Parallel_Mirrors
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- Formula 1 RPF (6)
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“If you’re kissing all your girls like that,” Oscar starts, his voice is slower, drawn out, “Then its no wonder they aren’t moaning.”
It’s almost goading, the way he says it—the words undercut with a challenge. Oscar knows him too well to assume he’s going to back down.
”Yeah?” Lando tilts his head, eyes narrowing, “Big talk, Piastri. You think you’re a better kisser than me?”
Oscar rolls his eyes at his tone, there really isn’t a reason for them to be doing this. ‘Just because’ isn’t a good enough reason to make out with your best friend, no matter how drunk or high you are, and Oscar knows that. But it sticks in his chest like nicotine tar, aches with every shuddering breath he sucks in.
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Lando leaned in again—closer now, impossibly close—her focus sharp, tongue caught slightly between her teeth as she carefully traced the colour along the curve of Oscar’s mouth. The brush of the gloss was feather-light, but Lando’s knuckles brushed Oscar’s chin, steadying her.
“Don’t move,” she murmured.
Oscar didn’t. Couldn’t. She felt pinned there, heart beating too loud, mouth tingling under Lando’s touch.
When Lando pulled back, slowly, she looked almost dazed herself — like she’d forgotten where she was. She stepped back then — too fast, too casual, wiping her thumb unnecessarily across the edge of Oscar’s jaw.
“There,” she said softly, “Perfect.”
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“You’re kidding, right?” Oscar laughs, the sound sharp and bitter, “Lando, you’re fucking joking. You can’t expect me to—”
He cuts himself off with a disbelieving scoff. Oscar’s suit was half-unzipped, fireproofs visible through the gap and clinging to him with the sweat of the race, darkening at the chest and the curve of his throat. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead, flattened where the helmet had pressed down, the rest of it mussed in that careless way it always was.
His cheeks were still flushed from the heat, from the adrenaline, maybe from anger — Lando couldn’t tell which. His stomach twisted, a slow, pleasant ache.
Lando leaned back slightly, just enough to feign ease. His voice came out low, smooth.
“S’my choice, innit?” he said, shrugging one shoulder, carefully casual, “You could’ve said no.”
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Oscar had looked at him sideways, eyes molten honey and cheeks still flushed from the heat, hand moving almost automatically as he signed the caps. His leg was still pressed against Lando’s
”Reckon you should hurry up,” he said, casually, “Your girlfriend’s waiting for you.”
Lando had scoffed a laugh, and said, “Not my girlfriend, mate,” watching as Oscar’s eyes lingered slightly, before turning away with a shrug— jaw moving like he was biting down on his tongue.
Now, in the dark, with his sheets bunched around his hips and sweat beading at his temple as he fucks up into his hand, it feels a little cruel in hindsight. The way he said it—too quickly, too dismissively. But they hadn’t made anything official and he hadn’t asked her to wait for him.
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you know that had it once (you know that you want it back) by Parallel_Mirrors
Fandoms: Formula 1 RPF
08 Jul 2025
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“Max offered me a seat on his plane,” Oscar shrugs, tone level, almost casual. “Said we might as well fly out together.”
Lando stiffens. Something catches in his throat.
“Max?” The name shoots out of him too sharply, too quickly—like it cuts on the way out, jagged and instinctive. His lips curl slightly before he can stop them, the disbelief flashing across his face unfiltered, “You’re leaving with Max?”
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Oscar doesn’t know how it happened.
They’re yelling, too close, voices overlapping, when Lando shoves him back hard enough to rattle the bench.
Something in Oscar snaps and the words are out before he can stop them“Can I blow you?”
They land wrong. Too wrong.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That was not what he meant.“What?” Lando says.
Alternatively, a Landoscar tennis AULando Norris and Oscar Piastri have an unspoken agreement: stay out of each other's way.
Oscar's never been entirely sure how it started. Lando has never brought it up.
What follows is nobodys finest hour — a bench too narrow for two people with that much to prove, fourteen alarm clocks, a fake vibrant flyer and one extremely wobbly chair. Two people catastrophically aware of each other, trying very hard to make it everyone's problem except their own.It starts with a secret only one of them is keeping. Some games aren’t played to win.
Bookmarked by Parallel_Mirrors
17 Feb 2026
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“It’s probably not the best idea for us to do this,” Oscar says, looking away. “We’re living together, and the contract—”
“Fuck the contract,” Lando interrupts, exasperated. “We can add a clause to it or something, I dunno. It can be like those stupid rom-coms where they agree not to fall in love with each other.”
Or: Oscar Piastri is a lonely, closeted F1 driver who's one mistaken hook-up away from certain ruin. Lando is a down-on-his-luck photographer who's three days away from eviction. When Lando tries to mug Oscar in a desperate attempt to keep his housing, Oscar proposes a mutually beneficial arrangement: Lando lives with Oscar as his companion for one year. After that, they're free to go their separate ways. A rock-solid NDA and no hard feelings. What could go wrong?
- Language:
- English
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- 138,817
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- 16/19
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Bookmarked by Parallel_Mirrors
04 Feb 2026
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They handed him an Omega with ash still in his hair.
Lando stood barefoot on the marble floor of a city that had swallowed his name, his future, and the scent of the man he was promised to. He said nothing. He didn’t bow. He only stared — jaw tight, eyes brighter than any fire that took his home.
Oscar Piastri was a commander, not a keeper of hearts. The boy was a war spoil, nothing more. He told himself that, again and again, as days passed and silence turned into glances, glances into questions, and questions into something dangerously close to care.
The rules of war are simple: Victors take. The conquered yield.
But Lando has never followed rules.
And Oscar? He's starting to forget them.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 96,624
- Chapters:
- 7/10
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Bookmarked by Parallel_Mirrors
01 Feb 2026
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The first time Oscar Piastri meets Lando Norris, he smashes a golf ball through the windscreen of his car.
At the time, Oscar Piastri does not know he’s just met Lando Norris.
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Oscar Piastri is a year out of culinary school and struggling to make ends meet when his old mentor Mark sets him up with a job interview to be a private chef at McLaren Manor, the ancestral home of the Norris family.
Lando is the second son of Lord Norris, every inch the aristocrat he was raised to be. Beautiful, lonely, bored - and miserable. Engaged to the beautiful Margarida and with little else to fill his time besides parties and working through his vast inheritance, Lando finds himself growing more enamoured with Oscar by the day.
But they exist in different worlds. Oscar is staff, doing what he can to make a name for himself. Lando is self-destructive in the extreme. Is it possible for them to defy the odds and find what they need in each other, or will they bring each other down trying?
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 72,468
- Chapters:
- 6/?
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- 1
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Bookmarked by Parallel_Mirrors
18 Jan 2026
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Lando doesn’t stop needing when Oscar turns cold. He just finds other ways to get off, spread out on a bed, legs shaking, letting someone else between his thighs. A world champ, for example, might take him apart like he’s easy, make him gush, make him forget for a second.
But it never sticks. Because it’s Oscar who owns him, really. Oscar who drags every confession out of him, who plays with his cunt until he’s leaking, who makes him admit he’s not good enough and still keeps him begging.
Every orgasm just proves the same thing: he can’t get free.
Series
- Part 10 of landoscar works by this anon
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,009
- Chapters:
- 1/1
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- 1
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- 16
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- 104
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Bookmarked by Parallel_Mirrors
05 Jan 2026