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devircy · 4 months ago

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Fresh Out the Slammer (Saudi Arabia 2025)

⟣Lando Norris x Reader

⟣Summary: Hurt/Comfort Lando Norris after his Crash in Q3. The reader has a medical background, working for the F1 medical crew. You make sure he is okay, since not all wounds are physical. Over the years, the two of you have been friends, and you have never once betrayed his trust. You won't start now. Aka Lando deserves sm love & so do you.

⟣WC: 3.8k

⟣ Song: Fresh Out the Slammer - Taylor Swift

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Brief Background: You are the chief medical officer for Formula 1. You attend all the races and oversee the care of the drivers throughout the season, from major crashes to minor headaches, and participate in reaction time research. This is the 2025 Jeddah race.

Over the years, you had come to hate the tighter circuits. For the fans, it was thrilling watching the driver cutting it millimetres away from the circuit walls as they chase the limits of perfection. For you, it was nothing more than a guarantee that you would be working overtime all weekend because of the consequences of imperfection. Throughout the free practices, no one had caused a too drastic a crash yet. Yuki had walked away unharmed from his meeting with the wall in FP2.

As the evening set in, you took up residence near the track, waiting by the medical car. Your eyes were trained on the broad casting screen as you watched the cars fly through the circuit, testing their own limits as they fought for their right to make it to the next stage of qualifying. Crossing your arms over your chest, you leaned against the wall, tapping your finger idly against your arm. Each fifteen-minute session that passed did nothing to ease the waiting game. Tension would only dissipate from your muscles once the session was over.

You heard it before you saw it on the screen. The brutal sound of metal disfiguring itself, as it carved gashes into the barriers. Snapping to attention, you grabbed your tablet, searching for who had crashed. The emergency vehicle roared to life next to you, but there was no indication that the crash was more than 18 G. Since there was no emergent need for you to make your way on track, you stayed put, monitoring the limited vital signs you had access to tracking. Through your communication piece, you spoke to the medical car driver as he drove off towards the accident. "Get me eyes on Norris."

His heart rate was through the roof, and he was actively communicating with his team. The red flags flew across the track, demanding a stop to the race. Screens lit up, broadcasting the crash on repeat as the commentators already began to speculate on the fallout and repercussions of this failure. All eyes were focused on the British driver; would he be the next world champion? Would he fail to beat Max, to beat his own teammate again? Was he really McLaren's better driver?

The car was brought back to the McLaren garage, where the cameras were already rolling within to catch a glimpse of the perfect example of anguish. Unwilling to let them see his face, Lando slid the visor lens back down over his eyes as he lingered in the car. Pain lanced through your heart for the man. You knew better than anyone else what that disappointment felt like. How, after it all, you were your own worst enemy.

Sprinting through the paddock, you reached the papaya colored garage. You were fully aware that the medical light did not come on in Lando's car, but you shoved your way through various media personnel to reach him. Most of the engineers took one look at your white coat and stepped out of the way for you. Sending a silent thank you their way, you stepped up next to the broken McLaren.

Not all pain had to be physical.

Not all injuries had to be visible.

Each movement he made was slow, as if trapped in his own daze. No doubt, the shock was seeping into his brain, leaving him to drown in his festering thoughts. The fluid motion to remove the steering wheel was gone, struggle replaced it as he fought to remove the one thing keeping him prisoner in his car. Reaching out a hand, you offered to take the disconnected steering wheel from his gloved hands. Placing it into the waiting hands of an engineer, you crouched down next to the car to be at eye level with Lando.

His helmet-shrouded head turned slightly in your direction, the only indication you got that he knew you were there. You knew the pain he was hiding was not meant for the eyes of others. In a calm, clear tone, you spoke to him. "Lando, you need to come with me."

"I-" But his voice faltered before he could even voice an answer, so he nodded his head in agreement. His arms pushed against the frame of the car, lifting him from the fitted seat. Easing himself over the top of the car, Lando's feet met solid ground as he stood next to you. Although you were certain there were no significant injuries that would be obvious to the naked eye, you still let your eyes study every inch of his form just in case. The last thing you wanted to do was miss something vital.

"There was no medical light; he does not need to go with you." An irritating voice grated on your ears as you turned from Lando to the media personnel who waited to twist the knife further. Setting your jaw, you straightened your figure, not letting an ounce of your annoyance show on your face.

"Until you spend half of your life getting a medical degree, I suggest you do not advise medical decisions." Your words were clipped, but professional to the group of people waiting to feast upon Lando's error. Your well-crafted media mask hid the simmering rage you wanted to lash out with. Offering a tight-lipped smile, you dared the media personnel to challenge you again. "My job is to ensure the safety of all the drivers on and off the grid. I suggest you let me do my job. Once I have finished, you can do yours."

No protests were voiced as you turned away from them, placing your hand on the middle of Lando's shoulders, you walked with him through the paddock to your office. Flashes popped like lightning strikes through the dark sky, attempting to catch a glimpse of someone else's failures. Nothing made other people feel better about themselves than watching the shortcomings of another. Those are the stories that sell, and the media was salivating for the shame clearly painted all over Lando's body language. Under your breath, you whispered to him, "Keep your head high; we are almost there."

The muscles under your fingertips tensed as he straightened his posture while he walked next to you. Each step through the warm night air of Jeddah felt like a fractional bit of progress toward your office. People stopped to stare, their voices blending into a mass of hissing whispers as they passed, but no one impeded your path. Gripping the door to the medical suite, you pulled it open, letting Lando step inside. He already knew where your office was and didn't bother to linger outside of it.

Unable to hold himself up for any longer, his weight collapsed into the chair. His fingers gripped the bottom of his helmet as he wrenched it off his head, discarding it onto the tile flooring of your office. Shortly followed by the balaclava, revealing the canvas of raw emotions marring his face. Tear lines streaked down his face, a silent demand for just a moment of peace. Your fingers gripped the fabric of the divider curtain that hung at the side of your office, sectioning off the medical area from your desk. You began to pull it across to offer Lando the privacy he deserved, but a soft voice called out for you, "Wait, don't go."

Letting go of the fabric, you stepped closer to him, your head tilting as you reassured him. "Okay, I won't."

Silence hung between the two of you, leaving no room for judgment or expectation to exist. Grabbing a water bottle from your desk, you took up residence in the seat next to his own. "Can you drink some for me?"

Wordlessly, he unscrewed the cap and sipped, his breaths still falling from his chest in an uneven rhythm. Pointedly, his eyes were glued to the floor, unshifting. Tension coiled through every muscle on his frame, as if he would need to fight in an instant. But you knew the only thing he was fighting was the losing war to his own thoughts.

"Just want to check, it's okay if you don't. It's better if you do not, but do you have any physical pain anywhere?" He shook his head in response, running a hand through his curls. The motion was sharp, carrying every bit of the frustration he felt. "Good, do you think you can breathe with me?"

With his agreement, you exaggerated your breathing so he could mimic it with his own. His eyes closed as a new breath began to fill his lungs slowly. It was an exercise you had performed a thousand times, attempting to calm your own mind out of the chaotic spiral it found itself in. The two of you sat in silence, breathing for an indistinguishable amount of time. You found your own eyes drifting closed as you sat next to him.

His head leaned against your shoulder, resting on the white fabric of your lab coat. The weight against your body was familiar, as you let your hand lightly scratch along his back. You didn't care about the sweat that still clung to his body. There had been far, far worse things that had stained your clothes over the course of your medical career. Earning your place in this job was not one that came without its own media fallout. Lando had been one of the first drivers to defend you.

'Gender does not define how well a doctor can perform their duties. What matters is that they are qualified to be the best person on the grid to oversee the various health-related responsibilities of the drivers. They wouldn't be here if they weren't the best. It's the same with drivers, mate, you have to prove yourself. Repeatedly, our new chief medical officer has done that.'

Your friendship with him had bloomed shortly after that. On most days, his smile was brighter than sunshine when he would come beaming into your office for one reason or another. It was rarely actually a medical reason; sometimes, he needed a paddle partner to beat another driver with. Usually, it did not end with the two of you winning, but he would still return and ask again. Or he claimed he had not seen you in weeks and would hang around your office as you attempted to finish filing various medical reports.

"I am so glad you are okay." Your words accompanied your exhale as you whispered against his curls. You knew the words were probably meaningless to him in that moment, but you did not care; he needed to hear them. You felt his weight shift as he leaned in further against you, helping to share the weight of his burden. "You will never be defined by your mistakes, and anyone who can not see that does not even deserve any fraction of your attention."

His cologne lingered on his skin as his muscles began to relax against you. A gentle hoarseness lingered in his voice, mimicking the emotions still roiling through him. "Thanks, Y/n."

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You knew he was not pleased with where he was starting in the race today. Biting your lip, you stood on standby for the race. The first 20 laps of a regular race were where 90% of the crashes occurred in a Grand Prix. After leaving your office yesterday, the disappointment was still raw on his face as he faced the media. It would be impossible not to when they repeatedly slammed your failures in your face, demanding to know pointless information that served no real purpose.

No matter how badly you wanted to watch the race, Yuki and Pierre collided on the first lap, forcing you to leave the track to attend to them. Luckily, the two friends seemed in good enough spirits as they left your office. Unfortunately, it meant you were left with a small mountain of paperwork to complete that kept you in your office unless another medical incident occurred. Your mind wandered to the race, knowing that today, Lando was racing for himself. Not racing for the team or the championship, he was racing for himself.

Nothing else disturbed you for the evening as you finished up documenting your case for the day until the door to your office flew open. A smile like sunshine greeted you as Lando Norris stepped into your office again, pride rippling off of him. Stepping around your desk, you found a smile pulling at your lips. His happiness was contagious, and you would never deny yourself the joy of sharing it with him.

"I did not get to see the race with Yuki and Pierre's crash at the start." You stated quickly, knowing that if he was already here, then there was no podium involved, but he still seemed overly pleased with the race's result. Discarding your white coat on your chair, you leaned your hip against the wood of your desk, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You might be my lucky charm, Y/n." Those green eyes glittered up at you, as if his words were an undeniable truth. Gone was the heartbroken boy, replaced by a man who knew himself. "I was a second away from being able to pass Charles and get on the podium, from 10th to 4th."

"I never doubted you Lando," You answered honestly knowing damn well he had gained his confidence back in himself. His smile was the sunshine you had been deprived of. "I am now looking forward to watching the race when I get back to my hotel room later."

"We can watch it together." A playful grin decorated Lando's face as he suggested watching the race with you. Running a hand through his curls, he tilted his head to the side, awaiting your agreement as if he knew you could never refuse him.

"Need to inflate your ego more?" You teased, finding it amusing that he would be willing to cut two hours out of his life to watch his job. There was a particular endearment on his face that melted any reservations that remained in your soul.

"I'll buy dinner." He added as if you needed any more incentive to spend the rest of your night with him. Even though the sun had long since set, there was not an ounce of exhaustion to be found in your body. Travelling so often ensured that your sleep schedule never truly followed the time zone you were in temporarily.

"You've got yourself a deal, if and only if you shower first." You teased him regarding his sweat-stained skin. Sweat really wasn't a big deal to you, but it gave you time to return to your room, straighten anything that was out of place, and change out of your scrubs before he came over. "I am in building C, room 1304. The door will be unlocked."

As you left your office and returned to your hotel room, you realized you probably should have specified what dinner was going to be. But at this point, most food sounded good. Each passing minute dragged on as if it were its own span of a lifetime. Your suitcase was always packed with various team merch that had been gifted to you over the years. Familiar orange drew your eye to where the papaya sweats were folded neatly. Without a second thought, you pulled on the well-worn fabric.

You heard Lando call out your name as the door began to open, a bag of food in his arms. He froze the second he laid eyes on you, unabashedly letting his gaze roam all over your figure, drinking in the sight before him like a dehydrated man. A grin slowly spread across his lips as he met your gaze, "Careful, someone might think you are wearing my clothes."

"I do believe your number is nowhere to be found on this set." You answered as he stepped past you, placing the bag of food on the small hotel table. His cologne lingered in his wake, forcing you to pause as you attempted to commit it to memory. Traces of amber mixed with notes of sandalwood hypnotized you closer, daring you to get lost in their embrace.

"We will have to change that," Lando's voice had a playful undertone to it as he began to unpack the various items of food on the table. You eyed him suspiciously as you took note of the meal he had positioned closer to you. Somehow, he knew what your favourite food was and had gone out of his way to ensure you would be eating something you liked.

"You remembered?" You glanced up, your heart raced slightly with the notion. He knew you. He had been taking the time to know you, little by little, ensuring he remembered each detail you gave him. Even now, he still wants to know you. Every excuse to spend time with you, every joke to see your smile.

"You are surprisingly consistent, you know that?" His voice pulled you from your thoughts, as you did not deny the smile playing at your lips. A light shade of pink no doubt dusted your cheeks in response to his attention, unwaveringly directed only at you. "Although it was a little difficult to find, given that it's almost 10 pm."

"Thank you," you admitted, sitting across from him. You lifted the food to your mouth and began to eat. Words would always fail when you tried to understand how much the small gesture meant to you. Was it a gesture that truly meant nothing? No one had ever truly bothered to remember the small things, favourite meals or colours. They were the unimportant details that made up who a person truly was.

"You act like it's a burden to know you." Those eyes studied you intently from across the table as he leaned forward in his chair. The silver of his necklace glittered in the hotel room light, catching your attention briefly. The attention he was affording you demanded to be felt, to be known that it belonged to you and you alone, even if it was just for this moment. "You are easy to know, to be around."

"You aren't so bad yourself." Your words were teasing, attempting to lighten the serious tone that had fallen over the two of you. A small smirk decorated his features, returning the playful flint to his eyes as he began taking a few bites of his own food. Reaching for the remote, you turned on the TV. The hotel, of course, was playing reruns of the race on almost all of the channels. Shifting your chair, you positioned it next to Lando's, only to see the screen better, but the scent of his cologne welcomed you back into the closeness.

Both of you finished your food, and somehow the race was only on lap twenty. Stretching from the very wooden, rigid chair you stood in, you took all of your combined trash to the bin. The idea of sitting back in that chair was extremely unappetizing, plus your bed was strategically positioned right in front of the TV. Repositioning the pillows, you created a comfortable back rest and settled onto the bed. Lando did not bother to wait for an invitation as he practically threw himself onto the bed. With a few adjustments, he was snuggled into the pillows, ensuring his absence would haunt everything he touched.

Throughout the rest of the race, he made various comments about the race, noting each incident that happened. His voice was soothing as he spoke; it was as if he was relaying a stream of his own consciousness during the races. At first, several centimetres separated you, and lap by lap, the distance decreased to millimetres until his body heat seeped into yours, as his body rested next to yours. You could no longer focus on his words as you felt every inch of his body next to yours.

Everything that ate at you, all those tasks you need to complete, could not penetrate the haven of your hotel room. The little oasis of this moment was one you would cherish in every lifetime. In this moment, titles didn't matter; the consequences of the morning could haunt you later. His body shifted slightly as the weight of his head now rested on your thigh, as he continued to make frequent comments on the race.

Glancing away from the screen, you felt the smallest smile play on your lips. From this angle, you could not clearly see his face, but you could see the relaxation of his figure as he lay beside you. He felt safe with you. Lifting your hand, you felt his curls tickling your palm as you gingerly combed through his hair. You waited for him to protest, but you were met with a hum of contentment instead. Repeating the motion, your nails raked through his scalp at a leisurely pace as your attention turned back to the screen.

The final ten laps were approaching in rapid succession, and you could barely hold in the thrills of excitement. The papaya McLaren was gaining on the Ferrari at an increasing rate, matching your own heart rate. In the span of 45 laps, Lando had gone from tenth to fourth, and it was nothing but a testament to his skill as a driver. It didn't matter that the race was over, that the driver you were rooting for was in your lap, that the race results had already been disclosed to you. A cheer passed your lips as you watched Lando break the one-second gap between himself and Charles. With two laps left, there was a chance. You barely breathed as the last laps raced past.

"That was amazing, you were amazing, Lando!" There was limitless pride in your voice as you began to speak, but the body resting on yours didn't move in response. The exhaustion of the day had stolen Lando away from you as he used you as his pillow. Your hand never stilled as you continued to play with the curly locks of brown hair. Maybe in a few minutes or several hours, you would attempt to find your own place to sleep, but for this moment, you would relish his trust. One, you swore to the gods you would never betray.

Hi, hope you enjoyed! I am attempting to learn how to do Reader X Drivers. I would love your requests if you have any in mind. Or if you want me to continue this one. Otherwise, thank you for reading this oneshot <33333

#formula 1 #formula one x reader #lando x reader #lando norris x reader #reader insert #formula one fanfiction #This is really just hurt comfort #I needed some fluff #hes just a baby #lando x you #lando imagine

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