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“Life’s Better on Saturn ” ˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚ (Saturn, SZA)
Synopsis: Y/N Laurant, a glamorous socialite, meets Lando Norris during a race weekend, sparks fly between the two, but as their feelings deepen, they struggle to balance their secret relationship with their public lives, all while navigating the pressure of the fast-paced F1 scene.
Genre: (Some) Angst, Fluff, Romance
AU: Social Media and Written!au
Pairing: Lando x Afab!Socialite!Reader
Warnings: None
Notes: In all honesty, I hate how I’m already rushing out the chapters one by one, but my final semester is about to start and I have work so I probably won’t have the time to update like this soon. 😭
Cruising in Papaya Masterlist. (Prev./Next.)
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laurant.yn busy busy
flavy.barla 💋
— laurant.yn merci ma chérie !! x (thank you my darling)
alexandrasaintmleux si magnifique 😍 (so gorgeous)
— laurant.yn merci ! x
liked by laurant.yn, kimi.antonelli and 687,073 others
lando My tribute to a hero of mine 🇧🇷
Senna is a true legend of our sport and has inspired not only me but every driver who races today. He's the greatest to ever race around Monaco and I wanted to capture that in this helmet. His iconic design combined with mirrored chrome to reflect the streets he was so great on.
The balmy Monaco air carries the scent of the sea as you sit on the terrace of a chic café, the soft hum of luxury cars passing by blending with the chatter of your friends.
The group is animated as always, a mix of socialites who’ve grown up frequenting glamorous events like the Monaco Grand Prix.
They sip their rosé with practiced elegance, their conversation weaving effortlessly between fashion, parties, and—of course—Formula 1.
“I swear, Charles looked straight at me during the paddock walk last year,” one of your friends gushes, flipping her sunglasses onto her head. “He’s even more gorgeous in person.”
“And don’t get me started on the adrenaline during qualifying,” another chimes in. “There’s nothing like it. Y/N, you must be so excited—it’s your first Monaco Grand Prix, isn’t it?”
You glance up from your glass of sparkling water, a soft smile playing on your lips.
“It is,” you admit, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I wasn’t really into F1 before Miami, but I guess I’ve had a change of heart.”
One of your friends narrows her eyes playfully. “A change of heart? Y/N, you practically rolled your eyes every time we brought it up. What happened?”
The group leans in, curiosity piqued, and you hesitate for a moment, trying to choose your words carefully.
“Well... I’ve been getting to know one of the drivers,” you say casually as if it’s not a big deal.
The table erupts into a chorus of gasps and playful shrieks. “Oh my God!” one of them exclaims, practically spilling her drink. “You’ve been holding out on us! Which driver?”
You laugh, trying to downplay the situation. “It’s not like that. We’ve just been talking a bit. I met him in Miami, and we’ve stayed in touch.”
“Stayed in touch?” another friend teases, raising a perfectly sculpted brow. “Y/N, do you realize how impossible it is for anyone to get paddock passes casually unless they’re very well-connected? And or loaded, like us, and you’re telling me you just ‘talked a bit’? Spill.”
You can feel your cheeks warm under their teasing gazes. “Okay, fine,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “Lando invited me. Apparently, I’m one of his ‘special guests’ for the weekend.”
The table explodes in a mix of disbelief and excitement.
“Lando Norris? Are you serious? He’s adorable!” one of them exclaims, while another pulls out her phone to scroll through his Instagram.
“So, that’s why you suddenly care about F1,” someone else teases, her tone light but knowing.
You roll your eyes with a smile. “It’s not like that. He’s... nice, okay? Funny. Easy to talk to.”
“And cute,” another adds, grinning. “Don’t forget cute.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Yes, and cute. But seriously, it’s nothing. He was kind enough to invite me, and I didn’t want to turn down the opportunity to experience Monaco like this. I usually turned you guys down, remember?”
Your friends exchange knowing looks, their smiles mischievous. “Nothing, huh?” one says. “Y/N, you don’t just end up as a ‘special guest’ for no reason. He’s clearly into you.”
You sip your drink, trying to hide your smile.
“Let’s just say I’m keeping an open mind about the whole F1 thing. For now.”
As the conversation shifts back to race predictions and paddock gossip, you glance out at the shimmering Mediterranean, the soft hum of excitement buzzing in the back of your mind.
The weekend hasn’t even started, but something tells you it’s going to be unforgettable.
@MonacoGlamWatch 🚨 Spotted: Y/N Laurant casually strolling through the paddock with her girl squad at the Monaco GP. No PR team in sight, just her and her friends. But why was she later seen in the McLaren garage? 👀
@EliteInsider Y/N Laurant is serving elegance at the Monaco Grand Prix today, but all eyes are on her unexpected appearance in the McLaren garage. No official work, just her and her very fashionable crew. What’s the connection? 🤔
@VelvetScene Y/N Laurant was all smiles in the McLaren garage today, and we’re dying to know why. No cameras, no campaigns—just her and her friends in their chicest outfits. Lando? 👀
@PaddockChic Okay, but why is Y/N Laurant in the McLaren garage with no professional ties and just her friends? She’s not even pretending to hide it. The tea is brewing.
The Monaco paddock buzzes around you like a hive, the air electric with the chatter of fans, media, and the occasional roar of engines.
You stand with your friends near the McLaren garage, their conversation flowing effortlessly about the latest F1 gossip and weekend plans.
“So, Y/N,” one of them teases, tilting her head slyly. “How does it feel to be the paddock’s new It Girl?”
You roll your eyes, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrays your attempt at nonchalance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” another chimes in, nudging you lightly. “But I saw Lando giving you that look earlier. You’re not fooling anyone.”
“Okay, first of all,” you start, but your voice trails off as you notice a McLaren team member motioning subtly in your direction.
“You’re excusing yourself, aren’t you?” one of your friends guesses, her grin wide.
You sigh, smoothing down your outfit. “I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time,” another quips, her smirk far too knowing. “We’ll just be here... observing.”
You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping as you turn and walk toward the motorhome.
Once inside, the hum of the paddock fades into the background, replaced by the cool quiet of the space. You spot Lando almost immediately, leaning casually against the counter, his water bottle in hand.
He’s dressed down compared to the chaos outside—team polo slightly rumpled, sneakers tapping lightly against the floor—but somehow, he looks even more at ease.
“Hey,” he greets, his smile lighting up as he sees you. “Surprised you made it through the crowd in one piece.”
You chuckle, walking over to him. “Barely. It’s chaos out there. I don’t know how you deal with it.”
“Years of practice,” he replies, pushing off the counter and gesturing toward the couch. “Come on, sit. You look like you could use a break.”
You settle onto the plush cushions, smoothing your skirt as he sits across from you.
“So,” he starts, leaning forward slightly, “what do you think of your second paddock experience?”
You tilt your head, considering.
“It’s... overwhelming, but in a good way. The energy here is incredible.”
“And the constant cameras?” he asks, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
You groan, dropping your head back against the couch.
“Don’t even get me started. I’ve never had so many people try to take my picture. It’s like they’re waiting for me to trip or spill coffee or something.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Welcome to my life.”
“Yeah, but you’re used to it,” you counter, sitting up again.
“You’re Lando Norris. People are obsessed with you.”
He shrugs, his grin softening.
“Doesn’t mean it’s not annoying. Especially when they start making stuff up.”
“Tell me about it,” you sigh. “People are already speculating about why I’m here, and it’s barely been a day. Gossip accounts are relentless.”
Lando leans back, his gaze flicking briefly to the window where the paddock chaos is visible.
“They don’t even need a reason. One picture, and suddenly I’m marrying someone I’ve barely spoken to. It’s ridiculous.” You nod, fiddling with the edge of a pillow.
“Or they’re claiming you’ve got some secret feud going on. I can’t even go to lunch without it becoming a thing.”
He grins, leaning in slightly. “Feuds and engagements? You’re really living the high life.”
“You’re impossible.” You laugh, nudging his knee lightly.
“Maybe,” he says, his tone lighter now. “But honestly, it’s nice having you here. Even with all the noise, you make it easier to ignore.”
You glance at him, catching the sincerity in his expression. His blue-green eyes hold yours for a moment, and there’s a warmth there that makes your chest tighten in the best way.
“Thanks,” you say softly. “It’s nice having someone who understands what it’s like.”
He nods, his smile small but genuine. “It’s not easy, but... I think it’s worth it.”
Before you can respond, a faint knock on the door reminds you of the world waiting just outside.
“Looks like our quiet time is up,” you say, standing and smoothing down your outfit.
Lando rises too, his grin returning. “For now. But hey, maybe we’ll give them something to really talk about.”
You laugh, shaking your head as you open the door, the noise of the paddock rushing back in. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love it,” he teases, his voice light but his gaze lingering on you a little longer than necessary.
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laurant.yn monaco with a twist
iamrebeccad 😍
lettiemng obsessedd
littlefoxhermes i smell a new motorsport fan
The low hum of the McLaren 720S fills the quiet Monaco streets, its sleek curves illuminated by the city’s golden glow.
Lando waits outside your building, casually leaning against the car, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other fiddling with his phone. When he looks up and sees you, a soft smile spreads across his face.
“Hey,” he greets, his voice warm. “Hope I didn’t pull you away from anything important.”
You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“Not at all. Midnight drives with F1 drivers aren’t exactly a regular thing for me, though.”
He chuckles, opening the passenger door for you. “Well, let’s change that.”
You slide into the car, the luxurious leather seats cradling you as he closes the door and rounds to the driver’s side. The engine purrs to life, the sound deep and resonant.
As he pulls out onto the winding roads, the city stretches out below you, the harbor glittering like a sea of stars.
For a while, neither of you speaks, content to let the drive and the scenery fill the silence. But eventually, Lando breaks it.
“So,” he begins, glancing over at you briefly before focusing back on the road. “How are you feeling about all... this?”
You furrow your brows, though his tone makes it clear he doesn’t mean the drive. “About what, exactly?”
“Us,” he says simply, the word hanging in the air between you. “Whatever this is.”
You lean back in your seat, your gaze drifting to the passing lights.
“Honestly? I don’t know yet. It’s... different. But not in a bad way.”
“Different is good,” he agrees, his voice thoughtful.
“I just—” He pauses, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “I don’t want to rush this. Or put unnecessary pressure on it.”
You turn to look at him, your expression softening. “Me neither. I think... it’s okay to take our time. To figure out what this is without trying to label it right away.”
He nods, his lips curving into a small, appreciative smile.
“Exactly. I like spending time with you. A lot. But the media, the expectations—it can mess with things if we let it.”
“Then we don’t let it,” you say simply. “We keep it between us, no labels, no pressure. Just... whatever feels right.”
He glances at you again, his gaze lingering this time. “You’re surprisingly good at making things simple.”
“Maybe it’s you who complicates things, Norris.” You laugh softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
He grins, the tension in the car easing. “Touché.”
The car slows as he pulls into a quiet overlook, the harbor stretching out below like a postcard. He parks and leans back, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel as he looks at you.
“For the record,” he says, his tone light but sincere, “I like this. Whatever it is. I want to see where it goes.”
You smile, warmth spreading through you at his words. “Me too.”
For a moment, the world outside the car fades away, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble. No cameras, no fans, no expectations—just a boy and a girl, exploring something new and uncharted.
“Alright,” he says finally, starting the engine again. “No labels, no drama. Just us.”
“Just us,” you echo, leaning back in your seat as the car glides back onto the road.
The drive continues, the conversation light but tinged with the promise of something deeper. Neither of you knows exactly where this road will lead, but for now, the journey feels enough.
Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Oscar x reader to celebrate his birthday, it's based on the song: Too sweet – Hozier :)
If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.
Monaco had always made her feel like a ghost—gliding between marble walls and clinking glasses, invisible in a city where the loudest ones always won. But this year, it felt different. This year, Oscar Piastri wouldn’t stop looking at her.
He had that soft kind of charm she never trusted. Polite to the waiters, thoughtful with his words, always offering help like the world hadn't hardened him yet. Like he hadn’t learned that people will take every ounce of kindness and leave you with nothing but a bitter taste in your mouth.
She noticed him the second he stepped into the party—neatly dressed, curls slightly tousled, smiling like he still believed good things came to good people. Rookie. And not just in Formula 1.
She lit a cigarette she wouldn’t finish and leaned back against the balcony, letting the smoke curl between them like a warning sign.
He walked up to her like he didn’t know better.
“Hi,” he said, unsure but holding her gaze. “I’m Oscar.”
“I know who you are,” she replied coolly, not even looking at him. “You’re the one who keeps staring.”
He chuckled, cheeks flushing. “You noticed?”
“I notice everything.”
That should’ve sent him away. It always did.
But Oscar wasn’t like the others. He didn’t flinch at sharp words. He leaned into them, curious. Like a boy poking at a sleeping dog, wondering if it would bite.
And maybe that’s why she bit.
“Don’t waste your time,” she said, crushing the cigarette against the railing. “You’re too sweet for me.”
He tilted his head. “What does that mean?”
“It means I drink my whiskey neat, my coffee black, and I don’t make space in my bed until three in the morning, if at all. You? You probably still say thank you to airport security.”
He laughed. “Is that a bad thing?”
“It is when you’re trying to chase someone like me.”
He didn’t stop. Not in Monaco, not in Italy, not in Singapore when they ended up in the same hotel bar and he sat beside her without asking.
“You never smile,” he said, sipping something non-alcoholic like a sin. “Do you even like racing?”
“I like the solitude,” she answered. “The silence in the helmet. The hum of the engine at night when no one’s watching. Everything else is noise.”
He nodded, thoughtful, then asked, “Do you ever let anyone in?”
She looked at him, really looked. His eyes were a little too soft for the paddock. He was the kind of person who still believed in slow mornings and shared milkshakes and people keeping their promises.
And somehow, he was the only one she’d let sit next to her this long.
“Why are you here, Oscar?”
“I like the way you talk,” he admitted. “You’re... real.”
She laughed, once—dry and humorless. “You don’t know a thing about me.”
“Maybe not,” he said, “but I want to.”
He showed up at her door in Austin with a coffee. Black, no sugar.
“I remembered,” he said, grinning.
She took it, sipping cautiously. “You’re persistent.”
“You’re worth it.”
Those words clung to her like smoke—uninvited, intoxicating, dangerous. Because maybe, deep down, she’d started to wait for him too. Started to notice when he wasn’t there. Wondered what it meant that someone so light wanted to step into her shadows willingly.
But the truth always came back to her around 3 a.m., when the world was quiet, and the whiskey hit just right—she didn’t know how to love gently. She didn’t know how to hold something without breaking it.
The night it almost happened, they were in her apartment in London. Rain on the windows, vinyl playing softly in the background. He was sitting on her couch, shoeless, relaxed. Too at home.
She stood by the kitchen, drink in hand, trying to find a reason not to cross the room and ruin him.
“You’re not scared of me,” she said, more to herself than him.
“I don’t think there’s anything scary about you.”
“That’s the problem,” she whispered.
He looked at her, his expression open, patient. “You don’t have to be anything for me, you know. Not softer, not sweeter. Just... you.”
She closed her eyes. It would’ve been easier if he were like the others. If he wanted to tame her, or change her. If he wanted to conquer her instead of understand her.
But he didn’t.
And she still couldn’t let him in.
“I’m not the sunrise kind,” she said, voice cracking. “I’m the 3 a.m. storm. The bonfire you shouldn’t stand too close to. I’ll leave you smelling like smoke and regretting everything.”
He stood, walked over, close enough to touch. But he didn’t. He waited.
“I don’t regret anything,” he said softly.
“I do,” she replied, stepping back.
He nodded. And that time, he really did leave.
She saw him on the podium weeks later, champagne dripping from his curls, eyes scanning the crowd like he hoped she’d be there.
She was. Hidden in the back. Hands in her coat pockets. Watching.
And maybe one day she’d change. Maybe one day, she’d figure out how to let something sweet stay without souring it.
But for now, she still took her whiskey neat, her coffee black, and her bed at three.
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.
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So, I did another one. The 2025 F1 Season Beginner's Guide. Genuinely honoured that a few people requested it and sorry for all the mistakes I've missed. Please enjoy the many recycled jokes from last year and the 2025 exclusive slide "Paddock Pets".
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.
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