The Fourth Wing Boys and their Reactions to you being Pregnant
Summary: Just what I think the boys' reactions would be
Words: 7.5K words
Warnings: some angst but mostly fluffy and cuteeee
Xaden Riorson, the man who has made a career of maintaining control in a world that crumbles around him, has never looked more vulnerable than in this moment. His eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes that see everything and give nothing away—widen as the words I just spoke settle between us. The smirk that usually dances on his lips, the one that makes him seem untouchable, vanishes as if it’s never been there at all. His expression, typically guarded and enigmatic, is now a map of raw emotion, impossible to ignore.
I watch him, unsure of whether I’ve just shattered the air between us or opened a door we aren’t ready to walk through. His hands, always confident and steady, grip my waist with a force that seems born of instinct, as if the weight of what I just told him threatens to pull him down. He inhales sharply, and in the way his breath catches in his throat, I can feel it—a tremor, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. The sound of it—soft, like a whisper of disbelief—breathes life into the moment, making it real, making it unavoidable.
His eyes dart to my stomach, that small curve, barely noticeable but unmistakably there. Then, without warning, they flick back to mine, as if trying to find some confirmation that this isn’t a cruel joke, some twisted play to see him unravel. His jaw tightens, his muscles go taut, and for the briefest of seconds, I think he might not believe me. But then he whispers, his voice low and edged with something I’m not ready to identify. “You’re sure?”
I nod, unable to contain the mix of fear, anticipation, and joy that floods through me, and that’s when everything shifts. The tension in his body cracks, splintering apart like ice breaking under the weight of an ocean. His breath, shallow and uneven, spills out in a rush, and his gaze—normally so calculating, so indifferent to everything around him—softens, transforming into something I’ve only seen glimpses of: vulnerability. There, in that look, I see the faintest flicker of hope, a light that barely dares to exist in the shadows of his usual guarded composure.
The silence that follows feels like an eternity, a moment stretched so thin it could shatter at any second. But instead, he moves. His hands, which had been trembling ever so slightly, find their place around me, pulling me close as if I’m the only thing holding him together. His lips brush against the side of my face, pressing against my temple in a gesture that feels oddly fragile for someone like him—someone who has built walls taller than any fortress, whose every breath is calculated, every action precise.
His voice, when it finally comes, is raw—thick with emotion I didn’t know he was capable of showing. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he murmurs, his words a promise. His hands slide down slowly, reverently, until one rests on my stomach. His thumb begins to trace circles, soft at first, like he’s afraid to touch too firmly, as if afraid he might shatter something precious. And maybe he’s right—because in this moment, something shifts inside him, and I’m not sure he’s ready to face it yet.
The man who once seemed so untouchable, so impenetrable, is unraveling in front of me, but not in a way that makes me want to run. Instead, I find myself holding him just as tightly, afraid that if I let go, he might slip away. He isn’t just holding me—he’s holding onto something else. Something bigger than both of us.
We stay like that for a long while, the world fading into the background. His hands, still tracing slow circles over my stomach, seem to speak volumes without words. Each pass of his thumb is a vow—a promise to protect, to fight for, to love the life growing inside me with the same fierce, unrelenting devotion he’s always given to me. Only now, there’s something new in his gaze—something deeper. The promise isn’t just to me anymore. It’s to the little one we’ve yet to meet, the one who has already captured his heart in a way I never could have expected.
We’re lying in bed, the early morning sunlight spilling through the window, painting Garrick’s bare shoulders in a soft, golden glow. The light dances across his skin, highlighting the muscles in his back as he sleeps, his breathing slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest like a calming rhythm. His arm is draped lazily over my waist, holding me close but not tight, as if he’s still half-anchored to the world of dreams. The warmth of him presses against me, a comfort I never want to lose, but something stirs inside me—something I can’t ignore, something that needs to be said.
I shift slightly, the flutter of nerves in my chest making my heart race just a little faster than it should. His eyes crack open, barely more than a sliver, and he blinks up at me through the haze of sleep. His lips twitch into the softest of smiles, and I can’t help but feel a warmth spread through me, even as my own pulse quickens.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs, his voice husky from sleep, a teasing note in the words.
I swallow hard, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment, the gravity of the words I’m about to say. “I have something to tell you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, thick with nerves. I watch his expression shift as he processes my tone—sleep fading from his eyes as they focus on me, sharpening with concern, alertness creeping in. His brows furrow slightly, his grip on me tightening just enough that I can feel the change, the instinctive need to protect, to hold me steady.
The air between us thickens, and I take a steadying breath before finally letting the words escape. “I’m pregnant.”
For a long moment, there’s nothing—no sound, no movement. Just the steady beat of my own heart, pounding in my ears. His blue eyes lock onto mine, and I see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to make sense of what I’ve just said. It’s as if he’s searching for any sign that he’s misunderstood, trying to find some hint that this isn’t real. And then, slowly, so slowly that it feels like time itself holds its breath, a grin begins to spread across his face. It starts small, like disbelief, and then grows—grows until it’s nothing short of radiant, the kind of grin that could light up the world. It’s like the sun breaking through storm clouds, a warmth that fills the space between us, and I feel myself melt under it.
A quiet, breathless laugh escapes him, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, what he’s feeling. He sits up then, pulling me with him, his movements fluid, confident, like he’s always known he’d be here. His hands come up to cradle my face, and his thumbs gently trace over my cheekbones, each touch reverent, as though I am the most precious thing he’s ever held. His touch is tender, full of wonder. His gaze never leaves mine.
“We’re having a baby?” he whispers, voice hushed, awed, like the very idea of it is too beautiful to fully comprehend. His eyes search mine for any hint of doubt, any sign that this might not be true, but all I can do is nod. And when I do, he kisses me—deep, lingering, filled with everything he feels, overflowing with love and joy in a way that takes my breath away.
The kiss is everything—the kind of kiss that promises a future, the kind that says we’re in this together, no matter what. When he finally pulls away, his hands slide down to rest over my stomach, his touch slow and careful, like he’s handling something fragile, something sacred. His voice is thick with emotion as he murmurs, “I’m going to love them so much.”
I can feel the sincerity in his words, hear the depth of his commitment in every syllable. He presses his forehead to mine, the grin never fading, and I can feel his joy radiating off of him, filling me up. There’s no hesitation, no doubt in him, just a certainty that this moment, this new chapter of our lives, is exactly where we’re meant to be. He holds me close, his hands still resting gently on my stomach, as if he’s already thinking of all the ways he’ll love the little life growing inside me.
“I can’t believe this is real,” he murmurs, and the wonder in his voice makes my heart swell. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
And for the first time in a long time, I’m certain too. In his arms, with his heart beating against mine, I know that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. And I know, deep down, that we’ll be the best parents we can be. Because this moment—this shared joy—is only the beginning.
Liam is in the middle of fixing his dagger, the rhythmic glide of the whetstone over the blade a comforting sound, familiar and steady. His brow is furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted as he works, his fingers steady and sure. There’s a certain ease to his posture, though—a quiet confidence in the way he holds the dagger, in the way he moves. I watch him for a moment, the soft light from the window casting shadows over his strong features, and something stirs deep in my chest.
I know what I’m about to say will change everything. It will shift the balance of us, of this quiet, simple life we’ve built. It will disrupt the calm. And yet, in this moment, with his presence so solid and steady beside me, I’m not sure if I’m ready for the words to leave my lips.
“Liam,” I say softly, my voice steady despite the whirlwind inside me. My heart is racing, a thudding pulse in my ears, but I push through it. He hums in acknowledgment, his eyes still focused on the blade in front of him. But when I don’t continue, when the silence stretches between us too long, he finally stills. His sharp green eyes flick to mine, reading me in an instant. And in that moment, I feel like he’s already seen it all—the hesitation, the fear, the joy that fights its way to the surface.
The dagger is forgotten, carefully set down on the table beside him, and he stands in one smooth motion, crossing the distance between us in two quick strides. The energy between us shifts, and his hands frame my face, warm and steady, his breath unsteady as he studies me. I can see the question in his eyes, and I know he’s waiting for me to speak again.
“What is it?” he asks, his voice low, steady. But I can hear the uncertainty beneath it—the flicker of confusion, of concern, because he knows something is coming, something big.
I exhale slowly, trying to steady myself, gripping the edge of the table as though it’s the only thing keeping me grounded in this moment. I whisper the words, barely above a breath, but I feel them settle between us like a charge in the air. “I’m pregnant.”
The words hang there, heavy, charged, electric. I watch as his body locks up, the shock rippling through him, a brief stillness in the air before everything changes. He blinks once, then twice, his lips parting slightly, as if he’s trying to find the right response but no words come. The seconds stretch out, thick and heavy, as though we’re suspended in time, before he inhales sharply, his chest rising and falling with an effort that betrays his calm.
Without another word, he steps closer, closing the gap between us. His hands are on me in an instant, cupping my face with a tenderness that makes my heart catch. He’s searching my eyes, his expression intense, as though he’s trying to read me, to make sure this is real. “Say it again,” he murmurs, his voice thick, as if the words themselves are something he needs to hear once more to believe.
I don’t hesitate this time. I say it again, the words rolling off my tongue with a clarity I didn’t know I had in me. “I’m pregnant.”
His chest rises again, this time in a sharp inhale, and his fingers tighten around me as if to pull me even closer, as if he never wants to let go. The moment feels suspended, timeless, and then suddenly—he laughs. It’s a quiet, disbelieving sound, almost as though he can’t quite wrap his mind around it, and the laugh shifts into something softer, something deeper. Something filled with wonder.
He presses his forehead to mine, the weight of his hands on my face grounding me, and then slowly, reverently, his hands slip down to rest over my stomach. His touch is warm, careful, as though he’s holding something delicate, something precious. The moment stretches between us, full of a new, tender energy, and I know without a doubt that everything has changed.
“You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, raw and genuine, like he’s trying to find the words to hold all of it—this moment, this future, this life we’re about to create together.
And then, without another word, he kisses me. It’s slow, deep, and everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s a kiss that speaks of promises, of futures and dreams, of everything we’ve built and everything we will. I can feel the weight of it, the depth of it, and as he pulls me close, as his hands rest gently on the life growing inside me, I know that this moment is the beginning of everything. Everything has changed. And somehow, it feels like it always was meant to.
Bodhi is pacing, his boots scuffing against the cold stone floor with every angry step. The rhythm of his movement is frantic, almost like he's trying to outrun the frustration boiling inside him. His hands are thrown up in exasperation, his voice sharp with bitterness. “Of course, Xaden gets the good shit. Again. Powers? Sure. Now Violet... First in line for the throne? Why the hell not?” His voice cracks with sarcasm, the words biting through the air like daggers. “They both get the good fucking shit.”
I watch him, my heart beating wildly in my chest. It’s not the anger that rattles me; I’ve seen him like this before. But the weight of it all—the frustration that pours out of him—makes my stomach twist with something deeper. It’s all too familiar, this endless cycle of feeling overlooked, dismissed. His voice is thick with old grievances, with wounds that never quite heal, and I know well enough to recognize when he’s spiraling.
He’s about to explode, and I can’t let him. Not this time. If I don’t stop him, I know he’s going to hurt himself in more ways than one. So I step forward, my footsteps silent but determined, and before he can throw his next bitter word into the air, I grab his wrist, holding it firmly but gently.
“Bodhi.”
My voice cuts through his storm of frustration like a calm in the eye of the hurricane, sharp and steady. He freezes mid-step, his body tensing as my name slides past my lips. His hazel eyes, blazing with unresolved anger, snap to mine, and for a moment, everything else falls away.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself, feeling the weight of the words that have been resting on the edge of my tongue for what feels like an eternity. "I’m pregnant."
The shift is immediate, like the world tilts on its axis. His body locks up, rigid and uncertain, and his expression flickers through anger, confusion, and something else—something raw, vulnerable, and unguarded. His lips part, but no sound escapes. For a long moment, he just stands there, staring at me like I’ve just ripped the ground out from under him, like he’s trying to process what I’ve just dropped into the space between us.
The air in the room feels thick, charged, like time itself is holding its breath. Then, as if he’s been holding onto something for too long, the tension in his shoulders suddenly drains away, replaced by something softer, almost fragile. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s unsure of what to do, like he wants to reach for me but is afraid of the weight of what this means.
“You’re—” He stops himself, blinking hard as if he’s trying to shake off the fog of disbelief. “You’re serious?”
I nod, and when I do, his whole body seems to collapse inward. His breath comes out in a sharp exhale, ragged and uneven, and a shaky laugh bursts from him. It’s low, almost disbelieving, like he can’t quite catch up to the reality of it all. His hands tremble as he reaches for me, pulling me close like I’m the only thing holding him together in this moment. His fingers land on my waist, steady and desperate, as if he needs to feel me beneath his hands, solid and real.
“Holy fucking shit,” he breathes, shaking his head with a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Xaden can keep his damn throne." And then, without warning, he’s kissing me. It’s not soft or gentle—it’s desperate, a kiss that’s full of raw emotion, of relief, of something far too big to name. His hands tighten around me, anchoring himself to the moment, to the realisation, to us.
When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t let go, his hand sliding down to rest over my stomach, warm and steady. His touch is a promise, a grounding force. He’s breathing heavily, still trying to catch up to the reality of everything, but there’s a clarity in his eyes now. A certainty that wasn’t there before.
“This?” He murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “This is ours.”
And for the first time in a long while, I see it—the shift in him, the release of all that frustration, all that anger, replaced with something I can’t quite name. But I know this is the moment everything changes. This is the beginning of something far greater than the chaos we’ve both been drowning in.
Violet slides a glass toward me, the faintest glint of challenge in her eyes as she smirks. “Come on, you’re not seriously turning down a drink, are you?” Her voice has a playful edge, teasing me, but something’s different in the way she looks at me, like she senses that something is off. I hesitate, the words swirling in my mind, threatening to spill, and that’s when I push the glass away.
Her smirk falters. “Wait. What?”
Before she can press further, I feel it—the weight of Ridoc’s gaze on me. I turn, and there he is, standing a few feet away, brow furrowed and head tilted just enough to show he’s putting pieces together. I’ve been trying to hide it, but I can’t. His sharp eyes meet mine, and I know he’s already suspicious. He sees the way my fingers twitch, the way my breath hitches just a little too sharply when Violet teases me. He knows something’s coming.
I swallow hard, grip his wrist, and tug him away from the table. The murmurs of the others fade as I pull him further from the group, needing space to breathe. My pulse is racing now, my heart pounding louder with each step. I know damn well I can’t hold this in any longer, but the moment I say it, things will never be the same.
We stop just outside the circle of laughter and conversation, where no one can overhear us. Ridoc stands there, arms folded, eyes narrowed with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Alright,” he says, drawing out the word. “You’re acting weird, you turned down alcohol, and you’re pulling me aside like you’ve got some massive secret. Should I be worried?”
The weight of it all presses against me, suffocating, but I manage to look him in the eye. This isn’t something I planned to tell him so soon, but I can’t carry this any longer. I take a deep breath, the words burning on my tongue, and whisper, “I’m pregnant.”
The world seems to stop.
Ridoc blinks once, then twice, as if he didn’t hear me right. His mouth opens, and then shuts, his brain visibly scrambling to process what I just said. His eyes dart to mine, searching for any hint of a joke, but there’s nothing. His hands, once folded tightly across his chest, now hang at his sides, fingers twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
For a moment, he’s completely still, like the world around us has fallen silent and we’re the only ones who matter.
And then, his face shifts. The shock gives way to confusion, and that’s when I see it—the joy. The raw, unfiltered joy that bursts through his expression. His lips part, the corners twitching upward in disbelief. He can’t quite believe it. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
In the next breath, before I can say another word, he spins around, his body moving with a force that’s both desperate and excited. And then, as if he’s claiming the moment for himself, he calls out across the room, loud enough for the entire squad to hear.
“I’M GONNA BE A DAD!”
The room goes completely still. Every single person freezes. A glass hits the floor with a dull thud. Violet chokes on her drink. Rhiannon’s jaw nearly hits the floor. Xaden, of course, looks like he already knew, his gaze unamused but somehow fond. Ridoc, meanwhile, is still grinning like the world is his to conquer. He doesn’t even care that we’re the center of attention.
The chaos erupts. Cheers, whoops, congratulations from every corner of the room. The sound of people scrambling to get to us, laughing, offering their well-wishes. But I can’t help but bury my face in my hands, overwhelmed with embarrassment.
Ridoc’s laughter, though, it’s pure, unrestrained. He pulls me into his arms, lifting me off the ground in a tight, dizzying hug. His grip is firm but gentle, as if I’m the most precious thing he’s ever held.
“You really thought I’d keep that to myself?” he says, his voice muffled in my hair as he chuckles, his breath warm against my skin. “Oh, love, you should know me better by now.”
I can barely breathe, laughing in spite of myself. The entire world feels like it’s shifting around us, and yet in this moment, I don’t care. I’m lost in him, in the joy he’s radiating, in the life we’ve just begun to build together. For the first time, I feel like nothing can touch us.
And when he finally pulls back, his hand slides over my stomach, slow and reverent, as if trying to memorise the change that’s already started to take place.
“This?” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “This is going to be the best thing thats ever happened to us.”
The soft sound of footsteps echoes through the quiet hallway, but it's the unmistakable sound of a door creaking open that pulls me from my thoughts. I'm sitting at the edge of the bed, a thousand things running through my mind, but when I hear it, I freeze.
The door clicks shut behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. I can already hear Sawyer’s quiet, steady steps, the way he moves with that lazy confidence, like nothing in the world could make him rush. He's always been like that—unfazed, comfortable in his skin, but also the first one to notice when something’s off.
He leans against the doorframe, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and one brow arches slightly, like he's in on some joke I haven't figured out yet. He watches me for a long moment, his gaze knowing, waiting for me to speak. But I can’t. Words are stuck in my throat, heavy and thick.
I open my mouth, then close it again, trying to find the courage. My fingers brush against the edge of the bed, and it feels like the room is shrinking, the weight of what’s coming making my chest tighten.
Sawyer, ever perceptive, notices the shift in my demeanor instantly. Without hesitation, he pushes off the doorframe, his movements slow but purposeful. His voice is low, calm, but laced with concern. "What’s wrong?"
I glance at him, my heart hammering, and for a second, I almost wish I could keep this to myself just a little longer. But I know I can’t. Not with him. Not now.
I take a deep breath, avoiding his gaze as I stand up from the bed. My stomach churns again, a nauseating wave rising in my gut, but this time, it's different. I press a hand to my stomach, fighting against the bile that threatens to rise.
And that’s when I feel it—the low, guttural sound of me retching. I stumble toward the bathroom door before the first wave of nausea hits, pushing the door open just enough to avoid the inevitable disaster. I’m barely able to make it to the toilet before I’m on my knees, my body doubling over as I empty my stomach. The burn in my throat makes everything spin, and I try to steady myself, but it’s no use.
Then I hear it—the sound of Sawyer’s footsteps behind me, closer now, much closer. The door to the bathroom creaks open, and I don't need to look up to know he’s standing there. I can feel his presence, solid and unwavering. His hands press against the doorframe as he leans in, his gaze searching for me in the dim light.
“Hey… hey, you okay?” His voice is soft but urgent, his concern bleeding through the calm tone. He steps closer, his hand resting gently on the back of my neck, his touch warm and steady, like he’s trying to pull me back to earth.
I try to swallow, my breath still shallow, but I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. “I’m fine,” I say, but it comes out raspy and weak, not even close to convincing. The words fall flat, like they’re already on their way to breaking.
Sawyer doesn’t buy it. He crouches down beside me, his fingers brushing through my hair as he presses a damp cloth to the back of my neck. It’s soothing, but it’s also him, grounding me in a way that only he can.
“Talk to me,” he murmurs, voice low and calm.
And that’s when it happens—the dam breaks. I feel the weight of it, everything I’ve been holding back, and it spills out before I can stop it. “Sawyer, I’m pregnant.”
The words hang between us for a moment, and I can see it in his eyes—surprise, confusion, maybe even a little disbelief. His expression shifts like he's trying to process it, his brows furrowing for a fraction of a second before they smooth out, replaced by a gentle, almost stunned smile.
"You’re what?" he asks softly, his voice thick with the disbelief of the moment. But there’s something else there now, something warmer, a flicker of excitement, and maybe even hope.
I nod, my heart thudding in my chest as I try to steady myself, the nausea still lingering. His hands, once gently cradling me, tighten around me now, pulling me closer as if he’s trying to keep me anchored in the moment.
He blinks, then laughs softly, the sound almost disbelieving. “Holy shit,” he breathes, a smile spreading across his face. “I’m gonna be a dad?”
I nod again, the words tumbling out like they’re finally free, but I can feel the tension lift from my shoulders, replaced by something new, something lighter.
Sawyer’s expression shifts from disbelief to joy. It’s like the moment the words left my mouth, everything clicked for him. His arms tighten around me, pulling me into a warm embrace as he presses a kiss to my temple, the action soft, tender. "I’m gonna be a dad," he repeats, voice thick with emotion.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hand coming up to gently cup my cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. “You just made me the happiest guy alive, you know that?”
I lean into his touch, feeling the sincerity in every word, every action. The chaos of the moment, the whirlwind of emotions, all start to settle in a way I didn’t expect. I’ve been carrying this secret, but now, in this moment, it feels like everything is going to be okay. Together.
Sawyer grins, his eyes sparkling with a joy that’s impossible to miss. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but we’ll figure it out. Together.” And just like that, the weight of everything shifts. It’s no longer a burden. It’s a promise.
Dain is already watching me when I step into the room, his eyes flicking over me with that overly cautious, ever-concerned expression that only he can pull off. It's like he has a sixth sense for when something is off. I can feel the weight of his gaze, like he's reading me before I even open my mouth. But this time, I can tell—he has no idea what's coming.
I shift on my feet, trying to steady my racing heart, and exhale sharply. The words feel stuck in my throat, but I can’t keep them in any longer. I have to say it, no matter how much it makes my palms sweat or my stomach churn.
“I’m pregnant,” I say, my voice a little shakier than I want it to be.
For a full five seconds, Dain doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. It’s like time has stopped, and I’m caught in this endless moment, waiting for him to process what I’ve just said. His face is completely blank, like his brain just short-circuited, like I’ve just dropped an impossible bomb on him and his system is still rebooting.
Then, panic. Pure, unfiltered panic. “You’re what?!” His voice jumps an octave, his eyes going wide as his hands fly up in the air, like he’s physically trying to keep reality from sinking in. “How—? I mean, I know how, but—this isn’t—what are we going to—?”
I can almost see the wheels turning in his head, like he’s trying to work out a hundred different scenarios all at once, his mind moving faster than he can process. He starts pacing, running a hand through his hair, muttering to himself like he’s already mentally drawing up battle plans for a war he didn’t see coming. “We need a plan. I need to—fuck, what if—what about Xaden? Does he know? And the squad? And—”
Before he can fully spiral, a sharp smack echoes through the room. Dain jerks forward slightly, his eyes snapping up in shock, and I can’t help but let out a breath of relief at the interruption.
Behind him stands Sloane, one hand on her hip, the other still raised from the smack she just delivered upside his head. She’s unimpressed, as always, her expression a mixture of disbelief and mild annoyance.
“Pull yourself together, Aetos,” she deadpans, like she’s heard enough. “She just told you she’s pregnant, not that the kingdom is burning down.”
Dain blinks rapidly, his hand coming up to rub the back of his head, his brow furrowing as he tries to process what just happened. “Did you just—?”
Sloane doesn’t even flinch. She just raises an eyebrow and gives him an almost bored look. “You were being dramatic.”
I can’t help the small chuckle that escapes my lips at the exchange. I’m still reeling from the words I just said, but Sloane’s dry humor is like a lifeline, and Dain’s still-freaked-out expression helps ground me.
Something shifts in Dain’s face then. The panic is still there, lingering, but it begins to break apart, bit by bit. He exhales sharply, like he's realizing just how deep into this he’s about to dive. His gaze flicks back to me, and this time, he really sees me—really sees me. The fear is still there, but it's quieter now, and there’s something else in his eyes. Something steadier. Something that tells me he’s starting to process it, even if he’s still not sure what the next step is.
Dain steps forward slowly, almost cautiously, like he’s afraid I might slip away from him if he moves too quickly. His hands reach for mine, his grip warm, a little shaky. For a moment, the world feels like it narrows to just him and me, the chaos of his thoughts receding into the background as he pulls me into his orbit.
“You’re pregnant,” he repeats softly, his voice a little raw. The words still feel strange in the air, like he's still getting used to them, but there’s something comforting in the way he says them. Like he's finally letting the weight of it sink in.
Then, to my complete surprise, a small, almost reverent smile tugs at his lips. The kind of smile I’ve never seen from him before. It’s not the typical confident, strategic grin he wears when he’s solving a problem or taking charge. No, this smile is softer, more awed, like he’s realizing something bigger than both of us.
“We’re going to be okay,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but it’s filled with something more. A promise. A reassurance.
Just as I feel myself starting to breathe again, Sloane claps Dain on the shoulder with enough force to almost send him stumbling forward. She doesn’t even look back at us as she starts to walk away, her voice cutting through the moment with a sarcastic edge.
“About time,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head.
Dain huffs out a quiet laugh, clearly unbothered by her comment. He squeezes my hands tighter, his grip grounding me as his other arm slides around my back, pulling me into a tight embrace.
“I’ll be better at this,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, his breath warm against my ear. “I promise.”
I rest my head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against mine, and for the first time in a long while, I believe him. Together, we’ll figure this out. One step at a time.
The meeting room is tense, filled with whispers and the clink of metal as people adjust in their seats. Violet is leaning forward, her usual soft smile replacing any hint of concern, while the others are deep in debate about who will go on the next mission. The stakes are high, and it’s clear that everyone wants to make sure they’re well-prepared. My heart is pounding in my chest, a tight knot forming as I feel the weight of what’s coming. The group is discussing the flying assignments, who’s going to be paired with Violet on her dangerous mission, and I can’t help but feel like something’s off. There’s a restlessness in me, a hesitation that I can’t shake.
Then, as expected, the moment comes. They call my name.
I stand, my legs feeling heavier than usual as I move toward the front of the room, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. I haven't even had the chance to tell Aaric yet. Haven’t had the chance to figure out what to say, how to handle it, how to let him in on something that already feels like it might be too much for us to process together.
But then, just as the silence begins to settle in the room, his voice cuts through, clear and commanding.
“No.” Aaric’s tone is sharp, his presence suddenly filling the room with an authority that demands attention. All eyes snap toward him as he stands from his seat, his jaw tight, a flash of something determined in his eyes. “She’s not going.”
Everyone blinks in confusion, unsure of where this sudden interruption is coming from. I glance over at Violet, who raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. She’s known Aaric for years, but she’s never seen him this... intense, this protective.
“What do you mean, she’s not going?” Xaden’s voice is incredulous, his hands on her hips as he challenges him. “We need her there. She’s more than capable—”
Aaric cuts her off, his gaze never leaving me. “I’m not letting her go. Not when—” He pauses, his expression tightening, like he’s struggling to hold back the words. But then his gaze flickers over to me, and the moment shifts. He knows. His eyes soften, just for a second, and I realize that somehow, without me even saying a word, he’s already figured it out. He’s seen it.
Before anyone can react, Aaric strides toward me, his hand lightly resting on my shoulder, like he’s grounding himself as much as he’s grounding me. “You’re pregnant,” he announces, his voice thick with the weight of his knowledge. The room falls into stunned silence.
I freeze, every muscle in my body locking up as his words hit me like a physical blow. I hadn’t planned to tell anyone yet. I hadn’t even figured out how to tell him. And now, here he is, pulling me into the center of attention, revealing something so personal that I feel like my entire world is shifting beneath me.
There’s a brief moment of chaos, with murmurs spreading through the room, eyes flicking between us. Some of the squad members look concerned, others confused, and a few seem like they’ve been expecting this. But I can’t focus on them. I can’t focus on anything except the look in Aaric’s eyes.
“I…” I try to speak, but the words stick in my throat. I’m not angry at him, not exactly. But I feel exposed, raw. How did he know?
Aaric’s gaze softens as he watches me, but his tone is firm. “I saw it.” His voice drops, quieter now, only for me to hear. “My signet... It showed me. I can’t... I can’t let you put yourself in danger. Not now.”
The sincerity in his eyes is almost enough to break me. His instinct—his foresight—has always been a double-edged sword. It’s saved us more times than I can count, but now, it’s exposing a vulnerability neither of us were ready for. He’s not just thinking about the mission or the war. He’s thinking about me. About us.
Violet is staring at us, disbelief on her face, but Aaric isn’t looking at her. His attention is fully on me, and the way he holds my gaze makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his hand slipping from my shoulder to gently take my hand. “I know this isn’t easy. But I’m not letting you go out there. Not like this. Not with...” His voice falters for a moment, the weight of his own emotions pressing down on him. “We’re going to be a family.”
His words hit harder than I expected. He hasn’t even had time to process the gravity of what he’s saying, yet somehow, he’s already stepping up in ways I hadn’t anticipated. There’s no panic in his voice, no second-guessing. Just a quiet certainty that, in this moment, makes me feel like maybe everything will be okay.
I open my mouth to argue, to tell him that I’m capable, that I’ve handled worse, but something in his eyes stops me. The truth is, I’m scared. Scared of what this means, what it changes between us. But at the same time, there’s something about Aaric’s confidence, his protectiveness, that makes me feel like maybe—just maybe—he’s right.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice shaky. “I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”
He squeezes my hand, his smile a little softer now, though still full of that unshakeable confidence. “You didn’t have to tell me. I knew.”
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m carrying this burden alone.
The war room is quiet, save for the occasional crackle of candlelight and the rustling of parchment as Brennan pores over the map before him. His shoulders are taut, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. He hasn’t come to bed yet. Again.
I watch him from the doorway for a long moment, arms crossed, my heartbeat an insistent drum against my ribs. He’s been lost in his own mind for hours, drowning in battle plans and strategy, and if I don’t pull him out of it, I know he’ll stay here all night.
So, I move.
The air is thick with the scent of parchment and ink, the remnants of a half-finished cup of tea gone cold at his elbow. He doesn’t look up as I approach, not even when I step behind him and press my hands against his tense shoulders, kneading gently.
“Brennan.” My voice is soft, coaxing.
A quiet hum is the only response I get. He leans into my touch, just barely, but his eyes stay fixed on the map.
Stubborn man.
I exhale sharply before shifting, slipping into his lap with ease. That gets his attention. His hands move instinctively to my hips, steadying me, but his gaze flickers only briefly to my face before returning to the table, as if I’m just another part of the world he’s trying to control.
I huff in frustration, threading my fingers through his auburn hair, tugging gently. “You’re ignoring me.”
“I’m working,” he murmurs, voice distant, distracted.
“Brennan.” This time, there’s warning in my tone. When he still doesn’t look at me, I grab his face between my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze.
He startles, his breath catching, and for the first time tonight, I have his undivided attention.
“Look at me,” I whisper.
His lips part slightly, confusion flickering in the depths of his amber eyes, but he doesn’t pull away. My thumbs brush over the sharp lines of his jaw, tracing the tension there, the weight he carries like armour.
I exhale, slow and measured, before I finally speak the words that have been pressing against my ribs all night.
“I’m pregnant.”
Silence.
A long, breathless pause where the world seems to still, time stretching between us like something fragile. Brennan doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His expression is utterly unreadable, carved from stone.
Then—his hands tighten at my waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt like he’s grounding himself, like he’s afraid to let go.
“What?” The word is barely a whisper, hoarse with something I can’t quite name.
I swallow, my throat suddenly tight. “I’m pregnant.”
His chest rises and falls sharply, the only sign that he’s actually processing what I just said. For a long, terrifying moment, he just stares at me—like I’m something impossible, something too precious to be real.
And then, the breath he’s been holding rushes out of him all at once. His hands move without thought, sliding up my sides, over my stomach, reverent and almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid he might break me.
“You’re serious?” His voice is raw, stripped of all its usual certainty.
I nod.
Something in him shatters.
He exhales a quiet, disbelieving laugh, but his eyes are bright, almost feverish with emotion. And then he’s kissing me—fierce, desperate, like he’s trying to press this moment into my skin so he’ll never forget it. His hands tangle in my hair, pull me closer, his breath warm and unsteady against my lips.
When he finally breaks away, his forehead rests against mine, his eyes searching mine for something unspoken. His fingers skim over my stomach again, slower this time, lingering.
“We’re going to have a child,” he murmurs, like he’s only just allowing himself to believe it.
I nod again, my own breath shaky.
Brennan closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling against my skin. And when he looks at me again, it’s different. The storm inside him has quieted, replaced by something deeper, something unshakable.
“I love you,” he whispers, voice rough with promise. “And I swear to you—I swear on everything—I will protect you both.”
Tears burn at the edges of my vision, but I blink them away, letting my fingers trace the strong lines of his face. “I know.”
And for the first time in hours, Brennan forgets about war.
For the first time in weeks, he lets himself hold something other than duty.
A/N: After reading Onyx Storm I keep getting random ideas and I couldn't pass on writing this one :)
Two weeks.
Two whole, agonizing weeks without Ridoc’s warmth beside you, without his ridiculous jokes at the worst possible moments, without his arms wrapped around you like a human furnace.
Your bed has never felt emptier.
Every night, you curl up beneath the covers, but it’s not the same. There’s no Ridoc grumbling about how you’re a blanket thief, no sleep-mumbled jokes about dragons snoring louder than Xaden, and no lazy morning kisses before the day drags you both into the chaos of Basgiath.
You miss the way he always, always found a way to touch you, even in sleep—an arm slung over your waist, his nose buried in your hair, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your skin. Without him, the nights stretch unbearably long, and no amount of blankets can replace the warmth he brings.
So when Rhiannon and Violet tell you he’s back and has a surprise for you, you don’t think. You run.
The Vale is quiet, save for the occasional rustle of wings and the deep, rumbling breaths of resting dragons. The air is crisp, carrying the familiar scent of smoke and earth. Your heart pounds in your chest, anticipation thrumming through your veins as your eyes scan the open space.
Then, you see him.
Ridoc stands beside Aotrom, his brown hair messier than usual—probably from the wind, or from running his hands through it nervously. He’s shifting from foot to foot, the way he always does when he’s excited but trying and failing to play it cool.
Your breath catches, and before you can call out his name, Aotrom lifts his head, lets out a soft huff, and shifts to the side—revealing something burned into the ground.
You blink. Then take a step closer.
I LOVE YO
You tilt your head. Something’s… missing.
Ridoc turns, his face lighting up the moment he sees you. “Y/N!” His entire body practically vibrates with energy, and before you can say anything, he gestures toward the ground with both hands. “Ta-da!”
Your gaze flicks back to the message. The last letter is definitely missing.
Slowly, you lift an eyebrow. “Ridoc,” you say, voice thick with amusement, “where’s the ‘U’?”
Ridoc freezes. “Wait, what?” He whips around, eyes scanning the scorched words. The moment he notices, he groans dramatically and drags a hand down his face. “Oh, come on!”
Aotrom lets out a very unbothered-sounding snort.
Ridoc turns on his dragon, hands on his hips. “Dude. You had one job.”
Aotrom flicks his tail, the picture of innocence.
You cross your arms, biting back a grin. “Ridoc,” you repeat, “why is there no ‘U’?”
Ridoc sighs, shooting Aotrom another look before turning back to you. “Okay, so technically the ‘U’ was there… but right as Aotrom was finishing it, he saw a sheep on one of the lower fields and, uh… immediately took off.”
Your jaw drops. “You’re telling me your dragon abandoned your romantic gesture for a sheep?”
Ridoc throws his hands up. “He really likes sheep, Y/N! I can’t control his cravings!”
Aotrom rumbles contentedly, as if to confirm this fact.
You press a hand to your mouth, but the laughter breaks free anyway. “Only you, Ridoc.”
Ridoc grins, clearly relieved you’re laughing instead of being upset. Then, as if remembering something, he suddenly produces a bouquet from behind his back. “Okay, so the message is a little… incomplete, but this survived.” He steps closer, pressing the flowers into your hands. “Happy anniversary, Y/N.”
Your fingers tighten around the bouquet, your heart swelling. “Happy anniversary, Ridoc.”
His usual playful smirk softens into something more sincere. “Gods, I missed you.” His voice drops slightly, and his eyes roam over your face like he’s memorizing every detail. “Sleeping alone is the worst. Do you know how many times I woke up reaching for you, only to grab a pillow?”
Your chest tightens. “I know,” you admit. “I kept waking up cold.”
Ridoc groans dramatically, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in. “That’s it, I’m never leaving again. Two weeks is way too long. I almost died, Y/N. Died.”
You snort, resting your head against his shoulder. “From what? Sheep deprivation?”
“Exactly!” he exclaims before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His voice drops to something softer, more serious. “I love you. Even if Aotrom forgot the ‘U.’”
You smile, reaching up to brush his messy hair from his face. “I got the message.”
Ridoc watches you for a beat, his expression shifting, turning softer, more intense. Then he cups your face, his palms warm and slightly rough from training. “Can I kiss you now?”
You laugh, but it comes out breathless. “I think you’re required to.”
He doesn’t waste a second.
Ridoc leans in, and the moment his lips press against yours, everything else fades away—the teasing, the missing letter, the two agonizing weeks apart. He kisses you slowly at first, like he’s savoring the
’s trying to make up for every second you spent apart. Then, as if he can’t help himself, he deepens it, tilting his head to fit his lips against yours more perfectly. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.
Your fingers tangle in his messy hair, and he lets out a quiet, contented sigh against your lips. The warmth of him, the way he tastes like fresh air and something undeniably Ridoc, makes your head spin.
When he finally pulls back, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours, his breath slightly uneven. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice full of wonder, “definitely never leaving for that long again.”
You smile, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “You better not.”
Ridoc sighs dramatically, pulling you into his chest again. “I suffered, Y/N. Two weeks without you? Pure agony.”
You laugh softly, letting yourself sink into him. “Oh, the horror.”
Ridoc grins. “You joke, but do you know how many times I woke up thinking you were there? Only to grab a pillow?” He shudders. “It was tragic.”
“I do know,” you admit, voice quieter now. “Because it was the same for me.”
His arms tighten around you, and for a moment, he just holds you, warm and solid and here.
Then, as if unable to help himself, he presses another kiss to your temple. “You’re not sleeping alone tonight.”
The certainty in his voice sends warmth curling through you.
“Good,” you murmur. “Because I was not looking forward to another cold bed.”
Ridoc hums, tugging you toward Aotrom. “Then let’s get out of here. I already suffered through two weeks without you—I’m not wasting another second.”
Aotrom lets out an exaggerated sigh, as if deeply inconvenienced by his rider’s affection. But even as he huffs dramatically, his tail flicks in amusement, his green eyes twinkling.
You glance at the scorched I LOVE YO on the ground one last time, shaking your head fondly. “Still can’t believe Aotrom abandoned romance for a sheep.”
Ridoc groans. “Don’t remind me. I’m gonna have to do something even bigger next year to make up for it.”
You smirk. “Well, you could start by actually spelling out the whole thing next time.”
Ridoc laughs, scooping you up onto Aotrom’s back before climbing up behind you. As his arms wrap securely around your waist, he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, voice warm against your skin.
“Next time, I’ll make sure the whole kingdom knows just how much I love you.”
And as Aotrom takes off into the sky, the wind whipping through your hair and Ridoc’s laughter ringing in your ears, you know that no matter where life takes you, as long as you have him, you’ll never feel cold again.
A/N: There was no way I was gonna miss the opportunity and post something about today's events, which, by the way, made me jump out of bed with a gasp at 8am.
W.c: 1.2k
MASTERLIST
You sit cross-legged on the couch, your phone in one hand and Lando’s head resting in your lap. His curls tickle your fingers as you absentmindedly play with his hair, scrolling through Instagram. Your draft post stares back at you, nerves fluttering in your stomach. The picture is perfect—Lando’s hand protectively resting on your bump, your fingers intertwined, both of you glowing in the soft light of the sunset.
You've been trying to do this all week but always ended up backing out right before you hit the "post" button. Every time it fel as if you were about to expose the most private part of your private life to the public. However, at some point you came to the realization that it's better to do it yourself before a media outlet ratted your secret out first.
The caption reads:
"Plot twist of the year: Lando and Y/N +1 coming soon 🍼❤️."
“Do you think it’s too cheesy?” you ask, looking down at him.
“Cheesy?” Lando scoffs, twisting so he can meet your gaze. “Y/N, the fans love cheesy. And let’s be real—this is huge. They’re going to lose their minds.”
“They already think you’re the chaos driver,” you tease. “Now they’ll think we’re bringing another tornado into the world.”
“Exactly!” Lando sits up, grabbing his phone with a grin. “It’s perfect. Our little chaos baby.” He pauses, looking serious for a moment. “Are you ready, though? This makes it real, you know?”
His sincerity warms you, and you nod. “I’m ready.”
“Alright then,” he says, holding up his phone like he’s at the starting grid. “On three. One… two… three—post!”
The moment you hit post, your phone buzzes like a swarm of bees. Likes, comments, and DMs flood in at a dizzying pace. Lando’s laugh fills the room as he scrolls through the comments.
“Look at this,” he says, showing you Carlos’ reply: “Mini Lando incoming? Poor Y/N. The grid’s not ready for this!”
“Carlos has a point,” you quip, nudging him.
Before you can reply to anyone, Lando’s phone buzzes again. He freezes, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he reads the notification.
“No way,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.
“What?”
“It’s Max.” He turns his phone toward you.
You squint at the screen. Sure enough, there it is—Max Verstappen and Kelly Piquet’s baby announcement, posted mere minutes after yours. The picture shows Max and Kelly in a cozy living room, her bump visible under her flowy dress, and the caption:
"Baby Verstappen loading… can’t wait to meet you, little one ❤️."
Your jaw drops. “You’re kidding me.”
Lando’s already dialing Max. The phone rings twice before Max picks up, his calm voice a stark contrast to Lando’s giddy disbelief.
“What’s up, Norris?”
“What’s up?” Lando exclaims. “What’s up is that you just stole our baby thunder!”
There’s a beat of silence, then you hear Kelly laughing in the background. “Oh no,” she says through her giggles. “Did we steal their thunder?”
“Steal our thunder? You drove right through it!”, Lando replies, though his grin betrays his faux outrage.
“Not my fault you have bad timing,” Max says dryly.
Lando groans. “I cannot believe this. First you steal first place on teack, and now you’re trying to win the baby race?!”
“First place is first place,” Max says smugly.
The banter continues until you grab the phone from Lando, laughing. “Alright, thays enough. Max, congratulations to you and Kelly. But I think we all know who the real winner is.”
“Who?” Max asks.
“Me,” you reply, smirking. “Because I have to deal with Lando’s reaction to this for the next nine months.”
The delivery room is a whirlwind of emotions, but through it all, Lando is by your side, holding your hand, cracking jokes, and whispering words of encouragement. When the nurse finally hands you your baby—a tiny, wriggling bundle swaddled in white—you’re overwhelmed with love.
“She's perfect,” Lando whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Absolutely perfect.”
Later that night, Lando posts the first photo of Baby Love Norris: a close-up of their tiny hand clutching his finger. The caption reads:
"Our greatest Love. Welcome to the world, little lady ❤️."
Two days later, your phone buzzes with a notification. You open Instagram to see another post from Max. It’s almost identical—a photo of his baby’s hand holding his finger, with the caption:
"Our little Love has arrived. We’re so in love ❤️."
Your eyes widen. “Lando!”
He rushes into the room, disheveled but alert. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Max and Kelly named their baby Love.”
Lando stares at you for a moment, then bursts out laughing. “You’re joking.”
“Look!” You show him the post, and his laughter grows louder.
“Of course they did,” he says, shaking his head. “I swear, Max is doing this on purpose.”
By the next race, the entire paddock is buzzing about the two Baby Loves.
“You sure they're not twins?” Oscar asks one morning, his grin as wide as ever.
“Must be something in the water,” Charles adds with a smirk.
Max and Lando handle the teasing with their usual banter.
“They’re basically the same kid,” Lando says during a press conference, leaning back in his chair.
Max nods. “Mine’s faster, though.”
“Oh, please,” Lando shoots back. “Mine’s already smiling. Yours just cries.”
“They’re newborns, Lando. What do you expect?”
One afternoon in the paddock lounge, Max walks in carrying Baby Love Verstappen, who’s swaddled in a pastel yellow blanket. Lando immediately perks up.
“Look who finally showed up!” Lando says, grinning as he leans over to get a look at the baby.
“She’s beautiful,” you say, smiling warmly.
“Of course she is,” Max replies smugly. “She’s a Verstappen.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lando mutters. “But I bet she’s not as cute as our Love.”
“Are you seriously competing over babies?” you ask, rolling your eyes.
“They compete over everything,” Kelly says, sitting beside you. “It’s like having two toddlers already.”
By the end of the weekend, people start reposting a meme of the two baby Loves photoshopped into tiny F1 cars, complete with helmets and matching “Love” liveries. Both Lando and Max share it, each captioning it:
"Team Love: P1 and P2 ❤️."
Life is hectic, chaotic, and overwhelming, but as you watch Lando cradle your baby, his face lit with pure joy, you know it’s exactly how it’s meant to be.
Never in my life I would've imagined that I'd ever have such a long list with works written by me! However, here we are almost 3 years later, and it's only getting longer.🥹
A/N: There was no way I was gonna miss the opportunity and post something about today's events, which, by the way, made me jump out of bed with a gasp at 8am.
W.c: 1.2k
MASTERLIST
You sit cross-legged on the couch, your phone in one hand and Lando’s head resting in your lap. His curls tickle your fingers as you absentmindedly play with his hair, scrolling through Instagram. Your draft post stares back at you, nerves fluttering in your stomach. The picture is perfect—Lando’s hand protectively resting on your bump, your fingers intertwined, both of you glowing in the soft light of the sunset.
You've been trying to do this all week but always ended up backing out right before you hit the "post" button. Every time it fel as if you were about to expose the most private part of your private life to the public. However, at some point you came to the realization that it's better to do it yourself before a media outlet ratted your secret out first.
The caption reads:
"Plot twist of the year: Lando and Y/N +1 coming soon 🍼❤️."
“Do you think it’s too cheesy?” you ask, looking down at him.
“Cheesy?” Lando scoffs, twisting so he can meet your gaze. “Y/N, the fans love cheesy. And let’s be real—this is huge. They’re going to lose their minds.”
“They already think you’re the chaos driver,” you tease. “Now they’ll think we’re bringing another tornado into the world.”
“Exactly!” Lando sits up, grabbing his phone with a grin. “It’s perfect. Our little chaos baby.” He pauses, looking serious for a moment. “Are you ready, though? This makes it real, you know?”
His sincerity warms you, and you nod. “I’m ready.”
“Alright then,” he says, holding up his phone like he’s at the starting grid. “On three. One… two… three—post!”
The moment you hit post, your phone buzzes like a swarm of bees. Likes, comments, and DMs flood in at a dizzying pace. Lando’s laugh fills the room as he scrolls through the comments.
“Look at this,” he says, showing you Carlos’ reply: “Mini Lando incoming? Poor Y/N. The grid’s not ready for this!”
“Carlos has a point,” you quip, nudging him.
Before you can reply to anyone, Lando’s phone buzzes again. He freezes, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he reads the notification.
“No way,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.
“What?”
“It’s Max.” He turns his phone toward you.
You squint at the screen. Sure enough, there it is—Max Verstappen and Kelly Piquet’s baby announcement, posted mere minutes after yours. The picture shows Max and Kelly in a cozy living room, her bump visible under her flowy dress, and the caption:
"Baby Verstappen loading… can’t wait to meet you, little one ❤️."
Your jaw drops. “You’re kidding me.”
Lando’s already dialing Max. The phone rings twice before Max picks up, his calm voice a stark contrast to Lando’s giddy disbelief.
“What’s up, Norris?”
“What’s up?” Lando exclaims. “What’s up is that you just stole our baby thunder!”
There’s a beat of silence, then you hear Kelly laughing in the background. “Oh no,” she says through her giggles. “Did we steal their thunder?”
“Steal our thunder? You drove right through it!”, Lando replies, though his grin betrays his faux outrage.
“Not my fault you have bad timing,” Max says dryly.
Lando groans. “I cannot believe this. First you steal first place on teack, and now you’re trying to win the baby race?!”
“First place is first place,” Max says smugly.
The banter continues until you grab the phone from Lando, laughing. “Alright, thays enough. Max, congratulations to you and Kelly. But I think we all know who the real winner is.”
“Who?” Max asks.
“Me,” you reply, smirking. “Because I have to deal with Lando’s reaction to this for the next nine months.”
The delivery room is a whirlwind of emotions, but through it all, Lando is by your side, holding your hand, cracking jokes, and whispering words of encouragement. When the nurse finally hands you your baby—a tiny, wriggling bundle swaddled in white—you’re overwhelmed with love.
“She's perfect,” Lando whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Absolutely perfect.”
Later that night, Lando posts the first photo of Baby Love Norris: a close-up of their tiny hand clutching his finger. The caption reads:
"Our greatest Love. Welcome to the world, little lady ❤️."
Two days later, your phone buzzes with a notification. You open Instagram to see another post from Max. It’s almost identical—a photo of his baby’s hand holding his finger, with the caption:
"Our little Love has arrived. We’re so in love ❤️."
Your eyes widen. “Lando!”
He rushes into the room, disheveled but alert. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Max and Kelly named their baby Love.”
Lando stares at you for a moment, then bursts out laughing. “You’re joking.”
“Look!” You show him the post, and his laughter grows louder.
“Of course they did,” he says, shaking his head. “I swear, Max is doing this on purpose.”
By the next race, the entire paddock is buzzing about the two Baby Loves.
“You sure they're not twins?” Oscar asks one morning, his grin as wide as ever.
“Must be something in the water,” Charles adds with a smirk.
Max and Lando handle the teasing with their usual banter.
“They’re basically the same kid,” Lando says during a press conference, leaning back in his chair.
Max nods. “Mine’s faster, though.”
“Oh, please,” Lando shoots back. “Mine’s already smiling. Yours just cries.”
“They’re newborns, Lando. What do you expect?”
One afternoon in the paddock lounge, Max walks in carrying Baby Love Verstappen, who’s swaddled in a pastel yellow blanket. Lando immediately perks up.
“Look who finally showed up!” Lando says, grinning as he leans over to get a look at the baby.
“She’s beautiful,” you say, smiling warmly.
“Of course she is,” Max replies smugly. “She’s a Verstappen.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lando mutters. “But I bet she’s not as cute as our Love.”
“Are you seriously competing over babies?” you ask, rolling your eyes.
“They compete over everything,” Kelly says, sitting beside you. “It’s like having two toddlers already.”
By the end of the weekend, people start reposting a meme of the two baby Loves photoshopped into tiny F1 cars, complete with helmets and matching “Love” liveries. Both Lando and Max share it, each captioning it:
"Team Love: P1 and P2 ❤️."
Life is hectic, chaotic, and overwhelming, but as you watch Lando cradle your baby, his face lit with pure joy, you know it’s exactly how it’s meant to be.
I'm about to attend a birthday celebration I wasn't initially planning to attend so guess what I'm doing now, minutes before I leave: looking for fics I can read when my social battery runs out!
i think trying to fall back in love with your own writing hurts more than falling out of it - because you realize what you had and you're trying to get it back, but it's not coming together sometimes
No matter what time it is, 5 am or 10 am, my first job is to open that cursed app and check if my favorite authors have posted something new for me to consume before my morning coffee.
Idk if it's just me, but Lando would be the type of person to text you "Do you despise me that much, and should I move out by the end of the day?" when he doesn't find you in bed with him in the morning.
hi Bunny! Could you do a croissant and root beer and whatever’s on the house with Lewis Hamilton?
bakery menu
want to put in your own order? hit me up! i'm still accepting orders! we're always serving up smiles! for this, i went with a mafia au route, the idea of lewis in a crisp suit was ratting around in my jellybean brain, haha. i thought of him teasing horner!reader
croissant ("i wonder if your father knows what happens during the off hours. if he knows you're here with me.") + root beer (filming/recording) + on the house (choice:size kink)
"i wonder if your father knows what happens during the off hours. if he knows you're here with me."
you looked at lewis before he pressed his lips up against your neck. his hands were palming your breasts as he rubbed his hard cock against you.
"you're really pretty when you're under me." he chuckled, he loved taking you in the missionary position. he loved the small movements in your face as you try to take all of him. it was honestly so endearing that you were trying so hard to get all of himself inside of you.
you two were forbidden lovers! or at least that was what the gossip rags said about you. when the paparazzi got a photo of you stumbling out of a club, or him with his arm around you.
there was a photo that was circulated that was certain you two were together because it was you whispering in his ear at a carnival in some small town, but from the angle it looked like you two were kissing. didn't help the photo right after was you two sharing a sweet smile.
you were the off limits daughter of christian horner. you had spent your entire life around a paddock, so the pretty smiles of the drivers never fazed you. except for lewis hamilton, who came into your life like an inferno.
while a heartthrob across many countries, you started out as friends. but, even forest fires started as a spark. and you were at lewis' for the weekend after lying to your father about seeing a few of your friends from uni.
"does he know? i wonder if he talks about me?" lewis chuckled when he took your weekend bag from your hand and put it to the side. waiting any longer for you felt impossible.
his hands slid up from under your shirt as he pressed a searing kiss to your jaw. you felt hot all over at the feeling of his against your flesh. he was the kind of lover that made you heart hammer in your chest enough that you scrambled to get the shirt off over your head.
"i can see why he's so protective of his daughter, you're beautiful." he said, "pretty thing around the paddock will turn a few heads." he laughed, "but no one knows you're here with me tonight." he kissed at your jaw and held onto your shoulders. he then moved to your lips and kissed you deeply.
"stop talking about my father." you groaned.
"why? i thought you were a proud horner." he chuckled, "don't want to talk about dear old father in the bedroom?" he rubbed himself up against you.
"you prick." you said, your lips close to his.
he chuckled, "you love me." then took you by the back of the head and pulled you in for a hot kiss. his other hand was on the waistband of your pants to get them off of you. he had enough of waiting.
he needed his sweet girl.
the trek to his bedroom felt long because he was trying to get your shorts off before you reached the room. then when you finally got on the bed, you got your pants and underwear off. which left you in your bra and lewis was admiring the sight of you.
he palmed the front of his pants and admired you. you were beautiful, the sight of you left his mouth dry as he looked at you. how did a guy like horner have a daughter so beautiful?
he got onto the bed beside you and got off his sweater before he pulled you close to him and then further onto the bed. you laid tangled up in one another as he kissed down your neck. his soft lips felt so good against you.
his hands massaged your breasts. he whispered sweet praise against your skin as you felt so close to him. it was amazing. he made a heat run through you as you laid there next to him.
"such a pretty girl." he admitted, "i can't get enough of you. they shouldn't let you in the paddock because you're so much of a distraction."
you held the man's face, looked in his eyes and said, "i thought i was your good luck charm?"
he smiled, not the one for the cameras. but one that held a genuine truth, he pressed his nose against yours and with his eyes closed, replied, "of course. i just think you should be wearing my number so no one gets the wrong idea."
"you menace."
"only for you."
once you two were fully naked, you rubbed up against him. you laid cuddled up in each other's arms as you felt him up. he kissed you once more before he got you onto your back and was between your legs.
he gazed at you lovingly as he wrapped your legs around his waist. he leaned over you, hand on your face as he kissed you gently once more. you felt like a dream to him, a perfect woman for him to indulge in. to love.
maybe you two did have a back and forth, but deep down the feelings for you were painfully true. it was now just a game of chicken until one of you admitted to the other.
"i wonder if your father knows what happens during the off hours. if he knows you're here with me." he said softly, hands on your breasts.
you wanted to throw a pillow at him as you responded, "enough about my father or i'm going home."
he chuckled and gave you one last, almost sweet, kiss on the cheek before he grabbed you by this hip with one hand and his cock with the other. he maintained eye contact as he watched your face change as he push his cock into you.
he was impressive in size, sort of big compared to you. that gleaming smile and strong arms made you feel protected. your heart leapt as you felt his cock being buried into you.
he liked that he was bigger than you, sometimes he'd press his palm up against yours and point out the difference. it was cute, "it's not your fault you're so small. means that i just have to protect you."
but at that moment, you could really feel the difference as lewis gave you gentle praise.
you tensed up but his soft words against you managed to make you relax a little. he got his cock into you to the base and shuddered at the feeling of your tight cunt around him. you felt so good.
he smiled at you, feeling the sweat already at the back of his neck. he smiled at you. no one could deny that he was handsome, you remember his little fan club. you'd often scoff at it. if they saw you now.
you kissed once more as you began to move against one another. you gripped onto his shoulders as he held you by waist. his lips were on your neck, occasionally dragged his front teeth against your skin, threatening to bruise it.
he thought about making a comment about your father once more. really rub it in, but as your expression started to look more relaxed and blissed out. he couldn't bring himself to say it. call him soft.
he continued to rut into you, his heart hammered in his chest as he held you close to him. his chest pressed against yours, your nails dug into his massive back tattoo as the two of you continued to kiss.
it felt primal and hot, it made you core feel like an inferno as you moved. you moaned a little.
"you should be wearing my number next time." he said, "i'll even be nice and say it doesn't even have to be mercedes branded. i know your dad would have a fit if he saw that. remember the ferrari temporary tattoo."
you rolled your eyes, "what did i say about my father, lewis." you remembered the event quite well. you managed to get a ferrari temporary tattoo on your arm as a joke and your father gave you a stern talking to. especially because it was clearly seen in most photos of the event.
you thought it was funny, but you didn't want your old man yapping at you if you strolled up in a mercedes shirt and lewis on your arm.
you kissed once more, you felt the curl of orgasm in your gut as he moved against you. you held his face as you kissed him. you felt warmth pool in your gut.
you held onto him tighter as you felt the orgasm swirl in your body. you panted close to him and said, "i'm close. shit, lewis."
he nodded, "perfect. cum for me, pretty girl." he made it his mission to make you finish. he tightened his grip onto you and really put in the work.
it wasn't long before you were holding onto him as tightly as you could. you tensed up around him and let out a cute, almost pathetic moan as you came.
you still held onto him as you relaxed and let him continue to fuck you. his orgasm was close behind as he really thrusted up into you. your pussy was a wet heat that made his head spin as he finally got to his peak and finished inside of you.
he admired the sight of your face as he moved through his orgasm. he eventually slowed down to a stop and panted heavily as he looked down at you. he admired the sight of you for a moment, he kissed you once more and said.
"i really wonder if your father knows. about all this. that you'll one day be my mrs. hamilton." he smiled as he gave you a soft thrust in effect.
"shut up, hamilton." you said as you reached to his face and covered it with your hand.
you laid there in a sweaty mess. you watched lewis get out of bed to grab his phone from his pants pocket. he came back and knelt between your legs. earlier he wanted to film the entirety of you fucking, but thing moved a little too fast for that.
he did however prod at your pussy with his fingers and watched his pearly cum ooze of your fucked hole. he filmed it briefly for his personal collection. how he ruined horner's daughter for any other man.
when he finished filming, he took a few photos of you naked body. he'll be needing this in the weeks to come. in fairness, if he ruined you for other men. then you ruined him for other women.
one last picture of your pretty pussy and he was content.
"lewis." you said.
"yes?" he asked as he got a close up photo of your face as you still panted heavily, coming down from your high. the sight made him hard once more.
"oh, you pervert." you said as you reached for him.
-
the following weekend you were around the paddock as usual. you had greeted your father earlier and he was happy to see you. you kept your hands behind your back as to make sure your old man didn't see what was around your wrist.
but when lewis saw it, he felt a curl of possessiveness in his gut. he even went as far as to take your wrist and looked at the gold bracelet. on it was a charm that was two simple numbers, '44'. lewis kissed your wrist and looked into your eyes.
"next time." he said, "i'll get you something a little more noticeable. that you can't hide from your dad." he chuckled. he really was a menace. <3
A/N: I literally got the idea for this while I was watching the Wimbledon finale. I feel like I rushed it a bit, but I couldn't wait to post it for you guys, so here it is! I might edit it later on and add some bits but for now I'm quite happy with the result. Hope you enjoy it!
W.C.: 4.5k
MASTERLIST
You remember the first time you met Lewis like it was yesterday. It was at a charity event organized by mutual friends in Monaco. You were there as part of a tennis exhibition, and Lewis was there as an honor guest, fresh off another Grand Prix win. The evening was filled with laughter, champagne, and the mingling of two very different worlds—tennis and racing.
You had just finished another match, bringing home yet another win, and were chatting with some guests when Lewis approached you. He had a warm smile that reached his eyes, and there was an undeniable charm about him.
"Hello, I'm Lewis, it is very nice to meet you" he said, extending his hand. "I caught some of your match earlier. You were incredible out there."
You shook his hand, feeling a spark of something indescribable as a light pinkish color made its way to your cheeks. "Thank you, Lewis. I'm a big fan of your work on the track. Congratulations on your recent win."
From that moment on, something snapped deep inside your chest, making it impossible to look at another man the same way you looked at Lewis. His eyes sparkled with an indescribable force that felt like a magnet pulling a part inside of you towards him. His presence was otherworldly, that of a man who knew what he wanted and how to achieve it without ever giving up.
As the months after the charity event passed you bonded over your shared dedication to your respective sports, your drive to be the best, and your love for adventure. Dates were often spontaneous, like a midnight drive along the coast or a quick flight to a secluded beach. Your love story was one of passion, mutual respect, and a deep connection that neither of you had ever felt before.
You began making appearances at each other’s’ sporting events, capturing the attention of both the media and the fans. Every time you had a free second, you were there to support Lewis- Bahrain, Silverstone, Singapore, and other locations thorough the Formula 1 season. Lewis respectively did the same, supporting you from the stands of your tennis tournaments. That was the beginning of your journey together.
One of your most cherished memories is from a summer evening in Spain. Lewis had taken you on vacation there during his summer break mid-season.
It wasn’t long before Lewis and you fell deeply in love. He admired your tenacity on the court, and you admired his precision on the track. You found comfort in each other’s presence, and soon, your lives began to intertwine even more. You met his closest friends and family members and were slowly eased into the Hamilton family dynamics. You passed the Roscoe approval test as Lewis’ mother Carmen liked to call it. The bulldog enjoyed your presence around the house whenever you were visiting, searching for you thorough the rooms of Lewis’ home whenever he heard your voice echoing from somewhere.
On your third night there, he surprised you with a candlelit dinner on the rooftop of your hotel, overlooking the city of Barcelona. The two of you talked for hours about your dreams, fears, and everything in between, the topic of your athletic careers long forgotten at that moment. Lewis had made it his priority to put his racing career on hold whenever he was with you. He refused to risk the possibility of losing one of the best things in life to his career that would end in the next couple of years. He loved racing, it’s been part of more than half his life, but you, he planned on keeping you forever.
"Do you ever think about the future?" Lewis asked, his eyes reflecting the twinkling city lights. The edges of his lips curved upwards as his eyes roamed over your features, taking note on every detail, every mole, freckle and dimple.
"All the time," you replied, reaching for his hand. "I want a family, a place to call home, and someone to share it all with. It has always been a dream of mine to become a mother. When I was a child I used to say that a family was the second thing, I desired the most after a Wimbledon trophy.’’ You said as you laughed at the last part, causing Lewis to smile even more at the thought of little you.
He smiled, squeezing your hand gently. "I want that too. And I want to make this come true with you by my side."
A year later, you and Lewis got married in a beautiful ceremony surrounded by family and friends. The wedding was a blend of elegance and simplicity, much like your relationship. You exchanged vows under a canopy of flowers, promising to support each other through every victory and defeat, every joy and challenge. The moment you exchanged your wedding vowels would forever remain engraved in your brain. You began first, holding a small piece of paper where your vows were written. You insisted on reading them as you feared your mind might betray you at the most important moment of your life.
As his fingers gently brushed against the skin of your wrist, a shiver of delight danced down your spine. It was a soft, almost ethereal caress, starting at the base of your neck and cascading downwards like a whisper of a breeze. The touch sent a warm, tingling sensation through your entire body, making your heart flutter and your breath hitch. It was as if his touch ignited tiny sparks of electricity, leaving a trail of warmth and anticipation in its wake. The connection between you felt electric, each shiver a testament to the depth of your feelings and the magic of the moment.
‘’Lewis, from the moment I met you I felt like I was being pulled towards a missing piece from myself. All my life I’ve been searching for a person who is willing to love and support me despite the hectic life I lead. I never thought I would ever meet someone as charming, loveable, and supportive as you. For the past three years you’ve done nothing but be by my side and hold my hand during the happy and sad moments I faced both in my personal and professional life. I promise to do the same for you, to be your biggest supporter in all aspects of life, to build a life with you, and make all of our dreams come true.’’
You were sobbing by the time you finished talking. As you looked at your husband-to-be you saw his eyes glistening with tears as he barely managed to hold them in. You mouthed a silent ‘’I love you’’ in his direction, receiving a gentle squeeze of your hand as a response.
Someone from the guests sobbed even louder, followed by the loud blow of their nose in a napkin, which caused everyone to laugh, including you and Lewis.
‘’My love, the light of my life, meeting you felt like finding the last missing piece of a puzzle I’ve been trying to complete ever since I took my first breath on this earth. I had lost all hope of finding the right person in this lifetime, but then I met you. Today, I vow to love you with the same passion and dedication that you bring to the court. I vow to support you through every challenge, to celebrate every victory, and to be the best husband and father I can be. Together, we will create a beautiful life, full of love, laughter, and shared dreams. Today, I give you my heart, my soul, and my forever."
Not long after, you found yourself pregnant with baby Amelia. It was a moment of pure joy and excitement. Lewis was over the moon, already envisioning the adventures you’d have as a family and remembering all the conversations you’d had regarding that special moment.
By the time he finished talking, you could see your and Lewis’ parents wiping tears from underneath their eyes. This was one of the most intimate and important moments of your life and you were happy that your families were there to share it with you two.
You continued to play tennis, balancing your passion for the sport with your growing family. Lewis was your rock, always there to support you, even when you had to stop playing mid-season due to your pregnancy. He held your hand through the morning sickness, the cravings, and the emotional rollercoaster, always reminding you of the incredible journey you were on together.
The years passed in a blur of sleepless nights, first steps, and family holidays. Amelia grew up surrounded by the world of sports, watching you on the tennis court and Lewis on the racetrack. She adored both of you and often tried to emulate your moves, whether it was swinging one of your rackets or pretending to drive a race car.
One summer afternoon, as you napped after a particularly exhausting day, Lewis and Amelia sat down to watch the Wimbledon final together. The living room was filled with the sounds of the match and Amelia’s excited chatter.
“Daddy, look at that serve! Do you think I can do that one day?” she asked, her eyes wide with admiration.
Lewis chuckled, pulling her close. “Of course, sweetheart. You can do anything you set your mind to. Remember, your mom is one of the best tennis players in the world. It’s in your blood.”
“I want to play tennis, Daddy. I want to see my name on the honor board at Wimbledon, just like mommy,” she declared with determination.
Lewis smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “That’s a wonderful dream, Amelia. But first, we have to wait for baby brother to arrive. Mommy needs to take care of him and then she can get back to playing.”
Amelia’s face lit up with excitement. “I can’t wait to watch with my brother! We’ll both cheer for mommy together.”
The scent of freshly popped popcorn lingered in the air, and you could hear the soft giggles of your daughter, Amelia, mingling with the excited commentary. You stretched, feeling the weight of pregnancy slowing you down, but a smile tugged at your lips as you realized Lewis and Amelia were watching Wimbledon together.
You quietly walked into the living room, leaning against the doorway as you watched them. Lewis was sitting on the couch, Amelia snuggled up next to him, both of them fully engrossed in the match. Amelia’s eyes are wide with admiration as she watches the players on the screen, and you can’t help but feel a swell of pride and love for your little family.
“And I’ll be so proud to have both of you cheering for me,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.
Lewis and Amelia turned to look at you, smiles spreading across their faces. Lewis stood up and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you gently. “How was your nap, love?” he asked softly.
“It was good,” you reply, resting your head against his chest. “Hearing Amelia talk about her dreams made it even better.”
Amelia runs over and hugs your legs, looking up at you with bright eyes. “Mommy! Can we play tennis together when baby brother is here?”
You laugh softly, running your fingers through her curly hair. “Of course, sweetheart. We’ll play as much as you want.”
The match was intense, each point hard-fought, but the support of your family carried you through. You could see Lewis and Amelia in the stands, their faces filled with anticipation and pride. Next to them, your mother held Oliver, now two years old, who clapped enthusiastically every time you scored a point, your father right next to them, trying to entertain the toddler as much as possible.
Two years later, the atmosphere at Wimbledon was electric as you stepped onto the green court. You had worked tirelessly to get back into peak condition, driven by the dream of seeing your name on that honor board as Amelia had said before.
When you finally scored the last, winning point, the sound of the crowd’s cheers was deafening. Tears filled your eyes as you raised your racket in triumph, overwhelmed by the moment. You wasted no time running towards the stands and finding your family. Amelia was the first to latch onto your leg, screaming in happiness. Seconds later, you felt two strong arms envelop you in a familiar embrace you’d always recognize.
‘’ I did it Lew, I did it!’’ you sobbed as your hands cupped his face, bringing his lips towards yours in a rushed kiss, overwhelmed by all the emotions you were feeling at that moment.’’
‘’ You did it love! You fucking did it! I told you it would happen, I never lost hope in you!’’ your husband said as he pulled you against his chest. Moments later you felt everyone around you cheering and congratulating you.
During the post-match interview, a reporter asked, “How are you feeling right now, and what has it taken to get here?”
You took a deep breath, steadying your voice. “It’s hard to put into words how much this means to me. When I was little, I used to help my father build furniture to make enough money to support my passion for tennis. My parents’ unwavering support allowed me to pursue my dreams, and I couldn’t have done it without them. My husband, Lewis, and our children, Amelia and Oliver, have been my rock. Two years ago, I overheard Amelia telling Lewis that she wanted to see both our names on the honor board at Wimbledon. That moment has stayed with me and pushed me to keep going.”
BONUS
The crowd’s applause was thunderous as you finished speaking. You glanced up at Lewis, who was beaming with pride. Amelia was jumping up and down, her excitement infectious.
Later that year in Abu Dhabi, the atmosphere was tense. Lewis was on the verge of his eighth championship, and the entire world was watching. You were in the Ferrari garage with Amelia while baby Oliver stayed home in the company of both of his grandmothers. Your heart was pounding with every lap he completed.
Lewis needed to finish at least fourth to secure the championship, but you knew how much he wanted to win. The final laps were nail-biting, with Max pushing hard on the gas pedal behind your husband. But Lewis’s skill and determination shone through, and when he crossed the finish line in first place, the crowd erupted.
"Lewis Hamilton rounds the final corner, the crowd on their feet, the tension electric! And he crosses the line! Lewis Hamilton wins the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix and secures his eighth World Drivers' Championship! What a monumental achievement! History has been made here today in the most thrilling fashion!
Ladies and gentlemen, we have just witnessed one of the greatest moments in the history of motorsport. Lewis Hamilton, defying all odds, with determination, skill, and sheer brilliance, has etched his name in the annals of Formula 1 forever. Eight championships, surpassing the legends of our sport, and cementing his place as the most successful driver in F1 history.
This season has been a rollercoaster of emotions, challenges, and intense competition, but once again, Lewis has shown why he is the master of his craft. His relentless pursuit of excellence, his unwavering focus, and his incredible talent have brought him to this pinnacle moment.
Congratulations, Lewis! You are a true champion, an inspiration to millions, and a testament to what can be achieved with heart, determination, and belief. What a day, what a race, what a champion! Lewis Hamilton, the 2024 Formula 1 World Drivers' Champion!"
You could see his body shake as he stepped out of the car. His father, Anthony was the first to get to his, giving him the time he needed to process everything he was feeling, before embracing his son in much much-needed hug You pushed through the crowd, holding Amelia’s hand. When Lewis saw you, he rushed over, pulling the two of you into a tight embrace.
He kissed you deeply, not caring about the cameras or the crowd. “We did it,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
You couldn’t hold back your tears as you nodded, “Yes, we did.”
During the trophy ceremony, Lewis pointed his trophy towards you and your daughter, his father standing proudly beside you. He then placed his hand on his heart, looking at you with so much love that it took your breath away.
In the post-race interview, Lewis shared the news that shocked the racing world. “It’s been an incredible journey, and I’m grateful for every moment. But now, it’s time to focus on my family. I couldn’t have done any of this without their support, and I’m excited for this next chapter of our lives.”
As the crowd outside gave him a standing ovation, you knew that no matter where life took you next, you’d face it together, as a family.
Back home, life settled into a new rhythm. Without the constant travel and pressure of racing, Lewis threw himself into being a full-time dad and husband. You balanced your tennis career with family life, savoring every moment.
One evening, after putting the kids to bed, you and Lewis sat on the balcony of your Monaco apartment, watching the night sky. He held your hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin.
“I never imagined life could be this perfect,” he said softly. “Thank you for being my rock, my partner, and my best friend.”
You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “We’ve been through so much together, and I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.”
Lewis turned to you, his eyes filled with love. “Here’s to the next adventure, whatever it may be.” You clinked your glasses together, knowing that no matter what the future held, you’d face it side by side, surrounded by the love of your family.
I have no idea what's going on with my blog. This damn app keeps on removing photos from my posts, deletes drafts, and thousands of other bs that I'm so pissed with already.
I love how this one turned out! I hope you like it as well!
W.C: 3k
MASTERLIST
You pace the spacious kitchen in your apartment, glancing worriedly at the clock. Sofia, your sweet seven-year-old niece, is curled up on the couch in the living room, her eyes glued to a cartoon, but her expression is distant. For the past week, since she came to stay with you and Carlos, she’s barely touched her food. The stress of her parents' messy divorce has taken a toll on her, and her refusal to eat is starting to worry you more with each passing day.
Carlos comes home, his usual bright energy tempered with concern as he notices the untouched plate of food on the counter.
"How is she?" he asks, placing his hands on your waist, pulling your body cloae to his.
"Still not eating," you reply, trying to keep the frustration and sadness out of your voice. "I’ve tried everything. I tried to take her out to the park, for ice cream, i got her some puzzlez, nothing.She just won’t budge."
Carlos looks over at Sofia, then back at you, a determined glint in his eyes. "Why don’t you take a break? Let me handle dinner tonight."
"You don’t have to—" you start, but he cuts you off with a gentle kiss.
"Trust me, amor. I’ve got this."
You sigh, nodding, and decide to take a much-needed shower. As the hot water washes over you, you can’t help but wonder what Carlos has planned. During the past week, Sofia's been your priority. You loved the little girl with your whole being, and seeing her like this broke your heart with each passing day.
When you return, feeling a bit more refreshed, you find Carlos kneeling beside Sofia on the couch.
"Hey, Sofia," he says softly. "How about we make something special together?"
Sofia glances at him, her wide eyes filled with curiosity but still tinged with sadness. She doesn’t respond, but Carlos doesn’t give up.
"I’m going to make a special dinner just for you. But I need your help. What do you say?" He extends his hand to her, and after a moment's hesitation, she takes it.
You watch from the doorway as Carlos leads her into the kitchen. He pulls out ingredients from the pantry and fridge, setting them on the counter with a flourish.
"We’re going to make my secret pasta recipe," he explains, his voice warm and engaging. "It’s super fun and delicious. I think you’ll love it."
Sofia looks at the ingredients, then back at Carlos, a tiny spark of interest in her eyes.
"First, we need to mix the flour and eggs," he says, handing her a small bowl. "Do you want to help me with that?"
She nods shyly, and you can’t help but smile as Carlos gently guides her through the steps. Flour gets everywhere, and Sofia giggles when a bit lands on Carlos's nose. You lean against the doorway, watching as Carlos kneads the dough, then lets Sofia help roll it out and cut it into shapes.
"See, it's like magic," Carlos says, showing her how the dough stretches and changes shape under their hands. "Do you know what we're making? Tagliatelle! It's a special kind of pasta."
Sofia's eyes light up a bit at the word 'magic,' and she starts to ask questions. "Why do we put flour on the table?"
"It helps the dough not to stick," Carlos explains, dusting some flour on her nose playfully. She giggles, wiping it off.
"Now for the sauce," he continues, moving to the stove. "Do you like tomatoes?"
Sofia nods.
"Perfect! We'll make a simple tomato sauce. You can help me stir."
They work together, side by side, and you marvel at how patient and kind Carlos is with her. It's a side of him that never fails to make you fall in love with him all over again.
"How about some basil?" Carlos asks, handing her a few leaves to tear. "It makes everything smell amazing."
Sofia inhales the fresh, peppery scent and smiles. "It smells like a garden," she says softly.
When the pasta is finally ready, Carlos sets the table, placing a small plate in front of Sofia.
"Ta-da! Chef Sofia's special pasta. Give it a try?"
Sofia looks at the plate, then back at Carlos. She hesitates but picks up her fork and takes a tentative bite. Her eyes widen, and a small smile creeps onto her face.
"It’s good," she whispers, taking another bite.
Carlos beams, his heart swelling with pride and relief. "I’m glad you like it."
You walk over and wrap your arms around Carlos, resting your head on his shoulder. "Thank you," you whisper, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "I don’t know how you did it, but thank you."
Carlos kisses the top of your head, his voice tender. "Anything for you, amor. And for Sofia."
Sofia watches the two of you, her fork paused mid-air. For a moment, the warmth and love between you and Carlos seem to wrap around her like a comforting blanket. She sees the way Carlos looks at you, the way you lean into him, and something in her finally starts to relax. She takes another bite, her shoulders loosening as she feels, maybe for the first time in a while, a sense of calm.
As the three of you sit at the table, Sofia starts to open up, talking about her favorite things and even giggling at some of Carlos's silly jokes. The atmosphere in the room shifts, becoming lighter and filled with the sound of Sofia's laughter.
"Did you know that your aunt is the best cook ever?" Carlos teases, looking at you with a mischievous grin. "She taught me everything I know."
Sofia giggles, looking between the two of you. "Really?"
"Absolutely," Carlos confirms, his eyes twinkling. "And she makes the best desserts too. Maybe we can make something sweet together next time?"
Sofia's eyes brighten at the prospect, and you nod, smiling. "How about chocolate chip cookies?"
"Yes, please!" Sofia exclaims, her excitement palpable.
The evening continues with more laughter and light conversation. Sofia seems more at ease, her earlier sadness melting away in the warmth of your shared moment. After dinner, Carlos suggests a movie night, and the three of you snuggle up on the couch, Sofia nestled comfortably between you and Carlos.
As the movie plays, you glance over at Carlos, his hand resting gently on Sofia's shoulder, his other hand intertwined with yours. You lean in and whisper, "Thank you, Carlos. For everything."
He turns his head slightly, kissing your temple. "Anything for you, amor."
Sofia, half-asleep, catches the sweet exchange, and for the first time in a long while, she feels truly safe and loved. The bond between you and Carlos gives her a sense of security she's been missing, and it helps her to finally let go of some of her worries.
That night, as you tuck Sofia into bed, she hugs you tightly. "I love you, Aunt Y/N," she murmurs, her voice drowsy but content.
"I love you too, Sofia," you reply, kissing her forehead. "Sweet dreams."
You walk back to the living room, where Carlos is cleaning up the kitchen. You join him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.
"She’s finally asleep," you say softly.
Carlos turns in your embrace, cupping your face in his hands. "You did great, you know. She’s lucky to have you."
"We did great," you correct, smiling up at him.
Carlos kisses you deeply, and in that kiss, you feel the promise of many more moments like this, filled with love and warmth. In that moment, you know there are no reservations—just love.
The following weekend, you and Carlos decide to take Sofia to the local farmer's market. The sun is shining, and the vibrant colors of the fresh produce and flowers lift everyone's spirits. Sofia, holding both of your hands, looks around with wide eyes, her curiosity piqued.
As you browse the stalls, Carlos spots a stand selling freshly baked goods and points it out to Sofia. "Look, Sofia! They have chocolate chip cookies. Want to try making some at home?"
Her eyes light up, and she nods eagerly. You smile at Carlos, grateful for his ability to connect with her. You purchase the ingredients and a few treats, then head home with plans for a fun baking session.
Back at the apartment, the three of you gather in the kitchen. Carlos ties a small apron around Sofia, which makes her giggle. "Okay, Chef Sofia," he says with a grin. "Let's make the best cookies ever."
Sofia helps measure out the flour and sugar, carefully pouring them into the mixing bowl. You crack the eggs and add the vanilla, then hand her the whisk. As she stirs, Carlos adds the chocolate chips, stealing one to pop into his mouth, making Sofia laugh.
"You have to save some for the cookies!" she chides, her laughter filling the kitchen.
Carlos feigns innocence. "Oops, my bad."
With the dough ready, you help Sofia scoop it onto the baking sheet. As the cookies bake, the delicious aroma fills the apartment, and you can see Sofia's excitement building.
While waiting, Carlos suggests a game of charades. Sofia eagerly joins in, and soon, the living room is filled with laughter as you all try to guess each other's silly actions. When the timer goes off, signaling that the cookies are done, Sofia races to the kitchen, with you and Carlos following close behind.
Carlos carefully takes the tray out of the oven and sets it on the counter to cool. Sofia stands on her tiptoes, watching the cookies with anticipation.
"Almost ready," Carlos says, ruffling her hair.
Once the cookies are cool enough to eat, you each take one. Sofia takes a big bite and her face lights up. "These are the best cookies ever!" she declares.
Carlos grins and wraps an arm around your shoulders. "I think it's because Chef Sofia helped."
That evening, as you sit together enjoying the cookies and watching Sofia's favorite movie, you feel a deep sense of contentment. Carlos pulls you closer, whispering in your ear, "You know, we make a pretty good team."
You nod, resting your head on his shoulder. "We really do."
As the movie ends and you start cleaning up, Sofia curls up on the couch, looking sleepy but happy. She watches you and Carlos move around the kitchen, putting away the dishes and tidying up.
Just as you finish, Sofia's soft voice breaks the silence. "I love you, Aunt Y/N. I love you, Carlos."
Carlos freezes, his eyes widening in shock. He looks at you, then at Sofia, clearly moved by her words. He swallows hard, his voice thick with emotion. "I... I love you too, Sofia."
You can see the tears welling up in his eyes as he walks over to the couch and kneels beside her. He gently takes her hand, his voice shaking slightly. "You know, Sofia, you mean a lot to us. You've made our home so much brighter."
Sofia smiles sleepily, her eyes closing as she nestles into the cushions. "I'm happy here," she murmurs.
Carlos looks up at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "She's happy," he whispers, as if he can't quite believe it.
You walk over and kneel beside him, wrapping your arms around both Carlos and Sofia. "We're all happy," you say softly. "Together."
Carlos pulls you both into a tight embrace, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your little family, he realizes just how much Sofia has come to mean to him. The bond you've all formed is something truly special, something he never wants to lose.
As the three of you sit there, wrapped in each other's arms, Carlos feels a deep sense of contentment wash over him. Despite the challenges, despite the uncertainties, you have all found something beautiful together. There are no reservations—just love, and a future filled with endless possibilities.
