Starting school
Lando Norris x Single Mum!Reader
The morning started with chaos — as first-day-of-school mornings usually do. Tiny sneakers misplaced, hair ties breaking, the new backpack somehow already sticky from breakfast jam.
You crouched by the door, trying to coax your daughter into putting her shoes on.
“Sweetheart, we’re going to be late.”
“I don’t want school,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “What if you leave me there forever?”
Before you could answer, Lando crouched beside you, grinning gently.
“Hey, princess,” he said softly. “Think of school like… a pit stop. You go in, do your thing, and when you’re done — we’re waiting right outside to take you home.”
Your daughter frowned. “Pit stop?”
“Fast. Like cars.” He tapped her nose. “And you’re faster than all of them.”
She giggled — just like that, crisis averted.
The car ride was full of nervous chatter — your daughter asking about friends, snacks, if she could bring her stuffed bunny (answer: no).
Lando sat in the driver seat, turning around every few minutes to reassure her.
“You’ll have the best day,” he promised. “And when you come out, I wanna hear everything.”
She nodded solemnly, gripping her backpack straps. “Will you be there?”
“Both of us,” he said. “Promise.”
The crowd of parents and kids was overwhelming — crying toddlers, nervous laughter, a few parents already tearing up.
Your daughter clung to your leg at first… but then Lando offered his hand. “Wanna walk with me?”
She hesitated — then slipped her tiny hand into his.
You watched them walk ahead, your heart swelling at the sight: his tall frame stooping slightly, her little backpack bouncing as they approached the classroom together.
When the teacher finally called her in, she turned back — waved at both of you.
“I’ll miss you!” she yelled dramatically.
“You’ll be okay!” Lando yelled back, eyes suspiciously shiny.
You smiled, squeezing his hand. “You’re emotional.”
“She’s growing up,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “This is a big deal.”
By the time you reached the car, Lando was quiet — almost too quiet.
“You okay?” you asked softly.
He looked at you, sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I didn’t think it would hit me like that.”
“Like what?”
“That I feel like…” He hesitated, then exhaled. “I feel like she’s mine too. Is that crazy?”
Your chest ached. “No,” you whispered. “Not crazy at all.”
Silence lingered — warm, soft — until he leaned across the car and kissed you, slow and certain.
When he pulled back, he smiled. “We’re gonna be good at this, you know.”
You smiled back. “Yeah. We are.”
