Lando Takes His Childhood Sweetheart Karting for the First Time (She Was Terrified)
Lando Norris x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: Lando and Max take you karting for a Quadrant video, expecting chaos - but you end up overtaking Lando and leaving both boys stunned in the cutest, fluffiest way.
Part of the "Quadrant Chaos" one-shot series.
PATREON: Exclusive Content, up to nearly a month ahead on the “Hard Tyre” tier.
You should’ve known something was up the moment Lando walked into the living room wearing that very specific smile — the one he’d had since you were both twelve and he convinced you to sneak out to the park after dark “just to see if the swings feel different at night.”
It was the smile of a boy who had an idea.
A stupid one.
A fun one.
A Lando one.
“What did you do?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as he flopped onto the sofa beside you, head landing in your lap like he’d been waiting all day for this exact moment.
“Why do you assume I did something?” he said, grinning up at you, dimples deepening.
“Because I know you,” you said, brushing a hand through his hair. “And because Max texted me ‘good luck’ with no context.”
Lando snorted. “Traitor.”
“So?” you pressed.
He sat up, excitement practically vibrating off him. “Quadrant video. You, me, Max. We’re taking you karting.”
You blinked. “I’ve never been karting.”
“I know,” he said, eyes sparkling. “That’s why it’s perfect.”
“Perfect for what? My funeral?”
He laughed, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Come on, you’ll be great. And it’ll be cute. And I’ll be there the whole time.”
You raised a brow. “You’ll be there laughing.”
“Also true.”
—
The karting track was colder than you expected, the kind of cold that seeped into your fingers even through the gloves. Max was already there, bouncing on his heels like an overexcited golden retriever.
“There she is!” Max shouted, arms wide. “The star of today’s video. The prodigy. The future world champion.”
“I haven’t even sat in a kart yet,” you said.
“Details,” Max waved off. “We’ll mould you.”
Lando rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. He thinks he’s your mentor.”
“I am her mentor,” Max insisted. “I’m the supportive one. You’re the boyfriend. You’re biased.”
Lando scoffed. “I’m not biased.”
“You literally told me yesterday she’s ‘naturally talented at everything.’”
Lando’s ears went pink. “Okay, well-”
You nudged him. “You think I’m naturally talented?”
He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his smile gave him away. “You are.”
Max gagged loudly. “Right. Enough of that. Let’s get her in a suit before I throw up.”
—
The camera was already rolling when Lando helped you zip up the karting suit. He tugged the zipper gently, fingers brushing your collarbone, and whispered, “You look adorable.”
“Lando,” you hissed, glancing at the camera.
“What? It’s true.”
Max zoomed in dramatically. “This is disgusting. I’m filing a complaint.”
You laughed, nerves easing a little. That was the thing about Lando - he’d been your safe place since childhood. Even now, surrounded by cameras and chaos, he made everything feel simple.
“Okay,” Max clapped his hands. “Lesson one: sitting in the kart.”
“I think I can manage that,” you said.
“You’d be surprised,” Lando muttered.
You elbowed him.
He grinned.
—
Sitting in the kart felt… weird. Low. Tight. Like the machine was waiting for you to mess up.
Lando crouched beside you, adjusting the straps. “You good?”
“I think so.”
“You’re nervous,” he said softly.
“A little.”
He leaned in, forehead almost touching yours. “I’ll be right in front of you the whole time. Just follow me.”
Max appeared behind him. “And if you crash, it’ll be great content.”
“Max,” Lando warned.
“What? I’m being supportive.”
You laughed again - you couldn’t help it. Between the two of them, fear didn’t stand a chance.
—
The first lap was… slow. Painfully slow. Max was behind you, narrating dramatically into the camera.
“She’s approaching the corner at a blistering speed of… five miles per hour.”
“Shut up!” you yelled over your shoulder.
Lando, ahead of you, was trying not to laugh. You could see it in the way his shoulders shook.
“Babe,” he called, “you can go faster.”
“I don’t want to die!”
“You won’t die,” he promised. “Max might. But you won’t.”
“HEY!” Max shouted.
You took a breath. Pressed the pedal a little harder. The kart responded instantly, jerking forward.
“THERE WE GO!” Lando cheered.
And suddenly - it was fun. The wind in your face, the rumble of the engine, the thrill of actually moving. You followed Lando’s line, trusting him completely, and he kept glancing back to check on you.
Every time he did, he smiled.
Every time he smiled, your heart did something stupid.
—
By the fifth lap, you were actually enjoying yourself. By the eighth, you were chasing Lando. By the tenth-
You overtook him.
Clean. Smooth. Perfect.
Max screamed like he’d witnessed a miracle. “SHE’S DONE IT! SHE’S PASSED HIM! SHE’S A NATURAL!”
Lando slowed down, stunned. “Did you— did she— Max, did she just—?”
“Yes,” Max said proudly. “Your girlfriend just smoked you.”
You pulled up beside them, helmet hiding your grin. “How’s it feel, Norris?”
Lando stared at you, speechless.
Then he burst out laughing. “Okay. Okay, that was actually sick.”
Max patted your shoulder. “I taught her everything she knows.”
“You taught her nothing,” Lando shot back.
“Incorrect. I taught her emotional support.”
You snorted. “Sure.”
—
After the final lap, you climbed out of the kart, legs shaky but adrenaline buzzing. Lando was there instantly, lifting your helmet off with both hands like you were made of glass.
“You were amazing,” he said, eyes bright with pride.
“I overtook you.”
“You did,” he said, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “And I’ve never been more attracted to you.”
“Gross,” Max muttered behind the camera.
Lando ignored him, pulling you into a hug. You melted into him, the familiar warmth of his arms grounding you.
“You had fun?” he murmured into your hair.
“Yeah,” you admitted. “More than I thought I would.”
“Told you.”
“You were right.”
He pulled back, smirking. “Say it again.”
“No.”
“Say it.”
“Absolutely not.”
Max zoomed in. “This is going in the video.”
You groaned. “Great.”
—
Later, when the filming was done and Max had gone home, you and Lando sat on the hood of his car, watching the sun dip behind the track.
“You know,” he said, nudging your knee with his, “I always imagined bringing you karting.”
“Since when?”
“Since we were kids,” he said simply. “You were always there for everything else. Felt right that you’d be here for this too.”
Your chest tightened - soft, warm, familiar. “You’re sappy today.”
He shrugged. “You overtook me. I’m emotionally vulnerable.”
You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Thanks for today.”
“Thanks for trusting me,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “And for not crashing.”
“I almost did.”
“I know,” he said, smiling. “I was watching.”
“You always are.”
“Always,” he echoed.
And with the track quiet, the sky fading to gold, and Lando’s hand intertwined with yours - it felt like being twelve again, sitting on the swings at dusk, trusting him with your whole heart.
The roar of the crowd is deafening as Charles crosses the finish line, and you feel it reverberate through your entire body. Your hands are pressed against the barrier, knuckles white, throat raw from screaming his name. Monaco. He's done it again. Your Charles has won Monaco for the second time.
The emotion crashes over you like a wave-pride, joy, relief all tangled together. You watch as he pumps his fist in the air, the Ferrari slowing down on the cool-down lap, and even from here you can feel the electricity radiating off him. This is his home. His kingdom. And he's just conquered it again.
The podium ceremony feels like it lasts forever.
You watch from the Ferrari hospitality area, surrounded by the team, everyone celebrating, champagne flowing. But your eyes never leave Charles. The way his race suit clings to his body, damp with sweat and champagne. The way his smile lights up his entire face, dimples on full display. The way his eyes scan the crowd until they find you, and when they do, the heat in his gaze makes your breath catch.
He mouths something to you. “Wait for me.”
Your pulse quickens.
The celebrations continue around you, but Charles eventually extracts himself, still in his race suit, hair messy from the champagne shower. He catches your hand as he passes, pulling you along with him through the paddock. No one stops him-everyone knows better than to get between Charles Leclerc and where he wants to be after a win like this.
His driver room is tucked away, private, and the moment the door closes behind you both, the energy shifts. The sounds of celebration fade to a muffled hum. It's just you and him now, and the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.
"Charles-" you start, but he's already on you.
His mouth crashes against yours, hungry and demanding. His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel every hard line of his body through the thin fabric of your dress.
He tastes like champagne and victory, and you moan into his mouth as his tongue slides against yours.
"Do you know," he breathes against your lips, his accent thicker than usual, roughened by emotion, "how hard it was to focus on that podium when all I could think about was getting you alone?"
His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing, and he lifts you effortlessly. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he walks you backward until your back hits the wall. The impact makes you gasp, and he swallows the sound with another searing kiss.
"Charles," you manage when he moves to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "You were incredible out there."
He groans against your throat, and you feel the vibration of it. "Say it again."
"You were incredible," you repeat, threading your fingers through his hair, still damp. "So fucking incredible."
His hips roll against yours, and even through the layers of clothing between you, you can feel how hard he is. The knowledge that you do this to him, that his victory has him this wound up and desperate for you, sends heat pooling low in your belly.
"I need you," he says, his voice rough, almost desperate. "Right now. I need to be inside you."
"Yes," you breathe, and that's all the permission he needs.
He sets you down just long enough to unzip his race suit, shoving it down his shoulders. Underneath, he's wearing his fireproofs, the tight material clinging to every muscle, and your mouth goes dry at the sight. He's beautiful-all lean muscle and golden skin, still flushed from the race and the champagne.
You reach for him, running your hands over his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath your palms. He's so warm, practically radiating heat, and when you look up at him, his eyes are dark with want.
"Off," he commands, tugging at your dress, and you help him pull it over your head.
His eyes rake over you, taking in the lacy lingerie you wore specifically for this moment—Ferrari red, his number embroidered on the band. His jaw clenches.
"Putain," he swears, his hands immediately going to your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the lace. "You wore this for me?"
"I had a feeling you'd win," you say, gasping as he pinches lightly, sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core.
"So confident in me," he murmurs, dipping his head to mouth at your breast through the lace, his tongue hot and wet against the fabric. "I love that about you."
Your head falls back against the wall as he lavishes attention on your breasts, alternating between gentle kisses and sharp nips of his teeth. Your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his fireproofs, and you can feel yourself getting wetter with every passing second.
"Charles, please," you whimper, and he pulls back to look at you, his lips curved in a smirk.
"Please what, chérie?" he asks, his hand sliding down your stomach, fingers playing with the waistband of your panties. "Tell me what you want."
"You," you say, breathless. "I want you."
"More specific," he says, and his fingers dip beneath the lace, finding you wet and ready. He groans. "Merde, you're so wet already. Is this all for me?"
"Yes," you gasp as he circles your clit with agonizing slowness. "All for you. Always for you."
He captures your mouth in another bruising kiss as his fingers work you, sliding through your wetness, teasing your entrance but never quite giving you what you need. You're trembling against him, desperate, and when you try to rock your hips to get more friction, he pulls his hand away entirely.
You whine at the loss, and he chuckles darkly.
"Patience," he says, but his own control seems to be fraying at the edges. He hooks his fingers in your panties and pulls them down your legs, and you step out of them on shaky legs.
He pushes his fireproofs and boxer briefs down just enough to free himself, and the sight of him-hard and thick and already leaking-makes your mouth water. You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length, and he hisses through his teeth.
"Fuck," he groans as you stroke him, your thumb swiping over the head, spreading the wetness there. "You're going to make me lose control."
"Good," you say, squeezing slightly, and his hips buck into your hand.
But he's not willing to give up control that easily. He grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away, and then he's lifting you again, pinning you against the wall. Your legs wrap around his waist, and you can feel him right there, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance.
"Look at me," he commands, and your eyes snap to his. "I want to see your face when I fill you up."
And then he's pushing inside, one slow, torturous inch at a time, and you can't look away from him even if you wanted to. His eyes are locked on yours, dark and intense, and you watch as his jaw clenches with the effort of holding back.
"Mon Dieu," he breathes when he's fully seated inside you, and you feel so full, stretched around him perfectly. "You feel incredible. So tight, so perfect."
You can't form words, can only whimper as he starts to move, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in. The angle has him hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars, and your nails dig into his shoulders as you hold on.
"Harder," you manage to gasp out, and he groans.
"You want it harder?" he asks, his accent thick, and he punctuates the question with a sharp thrust that has you crying out. "Like this?"
"Yes, fuck, yes," you moan, and he sets a punishing pace, fucking into you with all the pent-up energy and adrenaline from the race.
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the small room, mixed with your moans and his grunts of effort. The wall is hard against your back, but you don't care-all you can focus on is the feeling of him inside you, the way he's taking you apart with every thrust.
"You're mine," he growls against your ear, his teeth catching your earlobe. "Say it."
"I'm yours," you gasp, and it's true-you've never been more his than in this moment, pinned between him and the wall, completely at his mercy.
"That's right," he says, and one of his hands slides between your bodies, finding your clit. "And I'm going to make you cum on my cock. I want to feel you fall apart for me."
His fingers work your clit in tight circles as he continues to thrust into you, and the dual sensation is overwhelming. You can feel your orgasm building, that familiar tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core.
"Charles," you whimper, "I'm close, I'm so close—"
"Cum for me," he commands, his voice rough. "Cum for me, chérie. Let me feel it."
And you do. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, and you cry out his name as your body convulses around him. He doesn't stop, fucking you through it, prolonging your pleasure until you're trembling and oversensitive.
"Putain, yes," he groans, and you can feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "You're so beautiful when you come. So fucking beautiful."
He buries his face in your neck, and you can feel his breath hot against your skin as he chases his own release. You clench around him deliberately, and he curses.
"Where?" he gasps, and you know what he's asking.
"Inside," you breathe. "I want to feel you cum inside me."
That's all it takes. He thrusts deep one last time and stills, and you feel him pulsing inside you as he cums with a groan that sounds like it's torn from somewhere deep in his chest. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise, and you love it-love having these marks of him on you.
For a long moment, neither of you moves, both of you breathing hard, bodies still joined. Your legs are shaking from the effort of holding yourself up, and he seems to realize it because he carefully lowers you to the ground, though he doesn't pull out yet.
"Okay?" he asks softly, his hand coming up to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone.
"More than okay," you assure him, leaning into his touch. "That was..."
"Yeah," he agrees, a satisfied smile playing at his lips.
When he does finally pull out, you both wince at the sensitivity. He tucks himself back into his fireproofs, then helps you locate your discarded clothes. Your legs are still unsteady, and he steadies you with a hand on your waist, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"You're going to have to go back out there," you remind him, gesturing vaguely toward the door and the celebrations beyond.
"I know," he says, but he doesn't sound particularly concerned about it. Instead, he pulls you close again, this time for a slower, sweeter kiss. "But this was more important."
You smile against his lips. "Congratulations, bébé. On your second Monaco win."
"Thank you," he murmurs, and there's something soft in his expression now, the post-orgasm haze mixing with the genuine emotion of the day. "Having you here to celebrate with me... it means everything."
Your heart swells, and you kiss him again, trying to pour all your love and pride into it.
"We should probably make ourselves presentable," you say eventually, though you're reluctant to leave this bubble you've created.
He helps you smooth down your dress, his fingers lingering on your skin, and you try to tame his hair, though it's a lost cause. He looks thoroughly debauched, and anyone who sees him is going to know exactly what you've been doing.
The thought makes you blush, but Charles just grins, unrepentant.
"Let them know," he says, reading your expression. "Let them all know that I have the most beautiful woman waiting for me after every race."
"Charmer," you accuse, but you're smiling.
He kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. "Only for you."
There's a knock on the door-someone from the team, probably, wondering where he's disappeared to. Charles sighs but doesn't move away from you immediately.
"I suppose we should go," he says reluctantly.
"You're the man of the hour," you remind him. "They're waiting for you."
"One more kiss," he says, and who are you to deny him?
This kiss is different from the others-still passionate but tinged with promise. A promise of more celebrations to come, of a night together after all the official obligations are done, of a future full of moments like this.
When you finally emerge from the driver room, hand in hand, the knowing looks from the team members make you blush, but Charles just laughs, pulling you closer. He's won Monaco for the second time, and he has you by his side.
Synopsis: Charles’s and his wife finding out they’re having a baby and the beautiful moment between them and their first son Leo.
PATREON: Available Now!
The morning had started like any other-quiet, sunlit, and gently wrapped in the slow rhythm of a rare day off.
Charles was still half-asleep, sprawled across the bed, one arm draped lazily over the empty space beside him. The faint sound of cabinets opening and closing filtered in from the kitchen, followed by the soft padding of paws across the floor.
“Leo… no, that’s not for you,” his wife’s voice came, light and amused.
Charles smiled into his pillow.
Leo’s nails clicked rapidly down the hallway, and a second later, the small dog launched himself onto the bed with zero hesitation, landing squarely on Charles’s chest.
“Oof-” Charles groaned, blinking awake. “You’re getting heavier, mon ami.”
Leo wagged his tail furiously, licking Charles’s chin in greeting.
“Yeah, yeah, I missed you too,” Charles murmured, scratching behind his ears. “Where’s maman, hmm?”
As if on cue, she appeared in the doorway, holding a mug in one hand and something small and white in the other. Her expression was unreadable-somewhere between stunned and glowing.
Charles immediately sat up a little straighter.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Everything okay?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she walked toward him slowly, Leo hopping off the bed to circle her feet. Charles’s eyes tracked the object in her hand-a pregnancy test.
His heart skipped.
“Is that…?” he started, voice catching.
She nodded, her lips trembling into a smile that looked like it might break into tears at any second.
Charles felt the world go very, very quiet.
“I-I wasn’t sure,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “So I took one this morning.”
The hotel suite in Monaco was breathtaking-floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbor, a king-sized bed with crisp white linens, and the kind of luxury that came with dating a Formula 1 driver. But right now, you weren't thinking about the view or the expensive furnishings. You were thinking about Lando.
He stood by the window, still in his team polo from the day's events, his curly hair slightly disheveled. The golden hour light painted him in warm tones, and when he turned to look at you, that familiar playful smile crossed his face.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked, crossing the room to where you sat on the edge of the bed.
Your heart raced. You'd been thinking about this conversation for weeks now, working up the courage. You and Lando had been together for almost a year, and your sex life was incredible—passionate, adventurous, satisfying. But there was something you'd been wanting to try, something you'd never done with anyone before.
"Actually," you said, reaching for his hand as he sat beside you, "there's something I want to talk to you about."
Lando's expression shifted to one of concern, his thumb automatically stroking the back of your hand. "Everything okay?"
"More than okay," you assured him quickly. "It's just... there's something I've been thinking about. Something I want to try. With you."
Interest sparked in his blue-green eyes. "I'm listening."
You took a breath, feeling heat rise to your cheeks despite yourself. "I want to try anal. With you. I've never done it before, but I trust you, and I... I want to experience it with you."
Lando's eyes widened slightly, and you watched several emotions cross his face-surprise, desire, and something softer. Tenderness, maybe. He cupped your face with his free hand.
"Are you sure?" he asked gently. "I mean, I'm definitely interested, but I want to make sure this is really what you want. Not something you think I want."
"I'm sure," you said, leaning into his touch. "I've been thinking about it for a while. I want to try new things with you. I want... everything with you."
A slow smile spread across his face. "Everything, huh?" He leaned in, kissing you softly. "Then we'll take it slow. Make sure you're comfortable every step of the way. This is about both of us feeling good, yeah?"
"Yeah," you breathed, already feeling desire pooling in your belly at the promise in his voice.
"Have you done any research?" Lando asked, ever practical. "Because I have. Just in case this ever came up."
You laughed, some of the tension easing. "Of course you have. What did you learn?"
"Lots of prep. Lots of lube. Patience. Communication." He kissed you again, deeper this time. "And that it can be really, really good if we do it right."
"Then let's do it right," you whispered against his lips.
Lando pulled back, his eyes dark with desire but also serious. "Not tonight, though. I want to make sure we have everything we need. Proper supplies, plenty of time, no distractions." He traced your jawline with his finger. "When we do this, I want it to be perfect for you."
Your heart swelled with affection for this man who always put your pleasure and comfort first. "Okay. When?"
"Tomorrow night," he decided. "After the sponsor event. I'll make sure we have the evening completely free. I'll get everything we need." His hand slid down your neck, across your collarbone. "But that doesn't mean we can't practice some... preparation tonight."
Heat flooded through you at his words, at the implication. "What kind of preparation?"
"Let me show you," Lando murmured, standing and pulling you up with him. He kissed you deeply, his hands roaming your body, relearning curves he knew by heart. "I want to make sure you're ready. That your body is ready."
He walked you backward toward the bed, his lips never leaving yours. Your hands found the hem of his polo, tugging it up and over his head. His skin was warm beneath your palms, the lean muscle of his torso flexing as he moved.
Lando made quick work of your clothes, his touch reverent as he revealed your body. When you were both naked, he laid you back on the bed, positioning himself between your thighs.
"Tonight," he said, kissing down your body, "I'm going to get you used to the sensation. Just with my fingers. Nice and slow. If anything doesn't feel good, you tell me immediately. Okay?"
"Okay," you agreed, already trembling with anticipation.
He started with familiar territory, his mouth finding your breasts, tongue circling your nipples until they peaked. His hand slid between your legs, fingers stroking through your folds, finding you already wet.
"God, you're so responsive," he murmured appreciatively. "I love how your body reacts to me."
He worked you expertly, fingers sliding inside you, thumb circling your clit, building your pleasure steadily. When you were gasping, hips rocking against his hand, he shifted slightly.
"I'm going to touch you," he said softly. "Just externally at first. Tell me how it feels."
You felt his finger, slick with your arousal, circle your other entrance. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant-a different kind of sensitivity. He was gentle, just massaging, letting you get used to the feeling.
"Okay?" he asked, watching your face carefully.
"Okay," you confirmed. "It feels... different. But good."
"Good." He continued the gentle massage while his other hand kept working between your legs, keeping your pleasure building. The dual sensations were overwhelming in the best way.
"I'm going to use some lube baby," Lando said, reaching for the bottle on the nightstand. "And just press in a little bit. Just the tip of my finger. You tell me if it's too much."
You felt the cool slickness of the lubricant, and then gentle pressure. Lando moved slowly, so slowly, just barely breaching you. The sensation was intense-a fullness, a stretch, but not painful.
"Breathe," he reminded you gently. "Relax into it."
You did, consciously relaxing your muscles, and felt him slide in a bit further. His other hand never stopped its work between your legs, keeping pleasure at the forefront.
"How's that?" Lando asked, his voice strained with his own arousal.
"Good," you gasped. "Really good."
He began to move his finger slowly, letting you adjust to the sensation. Combined with his other hand's ministrations, the pleasure was building to an almost unbearable peak.
"That's it," he encouraged. "You're doing so well. You feel incredible."
The praise sent a thrill through you, and you felt yourself climbing toward orgasm. Lando seemed to sense it, adjusting his rhythm, and then you were cuming, the orgasm crashing over you in waves. The sensation of his finger inside you during your climax was intense, different, and incredibly arousing.
When you came down, Lando carefully withdrew his finger and moved up to kiss you deeply. You could feel his erection pressed against your thigh, hard and ready.
"Your turn," you murmured, reaching for him.
—
The next evening, after the sponsor event, you returned to the hotel suite with a mixture of excitement and nervousness fluttering in your stomach. Lando had been attentive all day, checking in with you, making sure you still wanted to go through with it.
"I got supplies," he said, gesturing to a discreet bag on the dresser. "High-quality lube, some toys to help with prep if we need them. I want this to be as comfortable as possible for you."
You kissed him, grateful for his thoughtfulness. "I love you."
"I love you too," he replied, cupping your face. "We're going to take this slow, okay? If at any point you want to stop, we stop. No questions, no disappointment.“
"I know," you said, meaning it. That was one of the things you loved most about Lando-his genuine care for your wellbeing, especially in intimate moments.
He led you to the bathroom, where he'd already drawn a bath. "Thought we'd start here," he explained. "Get you relaxed."
The bath was perfect-warm and fragrant with expensive bath oils. You both slipped into the water, and Lando pulled you back against his chest. His hands roamed your body, massaging your shoulders, your breasts, between your legs. It was sensual and relaxing all at once.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his lips against your ear.
"Good. Excited. A little nervous," you admitted.
"That's normal," he assured you. "We'll go at your pace. There's no rush."
After the bath, he dried you off carefully, then led you to the bed. He'd laid out towels and the supplies within easy reach. The thoughtfulness of it made your heart swell.
"Lie on your stomach," Lando instructed gently. "I'm going to give you a massage first. Get you really relaxed."
You obeyed, and felt him straddle your thighs. His hands, slick with massage oil, worked over your back, your shoulders, down your spine. He took his time, working out every bit of tension, until you were practically melting into the mattress.
His hands moved lower, massaging your ass, your thighs. The touch was sensual but not rushed, building anticipation slowly. You felt him shift, and then his lips were following the path his hands had taken, kissing down your spine, across the curve of your ass.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured. "Every inch of you."
His hands spread you gently, and you felt his tongue, warm and wet, licking between your legs from behind. The sensation made you gasp, hips lifting involuntarily. He licked and sucked, bringing you pleasure, getting you wet and ready.
Then his tongue moved higher, circling your other entrance, and you moaned into the pillow. The sensation was incredible-intimate and arousing in a way you'd never experienced.
"Lando," you gasped. "Oh god."
"Feel good?" he asked, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.
"So good," you confirmed.
He continued for a few more minutes, getting you used to the sensation, before reaching for the lube. "I'm going to use my fingers now," he said. "Just like last night, but we'll go a bit further. Tell me if anything doesn't feel right."
You felt the cool lube, then the gentle pressure of his finger. He worked slowly, carefully, letting you adjust to each new sensation. When one finger was comfortable, he added more lube and carefully worked in a second.
The stretch was more intense, but not painful. Lando kept his other hand between your legs, stroking you, keeping pleasure at the forefront. He moved his fingers slowly, carefully, letting your body adjust.
"You're doing so well," he praised. "Taking my fingers so good. You feel amazing."
His words sent heat through you, and you pushed back against his hand, wanting more. He worked you like this for several minutes, building your pleasure, stretching you carefully.
"I think you're ready," Lando said finally, carefully withdrawing his fingers. "But we're going to take it really slow. You're in control, okay? We can stop anytime."
"Okay," you agreed, your body thrumming with anticipation.
He helped you onto your hands and knees, positioning pillows under your hips for support. You heard him applying generous amounts of lube to himself, and then felt him position himself behind you.
"Ready?" he asked, one hand stroking your back soothingly.
"Yeah," you confirmed.
You felt the head of his cock press against you, and Lando pushed forward with the barest amount of pressure. The stretch was intense, more than his fingers, and you breathed through it, consciously relaxing.
"That's it," Lando encouraged. "You're doing so good baby, just breathe. Tell me when you're ready for more."
He held still, letting you adjust, one hand reaching around to stroke between your legs. The pleasure helped you relax, and after a moment, you pushed back slightly.
"More," you said.
Lando pushed forward incrementally, so slowly, giving you time to adjust to each new sensation.
The stretch was intense, bordering on uncomfortable, but not quite painful. And underneath it was something else-a fullness, a different kind of pleasure.
"Halfway," Lando said, his voice strained. "You feel incredible. So tight. Are you okay?"
"Yes," you gasped. "Keep going."
He continued his slow advance, his hand never stopping its work between your legs, until finally, you felt his hips flush against your ass. He was fully inside you, and the sensation was overwhelming.
"Oh my god," you breathed.
"I know," Lando said, his voice rough with restraint. "You're taking all of me. You feel so fucking good. How do you feel?"
"Full," you managed. "So full. It's intense."
"Good intense or bad intense?" he asked, holding perfectly still.
"Good," you decided. "Really good."
"Can I move?" he asked. "Nice and slow?"
"Yes. Please."
Lando began to move, pulling out slightly before pushing back in. The friction was unlike anything you'd experienced-intense and overwhelming. He kept his movements slow and controlled, one hand gripping your hip while the other continued to work between your legs.
"You're amazing," he groaned. "Taking me so well. Does it feel good?"
"Yes," you gasped. "Don't stop."
He established a rhythm, slow and deep, each thrust sending waves of sensation through your body. The combination of his cock inside you and his fingers on your clit was building toward something intense.
"I can feel you getting close, baby" Lando said. "Come for me. I want to feel you cum like this."
His words, combined with the intense sensations, pushed you over the edge. The orgasm was different from any you'd experienced-deeper, more intense, radiating through your entire body. You cried out, your body clenching around him, and heard Lando groan.
"Fuck, that's incredible," he gasped. "You're incredible. Can I cum? Are you okay if I cum?"
"Yes," you managed. "Please."
Lando's rhythm increased slightly, still careful but more urgent, and then he was coming, buried deep inside you. You felt him pulse, felt the warmth, and it prolonged your own pleasure.
He held still for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, before carefully, slowly withdrawing. The sensation of emptiness was strange after such fullness.
Lando immediately pulled you into his arms, kissing your face, your neck, your shoulders.
"Are you okay? How do you feel?"
"I'm good," you said, and meant it. "That was... intense. Amazing."
"You were amazing," he said, holding you close. "So brave, so trusting. I love you so much."
"I love you too," you replied, snuggling into his embrace.
He got up briefly to get a warm washcloth, cleaning you both gently, then returned to bed and pulled you close. His hands stroked your back soothingly, and you felt completely safe, completely loved.
"So," Lando said after a while, a smile in his voice. "Would you want to do that again sometime?"
You laughed, tilting your head up to look at him. "Definitely. Maybe next time I can be on top? Have more control?"
His eyes darkened with renewed interest. "I would love that. You riding me like that? Fuck, that's a hot image."
"Insatiable," you teased, but you were already thinking about it, already anticipating the next time.
"Only for you," he said, echoing your words from before. "Only ever for you."
As you lay there in his arms, completely satisfied and deeply content, you thought about how lucky you were. To have found someone who made you feel safe enough to explore, to try new things, to push boundaries. Someone who put your pleasure and comfort first, always.
"Thank you," you said softly. "For making that so perfect."
"Thank you for trusting me," Lando replied, kissing the top of your head. "For letting me be your first for this. That means everything to me."
You fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other's arms, already dreaming of all the other firsts you'd share together.
Hi I just wanted to make you aware of this but I saw this fic while I was scrolling through the Lando Norris x reader tag and it’s very similar to your fic Don’t Pretend for me
Thank you for letting me know 🫶🏻, it seems the requester is one of those who goes round the fanfic community and requests the exact same thing! - I can’t fault the writer, they seemingly don’t know that I’ve written for the same request!
hi! hope your doing well! I would like to request a little fic where Lando brought reader out to a date to celebrate his championship, then brought reader to a special place where you can see all the stars because he knows she loves stars, and he’s all giddy and nervous the whole night and reader finally talks to him about but he decides to finally do it, and when he gets on one knee and readers eyes are burning, randomly in the middle of his speech he drops the ring and he loses it in the grass?? then after that, he finally finds the ring and puts it on her finger? ( after like 20 minutes tho lol ) thank you!! sorry if this was long🥲🥲
The Night He Lost The Ring
Lando Norris x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: Lando takes you stargazing to celebrate his championship, gets nervous, drops to one knee… and drops the ring straight into the grass. After a chaotic scramble and breathless laughter, he finds it and finally asks you to marry him under the stars.
Moonlight Radio: hi! I’m doing good thank u, I hope u like this.
The night starts soft - the kind of soft that feels intentional, like the world is dimming its lights just for the two of you.
Lando’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you out of the restaurant, thumb brushing your knuckles in a rhythm that gives him away. He’s been like this all evening: jittery, bright‑eyed, smiling too much, laughing too easily. Championship glow, sure… but there’s something else simmering under his skin.
You don’t call him out on it yet. You let him have his little secrets.
He opens the car door for you - unnecessarily dramatic, because he bows - and you roll your eyes, but he beams like you’ve just handed him the trophy again.
The drive is quiet, but not awkward. His playlist is low, his fingers tapping the steering wheel, his knee bouncing. Every few seconds he glances at you, then away, then back again like he’s checking you’re still real.
“Lando,” you murmur, amused. “You’re acting weird.”
“I’m not,” he lies immediately, voice cracking like a teenager.
You laugh. He groans.
He turns off the main road, then another, then another, until the world is nothing but open fields and the faint hum of the engine. When he finally parks, he looks at you with that boyish, hopeful expression that always melts you.
“Come on,” he says, tugging you out of the car.
The moment you step into the clearing, your breath catches.
Stars. Everywhere. A sky so full it looks like it might spill over. Like someone dusted the universe in glitter and forgot to stop.
Your chest tightens. “Lan… this is beautiful.”
He watches you instead of the sky. “Yeah. It is.”
You elbow him, but your smile is soft. He knows you love stars - knows you always look for them, even in cities where they barely exist. And he’s brought you here, somewhere quiet and perfect, just so you can have them.
You lie down on the blanket he spreads out, your head on his chest, his heartbeat thudding far too fast for someone supposedly relaxed.
After a few minutes, you tilt your head up. “Okay. Talk.”
He freezes. “Talk about what?”
“You’re vibrating.”
“I’m not vibrating.”
“You’re vibrating.”
He covers his face with both hands. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
He sighs, long and shaky. “I’m just… I’m just thinking. And overthinking. And then thinking about the overthinking.”
You sit up, turning to face him. “Lando. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
He swallows. Hard. Then he stands.
Your heart stutters.
He reaches into his pocket.
Oh.
Oh.
He drops to one knee.
Your breath leaves your body in a single, burning rush.
“Okay,” he says, voice trembling. “Okay. I had a whole speech. Like… a whole thing. I practiced it. In the mirror. Twice. Three times. Maybe more. But now you’re looking at me like that and I can’t remember a single-”
And then, mid‑sentence, the ring slips out of his fingers.
Both of you watch it fall.
Bounce once.
Disappear into the grass.
There is a full three seconds of absolute silence.
Then:
“NO NO NO NO NO-” Lando drops to his hands and knees, scrambling like a man possessed. “I HAD ONE JOB. ONE. JOB.”
You’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe. Tears blur your vision. “Lando-”
“DON’T LOOK AT ME,” he yells, face inches from the ground. “I’M A FAILURE.”
You join him, still laughing, brushing through the grass. “It’s fine-”
“It is NOT fine, I lost the ring, I lost the PROPOSAL, I lost the MOMENT-”
“Lando.”
“-I’m going to have to propose with a dandelion-“
“Lando.”
He stops.
You reach forward and pluck something shiny from the grass.
His jaw drops. “You found it.”
“I found it.”
He takes it from your hand like it’s made of glass. Then he sits back on his knees, breathless, hair a mess, eyes wide and terrified and in love.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Round two.”
You wipe your cheeks, nodding.
He exhales, steadying himself. “I love you. I love you more than racing, more than winning, more than anything I’ve ever cared about. You’re my favourite part of every day. And I want… I want all my days to have you in them.”
Your eyes burn again.
He holds up the ring - carefully this time. “Will you marry me?”
You don’t even let him finish the sentence before you’re nodding, laughing, crying, all at once. “Yes. Yes, of course I will.”
His relief is so intense he nearly falls over. He grabs your hand, slides the ring onto your finger - perfectly, this time - and then he’s pulling you into him, arms tight around your waist, face buried in your neck.
“You’re stuck with me now,” he murmurs, voice thick.
“Good,” you whisper back. “I want to be.”
Above you, the stars burn brighter. Or maybe that’s just him - your champion, your idiot, your fiancé - glowing like he’s finally found his whole universe.
How to get into writing of your scared and a beginner 🧐
If you’re scared to start writing, that doesn’t mean you’re not meant for it. It usually means the fear is just your heart reminding you how much this matters.
Every writer you admire began exactly where you are: unsure, overwhelmed, convinced they weren’t good enough yet. (I know I certainly did 🙃)
Writing doesn’t require confidence. It requires willingness.
Willingness to try.
Willingness to be messy.
Start with one sentence that feels true. One moment you remember. One feeling you can’t shake. Don’t worry about being perfect - perfection is not the doorway into writing. Curiosity is. Letting yourself explore is 🫶🏻
You don’t have to write a masterpiece. You don’t have to write for anyone else. You just have to write something, even if it’s tiny, even if it’s clumsy, even if it’s only for you 💕
like him noticing reader doesn't feel comfortable in her outfit while they're at an event or race so he offers her his jacket without saying anything and taking care of her all evening
The Jacket
Max Verstappen x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: At a race weekend, Max notices you shrinking into your outfit and quietly drapes his jacket over your shoulders, staying close and protective all night until you feel safe again.
The paddock is loud in that way it always is before a race weekend — cameras clicking, engines rumbling somewhere in the distance, people moving with purpose. But Max isn’t paying attention to any of it. His hand is laced with yours, thumb brushing the back of your knuckles in that absent, instinctive way he does when he’s relaxed.
Except you aren’t relaxed.
You’ve been tugging at your outfit since the moment you stepped out of the car. A dress you loved in the mirror this morning, but now, under the fluorescent paddock lights and the eyes of half the media center, it feels wrong. Too tight. Too short. Too exposed. Too something.
You don’t say a word - you never do, not when you don’t want to ruin his focus - but Max notices. He always notices.
He sees the way your shoulders curl in. The way you keep smoothing the fabric over your hips. The way you stand slightly behind him when someone walks by. He doesn’t call attention to it, doesn’t tease, doesn’t ask in front of anyone. He just squeezes your hand once, gently, like a quiet I see you.
Inside the Red Bull hospitality, the air is cooler, calmer. Max lets go of your hand only long enough to greet a few engineers, but his eyes flick back to you every few seconds. You’re smiling, polite, doing everything right - but he can read the tension in your jaw.
He steps closer, his voice low enough that only you can hear.
“You okay, liefje?”
You nod too quickly. “Yeah, just- long day.”
He doesn’t push. He just studies you for a beat, then nods once like he’s made a decision.
A few minutes later, when you’re both heading toward the balcony for photos, he shrugs off his team jacket - the one with his name stitched on the sleeve, the one he always wears until someone forces him to take it off - and drapes it over your shoulders without a single word.
No announcement. No explanation. No fuss.
Just quiet, instinctive care.
You blink up at him, surprised. “Max- you’ll be cold.”
He shakes his head, already adjusting the collar so it sits comfortably on you. “I’m fine.”
And then, softer, “You weren’t.”
Your breath catches. He doesn’t look smug about noticing. He just looks relieved that you’re covered, warm, shielded from the eyes that were making you shrink into yourself.
The jacket is huge on you - warm, soft, smelling like him. You pull it tighter around your body, and something in your chest loosens.
Max’s hand finds the small of your back, guiding you gently through the crowd. He stands slightly in front of you when cameras flash. He answers questions quickly so you don’t have to linger. He keeps you close, always touching - a hand on your waist, your shoulder, your lower back - grounding you without making it obvious.
When you’re finally alone on the balcony, he leans against the railing, eyes soft.
“You didn’t like the outfit,” he says simply. Not accusing. Not disappointed. Just stating a fact he’s known for the last hour.
You sigh, cheeks warm. “I thought I did. But then we got here and… I don’t know. I felt stupid.”
Max’s brows pull together, that protective frown he gets only with you.
“Nothing about you is stupid.”
He reaches out, tugging gently on the sleeve of his jacket where it swallows your hand. “And you look perfect in anything. But if you’re uncomfortable, that’s the only thing I care about.”
You step closer, resting your forehead against his chest. His arms come around you instantly, holding you like he’s shielding you from the whole world.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” you mumble into his shirt.
“You’re never a bother.” His voice is firm, certain. “You tell me when something feels wrong. Even if it’s small. Especially if it’s small.”
You nod against him, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne and the faint smell of fuel that always clings to him on race weekends.
He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Better now?”
You look up at him, wrapped in his jacket, wrapped in him.
“Yeah. Better.”
Max smiles - that soft, private smile he only ever gives you - and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Good. Then I can enjoy tonight.”
He keeps you close for the rest of the evening. When someone asks for a photo, he stands slightly in front of you, subtly blocking the angle that made you uncomfortable earlier. When you sit, he drapes an arm around your shoulders, thumb rubbing slow circles into your arm. When you walk, he keeps you tucked against his side, jacket zipped halfway so you’re cocooned in warmth.
And every time your fingers brush the embroidered VERSTAPPEN on the sleeve, you feel steadier.
Later, when the crowd thins and the noise fades, he takes your hand again, thumb brushing your knuckles just like before - but this time, you’re the one who’s relaxed.
“You know,” you say softly, “you didn’t have to give me your jacket.”
“I know.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “But I wanted you comfortable. That’s all.”
You smile, leaning into him. “Thank you.”
He bumps his forehead gently against yours. “Always.”
And he means it - in the quiet, steady way Max always means things. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just real.
Just him taking care of you, without needing to be asked.
since lando is mister back pain could you write something about reader giving him a massage after him struggling all week. teasing him that he is an old man now and she needs to take care of him
Old Man Norris
Lando Norris x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: Lando’s been pretending his back isn’t killing him, but reader finally calls him out, teases him for being an old man, and gives him a slow massage until he melts and admits he needs her to take care of him.
Moonlight Radio: there’s also a really smutty/spicy Lando fic releasing on Patreon in about an hour, which I’m so excited about 🤭
Not dramatically - not the kind of whining he saved for when he wanted attention - but the quiet, stubborn kind. The kind where he tried to pretend he wasn’t hurting, only to wince when he bent down to pick up something, or press a hand to his lower back when he thought she wasn’t looking.
By Friday evening, she’d had enough.
He walked into the living room with that same stiff posture, shoulders slightly raised, jaw tight. He dropped onto the sofa like gravity had doubled, letting out a noise that was definitely not meant to escape.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Wow. That sounded… elderly.”
He shot her a look, but even that lacked energy.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “You’re Mister Back Pain. You’ve been Mister Back Pain all week.”
“I’m twenty-six,” he muttered, rubbing his lower back. “I’m not an old man.”
“Tell that to the noise you just made.”
He tried to glare again, but it softened into a tired smile.
“Be nice to me.”
She walked over, nudging his knee with hers.
“I am being nice. I’m offering to help. But you have to admit it first.”
He sighed, dramatic and defeated.
“Okay. My back hurts.”
“And?”
“And maybe I’m… a little bit… old.”
She grinned.
“Thank you. Now lie down.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Lie down?”
“Yes. On your stomach. I’m giving you a massage.”
He blinked, surprised, then suspicious.
“You’re not gonna bully me while you do it, right?”
“No promises.”
But he obeyed, stretching out on the sofa, arms tucked under his head. He looked strangely small like that - not physically, but in the way he let himself relax, trusting her completely.
She climbed onto the sofa beside him, straddling his hips lightly so she could reach his back.
“Okay, Mister Back Pain. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
He groaned into the cushion.
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why? It’s accurate.”
She placed her hands on his shoulders first, feeling the tension immediately.
“Lando… this is awful. You’re basically a brick.”
“I told you,” he mumbled. “Long week.”
She pressed her thumbs gently into the muscle, slow and steady. He inhaled sharply - not in pain, but relief - and his whole body seemed to melt under her touch.
“God,” he whispered. “That feels… really good.”
“Mm-hm. Because I’m amazing.”
“You are,” he said, voice muffled. “I don’t deserve you.”
She laughed softly, working her way down his back.
“You definitely don’t deserve me if you keep ignoring pain like this.”
“I didn’t ignore it.”
“You absolutely did.”
He didn’t argue - which told her everything. He was too tired to pretend, too comfortable to hide.
She kept massaging, slow circles, gentle pressure, careful not to push too hard. Every few minutes he let out a quiet sound - a sigh, a hum, a little groan of relief - and each one made her smile.
“You’re gonna fall asleep,” she said.
“Maybe.”
“You’re like a cat. Touch you for five minutes and you’re gone.”
He shifted slightly, turning his head so he could see her. His eyes were soft, half-lidded, warm in that way he only got when he felt safe.
“You take good care of me,” he murmured.
“Well, someone has to. You’re falling apart.”
He reached back blindly, finding her knee and squeezing it.
“I’m not falling apart.”
“You literally limped into the kitchen this morning.”
“That was one time.”
“And yesterday you said, ‘I think my spine is broken.’”
He groaned. “Stop bullying me.”
She leaned down, kissing the back of his shoulder.
“I’m not bullying you. I’m keeping you humble.”
He smiled into the cushion, the kind of smile that made his dimples appear even when his face was half hidden.
She moved lower, working on the spot he’d been complaining about all week. The moment her thumbs pressed into it, he let out a noise that was definitely not dignified.
“Oh my god,” he breathed. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
She laughed.
“You’re so dramatic.”
“It hurts,” he said, voice soft. “But in a good way.”
She kept going, slow and steady, until she felt the tension finally begin to loosen. His breathing evened out, his shoulders dropped, and he looked more relaxed than he had in days.
After a while, she shifted, sitting beside him and brushing his hair back from his forehead.
“You okay?”
He nodded, eyes closed.
“Better. Much better.”
“Good. Because I’m not carrying you to bed if you fall asleep here.”
He cracked one eye open.
“You would.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You love me.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away.
“Fine. I love you. But you’re still an old man.”
He reached up, grabbing her hand and pulling her down so she lay beside him on the sofa.
“If I’m old,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers, “you’re stuck with me.”
“Lucky me.”
He kissed her cheek - soft, grateful, tired.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For taking care of me.”
“Always.”
He closed his eyes again, breathing her in, finally relaxed.
And she stayed there with him, fingers tracing lazy shapes on his back, thinking that if this was what “old man Norris” looked like - soft, warm, trusting - she didn’t mind taking care of him forever.
With the new regs, the driver doesnt make as much of a difference as before. Before, the driver determined if the car was on the limit, nowadays the battery decides that for you.
Don’t get me wrong you still need an incredibly talented driver behind the wheel.. I mean look at Lando: it’s wild how he keeps wringing results out of a car that has no business running that high…
It's just feels more of a constructors battle than a drivers battle this year… that’s all I’m saying 🙃
