Archive of Our Own ^beta

Pippa Norris had told herself she wasn’t going to be nervous.

Lando had said it at least six times on the phone the week before. “It’s just media day, Pips. Nobody cares about you, promise. They’ll be after me, not you. You’ll sit in hospitality, drink something fancy, and go home.”

Easy.

Except nothing about Monaco ever felt easy. The paddock wasn’t a paddock so much as a glossy catwalk pressed into the harbor, all mirrored sunglasses and yacht shoes and women who looked like they belonged on magazine covers. And Pippa, in her carefully ironed sundress and sandals, felt like an imposter trailing behind their parents.

She kept her laptop in her tote bag like a talisman. Normal life still exists. Code still exists. DNS still exists.

“ Relax ,” Lando had texted that morning. “You’ll be just fine.”

Her fingers were still itching to throw her phone in the Mediterranean.

She tucked in tighter behind her mum as they were ushered through the chaos of cameras and PR handlers. The air smelled like sunscreen and expensive cologne, and Pippa kept her eyes down, focusing on the cracked cobblestones rather than the swarm of attention around them.

And then—

She looked up.

Across the paddock, in McLaren papaya, Oscar Piastri was talking to a reporter. His accent carried faintly across the din—steady, a little shy. He laughed at something, eyes crinkling, and then turned his head just slightly.

And his gaze caught hers.

Pippa stopped breathing. For half a second, the noise and heat of Monaco dropped away, and there was just… him.

His expression shifted—confusion, recognition, and then something warm and startled, like he’d been caught off guard by sunlight.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. 

Oh no.

She hadn’t believed in clichés, but this felt like stepping into one of those awful romance novels her sisters left lying around. Love at first sight. Just add champagne and a pastel cover.

Oscar blinked, tilted his head as though to make sure she was real, and then—smiled. Not the polite smile he gave the cameras. Something softer.

And that was it. Pippa knew, with a certainty that terrified her, that she was ruined .

Her mum nudged her elbow. “Pip? You all right, love?”

Pippa swallowed, heat climbing her cheeks.
“Yeah,” she managed, voice thin. “Just… I think I need some water.”

But really, she needed to figure out how to survive the rest of the weekend when Oscar Piastri had just looked at her like that .

***

Oscar Piastri had never believed in love at first sight.

It sounded like something out of a bad movie, the kind with implausible plotlines and dramatic orchestral swells. 

He was a pragmatist, not a romantic. 

A racing driver, not a dreamer. 

Love, as far as he was concerned, was meant to build slowly—practice laps before the race.

Until it didn’t .

He was halfway through a media hit when it happened, standing in the glare of the Riviera sun, repeating the same polished answers he’d given all season. And then—mid-sentence—he looked up.

She was there.

Walking just behind Cisca and Adam Norris, looking like she’d rather melt into the cobblestones than be seen. 

She wasn’t dressed like the other women in the paddock—no flashy heels, no designer sunglasses, no carefully orchestrated image. Just a simple sundress, sandals, a tote bag hanging off her shoulder.

And yet—he couldn’t look away.

Something hit him in the chest, sudden and impossible to name.

Recognition. Certainty. 

A thought so wild and irrational he almost laughed aloud: Oh. There you are.

He stumbled over the rest of the answer, the journalist glancing at him curiously, but he barely noticed. Because she’d looked back at him, eyes wide, as if she felt it too.

Oscar managed to wrap up the interview, but his pulse was still hammering as he slipped away from the cameras. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, carrying him across the paddock towards the McLaren motorhome.

And there she was again, half-hidden by a column, clearly trying to pretend she belonged in this circus.

He stopped a polite distance away. “Hi,” he said, voice lower than he meant it to be. His palms were suddenly clammy inside the fireproof gloves still shoved in his back pocket. “I’m Oscar.”

She blinked at him. For a second, he thought he’d made a mistake, that he’d misread everything, but then—her mouth quirked.

“Yeah,” she said, a little wryly. “I know. Unfortunately, I’m—” she hesitated, grimaced—“Lando’s sister. Pippa.”

Oscar felt his stomach swoop. “Unfortunately?”

Her lips twitched. “He’s not exactly a great sales pitch.”

Oscar laughed—an unguarded sound, more honest than anything he’d said in his interviews all day. And she laughed too, and it was the kind of sound that made him want to hear it again. And again.

Somewhere, deep inside, he was aware that this was a terrible idea. It  probably should have stopped him. But it didn’t.

Because Oscar had never believed in love at first sight.

Until now.

***

Cisca Norris had raised five children, and she liked to think she knew their tells.

Lando was obvious—his moods broadcast in every gesture, every grin, every sulk. 

Pippa, though, had always been the quiet one. 

She built little walls of sarcasm and code around herself, hiding away with her laptop, content to live far from the noise of her brother’s world. Cisca had long since stopped trying to drag her into the spotlight.

So when Pippa agreed to come to the Monaco Grand Prix for the first time, Cisca hadn’t expected much. A few polite hours in hospitality, maybe a faint grimace during the driver parade, and then she’d retreat back to England with relief.

But then Oscar Piastri walked across the paddock.

Cisca saw it instantly—the way Pippa straightened, eyes widening, and the way Oscar faltered mid-step, as if someone had pulled a handbrake inside his chest. It was subtle, but to a mother, it was obvious. The kind of obvious that made Cisca’s lips twitch against a smile.

By the time they actually ended up face-to-face outside the motorhome, Pippa was fidgeting with her tote bag strap like she used to with her school satchel, cheeks faintly pink. And Oscar—sweet, steady Oscar—was looking at her as though the entire paddock had disappeared.

Cisca slipped her hand through Adam’s arm, leaning up just enough to murmur in his ear. “Do you see that?”

Adam followed her gaze, brow furrowing, then softening. His mouth curved. “Well,” he said quietly. “ That didn’t take long.”

Cisca allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. “They look smitten already.”

And they did. Pippa’s laughter came, unguarded and a little shy, and Oscar’s eyes lit in response. It was the kind of exchange that made everything else—the cameras, the chaos, the race weekend—fade into the background.

Adam squeezed her hand. “Wonder how long it’ll take Lando to notice.”

Cisca chuckled, already imagining her son’s horrified expression. “Oh, love. With the way those two are looking at each other? Not long at all.”

***

Lando Norris had a sixth sense for trouble.

Usually it came in the form of Max binning it in a simulator race at 2 a.m., or Flo accidentally setting the smoke alarm off in Mum’s kitchen. But this—this was a different category of disaster altogether.

He’d only stepped into the motorhome to grab his phone charger. Two minutes, tops. And then he froze in the doorway.

Because there, by the corner table, were two of the people he least wanted to see together in the entire universe.

Oscar Piastri.

Pippa Norris.

His teammate and his little sister. 

And they were… smiling at each other. No—worse. They were doing the look . The soft-eyed, half-smile, secret-language-of-two-people-who-just-fell-into-a-romcom look .

Oscar was leaning in just slightly, saying something that made Pippa laugh, and Pippa—his quiet, tech-gremlin, very-off-limits little sister—was looking at Oscar like he’d just hung the bloody moon over the Riviera.

Lando blinked. Shook his head. Blinked again.

Nope. Absolutely not.

“Oi,” he blurted, louder than he meant to. Both their heads jerked up, identical startled expressions plastered across their faces. “What is THIS?”

Oscar straightened immediately, the picture of guilty politeness. “Nothing,” he said too quickly.

Pippa bit her lip, eyes darting to her tote bag like she might climb inside it.

Lando’s stomach dropped. “Oh my god. No. No, no, no. This is not happening.”

“Lando—” Pippa started, tone defensive.

“Don’t ‘Lando’ me! You—” he jabbed a finger at Oscar, who looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor. “You’re my teammate . And you—” he turned on his sister, who had the audacity to smirk now—“you’re my sister . You don’t mix teammates and sisters!”

Pippa raised a brow. “Is that a written rule?”

“Yes!” Lando snapped, flailing a hand. “It’s—well, it should be!”

Oscar coughed, clearly fighting a smile, and that was the final straw. Lando groaned, dragging both hands down his face.

“Nope,” he muttered, spinning on his heel. “Absolutely not. Not dealing with this right now. Monaco’s cursed enough as it is.”

He stomped out, already composing a furious text to his mum about how bringing Pippa to a race was the worst idea in history.

Behind him, he could hear Pippa laughing again—and Oscar’s soft reply—and Lando thought grimly that this wasn’t over. 

Not by a long shot.

***

Family Group Chat: The Norris Clan

(Members: Cisca (Mum), Adam, Oliver, Lando, Pippa, Flo, Cisca)

Lando:
GUYS.
I CAUGHT OSCAR MAKING HEART EYES AT PIPPA.

Oliver:
😂😂😂

Flo:
wait WHAT

Cisca (Mum):
Yes, dear. We saw it too. Quite sweet actually.

Lando:
SWEET??? SWEET???
HE’S MY TEAMMATE.

Adam:
And apparently your sister’s soulmate. Congratulations, Pip.

Pippa:
oh my god please stop 😳

Cisca:
@Pippa you in love already or what

Pippa:
I’m not—
…
okay maybe a little

Lando:
A LITTLE???
PIPPA.

Cisca (Mum):
It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, darling. He looked at you like you were the only person in the paddock.

Pippa:
MUM 😭 please don’t say things like that in here

Flo:
awww Pip you’re BLUSHING aren’t you

Pippa:
stopppp. i hate you all.

Lando:
Nope. Not allowed. He’s banned. I’m banning him.

Adam:
From the team or from dating your sister?

Lando:
BOTH.

Adam:
Good luck with that mate 🤷‍♂️ Oscar looked GONE. like… headlights/roadkill gone.

Cisca (Mum):
I think it’s lovely. Pippa deserves someone kind.

Pippa:
…thanks mum 🥺💛

Flo:
oh my god SHE’S DOING THE EMOJI LOVEY EYES TOO.
they’re doomed.

Lando:
Nope. I’m leaving this chat.

Lando left the chat

Oliver:
10 quid says he’s back in 5 minutes.

Cisca:
5? I give it 2. 

***

Text Messages: Oscar Piastri & Mark Webber

Oscar:
Sooo… hypothetically.

Mark:
Uh oh.
What did you do.

Oscar:
I didn’t do anything.
Yet.

Mark:
That doesn’t sound reassuring.

Oscar:
Okay well.
I think I might be in love with Lando’s sister.

Mark:
…
That’s not hypothetical, is it?

Oscar:
No.
😬

Mark:
Oscar.

Oscar:
It’s not my fault!!
I just saw her and—boom. Like—like love at first sight or something.

Mark:
Love at first sight.
You. The boy who once said Valentine’s Day is a “capitalist scam.”

Oscar:
Yeah, well. Apparently Monaco changes people.

Mark:
Good lord.

Oscar:
She’s amazing, Mark. Like… really amazing.
And she looked at me like I wasn’t just “the other McLaren driver.”

Mark:
…Okay. That’s actually sweet.
But you realise Lando is going to lose his mind, right?

Oscar:
He already did 😬
He walked in on us.

Mark:
How bad?

Oscar:
He said you don’t mix teammates and sisters.
Then stormed off.

Mark:
😂 That sounds about right.

Oscar:
What do I do??

Mark:
Two things:

1. Don’t screw this up.
2. Try not to get murdered by Lando in the meantime.

Oscar:
Great advice, thanks. Super helpful.

Mark:
I expect wedding invites eventually.

Oscar:
MARK.

***

Family Group Chat: Piastri Fam

(Members: Nicole, Chris, Oscar, Hattie, Edie, Mae)

Oscar:
hey. quick question.
do you guys think love at first sight is real?

Hattie:
???
where is this coming from

Mae:
👀 ohhh my god who did you meet

Edie:
spill. now.

Oscar:
no one. just. hypothetical.

Nicole:
Hypothetical, my foot.
Who is she?

Chris:
Your mum’s right. You don’t ask that kind of question unless you’ve got someone in mind.

Oscar:
🙄 why can’t i ever ask a normal question without an interrogation

Hattie:
because you’re the least hypothetical person alive.

Mae:
so who is it??
tell us tell us tell us

Edie:
It’s Monaco weekend.
Has to be someone there.

Nicole:
Darling, you don’t need to be embarrassed. Just tell us who caught your eye.

Oscar:
…fine.
Lando’s sister.

Hattie:
LMAO YOU’RE DEAD

Mae:
😭😭😭 not the teammate’s sister oh my god this is amazing

Edie:
Oscar, you absolute menace.

Chris:
…Does she like you back?

Oscar:
I think so.
we talked and it just… clicked. like i’ve known her forever.

Nicole:
Oh sweetheart 🥹 that’s wonderful.

Hattie:
mum don’t encourage him he’s literally signing his death warrant

Edie:
Love at first sight is real, apparently.
Too bad you’ll be buried by Lando before you can prove it.

Mae:
worth it tbh

Oscar:
exactly. worth it.

Chris:
Well. If it’s worth it, then it’s worth fighting for. Just… maybe wear extra padding at the next race.

***

Text Messages: Oscar Piastri & Nicole Piastri

Nicole:
Sweetheart, I just wanted to ask you quietly, without your sisters teasing.
Are you all right?

Oscar:
Yeah, Mum. I promise.
I just…
I’ve never felt something like this before.

Nicole:
You sounded very sure, Oscar. That’s not like you to throw words like love around lightly.

Oscar:
I know.
That’s what’s scary.
It wasn’t… gradual. It was just—
There. Like I’d been waiting for her without realising.

Nicole:
Oh, love. ❤️
If that’s how you feel, then maybe it’s real.

Oscar:
You think so?

Nicole:
I know my son.
You overthink everything, you weigh every decision like it’s a contract negotiation.
If you’re this certain this quickly… it’s not nothing.

Oscar:
…thanks, Mum.

Nicole:
But you also need to tread carefully.
This is Lando’s sister, and it will get messy if you rush.
Take your time. Respect her.
And if you truly care for her, it’ll show.

Oscar:
I do.
I already do.

Nicole:
Then I trust you.
But Oscar—please don’t get yourself killed before Sunday.

Oscar:
😂 No promises.

***

Text Messages: Pippa Norris & Flo Norris

Pippa:
flo.
i’m in trouble.

Flo:
what kind of trouble
like broke your laptop again or forgot your charger kind of trouble?

Pippa:
no. worse.
boy trouble.

Flo:
👀 spill.

Pippa:
i met oscar today.
and.
he looked at me.

Flo:
…
and???

Pippa:
like i was the only person in monaco.
like he already knew me.
like—
ugh. flo. it was ridiculous. i couldn’t breathe.

Flo:
oh my GOD you’ve got it bad 😭😭😭

Pippa:
i knowwwww.
and i barely said two words before lando stormed in like the fun police.

Flo:
classic. 😂
but pips… be honest.
you like him.

Pippa:
…
yeah.
i really really do.

Flo:
then don’t fight it.
just maybe don’t kiss him in front of lando unless you want a paddock brawl 🤷‍♀️

Pippa:
noted. 🙃

Flo:
also?
i’m calling dibs on maid of honour when you marry him.

Pippa:
FLO. STOP. 😳😳😳

Flo:
never. 😈

***

The Norris family had commandeered a quiet corner table in the McLaren Hospitality for breakfast. Pippa was halfway through buttering her croissant when she felt it—eyes on her.

She looked up.

Across the room, Oscar had just walked in with a McLaren polo and messy hair that suggested he’d overslept. His tray had only coffee and toast, but the second he spotted their table, he hesitated. His gaze landed on her, and there it was again—that stupid, devastating smile.

Her heart tripped. She smiled back before she could stop herself.

And that’s when Lando noticed.

“NO,” Lando barked, loud enough that several other guests turned their heads. He pointed at Oscar like he was calling a penalty. “ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

Oscar blinked, caught mid-step, coffee cup in hand. “I was just—”

“Nope,” Lando cut in, jabbing a finger at his sister this time. “Pippa, no. Not him. He’s banned. I’m banning him. Go back to your corner, Oscar!”

Pippa groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Lando demanded. “He’s my teammate. He’s practically family already, and I don’t need him actually becoming family—”

“Lando.” Adam’s voice was calm, dry, the same tone he used when his kids were being especially dramatic. “They’re adults.”

“If they like each other, that’s none of your business,” Cisca said firmly, as if speaking to a sulky teenager instead of a Formula One driver. 

Adam sipped his coffee, eyes twinkling. “Besides, it’s rather sweet.”

“Sweet?!” Lando gawked at his father. “He’s my teammate ! She’s my sister ! This is like—like against the Geneva Convention or something!”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Cisca muttered.

Pippa, unable to stop herself, let out the tiniest giggle. Oscar’s lips twitched in reply.

“See!” Lando jabbed a finger at them. “They’re doing it again. The heart eyes. Right in front of me!”

Adam raised his paper like a shield. “Better get used to it, son.”

“THANK you,” Pippa muttered from behind her croissant.

“No!” Lando slapped the table, scandalised. “Mum, Dad, you’re supposed to be on my side!”

“We’re on the side of common sense,” Cisca said mildly. “And Pippa’s happiness.”

Pippa peeked up, cheeks red but eyes shining. Oscar, across the room, was trying very hard not to laugh into his coffee.

Lando threw his arms in the air. “This family is insane. I’m the only normal one here!”

***

Monaco GP – Friday Driver Press Conference

Journalist 1:
“Lando, your sister Pippa was spotted in the paddock yesterday and again this morning. She doesn’t usually come to races—what’s brought her to Monaco?”

Lando:
(smiles a little too tightly) “Uh, yeah. Family wanted to come, I guess. First time she’s braved a race weekend, so… yeah.”

Journalist 1:
“She seemed to be spending quite a bit of time in the McLaren motorhome with Oscar—”

Lando:
(interrupts immediately) “NO.”

(room bursts into laughter, Oscar shifts awkwardly in his chair)

Journalist 2:
“Sorry—‘no’? Could you elaborate?”

Lando:
(shaking his head furiously) “There’s nothing to elaborate on. Absolutely not. Next question.”

Oscar:
(quietly, under his breath but picked up on mic) “Bit harsh.”

Lando:
(turns to glare at him) “Don’t. Start.”

Journalist 3:
“Oscar, maybe you can comment—”

Lando:
“NO HE CAN’T.”

(more laughter; Oscar looks like he wants the ground to swallow him, while Charles two seats down is grinning like it’s the best entertainment of the season)

Moderator:
“Alright, let’s move on before we start a paddock family feud…”

(Lando mutters into his mic: “It’s already a feud.” Oscar hides a smile. Cameras catch it instantly.)

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/gridgirl1989:
🚨 lando just yelled “NO” in the middle of the press conference when asked about oscar spending time with his sister pippa 💀💀💀

@/monacogptea:
lando: “NO.”
journalist: “could you elaborate?”
lando: “absolutely not. next question.”
😭😭😭 bro is fighting for his life

@/f1memelord:
charles in the corner watching lando’s family drama instead of answering tyre strategy questions: 😏🍿

@/paddockwatcher:
the way oscar went “bit harsh” under his breath and lando IMMEDIATELY snapped “don’t. start.” … boyfriends brother-in-law energy already

@/norrisnation:
pippa norris showing up to ONE race weekend and already causing absolute chaos >>>>>>

@/papayafan123:
“NO HE CAN’T” – lando shutting down a journalist trying to ask oscar about pippa is the funniest thing i’ve seen all year 😭😭😭

@/gridchaos:
lando: not in front of the cameras
pippa + oscar: 👀👀👀

@/sillyseasonrumors:
putting £100 on “lando’s sister dating oscar” being the next silly season bombshell

@/papayachaos:
lando: NO.
journalist: could you elaborate—
lando: NO.
oscar: breathes
lando: NO.

@/pitlaneprincess:
the way oscar quietly went “bit harsh” under his breath HELP.
that boy is GONE for her.

@/tyrelap:
charles leclerc grinning in the background like he just got front row tickets to a netflix drama 😭

@/safebrake:
petition for mclaren to set up a live stream of lando trying (and failing) to stop his sister from dating his teammate.

@/f1lorekeeper:
cameras caught oscar smiling when lando said “don’t start” and i think that man has already picked out a ring.

@/gridgossip:
honestly lando yelling “NO” is the most sibling energy i’ve ever seen in a press conference. protectiveness + sheer panic.

@/codemonaco:
imagine being pippa: you come to one (1) race and suddenly you’re the main character of the entire grid.

@/PapayaPanic:
not lando gatekeeping his sister from his own teammate 😭😭😭

@/MonacoMischief:
the way oscar muttered “bit harsh” into the mic AND IT PICKED UP I’m cryingggg

@/ChaoticCharles:
Charles Leclerc in the background trying not to laugh is killing me.

@/gridwives:
me: omg who’s dating who?
netflix: we’ll tell you
lando: NO.

@/papayagossip:
“don’t. start.” – lando to oscar, 2025 (colourised)

@/just_a_paddock_mum:
honestly if oscar and pippa are a thing i’m rooting for them. she looked so sweet and normal compared to the usual circus.

@/landoapologist:
lando screaming NO is peak older brother energy. man’s fighting for his life.

@/MonacoChaos2025:
petition to rename this weekend: the Grand Prix of Lando Losing His Mind.

@/gridgirl95:
The way Oscar muttered “bit harsh” and Lando looked ready to throw hands??? I’m crying 😂😂😂

@/teamradiofail:
lando: NO
pippa & oscar: yes ❤️

@/maxisahazard:
petition to mic up lando 24/7 because this is comedy gold.

@/fernandoismydad:
Lando screaming NO is the new Kimi “leave me alone, I know what I’m doing.”

@/f1shipwars:
Calling it now: #Pipscar is endgame. Sorry Lando 🤷‍♀️

@/oscarstan27:
“bit harsh” OSCAR PIASTRI YOU’RE NOT HELPING YOURSELF 😭😭😭

@/pipfanclub:
pippa norris: shows up at one (1) grand prix
the entire paddock: THIS IS A LOVE STORY

@/danielriclol:
petition to rename “Drive to Survive” to “Lando Tries (and Fails) to Stop a Love Story”

@/f1chaos:
it’s official. oscar + pippa is the romcom subplot of the 2025 season. calling it now.

***

The McLaren garage between sessions was a kind of organized chaos: mechanics with headsets darting in and out, the low hum of generators, data screens flickering with lap times and telemetry. 

To Pippa, it felt like stepping inside her brother’s brain—numbers, lines, speeds all alive at once.

She wasn’t supposed to be here, not really. She should probably hide in hospitality with her laptop, coding something mundane while the world spun around her. But her Mum had shoved her toward the garage earlier with a pointed “Go watch, you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

So now she stood near the back, pressed against the wall, trying not to look too out of place. And then Oscar appeared.

Helmet off, balaclava hanging loose in his hand, hair damp with sweat. He caught sight of her instantly, like the rest of the garage didn’t exist.

“Hey,” he said, weaving through mechanics until he was at her side.

Her stomach flipped. “Shouldn’t you be debriefing or something?”

“I’ve got five minutes.” His grin was quick, crooked, private. “Besides, I’d rather talk to you.”

Pippa laughed, embarrassed, ducking her head. “That’s dangerous talk. Don’t let my brother hear you.”

Oscar leaned a little closer, dropping his voice like it was their secret. “Your brother’s too busy yelling at his engineer right now. I think we’re safe.”

And just like that, she relaxed. They talked—nonsense, really. She told him about her freelance work, the endless websites for small businesses, and he actually listened, eyes lit with interest. He asked about her favorite designs, the kind of code she liked, and when she admitted she had a thing for making sleek, hidden systems that worked flawlessly behind the scenes, he said softly, “That sounds a lot like you.”

Her breath caught.

She looked up at him, and the garage noise seemed to blur, fade. His smile was shy, earnest. And she realized, with startling clarity, that whatever had sparked yesterday wasn’t fading—it was only growing.

Somewhere nearby, she heard Lando’s voice rising over the radio and Cisca’s laughter floating from hospitality. The real world still spun on. But right there, in the corner of the McLaren garage, Pippa felt herself falling.

And the scariest part was that she didn’t want to stop.

***

The McLaren garage was a blur of motion: mechanics leaning into the car, engineers hunched over laptops, the hiss of tyre blankets and the low rumble of generators. Normally, Oscar thrived in that chaos. He could tune it out, focus on the data, prepare for qualifying.

But not today.

Because the moment he pulled off his helmet and scanned the back of the garage, he saw her.

Pippa Norris.

She was half-hidden against the wall, hands clasped around the strap of her tote bag like she was bracing herself against a storm. But when she saw him, her shoulders eased just a little. And suddenly Oscar wasn’t thinking about tyre deg or brake balance. He was thinking about her.

He crossed the garage without hesitation. “Hey.”

Her smile was quick, uncertain. “Shouldn’t you be… busy?”

“I’ve got five minutes.” He tried to keep it light, casual, but his heart was hammering in his chest. “Besides, I’d rather talk to you.”

The way her cheeks flushed nearly undid him.

They talked, and it was nothing and everything all at once—her websites, her design work, the quiet pride in her voice when she explained how she built things no one noticed, but everyone relied on. Oscar listened, really listened, and the words slipped out before he could stop them: “That sounds a lot like you.”

Her eyes widened, soft and startled, like he’d pulled a truth out of her she hadn’t meant to show. And he knew, in that moment, he was gone. Completely gone.

Around them, the garage carried on—Lando’s voice crackled sharp over the radio, an engineer shouted tyre temps, someone laughed at a bad joke. But Oscar didn’t hear any of it.

All he could hear was Pippa’s laugh, low and nervous and beautiful.

He wanted to stay there, anchored in that small space beside her, forever. But a hand clapped his shoulder—an engineer calling him back to reality, reminding him qualifying was minutes away.

Oscar gave Pippa one last look before he turned away. And she gave him one back.

It wasn’t just attraction. It wasn’t just nerves.

 It was the beginning of something neither of them could pretend away.

***

Lando Norris was buzzing.

Pole position in Monaco. Pole. He’d threaded the needle around the barriers, kissed the apexes, wrung everything out of the car, and when the chequered flag fell, it was his .

He could barely feel his legs as he climbed out of the cockpit, cheers erupting from the garage. The mechanics were pounding him on the back, Zac was shouting something unintelligible, and Andrea was beaming like a proud dad.

This was it. His moment.

And then, as the adrenaline settled, he caught sight of them.

Pippa, tucked just off to the side of the garage, looking at him with warm, proud eyes—good, that was what sisters were meant to do. But standing next to her, too close, was Oscar. And Oscar wasn’t looking at him . He was looking at her .

Still in his fireproofs, still sweaty from the car, and he was smiling at Pippa like she was the only person in the world. Pippa, of course, was smiling back, shy and pink-cheeked, fiddling with the strap of her bag like she did when she was nervous.

Oscar.

Oscar, who was supposed to be sulking about qualifying P3 or whatever, was instead standing much too close to Lando’s baby sister, leaning down to say something that made her laugh. Laugh. In his garage. At his pole position party.

Lando’s grin faltered.

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

He stalked over, still in his race suit, helmet tucked under his arm like a weapon. “Oi! Pole sitter here!” he announced, waving an arm. “Bit of attention? Maybe?”

Pippa looked at him, unbothered, smile soft. “Congrats, Lan.”

Oscar smiled too, like the smug little menace he was. “Congrats, mate.”

Lando squinted. “Don’t you ‘mate’ me while you’re making heart eyes at my sister.”

Pippa flushed. Oscar blinked, clearly fighting a laugh.

Before Lando could launch into a full tirade, a hand landed on his shoulder. His mum, Cisca, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh, Lando. Let them be. You’ve got pole. Isn’t that enough?”

“Mum! Dad!” Lando rounded on his parents, who were standing nearby looking utterly unbothered. “Are you seriously letting this happen?”

Cisca pressed her hands together, eyes sparkling. “They’re very sweet, darling.”

Adam’s mouth twitched as he tried—and failed—to hide a laugh. “Honestly, I haven’t seen Oscar this animated all season.”

“WHAT?!” Lando threw his arms out. “This is my weekend! I got pole in Monaco! And all you care about is—” he gestured wildly at his sister and his teammate, who were now pointedly not looking at him —“whatever that is!”

“Pole’s brilliant, son,” Adam said calmly, patting his shoulder. “But this is better entertainment.”

Cisca nodded sagely. “Don’t be such a grump. You can have pole and let your sister be happy.”

Adam chuckled into his coffee cup like this was the best entertainment Monaco had provided in years. “Honestly, son, you should be flattered. He’s a good lad.”

“Dad!”

But they were both smiling, both clearly delighted, and Lando felt like he was the only sane one left in Monte Carlo.

Pole in Monaco. He should have been on top of the world.

Instead, he was trying to figure out how to file an official complaint against Cupid .

***

The paddock was already buzzing, the air sharp with sea salt and the smell of fuel. Race day nerves hung everywhere, thick enough that even Pippa felt it, though she wasn’t the one strapping into a car.

She lingered just outside the McLaren garage with their parents, watching as Lando and Oscar finished final prep with their engineers. Both looked serious, focused, but when they stepped out, Pippa found herself smiling.

“Good luck,” she said softly, first to Lando, then to Oscar.

Oscar blinked, surprised, then gave her a small, grateful grin. “Thanks, Pippa.”

Lando, on the other hand, recoiled like she’d just handed Oscar a winning lottery ticket. “He doesn’t need luck!” Lando snapped, throwing an incredulous look at her. “He’s the championship leader!”

“Lando—” she began.

“No, seriously,” Lando cut in, gesturing at Oscar like he was presenting Exhibit A in a trial. “Why would you waste luck on him? He’s fine. He’s—he’s ahead of me. If anyone needs luck, it’s me!”

Pippa rolled her eyes. “You’re both driving through literal chaos at 300 kph. You both need luck.”

Oscar coughed into his fist, but there was a suspicious twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Lando narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t you dare smile. Don’t even look at her.”

Oscar immediately looked down at his race boots, expression saintly.

Adam chuckled, shaking his head. “For god’s sake, son. Just take the good wishes and get in the car.”

Cisca, ever calm, kissed Lando’s cheek. “She’s being kind. You could try it too.”

“Unbelievable,” Lando muttered, stalking back toward the garage. “Pole in Monaco, and apparently I’m the sideshow.”

But when Pippa glanced at Oscar again, he was still smiling faintly. And her heart was gone all over again.

***

The race had been brutal.

Monaco always was. Ninety minutes of pure concentration, walls closing in with every lap, tyres screaming for mercy. Oscar climbed out of the car sweaty, exhausted, but buzzing with the high of survival and points in the bag.

He pulled off his helmet, handed it to a mechanic, and let the noise of parc fermé wash over him—engines cooling, media swarming, fans screaming from balconies.

And then his eyes scanned the crowd. Instinctively. Uncontrollably.

For her.

It was ridiculous—seconds ago he’d been threading a car through the tightest corners in motorsport, but now his chest was hammering harder just looking for a glimpse of Pippa Norris.

There.

She stood just beyond the barricade, tucked between Cisca and Adam, her sundress catching the sunlight, laptop still slung in its ever-present tote. She caught his gaze almost instantly, like she’d been looking too, and smiled.

Oscar felt the whole world tilt. The exhaustion, the noise, the sting of sweat—gone. Just her.

He took a step toward the barrier.

And then—
“NOPE.”

Lando Norris materialised out of nowhere, sweaty race suit and all, still vibrating with the adrenaline of victory. He threw an arm across Oscar’s path like a physical blockade.

“Uh—congrats, mate?” Oscar said carefully, trying to sidestep.

Lando stepped with him, glaring. “Don’t. Even. Think about it.”

Behind him, Pippa sighed, folding her arms. “Lando, you’re being ridiculous.”

“I just won Monaco!” Lando barked. “I get dibs on family time! You—” he jabbed a finger into Oscar’s chest—“go do your media or whatever.”

Cisca’s voice floated dryly over the noise. “Honestly, you’d think he’d lost the race, not won it.”

Adam chuckled, shaking his head. “Son, you can’t keep them apart forever.”

Oscar swallowed, trying not to grin as Pippa rolled her eyes fondly behind her brother’s shoulder. She mouthed later at him, just a flick of her lips, and he felt something low in his stomach ignite.

Later.

Oscar nodded once, accepting the barricade for now. But he knew—Lando could block him all he wanted. The race was already over. The real story had only just begun.

***

The restaurant buzzed with the kind of energy only Monaco could create after a Grand Prix: champagne flowing, laughter echoing off marble walls, flashes of paparazzi cameras just beyond the terrace. Inside, McLaren had claimed a long table for family, friends, and celebration.

At the head sat Lando, basking in the glow of his first Monaco win, glass of champagne permanently in hand. He was grinning so hard his face might crack, replaying overtakes and pit calls for anyone who would listen.

And just to his right—Pippa.
And just to her right—Oscar.

It hadn’t been planned. At least, not by Lando. But Cisca had steered Pippa to the empty chair, and Adam had “accidentally” guided Oscar into the one beside her, and by the time Lando noticed, it was too late.

They spent the entire evening side by side, leaning close to talk over the din. Pippa told Oscar about her freelance projects, mimicking difficult clients with such dry humor he nearly choked on his water. He, in turn, tried to explain race strategy in layman’s terms, only to dissolve into laughter when she said, “So basically: don’t crash.”

Every time she laughed, Oscar felt it like a spark under his skin. And every time he looked at her, Lando narrowed his eyes from across the table, as if sheer willpower could wedge a chasm between them.

Dinner stretched long into the night, plates cleared, dessert devoured, the champagne bottle count climbing. Pippa felt warm, almost lightheaded—not from the wine, but from the quiet joy of Oscar’s hand brushing hers under the table when he passed her a napkin.

And then, inevitably, Lando stood. A little wobbly, a little flushed, but beaming. He clinked his glass with a fork until the table hushed.

“To Monaco,” he declared grandly. “To my first win here. To McLaren!”

Cheers rang out, glasses raised. Lando drained his champagne, slammed it down, and then turned—with the laser focus of a slightly tipsy older brother—towards Oscar.

“FINE.” His voice rang over the laughter. “FINE. If you two want to make heart eyes all bloody evening, go ahead.”

Pippa froze, mortified. Oscar went red to the tips of his ears. The table erupted in giggles.

Lando jabbed a finger at Oscar, swaying just slightly. “BUT. Don’t. You. Dare. Hurt. Her.”

The laughter softened into a murmur of “awws.” Pippa groaned, hiding her face in her hands.

Oscar, however, straightened in his chair. He met Lando’s gaze, steady and sure, and said quietly, “I won’t.”

Something in his tone must have landed, because Lando blinked, then sat back down with a dramatic sigh. “God, this is going to be a nightmare.”

But when Pippa peeked at Oscar from behind her hands, he was still looking at her like she was the only person in the room. And for once, she didn’t care who saw it.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/gridgossip:
pap pics just dropped of oscar piastri + pippa norris leaving the same restaurant in monaco tonight 👀👀👀
[📸 blurry pap shot: Oscar in a white button-down, Pippa beside him in a sundress, her hand brushing his arm as they walk toward a car]

@/papayafan44:
HELLO??? they look like they’re in a romcom walking out of dinner together 😭

@/lanstans:
lando screaming “NO” in the press conference two days ago and now THIS… sir ur battle is already lost

@/f1wagsunited:
ngl Pippa looks gorgeous. sundress, messy bun, no pap awareness whatsoever. Oscar looks like he’s escorting her home from prom 🥹

@/monacogpqueen:
lando norris wins monaco but the real story is his sister and his teammate falling in love in the background 💀

@/gridgeek27:
look at their body language tho. not just friends. NOT just friends.

@/oscarpiastriluv:
idc what anyone says… she looks HAPPY. and so does he.

@/oscarstan27:
look at oscar opening the door for her 😭😭😭 boy is GONE

@/pipfanclub:
pippa norris casually showing up to one (1) grand prix and bagging herself the championship leader… legend behaviour 💅

@/landoNOrris:
thinking about lando at the press conference screaming “NO” while these two are out here giving romcom energy on the monaco streets 😭

@/norrissisarmy:
the way oscar is looking at her… that is not casual. that is “already writing our vows” behaviour.

@/papayalover44:
they look so soft i can’t 😭😭😭

@/verstappensburner:
lando celebrating monaco but his sister celebrating oscar >>>>

@/teammclarenfan:
so is oscar gonna have to start calling lando “bro” on and off track or what

@/piposcar:
new ship unlocked: #PipOscar 💛🧡

@/f1chaosqueen:
NOT THE HEART EYES IN 4K 😭😭😭
[pic zoomed in of Oscar looking at Pippa like she hung the moon]

@/charlesleclurrr:
petition to rename DTS season 7: “Lando Norris’ Worst Nightmare”

@/mclarendrama:
how long before lando combusts live on tv again: place your bets

@/f1memelord:
monaco 2025 podium:

1. lando norris 🏆
   
   
2. oscar + pippa’s love story 🫶
   
   
3. netflix producers getting fed

@/f1memelord:
lando: “NO OSCAR”
oscar: walks out of dinner with pippa 💀

@/pipfanclub:
not the way he’s LOOKING at her 😭😭😭 that’s not casual, that’s ROMANCE

@/honeybadgerstan88:
petition for netflix to call the 2025 season “Norris v. Piastri: Brother-in-Law GP”

@/oscarstan27:
okay but real talk… they’re actually really cute together.

@/papayastan44:
NOT THE HANDS ALMOST TOUCHING 😭😭😭

@/monacogirl92:
look at her face… she’s glowing . that’s not a first-date smile, that’s an i’m gone smile

@/landochaos:
lando: “NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT.”
also lando’s sister: (leaves dinner with oscar piastri hand-in-hand almost) 💀💀💀

@/gridtea:
i need DTS cameras on the Norris family table immediately because imagine the CHAOS

@/oscarpiastriluv:
he looks so soft??? like?? he’s usually so neutral-faced but look at him looking at her 🥺

@/dnfenergy:
monaco has cursed many drivers but i think it just blessed piastri and pippa

@/f1memelord:
petition to rename “Oscar Piastri” to “Oscar Norris” by the end of 2025

@/mclarengirl:
lando better start preparing his speech for the wedding toast now 💅