𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙵𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺
𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where lando crashes during a race, and you’re the first person he calls from the hospital, leading to the world discovering your relationship and realizing just how much you mean to each other
𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: control - halsey
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: crash?
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・
The moment Lando’s car spun out, your heart dropped into your stomach.
The race had been tense from the start—too many close calls, too many drivers fighting for positions that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Lando had been holding his ground, P4 with only a few laps to go, when suddenly—disaster.
One second, his car was stable. The next, the rear tires lost grip, and the McLaren was skidding sideways at high speed. The impact with the barrier was sickening, the sound of carbon fiber shattering ringing through the speakers of the live feed.
Your breath caught in your throat as the commentators fell silent for a moment before scrambling to process what had just happened.
“Big crash for Lando Norris!”
The camera panned to the wreckage—his car sat crumpled against the barriers, front wing completely destroyed, one wheel hanging at an unnatural angle. But you weren’t looking at the car. You were searching for movement. Searching for Lando.
Seconds felt like hours.
Then, finally, relief—Lando’s helmet moved. His hands gripped the steering wheel before he slowly, painfully, started to unbuckle himself.
“He’s moving,” someone in the McLaren garage muttered, but it wasn’t enough. Not for you.
You needed to see him walk away. You needed to hear his voice, to know he was okay.
Marshals and medical staff were at his car within moments. The camera showed him trying to get out, but something was wrong. He hesitated, gripping his side as if in pain. That was when the medical team stepped in, helping him out of the cockpit and guiding him toward the ambulance.
Your phone buzzed with messages. You ignored them all.
All that mattered was getting to him.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and stress.
You practically ran through the halls, only stopping when you spotted the familiar papaya-colored jacket outside one of the rooms. McLaren’s team principal looked up, eyes heavy with concern.
“He’s okay,” he said quickly, holding up a hand to stop your panic. “Bruised ribs, mild concussion. They’re keeping him for observation, but he’s stable.”
The breath you’d been holding finally escaped, but it didn’t stop the shaking in your hands. “Can I see him?”
“He asked for you.”
That was all you needed to hear.
Pushing the door open, you found Lando sitting up in bed, looking far too smug for someone who had just been pulled from a wrecked F1 car. His hair was messy, a cut visible on his temple where his helmet must have pressed too hard.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite emergency contact,” he teased, voice slightly hoarse. “Took you long enough.”
You didn’t say anything. You just crossed the room in three steps and wrapped your arms around him—gently, careful of his injuries, but firmly enough that he knew just how scared you had been.
His breath hitched. Then, his arms circled your waist, holding you just as tightly. “Hey, I’m okay.”
“You weren’t moving,” you whispered into his shoulder. “I thought—”
“I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
You pulled back just enough to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “Don’t scare me like that again.”
He grinned, despite the exhaustion in his eyes. “No promises.”
You smacked his arm lightly, making him wince. “Ow. Injured man, remember?”
“Then stop making jokes and rest.”
Lando just sighed, leaning back into the pillows. “Stay?”
You didn’t even hesitate.
Climbing into the narrow hospital bed beside him, you carefully curled up against his side, mindful of his bruised ribs. His hand found yours, fingers lacing together as his breathing evened out.
For the first time since the crash, you felt like you could finally breathe too.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・
The world found out about Lando’s injuries almost immediately. Social media exploded with concern, fellow drivers sent messages of support, and McLaren released official updates.
But what people didn’t expect was the blurry photo of you curled up beside Lando in the hospital bed, posted to his Instagram story with a simple caption:
“Best medicine.”
The internet lost its mind.
Until now, your relationship had been private—close friends and family knew, but the public had been none the wiser. That changed overnight. Suddenly, fan edits, speculations, and messages flooded in.
Carlos was the first to text.
Carlos: “So this is how I find out you have a girlfriend? After a crash? Dramatic.”
Lando: “Now is not the time, Sainz.”
Oscar wasn’t much better.
Oscar: “At least tell me you scolded him properly.”
You: “Oh, he got an earful.”
And then, of course, there was Max.
Max: “I knew it. Only someone special would put up with his nonsense.”
Lando read the messages over your shoulder, laughing even though it made him wince. “I think they approve.”
You rolled your eyes. “They’re lucky I didn’t strangle you for scaring me like that.”
His expression softened. “I really am sorry.”
“I know,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. “Just… be more careful, okay?”
He nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I promise.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・
Two Weeks Later
Lando had never been one to enjoy sitting still. Recovery was torture for him—forced rest, limited movement, no racing. But if there was one upside, it was that he finally got to spend uninterrupted time with you.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he grumbled as you forced him to stay on the couch, a blanket draped over him.
“Enjoying making sure you don’t injure yourself further? Absolutely.”
He huffed. “I feel fine.”
“You’re still bruised, your concussion isn’t fully healed, and you wince every time you try to move too fast,” you listed off, arms crossed. “Sit still and let me take care of you.”
A slow grin spread across his face. “You like taking care of me?”
“I like making sure you don’t do anything stupid.”
“Same thing.”
You sighed, exasperated, but he just pulled you down beside him, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “For being here. For worrying. For everything.”
You smiled against his lips. “Always.”
And in that moment, as he pulled you closer, you knew—no matter how scary the crashes, how stressful the races, you’d always be right here, waiting at the finish line.
Because loving Lando Norris was always worth the risk.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・
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