes that our daddy pays for🙄(just joking, love u @lawerence_stroll pls give me money)

-> lancestroll: your brother literally flies private. please don't ask my dad for money 😭

lawerence_stroll: hello y/n, how much money do you need?

-> thebetternorris: HI MR.STROLL, thank you for the offer I was just joking, you're so nice. see you at the next gp 😊

username37: who is that on the last photo?

-> thebetternorris: THATS ME. LMFAOOO

username38: ain't no way you're in new york city rn, you were in florida a day ago.

-> thebetternorris: that's what hitchhiking is for, duh

-> username38: you dead ass hitchhiked a ride from florida to new york city. that's like 20 hours...

-> thebetternorris: “that’s like 20 hours…” ☝🏼🤓

username39: are you gonna go to the british gp?

-> thebetternorris: yes sadly 💔 lando is forcing me against my will 😕

oscarpiastri: don’t forget my keychain pls

-> thebetternorris: ofc man ill give it to you soon 🤙

zhouguanyu24: very cool pictures y/n and cool outfit

-> thebetternorris: HI ZHOUUU, i got you something for you and sweet corn 🥰 thank u for the compliment 😙

username40: future mom lore is gonna go insane

-> thebetternorris: 😈

landonorris: y/n are you ever not in the US. come back home..

-> thebetternorris: USA 🇺🇸🦅🦅

-> logansargeant: USA USA 🇺🇸🦅🦅

-> landonorris: @.logansargeant logan please don’t lure my sister into your cult that you americans have

-> logansargeant: @.landonorris we don’t have a cult in america 😭 well… don’t quote me on that 😔

-> username41: “you americans” is crazy 💀

view all 4402 comments

july 1, 2024

comment to be tagged in the next part 🤫🤫

[lestapiastrisgirl]

F1 Fics Masterlist

F*ck About It [Lestappen]

by lestapiastrisgirl | M | 5/5 | 30,871

This year has been hard on Charles. Not only on the track but at home too. He loves Max to death, but he swears Max will be the death of him.

Part 1 of About It Series

~

Love About It [Lestappen]

by lestapiastrisgirl | M | 3/? | WIP (ON HOLD)

This story picks up immediately after F*ck About It. New season. New team. New teammates. New obstacles. What could go wrong?

Part 2 of About It Series

~

Please Notice [Lestapiastri]

by lestapiastrisgirl | M | 6/6 | 13,969

What starts as harmless teasing and friendly competition between three drivers slowly turns into something more complicated. Max and Charles have always had an unspoken connection, something the entire paddock seems to know but no one dares to acknowledge. But when Oscar unintentionally finds himself caught in their orbit, things begin to shift. Or 5 time Max and Charles are waiting for Oscar to figure it out and 1 time he actually does.

Part 1 of the Circuit of Love Series

~

Circuit of Love [Lestapiastri]

by lestapiastrisgirl | E | 5/24 | WIP

Let's follow Charles, Max, and Oscar through the 2025 race season. This should be interesting.

Part 2 of the Circuit of Love Series

~

Poetry [Lestappen]

by lestapiastrisgirl | M | 3/3 | 18,372

In the winding streets of Monaco, Max finds himself drawn to a quiet bookstore—and to the reserved, thoughtful man who runs it. What begins as a simple encounter slowly unearths buried vulnerabilities, as both men grapple with the weight of their pasts and the fragile hope of connection. Their two lives collide, while moments of stillness and understanding challenge them to risk their carefully guarded hearts.

~

Syndicate [lestappen]

by lestapiastrisgirl | E | 9/? | WIP

Max exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, “Let’s get to the point. Why are you here, Leclerc?” Charles didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifted again, the soft fabric of his sweater catching the light as he leaned forward. His lips curved into a smile that was almost shy—almost, but not quite, “Ferrari doesn’t know how to handle its assets anymore,” he said finally, his tone light. “They’ve grown… careless.” “Careless,” Max repeated, though his tone was anything but. “They’ve forgotten my worth,” Charles said, his voice lilting slightly, as though the words didn’t sting as much as they clearly did. His gaze flicked to his gold watch, the movement brief, deliberate. “And I don’t like being taken for granted.”

Part 1 of the Syndicate Series

~

The Third Piece [Lestapiastri]

by lestapiastrisgirl | E | 21/21 | 132,100

Oscar forced himself to hold his gaze, even as his pulse hammered against his ribs. Charles crouched slightly, leaning in until they were at eye level. “I know what you’re thinking,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “You think Max is the one you should be afraid of.” Oscar swallowed hard, his throat tight. “You’re wrong,” Charles said simply, straightening with a smile that didn’t belong on someone so deadly. “But you’ll figure that out soon enough.”

Part 2 of the Syndicate Series

~

What Happens Next [Lestapiastri]

by lestapiastrisgirl | E | 4/? | WIP

All of the juicy and highly sought after oneshots of nothing but lestapiastri FILTH from the Syndicate Universe. All take place after the ending of The Third Piece. (Mostly. For now.)

Part 3 of the Syndicate Series

~

This Is What I Get [Landoscar]

by lestapiastrisgirl | M | 1/1 | 13,538

The thing about drowning, Oscar thought, was that it didn’t feel like drowning. Not at first. At first, it was just the sensation of being pulled under. Just a little. Not enough to panic. Not enough to thrash and scream. You told yourself you could hold your breath, that you’d float back to the surface eventually. But then came the pressure, that creeping weight pressing down on your chest, subtle and unrelenting. That was what no one told you: drowning wasn’t the struggle to breathe. It was the waiting. And waiting was all Oscar ever seemed to do these days.

Part 1 of Loved You Better Series

~

This Is What I've Done [Landoscar]

by lestapiastrisgirl | M | 3/3 | 16,827

Oscar was the one who never expected anything from him—who never asked for anything in return, who never told him to be better, or stronger, or enough. And maybe that’s why Lando kept coming back to him. Because when everything else felt like it was slipping out of his control—when every lap felt slower, every race felt harder, and every smile in front of a camera felt more and more like a lie—Oscar was there. And Lando could take what he needed from him. This is Lando's POV of This Is What I Get

Part 2 of Loved You Better Series

~

This is What We've Become [Landoscar]

by lestapiastrisgirl | M | 2/2 | 15,210

The weight of the evening hung heavy in the dimly lit living room. Oscar had arrived nearly an hour ago, eyes red and swollen, his backpack slung loosely over one shoulder like it might fall off at any moment. He hadn’t said much—barely anything, really—but the tears had started almost as soon as Charles opened the door.

Part 3 of Loved You Better Series

-

Interested in another fandom? Check out my Masterlist of Masterlists!

[fabuloustrash05]

Okay I really enjoyed Tottmnt, I hope for another season, but did anyone else feel off anytime they mentioned/referenced real life things from celebrities, shows, movies, memes, etc.

Like it felt out of place and would always catch me off guard when things like Donnie mentioning going on Wikipedia or using Google, celebrities like Drake, Beyonce, and Jay-Z getting mentioned, or talking about movies and shows like Star Wars, Star Trek, and Friends, would happen.

[boleynqueenes]

"Counterpane up over the bulwark of his shoulders, and his duty is done, pray God, he passes out before he finishes his thought, and that is no blasphemy: please God, a genuine entreaty, louder than the sudden whip of thunder which cracks overhead, which he recites inside his mind, over and over, as he undoes the trundle bed and settles underneath his own, lesser bedclothes." —Chapter 34 of Nowe Thus

[essiemclaren]

me manifesting mclaren's wins in my silly fics

[intothepitlane]

i got so drunk after quali i forgot the results and i just went through all stages of grief again

[lvrclerc]

✶ BETTER THAN THE NOVELS

summary: you're a romance novel influencer that has never actually experienced romance. ironic, right? and when f1 driver lando norris accidentally becomes a constant presence in your life, he decides he can't possibly let that slide.

F1 MASTERLIST | LN4 MASTERLIST

pairing: lando norrisﾉf!reader

wc: 11.2k

cw: reader is a ferrari fan and is said to wear feminine clothing (dresses, skirts etc), reader has a race taking place in her home country but it's not precised where, takes place during a fictional season (w the 2025 grid), cussing, inspired by nick and cassie on tiktok, slight angst near the end for plot reason, otherwise just tooth-rotting fluff!

a/n: first fic who cheered! this is so self-indulgent and cliché but who caresss also its a long one so buckle up (editing was hell, ending is a bit rushed too sorry)

THERE WAS NOT ONE day in which @.whoisy/n, book influencer extraordinaire, did not pass her day with her head inside a romance novel.

You always liked reading. The passion struck you in late primary school when you first opened Percy Jackson and before you knew it, you finished the entire series in three days and begged your parents to buy you Heroes of Olympus. There was no going back after that. You couldn’t spend a day without your thirty minutes to an-hour reading session.

Like every girl raised with the idea of being a strong, independent female lead in the novel that was your life ─ at the sweet age of thirteen, dare I be precise ─ you never dabbled too much into romance. If it ended in a book you were currently reading, so be it, but you wouldn’t outwardly enjoy it. Why would you need someone in your life? You were so not like the other girls, you didn’t waste your time on boys or parties or things like that ─ you didn’t even wear pink!

Except that now that you have grown up, at the age of twenty-two, you liked wearing pink and bows, and because you spent most of your life buried in books with this idiotic, sexist idea of the “not-like-other-girls”, you never had kissed or dated anyone. Damn Rick Riordan.

I mean, you went on dates, sure, but they never went anywhere further than a “that was fun!” text and radio silence right after. It made you feel used, sometimes, but at that point, it was just something you expected whenever you took an interest in an individual.

The only thing that stuck with you as you got older was your passion for books. So after you resigned yourself to it, you dived into romances. Bad idea, really, because you started living vicariously through them.

Everything was so perfect: the storylines, the female leads, the guys and the girls and what they whispered into the other’s ear, and when they noticed small things nobody else would’ve noticed, proclaimed their love high and loud in heartfelt speeches, the awkwardness of a first love and the tenderness of a first kiss. A part of you, whenever you tapped your Kindle or rushed through the pages, ached a little in the middle of your incessant giggling. Something that yearned for a story like that - but you’ve learned against your will that nothing in the real world could compare to the stories or the movies.

You were doomed to die an old maid with many, many cats and a thousand bookshelves. It didn’t sound that bad, of course, but come on. You still held hope that maybe, one day, something like that would happen to you. Maybe.

One of your favorite subgenres was sports romance. There was something so romantic about running into someone’s arms after a well-spent game ─ you devoured the hockey ones, the basketball ones, even the football ones. More recently, though, you got into the motorsports ones ─ more specifically, Formula One.

There weren’t many, mainly because of the work that had to be done to dodge plagiarism: you couldn’t use the actual drivers or team, so you had to reinvent everything down to every detail. But for those that existed, you simply couldn’t let them go. You liked Formula One, it wasn’t a proper passion like reading was but it still was a nice pastime: you’d turn on your sketchy website that streamed F1 TV Pro to watch the Grand Prix and became impatient during the overly long summer and winter breaks. While you were more partial to drivers than to teams, you grew very fond of Ferrari as the years went by.

You were very vocal about your interests in your accounts. Obsessing so much over books gave you access to fandoms at a young age and a desire to have your own space within them. You quickly became a staple presence on BookTok, BookStagram, and BookTube after your first posts and videos went public. People found you funny, endearing, and relatable… not to throw yourself flowers, but you were. It’s that transparency about your Sahara-desert dry love life and your contagious excitement about your hobbies that made you so popular, reaching millions around multiple platforms.

People liked you, so people were kind to you. An advanced reader copy of a new F1 romance novel was on another level of kindness, though.

You hadn’t expected it, but it came in your mailbox with a sweet written word from the author, Leandra Moore ─ she was pretty influential and had written multiple New York Times-acclaimed New Adult romances. You didn’t even process everything she was saying, only that she liked your videos and your personality and ‘thought you might like her new work’.

What a stupid question. Of course, you did.

You devoured the 430 pages in a sitting. The sky, awfully bright when you got the package, was pitch black by the time you turned the last page. You were breathless, flushed, and smiling so hard your cheeks were beginning to hurt. “Silver Spring Race” was a wonder of brother’s best friend, secret exes, and second chance rom-com goodness, mixed with the adrenaline of the perfect F1 season, five out of five stars on Fable and GoodReads. You didn't waste any time: tripod, lighting, and you were already filming a review video in your almost ecstatic state, giggling away with the camera knowing full well you were sharing with a few thousand.

It was a simple review as you always did. Yet, it did way, way better than your normal videos ─ so much so that the book had to be released early. So much so that Leandra had the means to host a release party after the goddamn Miami Grand Prix. So much so that she invited you, personally and free of charge, as multiple other book influencers to attend the Grand Prix and the release party the day after.

Someone had to pinch you because holy shit, this couldn’t be your reality. You never confirmed something as fast as you did for that. Honestly, who wouldn’t?

The race had been an exceptionally good one. The sun was bright and hot but the slight breeze made up for the extreme Miami heat. You and your book influencer friends and acquaintances had amazing seats at the Beach Grandstands - some on the North and some on the South. You quietly wondered just how much money did Silver Spring Race generated for Leandra to get those sought-after seats.

There had been a few technical difficulties during the race, causing Pierre Gasly to DNF, and a narrowly avoided crash on Albon's part which cost him to lose standing. Ferrari was going strong, though, which kept you breathless from screaming until the checkered flag. Norris ended in pole position, with Verstappen following suit in P2 and Leclerc in P3. While it was not the outcome you hoped for due to your bias toward the latter's team, you had to cheer when faced with the radiant smile of the first-placed.

Now, the thing was to get out of the stands. That was a harder task, the Beach Grandstands were filled to the brim and before you could process what was happening, the flow of people separated you from your friends. No matter how much you fought against the current you couldn't help but be brought down to wherever they were going: guess you'll have to find a way out by yourself.

By the time people scattered, you were in an unknown setting with multiple staff members, all wearing different colors ─ pink, orange, red ─ and running around. You would have liked to stop one of them to ask where you were, or at least how you could access the parking area from here, but all passed you as if you didn't exist. You couldn't blame them, the Grand Prix had just ended, and they probably had ten thousand other things to do. You were on your own. Great.

You just wandered off and hoped you'd stumble upon a miraculous exit sign amidst the long and confusing hallways.

You definitely didn't expect to crash into Lando Norris.

You didn't realize it was him at first. The only thing you knew was that as you were looking around, finally finding somewhere open from where you could see the stands (but still not anywhere that looked like it could lead you to the parking lot), you back bumped full speed against someone.

You turned around, heart skipping because of the shock. Soon enough, though, your astonishment turned horrific when you gradually noticed the full can of Monster energy drink spilled on an orange tracksuit, staining it deep brown.

It couldn't get any more embarrassing. Until your eyes darted up and you saw a mess of curls and wide, green eyes. That's when your horror became panic. Holy fuck, you didn't just─

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed, after a few seconds of stunned silence. “I'm so, so sorry─ I didn't─ I was looking for the exit and I didn't see─ holy shit─”

You started aggressively looking in your small handbag, hoping─ no, praying, you brought some tissues with you. You spilled an energy drink on Lando Norris. His energy drink. Lando Norris was in front of you, staring at you like you were some wild, erratic animal. He was probably furious. You wanted to bury yourself six feet deep underground. “I'm sorry, I can't find any tissues I─”

He snorted.

You froze in your tracks, interrupting your rambling. A glimmer of amusement shone in the driver's eyes. “It's chill, don't even worry about it. It's not as if that was like, the only suit I owned.”

“Uh─” you started. “I'm still─”

There was something about your expression, maybe the fact you were opening and closing your mouth searching for something to say like a fish out of the water, that made him reiterate. “Really, it's cool. You can stop panicking.” After a pause, he continued, in a more reassuring tone. “Plus I'm already all sweaty and dirty, so not much of a difference.”

He was…? Heat furiously rose up to your cheeks and you couldn't tell if it was because of embarrassment or his words or how painfully aware you were of the situation. “What?”

This time, Lando's face was graced with a shit-eating grin aimed right at you. “From racing and champagne, you know.”

Oh.

Now you wanted to be five feet under. What was wrong with you? “Right.” You took a deep breath. You bump into Lando Norris, an F1 driver you admired for years no matter your loyalty to Ferrari, and spill an entire energy drink on him before accidentally stepping right into borderline sexual harassment. Get a grip, Y/N. “I saw. I mean, I was in the stands. Beach Grandstands. I saw you. Win the race. Congratulations, by the way!”

You sounded like a robot. Oh my god. You couldn't act less natural even if you tried.

Lando arched an eyebrow. “Thanks a lot. But uh, if you were in the stands─ what are you doing in staff quarters?”

Your heart lurched in your chest, realizing the impression you probably gave. “Shit. I promise I'm not a weird fan or anything, I'm not a stalker! Which is definitely what a stalker would say. But I'm not. I was dragged by the mass of people and I couldn't find the exit and nobody would tell me─”

Another laugh from him interrupted you and what surprised you was the absence of mockery: he sounded genuinely amused. You didn't know how to react to the fact he found your distress funny. “Are you always this anxious?”

“See, this whole…,” you made a circular hand gesture, “... situation is not helping my anxiety. So the answer would be maybe.”

Lando chuckled again and this time, an awkward smile found its way to your lips. “I wasn't trying to blame you, it was just a question. You can breathe. But the exit's not there.”

“Yeah, I think I noticed,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“It's through there,” Lando turned around and pointed to a slightly hidden door, but right above was a bright green exit sign. You were blind. “You just go straight and the parking lot shouldn't be that far.”

“Oh, uh. Thanks. I didn't see it,” you simply answered. Dusting off invisible dust from your clothes, you looked at him again. “Again, I'm sorry about the drink. Really.”

“I told you it's nothing, just go before a team member calls security on you, ‘aight?”

You aggressively nodded, which stole another breathless laugh from him that you decided to ignore. Right as you went through the door, the curly-haired driver called: “Hey!” You turned around, frowning in incomprehension.

“Next time you decide to sneak into McLaren's quarters,” Lando said, “at least wear the right colors.”

You quickly glanced at your Ferrari shirt, slightly cropped to go with your jean skirt. That's when the words echoed in your brain. “I wasn't sneaki─!”

Before you could finish your argument, he closed the door on you.

Walking back to your car, the realization of everything that went down the last 10 minutes slowly dawned on you. What the fuck had just happened? Was it real? Did you hallucinate? Did you just humiliate yourself like that in front of Lando Norris?

Most importantly: novels made meet-cutes seem so simple and easy, how did you manage to mess it up that bad?

A day later, you tried to push that interaction to the back of your mind, mainly because of how embarrassed you were about how you acted but also because otherwise, you wouldn't be able to think about anything else.

Once the night had comfortably settled, you confidently walked into the venue Leandra rented. It was an immense room in an even bigger hall, and so elegant you couldn't help but feel a bit out of place. You guessed that’s what you were supposed to expect when you partied at the same place the drivers usually did ─ at least that's what one of the girls told you: it was where they would throw after-parties when they had time after races. Fits the theme, you thought.

The decor was tasteful and themed in a way that didn't feel cheap, which was surprisingly hard to do, as you discovered as you mingled with Leandra Moore and her entourage. The buffet was delicious, the champagne was flowing, and there were professional photographers and signed illustrations of the two main characters of Silver Spring Race, along with a Fairyloot exclusive edition of the book. You could have died right here and there: the details were to die for.

Right as the music was getting louder, the conversations grew more deconstructed and the alcohol less diluted, you decided to step out for some fresh air ─ as much fun as it was, being socially involved for so long was tiring you out. If you wanted to last the night, you needed a little break.

The exit was notoriously hard to find, which gave you war flashbacks from yesterday you had a hard time pushing away, but you didn't spend as long finding it ─ just enough to regret the aesthetic choice of wearing high heels for the night.

By the time you got outside, your feet were aching for freedom. You quickly rushed to the stone stairs leading to the party hall and sat on the first step. The scenery was quite stunning: a fountain throned in the middle of the place leading to stairs, lightly illuminated by the white neons in the water and the warm hall light, and tall trees surrounding the square. You could have probably appreciated it more if you weren't so preoccupied with detaching those fucking straps of your ankles: why weren't they coming off, those little─

“Oof, looks like you need help again.”

Your hand froze on your shoe as the voice and accent hit a familiar spot in your brain. It took you a second to catch up, and around a minute to realize. Your heart dropped and you turned around, slowly, like the main character in a horror movie.

Lando Norris stood before you. Again.

Who exactly was controlling your life? Because the odds of this happening a second time were really, really low.

His hair was usually messy, and yet tonight they seemed more contained and professional. He wore a white shirt, and a few buttons popped open at the collar gave you an open view of a small gold chain around his neck ─ you had to drag your gaze away. Straight-legged black pants finished the look, topped off with black loafers. He looked miles away from the Lando Norris you accidentally ran into after the race. He probably showered.

He looked gorgeous, too. It would be a blatant lie to even ignore it, and that realization slightly took your breath away.

Yet, the only thing coming out of your mouth was a strangled, “I swear I'm not stalking you.”

A pause. You had serious issues.

And still, Lando laughed. Hard and loud, like the ones you saw in a few selected interviews when you were bored and scrolling on YouTube during the breaks. It made you feel slightly self-conscious. He breathed in as he walked toward you, a chuckle still in his tone when he spoke up. “I mean, I'd believe you this time but the coincidence's pretty big.”

An offended scoff escaped you and suddenly, all the thoughts about him being a celebrity, a renowned driver, a trust fund kid flew out the window right into the fountain. 

“I'll let you know I was invited to an event here, thank you very much. I have other, more important things to do than follow someone around.”

When you realized what you said, your eyes widened. “Sorry, I didn't mean─”

But Lando was smiling.

“Nah, you did.” Right now, he stood right next to you on the stairs and you quietly wondered if he was going to sit down or keep looking down on you like that. Then you realized that you were, again, in the most improbable situation known to man. Anxiety swirled in your stomach.

“Soo… what event are you attending?”

You squinted your eyes up at him. “...Is this an interrogation?”

Lando simply shrugged. “Can never be too sure.”

Well, you couldn't blame him for that.

“A book release party. The author, Leandra Moore, happened to invite me and other people. She was the one that got us tickets for the race yesterday, too. I just went out to get some fresh air.”

He hummed in response. “Oh yeah, heard something about that. I guess you're legit, then.”

“Yes, I am!” When you looked up again, there was that shit-eating grin. You rolled your eyes to the high heavens.

“... Wait. Is your name Y/N?” He suddenly asked.

Huh?

You never mentioned your name to him. You don't think it was even brought up in the 15 minutes you two talked. A frown scrunched up your eyebrows. “Uh, yes? How'd you know?” Silence. “And I'm the stalker?”

Lando laughed a bit at that. He finally sat down next to you, and the heat of his exposed forearms somewhat close to your own made you panic again.

“Y/N as in WhoisY/N?”

The gasp you let out could have landed you a role in The Young and the Restless. There was no fucking way. Absolutely none. This is where you drew the line. “You can't possibly be watching my videos.” Your tone was resolute.

“Nah, not me. My little sister though, Cisca.” That made more sense than to imagine Lando Norris, McLaren's golden boy, giggling and kicking his feet in front of your last romance review. Still, it felt unreal. “She eats up every single one of your posts. You’re the reason why we have so many cartoon covers at home, that's why I thought you looked familiar at first. The book release party confirmed it.”

You didn't know what emotions you should let transpire first. The fact that you were a celebrity in the Norris family was enough to make your jaw drop, but the mention of cartoon covers added heat to your cheeks ─ you hoped he never opened his sister's books.

“She's so gonna freak out when I tell her I met you,” he said between laughs.

“She's going to freak out?” You asked in disbelief. “You're in Formula 1. She can't freak out because of me. I'm freaking out because of you!”

He didn't point out your statement, thank god, but his eyes didn't seem to miss it. “I'm her older brother, she uses that to make fun of me now. But no, definitely, she's going to freak out.”

“What even is my life right now.”

That, at least, made you both erupt in an unstoppable fit of laughter. When it died down, you finally had the space to ask the question sitting in your mind since he appeared behind you. “What are you even doing here?”

Lando arched an eyebrow at you. “Is this an interrogation?”

“Yes.”

He exaggeratedly rolled his eyes, clearly mimicking you. “There's a race after party in the hall. McLaren special. Also went out to get some air, DJ-ing was becoming suffocating.”

“Oh,” it clicked, and you started thinking out loud. “I guess the girls weren't lying when they said that's where the drivers partied. It makes sense Leandra would rent out this hall.”

“Why?”

You were pretty sure smoke could be escaping from you right now just by how flustered you were. “Uh. For promoting her book?”

“Yeah, I got that, but like… why would our parties have anything to do with it?”

Lando was becoming suspicious again. Somebody kill you right now. How do you keep messing it up? “Because… it's… an F1 romance?”

Blank stare. You were just as red as the dress you wore and ready to go home to cry yourself to sleep. Then he laughed, hysterically, and you couldn't feel more ashamed.

“That exists?” He asked, breathless.

You turned your face away from him. “Yes.”

“And you read that?”

“Leave me alone,” you added, “if she follows me, your sister does too.”

That seemed to make him stop, at least, to your devious satisfaction. “I think I'll need to take a look at her shelves when I go home.”

“For the good of the girl and mine, please don't.”

The cold night breeze brushed your arms and you were now very mindful of how thin the material of your dress was. You shivered, rubbing your arms with your hands. Lando was quick to notice. “Shit, sorry. I don't have a jacket. I would have landed it to you otherwise.”

You don't know what came over you, but you bumped your shoulder with his. “Wow, that was almost gentleman-like.” Where did this familiarity come from, you didn't know ─ you have known the man for no longer than an hour. But there was something about the easy-going conversation, the late night, and the champagne buzzing in your blood that made this scene… just like the ones you read about, in your favorite books.

As soon as that idea slithered into your mind, you forcefully pushed it out. That was another level of delusion, Y/N. Those novels fried your brain.

You got up before Lando could answer. “It's fine, I was going to go back to my hotel anyway. The party drained my social battery and my flight takes off early tomorrow, so it's better if I go to sleep.”

“Okay, sure. Let me walk you to your car at least.”

Oh shit. “... I don't have a car.”

He blinked slowly. “What do you mean? How'd you come here, then?”

“I carpooled with some girls who are not going home right now.” That was a very dumb idea now that you look back on it.

“So… how are you planning to get to your hotel?”

You didn't bring your wallet with you, so no chance of getting a taxi. “... I'll walk?”

“... Yeah, no. No chance. At night? Dressed like that?” He took you in, making you hyper-aware of the high slit and the almost sheer material of your dress. “I'll take you.”

You were stunned. So much for avoiding delusion or further embarrassment. “I can't possibly ask you─ I mean, you have a party─”

“If you think that after-party is going to end anytime soon, you're so wrong,” he chuckled.

In all honesty, you could have argued more, but Lando already seemed settled on his decision. He stood up, not before grabbing the heels you took off during the conversation and decidedly headed toward the parking lot. You hummed and followed suit as he started walking toward his car, your comments dying on your tongue. The improbability of what was currently happening was just too much for you to grace it with a thought, so a sentence would be crossing the limits.

The car ride was spent in comfortable silence as soon as you typed the address of your hotel in his GPS. Your eyes widened when his car came into view: a black 2018 McLaren Senna, with red accents, you hadn't seen so beautiful with your own eyes in a while. You had to bite back a gasp when you got in.

Lando rolled the windows fully down. The wind whipped strands of hair around as you watched the scenery roll by at a dizzying speed, making you wonder if he knew what a speed limit was. Soft bass music played on the radio, one you didn't know the lyrics to, but Lando did as he whispered-sang them. He looked calm behind a wheel that didn't belong to a Formula One car, the contrast was drastic. The driver met your eyes with a smile, and that was only then you realized you'd been staring. You turned your head as he laughed.

When your hotel came into view, you quietly thanked him for dropping you off and stepped out of the car. You didn't know what to do after that. Some part of you tugged at your mind ─ it was too good to be true, those things only happened in books. He was probably waiting for something in return. After a small wave to him, you were ready to disappear behind the doors and leave this night behind.

“Wait!” Lando called out from his opened window. Your stomach dropped. You knew it.

Hesitantly, you turned around.

“You're still wearing the wrong color,” he simply said, “I better see you in orange if you want my services next time.”

Relief washed over you and no matter how hard you fought it, a smile broke your carefully impassive facade. “Next time?”

Lando smiled at you. “Next time.”

And when he drove away, you couldn't help the butterflies in your stomach either.

As you lay in bed that night, you didn't push anything away. You processed what happened, today and yesterday. You didn't know how to feel or what to feel exactly, many emotions were contradictory, but maybe it was alright ─ not to know. To just let yourself feel without having to put a name on it.

When you grabbed the phone in your handbag, an Instagram notification caught your attention before you could even unlock it.

@.lando started following you.

A disbelieving, loud laugh escaped you. He did say there would be a next time.

After that it was safe to say, even though a little wild, Lando Norris had become a staple in your daily life.

The moment you got back home, you had received a DM by the driver himself asking if you traveled safely to which you couldn't help but reply with a “Stalker much?”. He simply answered that there was only a single flight going back to where you lived today, so it was easy to find on Skyscanner. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

It made you smile.

The texts continued. What first started as small conversations every two days, reacting to each other's stories or silly tweets with not much depth behind them gradually grew, over a month, into useless life updates, every day with no exceptions.

lando: just ate the biggest fucking sandwich today

lando: [1 picture attached]

lando: scooby-doo type shit

whoisy/n: i'm so hungry actually

lando: did u get sidetracked reading again

whoisy/n: it's LITERALLY my job

lando: go get something to eat you muppet

whoisy/n: yessir

whoisy/n: u'll never guess what happened in my book

lando: he cheated on her right

whoisy/n: …

whoisy/n: you WILL guess what happened in my book

lando: LMAOOO that was so obvious from what you told me

whoisy/n: i had sm faith in him. men!!!

lando: they're all the same

whoisy/n: RITEEEEEE QUEEN

Lando always asked about what you were currently reading. It didn't take a genius or an Oxford diploma to notice how much you loved it, not when your entire social media presence was built around it. You knew it wasn't performative and he enjoyed hearing you talk about it ─ he often sent texts during the week asking about your favorite character, at what page you were, and if they kissed yet. It was harder during weekends due to races. Somehow, he still made time.

Similarly, Lando took the habit of sending you long vocals at the end of his days, explaining what happened, what Oscar and him were up to, and how annoying the different media were. He still refused to tell you much about his team, because your allegiance to Ferrari was simply “outrageous” according to him. You gladly landed a listening ear, chiming with a helping comment whenever you could. The late evenings got later and the vocals longer and longer each passing week, and before you knew it you two were calling almost every night.

It was a normal occurrence. He would get ready for bed and you would drop your Kindle for an hour or two, even longer the rare times he didn't have anything planned the next day. You would talk about anything and everything at the same time ─ sometimes he'd rope you into downloading a game and playing it with him, sometimes you'd just remodel the world until one of you was too exhausted to keep playing God. Most of the time, it was Lando.

Due to its sudden start, this growing friendship of yours quickly attracted the attention of your entire following base as well as his. Lando commented on almost all your new Instagram posts and TikToks with random things that either had a link with what you were talking about or none at all ─ most often alluding to the many inside jokes that stemmed from your conversations. Every interaction succeeded in making everyone crazy, especially your followers: apparently, you were finally getting the sports romance you were dreaming about for years.

The thought crossed your mind, how could it not with the amount of allusions under your posts? The fan edits on your For You page? But you never let yourself linger on it for too long.

You and Lando were friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

The call you got that night was unexpected. Tomorrow was race day, the Canadian Grand Prix more specifically ─ and Lando never called before a race. You understood perfectly, something about being well rested and focused, so you usually sent a good luck paragraph he'd read in the morning and answer after the event. So why did his caller ID light up your phone screen as you were getting ready to go to bed, you didn't know. 

You picked up without a second thought. “Everything's alright?”

“What happened to hello?” He chuckled, his voice grainy through the speaker.

“My God,” you sighed. “Hello, Lando. Is everything alright?”

“Why wouldn't it be?”

“You never call before race day.”

Silence. “Hello?” You called. “You're still there?”

“Yeah, sorry. Uh, it's just─ your books are so unrealistic.”

Your heart skipped a bit, and you sat a little straighter against your pillow. “What?”

“I couldn't sleep and I didn't have anything to do, so I picked up one of your F1 romances you recommended in your last video─” No. No, he didn't. “Throttled? By Lauren Asher? And I just─ it's so dumb.”

Your mouth dropped open and instead of letting out words, a small screech left your lips. “You─ you read─? Why?”

“Like I said, I couldn't sleep. Whatever, it's─”

“Embarrassing!” You interrupted Lando. “You read one of my─ oh my god. This is not the family-friendly kind either. And it's F1. Next time just punch me in the face, I’ll be less humiliated.”

A wheeze came from the other side of the phone. You buried your head in your pillows, trying to put out the fire in your face. “Oh yeah, definitely not family-friendly.”

You groaned in response but that didn't stop Lando from continuing. “As I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, it got most of the sport right but otherwise it's so… it took all the competitiveness out! That's, like, the entire point of F1! I thought you were a fan, how can you willingly enjoy that?”

“I mean, I know it's not the most accurate representation of F1,” you flopped on your back, “but it's kinda like Drive To Survive, y'know? Most people watch it for the drama. I read those for the romance plot.”

Lando scoffed at your words. “Even the romance plot isn't that good, Y/N. The whole part in which he throws a race to make her happy? That's such bullshit.”

“How so?”

“If you love her, you win a race for her.”

You couldn't put the words on it once again, but the way he said it constricted your chest with such tightness you had to take a long, calming breath. You had to concentrate to get out your next sentence. “Well, I don't know, it's not like I know anything about romance. I thought that was pretty romantic.”

“What do you mean, ‘don't know anything about romance'? You read this shit all day long.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, but that's not the real thing. I've never actually dated or kissed anyone, so actual romantic gestures are like… foreign languages to me.”

A beat. Until you suddenly heard a mess of covers moving around, reverberating right in your eardrums. You hissed, and Lando spoke up again.

“You've never kissed anyone? Or dated?” He sounded stunned, which surprised you. It's not like you've tried to hide it. It grew to be your brand over time.

“Uh, yeah. Never.”

“You're shitting me.”

“No?”

“I can't believe it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, jeez, thank you for making me feel so great about being a twenty-two years old virgin, Lando.”

“No! No! I didn't mean it like that,” he screamed at his speaker. “You're just… you're you. You’re too nervous for your own good, true, but your cheeks get darker when you laugh, you fiddle with your sleeves when you don’t know what to say, and you constantly hum songs when it’s too quiet for you. You're smart, you're beautiful, you're passionate, you're funny…” He got quiet before continuing. “I don't get how anyone could pass up the chance to kiss you, that's all.”

Oh. Oh.

The fluttering in your stomach flew its way up to your throat, and for a little moment, you thought you were going to throw up. The silence stretched as you basked in Lando's words, left hanging in the thick air. Suddenly the screen didn't seem like enough space between the two of you.

Lando ended up breaking the stillness. “I just─ I think I should hang up. The race's tomorrow and it's getting─” A pause. You glanced at the time: 00:23. “Shit, the race is today.”

“Don't worry. Go to sleep, get those hours in and win tomorrow,” you answered in a shaky breath.

“Yeah. Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do.”

Still, neither of you clicked on the red button. “Lando?”

“Mmh?”

“Thank you. For what you said.”

“... I meant it.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He hung up.

You desperately tried to fall asleep, tossing and turning, fighting with your pillow and covers to get comfortable but the only thing your mind could focus on was the end sentence he uttered, the inflections of his voice a ghostly whisper in your ear. I don't get how anyone could pass up the chance to kiss you.

How did you successfully act as if that call never happened? You didn't know. You never were a good liar, less of a good actress. Maybe it was the way Lando carefully sidestepped the subject every time you nearly alluded to it that made you so good about ignoring it altogether.

It was nothing. You just blew it out of proportion, like you usually did. Maybe you should try self-help books instead of romances for the next few months.

No matter how bittersweet your feelings were about this whole situation, you chose to put them aside, simply because Lando had two free weeks starting today and he chose to put a few of his days aside to fly out to your town. For the first time in almost three months, you were going to see each other face to face. And under normal circumstances! That would be a first.

When he came out of the airport, with a gigantic suitcase for just a few days and his characteristic grin adorning his lips, all questions just vanished into thin air. You resisted the urge to jump into his arms but you didn't miss how tight Lando held you when he initiated the hug ─ you melted into him like snow in the sun.

Lando had rented a hotel room for his short stay, a good thirty minutes ride from you. He used it once before you both silently declared your home was way better than a five-star Hilton. He squatted on your couch and you'd sleep in your bed, the rare times you slept as most nights were spent playing video games and marathoning movies. Most of them were romantic comedies. Lando would complain about the lack of realism and you'd smack him over the head, and the movie would be watched in between snarky commentaries and heartfelt comments on your perception of love, sneaking glances at each other.

You tried not to let the latter get too much to your head.

However, Lando's trip had to end at some point. Too soon, it was the evening before his plane ride home and you were helping him gather the stuff he left all over the place ─ the state of your living room was deplorable, but you could cry about it tomorrow morning. In any case, you had to get ready since Lando established earlier there was no way in hell he was going to go back without going out at least once. You replied by saying you already went out a couple of times but according to him, visiting was not considered “going out.”

A good thirty minutes later, you crossed the threshold of your house, heels clacking on the pavement as you approached Lando. He was waiting next to your own car, black shirt half buttoned and messy curls hastily tamed. You had forced yourself not to stare too much ─ friendship established or not, you were still the same girl he found on the stairs in Miami and he was still undeniably beautiful. His eyes raked over you in silence, his lips parting slightly, and you found your normally confident walk faltering.

You hoped he thought of you just the same.

Then, breathlessly, “Wow.”

That's all it took for fire to flame up your face, drowning the blush you so carefully applied. You graced him with a little spin, which he applauded. “Well, you're not so bad yourself,” you added. Understatement of the year.

You walked to the driver's seat, but Lando's hand on the handle stopped you going further. “Nah, I'm driving tonight. I got a surprise for you.”

“What do you mean, surprise? Weren't we supposed to go to the movies?” You raised your eyebrows, confused.

“We watched, like, 30 movies and I've been there 5 days - I’m starting to overdose. Trust me and get in the passenger seat.”

“... You being so ominous is making it very hard to trust you, Lando.”

“I’m an F1 driver, I can drive your car.” He sounded offended you doubted him, even though you weren’t alluding to his driving skills at all. Still, the tone he employed when mentioning your car was almost offending you. Not everyone had a McLaren salary.  “I meant the surprise,” you clarified.

“Ah. Well. Have a little faith in me, c’mon.” On these words, he climbed into the driver’s seat and closed the door on you. The audacity of that man, sometimes you couldn’t believe it. It didn’t leave you much choice than to take the seat next to him and watch the landscape go by. Quiet conversation was made as the sky tinged with dark, navy blue, and before you knew it Lando was parking in front of one of the most reputable ─ and expensive ─ restaurants in your town. It was safe to say you never put a foot in it before.

When you got out of the car, you almost jumped at him. “That’s your surprise?!” You whispered-exclaimed under his amused gaze. “You’re crazy. Downright mad.”

“I’m inviting you!” Like it was the most natural thing in the world, to just indebt yourself by inviting a girl to dinner. The smile he flashed at you was a mix of hesitation and enthusiasm, so bright that any protests and remarks about how you just couldn’t let him pay died in your throat. Instead, you thanked to which Lando answered by giving you his arm. You took it and entered the restaurant.

You couldn’t describe the meal as anything but luxurious, whether it was taste-wise or the plate’s presentation. Your surroundings were gold plated and yet the only thing you could focus on was how hard Lando was trying to make you choke on your food ─ the jokes were flowing just as much as the wine in your glass, any awkwardness you may have felt stepping into this place disappeared into thin air as soon as Lando started occupying the conversational space, like he could sense how tense you were.

Before you could even look at the dessert, he stopped you. “We’ll skip that,” he said. You threw him a strange look. “I have another thing planned, just go with it.”

How many surprises were in store for you tonight? You didn’t know, and your Excel-spreadsheet-on-vacations self was getting panicky. But if there was one thing you learned with Lando was that your incessant worrying was needless, especially with him. You left after he took care of the bill, being very careful about not letting the numbers in your sight, and climbed back into the car. The sky was now an inky black and the air was lukewarm on your bare arms. Lando rolled the windows down like he usually did, but this time let you be in charge of the aux ─ considering it still was your vehicle. Frank Ocean’s “Moon River” resonated in between hushed giggles and the chime of the wind in your hair. Flashbacks of that fateful night, three months ago, crept through your memories. You still couldn’t believe what it had come to. 

You drove longer than you did before. This time, Lando parked on a cliff you had no idea existed, even though this was your town. And this time, when you got out of the car, your breath was taken away by just how many stars contrasted with the darkness of the night, the lights of the town too far away to blind them and instead joining them in a faraway source of light.

Marveling in front of the scenery stopped you from noticing Lando’s shenanigans behind you. He was awfully quiet, which wasn’t like him, so you turned around. 

You found him on the roof of your car. Literally. With plastic goblets, the half-empty bottle of wine you had at the restaurant, and ─ you weren’t joking ─ a plate of pancakes. Your jaw dropped open, nearly hitting the floor. “What? How─ huh?” No full sentence could come out of your mouth at this moment, no matter how hard you tried.

“Don’t tell me you don’t like pancakes,” he pleaded, “I woke up way too early to make them not be eaten.”

You thought you dreamt yourself climbing on the top of your car to sit next to him, but it was all very real: you were wholly stunned, which he seemed to notice. Sheepish, he prompted a proper explanation, “I just thought I should, uh, properly thank you. For letting me stay at your house and all. This seemed less impersonal than the restaurant.”

“You stole the wine,” was the only constatation you were able to get out, barely. Emotions constricted your throat too tightly for you to utter anything else.

He laughed. “Took it when you weren't looking. ‘S not like they're going to reuse it so I took care of the waste.”

“Such an ecologist soul,” you teased.

“They call me Father Nature at McLaren.”

“How'd you…” Words weren't coming out easily. Your eyes darted from the bottle, to the pancakes he probably woke up at an ungodly hour of the morning to make, and Lando ─ who was waiting for you to speak like you were his saving grace. Nobody ever looked at you like that, you thought, like you meant something more than what you were. “How'd you get this idea?”

Your question seemed to fluster him a little. He ran a hair through his curls, eyes darting to the side. “Uh, that's what he did. The male character in your book. Nothing Like The Movies I think? I thought that'd be something you like, y'know?”

Your heart thumped against your chest like it threatened to burst out of it. He read a romance novel, one of the most recent ones you reviewed. He took note of your favorite scene, in which Wes was supposed to take Liz to a restaurant but ended up eating on the roof of his car. He reproduced it.

For you.

“I…” There was a sentence threatening to spill out that you're not sure you quite mean yet, but you were feeling it so deeply it was hard to keep it in check. “I don't know what to say.”

“Then just eat the goddamn pancake before they get harder than they are. Turns out, they're not really durable.” It surprised a chuckle out of you.

The conversation carried on after that. The slow hum of Frank Ocean's discography escaping from the car made the perfect soundtrack to the vast discussions about racing, books, and life in general. The longer Lando and you went on, the quieter your voice got until they were reduced to a little more than a whisper, almost into each other's ears. Your cheeks hurt from laughing, your pinkie was intertwined with his, and the bottle was empty by the time the clock on your lock screen showed midnight.

“How did you even find this place?” You looked around once more, taking in the city lights, the tall trees, and the numerous stars above you.“I've been living here for years and I never knew you could get such a good view. Plus, it's not like you sneaked out during the night to scout places out. Unless?” You gasped exaggeratedly.

And there it was again, the pinkish tint at the end of his ears and the avoiding looks. “Nah, no sneaking out. I… I mean, what I did was─”

“You…?”

“I googled ‘date idea’ in your city and this is one of the places that came up.”

All of the sudden, the reality of the situation slapped you in the face. How Lando's thumb was lazily drawing circles on your hand, the romantic lyrics of the song playing from the car, the wine and the restaurant and how your eyes have been switching from his eyes to his lips a bit too often ever since you parked.

“Is this…?” You could kiss him right now. According to how transfixed he was by your mouth, you didn't think Lando would mind much.

You leaned in ever so slightly. He never answered your half-question, and even if he did you don't think you could have heard it through the hammering in your ribcage. However, his lips were but a brush of air against your own.

Because a goddamn flash stopped you.

You both jumped in surprise, the harsh light blinding you for a split second. The other half of it was enough to realize what you were faced with. Lando was the first to voice it, in more of a hiss than a sentence. “Fucking paparazzis.”

He got off the car in a jump, but a flurry of hurried footsteps told you that by the time he reached the spot the light came from, there would be no one left. You jumped off as well, dusting off your dress. “Lando?” You were shaking. Somehow, you couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment, panic, cold, or the brutal withdrawal of the high you were in not even a minute ago.

“The fuckers ran away.” His voice betrayed the palpable anger radiating off him. “I should’ve known. They’re always fucking there.”

The mood was gone, replaced by the static of the cold night air and the missing warmth of each other. By a silent, common agreement, you both cleaned up your car’s rooftop and climbed back in your seats soon after. The soft music was gone, the windows rolled up and Lando’s hands were tense on the wheel. When you got home, nothing more but a small “goodnight” was exchanged ─ apart from a glance, as you crossed your bedroom’s door, but it was too dark for you to interpret what it could mean.

When you woke up a few hours later, Lando was already gone.

You knew it was too good to be true. Things like that happened to the type of girls in the novels, not to you. But when Lando wouldn’t answer your texts, or carried on his vacations and his first Grand Prix back without a care in the world, you still couldn’t be asked to describe the terrible ache in your chest. You should have known.

You couldn’t wrap your mind around it ─ that all the late night calls, the comments, the texts, the rooftop of your car and the soft sweep of his breath on your lips was so easy to brush off for him. Not when it was the ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ of what could have happened that night that kept you up for so many sleepless hours. It left you wondering if any of it was real: the friendship, the sweet words, and everything in between, or if you were just the new mystery girl to toy with and give up when it became too complicated.

The heartbreak and betrayal weren’t even the worst part of the situation. You didn’t expect the photo to come out as quickly as it did, after McLaren had a good PR team and would be able to at least intercept it, right? Wrong. It came out two days later. The picture was slightly blurry but clear enough so you could perfectly see your face and Lando’s, dangerously close to each other, and your hands intertwined together.

The flurry of comments, DMs, and interview requests sent to you after was unbelievable. Your community did the best it could to try and get the tabloids off your back, bless them, but all the other sides of the internet were either begging for more information or calling you names. Still, Lando and McLaren chose to ignore the whole situation. Swallowing your pride and deciding to take the high road, you did the same. You read romance books, you reviewed them, you exchanged a little bit with your followers on social media, you watched movies ─ you carried on with your day-to-day life, even if it was with a little less vehemence and a growing dislike for the romantic genre you adored.

It was the first year a Grand Prix would take place in your city. A brand new circuit, with brand new challenges. Taking place in the middle of the season, you were ecstatic when it was announced a few months back. Now, seeing people walking down your street with bright orange shirts and a number 4 on their back on a Friday morning, the only thing you wanted to do was to close your blinds and crawl back into bed for the weekend.

Your plans were thrown in the wind not even an hour later by none other than Cisca Norris. With an Instagram DM. You started following each other a few days after your friendship with Lando had been noticed by the public eye, but you’ve never really spoken to each other. She looked like a sweet girl nonetheless.

ciscanorris: heyyyy

ciscanorris: ik we never talked

ciscanorris: and that might not be the bestest moment to get friendly

ciscanorris: but heyyyyyyy

Your eyebrows rose at the notification, but you weren’t about to let your situation with Lando get in the way of interacting with his sister ─ who had nothing to do with it in the slightest.

whoisy/n: hey cisca! dw at all, hows it going : )

ciscanorris: great!! hbu?

whoisy/n: tired, but apart from that nothing much

ciscanorris: rest well then!

ciscanorris: i’m going to be honest tho

ciscanorris: i’m not just texting you to ask how you’re doing

It should have surprised you yet it didn’t. The timing was too spot-on to be a coincidence, but you chose to live in ignorant bliss.

ciscanorris: are you going to the race this weekend?

whoisy/n: what do you think

ciscanorris: can’t blame you

ciscanorris: my brother’s an ass

That made you chuckle.

whoisy/n: i was thinking worse

ciscanorris: so am i

ciscanorris: but he wants to make up for it

ciscanorris: really

ciscanorris: he insists you should go to the race

whoisy/n: and he couldn’t text me and ask himself because…?

ciscanorris: doesn’t want to spoil the surprise apparently

ciscanorris: idk what he’s planning

Another surprise. Knowing how the last one amazingly ended, you were a little doubtful. Lando sent his sister to ask you to come as if she was the one racing, and now he had something planned ─ again.

ciscanorris: just check your mailbox and think about it

This was enough to pique your curiosity. You went out immediately, opening the little white mailbox next to your front door. There was only a small, brown letter with your address hastily written in black ink ─ you recognized Lando’s handwriting. There it was: a paddock pass, classic McLaren colors, with your name on it. With it? A note, same brown paper, same handwriting: “Please”.

That’s all it took to convince you to go. After all, you still had to get a proper apology. 

This time, you entered the McLaren’s side of the paddock with purpose. The staff member at the entrance knew your name and even showed you the way ─ a sharp contrast with your experience a few months back. You stood above the garage, right in front of the track and near a decisive turn, though the number didn’t come back to you. It was a good spot, excellent even, it could be said to be better than the Beach Grandstands in Miami.

Yet, there was no sign of Lando.

You walked past Oscar in the hallways and the quiet driver just flashed you the tight-lipped smile you give to acquaintances in the street. You walked past his girlfriend, Lily, and you even passed by Lando’s dad, whose eyes widened in recognition but was clearly too busy to offer you anything more than that. Everyone but the man you came to watch the race for. You started to absentmindedly fidget with the bottom of your orange shirt ─ if that was his version of an apology, he was pretty shit at it.

The race started soon after your arrival, and the pit in your stomach dug deeper and deeper as you watched Lando do the formation turn. You suppose you were to wait until the end of the race, which made sense in a way, but you didn’t appreciate being put on standby like greenery on a windowsill.

The animosity dimmed when the sound of motors rang in your ears at lights out.

The circuit was brand new, and two days of preparations were not nearly enough to get acquainted with an entire novel track. Risks were high, and the probability of winning was evened out for everyone, which justified the cacophony of cars bumping into the others during the first lap as everyone found their footing. You believed Lando would have a good chance of ending P1 and snatching a victory in your city ─ it was the type of track and weather that favored him.

But Lando had started on pole position.

From the years you spent watching races and your general knowledge of him, Lando Norris didn’t do well when he started a race on pole. Most often, pressure got to him and he lost one or two places during the first few laps, which made you curse at the TV more than you’d like to admit. Unfortunately, it was exactly what was happening right now: you gripped the railing for dear life as Hamilton passed him, then almost broke your nail on the metal when Verstappen followed suit.

By the last lap, Lando had managed to stay P3 and keep his place on the podium, much to your relief, but the bitterness of pole escaping him was obvious in his behavior: champagne was sprayed all over him by his colleagues but he wouldn’t even look up from the ground, his traits disfigured by disappointment. Maybe some would see it as tiredness, but you knew better.

That’s why as soon as he walked down the podium to head to his team and to his garage, you darted downstairs to meet him.

It didn’t take long to spot Lando. His team surrounded him, clapping his shoulder and congratulating him with a bright smile. He barely returned them, scratching his neck in embarrassment. He was looking around like a lost puppy and you stood there, amidst the mess of elated people, unsure of what you should do or say. When Lando’s eyes set upon you, his expression went from disappointment to remorse in a split second.

He acted before you could. Rushing toward you, his voice was broken when he spoke up, trying to make himself clear above the surrounding noise.  “I’m so, so sorry. I fucked it all up. I was─ that was shitty. My race was shitty.”

You blinked. “What?” You couldn’t understand the link to the race and your situation to save your life. “Lando, you’re P3.”

Lando ran a hand through his hair, gripping his curls. His eyes bore into yours, cutting off anything you might have wanted to add. “No!” He continued. “It’s not─ it’s not good enough. I should have been P1. It should have been me, up there. I worked… I worked so hard so I could…” He was breathless now, searching your face for something, even though you couldn’t tell what exactly.

“What are you even talking about?” Frustration elevated the tone of your voice.

“I was supposed to win the race for you!”

That shut you up. Incredulity coursed through you and your mouth, half-opened to say a sentence, couldn’t manage to get out a sound. His words didn’t make sense, and somehow you didn’t need to know more. Lando took your stunned silence as a sign to continue.

“I was supposed to win the race for you. I wanted to give you your book moment. You’re, you’re the type of girl that deserves to get swept off her feet, the grand gestures and all that!” He threw his arm in the air. “When you told me you never had that when we called that night, and the fact I could be the first one to do that for you… I never wanted something, someone, as bad.”

You felt yourself flush. “Everything else failed,” he kept on going, almost erratic, “I tried the heartfelt confessions but bailed right after, I tried to impromptu date but I forgot all about the fucking journalists. So I thought that- that maybe I could give it to you the way I knew best, by racing.”

His words, two months back, echoed in your mind. If you love her, you win a race for her.

“But I had to fuck that up too. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

All of it was for you.

The way Lando looked at you, desperate and miserable, the way your feelings were overflowing out of you and him… it was almost too much for you to process. Your mind and heart were an unintelligible tangled mess you couldn’t make sense of, and in classic you fashion, the first sentence that spilled out of your lips was a teary-eyed, broken, “You’re so stupid.”

“I know.”

You quickly wiped the tears that started spilling down your cheeks. “Not in that self-deprecating way you’re thinking of. Don’t you think it would have been easier if you just told me all this instead of ghosting me for almost a month? Making me think nothing about all this was real? Is that why you weren’t texting or answering me, you were figuring out how to go about this circuit?”

Lando nodded bashfully. You let out a dry laugh. “You’re unbelievable. I don’t care about- that! I don’t care that you didn’t get pole position, I don’t care about your ‘failed’ attempts. I couldn’t care less. What I care about is you. If you had told me that instead of leaving…”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he apologized again. “I just─ I wanted─ I know I acted like a moron and I should’ve done better but I thought that if I─”

“I understand. I know.” Gently, you took his hands, furiously fisting the pans of his tracksuit, into yours. Apparently, it acted as an ice bucket dropped right on Lando’s head. He stared at you as if it was the first time ─ in a way it was. He was sweaty, dirty, and covered in champagne, his curls falling onto his forehead and you were standing there, almost as surprised as your first meeting. Except everything else had changed, and the man in front of you wasn’t just a guy driving in a fast car you liked watching on Sundays. “But I didn’t need it. You’re plenty enough all by yourself, without the grand gestures and book-worthy moments. I’m not a book heroine. I need something real.”

The space between the two of you suddenly seemed too vast for the emotions inside of you. One of Lando’s hands carefully slithered on your waist, as if to test the waters. The gentleness of his movement, its implication, stole the breath out of you. “How real are we talking?” He was trying to make light of the situation, but the underlying seriousness in his voice betrayed him. 

“I think you know it by now.”

And just like that, his lips crashed onto yours.

It was an electric shock as if lightning struck you and spilled in your entire body. When he pulled back, you didn’t waste a second wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him right back in.

If his hands were considerate, never unraveling further than your waist and cheeks, his mouth was the complete opposite: hungry, intense. He kissed you like he had been holding back for so long it pained him not to touch you, and you kissed him back with the same vigor because you had been waiting just as much. He tasted like expensive alcohol and you were drunk on it, on the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands on your body. You couldn’t get enough. You don’t think Lando could either. It was messy, somewhat clumsy, his mouth wet and firm moving in sync against your own in haste and impatience.

But it couldn’t have been more perfect. Not for your first kiss.

“Really, right here? Get a goddamn room.”

You recognized Oscar’s voice, even though you couldn’t see him, which was an acidic reminder of where Lando and you both were. You broke the kiss first, and he let out a breathy laugh against your lips, sending shivers through your whole body. “That… was a long, long time coming,” he whispered.

“Whose fault is that?” He chuckled again. You did too.

You gave each other a bit of space, mainly for some well-needed air but also for the comfort of the staff around you. Still, Lando’s hand went up from your waist to your forearms, taking you in like it was the first time he saw you. His smile, wide and bright, brought the trademark heat to your cheek. “You wore the right color this time.” You were now hyper-aware of the shirt you wore, bright orange with a 4 printed on the back. “Good, I would've hated kissing you while you were wearing red. That equals cheating now, by the way.”

“Oh, really? You know, you still technically haven’t taken me out on a proper date,” you teased. “Don’t think you’re forgiven just yet.”

“Don’t even worry about that, I’ll take you out on the best dates ever. No paparazzis this time. You’ll even choose the movies.”

“Even if it’s a romcom?”

“I kinda grew attached to them because of you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Before you could get another comment out, a squeal replaced it as you felt the floor give up under your feet. It took you too long to realize Lando had swept you up in his arms, bridal style and was currently heading down a hallway. Your arms went up around his neck, this time for support. “What are you doing?” You asked with a giggle.

“Taking you to the driver’s room.” Even though you couldn’t manage to see his face, you could practically hear his grin, proud and cocky. “Going to give you reasons to forgive me, we can talk date ideas here.”

“What about the interviews?”

“They can wait.”

Playful protests escaped you under the incredulous eyes of the staff members who saw you disappear behind the white door. You didn’t care. At all. Anxiety be damned, as well as everything that held you back before. Because of this, what you had with Lando, felt perfect. Right. It might be too soon to call it love, but you had no doubt it would come to that sooner than later.

Because the way he held you, the way he kissed you, the way he looked at you, was undoubtedly better than any romance novel you ever read. Because it was real.

©drgnsfly 2k25. do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[norristeria]

You're a Strange One ! LN04

SUMMARY 𝄡 Being Oscar's personal assistant is easy. However, you cannot help but think his coworker is the strangest man you've ever met.

PAIRING 𝄡 Lando Norris x Oscar's PA! FemReader

TAGS 𝄡 Fluff.

WORDCOUNT 𝄡 650.

NOTE 𝄡 This is just a little something I had in mind. This is more of a pairing exploration than a real one-shot. I don't know what to make of it, tbh. Do you think this couple has enough potential for a one-shot? <33

-> FIND THE SERIES INSPIRED BY THIS DRABBLE HERE.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

You never imagined that you'd end up working as Oscar Piastri’s personal assistant after getting your degree in communications summa cum laude.

If your parents had nearly had a heart attack upon seeing their daughter “reduced to a servant” after paying for one of the country’s most prestigious universities, you, on the other hand, had learned to bless this twist of fate.

Because it was indeed fate you had to thank for the way your life had turned out. People underestimated its power far too often, but you had come to cherish it and to welcome it back whenever it decided to reappear.

Fate made its grand entrance in your life one night in 2023, after yet another rejection from talent agencies and management firms. Internships, professional experience, glowing references—none of it seemed to matter to the big corporations. What mattered were connections, and you had none.

That night, you'd had two glasses of red wine, perhaps more, your cheeks streaked with mascara and frustration.

Fate, ironically methodical despite its name, had chosen that precise moment to show up in the form of a job listing on a website whose name you no longer remember. What you did remember, however, was how your eyes widened as you read the salary and perks.

One cover letter, three interviews later, and suddenly your life was split between racetracks, England, and Monaco.

Every day, you thanked fate for putting Oscar Piastri in your path.

He was easy to work with: a coffee without sugar in the morning, a calendar of sporadic appointments to manage—mostly concentrated on race weekends—and very few public appearances outside those. In short, a normal guy, refreshingly different from the awful clients you'd heard horror stories about since entering the strange world of celebrity.

The only blemish—though not quite that, more a curiosity you hadn’t anticipated—was that working for Oscar Piastri meant regularly crossing paths with Lando Norris.

And you didn’t quite know what to make of him, except that he was oh so very strange.

The first time he saw you, he tripped.

You hadn’t even had time to shake his hand, and Oscar hadn’t yet introduced you.

Your eyes met, the Brit blushed furiously, then went sprawling to the ground. You stood frozen before exchanging a baffled look with Oscar, who merely sighed and hauled his friend back to his feet.

The following encounters were no better.

By the third one, you concluded that Lando Norris must have some kind of speech impediment—he couldn’t seem to string two words together around you. Not even to answer simple questions like “How are you?” or “Do you know where Oscar is?”.

Instead, he’d stammer something utterly unintelligible, then vanish, leaving you to wander alone through the endless corridors of the McLaren Technology Centre in search of Oscar.

And now… now he stared. All the time. Without saying a word. You had never felt more awkward in your life.

Even now, you couldn’t escape those green eyes, burning hotter than the Bahrain sun. The McLaren garage was buzzing as the race neared, yet Lando remained still in one corner, eyes locked on you.

Too busy fetching cold towels and water bottles to cool Oscar down, you had ignored him at first. But now that the Australian had his towels, his bottle, his headphones, and his phone, there was nothing left to keep you distracted.

You finally looked up. Your gaze met Lando’s just as he took a sip of water.

Startled, he choked, spraying water all over his engineer—who shouted something you couldn’t quite catch. Lando floundered through an apology, cheeks crimson.

Your eyes met again.

He smiled—sheepishly, like it hurt—and turned around.

Before walking straight into a wall.

You frowned, shook your head and turned your attention back to the race schedule.

Yes. Lando Norris was definitely the strangest man you had ever met.

[no-144444]

ruined for you- l.norris

summary: lando gets a wake-up call about his feelings for you

pairing: fakeboyfriend! lando norris x fem! fakegirlfriend! actress! reader

warning: SMUTTT, ngl yall, this is filthy. so, enjoy! 18+ please :)

a/n: kinda part 2 to cherry kisses. i'm thinking of making this an au series instead of my regular chapter-focused series?? lmk what yall think!!!

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

He couldn’t believe it was happening. The feeling of your skin on his, your hands on him, your lips on his. It was maddening. 

“You alright?” you asked, breathless. “Do you want to go further or-?��� you trailed off. 

“Please,” he whispered against your lips. He was desperate and he didn’t even care. “I want you.”

He saw the way your lip twitched and he felt accomplished. He was doing something to make you like this, he was doing something good. 

“Eager, are we?” you teased as you pushed his head back, pulling on his hair. “So good for me, Lan.”

Ok, he could’ve sworn he whimpered that time. You didn’t seem to care, too busy pulling off your top to care. He was glad just to sit back and watch the show. Those pierced nipples he fantasised about so often, on full display, just for him. Fuck he was hard, straining against his jeans as he struggled to his keep his hands to himself, and off himself. He’d thought about this a million times, his favourite fantasy coming true. You. 

“Like what you see?” you smirked, moving off his lap to pull off your trousers. He was genuinely rendered speechless. “Cat got your tongue?” you teased, playing with his hair again, sitting on his lap, bare pussy to hsi clothed crotch. “I like it better when you don’t speak anyway,” you smirked and pressed your lips to his again, a searing, all-consuming kiss. 

His brain short-circuited. His hands were hanging aimlessly beside him, until you placed them on your body, then he shot into motion, his brain actually working. He was groping all over your body, whimpering in your mouth, and grinding up to your pussy. “Need to be inside you, please,” he begged, his hands digging into your waist, trying desperately to stop himself. He could feel your tits against his chest, your hands in his hair, your bare pussy over his jeans. “I-I’m going to cum,” he admitted, grinding himself up to your soaking pussy. He couldn’t help himself, and even if he could, he didn’t want to. It felt too good.

“You’re going to cum?” you questioned, whispering in his ear. “In your pants?” 

He nodded against your neck, his moans and whimpers getting more and more desperate as he got closer and closer to his peak. You licked that spot just under his ear and he knew he was a goner. His moan was high-pitched and whiny, but you pulled him into another all-consuming kiss and smiled against his lips. He came in his pants like a fucking teenager. And it felt good.

You laughed against his lips and pulled back, making him groan at the loss of contact. He came in his pants like a fucking teenager. It was hot. “You’re so fucking eager,” you smirked. “And yet I’m the only one who’s naked.” 

He leaned back, pulling off his shirt. You barely had enough time to run a hand down his toned abs before he was hoisting you further up his body as he lay back and pulled off his trousers as he stared up at you from between your thighs. Shit, he was between your thighs. His cock pulsed against his boxers as he pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of one of your thighs, and we could’ve sworn he heard you gasp. He just wanted to make you feel good. He wanted to make you cum. He wanted to be good for you. 

“What do you like?” he asked, basically breathless.

“In what way?” you smirked. “Are you eating me out or fucking me?” 

God. He gulped. “Eating you out.” 

“Good,” you nodded. “Y’going to let me ride your face?” 

He nodded before he knew what he was doing. You moved up, and suddenly he was met with your pussy. He pushed his tongue between your pussy lips experimentally, and found your clit pretty quick. He racked his brain for any idea of what to do. He’d never done this before, and he wanted to impress you. From what he’d seen, he just fingered you and sucked on your clit, right? He hoped you would give him some idea of what you like as he started sucking on your clit. 

“Just…” you breathed out above him. “Fuck me with your tongue, yeah?” You were breathless, he was doing something right. 

He smirked against your pussy, his hands finding your waist to start you grinding against his face, making you moan out above him. He pressed his tongue flat against your clit and you groaned his name, your hand finding his hair as you grinded harder. 

“Faster Lan, please,” you begged. “Faster.” 

He didn’t need to be told a third time when he had you practically sobbing on his tongue. He wasn’t fucking this up, and he could feel you pulsing against his lips. You were close. He was going to make you cum. 

“Cum for me baby,” he slurring against your cunt. “Need it baby.”

And you did. You came with a violent shake and a loud moan as he held your limp body against his face, tongue-fucking you through your orgasm. He smirked against your cunt-

“Wake the fuck up Norris, breakfast ends in 30 minutes!” 

The loud banging on his door and your angry voice was not what he thought would come next, but alas, the greatness of his dream was interrupted by the main character in it. You. 

He got out of bed, trying to shake off the dream, but he could feel the uncomfortable truth of his cummed-in boxers, and the way his cock was already hard again. “Go without me, just save me a croissant please?” he called back. 

“Suit yourself!” you shouted back, and he could hear your footsteps retreating back down the hall. He stepped into the shower, hoping to wash the dream off of him. The image of you naked in front of him was what got him through his second orgasm of the morning, and he got dressed and walked downstairs. Maybe he shouldn’t watch your sex scenes before bed? He noted it down for the future, and ran downstairs to meet you before another day of pretending to be your dutiful boyfriend. 

“How’d you sleep?” he asked as you handed him his croissant.

“Great, beds comfy,” you turned to him, smiling. “You?”

He smirked as he looked at your white tank, your nipple piercings poking through. “Wonderful. Really good dreams, actually.”

You stared at him, and he could almost see a hint of curiosity, but it was gone as soon as it appeared, and you moved on. “Alright then, we have like 5 minutes until the car is here, enjoy your croissant, I’m getting a coffee.” 

Fuck, he was ruined for you. 

And he didn’t even care.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

navigation for my blog :)

mclaren masterlist

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (2/2) | pranking the parents

୨ৎ : featuring : lando norris, oscar piastri, kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, and yuki tsunoda (click here for part one) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by 🫐) : when you prank your boyfriend’s parents or sibling, he plays along a little too well...will they take your side?

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 1350

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : writing lando's literally took me out im cackling cus its too funny 😂

ʚ・lando norris

you were sitting at the kitchen island, chatting with cisca while lando hovered nearby, scrolling on his phone.

“lando,” you called sweetly, “can you grab my drink from the counter?”

without looking up, he shrugged lazily.

“why don’t you get it yourself?”

silence.

deadly silence.

cisca, mid-sentence, stopped cold.

slowly, she turned her head toward lando, one eyebrow arching in immediate disapproval.

“i know you did not just say that to y/n.”

lando froze. his fingers twitched around his phone, his body suddenly hyper-aware of the way his mother’s gaze was boring into his soul.

he tried to play it cool, but cisca was already leaning forward, resting her elbows on the counter, her expression unimpressed and ready for war.

“you think because you drive fast cars, you can have a bad attitude?” she asked, voice dangerously calm.

lando gulped.

cisca wasn’t done.

“i don’t care if you’re a big f1 star,” she continued, voice steadily rising. “i raised you better than to be rude to your partner. you think i’d ever let your dad speak to me like that? hah!”

you had to bite your lip to hold back laughter.

cisca kept going, hands now firmly on her hips, leaning in like she was about to hand out a full-blown life lesson.

“i don’t care if you’re tired, i don’t care if you’ve won a race, and i definitely don’t care if you think you’re funny. you do not talk to y/n like that. get. your. ass. up. and. get. the. drink.”

lando, completely defeated, shot up so fast his chair nearly toppled over.

“yes, mum. right away, mum.”

you finally lost it, bursting into laughter as lando sprinted to the counter like his life depended on it.

cisca simply shook her head, sipping her tea. “honestly, y/n, if you ever get tired of him, just let me know. we’ll replace him.”

lando returned, setting your drink down in front of you with the most exaggerated care.

you smirked. “thanks, babe.”

lando shot you a pointed glare, mouthing, “i hate you for making me agree to doing this.”

cisca smacked the back of his head.

“be grateful.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

the three of you were seated at the dining table, nicole chatting animatedly about something while oscar focused on his plate.

you decided it was the perfect time to strike.

“oscar, can you pass me the salt?” you asked casually.

without even looking up, he muttered—

“get it yourself.”

silence.

nicole immediately froze mid-bite, fork hovering in the air.

you could practically feel the temperature drop as she slowly turned her head toward her son.

“excuse me? oscar jack piastri, you better try that again.”

oscar, still trying to play it cool, swallowed his food like he didn’t have a death sentence hanging over him.

“it’s not that seri—”

nicole’s fork clanked against her plate.

you almost lost it right there, watching oscar’s usually calm, unbothered demeanor slowly crumble under his mother’s unimpressed glare.

before she could unleash a full mum-lecture, you burst out laughing.

“it’s a prank!” you admitted, giggling as oscar let out a breath of relief.

nicole sighed dramatically, shaking her head.

“you two are insufferable.”

you wiped a tear from your eye, still laughing. “but did you see his face?”

oscar rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his drink. “yeah, yeah. ha ha. so funny.”

nicole, however, wasn’t done.

she turned to you, completely serious. “y/n, let me know if he ever does that for real—i’ll handle him.”

oscar choked on his drink. “mum—”

nicole raised an eyebrow. “you think i’m joking?”

you smirked, reaching for oscar’s hand. “i feel so protected.”

oscar groaned, covering his face.

he was never going to live this down.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

spending time with kimi’s family was always a wholesome experience—his mom, elisabetta, was warm and welcoming, and his little sister, maggie, was full of sass and always ready to call kimi out on his nonsense.

which is exactly why this prank was going to be golden.

the three of you were lounging in the living room, casually chatting while kimi scrolled through his phone, half-listening to the conversation.

you decided it was time.

“kimi, can you grab me some water?” you asked sweetly.

without looking up, he shrugged lazily.

“why don’t you do it yourself?”

instant regret.

maggie’s sharp gasp was immediate, and before kimi could react, she smacked his arm.

“kimi! that’s so rude! apologize right now!”

elisabetta, who had been calmly sipping her tea, slowly lowered her cup and turned to her son with a deadpan expression.

kimi blinked. “relax, i was joking—”

“joking? joking?!” elisabetta suddenly switched to full italian mom mode.

“ma che diavolo ti prende, kimi?! (what the hell is wrong with you, kimi?!)"

kimi winced. “mamma—”

“no, no, no! ti ho cresciuto meglio di così! (i raised you better than this!)”

maggie, shaking her head in pure disappointment, huffed. “i swear, i have to do everything,” she grumbled, already marching to the kitchen to get the water herself.

at this point, you were crying with laughter, clutching your stomach as kimi sat there getting absolutely destroyed in two languages.

finally, he gave up, rubbing his face in defeat.

“it was a prank...” he muttered, sighing dramatically.

elisabetta narrowed her eyes.

maggie returned with the water, setting it down in front of you with a proud smile.

“there you go, y/n. because i’m a decent human being.”

kimi groaned, burying his face in his hands. “i hate all of you.”

you smirked, taking a sip. “ah, refreshing.”

ʚ・ollie bearman

you were in the cereal aisle, reaching for a box on the top shelf, but it was just out of your grasp.

“babe,” you called sweetly, “can you grab that for me?”

ollie, without even hesitating, smirked and said, “nah, figure it out.”

silence.

his little sister’s jaw dropped.

she turned to him so fast, you swore you heard a whoosh.

“what did you just say to her?!”

ollie barely had time to react before she grabbed the nearest object—a pack of biscuits—and chucked it at him.

“ow—what the hell?!” ollie yelped, barely managing to dodge it.

she crossed her arms, glaring up at him like he had committed an actual crime.

“go get it before i tell mum you were being rude.”

ollie, still laughing but also fearing for his life, threw his hands up. “it was a prank, relax!”

his sister huffed, clearly unimpressed, before looking at you. “you don’t deserve this, y/n, you deserve someone better than my lazy brother, i think even i deserve a less lazy brother.”

ollie sighed, grabbing the cereal box and placing it in your hands.

“there, happy?”

his sister snatched the biscuits back off the floor. “no. i’m still telling mum.”

ollie groaned as you laughed, completely entertained.

this was definitely worth it.

ʚ・yuki tsunoda

you were seated at a small corner table, enjoying your drinks, when you realized your phone was just out of reach.

“yuki,” you asked sweetly, “can you pass me my phone?”

yuki, barely looking up from his coffee, scoffed.

“what, you can’t reach?” (ironic right...)

instant. regret.

his mum immediately stopped mid-sip, slowly setting her teacup down with an audible clink.

the café noise seemed to fade into the background as she turned, her eyes narrowing.

“tsunoda yuki! nani yatteru no!?” ("what are you doing!?")

yuki froze.

his back straightened like he was about to receive a race penalty.

“kaa-san, it was a joke!” ("mom, it was a joke!")

she stared at him for one long, judging second before exhaling sharply, picking up her tea again.

“hmph. no dinner for you tonight.”

your laughter exploded out of you, nearly choking on your drink as yuki gaped.

“what?! no, wait—”

his mum casually sipped her tea, unfazed. “you want to be rude? then you can eat air.”

yuki turned to you in pure betrayal.

“look what you did,” he muttered, shoving your phone toward you.

you smirked, taking it. “thank you, babe.”

he huffed. “i hate this family.”

his mum simply shrugged. “i’ll see if i feel bad later.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[lancestrollsgf]

# THE BETTER NORRIS ! F1 GRID X ADOPTED NORRIS! READER, SMAU (2)

introduction master list request list

part one, part two, part three.

# WARNINGS: cussing, i know nothing about the parents of lando so everything is fictional. reader speaks spanish!! lowercase intended, spelling errors (english isn't my first language). lando's actual siblings are not featured in this since I don't know anything about them. hate comments towards reader and ollie. excessive usage of emojis such as "🙄, 🤫, 🤣,😝, 😭,😊,😉”.

# SUMMARY: the adventures of the formula one driver lando norris adopted sibling, y/n norris.

# AUTHOR’S NOTE: thank you so much for the support on the first part (it’s insane love yall sm). so here is part two, hooray!!! here is part one!!! lowkey worried this isn’t gonna be as good as the first part i'm so sorry 😭😭 this is way shorter because the timeline is until before the hungarian gp so there isn’t much to post about (there will be a part three 🤫🤫) btw for the sake of the story ollie attends all the grand prixs (at least from this point foward). excuse. more in-depth reason this is short is because i started writing this july 11 and i didn’t expect the first part to get that many likes so i only came up with ideas up until after the british grand prix. the next part will have all 9 posts and not only 5 😘

# FACE CLAIM: marian guevara/theatomicbomb on instagram and tiktok

— instagram !

liked by landonorris, lancestroll, lawerence_stroll, and 1,284,820 others

thebetternorris thank you so much, @.astonmartinf1 for the invite to the british grand prix, my home grand prix. i’m so grateful for the gift, thank you @lawerence_stroll 💚. congrats to @.landonorris for p3 and congrats to @.lancestroll for p7 😝😝 👤: @.landonorris, @.lancestroll, @.tommyhilfiger @.astonmartinf1

astonmartinf1: thank you y/n for coming to our garage!! loved having you there 💚

-> mclaren: you better have enjoyed this grand prix because next one we’re keeping y/n.

-> thebetternorris: guys dw there’s enough of me to go around 😏😏

username42: y/n rizzing up the admins is crazy 😭

landonorris: did you really have to use that picture of me. i look horrible.

-> thebetternorris: you always look horrible 🙄🙄

lancestroll: still can’t believe my dad actually got you something.

-> thebetternorris: time to make room for me in the family 🤫🤫

fernando_alooficial: gracias por venir y apoyarnos y/n 💚 (thank you for coming and supporting us y/n)

-> thebetternorris: de nada fernando, tu eres mi idolo 🥹🥹 felicidades con p8 💚 (you’re welcome fernando, you’re my idol 🥹🥹 congrats with p8 💚)

lawerence_stroll: lovely meeting you y/n, hope you enjoyed my gift

-> thebetternorris: thank you so much for the gift, lovely meeting you too mr.stroll

-> lawerence_stroll: @thebetternorris please call me lawerence

-> thebetternorris: @.lancestroll your dad likes me more than you

-> lancestroll: @thebetternorris just because he let you call him by his first name doesn't mean get likes you more 🙄 it’s not like he bought you an f1 team

-> thebetternorris: @.lancestroll you're so sassy...

username43: lance's reply being “it’s not like he bought you an f1 team” IS SO FUNNY LMFAOOO

username44: lance and y/n acting like siblings 😭

-> thebetternorris: @lawerence_stroll please adopt me

username45: y/n is so pretty

username46: why did lawerence gift y/n something from tommy hilfiger?

-> username47: im guessing its because he invests in tommy hilfiger

username48: how come aston martin invited her to her home grand prix but not mclaren?

-> mclaren: unfortunately we sent the invitation too late

-> astonmartinf1: @.mclaren finder keepers looser weepers 😝

username49: even though y/n is one of the driver's siblings they still sent the invitation late LMFAO

-> mclaren: we wouldn't have had to sent an invite if "someone..." hadn't told y/n so late.

-> landonorris: @.mclaren I DIDN'T KNOW SHE WOULD GET AN INVITE FROM ANOTHER TEAM 😞

username50: the mclaren admin trying to clear their name ✊🏼

-> mclaren: i’m trying my best 😞

username51: y/n giving unseen photos of lance and lando

username52: y/n’s camera is probably full of unseen photos of drivers we may never see 😔

-> thebetternorris: 🤫🤫

-> username53: WHAT DOES THIS MEAN??

username54: y/n calling it her home grand prix 🥹

zhouguanyu24: thank you for the keychain and the toy for sweet corn 😁

-> thebetternorris: of course!! 😊

username55: lance and lando an underrated duo

view all 9,921 comments

july 7, 2024

liked by landonorris, itsyoungmiko, olliebearman, and 1,402,027 others

thebetternorris parties in london go crazyy 🍾👤: @.itsyoungmiko, @.arcangel, @.friend1, @.friend2

itsyoungmiko: it was lovely meeting you twin 😈

-> thebetternorris: lovely meeting you too 😘

landonorris: do you just take photos with random people.

-> friend1: lando we've met before...

-> thebetternorris: don't talk about my twin young miko like that 😡

arcangle: loved partying with you norris!!

landonorris: you’re finally partying at home and not in the burger land😒

-> thebetternorris: BURGER LAND???

-> landonorris: the united states or whatever 🙄

username56: two posts in one day omg???

username57: y/n and young miko do look so much alike omg 🤨

olliebearman: it was lovely meeting you y/n

-> thebetternorris: hi ollie, it was great meeting you too 😆 congrats on your haas contract 🤫🤫

-> olliebearman: thank you! 😊

username58: y/n and ollie interacting???

username59: is no one gonna mention that y/n and ollie were in the same place??

username60: can y/n drink? i thought she was too young..

-> username61: she is too young. she’s only seventeen, but even then why are you assuming she’s drinking 😟?

username62: a sneak peak of the photo's y/n has in her camera

view all 3,939 comments

july 7, 2024

— instagram stories !

thebetternorris and olliebearman added to stories

replies to thebetternorris story

landonorris replied to your story: WHO IS THIS??? TAKE THAT SMILEY FACE OFF AND COME BACK HOME.

lewishamilton replied to your story: is this what you call soft launching?

oscarpiastri replied to your story: please answer lando’s messages. he’s been pacing back and forth for the past ten minutes.

username63 replied to your story: Y/N IS THAT A GUY???

username64 replied to your story: YOU’RE SOFT LAUNCHING??

pepemartiofficial replied to your story: quén es?

username65 replied to your story: you’re such an artist 😻

replies to olliebearman story:

charles_leclerc replied to your story: son, are you dating a girl?

kimi.antonelli replied to your story: mate. you didn’t tell me you were going to the beach today? you didn’t even invite me 😞

arthur_leclerc replied to your story: 🤨

username66 replied to your story: IS THAT A GIRLL? OLLIEEE

username67 replied to your story: since when did you take such aesthetic photos?

username68 replied to your story: soft lauching omg??

view more messages

july 8, 2024

— instagram !

liked by thebetternorris, charles_leclerc, and 392,921 others

olliebearman got to drive an f1 car in silverstone 👍🏼

username69: i’m sobbing, he’s so cute 😭😭

charles_leclerc: so proud, congrats ollie 👍🏼

-> olliebearman: thank you dad! 👍🏼

-> username70: i can see where ollie got his thumbs up from. LMAO

thebetternorris: a thumbs up is such a dad move

-> olliebeaman: compliment or?

-> thebetternorris: compliment ofc ☺️

-> olliebearman: oh okay then, thank you y/n :)

username71: ollie has rizz???

username72: going from a ferrari reserve driver to a haas f1 driver is such a downgrade 😬

-> thebetternorris: you’re saying that as if you can even drive a formula one car ever 🤣

-> username73: HELLO??? y/n defending ollie 🫣🫣

username74: HIS EYES ARE SO CUTE 😔😔

username75: a semi F1 car

-> thebetternorris: more than you’ll ever achieve. bullying a eighteen year old at 26 years old is embarrassing.

-> username76: Y/N DEFENDING OLLIE 😍😍

username77: i can't wait to see ollie every race week

username78: y/n defending ollie is so cute

view all 500 comments

COMMENTS ON THIS POST HAVE BEEN LIMITED.

july 9th, 2024

liked by landonorris, olliebearman, lilyzneimer, and 826,281 others

y/n.jpg surprise, new account 🤭 very first post is a photo dump, from beach day 🌊☀️ 07/08/24

landonorris: copycat 😒😒 be original for once. same username and everything

-> y/n.jpg: 🙄🙄

landonorris: WAIT A MINUTE. WHAT IS THAT THIRD PHOTO. Y/N NORRIS. WHO IS THAT???

-> y/n.jpg: 😜

-> landonorris: Y/N NORRIS. WHERE ARE YOU.

username80: y/n’s first post on her jpg account is a soft launch. this has got to be a halluaction.

username81: if someone told me that y/n would make a jpg account and soft launch a guy. i would never believe you.

username82: the second picture is so cute 😭

username83: the difference in the two comments lando commented. LMFAOO

-> username84: i’m guessing he commented “copycat” before seeing the photos and then commented the second one 🤣🤣

username85: two of the norris siblings have a jpg account that’s so cute

username86: ollie in the likes 🤨

lilyzneimer: you're so pretty

-> thebetternorris: thank u lily, love u

username87: both ollie and y/n posted about being at the beach the night after they met..

-> username88: nah you guys are reaching..

oscarpiastri: y/n please. don't do this rn 😭

-> thebetternorris: 🤫🤫

username89: you guys are assuming that y/n is with everyone leave her alone 😭😭

olliebearman: should i make a jpg account too?

-> thebetternorris: yes you should!! i can help u make it if you would like 🤫

-> olliebearman: ah yes that would be helpful 😁

username90: y’all won’t even let y/n be friends with the opposite gender before immediately shipping them together

username91: everyone saying that we're reaching and what not. but what about the comment between y/n and ollie… 🤨🤨

username92: the third photo looks a little similar to the one ollie posted on his story; the same day. 🫣

username93: there’s definitely gonna be something happening between the ollie and y/n because why else would she defend him in his own comments

view all 11,191 comments

july 11th, 2024

liked by olliebearman, landonorris, lewishamilton, and 947,829 others

y/n.jpg digital camera photos from silverstone 💫 lando taking a little nap in the fourth photo 😴 btw congrats on your win lewis 😉. 👤: @.landonorris, @.oscarpiastri, @.roscoelovescoco, @ciscawuaman, @adam_norris_pure_electric, @lewishamilton

username93: i love y/n for giving us unseen photos

username94: oscar doing a shoey 🤔

-> thebetternorris: ik right disgusting 🤢

-> oscarpiastri: @thebetternorris hey. i didn’t like it anymore that you did.

-> username94: OSCAR AND Y/N REPLYING TO MY COMMENT. THIS ISN’T REAL.

roscoelovescoco: 🤍🤍

-> thebetternorris: ROSCOEE

username95: oh to be photographed on y/n’s camera and posted on her account 😞

-> thebetternorris: i just dm’ed you!!

-> username96: @.username95 well tell us, what did she dm you omg???

-> username95: @.username96 she gave me tickets to the next gp 😭😭😭 i’m distraught rn 🥹🥹

-> username97: @.username95 HELLO??? FREE TICKETS???

lewishamilton: thank u for the congrats y/n 🩵

-> thebetternorris: of courseee 😉

username98: these photos are so cute omg 💔

thebetternorris: do you guys see how @.landonorris replaces me with another kid 💔 guess i’m not his favorite nor youngest sibling anymore 😞

-> landonorris: y/n. i don’t think mom or dad could or want to adopt another kid especially after dealing with you.

-> thebetternorris: MOMMM 😭😭😭 @ciscawuaman

-> cisacawuaman: @.landonorris please. you may be right but don’t comment this on the internet. @thebetternorris we love you y/n, i would adopt you all over again and as many times i could 😘

username99: y/n is literally living every formula one fan’s dream 😖

-> username98: considering she is literally lando’s sister she’s been living the life since day one 😭

username100: THE FIRST PHOTO HELLO??? 😍

francisca.cgomes: hii y/n! it was lovely meeting you. are you going to the next gp? i would love to hang out with you ☺️

-> y/n.jpg: hi kika 😁, yes i will be!! i loved meeting you, you’re the sweetest, i would love to hang out with you too ☺️

username101: y/n is genuinely so pretty omg 🫣

landonorris: don’t think this is distracting me from the post you made previously..

-> thebetternorris: 🤫🤫

username102: i was at the grand prix and seeing y/n on the fan stage was so surreal.

username103: i met y/n at the grand prix and she got my hat signed by both oscar and lando, she’s so sweet 😭😭😭

-> username104: stop me too. she got all of my mclaren stuff signed by them 🥹🥹

username105: i met y/n and when i asked her to sign my shirt she was so shocked it was so precious 😞

view all 10,829 comments

july 12, 2024

comment to be tagged in the next part. (pls mention if you wanna be added to my general taglist or just this series taglist)

taglist: @yawn-zi @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @d3kstar @inejghafawifesblog @azeal-peal @hadids-world @sumlovesjude @poppyflower-22 @formulaonebuff @bloodyymaryyy @kodzuvk @matchalyne @ynnasaint @morsstuff @2pagenumb @velentine @keii134 @deepeststarlightmoon @wobblymug @xoscar03 @raizelchrysanderoctavius (if you are tagged here, i will mostly likely tag you again in the third part)

READ PLEASE/URGENT: hello!! thank you so much for the support on this story. just wanted to share some links about the crisis/situation in venezuela. an undeniable cause of election fraud is happening in venezuela, spread awareness. how to help refugees near you. explanation of the situation. donate/help families forced to flee. the reason i’m sharing this is because the face claim for this story is from venezuela (will not have a huge effect on the story), but furthermore because the situation in venezuela is not being publicized enough. even just sharing these links will do a lot. sadly, i could not find any more links other than those three.

[paddockletters]

redeemed | lando norris part 2

masterlist | previous part | next part summary: memories of friendship with lando, valentine's day together and more author's note: hope you all like this serie. if you want to be added to the 'tag list' please let me know in the comments

years ago 2020

lando

Liked by carlossainz55 and 6,261 others

lando: Two idiots, one friendship. What could go wrong?

View all comments

user1: THE WAY SHE'S SMILING??😭💖

user2: this friendship is the only thing holding me together rn

user3: lando calling it ‘friendship’ like we don’t all see the heart eyes👀

yourbestfriend: Two idiots is generous. I’d say one and a half

↪ lando: y/n is the one, right?

user4: what could go wrong? EVERYTHING, LANDO. EVERYTHING😭

user5: this is the type of bestie energy I want in my life

carlossainz55: I'd say more like two disasters

↪yourusername: i thought you liked me 🤧

yourusername

Liked by lando and 12,862 others

yourusername: friends who match shoes together, stay together...or at least until he bullies me for something again🙃

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carlossainz55: so when do I get mine? team bonding, right?

user1: this is the kind of friendship I need in my life—matching shoes and endless bullying (by someone like lando)

user2: if my bestie doesn’t agree to matching shoes, are they even my bestie??

user3: lando and Y/N are literally two chaotic siblings who accidentally found each other

lando: excuse me?? I would NEVER bully you. I simply point out your many mistakes with love

↪ yourusername: see? bullying

↪ lando: it’s called character development

user4: the way they act like an old married couple but claim to be ‘just friends’ is sending me😭

user5: @ mclaren better start selling shoes with theri "ship" on because I need them rn

yoursername posted stories

yoursername posted stories

lando posted stories

yourusername

Liked by lando and 29,652 others

yourusername: Another year of aggressively single and thriving but valentine's with my favorite people💗

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user1: Okay but why is her and Lando’s friendship actually goals? 😭

user2: Y/N looking gorgeous with her friends but let’s be real, we were all waiting for the Lando pic

best friend: you literally bullied Lando into getting you a proper Valentine’s gift. Queen behavior 👑

girlfriend2: the dinner was cute but let’s talk about the fact that you spent the day with Lando… again 👀

lando: I am an EXCELLENT Valentine, you don't need anything else

user4: the way they’re both aggressively single but only with each other 😭😭

user5: lando posting about her and now she posts about him?? Y’all… I’m connecting dots.👀

user6: "aggressively single” but she’s always with Lando?? Girl, be serious

user7: his fans deserve better than this forced friendship

user8: bro, let people have friends 💀

user9 I just KNOW his ex is somewhere rolling her eyes at this

user10: probably, but not our problem 🤭

tag list

@hadesnumber1daughter @harrysdimple05 @royaleaxis

[livwritessometimes]

F1 Uni Series Masterlist

Intro

Part 2

(Uni Major)

Oscar’s Version (completed)

Playing Cupid

Stalker!

Bloodline

Mildly Tolerable

Fight Song

My My My!

Rain Check?

Remember You Like That

I Think I Messed Up!

imgonnagetyouback

I LOVE YOU!

End With The Spring Fling

Lando’s Version (completed)

Intro

Send a Message!

Tiny Angry Man

YOU DID THIS AT 2 AM

Road To Redemption Is Long And Hard....yk What Else Is Long And Hard

Interesting *Cue Evil Laugh*

Call Me Carrie!

I Know I'm Gonna Regret This…

4 Year Olds Might Get Offended!

Furrell Norris

Oh You’re In Trouble!

This Video Is Gonna Be Lit

So What Now?

What Can I Say? I’ve Got That Charm

So…Will You?

At Least One Of Us Got Our Happy Ending

I Was Actually Rooting For You

Never Like This

I Will Never Make You Regret This—Regret Us

Max’s Version

Intro

This Is Not About The Doorman!

Lord Knows You Can Be Picky

Karma’s A Bitch, I Should’ve Known Better

I Think I Killed My Roommate

Do You Think I Should Take Them And Run Away?

Mr. Boyfriend

DID YOU JUST SAY MAX VERSTAPPEN IS YOUR BOYFRIEND???

Whatever You Say Princess…

Girlfriend 💗🎀🌸🦩

Max Entering His Lover Boy Era Was Not On My Bingo Card

To My Beautiful Boy

The Sooner You Realise This, The Sooner It Will Be Better

Main Masterlist

[katsu28]

summer's golden haze - chapter one

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: a small town somewhere in beautiful greece, early morning coffee runs, and the cute boy that you keep running into. (4.8k)

warnings: sort of shy!reader, a bit of swearing, lando being both smooth and a little awkward

a/n: series masterlist coming soon :)

“That guy is totally checking you out.” 

You reluctantly drag your attention away from the truly addicting pasta you’d ordered to meet your friend’s gaze across the table, slightly suspicious, but also a little curious as to what she’s talking about.

Samira is grinning knowingly at you already, mischievously, like she’s got a tasty bit of information you don’t know about. Probably not tastier than the food in front of you, but your interest is piqued nonetheless. 

“What guy?” You sigh, giving into your curiosity quite easily. She arches a perfectly sculpted brow at you, then tilts her head to the side discreetly, and you follow her gaze towards—

Oh. That guy. 

You saw him on your way to your seat at first, a group of four guys sitting a few tables away in the same patio area of the restaurant, drawing your attention even before you’d sat down. Artfully messy brown curls swept up out of his face, thick dark brows framing bright eyes crinkled with laughter at something his friend had said, you’d felt yourself growing conscious of the man’s existence with just one glance. 

And then his gaze had flicked to your friends passing his table, but more importantly, your own gaze, and you’d nearly stumbled on your own feet.

Your cheeks had grown hot at the intensity of his stare following your path to your seat, not to mention the embarrassment that had flooded your veins at the thought of nearly eating shit in front of this very attractive stranger. 

Had you grown the nerve to look back at him at the time, you would’ve seen his lips quirk into a goofy grin, as well as all the shoving he’d gotten from his friends as they’d caught wind of his unabashed staring. 

Now you’re almost done with your meal, and you could swear you’ve felt him looking at you plenty more times. Not that it mattered at all, because your eyes have been firmly glued to your food and your friends only. 

Okay, so you might’ve hastened a few covert glances over in his direction too, but he’s been chatting away to his friends every time, so maybe you’re just making nothing into something. 

“Don’t even try to hide it, you’ve been making eyes at him too, girl,” Your other friend, Maren, pipes up, elbowing you in the arm playfully. The last of your girls, Camille, nods her agreement, smiling gleefully. “He’s hot.”  

Right, so perhaps not as covert as you’d thought. 

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” You reply, spearing another piece of pasta through your fork. You’re kicked under the table at that moment, hard enough to warrant the whine that escapes your mouth. “What?” Now you're met with three pointed glares your way. “Okay, fine. Yeah, he’s cute.” 

“Go talk to him!” 

“Go flirt with him!” 

“Absolutely not!” You exclaim. Your voice comes out louder than you intend and you duck your head quickly, worried you’d disturbed the peace of the quiet area. “He’s probably got a girlfriend already or something.” 

“If he does, she better dump his ass because he's been giving you fuck me eyes all damn night.” 

“No, he has not,” You hiss, which only gets you yet another look from them. You’re starting to get tired of all these looks, actually. “Has he? I mean—are they? Fuck me eyes?” 

“Oh yeah, he—” 

Camille clears her throat, cutting Samira off. “No, they’re not,” She assures you, placing a hand over yours. “He’s been smiling every time he looks over.”

“Maybe he’s looking at one of you guys?” 

“He’s definitely been looking at you.” 

You bite your lip, nose scrunching skeptically. You haven’t really been the subject of any guy’s attention before, let alone one as handsome as this one. You’ve learned it’s better not to get your hopes up when it comes to certain situations. This seems like one of them. “Are you sure?” 

“If I’m wrong, I’ll give you back your share of the villa rental.” 

“Can I get that in writing, or…?” 

Before any of them can come up with a smart remark, a plate is placed into the center of the table, on which is a large square of baklava, light and flaky with that sweet, sugary filling spilling out the sides of the piece that almost makes your mouth water. You’d seen it in the dessert section of the menu earlier, but had decided against ordering it in favor of trying an appetizer instead. 

“Oh, excuse me? We didn’t order this,” Maren speaks up, looking up at the waiter. 

He does a half turn, sweeping an arm in a vague direction. “It is from the gentleman in the blue shirt.” 

You follow his gaze, and fuck, your heart skips a beat in your chest, because it’s him. It’s the same guy you’ve been drawn to all night, and he’s actually looking right back at you this time. His hand comes up in a wave, then back down to his side almost immediately, like he’s worried about it seeming too eager, before settling with a reserved nod. All the while, he’s still got that smile gracing his face that makes your stomach flip flop. 

“He sent over a dessert?!?! I am so keeping that money, girl,” Camille hums, picking up her fork to dig in while Samira and Maren voice their agreement. 

You, on the other hand, well…you’re not sure what to think. You appreciate the gesture, but you're also confused. Why did he send something over? What did he want? 

It doesn't occur to you that he’s truly taken an interest in you until you're huddled outside with your friends talking next steps of the night. Whether you want to keep exploring this new place, or call it a day and go home. You’re firmly on the latter’s side because you're tired. But you’ll go along with whatever is decided. 

The guy and his friends have coincidentally left the restaurant at the same time as you did, judging by the sudden commotion that erupts behind you. Like a moth drawn to a flame, your gaze lands on him yet again, only this time, you actually lock eyes with him. Something jolts through you, something electric up your spine like a tiny shock. Something you’ve never felt before. You shove the foreign feeling deep down, no matter how much you’d like to explore it. 

He looks away, teeth sunk into his bottom lip to quell the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, and you avert your wandering eyes too, before anyone else notices. Evidently you’re a little too slow, because all three of your friends catch on instantly. 

“Go talk to him already.” Camille says matter-of-factly. 

“No, I—what do I even say?” 

“Maybe hello would be a good start?” 

You press your lips together, unimpressed, and you get a snicker in return, something about how you're not asking for his hand in marriage, you’re just trying to make conversation. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to him, it’s that you’re not exactly sure how to approach it. You’ve already convinced yourself of the worst, but to possibly have it play out in real life is a tangible fear of yours, and always has been. 

One of your girls (you’re willing to bet more money it’s Maren) gives you a not so gentle shove towards him, as does one of his friends over in his group. Now you’ve got no choice. You meet each other in the middle, just looking at each other for a few moments. It’s awkward and you have half a mind to turn and go, but then he speaks. 

“Hey,” He says. 

“Hi,” You reply shyly, shifting on your feet nervously. He shoves both hands into his pockets. He looks a bit nervous too, which does a significant wonder to calm you. “Thank you for the baklava. It was delicious.” 

“Yeah, of course. Glad you guys liked it. Figured you can’t go wrong with a classic.” He bobs his head, shoulders creeping up towards his ears in a shrug before dropping back down. “I’m Lando, by the way.” 

Lando. It’s not a name you’re expecting, but it suits him well. 

He sticks his hand out almost instinctively, like he’s been conditioned to do so. Maybe he has, considering the aura of professionality it gives off when you do shake his hand. 

His palm is smooth and warm against yours, long fingers curling around your hand like the sincere smile that curls his lips as you tell him your name in return. Dimples bracket his mouth on both sides. 

The handshake almost lasts a little too long for two people who’ve just met literally a few moments ago, as does the way his eyes linger upon yours. 

Even in the dark of the night, illuminated only by the warm glow of the lamps above you, you can see him much better up close. His sunkissed skin does little to hide the flushed pink on his cheeks that travels down to his chest, disappearing under the generously unbuttoned blue linen. You feel exposed under his intense gaze, looking back at those mesmerizing eyes. Blue, green, gray—maybe a mix of all three, you’re not sure, but you can’t help but want to figure it out. 

Then you remember that you don’t know this guy at all, and it brings you back to reality. 

“Lando, like…the guy from Star Wars?” You ask. It breaks the invisible tether between the two of you and he smiles, laughs a little bit too. 

He shrugs casually. “Not according to my mum and dad, but I do get that a lot.” 

“You must get tired of hearing it from people then.”

His head tilts to one side, smile going endearingly lopsided. “Depends on the person. Like, I didn’t mind when you said it just now.” You’re not sure how to respond to that, so you just smile, and he takes your reaction in stride, moving on. “Are you guys from around here, or…” 

“No, actually, we’re—um, we’re just here on holiday.”

“Oh, same! Yeah, we’ve been here a few days now, it’s been great. Is this your first time in Greece?” He asks, smile turning warm. You nod. “Have you checked out the local market yet?”

“Can’t say we have yet, no. We just got in the day before last, so…still figuring out our footing first. But I’ll keep it in mind, thank you!” 

Lando inhales sharply, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Hey, y’know, if you want, maybe we could—” 

“Oi, Lando! Let’s go, mate!” 

He glances back over at his friends, one of whom is waving for him to return to his group rather wildly, before turning back to you. Whatever he was about to say is lost now, because he shrugs loosely. “Guess that’s my cue,” He sighs. Then his gaze softens, smile turning a little hopeful. “Will I see you around again? Small town and all.” 

“Uh…I dunno. Maybe, if it’s meant to be.” You have to try with all your might not to take the statement back, even though you really, really want to. 

If it’s meant to be—who the fuck says that? Like fate has anything to do with this miraculous interest Lando seems to have taken in you. If you were him, you’d find your words quite off putting. Instead, he smirks, crooked and cute. 

“Meant to be,” He repeats, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yeah alright, I’ll take my chances. Have a good night.” 

You bid him a soft goodnight, barely able to stifle the giggle that spills from your mouth when he nearly trips over the cobblestones on his way back to his friends. He’s awkward, you think, but still confident. It’s cute. 

Lando stays rooted in your mind the rest of the night, all the way up until you’re lying in bed, waiting for sleep to take hold of you. It’s weird to think this much about a guy you’ve just met, a guy who you’ve only had one conversation with and have left things up to chance in terms of seeing him again. 

-------

You’re the first one awake this morning, roused from your sleep by bright sunlight pouring through the window, even through the curtains. Contemplation of going back to sleep crosses your mind, but it’s no use. You’re up now, so you might as well make the most of your early morning. 

You love your friends dearly, but some alone time sounds like heaven right about now. There’s a coffee spot not far from where you’re staying that you remember seeing on your way in that seems like a perfect match to your solo walk, so you head there. You’ll be a nice friend and bring coffee home for when they eventually wake up too. 

After dropping them a text letting them know you’ve gone out, you set off. The walk back into town is short but serene, a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of your daily lives, and a reminder of why you’d all decided to vacation in this particular region of Greece in the first place. 

Someone calls out something that sounds like your name before you can step into the shop and you pause, casting a glance around to see if your ears might be playing tricks on you. You’ve only been here a few days, and the only other person who knows you other than your friends is…Lando. 

You squint a little harder to see through the glare of the sun, and lo and behold, there he is, hands linked behind his head. The grin that lifts your face is almost embarrassing, or would’ve been had Lando not been so eager upon seeing you wave at him. 

He’s clad in athletic shorts and a cutoff tee that shows off muscles you’re trying your very hardest not to stare at as he makes his way closer, curls tucked away in a baseball cap pulled low on his head. Headphones dangle from around his neck, and he’s panting, chest rising and falling heavily very clearly once he’s stopped in front of you. 

“Hey, good morning! I thought that was you,” He breathes, attempting to catch his breath. “Early riser too, I take it?” 

“Honestly, not usually! The sun decided I would be today, though, so…here I am.” 

“Here you are. Guess it was meant to be then, huh?” He chuckles, reaching up to flip his cap backwards. If you thought he was tan the night you met, he’s even tanner in the sun, bronze skin stretching over sinewy muscle that flexes as he sweeps a hand through his hair before tugging it back down in one smooth motion. “Doing a coffee run?” 

“Yeah, I’m the only one of us awake at this hour so I figured I’d bring them back a little something.” 

“You’re a saint. I’d let my mates suffer if it were me,” Lando snorts. 

You shrug. “Guess that’s the difference between the two of us.” 

“Yeah?” He hums, looking amused. “What else is different between you and me?” 

“Well, first of all, I would never be on a run at eight in the morning. Is someone punishing you, or is this a self-inflicted torture type thing?” 

That gets another laugh out of him, shoulders shaking with mirth. “Gotta keep in shape or my trainer might try to kill me with workouts instead.” 

“You’re an athlete?” You pry, intrigued. He looks the part, you think. Lean but not skinny, strong but not massively built. A runner, maybe? 

Lando freezes a split second, rocks from foot to foot, scratching at his nose. “Kind of, yeah.” 

“What’s your sport?” 

“Uh…golf. It’s more like a hobby than anything else.” 

“Golf,” You repeat, an amused smile poking at the edges of your mouth. “Can’t say I know a thing about it.” 

“Oh, it’s definitely something else, for sure. Super intense stuff, really grueling.” His words say one thing, but he’s grinning like he’s pulling your leg, lip pulled between his teeth in that same way as last night, nose scrunching adorably as he bobs his head quickly to further sell it. 

“Sure, if you say so. But d’you think your trainer would get mad if you cut your super intense training short to grab a cup of coffee with a friend?” 

You’re almost expecting him to say no, but Lando perks up instead, eyes crinkling happily at the corners. “Not at all. Shall we?” 

Over coffee, you find that Lando is an excellent conversationalist—funny and a good listener, an even better storyteller. He asks about you without seeming pushy or prying, and because of that you feel yourself relaxing a bit in his presence. Opening yourself up to the possibility of a good thing with him, no matter how short or fleeting it may be, whether it’s friendship or something more. 

A few weeks of summer in a place you've never been with a boy you don’t know is the time to be a little bolder. Chances are you’ll never see Lando again after this trip, so why not loosen up just a little bit? 

It’s only when more people start to trickle into the shop and you start to notice Lando’s eyes shifting over your shoulder more that you realize you’ve been here with him for a while now. And judging by the dozens of missed calls and texts from all three of your friends on your phone when you go to check it for the first time since you’d left, you’ve been gone a lot longer than you said you’d be. 

You know them well enough to know that they’re not above calling the local police to send out a search party for you if you don’t find your way back soon. 

“Friends wondering where you are?” 

You nod, sending a quick message that you are indeed alive and not kidnapped like they feared, before tucking your phone away again. “Guess I better get them their coffees for sure now, or else they might not let me back in the house.” 

“Lemme buy it for them,” He offers sincerely, offering you a lopsided grin. You shake your head rapidly at the suggestion, but he continues, “I’m the reason you’ve been gone so long, the least I can do is buy them drinks. Call it an apology for making them worry, yeah?” 

“You really don’t have to, Lando.” 

“I know. I want to,” He insists, looking truly genuine. First dessert last night, now coffee today. You have half a mind to push back a little more, but you get the feeling Lando is as persistent as he is handsome, so you taking a firm stance on something like this seems like a moot point. Giving in, you nod, and he mirrors it, looking proud. 

He lets you take the lead in reciting your friends’ orders once you’ve made your way back over to the front counter, stepping forward with a hand to the small of your back to pay for the drinks before you have any bright ideas to pull one over on him and pay for them yourself. 

The barista smiles politely, pen hovering above a cardboard cup. “And a name for that?” 

Lando casts a furtive glance around the area before leaning in and saying his name quietly, as if he’s worried he’ll run into someone who he doesn’t want to see. You notice, but don’t really pay it any mind. You understand far too well not wanting to talk to someone you're unprepared for. 

Soon enough Lando’s got the drinks in hand and you’re back outside, and he’s smiling again. You’ve noticed he does that a lot when he looks at you. You’re sure you’re the same way with him. 

“My mates and I, we’re planning on having a little barbeque at our villa tomorrow night. You should come,” Lando says encouragingly, tilting his head to the side. When your brows raise in surprise, he hastily adds, “And your friends too, obviously. We’d love the company.” 

“Ah! Um, I dunno. Wouldn’t wanna crash your thing.” 

“You wouldn't be. Seriously, come hang out. We’re fun, I promise!” 

“I just—I forget if we’ve got plans, that’s all.” You’re not lying when you say it, you truly forget if you’re free tomorrow night. Most of it stems from your awful memory, but a small part of it attributes to how your brain kind of stops working properly around Lando. 

“Right, well, you figure that out, and if you find you’ve got a free evening,” He balances the drinks deftly in one hand, the other fishing his phone out of his shorts pocket and swiping at the screen briefly before holding it out to you, “text me, let me know.” 

You’re not sure where you find the boldness to tap your phone number into his contacts, but you do it with confidence, saving it under your name and a smiley face. 

“Cute.” Lando smirks, chuckling as he sends a simple hi so you've got his number too. “Now, I believe these are yours, and…maybe I’ll see you tomorrow? If it’s meant to be.” 

You smile at the mirroring of last night’s words from him as you situate the cardboard tray in your own arms. “Maybe.” 

The smile hasn’t left your face even by the time you arrive back home, because you’ve been thinking about Lando the whole way. For a stranger you’ve met only yesterday, he’s sure been occupying a lot of space in your mind. You aren’t entirely sure how to feel about it. 

You’re already prepared for the berating you’re about to get as you close the front door behind you carefully, making your way to the kitchen.

“Where the hell have you been?” 

You look up to see all three of your friends sitting around the kitchen table, and none of them look particularly happy. You smile innocently, holding up the cardboard tray of drinks up as a peace offering. “Coffee?” 

“It better come with an explanation.” 

Nodding vigorously, you dole out each drink to your friends. “It does, I swear. I didn’t just disappear, I ran into—” 

“Hold the fuck on. Why does this say Lando? Why is that man’s name on my cup—” 

“Oh my god, you did not get coffee with him without telling us!” 

“You bitch!” 

That’s how you end up telling them the whole story—running into him in town, talking for ages, and that brings you to your next point. 

“We don’t have any plans for tomorrow night, do we?” 

“There’s the vineyard tour in the afternoon, but that should end around five. Why?” 

“Lando invited us to a barbecue at his villa,” You say quickly. That gets their attention immediately, all of their eyes widening in the same shocked looks. None of them answer your question though. “Is that…something we’d be interested in?” 

Samira is the first to snap out of it, mouth curving into a playful smirk. “Invited us, or invited you?” 

“Definitely just her.” 

“Whatever! Do we wanna go or not?” You grumble, doing your best to fight the grin threatening to overtake your face. The thought of him wanting to spend time with you brings you a teensy bit of satisfaction. 

“Of course we’re going!” 

After they’re done poking fun at you, you’re able to take a moment to top out a quick message to Lando. That barbecue invite still up for grabs? 

You're not expecting an immediate answer, but your phone dings with a text back before you even set it down. 

Lando: Of course. Plans fell through? 

You: seems like you’ve really made an impression on my friends 

Lando: Not sure whether to be scared or flattered…

You: your guess is as good as mine! we’ll find out tomorrow :)

Lando: Brb gotta go call my lawyer and update my will 

“You’re texting him right now, aren’t you?” 

You look up from your phone to see Camille leaning in the doorway to your room, a soft, knowing smile on her face. “Yeah, he—uh, he says he’s looking forward to meeting you guys again.” She comes to sit beside you, looking like she wants to talk about something. You set it aside, head tilting in a silent question. 

“Do you think you’ll stay in contact with Lando after we leave?” 

“I’m not sure. Haven’t really thought about it all that much, to be honest.”

If you do think about it, you haven’t even known Lando for more than a day. You’ve only just met him yesterday, seen him twice, one of which was completely spur of the moment. So what if that spur of the moment encounter was the most connected you’ve felt to someone in a long time? 

You don’t know him, and chances are, he’s not looking for anything serious. You don’t even know if you’re looking for anything serious. 

“It’s okay if you want to.” 

“I shouldn’t want to,” You say. It feels like you’re trying to convince yourself more than anything. You look to Camille for an answer, but she just pats your hand. “Right? I’m never gonna see him again, so I shouldn’t get attached.” 

“You don’t know that for sure, do you?” 

“I guess not. It feels scary, though. Opening yourself up to something when you don't know what’ll happen.” 

Camille hums, a placating, even comforting sound to soothe your worries. She’s always been pretty good at getting you to see the brighter side in things. “There’s fun in that too. Being spontaneous, surprising yourself. You never know, Lando could be just the thing you need, the one you didn’t know you were looking for. And if not, you don’t have to see him again. A win-win, I’d say.” 

She leaves you alone to your thoughts after that, left to ponder what exactly it is you want. It might be stupid and entirely over-optimistic of you, but Lando has already pulled you in. You’re not sure what it is about him. He makes you want more, want to know more. 

Whatever happens will happen, and if things don’t work out…well, Camille is right. You never have to see Lando again. 

His name flashes across your screen later in the night, right before you’re about to go to sleep. You’ve been texting back and forth all day, but this one is different. He’s video calling you right now. 

You stare at his name for longer than you should, finger hovering over the answer button a few beats before pressing it. His face pops into view once the call connects. Like you, he’s sitting in bed, leaned up against the headboard, cozied up in a soft looking jumper. He looks like he’s moments away from drifting off, but he called you, so he must want to talk. 

“Hi,” You say softly. 

“Hey, you.” He smiles, warm and sleepy and all squinty in a way that makes you want to crawl through the screen and tuck him into bed with a kiss to his forehead. “You must be tired.” 

“Eh, I’m alright. Why?” 

“‘Cause you’ve been running through my mind all day.” 

You let out a wildly unappealing snort of laughter at his poor attempt at a pick up line. “That’s terrible! Oh my god, that was awful, Lando, seriously.” 

“No?” His smile grows giddy, shoulders shaking with his chuckles. “Yeah, it was pretty bad, wasn’t it? Got you laughing though.” 

Conversation falls into the same easy nature as this morning, like you’ve known him for ages. He makes you laugh until your ribs hurt, smile until your cheeks feel the same. It still amazes you just how comfortable you feel around him, as someone who usually takes a while to warm up to people. 

Maybe you should take it as a sign. 

A jumble of muffle voices offscreen some time later makes Lando squint. “Hang on, I’ll be right back. Don’t hang up. ” He lets the phone drop onto the bed, checking once to make sure you’re still there before disappearing from sight. 

You hear his footsteps fade, then more voices you can’t quite make out. Someone laughs off in the distance, and then he’s back, resituating himself with the remnants of an amused grin on his lips. 

“Everything okay?” 

“My mates are yelling at me to turn off the light, so I’d better go,” He sighs goodnaturedly, lips turning down into a frown. Then he yawns widely, and you realize how late it’s gotten since you’ve picked up his call. Losing track of time when you’re talking to Lando seems to be a recurring theme. “I’m glad you’re coming tomorrow.” 

Your breath catches a little in your chest, both at his words and the way he’s looking at you through the screen as he says it, nothing but genuine. “Me too.” 

You’re starting to think this whole try not to get attached thing is going to be much harder than you thought. 

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[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-One

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, domestic Lamelia, autistic meltdown on page, vaguely referenced public sex.

Notes — Timeline fuckery, as in I seem to have written Silverstone twice, in the last chapter and this one too. Clearly the podium fluff is too much for me to keep track of. So... Enjoy the extra fluffiness.

2023 (Silverstone — Hungary)

The sea was warm and quiet, the waves nothing but a soft hush against the sand.

Amelia sat with her legs tucked under her, an oversized white linen shirt hanging loosely over her bikini. Her hair was wet, curled slightly at the ends from the salt water. She was squinting at the horizon, watching the sunlight paint the beach in a million shades of gold.

Behind her, Lando dropped onto the towel with two icy cold drinks, one for each of them. He pressed a kiss to the back of her shoulder.

“This place is fucking amazing,” he said.

She hummed in agreement, leaning her head against his. “Warm, but breezy. The perfect in-between.”

He grinned. “Yeah? You glad I managed to convince you to come then?”

“Yes.” She said. “I’m going to have so much to get done when we get back to the factory, but I needed a break.”

Lando chuckled and stretched out beside her, propping himself on one elbow. “Hm. I know. And now you’re relaxed. That’s nice.”

She gave him a sidelong look. “Don’t say it like that. I can be relaxed. I relax a lot.”

“…No you don’t.”

She huffed. “Shut up.”

He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “C’mon. Don’t get pissed off. It’s true, yeah? You have been stressed, but you’ve also been fucking ace with Oscar. With the team. I know the car isn’t what you want it to be, but it’s a lot bloody better than it was.”

Amelia softened. She leaned down to kiss him. “Thanks, husband.”

Lando’s eyes sparkled. “Say it again.”

“Husband?”

He groaned. “God, that’s hot.”

She laughed. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“You married me.”

“I clearly have poor taste.” She teased.

“Liar.”

He sat up and kissed her properly this time — slow and warm and a little lazy. She all but melted into it, fingers curling in the fabric of his swim shorts.

They ended up tangled together on a beach blanket under the slope of the rocks, just out of sight. The rest of the world fell away. It was just them. Skin on skin, hearts in sync, breathless laughter caught in the salt breeze.

Later, Amelia rested her cheek on Lando’s bare chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“I think,” she said softly, “I could stay here forever.”

He smoothed her hair back out of her face. Stared at her, like he was memorising her all over again. “Yeah, baby. Me too.”

—

The design lab was buzzing — a low but constant thrum of voices, keyboard clicks, air vents, printers, someone’s half-muffled phone call. The kind of sensory chaos most people filtered out without effort.

Amelia couldn’t today.

She had her noise-cancelling headphones on, her iPad open to three separate CAD model views, and a mechanical pencil tapping against her knee in a rhythm only she understood.

They were reviewing a mock-up for the 2024 suspension. One of the junior engineers; bright, eager, but careless, had accidentally uploaded an outdated spec into the shared build folder.

It seemed small. A mistake, an easy correction. But it meant the last two days of precision design work she’d done were out of sync with the rest of the development team’s data.

And that meant wasted time. Faulty conclusions. A domino collapse of calculations that had been perfect in her head.

She tried to breathe through it. In. Out. In again. But the wrongness sat in her chest like a ton of bricks.

Someone, Callum, tried to make light of it. “It’s no big deal. We’ve still got time before CFD locks—”

“No,” she said, voice tight. “You don’t understand. It’s wrong now. It’s all wrong.”

Her hands were shaking.

“Hey, it’s okay,” another engineer said carefully. “We’ll fix it. It was just a wrong upload—”

“Stop talking.” Her voice cracked, sharp and sudden. “Please. Just stop. Stop—”

She couldn’t hear them anymore. The hum of the lights had turned into a roar. The feeling of her shirt collar was too much. Her thoughts weren’t lining up right.

She stood up too fast. Knocked over a pen cup. The clatter made her flinch violently.

Then she was breathing hard. Too fast. Too loud. Her eyes stung. Her palms burned.

The room blurred. All noise. Too many people. Too many things out of place.

She left. Walked straight out the door, down the hall, past the glass break room, past a surprised intern holding two coffees. She found an empty office, one of the glass-walled side rooms, and ducked inside.

Lights off. Curtains drawn.

She sat on the floor. Curled into herself, hands pressed to her ears. Shaking.

She didn’t cry, not exactly. But her body trembled with the overload — her nervous system in revolt. All she could do was breathe and wait it out.

—

Ten minutes later, the door opened slowly.

Lando.

He said nothing at first. Just slipped inside and sat down on the floor beside her. Close, but not touching.

She didn't look up.

“Callum came to find me. He’s panicking.” He said.

She let out a half-broken noise. “I hate this. I hate when this happens.”

He shook his head. “Baby—“

Her shoulders curled tighter. "It’s all wrong,” she whispered. “I had it perfect. In my head. And now it’s wrong and I can’t fix it, and they don’t understand why it matters. They think I’m overreacting.”

“You’re not.”

“They think I’m difficult.”

“You’re not.”

She finally looked at him. Her face was pale, eyes glassy. “It felt like… too much. All at once. I couldn't stop it.”

Lando reached out, slow, deliberate, and gently took her hand. “I know, baby.” He said softly. “You don’t have to pretend, though. You know that. And I’m proud of you for walking away when you needed space.”

She gripped his fingers tightly. Grounded. Fiddled with his wedding band.

And little by little, her breathing began to slow.

—

Later, Amelia returned to her desk. The office had quieted. A sticky note sat on her monitor from Oscar, in his neat, blocky handwriting.

YOU’RE ALLOWED TO HAVE BAD DAYS — Ducky

She exhaled a shaky laugh.

Callum brought her tea an hour later and didn’t say a word, just left it on her desk like a peace offering. She nodded her thanks, smile tight but genuine.

She reopened her iPad, fingers steady now. Her brain still hurt, her skin still buzzed with leftover static, but she was here. She was okay.

And she could fix this.

—

The strategy room was windowless, cold, and lit by the slightly too-white fluorescents that made Amelia’s eyes burn.

She sat near the front with her iPad open, stylus twirling between her fingers as various engineers clicked through performance graphs on the large screen. Tyre degradation, pit stop windows, stint lengths, lap delta comparisons. The usual mess of variables before a race.

Oscar was next to her, elbows on the table, listening intently. He never interrupted. Never fidgeted. Just watched. Logged everything.

When the final graph flicked across the screen with the projected optimal strategy, medium-hard-medium, Amelia tilted her head, expression flat.

“No,” she said simply.

A pause.

One of the strategy engineers, Jeremy, looked up. “You don’t agree?”

“No. That doesn’t win us anything. That gives us a decent P6, maybe. P7 if the Mercs behave.”

“And what would you suggest?”

Amelia tapped the stylus against her pad. “Soft-Hard. Big launch, early gain. One stop. Pit window between 14 and 18, if the tyres last. Risky, but Oscar’s tyre management is good enough. He’s not heavy on the fronts.”

Oscar, quiet until now, nodded. “That’s what I felt in FP2. Softs felt clean even on the heavier fuel run. Just needs the rear temps managed early.”

Amelia gave him a slight smile, not warm exactly, but approving. “Driver agrees.”

Jeremy frowned. “If we pit early, we get undercut risk. Traffic.”

“We’re already in traffic,” Amelia replied. “You think anyone’s just going to make room for us? The only way through is to make it past them before the midfield concertina sets in. That means launch tyre, low fuel window, commit to Plan A. We stay reactive. Flexible. But we commit.”

Oscar added, “And if it doesn’t work?”

She looked at him. Direct. “Then it doesn’t. But we’ve learned more than we would’ve finishing behind both Alpines.”

Silence. Then, slowly, Andrea leaned back in his seat and said, “It’s bold.”

“That’s how we race,” Amelia said.

Another pause. Then a nod from Andrea. “Alright. Amelia, prep two versions of the radio calls. One if we need to abort early. One if we push deep into the stint.”

“Already halfway done,” she said, flipping to a new tab.

Oscar leaned toward her, voice low. “You really think we can pull it off?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

“I like it,” he said, almost to himself.

She looked at him sideways. “You trust me?”

He blinked. “Yeah. I do.”

She smiled, barely. “Then we’re good. Don’t be late to the grid walk. Make sure Lando’s had some water.”

“Yeah. I will,” Oscar muttered.

As the team filed out, Jeremy passed Amelia with a nod. “You’re not as scary as everyone said you’d be.”

“No,” she shrugged. “Not scary. Just… specific.”

Oscar held the door open, glancing at her. “Will you make me cookies if I finish top five?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “With raspberries. Just don’t tell Kim. He keeps telling me off for giving you treats that aren’t on your meal plan.”

“Mean.” Oscar complained.

“Very mean.” Amelia agreed.

—

The moment Lando stepped off the scale in parc fermé, Amelia launched herself at him.

He barely got his arms up in time to catch her — she collided with his chest like a missile, legs wrapping around his waist, arms tight around his neck.

“You crazy, crazy man,” she whispered fiercely into his ear, smiling so wide it hurt. “You data-defying freak.”

Lando laughed, breathless, still winded from the final laps but suddenly full of adrenaline again. “Hello, my beautiful wife.”

She kissed him hard, not the polished PR kind, but the messy, gleeful, post-race kind that tasted like sweat and relief. Cameras were around them, but neither of them cared. Hadn’t for a long time.

“P2,” he said, dazed.

“Yes,” she said, still clinging to him. “I’m so proud of you.”

He set her down, barely. She kept one hand fisted in his fireproofs, grounding herself.

“That was such an amazing drive,” she said, quieter now. “Every lap. You didn’t put a single foot wrong. And I’m so proud of you, Lando.”

He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes glinting under the brim of his cap. “Thank you, baby. For this. You. The car.”

“Anything for you,” she whispered, leaning up on her tiptoes and brushing their noses together. “I was getting tired of you moping around the apartment and yelling at Gran Turismo.”

He snorted. “You love when I yell at Gran Turismo.”

“I love you,” she said simply.

Someone called his name, an FIA official, maybe, or one of the social team, but he ignored it for a second longer. His thumb brushed her jaw. “Meet me at the podium?”

“I’ll be there.” Watching, always watching, always in awe of the man she loved.

“I want to spray you with champagne.” He told her.

“You’re not allowed to,” she warned. “I’ll be sticky.”

“Don’t care.” He grinned.

She rolled her eyes, kissed him again, and let him go.

Later, after the podium ceremony, after she did get sprayed, and did yell “Lando Norris, don’t you dare!” on live television, they curled up together in the back of the hospitality unit, him shirtless, her in one of his McLaren hoodies, and split a tiny bottle of celebratory wine Oscar had swiped from the hospitality fridge.

“I missed this,” Lando murmured, head on her shoulder.

She brushed his curls back from his forehead. “Podiums?”

“No,” he said, looking up at her. “You. You being happy. You being here, at McLaren, with me.” He paused, and she leaned closer curiously as he gazed at her, all soft and sweet and so dearly tender. “I kept it, you know? The note you left me before you joined RedBull. The one where you called me an asshole. The booklet too, with the race notes. You were the reason for every podium I got the year after that, you know?”

She swallowed thickly. Stared at him. Reached her hand up to cup his face. “You’re not an asshole.” She whispered. Needed to say it. Needed him to know that she didn’t believe that anymore.

“I am sometimes,” he grinned lopsidedly. “But you love me anyway.”

“I love you anyway.” She whispered.

—

It started with the toaster.

Specifically, with Lando kicking the cupboard under the sink in frustration because where the hell was the toaster? and why is there no bloody counter space anymore?

“I moved it because your smoothie machine was leaking again,” Amelia said from the floor of the living room, surrounded by three open boxes of car telemetry printouts and what looked like half of a sock drawer.

“I fixed the leak.” Lando told her.

She frowned at her pencil. “You fixed it with duct tape.”

“That’s how men do it,” Lando said, crouching to help pick up a stack of papers that had slipped under the coffee table. “Are these important?”

“Yes. They’re the data sheets from Oscar’s last long run simulation—don’t fold them!”

“I wasn’t going to—” He paused. “Okay, I was.”

She snatched them out of his hand, stuffing them back into a manila folder that was already bursting. Over the last few months, their beautiful apartment had started to look less like a home and more like an office. Helmets on shelves, engineering notebooks piled on chairs, printer cables tangled with furniture.

Lando stood up and did a slow 360° in the living room. “Have we… always had this much stuff?” He asked, his eyebrows pulling together.

“No,” Amelia said. “You moved in with a single suitcase of clothes and a sim rig. I had four crates of notebooks, over two hundred pairs of shoes, and a bookshelf. Now you have a room full of gaming stuff, we have two Dyson fans, my office is overflowing, and Max’s cats all-but live here part-time.” She pointed at the cat-tree they had stuffed into a tight corner by the window.

Lando rubbed the back of his neck. “You want to move?”

“I don’t want to,” she said bluntly, “but we’ve started tripping over each other. Literally. I had to do my work in the bathroom yesterday because you needed to use the extension cord in my office to use your NutriBullet.”

“There was no space in the kitchen.” He argued.

“Yes, I know. It was still a ridiculous solution.” She told him flatly.

He tried not to laugh. “Baby, you’re still mad?” He cooed.

“Lando,” she said, looking up at him, serious now. “We’ve outgrown this place. I love it, and it will always be our first home, but I don’t want to have to think about if I have space in my wardrobe to buy a new pair of shoes when I see ones that I like.” She said, biting her lip. “And I need a bigger office. You need a streaming room that doesn’t double as a spare room. It’s not fair to shove Oscar onto a pull-out bed every time he’s here.”

He flopped down next to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her onto his lap. “Suppose we could have a bigger kitchen.” He mumbled against her neck. “A nicer balcony. Maybe a dining room.”

“And plenty of space for guests,” she said.

Lando leaned his head against hers. “Okay. Let’s look. After the triple header.”

“Yeah,” Amelia said, letting herself relax into his side. “I want to stay in this neighbourhood. Or close.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard.” He hummed.

She cracked a smile. “And I want us to start looking for a house in England, too. Not for now… but for later. Somewhere to disappear during off-seasons. With a big garden, and trees, and a big garage for me to play around with some cars again.” She rambled.

He stared at her, hearts in his eyes. “God, I love you.”

“I know,” she said softly, and kissed his cheek. “Come on. Carry me into the kitchen. My legs are numb, but I’ll help you find the toaster.”

—

From the pit wall, the view was beautiful.

The sun beat down on the Hungaroring like it was trying to melt the asphalt. The air was thick with it though, and Amelia’s headset slightly with heat distortion.

Oscar was starting from the second row. P4.

Lando P3. 

Both of her boys making up the second row.

Her fingers tapped restlessly against her keyboard, eyes flicking between sector deltas and real-time tyre temp data. She barely noticed the world around her, only the voices in her ear and the heartbeat under her skin.

“Oscar, radio check?”

“Radio good.” Calm, sharp. His tone was always a little flat, that’s what everyone said; that he was emotionless. It made them a perfect duo — she never needed to try to unravel his tone. If he was thinking something, feeling something, he said it.

“Copy. Full systems looking good. Expect higher degradation on rear left — we’ll manage it through lift points. Brake temps will spike early. Keep it smooth, ducky.”

“Understood.” He said.

She leaned back in her stool and glance to her left, giving her dad a confident smile. He leaned across to give her a heavy shoulder pat, squeezing hard.

—

The launch was perfect.

Oscar didn’t just hold his position off the line; he gained. He swept into Turn 1 ahead of Lewis, ahead of even his teammate. For one brief, glorious moment, he was P2 behind Max Verstappen, in only his 11th Formula 1 race.

Amelia didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Just… hyper focused.

“Amazing job, Oscar. Straight into it. Eyes forward — target delta plus point-three, we’ll manage tyres early.” She said.

“Copy.”

Her hands hovered over the live strategy tools. They were starting on Plan A, soft-to-medium, but she had contingencies mapped like a chess board. She refused to ever resort to a late reaction.

—

By Lap 16, Lando had undercut Oscar and slotted into net P2.

Amelia knew it would happen. Still, she hated how early they’d had to box Oscar, forced into it by track position pressure and the undercut threat from Lewis behind. The window had been tight. And the McLaren pit stop wasn’t their best; 3.8 seconds. Enough to cost.

Oscar rejoined in traffic. Slower cars. Dirty air.

The moment Oscar keyed his mic, she knew he felt it too.

“Tyres feel edgy. Car’s moving around.”

“Yeah. I know. Let’s build up our temps gradually. Try not to fight the dirty air. We’re still advantage three, ducky. Cleaner air will come to us once we’re through this pack.”

He didn’t reply right away. But when he did, it was with full faith in her plan. “Copy. Staying patient.”

She made a note on her pad, already tracking tyre drop-off curves from the medium runners around him. There was still a shot at a P4 finish. Maybe more, if Ferrari made the wrong call. Again.

—

The race stabilised. Max was untouchable up front, but Lando and Oscar were both holding on. Lando ran solidly in P2. Oscar, behind him in P5 with Charles closing. Too slowly to be dangerous yet, but Amelia knew better than to relax.

“Leclerc at 2.2 behind. He’s on slightly newer mediums, but they’ll plateau. You’re doing exactly what I need you to do.”

“Rear left’s starting to slip.” He reported.

Amelia adjusted her headset mic. She didn’t raise her voice, but the sharpness of her tone cut through the heat and static. “We’re monitoring. Keep it tight in 11 and off the kerbs in Sector 2. We’ll be okay.”

Will leaned toward her, murmuring, “You sure we’re not going to lose it to Leclerc?”

She didn’t look away from the screen. “Not if he does exactly what I tell him. And he will.”

—

Leclerc wasn’t fast enough. And Oscar, even with graining tyres, rising temps, and thirty-five laps of non-stop pressure, didn’t put a wheel wrong.

“Last lap. Keep it clean. You’ve broken DRS.”

“Copy.” Calm. Professional. Perfectly Oscar.

When he crossed the line in P5, just behind Lewis, Amelia didn’t outwardly react. But her hand curled into a fist beneath the desk, opening and closing five times in even succession.

It wasn’t a podium. But it was a statement.

—

In the garage, the heat clung to them like a second skin. Amelia handed Oscar a water bottle before he even had to ask.

“You made them work for it,” she said.

Oscar looked at her, face half-smeared with visor marks, and raised a brow. “I was pushing hard.”

“I know,” she said, voice level. “Even after the weak strategy call. You salvaged your position, and it was impressive.”

He tilted his head. “Even that moment in Turn 2 where I had to back off?”

“Especially then,” she said. “That’s when I knew you were supposed to be my driver. You fight hard, but you race clean.”

Oscar snorted, leaning against the garage wall. “You’re very dramatic. And demanding on the radio.”

“You stayed ahead of a Ferrari on thirty-lap-old tyres. So…” She raised an eyebrow at him.

He smirked, then looked at her sideways. “Think we could’ve held that podium if we boxed one lap later?”

Amelia refused to lie. “Maybe. But we don’t deal in maybes. We deal in execution. And yours was great.”

He bumped her arm. “Thanks. I got a bit stressed there, after the first stop. You helped me keep my head.”

She smiled, faint but proud. “I’ll always do that.”

—

It wasn’t victory.

But it was control. It was consistency. It was yet another way of telling the world that Oscar Piastri, under her watch, was going to become something extraordinary.

—

Amelia found her husband sitting on one of the stackable pit wall chairs, half out of his fireproofs, head tipped back, hair damp with sweat. His eyes were closed, not asleep, but close to it. That bone-deep exhaustion that only comes after a truly hard-fought podium.

She nudged his knee with hers.

He cracked an eye open. Smiled when he saw that it was her. “Hey, Mrs. P5.”

She smiled right back at him. “Hi, Mr. P2.”

He let out a slow breath, opened his arms. She fell into them, onto his lap, and let him hold her. Tight. “Felt good today.” He started. “Felt like we were… properly in it. Like we’re not just pretending anymore.”

“You weren’t pretending in Silverstone, either,” she reminded him, sliding into the seat beside him. “But you really earned it today with that middle stint.”

He gazed down at her. “You always manage to do this.”

“What?” She asked, blinking at him.

“Say the exact right thing. Make me feel even better about a result I’m already proper buzzing about.” He explained, with a tilted smile. “Makes me feel like a bit of a muppet, honestly.”

She didn’t respond, just leaned over slightly, drawing something out from the inside of the pocket of her McLaren windbreaker. A thin silver chain, a small pendant strung on it. Lando in cursive letters, cut from a sheet of polished silver.

She held it up between them.

“A fan gave this to me outside the paddock,” she said, tone matter-of-fact. “Asked me to give it to you. I told her I was going to keep it.”

Lando blinked. “Wait—what?”

“Because,” she went on, “it has your name on it. And that’s comforting. Like when I labelled everything in the kitchen drawers so you stopped putting the spoons in the wrong place.”

He started laughing. “You think I’m a drawer?”

“I think you’re mine,” she said plainly. “And this necklace is a tactile reminder. So I’m keeping it. And I’m going to wear it all the time. Until it goes rusty, and then I’m going to have another one made. More permanent. And I’ll wear that one all the time too.”

Lando looked at her for a long moment, the corners of his mouth twitching with affection. “You’re so romantic.”

“Maybe.” She sighed, like it was the worst thing she’d ever been told.

That earned a full grin from him. Tired, slightly loopy from the adrenaline crash, but full and wide. He reached over and ran his fingers along the chain. “I love you, baby.” He said quietly.

She looked at him, blinked once. “I know.” A beat passed. She gave him the smallest smile, then added, “And I love you too.”

Lando pressed his forehead against hers. “God, I missed you during the cool-down room. Lewis and Max were being so serious. I just wanted to say something dumb and have you roll your eyes at me. Make everything feel fun again.”

“You did great,” she told him earnestly. “You kept Max behind you for more laps than most people have managed all year.”

He pulled her in then, quick and fierce, arms around her back, his mouth warm against hers. “You’re the only podium celebration I actually look forward to.” A pause. A long, lingering kiss. And then, “did you bring the chequered flag underwear?”

She glanced around before tugging at her top. 

He peeked down and smirked.

“Fucking class.” 

NEXT CHAPTER

[snoopyracing]

rivals // ln4 & op81

part one

pairing: lando norris X oscar piastri X reader

word count: 7k

warnings: cursing, alcohol use, slight suggestive content, lando X oscar content

summary: challengers!au.... when ferarri’s princess is forced to retire at the peak of her career she finds herself lost with no purpose. racing was all she had ever known and it was ripped right out from under her with no warning. feeling hopeless she pours her passion back into mentoring oscar piastri— mclaren’s reigning champion. old feelings emerge, rivalries reach their breaking point, and ex-teammates show up when oscar least expects it. yet all y/n wants to see is some good fucking racing.

a/n: so excited about this series omg!! please let me know what you all think!!

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The rumble of twenty V6 engines, pit crews and TV presenters talking, last minute checks over the car, fans roaring– it’s all background noise as you’re sat snugly in the cockpit of your race car, waiting for the formation lap to start. You close your eyes and take a couple deep breaths, grounding yourself as you try to prepare for the next heart pounding adrenaline inducing two hours. Your body relaxes and you allow yourself to enter racing mode, your senses are heightened, mind sharper than a tack. When you open your eyes you only see a clear track in front of you and a navy blue Red Bull to the left of you. 

It was time.

If the giant Rolex branded clock didn’t confirm it for you then that static in your ear piece followed by 30 seconds till formation from your race engineer Alice did. You’re second on the starting grid, with Verstappen in front of you and your teammate Leclerc right behind him, you know you’ve got your work cut out for you. Not to mention that you’re in Monza this weekend, so a Ferrari 1-2 is the ultimate goal. Your visor comes down and your hands grip the wheel as the formation lap starts. 

When you line back up on the grid you take one last final breath and wait for the famous five lights. The little red lights that let you know it’s time to unleash every ounce of talent, of wheel knowledge, everything you’ve got to be the first one to see the checkered flag waving. 

The lights go out and away you go.

It’s an amazing start off the line from you and you’re able to quickly get past Max and become the new race leader, an advantage that you’re glad to have had considering Monza isn’t the easiest track to overtake on.

Beautiful Y/N - your race engineer's soothing voice fills your ears and for a second you can breathe, but it doesn’t last long because you know you’ve got Max Verstappen behind you. The man who will make a move if he sees the slightest opportunity and you know you’ve got to defend this position with your life. It makes you feel a little better knowing he’s got Charles behind him to keep him busy, but this is Formula 1 and things could change in the blink of an eye. 

You’d held the lead beautifully for a quarter of the race, but on lap 15 of 53 you hear box box over the radio. 

Seriously? You question back, knowing this was not the plan you’d gone with in your meeting this morning– or the other five million that Ferrari insisted on having. You wonder if maybe you’d been pushing too hard and ate away at the tires, but you knew that wasn’t true. Tire whisperer was your middle name and from what you could tell you still had a good amount of laps left on these babies. 

Yes, box now. Alice’s voice is firm and the pit lane is fast approaching, so you obey orders and pull into the pit lane entry. It’s an insanely fast pit stop, but when you come back out onto the track and see that you’d been undercut by Max you’re immediately pressing the radio button. 

Real nice pit stop timing– plan C is what I want now. 

We don’t think that’s possible at this moment.

Well I’m making it possible.

Even though Max had undercut you, there isn’t a doubt in your mind that you’re not winning this race. You were leading this championship for a reason– you were the best and it was as simple as that. A little undercut wasn’t going to ruin this race, especially when these tires were going to last you for the remaining 38 laps. 

It was crazy, you know, but taking risks was something you had to do in the world of Formula 1. So, you grip the steering wheel, take a deep breath as best as you can, flip Max the bird as you pass him and become one with your car. 

On lap 45 of 53 you no longer see Max Verstappen in a Red Bull behind you in your mirrors, but the all too familiar red colored car reflecting back at you. As the laps wind down you can actually start to hear how loud the crowd is and when you’re the first to see the checkered flag you know tonight is going to be a night you won’t forget. 

The crowd is electric, actually it’s more than electric. It's indescribable as you step out of the cockpit and carefully onto the top of the car that’s parked in front of the P1 placard. Your pointer finger proudly showing off your number one position to the multiple cameras pointed in your direction. Waves and kisses are blown towards the crowd before you’re quickly running over to your team and jumping into their arms over the barricades that are set up. Praises fill the air and when Charles finally comes over to the team it’s an even bigger celebration. You embrace your teammate, both of you congratulating each other before focusing back on the people who make all of this possible.

The cool water that awaits you at your pedestal feels better than winning for a brief second, your helmet and extra gear already ripped off you as you chug it down like liquid gold. 

“You’re one crazy motherfucker you know that?” A familiar Dutch accent fills your ears as he pats you on the back. 

“Just a casual Sunday drive for me.” You shrug your shoulders at Max, a smirk splayed across your lips as the bottle of water hovers near your mouth. 

A team member directs you towards the area where the pre podium interviews will be held before you can discuss anymore with Max. A Ferrari cap sits atop your sweaty head as you speak with David Coulthard— your smile beaming as the adrenaline still courses through your veins. “Wow. I don’t even know what to say about your drive out there today. Was a one stop the plan all along or was that something you just ended up doing?”  

The crowd is so loud you can barely hear him, the massive Ferrari flag waving in the grandstands behind him only adds to the atmosphere. “Yeah, I mean it wasn’t anyone’s favorite plan, but I knew when I came back out onto the track that these tires were gonna last me till I saw that checkered flag wave and they did. So I think that speaks for itself don’t you?” 

He asks a few more general questions, but all you can think about is that podium and the feeling of the biggest trophy in your hands. “Always a pleasure talking to you and seeing you on that top step. Congratulations again Y/N.” 

You give him a kert thank you before booking it to the cool down room and preparing yourself for the impending celebrations. 

In the McLaren garage Lando watches the podium from the monitors. He knows he should be in the media pen, answering the same questions over and over again and he pretends not to hear his publicity agent holler his name. In his defense the TIFOSI are celebrating not that far away– it’s hard to hear anything over them and the Italian anthem filling the air. He’s experienced a podium in Monza once, but as a McLaren driver it’s never as special as if he were a Ferrari driver. The monitor that’s still playing the podium celebration is his only focus at this point and he doesn’t even notice Oscar coming up beside him. Lando’s too busy watching you get sprayed with champagne and the way you look with the said champagne dripping off of you. The way you look like you were meant to be up there with the thousands of fans screaming for you down below. The biggest trophy held high above your head as you smile out at the crowd. 

“She’s something isn’t she?” 

Lando jumps slightly at the sound of Oscar’s voice, yet his gaze never wanders from the screen. The Australian shuffles his feet to stand next to Lando, his eyes joining in on the spectacle on the monitor in front of them. 

“Yeah she is.” Lando mumbles. 

Truth be told you’re more than just something. You were a prodigy– a generational talent. People knew you’d be talked about as one of the greats forty years from now. It took blood sweat and tears and then some to become the first female Formula 1 driver, and you sure as hell weren’t going to be some mediocre driver who barely made it into the points every race.

You were here to win– to be the best and that’s what you are. Another twenty five points added to your championship lead and perhaps after you win the championship you’ll no longer be the Princess of Ferrari, but the Queen. 

Lando watches as you grip the champagne bottle by its neck, lifting to your lips and taking a long swig from it. “I’d let her fuck me with that bottle.” He doesn’t even realize he’s said that out loud until he hears Oscar scoff from beside him. 

“Of course you would.” 

Oscar would too– he just has a better filter than Lando. 

Charles, Max, and you pose for some pictures and then with a final wave to the crowd you’re off the screen and the cameras change to the season's stats so far. Lando turns to face his teammate with nothing shy of a serious look on his face. “We are going out tonight.” 

Oscar furrows his eyebrows, there was nothing to really celebrate tonight. “We barely made it into the points. Is that really worth going out for?” 

“We aren’t celebrating us you muppet. We are celebrating Y/N.” 

“Ah of course, because we are so close to her. She probably wouldn’t even let us near her section if we tried.” 

Lando rolled his eyes at Oscar– he could be so pessimistic sometimes. So what if Lando could count on one hand how many times he’d held a conversation with you that lasted longer than a minute. That didn’t mean you didn’t like him. In fact, maybe you liked Lando so much that you kept your distance to remain professional. Either way he was going to actually talk with you tonight and yeah it was unprofessional, but if things escalated tonight, he wouldn’t oblige. 

The sound of Lando and Oscar’s names echoed through the McLaren garage and in an instant both of their publicity agents were now standing in front of them, unimpressed looks on their faces as they dragged the two drivers towards their interviews.

“I’ll get the details from Carlos alright? Don’t sit around in the room tonight– live a little Oscar.” Lando says as they enter the chaos that is the media pen.

Oscar only nods at his teammate as his agent is already pointing him in the direction of his first interview. 

A perk of the McLaren boys being so late to do their interviews is that they get the privilege of being in the pen at the same time as the three podium placers. Max and Charles walk in first, but no one pays that much attention to them. 

When Y/N waltzes in– now that’s a different story. 

There’s an immediate surge of energy in the air. Your name is echoed through the air like a prayer and each press official wants to be the first person to interview the race winner– to interview you. Your smile lights up the room and you don’t even look like you’ve just been through a grueling two hours in a race car. You’re radiant and everyone’s eyes are on you, even the ones that were mid interview.

When you end up next to Oscar in the pen he feels the air escape from his lungs. He tries to act cool, like he didn’t even notice you next to him, or that he wasn’t freaking out like a fanboy right now, but he totally was. It also seemed that the person interviewing him was more focused on you than Oscar, their eyes glancing over towards you every few seconds, but Oscar couldn’t blame them one bit. 

He thinks he blacks out for a moment when you leave to go to your next interview and you smile at him. It wasn’t even a full teeth smile, just a small one that you’d give to a person in public on the sidewalk. Yet it made him weak in the knees– his hands gripping the barricade as he tried to collect himself. 

Oscar had talked to you even less than Lando, but he’d come to the conclusion that you smiling at him outweighed all of Lando’s conversations. And his previous doubts about going out tonight had suddenly vanished. He was a man on a mission and you were that mission.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The music pounds in your chest as you sit on the plush velour couches in the VIP section of this random club in Monza. Strobe lights move across the room and the faint smell of marijuana fills your noise while you’re sipping on what was clearly not your first drink of the night. Charles sat across from you with whatever girlfriend this was at the moment and a couple other drivers that you liked well enough to invite out. 

It was times like this that you thought that maybe you should be a little more outgoing in the friend department, but you weren’t here to make friends. Sure you talked to the guys– you weren’t rude, but it was always professional conversations– always consisting of racing.

You were close with Charles, purely because he’d been your teammate for the past two years, but other than that you didn’t pay much mind to anyone else on the grid. You were here to win races, not form lifelong friendships, but that didn’t mean you didn’t like to have a little fun every once in a while. 

Which was what you planned on doing tonight. 

Oscar and Lando seem like two middle school boys with no date to the Valentine’s day dance as they stand awkwardly near the bar. The music is deafening and Lando’s mad that Carlos, who was the one person who could have gotten them into your section, decided to bail on coming out tonight at the last minute. The last hour had been spent on trying to figure out how to get in without Carlos, but they both seem to be failing in the brainstorming department tonight. 

Lando’s ordering another drink from the bartender when he feels a sharp jab in his side. He turns his head to find Oscar pointing out towards the dance floor– his eyes follow Oscar’s line of direction and what he sees has his mouth agape. 

There you are on the dance floor– in a red dress that fits you perfectly and teases anyone who was looking. You stand out, like a beacon of light and Lando and Oscar were sailors lost at sea. The way your body moves along to the rhythm and you seem to get lost in the music. It’s a sight that neither of them can seem to tear their eyes away from. That is until you decide to head back to your section and before Oscar can oblige Lando decides their best option for tonight. 

“Let’s just go and talk to her.” He grabs Oscar by the hand, his shoes dragging against the sticky floor as Lando pulls him towards you. Oscar knows there’s no real plan in place and he fears they’re going to make fools of themselves. 

Once they make it through the sea of sweaty bodies a red velvet rope and a burly bouncer are all that separates the two McLaren drivers from you. The bouncer stares down at them– his expression stone cold as he crosses his massive arms over his chest, muscles bulging under his shirt. 

“Sorry. Invite only.” His Italian accent is thick as he speaks to them. 

“We know her. We’re drivers too– for McLaren.” Lando counters back, praying it’s enough for the man to lift the rope and let them pass. 

The bouncer stares at them, squinting his eyes like he’s trying to tell if they are actually who they say they are. For a brief second they think the man recognizes them, but their hopes were crushed as soon as they appeared. “Invite only.” The bouncer states again as he stands there like a brick wall. 

Lando cranes his neck around the man, looking into the VIP section, hoping someone recognizes him and Oscar, but the person who comes to their rescue is the last person either of them expected. 

The red dress is what catches Lando’s eye first and when his eyes travel up and land on your face he gulps. There you are standing behind the rope that’s been their main obstacle tonight and when you lean over towards the bouncer and whisper something in his ear the man seems surprised.

If Oscar was as good at reading lips as he thought he was it looked like the man mouthed something along the lines of are you sure back at you. You nodded your head firmly towards the man before sitting back down on the plush couches, your lips wrapped around the straw from your drink as you stare down the two McLaren boys. 

Oscar and Lando think they’re dreaming when they see the bouncer lift the rope and motion for them to enter. Oscar feels like his feet are stuck on the floor, he never thought they’d get this far tonight, especially after Carlos bailed on them. He feels Lando’s hands on his back, pushing him forward while mumbling something about hurry up before she changes her mind. 

They’re both stumbling messes as they hurriedly enter the VIP section. They hear some of the other drivers greet them, but their attention is lasered in on you. How you’re sitting there sipping your drink and looking like the sexiest and scariest woman they’d ever met. 

There’s a beat of silence for a moment between the three of you as you all just stare at one another– some rap song fills the silence as the bass vibrates in everyone’s chest. 

Oscar notices how your gaze lingers on Lando more than him and he realizes he needs to be the one to speak up first. “You were fucking incredible today.” 

Your eyes immediately dart over to Oscar and a smile creeps its way onto your face. “Thank you.” 

“No really. It was like something completely different to what everyone else was doing out there today. It was like it wasn’t even racing.” 

You simply nod at him, what were you supposed to say to him? You knew you were good. 

Oscar looks around his eyes identifying the other drivers who’d been graced with a prior invite into your section. Leclerc, Hamilton, and Albon, but no Verstappen. “Max didn’t want to come out tonight?” 

You scoff and shake your head at the Australian. “He only likes to celebrate when he’s on the top step, not the bottom one. He’s a sore loser– probably already on his private jet back to Monaco as we speak.” Someone comes over with a tray full of shots and sets them down on the nearby table. You grab one for yourself and motion for the boys to grab one as well. “Go on, have a little fun. You two did pretty decent for yourselves today didn’t you? You both scored points if I recall correctly?” 

Lando and Oscar both nod and grab a shot glass from the table, quickly downing it before setting the glass back down. They watch you as your lips wrap around the shot glass and you tilt your head back, letting the liquid burn as it goes down your throat. When you set the shot glass back down you notice the boys standing there like lost puppies. The awkwardness and nervousness radiating off them makes you giggle. You knew the power you had over men and oh was it such a fun game to play. 

“I heard through the grapevine that you’re doing Formula E next season. Did you lose your seat or what?” 

Lando’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head– he’d not spoken to another soul about it, besides Zak. “How did you even know about this? But no, I didn’t lose my seat. I wanted to explore other forms of racing. Trust me– my seat will be waiting for me when I’m done.” 

You nod at the British driver as your eyes flicker over to Oscar, who you know is thinking the same thing. No one who makes it to Formula 1 just decides to pursue other types of racing— maybe once you’ve left your mark, but not a handful of years into your career. You guess you all would see if he did still have his seat when the time came. “It’s Formula 1 darling. There’s no such thing as secrets in this career field. The paddock whispers and the majority of the time she’s never wrong.” 

The club starts to feel suffocating and Lando uses his need for fresh air to maybe get you away from the chaos for a moment. “Do you smoke?” 

You raise your eyebrows at him in surprise– a small laugh spilling past your lips. “Cigarettes?” 

“Yeah.” 

“No. Do you?” 

“Yeah. Do you wanna go outside?” 

You glance over at Oscar who seems less than impressed with Lando at the moment, but you’re intrigued to see where this goes. So, you stand up, smooth the front of your dress and let Lando and Oscar lead the way. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The fresh air feels amazing when it hits your skin, it makes you feel alive–awake almost. You’re grateful there’s only two people out here in the little smokers area, the last thing you need is for people to be shoving their phones in your face. You notice Lando pull a pack of Marlboros from his jacket pocket and then proceeds to pull a cigarette out before handing the pack to Oscar who copies his actions. 

You three sit at one of the little tables set up outside and you watch as they smoke their cigarettes. “This isn’t the eighties anymore. Do your trainers know you guys smoke?” 

“If the drivers back in the day could do it why can’t we?” Lando says as he takes a particularly long drag.

“Like I said it’s not the eighties anymore.” You taunt. Oscar quickly puts his out with the heel of his shoe before you start in on him. He never really liked cigarettes to begin with, but then he started hanging around Lando and well now everytime he drank he craved one. “See, this is your problem. You think racing is about trying to be like the ones who came before you or that it’s some image you have to fit into. That’s why you’re stuck fighting for P10.” 

“We don’t necessarily have the best car at the moment.” Lando counters back, flicking the ash off his cigarette as he eyes you. 

You shake your head at him. “Yeah, but having a good car is only a small fraction of the bigger picture. To be honest you’re not actually a Formula 1 driver. You don’t even understand what racing is.” 

Lando smirks as he takes another puff from his cigarette, the smoke billowing in your face. “What is it then?” 

“A relationship.” 

He scoffs at your answer. “Is that what gets you all those wins? Seeing racing as a relationship?” 

“It is actually. When you become one with your car, with your team, engineer, everyone that makes this whole thing run you’ll understand. You’ll feel it and it’s like you all understand each other. It’s some fucked up version of love, but it’s there. It’s like I’m sometimes not there in my body when I’m driving and the part of me that is in this relationship takes over and I just exist in that moment. Racing– being a Formula 1 driver is more than just driving a fast car and living a luxurious lifestyle. It’s a commitment and when that commitment is taken seriously the outcome is beautiful.” 

Oscar had never heard someone talk about racing like that before, but it made sense, especially coming from you. Everytime you got in that car your drive was like a piece of art. Every win of yours deserved to be in the Louvre. You truly were the face and epitome of what was Formula 1. 

Your phone lights up with a notification and when you see just how late it is you know it’s time to call it a night. “Well boys. It was nice to chat with you, but it’s time for me to head back to the hotel. See you at the next race.” You give them a small wave goodbye and head back towards the chest rattling music. 

Lando sits up in his chair, the night had just begun and he was far from done talking to you. “Wait!” You stop walking and turn on your heels to face the boys, an eyebrow raised in question. “Are you on Facebook?” 

You audibly laugh in Lando’s face at his question. “Facebook? Is this 2010?” 

Oscar speaks up for the first time since you three came out here. “I think he’s trying to ask for your number, which is what I’m also doing… right now.” 

Your eyes dart back and forth from Oscar to Lando. “I don’t doubt you both follow me on Instagram. Is that not enough?” Oscar and Lando feel their stomachs drop, they knew they shouldn’t have gotten so ballsy with asking for your number. When they don’t answer you realize how serious they are about it. “You both want my number– for real?” 

Oscar and Lando vigorously nod their heads at you, clinging onto the last little bit of hope they have.

“I’m not a home-wrecker.” 

“We don’t live together.” Oscar states as he watches your hair gently move with the night breeze. 

Lando doesn’t miss a beat with his reply. “It’s an open relationship.” 

“Also Lando has a girlfriend.” 

“I do not!” Lando slightly raises his voice towards his teammate. The asshole was clearly trying to get one up on him. 

You laugh at their antics, they were such desperate needy boys and you were loving this. 

Lando shuffles forward in his seat, his elbows resting on the table as he leans forward. “Why don’t you come hang out with us later? We’re all at the same hotel. We’re in room 231.” 

Oscar’s head whips around to look at Lando, he was not expecting to have a sleepover tonight. 

You laugh a little at his proposition. “Is money that tight at McLaren that they’ve got you two sharing rooms?” 

Lando and Oscar glance at one another, the answer was yes, but they weren’t going to say that. “No, it was a hotel mistake.” 

“You want me to come tuck you in?” Your tone is nothing shy of teasing. 

“No. We can just keep talking about… racing.” 

They were determined– you’d give them that. You had never paid much mind to the McLaren boys, but after your interaction with them tonight you were intrigued to say the least. A small smile stretches across your face as you bid the boys farewell once more. “Goodnight.” 

You know they watch you walk all the way to the door and you know they’ll be waiting all night for you to show up. 

It’s not butterflies that you feel in your stomach when you realize just how tightly you’ve got them wrapped around your finger already– no it’s something much stronger than that. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later the night Lando and Oscar wait impatiently in their shared hotel room for you to show up. The AC rattles and the TV plays some random Italian show that Oscar pretends to watch. 

“She’s not coming.” Oscar states after the end credits roll on what he thinks is the third episode of the show. 

“She might.” Lando’s lounging on his bed, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. 

Oscar glances over at Lando. “You made it sound like we wanted to fuck her in here.” 

Lando scoffs. “Well we do want to fuck her in here.” 

“What exactly was your plan with this invitation? I mean let’s say she did come over. We both keep desperately trying to shoot our shot and hope that she ends up making out with one of us? What’s the other person supposed to do? Go sit in the bathroom?” 

Lando shrugs, he hadn’t thought that far in advance, but it didn’t sound like a horrible plan. “Sure, if it came to that.” Oscar laughs at how unbelievable Lando sounds right now. Really he’d like nothing more for you to show up at their door and have your way with him, but Oscar was realistic– Lando not so much. “What do you think it’s beneath you? Is Oscar Piastri too good to take one for the team and wait it out in the bathroom?” 

“I think it’s beneath her.” Oscar had realized that The Princess of Ferrari was definitely taking pity on them earlier. And if you did show up at their room tonight then maybe Oscar would start to believe in a higher power. 

“What if she chooses you? You’d have no trouble sending me away.” 

Oscar rolls his eyes at his teammate. “She’s not coming, Lando.” 

Then as if the universe wanted to humiliate Oscar there’s a knock at the door. The boys halt their movements and lock eyes, wondering if they’d just heard the knock in their heads. Then as if on cue another knock sounds on the door and their both scrambling to straighten the room as quickly as possible. 

On the other side of the door you can hear them clambering around and shouted whispers echoing through the room. You smile as you imagine the undeniable chaotic scene unfolding on the other side of the door. You hear the door opening and you quickly step back, you didn’t want them to know you were eavesdropping.

When the door opens there stands Oscar and Lando, both with only boxers on, but Lando’s the only shirtless one. You can feel their eyes burning into your skin– you’d perhaps worn the shortest athletic shorts you own and a cute little jacket on purpose. 

“Hi.” Comes from both of them, but you only greet them back with a smile. 

You three sit on the carpeted floor and talk about dumb shit like what junior series you raced in and if Oscar’s boarding school experience was like the crazy stories you’d heard of. The mini bar was soon fully raided and combined with the prior drinks from the club– you were feeling a little out there with your questions. 

“How often does this happen?” You motion between the three of you with your almost empty seltzer can. “You guys going after the same girl?”

“Not as often as you’d think actually.” Lando states as he takes a swig from his drink. 

“Really?” You don’t believe him one bit. 

Oscar shakes his head. “We don’t usually have the same type.” 

“Are you saying I should be flattered?” 

“No… I mean you’re everyone’s type, aren’t you?” Oscar states like it’s a known fact. 

Which, in all honesty, it practically was a well known fact. You never had an issue in the relationship department. Men and women– they both loved you and wanted you, and well the feeling was mutual. You were comfortable with your sexuality, but you could feel the tension or unexplored tension between Lando and Oscar. They were both too needy and pathetic looking to not be at least a little curious and you were going to be the one to get the ball rolling. 

“What about the two of you?” You ask, your head spinning with endless possibilities. 

Oscar furrows his eyebrows at you. “What do you mean?” 

You don’t say anything– you just keep looking at them. Waiting for one of them to crack. 

“Oh. No… is that surprising?” Oscar’s cheeks start to turn pink when he understands just what you were insinuating. 

Yes it’s surprising you think– what F1 driver didn’t have a little fruitiness to them? 

Then you see Lando with a weird smile on his face and you know you’ve hit the jackpot. “What is it?” 

“Well…” 

“No.” Oscar is furiously shaking his head at Lando, he does not want you to know about this, but he can already tell his actions are futile.

“Tell me.” You straighten your posture, attention solely focused on them and what Lando’s about to spill. 

Lando keeps teasing and Oscar can tell you're absolutely chomping at the bit to hear this, so he concedes. Maybe you’re drunk enough to forget this in the morning. “Just tell her.” 

You watch as Lando’s eyes travel from you to Oscar and then back to you. The anticipation is killing you and just when you think you can’t wait much longer Lando speaks. 

“Oscar and I have jerked off together before.” 

The image of it flashes in your brain and it’s everything you could have thought of and more. “Like you helped each other or?” 

“No. We were always in separate beds.” Oscar explains but when your eyes widen he realizes what he’s said. 

“You’ve done it more than once?” 

Oscar’s scrambling to do damage control while Lando sits there with a grin on his face. “Twice! That was it and it was during a triple header both times… can you blame us?”

You put your hands up in defense. “I’m not judging.” Judging was the last thing you were doing– fantasizing was more like it. 

There’s a beat of silence between the three of you and when you down the last of your drink you realize what you had was the last of everything. “We’re out of drinks.” 

You all glance at one another– not sure where to go from here. Do you leave? Do you stay? Do you try to get more to drink? Then as abruptly as you decided to do a one stopper during the race earlier, you get up from the floor and take a seat on the end of one of the beds. 

“Come here.” You command. 

The boys look at one another and then over to you, neither of them moving. 

“Um– which one of us?” Oscar asks. 

Lando on the other hand doesn’t wait for you to answer. He’s up off the floor and next to you on the bed faster than the car he drives on Sundays. Oscar quickly follows suit– settling in on the other side of you. 

You feel both of their eyes on you, the anticipation killing them, and the fact that you’re fully in control at the moment. You look back and forth between the boys, almost like you’re playing eeny meeny miny moe with them. After what seems like a tantalizing few seconds you land on Oscar and you can feel the nervousness and desire radiating off of him.

You lean in and capture his lips in a kiss– it’s sweet and he kisses you with a softness that somehow had you craving more, but you knew you had Lando waiting his turn. So before you got carried away you broke apart from Oscar and turned to face Lando. He’s eager and wastes no time once you lean in towards him. His lips are rougher and kissing Lando is the complete opposite of kissing Oscar. Lando’s more passionate and rushed and he’s more handsy than Oscar. It’s like day and night with them. 

You pull away from Lando and then after a few seconds they both lean in at the same time to kiss you. It’s awkward at first– heads are bumped and giggles travel softly through the air, but eventually you make it work and you’re kissing them both at the same time. It quickly turns more heated, tongues dancing with each other, mouths moving in sync. It's messy and hot and none of you can seem to get enough– hands are everywhere and you all get lost in the moment. 

That’s until an idea sparks in your brain and you find yourself slowly backing out of the kiss and before you know it you’re leaning back on your elbows watching the show in front of you. 

For a moment Oscar and Lando get lost in one another. Their eyes are closed yet their mouths work together like they’ve mapped every inch of one another. It makes you wonder– hope that they’ve done this before. It’s like a work of art in front of you and you find yourself getting lost in the way they kiss one another, but you know you can’t be greedy if you want to make whatever this is last. So, you sadly interrupt the two drivers. 

“Okay.” They immediately break apart, eyes wide as they realize what they’ve been doing. “I’m going to bed.” You get up and head towards the door, acting like this hadn’t just made you feel crazy. 

Lando and Oscar are feeling fifty million emotions at the moment but when they see you head towards the door Lando realizes he hadn’t gotten what he asked for in the beginning. “What about your number?”

You’d just made out with them and they're still so hung up on your damn number? “I told you I’m not a home-wrecker.”

“Please.” Oscar knows he sounds desperate, but that’s because he is. 

You think for a moment, you could just give them your number, or you could make this a little fun. And with you fun is always going to win. “Alright. How about this? I would say whoever wins the race would get my number, but we know that's not going to happen. So whoever places higher up at the next race can have it.” 

Lando smiles, but Oscar feels the loss already. You notice how starkly different their reactions are and you focus your attention on Oscar. “You can beat him. You should beat him, actually.” 

Lando doesn’t know if he should take offense to what you’ve said or use it as fuel to beat Oscar tomorrow. Either way he doesn’t appreciate the sudden favoritism towards Oscar at the moment.

“Are you saying you want me to?” Oscar’s confused as to what you meant. 

“I’m saying you’re not going to get my number if you don’t.”

“Yeah, but what do you want?” Oscar asks and you all know he’s not implying what you want but who.

“I want to see some good fucking racing.” 

Silence fills the hotel room for a brief moment before you bid them goodnight and walk out the door. 

The boys sit there shell shocked, still processing what had taken place moments ago and your words still hanging heavy in the air. They both knew they had to lock in and do everything in their power to beat one another at the next race– and to them your phone number meant more than a trophy or points at the moment. 

Lando glances over at Oscar, but his eyes travel down south when he spots something out of the corner of his eye. “Need some help with that?” 

Oscar looks over at Lando and follows his gaze down to his raging erection. He punches the Brit in the arm before abruptly standing up. “Fuck off Lando.” He hollers as he heads towards the bathroom. 

“Maybe we can tell Y/N it was three times instead of two!” Lando laughs as he leans back on the bed with his arms behind his head. He was determined to get your number– come hell or highwater. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Two weeks later Formula 1 is racing in Baku. You haven’t spoken to Lando or Oscar since that night, but the whole weekend you’ve been catching their eye, fleeting glances are shared during media day, and when you stand somewhat close to them during the driver’s parade they both feel like they're going insane. 

Sunday arrives and you’re on the top step again and when the celebrations are over you watch the race in your hotel room that night. A smirk paints itself across your face the longer you watch, the McLaren boys didn’t disappoint. They put on a good fucking show from the midfield and when Lando sees the checkered flag before Oscar you’re pulling out your phone and pulling up his contact– a favor from Carlos. 

Your fingers type out the message– the intent behind it is clear as day and when you press send you wait for the knock at your door. 

you: congrats P8 winner. i think you deserve a more elaborate prize, don't you? 

A few weeks later Lando and Oscar are at the MTC doing some training, sim work, media obligations– all the fun stuff. They’re in the gym doing weights when Oscar asks the question. 

“You fucked her yet?” 

Lando sets the dumbbell down, surprised at what came out of Oscar’s mouth. “I’m not telling.” 

“What do you mean you won’t tell me?” 

“I don’t kiss and tell.” Lando shrugs. 

Oscar scoffs as he does a few more reps. “Since when?” 

“Since she told me she’d stop seeing me if I told anyone.” Lando says matter of factly. 

“Well she had to know you’d talk to me.” 

Lando stares at Oscar for a moment, amazed at how adamant he is to hear about him sleeping with you. “Isn’t this hard for you to hear? Do you like torturing yourself or something?” 

“I’m happy for you really.” Oscar replies, but his heart isn’t in it. “Just give me a sign to tell me. If you aren’t going to say it outloud give me a sign. At the next race if you two slept together, wave at me or something.” 

“You want me to wave at you while I’m driving a car at 200 miles per hour?” Sometimes Oscar was a freaking idiot and this was one of those times. 

“Yeah. It’s simple enough, but I’ll know what it means.” 

With a smirk on his face Lando shakes his head at the Australian, he knew this wasn’t going to end well, but he’s a man of his word. “Alright.” 

At the next race as they’re nearing the last few laps Lando manages to overtake Oscar and as he passes him Oscar sees Lando’s gloved hand sticking out as best as he can and the unmistakable action of waving taking place. 

He feels his stomach practically drop out of his ass and the sound of two more cars overtaking him doesn't bother him one bit. He knew they had to be hooking up, but the reality of it made him want to be sick. It should be him with you, not Lando. Anger courses through his veins and in the post race team meetings he won’t even look in Lando’s direction. 

The rest of the season is played out as civilly as it possibly can be. Oscar’s still bitter about losing you to Lando, but knowing that he’ll be gone next season heightens his spirits somewhat. Lando and you continue to secretly hook up and you wonder if you actually have feelings for him or not. 

Racing is still your number one priority of course and no one, especially not Lando, is a distraction to you in your pursuit of that championship title. The last few races you work your tail off training and honing your racing craft. It’s a close title fight between Max and you and when it comes down to Abu Dhabi you know this is what all these years of blood sweat and tears have been for. You’re pushing the car to the maximum channeling every bit of strength and knowledge you have to win.

And when you’re the first to see that checkered flag you don’t even feel like you’re in your body. It’s all a blur, it’s surreal, and when you’re holding that championship trophy with the biggest smile on your tear stained face you know you deserve this more than anyone. As the congratulations and celebrations begin you realize how addicting this is and you know that this is the beginning of a new era for you. A champion era. 

Yet some eras, though they are mighty, are shorter than others.