Hard Launched | LN4 | Chapter One
Synopsis ♡ A series of coincidences lead the world to thinking that you’re dating Lando Norris.
Word count ♡ 3.6k
Genre ♡ Lando x Fem!reader, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, social media elements, may be slightly suggestive in future chapters
Notes ♡ MDNI (no smut but I am a +18 blog) OKAY Hard Launched 2.0! Let’s try this again! there are probably spelling errors , oops
Face Claim ♡ Kianna Naomi (any other pics are for outfits and general vibes) all credit to pintrest for photos
The light glinting off the tile is one of your favorite sights. It gives the floor that slick glassy sheen, wet-looking, and unblemished. A sure sign the studio’s had its monthly waxing and is ready to begin the slow process of being scuffed up again by heels, pointe shoes, and everything in-between.
It’s empty at this hour. The doors won’t open to the public for another two hours, but Madame Reneé has known you since you were one of her little ones racing through the halls in ballet flats a size too big, with a bun that never quite slicked back all the way. As long as you set up the rooms for morning yoga and hand off the keys to the first instructor who arrives, she lets you have the place to yourself most days.
Which is perfect because if you got one more noise complaint from your downstairs neighbor, you’re pretty sure your landlord would find some loophole in your lease and toss you out. (It’s not like you’re doing it on purpose! Inspiration strikes at odd times, and you weren’t even wearing your heels! See? Considerate!)
And Mina, your roommate and best friend since grade ten, would absolutely wring your neck if you lost the deposit because of scuff marks on the hardwood. (Okay, maybe you wore your heels sometimes, but come on—how are you supposed to see the full effect of the choreography without them?)
So, like the good roommate you are, you’re up at the crack of dawn, christening the freshly waxed studio with one of the most sensual songs you’ve heard in a while. You’re determined to make this take the take, the one that finally feels right. So you can beat the breakfast rush at your favorite café and maybe start the day off on a productive note.
dancingatdawn
🎵: Worst Behavior by Kwn ft. Kehlani
(one minute video and one picture)
♥️11k 💬578 ⤵️295
dancingatdawn: The minute I heard this song I had to throw together a combo for it! @/Kwnway @/Kehlani I’m obsessed 😍Watch the full video on youtube and get some behind the scenes details!
minaaa: i used to be able to dance like this but then my mama permed my hair 😔🥀anyways you ate!
↳dancingatdawn: LMAO?? bye bro 😭😭 stop stealing my jokes
nicolekirkland: 🔥🔥🔥as always, can’t wait to collab again!
↳dancingatdawn: Yes!! Please let me know when you’re back in London 🫶🏾🫶🏾
user1: ur so talented!
user2: oh wow @/user3 are you seeing what i’m seeing?👀
↳user3: girl i’m peeping for sure…
↳dancingatdawn: ???
user4: loving the dance but the shoes!! i need immediately
↳ dancingatdawn: thank you lovely, they’re from Aldo you can use the code linked in my bio for money off ✨✨
user3: @/user2 i can’t find anything showing they know each other
↳ user2: idk it feels targeted. the dance the lyrics the jersey, its giving very much staged🤷♀️
user5: she’s not his usual type at all i think you guys are reaching
user6: ew what is she even doing
user7: LMAO bitches do anything for attention
user8: 🙄🙄typical slut just trying to use Lando for clout he would never go for her
↳ dancingatdawn: Not to fucking much???? who are you even talking about
Maxfewtrell: 👀
——-
When Max said he wanted them to go home—like, actually home to England for his short break between races, Lando figured he had plans. Something fun. A golf outing with their families, maybe, or messing around on the old karting track where they first met.
Anything but this.
Anything but sitting in Max’s childhood bedroom, staring at the walls, while Max watched the same damn video over and over and over again.
“Will you turn that shit down?” Lando groaned, already feeling a headache start to blossom behind his eyes. “I can’t hear myself die of boredom.”
He couldn’t believe he passed up ten days of peace and quiet in Monaco for this. This was peak sim racing time. Or, better yet, he could’ve been with that model he met in Bahrain. Arianna? Or was it Adrienne? Whatever. She would’ve been mindless fun. And right now, that’s exactly what he needs. Something to shut his brain off for as long as possible.
His jab finally pulls Max out of whatever trance he’s been in, and the video stops. Quite fills the void.
“Mate, you have to see this.”
Spoke too soon.
Now the phone is shoved in his face, the same video blasting at full volume and burning his eyes with maximum brightness.
“Fuck off!” he snaps, squinting against the glare and shoving the phone away. He glares at his best friend. “What could possibly be so important that you had to blind me?”
“If you’d stop bitching and look, you’d see,” Max mutters, rolling his eyes.
Reluctantly, Lando looks.
The first thing he notices is the jersey, it’s his jersey. Not unusual. He sees fans in his merch all the time, especially women. Not to toot his own horn, but he knows he’s popular with the female crowd. He’s not sure why exactly, maybe it’s the sea-glass eyes, maybe the boyish charm, but he’s certainly not complaining.
Then he sees her.
The girl in the jersey.
She’s gorgeous. Hair falling loose around her face, partly hiding and revealing the kind of eyes that draw you in and don’t let go. She’s dancing to an R&B track that feels like it was made just for her. Long legs, stiletto heels, every move smooth and hypnotic, like she owns the rhythm.
Okay. He gets why Max was stuck on this.
When the video ends, Lando hands the phone back without replaying it. He smooths his expression into that practiced, neutral mask he knows too well. Raises a brow.
“Okay? Hot girl dancing in my merch. What’s the big deal? Girls do this kind of thing for attention all the time.”
Max gives him a look. “Alright, jackass. I’m just showing you now in case it blows up. You know how people love to take stuff like this and run.”
Lando sighs and flops back onto the bed, the same bed that used to be their post-karting crash pad—smaller now and definitely not meant to hold this much weight. “It’s not the first time someone’s tried to use my name, and I guarantee it won’t be the last.”
Max stares at him for a moment before asking, “You’ve been a particularly grumpy asshole the past couple days. Anything you want to get off your chest?”
The question hangs heavy in the air. Of course Max would notice something’s off. He’s Lando’s oldest friend. Closest, too.
The urge to spill everything bubbles up fast in his chest but he pushes it down.
How could he even explain it? That being a championship contender, a possible Formula One World Champion, is both the best thing that’s ever happened to him and also the most terrifying. The pressure, the expectation, the spotlight. It’s suffocating.
And how could he say all that to Max?
Max, who knows the pressure of this sport better than anyone. Who wanted the title just as badly. Who could have been bitter about not having the same shot but instead, chose to be in Lando’s corner, completely.
How could he unload all of that without sounding ungrateful?
He can’t.
So, he’ll carry it. Alone. Right up until he’s standing on that number one podium in Abu Dhabi.
“Nothing,” he says finally.
Max looks like he wants to push, but thankfully he doesn’t.
“You know what you need?” Max grins. “A rager.”
Yeah. He’s right. That’s exactly what Lando needs.
——-
When you arrive back at your flat that Friday, you already have a vision for how the evening is going to go.
First, a long shower to decompress and wash off the day. Then, dinner. It’s Mina’s turn to cook, which really means there’ll be a half-hearted attempt at something homemade pushed to the side while takeout waits patiently on the stove. Hopefully Thai. Today has definitely been a Thai food kind of day.
Then, you’ll both curl up on your secondhand couch with your food and some cheap grocery-store wine, shitting on your jobs as per tradition. You, the underpaid sales associate at a high-end boutique; her, the overworked and underappreciated accountant for a bank. It’s a sacred ritual at this point.
So when you swing open the front door and the first thing you see is a full shot of tequila in your designated “I luv Miami” shot glass (part of a growing collection from your travels), you’re a little caught off guard.
“Shot o’clock, bitch! Drink up!” Mina sing-songs, waving the glass dangerously close to your face and spilling off the sides onto your work shoes.
She’s definitely already had a few.
You carefully grab the shot and move past her, setting it on the kitchen counter with a raised brow. “Uh, hello to you too? I know you don’t have to work weekends, but I still have ballet with the littles tomorrow, videos to edit, and work again on Sunday.”
“Oh please,” she waves you off, already climbing onto the counter with her designated “I luv New York” glass. “Those little girls adore you. You could make them stand in fifth position for forty-five minutes straight and they’d still think you’re the literal sun. And I know your videos are practically done. You just like to nit-pick until your eye starts twitching.”
She goes to pour herself another shot, but you snatch the bottle from her mid-pour.
“What happened to Thai and wine?” you ask, holding it hostage. “Why are you breaking out the hard stuff?”
“Because we’re getting old and boring!” she declares dramatically, arms flailing. “All we do is work and nag. We’re 24, ___! When was the last time we actually went out? And don’t say Reese’s birthday dinner that does not count. I mean really went out and let loose. We’re borderline old hags!”
“I happen to like being an old hag, thank you very much. Now what really brought this on?” You keep your grip firm on the bottle as she reaches for it again, slapping her hand away.
She lets out a distressed wail and tosses her head back, nearly toppling off the counter. “A teenager came in to open his first bank account today and he called me ma’am.”
You blink. “Maybe it was, like, a respect thing?”
“No! He might as well have called me an ancient crow! If I don’t go do something irresponsible to balance it out, he’ll be right!”
She slides off the counter, marches up to you, and grabs your shoulders with both hands, staring into your soul. “We need to go out. Tonight. Or I’ll do something drastic, and you know I will.”
Truth is, maybe a night out wouldn’t be the worst idea.
Your current routine: dance studio in the mornings, retail hell in the afternoons, editing content at night, and teaching beginner ballet on alternate Saturdays—is starting to feel a little too… mundane. Predictable. Maybe even creatively stifling.
Plus, you’ve been dealing with a wave of hate comments on your latest video. Not that that’s anything new. Comes with the territory of being a budding influencer. Still, the consistency and specificity of these comments has been weird. They all seem to mention the same guy.
Lando.
What kind of name is that, anyway? You assumed he was some washed-up footballer with a cult following and moved on. Let the trolls tire themselves out. It’ll blow over eventually.
But still, the negativity has been nagging at you. Maybe dancing it out on a club floor, phone off and head clouded with drinks and good music, is exactly what you need.
“Fine,” you sigh, snatching the tequila shot from the counter and downing it in one go. “You’re such a drama queen, Mina. We’ll go out. But I swear, if I’m hungover tomorrow in a room full of sugar-hyped six year olds, I’m coming for you.”
You posted on your story!
Lando posted on his story!
——-
The music is loud.
The bass reverberates through the walls, through the soles of your boots, through your entire damn skeleton. Lights flash in shades of neon, sweeping across the room like the club in a way that has to be against some sort of violation.
Definitely not your usual scene.
Not that it mattered. Mina said she knew a guy who could get you in for free and that was all you needed to hear honestly.
She’s already disappeared into the crowd, turns out that guy she knew was some finance bro in a blazer two sizes too small who promised her shots and a rooftop view. You’re left to nurse your drink, leaning against the edge of the bar and trying not to think about the way your feet already ache.
Then the beat drops.
And okay maybe you’re a little drunk. Because suddenly, standing still feels wrong. Was Mina on to something with her tequila induced rant earlier? Are you really that old and boring that you’ve settled for being a wallflower? No, absolutely not. Just because you’ve spent the past few months on a content-creation-sleep-repeat cycle doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten how to enjoy yourself.
So you down the rest of your vodka cran, drop the empty cup on the bar, and push into the dance floor.
——
Lando isn’t even sure how they ended up here.
One second Max was laughing about how this was “exactly what they needed”, and the next they were stepping into a sweaty pit of neon lighting and overpriced drinks, surrounded by people who all seemed way too excited to pretend they didn’t know who he was.
He’s halfway through a whiskey sour, hat low over his eyes, trying to keep a low profile and failing miserably. There’s already been three separate girls whispering “Is that Lando Norris?” as they passed him.
He needs another drink.
Or maybe a distraction.
The music pulses. The crowd moves. Bodies press too close together and the floor becomes a blur or people. Max is already deep in some conversation with a guy he knows through streaming and a girl with glitter eyebrows.
So Lando does what he always does when he doesn’t know what to do, he moves.
Slipping onto the dance floor with his drink still in hand. No plan. Just vibes.
——
You’re caught up in the rhythm before you even realize it, arms in the air, hips swaying, head tilted back. The music’s got that perfect mix of smooth R&B groove you love and the synth beats of house music, and for a moment, everything else fades. No work, no editing, no comments, no Lando-whatever-his-name-is—
Until a freezing splash of liquid crashes against your chest and stomach, soaking the front of your top completely.
You gasp, stumbling back a step as ice cubes slide down your shirt and land, humiliatingly, inside your bra.
“Are you kidding me?!”
The guy responsible is holding a now half-empty cup and looking at you like you’re the one who messed up his night.
“Oh, fuck. Relax,” he says, completely unapologetic as he flicks his eyes over you. “It’s just a drink.”
Your jaw drops.
“Just a drink? You literally poured whiskey down my shirt.”
He smirks. Smirks.
“All right, technically, I didn’t pour it. You just… got in the way.”
Who the fuck-
You’re too stunned to speak for a moment, partly because you’re dripping alcohol and partly because this guy’s attitude is unreal.
You take a deep breath and then glare directly at him.
“Whatever. Dick.” you shoulder check him on your way past to the bathroom and hear him scoff to himself like he was the one wet, sticky and already smelling like a distillery.
It’s not your best comeback but it’s better than decking him in his face right in the middle of the dance floor. You were not about to get dragged out by security over some smart mouthed pretty boy who thought he was God’s gift to man. Ugh men.
——
When you wake up the next morning, you can already tell it’s going to be better than the day before.
For one, you’re not hungover, thank God. That’s honestly the only thing that jerk from last night deserves credit for. After he practically baptized you in alcohol, you’d been way too overwhelmed to stay out any longer. So you’d grabbed Mina, dragged her away from her tragically average finance bro (who she would definitely be thanking you for later), and called the first Uber home.
But it was fine because today was a brand new day.
You got to spend your Saturday morning in your favorite place with some of your favorite tiny humans. The dance studio always feels like coming home. You’ve been dancing since you could stand upright and getting to share that joy with others? Nothing beats it.
When Madame Reneé posted an opening for a beginner ballet teacher two years ago, you applied within the hour. And you’ve loved every class since. Watching your girls finally nail a kick or a clean turn? Best feeling on the planet.
You’d teach full time in a heartbeat if passion paid the rent. But for now, you settle for two classes every other Saturday, and it’s the best part of your week.
This morning’s class was electric. The spring recital is just around the corner and the energy was buzzing. Everyone was locked in, routines flowing, tiny pink tutus spinning like flower petals in bloom.
Honestly? Today could not be more perfect.
—
You return home with a bounce in your step and a treat in hand, already anticipating a cozy decompression session on the couch.
“Bestie, I’m hoooome,” you sing out as you enter, holding up the small paper bag like a trophy. “I know last night was a bust, but I stopped at Marie’s and got us chocolate croissants!”
But then you see Mina’s face pale, wide-eyed, phone clutched in her hand like it might self-destruct.
Your heart drops.
“What? What’s wrong? Who died?”
You abandon the croissants on the coffee table and drop beside her, panic rising like a tide in your chest.
“I tried calling you this morning,” she says quietly, not looking up. “But your phone was off.”
“I turn it off during class, you know that. Mina, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
“Okay,” she breathes, eyes finally meeting yours. “I have to show you something. But you cannot freak out.”
“…That’s not really helping,” you say, voice edging toward frantic. “Mina.”
She hands you her phone with trembling fingers.
You take it, already bracing yourself.
And then you see it:
🏁 F1GOSSIP
New WAG on the rise?
LANDO NORRIS & INFLUENCER SPARK ROMANCE RUMORS AFTER NIGHTCLUB SIGHTING
Lando Norris, McLaren’s golden boy, is fueling the rumor mill once again. But this time it’s his off-track moves that have everyone buzzing. The 25-year-old driver was spotted at an exclusive London nightclub over the weekend, but it’s who he was seen with that has fans putting on their detective hats. None other than Y/N Y/L/N, a 24-year-old dancer originally from the United States…
Your eyes fly down the screen, scanning faster.
Eyewitnesses say the pair arrived separately and weren’t seen too close together — but maybe they’re just good at keeping it low-key in the public eye.
The speculation started when Y/N posted a dance cover in his merch to a song fans felt was heavily targeted toward their beloved driver. With lyrics like:
“Keep drivin’, one hand on the wheel and one inside it…”
The dance itself was quite sensual in nature, leading many to question who exactly she was dancing for. (Link to video)
Naturally, social media went into overdrive…
“Okay but if Lando and Y/N are a thing… I’m not surviving this season,” tweeted one fan.
To add fuel to the fire, followers noticed Y/N and Lando both posted very similar Stories that same night. Coincidence? F1 Twitter thinks not…
There’s two blurry pictures attached to the article. One of you mid-movement on the dance floor and one of some guy in a white button down and black hat. And it’s with a chill creeping down your spine that you realize it’s him. That guy from last night!
Your mouth is hanging open.
Your pulse is in your throat.
“I—what—” You blink. “WHAT!”
“I told you not to freak out!”
“Mina, they called me a WAG!” you screech, throwing the phone on the couch like it personally betrayed you. “I don’t even know who he is really! He spilled a drink on me and was an absolute asshole about it! I feel like I'm being punked!”
“They think you’re dating.”
“No, they think I’m soft launching a relationship with a jersey I picked up at a charity shop for €5!,” you hiss, snatching the phone back and scrolling again. “Which is insane. This is insane! They even linked the video!”
You tap the link and sure enough, your most recent dance post plays on the screen — the one in his jersey, the one with the admittedly seductive choreography, the one that’s now racking up views by the millions.
“Mina. This video has three times the engagement it did yesterday. My follower count is climbing like it’s on crack.”
“You’re trending on F1 Twitter,” she whispers, like she’s delivering a terminal diagnosis.
“Oh my God.” You bury your face in your hands. “I’m going to get eaten alive.”
If you thought your comments were bad before… you don’t even want to imagine what they look like now.
Lando Norris fans were apparently feral. They’d already hated you for wearing the merch but now they thought you were sleeping with the guy?
What the hell were you supposed to do?
Oh God, what was he going to do? Would he sue you? Rich assholes like him loved suing people when they couldn’t get their way.
You felt like throwing up.
Mina nudges your knee. “Okay but… silver lining?”
“What silver lining?”
“You look hot in that video.”
You glare at her. “Just for that I'm eating your croissant. ”
Authors note: Sooo what do we think? 🫣 ugh i already feel so much better about this! Please lmk you thoughts and if you want to be added to a tag list! (i don’t wanna reuse the old one incase yall dont wanna be on it srry if thats annoying 🙈) Thanks for reading! 🫶🏾
