Summary : To the world, Y/N had always been Lando Norris’ closest friend—before the fame, the podiums, and the roar of F1 engines. Their bond had always been well-known, shared through countless moments on and off camera. But as the months went on, something started to shift, and it wasn’t just between Y/N and Lando. It became apparent through streams, where their chemistry couldn’t be denied.
Words: 4.7k
Warnings: some swearing
part 2 | part 3 | part 4
Max's Cooking Stream
“Done! I think they came out quite well,” Max announces, lifting the pan toward the camera, showing off the results of two hours in the kitchen.
The chat is already flooded with reactions—compliments, jokes, and the occasional disbelief at Max’s culinary skills.
"I'll be the judge of that" Lando states as he steps into view "Like master chef" he continues
Pietra is chatting with someone just out of view, her voice light and engaged. The mic, which has been filtering most background noise throughout the stream, only picks up bits and pieces of conversation—muffled words, distant laughter. But this moment? This one, it catches perfectly.
Lando steps away from where Max’s mic is propped, moving slightly out of frame. He reaches for a fork, his attention focused on someone unseen. And then, clear as day, his voice carries through.
"Love, come here a sec. Try it with me."
The chat explodes. But all three were too busy to realize what had just happened
"LOVE?? did he just say love??"
"Stop rn who is he talking to"
"someone find out rn pls"
"it might be y/n, she was seen with them around monaco yesterday"
"yeaa he calls her love sometimes i think its just a normal endearment for them lol"
All three, oblivious to the brewing chaos, all continue with what they were doing. Because whether it was intentional or not, Lando just dropped something big.
"Y/N’s here too, everyone! The whole gang’s here—Y/N, say hello to the chat," Max finally acknowledges, glancing at the flood of messages. It’s clear he’s doing some damage control, but the chat is already too far gone.
With a small wave and an amused little smile, Y/N finally steps into frame, grabbing a fork as she inches closer to the pan of food her friends have spent the past two hours making.
"Doesn’t look half bad, to be honest," she muses, inspecting the dish. "P’s really doing wonders, getting you this far into cooking."
Pietra laughs in the background while Max rolls his eyes, but before anyone can add to the banter, Y/N is already taking a bite.
"You’ve gotta—"
"Bloody hell—"
Lando’s warning comes a second too late. Y/N’s eyes widen as the heat hits, steam practically pouring out of her mouth as she waves a hand in front of her face, trying to cool down.
"You muppet, that’s literally fresh off the stove—c’mere," Lando chuckles, already unscrewing a bottle of water. He hands it to her, shaking his head as she takes it gratefully.
The chat? Utterly unhinged.
"NOT THE WAY HE JUST—"
"‘C’mere’ HE SAID ‘C’MERE’ I’M GONNA SCREAM."
"I AM LIVING FOR THIS CHAOS."
And just like that, what was supposed to be a casual cooking stream has become a full-blown internet event.
Everyone teases Lando about how he’s practically become a Twitch relic, only gracing the platform with his presence once a year. A far cry from the frequent streams he used to do. Some argue that it makes his rare appearances even more iconic, like a seasonal event the internet gathers for.
On one of his rare Twitch streams, Lando found himself diving into Backrooms with Max and a few other friends. As expected, chaos ensued—shouting, panicked laughter, and the occasional unintelligible screaming into the mic. But one moment, in particular, sent the fans into an absolute frenzy.
The doorbell rings, making both Ed and Lando pause mid-game and glance at each other.
"Food’s here," Lando announces into the mic.
Ed, already taking off his headset, ready to stand up. But just as Ed moves, they both hear the faint sound of the door unlocking.
"Oh, I think Y/N’s grabbing it, mate," Ed says, blinking in surprise. He relaxes back into his seat for a second before standing up anyway. "I’ll go help her."
"SHES STILL IN MONACO"
"i thought she went back to London with Max and P"
"omg she's staying with lando"
"loool stop reading into it guys ed's also staying with lando. theyre just friends"
"my delusions are being fed"
Both Y/N and Ed return, arms full with bags of food and cutlery. Ed drops back into his chair, already digging into his meal, while Y/N pauses beside Lando, holding a box of food in her hands.
"Do you want yours transferred to a plate, or is the box good?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.
"Like that is fine, thank you—oh, I’m streaming, by the way. They can see and hear you," Lando adds with a grin as he takes the box from her.
Y/N barely reacts, too used to this by now. Instead, she casually leans in slightly, scanning the chat as she asks, "Is Max here? Can you tell him to let P know I’ve been trying to call her?"
Lando doesn’t even look away from his screen. "He can hear you—he says sure. You wanna sit here and eat with us?"
She shakes her head, stepping back. "I’m good, got my own thing going on. I’ll see if I can join you guys later if you’re still on. Do you want water or anything?"
Lando glances up at her, smiling. "I’m good, I can grab some myself later."
"You know he’s lying, right?" Ed chimes in, chewing his food. "He’s just gonna wait until you leave so he can ask me to grab it for him."
"Shut up," Lando laughs, shaking his head.
Y/N only smirks knowingly before rolling her eyes. "Alright, whatever you say."
"Okay, okay, go back to doing your thing," Lando says, refocusing on his screen. "Connor’s complaining we’re taking too long."
The chat, meanwhile, is already in shambles.
"She’s literally taking care of him at this point.""Ed exposing Lando is my new favorite thing.""The domestic energy here is sending me."
"What is she up to now? Too busy to play with us?" Max teases as they dive back into the game.
"Nah, mate, she's busy building Legos in the other room," Lando replies casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Max snorts. "Another new hobby? You know she gave us a shit ton of air-dry clay stuff she made that one time. My apartment is literally full of it."
"No, Max, I stepped into the apartment today, and I genuinely thought I was in a Lego store. It’s insane," Ed laughs, shaking his head.
Lando chuckles. "Some of them are mine too, alright? They're not all hers. She’s been building some sets I’ve had lying around for ages."
The chat, of course, goes wild.
"Their apartment is a Lego store. I am crying."
"WAIT SO THEY HAVE BEEN LIVING TOGETHER RIGHT??"
"Domestic life with Y/N and Lando sounds like a fever dream."
Max just laughs. "Well, tell her to finish up and come scream with us in the Backrooms when she’s done playing with her bricks."
The stream opens with Lando and Max sitting side by side, each focused on their own PC as they prep for a game of Tarkov. There’s an easy banter in the air, Max teasing Lando about his gear while the two get things set up. But it’s the subtle detail in the background that catches the chat's attention—Lando’s racing rig.
It’s glowing softly in the background, the LED lights creating an almost otherworldly vibe against the dim room.
Max finally glances at the chat, giving a quick nod to thank some of his new subs. But his eyes stop when he spots a few of the comments scrolling by.
Max smirks, leaning into the mic with a grin. "The rig? Oh—it's Y/N. She’s playing F1 right now."
With that, Max casually moves his chair out of the way, revealing Y/N sitting just behind him. She's fully immersed, headset on, brows furrowed in concentration as she steers through a corner on screen, oblivious to the fact that she’s now in full view of the chat.
A small smile tugs at the corner of Lando’s lips as he turns back to look at Y/N, still fully engrossed in the game, unaware that both he and Max are watching her with amusement.
"She's prepping for the season too," Lando continues, keeping his voice casual, though there’s a playful edge to it. "Chat, I think she’s planning on taking my seat—she’s been on there for hours now."
Lando laughs, but the chat immediately picks up on the vibe.
"HE'S JEALOUS, LOOK AT HIM."
"Lando knows he's been replaced."
"Imagine Y/N taking his F1 seat. I’d pay to watch that."
Max, who’s been watching the scene unfold, looks back at Lando with a raised brow. "She’s putting in more practice than you are, mate. Maybe she is taking your seat."
Lando chuckles, shaking his head, though his smile lingers. "Nah, nah, she’s still got a lot to learn... but she’s getting there. I’m just here for moral support."
The chat, of course, has already spirals into chaos.
"Moral support? He’s just trying to hold on to his seat!"
"I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE RACE BETWEEN THEM. WHO’S GONNA WIN??"
"Lando’s literally her biggest fan and her biggest competitor at the same time. I love it."
Y/N, still completely absorbed in the game, lets out a frustrated grunt as she crashes into the wall during a tight turn. "I've fucking crashed—how is AI Lando also a little shit?"
The pair immediately burst into laughter, unable to hold it in. The moment is too perfect—Y/N, so focused on her race, completely unaware she’s been on stream the whole time.
Max wipes away tears, trying to calm down. "What?" Y/N finally takes off her headset after pausing her game, looking around in confusion, only to notice the commotion between the two.
"We’re on Twitch," Max manages between laughs, still struggling to breathe. "They heard you calling Lando a little shit."
Max, still grinning, leans back in his chair, clearly enjoying the moment. "I mean, I honestly don’t know if you should be more offended by the fact that she just called you a little shit... or the fact that she’s not racing as you."
Lando looks over at Max, a playful glint in his eyes. "Yeah, who are you racing as right now?" His curiosity gets the best of him, and he stands up, walking behind Y/N to peer over her shoulder at her screen.
Y/N barely notices him, still intensely focused on her race. "You’re racing as Max?!" Lando exclaims, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. "I feel so betrayed!"
Y/N doesn’t respond, grabbing her water bottle beside her, taking a sip.
But Lando’s eyes widen as he looks at her screen again. "Wait, you're were P3?!" he says, his voice rising in shock. "What the fuck, Y/N—this is on 110 difficulty—did you change it?"
"Yeah, well I was but you crashed into me you knob"
Lando's completely taken aback, mouth agape, staring at her settings in awe. Without thinking, he takes over the controls, fully inspecting her game setup. "This is... this is insane. You’re actually doing really well."
Y/N, now realizing the level of chaos happening around her, turns to look at him with a grin. "What? Like its hard?"
Max, who’s been watching this unfold, laughs. "I told you she’d be better than you at this rate. I’m not surprised."
The chat, of course, is losing it.
"SHE'S RACING AS MAX AND BEATING LANDO. WHAT A MOOD."
"Y/N: 1, Lando: 0."
"Lando looks like he’s seen a ghost. How did she do that?"
Y/N just laughs, clearly loving the moment. "I told you, Lando, I’m coming for your seat."
"Alright, we've got to put a screen time limit on you from now on, love—fucking hell," Lando says, still shaking his head in disbelief, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He ruffles her hair affectionately before heading back to his seat.
The chat explodes with excitement.
"Lando’s whipped for her. I can’t breathe.""The way he ruffled her hair? That’s the couple energy we’re here for.""Y/N just casually destroying him, and Lando’s still soft with her. I’m obsessed.""I can’t believe they’re just out here living their best life on stream. I’m living for this dynamic."
The trio can be seen in Lando’s usual gaming spot, the atmosphere relaxed but buzzing with excitement. In an effort to accommodate everyone, an extra table has been pulled into the room, holding the laptop they’ve set up for Y/N so she can join in on the fun. The new setup feels a little crowded, but it only adds to the chaotic energy that’s been building up since they all logged in.
"Y/N is right behind you!" Max shouts into the mic, pulling the same trick he did to Lando the last time they played Backrooms
"Max, shut up, oh my gosh—NO IT'S CHASING ME, WAIT—PAUSE IT, PAUSE IT!" The panic in Y/N’s voice is unmistakable, and it sends both Lando and Max into fits of laughter.
Max, already losing it, grins widely. "You’re telling me to pause, but I’m the one who’s not controlling it!"
Lando, equally amused, can’t help but tease, hiding comfortably from the monster "Didn’t know you were this scared of a game, love."
Y/N’s frantic clicking can be heard through the mic as she scrambles to escape whatever horror was chasing her in the game. "I can’t— I swear it’s going to catch me!"
A sigh of relief escapes Y/N’s mouth as she finally reaches the room, the monster stopping its chase just in time. “Right, so you two do all the work and I’ll run out when it’s time to escape.”
Max lets out another laugh, clearly amused. “That’s not how it works, Y/N. You've got to carry your weight”
“Come on then, let’s go. Just stay behind me and you’ll be fine.” Lando moves his character closer to hers, ready to lead the way.
Y/N, still a little nervous, responds with a grin. “I’ll keep my eyes closed.”
Lando laughs, shaking his head. “Y/N—darling, it’s fine. It’s not that scary. It’s not gonna jump out at you. You just die and respawn, it’s all good.”
Max joins in, teasing, “Yeah, but if you keep closing your eyes, you’ll miss the whole thing. We’ll be done before you even open them.”
Y/N scoffs but can’t help but laugh, her character hesitating slightly. “I’m not opening them. I’m just here to run when the time comes.”
Lando smiles at her, his voice light. “Alright, well, try not to panic. We’ve got your back.”
The chat erupts in excitement, fans loving the playful back-and-forth between them.
"Y/N’s already planning her escape route. Classic."
"he calls her darling im sobbing "
"Lando’s trying to act all calm but he’s lowkey making sure she’s okay."
"Max is enjoying this way too much, lol."
Lando glances at Y/N with a grin. “Stay close, alright? We’re doing this together.”
Y/N was live on Instagram, chatting with fans while showing off her latest air-dry clay creations. She’d been getting non-stop requests to share her work ever since Max mentioned it in one of his streams, and now here she was, crafting away on camera.
Sitting on the floor in front of a coffee table, Y/N focused on the delicate jewelry plate she was shaping. She was giving her followers a detailed look at her process, her hands moving skillfully as she explained what she was doing.
"See, then you build the sides and stick it to the plate part you just made," she said, carefully adding a border to the plate. "So it kinda has a nice little border around it, and that way, you can put your jewelry in the middle without it all rolling off."
"Who you talking to?" A voice, unmistakably Lando's, makes Y/N's head snap up to look at him, her concentration momentarily broken.
Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of him standing in the doorway, and she quickly responds, trying to maintain the calm vibe of her live stream. "I'm on Instagram live— you didn’t see my text?" Y/N says, her voice soft but carrying a hint of a warning as she tries to focus on her work again.
Lando, walks into frame to stand beside her, only half his body on screen. “I saw it, but I didn’t think you’d actually be live. What’s going on in here?”
"I'm doing a jewelry plate tutorial, see?" Y/N smiles up at him, gently lifting the plate to show him the progress she’s made, the edges perfectly formed and the design coming together nicely.
Lando leans in a little closer, clearly impressed. "That's actually pretty sick. Have you shown them the other ones you've done?"
"Mhmm," Y/N nods, setting the plate back down on the table and continuing to work on it. "I did earlier. I have a few that are dried, so once I'm done with this one, I'm gonna show them how I paint it."
"Cool, cool," Lando says, grinning as he takes a step back. "I’m actually pretty curious about the painting part."
Y/N shoots him a glance, arching an eyebrow. "You want in on this too?"
Lando looks at her, then at the camera, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Can I join you?"
Y/N pauses for a moment, clearly trying to keep a straight face. "You gonna try your hand at some clay art, Norris?" she teases, but her tone is warm.
"Gotta try to beat you in something after you've somehow managed to get close to beating me on the racing sim" a smirk on his face as he plops down on the floor beside her "Right what am I meant to do?"
The two sat mostly in silence, both deeply immersed in their work. Y/N’s focus was on finishing her jewelry plate, the soft clink of clay against the table the only sound as she shaped it carefully. Lando, on the other hand, was determined to paint one of the already dried plate, though it was clear his attention was divided between the task and watching Y/N work.
"Oh, I’ve messed up, bub," Lando admitted, his voice a little defeated. "I’m sorry, this looks horrific. I think I’ve ruined it." He leaned back dramatically, letting his shoulders slump as he rested his back against the foot of the sofa, casting an apologetic look her way. "This is a disaster."
"What? No! It's cute—you even painted flowers on it, it's nice!" Y/N exclaimed, her tone playful as she tried to hype him up, a grin tugging at her lips.
Lando looked at her with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused. "Those are strawberries, you muppet," he said, laughing as he gently nudged her with his elbow, clearly not buying her attempt to boost his confidence.
Y/N burst out laughing, her hands up in surrender. "Oh, I'm only kidding! Of course they're strawberries," she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
She quickly mouthed a playful I didn’t know to the camera as Lando became distracted with his painting again, a smirk creeping up on her face as she watched him carefully work on his next stroke.
"add bub to the list of names lando calls y/n"
"theyre actually so cute im going insane"
"not y/n gentle parenting lando"
"im telling my therapist about this"
--------------------------------------------------
I'm telling mom
Max’s loud voice cut through the quiet apartment, shattering the late-night calm. It was already past 10 PM, and he’d been streaming for over two hours, fully immersed in whatever chaos his Twitch chat had cooked up for him.
“Y/N! Get in here a sec!” Max’s voice carried from his gaming room, loud enough to startle Y/N from where she sat beside P, half-watching a Netflix show.
With a sigh, she got up, padding toward his room. She hesitated at the door, peeking inside carefully, mindful of the camera that might be angled her way.
“It’s almost 11 PM, Max. What the fuck are you yelling about?” she laughed, eyes landing on him. He stood in the middle of the room, VR headset strapped on, controllers gripped tightly like his life depended on it. "You look ridiculous by the way"
“Can you call Lando? He’s fucking with me,” Max huffed, shifting on his feet like he was bracing for something. “He told me to download this horror VR game, and now he’s in chat claiming he’s in bed. I swear to God—he set me up.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Y/N started, arms crossed. “You want me to call Lando—”
“Yep.”
“—to ask him to get out of bed and play a game with you—”
“Mhm.”
“—instead of letting him sleep, because it’s nearly midnight in Monaco?”
“Exactly.” Max stood firm, pointing a VR controller at her like this was a life-or-death situation.
Y/N blinked. “Oh, you’re serious—right.” She sighed, shaking her head as she leaned against the wall, already dialing.
“I swear, if he doesn’t hop on after I’ve set this up and put my contacts in—”
“Lan, you’re on speaker,” Y/N announced the second he picked up, barely giving him a chance to breathe.
Before Lando could even say hello, Max exploded. “You muppet! I’ve been standing here waiting for you for the past ten minutes!”
“Oh, piss off! I’ve been waiting for you for nearly an hour, Max! Can’t believe you actually made Y/N call me for this.”
“You weren’t picking up my calls!”
Y/N let out a slow, tired sigh and turned to the camera with a deadpan look, the exact kind of exhausted stare straight out of The Office.
“So you tell on me?! How mature,” Lando huffs
“Just hop on the game!” Max shot back, exasperated.
“This behaviour at 25 is diabolical,” Y/N muttered, dragging a hand down her face.
Through the speaker, you could hear Lando moving around. “Fine, fine! Okay, I’m on,” Lando said, voice muffled as he adjusted his setup. “Max, hurry up—I’ll send Y/N the code. Love, show him the code before you leave.”
Y/N sighed, holding up her phone as she walked over to Max. “Right. I’ve been dragged from my peaceful night just to moderate a sibling fight.”
Max squinted at the screen. “Got it. Thanks, Mom—right, I’m joining. You can leave now.” He was already fumbling with the game settings, barely paying her any attention.
Y/N rolled her eyes as Lando’s voice softened on the phone. “I’ll call you later, alright? Go watch your show with P. I’ll text you when we’re done.”
“Mm-hmm,” Y/N hummed in response, finally making her escape.
As soon as she was gone, Max turned back to chat, shaking his head. “Right, let’s go. See? He’s such a knob—I have to call Y/N every time he’s being an ass because he actually listens to her.”
The chat was loving this interaction
"Y/N staying with Max and P is actually so wholesome"
"NOT Y/N BEING MOM"
"LANDO LISTENING TO Y/N ONLY IS PEAK BF BEHAVIOUR U CANT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE"
" "i'll call you later" is so cute he's down bad for her"
At this point, they’d practically exposed themselves. The subtle interactions hadn’t gone unnoticed—small moments that seemed insignificant alone but painted a clear picture together. The lingering looks, the casual slips of affectionate nicknames, the way their conversations always carried a certain ease.
Everyone had a general understanding that the two were a couple, but they’d come to accept that Lando and Y/N weren’t quite ready to make it official—at least, not publicly. But what really sealed the deal? Max’s most recent stream, just before the season kicked off.
“Right, chat, Lando and I are finishing up the download, and we’ll hop on as soon as it’s done,” Max said, scrolling through chat and tossing out quick thanks for subs and gifted memberships while they waited.
“Is anyone else joining us or nah?” Lando asked, finally looking up from his phone where he sat beside Max, his own setup in front of him.
“Nah, don’t think so. Connor just texted—he’s out,” Max replied, making Lando nod before going back to whatever he was scrolling through.
“Chat, I’ll be back—I’m gonna grab some water,” Max announced, tapping his mic to mute it before standing up.
Completely unaware, Lando reached over and tapped the mic again, turning it back on.
“Baby?! C’mere a sec!” Lando called out, sitting with his back to the camera, casually waiting for someone to walk in—completely oblivious to the absolute chaos erupting behind him.
“OH BOB, YOU’RE NOT MUTED!!”
“HES HOPELESS.”
“NOOOOOOO LN TURN AROUND!!!”
“HE FULLY EXPOSED HIMSELF IM CRYING.”
"baby??!"
A moment later, Y/N appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Hello my pretty girl, wanna come join Max and I?" “Aren’t you live with Max right now?” she asked softly.
“Yeah, yeah, I muted it—don’t worry,” Lando reassured her without a second thought. “Wanna join? Max is still downloading it, we can set yours up if you’re up for it.”
Y/N smiled. “Yeah, sure, I’ll go grab the laptop.” With that, she turned and left the room.
Max walked back in, settling into his chair. “What were you two chatting about?” he asked as he put his headset back on.
“Y/N’s gonna play with us,” Lando answered smoothly. “Oh—by the way, I muted your mic. Chat can’t hear you right now.”
Max blinked. “Well, yeah, I muted it before I left—” His head snapped toward Lando. “Did you fucking tap the mic again?”
Lando visibly paled. “…No, I muted it.”
Max hurriedly glanced at chat, eyes scanning the messages flooding in before exhaling sharply. “You fucking unmuted it, you idiot.”
Lando sat there, frozen. Then, with an almost comically slow realization, he sighed. “Damn… well. Secrets out.”
Y/N practically skipped into the room, excitement clear in the way she carried her laptop against her chest. But the moment she stopped behind the two, her smile faltered.
Max and Lando both looked at her with identical guilty expressions.
“…What?” she asked, breaking the silence.
Max didn’t hesitate. “Your dimwit of a boyfriend just exposed you two. He unmuted the mic.”
Y/N’s jaw dropped. “No...”
Lando was already reaching for her hand, pulling her close. “I’m so sorry, baby. I swore I muted it.”
Y/N groaned, running a hand down her face. “Oh my God. How bad?”
Max snorted, scrolling through chat. “Let’s see… ‘We’re witnessing a live trainwreck,’ 'my pretty girl', ‘Bruh did he just expose himself?’ ‘Send help, I can’t breathe,’ and—oh, this one’s gold—‘My parents are finally public.’
Lando groaned, burying his face in Y/N’s side. “This is your fault, Max.”
“My fault?! You tapped the damn mic!”
The two went back and forth, bickering like a couple of siblings, while Y/N just stood there, still trying to wrap her head around what was going on.
“Oh, Y/N, come on. Don’t worry. It’s not like it’s a big surprise. He hasn’t exactly been subtle about it either.”
“Yeah, but until now, it was all just rumors and whispers.”
Lando shot her a reassuring smile. “Aww, baby, it’s fine. They love you, you know.”
Max groaned, leaning back in his chair and teasing them both. “See? Now he’s gonna go full PDA mode, more than he already does. We’re all doomed.”
Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. “I swear, I can already see it.”
Lando reached over to take her hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s not that bad, is it?”
“Yeah, it is,” Max teased, rolling his eyes. “Just wait till he starts calling you ‘babe’ every two seconds on stream.”
Lando grinned mischievously. “You love it, Max. Admit it.”
Max shot him a playful glare. “I’m really starting to think I’ve been cursed.”
“Right, come on then, let’s play before I get called for an impromptu PR meeting,” Lando chuckled, giving Y/N a wink as he pulled his headset on.
summary: marissa leclerc and lando norris were once the it couple of formula one when they were younger, a few years later, they are facing the reality of doing it all over again.
contains: lando norris x leclerc!reader (oc!marissa). female!reader. written smau. slightly angst. yearning. friends to lovers. exes to lovers. face claim: none
word count: 1.2k
a/n: this is short fic, 5 (or 6) parter. for the purpose of the plot, dates are not accurate but it's supposed to be the year of 2025. the orders of the races is also not accurate. no hate to any of the characters; everything here is fictional. slow updates :) some chapter are going to be +18
next chapter | f1 masterlist | main masterlist
@f1
liked by mclaren, marissaleclerc, charlesleclerc and others
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f1: LANDO NORRIS WINS THE AUSTRALIAN GP! 🏆🥂
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user2 OMG, WHAT.A.RACE!!!!1
user4 LET'S GO LANDOOOOOOO
mclaren our boys started out strong!!!
lando 🧡🧡🧡🧡
lnfour what a start to the season 🧡
@paddockgossip
liked by user5,user38, user111 and others
paddockgosip: First race of the season and there's a lot going on already. 👀
As Lando Norris wins the Australian GP, there's more than just champagne surrounding him, his supposed girlfriend, actress Magui Corceiro is around with the Mclaren team. and... so is Marissa Leclerc, she is back in the paddock after months and the two of them shared one more than familiar hug. 👀
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user96 no fucking way
user12: the way his hand is literally fisted in her jacket. THAT is not a friendly hug
user29 the world is healing
user72 THE FERRARI ROYALTY IS BACK! gosh i missed marissa
user26 is he with magui?
↳ user5 no one knows ↳ user66 he is!! they have been seen together a million times ↳ user85 i don't think so
↳ user10 bruh, is he fr? magui is right there...
user 65 marissa and lando are long time friends babe
user66 they are also exes, its weird...
user3: for the ones who don't remember, they're THE couple of F1
↳ user4: and then just... disappeared? no drama no nothing?
↳ user44: kinda
user19: i'm child of a divorce
@marissaleclerc
liked by scuderiaferrari,alexandrasaintmleux, lando and others
marissaleclerc: what a special day <3
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scuderiaferrari: leclercs back on top
rebeccadonaldson: omg, you're so hot
alexandrasaintmleux: love you
user5: gorgeous!!!!!
user32: fcking royalty
user9: i'm conviced you're charles lucky charm
user12: is this profile religious? because HOLY HOLY HOLY my eyes were blessed.
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People assume that everyone watching you constantly is the hard part. It isn't. Coming back is.
The race replay kept looping on the screen behind me, and my phone wouldn't stop buzzing with tags, every notification a small, familiar reminder of what it's like to exist in a paddock. I'd forgotten how loud it all was, or maybe I'd just gotten good at not remembering.
There was no dramatic reason I came back to watch races and be near my brother, but there was one for why I'd stopped, and he’s standing right next to me.
Lando and I were always there for each other, so much that it resulted in almost five years of a relationship. We grew up together, and in many aspects, we were raised close to each other and also learnt how to deal with the fame motorsport brought to our lives. Part of those lessons were that we were too young, and too innocent to think our love could resist the many dramas a public life could exist in.
The first years were a dream, we were able to enjoy each other and learn the true meaning of love, but with time, the conflicts and drama started. We stopped going out because the cameras wouldn't leave us alone, nor the exaggerated headlines.
It got all out of our control. There was a period where I started getting all sort of comments from the internet for being a 'distraction' in Lando's career and even piggybacking off Charles's fame.
I couldn't live like that. It was not easy to let go, not only of Lando but also of the habit of having my life be the way it was, simple. All the dinners with his family, the late-night talks, the gaming sessions, the karting races, was all gone. And I saw myself losing not only a boyfriend but also my best friend.
When I ended things, I felt a part of me left too, and I forced myself to keep my distance, to find a way to deal with all of it and create a backbone, which meant leaving the F1 world that one day was also my world.
And now here he is. Not like the photos, not a headline, just here, closer than he's been in a long time, and I have absolutely no idea what to do. I'd had a whole year to decide how I'd play this moment. Standing here, I couldn't remember a single one of my plans.
I was standing in the garage with Alexandra and Ferrari’s team, as I watched Lando exit his car and rush to his mechanics and team, still in his helmet; it was a well-deserved win, and he knew it.
Charles got closer, and we hugged him, and I felt so happy and grateful to witness this again. The moment I left Charles's arms after celebrating, Lando grabbed me like no time had passed at all. He fisted my jacket and held me tightly against him, lifting me off the ground.
“Mariss”
“You did it,” I said to his ears, hugging him back and feeling his body vibrate with euphoria.
“Oh my, I made it.” his voice was rough with emotion as he set me down.
He didn’t let go right away; his hand lingered on my back, and our eyes couldn't leave each other's. I stepped back when I heard Charles clearing his throat.
“Okay, that’s enough,” He said as we separated and he and Lando dapped hands
For minutes, I enjoyed how we touched, as it felt like the past; all went away when I saw Lando talking to his rumored girlfriend, Magui. She was hugging his mother, in a McLaren shirt, with her eyes shining as he talked to her and others around.
That’s the reality check I needed.
──────
The party started the way these things always did: bottles of champagne all over the place, music too loud for actual conversation, a lot of people over the DJ booth, and everyone with their usual group.
Alex came back from the bar with Rebecca by her side; the club was packed. Their drinks were full, and Alex handed me a drink I hadn’t asked for but definitely wanted. “So,” she said, sitting in the booth as Rebecca slid on my other side, “That was a lot for the first comeback”
“Tell me about it,” I said, sipping my drink
“And you and Lando?” Rebecca asked in a suggestive tone
"We are friends."
"Marissa," Alexandra said, my name like she was scolding me. "I've known you for years. I was there almost through the whole relationship. That was not a friend's hug."
"And we’re not the only ones to think that."
"Wonderful." I rolled my eyes
"They're not wrong to wonder, is all I'm saying." Alexandra shrugged, entirely too pleased with herself. "Five years is a long time to just cut any type of contact."
I didn't answer that, just kept quiet, accepting defeat.
I found Lando across the room without meaning to look for him; some habits really don't die, no matter how hard you try to bury them. He was laughing at something, easy and loose the way he always was after a few drinks, Magui's hand resting on his arm as it belonged there. She caught me looking. Didn't smile, exactly, not that I did something friendly with my face.
"She's being very subtle," Rebecca murmured.
"I don’t think it’s on purpose and it’s also not her fault."
I meant it, mostly. It wasn't as if I had any claim to stake. That ship had sailed a long time ago.
──────
We stayed for a few more hours; luckily, good hours were I forgot about Lando and all the drama that hug stirred. The girls and I were catching up, dancing, and talking. We were having a blast, maybe because of the drinks, but also because it was fun to be out with my friends and my brother's friends; it’s been a long time.
The vodka kept going through my body, and I was feeling hot; maybe I was feeling a lot of things, including the courage to dance like no one was watching and declaring my love for my friends.
“You guys are so hot,” I fumble my words as I see the girls in the bathroom mirror.
"You're drunk," Rebecca said, delighted, like this was the best news she'd gotten all night.
"I'm having a moment." I fixed my lipstick with the precision of someone who was, in fact, one vodka shot past precise. "A very normal, very sober moment."
"Uh-huh." Alex was already recording me on her phone, the traitor. "Say hi."
"Hi," I said to the camera, striking a pose that was more wobble than glamour. "This is me. I am thriving."
"You are, actually," Rebecca said, and for a second she wasn't teasing. "It's really good to have you back, you know."
I wasn't drunk enough to get emotional about it, but I was close. "Don't start."
"I'm just saying—"
"If you make me cry in this bathroom, I’ll leave”
That got us all laughing again. Alex gasped, hearing a song it was too muffled for me to recognize.
"That's my song. That's actually my song; we have to go back out there."
"It is not your song; you say that about every song."
"Every song is my song if I decide it hard enough."
We stumbled back out, arms linked so none of us fell over, and somehow ended up in the middle of the dance floor dancing and laughing too hard for any of us to care.
"Okay, okay, that's enough dancing for one night." Charles appeared out of nowhere, hands already on mine and Alex’s shoulders, steering us away from the dance floor.
"We were in the middle of something," I protested.
"You were in the middle of embarrassing yourself. You’ll thank me later.”
Leaving the club was hitting me with a familiar feeling again, of the days we used to go out way more and have fun days like this. Days when I was present and not working. Or pretending to be busy working.
a/n: here we go starting off kinktober strong with some lando smut! this was so fun to write, happy reading! 🧡🖤💜
summary: you and lando talked about something new in the bedroom, and now he’s begging for it.
cw: cockwarming, cursing, dom!reader, subby lando, (all smut is written as consented!)
minors do not interact, all fics are 18+.
***
it was a curious conversation you’d had yesterday, the idea of him being inside you, but not in that way. just relaxed. close. comfortable.
the dirty thought consumed his mind the rest of the night and today, endless scenarios of pleasure, many of which ended with his cock in your mouth. but he forced to keep himself at bay.
at least for now.
the night was languish, a dark and cold one that was warmed by you and lando’s body heat. lando had been controlling himself all night, listening to you patiently and watching the film that you’d picked out, but he couldn’t get it off his mind.
finally, the movie ended, he thought, and as you climb on top of him out of habit -post credit scene cuddles, you’d called it- all he can think about is that. the idea of him being inside you and feeling your pussy clench around him tortured his mind as you perched yourself on top of him.
you sigh, brushing back a few of his dangling curls with your hand, eyes meeting him as his eyes flash with the linger of lust, hoping it wouldn’t be seen.
“why'd you look at me like that?”
“like what?”
you have an inkling you know what this is about.
“Lan,” your voice almost patronizing. “what’re you thinking about?”
a groan gets caught in his throat by your taunting tone, feeling himself grow at the thought. he tries to deny the bulge in his pants— the simplicity of him asking what he wants you to do and you complying so easily was not helping him in the slightest.
“it’s nothing.”
you read him too well.
“if you want something just ask for it.”
his head lulls and his lips latch to yours for safety and comfort; you’d just started making him use his words in the bedroom. lando sighs in a small defeat,
“can we try that thing you were telling me about,” his teeth lightly scrape against your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “please?”
you smile at the thought of him beneath you, forehead damp with sweat and writhing at the feeling of him being inside of you. “okay.
you nod with a devilish intent, “you can’t move though.”
“never,” he mumbles, already sliding his underwear and sweats off, leaving harsh kisses on your skin as your actions mirror his own.
“hey,” he breathes hard as your hand grips the square of his jaw, voice firm. “I’m serious. no moving.”
he nods slow, captivated by you and the way you’re able to have him speechless in just a few words. he swallows hard as you line yourself up with him.
he’s been curious. oh so curious and the fact that you’re in charge makes him even harder. as you sink onto him, a shared moan fills the room as your bodies mesh as one.
you feel so good clenching around him, and he wants more, needs more, but he tries restrains himself as he hears you ask him a question about some mundane thing. his breathing becomes jagged, pressing his lips into a fine line as he focuses on your words.
after a few minutes, the conversation lulls, and you can feel him twitching inside you. you love when he’s like this: falling apart at the seams just for you. his eyes are glued shut with his eyebrows furrowed, and you appreciate he’s trying to be so patient and composed for you.
but he can’t help it anymore.
“fuck, baby. feel so good,” he moans into your chest as your lips press against his forehead. his nails dig into the skin of your hips, sure to leave marks tomorrow.
you hum at his comment, lightly pulling at his curls.
“y/nn,” he whines as he starts to grind his hips against yours. you smile at his neediness and loss of control.
“yeah, Lan?”
he really isn’t getting much help from you. with the way you’re dragging this out for your enjoyment? forget it.
he needs you now.
“baby do something. please,” he says, words almost embarrassed but not quite. he was squirming at the lack of movement, mind and body about to snap. all he wanted was to be good for you.
you tug on his curls causing his head to tilt back, “you promised me.”
another whine. “I know, baby. I know. I’m sorry, just- fuck. ride me for a little?” the words rush out of him, and he’s slightly disappointed in himself. he thought he could go longer, but his body betrayed him. “I’ve been so good.”
you almost lose control of yourself; his eyes now a deep brown, tears lining them as he begs and hopes for you to budge, but you don’t.
“what did I say when we started?”
his head spins with pleasure, your voice becoming muffled as you press soft kisses against his neck, with a mixed sound of a groan and whimper from his throat; he’s clearly having a rough time with this.
and you love it.
with still no answer, you start to lift your hips up,
“if you don’t want to answer me,”
he snaps back into reality. “no no no,” he mumbles, pushing your hips back down, scattering for the words said not too long ago. “you said, n-no m-moving.” his eyes return to yours, in need of approval.
“that’s right, Lan,”
your hips lift up and slam them back down on him, a loud groan escaping him.
serie of this smau
summary: After a messy breakup, Lando’s fans blame his best friend for ruining his relationship.
request: yes! sorry took me too long :((
tbh, this had been sitting in drafts for a while because i wasn’t entirely convinced about it (still not 100%, to be fair), but i thought, “Well, maybe they’ll like it,” so here it issss
landonorris
Liked by yourusername and 982,273 others
landonorris: Another race weekend!
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user1: I want to be Y/N so baaaad🤧
lando’sgf: love you so muchhhh!!!❤️
user2: Y/N made it again in Lando’s post, love them!
user3: I’d love a friendship like Lando and Y/N’s 😭😭😭
yourusername: Great weekend, miss you alredy muppet 🤧❤️
landonorris: It was! When are you coming to visit again?
user4: Lando replied to Y/N but not his gf…💀💀
user5: THE fit, THE smile, THE overtakes 😭
user6: She really needs to back off from Lando and Alice
user7: Photo 3 >>> everything else 🫠
lando’sgf posted a story.
yourusername
Liked by carlossainz55 and 76,261 others
yourusername: About last month 💗
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carlossainz55: Feeling special for being in your post 🤧
yourusername: You should, cos it won’t happen again 💀
user8: Lando’s smile in the 3rd photo? how do I sign up for your life? 😭
user9: She can’t post without Lando or some driver in it 🤮
user10: True that, she’s all about the fame
user11: living my dream life AND looking flawless while doing it?❤️😭
user12: always getting in the way of Lando and Alice, proper messing with them 🙄
user13: what are you on about? Lando and Y/N have been friends for yearsss 🤡
user14: well, why didn’t anyone know about her till now? she just wants Lando for the fame, no doubt
landonorris posted a story
lando’s gf posted a story.
lando’s gf
Liked by yourusername and 21,939 others
lando’s gf: ❤️❤️
landonorris
Liked by oscarpiastri and 1,283,934 others
landonorris: Free time when I’m not driving a F1 car around the world
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user15: Lando— HAHAHA
user16: where’s Alice???
user17: y'all are obsessed with his gf, mind your own business ffs
user18: Bet Y/N’s asking Lando not to take Alice 🙄
user19: giiiirl, touch some grass! Alice has been back in her country
user20: Y/N’s always with Lando, so he’s footing the bill for everything
user21: Everything, mate—GP trips, holidays, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got him paying her rent too 🤮
user22: I wouldn’t want to be Alice, seeing Y/N everywhere around Lando 💀
landonorris just posted a story.
yourusername posted a story
yourusername
Liked by max33verstappen and 39,983 others
yourusername: [No caption]
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user23: an unexpected crossover
user24: Oh, so the gold-digger’s moved on to someone else now?
user25: Hope you’re proud of yourself for ruining Lando and Alice’s relationship, biTCH
user26: Hope you die
carlossainz55: should I feel proud because you went to a Real Madrid match or bad for "L" because you went out with someone from that team???
carlossainz55: nah, estoy orgulloso
user27: stay away from Lando, you slut
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lando’sex-girlfriend
liked by 172,982
lando’sex-girlfriend: A little miracle is on the way, and we couldn’t be more excited. 👼
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user28: Nearly had a heart attack, thought Lando was going to be a dad 😭😭😭
user29: No way, she was the one who cheated 💀
user30: 💀
landonorris
Liked by charles_leclerc and 1,928,388 others
landonorris: I lost the best thing in my life because of all of you.
Because of your words, your hate, your accusations. You turned her into the villain when all she ever was, was my best friend.
You all tore us apart, pushed me to let go of the one person who truly mattered, all because you couldn’t mind your own business.
And now, seven months later, I see the truth—she was never the problem. I was. I should’ve fought for her. But instead, I let you win.
I’ll never forgive myself for that. I lost her because of you.
—Lando
View all the commments
user31: lando, you did what you thought was best at the time. We’re all human, and nobody should have been attacking her like that
user32: we judged her without knowing the full story 🤧
user33: can’t believe we believed the lies
user 34: I feel so bad now
danielricciardo: Lando, I’ve got your back. It’s crazy how people act like they know your life when they don’t 🤛
user35: It’s hard to see things clearly when the pressure is on you. Glad you’re speaking out now, nobody deserves that kind of hate, especially someone as good
user36: It’s obvious she meant a lot to you but the media and fans never understood that
user37: We were too quick to judge her
maxverstappen1: People love to talk without knowing the full story. Stay strong, mate, always here if you need to talk 🤜🤜
time skip
landonorris
Liked by yourusername and 2,951,052 others
landonorris: I don’t think there’s anyone who deserves this more than her. From being the absolute boss she is in everything she touches to owning this year’s CEO of the Year award (seriously, she’s amazing), I couldn’t be prouder I of course I’m the best wag
View all the commments
user38: YOUR WIFE?!?!? 😱 i can’t even process it. Lando, what’s happening?!
user39: wait, I thought you were single?? How did we miss this??
user40: no… I THOUGHT THE WERE FRIENDSS????
user41: wait a damn minute—Lando’s married??!! And she’s holding CEO of the year??? I need answers 😭
user42: OH MY GODDD She’s literally living the dream!! And Lando, we all knew you were the best, but now you’ve just confirmed it
user43: HE’S MARRIED?!? And she’s CEO OF THE YEAR?!?! You guys are literally goals
user44: i’m happy for you but also I’m crying in my room so… mixed emotions 🫠🧡
user45: Y/N is literally TOO perfect and it’s offensive to the rest of us 😭😭😭
user46: No hate, but also… I’m fighting for my life over here while Y/N is living my dream 😭
user47: @/yourusername you wake up every day and think, ‘how can I flex on everyone today?’ Because wow 💀
Summary- Being adopted by the Leclerc family when you were younger is always the biggest blessing in your life however when the online noise gets a little too loud you try to disappear from the f1 world… but 1 driver notices you more than anything!!
Notes- love this one so much! Does include sensitive topics tho so please be cautious when reading. Hope yous love it as much as me!!!
The photo was perfect. You'd captured Charles mid-celebration, arms raised in triumph after securing P2 in qualifying. The Monaco sun caught the red of his Ferrari suit just right, and your caption was simple: _"Always proud of you, Charlie. Forza Ferrari! 🇲🇨❤️"_
You hit post without thinking twice. Why would you? You'd been doing this for years—supporting your brothers from the paddock, sharing in their victories and defeats, being part of the Leclerc family story that had unfolded across racetracks around the world.
The first few comments were normal. Heart emojis from family friends, supportive messages from Tifosi, a joke from Arthur about how you'd caught Charles's "good side" (as if he had a bad one). You smiled at your phone, curled up in your apartment in Monaco, the Mediterranean breeze drifting through your open balcony doors.
Then the tone shifted.
_"Not even a real Leclerc lmao why is she always there"_
You scrolled past it. Just a troll. They were everywhere in F1 social media.
_"Adopted doesn't count. She's not actually family."_
Your thumb hesitated over the screen.
_"Imagine pretending to be a Leclerc for clout. Embarrassing."_
_"She's literally just leeching off Charles's fame. Not even blood related."_
_"Why does she act like she belongs in the paddock? You're not really one of them, sweetie."_
The words blurred together, each comment a small cut that somehow hurt more than it should. You'd been a Leclerc since you were four years old. You barely remembered your life before Pascale and Hervé had brought you into their home, before Charles had declared you his little sister with all the seriousness a seven-year-old could muster, before Arthur had started following you around like a devoted puppy.
You were a Leclerc. You _were_.
But as you scrolled through comment after comment questioning that fundamental truth, something cold settled in your chest. Your Monegasque accent—the one Lando always teased you about, with its soft French-Italian inflection that made your vowels round and your Rs delicate—felt suddenly like evidence. You didn't sound quite like Charles. You didn't have the Leclerc eyes, the Leclerc smile that photographers loved.
You locked your phone and set it face-down on your coffee table.
It was fine. Just internet trolls. It didn't mean anything.
(But you didn't pick your phone back up for the rest of the night.)
***
The next race weekend, you almost didn't go.
"You're coming to Imola, right?" Charles had asked during your weekly family dinner at Maman's house, his tone casual as he reached for more pasta. "Arthur's bringing his new girlfriend. It'll be fun."
You'd opened your mouth to say yes—of course yes, you never missed a race if you could help it—but something stopped you. The memory of those comments, which had only multiplied over the past week. New posts brought new hate. _Fake Leclerc. Clout chaser. Not really family._
"I... I have some work things," you'd said instead, pushing your food around your plate. "Might not make it."
Charles had looked up, surprised. "Work things? Since when do you prioritize work over racing?"
"Since I became an adult with responsibilities?" You'd tried to make it sound teasing, but it came out wrong. Defensive.
Lorenzo had frowned from across the table. "Everything okay, ma chérie?"
"Fine," you'd said quickly. Too quickly. "Just busy. You know how it is."
You'd felt their eyes on you—Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo, even Maman—but you'd kept your gaze on your plate until the moment passed and conversation moved on.
You'd gone to Imola in the end, unable to fully stay away, but you'd kept to the background. Fewer photos. Fewer posts. You'd watched qualifying from the garage instead of the paddock, where cameras were less likely to find you. Where people were less likely to notice you and remember that you weren't _really_ a Leclerc.
The comments continued anyway.
***
"You're being weird."
Lando's voice cut through your thoughts as you stood in the McLaren hospitality area, coffee cup warming your hands. The Spanish Grand Prix was in full swing around you—mechanics rushing past, engineers huddled over data, the distant scream of engines on track.
You looked up at your best friend, at his familiar face with those eyes that always seemed to see too much. "I'm not being weird."
"You are absolutely being weird." He leaned against the counter beside you, close enough that you could smell his race day cologne—something crisp and expensive that his sponsors probably sent him. "You've been quiet all weekend. And you—" He poked your shoulder. "—are never quiet."
"Maybe I'm just tired."
"Tired," he repeated, disbelieving. "You. The girl who once stayed up for thirty-six hours straight during a triple-header because you were too excited to sleep. Tired."
Despite everything, you felt your lips twitch. Lando had that effect—he could always make you want to smile, even when you felt like you were drowning. You'd been friends since his early days in F1, when he was still a nervous rookie and you were the shy Leclerc sister who'd rather hide in the garage than face the cameras. Somehow, you'd gravitated toward each other. The anxious ones. The ones who covered their nerves with humor and deflection.
Except Lando had grown into his confidence over the years, becoming the charismatic, playful driver who could charm anyone. And you'd stayed... you. Quiet. Background. Not quite belonging.
"I'm fine, Lando," you said, taking a sip of your coffee. It was too hot and burned your tongue, but you welcomed the distraction.
He studied you for a long moment, and you could feel the weight of his attention. It was different from how your brothers looked at you—they saw their little sister, someone to protect but not necessarily understand. Lando looked at you like he was trying to read a language he'd almost mastered but kept finding new words in.
"Okay," he said finally, but his tone suggested he didn't believe you at all. "But when you're ready to tell me what's actually wrong, I'm here. Yeah?"
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
He pushed off the counter, then paused. "Oh, and by the way—I heard you talking to your mum earlier. Your accent is extra strong today." He grinned, slipping into an exaggerated imitation of your voice: "_Oui, Maman, je suis bien_—you sound like you're auditioning for a French film."
"I do not sound like that!" You swatted at him, but he danced away, laughing.
"You absolutely do. Very—" He made a gesture with his hand, like he was painting something delicate in the air. "—very _Monegasque princess_. It's cute."
"It's my _accent_, you absolute muppet. Not everyone can sound like they're from the Queen's English textbook."
"I'm from Bristol, thank you very much. We have character." He was still grinning, clearly pleased he'd gotten a rise out of you. "See you later, princess. Try not to be so mysterious and brooding. It's unsettling."
He disappeared into the crowd before you could respond, leaving you with your too-hot coffee and a feeling you couldn't quite name. Something warm and uncomfortable at the same time.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Against your better judgment, you checked it.
A new comment on your latest post—a simple photo of the Barcelona sunset: _"Why is she even at races anymore? Not like she's actually part of the F1 family."_
You locked your phone and threw your coffee away, suddenly nauseous.
***
You stopped going to as many races after that.
It wasn't a conscious decision at first. You just... found reasons. Work deadlines that didn't really exist. A friend's birthday party you'd already declined. A headache that felt real enough in the moment. Charles and Arthur would text you photos from the paddock, and you'd respond with enthusiastic emojis that felt increasingly hollow.
"You missed a good race," Charles said during one of your now-less-frequent family dinners. "Max and I had a proper battle for the lead."
"I saw," you said quietly. You had watched, alone in your apartment, with your phone turned off so you wouldn't be tempted to post about it. "You drove brilliantly."
"Would've been better if you were there." He said it casually, already turning to respond to something Arthur was saying, and you didn't think he noticed how you flinched.
Would it have been better? Or would your presence have just invited more comments, more reminders that you weren't really supposed to be there?
You'd started scrolling through the hate comments late at night, a form of self-torture you couldn't seem to stop. They'd multiplied, grown more creative in their cruelty. People picked apart your appearance, your accent, your right to use the Leclerc name. Someone had made a whole thread about how you were "obviously just using Charles for fame and money." Never mind that you had your own job, your own life. Never mind that you'd been part of this family since before Charles was even in F1.
The worst part was that your family didn't notice. Charles was busy with Ferrari's championship push. Arthur was focused on his own racing career, trying to make a name for himself beyond being "Charles Leclerc's brother." Lorenzo had his own business ventures. Maman was proud and supportive as always, but she didn't live on social media. She didn't see what you saw every time you opened your phone.
You felt like you were disappearing, and no one noticed you were gone.
Except Lando.
"Okay, that's it," he said one evening, appearing at your apartment door without warning. You'd been in Monaco for a rare weekend off, and you'd made the mistake of posting an Instagram story of your coffee. Apparently, that was enough for him to track you down. "We're having a movie night."
You blinked at him, confused. "What?"
"Movie night. You, me, my place. I've got that new sci-fi film you wanted to see, and I ordered way too much Thai food because I couldn't decide what I wanted." He said it all matter-of-factly, like this was a normal occurrence and not something he'd clearly planned to ambush you with.
"Lando, I—"
"Nope." He held up a hand. "No excuses. You've been weird for weeks now, you're barely coming to races, and Charles told me you've been quiet at family dinners. So we're doing this. Come on."
He was already walking back toward the elevator, clearly expecting you to follow. And because you didn't have the energy to argue, and because the thought of spending another night alone with your thoughts sounded unbearable, you grabbed your keys and followed him.
***
Lando's apartment was exactly what you'd expect from a young F1 driver with more money than sense and a love of gaming. Sleek and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Monaco harbor, but cluttered with racing memorabilia, gaming equipment, and a truly impressive collection of hoodies draped over various pieces of furniture.
"Make yourself at home," he said, already unpacking containers of Thai food on his coffee table. "I got you the Pad Thai because I know you're boring and always order the same thing."
"I'm not boring, I just know what I like," you protested, but you were already settling onto his ridiculously comfortable sofa, tucking your legs under you.
"Boring," he repeated, grinning. He handed you a container and chopsticks. "But that's okay. Someone has to balance out my sparkling personality."
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. This was familiar. Easy. Lando had always been like this—teasing and warm, making you feel like you could breathe properly for the first time in days.
The movie was good, some space adventure with impressive special effects and a plot that was just complex enough to keep you interested. Lando provided running commentary, making fun of the scientific inaccuracies and predicting plot twists with varying degrees of success. You found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks, the knot in your chest slowly loosening.
"See?" Lando said during a particularly quiet moment in the film. "This is nice. You should do this more often."
"What, watch movies?"
"Be yourself." He said it simply, not looking at you, his eyes still on the screen. "You've been... I don't know. Smaller lately. Like you're trying not to take up space."
Your throat tightened. "I don't know what you mean."
"Yeah, you do." He finally looked at you, and his expression was softer than usual. Serious in a way Lando rarely was. "But you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. Just... be here. Be you. The you who argues with me about racing lines and makes fun of my streaming setup and laughs at my terrible jokes."
"Your jokes are terrible," you agreed quietly.
"The worst," he confirmed, and just like that, the moment passed. He turned back to the movie, and you did too, but something had shifted. The air felt different. Charged.
You weren't sure when you started drifting. The combination of a full stomach, the comfortable sofa, and the first real relaxation you'd felt in weeks pulled you under gradually. Your head grew heavy, and without really thinking about it, you let it drop onto Lando's shoulder.
He stiffened for just a moment—you felt it, even in your half-asleep state—but then he relaxed. Adjusted slightly so you were more comfortable. His shoulder was warm and solid, and he smelled like his cologne mixed with something else. Something that was just _him_.
"You falling asleep on me?" he murmured, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
"Mm-mm," you mumbled, which was obviously a lie.
"Liar."
You meant to respond, to sit up and prove you were awake, but sleep pulled you under before you could. The last thing you were aware of was Lando's quiet laugh and the feeling of safety you hadn't felt in months.
***
Lando looked down at you and felt his heart do something complicated in his chest.
You were fully asleep now, your breathing deep and even, your face relaxed in a way it hadn't been all evening. All month, really. He'd noticed the changes in you—how could he not? You were his best friend, the person he texted stupid memes to at 3 AM, the one who understood the pressure of this life because you'd grown up in it.
But lately, you'd been distant. Quiet. And you were never quiet, not really. You were shy with strangers, sure, but with him? You were all sharp wit and terrible puns and passionate rants about racing strategy. Seeing you withdraw had been like watching a light dim, and it had been driving him crazy trying to figure out why.
Now, with you asleep on his shoulder, you looked peaceful. Younger, somehow. Vulnerable in a way that made him want to protect you from whatever had been hurting you.
The movie continued playing, but Lando wasn't watching anymore. He was too aware of your weight against him, the soft sound of your breathing, the way your hand had curled loosely against his arm. He should wake you. Send you home to your own bed. That would be the sensible thing to do.
But he didn't want to.
The realization settled over him slowly, like he was discovering something that had been there all along, just waiting for him to notice. He didn't want you to leave. He wanted you here, in his space, close enough that he could make sure you were okay. He wanted to figure out what had been bothering you and fix it. He wanted—
He wanted a lot of things, apparently, and that was terrifying.
"Shit," he muttered quietly, careful not to disturb you.
This was not good. This was the opposite of good. You were Charles's little sister. His best friend. He wasn't supposed to be noticing how perfectly you fit against his side or how your hair smelled like something floral and sweet. He definitely wasn't supposed to be feeling this protective, possessive surge of emotion that made him want to keep you here where nothing could hurt you.
But he was feeling all of that, and more, and there was no putting that particular genie back in the bottle.
The movie ended. Credits rolled. You didn't stir.
Lando carefully extracted his phone from his pocket, trying not to move too much. It was past midnight. He should really wake you. But you looked so peaceful, and he knew you hadn't been sleeping well—he'd seen the dark circles under your eyes, the way you'd been rubbing your temples like you had a constant headache.
Decision made, he slowly, carefully shifted on the sofa. You made a small sound of protest, and his heart clenched, but you didn't wake. Moving with the kind of precision he usually reserved for racing, he managed to stand up and slide his arms under you—one under your knees, one supporting your back.
You were lighter than he expected, or maybe adrenaline was giving him strength. Either way, he managed to lift you without too much difficulty, and you immediately curled into his chest, seeking warmth. Your hand fisted in his shirt, and Lando had to pause for a moment, just breathing, trying to get his racing heart under control.
This was fine. This was normal. He was just being a good friend, letting you sleep somewhere comfortable instead of waking you up and sending you home in the middle of the night.
(It didn't feel like just friendship, though. It felt like something much more dangerous.)
His bedroom was dark and cool, exactly how he liked it for sleeping. He'd left the bed unmade this morning—not expecting company—but it didn't matter. As gently as he could, he laid you down on top of the covers, on the side he didn't usually sleep on. You immediately rolled onto your side, pulling a pillow against your chest, and Lando had to take a moment to just... look at you.
You were beautiful. He'd always known that, objectively, but right now, in his bed, with your hair spread across his pillow and your face soft with sleep, you were devastating.
"You're going to be the death of me," he whispered, so quietly he barely heard himself.
He grabbed a spare blanket from his closet and draped it over you, then stood there for a long moment, trying to figure out what to do with himself. The sofa, probably. That was the gentlemanly thing to do. Give you his bed and take the sofa.
But he was tired too, and the bed was huge, and you were completely dead to the world. He could just... sleep on the other side. Keep his distance. Make sure you were okay if you woke up confused.
(He was making excuses, and he knew it, but he was too tired to care.)
Lando grabbed a pillow and settled on top of the covers on his side of the bed, as far from you as he could get while still technically sharing the same piece of furniture. He set an alarm on his phone—early enough that he could wake up before you and make this seem less weird than it was.
He closed his eyes, certain he wouldn't be able to sleep with you so close, but exhaustion pulled him under within minutes.
His last conscious thought was that you looked like you belonged there.
***
You woke up confused.
The light was wrong. Too bright, coming from the wrong direction. And the bed was too comfortable, the sheets too soft, the pillow smelling like—
Your eyes flew open.
This was not your apartment. This was not your bed. This was—
You sat up too quickly, head spinning, and took in your surroundings. Sleek modern furniture. Racing posters on the walls. A gaming setup in the corner that probably cost more than your car. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Monaco harbor, early morning sun streaming through.
Lando's apartment. Lando's bedroom.
Oh God.
"Morning, sleepyhead."
You nearly jumped out of your skin. Lando was leaning against the doorframe, holding two mugs of coffee, looking completely at ease. He was wearing different clothes than last night—soft joggers and a worn McLaren shirt—and his hair was damp like he'd just showered.
"I—what—how did I—" You couldn't seem to form a complete sentence. Your heart was racing, panic rising in your chest. You'd fallen asleep at his place. In his bed. What had happened? Why couldn't you remember?
"Hey, hey, it's okay." Lando must have seen the panic on your face because he immediately crossed the room, setting the coffee mugs on the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed. Not too close, giving you space. "Nothing happened. You fell asleep during the movie, and you looked so peaceful I didn't want to wake you. So I just... put you in here. I slept on the other side, on top of the covers. I swear."
You looked down and realized you were still fully dressed in yesterday's clothes—jeans, your favorite soft sweater, even your socks. The blanket over you was one you recognized from Lando's living room, not his actual bedding.
"I'm sorry," you said immediately, embarrassment flooding through you. "I didn't mean to—I should have gone home. I'm so sorry."
"Why are you apologizing?" Lando looked genuinely confused. "You were tired. You fell asleep. It's not a big deal."
"I invaded your space. I—" You ran a hand through your hair, which was probably a disaster. "This is so embarrassing."
"It's really not." He picked up one of the coffee mugs and held it out to you. "Here. Coffee. Made it how you like it—too much milk, not enough actual coffee."
"That's not—" But you took the mug anyway, grateful for something to do with your hands. He had made it exactly how you liked it, the color a light caramel. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." He settled more comfortably on the bed, his own mug cradled in his hands. "For what it's worth, you're a very polite sleeper. No snoring, no sleep-talking. Though you do this cute thing where you curl up like a cat."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do. Very—" He made a curling gesture with his hand. "—very small and compact. It's adorable."
You felt your face heat. "Stop."
"Can't. It's too easy to make you blush." He was grinning now, back to his usual teasing self, and some of your panic started to fade. This was just Lando. Your best friend. Who had let you sleep in his bed because you'd been too exhausted to wake up. It was fine. It was normal.
(It didn't feel normal, though. It felt like something had shifted, like you'd crossed some invisible line and couldn't quite find your way back.)
"I should go," you said, starting to push the blanket off. "Let you have your space back."
"Or," Lando said slowly, "you could stay for breakfast. I was going to make pancakes. Well, attempt to make pancakes. The success rate is probably fifty-fifty, but it's the thought that counts."
You hesitated, mug halfway to your lips. "You don't have to—"
"I want to." He said it simply, meeting your eyes. "Stay. Please. We can watch something mindless on TV and eat probably-terrible pancakes and you can tell me why you've been so sad lately."
Your throat tightened. "I'm not sad."
"You are." His voice was gentle. "And you don't have to tell me why if you don't want to. But I'm here. Okay? Whatever it is, I'm here."
The kindness in his voice nearly broke you. You'd been holding everything in for so long, trying not to burden anyone, trying to deal with the hate and the doubt and the feeling of not belonging all on your own. And here was Lando, offering you pancakes and understanding and a safe place to fall apart if you needed to.
"Okay," you whispered. "Pancakes sound good."
His smile was like the sun coming out. "Brilliant. Fair warning though—I might need your help. Last time I tried this, I somehow set off the smoke alarm."
"How do you set off a smoke alarm making pancakes?"
"It's a gift." He stood up, offering you his hand. "Come on. And maybe change into something more comfortable? You slept in jeans, you absolute psychopath. I'll find you something."
Before you could protest, he was rummaging through his dresser, pulling out a soft McLaren t-shirt that had clearly been washed a hundred times. "Here. This'll be huge on you, but it's comfortable. Bathroom's through there if you want to wash your face or whatever it is people do in the morning."
He left before you could argue, closing the door behind him to give you privacy. You sat there for a moment, holding the shirt, trying to process everything. You'd slept in Lando's bed. He'd made you coffee. He was making you breakfast. And now you were going to wear his clothes.
This was... this was something. You weren't sure what, but it was definitely something.
The shirt smelled like his laundry detergent—something fresh and clean with a hint of that cologne he always wore. When you pulled it on, it was indeed huge, falling to mid-thigh, the sleeves past your elbows. You looked ridiculous.
But you also looked... soft. Comfortable. Like you belonged in Lando's clothes, in Lando's space.
You pushed that thought away and headed for the bathroom.
***
Lando was already in the kitchen when you emerged, ingredients spread across the counter in what looked like organized chaos. He looked up when you walked in, and something flickered across his face—too quick for you to identify, but it made your stomach flip.
"That's—" He cleared his throat. "That looks good. The shirt. It looks good on you."
You tugged self-consciously at the hem. "It's huge."
"Yeah, but..." He trailed off, then seemed to shake himself. "Right. Pancakes. You're on mixing duty because I can't be trusted with the batter. Last time it was lumpy."
You moved to stand beside him at the counter, and fell into an easy rhythm. He measured ingredients with questionable accuracy while you mixed, and you found yourself relaxing into the domesticity of it. This was nice. Normal. Just two friends making breakfast together.
(Except you were wearing his shirt, and you'd slept in his bed, and he kept looking at you like you were something precious.)
"So," Lando said as he attempted to flip a pancake and nearly sent it onto the floor, "are you going to tell me what's been going on? Or are we going to keep pretending everything's fine?"
You focused very hard on the batter you were mixing. "I don't know what you mean."
"You've missed the last three races. You barely post on social media anymore. Charles said you've been quiet at family dinners, and Arthur told me you canceled on his birthday drinks." He successfully flipped the next pancake, looking pleased with himself. "That's not like you."
"Maybe I'm just busy."
"Busy," he repeated, the same way he had weeks ago. Still not believing you. "Try again."
You set down the mixing bowl, your appetite suddenly gone. "It's nothing. Just... people online. Being people online."
"What people?" His tone sharpened. "What are they saying?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It does if it's bothering you." He abandoned the stove entirely, turning to face you fully. "Talk to me."
And maybe it was because you were tired of carrying it alone, or because he was looking at you with such genuine concern, or because you were wearing his shirt and standing in his kitchen and everything felt safe and warm. Whatever the reason, you found yourself talking.
"They say I'm not a real Leclerc," you said quietly. "That I'm just... pretending. Using Charles for fame. That I don't belong in the paddock because I'm not actually family." You laughed, but it came out bitter. "And the thing is, they're not wrong. I'm not a real Leclerc. I'm adopted. I don't have the blood, the genes, the—"
"Stop." Lando's voice was sharp enough to cut through your spiral. "Stop right there. You are a real Leclerc. You've been part of that family since you were four years old. Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo—they're your brothers. Pascale is your mum. That's real. That's family."
"But—"
"No buts." He stepped closer, and you could see anger in his eyes. Not at you—for you. "Who's saying this shit? Show me."
"Lando—"
"Show me." He held out his hand for your phone, and after a moment's hesitation, you pulled it out and unlocked it. Opened Instagram. Handed it over.
You watched his face as he scrolled through the comments on your posts, watched his expression grow darker with each swipe. His jaw clenched. His grip on your phone tightened.
"This is—" He looked up at you, and you were startled by the fury in his eyes. "How long has this been going on?"
"A few months."
"A few months." He said it like he couldn't quite believe it. "And you didn't tell anyone? Not Charles? Not your mum?"
"They're busy. Charles is fighting for points, Arthur's trying to build his career, Lorenzo has his business. I didn't want to—" You wrapped your arms around yourself. "It seemed stupid. Like I was being too sensitive."
"It's not stupid." Lando set your phone down on the counter with careful precision, like he was afraid he might throw it otherwise. "These people are attacking you. Telling you that you don't belong in your own family. That's not nothing."
"They're just trolls."
"They're arseholes." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to calm himself down. "And they're wrong. So fucking wrong. You—" He gestured at you, almost helplessly. "You're the most Leclerc person I know besides Charles. You have the same passion for racing, the same loyalty, the same terrible habit of being too hard on yourselves. You belong in that family. You belong in the paddock. And anyone who says otherwise can fuck right off."
You felt tears prick at your eyes. "Lando—"
"I mean it." He stepped closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to look at him. "You're not alone in this. Not anymore. Okay?"
A tear escaped, rolling down your cheek, and Lando made a soft sound of distress. His thumb came up to brush it away, gentle and careful, and the tenderness of the gesture broke something in you. Suddenly you were crying in earnest, and Lando was pulling you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest.
"I've got you," he murmured into your hair. "I've got you. It's okay."
You cried into his shirt—the same shirt he'd been wearing when you woke up, now probably covered in your tears and possibly some snot, but he didn't seem to care. He just held you, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back, the other cradling your head, and let you fall apart.
"I'm sorry," you hiccupped eventually. "I'm getting your shirt all gross."
"Don't care." His arms tightened around you. "You can ruin all my shirts if you need to."
That made you laugh, watery and weak, but a laugh nonetheless. You pulled back slightly, wiping at your face. "Your pancakes are burning."
"Fuck the pancakes."
And he did let you go, moving to rescue the smoking pan from the stove. The pancake was indeed ruined, black around the edges, and Lando looked at it with such betrayal that you laughed again.
"See?" he said, gesturing at you with the spatula. "That's what I want. You laughing. Not crying over arseholes who don't know what they're talking about."
"They're not entirely wrong though—"
"They're entirely wrong." He pointed the spatula at you for emphasis. "And I'm going to prove it to you."
"How?"
His smile was sharp. Dangerous. "You'll see."
***
You didn't see, actually, because Lando was apparently very good at being sneaky when he wanted to be.
You stayed at his apartment for most of the day, eating salvaged pancakes (only slightly burnt) and watching terrible reality TV. He made you laugh with his running commentary, made you feel normal for the first time in months. When you finally went home that evening, wearing your own clothes again (though he'd tried to convince you to keep the shirt), you felt lighter. Not fixed, but better. Like maybe you could handle this after all.
You didn't check social media that night. Didn't scroll through comments or torture yourself with strangers' opinions. You just went to bed early, in your own bed this time, and slept better than you had in weeks.
When you woke up the next morning, your phone was exploding.
Texts from Charles: _"Have you seen what Lando posted??"_
From Arthur: _"HOLY SHIT"_
From Lorenzo: _"Call me when you wake up"_
From your mum: _"Je suis très fière de toi, ma chérie"_
And about fifty notifications from Instagram.
Heart pounding, you opened the app.
Lando had posted a photo from yesterday—you hadn't even realized he'd taken it. You were in his kitchen, wearing his McLaren shirt, laughing at something off-camera. Your hair was messy, your face free of makeup, and you looked... happy. Genuinely, unreservedly happy.
The caption made your breath catch:
_"Since some people apparently need a reminder: this is my best friend. She's brilliant, kind, funny, and one of the most genuine people I know. She's been part of the Leclerc family since she was four years old, and she belongs there just as much as anyone. Family isn't just about blood—it's about love, loyalty, and showing up for each other. She's shown up for her brothers at every race, every victory, every defeat. She's a Leclerc in every way that matters._
_If you've got a problem with that, you've got a problem with me. And trust me, you don't want that._
_Also, she makes terrible coffee and has questionable taste in movies, but nobody's perfect. Love you, you absolute muppet. 🧡"_
The post had hundreds of thousands of likes already. The comments were overwhelmingly positive—fans defending you, other drivers chiming in with support. You scrolled through them with shaking hands, hardly able to believe what you were seeing.
_"Lando said what needed to be said 👏"_
_"She's literally been at races supporting Charles since forever, how is this even a question"_
_"The way he defends his friends 🥺"_
_"Okay but she looks adorable in his shirt"_
_"LANDO NORRIS SAID FAMILY IS CHOSEN"_
Your phone rang. Charles.
"Did you know he was going to do that?" were the first words out of your brother's mouth.
"No," you managed. "I had no idea."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Charles's voice cracked slightly. "About the comments. About what people were saying. I had no idea you were dealing with that."
"You were busy—"
"I'm never too busy for you." He sounded almost angry, but you knew it was directed at himself, not you. "You're my sister. My little sister. I should have noticed something was wrong."
"It's not your fault—"
"Lando called me last night," Charles interrupted. "After you left his place. He told me everything. Showed me the comments. I—" He took a shaky breath. "I'm so sorry. I should have been paying attention. I should have seen that you were hurting."
"Charlie—" Your voice broke on his nickname.
"You are a Leclerc," he said fiercely. "You are my sister. You have been since the day Maman and Papa brought you home and you looked at me with those big eyes and asked if I wanted to play cars with you. You're family. You're _my_ family. And I'm sorry I let you forget that."
You were crying again, but this time it felt different. Cathartic. "I love you."
"I love you too. So much." You could hear him moving around, probably pacing like he did when he was emotional. "Arthur and I are posting too. And Lorenzo. We're going to make sure everyone knows exactly how much you belong."
"You don't have to—"
"We want to. We should have done it sooner." He paused. "Lando's a good friend. I'm glad you have him."
There was something in his tone you couldn't quite identify, but before you could question it, Arthur was stealing the phone, his voice loud and indignant.
"Why didn't you tell me people were being dickheads? I would have fought them!"
"You can't fight people on the internet, Arthur."
"Watch me. I'm posting a whole thread. With baby pictures. Everyone's going to see how you've literally always been part of this family."
Despite everything, you laughed. "Baby pictures? Really?"
"The one where you're wearing my racing helmet and it's too big so you can't see anything? Classic. The one where you and Charles fell asleep on the sofa watching a race? Iconic. The one where—"
"Okay, okay, I get it." But you were smiling. Really smiling. "Thank you. Both of you."
"That's what brothers are for," Arthur said. "Also, Lando's photo of you is really cute. You look happy."
"Arthur—"
"Just saying! Anyway, I have to go. I have trolls to destroy. Love you!"
He hung up before you could respond, leaving you staring at your phone in bewilderment.
Over the next few hours, your family mobilized. Charles posted a photo of the two of you from his first F1 podium, you caught mid-scream of excitement, with a caption about how you'd been his biggest supporter since day one. Arthur posted an entire thread of childhood photos with increasingly sappy captions. Lorenzo wrote a long, eloquent post about the meaning of family. Your mum posted a photo from your adoption day, all of you tiny and smiling, with a simple caption in French: _"Ma fille. Mon cœur. Toujours."_
The response was overwhelming. The hate comments were drowned out by support, by love, by people defending you and your place in the Leclerc family. Other drivers posted their own messages of support. Even some of the F1 teams' official accounts chimed in.
You sat in your apartment, scrolling through it all, crying and laughing in equal measure. You'd spent months feeling like you didn't belong, like you were an imposter in your own family. And now the whole world was telling you that you did belong. That you always had.
But it was Lando's post you kept coming back to. Lando's words. Lando's defense of you.
_Love you, you absolute muppet._
Your phone buzzed with a text from the man himself: _"So... did I overstep? I probably should have asked first. But I was angry and you're my best friend and I couldn't just let people say that shit about you."_
You typed back: _"You didn't overstep. Thank you. For everything."_
His response was immediate: _"Always. That's what best friends are for, right?"_
_Right,_ you sent back.
But as you stared at his post, at the photo of you in his kitchen wearing his shirt, looking happier than you'd been in months, you wondered if "best friends" was still the right term for what you were.
***
The next race weekend, you went to the paddock.
You almost didn't. The anxiety was still there, the fear that people would judge you, that you didn't belong. But Charles had texted you seventeen times asking if you were coming, Arthur had sent you a selfie of him pouting with the caption _"it's not the same without you,"_ and Lando had simply sent: _"I'll be disappointed if you're not there. Who else is going to make fun of my quali performance?"_
So you went.
The response was immediate and overwhelming. Fans stopped you for photos, telling you how much they loved your family's posts, how glad they were to see you back. Other drivers' girlfriends and family members sought you out, offering support and solidarity. Even some of the team principals nodded at you with what looked like approval.
You felt like you could breathe again.
"There she is!" Lando's voice cut through the paddock noise, and suddenly he was there, grinning at you like you'd hung the moon. "I was starting to think you'd chickened out."
"I don't chicken out," you said, falling into step beside him.
"No, you just disappear for months and make everyone worry about you." But his tone was teasing, affectionate. "Come on. I want to show you something."
He led you through the paddock, past the garages and hospitality areas, to a quieter spot behind the McLaren motorhome. Then he pulled out his phone and showed you his Instagram.
"Look at the comments on that post," he said.
You'd seen them already, had read through hundreds of supportive messages. But you looked again, and this time you noticed what he was pointing at. Comments from other drivers. From team members. From people in the F1 world who you'd always assumed barely knew you existed.
_"She's always been lovely to everyone in the paddock"_ - from a Ferrari mechanic.
_"One of the kindest people I've met in this sport"_ - from another driver's girlfriend.
_"The Leclercs are lucky to have her"_ - from a team principal.
"See?" Lando said softly. "Everyone knows you belong here. The only person who didn't know was you."
You looked up at him, this man who'd become so important to you, who'd defended you without hesitation, who'd made you feel safe when you were falling apart. "Thank you," you said. "For everything. For seeing that I was struggling. For caring enough to do something about it."
"Of course I care." He said it like it was obvious. Like there was no world in which he wouldn't care. "You're my best friend. You're—" He stopped, something flickering across his face. "You're important to me."
There was weight to those words, something unspoken but present. You felt it in the air between you, in the way he was looking at you, in the sudden awareness of how close you were standing.
"Lando—" you started, not sure what you were going to say.
"There you are!" Charles's voice interrupted whatever moment you were having. Your brother appeared around the corner, already in his Ferrari race suit, looking relieved. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Come on, I want you in the garage for quali."
You let Charles pull you away, but you looked back at Lando. He was watching you go, his expression unreadable, and something in your chest ached.
***
The shift happened gradually after that, so slowly you almost didn't notice it at first.
Lando started texting you more. Not just memes and racing talk, but real conversations. Asking how you were feeling. Telling you about his day. Sending you photos of things that reminded him of you—a sunset over the track, a ridiculous coffee order, a cat that looked judgmental.
You found yourself at his apartment more often. Movie nights became a regular thing, though you were careful not to fall asleep on him again. (Even though part of you wanted to. Even though you remembered how safe you'd felt, how right it had seemed.)
He kept teasing you about your accent, but it felt different now. Softer. Almost... affectionate.
"Say 'croissant,'" he demanded one evening, the two of you sprawled on his sofa with takeout containers scattered around you.
"I'm not saying croissant."
"Please? You do the thing with the R. It's cute."
"The thing with the R is called proper French pronunciation, you muppet."
"See, even your insults sound adorable with that accent." He grinned at you. "Come on. One croissant. For me."
You rolled your eyes but obliged. "Croissant."
"There it is!" He looked delighted. "The little rolled R. I love it."
"You're ridiculous."
"And you're adorable when you're annoyed." He said it casually, like it was a fact, but something in your stomach flipped.
This kept happening. Little moments where the air would shift, where you'd catch him looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite name, where his teasing would feel like something more. You'd be laughing at something stupid, and suddenly you'd be aware of how close you were sitting. He'd hand you something, and his fingers would brush yours, and the contact would feel electric.
You were falling for your best friend, and you had no idea what to do about it.
***
It came to a head three weeks later, at another movie night.
You'd been more careful since the last time, making sure to stay awake, to maintain some distance. But Lando's sofa was comfortable, and you'd had a long day, and the movie was one of those slow-paced dramas that was more atmospheric than engaging.
You felt yourself starting to drift and forced your eyes open. "Maybe I should go," you said, starting to sit up. "Before I fall asleep on you again."
"Don't." Lando's hand caught your wrist, gentle but firm. "Stay."
"Lando—"
"I mean it. Stay." He was looking at you with that expression again, the one that made your heart race. "I like having you here. And honestly? I didn't mind last time. When you fell asleep on me."
"You didn't?"
"No." He said it quietly. "I liked it. You looked peaceful. Happy. And I—" He stopped, seeming to struggle with something. "I liked that you felt safe enough with me to let your guard down like that."
Your heart was pounding now. "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh." He laughed, but it sounded nervous. "Look, I'm just going to say this, because I'm apparently incapable of keeping my mouth shut around you. If you want to fall asleep, fall asleep. I'll make sure you're comfortable. I'll let you have the bed again. I'll—" He ran a hand through his hair. "I'll take care of you. Okay?"
There was something in his voice, in his eyes, that made you brave. "What if I don't want you to sleep a million miles away this time?"
He went very still. "What?"
"Last time. You said you slept on the other side of the bed. On top of the covers." You were blushing furiously now, but you pushed on. "What if I don't want that? What if I want—" You couldn't quite finish the sentence.
"What do you want?" His voice was rough.
"I don't know," you admitted. "I just know that I feel safe with you. That I'm happier when you're around. That I can't stop thinking about—" You gestured helplessly between you. "This. Whatever this is."
Lando was quiet for a long moment, and you started to panic. You'd misread this. You'd ruined everything. Your best friend was going to—
"Come here," he said softly.
"What?"
"Come here." He shifted on the sofa, opening his arms. "If you're going to fall asleep, at least be comfortable about it."
You hesitated for only a moment before moving closer, letting him pull you against his side. His arm came around your shoulders, and you felt him relax, like this was something he'd been wanting to do for a while.
"This okay?" he murmured.
"Yeah," you breathed. "This is okay."
You felt his lips brush against your hair, so light you might have imagined it. "Good."
The movie continued playing, but neither of you were watching anymore. You were too focused on the feeling of being in his arms, of his thumb drawing absent circles on your shoulder, of the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.
"I meant what I said," Lando said quietly. "In that post. You're one of the most genuine people I know. And you're beautiful, and funny, and you make me want to be better. You make me—" He stopped. "You make me feel things I probably shouldn't feel for my best friend."
Your breath caught. "Lando—"
"I know. I know it's complicated. You're Charles's sister. And I'm—I'm me. I'm not exactly known for being serious or responsible. But with you, I want to be. I want—" He laughed, self-deprecating. "I want a lot of things I probably shouldn't want."
You pulled back enough to look up at him. His eyes were dark, vulnerable in a way you'd never seen before. "What if I want those things too?"
"Do you?" He searched your face. "Because I need you to be sure. I can't—if we do this, if we cross this line, I can't go back to just being friends. I don't think I could handle that."
"I'm sure," you whispered. "I've been sure for weeks now. I just didn't think you—"
You didn't get to finish because Lando was kissing you.
It was soft at first, tentative, like he was afraid you might pull away. But when you made a small sound and pressed closer, his hand came up to cup your face, and the kiss deepened. He tasted like the chocolate you'd been sharing, and he kissed like he raced—focused, intense, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.
When you finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against yours.
"I've wanted to do that for so long," he admitted.
"Yeah?"
"Since that first night. When you fell asleep on me and I carried you to bed and you looked so perfect there." He laughed. "I was so fucked. I knew it right then."
"You could have said something."
"And risk ruining our friendship? Risk you not feeling the same way?" He shook his head. "I was terrified."
"I was terrified too," you admitted. "I still am, a little. What if this doesn't work? What if we—"
"Hey." He tilted your chin up, making you meet his eyes. "We'll figure it out. Together. Okay?"
"Okay," you whispered.
He kissed you again, slower this time, sweeter. When he pulled back, he was smiling. "So. Do you want to stay tonight? For real this time?"
"I don't have any clothes."
"You can wear my shirt again. You looked fucking adorable in it last time." His grin turned mischievous. "Actually, I'm going to insist you wear my shirt. It's not optional."
"Lando—"
"Nope. Already decided. You're wearing my shirt, and you're staying in my bed, and this time I'm not sleeping on top of the covers like some kind of gentleman." He stood up, pulling you with him. "Come on."
You let him lead you to his bedroom, your heart racing. This was happening. This was really happening.
Lando found you the same shirt as last time—soft and worn and smelling like him. "I'll be right back," he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Get comfortable."
You changed quickly, hyperaware of being in Lando's bedroom, about to share his bed for real this time. When you climbed under the covers, they were cool and soft, and you felt a flutter of nerves.
Lando returned a few minutes later, having changed into joggers and a t-shirt. He stopped in the doorway when he saw you, and his expression went soft.
"You're killing me," he said. "You know that, right? You in my shirt, in my bed, looking at me like that. I'm a dead man."
"Stop being dramatic and come here."
He grinned and crossed the room, sliding into bed beside you. For a moment, you both just looked at each other, the reality of the situation settling in.
"Hi," you said softly.
"Hi." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Is this weird? This feels like it should be weird, but it's not."
"It's not weird," you agreed. "It feels... right."
"Yeah." His thumb traced your cheekbone. "It really does."
You shifted closer, and he immediately pulled you against him, your head on his chest, his arms around you. It felt like coming home.
"Thank you," you murmured. "For everything. For defending me. For seeing me when I felt invisible. For this."
"You never have to thank me for caring about you." His lips brushed your forehead. "It's the easiest thing in the world."
You fell asleep like that, wrapped in Lando's arms, feeling safer and more wanted than you had in months. And when you woke up in the morning, he was still there, watching you with soft eyes and a smile that made your heart skip.
"Morning, beautiful," he murmured.
"Morning." You stretched, catlike, and his eyes darkened.
"You're going to be trouble, aren't you?"
"Probably." You grinned. "Think you can handle it?"
"Oh, I'm definitely going to try."
He kissed you then, morning breath and all, and it was perfect.
***
The next few weeks were a blur of stolen moments and secret smiles. You and Lando were... something. Not officially together—you hadn't had that conversation yet—but definitely more than friends. You spent most of your free time at his apartment, wearing his clothes, falling asleep in his arms. He kissed you like he'd been waiting his whole life to do it, and you were pretty sure you were falling in love with him.
But you hadn't told anyone. Not Charles, not Arthur, not your mum. It felt too new, too precious to share. And if you were being honest, you were terrified of how your brothers would react.
"You're thinking too loud," Lando murmured one evening. You were curled up on his sofa, your legs across his lap, his hand absently stroking your ankle.
"Sorry."
"What's going on in that head of yours?"
You bit your lip. "We should probably talk. About... this. What we're doing."
"Okay." He shifted to face you more fully. "What do you want to talk about?"
"What are we?" The question came out smaller than you intended. "I mean, I know we're... something. But I don't know what to call it. And I don't know if we're telling people, or keeping it quiet, or—"
"Hey." He took your hand, lacing your fingers together. "What do you want?"
"I want—" You took a breath. "I want this to be real. I want to be able to call you my boyfriend and not have to hide it. But I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"Of Charles and Arthur's reaction. Of what happens if this doesn't work out. Of—" You laughed, but it sounded shaky. "Of a lot of things."
Lando was quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing patterns on your palm. "I want this to be real too," he said finally. "I want to be your boyfriend. I want everyone to know that you're mine and I'm yours. And yeah, your brothers might be weird about it at first, but they love you. They want you to be happy. And I—" He met your eyes. "I make you happy, don't I?"
"Yes," you whispered. "So happy."
"Then that's what matters." He pulled you closer, until you were practically in his lap. "I'm not saying we have to tell everyone right now. If you want to wait, we can wait. But I'm not going anywhere. I'm in this. Completely."
"Even if Charles tries to murder you?"
"Even then." He grinned. "Though I'm pretty sure I can take him. I'm younger and faster."
"You're ridiculous."
"You love it."
And the thing was, you did. You loved his confidence, his humor, the way he made everything feel possible. You loved how he looked at you like you were the most important person in the world. You loved—
Oh.
Oh no.
You loved him.
The realization must have shown on your face because Lando's expression shifted. "What?" he asked softly.
"I—" You couldn't say it. Not yet. It was too soon, too much. "Nothing. Just... thank you. For being patient with me."
He studied you for a long moment, and you had the feeling he knew exactly what you'd been about to say. But he just smiled and kissed you softly. "Always."
***
The decision to tell your brothers was taken out of your hands two weeks later.
You and Lando had been careful. No public displays of affection, no suspicious social media posts. But you'd gotten comfortable, maybe too comfortable, and you'd forgotten that the paddock was full of people with cameras and opinions.
Someone had taken a photo of you and Lando between the motorhomes at the last race. You were laughing at something he'd said, and he was looking at you with an expression that could only be described as besotted. His hand was on your lower back, and you were standing close enough that there was no mistaking the intimacy between you.
The photo went viral.
Your phone started blowing up during qualifying. Messages from friends, from acquaintances, from people you barely knew. And then, inevitably, from Charles.
_"We need to talk. After quali."_
Your stomach dropped. "Shit."
Lando looked over from where he was getting ready for his session. "What's wrong?"
You showed him your phone—the photo, the messages, Charles's text.
"Ah." He didn't look particularly concerned. "Well, I guess we're telling them now."
"Lando, this isn't funny. Charles is going to kill you."
"He's not going to kill me." He crossed the room and pulled you into his arms. "He might threaten to kill me, but he won't actually do it. Probably."
"That's not reassuring."
"Look at me." He waited until you met his eyes. "I don't care if Charles is upset. I don't care if Arthur is weird about it. I care about you. And I'm not going to hide how I feel about you just because it might be uncomfortable for other people."
"But—"
"No buts." He kissed you, quick and firm. "We're together. We're happy. That's what matters. And if your brothers can't see that, then that's their problem, not ours."
"When did you get so brave?"
"When I realized I was in love with you."
The words hung in the air between you. Lando's eyes widened slightly, like he hadn't meant to say that out loud, but he didn't take it back.
"You—" Your voice cracked. "You love me?"
"Yeah." He said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I love you. I have for a while now. And I know it's fast, and maybe I shouldn't have said it like this, but—"
You kissed him. Poured everything you'd been feeling into it—all the fear and hope and overwhelming emotion. When you pulled back, you were both breathing hard.
"I love you too," you whispered. "I was so scared to say it, but I do. I love you."
His smile was blinding. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Well, then." He kissed you again, softer this time. "Fuck what anyone else thinks. We've got this."
***
Facing Charles after qualifying was one of the hardest things you'd ever done.
He'd finished P3, which should have made him happy, but his expression was stormy as he found you in the Ferrari garage. "My driver's room. Now."
You followed him, feeling like you were walking to your execution. Arthur was already there, looking confused, and Lorenzo appeared moments later, clearly having been summoned as well.
"So," Charles said, crossing his arms. "You and Lando."
There was no point in denying it. "Yes."
"How long?"
"A few weeks. Officially." You twisted your hands together. "But we've been... something... for longer than that."
"And you didn't think to tell us?" Arthur looked more hurt than angry. "We're your brothers."
"I know. I just—" You took a breath. "I was scared. Of how you'd react. Of what it would mean if things didn't work out. Of—"
"Of us not approving," Charles finished. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm not going to lie. This is weird. Lando's my friend. You're my little sister. The idea of you two together is... it's going to take some getting used to."
"But?" you prompted, hearing the unspoken word.
"But," he continued, "I saw how he defended you. When all that shit was happening online. He didn't hesitate. He put himself out there for you without thinking twice." Charles's expression softened. "And I've seen how you've been lately. Happier. More like yourself. If that's because of him, then... I can't be mad about that."
"Really?" You hardly dared to hope.
"Really." He stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. "I just want you to be happy. And if Lando makes you happy, then I'm okay with it. But—" He pulled back, his expression turning stern. "If he hurts you, I'm going to crash into him at every race for the rest of the season."
"Charles—"
"I mean it. I don't care if it costs me the championship. He hurts you, I hurt him."
"That's fair," Arthur chimed in. "I'll help. We can take him out together."
"You're all ridiculous," you said, but you were smiling. Crying a little too. "Thank you. For understanding."
"Of course." Lorenzo, who'd been quiet until now, spoke up. "You're our sister. We love you. And we trust your judgment. If you love him, then he must be worth it."
"I do love him," you admitted. "So much."
"Then that's all that matters." Charles kissed your forehead. "Now go tell him he has our blessing. And that if he ever makes you cry, he's a dead man."
You laughed and hugged each of your brothers in turn, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. This was your family. They had your back, always.
***
You found Lando in the McLaren garage, pretending to review data but clearly just anxiously waiting. When he saw you, he immediately stood up.
"So?" he asked. "Am I a dead man?"
"Not yet." You couldn't help but smile. "They're okay with it. Well, Charles threatened to crash into you if you hurt me, and Arthur offered to help, but overall, they're okay with it."
"They threatened to crash into me?" He looked almost impressed. "That's actually kind of sweet. In a terrifying, potentially career-ending way."
"They love me."
"I love you too." He pulled you close, not caring who saw. "And I'm not going to hurt you. Ever. I promise."
"I know." You reached up to cup his face. "I trust you."
"Good." He kissed you, soft and sweet, and you heard someone whistle from across the garage. Lando pulled back just enough to flip them off without looking, making you laugh.
"So," he said, grinning. "Does this mean I can post couple photos now? Because I have about fifty pictures of you in my shirt that I've been dying to share."
"Lando!"
"What? You look cute! The world deserves to know how cute you are!"
"You're impossible."
"And you love me anyway."
"I really do," you said softly.
His expression melted into something tender. "I really love you too."
🌞summary: a hotel receptionist calls you Mrs. Norris. Lando smiles in public—then loses his mind in private.
🌞pairing: Lando Norris x girlfriend!reader
🌞words count: ~1k
🌞warnings: 18+, marriage kink, breeding kink, p in v, swearing.
🌞author’s note: i tried okay?😭 i really tried to write something cute about this man, but there’s only nasty thoughts in my head when i think about him. so i’m sorry, maybe next time. but it’s fluff-ish?🥲 soo enjoy!!💕 kissessss
It happened on a random Thursday.
You were on vacation with Lando—sun-kissed, sea-salted, fingers laced as you walked back to the hotel after a long, lazy beach day. You wore a soft summer dress hugging your curves in all the right places. He loved that dress.
Lando wore a loose linen blouse, unbuttoned low enough to make your knees a little weak. You loved that blouse. And, frankly, the man inside it.
As you strolled through the hotel lobby, hand in hand, a young man at the front desk smiled at you both and called out:
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Norris.”
You froze mid-step, breath hitching. But Lando? He just smiled smugly, giving the guy a nod as he tightened his grip on your hand.
“Evening, mate.”
You felt the heat bloom across your cheeks, tucking yourself tighter into his side as you tried to hide.
You didn’t speak until you stepped into the elevator and the doors slid shut behind you.
“He totally thought I’m your wife,” you whispered like you were confessing a sin.
Lando bit back a grin, his eyes scanning your flustered face.
“You looked a little too much like you liked that name,” he teased.
“Shut up,” you muttered, eyes dropping to the floor.
He leaned in, fingers lifting your chin.
“Did it sound good, baby?” he whispered, his lips brushing yours.
“It sounded dangerously hot.”
Your eyes fluttered shut, lips parted just slightly—but instead of kissing you, he chuckled and reached past you to press the top floor button, then leaned back against the wall like he hadn’t just lit you on fire.
You didn’t even make it fully inside the hotel room before he spun you around and slammed the door shut behind you, pinning you to it with a kiss that stole every breath from your lungs.
“Strip,” he mumbled against your lips, voice low and full of heat.
It wasn’t a request. It was a command.
You gasped at his tone, but obeyed—fingers slowly slipping the straps from your shoulders, letting the dress fall to the floor.
He watched, eyes dark, lips parted, as he undid his shirt one button at a time.
When you stood there bare before him, he stepped forward—only in his boxers—his hand sliding up to palm your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple while he lightly bit your bottom lip.
“Say it again,” he whispered, lips grazing down your chest.
“Say what?” you asked, breath shaky.
“Your name.”
His mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, sucking softly as his fingers toyed with the other.
“Mrs. Norris,” you breathed. “Why? Did it turn you on?”
His head snapped up, resting his forehead against yours.
“Turned me on?” he growled. “Baby, I lost my mind hearing someone else say it.”
His lips crashed back into yours, teeth clashing, tongue claiming you. He grabbed your thighs and lifted you with ease, holding you against the door like you weighed nothing. One hand held you up while the other tore your panties down in a swift, brutal motion.
“Lando!” you yelped, swatting his shoulder.
“I liked those.”
“I’ll buy you ten more,” he muttered, devouring your lips again.
He pushed his boxers down just enough, and his fingers slid between your thighs. He groaned instantly.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he hissed into your neck. “You liked that, didn’t you? Being called mine in public?”
You whimpered, legs tightening around him as you ground against his hand.
“Uh-huh.”
“Good,” he said, voice thick. “Get used to it. Because one day you’re gonna wear my fucking name—with a mini-me growing inside you.”
He thrust into you hard, swallowing your moan with a kiss so desperate it almost hurt.
He didn’t start slow—he didn’t need to. His hips slammed into yours, fast and deep, each movement claiming, possessive.
“One day, you’re gonna walk into this hotel,” he groaned, lips trailing down your neck, “pregnant with my kid, wearing a ring with my name on it. And everyone—every fucking person in the world—will know you belong to me.”
You clenched around him, moaning at his words, nails digging into his back.
“You like that, don’t you?” he grinned darkly. “Being marked as mine. Say it, baby. Come on my cock. Mark me as yours.”
You shattered in his arms, crying out as your body pulsed around him. He kept moving, slower now, drawing it out until he finally let go—moaning your name as he buried himself deep, his body trembling as he filled you up.
Neither of you moved. Not right away. Maybe five minutes passed. Maybe ten. You didn’t know. You just stared at him—messy hair, sweaty chest, flushed cheeks. The most beautiful man you’d ever seen.
His fingers traced your jaw.
“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” he murmured, kissing you softly. “I want you to wear my name. I want a life with you. Mini us. The whole thing.”
You giggled, brushing his curls back.
“I really love that thought.” You kissed his lips. “And you know… our babies are gonna be hella cute.”
“I know, sweetheart,” he smiled, kissing you again—then hugging you so tightly you could barely breathe.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close, smiling into the future that was already starting to feel real.
summary: your boy is Formula One World Champion. How insane is that?
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pairing: lando x afab reader (F/M)
tw: smut +18, there's literally no plot im sorry
word count: around 4k
feedback is appreciated!! <3
hi besties!! i know it’s been a minute since i last posted, i’m sorry for disappearing like that 😭 life got in the way but i’m back now (kinda) , and i promise I’ll try to be better!!
also please be gentle with me because this is the first fic /OS i’ve written in months… i’m a little rusty 😅 so let me know what you think in the notes, okay??
and ummm… CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE FACT THAT LANDO NORRIS IS A WORLD CHAMPION???? like??? hello???? surreal doesn’t even begin to cover it
➽───────────────❥
On the carpet.
You hadn’t even made it ten steps past the door, before Lando’s mouth was on yours.
He didn’t even give you a second to think, let alone care about making it to the bed (or the shower, for that matter) or to process the fact that you honestly had no idea how you even made it back to the hotel room.
And it genuinely hit you only now.
What had just happened.
Now that the door was closed and the adrenaline was finally loosening its claws, you began to understand.
Lando’s hands were warm on your waist, his laugh still buzzing faintly against your lips, and for the first time, it truly sank in: you had watched him become world champion. You had stood there, helpless and breathless, witnessing that impossible, glittering moment unfold like something stolen from a dream too big for the world to hold.
Because the truth was that, when the chequered flag fell, when his name flashed next to the world champion title and the team erupted into a chaos of screams, sobs and papaya confetti, something inside you cracked open in a way you hadn’t anticipated; you felt your throat close, and your chest expand all at once.
This wasn’t just a victory, wasn’t just a title or statistic printed in history books, this was the culmination of years spent giving every piece of himself to a dream he had carried since he was a shy little boy in oversized karting gear. Years and years of heartbreak and setbacks, near-misses and doubts he only ever confessed to you in the dark, when he thought you were half-asleep and wouldn’t remember.
It was about a boy growing into a man who shaped his entire life around a dream that always felt almost out of reach.
And now, that one thing, that impossible, golden thing, was finally his.
His success didn’t just feel like his; it felt like yours too, woven delicately into the fabric of your shared life, into every bruise you soothed, every doubt you countered, every late-night whispered hope he dared to speak because you made the world feel safer for him.
And maybe that was why your heart felt too full now, why your whole body vibrated with warmth.
The celebrations had been a dream and they had swallowed the entire night, stretching from the second he stepped out of the FIA room to the moment you entered the exclusive Abu Dhabi club someone had reserved and booked for the occasion. And every single person around you decided that staying sober was not only unrealistic but also deeply offensive to the spirit of victory.
So you danced, wrapped around your man until your feet hurt, until sweat gathered at the base of your neck and your cheeks were sore from smiling. The team kept opening new bottles, each more unnecessary than the last, but no one cared because how could you possibly toast a childhood dream with moderation?
Now back at the hotel, hours later, at 7am in the morning, you weren’t drunk anymore. Not really, not to the point of slurred words or stumbling alone, but you were certainly far from sober; and Lando was no better, his pupils blown wide and wild with hours of celebration and disbelief, his breath warm with champagne and laughter every time he kissed you.
The stumble happened because you were both trying to walk, kiss and undress each other simultaneously, which, in hindsight, was probably a terrible plan considering the state you were in, but you didn’t begin to care.
And that's the reason why you couldn't reach the bed.
While falling, he made a sound, a delighted groan that vibrated against your lips, as he wrapped his arms around you, twisting mid-fall in this half-instinctive, half-ridiculous attempt to shield you from the impact.
It didn’t work. You still crashed onto the enormous ivory carpet in the center of the suite, bouncing once on its soft surface before settling in a disheveled tangle of limbs and stray pieces of clothing you’d somehow managed to shed along the way.
"Ooops, jeez!"
You lay there for a moment, chest heaving, hair in your mouth, dress bunched around your hips, leg thrown over his, your hand still gripping the collar of his champagne-stained shirt like you were afraid he might evaporate if you let go.
You were both laughing. So hard and loud your abs started to hurt at some point.
And it didn’t stop. Not even when he found your lips again. That’s why it turned out to be messy with teeth clicking, shared breaths that turned into sighs and chuckles vibrating on his tongue as it swept into your mouth.
His hands, which had been braced on the carpet on either side of your head, slid down. One cupped the side of your face, while the other went to your hip, fingers digging into the bunched fabric of your dress, dragging it downward in a slow, deliberate pull that felt less like undressing and more like claiming territory.
You helped, arching off the carpet just enough to let the silky material slide over your thighs, but you were distracted by his mouth leaving yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat. He lingered at the frantic pulse there, sucking gently, and you let out a shaky gasp, your fingers finally releasing their death-grip on his shirt collar to slide into his hair, curling into the soft, sweaty curls at the nape of his neck.
“Lando,” you breathed, and it wasn’t a protest, just a sound, a piece of him given voice.
“Mmm?” The vibration against your skin travelled straight down your spine.
He didn’t wait for an answer, his mouth continuing its descent, over your collarbone, to the lace-edged cup of your bra. He nuzzled against the fabric, breathing you in, before using his teeth to tug the delicate strap off your shoulder. “Fuck, you smell… fucking amazing”
You both didn't want to waste any time. Right there on the ground, on a wool carpet, was fine. More than fine, it was perfect.
He unhooked the clasp of your bra with a clumsy, fumbling twist of his fingers, a task made infinitely harder because he refused to lift his head from your chest. The fabric fell away, and his groan was raw as he repeated. “So fucking good.”
His mouth closed around your nipple without warning, wet and insistent, and you cried out, back bowing off the carpet instantly. The sensation was electric, amplified tenfold by the haze of alcohol still blurring the edges of reason, making the pleasure feel broader, deeper, less precise and more consuming.
He suckled hard at first, then eased his mouth into slow laps, teasing you with the very tip of his tongue. His other hand slid up to cup your remaining breast, thumb circling the tightened peak with deliberate pressure, until you were writhing beneath him, breath breaking into soft, urgent sounds you couldn’t hold back.
Between some desperate kisses, you wrestled with his shirt. It was already hanging open, but the damn thing was trapped under him, tangled in the arms he was using to hold himself up. You pushed at his shoulder, lips brushing his as you murmured, “Off… get this off…”
He broke away with a wet, obscene sound, sitting back on his heels to yank the white fabric over his shoulders in one impatient motion. It inevitably joined the growing pile on the carpet, and for a second, you just stared.
The suite was dim, lit only by the glow of dawn filtering through the sheer curtains, but it was enough to see the sleek lines of his torso, muscles defined from years of relentless and brutal training, now sheened with a light sweat. He looked utterly debauched, hair wild, lips swollen from kissing, eyes dark and hungry as they raked over you, lying half-naked on the ivory wool.
And you were absolutely in love. Utterly and completely.
“ Eager? ” he teased, his hands going to the waistband of his black trousers. But you were already moving, pushing yourself up to kneel before him, knocking his hands away cause yeah, eager.
“Let me.”
Your fingers trembled as you worked the button fly, and he watched you, chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands settling on your bare hips, tracing lines on your skin as you pushed the expensive fabric down over his hips. He helped you then, kicking the trousers and his briefs away in one frantic motion, and then he was just… there. Naked. Hard, flushed and beautiful in the muted light, all lean muscle and intent.
Your world champion ready to fuck you on the hotel carpet.
How surreal.
The last of your clothing was dealt with in two rough and quick tugs, and then he fell back onto the ground, pulling you on top of him so you were straddling his hips, the coarse weave of the carpet biting into your knees, the heat of him pressing insistently against your core. The new position sent a fresh wave of dizziness through you, and you braced your hands on his chest, dropping your forehead to his.
“Wait,” you panted with a giggle, not because you wanted to stop, but because suddenly the world was tilting. “Just… gimme a sec. Head’s spinning.”
He stilled instantly, giggling as his hands come up to cradle your face. His thumbs smoothed over your temples. “Yeah, those tequila shots were a terrible idea, were they?”
“Your idea,” you mumbled with a smile, the words slurring together as you focused on the feel of his skin under your palms, the steady thump of his heart against your fingers. The spinning began to slow, condensing into a warm, pleasant hum in your veins, syncing with the ache between your thighs.
“It was worthy,” he giggled. Then, he shifted his hands from your face, sliding them down your back, tracing the dip of your spine until they settled firmly on your hips. His grip was possessive, grounding. “Better now?”
You nodded, leaning down to brush your nose against his. “Yeah…I just…”
You didn’t know what to say. Or how to say it.
But then he was there, looking at you with those soft, slightly glassy puppy eyes, pupils blown, eyelashes wet from the shower of emotions he had been drowning in all night, and suddenly you couldn’t swallow the words anymore.
“I’m just …” you whispered, your fingers sliding up to frame his jaw the way he’d held yours moments earlier, your thumbs brushing gently over the spots where his helmet straps usually left faint marks. Your breath hitched, unexpectedly fragile. “I’m so unbelievably proud of you.”
His smile faltered, shifting into something tender, almost shy, like the compliment hit him somewhere he didn’t know how to protect.
“I know how much work and dedication you put into this” you continued, your voice thickening. “ And being by your side in this journey and watching you achieve it, it was... the greatest privilege of my life… I just—” You swallowed, leaning your forehead to his, letting your breath fan over his lips. “I love you so much”
His hands tightened on your waist, not rough, but sure. Certain.
“I love you too, baby,” he murmured, voice warm and full. “None of this would’ve been the same without you. You know that.”
He kissed you then, fiercely, like he needed the contact, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t fit into words. You kissed him back with everything you had until you were both breathless, the world spinning for a whole different reason.
You broke the kiss with a smile that trembled against his lips.
“Okay,” you said, trying to sound serious. “Now please, fuck me already.”
A sharp, delighted laugh burst from him, and he surged up to kiss you again, rolling you both over in a smooth motion that left him nestled between your thighs.
“You don’t have to say it twice!”
The weight of him was perfect, grounding. He reached down between your bodies, his fingers sliding through your slickness with a groan that was pure filth.
“Christ, you’re soaked,” he muttered, his words a hot puff against your neck as he positioned himself. “All this just from me kissing you on the floor?”
“Yeah, that…” you fired back, hooking your legs around his hips, digging your feet into the backs of his thighs to pull him closer. “…and the fact that you’re a Formula 1 World Champion!”
He dropped his forehead to yours, his eyes dark pools in the dim light. “Fuck,” he breathed, the word ragged with awe. “It sounds so fucking good coming from you.”
He didn’t wait for you to answer. You didn't. need to. He kissed you, deep and consuming, and as his tongue swept into your mouth, he pushed slowly, inexorably inside.
Just like that.
The stretch was exquisite, a breathtaking fullness that made your eyes roll back. He sank into you with a low, continuous groan, burying himself to the hilt before stilling, both of you trembling with the shock of connection.
“Been thinking about this all night,” he confessed against your lips, his voice a raw scrape of sound. His hips gave a minute, involuntary rock, and you both moaned. “Every time I looked at you in that dress while some sponsor was yapping in my ear… all I could think was how badly I wanted it on the floor”
The fit was perfect, familiar and brand new all at once, stretched and filled in a way that made your toes curl against his calves. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his entire body trembling with the effort of going slow.
“Fuck,” you choked “Fuck, Lando… that’s… oh, god.”
What followed was not graceful. It was a glorious, sloppy, desperate tangle on an expensive carpet. The alcohol made your coordination falter; some thrusts would go slightly off-angle, forcing a breathless, giggling adjustment. Your kisses were more collisions than anything else, all tongue and teeth and shared, panting laughter. He’d try to speak, to murmur something dirty, and it would come out as a slurred, heartfelt jumble.
“You feel…, I can’t… fuck, sorry, I’m trying to say…”
“Shut up,” you gasped, pulling his mouth back to yours.
He obeyed, his rhythm building from a deep, rolling grind into something harder, faster. The carpet burned against your back, a sweet counterpoint to the friction building inside you. His mouth was everywhere: sucking bruises onto your breasts, licking a stripe up your sternum, returning to your lips to swallow your cries.
A part of your brain, the part not drowned in sensation, marvelled at the absurdity. The champagne flutes probably still sat on the minibar. His trophy was likely in a box by the door. And you were here, being ruined on a carpet that cost more than your first car, and it was the most perfect thing you’d ever felt.
Just as that thought crystallised, his hands shifted. They gripped your hips, fingers digging in hard, and in one fluid, shockingly strong motion, he flipped you.
The room spun again, and then you were suddenly straddling him again, his hands still locked on your hips, him buried so deep inside you that you could feel the imprint of him in your stomach. You gasped, bracing your hands on his chest, the new angle making you feel impossibly full, stretched to a breathtaking limit.
“C’mon, baby. Ride me and show me how much you love your World Champion.”
Jesus.
His hair was plastered to his forehead, his lips swollen, and he looked utterly wrecked, but entirely in command at the same time. What a dream.
So you tried. You rose up on trembling thighs, the muscles already burning from the strain of the party, and sank back down with a broken cry. The friction was exquisite, a slow, dragging fullness that made you see stars. But your legs were jelly, your breath coming in shallow, useless pants that inspired zero stamina.
“Lando…” you panted, dropping your forehead to his, your movement faltering into a weak, desperate grind. “… fuck, Lando, I can’t…”
His hands slid from your hips to your ass, gripping you firmly. “You’re doing so good, baby... just take it”
And then he took over. Holding you in place, he planted his feet on the ground and began to piston his hips upward, driving into you from beneath with sharp, powerful thrusts that stole the air from your lungs. Each one jolted through you, the force of it pushing you up only for his hands to drag you back down onto him, over and over, a relentless, pounding rhythm that had you crying out with each impact.
“You feel that?” he breathed against your lips, his thrusts becoming even harder, deeper, each one a deliberate claim. “Feel how deep I am? That’s where I belong, yeah? Right there”
His dirty talk, low and filthily specific, wound the coil inside you tighter. You clung to him, your arms looping around his neck, your mouth finding his in a series of messy, off-centre kisses, and you couldn't help but notice that he still tasted like champagne.
“Lando, please…”
“I know, I know… I got you,” he gritted out. One of his hands left your ass, snaking between your sweat-slicked bodies. His thumb found your clit again, now swollen and sensitive, and pressed down in firm, circular strokes perfectly timed with his upward drives.
It was the final key. The orgasm detonated, a silent, seismic event that ripped through you with violent intensity. Your body seized, back arching violently as a raw, shattered scream was torn from your throat. You clenched around him in rhythmic, pulsing waves, the pleasure so acute it bordered on pain, blinding and absolute.
“Yeah, there she is… my good girl” The sound of his voice, thick with awe and possession, seemed to pull another, deeper wave of pleasure from your core, prolonging the shattering climax until you were sobbing with the intensity of it.
With a final, guttural shout, he slammed up into you one last time, holding you down as he emptied himself deep inside, his own release shuddering through him in long, hot pulses.
You collapsed forward, a boneless, trembling weight on his chest. He held you there, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed possessively over the small of your back, keeping you flush against him even as he softened inside you. His lips moved against your temple, placing a kiss that was surprisingly tender amidst the wreckage. “You alright?” he murmured, his voice wrecked almost a whisper.
You managed a weak nod, your face still buried in the hollow of his neck. “Mmm. Never better.”
A low, breathless chuckle vibrated through his chest. “Liar. You look completely fucked out.” There was no small amount of pride in the observation.
“You completely fucked me out,” you corrected.
“Damn right I did.” The sheer, unapologetic arrogance of it made a laugh bubble up from your own spent core, a soft, shaky thing that he echoed, his shoulders shaking gently beneath you.
Still smiling, you tilted your head up and found his lips. It was a lazy, tender kiss, all soft pressure and warmth, a slow moment to take in after the chaos and the heat.
Then, the heat returned cause he broke the kiss just far enough to speak, and whispered “One more,” his voice still rough but threaded with a bright, giddy energy. “I’m too happy to sleep.”
“Lan!” you laughed against his mouth. “You’re insane, I can’t, my legs have retired.”
“Oh, that’s not a problem” he said, and there was a playful, determined glint in his eyes a second before he moved.
In one smooth, surprisingly strong roll, he had you on your back again on the carpet, his body settling over yours. He was still semi-hard inside you, the sensation a delicious, full reminder. You gasped at the movement, then sighed as he kissed you, deep and sweet, his tongue sweeping in a languid rhythm that promised everything his words did.
“See?” he murmured between kisses.
He rocked his hips once, a shallow, testing thrust that made you both sigh, before reluctantly slipping out of you. You watched, mesmerised by his movements, as he reached down and gave himself a few slow, firm strokes, his eyes locked on yours. The sight of him, tender and focused, bringing himself back to full hardness for you, sent a fresh, aching pulse of desire through your soreness.
Fuck, that was probably the hottest thing you’ve ever seen after seeing him on the podium last night.
Then he was ready, he guided himself back to your entrance, pressing in with an exquisite, gradual slowness that had you arching off the carpet. This time, there was no frantic race. He filled you inch by deliberate inch, until he was fully sheathed, and then he simply stayed there, buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against yours.
“Okay?” he breathed.
“Yeah, perfect,” you whispered back.
He began to move then, a slow, deep, rolling rhythm that was less about friction and more about connection. Each withdrawal was a gentle pull, each thrust a homecoming. You wrapped your legs loosely around his waist, not to urge him on, but to hold him close. Your hands framed his face, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones as you kissed, long and deep and unhurried.
And then, the dirty talk returned. Cause he couldn’t help himself. Even tho, it was softer now, woven into the kisses and the shared breaths. “Love how you feel… so warm and tight for me…” “Never get enough of you…” “My girl taking me so well”
Each whispered word was a brand, a promise, a thread stitching you tighter together in the quiet dark. The only sounds apart from his words were the wet slide of him moving inside you and the broken music of your shared breaths: low moans and sighs, with occasional whispered curses that melted into kisses.
The pleasure was a live wire, sparking from the point where his thumb worked your clit straight down to where he filled you, thick and relentless. It was insane. Irrational. So good words could not explain.
You were overstimulated, exquisitely sensitive. Every nerve ending felt raw and exposed, so that the drag of his cock, the press of his pubic bone against your clit, even the whisper of his chest against your peaked nipples, sent licks of electric fire straight to your core. It was almost too much, a sweet, torturous overload that had tears already pricking at the corners of your eyes.
“Lando…” you whimpered, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, not to push him away, but to pull him impossibly closer. “It’s… it’s so good...”
“I know, baby,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice a low, vibrating hum. “I can feel you squeezing me”
His words, soft and filthy, fanned the flames. You were a live wire, every inch of your skin hypersensitive. The coarse carpet beneath your back, which had been an annoyance, now felt like a thousand points of sensation, and him… him inside you, filling you with this relentless, gentle pressure, was the center of the inferno.
And despite that, you felt like you couldn’t get close enough. Even with 90% of your body being directly in contact with his skin, he felt too far away. You wrapped your legs even higher around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back, trying to fuse yourself to him. Your arms wound tightly around his neck, holding him so close your foreheads touched, your breaths mingling in the scant space between your mouths.
“More,” you pleaded “Please, I need...”
He understood. He always did. Instead of pulling back, he braced himself on his forearms, caging your head, and obeyed. He sank deeper, adjusting the angle of his hips so each slow, measured thrust pressed directly against that swollen, tender spot inside you that made you see stars. He dropped his head, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was all soothing tongue and soft lips, swallowing your gasp.
“God, yes… don’t stop” you choked out, your body beginning to tremble beneath him again, not with the sharp violence of your first climax, but with a rising, wave of sensation that was somehow more overwhelming.
He didn’t. He was lost in it, in you. His rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming shallow, jerking things as his own release gathered. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, rocking into you with deep, grinding circles of his hips, each movement designed to worship that impossibly sensitive spot until you were trembling, tears of overstimulation leaking from the corners of your eyes.
This second orgasm didn’t crash; it unfolded. It began as a low, warm tremor in your belly, a pooling heat that spread outward in slow, concentric waves, like a shuddering release that had you crying out softly against his shoulder, your body clasping him in a series of gentle, endless flutters.
With a final, broken thrust, he spilled, a hot, claiming rush that seemed to go on forever, syncing with the last fading echoes of your own pleasure.
He collapsed on you then, a dead weight of utter satisfaction, but instinctively rolled, taking you with him so you were sprawled half on top of him, still intimately joined. His hand found yours on his chest, lacing your fingers together.
For a long time, there was only the sound of that heartbeat and your shared, gradually calming breath. The high, singing tension in your bodies had melted into a heavy, boneless warmth. You were both sticky, sore, and utterly content, a tangled knot of limbs on the now ruined carpet.
A faint shiver ran through you then, the adrenaline and sweat cooling on your skin in the room’s air-conditioned chill. He felt it immediately.
“You cold?” he murmured.
Before you could answer, he was moving. With a grunt of effort, he disentangled just enough to stretch one long arm toward the nearby sofa, fingers scrabbling until they hooked the edge of a small, cashmere throw blanket. He dragged it over, the motion awkward and comical, before draping it haphazardly over both of you.
You couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you, muffled against his chest. “We could have just gone to bed, you know.”
“Shhh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he settled back, pulling the blanket up to your shoulders and tucking you firmly against his side. “Round three is on the bed”
