Out like a light (part 1) -fluff, bfÂĄLando x Reader
Summery: Lando loves cuddlesâŚ.. max not so much
â- Out like a light (part 2) -fluff, bfÂĄLando x Reader
Summery: Max strategically moves his stream, learning for the last time, but Lando still crashes it
Since Before The Titles -fluff/partyin, bfÂĄLando x Reader
Summery: Lando canât wait to party and celebrate his WDC with his girlfriend who has been there since the start.
Just Out Of Frame -fluff, bfÂĄLando x Reader
Summery: Lando starts his stream with max but thereâs someone who steals the show, just by sleeping.
Sleepy Streamy -fluff, bfÂĄLando x Reader
Summery: Lando is streaming with max when his Portuguese girlfriend since childhood comes to cuddle.
Yacht Stream Chaos -fluff, bfÂĄLando x Reader
Summery: Lando, Max Fewtrell and his girlfriend pietra all decide to have a little boat day. Max goes live on twitch and Landoâs son Winslow decides to make a guest appearance!
Written Differently -fluff, bfÂĄLando x Reader
Summery: Dyslexia makes reading and writing hard, but being loved never is
Backround Noise -fluff, bfÂĄLando x Reader
Summery: the time Drive to Survive airs, itâs never the things the cameras are meant to catch that send the internet into meltdown. Itâs the background noise.
On call- fluff, Lando x Reader x Oscar
Summery: When a university networking event becomes overwhelming, she texts the only two people who never hesitate to come for her
Soft launch, Hard love- fluff, bfÂĄLando x Reader
Summery: Fans catch Landoâs girlfriend in the background of his stream, and his instant softening says everything.
Game over - fluff, bfÂĄLando x Reader
Summery: After losing a bet, youâre forced to play a horror game on stream with Lando and Max â until things go too far and Lando has to comfort you live on camera.
Oscar Piastri:
On call- fluff, Lando x Reader x Oscar
Summery: When a university networking event becomes overwhelming, she texts the only two people who never hesitate to come for her
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
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when someone leaks that oscar piastri is a young father, oscar feels like his whole world is about to cave in as he tries to protect you and your daughter.
oscar piastri x f!reader ŕ¨ŕ§ warnings : language, fan culture, tabloids/hate comments, invasion of privacy ŕ¨ŕ§ note : n e waysâ oscar gave me baby fever so enjoy đ if you enjoy don't forget to comment/reblog!
đ august 30, 2025
deuxmoi an insider has just leaked exclusive photos and information of formula one driver, oscar piastri, stating that him and long-time girlfriend, y/n, have been parents since 2022. the pictures provided have been revealed to come from y/n's private instagram that reportedly only close family and friends follow.
the insider states that while they can't give away too many details, they confirmed that their daughter's name starts with an 'r'.
View all 28,290 comments
user WHOA WTF OSCAR'S A DAD???? THIS WAS NOT ON MY BINGO LIST
user not them covering the kid's face with a koala cause oscar is australian đđ why is that actually kind of cute
user someone is about to lose their job đŹ hope the quick cash was worth it
user all those jokes about us calling yn mother and HERE SHE WAS AN ACTUAL MOTHER THE WHOLE TIME
user omggggg that picture of oscar with baby r is literally the cutest thing in the world
user he looks so young in it too đĽş
user so apparently oscar's stroke game is just too good huh đ¤¨
user sorry we doubt you king đ
user have they never heard of protection??? seriously how could someone with a career like oscar's be so careless đ
user at least deuxmoi covered the kid's face...
user wowow wtf is wrong with people???
user what kind of person would expose something like this????
user clearly someone without anything better to do
user no offense... but i doubt oscar does any parenting with how often he's probably gone
user just say oscar isn't your favorite driver and move along đŞ
user maybe yn should be more careful on who she lets follow her private account and this wouldn't have happened đ typically pick me wag behavior
user hey!! your comment is a little unnecessary, not yn's fault someone she thought she would trust decided to leak the photos
f1gossipupdates oscar piastri talks about recent rumors of him being a father.
đď¸ : so, oscarâ first off congratulations on the win
OP : thank you đ
đď¸ : secondly, we have to ask about the recent rumors that have come out this weekend. would you like to make any statement about them?
OP : umm, i mean nothing really to say except that my family's privacy has clearly been invaded. my daughter has nothing to do with racing, and i plan to keep it that way. she's still growing into her own person and i would like to keep her out of the spotlight until she is able to decide whether she wants to be seen or not. the pictures going around were taken from my girlfriend's private instagram that she uses to share those pictures with long-distance friends and family, so quite disheartening to see them being used to 'expose' our daughter.
View all 1,283 comments
user OH HE'S MAD MAD GUYS
user can you blame him though đ someone literally just exposed the biggest secret of his life during his wdc title fight đđ i would be pissed too
user he handled that better than i would have honestly
user not saying he wouldn't be but oscar seems like a great dad so i hope fans respect his daughter's privacy
user kind of weird that she got pregnant and oscar didnât marry her 𤨠cause he def gives the vibe of marrying his gf if he knocked her up
user frrrrrrr maybe he didnât marry her so it would be easier to leave her if he wanted đ¤Łđ¤Ł
user i wonder what their baby's name is???
user heard some theories it might be rosĂŠ or reba but no one knows for sure and i doubt we'll ever find out
ynln and oscarpiastri updated their stories !
đ december 7, 2025
clip #1 â baby piastri spotted running to oscar after the race
the clip is taken from the grandstand, zooming in on oscar as he's standing in parc fermĂŠ trying to cooldown from the race he just finished.
that's when the camera catches oscar turning his head and large smile breaking out onto his features as he's kneeling. that's when a tiny body jumps into his arms and he stands to his full height, hugging his daughter close to him. you are then seen coming up to join oscar and your daughter, the australian driver holding one arm out so that you could join in on the hug.
the clip zooms in even more to catch oscar kissing you sweetly on the lips before he's kissing your daughter on her cheek as she smiles brightly at him.
đŹ comments :
đ¤ : oh those are HIS girls
đ¤ : oscar didn't win the championship but he sure won the family lottery
đ¤ : still hate that someone went and leaked baby r's existence before oscar and yn was ready, but i'm glad it didn't stop them from bringing her to the last race
đ¤ : i agree... i think oscar really enjoys having yn and their daughter at the races with him
đ¤ : BABY R WAS AT THE RACE đą NOT A THREE YEAR OLD GOING TO MORE F1 RACES THAN ANY OF US EVERY WILL đ life is truly unfair mannnnnn đđ
đ december 25, 2026
đ privyn rowen told oscar every room needed a treeđ so guess what every room got đ
View 92 comments
oscarpiastri â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸
nicolepiastri she's getting so big 𤧠can't wait to see you guys soon
hattiepiastri still can't believe oscar made literally the cutest baby everr
oscarpiastri thanks đ
lando lmaoooo why is she making that last face đ
privyn oscar made a lame joke and she wasn't impressed
ediepiastri glad to see you and ro putting some whimsy into oscar's life đ it was very much needed
privyn can never have too much whimsy is what ro says đ
đ march 29, 2026
ynln godzilla was r's favorite thing from japan đŻđľđź
View all 82,203 comments
oscarpiastri taking home a trophy and several godzilla action figures
ynln i'm afraid japan unlocked a new obsession đ¤
user STOP THATS SO CUTEâ r being so cute and obsessed with godzilla is literally so adorable
user glad to see oscar and yn letting r explore different interests!
lando cutest godzilla lover i know
haasf1team hope she liked our livery this weekend then đ
ynln she was obsessed with it! thank you for letting us come by to see it đ¤ hope ollie is okay â¤ď¸
olliebearman a little bruised but i'm good!
user the cherry blossom emoji to cover r's face is very on brand for this japan dump
user little r coloring in hospitality đ¤§đ¤§ she seems so well behaved
user oscar is so boring cause he gave all the potential personality to his daughter
user OMG I SAW THEM WALKING AROUND THE PADDOCK ON SATURDAY!!! YN AND R WERE VISITING SOME OF THE OTHER WAGS
user ohhhhhhh they took r to japan đĽşđĽş seems like she had a good time too
clip #2 â oscar was joined by his daughter during his post-race interview
"uh, yeah, pace was really good today. very happy with the results. turns out we're not so bad when we actually start a race."
both oscar and the interview laugh a little bit. the sky sport's interview is about to ask another question, when oscar suddenly looks down. the camera just barely catches the top part of a tiny head now standing in front of oscar before arms were also appearing, gently patting oscar's stomach.
"daddy up," the microphone just barely catches and oscar can't bother to hide the smile on his face as he looks down at his daughter. then without a second thought, oscar leans down and picks the small girl up. him holding rowen on his hip as she immediately rests her head on his shoulder â clearly content with being held.
"hope you don't mind someone joining us," oscar says as he fixes his daughter's sweater.
"would you say your daughter was a good luck charm for this race?"
"probably, but i wish her good luck would have kicked in back in australia," oscar laughs looking from the camera to rowen. "either way, p2 is a great result for the team, so i'm glad i was able to start and finish this one."
rowen is caught watching as her father talks into the red and blue microphone. her bright eyes then looking towards the microphone and seemingly curious about it.
"daddy, what's that?" she interrupts him, leaning forward to where her tiny fingers just barely grazed the microphone.
"it's a microphone, baby, they use it so people watching on tv can hear me," he explains softly, his hand coming up to gently move her hand away.
đŹ comments :
đ¤ : STOP SHE'S SO CUTE I LOVE BABY R SO MUCH đĽşđĽş
đ¤ : oh that little girl has oscar wrapped around her finger. i've never seen oscar look this soft before
đ¤ : "i wish her good luck would have kicked in back in australia" OSCAR STOPPPPP đđđ IM SCREAMING
đ¤ : i love how oscar doesn't ask where she came from and just picks her up without thinking đđđđ
đ¤ : using this as future evidence when haters try to say that oscar doesn't care for his daughter
đ april 26, 2026
oscar81updates oscar talks about baby r in recent interview and what it was like becoming a young parent in his recent interview.
đď¸ : so, it's been a year since it was revealed you have a daughter. you had her at a young age, what was that like? having to juggle going from f2 to f1 while also learning how to change diapers.
đ¨ : it was definitely something i struggled with learning how to do, but more so learning how to juggle being a racer and a dad. me and my girlfriend we both struggled i think, and there were times i thought i was failing the both of them. but y/n was always there to pick me up even when she was exhausted. i'm thankful that my parents really helped us in the first year. they really helped me grow more confident in being both a loving dad and partner; i was able to be there for y/n like she was for me.
đď¸ : how does your daughter feel about you being an f1 driver? does she realize what you do and why you are constantly leaving?
đ¨ : umm, she knows i drive a really fast car. she's always had that kind of understanding, we have pictures of my car along with my old helmets all over the house, so she's grown up with seeing the f1 cars. when she was about two, she was obsessed with the little hot wheels cars, and so i was constantly buying them whenever i went to a new country for her. she still plays with them, we got her one of the race tracks â the one with the shark â and she played the hell out of it.
at the very beginning when she was like one and half to two years old, she was always very distraught when i left. she would burst into tears whenever she seen my suitcase by the door. i remember she even took her first steps towards my suitcase, not me or y/n, because she wanted to push it away *laughs* it very cute and we were both shocked. but now she does much better with me leaving, i always tell her that i'll call her and to watch me on tv. obviously, she still has her moments where she throws full tantrums, but she's four so it doesn't surprise me and usually me holding her and rocking her gets her to stop.
đď¸ : i bet you've almost missed your flights cause of that!
đ¨ : oh, one thousand percent, but i wouldn't trade it for the world. i hate leaving knowing that she's crying. it really messes with me.
đď¸ : has she been to any races?
đ¨ : yeah, sheâs been to a few. we donât take her to a lot just because it can be a lot for someone so young. we didnât start taking her to any until 2024, and that was only a handful. sheâs been to the australian one for the past three years. sheâs been to the british and monaco one, and we also took her to abu dhabi last year.
đď¸ : i remember seeing the clips of your daughter running up to you after the race.
đ¨ : *laughs* yeah, seeing her run to me kind of just⌠i felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. and i knew that even if i wasnât world champion, i was still champion to her â as cheesy as that sounds, and i wouldnât change it for the world.
View all 738 comments
user dad!oscar is my fav genre of oscar đ¤§
user he may not be my favorite driver but i have mad respect for him and how he's able to balance such a crazy life
user so glad he's more comfortable talking about his daughter now 𼺠you can really tell how much love he has for her
user like that's HIS baby
user omg r being obsessed with hot wheels is so cute and them even getting her one of the tracks too STOPPPPPPPP
user so being obsessed with cars is just a piastri thing then đđ bless y/n's heart for now having two car obsessed people lmaooooo
user still can't wrap my head around oscar being a dad đľâđŤđľâđŤ certified dilf if you ask me
đ may 9, 2026
oscar81updates oscar was spotted attending his daughter's dance recital in monaco last night and also posted an update of r in her recital outfit.
View all 2,390 comments
user oh he looks so proud of her đĽşđĽşđĽş
user this just confirms that oscar was always meant to be a girl dad
user dude grew up with three younger sisters, it would have been weird if he WASN'T a girl dad lmao
user i heard the dance recital was for mother's day which i think makes it even sweeter, so glad he was able to go see her dance
user i love that he's slowly posting just a little bit of r here and there
user glad he can trust us đ¤§
user NO ONE RUIN THIS FOR US GUYS I SWEAR TO GOD
user 2026 is the year of girl dad!oscar and i'm LIVING for it
user oscar living in peace now that he doesn't have to worry about winning a championship with that tractor mclaren like to call a car
user he literally looks so happy to be there watching his daughter
user normalize not recording celebrities in public esp when they are at private events or with their kids đđ
đ may 10, 2026
oscarpiastri happy mother's day to the love of my life and the one who always keeps me steady and sane. every year i grow more and more thankful to you, my dear y/n, and i know i'm not usually good with words, but i hope you know how much i truly adore and love you.
i remember when we first started dating you asked me if i believed in soulmates, and i told you no. and i didn't. but i realize that even if i didn't believe in them at the time, you were always my soulmate. my other half. the mother of my daughter, my precious world. last year was a crazy whirlwind for us and i'm glad we got through the storm together.
i love you so much, y/n đ§Ą
View all 213,389 comments
ynln oh oscar 𼺠you are literally so sweet and i love you so much
lando happy mother's day y/n! oscar would literally be a chicken without its head if it wasn't for you and little r đ
mclarenf1 happy mother's day y/n đ§Ąđ§Ą
user can't believe we got sappy oscar before gta6
user omg i literally can't đĽšđĽš the different photos throughout the year has me SOBBING
user such a beautiful family!
user omg that first slide is from the originally ones that were leaked!!
user oscar reclaiming that picture from the loser who leaked it to begin with đââď¸đââď¸
user the mixture of pics of yn by herself and with r are so sweet 𼚠she's literally so gorg
user oscar pulling such a pretty girl just isn't fair đ¤đ¤
f1atelier photos are just placeholders! yn doesn't have an actual faceclaim please imagine yourself or whoever you want in these pictures! thanks.
Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)
Summary: The one where Oscar has been married since he was 18 years old and never bothered to tell most people.
Links:
In chronological order:
The Haileybury Years (2015 - 2019)
The Very First Meeting
September 2015: Oscar Piastri is new at Haileybury School. Little does he know that the girl whose pen he stole in his first physics lessons is going to end up being the love of his life.Â
Joint Birthdays
Oscar Jack Piastri was born on the 6th of April, 2001 in Melbourne, Australia. Felicity Jia Yi Leong was born on the 6th of April, 2001 in Bukit Timah, Singapore.Â
The Kiss
One Kiss in an attic room in Haileybury changes everything.Â
The Great BĂŠchamel Disaster
Oscar tries to be romantic. It does not go well.Â
Good (?) Fortunes
Felicityâs grandmother had a fortune teller.Â
Cricket Whites
Oscar plays Cricket. Teenage Felicity is TOTALLY normal about it.
The Attic Room
Felicity and Oscar broke the same school rules every night for three years.Â
Teenage Woes
5 Times Oscar and Felicity deal with typical Teenage Woes during their time at HaileyburyâŚand 1 time they act like an old married couple
delulu girl autumn
Caitlin Pritchard thought she actually stood a chance with Oscar Piastri at Haileybury in 2018. Reader, she did not.Â
The Witnesses
Felicity and Oscarâs Years at Haileybury School through the eyes of their classmates.  Â
The University Years (2019-2022)
What's in a Name?
Oscar tends to forget to tell his family about major life moments. Or: How Nicole Piastri found out that her granddaughter was named after her.Â
Didn't come up
 5 times another driver/teammate of Oscar found out about Felicity or Bee.Â
Bottles, Baby Naps, and Sector Times
London. 2021. Oscarâs most important job is being a dad.Â
The Alpine-McLaren Fiasco
The Alpine - McLaren FiascoâŚand Felicity Piastriâs hand in it. (Or: why multiple F1 team principals are terrified of Oscarâs wife.) Set in the Summer of 2022.Â
The Rookie Year (2023)
Supernova
Oscar Piastri realises that his daughter is more similiar to his wife than he thought. Set in Summer 2023.Â
A Soft Place to Land
Baku and Miami 2023. Oscar suffers through a double header with food poisoning, but coming home after that makes it all worth it.
Fixing the Slow
Felicity is at the farmers market. Oscar is watching Bee. Bee is making improvements to her Mclaren ride-on. WaitâŚwhat?!
The Sophomore Year (2024)
Building Blocks
 How to parent a genius: A guide by Oscar Piastri.Â
Lavender House
Felicity Piastri was a genius, a mother, a wife, a homemaker, an interior designer, an engineerâŚnot always in that order. Or: How Felicity made a House a Home.Â
The Mysterious Mrs Piastri
Oscar Piastri had always been a calm, collected kind of guy. Unshakeable, even.
Lando Norris, on the other hand? Not so much.
And today? Today was the day Lando fully lost it.
A McLaren Meltdown
Mclarenâs staff reactions to Oscar Piastriâs surprise marriage reveal.
She Wasnât a Secret
When Oscar casually mentions his wife during a fan Q&A, Lando Norris combusts on stage, the internet loses its mind, Nicole Piastri wonders why her son canât tell people basic facts about his lifeâlike the fact heâs been married for five years and Mark Webber is quietly regretting his life choices.Â
Netflix Suffers
Netflix suffers through quietly private Oscar for 2 and a half whole seasons of Drive to Survive.Â
Wait, What?
Oscar Piastri managed to keep his wife a secret on accident for nearly half a decadeâŚ
Come to think off, that was not the only one he kept a secret.Â
Home Sweet Home
Oscar Piastri is just happy to be home with his girls. Lando Norris meets Felicity and Bee Piastri. Â
Bribery remains effective
Oscar Piastri thought doing kindergarten drop-off for his daughter would be easy â until Bee negotiates like a Formula 1 strategist and declares that the chickens at home are better friends than her classmates.
Garage Time
Felicity and Bee Piastri: Two Peas in a Pod
Oscar vs. Influencers
Oscar Piastri suffers through the Miami GP after the wife reveal.Â
Family Traditions
Lando finds out about a Piastri family tradition.Â
Mother Nature
 Oscar wants some peace and quiet after the Miami GP.Â
Aquatic Adventures
Oscar is gone for a Double Header. Felicity builds a sanctuary.Â
A Secret Well Kept
McLaren finds out about the tiny genius Oscar has been keeping a secret.Â
Sick Day
When Bee wakes in the middle of the night with a fever, a simple stomach bug drags Oscar right back to the memories of the night he nearly lost both her and Felicity.
Built to Last
Oscar and Felicity have their own Wedding Anniversary Traditions.Â
Formidable
Andrea Stella figures out that Felicity Piastri is more than âjustâ Oscarâs wife.Â
Brilliant
Lando Norris figures out that Felicity is not the only genius in the family.Â
Override: Denied
Five times Beeâs intelligence left kindergarten teachers speechlessâand one time they tried to go behind Felicityâs back, only to learn that Oscar Piastri is many things, but a husband who betrays his wifeâs trust isnât one of them.
Like Origami
Felicity folds their lives around Oscarâs.
The Red Notebook
Every season, Felicity Piastri keeps a red notebookâmeticulously filled with race notes, corner analysis, and tyre dataânot for the engineers, but for Oscar.
The Drawer
There is a drawer in Felicity's mind.
Undone
5 Times Oscar Piastri is undone by his wife and one time Felicity is wrecked by Oscar.Â
A Secret no more
The world finds out about Beatrice âBeeâ Piastri.Â
The Old Wolves
Some other people have Thoughtsâ˘
The Past catching up
Felicity hates the month of June. Oscar makes it better.Â
Not an accident
Oscar gets asked about his daughter in an interview. It does not go well.Â
The Kart
Felicity and Oscar buy their daughterâs first kart.Â
Behind the Seams
Oscar vs. Felicity's closet.
History in Rhinestones
Bee has thoughts about her race day outfit.Â
Fractures
The Whole Broken Rib disaster during 2024. Aka Zak Brown gets terrified of Felicity Piastri, meanwhile Andrea Stella may have a platonic crush.Â
Historical Accuracy
Felicity had never been the kind of girl to get jealous easily. She didnât need to worry about Oscar flirting with another girl. Because, frankly, Oscar was way too busy being⌠weirdly besotted with Lando Norris.Â
Dancing through Life
Felicity and Ballet.
In Denial
5 Times Lando Norris probably should have realised that his teammate had a child, but never did and 1 time Oscar Piastri made very clear that he is a father.
Her Papaâs Daughter
Oscar never sees how similar his daughter is to him. But Felicity does.
That Kind of Love
The most attractive thing about Oscar Piastri wasnât his appearance. Or his mind, even though he was brilliant. Itâs the way he loves his daughter.Â
The Weight
After a quiet conversation, Oscar decides to take the weight of birth control off Felicityâs shoulders once and for all. Sometimes love isnât loud; sometimes itâs choosing to make life easier for the person you love.Â
Money, Money, Money
Felicity runs Oscarâs life. Oh, and she also handles all the money.Â
The Silk Dress
FIA Prize Giving Gala 2024. Oscar gets his very own trophy. (Also known as: Felicity tortures her husband for sport. Lando is kinda clueless.)Â
The Junior Year (2025)
Jealousy
Felicity Piastri does not get jealous. (Well, unless she does.)Â
The Cost of Faith
The odds are terrifying, the warnings starkâŚand Felicity Piastri still chooses Faith, much against Oscarâs wishes.Â
Sometimes
Felicity and Oscar never fight. Until they do.Â
One Night
Mark Webber has seen young drivers crack under pressure, but nothing like the night Oscar Piastri called him from a hospital floor, nineteen and alone, begging the universe not to take his wife and newborn. Years later, with Felicity pregnant again, Mark decides itâs time she finally knows what Oscar went through.
Lessons in Math (and Humility)
Kimi Antonelli thought he could handle anything â race cars, pressure, a wet trackâŚbut his math homework may destroy him. Enter Bee Piastri.Â
Mr Oblivious
Oscar Piastri is absolutely oblivious to the fact that people try to flirt with him. It drives Lando nuts. Felicity finds it very amusing though.Â
Love Letter
Other people write love letters, Felicity Piastri re-engineers tire degradation.
The Brush Off
5 Times people flirt with Felicity and 1 time Oscar sees it happen.Â
Love in Bubblewrap
Felicity Piastri fixes things. Regardless of what they are. Even if they are her sister-in-lawâs stolen K-Pop albums.Â
Hello World
World, meet the newest member of the Piastri family.Â
The Senior Year (2026)
Gwesped piastrii
Oscar gets a species of wasps named after him. Bee has thoughts.Â
Bonus Material:
The original version of The mysterious Mrs Piastri that started it all.
Originally it was supposed to be just this one shot. Then Bee showed up in my mind.
INTERNET GIRL - aka12 x reader ⧽ smau masterlist
pssst. yn is one of the most famous influencers. Not only does she share the love for f1 & ferrari with her fans, but she also loves to hide little secrets in her posts. So one day, when the fans saw her focus inspired by kimi antonelli and her being invited to the mercedes garage⌠people start suspecting. Those shipping things.. rumours that she is softlaunching himâŚ. doesnt help kimi being deeply in love w her looks for the past few months. Inspired by Internetgirl from Katseye.
Summary: you and Lando have a beautiful two year old daughter, named Aurora, all blonde curly locks and sparkling green eyes. the two of you agreed to co-parent, but when you decide to move to New York, things get harder. Itâs hard for him to not see her, to see her grow up, to parade her round the paddock and show off his little baby girl. Now your life looks completely different, your new boyfriend Jaxson Dart looks at Aurora like she hung the moon, he loves her like heâs her ownâŚbut he could never replace Lando.
Warnings: angst, cheating, part eight contains smut (18+ warnings).
Status: Ongoing
Main Masterlist
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Esme Travere (Original Character)
Summary:
Esme Travere thought sheâd found her family when she was sixteen. Instead, she found years of bruises, broken promises, and the kind of love that came with conditions. When Severin throws her out with nothing but a carry-on and their six-month-old daughter, Esme swears Juliette will never grow up thinking love looks like this.
Thanks to a chain of women with no patience for cowards, Esme ends up in Monaco, working in Pascale Leclercâs salon. And there, between hair dye and daycare runs, she meets Pascaleâs middle sonâa Formula 1 driver with too-kind eyes, who looks at her like sheâs already halfway his.
This is a book of interconnected one shots set in the same universe. I don't write it chronological but rather whenever a new idea pops into my head.Â
If you have ever read anything in the âThe mysterious Mrs Piastriâ universe, this follows the same formula, just that this one is a bit less sprawling, i.e. the main characters only meet at the end of 2022 and not a decade prior.Â
One shots will be reordered into chronological order once posted.Â
Pairing: Kimi Antonelli x Reader (Female Media/PR Member)
Summary: Your secret plan involved Italian lessons, a heartfelt confession, and absolutely no witnesses. Unfortunately, Kimi Antonelli had other ideas.
Word count: 4.5k
Warning: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Secret Crush, Language Learning, Formula 1, Workplace Romance, Slow Burn, Accidental Reveal, Emotional Confession, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Happy Ending.
Laysha's Notes: wrote this in a bit of a rush so please excuse any errors!! based on this request by @fruitsnack09
The first lie you ever told Kimi Antonelli was small and stupid and entirely necessary: you told him you were taking a Tuesday-night pottery class.
"Pottery," he repeated, in that careful, over-enunciated English he used when he wanted to make sure he wasn't misunderstanding you. He was sitting backward on a folding chair in the hospitality unit, forearms crossed over the backrest, still in his under-suit with the sleeves shoved up past his elbows, sweat-damp hair pushed off his forehead from an afternoon of simulator work. "Like bowls?"
"Like bowls," you confirmed, not looking up from the press notes you were pretending to edit.
"You have never once mentioned wanting to make a bowl."
"People contain multitudes, Kimi."
He'd huffed a laugh through his nose, unconvinced but unwilling to push, and gone back to scrolling through telemetry on his phone with the particular scowl he wore when a sector time displeased him. You'd felt the lie sit in your chest like a swallowed stone, sharp-edged and faintly thrilling, and told yourself it would be worth it. It was supposed to be temporary. Six weeks, maybe eight. Enough time to get the basics down, enough time to string together one perfect, devastating sentence, and then you'd never have to lie to him again.
That had been four months ago.
You were not, it turned out, a natural at Italian. You'd assumed arrogantly, in retrospect that spending two years listening to Kimi speak it would somehow make the language seep into your brain by osmosis. It hadn't. The occasional phrase muttered under his breath after a bad session or the rapid-fire conversations he had with his mother on the phone were enough to make you fall a little more in love with the sound of it, but not enough to actually teach it to you. Grammar was an entirely different beast, full of rules that seemed invented solely to make you suffer. Still, night after night, you sat in your car outside team hotels with a language app glowing in your lap, stubbornly working through exercises and repeating phrases under your breath. Because you weren't trying to impress a garage full of people. You were trying to impress one stubborn Italian racing driver.Â
Ti penso piĂš di quanto dovrei.
I think about you more than I should.
You'd practice it in supermarkets, in airport security lines, in the shower with the water running so the sound wouldn't carry. You practiced it so many times the words stopped meaning anything and became pure muscle memory, the way a swimmer's stroke becomes thoughtless after ten thousand laps until you'd catch yourself mid-sentence and the meaning would come crashing back in, and you'd have to sit very still for a moment and remember how to breathe.
You worked in press and media for Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team, one of the most recognizable names in the paddock, a team built on championship-winning engineering, relentless standards, and an expectation that every detail mattered. You had been there before Kimi arrived as a wide-eyed rookie with a mop of dark curls and a habit of apologizing to the car after a difficult session, as though it could hear him and might forgive him for asking too much of it. You'd watched him grow into the seat over the course of the season, youâve watched the apologies turn into thoughtful, technical debriefs with his engineers, watched the nervous excitement of a teenager stepping into Formula One settle into something calmer, sharper, and far more dangerous on track. You wrote his quotes. You stood beside him in front of walls of cameras and microphones, feeding him English phrasing under your breath when questions came too quickly or when he searched for the right word, your shoulder a careful two inches from his, close enough that only he could hear you.Â
Say "we're optimizing the long-run pace," not "we are still figuring out the tires," it sounds more in control.
He always did exactly what you told him. He trusted you with his image the way he trusted his race engineer with his car, completely, without question, which was its own kind of devastating because you knew with total certainty that if you told him right now, in this parking lot, in passable Italian, that you'd been in love with him since the Hungary weekend eighteen months ago when he'd given his media training translator the day off and asked you, badly, hopefully, if you wanted to get dinner he would believe you. He would believe anything you told him. That was the whole problem.
You had said no to that dinner. You'd told yourself it was unprofessional, a media liaison dating a driver, a mess waiting to happen, and you'd believed it for about four months before you stopped believing it and just felt stupid instead.
So: Italian. A plan. A grand, faintly ridiculous, entirely earnest plan, because if you were going to do this if you were finally, after a year and a half of aggressive denial, going to tell him the truth, you wanted to give him something. You wanted the words to cost you something, the way his trust in you had never seemed to cost him anything at all. You wanted to hand him your feelings in the language his mother sang to him, the language he dreamed in, according to his trainer, who'd heard him talking in his sleep on the team plane once and never let him live it down.
You were going to tell Kimi Antonelli you loved him in Italian, on a night you had not yet chosen, in words you had rehearsed roughly four thousand times, and it was going to be perfect.
You should have known better than to plan anything around a man who never did what you expected.
The accident happened on a Thursday, three days before the Monaco round, in the hospitality unit kitchen, over a stupid argument about coffee.
"It is not coffee," Kimi was saying, with the wounded dignity of a man defending something sacred, to Pieter, the team's Dutch chief mechanic, who had just handed him a paper cup from the catering machine. "This is brown water. You have insulted brown water by comparing it to coffee."
"It's free and it's caffeinated, Antonelli, drink it or don't."
"I don't. I refuse. On principle." Kimi set the cup down with the exaggerated care of a man setting down a small bomb, and you, sitting at the counter with your laptop open to a half-finished press release, didn't look up because you'd learned over two years that Kimi's coffee opinions were a bottomless well and engaging with them only deepened it.
Then he turned to his trainer, Sandro, who'd just walked in, and said something fast and low in Italian, clearly assuming you and Pieter were both out of range of comprehension. Something about Pieter's coffee, something uncharitable, something that ended with a word you knew â insopportabile (unbearable) and a short, sharp laugh.
And you laughed too. Before you could stop yourself. A short, involuntary huff of amusement at exactly the right beat, exactly where a person who'd understood the joke would laugh, and not a half-second later, the way someone catching a delayed translation might.
The kitchen went very quiet.
You felt it before you looked up felt the air change, felt Pieter's attention swing toward you with the slow, delighted dawning of a man who has just witnessed something he intends to never let go of, felt Sandro go still by the doorway. And when you finally made yourself look at Kimi, he was staring at you with an expression you had genuinely never seen on his face before, in two years, through podiums and DNFs and the worst sunburn of his life in Abu Dhabi. His mouth was slightly open. His eyebrows were somewhere up near his hairline.
"You understood that," he said. In English. Flatly. As though testing the words for weight.
"Iâ " Your mind, usually so reliable under pressure, the same mind that could spin a four-car pileup into a measured, professional statement in under ninety seconds, produced absolutely nothing. A vast, ringing silence. "No."
"You laughed."
"I have aâ delayed sense of humor. Yeah. I was laughing at something else. Internally."
"At what."
"A meme," you said, with the specific, doomed confidence of someone who has just realized they are going to keep digging this hole until it swallows them. "I thought of a meme."
Pieter made a sound that was very close to a wheeze and had to turn around and pretend to be extremely interested in the coffee machine.
Kimi did not laugh. Kimi was looking at you the way he looked at telemetry data that didn't match what his hands had felt in the car like there was a discrepancy here, a gap between what he'd been told and what had actually happened, and he was not going to rest until he understood why. "Say something in Italian," he said.
"What? No."
"Sayâ " He cast around, then said, simply, plainly, watching your face with an intensity that made your skin feel two sizes too small, " âcome stai oggi."
How are you today. The easiest sentence in the world. A sentence a phrasebook gives you on page one. And you knew, you knew, with the specific dread of someone watching a car slide toward a wall in slow motion, fully aware of the outcome and entirely unable to stop it that the safest thing to do was to look blank. To shrug. To say I have no idea what that means, Kimi, you're being so weird right now.
You did not do the safest thing.
"Bene," you said, before you could catch it. "Un po' stanca, ma bene." Fine. A little tired, but fine.
The kitchen, somehow, got even quieter.
Kimi set his unbearable, unloved coffee down on the counter with great precision, and the look that spread across his face was not triumph, exactly, though there was some of that in it there was also something more complicated, something that made your chest go tight and your face go hot in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment, or not only to do with embarrassment.
"How long," he said.
"Kimiâ "
"How long have you been learning Italian."
You looked at Pieter, who had given up all pretense of coffee-machine interest and was now leaning against the counter with the rapt attention of a man watching the best television of his life. You looked at Sandro, who had quietly produced his phone and appeared to be filming, the absolute traitor. You looked anywhere except at Kimi, because you had a horrible suspicion that if you looked at him directly right now, with his hair still damp from the sim and his eyebrows still climbing and that unbearable, searching look on his face, you were simply going to tell him everything, right here, in the hospitality kitchen, with Pieter's ruined coffee going cold on the counter and Sandro's phone recording the whole humiliating spectacle for posterity.
"Four months," you admitted, to the floor.
Another silence. A different kind. You risked a glance up and found Kimi had gone very still, the teasing edge gone out of his expression entirely, replaced by something quieter and more careful.
"Four months," he repeated.
"It's notâ it's nothing, it's just a hobby, lots of people learn languages, it's a very normalâ "
"Why."
The question landed like a dropped tool, a single clean clattering syllable, and you felt the whole architecture of your careful four-month plan the rehearsed sentence, the chosen-but-not-yet-arrived night, the version of this where you controlled every single variable come apart in your hands like wet paper.
"I have to finish this press release," you said, and closed your laptop, and left the kitchen at a speed that was not quite a run but was making active use of the word quite.
Behind you, you heard Pieter lose it completely, and Sandro say something in rapid Italian that you were fairly sure, despite four months of careful study, you did not want translated.
You did not see Kimi again until media day.
This was, in itself, a small miracle of scheduling and cowardice .you'd buried yourself in logistics work for two days, coordinated three sponsor interviews and a livery reveal and a charity appearance you absolutely did not need to personally oversee, and managed, through sheer force of will, to never once be in a room alone with him. You knew this couldn't last. Media day was your job. You stood beside drivers at media day the way race engineers stood beside pit walls; it was simply where you existed.
He found you at the equipment tent twenty minutes before his first interview slot, while you were untangling a lanyard for the broadcast crew with far more focus than the task required.
"You're avoiding me," he said. Not a question.
"I'm working."
"You're avoiding me while working. It's an impressive skill, actually, I want you to know I'm impressed." He leaned against the equipment table, arms crossed, and you made the mistake of looking up, and found him not laughing at you, not teasing, just watching you with that same quiet, careful attention from the kitchen, like he was trying to read a sector time he didn't trust yet.
"I have your interview schedule," you said, holding up the clipboard like a shield. "Sky Sport at three, then the sponsorâ "
"I don't care about the schedule."
"You should, you have four interviews in ninety minutes and the Sky one specifically asked about the gearbox issue from Spa, so I need you to use the line we discussed, the one about the long-term reliability gains, not theâ "
"Why didn't you tell me?"
You stopped. The lanyard sat tangled and forgotten in your hands.
"It's not a big deal," you said, which was, you understood even as you said it, the single most transparent lie you had told in a month full of transparent lies.
"You learned my language in secret for four months and it is not a big deal." He wasn't angry. That was the strange part you'd braced for something like hurt or affront, the offense of a man who'd been kept out of a joke at his own expense, and instead what was on his face looked almost careful. Hopeful, in a way he seemed to be actively trying to suppress, the way he suppressed his disappointment after a bad qualifying lap, schooling his features into something neutral before the cameras found him. "People don't do that for fun, cara. People do that for a reason."
The endearment landed somewhere under your ribs and stayed there, glowing faintly, radioactive. He'd called you that before, occasionally, carelessly, the way Italians scattered tenderness into ordinary sentences without seeming to notice they'd done it â but it felt different now, deliberate, aimed.
"I had a reason," you said, before you could stop yourself.
"Tell me."
"I have your interview in eighteen minutes."
"Tell me after."
"Kimi â "
"After," he said again, gently, like it wasn't a request, like it was simply a fact about the shape the rest of the day was going to take, and then Pieter was shouting something about a tire pressure check and Kimi was being pulled away toward the garage, and you stood there with the ruined lanyard in your hands and your heart going much too fast for a Thursday afternoon.
You got through the interviews. You fed him the line about long-term reliability gains, and he delivered it word for word, the way he always did, except twice he glanced over at you between questions with a look that had nothing to do with gearboxes, and you had to physically school your own face into something professional, something that did not say I have known I loved you since Hungary and I have spent four months learning your language so I could tell you properly and I have absolutely no idea what I am supposed to do now that you know I've been lying to you about pottery class.
By the time the sun started dropping orange and low over the paddock, you'd run out of interviews to hide behind.
He found you on the terrace behind the hospitality unit, where the team sometimes ate dinner when the weather cooperated, looking out over the darkening circuit toward the grandstands, empty now except for the cleanup crews moving like slow ghosts under the floodlights. You'd come out here to be alone and think of an explanation that wasn't the truth, and had so far produced nothing.
"There you are," Kimi said, like you'd been the one running from something all day, which, fair, you had.
He sat down next to you on the low concrete wall, close enough that his shoulder nearly touched yours, and for a moment neither of you said anything. Somewhere in the garage behind you, an impact wrench whined and stopped. The smell of rubber and hot tarmac and the particular metallic tang of race weekend hung in the cooling air, the smell you associated, more than any other, with the two years you'd spent standing next to this man and not telling him the truth.
"Sandro deleted the video," Kimi offered, after a while. "I made him. I thought you looked like you wanted to disappear."
"I did want to disappear."
"I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have in front of everyone, it was not fair, I got excited and I didn't think." He turned to look at you properly then, and the playful armor from earlier in the day had dropped away entirely, leaving something younger and more uncertain underneath, an expression you recognized from the very first season, before he learned to wear confidence like a second skin. "Why Italian?"
You looked out at the empty grandstands instead of at him. It was easier.
"Because," you started, and stopped, and started again. "Because you trust me with everything. My English, my line readings, what to say to the cameras and what not to. You never once question it. And I just I wanted to give you something that wasn't about work. Something that was just mine to give. Not professional advice. Not a press strategy." Your hands were doing something complicated and nervous in your lap; you made them stop. "I wanted to tell you something important in the language that actually means something to you. Not the language we use for sponsor calls."
"Tell me what."
The wind moved across the terrace, carrying the smell of someone's cigarette from the far end of the paddock, and you thought about four months of late nights with a phone app glowing blue in the dark, four months of online lessons with a tutor every tuesday, four months of rehearsing a sentence so many times it had stopped sounding like words and become something closer to a held breath, finally, now, about to be let out.
You looked at him. Damp curls, dark eyes, the small scar above his eyebrow from a karting crash at fourteen that he'd told you about on a long flight to Singapore, the steady, open way he was watching you now like nothing in the world mattered more than whatever you said next. Eighteen months since Hungary. Four months of Tuesday nights that weren't pottery class. One ruined surprise, and a man waiting, patiently, for the truth he'd already half-guessed.
"Ti penso piĂš di quanto dovrei," you said.
I think about you more than I should.
The words came out steadier than you expected, four months of repetition finally earning their keep, landing clean and whole in the space between you instead of crumbling apart the way you'd feared they might. Kimi went very still. You watched the sentence travel across his face in real time comprehension, then something brighter and more startled underneath it, like watching the lights come up on a grandstand all at once.
"Say it again," he said. Quietly. In Italian this time. "Dimmelo ancora."
"I think about you more than I should," you said again, in English now, because you needed him to have it both ways, needed there to be no possible margin for translation error in a moment this large. "I have for a long time. Since Hungary, honestly, since you asked me to dinner and I said no because I was scared and stupid about the job thing, and I have regretted saying no probably every single day since, and I started learning Italian because I wanted to tell you properly, I wanted to give you something that took real effort, something that proved I meant it, and then you went and ruined the whole plan by being unbearable about coffee in front of Pieterâ "
"I ruined it," Kimi said, and there was real laughter in his voice now, breaking through, bright and disbelieving. "I ruined it."
"You laughed at the coffee and I laughed at the joke and everything fell apart."
"Everything did not fall apart." He reached over, slow, like he was giving you every chance to pull away, and took your hand off your lap, turning it over in his like something he wanted to look at properly. His thumb moved once across your knuckles, light, almost disbelieving. "Everything came together. Badly. With Pieter watching. But together."
"This is not how I planned it."
"No?" His mouth was doing something complicated, fighting a smile and losing. "How did you plan it?"
"Candles," you admitted. "Probably candles. A view. Something with actual atmosphere, instead ofâ " You gestured vaguely at the terrace, the floodlights, the distant whine of someone's impact wrench starting up again. " âthis."
"I like this," Kimi said. "I like that it's true. I would rather have you, badly planned, on a wall behind a garage, than candles and a script." He was still holding your hand, and now he laced his fingers properly through yours, deliberate, an answer offered without being asked for. "I have been waiting eighteen months for you to change your mind about Hungary. I was starting to think I had imagined the whole dinner. That maybe I asked wrong."
"You didn't ask wrong. I was wrong. I was so sure it would be a disaster, mixing the job with this. With wanting you the way I wanted you."
"And now?"
"Now I've spent four months memorizing Italian verb conjugations for you, so I think the disaster has already started and I might as well see it through."
He laughed properly, that bright, surprised sound you'd heard maybe a dozen times in two years, usually reserved for podiums and good qualifying laps, and it did something to your chest, hearing it directed at you instead of a stopwatch. "Ti penso piĂš di quanto dovrei," he said again, testing the words now from his own mouth, watching your face as he said them, "is correct, by the way. Your grammar. Very good. A little formal, but good."
"Four months, Kimi."
"I noticed." He brought your hand up, pressed his mouth briefly to your knuckles, an old-fashioned gesture that should have felt theatrical and instead felt exactly, devastatingly right, here on this wall, with the circuit lights coming up gold against the darkening sky behind him. "Anche io," he said, quiet now, no performance left in it at all. Me too.
"Show-off," you said, though your voice had gone thick. "I worked very hard on that sentence."
"I know. I could tell. It was a good sentence." He was closer now, close enough that you could feel the warmth coming off him in the cooling evening air, close enough that the next thing either of you said wasn't going to be words at all. "Next time," he murmured, "warn me before you confess something. I almost fell off my chair."
"There's not going to be a next time. I only had the one."
"Good," Kimi said. "I only need the one." And then he kissed you careful at first, like he was still checking the data matched what his hands could feel, and then not careful at all, four months and eighteen months and one ruined, perfect surprise collapsing down into the simple, unhurried space between one breath and the next and somewhere behind you, faint and getting fainter, you were fairly sure you heard Pieter, from an open garage door, shout something about finally that you were extremely glad you couldn't quite translate.
Three weeks later, you stood in the same equipment tent, untangling the same kind of lanyard, while Kimi leaned against the table exactly the way he had that first impossible Thursday, except now his hand found the small of your back without either of you remarking on it, an easy, unremarkable fact of how things were.
"Sky Sport at three," you told him, not looking up from the clipboard. "Use the line about long-term reliability."
"SĂŹ, cara," he said, and you felt it land warm under your ribs the way it always did now, no longer radioactive, just true. "Anything else?"
"Don't insult anyone's coffee where Pieter can hear you. We've had enough incidents this season."
"No promises," Kimi said, grinning, and pressed a quick kiss to your temple before Sandro called him toward the garage, and you stood there with the lanyard finally untangled in your hands, watching him go, thinking not for the first time, and not, you suspected, for the lasthat some plans were worth ruining.
Famous book influencer on Instagram, Youtube and TikTok, after 3 weeks of break with your boyfriend, you owe your followers a new videos. So after you came back from your holidays, two days passed before you finally take time to set up your camera and film a haul.
âHey guys, I know itâs been a while, sue me I was on vacation with my hot boyfriend so I wasnât really able to film and do things, but I'm back ! And since I wasnât at home, I accumulated lots of packagings, either from publishing house who sent me books in advance, or books that I bought on Vinted because we love second hand things. And Iâm going to show you guys what I bought while I was on holiday too because Lando and I purchased things⌠and yeah.â
As you are talking, Lando comes in the frame, leaning at your left, so just a part of his body can be seen. He waits for you to stop talking to talk.
âAre you filming?â
âNo no, I'm just talking to myself⌠yes I'm recording why ?â
âCan I do it with you?â
âYou want to do a TikTok with me where I explain the books that I received ?â
âYeah ! And I wanna show them what I bought too!â
âAlright, sit down then. Ok we have a guest star along now so bear with us, itâs going to be long. You wanna start ?â
âNo no, I let you do your things, show your book, Iâll open the packages in the meantime.â
âOkay. Now guys, as you know I love books and cute romances, even more when itâs well written. So thatâs why I bought the first two books of the Lakefront Billionaires by Lauren Asher.â You take the books out of Landoâs hands and show it to the camera. âThey are linked with the Dreamland Billionaires series, if Iâm not mistaken. I think like, the house theyâre renovating in the first book is a house near the lake house of the third book ? And as you know I love when different books from the same author just mingle together so we have cameos of past characters.â
You lay the book down on the table, as you say that, ready to move on with the other books.
âThen, since I love, emphasis on love, small town cowboy romance,I bought the first two books of the queen Elsie Silverâs Ruby Creek series.â As you talk, Lando shows the books to the camera, making sure to stay on focus so the viewer could see the resume on the back cover. âI loved Chestnuts Spring and I think they are also interconnected, Iâm not sure though. But I think they are, or at least they are going to be.â
âNext, I bought King of Envy, aka the fifth book of the King of Sins series by Ana Huang, and I-â
âWait ! Where is it?â cuts Lando while searching for the book in question.
âItâs not here ? Itâs like a green and beige cover with a bottle of perfume.â
âI donât know where you put it babe, but itâs not here.â
âItâs okay, Iâll just put it on the montage. Anyways, I finished it yesterday so a book review will be on in the next few days, I hope but I can say to you that it was my favorite so far.â
You take a break from recording, smiling at Lando who smiles you back while opening the last package.
âAnd for the last book, I finally bought, The Housemaid by Freida McFadden. Iâm scared of reading it after everyone literally because of the hype it got and still gets to be honest and I donât want to be deceived by it. The plot seems good and I just hope Iâll like it.â
You put all of your books away, letting Lando show what he got during your holidays.
âOkay guys hum, I bought a new shirt. Itâs white and itâs made of linen so itâs very smooth and light to wear during summer. Next I bought a new bracelet to match with the ones that I already had and also to match with my girlâs one that I gave her for her birthday.â
He shows the bracelet he got with a smile on the face, happy to share his finds with other people. You smile as well, seeing him this excited for a simple haul.
âAnd finally I bought the little F1 lego mystery cars. We were lacking 2 of them for our collection and she wanted to make a McLaren keychain for a bag as well so I took 6 boxes to make sure we get the one we need.â
âWhy did you bought 6 boxes ?â
âItâs mystery babe, I donât know which one I'm getting!â
âYou know thereâs an app to see which one you have in a box right ?â
âWhat ? Really?â
âYeah ! How did you think an end up with a McLaren in my first box ever ?â
âI donât know, I thought you were lucky to have my car!â
âOh babeâŚâ
âDonât babe me, Iâm wounded.â
âItâs ok, letâs see which one we get.â
You open the first box, letting out a Ferrari car.
âSee, itâs okay we needed that one!â
âHumâŚletâs open the second box.â
He opens the other box, which turns out to be another Ferrari.
âNow we have Charles and LewisâŚâ
The following three boxes were a Haas, a RedBull and another Ferrari.
âLast box⌠if itâs not a McLaren I swear to-â
âOkay Lando, letâs calm down⌠itâs just a Lego car.â
You guys open the box together, looking away just to build tension⌠only to be surprised with the red color of the Ferrari car.
âAGAIN? What they expect me to own the whole Ferrari grid since 1900 or what?â
He stands up, hurrying to put his shoes on as youâre still recording.
âWhere are you going?â
âTo the store, I need to buy more⌠send me the app please ?â
He doesnât wait for you to answer, leaving you alone after a quick kiss on the lips.
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summary: one little conversation between Nicole Piastri and the McLaren social media admin brings you back into Oscar's life
fc: gala nikolic
warning: I am aware of all the spelling errors, but to change them Iâd have to rewrite, screenshot and insert the slides all over again and Iâm just too lazy to do that, so youâll just have to life with it
a/n: I love them you guys!!! Iâm totally open to writing a part two if youâre interested, but I also might just do it anyway. I hope you enjoyđ
oscatpiastri
oscatpiastri LMAO admin just said âIâm so hungry, I could eat YN YLNâ and that was the face Oscar pulledđđ what kind of trauma did they unlock??
view all commentsâŚ
user IâM CRYING the man was flabbergasted
user I NEED TO KNOW WHO THAT IS IK YOU GUYS ARE GOOD AT STALKING
-> user I could only find a private acc with that name @.yourusername but there is no way to tell if itâs actually her
-> user wow you guys are quick
user oh to be able to read his mind rn
user admin chose violence today
-> user he looked so betrayed my poor boyđ
user how did admin even get such private information about Oscar?? like there is absolutely no history of a YN YLN anywhere in Oscarâs digital footprint
-> user I mean, thatâs their entire job no? find things that get clicks and oscarâs past def does that
đ yourusername
yourusername university is slowly turning me into a hermit
view all commentsâŚ
yourfriend1 caption is so real dude
yourfriend1 one more class with professor brenner and Iâll actually break all of my good pencils
-> yourusername REAL
yourfriend2 movie binge night was so good we have to do it again
-> yourusername âźď¸âźď¸
yourbestfriend girly youâre famous
-> yourusername fuck you mean by that?
-> yourbestfriend have you ever watched f1? does the name oscar piastri ring a bell?
-> yourusername YOURE FUCKING JOKING
yourfriend3 Iâm so hungry I could eat oscar piastriđ¤đ¤
yourfriend4 what just happened
yourfriend5 the art faculty bathroom is actually so peak
yourfriend6 youâre so gorgeous one chance pls pls pls
TEXTS BETWEEN NICOLE AND OSCAR
TEXTS BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR BEST FRIEND
đ¤ OSCAR PIASTRI WANTS TO SEND YOU A MESSAGE
oscarpiastri: Hello YN, Iâm not sure if you remember me, we went to kindergarten together. I just wanted to give you a heads up, incase you havenât seen it yet. There is a video going around on the internet of the McLaren social media admin mentioning you in an interview and people are taking it all sorts of ways. I hope it doesnât cause you any trouble, if it does, please donât hesitate to reach out and I will take full responsibility for it. I hope you are doing well!
INSTAGRAM DIRECT MESSAGES BETWEEN YOU AND OSCAR
yourusername: Hello Oscar, itâs nice to hear from you! Thank you for the heads up, thatâs really kind of you. I saw the video and the reactions, but donât worry, itâs really no trouble. How are you? Maybe we could catch up? We havenât seen each other for so long
oscarpiastri: Good to hear that itâs not troubling you. Iâm sorry anyway. And Iâd love to catch up. Are you still in AUS? Iâm there from December until February, incase you are.
yourusername: Yep! Still an Australian resident:) I have a small semester break in Janurary, if that works for you?
oscarpiastri: Great! đ
đ yourusername
yourusername touching grass because why am I doing all that over a MAN
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yourfriend1 I just looked oscar piastri up and jeezus YN go get him or I will
yourbestfriend my girl is crushing on the f1 championship leader⌠i always knew you had big ambitions but I didnât think they were that big
-> yourusername YOU REALLY ARE NOT HELPING IT
yourfriend2 weâve lost herđđ
-> yourfriend3 to a MAN of all things smh
-> yourusername YOU GUYS
yourfriend4 why do I have to be on an semester abroad right now of all moments I FEEL SO LEFT OUT
yourfriend5 she was crouching like that for a good 5 minutes btw
-> yourusername STOP EXPOSING ME
-> yourfriend4 why was she even crouching??
-> yourfriend5 he was texting her really dryly and she freaked out bc obviously that means he hates her and she wants to die and he should crash
-> yourfriend4 you are absolutely hopeless YN
-> yourusername I need to find friends that actually love me
yourfriend6 yk when you start dating youâll have to open this insta to him and heâll see how pathetic you are for him
-> yourusername WAIT THATS SO EMBARRASSING
đ yourusername
yourusername no idea what just happened I just know it wasnât good at all IâM SO SORRY OSCAR WHEN I SAID I WANTED YOU TO CRASH I DIDNT MEAN IT
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yourfriend1 youâre so unserious wearing a tshirt that says your tears donât fall they crash around me after your CRUSH DNFED
-> yourusername gotta have some humour or Iâll cry
yourfriend2 Iâm seeing this as a sign that heâs so obsessed with you that he does everything you say
-> yourusername THEN HE SHOULD LOCK IN AND WIN THE STUPID CHAMPIGNONCHIP OR WHATEVER
-> yourfriend2 CHAMPIGNONCHIP IâM CHOKING
f1updates
f1updates oscar piastri when asked about the title fight and the support of family and friends for the race this weekend:
âI know a lot of things have to go right today, in order for me to win, but as long as it is a possibility, I will stay positive that I can do it.â Said the Australian. âIâve got a lot of people here to cheer me on, my mum, dad and sisters, for one, but also an old friend, who I havenât seen in a long time. They give me the strength to push one last time.â
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user I KNOW HE CAN DO IT
user Norris needs to fuck off itâs Oscarâs turn
user I wonder who the âold friendâ isđ¤đ¤
-> user YN YLN? Iâm still not over that mystery
-> user that would be the plot twist of a century
user my entire body is vibrating like I just drank four gallons of coffee
user THIS IS STILL MY BOY
đ yourusername
yourusername ABU DHABI ARE YOU READY?
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yourfriend1 HE WILL NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH HIMSELF WHEN HE SEES YOU
yourfriend2 wowđł
yourbestfriend forget that wanna be athlete and come home to your wife (me)
yourfriend3 your nervous f1 rambling made me invested as well, Iâm rooting for the blonde with an attitude problem
-> yourusername max verstappen?
-> yourfriend3 that one, yes
yourfriend4 HOW ARE YOU FEELING ABT TODAYS RACE?
-> yourusername Iâm fucking shaking bro, Verstappen idk you like that but please find the closest barrier and take that Norris guy with you
oscarpiastri
oscarpiastri lots achieved. lots learnt. coming back stronger next year
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mclarenf1 we are so proud of you oscarđ§Ą
user no one is in doubt that youâll win the title one day
user not even Norris bottled this hard
user I donât get why people are so harsh on him all of the sudden, have we all forgotten that he lead the wdc for half a season in his 3rd year in f1??
user op the man you are
user AURA
user oh 2025 you were so promising
yourusername still not sure if I understood it all, but I know that Iâm incredibly impressed:)
-> oscarpiastri Iâm glad you could make itđ
-> user OMG IT WAS YN YLN
-> user heâs so awkward with emojisđđ
-> user GIRL PLEASE OPEN YOUR INSTA I NEED TO BE PARASOCIAL
đ yourusername
yourusername nothing to sayyyyđ§ââď¸
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yourfriend1 do we have to act normal now bc he can see the posts?
yourbestfriend you smart little finch, I recognise a thirst trap when I see oneđđ
-> yourusername BE QUIET
yourfriend2 RIP unhinged instagram posts, you will be missedđ
-> yourusername you guys are so dramatic
oscarpiastri I'm not sure if I want to look at the other posts
-> yourusername don't, just don't do it
yourfriend3 one man in your life and you have an entire rebrand smh đ¤Śââď¸
yourfriend4 you? speechless? what have you done to my girl, oscar piastriđ¤¨
yourfriend5 WHAT IS A MAN DOING HERE?
-> yourusername BE NICE
yourbestfriend my girl is gonna be a famous wagđĽ˛
yourfriend6 he can take great pictures at least
f1gossip
f1gossip Oscar Piastri was sighted in Melbourne, Australia with a mysterious woman on his arm. Who do we think she is?
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user NOđŤ
user oscar piastri daring rumours in the first weeks of 2026 what is going on
-> user I started to doubt his abilities
user cant even see her properly but i already know shes so pretty
user wait I think Iâve seen her before?? At the Abu Dhabi GP
yourbestfriend OMG MY GIRL IS ON A GOSSIP PAGE @.yourusername LOOK MY GIRL GOT PAPARAZZIED
-> yourusername GIRL DON'T PUT ME ON BLAST LIKE THAT
user iâm not ready for everyone to become parasocial about him all of the sudden
user not him wearing the fugly ass burgundy shirt on a DATE
-> user we donât even know if itâs a date, could just be a friend
user did anyone see that comment from @.yourbestfriend?? they tagged a user named YN YLNâŚ.. coincidence???
-> user did I miss something?? who is that?
-> user there is a video of the mcl admin saying Iâm so hungry, I could eat YN YLN and everyone and their mother has been trying to find out who she is and what correlation oscar has to her since then
-> user yeah and her account is private, so thereâs absolutely NO WAY for us to find out anything about her
81_updates
81_updates Oscar Piastri, Mark Webber and friends on Melbourne Beach. Some fans even stated that Oscar was with a girl and they seemed to be very closeđ¤
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user HOLD ME BACK
user I hate to say this, but I think oscar really does have a girlfriend now
user congratulations to whoever getâs to have that every night
user lmao the imprint on his chest looks like a 4
user god that girl is lucky
user I think itâs safe to say itâs YN
user oscar jack piastri I was unfamiliar with your game
đ yourusername
yourusername after being forced to participate in all of Oscarâs hobbies, I think itâs only fair if I force him to paint with me, right?
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yourfriend1 turn that frown upside downđ
yourfriend2 you guys make me sick
-> yourusername jealousy doesnât suit you babeđ
yourfriend2 and yes, thatâs absolutely fair
yourfriend3 be honest, who won the race?
-> yourusername I love how much faith you have in me, but be fr who is winning the race? A girl who has known about f1 for 3 months or an actual f1 driver??
-> yourfriend3 he didnât let you win? break up with him
-> oscarpiastri she told me not to let her win𤡠said it would be satisfying for her ego if she beat me on raw talent
-> yourfriend3 oh my sweet angelđ THAT MEANS LET HER WIN
yourbestfriend no photo credit for the picture smhđ
-> yourusername sorry babe, credit to you for pic 6, and to osc for literally every other one
oscarpiastri I donât think you want to see the monster I create when I touch a pencil
-> yourusername as if I was graceful playing paddle
-> oscarpiastri youâd look beautiful while digging in dirt
-> yourusername HKDBHAYPQA
-> oscarpiastri are you ok?
-> yourusername just fine:)) my cat walked over my keyboard:))))
-> yourfriend4 you donâtâŚ..have a cat?
-> yourusername SHHH
oscarpiastri and I did not force you
oscarpiastri
oscarpiastri đâď¸
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user when hes good with wordsđđ
user Iâm so obsessed with his gf and I donât know anything about her
-> user I think thatâs part of the appeal
user KARTING OSCAR
user that looks suspiciously like a dateđ§
user I canât wait for them to feel more comfortable and reveal a little more about their relationship
-> user Iâm so excited for her to attend more races next year
user I donât think they will ever confirm anything you guys, this is all weâre gonna get THEY ARE JUST SO PRIVATE
user HES SO CUTE
user our boy has a girlfriend⌠heâs actually done it
Summaryâ Lando has to do bedtime with Luka, but also has to stream with Max.
Warningsâ none fluffy asf
A/Nâ Im back bitches đ
Dad Lando Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Requestâ Hello! I have a request for a lando!dad story. With either a boy a girl who is about 3-4 years old. Lando is having a hang out with max fewtrell few more friends, they are live on twitch. Lando had put the kid to bed a while ago but at some point in he stream the kid wakes up, and stays on the stream for a while, the fans love it and think it's cute, but lando eventually puts them back to bed. I love your stories so much!!
Lando and Max planned to stream with friends, but Lando was on bedtime duty so it was pushed back. Max played a few rounds on stream and the chat got increasingly insistent on Lando joining.
âChat would you take a chill pill, heâs got dad duties.â Max said. The chat conversed about it for a bit and calmed down, realizing that yeah- Lando is a dad.
In the other room Lando was giving his little boy a bath before bed. Bubbles and toys strewn about the warm water while he got splashed and drenched. âOh no! Your boat sunk!â Lando exclaimed playfully as Luka dunked the toy ship.
Giggles erupted from the boy and Lando couldnât help but smile. âNo daddy, itâs a special ship.â Luka explained. âThey can go underwater.â Lando chuckled and scoffed a bit at his son.
âItâs a submarine then?â Lando asked with a brow raised. Luka gave him a scowl.
âNo. Itâs a boat daddy.â He corrected. His face serious before a yawn interrupted. His playing hands got more uncoordinated and Lando began draining the tub.
âAlright letâs get you ready for bed.â He said lifting the boy from the tub and drying him. Luka gave his mum resistance during bedtime but never Lando. Which is why she implemented he do bedtime when heâs home and away from racing.
He got the boy dressed and in a pull upâ something Luka wears strictly at night while theyâre still trying to potty train him. He read a quick story and got the boy calm and relaxed in his arms, snuggling close.
He laid the boy in his toddler bed and gave him a kiss goodnight. âDream of race cars little one, mummy and daddy love you lots.â He whispered while caressing the boys damp hair. He exited the room, solely lit by a nightlight and rain pattering from the sound machine fills the room.
He retreats to the master bed to change and tell his wife goodnight, and that Luka should be out cold before going to his gaming room. His friends lounging on the couch and Max engrossed in a heated game already, headset on one ear but not the other.
âWhoâs next?â Lando asked the group. The room had soundproofing and was nearly across the house from the bedrooms so if they were loud it wasnât an issue.
A few hours pass of the guys taking turns in the game, Max entertaining chat one way or another. Lando nursing a monster all night. One of the guys gets up for the bathroom and opens the room door, he walks about a step out before returning in and giving Lando a look.
Lando smiles and gives him a confused expression before he hears it. âWhereâs dada?â Lando shoots up and walks into the hall. He crouches in front of the boy and rubs his arm.
âHey bubba, whatâs the matter?â Lando asked softly. His friend went to where he was headed in the house and left the two. When Luka realized it was Lando he opened his arms and curled them around his neck.
âMamaâs door âs locked.â He whined. Lando rubbed a soothing arm on the boys back and stood up. Luka had a horrible habit of trying to sleep with his mum when Lando was gone so she retreated to locking her door at night, it mostly worked. Luka knew that Lando had friends over though and so he got a free pass to be with Lando.
âIs it now?â Lando cooed. âHow about you hang out with daddy and Maxie hm?â He offered. Luka nodded and Lando entered the room again. The chat erupted with too fast comments.
âHe joins the stream!â Max said, quieter than usual. âHey bud, why are you up this late?â He lightly tickled the boys side and got a giggle and smile.
âItâs about the time he sneaks into mamaâs room huh bub?â Lando said. Luka curled into Lando again and he chucked. âHeâs just going to hang out for a bit.â
Lando forfeit his turns to hold Luka and they watched them play round after round. The chat roars across the screen about how adorable Luka and Lando are. âLook at him how tired, awwâ or âMax youâre yelling is scaring the poor boy!!â And âhe better be getting so many cuddles after dealing with this groupâ
After around 30 minutes he noticed Luka trying to suck his thumb and his eyes drooping again. âCan I sleep with Mama?â He mumbled.
âLetâs go see bub.â Lando answered and brought the boy to the door, fishing the key from his pocket and unlocking the door. She was already up, having to use the bathroom. She looked over to her boys and smiled.
âCome see Luka.â She mumbled, voice laced with tiredness. Lando brought the boy over and she pulled him close to her chest. Luka sighed contentedly and fell back asleep.
âIâll be done in a minute, just finishing up.â Lando whispered, placing a kiss to her head and Lukaâs.
Molly Chapman is one of the biggest names in music. Her concerts sell out every single night. She travels the world doing what she loves and brining her songs to her millions of fans. Thereâs private jets, fancy hotels, designer everything. Whatever she wants, Molly can snap her fingers and itâs hers.Â
She has everything a 25 year old girl could dream of. But something is missing. Freshly out of a dangerously toxic relationship, Molly has sworn off men all together and decided she needs to focus on her for once. Sheâs fine on her own, filling her life with her family and friends and fans.Â
And then Lando Norris, Formula Oneâs golden boy, walks into her life with a friendship bracelet and an half-baked idea to get her attention. When his plan goes viral, Molly catches wind of the scheme and what happens next leads to one of the greatest love stories the public has ever seen.Â
This fic is about love and loss and finding that person who is truly your âsafe spaceâ and soulmate in an otherwise noisy and overwhelming world of intense internet scrutiny and high expectations.
Series Playlist
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
SMAU Bonus Chapter
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
The Bonus Tracks:
Lando taking care of Molly fluff
A Very Texas Thanksgiving in Qatar
Operation: Fix Christmas
Wood
Accidental Wedding Bells
The Cat's Out of the Bag
Can i request a fic where lando and yn have a baby/toddler girl that is asian features like yn but has landoâs green eyes. Lando is very protective and tries to keep her name private but some staff in mclaren leaked the name?
Thanks!
Her Name Was Never Meant for Them
Lando Norris x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: A McLaren staffer leaks the private name of Lando and his girlfriendâs toddler, sending Lando into fierce protectiveâdad mode as he shields their daughter and fights to keep her world safe and private.
Your daughter has Landoâs eyes â that unmistakable green that looks almost unreal in sunlight. Everyone says so. Fans, commentators, even the drivers who pretend theyâre not obsessed with her.
But her name?
That was supposed to be yours. Yours and Landoâs alone.
It started the way most race weekends did: too early, too loud, and with your toddler glued to Landoâs hip like she was born there. Sheâs in her tiny McLaren hoodie, curls bouncing as she babbles to him in a language only he understands.
He listens like every sound is sacred.
âDada, look!â she squeals, pointing at a golf cart.
Lando gasps dramatically. âA golf cart? No way. Thatâs crazy. Should we steal it?â
She nods with the seriousness of a world leader.
You roll your eyes. âPlease donât teach her crimes before breakfast.â
He grins, leaning over to kiss your cheek. âNo promises.â
---
The day is normal until it isnât.
Youâre in hospitality when your phone starts vibrating nonstop. Mentions. Tags. Notifications. At first you think itâs just another cute photo someone snapped of Lando carrying your daughter like she weighs nothing.
Then you see it.
A tweet.
A photo.
A caption.
Her name.
Spelled correctly.
Posted by an account that always gets insider info a little too fast.
Your stomach drops so hard you feel dizzy.
You donât even realise youâve stood up until Zak appears beside you, concern etched across his face. âEverything alright?â
You show him the screen.
His expression darkens. âWho the hell leaked that?â
You donât answer. You canât. Your throat is tight, your chest tighter. Youâd worked so hard â both of you â to keep her name private. Not because you were ashamed. Not because you were hiding her. But because she was a child. Your child. And the world didnât deserve every piece of her.
You hear Lando before you see him â that familiar laugh, the one he only uses with your daughter. Then he walks in, holding her on his hip, her tiny hand fisted in his hoodie.
He takes one look at your face and freezes.
âWhat happened?â
You hand him the phone.
His jaw clenches so hard you hear his teeth grind. His arm tightens around your daughter instinctively, protectively, like heâs shielding her from the entire world.
âWho posted this?â His voice is low, dangerous. âWho gave them her name?â
Zak steps in. âWeâre investigating. Iâll handle it.â
âNo,â Lando snaps. âIâll handle it.â
Your daughter senses the tension and buries her face in his neck. He softens instantly, rubbing her back, whispering something only she can hear. But his eyes stay sharp, furious.
He looks at you. âIâm so sorry, love.â
âItâs not your fault.â
âIt is. Itâs my team. My environment. Someone here thought they had the right to share something that wasnât theirs.â
You reach for his free hand. âWeâll deal with it.â
He nods, but you can tell heâs barely holding it together.
---
The fallout is immediate.
McLaren releases a statement condemning the leak.
Fans rally behind you.
The post is deleted â but the internet never forgets.
Lando spends the rest of the day with your daughter glued to him. He refuses to let anyone else hold her. Not staff. Not PR. Not even Oscar, who usually gets unlimited cuddles.
At one point, Oscar approaches with a soft smile. âHey, can Iââ
âNo.â
Lando doesnât even look up from where heâs adjusting her headphones.
Oscar blinks. âMate, I justââ
âNo.â
You place a hand on Landoâs shoulder. âLan, heâs not the enemy.â
He sighs, guilt flickering across his face. âI know. Sorry, Osc.â
Oscar waves it off. âYouâre good. Papa Bear mode. I get it.â
Your daughter reaches out to Oscar with a chubby hand. Lando hesitates, then lets her pat Oscarâs cheek â but she stays firmly in his arms.
---
Later, when the paddock quiets and the sun dips low, you find Lando sitting on the steps behind the motorhome. Your daughter is asleep on his chest, her tiny fist curled in the fabric of his race suit.
He looks up when you sit beside him.
âI feel like I failed her,â he whispers.
âYou didnât.â
âI promised Iâd keep her safe. I promised Iâd keep her world small until she was old enough to choose otherwise.â
You rest your head on his shoulder. âYou kept her safe. Someone else broke that trust.â
He swallows hard. âI hate that people think theyâre entitled to her. To us. She didnât ask for any of this.â
You brush a curl from your daughterâs forehead. âShe has you. Thatâs enough.â
He turns to you, eyes softening. âShe has us.â
You smile. âUs.â
He kisses you â slow, lingering, full of everything he canât put into words. When he pulls back, he looks down at your daughter again.
âIâm going to fix this,â he murmurs. âI donât care how long it takes. I donât care who I piss off. No one gets to take pieces of her without our permission.â
You lace your fingers with his. âWeâll protect her together.â
He exhales, finally letting some of the tension leave his body. âShe really does have my eyes, doesnât she?â
âShe does,â you whisper. âAnd your stubbornness.â
He smirks. âPoor kid.â
You laugh quietly, careful not to wake her. âSheâll survive.â
âWith us as parents? Debatable.â
You lean into him, watching the last bit of sunlight fade. âWeâll figure it out.â
He kisses the top of your head. âWe always do.â
And with your daughter sleeping safely between you, the world feels small again â just the way you wanted it.
pairing: lando norris x fem!reader (no y/n, established rel.)
warnings: sweet and cliche, p in v, slight dumbification, sleepy soft sex, soft dom lando
wc: 2.7k
summary: lando comes home to his sleepy girlfriend after an exhausting triple-header
ale's note: RACE WEEEEK !!! i tried to write something soft and sweet but you know me i always have to add smut...
also, for everyone asking stalker!osc is coming soooon đââď¸
lando has his forehead against the cold taxi window, watching monaco slide past outside in a haze of orange light, thinking about nothing in particular except that he's nearly home.
three weeks. austin, then mexico city, then sĂŁo paulo, back to back to back, a stretch of paddocks and airport lounges that wrung him dry. itâs been weeks since heâs had you in his arms. heâs had the curve of your spine and the smell of your hair on his mind for the entire length of the triple-header. heâd thought about calling last night, but hadnât, worried youâd hear how sad he was and start crying too. heâd told the team he was flying back in the morning, but the idea of one more night on a starched hotel pillow, the silence of not-you, made him punch in a last-minute booking and wedge himself into a seat on the earliest possible plane.
it's not complicated. he just missed you.
theres a neurochemical whiplash to the changeâfrom track adrenaline to the slurred, irritable exhaustion of a long haul, from the humidity and heat of brasil to the crispness of the monegasque night. he imagines you, tucking yourself into bed, sleepy. the way youâll probably cry when you see him because you get emotional when youâre exhausted. the thing about loving someone who tires easily is that you start to get addicted to the way they sag into you. the trust in it, the vulnerbaility. lando is thinking about this as the taxi pulls up in front of the apartment building. he drags his duffel out, thanks the driver in mushy french,then keys himself into the lobby. the lift takes forever. he stands in it with his bag and the pervading stench of airplane and his bajillion unread messages from jon, watcing the floor numbers go up.
he opens the door with a metallic snick, careful and quiet in case youâre asleep. the first thing that hits him is the warmth, so different from the chill outside, and saturated with the scent of your perfume. you must have cooked something earlier, he thinks, something rich and garlicky. he kicks off his shoes, toeing them neatly by the door. he can hear sound from the tv in the living room, light from the screen flickering out into the dimly lit room. he leaves his bag by the door. he'll deal with it later.
and there you are, in the living room, curled on the couch. your cheek is smushed into the leather and your lips are parted, a tiny gloss of drool pooling at the edge of your mouth.
the blanket is half off, exposing your bare thigh. your hair is a wreck, mussed and waterfalling over your face. his throat tightens. heâs not sure what it isâmaybe the picture you make, all sweet and oblivious, or maybe the memory of how empty the hotel beds felt these last weeksâbut it does something to him.
thereâs something in himâa failure of emotional maturity, probably, or maybe just a hole in his own childhoodâthat has always wanted to keep something soft alive, to have something that needs him. he thinks of you as a baby bird, or sometimes a puppy, all twitchy and sweet and trusting. itâs not meant to be an insult. youâre smarter than him, probably. but youâre still so easily tired by the world, so obviously in need of shelter. he sometimes has this weird need to build a house around you and stand outside all night, knife in hand, just in case.
he kneels by the sofa, reaching out to brush stray locks off your cheek. you donât stir. he wonders if he can get away with watching you like this forever, but theres this greedy, selfish urge clawing at him. he missed you. he needs you to wake up. he drags his knuckles along your jaw, the softest nudge. you make a small noise, nose twitching, and your eyelids flutter. he strokes your face again, more deliberate. âhey, sleepyhead.â
your eyes flutter open, unfocused and bright. you blink slow, like your brain is still rebooting. itâs disgustingly cute.
ââlando?â your voice is raspy, a little confused.
âhi, sweetheart,â he whispers back, smiling, âdidnât mean to wake you.â lie.
you stare at him, foggy, and your mouth curls into a half-smile, sleepy and dopey. âyouâre not supposed to be home,â you say, like youâre accusing him of something horrible.
âmissed you,â he says, and he doesnât try to hide the way his voice breaks.Â
you try to sit up, but your limbs are noodles, and you just flop over sideways. he pulls you into his arms instead. you come down easy, melting against him like you want to crawl under his skin. you burrow your head into his armpit, so pliant and so warm that he feels like he could hold you forever.
âi missed you more,â you mumble into his skin. at least thatâs what he thinks you say, your words are barely intelligible and slurred with sleep.
he lifts your chin with a finger and looks at you properly. your eyes are glazed, pupils blown wide, and your lips are parted, soft and lush. you look like youâve just been fucked into oblivion, not like youâve been napping. he grins, a little wolfish, and you catch it, your eyebrows lifting, âwhuh?â.Â
âyouâre justâŚâ he shakes his head, canât find the right word. âsweet.â
you roll your eyes, but itâs slow, like your brain is wading through syrup. he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and tucks your head back against his shoulder. the clock on the wall ticks to 12.
âyou should get to bed,â he whispers, but you only whine, a wordless sound that means you want to stay right here, in his lap.
âiâll carry you,â he offers, only half-joking, because all he wants is you in his arms, but your answering noise is so eager, he canât help but smile.
ââkay,â you say, and he hooks an arm under your knees and another around your back and stands, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you just cling, face buried in his neck, hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt. he can feel your smile againt his skin.
he deposits you on the bed, pulling the duvet over you. your hand shoots out for him when he moves away.
âstay,â you whisper.
âi have to shower, sweetheart. iâm disgusting.â
âdonât care,â you slur. âwanna smell you.â
something in his chest squeezes. â5 minutes, yeah?â
you make a vague sound, somewhere between a yes and a snore.Â
he showers fast, rinsing the smell of recycled air off him. when he comes back, youâre still in exactly the same position, sweet, defencdeless, and completely his. he crawls into bed next to you, pulling your back against hsi chest. you make a pleased sound.
âi love you,â he breathes into your hair, and heâs never meant anything more in his life.Â
he wants to tell you more, everything. how lonely it is in those hotel rooms, how the world feels sharper and meaner when youâre not with him, how the thing he wants most isnât the win or the champagne or the cameras but this: you, drooling on him, arms around him, so tired you can barely keep your eyes open but still greedy for his touch. how he could have all of the podiums and the trophies in the world, and how itâd still mean nothing without you.
but he knows youâre about to fall asleep againâhe can feel your breath evening out, your muscles going slackâso instead he swallows the emotion down.
he kisses the crown of your head, then your temple, then your lips. you smile in your sleep, making a little blissed-out noise, and lando thinks: if this is what the rest of my life is, iâll never need anything else.
ęŠ
lando wakes to sunlight spilling through the blinds. your arm is splayed over his chest, your hand has curled loose around his bicep. thereâs a damp spot on his chest where you must have drooled, which makes him smile.
heâs always felt a little sick with how much he loves you. it gnaws at his insides, the affection. sometimes he thinks about you as a childâphotos of you with fat cheeks and scraped knees, the stories you tell about getting locked out of the house by your older brother. he gets obsessed with the idea of having known you then. he wants to peel back the years and wrap his arms around every version of you, keep you safe and soft and protected, make sure nothing ever bruises you except the things he can kiss better.
he moves a fraction, and you grunt in protest, wiggling closer back into him. thereâs something almost perverse about how easily you fold into him, no friction at all, only this puddling collapse. its like your bones have liquefied in the night. an hour ticks by and evebtually, you shift, eyelids fluttering.Â
âlando,â you mumble, and then, âlando, donât let me go.â
he squeezes you and you nestle in. youâve always been the coldest human alive, and in winter you use him like a hot water bottle. he lets you, likes it even, how you shove your iceblock feet between his legs.Â
eventually, you begin to stir. it starts with a hand at his waist, searching for him under the sheets. he rolls you to face him, and you blink up at him, dazed in the blue morning light. your hairâs a disaster, and your face is creased from the pillow. he wants to bite you, a little, just to see what youâd do.
you reach for him again, pulling his arm across your chest so his hand lands on your tits. you sigh, content, and itâs so obvious what you want that he has to laugh.
âmissed me that much, huh?â he teases, but you donât rise to the bait. you just push your tits into his palm and shiver, like youâre cold, like you canât get enough of him. he obliges, thumb brushing over your nipple until itâs hard and youâre making those tiny whimpering sounds he loves.
âlando,â you whisper, drawn out and needy. heâs been waiting weeks to hear you like this.
he kisses you, slow and deep, licks into your mouth until you go slack. you melt, your body going boneless under his touch. he takes his time, kissing you like youâre oxygen. your tongue is lazy, letting him do what he wants, and he doesâtilting your head, biting your lip, sucking your tongue until you moan into his mouth.
you whine when he pulls away, hands chasing him in effort to keep him close. he loves thatâloves how you go floaty and dumb for him, how your only thought is how to get him closer.
he kisses your jaw, your throat, then slides down to lift your top, taking your nipple in his mouth. you arch, pulling him closer.
âgreedy,â he laughs, low in his chest, and you only nod, lost to the sensation. he traces down your ribs, his hand spanning your waist, thumbs hooking into the band of your shorts. you buck up, hips chasing his touch, and heâs so hard it almost hurts, his cock pressed against your thigh.
âyou want me?â he murmurs, and heâs a little mean about it because you always say yes, but this time youâre so gone you canât even speak. you just nod, eyes wide and unfocused, mouth open, panting. he slides his hand down, cups your pussy over the fabric, and you whimper. he can feel the heat leaking through cotton.
âso wet, baby,â he coos, smug, and rubs slow circles through your shorts until youâre grinding desperate against his hand. he wants to see you, wants to fuck you until you canât walk, but more than anything he wants you to just let go, let him do everything for you.Â
he slides his palms under the fabric and squeezes your ass. you grind down, making his cock twitch.
âjesus, youâre needy,â he murmurs, almost reverent.
you only make a broken, whimpery sound. he flips you, easy as tossing a pillow, and you let yourself be manhandled. he wants to laugh again, at how much you love being small, how much you love being handled, but it would ruin the spell. your eyes flutter shut, maybe with exhaustion, maybe with pleasure.
âyou awake?â lando asks softly, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose.
ââm awake,â you slur, your expression caught between bliss and confusion. âmissed you so much.â
âdid you now?â he traces the line of your jaw with his tongue, nipping at your earlobe.
âmm. missed you. missed your cock,â you mumble, almost too quiet to hear.
he freezes, then pulls back to look at you. youâre blushing, but smiling, all the same.
âgreedy,â he tuts, but the word is thick with lust.
âplease?â you manage, and the word is so pathetic, so honest, he has no choice but to oblige you.Â
he peels your shorts down, and you try to help, barely, lifting your hips just enough for him to slide them off. your cunt is glistening, wet and puffy. he touches you gently, running his fingers over your clit, and you choke out a moan, clutching at his arm.
he shushes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. âiâve got you, sweetheart. just relax.â
âinside?â you look up at him, eyes wide and trusting. âlando, inside, please?â
and fuck, that voice. what else can he do but give you what you are so sweetly begging him for?
he peels off his boxers and lines himself up, presing the head of his cock against you and pushing in slow, savouring every inch of it. you gasp, back arching, hands grabbing for his arms, his shoulders, anything to anchor yourself.Â
âokay?â he asks, even though youâre already nodding, already grinding back onto him.
âfeel so good,â your voice is slow, like you canât concentrate on all the sensations at once.
he pulls out, thrusts back in, slow and shallow, and watches you come apart under him. you keep making these soft, kittenish sounds, keep scratching shallow lines down his back. he wants to fuck you harder, wants to pin you down and make you scream, but he knows thatâs not what you need.
âpretty girl,â he praises, âyouâre so fucking pretty. my good girl.â
âplease,â you breathe. youâre almost crying, you donât even know what youâre begging for.Â
he leans down, mouth at your ear, âyou can cum, sweetheart. want you to.â
you do, eyes screwed shut and panting, cunt fluttering around his cock. then you melt, arms falling away. you blink up at him, dazed and grateful, a tiny smile pulling at your lips.
ââs good,â you mumble, then yawn, already half-asleep again.
heâs hasnât finished, but he doesnât care. he stays inside, just holding you, more for you than to chase his own pleasure. he thinks about just thrusting back inside you so he can cumâitâd be so quick, so easyâbut looking at you, sated and sleepy, he knows he can't ruin that.
you whimper when he tries to pull out, arms and legs locking around him, trapping him inside.
âokay,â he laughs, breathless, so full of love he could burst, âokay, baby. iâll stay.â
you sigh, content, and in minutes youâre asleep again, still clutching him. he stays inside you, uncomfortably hard, the heat of your cunt making his head swim, but heâs never been so happy.
heâs stuck there, buried in you, and it feels like the only place in the world heâs supposed to be. the room is warm and light, and lando thinks he might die here, in this bed, in this moment, and be happy forever.
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dadâs best friend au | part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5
pairing: lando norris x fem!reader (no y/n)
warnings: age gap (19 and late 30s), power imbalance, forbidden relationship, nsfw 18+
wc: 4.8k
summary: Heâs too old to be thinking about this.
Thatâs what Lando tells himself for the third time in as many days. The house creaks around himâsame one he used to crash in after football matches, same smell of cedar and laundry detergent, same damn hallway where he once taught you to ride a skateboard.
Except now, youâre not nine years old with scabby knees and a missing tooth.
Youâre nineteen. Home for the summer. And youâve ruined him.
He knows itâs wrong.
Knows that when your dad asked him to stay for a few weeks while the leak in his flat got fixed, he shouldâve said no. Shouldâve booked a hotel.
But he didnât.
ale's note: nothing too explicit in this part. i understand this dynamic and age gap can make people uncomfortable, please donât read if it does! there is also a switch in tense, it is intentional :)
THE LEAK STARTED SMALL. A fat, lazy drop rolling off the ceiling corner and splattering onto the kitchen tiles. Lando noticed it one morning standing barefoot at the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. He frowned up at the stain spreading across the plaster, an ugly bloom of brown in the white, and thought about ignoring it.
But the second drop came quicker. Then a third. By the time he put his mug in the sink, there was a steady, rhythmic tapping, water darkening the grout line between the tiles.
He swore under his breath. Summer storms in London had been brutal that year, humid days cracking open into violent downpours at night. His flat had held out fine until now, but when he climbed onto a chair to press his palm against the ceiling, the plaster felt soft, swollen like skin around a wound.
Within an hour, there were buckets scattered across the kitchen floor. One under the main leak, another catching the stubborn drip that had snuck down near the fridge. Every sound in the flat seemed to echo, the hollow plink, plink, plink of water hitting plastic, the buzz of his phone on the counter.
The plumber had taken one look, sucked his teeth, and told him what he already feared: it would take weeks, maybe longer. Temporary fixes werenât worth it. Heaps of black mould. Better find somewhere else to stay, mate.
And so he did.
He didnât want to call anyone. Didnât want to deal with landlords or repairs or the hassle of being shuffled into some temporary stay. His head was still fogged from last nightâs drinking, his body bone-tired in a way that sleep didnât seem to fix anymore.
So he scrolled through his contacts instead, most of his mates apologetically telling him they were on holidays. They all had their lives sorted: wife, house, kids, the works. His thumb paused on one of his best matesâJamesâa friend from childhood, one he hadn't seen in years. He called.
âMate,â came the voice, warm and familiar, a half-laugh folded into the syllables. âHavenât heard from you in months. Whatâs up?â
Lando rubbed his temple, staring at the water sliding down the bucketâs side. âGot a leak. Ceilingâs fucked. I can't stay here.â
There was a pause. Then, casual as anything, âCome here. Guest roomâs empty.â
âYeah?â
âYeah, course. Stay as long as you need. Havenât seen your face in years now.â
It was true, itâd be nice to see James, and of course, his daughter. You. The last time heâd seen you, you were nine maybeâsweet, cheeky, and following him around like a lost little lamb.
âCheers, mate.â
It made sense. A couple of weeks, max. Somewhere quiet, tucked away on the edge of the countryside where the air tasted different, softer somehow, like damp earth and sun-warmed hedgerows. Heâd stayed there heaps before. Back when things were simpler. When James and his ex-wife were still together, and the bustle and stress of life hadnât sent their friends separate ways. Back when summer meant barbecue smoke and beers on the back step, music humming low through open windows.
He wasnât expecting trouble. Wasnât expecting anything but a bed that didnât have a water stain blooming above it.
The drive out was long and hot, roads shimmering under the afternoon sun. He pulled up to the house with his arm resting out the window, sunglasses biting the bridge of his nose, sweat threading lazy down his spine beneath the cotton of his shirt. The place looked the same as it always didâwhitewashed brick catching the light, roses curling around the porch, that crooked wooden gate that had never hung straight. It hit him with a wave of something he couldnât quite name. Nostalgia, maybe. The past reaching out in warm fingers to hook him by the throat.
He cut the engine, slung the door open, and stretched until his joints cracked. The house was quiet from here. No sign of James. Probably still at work. He grabbed his duffle from the boot, heavy against his shoulder, and headed up the gravel path, stones crunching under his boots.
ęŠ
The house smells the same.
Thatâs the first thing he notices when the door clicks shut behind himâJames must have left it unlockedâthe scent rolling in soft and familiar, like something pulled straight out of a drawer he hadnât opened in years. Cedar polish and laundry detergent. The faint ghost of dish soap, something warm lingering in the air like an oven switched off hours ago. It hits him in the chest before heâs ready, drags a memory up by the roots: long afternoons when he was in his twenties, dropping his boots by the door after a football match, cooing at you wrapped in a swaddle, sprawling on this very couch with a can of Coke sweating in his hand while voices laughed in the kitchen.
The same hallway stretches ahead, low ceiling, beige carpet worn thin in the same places. The same scuff marks on the skirting board from when your Barbie Jeep used to batter every corner. He swallows hard and adjusts the strap of his duffle, forcing his shoulders to loosen. No reason to feel weird. Itâs just a house. Just a couple weeks crashing here while his flat gets patched up.
Thereâs a framed photo in the guest room, the one from years ago. The three of them in the garden, sun glaring so bright it makes him squint in the picture. Youâre in the middle, all elbows and pigtails, front tooth missing. He can still hear your voice in that high, excited pitch. Lan! Lan, push me higher! The little girl who climbed everything and begged him for piggybacks, who kicked his shins when he wouldnât let you win at Monopoly.
He dumps his duffle by the bed, heading back to the kitchen to help himself to a drink when something glints at the corner of his vision, a ripple of light, fractured and bright, bending across the walls like liquid silver. Water. A pool.
Heâd forgotten they put one in.
He drifts toward it like a moth, slow, unsure, until the hallway yawns open into sunlight... and stops dead.
Christ.
For a beatâjust a breathâhe doesnât know what heâs seeing. His brain stutters, skips like a warped record. Because thereâs a girl out there, stretched on a lounger by the pool, the kind of sight that shouldnât exist in daylight.
All he registers, at first, is limbs. Bare, bronzed, slick with oil that catches and holds the sun like molten gold. Her bikini is red, or something close to it, and itâs not a bikini so much as a question: two triangles and a whisper of string, tied in neat little bows that look like theyâre begging to be undone. One leg is bent, knee cocked, the other trailing lazy fingers through the water. Her headâs tipped back, eyes closed, throat a gold, gleaming column.
Something hooks low and hard in his gut before he can stop it, and itâs pure, filthy instinct. One of his mateâs new girls, maybe? Wouldnât be the first time. His best mate hadnât mentioned a girlfriend, but hell, he wouldnât blame him if heâd kept this one quiet. The bloke has a typeâwild, too-hot-for-their-own-goodâand this one looks like she was carved straight out of every bad decision Landoâs ever made at 3 a.m.
The thought crawls through him like heatstroke, and for a half-second, he lets it happen. Lets his eyes trace the soft sweep of her hip, the faint shadow between her tits where the bikini barely holds. Lets his mind flicker to how easy those strings would come loose, how quick sheâd probably let him.Â
And itâs easy how his brain misfires, supplying the wrong label, tells him this was one of Jamesâ new girlfriends, maybe one of those summer flings they joked about over beers. Because the body in front of him doesnât fit the file he had stored away. All bronzed skin and sharp hipbones, water beading across her stomach, a bikini top that looks two sizes too small, strings biting into flesh like theyâd been tied deliberately to tease.
Lando feels a grin tug slow and mean at his mouth before he can stop it, the beginning of some flirty quip curling on his tongue. His eyes trace the line of her leg, all the way up to where the scrap of her bikini bites into the soft dip of her hip. Christ, those legsâ
She moves. Rolls onto her side, head tilting toward him, and thatâs when the world tilts too.
Because he knows that face. Knows it like a brand burned into memory.
Itâs you.
For one shattering second, everything inside him seizes up, sharp and wrong and molten all at once.
No. No, no, no.
But it is. Itâs you. Except not.
Because you arenât nine anymore. Not the kid with sunburn peeling off her nose, not the gap-tooth smile and the hair that always smelt faintly of chlorine and strawberry shampoo. Not the little girl who used to climb onto his back screaming faster! as he tore through sprinklers in the garden, who begged him to teach her a kickflip and squealed when he let her hold the controller during late-night FIFA sessions. The kid who trailed them everywhere in summers past, a tiny shadow who couldnât pronounce half her words, who squealed the first time he said fuck and then used it for a week straight because heâd taught her.
Youâre nineteen.
And Jesus Christ, you look it.
He sees your eyes go wide for half a beat, then your whole face splits into a grin, bright and unguarded, that same grin from the photo in the hallway, only sharper now, more dangerous because it sits on a mouth he canât stop staring at.
âLando?â Your voice is all summer, warm, golden, wrapped in disbelief.
He doesnât answer. Canât. Heâs rooted to the spot, every muscle screaming move while his blood roars in his ears like surf. His body doesnât get the memo. It tightens all at once, heat flooding low and mean, the kind that feels like a bruise blooming under the skin. He drags his gaze away before you can catch it, fingers curling hard around the edge of the counter like that might anchor him. He is not getting a stiffy right now.
You sit up, he catches the curve of your waist, the flat plane of your stomach, the cut of the bikini bottoms riding so far up your hips it should be illegal.
He canât speak. Canât move. His throat feels sandpaper-dry, and every muscle in his body is screaming two things at once: Get out. Get closer.
Then youâre rising from the lounger, water slipping down your skin in beads that catch the light like diamonds, trickling from the wet ends of your hair to the curve of your spine. And when you bound forward, barefoot and laughing, he thinks he might actually black out, feels something hot punch through his ribcage and settle low, ugly and undeniable.
âOh my god, Lando!â Youâre close now, so close he can see the freckles scattered across your nose, the sunlight tangled in your lashes. Your arms go around his neck before he can stop it, body slick and hot against his shirt, pressing to every inch of him like some fever-dream he never asked for.
His hands hoverâawkward, trembling, suspended in no-manâs-land between decency and disasterâthen land hesitant, one splayed awkwardly at the small of your back where the bikini dipped into nothing but a triangle of wet fabric doing nothing to hide the swell of your ass.
He feels everything in that split second: the heat of you, the softness, the way your breath ghosts his jaw when you say his name again, laughing like this is the easiest thing in the world. Like you have no idea what you're doing to him.Â
And God help him, Lando hugs you back.
Just for a second. And thatâs it. Thatâs the moment he knows heâs fucked. Because as he awkwardly tries to keep his arms in respectful places, heat floods every nerve, something primal and wrong digging its claws in deep.
He drags his eyes up, forces them to your face, but it doesnât help. Not when the image of your body is burned into him like an afterimage from staring at the sun too long.
ęŠ
Your arms are tight around his neck, wet skin sticking to cotton, hair dripping against his jaw. Lando breathes you in before he can stop himself, chlorine and coconut oil, a thin edge of something sweet like mango. Your body presses to him all warm and bare, and for one horrifying second, his mind goes black except for the sensation of soft curves where there shouldnât be any, not in this catalogued version of you that he remembers.Â
And youâre hugging him like it means nothing. Like theyâre still what they were ten years ago. Then you pull back, still grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. That smile should save him. It doesnât. It makes it worse. Because itâs yours, but it isnât. Your mouth curves the same way it did when you were seven and he bought you sherbet at the corner shop, but now your lips are fuller, teeth whiter, skin sun-glossed and flushed from heat.
âJesus, kidââ The word rips out of him like a reflex, rough, almost a growl, his throat scraped raw by heat and disbelief. He says it because he has to. Because itâs a rope he can cling to while the ground gives way. Kid. Kid. Thatâs all she is. Thatâs all she can be.
You lean back, arms sliding off his neck, and for the first time in years, he sees you up close. Sees you properly. And the air goes out of him like a punch to the ribs.
Itâs in the face firstâfamiliar and not, a memory rewritten. Same freckles across the bridge of your nose, same grin that used to split wide when he bought you ice cream, only now itâs curved, sharp-edged. Still soft, yeah, but everything else is pure woman: the long lines of your legs glistening under the sun, the bikini top straining over perky tits he has no business noticing, the narrow waist and the hipbones jutting sharp above the scrap of red fabric. Water sliding in slow beads down your stomach, gleaming where oil catches light. He drags his gaze up before it burns him alive, locking on your eyesâbig, dark, so open it hurts.
You don't notice. Or if you do, you don't care. You're too busy talking, words pouring out in a rush: how youâre home for the summer before uni, how you went travelling for a year, how weird it is seeing him after so long. Your hands gesture wide, water flicking off your fingertips like diamonds, and he stands there mute, his brain tripping over itself just to keep up.
âYou lookââ His voice fractures. He swallows, drags it back, rough and low. ââdifferent.â
Smooth, Norris. Fucking hell.
You laugh, bright and breathless. âYeah, well, itâs been forever.âÂ
Forever. Nine years, maybe ten. You were whatânine the last time he saw you? And nowâ
Christ.
âYouâre⌠tall,â he manages, because itâs safe, and because if he opens his mouth for anything else, something filthy might spill out.
âYeah?â You giggle like he said something funny, and take a step back, finallyâthank Godâbut only to perch on the edge of the lounger, legs crossed at the knee, droplets sliding down your calves to darken the concrete. He clears his throat, drags a hand through his hair, tries to shake the image burned into his retinas. Tries to focus on anything elseâthe cracked tile by the pool, the faint whine of bees over the garden wall, the creak of the old porch swing. Anything but the way your stomach tightens when you laugh, the sharp little gleam of a hipbone against slick skin.
âWhenâd you⌠get back?â His voice is steady. Miraculously.
âLast week.â You tilt your face to the sun, lashes catching light. âSchoolâs over. Thought Iâd come home for the summer before uni.â
Uni. The word slams into him like cold water. Youâre barely out of school. Barely grown. And yet...
âThatâs⌠good,â Lando says, because thereâs nothing else. His tongue feels thick, his head too hot. âYour dad around?â
You shake your head. âHeâs at work. Wonât be back till late. You hungry?â
Hungry. Christ. The word coils low in his gut, ugly and molten, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek until he tastes iron.
âNo,â he says too fast, too sharp. Then, softer: âIâm good.â
You hum, easy, like you havenât noticed the war going on inside his skull. Like you have no idea youâre standing there in a bikini that looks painted on, legs stretched out under the sun like something obscene. How wrong it is. How disgusting he is.
You nod at him to come inside, turning toward the house, hips swaying in that unthinking, unconscious way that makes his pulse hammer against his throat. The ties at the back of your bikini swing loose, ends flicking like a dare. He forces his eyes up, up to the mess of your wet hair, the curve of your smile as you glance back and says, âYou coming, or you just gonna stand there melting?â
He follows like an idiot, because what else can he do? Your voice winds around him, lazy and bright. He catches fragments: so hot today⌠been trying to tan⌠lucky I didnât go topless todayâŚ
That last part makes his throat seize. You say it like a joke, but his eyes betray him, flicking to the tiny red straps biting into your oiled skin, the bow at your hip that looks like it would come loose if you breathed too hard. He looks away so fast his neck clicks.
âYou want a drink?â you ask suddenly, flashing him a grin over your shoulder. âThereâs iced tea in the fridge. Or beer if you want one.â
Beer sounds like the worst idea in the world. He nods anyway.
ęŠ
The heat hasnât let up by late afternoon; if anything, the air feels thicker, like someone wrung the clouds dry and left only humidity behind. His shirt is sticking to his back where it clings damp against his skin, but he hasnât bothered changing it yet. Youâre leaning on the island table, now that theyâve migrated to the kitchen, still in that scrap of a bikini, towel draped loosely over your shoulders like an afterthought.
Lando stands opposite you, a beer in his hand. He watches you talkâGod, do you talkâlike the silence of ten years bottled up and now youâve unscrewed the lid and let it all fizz out in one breathless rush.
âSo then I told Dad, like, if I have to do law just because everyone else is doing it, Iâll die, right? But mech eng, thatâsâlike, something I like, you know? I wanna do automotive engineering. You and Dad used to let me help work on your cars, remember?â You laugh, bright and girlish, and toss wet hair over your shoulder.Â
âYeah,â he says slowly, taking a swallow of beer to keep his mouth from going dry. âYou were bossy as hell about it, though. Always had an opinion.â
You grin at that, wide and easy. âStill do.âÂ
âYouâre quiet,â you say suddenly, peeking at him from under dark lashes. âYou used to talk more than me.â
âUsed to,â he says, voice rougher than he intends. He clears it, adds, âGuess you grew into it.â
You tilt your head, studying him like heâs some puzzle you used to know the answer to. âGuess so.â A beat, and then, softly, âYou still call me kid.â
He smirks, forces a shrug. âBecause you are one.â
You wrinkle your nose, playful, almost wounded. âIâm nineteen.â
âNineteenâs nothing,â he says before he can stop himself, and instantly regrets the way it sounds. Too sharp. Too loaded. Your brows lift slightly, curiosity pricking in your eyes.
âNot nothing to me,â you murmur, and then, with a quick laugh, launch into another tangent: cars this time, this one youâre saving up for, how you crashed yours into a ditch when you were drunk. He lets your words wash over him, nodding when required, laughing when you expect him to, all the while acutely aware of the evening pressing closer, of the birds fussing in the trees like they know something he doesnât.
ęŠ
The sun had softened by the time they end up in the shade of the back veranda, a lingering honey-glow sliding over the timber deck. The heat of the day still clings to the air, heavy and syrup-thick, but a slight breeze starting to tease the edges of it, stirring the scent of chlorine and cut grass.
Youâve changed out of the bikini, though not by muchâa thin white tank and a pair of tiny denim shorts frayed at the hem. He isnât sure if this is better or worse. Probably worse. Definitely worse.
Lando sits opposite you at the old outdoor table, one elbow hooked over the back of the chair, a beer sweating condensation against his palm. Youâre curled up cross-legged on the bench seat, still talking about the jobs youâre applying for, like you havenât just stepped back into his line of sight after years and detonated every steady assumption heâd had about the world.
âThatâs a lot of options, kid,â he says finally, the word kid heavy in his mouth, like a desperate anchor. Heâs been throwing it out every time he speaks to you, like he can trick his brain into remembering the girl with scraped knees and bubblegum-sticky fingers instead of this version sitting cross-legged in front of him, bare legs glowing warm in the honey light.
You smile when he says it. Of course you do. He wonders if you notice the way he kept using it. Maybe you thought it was just habit.
âI like having options.â You prop your chin in your hand, grin lazy, eyes catching on his. âYou always said Iâd get bored easy.â
âI said that?â He frowns like he doesnât remember, though he does. He remembers saying it while you trailed after him and your dadâs mates down at the river, throwing rocks into the shallows. You couldnât sit still back then. Guess you still canât.
âYep,â you say, popping the âp,â your smile flickering into something softer, nostalgic. âYou also taught me how to swear. Dad loved that.â
Lando smiles, low and rough, rubbing a hand across his jaw. âHe nearly killed me for that.â
âHe did,â you giggle. âWorth it though. My Year 3 teacher was horrified.â
The laugh that tears out of him cracks something, lets some kind of heat rise up from the pit of his stomach he doesnât want to name. He tips back the beer, swallowing, because youâre looking at him like you trust him, like ten years and the awkward gap of growing up hasnât done a thing to carve out the space between them.
And then you ask it. âSo, are you seeing anyone?â
Landoâs throat closes around the sip. He coughs hard, setting the bottle down with a clunk. You just blink at him, head tilted, like youâd asked whether he still drove that old pickup.
âNo,â he says after a beat too long, voice roughened. âWhy?â
âJust wondering,â you grin, teasing but not cruel, and your bare foot nudges his boot under the table without a thought, the same careless touch youâd had as a kid. Every nerve in his leg feels like itâs caught fire at once.
The screen door slides before he can answer.
Your head snaps around, a bright smile blooming. âDad!â
And there it wasâthe reprieve, the slap of reality. James steps out onto the deck, still in work boots, shirt damp at the collar from the dayâs heat. He looks older than the last time theyâd all been in a room togetherâgrayer at the temples, deeper lines cut around his mouthâbut that same easy strength.
âMate,â James smiles warmly, âBeen a while.â
âYeah,â Lando says, standing too quick, dragging his voice into something casual, something steady. âRoofâs a fucking mess, thanks for letting me crash.â
âGood man.â James claps him on the shoulder, solid weight dragging him back into the orbit of responsibility. Come on in. Iâll throw something together.â
You head inside ahead of them, barefoot, tank top clinging in a way that makes Lando fix his eyes anywhere but you.
The kitchen fills with sound as your dad moves around, pans dragged out, garlic crushed, oil heating. The smell blooms warm and familiar. Home.
Lando takes the chair at the table, trying to look like his chest isnât a cage for something restless and sharp, watching while you dart around the kitchen with easy energy.Â
Each time, he catches a whiff of your shampoo, vanillas and something summery like mangoes.Â
âGood to have you back under this roof, mate,â James breaks his thoughts. He turns from the stove, wiping his hands on a tea towel, face split in a grin. âBeen too bloody long. Feels like you never come round anymore.â
Lando forces a smile. âYeah, well. Life, huh? Gets in the way.â
James nods, oblivious, stirring the pan again. âThis oneâs been buzzing all week since I told her you were coming.â
Lando glances up before he can stop himself. Youâre setting plates down, and at your dadâs words, a slight pink rises up your chest, face heating. You shoot Lando a sheepish grin.
âWhat?â you mumble, shrugging. âI was excited.â
His throat gets tight. He drags his eyes back to James.
Dinner itself is a blur. Pasta, salad, the scrape of cutlery against plates. James asks about his life, about old mates they used to kick around with.Â
âSo you still seeing any of those idiots?â James asks, mouth full, already grinning.
Lando snorts. âCouple of âem. Most grew up. Some definitely didnât.â
âShocking,â James says dryly. âI was hoping youâd say they all became respectable.â
âNot a chance.â
He tries to slip into the old rhythm with your dad like no timeâs passed at all. But every time he looks up, youâre looking at him softly, knees tucked onto the chair, fork twirling idly, eyes on him more often than not. Sometimes you grin, sometimes you just⌠watch, lips parted like youâre listening harder than anyone ever has.
You donât know what it does to him. He clings to kid. Calls you it twice during the meal, each time watching you wrinkle your nose.
âKid, pass the salt.â
âCheers, kid.â
Like itâs armour, like it can remind him where the line is.
But the word sounds hollower each time.
After dinner, James pushes back from the table with a satisfied groan. âRight. Iâm knackered. Long day.â
Lando chuckles. âSoft.â
James chuckles, grabbing a beer from the fridge. âSays the bloke whoâs been sitting on his arse all day.â
âOi,â Lando shoots back, smiling despite himself.
James disappears into the lounge, the TV flicking on a second later. You linger in the kitchen, rinsing plates at the sink.
âYou donât have to help,â you say, water splashing your wrists.
âI donât mind,â Lando replies. His voice comes out quieter than he intends.
You bump your hip into his as you pass a dripping plate over. âThanksâ
The contact jolts through him. His eyes catch on the damp hem of your shirt, the way it clings to the curve of you. He swallows hard, forcing a laugh.Â
âDonât stay up too late,â James calls from the lounge, already half-lost to some late night show.
You grin, flicking a drop of water from your fingers onto Landoâs arm. âHear that? Curfew.â
Your eyes sparkle like youâre sharing a private joke, like you want him in on it.
Landoâs mouth goes dry.
âYeah,â he mutters, tugging the dish towel from your hands. âGo on, kid. Iâve got it.â
You linger a second longer, searching his face. âNight, Lando.â
And just like that, you pad off down the hall, bedroom door clicking shut. He wants to follow you in.
Lando stands rooted to the spot, knuckles white around the dish towel. The TV drones in the next room. The house creaks the way it always has.
Youâve always been a rule follower since the day you started primary school. Rules gave you structure, guidance, and a safe blueprint. When a PR nightmare forces you into a fake relationship with your friend and colleague Lando Norris, you immediately build a wall around your heart and disguise it as strict rules written down in a notebook.
It doesnât take long for the lines to blur, leading to a messy tangle of feelings that neither you or Lando can control. It was only meant to be temporary, something to keep Landoâs delicate public persona safe but somewhere along the way, your feelings became real.
Suddenly youâre left trying to figure out how much youâre willing to sacrifice to follow the rules that you insisted on putting into place. You were the one who said that you didnât want to deal with the mess of complicated feelings after all. Unfortunately, falling in love with one of you best friend in inherently messy and it scares you to death.
How long are you going to pretend that getting lost in wonderland was always going to drive both you and Lando mad?Â
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
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