andy

↷ andy. mid-twenties. jonatic. harrie. she/her. lando norris pr manager. pisces. charles leclerc supporter.

requests are currently open!

IMPORTANT STUFF.

in works

Telemetry & Touch

summary: where lando shows y/n how much he loves her warnings: slight smut

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud, followed by the dead silence of the hotel suite. You dropped your data pack and badge on the side table, the heavy thump echoing how your body felt after twelve hours of chasing telemetry glitches and running simulations that Lando didn’t even end up needing in FP2.

Your muscles ached. Your brain buzzed. All you wanted was a hot shower and unconsciousness.

You hadn’t even noticed the lights were off until soft amber flickers lit up your peripherals.

“Welcome home,” came a familiar voice—warm, smooth, and laced with just a hint of mischief.

Your tired eyes found Lando standing near the center of the room, wearing a loose black tee and joggers, barefoot, surrounded by the soft twinkle of fairy lights and LED candles scattered across furniture. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and something... comforting.

“I thought I was hallucinating,” you murmured, blinking. “Did someone drug my post-session espresso?”

“Nope,” he grinned. “I just decided my favorite data girl deserved a night off.”

Your lips curled into a slow smile. “You’re really trying to make me fall for you again, aren’t you?”

He walked toward you, hands slipping around your waist. “Again?” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss behind your ear. “I didn’t realize you’d ever stopped.”

You melted.

Lando could be a menace in team briefings—sarcastic, sharp, impossibly fast with a rebuttal—but here, in private, he was something else entirely. Gentle. Warm. Attentive in a way that made your walls crumble faster than telemetry under oversteer.

“I set up something for us,” he added, leading you gently by the hand. “No laptops. No timing sheets. Just you, me… and some very unprofessional behavior.”

“Oh?” you teased, exhaustion suddenly taking a backseat. “Are you planning to breach FIA regulations?”

He grinned, eyes gleaming. “Only the ones about team personnel fraternizing. Repeatedly.”

Dinner was easy—pizza from your favorite place, probably ordered halfway through his media obligations. You ate curled up together under a blanket in the middle of the room, surrounded by the soft hum of lo-fi music and Lando’s low laughter as he recounted a ridiculous story from the paddock.

It felt like being inside a snow globe of peace, sealed off from tire temps and wind tunnel specs.

When the plates were pushed aside, he reached for your hand.

“Come here,” he said softly, tugging you toward the bed.

You went willingly. The lights dimmed lower. The city outside was a blur of neon and shadows through the window.

He looked at you as if seeing you for the first time again—his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek, reverent. “You really work too hard, you know that?”

“Someone’s got to make sure your telemetry isn’t lying.”

“It could scream red alerts and I’d still trust you over it.”

Your breath hitched. He always did that—said things that should be throwaway flirtation but hit you right in the center of your chest.

Then he kissed you.

Slow at first. Lazy. The kind of kiss that promised there was no rush. That tonight, he was taking his time.

Your fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt, and he took the hint, pulling it off and tossing it aside.

“You sure?” he murmured against your jaw.

“I need you,” you whispered back. “Not just a quick thing. I want you.”

His gaze darkened, eyes searching yours like he needed to feel every word before he acted.

“Then you’re getting all of me tonight,” he said, voice low. “Every last part.”

What followed was slow—deliberate.

He undressed you one layer at a time, treating each exposed inch of skin like something sacred. He whispered things: how brilliant you looked behind your screens, how proud he was of you for nailing the race strategy model last weekend, how he noticed when you skipped meals or got that crease between your brows.

Every word sank into you deeper than his hands.

By the time he laid you back against the sheets, you were trembling under the weight of being truly seen.

And then he touched you like he knew every nerve ending by heart. Fingers tracing fire down your sternum, over your hips. Mouth pressing worshipful kisses lower and lower until you were a tangled, desperate thing under him.

“Let go,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “You don’t have to hold anything together tonight.”

And when he finally sank into you, slow and deep, it wasn’t about urgency. It was about anchoring. Being claimed and cradled all at once. Like the room didn’t exist outside of the places your bodies met and moved.

Moans and soft gasps tangled with the hum of the city beyond the windows. You clutched at his back, his hair, anything you could reach, and he stayed with you through every crest and crash.

When it was over, you lay curled against him, breath mingling, your heart syncing with his like a clean set of synchronized laps.

“You always this romantic after quali?” you teased breathlessly.

He kissed your forehead. “Only when I’m in love.”

You stilled.

He didn’t take it back.

Basically, reader is a reserve driver for Mclaren but also in f1 Academy, and she and Lando have always been super close. One day, she has to race instead of Oscar, and she ends up leading the race. However, near the end she asks the team to swap with lando (who she kept within DRS to help him out) because she knew he could use the points more than her since she's not an official f1 racer. Lando refuses, and reader wins her very first race. Lando is overwhelmed by how much he loves her and he just marches up to her and pulls her in from her waist to kiss her (could be private or public) and they're both just so proud of each other and so down bad 🥹🥹🥹

In the Slipstream

summary: where a surprise victory, a selfless offer, and a kiss at the finish line—some moments change everything, on and off the track. warnings: none

You never really expected to race in Formula 1—not yet, anyway.

Being McLaren’s reserve driver was already a dream you clutched tightly, and your time in the F1 Academy was sharpening your edge, day by day. You were grinding for the future, for the chance that maybe, if the stars aligned, you’d get that one golden shot. Still, you didn’t expect it to arrive on a cool spring weekend in Imola.

Oscar had come down with a stomach virus—something violent and sudden. When the team principal tapped your shoulder that morning, the pit lane buzzing behind him, you felt your stomach flip in sync with the revving engines.

“You’re up.”

You didn’t even have time to be nervous. It was all a blur—briefings, simulator data, seat fitting, strategy talk, and a surprising amount of people suddenly treating you not like the F1 Academy kid, but like McLaren’s actual second driver.

And then there was Lando.

He was always your rock. From the earliest days at the McLaren simulator to now, he was the constant thread in the chaos. He teased you like an older brother when you first joined, but somewhere along the line, it shifted. Quiet moments in the motorhome, texts that lingered, eyes that held yours just a little too long. The bond between you deepened—unspoken, but undeniable.

As you stood side by side before the race, helmet in hand, Lando bumped his shoulder against yours.

“Nervous?”

You smiled, adjusting your gloves. “Terrified.”

He grinned, green eyes twinkling. “Good. That means you’ll be sharp.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest spread like fire.

The race began in a flash.

Lights out. Your start was electric. Years of F1 Academy training and sim practice paid off instantly. Clean overtakes. Smart tire management. You quickly moved through the midfield, shock and awe blooming around you like wildfire.

And then… you were leading.

Not by much—but enough to see the papaya blur of Lando’s car in your mirrors, stuck tightly in your DRS range. You’d coordinated perfectly without speaking, both of you playing the strategy game like chess masters. You gave him DRS when he needed it, pulled when it counted, and he protected your tail like a guardian.

But you knew what was at stake.

You weren’t supposed to be here—not permanently. This race didn’t count toward a championship for you. For Lando, it could mean everything. A podium. A shot at the title. Or even just the points to prove himself in a field that always underestimated him.

So with ten laps to go, your voice broke over the radio, steady but full of emotion.

“Tell Lando… he can take the win. I’ll open the door in sector two.”

There was silence. Then the engineer’s voice returned, startled. “Say again?”

“I want him to take it. I’ll back off.”

More silence.

Then a voice crackled in—his voice.

“Don’t you dare,” Lando snapped. “You earned this. I’m not taking it.”

Your throat tightened. “Lan—”

“No. You’re not giving it away. Not to me. Not to anyone. Finish this.”

You blinked rapidly, fighting the sting in your eyes as the turns blurred.

Lap after lap, he stayed on your tail—but didn’t challenge. Not once. Just close enough to show he was there. That he believed in you.

You crossed the checkered flag, engine screaming, heart slamming, and your name ringing through the paddock for the first time in F1 victory.

Race winner: (Y/N), McLaren.

You pulled into the pit lane, overwhelmed, hands shaking. The team was screaming over the radio, cheering like mad. You climbed out of the car and tugged your helmet off, letting the cool air hit your sweat-damp hair.

And then—he was there.

Lando walked straight toward you with purpose, jaw tight, eyes wild. No words. Just energy.

Before you could say a thing, he reached for you, hands gripping your waist, and pulled you flush against him.

Then he kissed you.

Hard, desperate, and real.

The paddock didn’t exist. The cameras didn’t matter. All you felt was him. His hands. His breath. The quake of his chest against yours.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, eyes still shut.

“I’m so damn proud of you,” he whispered. “And I’m so in love with you.”

Your breath caught.

You couldn’t stop smiling. Couldn’t stop crying. The win, the adrenaline, the months of quiet longing—it all came crashing down in that single moment.

You held his face gently, brushing a thumb over the smear of sweat at his temple.

“I love you too,” you said softly, voice cracking. “I wanted you to win because I love you.”

He shook his head, still smiling.

“I wanted you to win. Because you deserve the world.”

The press didn’t let it go.

That kiss was everywhere. The headlines blared: ‘MCLAREN’S SURPRISE STAR STEALS HEART AND WIN’, ‘F1’S NEWEST POWER COUPLE?’, ‘Lando and (Y/N): Love in the Fast Lane’.

You didn’t care.

That night, after the whirlwind of interviews and champagne and congratulations, you sat together on the edge of the hotel balcony, legs tangled under a shared blanket. The Italian moon cast a silver glow over everything.

Lando rested his chin on your shoulder. “So… world champion next?”

You laughed softly. “One race at a time.”

To celebrate i have been thinking about this...

As you may know or notice, Tate Mcrae is one of my favourite artists so i decided it would be fun to make fics based on her songs.

— There you can see many of her songs, pick one and sent it to me!

— I only write fluff and suggestive.

— I write for LN4, OP81 and CL16

summary: cute moments between lando and yn during their relationship, based on "i know love" by tate mcrae warnings: none

[The Paddock – Saturday Morning]

The paddock was alive, like always — a whirlwind of activity that buzzed in your bones. Engines hummed in the background, the scent of fuel hung in the air, and media scurried from one garage to the next. But amid the chaos, you found peace. Because his hand was in yours.

Lando walked with his cap pulled low, his race suit half-zipped and hanging around his waist. His other hand gripped a protein shake, which you were pretty sure he hated but tolerated because “the trainer would kill me otherwise.”

“Did you bring snacks?” he asked, turning toward you with that ridiculous boyish grin.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally sponsored by half the paddock. You want my snacks?”

“Yours taste better.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching into your tote and pulling out a granola bar. He accepted it with a victorious sound and a quick kiss to your cheek, uncaring of the mechanics and press that passed by. You still weren’t used to how bold he could be sometimes. How effortless it all felt for him.

“Thanks, love.”

That word still made your chest flutter. No matter how many times he said it. Maybe because it felt like he didn’t throw it around the way people assumed he did. When Lando said love, it always meant something.

[Late Night Stream]

He was shouting at the screen again.

“NO—WHAT? That’s total BS!” he groaned into his headset, falling back dramatically in his gaming chair. You were sprawled across the couch behind him, one of his hoodies drowning your frame as you scrolled through your phone, giggling softly at his chaos.

The Twitch chat noticed.

“is that Y/N in the back???” “their leg 😭 soft launch era over” “she really is real, huh?”

You tilted your head toward the camera with a smirk. “He’s still losing, by the way.”

“Oi!” Lando wheeled around to face you, scandalized. “You’re sabotaging me live in front of thousands of people. I’ll never financially recover from this.”

“Skill issue.”

He laughed, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead, his hand brushing your hair out of your face. “Lucky you’re cute.”

“Lucky you love me.”

He stilled for half a second, just a beat. Enough for you to realize what you’d said.

“I do,” he said quietly, his eyes soft and sincere now. “You know I do.”

You nodded, cheeks warming. “I know.”

And you did. You really, really did.

[Phone Calls at 2AM]

Your phone rang.

The contact photo — him in sunglasses with a ridiculous filter you’d added — lit up your screen. You answered without a second thought, already sitting upright in bed.

“Hey,” his voice was groggy, gravelly — and entirely too intimate for a call across the world. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” you lied. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

There was a pause. One of those comfortable silences you only shared with people who knew you too well.

“I’ve been thinking…” Lando finally murmured. “This…us. It’s kind of insane, isn’t it?”

You smiled to yourself. “Yeah. But it’s a good kind of insane.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you’ll get tired of all this. Of me being gone. The attention. The pressure. I don’t blame you if you do.”

“Lando,” you whispered, clutching the phone tighter. “I didn’t fall for the driver. I fell for the guy who eats cereal with a fork and quotes Shrek at 2AM.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Right. Can’t compete with that version of me.”

“I know love. It’s… messy, and inconvenient sometimes. But it’s you. And that makes it worth it.”

He was quiet again, but you could hear the soft exhale of breath on the line.

“I love you,” he said, a little cracked, like the words still scared him. “Just thought you should know.”

“I already did.”

[Arguments and Apologies]

It wasn’t always perfect.

There were days when texts went unanswered. When one too many sarcastic comments turned into a cold silence. When he forgot to call. When you snapped too quickly.

You stood in your kitchen, arms crossed as Lando leaned against the counter, the tension heavy in the room.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he said, voice low.

“Then why do you keep doing things that hurt me?”

He sighed, raking a hand through his curls. “Because I’m scared.”

That stopped you cold.

“Of what?”

“Of screwing this up. Of you realizing you deserve someone easier. Someone who doesn’t bring a circus everywhere he goes.”

You crossed the room slowly, wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face into his hoodie.

“I don’t want easy. I want you. Even when you’re stubborn and sleep-deprived and slightly dramatic.”

He let out a breathless laugh and hugged you tighter.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Then I’ll try harder. Because you’re it for me.”

[Fangirl Mode Activated]

You were trying to be chill.

But it was hard when your boyfriend’s face was plastered on a three-story billboard in central London, and he walked past it like it was nothing.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” you asked, arms folded.

Lando shrugged. “It’s not that big.”

You gawked at him. “It’s bigger than my apartment.”

“You wanna take a picture?”

“…Yes.”

You posed in front of it while he took twenty awful, blurry, tilted photos, laughing so hard he almost dropped your phone.

“Okay, but imagine if I had a giant billboard,” you teased.

“I’d buy every single one,” he said. “And hang them in every room I walk into.”

[Knowing Love]

Lando was lying on the floor of your apartment, head on your stomach, scrolling through something on his phone while you played with his hair.

“This is it, right?” he asked suddenly.

You glanced down. “What is?”

“This. Us. Love.”

You studied him, the boy who used to flinch at the word, who now spoke it like a promise. Who showed it in forehead kisses, lingering looks, and middle-of-the-night calls.

“Yeah,” you said. “It is.”

Because now you know love.

Not the kind that’s always perfect.

But the kind that stays.

That grows.

That chooses you — every day, even in the chaos.

And in Lando Norris’ arms,

Lando x y/n reader have been dating privately for a while but lando comes down really sick for a race week and reader can't not be their to support him so comes and takes care of him very fluffy lol

summary: where yn cames to support her sick bf warnings: nones

In Sickness and in Speed

The text comes in at 5:02 AM.

Can’t breathe through my nose. Feel like death. Plz send help 😩

You blink blearily at your phone, barely making out Lando’s name above the message. You’re curled up in your hotel bed, hundreds of miles away from the paddock. Technically, you were going to fly in tomorrow for the race. Technically, no one’s supposed to know you’re dating him—not even his engineer. But technically… Lando sounds like he’s on death’s door.

And technically, you can break a few rules for the man you love.

It had started months ago. The two of you met through a friend-of-a-friend situation—blame it on a birthday party and one too many rounds of “Never Have I Ever.” You hit it off immediately. He liked that you didn’t fawn over his fame. You liked that he listened—really listened—when you talked.

But privacy was non-negotiable. The media frenzy around his life was a hungry thing, and the thought of throwing you into that chaos had his stomach twisted in guilt before you even had your first kiss.

So you made a pact: lowkey, quiet, private. Texts deleted. Social media ghosted. You had your own life, and he had his. But when you could, you met in the quiet in-betweens.

Now, he’s sick. Really sick, judging by the barely comprehensible text messages he’s been sending all morning.

“Head spinning. My bones feel like paper mache.”

“Oscar keeps throwing tissues at me. Rude.”

“They’re making me do press 😩 I might die live on Sky Sports.”

Your heart twinges. You FaceTime him as you speed-pack a bag and order an earlier flight.

When his face appears, your heart practically sinks through the floor. His eyes are puffy, his nose is red, and he’s swaddled in what looks like three layers of McLaren hoodies.

“Oh, baby,” you coo. “You look like a sad little gremlin.”

“Don’t mock the ill,” he croaks, trying to smile. “It’s abuse.”

You grin, soft and fond. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Was cute. Now I’m just a human snot fountain.”

“Hang tight,” you say, grabbing your passport. “I’m coming.”

By the time you arrive at the paddock hotel, it’s early evening. You have your lanyard, your credentials, and just enough insider pull to convince security you’re here “in an unofficial support capacity.”

Lando’s room is a mess of tissues, vitamin packets, and half-empty bottles of water. The TV is playing F1 highlights on mute. The air smells like menthol and misery.

You let yourself in quietly.

He’s passed out on the bed, one arm draped dramatically over his face, tissues stuck between his fingers. He looks like the dictionary definition of pathetic.

You set your bag down gently and tiptoe over.

As you lean down to brush the curls off his damp forehead, his eyes flutter open.

“Y/N?” he rasps.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

He tries to sit up. “You’re here?”

“I’m here.”

Lando melts back into the pillow, relief washing over his face like warm sunlight. “Thought I was hallucinating.”

“Nope. Very real. And very ready to nurse you back to health.”

“Do nurses usually crawl into bed with the patient?”

You smirk. “Only the really good ones.”

You spend the next few days in a cocoon of tissues and tenderness.

You run to the paddock to get him soup between meetings. You sneak vitamins into his smoothies. You find out that he has a very specific hierarchy of throat lozenges (“the green ones are evil”), and you somehow bribe a hotel chef into making him plain mashed potatoes at midnight.

He groans and whines and calls you his “angel of mercy.” He sneezes on you twice and immediately tries to apologize with sick-boy cuddles. You fake being annoyed, but you wrap yourself around him like a koala every night anyway.

On qualifying day, you wake up to find him sitting up in bed, sipping tea and trying to put on his race suit backwards.

“Lando,” you say, barely stifling laughter. “That’s not how arms work.”

“I’m disoriented,” he mumbles, but he smiles for the first time in days. “Feel a little better though.”

You help him get dressed, comb your fingers through his hair, and press a warm kiss to his cheek. He leans into it like he’s starving for affection.

“You’re gonna be okay,” you whisper. “I’ve got you.”

Later, at the garage, when he pulls off his helmet after a decent quali run, he finds you waiting with a bottle of water and your eyes sparkling with pride. No one questions your presence. You blend in, just another support staffer, clipboard in hand.

But when he looks at you like that—soft, grateful, filled with something unspoken—you know it’s only a matter of time before the secret slips.

And maybe, you think, as he walks past the cameras and sneaks a wink at you…

welcome to miami

summary: where lando and yn celebrates his win on miami sprint race warnings: none

“Winner, winner!” you shouted the second you spotted him rounding the corner of the McLaren motorhome, still half in his fireproofs, helmet under his arm and curls damp with sweat.

Lando’s grin spread wide across his face as he dropped everything to catch you in his arms. Your feet lifted off the ground as he spun you around, both of you laughing, breathless from the Miami heat and sheer joy.

“I did it!” he said against your neck, muffled and giddy. “We actually did it!”

You cupped his cheeks, pulling back just enough to see him clearly. His eyes were glowing, cheeks flushed, and he looked so stupidly beautiful that your heart actually hurt a little.

“You were perfect out there,” you said, brushing your thumb across the smear of dirt on his jaw.

He laughed. “I was thinking of you the whole time, you know.”

“Oh really?” you teased. “So your big strategy was: ‘Drive fast for girlfriend’?”

“Exactly.” He leaned down and kissed you quickly, then again, longer this time. “And it worked.”

Someone behind you cheered—not for the win, but for the kiss—and Lando groaned against your lips.

“I swear the entire garage is watching us.”

“Let them. You earned this.”

He tilted his head. “Are you talking about the win, or the kiss?”

You smacked his chest lightly, but you were still smiling. “Both.”

Later that night, after the interviews, the debrief, the photoshoots, and a thousand high-fives, you finally made it back to the hotel. The balcony overlooked the glittering skyline, the ocean humming quietly in the distance, and the warm breeze made everything feel a little softer, a little slower.

Lando came out of the shower, hair still damp, wearing your favorite pair of sweatpants and holding two celebratory popsicles from the minibar. You burst out laughing.

“That’s your idea of a post-sprint celebration? Ice lollies?”

“I’m a man of simple pleasures,” he said, handing you the mango-flavored one. “Also, it’s Miami. It’s tradition.”

He plopped down next to you on the balcony’s lounge chair, his arm naturally finding its way around your shoulders.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. He took a bite of his popsicle and winced.

“Brain freeze,” he groaned.

“You drive at 300 km/h but can’t handle frozen fruit?”

“It’s a delicate balance.”

You giggled and tilted your face toward his, your lips brushing his jaw. “Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m so proud of you.”

He went quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your shoulder.

“Sometimes I forget to just enjoy it, you know?” he said softly. “I get so caught up in the next race, the next goal. But tonight… this feels different.”

“Because you’re sharing it,” you said.

“Because I’m sharing it with you,” he agreed, turning to press a kiss to your temple. “Sprint wins are cool, but you—you’re the real prize.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That was cheesy as hell.”

He grinned. “You love it.”

You did.

As the city fell asleep around you, and the ocean whispered lullabies only Miami could write, you both lay on the lounger, limbs tangled, hearts full.

He held your hand like it was the trophy he’d worked his whole life to earn.

You kissed his knuckles like you’d never stop rooting for him.

And as the stars blinked into the sky one by one, Lando whispered, “Same again tomorrow?”

“Only if there’s another popsicle.”

The hotel room was dimly lit, the city below glowing like a secret you weren’t ready to share. Lando’s hoodie hung off your frame as you curled up on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. He had left for media early that morning, promising to be back before dinner. Promising he’d stay low, like always.

“Can’t risk a photo, not yet,” he’d whispered that first night after Monaco. And you’d agreed—too much noise, too many headlines. But hiding had started to feel like suffocating.

The door clicked open quietly, and his voice filled the silence.

“Miss me?”

You looked up, trying to be annoyed, but the stupid smile was already tugging at your lips. He kicked off his shoes, hair still messy from his cap, and crossed the room in three strides, planting a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re late.”

“You love me anyway.”

You tried not to roll your eyes, but it was hard to argue when his hands slipped under the hoodie, cold fingers pressing against your warm skin.

“I saw a tweet about you today,” you said casually, not missing the way he tensed for a split second.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Someone said you were dating a model.”

He snorted. “You are model-level hot. Technically, they’re not wrong.”

“Lando,” you warned.

He sighed, sitting beside you and taking your hand. “I know. I hate this too. The hiding. The sneaking around like we’re doing something wrong.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “We’re not.”

“I know. But you’ve seen what it’s like. The cameras. The DMs. The gossip accounts.” He paused. “You’re not a secret because I’m ashamed. You’re a secret because I’m terrified of what the world will do to you once they know.”

Your throat tightened. You understood, you really did. But that didn’t stop the ache every time you had to walk behind him in a crowd or pretend you were just a “friend of a friend” at race weekends.

“I hate lying to people,” you whispered.

He turned to look at you, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Then maybe we stop lying.”

You blinked, heart thudding louder. “You mean—?”

He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t want to keep this part of my life hidden. You’re the best part of it.”

Your eyes stung unexpectedly, and he smiled, pressing his forehead to yours.

“But if you’re not ready, I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

You kissed him softly, fingers curling into his curls. “No more waiting"

The next morning, your fingers trembled slightly as you handed him the phone.

“You’re really doing it?” you asked

Lando nodded, already opening Instagram. “No captions. Just this.” He showed you the photo—it was one from your Polaroid stash. You were wearing his hoodie, perched on his lap, mid-laugh with his nose pressed into your cheek. Pure joy. Unfiltered.

He tapped “Share.”

Your stomach flipped.

The internet, as expected, went wild.

There were screenshots on Twitter within seconds. Edits on TikTok. “Hard launch” memes flooding the replies. And yet, amidst the chaos, there was also love. Fans who said it made sense. People who pointed out how happy he looked. How soft.

You and Lando didn’t say much that day. You stayed curled up in bed, your phones buzzing constantly, but your hands were laced together, calm despite the storm.

“Feels weird,” you admitted.

“Yeah,” he said. “But also kind of freeing.”

He glanced at you then. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “I think… I feel like I can finally breathe.”

He smiled, brushing a kiss to your knuckles. “Told you. No more hiding.”

—

The first public paddock appearance together happened in Silverstone, of all places.

You wore a papaya crop top under your denim jacket, and Lando hadn’t let go of your hand once since you stepped out of the car. People stared. Cameras clicked. But he only had eyes for you.

As you stood by the McLaren hospitality entrance, he leaned in and said, “You know, you can still run for the hills if this gets too much.”

You raised a brow. “And leave you to do this solo?”

He grinned. “So you’re saying I’m worth the chaos?”

“You’re worth everything,” you said without hesitation.

The smile that broke across his face could have powered the entire garage.

That night, after the race (a P3 finish and a podium grin that had everything to do with you waiting at the end of parc fermé), you lay in bed beside him, tangled in sheets and sunlight from the setting sky.

“I love you,” he murmured against your shoulder.

You turned, brushing your fingers across his cheek. “I love you too.”

He kissed you like it was the first time. No more secrets. No more hiding. Just soft, golden light and hearts full of something steady.

“I’m glad we stayed,” you whispered later.

“Where else would we go?” he replied. “We didn’t need to run. We just needed to hold on.”

summary: where lando meet the newest 2025 creator of F1

y/n posted on instagram

y/nuser: f1 you have my heart <3

liked by georgerussell63 , carlossainz55 , landonorris and 6,356,013 others

user21: she's so pretty omg

username: she's into books, my fav <3

user56: i need to know her favourite book y/nuser: seven husbands of evelyn hugo :)

carlossainz55 : welcome 😊 liked by auhtor

y/nuser: tysm smooth operator !

georgerussell63: we're besties now liked by author

username56: HELP y/nuser: well...hello bestie

landonorris: welcome and good taste 😏 liked by author

y/nuser: what can i say? papaya suits me

456 more comments...

landonorrisuptades posted on instagram

landonorrisuptades: 👀 "It’s the way Lando was looking at her for me..." Someone was definitely enjoying that interview a little too much 😏 We see you, Mr. Norris.

liked by username3 , user698, username and 1.145.012 others

user48: he wasn’t blinking fr… man was in a trance

username: i’d act the same if she interviewed me tbh 😅

user698: this is not just media duty… this is personal

username3: i thought the same lol

username45: lando’s got that i’m-listening-but-i’m-also-falling look

lando.jpg posted on instagram

lando.jpg: random dump of the start of f1' 25

liked by daniel3.jpg , y/nuser , oscarpiastri and 13,425,001 others

username: he looks like a golden retriever around her i can’t

user65: she blinked and he still looked at her like 🥹👉👈

username3: lando don’t post her if you don’t want us to ship it 🤷‍♀️

user01: too late i already planned their entire future together

daniel3.jpg: i see how this is liked by author

lando.jpg: i have no idea what you're talkin mate...

username46: he’s never that smiley in press content pls 😭😭

y/nuser: 🧡

659 more comments...

y/n posted on her instagram stories

landonorrisuptades posted on instagram

landonorrisuptades: Lando thought his mic was off… but he still called @y/nuser “babe” 🙊😅

liked by uzser456 , carlossainz55 , username6 and 22,658,123 others

username3: we heard that loud and clear, lando

user456: someone tell him about the mute button before we catch more of these moments 😂

user78: the way he said ‘babe’ like it was nothing

1.125 more comments..

lando posted on instagram

lando: Been keeping this one close for a while, but I’m ready for everyone to know… I’m a pretty lucky guy. ❤️

liked by carlossainz55 , y/nuser , maxversstapen1 and 200,456,256 others

maxversstapen1: congrats, mate. Now no more excuses for losing in the sim

charles_leclerc: Guess we finally know what that smile was about 😏 Congrats, you two!

y/nuser: love you more than words can say ❤️

lando: love you loads, babe 💕

carlossainz55: can’t say I’m surprised, you’ve been way too smiley recently

username: LOOK AT HIM SMILING 😩💛 This is the happiest I've seen him in ages! So cute together! 🥰

user36: I can’t stop smiling for them!

user49: I KNEW there was something special about those ‘babe’ moments!

username: He’s been glowing! We all knew something was up

15,145 more comments...

y/n posted on her instagram

y/nuser: guess i got promoted to a wag

liked by lando , carlossainz55 , charles_leclerc and 13,456,012 others

charles_leclerc: So happy for you!

oscarpiastri: I always knew something was going on 👀 Congrats guys

georgerussell63: Big smiles all around! Wishing you both lots of happiness

danielricciardo: Look at youuu 🥹 So cute. Treat him well… or I’ll have to step in 😂

lando: Somehow you make all of this even better 🧡

y/nuser: you always know exactly what to say 🥹

summary: where lando & y/n relationship is shown on the internet warnings: suggestive content and language

y/n posted on instagram

y/nuser: what's up australia

liked by oscarpiastri , landonorris , mclaren and 1,456,001 others

norrisldx isn't her in the photo with lando?

user990 omg, looks like her!!!

mclaren orange suits you ! ☺️

lando 🧡🤭

f1up they're dating, i said what i said

56 more comments...

lando posted on instagram

lando: some start ay

liked by y/nuser , oscarpiastri , quadrant and 1,5M others.

username101 so proud of you lan

user10 😭can we do this every race?🧡

user145 pls lan

y/nuser 🧡

11.004 more comments...

f1wagsnews posted on instagram

f1wagsnews: the secret is out, meet @y/nuser the newst wag on the paddock

liked by user101, f1norris , user54 and 25.000 others

user10 fuck i knew it

username125 they are so cute

user52 same same f1up the it couple

more comments...

lando posted on instagram

lando: mine

liked by y/nuser , maxfewtrell , georgerussell63 and 10.253.023 others

maxfewtrell finally

lando stfu mate

y/nuser baby i look awfull in the last one 😭

lando you look pretty

5.368.023 more comments

y/n posted on instagram

taylor swift - london boy

y/nuser: but god i love the english

liked by lando , maxfewtrell , pietra.pilao , maxverstappen and 25.365.001 others

pietra.pilao happy for you guys 🤍

lando love you baby ❤️

user356 he call her baby omg 😭😭😭

username58 ugh i'm so jealous of her