rue-t

[rue-t]

ok, so what now.

[rue-t]

Hi darling. Could I please request a girlfriend x reader story where Rebecca meets Carlos little sister and falls in love with her. She like kisses her and tells her everything is fine. Like, it is a bit dark. Could reader also be younger and a ballet dancer? Thank you

Dark Story!

Love my boyfriend’s sister

The Sainz family home was bustling with the warmth and love that came with a rare evening spent together. The comforting aroma of Carlos’ cooking wafted through the air as his father read a newspaper on the couch, his mother Reyes busily wrapping her youngest daughter’s feet in bandages, and Blanca chattered animatedly about her day.

“You know, mamá,” Blanca teased, leaning on the back of the couch. “She’s probably going to dance until her feet fall off one day.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Reyes said, clicking her tongue. She dabbed a bit of ointment onto the raw patches of Yn’s feet, her expression a mixture of pride and concern. “She already pushes herself too hard. Mira, niña, you don’t have to be perfect every single time.”

Yn winced slightly at the sting of the ointment but smiled at her mother. “I’m not trying to be perfect, mamá. I just love it, that’s all. Besides, you know I can’t leave a rehearsal unfinished.”

Her father chimed in from the couch, setting down his newspaper. “We all admire your dedication, mi niña, but you’re still human. Even ballerinas need to rest.”

“Exactly!” Blanca cut in. “Why do you think Carlos is always stuffing you full of food? You’re going to waste away otherwise.”

Yn rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small laugh. “I think Carlos just likes an excuse to cook. He thinks he’s a chef now.”

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway interrupted their conversation, followed by the slam of a car door.

“Speaking of Carlos,” Reyes said, tying off the bandage and patting Yn’s knee. “He’s home. Finally, we can eat.”

Carlos walked in a moment later, balancing a couple of containers in his hands. His dark hair was slightly windswept, and a grin stretched across his face. “I hope you’re all hungry. I made enough to feed an army.”

“Like always,” Blanca joked as she hopped off the couch to grab the bags from her brother.

“Wait,” Carlos said, holding up a hand. “Before you all start eating without me, I brought someone to meet you.” He stepped aside, revealing a woman standing shyly in the doorway.

“This is Rebecca,” Carlos introduced. “She’s… well, she’s my girlfriend.”

The room went silent for a moment, and then Reyes rose to her feet, smoothing her hands down her apron. “Carlos, you didn’t say anything about bringing a guest, but it’s lovely to meet you, Rebecca.”

Rebecca smiled warmly. “Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. Sainz. I hope I’m not imposing.”

“Nonsense,” Reyes replied, gesturing her inside. “Come, come, sit. Any guest of Carlos is a guest of ours. Yn, make room.”

Yn, who had been sitting cross-legged on the couch, quickly shuffled over to make space. “Hi,” she said softly, offering Rebecca a shy smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you as well,” Rebecca replied, her gaze lingering on Yn for just a moment longer than necessary. Yn’s delicate features, framed by her slightly messy bun, caught Rebecca off guard. There was something so ethereal about her, like she was a ballerina even offstage.

Blanca, always the outgoing one, quickly pulled Rebecca into the fold of conversation. “So, Rebecca, how did you meet Carlos? Please tell me it was something romantic.”

“Blanca!” Carlos groaned, setting the food containers on the dining table.

Rebecca chuckled, settling into the couch beside Yn. “Well, not exactly romantic. We met through mutual friends, and he invited me to one of his races. I guess we just… clicked after that.”

As the family talked and laughed, Yn sat quietly, content to listen. Rebecca, however, found herself stealing glances at Yn. The younger woman had a quiet, almost magnetic presence. She wasn’t flashy or loud like Carlos, but there was a grace to her that Rebecca found utterly captivating.

When dinner was served, Carlos made sure to pile an extra helping of food onto Yn’s plate.

“Carlos, I can’t eat all of this!” Yn protested.

“You can and you will,” Carlos insisted. “You’re too thin. Do you even eat at the studio?”

“I eat enough,” Yn mumbled, but she didn’t argue further, knowing it was a battle she’d lose.

Rebecca watched the exchange with a smile. “You’re a ballerina, right?” she asked Yn.

Yn nodded, swallowing a bite of food. “Yes. I train almost every evening.”

“That’s incredible,” Rebecca said. “I’ve always admired dancers. It’s such a beautiful art form. Do you perform often?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” Yn admitted. “Most of my time is spent training or rehearsing, but it’s worth it when I get to be on stage.”

As Yn spoke about ballet, her face lit up, and Rebecca found herself hanging on every word. There was a passion in Yn’s voice that was infectious, and Rebecca couldn’t help but think how unfair it was for someone to be so talented and so… beautiful.

The evening wore on, and as the family grew more comfortable with Rebecca, she felt increasingly out of place. Not because they were unkind—they were wonderful, warm people—but because she couldn’t stop noticing Yn. The way her smile curved just slightly to the left, the way she absentmindedly brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, the way she moved with a dancer’s grace even when she was just sitting at the table.

Later, as the family said their goodnights and Carlos prepared to drive Rebecca home, she found herself lingering by the door, glancing back at Yn one last time.

“Thank you for having me,” Rebecca said, directing her words to the whole family but looking directly at Yn. “It was lovely to meet you all.”

“Come back anytime,” Reyes said warmly, while Yn gave a small wave. “Goodnight.”

As Carlos led Rebecca out to the car, he grinned at her. “So, what did you think?”

Rebecca hesitated for a moment, her thoughts swirling. “Your family is wonderful, Carlos,” she said finally, though the image of Yn’s shy smile lingered in her mind.

And as they drove off into the night, Rebecca couldn’t shake the feeling that she was leaving something—or someone—very important behind.

Over the following months, Rebecca became a regular presence in the Sainz household.

She seemed to have slotted into their lives effortlessly, joining them for dinners, outings, and family activities. To Carlos, it was a dream come true—his girlfriend got along with his family like she’d always been a part of it. To Rebecca, it was the perfect excuse to spend more time with Yn.

The friendship between the two young women had grown naturally—or so it seemed. Rebecca would casually suggest little outings, always under the guise of wanting to bond with her boyfriend’s younger sister.

“Yn, I need you to come with me,” Rebecca said one afternoon, leaning against the doorframe of Yn’s room.

Yn looked up from her book, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “What for?”

“Shopping,” Rebecca said with a grin. “You have to help me pick out something for Carlos. You’re the only one who knows what he likes better than me.”

Yn laughed and closed her book. “I doubt that, but okay. Let me grab my shoes.”

At first, the outings were simple and innocent—shopping trips, movie nights, or getting their nails done. Yn appreciated having someone to share her free time with, especially since her schedule was often consumed by ballet.

Rebecca, however, saw it differently. Every smile Yn gave her, every laugh they shared, felt like a step closer to something forbidden. Rebecca began to crave Yn’s attention, finding excuses to be near her or to touch her.

“Your hair is so soft,” Rebecca commented one day as they sat on Yn’s bed, going through a stack of photos from Yn’s last performance. Rebecca reached out, brushing a strand of Yn’s hair behind her ear.

Yn blinked in surprise but smiled. “Thanks. It’s a mess after rehearsals, though. I’m always sweaty and gross.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t believe that for a second. You’re always beautiful.”

Yn flushed slightly, laughing off the compliment. “You’re exaggerating.”

But Rebecca wasn’t. To her, Yn was radiant—her innocence, her passion, her delicate beauty. Everything about her drew Rebecca in like a moth to a flame.

As their bond deepened, Rebecca grew bolder. She began to find reasons to touch Yn—a hand on her back as they walked, holding her hand during movies, even kissing her cheek when they were alone.

Yn, in her naivety, thought nothing of it. She assumed this was how close friends—or maybe even sisters—acted.

One summer afternoon, the family gathered in the garden for a lazy, sun-drenched day. Carlos was manning the grill with their father, while Blanca and Reyes were sitting at a table nearby, chatting and sipping iced drinks. Yn and Rebecca were in the pool, splashing around in the cool water.

“Come on, Yn!” Rebecca called, swimming toward her. “You’re not tired already, are you?”

Yn laughed, leaning against the edge of the pool. “I might be. I had rehearsal this morning, remember?”

Rebecca swam closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You work too hard. Come here, I’ll help you out.”

Before Yn could protest, Rebecca was hoisting her up, her strong hands gripping Yn’s waist. “Wrap your legs around me,” Rebecca instructed.

Yn hesitated for a moment, but Rebecca’s firm grip made her feel secure. She wrapped her legs around Rebecca’s waist and looped her arms around her neck.

“There we go,” Rebecca said, her voice soft, almost intimate. Her hands moved to Yn’s thighs, steadying her. “See? I’ve got you.”

Yn rested her head on Rebecca’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of the sun on her back. “Thanks, Rebecca. You’re always so nice to me.”

Rebecca’s heart raced at the closeness, the feel of Yn’s body pressed against hers, particularly Yn's soft, round breast. Her hands slid down slightly, brushing against Yn’s ass. She gave a gentle squeeze, her fingers trailing lower.

Yn didn’t seem to notice. She giggled softly, her head still resting on Rebecca’s shoulder. “You’re really strong.”

Rebecca smiled, her voice low. “Anything for you, Yn.”

From the patio, Carlos glanced over at the pool. “Rebecca, is Yn okay?”

Rebecca turned her head slightly, giving him a reassuring smile. “She’s fine. Just tired from rehearsal. I’m keeping her from sinking.”

Blanca laughed. “Our little ballerina always needs someone to catch her when she’s overworked.”

Reyes shook her head fondly. “That girl pushes herself too hard. Thank you for looking after her, Rebecca.”

Rebecca turned her attention back to Yn, her fingers still lingering on the younger girl’s ass. “It’s no trouble at all,” she said softly, her words meant for Yn alone.

Yn lifted her head, smiling brightly at Rebecca. “You’re the best. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Rebecca’s chest tightened at the words. In her mind, they were more than just an innocent expression of gratitude. To her, they were proof of the connection she believed they shared.

But as the family laughed and chatted in the background, Rebecca knew she has to tread carefully. For now, she would savor these stolen moments, each bringing her closer to the girl that had unknowingly stolen her heart.

A few days later, the rain drizzled gently on the windshield, the rhythmic pattering a soft backdrop to Rebecca's steady breathing as she waited in the car outside the studio. The faint glow of the streetlights illuminated the empty parking lot, casting long shadows that danced with the occasional gust of wind.

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, glancing at the studio's doors. Moments later, they opened, and there Yn was, her hair slightly damp from sweat, her tired frame illuminated by the faint glow of the fluorescent lights behind her.

Rebecca watched her for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Yn looked exhausted, her duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a water bottle in her other hand. Yet, even now, she was beautiful. Rebecca stepped out of the car, opening the umbrella and walking toward her.

"You didn't have to wait outside, you know," Yn said, her voice tinged with guilt as Rebecca reached her.

"I wanted to," Rebecca replied simply, her voice warm. She gently took Yn's duffel bag, slinging it over her own shoulder before reaching for her hand. "Come on. Let’s get you home."

Yn hesitated for a moment, her hand lingering in Rebecca’s before squeezing lightly. "Thanks, Becca."

Rebecca didn’t reply, instead guiding her toward the car. She opened the passenger door for Yn, waiting until she was seated before setting the duffel bag in the backseat and getting behind the wheel.

As they pulled onto the empty road, the soft hum of the engine filled the space between them, mingling with the sound of the rain against the car. Yn sighed, leaning her head back against the seat.

"Long day?" Rebecca asked, her eyes flicking briefly from the road to Yn before returning to the windshield.

"You have no idea," Yn groaned, stretching slightly. "I was stuck on the same routine for hours. I just couldn’t get the last part right. It’s so frustrating."

Rebecca glanced at her again, a small smile playing on her lips. "You’re too hard on yourself. I’m sure it’s already amazing."

Yn shook her head, a tired but amused laugh escaping her lips. "You always say that."

"Because it’s true," Rebecca said softly, her voice carrying a conviction that made Yn pause. She looked at Rebecca, her tired gaze softening.

"Thanks," Yn murmured, her voice barely audible above the rain.

Rebecca reached over briefly, her fingers brushing Yn's knee in a comforting gesture before returning to the wheel. "Anytime."

The conversation flowed easily after that, Yn recounting her struggles in the studio and Rebecca listening intently, occasionally chiming in with a question or a comment. The road stretched ahead of them, deserted and glistening with rain.

When they approached a red light, Rebecca slowed the car to a stop.

It was then that she turned to Yn, her expression unreadable. Before Yn could ask what was wrong, Rebecca cupped her face with both hands, her thumbs brushing gently against Yn's cheeks. Yn's breath hitched, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Rebecca, what are you—" Yn began, but her words were cut off as Rebecca leaned in, her lips capturing Yn's in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was intense, filled with a desperation that left Yn reeling.

"Becca—" Yn tried to pull back, her voice muffled against Rebecca's lips, but Rebecca didn’t let her go. Her hands held Yn firmly, one sliding to the back of her neck while the other rested on her cheek.

"I love you," Rebecca whispered against Yn's lips, her voice raw. She moved her hand and unbuckled Yn's seatbelt before pulling the younger girl on ber lap.

Her forehead pressed against Yn’s as she continued, her breath warm against Yn’s skin. "I love you, and I can’t keep pretending I don’t."

Yn stared at her, her heart pounding in her chest. She started to get nervous about this whole situation. "What are you talking about? What about Carlos—"

"Carlos doesn’t mean anything to me," Rebecca interrupted, her voice firm. Her hands moved to Yn’s hips, gripping her as though she were afraid she might disappear. "He never did. It’s always been you, Yn."

"Rebecca, no..." Yn’s voice wavered, her mind racing as she tried to process what was happening.

But before she could say anything more, Rebecca’s lips were on hers again, silencing her protests.

This time, the kiss was rougher, even more intense. Rebecca’s hands moved to Yn's ass, squeezing it with practiced ease. Yn gasped as Rebecca guided her forward, making her grind onto Rebecca’s lap.

"Rebecca, wait—" Yn began, but the words caught in her throat as Rebecca’s hands found her breast, pulling her shirt down.

"Just… let me," Rebecca murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She immediately moved her mouth towards Yn nipple, sucking and biting it. Her other hand tugged her other nipple harshly.

When Yn tried to move away, she kissed her again. One hand moved to her hip, while the other started touching Yn between her legs.

She moved it left and right, putting pressure on Yn's pleasure button.

The hand that held her hip moved to Yn chin, making her look at Rebecca. Rebecca moved ger hand fast in-between Yn legs.

Yn legs started shaking, she was approaching her orgasm closer and closer but looked very displeased.

Rebecca moved her mouth to Yn ear, whispering to her: " You are mine now. Mine alone."

[rue-t]

[rue-t]

in burning red | CL16

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: charles needs a date to his brother's wedding and yn is famously obsessed with him

tropes: strangers to lovers, social media AU

ln.yn

liked by yoursibling, lorde, and 801,247 others

ln.yn wrote a song called "red," it's NOT about charles leclerc (trust me chat, i wish it were 😭🙏). out now!!!!

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user1 she can write the most real songs ever, but her crush on chalres leclerc is the most relatable thing about her

yoursibling stop ruining f1 for me

ln.yn you know what now im gonna ruin it even MORE hoe

user2 im in love with her

user3 and she... is in love with charles leclerc

user4 when the finna is tea but the chile is gag (this music is about to EAT)

oliviarodrigo song of the year!!!!!!

ln.yn that means a LOT coming from youuu 💞

user5 can we collectively make a kickstarter to buy her a paddock pass 😭

ln.yn i would not be opposed to that 🧐

user5 OMG YN YOU REPLIED TO MY COMMENT???

user6 someone inform charles of his #1 fan pls

user7 HELL YEAH YN LN #3

user8 guys if yncharles happens it'll be like tayvis except she's travis

user9 YOU'RE SO RIGHT

troyesivan answer my texts bitch

ln.yn you leave me on read for days stfu

charles_leclerc playing red - yn ln

liked by lando, georgerussell63, and 1,023,184 others

charles_leclerc Leo and I like this song

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ln.yn HOLDDDDD THE DAMN PHONE

charles_leclerc hello

ln.yn ...hello

user11 focus less on girls and more on winning a race pls!!!

user12 holy annoying ahh

pierregasly shooting his shot

arthur_leclerc he better, he needs a date to lorenzo's wedding

user13 YNCHARLES?!?!?

oscarpiastri Can I petsit Leo?

charles_leclerc maybe, son

user13 il predestinato ❤️

carlossain55 i am more aesthetic than you

charles_leclerc whatever you say 🧎‍➡️

scuderiaferrari Our favorite (and Charles is there too) liked by author

lewishamilton roscoe's waiting on that playdate, mate

charles_leclerc we can't let our dogs become better partners than we are

user14 im concerned for yn

ln.yn posted a story!

ln.yn flying to monaco for the first time!!!

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user15 im worried for charles leclerc's safety

user16 She's so gorgeous 🥰

user17 omg my queen posted

charles_leclerc cute

charles_leclerc posted a story!

charles_leclerc Se préparer pour le jour du mariage avec les idiots 1 et 2

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user18 the leclerc brothers 🔥

arthur_leclerc les deux idiots dont vous parlez doivent être vous-même

ln.yn voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?

charles_leclerc lady marmalade

user19 eek!!!! i can't wait for lorenzo's wedding!!!

user20 yn in the comments AND charles replied WHAT

ln.yn

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, and 843,871 others

ln.yn lorenzo and charlotte, i know i just met you, but i need you to adopt me. amazing, amazing wedding with an amazing, amazing date (thank you charles_leclerc)!!! i can't thank all of the leclercs for letting me be here for such an important and beautiful moment. safe to say, monaco is my new favorite place ❤️🤍

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user21 OMG YN AND CHARLES DATE???

user22 she needs to teach us her ways

user23 hg has been PINING

lorenzo_leclerc Thank you for accompanying Charles (we didn't want him to look lonely)

ln.yn it's okay (just pay me later) 😉

charles_leclerc ☹️

user24 she look so prettyyyy

user25 her and charles look so good together it's wild

user26 yn knew before anyone else did

charlixcx hot

ln.yn im partying 4 u

user27 yesss, we needed her to get new music inspo

user28 the charles songs are gonna SLAP

charles_leclerc thanks for coming with me, chérie

ln.yn thanks for inviting me 😊

charles_leclerc round 2? drinks?

user29 OH HE'S SMOOTH (operator????)

ln.yn yes, round 2, but this time on my turf (you're gonna love manhattan)

lando i ship it 👍

charles_leclerc

liked by scuderiaferrari, yourbestfriend, and 1,029,054 others

charles_leclerc Lorenzo, mon frère aîné, ma plus grande inspiration, et Charlotte, la meilleure belle-soeur de tous les temps, se sont mariés ! Je suis tellement heureuse pour vous deux, vous méritez tout et plus encore. J’ai passé des moments formidables à célébrer avec vous, je vous aime et je vous dois tout à tous les deux.

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carlossainz55 happy wedding, enzo and charlotte!

oscarpiastri Congratulations!!!

lorenzo_leclerc Je t'aime, mon frère

ln.yn charlotte and lorenzo, my pinterest board wedding and couple!!

charles_leclerc girl comment that on their post, on mine say i'm pretty

user30 DOWN BADDDDD

user31 i love them so much!!! i wish i were there

user32 charles looks yummy

user33 is this yn's secret acc?

ln.yn NO i would say on my main that he looks yummy

scuderiaferrari We love the Leclercs in this house

user34 yncharles mention!

maxverstappen1 congrats, guys! i wish you the best!

user35 mad max is being so nice 🥺

arthur_leclerc i looked better than you

charles_leclerc maybe shut up, this is ENZO'S DAY

a week later

charles_leclerc posted a story!

charles_leclerc date #2 with ln.yn 🫶

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user36 she's so beautiful, can charles fight

user37 i love them together

user38 AWWW i love my yncharles

user39 the next yn album will be a BANGER

user40 cuties!!!

ln.yn hey you're nice!

the first charles fic! hope y'all like it <333

[rue-t]

Could you write something when you’re Charles younger sister you’re the only girl and youngest growing up with three older brothers meant that they’re over protective and while you’re older brothers spend time on the track you play tennis a few years ago a young woman started playing at Monaco Alma Rune you soon became friends and you met her younger brother Holger which was climbing the world ranking at the time and you began spending more and more time traveling with them as you fell in love with Holger you didn’t tell you’re family it would be an absolute disaster why would you want to ruin the peace and beside that you couldn’t remember the last time you where this happy, but of course you couldn’t stay in you’re bliss it had to come down eventually it was the week before Lorenzos wedding that Charles somehow finds out that you’re in an two year relationship and you didn’t tell the family you’re at dinner with the Rune family when Charles starts calling relentlessly and Alexandra send you an text saying that Charles is foaming and that she never saw him so angry. Wish you a happy holiday you deserve it!

All The Things I Never Said - CL (sister)

masterlist

Summary: The reader has been secretly dating Holger Rune for two years, hiding it from her protective brother, Charles Leclerc. During a private dinner, she receives a wave of missed calls and texts—Charles has found out. Panic sets in as she hides in the bathroom, knowing the secret is no longer safe. When she emerges, Holger is waiting, calm and loyal, but the fallout has already begun. Charles is coming.

Content Warning: emotional panic, secrecy, and fear of confrontation with family. Themes include betrayal, loss of control, and the collapse of a hidden relationship.

It had started slowly. That was the worst part.

There hadn’t been some cinematic, heart-stopping moment, no dramatic confessions or stolen kisses in the rain. It was just Alma Rune, your doubles partner from the Monaco Tennis Academy, introducing you to her younger brother one sunny afternoon. You were seventeen. He was sixteen. Blond hair, sharp grin, too much confidence for someone who wasn’t even legal to drive in most countries. Holger Rune had swaggered up to the net after your match, complimented your backhand, and then asked if you were busy that weekend.

And you should’ve said yes. You should’ve said my brothers would kill you, my family would implode, I’ve got enough trouble trying to stay out of the Leclerc headlines, thank you very much.

But instead you said no. You smiled. And it was over from there.

It wasn’t love at first sight. Not really. It was louder than that. Messier. It came in moments, when he tied your shoes during a rain delay in Lyon. When he offered to share his physio after your wrist twinged in Dubai. When he pressed a quick kiss to your shoulder the night before your first WTA main draw and whispered you’ve got this, mon amour like it was nothing.

You’d never wanted anything more. And so, the relationship began. Quiet. Stolen. Sacred.

Two years passed like a secret heartbeat. Sneaking out of family dinners to FaceTime him. Booking tournaments strategically to cross paths. Claiming to be rooming with Alma when it was really Holger’s hotel suite you slipped into at night. It was lies, yes. But not the cruel kind. Not the kind that broke things. Just soft ones. Protective ones. The kind you told to keep your world intact. Because you knew what would happen if your brothers found out. Especially Charles.

Arthur was too hot-tempered. Lorenzo too calculating. And Charles — Charles was all pride and silence and blood-loyalty, the type who would never forgive you if he thought you'd hidden something that mattered.

And Holger? Holger mattered more than you knew how to explain.

So you kept it quiet. All of it. The nights you spent curled in his bed tracing the scars on his knees. The mornings where he helped you stretch out your hamstrings like a lover and a trainer all at once. The handholding in taxis, the sex on balconies, the whispered je t’aime against your collarbone like a promise no one else would ever hear. You guarded it all like treasure.

Until it all fell apart.

It started small, like most disasters. A dinner. Holger’s family, his manager, a few close friends. Just a private celebration for his most recent win. You wore something simple, a blue sundress, a tennis bracelet Charles had given you years ago for your junior circuit debut, a pair of heels Holger liked because they made you look just tall enough to kiss properly.

The Rune family loved you. You knew they did. They’d accepted your secret relationship without hesitation, covered for you more times than you could count. Holger’s mother had even started calling you “min stjerne”, my star. And for once, you felt at peace. You weren’t just Holger’s secret. You were loved.

Until your phone buzzed.

Missed Calls: Charles Leclerc (6)

Then again. And again. Six missed calls in two minutes. You didn’t even have time to react before another name popped up.

Text from Alexandra: Babe. He’s foaming. I’ve never seen him like this. Call him. Now.

Your stomach dropped.

You blinked down at the screen, hands starting to shake, while laughter continued around the table. Holger’s hand was resting on your thigh, thumb drawing lazy circles. You felt your whole body start to go cold.

“Hey,” Holger said, his voice low, his mouth close to your ear. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t answer. The phone vibrated again. Charles. Seventh call. Then another message.

Text from Alexandra: I don’t know how he found out, but he knows. He knows you’re dating Holger. He is going to lose it.

Your breath caught. The room spun. You stood up too fast and the chair scraped violently behind you, drawing everyone's attention.

“I-I need to go to the bathroom,” you mumbled, already backing away from the table.

Holger stood immediately, face drawn with concern. “Do you want me to come with—”

“No.” Your voice cracked. “Stay. Please just stay.”

You practically ran.

The bathroom was glossy and silent, marble countertops and gold taps, the kind of place that didn’t deserve to be your hiding spot but became it anyway. You locked the door. Sat on the closed toilet. Pressed both hands to your chest and tried to breathe.

It was over. The secret. The safety. The soft little world you and Holger had built was about to be fucking torched.

How had he found out? You hadn’t told anyone. Alma was loyal. Holger wouldn’t slip. You hadn’t posted anything. You hadn’t left a trail. And yet Charles knew. And he was calling. And he was furious.

You stared down at the phone and didn’t dare answer.

Because you knew what his voice would sound like. Betrayed. Hurt. Dangerous. He’d scream. Or worse, he’d go quiet. Cold. Calculated. The way he got before overtakes at 200kph. You couldn’t handle that.

Because it wasn’t just that you’d kept a secret.

It was that you’d been happy doing it. That you hadn’t wanted to tell him. That you’d found something outside the Leclerc world and kept it for yourself. That you’d dared to love someone who drove fast, travelled the world, spoke with fire in his chest, just like your brothers, but wasn’t one of them.

You’d chosen Holger. Over family. Over tradition. Over peace.

And now? You were going to pay for it. Your phone vibrated again. Another call. Arthur this time. The panic doubled.

You opened the text app with shaking fingers and typed quickly.

To Alexandra: What do I do?

A pause. Then three dots. Then:

Alexandra: You need to go home. Now. Before it gets worse. Before they find him.

You stared at the message until your eyes blurred. Then you wiped your cheeks, stood up, and opened the door. Holger was waiting just outside.

[rue-t]

it’s only been 2 days but it feels like a lifetime, i simply can’t stay away.

ollie bearman x antonelli! law student! reader

ollie and kimi’s list of crimes grows by the week it seems and that has moved me so now we’re here. It just makes sense that kimis older sister is a law student who falls for oliver “can’t stop confessing to crimes” bearman.

i’m gonna have to start a notes app of the ideas i have for you, i’m starting to lose track.

(also i changed my picture, tell me im pretty (despite the obvious lack of mascara))

love you❤️

in the name of the law — ob87

smau + blurbs

ollie bearman x !law student antonelli reader

kimi antonelli x !sister reader

being kimi antonelli’s older sister was always a full time job. add law school and two races a month into the mix? you are stuck somewhere between impossible and unhinged. but kimi was in his rookie F1 season, hopelessly attached to you, and you had structured your third year of law school to be mostly remote — which meant that you were always in that monaco apartment. and then there was ollie. oliver bearman— kimi’s best friend, haas’ new golden boy, and human liability. he had a talent for racking up speeding tickets in different countries, for accidentally live streaming things that should’ve stayed private, and for looking at you like you are the only person in the paddock that mattered. you tried to focus on torts and case law, on keeping your little brother grounded in the most high pressure season of his life, but ollie kept showing up — in the kitchen, on your phone, in your head. somehow, between championship points and legal deadlines, you were falling for the one man who couldn’t stop confessing to crimes.

fc : ashton wood

(a/n) : omg hey my angellllll<3 you look absolutely stunning like i would marry you rn on the spot. like soooooo fucking good. barking. growling. on my knees. PICK ME PLEASE. and i get so sad if you’re not in my inbox for more than like two days… im just like does she not love me no more??? where is my WIFEEE?? but i love u sm and this idea was so cute and i had so much fun.

also i saw an interview where ollie said kimi was moving in with him after he graduates so i made that a thing in this fic so yayyyy:)

—

yn_antonelli

liked by kimi.antonelli, olliebearman, franciscagomes and 725,075 others.

yn_antonelli : officially back in monaco and i have two things to say. 1. i am in love with simba gasly 2. this picture of maggie refusing to let me go at the airport is precious and will forever be etched the back of my brain. that is all. goodnight x

tagged : kimi.antonelli and babickovaeli

—

view 87,005 other comments.

pierregasly : the real question is when are you babysitting again bc he cried as soon as you left

liked by yn_antonelli and franciscagomes

↳ yn_antonelli : do NOT tell me that. i will dognap him rn 😭

liked by pierregasly and franciscagomes

↳ franciscagomes : pretty sure he likes you more than us anyways🤷🏻‍♀️

liked by yn_antonelli

babickovaeli : i missed you so so much! we def need to go out again and make kimi pay 😌

liked by yn_antonelli and kimi.antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : i missed you even more 😚 dinner and drinks taste much better on kimi’s card.

liked by babickovaeli and kimi.antonelli

↳ kimi.antonelli : isn’t the older sibling supposed to pay for everything?

↳ yn_antonelli : 🍅🍅

↳ yn_antonelli : the older sibling in this case is broke from law school and flying around the world to comfort her little brother.

liked by babickovaeli and kimi.antonelli

↳ kimi.antonelli : fair. take my card anytime you want

liked by yn_antonelli and babickovaeli

kimi.antonelli : mia bella sorella, sono così felice di riaverti. (my beautiful sister, so happy to have you back.)

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : what do you want

↳ yn_antonelli : you are only nice like this when you want something

liked by kimi.antonelli

↳ kimi.antonelli : not true. SLANDER.

↳ yn_antonelli : you are using that wrong.

↳ yn_antonelli : anyways. get to it. what do you want?

↳ kimi.antonelli : just really grateful to have such a supportive sister (i need you to make sure what im signing is legit)

↳ yn_antonelli : there it is. be home soon.

↳ kimi.antonelli : also maggie never looked that happy to see me.

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : u just aren’t the fave

↳ username000 : the antonelli sibs are so special to me

maxverstappen1 : Glad you are back. Kimi has been rude since you left.

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : andrea. is this true?

↳ lando : oh she first named you bro.

↳ kimi.antonelli : MAX!!!! stop. yn he is just trying to get me in trouble. i have been an angel the entire time.

liked by yn_antonelli, maxverstappen1 and lando

↳ kimi.antonelli : slander. AGAIN. i need a lawyer.

↳ yn_antonelli : cannot be part of this case as it is conflict of interest srry

liked by maxverstappen1 and lando

olliebearman : you say goodnight and then proceed to send me 17 simba pictures

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : unappreciative 🤧 never texting you ever again

liked by olliebearman

↳ olliebearman : noooooo yn. i didn’t mean it!! how can i ever make it up to you??? 🧎‍♂️

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : send me a shirtless selfie xx

liked by olliebearman

↳ kimi.antonelli : OLLIE DO NOT. YN BAD. NO.

liked by olliebearman, yn_antonelli, and lando

↳ olliebearman : too late

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : licking my phone screen rn

liked by olliebearman

↳ kimi.antonelli : ugh gross 🤮

—

You barely get the door open before Kimi’s voice rings out from somewhere inside the apartment.

“Took you long enough. Did you adopt Simba or something?”

You laugh, toeing off your sneakers and dropping your bag near the couch. “Honestly? I wouldn’t have said no. That dog has better manners than you.”

Kimi pokes his head out of the kitchen with a dramatic eye roll. “He also tried to eat my sock last time I visited. We’re not pretending he’s innocent.”

You make your way into the kitchen, still sun-kissed from your weekend at Pierre and Kika’s place. “Okay but he is the love of my life. It’s Simba’s world and we’re all just living in it.”

Kimi snorts. “God help us all.”

You pull open the fridge, immediately grimacing. “Why is there nothing in here except Gatorade, one sad orange, and what looks like leftover fries in a coffee filter?”

“That’s Ollie’s attempt at dinner,” Kimi says, wandering in behind you. “He said he was ‘too tired use a plate’ like that explains anything.”

“You both need supervision.”

“Yeah, well,” Kimi shrugs. “That’s why you’re here.”

Right on cue, the front door opens and Ollie strolls in, kicking it shut behind him. He’s still in his team polo, curls slightly windswept, a grin spreading across his face the second he spots you.

“Well, well, well,” he says. “Monaco just got a little prettier.”

You shoot him a look, trying not to smile. “Did you practice that?”

“Nope,” he says, dropping his keys in the bowl by the door. “You just have that effect on me.”

Kimi groans. Loudly. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I’m just being polite,” Ollie says, walking into the kitchen. “Besides, I haven’t seen her in, what, three days? I think that earns me at least one compliment.”

“She doesn’t want your compliments,” Kimi mutters.

“I actually don’t mind them,” you say casually, pulling out a glass.

Kimi nearly chokes on air. “You’re both dead to me.”

Ollie leans against the counter next to you, close enough that you feel his shoulder brush yours. “So how was Simba? Did he try to come home with you?”

You grin. “Almost. Kika caught him trying to sneak into my suitcase.”

“Smart dog,” he says, then adds under his breath, “Same strategy I was gonna try.”

Kimi flings a kitchen towel at his face. “NO. No flirting with my sister! That is a rule. A written rule!”

“I’ve never seen this in writing,” Ollie grins, pulling the towel off his head.

“Do I need to draft a contract?” Kimi snaps.

“Boys,” you say, sipping your water with mock serenity, “I’ve literally passed two tort exams this week. I could sue both of you for emotional distress and win.”

Ollie leans in a little closer. “I’d represent myself. Just to sit across from you in court.”

Kimi makes a strangled noise. “I’m moving out. I’m going to Max’s.”

“Go ahead,” you and Ollie say in unison.

Kimi turns on his heel and disappears down the hallway, muttering about betrayal and restraining orders. You glance at Ollie, who’s still watching you with a soft, smug smile.

“Welcome home,” he says, a little quieter this time.

You shake your head, fighting the blush. “Shut up.”

But you’re smiling too.

—

The sun is high, the Mediterranean is sparkling in the distance, and your torts textbook is open in front of you, pages fluttering slightly in the breeze. You’ve managed two whole hours of peace — no noise, no distractions, just iced coffee, highlighters, and the faint hum of waves below. For once, it feels like law school might not destroy you. Naturally, the universe doesn’t let that last.

“OI, PROFESSOR,” Kimi’s voice echoes from inside the apartment. “DO WE GET EXTRA CREDIT IF WE BRING SNACKS?”

You don’t even look up. “Not if they’re flaming hot Cheetos again.”

A beat.

“What if it’s Oreos?” Ollie asks, suddenly appearing beside you with a grin and a very suspicious looking plate of cookies.

You blink at him. “You didn’t make these, did you?”

“I assembled them,” he offers proudly.

“You stacked them, didn’t you?”

“Triple decker,” he confirms.

Kimi barrels onto the balcony a second later with a half-full Gatorade and no sense of spatial awareness. “Move your highlighters. I need space.”

“You’re not studying,” you say flatly.

“I’m auditing.”

“This is not a seminar.”

“Yet.”

You sigh and scoot your books over slightly to make room, though it feels more like you’re giving your sanity away inch by inch.

Ollie plops down beside you, his knee bumping yours like it’s muscle memory. He rests his chin in his hand and squints at your open notes. “Okay, explain this bit to me. What’s ‘negligence per se’?”

You pause. “It’s when someone breaks a law that’s specifically meant to prevent the kind of harm that occurred. So the violation itself proves negligence.”

Ollie nods solemnly. “Right, like when Kimi—”

“Don’t.” Kimi warns.

“No, no, I need this for context,” you say, half-laughing, half-afraid. “What did he do?”

Ollie leans in, voice lowered like he’s telling you a secret. “Okay so last winter, Kimi tried to ‘drift’ a golf cart through a snow-covered paddock in Austria—”

“OLLIE.”

“—and he may have taken out a VIP lounge tent.”

“It was poorly placed!” Kimi argues, flailing one hand while sipping Gatorade with the other.

You stare at them. “That’s—okay, yeah, that’s textbook negligence. Possibly even reckless endangerment. You’re lucky no one sued.”

Kimi pouts. “You say that like it wasn’t sick.”

“It was impressively dumb,” you reply. “Which is different.”

Ollie grins, shameless. “Okay, what about unauthorized use of a vehicle?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you asking that?”

“No reason.”

“Ollie.”

“Well—hypothetically,” he says, drawing the word out, “if someone borrowed a security buggy in Baku because they were late for curfew—”

“OH MY GOD.”

“—and accidentally drove it onto pit lane—”

“KIMI,” you hiss, looking at your brother, who’s pointedly not making eye contact.

Kimi shrugs. “It was dark.”

“You two are a liability.”

“We’re a team,” Ollie corrects. “A chaotic, well-fed team.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I am going to need my own legal insurance policy just knowing you two.”

Ollie leans closer, nudging your elbow until you peek at him through your fingers.

“If you ever get tired of civil law,” he says with a smirk, “you could always defend me full-time. I promise to make it worth your while.”

You stare. “Are you flirting while listing things I could put you in prison for?”

“Gotta keep you engaged,” he says innocently. “This is interactive learning.”

“Interactive insanity.”

Kimi snorts. “I should charge tuition just for having to listen to this.”

“Or therapy,” you mutter, scribbling unauthorized vehicle use into the margin of your notebook.

Ollie leans back in his chair, stealing one of your sticky notes and doodling a heart on it.

“C’mon, counselor,” he says with a lazy grin, “you love us.”

You roll your eyes. “I deal with knowing you.”

“Same thing,” Kimi mumbles around an Oreo.

You look between the two of them — one covered in cookie crumbs, the other still grinning like he’s the protagonist in a romcom. Your study session is in shambles, your textbook is now decorated with cartoon smiley faces, and you’re weirdly okay with all of it. Against your better judgment, you smile. “God help me.”

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : Kimi Antonelli went on a podcast and casually admitted to credit card fraud because he and ollie bearman “stole Ollie’s trainers credit card and bought a ton of stuff” — and his sister, who is literally in law school, interrupted the interview just to say, “As Kimi’s legal counsel, I strongly advise him to shut the fuck up.” no like this family is unhinged 😭😭😭😭

view 75,025 other replies.

username00 : i need to hear ollie’s side of the story rn

username0 : yn is so iconic. she was just there scolding kimi and those interviewers were dying laughing.

username1 : not kimi casually stealing a card and calling it “a misunderstanding” 💀

username5 : no but imagine yn just trying to finish her reading and kimi’s like “is stealing really stealing if it was an accident?”

username7 : yn antonelli is only 3rd year law student and she is already getting a taste of the real world trying to defend ollie and her brother 😭

—

The living room is deceptively calm. You’re planted on the floor with your back against the couch, surrounded by an explosion of law textbooks, color coded notes, and the faint hum of lo-fi study music playing from your headphones. You’ve got a midterm next week, a case brief due tomorrow, and maybe three functioning brain cells left. Kimi, meanwhile, is perched at the kitchen counter behind you, deep into a Zoom podcast interview with his mic clipped to his hoodie and zero adult supervision.

You’re not paying attention. You should’ve been. “Yeah, so we did actually steal his credit card.”

Your head jerks up so fast you pull a muscle in your neck. “Ollie dared me to do it, and I figured, you know, he probably deserved it after that one gym session where he made me run stairs for 45 minutes. So I just… took it.”

You freeze, blinking at the wall like it’ll provide answers. “We ordered like… a beanbag, noise-cancelling headphones, five boxes of protein bars, a punching bag — which is still in the hallway, by the way — and I think we accidentally subscribed him to like a fruit of the month thing.”

You slam your torts textbook shut and turn around slowly.

“Kimi. What the actual hell did you just say?”

He half-glances at you over his shoulder. “Huh?”

“You just confessed. To intentional credit card fraud. On camera.”

One of the podcast hosts snorts. “Wait, is that your sister?”

Kimi lights up like he’s proud. “Yeah, that’s her! She’s in law school.”

You march straight into frame, highlighter still in hand, and give the camera your most professional death glare.

“Hi, yes, as Kimi’s legal counsel — and unfortunately, his sister — I would just like to advise Kimi to shut the fuck up.”

The podcast hosts lose it. One of them chokes on their drink. Another is wheezing.

Kimi grins. “She’s mad because I wouldn’t let her eat the protein bars.”

“I’m mad because you’re out here building a felony portfolio and dragging me down with you!”

From down the hall, Ollie calls out helpfully, “Don’t forget the disco light!”

“YOU ORDERED A DISCO LIGHT?!”

“I thought it would help morale!”

“Oh my god.”

You drag a hand down your face, muttering to yourself about future bar applications and how early is too early to start drinking.

“Kimi,” you say slowly, “you knew it wasn’t your card?”

“Yeah, obviously. His last name is literally on it.”

You stare at him. The hosts are still dying.

“I hate this family,” you mutter, storming off screen.

In the distance, you hear Ollie yell, “Wait, do you know where the disco light went?”

You yell back, “INTO THE EVIDENCE BIN. NEITHER OF YOU GET IT BACK.”

—

Kimi left an hour ago for some cardio session you’re 90% sure he’s going to complain about in thirty minutes. He’d barely made it to the elevator before turning back to shout, “Don’t let Ollie set anything on fire while I’m gone!”

You’d saluted. Ollie had bowed. Now, the sun is casting golden light through the windows, and the chaos has settled into something soft and warm. You’re curled up on the couch, laptop back open, textbook balanced on the armrest beside you, highlighter clutched loosely in one hand. Your coffee’s gone cold, but you’re too lazy to care. Ollie’s across from you at the kitchen island, scrolling on his phone, chewing idly on a granola bar. He’s unusually quiet, for once not throwing a stress ball or trying to balance a fork on his nose. You catch him sneaking glances at you every few seconds.

You raise an eyebrow. “You good?”

He pauses, like he’s debating something. Then he sets his phone down and stands up, wiping his hands on his hoodie like he’s nervous. Which is weird. Ollie is never nervous.

“I was just thinking,” he starts, walking over to you, “you know between your legal intervention and Kimi admitting to credit card fraud on both of our behalf…it’s been a chaotic day.”

You smirk. “That’s what happens when you two share a frontal lobe.”

He grins but doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he leans his hip against the back of the couch, voice soft now. “You’re always dealing with us, huh? Cleaning up our messes, reading law books while we’re over here planning our next felony.”

You tilt your head. “It’s not technically felony-level. Yet.”

“Still,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “You do a lot. For Kimi. For me.”

You blink, heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it does whenever he gets like this — a little too sincere, a little too close.

He hesitates, then finally blurts, “So I figured maybe it was time I took you out. On a real date.”

You freeze. “A real date?”

He nods, eyes on yours. “Yeah. Not a team dinner. Not a group movie night where Kimi insists on sitting between us like a human traffic cone. Just me and you. Somewhere nice.”

You blink again.

“You’re serious.”

“I’m very serious,” he says. “I even googled romantic restaurants in Monaco, which is something I thought only Charles would do. So that’s how committed I am.”

Your cheeks are warm. “Did you really?”

“I did,” he says proudly. “I also accidentally made a reservation under the name ‘Oliver Bearclaw’ because I was on voice text and sneezed halfway through.”

You laugh, pressing your hand over your mouth. “That’s so stupid.”

He grins. “Yeah, but you’re smiling. So I’m calling it a win.”

You look at him for a moment — all sunlit curls and hopeful eyes and way too much heart in his stupid little grin — and it hits you that he’s not just asking you on a date. He’s been falling for you this whole time. The flirting, the teasing, the way he always walks into a room and makes sure to say hi to you first — it wasn’t just a joke. It was real. And maybe… you’ve been falling, too. You set your laptop aside and stand up slowly, facing him.

“Okay,” you say softly. “Take me out, Bearclaw.”

His grin widens like the sun just came up.

“For real?”

“For real,” you nod. “But only if you promise not to commit any crimes between now and then.”

He places a hand over his heart. “No felonies, I swear.”

“Misdemeanors?”

“Minor ones.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile’s too wide to hide.

—

The restaurant is tucked away on a quiet corner near the Port, a place you’ve passed a hundred times but never stepped inside. It’s warm and golden inside, all low lighting and tall windows that overlook the water. The kind of place where time feels like it stretches and softens around the edges. And Ollie — Ollie is waiting at the table, sleeves rolled to his forearms, curls a little too fluffy, smile entirely too wide when he sees you walk in.

He stands up fast, almost knocking into the waiter. “You look—wow.”

You glance down at yourself, at the simple dress and slightly curled hair. “I look what?”

He pulls your chair out for you. “Like you’re about to sue me and steal my heart.”

You laugh as you sit down. “That was tragic. And kind of sweet.”

“Story of my life.”

Dinner is easy — conversation flowing like it always does, but softer somehow. You talk about school, about the things you hate studying, about how you once considered switching to marine biology after a breakdown in year one.

He talks about growing up on tracks, about how surreal it still feels to be in F1. He doesn’t say it out loud, but you know the weight it isn’t always gentle. You reach across the table and touch his hand when his voice gets quiet. He relaxes immediately under your fingers.

Dessert comes and he orders two spoons without even asking. “I’m not letting you eat crème brûlée alone. That’s a crime.”

“You would know.”

He smiles, but there’s a shift — something tender in his eyes, something quieter than the usual chaos he tosses around like confetti. After dinner, you walk along the marina. Monaco glows at night — golden lights reflected in the water, luxury yachts bobbing gently, laughter drifting from balconies. He keeps brushing against your shoulder like he’s testing fate. You stop near the railing, just where the dock curves out toward the sea.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say, glancing up at him. “It was… really good.”

He looks at you like you hung the moon. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while.”

You smile. “I kind of figured. The flirting during my breakdowns was a giveaway.”

“I had to keep you entertained somehow. Also, I thought maybe you’d be impressed by my criminal record.”

You laugh, leaning into him. “It’s extensive. I might write a dissertation.”

“I’d be honored.”

He takes your hand then — slow, careful, like he’s waited exactly long enough to be sure. And when you look up at him, heart beating a little too fast, he leans in and kisses you. Soft, like a secret. Like a promise.

There’s nothing dramatic about it — no fireworks or cheers or music swelling behind you. Just his hand on your waist, the scent of the sea, and the feeling that maybe, finally, the chaos has led you somewhere you want to stay.

You pull back slightly, smiling against his lips. “So… what’s the verdict?”

He grins. “You’re definitely going to be the smartest person I’ve ever dated.”

“Yeah?”

“And the prettiest.”

Your face warms as you nudge him playfully. “God, Kimi’s gonna hate this.”

“Yeah,” Ollie laughs. “But I don’t really care.”

And neither do you.

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : Ollie Bearman went on the same podcast as Kimi Antonelli and not only CONFIRMED the credit card theft story — he added that he once “stole his trainer’s ID so he couldn’t leave the track and I wouldn’t have to do cooldown laps.” To which a poor and tired YN Antonelli yelled at him from behind the camera, “OLIVER. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. STOP. TALKING.” 

view 108,004 other replies.

username000 : someone needs to lock these men up and give yn a vacation + a bottle of wine

↳ yn_antonelli : i need it. pls. someone help.

username00 : they’re gonna get her disbarred before she even graduates

username1 : ollie’s smile when she scolded him?? he’s in love.

username5 : her legal career hasn’t even started and she’s already stuck doing crisis PR full time 😭

username7 : oh i love them all so much. give them to me.

—

The door is closed. Your laptop is open. The air conditioning is finally working. For the first time in 48 hours, you feel a tiny hint of peace. You’re curled up on the small couch in Ollie’s driver room, laptop buzzing and an absurdly large iced coffee next to you. There’s just enough WiFi to submit your assignment and watch a torts lecture on double speed. Across the room, Ollie is mid-interview with a podcast crew — his mic clipped to his race suit, feet kicked up on a stool, expression way too relaxed for someone with a camera in his face.

You’re only half-listening until you hear it.

“Yeah, the credit card thing was real.”

Your eyes snap up from your laptop.

The host laughs. “Wait, seriously? You and Kimi actually used your trainer’s card?”

Ollie just grins, dimples out, completely unbothered. “Oh yeah. We found it on the counter before a sim session and decided to test if it worked.”

Your highlighter slips out of your hand.

“It did,” he continues, like he’s talking about the weather. “So we just… kept using it.”

You sit up. “Oliver.”

“We didn’t buy anything crazy,” he says quickly. “Mostly snacks. Gym gear. A massage gun. I think Kimi ordered a beanbag chair. And like, maybe… matching hoodies?”

You slam your laptop shut. “Oliver.”

The host is laughing too hard to ask the next question. Another one goes, “That’s insane. What did your trainer say?”

“Oh, he was chill about it,” Ollie says, waving it off. “I gave the card back eventually. But that’s not even the worst thing I’ve done to him.”

Your head whips around. “Don’t—”

“There was this one time in Silverstone,” Ollie says, leaning back, “where I straight up stole his  ID.”

The room goes silent.

The hosts blink. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, I took his ID and hid it in my glove box. He couldn’t leave the track because security wouldn’t let him through the gates.”

You stare at him in pure disbelief. “Why?”

He shrugs, totally unapologetic. “Because I didn’t want to do cooldown laps alone and he said he had somewhere to be. So I… created a situation.”

From your corner, you yell without even thinking.

“OLIVER. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. STOP. TALKING.”

He jumps slightly and turns toward you with a guilty smile. “Oh. Hi.”

You stand up slowly, hands on your hips. “You’re on a recorded podcast. And you just admitted to identity theft.”

“Technically it wasn’t identity theft,” he says innocently. “I didn’t use it. I just… blocked his escape.”

“That’s not better!”

One of the podcast hosts mutters, “This is better than Drive to Survive.”

You walk into frame, highlighter still in hand like a legal weapon. “Hi. Yes. As Oliver Bearman’s unofficial legal counsel and the only sane adult in his orbit, I would like to make a formal statement— he is no longer allowed to speak in public.”

The hosts are crying with laughter now.

Ollie beams at you. “She’s cute when she’s mad, isn’t she?”

You turn slowly toward the camera. “He’s lucky he’s cute or I’d be representing him from a holding cell.”

He winks. “Wouldn’t be the worst date we’ve had.”

You groan, turning away. “I’m going to sue you.”

“Good thing you’re already in law school.”

Behind the camera, someone whispers, “I think they’re in love.”

You grab your laptop and head toward the door before Ollie can start confessing to international crimes.

As you’re halfway out, you hear—

“Wait, can I tell them the story about the golf cart in Barcelona?”

“NO, YOU CANNOT.”

—

yn_antonelli

liked by olliebearman, kimi.antonelli, lando and 875,130 others.

yn_antonelli : since ollie and kimi insist on admitting their crimes in front of the whole world, i made them take me to brunch and used both of their cards at hermes as payment for my defense.

tagged : olliebearman and kimi.antonelli

—

view 89,000 other comments.

franciscagomes : brunch and birkins… you’ve got a bright future in negotiations mama

liked by yn_antonelli

oscarpiastri : So what I’m hearing is that you extorted your clients?

liked by kimi.antonelli and olliebearman

↳ yn_antonelli : actually mr. piastri, it is considered compensation for emotional damages.

liked by oscarpiastri and olliebearman

kimi.antonelli : STOP SPENDING ALL MY MONEY PLEASEEEE

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : stop confessing to crimes on live podcasts and maybe we can discuss a compromise

liked by olliebearman

↳ kimi.antonelli : honestly fair point tbh.

alexandrasaintmleux : your honor, she’s iconic. sigh.

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : omg omg i love uuuuu

isackhadjar : that is ollie’s hand. i am not stupid.

liked by olliebearman and yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : look at the big brains on sherlock hadjar.

liked by isackhadjar and olliebearman

↳ kimi.antonelli : wait what

—

The sun is shining, the water is glittering, and Kimi Antonelli looks like he hasn’t slept in 36 hours. Even though he just slept for 14. 

“Why am I here,” he grumbles, slumped in the backseat of the Uber with sunglasses that cover half his face. “I didn’t even confess that many crimes.”

“You admitted to credit card fraud and stealing a man’s identity in the span of twenty-four hours,” you say, scrolling through the brunch menu on your phone. “I deserve eggs. I deserve champagne. I deserve a Birkin.”

“You’re going to steal our money to buy a Birkin.”

“I defended you from public ridicule and potential legal investigation.”

“I don’t even like brunch,” he mutters. “Who eats breakfast at 11:30?”

“People who aren’t under investigation,” you snap.

Ollie, sitting beside you in the Uber, just laughs — far too amused by the whole situation. “I like brunch,” he says, looking down at you with that stupid grin. “Especially when you’re mad. You get all—bossy.”

You glance up, squinting. “Would you like to confess anything else while we’re en route to a public restaurant?”

“Not unless you’re charging me by the hour.”

Kimi groans dramatically. “I hate whatever the fuck this is.” 

—

You’re seated at an outdoor table with a sea view, sunglasses on, napkin in your lap, and a mimosa already in hand. Kimi looks like he’s about to throw himself into the ocean.

Ollie’s watching you over his menu, smirking. “You’re glowing today.”

“That’s what financial revenge and fresh pastries will do to a girl,” you hum.

The waiter returns with your first round of orders — coffee for Kimi, a breakfast burger for Ollie, and a small mountain of avocado toast and poached eggs for you.

“I hope you’re both ready to pay,” you say brightly, stabbing your fork into your toast. “Because I ordered three sides. Out of principle.”

Kimi doesn’t look up. “I’m telling Nonna you bullied me.”

“She’ll be proud I’m finally asserting myself.”

“Does she know you're about to max out my card at Hermès?”

“She would be proud.”

Ollie sips his orange juice, clearly enjoying this too much. “Honestly, watching you argue is kind of hot. Should I confess to tax evasion next?”

You pause, slowly turning toward him. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

He grins, unbothered. “You’d still make me pay for brunch first.”

You tilt your head. “Damn right I would.”

Kimi finally looks up from his phone. “Are you two together or are you just blackmailing him through brunch?”

You and Ollie both respond at the same time—

“None of your business.”

“I think I’m in love with her.”

You nearly choke on your mimosa.

Kimi slaps his credit card on the table. “I’m leaving. I’m paying. I want nothing to do with whatever this is.”

“But we haven’t ordered dessert yet,” you pout.

Kimi glares at you through his sunglasses. “I will throw you into the sea.”

“Please do,” Ollie says, smirking again. “I’ll jump in after her.”

“You’re both sick,” Kimi says, standing and muttering as he walks toward the cashier. “I’m moving out.”

You smile as the waiter returns with a tiny silver bell and a dessert menu.

“Round two?” Ollie asks, reaching for your hand under the table.

You squeeze his fingers. “You’re paying.”

He grins, boyish and hopeless. “Always.”

—

You had planned for Hermes after brunch as Kimi made a comment about how “law students don’t need nice bags” and Ollie laughed, and now here you are, standing outside the most intimidating boutique in all of Monaco — sunglasses on, mimosa still coursing through your veins, and absolutely unhinged on principle.

“YN,” Kimi says warily as the automatic glass doors open, “let’s talk.”

“No,” you say sweetly. “You committed crimes. Now I’m committing retail.”

Ollie follows you in like a golden retriever on a leash made of guilt and admiration. Kimi drags his feet like a hostage.

“Do you need a bag that costs more than your first years tuition?” Kimi hisses as the polished sales assistant greets you like you’re royalty.

“I need financial restitution,” you say calmly, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “And emotional closure.”

The assistant smiles. “Are we shopping for anything in particular today, madam?”

You gesture to Kimi and Ollie, both standing awkwardly behind you like they’re about to be publicly executed. “They’ll be paying.”

The woman beams.

“Excellent. Right this way.”

—

You’re standing in front of a full-length mirror with a black Birkin draped over your forearm. It looks obscene. It looks divine. It looks like justice.

Ollie’s perched on the velvet bench nearby, watching you with the kind of dumb, smitten look that says, I would rob a bank if she asked nicely.

“You like it?” he asks, tipping his head.

You raise a brow. “I love it.”

“Then it’s yours.”

Kimi, from the corner, nearly chokes on the sparkling water the assistant brought him. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“She loves it,” Ollie shrugs, pulling out his card. “She deserves it.”

“She bullied us into a brunch we didn’t want and is now financially blackmailing us in Hermès!”

You smirk as the assistant gently takes the bag from you to box it up.

“You’re the one who said ‘it wasn’t even a big deal’ after admitting to stealing a man’s identity on camera.”

“You didn’t represent me! You just yelled ‘shut the fuck up’ from behind the couch!”

“That was the defense! And it worked!”

Ollie, whispering to the cashier— “Would now be a bad time to mention I also used the trainer’s gym membership without asking?”

“KIMI. HE DID MORE. THAT MEANS I GET SHOES TOO.”

Kimi is now fully slumped into the armchair, sunglasses on, mouthing prayers to the ceiling.

The assistant hands you the receipt with a reverent smile and says, “We’ve added a small gift for your troubles.”

You nod graciously. “As you should.”

As you walk out, massive shopping bag in one hand and Ollie’s hand in the other, you turn back and call. 

“Thanks for brunch! Thanks for the bag! Try not to commit any more felonies this week!”

Kimi doesn’t respond. He’s already Googling how to block you from his bank account.

—

The apartment is quiet. Sunlight pours through the windows, casting golden light across the hardwood floors. For once, there’s no podcast playing, no shoes being thrown, no one dramatically announcing a new crime. Just you and Ollie in the kitchen.

You’re leaned against the counter, his hands on either side of your hips, your fingers tangled in the soft collar of his hoodie. He’s smiling against your mouth — all warm lips, soft touches, and stolen breaths like this has been a long time coming. Because it has.

“I really like you,” he murmurs, nudging your nose with his.

“Even though I made you pay for the Birkin?”

“Especially because you made me pay for the Birkin.”

You laugh, tugging him closer by his hoodie strings, just as he leans in again — lips brushing yours, his thumb ghosting along your neck. It’s soft, easy, a little reckless.

And then— The front door bursts open.

“WHY IS THERE A PARKING TICKET WITH MY NAME ON IT?!”

You and Ollie freeze mid-kiss like two teenagers caught making out by a high school principal. Except the principal is your younger brother and he’s holding a crumpled parking citation and an espresso.

“OH MY GOD,” Kimi screams. “ARE YOU—ARE YOU KISSING?!”

Ollie pulls back slowly. “Hey, mate—”

“NO. NO HEY MATE. WHAT IS THIS?!”

You blink. “…Kimi, we’ve been soft launching for a month.”

“I THOUGHT THAT WAS A BIT,” he shrieks, tossing the parking ticket into the air like confetti. “I thought you were gaslighting me!”

“We literally held hands in front of you—”

“I THOUGHT IT WAS FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES.”

Ollie steps back with his hands up. “Look, we weren’t hiding it—”

“YOU,” Kimi snarls, pointing at him. “I LET YOU LIVE HERE. I LET YOU EAT MY CEREAL. I TRUSTED YOU.”

“To be fair, it’s my cereal, and my apartment.” Ollie mumbles. 

“IRRELEVANT.”

Kimi storms toward the kitchen, righteous fury in his socks. “Ollie, I swear to god, if you hurt her—if you so much as misplace a single hair on her law school head—I will run you over exactly 8 times.” 

“Okay,” Ollie says nervously, backing into the island. “That seems extreme—”

“You’re lucky you have dimples or I’d kill you right now.”

You step in between them, putting your hand on Kimi’s chest like a bodyguard. “Relax. He’s not hurting me.”

Kimi narrows his eyes. “Are you sure he didn’t put something in that mimosa?”

“Kimi.”

“I’m just asking!”

“I’m literally holding his hand.”

Ollie gives Kimi a little wave. “Hi.”

“I’M GOING TO MURDER YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS.”

You sigh, reaching over to grab the espresso out of his hand. “You need to calm down and hydrate before you combust.”

Kimi glares at both of you. “You owe me emotional damages. And a new box of cereal.”

Ollie shrugs. “Want me to buy you Hermès socks?”

“I DON’T WANT YOUR GUILT SOCKS.”

Kimi storms off to his room, slamming the door dramatically behind him. There’s a beat of silence. Then from inside his room,

“IF I HEAR KISSING SO HELP ME GOD—”

You burst out laughing and lean back into Ollie’s arms, grinning. “Well. That went well.”

Ollie kisses your temple. “Honestly, better than expected.”

—

olliebearman

liked by yn_antonelli, kimi.antonelli, lando and 1,810,001 others.

olliebearman : she loves me and my extensive list of crimes.

tagged : yn_antonelli

—

view 152,000 other comments.

yn_antonelli : this is legally admissible. delete immediately.

liked by olliebearman

↳ olliebearman : how romantic 🥰

liked by yn_antonelli

kimi.antonelli : I WILL BE PRESSING CHARGES. against both of you.

liked by yn_antonelli and olliebearman

↳ olliebearman : good luck. i have the best lawyer in the world.

liked by yn_antonelli and kimi.antonelli

georgerussell63 : something tells me the legal expert was not consulted prior to making this caption

liked by yn_antonelli and olliebearman

↳ yn_antonelli : def not but im used to it

estebanocon : ohhhh this is why kimi was pacing in front of the garage yesterday. happy for you both !! ❤️

liked by yn_antonelli and olliebearman

—

redbullracing

liked by maxverstappen1, kimi.antonelli, yn_antonelli and 3,720,005 others.

redbullracing : @/yn_antonelli please come get your menace. he has been caught in the act again.

—

view 235,007 other comments.

yn_antonelli : he does not belong to me. i have never ever seen that man in my life. i wish him the best of luck.

liked by kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1, redbullracing, olliebearman and lando

kimi.antonelli : I TOLD HIM TO STOP DOING THIS. TOO MANY CAMERAS.

↳ yn_antonelli : oh so you’ve done it too?

↳ kimi.antonelli : no…

↳ redbullracing : yes. check dm’s

↳ yn_antonelli : GOD DAMNIT ANDREA

liked by lando and maxverstappen1

oscarpiastri : He does this at Mclaren too. Took my smoothie out of my hands. Said absolutely nothing and walked out.

liked by yn_antonelli, kimi.antonelli, lando and olliebearman

charles_leclerc : he stole like 5 coconut waters from me in the matter of a month

liked by yn_antonelli, kimi.antonelli, olliebearman and lando

olliebearman : ALL OF THIS IS SLANDER. I DO NOT SPEAK UNTIL MY LEGAL COUNSEL IS PRESENT. YNNNNNNN!!!!

liked by kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1, lando, oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : i do not know you. stop bothering me. i will get a restraining order if necessary

liked by kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1, lando, oscarpiastri, olliebearman and charles_leclerc

—

[rue-t]

MAX VERSTAPPEN

the cut that always bleeds / july 1, 2025

main masterlist 🖇️ home

warnings: sadness, angst, pregnancy, negative body image, talk about unworthiness, swearing

pairing: max verstappen x pregnant wife!reader

it was a chilly sunday evening, the day of max’s race in las vegas. he came out on top despite a rather unfortunate qualifying the day prior.

you were heavily pregnant, eight months to be exact. max had practically begged you to stay home from the races and chaos at around the three month mark.

so as you waited for him to come home, you began cooking his favorite meal. max loved this dish, sometimes it seemed he loved it more than he loved you, which he obviously denied.

wanting to do something sweet for him and have food prepared once he got home, you slipped into a beautiful long silky dress. his favorite one you owned.

you spent what felt like hours preparing and setting up everything for your at-home-date.

shortly after you lit the candle in the center of the table, max came through the door, grinning from ear to ear.

“hello beautiful.” he beamed once his eyes fell on you.

“hello handsome.” you giggled as he dropped everything and ran over to you.

“i love your outfit baby, what’s the occasion?” he asked, admiring just how good you looked in that dress, his favorite.

“well, you know, since you won and everything, just to be nice…” you dragged out, slightly stepping out of the way to showcase the sight behind you.

max’s eyes widened, “wow—i don’t know what to say.”

“you don’t have to say anything, come sit down.” you smirked, gently guiding your stunned husband to his seat.

“my favorite!” he shouted, seeing what you had spent so much time making. “and the ambiance is beautiful as well schatje.”

“i don’t think you’ve ever used that word in a sentence before.” you laughed, pouring him a small glass of champagne.

“definitely not.” he chuckled in response. “champagne for me, and none for the lady.”

“obviously.” you rolled your eyes sarcastically, setting the bottle back down on the counter.

“how is your food baby?” you grinned, watching as he slowly savored each bite.

“it’s exquisite, thank you dear.” he wiped his face with a napkin, acting posh to accommodate the dinner.

“okay max, this isn’t a michelin star restaurant, no need for charades.” you joked, continuing to scarf down your portion.

you did truthfully want to make max his favorite meal, but there may have also been a little bit in it for you. you’d been craving the dish all day, and by craving, i mean insatiably hungry for it.

before your pregnancy, you weren’t that big of a fan. the toppings adding weird definition to the pasta, the sauce tasting a little too tangy, but now it was different.

you wanted to savor the food, and your date as well, but you were extremely hungry. eating for two wasn’t easy in any capacity.

and that’s when he said it, a quick remark, digging at how much you’d aten. “slow down baby, you’ve already eaten two servings.”

you didn’t want that comment to hurt, nor did you expect it to. but it did, and it hurt bad.

he didn’t notice the way the glimmer in your eyes faltered, too immersed in what a wonderful day he’d been having.

“yeah, i guess it is a lot.” you forced out a snicker at his words.

he didn’t even notice the way you uncomfortably shifted in your seat, absentmindedly messing with the sleeve of your dress.

you awkwardly sat through the rest of the dinner, though answering all his questions and engaging as you normally would.

he didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, he was just pointing it out. but it didn’t stop the comment from making your chest ache.

the dinner concluded and you both washed the dishes in silence. to him, it was a comfortable silence, it hadn’t been awkward between you two since you started dating. but to you, it was an uncomfortable silence. your ears rang, trying desperately to act as normal as possible.

as you set the last plate in the cupboard, max spoke up. “let’s watch a movie to end the night, you can pick.”

“i would love that.” you smiled, masking the pain flooding through every vein in your body.

you’d tried so hard these past eight months to remain that ‘beautiful, perfect, wife of max verstappen’ as the press called you. you’d overanalyzed every piece of yourself for months while you should’ve been enjoying this new stage of life.

you wanted him to always find you beautiful, even if you did gain 15 pounds, even if you were eating more.

and his remark made it feel like even he didn’t think you were pretty. it made you overthink every intimate interaction and conversation you’d had with him since the pregnancy began.

did he still find you attractive? was he turned off by the way you looked now? could he ever find you attractive again?

the hypotheticals racing through your mind felt like one big punch to the face.

“max, i’m gonna go change really quick.” you half-smirked, the words barely coming out.

“sounds good liefje.” he spoke gently, grazing your arm softly as you stood up.

changing into your short, silk pajamas, the ones you wore once in a blue moon, you couldn’t bare to hold back the tears.

you cried silently as you changed, hoping against hope max wouldn’t hear you.

you slowly stepped over to your bed, sitting on the edge, facing the wall. the fact that no matter what you looked like you were always beautiful, ceased to spend even a waking second in your mind.

you sighed deeply, wiping the remaining stray tears as you prepared to—

knock.

your whole body tensed.

“honey, what’s taking so long in there? is everything okay?” max asked, worry laced in his concern.

you didn’t have the guts to reply, what could you have said? no, everything’s not okay. something you said that should’ve had no affect made me feel like the shittiest person alive and i’m trying to hide it from you.

after no response, he cracked the door open slightly, just enough to see you sitting motionless, your face out of view.

“what’s going on?” he frowned, turning the lamp on before shuffling over to your side of the bed.

he could’ve sworn his heart shattered when he saw your face. your red-stained cheeks shooting daggers through his heart.

“schatje…” he cooed, pulling your chin up so you’d look him in the eyes.

you didn’t say anything, you couldn’t or else you’d break down again right in front of him.

“why are you upset baby?” he asked, gently sliding the hair out of your face.

“i try max, i’m trying.” you blurted, your tone harsher than intended.

he sat down next you, confusion riddled in his features. “trying to what?”

“be beautiful. be pretty for you.” you croaked out after a moment of silence.

his body tensed. “what do you mean? you know i think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“no max. i don’t know that.” you cried, dropping your head into your hands. “i’ve been trying these past eight months to remain as pretty as i could, for you. i can’t let myself go because there’s a possibility you might not love me anymore.”

“i’ll always love you babe. what brought this on?” he sighed, pulling you into his shoulder.

“you said i needed to slow down on my eating.” you admitted, the words coming out barely above a whisper.

the realization hit him, the moment replaying in his head unwillingly. “no, oh my gosh. fuck. i-i’m so sorry.”

“i’m so sorry, i promise i didn’t mean it like that. i was just worried you’d get sick. i don’t care how much you eat baby, i want you to eat more. you’re growing our baby inside of you.” he apologized, feeling terrible for how this affected you.

“i can’t bare to realize that i made you feel, even for a second, that you aren’t worthy enough for me, or that you are anything less than absolutely gorgeous.” he sniffled, caressing your hair with his palm.

“i’m sorry. i want to look how i did before—this, but it’s hard. i know i look different and—” you cried, the gravity of his words not hitting you yet.

“stop—don’t. you don’t have to feel sorry about anything. i’m sorry that i didn’t understand how much you were going through.” he shook his head, pulling you even closer into him.

“i should’ve noticed, i can’t imagine how you must’ve felt. i think you’re beautiful, no matter what you do, no matter how you look, even if you aged 50 years i will always think you’re perfect.” he whispered into your hair, rubbing circles on your arm with the padding of his thumb.

“so you’re not mad that i’m not as pretty as i used to be? i’ve tried—” you began, looking up at his tear-brimmed eyes.

“no, i will always think you’re perfect. no ifs, ands, or buts about it. i’m sorry i ever made you feel inferior, i wonder every single day how i got to be with someone like you.” he explained, hoping his words would bring you the comfort you desired.

“i knew you weren’t trying to be mean max, it just hurt because i’ve been trying to keep my figure the same, and i guess i just let myself go.” you sighed, gently leaning into his touch.

“stop talking like that, i don’t care how much you weigh or how your body looks. i. will. always. think. you’re. perfect. you don’t need to change yourself for anyone, especially not me.” he rubbed his eyes, resting his hand on your lower back.

“okay.” you muttered, exhausted from the torment of your thoughts.

“is that why you put this on?” he gestured towards your pajamas. “because you thought it would make me more attracted to you?”

you nodded shamefully.

“you could wear a trash bag and i’d still be as attracted to you as i am now. i love you. please don’t change for me, or anyone else for that matter.” he pleaded, gently grabbing your face in his hands.

“i won’t baby, i love you too.”

@writtenbyeli 2025

written by eli <3

[rue-t]

Interlinked

Please Be Proud Of Me

Thanks for Staying

[rue-t]

 ˖ 𐔌 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥࿐ . ۫

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Lando Norris was known for his partying ways, his loud and exciting ways, at least by the media. So, it began to make those close to him wonder what attracted him to a single mother such as you. ||

ᯓ★ Lando Norris x Fem! (Single Mom) Reader

ᯓ★ 2x Genre: Angst, Fluff

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? No

Author Note: This one is longer than the others, so please be aware but hopefully this holds you all over. Much love.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

Being a mother wasn’t something you had planned—at least, not this soon. You were in your twenties, the so-called “prime years,” the time for reckless freedom, house parties that turned into sunrise conversations, or spontaneous trips with friends that felt like the world belonged only to you. Your nights were supposed to be lit with fairy lights strung across living room ceilings, wine glasses clinking, and the endless chatter about relationships, careers, and everything in between.

But instead, your twenties became a symphony of lullabies, muffled cartoons, and the quiet creak of a baby monitor in the middle of the night. They were no longer about heels and lipstick but about stepping over rogue LEGO pieces that threatened to take you out with one misstep, about mopping up juice spills and wiping sticky fingers and tired tears. You were reading the same bedtime story three times in a row because your son loved the way you did the voices, checking under the bed for imaginary monsters with the same seriousness you once saved for final exams.

It wasn’t easy. Especially not when people you thought would be there for you—those who once claimed they'd be aunties and uncles in all but blood—began to drift away. Some didn’t understand. Others didn’t try to. The baby shower promises and “I’ll always be here” texts faded like echoes, and in their absence, you carried the weight of motherhood alone. It stung in the quietest way.

But then came Sebastian.

Your beautiful baby boy with soft curls and eyes that held the galaxy. He changed everything. From the moment he was placed in your arms, the chaos didn’t matter. The sleepless nights, the fear, the uncertainty—they all became worth it the second he smiled. He was three now. A tiny tornado of joy and curiosity, who gave your life a sense of grounding and wonder you never knew you needed. Raising him wasn’t always easy, but somewhere in the mix of tantrums and toothy grins, your confidence as a mother began to bloom. You figured things out, step by shaky step, and you were proud of who you were becoming—for him.

Still, late at night, when he was tucked into bed and the silence stretched long between the walls, you wondered if love would ever find you again. The kind that made your chest ache with excitement, the kind that whispered comfort into the hollow places. You had loved before—young love, teenage love, the firsts that shaped you—but now? Now you weren’t the same girl anymore. You were a woman, a mother, and that felt like a world apart from who you used to be. Who would want to step into this life mid-chapter?

But little did you know, love wasn’t far. In fact, it lived just behind the screen you scrolled through at night.

Lando Norris. His name echoed across social media like a song on repeat. A man whose life seemed impossibly full—speeding through cities, smiling on podiums, partying in places you only dreamed of. He was freedom personified. A life in fast motion, captured in highlight reels and championship circuits. To the world, he was laughter and youth and charm, adored by millions, a modern-day rockstar in a race car.

He was everything your life was not.

And yet—somehow, fate was quietly working behind the scenes.

Because what neither of you realized just yet...was that love was about to collide with your life. Not with fireworks or headlines—but with small moments. A conversation. A look. A gesture. Something real, in a world that often felt anything but.

Despite his young age, Sebastian had already found a passion that made his eyes glow with wonder: Formula 1. It started subtly—he’d pad across the floor in his little socks, dragging his blanket behind him, only to stop and stare at the TV whenever fast cars zipped across the screen. The vibrant colors, the roaring engines, the animated commentary—it all lit up something inside him.

You didn’t expect it. After all, he was just three years old. His world should’ve been centered on coloring books and stuffed animals, not tire strategies and pit stops. But every time you flipped past a Formula 1 broadcast, he’d make a sound, a pointed squeal, or a clumsy run toward the screen. It was obvious: he was captivated.

So, naturally, you followed his excitement. You became the mom who ordered F1 merch online late at night, building a miniature racing wardrobe for your son. T-shirts in all colors. Hats far too big for his little head. Plushie cars he’d vroom around the living room. Whatever he showed the slightest interest in—you got it. And soon enough, the drivers became household names not just to the world, but to him.

Sebastian would burst into laughter whenever Max Verstappen gave his famously direct interviews, his young mind not grasping the words but fully recognizing the face. And Yuki—now part of the Red Bull team—became his source of infectious glee. Every time Yuki’s voice rang through a press conference or onboard radio, Sebastian would shriek with laughter, his eyes twinkling. He didn’t need to understand Japanese humor to adore Yuki’s presence.

Charles Leclerc? Sebastian pointed him out like an old friend. Lewis Hamilton? He’d watch him like he was listening to a storybook read aloud. And George Russell, ever graceful in his silver Mercedes, was often mimicked when Sebastian ran around the apartment in circles, pretending he was on a flying lap.

But the real surprise came with Kimi Antonelli—Mercedes' youngest and most buzzed-about addition. Whenever Kimi’s name popped up onscreen, Sebastian’s full body seemed to light up. “Kimi!” he’d shout, over and over, jumping as if the two were best friends. He didn’t care that there was a more famous “Kimi” from before—this one was his. Young, daring, full of raw potential. Sebastian’s toddler heart was loyal in a way adults often forgot how to be.

Yet, through all the teams and drivers he loved—Red Bull, Ferrari, Mercedes—it was always McLaren that stole the biggest piece of his heart. He adored the bold papaya orange livery, the sleek cars, and most of all, the drivers. Every time Lando Norris appeared on screen, Sebastian would clap like he was watching fireworks. And when Oscar Piastri came on, he’d spin in a happy circle, unable to contain his joy.

“Lando! Look, mama, it’s Lando!” he’d shout, tugging your arm with his tiny fingers, eyes wide in awe like he was seeing a superhero. If Lando waved to the camera, Sebastian would wave back, completely convinced it was meant for him.

You watched all of this unfold with warmth blooming in your chest. Parenthood hadn't been something you planned for your twenties—but moments like this made it feel like life had rewritten itself for the better. Amid the mess of snacks on the carpet, bedtime stories, and tiny shoes always misplaced—you found beauty. In Sebastian’s passion, in his smile, in the way he pointed to his heroes like they were friends—you found your peace.

And somehow, in between your world of routines and his world of racing, you both found something else too: hope. Joy. And a shared love for the chaos and color of Formula 1.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The gentle steam curled from your mug as you sat at the kitchen table, your fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic, grounding yourself in the stillness of the morning. Across from you, your mother sat with the familiar calm she always brought—an anchor in your often-chaotic days. The soft hum of the TV filled the space between your conversations, and the distant clatter of plastic toys played backup to the soundtrack of your life as a mom.

Every so often, you'd rise from your seat to peek into the living room where Sebastian was busy pushing his toy cars across the rug, his tiny feet kicking in excitement, curls bouncing with each animated laugh. He was three years old, full of energy, and already fascinated by the world of Formula 1—a love you'd discovered through the way he lit up at the sight of the cars, the drivers, the roar of the engines on screen.

You returned to the table, a tired but content smile forming on your lips.

Your mother took a slow sip of her tea before looking up at you gently. “So… has his father called? Checked in at all?”

Your chest sank a little, and you exhaled a sigh that felt like it had been stored up for weeks. “No. Not once,” you said quietly. “He’s never really made the effort. And honestly? I’m done waiting for him to care. Sebastian doesn’t even notice. It’s just been me and him for so long, we’ve got our own rhythm.”

Your mom nodded solemnly, her eyes reflecting both pride and sorrow. “I’m sorry, honey. You deserve more support than that. But you’re doing an amazing job. I mean it.”

You gave a soft smile, one that came with both gratitude and a hint of weariness. Your gaze wandered again to the living room. Sebastian was sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, practically vibrating with excitement. The race had started, and you could hear his delighted squeals every time a car zoomed across the screen.

“He’s obsessed,” you chuckled. “Formula 1, of all things.”

“I noticed,” your mom said, a twinkle in her eye. “He talks about the cars like they’re superheroes.”

You smiled wider. “Yeah. He has a whole routine. Points at Charles and says, ‘Zoom!’ Every time he sees Kimi or George he claps like he’s at a concert. Don’t even get me started on how excited he gets over Lando and Oscar. It's... it’s kind of adorable.”

There was a pause, the soft kind that usually comes before something unexpected.

“Well,” your mom started, setting her mug down and reaching into her handbag slowly, “since he loves it so much… and since you could really use a little joy, I thought this might help.”

She slid a small envelope across the table toward you.

You blinked, confused, then slowly opened it.

Your heart skipped.

Inside were two glossy, official Formula 1 paddock passes—one adult, one child.

You looked up at her, stunned. “Mom… what is this?”

“It’s for the Grand Prix this weekend,” she said, her voice gentle. “I pulled a few strings. A friend from my old job still does hospitality for events like this. It’s not VIP, but it’s paddock access. You and Sebastian can go. See the cars, the drivers, the team garages… the whole thing. I thought he’d love it. And you, too.”

Tears stung your eyes, and you laughed, a bit breathless from the shock. “Are you serious? Mom… this is too much.”

“It’s not too much,” she said, smiling. “You give that boy the world every day with what little you have. I figured it was time the world gave something back. And who knows? Maybe this is the kind of moment he’ll remember forever.”

From the living room came the unmistakable shriek of joy—Sebastian jumping up and down, arms raised as a car zoomed across the screen. “Mama! It’s Lando!! Look! Orange car!!”

You turned, your heart softening at the sight.

You looked back at the passes, then to your mother, your eyes glossy. “Thank you,” you whispered. “He’s going to lose his little mind.”

She reached across and squeezed your hand. “That’s the plan.”

The two of you chatted between soft laughs and thoughtful silences—the kind that only exist in the presence of someone who has known you your whole life. It was one of those rare, warm moments of peace—something you didn’t get to feel often in your whirlwind life as a single mother.

The conversation drifted between topics: Sebastian’s latest fascination with “Zoom cars,” your job, the things you missed, and the things you learned to live without. It was soft. Safe. Your mother’s voice was a balm, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself believe that maybe everything really would be okay.

Meanwhile, halfway across the world, in a completely different atmosphere, Lando Norris groaned into his pillow.

The curtains of his penthouse suite were drawn tightly shut, but even the tiniest sliver of sunlight that slipped in felt like an attack. His head throbbed in waves, a dull pulsing at his temples that matched the beat of the club music still echoing in his brain. The drinks from the night before had tasted better going down than they did now, swirling in his stomach like regret. His mouth was dry, throat burning faintly from too much liquor and not enough water, and all he could remember was the wild chorus of bass drops, laughter, bodies dancing under neon lights, and a few blurry flashes of cameras aimed directly at him.

Another tabloid moment. Another night added to his growing online image—Lando Norris, the fun-loving party king of Formula 1.

He groaned again and shifted in bed, a pillow dragged over his face. "Never again," he muttered to himself.

“Right,” came a dry, amused voice from the doorway.

Lando peeked one eye open, lifting the pillow just enough to glare at Oscar Piastri, who stood just inside the room, arms crossed, and a disapproving smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You look dead, mate,” Oscar said, eyeing the chaos of clothes strewn across the floor, the abandoned shoes by the door, and Lando himself—still in last night’s wrinkled t-shirt, half-draped in his sheets like a child mid-tantrum.

Lando gave a weak thumbs-up, his voice hoarse. “I feel sick.”

Oscar snorted. “Yeah, I wonder why. Maybe the six tequila shots? Or was it the bottle service you insisted on ordering at two in the morning?”

“I was celebrating,” Lando groaned.

“Celebrating what exactly? A hangover?”

Lando flopped onto his back, wincing. “Shut up. I'm mourning my youth.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You’re twenty-five.”

“Exactly,” Lando muttered. “Quarter-life crisis.”

Oscar shook his head, making his way over to pull open the curtains—Lando hissed dramatically as sunlight flooded the room. Oscar rolled his eyes and tossed a bottle of water at him. “You’re lucky your schedule’s clear for once. I should make you go for a run.”

“Run?!” Lando looked offended. “Oscar. I’m dying.”

“You’re hungover. Same thing every time. You act like the world’s ending, and then you’re back on a yacht tomorrow.”

Lando took a long sip of water, the coldness soothing his throat and dulling the nausea just enough. He looked out the window at the skyline—vibrant, alive, and completely removed from any form of normalcy. The contrast between his life and the real world had never been sharper than now.

And though he lived for the thrill, the freedom, the glamor... somewhere, buried under the hangover and the jokes, a part of him wondered what it would be like to wake up in a quiet house.

To the world, Lando Norris lived a dream dipped in neon lights and champagne. He was the poster boy of F1’s nightlife—flashing cameras, velvet ropes, smoke-filled lounges, the glittering pulse of clubs across Monaco, London, Ibiza. His name often trended beside headlines of afterparties and appearances, linked to whispers of flings, mystery women, and flirtatious smirks caught on video.

The “party boy” image clung to him like cologne—loud, undeniable, and impossible to ignore.

At first, Lando had laughed it off. He gave the media their smiles, tossed fans a wink, and leaned into the persona. Why not? He was young, rich, successful. The parties were fun, the people lively, the noise almost enough to drown out the emptiness that sometimes followed when he returned home alone.

But the more the world assumed, the harder it became to shake the narrative. Social media only cemented it further—comments under photos speculating who he’d slept with, sarcastic tweets calling him the "Formula 1 Casanova," and fan threads dissecting his every interaction with a woman. At times, the world didn’t seem to believe he was capable of real love—only fleeting fun.

And that started to sting.

Behind the filters and club lights, Lando was still just a twenty-five-year-old guy who sometimes questioned where his life was going. Fame had given him everything, yet it also took so much. Privacy. Trust. Stability.

He'd see posts about Oscar and Lily—his teammate and his long-time girlfriend—and it would stir something unfamiliar in him. They had history. Quiet affection. A love that felt warm and grounding. The kind of relationship fans loved to root for. There was no gossip about Oscar’s loyalty, no speculation over his weekend choices. Instead, there were cute couple pictures, supportive tweets, and heartfelt comments.

The contrast couldn’t have been sharper.

Sometimes, in the silence after a night out, Lando would lie in bed, watching the ceiling fan spin, wondering if the path he was on led to something fulfilling—or if he’d just keep spinning in circles. He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him craved something deeper. Someone to laugh with on quiet mornings. Someone who didn’t just love him for the spotlight, but in the silence too.

And yet, he wasn’t sure how to find her. Or if he even knew what he was looking for.

His “type,” as people so confidently assumed—tall, stunning models with glossy hair and flawless smiles—was starting to feel like a shallow box he’d been stuffed into. He thought back to past flings—women who were beautiful, yes, but left him feeling emptier than before. Conversations that rarely went past the surface. Nights that blurred into mornings with no plans for the day after.

Was that really love? Was that really what he wanted?

Or was he just playing a role he no longer fit?

The world saw him one way—carefree, reckless, living in luxury. But beneath the surface, Lando was beginning to feel a quiet shift. A question forming in the back of his mind: What if I want more?

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

When you told Sebastian that he was going to see Formula 1 in person, it was as if the entire world stood still for him. His little face froze in pure, stunned disbelief—mouth parted, eyes wide, eyebrows lifted in that exaggerated toddler way that could only come from raw joy. Then, in a heartbeat, he was squealing, launching himself into your arms with such excitement that it nearly knocked the breath out of you.

“Tank you, Mommy! Tank you!” he repeated over and over, voice high with joy, arms wrapped tight around your neck. His mispronounced “thank you” was so pure and sincere that tears threatened to gather in your eyes.

This was it—this was the kind of moment that made every hard day worth it. Every sleepless night, every quiet cry when no one saw you, every sacrifice. Just to give him this joy.

He ran off seconds later, unable to contain his excitement, and started listing the drivers he hoped to meet, barely forming the names in between giddy jumps and giggles. “I gonna see Maxy! And Yuki! And Chawles! And Georgie!” he chanted as he spun around the living room, arms wide like airplane wings. “And Kimi too! And Ockar! Lan’dooo!”

You sat back on the couch, smiling through the wave of emotions. His joy was contagious, a kind of magic that settled deep in your chest.

The days leading up to the paddock visit were filled with a chaos that only love could fuel. You buried yourself in planning, not because you had to, but because you wanted it to be perfect. This wasn’t just a day out—this was a gift, a dream come true for a little boy who’d fallen in love with fast cars and faster drivers without even fully understanding the sport.

You spent evenings scrolling through online shops, adding team merch to your cart, checking sizes twice, and triple-checking the weather forecast. You mapped out packing lists, planned snacks, checked your camera storage space, and googled things like “best ear protection for toddlers at F1 races.”

But the biggest debate of all? Outfits.

You carefully laid out options on your bed—tiny team shirts, pint-sized hats, mini race suits, and soft fleece hoodies. You imagined how he'd look in each one, how his face might light up when he saw someone wearing matching colors.

“Which team should we wear first, Sebastian?” you asked one afternoon, crouching beside him as he built a racetrack out of magnetic tiles and blocks. He paused mid-play, finger on his chin in deep thought.

After a moment, he turned to you with absolute certainty.

“I wear McLah-win. All days,” he said, nodding to confirm his own decision.

“All three days?” you teased.

He nodded more firmly this time, curls bouncing. “Lan’do and Ockar are da best.”

So that was settled.

Day one: his bright papaya hoodie and matching cap—simple, bold, unmistakably McLaren. You paired it with black joggers and white sneakers, letting him choose his favorite little backpack with the lightning bolt keychain.

Day two: his mini Oscar Piastri race suit. It was perfectly tailored for a toddler, down to the stitched belt and sponsor logos. You’d even sewn his name—Sebastian—onto the chest in orange thread. When he saw it, his jaw dropped like he was holding the holy grail. “It me!” he shouted, tracing the letters.

Day three: Lando’s race suit replica. Slightly too big, but in his eyes, it made him look like a real driver. He practiced imaginary starts and finishes, sprinting across the hallway, mimicking Lando’s winning gestures, making vroom-vroom noises until bedtime.

Every night that week, he fell asleep clutching one of his toy cars, his beloved McLaren cap tucked beside his pillow. Some nights, you found him sleep-talking about drivers, whispering garbled names and “I so fast” with a tiny smile.

And you? You watched it all with a full heart.

You weren’t just preparing for a trip—you were making memories. You were giving your son something to remember long after his toddler years had passed. The joy in his eyes, the bounce in his steps, the way he counted down the days like it was Christmas. This wasn’t just about F1. This was about sharing something magical with your little boy.

And in the quiet moments, after Sebastian had fallen asleep, you'd sit in the living room, sometimes staring at the orange hoodie or listening to the faint hum of past races playing from your laptop. You didn’t have every piece of life figured out—but you had this. You had him.

You thought about how far you’d come. A single mom, navigating motherhood without the kind of support others had, building your own traditions, your own life. It hadn’t always been easy, but in these moments, the love made it feel more than enough.

Now, paddock passes in hand, suitcases packed, tiny shoes lined up at the door, it was almost time.

Three days. Three days of noise, excitement, laughter, and a front-row view to something your son loved deeply.

Airports were a world of their own—blaring announcements, rolling suitcases, the blend of perfume and coffee in the air, and the shuffle of people rushing from gate to gate. Among it all, you stood just past the security checkpoint, your carry-on slightly slipping from your shoulder, one hand firmly wrapped around the handle of Sebastian’s tiny suitcase—blue with orange race car stickers he insisted on putting on himself—and the other guiding your excitable three-year-old who was practically vibrating with anticipation.

It was Sebastian’s very first flight, and while you had spent days preparing, no number of travel blogs or TikToks could have truly braced you for the full-body energy your son was currently radiating.

He hopped along the polished tiles in his McLaren hoodie, a stuffed car plushie in one hand, backpack bouncing behind him. “Mommy! We goin’ in da sky! Da sky, da sky, da—!”

“Sebastian,” you called gently but firmly, your tone threading calmness into control. You reached for his shoulder and he paused, looking up at you with that sunshine-smile—one so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes. He didn’t speak, just beamed at you like he was keeping a little secret with the clouds he was so eager to meet.

You crouched beside him for a moment, brushing a curl from his forehead. “I know you’re excited, baby, but we have to stay close, okay? No running. There’s too many people here today.”

“Okay, Mommy,” he whispered, slightly breathless, like the airport was a magical maze he was being told not to touch.

You stood again and reached into your tote bag. “Here,” you offered, pulling out the snack bag you’d packed that morning with military precision. “Pick a snack, sit tight.”

Sebastian peeked in, his small fingers rifling through pouches of gummies, crackers, and his ultimate comfort choice—Goldfish. His eyes lit up. “De fishes!”

You tore the bag open and handed it to him, watching the way he cradled it carefully in both hands, like it was treasure. He sat down cross-legged near the window of your gate, Goldfish in hand, gaze drifting to the planes outside.

You took a breath, letting the buzz of the airport fade into the background for a beat. The weight of the moment hit you gently—not heavy, but meaningful. This wasn’t just a trip. This was a first. His first time flying, his first Formula 1 race, his first steps into something that felt big and unforgettable. And you got to be the one by his side, showing him all of it.

You sat next to him, watching him crunch quietly, the reflection of the airplanes gliding along the tarmac gleaming in the wide glass ahead. The clouds above were beginning to part, sun dappling in streaks across the runways.

“Do you think we gonna go super fast like the cars?” he asked, cheeks puffed with snacks.

You laughed softly. “Not quite that fast. But we’ll be up in the clouds soon.”

“Like... where birds go?”

“Exactly where birds go.”

He turned to you, and in a whisper, said, “I hope Lando go there too.”

You chuckled again, heart full. “Maybe not today. But we’ll see him soon.”

It was then that boarding was announced, and the line began to form. You packed up the snack bag, helped Sebastian to his feet, and adjusted his hoodie once more. As you grabbed his hand and headed toward the gate, you felt it again—that quiet sense of rightness.

Despite the chaos of travel, the work of planning, the worries of being enough as a mom—you were here. Together. On an adventure. And that was more than enough.

As you stepped into the jet bridge, your son looked up at you once again, eyes sparkling with wonder. “Mommy?”

“Yeah, love?”

“I gonna fly like Oscar.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The flight buzzed with a quiet hum, the occasional ding of seatbelt signs and the low chatter of passengers blending into a white noise symphony. Yet, in the middle of row 14, two seats near the window were alight with joy.

Sebastian was electric with energy, practically bouncing in his seat, his McLaren hoodie slightly oversized and his cheeks flushed from all the excitement. Every person who met his eyes—even if only in passing—was greeted with an enthusiastic, “Hi! I go see cars! I go see McLaren! I go see Lando!”

You smiled, half-apologetic to the flight attendants who offered polite, knowing chuckles. But none of them seemed to mind. In fact, they leaned into his excitement, letting him help “check” the snack basket, praising his race car backpack, and slipping him extra juice boxes like he was royalty on board.

“He’s adorable,” one attendant whispered to you as she passed, her smile soft. “Reminds me of my nephew.”

You thanked her quietly, watching as Sebastian munched on the little cookies she had offered him. He kicked his legs softly under the seat, recounting every topic under the sun: cartoons, new toys, dinosaurs, his favorite car toys, and somehow even Santa Claus—despite it being months away from Christmas.

You couldn't help but giggle when he whispered, “Santa gonna bring me new tires for my cars.”

“Really?” you played along.

“Yeah, da fast ones. So I can beat Max.”

His logic was flawless.

But all that energy had a price. After a flurry of words and crumbs, your little boy's lids grew heavier. He curled slightly into his seat, and you, ever the prepared mother, pulled out his checkered-flag throw blanket—one he insisted on packing himself. You tucked it around him, brushing a hand over his forehead.

The screen ahead played SpongeBob, flickering softly. His eyes were half-lidded, still trying to focus, but the gentle sway of the plane, the warmth of the blanket, and the comfort of being beside you finally coaxed him into rest.

His lashes fluttered, and then—sleep.

You leaned back into your seat, a peaceful exhale leaving your lips. Looking down at your sleeping son, his cheek resting softly against the seat, arms wrapped around his plushie, you couldn’t help but pull out your phone. One quick snap, the image so sweet and pure it made your chest tighten. You posted it to your story with a caption:

“First flight ever—and he’s already dreaming of podiums 🏁✨ #McLarenFuture #PiastriJunior?”

The replies would come fast. Friends gushing. A few mutuals tagging McLaren. A couple of comments about how cute he looked in the gear. You smiled, tucking the phone away and letting your head rest against the seat as well, your heart warm with pride.

Meanwhile, miles ahead and hours earlier, Lando was nestled in the calm before the chaos.

The drivers’ hospitality suite was abuzz with low conversation. It was one of those rare quiet moments before a race weekend—the lull before the storm of flashing cameras, screaming fans, microphones, and paddock chaos. Drivers lounged on couches, some eating, some gaming, others just catching up.

Lando leaned back in his chair, arms folded, nursing a bottle of water as Oscar settled beside him, hair still slightly tousled from the heat outside.

“You win in Australia and you’re gonna party?” Carlos asked, amused.

Lando smirked. “Hell yeah. Wouldn’t you?”

Charles chuckled. “I guess it’s deserved.”

“Party responsibly,” Lewis added with a half-smile, giving a small nod toward Max who was currently laughing with Yuki across the room.

Max’s voice drifted over: “At least I don’t party in public every other weekend.”

Lando laughed along with the others, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The banter continued—Lewis talked about Roscoe’s latest spa visit, Max mentioned Kelly and the girls, Carlos shared plans of flying back home to unwind. Everyone had someone. Someone who waited at home. Someone who traveled with them. Someone they could call when the helmets came off.

Lando had always told himself he didn’t need that—not yet. He was 25, living the dream. He had the cars, the spotlight, the money, the fans. But lately, the silence after the adrenaline wore off… it felt a little heavier.

Sure, he had his parents. He loved them deeply, was grateful for their unwavering support. But still, it wasn’t the same. His Instagram tags were flooded with girls fans assumed he was dating, models or influencers caught near him at clubs, the media labeling him “F1’s golden bachelor.”

And yet here he was, scrolling through his phone, staring blankly at filtered stories and half-hearted DMs, wondering what it would feel like to have someone to call after a long day—not just someone to party with, but someone to talk to.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Finally, the sweet relief of the hotel room washed over you like a warm wave. The plush bedding, the crisp air conditioning, and the gentle hum of the city beyond the windows made it feel like a well-earned moment of peace. The journey had been long, and while you were used to doing things alone, the toll of traveling with a toddler wasn't light—especially one who vibrated with joy the entire way here.

But the moment your shoes hit the carpet and the door clicked shut behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

Sebastian was already off exploring the room, the smallest adventurer you’d ever met. His tiny feet padded softly over the hotel floor as he opened closet doors and peeked under the table like he was on a treasure hunt.

You smiled, watching him tumble through the pile of travel bags you’d placed near the bed. With delight, he unearthed the small toys you had carefully packed—ones he insisted on bringing because, “I want to show Lando my cars, Mommy!”

The bed looked like heaven, and you longed to collapse into it. Tomorrow would be the first of the three-day Paddock adventure. You'd need to be up early, need time to get Sebastian dressed, fed, and possibly wrangled into his mini McLaren gear without incident. You were sure you’d be chasing him around with a juice box in one hand and sunscreen in the other.

Still, it was worth it. Every bit of effort, every dollar spent, every long hour on your feet… all of it was worth the look on your son’s face. The world hadn’t always been kind to you—but Sebastian was your reason to fight harder, smile bigger, and hope again.

You watched him laugh at nothing in particular, giggling as his cars zipped across the polished hotel floor.

How could anyone not want to be part of this?

That thought crept in again, quietly but painfully. You never said it out loud, but sometimes—when you tucked him in at night or watched him dance around to a cartoon theme song—you wondered how anyone could look at this child and choose not to stay.

But that aching thought was abruptly interrupted by the buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand.

You frowned when you saw the name on the screen. That name. That past. That man.

The one who chose absence over fatherhood.

You stepped away toward the corner of the room, throwing a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure Sebastian was still happily distracted with his toys. He was. You answered.

“Hello?” you said quietly.

There was a pause—then that voice. Tired, lazy, like it hadn’t changed a bit. “Y/n… hey. It’s been a while.”

A scoff built in your throat. You clenched your jaw, already done with the conversation before it truly began.

“‘A while’?” you repeated, voice low and sharp. “It’s been more than a while. It’s been two missed birthdays. It’s been holidays with no call. It’s been me raising a child while you send the occasional drunk text at 2 a.m. about how we should get back together. Which, by the way, is sick. Because let’s be honest—you hated me. And I hated you.”

Your voice trembled—part anger, part exhaustion—but you kept it contained, steady. Because you couldn’t let Sebastian hear this. You wouldn't let his joy be tainted by a man who only called when he remembered he used to be a father.

There was silence on the other end of the line. No apology. No excuse. Just silence. The kind that confirmed what you already knew.

You ended the call without another word, letting your finger hover over the red button for only a second before pressing it.

Then you turned back toward the bed, your chest tight but your expression softening the moment you looked at Sebastian—who was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, making car noises and whispering to himself about which driver he was going to talk to first.

And just like that, the ache in your chest shifted. Not gone—but lighter. Because you had him. And he had you.

You walked over and knelt beside him, pulling him close into a warm hug, letting him nuzzle against your shoulder. “I love you, baby,” you whispered.

He looked up at you with that same big smile and messy curls, his arms wrapping around your neck.

“I wuv you too, Mommy.”

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The next morning felt like a whirlwind dressed as routine chaos — the kind that makes you question every decision leading up to it. It started far too early, in a hotel room that still smelled faintly like fresh linen and room service. The alarm blasted through the soft silence like a siren call from hell. You startled awake, jolting upright with a groggy huff and instinctively smacking the snooze button with more aggression than necessary. Sebastian, curled up under the covers beside you, let out a long, loud whine — the kind of exaggerated noise toddlers save for their biggest complaints — before burying his messy-haired head under the blanket.

You mumbled a curse under your breath — something just strong enough to release the frustration but quiet enough that your three-year-old wouldn't catch on. Or so you thought.

The first words he mumbled were, “Mommy… that noise hurt my ears.”

“I know, baby,” you said softly, brushing hair from his eyes. “Mine too.”

Breakfast came next, which turned into a full-on negotiation. You’d offered a simple, reasonable suggestion — cereal and sliced strawberries — something quick and clean, something you could manage while half-awake and still brushing your teeth. But Sebastian had other plans, declared with all the authority of a Michelin-star critic: “Waffles. Hotel ones. And fruit. And muffins. And orange juice. The big cup.”

You blinked. “All that?”

He nodded solemnly, lips pursed like this was a very serious matter.

You gave in, of course. You always did when he got that specific sparkle in his eyes — wide, hopeful, and full of such raw excitement that saying “no” felt like a crime. Soon, he had a plate overflowing with buttery waffles drizzled in syrup, a rainbow of cut fruit, two muffins (one chocolate chip, one blueberry), and a comically large glass of orange juice that he insisted on holding himself with both tiny hands. He looked far too proud of his breakfast, swinging his legs from the chair and beaming up at you between bites.

You had no idea how such a small person could eat like that. You didn’t even question it anymore.

Then came bath time — your battlefield. You’d hoped maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be too hard today. But the second the tub started filling, he was bouncing with energy, throwing plastic toy cars into the water like a pre-race ritual.

Getting him in wasn’t hard. Getting him to stay still? Impossible.

Water splashed everywhere — the floor, the walls, your shirt. When it came time to wash his hair, the protest began. His face twisted into a dramatic pout the second your fingers touched the shampoo bottle.

“Nooo, it goes in my eyes!”

You kept your tone soft, soothing. “I’ll be careful, sweetheart. Eyes closed like a superhero, okay?”

He whined. Then sniffled. Then let you do it — reluctantly, with some side-eye — as you hummed the theme song to Paw Patrol just to distract him.

After what felt like a small war, he was finally clean, dressed, and smelling faintly of baby lotion and sunblock. You helped him into his outfit for the day — his prized papaya-colored McLaren hoodie, proudly zipped up to his chin, paired with a matching McLaren cap that looked just a little too big and kept sliding down his forehead. His joggers were black, and his tiny white sneakers were spotless… for now.

He looked like a mini superfan ready to storm the paddock with purpose.

You turned to yourself next, slipping into the dress you’d carefully chosen — a soft milkmaid-style dress that flowed like poetry around your calves. The fabric was weightless and cool against your skin, white with delicate blue florals scattered like petals caught in a spring breeze. The bodice was gently structured, the sweetheart neckline adding a touch of softness and femininity that made you feel — for the first time in a while — pretty. Really pretty.

The wide-brimmed straw hat you packed sat perfectly atop your head, giving you just enough shade to guard against the harsh Australian sun you knew would be relentless later. It felt right — the dress, the hat, the moment.

Sebastian slung on his small backpack with the same dramatic flair he used for everything. You grabbed the paddock passes — laminated, bright, and full of promise — and with one last deep breath, you stepped out of the hotel room and into the day.

The paddock was a different world entirely.

The moment you arrived, it swallowed you whole — the sounds, the motion, the life. Fans pressed against barriers, shouting names, waving signs, laughing and crying and reaching. The scent of rubber and heat hung in the air, the low growl of distant engines thundering beneath it all like a heartbeat.

Sebastian’s hand stayed firmly in yours, but his eyes were everywhere. Wide, lit with a pure joy that was impossible to replicate or fake. He looked around like he’d walked into the gates of a dream — and in a way, he had.

Meanwhile, not too far from the chaos, Lando Norris stood in the middle of it all — a sea of movement around him. He was used to this part: the cameras, the fans, the autographs, the media questions that danced on the edge of personal and professional. He gave polite smiles, half-jokes, the occasional wink that sent fans squealing. He did his part, and he did it well.

But then, something — someone — caught his eye.

A woman in a blue and white dress moving slowly through the crowd, careful and calm, with a little boy in McLaren gear walking beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Lando’s heart stuttered.

Not because he knew you. He didn’t — not yet.

But in the way her dress moved with the breeze, in the way the little boy held her hand with absolute trust, in the way she looked down at her son with the kind of love that softened even the harshest corners of a place like this… something in Lando shifted.

He didn’t know why, but for the first time all morning, he wasn’t thinking about the race.

He was thinking about them.

Sebastian gasped—audibly and dramatically—the way only a toddler could. His small hands flew up with excitement as he pointed toward a nearby setup, where bright banners and colorful displays celebrated each team with proud fanfare. The McLaren signage, bold and unmistakable, had clearly captured his entire being.

You let out a soft chuckle, reaching down to gently rest a hand on his shoulder. “We’re gonna get ourselves a tour of the garages, okay?” you explained, crouching slightly to meet his excitement with calm. “We just have to wait for the tour guide.”

Sebastian nodded, eyes still gleaming as he rocked on his heels, the cap on his head slightly tilted from his animated movements. He didn’t say anything else, but his joy was bubbling over — it was in his posture, his wiggling fingers, and the bright way he scanned the paddock like it was an amusement park made just for him.

The buzz of chatter around you was constant — conversations blending into each other, fan voices raised in awe, the faint beat of music pulsing somewhere in the background. It was overwhelming, in that kind of magical way only big, exciting places could be.

And then… he appeared.

Lando Norris, threading his way through the crowd with casual familiarity, a soft “Excuse me,” here, a small nod there, eyes scanning ahead until they landed directly on the small boy in papaya orange. In mere moments, he was in front of Sebastian, lowering himself into a crouch, eyes kind and lit with recognition.

“Hey, little guy,” he greeted warmly, his voice soft in contrast to the buzz of the paddock. “Supporting McLaren today? You’re gonna be our mini driver, yeah?”

Sebastian went completely still.

Not just quiet — frozen. His jaw dropped slightly, arms limp at his sides, as if he had just spotted a dragon, a real one, casually crouched right in front of him. He blinked rapidly, eyes wide and unblinking, unsure whether to cry, run, or explode with happiness. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you — quiet, surprised, utterly endeared. Lando had that effect on fans, sure, but seeing it happen to your own child? Surreal. You fumbled into your small white purse, pulling out your phone and readying it as you approached gently.

“Sebastian?” you asked softly. “Are you gonna pose so I can take a photo of you two?”

Nothing.

He still stood there, stunned and starstruck.

Then — without warning — he let out a high-pitched scream of joy, the kind of shriek that made nearby heads turn, and yours nearly snap off your shoulders. You winced. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—!”

But Lando was already laughing, waving a hand with ease. “It’s okay,” he reassured, glancing up at you with a grin that softened you instantly. “He’s okay. Totally okay.”

His gaze lingered for just a second longer than expected — drawn to your face, your soft expression as you watched your son. Then to the way your dress moved ever so slightly with the breeze, the light catching the delicate floral pattern like a watercolor in motion. Your perfume drifted toward him, subtle and clean with something sweet woven in. It hit him harder than expected, that scent — or maybe it was everything about you, compacted into that single moment of wind and sunlight and childlike joy.

Sebastian flung his arms around Lando in a burst of affection, burying his face against the front of his McLaren zip-up. You watched with your heart in your throat as Lando returned the hug, wrapping his arms around Sebastian without hesitation, effortlessly soft in a way that came so naturally it stunned you.

“Okay!” you said through a smile, stepping back with your phone. “Let me get a cute photo of you two.”

Sebastian and Lando posed — or rather, Lando posed with Sebastian, crouching back down with one knee on the ground, chin resting gently on Sebastian’s small shoulder. Their cheeks touched, curly heads leaning into one another. Lando held up a single finger in a #1 pose, smiling like he meant it. It was perfect.

You snapped a few photos, and as you did, you couldn’t help but notice it — their hair. The curls. The way they framed both of their faces almost identically. You smiled to yourself. It wasn’t exactly a coincidence. After all, when Lando had kept his signature curly mullet look last season, Sebastian had seen a photo online and announced with unwavering confidence: “I want that hair.” He had pointed at Lando like it was gospel. And you? You’d booked the salon the next day.

As the hug ended, you stepped forward, slipping your phone back into your purse. “Thank you so much for taking a photo with him,” you said warmly, genuinely.

Lando stood, brushing the knees of his pants. “It’s no issue at all,” he replied, glancing down at Sebastian once more with fondness. “I think I’ve just met my teammate of the future.”

Sebastian beamed, still too shy to speak.

“You gonna drive for us one day?” Lando added, teasing, nudging the boy gently. “I’ll keep a seat warm for you.”

Your heart tugged at the sight — your son, so young and yet so full of love for a world like this. And Lando, surprisingly sweet and attentive, entirely present in a way that told you he wasn’t just putting on a show for the cameras or fans.

You smiled to yourself, glancing at the paddock around you, then back at them — Sebastian, the driver he idolized, and this unfolding moment you hadn’t expected.

"Come on, we have to let him go now," you said gently, wrapping your fingers around Sebastian’s small hand, trying to coax him away. The toddler let out a soft pout, his eyes still wide with admiration as he looked up at Lando like he was the sun itself. But even with his protest brewing, he gave in with a tiny sigh, slipping his hand into yours.

Lando chuckled, the kind that warmed the air around him. “He’s fine—he’s a cutie,” he replied, his voice light, fond even, as he glanced down at the boy once more.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be sweet with fans, especially kids. He’d always had a soft spot for the younger supporters—their joy was so pure, so unfiltered. But something about Sebastian tugged at a different thread inside him. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t just Sebastian who had caught his attention.

His gaze lingered, just for a second longer than it should’ve. Not on the excited toddler now hugging his leg again, but on you.

The subtle curve of your smile as you looked at your son. The soft sweep of hair tucked behind your ear. That floral milkmaid dress—light, ethereal—danced a little in the breeze, brushing gently against your calves, the blue and white print making your skin glow beneath the sunlight. He caught the scent of your perfume again, something sweet but grounded, and it almost made him forget the paddock noise surrounding him.

But then reality nudged him.

He was Lando Norris. And with that name came the constant click of cameras, the headlines that twisted simple kindness into something scandalous, and the ongoing ache of knowing that privacy was a luxury he didn’t own. He couldn’t afford to let curiosity become anything more.

Still, he offered a smile. Genuine. “Thank you for letting us get a photo,” you said, your voice soft with gratitude, and maybe even a hint of admiration tucked behind it.

“It’s no issue at all,” he answered, his voice equally soft now, more personal somehow.

Just then, Sebastian broke free of your hold once more, bouncing with renewed energy. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Lando’s leg in one last goodbye hug. Your lips parted in mild surprise, but you couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped.

You already knew what was coming.

“He’s going to ask for Oscar now,” you said knowingly, an amused look on your face as you tucked your phone back into your purse.

Lando laughed, bending slightly so he could meet Sebastian’s gaze again. “Oscar, huh? Can’t blame him. We’ll have to make sure he gets that photo too.”

Your heart swelled at the kindness in his tone. And even if the moment had to end, it left an impression—gentle, fleeting, and maybe more meaningful than either of you could admit.

“We can find Oscar—he’s somewhere around here,” Lando said, crouching slightly to meet Sebastian’s eye again. His voice had that calm, charming tone kids seemed to respond to instinctively, and sure enough, Sebastian’s tiny hand found his with total trust.

You smiled, your heart quietly aching in the best way as you watched the two of them. There was something surreal about it—your son hand-in-hand with a driver he’d looked up to for months, someone whose posters decorated his bedroom walls, whose name he babbled about nonstop. And yet here they were, side by side, like they’d known each other longer than a few minutes.

You followed behind, just a few paces, letting the moment play out in front of you like a movie. The scene looked too perfect: Sebastian looking up, talking animatedly about his toy car collection, while Lando nodded and listened as if each word was of utmost importance.

But even as warmth filled your chest, something inside you whispered not to get carried away. This was Lando Norris. He was always kind to fans, especially to kids. This wasn’t special. It couldn’t be. It was just part of his image, part of the charm that made millions adore him.

And yet… he didn’t let go of Sebastian’s hand.

As the three of you walked deeper into the paddock, the vibrant atmosphere buzzed louder. You could hear the faint hum of tires being rolled out, radios crackling with chatter, distant bursts of laughter from fans lining the barricades. The scent of asphalt, heat, and oil mixed with the soft floral trace of your perfume, which the breeze occasionally carried toward Lando—who didn’t seem to mind at all.

When you finally reached the McLaren garage, it was like walking into the heart of something electric. Engineers paced with purpose, monitors lit up with telemetry, car parts glinted under sharp fluorescent lights. And standing a few feet inside, Oscar Piastri turned just as Sebastian caught sight of him.

There was a beat—a tiny, loaded moment—and then Sebastian let out the kind of squeal only a three-year-old could make, bursting from Lando’s side and sprinting to Oscar like he was reuniting with a long-lost friend.

Oscar laughed, catching him in a half-squat hug, lifting him off the ground a few inches. “Woah! Look who’s here!” he said, clearly charmed.

You stopped just at the threshold of the garage, your feet hesitating for the first time. Cameras lingered near the entrance—journalists, team photographers, random flashes—and for a second, insecurity tried to creep in. You didn’t belong here. This was their world. You were just visiting.

You adjusted your grip on your purse, suddenly more aware of your dress, your posture, your hair. But then Lando turned. He wasn’t looking at the cameras. He wasn’t scanning the room. His gaze found you—just you.

And in that second, something in his expression softened.

“This is the garage—McLaren, for all you little fans,” he teased, gesturing toward the bright orange and blue world surrounding you both.

You tilted your head, crossing your arms playfully. “Little fans? Excuse you—I’m not little.”

He laughed, quick and genuine. “Apologies—to you and your little McLaren fan.” His eyes dropped for a brief second, catching your smile.

You hummed, pretending to think. “Better.”

It was an innocent exchange, lighthearted and quick—but it buzzed in the air between you both like a hidden signal, an unspoken something neither of you could fully name. Not yet.

Then came the gentle tug at your heart again—Sebastian. He was still chatting to Oscar, waving his tiny arms, recounting something that involved race cars and dragons, by the sound of it. Your fingers itched for your phone again. These were the moments he’d remember forever. So would you.

And then, just as you reached to adjust the strap of your bag, Sebastian did something that caught you off guard: he ran back, arms wide, and wrapped himself tightly around Lando’s leg. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like it was safe.

You felt something twist inside your chest—something warm and unexpected.

Lando looked down, blinking in surprise, then softened, his hand gently resting on Sebastian’s back. “He’s got a strong grip,” he joked, chuckling.

“He gets attached easily,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry if he’s clingy.”

Lando shook his head. “He’s not. He’s just… cool.” His voice dropped slightly, sincere and quiet. “You’ve got a good kid.”

You smiled—small, but real. “I know.”

Conversation between you and Lando had started off light, naturally flowing like you’d known him longer than a morning. You stood beside him in the garage while Sebastian trailed Oscar, clinging to every word and gesture the older driver made as he proudly led him on his own version of a pit lane tour. From where you stood, you could still hear Sebastian’s tiny giggles echoing through the hum of machinery and distant radio chatter.

Lando leaned against one of the workstations, arms folded, a casual smirk on his lips as you shared a story about how Sebastian once raced his Hot Wheels down the hallway so fast he crashed into the front door and blamed "aerodynamics."

Your laughter blended with his, light and genuine, for a moment making you forget where you were and who you were talking to. For once, it didn’t feel like you were speaking to a world-famous athlete. It felt... easy.

But then, just as you caught your breath mid-laugh, a voice chimed in—clear, curious, and edged with mischief.

“Who are you?”

Your head turned, and your smile faltered just slightly as Carlos Sainz approached. He was dressed in his Williams team gear, looking effortlessly put-together, a water bottle dangling from one hand and a subtle smirk playing on his lips.

You stood a little straighter. “I’m just a fan,” you said lightly, offering a small smile. “With a very enthusiastic mini fan.”

You gestured toward Sebastian, who was now seated on a tire stack as Oscar showed him the wheel gun. He was clearly in heaven.

Carlos raised a brow at your answer, his gaze flicking toward Lando, who remained unusually silent beside you. You caught the way Lando gave the subtlest shake of his head in Carlos's direction—a quiet warning, or perhaps a signal that this wasn’t what it looked like.

Carlos’s lips twitched with amusement. “I see…”

He turned his eyes back to you, sharp yet unreadable. “Any chance that little one over there’s gonna like me too?”

You tilted your head thoughtfully, hiding a smirk. “Maybe. He’s got quite the open taste. He’s been known to cheer for at least five teams depending on how cool their cars look.”

Carlos grinned. “Smart kid.”

Without waiting for a reply, he gave you both a mock salute and walked off, passing between you and Lando with the same confident stride he probably used walking to the grid.

You rolled your eyes playfully as you turned back to Lando, who looked amused but a little irritated too. “Next thing you know,” you joked, “they’ll be fighting over who gets his love.”

That broke Lando’s brief tension. He laughed, a soft, low chuckle that felt more personal than anything you’d heard from him before.

“He better stay loyal to McLaren,” Lando joked, glancing toward Sebastian again, his voice tinted with a sort of pride that didn’t quite make sense—unless it wasn’t just about the team anymore.

You smiled, feeling a subtle shift in the air. The kind that left you a little warmer, a little more aware. Of him. Of the way his gaze lingered when he looked at you. Of how close he was standing now, a casual closeness that felt just slightly charged.

Still, you reminded yourself to stay grounded.

Because at the end of the day, this was still the paddock.

This was still Lando Norris.

And this was probably still just part of the charm.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Practice ran smoother than expected, the sound of engines roaring past and tires screeching against the asphalt forming the soundtrack of the afternoon. From the elevated view inside the pit building, where guests and team members could observe from above, you stood with Sebastian tucked securely in your arms. The vantage point gave you a perfect view over the track, the bustling pit lane, and the vibrant, living pulse of the paddock beneath.

The air buzzed with excitement, even as the sun began to dip slightly in the sky. A warm Australian breeze slipped through the open balcony space, tousling your hair and carrying the lingering scent of gasoline, rubber, and fresh grass. Your heart was full—soaking in the atmosphere, the hum of conversation around you, the thrill from the crowd cheering just meters away, and most of all, the joy radiating from your little boy.

Sebastian was a firecracker in your arms—restless, wide-eyed, and utterly consumed by the action. “Go, Lando!” he shouted, his tiny fist pumped in the air. “Oscar! Look, mama, Oscar’s goin’ fast!”

You laughed gently, holding him a little tighter. “I see him, baby,” you said, amused by his commentary. “They’re both doing so good today, huh?”

He was completely immersed, like a sponge absorbing every detail. His enthusiasm didn’t waver, not even as the session neared its end. He clapped wildly when the McLaren cars zoomed past, shouted out names like they were old friends—“George! Kimi! Max! Charles!”—and even pointed with giddy excitement when Lewis appeared on the screen.

“Yuki! Look, mama, Yuki funny!” he giggled, slapping his hand against your arm.

You couldn’t help but smile. Seeing the world through his eyes—full of color and awe—made the chaos of travel, the fatigue from the long day, and even the stress you carried feel a little bit lighter.

But as the final laps came to a close and the cars began trickling back into their garages, the adrenaline began to fade. You felt it first in the way Sebastian slumped slightly against you, his arms slowly wrapping around your neck, his cheek brushing your shoulder. The spark of excitement still lingered in his little heart, but the rest of him—well, it was giving in.

He fought sleep like a warrior.

His lashes fluttered, his eyes red and heavy, but still he insisted, “No nap, mama.”

“I know, I know,” you said softly, brushing your hand over his curls. “Just a break, right? Just rest your eyes for a minute.”

But he wasn’t done yet. With a sudden jolt of energy, he shifted in your arms and pointed toward the paddock area just below. “Kimi, mama! Me see Kimi!”

His voice cracked from all the yelling he’d done, but the determination in his tone was still strong. He wiggled, trying to slide down from your hold.

“Kimi’s probably doing interviews right now,” you murmured, trying not to laugh at his stubbornness. “We’ll find him later, okay? Maybe he’ll even say hi if we’re lucky.”

He squinted into the distance as if willing the Mercedes driver to materialize on command. “Him wave me. Kimi wave me!” he insisted, rubbing his eyes and stamping his little foot down as if that would summon Kimi by pure toddler force alone.

You took a breath, your heart full to bursting. This was everything to him—the drivers weren’t just names or faces. They were superheroes. They were friends. And in his world, seeing one more of them—just one—before the day ended felt like the most important mission ever.

You leaned down and kissed his temple. “I believe you,” you whispered. “And I promise, we’ll try to find him. But you need to be strong for me, okay? Can you be strong, just for a little while longer?”

He nodded with all the gravity a three-year-old could muster, despite the way his thumb crept into his mouth and he tucked his head under your chin.

You shifted your weight, gently rocking him side to side, taking in the fading light on the horizon. The practice was done. The paddock buzz was quieter now, people trickling away, laughter floating from somewhere below, mechanics wheeling tires and boxes past in a practiced rhythm. The day had been long, but good. There was a softness in the air that hadn’t been there this morning. A calm.

And as you stood there, swaying slowly with your child in your arms, you couldn’t help but feel like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. Right here, in this in-between moment, holding the person you loved most in a place he already adored.

Sebastian let out a soft sigh, curling closer into your chest. His voice, thick with exhaustion but still clinging to hope, came again in a sleepy murmur.

“Mama... Kimi come back?”

You kissed his cheek, tucking the blanket from your bag around his shoulders.

“We’ll see, baby. I promise. You rest now. I’ll keep watch.”

And with that, his tiny body finally relaxed, sleep pulling him into a peaceful slumber, the sounds of the paddock slowly fading into the background.

You didn’t want to wait much longer — the day had worn you down, and Sebastian had finally dozed off in your arms, his head resting against your shoulder, lips parted in soft snores. But despite your fatigue, a small flame of hope flickered inside you. Maybe, just maybe, if you held on a little longer, Kimi would appear. You knew how much it meant to Sebastian.

The paddock had finally begun to settle. The blinding flashes of cameras, the swarming fans, the echoing voices of reporters — all of it had died down to a hum. And somewhere in that calm, Lando spotted you again. For once, he wasn’t surrounded by media demands or tugged in different directions by obligations. It was just him now. And his eyes softened the moment they landed on you.

He approached with that familiar casual stride, a chuckle slipping from his lips as he glanced at the boy cradled in your arms. “He’s out,” he said gently, almost amused, as if the excitement had finally caught up to the little one.

You smiled in return, the kind of tired but warm smile only a parent could offer. With care, you took off Sebastian’s slightly tilted McLaren cap, brushing his curls away from his damp forehead. “He’s been holding out just to see Kimi,” you murmured, almost apologetically.

Lando nodded with sincerity. “I’ll make sure Kimi stops by. He won’t miss this,” he promised. There was something earnest in his voice — not performative, not the usual ‘fan-service’ charm — but genuine, like he wanted to make it happen for Sebastian. For you.

You shrugged a bit, not wanting to impose. “If not, it’s okay. We’ll be back tomorrow. Got ourselves the full three-day access.” You hadn’t meant for it to be anything special when you said it, but it lit something quietly inside Lando. You were coming back — that meant more chances to see you. Maybe talk. Maybe… something more.

“In the span of just a few hours,” you added with a faint chuckle, “he managed to get photos with Charles, Lewis, Carlos, Alex — even Liam and Isack. Now all that’s left on his dream list is Kimi, George, Yuki, and Max.”

Lando smiled at that. “He’s ambitious. I like it. And he’ll get them — I’ll make sure of it,” he said firmly. He wasn’t just saying it to be nice — he meant it. Maybe it was the way Sebastian lit up around them, or maybe it was how you looked at your son like he was your whole world. Either way, Lando found himself caring a little too much.

A lull in the conversation opened a new window — a chance to ask more. To know more. And he took it.

“So… earlier you were saying a bit about the little guy and yourself. Dad didn’t come along?” Lando’s voice softened, carefully treading that line between curiosity and respect.

You looked down at Sebastian’s sleeping face, brushing a hand gently along his back. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms,” you said, voice low. “We’re not together. Haven’t been in a while.” Your tone wasn’t bitter, just honest.

And then the words spilled — maybe because Lando was easy to talk to, or maybe because you were just so tired of keeping it all inside. You told him how your ex had missed both of Sebastian’s birthdays. How the only contact came in the form of late-night, drunken texts that always circled back to the same twisted narrative: “Let’s try again,” followed by declarations you’d long stopped believing in.

You didn’t notice, but Lando’s expression shifted — a quiet intensity in his gaze. It wasn’t pity, but something deeper. He hated it for you. Hated that someone had been foolish enough to walk away from a life with you and Sebastian. And worse, that someone had left you to handle it all on your own.

But then, that guilt crept up his spine — uninvited and sharp. He was Lando Norris. He didn’t do strings. His world was fast and fleeting. Privacy was a myth. Relationships were speculation fodder. And the idea of being involved with someone — someone who came as a package deal — was overwhelming. Terrifying, even.

Still… he couldn’t ignore how naturally it all felt just then. You, him, and Sebastian.

For a second, he wondered what it might be like if things were different.

And that scared him.

So, instead of speaking his thoughts, he simply nodded, offering the kind of half-smile that didn’t reach all the way to his eyes. “He’s lucky to have you,” he said quietly.

And even though he didn’t say more, even though he buried whatever stirring he felt, the way he looked at you lingered longer than it should’ve.

Just as you were preparing to gently excuse yourself from Lando and finally head out with Sebastian asleep in your arms, a small wave of movement caught your attention. You looked up — and sighed in sheer relief.

Kimi had appeared at last.

He strolled in with a calm, almost unreadable expression, still in his race suit, hair slightly tousled from removing his helmet, and a bottle of water in hand. He hadn’t even fully stepped into the area before his eyes landed on you and Lando. He tilted his head slightly, brows pulling together in mild confusion as if trying to place the scene — a woman holding a sleeping child, standing with Lando Norris.

“I am so sorry to bother you,” you began gently, stepping forward just enough without jostling Sebastian. You didn’t want to startle him awake. “But you’re here and— I know I don’t have anything Mercedes for you to sign, but… signing his backpack would mean a lot.”

You offered a small, hopeful smile, holding out a black marker and the tiny, well-loved backpack that was slung over your shoulder. Its fabric was soft from use, and one of the zipper pulls had a keychain shaped like a Formula 1 car.

Lando gave a small, encouraging nod, his expression warm. “They’ll be back tomorrow,” he added, his voice casual but his tone protective. “Kid’s been waiting just to see you.”

At that, Kimi's face softened. Something about the sincerity in your voice, and perhaps the tone Lando had taken on — almost like it was his job to make sure this moment happened — made Kimi nod without hesitation.

He reached forward and gently took the backpack from you, uncapping the marker in one hand and holding the fabric taut in the other. “How old is he?” Kimi asked, his voice quiet but curious, eyes glancing at Sebastian’s sleeping face.

Before you could even open your mouth to respond, Lando beat you to it — his voice calm and full of a surprising kind of certainty.

“He’s three. His name is Sebastian.”

Your gaze flicked to Lando, eyes softening as a small lump formed in your throat. The way he said it — like he’d memorized it — made your chest feel tight. You hadn’t expected him to remember. Not when he’d been bombarded by faces and questions all day, caught in flashes of cameras and interviews. You assumed you and Sebastian would be forgotten as quickly as you appeared — just another moment in a long blur of fan interactions.

But he hadn’t forgotten.

He remembered your son’s name. His age. The way he fought sleep just to see Kimi. And it wasn’t just that he remembered — it was the way he cared. Lando said it like it mattered.

Kimi hummed thoughtfully as he signed his name across the backpack in neat, bold letters. Then, handing it back, he gave a small nod toward you. “He’s got good taste in drivers.”

You chuckled quietly, adjusting Sebastian in your arms. “He thinks all of you are superheroes,” you replied, voice hushed with affection. “Each time he sees a car or hears a name, it’s like the whole world lights up for him.”

Kimi offered a rare, faint smile before giving a polite nod and stepping away, blending back into the quiet shuffle of drivers finishing up their day. You watched him go, grateful — but it was the man standing beside you that still held your attention.

You turned your gaze to Lando. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his race suit, curls still a little damp with sweat from earlier, eyes on you like he hadn’t stopped watching you since Kimi arrived. There was something calm in his face now. Thoughtful. Open.

You exhaled slowly, shifting Sebastian’s weight against your shoulder. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Lando tilted his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “For what?”

“For remembering,” you answered simply.

And for a moment, nothing else needed to be said.

There you stood — you, a tired mother clutching her dreaming son, and Lando Norris, not the F1 star, but the guy who remembered a little boy’s name and helped him chase down a dream. And as the last rays of sunlight poured in from behind the pit building, painting the garage windows in a honey-gold glow, you felt something warm settle in your chest.

Bidding Lando a bye, you carried Sebastian, his now signed backpack, and his McLaren hat to the car, with Lando on your mind and a busy day ahead tomorrow.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Day Two arrived with a quiet stillness, the kind that promised potential before the world fully woke up. You stirred before the soft alarm had a chance to sound, quickly silencing it so Sebastian could remain curled up, blissfully asleep in the warmth of the hotel bed. He was tangled in the covers, one arm flopped dramatically over the stuffed car he’d won yesterday, the other hand loosely holding a toy McLaren.

You stole a moment to just watch him—his chest rising in slow, peaceful breaths—and then slipped away for a shower. The water felt grounding, warm against your skin, helping you wash away the exhaustion of travel and the high emotions of yesterday. You reminded yourself that today was supposed to be simple: enjoy the second day, support Sebastian’s little dream, and keep things… uncomplicated.

But then, there was Lando.

You knew better than to entertain anything. Yet his laugh, the way he’d remembered Sebastian’s name, the ease in his voice when talking to you… it all lingered heavier than you expected.

Once dressed, you stood before the mirror. You’d chosen the outfit intentionally—something that felt bold, fun, and just the right amount of spirited McLaren energy. A vivid orange halter top hugged your figure with flattering ruching, tied delicately at the back of your neck in a neat bow. It matched Sebastian’s bright Oscar Piastri race suit with near-perfect coordination. Paired with light wash high-waisted jeans that sculpted your shape and ended in a relaxed straight leg, the look balanced sleek and casual effortlessly.

You slid on a pair of orange braided heels, the square toe giving it a modern edge, and completed the outfit with stacked bangles in shades of ivory and burnt orange. A McLaren cap sat nestled on the hotel dresser—Sebastian’s idea for you to wear it today. “So we match!” he’d squealed yesterday. And of course, you’d promised you would.

You turned to gently wake Sebastian, who stirred the moment you whispered his name. His tiny brows furrowed sleepily at first, but when you pulled out the miniature Oscar suit, he shot upright like a rocket. “Today is Ows-cah day!” he cheered, bouncing on the bed in his onesie.

You got him dressed with a bit of effort and a lot of giggles, and once his race suit was zipped, name stitched proudly over his chest in orange thread, he did a full spin in front of the mirror. “We look like twins!” he declared.

Meanwhile, Lando was stirring in a completely different world.

He sat upright in the plush, oversized bed of his penthouse suite, the muted morning light trickling in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. His room felt too pristine, too still. He rubbed a hand over his face, his curls messy, and let out a low breath. The first thing he did was grab his phone, swiping through headlines and Instagram notifications. Race prep, news alerts, tagged posts, and—

Rumors.

He knew they were coming. Media always got wind of the smallest things: a photo, a glance, a conversation held just a second too long. And yesterday had definitely given them fuel. A few posts had already surfaced—pictures of him crouched next to Sebastian, you laughing beside him, a blurred shot that captured the spark in your eye mid-conversation.

Oscar caught him just as he made his way into the hotel lobby. “Did you check the media?”

“Yeah,” Lando said flatly, already bracing.

Oscar raised a brow. “They’re spinning stuff already. You and that girl—”

“Her name is Y/n,” Lando snapped back, more sharply than he intended. “And I know. I’m just not dealing with it right now.”

Oscar held his hands up, not pushing it further. But the look in his eye said it all. There was something different in the way Lando spoke about you. He wasn’t denying it. He wasn’t even hiding it well.

And Lando knew it too.

Because while his eyes scrolled past the usual stream of bikini models and car edits, it wasn’t them he was thinking about this morning. It was the way you’d tucked Sebastian’s curls under his cap. The way your smile flickered with hesitation at first, but then warmed once Lando said your son’s name.

He wasn’t supposed to care.

But he was starting to.

And that… scared the hell out of him.

The paddock was alive, electrified with the kind of energy only sprint day could summon. The air buzzed with adrenaline, fan chants echoing between the walls of garages, reporters weaving through mechanics and engineers, and flags fluttering like excited hearts. Today was qualifying, high-stakes, no time to breathe—yet somehow, you found a pocket of peace.

Oscar stood beside you, grinning as Sebastian—dressed in his perfectly tailored mini Oscar Piastri race suit, complete with his name stitched proudly in orange thread—hugged his leg. You held up your phone to capture the moment, crouching just enough to get the perfect shot: the contrast of the little boy’s bright orange suit against the sharp navy of Oscar’s own, and the pure smile they shared.

A few fans and even paddock staff paused to admire the adorable sight, some snapping their own pictures, others simply smiling and whispering to one another. Sebastian basked in the attention like it was his own victory lap. The moment felt so light—so warm.

And the day only got better.

With the help of Lando, Oscar, and even a few kind PR team members, Sebastian managed to meet the last of his dream list—Yuki gave him a high five and posed with an exaggerated grin; Max knelt for a photo and ruffled his curls; George crouched beside him with a thumbs up; Kimi gave a rare soft smile while crouching to sign Sebastian’s cap, and Charles even pulled him into another hug for one more picture.

You couldn't stop smiling. Everything had fallen into place—Sebastian had met his heroes, and their kindness brought out a glow in him that made every early morning and long walk worth it.

Until it didn’t.

You had barely turned to look toward the walkway when the buzz of conversation around you shifted, energy twisting from joyful to alert. The media had spotted something—or someone—and they were closing in fast. You looked up, confused by the sudden interest. The camera flashes began before the questions did.

“Can I help?” you asked softly, arms instinctively wrapping tighter around Sebastian’s small form as he clung to your hip, sensing the change.

“I’m with Sky Sports,” the man said smoothly, flashing a press pass like a shield. “Just need you to confirm or deny some rumors—”

His gaze dropped from your face to Sebastian. That subtle implication in his eyes made your stomach turn. Was this about Lando? Your fingers curled protectively into Sebastian’s back.

“I’m just a guest. We’re fans, we’re not—” you began, but the man didn’t seem to hear. He stepped forward again, camera crew behind him, mics angled toward your face like accusations.

Before your heart could even pound harder, before you could form words to push back—he was there.

Lando.

He moved with sharpness, unhesitating, stepping between you and the cameras like a shield. His shoulders squared, his jaw clenched tight as his hand subtly moved back, nudging you behind him.

“We’re here to talk about qualifying and the race, not harass the fans,” Lando said, voice low but laced with command, a warning hidden beneath the smile he didn’t wear.

The reporter hesitated, startled. “I—I apologize,” he stammered, backing off slightly as Lando’s gaze stayed fixed.

The air shifted again—awkward tension bleeding out slowly as the media retreated, their interest deflated by the firm dismissal. You didn’t even realize your hand had clenched Lando’s sleeve until he turned slightly, checking on you and Sebastian.

You nodded, still stunned. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely carrying over the renewed hum of paddock life.

Lando’s expression softened when his eyes met yours. “Anytime,” he said simply. Then his eyes dropped to Sebastian, who was now blinking up at him from your arms.

“You okay, buddy?” Lando asked, letting a small smile return.

Sebastian gave a tiny nod before curling into your shoulder, thumb in his mouth—exhausted again, the rush of attention too much.

You looked back at Lando, still a little shaken, still trying to process the way he stepped in like that. It wasn’t just fan service.

It felt like care. Like protection. Like something more than it was supposed to be.

And that terrified you—because for the first time since this whole thing started, you weren’t sure you wanted it to be less.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

For the rest of the event, the tension that had rattled your nerves earlier melted away, replaced by an unexpected calm that settled around you like a warm blanket. You and Sebastian stayed nestled in the rhythm of McLaren’s world—cheering, watching, laughing, and sharing quiet moments behind the velvet ropes of paddock life. Despite the constant whirl of noise, camera clicks, and mechanics shouting over engine whines, you felt at peace.

And it wasn’t just you. Sebastian was glowing with energy, his little race suit slightly rumpled now from running about, his curls springing up with every bounce of excitement. He cheered loudly when the McLaren team passed, and when Oscar or Lando appeared on the screens, he clapped as though they were superheroes instead of real men in fireproof suits.

You didn’t realize it until the day had almost ended—but you felt like you belonged there.

You didn’t feel like an outsider anymore, not just some guest with a pass, not just a mother of a young fan. Somehow, between the knowing smiles from engineers, the high-fives from Oscar, and even the nods from other teams, it felt like you were part of something. Like you fit.

Lando felt it too. Though he’d never admit it out loud, the thought had slipped in more than once during the day, threading through his mind between practice runs and interviews. Every time he spotted you in the distance, chatting with a team member or crouching to fix Sebastian’s laces, it hit him harder—this felt right. Too right. Too fast.

Too soon, he told himself. And yet, he kept looking anyway.

After qualifying—an intense battle that left him finishing a proud P2—Lando was spent. His body ached from the push, his skin glistened with sweat under his race suit, but his thoughts weren’t on lap times or team briefings.

They were on you.

He barely waited until he was out of the post-race huddle before nodding to a McLaren staffer. “Can you bring them to the garage?”

Within minutes, you were walking in—Sebastian clinging to your hand, wide-eyed at the inner sanctum of the McLaren team. Lando saw you and immediately crouched, his face lighting up despite his exhaustion.

“Sebastian! Hey buddy!” he called with a grin.

The three-year-old didn’t hesitate, sprinting the short distance into Lando’s open arms, giggling as he was scooped up in a warm, sweaty hug. You followed behind, letting out a soft chuckle as you watched them.

Lando laughed as he pulled back just slightly, eyebrows lifting when he caught sight of the small smudges dotting Sebastian’s cheeks and the suspicious trail of crumbs on his suit.

“What is on your face?” he asked with mock horror, trying to bite back another grin.

Sebastian flashed a proud, sugar-fueled smile. Before he could respond, you chimed in with a hum, arms folded loosely as you leaned slightly on one foot.

“Cookie crumbs,” you said, amused. “One of the drivers—pretty sure it was Fernando—had a secret cookie stash. He gave him two, and now he’s on a full sugar rush.”

Lando looked at Sebastian with a mix of disbelief and adoration. “You bribed Alonso? I’ve been trying to get a cookie from him all season,” he teased.

Sebastian giggled, holding up three fingers instead of two. “Three cookies,” he corrected proudly.

You and Lando burst out laughing, and for a beat, the world outside the garage didn't matter. It didn’t matter what had been said or what rumors had started to swirl. It didn’t matter how complicated things might get.

Lando had barely caught his breath from qualifying, the adrenaline still running faintly through his veins when the words slipped from his mouth like they’d been waiting all day for a place to land.

“Do you and Sebastian want to… go to the aquarium?” he asked casually—though his tone was careful, soft in a way that didn’t quite match the high-energy buzz of the McLaren garage around you.

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Us?” you asked, your voice small, uncertain.

He nodded, brushing a loose curl from his damp forehead. “Yeah. I’ll head back to my hotel, clean up, and then I can swing by wherever you two are staying. We’ll head over together.”

Before you could process your reply, Sebastian practically burst with excitement, jumping in place. “YES! Fishies, Mama! Can we go see the sharks?!”

Lando chuckled, clearly entertained by the sheer enthusiasm bursting from the tiny human now bouncing beside him. Your eyes darted toward him again, cautious and conflicted.

Part of you wanted to go. God, you wanted to go.

But another part—the part that had learned how cruel the world could be when it noticed something good—whispered a thousand hesitations into your mind. The media. The cameras. The attention.

You looked away, chewing the inside of your cheek. “But the media…” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the chatter of the team still moving about the garage.

Lando tilted his head, as though hearing your fear and meeting it without judgment. He took a step closer, and his voice dropped lower, quieter.

“I’m human too,” he said with a shrug. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. My team will push back as much as they can. I promise.”

His eyes were sincere—none of the typical charm or cheeky arrogance people expected from Lando Norris. Just truth. Just softness.

“So?” he added, a flicker of hope curling around the question.

You stood still for a moment, unsure what to do with the comfort that suddenly wrapped around you like a familiar coat. It was crazy, impulsive, dangerous even—but above all… it felt safe. Safe with Lando.

And real.

You glanced down at Sebastian, who was now hugging your leg, looking up at you with those wide, eager eyes.

“Sure,” you said at last, and the word felt like stepping into sunlight.

“We’ll go.”

Sebastian squealed in delight, nearly tripping over himself as he ran in a circle. “YAY!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, loud enough to make a few heads turn and laugh nearby.

Lando grinned, flashing you a look that made your heart skip just a beat too fast. “I’ll text you when I’m on the way,” he said, reaching down to ruffle Sebastian’s hair gently. “Sharks beware—this kid’s coming for them.”

You laughed—full, open—and suddenly, the weight that had been pressing on your chest all day lifted just a little.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The aquarium was quiet—softly lit by the glow of gently moving water and illuminated tanks, casting a subtle shimmer onto the smooth floors. It was a far cry from the earlier frenzy of the paddock. Peaceful. Settling. A rare pocket of calm where, for a moment, life could breathe without pressure.

You walked alongside Lando, with Sebastian happily toddling between the two of you, his small hands occasionally brushing yours or Lando’s as he pointed with wide eyes at stingrays and reef sharks gliding overhead through the tunnel of glass.

You wore a warm brown, body-hugging one-shoulder dress that fell down to your ankles like liquid silk. A soft, beige duster cardigan hung off your arms like a gentle frame, catching the light as it swayed with each step. A sleek black crossbody bag rested snugly at your hip, golden hardware catching the occasional shimmer from the glowing tanks. Simple, elegant—but comfortable enough to chase after a toddler if needed. You hadn’t planned to end up on a spontaneous evening out, but somehow, the moment welcomed you.

Sebastian was a walking ball of color and softness. He wore a playful vintage cartoon T-shirt, vibrant with reds and blues, tucked slightly into wide-legged beige corduroy pants that made his tiny legs look even tinier as he waddled forward. A chunky, lavender knit cardigan was draped over his shoulders—one sleeve constantly slipping down as he chased after his thoughts. His shoes, little white sneakers, already scuffed from adventure, squeaked lightly with each step.

Lando, walking beside you, looked comfortably cool in an oversized navy and white striped rugby shirt with “Quad” embroidered across the chest. The sleeves were pushed halfway up his forearms, revealing a few friendship bracelets that danced slightly as he moved. His jeans were baggy, worn in the right ways, and his white sneakers were casual but clean. There was an effortlessness to him—a contrast to his usual track-ready look.

“So... is it true?” you asked, glancing up at him as the three of you strolled past a glowing blue jellyfish exhibit. “You’re a party boy?”

He looked down at you, one brow lifting in curiosity before he grinned. “Depends... how curious are you?” he teased.

You laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just wanted to know what I’m getting into.”

Lando chuckled, nodding slowly. “I am, yeah. Was. Still am sometimes. Comes with being twenty-five, I guess.”

You smiled softly. “Twenty-five and still going strong? God, I need your energy.”

He glanced over at you again, this time his gaze lingering a little longer. “It’s fun sometimes. But... it gets boring. All of it. It’s loud. Flashy. Temporary.”

You nodded in understanding. “Too much stimulation. No peace.”

That was all that needed to be said. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was comforting. A shared understanding that there was something quieter, something softer, in the simplicity of this moment.

You and Lando watched as Sebastian ran up to a floor-to-ceiling tank. His hands smacked against the glass, face lit up in awe as a school of colorful fish darted past. Lando instinctively crouched beside him, resting his arms on his knees.

“They look cool, huh?” he said softly.

Sebastian nodded furiously. “They’re swimming really fast!”

You slowly approached, ignoring the buzzing of your phone deep in your pocket. You didn’t need to check to know who it was—reality could wait. For now, you lowered yourself beside Lando, the soft fabric of your cardigan pooling on the ground. All three of you sat together, faces bathed in aquatic blue light. Lando smelled faintly of clean cologne and sun-drenched grass, while your perfume lingered lightly in the air between you.

No flashing lights. No rumors. No curated stories or whispered headlines.

Just you, Lando, and Sebastian—laughing gently over the shapes of fish and the stories Sebastian made up about them. For a second, it looked like a little family portrait frozen in time. You caught Lando’s gaze and looked away quickly, your cheeks warming. He didn’t say anything—but the way he looked at you, like you were already something more, said enough.

The rest of the evening moved like a lullaby—soft, smooth, and glowing with the quiet joy only shared moments could bring. Between the tanks and tunnels, you and Lando took turns capturing fleeting snapshots and short videos—Sebastian pointing excitedly, or giggling mid-run, or narrating his own marine documentary with impressive confidence for a three-year-old.

“Fish!” he shouted, his voice echoing gently in the cavernous tunnel as Lando lifted him up, effortlessly resting him on his hip so he could get a better look.

You stood close—closer than you realized—shoulder brushing his, warmth shared through fabric. Your head came to rest lightly on Lando’s shoulder, your laughter bubbling softly as you pointed at the glass.

“That would be a pufferfish,” you said, lips quirking as the spiny little creature floated past. “They get all bloated like a balloon, and their faces go—” You puffed out your cheeks dramatically and crossed your eyes.

Sebastian let out a full laugh, tilting backward slightly in Lando’s arms as he mirrored you with his tiny face puffed like a marshmallow. “You’re right, Mommy!”

Lando hummed in amusement. “She’s pretty smart, huh?” he said, casting you a sideways glance, playfully nudging you with his shoulder. “Should we give her some credit?”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed as he considered. “Hmm… Can I drive da car?”

Lando crinkled his nose and gasped like the question was dangerous. “Oof… You might need a few more years of training, mate.”

Sebastian huffed in disappointment, only for Lando to lean in. “But after that? Formula 1. Full speed. Number one racer in the world.”

Sebastian’s eyes went wide. “Really?!”

You smiled, your heart tugging as you watched them—how naturally Lando folded into these moments with him, not a trace of forced charm. It wasn’t performative. It was just… who he was. You looked ahead and noticed something through a wide arched entrance.

“They have a gift shop,” you said casually, pointing.

Sebastian’s head whipped toward you like you’d just offered him the moon. “Can we go?! Please, please, pleaaaase?”

You giggled, eyes still on the small sign and bright display lights beyond the glass tunnel. “Eventually.”

Lando nudged Sebastian with a knowing grin. “We will. But first,” he paused and pointed to another glowing section, “I have to take you to see the turtles.”

You gasped, perhaps louder than necessary, clasping your hands together in exaggerated excitement. “Turtles?! Oh no, I love turtles!”

Sebastian mimicked you perfectly—hands clapped, mouth agape. “Let’s goooo!”

With that, Lando gently set him down and took his hand, the two of them walking ahead with energy, you trailing close beside. When they reached the next room, the ceiling curved above like a dome, casting light down onto the huge, gentle creatures that moved with ancient grace through their tank.

Sebastian was mesmerized, standing completely still for a moment before he started talking. Asking questions. Making up names. Pretending one of the turtles winked at him.

You leaned quietly against the railing next to Lando, your arms folding across your chest, watching your son point and babble beside the glass.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” you said under your breath, just loud enough for Lando to hear. “If someone had told me a year ago I’d be at an aquarium in Australia... with Lando Norris and my three-year-old son... I’d have laughed in their face.”

Lando smiled, just slightly. “I think I would’ve laughed too.”

You stood there for a long while, close enough that you could feel the space between you buzz—something soft and thrilling that hadn’t quite found its voice yet.

Eventually, Sebastian—never one to hide his needs—rubbed at his eyes and laid his head against Lando’s shoulder.

“Hungry,” he murmured.

You and Lando both glanced down, and then up at each other, exchanging the same silent question and answer.

“Gift shop, then dinner?” you asked softly.

Sebastian nodded sleepily, already perking up again at the idea of shopping. You smiled and brushed a hand over his curls.

The gift shop was bright and playful, a sudden burst of color after the ambient blues of the aquarium. Sebastian was back to full energy, dashing toward shelves of plush animals and glittery keychains. His eyes sparkled at everything—but then, they stopped.

“That!” he shouted, pointing with such conviction you and Lando both turned to follow his finger.

A massive, soft, gray shark plush towered over the others, nearly the size of Sebastian himself. It was outrageously big, comical even—but the awe in his voice made it impossible to resist.

“I want that!”

Lando didn’t hesitate. He reached up, grabbed the plush by its fin, and brought it down into Sebastian’s arms, where it nearly swallowed him whole. Sebastian gave a muffled “yes!” and hugged it like it was the best gift he’d ever received.

You raised an eyebrow, smiling. “That thing is bigger than his carry-on.”

Lando laughed. “Yeah, well... he loves it. Besides,” he plucked a shark tooth necklace from a nearby display, handing it to you, “a souvenir for Mom too.”

You blinked. “Lando—”

“Don’t even,” he said gently, his voice calm and sure. “I want to.”

You didn’t argue. Maybe because you knew he meant it. Maybe because it felt nice to let someone else take care of things, just for a moment.

At the register, Sebastian was trying to hoist the shark up by himself, only for Lando to step in and help. You watched them—man and child, natural in step, smiles matching. And maybe, just maybe, your heart tugged in a way that scared you a little. Because it felt like something real.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

That evening, the three of you found your way into the quiet warmth of a refined little restaurant tucked beneath the pulse of the city—a place with dim lights that danced like soft candle flames against crystal glasses, white linen napkins folded like paper birds, and the gentle clink of silverware marking a chorus of elegant chatter. The ambiance was calm, inviting, the kind of place made for connection and quiet reflection.

You and Lando sat opposite one another, your chairs turned inward toward Sebastian, who had been nestled in the middle like the radiant center of your shared universe. A glass of chilled apple juice sat in front of him—his ‘grown-up’ drink—its amber tone glistening like gold under the glow of the table's candle. Earlier, he'd asked for "what Mommy and Lando are having," curious about the tall glasses of red wine swirling in both of your hands. Lando had leaned down, voice patient and warm, explaining that apple juice was the exact same thing, only better for superheroes like him. Sebastian had accepted that logic instantly, nodding proudly before lifting his glass and declaring a soft “cheers.”

Now, menu in hand, Sebastian squinted at the words like they were ancient texts.

“I want this,” he declared, pointing with conviction to a line near the middle of the kids’ section.

You leaned over and read the item aloud with a hum. “Chicken tenders… classic. And some fries to go with it?”

Sebastian nodded with all the confidence in the world. “Fancy dinner,” he grinned.

Lando chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass. “Feeling fancy tonight, huh?”

Sebastian nodded proudly. “Yup. Like you.”

When the waitress approached, Lando took the initiative, smoothly placing your orders. “Two pasta dishes—one with extra parmesan, please—and the chicken tenders and fries for the little gentleman. Oh, and we’ll take a side of roasted vegetables too,” he added, giving you a quick, almost playful glance.

You arched a brow knowingly. “The vegetables? Bold move.”

“We’ll see how it goes,” he said, smirking.

As the waitress disappeared with a promise that dinner would be quick, Sebastian received a coloring page and a small packet of crayons. Instantly absorbed in his artwork, his little brows furrowed in concentration, tongue peeking slightly from the corner of his mouth.

It gave you and Lando a moment. A bubble of stillness inside the restaurant’s soft symphony. A moment to just talk, without the world demanding too much.

“So…” Lando began, voice quiet and cautious. “Have you heard from his—”

He gestured slightly, not needing to say more. You knew who he meant. The shadow. The absentee. The person who helped create Sebastian but somehow forgot what it meant to stay.

You shook your head, your fingers tightening slightly around your wine glass. “Only when he feels it’ll benefit him,” you said, the bitterness hidden behind a composed tone. “Usually to ask for something. Or to argue about things that don’t matter.”

Lando leaned back slightly, frowning. “I don’t see how he can just… pretend you two don’t exist. Like, how do you walk away from someone like Sebastian?”

You looked down, exhaling softly. You didn’t have an answer. You never really had.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I’ve come to terms with it. I don’t think Sebastian’s missing anything by not having him around. He’s happy. He’s loved. And if I’m being honest… I’m at peace with it too.”

Lando studied you, his gaze holding something more complex than sympathy. Admiration, maybe. Or something even deeper. There was a strength in you that tugged at something tender in him—how fiercely you loved, how steady you were despite the storm life had thrown your way. It made him think about things. About you.

About settling down.

Why now? Why you? He didn’t know yet. But he felt it. Gnawing and blooming all at once. He took a sip of wine to distract himself.

“Tell me more about you two,” he said, tone lighter now, the weight shifting off both your shoulders.

You smiled, turning your chair just slightly toward him.

“Well, Sebastian’s a big fan of Formula 1… obviously,” you started, throwing him a playful glance. “But aside from that, he’s obsessed with SpongeBob, Paw Patrol, and lately, Tom and Jerry. I think the slapstick makes him feel like he’s getting away with something.”

Lando grinned. “Classic. I loved Tom and Jerry as a kid too.”

“Same,” you said. “And as for me? I’m into dramas, comedies, a little romance. Occasionally cartoons—especially when someone insists I join movie night in a blanket fort.”

Lando smiled at the mental image.

“He’s a waffle lover,” you continued, “but he’ll also go through phases of fruit and muffins in the morning. Grilled cheese sandwiches are his go-to lunch—sometimes crustless, depending on his mood—and for dinner, if it’s not pasta or chicken tenders, you’re in for a battle.”

Lando laughed, leaning forward on his elbows. “Veggies?”

“Oh, those are the enemy,” you confirmed, laughing softly. “We’ve tried dinosaurs made out of broccoli. Spaceships shaped from carrots. I think I once made a full-on zoo with cucumbers and celery. He’s not impressed.”

Lando’s laugh was a little louder this time, catching the attention of a nearby couple.

“He loves bath time, though,” you added, “but hates getting his hair washed. Kicks and squeals every time. Orange is his favorite color—if the McLaren merch didn’t give it away. He says he wants to drive one day, and I believe him.”

Your voice softened as you looked down at Sebastian, still happily scribbling blue stars onto his coloring sheet.

“And I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen for him,” you said. “If that means working extra jobs, if that means staying up late or missing sleep or giving up things I love… I’ll do it. No question.”

Lando’s heart twisted a little in his chest. The kind of twist that comes when something clicks. When you realize you’re watching someone love unconditionally. Fiercely. Gently. And without an ounce of bitterness.

He reached out, lightly brushing the back of your hand with his fingers. It was a small gesture—one that said more than he had words for just yet.

“You don’t have to do it all alone,” he said, voice quiet, sincere.

You looked at him, your eyes soft with both gratitude and caution. But in that moment, something unspoken passed between you.

Time moved differently at that table.

It melted between soft glances and shared laughter, weaving through your quiet conversations and the gentle jazz notes that glided in the background like a lullaby. It wasn't just the food or the ambiance. It was the feeling—a rare kind of comfort, like sitting at a table that had always been meant for the three of you.

Dinner had long become more than a meal. It was connection in the purest form.

Plates of steaming pasta were placed in front of you and Lando, the scents of garlic, basil, and cream-rich sauces curling upward in soft waves. Sebastian’s plate of golden, crispy chicken tenders and perfectly salted fries sat in front of him like a crown jewel. His little eyes sparkled with delight, his fork diving in immediately.

Lando, as cheeky as ever, held out a forkful of his pasta toward you. “Try it,” he said, wiggling the fork slightly with an encouraging smirk.

You leaned forward, taking the bite, eyes fluttering shut at the rich burst of flavor. “Mmm… that’s so good,” you hummed in satisfaction.

“Alright, your turn.” You scooped some of yours up and offered it to him.

Lando accepted, eyes on yours as he took the bite. He mirrored your hum, grinning as he swallowed. “Okay, yeah. That’s unreal. We should’ve split both from the beginning.”

Sebastian, never one to be left out, giggled and mimicked you both. “Try mine!” He held out a small piece of his chicken tender between his fingers.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Lando said, dramatically leaning in for the bite, followed by you, both of you giving the little boy a grand thumbs up after tasting it.

“This is so good, I might have to order it myself next time,” Lando said, acting genuinely impressed, making Sebastian beam with pride.

With your glasses empty and plates dusted with crumbs and sauces, dessert arrived—a decadent sundae set in a glass bowl, the kind made for sharing. The vanilla was creamy and cold, the chocolate thick and rich, with warm caramel drizzled across the top like golden ribbon. Bits of brownie and nuts rested like treasure at the bottom.

Three spoons. One sundae. One perfect ending.

Sebastian was the first to dive in. “So good!” he declared through a mouthful of ice cream, chocolate smudging at the corner of his lip.

You leaned over and gently wiped it away with a napkin, smiling at him. “You’ve got a little sweet mustache, sir.”

Lando chuckled beside you. “I don’t blame him—it’s amazing,” he said, scooping some for himself, then dramatically dabbing the spoon along his bottom lip. “Oops.”

You arched a brow at him, grinning. “You too?” you teased, reaching over with your napkin, your fingers brushing gently against the stubble at the corner of his mouth as you wiped the chocolate from his skin.

The touch lingered just long enough to feel something.

Something unsaid, soft and magnetic.

Laughter filled the silence that followed, but in those moments between the bites of shared sundae and easy conversation, something had shifted. It wasn't just dinner anymore. It was the idea of something whole. Something healing. Something that felt like it might just last.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Lando had offered to carry Sebastian, who had dozed off in the car almost immediately, his little hands still clutching his new, oversized grey shark plushie like it was a treasure chest. The plush, comically large in Lando’s other arm, bobbed gently with every step as they made their way through the lobby and toward the elevators.

You trailed just beside him, glancing at the way Lando carried your son—not with strain or awkwardness, but like he’d done it a thousand times before. One arm cradling the sleeping boy, the other balancing a plush shark nearly half his size. And somehow, it suited him. All of it did.

The elevator dinged softly as it opened, and the ride up was wordless, only the soft rise and fall of Sebastian’s breathing between you and Lando. When the doors parted again, it was just a short walk to the room. You fished out the keycard with one hand, the other gently brushing Sebastian’s back as Lando stood still, waiting.

Inside, the room welcomed you with that familiar dim hotel glow—soft lights above the bed casting a golden warmth over the tidy, lived-in space. The bed was unmade from earlier, pillows fluffed messily, blankets a bit rumpled, still marked by your shared laughter and rest from the afternoon.

“Here,” you whispered, stepping aside so Lando could carry him in.

Careful, like every movement held meaning, Lando walked over to the bed and gently laid Sebastian down, easing the shark plushie beside him so it tucked perfectly against the boy’s side. Sebastian stirred only slightly, lips parting with a sigh before his small hand instinctively reached for the shark, pulling it close in his sleep.

You knelt beside the bed, brushing back a few curls from his forehead. “Goodnight, baby,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

Lando stood back, watching in silence. He had never seen something so stilling. So complete.

After a moment, you rose, standing beside him in the quiet glow of the room. You both looked down at Sebastian, tucked in between hotel sheets and a plush shark almost as long as he was.

“He really knocked out,” Lando said quietly, his voice just above a whisper, as if anything louder might break the spell.

“He always does after a full day like this,” you murmured, wrapping your arms gently around yourself. “He gets so excited, burns through every ounce of energy, and then…” You smiled. “Out like a light.”

Lando chuckled softly, his gaze still fixed on the sleeping boy. “It’s kind of amazing. The way you just… have it all handled.”

You shrugged gently, your voice low and thoughtful. “I try. Some days feel easier than others. But when I see him like this… it’s worth everything.”

You looked up at Lando then, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you, really looked—like he was seeing every piece of you that had gone unnoticed for too long. Not the mother, not the friend, but the woman. The one who loved deeply, gave endlessly, and somehow still had space for more.

His voice broke the silence gently. “Can I stay? Just for a bit.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And so you sat together at the edge of the bed, shoulder to shoulder, the soft hum of the air conditioning the only sound filling the room. Sebastian’s breathing stayed steady. The shark plush sat like a sentry beside him. And for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe you weren’t carrying everything alone.

Both you and Lando held a conversation, quiet enough for just you two, getting to know him more, and you more.

And just like that, an hour struck back when Lando signaled he had to leave, he had to get up early for the grand prix tomorrow, something you and Sebastian would be able to witness thanks to your 3-day paddock club passes.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The morning sun had barely kissed the track, and already the paddock buzzed with energy—media personnel weaving through, mechanics checking and re-checking, fans beginning to trickle in with banners, merch, and wide-eyed anticipation. But all eyes briefly shifted when you and Sebastian stepped through the paddock gates.

You, dressed in a sleek, body-hugging white ruched dress that shimmered in the sunlight like liquid porcelain, turned more heads than you intended. The dress, simple yet impossibly elegant, contrasted playfully with the bold orange McLaren cap atop your head and the matching McLaren racing jacket draped effortlessly over your shoulders. The crispness of the white Air Force 1s on your feet gave the look a relaxed finish—fashion meeting fandom in perfect balance.

At your side, Sebastian practically radiated pride, striding confidently in his mini Lando Norris race suit. The suit clung just right to his tiny frame, complete with patches, sponsor logos, and even the little McLaren emblem on the chest. His messy curls poked out from beneath a pint-sized matching orange cap, and his face lit up anytime someone complimented him or gave a high-five.

He gripped your hand excitedly, his other arm wrapped tightly around the jumbo grey shark plushie he refused to leave behind. "I want Lando to see me like this," he said proudly, giving a small tug to your hand as he looked up at you with sparkling eyes. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

You looked down at him with a soft smile, brushing a curl off his forehead. “He’s going to love it, baby. You look like his number one fan.”

Sebastian beamed, his small boots clunking lightly as he walked. “That’s because I am!”

Your Christian Dior tote bag rested in the crook of your arm, holding all the little essentials a mother might need—snacks, wipes, sunscreen, and of course, a sharpie, just in case Sebastian wanted another autograph. The handmade beaded bracelets around your wrist—one reading "Norris", the other "Piastri"—were Sebastian's latest paddock project, and you wore them with pride.

The two of you made your way deeper into the paddock, receiving nods, warm smiles, and a few amused looks at the sight of your fashion-forward fit paired with your tiny race-suited shadow.

Cameras flashed subtly. Whispers of “That’s her—Lando’s…” didn’t faze you. If anything, they added a quiet confidence to your stride.

Sebastian looked up at you again, eyes wide with anticipation. “Do you think he’s here already?”

You smiled knowingly, tightening your grip on his hand. “I’ve got a feeling today’s going to be a really good one.”

The entrance to McLaren hospitality was buzzing with activity—team members moving briskly with radios clipped to their belts, PR assistants glancing over schedules, and cameras from F1TV floating by to capture glimpses of the drivers’ pre-race routines. You adjusted your cap slightly, offering a polite smile to someone who gave Sebastian a thumbs-up.

Before you could step inside, a familiar voice called out.

“Well, look who’s ready for race day,” Oscar Piastri said with a grin, walking toward you in full race kit, a McLaren water bottle in one hand and a relaxed ease in his walk. “That suit might be a little better than Lando’s, to be honest,” he added, squatting slightly to meet Sebastian’s eye level.

Sebastian beamed. “Thanks! I’m his biggest fan today. I brought Sharky too!” He held up the oversized plush with both arms, causing Oscar to laugh.

“Strong choice,” Oscar nodded approvingly. Then his eyes flicked to you. “And you—definitely win best-dressed in the paddock today. You sure you’re not the one about to race?”

You smiled, cheeks warming lightly. “If I were, I'd be aiming for champagne.”

Oscar smirked. “Spoken like a winner. Come in—Lando’s somewhere inside, probably eating his tenth pancake.”

You and Sebastian followed him into the hospitality suite, a wave of cool air greeting you as the bustle of the outside paddock melted into a more private space. The orange and black interiors were bright, clean, filled with quiet team chatter and the soft clinks of silverware from the breakfast spread.

And then—there he was.

Lando, standing near the buffet with his back partially turned, chatting with two engineers and a trainer. His hair still slightly tousled, arms crossed loosely over his chest, the relaxed smile on his face faltered slightly when he turned and spotted you.

You could see it—the brief flicker in his eyes, soft and surprised. And then, the warmest grin tugged at his lips.

“There he is!” Sebastian shouted, breaking into a run, nearly dragging Sharky behind him. Lando bent instantly, arms wide as Sebastian jumped into him, and Lando caught him with a practiced ease, spinning him in a playful half-circle before hugging him close.

“Well, if it isn’t my lucky charm!” he said into Sebastian’s ear, before glancing up at you. His gaze held for a moment too long—just enough to make your heart squeeze.

“You guys came,” he said, softer now.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” you replied, matching his smile even though something about the whole thing tugged deep under your skin.

Lando set Sebastian down, his hand gently ruffling the boy’s curls. Then, as a few team members came up behind him, he motioned toward the two of you casually.

“Oh—uh, this is my friend Y/N,” he said, glancing at you before adding, “and this is Sebastian.”

Friend. Just a word. Harmless. Simple. But it sank somewhere heavy inside your chest. Not because he was wrong—but because, for a moment, you forgot that this wasn't something more. And maybe you’d let yourself believe otherwise.

Still, you smiled, your voice gentle. “Hi, nice to meet you all.”

The team greeted you both warmly—one even joking with Sebastian about being the team’s new mascot. Lando, meanwhile, had knelt down to adjust the strap on Sebastian’s mini race suit, talking to him about pit strategies like he was part of the crew.

You stayed quiet, watching them. You could’ve let it sting longer. But you knew the truth—there were no promises made, no titles given. Just shared moments, private smiles, and one night at an aquarium that left your heart hoping.

So instead, you brushed it off. Like you always did.

Because if today was about supporting Lando, then you’d do just that.

Even if he only called you a friend.

The sun was beginning its descent, casting golden flares across the asphalt as the pre-race grid walk commenced. The tension in the air was thick with adrenaline—crew members moving swiftly around the cars, broadcasters weaving through interviews, and fans leaning against the barriers for a glimpse of their favorites.

You held Sebastian’s hand tightly, navigating the chaos beside one of the most recognizable orange cars on the grid. The roar of engines testing systems vibrated under your shoes, and the smell of hot tires and fuel clung to the air. It was a world unlike any other—and Sebastian's eyes were wide with wonder.

“There he is,” you murmured, pointing as Lando stood next to his car, helmet off for now, laughing with a mechanic as a camera hovered nearby.

Sebastian tugged at your hand. “Can I go say good luck?” His voice was almost shy, though you could tell he was trying to be brave.

You gave a small nod. “Go on, buddy. Just stay where I can see you.”

The moment Sebastian let go of your hand, he marched with purpose through the buzzing grid. His little race suit was slightly rumpled from the excitement of the day, the McLaren logo and "4" on his back catching Lando's eye just before he turned fully.

Lando’s expression instantly softened when he saw him.

“Hey, mate,” he said, crouching down as Sebastian reached him. “You look like you're about to start this race with me.”

Sebastian grinned wide. “I just wanted to tell you good luck.”

Lando’s eyes flicked up briefly to find you watching nearby. You gave him a gentle smile, mouthing go get ‘em.

Back down to Sebastian, Lando said, “Thank you, buddy. Means a lot. I’ve got you cheering for me, so I think we’ve already got the edge.”

Sebastian held up his palm for a high five, and Lando met it without hesitation, then pulled him in for a quick hug. “This one’s for you,” he whispered, gently tapping his forehead to Sebastian’s helmeted head.

As Lando stood back up, he nodded toward you, walking over with a slow exhale. You could tell his mind was starting to flip into race mode—but still, there was a softness in his eyes as they met yours.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, voice low beneath the noise around you. “Both of you.”

“We’re always rooting for you,” you replied, meaning it more than you could say.

He hesitated for a second—like he wanted to say something more—but instead just smiled and backed away as one of the engineers handed him his helmet. He slid it on, the reflective visor clicking into place like a final shield.

Sebastian gave a little wave as Lando turned toward his car, stepping into the cockpit like it was second nature.

You placed a hand over your chest, watching him settle into the machine, surrounded by people—but somehow, still feeling like the only one on the grid.

“Alright,” you whispered to yourself, hand finding Sebastian’s shoulder as the grid began to clear. “Let’s watch him fly.”

The lights would go out soon.

And whatever the outcome, you knew this moment—this quiet, private piece of his very public world—would stay with you forever.

The atmosphere in the grandstands was electric. Fans in every direction waved orange flags, their cheers rising in a crescendo as the lights above the grid turned red one by one. The engines screamed in perfect harmony—then silence.

Lights out.

Twenty cars exploded off the line, tires gripping the asphalt as smoke trailed behind them. You and Sebastian sat just above the pit wall in a McLaren viewing box, hearts pounding as you watched Lando’s car surge forward, fighting for position into Turn 1.

“He’s in second!” Sebastian shouted, clutching your arm as Lando tucked behind the leading Red Bull car, timing his move.

Lap after lap, the field spread, then compacted again like a slingshot. Strategy came into play. Rain clouds loomed for a moment before disappearing. Pit stops became a test of perfect precision. McLaren nailed it—Lando out in clean air on Lap 32, tires fresh and focused.

Radio: “Alright Lando, we’re racing for the win here. Let’s push.”

And push he did.

Lap 41: He was closing the gap—half a second behind P1, DRS enabled. You leaned forward, barely blinking as the tension crackled through your bones.

“He’s gonna do it, Mommy!” Sebastian whispered, wide-eyed.

Lap 45: On the main straight, Lando darted left, then right—then made a daring lunge down the inside at Turn 4. Rubber screeched. His rival tried to hold on, but Lando was relentless, using every inch of the track, claiming the corner with the precision of someone who wanted this more than anything.

He was through.

The grandstand erupted. McLaren crew members leapt to their feet. You stood too, hands over your mouth in disbelief as Lando flew ahead.

Lap 48. Lap 52. Lap 56.

Every second stretched like eternity. But Lando held his line, controlled the pace, fought the wind, the pressure, the world.

Final lap.

You and Sebastian were on your feet, cheering, voices hoarse with anticipation. The McLaren pit wall was already half-standing in wait. Lando rounded the final corner, and with the checkered flag waving wildly in the air—

He crossed the line.

P1. Lando Norris wins the Grand Prix.

Tears flooded your eyes without warning, the emotions crashing over you like waves. Sebastian jumped up and down, shouting, “HE DID IT! HE DID IT!”

“YES, HE DID!” you laughed through your tears, sweeping him into your arms.

Radio: “Lando, you are a Grand Prix winner! P1, mate. You did it!”

His voice cracked through the radio, raw and overwhelmed: “Oh my god, finally. Finally. Thank you, team. That one was for all of you... and for someone watching up there too.”

You knew that "someone" was closer than he realized.

In the cool-down lap, he swerved left and right, waving at fans, helmet still on—but you could feel his smile. He stopped on the grid, climbed onto his car, raised his fists into the air, and the world lost its mind.

Trophies, champagne, confetti—those moments came next.

But nothing compared to the instant he saw you and Sebastian outside the garage afterward.

Helmet off, eyes scanning through the haze of celebration, his gaze landed on you both—and that’s when it hit him.

The roar of the crowd had softened into the background now—cheering still echoed in waves, but inside the back corner of the McLaren motorhome, it felt like the world had slowed down for just a moment.

Lando had just showered and changed into a clean team polo, though his curls were still damp and tousled. His skin carried the subtle pink flush from the heat, and his eyes—god, his eyes—looked exhausted but alive. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he got out of the car.

You sat on the couch with Sebastian, who had finally calmed from all the excitement, his small head resting against your side as his fingers absentmindedly played with the lanyard still hanging from his neck. He looked up as Lando stepped in.

“Hi, Champ.” you smiled, soft and genuine.

Lando looked at you, his expression faltering for just a moment—relief, disbelief, emotion. His voice dropped, quieter now than all the shouting and applause from earlier.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, dropping down onto the seat beside you, careful not to crush Sebastian’s legs.

“You earned every bit of it,” you said. “It was yours from the start.”

Sebastian sat up, crawling into Lando’s lap, wrapping his arms around him. “You were so fast! Like zoooom,” he said, making a whooshing sound. Lando laughed, burying his face in Sebastian’s shoulder for a second.

“Thanks, buddy. I told you I’d win today if I saw your suit.”

Sebastian beamed, proud as ever. “I’m your lucky charm!”

“Yes, you are.”

The moment was warm, cozy. The three of you felt like a little island in the middle of all the chaos. But that peace only lasted a beat before Carlos barged in through the door without knocking, grinning from ear to ear, still sweaty and in his Ferrari kit.

“Landoooo!” Carlos called, pointing a finger at him. “You said—if you ever won—you’d party.”

Lando groaned playfully. “Carlos—”

“No excuses!” Carlos waved off the protest. “We’re going out tonight. Whole paddock’s buzzing. It’s your moment, hermano. You're not skipping this.”

You looked over at Lando, who glanced back at you as if waiting for your response.

“It’s okay,” you smiled. “Go celebrate. You deserve it.”

“But I wanted to spend time with you two,” he said quietly, eyes flicking to you and Sebastian again. “I don’t really care about—”

“Lando,” you interrupted softly, brushing your hand against his. “You can have this moment. We’ll still be here tomorrow. Go dance, drink, scream if you want to. You only get your first win once.”

He hesitated, then squeezed your hand.

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Promise. We’ll be in bed, watching SpongeBob reruns or something. Go.”

Carlos threw an arm around Lando and smacked the back of his head. “Come on, before she changes her mind!”

Lando finally cracked a grin, standing up with Sebastian still in his arms. He looked at you once more—an unspoken thank-you in his eyes—before gently setting Sebastian down on the couch.

“I’ll text you when I get in,” he said.

“I’ll be asleep,” you teased, “but I’ll read it in the morning.”

As Lando and Carlos disappeared down the hallway, laughter echoing behind them, you leaned back on the couch, Sebastian curling up at your side again.

And though Lando had gone to celebrate with the world, it still felt like his heart had never really left that room.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Somewhere in Australia, while the soft hum of the hotel’s AC wrapped you and Sebastian in a cocoon of sleep, a different world pulsed to life just down the city blocks.

The club was dimly lit but alive—bass thrumming through the floorboards, the strobe lights slicing the shadows like flashes of lightning. Music thundered. Laughter echoed. Bodies moved in rhythm with careless joy. It was the kind of chaos that made the air feel electric, where sweat mixed with spilled liquor and every fleeting moment felt like something worth chasing.

And there he was—Lando.

Shirt half-buttoned, the edges loose and dancing with the rhythm of the club’s fan. His curls were damp at the edges, the scent of his cologne clinging stubbornly to his skin, mingling with the sharp tang of whiskey and champagne that hung in the air. His cheeks were flushed pink from both alcohol and adrenaline, and his smile—crooked and disoriented—never quite left his lips.

The celebration was real. Electric. He had finally done it—P1. The first win. The first taste of it. And everyone wanted a piece of him.

Carlos was lost somewhere in the blur of bodies, likely dancing on some table and encouraging shots with people Lando couldn’t name. McLaren team members toasted, DJs hyped him up. Strangers—women—slid into his space like gravity pulled them toward him.

He leaned slightly against a girl, laughter bursting from his chest, and she reached up, fingers brushing his jaw as if she belonged there. Cameras snapped in a flurry—flashes of light capturing a moment out of context but full of implication. Lando didn’t even register the blinking of notifications piling up in his back pocket. His phone was the last thing on his mind.

He was smiling. Drunk. Buzzing. Floating.

And in that moment—between the glass in his hand, the warmth of touch that wasn’t yours, and the loud encouragement of friends and strangers alike—he didn’t see the cracks beginning to form.

Because back in a quiet hotel room, wrapped in cotton sheets and the soft light of the night lamp, Sebastian slept soundly beside you, one hand still holding onto the tail of the jumbo shark plush, the other curled into your side.

And you? You were asleep. Or trying to be. Somewhere in your subconscious, maybe something felt... off. A small shift. A ripple. Like a thread tugging just slightly, signaling something had come undone while you weren't looking.

But Lando didn’t know. Not yet. Not as laughter swallowed him. Not as hands rested where they shouldn't. Not as the night captured a version of him that he might not even remember in the morning.

And certainly not as the world watched, waiting to see how this celebration would cost him something he hadn't yet realized was priceless.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The sun was high in the sky when you stirred awake, Sebastian’s soft breaths nestled against your side, the morning light seeping in through the cracks of the curtains. It was peaceful—at least, it should have been.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, wiping the sleep from your eyes, not prepared for the barrage of notifications that had flooded in overnight. Headlines. Photos. Mentions.

A single image opened first—Lando, flushed and smiling in a dim-lit club, his shirt undone, a girl’s hand resting on his chest like she belonged there.

Your chest tightened, breath catching just slightly. You scrolled slowly. More photos. More angles. One of her whispering into his ear. His smile wide, his body comfortably close. He didn’t look forced. He looked... happy. Drunk, yes, but happy.

And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

You stared for a long while, heart sinking, and yet—you said nothing. No text. No confrontation. No storming call demanding answers. What would be the point? You weren’t his. He had introduced you and Sebastian as his friends, hadn’t he? Not even close to what you thought you might have been.

So instead, you placed the phone down, slid out of bed, and began to pack.

Lando hadn’t texted that morning. Nor that afternoon. You made the decision to leave it at that.

At the airport, Sebastian clutched his stuffed shark, happily babbling about the turtles and fish, unaware of anything heavier lingering in the air. You smiled at him, fixed his little McLaren hoodie, and carried on as if the last few days hadn’t cracked something quietly inside you.

Lando met you at the gate, out of breath and sheepish, wearing sunglasses and a hoodie. “Hey,” he panted, “I was hoping I could say goodbye before you left.”

You smiled faintly. “Of course.”

He crouched to give Sebastian a hug, the little boy clinging to him like always. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?” he said softly.

“Okay,” Sebastian beamed.

Then Lando looked up at you. “We’ll stay in touch?”

You nodded, keeping your voice calm and pleasant. “Definitely.”

But definitely started to feel more like barely.

Weeks passed. Conversations that once felt effortless turned into polite check-ins. Lando would text, and you would take hours—sometimes days—to reply. You became harder to reach, more brief, no longer offering the warmth he had grown used to.

He noticed.

And eventually, Oscar noticed too.

They were in the paddock weeks later, preparing for another Grand Prix when Oscar finally confronted him during a quiet moment in the garage.

“Do you even know what you did?” he asked, arms crossed.

Lando blinked, startled. “What are you talking about?”

Oscar scoffed. “You don’t get it, do you? She saw the photos, mate. The club. The girl. That night you celebrated like a legend. She never said a word about it, but that’s why she pulled back.”

Lando’s stomach dropped.

Oscar continued, “She cared about you. I mean, really cared. She didn’t have to come to your race. She brought her son. Wore your colors. Stood in your world. And you—”

“I didn’t know,” Lando muttered, jaw tightening.

“Yeah,” Oscar said, shaking his head. “That’s the problem.”

Months slipped by like sand through fingertips.

Your messages came less frequently. Then they stopped altogether. But your Instagram didn’t. Every few weeks, Lando would find himself opening the app, searching for your name. There you were, always glowing.

One photo showed you and Sebastian at a pumpkin patch, his little arms wrapped around that same grey shark. Another had you walking on the beach with him, your smile soft but distant.

In one, you were dressed up for a night out. No tag. No mention of who took the photo. That one he stared at for too long.

The digital distance cut sharper than any silence ever could.

And now, the only way Lando kept up with the life he once dipped his toes into—was through a screen.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Three Months Later Off-season Break, Quiet Day in Monaco

Lando was sprawled across the sofa in his apartment, TV playing something he wasn’t watching, phone in his hand as his thumb hovered over Instagram. It had become a routine now — checking your page, looking for any glimpse of your life, of Sebastian, of the family he let slip through his fingers.

And then he saw it.

A hand. A delicate ring sitting neatly on a manicured finger. Resting against a familiar sweater he swore he’d seen on you.

The caption? A simple heart emoji.

And the comments —

“Engaged?! Omg congrats!! 💍” “Wishing you all the love and happiness!” “You deserve this 🥹💖”

His stomach dropped.

He blinked. Read it again. Scrolled. His hands began to shake slightly as he locked his phone, but it didn’t stop the pounding in his chest.

He didn’t even realize Carlos and Oscar had entered the apartment until Carlos tossed a water bottle at him.

“Earth to Norris,” Carlos called out. “What’s with the face? You look like someone just stole your car.”

Lando didn’t answer.

Oscar flopped into a chair and frowned. “Lando?”

He finally sat up, holding his phone like it was evidence in a crime. “I think she’s engaged.”

Carlos blinked. “What?”

“She posted a picture. A hand. A ring. I don’t know if it’s hers but everyone’s congratulating her and—” he stood abruptly, pacing. “I knew I lost her. I just didn’t know it was already this far gone.”

Oscar leaned forward. “You haven’t talked to her in weeks, mate.”

“I didn’t know what to say!” Lando’s voice cracked. “I messed up. I let her walk away. And I’ve been watching her raise Sebastian like the strongest woman I’ve ever met while I sit here doing nothing.”

Carlos exchanged a glance with Oscar before stepping in front of Lando, voice firm. “So do something. Fly out there. Talk to her.”

Lando shook his head. “What if she doesn’t even want to see me?”

Oscar stood, crossing his arms. “Then at least you’ll know. But right now? You’re acting like a coward. You love her. Anyone with eyes could see it.”

Carlos nodded. “And that kid adored you. So either go tell her how you feel or spend the rest of the season wondering what might’ve been.”

Lando stood frozen for a moment — heart in his throat, chest tight — before he turned and grabbed his keys.

“Book me a flight,” he said, voice low. “Tonight.”

The next day Your doorstep – early evening

You weren’t expecting company, especially not when the sun had barely begun to dip behind the trees. So when the knock came, sudden and sharp, you wrapped a cardigan around yourself and padded over.

You opened the door slowly.

Lando stood there. Hoodie half-zipped, sneakers slightly dusty, hair messy like he’d run straight from the airport.

You froze.

He looked like hell. Beautiful, aching hell.

“Hi,” he breathed out. “I—I saw the ring post. I thought you were engaged. I thought you were gone.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. “Wait, what?”

He shook his head. “The picture. I thought it was your hand. I didn’t read the caption, didn’t check anything, I just... I panicked. I flew here without even thinking. I had to see you. Had to know.”

You let out a breath, eyes wide. “Lando, that’s my best friend. She got engaged. I was posting for her.”

Lando blinked like he was waking up. His shoulders dropped as he let out a strangled laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

You stood aside. “Come in.”

He walked in slowly, glancing around as though memorizing everything. Like the home you built with Sebastian was a life he’d only dreamed about.

He turned back to you and the laughter died.

“I thought I lost you,” he said again, voice cracking. “I’ve already been losing you. You’ve been slipping away since Australia, and I knew it. And I let it happen.”

You stayed quiet, waiting.

“I know I never said the right things. Or showed up in the right way. I messed up — at the club, and every day after when I said nothing.” He looked down. “But it was never because I didn’t care. I was scared. Scared that what I wanted was too much. That you’d realize you didn’t need me.”

“Lando—”

He stepped closer.

“I need you,” he whispered. “I love you. I love Sebastian. And it’s not some temporary, easy feeling. It’s deep, and messy, and real. I’ve felt like a ghost since I left. I check your Instagram just to feel something. Every time Sebastian smiles in a post I think, that used to be mine too.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He was trembling now, the weight of months of silence collapsing in on him.

“I want to be there. Not for show. For real. I want to be the one Sebastian tells his secrets to, the one who packs school lunches, the one who kisses you goodnight, and doesn’t run when things get hard.”

You stared at him — eyes glassy, chest tight.

“You left,” you whispered. “You let me think I didn’t matter.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “And if I have to prove otherwise for the rest of my life, I will.”

A small yawn echoed from down the hall.

“Mommy?” came the sleepy voice.

You turned just in time to see Sebastian peek out, hair messy, eyes wide. “Is Lando here?”

Lando crouched down gently. “Hey, buddy.”

Sebastian grinned. “You’re back.”

You looked between the two of them — the connection, the hope in Sebastian’s voice, and the pleading in Lando’s eyes.

And finally, your resolve cracked. You walked to him, wrapped your arms around him, and let yourself feel everything you’d pushed down.

“I’m scared too,” you whispered.

He pulled you closer. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Sebastian was five now — bright-eyed, sharp with his words, and carrying more energy in his little frame than the entire grid on race day. The flat you now called home was tucked into a hillside in Monaco, where the sea kissed the edges of marble balconies and every window glowed with golden sunset light. Fancy, yes — sleek and curated — but warm with laughter, scattered toys, and the fingerprints of a real life being lived inside.

The kitchen smelled of rosemary and lemon, the sauce simmering gently as you stirred with one hand, the other resting absentmindedly over the curve of your belly. The moonlight filtered in through the glass doors, casting silver across the tiled floor. Music drifted low and slow in the background — something jazzy and nostalgic.

Peace. You had found it, and better yet, you had chosen it.

The door opened with a click and a rush of laughter. Sebastian’s giggles filled the flat as he kicked off his shoes, running to his room with the thud of socks against hardwood. Lando followed, gear bag slung over his shoulder, curls tousled from the wind.

You turned, smile playing at your lips. “How’d he do?”

Lando leaned in, stealing a brief kiss before answering. “He’s good. Like, really good. We might be raising the next world champion.”

You chuckled. “He gets it from you.”

Lando’s gaze softened. His hand moved instinctively to your bump, resting over the swell of new life. “And how’s this one doing?”

“She finally stopped her karate routine,” you joked, glancing down. “I think the smell of dinner soothed her.”

“A girl after my own heart,” he said with a grin.

Dinner was cozy, full of overlapping conversation — Sebastian animatedly recounting how he overtook someone on the final lap, and Lando grinning proudly at every word. Between bites, he’d chime in about his own upcoming races and how Sebastian’s form was already better than his at that age. You caught your gaze wandering now and then to the photo in the corner — your wedding day — frozen in time with the sound of the waves and laughter behind you, your veil tangled in the wind as Lando looked at you like he was seeing color for the first time.

After the dishes, which Lando insisted on doing — “Can’t have both of my girls stressed,” he’d said with a wink — the house quieted. Sebastian had curled up in bed with his shark plush and a bedtime story. And now, the two of you were lying in your bed, blankets tangled at your feet, your heads close, voices low. This was the part you loved most — not the trips or photoshoots or champagne showers, but the calm. The pillow talk. The shared world no one else got to see.

You’d once been a single mom fighting your way through life with tired eyes and a hopeful heart, never sure what the next day would bring. But here you were — Mrs. Norris now. With a son who bore that name proudly, and a daughter soon to join the world who would never have to question her father’s love.

The phone buzzed once. Lando rolled to check it.

“Old mate wants to go out tonight. Some club in town,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to you — your belly, your soft smile, your fingers gently tracing patterns across the duvet.

He paused. And then the decision came without thought.

“I’ll be home with the wife and kids,” he said aloud, tapping his screen off. “But you boys have fun.”

He tossed the phone on the bedside table and rolled closer to you, one hand sliding to rest over your belly, the other entwining with yours. He kissed your knuckles and sighed like someone who had run every race just to arrive here, in this exact moment.

“I really did change everything, huh?” he asked softly.

You nodded, resting your forehead against his.

“No,” you whispered. “We did.”

And outside, Monaco slept under a velvet sky, but inside that home, love stayed awake — breathing, growing, anchoring everything that mattered.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

TAG LIST: @fangirlmusicbiashoe @rexit-mo @jewelszn @rebelatbay @hellsingalucard18 @hc-dutch @pleasantphantomhologram @msliz @bunnisplayground @nicooolsstuff @f1norris04 @freyathehuntress @IiIaissa @thetorturedblogger @kodzuvk @degeathesaviour @kayleighlovesf1 @mcmuppet @nightrose-18 @mayax2o07 @wherethezoes-at @esw1012 @swiftlyboring

[rue-t]

Hi! Could you do a story where a single mom and her kid are put somewhere and the kid recognizes one of the drivers voices from their role in cars? The kid once they hear the voice they could go to the driver and ask for an autograph. Could it maybe have some social media in it. I just think it might be cute. Thank you.

movie star — lh44

smau + blurbs

lewis hamilton x!single mom reader

yn gets invited to the paddock by her brother who happens to work for the ferrari team. yn brings along her young child, ella, who happens to be a huge fan of all the cars movies. what happens when ella recognizes lewis’ voice just from his few set of lines?

fc : zaar goedemans

not proofread

(a/n) : i was inspired to write about lewis again im sorryyy. such a cute idea love :)

—

yourusername

autodromo enzo e dino ferrari di imola 📍

liked by lewishamilton, scuderiaferrari, yourbff & 52,097 others.

yourusername : ella’s excellent knowledge of the cars franchise got us an exclusive tour from a very special racing legend;) thank you @/lewishamilton ❤️

tagged : yourbrother, yourbff & lewishamilton

—

yourbrother : didn’t even thank the one who brought you to the paddock in the first place…🥴

liked by yourusername

yourusername : thanks hoe

yourbrother : a “thank you so much. you are the best brother ever” would’ve been preferred.

liked by yourusername

yourusername : we can’t all have what we want now can we?

scuderiaferrari : The cutest little tifosi ❤️😁 You both are welcome back anytime!

liked by yourusername

yourusername : the biggest honor ❤️🫶🏻

yourbff : i walk away for two minutes and you are off with lewis fucking hamilton🤭 best weekend with you and my niece tho❤️

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

yourusername : what can I say? the man is a smooth talker

liked by lewishamilton

charles_leclerc : Ella did not seem too impressed with me😭 It was so nice to meet you guys, hope she had the best time!

liked by yourusename

yourusername : great to meet you, charles! get yourself in a cars movie and she will love you:)

liked by charles_leclerc

yourusername : if it helps I know @/yourbff was never excited to meet you

liked by charles_leclerc

yourbff : yn pls stop embarrassing me

liked by yourusername and charles_leclerc

lewishamilton : Definitely the first time I was ever recognized for my voice acting instead of my driving😁 Love to you both 🫶🏽

liked by yourusername

georgerussell63 : WAIT! is this the adorable little girl with the hot mum you were talking about??

liked by yourusername and lando

lewishamilton : that is the last time I ever tell you anything

username00 : who is this girl??

username8 : her brother is an engineer for Ferrari I believe

—

I don’t know what kind of spell my brother cast on me to agree to this, but somehow, I let him talk me into dragging my four and a half year old through a Formula 1 paddock.

“To be fair,” he said this morning as he handed me the guest passes, “it’s not every day your daughter gets to see real race cars up close. You’re the cool mom now.”

The “cool mom” is currently sweating through her sundress, trying to keep her child from launching herself into a garage.

Ella’s been buzzing since the second we walked in, practically vibrating with excitement. “Mommy,” she whispers like it’s a big secret, “do you think there are Cars cars here?”

I bite back a laugh. “Sort of. These are real race cars. No eyes on the windshield, though.”

She seems skeptical but accepts the answer—until she hears a voice behind us.

“Yeah, we’ll be on track in fifteen. Let’s go over that telemetry—”

Ella gasps. Like, audibly.

I glance over my shoulder just as she whips around and bolts. “Ella!” I call after her, panic rising. “Come back here!”

Too late. She’s already launched herself at a man in red Ferrari gear—who turns just in time to catch her before she crashes into his legs.

“I knew it!” she squeals, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Your name is Lewis Hamilton! Like in Cars! You were the car in the movie! The British one with the shiny paint!”

Lewis—yes, that Lewis Hamilton—blinks down at her, clearly stunned. And then?

He laughs. Full-on, genuine, belly laugh. “Wow, I haven’t heard that in a while.”

I catch up just as he crouches down to her level, still smiling like she just made his entire year.

“I liked your voice,” she says seriously. “You sounded fast.”

I feel like melting into the concrete.

“I’m so sorry,” I rush out, cringing. “She’s been obsessed with Cars lately and heard your voice and… well, now here we are.”

He looks up at me and flashes that movie-star smile. “No need to apologize. That might be the best fan interaction I’ve ever had.”

My cheeks are burning, and not from the sun.

“I’m Lewis,” he says, standing now—still holding my daughter’s hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Yeah,” I say, trying not to sound like a complete idiot. “I figured.”

He glances between me and Ella, and I swear I see something spark behind those sunglasses. Something soft. Curious. Maybe even interested.

Ella’s still talking a mile a minute, hands animated as she tells Lewis about her Lightning McQueen pajamas and how she thinks Ferraris are “way cooler than Francesco Bernoulli, actually.”

Lewis listens like she’s giving a press conference. Nods, laughs in the right places, even kneels down again when she starts talking about how she wants to be a race car driver when she grows up. It’s… oddly heart-melting.

“She’s got good taste,” he says, standing again after she finishes her full review of Cars 2. “And quite the memory. I think I said four lines in that movie.”

“She watches it on loop,” I reply with a sheepish smile. “I think she could recite it backwards by now.”

“Poor you,” he jokes, then chuckles. “Actually, I take that back. That’s a solid film.”

“Strong performances all around,” I say, trying to keep it light, though my heart is hammering. I’m talking to Lewis Hamilton. Casual. No big deal.

He grins, and I swear the sun gets just a little brighter. “You’re her mum?”

“Yeah,” I say, glancing down at Ella, who’s now twirling around like she’s doing celebratory donuts. “My brother works with Ferrari, so he invited us for the day.”

“Ah. The guy in the headset who looked mildly panicked when she ran over?” he teases, gesturing toward Matt a few garages down, who’s giving me a thumbs-up and a very smug grin.

“That’s him. He’s never letting me live this down.”

Lewis laughs. “Well, I’m glad he brought you both. It’s nice having a bit of joy in the paddock for once. Most people here only run toward me if I’ve said something controversial.”

“Ella just thinks you’re a cool car,” I say, smiling.

“Honestly, I’ll take that over a journalist any day.”

There’s a beat of silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s… comfortable. Easy.

Then he surprises me.

“Can I get you a coffee or something?” he asks, glancing back toward the hospitality suite. “We’ve got some time before the next briefing. And I kind of want to hear more about your daughter’s movie critiques.”

I blink. “Are you—are you asking me out in the paddock?”

He shrugs, that same charming grin on his face. “Just coffee. Unless you want it to be more.”

My face feels like it’s on fire.

“I’d like that,” I manage. “I mean—the coffee. Not necessarily more. I mean—not not more. Just… yes. Coffee is good.”

He laughs again, clearly entertained by my slow-motion trainwreck.

“Come on,” he says, offering a hand. “I promise the coffee’s better than the movie acting.”

As we walk side by side, Ella skips ahead of us, humming the Cars soundtrack like she’s soundtracking our entire lives.

—

I don’t know what I expected when Lewis Hamilton invited me for coffee, but it definitely wasn’t this. Not sitting across from him on a shaded terrace at the Ferrari hospitality suite, both of us laughing while Ella colors in a cartoon car on a napkin someone kindly fetched just for her. Not the easy conversation. Not the way he kept looking at me like he wanted to memorize my face. And definitely not how comfortable it all feels.

“Okay,” he says, leaning back in his chair after Ella proudly announces that her drawing is him and “not Lightning McQueen this time.” “I have to ask.”

Uh-oh.

“Are you…” He glances at me, then lowers his voice, playful but deliberate. “Single? Just to be sure.”

I blink. Then laugh, a little surprised. “That obvious?”

“Not obvious,” he says, smiling. “But I don’t go around offering coffee to taken women. Or, you know, giving them the ‘Cars 2’ VIP experience.”

My cheeks warm. “Well, yes. I’m single. Been single for a while, actually.”

He nods once, and I swear I see something shift in his expression. Something a little more… serious. But still soft.

“Good,” he says, then pulls his phone out from the pocket of his red Ferrari team trousers and hands it to me. “Because I’d really like to see you again. Properly. Outside of this chaos.”

I blink down at the phone in my hands. He opened the contact app. My name is already typed in at the top.

“I mean—if you’d want to,” he adds, suddenly a little less sure of himself, which I find wildly endearing. “No pressure.”

I look up at him and smile. “Lewis, you let my daughter lecture you on Cars 2 for ten minutes and still wanted to talk to me after.”

He grins.

“Yeah, I’d want to.”

I type in my number, hesitating only slightly before adding a little 🚗 emoji at the end of my name, then hand it back to him.

He looks at it, chuckles under his breath. “Perfect.”

Ella tugs on my sleeve, then looks up at Lewis with hopeful eyes. “Can you be in Cars 4 too?”

Lewis raises his brows at me, pretending to think. “That depends. Will your mum come with me to the premiere?”

I nearly choke on my iced latte.

Ella looks between us and shrugs, already focused on her next drawing.

And just like that, I know this day is going to be one we won’t forget.

—

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, yourbff, georgerussell63 & 75,099 others.

yourusername : in love with life <3

—

username00 : oh it’s lewis 100 percent. those r his tattoos

username5 : never ever thought I’d see !dad lewis

yourbff : hold on I’m screaming

liked by yourusername

charles_leclerc : Hope Ella likes the helmet! It was one of my first when I was young ❤️

liked by yourusername

yourusername : you are an angel! she absolutely loves it and i told her it came from “Charles the cool Ferrari guy” 🫶🏻

liked by charles_leclerc

username00 : Charles gave the child an old helmet?? Im screaming

username10 : omg it’s Roscoe

georgerussell63 : does ella like mercedes??

liked by yourusername

yourusername : unknown. however she would probably like you as she associates British accents with being fast :)

liked by georgerussell63, lando and lewishamilton

lando : smart kid

liked by yourusername

—

It’s been a month since our first date, and honestly? I still don’t believe any of it’s real. Sometimes I catch myself smiling like a lovesick teenager when I’m washing dishes or folding laundry, just remembering the way Lewis looked at me over coffee that day. The way he waited for Ella to finish her story before speaking. The way he texts me goodnight every night, no matter what country he’s in or how late his schedule runs. He’s busy — obviously. He’s Lewis Hamilton, and that comes with endless media, team meetings, travel, and the weight of an entire sport on his shoulders. But he’s never once made me feel like a burden. Never once made Ella feel like too much. We’ve spent weekends together when he’s in town. Park visits. Breakfasts in my tiny kitchen. Late-night talks on my couch with Ella fast asleep in the next room. I’ve watched them build a little world of inside jokes and shared grins. And every time I see them together, my heart squeezes. Still, it’s been five days since we’ve seen him in person, and Ella’s already asked when he’s coming back “from the big car work.” I miss him too. More than I expected to. More than I probably should, after only a month. My phone buzzes just as I settle on the couch with a glass of wine.

FaceTime from Lewis ❤️

I answer without hesitation. His face fills the screen, slightly fuzzy from wherever he is — a hotel room, judging by the neutral headboard behind him.

“Hey,” I say, smiling. “Didn’t expect to see your face tonight.”

He grins, and something about it looks a little softer. A little more tired than usual.

“Hi, beautiful. Had to see you. And maybe ask when I can get a certain tiny helmet-wearing human back in my arms.”

I laugh, shifting the phone so he can see Ella’s drawing of a “race car house” she made earlier. “She misses you. She told the preschool teacher you live in the Cars universe.”

He chuckles, then goes quiet for a second. “I miss you both.”

My breath catches. He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like it’s not still blowing my mind every time he chooses us.

“I miss you too,” I admit. “It’s not the same without you here.”

There’s a pause. Then, he leans closer to the camera, a little more serious now.

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts. “I’ve got back-to-back races coming up, but I don’t want to go another couple weeks without seeing you. Or Ella. What if… you came with me? Both of you.”

I blink. “You want us to travel with you?”

“I do,” he says gently. “Only if you’re comfortable. I know it’s a lot — new places, media, the chaos. But we’d make it work. I’ll take care of everything. I just…” He runs a hand over his jaw. “I want you there. Both of you. It already feels weird being away.”

My heart flips. Like actually flips.

“She’d lose her mind,” I whisper, stunned.

He smiles. “I hope so.”

“And me?” I tease, raising an eyebrow.

His eyes soften. “You already have.”

—

There’s something surreal about standing outside my apartment at 6 a.m., suitcase at my feet, coffee in one hand, watching Ella bounce in place like she’s about to launch into orbit.

“Do you think the jet has snacks?” she asks for the fifth time in ten minutes, clutching her tiny backpack like it holds national secrets. “Like popcorn? Or cookies? Or astronaut food?”

I laugh softly, brushing a piece of hair out of her face. “I’m sure it has snacks, babe. You’ll probably get to pick.”

She gasps. “Even juice?”

“Even juice,” I nod solemnly.

She’s practically vibrating now, and I can’t blame her. I’m nervous too…not because I don’t want to go, but because it feels like such a big step. Not just a vacation or a getaway. It’s a real peek into his world, the fast paced, private jet, race weekend chaos that Lewis calls normal.

And the fact that he wants us there? That he asked for us?

A sleek black SUV pulls up to the curb, and Ella freezes like a deer in headlights. “Is that him? Is it Daddy Lightning?”

I stifle a laugh. “Is that his new nick name?”

The door opens, and there he is — hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on, all sleepy-smile and early-morning calm.

“Morning, ladies,” he says, stepping out and immediately crouching to Ella’s level. “Are we ready for our big adventure?”

She throws her arms around him without hesitation. “Do you live on the plane?”

He laughs, lifting her up with ease. “Not quite. But we’ll be on it for a few hours, so that’s close enough, right?”

She nods seriously. “Do I get to sit in the front?”

“We’ll see what the pilot says,” he winks.

Then his eyes meet mine over her shoulder, and something quiet passes between us. It’s warm. Grounded. Like he sees me in the middle of all this whirlwind, and still chooses me anyway.

“Hi,” he says gently.

“Hi,” I smile, nerves melting the second he takes my suitcase from me like it’s instinct.

The ride to the airstrip is a blur of laughter, Ella’s endless questions, and Lewis glancing over at me like he can’t believe this is real either.

And then we’re there — standing at the base of a sleek private jet, the sun just beginning to rise behind it. Ella clutches my hand and whispers, “This is like the movies.”

I squeeze hers. “Yeah, it really is.”

Lewis helps us up the steps, his hand on my back, and the second we step inside, Ella gasps.

“It’s like a flying living room!”

She’s right — plush seats, soft lighting, snacks already set out like a welcome gift. Lewis sets our bags down and gestures for her to explore.

“Make yourself at home,” he grins. “You’re officially part of the team now.”

She spins in a slow circle, then plops into a seat with a giggle. “Best. Day. Ever.”

And I can’t help it — I look at him, heart full to bursting, and whisper, “Thank you.”

He turns to me, eyes soft. “You don’t have to thank me. This just feels… right.”

And as the engines hum to life and Ella starts singing the Cars theme under her breath, I realize he’s right.

—

The second we step into the paddock, Ella’s already tugging at my hand, eyes wide like she’s just walked into Disneyland for motorsport lovers. Which, to be fair… she has. She’s got her oversized Ferrari cap on — gifted by Lewis, obviously — and her little team tee that nearly reaches her knees. There’s a lanyard with her paddock pass bouncing against her chest, and an expression on her face that says she’s exactly where she belongs. We’re barely past the entrance when she spots someone and gasps dramatically.

“Mama,” she hisses. “UNCLE FERRARI!!”

Before I can even ask what that means, she’s bolting straight across the walkway — and right into the arms of Charles Leclerc.

He lets out a surprised laugh but catches her easily, crouching down as she throws her arms around his neck like they’ve known each other forever.

“Bonjour, petite fille,” he grins, his accent soft. “Uncle Ferrari?”

Ella nods solemnly. “You’re the red one. My favorite.”

From a few steps behind us, my brother bursts out laughing.

“Oh really, Ella?” he calls over. “What does that make me then?”

She blinks at him, thinking very hard. “Uncle Ferrari boss.”

I nearly choke.

Charles is now laughing, absolutely delighted. “You’ve been upgraded,” he tells my brother with a wink.

“You see what I deal with?” I murmur as I walk over, cheeks warm.

My brother grins. “Honestly? She’s already more popular in this paddock than most of our drivers.”

He’s not wrong.

And then—like some sort of comedic timing conspiracy—Lando Norris strolls in, clearly intrigued by the toddler-sized Ferrari fan in Charles’s arms.

“What’s all this?” he asks, eyes twinkling as he bends down. “Who’s this little legend? Is this the Ella?”

Ella turns her head, still in Charles’s arms. “Who are you?”

Charles chuckles. “That’s Lando. He drives the orange one.”

She squints. “Like… orange Lightning McQueen?”

Lando gasps, offended and flattered all at once. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever called me.”

Right on cue, George Russell appears, sunglasses on, sipping something green and healthy-looking, clocking the scene instantly.

“Don’t tell me we have a new favorite on the grid?” he says with a teasing glance at Charles.

“She already declared me Uncle Ferrari,” Charles says smugly.

“Uncle who?” George repeats, eyebrow raised. Then he leans down toward Ella. “And what am I then?”

She eyes him, deadly serious. “Uncle Sunglasses.”

George looks personally attacked.

“She’s not wrong,” I mumble, trying not to laugh.

Charles passes Ella back to me and says, “You’ll have to earn new titles, boys.”

I smile as Ella curls back into my arms, thrilled and smug and totally in her element.

Lando looks at me for the first time — really looks. “You must be YN.”

“Guilty,” I laugh. “And mildly horrified by the chaos she’s already caused.”

“No chaos,” George grins, offering a hand. “Just a ray of sunshine — and, let’s be honest, the new face of the Ferrari junior program.”

Charles nods sagely. “It’s settled then.”

—

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, lando & 122,099 others.

yourusername : well ella has started collecting f1 drivers like infinity stones

tagged : yourbff, charles_leclerc, lando, georgerussell63 & lewishamilton

—

charles_leclerc : uncle ferrari is her favorite, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise ❤️🇲🇨

liked by yourusername

yourbrother : the second she realized how cool charles is — I became chopped liver 😁

liked by yourusername & charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc : nah bro she gave you a promotion…you are still clearly number one here 😁

liked by yourusername and yourbrother

yourbff : she is just like her auntie fr

liked by yourusername

yourusername : I can’t with you

username00 : this is so cute omg

username10 : and the heart hand with lewis. They are def dating

lando : uncle orange lightning 💪🏻🧡 I should ask for a movie deal

liked by yourusername

yourusername : ella would def help write the script

F1 : Ella is definitely going to make Cars 4 happen and half the grid will be starring in it! 🎬

liked by yourusername

yourusername : probably called “all my uncles are race cars“

georgerussell63 : honestly uncle sunglasses makes me sound like the fashion icon i am. such an honor.

liked by yourusername

carmenmmundt: is ella looking for an aunt sunglasses ??❤️

liked by yourusername

yourusername : she is looking for any excuse to extend our family😁 welcome ❤️

liked by carmenmmundt

lewishamilton : you all might be uncles but daddy lightning reigns supreme 🤍

liked by yourusername and lando

yourusername : still can’t believe that’s your new name 🤦🏻‍♀️

liked by lewishamilton

lewishamilton : it’s my honor

liked by yourusername

—

lewis’ pov

Three months. Ninety-something days since our first date. And somehow, it already feels like a lifetime — in the best way possible.

I’ve fallen in love twice in that time. Once with YN. And once with the tiny, bossy, endlessly curious human who came with her.

Ella.

She’s currently sitting cross-legged on the floor of my hotel suite, wearing her favorite Ferrari hoodie (that she refuses to take off even when it’s 24 degrees outside), munching on grapes, and watching Cars for what I think is the third time today. Maybe fourth. I’ve lost count.

YN is finally getting the full day to herself I’ve been begging her to take — massage, facial, lunch with her best friend, the works. I practically shoved her into the spa robe myself this morning while Ella shouted “BYEEEEEEEEE MAMA!” like she wasn’t secretly obsessed with her.

Honestly? I was more nervous than I thought I’d be.

It’s one thing to be with YN and Ella, our little trio. But just me and Ella? On our own?

Turns out, I didn’t need to worry.

We’ve been building forts. Making up names for the pit crew. Drawing faces on fruit. She told me earlier that my beard makes me look “wise like a lion.”

I’ll take it.

Right now, she scoots closer to the couch, then climbs up beside me without a word. I put the remote down and wrap an arm around her shoulders automatically.

“Still tired, munchkin?”

She nods, rubbing her eyes. Then she curls into my side and rests her cheek against my chest like she’s done it a hundred times before.

We sit in silence, just the hum of the movie in the background and the soft weight of her against me. It’s the kind of stillness that feels sacred.

Then, out of nowhere, she mumbles it.

“Love you, Daddy.”

My heart actually stops.

It takes a second for my brain to catch up. I glance down, thinking maybe I heard her wrong — maybe she meant teddy or Laddy, the dog from the movie or some imaginary character I’ve missed — but no.

She’s looking up at me with sleepy eyes and the softest smile.

Like she knows.

“Did you…” I start, my voice catching. “Did you just call me—?”

“Daddy,” she repeats, gently. “You’re mine, right?”

Something in my chest breaks wide open.

I gather her into my arms fully now, holding her like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever touched — because she is.

“Yeah, baby,” I whisper into her hair. “I’m yours. Always.”

And I mean it more than I’ve meant anything in my life.

When YN texts me an hour later.

how’s my wild child??

She’s perfect. Everything’s perfect.

Remind me to tell you what she said today.

(You’re gonna cry, by the way.)

—

your pov :

I knew something had shifted the second I walked back into the hotel suite.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. The lights were low, Ella was tucked into bed, and Lewis was sitting on the couch in one of his hoodies, staring down at his hands. Calm. Still. But there was something in the air — soft and heavy, like a truth waiting to be spoken.

He looked up when he heard me come in and smiled that quiet kind of smile I’ve only seen him give when it’s just us. No cameras. No circuits. Just him and me and Ella.

“Hey,” I said, voice gentle. “How’d it go?”

“She was an angel,” he said softly. “You should go to the spa more often.”

I laughed and walked toward him, kicking off my shoes and sitting beside him on the couch. “Did she make you watch Cars again?”

“Twice,” he nodded. “And she made Lightning McQueen a girl this time. She renamed him Elaina.”

“Of course she did.”

He looked at me then — really looked at me — and I felt the air shift again.

“She said something today,” he said, voice lower now. “Something kind of big.”

My heart stilled. “What do you mean?”

“She called me ‘Daddy.’” His voice cracked the tiniest bit. “Just… said it like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

My breath caught.

Tears welled in my eyes instantly — fast, overwhelming, real.

“She what?” I whispered.

“She looked up at me, smiled, and just… said it.” He paused. “And I swear, YN, I’ve never felt anything like that in my life.”

I covered my mouth with one hand, completely undone.

“She’s never called anyone that before,” I said, barely able to get the words out. “Not once.”

“I know,” he said, scooting closer. “And I didn’t want to tell you just to tell you. I wanted to tell you because… I realized something.”

I blinked up at him, heart pounding.

“I love her,” he said simply. “So much it scares me. But I love you, too. Completely. Quietly. Loudly. All of it.”

My breath hitched. His eyes never left mine.

“I don’t want this to be casual,” he continued. “I don’t want to be your maybe. I want to be your person. I want to be hers. I want to be ours.”

Tears slid down my cheeks, but I was smiling now.

“You already are,” I whispered.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against mine.

“So then let’s make it official,” he murmured. “No more soft launches. No more pretending we’re not already a family.”

I kissed him — soft, grateful, all-in — and whispered against his lips.

“Okay. Official.”

And it felt like the most natural, beautiful yes I’d ever given.

—

lewishamilton

liked by yourusername, yourbrother, charles_leclerc & 5,090,787 others.

lewishamilton : didn’t just fall in love with my beautiful girlfriend but also fell in love with her mini me ❤️ my girls for life

—

yourusername : my whole heart ❤️😭 we love you sm

liked by lewishamilton

yourbrother : did not have lewis hamilton becoming my brother in law on the bingo card for this season but so happy for you guys!

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

yourbff : never thought id see her become a wag😭🤭 so happy for you both. thank you for making my best friend so happy lewis

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

charles_leclerc : So happy for you both❤️ and give my sweet little ella a kiss from uncle ferrari

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

georgerussell63 : Happy you found two people who make you as happy as you deserve to be, brother. Even if one of those people calls me uncle sunglasses 😎

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

yourusername : maybe one day if you’re lucky you’ll manage to get an uncle george out of her but no promises

liked by georgerussell63 and lewishamilton

georgerussell63 : nah I wouldn’t trade being uncle sunglasses for anything in the world ❤️

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

lando : ella really said im gonna meet my goat, get my mom a boyfriend and add like 20 uncles to the family and made it all happen. she is rlly that girl

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

yourusername : she loves her uncle orange lightning 🫶🏻

liked by lando

—

🧚🏻🦋🌙🌵🪲

[rue-t]

Answered Calls

Part 2 to this: Unanswered Calls

The sterile beeping of the hospital monitor echoed softly through the whitewashed room, in rhythm with the faint thrum of rain tapping against the window. The IV dripped slowly into her arm, and even though she’d just woken up, Yn felt so heavy. Everything ached — her head, her ribs, even her eyelids. The bright hospital lights buzzed above, and she blinked against the sharp white, her vision blurry, her chest tight.

“Yn?” a soft voice came from her right. Her mother’s voice.

She turned her head slowly, every movement screaming in protest, and saw her parents sitting on either side of the hospital bed. Max’s face was pale, his blue eyes rimmed red. Kelly was holding her hand gently, tears slipping down her cheeks as though they had never stopped.

“Oh my god,” Kelly whispered, choking on a sob as she leaned over to press her lips to Yn’s forehead. “You’re awake. You’re okay. Thank god, thank god.”

Max followed suit, his arms wrapping tightly around her, trembling. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said in a hoarse voice, pressing a shaky kiss into her hair. “I should’ve answered. We should’ve been here sooner. I’m so, so sorry.”

Yn blinked at them, feeling like she was underwater. It hurt, emotionally, more than anything else. But she was used to that ache, the one of always being second — no, third now — to her sisters. She didn’t want to add guilt to the pile her parents clearly already carried.

So she smiled faintly, her voice barely more than a breath.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m fine now.”

“No, it’s not okay,” Max said fiercely, pulling back to look at her. “We weren’t there for you when you needed us most. That’s not okay, Yn. I—” His voice cracked. “I thought we lost you.”

Kelly brushed Yn’s hair gently back from her forehead. “You’ve always been so responsible. So independent. We… we thought you didn’t need us as much anymore.”

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” Yn murmured, her voice fragile. “You’re always so busy with Lily and P. I didn’t want to make things harder.”

That broke something in all three of them. Kelly covered her mouth with her hand, tears falling faster. Max turned away briefly, hiding his face in his palm. And from the wall, Daniel stirred.

He had been silent the entire time, arms crossed tightly across his chest, his jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might crack. Now, he stepped forward slowly, his eyes locked on Yn. He didn’t say anything at first — he just leaned down and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her gently but firmly, like she was something infinitely precious.

“You’re not a burden, bub,” he whispered into her ear. “Not ever. And we’re gonna talk about that later. I promise.”

Yn nodded against his shoulder, too tired to respond, but comforted by the warmth in his voice, the quiet strength in his presence. He’d always been there. Since she was little, Daniel had always made time — even when her parents couldn’t. Ballet recitals, school events, birthdays — he was never late.

Her parents stayed by her side, murmuring apologies and reassurances until the hours passed like fog. The sun had set behind the hospital window, casting long shadows into the room. The overhead lights had been dimmed. Yn dozed, waking now and then to sips of water and a gentle hand stroking her hair.

And then Kelly’s phone rang.

She answered in a whisper, turning away from the bed slightly. Daniel noticed immediately — the way her shoulders tensed, how her hand came up to rub her temple.

“Hi,” Kelly said softly. “Is everything okay?”

There was a pause, then the volume on her end rose slightly. “What? She did what? Again?”

Another pause. Kelly sighed, exasperated. “Okay, okay, we’re coming.”

Max, who had been adjusting the blanket around Yn, looked up sharply. “What’s going on?”

Kelly turned around with a tight, apologetic smile. “The sitter. P’s been impossible all day. She threw her dinner, tried to cut Lily’s hair, and now she’s screaming because she wants us.”

Max sighed, rubbing his temples. “Of course.”

Yn had watched the entire conversation in silence. She could already see it — the look in their eyes. That pull. The need to be somewhere else. To fix something else.

“Go,” she said softly.

Max and Kelly looked at her like she’d grown another head. “No,” Kelly said. “No way. We’re staying.”

“I’m fine,” Yn said again. She even added a smile this time, though it felt cracked. “I’m okay. They need you.”

“You need us too,” Max said, kneeling beside her bed. “We’re not leaving you again.”

But Yn just reached out and took his hand. “Please. I’ll be okay. Dani’s here.”

She turned her head slightly to smile at her godfather, who gave her a look like he knew exactly what she was doing — and hated it — but said nothing. Max and Kelly hesitated, torn. And finally, with one more round of kisses to her forehead and tearful apologies, they left in a rush, already talking about Lily’s feeding schedule and how they needed to call the sitter back.

The door shut behind them with a quiet click.

Silence settled over the room like a blanket.

And then Daniel moved.

He walked over slowly, no longer keeping up the cheerful front. His arms wrapped around her gently as he sat on the edge of the hospital bed, pulling her into his chest. They sat like that for a moment — no words, just the sound of beeping machines and the soft thunder of rain outside.

And then, Yn broke.

It wasn’t loud at first. Just a shaky inhale, a trembling of her shoulders. But then the dam burst.

Sobs racked her body, loud and broken, the kind of cries that came from somewhere deep inside — the kind that didn’t care who was listening. Her fingers clutched at his shirt, desperate and aching. Every bit of strength and independence she had built, every time she told herself she was okay, every time she smiled while her parents rushed past her to tend to Lily or P — it all poured out.

Daniel held her tighter, rocking her gently, whispering soothing words against her hair.

“I’ve got you, bub. I’ve got you,” he murmured, his own voice breaking. “Let it out. I’m here.”

She sobbed into his chest, again and again, whispering things she’d never dared to say out loud.

“I thought I was going to die alone.”

“I didn’t want to be mad at them.”

“They didn’t come, Uncle Dany. They didn’t come.”

He closed his eyes, his jaw trembling as he fought the burn behind his eyes.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But I came. I’ll always come.”

She cried until she had no more left. Until her throat was raw and her arms felt like lead. Until she could barely breathe through the tears. And still, Daniel held her, like he had every time before — through scraped knees, and heartbreaks, and disappointments. Only this time, it felt like even more than that.

It felt like the moment everything changed.

The air in the apartment was filled with soft baby giggles and the rhythmic tapping of keys as Yn worked through her math homework. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion—healing after a car crash while keeping up with school wasn’t easy, especially when the people around you slowly started forgetting how close they’d come to losing you.

At first, when she’d been discharged from the hospital, things had been different. Someone—either Max or Kelly—had always been near, bringing her snacks, fluffing her pillows, helping her up the stairs. But that attention faded fast. It always did.

Now, Max was on the couch with Kelly, his arm slung around her as she held Lily up in the air and made silly faces at the baby, both parents giggling when Lily let out a happy squeal.

Yn glanced up from her homework, watching them for a second. Then her eyes drifted to the side as Penelope ran into the room, full of energy and noise. The six-year-old spotted Yn at the table and made a beeline for her, grabbing a colored pencil from the cup and climbing onto the chair next to her big sister.

“Whatcha doin’?” Penelope asked, already scribbling on the edge of Yn’s workbook.

“Homework,” Yn said calmly. “P, don’t draw on that. I need it.”

“But I’m helping,” Penelope said with a grin, her little hand still pushing the pencil over the page.

Yn took a breath. “I know you want to help, but this is something I have to do on my own, okay? Please, just go back to your toys.”

“No!” Penelope said defiantly, trying to grab another pencil. “I wanna help!”

“Penelope,” Yn said a little firmer, gently pushing her hand away, “please stop. I really need to concentrate.”

Penelope blinked at her, lips puckering into a pout. “You’re mean!”

“I’m not mean,” Yn said, jaw tight, trying to stay patient. “I just need space. Please, Penelope.”

But the little girl didn’t budge. She started kicking her feet under the table, humming loudly, then grabbing another pencil. That was it.

“Stop!” Yn snapped, her voice louder than intended.

Immediately, the whole room froze. Max’s head whipped around from the couch. Kelly tensed with Lily in her arms. Penelope’s eyes widened as her bottom lip began to tremble. A second later, she burst into tears.

Max was already on his feet.

“What’s going on here?” he asked as he hurried over, crouching down next to Penelope who had now thrown herself into his arms.

“She yelled at me,” Penelope cried, “I just wanted to help…”

Max hugged her tightly. “It’s okay, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I—I tried to tell her—” Yn started.

Kelly stood now too, swaying slightly with Lily on her hip. “Sweetie, maybe you could’ve been a little gentler, hmm? She’s just trying to be like you.”

“I was gentle,” Yn said, eyes wide, heart racing. “I asked her three times. She wouldn’t stop.”

“She’s six,” Kelly said, her voice light but pointed. “She doesn’t always know when to stop. You’re older.”

“And I’m tired!” Yn snapped, standing up so fast the chair skidded. “I have been trying to catch up on everything while healing from a car crash that you didn’t even show up for! But sure, let's talk about how I was too harsh!”

Max frowned, confused, holding Penelope like a precious thing. “Yn, calm down. This is not a big deal.”

“Not a big—” Yn let out a breathless, angry laugh. “Of course it’s not. Because nothing ever is with me. It’s always about Penelope or Lily. Always them.”

“That’s not true,” Kelly said gently.

Yn was shaking now, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

“Yes, it is,” she whispered. “It’s always been true. Ever since Lily was born, I’ve been invisible.”

Max moved toward her. “Don’t be dramatic. You’re not invisible.”

“Really?” Yn snapped. “Because I lay in a hospital bed for hours after crashing my car and no one answered the phone. No one. I could’ve died and it wouldn’t have made a difference because you had Lily and Penelope here, and you wouldn’t have even known.”

“That’s not fair—” Max started.

“No, you know what’s not fair?” Yn’s voice was rising now, louder, angrier, more hurt than anything else. “The way you always treat me like I’m too much or too intense or too sensitive. But all I ever wanted was to matter. To you. To her. To this whole damn family.”

Kelly’s eyes widened as she adjusted Lily in her arms. “Yn, you know we love you—”

“No, you love them,” Yn said, tears pricking her eyes. “You tolerate me. And I’m so tired of pretending like that’s enough.”

She stormed past them to her room, flinging open her closet and yanking a duffel bag off the shelf. She stuffed it with random clothes, socks, charger cords, not really thinking. Her vision blurred with tears.

Footsteps approached her door. Max appeared, Kelly right behind him.

“What are you doing?” Max asked. “You can’t just run away every time something doesn’t go your way.”

“Oh my God,” Yn muttered, zipping the bag. “You really don’t get it.”

Kelly reached for her arm. “Yn, don’t go. This is just a bad moment. You’re overreacting.”

“Overreacting?” Yn spun around, eyes blazing. “You think this is just about today? I have felt like a damn ghost in this house for years. Every time you post a picture with the girls and forget to even mention me. Every time you skip my dance recitals. Every time you call the sitter and not me. I’m not your daughter—I’m the afterthought.”

Max’s expression darkened. “Don’t say that.”

“I hate you,” Yn said, voice cracking. “You’re a terrible father to me. Just like your dad was to you.”

And with that, she rushed out of the apartment, ignoring Max’s call of her name. She didn’t stop. Down the stairs. Through the building doors. Into the streets.

She ran and ran, wind cold on her face, feet pounding against the pavement. It didn’t matter where she was going. Her legs knew. Her heart knew.

Finally, breathless and crying, she reached the familiar door and knocked. Hard. Again and again.

The door opened and Heidi appeared, wearing a cozy jumper and fuzzy socks, a mug in her hand. Her eyes widened the moment she saw Yn—disheveled, red-faced, eyes swollen.

“Oh sweetheart,” Heidi whispered, immediately putting the mug down and opening her arms.

Yn crashed into her, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe.

A second later, Daniel appeared behind Heidi, looking alarmed. “Yn?”

Yn lifted her head just long enough to reach for him too. He moved fast, wrapping his arms around both of them, holding them tightly.

“I couldn’t stay there,” Yn sobbed into his chest.

“You’re safe,” Daniel whispered, his hand stroking her hair, kissing the top of her head. “You’re safe now. You’re here. I got you.”

Heidi nodded, guiding them both inside, closing the door behind them. “You’re home, sweetheart,” she said softly. “We’ve got you. We’re not going anywhere.”

And between their steady arms, Yn finally let herself fall apart.

It had been over a week since the fight. Since Yn had stormed out of the apartment—red-eyed and furious, shaking with heartbreak—and into Heidi’s arms. Since she had made the decision to stay, not just for the night, but truly stay, at Daniel and Heidi’s place.

She hadn’t returned home since. The only time she’d been back to the apartment was when she knew Max and Kelly were out. She and Heidi had gone together, picking up her clothes, her sketchbooks, her ballet shoes, even the silly little mug she always used for hot chocolate. She had packed everything quietly, methodically. No trace of her left behind.

And she’d blocked both Max and Kelly on her phone without hesitation.

Heidi hadn’t asked many questions that day. She just held Yn’s hand, rubbed soft circles into her back as she packed, and drove her back home—to her new home—with Daniel. The place that didn’t feel temporary. That felt… right.

One quiet evening, Daniel entered the living room with a dramatic sigh, holding a tray with three mugs of steaming cocoa, each topped with a silly amount of whipped cream and rainbow marshmallows.

“Ladies,” he said in a mock serious voice. “Your elixirs of joy have arrived.”

Yn, curled under a blanket with her feet tucked beneath her, giggled. “Did you put the extra marshmallows this time? Or did you ‘accidentally’ eat them again like yesterday?”

“That’s a vicious accusation,” Daniel gasped, feigning offense as he handed her the mug. “I’ll have you know, your marshmallows are safe. Heidi witnessed the whole process.”

Heidi, who was painting her toenails on the other end of the couch, nodded. “It’s true. He was on his best behavior.”

Yn grinned, nestling into the warm drink. “Thank you,” she said softly. Her voice held that tiny bit of surprise every time she thanked them—like she still didn’t fully believe she deserved all of this care.

Daniel leaned over and plopped down next to her, bumping her shoulder gently. “You know you don’t have to thank us for that stuff, right?” he said, sipping from his own mug. “You’re family.”

“Yeah,” Heidi chimed in, setting down the nail polish. “We love having you here. Seriously, we’ve never had this much glitter and noise. It’s amazing.”

Yn laughed, looking down at her cocoa. “I just… I feel safe here,” she admitted. “I can breathe. You don’t make me feel like a burden.”

Daniel put his mug down and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, squeezing her gently. “You’re never a burden, munchkin. Not even close.”

There was a pause, the kind of silence that wasn’t uncomfortable but full of weight. Yn swirled her marshmallows around before saying, almost too quietly, “I think Max still thinks of me as an inconvenience.”

Heidi set her nail file down. “Honey…”

Daniel frowned. “He’s… struggling,” he said carefully, always the peacemaker when he could be. “But that doesn’t mean you have to forgive him just because he’s your dad. What he did—what both of them did—hurt you. And it’s okay to say that. It’s okay to take space.”

“I’m not ready,” Yn whispered. “I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to hear another ‘you’re overreacting’ or ‘she’s just a kid’ or watch them treat P like she’s the sun and I’m… I don’t know. Just the shadow behind her.”

Heidi stood and crossed over to Yn, kneeling in front of her and gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Then we protect you from that. As long as you need. You’re not alone, Yn.”

“I blocked them,” Yn murmured.

“I know,” Daniel said gently. “And I only messaged Max once. I told him you were safe, and you didn’t want to talk. That’s all he needed to know.”

“Has he tried again?” she asked, voice trembling.

Daniel looked at Heidi briefly before answering. “Yeah. He’s come by a couple of times. Kelly too. But we didn’t let them in. They wanted to talk to you, but… we told them to respect your wishes. That this isn’t about them anymore.”

“They said they deserve to see her,” Heidi added, clearly still angry. “But you know what, Yn? Deserving someone’s presence comes from love, not blood. And they haven’t shown you the love you deserve. We’ll never let them come in here and make you feel like you did that day.”

Yn looked between them, eyes glassy. “You don’t hate me for this?”

“Oh my god, baby, no,” Heidi whispered, hugging her tight. “We’re proud of you. For standing up for yourself. For knowing what you need. That takes guts.”

Daniel smiled warmly, brushing a tear from her cheek. “And look at you now. Ballet princess by day, face-mask bandit by night. You’re crushing life.”

Yn giggled through her tears. “I still can’t believe you let me paint your nails.”

Daniel held up his hands with mock grace. “Excuse me, this fuchsia glitter is art. I’ve been complimented.”

Heidi rolled her eyes. “He got one compliment from the barista, and now he thinks he’s a trendsetter.”

That night, like every night since she’d moved in, they watched their silly show together. Daniel fell asleep halfway through, his head tilted comically against the sofa cushion, one of his hands resting on Yn’s shoulder like a protective weight.

In the days that followed, their routine became sacred.

Heidi drove Yn to ballet practice every afternoon, always staying to watch through the glass with a little smile on her face and snacks ready when it ended. She cheered the loudest when Yn nailed her pirouettes, and on the car rides home, she always gushed about how graceful Yn looked.

Daniel made sure dinner was ready when they got home. They all sat around the table together, sometimes dancing around the kitchen to loud music, sometimes eating in comfortable silence, but always together.

On the nights Yn had nightmares—usually vague, confusing ones about being left behind—Heidi would rub her back until she fell asleep again. Sometimes, Daniel would bring her tea and let her talk if she wanted to. And sometimes, she didn’t want to talk. They always understood.

One rainy evening, while they were baking cookies and making an absolute mess of the kitchen, the doorbell rang.

Heidi froze. Daniel turned off the music.

Yn’s body went tense like a wire.

“I’ll get it,” Heidi said quickly, placing a hand on Yn’s arm. “You stay here.”

Yn nodded, backing away slowly. She knew it was them. She could feel it.

Heidi opened the door, her eyes narrowing. “You weren’t invited.”

Max’s voice was quiet. “I just want to see her. Just for a minute.”

“No,” Daniel said from behind her, suddenly beside his girlfriend, his tone more steel than usual. “You want to make yourselves feel better. But she’s the one who deserves peace, and right now, that means you staying away.”

“We’re her family,” Kelly said, her voice sharper.

“You were,” Heidi shot back. “But family doesn’t make a child feel forgotten. Family doesn’t silence her pain or compare her to their trauma. You had a daughter standing in front of you begging to be seen, and you told her she was overreacting.”

Daniel stepped forward, blocking the door completely. “She’s not ready. And until she says otherwise, this is her home.”

Without another word, he shut the door.

When he turned around, Yn was standing there, eyes wide, face pale.

“Was it them?” she asked.

Daniel didn’t lie. “Yeah. But it’s okay. We took care of it.”

Yn nodded slowly, stepping forward and hugging him tightly. “Thank you for protecting me.”

He bent down to wrap his arms around her fully. “Always, kiddo. Always.”

And as the rain poured outside, the little family in the warm kitchen returned to their cookies, their music, and the love that asked for nothing but acceptance.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

I decided to make a sad ending cause I felt like it, so.... sorry, not sorry!

-♡○♡

[rue-t]

"don't get your banana too close to me" 😭😭

[rue-t]

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆ nonsense - 𝐋𝐍𝟒 𖤓

（ 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌 𝗑 𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗋𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ）

（ 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 ）𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝖻𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌， 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗋𝖼 𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌，𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝖽

✫ i started this last summer and literally just finished so i had to go back and change lando and kikas username also just pretend like it’s mother’s day if you’re from the UK 😭

🝮

yn

liked by pierregasly and 1,134,875 others

yn gangs all here

charles_leclerc Are you still mad at me bug?

charles_leclerc I didn’t mean to push lando off the boat but it was a silly coincidence right after he slapped you

⤷ lando you make me sound bad i just slapped her butt

⤷ charles_leclerc Don’t test me Lando.

⤷ lando sorry 😔

francolapinto hot (in the respectful kinda way)

⤷ lando i will k word you

⤷ alex_albon ur gonna kiss him?

⤷ francolapinto yes kith me lando!!!! 💋 i’ll go put on my chapstick real quick

⤷ maxverstappen ally!

⤷ yn i knew you were gay for my brother

⤷ maxverstappen1 ???

⤷ charles_leclerc no???

⤷ yn it’s ok guys we all know lestappen is real

kikagomes body tea 😍😍🥵

alexandrasaintmleux Hey pretty girl 😍

⤷ yn hey cutie pie 🥰

♥︎ by alexandrasaintmleux

estiebestie i know the pain she goes through with having 3 over protective older brothers 😭

mclaren Our favorite 🧡

lovely_leclerc the things i would do to see charles push lando off his yacht 😭

scuderiaferrari Have a good break queen, you deserve it 😉

⤷ arthur_leclerc She literally just walks around with alex and eats???

⤷ scuderiaferrari And she does it well

landolovesyn omg the picture of leo & alex 🥹

🝮

yn

liked by carmenmmundt and 2,699,714 others

yn pictures i sent to the family gc this week

lando why did you make alex look aesthetic but not me?

⤷ yn baby i tried you looked clapped in every picture i took

joris__trouche Giving your brothers wrinkles and grey hairs in their 20s

⤷ yn it’s okay though cause it’s me 💖

♥︎ by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, and leclerc_pascale

lilymhe lando ruining the aesthetic as always

⤷ yn that’s what alex was saying too

⤷ kikagomes she’s right

lorenzotl Surpried lando wasn’t eating in his picture 😂

⤷ lando what he say fuck me for??

⤷ arthur_leclerc almost every picture y/n posts of you you’re eating something

⤷ lando so you’re saying i’m dumb ugly and fat then?

⤷ charles_leclerc well…

⤷ lando WOWWWWW i’m telling bug you’re bullying me charles

⤷ charles_leclerc nonono!!! i was just kidding! please she’s still mad at me for tripping you the other day

arthur_leclerc 1st picture “we’re talking about all of you except maman and cha” (charlotte not charles she was very clear) 2nd “why do you guys only get me bunnies where’s the diversity”, 3rd “this is gonna be gone in 2 minutes”, 4th “bro finally decided to hit the gym instead of the pantry”

⤷ lando OH SO YOURE CALLING ME DUMB UGLY AND FAT??

⤷ charles_leclerc wellll…….

⤷ lando @yn

⤷ yn quit bullying my boyfriend you fucking loser that’s why people always think your french cause you’re a fucking bitch

⤷ charles_leclerc wow you really know how to make a grown man cry…

⤷ pierregasly Hey what’s wrong with French people?? 💔

⤷ yn nothing i love timothée chalamet

⤷ lando babyyyyyy

⤷ yn jk i hate timothée chalamet

⤷ tchalamet whad i do 💔

⤷ yn jk i love you timothée

⤷ lando babyyyyloveeeeee

⤷ yn jk i HATE you timothée

⤷ tchalamet wow 😔

⤷ yn AGH FUCK LEAVE ME ALONE

🝮

lando

liked by oscarpiastri and 1,126,974 others

lando my babylove I LOVE YOU FOREVER 🤍

charles_leclerc Bro…you look really handsome

⤷ lando i knew you loved me 🥹

⤷ georgerussell63 So I sense bug had a stern talking to with you Charles

yn i fw u heavily 🩷

⤷ lando i’ll take what i can get 🥰

alex_albon i’m gonna telling my kids that this was romeo and juliet

pierregasly 🔥🔥

tchalamet mkay

⤷ lando if i see you in my girls comments or dms i will find out where you live and i will sneak in at 3am and stand over you until you wake up and when you do i will kill you

⤷ danielricciardo “there were no signs”

leclerc_pascale Mes bébés 🥰🥰❤️

⤷ lando ❤️❤️

arthur_leclerc That jawline though 😍😍

⤷ lando you ol’ charmer 🙂‍↕️

carlossainz55 Cute mate 👌👌

alexandrasaintmluex Oooh who took this super duper cute and aesthetic picture?? 🥰

⤷ lando the best third wheel ever

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux 😐

maxverstappen1 I just want everyone to know he sent this to the gc to ask if it was cute

⤷ lando you bitch

lorenzotl 😍😍

⤷ lando omg enzo stop, you’re practically a married man 🙂‍↕️

🝮

yn

liked by demitrakalogeras and 1,792,204 others

yn miami you will always be famous 🤍 super proud of my baby lando & my sassy brother

lando i tried my best for you

⤷ yn and you did so well

⤷ lando wow im so easy you just warmed my heart up

kikagomes fitted asf 😍

charles_leclerc Thank you petite étolie 💛

oscarpiastri What about me?

⤷ yn of course i’m proud of you oscariño dafuqqq that griddy after the race?? 👌👌👌👌

alexandrasaintmleux 🩷🩷🩷🩷

landosland the L charm on her necklace for lando i can’t 🥹 they’re endgame i fear

♥︎ by author & lando

mclaren Our boyyy 🧡4️⃣

⤷ yn …get dafuq out my face before i have a b.f

⤷ mclaren A b.f?

⤷ charles_leclerc She’s gonna have a bitch fit!!!

⤷ landossluttywaist she put mclaren in timeout

⤷ scuderiaferrari Best believe she’s gonna be in our garage in Imola 😊😊

♥︎ by author & charles_leclerc

carlossainz55 I can’t believe I had to witness you and Lando do body shots off of each other

⤷ lando you literally bought the shots for us

⤷ charles_leclerc You did what to my sister??

⤷ lando NO NO NO CARLOS WAS ENCOURAGING US PIERRE LITERALLY HAS A VIDEO OF HIM CHEERING FOR US TO DO IT

⤷ charles_leclerc PIERRE WAS THERE?

⤷ pierregasly ALEX INVITED ME AND KIKA DON’T BE MAD AT ME

⤷ charles_leclerc MY OWN GIRLFRIEND WAS THERE?? WHEN WAS THIS?????

⤷ yn our first night in miami

⤷ charles_leclerc When you told me you two were staying in cause you didn’t feel good so lando was taking care of you??

⤷ yn yeah

⤷ charles_leclerc You’re giving me grey hairs kid

🝮

lando

liked by terrycrews and 1,416,873 others

lando back with my favorite person (we were never apart we’re just back home)

kimi.antonelli Thank you for clarifying I was going to ask if she had an identical twin

charles_leclerc Are you guys ever apart? 🙄

⤷ lando no 🥰 i need her for emotional support

mclaren Our favorite couple 😍

⤷ yn don’t piss me off

alexandrasaintmleux Best double date buddies

⤷ yn oh heck yes double dates for life

carlossainz55 “back with my favorite person” i’m confident that haven’t spent a single minute apart since getting on that jet back to Monaco

⤷ arthur_leclerc Can confirm he made her go into the airport bathroom with him

⤷ charles_leclerc And you didn’t stop her??? Who knows what they did in there

⤷ arthur_leclerc 110% sure he literally just went pee they were in there for like 2 minutes

⤷ yn can confirm i just held it for him

⤷ charles_leclerc BUG??? WHAT???? THATS DISGUSTING WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT

⤷ yn it was a joke fawk 😔………..😏

⤷ charles_leclerc I don’t even wanna know if you’re just messing with me or not

⤷ lando she’s not

⤷ charles_leclerc you two are freaks

maxverstappen1 This is why you canceled our paddle date?

⤷ lando soz mate we can have our date today

⤷ maxverstappen1 Can’t wait 👌

⤷ charles_leclerc Can I come

⤷ carlossainz55 Me too

⤷ yn my charlos & lestappen & versainz & charlando & carlando & mando heart 🥹🥹 (why have i never seen a ship name for max and lando)

🝮

yn

liked by sydney_sweeney and 2,709,175 others

yn little bit of this little bit of that

pierregasly When did lando become such a good photographer

⤷ yn i’ve trained him well

alexandrasaintmleux Last picture is so real

⤷ yn me waiting for a happy mother’s day text from lando after breastfeeding him like one 🙄

⤷ charles_leclerc what…

⤷ yn must’ve been the wind

⤷ arthur_leclerc NO OMG WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT I CANNOT UNREAD THAT OMG YOU TWO ARE FREAKS I HATE YOU OMG STOP MY EYES

⤷ yn girl

lando my biggest supporter 🥰

⤷ danielricciardo Acting like you didn’t just traumatize your brother in laws

mclaren What?

⤷ yn must’ve been the wind

yn if aaron taylor johnson likes this comment i’ll give lando the most nastiest messiest toe clenching cum guzzling head of his life

♥︎ by aarontaylorjohnson

⤷ charles_leclerc WHAT?

⤷ lando @aarontaylorjohnson PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE BRO HELP A GUY OUT IK YOU SEE MY DMS BRO

⤷ charles_leclerc I HATE YOU AARON TAYLOR JOHNSON AND I HAGE YOU LANDO NORRIS AGH IM GONNA RUN YOU BOTH OVER

⤷ lando she’s busy bro

⤷ oscarpiastri 27 year old French man found dead after realizing his little baby sister isn’t a little baby anymore

⤷ charles_leclerc I’M NOT FUCKING FRENCH OSCAR!!! LANDO NORRIS I’M COMING FOR YOU

⤷ lando oh someone’s definitely cumming alright

⤷ charles_leclerc YOU SLUT I HATE YOU I CANNOT BELIEVE I WELCOMED YOU INTO MY HOME AND LET YOU EAT WITH ME

⤷ danielricciardo why is bug not helping 😭

⤷ lando she’s busy bro

⤷ francolapinto can i join?

[rue-t]

𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

🖇️ more...

The alert from the “paddock family” WhatsApp group went off like a bomb.

Oscar: Can someone explain why Kimi and Ollie are on the roof of the Mercedes hospitality?!

You and Max turned to the window at the same time. And yep. There they were. Two helmets gleaming in the sun, next to a poorly made banner that read: “YOUTH WILL RULE”.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" you yelled from below, already rushing toward the Mercedes area.

"Peaceful protest!" Ollie answered proudly.

"A protest for what?!" Oscar shouted from the side, holding a coffee and looking traumatized.

"For more snacks in team meetings," Kimi replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Max arrived walking calmly, like this happened all the time (because it did).

"How many times have we told you not to climb up there?" he asked tiredly, looking straight at Kimi.

"It was Ollie’s idea…" Kimi began.

"But Kimi brought the duct tape!" Ollie cut in, betraying him without hesitation.

"Ollie, you snitched on me!" Kimi complained.

You ran a hand down your face.

"Max, do something."

Max crossed his arms.

"Boys. Get down or I’ll tell Toto."

Ollie went pale. Kimi climbed down in two seconds. Protest over.

Oscar sighed.

"I’m putting a literal lock on that roof. This can’t keep happening."

Kimi walked up to you and Max, looking like a guilty puppy.

"I won’t do it again…"

"Liar," you said.

"Yeah," Max agreed at the same time.

"But it was fun," Ollie added, already scheming the next adventure.

[rue-t]

[rue-t]

Can You Make It Out Alive? - F1 Grid

Summary: Some people don't get the most out of life, they have the potential but it goes to waste. Y/n Hamilton is the poster child of that, but can those who love and care for her help? Or will then make it worse?

Glass child!reader

Themes/Warnings: Major character death, addiction

Word count: 3.7k

Their dad's words echo through y/n's head as she holds Lewis' hand walking into the paddock.

How many more times before you don't make it? How many more times are you going to put us through this before we can't save you?

His little sister-his baby sister, who has yet again lost trust from her family and Lewis is now determined to keep her away from the people who are slowly killing her. The people who are going to take her from Lewis forever if he doesn't do everything in his power to keep her away from them.

Y/n's addiction is visible even if videos and photos of her doing as many drugs as she can get her hands on. She's a fiend, scavenging and almost whoring herself out.

The family have tried everything, rehab facilities; multiple times, cutting off her finances, locking her indoors, monitoring her ever move with Life360, they even tried getting her a cat as an emotional support animal to help her through the rough days and hoped it'd give her more of a reason to want to give up and give her chance at surviving her addiction. All of those things have failed, although Tom, her cat, has proven to bring her comfort even if they wish he did more than that. It's hardly as if they can blame the cat for the ineffective method, though he lives a very good life since y/n makes sure he's spoiler even if she fails herself, she won't allow him to be neglected and depreciate in his life. Now dragging her around with Lewis to avoid her from even being home.

They're all trying to save her life.

"How are you feeling? Hungry?" Lewis asks making her shake her head.

She's never hungry anymore. Whether it's effects from the drugs or whether it's withdrawal which he's concerned about because she seems unchanged.

He doesn't like to have to confront her but sometimes it's hard not to think she's taken something. For now he's giving her the benefit of the doubt that it's jet lag and the early wake up.

Y/n's struggles and why she resorted to drugs were a combination of issues but ultimately the main thing was being manipulated by the wrong crowd when she was vulnerable and felt neglected by her family.

Being the youngest Hamilton sibling is hard and for a long time she doesn't know why they even bothered. Lewis was already a rising star when she came into the world, only a handful of years before he made his first F1 debut. But as if that wasn't enough Nicholas needed attention and care.

The intention was never to neglect y/n but her parents recognise that they did and while it's not a nice thing to recognise, y/n's turning to bad influences was as a result of not feeling cared for within her own home.

Y/n is deeply ingrained in a lot of driver's knowledge. The likes of Fernando has even known y/n since childhood because of his teaming with Lewis in 2007 and while he may not have liked her brother by the end of the season. He did not have a dislike towards y/n who seemed to admire him regardless of his disputes with her brother. Now like her family he's watching her wither, he's watched the life disappear from her eyes as she aged and grew. Every time he's seen her, more of her personality seems to have disappeared into the void.

"Y/n." Oscar smiles seeing the woman and unsurprisingly to Lewis there's a spark of something behind her eyes.

Y/n and Oscar met during one of her post-rehab months, she was clean but it was short-lived and Oscar quickly learned that those phases weren't expected to ever last very long.

"Oscar." Y/n greets releasing Lewis' hand to greet the Aussie with a hug.

Oscar will always be y/n's missed chance at happiness. But she'd never let him date her while she's addicted to substances. Putting her family through the stress and strain is hard enough, she won't do more harm to others who don't have to deal with it because of blood ties.

Lewis sometimes hopes that Oscar might motivate y/n to change more, so it's no surprise he suggests she stick with Oscar for a bit.

It's a risk, but he hopes that Oscar will make sure y/n is escorted back to Lewis rather than left to go on her own. Y/n is and always will be a flight risk left on her own.

But with Oscar she does end up seeing others on the grid and somewhat gets baby sat by each of them as they somewhat pass her around to keep her occupied and supervised.

"You think you'll be catching another tan to get mistake as my brother?" Y/n questions jokingly to Lando as she sits with Lando, Oscar, Alex and George.

"I might, maybe I'll steal his helmet to pretend I'm him and just get in the Ferrari for a day."

"See now that sounds fun." Y/n laughs before shaking her head. "Maybe I am a bad influence."

"Having fun isn't being a bad influence. Anyway, it's what you're here to do." Oscar smiles though really they know fun isn't why she's there at all. They can still make it fun for her.

He wants her to have fun and he knows the other drivers want to help her see that there's so much more to life than what she's given herself so far.

"Hey, we should go to dinner tonight." Oscar states he walks her back to the Ferrari hospitality unit. "I'll show you the best place to eat."

"Alright, well I'm sure it will be in celebration of a home race win. So I would love to. Can't wait." Y/n grins earning another smile from the Aussie. "Come get me once you're all done with your media stuff."

"I will."

-

"Lewis is obviously not having the debut he would've liked with Ferrari. His little sister, y/n is back in the paddock and I think it's obvious that we all wish her well and hope that being here with Lewis is helping her and that she's really helping him after recent events." Crofty states trying to be as respectful as possible but it's a hard thing to talk their way around.

Drugs really isn't something F1 has much issues with. All the drivers simply stay away from it. But it's hard to avoid the topic when it's now what y/n is known best for.

Martin seems to avoid addressing her and instead redirects attention onto Lewis himself.

"Where are you going?" Angela asks noticing y/n looking queasy and fidgety, she's also paled significantly in the past half hour of watching her brother on track.

"I really have to pee. I won't be long, I promise. You can come with me if you really don't trust me."

Lies and manipulation.

Y/n is a pro, like most addicts. Suggesting a lack of trust that she knows is the case. No one trusts her but they want her to think that her progress is regaining that trust.

But Angela nods a little earning a smile before y/n takes off heading straight out the panic as her shakes start to set in. The hotel isn't far. She can get her hit then come back.

She managed to befriend one of the hotel staff who seemed to be up for supplying her with what she needed.

If addicts are one thing, it's impressive in their ability to find someone who can give them the one thing they'd sell their soul for. But Lewis will never know. He never needs to know that she stole cash from him and paid the cleaner for some pills.

-

Lewis noticed y/n's absence after the race immediately. He noticed and he tried to underplay his concern. But when he asked Angela where his sister was there was a new wave of urgency.

"Can you check the hotel?" Lewis asks clearing his throat.

There's a bad feeling in his gut and when Oscar appears looking pretty wounded about his own race Lewis can't help but frown in confusion over the Aussie's appearance.

"Hey, y/n has told me to come pick her up. We're going to dinner." Oscar states making Lewis sigh.

"She's disappeared, mate. But I'm heading back to the hotel, you can come with me. She's hopefully there."

The two drivers get the hotel and up to y/n's room only for them both to freeze.

Paramedics and police talking to Angela who is in tears before she sees Lewis and her hand comes up over her mouth.

"Hey, hey. What the hell is going on? What's happening? Where's-" Lewis dashes forward with Oscar follow not sure what else to do before they both step in the room and are faced with the sight.

Paramedics putting a defibrillator away.

Her body lying flat out on the floor. A puddle of blood filled sick a few feet from her limp, frail body.

The nightmare Lewis had tried to do everything to avoid. Maybe he was still in the car, in the race daydreaming? Or maybe he crashed and hit his head and he's just knocked out?

Angela takes the lead in handling things for Lewis, he kneels by her side taking her hand in his, already cold to touch.

"I'm sorry."

Oscar left knowing that this wasn't his place, Lewis didn't need more of an audience than the people who needed to be there but his return home to his family led to the first break down of emotion that they've ever seen from their only son.

-

With y/n being in Australia, there was complications for getting her body home and there needed to be a wait.

Lewis did part take in China, though the mixture of results didn't do anything to sway from the grief consuming him.

"I don't want you to go." Y/n's small voice comments making Lewis turn to look at his little sister. Her small body peaking in from the door way, big shiny eyes and a quivering lip that breaks his heart.

He's too old to be at home now and he's definitely making enough to justify leaving his dad and step-mum's roof.

"You can come visit, all the time. I'm going to miss you." Lewis smiles as he lifts her onto his bed next to his last suitcase. "I always come back and see you don't I?"

"But this time you're not coming back. What if you leave and you forget about us? Or me?" Y/n sniffles, her words lisping in her upset as more tears well up but she refuses to let them fall.

Lewis doesn't remember the last time the young woman allowed tears for herself but he knows she doesn't let it happen anymore. She always seemed beyond her years, independent, she could be left to her own devices while their parents focused on Nicholas who needs the extra attention especially with pursuing racing like Lewis.

"I will never ever forget you, y/n. I couldn't if I tried." Lewis declares while she sniffles and nods a little.

"Ok."

"You promise not to forget me?"

"I promise and I'll always always always be ready to give you the biggest hug when you come home and-and we can have parties for every time you win a race even when you're not here and when you can come home we can have more parties so you don't get left out." Y/n smiles perking up at her own promise.

Y/n cares so much about others, Lewis is sure one day it will come back to bite her. It's everyone else then y/n in her eyes, and the rare moments she displays any thought towards herself like not wanting Lewis to leave, she recovers it and makes it as if that moment of selfishness was nothing but a fleeting thought.

"We can have as many parties and celebrations as you life. And we'll have to have some for you too. You'll be finishing the school year soon and when you go into big school, when you do well on tests. I want to celebrate and hear all about it." Lewis promises with a grin then picking the young girl up and hugging her tightly with a small sigh.

Lewis opens his eyes pulling himself back from one of many memories of y/n that have replayed in his head. The long flight back from China to London where he body landed just 2 days before soon coming to an end.

They found out that it was a fentanyl overdose, and the hotel staff that sold it to her was arrested. They'll deal with that case later, but he'll be trailed for sale of illegal substances and manslaughter.

His little sister is the victim but Lewis recognises the flaws that she seemed him out, she asked around, she bought the drugs, she took them and she paid the price.

He should've done more, he should've known. He could've stopped this.

-

A pin could've dropped and bene heard with how silent the majority of y/n's funeral service is. Waiting for it to all start, for people to speak about her life, to praise her.

But when Lewis' turn comes around. His written and approved by his dad speech is left on his chair and he steps up with his gaze glued onto her coffin.

"Y/n was a drug addict and she had a choice to be that." Lewis starts watching his step-mum and his dad wince at his choice of words. "But she also had her reasons for turning to that. Because we failed her. I'll always remember I thought it was praise-worthy that she never burdened our parents with misbehaving as a kid, for taking care of herself, for making sure she never stepped out of line. But really if she hadn't done all that, then she'd have been lost long before now. Because she was ignored, my brother and I were always more important and favoured. When it came around to her turn of being successful, she'd already fallen into the rabbit hole with new friends-not that they were ever really friends, but they're who encouraged her to take drugs. To ruin her life. They succeeded. She's gone and they didn't even have to see it happen, see the consequences of picking y/n when she was young and vulnerable and desperate for attention-"

"Lewis." Anthony cuts in having stood up and moved to his son in his anger fuelled rant that was beginning to pick up in pace and volume.

Eyes watch Lewis in shock as he looks out at the room. But suddenly he's not done.

"Maybe you should-"

"Y/n was such a loving person, she cared about everyone before herself, she wouldn't even let herself cry because she didn't want other people to feel guilty or burdened by her emotions and when she finally acted selfishly. She died. This is a mourning of y/n's body, not her life. Because her life ended the first time she ever touched drugs and I will not let her be remembered as the skeletal ghost of a person that most of you only got glimpses of knowing. Y/n never even made it into adulthood."

"Lewis. That's enough." Anthony snaps, his cool and rational head finally reaching a breaking point. "Go get some air."

Lewis marches out with Carmen following knowing that Lewis is reactive and not thinking logically. He needs someone just to watch out for him.

She watches him pace the paved path in front of the church doors.

"It wasn't fair to do that. You aren't the only one in pain."

"I was responsible for her, mum. She died on my watch."

"Y/n knew what she was risking...and she knew she was taking her life in her own hands. That's...that's why she had written letters to everyone who mattered to her."

Carmen was told to hold the letter till she thought Lewis was ready to see it with Anthony needing time to grieve his daughter and the letter she'd left for him.

"What?" Lewis frowns head shooting up as he looks at his mother with a near feral look behind his eyes like he'll fight for the letter if someone tries to withhold it from him.

Of course, Carmen hands over the letter since she'd been carrying it since Anthony gave it to her the day of y/n's death when she went over to make sure him and Linda knew he was there to support them however they needed

Lewis moves to sit down on some steps before he pulls the letter out, appreciating the handwriting that y/n had always prided herself on.

Hi, Lewis.

I don't knew if you'll read this. I hope not. I don't want to die. I really don't want to do that to you or anyone.

But I know that I don't do much to stop it. To get rid of the risk, and if the day comes that you read this. The first thing you need to know, is that it's my fault. No one else's. I'm owning this and I regret everything.

I can't explain or justify any of it. There is nothing I can say to make it better especially now I'm dead. I don't deserve forgiveness or painted as a saint, I don't need you to pretend I was a good person in my life. I wasted opportunities and chances to do the right thing.

Really I want to use this letter to thank you. Thank you for everything, and don't worry, you're not the only one being thanked. But you really own you a thank you and I want you to know that I'm forever grateful.

I know the narratives the media spun, I know what the therapists and counsellors said, that I was neglected, a "glass child" whatever the hell that means. But no one forced me to touch drugs, no one held me down and forced me to take them. I did this all to myself and if I'm dead. Then that was me taking it way too far.

Whatever happened, however it happened. I hope it's not you who finds me. You deserve better than to have to live through that. But if you have, if you found me. I'm so fucking sorry, it's not fair and I have one request.

You told me once that you'd never forget about me. I want you to forget as much as you can, I know you can't forget it all. But I want you to forget the last few years, forget that I grew up to be just a disappointment and that I cost more to the family than your career or Nicholas' pursuing of his career or needing treatments and more attention.

Drugs didn't just drain life out of me, and trust me I'm aware how awful I look. It took something from all you and maybe with me gone, without me there to keep taking and ruining life for you all. You can find peace and happiness, the two things I took from you and everyone else.

I hope I end up in the stars. I love night races and I want to keep watching you race wherever I've ended up.

Remember to forget as much as you can and never live by carrying my guilt and regret with you. I know it's what killed me in the end and I don't want that for you.

You were always an amazing brother, maybe remember that one thing, and keep taking care of the family.

I love you so much.

Ps I asked Oscar if he would take Tom, I think they'd make a really good companion for each other. But if he doesn't want him, could you just make sure he ends up somewhere nice and loving?

Tears drop onto the paper, thankfully not smudging the biro pen she'd used to write in and a strangled sob escapes his throat as Carmen rushes to to sit with him and hold her son as he falls apart.

-

6 months later

Lewis smiles as he sees Tom trot up to Roscoe in the Singapore paddock, the cat actually being Oscar's companion even for travelling. He learned that cats can travel a lot and Tom goes everywhere with him.

He's been duped Oscar's guardian angel. Free to roam the space but always returns to the Aussie as if y/n is making sure the cat sticks with him.

"Hey, mate. I think Tom might be enjoying seeing a familiar face." Oscar smiles still looking a little like something is missing from him.

Really Oscar had held out hope that if he waited, him and y/n might finally be able to give things a go. He thought they might have a really good chance at a future when she was ready.

Part of Lewis feels responsible to keep an eye on Oscar, as a nod to y/n who clearly cared for him. If y/n cared for him, Lewis just wants to continue to make sure that Oscar is ok because really y/n left destruction in her path before she died. Oscar is sort of a victim of that collateral damage.

"I haven't got to see you much recently, how's it all been going?" Lewis asks as Tom and Roscoe seem to actually have a little run around together.

"I think out of the two of us I have less right to be upset." Oscar laughs before sighing. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm good. This was one of y/n's favourite races. So I think we owe it to her for one of us to win."

"I'll see you on the podium then...second step." Oscar jokes clearly trying to keep the mood light. "I should go. But I'll leave Tom with Roscoe. I think he probably likes having a friend closer to his size for once."

"I'll see you later mate."

[rue-t]

Can you do another Piastri family fic where the reader is in pain or smth and Oscar can’t be there to help her so his family does xx

PAIN, MORE PAIN

pairing: oscar piastri x reader warnings: mentions of appendicitis & reader being in terrible pain.

the apartment you share with oscar in melbourne feels impossible big and lonely. the bed feels cold and strangely empty despite the humongous amount of throw pillows you have laying around.

the loneliness is something you’ve grown used to, but the loneliness mixed with this terrible pain in your stomach is too much to bear.

it hit you suddenly, no warning signs in sight, and now you lie curled up in the middle of the soft sheets, clutching your stomach as waves of unfamiliar, sharp pain hit, relentless and terrifying.

your hand trembles as you reach for your phone. oscar is thousands of miles away, getting much needed rest before the race. you know it’s late where he is—too late to be calling. you hesitate, your finger hovering over his name in your contacts. you shouldn’t bother him. shouldn’t steal away his focus—what could he do either way?

but as you curl even further into yourself, helplessness consuming you, it becomes too much, and you feel so weak. weak, helpless, and scared.

scared enough to press the call button. shame, guilt, pain, and more pain fills you as you watch your phone ring in silence.

oscar—your absolute angel of a boyfriend—picks up after a few rings, his voice groggy from sleep but instantly alert when he hears the panic in yours. “hey, love. what’s wrong?”

“i didn’t want to wake you,” you start, the guilt gnawing at you. “but something’s really wrong. my stomach . . .” you let out a involuntary whimper. “it hurts so bad, osc. i don’t know what to do.”

there’s a brief pause, and you can practically hear him sitting up in bed, a deep frown taking over his features. “how bad is it? have you taken anything? should i call a doctor?”

“i don’t know,” you whisper, pressing a hand to your side, trying to breathe through the pain. “it’s getting worse. i can barely move.”

“damn it,” oscar mutters angrily under his breath. “i wish i was there with you. but listen, i’m calling my mum. she’ll come and take you to the hospital. you need to get checked out, okay? don’t argue with me.”

you start to protest, your instinct telling you to handle things on your own. “oscar, i don’t want to bother her—”

“you’re not bothering anyone,” he cuts you off firmly. there’s no room for argument in his voice. “you’re in pain. we’re not messing around with this. i’m calling her now, and i’ll stay on the phone until she gets there. promise me you’ll let her help.”

you’re too exhausted to argue anymore, the pain blurring the edges of everything and you desperately want to cry. “okay,” you mumble, feeling a small wave of relief knowing help is on the way despite everything.

oscar keeps talking to you—for once, he’s the one doing the most talking—trying to keep you calm as he calls his mum. within minutes, she’s on her way, and oscar is back on the line, his voice soft but urgent. “she’ll be there soon, love. just hang in there.”

his words are comforting, but the pain is becoming unbearable, and by the time you hear the soft knock on the door, tears are slipping uncontrollably down your face. you barely manage to shuffle to the door, clutching your side, and open it to find nicole standing there, her face etched with worry. she takes one look at you and immediately wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, guiding you toward the couch. “you don’t look good at all. let’s get you to the hospital.”

even more tears spill over at that. it’s not just the pain, it’s the overwhelming sense of being cared for. nicole doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask if it’s too much trouble. she’s just there, steady and reliable.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, hesitating to meet her eyes. “i didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

nicole shakes her head, already helping you into the car with a comforting arm around you. “don’t be ridiculous, love. you’re part of the family now. we look after each other.”

her words settle over you like a warm blanket, and you blink back more tears, grateful for the maternal gentleness she offers.

the ride to the hospital is a blur of pain and exhaustion as nicole speeds toward the emergency room. her hand reaches out to squeeze yours at every chance she gets, the worry in her eyes almost overwhelming.

when you finally arrive, nicole is by your side every step of the way, holding your hand as you’re wheeled into the exam room and after what feels like hours, the doctor finally returns with a diagnosis: appendicitis. you’ll need surgery, and soon.

oscar’s voice cracks through the phone when he hears the news. “i’m so sorry i’m not there. i feel useless.”

nicole gives your hand another reassuring squeeze. “she’s in good hands, oscar. i’ll be with her the whole time, don’t you worry.”

you try to smile, though the pain is still gnawing at your insides. “i’ll be okay. just focus on your race.”

“not a chance,” he replies, his voice softening. “i can’t concentrate when i know you’re in pain. you’re more important than any race.”

as they prep you for surgery, nicole stays by your side, never letting go of your hand.

the last thing you hear before drifting off is her voice, quiet and full of love. “i’ll stay here the entire time, sweetheart. just relax.”

when you wake up after surgery, very groggy but no longer in pain, nicole is still there, sitting by your bedside. she smiles as you blink awake, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“there you are,” she says softly. “everything went perfectly. you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

you blink away the tears that well up, overwhelmed by the care she’s shown you. “thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “for everything.”

nicole shakes her head, her smile warm and full of love. “no need to thank me, love. we’re family. that’s what family’s for.” she leans down to press a kiss to your forehead before tugging your duvet up, helping you get more comfortable in the hospital bed. “hattie is here somewhere, too. came as soon as she woke. think she wanted to buy you some snacks first.”

her words hit you in a way that feels almost foreign. the casual way in which they came out feels weird. to you, it isn’t casual. family is a concept you’ve always struggled with, never having had one that felt like this. but now, with oscar, with nicole and the rest of his family—who are buying you snacks and worrying—you’ve found something you didn’t even know you were missing.

as you drift back to sleep, comforted by the warmth of the bed and something else—something warms from in your heart—you realize that for the first time in your life, you truly have a family—and it feels like home.