#formula 1

[brainrotism]

[ayaalanqar10]

My son Adam, only three years old, is hungry😭😭

[siryellowpurplehelmet]

[valyrfia]

[housepartyprotocol]

Von Dutch

Oscar Piastri x Popstar!reader

Summary: Oscar Piastri has managed to bag a chaotic pop queen and no one understands how or why they work

(a/n: reader is based on the artist Charli XCX and her style of music, but of course it's only a face claim and feel free to picture yourself ! xx)

Masterlist / TipJar

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen, troyesivan, and 432,362 others

ynusername Are you jealous of me?

view all 1,952 comments

user BRAT

oscarpiastri I am so goddamn jealous of you(r partner)

ynusername Yeah he is fucking hot af oscarpiastri Goddamn it landonorris You two are so strange ynusername Petty man says what? oscarpiastri Damm right babe landonorris Ew

user How the fuck did Oscar Piastri pull that??

user She's so out of his league user But isn't Oscar also hot?! ynusername GODDAMN HE IS

user Queen of pop

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, landonorris, alexalbon, and 189,974 others

oscarpiastri Isn't my view stunning

view all 381 comments

user Oscar = calm and chill, the girl he is dating = chaotic and messy

user As long as they work together user How though, how do they work like they do user Balance?

landonorris Can I share your view?

oscarpiastri I will brake check you so hard landonorris Woahhh calm down oscarpiastri Back off from my woman ynusername That's right, get him baby! oscarpiastri GRRRRR landonorris .... wackos

user I would say someone is in it for the money

user but they both rich AF

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, troyesivan, landonorris, and 589,522 others

ynusername When you fuck me it's crazy (sorry oscar)

view all 3,630 comments

troyesivan Sorry Oscar!

ynusername Sorry Oscar! oscarpiastri Make it up to me? ynusername I'm running over rn

user I want what her and Oscar have badly

user they are parents

oscarpiastri WOOF

ynusername WOOOF landonorris WOOF oscarpiastri Did you learn nothing?? landonorris Just love to push your buttons mate

user shes so pretty!!

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, ynusername, alexalbon, 245,986 others

oscarpiastri Great weekend. Thank you for the team and my therapist for getting me through this!

view all 205 comments

landonorris I think having a relationship with your therapist is unethical

oscarpiastri Screw it, she is hot ynusername Therapy session tonight? landonorris Couples therapy for Oscar and I? ynusername Only offer 1-1 sessions soz landonorris May have to schedule one of those oscarpiastri Open your door right now landonorris AH

user GOd I want Y/N as my therapist

user Congrats Oscar!!

user Also congrats on the win ha

ynusername Well done baby!!

oscarpiastri Thanksss babyyy

oscarpiastri Reward soon? ynusername No patience, of course ;) user So strange liked by ynusername

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, troyesivan, lorde, landonorris, and 485,362 others

ynusername Wish the rain was my mans sweat (wtf..)

view all 632 comments

user She is so unhinged omg

user OSCARS BACK? good on you girl

oscarpiastri I don't sweat THAT much

ynusername You could collect it? oscarpiastri Deal user They are so gross omg user Has a demon or something infected Oscar?? landonorris He has always been like this, it's now just public info liked by ynusername

user same girl same

user Hottest couple on Earth

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, landonorris, alexalbon, and 198,255 others

oscarpiastri Pre dinner, at dinner, post dinner

view all 184 comments

user They are so real omg

ynusername You didn't post the one of me in my dinner dress

oscarpiastri Becuase you are sneezing in every one ynusername SO? am i not hot when i sneeze oscarpiastri You are baby, but the internet doesnt need to see that ynusername sure sure

landonorris why did you even bother going to a nice place when everyone knew you were going to end up in an in-and-out

oscarpiastri *in-n-out landonorris piss off ynusername <3

user I want these two as my parents, I can be a child

user I can be a dog!

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, troyesivan, gracieabrams, landonorris and 756,352 others

ynusername brat era is never dying (thank you to my bby)

view all 325 comments

oscarpiastri hot mama omg

oscarpiastri drooling oscarpiastri barking ynusername down boy ;)

user oh shes so inlove

landonorris i'll see you at your wedding

oscarpiastri I've not even proposed yet landonorris dude, give it like a month oscarpiastri true ynusername what? oscarpiastri you will still be surprised don't worry ynusername can't wait ;)

user brat never dies

(a/n this one wasnt too long but so much fun to write oscar in an unhinged manner and having the brat album on while writing was so perfect lol)

[saudianna]

Oscar smut where everyone thinks him and his girlfriend are sweet and vanilla but they’re absolutely filthy and either someone walks in on them or Oscar accidentally sends a sex tape to a grid group 🙂‍↕️

exposed

p in v | smut | mirror sex | filming kink | sex tape | bent over | ass eating (fem) | oral (fem) | fingering (fem) | ass fingering?? (also fem..) | super cutie aftercare | slight exhibition kink?? | hair pulling

the hotel room is dimly lit. he’s showered, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips— v-line visible and his slutty waist sweaty. his post race winning smirk plastered on his face.

you’re curled up on the bed, short lacy slip on, legs bare, your hearts already pounding because you know that look. you’re about to get fucked silly.

he’s walking up to you, hands in pockets, eyes raking over your bare thighs and smirking.

“wore my team shirt today huh?” he says quietly.

you nod.

“looked so good baby.”

“put it back on.” he carries on.

you blink, confused. “now?”

“yeah,”

he murmurs, slowly sitting on the bed and sliding his hands up and down you with such gentleness it almost made you feel a false sense of security, like he wasn’t going to be pressing your face into the sheets later on.

“take everything off and put on that shirt again.”

he mumbles sternly, smiling and looking you up and down.

there it was.

the video starts blurry— oscar adjusting the phone camera propped on the dresser, switching it to front view.

smiling sharply and pressing you into the very uncomfortable dresser. grinning at the camera, maintaining eye contact and kissing down your spine, holding your hips.

he’s eventually trailing down to your ass, kissing your hole and barely managing to slide his tongue through the tight entrance.

eating out your ass, god it was so hot you thought, filming yourselves— your arms clinging on the dressed, grabbing anything to get some sensibility.

“shhh baby, just let it happen yeah? doing so good f’me.”

you’re whining at his words, his own merch perched up your chest and tits spilling out from under where it’s bunched up, hips being held up by his heavy hands and ass basically eaten into oblivion.

“o-oh god oscar- please fuckk-“

you moaned out, completely blissed out from the relentless swirling from his wet muscle breaching your rim.

“be quiet f’me baby. gotta make you cum so I can actually fuckin fit.”

you gasp out at his fingers prodding your hole— mouth moving down to your dripping cunt, lapping up your juices and licking through your folds, his fingers from one hand in your ass, other hands digits in your cunt.

“yeah? you gonna cum for me darling?”

you nod, caught off guard by his relentless finger-fucking, mewling out at the sensations he was providing you.

you squirt so hard it makes him weak, his mouth covered with your juices, chest covered aswell. he’s lapping it up and rising to pull your hips closer to him. pulling your hair to look at yourself in the mirror, hair messy, eyes watering and his chin covered with your cum.

“look how pretty you look baby, my little slut.”

he’s spitting on your pussy one final time before dragging his sweatpants down to release his pulsating cock, red and leaking at the tip. he’s smacking it against your clit and watching you absolutely shriek at the one on one taps he’s consulting you with. finally pushing in through your folds, breaching your warm entrance and groaning at the tightness, while you on the other hand are practically screaming at the stretch, being soo thick that he has to spit on it more. landing a direct hit to where your walls were gripping him so hard it was like his soul was being sucked out via his dick.

dragging your hair back even more, pushing in harshly, reaching your cervix with every thrust. grabbing your neck with one hand pulling you back to see the mirror.

“there you go baby, watch yourself break for me.”

he’s smiling at the camera, teeth on display and eyes flicking back to your stretched out cunt, wet heat wrapped around him. he’s grunting as he’s pounding into you from behind, watching yourselves in the mirror in front of you.

“yeah you like that huh? like seeing yourself fall apart f’me?”

he’s hitting all the good spots, so deep inside you you think he’s gonna bruise your fucking cervix. your legs shaking and body quivering, eyes rolls back so hard from his dead-on thrusts and absolutely filthy dirty talk he’s whispering in your ear.

“gonna fucking cum? gonna cum on my cock darling?”

“go on then, fucking do it, cum for me.”

“cum on my fucking cock.”

and you do, eyes rolls back so far he thinks you’ve died, legs spasming and you’re mewling his name, squirting all over his thighs and chest even more, he’s tugging your shirt down so he can see his name plastering along your back, finally hitting your cervix one more time and cumming deep, deep inside you.

after a few minutes of silence and his head rested on your spine, he pulls out, picking you up and puts you on the bed, grabbing the phone and spreading your legs to show the camera how much cum was leaking out from your absolutely spent pussy.

“god.. so good for me baby.”

he’s saying as he spread your folds with two fingers, your hips bucking in overstimulation and he groans sooo loudly.

“fuck… just look at that.”

he’s giving you the camera, your shaky hands taking it, confused.

until he started lapping at your pussy again.

“just cleaning you up like I should baby.. relax..”

he’s lapping up your and his juices mixed together with subtle growls and whines, looking up at you, one hand tightly wrapped around the camera, other rotating between tugging his hair, grinding his face into you and rubbing your clit as he pushes your thighs further apart. smiling up at you as you cum one more time, thighs squeezing around his head but he spreads them open once again to finish his job.

“there you go darling. all cleaned up yeah?”

you’re smiling as you cut off the video, he’s grabbing you and pushing you on the bed as he wraps his arms around your sore body, kissing you all over playfully as he takes off your his shirt.

“I’ll airdrop it to you.”

and so he does— right? or did he somehow accidentally click the wrong contact?

you guys wake up the next morning, spent and used.

“osc I don’t think my legs work anymore..”

he chuckles and pulls you on top of him.

“it’s okay baby, just relax. we can just cuddle and binge watch movies all day yeah?”

you nod and he grabs his phone, checking the time to see like��� 40 notifications all from the f1 grid group chat, weird, he thought.

so he checks them and immediately gasps, face pale and shaking his head with dread..

“what? what’s wrong baby? are you okay?”

“um.. I accidentally sent the video from last night to the group chat.”

you’re both sitting at the edge of the hotel bed, silent, staring at oscar’s phone like it just announced your funeral.

he’s slack-jawed. borderline catatonic.

you’re clutching a pillow to your chest, blinking at the screen while the notifications still roll in.

“why is max just sending please over and over again?” you whisper.

“i don’t know,” oscar groans, burying his face in his hands. “i don’t fucking know.”

you laugh super loud, winkng at him, “maybe they all want a piece of me yeah?”

“oh my god…”

you pat his shoulder, trying not to laugh. “i think lewis complimented your stroke game.”

“i’m going to die.”

you peek at the screen again.

“lando saved the video to favorites.”

“OH MY GOD—”

he flops backwards onto the bed, mortified, arms over his face.

“they’re never gonna let this go. i’m gonna show up to the paddock and they’re all gonna wink at me.”

“probably,” you say, deadpan. “george is literally live-posting his emotional downfall in the chat. he said you’ve ruined sex for him.”

oscar groans louder.

“alex said he opened it in the garage osc..”

“WE WERE SO LOUD.”

“you were. i was performing.”

“you called me your ‘little slut’ in 4K.”

he groans so hard it vibrates the mattress.

“this is how my career ends,” he mutters. “not with a crash, not with a scandal, but with my dick on display in front of half the grid.”

you bite your lip, failing to hold back a giggle. “at least your form was great. i mean— solid rhythm. angles. deep thrusts. i’d rate it 10/10.”

he glares at you from beneath the pillow.

“you’re not helping.”

you grin. “you were so cocky in that video. ‘look how pretty you are, baby’—like be serious.”

he yanks the pillow off his face and tosses it at you. “i meant it!”

“well thank you baby, you’re pretty too y’know.” you smiled and put your hand on his thigh.

“yeah yeah. now I gotta make it up to you right?” he smirks and you straddle him..

“yeah.. I think you do..” he smiles and pins you down on the bed—

“well.. we can make some arrangements.”

[landotism]

I FEEL SICKKKK

[astralcorpse-png]

Rainy day in Silverstone. Also did another gif version for fun under cut.

[theereboseffect]

all the f1 x gladiator drawings i've done so far

[gordonstanheight]

this is kind of my favorite genre of image ever. like THIS is what the internet is for

[mrsfancyferrari]

Sleeping Medicine

Summary: Lando is known for sleeping in the paddock and other places and getting caught for it. You seem to increase those chances by being Lando's girlfriend and his pillow.

Song: Thinkin Bout You ‧ Frank Ocean

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 2.6k

MASTERLIST - F1

The world knows Lando Norris. They know the infectious grin, the quick wit, the fearless talent on track, the playful 'Little Lando Norris' antics.

They know he's always tired, a running joke in the paddock, an endearing quirk. But what they don't know, what only you truly understand, is the sheer depth of slumber he can fall into the moment your fingers trace patterns on his scalp.

Everyone expects him to nod off, but with you, it’s not just nodding off. It’s an irreversible descent into a blissful, unshakeable sleep, from which he will not, cannot, wake up easily.

And when he finally does, the last thing he wants is to leave the warmth of your arms.

The Driver's Room

The air in the driver's room is a cacophony of muffled sounds: distant engine roars, the chatter of engineers, the low hum of air conditioning. It’s a temporary sanctuary, a place of brief respite amidst a whirlwind weekend.

You step inside, leaving the usual race day chaos behind, and find him exactly where you expected: slumped in his ergonomic chair, headphones still around his neck, eyes half-closed as he stares blankly at a monitor displaying telemetry data.

He’s been in and out of meetings, on and off track, fielding questions, pushing limits. Even for him, a perpetual motion machine, today has been draining.

"Hey, sleepyhead," you murmur, crossing the small space to stand behind him. He grunts in response, a low, tired sound, but doesn't open his eyes.

His shoulders are hunched, a testament to the tension that has built up over the day. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his messy hair, which smells faintly of sweat and something uniquely 'race track'.

"Rough one?" you ask, your voice soft, understanding. He sighs, a deep, shuddering breath. "Quali was… a lot. My head feels like it's been through a washing machine."

You nod, sympathetic. You know the feeling, the mental exhaustion that comes with operating at such a high level of concentration.

Without a word, you lift your hands and gently thread your fingers through his soft, slightly damp hair. You start at his temples, massaging small circles, feeling the tension subtly begin to release under your touch.

His body, initially stiff, starts to relax, leaning ever so slightly back into your hands.

You move to the crown of his head, your nails lightly raking through his hair, then down to the nape of his neck, where the muscle knots are most prominent.

You can feel him melting, literally softening under your touch. The faint hum of the air conditioning, the distant sounds of the paddock, all seem to fade into the background, replaced by the gentle rhythm of your fingers, the quiet intake of his breath.

He leans his head back further, resting it against your stomach as you continue your work. His eyes, which were once half-open, are now fully closed.

His breathing deepens, slowly, steadily. You know this rhythm, you’ve memorized it. It’s the sound of Lando Norris, the racing driver, the public personality, shedding his armor and sinking into oblivion.

His hand reaches back, blindly finding yours, interlocking his fingers with yours, a silent plea for you to continue.

Minutes stretch into what feels like an hour. The telemetry data still flickers on the screen, forgotten. His body is completely relaxed, a dead weight in the chair.

You can feel the warmth emanating from him, the steady thump-thump of his heart against your palm.

He’s out. Truly out. Not just a nap, but a deep, restorative sleep born of utter exhaustion and the unique comfort only you seem to provide.

Just as you're wondering how long you can stay like this, a sharp rap comes at the door. "Lando? Five minutes to driver briefing!" It's Charlotte, his press officer, her voice carrying an edge of urgency.

You wince. The spell is broken. "Honey," you whisper, gently shaking his shoulder. "Lando, wake up. Briefing."

He groans, a sound of profound protest. His eyes flutter open, revealing bleary, unfocused pupils. He looks utterly disoriented, like a deep-sea diver suddenly pulled to the surface.

He blinks, then blinks again, slowly registering your face above him. A slow smile stretches across his lips, but it's the smile of someone desperately unwilling to let go of their dream.

"No," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep, already reaching for you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you down until your cheek is pressed against his head.

"Stay. Just five more minutes. Ten. An hour." He buries his face into your side, his grip tightening.

He's an anchor, and you're the ship, firmly rooted.

"Lando, Charlotte's waiting. You have to go." You try to gently extricate yourself, but he holds on with surprising strength.

"Don't wanna go," he whines, his voice muffled by your clothes. "It's warm here. And you smell nice. And my head doesn't hurt anymore."

You sigh, a small laugh escaping your lips. "I know, love, but you have to. You're Lando Norris, you have a race to win."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his beautiful eyes still clouded with sleep, but a mischievous glint starting to emerge. "Only if you promise more head rubs later. A lot of them. And maybe we can just miss the briefing and cuddle instead?"

You kiss his forehead. "Get up, you big baby. After the briefing, after dinner, after everything. All the head rubs you want. Now go." With a final, reluctant groan, he finally unwound himself from you, pushing himself upright, running a hand through his now even messier hair.

But before he left, he leaned in for one last quick, sleepy kiss, a silent promise in his eyes. He might be leaving, but he wasn't really letting you go.

His Parents' House

The scent of roasting chicken and freshly baked bread hangs in the air, mingling with the comfortable, lived-in aroma of the Norris family home.

You're visiting for a quiet weekend, a much-needed break from the relentless F1 schedule.

Lando, surprisingly, had been relatively awake for most of the morning, helping his mum in the kitchen, teasing his siblings, and even engaging in a lively debate with his dad about a recent rugby match.

But the afternoon, as always, proved to be his undoing. You're curled up on the plush sofa in the living room, a half-finished cup of tea on the coffee table, a book resting unread on your lap.

Lando, initially engaged in a video game with Cisca, had slowly migrated towards you. He'd started by resting his head on your shoulder, then gradually slid down until his head was in your lap, his long legs draped across the cushions.

You’d instinctively begun to run your fingers through his hair. It’s softer here, less stressed than at the track, clean and fluffy. You trace the natural part, then gently massage the scalp above his ears.

He sighs, a soft sound of contentment that resonates through you. The game controller, forgotten, clatters to the floor.

Cisca glances over, rolls her eyes playfully, and then goes back to her own device, used to her brother's spontaneous naps.

The rhythm of your touch is slow, deliberate. You feel the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his body seems to melt into the cushions beneath him. His eyelids, initially fluttering, come to a complete rest.

You can see the faint blue veins beneath the thin skin of his eyelids, the dark lashes fanning out against his cheeks.

He looks so young, so peaceful, entirely different from the focused, intense competitor the world sees.

You continue the light strokes, occasionally adding a gentle scratch with your nails just behind his ears, a spot you discovered he particularly loved.

He whimpers slightly in his sleep, a tiny, happy sound, and shifts, burrowing his face deeper into your lap, his arm blindly coming up to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer.

The weight of his head is comforting, the warmth of his body seeping into your legs.

A soft, content smile plays on your lips. This is your Lando, vulnerable and entirely yours, lost in a dream.

"Dinner's ready, kids!" Cisca’s cheerful voice rings out from the kitchen, followed by a clatter of plates. "Lando! Cisca! Come and get it before it gets cold!"

Cisca immediately bolts upright. "Coming, Mum!"

You, however, have a more challenging task. "Lando," you whisper, gently stroking his cheek. "Dinner. Your mum's calling."

He makes a sound that's somewhere between a growl and a purr, tightening his grip on you. He doesn’t even stir beyond that. The call of food, usually irresistible to him, falls on deaf ears.

"Lando, come on. Chicken and roast potatoes. Your favourite." You try a little more firmness, nudging his shoulder.

He stirs, but it's not a wake-up. It's a deeper burrow. His head presses harder into your lap, and his hand, still clutching your waist, bunches the fabric of your shirt, pulling you down.

"Five more minutes," he murmurs, his voice slurred with sleep. "Just five. Don't move."

You hear Cisca's footsteps approaching. "Everything alright in here? Lando, did you hear me?"

You give her an apologetic look over Lando’s prone form. "He's, uh, pretty comfortable, Cisca."

She clucks, a familiar exasperated-but-fond sound. She sees him, a mass of limbs and messy hair, utterly unconscious in your lap.

"Oh, for goodness sake! Always the same. You've got him properly snoozing, haven't you, love?" A twinkle enters her eye. "You're his secret weapon for a good night's sleep, apparently."

"Apparently," you agree, smiling down at his peaceful face. "He won't budge."

Cisca laughs. "Let me try." She kneels down, her voice firm but gentle. "Lando Oscar Norris! Get up! Dinner!"

He doesn't even twitch. Not a muscle. You suppress a giggle.

"Told you," you whisper.

Cisca shakes her head. "Right. Well, we'll eat, and you can keep him company for a bit longer. He clearly needs it." She pats your arm. "Just try not to starve, darling."

You thank her, and she retreats, leaving you alone with the sleeping pile of McLaren’s star driver. You look down at him, utterly trapped, but not minding one bit.

His grip on you is still firm, his breathing a steady rhythm. You know that if you managed to drag him to the table, he'd be halfway back to sleep before the starter was even served.

So you settle back, resuming your gentle head rubs, content to be his personal sedative, his favorite blanket, his anchor in the quiet, comforting world of sleep.

Dinner could wait. Lando wasn't going anywhere.

Vacation with Friends

The villa echoes with laughter, music, and the splash of water from the infinity pool. The air is warm and smells of sunscreen and something grilling on the barbecue.

You're on a much-anticipated vacation, a week of sun, good food, and great company, with Lando and a handful of his closest friends. Everyone is in high spirits, unwinding after a long, intense season.

You'd spent the day by the pool, playing silly games, and now the late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the patio.

The energy was still buzzing, but Lando, never one to pace himself, was starting to flag. You’d noticed him leaning against a poolside pillar, his eyes a little glazed, his usual quick quips replaced by slow blinks.

"You alright there, sleepy Eeyore?" you’d teased, nudging him gently.

He'd just grunted, a multi-syllabic expression of profound weariness. "Just… absorbing the sun. It's strenuous."

You knew what that meant. He was on the verge. "Come on," you’d said, taking his hand. "Let's find somewhere quieter. Before you faceplant into the pool."

You led him away from the main hubbub, past the outdoor kitchen, to a secluded, shaded daybed nestled amongst some vibrant bougainvillea.

It was a perfect escape, far enough from the noise to be peaceful, but still close enough to feel part of the group.

He dropped onto the plush cushions with a sigh of absolute relief, stretching out his long limbs. You sat beside him, and without a word, he rolled onto his side, resting his head in your lap, his legs tangled with yours.

The slight breeze rustled the leaves above, and the distant sound of his friends' laughter became a soft, pleasant hum.

Your fingers found their customary place in his hair. Here, it was still damp from the pool, cool against your skin. You worked your way from his forehead, tracing the line of his eyebrows, then circling his temples with light pressure.

He melted instantly, a low moan of pure bliss escaping his lips. His breathing evened out almost immediately, deep and rhythmic. You felt the subtle tremor of his body as he relaxed, every muscle giving way to the soft embrace of sleep.

You continued, running your hands through the cool, damp strands, lifting them and letting them fall back down, scratching gently at his scalp. He was completely out, an island of profound peace in a sea of holiday merriment.

You watched the rise and fall of his chest, the relaxed curve of his lips, the way the last rays of sun dappled through the leaves and painted patterns on his face.

You were utterly content, holding this peaceful, sleeping man who, despite all his energy and zest for life, could be felled by a few minutes of your touch.

"Oy! Lando! Dinner's ready! Fresh fish!" It was Max, his voice booming across the patio.

You winced. Here we go. You tried gentle persuasion first. "Lando, honey, dinner. Max is calling."

Not a flicker. He was dead to the world, buried deep in Dreamland.

"Lando!" Oscar’s voice this time, closer, as they clearly started a search party. "Mate, don't tell me he's asleep again."

You looked up to see Max and Oscar approaching, grins on their faces. They took one look at Lando, completely passed out in your lap, and burst into laughter.

"Unbelievable," Max groaned, shaking his head. "He’s like a tired toddler. You've got him completely incapacitated, haven't you?"

"It's the head rubs," you explained, trying to sound innocent. "He just… succumbs."

"More like you brainwash him into ultimate relaxation," Oscar quipped, nudging Lando's foot with his own. "Wake up, you old man! There's food! And maybe a few drinks later!"

Lando stirred, a deep, frustrated groan rumbling in his chest. His eyes squinted open, struggling to focus.

He blinked, a slow, drugged process, then registered his friends looming over him.

"No," he mumbled, his voice thick and barely audible. He didn't even try to sit up.

Instead, he just tightened his grip on your leg, pulling you closer, nuzzling deeper into your lap. "Stay. Just five more minutes. Don't wanna move."

"Mate, come on," Max said, trying to pull his arm. "There's grilled prawns!"

Lando just mumbled something incoherent and buried his face deeper, clinging to you like a limpet. "Can't… move… too comfy… with her."

Oscar burst out laughing. "He's completely useless when she gets her hands on him! You've got him trained, you know that?"

You smiled, running a gentle hand over his still-damp hair. "He's not trained; he's just happy."

"Happy and completely comatose!" Max retorted, eventually giving up and just chuckling. "Alright, we'll save you some fish, you big baby. But you're missing out on the good banter."

They ambled back to the main group, still laughing and teasing. You listened to their voices fade, then looked down at Lando, who was already drifting back to sleep, his breathing evening out once more.

He had a faint, content smile on his lips. He was clearly missing out on the party, on the food, on the friends.

But he was utterly unwilling to give up this moment with you.

You knew, deep down, that you wouldn't trade it for anything either. Let the world have the fast, witty, energetic Lando Norris.

You had the one who found his deepest peace and most profound sleep in the simple, loving touch of your hands, making him utterly unwilling to leave your side.

It was a trade-off you were more than happy to make, every single time. . . .

[merclando]

i hope lando and oscar end up with the exact same amount of points and then they cross the finish line in abu dhabi holding a pride flag between them and then taylor swift comes out singing love story and then the entire paddock sings a rendition of no one mourns the wicked while burning a lifesize christian horner straw doll

[fourkisses]

watch this be the wrong thing (classic!) ☆

a LN4 smau where . . .

to lando, you're the one he'd gladly annoy (love) for the rest of his life. to you, he's just one massive, walking flirt. to everyone else, you're a match made in Chaos Department™, and they can't wait for it to all unfold.

pairing: lando norris x fem!pr manager!reader

fourcents: this has been rotting in the drafts since lando's maiden win last year can u believe it took me this long to finish it. also lmk if u want a part 2 bc i have it here i have it printed out ✋

notes: no solid plot just ~vibes~, chaos brought to u by pr untrained lando, HR is practically nonexistent, tsou by gracie abrams on loop while writing this, timeline begins from the start of ‘24 season & includes nonlinear events from ‘24 and ‘25. amsterdam interview context here if you haven't seen it yet.

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lando good morning, mr. norris. i've already sent the photos for your website promo to your email. kindly post it to your instagram and copy paste this as caption.

“Welcome to the Lando Norris store, how can I help you today?”

thanks.

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cityofcars did he... did he just copied and pasted the whole thing ....

wtfisakilometer LMAOOOOO

bearmanbaby the perfect pr nightmare i love him

silvershoeys someone check on yn i think she's gonna combust 😭

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lnfour lando's videos with gq is out now on yt! watch him answer your most asked questions and talk about his most prized possessions 😉 link in bio!

Lando Norris Answers Your Questions | Actually Me

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lnfour media day ready!

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grandpiastrix i might be in love 😍

aabatteries hello, yn??? no trigger warning for that second photo???

landh0e yo bro who got u smiling like that

badgershoney yn, most probably

vettelboard yn really is god strongest soldier because if lando norris is smiling at me like that i would've folded then and there

papayarules this is how he shows up after calling yn cute btw

bearmanbaby watch this gp be the wrong thing again just for him to get a yn notice

norrisks classic lando i fear

[estiehowells]

I genuinely love when Esteban geeks out and everyone just stares at him in awe like “how tf did you know that?”

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hey ari! Your works are amazing and i love ALL of them. Would you be able to write a piastri daughter who is a teenager and plays tennis (like a professional one like Aryna Sabalenka or Iga Swiatek)? The daughter is in the top 10 tennis players and wins a tournament (any kind) and Oscar and Lily support her and are very proud of her. Thanks in advance and i love you!

5 hours till glory

Monte Carlo. Late afternoon sun. Clay courts glinting red-gold under the heat of the spring sky.

Yn wiped her face with a towel for what had to be the fiftieth time that match. Her arms ached. Her legs felt like sandbags. Her racket, usually an extension of her hand, felt like it weighed twenty kilos. Five hours on court. Five.

She sat on the bench, leaning forward, elbows on her knees, forehead resting on her palm. Her chest rose and fell, steady but heavy. There was only one more game to go. If she held her serve, she would win the Monte Carlo Open.

Sixteen. And already in the top ten.

She heard the soft shuffle of shoes beside her. Paul, her coach, crouched down, careful not to say much. He never did during changeovers unless absolutely necessary. He just placed a bottle of water and two grapes wrapped in a napkin beside her. Their code.

"You're in it," he said quietly. "You're in control. You don’t need anything more than what you have. One game. That’s all."

Yn nodded, though her eyes were still closed.

"Do you feel your legs?" he asked, not unkindly.

"They feel like pudding," she muttered.

"Good. That means they're still attached."

A faint laugh escaped her, more breath than sound. Paul patted her knee gently and stood up. As he walked away, she opened her eyes, narrowed them at the scoreboard.

One game. Just one more.

She didn’t let herself think beyond that.

Oscar shifted in his seat, running his hands over his thighs. He was usually calm, collected—years of racing trained you to manage nerves. But watching his daughter do this? Nothing prepared him for it.

"She looks pale," he muttered.

Lily leaned forward beside him, lips pressed together, eyes fixed on the court. "She's been out there for five hours. I don't know how she's still standing."

"Because she’s her."

Lily glanced at him, briefly. Then back to the court.

They didn’t talk after that. Only held hands. There was nothing else to say. She had to finish this. They just had to watch.

Back on court, Yn bounced the ball slowly. The world was quieter now, even though the stands were full. That final-match tension blanketed everything. Everyone was holding their breath.

Her opponent waited on the other side, already crouched, focused. But she was tired, too. Yn could see it in the way she stretched between points, rolled her shoulder, took just a little longer to walk to the baseline.

Yn served.

The rally began. One shot. Two. Twelve. Fifteen. Backhand, forehand, drop shot, run, slide.

Pain laced through her right calf. She ignored it. Kept going. Cross-court, to the baseline, inside-out forehand, the lines painting themselves in red dust.

Then—a chance. A short ball.

She ran.

Every step screamed. But she got there. Just barely.

She swung.

The ball spun low, skipped twice.

Point.

The crowd exhaled. Applauded.

She turned and walked back slowly to the baseline. Paul stood at the edge of the player box, arms folded across his chest, nodding.

He believed.

The next point was faster. Serve. Missed return.

15-0.

Then a double fault.

15-all.

She gritted her teeth. Looked down at her shoes. Bounced the ball again.

She served.

An ace.

The crowd roared this time. Not loud, not wild, but appreciative. Respectful.

30-15.

Paul clapped, one hand against his thigh.

Oscar sat forward, hands clasped tight. Lily didn’t blink.

Another rally. This one shorter. Four shots in, and the opponent hit long.

40-15.

Two match points.

Yn walked to the baseline. Her fingers shook as she tossed the ball.

She missed the first serve.

The second was in.

Backhand return.

They traded strokes. Not the fastest rally, but precise, full of intent. Then—a mistake. The opponent’s slice clipped the net and died.

Game. Set. Match.

Yn blinked. Then blinked again.

It was over.

Five hours.

She stood there, racket limp at her side.

The umpire spoke, something about the score, the victory, the tournament. She heard it, distantly.

Then the crowd rose. A standing ovation.

She turned to her team box. Paul had his arms raised, grinning. Oscar had both hands on his head, mouth open. Lily had already burst into tears.

Yn raised her racket gently, more from habit than excitement.

It hadn’t hit her yet.

She walked to the net. Shook hands with her opponent, who looked just as drained. Respect passed between them in silence.

Then, finally, she was allowed to walk off court.

Back in the tunnel, away from the crowd, away from the cameras, she let herself lean against the wall.

Paul was the first to reach her.

"You held, kid" he said, voice quiet.

She nodded. "Barely."

He grinned. "Barely is enough."

Then she heard footsteps. Faster ones.

Oscar reached her first. He didn’t say anything. Just wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in tight.

"You did it, sweetie" he said into her hair.

She hadn’t cried on court. Not during the trophy ceremony. Not during the interviews.

But now? With his arms around her, and Lily's arms joining a second later, wrapping the three of them in a tight circle?

She let go.

The sob broke out of her like a crack in the dam. Not from sadness. From sheer release.

"I was so tired," she whispered, voice trembling.

"We know," Lily said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "We saw."

Oscar pulled back slightly, cupping her face. "You were brilliant. That last shot? The cross-court drop? You sold it."

Yn managed a shaky laugh. "I didn’t even mean to. My hands just kind of... did it."

Paul leaned in from the side. "That’s when you know you’re getting good. When your instincts win points before your brain catches up."

She wiped her face. "Is there food? I’m starving."

Oscar barked a laugh. "There will be. What do you want? Pizza? Pasta? All of it?"

"Ice cream first," she said firmly.

Paul nodded solemnly. "Permission granted."

That evening, after the press conference and photo ops, after the hugs from sponsors and endless messages, Yn sat on the hotel balcony, legs up on a chair, bowl of ice cream balanced on her knees.

Oscar and Lily sat on either side of her, each with their own bowl.

She had her trophy resting on the little coffee table in front of them. Not because she wanted to look at it, but because it felt surreal. Like it wasn't even real until she saw it with her own eyes again.

"Do you remember when she broke all the teacups with a backhand in the kitchen?" Oscar asked Lily.

Lily laughed. "She was nine. Trying to practice inside."

"You never let me forget that," Yn muttered.

"Because it was the most powerful backhand that set of china ever saw."

Yn grinned, her body still sore, her energy low, but something inside her buzzed.

Paul stepped out onto the balcony a few minutes later, holding his phone.

"You’re trending worldwide. Number one."

Yn blinked. "Oh."

He handed her the phone. On the screen, her name, the hashtag #MonteCarloQueen, and video clips of her final point were everywhere. Replays, slow-motion edits, fan art, tweets from athletes she’d admired since she was little.

She handed the phone back.

"I don't want to look at it right now."

"Good," Paul said. "You played for you. Not for them."

She nodded. Leaned her head on Lily's shoulder.

"You can sleep in tomorrow," Oscar said softly.

"Yeah."

"You earned it."

She didn't answer, because she was already drifting, her eyes half-closed, fingers still holding a spoon.

And for the first time in days, her mind was silent.

Later that night, she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing her teeth. Her hair was a mess, her face puffy, the corners of her mouth chapped.

But she looked... proud.

Not for the trophy.

For surviving. For pushing. For doing it even when it hurt.

She opened the bathroom door to see Oscar sitting on the edge of the bed, flipping through his old texts.

"Hey, Dad?" she said quietly.

He looked up. "Yeah?"

"Thanks. For being here."

His smile was soft. "I wouldn’t have been anywhere else."

Lily peeked in from the other room. "Everyone says the match will go down as one of the best in recent history."

"I just wanted to win one point at a time," Yn replied.

"And you did."

She nodded. Crawled into bed. Clay still in her hair, ice cream still in her belly, sleep in her bones.

And pride in her chest.

Paul wrote one sentence in his notes that night, next to the match summary:

She didn’t win because she was stronger.

She won because she refused to stop.

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Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

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