“Maybe The World Needs A Wake Up Call”
Authors note - Oooh first Lando one shot! I just think he fits this idea well. This one is semi personal to me as I suffer a lot with back pain due to my disability but I still wanted to keep it inclusive/ relatable to everyone not just myself so I changed things slightly and didn’t go into specifics as I know it’s different for others. As always feedback is welcome, hate is not ✨💕
Lando Norris x Fem!Reader
Summery - You have chronic back pain and you can’t help but think it will impact your relationship with Lando. - Angst ☁️ / Fluff 💕
Warnings - Angst? Doubt of relationship. Mentions of chronic illness. Not fully proofread.
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The lights outside the apartment window glimmered over the harbour, soft and slow. You sat cross-legged on the sofa, heating pad tucked behind your back and a blanket pooled around your waist. The ache had settled in deep tonight—sharp enough to make you wince when you shifted, dull enough to make everything else feel heavy.
You tried not to let Lando see it.
He was in the kitchen, barefoot, sleeves pushed up, humming something half-tuneless as he stirred pasta. He always cooked on nights like these. Not because you asked. Because he just knew.
When he walked over with a bowl and placed it gently in front of you, you gave him a look. “You don’t have to do all this.”
He raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally pasta.”
“You’re fussing.”
He sat beside you, slinging an arm behind your body on the sofa but careful to not touch your lower back, knowing exactly where not to lean. “I’m not fussing. I’m feeding my girlfriend. If that’s fussing, then I’ve been doing it since the day I met you.”
You laughed at that, but there was a flicker of guilt in your expression. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like a carer, you know? Like you have to look after me all the time.”
His brow furrowed slightly, not in frustration, just quiet seriousness. “Baby. I’m not looking after you like a nurse looks after a patient. I’m with you. It’s what people do when they care. You’d do the same for me.”
You looked down, stirring the pasta you suddenly had no appetite for.
“I don’t want to be the girl with the pain,” you answer, looking down. “I don’t want to be someone you have to… adjust around.”
Lando paused for a second before answering.
“You’re not ‘the girl with the pain.’ You’re just… you. And yeah, I adjust. But not because I have to. Because I want to. That’s love, isn’t it? Figuring each other out. Showing up.”
Your throat tightened.
“I know I get angry sometimes when it’s bad,” you whispered. “And tired. And I know I cancel things last-minute, and I’m not exactly the easiest—”
Lando leaned in and kissed your shoulder, his voice low. “And yet, you still make me feel more at home than any podium ever has.”
That got you. The emotion crawling up your throat, threatened to escape as unwanted tears slowly made their way down your face silently.
Lando gently pulls you into his side, making sure not to press anywhere that would cause you more pain. His arms wrapped around your waist like muscle memory, practiced and careful. No pity in his touch—just calm, consistent presence.
“No pity,” he murmured, resting his chin on your head. “Just love.”
At home, Lando’s love and patience shielded you, but outside, that shield didn’t seem to stretch far enough.
Public perception was hand to handle. Lando was so understanding, but the public? They were not.
You stood just behind the barrier in the paddock, sunglasses on, hands tucked into your jacket pockets. It was one of your bad days, but you hadn’t wanted to miss Lando’s race. You never did. Your back ached from standing too long, but you didn’t say anything. You just leaned against a metal post near the McLaren hospitality entrance, trying to blend in.
You noticed the camera lenses shift toward you before you heard the whispers. A couple of photographers were muttering something, eyes darting between you and their notepads. You felt your stomach sink. Not again.
Later that night, the headline popped up on you feed:
“Who is Lando Norris’s ‘Tired’ Girlfriend? Fans Question Her Constant Fatigue and Strange Distance at Races.”
The article was pure speculation, riddled with photos taken at awkward moments— you wincing while walking, Lando placing a hand on your lower back, a close-up of you sitting with a heat patch visible under your jacket. A comment thread underneath didn’t help.
“Why is she always slouched or grimacing?”
“She looks miserable next to him.”
“She seems more like a burden than a partner.”
Your hands shook. You didn’t want to react, you didn’t want to cry, not again but when your phone screen blurred you knew the tears were flowing.
You didn’t want Lando to see it. But he did—of course he did.
He found you curled up on the balcony of the hotel suite later that night, hoodie pulled tight around you, staring blankly at the sea.
“They’re saying I look like a burden,” you said before he could speak.
Lando crouched beside you, taking your phone gently from your hand and placing it on the table behind him without looking at the screen.
“Then they’re idiots,” he replied flatly. “And they have no idea who you are.”
You stared at him. “But what if it does look that way? I don’t want people thinking I’m dragging you down.”
He sat beside you, arm coming around your shoulders. “Let them think whatever they want. The truth’s not for them. It’s for us.”
“But it affects you,” you whispered. “Your image, your interviews—”
He looked at you then, his expression fierce but tender. “If the world thinks less of me because I love someone with chronic pain, then maybe the world needs a wake-up call.”
Your eyes stung again.
“I don’t want to be your weakness,” you chocked out. Vulnerability coating every word.
“You’re not,” he replied. “You’re the part of me that doesn’t quit, even on the hard days. That’s strength.”
After that night, Lando posted a set of photos on his story. It was you, in the safety of his arms, head on his chest, and others of you living your daily life in despite of your pain. The caption was simple:
“She’s the strongest person I know. And I love her. That’s it.”
