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guest of honor — ln4

⋆˚✿˖° lando norris x reader — the three times you've been to silverstone so far ⋆˚✿˖° taglist: @foreveralbon @scuderia-piastri my pookies <333 ⋆˚✿˖° wc: 7.5k a/n: i know this is really late, but i've just been so busy, but i hope you like this. (also first time using proper capitalization in a hot minute)

silverstone 2023

IT WASN’T A PARTICULARLY SUNNY DAY. Patches of gray clouds rolled across the sky as you shifted in your chair, surrounded by orange walls—papaya, as everyone had corrected you. Compared to the overcast skies outside, the pop of color seemed bright, almost excessively so. Flo sat next to you, leg bouncing nervously as she watched the screen showing where all twenty cars were lined up on the grid. Without thinking, you offered her your hand; she took it, squeezing tightly as if she was about to fall. Her mother, Cisca, watched the two of you and gave you a warm pat on the shoulder, smiling in a way that seemed to be a trademark of the Norris family—warm, easygoing.

To be honest, you weren’t quite sure why you were here, tucked in the McLaren hospitality with Flo’s family. But she had invited you, and that was enough for you; who were you to say no to your best friend? You and Flo had first met back in your early days, back when the smell of the stables was a second nature. You were six at the time when you signed up for pony camp and met Flo, who was just as enthusiastic about horses as you, and her brother, Lando, the older brother their mother had sent with Flo to keep him busy. The three of you got on swimmingly; so much so that the counselors had to keep an eye out whenever you were all together. It was an instant friendship—loud, playful, full of hay and laughs and secrets. Since then, you and Flo became the best of friends as you two rose in the showjumping ranks. Lando went off to turn his attention to karting, though he tried to make it to an event here or there, still poking fun at you and Flo when he could, fitting in like he never left.

So, you had come for Flo; she had been by your side from the start, and you weren’t going to disappoint her by not going. Plus, you were interested in what world her brother had built for himself. Obviously, you knew enough from being around the Norris family, but your world was horses, so there was still a bit of a disconnect. But qualifying was electric, the same kind of nerves you got during your own competitions. As soon as Lando placed P2, everyone was ecstatic, and rightfully so. It was still a little hard to wrap your head around the fact that the boy who had hated pitching hay was starting second in his home race while driving cars at insane speeds.

Now, watching Flo and Cisca stand with their parents for the race start? It started to sink in. The formation lap began and ended, and soon the absentminded chatter turned to a hush. Then, the lights went out, the cars roaring to action while Flo squeezed your fingers, eyes glued to the screen. Lando had a great start, which was clear immediately. As they went into turn one, he had the better traction, pulling alongside Max Verstappen, past him as they exited the corner—and holy shit. You were no expert on Formula 1, but you at least knew that Lando being in first was a pretty good thing, though you could’ve guessed that from the way Flo and her family were cheering. It was something that you didn’t have to be family to understand, a sort of pride and joy that was palpable.

“So… what does that mean now?” you whispered into Flo’s ear once the buzz had died down. It was a little intimidating to be wearing a McLaren shirt surrounded by papaya orange while not fully understanding what was even happening. Your best friend gave you a bemused glance, eyes flicking between the screen and you.

“It means that Lando is holding onto the lead,” she responded. “But I mean, the Red Bull is quick, so y’know.” You nodded, hoping it made you seem like you understood what she said. But you didn’t have to get it to feel the atmosphere. Electric. Alive.

It was lap five, you were pretty sure, when the Red Bull was right behind Lando’s car, and on the straight, got enough speed to pass Lando. “Oh,” you frowned, trying to contribute to the conversation.

Flo nodded, eyes glued to the screen. “Yeah, the Red Bull is just the faster car.” Your frown deepened as you stared at the cars streaking across the TV. P2 was still good, right? As you watched your best friend, whose leg was bouncing with nerves, you decided to focus on actually learning what the commentators were saying so it didn’t sound like nonsensical gibberish.

By the middle of the race, you were fixated, trying to absorb everything you heard—it was stuff about tyres and pit stops. Words flew around: mediums, tyre deg, delta times. It was starting to piece together, all the factors to a great race. Lando was still in P2, but you watched as McLaren was slow on the stop with his teammate Oscar, who ended up dropping to P4, losing a place.

The rest of the race was rather uneventful, in your opinion. But on the last lap, Flo and her family seemed to be on edge again, energy tangible. When he crossed the checkered flag, they let out cheers, Adam heading down the stairs towards the garage. Flo tugged your arm as you blindly followed, somehow finding yourself behind the metal barriers in the place where the top three cars were parked. You were so close to the cars, so close to everything.

As Lando got out, he went over to his family, offering them fist bumps and a wide grin in the process. And then you kind of understood it, getting your home glory in front of your family. It’s what any athlete dreamed of. Flo and the rest of the Norris’ were ecstatic as the man they were all watching went over into their arms, having taken off his helmet. You were off to the side, smiling at the sweet moment, if not a little awkward, as you were the odd one out. When Lando reached you, his eyes widened a fraction, eyebrows raising, as if he hadn’t expected you. Something about it felt like an old memory catching up to him. To be fair, you hadn’t expected to be here either.

“Hey, congrats, Lando,” you grinned, offering him a pat on the shoulder. “It’s been a while, huh?” Lando’s eyes raked over your face, searching for something imperceptible.

Then he let out a soft sigh, smiling at you and pulling you into a hug. It wasn’t long or showy, just long enough to go, ‘yeah, we’re still the same’. He seemed content, relaxed. “Yeah, it has been,” he agreed, pulling back. “Haven’t seen you since that one competition a few months ago. Shit, what was the name of it again? y’know, the one where you were freaking out to Flo about not making the last jump.” You hadn’t realized he was keeping track, let alone the fact that he had been listening to you rant to his sister about the course.

“Oh, yes, that one,” you nodded, cheeks flushing at the fact that Lando had heard you complain about the course to Flo like a crybaby. “Anyway. Great job out there, Lan.” Like the most natural thing, the nickname slipped out, despite not having been used for a few months.

“Thanks,” Lando beamed, the kind where his eyes crinkled and his dimples were prominent. It didn’t last too long, though, before he was quickly guided away by the staff. “Catch you later,” you nodded, body acting on its own accord.

“I didn’t realize he had been listening to us rant,” Flo commented, nudging your side.

“Me neither,” you snorted. That day, you had been complaining nonstop out of worry for your performance, and Lando probably thought you were bitching about it since it was the last thing he remembered. It was funny if you didn’t think too much about it.

Whatever.

The rest of the events that happened were things you didn’t really understand, watching Lando get interviewed before disappearing into the building. Cameras flashed, the crowd cheered, and Max gave his interview next. In the downtime, you and Flo chatted, taking a few selfies, as one does. Then, Lando reappeared at the podium, grinning at the crowd below.

To your left, you watch Flo go onto the camera app, taking pictures of her brother on the podium. It was cool to spend time with Flo’s family and to learn more about F1. The champagne popped after the anthems, and you felt the droplets land on you, turning around to see Lando sticking his tongue out and pointing the bottle right at you, and flo as if he was an unhinged tween again. You snorted, playfully nudging her in front of you. Mulling over it, you thought maybe you’d go over more, watch more races with her. Maybe you’d start paying more attention. Just to understand better.

silverstone 2024

You were back at Silverstone, yet another VIP pass around your neck, this time straight from Lando. This time, though, you were arriving with Max Fewtrell and Pietra. Over the past year, you and Lando had reconnected, picking up where you left off with F1 races and showjumping events. He had introduced you to Max and Pietra, but you had already known Lando’s best friend, who was always over at the Norris household back in the day, much like you. “A leech,” Lando had called you teasingly after you had raided their fridge after school many years ago. “You’re always here.”

Initially, you were going to beg a pass off of Flo, but Lando had gotten wind of that. “I have enough passes for my friends,” he had scoffed, swiping your phone out of your hand while you were in the middle of sending a text. Scowling at him, you folded your arms. It was a well-worn dance; he did something annoying, you pretended to get mad at him. A pattern, like clockwork. “I’ll get you a pass, don’t worry.” He tossed your phone back into your lap, a smug grin on his face as if he’d won a prize, as if he were the one walking away with something earned.

You didn’t know how to feel. Flo was your best friend, so it made sense for Lando to give you a pass. But you supposed that you were also Lando’s friend now, too. It wasn’t slipping back into the way things used to be; no, it was Lando worming his way and becoming a constant, more so than he used to. FaceTime calls, arguing about whether a straw had one or two holes at two in the morning. A whole back-and-forth of horrid photos of each other from your teenage years. Messing with each other’s Spotify playlists. The kind of friendship you settled into easily.

Flo had said the same. “You’re starting to choose my brother over me, I see,” she huffed while you two were watching some movie you had pirated, a bowl of popcorn between you.

“It’s not like that,” you protested, pulling your hoodie tighter around you. “And all the passes come from Lando anyway, so does it even matter?” Your best friend held her hands up in mock-surrender, and you quickly realized that you had gone defensive.

“All I did was joke around,” Flo said slyly, shit-eating grin on her face. Reaching forward, she grabbed some popcorn, pausing the movie. “You’re the one who felt the need to immediately come up with a rebuttal. I don’t know what you see in him, to be honest.”

“He’s a friend, Flo, just like you,” you sighed, tossing a piece of popcorn at her. “I mean, obviously not replacing you, it’s just—”

“Just what? Just wearing his hoodies?” she teased, clearly having been waiting to use that line. You glanced down at your hoodie, confused as you looked back up at Flo, who gave you a withering look. “Don’t tell me you forgot. We went to one of his F3 races, remember? And it was raining like crazy, so he gave you his hoodie? Don’t even lie, it literally says Carlin on the sleeve.”

You blinked. So maybe she had a point. But in your defense, it was a while ago, and you’d just assumed it was yours. “I steal everything,” you shrugged, trying to play it off while your cheeks reddened. Then again, subtlety was never one of your strengths. “You know this.”

“Oh, I see. You want to steal his heart, too,” Flo smirked, nudging your side and making you roll your eyes. “You’re swooning for his dumb smile.” You groaned, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at her while mumbling a few choice words. “A violent way to say yes.”

“Flo, c’mon, you don’t need to make it some big thing.” You were just trying to save face, to find a way to escape her onslaught of evidence. To run from some inexplicable truth.

At that, a smug smirk formed on Flo’s face, as if she had been waiting for you to say that. Ah, shit. Here comes the ragebait. “So you’re saying you don’t care that he’s coming back home today?”

It was a trap, a trick as old as time. You knew, she knew, everyone and their mother knew. So naturally, you fell for it. “He is?” you asked.

As she nodded, you heard the front door open and Flo’s mom say, “Lando! You’re back, dear.” Speak of the devil indeed. You watched as Flo got up and headed downstairs before begrudgingly following her.

“Hi Mum,” Lando smiled, voice soft in the way he reserved for family. Dropping his bags, he walked forward, wrapping his arms around Cisca in a tender hug. After, he gave Flo a quick hug too before flicking her bun in the annoying jest siblings often did. Then, Lando turned to you, not surprised at seeing you. After all, you often frequented the Norris household, especially when everyone was there. It had always been your second home.

“Hey, how are you?” he smiled, pulling you into a side hug. For a moment, his eyes flicked down to your hoodie, eyes landing on the stitching that said Carlin, Lando’s former F2 and F3 team. “That’s mine, isn’t it?” It came off as casual, Lando’s hands in his pockets. But you knew him better than that; you knew from the way his eyes flitted between you and the hoodie that he was well aware it was his, but he was awaiting your answer.

“Yeah, forgot I had it,” you responded with an awkward chuckle, backstabbing cheeks flushing. “I’ve worn it so much that it’s just a permanent part of my wardrobe.” Behind you, you heard Flo snort before turning and heading upstairs. Traitor. After her, you heard Cisca walk back towards the kitchen, humming.

“Nice that you kept it,” Lando nodded, turning to rummage through his bags. “Looks good on you.” God, how could he say that so casually? As if it didn’t make your insides flutter. You were debating how to reply when Lando turned back around, fist closed around something, as a triumphant smile stretched across his face.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. If you were being honest, it could be anything; Lando was just unpredictable.

“C’mere,” Lando insisted, and you wished you had enough self-preservation to put up a semblance of a fight, but you went willingly. “Thought that you’d want something for Silverstone.” He opened his hand, revealing two orange bead bracelets that were clearly handmade. One said “chicken,” and the other said “egg,” a reference to a long-running argument between you and Lando on whether the chicken or the egg came first. Dating back to an after-school debate complete with opening statements, it was such a prevalent topic that it was your contact name for each other; you were saved as “eggs been-a-dick 🖕” on Lando’s phone, and he was saved as “a chicken…” on yours.

“Still a sore loser?” you teased, grabbing the “egg” bracelet. To be fair, it did look good; you had to give kudos to Lando. “Can’t believe you’re voluntarily labeling yourself as a chicken. And also a loser for thinking the chicken came first.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Lando scoffed as he elbowed you, the bracelet now on his wrist. “Wow, I’m brilliant. They look so good.”

You rolled your eyes, holding your wrist up next to his. You had to admit, it was a cute idea. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head, Lan.” Because it had already gone to yours. Because your mind was already trying to figure out the implications of matching bracelets.

Now, you glanced back down at the bracelet, walking into McLaren hospitality. “You’re early,” Lando commented, glancing at Max as well. “Flo isn’t here yet.” You really tried to be disappointed in the way that one would when their best friend wasn’t there, but you just couldn’t conjure the feeling.

“So, where’s the coffee machine?” you asked, needing something to pass the time. Max gave you a perplexed look, if not worried.

“Mate, it’s literally over there,” he stated, pointing at the other corner of the hospitality. You simply shook your head.

“No, I mean the good one. Y’know, the one for the team,” you explained, turning to look at Lando. “C’mon, Lan. You have to know where it is. A girl needs her coffee.”

Looking up at him expectantly, you watched as Lando mentally debated whether to go through the hassle and take you before ultimately sighing and saying, “Alright, fine, you muppet.” You pumped a fist in victory, desperate for a good coffee.

Quickly stopping your gloating, Lando tugged your arm, heading further into the building, the touch light and insistent. “I actually have a few more things for you,” he added as he dragged you through the McLaren building to avoid any questions from his team. Before you could voice your suspicions, he was already beating you to the chase. “It’s not bad, I swear!”

“Right, sure,” you agreed, dubious. Lando took a second to roll his eyes at you before nudging your side. Instead of doing anything, you just blinked, willing him to elaborate. Or, y’know, confess his love to you—you wouldn’t say no to that.

“Look, coffee, right there.” Lando pointed at the fancy espresso machine, voice softer and tinged with something that warmed your heart. Luckily, the amazing coffee you were about to have was also going to warm your heart.

With a practised precision that came with being a person who relied on caffeine in the mornings, you brewed your typical and added some creamer. Happy now that you had your coffee, you let Lando guide you to a seat at a table before he sat across from you. “So, what is this mysterious gift then, Lando?”

“It’s not a mystery, I just wanted to give you some fan bracelets,” he retorted, eyes light before softening into something warmer. He dropped a handful of bracelets in your hand, bright bead ones with his name on both of them. You paused, about to tell him to give them to his mother instead, but Lando shook his head. “I already gave my mum some. There’s too much, so I thought I’d give some to you.”

You took one of the bracelets—fluro green with “LN4” bracketed by orange hearts—and put it on, admiring the handiwork. “They’re cute, I like them,” you grinned, sliding them onto your wrist. “Thanks, Lando.” You tried to be nonchalant, but inside, your stomach was twisting with butterflies. Lando was sweet for doing this, and the moment felt like something out of your imagination. You almost told him then, almost revealed all of your feelings to him, only an hour or two before the race.

“‘Course,” Lando replied easily, eyes watching you sip your coffee with a hint of longing. Yearning, one could even say. Being an F1 driver, he couldn’t have any caffeine before the race, so you figured he was going through withdrawals. “So, ready for the race?”

“I should be asking you that,” you snorted, fingers drumming on the table. “You feeling good?”

Lando paused, tilting his head to think, eyes cast upwards like he always does when thinking. “I’m hopeful,” he settled on. “The car feels good, but the Mercedes and Max are quick as well.”

You nodded, not reassuring him or predicting, simply listening. Early on, you had deduced that it was more helpful to Lando if you didn’t try to convince him of results. However, you weren’t given the chance to reply when Will came over, glancing at you.

“Lando, we’re about to debrief, if you haven’t forgotten.” At that, you got up, coffee cup in hand, apologizing to Lando’s race engineer.

“I haven’t,” Lando responded, standing up but not moving, as if reality was still a step ahead of him, as if he could make time stall. You rolled your eyes, nudging his side.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had your debrief?” you scolded, swatting his shoulder with one hand. “I don’t want to impose.”

Lando quickly shook his head, eyes focused on you. “You’re not imposing. I wanted to talk to you, s’not your fault.” Squeezing your shoulder, he added, “You know where Max and P are, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you responded, brain distracted by Lando’s hand on your shoulder. But could you really be blamed? It was Lando. Squeezing your shoulder. “If I don’t see you before the race, you’re going to crush it, Lan. I believe in—” Before you could say 'you,' Lando was already wrapping his arms around you, chin resting on the shoulder he had just squeezed. Oh, your heart; how was your heart supposed to handle this? If he paid attention, he would be able to feel how fast your heart was beating.

Too soon for your liking, Lando pulled away, giving you an apologetic smile. “I have to go now, see you later,” he said, hand brushing yours as he left with Will, scrunching his face as he looked back at you. What was happening? It was as if Lando had randomly decided to up his charm rather than annoy you. You gave him a little wave before heading back to where Max and P were, still a bit in shock at how brazenly Lando was being affectionate.

When you got back, Lando’s family was there, Flo spotting your expression immediately. “What happened? Spill,” she practically demanded, bossy with the confidence that came from being your closest friend.

You gave her a sheepish smile, wanting to hold onto the moment for yourself before finding yourself leaning in to tell her. Betrayed yet again by your own body. “He was just being so sweet and flirty,” you admitted, fiddling with your new bracelets.

Flo immediately recoiled, regret written in the scrunch of her nose. Begrudgingly, you noticed that it was similar to Lando’s expressions, including the one he had given you before he left. “Ew, never mind,” she decided, shaking her head. “I don’t want to hear this about my brother and my best friend.”

You snorted, nudging her shoulder. “You asked.” Your best friend rolled her eyes, elbowing you before pulling out her phone so you two could continue watching a show, an unspoken agreement between you two. After a while, you said quietly, “You know Lando won’t ever replace you, right? I mean, I don’t even know if he likes me back.”

At that, Flo paused the show, turning to look at you. “Are you kidding?” she chuckled, eyes wide with disbelief. “He literally went out of his way just because you were craving coffee, gave you the bracelets from his fans, which he only gives to Mum, and spent the time right before his debrief talking to you.”

Suddenly bashful, you fiddled with the hem of your McLaren shirt, a number four displayed on the back of it. Before you could respond and face it, the formation lap started, and you were grateful for the chance to stop thinking so much about everything.

The cars lined up, green flag waving as the lights went on. When they went out, your heart felt like it was caught in your throat, a strange emotion clawing in your stomach. The run to Turn 1 was all well and good, Russell holding off Hamilton as everyone mostly held position. However, heading into turn three, Lando was a bit wobbly with the front, going off and letting Verstappen slip by to snatch P3 by the time they reached Turn 5.

You winced. Flo clutched your hand. Cisca frowned. Adam sucked in a breath. As the race continued on like that, you glanced outside at the darkening clouds, the threat of rain looming large. As usual, with rain came more opportunity to screw over someone’s race, and you hoped McLaren had everything locked down. You prayed they did.

After a handful of laps, Lando was cutting down on the gap to Verstappen. By the time he reached Stowe a couple of laps later, he breezed by the Red Bull. He was back on the podium, and you grinned, clapping your hands together and holding them under your chin, bracelets pressing against your skin.

Finally, the sky opened up and the rain started falling, the last strike everyone had been waiting for. You watched as Russell struggled, and with the damp track, Lando managed to snatch P2 after the Mercedes went off. Fiddling with your bracelets, you watched and tried to sit still, antsy about the rapidly changing scenario.

As Lando charged down the pit straight, right behind Hamilton, you held your breath. Time seemed to slow as Lando’s car inched past the Mercedes, papaya streaking forward. Your hand flew over your mouth as it sank in. Lando was leading the British Grand Prix again.

You didn’t think it was merely by chance that this was the second year in a row where Lando was first; it was fate, setting up one of its plans. Or so you chose to believe. And you believed, until the time came for pit stops, the pit lane already getting chaotic.

McLaren had decided to pit Lando with everyone else, leaving Oscar out. Lando, being on the better strategy, jumped to first again after the order sorted itself, your heart hammering.

Then, it seemed like you blinked and everything fell apart. You didn’t even know what just happened, your brain refusing to process the mess of a pit stop you just watched while your nails dug into your palm some number of laps later. Four and a half seconds. Pitting one lap later. Then came the final nail in the coffin at the end with Verstappen overtaking Lando. “Fucking hell,” you muttered under your breath, causing Flo and Cisca to look at you.

You went down with the Norris clan for the podium, the mood clearly low. When Lando came to you all in parc ferme, the sentiment was shared by him as he gave everyone short hugs or brief nods. The podium ceremony went on, but as you watched Lewis Hamilton raise the trophy high, you couldn’t help but think that could’ve—should’ve—been Lando.

After everything was over, the interviews, the team photos, the debriefings, all the congratulations, you found Lando in his driver’s room, leaning into his little nook as if it could hide him from today. “Hey, Lan,” you said softly. “‘M sorry about the race.” No overanalysis, no pep talk; rather, you just reached out and patted his shoulder, giving him his space.

He didn’t answer at first—just wordlessly wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a hug as he buried his face in your shoulder. It was a kind of hug that sought energy, that needed comfort as he folded into your arms.

“It was just a fucking mess, wasn’t it?” he mumbled, clearly dejected. “Could’ve won and then it went all downhill.”

“And I could’ve been a pop singer, if you think about it,” you replied, patting his back. It pained you, seeing one of your most confident friends doubt himself. In that moment, you didn’t see the boy who always volunteered to go first in school or your friend who had told you he was going to be a Formula 1 driver one day without a flicker of doubt. “Lan, shit happens sometimes, but you don’t need to add that to your mistakes. You’ll bounce back. You always do.”

“You’re such a liar, you’re terrible at singing,” Lando murmured into your shoulder, the faintest hint of a smile in his voice. He pulled back, eyes meeting yours in almost a reverent way, taking all of you in. “Thank you. You always know what to say.”

“I mean it,” you told him, giving him a small smile. Patting his hand, you tried to signal your hope and confidence in him as if you could send it through a quick touch, lingering a little too long.

Lando gave you a lopsided grin, and it made your heart swell, like you’d just won the biggest prize. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, but they were shining, dimples showing. In all your years of knowing Lando Norris, you hadn’t seen this particular expression yet. “Seriously,” Lando said, voice turning gentle and sincere in a way that your heart couldn’t handle. It was soft at the edges, curling upwards with an admiring lilt, and you were not mentally prepared for it. “Where would I be without you?”

“Still burning toast,” you teased, the fondness behind the words settling somewhere deep in your chest. Yet again, you were cracking jokes as a diversion from Lando’s warm gaze, doing what you always fell back on.

“Oh my god, that was one time,” he huffed without a trace of anger. The mix of tenderness and a hint of exasperation in his eyes signaled it was a well-worn argument, one that you constantly brought up as a last defence.

Only then you realized how close your faces were—close enough to be able to see the flecks of green in his eyes. Well, this was definitely not helping your crush on Lando. In your defense, he looked perfect, hair tousled with a soft smile on his lips. His lips, god. If you had more confidence and recklessness, you would’ve just kissed him, but then again, if you had that confidence, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

“You with me?” Lando asked, waving a hand in front of your face, eyes glinting with amusement. Like he had already guessed what was running through your mind. “What are you looking at?”

You blinked, glancing to the side, cheeks flushing. “Just zoned out,” you mumbled, waiting for a hole to open up in the ground.

“Hey,” Lando said quietly, reaching out and putting a hand on your arm. “Look at me. Please.” And of course, you listened to him, eyes meeting his embarrassingly quickly. “Talk to me, what’s going through your mind?”

You sucked in a breath, not knowing what to do. “It’s embarrassing,” you muttered, eyes darting around as if searching for an escape. Lando’s hand remained on your arm, steady, grounding.

“Hm,” he responded, tilting his head. His eyes were fixed on you, eyes shining in the way they did before he was about to reveal a secret. “Less embarrassing than having a crush on your sister’s best friend for seven years?”

As your brain processed his words, your breath hitched, eyes scanning over his face to see if it was some elaborate prank. When you saw the fond warmth in his expression, your mouth finally gained back the ability to speak. “You’re joking,” you gaped, heart fluttering to life at the spark of hope. “Lan, you… do?”

Lando’s eyes only crinkled further as he nodded. “Of course,” he replied easily. “You’re amazing.” He said it so simply, as if it were a given, an innate truth in the universe. His fingers brushed your cheek, tentative at first, to check that you were still there.

“Lan,” you breathed out, leaning closer and wrapping your arms around his neck. Your voice was airy—reverent, almost. “You flatter me. You’re pretty great yourself, y’know.”

“Wow, cold,” Lando scoffed, clutching his chest dramatically. “And here I was thinking that I was about to get a lot of compliments.” You snorted, rolling your eyes while your smile stayed fixed on your face.

“Annoying prick,” you murmured, leaning closer, just enough to test the waters. Your heart was fluttering, hoping that everything would go right. “And seven years is pretty embarrassing, I have to say.”

Lando huffed, narrowing his eyes at you. “Is that all you have to say?” His arms came to wrap around your waist, loose yet still getting the point across.

“What do you want me to say?” you grinned, teasing lilt to your voice. Even now, you two never stopped your banter. “That I feel the same? Or that I’m waiting for you to kiss me?”

And you knew F1 drivers had great reaction times, but you didn’t expect Lando to react that quickly. As soon as the words left your mouth, he was closing the gap, gently pressing his lips to yours. Your hands went to the nape of his neck as his arms pulled your waist closer, like two opposing magnets.

You’d always rolled your eyes when writers described kisses as fireworks exploding, but kissing Lando, it did feel like that. Warm and bright and brilliant. As cliché as it was, kissing Lando just felt right, like sunlight hitting your face at just the perfect angle.

As you two parted, your lips curled into a smile, thumb tapping Lando’s dimple. “So, seven years?” you asked, still somewhat incredulous.

“Shut up,” Lando protested, tucking his face in the crook of your neck. “This is bullying.” You chuckled, one hand running through his hair, something you never thought you’d get to do, if you were being honest.

“It’s not bullying, it’s playful banter,” you teased, just enjoying the moment. You wanted to freeze the moment, keep it pressed between the pages of your memory. Sure, were you cramped in the driver's room with Lando’s weight on you? You could say that, but you reveled in it. Lando liked you. Lando liked you. God, you wanted to scream it for all of Silverstone to hear. “For your information, Lan.”

“Well, for your information, I didn’t fucking ask,” Lando retorted into your neck, not bothering to lift his head to reply. You giggled at his comment, knowing he hadn’t changed his comebacks since he was fifteen.

“Real mature,” you snorted, relaxing as time became a foreign concept. Eventually, you spoke up again, voice soft. “I’m proud of you today, Lan. You drove so well. And before you say it, just because you didn’t win doesn’t mean you didn’t have a good drive.” Your fingers were still absentmindedly running through his hair, everything feeling natural. It was likely the fact that you had known Lando for so long, but it didn’t feel like you two had just confessed half an hour ago; it all just fell into a steady flow so easily.

“Thanks,” Lando mumbled, and you could hear the way he was trying not to voice any self-deprecating comment. “Wanted to win, though. Wanted to win for Mum and Dad, for Flo, Cisca, and Oli, for you.” Your eyes softened as you gently pulled back, hands cupping his cheeks.

“You will win. I have faith in you, Lan,” you said, voice unwavering as you kissed his forehead, sealing a pact.

Lando blinked up at you, eyes wide with adoration. “I’ll win it for you,” he murmured under his breath, barely audible, but it made your heart skip a beat. As you pressed your lips to his, it felt almost like a promise.

silverstone 2025

“Drive safe, Lan,” you murmured, pecking Lando’s lips as he was in the garage, getting ready for the race. The rain had been on and off, and the wind was flirting with the track, too. “I believe in you. You got this, and I love you.” You knew the cameras would be eating it up, probably slapping on a “Lando Norris’ girlfriend” graphic while they were at it. It also didn’t help that you were wearing a fluro shirt with LN4 emblazoned on the back. You didn’t care. Not when his eyes were the only thing you were looking at.

Lando’s mouth curved up against your lips as his arm wrapped you, pulling you close; the fact that you two were in the garage was forgotten for a few precious seconds. “Love you too,” he responded, cupping your cheek for a brief moment before putting in his earbuds, chatting with Will about last-minute preparations.

Once Lando sat down in his car, you blew him a kiss—which he caught, as always—and went to join his parents. Since Silverstone last year, it had been a whirlwind of you and Lando; family dinners, vacations, lazy mornings wrapped in each other, all of it. And it was perfect—you loved Lando and he loved you. He was everything you had hoped he’d be, and perhaps even more. The kind of love that bloomed as time went on.

Now, as you watched the grid lineup after the formation lap, Lando was starting P3, but you had an inkling it’d only be a fight between the two McLarens. The lights went out, and Max held onto his lead over Oscar and Lando, inters kicking up a spray as they went by. However, after a few laps, things became more chaotic as Lawson collided with Ocon, Colapinto retired, and Bortoleto spun before coming to a stop.

You fiddled with your fingers anxiously, squeezing Flo’s hand as you prayed yet again that McLaren wouldn’t fuck anything. Now, ironically, the roles were reversed; you were the one anxiously bouncing your leg as Flo patted your hand, trying to make sure your mind wasn’t spiraling.

The anticipated rain finally started falling as your fingers drummed against your phone. “C’mon, Lan,” you muttered under your breath as you watched him get close to Max. As they were side-by-side, the Red Bull ran wide, and your grip on Flo’s hand tightened as Lando slipped into P2 before both cars dove into the pits. You grinned, pumping a fist with Adam at the overtake, one step closer to the top step.

However, you should’ve known it was too easy, as McLaren double-stacked Lando and Oscar; Lando ended up with a slower pit stop, Max getting past him again as you sucked in a breath. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you scoffed, barely audible.

The rain thickened. Visibility thinned. Your fidgeting increased as your fingers picked at the bracelets on your wrist, each bead rolling under your thumb. Soon, a safety car was deployed, making your shoulders relax slightly. Oscar’s lead would be cut down, bringing Lando and Max into the equation again while they waited for conditions to improve. The safety car came into the pits but was quickly deployed again as Hadjar went into the barriers after making contact with Antonelli.

You watched nervously as the Safety Car was about to come back in, surprised as Oscar braked and Max almost darted in front of him. Once they were allowed to race again, the Red Bull spun and dropped him down to P10. It put Lando into second, right behind Oscar for the lead.

Lando remained behind Oscar as you were starting to run out of things to fiddle with, going back to playing with your bracelets. However, it was later shown that Oscar had received a 10-second penalty for the incident with Max, causing your heart to flutter. Things were happening in the midfield, but quite frankly, you paid them no attention, eyes flitting between the screen and glimpses of the telemetry you could spot in the garage, if you could make sense of them.

Hope is the thing with feathers, as Emily Dickinson once said, and now, you were watching the laps blur by, clutching your best friend’s hand as you watched Lando. Soon, Oscar came into the pits and served his penalty, coming back out in second, and that’s when it hit you.

For the third year in a row, Lando was leading the British Grand Prix. But this time, he was going to win it, you felt it in your bones, a certainty you can’t just invent.

Lando pitted at one point for mediums, coming back out still in first, and you watched, not moving at all. You didn’t dare, not wanting to disturb anything or mess up the threads of fate that would—superstitiously—change the race. Your fingers squeezed Flo’s as you gave her a hopeful look, the same expression mirrored on her face.

As the laps came down to the last few, the edges of your vision blurred with unshed tears. Then he crossed the line, and the tears started to fall as you cheered, exchanging eager fist bumps with Adam and Cisca while leaning against Flo.

He had done it. The boy from Glastonbury had won his home race in front of his family, in front of his fans, in front of the grandstand that bore his name. He had finally done it. You managed to catch some of his radio, hearing his delight, which only made your eyes water further.

You rushed with the Norrises to parc ferme, getting a front-row spot while your hands gripped the metal barriers. When Lando pulled up to the first-place sign, everyone around you erupted into cheers and applause as your boyfriend raised a fist to the sky, Silverstone coming alive and roaring their praise.

Eyes never leaving Lando, you watched as Oscar came over briefly before Lando was out of the car and beelining straight towards his parents. You watched with a fond smile as he melted into his parents' embrace, Cisca beaming. Lando then went over to his grandparents, delighted that they could attend; next came his sisters, whom he gave hugs, making them smile. Then, he was in front of you, gloved hands cradling your face.

“Lando,” you smiled, voice thick with all the emotions you couldn’t put into words. “You did it. I love you so much. You don’t know how proud I am.” Lando pulled your face towards his as you kissed the cool plastic of his helmet, hands covering the blobs as it was the closest thing you could get in that moment.

“I told you I’d win it for you,” Lando replied, eyes shining with joy as you looked into his visor. “I love you more. Thank you for always being there.” His arms were tight around your waist, your arms around his neck as your forehead rested against fluro yellow with black blobs, conveying your joy without speaking a single word.

Then, he pulled back, blinking remorsefully as he was ushered to where Jenson Button was eagerly waiting. Lando turned back, blowing you a kiss as he was walking, and you caught it, holding it over your heart. When he signed the bottle, you noticed he had written, “For my family and my girlfriend” with a small heart at the end, only making you fall in love with him more.

As soon as the podium ceremony was about to start, you pulled out your phone, taking pictures the moment Lando walked on. You took a burst, deciding it would be enough photos, and chose to watch your boyfriend. God Save the King played as you smiled with warm eyes at Lando, grinning as you heard Cisca call out that she loved him.

His eyes then met yours, lips curving up into a soft expression, in awe despite being the one on the podium. Then came the champagne, and it was reminiscent of the first race you had attended, which coincidentally happened to have been at Silverstone two years ago. This time, Lando spiked his bottle, aiming at his family before directing the rest at you, making you laugh up at him, wanting to burn this memory forever into your brain.

As he went to do media, you regrouped with the Norris family, sharing hugs and high-fives as you were all a little teary-eyed, having seen the man you all loved on the top step. Lando Norris, home race winner. It sounded perfect.

Once Lando returned to the garage, the ruckus kicked up again, cheers and pats on the back as he made his way to where you were chatting with Cisca and Adam. He gave his parents a tight hug before turning to you, trophy still in hand, as his other arms reached for you. “Baby,” he grinned, wrapping his arms around you, face burying into your neck.

Your heart melted, one hand running down his back as he pulled back, his smile never leaving his face. Without prelude, he leaned in as he pressed his lips to yours, one hand still holding onto the trophy. Your hands cupped his cheeks, using your shared breath to communicate your pride.

It wasn’t a perfect kiss, both of you smiling too much and still buzzing with excitement to slow down. But it meant more than anything. “This one’s yours,” he whispered, barely pulling back. “Ours.” You liked the sound of that.

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