#Step-Up/Down Transformer

[oversease220volts]

220V to 110V Transformer: Reliable Power Conversion for Your Appliances

Understanding the Voltage Difference

Before delving into the world of transformers, it's crucial to understand the voltage difference between countries. Most of North America and Japan operate on a 110V power supply, while the rest of the world primarily uses 220V. This disparity can pose challenges when traveling or using foreign electronics.

What is a 220V to 110V Transformer?

A 220V to 110V transformer is a device that converts high-voltage alternating current (AC) to a lower voltage. Essentially, it bridges the gap between different electrical systems, allowing you to safely use your 110V appliances in countries with 220V power outlets.

How Does it Work?

A transformer utilizes the principle of electromagnetic induction. It consists of two coils of wire wrapped around a core. When an alternating current flows through the primary coil (connected to the 220V supply), it generates a changing magnetic field. This magnetic field induces a voltage in the secondary coil, which is designed to output 110V.

For More Information: https://overseas220volts.com/product-category/transformers/

Why Do You Need a Transformer?

Travel: When visiting countries with different voltage standards, a transformer ensures your electronics function correctly without damage.

Expatriate Living: If you're living abroad, a transformer allows you to use your familiar appliances from home.

Business Travel: For professionals frequently traveling between countries, a transformer is a must-have for uninterrupted work.

Choosing the Right Transformer

Power Rating: Determine the total wattage of the devices you'll be using and select a transformer with a higher power rating.

Portability: If you travel frequently, a compact and lightweight transformer is ideal.

Safety Features: Look for transformers with overcurrent and short-circuit protection for added safety.

Plug Compatibility: Ensure the transformer's plugs match the outlets in both your home country and your destination.

Safety Tips

Always check the voltage requirements of your devices before using a transformer.

Avoid overloading the transformer to prevent overheating.

Regularly inspect the transformer for any signs of damage.

Follow the manufacturer's instructions carefully.

[velvetwyrme]

hiiiiiiiii. lil updatey thing.

so. i got a boyfriend a few months back! which was nice, but for SOME REASON i had a massive creative block for the entire time i knew him, and i could barely draw or write?? which sucked, on top of being very stressfully unemployed (job hunting here is currently abysmal. most people are getting fired, not hired atm) because writing and drawing are my no.1 way of relieving stress :']

for unrelated reasons, i broke up with my boyfriend, which coincided with me regaining my creative drive, so i am getting back into the swing of drawing and writing again! (also reading because my GOD so many fics and friends updated and returned while i was being woefully depressed !!!)

ANYWAY this is an update, so heres an update of whats coming up:

THANK YOU FOR YALLS PATIENCE, i wanna lay down in the dirt and rot away but im not gonna!! I HAVE ART TO MAKE AND THINGS TO WRITE!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAGH,,

also i'm plan ing on setting up kofi commissions to hopefully streamline that process and make it easier to order :P!

[my-coven-is-claudia]

‘viktor wasn’t a eugenicist cuz class is the only axis of oppression in arcane!’

he literally gave huck his hairline back

[kingpains]

on the bright side i’ve figured out how to make auto actions in csp and made one each for a blur/noise filter and chromatic aberration. with the goal of looking like a screenshot of something from cartoon network in the 2000s

it took So Much trial and error to get the chromatic aberration to work well but once i learned that the auto action can only happen to one layer at a time i got it down pat

[hauntingblue]

Episode 8 I am so scared....

[truepowertransformer]

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Contact us:

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For more information visit: http://www.ccitransformer.co.in/

[fingertipsmp3]

My conspiracy theory is that Christmas is sponsored by Big Battery

[oversease220volts]

220V to 110V Transformer: Protect Your Electronics from Voltage Fluctuations

220V to 110V Transformer: Bridging the Voltage Gap

A 220V to 110V transformer is an essential device for operating North American or Japanese electronics in regions that utilize a 220V power supply, primarily found in Europe, Asia, and Africa. This electrical component effectively reduces the incoming 220V alternating current (AC) to a safer and compatible 110V AC, enabling the seamless operation of your devices without damage.

How it Works

The transformer operates on the principle of electromagnetic induction. It consists of two coils of wire wrapped around a core. When an alternating current flows through the primary coil (connected to the 220V supply), it generates a changing magnetic field. This magnetic field induces a voltage in the secondary coil, which is designed to output 110V.

Key Features and Considerations

Power Rating: This indicates the maximum wattage the transformer can handle. It's crucial to choose a transformer with a power rating higher than the combined wattage of the devices you plan to use.

Efficiency: A high-efficiency transformer minimizes energy loss during the conversion process, resulting in lower operating costs.

Safety Features: Look for transformers with built-in safety features like overcurrent protection, short circuit protection, and grounding to safeguard your devices and prevent electrical hazards.

Portability: If you frequently travel, consider a compact and lightweight transformer for easy carrying.

Plug Compatibility: Ensure the transformer is compatible with the power outlets in both your home country and the country you're visiting.

Applications

220V to 110V transformers find applications in various scenarios:

International Travel: Powering laptops, chargers, hair dryers, and other electronics while traveling abroad.

Expatriate Living: Using North American appliances in countries with 220V power supply.

Industrial and Commercial Use: Operating specific equipment or machinery that requires a 110V power source.

Hobbyists and DIY Enthusiasts: Powering tools and equipment for projects.

Safety Precautions

Always match the transformer's power rating with the total wattage of your connected devices.

Avoid overloading the transformer, as it can lead to overheating and damage.

Regularly inspect the transformer for any signs of wear or damage.

Follow the manufacturer's instructions for safe operation and maintenance.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

How to Start Writing Again When the Spark Fades

Sometimes the well of creativity runs dry, leaving you staring at a blank page with nothing but frustration. But trust that the art of writing is as much about the journey as it is about the destination. Here are some ideas to help you reconnect with your writing practice when you feel like your passion has dimmed.

Redefine Your Environment Consider taking a deliberate step outside your usual writing space. The environment in which you work can drastically affect your mindset and creative flow. Even if it’s setting up in a different corner of your home, finding refuge in a local café, or enjoying the subtle distractions of a park bench, a change in scenery often signals a mental reset. This isn’t about permanent relocation, just a simple shift can break the monotony and stir new ideas that have been hiding in plain sight.

Embrace Imperfection The pressure to produce perfect prose can be paralyzing. Give yourself permission to create something imperfect yet honest. Think of every sentence you write as a rough sketch, a necessary experiment in understanding your own voice. When you allow yourself the space to write without the weight of perfection, you invite experimentation and genuine self-expression. That freedom lies at the heart of rediscovering why you fell in love with writing in the first place.

Set Incremental Goals for Continuous Momentum When the idea of diving into a full chapter feels overwhelming, scale back to manageable, bite-sized projects that feel achievable. Instead of demanding a polished page, challenge yourself to write a paragraph or even a single sentence each day. These micro-goals build a foundation of small successes, gradually restoring confidence and momentum. Over time, these consistent efforts enrich your creative reservoir, proving that every little step is indeed a victory.

Engage Deeply in the Process of Freewriting Allow yourself to spill thoughts onto the page without judgment or expectation. Freewriting is an exercise in vulnerability and self-exploration, offering you a space to unburden tangled ideas and unexpected insights. In these unfiltered moments, you might stumble upon a germ of an idea or a rediscovered passion that rekindles your creative fire. Embracing this unstructured approach can transform an intimidating blank page into an open canvas of potential you haven't tapped back into.

Rekindle Old Inspirations There is power in revisiting the work and moments that first ignited your creative spirit. Even if it’s rereading an old journal entry, rediscovering a favorite piece of literature, or reflecting on the stories that once moved you, reconnecting with your past inspirations can shed new light on your present creative journey. This reflective practice not only reminds you of your original passion but may also reveal new directions for your current writing endeavors.

Create a Consistent, Loving Writing Routine Creating a structured yet gentle routine can help reestablish your relationship with writing. Treat your writing time as a vital appointment, a moment carved out just for you. Even if inspiration seems scarce, the simple act of sitting down, opening your notebook, and letting words flow without self-censorship can be incredibly healing. Over time, this practice transforms writing from an obligation into a ritual of self-discovery and mindfulness.

Connect with a Community That Understands Engaging with fellow writers can remind you that you’re not alone in this struggle. The shared experience of creative highs and lows can be profoundly comforting. Join writing groups, participate in online forums, or simply reach out to someone whose work inspires you. These interactions foster a sense of belonging and accountability, encouraging you to keep writing even when the path isn’t clear. In the gentle exchange of ideas and feedback, there is often a spark that reignites your dedication.

Every writer’s journey is unique, filled with ebbs and flows. If you’re feeling disconnected, know that these moments are integral to growth. Embrace each phase as an opportunity to rediscover writing on its own terms, and allow your passion to guide you back into the words you love. If you need any advice from me, never be afraid to send me an ask.

Until next time, Rin T.

[shktelcp]

What are the Benefits of Choosing the Isolation Transformer

Isolation Transformer is not a term that is common for most folks. But if you are someone who is worried about the electrical safety of your property, the sooner you get familiar with it, the better it will be.

Source Link: https://sites.google.com/site/shaktielectricalcorporation/blog/benefits-of-choosing-the-isolation-transformer

[littlepeach-world]

The Midnight Misunderstanding

Pairing: Frontman/Hwang In-Ho x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Summary: You give in to your late-night pregnancy cravings and slip out quietly, leaving your husband, Hwang In-ho, to wake up in a frenzy when he finds you missing.

Warnings: Angst, Fear of losing someone, grief, pregnancy, cravings, gun, slight fluff, soft-Inho.

Late into the night, you stretch quietly in bed, your mind drifting through sleepy fog and growing sharper with an insistent craving. Turning to your side, you see your husband, Hwang In-ho, sleeping peacefully beside you. The chill of the night air sends shivers down your spine, but the thought of satisfying your craving warms you with determination. The clock reads 2:47 AM.

Knowing how hard In-ho has been working and how much rest he needs, you decide to slip out discreetly, believing you can make it back before he even notices. You pull on a warm coat, gather your essentials, and tiptoe out the door, careful to close it softly behind you.

Hours seem to pass in what feels like minutes. In-ho stirs awake, reaching out to find your side of the bed cold and empty. He blinks groggily, thinking you might be in another room. "Y/N?" he calls softly, expecting a quick reply or the distant hum of your voice.

When no response comes, he rises slowly, the initial calm giving way to a creeping unease. He checks the adjoining bathroom, then the kitchen, and each empty room sends another pang of worry coursing through him. The house feels eerily quiet, and with each step, the calm facade he tried to maintain begins to crack.

As he makes his way through the silent hallways and finds no sign of you anywhere, panic floods through him instantly. Memories of losing his first wife surge into his mind, and the dread of facing the same heart-wrenching loss with you engulfs him like a tidal wave.

Terror grips his chest as he moves more frantically now. "Yeobo?" he calls out again, his voice slicing through the silence like a knife, but only the echo of his own voice answers him back. His heart races uncontrollably as he grabs his phone, his hands shaking with a mix of fear and urgency.

"I can't find my wife," he says, his voice quivering as he speaks to his guards. "Search the building immediately," he commands, his tone rigid and leaving no room for delay. The icy fingers of fear grip his heart, the stakes now higher than ever with the thought of losing you and the baby—his entire world teetering on the brink of uncertainty.

As he listens to the hurried replies of his guards springing into action, he pulls open the drawer beside his bed and grabs his gun, the cold weight of the metal feeling reassuring in his hand. The transformation is swift—his usual calm demeanor gives way to the steely resolve of the Front Man.

He methodically sweeps through the apartment, each shadow and creak heightening his anxiety. Has something sinister befallen you? Could Gi-hun, that determined Player 456, have somehow found you? The uncertainty gnaws at him, each tick of the clock echoing louder in the eerily quiet apartment. His thoughts race wildly, the sense of impending dread building with each passing second.

Just as his mind threatens to overwhelm him, the soft click of the door breaks the silence. He pivots sharply, raising his gun, only to freeze as you step back inside with a small stack of snacks and an apologetic smile. The weight of the moment crashes over him, the relief almost too much to bear.

"In-ho," you start, but the torrent of emotions inside him is already surging to the surface. He lowers the gun, his hands trembling.

"Where were you?" His voice is a mix of anger, relief, and lingering fear. He steps forward, his eyes scanning you from head to toe, ensuring you're really there and unharmed.

"I... I couldn’t sleep," you say softly, holding up the snacks as a peace offering. "I thought some comfort food might help. I’m sorry if I worried you."

He releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the tension in his shoulders slowly fading. He pulls you into a fierce embrace, holding you as if you might disappear if he let go. The feel of you, warm and real in his arms, does more to calm his racing heart than anything else.

"I thought..." his voice breaks, unable to finish the sentence. The memories of his first loss are still too raw, the pain too fresh.

You pull back slightly and cup his face in your hands, your eyes filled with understanding and love. "I'm here. I’m not going anywhere," you reassure him, gently stroking his cheek.

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts. When he opens them, there's a new resolve mirrored in their depths. "Next time, wake me," he pleads softly. "I can't... I won't lose you and the baby. You both mean everything to me."

You nod, your heart aching for the pain he’s been through. "I promise," you whisper, and he takes a deep breath, slowly finding his composure again.

With his arm protectively around you, he leads you back to the bedroom. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm, reassuring light on your path. 

With measured steps, he walks over to the dresser and slides the gun back into the drawer, locking it firmly to ensure it’s secure. The sight of him putting the weapon away brings a greater sense of calm to both of you.

As you reach the bed, he gently guides you to sit on the edge before kneeling in front of you.

His eyes soften as he places his hands on your growing belly, the life inside a beacon of hope amidst his fears. He leans in, tenderly kissing your pregnant belly, a silent vow of protection and love to both you and the unborn child.

"We’re in this together," he murmurs, his lips lingering on your skin. You smile down at him, your hand resting on his head.

Under the covers, he keeps you close, one arm wrapped protectively around you, his hand resting gently on your stomach. The snacks are forgotten on the bedside table as sleep finally takes over, but this time, it’s a peaceful sleep, secure in the knowledge that you’re safe and by his side.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

A HELLO AND A KISS

pairing: aaron hotchner x lawyer!reader summary: aaron hotchner survives serial killers and endless paperwork—but apparently not you breezing past him without a hello, based on this request. (im so sorry, i got carried away and did not include the part of r meeting the team!!! pls dont hate me) warnings | an: jealous hotch, protective hotch, simp hotch, hotch is just down bad for his girl, one bj joke word count: 2.4k

✧ masterlist

You hadn’t come home last night.

Aaron had simply received a brief text: Don’t wait up. A case fell into my lap last minute. It wasn’t unusual—not in your line of work, and certainly not in his. You’d both sent that message before, more times than either of you could count. It came with the territory.

You and Aaron had always kept your professional lives separate. A clean, white, necessary line in the sand. It helped keep the bloodstained parts from crossing over and kept your dinner conversations from becoming post-mortems or courtroom recaps. After all, it was easier not to talk about the men Aaron arrested when you were the one prosecuting them.

He didn’t put it together right away.

But all five of his senses were attuned to you. Honestly? his sixth sense was you. He didn’t need to see you to know you were there—he could feel you, hear you, even smell you before he ever caught a glimpse.  It didn’t take much. Sometimes, it was just the sound of heels—your heels—that gave you away.

It was that click-clack rhythm that he had grown accustomed to over the months, filtering through early mornings when you forgot your keys, then your case notes, then your coffee. It trailed after you in the hallway, embedded in every corner where you’d left pieces of yourself scattered around his home.

And now, that same sound echoed from behind him, followed by the heavy thud of the courtroom door swinging shut.

“Can’t believe he’s actually trying to weasel out of this,” Prentiss muttered under her breath, just as you swept past their row.

The unsub’s public defender had filed a not-guilty plea days earlier—citing supposed evidence mishandling, mistaken identity, even floating some half-baked theory about a setup. It was desperate. Flimsy. But just credible enough to stall the trial, to buy time he didn’t deserve.

You didn’t look Aaron’s way. Didn’t slow your pace. You gave no reaction at all, just glided by, slipping into the prosecution’s chair like it was your usual seat at the office.

“New face,” Prentiss noted, leaning toward Hotch. “She wasn’t at the prelims was she?”

Hotch finally cleared his throat. “No.”

He meant to say more—something neutral, something about new counsel, something properly professional, something more him—but the words got stuck somewhere behind his ribs. Especially when the most him thing in the world was sitting right there, only meters away from a man he’d gladly kill with his bare hands if he so much as looked at you the wrong way.

Though, truthfully, he knew you’d get to him quicker with words, with strategy, with that cool, calculated tone that could cut deeper than any punch Hotch could throw.

You still hadn’t looked at him. Fully locked into that little world of yours, where the second you stepped into a courtroom, you grew fins and dermal denticles, transforming into a shark in couture and four-inch heels.

It stung. Just a little. But he knew why you were doing it. He just couldn’t begin to imagine what it must feel like to sit in a room and watch you give someone like that—worst of the worst—your full, undivided attention.

He’d only had the pleasure (and slight terror) of watching you in court twice before—neither case connected to the BAU and already, he was starting to sweat. Just a little. Maybe.

Aaron clamped his jaw tight, trying to keep his expression neutral, but the effort must’ve been visible because he caught Rossi huffing a laugh under his breath.

Of course Rossi knew. Rossi was the only one who’d actually met you off-duty. And the last thing Hotch needed was Rossi even hinting at the tiny, minuscule, barely-worth-mentioning fact that you wore Aaron’s old college t-shirt to bed, or that just a few hours ago, he’d been ogling your bare legs as you stumbled out of the shower, mumbling at him to go back to sleep.

Because as soon as Prentiss or Morgan—who already looked half-asleep in his seat—caught wind of it, it wouldn’t be a murder trial they were interested in anymore. No, it would turn into entertainment, something far more exciting than sitting at their desks, pretending to work through paperwork they never submitted on time anyway.

He shifted in his seat. No engagement was the best engagement, he figured.

Instead, he forced his eyes off you and onto the defendant, who was fiddling with his tie like that would suddenly make him more credible. Like anyone in the room would forget what he’d done just because he shaved and tucked in his damn shirt.

But the second you stood, rising slowly from your chair, Aaron’s gaze snapped right back to you, so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. Still, you didn’t look his way. Of course you didn’t. You were here to do a job. And right now, that job was dismantling a man with nothing but your voice.

He swallowed hard.

Yeah. He was definitely sweating now.

By the time the trial hit the halfway mark, he could tell your energy had changed—or was about to—with the unsub being called to the stand.

Hotch sat stiffly, watching you shuffle your notes with little effort. Morgan had finally roused enough to start paying attention, and Prentiss was scribbling away in the margins of her legal pad—none of which, Hotch would bet good money, had anything to do with the actual trial.

You stood once more, brushing that stubborn piece of hair away from your face—the one that always seemed to fall whenever you were reading something from above. He wished he could push it away for you, wished he could pull you out of this courtroom entirely, shield you from every ugly, broken thing the world could throw at you.

But then your voice cut through the room, reminding him that this was your job.

"Alright," you began, voice crisp but bored, like you were already three steps ahead. That’s what anyone else might think. But Aaron knew you were ahead five.

"Let’s go back to March 5th," you said, pausing just for a second. "You said you didn’t know Jessica Harlan."

"I didn’t," Tanner snapped back, so fast it almost made Hotch smile.

That kind of panic was never a good sign—and he knew it was one of your favourite tells. The second someone cracked like that, it was like flipping a switch, like flashing a green light across the battlefield. Go get him.

"Right," you hummed, nodding like you were humouring a stubborn child throwing a tantrum. "Right."

Another pause.

You were good at that—giving the poor soul on the receiving end (victim, really) of your arguing capabilities enough time to think. To second-guess themselves. Hotch had picked up on it early on, and when he’d once asked you about it, you gave him a dry, matter-of-fact answer: it gave people enough time to realise how stupid they sounded.

"And yet, a witness places your car parked across the street from her apartment two nights in a row. Same make, same model, same license plate."

Tanner shifted in the witness chair, but you didn’t rush him. You stood there, cool and composed, giving him just enough rope to hang himself.

“I –”

"Parked there?" you cut in, tilting your head like you were offering him an easy out. The trap was already set.

You reached for the remote, clicking the TV monitor on.

"Okay, that’s completely understandable," you considered with a polite nod toward the jury. "Though I’m not quite sure what your explanation is for getting out of the vehicle on the second night and standing in front of Jessica Harlan’s apartment for—" you glanced down at your watch, "—thirty-seven minutes."

You glanced back up, eyebrows raised just enough to look curious but not confrontational. Just a lawyer looking for answers.

Tanner opened his mouth, closed it, then looked down at his hands like maybe they’d have a better explanation than he did.

Aaron recognised the footage immediately, thanks to Garcia’s handiwork. The screen showed Tanner stepping out of his car, glancing around, and then just…standing there. Across the street from Jessica’s apartment building.

Doing absolutely nothing.

For thirty-seven minutes.

The same number of stab wounds Jessica and every other victim had endured.

You didn’t even glance at the screen. Your focus stayed fixed on Tanner like a blade against his throat.

“Maybe you were just out getting some fresh air. Though I’m not sure stalking is generally recommended for cardio.”

"Objection, Your Honour—" the defence attorney barked, already on his feet.

You raised a hand, before the judge even had time to respond. “Withdrawn.”

"I wasn’t watching her,” Tanner argued, drawing the attention back to himself.

"No?” you echoed, cocking your head to the side. “Then what were you doing, Mr Tanner? Practicing your standing endurance?"

He huffed out a weak laugh with no real humour behind it. It was the kind that people made when they realised they were cornered and didn’t have the tools to dig their way out.

“I just... needed some air,” he repeated, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

"I get it, I do," you agreed in faux sweetness. "We all need fresh air. Though it’s odd, don’t you think?"

“I’m sorry?”

“Jessica Harlan was stabbed thirty-seven times…" You took a step closer to Tanner, and Aaron had to physically stop himself from moving. Remind himself that you knew exactly what you were doing. That this was all part of the strategy. Even if, deep down, he wanted nothing more than to stand between you and every monster you faced.

"Which," you continued, "happens to be the exact number of minutes you spent outside her apartment."

Tanner swallowed, but that didn’t seem to faze you.

"Just like you spent thirty-seven minutes outside Eliza Horne’s place of work," you listed off, each word tightening the noose around Tanner’s neck. "Thirty-seven minutes outside the gym where Marissa Cole trained. Thirty-seven minutes at the café Danielle Ruiz visited every Thursday—”

Aaron felt Prentiss lean in beside him. “She’s good.”

He didn’t look away from you long enough to answer.

Good didn’t even begin to cover it.

You were extraordinary. And somehow—somehow—you were his.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve you, what twist of fate had put you in his path, but he would be grateful for it for the rest of his life.

Grateful that you had let him in.

Grateful that he got to see you whole.

Whether it was in a courtroom, where you left your smile and affection at the door to tear the truth out of some of the worst people, or in the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed—the way you teased him for how he pronounced pecan—he had seen it all. And he wouldn’t trade a second of it.

A nudge from Rossi pulled Aaron out of what felt like a permanent trance—the one you had managed to put him in with no effort whatsoever.

“Everything okay?”

He nodded, absently rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"Got you reminiscing about your prosecutor days?"

Aaron let out a breath that almost passed for a laugh. "I think if I’d stayed," he said, glancing back toward you, "she would’ve put me to shame."

"Would’ve been one hell of a show,” Rossi murmured. “Don’t let her get away.”

Aaron’s mouth tipped into the barest hint of a smile. He wasn’t planning on it. Hell would have to freeze over before he let even the smallest possibility of that happen.

His eyes found you again—right where they belonged—just as you finished with Tanner.

The day wound down eventually, and Aaron doubted the trial would drag on much longer, not after what you’d done to Tanner and his defence team. There wasn’t much left of them by the time you were finished.

He lingered just outside the courtroom, waiting. He’d managed to come up with a half-convincing excuse to stay behind, though neither Morgan nor Prentiss seemed to question it. They were too busy arguing over whether they could convince Penelope to hack into your trial schedule just so they could sit in on another one.

Not that Aaron could blame them.

The courthouse entrance doors swung open again, and you finally stepped through, files tucked under your arm, eyes fixed on your phone as you breezed past.

You didn’t even glance his way.

Again.

Aaron blinked. Really?

"So I don't even get a hello?" he asked, stepping lightly into your path with a raised brow. “Twice in one day. Must be losing my edge.”

You looked up, startled for half a second before your entire face lit up at the sight of him.

"I’m so sorry!" you blurted, already smiling. "You know how much I hate it when things fall into my lap last minute. I've been running around all day just trying to catch up—”

"No, no," he interjected, keeping his face painfully neutral, though the corners of his mouth twitched, just a little. "It’s fine. I’m obviously not that memorable."

"And I thought I was the needy one." You shook your head, still laughing under your breath as you tucked your phone away and shifted your files into one arm.

“Come here,” you cooed, hooking two fingers into the front of Aaron’s jacket, tugging him down.

He went willingly—no surprise there.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek first, soft and easy, before leaning in for a slower one on his lips. The kind that made him forget you were still technically in public.

"Better?" you asked, pulling back just enough to see the answer written all over his face.

"Only a little," he murmured, and before you could so much as blink, he reached out and took the files and your briefcase from your arms like it was second nature, like he’d been carrying your things for years.

“You carrying my stuff now, too?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to earn my next hello.”

You laughed, the sound unwinding every knot in Aaron’s chest, loosening him in ways only you ever could.

“Keep this up and you’ll have my mouth doing a lot more than just saying hello.”

Yeah.

He was completely gone.

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley

[0scarp1astr1]

 ˖ 𐔌 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬࿐ .۫

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Lando is loving his new life as a family man, making time and moments with them count. With his baby girl in the picture now, life couldn't be more perfect. Until, the media crosses a line it shouldn't. ||

Change it all ((Read First if you haven't))

ᯓ★ (Husband!) Lando Norris x Fem! (Wife) Reader

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Fluff, Angst

ᯓ★ Warning: Sad Sebastian, pissed off Lando, but nothing really major.

ᯓ★ Requested? Yes

Author Note: Here for you all! Maybe one day, I can make a fic where all the kids to the drivers spend time together. Feel free to request any time you want. Here is Lando being a dad again, and by far a good one.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

It was early morning in the Norris flat nestled in the hills of Monaco, where the sky glowed with a soft pastel light and the sea reflected gold from the slowly rising sun. The hush of dawn hadn’t yet been broken — the kind of peace that felt borrowed, fleeting, like the quiet before a favorite song starts. It was moments like these that made everything feel real. Lando’s arm was draped across your waist, his breath warm against your shoulder, the covers tangled between your legs.

What was once a sleek and stylish bachelor’s flat had transformed into something entirely different over the past few years — still elegant, still Monaco — but lived-in now, softened by crayon marks on walls that wouldn’t wash off, scattered Lego bricks in the corners, and the sound of little feet that never really stopped moving.

What remained just as surreal as the view outside was how completely Lando had embraced his role as a father — to both your children. He had stepped into Sebastian’s life when your son was only three, never once blinking at the challenge of loving a child that wasn’t biologically his. And now, with Lyla — his own daughter — nothing had changed. If anything, he seemed more determined to make sure Sebastian never felt a difference. He claimed him proudly, in every interview, every post, every loving gesture that quietly said: this boy is mine.

You felt his fingers flex sleepily around your waist, his face buried into your neck.

“I hear those feet…” you murmured with a tired grin.

Lando groaned in reply, eyes still shut, his curls tickling your shoulder as he shifted. “I’ll count down from five…”

You laughed softly. “No need. They’re moving at the speed of light.”

Before either of you could react, the door swung open with the force of a hurricane. Seven-year-old Sebastian shot into the room like a missile, socks skidding against hardwood before he leapt onto the bed with zero hesitation. The mattress bounced with the impact, jostling both of you as Lando let out a dramatic oof and you burst into giggles.

Trailing behind him, in a much gentler and wobblier fashion, was Lyla — her two-year-old curls still tousled from sleep, thumb halfway to her mouth, but her determination never wavering. She used the edge of the bed to hoist herself up, little knees clambering with practiced effort until she was nestled beside you.

Sebastian grinned wide, face already lit with excitement. “Do you know what today is?!” he asked, bouncing on his knees as if it were Christmas morning.

Lando blinked sleepily at him. “Hmm… let me guess, buddy… your birthday?”

Sebastian collapsed dramatically across Lando’s chest. “Nooo! Guess again!”

“My birthday?” Lando teased, pointing at himself.

Sebastian giggled, shaking his head. “No, Daddy! It’s practice day! For my race!”

Lando gasped with mock horror. “You’re right! How could I forget? That’s way more important than a birthday!”

You watched them with a smile, pulling Lyla into your arms as she giggled softly and tucked her head under your chin. You kissed the top of her curls and rocked gently.

“Well, you two boys have a busy day,” you said with a knowing smirk.

Lando shook his head, sitting up with Sebastian still draped across him like a backpack. “We all do! Come on, let’s go out afterward! Make a day of it.”

You raised a brow. “You know how Lyla does in public,” you said gently, voice full of motherly concern. “She gets overwhelmed, and—”

He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing soft circles across your palm. “I’ll be there. I’ve got her. I’ve got all of you. Always.” His voice was low but full of that quiet conviction that never failed to ground you.

You leaned in, kissing him softly. A moment shared — peaceful and full of promise.

“Ew!” Sebastian whined loudly, slapping his hands over his eyes. “Mommy, don’t! That’s so nasty!”

You and Lando burst out laughing, the kind that made your ribs hurt and your heart feel full.

“Okay, you two,” you said, wiping your eyes as you sat up straighter. “Time to get moving. I’m in charge of breakfast this morning. And Daddy…” you glanced at Lando with a smug smile, “…is on bath duty.”

Sebastian groaned. “Noooo! He takes forever! He sings and makes it a whole concert!”

Lando threw up his hands. “Hey, those bath-time concerts are award-winning, thank you very much!”

Lyla clapped her hands together and squealed, “Dada!” as she wrapped her arms around his neck, giggling as Sebastian squished himself into the cuddle pile, too.

You watched them — your people. Your chaotic, messy, absolutely perfect morning crew — and for the thousandth time, you felt that deep swell in your chest. Not just love. Not just gratitude.

You moved with ease around the kitchen, the familiar rhythm of cooking grounding you as the smell of cinnamon, scrambled eggs, and warm toast filled the air. The stovetop sizzled softly, and you balanced flipping pancakes with keeping an ear open for the usual chaos that trailed your mornings like a shadow.

Lyla was happily soaking in the tub just down the hall, her rubber duckies bobbing lazily across the sea of bubbles. You could hear her humming to herself, splashing now and then, her high-pitched giggles bouncing off the tiled walls. Meanwhile, from the adjacent bedroom, came the sound of father and son negotiations — or, more accurately, a fashion debate.

“All the girls are gonna want me looking this good!” Sebastian declared proudly, his voice echoing slightly through the open doors.

Lando laughed. “You're absolutely right, champ. It’s exactly how I won over your mom.”

You paused mid-stir, brow raised, lips twitching into a half-smile as you rolled your eyes toward the ceiling. “He’s really using that line this early in the morning?” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head with amusement.

“She fell hard for the curls,” Lando continued dramatically, fluffing Sebastian’s hair as if he were preparing him for a red carpet event.

“I knew it!” Sebastian said, puffing out his chest in front of the mirror. “Girls love cool hair.”

Back in the kitchen, you moved to plate breakfast with practiced grace, sliding fluffy pancakes onto warm dishes, eggs just the way Sebastian liked — slightly runny but not “gooey” as he insisted — and a few cut strawberries on the side for Lyla. You were used to this: multitasking like a magician with a wand in one hand and a spatula in the other.

Soon enough, the family made their way to the table — Lando drying his hands on a dish towel, Sebastian practically skipping with excitement, and Lyla toddling in behind them, curls still damp and cheeks pink from her bath. You had her sit in her booster seat at the end of the table and gently wrapped a towel around her tiny shoulders to catch any drips.

As she munched happily on her pancakes, you stood behind her, carefully sectioning her hair with nimble fingers, your voice low and soothing.

“Let’s try something cute today, hmm?” you murmured, twisting soft little curls into a half-up bun, securing it with a gentle clip that matched her tiny shirt — a pale blue one with little clouds on it.

“She looks like a doll,” Lando said with a grin, watching as Lyla turned to flash him a syrupy smile, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

“Dada,” she giggled, smearing her fingers on her tray.

“Okay, helmet?” Lando said, turning back to Sebastian and tapping into race dad mode. “Gloves? Shoes? Suit? Water?”

Sebastian nodded along confidently, his mouth full of toast. “Helmet, check. Gloves, check. Suit, double check. And I already put my water in the bag. See?” He held up a small bottle with cartoon lightning bolts on it, grinning as Lando gave him a mock salute.

“You’re on it, little champ,” Lando said, reaching out to tousle his hair again — carefully, of course, so as not to undo the masterpiece they had just created.

You finished pinning Lyla’s bun, stepping back to admire your handiwork before letting out a soft sigh. “You two go over that list every morning like you’re heading into space instead of a kart track,” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you leaned on the back of Lyla’s chair.

Lando leaned back in his seat, throwing his arm casually around Sebastian’s shoulders. “Well, we could be astronauts. You never know what kind of traffic we’ll hit on the way.”

Sebastian laughed. “Space traffic!”

You shook your head, chuckling. “Mmm, sounds like someone’s been watching too much sci-fi with their dad.”

“Never too much,” Lando said with a wink. “Besides, if he’s going to be the youngest world champion in karting history, he’s got to be prepared for everything. Meteor showers. Tire punctures. Mid-race alien invasions.”

“You two are hopeless,” you said, brushing a crumb off Lyla’s bib before leaning down to kiss her cheek. She turned to smoosh her pancake against your chin in response.

“See?” Lando said, watching the sticky chaos unfold. “This is why you’re in charge of breakfast, and I’m in charge of bath-time concerts and emotional support.”

“You do bring the chaos and the comedy,” you said, laughing as you wiped your chin with a napkin.

Lando stood and stretched, his shirt rising just slightly over his stomach as he groaned like an old man. “Alright, team. Finish up, grab your things, and let’s get this show on the road!”

Sebastian hopped up with an enthusiastic, “Yes, sir!” and darted off to find his shoes.

Lando leaned in as you helped Lyla down from her seat, planting a kiss at your temple. “We make a good team, huh?”

You smiled, glancing down at your daughter’s syrup-stained curls. “The best.”

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Sebastian sat in the backseat with his head leaned gently against the window, his dark curls freshly brushed and bouncing slightly every time the car hit a bump in the road. He watched the trees blur by, his little face glowing with joy, occasionally pointing out passing birds or funny-shaped clouds. The soft hum of his humming, offbeat and sweet, filled the car like background music to a peaceful morning.

Beside him, Lyla sat in her car seat clutching her plush bunny in one hand, the other rubbing her tired eyes. Her lashes were still damp from her bath, and her tiny mouth hung open in a sleepy pout. You glanced back at her with a soft smile before turning your head toward Lando, your arm resting lazily on the center console as the morning sun spilled into the car.

"You know," you began, your voice quiet and careful, "about that upcoming race… are we gonna talk about it?"

Lando didn’t glance at you — his focus stayed on the road, jaw slightly tightening. His hands adjusted subtly on the wheel, knuckles tensing for just a second. "Not in front of the kids," he muttered, almost under his breath. "Would be nice to just… have a peaceful drive."

You hummed in understanding, nodding slowly. He wasn’t wrong. You’d learned by now that Sebastian didn’t handle his absence well — not even short trips. The kid was emotionally aware, always had been. And as much as Lando tried to explain race weekends and schedules, it always came back to one thing: Why can’t you just stay home with us?

You looked over your shoulder again at Lyla, who was still fighting sleep. Her thumb rested near her lips, and you could see the way her small frame stiffened every time the car rolled past more people on the sidewalks. You sighed.

“She’s already tired, poor thing,” you murmured.

"Yeah, she was that way after her breakfast." He pointed.

You nodded again. “She’s still not comfortable in crowds.”

The car grew quiet. You both hated that part — not because you minded adjusting for her, but because it hurt to see her so afraid of the world. Your arms were her hiding place, your scent the only thing that calmed her when strangers’ eyes overwhelmed her. There were times she'd sob, clinging to you like her life depended on it, and only Lando’s calm voice and protective arms could slowly settle her.

“I still don’t understand it,” you said softly, shaking your head. “We never pushed her. Never forced her into loud spaces or too many people…”

“Sometimes it’s just how they’re wired,” Lando offered, his voice calm but laced with concern. “It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong with her. She’s sensitive. She feels things deeper than other kids. That’s not a flaw.”

You smiled faintly, reaching over to squeeze his hand on the gearshift. “Well, I want you to know… we’ll be expecting you to come home.”

He finally looked at you then, just for a second — his eyes warm and filled with love. “I love my family,” he said firmly. “I'd be a fool not to wanna be home with you guys.”

A peaceful silence fell over the car. You soaked in the moment — Sebastian's quiet joy, Lyla’s sleepy breathing, the comfort of Lando’s presence beside you. The kind of moment you wish you could bottle up forever.

Then your phone buzzed sharply in your bag, breaking the stillness. You glanced at it, saw the name light up on the screen, and tucked it back into your purse without a word.

Lando noticed. His eyes darted to you, then back to the road. “Who was that?” he asked, his tone casual — but just barely.

You exhaled. “You know who’s dad…”

His grip on the wheel tightened slightly. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared out ahead, jaw flexing. His shoulders tensed, the kind of reaction that told you he was fighting the urge to say something harsh — not in front of the kids.

“He has no reason to call,” Lando said at last, his voice low, controlled.

You nodded, your lips pressing together. “His excuse is he wants to build a bond with Sebastian.”

Lando scoffed, his laugh bitter and humorless. “Bullshit,” he spat. “Build something with him? Firstly, that’s my son.”

You stayed silent, listening — because you knew what was coming, and he had every right to say it.

“I don’t recall him claiming Sebastian when I came into his life at three years old,” Lando continued, eyes hard on the road. “Where was he then? Hm? When Sebastian was asking why his dad didn’t come to the school play? When he needed someone to tie his shoes or wipe his tears or sit through every damn dentist appointment?”

You reached across the console and laid a hand on his arm. His voice cracked slightly.

“He needs to find someone else to play parent with,” he said, a tremor of protectiveness in his throat. “Because it won’t be my son.”

You let the words linger for a moment, feeling the weight of them settle in the car like dust.

“I know,” you said quietly. “I didn’t answer. I won’t. Not until I know Sebastian is safe. Emotionally, mentally… he doesn’t get to mess with his heart just because he’s feeling guilty or left out now.”

Lando glanced at you again, softer now. “You always protect them.”

“So do you,” you whispered, smiling faintly.

From the backseat, Sebastian’s voice chimed in, unaware of the heaviness in the front.

“Are we almost there?” he asked, kicking his feet happily.

“Almost, champ,” Lando called back, voice instantly warmer. “You ready to win today?”

“Always!” Sebastian grinned.

Lyla blinked her eyes open, her gaze locking on you. You reached back and brushed a curl from her cheek, watching as her face relaxed at your touch.

“Oh! I like this song!” Sebastian piped up from the backseat, his little voice bubbling with excitement.

Lando glanced at the rearview mirror and smirked, reaching forward to turn the volume knob up just a little. “Classic,” he said with a grin, recognizing the tune.

Sebastian immediately started singing along — a little off-key, but enthusiastic nonetheless, his shoulders bouncing with every beat. Lando, unable to resist, joined in, throwing in a dramatic harmony that made Sebastian laugh.

You turned your head to watch the two of them for a moment — your son with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and the man who’d become his entire world, belting out lyrics like they were the headliners of a sold-out concert.

“You two are something else,” you murmured with a fond smile, shaking your head.

The front of the car erupted in playful chaos, with Lando drumming his hands on the wheel and Sebastian pretending to play air guitar. You pulled out your phone, instinctively hitting record. You captured it — the laughter, the music, the sunlight dancing across their faces — and posted it to your Instagram story with a simple caption: my boys 💛

There was something so peaceful about that moment. You didn’t need anything more. It was messy and loud and filled with love.

When you finally arrived, the hum of excitement still buzzed between all of you. Sebastian jumped out first, eyes wide and full of anticipation. Lando stepped out after him, grabbing the gear bag with one hand and Sebastian’s smaller one with the other. You moved to the back to get Lyla, who was still curled up in her car seat, her bunny clutched tightly to her chest.

You gently lifted her out, her body molding instantly to yours, her head tucking into your neck as her tiny hand gripped your hoodie.

“She’ll be okay,” you whispered softly, kissing her temple.

Lando came around to your side, brushing a hand down Lyla’s back as he looked at you. “It’s just a crowd,” he echoed quietly, as if saying it would make it true. “She’s gonna be okay...we’re here.”

You both nodded, but it was more for yourselves than anyone else.

Lyla whimpered a little as voices swelled in the distance, and you adjusted her in your arms, shushing her gently. You found a seat away from the crowd, tucked near the fence, giving her the space she needed to feel safe while still watching everything unfold.

Meanwhile, Lando led Sebastian toward check-in, walking side by side as if this were their own little pre-race ritual. He helped him unzip the duffle, pulling out the race suit and setting it down over the bench.

“Alright,” Lando said, kneeling down beside him as he began helping Sebastian into his suit. “You got this. I know you do. But remember, don’t push too hard. If someone’s being reckless, let them pass. We’re not here to crash. We’re here to finish.”

Sebastian nodded, his expression serious. “You always say that,” he muttered, pulling one arm through his sleeve.

Lando smirked. “Because it’s true. Some of these kids? They don’t play fair. But you do. You’ve got a good heart, and good instincts. That’ll take you farther than a shortcut ever will.”

Sebastian was quiet as he finished adjusting the suit around his waist, fiddling with the zipper. Lando’s brow furrowed slightly. He knew that silence — it wasn’t focus. It was doubt.

“Hey,” Lando said, crouching down again and lowering his voice. “What’s going on in that head of yours, kiddo?”

Sebastian looked up at him, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “It’s just…” he hesitated. “The other kids… they say I’m only good because of you. That I don’t actually work hard. Some of the parents too. I didn’t mean to listen in but… they talk loud enough.”

Lando’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. He didn’t speak for a moment, processing it.

“They say it’s just handed to me,” Sebastian continued, looking down. “And when I win or do something good, no one really cheers for me… not like they do for the others.”

Lando blew out a slow breath through his nose, trying not to let his anger show too much. He knelt fully now, hands resting on Sebastian’s shoulders.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice firm but gentle. “You are good because you work for it. I don’t care what any of them say. I help you — I coach you, yeah — but I’m not the one on that track. You are. You’re the one who gets in the kart. You’re the one who focuses. You’re the one who takes what we practice and makes it happen.”

Sebastian’s eyes welled slightly, and he looked away, embarrassed. “But what if they’re right? What if I’m only good because you’re… you?”

Lando shook his head immediately. “No. Absolutely not. You think being my son guarantees anything? You’ve got no idea how hard you’ve worked to be here, how much discipline it takes for someone your age to handle this pressure.”

He smiled gently now, brushing a piece of hair out of Sebastian’s face.

“You’re doing amazing, Seb. And honestly? They’re just mad that you’ve got someone in your corner who believes in you. That’s what they’re really jealous of.”

Sebastian sniffled once, nodding slowly.

“And you know what?” Lando added with a mischievous grin. “When I have you as the face of McLaren in a few years, those same people? They’ll be the ones begging for your autograph.”

That got a smile.

“For real?” Sebastian whispered.

“For real,” Lando said. “Now, c’mon. Let’s show them exactly why you’re the one to watch.”

He offered his fist, and Sebastian bumped it with his own, a new fire in his eyes.

From the stands, you watched the whole thing unfold — Lando kneeling beside Sebastian, talking to him like he was the most important person in the world. And to both of you, he was.

You looked down at Lyla in your arms, her breathing even and her little fingers still clutching her bunny, and kissed her forehead.

You stood near the edge of the karting track, sunlight glinting off the safety barriers, the breeze carrying the smell of fresh rubber and excitement. Lyla sat comfortably on your hip, playing absently with your necklace, her curls a soft halo in the golden light. From your vantage point, you could see everything — the track, the other kids prepping, and most importantly: Sebastian.

His kart zoomed around the bend, hugging the corner with precision beyond his years, and Lando stood tall beside you, his arms folded, pride practically radiating from him.

“God, he looks good out there,” you said with a soft smile, not taking your eyes off Sebastian’s small figure in the kart. “He’s grown so much. His lines are cleaner than they’ve ever been.”

Lando nodded, his mouth twitching into a proud grin. “He’s smoother, more confident... and he’s reading the track. That’s not something you can force into a kid. He wants this.”

You glanced at him, your gaze lingering. “That’s because of you. You’ve been in his corner since the day you met him. He listens to you.”

He exhaled a breath, voice dropping a little. “It’s all him. I just gave him the tools. He did the rest.”

“No,” you said, wrapping your arm through his. “You gave him a dad. That’s what he needed most.”

Lando didn’t answer right away. He simply looked at you with something tender in his eyes — something unspoken but understood. Then, Sebastian flew by again, his kart perfectly balanced as he handled a tricky chicane without flinching.

“He’s killing it,” Lando muttered with pride.

“He’s so little, yet so fearless,” you said with a light laugh, adjusting Lyla who had begun to rest her head on your shoulder. “And he’s got your determination.”

Lando chuckled. “He’s got your heart.”

Sebastian finished another lap, slowing as he coasted into the pit area. His helmet tilted your way, and even behind the visor, you knew he was beaming.

Lando turned to you, taking Lyla gently from your arms and cradling her against his chest. “I’m going to go talk to him — he’ll want to review that last corner. I think he was pushing for a tighter exit.”

You watched him approach Sebastian with warmth in your chest, your boys side by side, your daughter tucked securely in Lando’s arms.

Sebastian pulled off his helmet, his face flushed and glowing with pride. “Did you see me?!” he asked excitedly as Lando crouched down beside him.

“I did,” Lando grinned, ruffling his hair. “You nailed the back corner. That’s the cleanest I’ve seen you take it. I’m seriously impressed.”

“Can we watch the footage later?” Sebastian asked. “I wanna see how I can make my line even better.”

“Of course,” Lando replied. “We’ll break it down, see where you can gain time. But today? You did everything right.”

From where you stood, you could hear their conversation, and it made your heart swell. Sebastian wasn’t just driving — he was growing, thriving, becoming someone with confidence and focus, and so much of that came from Lando’s gentle, steady guidance.

You walked over and knelt beside them. “We saw you out there, baby,” you said, brushing a hand through his curls. “You were incredible. Smooth, fast… and smart.”

Sebastian looked up at you, shy but proud. “Thanks, Mom. It felt really good today. I didn’t even get scared when I had to pass that older kid.”

“That’s because you’re brave,” you said, kissing the top of his head. “And you’ve got the best coach in the world.”

He turned to Lando, grinning. “Can we get ice cream? You said good laps mean good treats.”

Lando chuckled. “I believe I did say that. Alright, one scoop for a good lap... two scoops for a great one.”

“Then I get three,” Sebastian declared with a cheeky smile.

You all laughed as you took Lando’s free hand in yours, his thumb brushing softly against your knuckles. Lyla yawned in his arms, her tiny body curled into his chest like it was her safest place.

Looking at the three of them — Lando kneeling beside Sebastian, Lyla dozing in his arms, the proud look on his face as he juggled being a coach, a father, and your partner — you couldn’t help but feel full. Of love, of peace, of something that felt like forever.

After a successful day at the track, Sebastian chattered endlessly from the backseat, recounting every twist, turn, and overtake he had made during practice. His hands moved animatedly, mimicking his steering, his words tumbling out faster than his kart had gone. You and Lando exchanged soft glances as you sat in the front — it was one of those small, sweet moments that made parenthood feel so full.

“And then I passed him right before the curve, and I didn’t even have to brake that much! I just— vroom— took the inside and boom! Gone!” Sebastian beamed, eyes wide with excitement.

“Don’t have a sugar rush or a sugar crash, mate,” Lando chuckled, giving him a teasing glance in the rearview mirror.

“I won’t,” Sebastian promised quickly, though the giant scoop of chocolate ice cream in his hand said otherwise.

It only took a few more minutes and half a cone before the inevitable happened — Sebastian’s head lolled to the side, ice cream wiped away, his mouth slightly open as he slept soundly. Lyla, tucked in her car seat beside him with her thumb near her mouth and her little bunny plush clutched to her chest, was already out like a light, her soft breaths the only sound beside the hum of the car.

With both kids asleep and the city lights beginning to dim under the setting sun, you turned your gaze toward Lando. His hands rested calmly on the wheel, his eyes fixed ahead, the soft orange-pink hues from the sky reflecting gently off his face.

It was the perfect time to talk.

“So…” you began softly, careful not to disturb the peaceful air. “When do you head out for your race?”

Lando didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed, barely noticeable, and then he let out a low sigh. “Next weekend,” he muttered.

You frowned slightly, chewing the inside of your cheek. “You’ll be back before Sebastian’s next race, right?” you asked, a little tentative, but hopeful.

He sighed again, deeper this time. “I hope so,” he said truthfully. “I really do. It just depends how the travel and schedule plays out. But I promise you, I’m trying.”

You could hear the frustration behind his voice, not directed at you — never at you — but toward the situation he was tangled in. Racing, family, responsibility... the weight of being in two places at once. You reached over and rested your hand on his thigh gently.

“I know,” you said softly. “We’re not mad, baby.”

Lando’s fingers gripped the wheel a little tighter. “I just…” he paused, searching for the words. “I’m upset. Upset that I’ve got this race and I know I can’t take you guys with me — not because I don’t want you there. But Lyla… she doesn’t like crowds. She gets overwhelmed and anxious, and I’d never forgive myself if she had a meltdown because I forced her into that kind of environment.”

You nodded, heart aching at how much he carried inside. “We know, Lando. You’re always doing what’s best for us. Lyla’s well-being comes first, and Sebastian understands. He might miss you when you're gone, but he knows how much you love him.”

“I just hate not being there,” he said, voice a little quieter now. “Putting Lyla down at night, handling Sebastian’s school, meals, practice — it all falls on you when I’m away, and I know that has to get exhausting.”

You turned your body slightly toward him, brushing your thumb over his hand where it rested between gears. “It gets hard, yeah. But I’d do it again and again because this is our life. I love our life, even the messy parts.”

Lando looked over at you briefly, the corners of his mouth lifting just a little.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured. “A real break. Just us. Somewhere warm, quiet, no press, no race schedule. I’ll book it after the next GP. Sebastian and Lyla can stay with my parents — they’ll be spoiled rotten and so happy to see their cousins.”

You laughed under your breath, brushing your hair out of your face as the breeze from the slightly open window caught it. “You’re too sweet for your own good sometimes, Norris.”

“I try,” he smiled, glancing over at you again. “But I mean it. You need rest too, babe. Not just sleep. Real rest. Sun. A slow morning. A long bath. No tiny humans yelling about cereal or needing their race suit zipped up.”

You laughed again, quieter this time, as you looked over your shoulder at the sleeping kids. Sebastian’s mouth was still open, Lyla clutching her bunny with a peaceful expression on her face.

“You’re an amazing dad, Lando,” you said, your voice warm, full of sincerity. “Even when you’re gone, we still feel your love around us. That’s something special.”

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Later that evening, the sky outside the windows had turned a rich, velvety navy. Inside the house, the atmosphere was warm but quietly heavy — a kind of stillness you felt more than heard. The television murmured in the background, but it barely registered over the small voices drifting from down the hall.

Lando was in the bedroom, packing slowly. His suitcase lay open on the bed, half-filled with race gear, socks, and shirts all folded with methodical care — but he wasn’t focused. Not really. Every few minutes, he paused, sighing softly to himself, glancing toward the hallway like he could feel time running too quickly.

“I can fit here,” Sebastian declared from beside the bed, pointing at the remaining space in the suitcase with a hopeful look on his face. “Right here, next to your shoes. I’ll be still.”

Lando managed a weak chuckle. “You can’t, bud. I’m sorry.”

“But if I curl up really small—”

“Seb…” Lando’s voice cracked just slightly, guilt tugging at his chest. “I wish I could take you, I do. But I can’t this time.”

Before the moment could settle, Lyla toddled over, latching herself around Lando’s leg and hugging tightly. “Dada,” she said in a tiny whimper. She didn’t quite understand what was happening — just that her father had a suitcase out again. And that was never a good sign.

You heard them from the living room and stood, walking toward the bedroom doorway quietly. The second you appeared, Lando looked up at you, and his eyes said everything: I can’t do this… please help.

“Alright, kiddos,” you said gently, crouching down to their level. “Daddy needs to pack. He’s not going for long, but he needs to be ready.”

“I wanna go with him!” Sebastian said again, louder this time, tears pricking at his eyes.

“I know you do,” you murmured, brushing some of his curls from his face. “But you’ve got school, remember? And karting, and Lyla—she doesn’t do well in big crowds, sweetie. So we’ll stay here, and when Daddy’s done with his race, he’ll come right back to us. Just like always.”

Sebastian stood still for a moment, eyes on the floor. His fists were clenched tight at his sides. “But… what if this time he doesn’t?”

The words landed like ice water to the chest. You exchanged a quiet glance with Lando before quickly crouching closer.

“What do you mean by that, baby?” you asked softly.

Sebastian shrugged, jaw trembling.

“Seb… talk to us. What’s going on in that big heart of yours?” you coaxed.

But his silence thickened, lips pressed into a tight line. He shook his head hard and took a step back, eyes starting to brim with tears.

“Sebastian…” Lando started gently, “Hey, look at me, buddy.”

But the boy turned suddenly, wiping at his cheeks and darting toward the door. “I don’t wanna talk about it!” he shouted, voice cracking as he ran down the hallway. His bedroom door slammed a moment later, muffled sobs barely audible behind it.

Lando stood frozen, his hand halfway out like he could reach for him. “Shit,” he breathed, swallowing hard. “I didn’t mean for him to feel like this.”

You moved slowly toward him, Lyla still tucked into your arms as her big eyes watched you both. “He’s scared,” you whispered. “And he doesn’t know how to say it yet.”

“I would never leave him!” Lando said again, his voice strained, eyes shining as he tried to hold himself together. “Not on purpose. Not ever.”

You stepped closer, gently reaching for his hand. “Baby, we know that,” you murmured, voice soft. “He knows that too… deep down. But he’s just… going through a lot right now. He’s young, and this is all a lot to take in. He’s scared, but Lando…” you looked at him with all the tenderness in your heart, “he loves you so much.”

Lando let out a breathy laugh, but it didn’t hold much humor. “So much he thinks I’m trying to leave him on purpose,” he said bitterly, shaking his head.

You felt your chest ache, your heart twisting at the pain that passed across his face. It wasn’t fair — not to Lando, and not to Sebastian. You both tried so hard to give the kids a life full of love and security, and yet somehow, fear still crept in through the cracks.

“I don’t even know where this came from,” you admitted, your voice catching. “What made him say that? Is someone saying things to him? Did he overhear something? It’s bothering me, Lando. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Lando was quiet for a moment, jaw clenched. He hated the unknown of it too — hated that Sebastian was hurting in ways they couldn’t immediately fix.

“Go talk to him,” you finally said, gently nudging his hand. “Before bed. He needs to hear from you. He needs that reassurance. And tomorrow… please, while you’re away, think about how this even happened. Figure out what he’s feeling and why. Because this—” you shook your head, “—this isn’t something we can let fester.”

Lando nodded slowly, pulling you into a tight hug before stepping back with a heavy sigh. “You’re right,” he said. “He shouldn’t have to carry this. Not at his age.”

His feet carried him quietly down the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached Sebastian’s room, the soft hum of the nightlight cast little race cars in orange light against the walls. Sebastian was curled up in his race car bed, turned toward the wall, clutching his pillow tightly. His shoulders were trembling, the occasional hiccup giving away his tears.

“Sebastian…” Lando said gently from the doorway.

No answer.

He stepped inside, kneeling beside the bed slowly. “Listen to me, buddy,” Lando said, voice low but steady. “You are my son. Okay? Nothing about that is temporary. Nothing about that is going to change.”

Sebastian sniffled but didn’t respond, his small body tense under the covers.

“I don’t know why you’re feeling like this, or what made you think that I’d leave you. But I need you to hear me — I would never, ever leave you on purpose. This racing stuff… it’s part of what I do. But it’s not more important than you. Or your sister. Or your mom. You three are everything to me.”

Sebastian gave the faintest shake of his head, still not turning around.

“I came into your life when you were just three,” Lando continued, his voice softening even more. “You probably don’t remember all of it, but I do. I remember meeting you. I remember how loud and happy you were, how curious. I remember how your little hand fit in mine the first time we crossed the street together. And I remember thinking, I’m going to protect this kid. Always.”

There was a pause, then a sniff from Sebastian.

“You know… before I met you and your mom, my life was a lot faster than it is now,” Lando confessed. “I was partying, flying everywhere, being wild and selfish and not really thinking about anything long term. But then I met you two… and everything changed. You made me want to be different.”

Finally, Sebastian stirred. His little hand poked out from under the blanket, wiping at his eyes. Lando reached out and rested his hand gently on the bed.

“When I asked your mom to marry me, I didn’t just ask to be her husband. I asked to be your dad, too. Because by then… you weren’t just some kid I was helping raise. You were mine. You are mine. I love you, Sebastian, more than I can explain. You’re my first son. You’re my world.”

Sebastian finally turned over, his face blotchy and red-eyed. “Then why do you keep leaving?” he whispered, voice trembling. “Why do you have to go?”

Lando swallowed hard and reached for him, brushing his hair from his face. “Because that’s part of what I do right now. But it’s not forever. And I promise, I hate being away from you just as much as you hate it. I miss your voice, your jokes, your excitement over karting. I miss bedtime and hugging you goodnight. I don’t leave because I want to. I go because it’s my job — but I always come home. Always.”

Sebastian’s lower lip quivered. “You’re not like my other dad?”

“Not even close,” Lando said, shaking his head firmly. “Your other dad left when things got hard. I stay. I’ll always stay. I don’t care how far away I have to go, you’re my son, and I’m coming back to you. Every single time.”

Sebastian finally launched himself forward, wrapping his arms tight around Lando’s neck. “Okay,” he whispered against his shoulder. “I believe you.”

Lando held him just as tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, eyes stinging.

“I love you, little man,” he murmured. “More than words. And I’m always coming home to you.”

Outside the door, you wiped a tear from your cheek, quietly backing away to give them the moment they both needed. Inside that room, a little boy’s fears began to melt, just a little — warmed by the voice of the man who never once thought of him as anything less than his own.

The house was wrapped in stillness, the soft hum of the night filling the quiet as the children slept peacefully in their rooms. You lay tucked under the covers, curled close against Lando’s chest, his arm draped around you protectively. His warmth, his heartbeat, the calm of being next to him after such an emotionally draining day — it was everything you needed.

Your fingers gently traced circles on his chest, your voice soft as you murmured, “We’ll be expecting that win, you know.”

Lando let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing the top of your head. “I’ll win,” he promised, his tone full of tired certainty. “You have my word.”

You smiled faintly, but your heart was still heavy. “So…” you began, hesitating for a second, “Did he give in? Did he tell you where he heard it?”

Lando’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling slowly as he pulled you a little closer. “No,” he said quietly. “He never told me where he learned it from.” He exhaled sharply through his nose, his frustration evident even in the dim light. “But I’ll figure it out. Someone’s spreading bullshit about him not being my son. I don’t care if it’s some nosy gossip mom at the karting track or someone we actually know... Someone’s putting that idea in his head, and I won’t let it slide.”

You looked up at him, catching the slight furrow of his brow in the soft light from the hallway. He was trying to stay calm — for you, for the kids — but you knew him well enough to recognize the storm brewing behind his eyes.

You sighed, your hand slipping up to cup his jaw gently. “He’s still a kid, Lan. A sensitive one. All it takes is one sentence, one nasty comment… and it sticks. We just have to keep showing him what’s true. Every single day.”

Lando turned his face into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm. “I know,” he murmured. “It just kills me that anyone could make him feel like that. Like he’s not wanted, or not mine. I’ve been there since he was three. I’ve changed nappies, made lunch boxes, sat by his bed when he was sick. That kid is mine.”

Your eyes softened. “I know, love. He knows it too. Deep down, he does. He just needed to hear it out loud tonight.”

Lando looked at the ceiling, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve said it more. I should say it every day.”

“You say it in how you show up,” you whispered, laying your head back on his chest. “In how you coach him, how you pick him up from school, how you wrestle with him in the living room like an overgrown kid. That’s what he remembers, Lando. That’s what counts.”

He wrapped both arms around you now, tighter than before, and let the silence linger for a moment — the kind of silence that spoke love more deeply than words ever could.

“Let’s just get some sleep,” you said softly, a yawn escaping as you nestled further into his embrace.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The airport buzzed with travelers and rolling suitcases, but in the middle of it all, Lando stood still, a backpack slung over one shoulder and his race bag at his feet, watching his little family like he didn’t want to blink and miss a second of them. The sunlight streamed in through the massive windows, casting a warm golden glow on the polished floors and the group of you gathered just by the lounge entrance.

You shifted Lyla gently in your arms, her small arms wrapped around your neck and her cheek pressed against your shoulder, peeking every so often only to immediately hide again. Her curls tickled your chin as you smiled, rocking slightly on your feet to soothe her. “I swear, if this airport had a softer carpet, she’d be napping right now,” you muttered, causing Lando to snort.

Sebastian stood at Lando’s side, bouncing on the balls of his feet, full of energy and curiosity. “So you travel with Oscar?” he asked, eyes wide with fascination like the idea of teammates sharing an airport adventure was just the coolest thing ever.

“Yeah, buddy,” Lando nodded with a grin, ruffling Sebastian’s hair. “He’s my teammate. We fly together, practice together, complain about food together…”

“Do you sit together on the plane?” Sebastian cut in.

Lando blinked. “Only if he gets there on time. Otherwise, I claim the window seat and he sulks in the middle.”

You laughed under your breath, the sound bright and warm. “Classic Oscar,” you said with a smirk. “Lyla, you’ll end up liking Oscar. He’s quiet — not many words, very mellow — so he won’t scare you. You could honestly make him your emotional support adult.”

Lyla, predictably, burrowed her face deeper into your neck like you’d just told her Oscar was a walking jump scare. “Okay, okay,” you whispered into her curls, pressing a kiss to her head. “Take your time.”

As if the universe were on cue, Oscar Piastri strolled into view — calm, composed, holding his suitcase like it weighed nothing, dressed in comfy layers and holding a coffee like he absolutely woke up ten minutes before arriving.

“Look who finally made it!” Lando quipped, throwing his arms out. “Only mildly fashionably late.”

Oscar raised a brow, completely unbothered. “Lando, I was on time. You were just here twenty minutes early because you’re emotionally unstable without your family.”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand. “He’s not wrong.”

“I am not emotionally unstable,” Lando protested. “I’m emotionally… organized.”

“Sure,” Oscar deadpanned. “Very organized meltdown last time your daughter FaceTimed you and then hung up mid-sentence.”

Lyla peeked up again, this time catching a glimpse of Oscar, only to retreat immediately. Oscar noticed, offering a small, kind smile and a little wave, like he’d read a guidebook on communicating with toddlers. “Hi, Lyla,” he said gently. “I won’t talk too much. Promise.”

“Uncle Oscar is learning,” you said proudly.

Sebastian, meanwhile, practically threw himself at Oscar, grabbing his hand. “I saw you win that one time and my dad was like, ‘Yeah, yeah, okay, good job’ but I was like ‘LET’S GOOO’ and then I made a drawing of you and I forgot to bring it.”

Oscar blinked. “That’s...very sweet. Also, you should be in PR.”

“Trying to be just like Dad,” Sebastian said proudly, making Lando grin ear to ear.

Lando then reached out, hands open like a kid about to ask for a puppy. “Can I just take Lyla?” he pleaded.

You gave him the most exaggerated look of faux-shock. “Oh sure, let me just hand over our clingy, sleep-fighting, tiny-anxiety-ball daughter to a man who doesn’t even remember to pack his own socks half the time.”

“I remember my socks... now,” he muttered.

You stepped closer, brushing his hair gently back from his forehead. “I know you miss her when you travel. I know you’d take us all in your suitcase if you could.”

Lando's eyes softened, that teasing glint replaced by something real and vulnerable. “I just hate the part where I leave,” he murmured. “Everything else is manageable, but walking away from you three? That’s the worst part of my job.”

You leaned up to kiss him softly, Lyla squirming slightly in your arms as if sensing the emotion. “Go win. Come home. That’s all we ask of you.”

He smiled, wrapping one arm around your waist, kissing Lyla’s cheek, and ruffling Sebastian’s hair one last time. “I’ll bring back souvenirs.”

“Better be food,” Sebastian said.

“Better be diamonds,” you added with a grin.

Oscar sighed beside you both, already done. “Can we please go before you all start crying and I have to stand here pretending not to care?”

Lando threw an arm around his teammate’s shoulder. “Admit it, you love us.”

Oscar shrugged. “You’re...tolerable.”

“Progress!” you cheered.

As Lando began to walk away, he turned back one last time, catching your eyes — a silent promise exchanged between the two of you in that fleeting glance. He mouthed I love you, and you whispered it right back.

And just like that, he was gone for now — but never really gone. Not in the ways that mattered.

Once the plane had taxied down the runway and lifted into the clouds, the familiar hum of the engines filled the cabin, creating that oddly peaceful quiet that only seemed to exist once wheels left the ground. Lando sat back in his seat, letting out a slow breath as he adjusted his cap and glanced out the window for a second — but all he could picture was Lyla’s sleepy little face nuzzled into your neck, and Sebastian’s teary eyes looking up at him just hours ago at home.

He turned toward Oscar, who was already halfway reclined and lazily sipping a ginger ale like they weren’t thirty thousand feet in the sky. “I miss them already,” Lando muttered, not really trying to hide it.

Oscar glanced sideways at him, his expression softening. “Sebastian’s growing up fast,” he said, voice low and thoughtful. “Last time I saw him properly, he was just this tiny three-year-old clinging to your leg, trying to ‘help’ you clean your helmet with baby wipes.”

Lando chuckled, rubbing at his jaw. “Yeah… he’s seven now. Whole personality built in. Witty, quick on his feet, obsessed with racing. It’s like looking in a mirror — except better.” His eyes lingered out the window, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips before it slowly faded. “Y/n’s sad he’s getting older. I am too. He’s not my little guy forever. And then there’s Lyla… she just turned two, and she’s already more emotionally aware than half the grid.”

Oscar huffed a soft laugh, but he could tell from the tension in Lando’s voice that something was weighing heavier than normal.

“What’s eating at you?” Oscar asked gently, setting his drink aside.

Lando hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “Sebastian’s been… weird lately. About me leaving. He gets upset. He thinks… he thinks I won’t come back. That I’ll leave him like his biological dad did.”

Oscar’s brows pulled together in concern. “Shit,” he muttered. “That’s heavy for a seven-year-old.”

“Tell me about it.” Lando’s voice cracked slightly. “He won’t talk about it much either. Y/n says he’s scared. And I get it, I do. He’s trying to protect himself. But when he said it last night, when he asked if I was leaving like his other dad…” He trailed off, blinking rapidly. “It felt like someone punched a hole through my chest.”

Oscar didn’t interrupt. He just listened, giving Lando the space to vent.

“I’ve given him reassurance, every time,” Lando continued. “I tuck him in, I talk to him about my schedule, I FaceTime them from the paddock, I bring him souvenirs — hell, I’d tattoo his name on my forehead if I thought it’d help. And Y/n… she says I’m doing great. But it doesn’t make it hurt less. I’m not mad at him. I’m just… frustrated. Heartbroken.”

Oscar nodded slowly, choosing his words carefully. “You love that kid like he’s yours. And he is, Lando. You’ve raised him. Anyone with eyes can see that. But he’s old enough now to start feeling uncertainty. He probably overheard something. Or maybe it’s just all these changes, the travel, Lyla being little and needing more attention, growing up in general… it’s a lot for a kid.”

Lando leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling. “I hate that I have to filter everything I say or do. Not around him — around everyone else. I hold back online. I avoid talking about him sometimes in interviews. Because the moment people know the full story, they’ll twist it. Gossip about his real dad. Make up stories about me and Y/n. And he’ll hear it. And I can't shield him from all of it forever.”

Oscar gave a solemn hum. “People can hate on you, yeah. But your family’s different. It’s the soft spot. I get that.”

“I don’t care what they say about me,” Lando said, voice tight. “Call me overhyped, say I’ll never be a world champion, criticize everything — fine. But the second they talk about Y/n? About Sebastian? Lyla? That’s my red line.”

There was a silence that stretched for a moment, filled only by the low buzz of the plane.

Oscar broke it with a quiet, honest comment. “You’re a better dad than most, Lando. Hell, you’re a better man than most. Seb will figure that out — if he hasn’t already. Kids are smart, and he’s yours. In the ways that count.”

Lando let out a breath, one hand dragging down his face. “Yeah… thanks, mate.”

Oscar gave him a side glance. “Just don’t cry on me. I can’t handle that mid-flight.”

Lando scoffed and wiped his eye. “I’m not crying. You’re crying.”

“I’m crying from having to hear about feelings on an airplane,” Oscar muttered dryly.

That got a laugh out of Lando, finally. One that shook the tension loose in his shoulders.

He pulled out his phone, unlocking it and glancing down at the screen where he’d set a lock screen of the four of you at the beach — Sebastian covered in sand, Lyla curled up in your lap, you smiling toward the camera as Lando held it out with wind-tousled hair and a cheeky grin.

He stared at the picture for a long moment before nodding to himself.

“I’ll win this weekend,” he said, more to himself than to Oscar. “For them.”

The familiar winding roads of Monaco stretched before you, the sea glittering off in the distance and the sunlight casting a warm glow across the dashboard. You let out a soft sigh, one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently in your lap as the comforting hum of the car filled the silence. The air was calm, the kind that settled in only after a long morning of goodbyes — the kind that reminded you someone was missing from the seat beside you.

From the backseat, the soft sounds of Sebastian quietly humming drifted forward. He was mumbling the theme song to one of his favorite cartoons, his fingers rhythmically drumming on the armrest beside him. Lyla, tucked snugly into her car seat, swung her little legs gently back and forth, her favorite stuffed bunny cradled in her arms, as her eyes flicked between the sun-drenched buildings outside and her big brother beside her.

You glanced into the rearview mirror, watching them with a soft smile before speaking up. “Alright, kiddos,” you said, voice warm and teasing. “Since Daddy’s off flying through the skies to go race fast cars, how about we go do something fun of our own while he’s gone?”

Sebastian perked up, peeking his head up a little more in his booster seat. “Like what?”

You shrugged playfully. “I don’t know… what if we went skating?”

There was a short pause before Sebastian gave a thoughtful frown. “Mmm… I don’t think Lyla can skate. She’s too tiny. She’d probably fall.”

Lyla, catching on to her name, simply squeaked out, “Fall!” and then giggled, not even understanding but joining in the fun anyway.

You chuckled, glancing at them again in the mirror. “Fair point. Alright, no skating. What about…” You tapped your chin theatrically. “What about Lego shopping?”

The reaction was instant.

Sebastian gasped, eyes lighting up like someone flipped a switch. “Really? We can go today?!”

You grinned. “Of course. We’ll swing by that toy store you love — you know, the one where you always find the big sets hidden in the back.”

“Yes!” he beamed, practically bouncing in his seat. “And Lyla can get a toy too!”

Lyla kicked her legs a little more excitedly now. “Toy!”

“Exactly,” you nodded. “We’ll get you both something, then head home, order pizza — the kind with the stuffed crust that you love — and we’ll set up a movie marathon. I’m thinking popcorn, pillows on the floor, and one of those movies you’ve seen a hundred times but still laugh at anyway.”

“Movie night!!” Sebastian turned toward his sister with wide eyes. “Lyla, we’re gonna have a movie night!”

Lyla clapped her hands, though it was more like soft patting, her stuffed bunny flopping with each motion. “Moobee!”

You laughed, the warmth of their joy radiating through the car and straight into your heart. Moments like these — these tiny, quiet, ordinary ones — made everything else worth it. The tears, the tough conversations, the goodbyes at the airport.

As you slowed at a red light, your eyes caught them again in the mirror — Sebastian now holding his sister’s hand across their seats. It wasn’t perfect, she was barely reaching with her tiny fingers, but he had his arm stretched out, patient and gentle, as she grasped a few of his fingers in hers and smiled.

You felt your chest tighten with that familiar ache of love.

“Hey,” you said softly, eyes on the mirror. “I love you two so much.”

Sebastian gave a goofy grin. “We love you too, Mama.”

Lyla chimed in softly, her voice a little more clumsy but full of meaning. “Lub you.”

And in that moment, as you turned down the street toward the toy store, your heart — though missing one person who was flying far away — felt completely full.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The toy store buzzed with the low chatter of parents and the excited squeals of children, shelves stacked high with colorful boxes and glittering plastic, the occasional jingle of a motion-activated toy going off somewhere in the aisles. You stood beside your children, Sebastian inspecting a complicated LEGO Technic set while Lyla pointed curiously at a plush unicorn that blinked and sang when touched. Her little fingers barely reached the shelf, but she tried anyway.

You smiled, watching them, when a familiar voice interrupted your quiet moment.

“Y/n?”

You turned, blinking in surprise before your face lit up. “The one and only… Alexandra Saint Mleux.”

She laughed gently and stepped forward for a hug, her ever-elegant frame wrapped in a long cream coat, a small designer purse slung over her shoulder. “It’s been ages,” she smiled, her soft French accent still intact despite living in Monaco for so long.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” you admitted as you stepped back. “I figured you’d be flying out to watch the race.”

Alexandra nodded and sighed. “That was the plan, but work got in the way. Some last-minute clients. I’m heartbroken to miss this one… but I’ll survive.” Her eyes wandered to the kids, warm and understanding. “So… how are they doing? You know, with Lando being away?”

Your smile faltered just a bit. “We’re managing,” you said, lowering your voice to a private hush. “Keeping them busy helps. I don’t know how bedtime will go — it never really gets easier, not when they’re used to him doing stories, doing his silly voices and games… but we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Alexandra nodded solemnly. “You’re doing beautifully, Y/n. Truly.”

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed in your coat pocket. The name on the screen made your stomach knot.

Sebastian’s Father.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, masking the moment with a smile toward Alexandra. “Would you mind staying with them while they pick their toys? I’ll just be a moment.”

“Of course,” she said without hesitation. “Take your time.”

You stepped away from the aisle, finding a quieter corner near a display of puzzles. The buzzing continued in your hand. With a deep breath, you hit accept.

You didn’t wait for a greeting. “Can you stop calling?” you said sharply, keeping your voice low but laced with steel.

A familiar voice crackled on the other end. “Y/n, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for weeks. I want to speak to my son.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it physically hurt. “Your son?” you spat, turning your back toward the toy aisle and gripping the phone tighter. “Since when?”

He sighed, as if he was the one carrying the burden. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to sit back and see pictures of him with some other guy? Videos of him calling someone else dad?”

“Oh, cry me a river,” you snapped, your voice sharp now, tempered only by the awareness you were still in public. “That other guy is my husband. The man who has raised Sebastian with love, patience, and every ounce of care you never had the courage to give.”

“Y/n…”

“Y/n Norris,” you corrected, your voice cold now. “You lost the right to say my name the day you walked out and left me with a baby and no fucking idea what to do. No help. No money. No check-ins. You abandoned us, and now you think you can just call and insert yourself into his life because he’s old enough to form memories now?”

Silence.

“I made every bottle. I held him through every night terror. I worked two jobs while praying I wouldn’t miss another milestone. And then I met Lando — who didn’t have to step in, but chose to. Who didn’t just love me, but loved him. Who tucks him into bed every night he’s home, who taught him how to ride a bike and how to read a clock, and who kisses him on the forehead even when he thinks no one’s watching.”

“You think I don’t regret what I did?” his voice cracked, but you didn’t flinch. “I wasn’t ready—”

“You think I was?” you whispered harshly, voice shaking now. “You think I had a manual for being a mom at twenty-five? You ran. I stayed. And now you have the audacity to ask me to just… hand him over for a chat, like it’s that easy?”

“I just want to talk—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice final. “He’s happy. He’s safe. And he doesn’t need you to confuse him now that he’s finally finding solid ground. Especially when all you want to do is soothe your own guilt, not actually be a father.”

“I’m his father whether you like it or not,” he hissed.

“No,” you said, eyes burning. “Lando is his father. He’s earned that title every single day, with love, not DNA.”

"I want to see him, speak to him. Sebastian is my son." he huffed.

"Take that up with his father if you feel so brave now, but I'm sure I know Lando's answer."

You didn’t give him the chance to respond. You hit end call, your hand trembling slightly as the call disconnected.

You stood there for a moment, collecting yourself, breathing through your nose as you tucked your phone back into your pocket. A soft noise caught your attention — a giggle from the kids.

You returned to the aisle to find Alexandra kneeling beside Lyla, who was now clutching a soft stuffed fox with velvety fur, her face glowing with delight. Sebastian held the LEGO box like it was made of gold.

“There’s my mama,” Sebastian said with a grin. “Is this one okay?”

You smiled, blinking back emotion. “That one’s perfect, bud.”

“Can we go home now and build it?” he asked.

You nodded, gathering them in close. “Yeah, let’s go home. We’ve got some pizza to order and movies to watch.”

Alexandra gave you a knowing look, a supportive warmth in her gaze.

You mouthed a soft thank you to her.

Time passed like a warm breeze, slow and golden, wrapping around the three of you with the kind of peace you hadn't felt in a while. After the toy store, you’d made a spontaneous day of it — a little ice cream, a detour to the duck pond where Lyla screamed “DUCKIES!” so loudly she startled a few of them into waddling chaos, and a stroll down the pier with the salty sea air brushing your cheeks. You snapped pictures constantly — Sebastian holding up his LEGO box triumphantly, Lyla wearing oversized sunglasses she found in a boutique and refusing to take them off, even a silly selfie with all three of your faces smushed together under the caption: “We miss you already, daddy 💛”

Even though Lando had only been gone since morning, the ache of his absence was already settled in your chest. You could feel it in the way you kept glancing at your phone, like you needed to send another photo, another text — partly for your reassurance, partly for his. Because if you missed him like this, you could only imagine how heavy his heart felt, knowing he left with Sebastian upset, Lyla too little to really understand goodbyes, and you… trying to hold it all together like you always did.

After the duck pond and walk, you stopped by a children’s boutique where Sebastian’s eyes lit up at the sight of a rack full of pajamas. “Can I get the race car ones?” he asked, already clutching them like treasure.

“Of course, baby,” you smiled.

Lyla chose a soft, cottony pink set with little teddy bears, hugging it to her chest with a proud little smile, even letting out a tiny squeal that melted your heart.

By the time the sky started darkening, you were all a little tired but happy — the kind of happy that made the silence in the car on the way home feel peaceful instead of awkward. You chuckled as you helped them out of the car, herding them into the flat.

“Alright, pajamas!” you called, clapping your hands. “Go get them on! I’m ordering the pizza and picking the movie. Then you two can come back in here and play with your toys.”

Sebastian darted to his room, practically airborne in excitement, clutching his pajama set. Lyla, however, clung to your leg like a little koala, dragging her pajamas on the floor behind her.

You gently ruffled her curls. “Come on, you too, missy. I’ll help you get dressed in a minute.”

Your phone rang, buzzing softly in your pocket. When you saw the name on the screen, your heart warmed.

Best Husband 💛

You answered with a smile already tugging at your lips. “My love.”

A tired sigh of relief echoed through the speaker. “God, I needed to hear your voice. Are the kids asleep?”

You glanced toward the hallway where Sebastian was noisily dragging open drawers. “Nope, we just got home. We’ve been out all day. You should see Lyla’s new sunglasses. I swear she thinks she’s a movie star.”

Lando chuckled, and you could practically hear the smile in his voice. “That sounds like her already. God, I miss you all so much… I want to speak to them, if that’s okay.”

But your smile faded slightly, the warmth in your chest twisting into something more uncertain.

“I actually need to speak with you first,” you murmured, tone quiet and serious.

Lando picked up on it immediately. “What’s going on?”

You stepped into the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to make sure the kids were still occupied. You lowered your voice.

“His father called.”

The line went dead quiet for a few seconds, and then Lando exhaled sharply, almost like he had to physically calm himself. “He what?”

“Said he wants to talk. See him. And you know…” you trailed off, biting your lip. “Same guilt-tripping, same dramatics. He brought up the fact that we post pictures of you and Sebastian together, like it’s supposed to be some crime.”

“He’s an asshole,” Lando snapped without hesitation. “I would prefer he never sees Sebastian again. Period. I know you didn’t block him before — maybe part of you thought one day things could be different, or maybe for Sebastian’s sake… but now’s the time to block him. For good.”

You could feel the raw emotion behind his words — the frustration, the protectiveness, the love.

“I don’t care how selfish I sound, okay? Listen to me,” Lando continued, voice low and tight. “I love him. I love Sebastian like he’s my own. He is my own. And he’s clearly hurt and confused enough as it is right now. The last thing he needs is that man worming his way in and stirring up more shit.”

“I want to say the same thing, honey, I do,” you said softly. “But I think we need to be careful. This didn’t come out of nowhere. Someone planted this idea in Sebastian’s head — someone’s been talking behind our backs, and it’s eating at me. I don’t know if he overheard something or if it’s…”

“The media,” Lando muttered.

“I’ve been thinking that too,” you said. “He doesn’t have access to the internet, he’s seven. But… maybe something slipped through on the TV, or someone said something in public. It only takes one headline. And even if we limit comments, we can’t control everything.”

“I said the same thing,” Oscar piped up from the background, his voice distant but clear.

Lando groaned. “I mean come on — we’re careful. I hardly talk about the kids publicly. And when I do, it’s always vague or safe. I never name names or post anything personal.”

“I know, baby,” you said gently. “But not everyone cares about respecting boundaries. Some people just love digging where they don’t belong.”

There was a pause. You could hear the quiet buzz of the hotel room on the other end — the hum of a minibar, maybe the faint flicker of the TV in the background. You imagined Lando sitting on the edge of the bed, face in his hands, shoulders tight with worry.

“I hate this,” he finally said. “I hate that I’m away and you’re dealing with this. I hate that Sebastian’s even thinking about this. I hate that some faceless asshole behind a screen or a reporter with a notepad can get into my son’s head.”

“He’s just scared, Lan,” you murmured. “But he loves you. I see it every day. And you’re doing right by him — we both are. That’s what matters.”

You could hear him nodding, even if he didn’t speak.

“I ordered the pizza,” you added softly, trying to lighten the mood. “We’re watching Toy Story 2 tonight. Sebastian said it’s your favorite.”

Lando’s voice cracked with a small laugh. “It is my favorite. Tell him I said that’s a solid choice.”

“I will. After they’re in pajamas. Lyla’s currently pretending her leg doesn’t work because she doesn’t want to get changed.”

Lando laughed again, and this time it was lighter, like he was really smiling now. “She gets that from you.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said playfully, and for a second the weight lifted.

“Hey,” he added, voice gentle now. “Thanks for everything. For keeping them grounded… for being you. I know this isn’t easy.”

You closed your eyes. “It’s not. But we’re a team. Even miles away, we’ve still got this. And tomorrow, we figure out what the hell is actually going on.”

“Damn right,” he said. “And I’ll bring back a win, too. Just for you guys.”

You smiled, heart full.

“Then you better buckle in, Norris. Because Toy Story, pajamas, and pizza nights are hard to beat.”

“Impossible,” he replied. “But I’m coming home to try.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Lando being gone wasn’t new.

It was never easy, but it was familiar — a rhythm that ebbed and flowed like the tide. The early flights, the packed bags by the door, the quiet “I love you”s whispered over sleepy heads and soft kisses before the sun even broke the horizon. You’d grown used to the ache, the temporary emptiness of the house. What you never grew used to, though, was waking up and not having him there.

The bed felt far too big without him.

Sebastian had crawled into the middle during the night, tangled in the sheets like a little tornado of limbs and heat. His head rested on Lando’s pillow. Lyla, small and warm, was curled up in the crook of your arm like a kitten, her stuffed bunny pressed against her cheek.

You carefully untangled yourself, slipping out of bed with practiced ease. Neither of them stirred — a small blessing. These were the pockets of peace you counted on. The house was still, the morning light barely filtering through the curtains, and the silence was thick but comforting.

It was always like this on the first morning without him. Quiet. Empty, but full of purpose. You stood for a moment in the bathroom, hands braced on the sink, staring at your reflection. You could see the soft weariness around your eyes, the evidence of another night where you’d reached across the bed and found nothing but cool sheets.

“He’s not gone forever,” you murmured aloud, a mantra, not a reminder. Just a soft truth you whispered to yourself.

You showered slowly, letting the steam loosen your tense shoulders, letting your mind wander. There was always a to-do list playing quietly in the back of your head: school drop-offs, meals, cleaning, playtime, phone calls, maybe a grocery run, and somewhere in the middle of all that — time to feel his absence and push forward anyway.

By the time you wrapped yourself in your robe, hair damp, you were ready. You padded into the living room and curled into the couch with your phone, letting yourself fall into the mindless scroll for just a little while. Social media, messages from friends, a few missed texts from Lando sent at 2 a.m. his time.

Still up thinking about you. Tell Seb I love him. Kiss Lyla for me. I miss my girls.

You clutched the phone to your chest for a second, your breath catching. Then, quietly, you smiled.

After about an hour of peace, you placed the phone on the side table, stood up, and entered the kitchen. The hum of familiarity buzzed in your ears like a song you’d memorized long ago.

You didn’t need to think anymore — your hands just moved. You poured Lyla’s apple juice into her bunny sippy cup. It had a little bow drawn onto it with pink permanent marker — something she insisted on one afternoon when she decided all her toys needed to be “fancy.”

Sebastian’s orange juice went into his dinosaur cup — the same one he refused to drink out of unless it was “the dino one with the T-Rex not the triceratops.” You smirked a little at the thought as you set it on the table.

Then came the rest: pancakes for Lyla, perfectly golden and cut into tiny bite-sized hearts the way she liked them, with a side of blueberries she always pushed to the edge of her plate. For Sebastian, toast lightly browned, eggs just barely runny (any more and he would call them “slime eggs”), and two strips of crispy bacon he’d probably try and feed one to the cat even though you told him not to.

Everything was where it should be. Like muscle memory.

A sound behind you — groggy feet shuffling across the floor.

“Mama?” Sebastian mumbled, his curls sticking up in every direction, pajama pants slightly twisted around his legs.

You didn’t even turn around, just hummed as you flipped the final pancake. “Practice is going to happen soon,” you said softly, “you know they have to adjust, get themselves ready.”

He climbed onto the stool at the counter and rested his chin on the marble. “I miss him.”

You finally turned, wiping your hands and leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “Me too,” you said quietly. “But he misses us just as much. Maybe even more.”

Lyla padded out a moment later, dragging her blanket behind her, eyes still puffy from sleep.

“Good morning, sunshine,” you cooed, sweeping her up into your arms.

“Dada?” she mumbled against your shoulder, her thumb slipping into her mouth.

“Soon, sweet girl,” you whispered. “You’ll see him soon.”

As they settled at the table, Sebastian perked up, watching you with those curious brown eyes.

“Are we gonna talk to Grandma today?”

You nodded, glancing at the clock. “We’ve got time. After I drop you off at school, Lyla and I are going to call her. You know she misses you two terribly.”

He grinned a little, the kind of smile only grandmothers could pull out of children. “Can I send her a picture of my dinosaur cup?”

You laughed. “Absolutely.”

It was all clockwork. Predictable. But it still hurt sometimes — to do all of this without Lando, to smile through it even when your chest ached and your throat tightened unexpectedly.

But you managed.

You always did.

Because your kids were watching. Because their little hearts depended on you. Because Lando, miles away and probably staring at a calendar on his phone, counting down the days until he could be back, needed to know you could hold it all together.

And you would.

Just like every other morning.

Motherhood had a way of testing your limits and then rewarding you in small, quiet ways. After you dropped Sebastian off at school — his usual chatter about karting practice and Lego sets still echoing in your ears — the rest of your day unfolded like a long, busy stretch of survival mode. You managed a video call with Cisca, who filled your morning with soft smiles and much-needed comfort. Lyla’s meltdown over her empty bunny sippy cup had you on your knees, trying to calm her down while preparing breakfast and unloading the dishwasher at the same time. It was one of those mornings where time seemed to slip through your fingers.

The car got cleaned, though that required strategic maneuvering with a clingy toddler on your hip. You made a small grocery run, holding her hand tightly while she stared cautiously at every passing stranger. Then you walked her around the quiet park near your building, hoping the fresh air would calm her nerves. And it did — a little. She let go of your hand for all of five minutes before gluing herself to your leg again.

Eventually, you made it back to the flat. You swept and mopped floors, wiped down counters, and sorted laundry while Lyla played quietly with her toys in the living room. She had picked out a stuffed bunny, a wooden puzzle, and one of Sebastian’s smaller race cars — and all three were lined up next to her as she sprawled out on the floor.

And just like that… she was asleep.

Not in her bed, not on the couch — but flat on the playmat, one hand still resting on the toy bunny. Her tiny chest rose and fell slowly, lashes resting like feathers against her cheeks. You stood there for a moment, arms crossed, soft smile tugging at your lips. Then you carefully picked her up, mindful not to wake her, and tucked her into bed. You kissed her forehead, lingered there for a beat, then finally had a moment of peace to yourself.

And that’s when you called him.

The screen rang only once before Lando’s tired but joyful face filled your screen, his curls a little messy under a cap, eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

“My favorite girl,” he greeted, voice warm and smooth, as if it could wrap you up.

You let out a small, relieved breath, your shoulders finally dropping. “I was calling just to see if you’re surviving,” you teased lightly, your voice soft, your love clear even in the distance.

He let out a short laugh. “Yeah, just about. Got some practice coming up. You know how leading into a race weekend is — mind on a thousand things.”

You nodded. “I figured. Sebastian’s at school, and Lyla’s down for a nap… finally.” You leaned back on the couch, rubbing your temple.

“She’s sleeping a lot lately?” Lando asked gently, concern twitching at his brow.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your smile fading. “I think the anxiety’s wearing her out. I mean, it’s not dramatic all the time — she’s not screaming or crying. But she clings to me like I’m her anchor, and when she’s like that… I can tell her brain’s on overload.”

His jaw tensed slightly, the helplessness setting into his eyes. “I hate that I’m not there. I hate not being able to help her when she’s like that.”

You sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You help more than you know, even just by existing as her safe space. But I won’t lie… it’s getting hard, Lando. I don’t want this to feel normal for her.”

“I know, baby,” he said quietly. “Let’s talk more about getting her a child therapist when I get home. Someone trained in early social anxiety, someone who’ll take it slow. She doesn’t need to feel like the world’s too loud for her forever.”

You nodded slowly, your throat tightening. “That’d help… thank you.”

There was a brief silence between you — not uncomfortable, just full of unspoken longing — until you finally exhaled again and shifted the conversation.

“Anyway,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, “Sebastian has more practices coming up. I’m hoping you’ll be home in time for his competition.”

Lando’s face softened with guilt. “Yeah. I know. I’m doing everything I can to make sure I’m there. Even if it means I have to sprint off the track and hop on a plane. I’ll deal with the team's reaction after. I won’t miss it.”

“You promise?” you asked, needing to hear it aloud.

He smiled. “Cross my heart. I’m his biggest fan. I wouldn’t miss watching our boy race for anything.”

You felt a swell of affection in your chest, unable to hide your smile. “Good. He’ll want you there — he already asked twice this morning if you’d make it.”

“Tell him yes,” Lando said firmly. “Tell him I’ll be there with bells on.”

You laughed softly, then glanced at the time. “So, um… your mom and I talked earlier. She wants to have Sebastian and Lyla for the summer. Says she misses the chaos.”

Lando’s eyes widened a bit. “I figured she’d bring that up.”

“She’s already planning beach days and movie nights, Lando. I think she’s ready for full grandma mode,” you joked.

“They’ll love being with her,” Lando said with a grin. “They’ll be with their cousins, run around outside, no cameras, no pressure. It’ll be good for them.”

You quirked a brow. “And what will we be doing?”

He leaned closer to the camera, eyes dancing. “Well, I was thinking… maybe I take you somewhere sunny, just us, no responsibilities…”

You laughed again. “You say that, but I know what’s going on in that head of yours. Keep it in your pants.”

Lando feigned innocence, wiggling his brows mischievously. “Mmm, I don’t know, love… baby number three doesn’t sound so bad.”

You gasped, half-joking, half-serious. “Lando Norris! Sebastian is seven and Lyla is two!”

“And?” he smirked. “That’s perfect spacing. You’d be glowing again, and we already know how good I am at naming kids.”

You shook your head, cheeks warm with laughter. “You're unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he added smoothly, gaze softening.

You fell quiet for a beat, letting his words settle in your chest.

“I miss you,” you whispered.

“I miss you more,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse. “But I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

And as the call continued, you found yourself feeling lighter — knowing that even when things felt heavy, you didn’t have to carry it all alone.

“You guys’ll be watching the race, huh?”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “When do we ever miss your races? We watch every single one. Whether it’s on the couch, the tablet in the car, or Lyla yelling ‘Dada!’ at the screen in the middle of the grid walk.”

He laughed softly, his eyes glowing with that boyish charm that never seemed to fade. “You’re gonna be watching me win then?”

You smirked. “We’re going to be watching you win with snacks, and matching shirts, and banners Sebastian insists on hanging from the window like it’s a football match.”

Lando leaned his chin into his palm, clearly imagining it all. “God, I love that. I love you guys.”

“And when you come home…” you started.

“We’ll celebrate,” he said in unison, and your face lit up as you nodded. “All of us,” you added.

He raised a brow with a mischievous tilt of his lips. “So, no just you and me then? No little alone time?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Mr. Norris.”

He laughed at the way you said it, all mock-serious and slightly amused.

He countered with a grin, “Mrs. Norris.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Husband.”

He leaned closer to the camera, eyes soft, teasing, “Wife.”

Silence fell for a beat — the kind of silence wrapped in warmth and longing — before you both let out small, soft chuckles, laughing at nothing in particular, just the comfort of each other.

He sighed gently, his eyes darting away for a second, then back to you. “What is with you wanting another baby?” you asked, arching a curious brow. “Lyla is two. And she’s still in diapers!”

He shrugged, that knowing, cheeky smirk forming again. “I don’t know… I think I’m growing into this whole ‘loving family man’ thing.”

You tilted your head, amused but still listening.

“I mean, I still love going out, hanging with the guys, laughing till we cry — you know that. But something about you, and them…” His voice lowered a bit, softer now. “Something about our life together. I don’t know. It hits different. Like, I never knew coming home to sticky hands and toy cars on the couch would feel better than champagne and lights and music.”

You smiled, hand absentmindedly playing with the necklace around your neck. “You’ve changed. In a good way.”

“I am changing,” he agreed, “but I still love who I’ve always been. I’m just loving this part of me more. The part that watches you sing while folding laundry, or kisses Lyla’s curls when she falls asleep on my chest, or watches Sebastian explain why one dinosaur could totally beat another in a race.”

You chuckled, teary-eyed and full of love. “You’re soft.”

He smirked, “I’m a marshmallow for you. And them. Completely useless without you guys.”

You nodded slowly, eyes glinting with emotion. “We’re useless without you too.”

Then, of course, came the turn.

“And I think I do want another baby,” he added, more serious this time, eyes not leaving yours.

You let out a slow sigh. “Maybe one day, Lando. Maybe when you retire… When you’re actually home more than gone.”

He shrugged innocently. “Mmm, if I can just pull out enough—”

“Lando Norris!” you scolded sharply, eyes wide.

He burst into laughter, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m kidding! I swear. Kind of. Half kidding.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to suppress your smile but failing.

“I just…” He leaned back slightly, his gaze softening. “I love what we’ve built. I love what we’re still building. And if I’m being honest, even the hard days — the tantrums, the late-night feedings, the exhausting travel — I’d do it all again with you.”

Your breath caught for a moment, a knot forming in your throat as his words settled.

“I’d do it all again with you too,” you whispered.

He exhaled, smiling.

"I have to go, but I love you and you have to watch the race" he said

"we wouldn't miss it for the world"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The tension had built up for days.

In the quiet stillness of your Monaco flat, it was race day. You could feel it in the air, thick with excitement and nerves. The living room was decked out in your usual Norris-family race day tradition — soft throws on the couch, little flags in the corner, and three matching shirts that read “Team Norris” in bold navy lettering. Lyla had one much too big for her tiny frame, but she wore it anyway, content on your lap, her thumb in her mouth and her wide eyes fixed on the TV screen. Sebastian, meanwhile, was nearly bouncing in place, his eyes shining, his hair still a little mussed from sleep.

You hadn't heard much from Lando since the night before — just a quick "I love you" text with a photo of him on the grid in the early prep stages — but you understood. This was the one. The big one. And you knew where his mind had to be. It still didn’t stop you from missing him.

"He has to win!" Sebastian said again with conviction, this time louder, his feet tucked under the blanket and his eyes already locked on the pre-race footage.

You gave a soft smile, brushing your hand over Lyla’s curls before standing. “Just give it some time, sweetheart. I'll get your snacks — popcorn or goldfish?”

“Both!” Sebastian shouted after you as you headed into the kitchen.

Back in the living room, Sebastian leaned closer to his baby sister, a grin spreading across his face. “Daddy’s gonna win, I just know it,” he whispered like it was a sacred truth. “And I’ll prove my point to Matteo from school, who said Daddy’s only second-best. Hah! Wait till he sees this.”

Lyla blinked at him, offering a toothy grin and a little clumsy clap as she watched the colorful cars roll out onto the formation lap.

Meanwhile, across the world, on the grid.

Lando pulled on his gloves, taking one last breath as the helmet was lowered onto his head. The outside world dimmed.

The engineers around him buzzed with activity, last-minute data checks, and tire temps, but Lando was quiet, focused. One AirPod still in, playing the last voice note you had sent him — Lyla babbling in the background, Sebastian yelling "Bring home a trophy, Dad!" and you, soft and reassuring, saying, “No matter the result, we’re watching, and we’re proud.”

He closed his eyes. That was all he needed.

Oscar passed by with a thumbs up, and Lando nodded, his jaw tight but a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

He climbed into the cockpit, strapping in.

“Radio check,” his engineer’s voice buzzed.

“Radio check, loud and clear,” Lando replied.

“Alright, Lando. You know the target. Eyes forward.”

Back in Monaco…

You returned with two bowls, setting them on the coffee table as the lights on the screen counted down.

“Okay guys… here we go,” you said, dropping to the couch and wrapping one arm around Lyla, the other rubbing Sebastian’s back.

“Lights out and away we go!”

Lap 1-10:

Lando got off to a strong start, holding his position in P2, close behind Verstappen. The first few laps were all about rhythm, getting into the groove. You leaned forward as you watched him maneuver confidently, hugging apexes, defending perfectly from Leclerc who trailed behind in P3.

“He’s doing good, right?” Sebastian asked, clutching a little toy McLaren car in his hands.

“He’s doing amazing,” you smiled, heart pounding.

Lap 11-25:

The tension began to build. Lando was gaining time in Sector 2 — fast, precise, pushing the limits.

Then came the first big move: DRS open, Lando dove down the inside of Max at Turn 4 — bold, committed, clean. He took the lead.

You stood up instinctively, nearly knocking the popcorn bowl over. “Oh my God! He did it!” you gasped, hands over your mouth.

Sebastian jumped up and down on the couch. “HE’S IN FIRST! MAMA! HE’S IN FIRST!”

Lyla clapped again, amused by the yelling more than the race itself.

Lap 26-40:

Pit stops came and went. The team got Lando out just in time to cover an undercut from Carlos Sainz. It was tight, the kind of strategy that made your hands sweat and your heart ache, but it worked.

Lando stayed ahead.

You texted him a quick message even though you knew he wouldn’t see it till hours later: “We’re screaming. In the best way. Keep going, baby.”

Lap 41-55:

Fatigue started to show on track. Tire wear became an issue for nearly everyone — except Lando. He managed his tires like a master, something you knew he’d been working on.

Oscar came up on the radio: “Keep pushing, mate. Clean sectors. He’s not gaining.”

Back in Monaco, you were chewing on a nail, leaning forward, whispering, “Come on, come on, come on...”

Sebastian sat completely still, eyes locked, absorbing everything, while Lyla dozed slightly against your arm.

Lap 56-60:

A late Virtual Safety Car nearly ruined everything — a spin from Tsunoda meant Lando had to hold his nerve for a restart with just four laps to go.

“You got this, baby,” you whispered.

Lando held the restart beautifully.

Max tried to pressure him. Leclerc was still lurking. But it wasn’t enough.

You saw it coming — last lap, still leading, gap stable — and your heart rose into your throat.

Final Lap.

“He’s going to do it, he’s going to do it,” you repeated like a prayer, holding Lyla tighter as she shifted awake.

Sebastian stood tall on the couch, arms raised before the car even crossed the line.

Lando Norris takes the win!

The living room erupted.

You scooped Sebastian into your arms, both of you yelling, laughing. Lyla squealed at the noise, bouncing in your grip as you kissed her forehead.

“That’s your dad!” you said, tears pricking your eyes. “That’s our guy!”

Sebastian was fist-pumping, dancing around. “He did it! I TOLD YOU! I TOLD EVERYONE!”

The energy from the win still surged through Lando like electricity.

Champagne soaked his fire suit, the fizzy scent clinging to his skin, and the weight of the first-place trophy still tingled in his fingers. It had been a long, grueling season, but this moment—this victory—made every drop of sweat, every frustrating finish, every near miss worth it.

He had stood on the top step of the podium, the national anthem ringing in his ears, flanked by rivals who, in that moment, were just shadows in his periphery. He’d closed his eyes as the crowd roared, tilting his head back to the sky, arms raised—this one was for them. For you. For Sebastian. For Lyla.

The after-race buzz carried him into the media pen, where bright lights flashed and microphones lined up like waiting mouths.

He knew the drill. Praise, performance, statistics. But this time, it felt different. More personal.

The interviewer greeted him warmly, microphone in hand, and Lando offered her his usual winning grin, wiping a stray drop of champagne from his cheek.

"That race was amazing! You did good out there, congratulations on your win."

“Ah, thank you,” Lando said, voice steady but still glowing with pride. “We’ve been working hard as a team. McLaren has been putting in the effort. I think this is a result we absolutely deserve. We’ve come a long way and I’m proud of all of us.”

"You made some great overtakes, looked pretty smooth on the track out there,” she added.

He chuckled, brushing a hand through his damp curls. “Yeah, I agree. I did enjoy that. Smooth. Confident. Covered in champagne now,” he added playfully, gesturing to the soaked suit.

The interviewer laughed lightly. “So, onto a serious question—what pushed your focus today?”

Lando’s smile softened. “My family back home,” he said without hesitation. “My wife and our kids. Every time I race, I know they’re watching. That matters more than anything else. My son’s probably bouncing off the walls right now, and my daughter... well, she’s probably clapping and not really understanding why,” he laughed gently.

“Speaking of,” the interviewer said, voice shifting slightly, “Lyla has grown a lot, hasn’t she? She’s your first child, correct?”

Lando tilted his head, surprised. “Lyla’s my youngest. Sebastian’s the first,” he corrected with ease.

The interviewer’s expression stiffened slightly, a subtle shift in tone as she pressed forward. “Right, but... Sebastian isn’t biologically yours, is he? That’s been talked about online a lot. It’s everywhere on social media, so we were just wondering if you could confirm it. Are you... a bonus dad, then?”

There was a pause.

The sparkle in Lando’s eyes dimmed instantly. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he simply stared at her. The celebratory atmosphere turned cold.

“Where are you getting your information?” he asked, voice clipped, firm.

She blinked. “It’s all over the internet. Just speculation, and we’ve talked about it before in smaller settings—”

“You’ve talked about it,” Lando interrupted, his tone sharper now. “Without us. Without permission. Without context. That’s not speculation. That’s invasion.”

The camera continued rolling, capturing every twitch of his expression as it darkened.

“I’m sorry,” he said, more composed now but pointed. “What part of this interview gives you the right to belittle my son? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

The interviewer seemed to falter, caught off-guard.

“I don’t race for this,” Lando said, voice steady but seething. “I don’t climb into that car, risk my life, give my everything—just to sit here and hear you disrespect a little boy who’s probably wearing my name on his back right now.”

He took a deep breath, visibly trying to steady the anger that surged beneath the surface. “I’ve been in his life since he was three. I’ve tucked him in every night I’m home. I’ve been at his karting races, holding his helmet, tying his shoes, patching his scraped knees. I’ve wiped his tears and celebrated his victories. That is my son. Period.”

The interviewer tried to speak, “I was just—”

“Digging,” Lando cut her off coldly. “You were digging. For drama. For a soundbite. Let me make something clear. Your job is to ask me about this—” he gestured around the paddock, the track, the microphones—“not about my family. Not about my wife. Not about my children.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His words, low and calm, cut sharper than anything else could.

“I’m not a ‘bonus dad.’ I’m just his dad,” he continued, emotion cracking just slightly in his voice. “If you can’t understand that, then you’re not qualified to sit behind that microphone. And if any of you out there are scrolling through my wife’s social media trying to create stories out of our life, just know — it ends here. Her account will be private by tonight, and I’ll make damn sure of that.”

Lando stared her down, jaw tight. “I love my family. I protect my family. You don’t get to question that.”

And with that, he pushed the mic gently aside and turned, walking off, his soaked fire suit leaving damp footprints on the concrete. The cameras followed him, the silence of the interviewer deafening behind him.

At home, you had pulled Sebastian into your lap, shielding him from some of the awkward silence, but he had heard enough to understand that his dad had defended him.

Your heart swelled with love. You pressed your lips to Sebastian’s temple.

“He’s the best,” Sebastian whispered, resting his head against your shoulder.

“He really is,” you whispered back, eyes misty.

And as the screen faded to coverage of the next driver interview, the three of you sat there in silence — proud, warm, protected.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was well past midnight when the front door clicked open.

The Monaco flat was dimly lit, the soft hum of the city outside barely reaching through the thick windows. Lando stepped inside quietly, careful not to let the door slam behind him. He stood still for a moment, shoulders heavy with travel and the weight of the last few days, just breathing it all in.

Home.

It smelled like lavender and laundry detergent. Like calm. Like you.

He dropped his bag gently by the wall, toes sinking into the familiar rug. The place was quiet—so quiet it almost made him hesitate. But then—

“Lando?”

Your voice came softly from down the hall, thick with sleep but unmistakable. He turned toward it just in time to see you stepping out from the bedroom, wearing one of his hoodies, your hair messy, eyes puffy from sleep.

“You’re awake?” he asked, surprised but touched.

You didn’t answer right away. You just walked to him, arms wrapping around his torso as your head found his chest. He let out a long breath, holding you tightly, his hand smoothing over your back like he’d been aching to do it for weeks.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you whispered. “Not till I knew you were home safe.”

He kissed the top of your head, quietly. “I’m here now.”

You looked up at him after a beat. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked gently, brow furrowing.

You swallowed, stepping back just enough to look into his eyes. “For defending Sebastian... in that interview after the race. I watched it live. I—I cried, Lando. You stood up for him like he was born yours. I think you gave him something that day that words can’t explain. Closure. Pride. Love.”

His face softened. “You don’t need to thank me for loving my own kid.”

You took his hand, giving it a small squeeze. “Come on, sit with me.”

You both moved to the living room, the silence between you filled only with the late-night hum of the world outside. Lando sank into the couch beside you and pulled something out of his backpack—a large envelope.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said, handing it to you. “But during this trip... I finally did it.”

You opened the envelope slowly. Your breath caught when you saw the words printed at the top of the first page.

Petition for Adoption.

Your hand flew to your mouth as your eyes began to water. “Lando…”

“I want to adopt Sebastian,” he said firmly. “Not just emotionally. Not just in practice. I want him to know, for the rest of his life, that he’s mine. In every way. I want him to carry my name proudly, not just because it’s what he’s always known—but because I chose him. Because he’s my son.”

You blinked through your tears, heart aching in the most beautiful way.

“He is your son,” you whispered. “He always has been, but... yes. Yes, of course you can adopt him. His biological father gave up any rights years ago. This... it’ll just make it official.”

Lando smiled, relief and love rushing over his face like a wave.

“I want him to see his name on paper and know that he was never second choice. That I was never filling a space. That I am his dad.”

You reached for him, pulling him into another hug, both of you holding onto each other tightly.

“He’s going to love this,” you murmured against his shoulder. “He’ll be so proud.”

After a moment, he kissed the top of your head and leaned back, looking toward the dark hallway.

“Where are they?”

“In our bed,” you said with a sleepy laugh. “They didn’t know you’d be home tonight, so they both passed out in your spot.”

Lando chuckled quietly. “Of course they did. I should’ve guessed.”

He stood and stretched, running a hand through his messy curls, then glanced back at you with a tired but happy smile.

“I’ll crawl in beside them. I missed that.”

You nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll put the papers somewhere safe.”

As he disappeared down the hallway toward your shared bedroom, you lingered on the couch a little longer, fingers brushing over the envelope in your lap. The adoption papers felt like more than just forms. They were proof of love, of choice, of a bond deeper than blood.

Lando Norris wasn’t just a driver. He wasn’t just a husband.

He was a father—one who had chosen your son with his whole heart.

And soon, the world would know it, too.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was a bright, golden Saturday morning, the kind where the sun felt warmer just from the happiness in the air. The buzz of excitement surrounded the karting track as parents gathered along the fences, kids zipped around in anticipation, and the low hum of engines created a constant vibration in the atmosphere.

You stood at the edge of the crowd, gently rocking Lyla in your arms. Her little fists clung to your hoodie, her face buried against your neck as the loudness of the event overwhelmed her small, sensitive self. Her curls tickled your cheek as she whimpered softly, the noise too much, the people too many.

“I know, baby girl,” you murmured, swaying gently with her. “You’re okay. Mama’s got you. We’re just watching your big brother, and I promise you’re safe. Deep breaths, just like we practiced.”

You could feel her breathing start to match yours, still uneven, but getting there.

Not far away, Lando crouched in front of Sebastian, who stood in his racing boots, looking up at his stepdad with wide, focused eyes. Lando held out the fresh, custom McLaren-orange-and-black racing suit with his name stitched across the chest: Sebastian Norris.

“Here, champ. Get this on,” Lando said with a grin, his eyes gleaming with pride.

Sebastian’s smile was immediate—half excitement, half nerves—as he slipped into the suit with Lando’s help. Lando zipped it up and adjusted the collar, smoothing out the sleeves like he was dressing him for battle.

“Remember,” Lando began, placing a hand over Sebastian’s shoulder, “you’ve got this. You’re fast, you’re smart, and you’re brave. Everything I taught you in practice—that was just guidance. But today? This is your race. It’s your hands on the wheel. You own every second out there. Be proud of yourself no matter what.”

You stepped closer, giving Sebastian a warm smile. “And remember something else too, baby. Even if you don’t come first, we’re always proud of you. You’re our superstar no matter what place you get, okay?”

Sebastian, eyes big with emotion, suddenly launched himself forward and wrapped his arms around both of you, burying his face between you and Lando. It was tight and fast and full of love.

“Love you both,” he said into the hug.

“We love you more,” you both echoed at the same time, grinning.

Just then, a familiar voice called out beside you. “Am I missing anything?”

You turned to see Oscar Piastri, sunglasses pushed into his curls and a grin on his face. He was holding a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, like he’d rushed to get there just in time.

“You showed up at the right moment,” you said, nodding toward the track. “Taking the uncle role seriously?”

Oscar glanced at Lyla, who peeked up at him briefly before hiding again. “Trying,” he said, a little awkwardly, patting her gently on the back like he wasn’t quite sure how to comfort a toddler.

You chuckled. “She’ll warm up to you. She’s got anxiety, so she’s on edge right now, but... just wait. She’s going to adore you. You’re already one of her favorite people—we just haven’t told her yet.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow playfully. “Guess I better live up to it.”

Meanwhile, Sebastian climbed into his kart with Lando by his side. The helmet went on. Visor down. Gloves tightened. It was the kind of moment that made your heart swell—watching a boy take after the man who raised him, inspired by him.

Lando leaned in for one last word, tapping Sebastian’s helmet twice. “Have fun out there, alright? Do it for yourself.”

Then the engines roared.

The race began.

You, Lando, and Oscar stood at the rail, eyes locked on the track. The karts whizzed by, and you could barely keep up with how fast they were moving. Sebastian got a decent start but was caught behind a few karts early on, stuck in the middle pack. Lando’s hands clenched the fence, but his voice remained calm.

“You’re okay, son! You’ve got time. Stay smart, find your line,” he called out.

Sebastian, laser-focused, didn’t respond, but you knew he heard him. You could tell by the way he adjusted his line and began picking up pace. Lap after lap, he pushed harder, smoothly maneuvering the corners and creeping up on the front two.

“He’s holding steady,” Oscar muttered. “Smart kid.”

On the final lap, everything changed.

Sebastian saw the opening at the hairpin—a risky move, the kind Lando had pulled once years ago in Formula 1. With confidence far beyond his years, Sebastian went for it, cutting in sharply and overtaking both drivers with stunning precision. The crowd erupted.

You screamed. “THAT’S MY BABY!”

Lando pumped his fists into the air, grabbing Lyla out of your arms and lifting her up with joy.

“HE DID IT! That’s my boy!” Lando laughed, peppering kisses all over Lyla’s cheek as she giggled, her anxiety forgotten for a moment. “Your brother did it, little bug! This means we’re gonna celebrate!”

You felt your throat tighten with pride as the announcer echoed the final call over the speakers:

“Sebastian Norris takes the win! What an incredible overtake! What a finish!”

Sebastian pulled into the finish area, lifting his helmet off to reveal a glowing, flushed face and the biggest grin you’d ever seen. His eyes searched the crowd—he wasn’t looking for the trophy.

He was looking for his family.

And you were already running.

The day had been filled with celebration—post-race chatter with other parents, Sebastian glowing under the praise, Lyla surprisingly soothed by the familiar warmth of family even in the crowd. You all went out for lunch, somewhere simple and kid-friendly, where Sebastian insisted on ordering the “victory pancakes” and got whipped cream on his nose. Lando let him wear his medal around his neck the entire time.

Now, hours later, the sun hanging gently above the Monaco skyline, the flat was filled with a peace that only came after a day well-spent.

You sat curled up on the couch with Lando, your legs across his lap and his fingers lazily tracing circles on your ankle. The golden glow from the windows bathed the room in light, and across from you, in the display case that Lando had meticulously organized, sat Sebastian’s first-ever karting trophy. It gleamed under the soft light—placed proudly in the center, as if it belonged in a museum.

“We did it,” Lando said softly, breaking the silence with a small, awed chuckle. “He won.”

You smiled and leaned your head against his shoulder, watching the way his eyes lingered on the trophy with that soft fatherly pride that never got old. “He did. And he earned it. You both did.”

Lando looked at you with a grin, then glanced toward the hallway. “He’s been jumping on his bed for the past ten minutes, I swear.”

“He’s seven,” you laughed. “He might still be jumping when he’s seventeen.”

“Honestly, he’s got something special,” Lando said. “Just at seven... imagine what kind of skill he’ll have when he’s older. He’s going to be unstoppable.”

Your fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt. “I believe it. And Lyla… well, hopefully she picks something a little less... tire-screeching. Maybe something quiet. Like painting or reading books.”

Lando laughed. “Please. I am begging the universe for that.”

“She’s only two and already doesn’t like loud noises,” you reminded him, nodding toward her room where soft music was playing and little clinks of plastic toys could be heard as she played peacefully. “Let’s pray it sticks.”

Lando’s arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “You still haven’t rewarded me,” he teased, voice low and cheeky.

You raised a brow with a smirk. “Rewarded you for what?”

He grinned. “For raising a champion, obviously. For all my hard work. The late nights. The endless pep talks. The helmet adjusting.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, pretending to consider. “So... what are you asking for exactly?”

His eyebrows wiggled, and you knew exactly where this was going. “Well,” he said, leaning in. “The kids will be asleep tonight... it’ll just be me and you... in our bed...”

You snorted, swatting his chest. “Lando!”

“I’m just saying!” he laughed. “It’s the perfect time to discuss a possible baby number three... maybe even a name list.”

You pulled back, eyes wide and playful. “We are not having another baby, Lando.”

He gasped in mock betrayal. “Mrs. Norris, how dare you deny your devoted husband more offspring!”

You burst out laughing. “You are being needy.”

“And you,” he leaned in to kiss you, “are being difficult.”

Just as you kissed him back, the sweet moment was interrupted by a voice yelling from down the hall: “MOM! DAD! Come look! I made a racetrack out of my LEGOs!”

You looked at Lando, who just gave a breathless chuckle, resting his forehead against yours. “Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.

“Because I’m just... happy,” he said, voice soft. “He’s a Norris now. Really a Norris. Legally. Officially. My boy.”

Your heart swelled at the way his voice cracked ever so slightly at the word my. You reached up to kiss him again, fingers brushing his cheek.

“He always was,” you whispered. “Even before the papers. But now... it’s forever.”

Lando’s lips curved into a proud smile. “Yeah. Forever.”

Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he leaned back and added, “And baby three will be too—”

You grabbed the nearest couch pillow and chucked it at him, hitting him square in the chest.

“Your baby fever is at an all-time high,” you warned, grinning as he laughed and threw his hands up.

“Get it fixed, Norris.”

“Can’t help it!” he said, holding the pillow like a prize. “You made this life too good.”

And somewhere down the hall, a little boy was yelling about tires and turns, a little girl was humming with her toys, and in that living room—surrounded by trophies, laughter, and the soft kind of love that lasts—Lando Norris sat beside his forever family, more proud than he ever imagined he could be.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

TAG LIST: @aunslie @fastandcurious16

[ahqkas]

Can you please write dumb/subtle/random/cute things batboys will do while they are crushing on reader?

♯ FEEL YOUR LIPS CRUSH . . .

— gn!reader, fluff

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE

becomes overly observant but awkwardly obvious

bruce wayne is a master of observation—trained to notice the smallest details in a room, a person, or a crime scene. but when it comes to you, this skill becomes more of a curse than a blessing. his crush transforms his usual precision into something downright awkward as he hyper-focuses on the tiniest parts of your life.

it starts innocently enough. you’ll be in the middle of a casual conversation when bruce interrupts, his deep voice breaking through your train of thought.

“you’ve switched your coffee order recently,” he says matter-of-factly, his piercing blue eyes locking on yours.

you blink, momentarily confused. “uh, yeah. i wanted to try something different.”

“it’s good,” he replies, his tone completely serious, as if your new preference for caramel flavored coffee over vanilla is a critical observation.

sometimes his comments catch you so off guard that you don’t even know how to respond. like the time you came into the room wearing a pair of old sneakers. bruce, who was leaning against the kitchen counter sipping his coffee, glanced down and said, “those laces are frayed. you should replace them.”

you laughed nervously, unsure if he was joking. “uh, thanks for the tip?”

but bruce wasn’t joking. “i’ll send alfred to pick up new ones. you don’t want them snapping mid-step.”

he tries to play it cool, he really does, but his constant streak of seemingly random observations only makes his feelings more obvious. one afternoon, you find him glancing at your notebook while you jot something down. without even looking at you, he says, “you press harder with the pen when you’re tired. your handwriting’s smaller today.”

you set your pen down, giving him a skeptical look. “do you . . . keep track of my handwriting, bruce?”

his face doesn’t change, though you swear his ears flush the faintest shade of pink. “no,” he says smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee. “it’s just. . . noticeable.”

it’s the way he says it—quiet and genuine—that sends your heart fluttering. he doesn’t realize how much he’s revealing, but his small, awkward comments and laser focus on the details of your life make it abundantly clear.

the funny thing is, you’re not the only one noticing. alfred, who’s known bruce wayne longer than anyone, often raises an eyebrow or hides a knowing smirk whenever bruce starts one of his “random” observations.

( “perhaps master wayne should focus on his own handwriting.” bruce glares at alfred, but his lack of a comment only makes the butler’s smirk grow wider. )

finds excuses to be helpful

bruce’s wealth is something he wields with the subtlety of a battering ram when he’s crushing on someone. his intentions are good—he genuinely wants to help—but it often comes off as over-the-top or hilariously unnecessary. for someone as logical and composed as the bat, using his money to make your life easier feels like a no-brainer, but he doesn’t realize just how obvious it makes his feelings.

it starts small at first. you might casually mention needing to replace something—your laptop is acting up or your phone is outdated. the next day, without fail, a box will mysteriously appear at your doorstep. inside, you’ll find not just a replacement but the absolute best version of the device, meticulously selected and clearly expensive.

“bruce,” you say, holding up the latest model of a WE laptop you can’t imagine ever affording on your own. “did you do this?”

he looks up from his work, his expression calm and unbothered. “it’s practical,” he says, as if that’s a reasonable excuse for gifting you a piece of technology worth more than your rent. “your old one was slow. it’s inefficient to struggle with outdated equipment.”

when you try to protest, he waves it off, as though spending thousands of dollars on you is no more different than buying a cup of coffee.

but it doesn’t stop there. one morning, you’re sitting in the kitchen with him, absently complaining about how your car keeps breaking down. it’s an offhanded comment, something you don’t think twice about, but bruce takes it as a challenge. by the time you’ve finished your coffee, he’s already pulled out his phone to make arrangements.

“wait,” you interrupt him, narrowing your eyes as you catch him murmuring something to alfred over the phone. “what are you doing?”

“nothing,” he replies too quickly, but later that day, you’re startled to find a sleek new car parked outside your home, the keys and a handwritten note from the butler sitting on your counter.

“bruce!” you exclaim, storming into the study to confront him.

he doesn’t even look up from his computer. “your old car was unreliable. this one is safer.”

“that’s not the point!”

“it’s just a car,” he says with a small shrug, though there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

despite his attitude, it’s clear he’s putting an incredible amount of thought into everything he does for you. his gestures are less about showing off his wealth and more about making sure you never have to struggle, even in the smallest ways. because to him, it’s just logical—he has the resources, so why wouldn’t he use them to make your life easier?

DICK GRAYSON

finds excuses to touch you

for someone as physically expressive as dick grayson, touch comes as naturally as breathing—but when he’s crushing on you, it’s a whole new level. he’s not even aware of how much he does it at first, but the moments start to add up. it’s little things at first: the way he always seems to find a reason to brush his hand against yours, the casual way his shoulder bumps into you when you’re walking side by side, or the way he’ll lean close when he’s explaining something, his hand ghosting over yours as he gestures.

but then, it becomes less about the accidental and more about the intentional. when you’re sitting on the couch together, he’ll sling an arm over the back of it, his fingers close enough to brush against your shoulder. he’ll offer his hand when you’re stepping out of a car or climbing over something, even if you don’t need it, the contact lingers just a second longer than necessary.

“careful,” he’ll say, his voice soft and teasing, even though the step you’re taking isn’t remotely precarious.

“you know i can walk, right?”

he grins, squeezing your hand briefly before letting it go. “just being chivalrous.”

and then, there are the moments when he gets so wrapped up in the conversation or your presence that he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. like the time you were sitting together, and he absentmindedly started playing with the hem of your sleeve. it wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he looked down, startled, his ears turning pink as he quickly let go.

“sorry,” he mumbled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “didn’t realize i was doing that.”

but the blush on his cheeks told you everything you needed to know.

for dick, touch is a way of expressing what words sometimes fail to say. every hand on your shoulder, every playful nudge, and every lingering hug is his way of saying, i like being near you. i like you. even if he hasn’t quite found the courage to say it out loud, his actions make it impossible to miss.

teases you relentlessly (but gets flustered when you tease him back)

teasing is how dick shows affection, how he keeps things light, and, more than anything, how he tries to get your attention. when he’s crushing on you, though, his teasing takes on a new level. every little thing you do seems to give him material to poke fun at, not in a mean way, but in a way that makes it clear he’s paying attention to everything about you.

if you trip over a word while talking, he’ll immediately smirk. “careful there, shakespeare,” he’ll quip. “do we need to enroll you in a public speaking class?” or if you drop something, he’s ready with a dramatic gasp. “wow, butterfingers, do you need me to carry everything for you? i could be your personal assistant, but i charge by the hour.”

it’s playful, yes, but it’s also consistent. he’s always looking for ways to make you laugh, even if it’s at your own expense. like the time you were struggling to open a stubborn jar of jam, and he swooped in, popping the lid off with ease.

“guess i’m just the stronger one here,” he said, flexing his biceps with an exaggerated grin. “it’s okay; not everyone can have these guns.”

but if you so much as raise an eyebrow or fire back with your own jab, the tables turn in an instant. one day, after he’d spent a full five minutes teasing you about your choice of coffee ( “a triple-shot vanilla latte with almond milk? fancy. are you sure you don’t need a royal escort to carry it for you?” ), you finally snapped back.

“oh, and i suppose you’re the coffee expert, mr. regular black coffee? real creative. i bet the baristas have your order memorized.”

the grin on his face faltered for a split second, his eyes widening just slightly. then came the blush—the faint pink hue creeping up his cheeks as he tried to recover, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“hey, black coffee is . . . classic,” he mumbled, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

and that’s the thing about dick grayson: as much as he loves dishing it out, he can’t always handle it when it’s directed at him. the moment you tease him back, especially if it’s about something he’s sensitive about (like his perfectly styled hair or his need to one-up everyone), he turns into an awkward, flustered mess.

“you spend how long on your hair every morning?” you asked him once, teasingly ruffling his carefully combed locks after he made fun of the mismatched socks you were wearing.

he froze, his hand shooting up to fix the damage. “it’s not that long,” he protested, his voice defensive but light.

“oh, come on! i bet you use at least three different products. don’t tell me you don’t have a favorite brand of gel.”

his cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, “i—you know, it’s just . . . maintenance! can’t all of us roll out of bed looking flawless, okay?”

you laughed, and he groaned, muttering something under his breath about how you were “way too good at this.”

JASON TODD

acts nonchalant but is always nearby

jason todd is many things—brash, sarcastic, sometimes even reckless—but when it comes to feelings he doesn’t fully understand, he defaults to keeping his distance . . . or at least pretending he’s keeping his distance. the truth is, when he’s crushing on you, he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, always finding an excuse to be wherever you are without making it obvious. or so he thinks.

take your quiet sunday afternoons, for instance. maybe you’ve settled on the couch with a book, enjoying the rare peace. jason walks in, all nonchalant, like he’s just passing through. he glances at you—just a quick flick of his eyes, like he’s making sure you’re still there—and then he settles in the chair across from you, a spot he never uses otherwise.

“what are you doing?” you ask, watching as he pulls out a book of his own, the same one he’s been pretending to read for weeks.

he doesn’t even look up. “reading.”

you roll your eyes but say nothing, knowing full well he’s barely getting through a page. you can feel his gaze on you every few minutes, like he’s trying to memorize the way your brow furrows in concentration or how you chew on the corner of your lip when you’re focused. and if you catch him? he quickly snaps his attention back to his book, pretending obliviousness.

“didn’t know you liked this spot so much,” you tease, gesturing to the chair.

a smirk plays on the edge of his lips, though there’s a flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. “what, i can’t sit here now? thought it was a free country.”

it’s always like that—his attempts to mask how much he cares come with a side of sarcasm. but the truth slips through in the little details. like how he never actually leaves the room until you do. or how, even when you’re sitting in silence, he finds a reason to linger. maybe he’s scrolling through his phone, flipping through a magazine, or staring at the ceiling like he’s deep in thought. but really, he’s just soaking in your presence.

and then there are the times when he doesn’t even bother pretending. like when you’re sitting in the kitchen, finishing up some work, and he wordlessly sits down across from you, arms crossed and chin propped in his hand.

“what?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“nothing,” he replies, though the slight curve of his lips gives him away.

it’s not that jason is afraid to admit he likes you ( although there is a possibility he is but we don’t talk about that )—it’s just that he doesn’t know how. so instead, he hovers. he sticks close enough to feel like he’s part of your world but not so close that he risks giving himself away. so while he might act nonchalant, the truth is, he’s anything but. every glance, every lingering moment, every excuse to be near you is jason’s way of saying he cares—he just hasn’t found the words yet.

fixes things you didn’t even know were broken

jason’s way of showing he cares is a little unconventional, but it’s always in the small, unspoken ways. he’s the type to notice things that no one else would—things that have been lingering for ages in the background of your life, just waiting for someone to fix them. but because it’s jason, he’ll never bring it up. he’ll just do it, no questions asked, and then act like it never happened.

it starts with the little things. your chair in the living room? it’s been squeaking for months now, but it’s not something you’ve gotten around to fixing. it’s one of those annoyances you’ve learned to ignore, a piece of background noise that doesn’t really bother you enough to take action.

until one day, it suddenly stops.

you sit down in the chair, and for the first time in ages, it’s silent. your eyes narrow. you didn’t fix this—so who did?

“jason?” you ask, glancing toward him as he lounges on the couch, pretending to be deep in whatever he’s doing.

he doesn’t even look up. “what?”

“the chair. it’s. . . quiet now.”

he pauses for just a moment, but it’s enough to catch the shift in his demeanor. he shrugs, barely concealing the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “must’ve gotten lucky. or maybe it fixed itself.”

you know it didn’t. but before you can press him on it, he’s already back to whatever he was doing, like the whole thing is no big deal. it’s almost as if he’s trying to play it off, hoping you won’t notice that he’s been quietly fixing things in your life, one at a time.

the next thing happens a few days later. you walk into the kitchen, only to find that the light above the sink, the one that flickers every time you try to use it, is now working. perfectly.

you stop, standing in the doorway and just staring at it. there’s no way you fixed it. and it certainly wasn’t broken enough to need replacing. so once again, you turn your gaze to jason, who’s now sitting at the kitchen table, eating a snack and acting entirely uninterested in your investigation.

“jason, did you—?”

“no,” he interrupts and continues watching the video essay he turns on every time he eats.

“uh-huh,” you say, narrowing your eyes, walking toward the light and testing the switch again just to make sure you’re not imagining things. it stays steady, glowing without hesitation.

he’ll never say it out loud, but each fix—each thoughtful act—speaks louder than any words could. the broken things don’t matter, because jason is here, fixing them in his own way, piece by piece.

TIM DRAKE

gets shy when you’re too close

tim drake is usually the picture of composure. he’s calm, collected, and can handle himself in just about any situation, but when you’re too close, all that confidence seems to slip away. it starts small. you’re sitting beside him, maybe sharing a space while working on something, and without thinking, you slide just a little bit closer to him. maybe your arm brushes against his, or your knee nudges his under the table.

it’s enough to throw him off, just for a second. his heart rate picks up slightly, and he tries to hide it behind the screen of his laptop, pretending to focus harder than he really is. but he knows, deep down, that he’s hyperaware of you now—of the way you’re sitting, of the way your presence seems to fill the space between the two of you.

his eyes flicker toward you, but quickly dart away, like he’s afraid you caught him staring. it’s an involuntary reaction, the nervous little shift in his posture as he tries to seem as casual as possible. he clears his throat, his voice slightly quieter than usual. “uh, sorry, was just—just making sure the laptop was charging.”

it’s obvious to you that he’s not really talking about the laptop. he’s trying to act like it’s no big deal, but every time you’re too close to him, tim’s body betrays him. the way his leg shifts a little away from yours under the table, or how he tries to subtly angle his body so there’s just a little more space between you and him, even if he doesn’t want there to be.

you might not notice the subtle movements, but tim does. and every time you get close to him, whether it’s by accident or on purpose, he feels a flutter of nerves that he can’t quite explain. it’s not that he doesn’t want you near him—far from it—but the proximity messes with him in ways he doesn’t understand. his thoughts get jumbled, and his usual calmness slips, replaced by the flustered feeling he’s not used to.

if you ever catch him looking at you, his gaze quickly drops, and a soft blush creeps up his neck. “i—i didn’t mean to—uh, just making sure you’re not too cramped.” he mutters, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his laptop, anything to distract himself from the fact that he’s suddenly very aware of you being so close.

sometimes, when you get too near, tim will just freeze for a moment. it’s like his body can’t process the closeness, and the little awkward silence stretches between you two. it’s not uncomfortable—far from it—but it’s a vulnerable thing for tim, this closeness he doesn’t know how to handle.

but if you keep talking, or even just touch his arm gently when you lean over to look at something, tim’s composure slips even more. he shifts in his seat, trying to act like he’s calm, but his hand might twitch toward yours for just a second before he pulls it away like he’s afraid you’ll notice how he’s reacting.

follows you around during patrol

it’s late at night, the moon casting faint silver light across the streets, and the only sounds are the hum of city life and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. you’re out on a walk, maybe trying to clear your head or just enjoy the quiet, unaware that someone is watching you from the shadows. tim, clad in his suit, has been tailing you for a while now. it’s not that he’s trying to be creepy or intrusive, but rather, he’s just . . . concerned.

tim is the kind of person who can’t turn off his instincts, and tonight, for whatever reason, they’re telling him to stay close. he’s perched high above you on a rooftop, watching you walk along the street below, trying to remain unseen. his red robin suit blends into the darkness of the night, the shadows making him nearly invisible to anyone who might be looking.

he’s not sure why he’s doing it—it’s not like you’ve asked him to keep an eye on you—but there’s something about the quiet stillness of the night that has him on edge. maybe it’s because you’ve been a little distant lately, or maybe he’s just worried something might happen to you in the dark. either way, he’s got his eyes on you, and he won’t stop until you’re safely back where you belong.

he’s quick, agile, moving like a shadow himself. you might hear a faint creak of a fire escape ladder or the flurry of footsteps just out of your line of sight, but when you look, there’s nothing there—just the empty street, the soft glow of streetlights, and the ever-present hum of the city.

it’s when you stop for a moment, distracted by something—maybe you’re checking your phone or admiring a nearby storefront—that he’s closest. in that moment, tim takes a chance, moving closer to you, just a few feet away in the darkened alley. he’s not trying to startle you, but there’s something in his gut that tells him he can’t let you out of his sight, especially when it’s this late, and the streets feel a little emptier than usual.

he’ll hover just out of view, giving you space but never quite leaving you alone. if you keep walking, he follows, keeping his distance but staying close enough to ensure you’re safe. when you stop at a crosswalk or glance around, he’s already a few rooftops away, peering down at you from above, making sure you’re not being followed.

the closer you get to home, the more relaxed tim feels, but he never lets his guard down entirely. even when you reach the safety of your doorstep, he lingers just out of sight, making sure you get inside without any issues. he’ll remain in the shadows for a moment longer, watching as you lock the door behind you, ensuring you’re safe before finally letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

only then does he disappear into the night, his heart still racing, his mind replaying the images of your walk. he’ll retreat to his hidden vantage point, slipping into the dark corners of gotham once more, but the small weight of relief that you’re safe settles deep in his chest. even though he doesn’t want to admit it, there’s a part of him that feels content knowing you’re okay—even if you’ll never know how closely he’s watched over you.

[bookshelftreasures]

Jealous Shadows

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Light Angst

Summary: Azriel's shadows have always been loyal, always obeyed him without question. Until now. Until they start misbehaving whenever another man so much as looks at you.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,066

Notes: This is my first fic, I hope you like it! :)

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The first time it happens, you don't think much of it.

You're at Rita's with the Inner Circle, nursing a drink at the bar while Cassian and Mor dance somewhere among the crowded space. The music thrums through the air, and the conversation hums around you when a male slides into an empty seat beside you.

"Didn't think someone like you would be sitting alone," he says, flashing a grin.

You don't even get the chance to respond before a flicker of something moves between you.

The male frowns, swiping at his hair, which has suddenly transformed from being neatly styled to sticking up in wild angles, as if an invisible force had run its hands through it... aggressively.

You blink in surprise.

He mutters a curse, trying to fix it, but the moment he smooths it down, the strands spring right back up. His frustration grows, hands swiping over his head repeatedly.

"I- what the hell?" he grumbles. "Is this air cursed or something?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a laugh.

And then you feel it.

A cool, familiar brush against your wrist.

Slowly, you glance down—just in time to see a shadow curling around your fingers before slipping away.

Your stomach flips.

You don't even need to turn around to know exactly where Azriel is.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The second time it happens, it's harder to ignore.

You and Azriel are training in the House of Wing, and the session has drawn some attention—mainly from a visiting group of Illyrians who very clearly wanted to spar with you.

One in particular, a cocky warrior named Dain, is relentless. He lingers, circling the ring as Azriel corrects your stance, his gloved hands light against your arms.

"You sure you don't want a real sparring partner, sweetheart?" Dain calls, grinning. "I promise I'll go easy on you."

Azriel stills.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly before he steps back, shadows slithering at his feet. "She's training," he says evenly, but there's an obvious warning beneath the words.

Dain chuckles. "Training is nice and all, but I'd be happy to teach her a few things myself."

Something cold coils around your ankles.

Before you can react, the shadows yank. Not hard. Just enough to make you stumble backwards, right into Azriel's chest.

Your breath catches.

His hands steady you, fingers gripping your waist for a fraction of a second before he forces himself to let you.

You glance up at him, about to ask whether or not that was intentional, but his jaw is tight, hazel eyes locked on Dain.

Azriel's shadows have started to shift.

Not the lazy, fluid movements they usually have—but sharp, possessive flickers that wrap around you. One curls over your shoulder, while another drapes across your wrist, looping around like a claim.

You shiver, pulse skittering.

Dain seems to notice, too. His smirk falters, his eyes flicking between you and the swirling darkness. "Uh-"

The shadows snap toward him.

Not touching—just close. Close enough to make him step back.

You swear you hear them hiss.

Dain swallows hard. "Right. I, uh, should probably-"

Azriel doesn't blink. Doesn't move.

Dain takes the hint. He all but scrambles away, muttering under his breath.

And just like that, the shadows slip away, leaving you cold.

You whip around, crossing your arms. "What was that about?"

Azriel frowns, too casual. "What was what?"

"Oh, I don't know," you say dryly. "Maybe terrorizing a man into running for his life?"

His brow furrows, like he truly doesn't know what you're talking about. "I didn't do anything."

You narrow your eyes. Then one last shadow curls around your wrist before darting away like a child caught misbehaving.

Azriel glares at it.

Your lips part. "You have got to be kidding me."

His expression darkens as more shadows flick around you, playful now.

Azriel sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. "They don't usually-"

"Get jealous?" You finish for him, holding back a smile.

Silence.

His throat bobs.

And then—quietly, almost too quiet—you hear his shadows whisper something.

A name.

Your name.

And you realize—maybe it's not just his shadows who are jealous.

Your breath hitches. Azriel's wings rustle. And he looks like he's about to bolt.

Which is just unacceptable.

You cross your arms, tilting your head back to study him. "You know, I think your shadows like me more than they like you."

Azriel exhales sharply. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" You smirk, glancing down as a shadow curl lazily around your wrist. You give it a little wiggle, and the shadow clings tighter.

Azriel scowls at it. "Traitor."

A laugh bubbles out of you. You can't help it.

The great and terrifying Shadowsinger, bested by his own shadows.

"Oh, this is too good," you say, beaming up at him. "All this time, and they've secretly been on my side."

Azriel mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a curse. His wings twitch again. His shadows flick in annoyance—except the ones still clinging to you, moving to curl around your waist like they never want to let go.

You bite back a grin. "I mean, it makes sense." You gesture vaguely at them. "They probably just think I'd be a much better master."

Azriel gives you a deadpan stare. "That's not how this works."

"I don't know," you hum, pretending to consider it. "They seem pretty happy right now."

As if to prove your point, one shadow playfully loops around your fingers.

Azriel glowers. "You're encouraging them."

You give him an innocent smile. "Would I do that?"

He sighs, but you catch it—the way the corner of his mouth twitches. The way his gaze softens, just a little.

And then, so softly you almost miss it, he murmurs, "They have good taste, at least."

Your breath catches.

Your teasing falters for half a second before you recover. "So, you admit they like me more?"

Azriel exhales, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

You grin. "And you love it."

He doesn't answer. But the way his shadows linger—curling, warm, content—tells you everything you need to know.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

Cassian walks in moments later, takes one look at Azriel's shadows practically cuddling you, and immediately points.

"I knew it!" He boasts.

Azriel pinches the bridge of his nose. His shadows flick toward Cassian, clearly unimpressed.

And you?

You just laugh.

Because really—Azriel might deny it all he wants, but his shadows?

They don't lie.

[greengoblinswifey]

Temple— Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— they always say “your body is a temple” and boy is nicholas’ body a temple you love to climb and worship.

warnings— PURE SMUT. fingering, hand job, oral(m receiving), unprotected sex, mirror play, spit kink, praise kink, degrading kink, body worship, ass slapping, choking, creampie, daddy kink, breeding kink, cum eating, rough sex, aftercare, fluff.

a/n— ovulating and wrote this based on these pictures because he looks so good, ugh, i NEED him. (not prof read)

You were wandering the aisles of your favorite boutique, surrounded by the chatter of other shoppers. Just as you picked up a cute dress, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out, expecting a simple text, but what you saw made your breath hitch and your pussy throb.

Nicholas had sent you a picture of himself shirtless, standing in his bathroom with the light cascading down his chiseled abs, his hair slightly damp and tousled and then one with the hat you gifted him on. He looked incredible, his physique had transformed since you first started dating for his new roles, becoming more defined and muscular, and it left you utterly speechless.

You couldn’t help but bite your lip as heat pooled in your core. God, he looks good. You remembered when you first met him, he was charming and sweet, and you loved him just as he was then. But this new version of him? It ignited something deep within you. It was as if every sculpted muscle was begging for your attention, and all you could think about was how much you needed him inside you, pounding you.

The dress you were holding suddenly felt heavier as you clutched it tighter, trying to maintain your composure in the middle of the store. Your thighs clenched instinctively, and you could feel the flush creeping up your cheeks. How was it possible for someone to look that good? You found yourself blushing, desperately trying to focus on the price tags in front of you, but your mind was racing with thoughts of him.

You quickly typed back, your fingers trembling as you tried to keep it casual. “Wow, what are you trying to do to me?” You hit send, your heart racing with anticipation. He was always playful, but this felt different, this felt more personal, more intimate.

As you made your way to the cash register, you could still see him in your mind, his body the definition of perfection. You swiped his card without a second thought, the thrill of using his money adding to your excitement. If only he were here right now. You imagined him behind you, his hands resting on your hips, whispering sweet nothings as you paid.

Your thoughts swirled with desire, longing to feel his warmth against your skin, to wrap your arms around him and pull him in close. His body was a temple, you thought, it was a holy site you craved to explore.

With a final glance at the dress in your hands, you decided to head home, your mind set on what would happen once you got there. You needed him, and you could already envision the fire igniting between you two as soon as you walked through the door.

As you rushed through the front door, adrenaline surged through you. You barely took the time to drop your shopping bags before you heard the unmistakable sound of the shower turning off.

You quietly made your way down the hallway, the steam still lingering in the air, and as you approached the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of him stepping out, droplets of water glistening on his perfectly chiseled body. Nicholas looked like a god, one you craved to worship, his muscles taut and glistening under the dim light, every curve and contour accentuated.

You leaned against the doorframe, mesmerized, your breath catching in your throat. This was everything you’d imagined and more. He dried himself off with a towel, completely unaware of your presence, and for a moment, you relished the view, every single inch of him was a work of art.

But you were done watching. The heat radiating from your core was too strong to ignore, and all rational thoughts slipped away. Without a second thought, you slipped out of your clothes, leaving yourself bare and vulnerable in the dim light.

The chill of the air contrasted sharply with the heat building inside you, but it only fueled your desire further. You stepped into the bathroom, your heart pounding, and when he finally turned to face you, his eyes widened in surprise and hunger.

“Nicholas,” you breathed, your voice thick with need. You stepped closer, the space between you two disappearing as the urgency of the moment enveloped you.

“Hey baby— oh shit.”

His towel dropped to the floor, forgotten, and in that instant, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, raw, exposed, and yearning for each other.

“Oh god, I need you so bad,” you whined, your body pressed against his as you desperately kissed him all over his chest and tipped to meet his cheeks and lips.

Nicholas pulled you close, laughter in his eyes as he felt your warmth enveloping him. “What’s gotten into you, pretty baby?” he teased, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You looked up at him, your heart racing as you felt the heat radiating off his body. “Look at you,” you replied, your voice breathless. “Walking around here looking like this, sending me pictures of you shirtless… God, what do you expect?”

With a mischievous smile, you moved behind him, admiring his tall, muscular frame in the mirror. You couldn’t help but caress his abs, fingers tracing the defined lines, marveling at the way his body felt under your touch. He threw his head back in pleasure, a low groan escaping his lips as your hands explored him.

The atmosphere shifted, the playful banter giving way to something more primal. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his body responded to your every caress. His thick, long cock was painfully hard now , and you could sense the need in him building, mirroring your own.

You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him gently as you both stared into the mirror. The sight was mesmerizing, his face contorting with pleasure, the way he fell apart under your touch, completely lost in the moment.

As you continued, you watched him unravel, utterly captivated by how hot he was, how perfectly he fit into your desires.

“Look at yourself daddy, I’m making you feel so good, you look so fucking sexy,” you panted, speeding up your movements.

You bit your lip as you felt him jump and throb in your hands, everything he did made you feral. Then, with a shudder and a low moan, you felt the warmth spill onto your hand, a testament to the electric connection between you two.

“Open your eyes,” you demanded. They fluttered open and he watched in the mirror as you sucked his cum from off your fingers before lifting them up to his lips making him taste what was left of himself. He hummed in content, the sound going straight to your pussy but you would deal with that problem soon.

“No,” you said, determination lacing your voice as you looked up at him. “I need to give you more. I want to show you just how much I appreciate you.”

Slowly, you sank to your knees, eyes locked onto his as you let your tongue glide over his chest, savoring the taste of his skin. You trailed your tongue down to his abs, worshipping every ridge and contour. “You’re so beautiful,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry. “So sexy, Daddy.”

His breath hitched at your words, and you could see the effect you had on him, his body responding to your every move. You reached down, wrapping your hand around his cock again, feeling him harden beneath your touch.

“Look at how big you are,” you praised, your voice dripping with admiration. “So perfect in my hands.” You leaned closer, giving him a teasing lick, savoring the taste of him, and your eyes rolled back in pleasure at how good he tasted. “Mm, you taste amazing daddy.”

With that, you took him into your mouth, feeling him fill you completely. The sounds of his pleasure willed you on, and you began to move, sending him to the back of your throat, lost in the rhythm of worshipping him. “You taste so good,” you whispered between breaths, and Nicholas groaned, his hands tangling in your hair, urging you on.

“Just like that, baby,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. “You’re fucking incredible.”

You continued, letting his praises wash over you, and as you felt him hold your head down and cum down your throat, it was like fireworks exploded around you. You savored the moment, knowing you had brought him to this point of ecstasy.

You couldn’t help but smile as you looked up at him, feeling bold. With your fingers, you gathered the rest of his release from his hard cock and brought it to your mouth. You took it in, savoring the taste, and smeared it and your saliva over his chiseled abs. You couldn’t resist the urge to lick it all off, your body shuddering with each stroke of your tongue.

“God, you’re fucking perfect, y’know that?” he said, watching you with a mix of awe and desire. “I appreciate that, baby. But now, it’s my turn to make you feel good.”

He positioned you in front of him, hoisting one of your feet up onto the counter, giving him a better angle. “Open your mouth,” he commanded softly, and you complied eagerly, watching as he spat into your waiting mouth. You swallowed it happily, feeling the rush of satisfaction.

Nicholas trailed his finger down your body, stopping at your soaking wet pussy. As he slipped a finger inside you, you gasped, your body arching toward him instinctively. “Look at yourself in the mirror,” he instructed, his voice thick with lust. “Look how beautiful you are.”

You glanced up, eyes locking with your reflection. The sight of you, flushed and breathless, sent a thrill through you. Nicholas’ finger worked expertly inside you, curling just right, and the pleasure began to build. “That’s it, baby. You’re so beautiful when you come apart like this,” he praised, his gaze never leaving your face as he watched you surrender to the waves of ecstasy. “Let me see you feel good.”

With each movement of his fingers, the pleasure surged higher, and you found yourself lost in the sensation. “Daddy,” your moans filling the room as you finally reached your release, trembling under his touch.

“That’s it, I’ve got you baby, daddy’s got you,” he cooed, rubbing your clit fast as your body jolted and slowly came down from your high.

Nicholas trailed kisses down your neck and across your shoulders, his lips warm against your skin. “Look in the mirror, baby,” he murmured, his breath hot against you. You obeyed, your heart racing as you met your own gaze, feeling every kiss ignite your desire.

With a sudden, playful movement, he bent you over the counter, a sharp smack landing on your ass. “You look so sexy like this,” he teased, watching you wiggle your backside against him. You grinned back at him, biting your lip. “You look like a Greek god,” you shot back, and he smirked, pride flashing in his eyes.

“Oh yeah?” he replied, holding your neck gently but firmly, bringing you back against his chest. You arched into him, feeling his hard cock tease against you as he slipped inside, filling you completely.

He began to pound into you roughly, his grip on your neck ensuring you were locked onto his gaze in the mirror. “Keep those eyes on me,” he commanded, and when you felt the urge to close them, he shook you slightly. “Look at yourself!”

“Daddy, you feel so good,” you gasped, feeling the pleasure building inside you.

“Tell me more,” he urged, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me how fucking hot I am.”

You nodded, breathless, “You’re so hot, so beautiful. I love your body, daddy. I love how you look as you pound into me.”

“Such a dirty slut,” he teased, reveling in the sight of you enjoying every second. He rubbed your clit, sending shocks of pleasure coursing through you. “Look at yourself being fucked.”

With a loud moan, you surrendered to the man behind, your release washing over you as you cried out his name like it was the only word you knew.

Nicholas smirked, a glint in his eye. “I’m not done with you yet,” he declared, hoisting you up effortlessly, arms hooked under your legs. He turned you sideways, positioning you perfectly so you could watch him slam into you.

“Worship me,” he commanded, his voice deep and gravelly making you throb.

You felt a surge of excitement course through you, and you nodded, biting your lip as you gazed into his eyes. “You’re everything, Nicholas. So strong, so perfect,” you whispered, your heart racing at the power he held over you, “you’re so fucking beautiful, your body is a work of art.”

With each thrust, he drove deeper, filling you completely. “That’s it, baby. You know how to treat me right,” he growled, his tone playful yet commanding. “Show me how much you want me.”

You leaned forward, kissing him passionately, your hands roaming over his chiseled chest and arms. “I need you,” you breathed between kisses. “You feel so good. I can’t get enough daddy.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice thick with lust. “I want to see you cum again.”

You gasped as he hit that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. “Daddy!” you cried out, feeling yourself on the edge once more. “I’m so close!”

“Then let go for me,” he urged, his eyes locked on yours, watching as the ecstasy took over. “Worship your man, baby.”

With one final thrust, you felt the familiar rush of pleasure envelop you as you climaxed, a wave of satisfaction washing over you. “Nicholas!” you cried, and he groaned in response, losing himself in the moment as he held you close, his body trembling with the intensity of it all but still not releasing.

He didn’t let you go. Instead, he laid your body down on the counter just a little, your legs wrapped tightly around him as he pounded into you once more. The world flipped upside down as you caught your reflection in the mirror, his tall frame hovering above you. The sight of him, muscles glistening and face twisted in pleasure, made your head spin.

“Who’s your daddy?” he asked, his voice thick with desire, his hand firm around your neck, exerting just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine.

“You,” you gasped, barely able to catch your breath. “You look like a god, so so h-handsome.”

The feeling of being so close to him made you dizzy, and his relentless thrusts only intensified the sensation. “I’m gonna fill you up and breed you like a bitch,” he growled, and your body responded to his words, craving more.

“Please,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper as you gasped for air, but the urgency in your tone said everything. “I want it. I want you. I want your cum inside me!”

He smirked, the heat of his breath against your skin sending another wave of pleasure through you. “Since you think I’m so perfect, we’re gonna make the most perfect little babies,” he teased, pounding harder, deeper. You could feel the tension building as he brought you closer to the edge once more.

With a final, powerful thrust, he filled you completely, each pulse of his hot cum sending waves of ecstasy coursing through both of you. You felt him tremble against you as he held your neck tightly, ensuring you were looking at yourselves in the mirror.

As the high faded, exhaustion washed over you. He scooped you up into his arms, your head resting on his shoulder like a baby, ironic, considering what just happened. He brought a towel to clean you up, laying you gently on the bed, his lips trailing soft kisses across your skin.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmured, pride evident in his voice. “You took me so well. I’m so proud of you. You’re so perfect, princess.”

You cuddled into him, tracing circles on his pecs as you kissed his chest, savoring the warmth and safety of his embrace. In that moment, everything felt right, the world outside forgotten as you enjoyed the afterglow of what you had just shared.