I write for a multitude of fandoms- mainly whatever my current hyperfixation is! Requests are open but no guarantee of how long they'll take! https://www.tumblr.com/pretending-ican-write/616115601510940672/masterlist?source=share
After waiting for months, everything finally comes to fruition for you and Drew.
Part 1
-/-/-
You’d been a bundle of nerves all evening. Unlike last time Drew had a championship match and he’d told you the outcome before, this time he refused to tell you what was going to happen regardless of how much you’d asked. On the flight across the Atlantic, you’d asked him so many times about who was going to come out on top or at least to know what to expect in their 3 stages of hell match but he wouldn’t give anything up.
So now you were sitting in the production going over segments with Byron, trying to ignore the way that your leg was bouncing underneath.
“Okay so I’m covering Guilia and Matt, depending on timing I’ll take Sami too,” you listed off, “that just leaves you to handle Drew and Cody all evening?”
He nodded, “yep we’re keeping you far away from your man on camera lest your anxiety leak through the screen.”
“I hate having to go and put on a face for everyone then have to hide backstage by a monitor to watch,” you complained.
Byron smiled at you, “is it time to meet him at gorilla after the match instead of waiting in his room?”
“We’ll see how the evening shakes out. If he wins I think I’ll be shouting from the rooftops how proud of him I am,” you laughed it off.
He nodded, “I’m so making you do the post show interview with him if that’s the case.”
“Done and done,” you gathered your papers off the table, “I’ll see you later.”
Byron waved you off, “go wish your man luck y/n. I’ll see you on the other side.”
-/-/-
There’d never been a more tense half an hour in your life but here you were, watching the final stages of the match. It was probably a good thing that you’d resigned yourself to watching the match hidden backstage with the amount of times you’d flinched at spots, especially when Cody launched himself off the railings at him.
Then the cage came down and you were half convinced the pair of them were going to give you a heart attack on top of the cage exchanging blows before Drew got the suplex to send them crashing down to the canvas.
Your phone buzzed in the pocket of your jacket as you watched Cody climb up the cage. You pulled your phone out to check the message, chuckling at your boyfriend's decision to try to take a chunk out of Cody’s calf through his tights. On your phone’s lock screen was a message from Nick Aldis.
Aldis: I can’t find you, Get over to gorilla ASAP, you’re gonna want to be here.
Without questioning why the general manager wanted you to be there, you hightailed it through the backstage area, only stopping to apologise after nearly going headfirst into Matt and Chelsea. When you got there you were greeted by Nick who greeted you with a smile.
“What’s up Nick? I was watching the match,” you tried to find out casually.
He rolled his eyes fondly, “you know I know about you and Drew. Besides Byron let it slip that you’d want to be here for him. After all, shouldn't our interviewer be one of the first to speak to them after the match?”
“Have I ever told you how much I like having you as our general manager,” you teased him lightly.
Nick chuckled, “I’m sure that I’ll be reminding you of that one at some point down the line. Now watch the match, it’s about to get good.”
The door to the cage had been opened and he was so close to it. But then there was a masked man in his way and you watched with baited breath as he revealed himself as Jacob Fatu, clearly recovered from his injury. He started to beat on Drew and you couldn’t help the string of expletives that fell from your mouth.
“Y’all didn’t think to at least warn me that he was coming back?” you questioned Nick, “I swear they're going to age me prematurely.”
He laughed at your frustration, “Drew wouldn’t let me tell you anything about the match. Didn’t want me to ruin the suspense for you.”
“Suspense is right,” you muttered before turning back to the monitor to see Jacob turn on Cody, “c’mon baby you’re right there. You can do this. Just get out the ring.”
As if he could hear your encouragement, Drew pulled himself out of the ring and collapsed onto the floor outside the ring. It wasn’t the clean ending you’d both longed for but at that moment it didn’t matter. The bell had been rung, Alicia was announcing him as the new champion and a referee had handed him the belt. You couldn’t help but scream when his name was called as he sat on the floor, belt finally back in his hands in front of the fans.
Nick glanced over at you, “aren’t you glad no one told you what was going to happen?”
“Once my heart rate has returned to normal I’m sure I’ll be very grateful to you,” you said softly, “now I just want to hug him.”
He patted your shoulder, “you stay right here then. No one is going to stop you from being the first person he sees.”
“Thank you, Nick.”
You watched on the monitor as Drew slowly made his way back, exchanging high fives with fans and stopping to take pictures. It took several minutes but eventually all 6'5 of your scottish boyfriend came through the curtain where everyone in gorilla around you applauded him. You joined in with a fond smile, watching as he took in everyone celebrating him and the mountain he’d climbed to get back there.
It only took a couple of moments for him to zero in on you and you couldn’t help but melt at the way that his eyes softened when he realised that you were there waiting for him. Everything else around you both seemed to fade away and all you could focus on was Drew striding towards you with the belt slung across his shoulder.
“Darling are you crying?” Were the first words out of his mouth, fingers coming up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek, “that’s not going to be a good look on camera.”
You swatted his shoulder against the cool metal of the belt, “shut up. My boyfriend just won the Undisputed Championship. I think I’m allowed to cry tonight.”
“Sounds like a lucky man, to have a girl like you supporting him,” he teased lightly, “you sure you didn’t kick Hunter’s door in to make this happen?”
You laughed at him remembering what you’d said way back before Saturday Night Main Event, “not this time. This one was all on you, baby. I’m so proud of you.”
“If you’re so proud of me, why haven’t you kissed me yet?” He asked.
You rolled your eyes at him but looped your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you. He went easily, soft smirk on his lips, bringing his hands to settle on the curve of your waist. His thumb swept over the sliver of exposed skin there whilst you allowed one hand to tangle in the hair at the base of his skull. Drew dipped his head down, you leaning up to meet him halfway, and your lips connected.
After a few moments you broke apart, foreheads pressed together, still lost in your little bubble. Your heels pressed back into the ground, making the height difference even more noticeable. Drew pulled your body even closer to his, wrapping his arms fully around you and resting his head atop of yours. Despite the layer of sweat on him, you couldn’t help but bury into his chest, revelling in being as close to him as possible.
He dropped a kiss into your hair then murmured into your hair, “I love you.”
You pulled yourself back from his chest, instead letting your hands come up to rest there. It was the first time in the relationship that the words had been spoken and you couldn’t help the smile splitting your face in half.
“I love you too,” you whispered back to him, “and I’m so happy to share this with you.”
CM Punk x wrestler!reader (age gap, reader is in their early 20s)
A/N: this one got away from me a little bit, it was meant to be a little one shot celebration but it somehow grew legs and a backstory. Enjoy!
-/-/-
You’d long since stopped trying to pretend that you weren’t heavily invested in the match.
He’d stopped by your table in catering before disappearing to warm up and get into his headspace for the match. Punk hadn’t said much, you’d learnt in the last 6 months he never really did before big matches but, he’d let his hand brush against yours whilst you begged for him to tell you the outcome of the match again. He’d rolled his eyes fondly and gave the same answer he’d given you since the match had been set, that he wanted you to watch it the way wrestling was supposed to be enjoyed. You’d sent him off to prepare with a gentle squeeze to his hand and a promise of a kiss waiting for him regardless of the outcome.
The original plan had been to find a hidden corridor where you could watch on your phone without anyone watching your every reaction and questioning why you cared so much about the match. However Roxanne had cornered you coming out of the locker room and forced you to join the other girls gathered round a monitor to watch. You’d never been able to deny Roxanne anything, having become close coming through NXT together and making your main roster debut only a few weeks apart. She’d pushed you down into a chair next to her so you were forced to try and maintain your composure when the bell rang.
It wasn’t like you wanted to keep your relationship a secret. You’d started dating not long after you’d come onto RAW full time, but you were both very aware of the potential judgement from your fellow wrestlers and management. There was more than 20 years between you and you couldn’t help but imagine the comments that would be made about sleeping your way to the top even though you both knew that wasn’t the case. Along with Roxanne, you’d taken the women’s division by storm, quickly becoming a part of The Judgement Day. Naturally, Punk had supported every move you’d made in the last 6 months, cheering you on quietly from behind the curtain, but it was inevitable to think of what would be said about a young woman in this business attaching herself to ‘the best in the world’.
The match had been going on for just under 10 minutes and, so far, you’d managed to school your facial expressions with Punk dominating but the impressions in your palm from your nails better gave away how you were feeling. The first moment that had you gripping the seat was when Jey got himself out of the ring after the first GTS.
Roxanne glanced over from her seat, “you good y/n?”
You forced a smile onto your face, “course Roxy, just enjoying the match.”
She didn’t question you further, turning back to the monitor and laughing when Punk splashed water over Jey’s head. You made a mental note to ask him later whether that was planned or not. The match continued and the girls talked around you, making plans for that night, but it faded around you. Your eyes were firmly glued to the match and you couldn’t help but flinch every time Jey landed a hit on him. The frog splash connected, practically pulling you out of the seat before letting out a sigh of relief when Punk managed to kick out.
“Jesus, they're really taking it out of each other,” Raquel commented, “anyone know how it ends?”
You shook your head, “stubborn bastard wouldn’t tell me.”
Roxanne spun around to look at you, “why would he tell you?”
“Well I,” you trailed off trying to come up with an excuse that your best friend would buy.
She raised a questioning eyebrow at you, “does it perhaps have anything to do with why you’re sitting there looking like you're taking every bump yourself?”
“Maybe?” You admitted.
Roxanne squealed, “oh my god our girl got herself a silver fox!”
“She got herself a what?” Lyra swung herself into the seat next to you.
Raquel laughed, “y/n here has secured herself some top quality mentoring by the sounds of it.”
“Punk? I’m impressed. How long has it been going on?”
You couldn’t help but bury your face in your hands, “6 months.”
“6 months? Babe we only got onto the main roster 6 months ago!” Roxanne could barely contain herself.
Lyra patted your arm half-heartedly, “guess our girl makes a good first impression.”
“It was a mutual good first impression,” you defended, “although hello he’s CM Punk it didn’t exactly take much.”
Roxanne slung an arm around your shoulders, “hello you’re y/n l/n! I can’t imagine it took much for him either, gorgeous girl that you are. Who made the first move?”
“Both of us I guess? I obviously had a thing for him but it didn’t seem like a good idea to get involved with someone at his level. He convinced me none of that would matter,” you answered.
She smiled at how you told it, “oh I can’t wait until Finn finds out about this and grills the shit out of him.”
You couldn’t help the groan that escaped you at that thought. Since the pair of you had fallen in with The Judgement Day, Finn had fallen into a protective role- shielding you from outside negativity, bad creative calls and not-so-polite comments from other wrestlers backstage. The fact that you had been sneaking around with another wrestler behind his back, one older than him no less, would not go down well.
“Oh they’re gonna feel that one in the morning,” Lyra brought your attention back to the monitor where Jey had just dived on Punk outside the ring.
You were practically vibrating with nerves at this point, “god I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
“Surely Summerslam was worse than this?” Raquel asked curiously.
You shook your head, “it was and it wasn’t. It sucked watching but it always does to some extent. But that time I knew what was going to tell me so I was prepared for the outcome and more concerned about comforting him afterwards. I don’t know what I’m preparing for this time.”
She exchanged a look over your head with Roxanne but let the silence fall over your small group. They continued to exchange blows, moves and near falls with it all starting to blur together in your eyes. Instead of watching who was in control your gaze was starting to take stock of Punk’s body and what sort of state he might be in that evening. It was clear they were both running out of steam when he hit a GTS, lining Jey up perfectly for a second but not being able to get it done. Instead, you watched as they rolled about on the mat trading submission moves with neither of them getting the upper hand.
Every move had you sliding further towards the edge of your seat, it was honestly a miracle that you were still sat on it at all. You watched Jey line up 2 superkicks before falling into the corner to set up for a spear. God only knows what your heart rate was at that point, a string of encouragement and reassurance slipping from your lips as you begged Punk to get up from the mat.
The moment he managed to get the second GTS done you finally flew out of your seat with a shriek. When Jey fell onto his shoulders again you actually screamed and, when the knee connected again you could barely contain yourself. You watched Punk fall into the cover and the girls counted the 3 count alongside you. When the bell rang, and with the announcement that he was champion, the tears finally slid down your cheeks. Roxanne collided with you in a fierce hug, Raquel and Lyra joining in, as you all screamed in celebration.
“Oh we are so getting everyone out tonight,” your best friend announced, “this calls for an all out celebration.”
Raquel pulled away from you, “go and get your man. Meet him in gorilla. I know yours is one of the first faces he is going to want to see.”
You nodded at her and turned on your heel to run through the maze of backstage, flipping off the girls behind you and their jeering. You ducked past a sulking Drew McIntyre, a bullshit call as far as you were concerned, and offered him a small sympathy smile but your focus was solely on getting to that curtain before he came back.
When you arrived, slightly out of breath from running, you opted to hang back from the curtain where Hunter and Cody were stood waiting for him. Instead your attention turned to the monitor to watch your boyfriend take in his first minutes as champion in front of the crowd, knowing it wasn’t about to get taken out from under him. Once the camera cut, you distracted yourself with mindless social media whilst you waited for Punk to make his way back from the ring.
Your attention was brought back to the room at the sound of applause, signalling that he’d finally made his way backstage. Pocketing your phone, you watched as they both exchanged congratulations and hugs with him. It gave you a few moments to appreciate the view of him with the championship belt over his shoulder and damn, didn’t he look good with it. Skin flushed and damp with sweat, eyes heavy with exhaustion and relief but he was still a sight to behold.
Punk turned away from Cody to get his first glimpse of you waiting for you and you could see the way his shoulders sagged. The question was apparent in his eyes so when yours met his, there was no hesitation to nod. With one hand keeping the belt on his shoulder, Punk strode towards you. He stopped just in front, fingers twitching to reach for you.
“You sure?” He asked quietly, “you can’t put this back in the box once it’s out. Especially not in front of the boss.”
You rolled your eyes fondly, “shut up and kiss me Punker.”
“Your wish is my command,” he smirked.
Punk finally placed his free hand on your waist and with a swift pull closed the gaps between your bodies. You brought your right hand up to settle atop his on the championship and the other to wrap around the back of his neck. With a smirk, he dipped down to bring his lips to yours. You met him with equal enthusiasm, losing yourself in him.
After a few moments, there was a cough behind you and you broke apart. Both of you twisted around to where Hunter was stood with expectant eyebrows and Cody looked like he was a second away from laughing.
Your boss levelled you both with a stare, “I think we should talk in my office.”
Drew doesn't generally tell you the outcome of matches ahead of time but this time he couldn't keep pretending
A/N: the first fanfiction I wrote as a teenager was for WWE nearly 10 years ago so it seemed only right that my revived love for it would bring me back into writing after a couple years away.
Part 2
-/-/-
Normally Drew didn’t like to tell you what the outcome of a match was going to be beforehand. He wanted you to experience it the way that the fans did, with all the emotions that were supposed to come with watching your boyfriend fighting in a championship match. Plus sometimes knowing what was going to happen beforehand affected how you performed on camera as an interviewer. However this time was different.
After Smackdown on Friday
You’d just wrapped up your last interview of the night, a small piece with the Motor City Machine Guns after the beatdown from the MFTs for socials, and had the all clear from production to finish for the evening when Drew sent you a message to meet him in his locker room. It wasn’t normal for him to text you while you were both backstage- normally if he needed you he could just come and find you in production- so it sent your heart racing when you saw the text.
Still in your dress from the evening, with one of his hoodies stolen at the start of your relationship on top, you knocked tentatively on the door of his room. Drew opened the door, eyes softening when he saw his hoody draped over your form.
“You always look good in my clothes darling,” he offered as a greeting, reaching over to take your bag.
You couldn’t help but smile at the sound of the pet name under the twist of his accent and followed him into the small room. You always liked being able to hide away in his locker room because no matter what arena and how much of a maze backstage could be, it was always set up the exact same. Regardless of the chaos outside that door you always knew there would be quiet and Drew waiting for you here.
He placed your bag next to his, already packed, before turning to take your hand and pull you gently towards the sofa. Drew collapsed into the corner of the sofa and rested his arm against the back, your invitation to join him. With no hesitation, you joined him on the sofa, tucking into his side and letting your head fall against his chest. Both of his arms fell around you, one secure around your waist and the other came to encircle where your hand was gripping his shirt.
The two of you hadn’t been together for that long but it was long enough that you could tell there was something up by the way he couldn’t keep his hands still. The one on your waist was rubbing constant circles against your dress and the other had fallen to fiddle with the stretched out sleeve of your hoody. Knowing that he would tell you in his own time, you were happy to sit in the silence and just be enveloped in him.
Eventually he spoke, “I need to tell you about tomorrow.”
“You stood tall,” you pointed out, “it means what I think it does right?”
Drew nodded and dropped his head against yours, “they told us this morning but I didn’t want to tell you before taping and bring you down with me.”
“You never bring me down Drew,” you argued, shifting to look at him, “your wins are my wins and your losses are my losses. We’re in all of this together. I’m sorry, love.”
He tugged you into his lap fully, “I just don’t understand why they’re doing this again. It feels like we’re repeating the exact same thing that we did two months ago.”
You didn’t answer straight away, instead choosing to lean forward into his chest again and hide your face in his t-shirt. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around you to bring your body as close to his as possible and dropped a kiss on top of your head.
After a few minutes you spoke again, “I can’t begin to understand why creative do what they do or why Hunter makes the calls he does and I’m not going to lie and say that I love watching you lose. But I don’t need you to be a champion, that isn’t what’s important to me. What’s important to me is seeing how constantly having to put up with this shit is beating you down and I don’t like seeing you like this. But at the end of the day there’s only so much in this business that is in our control and I know that you will be champion again even if I have to kick Hunter’s door in myself, conflict of interest be damned.”
That made him chuckle, “thank you darling. I needed to hear that this evening.”
“Now can we go back to the hotel, shower the smell of catering out of my hair and let me fall asleep under a ridiculous amount of blankets?” You asked, leaning forward for a kiss.
Drew met you halfway, “as long as the blankets stay firmly on your side of the bed.”
synopsis: you hadn’t planned on getting involved, especially not with someone like finn bálor. visiting wwe during a rare break from your demanding career outside the ring, you only meant to spend time with your family and maybe catch up with old friends. but when your father, triple h, introduced you to finn backstage, something clicked instantly. he was charming, grounded, and every bit as magnetic in real life as he was in the ring. the age gap didn’t seem to matter when it felt so easy to talk to him, laugh with him, and be seen for who you were beyond your famous last name. but as your connection deepened, so did the risk, because falling for one of wwe’s top stars while being the boss’s daughter was bound to raise eyebrows and maybe even hell.
you didn’t expect the smell to hit you first, the strange mix of cold concrete, faint pyro residue, and a thousand protein bars. but the moment you stepped through the loading bay entrance of the arena, it was like slipping into an old jacket that somehow still fit.
even after all these years away, wwe backstage still felt like home. loud. fast. controlled chaos.
"hey, you! is that a camera or are you just trying to look important?"
you turned, immediately grinning at the familiar voice. it was sarah, one of the longtime production assistants. same headset, same sarcasm.
"little of both", you shot back, holding up the compact rig strapped to your shoulder. "but mostly important."
she laughed and pulled you into a quick hug. "wow. hunter said you were coming, but i didn’t think he meant today. you look, well, grown."
you smirked. "i’ll take that as a compliment."
the next few minutes passed in a blur of nods, hugs, double-takes. some people remembered you from when you were tagging along as a teenager. others only knew your last name, which carried its own kind of weight around here. either way, you felt the eyes.
they didn’t see a documentary filmmaker. not yet.
but that’s what you were now. this wasn’t some legacy pet project or puff piece. the streaming deal was yours. the vision, yours. you weren’t here as triple h’s daughter, you were here as a storyteller. the camera wasn’t just your tool, it was your shield.
your phone buzzed.
dad: production meeting in ten. conference room near gorilla.
of course he still used full punctuation like it was a corporate memo.
you exhaled, adjusted your gear, and made your way through the maze of cases, cables, and catering tables. crew moved with purpose. superstars passed by in various stages of pre-match transformation, hoodies, gear, headphones on, heads down. you caught a few curious glances, but no one stopped you. yet.
you passed a monitor showing a match from last week. the crowd roared in the background like a storm waiting to break. your pulse picked up.
you were here.
and if everything went according to plan, by the time this was over, they wouldn’t just know your name, they’d respect it.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
the conference room near gorilla was colder than you remembered, blame it on the industrial air conditioning or the tension that always came with planning live television. producers lined the table, some with clipboards, others glued to tablets. writers murmured to each other, already deep in story beats and match timings.
you stepped in quietly, trying not to draw attention. too late.
"look who decided to grace us with her presence", came your father’s voice from the head of the table. his tone was teasing, but there was pride in his eyes.
a few heads turned. a few eyebrows raised.
you gave a polite wave. "just here to document the madness, not direct it."
"good", one of the writers muttered with a chuckle. "we’ve already got one levesque in charge of our lives."
you slid into an open chair near the corner, slipping your camera bag beneath the table. your dad launched into the rundown for the night, segments, matches, promos, timing cues. you half-listened while scanning the room, taking mental notes for your filming strategy.
and then your gaze stopped.
two seats down and across the table, he was there. finn bálor.
you knew who he was, of course. former universal champion. veteran. quietly commanding a loyal fanbase without ever needing to raise his voice. but seeing him in person was different, he looked more real than the highlight reels and photos you'd grown used to.
his hair was slightly damp, pushed back like he’d just finished a workout. hoodie zipped halfway up, arms crossed. relaxed, but not unobservant. he wasn’t saying much, just watching, listening.
and, for a second, watching you.
your eyes met. just briefly.
it wasn’t obvious. not long enough to be called a stare. but something passed between you, an unspoken curiosity. not flirtation, not yet. just a flicker of mutual awareness.
you looked away first.
your dad continued talking, oblivious to the exchange. you scribbled something into your notebook just to give your hands something to do, though your mind was still on the man across the table.
maybe this project would be more interesting than you thought.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
the meeting wrapped with the usual flurry of schedule adjustments and last-minute changes. you hung back, slipping your camera bag over your shoulder, trying not to glance toward finn again.
but your dad was already heading toward gorilla, and with a nod in your direction, you fell into step beside him.
"smooth entrance", he said dryly.
you smiled. "was i supposed to kick the door in?"
he smirked, then glanced sideways at you. "you’re drawing attention already."
you raised a brow. "that was always gonna happen, wasn’t it?"
"not the kind of attention I’m worried about." he said it casually, but the look he gave you carried more weight. protective. measured. the dad look, not the coo of wwe one.
you sighed, shifting the camera strap on your shoulder. "i’m not here to stir anything up. i have a crew joining next week. for now, it’s just me gathering tone, energy, maybe a few pickup interviews. everyone’s been cool."
"they’re not the ones i’m worried about."
you stopped near the curtain that separated the backstage area from gorilla. for a second, you both stood in silence, the distant rumble of the crowd building in the background like a heartbeat.
then, quieter, he added, "look, i trust you. i do. but this isn’t a normal shoot. you’re, you. people are gonna read into every glance, every moment you’re around talent."
you tilted your head, crossing your arms. "so what, you don’t want me talking to anyone?"
"i want you to do your job", he said evenly. "but i also want you to understand that you carry a spotlight whether you want it or not. and some people love stepping into someone else’s."
ah. there it was.
not a warning. a reminder.
and yeah, you’d expected something like this. you knew the politics. you’d grown up in the machine. and now here you were, no longer a kid in the corner, but a professional with a camera and a voice, walking straight into a world that didn’t always know how to separate the person from the name.
you softened. "i’m not here to date anyone, dad."
he gave you a dry look. "you say that like some of these guys won’t try anyway."
you laughed. "let them. i'm not eighteen anymore."
"i know." he looked at you with something like pride, tinged with a trace of concern. "that’s what worries me."
another beat passed between you, then he clapped a hand on your shoulder, gentle but firm. "you’ve got your space. just be smart."
"i always am."
he gave a small grunt, clearly unconvinced but letting it go.
as he disappeared behind the curtain to prep the live open, you stayed where you were for a moment. the noise of the crowd swelled. you pulled out your camera and hit record.
the shot framed the chaos perfectly, lights flaring, producers calling cues, talent pacing like caged electricity.
but your mind wandered.
back to the production table.
back to that flicker of a glance.
you weren’t here to fall for anyone.
but still, you felt it.
something had just started.
tripleh posted a story tagging y/ninsta
written: they always come back home
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later that night, when the show was just getting underway, you found a quiet corner near the production trucks. it wasn’t glamorous, just a stack of cases, a folding chair, and a half-empty coffee someone had abandoned hours ago. but it gave you a perfect view of the chaos unfolding backstage.
you pulled your camera from its bag, adjusted the settings, and started to film.
cables curled like veins along the concrete. crew members darted in and out of frame. the faint rumble of the crowd beyond the curtain rose and fell like waves hitting shore. you filmed it all in slow, quiet motions, capturing the rhythm of a world most people never saw.
this was your sweet spot. observation. stillness in the storm.
you caught a few interesting shots, camera ops jogging into place, a stagehand taping down pyro cues. a wrestler laced up their boots in the corner, half-lit by the led glow from a nearby monitor.
and then he appeared.
finn.
he stepped into frame like he didn’t mean to, hood pulled low over damp hair, black hoodie unzipped just enough to reveal the top of his ring gear. he had tape around his wrists and headphones hanging from his neck. focused. composed. but something about him made your hands pause on the camera.
he didn’t see you. not at first.
he was stretching his neck, rolling his shoulders back. preparing. centring himself.
you told yourself to pan away. to keep the shot moving. but your lens stayed locked on him.
and then, just as you were about to turn the camera, his gaze lifted, straight into yours.
not into the lens.
at you.
his eyes flicked up with quiet awareness, like he’d felt the camera before he saw it. He didn’t flinch or smile. just acknowledged you. fully. calm and unreadable.
you lowered the camera slowly.
he gave the faintest nod, then turned and walked down the hall toward gorilla.
no words. no theatrics. just that moment, brief, charged, and unsettling in a way that made your pulse skip for reasons you didn’t fully understand yet.
you looked down at your screen.
the shot had gone slightly out of focus.
for a second, you considered deleting it.
then you hit save.
and told yourself it was just good footage.
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the hum of your laptop filled the quiet hotel room, your fingers clicking softly as you scrubbed through interview footage.
you were curled on the edge of the bed, hoodie sleeves pushed to your elbows, your camera rig resting in a pile of wires beside you. You’d meant to get through three or four clips, but you were still stuck on the second, replaying seth’s answer about risk and fear, editing markers left floating in the timeline, untouched.
liv walked out of the bathroom with wet hair and a face mask half-applied, flopped down beside you with the grace of a sleepy cat, and peered at your screen.
"still working?", she asked, voice muffled through her green goop.
"trying to", you murmured. "hard to focus when you keep popping up in the background of every third interview."
"yeah, well, the camera loves me." she kicked her legs up onto the bed and stole a pillow from your side. "i should charge you for my guest appearance rate."
you snorted, clicking pause. "you got paid in catering cookies. don’t get greedy."
she watched you for a moment, then nudged your knee with hers. "you okay?"
you blinked. "yeah. why?"
"because you’re editing like you’re trying not to think about something. or someone."
you stared at the screen, still paused on seth mid sentence, but your mind had drifted, and she knew it.
liv sat up a little. "be real with me for a sec. what’s the deal with you and finn?"
"there’s no deal", you said automatically.
"okay, but like, are you into him?"
you hesitated. "i don’t know him."
"sure", she said. "but you noticed him."
your silence was its own kind of answer.
liv softened, wiping at her face mask with the sleeve of your hoodie (rude, but not surprising). "listen, i’m not trying to turn this into a whole thing. i just know you. you’re not the type to swoon over a guy just because he looks good in leather and has a jawline you could slice film on."
you gave her a weak laugh. "i don’t swoon."
she smirked. "no, but you linger. you linger on people who matter. you did it with your last doc subject, and you’re doing it with him."
you looked back at the paused footage, eyes tracing the timeline. you didn’t want to admit it, but maybe she had a point. it hadn’t just been the way finn looked at you. it was the quiet behind his eyes. the gravity he carried, like he was standing still in a world that never stopped moving.
"you know", liv said after a beat, voice lighter now, "if you ever did want to talk to him, i could casually engineer a little hallway run-in. maybe spill coffee near catering. scream ‘fire.’ something subtle."
you rolled your eyes. "i'm not dating someone my dad technically supervises."
"oh my god", liv groaned, flopping backward with dramatic flair. "you’re so ethical. it’s annoying."
you laughed, really laughed this time and the tension in your chest finally eased a little.
liv sat back up and leaned against your shoulder. "seriously though. i know it’s messy. but if you do like him? you don’t have to pretend you don’t. you’re allowed to be a person before you’re a levesque."
that last part hit.
you looked at her. "thanks."
"anytime", she said with a sleepy grin. "now hurry up and go to bed before you rewatch that finn footage so many times it breaks your hard drive."
you threw a pillow at her.
she cackled and pulled the blanket over her head.
and even after the lights were out, you were still thinking about tomorrow.
because tomorrow he was on your interview list.
and you didn’t know what would happen.
but you knew it wouldn’t be nothing.
yaonlylivvonce posted a story tagging y/ninsta
written: guys my best friend is here for a while and i am gassed
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y/ninsta posted a story
written: filming all day wish me luck
you were adjusting the camera lens when he walked in.
no fanfare. no warning. just the sound of boots on concrete and a low, accented "hey", that made your breath catch before you could help it.
you looked up. finn stood in the doorway, hood up, sleeves rolled to the elbow, veins visible on his forearms from a workout you hadn’t seen but could absolutely imagine. his gear bag hung off one shoulder like an afterthought.
"you wanted to talk?" he asked, casually. but his eyes were sharp, scanning the setup like he was measuring the weight of what he was about to give.
you nodded, straightening. "yeah. if you’ve got time."
he stepped in. "i’ve got time."
you gestured to the folding chair across from yours. he sat. he didn’t fidget. he didn’t perform. he just was. calm. controlled. quietly powerful in a way that made your fingers tighten around the camera without meaning to.
you pressed record.
"so", you started, voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. "let’s start simple. what does wrestling mean to you?"
he let out a slow breath. not a sigh, more like he was grounding himself.
"it’s everything", he said. "it’s art. it’s therapy. sometimes it’s hell. but mostly, it’s the only place i’ve ever felt honest."
that answer hit you square in the chest.
you shifted slightly in your chair, eyes on the screen, checking your framing to distract from how personal that sounded.
"and who are you", you asked, "when you’re not in front of a crowd?"
a pause.
then a slow smile. not performative. real.
"that’s a question i ask myself every day", he said. "i think i’m still figuring that out."
you swallowed, throat a little dry. "and does the character help with that? or get in the way?"
"it protects me", he said. "but it also hides me."
the room felt smaller suddenly. like there was no one outside that curtain. just the two of you and the camera still rolling, even though it felt like the interview had gone off script a long time ago.
your fingers hovered near the stop button, but you didn’t press it.
instead, you asked softly, "do you ever get tired of hiding?"
ne looked right at you.
not at the lens.
at you.
"all the time."
you weren’t sure if the chill that ran down your spine came from his voice or the way he never broke eye contact.
you let the silence stretch, one, two, three seconds longer than any interview would normally allow. and then, almost reluctantly, you reached over and hit stop.
the hum of the equipment stopped. the room didn’t.
finn leaned back slightly, hands on his thighs, exhale low and even.
"that wasn’t what i expected", he said.
"what did you expect?"
"a fluff piece", he said. "a few soundbites. maybe some soft questions, since you know."
"my last name?" you offered.
he shrugged. "something like that."
you smiled faintly. "sorry to disappoint."
"you didn’t." that time, his gaze softened. "you’re good at this."
you felt the compliment settle somewhere warm.
"i try not to waste people’s time", you said, standing to power down the light kit.
when you turned back, he was still sitting.
still watching.
"you ask questions like you already know the answers", he said.
you paused, heartbeat rising. "maybe i just want to hear how you say them."
he stood then, slow and quiet, and shouldered his bag again. there was something unspoken in the air between you, thick with implication and restraint.
"see you around, filmmaker."
he left before you could respond.
the camera was off.
but everything that mattered had already been recorded.
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the hotel room was dim, lit only by the soft blue-white glow of your laptop screen. you sat cross-legged on the bed in your hoodie, earbuds in, watching the footage you’d shot just hours earlier.
finn’s voice filled your ears, low and deliberate, calm in the way that crept under your skin. you were no stranger to interviews. you’d recorded people cracking open the most painful chapters of their lives, addiction, grief, reinvention. but something about this one felt different.
because while he’d been talking about himself, it had felt like he’d been speaking to you.
and that look, that look, right before you hit stop on the recording, it replayed more clearly than any 4K footage.
you didn’t even notice liv enter the room until a pillow hit your side.
"okay, silence and earbuds? either you’re editing finn’s soul searching monologue or you’ve joined a cult", she said, dropping her gym bag onto the floor.
you pulled one bud out, smirking. "not a cult. just work."
"mhm." she kicked off her shoes and collapsed next to you. "let me guess. You’re rewatching irish vulnerability hour."
"it’s a solid interview", you said carefully. "he was honest."
liv leaned over your shoulder and squinted at the frozen frame on your screen, finn looking just slightly past the lens, mouth parted like he was mid-thought.
she let out a low whistle. "he looks like he’s in a perfume commercial called regret."
you snorted. "it wasn’t like that."
"oh, it was exactly like that", she said, tossing an arm across your lap. "you had, like, five separate moments. pauses. looks. one too many meaningful silences, and you know what that means in film language."
you tried to stay neutral. you really did. "he’s just thoughtful."
"and hot", she added casually. "don’t forget hot."
you rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. "liv"
she stretched, the way only someone absolutely satisfied with herself could. "look, i know you’re trying to be professional. i know this whole thing is complicated with your dad and all, but can i just say one thing?"
you glanced at her. "you’re going to anyway."
she grinned. "you don’t look at other interviewees the way you looked at him. and he doesn’t talk to anyone else like that, either."
that sat heavy between you for a moment.
not teasing. not over the top. just truth.
you exhaled slowly and closed the laptop.
"nothing’s happened", you said.
"yet", liv replied, already pulling the blanket over herself. "but it’s happening. one way or another."
you said nothing.
because she wasn’t wrong.
you lay back beside her, eyes on the ceiling, pulse still not entirely calm.
the camera might’ve stopped rolling.
but the real story had only just started.
y/ninsta posted a story tagging yaonlylivvonce
written: one best friend for sale, warning will not shut tf up
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the energy backstage always shifted once the final match wrapped.
lights dimmed, voices lowered. what had been chaos just an hour ago now settled into a kind of peaceful exhaustion, people collecting bags, cracking jokes, sliding out of character and back into themselves.
you were breaking down your setup just outside guerrilla, coiling cables and tucking gear into your case. you’d planned to slip out unnoticed. blend into the background like you always did.
but the moment you heard the soft scrape of boots on concrete behind you, you didn’t have to look up to know who it was.
"late night for you too?"
finn’s voice was low and rough with post-match adrenaline, still wearing half his gear, his jacket unzipped, hair damp from sweat, sleeves pushed up, exposing those tattoos that made you stare longer than you should have.
you glanced over your shoulder. "occupational hazard."
he smiled, stepping beside you. "you always pack up your own stuff?"
you shrugged. "helps me think."
he nodded, watching your hands work the zipper on your case. you could feel his gaze on you, not intense, just aware. like he saw everything, even what you weren’t saying.
"that interview the other night", he said, voice softer now. "you made it easy."
you paused, glancing up.
"i wasn’t trying to", you said honestly.
that made him laugh, just a little. "i know. that’s why it worked."
silence crept in again, not awkward, just full. charged.
you stood, brushing your hands on your jeans, trying to will away the heat creeping up your neck.
"you’re not like most of the people that float through here", he said.
you raised a brow. "is that a compliment?"
he gave you that familiar half-smile. "depends how you take it."
you couldn’t stop the quiet laugh that escaped your throat. "i take it as... unexpected."
another beat passed.
the hallway was empty now. just you, him, the dull buzz of lights overhead, and the thump of a distant speaker someone hadn’t turned off yet.
he shifted his bag over his shoulder.
"well, i’ll leave you to it, then."
he turned to go but paused and glanced back.
"good night, y/n"
it was the first time he’d said your name.
not filmmaker. not you. not her.
just your name. soft and deliberate.
you didn’t say anything back right away. you were too busy trying to figure out why that simple thing hit you harder than it should’ve.
"night, finn", you finally managed, quiet but certain.
he smiled once more and walked off, footsteps echoing until they disappeared into the hum of the building.
and for a moment, standing alone in that hallway, you felt more seen than you had in a long time.
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you shut the door behind you and leaned your back against it, exhaling into the quiet.
the hotel room was still, save for the low hum of the ac. your gear bag landed with a soft thud by the armchair as you padded toward the bed and dropped your phone on the comforter.
you peeled off your hoodie, tossed it somewhere near the dresser, and sank onto the mattress, every bone in your body settling all at once.
you hadn’t said much on the drive back. you hadn’t needed to.
finn’s voice lingered in your head more than it should have. that low, unrushed way he’d said your name. like he meant it.
you reached for your phone, more out of habit than purpose, and unlocked the screen.
one new message.
you stared at the screen, heart knocking once, loudly, against your ribs.
you didn’t reply right away.
you put the phone face down beside you, lights still off, body stretched out across the sheets with a slow, breathless grin that you wouldn’t admit to anyone, not even liv.
and in the dark, you let yourself feel it.
the possibility.
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you propped your phone up on the small hotel desk, angling it just enough so that the mountain of laundry behind you wasn’t in frame. the facetime call rang twice before your dad’s face appeared, tired but alert, a headset slung around his neck, that signature stern expression that never quite softened, even with you.
"hey, kid" he said, scratching at his beard.
"hey. bad time?"
"nah. Just stepped out of a meeting with creative." he squinted. "you look beat."
"comes with the job", you said. "you wanted to check in?"
"yeah. got the first round of your footage. the stuff with cody looks solid. bianca’s interview is tight." he paused. "finn’s piece is different."
your stomach tightened, just a little.
"different how?"
"it’s deeper. raw." he leaned back in his chair. "not what i expected from him, honestly. you pulled something out of him. i’m not complaining, but..."
you waited for it.
"i just want to remind you that some of these guys, especially veterans like him, aren’t always what they seem. i know you know how to handle yourself, but..."
"there’s nothing happening", you said quickly, sharper than you intended.
he raised a brow.
"i didn’t say there was", he replied calmly. "i'm just saying people talk. you're my daughter. that comes with eyes. and expectations."
you exhaled, nodding once. "understood."
there was a pause.
then: "finn’s one of my guys", he said. "we’ve worked together a long time. i trust him in the ring. and i respect the hell out of him."
"but?" you prompted.
"but i know what this business can do to people. it gets messy. fast."
the words sat heavy between you. not accusatory. just careful.
you gave a small, professional smile, your on-camera smile. "dad. i'm here to do my job. that’s it."
he looked at you for a long moment. then nodded.
"i know. i just needed to say it out loud."
you wanted to believe that was the end of it.
but the second you ended the call and turned your phone face-down again, the message from finn popped back into your brain like it had never left:
would it be a problem if i was?
you didn’t answer your dad’s warning.
but you didn’t delete the text either.
and maybe that said everything.
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y/ninsta posted a story
written: late night or early start. you decide
the hotel gym was mostly dark when you pushed the door open, just the low amber glow from the exit sign and the faint flicker of a muted tv looping last week’s raw highlights.
you didn’t expect anyone to be here. it was almost 1 a.m., and this was supposed to be your way to clear your head. shake off your dad’s warning. forget the way your stomach fluttered when finn texted you like he was pulling at a string only he knew was there.
but there he was.
alone. hood up. black shirt clinging to him, sleeves pushed up, knuckles taped from earlier in the night. he was working the heavy bag in the corner, smooth and focused, headphones in. the kind of rhythm you could watch for way too long without realising you were staring.
he didn’t notice you at first.
you slipped past the weight racks and onto a treadmill, pretending to scroll through music just to buy yourself time. but then his pace slowed. then stopped. he pulled out one earbud and turned his head.
you’d already been caught.
he smiled. not surprised. not startled.
"couldn’t sleep?" he asked, voice still hoarse from earlier.
you shook your head. "not really."
finn grabbed a towel and stepped away from the bag, wiping sweat from his jaw. "same."
you tapped the treadmill screen on, still not quite looking at him. "this where you always hide after shows?"
"only when i’m trying not to think", he said. then: "didn’t expect to see you here."
"yeah, well. i figured punching something would be frowned upon, so cardio it is."
that made him laugh. he tossed the towel onto a bench and walked over, slow and easy, hands resting on his hips.
"you want help with something?" he asked. "weights? form?"
you raised an eyebrow. "what, you moonlight as a personal trainer?"
"only for select clients", he teased.
a beat passed.
then, "you trust me to spot you?"
you hesitated.
not because you didn’t.
because you did.
and that was the problem.
"sure."
he helped you load plates onto the bar, adjusting the bench height without asking. his hands brushed yours more than once, casually. not accidental, but not bold enough to call it out either.
you laid back on the bench. finn stood behind your head, fingers curled under the bar as you gripped it.
"deep breath", he murmured.
you exhaled and lifted.
the weight wasn’t too much, but the awareness was.
his voice was low and constant. reassuring. every time he said good or right there, it was less about the workout and more about you. watching you. reading you.
when you finished your last rep and sat up, a little breathless, you felt his hand linger a half-second too long on your shoulder before letting go.
"still breathing?" he asked, lips quirked.
"barely."
you met his eyes then, close, quiet, no banter to hide behind.
for a second, neither of you said anything.
and it was loud.
finn looked down, wiped his hands on a towel. "you always this intense with your work?"
you tilted your head. "you always this intense when you’re not working?"
he smiled again but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. "only around you, apparently."
you swallowed.
"i should..." you started.
"yeah", he nodded. "me too."
you both moved at the same time, creating space like it would fix anything.
but it wouldn’t.
not anymore.
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the footage looped again. you hadn’t meant to replay it.
but there he was finn, sitting under the soft lights of the interview setup, leaning forward just slightly, that unreadable look in his eyes. not quite guarded. not quite open. and right before the clip cut out, his gaze flicked up, not to the camera.
to you.
you knew it now. you'd felt it in the gym last night. you’d heard it in his voice.
you weren’t imagining it anymore.
you sat back on the bed, laptop in your lap, trying to push past the weight in your chest. maybe it was the way he looked at you like you weren’t part of this world, but still belonged in it. like he saw the seams, the pressure points. like he liked seeing them.
your fingers hovered over the keyboard, but you weren’t editing.
you were watching.
reliving.
falling, quietly, without permission.
the hotel door clicked open behind you, followed by the thud of a duffel hitting the floor.
"i brought wine", liv’s voice called out. "and i already know you’re brooding."
you didn’t look away from the screen. "i’m not brooding."
"you’re totally brooding", she said, walking around the bed and then stopping dead. "oh my god."
she leaned over, taking in the still frame on your screen, finn, mid-sentence, looking not just through the camera, but through you.
she blinked. "that’s not footage. that’s foreplay."
you closed the laptop quickly. "liv."
"nope. you don’t get to 'liv' me. that was practically eye-sex on film. girl, what did i miss?"
you sighed and leaned back, covering your face with your hands. "nothing happened."
"but something is happening", she countered, pulling the wine out of her bag. "and don’t say it’s just in your head. i saw the gym security cam footage..."
you peeked through your fingers. "you what?"
"kidding", she grinned, popping the cork. "mostly. but if i hadn’t believed it before, i believe it now."
you were quiet for a long moment.
then, finally, you said it.
"i think i'm in trouble."
liv passed you a glass. "good. trouble makes great stories."
you looked down at the wine, swirling softly in your hand.
trouble.
you hadn’t planned on it. hadn’t asked for it.
but it was here.
and it had blue eyes, an Iiish accent, and a habit of looking at you like you were the only real thing in the room.
you took a sip.
and didn’t deny it this time.
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you’d always loved this part, the calm after the storm. the ring still lit, the seats empty. the echoes of last night’s cheers fading into quiet.
the crew moved like ghosts, loading cables and striking sets. You stayed out of their way, perched in the second row with your camera bag, reviewing footage and sipping cold coffee from a paper cup. your eyes were tired. your heart was worse.
the footsteps behind you were soft, but you knew them.
"didn’t think anyone would be here this early", finn’s voice came from just behind your shoulder.
you didn’t look up right away.
"i could say the same", you replied, only half-teasing.
he moved into your peripheral vision, then sat beside you in the same row. a respectable distance. not that it mattered.
neither of you said anything for a minute.
"i figured you’d be gone already", you added, glancing at him finally.
"flight’s not till noon", he said, folding his hands between his knees. "didn’t feel like sitting in a hotel room."
silence stretched between you again. not uncomfortable, just full.
then he looked over at you.
"are you avoiding me?"
your fingers tightened slightly around your cup. "no."
"you sure?" he asked, gently. "because we had time alone and now you are avoiding me"
you turned to face him now, really looking. the bruises on his arms were newer. fresh from last night’s match. but it was the way he was watching you now, carefully, without pressure, that made it hard to breathe.
"i’m not avoiding you", you said again, quieter. "i just don’t know what this is."
he nodded like he understood. maybe he did.
"i’m not asking for anything crazy", he said after a moment. "just honesty. i felt something. you felt it too."
you looked away.
"does it scare you?" he asked.
you didn’t answer.
instead, you stood slowly, stepped down to the front row, and turned your back to him, to the ring, to the lights, to the camera rolling somewhere above you.
you heard his footsteps behind you.
when he spoke again, his voice was lower. closer.
"can i ask you something not as a wrestler, not as your dad’s guy, but just me?"
you nodded, still not facing him.
"what made you want to tell stories like this?"
you closed your eyes, the question hitting harder than expected.
"i don’t know", you said honestly. "i guess growing up around this, i saw everything people didn’t say on camera. all the stuff in between. the pressure. the quiet. the cost. i wanted people to see that part. the real part."
you turned your head slightly, finally meeting his eyes.
"and you?"
finn looked at the ring. then at you.
"i think i just didn’t want to be forgotten", he said simply.
it silenced you for a moment.
and then, without thinking, you stepped back and sat beside him again, closer this time.
your knee brushed his.
he didn’t move away.
he didn’t smile either.
he just stayed.
and for the first time, you realised it wasn’t just the chemistry that scared you.
it was the fact that this, he, felt real.
off the record. off the clock. off your guard.
and maybe, just maybe, that’s why it mattered.
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you stood outside his hotel room for three full seconds before you knocked, long enough to convince yourself you shouldn’t. but not long enough to turn around.
three soft taps.
the door opened almost instantly, like he’d been waiting. finn stood in sweatpants and a fitted black tee, barefoot, damp hair curling slightly at his temples. he looked relaxed. familiar. dangerous, in a way you weren’t used to.
"hey", he said softly.
you held up the hard drive like a peace offering. "didn’t want to risk forgetting. got your segment backed up here."
his mouth tilted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. "you didn’t have to bring it tonight."
"i know."
he stepped aside.
you walked in.
the room smelled like clean laundry and aftershave. one lamp was on, casting everything in a warm, low light. the curtains were drawn. the world outside didn’t matter here.
"want something to drink?" he offered.
you shook your head. "no. i can’t stay long."
he didn’t answer that.
instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and watched you kneel to plug in the hard drive, the silence between you humming like live wire.
the file transferred quickly. neither of you moved.
finally, you spoke.
"i keep thinking this is a bad idea."
finn looked up, brows raised slightly. "and yet you’re here."
you sat on the desk chair, turning it toward him.
"i don’t know how to do this", you admitted. "with you. with everything."
"you don’t have to know", he said, voice low. "i'm not asking for forever. just honesty. presence. whatever this is, it doesn’t have to come with labels or apologies."
you looked at him, really looked. at the lines near his eyes. at the way he waited, not pushed, not pulled. just offered.
you stood slowly.
he stood, too.
the space between you vanished in two steps.
you didn’t remember closing the distance. but you remembered the way it felt when his hand came up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he was asking for permission even now.
and you gave it.
the kiss was gentle at first. careful. like you were both still deciding whether or not you were dreaming.
then it deepened.
your hands slid up his chest, fingertips curling into the fabric of his shirt like gravity had a hold of you. he kissed like he fought, committed, focused, all in. and yet, there was nothing rushed. no urgency.
just heat. and understanding.
and the overwhelming sense that you’d crossed a line you wouldn’t be coming back from.
when you finally pulled apart, your forehead rested against his. both of you were quiet. breathless.
"you still think it’s a bad idea?" he whispered.
your eyes opened slowly.
"yeah", you said. "but i don’t care right now."
he smiled against your skin. "me neither."
you didn’t sleep with him that night.
but you stayed.
and that said more than anything else could have.
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it was just a hallway.
you’d walked it a dozen times before, camera slung over your shoulder, clipboard in hand, slipping between crew members and Superstars like it was just another show night.
but tonight, it felt different.
you felt different.
finn passed you near the production bay, hoodie pulled over his head, towel slung around his neck. He didn’t say anything. barely looked at you.
and yet the air shifted when he passed. like the space between you both remembered the night before.
you kept moving, but your pulse skipped.
you told yourself no one noticed.
until liv fell into step beside you.
she didn’t say anything at first, just walked with you, holding a half-empty protein shake and chewing on a piece of gum like she had all the time in the world.
you glanced sideways at her. "what?"
"nothing", she said, far too quickly. "you seem relaxed."
"that’s not a crime."
"mm. totally normal amount of relaxation for someone who spent the entire day not making eye contact with a certain irishman."
you looked away. "i don’t know what you’re talking about."
"oh, honey.", she stopped walking and grabbed your arm, forcing you to pause with her behind a set piece. her voice dropped. "you glowed when you passed each other. like, full-body aura. you think people don’t pick up on that?"
your mouth opened. closed.
liv squinted at you. "wait. oh my god. did you sleep with him?"
"no!" you hissed. "god, liv. no. we just talked. kissed. that’s it."
she blinked. "and that’s all it took to fry your brain like this?"
you sighed, leaning your head against the wall behind you. "it wasn’t just a kiss."
liv studied you for a moment, then her face softened. "oh. it was that kind."
you nodded.
"and now what?"
you glanced down the hallway toward where finn had disappeared. "now i try not to let it screw everything up."
liv bumped your shoulder gently. "look, i'm not saying dive headfirst. but don’t lie to yourself either. you’re not in this for a fling. are you?"
you didn’t answer.
ahe didn’t need you to.
a buzz in your pocket saved you from responding.
you glanced down. to see a message from finn.
you okay?
you looked back up at liv.
she raised an eyebrow. "well?"
you exhaled. "i’m fine."
but you weren’t.
you were floating.
and falling.
all at once.
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liv had changed into sweats and a giant t-shirt that said "i got pinned in vegas.", she was curled up at the head of her bed with a face mask half peeled off and a bag of sour candy between them. you sat at the foot, arms tucked around your knees, eyes on the muted television that played reruns of total divas.
she hadn’t pushed.
not right away.
but after a beat of silence that stretched too long, she said simply, "so. want to tell me what’s really going on?"
you pulled at a loose thread on your sleeve. "you already know."
"i want you to say it."
you hesitated. then, "i like him.”
liv didn’t react, no teasing, no smirk. just a small nod. "okay."
"it’s more than i thought it would be", you admitted, voice quiet. "i mean, we kissed, but it wasn’t just a kiss. it felt like like something shifted. like i stopped pretending I didn’t want this."
she was silent for a second. "and does he feel the same?"
you nodded. "yeah. he hasn’t said it exactly, but it’s there. in how he looks at me. in how quiet he is with me."
liv hummed thoughtfully, tossing a gummy into her mouth. "he’s a good guy. weirdly soft under all the brooding. but you know what i'm going to ask next."
you did. you’d been asking yourself all night.
"what happens if your dad finds out?" she said gently.
you leaned your head back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling.
"i don’t know."
because that was the truth.
you didn’t know how your dad would take it. not just because it was finn, one of his top veterans, but because it was you. his daughter. crossing the one line you’d both silently agreed you wouldn’t.
business and personal.
you weren’t even under contract, and it still felt dangerous.
"i don’t want to lose this", you said finally. "not yet."
liv reached out and took your hand. "then don’t."
your phone buzzed softly in your lap.
you didn’t even have to check who it was.
you already knew.
still thinking about you.
your heart skipped, just once.
you typed a reply, then erased it.
tried again.
deleted it.
in the end, you simply set the phone down, screen still glowing with his words.
liv nudged your leg. "you’ll figure it out."
"i hope so."
and for the first time, you realized you weren’t scared of falling anymore.
yaonlylivvonce posted a story tagging y/ninsta
written: my girl
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you weren’t expecting to see him.
the call time wasn’t for another hour, and the building was barely awake, lights flickering on one section at a time, the loading dock still quiet. you sat on the edge of a production crate, camera bag at your feet, sipping whatever half-hearted brew catering was offering this morning.
and then there he was.
walking straight toward you, hoodie sleeves pushed up, two coffees in hand.
you blinked, tilting your head. "you stalking me?"
finn just shrugged, that tiny half-smile playing at his lips. "i saw you on the schedule."
you reached for the coffee and froze when you saw the label: your order. right down to the oat milk and the extra shot.
your eyes flicked to his, surprised. "how’d you know?"
"i pay attention", he said simply, sitting down beside you on the crate, close enough that your legs nearly touched. "you make this little face when the coffee’s bad. same one you make when people use shaky handheld without purpose."
you laughed, shaking your head. "that’s not a real face."
"oh, it is. i’ve documented it."
you took a sip and sighed. "okay, well this is dangerously perfect. thank you."
he didn’t reply. just leaned back on his hands, head tilted up toward the faint orange glow rising over the building. you both sat there, quietly watching the sky shift.
you glanced at him sideways. "you ever think about what you’d be doing if you weren’t doing this?"
finn was quiet for a long beat.
"maybe coaching. maybe teaching somewhere. i don’t know. something slow. something with rhythm."
you turned toward him a little. "you’re really not afraid of stillness, are you?"
he shrugged. "used to be. now i kind of crave it."
you tapped your camera bag with your boot. "i think that’s why i like filming. you have to be still to catch the movement. it’s weirdly meditative."
he looked at you, his expression thoughtful.
"you see things other people don’t", he said softly.
you smiled, but didn’t look at him. "not always. sometimes i just frame what i wish i saw."
a quiet passed between you again, deeper this time.
and then
"i didn’t think this would happen", you murmured, eyes still on the sky.
"this?"
you nodded, heart thudding once. "us. you. me. i came here to breathe, not fall into something."
finn nudged your knee with his. "you can do both."
you turned your head.
he looked at you like you were the only person in the building. maybe the world.
and just for a second, you let yourself believe that maybe you could.
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you weren’t supposed to leave the venue, but the moment finn nudged your shoulder and said, "come on, i know a place", you followed.
the park wasn’t big or famous, just a narrow patch of trees and winding paths tucked behind the arena loading lot. still it was quiet. the world felt far away. and your lungs could finally stretch.
you held your camera loosely in one hand, letting it swing against your hip as the two of you walked. finn carried a paper bag with two croissants and a couple of sports drinks, like this had been planned.
"you always feed people you sneak off with?" you asked.
finn glanced over at you. "only the important ones."
you smiled, but said nothing.
it felt easy like this. no eyes. no whispers. just gravel crunching under your boots and a breeze tugging at the edges of your sweatshirt. you slowed when you saw a small clearing, wildflowers, low stone wall, the kind of light that begged to be captured.
instinctively, you raised the camera. finn watched you through the lens as you moved around him, testing light and angles, but not snapping the shutter.
"you’re not shooting", he noted.
"not yet. just watching."
he stepped closer. "watching me?"
you didn’t lower the camera. "i like the way you look when you’re not performing."
his face softened. "i like the way you look when you’re not guarding."
you let the camera fall to your side, breath catching just a little.
"i’ve never done this", you said. "let someone see me outside of what i do. outside of who i’m related to."
finn walked past you and sat on the stone wall, elbows on his knees, casual but completely tuned in. "and i’ve never met someone who didn’t ask about titles or matches first."
you took a seat beside him, close enough that your thigh brushed his. "so we’re both kind of relearning how to be people, huh?"
he chuckled. "seems like it."
you plucked a tiny daisy from the grass and rolled it between your fingers. "i’m good at filming other people’s stories. not so much at figuring out my own."
"you don’t have to figure it all out yet."
"what if i mess it up?"
finn turned toward you fully. "then you mess it up. and we start again."
you looked at him. "you make it sound so easy."
he smiled, something warm in his eyes. "it’s not easy. but it’s worth it."
the quiet stretched again, but it wasn’t awkward.
it was safe.
comfortable.
"you know", you said finally, voice barely above a whisper, "you’re kind of my person now."
finn’s head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable for a moment. then:
"yeah?" he asked softly.
you nodded.
"good", he said. "because you’re mine."
y/ninsta posted a story
finnbalor posted a story
written: best place to think
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you weren’t even holding hands.
you’d made sure of that.
just two people walking side by side, leaving catering. casual. unassuming.
but as soon as you and finn rounded the corner, there he was, shawn michaels, leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting for someone to confirm a hunch.
your stomach dropped.
"hey, sweetheart", he said casually, like it was any other night. "finn."
"shawn", finn nodded, polite but measured.
you felt his fingers brush yours before he stepped away, just enough to put distance between you. you wanted to grab him and tell him not to bother, shawn already knew.
the corner of your uncle’s mouth lifted, amused and far too knowing. "can i borrow my god daughter for a second?"
finn looked to you, silent question in his eyes.
you nodded once. "it’s fine."
he gave you a quiet look, steady, reassuring before heading off down the hall. you didn’t miss the way shawn watched him go, arms crossed like he was back in gorilla, analysing every move.
you blew out a breath. "okay. let’s get this over with."
shawn raised a brow. "over with?"
"you’re gonna tell me i’m being reckless. that i’m breaking rules. that my dad would lose his mind if he knew."
shawn tilted his head, then pushed off the wall. "kid, i’ve known you since you were in pigtails demanding to direct your own birthday party. i know what reckless looks like on you. this? this isn’t that."
you blinked. "it’s not?"
"no", he said simply. "it’s measured. it’s quiet. you didn’t drag him into your spotlight, he walked into yours. big difference."
you hesitated, your throat tight. "so you’re not gonna tell my dad?"
shawn gave you a long look. "do i want to be the one to tell your father that his baby girl is seeing a guy he considers a locker room general? absolutely not."
your laugh cracked through the tension like sunlight.
"but", he added more gently, "hunter’s not stupid. he’ll notice eventually. and when he does, he’s gonna be protective. maybe pissed. but i’ve known finn a long time. and i know you. he makes you happy?"
you nodded. no hesitation.
shawn nodded back. "then i’ll deal with your dad when the time comes."
you blinked again, eyes stinging a little.
"thank you", you murmured.
he ruffled your hair like he used to when you were eight and made a mess of the pyrotechnics control board.
"don’t thank me yet", he said with a grin. "just don’t give me a reason to regret it."
and then he was gone, just like that leaving you standing in the hallway, heart full and a little stunned.
you took your phone out and sent finn a text.
and for the first time since this started, it didn’t feel like you were hiding something.
it felt like you were building something.
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he asked you to come over that night.
just to chill
you knocked once.
it wasn’t dramatic. just a quiet tap, like a habit forming. finn opened the door in sweatpants and a black tee, barefoot, eyes warm the moment he saw you.
"i brought proof i’m not just good at pouting and filming people crying", you said, holding up your laptop and two coffees from the lobby machine.
he smirked and stepped aside. "come in."
the room was dim, just the bedside lamp casting a soft glow. it smelled like clean cotton and mint toothpaste, and you felt your nerves settle as soon as the door clicked shut behind you.
you kicked off your sneakers and sat cross-legged at the foot of his bed, laptop balanced between you.
"you don’t have to watch the whole thing", you warned as it loaded. "it’s rough and personal and not even colour graded"
finn leaned back against the headboard, already pulling a pillow into his lap. "play it."
so you did.
it was a ten-minute short you’d shot after college, part self-portrait, part grief essay, part meditation on legacy and ambition. your voice narrated over footage of home movies, old arenas, quiet streets you’d walked alone. a version of yourself you’d rarely shown.
finn didn’t say a word until the last frame faded to black.
then he looked at you, really looked.
"i see you", he said.
three words. that was it. but they made something in you unravel in the best way.
"i don’t show that to a lot of people", you said quietly.
"i know."
his hand found yours between the pillows. "and you’re not just good. you’re honest. that’s rarer."
you squeezed his fingers once, like punctuation.
for a while, neither of you said anything. you leaned your head against his shoulder, still watching the black screen as if it might change.
eventually, he whispered, "you scare me, you know."
you lifted your head, surprised. "what?"
"you make me want to want things again."
you blinked, heart doing that strange twist it did when he was serious like this, unguarded.
"i don’t think that’s scary", you said. "i think it’s brave."
he turned to face you, his hand cradling the side of your neck now, thumb brushing your jaw.
"this is real, isn’t it?"
you nodded. "yeah. it is."
he kissed you, slow and sure, no rush, no heat. just the soft ache of being seen, of finally not running.
later, you lay curled against him, your laptop shut, your world quiet. you traced shapes on his chest beneath his shirt, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead like a promise.
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deadlines always brought pressure, but this one felt like it had teeth.
the docuseries pitch the one you’d been working on for months was due in just under forty-eight hours. the cut needed to be polished, the audio leveled, and the story tightened. and nothing was clicking. not the pacing, not the tone. not the voiceover you’d written in a haze of caffeine and imposter syndrome.
you’d locked yourself in a production bay near the far side of the arena, headphones clamped tight around your ears, eyes flicking across the editing timeline like it was a bomb you didn’t know how to defuse.
clips blurred together. interviews felt hollow. you’d rearranged the same three segments five different ways, and it still felt wrong, off balance, like a story you were no longer sure you believed in.
your chest tightened.
you paused the timeline and sat back in the uncomfortable folding chair, letting your head fall into your hands. your heart was racing, a slow thrum behind your ribs like it didn’t trust you to keep things together. you hadn’t eaten since breakfast, hadn’t slept more than four hours in two days, and the weight of it all, the expectations, the legacy, the need to prove you were more than just your last name pressed down on your shoulders until you couldn’t breathe.
tears came without permission. hot, silent, blurring the monitor.
you swiped them away, angry at yourself. no one could see you like this. not here. not in this world built on control and projection and armour. you weren’t fragile. you weren’t weak.
but you were tired.
so tired.
you didn’t hear the knock until the door creaked open.
"hey?" a voice called gently.
you turned, startled, blinking through tears.
becky lynch stood in the doorway, brows furrowed with concern. "someone said you were in here. you okay?"
you tried to smile. It crumbled at the edges. "yeah. just deadline hell."
she stepped inside anyway, careful and unthreatening. "you sure? you look like you’re about two keystrokes away from throwing that laptop through the wall."
that made you laugh, barely. a broken little exhale.
becky crouched down beside you, one hand resting lightly on your knee. "you want me to get your dad?"
your breath hitched. the thought of him walking in, seeing you like this, small, undone, spiralling, was unbearable. you shook your head quickly.
"no. please don’t."
becky tilted her head, patient. "okay. who do you need?"
you didn’t think.
you just whispered, "finn."
becky didn’t blink. didn’t question it.
she gave your knee a squeeze and stood. "i’ll go find him."
and then you were alone again, with your mess, your deadline, and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, someone was coming who wouldn’t ask you to explain why it was all falling apart.
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you didn’t know how much time passed. a few minutes, maybe. long enough for the adrenaline to wear off and the shame to creep in.
you wiped your face with your sleeve, took off your headphones, and closed your laptop like shutting it would somehow erase the feeling of failure. the silence left behind was deafening.
then the door opened again.
and there he was.
finn stepped inside without a word. he didn’t ask questions. He didn’t stare. he just crossed the room, eyes soft and steady, like he already knew everything he needed to know.
you tried to sit up straighter, to smile, to make a joke.
none of it came.
Instead, your breath caught in your throat and your eyes filled all over again.
"hey, love", he said quietly, crouching beside your chair. "you don’t have to pretend with me."
that broke something open.
the tears returned, slow, frustrated, defeated. you tried to speak, to explain, but your voice cracked on the first syllable and you gave up, burying your face in your hands.
finn didn’t hesitate. he pulled you forward into his arms, guiding you gently to the floor with him, settling you in his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. his hand cradled the back of your head. The other rested between your shoulder blades, grounding you with warmth and presence.
you let yourself cry against his chest. not loud. not messy. just quiet and raw, like a storm finally allowed to rain.
"i can’t do it", you murmured after a long stretch of silence. "it’s not working. the footage is there but the story is flat and i can’t figure out what’s missing and i’m running out of time"
"hey." his hand moved in slow, calming circles on your back. "you can do it. you’ve done harder things. you’re just stuck. not broken."
"i don’t want to let them down."
"you won’t. not with the way you care. that alone makes it real."
you pulled back just far enough to look at him, your forehead creased. "i feel like i’m failing."
he shook his head gently. "you’re feeling. that’s not failure. that’s what makes your work good. you’re not numb. you give a damn. that’s everything."
you didn’t respond. you just looked at him, really looked at him, until the noise in your chest started to quiet.
finn tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, then leaned forward and rested his forehead to yours.
"you’re allowed to break sometimes", he whispered. "let me hold it with you when you do."
that was the thing about him. he didn’t try to fix you. he just made space for you to be exactly as you were. messy, scared, overwhelmed and still worthy.
you stayed there like that, the two of you on the floor, tangled in soft silence, while the world kept turning outside.
and for the first time all day, you didn’t feel like you were drowning.
you felt like you were home.
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the room had gone quiet again, warm, still. the low hum of a nearby monitor was the only sound filling the space. you were still curled into finn, head tucked under his chin, his arms wrapped around you like a shield from the rest of the world.
you hadn’t moved. you hadn’t needed to.
until the door creaked open.
you felt finn stiffen the same moment you turned your head.
your father stood in the doorway.
hunter’s expression was unreadable at first. his eyes landed on you, still sitting in finn’s lap, your face flushed and damp, your hands curled in the fabric of finn’s hoodie like you were holding onto it for oxygen.
then his gaze shifted to finn and stayed there.
a long, pulsing silence followed.
"what’s going on here?" he asked, voice low, measured.
you sat up slowly, your heart plummeting into your stomach. finn let you go without resistance but stayed close, his presence still anchored to yours like gravity.
"dad", you said, hoarse. "i..."
"i didn’t ask you", he cut in sharply, eyes narrowing on finn.
finn stood.
not in defiance. not in fear. just calm. steady. a soldier prepared to take the hit if needed.
"she was overwhelmed", finn said. "i came because she asked for me."
hunter’s jaw clenched. "why?"
"i didn’t push this. she came to me."
hunter took a step into the room, shoulders tight. "so what is this? comforting her? or something else?"
you stood between them, your hands raised slightly like you could physically hold the moment back from collapsing.
"it’s both", you said quietly. "it’s not a fling. it’s not temporary. i didn’t plan this, dad. but it’s real."
he looked at you like he didn’t recognise you for a second.
"do you know what this looks like?"
"yes." you swallowed. "and i know you hate it."
hunter’s voice dropped even lower. "you’re twenty five."
"i know."
"he’s forty-three."
"i know, dad."
he stared you down, then turned his attention to finn again. "i trusted you."
"and you still can", finn said evenly. "i would never take advantage of her. i didn’t chase her. but i’m not walking away from her either."
the air thickened. the weight of the mcmahon and levesque names was heavy between the three of you, like legacy had its own gravity.
your father let out a sharp breath, rubbed a hand down his face.
"jesus", he muttered. "your mother is gonna lose it."
you almost laughed. almost.
but there was still something raw in your dad’s expression, not anger, not quite disappointment. just fear. for you.
he looked at you again. "does he make you happy?"
you didn’t hesitate. "yes."
hunter looked at finn one more time, like he was memorizing every line of his face for future reckoning. then he finally spoke.
"don’t screw this up."
and just like that, he turned and walked out, the door shutting quietly behind him.
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the door clicked shut behind your father, leaving a silence that rang louder than anything he'd said.
you stayed frozen for a moment, staring at the empty space he’d left behind. you could still feel the weight of his gaze in the air, like it had soaked into the walls. the adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet. your pulse still pounded in your ears.
you turned slowly, eyes finding finn’s.
he hadn’t moved. still standing where he’d risen to face hunter, his hands clenched at his sides, jaw tense like he was still bracing for a punch that never came.
"i’m sorry", you said, voice small.
that made him blink. "don’t be. you didn’t do anything wrong."
"i didn’t mean for him to find out like that."
finn finally relaxed his hands, then crossed the short distance between you. "would it have felt better if we’d kept pretending? hiding?"
you looked down. "i don’t know. maybe."
he tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. "he’s angry because he cares. but you didn’t imagine this. you didn’t make a mistake."
you nodded, but the words still clung to you like static. "he’s going to hate it for a while."
"probably", finn said with a faint smile. "but he’ll come around. you’re not a kid, love. he’ll see that soon enough."
you stepped into him again, resting your forehead against his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart. it was the only rhythm that made sense in the mess of the day.
"i didn’t even hesitate", you murmured. "when becky asked who to call. i just said your name. i didn’t even think."
finn’s arms slipped around you again, holding you close. "that’s how i knew it was real."
you looked up at him. "what happens now?"
he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, then smiled, soft and sure.
"now we stop hiding. and we figure it out. together."
you exhaled slowly, the tightness in your chest finally starting to ease.
together.
you’d gone into the day thinking everything had to be held on your shoulders. that showing cracks would make you weak. that falling apart meant failure.
but it hadn’t. not this time.
this time, it meant falling into someone’s arms and finally realising you didn’t have to carry it all alone.
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you were halfway through your coffee and trying to sneak a quiet five minutes in the back corner of catering when you knew, they knew.
you could feel it before you saw it. that too-quiet hush in the air that only meant one thing in this world: gossip had just walked through the door, and you were its subject.
rhea appeared first, eyes wide, "so. anything you want to tell us?"
you blinked. "about what?"
becky wasn’t far behind her. "don’t play innocent. we saw finn walking out of the media bay yesterday looking like he’d just gone twelve rounds with your dad."
"boss looked pissed", bianca added from the snack table. "like someone crashed his bike"
you groaned and slumped lower in your chair. "oh my god."
"so it’s true?" rhea dropped into the seat beside you. "you and finn are what? hooking up?"
"it’s not like that", you muttered.
becky leaned over the table, smirking. "then how is it?"
you hesitated for half a second and then you felt something shift inside you. the exhaustion of hiding. the weight of tiptoeing. all of it.
you set your coffee down. straightened your spine.
"it’s real", you said, voice calm and sure. "it started quietly, but it’s not casual. i didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. and i care about him. a lot."
the teasing died down then, replaced by something warmer.
liv, who had been keeping quiet because she already knew everything, reached across and squeezed your hand. "good."
you blinked. "good?"
she smiled. "yeah. good. you deserve to have something good."
"also", bianca said with a raised brow, "he’s hot as hell, and the accent doesn’t hurt."
sami, who’d apparently been lurking nearby with a protein bar, added, "you know, there’s a betting pool that’s been running for months about who triple h was going to yell at next. i'm gonna go see if i won anything."
"oh my god", you muttered again, hiding your face in your hands.
and then, of course, finn walked in.
right into the middle of it.
the room fell dead silent for one beat. two.
becky was the one to break it. "hey, finn. we were just admiring your emotional maturity and excellent taste in women."
finn, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat. he smirked, eyes flicking to you with that soft fondness he never even bothered hiding anymore.
"glad to see someone’s finally noticing", he said, then leaned down and kissed the top of your head like it was the most natural thing in the world.
you heard bianca gasp. sami choked on his protein bar.
finn just raised an eyebrow. "what? we’re not hiding anymore."
you couldn’t help it, you laughed. and this time, it wasn’t nervous or restrained or waiting for the fallout.
it was free. joyful.
this was what it felt like to stop pretending.
and judging by the warmth around you, the teasing grins, and the way liv immediately started planning a celebratory brunch, you weren’t going through it alone.
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you hadn’t been this nervous walking into your own childhood home since the time you broke your mom’s baccarat vase at age eleven and tried to blame it on shane’s kids.
but this was worse. much worse.
you and finn stood just outside the front door, the familiar stone steps of the mcmahon/levesque house stretching behind you, your hand clenched tightly around his. you could feel the warmth of his thumb brushing slow, steady lines across your knuckles.
"you sure about this?" he asked, voice low.
"no", you admitted. "but we’re here. so let’s do it before i turn around and run."
he squeezed your hand once before raising his other to knock.
it was your mom who answered.
stephanie was, as always, polished to perfection. her dark hair was pulled back, her makeup impeccable even for a quiet afternoon at home. she arched an eyebrow at the sight of the two of you on her doorstep.
"well. this is unexpected", she said.
"hi, mom", you managed, your voice half a breath.
she stepped aside and motioned for you to come in. you did, half pulling finn with you, like if you let go he might vanish.
you hadn’t told her anything.
not a hint.
you walked into the living room, where the air suddenly felt a little too still, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
she turned to face you both, arms crossed. "okay. what’s going on?"
finn stood straighter. respectful, calm, but not apologetic.
"we wanted to tell you something", you began. "together."
stephanie’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked between you.
you didn’t flinch.
"we’re seeing each other", you said simply. "it’s been a little while. we didn’t plan for it, and it started slow. but it’s serious."
she blinked. said nothing. just stared at finn like she was reading the fine print of a very questionable contract.
finn met her gaze head-on. "with respect, ma’am i care about your daughter. i didn’t seek this out. but i’m not walking away from it either."
stephanie exhaled through her nose. "so what is this? a midlife crisis?"
"mom", you said, sharp.
finn didn’t react. "no, ma’am. i’ve had plenty of crises. this isn’t one."
stephanie’s mouth twitched, something between a scoff and a smirk. "you realize who you’re dealing with, right?"
finn nodded. "i do."
"you know how old she is?"
"i do."
"you know who her father is?"
"i've worked for him for over a decade", he said. "i know him very well."
she folded her arms tighter, her gaze cutting back to you. "and you’re really okay with all of this?"
you nodded slowly. "i'm happy, mom. for the first time in a long time. and i didn’t expect it but i'm not running from it, either."
stephanie let the silence stretch for another beat. and then another.
finally, she sat down on the edge of the couch.
"well, hell", she muttered. "i was really hoping it was a fling."
you blinked. "wait. so you’re not mad?"
"oh, i'm furious", she said, rubbing her temples. "but not because i don’t like him. i do. that’s the problem. you picked someone i respect. which means if he hurts you, i’ll have to kill him, and then we’ll lose one of our best veterans."
finn let out a soft breath. you weren’t sure if it was relief or just awe at surviving.
then you heard a familiar voice behind you.
"i told you it wasn’t going to be a fling."
you turned.
your dad stood there, coffee in hand, leaning against the doorway like he’d been listening the entire time.
you groaned. "you couldn’t give me five minutes?"
"she deserves backup", he said.
you rolled your eyes. "do i get any backup?"
"no" they said in perfect unison.
finn laughed quietly beside you.
stephanie pointed a manicured nail at him. "just remember what i said."
finn tilted his head. "if I hurt her, you’ll end me. got it."
you sighed.
but as finn took your hand again, lacing your fingers together without hesitation, and as your mom finally cracked a smile, you realized something:
this was the start of something real. something rooted. and they could see it, too.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
you stared at the screen like it might burst into flames.
the email sat open in front of you, attached file, subject line, final review links. everything checked. everything done.
your finger hovered over the trackpad.
then, in one breathless second, you clicked send.
and it was gone.
months of work. Interviews, edits, sleepless nights, and one anxiety fuelled emotional meltdown in a wwe hallway all distilled into a single line of confirmation at the top of your inbox: message sent.
you stared at it in stunned silence.
you expected to feel relief. a surge of pride. maybe even tears.
but instead, you just froze.
like if you moved too fast, the whole project might collapse and somehow come back.
then a knock on the door broke the silence.
"brought coffee", finn’s voice called softly.
you scrambled to open the door, and there he stood, hoodie, joggers, messy hair, and two coffees in hand. the sight of him melted something tight in your chest.
"you did it?" he asked, stepping inside.
you nodded slowly. "it’s gone."
"just like that?"
"just like that."
he handed you one of the cups, but before you could take a sip, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you in.
"i’m proud of you", he said quietly.
your eyes closed for just a second. letting it land. letting it matter.
"i feel like i should be jumping up and down", you admitted, “but i’m kind of numb?"
"that’s normal. you’ve been carrying this on your back for months. it’s okay to let it settle."
you leaned your head against his chest. "is this how you feel after wrestlemania?"
"exactly. you finish, and your body’s like, cool, now we crash."
you smiled at that. "so crashing is allowed?"
he kissed the top of your head. "crashing is required."
for a while, you just stood there with him, sipping coffee and soaking in the moment. no pressure. no noise. just the kind of quiet that felt earned.
"i think it’s good", you said eventually. "the documentary. i think it’s really good."
he pulled back just enough to look at you. "i never had any doubt."
you met his eyes, that steady blue gaze you’d come to trust more than your own reflection, and for the first time since hitting send, the pride bloomed.
you had done it.
and you hadn’t done it alone.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
the restaurant wasn’t flashy. no chandeliers or velvet ropes. just dim lighting, worn wood, and soft music humming beneath the gentle clink of cutlery and low conversation. it was tucked into the corner of a quiet street finn had found a few towns over off the beaten path, private, perfect.
you sat across from him in a dress you hadn’t worn in months, soft waves in your hair, fingers curled loosely around a wine glass. the glow from the candle between you flickered, catching the gold in his eyes when he looked at you.
and he hadn’t stopped looking at you since you walked in.
"this feels like the first real date", you said, smiling around the rim of your glass.
he nodded slowly. "it does."
"you’ve taken me to catering. i’ve met your coworkers. you’ve held my hand in front of my very intimidating mother."
"romantic, that one", he teased.
you laughed softly, the sound honest and light. "but this, this is different."
finn reached across the table, brushing his thumb across the top of your hand.
"i know", he said. "that’s why i picked this place. i wanted it to feel like us. not work. not backstage. just you and me."
you let yourself take him in, the quiet steadiness, the lines around his eyes, the softness he saved just for you. it hit you all at once, how deeply this man had woven into your life. how easily he’d become your calm, your gravity, your safe.
"you scare me", you admitted.
he blinked. "what?"
"not in a bad way. just, this is big. you’re big. and i wasn’t looking for this, finn. but i can’t picture anything else anymore."
his hand tightened around yours, warm and steady.
"i get it", he said. "i wasn’t looking either. i thought i knew who i was, what I wanted. then you walked in, camera bag over your shoulder, talking fast and rolling your eyes at everyone. and that was it."
you let out a soft laugh, blinking fast against the sudden threat of tears.
he looked at you like it hurt to breathe.
"i love you", he said, voice low but certain. "i don’t care how it looks. i don’t care how it started. i love you."
you didn’t hesitate.
"i love you too."
it landed so easy. like truth. like gravity.
he exhaled, just a little, and then smiled in that quiet, private way of his that always undid you. "good", he whispered. "then let’s stop worrying."
you nodded, heart full and warm.
dinner arrived. you couldn’t remember what you ordered. it didn’t matter.
Hello and apologies for abandoning you all for over a year but (and I'm making absolutely no promises here) I might be back. A lot has happened in my life since we last spoke- I graduated university, got a job, passed my driving test and- oh yeah- travelled to the other side of the world to Australia for 4 months! I was meant to be out there for a year but plans change and that's okay. I have my job back, and more of a social life than I've ever been used to but I really want to get back into writing and I'm gonna give this a go again.
Like I say I'm making no promises about anything, mainly how often I'll update but I'll try my best and as always, suggestions are welcome! (I know someone wrote me a request literally 2 years ago and I will be getting to it as a stand alone one shot soon!)
they say heartbreak feels like drowning. for you, it comes in the form of grainy photos, whispered texts, and the gut-punch realization that the man you’ve loved for nearly three years chose someone else—someone you once called a friend.
so you leave monaco. you leave the apartment, the memories, the ache in your chest, and go home to the only people who have ever felt like home. elba o’ward has been your best friend since childhood, and her brother, pato, has always been there—loud, reckless, impossible to ignore.
what you don’t expect is that pato has been waiting all along. and this time, he isn’t going to let you go.
original request is here.
fc : saradeanii on ig
—
1 week ago…
yourusername
liked by elbaoward, patriciooward, alexandrasaintmleux & 1,890,000 others.
yourusername : a spill of my recents 📸
tagged : lando and magui_corceiro
—
view 129,000 other comments.
recent comments
username00 : oh she just posted this a week ago. poor bby
username15 : lando. when i catch you lando.
username17 : notice how neither of them liked this. backstabbers.
username77 : lando, que te folle un pez.
liked by elbaoward, patriciooward and yourusername
↳ username77 : AHAHAH HEY GUYS
username20 : her best friend and her boyfriend. that poor baby
username19 : well now that lando has fumbled ik who is first in line
older comments
elbaoward : my real life barbie 💗✨
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : mi vidaaaa<3 love you forever
liked by elbaoward
lando : my girl 😻
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : my mannnnnn🥰
↳ username77 : your girl but you didn’t like this post but liked her best friends…
patriciooward : te extraño queridaaaaaa
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : te extraño más mi patitoooo🗣️ iré a tu casa si tienes el wifi nuevamente activado🥴
liked by patriciooward
↳ patriciooward : está de nuevo listo para ti, mi reina.
liked by yourusername
↳ username155 : omg yn saw the wifi nonsense too😭
↳ yourusername : SAW IT? mama i lived it. who do you think was getting called every 5 minutes out of pure boredom????
liked by patriciooward and username155
magui_corceiro : minha linda menina💓
liked by yourusername
lilymhe : so obsessed with YOU.
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : that’s so funny because i feel the same about you !!!!!
liked by lilymhe
alexandrasaintmleux : most beautiful angel xx🤍
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : love you love you love you
liked by alexandrasaintmleux
—
flashback (1 week ago…)
The day has been long — meeting in the morning, a team event in the afternoon — and the two of you are finally back in Monaco, the warm glow of late afternoon spilling across the balcony. The air smells faintly of salt and sunscreen, and Lando is stretched out on the couch, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, thumb scrolling idly on his phone.
You’re curled up beside him, still wearing the oversized McLaren hoodie he tossed at you before you left this morning, your legs tucked underneath you. Your hair is still a little messy from the wind, and you’re halfway through stealing one of his crisps from the bowl on the table.
“You hungry?” he asks without looking up, voice light.
“Starving,” you reply around a mouthful of crisp, smirking when he finally glances over at you.
His smile is easy and familiar, the kind that used to make you feel like the only person in the room. He sets his phone down on the coffee table — face-down. Not unusual, you tell yourself. He does that sometimes. Still, the motion catches your eye.
“I was thinking Italian tonight,” he says, reaching out to tug gently at the sleeve of your hoodie. “That place by the harbor you love — the one with the wine you always say is too sweet.”
You laugh softly. “You mean the wine you drink when you’ve had a bad day?”
He grins, leaning closer. “Guilty. But I figured we could walk down, maybe grab gelato after. Your favorite. The one with the little chocolate shavings.”
It’s hard not to melt at the thought — or at the way he’s watching you like he’s cataloging every reaction. You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of him.
“You’ve been on your phone a lot lately,” you murmur before you can stop yourself. It’s not accusatory, just an observation.
He chuckles, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Just sorting some stuff for next week. Don’t worry about it.”
“Wasn’t worried,” you say, but the unease lingers in the back of your mind. Maybe you’re reading into things. Maybe it’s just the stress of the season.
His hand slides down to lace with yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Love you, you know that?”
You smile, squeezing his fingers. “Yeah. I know.”
And maybe that’s enough to make you swallow the question on your tongue. You don’t ask who he was texting. You don’t ask why his smile feels just a touch too polished tonight. Instead, you let him pull you up from the couch, laughing as he complains about how long you take to get ready, and you decide — just this once — to ignore it.
—
present day
f1gossipgirls
2,000,000 likes.
f1gossipgirls : trouble in paradise? lando norris was spotted getting close to model magui corceiro at a nightclub last night in portugal, with multiple witnesses claiming the two left together before boarding a private jet this morning. what makes this even messier? magui is best friends with yn ln, a 23 year old internationally known model who has been publicly dating lando since early 2022. the two women have often been photographed together at races, vacations, and events, making this rumored fling a major shock to fans.
—
view 300,000 other comments.
username000 : nahhh this has to be fake right???
↳ username17 : i fear this is typical behavior for magui AND lando
username15 : MAGUI??? as in YN’s BEST FRIEND magui???
username23 : if this is true… i actually feel sick for her
username00 : yn was literally at his race last week smiling and supporting him… men are wild
username10 : magui better turn off her comments real quick 💀
username20 : lando better run and hide from elba bc i sense she is coming after him with something sharp
liked by elbaoward
↳ username13 : ELBA😭😭
username100 : this is actually the worst plot twist of 2025
username25 : PATOOOOOOOO OH PATOOOOO COME GET YOUR GIRL
username75 : imagine throwing away yn for MAGUI of all people
username88 : honestly queen has been booked and busy lately, she probably don’t care
—
You push open the door to your apartment in Monaco, the soft click echoing unnervingly in the quiet space. The familiar scent — a mix of sea salt, sun-warmed concrete, and faint traces of his cologne — hits your nose, and for a moment, it feels like you’re stepping back into a memory. But the warmth you once felt here is gone.
Your bag falls from your shoulder with a dull thud on the floor. You’re exhausted, drained in a way that no gig or jetlag could ever cause. Your phone buzzes insistently in your hand — notifications, messages, tags from people you barely know.
You unlock it with numb fingers, eyes scanning the screen.
An explosion of posts from gossip accounts fill your feed. The latest: photos of Lando and Magui — smiling, close, tangled in a way that used to belong to you. Shots from a club in Portugal, then boarding a private jet together early this morning.
Your heart stops.
You swipe to the comments. Hundreds of strangers, friends, fans — everyone shocked, devastated, furious. Your breath catches, tears prickling your eyes, but you blink them back. You don’t want to break down here. Not yet.
Your gaze flickers to the kitchen counter where Lando’s laptop sits — still open, like a silent witness. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, grounding yourself.
You tell yourself you have to see. You have to know.
Click. The screen brightens, the familiar interface opening. His messages.
A sea of texts stretches out — timestamps deep into the night, conversations between Lando and Magui that you never saw coming. Flirty emojis, inside jokes, whispered promises. Messages that should have been yours.
You feel the air leave your lungs, like you’re being crushed from the inside out. Your vision blurs.
Every word you read twists the knife deeper. The laughter you shared, the plans you made — all replaced by secrets and lies.
You sink to the edge of the couch, trembling, your phone slipping from your fingers onto the floor. The silence of the apartment presses in, louder than any scream you can’t let out.
You wrap your arms around yourself, like you’re trying to hold your shattered pieces together. The photo on the wall catches your eye — a snapshot of you and Lando, sun-drenched and smiling on a beach vacation.
You reach out, fingertips grazing the frame, a ghost of a smile flickering before it’s swallowed by sorrow.
Then, you stand. Slowly, painfully.
You walk to your bedroom, each step heavier than the last. Your suitcase sits waiting — half-packed from an earlier trip that now feels like a lifetime ago.
You start pulling clothes from the closet, stuffing them into the bag with trembling hands. Every shirt, every dress, every little thing is a quiet declaration: this is the end.
The tears come then — quiet at first, then flooding down your cheeks, unstoppable and raw.
You don’t bother to stop them. Not anymore.
When the last zipper clicks shut, you grab your bag and head to the door.
One last look around the apartment — your home, your heart, your heartbreak.
You close the door behind you softly, but with a finality that echoes through your chest.
Outside, the Monaco sun is still shining, but inside you know — this is where you stop looking back.
—
The low, constant drone of the private jet’s engines vibrates beneath you, a dull hum that fills the cabin but does little to quiet the turmoil in your mind. Outside the small oval window, the world shrinks away into a blur of clouds and sky, but inside you’re trapped, the weight of everything pressing down like gravity itself has turned cruel.
Your hands shake as you pull your phone from your pocket, the screen lighting up with Elba’s name — the one lifeline you still trust, the one person who feels like home even when everything else feels broken.
You hesitate, swallowing hard before pressing the call button.
The phone rings, once, twice… then Elba’s voice, calm and familiar, fills your ears.
“Hey. It’s me,” your voice barely carries, raw and fractured, like you’re speaking through a fog.
“Mi cariño.” Elba’s voice shifts instantly — soft, comforting, a shield against the cold reality crashing down around you. “I saw everything online. I’m so sorry, love. I wish I could’ve told you sooner, but I wanted to be sure before I said anything.”
You close your eyes, biting back a sob. “I didn’t want to believe it. I kept telling myself it wasn’t real. But then… the messages. The texts. It’s worse than I ever imagined.”
There’s a pause, the kind that holds space for pain without rushing it.
“You don’t have to go through this alone,” Elba says finally, her voice steady and warm. “You can come stay with me. For as long as you need. There’s no rush, no pressure — just a safe place, a home to heal in.”
That word — home — lands like a gentle hand on your heart, softening the edges of your pain for the first time in hours.
“I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, voice breaking under the weight of it all. “I thought I had my life figured out… that we had a future. And now it feels like everything’s crumbled.”
Elba’s voice is unwavering. “You had a life with him, but that wasn’t your whole life. You’re so much more than that chapter. And I’m here, okay? I’ll be here through all the mess, the anger, the tears — every step.”
You let out a shaky breath, the tightness in your chest loosening just a little. For the first time since it all started, you feel a flicker of something you thought was gone — hope.
“Thank you,” you whisper. “I’m scared. I don’t know how to do this without him.”
Elba’s laugh is quiet but full of love. “That’s why we’ll do it together. You’re not alone, mi vida. I’ve got you.”
The plane’s engines hum steadily as you lean back, eyes fixed on the soft light of the cabin ceiling. Outside, the world is vast and unknown, but inside, there’s a promise. A promise that maybe, just maybe, you’ll find yourself again.
—
The plane’s wheels kissed the runway with a gentle thud that echoed in your chest. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath. After all the chaos and heartbreak, you were finally here — home.
The cabin lights brightened, and you slowly gathered your things. Your fingers trembled as you zipped up your bag, your heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion, fear, and a faint glimmer of hope.
Each step down the jetway felt surreal. You wanted to believe that once you saw Elba, everything would somehow begin to heal.
The bustling airport surrounded you, voices and wheels rolling across polished floors blending into a distant hum. Your eyes scanned the crowd, searching. Then you saw her — Elba, standing near the arrivals gate, her phone still in hand, eyes wide with relief as they locked onto you. Without hesitation, she broke into a run and threw her arms open.
You didn’t stop yourself. You rushed into her embrace, collapsing into the warmth and safety you’d missed so desperately.
“It’s okay,” Elba whispered softly, her voice steady yet filled with tenderness. “You’re here now. You’re safe. You’re home.”
Your tears spilled freely, your face pressed into her shoulder as all the pain, confusion, and exhaustion poured out.
“I… I didn’t know what else to do,” you choked out between sobs. “I thought I had it all figured out. And then—”
Elba tightened her hold. “Shh. It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. You just need time. And I’m here, always.”
You pulled back just enough to look at her, your eyes red and shining. “Thank you… for everything. For being here when I didn’t know who else I could trust.”
She smiled, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’re not alone. We’re going to get through this together, okay?”
You nodded, the weight on your chest lifting just a little.
Elba squeezed your hand gently. “Let’s get you out of here and into some sweatpants. I’ve got a whole weekend planned — rest, junk food, terrible movies, and zero pressure.”
A small laugh escaped you, and you let yourself believe that maybe this was the fresh start you needed.
—
The moment you step inside Elba’s warm, inviting home, a soft sense of relief settles over you like a weighted blanket. The walls, adorned with photos of family and laughter, feel like a gentle promise that this place is different — a sanctuary.
Elba’s husband, Brent, greets you at the door with a warm smile and a quiet hug that feels like an unspoken welcome. His eyes hold kindness, but he quickly senses the heaviness you carry.
“Welcome home, YN,” he says softly. “If you need anything, just let me know.”
Elba nudges him and jokingly states. “Give us some space. She needs time to breathe.”
With a nod and a knowing smile, Brent steps back, leaving the two of you alone.
You follow Elba to the living room, where soft blankets and plush pillows are waiting. “I’ve stocked the fridge with all your favorites,” she says, her voice bright but tender. “Tonight, we do nothing but rest.”
You manage a small smile, sinking into the couch’s comforting embrace. But exhaustion weighs on you heavier than anything, and soon Elba helps you up.
“I set up the guest room for you. It’s just down the hall,” she says, leading the way.
Your footsteps echo softly as you enter the calm, softly lit room. The bed is made with fresh linens, and the gentle scent of lavender fills the air.
“Try to get some sleep,” Elba says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “We’ll take it slow.”
You nod, grateful, and let the quiet pull you under.
Hours later, just as the moon casts silver light through the window, the front door opens quietly — Pato is home.
Elba catches his eye from the kitchen, a silent question passing between them. She gently pulls you aside, kneeling to meet your gaze.
“Would you like to see him? He’s asked about you a lot.”
Your heart skips, nerves fluttering but warmth blooming just beneath.
“If you’re okay,” you whisper.
She smiles softly and leads you to the living room where Pato waits. His usual energy is softened, replaced by a tenderness reserved only for you.
When you step inside, his face breaks into a gentle grin. “Hey,” he says simply, reaching out to take your hand.
You lean into his touch, the years of friendship and unspoken feelings wrapping around you like a safe harbor.
Without words, he pulls you into a hug — steady, grounding, full of the promise that you don’t have to face this alone.
You sigh against his chest, the weight of pain lifting just a little.
“I missed you,” he admits quietly.
“Me too,” you breathe.
For the first time since everything fell apart, you feel the soft pulse of hope — fragile but real — blossoming between you.
Elba watches with a smile from the doorway, silently thankful that her two favorite people are finally beginning to heal together.
—
Sunlight streams gently through the large kitchen windows, painting the room in a soft, golden glow. The scent of fresh coffee mingles with the sweet aroma of sizzling bacon and warm pancakes, wrapping around you like a comforting hug as you slowly wake from a deep, peaceful sleep.
You stretch beneath the soft duvet in the guest room, the soft scent lingering in the air, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel the crushing weight of sadness pressing down on your chest.
Downstairs, muffled laughter floats up to you — the familiar, easy sound of Elba and Pato sharing a quiet moment. It’s like a balm to your soul, reminding you that you’re not alone anymore.
Pulling on a soft, oversized sweater and your favorite sweatpants, you make your way down the stairs, the floor cool beneath your bare feet.
Elba is at the kitchen island, carefully setting the table with fresh fruit, pancakes stacked high, fluffy scrambled eggs, and the perfect mugs of coffee — just how you like it.
“Good morning,” she says, turning with a warm smile that reaches her eyes, full of kindness and unspoken understanding. “How did you sleep?”
“Better than I thought I would,” you admit, sliding into a chair beside the table. The soft cushions welcome you, and for a moment, you just breathe, letting yourself settle into this moment of peace.
From the stove, Pato flips a golden pancake with ease, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I’m guessing the guest room isn’t half bad,” he teases, catching your eye with a sparkle of warmth.
You chuckle softly. “Definitely better than the loud nights in Monaco.”
He leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes twinkling with that familiar mischievous light. “You know, you could’ve told us you were coming. We might have planned a welcome party.”
Elba laughs, pouring you a fresh cup of coffee and sliding it across the table. “Party or not, you’re here now — and that’s what matters.”
You reach for the warm mug, the smooth ceramic grounding you. “Thanks, both of you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
Pato’s grin softens, and he pushes off the counter to sit beside you. “We’ve been waiting for you to let us in. It’s okay to lean on us.”
Elba joins you, her hand brushing yours across the table, a quiet promise that you’re not alone. You smile, a genuine, small smile that feels like a seed of hope growing inside your chest.
Pato leans in with a teasing smirk. “So, when are you going to stop being mysterious and let us in on all your secrets?”
You raise an eyebrow, laughing. “I suppose they were his secrets more than mine.”
“Touché,” he replies with a chuckle. “But you’ve been holding back. We’re here for all of it — the good, the messy, everything.”
Elba nods, squeezing your hand gently. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Let us be your strength.”
You take a deep breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease for the first time in weeks.
As you share breakfast, laughter, and quiet moments, the warmth between you feels like the first soft light after a long, dark night.
For the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to believe in new beginnings — fragile, yes, but glowing with hope.
—
The late afternoon sun bathes the quiet neighborhood in a soft, golden light as you and Pato step outside, Norbi happily bounding ahead with his short legs and fluffy tail wagging like a little flag. The fresh air fills your lungs, carrying with it a calmness that feels foreign but desperately needed.
You let your fingers brush against Pato’s as you walk, the easy contact grounding you in the moment. Norbi sniffs eagerly at every tree and bush, blissfully unaware of the heavy thoughts weighing on your heart.
Your phone buzzes sharply in your pocket. You pull it out and glance down — Lando’s name glaring up at you, unwelcome and intrusive. You don’t hesitate. Without a word, you press the power button, silencing the call.
Pato’s gaze shifts to you, concern etched across his face. “Did he call again?”
You nod, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Yeah. I’m just… not ready.”
He falls into step beside you, his presence quiet and reassuring. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
But after a moment, you realize maybe you do. Maybe finally, after all this time, it’s time to stop carrying the weight alone.
You stop near a small park bench, the soft hum of distant traffic and rustling leaves filling the space around you. Norbi settles down at your feet, looking up with bright eyes.
Taking a deep breath, you meet Pato’s steady gaze. “You know about what happened with Lando. About the cheating.”
He nods slowly, fingers entwining with yours. “I figured. But if you want to tell me more… I’m here.”
Your voice trembles as you begin. “When we started dating, it was everything I wanted — fun, support, laughter. But slowly, things changed. The late nights on his phone, the missed calls, the excuses.”
You look down, the memory sharp and painful. “I tried to ignore it, convinced myself it was stress or work. But deep down, I felt the distance growing.”
Pato squeezes your hand gently, encouraging you to keep going.
“It wasn’t just the cheating,” you confess, voice cracking. “It was how it happened. Magui — she was my best friend. Someone I trusted with my whole heart.”
Your eyes glisten with tears you don’t try to hide. “When I found out, it wasn’t just the betrayal of the relationship. It was the betrayal of friendship. The way they hid it from me, all while I was still believing, loving him.”
Pato’s face softens, the pain in your words settling deep in his chest. “I’m so sorry, cariño. That is more than anyone should have to endure.”
You nod, swallowing hard. “It broke me in ways I didn’t even realize until I left Monaco. I had to get away — away from the lies, from the people who pretended everything was fine.”
You squeeze his hand, a fragile hope blooming between you. “You’ve always been so patient with me. Quiet. Steady. And for the first time, I’m starting to feel like I can breathe again.”
Pato smiles gently, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to carry that weight alone anymore. I’m not going anywhere.”
You lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his presence seep into the cold corners of your heart. Norbi barks happily, breaking the silence, and in that simple moment — beside someone who truly sees you — it seems like the future might be bright.
—
several weeks later…
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yourusername : vegas w my pookies 🎰✨🪩
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oscarpiastri : my icon. win some money in vegas for me.
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↳ yourusername : my SECOND favorite mclaren employee. win that wdc for me ;)
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↳ username5 : imagine lando reading this. ik oscar is giggling.
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patriciooward : some people got luckier than others…
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↳ username17 : WHAT DOES THIS MEAN HELP
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↳ yourusername : CHRISTIAN PLEASE
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alexandrasaintmleux : revenge arc and revenge dress. IM IN LOVE. PICK ME INSTEAD🧎🏻♀️
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↳ yourusername : i miss you so much😭 kiss leo for me pls !!!
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—
You’re curled up on the couch in Elba’s living room, wrapped in a cozy blanket and scrolling mindlessly through your phone when Elba pops her head around the corner, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.
“Hey, you,” she says, “how about a quick escape?”
You glance up, raising an eyebrow. “Escape from what exactly?”
Elba winks. “All the drama, emails, social media chaos — basically, life. You need a break.”
Before you can answer, Pato strolls in, holding Norbi in one hand and a bag of chips in the other.
“And I brought snacks and corgi kisses,” he announces, plopping down beside you with a cheeky grin.
Elba nudges him. “See? We come bearing gifts.”
Pato’s eyes twinkle as he adds, “And more importantly, a promise— all fun. No drama, no phones, just good vibes.”
You laugh softly, setting your phone aside. “I don’t know. Vegas is… a lot.”
Elba flops down next to you, mock serious. “It’s Vegas, baby! Neon lights, silly hats, endless buffets. Plus, I’m telling Brent to bring his best poker face.”
Pato chuckles. “And I’ll be your personal dealer. Cards, cocktails, and cuddles. All you can take.”
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “Alright, alright. But if I end up losing all my chips, I’m blaming you two.”
Elba beams. “Deal! Vegas, here we come.”
—
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and the three of you stepped out into the lobby of the restaurant. Warm golden light spilled from chandeliers that sparkled overhead, casting a glow over plush carpet and crystal glasses. The soft hum of conversation, the clink of silverware, and the faint scent of truffle oil and fresh bread wrapped around you like a warm welcome.
Elba was already striding ahead, her white silk dress catching the light with every step. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine shoot, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way she owned the room without even trying.
Pato, trailing behind you. “Remind me never to stand next to my sister in photos.”
You nudged him with your elbow. “Relax, you clean up alright yourself.”
His grin was shameless. “Just alright?”
Your laughter followed you to the table the hostess led you to — a corner spot with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Strip. The view was insane. The entire city was lit up like it was trying to outshine the stars, neon signs blinking and massive LED billboards flashing in colors you didn’t think existed in nature.
“This,” Elba said as she sat down, smoothing her dress, “is the vibe.”
Pato leaned back in his chair, smirking. “This is the appetizer. Wait until we hit the casino.”
Menus appeared in front of you, along with a bottle of deep red wine and warm bread that you tore apart instantly. Conversation flowed like the wine — easy and bright. Elba told a story about a disastrous hotel pool party she once went to, and Pato launched into a retelling of a ridiculous karting race from when you were kids. You were laughing so hard your cheeks hurt before your entrées even arrived.
By dessert — a decadent chocolate soufflé you pretended to share but definitely ate most of — Elba leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Okay, so here’s the plan. Blackjack. Loser buys the first round of drinks.”
Pato raised an eyebrow. “Is this before or after I take all your chips?”
“Oh, it’s cute you think you’re that good,” you teased.
Twenty minutes later, the three of you stepped onto the casino floor, and the atmosphere swallowed you whole. Bright lights flashed, chips clinked, and the low murmur of dealers calling bets mingled with bursts of cheers from lucky winners. You’d never been in a place that felt so alive.
Pato dragged you to the blackjack table while Elba went hunting for a slot machine with “a good vibe.” You sat next to him, a little intimidated at first, but quickly got into the rhythm — hit, stand, double down. The stack of chips in front of you wasn’t massive, but it was growing.
“Beginner’s luck,” Pato muttered when you beat him for the third hand in a row.
You smirked. “Or maybe I’m just better than you.”
His arm found its way around your waist halfway through the game, warm and steady. His thumb brushed absentminded circles against your side, and you tried to focus on the cards in your hand instead of the way your heart was suddenly hammering.
Elba eventually reappeared, waving a handful of small winnings. “Drinks are on me!” she announced.
The three of you ended up in a plush booth near the bar, neon lights from the casino spilling across the table. You leaned back, your legs tucked under you, and Pato’s arm stayed exactly where it had been all night — around you, grounding and warm.
At one point, he leaned in just enough for you to hear over the music. “Told you Vegas would be good for you.”
You met his eyes, the corners of your mouth tugging upward. “Yeah… you were right.”
When you finally left, the Strip stretched out before you, buzzing with life. The night air was cool, carrying the faint smell of street food and perfume. Elba linked her arm through yours, and Pato walked close enough that your shoulders brushed with every step. You hadn’t expected to feel this light again — not yet, not so soon. But walking back to the hotel, laughing at something ridiculous Pato said, it hit you. You were happy. Really happy.
—
The next night in Vegas had a completely different energy. Elba and Brent had their own dinner plans — something about a show and “grown-up time,” as Elba called it — which left you and Pato on your own.
He knocked on your hotel suite door just as you were finishing your makeup, leaning casually against the doorframe in a crisp white button-up with the sleeves rolled. The sight made your stomach do something suspiciously close to a somersault.
“Well,” he said with a grin, giving you an obvious once-over, “if we’re going to dinner, I’m going to have to up my game. You’re making me look underdressed.”
You smirked, stepping past him and locking the door behind you. “You say that every time, and yet…”
He held out his arm dramatically. “Shall we, señorita?”
The restaurant was the kind of place you wouldn’t dare step into without reservations — dim lighting, sleek black marble tables, soft jazz playing under the quiet hum of conversation. The kind of place where you didn’t just eat; you lingered. You drank wine that was far too expensive, ate pasta that tasted like it had been blessed by angels, and let conversation flow as easily as the champagne. At one point, you caught him watching you over his glass, that familiar little half-smile playing at his lips.
“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothing,” he said, still smiling. “Just… glad you’re here.”
Something about the way he said it made your chest feel warm, and you had to look down at your plate to keep from staring back too long. By the time you left the restaurant, you were both a little tipsy — giggling too loudly as you made your way through the hotel to the club inside. The bass hit you the second you stepped in, deep and pulsing, vibrating through your chest.
Pato found you a spot near the back, tucked into a booth but still close enough to the dance floor to feel the energy. Drinks appeared — cocktails in tall glasses with neon straws — and the night blurred into a haze of music, laughter, and the comfortable way he leaned close to talk in your ear.
At some point, you ended up on the dance floor together, the crowd pressing in, the beat heavy and intoxicating. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, his arm slipping around your waist like it had a hundred times before. But this time, it felt different.
You were laughing at something he said — you couldn’t even remember what — when you looked up and really saw him. The lights were flashing, painting him in shades of pink and blue, and his smile was so genuine it made your chest ache.
Without thinking, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. It was quick, almost clumsy, and you pulled back immediately, cheeks burning. “Sorry, I—”
He laughed, shaking his head, his hand still warm on your waist. “You’re drunk,” he teased gently.
You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “So are you.”
And maybe that was all it took — because then he was leaning in, his forehead brushing yours, and his mouth met yours again. This time slower. Softer. The noise of the club seemed to fade, the lights dimming in your periphery. All you could focus on was the way his lips moved against yours, the way his thumb traced absentminded circles at your hip, like he’d been waiting for this for a long time but was in no rush to ruin it.
When you finally pulled back, breathless and smiling, he didn’t move far. His eyes were warm, a little dazed, like maybe he felt the same thing you did — that something had shifted, quietly but completely.
“You’re are gonna get me in so much trouble,” you teased, trying to keep your voice light.
He smirked, brushing his nose against yours. “Guess we’re both in trouble then.”
The rest of the night was a blur — more dancing, more laughing, and his hand never leaving yours as you stumbled back to the hotel together, the city glowing below like it had been lit just for you.
—
The first thing you noticed when you woke up wasn’t the headache — though, yeah, the pounding in your skull was pretty unforgiving — it was the warmth next to you.
You cracked one eye open to find Pato sprawled sideways across the other half of the bed, fully clothed in last night’s button-up and jeans, one arm dangling off the side like he’d fought a war with the mattress. His hair was a complete disaster, sticking up in every direction, and his face was buried halfway into a pillow. You groaned softly, pressing the heel of your hand to your temple. The movement made him stir.
“Mmm…” His voice was gravelly with sleep. “Tell me we didn’t agree to an early breakfast.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Relax. It’s—” You grabbed your phone from the nightstand. “—almost eleven.”
His eyes cracked open just enough to catch sight of you sitting there, hair messy from sleep, wrapped in the hotel duvet. A slow grin spread across his face. “You look like a burrito.”
You tossed a pillow at him. “You look like a disaster.”
“Yeah, but a charming disaster,” he shot back, sitting up and stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to make your still hazy brain short circuit. Your mind flickered back to last night — the dancing, the drinks, the kiss. You wondered if he remembered all of it, but before you could ask, he gave you that same warm look he’d given you across the dinner table.
“Feeling okay?” he asked quietly.
You hesitated, then nodded. “Better than I thought I would.”
“Good,” he said, reaching over to ruffle your hair gently. “If you were going to have your first Vegas hangover, at least you had an elite level babysitter.”
You laughed, but it was cut short by the sudden vibration of your phone against your leg. You glanced at the screen — and froze. Lando. You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, hadn’t wanted to, and now his name was glowing across your screen like some kind of bad omen.
Pato noticed immediately. “You don’t have to—”
But you were already swiping to answer, curiosity and stubbornness winning out. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” His voice was sharp, no greeting, no pause.
“None of your business,” you said evenly.
There was a beat of silence, then, “I saw your pictures.”
You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the headboard. “Congratulations, you follow my Instagram.”
“You’re with him?” The edge in his voice was unmistakable — jealousy, raw and ugly. “Pato? Really?”
You glanced sideways at Pato, who was now sitting cross legged on the bed, watching you with a small, curious smile like he could hear enough to piece it together.
“Yes,” you said simply, even though it wasn’t technically official. “He’s been here for me. Which is more than I can say for you.”
“That’s—” Lando started, his tone growing defensive. “That’s different.”
“No,” you cut him off, your voice sharpening. “It’s not. You cheated on me with my best friend, Lando. And now you’re jealous? You don’t get to be jealous. Not anymore.”
On the other end of the line, you could practically hear him breathing hard. “He’s not right for you.”
Pato raised his eyebrows at that, mouthing Wow.
You took a deep breath, your fingers tightening around the phone. “The thing is, he’s exactly right for me. And if that bothers you… that’s your problem.”
Before he could respond, you ended the call, tossing the phone aside. For a moment, there was just silence in the room. Then Pato leaned back on his hands, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Well,” he said, “that was… hot.”
You laughed, a little surprised at yourself. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” he said, standing and stretching again. “But I think you just made my entire week.”
And when he offered you his hand to get up, you took it — the unspoken weight of last night and this morning hanging in the air between you, warm and electric.
—
The next night felt different. Not in a we’re going to a club and making questionable decisions kind of way, but in a softer, more deliberate sense.
Pato had knocked on your hotel room door right before sunset, wearing a crisp black shirt and black trousers that fit him almost too well. He had his hair styled just enough to look like he hadn’t tried at all, and when you opened the door, he just stood there for a second, looking at you like you were the only person in the building.
“You look…” He paused, letting his gaze travel slowly over your dress. “Wow. I was gonna say ‘beautiful,’ but that doesn’t even cover it.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “You look pretty good too, O’Ward.”
He grinned and offered you his arm. “Ready?”
The restaurant he’d chosen was tucked away from the chaos of the main Strip — dimly lit, all warm golden tones and candles on every table. You were seated in a private corner booth, and it almost felt like the rest of the world had been shut out.
Pato was charming as always, telling you ridiculous stories from his racing career and making you laugh so hard you nearly snorted wine. But there were also quieter moments — his hand resting close to yours on the table, his eyes soft when you spoke, the way he seemed to actually listen, not just wait for his turn to talk.
At one point, between the main course and dessert, he leaned back in his seat and studied you for a moment.
“You know…” he said slowly, “I’ve wanted to take you out like this for a long time.”
You tilted your head, smiling. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said with a little nod. “But I didn’t want to push. I figured you might not be ready for… all of this.” He gestured vaguely between you, his voice warm but careful. “And I don’t want to be that guy who swoops in just because someone else hurt you.”
Your heart squeezed a little. “Pato…”
He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table. “That being said,” he added with a small, almost shy smile, “I do want to be yours. Whenever you’re ready.”
You didn’t even have to think about it.
“I’m ready now,” you said softly.
For a second, he just blinked at you like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Then his whole face lit up in a grin so bright it could’ve rivaled the Vegas Strip.
“Yeah?” he asked, almost boyishly.
“Yeah,” you confirmed, reaching over to take his hand. “I want this. I want you.”
He squeezed your hand back, and that smile didn’t leave his face for the rest of dinner. The ride back to the hotel was quiet in the best way. You sat side by side in the back of a black SUV, his fingers loosely linked with yours, the neon glow from the Strip flashing across his profile as you passed by casinos and endless signs.
At one point, the car slowed as you passed one of those tiny wedding chapels — white lights strung along the roofline, a big sign advertising “Elvis Officiants” and “Same-Day Marriages.”
Pato’s gaze flicked toward it, and then he let out a low chuckle. “One day,” he murmured, almost to himself, “I’m bringing you back here. We’ll get married in some ridiculous little chapel, and I’ll make sure they have the tackiest Elvis impersonator they can find.”
Your head turned toward him, warmth blooming in your chest. “Oh, really?” you teased, but your voice was softer than you expected.
“Mmhm,” he said, giving your hand another squeeze. “We’ll have champagne in paper cups, and Norbi will be the ring bearer.”
You laughed, leaning into him a little. “That’s… oddly perfect.”
He glanced down at you, his expression gentler now. “Don’t worry. I’m not saying we need to run off and do it tomorrow. But one day… yeah. I can see it.”
And the thing that surprised you most wasn’t his words — it was how easily you could see it too. By the time you reached the hotel, your cheeks hurt from smiling.
—
Back at the hotel, Pato unlocked the suite door and held it open for you, still grinning like he couldn’t quite believe the night had happened.
“After you, mi novia,” he said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The word hit you right in the chest — my girlfriend. You didn’t think you’d hear that again so soon, let alone in a way that made you feel this… light.
You stepped inside, kicking off your heels, and he set his keys on the counter before nodding toward the windows. “Come here. The view’s better from the balcony.”
The Vegas Strip stretched out below, glittering in a thousand shades of neon. You could see the fountains at the Bellagio dancing to some faint music, the glow of the Eiffel Tower replica across the street, the constant buzz of life even at this hour.
“Not bad,” you murmured, leaning your forearms on the railing.
Pato stepped up beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. “I was actually talking about the view right here.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Cheesy.”
“Accurate,” he countered, turning so he could really look at you. The cool night breeze stirred your hair, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.
He reached up, tucking a strand behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You know,” he said softly, “I’ve imagined this moment a hundred times. But somehow, this is better than I thought.”
Your breath caught a little. “What moment?”
“This one,” he said simply, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “Standing here with you. Knowing you’re mine. Finally being able to do this—”
And then he kissed you. It wasn’t rushed or heated like the club — it was slow, intentional, the kind of kiss that said I’ve been waiting, but I’m not going anywhere. His hands settled at your waist, pulling you closer, and you curled your fingers in the fabric of his shirt, deepening the kiss just slightly before breaking away with a soft laugh.
“You’ve been holding out on me, O’Ward,” you teased.
He smirked, leaning his forehead against yours. “I told you. I wanted to do this right.”
The city kept buzzing beneath you, but up here, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you — his warm hands, his steady heartbeat, his smile that made it feel like maybe, just maybe, you could trust love again.
—
4 months later...
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yourusername : always a papaya girl...this time just a slightly prettier shade ;) @/arrowmclaren
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lilymhe : iconic caption. 10/10.
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—
You’re leaning against the railing, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the mid afternoon glare, when you hear your name. Not just your name — his voice saying it. You freeze.
“YN.”
You turn slowly, heart pounding in your ears, and there he is. Lando. In his McLaren gear, cap pulled low, a look on his face you can’t read. You feel Elba stiffen beside you, her hand curling around your forearm like she’s ready to physically block him if needed.
“What do you want?” Elba’s voice is cool, her posture sharp. She shifts, subtly stepping between you and him.
“I need to talk to her,” Lando says, gaze fixed on you.
“You’re not—” Elba starts, but you place a hand on her arm.
“It’s fine,” you murmur, though your chest feels like it’s tightening. “Two minutes.”
Elba gives you a hard look — the kind that says she doesn’t like this, not one bit — but she nods and stays close enough to hear if you raise your voice. You follow Lando a few paces away, just far enough from the crowd. He takes off his cap, running a hand through his hair, and for a moment you see a flicker of the boy you used to love.
“I made a mistake,” he starts, his voice low but urgent. “I never should’ve—”
You hold up a hand. “Lando, stop.”
“No, listen to me,” he insists. “I messed up, okay? With Magui, with everything… I was stupid. I was stressed, I—”
“You cheated,” you cut in, each word deliberate. “You didn’t trip and fall into her. You made a choice. Multiple choices.”
His jaw tightens, but he presses on. “I thought… I thought maybe we could fix it. We were good together, YN. You know we were.”
A bitter laugh escapes you. “Were. Past tense.”
“I can be better. I can prove it.”
“Lando…” You shake your head, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. “You didn’t just break my heart, you broke my trust. You broke… us. And I’ve moved on.”
His eyes darken. “With him? With Pato?”
You lift your chin. “Yes. With Pato. And I’m happy.”
“That’s not real,” he says, stepping closer. “You can’t be—”
“Enough,” you snap, taking a step back. “You don’t get to tell me what’s real. You lost that right the second you decided being in my best friend was worth more than our relationship.”
He flinches, but you don’t soften.
Elba appears at your side again, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. “We’re done here.”
Lando’s jaw works, like he wants to say more, but instead he just nods once, shoving his cap back on before walking away. You exhale, your whole body trembling. Elba slips an arm around your shoulders, guiding you back inside. “I’m proud of you,” she says softly. “And I’ve got you. Always.”
—
Pato finds you in the motorhome an hour later, fresh out of the car and still buzzing from practice. His hair’s messy under his cap, his race suit halfway unzipped, but the moment he sees your face, his expression changes instantly.
“Princesa…” He drops the water bottle in his hand and walks straight to you. “What happened?”
You hesitate, your fingers tightening around the coffee cup Elba shoved into your hands earlier. “Nothing—”
“Don’t,” he says firmly, crouching in front of where you’re sitting. “Your ‘nothing’ face looks a whole lot like your ‘I’m about to cry but I don’t want to make a scene’ face.”
Your lips part, but no sound comes out. It’s Elba who answers from the couch across the room, voice sharp. “Lando happened.”
Pato’s entire body goes still. He looks at you again, and it’s different now — softer for you, but there’s a storm brewing just under the surface. “Did he touch you?”
“No,” you say quickly. “He just… he cornered me outside and started talking. About wanting me back. About—” You exhale shakily. “About how what I have with you isn’t real.”
Pato’s jaw clenches. He sits back on his heels, trying to keep his voice even. “He said that to you?”
You nod.
“Cabron…” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. Then he stands, pacing once like he’s trying to burn off the urge to march straight to McLaren’s garage. Elba gives him a look, warning.
Pato stops pacing and turns back to you, his expression shifting again — the anger still there, but now wrapped in something gentler. “Hey,” he says, kneeling back down so you’re eye level. “You know that’s crap, right? Every word. What we have—” He takes your free hand, squeezing it. “—is the realest thing I’ve ever had.”
You blink hard, your vision blurring. “I know. It’s just… hearing him say it—”
“—doesn’t make it true.” His voice is firm but quiet, and it sinks in deeper than you expect. “You’re not going to waste another second doubting yourself because of him. Not while I’m here.”
There’s something so steady in the way he says it that it breaks you open a little. You let out a shaky laugh, brushing at your eyes. “You’re a good one, Patito.”
He grins, just a little. “The best one you’ve got.”
Elba snorts. “Alright, lovebirds, enough. You’re making me gag.”
Pato doesn’t even look at her — just tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and says, “Ignore her. I’ve got you. Always.”
And you believe him without hesitation.
—
The garage is pure chaos after the checkered flag drops. Mechanics are yelling, hugging, slapping each other’s backs. The monitors still flash P1 next to Pato’s name, and you’re standing there in the middle of it all, heart pounding like you were the one out there pushing the car to its limits.
You watch him on the feed, helmet still on, standing on top of the car and soaking in the roar of the crowd. He’s grinning so hard you can feel it from here. And then — the camera cuts to his podium moment. He lifts the trophy, champagne spraying, and you swear the whole place feels like it’s vibrating with pride.
When the celebrations on the stage wrap, you figure he’ll go off to media duties first, like always. But the moment he disappears down the stairs, you hear the commotion outside the garage door — shouting, running footsteps, and then—
“Princesa!”
He doesn’t slow down. Still in his race suit, still sticky from champagne, Pato charges straight into the garage, vaults the barrier like it’s nothing, and grabs you.
You barely get a breath out before you’re wrapped up in his arms, feet lifting off the floor as he spins you once, twice, laughing into your neck. And then he pulls back just far enough to look at you — cheeks flushed, eyes blazing with pure joy — and kisses you.
Not a quick peck. Not something shy. This is a full, grounding, I just won and you’re the first person I needed to see kiss. You hear the cheers from the crew around you, someone wolf-whistling, someone else yelling, “Get a room!” but neither of you care.
When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your hands still gripping the front of his suit. “Pato—”
“Had to find you first,” he says, forehead pressing to yours. “None of this means anything without you here.”
You don’t even notice Lando at first. But then, over Pato’s shoulder, you catch him — standing just beyond the crowd, still in his McLaren kit, expression unreadable but his jaw set tight. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just watches. Pato notices where your eyes have gone. He follows your gaze for half a second, then turns back to you and smiles like the rest of the world doesn’t matter. Like he’s choosing to make a point without ever having to speak. He kisses you again — slower this time, deliberate — and the message is clear: you’re his, and he’s not afraid to let anyone see it.
When he pulls away, he grins. “Let’s go celebrate, mi vida.”
And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel the weight of the past tugging at you. Only the warmth of now.
—
6 months later...
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patriciooward : kept my promise, brought her back and made her mrs. o'ward <3 love you forever and always mi vida
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The roar of the crowd still echoed faintly in the back of your mind as you stepped into the hotel suite. The adrenaline from the race had worn off, replaced by a warm buzz of happiness. Pato had just taken the checkered flag again — another incredible victory — and you couldn’t stop smiling. He was already there, leaning casually against the window, his race suit replaced with a simple white shirt and dark jeans. The city lights flickered behind him, casting soft glows that made his eyes shine even brighter.
“You looked amazing out there,” you said, dropping your bag by the door.
He turned, that signature grin lighting up his face. “Only because I had the best support.”
You moved closer, wrapping your arms around him, feeling the familiar steady beat of his heart. “You earned this.”
He kissed the top of your head softly, then suddenly stepped back, a little nervous energy replacing his usual confident swagger.
“YN…” His voice dropped to a gentle murmur. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to ask you this.”
You blinked, curiosity and excitement mixing in your chest. “Ask me what?”
From his pocket, he pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate ring — a simple band with a single sparkling diamond that caught the light perfectly.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said, dropping to one knee without hesitation. “Will you marry me? Fly out to Vegas with me this weekend and say yes?”
Your breath hitched, tears welling in your eyes before you even had time to answer.
“Yes,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Yes, I will.”
He slipped the ring onto your finger and pulled you up into a tight, trembling hug. “You make me the happiest man alive.”
You laughed through the tears, resting your forehead against his. “I think this is the best win of your career.”
He chuckled, kissing you again — soft, slow, full of promises. The city glittered around you, but all you saw was each other.
—
The morning sun filtered softly through the wide windows of the suite, casting a gentle glow over the room filled with quiet excitement. You stood in front of the full length mirror, the delicate lace of your dress brushing your skin like a whisper. Elba was beside you, carefully fastening the tiny buttons up the back, her hands steady but her eyes shimmering with emotion.
“Can you believe this day is finally here?” she asked, her voice low and warm.
You smiled, your heart fluttering. “I’ve dreamed about it... but somehow, it feels even more real now.”
Elba reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You look breathtaking.”
You caught her reflection and saw the affection there — not just as your best friend, but as your sister in every way that mattered. As Elba finished the last button, Norbi — ever the lively corgi — padded into the room, tail wagging wildly. He hopped up onto the soft rug, circling around your feet before settling contentedly by the chair.
“You’re the best ring bearer anyone could ask for,” Elba teased, kneeling to scratch behind Norbi’s ears.
He responded with a happy bark, making both of you laugh. The door to the suite opened quietly, and a few close family friends filtered in — smiles bright, eyes warm with love and celebration. You could feel the hum of joy and nervous anticipation mingling in the air, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.
Elba caught your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Ready for this?”
You nodded, taking a deep breath that filled your lungs with confidence and hope. “With you here? Always.”
Together, you stepped away from the mirror, hearts aligned and spirits soaring, ready to begin the next chapter of your story surrounded by love.
—
The ceremony was set in a beautiful garden terrace just off the hotel, surrounded by lush greenery and delicate white flowers that danced gently in the breeze. The late afternoon sun bathed everything in a soft golden light, making the scene feel like something out of a dream. You stood just behind the archway, your heart hammering wildly as soft music played. Elba squeezed your hand one last time before stepping aside to take her place among the guests. And then, you saw him.
Pato was standing at the altar, the most radiant smile on his face, eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you. The moment your gaze met, his breath hitched, and a flood of emotion crossed his features — pride, awe, pure love.
With each step you took down the aisle, the world seemed to slow, every detail sharpening — the shimmer of your dress, the warmth of the sun, the steady beat of Norbi’s little paws padding beside you as he proudly carried the rings tied to his collar.
Just as you reached the altar, Norbi decided this was the perfect moment to get a little distracted by a stray leaf fluttering across the grass. He chased it with all the enthusiasm of a puppy, prompting a ripple of laughter through the guests and a gentle shake of the head from Pato.
“You ready for this, mi vida?” Pato whispered as you took his hands, his voice thick with emotion.
“I’ve never been more ready,” you said, smiling through tears.
The officiant began the ceremony, but all you could focus on was the way Pato’s eyes held yours — steady, loving, and filled with promises that went deeper than words. When it came time for the vows, you spoke first, your voice clear but tender.
“Pato, from the moment you came into my life, you’ve shown me a love that is patient, kind, and true. You’ve stood by me through every high and low, and with you, I am home. Today, I promise to be your partner, your friend, and your biggest supporter — now and always.”
He squeezed your hands, his eyes shimmering, before speaking his own vows.
“YN, you are my light, my strength, and my heart. You’ve made me better in every way and taught me what it truly means to love. I promise to cherish you, protect you, and laugh with you for the rest of our days.”
As the officiant pronounced you husband and wife, Pato leaned in to kiss you — a soft, lingering kiss that was met with cheers and applause. Norbi, still energized from his earlier distraction, bounced around excitedly, barking happily as if celebrating right along with everyone else. Later, as you and Pato walked hand in hand down the aisle, the sun setting behind you, the world felt perfect.
—
The reception was held in a softly lit ballroom filled with laughter, music, and the warm hum of celebration. Twinkling fairy lights were strung overhead, casting a magical glow over the tables where friends and family gathered, glasses raised in joyous toasts.
You slipped through the crowd, arm in arm with Pato, the band playing a slow, romantic song that made your heart flutter. Elba was nearby, radiant in a flowing white dress, her eyes shining with happiness as she caught your gaze and smiled.
At one point, Pato pulled you gently onto the dance floor, his hands steady around your waist as you swayed together. The world seemed to melt away until it was just the two of you, moving in perfect rhythm.
Elba watched for a moment before joining you both, tugging Pato into a playful hug that made him laugh. “Look at you two,” she teased. “I still can’t believe this is real.”
“You should know,” Pato said, grinning, “I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a kid.”
Elba smiled, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “And you, YN, you’re the best sister I could have ever asked for. You two make everything brighter.”
You felt a rush of love for them both — the bond of family, friendship, and something even deeper. As the night wore on, Norbi made his rounds, charming guests and sneaking bites of cake when no one was looking, and the three of you found a quiet moment on the balcony, the city lights twinkling below. Pato wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, while Elba leaned into you both with a contented sigh.
“To new beginnings,” Elba said softly.
“To family,” you and Pato said in unison, smiling into the night — knowing whatever came next, you’d face it together.
well hello light of my life, how’ve ya been? i just finished a shift from hell so naturally, here i am, gracing you with my presence. so many ideas bouncing around in this head of mine, i can’t seem to commit to one. so i’ve decided to let you decide my next request for when you’re feeling up to it. all of which include lewis because he lives rent free apparently. i have a:
brocedes x reader
sewis x reader
whatever valtterri and lewis duo name is x reader
or a simple lewis x reader.
also should i change my profile picture again? i’m getting that itch
love you lots, hugs and kisses
revenge of britney — lh44
smau + written blurbs
lewis hamilton x ! driver rosberg reader
everyone in the paddock knows three things about you—
you’re fast.
you’re fearless.
and you hate lewis hamilton.
at least, that’s what they think. you’ve spent your whole career under your brother’s shadow—same name, same team, same enemy. lewis never lets you forget it either. he smirks during interviews, throws digs over the radio, and watches you just a little too closely on race day.
you give as good as you get. every overtake, every podium is a reminder that this is your era now—not his. but somewhere between the rivalry and the rage, something shifted.
and now, the man you were raised to hate is the only one who really sees you.
and that? that’s a problem.
fc : annie schröter (also i imagine reader to be like 28-30)
(a/n) : you gave me brocedes x reader — i raise you rosberg reader x lewis — bc i secretly have a brocedes x reader ive been working on but have no motivation to finish for some reason! lewis also lives rent free in my head— he’s just too beautiful. speaking of beautiful— how have you been love??? ive been pretty good! and i think you should change it just bc i want to see another picture of that beautiful face. love you so so so so much and i hope you enjoy this!!!!
—
f1gossipgirls
liked by lando and 2,705,500 others.
f1gossipgirls : YIKES. lewis hamilton throwing shade at yn rosberg in his post-race interview… and she was seen walking past him with a smirk on her way to the cooldown room 👀😬😳
—
view 185,000 other comments.
username00 : lando you sneaky hoe get out of the likes
↳ lando : never
liked by f1gossipgirls
↳ f1gossipgirls : well if you won’t leave you can at least give us the inside scoop
↳ lando : HELL no. i am on good terms with both of them rn and i don’t want to put my life in danger
liked by f1gossipgirls
↳ username7 : LANDO SHSHSH
username55 : not lewis still fighting ghosts of rosbergs past 😭😭
username17 : i know the day yn was born— nico saw it as the perfect opportunity to find another way to torture lewis
username25 : oh she’s living rent free in that man’s head
username77 : he’s just mad she overtook him like it was nothing BYE
username10 : lewis pls be serious. she’s faster than you. just say congrats and move on 😭
username11 : how many rosbergs does it take to trigger lewis hamilton? apparently two.
username75 : he is lowkey just jealous she took his spot at merc and is doing better than he is at his new team
username15 : i know evil old man britney spears is sitting at home, watching this and cackling
username72 : camera caught him watching her leave after the interview too. this man is down bad 💀
—
The heat of the race still clings to your skin as you climb out of the car, lungs burning, hair matted to your forehead beneath your helmet. Your engineer’s voice rings in your ears—“P3, that’s a podium! Hell of a drive, Rosberg.” You barely hear him.
Because Lewis Hamilton is already out of his car.
He’s standing just ahead, helmet tucked under one arm, jaw clenched so tight you can practically hear it crack. Ferrari’s mechanics swarm around him like bees, tension clinging to their red and black uniforms like static. P7. He couldn’t get past you. Again.
You don’t mean to smirk. But it happens anyway.
You walk past him slowly, deliberately, helmet still on so he can’t see your face—just the silver and teal flash of your suit and the quiet swagger in your stride. But right as you reach him, you tilt your head just enough. The corner of your mouth curls up. A smirk. Quick. Lethal. Targeted. He sees it. And he burns.
You don’t stop. Just keep walking toward the cooldown room, heart still racing with adrenaline and the high of taking that final podium spot. His spot.
Later, after the champagne has dried sticky on your race suit and the top three drivers have done their usual round of photos and press, you’re ushered toward the post-race media zone. You expect the usual questions from reporters. You don’t expect the man holding the mic. Nico.
He grins as you approach, proud and protective all at once. “YN Rosberg,” he says into the camera, voice warm. “Another podium. Another battle. And another race ahead of Lewis Hamilton. Sound familiar?”
You roll your eyes. “Oh come on, don’t act like you’re not living for this.”
Nico laughs. “I won’t deny it. But seriously—tell us about that move in Sector 3. He tried to cover the inside, and you just slipped by like he was standing still.”
You shrug, playful. “I guess Ferrari didn’t teach him how to defend against a Rosberg.”
The crew laughs. Nico raises an eyebrow. “You’re gonna get me in trouble, you know that?”
“You love it,” you shoot back.
But your smile falters the second you see Lewis walking toward you.
He’s passing through the media pen, earbuds in, face unreadable. But he notices you instantly—eyes flicking to the mic in your hand, then to Nico’s face, then settling on you. His jaw tightens. His gaze lingers too long.
You stand straighter. Pretend it doesn’t sting.
He slows just a second as he walks past. Doesn’t speak. But you hear it anyway—the bitterness, the exhaustion, the weight of everything unspoken.
You exhale through your nose, fighting the ache in your chest. Fighting the urge to turn and follow him. To say something—anything.
Nico watches the exchange, eyes narrowing slightly. “Still no love lost there, huh?” he says quietly, off-mic.
You swallow. Shake your head. “There was never love to begin with.”
But it’s a lie. And Lewis knows it. Because before he disappears behind the media wall, he glances back once more. And this time, he’s the one smirking.
—
The club is loud—bass thudding through the floor, neon lights casting flashes of pink and electric blue across the crowd. You’re tucked into the VIP section with your team, drink in hand, heels kicked off under the table, hair finally down after a long day in the spotlight.
The podium still clings to your skin, champagne residue and pride mixed with exhaustion. The win wasn’t yours, but the satisfaction of finishing ahead of him? That stuck.
You’re laughing at something one of your engineers says when you feel it—that shift in the air. That pull. That tension that only shows up when he’s in the room. You don’t even have to look. You know. Lewis Hamilton is here. And, of course, he spots you immediately.
He makes his way through the haze and crowd like he owns the place. Like the music bends around him. Black shirt, chain glittering at his neck, jaw set like he’s still stuck in the last race. People greet him as he passes, but his eyes are only on you.
You see him coming and sip your drink without flinching, settling deeper into the plush booth. You don’t move. You don’t blink.
He stops in front of you, one brow raised, smirk lazy.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, voice smooth but sharp.
You tilt your head, unimpressed. “I’m sorry—didn’t realize you owned clubbing and nightlife along with your seven world titles.”
He chuckles. Low and warm. “Didn’t peg you for the type to celebrate third place.”
You flash him a smile, all teeth and venom. “Didn’t peg you for the type to party after P7.”
That gets him. His jaw tics, just slightly.
“You know,” he leans closer, voice just loud enough for you to hear over the music, “for someone who swears they hate me, you talk about me an awful lot.”
You look him dead in the eyes. “I talk about a lot of things that annoy me.”
He smirks. “Mm. Still obsessed.”
You roll your eyes and turn away, sipping your drink again. “Get in line.”
But he doesn’t move.
He leans down, closer now, breath brushing the shell of your ear. “You can keep pretending you don’t feel it,” he murmurs, “but I know what that smirk today meant.”
You clench your jaw. “Yeah. It meant you were behind me.”
He laughs, but there’s something darker in it. Something tired. Or bitter. Or wanting.
“You remind me so much of him,” he says suddenly.
Your entire body stiffens.
You face him again slowly, cold creeping into your tone. “Don’t.”
He holds your gaze. “But you’re not him, are you?”
“No,” you snap. “I’m worse.”
There’s a long pause. The music shifts, pulsing harder, the lights spinning faster. Somewhere across the club, someone shouts, but all you can hear is your heart in your throat and Lewis breathing in front of you.
Then he steps back, eyes still locked on yours.
“You really think I’m the villain in your story,” he says, almost softly. “But you’re not the hero either.”
You laugh once, dry. “Good. Heroes are boring.”
You turn back to your team, leaving him standing there, alone in the swirl of light and sound and legacy.
But you feel his eyes on your back all night. And later, in your hotel room, when you’re alone with the quiet and the cold… you realize you wish he’d stayed.
—
yn_rosberg
liked by kimi.antonelli, nicorosberg, lando and 4,500,900 others.
yn_rosberg : hopefully this dump isn’t too aggressive xx
—
view 872,000 other comments.
lando : mercedes needs to chill and by mercedes i mean you
liked by yn_rosberg
↳ yn_rosberg : whose side are you on norris?
↳ lando : not picking sides ma’am. definitely not.
liked by yn_rosberg
danielricciardo : glad to see you’re still an absolute menace
liked by yn_rosberg
↳ yn_rosberg : ill never change danny
liked by danielricciardo
isackhadjar : can my goats PLEASE stop beefing? it makes me ache in ways i cannot explain
liked by yn_rosberg and lewishamilton
↳ yn_rosberg : tell him to stop behaving like a dick and we might have a compromise
liked by lewishamilton
↳ kimi.antonelli : yn will forever be my favorite
liked by yn_rosberg
↳ isackhadjar : she is literally your teammate???
↳ kimi.antonelli : have we learned that teammates don’t have to like each other???? cough cough…brocedes
↳ username00 : kimi u r literally commenting this on a thread on nico rosberg’s sisters (your teammate) instagram
↳ kimi.antonelli : well aware. yn and i discuss it often
liked by yn_rosberg and username00
charles_leclerc : i wish i could lie and say this isn’t iconic but it is (lewis don’t kill me)
liked by yn_rosberg
↳ username5 : she even has his teammate on her side 😭
lilymhe : she is exactly who she thinks she is
liked by yn_rosberg
↳ lilymhe : also the nails eat down
liked by yn_rosberg
↳ yn_rosberg : thank you lilz💘
liked by lilymhe
username005 : when yn was born i swear the first words nico spoke to her were to haunt lewis for the rest of his career
↳ nicorosberg : can confirm
liked by yn_rosberg and lewishamilton
lewishamilton : interesting caption
liked by yn_rosberg
↳ yn_rosberg : oh hi!!! love my fans 💋💋
liked by lando, lewishamilton, nicorosberg and charles_leclerc
—
f1gossipgirls
3,500,700 likes.
f1gossipgirls : y/n rosberg and lewis hamilton are back at it again—this time with a little trackside spice. 👀
on lap 27, yn held her line into turn 7 and left just enough space for lewis, who ended up running wide and losing two places. the move was aggressive, clean, and 100% legal—but that didn’t stop the tension from boiling over.
lewis refused to comment post-race. yn? she just smiled and said, “if he didn’t want to be pushed off, he should’ve stayed ahead.” 😮💨
is it rivalry? is it unresolved tension? is it just really fast foreplay? no clue.
—
You’re still unzipping your suit when the door swings open. You don’t even have time to turn around before you hear it—his voice, sharp and low and furious.
“Are you proud of that?”
You sigh, eyes fluttering shut as you let the fireproof layer fall to your waist. “You’ll have to be more specific, Hamilton. There’s a lot I could be proud of today.”
He doesn’t answer at first. You hear the door shut with a soft click. Locked. You turn slowly.
He’s standing there in his race suit, unzipped halfway, damp with sweat, chest heaving. Jaw tight. Eyes burning into you like he’s barely holding himself back.
“Turn 7,” he spits. “You forced me off.”
You shrug, unapologetic. “Held my line. Clean overtake. The stewards said—”
“Fuck the stewards, YN.” His voice rises just enough to cut the air between you. “You knew what you were doing.”
“And you didn’t know what I was capable of?” you shoot back. “That sounds like a you problem.”
His gaze sharpens, but he steps forward. One step. Then another.
“You think this is a game?” he says, low now, almost a growl. “You think just because you’re fast and smug and carrying your brother’s name like a crown, you get to walk around here and make everyone dance to your tune?”
You don’t flinch. “Funny. You sound more like a fan than a rival.”
He’s close now. Too close.
You can see every detail of his face—the faint crease in his brow, the clench of his jaw, the heat that’s not just anger. It’s something else. Something more dangerous.
You whisper, “You can’t stand that I beat you.”
His breath hitches.
You smirk, tilting your chin up, lips just inches from his. “That I push you off track and smile about it. That I’m everything you swore you’d never let win.”
His hand hits the wall beside your head. The other finds your waist. And then he’s kissing you.
Hard. Fast. Like he’s punishing you. Like he’s trying to erase the way your car looked flying past his on that straight.
You gasp into his mouth, but your fingers are already on the back of his neck, yanking him closer, pulling him under.
It’s teeth and tongue and bruised lips, breathless moans against each other’s mouths. His hand slips beneath the waistband of your fireproofs and you shiver as his fingers grip your hip like he’s trying to hold himself together.
“Say it,” he mutters against your lips. “Say you wanted me to lose.”
“I didn’t,” you whisper, breath ragged. “I wanted you to watch me win.”
He groans, pressing his forehead against yours, chest heaving. “You’re fucking infuriating.”
“And you’re obsessed with me.”
You barely finish the sentence before he’s on you again, hands everywhere, lips trailing down your jaw, biting at the skin just beneath your ear like he’s claiming territory. You let out a breathless sound, trying not to let him hear how much you want this. How much you want him.
You’re not even sure who backs into the wall first. You just feel the cold of it against your spine and the warmth of his mouth against your neck. His name leaves your lips like a curse, like a prayer.
You don’t kiss someone like this if you hate them.
You don’t touch someone like this if it’s just a rivalry.
This is something else. Something bleeding and reckless and real.
He pulls back just enough to look at you—lips red, eyes wild.
“I hate how much I want you.”
You stare back, fingers still curled in his race suit.
“Then stop pretending you don’t.”
—
You spot him before he spots you.
He’s by the bar, dressed in all black, sipping something neat, surrounded by the usual whispers. Hair tied back, diamonds glinting at his ear, sleeves rolled just enough to show the tattoos you traced with your fingers three nights ago.
You shouldn’t be here.
Well—technically, you should. They made it very clear this charity gala was mandatory. But emotionally, spiritually, physically?
You’re not ready to be this close to Lewis Hamilton with only a flimsy dress and three days of silence between you. You’d left things… unspoken. And undressed.
Now you’re in a backless black gown, your hair swept up, glass of champagne in one hand, and the ghost of his hands still printed on your skin.
And of course—of course—the moment you try to slip away, Toto grabs your wrist lightly.
“YN, come meet the CEO of the foundation. Lewis is already over there.”
Perfect.
You paste on a smile, say something polite, and let yourself be steered toward the one man you’ve been. He sees you as you approach. And his entire body goes still.
You pretend not to notice. Smile through the introductions. Nod along to something the CEO says. But you can feel him beside you—taller, warm, radiating heat like a furnace in the cold formality of the ballroom.
“YN,” he says, finally.
You turn, slow and steady, face unreadable. “Lewis.”
He tilts his head, studying you. “You clean up well.”
You smirk. “Most people do when they’re not being shoved into gravel.”
He hums, amused. “Still proud of that move?”
You lean in slightly, just enough to make him freeze. “Still thinking about it?”
His eyes darken. God, it’s so stupid how close you are without touching.
You’re surrounded by PR managers and sponsors and photographers, and somehow it feels more intimate than the driver room. More dangerous. More forbidden.
“You disappeared after the race,” he says, voice quiet now.
“You didn’t exactly stick around either.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Would you have wanted me to?”
You hesitate. Just a second. Just long enough for him to notice.
Your voice drops. “Would you have stayed?”
The air between you pulls tighter. He steps in, not quite touching, but close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne—deep and sharp and exactly how he smelled pressed up against you, breathing your name like it meant something.
“I wanted to,” he says. “But I didn’t want to make it worse.”
You blink up at him. “It’s already worse.”
His lips part slightly. Like he’s about to say something—something real. But then a camera flashes nearby and you both snap back into character. You smile politely and turn to accept another handshake from a sponsor. He turns to speak to someone in a tuxedo.
But later, when the night winds down and you’re leaving, you glance back across the ballroom. He’s watching you. And there’s something in his eyes that says— this isn’t over.
—
The night ends the way it always does—with too many cameras, too many expectations, and not nearly enough distance between you. You try to leave quietly, slipping out through a side entrance of the Monaco venue. Your heels click against marble, your dress sways with every step, and the sea air hits you like a breath of reality.
Then you hear him.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?”
You stop. Turn slowly. Lewis is leaning against the wall near the car park entrance, jacket slung over his shoulder, undone bowtie hanging loose around his neck. His eyes catch the light—dark and dangerous.
“I didn’t think you’d notice,” you say coolly.
He walks toward you. Slow. Controlled. Like he’s still calculating every move.
“I noticed everything about you tonight.”
You hate how your body reacts. How heat coils low in your stomach just from his voice.
“I wore black so you’d shut up,” you tease, breathless already.
He smirks, but it fades quickly. “You looked like sin.”
You don’t answer. You can’t. Because suddenly he’s right in front of you. And neither of you are pretending anymore.
The silence buzzes with everything unspoken—Monaco, the post-race kiss, the fact that he hasn’t stopped looking at you all night. That you haven’t wanted anyone else to.
You inhale sharply. “This is a bad idea.”
“I know,” he says, eyes dropping to your lips. “Still want to stop?”
You don’t. So you don’t.
He kisses you like he did after the race—hard, desperate, like he’s furious and starving at the same time. His hands tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp, and your body presses into his like you’re trying to erase the space between you.
You end up in the back of a blacked-out car, his mouth never leaving yours, his hands gliding up your thighs like he knows exactly what he’s doing—and he does.
By the time you reach the hotel, you’re already half-undressed.
He slams the door shut behind you. You back into the suite blindly, pulling him with you. He lifts you up without warning, setting you on the edge of the table, mouth hot against your collarbone.
“You drive me insane,” he mutters against your skin.
“Good.”
He groans and pulls your dress down your shoulders. You claw at his shirt. There’s no time to be slow, no room for pretending this is careful. It’s not. It’s need. Months of taunts and smirks and fights—exploding in hands and lips and heat.
He pushes into you like he owns you. You bite his shoulder, trying not to scream. He kisses you through it, hand tangled in yours, forehead pressed to yours like this means nothing—and everything—all at once.
When it’s over, you lie there tangled in sheets, sweaty and dazed, staring up at the ceiling like it holds all the answers. He’s quiet beside you. Breathing heavy. Bare back rising and falling in the dim hotel light.
You should get up. Say something smug. Tease him. Pretend this didn’t shake you to your core.
Instead, you just whisper, “We can’t keep doing this.”
He turns his head, eyes heavy.
“I know.”
But neither of you move.
—
several weeks later…
yn_rosberg
liked by lewishamilton, nicorosberg, kimi.antonelli and 7,007,075 others.
yn_rosberg : productive few weeks…new car, new tattoo and a first podium for my son (my little baby teammate) so so proud!
—
user has disabled comments on this post.
—
twitter!
f1gossipgirls : uhhh did anyone else catch lewis hamilton’s comment on y/n rosberg’s latest post before she disabled the comments entirely or am i hallucinating??? 👀👀👀
—
You knew he’d come eventually. You just didn’t think it would be today—not minutes after FP2, still in your race suit, hair messy, heart hammering from both the car and the comment he left on your post.
You’d posted it thinking he wouldn’t see it. Or that he wouldn’t care. Or maybe—just maybe—you hoped he would. You didn’t expect him to actually say something. Or for it to cut like that.
You deleted it three minutes later. Disabled the comments. Slammed your phone into your bag and promised yourself you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. But now?
Now he’s standing in the doorway of your private room in the Mercedes garage, eyes dark and jaw tight, like he’s one breath away from saying something he’ll never be able to take back.
“Can we talk?” he asks, voice hoarse.
You look up slowly from where you’re sitting on the couch, towel still around your neck. “Pretty sure you said everything in the comments, Hamilton.”
He flinches slightly at the name. You don’t care. Not right now.
“You didn’t answer,” he says.
“And you didn’t text. Or call. Or speak to me for weeks, Lewis. You disappeared.”
“I had to,” he says, stepping inside. “I needed space.”
You let out a humorless laugh. “From what? Me? Or the fact that we crossed a line you never wanted to cross?”
His eyes flash. “You think I didn’t want that?”
“I don’t know what you want,” you snap, standing now. “One second you’re kissing me like you never want to stop, and the next you’re walking past me in the paddock like I don’t exist. You kissed me. You slept with me. And then you vanished.”
He’s breathing hard now, chest rising and falling under his team shirt.
“I was scared,” he says finally.
That makes you pause. “Of what?”
“Of how much I wanted you. Of how badly I wanted to see you again. Of what it meant that I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
The room stills. Your anger thins into something quieter. Softer. But it still hurts.
“Then why didn’t you just say that?” you whisper.
“Because you’re just like him,” he says, stepping closer, voice breaking. “And I’ve spent half my career pretending your last name didn’t haunt me. And then you showed up. Cocky. Brilliant. Fast. And I hated how much I liked it. I hated how much I liked you.”
Your heart thuds painfully.
He looks down, eyes clouded. “But I couldn’t stop. And I kept pretending it was just adrenaline or tension or sex, but it wasn’t. It isn’t.”
His gaze lifts to meet yours, full of something raw and terrifying.
“I’m in love with you.”
Silence.
Just the quiet hum of equipment outside the door. The beating of your heart. You blink slowly, barely able to breathe.
“I know I ruined it,” he says, taking another step forward, close enough now that you can see the pain in his face. “I know I messed this up, and I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I couldn’t stay away anymore. I don’t care what your last name is. I don’t care about the past. I love you.”
You stare at him. And then? You let yourself break.
“God,” you whisper, grabbing his face and pulling him in. “You’re such an idiot.”
You kiss him like you’ve been waiting for this since your first fight. He wraps his arms around you like he’s terrified to let go again. And when your forehead rests against his, your chest pressed to his, you let the silence hold the weight of everything you’re both too overwhelmed to say.
“I love you too,” you finally murmur, eyes closed.
He exhales, like the words are oxygen. And for the first time, neither of you run.
—
f1gossipgirls
liked by lando, kimi.antonelli, isackhadjar and 11,008,000 others.
f1gossipgirls : yn rosberg and lewis hamilton seen leaving a lowkey restaurant in monaco late last night… and yes, they were holding hands.
sources say the two were seen laughing over dinner, walking along the port after midnight, and looking very much like two people no longer pretending they don’t want each other. so… friends? rivals? lovers? all of the above? we’ll let the hand-holding speak for itself.
—
view 1,080,004 other comments.
lando : enemies to lovers arc!!!!!!!!!
liked by f1gossipgirls
isackhadjar : FINALLLLLLYYYYY. i made this happen.
liked by f1gossipgirls
francolapinto : wait wait wait. i wanted to be his controversially young gf
liked by f1gossipgirls
alex_albon : someone pls go check on nico.
liked by f1gossipgirls
kimi.antonelli : what the fuck
liked by f1gossipgirls
username11 : half the grid im the comments im pissing. they r just like us.
—
You’ve both seen the photos.
You’ve read the captions, the gossip posts, the fan theories, the comments about hand-holding in Monaco like it was an international crisis.
And for once, you and Lewis don’t argue about what to do next.
Because you’re done hiding.
So, when Saturday rolls around and the sun is high over the paddock, you step out of hospitality together—his hand casually resting on your lower back, your sunglasses low on your nose, both of you looking effortlessly like a couple who definitely did not just make a major scandal look chic.
The cameras catch it instantly.
The first flash. The second.
And then: chaos.
You walk side by side toward the garages, his hand brushing yours before linking. You don’t even flinch. You let it happen. You want it to happen.
A photographer trips over a cable. Someone on the Aston Martin comms team drops their radio. And in the background, you catch George Russell staring, mouth slightly open like he’s witnessing a rare natural phenomenon.
You pass the Williams garage and Carlos claps his hands like a proud auntie. “Finally!” he calls.
Charles is practically sprinting to tell someone. Alex Albon already has his phone out. And then you hear it.
“Are you actually joking?”
Nico.
He’s standing a few feet away, arms folded tight over his chest, and wearing the exact expression he used to give Lewis in 2016 before he tried to shove him off the track.
You smile sweetly. “Hi, big brother.”
“You’re holding his hand?” he says, incredulous. “In public? At a race?”
Lewis raises an eyebrow, calm as ever. “Good to see you too, Nico.”
Nico looks like he’s buffering. “This is… this is psychotic. You—” He gestures between you. “You hate each other.”
“Used to,” you say, already walking past him. “Now we just fight in bed.”
Nico sputters. The grid loses their minds.
—
lewishamilton
liked by yn_rosberg, lando, charles_leclerc and 14,070,007 others.
lewishamilton : happy birthday to the light of my life <3
tagged : yn_rosberg
—
user has disabled comments on this post.
—
bonus scene! grid + nico at yn’s birthday extravaganza
To be clear: you didn’t ask for a full paddock invasion on your birthday. But once Lewis offered to “handle the guest list,” and George made a group chat, there was no stopping it.
So now, here you are, walking barefoot through your villa with a cocktail in hand and glitter in your hair while Charles takes over Lando’s dj duties, Yuki does backflips into the pool, and Pierre is trying to convince Nico that tequila counts as hydration.
“Are you even listening to me?” Nico snaps, arms crossed, visibly losing it on your couch.
You sip your drink. “Nope.”
He scowls. “There are McLaren drivers in your pool, YN. Mclaren drivers.”
“Don’t worry,” Lando calls, already halfway into the water. “We brought floaties!”
George and Alex cackle from the hot tub. Someone sets off a confetti cannon indoors. Again.
Nico presses his fingers to his temples. “This is insane. This is a security hazard.”
“Relax, Old man,” you tease. “Have a cupcake.”
He opens his mouth to retort—but then Lewis walks in.
And Nico stops breathing.
Lewis is wearing a loose white shirt, sunglasses indoors, and he’s carrying a tiny box with a red ribbon. He makes his way through the noise and glitter and chaos completely unbothered, finds you by the balcony, and kisses your temple like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You grin. “Hey, trouble.”
He smirks. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
Nico actually chokes.
“You’re not allowed to call her that,” he says, somewhere between a whisper and a scream. “You’re—this is—this is emotional warfare!”
Daniel walks past holding a champagne bottle and slaps Nico on the back. “You’ll survive, mate. Just think of it like a crossover episode no one asked for.”
—
You’re on the balcony overlooking Monaco, curled up in Lewis’ lap while the party rages inside. He’s got one arm around your waist, the other playing with the ends of your hair, both of you listening to the chaos from a safe, quiet distance.
“Think they’ll recover from this?” you ask.
“The grid or your brother?”
You laugh. “Both.”
He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I don’t care if they do. Let them talk. Let them scream. You’re mine.”
You glance at him, mock offended. “Possessive much?”
He smiles, soft and stupid and in love. “Only with you.”
You lean in, press your forehead to his. “Best birthday ever.”
Inside, someone does a shoey with vodka. Yuki screams, “I TOLD YOU THAT WASN’T WATER.” Charles falls off the DJ booth. Nico makes a break for the exit. Again.
And Lewis? He just pulls you closer, like the rest of the world doesn’t matter.
kymillman: a new pup in the paddock … and they belong to this mystery woman? she’s been seen in and around the mclaren hospitality so could she been the super secret girlfriend of one lando norris!
view all comments
user5: …. that’s it?
user6: yeah i’m kinda underwhelmed after this long of a soft launch
user7: does he know he’s lando norris? that he could get anyone he wants?
user8: well isn’t this comment section a barrel of laughs
user9: people on the internet be normal about f1 drivers challenge (failed)
user10: i mean she’s brave as fuck in my opinion because the way people are insane about him, oh i know her DMs will be horrifying
user11: also - yall actually don’t know these f1 drivers you know? your opinions on their love lives actually have no impact whatsoever
user12: shush you’re making too much sense for them
user13: hiding behind a bush i think she looks cute!
user14: also they’re clearly somewhat serious if they have a dog together
user15: i mean i wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been together a lot longer than we think - he knows some of his fans are crazy, it would make sense if he waited to show her off
user16: i feel so bad for them honestly
user17: since no one else is saying it… stunning!
user18: seriously how did he get her?
user19: maybe the lando norris charm does really work?
user20: as much as those sunglasses slay… did she take them off at any point this weekend?
user21: not as far as i have seen with like the broadcast and fanpage posts
user22: does this rub anyone else the wrong way?
user23: no i think it’s real snobby to not even take your sunglasses off to greet your boyfriend and his family
user24: also the way she just walked past everyone in the paddock, like not even turning her head to acknowledge fans or workers ???
user25: ugh i thought lando had gotten better with his love choices
yourusername
liked by alexalbon, oscarpiastri and 182,943 others
tagged: lando
yourusername: finally decided to turn up to ‘bring your gf to work day’
view all comments
user26: SLAY
user27: ohhh the unseen pics of lando… we’re being fed
user28: i need her to unleash the files
lando: love you baby
yourusername: i love you too !!!!
lando: i promise i’ll be out of this boring debrief soon…
yourusername: how boring can it be? you won?
lando: any room without you bores me
yourusername: oh!
yourusername: i’m sat next to your momma, she can see all of these comments
lando: whoops! eh, they’ve heard worse
yourusername: just hurry up, peaches is getting sleepy
lando: anything for my two girls
user29: they’re so stinking cute
user30: her being with his family constantly + peaches… how long have they actually been together
user31: well we can defo deduce that she’s been to the norris family home plenty of times
user32: too many times by the sound of it, poor cisca
carlossainz55: why have i been deprived of my peaches time?
yourusername: she’s been working mister - not everything is about you :P
carlossainz55: god forbid a guy wants to cuddle the cutest dog in the world
charles_leclerc: you are no longer welcome back in the ferrari garage
yourusername: but i am?
charles_leclerc: can peaches teach leo to actually listen to me please ???
lando: she’s not a miracle worker…
user33: is she ever gonna take those damn sunglasses off?
user34: ZERO respect for those around her
user35: and those comments about peaches 'working' ... omg reeks of those girls who claim emotional support animals because they think the rules don't apply to them
user36: yeah something weird is going on here
lando
liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 1,094,388 others
tagged: yourusername
lando: weekends like this
view all comments
user39: the fucking sunglasses… yall are going to have to sedate me
user40: it’s a crime to be stylish now guys
user41: god a girl gets with an athlete and all of a sudden they’re ‘stylish’
yourusername: bestest weekend ever!
yourusername: after your race wins of course
lando: nice save there
yourusername: i didn’t save anything, you know i love being with you when you win
lando: and i love seeing your beautiful face when i get out of the car
lando: and the fact that you get all up in my sweat
yourusername: dude…
lando: sorry, it just slipped out after hiding for so long
yourusername: worth it in the end though
lando: anything is worth it for you
user42: yeah there’s something wrong with this girl
user43: “being with you” instead of you know watching him race… way to expose you’re with him for one reason and one reason only
user44: ding ding ding gold digger alert
user45: imagine being that desperate for a person and still being rude as fuck to his family/coworkers - not even taking off sunglasses or making eye contact
yourusername: omfg you people are pissing me the fuck off
yourusername: I’M BLIND?
yourusername: i prefer to wear sunglasses in new environments?
yourusername: take ‘be kind’ out of your bio because as soon as someone doesn’t conform to what you think lando deserves you are so fucking hateful
oscarpiastri: FUCKING FINALLY
oscarpiastri: obviously i wanted you to share your business but i was so ready to fight the people in these comment sections
lando: awwwww osc so protective
alexalbon: he’s not the only one
alexalbon: coming for y/n was bad enough but PEACHES AS WELL?
yourusername: the jobless hate to see a working girl
lando: oop.
user46: YALL ARE SO FUCKING DUMB
user47: peaches being a guide dog makes so much sense and the sunglasses thing was such a non controversy to like normal people ?
user48: y/n should’ve been allowed to shoot yall idc
mclarenf1
liked by oscarpiastri, adamnorris and 1,754,034 others
tagged: lando & yourusername
mclarenf1: look who’s back in the garage! y/n always has a unique race day experience, due to her visual impairment, y/n cann’ watch the race but she sure knows what’s going on! instead of having the commentary in her headset, she has the noise of lando’s car. based on the sound of the engine, upshifts, downshifts and braking, y/n knows exactly where he is on the track!
view all comments
user49: so she’s basically a superhero is what you’re telling me
user50: imagine being so in love with a boy you learn the sounds of his engine i can’t
lando: erm actually she loved the sport before she loved me
yourusername: but i love you even more now
lando: i know you do because you learnt the sounds of the … MCL36 for me
yourusername: guilty!
user51: THEY’VE BEEN TOGETHER THAT LONG?
user52: oh so they’re locked in for life?
lando: 100%
yourusername: we threw away the key a long time ago
maxverstappen1: this is so freaking cute
lando: you’ve known the whole time?
lando: you helped teach y/n to do this
maxverstappen1: still cute as fuck
yourusername: not as cute when i hear a big whack to the side from a certain red bull
maxverstappen1: just because I think yall are cute doesn’t mean I’m gonna give lando a break
user53: i’ve known about this couple for a couple weeks and i would already die for them
user54: they’ve raised the bar FAR too much for the remaining dating pool
user55: the men or women on hinge would NEVER do something like that for me
user56: yall speaking all about this like y/n isn’t moving mountains for lando… wtf does he do for her?
yourusername: not that i need to prove that he’s a good boyfriend to you guys but he does way more than you all think, including learning braille and completely rearranging any rooms i go into for optimal movement
user57: this comment just shot me in the face
yourusername: thank you guys for being the loveliest ever!!!
mclarenf1: anything for our no 1 fan
yourusername: not this peaches erasure
mclarenf1: i think she only likes us because everyone keeps slipping her treats…
lando: STOP BRIBING MY DAUGHTER
yourusername
liked by alexalbon, georgerussell63 and 406,345 others
tagged: landonorris
yourusername: my beautiful boy shot by me (yes i know he’s beautiful, a man with a soul like his has to be)
view all comments
user61: user61 found dead, cause of death: this post
user62: the way this is not dramatic at all lol
georgerussell63: you sure you want to be stuck with … that?
yourusername: i don’t like your tone mr russell
georgerussell63: does lando … have a soul?
yourusername: you’ve got ten seconds to delete that tweet before i strangle you
yourusername: and don’t think peaches won’t lead me to you
georgerussell63: bullying george russell… you people are made for each other
lando: ‘you people’? i’ll put you in the barriers
user63: i love how all of the photos are clearly taken by y/n because they’re slightly off centre
user64: omg i didn’t notice… if you go through loads of his old posts they all look like this :0
user65: they’re so in love
alexalbon: oh how i remember coaching lando to ask you out - how times fly
lando: when you’re having fun!
alexalbon: i was having fun, you were a trainwreck
lando: no i was SMOOTH
yourusername: you did your best
lando: but i didn’t even stutter?
yourusername: i could hear you shuffling constantly and wiping your hands on your trousers…
lando: but you love me now so WHO CARES
yourusername: yes i do!
lando: you what?
yourusername: i love you
lando: i love you tooooooooooooo
user66: they’re parents for real
user67: can’t believe some people wanted them to break up over SUNGLASSES
user68: at least there’s silence in these comment sections now
oscarpiastri: as much as i love you guys… y/n can you turn off the feature that reads the texts from lando aloud in my vicinity
yourusername: how was i meant to know what he wrote?
summary: lando always says that yn russell is his future wife. the entire paddock thinks he's just joking, but he's not. wc: 6k + social media posts
folkie radio: HERE IT IS !!! FINALLY !! i loved writing lovesick puppy lando so so much and i really hope you love him too. PLEASE SEND YOUR FEEDBACK AND LEAVE A REBLOG !
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
liked by georgerussell63, landonorris and 206,378 others
yn.russell silverstone race weekends always hit different 🥹 big bro starting front row tomorrow and i couldn’t be prouder LETS GOOOO
view all comments
username1 the most iconic russell
username2 COME ON RUSSELL NATION
landonorris excuse me why didn’t you include a picture of your future husband here ??
↳ yn.russell lando your delusions are talking again
↳ username1 hey he ALWAYS does this
↳ username2 lando and yn’s banter will never get old
carmenmmundt Love you both ❤️
username3 LANDO BEING ANNOYING IN THIS COMMENT SECTION AS ALWAYS
charles_leclerc I see homeboy trying to shoot his shot again
↳ landonorris what are you talking about? we’ll get married
↳ yn.russell LANDO STOP 😭
username4 she’s the real paddock princess
username5 lando really said fake it till you make it
username6 GEORGIE BOY DID IT
georgerussell63 Love you so much little one 🤍 Also Lando, she’s still my sister
↳ landonorris and? she’s my girl 😍
↳ yn.russell STOP
liked by yn.russell, maxverstappen1 and 986,409 others
landonorris honey i’m hooooome 🇬🇧😘 picture by my favorite girl @/yn.russell
view all comments
username1 LANDOOOOO
username2 the papaya hat is killing me
username3 CALLING LITTLE RUSSELL HIS GIRL AS ALWAYS
mclaren Papaya forever 🧡
username4 manifesting lando and yn wedding
carlossainz55 Just wait until George finds you cabron
↳ landonorris he knows she’s my future wife
↳ georgerussell63 I HATE YOU
username5 DYING AT THIS COMMENT SECTION LANDO YOU HAVE NO SHAME
username6 lando and yn are my favorite platonic lovers (actually there’s nothing platonic about them we all know it)
username7 SO BOYFRIEND CODED
yn.russell lando i need you to look at me when i tell you this…
↳ landonorris yes i do darling 😍
↳ georgerussell63 I’m literally never letting you two fly together again
↳ username1 IM WHEEZING
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
You're lounging in George's motorhome at the track, scrolling through your phone while he reviews data with Alex. Carmen is perched on the sofa beside you, both of you sharing occasional knowing looks at the boys' intense focus on lap times.
"Oh, by the way," you say casually, not looking up from your phone, "I won't be around for dinner tonight. Got a date."
The effect is immediate. George's head snaps up from the screen, Alex nearly drops his water bottle, and Carmen tries (and fails) to hide her amused smile.
"A date?" George's protective brother mode activates instantly. "With who?"
"That new marketing guy from McLaren," you reply, finally glancing up. "Jacob. You know, the one I was talking to at the paddock party last week?"
"The tall blonde one?" Alex pipes up, earning himself a sharp look from George.
"Not helping, mate," George mutters.
"He seems nice," Carmen offers diplomatically, though there's something knowing in her expression that you can't quite read.
"Speaking of nice," Alex says with a poorly concealed grin, "should we tell Lando? You know, since he's been planning your wedding since 2018 and all."
The friendship between you and Lando dates back to karting days, when you'd tag along with George to races. You were fourteen when you first met a tiny, curly-haired Lando who immediately declared you were "pretty cool for a girl." Despite George's protective big brother routine, you and Lando became inseparable during race weekends.
The marriage jokes started right when Lando was making his F2 debut. You were both hanging out in the paddock when he suddenly announced, "When we get married, our wedding colors have to be papaya orange. Because I know I'll drive for Mclaren"
"Bold of you to assume I'd marry you, Norris," you'd laughed.
"Please, you love me," he'd grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "Plus, I've already told my mum you're the one. Can't disappoint her now, darling."
That was the first time he called you darling, but it certainly wasn't the last. Over the years, the pet names multiplied - love, sweetheart, future wife - each one delivered with that characteristic Lando grin that somehow managed to be both cheeky and endearing.
But at the end of the day, he was Lando. And it was all jokes.
"He's probably too busy planning our honeymoon in papaya-colored paradise to care about my actual dating life," you said, trying to sound casual.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Carmen murmurs, just as the door bursts open.
Lando's characteristic energy walks in, his curls slightly messy from his helmet. "Hello lads! Future wife," he grins, making his way over and dramatically flopping onto the couch, his head landing in your lap like it's his designated spot.
"Comfortable?" you ask dryly, but your hand automatically goes to his curls.
"Very," he beams up at you. "Why's everyone looking so serious though? Did George finally realize his neck's too long?"
"Ha ha," George deadpans, while Carmen tries to hide her laugh behind her hand.
"Little Russell was just telling us she's got a date tonight," Alex announces, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding.
Lando sits up so fast he nearly headbutts you. "A what now?"
"A date," you repeat, watching as his face does a complicated journey before settling on forced nonchalance. "With Jacob from marketing."
"McLaren Jacob?" Lando's voice goes up an octave. "My Jacob?"
"He's not your Jacob," you roll your eyes. "And yes, that Jacob."
"The one who still can't figure out how to work the coffee machine?" Lando scoffs, repositioning himself to face you properly. "Come on, darling, you can do better than that. What happened to our sacred Friday night FIFA tournaments?"
"Sacred?" George snorts. "Is that what you call screaming at the TV when she beats you?"
"Oi, whose side are you on?" Lando throws a nearby cushion at George. "Besides, I let her win. Can't have my girl crying, can I?"
"Your girl?" you raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way your stomach flips at his words.
"Obviously," he grins, but there's something slightly off about it. "Who else is going to fulfill my mum's dreams of having you as a daughter-in-law?"
"I'm sure Jacob would love to hear about these marriage plans," Alex teases, earning himself a glare from Lando.
"He better watch himself," Lando mutters, then louder, "Where's he taking you anyway? Probably somewhere boring like that chain restaurant near the factory."
"Actually," you say, "he's taking me to that new rooftop place in town."
"The one I said we should try?" Lando looks genuinely offended now. "That's just... that's just rude, love. I called dibs on taking you there."
"When exactly did you call dibs?" Carmen asks innocently.
"In my head," Lando protests. "This is not fair."
You poke his side. "Jealous, Norris?"
"Of course I am," he says, and for a moment, his voice loses its playful edge. "Can't have someone stealing my future wife away. We've got plans, remember? House in Surrey, three kids, dog named Fernando..."
"You've really thought this through, haven't you?" you laugh.
"Been planning our future since I was fourteen, love," he grins, but there's something soft in his eyes. "Now, would you cancel on Jacob and have a proper movie night with your future husband instead?"
"Still not your wife, Lando," you remind him.
"Not yet," he corrects, "But I'm a patient man, darling."
"Okay this is getting weird," Alex chimes in, "Lando, we're leaving. Little Russell, have fun on your date."
"Right," Lando stands up, but his usual bouncy energy seems subdued. "Have fun with boring Jacob. But just remember," he points at you with mock seriousness, though something flickers in his eyes, "I'm not giving up without a fight. Can't let some marketing guy steal the love of my life, can I?"
"The love of your life?" you roll your eyes, ignoring the way your heart skips.
"Since karting, darling," he winks, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Come on, Alex, let's leave the Russell siblings to their protective brother-sister chat."
As soon as the door closes behind them, Carmen turns to you with raised eyebrows. "You really have that boy pining over you, you know that right?"
"Oh please," you wave her off, though your cheeks feel warm. "We're just joking around. We've been doing this since forever."
"Sure, sister, sure," George snorts, exchanging a knowing look with Carmen. "Because every guy I know plans out their future house in Surrey with their 'joke' wife."
"And names their future dog Fernando," Carmen adds.
"It's just Lando being Lando," you insist, but you can't help glancing at the door where he'd disappeared. "He jokes like this with everyone."
"Really?" Carmen leans forward. "Because I've never heard him call anyone else 'the love of his life' or 'darling' or plan out their wedding colors."
"Or look like someone kicked his puppy when they mention going on a date with someone else," George adds.
"You're both reading way too much into this," you say, standing up and grabbing your bag. "I have to go get ready for my date with Jacob."
"The date that Lando looked absolutely thrilled about," George mutters under his breath.
You pretend not to hear him as you leave, trying to ignore the way Lando's slightly hurt expression keeps playing in your mind.
Because it's all jokes. And he's just Lando.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 211,984 others
yn.russell great great night 😙
view all comments
username1 OMGG LITTLE RUSSELL
username2 she's so pretty its not fair
flonorris1 we need to catch up 👀
username3 HUHH DID LANDO FINALLY ASK HER OUT
username4 how did george allow her to go on a date
charles_leclerc Oblivious little baby russell
↳ yn.russell ?
↳ username1 EXPLAIN
iamrebeccad Prettiest girl 😍
jacob___ ❤️
↳ yn.russell 😘
↳ georgerussell63 I'm watching...
↳ username1 IM YELLING
↳ username2 WHATS GOING ONNN
landonorris the prettiest girl in the world and my future wife idc idc
↳ username1 lando have some class ffs
↳ yn.russell ENOUGH
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
liked by carmenmmundt, jacob__ and 229,836 others
yn.russell snaps from the summer break 💙 happy happy
view all comments
username1 AN ICON
username2 i wish i was this pinterest feed coded
carmenmmundt Love you my girl !
username3 HOLD ON. THE SECOND PICTURE
username4 did she just soft launch 👀👀
username5 LITTLE RUSSELL HAS A BOYFRIEND ?????
username6 if her bf is not lando we don’t want it
alex_albon i know someone who’s NOT going to like this
landonorris my darling 😍😍 do u miss me as much as i miss youuuu?
↳ username1 HES SHAMELESS
↳ yn.russell STOP THIS MADNESS
georgerussell63 I know a lot of ways to make a crash look accidental
↳ yn.russell you’re literally not intimidating anyone BYE
↳ username1 SO SHE DOES HAVE A BF
jacob__ ❤️
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The sun is surprisingly bright as you make your way through the Zandvoort paddock, dodging various team personnel rushing around for Thursday preparations. The summer break was finally over and it was time for race cars again. You're just turning the corner when you hear a familiar voice.
"There's my darling!" Lando calls out, jogging over with his signature grin. "Thought you'd forgotten about your future husband during the break."
Before you can respond, he's pulled you into a tight hug. You catch a whiff of his familiar cologne, the one he's worn since F2, and automatically hug him back.
"How was your summer?" he asks, keeping an arm around your shoulders as he starts walking with you. "Did you miss me terribly? Cry yourself to sleep thinking about our FIFA rematch?"
"Actually," you start, feeling unexpectedly nervous, "I've got some news."
"Oh?" His eyes light up. "Did George finally admit his neck is abnormally long? Because I've been saying—"
"Jacob and I are officially together," you cut in quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. "Like, properly together. Boyfriend and girlfriend."
Lando's step falters slightly, his arm dropping from your shoulders. "What?"
"Yeah," you continue, fiddling with your paddock pass. "We kept seeing each other after that first date, and during the break... it just got serious."
"Serious?" His voice sounds strange. "How serious? When did this— why am I just finding out about this?"
"We wanted to keep it quiet at first, you know? But he talked to the higher-ups at McLaren today about dating someone connected to another team, and they're cool with it, so..." you trail off, watching his face carefully.
"Cool with it," he repeats slowly. Then, visibly forcing his usual grin, "Well, that's... that's great, love. Really great. Though I have to say, my mum will be devastated. She was really counting on those papaya-themed grandchildren."
But his joke falls flat, lacking its usual warmth. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Lando—"
"No, really," he cuts in, running a hand through his curls. "I'm happy for you. Even if he is rubbish at making coffee. And boring. And probably doesn't even know your favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip, or that you secretly love watching those terrible reality shows, or that you—" he stops himself, clearing his throat. "Anyway. Good for you. Both of you."
You're about to respond when his race engineer calls him over.
"Duty calls," he says, already backing away. "But hey, tell Jacob he better treat my future wife right. Even if she's... not actually my future wife anymore."
He tries to wink, but it looks more like a flinch. Before you can say anything else, he's gone, leaving you standing alone in the paddock with an inexplicable heaviness in your chest.
But you immediately brush it off. Because at the end of the day, he's just Lando.
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liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 276,504 others
yn.russell making it official 🤍 @/jacob___
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username1 OH?
username2 YALL HE WORKS FOR MCLAREN ??
username3 what happened to lando ?? the marriage proposal??
georgerussell63 About time you stopped sneaking around 🙄
↳ yn.russell shut up old man
↳ carlossainz55 Protective brother mode activated
carmenmmundt You guys look so cute! ❤️
↳ yn.russell love you xxx
alex_albon Well this is going to be interesting 👀
↳ landonorris mate.
↳ alex_albon what? I said nothing
username4 But what about Lando?? 😭 They were literally perfect together
usernsme5 nooo my ship is sinking
username6 the way lando looks at her tho…
jacob___❤️
↳ yn.russell 🤍
landonorris i guess i need to find a new future wife then 🤷♂️ applications open x
↳ danielricciardo i volunteer as tribute mate
↳ landonorris sorry mate you're not george's sister
↳ carlossainz55 You okay there buddy?
↳ yn.russell don't worry, you'll always be my favorite husband-that-never-was x
↳ landonorris 💔
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yn.russell has added to their stories
landonorris has replied to your story
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The Singapore night air is thick with humidity and celebration. The club's bass thrums through your bones as you watch Lando being congratulated for what feels like the hundredth time. He's practically glowing, champagne-drunk and victory-high, but something seems off about his smile.
"Babe, want another drink?" Jacob's voice pulls your attention back. His hand is possessively placed on your lower back, and you notice Lando's eyes flicker to it before he quickly looks away.
Across the VIP section, Alex nudges Charles, nodding towards where Lando is now aggressively stabbing at his ice with a straw.
"Subtle, mate," Alex smirks, sliding into the booth beside Lando. "Very subtle."
"Don't know what you're talking about," Lando mutters, but his eyes betray him, darting back to where Jacob is now whispering something in your ear.
"Ah, l'amour," Charles sighs dramatically. "It is painful, no?"
"Nothing's painful," Lando protests, straightening up. "I just won a Grand Prix, in case you forgot."
"And yet you look like someone stole your puppy," Alex points out.
"Or your future wife," Charles adds with a knowing look.
"She was never actually going to be my future wife," Lando says, but his voice lacks conviction. "It was just jokes. Always has been. She's George's sister, for fuck's sake."
"Right," Alex drawls. "So you wouldn't mind if I told you they're probably going to move in together soon?"
Lando chokes on his drink. "They're what?"
"He's joking," Charles quickly intervenes, shooting Alex a look. "But your reaction..."
"Means nothing," Lando insists, but his knuckles are white around his glass. "I just... I don't want her to rush into anything. As a friend. A protective friend. Who happens to be her brother's mate. And her future husband. But like, as a joke. Obviously."
"Obviously," Alex repeats dryly.
Suddenly, Charles straightens up. "Where did they go?"
The spot where you and Jacob were standing is empty. Lando's eyes scan the crowd, something uneasy settling in his stomach.
"Probably just getting more drinks," he says, but he's already standing up.
"Lando..." Alex starts.
"I just need some air," Lando cuts him off, making his way through the crowd.
The corridor leading to the outdoor area is quieter, the music muffled. That's when he hears raised voices.
"You're being ridiculous," Jacob's voice is sharp. "I was just talking to her."
"With your hand on her waist?" Your voice sounds tired. "While I was right there?"
"Oh, so I can't even network now? That's literally my job, YN. But I wouldn't expect you to understand that, since you're only here because of your brother."
Lando's feet move before his brain catches up.
"Everything alright out here?" His voice is deliberately light, but there's steel underneath.
"Fine," Jacob snaps. "Just having a private conversation with my girlfriend."
"Doesn't sound very private," Lando steps closer to you instinctively. "Or very pleasant."
"This doesn't concern you, Norris."
"See, that's where you're wrong, mate," Lando's usual playful demeanor is gone. "YN's wellbeing always concerns me. Future wife contract, remember? Legally binding and all that."
"We're still doing that joke?" Jacob scoffs. "Bit pathetic, don't you think?"
"Not as pathetic as hitting on sponsors' daughters while your girlfriend watches," Lando retorts, then softer, to you: "You okay, darling?"
The familiar pet name makes your chest tight. "I'm fine, Lando."
"Great, she's fine," Jacob moves to grab your arm. "Let's go."
"Touch her like that again," Lando's voice is deadly quiet, "and you'll be looking for a new marketing job. Might want to learn how the coffee machine works first though."
Jacob looks between you and Lando, jaw clenched. "Whatever. This is bullshit anyway. Call me when you're done playing happy families with your brother's friend."
He storms off, leaving you and Lando in charged silence.
"So," Lando finally says, attempting his usual lightness, "does this mean I can keep the dog name Fernando?"
You let out a watery laugh, and without thinking, he pulls you into a hug. You fit against him like you always have, his cologne familiar and comforting.
"My darling," he murmurs into your hair, then catches himself. "I mean... sorry. Probably shouldn't call you that anymore."
You pull back slightly to look at him. "You've been calling me that since we were teenagers."
"Yeah, well," he gives you a half-smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "things change, don't they?"
The way he's looking at you makes your heart stutter. Has he always looked at you like that?
"Is he always like this?" Lando asks quietly, still holding you close. His usual playful tone is gone, replaced by something more serious than you're used to hearing from him.
"No, no," you shake your head quickly. Maybe too quickly, because Lando's brow furrows as he studies your face. "It's not— he's not usually... it was just a misunderstanding."
He's silent for a moment, his hands fidgeting like they always do when he's worried about something. "You'd tell me though, right? If he ever... if he's not good to you? Or tell George at least?"
"Of course," you try to smile reassuringly. "But really, today was just a bad night. Too much pressure, too much champagne..."
"YN," he cuts in, and the way he says your name instead of one of his usual pet names makes you look up at him. His eyes are intense, concerned. "Promise me."
"I promise," you say softly. "You're a great friend, Lando."
Something flickers across his face – so quick you almost miss it – before his signature grin returns, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Friend?" he scoffs, but his voice sounds slightly strained. "Future husband, remember? Can't have my darling dealing with drama alone. Bad for our future marriage prospects."
You laugh, and he joins in, but there's something heavy hanging in the air between you. Before either of you can say anything else, Alex's voice carries from the doorway.
"Found them! Everything okay out here?"
"Never better," Lando announces, stepping back and throwing an arm around your shoulders with practiced ease. But you notice how his smile doesn't quite match the one in all those podium photos from earlier. "Just reminding the future Mrs. Norris about our very legitimate marriage contract. Very binding. Legally waterproof and everything."
He's doing that thing he does when he's uncomfortable – talking too fast, jokes tumbling out one after another. But his hand squeezes your shoulder gently before he lets go, and you catch him glancing back at you as he bounces toward the club entrance, his "Let's celebrate my amazing win, shall we?" almost drowning out the sound of your heart beating too fast.
Alex watches the exchange with knowing eyes but mercifully says nothing, just offers his arm to escort you back inside.
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texts between george and yn
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liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 287,540 others
yn.russell british boy steps foot in mexico city and instantly thinks he's a local... who's gonna tell him
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username1 LANDO X LITTLE RUSSELL IS SO BACKKK
username2 he looks so cuute
username3 i know her bf is not going to like this
alex_albon he can't even keep tequila shots down. such a fake
↳ landonorris want to test that theory?
↳ charles_leclerc Poor little Lando Norris
username4 HELP SHES SO IN LOVE WITH HIM 😭
jacob___ 👀
↳ username1 i know he's JEALOUS
username5 the way yn's feed is like 60% lando
username6 MY PARENTS
landonorris why is my future wife so mean to me
↳ yn.russell LANDO
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Later that afternoon, you're sitting with Carmen in the Mercedes hospitality when George joins you, stealing a bite of your sandwich.
"Get your own food," you swat his hand away.
"Sharing is caring, little sis," he grins, then notices your expression. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," you say automatically, but Carmen raises an eyebrow.
"She's overthinking," Carmen supplies helpfully. "About Jacob."
"I'm not overthinking," you protest. "I'm just... thinking. Normal amounts of thinking."
"About?" George prompts.
You fidget with your paddock pass. "He wants me to meet his parents. After Abu Dhabi. Says it's time we got more serious."
George's expression shifts slightly. "And you want that?"
"I mean... yeah? I think so. It makes sense, right? We've been together for a few months now, things are good..."
"Are they?" Carmen asks gently.
"Of course they are," you say, but your voice lacks conviction. "The Singapore thing was just a one-off. He apologized. He's been really sweet since then."
"Sweet enough to make up for being a dick?" George mutters.
"George."
"Sorry, sorry," he holds up his hands. "Just... you don't sound very excited about meeting his parents."
"I am excited," you insist. "It's just... a big step."
"Not as big as naming your future dog Fernando," Carmen says under her breath.
You shoot her a warning look. "Can we not?"
"Not what?" George asks.
"Nothing," you say quickly. "Just... Carmen thinks I'm not fully committed because..."
"Because you still light up every time Lando calls you 'darling'?" Carmen finishes.
"That's not— he calls everyone darling."
"No, he doesn't," George and Carmen say in unison.
"I hate you both," you groan. "Look, Lando and I are friends. That's all we've ever been. The whole future wife thing is just our running joke."
"Sure," Carmen nods. "That's why he looks like someone kicked his puppy every time Jacob touches you."
"He does not—" you start, but stop when you catch sight of Lando walking past. He gives you a small wave and his signature grin, but something about it seems off.
"Doesn't what?" George prompts.
"Nothing," you shake your head. "I should go. Jacob's waiting for me."
As you leave, you hear Carmen say to George, "They're both idiots, aren't they?"
"Complete idiots," George agrees. "But at least they're consistent about it."
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liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 298,605 others
yn.russell happy birthday to my favorite “future husband” 🎂 from stealing your caps in karting to stealing your FIFA records (still undefeated btw), you've somehow become one of my favorite people in this weird little world of ours. here's to many more years of terrible jokes, impromptu dance parties in the garage, and you pretending to let me win at everything (we both know I'm just better 😌). love you loads landolorian 🤍
ps: fernando the nonexistent dog says happy birthday to his future dad x
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username1 THIS IS TOO CUTE
username2 YOUR HONOR IM CRYING
landonorris still waiting for that marriage certificate darling 💍 also you definitely cheated at FIFA last time
↳ yn.russell sounds like someone's a sore loser
↳ landonorris sounds like someone's avoiding the marriage topic
↳ georgerussell63 get a room you two
↳ landonorris working on it mate
↳ username1 LANDO WTF
↳ username2 HE HAS NO SHAME
mclaren Happy Birthday @/landonorris! @/yn.russell when's the wedding?
↳ landonorris asking the real questions admin
↳ oscarpiastri I'll officiate
↳ landonorris DEAL
↳ yn.russell STOP IT
jacob___ 🙄
↳ landonorris problem mate?
↳ yn.russell boys.
↳ username3 THE TENSION
username4 why aren't they together yet??
username5 my heart can't take this anymore just date already
liked by username1, username2 and 3,976 others
f1.gossip Lando Norris and YN Russell spotted getting cozy at his birthday celebration last night. Swipe for more 👀
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username1 "just friends" my ass
username2 no because why does he look at her like she hung the stars
username3 wait where's jacob? 👀
↳ username1 apparently he left early...
↳ username2 he posted from a different party later that night
username4 george watching his best friend and his sister like 🧍♂️
↳ username1 he's been watching this slow burn for years poor man
username5 jacob watching these photos like 👁👄👁
username6 the way lando calls her darling more than her actual boyfriend does
username7 who's gonna tell jacob his girlfriend has better chemistry with lando in these photos than their entire instagram feed
username8 the "future wife" jokes don't seem so jokey anymore huh
username9 okay but can we talk about how she literally glows when she's around him?
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The afternoon sun filters through your apartment windows as you put the finishing touches on your makeup. You're going out to dinner with Jacob - another fancy restaurant, another chance for him to network while you smile politely beside him.
A knock at your door makes you pause. Opening it reveals Lando, holding a bag of takeaway and what appears to be your favorite ice cream.
"Oh," he says, taking in your dress and heels. "You're going out."
"Yeah," you adjust your earring, but can't help smiling at the familiar sight of him with food. "With Jacob. Remember?"
"Right," his smile dims slightly. "The boyfriend. Must've slipped my mind." He holds up the bags. "I brought provisions for our traditional post-race debrief. You know, where you tell me how amazing I was and I pretend to be humble about it?"
You laugh despite yourself. "Since when are you ever humble?"
"I'm incredibly humble. The most humble. No one's more humble than me," he grins, then peers around you into the apartment. "But seriously, can't you reschedule? I got your favorite ice cream. Mint chocolate chip, because I'm the best future husband ever."
"Still going with that, are we?" you ask, turning back to the mirror to check your lipstick.
"Always, darling," he follows you in, setting the food down and flopping onto your couch like he owns it. "It's legally binding, remember? Can't disappoint my mum now."
"I can't tonight," you say, checking your phone. "Jacob said he has something important to tell me."
"The one who made you cry?" Lando's voice loses some of its playfulness.
"That was one time," you defend, though without heat. "And he apologized. He actually told me he loves me last week. Says he wants us to be serious."
Lando sits up straighter, his usual energetic demeanor momentarily stilled. "And do you? Love him?"
"You don't know anything about my relationship, Lando," you say, but it comes out softer than intended.
"I know you," he counters, standing up and moving to lean against the wall near your mirror. "I know you scrunch your nose when you're trying not to laugh at bad jokes. I know you secretly love those terrible reality shows but pretend you're 'just watching them ironically.' I know you stress-eat ice cream when George has a bad race."
"That's different," you say, but you're fighting a smile.
"Is it?" he challenges, but his tone is gentle. "Look, I just... I want you to be happy. Even if it means dealing with boring Jacob who still can't work the coffee machine."
"He figured it out last week, actually," you laugh.
"Finally! Only took him what, six months?" Lando grins, then sobers slightly. "But seriously, if he makes you happy..."
"He does," you say, though something in your chest tightens. "Most of the time."
"Most of the time?" Lando raises an eyebrow. "That's not exactly a ringing endorsement, darling."
"Nobody's perfect."
"I am," he says immediately, making you laugh. "What? I'm just saying, our future children would have excellent genes. Plus, I make a mean cup of coffee."
Your phone buzzes - a text from Jacob asking where you are.
"I have to go," you say, grabbing your purse. "Lock up when you leave?"
"Fine," he sighs dramatically. "Abandon your future husband with melting ice cream. But just know, Fernando the dog is very disappointed in you."
"Still haven't given up on that name, huh?"
"Never," he grins, but something flickers in his eyes. "Save me some time this weekend? For proper FIFA revenge?"
"You mean so I can beat you again?"
"Excuse you, I let you win," he protests, following you to the door. "It's part of my long-term strategy."
"Which is?"
"Can't have my future wife thinking I'm bad at something, can I?" he winks. "Even though we both know I'm actually terrible at FIFA."
You shake your head, laughing. "Goodbye, Lando."
"Wait," he calls as you start down the hall. "Just... be happy, yeah? Even if it's with someone who took six months to learn how to make coffee."
"I am happy," you say, but even to your own ears, it sounds more like a question than a statement.
"If you say so, darling," he says quietly. "But just remember, the Fernando name reservation is still valid. You know, in case the coffee-challenged boyfriend doesn't work out."
You roll your eyes but can't help smiling as you walk away, trying to ignore the way your heart seems to be arguing with your head about exactly what - or who - makes you happiest. Behind you, you can hear him humming what sounds suspiciously like the wedding march, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
Because at the end of the day, he's still Lando. Your Lando. Even if you're not quite ready to admit what that really means.
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liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 276,498 others
yn.russell last dinner date before heading back to the circus 🏎️ @/jacob___
username4 i feel like shit is about to hit the fan reaaaally soon
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"I just don't understand why you have to be there for every single race," Jacob's voice carries down the paddock corridor. "It's not like you're actually part of the team."
You're standing outside the McLaren hospitality, what started as a casual conversation having turned into yet another argument. "My brother races in F1, and Lando's one of my closest friends. Of course I'm going to be here."
"Right, Lando," Jacob scoffs. "Because God forbid you miss one of his races. Wouldn't want to disappoint your 'future husband.'"
"Don't do that," you say tiredly. "You know it's just a joke."
"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you'd rather spend time with him than support your actual boyfriend's career."
"Your career? I've been to every single marketing event you've asked me to attend. I've smiled and networked and played the perfect girlfriend."
"Perfect?" He laughs humorlessly. "You barely talk to any of the sponsors. You're too busy hanging out in the Mercedes garage or watching Lando's practice sessions."
"That's not fair—"
"You know what's not fair? Having a girlfriend who's more invested in other people's careers than mine."
"I didn't realize I was supposed to give up my entire life just because we're dating."
"Your entire life?" His voice rises. "You mean hanging around the paddock like some glorified fan?"
You step back like he's slapped you. "Is that what you think I am?"
"I think," he says coldly, "that you need to figure out what's more important - playing happy families with your brother's friends or having a real relationship with someone who's actually going somewhere in life."
"Hey!" A sharp voice cuts through the tension. George is standing there, face thunderous. "What the hell is going on here?"
"Just having a private conversation with my girlfriend," Jacob says stiffly.
"Doesn't sound very private to me," George steps closer, positioning himself slightly in front of you. "Or very respectful."
"George, it's fine," you start, but he cuts you off.
"No, it's not fine," he says, not taking his eyes off Jacob. "No one talks to my sister like that."
Jacob holds up his hands. "Look, this is between me and YN."
"Not anymore it's not," George's voice is dangerously calm. "I think you should leave."
For a moment, it looks like Jacob might argue, but something in George's expression makes him think better of it. "Whatever. Call me when you're ready to be a proper girlfriend."
As he walks away, George turns to you, his anger melting into concern. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," you say automatically, but your voice wavers.
"Come on," he wraps an arm around your shoulders, leading you toward his driver room. "Let's talk."
Once inside, you sink onto the couch while George grabs two water bottles. "How long has he been talking to you like that?"
"It's not... it's not usually that bad," you say, fidgeting with the bottle label. "He's just stressed about work."
"That's not an excuse," George sits beside you. "Has he said things like this before? About you being just a fan?"
You stay quiet, which is answer enough.
"YN," George's voice softens. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it's embarrassing," you admit quietly. "He's right, isn't he? I am just hanging around because of you."
"Stop," George says firmly. "You've been part of this world since we were kids. You understand racing better than half the people in the paddock. Hell, you probably know more about tire strategies than some of the engineers."
You manage a small laugh. "Only because you never shut up about them."
"Exactly," he grins, then turns serious again. "Look, being here isn't just about me. It's your life too. You've built relationships with everyone here. Carmen loves you, Alex considers you a little sister, and Lando..."
"Don't," you cut him off. "Please don't bring Lando into this."
George studies you for a moment. "Why not? He's your best friend."
"Because..." you trail off, not sure how to explain the complicated mix of emotions that surface whenever Lando's name comes up lately.
"Because Jacob's jealous of him?" George suggests gently.
"He's not... it's not like that."
"Isn't it?" George raises an eyebrow. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like your boyfriend has a problem with how close you are to someone who's been in your life a lot longer than he has."
"Lando and I are just friends," you say, but the words feel hollow.
"Are you?" George asks softly. "Because friends don't look at each other the way you two do. Friends don't have elaborate future plans including dogs named Fernando. Friends don't get that look in their eyes when the other person is dating someone else."
"George..."
"I'm just saying," he continues, "maybe Jacob isn't entirely wrong to be jealous. Just... wrong about everything else."
You're quiet for a moment, processing. "I don't know what to do."
"Yes, you do," George says simply. "You just need to be honest with yourself about what - or who - actually makes you happy."
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?" He challenges. "Because from what I just heard, Jacob doesn't make you happy. He makes you feel small. And my little sister," he squeezes your shoulder, "deserves someone who makes her feel like she could take on the world."
"Someone like Lando?" You ask quietly.
"I didn't say that," George grins. "But now that you mention it..."
You shove him playfully. "Shut up."
"Make me," he laughs, then sobers. "Seriously though, YN. You deserve better than someone who makes you question your place here. This is your home too."
You lean your head on his shoulder. "When did you get so wise?"
"I've always been wise. I'm the older sibling, remember?"
"By like two years!"
"Still counts," he says smugly, then adds more seriously, "Just... promise me you'll think about what I said? About being honest with yourself?"
"I promise," you say softly, even as your mind drifts to a certain curly-haired driver who's probably wondering where you are for your traditional pre-race FIFA tournament.
"Good," George stands up. "Now, want to go watch Lando absolutely butcher his quali prep? I heard he's still convinced he can take turn 3 flat out."
You laugh, letting him pull you up. "Some things never change, do they?"
"Nope," George agrees, but there's something knowing in his smile. "And some things are just waiting for you to realize they've been there all along."
As you walk toward the McLaren garage, you can't help but think about how some of the best things in life start as jokes - like a fourteen-year-old boy declaring you'll have papaya orange wedding colors, or a nickname that feels more like home than any other word in the world.
Maybe it's time to stop pretending it's all just a joke.
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liked by georgerussell63, carmenmmundt and 301,988 others
yn.russell my big brother just won in VEGAS!!! 🏆✨ from watching you race karts in the rain to watching you stand on top of the podium under those lights... i've never been prouder to be a russell. you deserve this more than anyone georgie. also thanks for letting me steal your champagne and ruin your hair before the photos 😘
ps: mum's crying, dad's crying, i'm crying, even fernando the dog is crying and he's not real x
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username1 I LOVE THEM SMMMM
username2 THIS IS MY FAMILY
georgerussell63 love you little sis ❤️ (but i was definitely the cuter kid)
↳ yn_russell keep telling yourself that x
↳ landonorris can confirm yn was the cuter kid
↳ georgerussell63 no one asked you lando
↳ landonorris just supporting my future wife mate
↳ yn.russell boys please this is george's moment
username2 THE WAY SHE RAN TO HIM IN PARC FERME 😭
username3 sibling goals fr
username4 ok but can we talk about how lando waited to celebrate with george until after yn had her moment with him 🥺
↳ username1 future brother in law behavior
username5 wait why isn't jacob in any of these photos? Wasn't he there?
carmenmmundt so proud of you both ❤️
↳ landonorris *all three of us
↳ carmenmmundt ?
↳ landonorris future wife = future family
↳ yn.russell this is GEORGE'S post omg
↳ landonorris sorry darling carry on x
charles_leclerc the russell genes are strong
↳ landonorris hopefully our kids get her genes
↳ georgerussell63 LANDO.
↳ yn.russell i swear to god
↳ landonorris what? just planning ahead 😌
username6 THIS COMMENT SECTION IS KILLING ME
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yn.russell has added to their stories
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The Abu Dhabi night is alive with celebration, the McLaren garage covered in papaya and champagne. But you're hidden away in one of the quiet corridors behind hospitality, mascara smudged, trying to muffle your sobs.
"There you are, darling! We've been looking everywhere for—" Lando's voice cuts off abruptly when he sees you. "YN?"
You quickly try to wipe your tears, but it's too late. His championship-winning smile vanishes instantly as he drops down beside you.
"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" His voice is soft, concerned. When you don't answer, he gently takes your hands away from your face. "Talk to me."
"It's stupid," you manage to say. "You should be celebrating. You just won the constructors'."
"Pretty sure the champagne will still be there in ten minutes," he says, thumb brushing away a tear from your cheek. "What happened?"
You take a shaky breath. "Jacob... he..." Your voice breaks.
Lando's expression hardens. "What did he do?"
"He broke up with me," you let out a bitter laugh. "Apparently now that he's secured a position at Mercedes for next season, he doesn't need the Russell connection anymore."
"He what?" Lando's voice is dangerously quiet.
"Turns out I was just... convenient. A way to get closer to Toto. To Mercedes." Your voice cracks again. "God, I feel so stupid."
"You're not stupid," Lando says fiercely. "He's the stupid one. He's worse than stupid, he's a complete—"
"I really thought..." you cut him off, fresh tears falling. "I actually thought he cared about me."
Without hesitation, Lando pulls you into his arms. You bury your face in his race suit, still damp with champagne, and let yourself break.
"I've got you," he murmurs into your hair. "I've got you, darling."
You stay like that for a while, his hands running soothingly up and down your back as you cry. The distant sounds of celebration feel like they're from another world.
"Want me to crash his car?" Lando finally asks, making you let out a watery laugh. "I could do it. Make it look like an accident. I am a professional driver, after all."
"Lando..."
"Or we could put laxatives in his coffee. Though he'd probably notice, since he still can't make a proper cup himself."
Despite everything, you find yourself smiling slightly.
"There's my girl," he says softly, then catches himself. "I mean... sorry. Probably shouldn't..."
"It's okay," you whisper. "I've always been your girl. Even if it was just as a joke."
Something shifts in his expression. "YN..."
"Don't," you pull back slightly. "Please. I can't... I can't lose you too. Not tonight."
He studies your face for a long moment, then nods, pulling you back against his chest. "You'll never lose me. Future husband contract, remember? Legally binding. Can't get rid of me that easily."
You close your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. "Promise?"
"Promise," he kisses the top of your head. "Besides, Fernando still needs both his parents."
This gets a real laugh out of you. "We don't actually have a dog, Lando."
"Yet," he corrects. "We don't have a dog yet. But when we do—"
"His name will be Fernando," you finish with him, and for a moment, everything feels okay again.
"Want me to get George?" he asks after a while.
You shake your head. "Not yet. Can we just... stay here for a bit?"
"As long as you need," he says, and you can hear his heart beating steadily under your ear. "I'm not going anywhere."
In the distance, someone calls his name.
"Go," you start to pull away. "They need their champion."
"They can wait," he says firmly, pulling you back. "You need me more."
And maybe it's the way he says it, or the gentle kiss he presses to your temple, or how his arms feel like the safest place in the world, but suddenly you realize what everyone's been trying to tell you all along.
This was never just a joke to him.
And maybe, just maybe, it was never really a joke to you either.
But that's a revelation for another night, when your heart isn't quite so broken and his race suit isn't covered in your tears. For now, you let yourself be held by your best friend, your future husband, your Lando, as the Abu Dhabi night carries on without you.
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liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 288,760 others
yn.russell back to my favorite job: professional thirdwheel 🏖️ (at least they feed me occasionally) @/georgerussell63 @/carmenmmundt
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username1 MY PARENTS
username2 wait... where's jacob? 👀
↳ username1 he unfollowed her last week 👀
↳ username3 tea incoming
georgerussell63 You love us
↳ yn.russell debatable
↳ carmenmmund We literally paid for your dinner
↳ yn.russell okay fine you're alright
landonorris need a fourth wheel? 👀
↳ yn.russell ...
↳ landonorris i'll bring snacks
username4 THE WAY LANDO COMMENTED SO FAST
username5 LANDO THIS IS YOUR CHANCE
username6 single little russell era is coming
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The winter sun is setting early, casting long shadows across your apartment. It's been a month days since Abu Dhabi, a months since Jacob revealed his true colors, and you're curled up on your couch in your comfiest sweats, surrounded by empty ice cream containers.
George and Carmen tried to cheer you up, making you tag along on their vacation, but now that you were back home, the sulking feeling inevitably came back too.
A familiar pattern of knocks at your door makes you groan. "Go away, Lando."
"Not a chance, darling," his voice calls back. "I come bearing provisions!"
"I don't need provisions," you call out, but you're already getting up to open the door. "I need to wallow in peace."
You open the door to find Lando, arms full of bags, wearing a ridiculously oversized hoodie that you're pretty sure belongs to George.
"Wallowing is officially cancelled," he announces, breezing past you into the apartment. "We're having a proper heartbreak recovery session."
"We are?"
"Absolutely," he starts unpacking the bags. "I've got all the essentials. More ice cream - mint chocolate chip, obviously. Every terrible rom-com Netflix has to offer. Popcorn. Those weird crisps you like that no one else understands. And..." he pulls out a bottle with flourish, "your favorite wine."
"Lando..."
"No arguments," he says firmly, but gently. "I'm not leaving you alone to cry over that coffee-challenged idiot."
"I wasn't crying," you protest weakly.
He raises an eyebrow at your clearly tear-stained face. "Right. And I'm not the most talented driver on the grid."
This actually makes you laugh. "Your modesty never fails to amaze me."
"I know, I know, I'm incredible," he grins, already making himself at home on your couch. "Now come here. We're starting with The Notebook because I know it's your guilty pleasure, even though you pretend to hate it."
"I do hate it," you say, but you're already curling up next to him.
"Sure you do, darling," he throws a blanket over both of you. "Just like you hate reality TV and actually love Jacob's boring marketing presentations."
You wince slightly at Jacob's name, and Lando immediately softens.
"Sorry," he says quietly. "No more mentions of He Who Shall Not Be Named. Though I still think we should put glitter in his car ventilation system."
"George already offered to have him banned from the paddock," you smile slightly.
"Good man, your brother," Lando nods approvingly. "Though my revenge plans are much more creative. I was thinking we could reprogram his laptop to only play 'Baby Shark' when he opens PowerPoint..."
You can't help but laugh. "You're ridiculous."
"Made you smile though, didn't I?" he says softly, and something in his voice makes you look up at him.
"You always do," you admit quietly.
He holds your gaze for a moment before clearing his throat. "Right, well, that's what future husbands are for, isn't it? Can't have my darling being sad. Bad for our wedding photos."
"Still going with that, are we?"
"Always," he says, and despite his light tone, there's something earnest in his eyes. "Someone's got to look after you properly."
"I can look after myself," you point out.
"Oh, I know," he grins. "But it's more fun together, isn't it? Plus, who else is going to appreciate your terrible taste in movies?"
"My taste is not terrible!"
"Darling, you genuinely enjoyed that film about the talking cats."
"It was artistic!"
"It was horrifying," he laughs, pulling you closer. "But I watched it three times with you anyway."
"Because you're a good friend," you say softly.
Something flickers across his face. "Yeah," he says after a moment. "The best friend you'll ever have. Even if you have questionable taste in everything except future husbands."
You roll your eyes but can't help smiling. "Speaking of questionable taste, weren't we supposed to be watching The Notebook?"
"Oh right!" he brightens, grabbing the remote. "Time to pretend you're not going to cry at the end."
"I never cry at the end."
"Darling, you've cried every single time we've watched it."
"Have not!"
"Have too! Remember last time? You got tears all over my favorite hoodie."
"That was one time!"
"One time this month, maybe," he grins, then softens. "It's okay though. My hoodies are always available for your tears. Even if they're about stupid coffee-challenged marketing guys who don't deserve them."
You lean your head on his shoulder. "Thank you, Lando."
"For what?"
"For being you. For being here. For..." you gesture at all the supplies he brought. "For everything."
He's quiet for a moment, then presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Always, darling. In sickness and in health, remember?"
"We're not actually married, Lando."
"Yet," he corrects, but there's something in his voice that makes your heart skip. "We're not actually married yet."
The movie starts playing, but you're more aware of his steady breathing, of how perfectly you fit against his side, of how safe you feel in this moment. And maybe it's too soon, maybe your heart is still too raw, but you can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, the right person has been here all along.
But that's a thought for another day. For now, you let yourself be comforted by your best friend, your constant, your Lando, as he quotes along with the movie and keeps you supplied with ice cream and terrible jokes until you're laughing more than you're crying.
And if you do end up crying at the end of The Notebook, well, his hoodie is already there to catch your tears.
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liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 291,483 others
yn.russell FIRST RACE OF THE SEASON. WHAT A RIDE !!!! lando winning and georgie on podium. ALEX P5 !!!! all of my boys killing it 🥺 so happy to be back, i missed this so much
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username1 LITTLE RUSSELL BIGGEST SUPPORTER
username2 SHE WAS SO HAPPY FOR LANDO OMFG
username3 still gutted for the missed mclaren 1-2 but GEORGE P3!!
carmenmmundt You almost broke my hand with all the squeezing !! Missed you so happy my girl 🤍
↳ username1 AHH LITTLE RUSSELL IS HEALING
username4 the way she JUMPED into lando's arms
ciscanorris My future daughter in law! It was so good to see you
↳ username1 AHH MAMA NORRIS CLAIMING HER
landonorris THAT WAS FOR YOU MY DARLINGGG
↳ yourinstagram 🥺
↳ username2 AHH SHE DIDN'T CORRECT HIM
georgerussell63 Love you sis, even tho you hugged Lando first
↳ yn.russell he won okay
↳ landonorris and i'm her future husband
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The Miami night air is warm and sweet, carrying the distant sounds of celebration from the post race party below. You're leaning against the balcony railing, watching the lights of the circuit sparkle in the distance, when familiar footsteps approach.
"There's my darling," Lando's voice is soft as he joins you. "Hiding from your adoring public?"
You smile, not looking away from the view. "Just needed some air."
The past few months flash through your mind - Lando showing up at your door with takeaway after particularly hard days, marathon gaming sessions that somehow always ended with you falling asleep on his shoulder, countless movie nights where he'd quote every line just to make you laugh. He never let you wallow, never let you retreat into sadness. Whether it was surprising you with your favorite coffee in the morning or sending you ridiculous memes at 3 AM, he was constantly there, slowly piecing your heart back together without you even realizing it.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks, bumping your shoulder gently with his.
"Just thinking about everything that's changed since last season."
He hums in agreement. "Good changes though, right?"
You finally turn to look at him, really look at him. His curls slightly messy from running his hands through them - a nervous habit you've known since you were teenagers. But there's something different in the way he's looking at you now, something that makes your heart skip.
"Yeah," you say softly. "Good changes."
He takes a step closer, and suddenly the air feels charged with possibility. "You know, I've been thinking..."
"Dangerous hobby," you tease, falling into your familiar pattern.
"Very dangerous," he agrees, but his voice is serious. "Been thinking about how sometimes the best things in life start as jokes."
Your breath catches. "Lando..."
"Like when a fourteen-year-old boy tells this pretty girl she's going to be his future wife," he continues, taking another step closer. "And he keeps saying it for years, making it this big running joke, because it's easier than admitting that maybe, just maybe, it was never really a joke at all."
"What are you saying?" you whisper, though your heart already knows the answer.
He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. "I'm saying that I've been in love with you since we were kids. I'm saying that every time I called you darling, every time I talked about our future dog Fernando, every time I claimed the future husband title - I meant it. All of it."
"Lando..." your voice wavers.
"I know it's only been a few months since... everything," he says quickly. "And if you're not ready, if you don't feel the same way, we can pretend this never happened. We can go back to just joking around. But I needed you to know that for me, it was never just a joke. You were never just a joke."
You stare at him, this boy who's been your constant, your safe place, your home for so long. And suddenly everything clicks into place.
"I'm going to kiss you now," he says softly, giving you time to pull away if you want to.
You don't.
His lips meet yours, gentle at first, like he's afraid you might break. But when your hands slide into his curls, pulling him closer, the kiss deepens into something that feels like coming home and falling free all at once.
When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours. "So," he says, slightly breathless, "about that legally binding marriage contract..."
You laugh, the sound full of joy. "Still going with that, are we?"
"Always," he grins, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. "Though now I'm thinking maybe we should make it official. You know, for Fernando's sake."
"We still don't have a dog, Lando."
"Yet," he corrects, pulling you closer. "We don't have a dog yet. But we will. Right after the wedding. Which will definitely have papaya orange colors because I called dibs when we were fourteen and—"
You cut him off with another kiss, feeling him smile against your lips.
"FINALLY!"
You break apart to find George standing in the doorway, grinning like he just won the championship.
"Ever heard of knocking?" Lando grumbles, but he doesn't let go of you.
"On a balcony door?" George raises an eyebrow. "Besides, I've been watching you two dance around each other for months. Years, actually."
"Have not," you protest.
"Have too," both men say in unison.
"I hate you both," you mutter, but you're fighting a smile.
"No you don't," Lando says confidently. "You love me. You're going to marry me and we're going to have a dog named Fernando and—"
"Still with the dog name?" George groans.
"It's tradition!" Lando defends. "Tell him, darling, tell him how important traditions are."
You look between your brother and the boy - no, the man - who's been your everything for so long, and feel your heart might burst with happiness.
"Actually," you say slowly, "I was thinking maybe we could name the dog George."
"What?" both men exclaim.
You burst out laughing at their expressions. "Just kidding. Fernando it is."
"See?" Lando beams at George. "She agrees with me. Because she loves me. Because we're getting married. Because—"
"Because it was never really a joke?" you finish softly.
His expression softens as he looks at you. "Never."
"Right," George clears his throat. "I'm going to leave before this gets any more sickeningly sweet. But Lando?"
"Yeah?"
"Hurt my sister and they'll never find your body."
"Please," Lando scoffs, pulling you closer. "I've been planning our future since I was fourteen. I'm not about to mess it up now."
As George leaves, shaking his head but smiling, Lando turns back to you.
"So," he says, his eyes twinkling, "about those wedding colors..."
You silence him with another kiss, thinking about how sometimes the best love stories start as jokes, and how sometimes the person you're meant to be with has been there all along, calling you darling and planning your future with a dog named Fernando.
And maybe, just maybe, those papaya orange wedding colors don't sound so bad after all.
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liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 201,384 others
yn.russell turns out some jokes become reality 🧡 @/landonorris (yes, we're actually getting the dog. yes, his name will be fernando. no, this isn't a drill - the future wife position has officially been filled, i love you my lando)
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username1 SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP IS THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENING??? 😭😭😭
username2 THE WAY I JUST SCREAMED IN THE MIDDLE OF STARBUCKS
username3 THE FUTURE WIFE JOKES WERE REAL ALL ALONG
georgerussell63 About bloody time 🙄 (but actually very happy for you both)
alex_albon the group chat can finally rest, no more "should I tell her?" messages from lando every 5 minutes
carmenmmundt The paddock's favorite love story
ciscanorris Finally! I've only been waiting for this announcement since they were teenagers 🥰
username4 the way this man has been calling her darling for YEARS and we all thought it was just banter 😭😭
username5 THE WAY I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS SINCE 2019
username6 ok but can we talk about how he's literally been manifesting this since they were TEENAGERS???
username7 this is actually the cutest thing ever like???? he's been planning their wedding since he was 14???? hello???
username8 the way george is probably somewhere being like "finally i don't have to pretend i don't see them flirting"
landonorris worth the wait, every single second❤️ love you darling x
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It's a lazy Sunday afternoon in late summer, and you're curled up on your couch with a book when you hear Lando's key in the door. You smile, not looking up - he's been coming and going from your place so much lately that it feels more like his home than his own apartment.
"Darling!" his voice calls out, sounding suspiciously excited. "Close your eyes!"
"Why?" you ask warily. "Last time you had a surprise, it didn't end well."
"Just trust me!"
You sigh fondly, closing your eyes. "Fine, but this better be good."
You hear him moving around, and then something warm and furry lands in your lap.
Your eyes fly open to find yourself face to face with the most adorable chocolate Labrador puppy you've ever seen. The puppy immediately starts licking your face while Lando watches, beaming with pure joy.
"Lando..." you breathe, already in love with the wiggling bundle of fur. "What did you do?"
"Well," he drops onto the couch beside you, reaching over to scratch the puppy's ears, "I was thinking about how we've been together for months now, and living together basically even though we pretend we don't, and how there's this one very important member of our family still missing..."
"You didn't," you whisper, even as the puppy settles contentedly in your lap.
"I did," he grins. "Meet Fernando. Finally."
You look between Lando and the puppy - Fernando - feeling your heart might burst. "You actually named him Fernando?"
"Of course I did! I've been planning this since I was fourteen, remember?" His eyes soften. "Plus, I made you a promise, didn't I?"
"We're not married yet," you point out, but you can't stop smiling.
"Yet," he emphasizes, leaning over to kiss your cheek. "But really, I thought... I mean, we practically live together anyway. Might as well make it official. You, me, and Fernando."
You look down at the puppy, who's now snoring softly in your lap, then back at Lando. "Are you asking me to move in with you? Properly?"
"Maybe," he fidgets slightly. "Unless you think it's too soon? I know we haven't been together that long, but it feels like we've been building towards this forever, you know? And I thought, with Fernando here now..."
You cut off his rambling with a kiss. "Yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes, I'll move in with you. Properly. All three of us."
His face lights up like you've just given him the best gift in the world. "Really?"
"Really," you laugh.
"You're ridiculous," you tell him fondly.
"You love it," he says confidently.
"I do," you admit softly. "I love you."
His expression melts into that soft look he reserves just for you. "I love you too, darling. Both of you," he adds as Fernando stirs and licks his hand.
Just then, your phone buzzes - a text from George.
"Oh no," you groan, reading it. "George is coming over."
"Perfect!" Lando brightens. "He can meet his nephew!"
"You did not just call our dog George's nephew."
"Of course I did! He's family now. Speaking of which..." he pulls out his phone, "my mum's been asking when we're bringing Fernando to visit."
Before you can respond, George's voice carries through the door. "Why is there puppy food in the hallway?"
Lando jumps up excitedly. "Ready to meet Uncle George, Fernando?"
The puppy perks up at his name, tail wagging as George opens the door.
"You didn't," George says, taking in the scene.
"We did!" Lando announces proudly. "Meet your nephew!"
"My... nephew?"
"Fernando Russell-Norris," Lando declares. "Well, technically just Norris for now, but that'll change once your sister finally agrees to marry me."
"Still waiting on that proposal, aren't you?" George smirks.
"All in good time," Lando winks at you. "Got to do it properly, haven't I?"
You watch George pretend not to be completely smitten with Fernando, while Lando chatters about all his plans for family weekends and teaching Fernando tricks. You can't help but think about how sometimes the best things in life start as jokes about future marriages and dogs named Fernando.
"Our little family," Lando says softly, pulling you close while Fernando attempts to climb into George's lap.
And as you lean into his side, watching your brother and your boyfriend argue about who gets to be Fernando's favorite uncle (while the puppy seems more interested in chewing George's shoelaces), you realize that this - this moment, this love, this little family - is better than any dream you could have had.
It's your reality. Your perfect, slightly chaotic, absolutely wonderful reality.
Do not repost the same work multiple times on AO3, or change the date/time to put you back at the top of the list, to boost your stats. Do not post new chapters of a chaptered work as individual stories. These things are extremely rude and people who are angry at you will not want to read your stories.
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no. i have never once looked at fanfic and thought "i wish there weren't so many amortentia Aus" "i wish they didn't always have that Oh, Oh moment" "i wish there weren't so many jokes alluding to canon"
in fact, i want more. make more silly little jokes about reg drowning. give me the oh moment again.
i will read the same trope over and over again, that's what fanfiction is for
A/n: Apologies for how long this part has taken to get to you and that it is short but being an adult has got a bit in the way of writing! Unfortunately I've no guarantees of how often I will be updating the story but know that I haven't forgotten about it and thanks to all of you still around for it.
Pairing: Ryan (Yellowstone) x Dutton!reader
Previous part - On indefinite hiatus
---
The next morning, y/n was sat at the table in the bunkhouse, bowl of cereal in front of her as she watched Colby mix himself some smoothie concoction she didn’t understand. The rest of the hands sat around the table with her making quiet conversation as they all began to liven up in preparation for the day.
“Surprised we didn’t hear anything from you lovebirds last night,” teased Jake who was met with a glare.
Y/n pointed her spoon threateningly at him, “just because I’ve spent the last 8 years in the company of you heathens doesn’t mean I don’t still have some class.”
“Is that so?” He questioned.
She nodded, “that and if I wanted to do that I have a much bigger bed in the house not surrounded by snoring ranch hands.”
“I can confirm it’s comfy as fuck and y’all should be jealous,” Ryan added smugly.
Y/n pulled a face at him, “please never suggest that these… boys… should ever be jealous of you being in bed with me.”
“I second that,” Lloyd voiced from his position next to the coffee machine, “I can only threaten one of you at a time.”
She rolled her eyes, “between you, Rip and my brothers it’s no wonder I waited so long for him to make a move.”
“Lloyd was the first one to threaten me,” Ryan admitted.
Y/n’s eyes widened, “old man I didn’t know you had it in you. I’m impressed.”
Conversation faded out as the door to the bunkhouse opened and Rip came in to start their day. His gaze fell on where Ryan’s arm rested on the back of y/n’s chair. She stood up quickly, making an excuse about wanting to work one of the colts before Travis arrived later that morning. Rip chose to comment on the fact that she’d already told him the young horses were having the day off.
He caught her by the arm as she went to leave, “we’ll talk about this later.”
-/-/-
After finishing the morning work in the barn, y/n led Comanche out to where Jake was watching Jimmy tack his horse up.
“Thought you weren’t coming out to the herd today?” He asked upon seeing that the gelding was tacked up.
She nodded and passed the reins across, “Dad wants me to run an eye over Travis’ prospects and seeing how Dandy is off and I don’t think either of us are comfortable with the starters going out yet I figured you could run him for me today. Besides he could do with being ridden by someone else once in a while.”
“I’ll look after him for ya,” Jake assured taking the reins, “pick us a good one.”
Y/n laughed, “if Jamie has anything to say about it we won’t be getting anything.”
With the rest of the hands mounted up, y/n watched them ride out then turned to find a way to avoid Rip for as long as possible. Her solution was the stall Dandy was chilling in for a few days whilst the stone bruise in her hoof healed. Swinging by the tack room for her grooming bag, y/n spent the next hour giving the dappled mare a head-to-toe pamper.
After a while, she was pulled out of her routine by the sound of trucks coming down the drive followed by a truck horn. Y/n groaned, knowing that Travis had just announced his arrival to the ranch meaning that Rip, Jamie and her dad would be expecting her outside shortly. Patting the mare’s neck, she collected her stuff and exited the barn.
Standing in the driveway outside the barn, leaning against his truck watching his prospects being unloaded from the trailer, was Travis Wheately. During her time on the circuit nearly a decade ago, y/n had become familiar with the horse trainer, although perhaps not as close as he had wanted them to be.
“Looking as gorgeous as ever y/n,” he greeted her.
She rolled her eyes, “it hasn’t worked for 10 years. I don’t know why you still try.”
“It’s in my blood darlin’” Travis joked, “your dad around yet?”
Y/n shook her head, “he’ll be down shortly with Jamie who’ll no doubt spoil all my fun.”
“You know if you ever want to try your hand as a reiner, just say the word and I’ll make something happen.”
She smiled at him, “you know one of these days if the ranch ever doesn’t need me I might just take you up on that offer but I’m quite happy where I am right now.”
“Your talent is wasted being a ranch hand,” Travis responded, “least you can do is talk your dad into making good choices.”
Y/n laughed, “if it were up to me this wouldn’t even be a conversation. We’d get a good one to prove but unfortunately Jamie has to be involved. And apparently he thinks he knows best when it comes to this. God knows the last time he worked a horse.”
“Maybe between you and Rip you’ll win out,” he offered.
Lando Norris x ex!reader (almost Lewis Hamilton x reader)
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yourusername posted to her story!
story replies:
GeorgeRussell: LOL WTF who tf is sending u that many roses??? Can I have some of the lego?
OscarPiastri: i told him not to you know, but he wouldn’t listen.
Lilymhe: oh, he didn’t
MaxVerstappen: want me to fight?
KellyPiquet: oh roses?…he trying trying
LandoNorris: i’m glad you both liked my gifts🤍
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Lando Norris Posted!
LandoNorris: i’m gonna get you back
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AlexAlbon: uh 🤨 yeah no that’s not happening
GeorgeRussell: not a chance mate
MaxVerstappen: this is surely not happening right now, i do not have the strength to fight rn but i will if i have to
DanielRicciardo: lol good luck on race day mate, you’re gonna need it
PierreGasly: Lando, don’t do this to yourself mate
OscarPiastri: told you not to do it.
Username2: oh he gotta work work to get her back, think he forgot she’s got all the other drivers as big brothers now lol
Username3: THEY’RE THE SAME ROSES THAT YN POSTED
Username4: We still don’t know what’s happened but if anything, i don’t think yn will forgive too easily
CharlesLeclerc: they don’t need their hearts broken again
LandoNorris: i don’t want to break, i want to be there
CarlosSainz: NOPE
LewisHamilton: not gonna happen mate lol
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yourusername: in your wildest dreams
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lilymhe: once again, marry me please
yourusername: leave Alex rn and i’ll do it
AlexAlbon: right well that’s rude
yourusername: get over it, i’m hotter than you anyway
GeorgeRussell: UH, I will not have you insult my boy like that✋🏼
yourusername: you officially have the least favourite uncle award now
GeorgeRussell: WHAT NO I TAKE IT BACK ALEX IS AN UGLY MF
AlexAlbon: wow ok
GeorgeRussell: Alex you’ll get over it, i NEED this award
AlexAlbon: you also need a world championship but you ain’t getting that either
yourusername: that must’ve hurt
GeorgeRussell: it did, can i be favourite uncle to make me feel better?
yourusername: no
MaxVerstappen: i can’t keep up with everything that’s happening, i’ve had Kelly keep a timeline for me
KellyPiquet: Max, please do shut up
CharlesLeclerc: since when did you and baby boy go to the beach and not invite me????
yourusername: maybe i didn’t want you here this time
CharlesLeclerc: pfffftt lies. Did you go with someone else?
yourusername: 🫣
CharlesLeclerc: GASP
LandoNorris: definitely in my wildest dreams
yourusername: not gonna happen
LandoNorris: doesn’t mean i won’t try
LewisHamilton: Always in my dreams. had a great time yn especially spending time with my favourite little buddy, but the view of you was always extra nice💙
yourusername: we loved being there with you Lew!💗
Username3: SHE WAS ON HOLIDAY WITH LEWIS??? LEW??
username4: love triangle trope? Lando, YN & Lewis?
username5: i’m on Lewis’ side
Username6: NOPE THIS IS NOT HAPPENING YN AND LANDO NEED TO BE BACK TOGETHERRR
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yourusername: we all deserve happiness💛
view all comments
MaxVerstappen: you’re all so cryptic i can’t stand it. Buddy coming round for dinner soon?
yourusername: always, he misses his auntie Kelly
KellyPiquet: in your face Max Emilian, i knew he preferred me.
yourusername: is my son just a way for you all to see who is liked the most?
GeorgeRussell: yes
AlexAlbon: yes
Carmenmmundt: yes
DanielRicciardo: yes
Lilymhe: yes
KellyPiquet: yes
CharlesLeclerc: yes
yourusername: you all need to get lives fr
GeorgeRussell: we have lives, a life where we want to know who Milo likes best
username5: MILO? GEORGE EXPOSING SECRETS AGAIN BUT THIS WAS NEEDED
Username6: so no one is gonna talk about how Lewis and his parents are on the second slide?? just me??
username7: who wants to bet that Lewis and yn are dating??
username8: there’s no true evidence of that other than lewis being close to yn’s son (which all the other drivers are too) and the fact they’ve been on holiday together, which yn goes on holiday with the boys and their partners.
username7: ah yes, but Lewis does not have a partner, he normally travels with family or friends, but this time he’s been spending a lot more time with yn and commenting flirtatious comments on her posts.
LandoNorris: little man Milo🧡 you look lovely yn
yourusername: thanks Lando, Milo say’s thanks for the gifts you sent x
username8: i think my head just exploded, i’m so confused???
LewisHamilton: 🙄
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Lando Norris stood outside the apartment door, his heart racing. He stared at the number, 12B, for what felt like an eternity before summoning the courage to knock. It had taken him almost 2 years to reach this point. He wasn't ready then, but he was now. He wanted to meet his son, Milo, and make amends for the mistakes he had made.
The door opened, and Y/N stood there, a mixture of surprise and apprehension in her eyes. She was as beautiful as ever, and for a moment, Lando was struck speechless. Her gaze softened, and she stepped aside to let him in without a word, knowing he had kept to his word, making the effort to come when she asked him to.
As he entered, his eyes were immediately drawn to the little boy playing on the living room floor. Milo. His son. The boy was a perfect blend of both him and Y/N, with bright eyes and an infectious giggle that made Lando's heart ache with both joy and regret.
But then Lando noticed someone else in the room—Lewis Hamilton. He was sitting on the couch, watching Milo with a protective intensity that Lando recognised. It was the same look he’d seen in the rearview mirror countless times, a fierce determination that said, "I will not back down."
"Hey," Lando said, his voice faltering. He hadn't expected Lewis to be here. He knew they were friends, but this was supposed to be his moment with Milo. He tried to hide his annoyance as he turned back to Y/N. "I didn’t know you had company."
Y/N bit her lip, glancing at Lewis before responding. "Lewis has been helping me out with Milo for a bit, since we just came off holiday."
Lando felt a surge of jealousy but pushed it down. This wasn't about Lewis. This was about meeting his son. Nodding, not knowing how to reply he knelt down to the little boy, trying to keep his voice steady. "Hi, Milo. I'm…I'm your dad."
Milo looked up, his eyes wide with curiosity. He didn’t say anything but continued to watch Lando intently. Lando felt a lump in his throat. This was his flesh and blood, a part of him that he had missed so much of.
Lewis cleared his throat, drawing Lando's attention. "Milo's a great kid," he said, his tone neutral but his eyes wary. "He's been a joy to be around."
Lando nodded, forcing a smile. "I’m sure he is. I’m here to…to get to know him, if that’s okay."
Y/N hesitated, looking between the two men. "Of course, Lando. I want Milo to know his father, but this isn't a half-arsed thing, it's a lot of work to care for a child, you can't just come and go whenever you please, you have to be all in."
Lando's heart sank at those words, but he couldn’t blame anyone but himself. He had made his choices, and now he had to deal with the consequences. He stood up, facing Lewis directly. "Thank you for being there for them, Lewis. Really."
"I'm not who I was before YN, i've grown up, I promise." YN just nodded slightly, breathing heavily.
There was an awkward silence, and Lando couldn't help but feel like an outsider in his own family. He glanced at Y/N, hoping for some sign of what she was thinking. "Are you two…?" He let the question hang in the air, not sure he wanted to know the answer.
Y/N and Lewis exchanged a look, one that spoke volumes. There was something there, something unspoken but palpable. Y/N looked down, her cheeks flushing slightly. "We're good friends."
Lando swallowed hard, feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment. "I see."
Lewis stood up, crossing the room to where Milo was playing. He picked the boy up, holding him with a familiarity that twisted Lando's heart. "I'll take Milo for a walk. Give you two some time to talk."
Y/N nodded, grateful. "Thanks, Lewis." Lewis bent down, giving YN a kiss on the cheek, almost as though he was marking his territory, telling Lando that YN saying they were 'good friends' was a lie.
As Lewis left the apartment with Milo, Lando and Y/N stood in an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Y/N spoke. "Why now, Lando? Why come back after all this time?"
Lando took a deep breath. "I wasn't ready before. I was scared, and I made a mistake. But I've grown up, Y/N. I want to be a part of Milo's life. And yours, if you'll let me."
Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It's not that simple, Lando. A lot has happened. Milo has grown up with Lewis around. He’s been more of a father to him than you have."
"I know," Lando said, his voice breaking. "But I want to change that. I want to make up for lost time."
Y/N looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and hope. "It's not just about you, Lando. It's about what's best for Milo. And I don’t want to hurt Lewis either. He's been so good to us, he does everything for us."
Lando nodded, understanding the weight of her words. "I get it. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere, i'm going to be his dad, we can co-parent, and maybe...I could earn your trust back."
Y/N’s eyes filled with tears. "I just don’t know if I can trust you not to leave again."
"I won’t," Lando said firmly. "I promise."
They stood there, the air thick with tension and unresolved feelings. Lando reached out, taking Y/N's hand in his. "Please, give me a chance to prove it. I want to be a father to Milo."
Y/N looked down at their hands, her expression conflicted. "I…I need time, Lando. This is a lot to take in."
"I understand," Lando said softly. "Take all the time you need. I’m not giving up on us. On any of us."
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taglist: People who commented on the last part (there will be more parts!) you guys wanted more Lewis so here you go💗
Rightfully so, I have gotten messages worrying if everything I post is legit (I try my best to make sure the answer is yes), but here’s a masterlist of ones that one or more people have confirmed are legit Palestinians. Most are from the blogs @el-shab-hussein, @ibtisams, @palestinecharitycommissionsassoc ,@90-ghost, @nabulsi and @palipunk
I will also be making individual posts for most of these
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A/N: Greetings all! Apologies this isn't a massive part after all your waiting but hopefully be back in the swing soon. Let me know if you have any thoughts on what the relationship reader has with the Duttons should be like as I want to explore that more.
Pairing: Ryan (Yellowstone) x Dutton!reader
Previous part - Next part
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Y/n looked up from where she was buttoning her jacket against the incoming cold to see Jimmy riding towards them with a calf across his saddle. She chuckled to herself at his ability to fall off his horse, lose his hat and find a missing calf all in the same day. Encouraging Comanche towards Rip and Lloyd, she gestured to them across the field.
“Told you he’d work out just fine,” She directed towards the foreman, “you dared question my teaching prowess.”
Rip rolled his eyes at her, “I learnt long ago to not question what you put your mind y/n. The question was whether he had the will to follow through with it.”
“Ah he’ll adapt just fine,” Lloyd brushed him off, “y’know she won’t let him quit.”
Fred shouted across the fence to Jimmy, “well look who decided to show up. You have a nice ride?”
“Shut up and just open the gate,” y/n snapped at him, “nobody wants to deal with your bullshit.”
Ignoring the glare burning into her back, she swung Comanche around to keep the cow away from the gate whilst Jimmy rode in.
“Wonder which one’s its mama?” He asked.
The cow Comanche was keeping back lowed loudly.
Rip sighed, “gee I fuckin’ wonder. Put it in the pen.”
“That’s as cowboy as it gets Jimmy,” Lloyd assured.
Y/n smiled at him as he rode past, pulling Comanche away from the cow to return to sorting the rest of the herd. She glanced back to watch Jimmy put the calf down and barrel straight towards his mama.
“He’ll make it,” Lloyd assured her.
Y/n smiled, “with our expert guidance.”
-/-/-
After finishing organising the cattle and putting the horses away, the hands made their way back to the bunkhouse. Ryan was at the front of them, arm slung casually over his girlfriend’s shoulders despite her protests of being caught by Rip (Colby having already been given the middle finger for his wolf whistling).
Her body was pushed forward by Fred kicking Jimmy’s feet from under him into them. Ryan grabbed her waist and pulled her into him to stabilise her.
“You’re a fucking dipshit Fred,” he muttered as the three of them carried on walking.
Y/n stopped both of the boys who turned around to see Jimmy punched to the floor. She ducked down to help him up, “alright you made your point.”
“No no no no,” Ryan groaned when Jimmy went back for Fred.
As they fought, y/n felt herself be pushed behind Ryan and Colby. She took that as her sign to go find Rip to break them up. Turning her back on the boys she ran for the bunkhouse where she found Rip and Lloyd sat at the table. Both of them looked up with concern seeing her burst in at speed.
“Where’s the fire kid?” Lloyd asked.
“Fred started on Jimmy,” she explained, “and the dumb fuck wouldn’t stay down and they’re not stopping. He’s gonna do some real damage to him, Rip.”
Rip groaned but gestured for Lloyd to follow them out to the barn.
When they reached them, Jimmy was face down in the dirt. Y/n watched Rip put Fred on the floor before turning her attention to where Lloyd was helping Jimmy up off the floor. She made for them but he waved her off, wanting to save the new hand the scolding she would give him for continuing to fight.
“You wanna fight somebody, you come fight me. I’ll fight you all goddamn day,” y/n couldn’t help groaning at Rip’s rule and how ridiculous it always sounded.
“I’m the one who started it. It wasn’t him, it was me,” Jimmy tried to defend the other hand.
Ryan carefully pulled her out of Rip’s path and she allowed herself to go into her boyfriend’s arms despite the foreman in front of them. Y/n worried her upper lip when Jimmy was hauled around, just healed brand on display.
“You see this, you know what it means? Means don’t fucking touch Fred. Don’t fucking touch,” Rip dismissed them, “now you guys can go get the supper that you didn’t earn.”
Alongside Ryan and Colby, y/n left the situation to be dealt with by the members of the ranch involved in the dirty work. When they reached the bunkhouse, she opted to stay out for a moment, needing to decompress with a cigarette before dealing with the hands asking a million questions about the fight.
-/-/-
Later that evening, after choosing to eat in the kitchen with Gator instead of deal with her family, y/n slipped away to the bunkhouse. The chef had given her a questioning look when she left through the kitchen instead of the front door but thought better of asking and gave her a batch of cookies for the hands.
After checking in on the horses, she swung into the bunkhouse where she immediately noticed the absence of Fred and Lloyd. A cursory glance around the room showed Jimmy asleep in his bunk and Jake gave her a reassuring nod that he was okay. Ryan and Colby were sat on the sofa playing some convoluted card game they’d made up over their year on the ranch that nobody else understood the rules of.
“Gator made y’all cookies,” she announced, placing the box on the table and watched as they all made a dive to get the best one, “anyone would think y’all were starved.”
Ryan reached around her to pick one up, arm securely around her waist. Y/n closed her eyes, leaning back into his chest and allowed the conversation between them to wash over her.
“Y’all notice Fred’s bunk is empty?” Jake asked.
Y/n opened her eyes to look at him, “Rip and dad were never gonna let him stay here after all that. Branded man and all that. Just hope the spot gets filled before we get busy.”
“You going back to the house tonight?” Ryan asked, chin tucked over her shoulder.
She smiled, “thought I’d stay here if that suits you.”
“More than fine with me sweetheart,” he kissed her cheek, “I’d have you in my bed every night.”
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Tag list: @child-of-of-the-sunshine @kendallroydefender @qardasngan @thecobraghost @little-diable @hawkeyetrained
