Summary- After two years of secrecy, hiding from the world, from your dad Toto wolff, Lewis breaks up with you not ready for public commitment... However 2 weeks later he's spotted with Kim, leaving you just as broken as when he met you!
Words- 5.8k
Notes- Back to writing for Lewis, and warning there are mentions of k**! Based on hit the wall by Gracie abrams aka my fav artist!!! I may do a part 2 however please let me know if yous would and what gracie song next!!
The first time Lewis Hamilton kissed you, it was in a hotel room in Monaco that neither of you were supposed to be in.
You were twenty-three then, fresh out of university and trying to figure out what it meant to be Toto Wolff's daughter in the world of Formula 1 without being just Toto Wolff's daughter. You'd spent the evening at a team dinner, nursing a glass of wine and trying to ignore the way Lewis kept looking at you from across the table—not the polite, friendly glances he'd given you for years, but something else. Something that made your skin feel too tight, your breath too shallow.
When he texted you later that night—Room 2847. Just to talk. I promise.—you should have said no.
You didn't.
The door clicked shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stood there in the dim lamplight, taking him in. He was still in his dinner clothes, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal those tattooed forearms. His braids were pulled back, and there was something vulnerable in his expression that you'd never seen before.
"I shouldn't have asked you to come," he said, but he didn't move away when you stepped closer.
"Then why did you?"
"Because I can't stop thinking about you." His voice was rough, honest in a way that made your heart stutter. "And I know that's wrong. I know your father would kill me. I know you're too young for this, for me, but—"
You kissed him before he could finish. Before he could talk himself out of it. Before you could.
His hands came up to cup your face, gentle and reverent, and when he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were dark with want and worry.
"We can't tell anyone," he whispered against your lips. "Not yet. Not until—"
"I know," you breathed. "I know."
That was the beginning of the secret that would consume the next two years of your life.
The thing about secrets is that they become their own kind of addiction.
Those first few months were intoxicating in a way you'd never experienced. Every stolen moment felt like a rebellion, a delicious defiance of the world that wanted to keep you apart. Lewis would text you at three in the morning—You awake?—and you'd slip out of your hotel room, heart pounding, to meet him in empty hallways or parking garages or the back of a car with tinted windows.
During race weekends, you became experts at the art of invisible proximity. You'd brush past each other in the paddock, his hand grazing the small of your back for just a second, and that brief touch would sustain you for hours. You learned the hidden corners of every track—the storage room behind the Mercedes hospitality suite in Barcelona, the unused garage in Silverstone, the shadowy space between the motorhomes in Monza where he'd pull you close and kiss you breathless while the world rushed by just meters away.
"You're so beautiful," he'd murmur against your neck, his hands sliding under your shirt, and you'd have to bite your lip to keep from making sounds that would give you away.
The hotel rooms became your sanctuary. Lewis would book them under fake names—Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson—and you'd meet him there after the crowds had dispersed, after your father had gone to his own room, after the world had stopped watching.
In those anonymous spaces, you could be real. You could be yourselves.
He'd order room service at midnight, and you'd eat strawberries and drink champagne in bed, talking about everything and nothing. He told you about his childhood, about the pressure of being the first, about the loneliness that came with being a legend. You told him about growing up in your father's shadow, about feeling like you had to be perfect all the time, about the fear that no one would ever see you as just you.
"I see you," he'd say, tucking your hair behind your ear. "I see exactly who you are."
And god, you believed him.
The sex was intense, consuming, the kind that left you marked and trembling and completely undone. He'd worship your body like it was sacred, taking his time, learning every sound you made, every place that made you gasp. Afterwards, he'd hold you close, your head on his chest, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare shoulder.
"I wish we could stay here forever," you whispered once, in a hotel room in Singapore, rain pattering against the windows.
"Someday," he promised. "When the timing's right. When we can do this properly."
You wanted to ask when that would be, but you were afraid of the answer.
Carmen was the only person who knew.
George's girlfriend had caught you sneaking back to your room one morning in Bahrain, your hair messy, your lips swollen, wearing the same dress from the night before. She'd taken one look at you and known.
"Please don't tell anyone," you'd begged, tears springing to your eyes. "Please, Carmen. If my dad finds out—"
"Hey, hey," she'd pulled you into her room, sat you down on the bed. "I'm not going to tell anyone. But babe, are you okay? Is he treating you right?"
She'd looked worried even then, but she'd hugged you tight and promised to keep your secret.
She became your lifeline, the only person you could talk to about the relationship that was slowly taking over your entire existence. When Lewis cancelled plans, when he went days without texting, when the secrecy started to feel less like excitement and more like shame, Carmen was there.
"He loves you," she'd assure you. "I can see it in the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching."
You held onto those words like a prayer.
Fourteen months in, Lewis surprised you with a trip to the Maldives.
"Pack a bag," he'd texted. "Meet me at the private terminal. We're going somewhere no one knows us."
The villa was paradise—overwater bungalow, crystal blue ocean, complete privacy. For five days, you existed as a real couple. He held your hand as you walked on the beach. He kissed you in the ocean with the sun setting behind you. He made love to you with the doors open, the sound of waves mixing with your moans, and you didn't have to be quiet.
On the third night, lying tangled in white sheets, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your hip, you said it.
"I love you."
He went still for a moment, and your heart stopped. Then he rolled over, cupping your face in his hands, his eyes intense and serious.
"I love you too," he said. "God, I love you so much it scares me."
"Then why are we still hiding?"
He sighed, pulling you closer. "Because the world is cruel, baby. Because the media would tear you apart. They'd say terrible things about you, about us. They'd make it ugly when it's the most beautiful thing I've ever had."
"I don't care what they say."
"I do." He kissed your forehead. "I care about protecting you. Your father would lose his mind. The age gap—people would say horrible things. They'd say I'm taking advantage of you, that I'm too old for you. I can't let them do that to you."
"So what do we do?"
"We wait," he said softly. "A few more years. Until you're older, more established in your own right. Until the timing is better. Then we can go public, do this properly. I promise."
You wanted to argue, but he kissed you, and the conversation dissolved into something else.
There were other trips after that—Bora Bora, a private villa in Ibiza, a secluded resort in Thailand. Each time, you'd exist in your bubble, playing house, pretending the outside world didn't exist. Each time, you'd believe him when he said someday.
Each time, someday felt a little further away.
Your father knew something was wrong.
Toto Wolff hadn't built a championship-winning team by being oblivious. He noticed things—the way you'd disappear during race weekends, the way you'd smile at your phone and then quickly hide it, the way you'd flinch when Lewis's name came up in conversation.
One evening in Austria, he'd knocked on your hotel room door.
"Liebling, can we talk?"
Your heart had hammered in your chest. "I'm tired, Papa. Can it wait?"
He'd studied you through the crack in the door, his expression unreadable. "Are you happy?"
The question had caught you off guard. "What?"
"Are you happy?" he repeated. "You seem... different lately. Distant. I worry about you."
"I'm fine," you'd said, too quickly. "Just stressed. You know how it is."
He'd looked like he wanted to say more, but he'd just nodded. "If you ever need to talk, about anything, I'm here. You know that, right?"
"I know, Papa."
But you'd closed the door, and the conversation had ended there.
The guilt of lying to him ate at you constantly. He'd given you everything, supported you unconditionally, and you were repaying him by sneaking around with one of his former drivers. The weight of it sat heavy in your chest, but not heavy enough to make you stop.
Nothing could make you stop. You were in too deep.
The cracks started showing around month nineteen.
Lewis became distant, preoccupied. He'd take hours to respond to texts that he used to answer within minutes. He'd cancel plans at the last minute—Sorry, baby, something came up with the team. When you did see him, he seemed distracted, like his mind was somewhere else.
And he started talking about the age gap more.
"Your dad would kill me if he knew," he'd say, pulling away when you tried to kiss him. "You're twenty-five. I'm forty. That's fifteen years."
"So what? We love each other."
"It's not that simple." He'd run his hands over his face, looking exhausted. "People would crucify me. They'd say I'm grooming you, taking advantage. Your whole life is ahead of you. You should be with someone your own age, someone who—"
"I don't want someone my own age. I want you."
But he wasn't listening anymore.
The sex changed too. It became less frequent, more mechanical. He'd hold you afterwards, but it felt different—like he was already somewhere else, already pulling away.
You tried to talk about the future, about when you'd finally go public, but he'd change the subject every time.
"Let's just focus on now," he'd say.
But now was slipping through your fingers, and you were powerless to stop it.
The end came in a hotel room in barcelona.
You'd had enough of the distance, the excuses, the feeling that you were losing him. So you'd confronted him, your voice shaking but determined.
"What's changed, Lewis? Why are you pulling away from me?"
He'd been standing by the window, looking out at the city lights, and he didn't turn around. "I think we need to talk."
Those five words made your blood run cold.
"I've been thinking a lot lately," he continued, his voice carefully controlled. "About us. About what we're doing. And I think... I think this was a mistake."
The room tilted. "What?"
"This whole thing. Us. It never should have happened." Now he turned, and his face was composed, almost clinical. Like he was discussing race strategy, not destroying your entire world. "You're too young. I'm too old. The age gap—it's not right. I should never have let it get this far."
"You said you loved me." Your voice was barely a whisper.
"I do love you. That's why I have to end this. Because I'm not good for you. Because being with me would ruin your life. The media attention, the scrutiny, the judgment—you don't deserve that. You deserve someone age-appropriate, someone who can give you a normal relationship, a normal life."
Tears were streaming down your face now, but you couldn't speak. Your throat had closed up completely.
"You have so much potential," he continued, and each word was a knife. "You're brilliant and beautiful and you have your whole life ahead of you. You should be out there, living it, not hiding in hotel rooms with a man old enough to be your father. I'm holding you back. I'm being selfish."
"Lewis—" you finally managed.
"This is for the best," he said firmly. "For both of us, but especially for you. Someday you'll understand. Someday you'll thank me."
"Don't," you choked out. "Don't do this to me. Please."
"I'm sorry." And he did look sorry, but not sorry enough to stay. "I really am. But this is over. It has to be."
You sat there on the edge of the bed, crying silently while he gathered his things. He paused at the door, looked back at you one last time.
"Take care of yourself," he said softly.
Then he was gone.
You stayed in that room for hours, curled up on the bed, sobbing into the pillows that still smelled like him. Your phone buzzed with texts from Carmen, from your father, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at them.
He'd said it was for your own good. He'd said you'd thank him someday.
But all you felt was shattered.
The next few weeks were a blur of grey.
You cancelled everything—race appearances, social events, dinners with friends. You told your father you were sick, told Carmen you needed space, told everyone who asked that you were fine when you were anything but.
You spent hours in your room, curtains drawn, scrolling through old text messages at four in the morning. Reading and rereading conversations, looking for signs you'd missed, trying to pinpoint the exact moment he'd started pulling away.
I love you so much it scares me.
Someday we'll do this properly.
You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.
All lies. They had to be lies, because if they were true, he wouldn't have left.
You deleted the photos—all those secret snapshots you'd taken when he wasn't looking, the selfies from your hidden holidays, the candid shots of him sleeping peacefully beside you. Each deletion felt like a small death, but looking at his face hurt too much.
Carmen called every day. You ignored her.
Your father knocked on your door, worry evident in his voice. You told him you were fine through the closed door.
You weren't fine. You were drowning.
Sleep became impossible. You'd lie awake, replaying the breakup conversation, analyzing every word, every inflection. It was a mistake. You're too young. This is for the best. The words looped endlessly in your mind, a cruel mantra.
Food tasted like ash. Colors seemed muted. The world continued spinning, but you were stuck, frozen in that hotel room, watching him walk away over and over again.
You told yourself it would get better. That time would heal this. That eventually, you'd be able to breathe again without it hurting.
You were wrong.
Two weeks after you'd finally started leaving your room, started pretending to be human again, Carmen sent you a link.
I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to find out this way.
Your hands shook as you clicked it.
The headline made your stomach drop: "Lewis Hamilton and Kim Kardashian Spark Romance Rumors After Cozy Night Out."
The photos were everywhere. Lewis and Kim at an after-party, his hand on her lower back. Lewis and Kim at a charity gala, her hand in his. Lewis and Kim on a yacht, laughing, touching, looking at each other the way he used to look at you.
You scrolled through article after article, each one a fresh wound.
"The Formula 1 champion and reality star were spotted getting cozy at..."
"Sources say they've been dating for a few weeks..."
"Kim was seen cheering Lewis on from the Ferrari paddock..."
The Ferrari paddock. Public. Visible. Everything he'd said he couldn't do with you.
More photos emerged over the following days. Lewis and Kim at a restaurant, no attempt to hide. Lewis and Kim at a movie premiere, walking the red carpet together, her hand in his, both of them smiling for the cameras. Lewis and Kim at a race, her wearing Ferrari red, him kissing her cheek in full view of everyone.
Every single thing he'd said he couldn't do with you, he was doing with her.
And Kim—Kim was everything he'd claimed to be afraid of. She was older than him. She was confident, established, famous in her own right. She was the opposite of you in every way.
Which meant You were the problem. You weren't enough. You weren't the right kind of woman. You weren't worth the risk.
The realization broke something fundamental inside you.
You'd believed him when he said he was protecting you. You'd believed him when he said the timing wasn't right. You'd believed him when he said it was about the age gap, about your father, about the media.
But it was all bullshit.
He just didn't want you enough.
Kim was worth going public for. Kim was worth the scrutiny, the judgment, the media attention. Kim was worth everything you weren't.
You stopped eating again. Stopped sleeping. Stopped pretending.
Carmen found you on your bathroom floor at three in the morning, sobbing so hard you couldn't breathe.
"He replaced me," you gasped. "He replaced me with her. He's doing everything with her that I wanted to do with him. Everything he said we couldn't do."
"I know, babe. I know." She held you while you fell apart. "He's a fucking asshole. He doesn't deserve you."
But that was the problem, wasn't it? You didn't want to be deserving of someone better. You wanted to be deserving of him.
And apparently, you weren't.
"You have to go to this race."
Carmen was standing in your living room, arms crossed, wearing her most determined expression. You were on the couch in sweatpants and one of your father's old Mercedes shirts, looking like death warmed over.
"No."
"Yes. Mercedes is having an incredible season. George and kimi are winning races. Your dad needs you there. The team needs you there."
"I can't." Your voice cracked. "I can't see him, Carmen. I can't watch him with her."
"Kim won't be there. She's in LA for some event. It'll just be Lewis, and you can avoid him. The paddock is huge."
"I said no."
"And I'm saying you don't get a choice anymore." Carmen sat down beside you, her voice softening. "Babe, you can't hide forever. You can't let him take this from you too. Formula 1 is your world, your family's legacy. You can't let him steal that."
"He already stole everything else."
"Then don't let him have this too." She grabbed your hand, squeezed it. "Come to the race. Hold your head high. Show him that he didn't break you."
But he had broken you. You were shattered into so many pieces you didn't know how to put yourself back together.
Still, three days later, you found yourself getting ready for the Monaco Grand Prix.
You chose your outfit carefully—a sleek black dress that made you look older, more sophisticated, more like the kind of woman Lewis apparently wanted. You did your makeup meticulously, covering the dark circles under your eyes, adding color to your pale cheeks. You styled your hair in loose waves, the way Lewis used to love.
Then you looked at yourself in the mirror and wanted to cry.
You were trying to be someone you weren't. Trying to be enough. Trying to be worth it.
"You look beautiful," Carmen said from the doorway.
"I look desperate."
"You look strong."
You didn't feel strong. You felt like you were about to shatter.
But you went anyway.
The Monaco paddock was chaos, as always—a crush of people, cameras, noise, energy. You walked beside Carmen, your father somewhere ahead in meetings, and tried to keep your breathing steady.
You can do this. Just a few hours. Smile, wave, avoid Ferrari hospitality. You can do this.
You were so focused on not looking toward the Ferrari garage that you didn't see him until you'd literally collided with him.
The impact was gentle, but it might as well have been a car crash for how it affected you.
"Sorry, I—" The voice stopped abruptly.
You looked up.
Lewis was standing right in front of you, close enough to touch, wearing Ferrari red that looked wrong on him, so wrong. His eyes widened when he saw you, his expression shifting from surprise to something that looked almost like pain.
"Y/N," he said softly, and the sound of your name in his voice after weeks of silence broke something inside you.
The tears came instantly, hot and humiliating, spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them. You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stand there and fall apart in front of him, in front of everyone.
"I—I can't—" you gasped, and then you were turning, walking away as fast as you could without running, your vision blurred with tears.
"Y/N, wait!" His voice behind you, urgent. "Please, just wait—"
But you couldn't wait. You couldn't stand there and look at him and pretend you were okay. You couldn't—
His hand caught your arm gently, and you let him pull you into a secluded area between the motorhomes—one of your old hiding spots, where you used to meet in secret, where he used to kiss you like you were the only thing that mattered.
The irony was devastating.
"Please, just let me—" he started.
The slap came before you'd even decided to do it.
Your palm connected with his cheek hard enough that the sound echoed in the small space, hard enough that his head snapped to the side, hard enough that your hand stung.
He stared at you, shocked, his hand coming up to touch his reddening cheek.
And then everything you'd been holding in for weeks came pouring out.
"You broke me," you sobbed, your voice raw and jagged. "You completely fucking broke me, Lewis."
He opened his mouth, but you didn't let him speak.
"I loved you. I loved you so much it consumed me. I would have done anything for you—I did do anything for you. I lied to my father every single day. I hid in shadows. I made myself small and quiet and secret because you asked me to. Because you said it was to protect me. Because you said the timing wasn't right."
Your chest was heaving, tears streaming freely down your face, and you didn't care anymore. Didn't care who might hear. Didn't care about anything except making him understand what he'd done to you.
"And I believed you. God, I was so stupid. I believed every word. When you said you loved me, I believed you. When you said we'd go public someday, I believed you. When you said it was about protecting me from the media, from my father, from the world—I fucking believed you."
"Y/N, please—" His voice was thick, his eyes glassy.
"No. You don't get to talk. Not yet." You stepped closer, your finger jabbing into his chest. "You want to know what the worst part is? It wasn't even the breakup. It was the lies. Everything you said to me was bullshit. 'You're too young.' 'The age gap is too much.' 'The media would destroy us.' But then two weeks later—two weeks, Lewis—you're all over the tabloids with Kim fucking Kardashian."
He flinched like you'd slapped him again.
"You're parading her around like a trophy. Red carpets. Yachts. The fucking Ferrari paddock where everyone can see. You're doing everything—everything—you told me we couldn't do. So what was it really? What was the real reason you threw me away?"
"That's not—I didn't throw you away—"
"Then what do you call it?" Your voice cracked, broke completely. "What do you call telling someone you love them and then discarding them like they meant nothing? What do you call replacing them before the bed's even cold?"
"It wasn't like that—"
"Then what was it like?" You were screaming now, you didn't care. "Tell me, Lewis. Make it make sense. Because from where I'm standing, the only logical conclusion is that I wasn't good enough. I wasn't worth the risk. I wasn't worth fighting for. Kim is older, more famous, more established—she's everything you told me you were afraid of, but apparently she's worth it. So what does that make me?"
"You're twisting this—"
"Am I?" Tears dripped from your chin onto your dress. "You loved me enough to fuck me in secret for two years, but not enough to be seen with me in public. Kim gets two weeks and a red carpet. So tell me how I'm twisting anything. Tell me how that doesn't mean I was just... not enough."
Your voice broke on the last word, and suddenly all the anger drained out of you, leaving only the grief. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling small and pathetic and so, so broken.
"I haven't slept in weeks," you whispered. "I can't eat. I can't function. I look at my phone and I still expect to see your name. I wake up reaching for you and then I remember you're gone, and it destroys me all over again. Every single morning, I have to remember that you don't want me anymore."
"That's not true—"
"You ruined me, Lewis." You looked up at him through your tears, and your voice was small and devastated. "You were my first real love do you know that. You were everything to me. And you treated me like I was disposable. Like those two years meant nothing. Like I meant nothing."
He was crying now too, silent tears tracking down his face, but you couldn't stop. It was all pouring out like blood from a wound that had never been allowed to heal.
"I gave you everything. My trust, my body, my heart—everything. I would have waited forever if you'd asked me to. I would have stayed secret forever if that's what you needed. But you didn't even give me a choice. You just... ended it. And then you immediately moved on like I never existed."
"You did exist. You do exist. What we had was real—"
"Was it?" Your laugh was bitter, broken. "Because it doesn't feel real anymore. It feels like a lie. Like I imagined the whole thing. Like I made up this fantasy where you actually loved me when really, you were just killing time until someone better came along."
"Stop. Please stop." His voice was wrecked, pleading. "You're killing me."
"Good," you spat, even as fresh tears spilled over. "Now you know how it feels."
"It's not what you think," he said desperately, his hands reaching for you but not quite touching. "Kim—it's just PR. My management set it up. Ferrari wanted the publicity, she wanted the exposure, and they thought it would be good for my image. It's fake. All of it. The photos, the appearances—it's all staged."
You stared at him, and something inside you went very still.
"It's you," he continued, his voice breaking. "It was always you. I never stopped—I still love you. I think about you every single day. I hate myself for what I did, for how I ended things. But my management, they told me it couldn't work. They said the age gap would destroy my reputation, that your father would make things difficult, that the media would crucify both of us. They wouldn't allow it. They said I had to end it."
The anger drained out of you completely, leaving behind something far worse. A hollow, aching sadness that made your whole body feel heavy.
When you spoke, your voice was barely a whisper.
"If you really loved me, you would have fought for me."
He flinched like you'd struck him again.
"You would have told your management to go to hell. You would have said I was worth it, worth the risk, worth everything. But you didn't." Tears slipped silently down your cheeks now, and you didn't bother wiping them away. "You chose your image over me. You chose your reputation. You chose what was easy."
"It wasn't—"
"Kim is a PR stunt, but you're still doing it. You're still parading her around. You're still choosing to be seen with her instead of fighting to be seen with me." Your voice was so quiet now, so defeated. "If you loved me the way you say you do, you would have fought. You would have told them no. You would have chosen me."
"You don't understand the pressure—"
"I understand that love is supposed to be worth fighting for." Your words came out broken, each one an effort. "I would have fought for you. I would have fought the whole world for you. My father, the media, everyone—I would have burned it all down to be with you. But you didn't fight at all. You just... gave up. You gave up on us without even trying."
"I was trying to protect you—"
"No." You shook your head slowly. "You were protecting yourself. And that's fine. That's your choice. But don't stand here and tell me you love me when you weren't willing to fight for that love. Don't tell me I was everything when you chose nothing instead."
The devastation on his face was complete, but it didn't make you feel better. Nothing could make you feel better.
"Real love fights," you whispered. "Real love risks everything. Real love doesn't need permission from management. And if you didn't love me enough to fight for me, then maybe you never really loved me at all."
"That's not true—"
"Then prove it." Your eyes met his, and they were empty now, all the fire burned out. "Leave her. Tell your management no. Tell Ferrari no. Choose me. Right now. Prove that I was worth it."
The silence stretched between you, heavy and terrible.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away.
And in that hesitation, you had your answer.
"That's what I thought," you said softly.
You turned to go, but his voice stopped you one more time.
"Please, Y/N. Just listen—"
"No." The word came out strangled, and you could feel yourself breaking apart again, fresh tears burning hot trails down your cheeks. "No, I'm done listening to you."
"If you would just let me explain—"
"Explain what?" You whirled back to face him, and the tears were coming faster now, your vision swimming. "Explain how you looked me in the eye and told me you saw me—the real me—and made me believe that meant something? That girl you said you saw, Lewis? She's gone. You destroyed her."
His face crumpled. "Don't say that—"
"It's true. That girl who believed in love, who believed in you, who thought she was enough—she doesn't exist anymore. You killed her when you walked out that door in Barcelona." Your voice was shaking violently, your whole body trembling. "And I don't know who I am without her. I don't know how to be anyone else."
"Y/N—"
"I was enough before you. I was whole. And then you came along and you made me believe in something beautiful and then you ripped it away, and now I'm just... broken. I'm just pieces of a person who used to exist."
"Please don't—"
"Just leave me alone, Lewis." The words came out as a sob. "Please. Just leave me alone."
"I can't—"
"You did it before." You were backing away from him now, your hands held up like you could physically ward him off. "You left me before. So do it again. Just go. Please just go."
"Let me help—"
But you couldn't hear any more. Couldn't stand there and let him see you fall apart like this. Couldn't let him witness what he'd reduced you to.
So you ran.
You pushed past him and ran through the paddock, not caring who saw you, not caring about the tears streaming down your face or the mascara probably running down your cheeks. You just ran, your heels clicking frantically against the pavement, your breath coming in gasps, until you found yourself in the Mercedes motorhome bathroom, the door locked behind you, sliding down to the floor.
And there, alone, you let yourself shatter completely.
You stayed on that bathroom floor until Carmen found you. She didn't say anything, just sat down beside you and held you while you cried yourself empty.
When you finally went back out, Lewis was gone. The race was starting. The world kept spinning.
You stood in the Mercedes garage beside your father, watching George take pole position, and felt absolutely nothing.
"Are you alright, Liebling?" Toto asked quietly.
"No," you said. It was the first honest thing you'd said to him in two years. "But I will be."
He pulled you into his side, kissed the top of your head. He didn't ask questions. He just held you.
On the podium, George sprayed champagne and smiled for the cameras. Somewhere in the paddock, Lewis was doing press interviews, pretending to be fine.
And you stood there, broken but standing, and realized something.
You couldn't control whether Lewis fought for you. You couldn't control whether you were enough for him.
But you could control whether you fought for yourself.
It would take time. It would take therapy and tears and probably more nights on bathroom floors. It would take learning who you were outside of loving him, outside of being his secret.
But you would heal. Not today. Not tomorrow.
But someday.
And unlike his someday, yours would actually come.
Synopsis: Lando and his girlfriend accidentally realise they both want a dog after a chaotic stream with Max and Rio, turning a silly night of barking, teasing, and chat spam into the moment they finally admit they’re ready to start a little family of their own.
The stream had already been chaotic for a solid forty minutes, which—considering it was Lando and Max—meant it was actually going pretty well.
Rio was the real star, though. Pietra’s tiny fluff ball had planted himself directly in Lando’s lap like he owned the place, tail wagging so hard it kept hitting the desk. Every time Lando tried to adjust his headset, Rio tried to lick his chin. Every time Max said something stupid, Rio barked like he agreed.
And you? You were curled on the sofa behind them, pretending to scroll your phone but really watching the two of them be idiots.
“Mate, you’re losing viewers,” Max said dramatically, pointing at Rio. “They’re only here for him.”
Lando scoffed. “They’re here for my gameplay.”
“You’ve died six times in ten minutes.”
“That’s because Rio keeps—Rio, stop—keeps climbing on me!”
Rio barked again, delighted with himself.
You laughed, and Lando twisted in his chair to look at you, eyes softening in that way he never managed to hide. “Don’t encourage him.”
“I’m not doing anything,” you said, raising your hands. “He just loves you.”
Max leaned into his mic. “Chat, did you hear that? Even the dog loves Lando more than his own girlfriend.”
You threw a cushion at him. “I literally live with him, Max.”
“Yeah, but Rio’s giving him more attention.”
Lando grinned, smug. “See? Even Rio knows I’m the favourite.”
Rio barked again, as if confirming it.
The chat exploded with RIO SUPREMACY and GET A DOG ALREADY and LANDO DAD ARC WHEN.
You tried not to smile too hard at that last one.
---
The moment it shifted
It happened so quietly you almost missed it.
Lando had paused the game to give Rio a proper cuddle, hands buried in the dog’s soft fur. Rio melted instantly, head dropping onto Lando’s chest, eyes half‑closed.
And Lando… softened.
Not the joking, chaotic, streamer version of him. The real one. The one you got at 2 a.m. when he was half-asleep and honest without meaning to be.
He pressed a kiss to the top of Rio’s head without thinking.
Your heart did something embarrassing.
Max noticed immediately. “Oh my god. You’re in love.”
“With the dog?” Lando asked.
“With the idea of having one,” Max corrected, pointing at him like he’d solved a murder. “Look at you. You’re glowing.”
Lando rolled his eyes, but he didn’t deny it. “He’s cute. That’s all.”
“Cute?” Max repeated. “Mate, you’re holding him like he’s your firstborn.”
Chat went feral.
Lando looked over at you again, and this time the look lingered. Warm. Questioning. A little shy.
You felt your stomach flip.
---
After the stream ends
Max eventually left, taking Rio with him, and the house felt strangely quiet without the constant barking and chaos. Lando shut down the stream, stretched, and wandered over to where you were still curled on the sofa.
He dropped down beside you, head falling onto your shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “I miss him already.”
You snorted. “You saw him for two hours.”
“Two hours of pure joy.”
You nudged him. “You really liked having him here, didn’t you?”
Lando didn’t answer right away. He fiddled with the hem of your jumper, tracing the stitching with his thumb. “Yeah,” he said finally, voice softer. “I did.”
You turned your head slightly. “You want a dog.”
He didn’t even try to deny it this time. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Okay, yes,” he admitted, cheeks flushing. “But only if you want one too.”
Your chest tightened. “Lan, I’ve wanted one for ages.”
He blinked at you, stunned. “You have?”
You laughed. “I thought you didn’t want one! You’re always travelling, and I didn’t want to pressure you.”
“I didn’t want to pressure you,” he said, eyes widening like you’d just revealed a plot twist. “I thought you’d think it was too much responsibility.”
You stared at each other for a long moment before both of you burst out laughing.
“We’re idiots,” you said.
“The biggest,” he agreed.
He shifted closer, pulling your legs over his lap, hands settling on your hips like it was instinct. “So… we both want a dog.”
“Seems like it.”
“And we’re both idiots who didn’t say anything.”
“Correct.”
“And we could’ve had a dog this whole time?”
You grinned. “Apparently.”
Lando groaned dramatically, dropping his forehead to your chest. “We could’ve had a Rio of our own.”
You ran your fingers through his hair. “We still can.”
He froze.
Then lifted his head.
Then stared at you like you’d just offered him the world.
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “I think we’re ready.”
Lando’s face split into the brightest, most boyish grin you’d ever seen. He kissed you—quick, excited, a little messy—before pulling back with sparkling eyes.
“We’re getting a dog.”
You laughed. “We’re getting a dog.”
---
Planning begins immediately
Lando grabbed his phone like a man possessed.
“What kind of dog?” he asked, already typing. “Small? Medium? Big? One that looks like Rio? One that looks like me? One that—”
“Why would a dog look like you?”
“I don’t know! People say owners look like their dogs!”
You snorted. “You want a curly-haired dog?”
He paused. “Actually… yeah. That’d be cute.”
You leaned into him, chin on his shoulder as he scrolled through endless photos of puppies. Every time he saw one he liked, he made a tiny noise—half gasp, half squeak—that he would absolutely deny making later.
“Oh my god,” he whispered at one point. “Look at this one. Look at his little face. Look at him.”
You smiled at how soft he was being. “You’re going to be the worst dog dad.”
“The best,” he corrected. “I’ll be the best.”
“You’ll spoil it rotten.”
“Obviously.”
“You’ll let it sleep in the bed.”
“Of course.”
“You’ll carry it around like a baby.”
He looked at you, dead serious. “If it wants to be carried, I will carry it.”
You kissed his cheek. “You’re adorable.”
He pretended to be offended. “I’m masculine and rugged, actually.”
“You just squeaked at a puppy.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
He sighed dramatically. “Fine. Maybe I did. But look at him!”
---
The realisation
Somewhere between the tenth and twentieth puppy photo, Lando’s hand found yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and absentminded, like he didn’t even realise he was doing it.
“We’re really doing this,” he murmured.
“Yeah.”
“A dog. Our dog.”
You nodded.
He swallowed, eyes softening again. “Feels like… a big step.”
“It is.”
“A good one?”
You squeezed his hand. “A really good one.”
He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing you in. “I love you, you know.”
Warmth bloomed in your chest. “I love you too.”
“And I’m gonna love our dog.”
“I know.”
“And he’s gonna love me more than you.”
You shoved him. “Absolutely not.”
He laughed, pulling you into his arms, burying his face in your neck. “Fine. Equal love.”
“Better.”
---
The night ends with a promise
Later, when you were both curled under a blanket, Lando’s head on your stomach and your fingers in his hair, he mumbled, “Tomorrow… we start looking properly.”
“Tomorrow,” you agreed.
“And then we’ll bring him home.”
“Or her.”
“Or her,” he echoed sleepily. “And we’ll be a little family.”
Your heart melted completely.
You kissed the top of his head. “Yeah, Lan. We will.”
He smiled against your skin, already half-asleep, already dreaming of puppies and morning cuddles and the life you were building together.
synopsis: racer boyfriend singer girlfriend, only au writers can write stories like that.. but maybe Lando wrote his own
Yn face claim: maddie from saynow — I will use the whole group as yn gg, but i’m not shipping maddie and lando. this is purely fictional.
Both Ysabelle and Amelia are included, no name changes or face claims for them. You can imagine whoever.
estariyn posted.
liked by landonorris, sabrinacarpenter and other 50.678 other people
estariyn: a weekend living in pretty girl avenue ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
sabrinacarpenter: i can give you a house tour next time ♥︎ liked by the author
estariyn: gladly ;)
user1: THIS IS MY WORLD FR
user2: Everywhere but recording the new ep (lovingly)
user3: THE FIT FOR THE SABRINA CONCERT SO TEA
user4: what is lando norris doing here huh..
user5: i don’t even know but this is my niche im loving it
user6: he is a hugggeee fan of the girls actually!! he has recommended their songs a lot of times and has been following them for quite a few ☺️
Video posted by @ mclarenf1team on IG — the SayNow girls are part of the papaya family 🧡
“Hi Mclaren family! We are Say Now!” Ysabella greeted.
“We are so incredibly excited to announce our partnership with Mclaren F1 Team for the Silverstone race and our home race” All of you cheered and clapped while smiling brightly at the camera.
“We will be giving a special performance the day of the race to cheer all of you up a little bit, we are so happy to be performing in front of such a passionate audience” You said looking at the camera with a big smile “Hope to see you there!”
The three of you waved at the camera and then the video cuts. Another clip is played showing you and the girls trying some Mclaren merch gifted by them, you were wearing a LN4 shirt, showing it to the camera pointing at the back of it where his name and the number four were.
user1: THANK GOD IM GOING OMGGGGGGG
user2: Okey so can someone check on lando real quick
user3: BRO MUST BE FREAKING OUT
user4: Yn was even wearing his shirt he is the real winner here
user5: and i won’t be there this is so sad..
user6: We don’t care about girl group lol this is so unnecessary
user7: and we don’t gaf about you and here you are 😭 lmao
mclarenf1team posted
📍Silverstone • Make up Sex - SayNow
liked by estariyn, landonorris, oscarpiastri and 90.678 other people
mclarenf1team: WHAT A WEEKEND!!!!!! 🥺🥺🏆🏆🐐🧡
thank you to our drivers and staff for the hard work this was surely a race to remember! big thanks to @ saynow our lucky charms for the race surely ☺️
estarieyn: 🥺🥺🥺♡ ♡ ♡ ♥︎ liked by the author
user4: i’m loving this interactions i swear
ysabelleangeli: it was our pleasure really <3 ♥︎ liked by the author
user1: MY TEAM OMFG!!!!!!!!!
user2: IVE NEVER CRIED THIS MUCH
user3: papaya family for life what the fuck.
ameliaa.norah: you guys are the coolest ever ♥︎ liked by the author
mclarenf1team: 🥺🧡
user5: the girls did amazing too i’m turning into their music for sure after this
estariyn posted.
📍London • Stateside + Zara Larsson - Pinkpantheress, Zara Larsson
liked by fernandoalonso, landonorris, georgerussel, carmenmmundt and other 78,897 people
estariyn: these drives know how to party for sure
landonorris: For sure :) ♥︎ liked by the author
estariyn: invite me to the next one mister norris
user3: mister norris what the fuck
user1: THE FERNANDO CARMEN GEORGE PIC THANK YOU YN WHAT THE FUCK
user2: this is a crazy crossover i swear
carmenmmundt: you girls are the sweetest ever 🥺🥺 ♥︎ liked by the author
estariyn: that’s all you omg it was so nice meeting you too 💗
user4: so what about the amount of lando pics on her post are we normal about it
user5: lando probably is not he just want to be non chalant so bad 😭
user6: the last pic is actually making me feel sick to my stomach they are so.
f1news posted on their IG — Lando leaving the party with SayNow’s Yn
The clip is short. It shows you and Lando exiting the party the mclaren team organised after their win.
You both were just chatting and laughing. As you walked Lando passed his arm around your neck and pulled you towards him, both his and your sides completely stuck together. Your hand went up to his arm and grabbed it as you both continued walking down the street.
user1: LUCKY MUPPET
user2: he literally manifested that since the moment saynow were announced as part of the line up for the race i swear
user3: the most lucky fan ever i’m jealous 😭
user4: idc if this is friends or whatever they have going on they actually look insanely good together
estariyn posted.
liked by saynow, landonorris, sabrinacarpenter and 70.654 other people
estariyn: a million listeners omg 🥺🥺<3 so so so incredibly grateful for all the love and support me and my girls have been receiving lately
so heartwarming really.. life has been a rollercoaster and i don’t think i want it to stop..
sabrinacarpenter: congrats my favorite girls everrrr when are we doing a collab 💋💋 ♥︎ liked by the author
estariyn: we love you <33 that collab will come soon xoxo
user1: OH WHAT THE HECK YES
user2: they used to be my small group now they are global pop stars im so proud of them
user3: glad to be one of those listeners 🥺
landonorris: Coolest ❤️🔥❤️🔥 ♥︎ liked by the author
estariyn: 💗💗 pretty boy
user4: oh they are flirting on main it’s so over
Video posted on tiktok — Lando Norris and other F1 drivers at the SayNow’s event
The video is filmed by a fan on the audience. Starts with you and the girls performing one of you recent songs on the stage.
The fan zoomed in you, smiling while looking at the VIP section of the small venue. “Look look there” is heard on the video, the camera suddenly turning where Lando, Oscar, Alex and their respective girlfriends were standing.
“Oh Lando is cheesing oh my god” the camera was zoomed out and captured Lando with his arms crossed and a slight smirk on his lips. Oscar then hitted him with his elbow catching his attention, he whispered something to Lando which he reacted with a even bigger smile.
Then the fan pointed at you fastly, catching you with the same smile rolling your eyes at him and looking at the audience again.
user1: not even a wattpad writer could create something like this lord
user2: bro was about to jump on that stage
user3: boy is in love and like valid have you seen her
user4: i want whatever they have actually
landonorris posted
📍My heart • Just my type - The Vamps
liked by estariyn, oscar piastri, ameliaa.norah and 1 million other people
landonorris: Feeling way to much pride not to share it :) From your fan to your boyfriend (and still your biggest fan) i’m beyond proud of you love, can’t wait to celebrate every single one of you achievements i love you 🤍 @ estariyn
estariyn: i love you deeply 🥺🥺<3 thank you for your infinite support and love my lan ♥︎ liked by the author
landonorris: Always and forever.
comments have been limited on this post.
estariyn posted
My Love Mine All Mine - Mitski
liked by landonorris, mclarenf1team, saynow and other 1 million people
estariyn: wasn’t here since the begginning but i’ll surely be for the rest of the ride (literally)
my world champion and king of my heart, i celebrate your victory as much as you celebrate mines. i love you so much, my pride and joy 🏆🏆🥺🥺<3 you did it @ landonorris
landonorris: I’m genuinely in love with you, thank you so much you mean everything to me 🤍 ♥︎ liked by the author
estariyn: my whole world <333
comments have been limited for this post.
────────
author’s note: i love the say now girls i love lando this was so much fun to create omg.. might be my fave one.. i hope all of you enjoy it too <3 like and reblogs are always welcomed!
summary : Charles dates a baddie and the internet takes it as him being the bottom in the relationship. If only they could see his reaction to those jokes... based on this anon !
wc : 3k
warnings : smau + written plot, heavy SMUT !! p in v, degrading language, dom!charles, unprotected sex, a loooot of dirty talk, rough sex, fingering, some choking, +18 [minors dni]
liked by charles_leclerc, lando and 489k others
y/n: 🪩dance no more
charles_leclerc #needthat liked by author
charles_leclerc mon coeur i'm on my knees
→ lando and he means that literally he's so pathetic
→ y/n pls pls tell me you took a pic
→ lando made a whole album😛 sending it your way rn
→ charles_leclerc | y/n come over and i'll recreate them
→ lando ewwwww
→ user95418 i'm crying he's down BAD😭😭
lilymhe gorg! liked by author
kikagomes absolute icon wow
→ y/n says you!!
user72637 one chance PLEASE just one chance
user81727 i love how obsessed he is with her
→ user92653 as he should!!
→ user14252 he really is pathetic for her🙂↕️🙂↕️
user93618 #needthat😭 charles is so real
user33794 and she's a harry fan??? can she get ANY more iconic
liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 700k others
y/n: feed's turning very red lately
charles_leclerc you know what you're doing with that top liked by author
charles_leclerc delete it's not fair
charles_leclerc oh la la
→ y/n omg you're finally embracing your french identity
→ charles_leclerc i can do a few french things alright
→ y/n 😰😰 blocked
charles_leclerc you make me look like a simp
→ pierregasly that's all you buddy😭👋🏻
user91634 how can someone be so pretty omfg
user13295 she really walks him like a dog liked by author
user17349 where's your top from??
→ y/n monaco❤️
→ user92755 NO WAY😭😭😭
→ user53440 not even she believes that
→ user11125 i'II NEVER fall for top charles propaganda
"No, bebé, I'm serious." Charles grumbled, a hint of irritation in his voice. "Can you stop laughing?"
This was actually outrageous.
Just in the last five minutes, he had already seen like ten tweets calling him a bottom with thousands of likes. Thousands. Were they kidding?
He rolled his eyes at the thought, taking a bite of his sandwich. They were having a light lunch when his girlfriend started laughing at the first post she saw when entering Twitter.
You shook your head, sitting on the kitchen isle, still chuckling about the whole thing. Because, God, you had to admit they were hilarious.
He huffed out a small, affectionate sigh, both annoyed and amused by your inability to stop laughing about the inside joke on the internet. While a part of him was irritated at being perceived as the submissive one in the relationship, he couldn't help but find your laughter endearing.
"It's not funny." He grumbled, his gaze narrow as he watched you giggle uncontrollably.
You took your phone, going back to read the first tweet you had found. "Dating that BADDIE??? Most bottom to ever bottom."
He facepalmed, groaning aloud as you pulled out your phone again, scrolling through the endless memes and jokes about him supposedly being a "total bottom".
"I'm not-" He started, his voice starting to rise in protest, his ego slightly bruised. "Fuck it, stop reading those."
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Seriously, how the hell did I get stuck with that label?" He muttered half to himself, half to you, a slight blush rising to his cheeks.
"This is why." You replied, showing him your phone screen.
It was a picture of him in his car, looking up at some Ferrari mechanic with what could honestly be perceived as pretty sub eyes.
He groaned aloud again, his jaw clenching as he saw the picture on your phone screen. He could immediately recognize it, a snapshot from a race weekend, captured in the garage.
And shit, you were right. In the picture, he was looking up at the mechanic... and he looked pretty damn submissive. He let out a frustrated huff as a blush of embarrassment crept up his cheeks.
"That's... not what it looks like." He protested weakly.
"Well I have like twenty pictures just like it." You replied. "But whatever you say buddy."
He groaned, the realization that you had not just one, but twenty similar pictures of him, looking submissive and... well, pretty damn bottom-y, nearly drove him mad.
He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching at the thought of the fans having so much material to use against him.
He leaned forward, giving you a half-hearted glare. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" He accused, his voice laced with slight annoyance and embarrassment.
"Why would I? That would be cruel." You mocked him.
His eyes narrowed at your reply, the playful challenge in your tone sparking a familiar fire within him. He recognized that glint in your eyes, the little gleam that always appeared when you were being cheeky and challenging him.
Charles chuckled darkly, a smirk slowly forming on his face as his ego took over.
"Cruel, huh?" He repeated, his voice dropping to a low, almost dangerous tone. He pushed away his empty plate, his eyes not leaving you. "Come here."
You smiled, not moving from your place, still sitting on the kitchen isle. "Oh, they got to you, didn't they? You're upset."
His eyes darkened as you remained seated, refusing to move. You were being deliberately obtuse, and it both annoyed and excited him at the same time.
He clenched his jaw, trying to maintain his composure, his hands balling into fists on the table as he replied, his voice low and firm.
"Upset? Not really. But I definitely have something to prove now." He pushed himself away from the table, slowly standing up. "And I said get that pretty ass over here."
"Or what?"
His smirk widened at your challenging tone.
He liked this... the way you were defying him, pushing his buttons, testing him. So he took a step towards you, his eyes burning with a mixture of irritation and desire.
His voice was deep and authoritative, laced with a hint of warning. "Or I'm going to bend you over this counter and show you exactly who the bottom is here."
You finally got off the kitchen isle, walking slowly towards him.
"I was hoping you'd do that anyway." You whispered.
And that's when Charles snapped.
He captured your lips in a heated, almost possessive kiss the moment you were within reach. His hands immediately went to your waist, pulling you flush against his body as he poured all his frustration, ego, and dominance into that one passionate embrace.
"You think it's funny?" He murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your lips. "Making your boyfriend an internet joke?"
He didn't let you pull away to answer, one hand tangling into your hair to tilt your head back, deepening the kiss as he backed you up against the kitchen counter. His other hand gripped your waist tightly, pinning you to the marble edge.
"You're hilarious, vraiment." He muttered sarcastically against your mouth, his teeth grazing your lower lip. "Laughing at my expense."
He took your silence as an opportunity to trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck, marking your skin with hickies and love bites. His hands moved to your thighs, lifting you up and placing you onto the counter.
You let him move you, and he stepped between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs possessively as he kissed you again, this time with a punishing intensity. His tongue dominated yours, asserting his control and dominance over the situation.
One hand slid up to grab a handful of your hair while the other reached down to unbuckle his belt.
Within seconds, he had freed himself from his pants. Without warning or asking for permission, because fuck that, he was proving a point, he grabbed onto your panties and yanked them aside brutally, making you gasp.
He entered you in one swift, deep thrust that had you crying out. There was no gentle build-up, no teasing, just raw, dominant need. He set a brutal pace from the start, his hips snapping against yours with force that had you sliding back on the counter.
"You like making fun of me?" His hand on your hair tightened slightly, pulling your head back to expose your neck further. "Let's see how funny you find this."
Charles pounded into you relentlessly, each thrust deeper than the last, almost as if he was trying to fuck you into submission.
He didn't slow down for a second; instead, he drove into you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing loudly through the kitchen.
You moaned, and he captured your cries with his mouth, kissing you roughly as he continued to fuck you as aggressively. His hand left your hair to grip your thigh, lifting it higher and spreading you wider for deeper access. The angle allowed him to hit that spot inside you that made your eyes roll back.
"Is it funny now?" He grunted out between thrusts.
"N-no.." You gasped.
A smug, dominant smirk tugged at the corner of his lips at your breathy denial. He slowed his pace slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts to target your g-spot with every snap of his hips. His grip on your thigh tightened enough to leave bruises.
"Charles..." You whined, moving your hips to get it faster.
"There it is." He hissed, picking up speed again to give you what you wanted. His thumb found your clit and rubbed circles around it aggressively, applying just the right amount of pressure. "Need it faster, baby?" He asked mockingly, his voice dripping with sweat and arrogance.
"Please... Charles."
"That's it." He smirked at the desperation in your voice, at the way you were practically begging him now.
His thumb continued working your clit while he stayed buried deep inside you, stretching you out and watching your face with dark, satisfied eyes.
"You wanted to joke?" He gritted out, his breathing heavy. "Doesn't seem like such a joke when you're falling apart on my cock, does it?"
His smirk turned wicked, his eyes gleaming with mischief and dominance. He pulled out completely, leaving you empty and aching. Before you could protest, he spun you around, pressing your face down onto the cold kitchen counter.
Then, his hands gripped your breasts, squeezing them roughly as he lined himself back up with your entrance. But instead of pushing in, he teased you, rubbing his tip against your wet opening, sliding up to your clit and back down without giving you what you needed.
"You were so funny earlier, non?" He murmured mockingly against your ear, giving your tits another rough squeeze.
"No." You shook your head, whining and trying to get more friction. "N-no... I'm sorry."
"Mmm, you're not sounding so confident now." He whispered mockingly, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're just a moaning, needy mess on my counter, begging for my dick." He pushed his tip in slightly, just enough to tease you before pulling back out.
The sheer desperation in your whimpers made his cock throb, but he maintained control. He slapped your ass hard enough to sting, the sound echoing through the kitchen, and then immediately gave your breasts another rough squeeze.
"Say it, baby. 'I'm sorry, Charles, for making fun of you, please fuck me properly.'"
"I-I'm sorry..." You cried out, holding tightly onto the counter.
"Say the rest." He prompted cruelly, his hand delivering another sharp smack to your ass. He stayed pressed against your entrance, teasing you with just the tip while his hands continued to roughly grope your breasts.
"Admit you were wrong. Beg me to fuck you properly." He was torturing you on purpose, keeping only his tip inside you, refusing to give you the satisfaction you were crying out for.
"Words, chérie. Use your words."
"I was wrong, I was." You whined, nodding. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Charles, please..."
"Please what?" He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he stayed buried just at your entrance.
His hands pinched your nipples hard between his fingers, giving them a rough twist that made you cry out. "Tell me exactly what you want, baby. What you need. Use those pretty little words."
"Please fuck me, Charles."
"Good girl." He purred, finally pushing all the way back inside you in one savage, unforgiving thrust that had you screaming into the furniture. "That's it. That's my girl. Apologizing and begging so prettily."
You gasped loudly as he began to fuck you aggressively against the counter, the punishing strokes that made the dishes rattle and your breasts bounce heavily in his hands.
"Is this what you wanted? Me filling you up and fucking you like this?" He slammed into you hard enough to make the wood creak, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. "Answer me, mon coeur. Is this what you needed to shut the fuck up?"
You whined again as he pushed your head against the counter.
"So fucking loud," he growled, pushing your face down harder against the cool marble. "No talking back now, huh? Too busy taking my dick to joke around now."
You held onto the furniture, rolling your eyes while letting out a loud moan.
"There it is." He smirked, watching your eyes roll back in pleasure despite his rough handling. He pounded into you even harder, making the counter shake. "You like it when I fuck you like a whore, don't you?"
You nodded, moaning again. You let him use you however he wanted, not refusing the rough treatment.
"Such a good girl when my dick is inside you, aren't you?" He grunted, his rhythm turning brutal and punishing. One hand left your hip to wrap around your throat, pulling your head up slightly while choking you just enough to make your vision blur. "No more smart mouth. Just screaming and taking my cock like a nice little girlfriend."
He drove into you deep, hitting that spot that made your legs shake violently, getting another yell out of you.
"Look at you." He rasped, his grip tightening on your throat just enough to restrict your airflow, sending a rush of adrenaline through your veins.
"Can't even form a sentence. Who's the bottom now, chérie?" He slammed into you hard, grinding his hips against your ass, forcing a broken cry from your lips. "Answer me."
"I-I am." You gasped out.
"That's it." He praised, finally releasing your throat and letting your head drop back down to the cool counter. His hands moved back to your breasts, giving them a possessive squeeze as he continued to mercilessly fuck you. "No backtalk when I'm using this pretty pussy."
The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the kitchen, echoing off the marble furniture, obscenely loud. He watched your hands scrambling uselessly against the stone for purchase, your body jerking forward with every brutal thrust.
"Look at this mess." He growled, leaning over your back, biting down hard on your shoulder blade. "So fucking wet for me."
You tightened, getting a hiss out of your boyfriend.
"Fuck!" His hips stuttering as your pussy clenched tightly around him. "That's it, do that again." He demanded, his voice low and commanding. He wrapped a hand around your hip, pulling you back roughly onto his cock as he snapped his hips forward. "Milk my dick, baby. Show me how sorry you are."
He could tell you were about to cum, and he definitely didn't want that so soon.
"Don't you dare." He warned instantly, noticing your breathing hitch and your body beginning to tremble. He slowed his pace, pulling out almost entirely before thrusting back in agonizingly deep, denying you the rhythm you needed. "Ask for permission, chérie. You know the rules." He slapped your ass hard, the stinging sensation a sharp reminder.
"Please." You whined. "I'm so close, please Charles..."
"Mmm, I know you are." He whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "You're practically dripping down my balls. So fucking greedy." He began to move inside you again, short, sharp thrusts designed to drive you wild. "Tell me what you need."
"Faster..." You begged him, already breathless. "Just like that."
"Like this?" He growled, picking up the brutal pace again, pounding into that sweet spot without mercy. His hand snaked between your legs, two fingers pressing firmly against your clit in time with his thrusts. "Come on then, baby. Give me what I want."
It didn't take you more that five seconds after that to come, and so did Charles.
"Fuck!" He roared, his orgasm slamming into him like a freight train.
He came hard, his vision whiting out as he filled you with hot, thick ropes of cum, as his fingers kept circling your clit, drawing out your orgasm. His hips continued to jerk forward in spasms, emptying himself inside you completely.
You closed your eyes, resting against the counter, and he collapsed forward, his chest pressing against your back as he panted heavily.
His fingers gentled on your clit, slowing to soft circles as he caught his breath. After a moment, he carefully pulled out, watching as his cum began to drip down your thighs.
Charles pressed a soft kiss against your shoulder blade, contrasting sharply with the rough treatment from moments before. Then, he turned you around gently and leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, his breathing still ragged.
You gave him a soft kiss, and he hummed softly, parting his lips to deepen it gently. His hands moved to your hips, pulling them close as he pressed more kisses to your lips, your jaw, your neck... a stark contrast to the rough handling from earlier.
"Shh... baby... I got you..."
He noticed the way you winced slightly, his cum falling down between your thighs, and the red marks his hands had left on your hips. A small smirk played on his lips as he realized the extent of his rough treatment. "Looks like I made a mess of you, mon coeur."
"Shut up." You lazily smiled, pushing him away.
He chuckled softly, stepping back to give you some space. "I'm serious though." He said, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. "You need a bath. Preferably with me."
You smiled when he picked you up. "You really are pathetic for me huh."
"Absolutely." He confirmed immediately, carrying you towards the bathroom. "I'm totally pathetic for you. Can't even go ten minutes without touching you or throwing you over my shoulder like a caveman." He set you down gently in the side of the bathtub and began to run the water.
"Good." You nodded, one hand moving to try the temperature of the water. "I like you pathetic."
"Oh, you do?" He raised an eyebrow, wrapping his arms around your waist as the tub filled. "You like that your hotshot F1 champion turns into a desperate needy mess every time you look at him?"
Lando is secretly dating reader but Franco doesn't know. So you two act as if you two are still friends, just for fun
a.n/warnings - slightly suggestive | Franco is a sweetheart in this fic and deserves more love! Also let me know if you want more of this trio <3
liked by f1, alpinef1team, francocolapinto, lando and 10,557 others
y/n02 having fun on our first night in Miami!
view all comments
lando Why wasn't I invited? :( 145 replies ⤵︎
y/n02 aww sorry chèri! We'll invite you next time <3
username someone's jealous!
username did she just call him 'darling' in french?? Cutee
alpinef1team was this night out Flavio approved?
username not admin dissing Flavio too!! xdd
username forget about Flavio. Franco let y/n use his hands for swatches?? That's so cute!
username I ship it! 50 replies ⤵︎
username now way! ynlando always!
It should be normal. Lando inviting you over to his place in Miami. But when you tell Franco about it, he short circuits. Turning to you with his mouth agape and wide eyed, voice almost cracking midway as he spoke.
"He's inviting you to his house? For what?? "
"A sleepover. He said he wanted to talk to me about something."
Franco was honestly stunned at how you thought it was normal to invite you over for a 'sleepover.' Just because he wanted to 'have a chat.'
"Unbelievable." He'd mutter, shaking his head in disbelief as he scooted closer to you on the cafè couch. Where you were enjoying a slice of strawberry shortcake. "You don't seriously think that is normal."
"We've slept together plenty of times. It's no big deal." You say calmly, brushing aside his suggestive question. Franco was again, at a loss for words.
"So what? You two just sleep on the same bed?"
"Oh Franco. Sweet Franco. It's not that type of sleepover."
Franco just blinks at you with bunched brows. Feeling more confused than ever. "Even so. I still don't believe you two are 'just friends.' Friends don't do what you guys do."
What Franco was referring to was the flirtatious banter you have with Lando. He also lost count of how many times he's seen Lando's arms around you or on your waist. Sometimes the two of you would kiss eachother on the cheek for 'good luck' before a race.
Oscar was used to it. Because he knows the two of you were dating. While Franco on the other hand, didn't. So it was understandable that he found the whole situation... odd.
Franco helped pick out a few outfits for you. One being a cute sundress that flowed prettily as you walked. Thanks to your efforts, he was well aware of what the latest fashion trends were. And what style suited you best.
Being the gentleman he was, he had offered to carry most of the bags despite your reluctance.
"Are you sure Flavio won't say anything about us sneaking out after the briefing?" Franco asks warily while shifting the bags in his arms so they don't fall. You almost physically gag after hearing the old geezers name.
"Mm no. Besides, even if he was mad at us? It's not like he can fire us." You'd muse. Franco hummed in agreement, fighting back a grin at your carelessness.
As much as Flavio hated your guts, there was no way he could replace you two. Turns out the pair of you made a formidable duo. Battling in the midfield to reach the top 10 was much easier now thanks to your imput and feedback that you give to the team.
Franco was grateful that you had also mentioned his imput after Flavio insulted him for speaking about it in a meeting. You had despised the man since then. Because how dare he belittle someone as sweet as Franco when all he wanted to do was help?
You held the cherry float near Franco's face so that he could have some from his straw. Mumbling a quick thank you with a smile. Franco had gotten used to your caring nature, so he didn't find it weird that you two shared a soda together. It's just who you are.
Franco tripped on a curb on the way to your car but you managed to step in to help before he could fall. The two of you became a laughing mess when you reach for the doorhandle to your convertable. It was a A110 Alpine cabriolet, which was a true vintage classic red
"I got some items for Lando too," you mentioned to Franco as you two buckled in. The rest of your shopping bags and some of Franco's in the limited space at the back.
You two then took a cruise down the road. Heading towards your beach front apartment. Taking the scenic route as always. With the golden sun setting to your right, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange. Miami had a special, summery vibe that made the whole experience so immaculate.
Franco was deep in conversation with you until he spots a familiar brunette in the distance near a well known bar. Narrowing his eyes to get a better look. And sure enough, it was Lando. He tried grabbing your attention by tapping your shoulder, growing frantic as you almost drive past. "Look! It's Lando with a girl!"
Hearing the urgency in his voice and the mention of Lando's name. You take a quick glance to where Franco was pointing, and you freeze. There was indeed, a blonde girl with him. But the two seemed to be arguing.
You could tell because Lando looked pretty pissed while the girl flailed her arms around. You assumed she was drunk from the way she was staggering in her heels and tugging down at her short party dress.
"Huh...seems like they're arguing about something." You mumbled while discreetly parking the car across the street like the nosy pair you two were. Franco turns to you with a glint in his eyes and a cheeky grin "I think I might know why he's inviting you over tonight."
You roll your eyes at his suggestive comment and instead, look over to where the two seeminly started a fight. The girl it seems tried scratching his face while Lando takes a step back to avoid her unusual erratic behaviour.
Franco takes out his phone to film while you sit uncomfortably in your seat. You scoffed before smacking his hand to get him to stop filming. "Should'nt we go and help?"
Franco blinks in confusion before switching his phone off. "Uhh what-? Oh yes! You're right."
After successfully saving the young brunette. The three of you drove back to your apartment to drop off your shopping.
Franco insisted on staying behind to get some rest while urging you to go with Lando. Not before sneaking in a playful wink at you while Lando holds your hand to exit the house. You mouth a few curses at him while Franco laughs after seeing your flushed cheeks. Whispering a quick 'good luck' to you as you left.
"So, you and Franco?" Lando teases, knowing the truth. You shook your head in amusement and sighed, deciding to play along. "What? Are you jealous?"
"I dunno. Maybe?" Lando replies in a sarcastic tone. Laughing softly as the two of you walk towards the pool, hand in hand. You was the first to sit down with Lando's help.
He had opted to wear the pale blue vest that was a gift from you. Exposing his forearms as a result so that you could see the damage the blonde haired girl had done.
"How did the cat fight start?" You ask while dipping your feet into the cool water. Then pointed at the scratch marks on his face and arms as he takes a seat next to you.
Lando rubs a hand over his face before turning to you with a small smile. Feeling slightly embarrassed. "She uhh. Thought I was her ex. And when I said I wasn't, she called me a liar and started throwing a fit."
You let out a small laugh, then reached up to brush over the fresh scar across his stubbled cheek. Lando leaned into your touch, welcoming it in fact. You admire him for a moment when the words slipped passed your lips without even processing that you did. "You're still handsome though."
A smile tugs on the sides of Lando's lips, cheeks turning warm at your sudden compliment. Even his voice couldn't hide the fact that he enjoyed your attention. Speaking in a high pitched tone while he stared down at you in adoration.
"You think so?"
Sometimes you feel like he does this on purpose. Making you fall for his incredibly decieving charm. You held his face in your hands before pressing a soft, yet loving kiss to his lips. "Yes."
Now he was a blushing mess, giggling quietly to himself. You ran your fingers through his damp hair, most likely from the little swim he had done earlier that day. Not bothering to dry himself off due to the heat.
Then you pepper his face nonstop while he laughed even more, begging for mercy. "Stop!! That tickles -!"
You'd pull away while laughing too. Seemingly out of breath as the two of you collapse onto the cold, marble poolside floor. Lando shifted slightly so that you were now in his arms.
"So...I heard from Oscar that I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you." You'd whisper, quietly admiring your lovely boyfriend. Lando smiled at you softly. His heart filling with warmth while he felt something flutter in the pit of his stomach.
"That's because it's the truth."
You rest your elbow on the floor as you stare down at him. Although you tried your best to stay nonchalant, it was hard. Your cheeks hurt from grinning so hard and Lando fought back the urge to kiss your reddened cheeks. "You're too sweet Lando."
"Only for you," he mumbled quietly. Reaching up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. The soft glow from the sun illuminating your features perfectly.
His heart was thumping immensely when he moves upwards to brush his lips over yours before closing the gap entirely. Moving his lips against yours tenderly while he holds your face in his much larger, warm hands. Groaning into the kiss from pure satisfaction when he hikes up your dress to feel your soft, plush thighs.
But also trying to protect your decency so that it doesn't ride up too much. The same hands moving down to your waist, taking into account about the awkward position.
He doesn't stop kissing you. Not even when he effortlessly manouvers your body so that now he was ontop.
"Maybe keeping you a secret isn't so bad after all." Lando whispers against your lips briefly, before kissing you senseless. Smiling into the kiss as he was so elated to have you all to himself.
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