Chapter Text
Piper Hastings isn't sure what she expected when she took the McLaren media admin job, but it definitely wasn't this.
She thought there'd be paperwork. Maybe a few TikToks. Some guy with a clipboard breathing down her neck about brand guidelines. What she didn't expect was walking into the Woking factory on her first day and getting immediately adopted by Lando fucking Norris.
"Hastings, right?" he says, all dimples and curls and the kind of energy that makes Piper's fight-or-flight instincts kick in. He sticks out a hand like he's been waiting to meet her his whole life.
"Piper," she corrects, shaking his hand. His palm is warm, fingers calloused. She ignores that part.
"Lando. Welcome to the papaya cult."
Piper glances around like there might be a hidden camera crew waiting to jump out. "Thanks... I think?"
"You'll love it. Free hoodies. Terrible coffee. Everyone's a little bit in love with Oscar."
That makes her snort before she can stop herself. Mistake number one — Lando's grin goes sharp, like he's already clocked her as someone who will let him get away with murder. Piper makes a mental note not to laugh at any of his jokes ever again.
"Guess I'll be seeing a lot of you," she says, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder.
Lando's grin widens. "More than you'd like, probably."
It takes her three days to figure out exactly how this dynamic works.
Lando's the golden retriever — loud, attention-seeking, absolutely convinced everyone loves him. Oscar's the cat — aloof, self-contained, probably plotting everyone's death. And somewhere in between them... is her.
The first time she sees Oscar, he's tucked away in the sim room, headphones on, hyper-focused. Piper hovers in the doorway for a second too long, not wanting to interrupt.
"Don't bother," Lando says from behind her, voice low like they're sharing a secret. "He'll be in there for hours. Bit of a robot, that one."
Oscar must hear them because he glances over his shoulder — quick flick of brown eyes, one eyebrow barely twitching before he turns back to the screen.
"Hi." Flat. Barely even a smile.
Piper clears her throat. "Nice to meet you too."
Lando snorts. "Charming, isn't he?"
Oscar doesn't react, and Piper files that away — Lando talks enough for two people, and Oscar barely talks at all. She's not sure which one of them is going to drive her insane first.
But the more time she spends in the garage, the more she starts to notice things. How Lando always seems to end up in her orbit without trying. How he finds little excuses to wander into the media office — a phone charger, a water bottle he definitely doesn't need, some bullshit request for the McLaren TikTok account password. How he texts her random memes at midnight like they're already friends.
At first, Piper keeps him at arm's length. She's not here to get tangled up with drivers — definitely not the one with a smile like a warning sign and too much charm for his own good. But Lando's the kind of person who wears you down without you even noticing.
It starts with inside jokes — little digs at the papaya merch or the way Zak Brown insists on saying content strategy like it's a military operation. Then there are the coffee runs — Lando insisting the media office coffee is a war crime and dragging Piper to the tiny café down the street because, according to him, she's part of the team now.
By the end of the week, he's sending her TikToks in the middle of the night and flipping her off behind Oscar's back during debriefs.
Piper never wanted to be anyone's favorite. But Lando's made up his mind about her before she even realized there was a decision to make.
Oscar, though — Oscar's a whole different problem.
He doesn't talk much, but when he does, it's quick, clipped, and usually a little sarcastic if you know how to listen for it. He doesn't avoid her exactly — just keeps his distance, watching from the edges like he's not sure if she's worth figuring out yet.
The first time they end up alone together, it's purely by accident — Piper tucked into the media room editing clips from a race weekend, Oscar wandering in looking for something he forgot. He freezes when he sees her, like he genuinely didn't expect anyone to be here.
"Uh... I'll come back."
Piper glances up from her laptop. "You can stay. I'm just—"
Oscar's already halfway out the door when Lando's voice echoes from the hallway. "Piastri! Come on, mate, don't be shy!"
Oscar visibly tenses, muttering something under his breath that Piper's pretty sure is I'm going to kill him.
Still, he stays — hovering near the door for a second too long before finally sinking into the chair across from her. Piper pretends not to notice how stiff he is, like sitting still might actually kill him.
They sit in silence for five minutes before he clears his throat. "You're new."
Piper doesn't look up from her screen. "Figured that out all by yourself, huh?"
There's a beat of quiet — then, unexpectedly, the corner of Oscar's mouth twitches. It's barely anything, but Piper clocks it like a win.
He doesn't talk again. But he stays.
By the time they get to Barcelona for testing, the entire grid knows who Piper is.
George Russell starts sending her suspiciously knowing looks in the paddock. Pierre Gasly makes a comment at dinner about McLaren's new favorite girl. Max Verstappen starts calling her the third McLaren driver just to piss off Lando.
Carlos Sainz — poor, long-suffering Carlos — watches all of this unfold with the air of someone bracing for disaster.
"They're going to ruin your life," he tells her one night over drinks, his Spanish accent going extra dry. "You know that, right?"
Piper sips her gin and tonic. "I'm a big girl."
Carlos just snorts. "Sure, princesa. Keep telling yourself that."
The funniest part is how little effort she's making. She's not flirting. She's not trying to worm her way into anyone's inner circle. She's just... there.
But that's how it always starts, isn't it?
Nothing's happening.
But everyone's already watching.
And the worst part?
Piper thinks she likes it.