summary: while cheering for opposite teams, you and Lando raise the stakes with a bet that could change your lives forever. By the final whistle, it's no longer about football: it's about choosing to start a family together.
The living room was comfortably lit with the soft glow of the television, the curtains drawn against the late afternoon sun.
Lando had spent the better part of an hour arranging the couch to maximum comfort specifications, blankets within reach, snacks strategically positioned, drinks on coasters because Y/n had trained him out of putting them directly on the wood. He was wearing his England jersey, the one he'd had since before they met, the fabric soft with age and a few threads loose at the collar.
Y/n had her France jersey on, the blue bright against her skin, and she'd painted a tiny tricolor flag on her cheek with the kind of precision that suggested she'd done this many times before.
It was the World Cup third-place match. England versus France. Winner takes bronze. Loser takes nothing but heartbreak and a long flight home.
"You know this is pointless, right?" Lando said, settling onto the couch beside her. "In big tournaments like these, third place is just first place for losers."
"Spoken like someone who's about to lose" Y/n replied without looking away from the screen, where the players were lining up for the anthems.
"I'm not going to lose. England is going to demolish France. It's going to be a massacre. A bloodbath. A..."
"A what?"
"I ran out of synonyms. But it's going to be bad. For you."
Y/n turned to face him, her expression serene. "Want to make it interesting?"
Lando's eyes lit up. He loved making things interesting. It was one of the things she loved about him, this endless, boyish enthusiasm for turning ordinary moments into competitions. It was also one of the things that drove her insane.
"What did you have in mind?" he asked.
"If France wins, we get a dog."
"A dog?"
"A dog. A real one. Not one of those tiny ones that fit in a handbag. A proper dog. Big enough to run with, big enough to take up half the bed. I've been researching breeds. I have a spreadsheet."
"You have a spreadsheet for a hypothetical dog."
"It's a very thorough spreadsheet and I'm confident it's not going to be so hypothetical when this match ends."
Lando considered this. He liked dogs. He'd always wanted a dog. This wasn't so much a bet as it was a mutually beneficial outcome.
"Fine" he said. "But if England wins-" He paused, and something shifted in his expression. The playfulness was still there, but underneath it was something more serious. Something she hadn't seen before. "If England wins, I want a baby."
The word landed in the quiet space between them. Y/n felt it settle into her chest, surprise first, then something else. Something warm and terrifying and impossible to name.
"A baby" she repeated to make sure she heard him correctly
"A baby. A real one. Not one of those tiny ones that fit in a handbag."
"That's not- babies don't-"
"I've been thinking about it" his voice was softer now, the joking edge gone. "For a while, actually. Not in a weird way. Just... thinking. About what it would be like. You and me. Someone small. Someone who's half you and half me and completely their own little thing at the same time."
Y/n stared at him. The anthems were playing on the television, the familiar swell of La Marseillaise filling the room, and she barely heard it.
"You've been thinking about this"
"For a while."
"How long is a while?"
"Does it matter?"
"Kind of."
Lando reached over and took her hand. His fingers were warm and familiar, the calluses on his palms a topography she knew by heart. "Long enough to know it's not just a passing thought. Long enough to know I actually mean it."
Y/n's heart was doing something complicated in her chest. She wasn't ready for this conversation but she also wasn't not ready for this conversation. She was somewhere in between, suspended in the amber of his earnest, hopeful expression.
"Okay" she agreed and her voice came out steadier than she felt. "If England wins. A baby."
"And if France wins, a dog."
☆☆☆
The whistle blew and the match started. Lando turned back to the screen, already shouting at the referee about a call that hadn't happened yet, and Y/n tucked herself against his side the way she always did, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist, their legs tangled together under the blanket.
But she wasn't watching the match. Not really.
She was watching him.
☆☆☆
The first half wasn't even ten minutes old when England scored.
Lando was off the couch before the ball hit the net, his arms in the air, his voice already going hoarse. "That's it! That's the one! We're so winning this thing!"
"It's the third-place match" Y/n's eyes met his. "You can't win the whole thing. Argentina and Spain are in the final"
"We're winning the bronze! The most beautiful and deserved bronze in the history of bronzes!"
He dropped back onto the couch, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her against him. His face was flushed, his eyes bright, his joy so infectious that she found herself smiling despite the goal against her team.
"You're ridiculous" she shook her head
"I'm patriotic."
"You're going to wake up the neighbors."
"The neighbors should be watching. The neighbors should be celebrating. This is a national moment."
Y/n settled back against him, her head finding its familiar spot in the curve of his shoulder.
On the screen, the replay showed the goal from three different angles, all highlighting the ball sailing past the goalkeeper's outstretched hands. She should have been paying attention. She should have been analyzing the formation, tracking the runs, doing all the things she normally did when she watched football.
But her eyes kept drifting away from the screen.
To Lando.
He was still vibrating with excitement, his hands gesturing at the screen, explaining something about the build-up play even though she hadn't asked.
He did this, explained things she already knew, not because he thought she didn't understand, but because he loved sharing things he was passionate about.
He was the kind of person who couldn't contain his enthusiasm. It spilled out of him in every direction, filling whatever space he was in.
She imagined him explaining football to a child. A small person with his eyes and her smile, sitting on his lap, asking questions in that endless way children did. He'd be patient, she thought. He'd be silly. He'd make up names for the players and do voices for the commentators and turn every match into a story.
She imagined him teaching someone how to kick a ball. The way he'd crouch down to their level, demonstrating with exaggerated slowness, cheering like they'd won the World Cup when they finally made contact.
"What?" Lando asked, catching her looking.
"What?"
"You're staring at me."
"I'm looking at the television."
"The television is the other way"
"Your head is in the way"
He didn't believe her, she could tell by the way his mouth quirked up at the corner, but he let it go, turning back to the match. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer.
Y/n closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, France had possession and she forced herself to focus.
This was a match. There was a bet. She needed to pay attention. But the images lingered at the edges of her mind.
Lando with a baby on his chest, both of them asleep on this same couch.
Lando pushing a stroller through the park, pointing out dogs and birds and airplanes.
Lando in the middle of the night, exhausted and rumpled and impossibly tender, humming something off-key until the crying stopped.
She blinked. Refocused. France was attacking. Good. This was good. France could still win. France would still win.
But England scored again.
And then again.
And then again.
By the time the first half ended, the score was 4-0. Lando was beside himself, literally, he'd somehow ended up on the floor at one point, rolling around in celebration while Y/n watched from the couch with the exhausted patience of a woman who had married a golden retriever in human form.
"Four" he kept saying, as if he couldn't quite believe it. "Four goals. At half-time. This is the greatest day of my life."
"Our wedding day" Y/n said.
"Second greatest."
"The day we met."
"Third greatest."
"You're ranking a football match above our wedding."
"Only temporarily. Rankings may change based on full-time result."
Y/n threw a pillow at him. He caught it, still beaming, and climbed back onto the couch with considerably less grace than he'd left it.
"Admit it" he pulled her against him during the half-time break. "Admit England is the superior football nation."
"I will admit no such thing."
"Admit France is crumbling. Admit the tricolor is fading. Admit-"
"I admit you're insufferable."
He kissed the top of her head, still grinning. "Lucky for you, I still love you. Even though your team is losing catastrophically."
"I love you too. Even though you're gloating like a child."
"Speaking of children-"
"Don't."
"I'm just saying. Four-nil. That's a statement. That's a declaration. That's four goals closer to a baby."
Y/n felt her stomach flip. Not in a bad way. In a way that she wasn't entirely prepared to examine, but the match still wasn't lost.
"You're very confident for someone who hasn't won yet" she replied after a moment
"The second half hasn't started. But it won't matter. France is broken. Shattered. Demoralized. They're probably crying in the locker room right now."
"They're probably strategizing."
"Strategizing their tears."
She laughed despite herself. This was the thing about Lando, he made it impossible to stay annoyed. Even when he was being insufferable, even when he was rolling on the floor and shouting at sporting events, even when he was casually suggesting life-altering commitments based on the outcome of a football match.
He was just so completely, unapologetically himself.
And that, she realized, was exactly why she could picture him as a father.
He wouldn't try to be perfect. He wouldn't read all the books or follow all the rules or pretend to have everything figured out. He'd just be Lando, enthusiastic and chaotic and full of love, making mistakes and fixing them, teaching their child that it was okay to feel things loudly and completely.
She imagined him teaching someone how to ride a bike. The way he'd run alongside, one hand on the seat, promising not to let go. The way he'd let go anyway, because that was the point, and then cheer so loudly when they pedaled away that the whole neighborhood would hear.
She imagined him at parent-teacher conferences, trying to be serious, failing completely. She imagined him building blanket forts and telling terrible bedtime stories and teaching someone all the words to songs that were wildly age-inappropriate.
She imagined him being scared. Because he would be, he was scared of lots of things, even if he didn't always show it. Scared of not being good enough. Scared of making mistakes. Scared of loving someone so much it hurt.
And then she imagined him doing it anyway. Because that was Lando. He did things scared. He loved things even when they terrified him. He showed up. Over and over. He always showed up.
The half-time analysis was playing on the screen, a handful of experts discussing formations, goals, what France needed to change. Y/n wasn't listening. She was watching the way Lando's hand rested on her knee, his thumb tracing absent patterns against her skin.
"I can hear you thinking" his gaze finally moved away from the TV screen
"Thinking is a silent activity."
"Not with you. You think very loudly. Your thoughts have volume."
"What volume are they at right now?"
He tilted his head, pretending to listen. "Medium-loud. Contemplative. Maybe a little existential."
"You're making that up." she laughed
"Okay, maybe" he grinned
☆☆☆
The second half began, and everything changed.
France came out of the locker room like a different team. The passing was sharper, the runs more aggressive, the energy completely transformed. Y/n sat up straighter, her hand slipping out of Lando's, her eyes fixed on the screen. Something was happening. Something was shifting.
"What are they doing?" Lando said, his voice tinged with the first notes of concern. "Why do they look like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like they want to win."
"That's generally the point of football."
France scored. The goal came out of nowhere, a quick combination down the english half of the pitch and suddenly the ball was in the back of the net. 4-1. Y/n was on her feet, shouting at the screen in French, words her grandmother would have likely scolded her for.
"It's one goal" his voice now was less confident. "We're still up by three. It's fine. Everything's fine."
France scored again. 4-2.
"Okay" he took a deep breath "Okay, that's- that's less fine. But still fine. Two goals is nothing. Two goals is-"
France scored again. 4-3.
The living room had gone very quiet. Lando was no longer on his feet. He was sitting on the edge of the couch, his hands gripping his knees, his knuckles white. Y/n was standing in front of the television, her hand pressed to her mouth, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"Three goals" she whispered. "Three goals in... how long has it been?"
"Don't ask me that."
Y/n turned to look at him. His face had gone pale beneath the flush of earlier excitement. The confidence that had radiated from him at half-time had evaporated, replaced by something that looked a lot like existential dread.
"Four-three" she repeated
"I can see the score."
"One more and it's tied."
"I can do the math, Y/n."
"One more and we're back where we started."
Lando looked at her. His eyes were wide, his expression caught between hope and terror. "You're enjoying this."
"Oh, hell yeah"
"You're supposed to be on my side."
"I'm on France's side. You're the one who married a French woman. This is on you."
On the screen, the match had turned into something wild and unpredictable. England was reeling, their earlier dominance forgotten, their defense scrambling to contain a French attack that seemed to have found another gear entirely.
Y/n could feel the momentum shifting, could feel the possibility hanging in the air like static before a storm.
Then England scored. A counter-attack, swift and brutal, cutting through France's defense while they were still celebrating their comeback. 5-3. Lando exploded off the couch, his voice cracking with relief and disbelief and something that sounded almost like prayer.
"Five! Five goals! We're still winning! We're still-"
Then France scored. 5-4.
Lando's celebration died in his throat. He stood there, frozen, his arms still half-raised, his mouth still open, the sound of his own joy fading into the chaos of the match.
"No" he vigorously shook his head "No, no, no-"
"Yes!" Y/n shouted, grabbing his arm, her nails digging into his sleeve. "One more. One more and it's tied!"
"No! England will counter!"
England did, in fact, counter as just a fee minutes later, they scored another goal bringing the game's result to 6-4.
The goal was beautiful. Even Y/n, in the part of her heart that belonged to France, had to admit it was beautiful. Jude Bellingham was brilliant.
Then final whistle blew.
Lando collapsed onto the couch like his strings had been cut. His face was flushed, his hair was a disaster, his jersey was twisted around his torso from all the standing and sitting and almost-dying. He was breathing like he'd run a marathon. "We won" he exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. "We actually won. Bronze. The bronze is ours."
Y/n was still staring at the screen. The players were shaking hands. The commentators were wrapping up, their voices hoarse from calling such a chaotic match. The scoreline was not going to change.
She'd lost. She'd lost the match. She'd lost the bet.
"Hey" Lando looked at her, his voice suddenly softer. He reached for her hand, pulling her down onto the couch beside him. "Are you okay? It was just a bet. We don't have to..."
"I know."
"I was half joking anyway. About the baby thing. We can talk about it properly. We don't have to decide anything because of a football match. That would be insane. We're not insane. Well, I'm a little insane, but you're not, and-"
"Lando."
He stopped talking.
Y/n looked at him, his flushed face, his earnest eyes, his mouth still slightly open from the sentence he'd cut short. She thought about everything she'd imagined during the match. The teaching. The cheering. The showing up. The loving things even when they terrified him.
"I was picturing it" she started
"Picturing what?"
"You. As a father. During the match. When I should have been watching the game." She paused. "You'd be good at it. Really good. Chaotic, but good."
Lando's expression shifted. The excitement was still there, but it was quieter now. More settled. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"You really think so?"
"I really think so. During the second half, when France was coming back, when everything was chaos, I wasn't just watching the match. I was watching you. The way you felt everything. The way you couldn't hide it. The way you went from celebrating to panicking to celebrating again, all in the span of forty five minutes." She paused, her voice catching slightly. "That's exactly the kind of father you'd be. Someone who feels everything. Someone who shows up. Someone who loves so loudly it fills the whole room."
Lando was quiet for a moment, his thumb still tracing patterns against her hand. Then he said, very softly "I've been picturing it too. For a while. You, I mean. As a mother. You'd be incredible. Patient and fierce and... " He stopped. Swallowed. "During the first half, when I was celebrating, I kept looking over at you. You were so calm. So steady. Even when your team was losing, you didn't fall apart. That's what our kids would have. A mother who doesn't fall apart. A mother who believes in comebacks."
"Our kids" Y/n repeated.
"Our kids. Plural. Hypothetical. Unless-"
"Lando."
"Yeah?"
"I think we should start with one. And see how it goes."
He stared at her. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "Are you saying...?"
"I'm saying you won the bet. Fair and square. Six-four. England took the bronze."
"That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."
"That England took the bronze?"
"That we're having a baby. Hypothetically. Eventually."
"Not hypothetically." She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "Actually. Eventually. Soon."
The television was still on, the post-match coverage playing to an audience of zero. The snacks were still uneaten. The blanket was still on the floor. Outside, somewhere in the neighborhood, someone was setting off fireworks, probably for the match, probably just because.
Lando pulled her against him, his arms wrapping around her with the same desperate, joyful intensity he'd shown when England scored their goals. His face was buried in her hair, and she could feel him smiling against her skin.
"Best bronze medal ever" he mumbled.
"Better than our wedding?"
"Equal to our wedding."
"Better than the day we met?"
"Equal to the day we met."
"That's a lot of equality."
"It's a very equal day." He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes bright in a way that had nothing to do with football. "I love you. Even though your team lost catastrophically."
"I love you too. Even though you're going to be insufferable about this for the rest of our lives."
"Absolutely. I'm never letting this go. When we're eighty, I'll still be talking about the time England beat France six-four in the third-place match."
"And the baby we had because of it."
"The baby we had because of it," he agreed. "The baby who will definitely be an England fan."
"That baby will be half French."
"We'll make it work. We made this work." He gestured between them. "Englishman. Frenchwoman. One living room. One very stressful football match. One life-changing bet."
Y/n leaned into him, her head finding its familiar spot in the curve of his shoulder once more. On the screen, the bronze medal ceremony was beginning. England's players were receiving their medals, their faces split with exhausted, joyful grins as the first notes of Wonderwall by Oasis started filling their living room.
summary: your biggest dream finally becomes reality, but building a future with Oscar means learning that success is better when there's someone waiting at the end of the day.
contains: established relationship, cooking, humor, fluff, happy ending
pics from pinterest
requests open!
masterlist
oscar_piastri
liked by ynuser, mclarenf1, lando and 492,176 others
oscar_piastri p2 and amazing prize back at home ＠ynuser
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ynuser deserved it osc, you did so well with car today
⤷ oscar_piastri next time I'll help you cook
⤷ ynuser setting our house on fire is a good idea
⤷ oscar_piastri I'm not that bad
⤷ lando you are
⤷ max_verstappen you are
mclarenf1 absolutely fantastic today Oscar!
⤷ oscar_piastri thanks guys, great teamwork
⤷ user1 oscar p2 slayyt
user2 oscar and y/n are so romance book coded
⤷ user3 couple goals
⤷ user4 he bagged a diva
⤷ user5 she bagged a diva too
ynuser
liked by oscar_piastri, alexandra_leclerc, charles_leclerc and 216,071 others
ynuser my biggest dream has now become reality, I'm immensely grateful for the support and all the amazing people that showed up today at the opening 💕
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oscar_piastri my favourite chef in the whole world, super proud of you 🤍
⤷ alexandra_leclerc she uses you too as a test subject?
⤷ oscar_piastri I'm her test dummy but she's cute I can't say no
⤷ ynuser I prefer the term "taste tester" but that's okay too I guess
⤷ user1 poor oscar has probably had more food poisoning episodes than wins
charles_leclerc best of luck with your restaurant!
⤷ ynuser thanks, charles! you know you and alex always have a reserved table
⤷ charles_leclerc hell yeah
⤷ user2 it's not fair I want to try it too 😭😭
user3 I was there and it's honestly really mid, not worth the money at all
⤷ user4 I agree it's just so overrated
⤷ user5 it was fully booked just because her boyfriend is famous
⤷ user6 girl what she literally became famous before oscar even entered f1
f1gossip
liked oscar_piastri, ynuser and 100,436 others
f1gossip oscar piastri was spotted yesterday at his girlfriend y/n l/n's restaurant's opening night, we're officially melting 🫠😭
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user1 THE THIRD PIC HELLO
⤷ user2 just look at how happy they look
⤷ user3 they're so whipped for each other
user4 I heard she'd been working for years to open her restaurant I'm so happy for her
⤷ user5 in an interview she said that this has been her dream since she was a kid
⤷ user6 and oscar was right by her side the whole night
⤷ user7 dude should just marry her asap
ynuser
liked by oscar_piastri, f1_official, charles_leclerc, lando and 382,561 others
ynuser incredibly honoured to have cooked for this year's driver dinner
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f1_official you made meals even for us media admins, we love you please come back soon 🥺
⤷ ynuser aww of course, can't wait to be back at the paddock again
⤷ mclarenf1 she's still ours though
⤷ oscar_piastri *mine
⤷ nicole_piastri osc sharing is caring remember
lando best driver dinner ever
⤷ ynuser 🧡🧡🧡
⤷ charles_leclerc the food was mind blowing y/n
⤷ pierre_gasly kika told me she's super jealous I ate your cooking and she didn't
⤷ ynuser tell my girl she can come eat my cooking whenever she wants 💕
⤷ user1 can I come??
⤷ user2 me too
⤷ user3 me three
ynuser
liked by oscar_piastri, alexandra_leclerc and 215,003 others
ynuser 🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺 (oscar I love you but you suck at photography)
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oscar_piastri hey :(
⤷ ynuser out of all the good moments you took a photo of my trying to take off your hoodie
⤷ alexandra_leclerc 25 and still can't put on a hoodie properly
⤷ lando skill issue
⤷ user1 woah y/n got roasted
⤷ user2 alex ain't wrong tho
nicole_piastri so good to have you two back home with us again!!
⤷ ynuser we missed you all so much too 💕
⤷ user3 she's basically a piastri already
oscar_piastri
liked by ynuser, nicole_piastri, lando, f1_official, mclarenf1 and 683,408 others
oscar_piastri now I have a lifetime to learn how to cook with the best teacher ＠ynuser 🤍
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ynuser forever stuck with each other 💕
⤷ oscar_piastri couldn't think of a better way to spend the rest of my life
⤷ max_verstappen get a room (congrats)
alexandra_leclerc took you long enough
⤷ oscar_piastri your fault for taking ages to tell me her ring size
user1 I KNEW IT
⤷ user2 girl everyone could tell from a mile away that they were going to get engaged soon
summary: against all common sense, you and Lando return to Hot Ones years after your first appearance. Married now, the questions hit harder, the wings burn hotter, and somehow your love only becomes more obvious.
contains: established relationship, married couple, humor, fluff, comfort, sappiness, crying, lots of emotion
pics from pinterest
request @thatsojasminesworld ☆
requests open!
masterlist
The set was the same. The host was the same. The bright lights, the red and yellow branding, the two rows of chicken wings arranged in their ominous gradient from golden-brown to weaponized red, all of it was exactly as they'd left it, years ago, when they'd sat at this table as two people still figuring out what they were to each other.
But the elegant golden bands on their ring fingers told an entirely different story.
Lando had proposed three years into their relationship, on the night she won her first F1 Academy Championship. He'd waited until the champagne had dried and the cameras had left and they were alone in the garage, surrounded by the quiet hum of cooling engines and the distant sound of the crew packing up. He'd gotten down on one knee right there, on the oil-stained concrete, still wearing his team polo, and she had said yes before he could even finish the question. The wedding had been small, a private ceremony in the English countryside, close friends and family, no press, no spectacle. Just the two of them in a garden full of roses, promising each other everything they'd already promised at this very table, in front of hot sauce and cameras and millions of strangers.
Now they were back. Married. Still racing. Still competitive. Still incapable of saying no to a terrible idea.
"How have you two been?" the host asked, settling into his chair with the same calm demeanor he'd had years ago. "It's been a while."
"We've been good" Y/n said, her smile easy and bright. "Really good. Busy, but good."
"Less good about this" Lando added, gesturing at the wings with the enthusiasm of a man facing a firing squad. "Significantly less good. I remember the pain. I remember it vividly."
"You knew what you were signing up for."
"I didn't sign anything. I was emotionally manipulated."
"You said yes."
"You said 'come on, it'll be fun'. And you dragged me back here for round two"
"It was fun."
"We cried. Both of us. On camera. Multiple times. I couldn't feel my face for an hour."
The host laughed, the same easy laugh from years ago. "That episode is still one of our most-watched. The final solidarity moment gets brought up in the comments to this day."
"It was romantic" Y/n stated
"It was a traumatic medical event"
"Same thing."
The host tapped the stack of cards on the table. "Rules are the same. Our team has prepared questions. You'll take turns reading the cards. If you don't want to answer, you eat the wing in front of you. The other person just watches you suffer"
Lando's eyes found the final bottle. The screaming skull. The sauce the color of bad decisions. His stomach clenched in preemptive terror.
"I hate that bottle" he grimaced
"Y/n, you're up first" the host said, fanning out the cards. "Draw."
Y/n took the top card. She read it, and her expression flickered, not quite a flinch, but close. Something sharpening behind her eyes.
"Oh, this is mean" she murmured.
"What does it say?" Lando asked.
She turned the card toward him. "Who could replace me?"
The set went very quiet. Lando's hand, which had been resting casually on the table, went still.
"Sorry" he said. "What?"
"In your life. If something happened. If we weren't together. Who could replace me?"
Lando stared at her. Then at the card. Then at the crew, his expression hovering somewhere between disbelief and indignation.
"Who wrote these?" he asked. "Genuinely. Who sat in a room and said, 'Let's try to ruin a marriage on camera'?"
The host spread his hands, the picture of innocence. "We just facilitate."
Lando looked back at Y/n. She was watching him with that careful, unreadable expression she got when she was waiting for something important. His first wing sat in front of him, mild, golden and looking completely harmless. He didn't touch it, though.
"No one" he said. The word came out flat and absolute. "That's the answer. No one. There isn't a list. There isn't a hypothetical. There isn't a scenario where someone else slots into my life and everything keeps moving." He leaned forward, his forearms on the table. "I don't know how to explain it better than this: if I lost you, I wouldn't be looking for a replacement. I'd be learning how to exist without something essential. You don't replace oxygen. You just... survive without it. Poorly."
Y/n's careful expression cracked, just slightly. "That's-"
"I'm not done." His voice was still quiet, but there was steel underneath it. "I'm not eating the wing. I'm telling you, right now, in front of everyone: you are irreplaceable. Not because you're my wife. Not because you're a brilliant driver. Because you're you. The specific, impossible, maddening way you exist in the world. No one else does it. No one else can. So no one replaces you. Ever. End of answer."
The silence that followed was deep and full. Y/n was very still. Her hand, resting on the table, had curled into a loose fist.
"That's a very good answer" she let out quietly.
"It's the only answer."
The host exhaled, something between a laugh and a sigh. "We're one question in and I already feel like I need a moment."
"Lando, your turn" he continued, holding out the cards. "Draw."
Lando drew a card. He read it, and his expression shifted immediately, something flashing behind his eyes that looked a lot like irritation mixed with disbelief.
"Which one of my friends do you dislike the most?" he read aloud. Then, to the crew, louder: "What are these questions? Seriously. Who wrote these?"
Y/n's hand moved toward her first wing. She didn't pick it up, but her fingers hovered near the plate.
"I'm not answering that" she said.
"You haven't even thought about it."
"I've thought about it for exactly half a second and I'm not doing it. Your friends are your friends. I'm not ranking them on national television."
"It's not ranking. It's just one."
"It's ranking by elimination. Same thing." She picked up the wing. "I'm eating it."
"Really?"
"Really." She bit into it, chewed, swallowed. The heat was barely there, nothing more than a gentle warmth at the back of her throat. She set the bone down with a decisive click. "Your friends are all lovely. Even the one I'm thinking of."
"So there is one you're thinking of."
"I ate the wing. The question is dead."
"There's totally one."
"Dead, Lando. Buried. Cremated. We're moving on."
The host was grinning. "I love that you immediately ate it. No hesitation."
"Some things are not worth the soundbite" she replied before drawing a card
"What's the worst thing you've ever thought about me during a fight?"
Lando's hand moved toward his second wing. The sauce was visibly spicier now, a deeper orange, flecks of chili suspended in the glaze. His mouth was still faintly tingling from the first wing, and his tolerance for spice had not improved with age. If anything, it had gotten worse.
He looked at the wing. Then at Y/n. Then at the wing again.
"I'm eating it" he said.
"You haven't even tried to answer."
"Because I can't. Because the worst thoughts I've had during our fights are ugly and unfair and I don't want them to exist in the world. I don't want you to hear them. I don't want anyone to hear them." He picked up the wing. "They're not true. They were never true. They were just my brain being cruel to me, and I'm not giving them fuel."
He bit into the wing.
The heat hit him immediately, sharper than the first, more aggressive. His eyes began to water. He coughed once, a harsh involuntary sound, and grabbed for his water. The burn spread across his tongue, his throat, his sinuses, a wave of fire that made his vision blur.
"Oh no" he wheezed. "Oh no, that's- that's significantly worse than I remember."
"You could have just answered" Y/n said, but her voice was softer now.
"Couldn't." He coughed again, a couple stray tears going down his face. "Some things should stay in your own head. That's..." He grabbed the milk the host was pushing toward him and drank it in three desperate gulps. "That's where they belong."
"You're a disaster, Lan" she shook her head
"I know. Your disaster. Legally binding, love"
Lando then wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, still sniffling. The burn was still there, lurking at the back of his throat. He drew a card and read it, and his expression shifted into something incredulous.
"Who would lose in a breakup?" He stopped reading. Looked up at the crew. "No. No, I'm not asking this. This is-" He turned the card toward the camera. "This is a trap. This is a legally actionable trap."
"Read the question" the host said, barely suppressing a smile.
Lando looked at Y/n. Y/n looked at Lando. Her hand was already moving toward her second wing.
"I'm eating it" she spoke firmly
"You don't even know what I was going to-"
"I know exactly what you were going to think and say. You were going to say you'd lose. You were going to give some big, heartfelt speech about how you'd be a wreck without me. And I love you for it, but I'm not making you say that on camera when the premise of the question is something that's never going to happen." She picked up the wing. "So I'm eating the wing."
She bit into it. The heat registered immediately, her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed, and she reached for her water with the controlled urgency of someone trying very hard not to show pain.
"That's-" She coughed. "hot..."
"You didn't have to do that" Lando said.
"We're never breaking up. The question is irrelevant. I'm not entertaining it." She took another sip of water, her eyes watering. "Also I wanted to eat something before the really bad ones. Build up tolerance."
"That's not how tolerance works."
"It's how my tolerance works."
The host was shaking his head, grinning. "You two are something"
"We're very competitive" Y/n shrugged, her voice slightly hoarse.
"With the wings?"
"With everything."
It was now Y/n's turn to draw a card. "Lando" she said. "If you had to choose between racing and me, not hypothetically, not someday, but today, which would you pick?"
The question landed like a punch. Lando felt it in his chest, in his stomach, in the back of his throat where the heat was still smoldering.
He looked at the wing in front of him. The sauce was darker now, almost brown, threatening. His mouth was already burning. His eyes were already watering. He was going to eat it.
"I'm eating the wing" he said.
"That fast?"
"Racing has been my whole life since I was eight years old. You've been my whole life since the moment we met. Asking me to pick between them is like asking me to choose which lung to keep." He picked up the wing. "I'm not doing it. I'm not saying one matters more than the other. They're different. They're both essential. And I'm eating the wing."
He bit into it and the heat was immediate and felt like a nuclear bomb had just exploded in his mouth. His eyes flooded immediately. His nose gave up entirely. He coughed, a harsh, involuntary sound, and grabbed for the milk with both hands. The burn was everywhere, his mouth, his throat, his sinuses, his entire existence.
"Oh god" he wheezed. "Oh god, that's... why did I do this..."
Y/n watched him, her expression complicated. "You could have just answered."
"No." He was crying openly now, his face blotchy and red.
She reached across the table and pushed her own milk toward him. "Drink."
He drank. The relief lasted half a second. He didn't care, he just drew a card with shaking hands, still sniffling, still crying, still burning. He read it and laughed, a wet, desperate sound.
"Same question" he said. "If you had to choose. Racing or me."
Y/n looked at her wing. The sauce was dark and angry and waiting. She looked at her husband, his red face, his streaming eyes, his complete lack of dignity.
"I'm eating it, too" she stated
"You don't have to-"
"Yes I do. You ate yours. I'm eating mine." She picked it up. "I can't answer that question any better than you did. Racing made me who I am. You made me who I am. They're not separate things anymore. They're braided together. I can't pull them apart."
She bit into the wing and perfectly understood what Lando had just felt a minute ago. The heat hit her like a wall. Her eyes squeezed shut. Tears spilled down her cheeks, not the controlled watering of before, but actual crying. She made a small, strangled sound and grabbed a glass of milk, drinking it as fast as she could.
"Oh, that's..." She coughed. "That's so much worse than I remembered."
The host let them recover, pushing extra glasses toward both of them. "I have never, in six years, seen a couple match each other wing for wing like this."
"We don't like unfair advantages" Y/n managed.
"Also we're both stubborn idiots" Lando added.
"That too."
"Y/n, draw" the host said. "Wing four, now"
She drew a card. Her face was still flushed, her eyes still red, her throat still burning. She read the question and went very, very still before letting out a small chuckle.
"Which one of my family members do you secretly find insufferable?"
Lando's eyes went wide. "Oh no."
"Hell yes."
"I can't" He looked at his fourth wing. The sauce was nearly black, thick and glistening and radiating pure menace. His entire body was screaming at him to stop. "I'm eating it."
"You haven't even thought about it."
"I don't need to think about it. Your mother watches this show. Your grandmother watches this show. Your cousins watch this show. I'm not answering this question. I'm eating the wing."
"You've already eaten two wings."
"And I'll eat a third. Watch me."
He grabbed the wing and bit into it. His vision went white. His entire body rejected the experience simultaneously, eyes streaming, nose running, throat closing, stomach revolting. He made a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a prayer and grabbed for the milk with desperate, shaking hands.
"Oh god," he gasped. "Oh god, oh god, oh god"
"Breathe" Y/n placed a hand on his arm.
"Can't. Dying."
"You're not dying."
"Dying"
He drank the milk. It did nothing. He drank more milk. The relief was theoretical at best. His face was a disaster, tears and sweat and hot sauce residue, and he had never been more miserable in his life.
"For the record" he wheezed, "I love your entire family. Every single one. Even the difficult ones. Especially the difficult ones. I'm just not naming names on camera."
Y/n was watching him with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and adoration. "You're an idiot."
"Your idiot. Legally binding. Still very binding."
"Final round," the host announced and his voice took on a different tone, less solemn and much more mischievous. "Now, for the last wing, we're doing something special. Something we've only done a few times on this show."
Lando's eyes narrowed. "Why do you look like you're about to ruin my life?"
The host grinned. "Bring it out."
From behind the set, two crew members emerged carrying a long table. On it sat a miniature race track, two lanes, two controllers, two tiny cars poised at the starting line. It was the exact same setup Lando had seen in the episode with Oliver Bearman and Esteban Ocon. He remembered watching that episode with Y/n, both of them yelling at the screen like they were watching an actual Grand Prix.
"Oh no"
"Oh yes" Y/n squealed, her face lighting up.
"Here's how it works" the host explained, happy to see Y/n's excitement "You both race. Winner is exempt. Loser eats Da Bomb."
He placed the final bottle on the table with a decisive thunk. The screaming skull. The sauce the color of regret. The same bottle that had almost destroyed them years ago.
Lando stared at the tiny race track, then at the bottle, then at his wife. Y/n was already rolling up her sleeves.
"You're literally making us race."
"You're literally racing drivers. It would be a waste not to." the crew laughed from behind the camera
Y/n was already at the track, examining the controllers with the focused intensity she usually reserved for telemetry data. "The left lane has a slight delay on the throttle. I want the right lane."
"How can you possibly know that from looking at it?"
"I can sense it."
"You cannot sense throttle delay from across a room."
"I just did. Right lane. Mine."
Lando looked at the host. "She's cheating and we haven't even started."
The host spread his hands. "No rules against pre-race analysis."
Lando took his position at the left lane, picking up the controller with the grim resignation of a man who knew exactly how this was going to end. The track stretched out before them, a winding plastic circuit with tiny grandstands and miniature billboards. It was absurd. It was ridiculous. It was, he had to admit, kind of brilliant.
"Three laps" the host announced. "First to finish wins. On your marks."
Lando's thumb hovered over the throttle. Y/n was perfectly still beside him, her eyes fixed on the starting line. The tiny cars sat motionless, gleaming under the lights.
"Go!"
The cars shot forward. Lando took the first corner too aggressively causing his car wobbled, losing precious speed. Y/n's car glided through the turn with surgical precision, already pulling ahead.
"You're kidding me" Lando muttered.
"It's called throttle control" she teased, not looking away from the track. "You should try it sometime."
"Throttle control on a toy car- Shit!"
His car spun out on the second hairpin. He watched in horror as Y/n's car disappeared around the next bend, already a full straight ahead.
The host was narrating like it was an actual race. "And Y/n takes the lead into lap two, pulling a gap of nearly two seconds"
Lando pushed harder. His car caught the edge of a barrier, wobbled, recovered. He could see Y/n's car ahead, just barely, and he chased it with everything he had. For a moment, just a moment, he thought he might catch her.
Then Y/n took the final corner of the final lap with the kind of precision that made racing drivers legendary, and her car crossed the finish line a full three car-lengths ahead of his.
"Y/n wins!" the host exclaimed.
Y/n set down her controller with the calm satisfaction of someone who had just won an actual Grand Prix. "Good race."
"You're terrifying" Lando said.
"I know."
"Genuinely terrifying. I'm scared of you."
"You should be, Lan" She turned to face him, her smile bright and completely unsympathetic. "Now eat the wing."
Lando looked at the final wing. Da Bomb, topped with the screaming skull sauce. His mouth was still burning from the previous wings. His stomach was a war zone. His entire body was begging him to stop.
"I hate this" he said.
"You lost."
"I lost to my wife on a toy track in front of the entire internet."
"And now you eat the wing. Those are the rules."
Lando picked up the wing. The sauce was thick and dark and glistening, and just holding it made his eyes want to water in anticipatory surrender.
"Team solidarity?" he asked weakly.
"I won" Y/n said. "There's no solidarity in victory. Only glory."
"Where is the love?"
"The love is me standing here while you eat it instead of leaving the room."
He looked at the wing. The wing seemed to look back at him. The screaming skull on the bottle seemed to be laughing at him.
"For the record" he said, "I love you. Even though you just humiliated me on a plastic race track."
"I love you too. Eat the wing."
He closed his eyes shut and braced for the spice... yet it was far beyond anything he had ever experienced: beyond the previous wings, beyond the last time they'd done this, beyond anything his body knew how to process. His vision went white. His entire nervous system short-circuited. He was crying immediately, not the gradual watering of before, but full, helpless tears streaming down his face. His throat closed and then opened again, demanding oxygen that wouldn't come. The burn was everywhere, his mouth, his sinuses, his stomach, his entire soul.
Y/n was beside him instantly, all traces of victory forgotten. Her hand was on his back, her voice in his ear. "I'm here. I'm here. Drink the milk."
He grabbed the glass with shaking hands and drank. The relief lasted approximately a tenth of a second before the fire came roaring back.
"It's so bad" he wheezed.
"I know. I know. Keep drinking."
"I can't feel my face."
"That's normal."
"I can't feel my face."
"That's probably not normal but you'll be fine."
He was crying and laughing and reaching for more milk, and Y/n was there through all of it, her hand on his back, her voice steady, her eyes full of something that looked a lot like love and a little bit like amusement.
"You did it" she said. "You ate the wing."
"I lost" he managed. "I lost to my wife on a toy track and now I'm dying."
"You're not dying."
"I'm totally dying, love."
"You're being dramatic."
"I'm being accurate."
She laughed, and the sound of it cut through the heat somehow. He looked up at her, his face blotchy and red and tear-streaked, his dignity in absolute ruins, and she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"I love you" he said.
"I know." She squeezed his shoulder. "Keep drinking your milk. I'm going to go talk to the host before we wrap."
She stepped away, crossing the set to where the host was standing near the monitors. They started chatting, something about the episode, the questions, the wings. The cameras were still rolling, but no one was paying attention to Lando.
He sat there for a moment, alone at the table, milk in one hand, the remains of the deadly chicken wing on his plate. His face was still on fire. His throat was still burning. His eyes were still streaming.
Then, very slowly, he turned to face the camera.
His expression shifted. The agony faded into something else, something sly, something knowing, something that looked a lot like a man with a secret.
He glanced over his shoulder. Y/n was still talking to the host, her back turned, completely unaware.
Lando looked directly into the lens.
"I let her win" he mouthed, silent and deliberate.
He held the look for a beat, long enough for the editors to catch it, long enough for the internet to lose its collective mind, and then his gaze drifted past the camera, past the crew, past everything, to where Y/n was standing.
She was laughing at something the host had said, her head tipped back, her hand gesturing in the air, still flushed from the wings, still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Lando watched her, and his whole face changed.
The slyness disappeared. The mischief faded. What was left was something softer, something unguarded and luminous, the kind of look that couldn't be faked or performed or hidden. His eyes crinkled at the corners. His mouth curved into a smile so full of adoration it practically hurt to look at. Every single thing he felt for her was written across his face in a language anyone could understand.
He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The smile said everything.
summary: you convince your boyfriend lando to do Hot Ones Versus with you, expecting nothing more than some laughs and a few tears from the hot sauce. except the tears end up coming from both the spice and all the things the two of you have never had the courage to say out loud.
contains: established relationship, crying, secrets, lots of emotion, humor, sappiness, comfort
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The lights on set were aggressively bright, the kind of industrial illumination that made everyone look slightly overcooked. Lando squinted against them, already regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment. Across the narrow table, Y/n sat with the serene confidence of someone who had never once in her life made a bad decision, which was categorically untrue, given that she was dating him.
"You're already sweating" she observed pleasantly.
"It's the lights." he shrugged
The "Hot Ones Versus" set was deceptively cheerful. Red and yellow branding everywhere on the table as between them sat two rows of chicken wings, five each, arranged in an ominous gradient from golden-brown to weaponized red. The bottles of hot sauce lined up behind the wings looked less like condiments and more like evidence for an about-to-happen murder.
Lando had watched this show exactly once, seen a grown man weep into a glass of milk, and clicked away.
He had no one to blame for being here but himself, and possibly his PR team, and definitely Y/n, who had said "come on, it'll be fun" with the kind of smile that made his brain temporarily stop working.
The host settled into his chair out of the camera's field of view with the calm demeanor of a man who had watched hundreds of celebrities destroy themselves on camera.
"Welcome to Hot Ones Versus" he said. "Today we've got one-time Formula 1 World Champion Lando Norris, and F1 Academy driver Y/n L/n. How are we feeling?"
"Great" Y/n said.
"Terrified"
"That's the correct answer, Lando" the host glanced at the cards against the table. "Rules are simple. Our team has prepared some questions for you. You'll take turns drawing a card and asking the other person what's written on it. You don't get to see the questions beforehand. If you don't want to answer, you eat the wing in front of you. The other person eats nothing, they just have to watch you suffer" He pointed at the cards in front of Y/n. "Y/n, you're up first. Draw a card and ask Lando."
Y/n took the top card from her stack. She read it, and her expression shifted, something flickering behind her eyes that Lando couldn't quite read. Amusement, maybe. Or anticipation. With Y/n, it was often hard to tell the difference.
"Wing one" she said. "When was the last time you lied to me, and what was it about?"
The host let out a low, appreciative sound. "Starting strong. Our team doesn't mess around."
Lando's hand, which had been reaching casually for his water, stopped mid-air. He looked at his first wing, barely orange, practically innocent and then back at Y/n.
"We're starting with that?" he said.
"The card says what the card says."
"I thought the first one was supposed to be easy."
"The spice is easy. The question is a different story." She settled back in her chair, arms crossed, one eyebrow slightly raised. "Answer or eat."
Lando calculated his options. The wing was mild. He probably could just take one bite but eating the first wing felt like admitting defeat before the battle had even started. On the other hand, telling Y/n about the last time he'd lied to her, on camera, in front of the entire internet, was a door he didn't particularly want to open.
"I told you I liked the pasta you made," he said, very quietly.
Her expression didn't change. "The spaghetti?"
"It was very salty."
"I asked if it was too salty. You said no. You said, and I quote, 'it's perfect, babe, restaurant quality.'"
"In my defense-"
"You ate two bites and then said you weren't hungry."
"I'd had a big lunch."
"You'd had a protein shake at eleven am."
Y/n shook her head slowly. "You could have just told me. I would have ordered pizza."
"I didn't want to hurt your feelings."
"So you let me think I'd nailed it, and then I made it again for your mother."
"I know" he said miserably. "I know."
The host cleared his throat, visibly pulling himself together. "Lando, your turn. Draw a card."
Lando drew a card from the stack and when he read it, his stomach dropped. The production team was not playing fair. They were not even in the same zip code as fair.
"What does it say?" Y/n asked.
"Wing one" Lando said. "Same level. Have you ever been embarrassed to be associated with me?"
The smile faded from his girlfriend's face. Just a little. Just enough for him to notice. The host noticed too as he leaned forward slightly in his chair, his pen going still.
Y/n looked at her wing. The chicken wing glistened under the lights, harmless and golden. She didn't reach for it.
"Can I have some context?" she asked.
"The card doesn't come with context."
"Right." She took a breath. "Yes."
The word landed like a stone in still water. Lando felt it in his chest, a small, sharp impact.
"Okay" he said. "When?"
"Our third date. You took me to that restaurant in London, the one with the name no one can pronounce. And you were wearing those shoes."
"Which shoes?"
"The white ones. The ones with the gold buckles."
"I love those shoes."
"Everyone loved those shoes. That was the problem. People kept looking at us, and you kept waving at them, and I didn't know how to exist in that kind of attention yet." She paused. "I wasn't embarrassed by you. I was embarrassed because I felt like I didn't belong there. At that table. In that restaurant. With someone everyone wanted a piece of. That's not the same thing."
"Isn't it?"
"No. It's not." She held his gaze. "I worked through it. I'm not embarrassed anymore. I'd walk into any restaurant in the world with you now. Even in those hideous white shoes."
"I'm not eating the wing" Y/n declared. "I answered."
"You did," Lando said, his voice was softer now. "You did."
"Y/n, draw another card," the host straightened in his chair "Wing two. Spiciness is stepping up."
"If you had to choose" she said "between winning the World Championship this year and me winning the F1 Academy title, which would you pick?"
Lando didn't move. The question hung between them, heavier than the heat, heavier than the lights, heavier than anything that had come before.
"That's not a fair question," he said.
"The card-"
"I know what the card says." he murmured
He looked at his second wing. The sauce was a deeper orange now, flecks of chili visible in the glaze. His tolerance for spice began and ended at black pepper. But the alternative was saying something that would either be a lie or a wound.
He ate the wing.
The heat hit him immediately and his eyes began to water. He could feel his sinuses opening in protest. He quickly reached for his water and drank it in three desperate gulps, which did absolutely nothing except spread the burn across his entire mouth.
"Oh no" he breathed out, very quietly.
"Lando?" Y/n was watching him with a concerned expression.
"I'm fine. I'm completely fine."
"Your face is red."
"It's the-" He coughed, a harsh sound. "The lights, again."
The host pushed a glass of milk toward him. "You're going to need this."
Lando grabbed it and drank. The relief lasted approximately half a second before the burn came roaring back. His eyes were streaming now, actual tears tracking down his cheeks.
"You could have just answered" Y/n said.
He looked at her through the tears. "I couldn't. There's no answer to that question that doesn't make one of us smaller. I'm not doing that. Not even for a hypothetical."
Y/n's expression shifted, the teasing fading into something softer, something that looked a lot like the reason Lando had fallen in love with her. She didn't say anything, she didn't need to.
"Lando, your turn" the host reminded him, pulling him back to reality
Lando wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffling. The burn was still there, lurking at the back of his throat. He drew a card and read it, and his stomach dropped further.
"What's the biggest fight we've ever had?" he read aloud.
Y/n went very still. The kind of still she got on the grid before a race start. She stared at her second wing, then at Lando, then at her wing again.
"I'm eating the wing" she said.
"That bad?"
"It wasn't a fight. It was a-" She stopped. "I'm eating the wing."
She took a bite. The reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened. She chewed, swallowed, and reached for her water with the controlled urgency of someone who was trying very hard not to show pain.
"That's so hot" her voice was tight.
"You didn't even think about answering,"
"Because I'm not answering it. The wing is eaten. The question is dead."
The host leaned forward, clearly interested. "For the record, whenever someone eats the wing that fast, we know it was about something serious."
"It was just something about the air conditioning," Y/n muttered. "And also some other things. And we resolved it. Moving on."
The wings were now visibly spicier at this level. Once Y/n took a card, her expression flickered as some weirdly complicated feeling plastered across her face.
"Lando" she started "what's the worst thing you've ever said about me behind my back?"
"That's easy" he replied instantly
"That fast?" the host's eyebrow rose
"Because it's bad?" Y/n tried
"Because I've never said anything bad about you behind you back"
"You've never said anything bad about me?" Y/n asked. There was something in her voice, disbelief, maybe, or something softer.
"Never" Lando's eyes met hers across the table. "Not once. Not to anyone."
"Why?"
"What do you mean why?" his eyebrows furrowed "Because there's nothing bad to say."
Y/n stared at him for a long moment. Then she reached across the table and pushed her own glass of milk toward him, adding it to the collection.
"You're a disaster" she said quietly.
"I know." he smiled and soon drew another card
"If we broke up" he read "what's the thing you'd miss most?"
Y/n didn't reach for her wing. She didn't even look at it. She looked at Lando, just Lando, and the set went very quiet.
"I'd miss the way you make coffee," she replied simply "You don't even drink it. You think it tastes like dirt. But you learned how to make it exactly the way I like it, and every morning you're at my place, there's a cup waiting on the nightstand. Still hot. You've timed it to my alarm." She paused. "That's not a metaphor. I'd literally just miss the coffee. Everything else would be too big to even begin thinking about."
Lando made a sound that was almost a laugh. "The coffee."
"You make terrible coffee. It's somehow too strong and too weak at the same time. But you make it for me."
"The coffee" he said again, and his voice cracked on the word before pulling himself together. "Wing four. This is going to hurt."
Y/n drew a card. Read it. Her whole body went still.
"Have you ever been jealous of one of my successes?" she asked. "Not just uncomfortable. Actually jealous."
The silence that followed was the heaviest yet. Lando felt the question settle into his chest like a weight.
"Yes" he replied, his voice low.
Y/n blinked. "Okay."
"Not recently, but early on, before we were serious, when we were just two drivers who happened to be dating. There was a race where you won and I didn't. I'd had a terrible weekend, the car wasn't right, the setup terribly wrong, I qualified badly and finished even worse while you won. You stood on the top step and you looked so happy, and I was happy for you, but I was also..." He stopped. Swallowed. "I was also standing in my driver's room looking at the results and feeling something ugly. It passed. But it was there."
"Thank you" Y/n said quietly.
"For what?"
"For telling the truth."
Another smile bloomed on his lips at her words. He then nodded and drew a card.
"What's something you've never told me because you were afraid of how I'd react?"
Y/n's hand moved toward her wing. Stopped. Moved again.
"Don't" Lando stopped her "Just answer."
"I was afraid you'd leave" she said. Her voice was very quiet. "Not because of anything you did. Because of me. Because I have this voice in my head that tells me I'm not supposed to be here, not in racing, not in your world, not anywhere that matters. And I was afraid that if I told you about that voice, you'd realize it was right. That I wasn't enough. So I didn't tell you. For months."
"Y/n... love..."
"I know it's not true. I know the voice is wrong. But I was still afraid."
Lando reached across the table and she instantly took his hand. Her fingers were trembling slightly, or maybe his were. It was hard to tell.
"I'm not going anywhere"
"I know, Lan."
"I really mean it."
"I know." She squeezed his hand reassuringly
The host was very quiet. The cameras were still rolling, but no one was paying attention to them.
"Y/n, draw" he said eventually. "Wing five. Last one before the final."
Y/n drew a card as she read it, something in her expression shifted to something close to wonder.
"Lando, when did you know you loved me?"
"Monaco," he instantly started, the thought of eating the wing not even crossing his mind "The first time. Not the race. After. We were on my balcony, and you were telling me about your early karting days, and you did this thing where you used the salt shaker and the pepper grinder to explain a corner you'd struggled with. I don't remember the corner. I don't remember what you said. I just remember watching you move the salt shaker and thinking, 'I want her to explain things to me for the rest of my life.'"
The set was very still.
"That's a good answer" Y/n blushed slightly, touched by his confession
"It's a true answer."
"Lando, your turn" the host announced
Lando read the card. "Same one, when did you know you loved me?"
Y/n looked at her wing. Then at Lando. Then at her wing again.
"I knew about three weeks after we met," she blurted out. "I was in my apartment, and you'd just left, and I found one of your stupid socks under my coffee table. Just one. You'd walked out wearing one sock and hadn't even noticed. And I sat there holding this sock, and I realized I was smiling like an idiot, and I never told you because it sounded insane. It is insane, after all. Just three weeks... I didn't know anything, but I for sure loved you."
Lando stared at her. "Three weeks."
"Crazy, huh"
"I knew at two weeks."
Y/n's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "You did not."
"I did. I was in the garage at Monza. You'd sent me a voice note about a driver who'd blocked you in qualifying, and you were so angry, and so funny, and so completely yourself. And I thought: 'There it is. That's it. That's the thing I've been looking for.'" He laughed, a small broken sound. "I didn't tell you because it sounded insane, but that's when I realised this was love for me. Then in Monaco, I knew you were forever for me"
"We could have saved so much time," Y/n chuckled
"We got there eventually."
The host exhaled, mentally pushing away all that sappiness. "I've got one more card. This is the final round. Here's how it works. I read this question. One of you answers. The other eats the final wing with extra hot sauce. It has been clinically proven to make people question their existence. Who answers and who eats is up to you."
He placed the final bottle on the table. It was matte black with a screaming skull on the label. The sauce inside was the color of regret, dark, viscous, absolutely terrifying. This was the one Lando had seen in the compilations. This was the one that made professional athletes weep.
The host dramatically held up the final card.
"The question is this. Y/n's career is taking off. In the next few years, she'll likely have opportunities to race in series outside of the F1 ecosystem such as IndyCar, WEC, maybe Formula E. Those opportunities might take her away from the paddock. Away this shared space you two have found. If she gets an offer, what would you two do?"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Lando looked at the final wing. It sat there, unassuming, coated in a sauce that looked almost pretty under the lights. He knew it wasn't pretty. He knew it was going to destroy one of them. He was already in so much pain from the previous wings that his entire body was sending abort mission signals.
"I'll eat it" Y/n said immediately. "He can answer."
"No" Lando said. "You've eaten enough."
"I've eaten exactly as much as you."
"You're not eating that"
"Neither are you. Look at you. You're still crying"
"I'm not crying. My eyes are... Just fine" He waited until she met his eyes. "Let me do this"
"Lan, please. Trust me. Plus, we both know I have a better spice tolerance"
Lando looked at the host and let out a deep sigh "Fine, I'm answering."
Once the host nodded, Lando turned to face Y/n. Not the camera. Her.
"If you get an offer to race somewhere else, somewhere amazing, somewhere that makes you happy, somewhere you can win, I'm going to tell you to go." His voice was rough from the barely concealed emotion, but it didn't waver. "And I'm going to mean it. I'll come to your races. I'll fly sixteen hours on a rest day. I'll learn time zones I didn't know existed. I'll watch your onboards in a hotel room at three in the morning if that's the only time I have. But I'm never going to ask you to stay. I'm never going to make you smaller so I can feel bigger. I know what you are. I knew it the first time I watched you drive. You're not supposed to stay in one place. You're supposed to go."
Y/n's eyes were wet. She wasn't trying to hide it.
"That's... beautiful" she whispered.
"It's just what I truly think, love"
"Then I'm eating the wing."
"You don't have to-"
"Yes I do." She pulled the final wing toward her. "You answered the hardest question. You told the truth in front of the entire world. It's my turn now"
"Y/n, it's the spiciest thing I've ever seen."
"I know." She picked up the wing. "Team solidarity."
"You'll struggle-"
"I love you. Shut up."
She bit into the wing.
The reaction was immediate and terrible and beautiful. Her whole body seized for a moment. Her eyes squeezed shut. Tears spilled down her cheeks, not the controlled watering of before, but actual crying. She made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and then she was reaching for the milk, drinking it in desperate gulps, coughing, laughing, crying, all at once.
"Oh my god" she gasped. "Oh my god, that's... why does this exist... who invented this..."
The host pushed another glass of milk toward her. "You're doing great."
"I'm dying."
Lando was on his feet. He didn't remember standing. He was around the table, kneeling beside her chair, one hand on her back, the other reaching for her hand.
"You absolute menace" he said. "You didn't have to do that."
"Yes I did." She looked at him, face flushed and blotchy and tear-streaked, and she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "You answered. So I'm eating the wing. That's the deal."
"That's not the deal. There's no deal."
"There's a deal now. I just made it."
The host leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile. "I've done this show for six years and mo one has ever voluntarily eaten that out of solidarity."
"We're very competitive" Y/n said, her voice still hoarse.
"We're not losing to chicken" Lando added.
He was still holding her hand. She was still crying a little bit. The cameras were still rolling. Somewhere in the editing room, someone was already figuring out which moment would go viral. But right now, it was just the two of them, hands linked across a table covered in bones and empty milk glasses and the screaming skull of the hot sauce's bottle.
"Final thoughts?" the host asked, wrapping up. "Life lessons? Regrets?"
Lando looked at Y/n. Y/n looked at Lando.
"Learn not to lie about how my food tastes," she said, glaring at Lando
"Don't ask trap questions about World Championships" he countered.
"And don't" she added, squeezing his hand "eat the world's hottest wing ever again"
Lando then helped her to her feet. She was still unsteady, from the heat, from the emotion, from everything, and she leaned into him as they stood together under the aggressively bright lights.
"You know what I just realized?" he said quietly.
"What?"
"I'm still going to marry you."
She looked up at him. "Good, you better"
"I was trying to be romantic."
"You were crying four minutes ago. Everything is romantic after that."
summary: you and lando have been in a relationship for a couple of years but recently you started drifting apart due to the high demands of your respective careers
contains: established relationship, public relationship, angst, humor, sexual innuendos
pics from pinterest
requests open
masterlist
ynuser
liked by lando, ollie_bearman, hailey_bieber and 127, 104 others
ynuser lately 📍☕️
view comments
user1 is that a new book draft I see???
⤷ user2 I hope it is I literally bawled my eyes out with how good the last one was
⤷ user3 romance books are literally so overrated
⤷ user4 girl no one asked your opinion
hailey_bieber new book and you didn't even tell me?
⤷ ynuser I wrote like a single page
⤷ hailey_bieber still, betrayal comes from the ones closer to your heart
⤷ ynuser dramatic
⤷ hailey_bieber reminds me of a certain someone we know
⤷ ynuser don't go there hailey
⤷ user5 seems like things are tense between y/n and lando
⤷ user6 he didn't even comment like he usually does
ollie_bearman remember to take care of yourself and not work yourself to the bone
⤷ ynuser I promise I will, at least someone does care
lando
liked by mclarenf1, oscar_piastri and 371,645 others
lando raceweek again
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oscar_piastri you almost looked happy lan
⤷ lando I literally am happy
⤷ oscar_piastri you've been off for weeks but whatever
⤷ user1 so others noticed it too, I wasn't crazy after all then
user2 I think something happened with y/n, it's been weeks since they posted a photo together
⤷ user3 y/n didn't even like this post and it's been hours since lando posted it
user4 am I the only one that really misses when lando and y/n would comment whole sappy paragraphs under each other's post
⤷ user5 me too
⤷ user6 me three
ynuser
liked by hailey_bieber, ollie_bearman, alexandra_leclerc and other 216,002 others
ynuser hangout with those who really matter ❤️🩹
view comments
hailey_bieber had the best time ever 💕
⤷ ynuser we have to do this more often
⤷ max_fewtrell definitely I missed you guys
user1 just look how happy they are 🥺
⤷ user2 y/n deserves this so much
⤷ user3 she has been working so much between writing and attending events
alexandra_leclerc girls' night + Max and Ollie basically
⤷ ynuser they're honorary girls
⤷ max_fewtrell no thanks
⤷ ollie_bearman I didn't sign up for this
user4 another post without lando's like or comment
⤷ user5 and he clearly wasn't invited in the hangout
⤷ user6 I'd give my right kidney to know what's going on
lando
liked by mclarenf1, oscar_piastri, carlos_sainz and other 638,912 others
lando P1 what a race 🔥
view comments
mclarenf1 go lando!!
⤷ carlos_sainz great race lando
oscar_piastri we have to do something that's the fakest smile I've ever seen mate
⤷ lando it's just my face
⤷ oscar_piastri we can change that too while we're at it
⤷ user1 no one touches my lando 😡
⤷ user2 he's NOT yours 💔
⤷ user3 he's y/n's
⤷ user4 eh, doesn't seem like it anymore
user5 lando wins a race and still no trace of y/n, I'm getting worried
⤷ user6 I'm sensing a break-up soon
⤷ user7 don't say it, it's bad luck
ynuser
liked by hailey_bieber, oscar_piastri, lando and 176,926 others
ynuser 24 🧡
view comments
hailey_bieber happy birthday queen 💕💕
⤷ ynuser thanks, leyyy had an amazing day
⤷ oscar_piastri totally deserved (hbd by the way)
⤷ oscar_piastri oh and you're welcome no need to thank me
⤷ user1 WHAT DID HE DO
⤷ user2 was he there???
user3 LANDO LIKED
⤷ user4 I mean it's his girlfriend's birthday it's not a big deal
⤷ user3 it's still the first time in like a month
⤷ user5 it's huge news
user6 24 with an orange heart
⤷ user7 papaya orange heart?
⤷ user8 must be for lando or something, right?
lando
liked by ynuser, mclarenf1, oscar_piastri and 582,089 others
lando won in life 💕
view comments
ynuser brilliant race today lan 🧡
⤷ lando had my #1 fan cheering for me
⤷ user1 sappy comments are so back guys
⤷ user2 sappy captions too
⤷ user3 I missed them
mclarenf1 a happy lando is a winning lando
⤷ lando I'm super happy so that means I'll win everything right?
⤷ oscar_piastri not sure it works like that but it's good to have the real you back
user4 they look so cute in the third pic
⤷ user5 fr they're meant to be
⤷ user6 I hope she'll be at every single one of his races
⤷ user7 she's literally his good luck charm it's so cute
ynuser
liked by lando, ollie_bearman, hailey_bieber and 371,523 others
ynuser write me like you love me is officially out! many libraries have already ordered more units as the book is sold out, I'm so glad for all the love and feedback I've been receiving for this book. love you all 💕
view comments
hailey_bieber you never disappoint twin
⤷ ynuser you haven't even read it yet
⤷ hailey_bieber I can just feel it plus I'm still waiting for my signed copy
⤷ ynuser you'll have it don't worry ley
user1 I literally camped outside the nearest library to make sure I had this book the second it released. So worth it ❤️
⤷ user2 I finished this in a single sitting. yes it's that good
⤷ user3 this book definitely made it into my all-time top 3
user4 smut scenes were FANTASTIC, totally nailed those
pairing: lando norris × reader (f1 academy driver)
summary: you and lando have been secretly dating for a year and now you're making your f1 academy debut with mclaren. keeping the relationship hidden from the media is going to become a lot harder as only the other drivers know
contains: established relationship, secret relationship, fluff, humor, mild swearing
pics from pinterest
requests open
masterlist
ynuser
liked by mclarenf1, lando, kikagomes and 104,080 others
ynuser officially an f1 academy driver, thanks for all the support 🧡
view comments
mclarenf1 what a great race! 🧡
user1 I reckon she's going to go places if this is her very first f1 academy race
⤷ user2 the car is just good, she seems mid like others
⤷ user3 stfu, she's been extremely consistent since karting
lando welcome to the fam
⤷ ynuser thanks, has been great so far
kikagomes SLAYED IT DIVA 💕💕
⤷ ynuser ofc I have the best supporter EVER
lando
liked by mclarenf1, oscar_piastri, charles_leclerc, ynuser and 513,952 others
lando P2 in shanghai baby let's goo
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oscar_piastri good drive mate
⤷ lando watch out next time I'll be faster
⤷ oscar_piastri keep dreaming lan
user1 the first pic omggg ❤️❤️
⤷ user2 pretty boy lando is back guys
⤷ user3 don't think he ever left he's always so beautiful
charles_leclerc I'll get a podium too someday
⤷ lando no offence but you got better chances driving a tricycle than that ferrari 💔
⤷ user4 okay WILD but true, ferrari's shit right now
ynuser great result lando!
lando
liked by oscar_piastri, ynuser, carlos_sainz and 638,028 others
lando deserved summer break, wish it never ends
view comments
charles_leclerc so this is why you skipped our twitch stream
⤷ lando sorry charles I'll be there for the next pinkie promise
user1 this type of lando has me in a chokehold I swear
⤷ user2 isn't it illegal to look so effortlessly good
⤷ user3 he looks genuinely happy too
oscar_piastri lowkey makes me miss home
ynuser
liked by kikagomes, lando and 97,341 others
ynuser summer vacay 🌸
view comments
kikagomes without me huh
⤷ pierre_gasly am I not enough
⤷ ynuser must suck that I'm better company
⤷ user1 #freepierre
user2 wait doesn't the third pic kinda look like the same place as the one in lando's post?
⤷ user3 you might be onto something
⤷ user4 the flowers look pretty similar to his
⤷ user2 if you zoom in enough the bracelets they're wearing look similar
⤷ user5 my spidey-senses smell something big going on here
lando aesthetic
⤷ ynuser didn't know you were into these things
⤷ user6 EXCUSE ME
f1gossip
liked by lando, ynuser and 245,167 others
f1gossip lando norris and a mysterious girl have been spotted looking very comfortable together. seems like lando has found his other half 👀💕
view comments
user1 I JUST WOKE UP WHAT
⤷ user2 like same, what do you mean our lando has a girlfriend??
user3 lando liked the post himself
⤷ user4 y/n did too, isn't that suspicious?
⤷ user5 something is definitely up here
⤷ user6 first the photos seemingly taken in the same place now this...
f1gossip
liked by lando, ynuser and 532,890 others
f1gossip after an amazing win in monaco, lando has been asked whether the rumours were true and... HE ADMITTED HE'S TAKEN 💍💕
view comments
user1 I KNEW IT 🥺❤️
⤷ user2 it had become pretty obvious at this point
⤷ user3 those paparazzi pictures made pretty clear that lando and that girl were intimate with each other
user4 another post liked by both lando and y/n by the way
⤷ user5 I heard she was in the mclren box
⤷ user6 I bet those two are a thing
lando proudly taken and in love 🧡
⤷ user7 I'M MELTING 🥺🥺
⤷ user8 I'm so convinced he's like the best boyfriend ever
lando
liked by ynuser, mclarenf1, charles_leclerc and 1,563,823 others
lando world champion!!! thanks for the amazing season and a special thank you to my outstanding partner ＠ynuser, wouldn't be here without you, love
view comments
ynuser congrats, love, you deserve it 🧡🧡
⤷ lando I couldn't have done it without you 💕
⤷ oscar_piastri get a room you two
user1 world champion and girlfriend reveal? what a wonderful day for a norris fan
⤷ user2 so it really was y/n after all
user3 look how he immediately went to her 🥺
⤷ user4 mama y papa
⤷ user5 they look amazing together
mclarenf1 outstanding job this year!
ynuser
liked by lando, kikagomes, mclarenf1 and 392,154 others
ynuser forever my number 1 ＠lando ❤️🩹
view comments
lando forever 💕
⤷ kikagomes she's actually mine though
⤷ ynuser of course twin
⤷ lando hey don't ignore me babe 🥺
user1 actual racing power couple right here
⤷ user2 both mclaren drivers, both insanely talented
⤷ user3 I think she could be wdc too in the next years
⤷ user4 totally agree, the potential is definitely there
hello and thanks! I'm trying my best since I've been wanting to write something like this for a while now. sometimes it gets really frustrating as english isn't my first language, yet knowing that people do enjoy it makes me super happy.
She thought it was going to be somewhat of a walk in the park. Yet it was more like a run in the park at 5 a.m. on a Sunday morning, the kind where the air felt too cold in her lungs, where every breath came a second too late, where her legs started protesting long before her mind was willing to stop.
“Faster.”
She didn’t answer immediately. She focused on the rhythm of her steps instead, the repetitive impact of her shoes against the pavement, the steady burn building in her calves. Beside her, her coach Luca Bianchi ran as if none of this cost him anything, his pace consistent, his breathing controlled, like he existed in a completely different version of reality.
“You said this was a warm-up” she managed, her voice much tighter than she intended.
“It is.”
She let out a short breath that might have been a laugh if she’d had the energy for it. “Then I’d hate to see the actual training.”
“Oh, you will.”
That wasn’t reassuring. Nothing about him was reassuring. He didn’t exaggerate, didn’t soften anything, didn’t offer false encouragement. He simply stated things as they were, and expected her to keep up like she had been doing this since before she was born.
Luca Bianchi had not introduced himself like a typical coach.
There had been no long explanation, no list of achievements, no attempt to impress. Just a direct question, 'Have you ever had a coach?', followed by a simple offer.
Alex had accepted before she had fully considered what that actually meant. She learned the rest gradually.
Luca had competed nationally in Italy for years, not as a star, not as someone whose name people outside the sport would recognize immediately, but as a consistent presence. Senior-level competitions, respectable placements, strong technical foundation without the kind of performance quality that attracted media attention.
He had never been the best. Yet he seemed quite determined to make her the best. He saw something in her that she didn't even see herself.
He however had more than enough experience to understand exactly what separated those who improved from those who plateaued.
A knee injury had unfortunately ended his competitive career earlier than planned. Not dramatic, not even career-defining, just enough to make high-level training unsustainable. Coaching had come after that, first as an assistant, then independently.
He didn’t talk about it unless Alex asked and, even then, his answers were brief.
“What was your best jump?” she had asked once.
“Quadruple Lutz.”
“And you landed it consistently?”
“Eventually.”
“How long did it take?”
He had looked at her for a moment before answering.
“Longer than you think.”
That had stayed with her.
Because everything she was doing felt fast, too fast. And yet not fast enough.
By the time they reached the rink, she wasn’t thinking about skating anymore. She was thinking about stopping. About sitting down and not moving for at least an hour. About how ridiculous it was that something she had started on a whim had somehow turned into this: early mornings, structured training, a schedule that left no room for hesitation.
She didn’t sit.
Luca gave her exactly five minutes, and she used every second of them, leaning against the barrier, forcing her breathing to slow, forcing her legs to steady. The ice stretched out in front of her, untouched, smooth in a way that almost looked almost ghostly under the pale overhead lights. It didn’t care that she was tired. It didn’t adjust. It didn’t forgive.
“Showtime” Luca said, before she had fully recovered.
She stepped onto the ice.
There was no hesitation anymore. Not the kind she had at the beginning, when every movement felt uncertain and every glide was a small surprise. Now the uncertainty came from something else, from knowing exactly what she was doing wrong.
She pushed forward, building speed, setting up for the jump. Her body followed the sequence she had repeated dozens of times, edge, turn, preparation, takeoff, but something was off. She felt it before she even left the ice.
The rotation was slightly late, the landing unstable.
She recovered, barely, but it wasn’t clean.
“Again.”
Alex exhaled sharply through her nose, turning back toward the center without arguing. There was no point. She already knew.
The next attempt wasn’t better. Neither was the one after that.
Her frustration built quietly, not explosive, not outward. It settled somewhere deeper, tightening her focus instead of breaking it. She adjusted her timing, corrected the angle of her blade, forced herself to slow down the movement in her head before executing it again.
“Again.”
She went.
The repetition stripped the movement down to its core. Each attempt exposed something slightly different, too much speed, not enough control, weight too far back, arms not tight enough. It was never one big mistake, always several small ones, layered together just enough to ruin the whole thing.
By the time Luca told her to stop, her legs were shaking.
Not visibly. Not in a way anyone else would notice. But she felt it, the strain building beneath the surface, the gradual loss of precision that came with fatigue.
She stepped off the ice without saying anything, grabbing her water bottle and taking a long drink. The cold air clung to her skin, her body still adjusting between effort and stillness.
“This is inefficient” she said finally.
Luca looked at her. “What is?”
“This. Repeating it wrong doesn’t make it right.”
He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he watched her for a moment, as if evaluating something she hadn’t said.
“You’re not repeating it wrong” he said. “You’re correcting it every time.”
“It’s still not enough.”
“It doesn’t have to be enough yet.”
Alex tightened her grip on the bottle slightly. “That’s can't be a standard.”
“It is at this stage.”
She didn’t like that answer. Not because it was wrong, but because it didn’t align with what she was starting to expect from herself.
The next sessions followed the same pattern, but she was starting to change.
At the beginning, she had relied on instinct, on the strange, natural way her body seemed to understand the ice without being taught. Now that wasn’t enough anymore. Now she noticed everything. Every imbalance, every hesitation, every moment where control slipped just slightly out of reach.
And once she noticed it, she couldn’t just ignore it. Hell, if it didn't annoy her.
Her training extended beyond the rink. Videos weren’t entertainment anymore; they were references. She didn’t just watch programs, she studied them. Paused them. Replayed the same movement until she could predict it frame by frame. The angle of the takeoff, the speed going into a jump, the exact timing of the rotation.
Then she went to the rink and tried to replicate it.
It never worked perfectly and that was a problem.
She started keeping track of things without meaning to, like how many attempts it took before something felt close to correct, how often she lost balance on a specific edge or how her consistency dropped when she got tired.
It wasn’t frustration that pushed her.
It was the gap: the clear, measurable distance between what she was doing and what she knew was possible.
Luca noticed it before she said anything.
“You’re thinking too much” he told her one afternoon.
“I’m thinking correctly.”
“You’re overanalyzing.”
“I’m fixing mistakes.”
“By creating new ones.”
Alex stopped, turning toward him. “So I’m supposed to ignore them?”
“No. You’re supposed to trust the correction.”
“That’s not precise.”
“It’s necessary.”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t agree either.
Instead, she reset her position and went again.
This time she decided to trust her coach. She took a deep breath and, for once, didn’t hesitate on the takeoff. The rotation came faster, tighter. The landing still wasn't perfect, but surely felt closer. Close enough that she saw the difference immediately.
She didn’t smile, didn’t celebrate.
She turned back. “Again.”
Luca didn’t stop her, the man just stood there trying to hide a small proud grin.
☆☆☆
The physical strain soon became routine.
The running in the mornings. The conditioning. The repetition on the ice. At some point, her body stopped resisting it in the same way. It adapted, slowly, reluctantly, but enough that she could push further before reaching the same level of exhaustion.
What didn’t get easier was the standard she set for herself.
She stopped measuring progress by what she could do. She measured it by how consistently she could do it, how cleanly, how close it was to what she had seen in those clips she replayed over and over again.
A landed jump didn’t mean anything if it wasn’t controlled. A clean landing didn’t mean anything if the takeoff was wrong.
There was always something. Always a detail she could isolate, correct, improve.
Kevin noticed it the next time he came to the rink.
“You don’t even look happy” he said, leaning against the barrier as he watched his little sister skate.
She slowed near him, breathing steady, controlled. “Why would I be?”
“You’re good now.”
She shook her head slightly. “No, I'm nowhere near good.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not consistent.”
Kevin frowned. “You landed that jump like five times.”
“Three of them were off-axis.”
“I don’t even know what that means.” He shook his head
“Exactly.”
She pushed away from the boards before he could respond, not interested in explaining something she wasn’t satisfied herself.
The difference between her and the other skaters was becoming more noticeable, but not in the way people usually thought. It wasn’t just skill, it was more about intent. The way she approached every movement like it had to be exact, like anything less was a failure she hadn’t corrected yet.
And yet, there were moments. Rare, brief, almost accidental moments where everything aligned.
One evening, late, when the rink was nearly empty, she set up for a jump without overthinking it. No hesitation, no adjustment mid-motion. Just the sequence, executed the way she had practiced it.
The glide out was smooth, controlled, uninterrupted.
She slowed gradually, her mind catching up a second later.
That was it.
That was what it was supposed to feel like. And it felt really fucking satisfying.
Not forced. Not corrected mid-air. Just… right.
She stood there for a moment, staring at the ice in front of her, replaying it mentally. Every detail. Every position. Locking it in.
Then she turned back, a small, satisfied grin starting to bloom on her lips.
“Again.”
Because once wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
☆☆☆
When Luca finally mentioned competition, it didn’t feel sudden or rushed. It felt almost natural, nothing more than an obvious continuation of her journey.
“You’re ready.”
Alex didn’t stop moving immediately. She finished the sequence she was working on, glided to the side, and only then looked at him.
“For what.”
“A local competition. Small.”
She considered it for a moment, not reacting outwardly yet. “What’s the standard?”
Luca watched her carefully. “For you?”
“Yes.”
“Clean execution. Consistency. Control under pressure.”
Alex nodded once, that made sense, she could do it. “When?”
“Soon.”
She looked back at the ice.
There was no excitement. No nerves yet.
Just thoughts, lots of them. About what still needed to be fixed, what wasn’t reliable enough and what would fail under pressure if she didn’t correct it first.
“…Okay” she managed to say after a few seconds.
Not because she felt ready.
But because she understood what was expected of her now.
And she intended to meet and exceed those expectations.
The first time Alex went to the rink, she told herself it didn’t mean much. Sure, she didn't fall yet she was obviously far from good.
It was just a stupid challenge, at first. Something Kevin had dragged her into because she had made the mistake of running her mouth during the Worlds broadcast. She had stepped onto the ice expecting to humiliate herself, maybe fall once or twice, and then leave with a funny story to complain about later.
Instead, she had spent nearly an hour gliding around the rink, discovering, somewhat to her own surprise, that she wasn’t terrible at it.
Which, unfortunately, created a new problem. Because once you realized you weren’t terrible at something, it became very hard to just forget about it.
Three days later, Alex went back.
The rink looked different during the afternoon.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows along one side of the building, reflecting brightly off the ice and filling the arena with a pale, almost glowing light. The surface looked smoother than she remembered, an endless sheet of white broken only by the faint curved lines left behind by previous skaters.
The air carried the same familiar chill, crisp enough to sting slightly when she inhaled.
This time she arrived alone.
Kevin had classes and couldn’t come with her, which was honestly fine. Alex had spent the entire bus ride mentally preparing herself for the moment she would step back onto the ice. Without her brother there to mock her every movement, she could focus.
Or at least that was the idea.
She sat on the same wooden bench near the entrance and laced up the rental skates again. The stiff boots pressed tightly around her ankles as she pulled the laces through the hooks, the motion already feeling slightly more familiar than it had the first time.
She stood carefully.
Walking in skates still felt ridiculous.
The blades clicked against the rubber flooring as she shuffled toward the rink entrance, gripping the barrier for balance.
When she stepped onto the ice this time, the initial panic didn’t come.
Instead, she pushed forward almost immediately.
The glide was smoother than she remembered.
“Oh” she muttered.
Her body remembered.
The small adjustments she had struggled with before came more naturally now: shifting her weight slightly forward, keeping her knees bent, letting the momentum carry her rather than fighting it.
Push. Glide. Push.
Alex moved slowly along the boards, gradually gaining confidence with each lap. The cold air brushed against her cheeks as she skated, and the quiet scraping of blades against ice filled the large open space.
A few other skaters moved around the rink.
Some were clearly beginners like her, clinging to the boards, laughing when they nearly fell. Others moved with an ease that made her pause occasionally just to watch.
One girl spun near the center of the rink, her arms tucked neatly against her body as she rotated quickly before stopping with surprising control.
Alex stared. “How does she even do that?”
She pulled her phone from her pocket during a break and opened TikTok.
Her feed immediately delivered what she wanted.
Short clips of figure skaters flying across the ice, slow-motion jumps, dramatic spins, perfectly choreographed programs set to trending music.
Alex watched a few videos, frowning thoughtfully.
“That doesn’t look that hard” she muttered.
The moment she put her phone away and stepped back onto the ice, she immediately proved herself wrong.
The next few weeks followed a pattern.
School. Homework. Rink.
Sometimes Kevin came with her, sometimes he didn’t. But she kept returning, drawn back by the strange sense of curiosity that had started to grow in the back of her mind.
Each visit added something new.
At first, it was simple things.
Learning how to stop properly without crashing into the boards. Figuring out how to push harder and glide longer. Turning without panicking halfway through.
The internet helped more than she expected.
She spent hours scrolling through short videos of skaters demonstrating basic skills: edges, turns, small jumps. Some of them were tutorials, while others were simply clips from programs posted by fans.
She watched everything.
Sometimes she would replay a clip several times, studying the way the skater bent their knees or shifted their weight before attempting the movement herself later at the rink.
Most of the time it didn’t work.
But sometimes it did. And when it did, the feeling was addictive.
One evening the rink was almost empty.
A light snow had started falling outside, which meant fewer people had bothered to come out that night. The arena felt quieter than usual, the echoes of blades on ice louder in the large open space.
She stepped onto the rink and pushed forward.
Her movements felt different now.
Still clumsy in places, but more controlled overall. She had learned to trust the ice beneath her skates instead of fighting it constantly.
Push. Glide. Turn.
She tried something new that day.
A small hop.
It was barely a jump, more like a quick lift off the ice before landing again a second later, but the moment her blades left the surface, her heart jumped into her throat.
She landed. Barely.
Her skates scraped loudly across the ice as she struggled to regain balance, arms flailing slightly.
But she didn’t fall.
Alex stared down at her feet. “Did I just...?”
She laughed out loud. The sound echoed through the nearly empty rink.
By the end of the first month, the employees at the rink started recognizing her.
She was there almost every day now.
Sometimes after school. Sometimes late in the evening when the rink was quieter and she had more space to practice without bumping into people.
Her phone became a constant companion.
She would sit on the bench between sessions, watching skating clips with the focused expression of someone studying for an exam.
Programs from international competitions. Fan edits of dramatic step sequences. Slow-motion breakdowns of jumps.
She didn’t understand most of the technical terms yet, but she was starting to notice patterns.
The way skaters prepared before a jump. The curve of their edges. The quick snap of their arms pulling inward during spins.
Once she noticed those details, she couldn’t stop seeing them everywhere.
Kevin finally noticed the change when he visited the rink again one afternoon.
Alex was skating near the center when he arrived, practicing turns she had spent nearly two weeks trying to master.
He watched quietly from the boards for a moment.
“…Okay,” he said slowly.
She skated toward him.
“What?”
“You’re actually good now.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I was always good.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“Yes, I was.”
Kevin pointed toward the middle of the rink.
“Do that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“The turning thing.”
Alex pushed away from the boards and tried again.
Her skates carved a shallow curve into the ice as she rotated her body, shifting her weight carefully through the movement before gliding forward again.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was controlled.
He stared.
“…That’s illegal.”
“Shut up.”
“You’ve been doing this for like a month.”
“And?”
“And that shouldn’t happen.”
Alex shrugged.
“I watch a lot of videos.”
Kevin looked deeply unconvinced.
“That cannot possibly be the only reason.”
The first real fall happened two weeks later.
It was dramatic.
Alex had been attempting another small jump she had seen online, something slightly more ambitious than the tiny hops she had tried before.
She pushed forward, bent her knees, and launched herself upward.
The landing did not go well.
Her blade caught the ice at the wrong angle, sending her sliding sideways before she collapsed onto the rink with a loud thud.
For a moment she just lay there staring up at the bright ceiling lights.
“…Ow.”
A few nearby skaters glanced over.
She slowly sat up.
Her hip ached, and her pride hurt significantly more.
But after a moment, she started laughing. Because the jump had actually worked, at least the first half of it.
A coach noticed her two days later, not because she was the best skater on the ice, far from it.
There were several skaters practicing that evening who were clearly far more experienced, spinning faster, jumping higher, moving with the confidence of people who had spent years on the ice.
But Alex stood out for a different reason: she moved like someone who had never been taught anything.
Her technique was messy in places, her posture inconsistent and yet, every now and then, she did something that made no sense for a beginner.
Like the small jump she attempted near the center of the rink: the takeoff was rough, the landing slightly crooked, but the rotation was surprisingly clean.
The coach frowned slightly as he watched from the boards. He had been standing there for nearly ten minutes before he realized he was focusing entirely on the same skater.
Alex didn’t notice, she was too busy trying the jump again. And again, each attempt looking a little better than the last.
The coach crossed his arms thoughtfully.
Interesting, very interesting.
Alex finally stopped skating when the rink lights dimmed slightly, signaling the end of the session.
She glided toward the boards, breathing hard, strands of hair sticking to her forehead from sweat.
Her legs ached in the familiar way they always did after a long practice, but she was smiling.
She unlaced her skates slowly on the bench, replaying the jumps in her head.
Next time she could try landing cleaner and maybe push harder on the takeoff.
She grabbed her phone to watch the clip again.
When she looked up, someone was standing in front of her.
The man had been watching her from the boards earlier.
Alex blinked. “…Hi?”
The man tilted his head slightly. “Have you ever had a coach?”
She frowned. “No?”
He studied her for another moment. “Would you like one?”
Summary: after watching the Worlds, Alexandra Royce tried figure skating and in less than a year she’s become one of the fastest-rising skaters in the sport, collecting medals, baffling judges, and somehow ending up on the same competition circuit as Ilia Malinin. The media is convinced they’re figure skating’s next golden couple. Neither of them knows how this got so out of hand.
Alex didn’t even look away from the television as she reached for the bowl of popcorn sitting to her left. The living room was dim except for the blue glow of the screen, the muffled sound of commentators filling the quiet apartment.
“Why is everyone falling so much?” she continued, frowning slightly. “Aren’t they supposed to be the best ones?”
Beside her, Kevin, her brother, scoffed loudly.
“As if you could do even half of what they’re doing.”
Alex shrugged, tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “I feel like I could, though.”
Kevin finally looked over at her, eyebrows raised. She was sprawled across the couch like she had melted into it, one arm hanging lazily over the backrest.
“They’re doing jumps and spins,” he said slowly. “On skates. On thin little blades, Alex.”
She waved a dismissive hand.
“For you, waking up and getting out of bed is already quite the feat.”
Alex grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him without even looking. It hit him square in the face.
“Shut up.”
Kevin laughed, tossing the pillow back onto the couch just as the arena on the television suddenly erupted in cheers.
Both of them turned toward the screen.
A blond boy stood alone in the center of the rink, the bright arena lights reflecting off the ice beneath him. The camera zoomed in slightly, capturing the calm focus on his face.
Alex leaned forward a little.
She knew that name.
Anyone with even the slightest knowledge of figure skating did.
Ilia Malinin.
The Quad God, some people called him.
A prodigy. A star. The best.
The music began, soft at first, slow and almost gothic. The kind of melody that filled the arena without ever feeling loud.
Then he moved.
Alex had been watching the competition all evening, half paying attention, mostly making fun of every fall and awkward landing. But something about this was different.
Everything looked effortless.
Every step carved clean lines into the ice. Every movement flowed into the next as if gravity simply worked differently for him.
Then he jumped.
She didn’t even understand what kind of jump it was, but the height alone made her sit up straight.
He spun in the air so fast it was almost impossible to follow before landing perfectly, blade biting into the ice with complete control.
Kevin let out a low whistle.
“Okay… that was kinda insane.”
But Ilia wasn’t done.
Jump after jump followed, each one just as clean, just as impossible as the last. Spins blurred into elegant positions, transitions so smooth Alex could barely tell where one element ended and the next began.
At some point she realized she had stopped eating the popcorn altogether.
She was leaning forward now, elbows resting on her knees, completely absorbed by the performance.
Maybe the nickname really did fit him.
The music slowly built toward its final notes before fading away.
Ilia came to a stop in the center of the rink, chest rising and falling slightly from the exertion.
For a moment there was silence.
Then the entire arena exploded.
The crowd rose to its feet in a thunderous standing ovation, applause echoing through the stadium so loudly it almost distorted the TV speakers.
Alex stared at the screen, completely stunned.
“Fucking hell” she muttered under her breath.
Kevin nodded slowly beside her.
“Oh yeah. Fucking hell.”
A beat passed.
Then he added thoughtfully “I think I’m gay.”
Alex immediately grabbed the pillow again and launched it at his head.
“He’s a real person, Kev” she said. “Not a piece of meat."
Kevin snorted, pushing the pillow away.
“Relax. I’m just appreciating greatness.”
She leaned back against the couch, eyes still fixed on the screen as the camera showed the replay of the jump again.
She frowned slightly.
“…You know” she said slowly.
Kevin groaned immediately.
“Oh no.”
“I bet I could do that.”
He turned to stare at her like she had just announced she was planning to climb Everest in flip-flops.
“You" he said flatly “cannot even roller skate.”
Alex grabbed another handful of popcorn.
“Details.”
Kevin shook his head, laughing under his breath.
“Sure, Alex. Whatever you say.”
But Alex kept watching the replay on the screen, the image of Ilia soaring through the air looping over and over again.
And for the first time that evening, she wasn’t joking.
☆☆☆
The problem with saying things confidently was that sometimes people remembered.
Unfortunately for Alex, Kevin had an excellent memory.
“You said you could do it.”
She didn’t even bother looking up from her phone. She was sprawled across the couch the same way she had been the night before, one leg dangling over the armrest while sunlight spilled lazily through the living room window.
“I said I bet I could do it” she replied. “That’s not the same thing.”
Kevin leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, staring at her with the deeply irritating expression of someone who had been waiting for this exact moment.
“It’s literally the same thing.”
“It’s really not.”
“You implied competence.”
“I implied nothing.”
Kevin picked up his car keys from the counter and tossed them once into the air before catching them again.
“Then prove it.”
Alex slowly lowered her phone.
“Kevin, I was joking. I always do because I know I won't actually try it”
“Sure you were.”
She squinted at him suspiciously.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re avoiding the challenge.”
“I am not avoiding anything.”
Kevin shrugged.
“Cool.”
He walked toward the front door.
“Let’s go.”
Alex blinked.
“…Go where?”
He turned around as if the answer was obvious.
“The rink.”
She stared at him for several seconds, waiting for the punchline that never came.
“You cannot be serious.”
“Completely serious.”
“You’re dragging me to a skating rink because of something I said while eating popcorn and watching the World Championship?”
“Yes.”
“That feels a tad bit excessive.”
Kevin opened the door and leaned against the frame.
“Come on, future world champion.”
Alex groaned loudly and dropped her head back against the couch cushion.
“This is the worst day of my life.”
Yet ten minutes later she was still putting on her shoes.
☆☆☆
The rink smelled like cold air, metal railings, and the faint bitterness of burnt coffee.
Alex paused just inside the entrance, letting the door close behind her as she took in the unfamiliar environment. The building was larger than she expected, the ceiling stretching high above the wide sheet of ice in the center. Fluorescent lights reflected off the surface in long streaks of white, making the entire rink glow faintly blue.
The air felt sharper here, cool enough that she immediately rubbed her hands together. Which, to be fair, did make sense.
On the ice, people moved in uneven circles around the rink. Some glided smoothly, cutting long curved lines into the ice with practiced ease. Others looked significantly less stable. A pair of teenagers clung desperately to the boards while laughing at each other, and a small kid near the middle of the rink lost their balance completely and collapsed onto the ice with a dramatic thud.
Alex pointed immediately “See? That’s going to be me.”
Kevin handed her a pair of rental skates.
“You’re already making excuses.”
Alex took the skates and turned them over in her hands, examining them like they were suspicious objects that might explode.
“These look like medieval torture devices.”
“They’re skates.”
“They look painful.”
“You’ll survive.”
She sat down on a wooden bench near the wall and began lacing them up, pulling the stiff laces through the metal hooks one by one. The boots felt rigid and awkward compared to normal shoes, the cheap plastic pressing tightly around her ankles as she tightened them.
The blades were the thing that really caught her attention. They were thinner than she expected. Way thinner.
She lifted one skate slightly and tilted it so the light caught the metal edge.
“You’re telling me people jump on these?”
“Yes.”
“That seems rather unsafe.”
Kevin shrugged.
“Just put them on.”
Alex finished tying the laces and stood up carefully.
Instant regret.
Walking in skates felt like balancing on two very narrow knives. Each step made her ankles wobble slightly, the blades clicking softly against the rubber floor as she shuffled forward.
“This is horrible” she announced.
Kevin was already halfway toward the rink entrance.
“Stop complaining.”
Alex followed cautiously, one hand tightly pressed against the wall for balance as she navigated the short path toward the ice. The rubber flooring transitioned to the rink entrance, where the barrier opened onto the smooth white surface.
The cold air from the rink drifted toward her immediately.
It smelled cleaner somehow, sharp and frozen, just like winter.
The sounds were louder here too. Blades scratching softly across the ice. Laughter echoing faintly off the high ceiling. Music playing somewhere overhead through slightly distorted speakers.
Alex stepped closer to the barrier and looked down at the ice. It looked extremely slippery.
“No” she said immediately.
Kevin stepped onto the ice without hesitation.
“Come on.”
“No.”
“You said you could do it.”
“I said I bet I could do it.”
Kevin turned and extended his hand toward her. “Alex.”
She stared at the ice again. Her brain was already predicting the outcome: she would step on, her feet would slide in opposite directions and then she would fall, hard, possibly in a way that would become permanently humiliating.
“This is how people die” she muttered.
“No it isn’t.”
“People definitely die doing this.”
“Step onto the ice.”
Alex sighed dramatically before grabbing his hand.
“Fine. But if I break something, I’m blaming you forever.”
She lifted one foot slowly and placed the blade onto the ice. Her brain immediately panicked.
This was a terrible idea.
She braced herself instinctively, expecting the sudden loss of balance, the inevitable moment where gravity reminded her she had made a mistake.
But nothing happened.
She blinked. “…Huh.”
Kevin tilted his head. “What?”
“I didn’t fall.”
“Congratulations. It’s been three seconds.”
Alex cautiously placed her other foot onto the ice. She waited.
Still nothing.
Her grip on Kevin’s hand loosened slightly as she tested the stability beneath her skates. The surface felt strange, slick, yes, but not completely uncontrollable like she expected.
“Okay” she admitted slowly. “That’s not as bad as I thought.”
Kevin nodded toward the open space ahead of them. “Try moving.”
“That sounds like a trap.”
“Just push forward.”
Alex shifted her weight carefully.
One skate slid forward. The movement surprised her. It wasn’t chaotic or wild, just smooth, like the ice had quietly decided to cooperate.
She frowned slightly. “That felt weird.”
“Good weird or bad weird?”
She tried again. Push. Glide.
The sensation was unfamiliar but oddly natural, as if her body understood the motion even though her brain was still catching up.
Kevin’s attention sharpened almost immediately. “Wait.”
Alex glanced at him. “What?”
“Do that again.”
She pushed forward once more. This time she glided a little further before grabbing the boards to stop herself.
Kevin stared. “…Have you skated before?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
Alex pushed off again, moving slowly across the ice. Her balance wobbled slightly, but every time it started to tip too far one way, her body adjusted automatically. A small shift of her hips, a subtle correction of her ankle, and the instability disappeared before it could become a fall.
“That’s annoying,” Kevin muttered.
“What?”
“You’re supposed to fall at least once.”
“Sorry to disappoint, brother”
Alex tried another push. Then another. Each glide carried her a little farther across the ice.
The initial stiffness in her movements began to fade as she relaxed slightly, letting the momentum carry her forward. The sensation of moving across the rink, of the ice sliding beneath her feet while the cool air brushed against her face, felt strangely exhilarating.
She reached the boards on the opposite side of the rink and turned around slowly.
A grin spread across her face. “Oh my god.”
Kevin crossed his arms. “Oh no.”
“I’m actually doing it.”
“You’re barely moving.”
“But I’m not falling.”
“That can still change.”
Alex ignored him and pushed forward again. This time she focused on the rhythm of the movement.
Push. Glide. Push.
The ice responded smoothly every time, carrying her forward with a quiet whisper of steel against frozen water.
She laughed. “This is actually fun.”
Kevin looked deeply offended. “That’s not how this was supposed to go.”
“What did you expect?”
“You faceplanting immediately.”
“Rude.”
Alex attempted a small turn. It wasn’t graceful, and she nearly lost her balance halfway through, but she managed to stay upright. The moment she stabilized again she started laughing.
“This is weird.”
Kevin skated closer. “Why?”
“I thought this would be impossible.”
“Give it time.”
Alex shook her head slightly. “No, I mean-”
She pushed off again, gliding across the ice with a little more confidence now.
“I feel like I could go faster.”
Kevin’s expression immediately turned concerned. “That’s a terrible idea.”
But Alex was already trying.
She pushed harder this time, the skate digging slightly deeper into the ice as she generated more momentum. The rink moved past her more quickly now, the cool air brushing against her face as the glide stretched longer than before.
Not fast. But faster.
Enough to feel the difference. Enough to make her laugh again.
“Oh my god.”
“What?”
“I think I’m good at this."
Kevin stared at her. “That’s illegal.”
“I’m serious!”
“You’ve been on the ice for ten minutes.”
“And?”
“And that shouldn’t be happening.”
Alex slowed herself near the boards again, breathing a little harder now from the constant movement. Her cheeks felt warm despite the cold air surrounding the rink.
She glanced around at the other skaters. Some of them were still clinging to the boards. Some were falling. Some were gliding easily through complicated patterns she couldn’t even begin to understand.
Alex looked down at the thin blades beneath her feet.
“…Weird" she murmured.
“What?”
She pushed forward one more time. The glide came easily now. Natural. Like something had quietly clicked into place without asking permission.
“I feel like I could get really good at this.”
Kevin groaned. “Oh no.”
Alex laughed again, turning clumsily as she skated past him.
For the first time since stepping onto the ice, the thought crossed her mind clearly.
