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dolcecherub · 2 days ago

Text

off the record ‧͙⁺˚*･☾

♡ pairing: oscar piastri x media manager!reader

♡ tags: social media manager reader, lowkey tension, deadpan oscar, pining oscar, frustrated reader lol, happy ending, fluff

♡ yap: this was inspired by this fic here by the lovely @papayainsectorone, they wrote this dynamic so well and the smut is *chefs kiss* i was craving more build up so here's my take on it :) honestly wasn't expecting to have another fic out so soon but i'm in the writing mood, so expect maybe some smut soon lol

♡ word count: 4.6k

Being Oscar Piastri’s social media manager sounded a hell of a lot cooler on paper.

The reality? A full-time position in pure damage control and editing.

It wasn’t that Oscar was a bad guy, quite the opposite actually. He was annoyingly likable. But in an industry of personalities so polished you could see your reflections in them, Oscar was… well, Oscar. Dry-humoured, mostly straight-faced, foreign with emojis aside from the simple smiley face. Not even a golden retriever puppy in a McLaren hoodie could crack a big smile from the man.

You had tried everything and it was quite easy to say that the last few months had been hell.

You wrote him fun captions, you scheduled posts, and briefed him before interviews. And yet he would still deadpan his way through as many interactions as he possibly could, switching up your pre-written captions for three-word ones. If you were lucky, maybe he’d add a song to it.

Once, in a fatal attempt, you had practically begged Oscar to do a TikTok trend. His response?

“I’d rather crash into a barrier and get stuck in a gravel trap.”

Still, you kept at it. You filtered photos, crafted witty tweets and captions, and edited videos for TikTok, so he at least looked 20% more charming and 100% engaged. But Oscar remained the same, calm, collected, and chronically unbothered.

It drove you crazy, and some part of you was convinced Oscar found joy in riling you up, the tension spiralling between you two.

Until one day, you just…stopped.

It was after an interview in which Oscar said, “Yeah, the car was good,” followed by a few simple remarks about the overall race and the car, even though you had specifically coached him on how to highlight the team’s efforts and the new upgrades. You sat there, watching the video on your laptop, the PR director sending you questioning looks. Something in you just gave up.

If Oscar didn’t care, why should you?

This time, instead of doubling down and trying harder to fix it, you shifted gears.

You kept running the socials, kept building out the calendar, kept coordinating cross-posts with sponsors. You threw yourself into season promos for some rookies, drafted killer captions for Lando (who did, in fact, appreciate them, often adding his own flair as well). Hell, you even helped restructure the entire engagement strategy for McLaren’s YouTube account. Your inbox was still flooded, deadlines still to be met. You were still good at your job, just focusing your attention elsewhere rather than bending over backwards for Oscar.

You still gave him the essentials. Posted his podium shots with a simple caption fit for him, uploaded interview clips without the usual fun editing. You stopped chasing him for quotes and thoughts, and generally stopped fighting for moments he didn’t want to give.

And weirdly enough, it all kept going.

Oscar didn’t change, of course, the fans still adored him, his dry wit, his blank expressions, the accidental charisma of someone who didn’t try at all, or didn’t have to. People enjoyed his slightly sarcastic comments post-race, and so what if his metrics slightly dipped? It’s not like he necessarily noticed it.

You still saw him every day, still worked around him, still made space for him on the schedule, but not in your head. Not in that quiet, careful way you used to. Perhaps you had gotten too close, you reeled. No more last-minute efforts to make him sound polished, no more staying late to re-edit his posts, not when you had better things to do for people who truly cared.

And if he noticed the shift, the quiet space you left where your effort used to live, he didn’t say a word. Which, somehow, was more than enough.

✧༺♥༻∞

It was a Thursday morning, and everything had been off.

You were running late, which, truthfully, rarely happened. A sponsor call had run longer than it should’ve, your usual transportation route taking a detour you were unaware of, and your badge wouldn’t scan at the main paddock gate. By the time you finally walked through the McLaren hospitality, your hair had been haphazardly clipped up, your phone was at 3%, and your brain was somewhere between caffeine withdrawal and a full-on system crash.

You exhaled sharply, finally getting a moment to catch your breath. You pulled open the media schedule to hopefully catch up before the day truly began, your head slightly spinning as you barely noticed the figure leaning against the wall.

Oscar.

He was dressed in team gear, the orange always sitting well with his skin tone as he had a basic black ball cap on and some shorts, his bag slung over his shoulder with a hand in his pocket. He looked casual, calm.

As per usual.

His other hand held out something to you as he walked closer. A coffee cup.

You looked up at him curiously, head tilting slightly as you lowered your tablet. “What’s this?”

“Coffee,” he said simply. “Obviously.”

You eyed it, seeing your name written on the side as your jaw twitched at his tone.

“...What kind of coffee?” You asked, his eyes roaming your face.

“Extra hot. Two sugars. Oat milk and a shot of caramel.” He said like it was nothing, as if he hadn’t just recited your exact order back to you, heart stammering against your chest.

You brought your hand up, taking it from him, fingers brushing his slightly. Your jaw nearly dropped with shock. Why hadn’t he listened like this during pre-interview briefings?

It was still warm to hold, still fresh. The lid was secured the way you always preferred, double cups, the lid pressed down tight with no drips at the seam.

You searched his face for expressions, “You got this for me?” You asked, albeit a silly question.

Oscar shrugged, arms crossing against his chest, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt, his eyes straying from yours. “You’re usually here earlier. Figured you didn’t have time to stop for one.” He said as if it meant nothing.

A beat passed, your heart skipping that exact beat.

You swallowed. “I didn’t.”

Another pause, your face flushing slightly.

“Thank you,” You said finally, voice far quieter than before.

He nodded, not smug, just acknowledging, as if that was the end of it. As if he hadn’t just undone a week’s worth of you convincing yourself that he didn’t notice you slipping away.

He adjusted the strap on his shoulder and added, “I wasn’t sure if it was oat or almond. Figured it was oat, you seem like it.”

You blinked, brows furrowing slightly in confusion. “Why?”

He gave you the faintest smirk, “Almond milk people always have something to prove.” He joked.

You huffed, surprised by the small, shaky breath of laughter it pulled out of you. Perhaps you did understand the population’s obsession with him.

Oscar turned to leave, no further acknowledgement, no comment on your attire or the lack of polish to your appearance this morning, no follow-up. Just the quietest moment between you two, the coffee in your hand warming your palm cozily, his smirk setting your pulse to quicken.

He didn’t look back.

Although it didn’t matter, because you were already watching him go, heart quietly pounding.

So he did notice.

Even when you thought he didn’t.

✧༺♥༻∞

A few weeks had passed, and you were getting yourself ready for the following race weekend. The past few weeks had been the same, doing more for others to keep yourself while keeping Oscar entertained with the bare minimum.

Now, it started with a headache.

Then came the chills, the sore throat, the kind of fatigue that sank into your bones like wet cement, weighing you down impossibly. You told yourself it was nothing, stress maybe, but by the time the race weekend rolled around, you couldn’t even sit up without your head spinning.

You did what you had to. You called in sick, feeling bad, although you had not done so before while working with the team.

Just one day, you told yourself. Just one race day. The team could surely handle it, you had pre-scheduled most of the posts anyway, as well as sending over any notes and ideas you had to the rest of the team to follow. And it wasn’t like Oscar would notice. He barely spoke to you when you were there anyway.

So you stayed in your hotel room, curtains drawn, laptop closed, and haphazardly thrown onto the armchair next to the bed. You had wrapped yourself in two blankets, your body settled with a chill that wouldn’t leave. You drifted in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of your phone buzzing a few times, your body far too sleepy to pay attention, let alone respond.

Around 6 p.m., there was a knock on the door.

You blinked, trying to figure out if it was in your room or a distant noise in the hall. You felt your stomach clench, mostly empty aside from a few pieces of toast from earlier in the afternoon and water.

Another knock sounded on the door. Firmer this time, followed by silence.

You dragged yourself up, wincing as the floor spun. You brushed your hair down slightly and wiped away any sleep from your eyes, your body shivering from the sudden chill after emerging from your blankets. You cracked the door open slowly, expecting the hotel staff, perhaps with a message from the team or even room service.

It was neither.

Oscar stood in front of you, simply dressed in a quarter zip and some jeans, his hair slightly tousled. He still looked calm, a medium sized brown paper bag in one hand and a plastic container in the other. You froze, so did he, though only for a second, just enough to make you think he hadn’t expected you to actually open the door.

“Hi,” you croaked, your throat aching and sore, raw from not speaking all day.

“You’ve sure seen better days, hm?,” he asked rhetorically, face deadpan.

You raised a brow, now feeling slightly embarrassed at the state he was seeing you in as you shamefully brushed your messy hair down as well as possible. “Thanks…”

“I meant it in a supportive way.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the doorway, suddenly feeling fairly light headed again, simply too tired to question what the hell was going on. “Why are you here?”

He shifted the bag in his hand, fixing his grip, eyes not meeting yours. “You didn’t show up today. You don’t not show up.”

You swallowed sorely, “I texted the team, told them I was sick.”

“Yeah,” he said, tone quiet, “but you didn’t text me.”

That shut you up.

Oscar cleared his throat, holding out the plastic container filled with soup. “It’s the one you always get when it’s cold, the one from the random organic store down the street. You know, the one with the weird green logo.”

Your chest tightened, his eyes trailing back up to yours.

“And I brought some ginger tea bags. And the gummy vitamins you always hoard in the media van.”

You stared at the bag in his hand, and then back up at him, his eyes dark, cheeks slightly pink, surely from being in the sun all day. “You walked across the paddock to get those?”

“They deliver. I’m not that heroic.” He joked. You knew as a matter of fact that they didn’t deliver, you had most definitely asked more than once before, but you supposed Oscar didn’t want to admit that he had done that for you.

You exhaled a half-laugh, quiet, slightly painful and unsteady.

Oscar looked at you, no smirk, no blank stare. Just something softer, eyes relaxed, something he could barely hold back.

“Can I come in?” he asked after a pause, “Just to make sure you don’t choke on soup or something.” He teased.

You stepped aside, far too tired to joke and too tired to pretend like you didn’t want to be taken care of.

He stepped in, toeing off his shoes, then settling the soup and the bag on the table tucked in the hotel corner. You crawled back into bed, body immediately collapsing into the fluffed sheets as you sniffled.

He walked around filling the room’s small kettle with some water before putting it to boil and opening up the soup container before bringing it and a spoon to the bedside table. You sleepily watched him quietly move around the room with a sense of ease, your heart aching at his actions. Hearing the kettle click, he grabbed a mug, opened up the tea bag case and popped one in before pouring in some water. Settling that beside you on the table, too, he finally glanced at you.

“Come on, sit up. At least eat some of the soup before you fall asleep,” Oscar spoke, voice soft and convincing as he settled down into the armchair next to the bed, making sure to move your laptop before sitting.

Pushing yourself up, you sat against the headboard, head spinning again. He passed you the soup, simply watching you eat as much as you could without feeling sick. Neither of you said anything, Oscar simply ensuring you were okay, passing you a napkin whenever you needed it.

Placing the empty container down on the bedside table, you wiped your sleeve across your mouth before sliding back down into bed. Oscar stood up, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders when you shifted with a wince as your eyes fluttered shut. His fingers brushed over your arm as he did, then simply brushing a few hairs off your forehead, your body shivering, not from the chill this time but rather from his touch.

“I’m fine,” you spoke, voice extremely rough but quiet.

He didn’t say anything. Just sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, hands now folded in his lap, his eyes flickering between you and the headboard as if he was doing anything to stop himself from looking at you for too long.

You were the one to break the silence, eyes still shut. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I know,” he said. You felt your breath catch for a second, mind drifting slowly to sleep.

“Thank you, Osc.” You mumbled quietly, words slurring from fatigue.

He hadn’t said anything after that. And so what if his gaze lingered a bit too long before he left that night? You would be none the wiser, head misty with sleep.

✧༺♥༻∞

Weeks later, at the start of a triple header, everything felt back to normal. Too normal. It grated your nerves more than ever.

Oscar was back to his usual self, low-effort captions, brushing off most interview questions with short answers, and ignoring half of your content ideas. After you had thought you’d made at least some progress, you found yourself rubbing your temple in frustration after he refused to film a “Pre-race ritual” TikTok a few sponsors had requested.

You found him in the garage, talking to a mechanic, most likely about race strats. If only he spoke to the media with such enthusiasm. You walked towards him angrily, your tablet hanging at your fingertips, face flushed with anger.

“Oscar, may I speak with you, please?” You asked, tone stern and straight to the point.

His brows knitted together with confusion, the mechanic patting his arm twice before walking away. He tilted his head, following behind you as you led him to a meeting room. You closed the door, setting the tablet down on the desk before turning back to face Oscar, arms crossing angrily against your chest. You leaned back against the desk, staring him down momentarily before speaking.

“Why do you make this so hard?” You huffed, voice cracking slightly. You hate that it cracked.

“Make what hard?” He asked, mirroring your body language.

“This!” You said waving your arms around for emphasis. “Your image, your career. I bust my ass trying to make you look even remotely engaged in sponsorships and media day, and yet you act like you’re allergic to enthusiasm.” You ramble exasperatedly, catching your breath before you continue. “And then- then you go and do these little things, like buying me coffee or taking care of me when I’m sick. I’m not stupid Oscar, I know you’re not oblivious. You notice things, you care. But you pretend like you don’t and it’s… infuriating.”

He was quiet, not blinking, eyes still holding your gaze. He walked closer, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face before returning to his crossed-arm position, just now closer to you. Your heart pounded at his proximity.

The silence between you was heavy, suffocating almost.

“I don’t let people see it because once they do, they expect more. They expect a reaction every time a little blip happens. And I’m not good at more.”

You stared up at him, lips parted slightly.

“I didn’t grow up under the impression of needing to be liked.” He spoke, eyes searching yours. “I wanted to drive. I wanted to win. But now, I’ve got people picking apart every expression, every quote, hell everything I don’t say. And you-you come into my life like this force to be reckoned with. You clean up my messes, making me look far better than I am. And it terrifies me.” He admitted truthfully.

He exhaled as though he hadn’t meant to say that last part, but it was too late now.

“You make me want to try. Even though I don’t know how. And I hate that I let you do everything alone, I’m sorry I don’t cooperate more. I hate that I don’t say thank you when I should. I hate that I barely show what I feel because I’m scared that once I do, it’ll matter too much. That people will always want that, and I won’t be able to deliver.” Oscar spoke frantically.

Your breath caught, heart aching for being mean to him originally. “Oscar…”

He continued, “I noticed when you stopped trying so hard,” He admitted, voice softer as he took a step closer. “And it scared the shit out of me because I thought that meant you were done. That I had pushed you too far. And if I lost you…I don’t know what I’d do.”

And for the first time, you felt as though Oscar hadn’t just meant in terms of work.

You stood still, heart hammering against your ribs.

He stepped forward once more, practically caging you against the desk and himself.

“I brought you coffee because I know you can barely function without it in the morning. I remember your order because you complained about the barista using a shot of vanilla instead of caramel once. I remember you like it extra hot because it keeps your hands warm while you’re out. I brought you soup because I know you hate being alone when you’re sick. I pay attention, even if I don’t always know what to say, but I do care, okay? Far more than I’ve let on.” He expressed, eyes fluttering across your face. “Maybe more than I should.” He confessed quietly, cheeks lightly flushing.

You stared at him, awestruck. The boy who never flinched on track, now looking completely exposed.

You reached a hand towards him, pulling them away from his chest and placing them next to you on the desk, his body leaning slightly forward.

And in a quiet, breaking voice, you said, “Then say it, tell me.” You plead.

His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“I care about you,” his voice hoarse with emotion. “Not just because you make my life easier, even if I don’t make yours any easier,” he joked with a sarcastic huff before continuing. “Not just because you’re brilliant at your job. Because I care about you. And I think I’ve been falling for you since the day you yelled at me for skipping media day.”

The silence returned, your body flushing at the confession and your breath hitched slightly.

“You make me want to be better. Not just for the press. For you. Because when you’re around, I don’t feel like some machine for the media to chew up and spit out. I feel like maybe I’m someone worth showing up for.” He confessed, arms encaging you against the desk as his head leaned down slightly.

Then quieter, “I know I’ve been difficult. I don’t say enough, but I’m saying it now. I care, I care about you. I want you here. Not because you fix things, but because I love having you around.” He reiterated, you felt as though you hadn’t spoken in ages, none of the right words coming to mind.

Your throat tightened.

And suddenly, the frustration, the exhaustion, the weeks worth of wondering if he even noticed you slipping away, all cracked away and spilled into something else.

A knock on the door interrupted your moment as you broke away. He took a step back, head whipping towards the door as your breath caught up to you.

Work awaited you.

✧༺♥༻∞

Days had passed, the paddock was winding down for the night.

You had migrated from your desk to one of the couches in the corner of the hospitality unit, half-heartedly editing clips from Oscar’s earlier media rounds to hopefully post the following morning. Your headphones sat around your neck, untouched. The screen glowed, but your eyes glazed over somewhere between the third and fourth timestamp.

You hadn’t talked about the confession since it happened, but your mind kept drifting back to him. The look on his face and the way his voice sounded.

You’d both gone back to work like professionals. He gave more thoughtful answers during interviews. You polished his media presence like always, job slightly easier nowadays. But under every interaction with him sat this new charged silence, one that said something happened and neither of you had figured out what it meant yet.

Then came a quiet knock from the doorframe.

Oscar.

He wasn’t in race gear anymore, not even team gear, just a hoodie, slightly damp at the sleeves, his hair tousled from his post-session shower. He looked…normal, cozy if you would. Not a headline, or a race statistic, or a social media puzzle for people to pick apart.

Just him.

“You busy?” He asked, walking closer anyway.

“A little,” you blinked, watching him intently.

He stepped closer, sitting on the couch across from you, silent for a moment, before wordlessly placing a bag on the table between you, sliding it towards you.

Your brows furrowed curiously, “What is this?”

“Some takeout, I figured you hadn’t eaten in a while since most places on the track are closed by now. It’s the fried rice you like and some of those weird seaweed chips you eat when you’re stressed.” He explained, cheeks flushing slightly pink.

You paused, still in awe of the fact that he noticed. “You remembered.” you spoke, leaning forward to untie the bag and pulling out the bag of chips, a soft smile crossing your face.

He didn’t look at you, eyes wandering the room. “It wasn’t hard.”

Your chest tightened.

You pushed your laptop aside, slowly looking at him. There was something in the way his shoulders tensed, the slight crease in his brow. As though he was trying to say something without saying it too fast, or too wrong.

“Oscar-”

“I keep thinking about what you said. About how you care and how I didn’t give you anything back.” He swallowed thickly. Your breath caught but you stayed quiet.

He looked up at you then, and for once he didn’t look guarded or sarcastic. He looked nervous.

“I kept thinking if I acted like I didn’t need anyone, I couldn’t lose anything. But I think maybe I lost a little bit of you already, and fuck, I don’t want to keep doing that.”

You felt your eyes sting unexpectedly as you blinked quickly.

“I don’t expect you to fix me up or stay just because I suddenly decided to show up. But I meant it all. I care. About all of it, about you. I was worried if I said the wrong thing, I’d ruin the only good thing I actually gave a shit about.”

“I’ve been trying to show it,” he went on, voice tighter now. “In the ways I can, but I don’t know if it’s enough. And it’s driving me fucking insane wondering if I’ve missed my chance”

Your heart beat a little too loudly in your chest.

He ran a stressed hand through his hair, “I keep thinking about how close I could’ve been to losing you. It’s not just about work, it never has been.” His eyes met yours, raw and serious. “It’s you. I don’t want to go through another race weekend without knowing if you’re mine. If this thing between us is real or if I’ve just been imagining it.”

The room went still.

You stood slowly, every nerve in your body on fire, the air between you wound so tight it could snap.

“You didn’t miss your chance,” you said, your voice barely a breath. You walked towards him, now standing next to him sat on the couch, within arm’s reach.

A pause, his jaw clenching as though something had finally broken.

He reached for you, pulling you closer with a hand on your waist as he stood up. Oscar towered over you now, arms snaking around you comfortably as your hands came up to rest on his chest.

He leaned down, breath fanning your face as his nose nudged yours. Then, he kissed you. Lips landing on yours like they had waited months.

Tension bled out of both of you like a flood. His mouth was warm and searching, far too much restraint pent up as his teeth gnashed teasingly against your bottom lip. You stood slightly on your tiptoes to reach him better, a hand sliding up from his chest into his hair, tugging lightly as he groaned.

It was far from perfect, you stumbled slightly unbalanced as his hands shook against your hip, but it was real. Honest and a little desperate. You slid your tongue against Oscar’s lip, his own poking out to meet yours. He licked into your mouth, hand tightening against your hip as you whined.

You pulled back slightly, nose still pressed against his breathlessly, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that since my second week on the job,” You admitted, lips curling into a smile.

He huffed a soft laugh. “Took me that long to stop pretending I didn’t”

You smiled, brushing your fingers along the curve of his neck, lightly scratching the hair at the nape of his neck as he shivered. “So what now?”

“Now I stop pretending, full stop.” He spoke, no hesitation. “And I get to flirt with my media manager.” He joked, a small smirk settling on his face.

You giggled softly, feeling the weight of that promise, simple and sincere, You leaned into him, body warming at his words.

“Let me take you home,” He spoke softly, mouth near your ear as he whispered as if trying to keep it a secret between you two.

You shuddered at his words, biting your lip before facing him again. You nodded slowly at him, eyes lighting with excitement. He smiled at you sweetly, placing another small kiss on your lips before letting you go to pack up.

Everything seemed to be exactly where it was meant to be, and you felt your heart settle happily at how the night turned out.

✧༺♥༻∞

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cheriladycl01 · 4 days ago

Note

Hey! Could you write a fic where female reader is an older driver (maybe debuted around the same time as Seb) and just little scenarios of her being a mother figure towards the drivers. Maybe mix of SMAU and written story (if you do that) xxx 😊 big thx

MUM! - Grid x OlderDriver! Reader

Plot: Everyone needs their grid mum, and that’s everyone!

F1 was you’re life.

Not in a oh I love watching the races every week and going to one race a year. No, you were convinced there was fuel in your veins.

You drove for about 16 years in F1 being the first female driver to win a race. You debuted at the same time as Sebastian Vettel, you guys were bestfriends and didn't let racing affect that friendship. And that's all it ever remained. Every bone in your body loved Seb, he was quite literally your platonic soulmate. When you first met, your now husband, he'd become fast friends with Seb and never questioned your friendship with him and never tried to involve himself too much to the point it felt forced and thats why you knew he was the one.

When you left F1, you left the same year that Seb did, it felt right leaving the same year he did and you discussed it with him. For you it was because you wanted to focus on family. You were 17 when you first got into F1 and now 33 years old and you wanted to settle down with your husband and expand the family. Which apparently wasn't as much as a struggle as you thought it would be as you'd gotten pregnant 5 months after retirement. Giving birth in 2023 and now being pregnant again in 2025.

But F1 and half the drivers you grew up with didn't want you to leave the sport. So when Sky Sports reached out you knew you had to go.

But with the growing amount of Rookies you seem to have adopted children as well as having had them as well.

Sebastian Vettel

y/user

Liked by sebastianvettel and others

y/user: 25 years of friendship! Happy Birthday to the Grid Dad from the Grid Mum! 🫶🏼

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sebastianvettel: woah, I wish I looked this cool now! Look at that haircut 🫨

-> y/user: a diva once, a diva always

fan1: OMG MOTHER AND FATHER!!

You and your husband always made sure to vist Seb for his birthday, it was like an annual gathering that was held where you both were able to have a massive catch up without being near anything to do with racing.

"Happy birthday!" you crashed him handing him his huge bag of gifts before you went to his wife who you'd become very close to and hugging her handing over a cheeky bottle of wine for the both of you to share.

Your husband stood with Seb while you and Hanna went into the kitchen to unpack the food that you'd got for Seb's birthday dinner.

"Thank you for coming" Seb smiles pulling you into a hug, sighing against you.

"I havent missed one in 25 years, even when i had Tonsillitis i still got here. Wasn't much fun for you guys, but you all had a great time" you grin at the memory making him laugh. He could still see you, wrapped up in a bundle of blankets on his sofa with a box of tissues and a honey and lemon tea.

"Mmmmm good times" he laughs, pulling out of the hug and helping you and Hanna dish up.

"What are you doing?" Hanna cries seeing him doing work.

"Huh?" he asks confused.

"It's your birthday, go sit! Keep out other guests entertained and enjoy yourself!" Hanna exclaims, forcing him out the kitchen where he went to sit with your husband.

Your husband and Seb actually did lots of what you and Hanna called 'guy things' together. They'd go on fishing trips while you and Hanna would go to Italy or Spain and soak up the sun. Or they'd play games while you and Hanna went shopping.

Your husband also found joy in travelling with you and your kids adored seeing their Uncle Seb who despite it being his birthday always had to have something for his favrioute kids.

However, another child always seemed to lurk their way into these parties, that being yours and Seb's first adopted child, Lance Stroll.

You and Seb had been officially made mum and dad of the grid. It started off with Lance being taken under his wing and you just sort of joined in with that.

Lance Stroll

Lance was one of your favrioute people, you could sit with him in a comfortable silence and didn't feel like you needed it to be forced. He was also incredibly funny when he wanted to be.

One time, you'd been talking to him off of camera and he's accidentally called you mom. You'd bursted out laughing before querying him wondering if he really did see you as a mother figure.

"Yeah and what?" he asked and you stopped shocked.

After that it was just sort of known that you and Seb had taken on the roll of parents to all the little drivers across the grid.

You would always make sure to make time for Lance as he always would make the time for you. You werent keen on his dad, as he always gave you strange stare that made you feel like he hated you, no matter how many times Lance told you to 'just ignore it'.

"Lance, that overtake today was incredible!" You praise and he nods in thanks.

“Im glad I managed to get us in the points after Fernando’s crash” he offers and you nod. He’d got himself P6 which was a good score considering how the rest of the season had been going.

“Mmmm you’re leading the Aston Team now” you exclaim happy at the fact.

“Thanks Y/N, you’re always there for me” he says making eye contact with you.

“Can’t get rid of me Lance, I’m your mother” you tease and he laughs looking down.

Charles Leclerc

y/user

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y/user: Interviewed my first son today. He asked for a hug :) always such a pleasure interviewing him and getting time to talk. Oh and then theres Lewis ...

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charles_leclerc: Ahhh thank you, ma mère adoptive! You should come see Leo your Grandson!

-> y/user: I have a grandson?! I'm so old!

fan1: argh she's so cute with everyone! We all knew she's be such a good mother (real mother)

-> y/user: I'll have you know I've been a real mother since 2018 when Charles joined the grid.

-> fan1: omg she replies!!!!!

lewishamilton: i'm not ignoring her i swear...

Charles and you first met in 2017. He was very nervous when he came up to you, asking you how you felt you're race had went. You later found out he had a whole script to say to you after your race that you'd started from pole. Little did he know that Lewis was going to turn into you on lap 3 and crash you out for the rest of the race.

"Well, i didn't finish so not great kid" you chuckle at his nervous expression where he'd finally realised what he'd said.

“I erm, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that” he blurts out and you can only laugh at him.

“I know I know. I’m just teasing you” you say placing a light hand in his shoulder trying to ease his nerves.

“You know you’ll be racing with us soon” you grin at him knowing he’s signed for Seb’s old team.

“Yes, I’m excited … and nervous. You’re all so great” he compliments looking down and you sigh.

“I bet you’re gonna be big. Like world champion big. I can see it now. Charles Leclerc WORLD CHAMPION” you say raising your hands in a jazzy manner.

“That should be you. You should have hand a championship but it’s HIS fault” he directs looking at the screen following Lewis in your P1.

“How are you so calm and not angry at him?” He presses and you just laugh.

“I used to get very angry when I first started and I was young. But you learn that you being upset gets you nowhere. I learn from my mistakes, I don’t let them have a hold over me” you explain to him. Knowing that you were a much calmer and level headed driver than you used to be.

“Do you think I’ll ever be as good as him?” He asks tone softer than it was before.

“I think anyone can be as good as him, given the circumstances. I’ve know Lewis for years and he’s where he is now because of how committed he is. He works and trains harder than anyone I know. He’s got an incredible team behind him and a car to match, when all of that falls into play you’ve got yourself a winner. He’s one of the greats and will be remembered by everyone” you offer and Charles nods, now seeing the current leader of the championship in a new light. He’d always looked up to him, but now he just seems like a hard worker and Charles wanted to be that.

Lewis Hamilton

Lewis by far was not one of your grid kids, being a similar age to you and having started your careers in the same year you’d know him for an incredibly long time.

Which means you knew his tendency to be a little … childish. And by a little you mean a lot.

Too put it bluntly Lewis is a massive brat.

He doesn’t act angry when races don’t go his way, he’ll pout and be all salty looking like a puppy whose just had his biscuits taken away from him.

He’d been know to throw caps at his teammates when they said something bad about him and would often try play the victim card. You’d know him for so long that you knew the games he played like the back of your hand.

“Lewis!” You chide the man whose currently slumped over on the drivers room. You were both on the podium. Max having taken the win.

“What! He’s taken my win from me!” He points at the empty seat where Max should be.

“That’s racing! You’ll get him next week, this week things didn’t go your way and that’s okay. So stop sulking and put that gorgeous smile on your face” You command sick of him moping when he’s still up on the podium. He looks up to see your famous mum look, and nods on instinct feeling like it’s his mum scolding him when he was a child.

“You’re scarily good at that look Yano? Ever think of having your own?” He asks and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, but I gotta retire first” you smile and he nods.

“We’ll get out of here then, less competition for me” he grins and you shake your head laughing.

That’s the Lewis you knew.

Jamie Chadwick and Bernie Collins

y/user

Liked by bernie.collins.1, jamiechadwick

y/yser: COMMENTATING WITH MY DAUGHTERS!!! Look at how beautiful they are!!! So proud of Jamie for last weekend in Indy Car as well, as a ex-female driver I hope to see her in F1 in the future!

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Jamie and Bernie were a recent development in the F1 World. You couldn’t be more pleased that women were taking more of an interest in the sport than they historically had.

Not only as viewers but working there. You now saw so many female engineers and mechanics. And it made you so happy that women were comfy within the sport.

When Bernie came onto the scene you immedielty took the younger lady under your wing, almost becoming a mentor. But the mum side would slip out at times when people managed to pick up on it.

"Bernie did you put cream on? It awfully sunny and they haven't given you an umbrella!" you exclaimed one day, going into your back and taking out the aerosol can of sunscreen you'd brought with you incase anyone was in need.

"No i was a little rushed this morning leaving! I didn't realise how early they wanted us at the track" she sighed and you offer her the can showing her you can spray it in her cheeks. She closed her eyes letting you spray it on before you wipe it in.

"Don't wanna get greasy hands before you hold your mic hun" you smile at her as she opens her eyes thank you for the coverage.

It was very similar to Jamie, who was much younger but also whenever the girl came to the f1 track would find her way to you.

But the moment you really saw it was when you went to her Indy Car race. Her parents werent able to attend and you had the weekend free so of course you and you're husband came down for the show.

And you couldnt be prouder of her. You were one of the first people there to congratulate her on her amazing race, pulling her into a huge sweaty hug.

"I'm so proud of you darling! You did so well!" you smile kissing the side of her head pulling her in for a second hug.

"Thanks mum" she chuckles with a shake of her head before heading off with her team.

George Russell

y/user

Liked by georgerussell63, carmenmmundt and others

y/user: My son drove me and his girlfriend to work today! Recommended 10/10!

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georgerussell63: yeah you're welcome. Might need you to come to parents evening soon. Professor Wolff isn't happy with me or Kimi!

-> y/user: @ susie_wolff get your husband in check! lol

->susie_wolff: will get on this now, not our sons, not on our watch

-> georgerussell63: thanks mum number 2

kimi.antonelli: Mr Wolff is very scary. PS can i have some help with my homework?

George was one you always watched out for. Being a British driver you felt like you had to mentor him. Which is exactly what you did. The minute he came into Williams despite his awful first year, you knew he was something worth your time and knowledge. So you helped him out, gave him small pointers on the track and he got his first points in F1. The car got better as the year went on and he was driving with more ambition.

George had a special place in his heart for you after all you'd helped him do in his career. He was one of the saddest when you annouced your retiremeant. You had to actually to take him out to dinner and explain to him privately that you were leaving even before it got out in the media.

"So what's this treat of a meal for? Not my birthday!" he says digging into the Carbonara that was in front of him.

"Well, next years going to be a little different in the races!" you start to explain not picking up your own knife and fork, wanting to concentrate on getting everything out in the open.

"What, OMG are you changing teams?" he asks in shock.

"No, i'm retiring" you say and he chokes on the pasta making you look up in shock. He also looked shocked too.

"W-what? No you cant be!" he says looking at you. You were his favrioute person on the grid. He always came to you whenever he had a bad race or an issue with Max, which you always treated as if they were siblings in an argument.

"I'm sorry, but it's my time and i want to be with my husband and ... i wanna start a family" you smile softly looking at him.

"Were you're family. Here racing!" he demands a sour upset sort of look on his face.

"George ... i love you all. But i need to do this. For me, okay. I'll still come and visit. Think i've got a free paddock pass for life ..." you joke.

"But ..." he starts but you just smile.

"Come on, lets not spoil a good meal" you say, tapping his hand.

"You better come visit" he mutters looking up at you with a smile.

"Does that mean i'll get to be a cool Uncle?" he grins and you laugh with a nod.

"Oh absolutely"

Kimi Antonelli

Kimi Antonelli wasn't who you expected for Mercedes to replace a 7 time world champion. However, he was for sure the right choice. You saw him as this timid young teenager who was still going through school.

When he'd started in 2025, you were at every race as a commentator or guest. You loved travelling and being with the calendar as it went through the year and being in their to see the wins and talk to your old friends.

But Kimi was interesting. 2025 had brought many rookies who were in a very different age bracket from you. Which meant of course they all flocked to you like sheep.

Kimi was a special case where you met his mum in his F1 debut when he crashed. His mum was incredibly worried and you consoled her as much as you could until Kimi came to meet the both of you.

After that moment she trusted you with her son. You would go with him from the hotel to the track and you'd sit in the Mercedes hospitality with him.

"I don't get this, what does it mean?" he asks you about a question on his English homework that he didn't really understand. This was a typical race weekend now, between practices and interviews you were hauled up with papers both of you having what you called mocktails. It was literally just fancy water with lemons and limes and an umbrella in it but you and Kimi always found it funny ordering them.

"Well, its asking you how the poem makes you feel... its about emotion in literature" you then translate it into Italian, and he nods a thoughtful face appearing across his features before. He writes his answer out in english before showing it to you and you smile.

"I recon if you werent half the driver you are, you'd be a poet!" you grin and he frowns lightly knocking your shoulder.

"No! Shush!" he cries before laughing with you.

"Good thing I'm a good driver then!" he jokes and smiles taking some water.

Isack Hadjar

y/user

Instagram Story Caption: He destroyed the car, but got a hug from me!!!

Yuki Tsunoda

Instagram Story Caption: Mine and @ nicolepiastri child!

Lando Norris

Instagram Story Caption: MY SON WON!!!!!

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verstappenverse · 3 days ago

Text

All This Time

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max was your first everything, first friend, first heartbreak. Now years later he’s world champion, and you’re standing in front of him like no time has passed at all. (Requested)

3.1k words / Masterlist

You didn’t expect him to remember.

Not after all this time. Not after the years had passed like train cars speeding in the dark, loud, fast, and gone before you could even wave.

You’d stayed in motorsport, of course. Racing had been in your blood too once. You never fully pursued it like Max did, but you’d carved out a place for yourself behind the scenes, making a name for yourself in strategy, development, coaching, anything that kept you close to the world you loved. Anything but Formula 1. You avoided that part like a wound you never let scab, too afraid it might tear open the second you saw his name on a garage wall.

But today when you finally step into the Red Bull garage and your eyes meet his, those same ocean-blue eyes that once squinted against the sun as he begged you to race him down some dusty backroad the world doesn’t just pause. It stops entirely.

Max Verstappen freezes like he’s seen a ghost.

“Hi,” you say, barely above a whisper. Because really, what else can you say after almost ten years, multiple countries, and the ache of being forgotten?

He blinks once. Then again. His jaw tightens.

“You came.”

You nod, nervous under the weight of his gaze. “Yeah. I mean, your mum invited me, and… it felt like time.”

Time. That strange, cruel thing that unraveled the knot you’d once tied so tightly between you, a knot built from scraped knees, shared dreams, and the kind of trust that only comes from growing up side by side.

Time turned summer sleepovers into unanswered texts. Turned secret handshakes into blank stares across a room you no longer shared. It turned “always” into “used to.” You had been inseparable. Velcro. Chaos in a two-person unit. Trouble, always in pairs and never quite as brave alone.

You’d kept up with his career of course. You knew his stats, his wins, the way the crowd chanted his name now. But the Max you remembered the one with grass stains on his knees and ice cream on his chin felt like someone else entirely.

You grew up in karting garages together, your laughter bouncing off concrete walls louder than the engines. You were twin shadows slipping between toolboxes and tyre stacks, dodging mechanics and stealing zip ties like they were gold. Oil-smudged fingers. Greasy fries in one hand, tyre pressure gauges in the other. Max taught you how to kick-start an engine before you’d even mastered telling the time. You taught him how to tie a tie, how to tape a blister, how to calm down after a bad lap.

You used to sneak snacks off each other’s trays and pretend neither of you noticed. You fell asleep shoulder to shoulder in the back of his dad’s van, watching old F1 races on a cracked iPad and whispering commentary until one of you snored. You had a notebook, battered and dog-eared, where you’d both sketch ridiculous helmet designs, all glitter paint and fire decals. He always said he’d wear yours if he ever made it. You still have that page, folded and faded.

After every race, whether he won or crashed out, he’d find you. Every time. He’d pull off his gloves and jog toward the barriers just to hear your opinion. When you raced his face would light up when you crossed the line whether first or last didn’t matter. You were his best friend. That was enough.

But then life did what life does. You moved. He kept racing. You said you’d write. He said he’d call. And you did at first, but life moves fast and somewhere along the way you stopped.

Now here you are standing in the Red Bull garage as if no time passed, as if the world hasn’t changed, as if you’re still those two sunburnt kids who thought karting trophies and fizzy drinks were all that mattered.

Max looks at you like you might disappear if he blinks again.

His gaze flicks over your face with an urgency he’s trying to hide, like he’s checking to see what’s changed and what’s stayed the same. Like he’s afraid to find too much of one or the other.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you around here again,” he says finally, voice low and rough-edged, like it’s scraped up from somewhere buried.

You swallow the lump that rises instantly in your throat. “Didn’t know if you’d even remember.”

His mouth tilts not a smile, exactly. More like the ghost of one, soft and haunted around the edges. “You’re kind of hard to forget.”

And just like that, something inside you, something carefully packed away for years, twists, sharp and sudden. An old ache, familiar and stupidly alive. He used to say things like that all the time, back when the only people in your world were each other.

Max shifts like he wants to say something else. Instead his eyes catch on your features again, and he frowns faintly.

“You look…” he starts, then trails off. His lips part like he might keep going, but nothing comes.

You don’t press him. You’re not sure you could handle it if you did.

So you offer a crooked smile. “Older?”

He snorts, a low, almost fond sound that slips past his defences. “Still short.”

You roll your eyes and shove at his arm. “Still rude.”

Then he laughs. Really laughs. It hits you in the ribs like a punch, that sound because it’s the same. Deeper now, with age and wear, but still the same boyish rasp that used to echo through paddocks and across bunk beds and over midnight walks when the world felt too big and all you had was each other.

For a second, it’s like no time passed at all.

You don’t realise how long you’ve been staring, locked into the space between who he was and who he is, until his voice drops lower, softer.

“I missed you.”

Three words, barely breathed.

They land like a stone in your chest.

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes at first. Your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to reach for something that might no longer be yours.

“I missed you too,” you whisper finally, and the truth in it feels like something dangerous.

Because now you’re not just remembering him.

You’re feeling him.

The next morning, the paddock is alive with chaos, engineers buzzing, cameras swiveling, drivers darting past like comets. But all you can think about is the message from Max that was left at your hotel for you.

Come by the garage in the morning, before FP?

Your fingers tremble slightly as you enter the paddock. You’ve barely slept, head full of things you almost said and things he nearly did. It’s like a door opened yesterday, and now you can’t stop looking inside.

He’s waiting by the back of the garage, half in uniform, half in thought.

His face softens when he sees you.

“I was hoping you’d come.”

You nod, trying not to stare at the way his fire suit clings to his frame. “I figured if I didn’t you’d just track me down.”

He smirks. “Yeah probably. I know where you’re staying.”

You laugh, but there’s a tightness in your chest.

You watch as he fiddles with the velcro of his gloves, not quite meeting your eyes. “There’s something I want to show you. Maybe it’s stupid.”

He leads you to his driver room, past engineers, down the corridor with controlled chaos humming all around you, and when the door clicks shut, it’s just you and him.

He opens a drawer. Pulls out something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

A photo.

Faded. Bent at the corners. But unmistakable.

You and him. Teenagers, around fifteen. Covered in dirt and grease and beaming like idiots. You’ve got a bottle of water in one hand and Max is mid-squint, arm slung over your shoulders.

“I’ve had it since that last race before you left,” he says, voice low. “I kept it in my wallet for years. Then it started to fall apart, so I moved it here.”

Your fingers graze the edge of the picture.

“We look ridiculous.”

“You look happy,” he corrects quietly.

You don’t ask how often he’s looked at it. You don’t have to.

Because you remember that day too.

The air had smelled like petrol and hot asphalt, and your heart was still pounding from the race. You were grinning, practically vibrating with adrenaline. Because for the first time ever you beat Max.

He pulled off his helmet slowly, curls a sweaty mess, and sulked like someone stole his dog.

You plopped beside him in the pit lane, holding out the fries you’d bought from the food truck near the gate. “Truce?”

He gave you the side-eye. “You cut me off on turn six.”

You shrugged. “You left the inside line open. Rookie mistake.”

“I hate you.”

You popped a fry into your mouth. “No you don’t.”

He didn’t say congrats, but the way he smiled when he thought you weren’t looking that said enough.

You offered him the last fry without looking at him. “For your bruised ego.”

He took it, but didn’t eat it right away. “You’re gonna win a lot of races,” he said quietly.

“So will you.”

“But I’ll always remember this one.”

You turned to him, confused. “Why this one?”

His gaze met yours, and something in his expression shifted, a flicker of hesitation, like a thought stumbled too close to the surface.

He leaned in.

It wasn’t fast or sudden. It was slow, careful, uncertain.

Your breath hitched. The grease-stained paper bag slipped from your fingers onto the ground. You felt the sun on your skin and the heat of his body so close, his mouth a breath away from yours.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

Your noses nearly brushed. His eyes flicked to your lips. You could count his freckles.

But then, footsteps. Loud. Sharp.

You both jolted back like the moment hadn’t happened at all.

His father walked past, barely glancing at either of you.

You looked down. Max rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in his shoelaces.

And just like that, it was over.

Not a kiss.

Just an almost.

An almost that would live quietly in the silence between you, never spoken about, never quite forgotten.

You didn’t expect to be invited to the RedBull motorhome for lunch. And you definitely didn’t expect Max to sit across from you the entire time, answering questions from media with one eye always flicking back to you.

After the interviews, he corners you in a quiet hallway.

"Come for a drive with me."

You blink. “Now?”

He nods. “Yeah. I need to clear my head. I think… I think we need to talk.”

You hesitate for only a moment before you follow him out into the sun.

The car is fast, obviously, and expensive, a blur of black and blue. But inside it everything slows.

“I tried calling once… recently, I mean” he says, not looking at you.

You swallow. “I changed my number.”

He nods. “I figured. I just, you were gone. One day you were there, and the next…”

“I didn’t want to leave Max, I was a teenager I didn’t get a say.”

Silence. Then, “I know, but I really didn’t want you to. I wished I could’ve done something.”

“You were just a kid too. It was no ones fault.” You take a deep breath and then add. “I waited for you that last night, you know. I kept thinking… maybe you’d come find me.”

You’d gotten the news on a late afternoon: your family was relocating. New country. New start. It felt like the world cracked open beneath your feet.

You’d ran to him heart pounding with the knowledge that your whole life was about to split in two.

“I need to tell you something,” you’d said, voice shaking.

He looked up instantly. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated. Then forced the words out.

“I’m leaving.”

Max blinked. “What do you mean, leaving?”

“My dad got a job offer. We’re moving.”

He stared at you. Completely still. “When?”

You bit your lip. “Soon.”

His soda can crumpled slightly in his grip.

You hated the silence that followed. You wanted him to fight it. You wanted him to shout, to say no. Instead, he looked down.

“For how long?” he asked quietly.

You couldn’t lie. “I don’t know.”

He nodded once. Too slowly. Too carefully. Like the movement itself hurt.

You waited. You waited for him to reach for you, to say anything, that he’d miss you, that he was angry, that you meant something. But he just stood there, like his body had shut down and left only a shell behind.

So you swallowed your tears, your pride, and your heartache and whispered, “Guess I’ll see you around.”

You wanted to throw your arms around his neck and say you’d fight this, that you didn’t want to leave, but your throat burned and your eyes were wet and you couldn’t force the words out.

Then you turned and walked away.

“I should’ve said something,” Max says quietly. “Anything. I was a coward.”

You look at him.

You don’t say me too.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a decade.

It’s quiet after that. The kind of quiet that lives in the space between memory and regret.

He drives to a lookout over the sea. It reminds you of a place you used to sit together as kids, eating fries from a greasy paper cone and talking about what you’d do if you ever made it.

“You made it,” you say as you climb out of the car.

“So did you,” he replies.

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Not in the same way.”

He doesn’t argue. Just leans against the hood of the car and looks at you like he’s trying to memorise you.

“I thought about you,” he says quietly. “All the time.”

Your breath catches.

“Max…”

“I kept waiting for you to come back. For years, I’d look for your face in the stands. I kept thinking maybe today.”

Your throat tightens. You remember all the times you wanted to reach out, to send a letter, an email, anything. But something always stopped you.

Fear. Pride. Guilt.

“I didn’t know if you’d care.”

He turns fully to you then, and his eyes, older, sharper, but still that same ocean blue burn into yours.

“Of course I’d care. You were everything to me. You still are.”

The air between you shifts.

“Max,” you whisper, and this time your voice trembles. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what it means anymore. It’s been years.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer. “But you’re still the only person I’ve ever felt like this about.”

You’re too stunned to speak.

He exhales, eyes flicking to your lips before dragging back up. “I don’t expect anything. I just… I needed you to know.”

For the first time in a decade, you let yourself touch him, your fingers brushing against his, slow and tentative.

“I still feel it too,” you whisper.

His hand closes around yours like he’s afraid to let go again.

That night, you sit on the edge of your hotel bed and stare at your phone.

A message from Max.

Come up. Roof bar. Just us.

Your heart is in your throat as you ride the lift.

When the doors open, he’s already there two drinks in hand, back turned to the city view. He turns as you approach, something soft and aching in his smile.

“You came.”

“You asked.”

He hands you a drink. “For old times?”

You take a sip. “Something like that.”

You stare at him. At the man he’s become. Stronger. Sharper. Quieter, somehow. But the boy you knew the one who always gave you the last bite of his sandwich, who held your hand during thunderstorms, who whispered secrets to you in the dark he’s still there.

“Do you think we can go back?” you ask, your voice barely audible over the city noise.

He steps close. Not touching, not yet. But close enough that you feel the pull in your chest like gravity.

“I don’t want to go back,” he says. “I want to start again.”

His next words crack something open.

“You know how often I used to write texts I never sent. Every race, every flight. I’d delete them before takeoff like an idiot.” His voice breaks, just slightly. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to see you again?”

You nod, because you do. Because every stupid highlight reel of his wins made your heart ache. Because you once screamed into your pillow after seeing him kiss someone else in the paddock and you thought you’d missed your chance for good.

He reaches out. Not touching you yet, just hovering. “I’m never losing you again.”

Your breath catches.

“Max…”

“No. Don’t.” His fingers find yours. Threaded. Familiar. “Please. I’ve won everything I ever wanted. Except this.”

Your forehead presses to his chest before you can stop yourself, and he holds you like he remembers exactly how to. Like he’s angry at the space between you. Like if he squeezes tight enough, you’ll forget the wasted years and remember everything else.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper.

“Don’t ever leave again,” he mutters into your hair.

You don’t answer with words. You don’t even think you just act on instinct.

You kiss him.

Desperate but somehow gentle. A question.

He answers with a hand on your waist, the other on your cheek, anchoring you like he used to when the world spun too fast.

And just like that, you’re fifteen again. And twenty-two. And every version of yourself that ever loved him.

Later, when he walks you back to your room, he doesn’t try to come in.

He just stands there in the hallway, thumb brushing your knuckles.

“I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” you promise.

His eyes soften. “Stay. In Monaco. Just for a while.”

You bite your lip. “Max…”

“Not just for me,” he says quickly. “For you. For us. Let’s see where this goes.”

You look at him, this man who waited years, who still looks at you like you hung the stars and you know the answer, you’ve always known.

“Okay.”

And when he leans in, forehead resting against yours, everything feels still.

You were always meant to find your way back to him.

It was always Max.

Always you.

Even after all this time

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0scarp1astr1 · 3 days ago

Text

˖ 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.

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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

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 fluff #formula 1 fanfic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #f1 dad au #f1 as dads #dad! lando norris #one shot fanfic #formula 1 x reader

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taylrsdaughter · 3 days ago

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Caught in 4k - lando norris

summary: you’re in a secret relationship with lando norris, and none of his friends know, until they end up seeing you 2 in an art museum.

wc: 761 words

warnings: just fuff and chaos

The air echoed with the soft hum of footsteps on marble and the occasional rustle of a brochure. Sunlight poured through arched skylights, casting golden light over oil paintings that probably were older than your great-grandmother's broken tea set.

The Galleria Moderna wasn’t packed, but the quiet murmur of cultured patrons and clicking heels filled the ornate halls with an elegant buzz.

Lando Norris, dressed in a crisp white linen button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to show the veins, black tailored trousers, and spotless white sneakers, leaned slightly toward the girl beside him.

She wore a sleeveless navy jumpsuit that cinched perfectly at the waist, the deep colour setting off her golden-brown skin.

Her long hair was pulled into a high ponytail, dark eyes darting with curiosity from one painting to the next.

YN YLN.

No one in the paddock knew. Yet.

Lando smirked as she wrinkled her nose at a cubist piece.

“Don’t tell me you hate it,” he murmured, lips just by her ear.

“It looks like Picasso tripped while holding six brushes and fell into sadness.”

Lando stifled a laugh. “You’re such a menace.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “And you love it.”

His hand brushed against hers as they turned a corner—and then, he stopped dead.

“…Fucking hell.”

YN followed his gaze and froze.

Standing under a gigantic impressionist landscape were all of them.

Charles Leclerc in an open pastel pink shirt, looking like he belonged on the cover of Vogue, chatting animatedly with George Russell, who had gone full art-daddy in a cream turtleneck and tan slacks.

Oscar Piastri, as minimal as always, was dressed in black jeans and a soft grey hoodie, sipping an espresso from a paper cup, as if this was just a stroll through the park.

Daniel Ricciardo was the loudest, laughing, arms flailing, dressed in a print shirt with sunflowers that screamed “I’m on holiday,” while Lewis Hamilton, in oversized sunglasses and a flowing olive-green trench coat, nodded sagely.

Carlos Sainz was in a snug black sweater, arms crossed, a slight smirk as Max Verstappen mock-argued about how “modern art is just expensive bullshit.”

“Shit,” Lando whispered. “They can’t see us. They’ll eat me alive.”

YN tilted her head. “Aren’t they your friends?”

“They’re hyenas when they smell gossip.”

“Then maybe don’t stand there like a fucking statue, baby.”

He shot her a look. “Don’t say ‘baby’ when we’re in public.”

“You say it.”

“I whisper it. That’s different.”

It was already too late. Max’s sharp eyes had clocked the movement.

“Oi, Lando!” he barked across the hall, grinning like the devil. “Who’s the girl?”

Every head turned. Charles’s eyes lit up with mischief.

Daniel froze mid-story and smirked, and George’s eyebrows lifted in amused curiosity.

Lewis sipped his drink slowly, clearly waiting for drama.

Lando put on a thin smile, mentally screaming.

“Hey, guys,” he said, his voice going up a pitch. “Didn’t expect to see you all here.”

“You’re holding hands,” Carlos pointed out with a cocky grin.

Lando instinctively dropped her hand. “No, we weren’t.”

“You literally were, mate,” said Oscar, smirking. “Who’s she?”

YN stepped forward before Lando could answer. “Hi. I’m YN.”

Daniel’s eyes widened. “Wait. Wait. YN? The girl from your phone lock screen, you said, was ‘a random Pinterest model’? You lying sack of shit!”

Lando groaned. “Jesus, Daniel—”

Charles’s mouth dropped open. “So you’re dating?!”

George was already whispering to Oscar. Lewis let out a deep chuckle. “Took you long enough to slip up, Norris.”

“Alright, fuck all of you,” Lando snapped, turning slightly pink. “Yes. We’ve been dating. For a while. Happy now?”

Max whistled. “Knew it. That smug look on your face in Bahrain? That was post-sex glow.”

YN laughed uncontrollably. “He does get cocky after—”

“Stop!” Lando groaned. “Can we not do this here?”

Carlos was already walking up with a mock-serious expression. “I need to know: how the hell have you kept this a secret? That’s like… an Olympic-level cover-up.”

YN shrugged. “We’re smarter than you think.”

Daniel nodded. “That’s fair. But you owe us drinks tonight. You’re not getting away with this scandal for free.”

Lando looked at YN, exasperated, and she smiled sweetly.

“Oh come on, Lando boo, it’ll be fun.”

Charles coughed. “Did she just call you Lando boo?”

“Don’t—”

“LAN-DO BOOOOOOO!” Daniel howled, clutching his stomach.

“I’m gonna fucking kill all of you,” Lando muttered, but even he was smiling.

And just like that, the secret was out. Not with drama. Not with press. But in the heart of a gallery, among friends.

likes , comments and reblogs are appreciated 🫶

#lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris imagine #lando norris smau #lando norris x you #ln4 x reader #ln4 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfiction #taylrsdaughter

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littlegrapejuice · 1 day ago

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Grid Mum 6 | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: The European triple header - or: a poor attempt at flirting, a jealous boyfriend, mother's day, a Cars screening at home, and some cuddles.

Author's Note: obvious enough from the summary, but here is the imola/monaco/barcelona chap! I really enjoyed writing this one so i hope you'll enjoy reading it🫶🏻

F1 MASTERLIST🏎 | Previous Part | Next Part

Franco had been given one rule when he had hung out with the other rookies ahead of the Imola Grand Prix.

“Please, don’t flirt with Max’s girlfriend.” Ollie’s tone was stern, indicating that it was a serious matter.

“Why?” Franco hadn’t met you when he had replaced Logan last year, and he wasn’t even sure of what you looked like. So why were you important now?

“Because she’s nice to us,” Kimi explained.

“Literally the nicest”, Liam added with a nod.

“Yeah, and she takes care of us during race weekends. Even Max hangs out with us, and it’s so fun to spend time with them. So if you flirt with her, then Max will be mad. And we don’t want to be blamed for your fuck-up because we’re all part of the same group,” Gabriel concluded.

“Wow… okay, mate. I won’t do anything so we’re good, don’t worry. I’ll behave”, Franco assured.

After this conversation, the rest of the rookies really thought that Franco had gotten the message.

One rule. Just one tiny little rule.

And Franco broke it on Friday, barely a day later.

In his defence, it wasn’t his fault. Why? Because no one had actually shown him a picture of you, and Franco hadn’t thought of looking you up. So he still didn’t know that it was you he was talking to when he walked up to you with a charming smile on his face.

“Hey,” he simply said. “Red Bull fan?” He pointed to his head in reference to the cap you were wearing.

This was courtesy of Max, who hadn’t wanted you to wear a Mercedes one. Kimi had offered you one of the signed caps that had been amongst those he had given to his classmates, hoping that you would support him at his home race. With a scoff, Max had quickly removed the cap from your head when you had come back to his garage and he had then exchanged it for the one he had been wearing.

“Yeah”, you confirmed with a nod as you readjusted your cap. You were about to introduce yourself to Franco due you two having never met, but you didn’t have time.

“Any chance I could turn you into an Alpine fan?” Franco raised an eyebrow at you, his tone teasing. “I could even give you a tour of my garage if you want.”

It took you a few seconds to process Franco’s words, as well as his attitude, before you realised that he was trying to flirt with you. You kind of wanted to laugh, finding the situation quite funny. You hadn’t imagined that Franco out of all people would try and flirt with you, but then you realised he might actually be completely clueless about who you were.

“Oh, that’s sweet of you but I already know what an F1 garage looks like.” You gave him your best friendly-but-rejecting smile, and hoped he would get the message. “I practically live in them at this point.”

“Even if I’d be your personal tour guide?”

“This isn’t a really convincing argument”, you told him. “Jack put the bar high enough, if I’m being honest.”

“Shit, you’re friends with Jack?” Franco was now unsure on how to keep the conversation going, thinking that you would be one of those blaming him for what happened to the Aussie driver.

“I’d say more than friends, but yeah that tracks.” Sensing Franco’s nervousness, you tried to reassure him. “I’m not mad at you by the way. If anything, it’s Alpine that I want to burn to the ground.”

“Cool… yeah, that’s cool… So he wouldn’t be mad if I tried to ask his friend out?”

“Jack probably won’t be, but my boyfriend might not like that.” The innocent smile on your face felt more like a warning than anything else, due to the sharper tone in your voice.

“My bad, I didn’t know. Sorry about that, then.” Franco was being genuine. He was a charmer through and through, but he wasn’t about to keep trying to pursue you now that he knew you were taken. “He’s a lucky guy, that’s for sure.”

“Who’s a lucky guy?”

Turning to where the voice had come, Franco and you saw that Max had come to stand beside you.

“Her boyfriend”, Franco honestly explained. “It seems like I was unfortunately–” His voice kind of died down when he noticed that Max’s arm had made its way around your waist. Clearing his throat, Franco was now more nervous than ever. “I was unfortunately flirting with a woman who’s got a boyfriend, which is you I guess…”

“You’re guessing well”, Max confirmed as his grip on your waist slightly tightened. “No need to introduce you to my girlfriend anymore, then?”

“Nope, all good. I– I need to go to my garage so… see you later, yeah.” And with that, Franco awkwardly left the conversation. He knew he had fucked up the only thing that his fellow rookies had asked of him, and he really hoped they wouldn’t hear about it.

“More like ‘see you never’”, Max mumbled under his breath once Franco was out of earshot.

“You scared the poor guy, Max.”

“Shouldn’t have flirted with my girl,” Max replied as if it was obvious.

“He didn’t even know who I was!” You tried to advocate for Franco, but in vain.

“Well, now he knows!” Max argued.

You let out a sigh at Max’s jealous attitude, although there was a smile on your face showing that you had a hard time actually being annoyed by your boyfriend.

“Go drive your little car and stop terrorising kids, Max.”

“He will not become our kid, by the way. He’ll stay a regular kid, we already have enough.”

“Just because of him flirting?”

“Trying to flirt,” Max clarified. “Clearly, he was never succeeding.”

“You’re being so mean, he was actually sweet and respectful.”

“He can be sweet and respectful, but far from you. Like… the opposite side of the paddock from where you are.”

“You’re pushing it.” But despite your complaints, you had to admit that jealous and possessive Max was cute. He was never this dramatic when you interacted with other men, so this was actually kind of funny to witness. “I’ll stay very very far away from him if you want, is that alright?” You wouldn’t actually go out of your way to avoid Franco, but what Max didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“Yeah, perfect.” Max had a proud grin on his face. “I’ll see you after FP1?”

“Might have lunch with the rookies while we watch the F3 and F2 qualis”, you notified Max. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“No problem, sounds good.” He then kissed you goodbye, before making his way to his garage while you made yours to hospitality.

…..

Following FP1, you met with Gabriel. He had crashed at the end of the session, bringing out a red flag, but was thankfully alright.

“You were doing great out there”, you told the rookie. “P9 in FP1 is promising.”

“It’s practice,” Gabriel pointed out. “Only the first of the weekend so…”

“But that means you’re starting the weekend well!” You wanted to encourage him, genuinely believing that he was improving with every grand prix. “I’m sure you’ll keep this up.”

“Thanks for the support. But now I’m starving, so please let’s get something to eat.”

“Lead the way.”

While you and Gabriel were eating, you watched the F3 qualifying session and discussed upcoming talents. Gabriel teased you about soon becoming the grid mum of every young driver, due to you already noticing them from the lower categories.

When the session was over, there was a small break before the F2 qualifying would start so you and Gabriel just stayed together. It was only the two of you for another half hour, until Gabriel noticed a fellow rookie walking by and called out for him.

“Franco, mate!” Gabriel waved at the Argentinian, hoping to introduce the two of you.

“Hey.” Franco hesitantly approached, giving you a small nod as a sign of greeting.

“This is Max’s girlfriend,” Gabriel said. He held Franco’s gaze for a bit, as a warning for him to remember what the rookies had told him the day before.

“Oh, we actually met earlier!” Unaware of what you would be causing, you thought it would be fine to share the information. “I got offered a private tour of Alpine, can you believe how lucky I am?” Chuckling at the memory, you had no idea that Franco was now wanting to escape the conversation due to Gabriel threateningly looking at him.

“That’s so nice of Franco, yeah”. Gabriel’s tone was far from nice, his eyes now throwing daggers at his fellow rookie. “I hope he didn’t bother you, did he?” Gabriel needed to make sure that what he was thinking – Franco having broken the only rule he had been given – was unfortunately true.

“No worries about him,” you reassured him. “Max actually used the ‘scary boyfriend’ persona on him – sorry about that, Franco.”

“Oh… hmm, it’s fine. No worries,” he told you with a nervous smile. “I think I’ll let you two enjoy your time together. I gotta meet with my team to discuss… stuff, yeah… just stuff.”

“Sure, okay! We’ll probably see each other later in the triple header anyways.”

“Yeah, the triple header. That’s great, super great.” Franco waved as he slowly began to walk away from you and Gabriel, now knowing that he wouldn’t hear the end of it once all the rookies would be aware of the situation from earlier.

“See you later, Franco. Enjoy the weekend, while you can.” Gabriel had an innocent smile on his face, but his eyes were definitely not matching it. He was ready to share the story to his friends as soon as he would have the opportunity, ready to gang up on Franco for his mistake.

Completely oblivious to the tension between the two drivers, you then brought back the topic that you and Gabriel were talking about before Franco had been there. Until it was time for FP2, you stayed with Gabriel as you watched the F2 qualifying session together. You wished the rookie luck, hoping that Italy would be good to him.

And despite only getting P16 in the other two practice sessions, it seems like you had been right to encourage Gabriel as he managed to reach his first Q2 of the season on Saturday – which was unfortunately at the expense of Ollie not getting further than P19, due to a red flag caused as the Brit was crossing the line.

Thankfully, there was no bad blood between the two of them and they honestly both knew that neither of them would be fighting for points on the next day.

You would still be rooting for them to have a nice and safe race, but your focus would mainly be on Max. He would start P2, next to Oscar’s McLaren on the front row, and you were certain that he was ready to do anything in order to secure a fourth win in a row here.

…..

You could only stop breathing as you watched the drivers reaching the first corner. Oscar was forced to brake early in order to keep George behind him, which gave Max the opportunity to overtake him. It was a clean and precise move, which made you sigh of relief when your boyfriend had successfully taken the lead of the race.

And that was all he had needed to do in order to claim a win here in Imola, for Red Bull’s four hundredth grand prix.

Max found you as soon as he got out of the car and removed his helmet, running to where you were standing with his team in parc fermé. As usual, he hugged you first. You couldn’t quite catch what he was saying due to the cheers around you, but you managed to understand a few words:

“This one’s for my girlfriend”, he bragged before hugging you tighter.

You could literally hear his smirk, which you then felt when he kissed you.

“Congrats, champ. That was beautiful”, you told him before he removed his arms from around you to go interact with his team.

You watch him hug his team principal, his engineers, his mechanics. They were responsible for most of it, but Max was the real star today. A star that you could only admire as your eyes never left him, even when he gave his interview as one of the top three finishers.

Max then disappeared for the cooldown room, before your eyes found him again when he went to stand on the podium. Victory always looked good on him, especially when he was so deserving of it.

It was in those moments that the world had to remember that Max Verstappen was a four-times world champion. Maybe the two McLaren drivers next to him on the podium were leading both drivers’ and constructors' championships, but Max wasn’t far behind and he was definitely not going out without a fight for a fifth consecutive title.

_________________________________________________

Although Monaco wasn’t your favourite race of the year, you loved being able to spend a week at home. And you knew Max was glad for that too. You didn’t have to come back to a hotel room every night, and you could wake up with the familiarity of your routine.

Except that there was a new variable in your routine this year, thanks to some rookies whom you had adopted along the way.

When you arrived at the paddock on race day, you hadn’t been surprised to see your six grid kids waiting near the entrance. They seemed to be discussing something important, hushed voices overlapping each other.

Ollie was the first one to notice you, and he nudged the other rookies to notify them of your approaching. And that was when you thought things were a bit weird.

“Hi boys, everything alright?”

They all seemed to suddenly be nervous at your presence, straightening up and looking at each other with unsure glances. You noticed that a couple of them were hiding something, which you would very soon discover what it was.

“It’s… hmm, not much… but…” Kimi had decided to be the spokesperson of the group, but he had somehow forgotten his lines. He thought about winging it, and went straight to the point. “Happy Mother's day!”

And that was the cue for Isack to reveal a beautiful bouquet filled with your favourite flowers – they had to thank Max for the information – while Jack was holding a box of chocolates with a card on top of it in your direction.

“Oh!” Was the only word you could manage to get out before you choked up. You wanted to cry. You wanted to sob here and there – not caring about the people that might be watching. The gesture was so pure and kind, you didn’t feel like you deserved it. And with the way that their smiles brightened in anticipation of your reaction, showing how proud they were of themselves for doing that? Yeah, you were done for. “I– sorry, I’m just emotional…”

Noticing that some tears were rolling down your cheeks, the rookies were suddenly panicking and they thought you didn’t like their surprise.

“Sorry, was it wrong to do that?” Liam asked, worry evident in his voice.

“It was supposed to make you happy,” Gabriel stated.

“Yeah! Not sad,” Ollie added.

“We didn’t want to make you uncomfortable”, Kimi said.

Seeing how their mood shifted was enough to make you now properly react to their change in attitude, especially when you saw that their smiles were starting to drop.

“Oh my God, no! Please don’t apologise!” You got closer to them, hoping to be able to show them your gratitude by taking their gifts into your hands. “This is just… like super really nice of you. And I wasn’t expecting that at all, so it took me by surprise. But that is truly so sweet of you. Thank you all so much for this, I don’t deserve it.”

“Of course you do!” Isack claimed.

“Yeah!” The other rookies agreed with a nod.

Chuckling at their enthusiasm, you now wanted to hug them to thank them for the gifts. You barely had time to put down the bouquet and chocolates before the rookies were the ones engulfing you in a hug first. It was certainly not practical to hug six people at the same time, but you tried to make it work until you decided to hug them all individually.

“Are you still crying? Jack wondered, when he heard you sniff in his arms.

“It’s happy tears, shut up. I’m blaming you for that,” you told him before tightening your grip around him.

It meant a lot to you that Jack had been involved with this. Despite him not really being part of the current rookies on the grid, he was still one when Max and you had adopted the group. So it had made sense for the other drivers to include him – they didn’t even think about not including him, it was just obvious to do so.

One by one, you hugged the six of them with a smile so wide that your cheeks were starting to hurt. You thanked them once again, telling them how grateful you were to have them.

“We’re the lucky ones there”, Ollie said. “We don’t care that you’re not like our real mum or shit like that.”

“We did honour our mums, by the way. We’re not bad sons”, Liam assured.

“True. But yeah, we needed to thank you for being there for us during race weekends. Because even if our parents are also there most of the time, it’s super cool to hang out with you because you’re real fun to be around. You’re more than a grid mum,” Isack affirmed. “You’ve become a friend as well.”

“Okay, shit. You’re gonna make me cry again and I don’t have any spare makeup with me”, you joked as you tried to keep your tears in.

They laughed with you as you kept thanking them – it seemed like the only thing you could do. In this moment, you really felt loved and cherished. You wouldn’t trade those kids for anything else in the world; and if someone were to ask them, they would definitely say the same.

…..

You hadn’t expected a journalist to approach you after the race, given that you were usually invisible in the paddock. Not that you were fully transparent either, but you were never the WAG that people focused on.

“Isn’t it weird that you’re getting so much attention from the rookies? Especially on a day like today.”

You had certainly not expected that question, and were definitely confused regarding the point the journalist was trying to make. The man had not even said ‘hello’ nor introduced himself, and that was probably all you needed to know about him to assess his personality.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch the full question. Could you repeat it, please?” You did your best to stay polite, even though you could already feel like the man was about to deal with something that you wouldn’t like.

“Well, we’ve seen you interact a lot with the rookies in the past few weeks – which most people could overlook. However, today is Mother’s Day and it seems like they have been acting as if you were deserving of as much attention as their real mothers earlier today. Anything to say about wanting to replace them?”

To say you were surprised by the man’s claim would be an understatement. Was he accusing you of stealing the rookies from their mothers? When have you ever tried to do that?

“I’m not sure where you found that information.” You tried to be diplomatic, not wanting to cause a scene, and plastered your face with your best fake smile. “I can assure you that I have done nothing to ever make it seem like I wanted to replace – as you’ve said – the kids’ mothers. And–”

“But you have been strangely close to them, right?” He interrupted you. He then did not even leave you time to answer before he kept going with his more-than-false ‘facts’. “Some people even claim that you have invited them to your home, can you confirm or deny? Are you doing all of this because Max does not want to have an actual family with you? Is there any trouble between the two of you?”

Now overwhelmed, you were having a really hard time listening to everything the journalist was saying. People hadn’t seemed to care about the exchange – probably due to the fact that the man wasn’t a well-known reporter and you were just a WAG. Still, the pressure you were currently feeling from his accusations was making you more nervous than ever and you were afraid that you would soon need to excuse yourself – which might make things worse if the man thought you were escaping because his assumptions were right.

Thankfully, someone decided to come save you.

“Is everything okay here?” Liam asked, his tone suspicious, as he came to stand beside you. He had heard the last couple of questions that the man asked you, and he immediately knew to intervene.

“Yeah, we’re fine. She’s just refusing to answer my questions,” the journalist explained. “Is she always this rude?”

“Well, maybe she’s not answering because you’re just spitting bullshit and assuming wrong stuff about her.” Liam shifted closer to you and glared at the man in front of him. “I don’t know who made up all this, but they’re dumb as hell. And if it’s you, then it’s no surprise I’ve never seen you before because your work is probably too mediocre to be read by actual drivers.”

“I will not allow you to speak to me like that!” The journalist was now fuming, overlooking the fact that he was talking to F1 driver Liam Lawson and focusing on how a ‘kid’ was insulting his work.

“Or what?” Liam snickered at the man’s anger.

“I’ll write about you, and I’ll have lots of things to say about how rude you both are to journalists who just wanna do their job. It’s no wonder Red Bull sacked you with an attitude like that,” he said with venom in his voice.

“How the hell are you talking to them?” Ollie, having heard the journalist’ voice get louder from afar, had come to see what the commotion was about. He hadn’t expected to see you and Liam, now wondering what was happening. The only thing he was sure of for now, was that the journalist had no right to yell at you nor Liam.

Now that two drivers were around you, people were starting to notice the little gathering and some of them stopped for a second to see what was going on.

“I talk to them however I want. I am appalled at how rude the youth is nowadays! I am simply trying to write my article, but everyone is really disrespectful around here.”

“If you weren’t the one asking dumb shit to her, then I would be way nicer to you.” Liam crossed his arms, fed up with the man’s attitude.

“My questions are far from dumb! You cannot tell me that it’s not bizarre and creepy from her to spend so much time around the younger drivers. I’m just wanting to know the truth here”, the man claimed.

“Listen, man.” Gabriel was the third driver to join the conversation, and he was definitely not glad with what he had heard so far. The noise had caught his attention, and he hadn’t hesitated in getting closer as the journalist kept getting angrier. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are – and I probably don’t care – but you’re gonna have to tone it down, please. This is a public space, and your very loud irritating voice is bothering the people who actually work here.”

“And if you wanna talk about us hanging out with her, then I’ll give you something to write about.” Ollie, without a care in the world, took the journalist’s notebook and pen before he scribbled down some words. “Reason number one: she’s genuine, kind, and polite – definitely the opposite from you. Reason number two: we share the same passion that’s racing – and maybe you would be a better person if you had it too. Reason number three–”

“That’s enough!” The journalist interrupted as he violently grabbed his notebook back from Ollie’s hands. “I will not let myself be ridiculed by arrogant drivers like you for one more second.” And with that, he angrily stormed away from the conversation.

What you felt was an awkward silence settled between the drivers and you, as you were now embarrassed to have indirectly dragged them in this situation. However, it seemed like they didn’t care about it and were more worried about your well-being.

“Are you alright?” Ollie eventually asked, a soothing hand rubbing your shoulder.

“Did he do anything else to you before I arrived?” Liam wondered, not having been there from the beginning.

“I’m fine, guys. Don’t worry about me,” you reassured them. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, he was…”

“Being a bitch?” Gabriel suggested.

“An absolute arsehole?” Ollie added.

“Fucking pathetic that’s for sure,” Liam stated.

“I wanted to say a bit rude, but yeah those work as well.” You chuckled a bit at your own downplay of the situation. “He was kinda right, though… I don’t know, am I spending too much time with my boyfriend’s colleagues?”

“Please don’t think that man was right.”

“Yeah, Gabi’s right. And we’re not just your boyfriend’s colleagues,” Ollie claimed. “We’re literally your kids, thought we established that this morning”

“Grid mum? Grid kids?” Liam reminded you with a smile. “Ringing a bell?”

You nodded, grateful for the reassurance the rookies were providing you. You thought that you truly didn’t deserve them, and that maybe they were the ones actually taking more care of you than you did of them. But it felt normal to them: you were usually the one mothering. And if for once they could help you by being your knights in shining armour, then they were glad to do so.

Still, it would later seem that they wouldn’t stop needing to count on you when it mattered. And you knew as much as they did that you wouldn’t say no to them, no matter the situation.

…..

Are you asleep?

The text had come from Isack. Looking at the time, you noticed that it was quite late and you wondered if he needed anything. You told him that no, you were still awake and asked him there was something wrong. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it was definitely not this reply:

I’m in front of your building, can i come up?

I understand if you’ll say no

Now kind of worried, you wasted no time ringing Isack in. It only took a couple minutes before he was at the door, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Sorry to bother you”, he shyly apologised.

“You’re not bothering me at all,” you reassured him. “Is everything alright? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am. I just– I was out with some friends et… j’sais pas… kinda tried to go clubbing but it wasn’t really my scene anymore at one point and I left.” Isack ran his fingers through his hair, his frustration obvious. “Next thing I know, I’m walking to yours et me voilà.” He nervously chuckled, still unsure of how you’d react.

“Okay,” you simply replied with a nod. “Well, for starters I’m glad you’re alright. Can I get you anything to drink or eat?”

“Hmm, yes please.” Isack finally entered your home before you closed the door behind him. “Just some water is fine, thanks.”

“No problem. Just go sit and I’ll be back.” You walked to the kitchen, getting a glass for Isack, before going to the living-room where Isack had made his way already. “There you go,” you said as you handed him the glass.

A silence then settled between the two of you, as Isack almost gulped down the drink while you debated asking him more questions about his evening.

“Can I spend some time here? Just for a bit, I won’t stay long and bother you much.”

“You can stay as long as you want, Isack.” You offered him a gentle smile, reassuring him. “Wanna do anything? We got video games, lots of films…” You thought of other ideas as you kept listing things. “We can just chill in silence if you want some peace and quiet. Hmm, we can bake? I have some paint somewhere, or I can teach you how to knit. Choices are endless here.”

“A film sounds nice,” Isack decided.

“Something in mind?”

“Maybe one we might have both watched,” Isack suggested.

“Wait a second”, you told Isack before standing up and going to look at your DVD shelf. Your eyes caught a familiar box, and you smiled knowing that the driver wouldn’t refuse to watch it. “Cars?”

As you had guessed, Isack’s face lit up at the offer and he immediately nodded with a grin.

“Knew you would like that”, you teased as you turned the TV on and put the DVD in the player. You then went back to sit next to Isack on the couch, ready to start watching his favourite film.

You hadn’t thought about how fun it would be to watch Cars with a big fan like Isack, but it was probably the most you had ever laughed while watching a film with someone other than Max. Isack knew every line. He gave you some fun facts about characters, and told you all his favourite things about them.

It was definitely a moment you would cherish forever.

Isack didn’t even notice when Max joined the two of you for the second half of the film, too focused on continuing to show you his knowledge. Meanwhile, Max was softly smiling at the scene. Your eyes met his after a bit, and he raised an eyebrow at you as if to ask if you were having fun. Quickly glancing at Isack, you then looked back at Max and gave him a nod along with a bright smile before going back to listen to the rookie next to you.

Safe to say, you definitely wouldn’t mind watching the rest of the trilogy with Isack one day if it meant that you could relive a similar moment as tonight.

_________________________________________________

By Barcelona, Max was over it. From his team putting him on hard tyres for the last laps of the race to the incident with George, Max was just done and he didn’t hesitate showing it to everyone watching.

He didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care that everyone would be looking for him, whether it was his team or interviewers. He just wanted some peace and quiet. So as soon as he came back to his garage, his only goal was to find you. And when he did, he simply took your hand to drag you to his driver’s room.

When he locked the door, you almost thought that he wanted to let out his frustration with some less-than-family-friendly actions and you were ready to indulge him. But he actually just sat on the couch with a sigh, before he motioned for you to come closer. And you realised that Max just needed emotional rather than physical intimacy.

Max waited for you to sit down next to him before he laid back on the couch, his arms going around your waist to pull you closer until you were both lying on your side. Your hand went to take one of Max’s, acting as a sign of comfort. His grip tightened around you, while he hid his face in the crook of your neck.

No words were needed between you. It was easy to understand what Max was going through. You obviously couldn’t fully relate to it, but you understood.

Throughout the years, you had witnessed Max’s highs and lows. You could read him like no one else, and you knew right now how he was feeling. It wasn’t the same kind of disappointment that Max felt after a DNF. This one didn’t hit as hard; it was just an accumulation of small mistakes that had piled up until now before eventually being too much.

And right now, you knew that the only thing you could do for Max was this: just being there for him. Your presence was more than enough for him, and simply holding you close to him was enough for Max to stay grounded.

Slowly lifting his head from where it has been resting on your shoulder, Max gave you a loving kiss on your forehead. A silent ‘thank you for being there for me’. An acknowledgement of your limitless and eternal support, which he wouldn’t trade for anything else.

Max had you, and you had him. The two of you having each other in this world was the only thing that you would both ever need.

…..

Max eventually apologised the next day, on his Instagram account, and you also knew that he had sent a text to George as well.

If someone were to ask you, it was almost like those two brought the worst in each other. But at the end of the day, it was a racing incident that did not deserve to impact whatever relation they had off track – were they even friends? Colleagues harbouring some weird unresolved tension? Sometimes even you didn’t know the exact way Max considered some of his fellow drivers, but there was for sure no pure hatred for any of them and it wouldn’t change.

Everything that had happened on track was fortunately not affecting them off track. You got proof of that when you and Max randomly met George at the Nice airport. The Brit was on his way to Paris to watch the Roland-Garros final – which you were extremely jealous of – and it was like nothing had ever happened between the two drivers as the atmosphere between them was nothing but respectful.

“So, you’re back to being besties again now?” You teased Max once George had left.

“Let’s not push it”, Max replied with a sigh. “You’re just saying that because you want us to join him in Paris.”

“What?” You tried to act innocent as you dragged out the syllable. “Me, wanting to go see what will probably be the most iconic final of this generation? No way,” you tried to deny in vain.

“Sorry, I’ll take you next year.”

“Yeah you better, Verstappen.” You nudged him with your shoulder, showing that you weren’t mad.

“You know, one day you won’t be able to call me by my last name if we both have it.”

“What?”

“What?” He repeated with a smirk. “Didn’t say anything.”

“I–” You were dumbfounded. You watched as Max began walking again, leaving you to stand in the middle of the airport by yourself. Were you crazy? Did you mishear him? No way, you thought. But still, you had to eventually accept that maybe you had misunderstood him because it would be impossible to make Max repeat himself if you had indeed heard him right.

While you were internally debating the conversation that had happened, Max was smiling at himself. His little plan was far from perfect for now, but it was nicely taking shape. He would eventually need some help – perhaps from some rookies that would do anything for their grid mum’s happiness, but right now it was just fun for him to make you go a bit crazy with his cryptic comments. After all, he had to make sure you wouldn’t say no once the moment would happen

..........

Taglist: @umm-i-love-u @callsign-mirage @freyathehuntress @elieanana @suns3treading @fastandcurious16 @l3thal-l0lita @urmomsgirlfriend1 @guacala

Ok so i fr thought i would never be done w this chap lol😭 i loved the ideas i had for it but idk it took me so long to acc write them

Hope y'all are still enjoying the fic!! I'm always looking forward to knowing your thoughts🫶🏻

I've begun writing the canada chap but I'll probs wait till next week to post it bc i wanna see what happens during the lil break in case there's anything worth mentioning (and if not, I'll let my brain imagine smth)

See you soon, take care of yourselves, love y'all xx

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x you #max verstappen x you #mv1 #mv1 x reader #mv1 x you #grid mum series<3

637 notes · View notes

checkeredflagggs · 3 days ago

Text

Brown Thumb

Pairing: lando norris x girlfriend!Brown!reader

summary: How to help a couple who’s killed every plant they’ve ever owned?

a/n: while I’m not as bad as these two, I have killed my fair share…

a/n2: and this is the last one for my Father’s Day series! Hopefully you guys enjoyed them!

Masterlist | Taglist

yn_brown

liked by landonorris, zakbrown, oscarpiastri, and 829,183 others

yn_brown: Spring is here!

view all comments

user1: oh girl not again…

↳user2: my bet is longer than 2 weeks but not more than 2 months

↳yn_brown: have a little faith please!

↳user2: girl we tried but…

↳user1: past performance informs on future results

oscarpiastri: please don’t call me at 3:30 again because you killed yet another plant

↳landonorris: but you’re supposed to know these things!

↳oscarpiastri: just because I’m Australian doesn’t mean I know plants

↳nicolepiastri: that’s very true…

↳yn_brown: do you know plants?

↳nicolepiastri: I’m sorry sweetie but. You’re beyond my help

↳yn_brown: 😓😓

zakbrown: maybe it’s time to pick another hobby?

↳yn_brown: you’re supposed to support me in all my endeavors!

↳zakbrown: honey you’ve managed to kill every single living thing that you’ve brought into your apartment

↳yn_brown: those were all defective

↳zakbrown: honey…

alex_albon: you’re gonna get this one!

↳landonorris: thanks for believing in us!

↳alex_albon: oh I don’t, I just have money resting on this

↳landonorris: 😑😑😑

user3: dragging the Brown-Norris household for their brown thumbs wasn’t on my bingo card for the day but I’m loving it

↳user4: I mean they kinda deserve it…those poor plants…

Bluesky

Private Messages, Zak and y/n

yn_brown

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer, and 827,613 others

tagged: zakbrown

yn_brown: thanks dad for the new members of the family!

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user5: oh boy not again…

user6: I believe in you!

landonorris: These are gonna be the ones! I can feel it

↳yn_brown: they are! We’re gonna be plant parents!

↳georgerussell63: Are you two going to be hosting another funeral for when these perish?

↳landonorris: you frickin muppet!

↳yn_brown: oh I’ll be hosting a funeral but it won’t be for a plant!

oscarpiastri: good luck

↳yn_brown: at least someone has faith in us!

↳oscarpiastri: I do not but one can remain hopeful in hopeless

↳yn_brown: I’m gonna get dad to fire you

↳zakbrown: Y/N you can’t say that

↳yn_brown: but!

↳zakbrown: I’m not going to fire him just because he was bullying you

↳yn_brown: then what use is it to be your daughter???

↳landonorris: you met me??

↳yn_brown: yes I did 🥰🥰🥰

↳oscarpiastri: on my comment thread??

Bluesky

user7: I’m gonna go optimistic! And say…3 months

↳user8: 3 whole months??? That’s not optimistic — that’s crazy

↳user7: one day they’ll figure it out

user9: I think they’ll break their record and kill them in less than 2 weeks

↳user10: harsh

↳user10: but probably true

user11: hmmm….

↳user12: aren’t those the ones we got mom?

↳user11: yeah I think so…

↳user12: and weren’t they…?

↳user11: yup

↳user12: oh this is gonna be funny

↳user13: anything you want to share with the class?

↳user11: oh nothing yet…

landonorris

liked by yn_brown, oscarpiastri, georgerussell63, and 1,937,294 others

tagged: yn_brown

landonorris: haters gonna hate but these plants 🪴 are gonna live!!

view all comments

user7: I told you guys!! They were gonna get it eventually!

↳user8: I still can’t believe it…4 months strong…

yn_brown: so proud of us babe!

↳landonorris: knew we could do it!!

↳zakbrown: good job kids 👍

georgerussell63: well I’ve never been happier to be proven wrong

↳landonorris: I told you — you should have believed in us from the start!

↳yn_brown: yeah!

↳user14: I mean it’s kinda hard to do that when you’ve killed literally every single other one…

↳georgerussell63: ^^^

alex_albon: damn…lost some good money on this…

↳yn_brown: hahaha

↳alex_albon: 🙁🙁

↳landonorris: your the one who bet against us!

user12: you’re doing great sweethearts!

↳user11: so good!

↳yn_brown: that’s a little condescending for me but I’ll take it!!

Bluesky

user15: OH MY GOD 😂😂😂

user16: this is the funniest thing ever

user17: I can’t believe it…

user18: it took them 5 months to figure it out?!?

user19: I can’t believe Zak bought her fake plants to take care of…

↳user20: I can’t believe it took them this long to figure out that they weren’t real

user21: oh to be a fly on that wall when y/n talks to her dad…

↳user22: oop

Private Messages, Zak/Lando and y/n

mclaren

liked by y/n_norris, oscarpiastri, and 2,924,492 others

tagged: landonorris

mclaren: This week, as we come closer to Father’s Day, we’d like to showcase some extraordinary fathers on our team — including new proud dad Lando Norris! To show some appreciation, we got him a new plant for his collection!

view all comments

landonorris: this is such a low blow guys…

↳mclaren: we’re just being supportive Lando!

y/n_norris: I’m disowning you guys

↳mclaren: we’re genuinely heartbroken right now 💔💔

↳y/n_norris: you deserve it

user23: y/n literally changed her name 😂😭

↳y/n_norris: I've disowned them — I’m a Norris now

↳landonorris: hell yeah you are

↳adam_norris_pure_electric: welcome to the family dear — Cisca

alex_albon: mclaren you should have let us know — we would have gotten him one too!

↳georgerussell63: oh absolutely!

↳mclaren: there’s always next year! liked by alex_albon, georgerussell63

↳landonorris: I’m running you both off the track

user24: ok this is actually the best day of my life

oscarpiastri: happy Father’s Day Lando

↳landonorris: not you too…

↳oscarpiastri: 🤷🏼‍♂️

Taglist

Please interact with my taglist post if you want to join — I don’t always check the notes on the individual posts

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vivwritesfics · 2 days ago

Text

"My Girlfriend Made It"

Its simple, really. Lando is wearing something his girlfriend made for him. (more of a blurb, rly)

In recent times, Lando Norris had become somewhat of a fashion guy on the grid. He dressed well, at the very least (looked absolutely smashing at the most).

But today was different.

Lando normally pulled off nice jeans and some kind of sweater-y type thing. But not today. The nice jeans were still there, he wore his usual necklace and sunglasses.

But his jumper.

What the fuck was his jumper?

Well, everybody knew what his jumper was. It was his helmet design on another medium. On a wooly, fuzzy medium.

It stayed on his body just long enough to end up on the F1 Instagram account (he had a mental note to ask the admin to tag the brand that had created it, he just hadn't gotten around to it yet), before he changed into his team kit. As nice as his jumper was, he was roasting.

But he laid it on the little sofa in his drivers room with so much care, like he thought it was going to unravel in his hands.

As soon as his new jumper was safely put away, he pulled his phone from his pocket and checked it.

my love 💖

YOU WORE IT!

Lando grinned as he typed out his reply. For the first time in a while, the woman he loved couldn't come to the grand prix with him. She was busy, her career was taking off, just as his was.

He was so damn proud of her.

It had taken so long, so many years of hard work. So many nights of her working through her tiredness until her work came sloppy and she started over again after a couple hours nap. Lando was beside her through it all, watching as she grew her brand, grew her business.

lan 🎀💕🎀💕

gonna get the instagram tagged

my love 💖

better talk about the brand in interviews 😤

Before this, Lando had nothing to do with promoting her brand. He did help, taking pictures of her work (the boyfriend on photographer duty, of course), moral support while she posted it. He helped her pick the colours of her work sometimes, and it either ended up gorgeous or fucking hideous.

The Lando jumper (not for sale, just something special she had made for the man she loved), was a labour of love. It took so much time, so much trial and error, but she was so proud of it.

Lando didn't have to wear it. She wasn't forcing him to wear it with the goal of promoting her brand; he was simply wearing it because he loved her, because he loved it.

He knew her text wasn't serious. Her serious texts never had emojis, were more than one sentence, and had punctuation. He didn't have to talk about her crochet and knit brand, but he was going to.

(It was inevitable that he was going to get asked about the jumper. It was bright and loud and it looked fantastic. He was going to get asked about it).

Five words. Five simple words. He'd been talking about the race weekend ahead, about their chances on track. But then those five little words were uttered.

"Tell us about the jumper."

There was a glint in his eye as he leaned in close to the microphone. "My girlfriend made it for me."

But that wasn't it. He kept talking, kept telling the world about her brand. Y/Nknitcro. The brand of Y/Ndoesart. He promoted the shit out of it, promoted the shit out of the little shop she'd had since they met, promoted the shit out of her social medias, promoted the shit for the brand she had ready to drop.

He was so damn proud of her, and he wanted the world to know it.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader #lando norris fic

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blueberrybirdsworld · 3 days ago

Text

Upcoming One-Shots

Just wanted to let you know that this one-shot stories will be coming out in the next few weeks! They’ve been sitting in my drafts for a long time (some of them are actually requests from you, so thank you for the inspiration), but I really wanted to finish up the current series before posting them.

If you’d like to be added to the taglist for their release, just let me know 🧡

What's in my bag

Summary : While filming a “What’s In My Bag?” video for TUMI during a dreamy shoot in Lake Como, Lando Norris proudly shares his favorite travel items: headphones, cinnamon mints, lucky charms… and a stack of Polaroids of his girlfriend.

Until one very private photo slips into the mix, and suddenly the internet sees a whole lot more than he meant to show.

Genre : suggestive, fluff, oneshot

Passenger princess

Summary : She has a license. She knows how to drive. But Lando has made it very clear: as long as he’s around, she’s not touching the wheel because he refuses to let the girl he loves be anything other than his passenger princess. He likes taking care of her, driving her everywhere, holding her hand at stoplights and making sure she never has to worry about a thing.

But when she asks for the keys one day, everything shifts.

Genre : fluff, oneshot, request

Lost and found

Summary : Having to take care of twenty eight-year-olds student through the Monaco Grand Prix paddock was never going to be easy. Between roaring engines, flashing cameras, and a sea of distracted little minds, Y/N's just trying to survive the day with her sanity intact.

But when one curious kid slips away into the chaos, panic sets in fast, until an unexpected rescue from someone in papaya orange turns the worst moment into something, unexpectedly unforgettable.

Genre : fluff, oneshot, request

#formula 1 x reader #lando fanfic #f1 #lando norris #ln4 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris x oc #lando norris x reader #new #coming soon

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cheftsunoda · 1 day ago

Note

ooooo a oscar and lily poly? maybe she is a olympic athlete ? gymnastics maybe?

lily, the ultimate wag — op81 + lily!

smau + blurbs

oscar piastri x !olympian reader x lily zneimer

oscar was never one to admit he had a crush— it took him 4 years to even speak to his now girlfriend, lily. lily, on the other hand, is very open about her crushes…one of them being olympic gold medalist, yn. it took oscar a while to break but eventually one day lily got it out of him — he also had a crush on yn. the two always thought their little crush meant nothing and wouldn’t lead to anything…but you never know what the future holds.

fc : sunisa lee

(a/n) : i love writing for lily and oscar. they are so adorable. also sorry for the spacing towards the end- it would not allow me any more blocks.

—

lululemon

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, isackhadjar and 5,090,027 others.

lululemon : Two legends. One mindset. We’re proud to welcome @/yourusername and @/lewishamilton to the Lululemon family — icons in motion who redefine strength, focus, and purpose. This is more than performance. This is power with intention.

—

view 175,034 other comments.

username00 : oh they got both the goats. insane.

username0 : i just know this drop is gonna sell out in 3 minutes 😭

username1 : this is about to have me in the gym at 6am so i can look like the both of them

username5 : catch me wearing the collection thinking i’m them when i’m winded after stairs.

username7 : THE COLLAB I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED BUT ALWAYS WANTED.

lewishamilton : Honored to do it alongside YN. Let’s get it, Champ. ❤️

liked by yourusername and isackhadjar

↳ isackhadjar : goat recognizes goat

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

yourusername : grateful doesn’t even cover it. getting to work with lewis was an absolute dream! let’s move with a purpose🤍

liked by lewishamilton and isackhadjar

username10 : what do i have to do to be the yoga mat beneath them?

username11 : MY TWO WORLDS ARE COLLIDING. FAVE. FAVES. FAVES.

—

your pov

We’d been filming for hours, but somehow Lewis still looked like he’d just stepped out of a magazine cover shoot — calm, collected, and somehow not even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, I was on the floor stretching between takes, quietly hoping the camera crew couldn’t hear my joints popping.

He walked over with a bottle of water and dropped down next to me with a dramatic sigh. “Okay, I’m officially convinced gymnasts are made of titanium,” he said. “My body’s screaming and you look like you’re on vacation.”

I snorted. “That’s just the illusion. You should see me trying to get out of bed in the morning.”

He passed me the water and nudged my shoulder with his. “Seriously though, you’re incredible. Six golds? That’s legendary.”

I gave him a look. “You’re literally a Formula 1 icon.”

“Yeah, but I sit in a car. You’re out here defying physics.”

We both laughed, and for a second, it was just easy. Comfortable. We’d only known each other for a couple of weeks, thanks to the Lululemon partnership, but it already felt like I’d found a big brother I never knew I needed — wise, grounded, and always five seconds away from dropping the perfect quote about mindset.

He stretched his legs out in front of him, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Actually — random, but — you should come to a race sometime.”

I blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” he said casually, as if it wasn’t a massive deal. “Come see what we do. I think you’d love it. It’s chaotic, but in the best way.”

I tilted my head. “You sure I wouldn’t be a distraction? I’m not exactly low-profile.”

He laughed. “Please. You’d be the most focused person in the garage. You could probably coach half the grid on discipline.”

I grinned. “Alright. Deal. But only if you come to the next national training camp and try the beam.”

Lewis gave me a look of pure horror. “Absolutely not.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you at the Grand Prix.”

—

third person pov

Oscar was scrolling Instagram absentmindedly, still in his pajamas, hair a mess, cereal in hand — when he nearly dropped his phone.

“Lily,” he called out, voice strangled.

“What?” she shouted back from the bedroom.

He didn’t answer. Just stared, stunned, at his screen. YN. In slow motion mid-leap, pure strength and elegance in a Lululemon campaign beside Lewis Hamilton.

Lily entered the room sipping coffee, took one look at Oscar’s face, and immediately asked, “Who died?”

He turned the phone to her without a word.

She blinked. And then: “YOU’RE KIDDING.”

Oscar just nodded, eyes wide. “They paired her with Lewis. This is an act of war.”

Lily shoved her coffee onto the table and grabbed the phone. “Oh my god—she’s glowing. She’s luminous.”

Lily smacked his arm. “CALL LEWIS.”

“What?”

“CALL. LEWIS,” she repeated, already unlocking his phone and handing it to him. “He KNOWS her. They WORKED TOGETHER. You have connections and you’re not using them? Be serious. This is the rest of our lives, Oscar.”

Oscar groaned. “This is going to be so embarrassing.”

“Then be embarrassing with your whole chest.”

With a dramatic sigh and one final scream into a pillow, Oscar tapped Lewis’ name and hit dial. It rang once, twice—

“Oscar,” Lewis answered, sounding both amused and curious. “Everything alright?”

��Hey, yeah. Quick question—do you know YN LN?” Oscar asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

There was a brief pause on the other end. Then Lewis chuckled softly. “Funny you ask—I invited her to the next race.”

Oscar froze. “Wait, what? You did?”

“Yeah,” Lewis said, voice easy. “Figured she’d want to see what the paddock’s like. She’s going to love it.”

Oscar glanced over at Lily, who was trying not to laugh. “Well… that’s great news.”

“Just make sure you don’t pass out when you see her,” Lewis teased.

“No promises,” Oscar muttered, smiling.

Oscar hung up the phone and immediately turned to Lily, eyes wide like he’d just won a jackpot.

“She’s coming,” he said, voice cracking with excitement. “YN is actually coming to the race.”

Lily grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Okay, first things first— we need a plan. How do we act normal? Because normal is definitely not what either of us do.”

Oscar ran a hand through his hair. “I’m thinking… no fainting, no awkward jokes, no googly eyes.”

Lily snorted. “So basically, don’t be yourself?”

He laughed. “Exactly.”

They flopped onto the couch together, already brainstorming.

“We should probably brush up on gymnastics terms,” Lily suggested. “Just so we don’t embarrass ourselves when she inevitably talks about a triple twist or whatever.”

Oscar nodded solemnly. “I need to learn what ‘sticking the landing’ actually means besides ‘don’t fall.’”

Lily pulled out her phone. “Also—should we get her a welcome gift? Like, not creepy, just… classy.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You mean like a ‘Please don’t run away screaming’ starter pack?”

They both burst out laughing.

“Alright,” Oscar said, standing up with newfound determination. “Operation Don’t Screw This Up is officially underway.”

Lily smirked. “And if all else fails, we just introduce ourselves and hope for the best.”

Oscar smiled, already feeling the nerves turn into excitement.

“Can’t wait to meet her,” he said softly.

“Me neither.”

—

your pov

The paddock buzzed with energy — engines roaring, people bustling, flashes of team colors everywhere. It felt like stepping into the heart of a storm I couldn’t wait to dive into.

Almost immediately, familiar faces popped up. Carlos was the first to spot me, pulling me into a big grin and a quick hug. “YN! You actually made it! This is wild!”

Lando and George appeared next, teasing each other over who was luckier to meet me first. Their laughter was contagious, and I couldn’t help but smile. Then, out of the corner of my eye, two figures caught my attention. They looked a bit nervous — one was running a hand through his hair like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, and the other was twisting her hair, cheeks flushed pink. They were approaching now, and I realized I didn’t actually know who they were.

“Hi,” the guy said, voice cracking just a little. “You’re YN, right?”

I nodded, smiling politely. “Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m Oscar,” he said quickly, holding out a hand, “and this is Lily.” The girl beside him waved shyly.

I shook his hand, then smiled warmly at Lily. “Nice to meet you both.”

There was a brief pause, the kind of awkward silence that stretches a second too long.

“So… welcome to the paddock,” Oscar said, laughing nervously. “It’s a bit of a madhouse.”

“I’m starting to get that,” I replied with a grin.

Lily stepped forward, her smile growing a bit more confident. “If you want, I can help explain who everyone is — it’s a lot to take in at once.”

Oscar nodded eagerly. “Yeah, and I’ll make sure you don’t get lost.”

I laughed. “Thank you. That might be necessary.”

They exchanged a glance that said, we’re totally out of our depth too, and I couldn’t help but feel a little less overwhelmed.

“You guys seem nice and rather adorable.,” I said. “Honestly, it’s kind of refreshing.”

Oscar’s cheeks tinted red. “We try our best.”

Just then, Lewis and Charles came over, pulling me back into their circle, but I caught Oscar’s hopeful smile as I turned away. This paddock was loud and chaotic, but with unexpected friendly faces like these, it was already starting to feel like somewhere I might belong.

—

After the hectic whirlwind of morning meetings and greetings, I found myself craving a quiet moment away from the buzz. I wandered down toward the hospitality tent, hoping to find a corner to catch my breath.

That’s when I spotted her—Lily—sitting alone at a small table, scrolling through her phone but with an expression that seemed just as overwhelmed as I felt. Deciding to take a chance, I walked over.

“Hey,” I said, sliding into the seat across from her.

Lily looked up, a bit startled, then smiled warmly. “Oh! Hi, YN. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I needed a break from all the chaos,” I confessed, laughing softly. “You?”

She nodded, setting her phone down. “Same. It’s a lot to take in.”

We fell into an easy conversation—about everything and nothing. She explained some of the paddock’s unspoken rules, introduced me to the labyrinth of team acronyms, and even shared a few funny stories about rookie mistakes she’d witnessed. Halfway through, I realized I was actually relaxing. It was nice to talk to someone who wasn’t immediately caught up in all the F1 whirlwind.

Then, suddenly, the chair next to me scraped back, and a familiar voice said, “Hey, I see you found Lily.”

I turned to see Oscar standing there, slightly flushed, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was interrupting or crashing a party.

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “She’s been great—helping me make sense of this place.”

Oscar grinned, lowering himself into the seat beside me. “Well, now that you’ve got the best tour guide in the paddock, you’re officially one of us.”

I raised an eyebrow. “One of you? That sounds serious.”

Lily laughed. “It’s more of a chaos club, really. Membership is optional but highly recommended.”

Oscar leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Plus, we give out free hugs.”

I leaned into him with a smile as I feel him stiffen but then lightly accept the hug. I glanced at the two of them and couldn’t help but think, these two might just be the most charming and awkward people I’ve met here. And honestly? I was looking forward to getting to know them even better.

—

The roar of the engines had finally quieted, the track now empty but buzzing with the electric afterglow of race day. I watched from the sidelines as the podium ceremony wrapped up—Oscar standing proudly in second place, a huge grin breaking across his face despite the exhaustion.

Later, near the paddock exit, Oscar spotted me and waved me over with that shy, awkward smile that had become somehow endearing over the weekend.

“YN!” he called out, still catching his breath. “Hey—so, we’re planning a little celebratory dinner tonight. Just me, Lily, and… well, hopefully you.”

I blinked, pleasantly surprised. “Really? That sounds nice.”

Lily appeared next to him, beaming. “Nothing fancy, just a quiet spot to unwind and celebrate Oscar’s P2.”

Oscar nodded, clearly proud but still a little nervous about the invite. “Yeah, we thought it’d be nice to keep it low-key. No big crowds, just good food and company.”

I smiled warmly, feeling genuinely touched by the invitation. “I’d love to join you both.”

As we walked away from the hectic buzz of the race weekend, I felt a comforting sense of calm settle in. This—simple moments like this, with new friends who seemed more like family—was what made all the chaos worthwhile.

—

The restaurant Oscar chose was tucked away just off the village’s main hustle — a cozy little spot with exposed brick walls, flickering candlelight, and the faint aroma of garlic and rosemary in the air. The kind of place where you could almost forget you were in the middle of one of the world’s loudest, fastest sports.

Oscar and Lily were already there when I arrived, both looking a little more relaxed than earlier in the day. Oscar had that unmistakable glow from the race—second place on the podium, no less—and Lily’s grin was infectious.

“Hey, YN!” Oscar waved me over, his smile shy but proud. “Glad you could make it.”

I slipped into the seat beside them, feeling a buzz of warmth from the small gesture. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Lily immediately launched into a rundown of the menu, her excitement about the risotto making me smile. “You have to try the mushroom risotto. Trust me. It’s the best you’ll have all weekend.”

Oscar nodded enthusiastically. “Agreed. Plus, it’s the perfect post-race comfort food.”

As we ordered, the conversation quickly found its rhythm, bouncing from the race itself to the quirks of the paddock life.

“So, YN,” Lily said, leaning in with a playful smirk, “what’s it like being a six-time Olympic gold medalist? Do you ever get tired of hearing that?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Honestly, sometimes. But it’s mostly just a reminder of how lucky I am to have had those experiences. Plus, it makes for a good conversation starter.”

Oscar grinned. “Clearly, it works. I mean, I’m definitely starstruck.”

I raised an eyebrow, teasing, “You? Starstruck? I thought you were supposed to be cool under pressure.”

Oscar threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, everyone’s got their weaknesses.”

Lily laughed. “Especially when they meet you.”

I chuckled. “You’d be surprised what I can do. But don’t worry, I won’t make you try anything tonight—yet.”

Oscar’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, so there is a ‘yet’?”

The waiter arrived with our first plates — a colorful spread of roasted vegetables and fresh bread, steam rising from the dishes. As we ate, Lily shared stories of her time at Uni, some hilarious mishaps that had poor Oscar shaking his head in disbelief.

“Like the time she accidentally locked herself in the closet,” Oscar said, shaking his head. “I had to break a window to get her out.”

Lily laughed. “Hey, it was an accident!”

I couldn’t help but laugh along with them. Their easy camaraderie was infectious, and I was grateful to be part of it.

Later, when the mushroom risotto arrived, I took a bite and nodded appreciatively. “Okay, you were right — this is amazing.”

Lily smiled proudly. “See? I told you.”

The night flowed on with more stories, jokes, and light teasing. At one point, Oscar glanced my way, a mischievous smile playing at his lips.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve seen some clips of your gymnastics routines. Honestly, you make it look effortless.”

I smiled, feeling a spark of challenge. “It’s not all grace and ease. Takes a lot of hard work.”

“How about,,” I said, leaning forward, “since I got to see what you do this weekend, you try a few basic moves? I’ll teach you.”

Oscar blinked, caught off guard. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely.” I smiled. “I’ve seen what you can do on the track — think you can handle a bit of gym floor?”

Lily’s eyes lit up. “This is going to be hilarious.”

Oscar laughed nervously. “Great. Just what I needed — to be outmatched in a whole new sport.”

I laughed too. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

As the night wound down, I felt a warm glow — not just from the food or the wine, but from the genuine connection forming between us. This weekend was already one for the books.

—

yourusername

liked by lilyzneimer, lando, oscarpiastri and 10,023,073 others.

yourusername : yay! cars go vroom vroom! 🏎️

tagged : lilyzneimer and oscarpiastri

—

view 507,034 other comments.

charles_leclerc : ‘cars go vroom vroom’ and still made better calls than our actual strategists…

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : cars can only go vroom vroom effectively is someone smart is yapping over the radio.

liked by charles_leclerc

↳ charles_leclerc : pls come back every weekend. we need you. ill get ferrari to hire you.

liked by yourusername

oscarpiastri : do you even remember me explaining DRS or did you blackout?

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : DRS = dis really sucks

liked by oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : yeah you remember

liked by yourusername

lando : so much oscar, no lando 👎

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : oscar took me out to a nice meal and paid. all you did was ask me to set you up with my friend and take bites out of my croissant when i wasn’t looking.

liked by lando and oscarpiastri

↳ lando : so…still a no im assuming?

↳ yourusername : you assumed correct

lewishamilton : Thank you for coming, YN! ❤️ Hope you enjoyed. You were our good luck charm at Ferrari.

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and scuderiaferrari

↳ yourusername : ill be back boys 🫡

liked by lewishamilton and charles_leclerc

lilyzneimer : so much fun! 🩷

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : you are the CUTEST

liked by lilyzneimer and oscarpiastri

georgerussell63 : Mercedes next time??

liked by yourusername

↳ kimi.antonelli : PLEASEEEEEEE 🙏🏻

liked by yourusername

↳ scuderiaferrari : she stays with us.

↳ mercedesamgf1 : YN PLEASE COME WITH US

↳ mclaren : i have a feeling she will be with us for a while…

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri and lilyzneimer

—

gossiproomx

liked by lando, charles_leclerc & 5,007,004 others.

gossiproomx : Some screengrabs from YN LN’s latest YouTube video. In the video, Formula 1 driver Oscar Piastri spends a day attempting to train like a gymnast, while YN tries out an F1 driver’s routine. The two have undeniable chemistry and a ton of laughs along the way. Oscar’s girlfriend Lily also makes a cameo, bravely taking on the balance beam — and let’s just say, it’s worth the watch.

—

view 273,011 other comments.

username00 : oscar: *falls* yn: you’re doing amazing sweetie. me: sobbing

username0 : i need part 2. now. let yn drive an f1 car. for science.

↳ charles_leclerc : we can make this happen

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ yourusername : PLEASEEEEE

username1 : 6x olympic champion still had to fake confidence getting in an f1 simulator and that’s why she’s relatable

liked by yourusername

username5 : oscar really said “i drive at 200mph but a cartwheel will kill me”

username7 : the chaotic best-friend energy between the three of them??? i need this trio to tour the world

username10 : the way lily was hyping them both up??? the supportive gf energy is unmatched 😭💕

username11 : can’t believe i just watched an f1 driver scream over a foam pit. 10/10 content.

—

your pov

“Okay, so welcome to my domain,” I grinned into the camera, arms spread wide as I turned to face Oscar and Lily standing beside me in the gym. “No helmets. No cars. Just balance beams and pain.”

Oscar looked around the gymnasium like he’d just walked into an alien spacecraft. “Why does everything either bounce, spin, or look like it wants to injure me?”

“Because it does,” I replied cheerfully. “That’s the fun part!”

Lily clapped her hands once, grinning. “I’m actually so excited. This was, like, every childhood dream I had until I realized I couldn’t even do a cartwheel.”

Oscar gave her a skeptical side-eye. “And yet here you are. Volunteering for balance beam death.”

“I bring snacks and moral support,” Lily shrugged. “I feel like I earned my place.”

“I’ll allow it,” I said, trying not to laugh. “Okay! First up — stretching. Because if Oscar tries a back handspring without it, he’ll fold like a deck chair.”

Oscar looked directly at the camera. “If I tear my hamstring on YouTube, I want everyone to know it was YN’s fault.”

We gathered on the mats, and I led them through some light stretches. Watching Oscar attempt a butterfly stretch was a personal highlight — he groaned like we were mid-race, and Lily was already crying laughing before we even got to the splits.

“I physically don’t bend that way,” Oscar said as he fell backward trying to touch his toes. “Is this normal?”

“No,” I said, poking his foot with my own. “This is tragic.”

“Okay, I think we’ve done enough,” he said, flopping back dramatically.

“We haven’t even started,” I replied, grinning. “Now it’s time for… cartwheels.”

“Absolutely not,” Oscar said immediately. “My wrists are purely decorative.”

Lily was already mid-attempt, giggling as she did a wobbly, two-footed spin that resembled a drunk flamingo. She landed facing the wrong direction and curtsied like she’d just stuck a perfect ten.

“I think I’m going to nationals,” she declared.

“You might,” I said, clapping. “The comedic gymnastics division.”

Oscar gave me a look. “If I break something, I expect you to explain it to my team.”

“You’ll be fine,” I said sweetly. “I’ll even spot you. Wouldn’t want you to pull a Stroll and crash expectedly.”

“Wow,” he muttered, even as he laughed. “That was uncalled for.”

He lined up to try a cartwheel — and absolutely yeeted himself sideways like a toddler. He collapsed in a heap, groaning into the mat.

“Was that… was that the move?” he asked.

“Technically, yes,” I replied. “If the move was a cry for help.”

Lily and I lost it. Eventually, after many failed attempts and me physically dragging Oscar into position like a tired mom at a toddler gymnastics class, we moved on to beam.

Lily insisted on going first — and honestly? She surprised us both.

“Look at her!” I said, genuinely impressed as Lily held her arms out and walked carefully across. “Little beam baby!”

Oscar stood below with his hands up like a spotter. “If you fall, I’ve got you.”

“I feel like this is the part in a rom-com where my feet randomly fail me and I fall into your arms,” Lily said, wobbling slightly.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he muttered, which earned him a slap on the shoulder and a full-blown giggle fit from both of us.

When it was Oscar’s turn, I helped him climb up — which turned into a moment as he slipped and I caught him around the waist.

“Oh,” I said, steadying him. “Careful. We’re trying gymnastics, not trust falls.”

“Sorry,” he said, not moving away quite yet. “Didn’t realize balance beam also required… trust falls.”

I blinked. Was it warm in here?

Lily, from the mat: “Flirt later, beam now!”

Oscar laughed, finally stepping forward with the grace of a newborn deer. “I’m so glad this is being recorded.”

He made it about halfway before yeeting himself off sideways — straight into the foam pit.

I gasped and ran over. “Are you okay?!”

Oscar’s head popped up like a confused meerkat. “I’m emotionally damaged, but physically fine.”

“Great,” I said, smirking. “Then we can move on to the splits.”

His soul visibly left his body.

—

“Okay,” I said, stretching out my arms as Oscar handed me a weighted neck band that looked like it belonged in a medieval torture chamber. “Be honest. Is this training or hazing?”

Oscar grinned far too confidently. “Both.”

We were in a sleek performance lab that Oscar called his “pre-season hell zone,” but it honestly looked more like a villain’s lair —cold lighting, resistance machines, wires everywhere, and enough protein powder on the shelves to rebuild a small nation.

Lily was already sitting in the reaction rig — a fancy board with glowing lights she had to smack as they lit up — and missing every single one.

“This thing is rigged,” she huffed, swatting at one and missing. “I have the reflexes of a sloth.”

Oscar leaned casually against the wall, arms folded, enjoying the show. “I mean, I did say this would be the hard part.”

I turned to him, smirking. “Oh, and doing a cartwheel wasn’t?”

“That was just emotional hazing,” he deadpanned.

He helped me into the neck band next, tightening the straps like he’d done it a million times—which he had. Still, his fingers brushing the side of my neck made me go weirdly quiet. Not that I’d admit it.

“You’ll feel the burn in about ten seconds,” he said, stepping back. “Just tilt your head side to side. Slowly.”

Lily, now recovering from her battle with the reaction lights, flopped onto the floor next to me. “Are we training or preparing for whiplash?”

Oscar handed her a water bottle. “Training so we don’t get whiplash.”

After a few neck exercises, we moved over to the racing sim. Oscar sat in the full rig first—flawlessly running a lap like he wasn’t even trying.

“Okay, now it’s your turn,” he said, grinning directly at me.

“God help the imaginary people on this racetrack,” I muttered, climbing into the rig.

It took me a solid minute to figure out the seatbelts. Another two to find the gas pedal. Oscar crouched beside the rig like a proud, smug coach, gently adjusting the headset mic near my cheek.

“Feeling ready?” he asked, a little too softly.

I tried to ignore the flutter in my chest. “As ready as someone who is quite literally too short to reach the pedals.”

“Perfect,” Lily said brightly. “Let chaos begin.”

The lights went green, and I immediately veered off track. Oscar winced.

“Okay! Not bad! We only killed three cones and possibly a virtual marshal.”

I started laughing. “Do I get points for creative turns?”

Oscar tapped the screen. “Technically, that was a wall.”

Lily defended me, “She’s just bumped it on accident. Definitely did not turn completely into it.”

Eventually, I made it one lap without crashing, and Oscar clapped. “See? You’re a natural.”

“Liar,” I grinned. “You’re just saying that because I didn’t make you do the splits.

“Mostly,” he admitted. “But also—your focus is insane. I’m impressed.”

There was a beat. We just… looked at each other. Long enough that Lily cleared her throat dramatically.

“Well,” she said, “if we’re done flirting over lap times, it’s my turn.”

Oscar laughed, flustered. “I wasn’t—okay. Yep. Sure.”

Lily climbed into the rig with zero hesitation and immediately did better than I had, naturally. I stood next to Oscar, watching her lap clean and smooth.

“She’s good,” I said, genuinely.

Oscar nodded, smiling. “Yeah. She’s fearless. You both are.”

“Hmm,” I said. “Not fearless. Just reckless.”

He leaned slightly closer. “Both can work well in F1.”

I turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. “Or gymnastics.”

Another moment passed between us — heat, tension, something else I couldn’t quite name — until Lily spun out dramatically and yelled, “I’M IN THE WALL. ABANDON SHIP.”

Oscar burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”

And just like that, we were all laughing, collapsing onto the floor in a heap of limbs and sweat and chaotic energy.

“So,” I said, breathless, “who won this round?”

Oscar looked between us, smug. “Honestly? Me.”

Lily shoved his shoulder. “You wish.”

I glanced at both of them, heart still racing for reasons I’d rather not analyze. “Okay, but let’s be real. I stuck a handstand. You managed to keep a fake car on the track.”

Oscar grinned. “I never said I was better. Just like to tease.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I muttered.

“Don’t I know it,” he shot back.

And I swear Lily winked at me behind his back.

—

Oscar and Lily had invited me over a few days later to watch the final cut of the video. When I knocked on the door, I was greeted by a chaotic combination of barking, the smell of popcorn, and Lily yelling, “SHE’S HERE! HIDE!”

“Too late,” I called, stepping inside with a grin.

Oscar appeared from the kitchen holding three mismatched mugs, wearing a hoodie and the smuggest look I’d seen all week. “We were just talking about you.”

“Terrifying,” I said, snatching his mug labeled World’s Okayest Athlete.

Lily rolled her eyes from her spot on the couch, surrounded by snacks. “He was complaining about how sore he still is from the balance beam.”

“I’m choosing to believe that’s because I’m an excellent coach,” I said, plopping down between them. “Or because your core is made of pudding.”

Oscar scoffed and landed next to me on the couch, "Excuse you. Not all of us have gymnast muscles."

Lily handed me the remote. “Go ahead. Hit play. Let’s relive Oscar’s slow spiral into shame.”

The video opened with upbeat music and the three of us waving at the camera. Within the first two minutes, Oscar flopped out of a cartwheel and muttered “I think I broke my everything.” which had me snorting so hard I almost choked on a gummy worm.

“Why did I agree to this?” he groaned, facepalming as the video showed him crashing into the foam pit.

“Because,” I said, nudging his knee, “deep down, you love being a content king.”

Lily laughed. “You love the attention. Don’t lie.”

Oscar just muttered something unintelligible and ate three chips at once. We got to the part where Lily tried the balance beam and I whispered words of encouragement while she flailed like a baby deer. Her grip on my arm tightened with every wobble on screen.

“You really didn’t let me fall,” she said softly.

“You were doing great,” I replied, just as softly.

Oscar raised an eyebrow at us, then said, “Okay but I was left to die on the bars.”

“Correct,” Lily and I both said at the same time.

By the time we hit the blooper reel, we were all in various stages of crying from laughing. There was a clip of me slipping off a mat mid-sentence, Lily shrieking from inside the foam pit, and Oscar yelling “I’m never trusting gravity again.”

The screen faded to black with the final blooper, all three of us collapsed on the mats, breathless and tangled in a heap. Silence settled. The kind of warm, fizzy silence that feels earned. We were all sprawled across the couch, coming down from a sugar high.

Oscar glanced over at me, still a little flushed from laughing. “That actually turned out… really good.”

Lily nodded. “Better than I expected for three idiots and a camera.”

“Hey,” I said. “Two idiots and a gold medalist.”

Oscar grinned. “Touché.”

Another beat passed, and then Lily sat up and looked at me, eyes playful but a little unsure.

“So… we were thinking,” she started, nudging Oscar.

He looked at her, then at me, and scratched the back of his neck. “We thought maybe… if you’re not too tired, you’d wanna grab drinks with us tonight?”

My brows lifted. “Like… to celebrate embarrassing ourselves on camera?”

“Exactly,” Lily said brightly. “You’ve officially been initiated into our household of chaos.”

“And we figured,” Oscar added, a little more carefully now, “maybe just the three of us. Chill, no cameras. Unless you want to film Lily trying tequila for the first time,” he added with a sly grin. I blinked.

Between the snacks, the shared laughter, the teasing… it felt easy. Familiar. And maybe a little charged in the way things do when there’s too much eye contact and a whole lot of unspoken what ifs floating around.

“You sure?” I asked, voice lighter than I felt. “You really want me third-wheeling your couple’s cocktail hour?”

Lily snorted. “Your practically part of this now.”

Oscar flushed. I did too.

But I smiled. “In that case… let me grab my jacket.”

Oscar stood and held out his hand like a dorky gentleman. “Lily, promise to not fall out of the bar stool this time.”

“No promises,” Lily whispered behind him.

I laughed all the way out the door.

—

I didn’t expect the bar to be so quiet.

Oscar had promised nothing flashy — and true to his word, the place was tucked down some side street, dimly lit and cozy, with mismatched chairs and little flickering votive candles that made the tables glow. It smelled faintly of citrus and old books.

“This okay?” Lily asked as we slid into a booth near the back. She was wearing a slouchy sweater and darker lipstick that made her look both impossibly cool and vaguely dangerous.

“It’s perfect,” I said and I meant it.

Oscar ducked into the seat beside her, shoulders brushing, thigh resting just barely against hers. They both looked effortlessly comfortable in their own skin, and in that moment I felt like the outsider again. Not in a bad way.

We ordered drinks — Lily a dirty martini, Oscar a whiskey sour, me something fruity and fizzy — and we talked. About everything and nothing. Training routines. Worst injuries. Weird fan moments. They laughed so easily. And they made me laugh too, in that rare way that’s full-body, stupid, joyful. I hadn’t felt that light in a long time. But then the conversation drifted. Slowed. Deepened.

Oscar ran his finger around the rim of his glass, head tilted slightly, gaze fixed on nothing.

“You know,” he said quietly, “we didn’t just ask you out tonight for drinks.”

Lily didn’t laugh. She looked down at her hands, fingers folded together like she was bracing herself.

I blinked. “Okay…”

Oscar’s eyes flicked up to mine. “We’ve been talking about this for a while. Before the video. Before we even met you.”

“What’s ‘this’?” I asked, voice softer now.

“You,” Lily said simply. “Us. And you. Or… the possibility of it.”

My breath caught. Oscar shifted slightly, leaning in. “We know it sounds crazy. And we didn’t want to put pressure on anything. That’s why we tried to just keep it light and fun. But it’s not just fun for us anymore.”

Lily gave me a small smile, almost shy for once. “You feel like something we don’t want to miss.”

I stared at them. Two of the most composed, put-together people I’d met — now both watching me like they’d handed over their hearts and weren’t sure what I’d do with them.

I swallowed, feeling my pulse in my throat. “So what are you asking?”

Oscar didn’t flinch. “We’re asking if you’d want to try something… with us. The three of us. Not casual. Not just us flirting on camera. But real.”

Lily reached across the table, palm open and waiting. I stared at it. At her.

“We like you,” she said. “Both of us. Not in some half-hearted, performative way. And we know it’s a lot to ask. But we had to ask. Because… you feel like home.”

Something in my chest cracked open. I looked at their faces — hopeful, scared, still so sure. And I felt the warmth I’d been carrying for weeks flood through me like sunrise.

I slid my hand into Lily’s. “I don’t do things lightly,” I said quietly.

Oscar reached out too, resting his hand over both of ours. “Neither do we.”

“I’ve never done this,” I admitted. “Not like this. But I… I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

“Good,” Lily said, blinking quickly. “Because we haven’t stopped thinking about you either.”

And in the flickering candlelight, with soft music humming low around us, I let myself say yes. Not just with my voice. With everything.

—

I woke to sunlight. Not the harsh kind — not the blaring, cruel light that demands attention. No, this was gentle. The kind that filtered through pale curtains and painted everything in soft gold. And there, tucked against me, was them.

Oscar was behind me, his arm wrapped loosely around my waist, the slow rhythm of his breathing warm against the back of my neck. One of his legs had managed to tangle with mine sometime in the night, his toes brushing my ankle, like even in sleep he needed to know I was there. And in front of me — Lily. She was facing me, barely inches away, her hand resting in the space between us, not touching but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her palm. Her lashes fluttered as she slowly blinked herself awake, eyes still heavy, her face soft and open in the morning light. For a moment, none of us said a word.

The room was hushed, full of quiet intimacy — the kind that doesn’t need to be named to be understood. I could hear the hum of the city outside the windows, the faint buzz of life returning to its routine, but here — in this bed — the world felt still.

Lily smiled, sleep-ruffled and radiant. “Hey,” she whispered.

My heart fluttered. “Hey.”

Oscar groaned behind me, voice gravelly. “Is it morning? I refuse to believe it’s morning.”

Lily giggled, her fingertips brushing over my arm as she whispered, “It’s morning.”

“You sound too awake,” Oscar mumbled, tightening his grip around my waist like a sleepy koala. “Tell the sun to come back later.”

“I’ll pencil it in,” I said, laughing under my breath.

Lily’s hand found mine between us, her thumb brushing gently over my knuckles. It was such a small thing, but it made my throat feel tight — like something soft and fragile and terrifying had taken root inside me.

“I like waking up with you,” she said simply.

Oscar made a sleepy noise of agreement and nuzzled his face into my hair. “Yeah. Feels right.”

I closed my eyes for a second, trying to soak it all in — the weight of them beside me, the warmth of their bodies, the comfort of belonging. No rush. No pressure. Just… here. Safe. Wanted. Home.

“What happens now?” I asked, not out of fear — just curiosity. The words hung in the air like dust in sunlight.

Lily looked at me, and her smile didn’t waver. “Whatever we want.”

Oscar pulled the blanket up over all three of us like he was shielding us from the outside world. “Breakfast. Cuddles. Maybe I convince you both to stay in bed all day.”

“I have a schedule,” I teased.

“I’ll bribe your calendar and your team,” he said, already drifting back toward sleep.

Lily leaned in, brushing her nose against mine. “He’s serious. He once tried to cancel a physio appointment by pretending to be his own assistant.”

“It worked!” Oscar called from behind me.

I laughed, a real, unguarded laugh. The kind that lives in your bones and lingers long after. And there, in a tangle of arms and legs and soft sheets, with their love wrapped around me like a second skin, I realized — this was real. Real love.

—

yourusername

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer & 7,007,140 others.

yourusername : some flics before paris…bc yo girl is going to the olympics again with @/teamusa ❤️

tagged : oscarpiastri and lilyzneimer

—

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lewishamilton : Go get that gold, champ!

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pierregasly : Congratulations on another Olympics run…and whatever else you are launching here.

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lilyzneimer : the prettiest girl. bring us home some gold🤍

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↳ username00 : oh i have confirmed that the other hand is lily just based off of this comment alone.

georgerussell63 : ignoring what is happening in this post and gonna ask for your matcha recipe? haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since you made it the last time.

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↳ yourusername : just texted it to you!!

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carlossainz55 : i came to say congratulations and saw this post and now i have a bunch of questions

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alexalbon : ignore me zooming in on all the soft launch crumbs

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charles_leclerc : Congratulations!! (answer my texts rn) (i need to know what is happening)

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oscarpiastri : 🙂🙂

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—

The airport was loud, but they made it feel quiet. Oscar stood next to me in the check-in line, hands in his pockets, fidgeting with the strap of my carry-on like it offended him. Lily leaned against the barrier, arms crossed loosely, sunglasses pushed up into her hair. She smiled at me, soft and sleepy — like this was just another casual goodbye. Like this wasn’t the first time we’d be apart since that night in the candlelit booth. My heart tugged.

“You packed your snacks?” Oscar asked, like he was my mom and my coach and my concerned boyfriend all rolled into one.

“Yes,” I said, grinning. “The gummies you panic-bought me at 2 a.m. last night are in the front pocket.”

“I maintain that was a strategic nutritional decision.”

“You bought seven kinds of sour candy.”

“Exactly. Balanced sugar intake.”

Lily rolled her eyes and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around me without a word. She held on longer than usual — the kind of hug that said more than she could ever explain out loud. When she finally pulled back, her hands cupped my face like she was memorizing it.

“You’ve got this,” she said. “You always do.”

“I wish you were coming,” I whispered.

“We do too,” she said softly. “But we’ll be watching every second. Cheering so obnoxiously you’ll hear us from France.”

Oscar joined us then, slipping one arm around me and the other around Lily, pulling the three of us into a tight knot. I let my head fall against his shoulder, breathing in that now-familiar scent of him — all clean soap, warm skin, and something citrusy that always lingered on his hoodies.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmured into my hair. “Whether you win gold or not. But let’s be real. You’re gonna win gold.”

“I might cry,” I mumbled.

“You better not,” Lily said, already teary-eyed.

“You better,” Oscar added at the same time, grinning.

They walked me all the way to the final security checkpoint, where hugs had to be goodbye and I couldn’t stall any longer.

“I’ll call you as soon as I land,” I promised.

“Text the group chat from the plane,” Lily added, brushing her fingers over mine.

“And don’t forget your hydration plan,” Oscar said, giving my hand one last squeeze.

“You guys are ridiculous,” I laughed.

“And you love it.”

I paused, looking at them — both so earnest, trying to be casual, when I could see the ache in their eyes.

“I really do,” I said quietly.

And then I went. I didn’t cry at first. I didn’t cry until I turned the corner and couldn’t see them anymore. Until the gate swallowed me up and the distance felt real. They weren’t coming. But their love… it wrapped around me like armor.

—

f1gossipgirls

1,340,001 likes.

f1gossipgirls : It looks like the grid is going for gold — in the stands! Several Formula 1 drivers have officially touched down in Paris to support and cheer on the athletes at the 2024 Olympics. Among them? Lewis Hamilton, Oscar Piastri, and Charles Leclerc, who were all spotted around the city this week. But fans are especially losing it over Oscar, his girlfriend Lily, and Lewis being front and center at the gymnastics arena — watching none other than six-time gold medalist (and rumored favorite of the paddock) YN LN absolutely dominate her event.

—

The lights in the arena always made everything feel surreal — like the ceiling was a sky, the crowd a hum of stars, the floor a stage built by gods and nerves and muscle memory. Team USA filed out onto the mat in a line of red, white, and glittering perfection. We waved, we smiled, we held our heads high, chins tilted just slightly like we’d been trained to since we were little girls who dreamed in chalk dust and gold medals. I waved toward the left side of the arena, out of habit. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone. Not really. My coaches were in the box, my teammates beside me. That was all I needed.

Until I saw them. Front row. Just off center. Right behind the judges’ table. Oscar’s hair was slightly messy, like he’d rushed there. He was in a slightly wrinkled button down, sleeves pushed up, arms crossed and eyes locked in on the floor. Lily was next to him in red lipstick and a camera around her neck, already snapping pictures, the proudest smile on her face. And Lewis—Lewis had sunglasses tucked into his collar, a bucket hat covering a majority of his face, but his grin gave him away instantly. All three of them were on their feet, clapping like they couldn’t care less about being subtle. I stuttered in my step. Only for half a second—but I know my teammates noticed. Jade gave me a side-eye smirk and nudged my arm with her elbow.

“Focus,” she whispered, amused.

“I am,” I whispered back, a little breathless.

But it was like a switch flipped inside me. I hadn’t even realized how much I needed them there—until I saw them. It felt like the world had tilted perfectly into place. By the time it was my turn to take the floor, I was wired with something I couldn’t name. Not just adrenaline. Not just discipline. But love. Like I had the loudest, softest cheerleaders in the entire world.

The beam routine came first. Precision. Breath. The beam always scared people, but it felt like home to me. And this time? I didn’t wobble. Not once. Not even on the double wolf turn I usually dreaded. Then came floor.

The music started. My body moved before my mind could catch up, but for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t about being perfect. It was about being full—of fire, of freedom, of joy. Every leap stretched higher. Every tumbling pass hit with a snap. I landed my double layout with the kind of crispness that made the judges lean forward and the crowd erupt.

When it ended, I struck my final pose with a grin on my face. Not forced. Not polished. Just real. I stood there breathing hard, the cheers rising around me like ocean waves, and I looked over—to the same corner of the arena. Oscar was standing, hands above his head, cheering like a maniac. Lily had tears on her cheeks and was shouting something I couldn’t hear. Lewis had a fist in the air and a look on his face like he’d just watched someone fly. And I had. I’d flown. Because they were here.

—

The moment I stepped off the floor, everything blurred. My teammates tackled me in a flurry of glitter, hugs, and high-pitched screaming. Coaches shouted in half-tears. Someone shoved a flag into my arms. I blinked at the scoreboard, barely processing the numbers lighting up in green — a personal best. One of the highest scores of the entire event. And yet, none of it fully hit until I heard someone yell my name.

“YN!”

I turned toward the side entrance of the floor. Security was already trying — gently, but with visible panic — to contain the three very determined VIP guests crashing their way through the restricted area.

Oscar ducked under the rope first, nearly tripping over someone’s equipment bag. His hair was windblown, lanyard flying, his face stretched in the kind of smile that made my knees buckle. Lily was right behind him, already crying, one hand holding her camera and the other waving like she hadn’t just bulldozed a press area. Lewis followed with effortless charm, talking his way past security like he owned the arena, which honestly… he sort of did.

By the time they reached me, I was already laughing and crying and shaking all at once. Oscar didn’t even wait. He scooped me up, full body, feet off the ground, arms locked around me like he’d been holding his breath since the moment I saluted the judges.

“You were insane,” he said into my ear. “Like—like actual witchcraft. Are you a gymnast or gravity’s worst nightmare?”

“She’s both,” Lily said, squeezing in on the other side, sandwiching me between the two of them. “I’ve never screamed that loud in my life. My throat is ruined. I might cry again.”

“I’m already crying,” I laughed, clinging to them both like I’d never let go.

Lewis finally caught up, slightly breathless and smiling so wide it made my heart thud. He pulled me in after they loosened their grip, hands warm on my shoulders.

“You crushed that,” he said, eyes twinkling. “I’ve seen a lot of greatness in my life, but that was next level. You flew, YN.”

I flushed, overwhelmed, every nerve still buzzing with adrenaline and disbelief.

“I knew you were coming,” I whispered. “I just… didn’t let myself hope.”

Oscar pressed a kiss to my temple.

“You didn’t think we’d miss this, did you?” he murmured. “You really think we’d let you shine without us there to scream about it?”

Lily grabbed my hand, our fingers tangling instinctively.

“We are never missing a moment like this,” she said fiercely. “You’re stuck with us.”

I looked between them — the three people who had rooted for me louder than anyone ever had. In front of the world. In front of gold. And for the first time that day, the medal didn’t feel like the most important thing I’d won.

—

The medal was cold when they placed it around my neck, but my chest was on fire. It wasn’t my first Olympics. Not my first podium. Not even my first gold.mBut this one was different.mMaybe it was the pressure. Maybe it was how hard I had fought to get back here. Maybe it was the people in the crowd who made it feel like more than just a win.

The anthem started, and I stared ahead, lips pressed together, trying not to cry. My cheeks were already aching from smiling. My body was exhausted. But my heart? My heart was pounding like it might burst.mI kept my eyes on the flag, pretending not to look at the corner of the stands where I knew they were. I didn’t even need to see them to feel them. Oscar. Lily.

I could feel their cheers. Their pride. The way they lit up when I stuck my landings. The way Lily screamed when my score came up. The way Oscar didn’t even try to hide how obsessed he was. When the anthem ended, the crowd thundered to life. Cameras flashed. My teammates hugged me and handed me a small bouquet. There were hands shaking mine, congratulatory smiles, media already waiting behind the rail.

But all I cared about was the blur of two people running down from the stands. Security tried to stop them — very politely, very ineffectively. Oscar reached me first, ducking under the rope with his accreditation badge swinging wildly. His grin was enormous, eyes glassy, face flushed from the heat and the adrenaline.

“YN!” he yelled, and suddenly I was in his arms.

He picked me up off the ground, spinning me once before setting me down gently, arms still wrapped around my waist like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“You did it, you actual superhuman,” he said breathlessly. “You didn’t just win, you—obliterated everyone.”

Lily crashed into us a second later, nearly knocking all three of us over in a group hug. She was crying without shame, camera still hanging from her neck, her fingers threading into mine.

“You were perfect,” she whispered. “We’re so proud of you. So in love with you. And also, Oscar cried. Don’t let him deny it.”

“I didn’t cry,” he mumbled, wiping under his eye. “I had sweat.”

I laughed, tears spilling anyway, the medal clinking softly as I pressed my forehead against his shoulder. I could barely breathe with how much I loved them both.

Lily pulled back, grinning, her cheeks wet. “We have a surprise for you, by the way.”

Oscar nodded eagerly. “Later tonight. You’ll find out. No hints. Just trust us.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You two showed up in Paris and now you’re planning secret surprises? This sounds like a dangerous combination.”

“Only the best kind,” Lily said, squeezing my hand. “But for now—this moment? This is yours. You earned every second of it.”

And standing there, medal around my neck, wrapped in their arms, I knew she was right. But it felt like we had earned it. Together.

—

I had no idea where we were going. Oscar and Lily were being suspiciously smug, and I was too exhausted — and too high off the win — to press them too hard. The post-competition chaos was a blur. Hugs from my teammates. Flashes from cameras. My medal catching the light every time I moved. Lily holding my hand so tight I thought we might both cry. Oscar stealing kisses when he thought no one was looking.

Now I was curled up in the backseat of an SUV, still in my Team USA warmups, my bouquet resting across my lap, the medal heavier than ever around my neck. Lily sat beside me, fingers laced through mine, stroking her thumb in slow circles over my knuckles. Oscar sat across from us, bouncing his leg and trying not to give anything away.

“You keep staring at me like you are about to interrogate me,” he muttered.

“Because I am,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Where are we going? I’ve earned answers. I have a literal Olympic medal to prove it.”

“Just trust us,” Lily said softly, brushing a loose curl behind my ear. “It’s worth it. Promise.”

Oscar grinned. “You’re gonna cry. Again.”

“You cried earlier.”

“I was moved.”

“You screamed, Oscar.”

“Yeah. Moved.”

We turned down a quiet street and then pulled through a discreet gated entrance. I looked out the window—and nearly stopped breathing. The Eiffel Tower loomed above us, lit in gold, impossibly beautiful. But it wasn’t just that we were near it. We were in it.

My mouth dropped open. “No. No way.”

Lily leaned in close, her voice sweet and giddy. “Surprise, baby.”

Oscar threw his hands up like he’d just crossed a finish line. “Private terrace. Very fancy. Very French. We pulled some strings.”

I turned back to them, stunned. “You… rented out a private part of the Eiffel Tower?”

Lily giggled. “You got a gold medal. We thought you deserved the view.”

Oscar offered me his hand like we were about to go to prom. “Come on, champ. We have champagne with your name on it.”

—

The terrace was out of a movie. Soft jazz played in the background. Lanterns and fairy lights glowed warmly. There were flowers on the table that matched the ones in my medal bouquet. Rose petals scattered across the linen like they were just casually beautiful. And in the distance — Paris sparkled like she was showing off just for us. I stood frozen, soaking it in.

Oscar appeared at my side. “Too much?”

“It’s perfect,” I whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“You are something like this,” Lily said, slipping her arm around my waist. “Beautiful. Intense. Absolutely unforgettable.”

I blushed and leaned into her. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Good,” she murmured, kissing my temple.

Dinner was divine. Course after course of fancy little dishes I could barely pronounce. Oscar made it halfway through reading the wine list before giving up and saying, “Just bring us the sparkly one.” Lily fed me bites of her dessert even after I insisted I couldn’t eat another thing. The three of us toasted my win, toasted each other, toasted “hot people dating other hot people.”

At one point, Oscar got up and returned with a small box.

I froze, heart thudding. “Oh god. Am I being proposed to?”

“Relax,” he laughed. “We’re not that unhinged.”

He set the box in front of me. “Just… a little something.”

I opened it slowly, breath caught. Inside was a delicate gold necklace. Three tiny little charms, engraved with each of our initials. My eyes stung instantly.

“It’s not forever,” Oscar said quietly. “Unless you want it to be someday.”

Lily slid her hand into mine. “It’s just us. Telling you that we’re yours. No pressure. No rush. Just… love.”

I was crying. Of course I was crying. I leaned across the table, pulling them both into the messiest, warmest, most golden three-way hug in the middle of a restaurant in the Eiffel Tower. Champagne spilled. Oscar kissed my shoulder. Lily kissed my cheek.

“I love you both,” I said, voice thick. “So much it makes my chest hurt.”

Oscar beamed. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

Later, we lay on the terrace couch under a blanket, all three of us tangled together, staring up at the iron lattice above and the stars just beyond it. My medal rested on the table next to the necklace box. I didn’t need to wear either of them right now to feel like I’d won. Because this — the stillness, the laughter, their hands in mine, Oscar’s voice in my ear, Lily humming quietly against my shoulder — this was the gold I really wanted.

—

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer, lewishamilton & 17,031,052 others.

yourusername : i fear i am really that girl.

tagged : teamusa

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lando : does your back hurt?? from all that gold around your neck?? 😼

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : it really does.

lewishamilton : So so proud. An inspiration to all ❤️🏅

liked by yourusername

alexalbon : hot girl shit. CONGRATS YNNNNN!

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : did lily teach you that?

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↳ lilymhe : yes. (brb im fangirling bc the GOAT knows my name)

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lilyzneimer : Could not be more proud. We love you, angel. You are absolutely incredible🩷

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : could not have done it without my loves

liked by lilyzneimer and oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri : the best to ever do it. so incredibly proud. love you to the moon and back

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : love you more my angel

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oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, lilyzneimer, charles_leclerc & 7,705,023 others.

oscarpiastri : HARD LAUNCHHHHHHHH. lily and i somehow made our gold medalist crush…our gold medalist gf and we love her dearly.

tagged : lilyzneimer and yourusername

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lando : the most impressive maneuver of your career tbh