#ln4 fanfic

[norrisxcx]

WHAT IS TAKING HIM SO LONG?!

You and Lando have been together for years, yet he still hasn’t proposed! Everyone (including you) is wondering when he’s finally going to do it. pairing. Lando Norris x girlfriend! fem! reader. warnings. established relationship, humor, fluff. inspired by/title from where is my husband! by Raye.

lando

lando quick stop w my girl before the big finale

❤️ liked by yourusername and 3,5 M others

yourusername love you baby ❤️ by author

user1 ugh so cute

user2 may this love find me

user3 favorite couple

maxfewtrell what a jumpscare on the last slide

⤷ lando stfu man

user4 omg lando just propose already

pietrapilao cuties

y/n and alex’s private messages

yourusername

yourusername seven years and counting ❤️ i love you endlessly, @lando

❤️ liked by lando and 4,1 M others

lando love you more sweetheart ❤️ by author

user5 she wants that ring soo bad

⤷ user6 can you blame her

user7 LANDO PUT A ROCK ON YOUR GIRL’S HAND PLSS ❤️ by author

⤷ user8 not her liking this😭 iconic

⤷ user9 @lando

alexandrasaintmleux 💍 when? ❤️ by author

⤷ charlesleclerc @lando be like me

user10 my parents fr

lando and max fewtrell’s private messages

y/n and lando’s private messages

lando

lando WORLD CHAMPP BABYYY

❤️ liked by yourusername and 6,1 M others

yourusername YOU DID IT BABY I’M SO PROUD🥹🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 ❤️ by author

user11 INSANE WORK

user12 UNBELIEVABLE DRIVE

mclaren our driver 🧡 ❤️ by author

oscarpiastri congratulations

user13 MY DRIVERRRR

maxfewtrell congrats mate 👏🏻 ❤️ by author

user14 LANDO NORR1S

keeganpalmer legend ❤️ by author

user15 well deserved

user16 soo where’s the ring🧐

user17 AND NOW THE RING LANDO

user18 engagement soon? Y/n is waitingg ❤️ by author

⤷ user19 OH? HE LIKED IT

⤷ user20 IT’S HAPPENING. EVERYBODY STAY CALM.

⤷ user21 I AM NOT CALM. LIKE AT ALL.

yourusername

yourusername worth the wait. i’ll wear your surname with pride. i love you.

❤️ liked by alexandrasaintmleux , lando and 8,9 M others

lando my wife guys ❤️ by author

⤷ yourusername took you long enough tho 🙄

user22 PARENTS ARE GETTING MARRIED

mclaren can we be maids of honor? 🧡 ❤️ by author

user23 THAT SHOULD BE MEEE

oscarpiastri congratulations, happy for you 👏🏻 ❤️ by author

⤷ user24 not oscar being more enthusiastic about engagement than lando’s wdc😭

⤷ user25 she took your man osc💔

⤷ user26 you and lily next pls

alexandrasaintmleux i told you babe!! congrats 💟💟 ❤️ by author

user27 it was rare i was there

user28 little lando norris is getting married omg

user29 THE CONCEPT OF THIS POST.

⤷ user30 “i’ll wear your surname with pride.” SOBBING.

lando

lando me (lando norris), my fiancée (y/n norris) and our child (trophy)

❤️ liked by yourusername and 6,9 M others

yourusername my favorite poet ❤️ by author

keeganpalmer can i be adopted pls

⤷ user31 me too pls

user32 perfect caption

maxfewtrell shakespeare has nothing on u mate

mclaren parents 🧡

user33 y/n is so lucky

⤷ user34 nah. LANDO is the lucky one.

user35 i hope we are all invited to the wedding

carlossainz55 thank you for very detailed caption

⤷ lando no problem mate

user36 y/n norris🥹❤️

⤷ user37 IT SOUNDS SO MAJESTIC

user38 500k € ring is FUCKING INSANE

⤷ user39 worth more than my kidney lol

© norrisxcx 2025

babs radio ! first smau !! so excited to share it with y’all, be kind to me world🥹 idk how often i’ll post on this acc, because writing is still my priority and this is to fill the void, hope u like it tho💟

[dyn9might]

pinterest guy

in which a famous singer accidentally hard launches her boyfriend via her phone's lockscreen except she doesn't even know him and got his photo from pinterest.

pairing: lando norris x singer!reader

tags: smau, fluff, crack?

fc: inde navarrette

note: it's been a while since i've written so thanks a lot f1 from waking me from my tumblr hibernation...

ynupdates just posted a photo!

liked by f1updates, ynfan1 and 502,325 others...

ynupdates in a latest vlog, yn's phone screen was briefly exposed, revealing what appeared to be a man's eyes as her lockscreen. fans are still unsure whether it was an accidental hard launch and, more importantly, whose eyes they belong to.

view all comments...

ynfan1: yall damn well know thats her bf 🫩 ⤷ ynfan2: NOOOOOOOOO ynfan3: NOT HER HARD LAUNCHING ACCIDENTALLY???? ⤷ ynfan1: we all know how nonchalant she is abt this stuff ynfan4: THAT SHOULDVE BEEN MEEEEEE ynfan5: ok but who is that and why does he have pretty eyes 🚬🚬🚬 user1: you guys hear me out... it looks like harry styles... ⤷ ynfan3: ISNT HE A BIT TOO OLD FOR HER????? ⤷ user2: and that isnt new with celebrities ⤷ user1: drag him user3: it looks like hero fiennes? isn't he the leading man in that movie she sang the ost for? ⤷ ynfan6: stop speculating things!!!!! ⤷ user3: we're all here to speculate 🤓👍 f1fan1: ok now am i tripping or is that lando norris ⤷ f1fan2: RIGHT IVE BEEN LOOKING FOR THIS COMMENT ⤷ f1fan3: so im not being delusional right???? ⤷ ynfan2: who now? ⤷ f1fan1: lando norris current f1 world champion ynfan7: i think i’m more concerned that she’s using military time…

ynupdates just posted a reel!

clip: in yn's latest interview, she's asked about the 'mystery man' on her lockscreen. she throws her head back laughing before shaking her head and answering, "it's seriously just some guy i found on pinterest. it was just a really really picture of a dude with pretty eyes and i saved it."

liked by charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, and 432,108 others…

view all comments...

ynfan1: she's so weird 😭😭😭😭 ynfan2: can’t she be normal for once and just use one of the default wallpapers 😭 ynfan3: she dgaf that’s NOT her boyfriend f1fan1: ok but im sure that’s lando norris though ⤷ f1fan2: pretty sure too, i think i saw that exact photo on pinterest LMAO f1fan3: some drivers are in the likes HELPPPPP

yn posted a photo!

liked by charles_leclerc, kimi_antonelli, and 974,390 others…

yn proof of my pinterest search… let me save pretty boy eyes photos on my phone in peace!

view all comments

ynfan1: baby cmon now 😭😭😭😭😭 ynfan2: NOT HER POSTING THE SCREENSHOT OF HER SEARCH HISTORY ⤷ ynfan3: AND THE ACTUAL PHOTO???? ynfan4: everyday i pray for her pr team’s mental stability ⤷ user1: i just know she’s an actual nightmare ⤷ ynfan4: ok ntm on my girl f1fan1: THATS LITERALLY LANDO NORRIS f1fan2: dont worry girl i also have lando as my lockscreen f1fan3: do you even know who he is? ⤷ yn: race car guy ⤷ f1fan3: which one? ⤷ yn: … the fast one? ⤷ ynfan5: YN MY LOVE YOU DONT HAVE TO REPLY 😭😭😭

story replies:

ynfan1: oh baby 😭😭😭😭😭 ynfan2: this is so sarcastic i cant do this 😭 ynfan3: did your manager make you do this manager: AT LEAST MAKE IT LOOK BELIEVABLE?????? hater1: oh wow no effort at all lando: i can feel the sincerity, thank you

*would

ynupdates just posted a reel! • posted 1w ago!

clip: in yn's latest interview, she's asked about the 'mystery man' on her lockscreen. she throws her head back laughing before shaking her head and answering, "it's seriously just some guy i found on pinterest. it was just a really really picture of a dude with pretty eyes and i saved it."

liked by lando, max_verstappen1, and 542,898 others…

view all comments...

f1fan3: some drivers are in the likes HELPPPPP lando: here @/yn ⤷ ynfan1: UH HELLO????? ⤷ ynfan2: WHY IS HE TAGGING HER ⤷ f1fan1: NOT HIM TAGGING HER ARE THEY TALKING? ⤷ f1fan2: im crying why is he bumping a post from last week ⤷ ynfan3: I BET THEYRE TALKING RN ⤷ yn: this is ai generated content ⤷ yn: don't support this unlik e this ⤷ yn: SAVE WATER

yn posted a photo!

liked by lando, mclarenf1, and 791,213 others...

yn i wasn't wrong, he was the fast one

view all comments

ynfan1: NOW HOLD ON ynfan2: hello?????? ynfan3: HOW COME WE DIDNT GET ANY UPDATES ON THIS ⤷ ynupdates: GIRL IM AS SURPRISED AS YOU ARE f1fan1: the first time she watches, lando gets his first win of the season ⤷ f1fan2: LANDO DONT FUMBLE ⤷ ynfan4: they're probably just friends don't speculate???? ⤷ f1fan2: LANDO DONT FUMBLE !!!!!! mclarenf1: looking forward to seeing you again in our garage! ⤷ yn: awww that's too sweet! ynfan5: did you enjoy, @/yn? ⤷ yn: i did actually! f1fan3: thank you for blessing us with that lando pic...... ⤷ f1fan4: no fr he looks so yummy ❤︎⁠ liked by creator ⤷ ynfan6: SHE LIKED THAT????? lando: you should come watch often ⤷ yn: ? ⤷ lando: i like winning

lando just posted a photo!

liked by yn, maxfewtrell and 801,411 others...

lando HUNGARY BABY P1 BABYYYYY

view all comments

f1fan1: oh wow he just hard launched her ⤷ ynfan1: she posted him too its natural???? ⤷ f1fan2: trust me i know this man, he hasn't posted anyone else on his dump since his ex f1fan3: lando and his lucky charm? ❤︎⁠ liked by creator f1fan4: she's so pretty actually ⤷ ynfan2: SHE IS PERIOD mclarenf1: when are we seeing our girl again? ⤷ lando: your girl? ⤷ maxfewtrell: mate... yn: HUNGARY BABY P1 BABYYYYY ⤷ f1fan5: she matches his energy!!!! ⤷ lando: YES BABYYYYY ⤷ yn: NICE ONE BABYYYYYY ⤷ lando: THANK YOU BABYYYYY ⤷ ynfan3: ok r they flirting now??

ynupdates posted a photo!

liked by kimi_antonelli, max_verstappen1, and 521,304 others...

ynupdates yn is spotted with f1 and mclaren driver lando norris in monaco kissing after walking out of a restaurant. it's been 3 weeks since yn started coming to f1 races as lando's vip guest but was never seen with him outside of the paddock until now.

view all comments...

f1fan1: i mean are we surpised? ⤷ ynfan1: she's literally been in every race since hungary f1fan2: i'm giving it 3 months ⤷ ynfan2: i hope you also give yourself some time to touch grass ynfan3: quick guys pretend to be surprised! f1fan3: it was only a matter of time

lando posted a photo!

liked by yn, max_verstappen1, georgerussell63 and 1,240,958 others...

lando i mean its only fair

view all comments...

f1fan1: HARD LAUNCH ynfan1: you know what... i approve that photo ⤷ lando: thank you ⤷ ynfan1: take care of my girl! ❤︎⁠ liked by creator f1fan2: NOOOO IT SHOULDVE BEEN ME ⤷ ynfan2: who are you again f1fan3: bro looks so happy maxfewtrell: whipped ⤷ lando: mate, have you seen my girl? ⤷ ynfan3: CORRECT ANSWER ⤷ ynfan4: good job yn, i approve of him ❤︎⁠ liked by creator yn: good photo ⤷ lando: that's my girlfriend :)))))))))) ⤷ f1fan4: simp ⤷ ynfan5: if i was dating yn i'd be adding :)))))))))) to all my texts too

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

Thief - LN1

Summary: Lando discovers just how nice y/n's shower products and skincare are and starts stealing it to use for himself. Then y/n finds out.

Word count: 660

Initially it was just because he ran out of his usual shampoo and body wash at the same time. It did used to be a 3-in1 but y/n started calling him a heathen for having only 1 bottle in use for a shower. So he had already swapped over to having an actual shampoo and a body wash.

But when they ran out in a brief and fleeting return home, he just used her product and actually he now understands why she uses so much stuff. He feels pampered every shower and it helps that he smells like her.

Something she hasn't seemed to notice. Thankfully.

Or she hadn't.

"Hey, Land-no. What are you doing?! What-Why are you using like cup worth of my shampoo!" Y/n screams walking in on him in the shower right as he's pouring, yes pouring, her shampoo into his hand.

"I uhhh...knew you were coming to join me?" Lando laughs nervously.

"I knew it! I knew my shampoo was going alarmingly quickly." Y/n groans then glaring as her arms cross over. "What else have you been using?"

Figuring that lying might just land him in some scorching water, literally she might just turn the temperature up and block him in.

"All of it."

"All of it?!" Y/n gasps putting her hand to her heart like she's having palpitations. Maybe a little dramatic. "Have you been using all my skincare too?"

Ok initially he wasn't but then he used her face wash and then he figured he'd try out all the stuff she's smothering on her face. Turns out there's good reason she uses that, it's made his skin have that same glowy and glassy look in his skin. He's almost offended she hadn't noticed the change.

"Maybe..."

"LANDO NORRIS. Do you know how expensive that stuff is?" Y/n gasps actually choking for a moment like she's pained by this news.

Thinking about it, he does feel kind of bad as she pouts and whines at him since she never asks him for money and all this stuff is bought out of her pocket. But knowing it's expensive isn't something that crossed his mind. Since when is body wash and shampoo expensive.

Of course, he's stupid enough to ask and the amounts y/n spends on her shower and skin care routine is astounding even by Lando's standards.

"Alright, what if I start paying for all of it and we can share-and you can show me how to use it properly?" Lando offers making her huff a little since she's still unimpressed.

"I should really report you for theft." Y/n huffs as Lando manages to pull her into the shower since she is actually naked and had presumably intended to join him before catching him in the act.

"What if...I wash you and do everything. Full princess treatment indefinitely as part of my apology for stealing your stuff?" Lando hums kissing her skin feeling her tension melt away. Not that it's hard, he knows the effect he has on his girlfriend but admittedly he also knows he as walking a very thin line of forgiveness vs more upset.

"The least you could do." Y/n grumbles before she fights a smile. "Can't wait to tell Max and P all about how you use my shit."

"You can tell them. It's annoying how well it works though." Lando grumbles while y/n laughs gently slapping at him which is a little loud with them being naked and wet. "Ow, baby. Kiss it better."

"Don't try that, it did not hurt." Y/n laughs shaking her head at him but kisses his chest where she smacked him anyway. "Since you're footing the bill for skincare I might try the more expensive stuff I was scared to use."

"Wow, exploiting me."

"Wow, thief!" Y/n exclaims clearly intending to use this against Lando for a while to work in her favour.

1197

[00brat]

salt water

lando norris x girlfriend!reader

genre: smut

summary: a day out on the mediterranean with your friends should be nothing more than sun, swimming and a little harmless flirting with your boyfriend. unfortunately, lando has other plans, and the tiny cabin below deck suddenly seems a lot more interesting than the party upstairs.

warnings: teasing, dirty talk, praise, degradation, oral sex (f! and m! receiving), deepthroat, handjob, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, anal sex, anal fingering, rough sex, multiple orgasms, public/near-public sex, friends nearby, risky sex, choking/hand over mouth

word count: 6.2k

minors dni

──────── ♡ ────────

The Mediterranean in late July is a kind of blue that feels personal, like the sea remembered exactly what color would ruin you and settled there. The yacht rocks gentle beneath you, a cradle rhythm you've been half-drowsing to for the past hour, your skin tacky with dried salt and sunscreen, the edge of your bikini top leaving a faint pink line that you'll trace later in the mirror and smile at.

Somewhere behind you, Max is telling a story about a missed flight and a stolen Vespa, his voice rising and falling with the kind of theatrical energy that only makes sense after three beers. Pietra laughs, that bright, unguarded sound she only makes when she's truly relaxed, the one that always pulls a grin out of everyone within earshot. The cooler lid slams. Ice rattles. Someone cracks open another bottle.

You should be listening. You should be laughing with them, chiming in with your own embellishment to Max's increasingly dubious tale. You should, at the very least, be aware of where your drink has gotten to.

But Lando just pulled himself up the ladder at the back of the boat, and every functioning thought you possess has evacuated.

He comes out of the water in stages: first the crown of his head, dark curls plastered flat and gleaming under the sun like wet silk, then the broad shelf of his shoulders breaking the surface, rivulets sheeting off his skin. The saltwater traces his body with a kind of reverence, down the slope of his back, catching in the valley of his spine, following the topography of muscle and bone with an attention you suddenly, irrationally envy. His hands find the stainless steel rail, forearms flexing as he hauls himself up, and there is something in the way his body works against gravity that turns the air in your lungs to something heavier. Thicker.

The swim shorts sit low on his hips. Navy. Soaking wet. Clinging to him in a way that ought to be illegal in international waters.

He turns, reaching back to offer a hand to whoever's still in the water, it's Keegan, you register dimly, because Keegan is always the last one in, and the movement pulls the fabric taut across his ass, the muscle shifting beneath, and you actually forget to breathe. Your lips part. Your thighs press together beneath the towel you've draped over your lap, a gesture so instinctive you don't notice you've done it until you feel the soft friction of your own skin, the faint ache that accompanies it.

The sun is hot. That's your excuse. The sun is hot and you've been sitting here too long and that's why your pulse has relocated to the base of your throat, beating there like a warning. Like a promise.

Lando says something to Keegan that makes him laugh, that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and then he's walking toward the bow, toward you, his bare feet leaving wet prints on the white deck. Water still beads on his chest, catching in the sparse dark hair there, and his abs tighten with each step. His tan is deepening by the hour, you realize. The line of his jaw, the hollow of his throat, the vee of his hips disappearing beneath that clinging navy fabric. He looks like something out of a photograph you weren't supposed to see. Something private. Something that makes your stomach drop the way it does when a plane hits turbulence.

He hasn't even looked at you yet, and you're already ruined.

"You're staring," Pietra says, and her voice is so close to your ear that you flinch, a flush crawling up your neck before you can stop it. She's settled into the seat beside you without you noticing — how long has she been there? — and her smile is the knowing, predatory kind. The kind that precedes relentless teasing.

"I'm people-watching," you manage. "It's a very people-watching kind of day."

"You're Lando-watching. There's a difference." She takes a slow sip of her drink, eyes not leaving your face. "Your pupils are dilated. That's a physiological response to—"

"If you finish that sentence, I'll push you overboard."

Pietra grins like you've just given her a gift. She doesn't finish the sentence. She doesn't need to.

Because Lando has reached the cooler, and he's bending over to fish out a bottle of water, and the shorts — those goddamn shorts — are doing something that makes your teeth catch your lower lip hard enough to sting. You watch a single drop of seawater trace a path from his shoulder blade down, down, disappearing into the waistband, and you follow it with your eyes like it holds the answer to a question you didn't know you were asking. The muscles in his back shift. His shoulder blades move beneath his skin like something winged and restless.

He straightens. Twists the cap off. Drinks with his head tipped back, throat working, and you can see the line of his neck, the way his Adam's apple moves with each swallow, and it shouldn't be this devastating. He's just drinking water. He's just standing there in wet shorts on a boat with all your friends around him, drinking water like a normal person, and your body is reacting like he's whispering filth in your ear from across a crowded room.

Maybe it's the salt. Maybe it's the heat. Maybe it's the way summer stretches time into something elastic and dangerous, where normal rules don't apply and wanting someone this much feels not just permissible but inevitable.

He catches you looking.

His eyes find yours over the rim of the bottle, and his mouth ticks up at the corner, that almost-smile he does when he knows something you haven't said yet. And it's not fair, it's genuinely not fair, because the smile makes his whole face soften and sharpen at the same time, boyish and wolfish in equal measure, and your stomach does the turbulence thing again, the free-fall thing, the oh-god-I'm-in-trouble thing.

Lando lowers the bottle. Holds your gaze for one beat too long — long enough that it's a message, not a glance. Then he turns back to whatever Max is saying, laughing at the right moment, seamless and social, as if he didn't just set every nerve ending in your body on fire without touching you.

Your thighs press together again under the towel. Harder this time.

Pietra is saying something else, but you can't hear her over the roar of your own blood in your ears. The boat rocks. The sun beats down. The afternoon stretches ahead, golden and endless and full of possibilities you're only beginning to imagine.

You watch the water drip from his hair onto his shoulders. You watch the way his hands move when he talks. You watch the small of his back, the dip just above the waistband of his shorts, the place where your mouth would fit perfectly if you could just get him alone.

And you start counting the minutes until you can.

He lets you count. For a while, that's the whole game — Lando settling into the conversation with Max, laughing at the right beats, his back to you like a man with nowhere to be and no one to impress. You tell yourself to look away, to be normal, to join whatever Pietra is saying about the marina and the yacht that's been anchored out there all morning. You don't. Your eyes keep finding the same two or three places on his body and returning like they've got a homing instinct.

Then he turns.

Not toward you. Toward the cooler again, casual as anything, but his head tips just enough that he catches you mid-stare, and this time the almost-smile doesn't fade. It holds. His eyes go dark and pleased in a way that makes your stomach drop and your thighs clench at the same time, and you realize with a hot, mortified clarity that he's been counting too. That he's known exactly where your gaze has been this whole time, and he's been letting it happen.

He says something to Keegan — something that makes Keegan clap him on the shoulder and wander off toward the bow — and then Lando is moving through the group with a bottle in each hand, doling out water and easy jokes like a man with absolutely no agenda. He reaches Pietra, hands her a bottle, and she takes it with a smile that's a little too knowing. Then he's beside you.

"You're burning," he says, low, and at first you think he means the sun. Then his hand lands on your shoulder — a friendly, public, completely innocent touch — and his thumb drags across the strap of your bikini, once, slow, like he's checking for sunscreen. Except the pad of his thumb brushes the edge of your collarbone, then the hollow of your throat, and the touch is nothing. It's nothing. It's a boyfriend being affectionate in front of his friends, and that's exactly why it undoes you.

"I'm fine," you manage.

"You're pink." His voice stays even, pleasant, the voice of a man discussing the weather. But his thumb has found the strap again, and he's tugging it a fraction of an inch, testing the fabric, and his eyes never leave yours. "Should do something about that before you peel."

You don't trust your voice, so you just look at him. And he knows. He sees the heat in your face and the way your breathing has gone shallow, and something shifts behind his eyes — a quiet, wolfish satisfaction that makes you want to hit him and kiss him in the same breath.

"I'll get you some water," he says, loud enough for the group, and his hand drops from your shoulder. But as it falls, his fingers trail down your arm, and at the last possible moment, his thumb catches the inside of your wrist. He squeezes. One second, a message pressed into your pulse point like a thumbprint on soft wax.

Then he's gone, walking back to the cooler, and your wrist is still tingling where he touched it.

Pietra is watching you. You can feel it without looking. You don't turn to her. You stare at the spot on your wrist where his thumb was, and you press your own fingers there, as if you could hold the feeling in place, as if it weren't already spreading up your arm and down your spine and settling somewhere low and insistent between your thighs.

He doesn't look at you again for a long time. He doesn't have to. He's already won, and you both know it.

The boat rocks. The sun beats down. And you stop counting the minutes, because counting is for people who think they have a choice.

The ladder to the lower cabin is narrow, the rungs slick with the salt spray that's been riding the air all afternoon. Lando goes down first, one hand on the rail, and he doesn't look back at you, because his other hand is reaching up behind him, palm open, waiting. You take it without thinking, the way you've taken it a hundred times, and his fingers close around yours and hold on a beat longer than the ladder requires.

Below deck it's dimmer, cooler, the light going amber through the small round portholes. The engine thrums somewhere under your feet, a low vibration that you can feel through the soles of your bare feet. There's a tiny galley to the left, a bench seat with a folded towel on it, and at the end of the short passage, a door with a brass handle that's warm from the sun on the other side of the hull.

Lando stops in front of it. He doesn't open it yet. He turns, and the passage is so narrow that his chest is nearly against yours, his hips close enough that you can feel the heat coming off his skin through the damp of his shorts.

"Thought you'd never come down," he says, low, and there's that almost-smile, the one that's been doing things to your stomach all afternoon.

"Thought you'd never ask."

He reaches past you, his arm brushing your shoulder, the smell of salt and sunscreen and warm skin filling your head, and turns the handle. The door swings open into a space barely bigger than a closet. A toilet, a tiny sink, a mirror that's fogged at the edges from the heat. The ceiling is low enough that Lando has to duck his head to step through, and the sight of it, him folding himself into that cramped little room, all broad shoulders and wet curls, does something sharp and sweet to your chest.

He pulls you in after him. The door clicks shut behind you, and the lock slides home with a sound that's louder than it should be in the quiet.

Then his hands are on your face.

He cups your jaw, tilts your head up, and kisses you like he's been holding it in all day. It's not the quick peck he gave you on the deck before jumping in the water. It's slow and deep and hungry, his mouth moving over yours like he's relearning the shape of it, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your knees go soft. One hand slides back into your hair, fisting the damp strands, tilting your head further, and he kisses you deeper, harder, until you're pressed back against the door and the only thing holding you up is the warmth of his body against yours.

You make a sound against his mouth and he swallows it, kissing you through it, his other hand finding your hip and pulling you flush against him.

The friction is immediate and electric. His shorts are still damp, clinging to him, and through the thin fabric you can feel him hard and heavy against your stomach, the shape of him unmistakable. You gasp into his mouth and roll your hips without meaning to, seeking more of that pressure, and he groans, low in his throat, his hand tightening on your hip.

"That's it," he murmurs against your lips. "That's it, baby."

He kisses you again, and again, and each one is longer than the last, his mouth never quite leaving yours, his tongue sliding wet and warm, his breath hot on your skin. His hands move, one still in your hair, the other sliding down your back, over the curve of your ass, gripping and pulling you harder against him. You can feel every inch of him through the damp fabric, the ridge of him pressing into you, and the thought of him, right there, so close, makes your thighs clench.

You grind against him, slow and deliberate, and his groan is muffled against your mouth. His hips answer, rolling against yours, finding a rhythm that's torturous and perfect, the friction building a heat low in your belly that spreads through you like the sun through the porthole.

His mouth leaves yours and drags down your jaw, your throat, his lips hot and open against your skin. He kisses the hollow of your collarbone, the spot where your pulse is hammering, and you tip your head back against the door and let him. His teeth graze your skin there, a soft bite that makes you shiver, and then his mouth is lower, trailing down your chest, over the swell of your breast above the edge of your bikini top.

You're still moving against him, your hips finding that rhythm again, and he groans against your skin, his hands coming up to cup your breasts through the thin fabric of your top. His thumbs find your nipples through the damp material, and he rubs them in slow circles until they're tight and aching, until you're arching into his hands and making sounds you can't seem to stop.

"Lando," you breathe, and your voice comes out wrecked.

He looks up at you, eyes dark, mouth wet, curls falling across his forehead and the look on his face undoes you completely. He's looking at you like you're the only thing on the water worth seeing.

Then he drops to his knees.

The passage is too small for it, the floor too close, but he folds himself down anyway, his hands on your hips, his mouth finding your stomach through the damp of your skin. He kisses the soft skin just above your bikini line, open-mouthed and slow, and you feel the heat of his breath through the fabric. His hands slide down your thighs, pushing them apart, and he presses his mouth to the inside of one, kissing his way up, closer and closer to where you're aching for him.

"Let me taste you," he says, his voice rough, his eyes dark as he looks up at you from between your thighs. "Please. I've been thinking about it all day."

Your hand finds his hair, fingers threading through the damp curls, and you tug gently, pulling his face closer.

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes, Lando."

And he smiles and leans in, his mouth finding you through the thin fabric of your bottoms, and you gasp and grip the door behind you as the first hot drag of his tongue sends a shock of heat through your whole body.

The fabric of your bikini bottoms is still between you, a thin, damp barrier that he doesn't bother removing yet. His tongue presses against it, flat and hot, and even through the material you can feel the exact shape of his mouth, the way his lips part and seal over your clit with a precision that makes your hips buck forward against the door. The sound that escapes you is half gasp, half whimper, and too loud by far because somewhere above deck Max's voice cuts through the engine hum, laughing about something, and Pietra's bright cackle follows right after.

Lando's hand clamps down on your hip, holding you still. He pulls back just enough to look up at you, his mouth glistening, his eyes dark with something that sits right on the edge of amusement and hunger.

"Quiet," he murmurs, and the word is a warm gust of breath against the soaked fabric between your legs. "They're right there, baby."

Before you can answer, before you can even draw breath to form words, his fingers hook into the waistband of your bottoms and tug. The fabric peels away from your skin with a wet sound that seems to echo in the tiny bathroom, and then you're bare, the salt-cool air hitting you where you're already slick and aching. He pulls the bikini down your thighs, your calves, taps your ankle so you'll step out of it, and then he's draping your leg over his shoulder, opening you to him in a way that makes your face flush with heat.

His mouth finds you again. No barrier this time. Nothing between his tongue and your pussy but the mess he's already made of you.

The first direct stroke is devastating, the flat of his tongue dragging from your entrance to your clit in one long, slow, reverent pass that gathers every bit of wetness you've been building since the moment he climbed out of the water. Your head drops back against the door with a thud that's louder than you meant, and your hand flies to your own mouth, pressing hard against your lips to trap the moan that's already climbing up your throat. The taste of salt is still on your fingers, seawater and sunscreen, and you bite down on the heel of your palm as he does it again, slower this time, like he's memorizing the shape of you with his tongue.

He groans against you, and the vibration of it travels straight through your clit and up into your stomach, where it settles into something hot and coiling and desperate. His hands are on your thighs now, thumbs pressing into the soft inner flesh, spreading you wider, and his mouth works you with a patience that feels almost cruel, not rushing, not chasing, just licking into you like he has all the time in the world and no one waiting twenty feet away.

Above deck, Keegan shouts something about the anchor. Footsteps cross the fiberglass and you can hear the exact cadence of Max's laugh, the way it rises and breaks and rolls into silence. They're so close. If Pietra decides to come looking for you, if anyone needs the bathroom, if someone just walks down the ladder and hears.

Lando's tongue circles your clit, slow and deliberate, and your thoughts dissolve into static.

Your hips roll against his mouth without permission, grinding into the heat of him, and he makes a sound that's half laugh and half something much hungrier. His hand slides up from your thigh, fingers finding your entrance, and then one finger presses inside you, just one, curling slow, and the stretch of it combined with the steady rhythm of his tongue on your clit makes your vision go spotty at the edges. You're making sounds now, you know you are, little broken whimpers that leak out between your fingers no matter how hard you press.

He adds a second finger. Crooks them upward. Finds the spot inside you that makes your whole body clench and your free hand slap against the door for balance, palm flat, fingers splayed. The sound your skin makes against the wood is sharp and unmistakable, and somewhere in the back of your mind you know someone could have heard it, but the thought is distant and irrelevant compared to the way he's sucking your clit now, gentle at first, then harder, then pulling back to flick the tip of his tongue against it in a rhythm that's building something immense and unstoppable low in your belly.

"Lando," you breathe, and it comes out ragged, barely a whisper, his name breaking on your lips like a wave against the hull. "Lando, I'm—"

He hums against you in acknowledgment, and the vibration of it is almost enough to send you over right there. His fingers pump deeper, faster, curling with every thrust, and his mouth stays locked on your clit, tongue working you in circles that are somehow both precise and completely devastating. Your thighs are trembling now, the one hooked over his shoulder shaking so hard you can feel the muscle jumping, and your hand is no longer enough to muffle the sounds you're making little gasps and whines that escape around your palm, damp and desperate.

The yatch rocks. Someone's footsteps cross the deck directly above you. A voice — Pietra's voice, close and clear — says something about the cooler, and you can hear the ice shifting as someone digs through it, and they're right there, right above your head, close enough that you swear you can feel the vibration of their movements through the hull.

"Come for me," Lando whispers against your clit, so quiet you feel it more than hear it. "Right now. Let me feel it."

And you do.

The orgasm hits you like the boat hitting a swell sudden and violent and all-consuming. Your back arches off the door, your hand clamps down over your own mouth hard enough to bruise, and the scream that wants to tear out of you gets trapped behind your teeth, swallowed down into a guttural, shaking groan that vibrates in your chest instead of the air. Your hips buck against his face, riding out the waves of it, and he stays with you through every pulse, his mouth soft now, gentle, lapping at your clit while his fingers curl inside you and draw out every last tremor until you're spent and shaking and barely holding yourself upright.

He pulls back slow, pressing one last kiss to your inner thigh, and when you finally look down at him his mouth is wet and his eyes are bright with something that looks an awful lot like pride.

"Good girl," he says, just loud enough for you. "Didn't hear a thing up there."

And from above deck, as if on cue, Max's voice drifts down: "Hey, where'd Lando go?"

When he stood, his erection strained against the wet fabric of his shorts. Kneeling on the textured floor, you started slow, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the length of his shaft, tasting the faint, clean salt of his skin. Your tongue traced the prominent vein on the underside, swirling around the head before taking him fully into the warmth of your mouth. You worked him with a deliberate rhythm, one hand wrapped around his base, the other gripping the hard muscle of his thigh for balance as the boat swayed.

You pulled back, your lips glistening, and looked up at him through your lashes. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark pools of hunger fixed on you. You leaned in again, this time letting the flat of your tongue lavish slow, broad strokes from root to tip before swallowing him down. You relaxed your throat, taking him deeper with each pass until he hit the back, your nose buried in the coarse hair at his pelvis. His fingers tightened in your hair, a ragged groan tearing from his chest as he fought to keep his hips still.

The pace became frantic, your head bobbing, saliva slicking the way. His breath came in sharp gasps. "Gonna come," he warned, his voice a strained whisper. You took him as deep as you could, holding him there as his body stiffened. Hot, salty pulses flooded your throat. You swallowed diligently, milking him with gentle suction until he was spent, then cleaned him with slow, thorough laps of your tongue, savoring every last drop. You finally released him with a soft kiss to his hip, meeting his dazed, satisfied gaze.

Before you could even catch your breath, his hands were on you again. He spun you around, bending you over the small sink, your cheek pressed against the cool acrylic. His palm clamped over your mouth, smothering the startled cry that tried to escape. His other hand gripped your hip, his fingers digging in as he drove into you from behind, a single, brutal thrust that stole the air from your lungs.

The friends' laughter and conversation filtered through the thin door, a mundane soundtrack to the raw, pounding rhythm he set. Each slam of his hips jolted you forward, the edge of the sink biting into your stomach. His hand stayed firm over your mouth, his own breaths hot and ragged against your ear. "Not a sound," he grunted, his voice thick with exertion. You could only moan into his palm, the vibrations swallowed by his skin, your body arching back against his in desperate, silent pleading.

He fucked you with a relentless, punishing pace, the wet slap of skin and the creak of the boat's fittings drowning under the force of it. His release came with a low, guttural sound, his body shuddering against yours as he emptied himself deep inside. He stayed there for a long moment, his weight pinning you, his hand finally sliding from your mouth to wrap around your throat, not squeezing, just holding as you both gasped for air, listening to the oblivious chatter just beyond the door.

He didn't pull out. Still buried deep inside you, his body a solid, sweating weight against your back, his fingers trailed down the curve of your spine. They slipped through the slick mess between your thighs, gathering wetness before circling the tight, forbidden ring of muscle lower down. You tensed, a muffled whimper escaping into the cage of his hand. He pressed the pad of his thumb against the clenching entrance, applying a steady, insistent pressure that made your eyes roll back.

"Relax," he commanded, his voice a dark rumble in your ear. As he began a slow, shallow thrust again, his thumb pushed inward, breaching the tight resistance. The dual invasion was overwhelming, a shocking fullness that tore a raw, ragged scream from your throat, perfectly captured and silenced by his palm. He worked his thumb in deeper, twisting slightly, the filthy, exquisite stretch syncing with the punishing drive of his hips. Your body convulsed around him, a silent, shuddering climax ripped from you as he fucked you through it, his own movements becoming jerky and uncontrolled.

He came with a harsh groan, his release hot inside you, his thumb still lodged firmly in your ass as his body went rigid. For a long minute, the only sounds were your choked, panting breaths against his hand and the cheerful, entirely separate world of your friends discussing where to anchor for lunch. He slowly withdrew both himself and his thumb, the sudden emptiness a shocking void. He turned you, your legs trembling, and kissed you, deep and possessive, his tongue claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his body just had.

You slid down his body, your mouth finding him again before he was even fully soft. You took him deep, your tongue working with a desperate hunger. "Need more," you gasped, pulling off for a second, your lips swollen and wet. "Please, Lando, fuck me again." A dark, approving laugh rumbled in his chest. He hauled you up by your arms, turning you to face the small mirror above the sink. He bent you forward, your hands splayed on the counter, your reflected eyes meeting his in the glass.

"Look at you," he growled, slamming back into your soaked cunt with one brutal thrust that made you cry out. He set a punishing pace, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. "Such a greedy little thing." His eyes were locked on yours in the mirror, watching every flicker of pleasure and pain on your face. You reached back with one trembling hand, fingers slick from your own juices. You pressed two fingers against your own asshole, circling the tight ring before pushing them slowly inside yourself, your breath hitching. You held his gaze in the reflection, a filthy, inviting smile spreading across your lips as you worked your fingers in deeper.

"Jesus Christ," he snarled, his rhythm faltering for a second. "You want that? You want me there?" You nodded, your fingers pumping in and out in a lewd mimicry. "Tell me," he demanded, his thrusts becoming even harder, jarring your body with each one. "Say it." "Fuck my ass," you moaned, the words slutty and clear. "Please, I need it." With a guttural sound of pure lust, he pulled out of your pussy, his cock gleaming. He spat into his palm, slicking himself roughly before pressing the thick head against your other entrance. He pushed in with a slow, inexorable force, stretching you impossibly wide, his groan mingling with your sharp cry as he filled you completely.

"You're crazy for this," he panted, his voice raw against the shell of your ear as he began to move. "My perfect, filthy slut." Each word was punctuated by a shallow, testing thrust that stole your breath. The stretch was searing, a white-hot ache that blurred your vision in the mirror. Tears welled and spilled over, tracing hot paths down your cheeks as you bit down on your own knuckle, the metallic taste of blood a sharp counterpoint to the salt of your tears.

His hips drew back and then pistoned forward, setting a brutal, driving rhythm. The sound was obscene, a wet slap of flesh meeting flesh, each impact driving a choked sob from your throat that you strangled into a whimper. "Take it," he commanded, his hands like vices on your hips, holding you open and impaled. "You wanted it, now fucking take it all." His pace became frantic, unhinged, his control shattering. The boat rocked violently with his force, your body bowed and trembling under his, a vessel for his frantic need. You could feel every ridge, every pulse of him as he neared his peak, the pressure building to an unbearable point inside you.

"I'm gonna fill this tight little ass," he groaned, the words slurred with pleasure. His movements became shorter, harder, a final, desperate ramming. His rhythm was a brutal, unyielding metronome, each deep plunge stretching your to a breathtaking limit that hovered on the razor’s edge between agony and ecstasy. Tears blurred your reflection in the mirror, but your eyes remained locked on his, wide and glazed with a submission that drove him wilder. “Look at you,” he growled, his voice shredded with the effort of his restraint. “Crying and taking it like you were made for it. My personal little fucktoy.” He leaned over you, his chest plastered to your sweat-slicked back, his mouth at your ear. “You feel that? How deep I am? You’re gonna come just from this. Just from my cock in your ass. I own this.” His words were a filthy incantation, and your body believed them. A different kind of tension began coiling deep in your belly, a hot, electric wire of pleasure that wound tighter with every savage thrust.

The change in you was instantaneous and profound. You choked sobs shifted in pitch, becoming high, desperate whines that vibrated against the hand you had clamped over her own mouth. Your inner muscles, which had been clenched in a tight ring of resistance around his invading length, began to flutter and spasm in a frantic, involuntary rhythm. “That’s it,” he snarled, his own control fraying at the edges. He could feel your climax building around him, the convulsive grip of her body milking him toward his own ruin. “Come for me. Come on my cock while I wreck this perfect ass.” He fucked you with renewed, frantic intensity, his hips a blur of motion, the sound of their joining a loud, wet slap that echoed in the tiny room. Your orgasm hit her like a physical blow, a silent, seismic scream shaking your frame. Your vision whited out, your legs buckled, and you would have collapsed if not for his iron grip on your hips. The intense, rhythmic clenching of you around him was the final trigger. With a raw, guttural roar that was barely muffled by the boat’s engine, he slammed home one last time and held, his body bowing over yours as he emptied himself in hot, pulsing jets deep inside you.

The sensation of his release, so intimate and claiming, sparked a second, smaller wave of aftershocks through your spent body. Lando stayed buried within you for a long moment, both of them panting, dripping, utterly ruined. Slowly, he pulled out. The sudden absence was a shock, a cool rush of air against oversensitized flesh. Immediately, a trickle of his spend began to escape, tracing a slow, warm path down the inside of your thigh. He watched it for a second, his eyes dark and possessive. Then, without a word, he dipped two fingers into the pooling evidence at your entrance. He pushed them back inside you, working his cum deeper with a slow, deliberate circular motion. “No,” he murmured, his voice low and final. “This belongs inside. You keep it. Every drop.” He sealed his decree with a rough, open-mouthed kiss on your shoulder, his fingers still working gently, insistently, until nothing remained to leak out.

The silence in the head was heavy, broken only by their ragged breathing and the cheerful din from the deck. Lando straightened, his movements slow and satisfied. He ran a hand through his damp hair, then reached for a small towel, wiping himself down with a casual efficiency that belied what had just transpired. He handed it to you without looking, his eyes already assessing their reflection. You took it with trembling fingers, cleaning up as best you could, the rough fabric a stark contrast to the sensitive, well-used flesh between your legs. Every movement caused a slow, internal shift, a visceral reminder of his possession sealed deep within you.

He pulled his board shorts back on, the damp fabric clinging. He turned to you, his expression shifting seamlessly from predatory intensity to one of mild concern. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the last trace of your tears. "You okay?" he asked, his voice now soft, almost gentle. You could only nod, your body humming with exhaustion and the secret, liquid heat he had ordered your to keep. He opened the door, the bright sunlight and sound of laughter flooding in, a jarring return to reality.

"There you are!" called Max from the sun-drenched deck. "We were about to send a search party."

Lando stepped out first, shielding his eyes with a relaxed grin. "Sorry, mate. Just helping her out," he said, his tone light and easy. He half-turned, offering you a hand to step out. "She's not feeling too well. A bit seasick, I think." The lie was smooth, effortless. You took his hand, your legs feeling unsteady. As you emerged into the blinding light, the warmth of the sun on your skin was nothing compared to the deeper, secret warmth pooling inside you. You managed a weak, blurry smile for your friends, the feel of him still leaking slightly, a filthy, thrilling truth beneath her clean bikini.

──────── ♡ ────────

♡ feedback & reblogs mean the world. written by minmin.

[chocolans]

²GROW AS WE GO, lando norris smau

✮ SYNOPSIS , since the moment lando was signed as a driver for mclaren, he hasn't been quiet about the fact that he is in a very happy and secure relationship. this is a timeline of posts celebrating them growing up together and living their biggest dreams.

✮ NOTES , i am not touching tumblr create button with a ten foot pole for the next twenty business days (this is, probably, a lie). as i unofficially identify as a masochist, i sat down and finished this behemoth in one day. if this flops, i will most likely kms/ j. this is not proofread, no nothing. this is a manic episode that i hope you enjoy!

masterlist | part one

In the high-octane, glittering world of Formula One, where every connection is analysed and every relationship is spotlighted, Lando Norris has long had a constant. Not a PR manager or a performance coach, but a partner whose story is as compelling as his own. Meet Y/n L/n: the Cambridge graduate who has been by his side since the very beginning of his journey.

While the world knows Lando, the McLaren star with the cheeky grin, his long-term girlfriend has deliberately lived just outside the flashbulbs’ glare. To fans, Y/n is the lively, smiling presence in the garage. But this year marks a poignant shift: through internet posts, she’s been seen celebrating a graduation, freshly minted with a first-class honours degree in Natural Sciences from Cambridge University—a staggering achievement managed alongside the global F1 circus.

Their story is one of shared roots, not red carpets. Sources close to the pair confirm they began dating sometime in 2015, when a teenage Lando would have been roaring his way through the junior formulae. She was there for the local F2 and F3 races long before the champagne showers of F1 and that shared history has woven her seamlessly into the fabric of the paddock; she’s known and warmly regarded by drivers and partners across the grid.

Their dynamic is described by fans as deeply playful—a necessary counterbalance to F1’s intense pressure. But beneath the lighthearted jokes lies an unshakeable foundation of loyalty. In an industry of constant travel and fleeting connections, they have been each other’s home base, a rare and steady partnership in a fast-moving world.

As Lando battles for podiums and now, perhaps, that elusive first win, he does so with a unique pillar of strength. Y/n represents the grounded reality beyond the racetrack—clearly not satisfied as being regarded as just a 'WAG'; she's the accomplished graduate who knew the driver long before he was a star, and whose own bright future is now just beginning.

yourusername & landonorris have added to story

📍 Ibiza | 🗓 August 6, 2023

liked by yourusername, martingarrix, mclaren and 2,700,554 others

landonorris Finally had the graduation + birthday bash! 🪩

P.s: The best and happiest 24th to you, sweetheart. You're one of the most amazing and smartest people ever, and now more people can see for themselves. From your crazy side quests to every new goal, being on this front row is an honor. I know it's been so hard but you did it. One step closer to Dr. L/n!

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mclaren many many congratulations to our fav girl 💐

♥︎ liked by yourusername

carlossainz55 long time coming! felicidades 🎉

↳ yourusername thanks carlitos 🫶

danielricciardo happy belated birthday y/n! the best one by far, eh?

↳ yourusername thank youuu. and oh, for sure 😌

maxfewtrell lets goooo! the best hbd for our resident nerd

↳ yourusername does it physically pain you to be nice? (thanks maxie)

↳ maxfewtrell stupid question. the answer is yes ✨️

oscarpiastri good job. happiest birthday again, from me and lily

↳ landonorris we need them both at a weekend asap mate. before this one chews my head off

↳ yourusername hey now, i'm not that bad 😐 but yes we should get together soon!

flo_norris_showjumping happy belated y/n day for all who celebrate! and congrats again, at least someone is passing uni in this family 😉

↳ ciscanorris1 i WILL throw hands 🤺🤺 but i believe in y/n supremacy all day everyday

↳ yourusername stop it you two, before i melt 🥺💫

↳ flo_norris_showjumping is ibiza that warm?

↳ ciscanorris1 idk who is lying to you but you're not funny.

martingarrix ibiza set was fire 🔥 collab on the next one for her?

↳ landonorris thanks mate! that'd be sick

user77 oh i'm gonna be ill. THIS IS SO SWEET

user78 i was already watching the stories debating to go sleep on a racetrack. what if this is my 13th reason huh?!

user79 the way y/n said last month lando couldn’t make it to the grad party because he was in austria so lando threw her another one the moment summer break began 😭💗 they're everything to me

user80 so many happy returns of the day to our queen 👑 thank you for always taking care of our landinho

↳ user81 she’s the BEST EVER!!!

user82 literally so gorgeous wtf! beauty and brains all the wayyyy

↳ user83 ikr! that elle article caught me off guard. i was thinking she is definitely a model or something

↳ user84 guys you do know being conventionally attractive is not someone’s entire personality right?

↳ user83 i'm just saying. i can see why lando still has her around

↳ user85 what the fuck is that supposed to mean??? learn some basic respect first pls

user86 the caption? I'M SOBBING. my parents, everyone!!!!!

user87 first win for landonation? at least his gf can win something for him lol

↳ user88 lmao. i found one of these idiots again. go cry on reddit loser

↳ user89 no, his first win was bagging this bad bitch 🤩 something which you clearly don't have any experience with

landonorris & yourusername have added to story

🗓 December 9, 2023

liked by f1gossipofficial, landomination, orangehorsegirl and 769,220 others

duexmoi EXCLUSIVE: LANDO NORRIS AND HIGHSCHOOL GIRLFRIEND Y/N L/N ARE OVER! ... this time, for good, it seems.

An anonymous source has given us some startling evidence of the McLaren driver on a vacation with his immediate family and no girlfriend in sight. On the other hand, an Instagram photo dump on his older brother's page has a particularly incriminating slide of what seems to be Lando being suspiciously close to a blonde woman.

Paparazzi photographers have also captured this person carrying and playing with Lando's one-year-old niece on their rental boat and they seem very comfortable with each other. Which begs the question: how long has this been in the works? And does Y/n have a clue? Or are they already broken up?

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user90 LMAOOO deuxmoi you're about a year late to the party

user91 idk if i feel more sorry for lando and y/n for having an annual breakup scandal or these clout chasing nuisance pages who have NOTHING BETTER TO DO.

↳ user92 yeah man, like get a job. stalking celebs isn’t gonna make them notice you or pay bills

user93 is it concerning that this doesn't even get the tiniest reaction out of me?

↳ user94 just another day in F1 honestly

f1wagsofficial guys... did ya'll see the stories lando and y/n have posted? i feel a lil nervy now 😕

user95 why is ir normalised to take pictures of people without permission? he is literally on vacation. leave him be!

↳ user96 srsly. paps have a special place in hell booked for just them

user97 THIS IS NOT A DRILL. LANDO JUST FUCKING DROPPED PICS WITH BLONDY. ON JPG!!!

↳ user98 WTF WTF WTF???????

↳ user99 thats a first lol. it could be anyone 🤷‍♀️ one of his sisters maybe

↳ user97 do NOT fw me. flo and cisca both have brown hair. THIS IS SOMEONE ELSE 💔

🗓 December 15, 2023

liked by romeobeckham, quadrant and 658,233 others

lando.jpg 🛥🌺⛱️ – type of life is the best reset

tagged : ﹫olivernorris1 ﹫alex_albon

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alex_albon alright, just because you had to post a pic, doesn’t mean you can post ANY PIC YOU WANT

↳ lando.jpg 🫸😄🫷

↳ alex_albon sore loser ⛳️

user100 OKAY HOLD ON. That's 100% the back of y/n's head in the second pic. The hair is different but the posture is HER 👩‍⚖️

↳ user101 copium is a hell of a drug. that's a BLONDE. y/n is a BRUNETTE. open your eyes.

↳ user102 let the man live! he's single, happy, and on a boat. good for him! 👏💗

↳ user101 i wonder if his gf thinks getting cheated on is "fun"

user103 the way he's smiling in the 5th slide + no y/n in the dump or tagged (if blondey is really her) but ALBON got a full-face shot?

↳ user104 yep, sorry to the "they're still together" camp but that's the face of a freshly single bachelor 😚🩵

↳ user105 that's from silverstone you idiot. some people have the memory of a goldfish istg!

user106 i really dont want to get into this mess but... y/n is posting about being in nyc. no way she is with the norris clan now

↳ user107 I TOLD YOU! the move was the beginning of the end. long distance never works. he's a young, rich F1 driver in monaco. what did you expect?

↳ user108 they've done long distance before during her cambridge terms. you're reaching sooooo far 😐

user109 lowkey that body is gorg tho 👀 but also, if bob gave up a literal goddess for some no-name runway chick... that's the biggest fumble in the history of F1 🏎🏁

↳ user110 THIS>>> you don't trade a queen for a joker. something isn't adding up

user111 what is this i'm hearing about lando mfing norris cheating?? 😂 in front of HIS FAMILY? nah mate, they'd skin him alive

↳ user112 fr. they adore her just like we do. team y/n 4 lifersss

↳ user113 but oliver posted them together

user114 i'm just here for the drama. lando poured the gasoline by bringing back the .jpg account 🤭

↳ user115 the acc y/n historically has been begging him to revive. and he does that to post his new flick? THE SHADEEEE

user116 unfollowing. i stanned them as a couple since 2019 just for him to throw away a 7+ year relationship for some yatchie

↳ user117 god you people need professional help. wtf makes you entitled to their life choices?? 😭😭

↳ user118 tell me this is a joke! or you're pathetically parasocial

user119 does having a new girl make him win? if not, idc 💁‍♂️

↳ user120 worth a shot tho 😔

user121 okay, so i live in monaco, and i saw them at a very popular café like maybe a WEEK ago. they were holding hands and wrapped around each other like octopuses while getting takeout. no way theyre over already!

↳ user122 source: "trust me bro" 🤡

[ lando's chats ]

🗓 January 5, 2024

liked by maxfewtrell, iamrebeccad and 327,194 others

yourusername Life lately 💌 Meet Padmé (or Paddy), the newest member of our family!

Also, I feel like I should address this once and for all: I am my own person, I have my own career to focus on. Being LN's partner (as much as I love that title) is not my full-time job. Lately the influx of people in my inbox wishing me the best and the absolute worst based off of rumors from gossip pages has been overwhelming in the worst way possible. It’s amazing that you guys care but unless you hear anything from either of us, please choose to ignore these baseless claims. If it escalates, my comments will be turned off permanently.

tagged : ﹫landonorris

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olivernorris1 uno has a new sibling now 🙌 (sorry for the trouble, again)

↳ landonorris get that demon away from my daughter 👹

↳ yourusername no worries oli 🫶

adam_norris_pure_electric Enjoy New York! We'll need a guide for when we visit

♥︎ liked by author

ciscanorris1 god how did that idiot convince you to go out with him?

↳ landonorris 🖕

↳ yourusername by being a dork <3

↳ landonorris my girl ❣️

↳ ciscanorris1 wow this is disturbing!

pietra.pilao voce é muito gata 😘

↳ yourusername lovely lovely girl 💖

yourbff now i feel sorta bad for daring you to dye your hair

↳ yourusername no bby, i wanted to do it anyway. not our fault people cannot be normal about hair of all things

landonorris WHY IS OUR CHILD NEAR A FISH?! this is betrayal

↳ yourusername get used to it lan 😼

↳ landonorris anything for paddy :')

↳ yourusername you know you love us 💕

↳ landonorris mhm, that i do. an insane amount.

carmenmmundt you look stunning!

↳ yourusername so do you, always

lilymhe ughh why are you all the way over on the east coast? 😒

↳ yourusername i'll let you know if i make it to the other end. promise! 💋

user123 fuck shes so annoying

user124 bitching abour online hate? girl news flash: you're a public figure!

↳ user125 doesn’t mean she wants her privacy violated

↳ user124 should have thought about that before sleeping with a millionaire 🤑

user126 some of these sickos make me want to beg y/n to actually go through with it and turn off comments

user127 YOU MEAN TO TELL ME I'M IN THE SAME BUILDING AS Y/N L/N?!?!

↳ user128 valid crashout! i didn’t know who she was but then my gf (huge f1 fan) sat me down to explain. pretty sweet ngl

↳ user129 i have lab with her LFG!!!! 🎊

user130 attention whore

user131 an ivy league school? did lando pay for that too 😂

↳ user132 don't be shy girlie! tell us how much you bag from him on the daily

user133 please don't listen to these jealous freaks. you're one of the best people i look up to!

↳ user134 i was a casual f1 fan but lando turned me into an addict. and him and y/n got me into the chaotic side of this fandom! i'm rooting for them ALWAYS

user135 researching in Columbia uni??? fuck i want to grow up and be her so bad 🤩

user136 padmé 🥹 like in star wars. oh, how i love her already. how did you convince LN tho?

↳ yourusername a whole lot of whining and cuddles 🤫

↳ user136 ‼️ MOTHER REPLIED? i can die peacefully now

↳ user137 but that means shes definitely reading the bullshit people are saying here 😟

user138 how good can the sex be really? she's not all that. and yet he seems wrapped around her fingers 💀

(1) UNOPENED VOICE MAIL from 'missus 🌼'

[Sound of a quiet, shaky sigh and rustling of fabric] "Hey, you busy? ...Who am I joking, you need the rest. Okay. Don't worry about it. [Another sigh, a sniffle that's quickly stifled.] "Just... It’s... God, I'm so tired. These people are relentless! I want to chuck my phone into the ocean but I can’t stop reading shit." [A hollow, quiet laugh.] "Like, can I just exist? For five minutes can I just be without worrying who gets pissed off by me breathing?" [A muffled sob.] "I'm just... so sick of it, Lando. It's exhausting. I feel like I'm constantly bracing for impact. And I love you. God, I love you so much. But this part is really horrible. I feel like I'm screaming at the top of my lungs but people keep talking over me. Fuck, this sounds so stupid, huh?" [A long pause, the sound of her trying to steady her breathing.] "Don't–uh– I know you. Don't feel like you have to fix something, alright? This isn’t on you. I... needed to say it out loud, I think. 'Suppose it makes it less heavy." [Her voice goes very small.] "And in saying that, I think I ruined a perfectly good weekend. Sorry. I'll... how the hell do you delete—Shit."

[ y/n's chats ]

landonorris & yourusername added to story

🗓 January 7, 2024

၊|၊|၊ Angel Baby • Troye Sivan

liked by landonorris, willne, alexandrasaintmleux and 708,531 others

yourusername I just wanna live in this moment forever

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yourdad has posted to story

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user139 and what if i start crying again?!?! 😭😭

user140 the way her whole family (it seems) was watching. THATS THEIR BOYYYY

↳ yourcousin1 yeah we were! what a phenomenal moment to share with the whole fam 💝

yourcousin2 the only time i'm okay with watching these two snog each others faces off 😌

↳ yourcousin2 oh and congrats landoooo 💪🏼💪🏼

↳ user141 smh ungrateful people take everything for granted. what i wouldn't give to see a slo-mo of that kiss forever 💔

↳ user142 WOAH THERE

youraunt i knew it would happen, it was only a matter of 'when' 🙌

user143 the cheers!!!! how lovely they all are

↳ user144 whoever was screeching like a pterodactyl... same girl, same 😭

↳ yourcousin3 🤭

🗓 May 5, 2024

liked by yourusername and 4,503,874 others

landonorris Miami, you were the most beautiful sky 🍾

view comments ...

yourusername what, no photo creds this time around?

↳ landonorris baby you can take the credits for everything until the end of our days. you'd still be my favorite no. 1

↳ yourusername congrats on the second* win then ❣️ so, so many more to come

user145 when i said i believe soulmates exist, i meant them

♥︎ liked by author , yourusername

[thatssoemelia]

TWO FOR TWO

synopsis :: what happens when Lando Norris decides winning the world championship isn't enough?

warnings :: none just fluff

word count :: 2k

pairing :: lando norris x childhoodfriend!reader

f1 masterlist

The Yas Marina Circuit was a blur of artificial lights, screaming engines, and the deafening roar of tens of thousands of people. But for you, standing behind the parc fermé barriers clad in Papaya orange, the world had narrowed down to a single, blurry monitor and the crackle of the team radio.

"Lando Norris, you are the World Champion! The 2025 World Champion!"

The voice of his race engineer, Will Joseph, cracked with emotion.

Then, the scream. It wasn't the polished media voice Lando usually used. It was raw, guttural, and tear-filled. "We did it! Oh my god, we did it!"

You let out a sob you didn’t realize you were holding, your hands flying to your mouth. Around you, the McLaren mechanics were jumping, hugging, and crying. Zak Brown was already sprinting toward the fence.

You stood frozen. You remembered the beginning. Not the karting beginning, or the Formula 3 beginning. You remembered preschool. You remembered a four-year-old Lando with messy hair, struggling to tie his shoelaces, asking if you wanted to share his snack. You had been inseparable since before he knew what a racing line was. You were the keeper of his secrets, the calm to his chaos, and for the last few years, the person silently, painfully in love with him.

The sleek MCL38 pulled into the world champion board.

Lando didn’t just climb out of the car; he erupted from it. He stood on the halo, arms wide, soaking in the fireworks exploding over the marina. When he jumped down, he was mobbed by the team.

You stayed back near the media pen entrance, giving him his moment. You watched him hug his dad and mum, hug Zak, and wipe tears from his eyes with his balaclava still in his hand. His hair was a mess of sweat, his face flushed with adrenaline and exhaustion.

Then, the cameras swarmed.

David Coulthard stepped up with the microphone, the broadcast going out to millions of people worldwide. Lando leaned against the rear wing of the car, trying to catch his breath, a mixture of disbelief and pure joy on his face.

"Lando Norris," Coulthard’s voice boomed over the PA system. "World Champion. The words you’ve been waiting to hear your whole life. Talk us through the emotions right now."

Lando laughed, a breathless, high-pitched sound that made your heart ache. He ran a hand through his damp curls. "I... I don't even know what to say. It’s been such a long season. The team has been incredible. Every single person back at Woking, my family..."

He paused. His eyes scanned the crowd behind the barrier. He wasn't looking at the camera anymore. He was searching.

"But, you know," Lando continued, his voice dropping an octave, becoming suddenly serious. "Everyone talks about the sacrifice of racing. But I think the people around us sacrifice more. And there’s... there is one person specifically."

The crowd quieted down slightly, sensing the shift in his tone. You felt your breath hitch. He was looking in your direction, though the glare of the floodlights made it hard to tell if he could actually see you.

"She’s standing right over there," Lando said, gesturing vaguely toward the garage entry. "We’ve known each other since preschool. Literally, since we were four years old. She was there before I knew what a steering wheel was. She was there when I was losing in karts and crying in the car home. She was there when I moved to Monaco and felt lonely. She’s been the one constant thing in my life when everything else was moving at two hundred miles per hour."

Tears pricked your eyes again. He never talked about you like this in public. You were usually just his "best mate."

"I honestly don't think I’d be standing here, holding this title, if she hadn't held me up all those years," Lando said, his voice wavering slightly. "So, this isn't just mine. It’s—"

He stopped mid-sentence.

The interviewer looked confused. "Lando?"

Lando was staring right at you now. You had stepped slightly forward, out of the shadow of a mechanic.

Your eyes locked. In that split second, amidst the chaos of the biggest achievement of his career, something seemed to snap in his mind. The adrenaline of winning the championship had stripped away all his defenses, all the fear of ruining the friendship, all the hesitation.

"Hold on a second," Lando said abruptly. "There's something I really have to do."

"Lando, we're live—" the interviewer started, but Lando was already moving.

He abandoned the interview. He abandoned the car. He broke into a run, dodging a cameraman and hopping over the low barrier separating the parc fermé area from the team personnel.

"y/n!"He crashed into you. It wasn't a hug; it was a collision. His fireproof race suit was soaked with sweat and smelled of champagne and rubber, but you didn't care. You grabbed the front of his suit to steady him, but he didn't stop.

Before you could say congratulations, Lando cupped your face with both hands, his gloves rough against your skin, and smashed his lips onto yours.

The world stopped. The screaming crowd, the fireworks, the engines—it all turned into white noise.

It was a deep, desperate kiss. It was twenty plus years of friendship, five years of pining, and the overwhelming high of victory all pouring out at once. He kissed you like he was trying to breathe you in, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones frantically. You melted into him, your arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer, kissing him back with everything you had kept hidden for so long.

He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for air. His eyes were wide, shining with tears and a smile that eclipsed the lights of the track.

"I love you," he breathless, loud enough for the nearby mechanics to hear. "I am so in love with you. I couldn't wait another second to say it."

You laughed, a watery, joyful sound, running your thumb over his cheek. "I love you too, Lando."

"Took me long enough, yeah?" he grinned, that cheeky sparkle returning to his eyes.

"Just a bit," you whispered.

Suddenly, the roar of the crowd surged again. You both looked up to see the giant screens broadcasting the two of you, zoomed in, high definition. The entire world had just watched the new World Champion run away from his victory interview to kiss his best friend.

Lando looked at the screen, then back at you, his grin widening. "Oops. Think I interrupted the interview."

"Go," you pushed him gently back toward the car, though you didn't let go of his hand. "Go finish it. You’re the World Champion."

He squeezed your hand, looked at you one last time as if to anchor himself, and ran backward toward the baffled interviewer.

"Sorry!" Lando yelled into the microphone as he picked it back up, breathless and beaming brighter than the trophy waiting for him. "I just... I really needed to win that one, too."

The minutes following the podium ceremony were a blur of flashing cameras, heavy gold medals, and lukewarm champagne. You watched Lando navigate the official media line—the triumphant press conference, the sponsor obligations—all with a goofy, slightly stunned smile plastered on his face. Every time he glanced your way, standing discreetly near the back with Zak and the rest of the team principals, he’d wiggle his eyebrows, a silent acknowledgement of the giant, beautiful mess he’d created.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the mandatory duties ended. You slipped away from the main celebratory crush and found your way toward the smaller, quieter area reserved for drivers—the cool-down room, used for medical checks and post-race wind-downs.

When you pushed the door open, the contrast was jarring. It was cool, sterile, and silent compared to the cacophony outside. Lando was sitting on a padded bench, stripped down to his fireproof leggings, gulping from a bottle of water. The World Champion cap was set aside, and he looked utterly exhausted, but his eyes were still bright with residual adrenaline.

He looked up, saw you, and the exhaustion melted into a wide, relieved grin.

“There she is,” he murmured, standing up quickly. He dropped the bottle and walked toward you, stopping just inches away.

You didn't move to hug him, instead crossing your arms with a playful sternness. “You know, Lando Norris, that was arguably the most stressful five minutes of my entire life. And I watched you nearly crash in Spa three years ago.”

He chuckled, a low, tired sound. “Yeah, well, kissing the girl you’ve been terrified of losing for half your life on live TV is a little more high-stakes than a gravel trap, honestly.”

You dropped the act, your heart melting, and stepped into his space. This time, the hug was soft and desperate. No champagne, no sweat, no cameras—just the two of you, breathing each other in.

“Congratulations, Champ,” you whispered into the damp fabric of his undershirt. “You did it. The World Championship.”

He squeezed you tight. “I did. And I still can’t believe it. But that was only the second best thing that happened tonight.” He pulled back slightly, his thumbs tenderly tracing the curve of your cheekbone.

“Oh? What was the first?” you teased, though you knew the answer.

“You tell me,” he said, his voice dropping low. “Did I completely ruin our entire twenty plus years of friendship, or did I...did I actually do the right thing?”

You smiled, resting your hands on his bare, muscular forearms. “You did the right thing. You idiot. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to realize that I’m completely and utterly in love with you?”

Lando stared at you, his eyes wide with a triumphant realization that eclipsed even the moment he crossed the finish line.

“You are?” he breathed.

“Of course, I am! Why do you think I’ve spent every other weekend of my life flying around the world just to be near you? It wasn’t just for the free hospitality, you muppet.”

He threw his head back and laughed, a genuine, joyful release of sound that echoed off the white tile walls. He leaned in, his gaze serious now.

“It wasn't a championship adrenaline high, y/n. I meant it,” Lando confirmed, his breath warm on your ear. “I love being your best friend, but every time someone joked we should just get together, it was torture, because I wanted to. I’ve known since you came to Silverstone that year with me, and you were standing right there in the garage, and I realized I cared more about you seeing me win than actually winning. I just really want you for worse or for better. And trust me, I would wait forever and ever if I had to.”

He pulled back, his hands framing your face once more, but this kiss was different from the public, explosive one. This was quiet, tender, and promised a lifetime. It was the confirmation that no matter how fast his life moved on the track, you were the safe, steady harbor he always returned to.

When he broke away, he pressed his forehead to yours, his eyelashes fluttering closed.

“So,” he mumbled, his lips brushing yours. “I won the World Championship, and I got the girl. Not a bad Sunday, huh?”

“Definitely not a bad Sunday,” you agreed, pulling him in for a tight hug. You felt his heart hammering against your chest, still racing from the mixture of racing glory and sudden, terrifying, beautiful love.

“We need to talk about the PR nightmare we just created, though,” you pointed out.

Lando just shrugged, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you securely onto the bench beside him. He rested his chin on the top of your head, the World Champion letting himself simply rest for the first time all year.

“They can talk all they want,” he yawned contentedly. “They can’t take either one of these away from me. I just got two for two.”

em speaks!

i had this written before the abu dahbi race and was only going to post it if Lando won. And so the words don't quite match up to what he said nor was the celebration but that's ok lol

p.s. I'm still very much emotional after that race. If anyone so much as says the words "Lando", "Mclaren", or "F1"....I will probably start crying again. I couldn't be prouder of Lando 😭😭😭

taglist :: @1giss4swft3 @dazaisdogsblog @lizbedummb @maebejustmaebe @artyyjia @481sillybirds @jewelsm481 @nilletellsstories @gso35 @larastark3107

taglist is open! message or comment if you wanna be added!

likes, reblogs, and follows are always helpful!

if you have a request be sure to send it in! and if you want to request but don’t know what to request you can check out my masterlist!

xoxo 𝐞𝐦 💋

[i-magines]

controlled burn ★ op81, ln1 (pt. 1)

SYNOPSIS — The contract said: smile for the cameras, hold his hand, don't fall in love. It said nothing about his teammate.

DISCLAIMER — this is only the second fanfic i've ever written in english, so bear with me. i do not own anyone from the f1 paddock; this is purely a product of imagination, feelings, and embarrassing amounts of free time. no harm or disrespect is intended toward any real person featured.

RATING — M (minors, please keep scrolling).

WARNINGS — fake dating / pr relationship; teammates to rivals; love triangle; cheating (it's complicated); morally gray characters, every single one of them; emotionally messy and psychologically dense; F1 paddock politics; slow burn; sexual tension with no chill; angst; explicit content / smut; alcohol, drugs, partying; blurred lines and bad decisions; not an innocent soul in this fic, including you.

WORD COUNT — 14,675 out of 22,625

N/A — this one has been living in my head for a long time. i tried to post it as a one-shot, but tumblr wouldn't let me, so i've split it in two. it's long and it's messy. comments are my love language — don't be shy. x

Pt. 1 - SOMEONE HAS TO Pt. 2 - TERMS AND CONDITIONS

You blamed the French Riviera for the start of all of it.

The coast in southeast France was small enough to be a village, so of course you met Lando through mutual friends around the time he moved to Monaco in 2022. The sexual tension between you was a given — essential, even, to the hang-out sessions and the kind of drunk parties that slowly turned you into actual friends. Despite the few nights that had ended with both of you in his bed.

That's why he came to you when pictures leaked of him getting a little too cozy with a mysterious man at a New Year's party.

Lando was already getting bad press for partying too much. He knew how relentless this sport could be towards anyone who didn't walk a straight line, and he deemed you worthy of his trust.

You didn't let him down.

The publicists hard-launched the two of you as a couple at the start of the 2023 season — blind items first, then paparazzi photos. The team controlled your narrative strictly, from public appearances to social media. The act had to be spot-on any time you were around anyone outside the five people who knew the truth.

You'd signed a contract. It came with a lot of big words and complex rules you'd since learned by heart. Main thing: obey and behave.

The 2025 season had started a little over a month ago and you had yet to be seen supporting your championship-contender boyfriend at a race.

Honestly, it didn't bother you much. The paddock was loud, overheated, constantly buzzing with stressed people sprinting in every direction, and the cameras always made your life ten times harder.

But you did sign a contract.

The call summoning you to Saudi Arabia didn't come as a surprise. The season was just warming up, and they wanted you there — Lando's teammate was catching up on points.

Piastri.

There he was: calm, polite, put together. Annoyingly unreadable. Always a little judgy, never quite pleased to play second driver to anyone.

You'd barely spoken to him beyond F1's official calendar. His relationship with Lando was strictly professional, bordering on amicable — and in the brief moments you'd shared with him, you'd caught enough eye-rolls to know the feeling wasn't mutual.

You hadn't seen Oscar since Abu Dhabi last year. His behavior, apparently, had not changed.

"You're late," he said to Lando as you arrived at the McLaren garage for qualifying. Casual. Like stating the weather. His eyes moved to you. "Y/N."

"Good to see you too," Lando replied cheerfully. "Went to bed late. My girl arrived last night."

"How great," Oscar said, emotionless. "Hope your lucky charm works this weekend."

Not unkind. Not warm. Like someone commenting on tire degradation.

He walked away.

"The fuck is wrong with him?" you asked, watching his back disappear into the garage.

"As if I'd know," Lando shrugged, entirely unbothered. He grabbed your hand and kissed it — right on cue for the cameras. "Go have fun and look pretty for the photographers."

Translation: smile, don't blink too much, and try not to ruin anyone's brand.

You watched him go, already slipping back into character.

~*~

A dramatic crash in Q3 had put Lando starting the race in P10. He'd finished P4.

Oscar was now leading the championship — by a margin small enough to be infuriating.

"I can't catch a fucking break," Lando muttered, throwing his helmet and balaclava onto the floor like the gear had personally betrayed him.

"You aren't that far behind," you tried. Uselessly. He wasn't listening.

"And the smirk on his face, God." His face was red. "Now I have to show up to media duty with that devil beside me and still have energy for this—"

He moved his index finger between you and him. An invisible line of blame.

You didn't know what to say. Part of you agreed. The other part was tired of being the collateral damage.

You knew the tension between the drivers was high — that's exactly why the PR team had called you in. But you didn't have to dig too deep to see that your presence added a whole new layer of stress for Lando. With you there, he didn't just have to perform on track.

He had to perform every second outside private rooms too.

He dropped onto the couch, face buried in his hands.

"Don't get me wrong," he said after a moment. "I value our friendship so much."

A sigh.

"But the acting kills me."

You sat beside him and rested a hand on his thigh. He grabbed it immediately, holding tighter than necessary.

"To think I still have to follow up with my publicist and get feedback on how to behave better next time I'm with my fucking girlfriend," he let out a dry laugh. "'Hold her like this, smile like that.' At this point I'm one bad race away from needing choreography around you."

"I'm sorry, Lan."

"It's nobody's fault but mine," he said, throwing his head back against the couch. "And I'm lucky enough to have you on board with this bullshit."

"I'm glad it's me," you said, pulling him closer — because if it wasn't you, it would be someone else. And he chose you.

Lando took a few breaths and relaxed under your touch as you ran your fingers through his hair.

"Sometimes I wish it could just be like this," he whispered. "No cameras. No script. No pretending."

"We'd get bored," you pointed out, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "And probably ruin it in a week."

He laughed. Small, quiet. Knowing exactly how true that was.

A knock at the door. Mark, Lando's manager, already halfway inside.

"Media duty, Lando." His eyes landed on you briefly. "Y/N, you're off the clock. Chop-chop."

You stood up, grabbing your purse. Touched Lando's shoulder a second longer than necessary.

On your way out, Oscar's side of the garage was still celebrating. You greeted a few people, did your best to leave without drawing attention — a skill you'd fortunately mastered.

But nothing escaped those careful brown eyes.

Almost nothing.

He approached just as you reached the exit.

"You know," his voice cut clean through the noise, "if you're going to be around for any other races this season — don't get in his way."

You frowned. This was the longest sentence he'd ever directed at you, and this was what he chose to say.

What had once been a joke between you and Lando now felt very real.

Oscar had a problem. With you, specifically.

"So you don't like me," you said. Not a question.

"I don't like distractions."

"Then stop staring," you shot back, already walking away — leaving him standing there, jaw tight, not used to being talked back to.

~*~

"He's unbelievable," you complained, tossing your phone back into your purse. "Did you see that quote about 'getting your head in the game'? How dare he."

"He's jealous," Lando said casually. "Doesn't get a lot of family time. Or girlfriend time. Makes everything feel heavier, probably."

"I just don't like the picture of you he's trying to paint."

You were in the back of a car on the way to a celebration party after the Miami GP — a McLaren 1-2, Lando in second, which apparently still counted as reason enough to drink like he'd won the whole thing.

You'd told him everything about your interaction with Oscar. He'd gotten a good laugh out of it. The kind that came with zero concern and maximum ego.

For you, it was more serious. You couldn't deny how protective you were of Lando's image — especially after how hard you'd worked to polish it. Or, more accurately, duct-tape it together.

You let those thoughts slip away when you arrived. Started drinking with friends, team members, acquaintances — anyone with a drink and a vague connection to motorsport.

A couple of hours in, Lando was already everywhere. Including, somehow, next to Oscar.

Annoyed, you watched them from a distance. You were drunk too, but not the friendly kind. The observant, slightly bitter, mentally-taking-notes kind.

"Hi!" A tap on your shoulder. "I'm Lily! It's so nice to finally meet you!"

Great, you thought. Today of all days.

"My pleasure," you smiled. Or tried to.

"I was just telling Oscar how crazy it is that the boys have been racing together for over two years and we've never met!"

This was no accident. You'd been careful — you didn't want to be forced into any relationship beyond the one with Lando. Especially not WAG drama, group chats, or forced brunches. So you'd gotten good at keeping a low profile.

A skill that was currently failing you.

"Our schedules never seem to line up," you said gently, like you hadn't been actively dodging this exact situation for years.

"That's such a shame, isn't it?" Oscar appeared, placing an arm around Lily.

His eyes were on you. Not her.

"Totally!" Lily agreed. "I'm not sure if you have plans tomorrow — maybe we could all—"

A very drunk Lando interrupted, pulling you in and kissing you.

Deep. Urgent. Almost passionate — the kind that felt less like affection and more like a statement.

"Sorry," he murmured, wiping the corner of his mouth. "She just looked too pretty. I couldn't resist."

Oscar's jaw clenched. He couldn't look away. His grip on Lily tightened just enough to notice.

"She really is gorgeous," Lily laughed sweetly. "You seem to be having a great time, Lando!"

"Well, I try. Doesn't matter who stood higher on the podium — a 1-2 is a 1-2, right?"

Oscar snorted. Sharp. Involuntary.

It very much did matter who stood higher. He did.

"Of course!" Lily smiled. "Incredible teamwork!"

You placed a hand on Lando's chest. The look: wrap it up before I do.

"I actually came to steal Y/N from you guys," Lando said.

"Oh please, do take her," Oscar replied, tone light, eyes anything but.

You caught the way his gaze lingered a moment too long on Lando's grip around your waist.

"Don't mind him," Lily rolled her eyes. "Oscar's no fun."

"No shit," slipped out before you could stop it.

All three of them stared.

Lando barely holding back a grin. Oscar blinking like he'd just been slapped with honesty. Lily trying to decide if she'd misheard.

"Lily, it was so nice meeting you," you said, pulling her into a quick hug. "Let's do it again sometime."

"I'd love that," she whispered, completely unaware of the emotional landmines she'd just walked through.

~*~

Paparazzi waited outside. You and Lando both knew — they were meant to. The PR team wanted those photos.

Lando grabbed your hand without thinking as the car pulled up, stepping in front of you like a shield against the flashing cameras. Chin down, smile rehearsed. The perfect gentleman.

All of that was calculated.

What wasn't was the way he didn't let your hand go.

Even once the cameras were gone. Even once the doors slid shut behind you.

Still drunk and laughing at nothing, you both stumbled out of the elevator.

"God, I missed drinking," he said, grinning. "Remind me to do this more often."

You caught his arm just before he walked into a wall.

"Remind me to hide your phone when you do. You almost left a voice message for Christian Horner."

"I just wanted to tell him how it is," he shrugged, far too gone to care.

You laughed, shaking your head — and then your eyes met.

Just for a second. But it was enough to flip the energy completely.

He cupped your face. Gaze dropping from your eyes to your lips. Then back up. Then back down. Like he was making a very serious decision.

"We're not acting right now," he said, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth. "Just so you know."

"I'm aware."

And then he kissed you.

Not the neutral, PR-friendly kind you pulled out for cameras. The real kind. The kind you only share when it's just the two of you and proximity does the rest.

Or when you're drunk. Or bored. Or just in need of something that feels sort of real.

"Do you have any idea how good you look?" he murmured, kissing down your jaw, your neck. "Contract or not, you're mine tonight."

Between sloppy kisses and wandering hands, you somehow made it to your room — tripping down the hallway, bumping into walls, laughing through all of it.

His patience lasted maybe eight seconds before he started pulling your clothes off like you might disappear if he didn't hurry.

You weren't being quiet. The thin walls between your room and his teammate's next door suddenly felt very relevant.

They were, apparently, to Lando too.

The TV volume next door turned up.

Something primal crossed his face.

"Been thinking about this all night," he admitted, hands tracing every inch of your skin like he was mapping it out.

You fell onto the bed, Lando following instantly. His knee pressed between your thighs, deliberate, as his mouth found yours again.

Not far away, a door slammed. Too hard to be accidental.

"Guess someone's pissed," Lando murmured against your ear. "Good."

And finally, it clicked.

He wanted to be heard. The idea pleased him more than it should have.

His hands slid down your thighs, his mouth following, as if he had all the time in the world. 

Every time you shifted your hips to feel him better, he groaned — like you were doing something to him too. Every time you moaned, you could feel his smile. 

“Lando—fuck,” you cried.

"Louder," he said against your skin, voice low, certain. "I want him to hear you properly."

~*~

The morning came faster than you'd like. The sun was already warm, the pool an offensive shade of turquoise — entirely too cheerful for how little sleep you'd gotten.

Oscar was already there.

Sitting stiffly on a sunbed, towel clenched in his fist, jaw tight. He looked ruined by lack of sleep. The kind that didn't come from jet lag or training.

"You okay, baby?" Lily asked beside him. "You're quieter than usual."

"Just tired."

The safest thing he could say. Because how was he supposed to explain the way his stomach twisted every time last night surfaced? How his brain, apparently bored with peace, kept replaying sounds he was never meant to hear?

He watched the two of you arrive.

Lando's hand glued to your waist. Your laugh soft and tired. Both of you walking like you shared a secret.

Which, in a way, you did. Several, actually. None of them helpful to Oscar's sanity.

Lily lit up instantly. "Hey, you guys! Come sit with us!"

Oscar's whole body went rigid.

"Morning," Lando said, dropping your things on the table like he owned the place.

"Didn't think you two would be up this early," Oscar muttered.

Lando's smile was slow. Knowing. Annoyingly well-rested for someone who absolutely was not. "Didn't get much sleep."

Oscar's eyes flicked to you before he could stop himself. Then away. "Right."

Lando took off his shirt and sat in front of you so you could rub sunscreen on his shoulders. Tilted his head back. Eyes closed. Entirely too relaxed for a man who had just chosen violence.

Oscar watched every second of it. Hated that he did. Hated more that he couldn't stop.

"I'm gonna jump in," Lily announced, already heading for the pool. "Coming?"

"In a minute," Oscar said, not looking at her.

And suddenly it was just the three of you. Which felt illegal somehow.

"You were loud last night," Oscar said. Voice too even.

"Not really," Lando replied, grin widening. "Could've been louder."

Oscar's grip tightened on the towel. "Just don't overdo it."

"What does that mean?" you asked.

His eyes met yours. Brief. Sharp. A warning he hadn't decided how to phrase. Then he looked down.

"Distractions are expensive."

The air shifted. Not heavy — tense.

Lando's smile didn't disappear. It changed. Smoothed into something colder.

"Guess that depends," he murmured, "on who's getting distracted."

~*~

Oscar didn't fully understand what the hell was wrong with him.

He had no business caring about Lando's relationship with you. If anything, it should've been convenient. A gift.

It was not.

He'd built a decent lead in the standings after Lando's disaster in Canada. Which should've felt good.

It did not.

Because it came at a cost.

He had to keep his distance from the two of you. Like avoiding a bad habit he'd never agreed to start. He and Lando weren't friends — just teammates with a polite, functional relationship. The kind that survived debriefs and died everywhere else. And now even that felt strained.

What he heard that night in Miami had messed him up. He'd forbidden himself from acknowledging what it made him feel.

Very mature. Very ineffective.

He was having a terrible time keeping his eyes off you. The more he tried, the more he noticed. Every touch. Every whisper. Every goddamn smile.

It made him sick. Worse: curious.

He'd let himself believe that your absence from the last few races meant something.

Hope, it turned out, was a stupid habit too.

So when he saw you walking toward the McLaren garage at the British Grand Prix, his heart sank.

Of course you'd be there for Lando's home race. He briefly considered that maybe he was an idiot.

You both did your best to stay out of each other's way. Almost succeeded.

But post-race Silverstone was dangerous — full of champagne and people feeling braver than they should.

The corridor behind the garages was quieter. The noise fading into something dull and distant.

It took you a few seconds to realize you weren't alone.

Oscar.

He hadn't meant to block your way — he just stood there like a poorly placed obstacle. Your shoulder brushed his chest as you tried to pass.

"Sorry," you said automatically, stepping back.

He didn't move. "Congratulations. To him."

"Cut the crap," you replied. "I see you, Oscar. If you have a problem with me, I'd rather hear it straight."

Silence. Thick. Almost impressive.

"That night in Miami," he said finally, almost under his breath. "I didn't ask to hear that."

He regretted it instantly. Your chest tightened.

"So this is about that," you said. "You were eavesdropping?"

"Hard not to. Walls were thin."

His eyes flicked to the sound of Lando laughing somewhere nearby — effortlessly alive.

You stepped closer. Not on purpose. Or maybe exactly on purpose.

"I didn't do anything wrong. That was Lando—"

"I know," he cut in too fast. "I know."

That stopped you.

Oscar swallowed.

"That's the problem."

For a split second he held your gaze. Clearly tempted to say something catastrophic. Something that would ruin several careers and his own self-image.

"Whatever you think you heard wasn't meant for you," you said, forcing neutrality. "You don't get to hold that over us."

"And I didn't ask to be fucking affected by it."

The sharpness of his voice caught you off guard. Your composure cracked.

"You don't get to say that," you snapped.

"You weren't supposed to be part of this," he said, eyes dropping. "And maybe I'm imagining things — but I think I speak for both me and Lando when I say you make it harder to focus."

He stepped back. Easing the tension just enough to breathe.

"You should stay out of this."

"Then why do I get the feeling you don't really want me to?" you asked, already knowing he wouldn't answer.

"Please go," he said. "Before this gets worse."

You nodded — even though the idea that this was already bad lodged itself firmly in your chest — and walked past him.

Oscar didn't move.

He just stared at the empty space you left behind, knowing he'd crossed a line he could never uncross.

And worse — that he didn't regret it nearly as much as he should've.

~*~

You knew better than to show up for the next couple of races.

Mostly because you were scared of your own brain — which had recently decided to become wildly unhelpful — and because Oscar had done the worst thing he possibly could.

He'd made you curious.

The way his eyes had held yours at Silverstone. Something new flickering behind them. Not anger. Not the usual annoyance.

Something else. Something inconvenient.

Something you kept telling yourself meant nothing — and that still left you uneasy days later, like a song you didn't like but couldn't stop replaying.

You'd never really thought about Oscar as anything other than Lando's competition. A tall, quiet obstacle with excellent bone structure. But that encounter had shifted something all the same, and the questions followed you everywhere — with work, with friends, with the carefully curated image of a perfect relationship you were supposed to be maintaining.

Which was how you ended up here.

"Love?" Lando called again after a few failed attempts. "Care to join me? I promise I'm very charming today."

"Yeah. Of course," you replied, abandoning your spiraling thoughts and moving closer.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto his lap, your hands resting around his neck.

Flash.

He kissed your cheek, gently. You giggled, automatically.

Muscle memory was a terrifying thing.

Flash.

"You two look great together," the photographer said, thumbs up. "I think British Vogue got everything it needs."

"Great," Lando smiled, effortless.

You waited while he said his goodbyes, doing the same with the handful of people you knew. After all, this arrangement wasn't meant to benefit only Lando — you'd been promised access and exposure within the industry too.

He grabbed your hand and tugged you toward his dressing room, shutting the door behind you.

"That went surprisingly well," he said, dropping onto the couch. "I actually had fun."

You nodded. A beat too slow.

"Where are you?" He frowned, pulling you down beside him. "You look miles away. Is this about the jacket you hate?"

You didn't answer — mostly because your brain was doing that thing it had started doing lately, the one where Oscar Piastri showed up uninvited and refused to leave. 

Lando studied your face for a second, then pulled you closer. You let him. Easy. Familiar. Safe. 

Safer than the alternative, anyway.

"Careful," he murmured when your lips drifted to his neck. "Or I might start liking this too much."

"You wouldn't dare," you laughed, pulling back. Grateful for the lightness.

"Thank you for showing up today," he said quietly, thumb drawing absent circles against your arm.

"I kind of had to," you replied. "Bureaucracy and all. You know how much your lawyers would love to fine me."

He bit his lip, eyes lingering. "I really hope they're paying you well. A woman this pretty shouldn't work for free."

"Some people do like to call me a gold digger," you said, half-joking, half-testing.

"Yeah?" he murmured, close enough that his breath brushed your skin. "People say a lot of stupid shit."

He smiled. 

"Doesn't make them right."

And just like that, your chest tightened — because with him, things were easy.

And lately, easy felt dangerous too.

~*~

You'd barely seen Lando over the past month — which, considering you were allegedly his girlfriend, felt almost impressive. Just once or twice after the photoshoot, and even then only to fulfill public appearance duties.

Sure, there were stolen kisses here and there. Hands held a second longer than necessary. But that was it.

You didn't let yourself overthink it. This was what you'd agreed to. The moments you shared in private were supposed to remain rare — brief glimpses of what you and Lando could be, but ultimately weren't.

That's what you kept telling yourself.

So you couldn't deny it bothered you when your lawyer called to inform that Lando's team wanted you at the Dutch Grand Prix, but had very politely, very professionally, requested separate hotels for the weekend.

You knew what that meant.

Someone else.

You reminded yourself the contract didn't cover exclusivity. As long as it stayed private and scandal-free, it was nobody's business. Not yours. Not his. Not the internet's.

So you played your part.

Showed up for free practice. Walked through the paddock wearing the cutest outfit. Smiled when you were supposed to, looked worried on cue, delivered your usual reliable performance.

Ten out of ten. No notes.

But Lando noticed your distance. He always noticed — just never quite knew what to do with it. So he didn't say a word. He knew he was the one who'd asked for space, and he'd had the audacity to do it through other people.

He should've been content. He was getting exactly what he wanted.

So why didn't it feel like it?

He found you in the garage just before the race. One of the least private moments possible — which made it perfect, because you couldn't dodge him without making a scene.

"I'm really glad you came," he whispered against your ear, hands on your waist. "I'm sorry we haven't had much time together."

"Are you, though?" Your tone was flat.

"You know we both need space sometimes," he said.

"Space." You let out a dry laugh. "Right. I must've missed the memo where space comes with a hotel upgrade."

"Don't be like that." He kissed your forehead. "You're my best friend."

That one landed harder than you expected.

"I just hate being alone during race weekends," you admitted, dropping your voice. Allowing yourself, briefly, to be honest. "I'm only here because of you."

Lando took the hit.

"I'm sorry, love, I—" He cupped your face. "I just need something different right now."

You didn't feel like talking anymore. Or begging. Or pretending this didn't sting.

"We're probably better off like this anyway," you said, gently pulling away.

The words tasted bitter. Familiar.

~*~

Of course, you thought, watching the smoke rise from Lando's car with seven laps to go.

Life really loved its timing.

You took off your headphones and set them down. Watched the screen. Felt the lump settle in your throat as the camera found him sitting on the grass, defeated.

"He's okay," someone from the team touched your shoulder. "We'll take you to him in a bit."

You hesitated. Because you weren't sure you should go. It was what everyone expected — but was it what Lando wanted?

You moved away from the group, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. Full commotion filled the garage when he arrived, helmet still on. Engineers swarming, everyone talking at once.

For a brief moment, your eyes crossed.

He saw you. Away. Waiting.

He excused himself and came to you. You hesitated, then stepped forward and gently lifted his helmet off — his face red and wet underneath.

The cameras went wild in the background.

"You okay?" you asked softly.

"You don't need to worry about me." He sounded almost childish. His voice cracking gave him away.

"I know, baby," you replied, laying a gentle hand on his face. "I do it anyway."

You held each other's gaze — too long to be nothing, too short to fix anything — before he grabbed your hand from his face and kissed it.

Without another word, he headed back to his team.

You started walking away, ignoring the questions thrown at you by the media — wondering when exactly things had started to hurt this much.

~*~

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't sleep. Your brain simply refused to clock out.

Being in Amsterdam, there was one thing you could easily get that would help with that.

So you were discreet getting on the hotel elevator, careful getting in and out of a coffee shop two blocks away, and extra cautious walking back down the hallway.

None of that was a match for Oscar's attentive gaze.

He opened his door just as you reached yours, catching you completely off guard.

"Jesus Christ!" you blurted.

"Where were you?" he asked immediately.

"Why do you care?"

"It's late," Oscar shrugged. "And it's Amsterdam."

"What does that even mean?"

"What's in the bag?"

You stood there in silence. A staring contest you were definitely losing.

"It's tea," you said, already knowing he wouldn't fall for it.

"Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow. "Come in and make me some, then."

Your mouth opened and closed while your brain screamed at you to abort mission.

"Lando's waiting for me," you lied.

"No, he's not," Oscar said, far too pleased with himself. "I happen to know Lando isn't even here tonight."

"Doesn't mean I owe you anything."

"I never said that." His eyes darkened. "I asked you to roll me a joint. Is that a terrible offence?"

You blinked.

The last time you'd spoken, he'd practically begged you to leave so he could have peace of mind. And now—

"What's changed?" you asked.

"I just had an important win," he said. "Maybe I deserve to get a bit distracted."

You looked at him leaning against the doorframe. Messy hair. Flushed cheeks. Eyes fixed on you like he'd already made his decision.

You were lonely. Wired. And the curiosity you'd been cultivating about Oscar was scratching at your brain like an itch you could no longer ignore.

"Do you have a lighter?" you asked, walking past him.

~*~

You don't even remember when the tension left your shoulders. But it felt damn good to feel this light.

Both of you were lying on the fluffy rug, shoes off, laughing easily — like people who didn't have a championship, contracts, or common sense between them.

Oscar was different like this. More relaxed. More real.

"I didn't think you'd be this much fun," you admitted.

"Same," he laughed. "I used to think you were so fucking annoying. And a bit stupid, if I'm being honest."

"What!" You propped yourself up on one elbow. "That is so rude, Oscar."

You both smiled, high as hell.

"I think I notice patterns," he said after a moment, something quieter settling over him. "You're always there for him. No matter what."

A pause.

"People don't usually show up when it costs them something."

The words hit harder than you expected.

"You mean Lily?" you asked, avoiding his eyes.

"Yeah," he murmured. "But also the team."

Another pause.

"Even today — they were too busy crying over something else to care about our win." He gestured loosely between the two of you. "But this is quieter. I prefer it."

You swallowed. You'd always known Lando was McLaren's golden boy. You just hadn't stopped to think about what that meant for Oscar.

"Don't get me wrong," he said, running a hand through his hair. "But where the fuck even is Lando right now?"

You bit your lip before the truth could slip out.

"I don't think he realizes what he has," Oscar said. "Or how easy he has it."

You didn't interrupt. That alone felt new.

"It's not that I want what he has," he continued, eyes on yours. "I just don't understand how he doesn't lose his fucking mind trying to keep it."

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

"I think the championship is taking a toll on you boys," you said lightly.

He smiled. Just barely.

"Don't act like it's just the championship," he said, voice lower now, gaze drifting briefly to your lips.

"Oscar," you cut in gently. "You're lonely and you heard something you weren't supposed to. Lando got in your head and now you think—"

"You seriously think it started that night?" he interrupted. "I noticed you way before Miami."

You sat up slowly, never breaking eye contact.

"And if I'm wrong," he continued, "then why do I get the feeling you flirt with the same idea?"

Because I do, you thought.

"You're too smart for your own good," you said.

"And you're too stubborn to admit it."

You held his gaze a second too long before looking away.

"Am I being a piece of shit?" he asked.

You laughed, unfiltered.

"I like it when you laugh like that," Oscar said quietly.

"You're different without the team around," you pointed out.

"I don't usually talk this much," he admitted. "And I don't get high. You make things complicated."

"That's what makes me such a good distraction."

"My favorite one."

Your eyes locked again. Bodies shifting closer without either of you deciding to.

"If you stay," he said softly, "I might stop being careful."

Your heart pounded.

"Don't tempt me," you whispered. "I thought that was my job."

You didn't know who moved first — only that suddenly his mouth was on yours, warm and urgent, like he'd been holding back for too long. Your legs wrapped around his waist as you settled on his lap, his hands gripping you like he was grounding himself.

"I want to fucking ruin you so bad," he muttered against your ear. "It's actually stupid."

"Maybe I like you stupid."

"Bet you get off on it."

His mouth found yours again.

"Oscar," you breathed. "We shouldn't."

"I don't want to stop," he said, eyes honest. "And I hate when you're right."

You pulled back, fixing your clothes. Heart racing.

"This was fun," he said, standing, exhaling slowly.

"I should go."

He nodded and offered his hand. You took it — and noticed he didn't let go until you were outside his room.

"Well," he scratched the back of his neck. "This Dutch weed is insane."

"Tell me about it," you laughed. "Guess I'll see you around, Oscar."

"Not if I hide from you first."

You didn't look back as you walked to your room. The door clicked shut behind you, and you stood there staring at it like it could contain the mess you'd just made.

Sleep, you realized, was not happening anytime soon.

~*~

After you skipped the next two races, you showed up to the cocktail Lando's team had arranged before Singapore — meant to celebrate his British Vogue cover launch before things got even more serious as the season went on.

It was supposed to be intimate. It rarely ever was. Hard to keep a small circle when everyone wants a piece of one of the hottest drivers of the moment.

Your plan was simple: keep a low profile, avoid public figures, other WAGs, and anything that smelled like drama.

A solid plan. Right up until it wasn't.

Because when you saw Oscar across the room, your heart did something embarrassing.

Even from a distance, you could tell he hadn't fully bounced back from the last race weekend. And after everything that had happened in that Amsterdam hotel room, you felt an almost ridiculous urge to check on him.

Almost ridiculous. You went anyway.

You approached when he stepped away from his group, touching his arm lightly — discreet, brief.

"Hey," he greeted, his fingers brushing the spot where your hand had been. "The party looks expensive."

"It probably is," you rolled your eyes. "I've been meaning to reach out. But I don't have your number."

"Same," he replied. "It felt weird asking — well, anyone, really."

"Trust me. I get it."

You both laughed. But your smile faded first.

"I'm sorry about Azerbaijan."

"Thanks," he murmured. "Probably deserved it."

"Don't say that." You frowned. "It was just a bad race. You still have it in you, Oscar. The championship, I mean."

"Wow." Lando appeared out of nowhere, hand firm on your waist, kiss pressed to the top of your head like punctuation. "Let's dial it back a notch, shall we? Dangerous words to throw around in a room like this, love."

Your cheeks burned. Oscar let out a dry laugh.

"She really is the cutest little thing, isn't she?" Oscar said, taking a sip of his drink. The sharpness in his tone calibrated to keep Lando comfortably ignorant. "Thanks, Y/N. But I don't need consolation. I'm a big boy."

"You sure are, mate," Lando replied, fist-bumping him. "Stuff like that happens to any of us."

Oscar nodded, smiling with his mouth.

"Still hoping to put up a good fight this season," Oscar said.

"Oh, I know I will," Lando replied easily, pulling you closer. "Got my lucky charm with me. Speaking of — where's Lily?"

Oscar's eyes flicked to you for half a second.

"Busy," he shrugged. "She'll probably show up to a couple races."

Your expression went blank.

Jealous? You filed that away to be horrified about later.

"Maybe we should grab a drink," you said to Lando.

"You read my mind." He kissed you again. "If you'll excuse us, mate. Gotta cause some trouble."

Trouble, indeed.

You didn't see Oscar again for the rest of the night. You also didn't look.

One drink turned into three, then four. Laughter grew louder. Touches sloppier. Lando's hand never really left your waist. Somewhere between the music and the endless champagne, the weight you'd been carrying for weeks finally loosened.

By the time you were in the back of a car, his mouth was already on yours — desperate and clumsy, like he'd been holding back for too long.

"It's funny," Lando said suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at you. "I don't usually care who you talk to."

He wiped the corner of your lip with his thumb.

"But with him, I notice," he added quietly. "People might get the wrong idea."

"About what?" you asked.

His hand slid under your dress, fingers pressing against the lace of your underwear with the kind of familiarity that came from way too many stolen moments like this.

"About who you belong to."

You gasped into his mouth. He smirked, watching your face as his fingers dipped lower.

"We exchanged like three words," you managed. "I was just being a good team player."

Lando's hands slowed for a fraction of a second — deciding whether to believe you or not. A moan tore from your throat before you could stop it.

That did it for him. As long as he kept winning and you kept melting under his touch, people could think whatever the fuck they wanted.

"You have no idea what you do to me when you look like that," he whispered. "Tell me you want this."

"You're insufferable."

"Yeah?" His grin was criminal. "Then why are you—"

His sentence died when you bit his earlobe.

"You are a fucking devil."

The wet sounds filled the car, mixing with your moans and his heavy breaths, as Lando had two fingers inside you, curling them against that spot that made you see stars.

“Stop teasing,” you begged. “Fuck me already.”

You reached for him, moving your body to sit on his lap. In a hurry, he opened his belt and you guided him to your entrance. Lando thrust in deep, filling you completely in one smooth movement. 

You both groaned at the stretch, the way he hit every nerve inside you.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

His hands gripped your thighs, helping you move up and down as he pounded into you, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the tight space. 

You did your best to pull him deeper, nails digging into his shoulders.

Sweat on his forehead, his curls sticking to his skin. You clenched around him deliberately, making him curse under his breath.

“Don’t,” he warned you. “I won’t last long if you keep up with this shit.”

And you let it happen. Goddamn, you wanted it to happen.

The windows fogged up, the world outside forgotten as he fucked you harder and deeper, pushing both of you over the edge almost at the same time. 

Even with all the distance and silence, this was still you and Lando. You couldn’t even dare to deny you’d missed him like crazy. 

His mouth, his hands, the way he took over your space until there was nothing left but heat and breath and need. 

Only him could make everything else go quiet. And for a few hazy, drunk hours, it almost felt easy again, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

~*~ 

Three weeks later, Singapore.

The McLaren Constructors' celebration was loud enough to rattle the press area. You watched from behind the barriers, cheering, clapping, playing your part perfectly.

It took you a few minutes to notice someone was missing.

Oscar.

You scanned the area again. Nothing. No sign of him, or anyone from his circle.

That didn't sit right.

You knew you shouldn't go looking.

So you did anyway.

They already had what they wanted — photos of you cheering for Lando, videos of you whispering I love you back at the kiss he blew your way. You excused yourself early.

It didn't take long to find Oscar sitting alone in hospitality, champagne bottle in hand, drinking straight from it like he'd stopped pretending hours ago.

"Congratulations," he said as soon as he noticed you. "Funny how you seem to be more part of this team than I am."

"I came looking for you," you said, ignoring the jab.

"Well, that's new." He took another sip, then handed you the bottle. You accepted without comment. "Sorry. It's just — frustrating."

Silence filled the space between you.

"This," you gestured vaguely around. "All of this. It's kind fucked, if we're being honest."

He nodded, like that wasn't news.

"I hate it here," you admitted, pulling out a chair beside him.

"Then why?" He frowned. "Why do you keep doing this? Are you that in love with him?"

You wished you could tell him the truth. But Oscar wouldn't understand — you were already sure of that. And you knew better than to blow everything up for someone who would judge you for it.

"He's my best friend," you said. A half-truth, carefully delivered.

"I've tried," Oscar replied. "But I genuinely don't understand how that works."

A curve formed at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile.

Almost. It looked more like pity.

"He doesn't respect you," he said quietly. "The things I've seen him do when you weren't around—"

"And how's that any different from what we did?" you shot back.

Oscar stared at you like you'd handed him a puzzle with a missing piece.

"The difference is — I didn't pick you up at some party for a quick fuck and pay you to disappear," he said, barely above a whisper.

He stopped himself. Confusion flashing across his face before he could hide it.

"Did you do that?" he asked. "This. With me. To get back at him?"

"Of course not," you said sharply. "If you had the slightest idea of what I am risking—"

He reached for your hand.

"Maybe we shouldn't be risking anything," he said, eyes dropping, "when the stakes are this high."

He pulled his hand back first.

"Thank you for checking on me," he added. "But you should go."

"Friends?" you asked, already knowing.

His hazel eyes lifted, locking onto yours.

"I can't," he said.

The door swung open. An assistant, walkie-talkie already raised in relief.

"Found him. We'll be there in a second."

Oscar leaned back in his chair. Closed his eyes for just a beat.

And whatever you almost had slipped out of reach.

~*~ 

Both phones ringing early in the morning should've been your first sign something was wrong. The way Lando's eyes went wide — like he'd just heard the juiciest gossip on earth — should've been the second. The three hundred plus notifications you'd woken up to were the undeniable third.

"Hey, so," he called from across the room, voice already walking on eggshells. "Please don't freak out."

"Oh, that definitely helps," you replied.

He handed you his phone.

Your jaw dropped.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Well," Lando started. "It's… us."

You slapped a hand over your mouth. "No shit, Sherlock."

There you were: caught in the hotel mirror, happy and very visibly ruined. The flash swallowed half of Lando's face, but not his bare chest or the white towel slung low around his hips. His arm was tight around you, your body bent over the sink, head turned slightly from the camera. Nothing but a towel wrapped around your hair.

The fogged mirror sealed it — intimate, unmistakable, and absolutely impossible to deny.

"If I had to guess," he continued, scratching the back of his neck, "it's from summer break. Greece."

"How did they even get this?" you asked. Horrified. Or maybe just deeply offended on principle.

"Mark says they're looking into it."

You tossed the phone onto the bed. "Mark knows?"

"At this point," Lando said calmly, "it's probably easier to ask who doesn't."

You groaned. "What did he say?"

"Team knows. They want me to talk."

"Great," you whimpered. "I'm now fake dating a Formula 1 driver and starring in a soft porn scandal."

Lando rubbed your back, trying very hard not to smile. "I mean. I'm shocked. Deeply. Traumatized, even."

You glared at him.

"But," he added quickly, "on the bright side — we do look hot as fuck, love."

You stared at him. Speechless.

"I'm just saying," he rushed on, "there are way worse photos of us that could've leaked."

"Please shut the fuck up," you groaned, throwing yourself face-down on the bed and pulling the sheets over your head.

"Honestly, it's not that bad—"

"It's a mirror selfie!" you yelled from under the covers. "Do you think they can tell we fucked right before taking it?"

Lando raised an eyebrow. "I don't think you're emotionally prepared for the answer to that."

Silence.

Then you peeked out from the sheets.

"…We do look fucking good, don't we?"

Lando smiled, already resigned.

"Absolutely."

~*~ 

Oscar absolutely should not have done this. He knew that. He was painfully aware of it, in fact.

And yet.

He'd spotted you shopping around Monaco a few days before the circus packed up for Texas, and had made a series of increasingly questionable decisions that ended with his foot stopping your apartment door from closing.

To be fair, the alternative was exchanging polite, awkward hellos during race weekends for the rest of the season. When he framed it like that, following you home seemed almost reasonable.

It was not reasonable at all.

You didn't notice him until it was too late. You'd been busy spiraling — professionally, emotionally, cosmically, the usual — and the sudden appearance of Oscar Piastri in your doorframe nearly launched your heart out of your chest.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you snapped, eyes wide.

Then you actually looked at him.

Flushed cheeks. Apologetic eyes. A man who knew he was approximately thirty seconds away from being murdered.

Your voice dropped to a whisper immediately. "What the actual fuck do you think you're doing?"

He hesitated. "Visiting a friend?"

Silence.

"For… a visit?"

You stared at him. 

"Since when are we friends?" You squinted. "Actually — since when do you know where I live? And don't you dare tell me someone leaked that too."

Oscar considered lying. It would've been elegant. Dignified. Entirely fictional.

"Depends on what you consider a leak," he tried, going for charming.

You didn't smile.

"I followed you," he admitted. "Alright? Can I come in before someone sees me and I ruin all of our lives in one go?"

You sighed, opened the door wider, and waved him in — immediately scanning the hallway behind him like a paranoid raccoon.

A photo of this would be catastrophic. A blind item? Nuclear.

"So," he said, glancing around your living room, hands shoved into his pockets. "This is your hiding spot."

"It's called an apartment."

"Smells like you," he added. Way too casually.

You froze. Then pointed at the couch. "Sit. Don't touch anything. I'll be right back."

You dumped your bags in the bedroom, splashed water on your face, stared at your reflection like it might offer guidance.

You can do this, you told yourself. You can have a normal conversation with Oscar Piastri without emotionally combusting.

Your reflection looked unconvinced. Honestly, fair.

When you came back, he was exactly where you'd left him — sitting stiffly, leg bouncing like it owed him money.

You sat beside him.

"So," you said. "What's up?"

He blinked. Looked at you. Looked at the floor.

"That photo," he said.

Your stomach dropped straight through the couch.

"What photo?" you tried, weakly.

"Don't," he said. "Not with me."

You leaned back, exhaling. "I didn't think you'd—"

"See it?" He almost laughed. "Yeah. I did. Believe me, I did my best to avoid it."

A pause. Something shifting in his expression.

"You looked happy," he said.

He stopped himself.

"Comfortable," he corrected. Like that was safer.

"This isn't fair," you said quietly. "You don't get to—"

"I know," he cut in. "Doesn't make it stop."

Your pulse roared in your ears.

"Why does it bother you?" you asked.

Oscar leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Because every time I tell myself to stay in my lane," he said, "something happens that reminds me you're not just around him."

He exhaled.

"You're with him."

You shook your head. "I don't know what you want me to say."

The silence that followed was thick enough to sit in. You shifted closer before you could stop yourself — not much, just enough that your knee brushed his. Oscar noticed. His eyes dropped for half a second before he straightened, like the contact had woken him up.

"This was a mistake," he muttered. "I shouldn't have come here."

"You're already here," you replied..

"Doesn't mean I should stay."

But he didn't move.

Your hand rested on his knee almost distracted. Oscar looked at it. Then at you.

"You make this very difficult," he said.

His hand lifted slowly — hesitating halfway, still deciding if this was a terrible idea. His fingers brushed your jaw, warm and careful. You didn't pull away.

"This is exactly what I was trying to avoid," he said, almost to himself.

"Then stop."

His thumb traced your cheekbone. He didn't stop.

"I'm sorry that photo went public," he said instead, voice quieter now. Redirecting with the precision of someone who'd decided the other direction was a cliff. "And I'm guessing you're not the one who leaked it."

"God, no," you said. "Absolutely not."

He nodded. His leg had gone still.

"Still," he said, eyes on yours. "Don't think for a second that seeing you like that didn't make me wonder what it would take to be the one next to you when you look that unguarded."

The room felt smaller.

You laughed softly despite yourself, your hand drifting to his chest without permission. You filed that away to deal with never.

"I'm glad you're here, stalker," you said. "I could use the company."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "What about Lando?"

"He's not around tonight," you said simply. "Doesn't mean we have to ruin our lives though."

Oscar didn't answer with words.

He closed the gap — one hand cupping your jaw, the other finding your waist — and kissed you. Unhurried. Like he'd made his decision and wasn't interested in second-guessing it.

You kissed him back. That felt like a decision too.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle press that deepened into something profound — his mouth warm and inviting, his tongue slipping past your lips to taste you.

You sighed into it, your body melting against him, fingers threading into his hair to hold him close, as if letting go would shatter the moment.

His hand slid from your jaw down your neck, over your collarbone, tracing the curve of your breast through your shirt with feather-light touches that made your skin tingle. 

You arched into him, nipples peaking under the fabric as he cupped you gently, his thumb circling the hardened bud with care.

“You’re going to be the end of me,” he murmured, breaking the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw, pressing kisses to your neck, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

Your hands explored him with equal reverence, sliding under his shirt to feel the warmth of his chest, the subtle strength of his muscles toned from endless laps on the track. You traced the lines of his abs, feeling him shiver under your touch.

He captured your mouth again, the kiss turning deep, tongues dancing like they belonged together, hips shifting forward instinctively, his erection pressing against your thigh through his jeans.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

"Who even are you?" he asked softly.

"You don't want to know."

He smiled against your mouth.

"Maybe I do."

You pulled him into a hug that surprised both of you. His arms came around you after a beat — tentative, then firm, like he was allowing himself something he'd been refusing for months.

"That's sweet of you," you murmured against his ear.

"I can be sweet," he replied. "I can be a lot of things."

And somehow, that felt like both a promise and a warning.

~*~ 

"I cannot decide how to react to this information," Lando confessed, running a hand through his hair. "I absolutely hate that for you. For us."

"I don't want to keep secrets from you, Lan," you said, heart hammering. "I can't do that."

"I know." Something tight flickered behind his eyes. "Oscar kissed you. Twice. And you liked it. And he's still walking around the paddock with Lily like nothing happened."

You breathed out loudly, unsure of what to say next.

"Thank you for telling me," he said, standing abruptly and heading for the door. "I'm going to fucking kill that little bitch."

"Lando, no!" You stopped him. "I'm telling this to my best friend Lando. Not my fake-boyfriend Lando."

"Has it ever occurred to you," he asked, exasperated, "that they are the same fucking person?"

He paced the room. You stayed quiet and let him.

Looking at it from a colder angle, he couldn't really call it betrayal. The whole point of the contract was freedom on both sides, and he had taken advantage of that more than once. More than you ever did.

But still.

"He has a girlfriend," Lando said finally, his voice landing somewhere between angry and tired. "A real, sweet, official girlfriend."

"I know."

"And even if I was okay with sharing—" He stopped himself, jaw tight. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch people speculate about something that's supposed to be mine? Even if we both know the truth?"

"I'm tired of pretending I don't want more than what I'm allowed to have," you said, taking a step back from his touch. "Aren't you?"

"Are you doing this to get back at me?"

You rolled your eyes. "I know it might come as a surprise to you, after almost three years of my life—" you started, sharper than intended. "But not every aspect of my silly little existence revolves around you, Norris."

"When did this even happen?" He ignored your jab. "Why didn't you come to me before it got messy—"

"What makes you think I wanted to avoid it?"

"Uh, I don't know, maybe keep our asses safe from the shit PR will give us?" He sounded genuinely annoyed now. "You have no idea how fast they can turn you into a villain in this business."

"You have to decide what your main concern is here," you said. "If you're more worried about how this makes you look—"

"Shut up." His eyes went sharp. "Don't you dare insinuate that I care more about optics than I care about us. About what we actually are to each other."

A silence stretched between you. Not comfortable.

"Does he know?" Lando asked, voice going neutral. "About the true nature of our relationship."

"Of course not."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. He walked around the room once, twice, like he needed the laps.

You stayed still.

"How does this leave us?" he asked finally.

"I'm not leaving you," you said. "I'm not even saying I'll have anything with him. I just couldn't lie to you. We go way deeper than that."

"Does it change how you feel about me?" A beat. "About us?"

"I don't think so."

He stopped pacing.

"This was never supposed to hurt," he said, quieter now. "They told me to protect my image. No one told me how to protect you. I know I failed that."

"I didn't sign up to disappear when it gets uncomfortable," you said. "It doesn't have to change anything."

"But it sort of does," he said honestly. "I don't like sharing what keeps me sane. Even if I know I don't get to control it."

He crossed the room and grabbed your hand, pulling you closer. Pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"Be careful, love," he whispered. "Not just with us. With you."

"I won't do anything too stupid."

You kissed his cheek. He held onto you a second longer than necessary.

"Don't make me compete with a straight man for attention," he muttered into your hair.

"You win most categories already."

"Good," he murmured. "Because if Piastri breaks your heart, I'm still killing that fucking dog."

He held you then — carefully, like you were the most important thing in the room. And then, with everything that made him Lando, he kissed you on the lips.

Sealing your dirty little deal once and for all.

~*~

The Texas heat hit differently in October. Dry, relentless. The kind that clung to your skin even when the wind picked up across COTA.

The paddock was already buzzing when you stepped out of the car. Cameras flashed the second Lando appeared beside you. He didn't hesitate — his hand slid into yours automatically, fingers lacing together like it had been rehearsed a thousand times.

Maybe it had.

You smiled for the cameras, tilting your head toward him just enough to sell the moment. Lando leaned closer, murmuring under his breath while his free hand waved at a group of fans.

"Remember," he said, "if I crash this weekend, you're contractually obligated to still pretend you like me."

"Don't worry," you replied. "I've survived worse acting jobs."

Journalists shouted from behind the barriers as you made your way to the garage:

"Norris, are you worried about internal competition?"

"Is it truly helpful to have your partner around at such a critical point of the championship?"

Lando pulled you tighter against his side, thumb brushing the back of your hand.

"I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for her," he said, easy smile plastered on, photographers eating it up.

Half the paddock thought you were the most supportive girlfriend in Formula 1. The other half thought the same thing, just with more cynical intentions attached.

Neither version was the truth.

Across the garage, Oscar noticed anyway. He hadn't meant to look. But once he saw Lando's hand wrapped around yours — the way his body looked so comfortably pressed against yours — it was impossible to unsee.

That entrance alone made the McLaren garage tense from the start.

You did your best to keep a low profile and stayed near the hospitality unit while the mechanics swarmed the cars. Lando was already deep in conversation with his race engineer, gesturing sharply at the telemetry on a tablet.

That's when you felt someone step up beside you.

Oscar.

"Texas suits you," he said, voice low enough to be swallowed by the air guns in the pit lane.

"You've seen me in Texas for like five seconds."

"Still counts."

His eyes flicked briefly toward Lando's side of the garage.

"Busy weekend," you said, crossing your arms.

He exhaled through his nose. A faint, humorless trace of a smile. "Apparently."

"You two are fighting for a championship," you added. As if reminding him of the stakes would somehow restore the boundaries between you. A very optimistic theory.

"So I've been told," Oscar replied.

Silence. Heavy with everything you weren't saying.

He looked like he wanted to say something else — something that definitely didn't belong in a crowded garage — but a McLaren staff member called his name from across the room.

He didn't say goodbye. But as he turned to leave, his hand slid low against yours — just long enough for his fingers to catch your skin. Deliberate. Hidden.

You held your breath.

"See you around," he murmured without looking back.

"Yeah."

You watched him walk away, your stomach twisting into a tight, complicated knot. You gave yourself approximately four seconds to feel whatever that was, then filed it under not now and went back to looking like you belonged there.

You barely had time to get your heart rate under control before Lily appeared.

She walked into the hospitality unit looking bright and effortlessly pretty — a stark contrast to the thick, suffocating tension that seemed to follow you, Lando, and Oscar around like a bad smell.

"Hey!" She offered you a warm smile, scanning the room. "Have you seen Oscar? He said he was coming over after his media loop."

"He just went back to his side," you said, your voice coming out slightly tighter than intended. You forced a smile. "Do you want to sit?"

"Oh, gladly. My feet are killing me."

Before she could ask how your week was going, Lando practically stormed in. Finished with his briefing, and by the look on his face, it hadn't gone well.

He ripped his team kit collar open a fraction, dropped into the seat next to you with the energy of a man personally wronged by the laws of physics.

"If one more person asks me about team orders, I am going to launch myself into the nearest tyre wall," he muttered, throwing his phone on the table. Then, noticing Lily, his expression adjusted in a fraction of a second — smooth, charming, perfectly recalibrated. "Oh, hey, Lily. Didn't see you there."

"Rough morning?" she asked.

"The worst. Marketing wants me to wear a cowboy hat for the driver parade." He leaned back, arm dropping casually over the back of your chair. "Tell her I'd look ridiculous, love."

"You know damn well you're not allowed cowboys hats," you shot back.

Right on cue, Oscar walked back in. He froze for a microsecond when he saw all three of you, then his face smoothed into that unreadable mask and he took the empty seat next to Lily — which put him directly across from you.

Of course it did.

"There you are," Lily said.

"Media ran long," Oscar said shortly. He picked up a menu, thumb tracing the edge of the laminated paper. Not looking at you. Not looking at Lando.

"Lando was just complaining about the cowboy hats," Lily offered, trying to inject some lightness into the table.

Oscar flicked his eyes up to Lando's. The silence between them lasted a second too long.

"You should wear it," Oscar said. "Might distract people from your Sector 3 times."

Lando let out a sharp laugh, eyes going cold. "My Sector 3 is fine, mate. Focus on your own launch data. I saw your simulator runs. Brutal."

"Just keeping you honest," Oscar replied, entirely devoid of warmth.

You sat frozen between them, eyes moving from Lando's tight jaw to Oscar's white-knuckled grip on his menu.

"Anyway," Lily cut in, leaning forward with genuine, sweet concern. "I wanted to ask — are you guys doing okay? With everything that happened recently?"

Lando's eyes locked onto her. "What do you mean?"

"The photo," Lily said, voice full of pity. "I just wanted to say I'm so sorry. It's such a horrible invasion of privacy."

Across the table, Oscar went rigid. He didn't look up, but the muscle in his jaw twitched.

"PR is handling it," Lando said flatly, glancing at you.

"It just looked so unfiltered," Lily murmured, shaking her head. "You two are just — very physical. Very comfortable with your intimacy."

She paused.

"Oscar and I don't really do that kind of stuff."

"Lily," Oscar said. Low. A warning.

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing!" she rushed. "I just mean it must be exhausting to have something so personal exposed."

"It is," Lando said. His voice had dropped into something razor-edged. He leaned forward, eyes fixed on Oscar. "You'd be surprised how easy it is for some people in this paddock to forget that boundaries exist. On and off the track."

Oscar raised his eyes. The look he gave Lando was charged with pure, concentrated loathing. For a second you genuinely thought he might flip the table.

"Maybe we should go get changed," Oscar said instead, standing and knocking his chair back. He didn't look at Lily. He didn't look at you. "Engineering briefing."

"Oh. Okay," Lily blinked, flustered. "Sorry if I brought up a bad topic. See you guys later?"

"Yeah. See you, Lily," you managed.

The second they walked out, the silence left behind was deafening.

Lando didn't look at you. He stared at the empty space where Oscar had been sitting, fingers curling into a fist on the table.

"He's losing his mind," Lando whispered. Dark, satisfied, and furious all at once. "Did you see him?"

"Lando, stop."

"I'm not doing anything," he said, turning to look at you. "But if he doesn't keep his fucking hands off you this weekend, I'm going to make sure his championship ends right here in Austin."

You didn't say anything.

Because the worst part wasn't the threat.

The worst part was that some small, inconvenient corner of your brain noted that Oscar's hand on yours had lasted maybe three seconds — and Lando had somehow already noticed.

~*~

Both of them. Reckless and impulsive.

Double DNF.

The McLaren garage went dead silent. Zak Brown threw his headset onto the desk.

Ten minutes later, the back corridor of the motorhome became a warzone. You were already there when Lando stormed in, helmet off, slamming it into the wall.

"Are you fucking insane?!" he screamed as Oscar walked in behind him, unzipping his suit with frustratingly steady hands. "You divebombed me like it was personal!"

"You closed the door on purpose," Oscar shot back, voice finally cracking out of its usual monotone. He stepped into Lando's face. "You'd rather wreck both cars than let me past for one second!"

"Because you don't respect limits!"

Lando shoved Oscar's shoulder.

Oscar didn't hesitate. He grabbed Lando's collar and slammed him into the lockers. "Say another word about it. I dare you."

"Separate! Right now!" Mechanics and PR staff threw themselves between them.

Oscar let go. But his eyes stayed on Lando — and then, for just a second, they found you over his shoulder.

Raw. Unguarded. Gone before anyone else could catch it.

You looked away first. Made yourself smaller in the corner of that tight, suffocating room and tried very hard to be furniture.

It didn't entirely work.

~*~ 

The hotel corridor was quiet in the way that felt cruel after all that noise.

You were reaching for your keycard when a shadow blocked the light.

You didn't need to look up.

"Oscar," you breathed, turning around.

He looked exhausted. Still in his race suit.

"We shouldn't be doing this here," you whispered, checking the empty hallway. "If Lando sees you—"

"Lando is downstairs threatening to fire his personal trainer," Oscar cut in. He stepped into your space — not touching you, just closing the distance until thinking straight became optional. "I don't give a fuck about Lando right now."

"You two crashed," you reminded him. "The team is on fire. You almost got physical in the garage."

"Because he looks at me like he owns you," Oscar said, jaw tight. "Because I had to sit at that table and listen to Lily describe how comfortable you two look together."

The mention of Lily landed like it was supposed to.

"It's just a photo," you said, looking anywhere but his eyes. "An old one."

"Don't lie to me."

Not loud. Just certain.

"We haven't even properly touched each other," he said, "and look at me. I just wrecked two cars because I couldn't get the image of his hands on you out of my head."

Your throat went dry. "Oscar—"

"At first I barely talked to you because I knew exactly what would happen." His voice dropped. "I forced myself to look away. It's not working anymore."

His gaze fell to your lips for a fraction of a second. Then back up.

"I can't keep doing this," he said. "Not after tasting you."

You opened your mouth to tell him to leave.

His mouth found yours instead.

Rough. Urgent. Nothing like the patience he usually carried around like a personality trait. One hand in your hair, the other pulling you against his chest.

A chime from the far end of the hallway — elevator doors opening.

Panic spiked clean through the moment.

Without breaking the kiss, your hand found the door handle behind you. You pushed it open with your back and pulled him into the dark, slamming it shut.

The silence of the room swallowed you both.

Oscar didn't let you breathe. The second the door locked, he had you against it — hands on your hips, face buried in your neck, a sound escaping the back of your throat that you'd be embarrassed about later.

Later, you thought. Problem for later.

His hands slid to the back of your thighs and lifted you like it was nothing. Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically.

He carried you to the bed.

He was desperate — you could feel it in every touch, the way his hands moved like he was trying to cover ground he'd been forbidden from for months. His mouth traced up your stomach, your ribs, your jaw, before finding yours again.

"Tell me to stop," Oscar whispered against your lips. "Say it now."

You didn't say it.

He pulled back just far enough to look at you — really look, the way he almost never let himself — and whatever he saw there made something in his expression break open.

Then he froze.

His hand went still. His forehead dropped to your shoulder.

Ten seconds of just his breathing, ragged and controlled at war with each other.

Then he rolled off you and sat on the edge of the bed, back turned, head in his hands.

"Oscar?" Your voice came out embarrassingly unsteady.

He stood up. Adjusted his shirt. Didn't look at you.

"Lily is here," he said, walking to the door. "I'm going back to my room."

He paused with his hand on the handle, looking back over his shoulder.

"Think about what you actually want," he said. "Because the next time I come into your room, I'm not stopping."

The door opened. Clicked shut.

Gone.

You stayed on the bed for a long moment, staring at the ceiling.

Right, you thought. Fine. Completely fine.

Sleep was not happening.

~*~

Lando was spent.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, head in his hands, blue bruises from the seatbelts already blooming across his collarbones.

You sat beside him without a word. After a moment, he laid his head on your lap, arms wrapping around your waist.

"I'm so sick of this," he murmured. "Of him."

You ran your fingers through his curls. Said nothing.

"Thank God you're here," he said into your stomach. "Honestly."

The weight of what you weren't telling him pressed down, heavy.

You had the perfect opening. Oscar outside your room. His hands. The door slamming shut. All of it.

You looked at Lando's exhausted, bruised shoulders.

"I'm here," you said instead, still touching his hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

Worst part? You meant it.

~*~

The noise at the Mexico Grand Prix was completely hollow to Oscar's ears.

Lando had won. P1.

He'd officially overtaken Oscar in the standings.

While Lando drowned in champagne on the podium, Oscar had slipped away early and gone back to the hotel. He'd lost the lead on the track. But standing in the dark of his room, the anger vibrating under his skin wasn't about the points anymore.

It was about him.

Your knock at midnight was quiet. Almost hesitant.

When Oscar pulled the door open, you were standing there still dressed for a party you hadn't wanted to attend, head spinning slightly from trying to keep up with Lando's frantic evening and the alcohol meant to numb the anxiety of it.

"Look, I—"

You didn't finish the sentence.

Oscar reached out and pulled you inside. The door slammed shut behind you, and before you could catch your breath, his mouth was on yours.

This wasn't like Austin.

No hesitation. No ten-second pause. Whatever restraint he'd forced himself to maintain for months had completely evaporated with Lando's victory lap, and what replaced it was something quieter and more dangerous than rage.

Focus. Like he'd made a decision and was done negotiating with himself about it.

"Oscar, wait—" you breathed against his lips. "Lando—"

"Has the trophy," Oscar said. His hands slid to the back of your thighs, lifting you. Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically, like your body had already agreed to things your brain was still debating. "He has the points. He can have the whole fucking thing."

He carried you to the bed.

"But he doesn't have this," Oscar whispered, his eyes dark in the dim light. His hand tangled in your hair, tipping your head back. "He doesn't have you."

Doesn't he, you thought — and then stopped thinking entirely.

He was desperate, but it was a desperation with direction. Every touch deliberate, every movement building toward something. Like he'd been running calculations for months and had finally, finally reached the answer.

"I've been losing my mind watching you," he said against your skin. "You did this to me."

You had approximately zero arguments against that.

When he finally pushed inside you, stretching you open, a sharp breath caught in your throat, swallowed instantly by his mouth on yours. The rhythm he set was relentless — driven by months of locked glances in garages and conversations that always stopped just short of the truth.

He didn't hold back. And he didn't look away.

Every thrust was deep, heavy, and desperate.

Every time you pulled him closer, his grip on you tightened as he buried himself deeper and deeper into you, chasing his release.

Every time your hips rose to meet his, something in his expression cracked open further — like he was watching something he couldn't believe was actually happening and refusing to blink in case it disappeared.

"Oscar, please, it's too much—" you gasped.

"Tell me to stop," he said, voice rough. "Right now and I will."

"We shouldn't—" Your fingers dug into his shoulders. "Lando's going to know—"

"Let him."

The two words landed like a verdict.

When you finally fell apart, Oscar followed — his body trembling as he spilled inside you, face buried in your neck, holding you so tight it felt like he was trying to make sure neither of you could come undone separately.

The silence came back slowly.

He didn't move away. He stayed, his head on your neck, heartbeat wild against your ribs. His hand spread flat over your hip — warm, possessive, completely still.

You stared at the ceiling.

Lando was king of the paddock tonight. Celebrating his P1 somewhere loud and bright and full of people who wanted to be near him.

Oscar had you.

And from the way his arms tightened around you — like letting go was something he hadn't budgeted for — he wasn't planning on pretending otherwise.

~*~

The tension didn't wait for the cars to hit the track in São Paulo. It arrived with the circus, hovering over the hotel lounge like a storm waiting to pick a victim.

Lando was walking around with a cocky, untouchable aura. Oscar had retreated into a cold, predatory silence. And you were doing what you always did in situations like this — working the room just enough to be present without being interesting.

You were good at that. Mysteriously, inexplicably good at that, considering.

Lando was at the bar, loudly debating something with George Russell, a laugh booming from his chest. Oscar was sitting with Lily across the room.

His eyes hadn't moved from you in ten minutes.

You finished your wine in one long sip and got up to leave.

Your foot caught the edge of a heavy rug.

The wine glass tilted. Your balance went with it.

A hand grabbed your forearm before you hit the floor.

Oscar.

For a fraction of a second, the world stopped. His hand stayed clamped around your bare skin, thumb brushing your pulse point, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that had absolutely no business existing in a public lounge.

He didn't just catch you. He held you.

"Careful," he murmured.

"Thanks," you breathed, pulling away quickly.

You didn't look back as you walked to the elevators. You could feel him watching.

What you didn't see was Max Verstappen, leaning against a nearby pillar with a drink in hand and the expression of a man who had just been handed a gift.

He waited until Oscar walked past.

"Careful, Piastri," Max said, dry and amused. "Going after your teammate's girl?"

Oscar didn't stop walking. "It's not like that."

Max chuckled. "Sure, mate. Keep telling yourself that."

He took a sip of his drink, deeply unbothered by the chaos that only ever seemed to benefit him.

~*~

Later that night, the silence inside Oscar's room was loud.

Lily hadn't taken her shoes off. Hadn't sat. She stood with her arms crossed, watching him like she was waiting for something to confess on its own.

"You were quiet tonight," she said.

"It's been a long day." Oscar threw his room key on the table.

"It's been a long few months," Lily replied, tone carefully calm. "And don't insult me by pretending you don't know what I mean."

He rubbed his face. "You're imagining things."

"No," she said. "I'm noticing them. I notice how you look at her when you think no one's watching."

"Lily—"

"Do you even realize you're doing it?" Her voice cracked, just slightly. "Looking at her like that? I noticed how you reacted when she touched your arm. When you caught her. And I noticed you didn't pull away." She paused. "Everyone in that bar saw it. Max was laughing."

Silence.

"I'm not asking if you slept with her," Lily said. "I'm asking when you stopped being here with me."

Oscar stared at the floor. "It's complicated."

She laughed once. Dry. Bitter. The laugh of someone who had been prepared for a lot of answers and not this one.

"Funny. Because it feels painfully simple from where I'm standing." She took a breath. "I came here because I love you. But I won't compete with ghosts, Oscar. Or with women who don't even know they're being placed between us."

"She knows," he said.

The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

Lily's eyes snapped to his. Widening in the specific, horrible way of someone whose worst theory just got confirmed.

"Oh," she whispered. "So it's worse than I thought."

He stepped forward. "Lily—"

"No." She raised a hand. "Don't try to fix it tonight."

She grabbed her bag from the bed.

"I'm going home tomorrow. First thing."

Oscar frowned. "In the middle of the race weekend?"

"Yes," she said, standing tall despite the tears. "Because I refuse to sit in a paddock watching my boyfriend fall in love with someone else."

"That's not what's happening," he said. Too fast.

She paused at the door. Looked back at him one last time.

"If you truly believed that, Oscar," she said quietly, "you wouldn't look this scared."

And then she left.

The door didn't slam. That was almost worse.

Oscar stood in the middle of the room for a long moment, not moving.

He thought about texting you. Decided against it. Thought about calling Lando. Decided against that too, for obvious reasons.

He sat on the edge of the bed instead, in the quiet left behind by someone who had loved him cleanly and simply, and thought about how thoroughly he had complicated his own life.

He didn't regret it.

That was probably the most damning thing of all.

~*~

By Friday afternoon, the McLaren garage was toxic.

Lando was enjoying his moment as WDC leader with the energy of someone who had never once considered being humble about anything. The rumors and whispers from the night before had put Oscar on edge anyway, which meant the combination was particularly lethal.

During a break between sessions, you were sitting at a table in the hospitality lounge when Oscar walked in to grab a drink.

Lando, leaning back in his chair, tracked his teammate across the room with the focused patience of a man who had been waiting for an excuse.

"You've been paying a lot of attention to my girlfriend lately, Piastri," Lando said, loud enough to carry.

It sounded like a joke. His eyes said otherwise.

Oscar didn't turn around from the drink fridge. He grabbed his bottle, closed the door with a click, and finally looked at Lando.

"Someone has to," Oscar replied.

Flat. Calm. Entirely unapologetic.

Lando's grip tightened around his water bottle until the plastic crunched. The realization hit him slow and then all at once — Oscar wasn't backing down anymore.

You looked at the table and said nothing.

Which was, frankly, the only reasonable response to that sentence.

~*~ 

Sunday night in São Paulo brought suffocating humidity and a club that seemed to exist specifically to make bad decisions feel inevitable.

Interlagos had delivered its usual chaos. The result had only amplified the shift.

Lando had won. Oscar had crossed the line in a frustrated, silent P5.

On the track, Lando was untouchable. In the club, he was acting like it.

He was in full party mode — surrounded by mechanics, influencers, and people whose names he'd forget by morning. Turning over shots. Eyes bright with that specific dangerous energy that meant he'd be impossible to manage and completely charming about it.

He wanted you there. He pulled you into his side by the waist, pressed open-mouthed kisses to your lips just to make sure the room registered the claim.

But Lando also wanted the noise. He was pulsing with adrenaline and high on victory, so five minutes after kissing you he was already leaning into a circle of gorgeous strangers, enjoying the attention with the enthusiasm of someone who absolutely deserved it and knew about it.

He loved you. Tonight, he also wanted a taste of everything São Paulo had to offer.

He'd earned it. Allegedly.

You stood a few feet back, leaning against the wall, holding a drink you shouldn't be touching at this point of the night.

"Congratulations on Lando's win," a voice said near your ear.

George Russell. Entirely composed, which made him a stark contrast to basically everyone else in the room.

"Thanks, George."

"He's in a good mood," George agreed, taking a sip of his drink. Then his tone shifted — softer, but laced with something careful. "Tell me something. Are he and Piastri going to kill each other before Abu Dhabi? The vibe in the paddock is worse than Mercedes in 2016."

Your stomach did a violent flip. "It's just track rivalry, George."

George let out a low, dry chuckle. His eyes drifted toward the darkest corner of the VIP area, where Oscar was sitting alone, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that was doing absolutely nothing for your blood pressure.

"I don't know, Y/N," George murmured. "Oscar looks like a man who lost the championship but won a consolation prize. And he hasn't taken his eyes off you all night."

You said nothing.

"The paddock is small and people talk. God knows Max doesn't shut up about it." He patted your shoulder. "Just be careful. Oscar isn't the type to play loud. But when he moves, he's precise. Don't let Lando get blinded by the champagne."

He melted back into the crowd, leaving you with a half-empty drink and a very full head.

You finished the drink. Left the VIP area. Went looking for somewhere to breathe.

The corridor leading to the private restrooms was dimly lit, the bass from the main room reduced to a dull vibration through the walls. You pressed your back against the cool tile and closed your eyes.

A shadow fell over you.

You opened them.

Oscar.

He didn't waste time. He stepped directly into your space, one hand braced against the wall beside your head, close enough that thinking became a courtesy you could no longer afford.

"Oscar, stop," you whispered, hands pressing against his chest. "Everybody is right outside, Lando is—"

"Busy," Oscar said. His eyes were dark. "You keep pretending like nothing's happening. Like you're happily in love with him."

"I am with him, Oscar—"

"You were under me in Mexico," he said fiercely. "You didn't look happily in love with him when you were saying my name."

Before you could argue, his mouth found yours.

Desperate. Hungry. The kind of kiss that had been building since Amsterdam and surviving on restraint alone.

You gasped into it, hands tangling in his shirt, your body doing that deeply inconvenient thing it always did around him — deciding on its own that this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

He groaned, pulling you closer.

Click.

The heavy door swung open.

You pushed Oscar's chest, breaking the kiss just as a shadow filled the doorway.

Lando.

Breathing slightly harder than usual. Eyes moving from your flushed face to Oscar, who hadn't stepped back — his frame still half-blocking you from view.

The silence in that corridor lasted approximately one thousand years.

Then Lando smiled. Slow. Sharp. The smile of someone who had just decided exactly how to play this.

"Oh, good," he said pleasantly. "My favourite Australian."

Oscar looked at him dead-on. "You say that like you know more than one."

Lando let out a laugh — dry, short, the humor disappearing the moment it arrived. He stepped forward until he and Oscar were inches apart, the air between them pulled taut.

Then he got around Oscar, reached past him, and wrapped a hand around your wrist — pulling you out from behind his teammate and into the space between them.

Both of them looking at you now. Different reasons. Same weight.

"You can't possibly think I don't know," Lando said to Oscar, voice dropping into something quiet and vicious, "about the extent of your relationship with my girlfriend."

Oscar's breath hitched.

A small crack in the composure. The first one.

The realization hit him fully — Lando knew. Had known, at least to some extent, this entire time. And you'd both let him walk through it blind.

Oscar felt the room tilt.

He had stripped himself raw, risked everything, spent months drowning in guilt — and both of you had been standing on solid ground the whole time.

Lando saw the moment the math landed. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping further.

"Guess we're not just fighting for points anymore," he murmured.

Oscar said nothing. For once, he had nothing.

"So maybe you want the whole room out there to know why our garage is falling apart?" Oscar said finally, the paddock and the championship and your silence crashing down on him all at once.

Nobody answered.

With one last look directed entirely at you — dark, unreadable, and absolutely not forgettable — Oscar pushed the door open and walked back into the club.

The silence he left behind was a different kind of loud.

Lando didn't drop your wrist immediately. He stood there, chest rising and falling, the adrenaline bleeding out and leaving only the complicated wreckage of what you two actually were.

He leaned his back against the wall. Looked down at you.

"Don't play him like this," you said, voice low. "Don't risk everything for an imaginary fight."

"He hates that you're mine," Lando replied.

"I'm not."

A faint, tired smile touched his lips. His grip on your wrist softened — thumb brushing your skin once before he let go.

"I know," he murmured. "But he doesn't."

[eicsferrari]

my favorite stalker - ln4 smau

summary no one believes lando when he says he's dating a katseye member

requested yes

fc manon

masterlist

જ ♡ જ

♥︎liked by lando and others

yourusername full of 💌

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user the most beautiful ever to exist😍

user i love youuu

lando my pretty girl🤍

user as if,,,

user sure buddy! like you have any chance whatsoever😂

user when i'm in a delusional competition but my oponent is lando norris

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katseyeworld lollapalooza looks great on our girl🤍

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user she ATE that performance

lando 😍

alex_albon give it up it's getting embarrassing

user it was already embarrassing three interactions ago!!

user lando really wants us to think he's dating this goddess💀

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f1 lando dedicated his win to his girlfriend yourname lastname

view all comments

user it's becoming serious, he's hallucinating now

georgerussell63 yourusername may i suggest a restriction order?

user why have we never seen them together??

user bc he's lying! hope this helps

user trying to fake a girlfriend is a new low buddy

જ ♡ જ

yourusername little miss life recently

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user lmaooo lando is gonna crash out in the comments

user she said let me post my bf so that creep leaves me alone

user watch him try to make us think it's him🤡

lando the kind of face people went to war for🫶🏼

maxverstappen1 bud get over it

carlossainz55 her boyfriend is gonna beat you up if u don't stop

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yourusername top of the podium x2

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user lando incoming in 3, 2, 1...

user not that caption, it's gonna feed his delusions

user love how you didn't even named him and we all know who you're talking about

lando obsessed with u💗

user yes we noticed but it's not cute it's creepy

user he needs to be admitted it's not funny anymore

lando she's my girlfriend ffs why does no one believe me??😭

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lando posted a story

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↪user lando really typed couple pics in pinterest didn't he

↪user i'm scared for her

↪user get away from her! leave her alone!

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norrisupdates lando was seen at katseye concert

view all comments

maxverstappen1 okay this is getting truly creepy

alex_albon joe goldberg behavior be fr

oscarpiastri lando stop stalking that poor girl!

user all the drivers commenting on an updates page bc they can't believe it lmaooo💀

user i thought we were just messing around but this is becoming serious, someone makes sure she's safe

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yourusername my favorite stalker🤍

view all comments

yourusername @ everyone i swear he was telling the truth!! we are dating, he's not actually stalking me

user yn blink twice if you need help

yourusername 😉😉

lando STOP they are gonna think you are fr😭😭

yourusername im sorry baby ily🥺❤️

lando i love you too🫶🏼

user wait... They are kinda cute

maxverstappen1 i'm still not convinced,,

lando fuck off

user now that i know that they are truly dating i see the vision, we stan a hot & powerful couple

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lando fuck u for not believing me but yn is my girl so i win

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georgerussell63 okay serve divaaa

alex_albon sorry for calling you joe goldberg lol

lando 🖕🏼🖕🏼

carlossainz55 happy for you!

user i love that yn waited a long time to hard launch and just watched us drag lando through the mud

yourusername i was having too much fun reading the comments😂

lando glad someone had a good time

yourusername 😘😘

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