@boxboxluckybird saw it first + an add-on to First Kiss
The night was quiet, except for the soft hum of the wind brushing against the windows. Fernando sat at the kitchen table, staring at a half-empty glass of whiskey he wasn’t sure he wanted to finish. The divorce had left his house emptier than it had ever been, the silence suffocating, a constant reminder of everything that had gone wrong. Fourteen years Fernando had spent married to Lance. Seventeen years they'd had a son together. All for nothing.
The sound of footsteps broke the stillness, tentative at first, then more deliberate. Fernando looked up to see Nikola standing in the doorway, his face pale, his eyes red-rimmed and glistening with tears. Fernando’s heart clenched. He knew that look. It was the same one Lance had whenever the world felt like it was crumbling around him — whenever the world was crumbling around him.
“Nik?” Fernando’s voice was softer than he expected, his usual sharpness dulled by concern. “What’s wrong, mijo?”
Nikola didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped into the room, his arms wrapped tightly around himself like he was trying to hold himself together — trying to hold the closest thing he had to Lance. His lower lip trembled, and when he finally spoke, his voice was raw and cracked.
“Do I look like him?”
Fernando blinked, startled by the question. “What?”
“Do I look like him?” Nikola repeated, his voice breaking. He stepped closer, his movements shaky, like he was being pulled forward by some invisible force. “Is that why you… why you treat me like this? Why you barely look at me? Because I remind you of him?”
“Nikola, mi amor, that’s not—” Fernando started, but Nikola cut him off with a sudden, anguished outburst.
“¡Ya basta! Don’t lie to me, Papa!” Nikola’s voice rose, thick with emotion. “You can’t stand to look at me, can you? Because I look like the one person in the world who loved you unconditionally, and you bailed on him. You left him because you were fucking scared!”
Fernando’s breath caught in his throat. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Scared of this,” Nikola continued, tears streaming down his cheeks as he motioned towards himself, convinced he was the one that drove his fathers apart. “Of having a family. Of having me. Having me with a man. You were so scared that you ran away from the best thing that ever happened to you, and now… now I’m here, and you can’t even look at me without seeing him, without remembering what you lost.”
“Nikola Díaz. Stop—” Fernando tried again, but Nikola wouldn’t let him.
“Are you ashamed of me?” Nikola asked, his voice trembling, every word cutting deeper than the last. “Is that it? Am I the reminder of everything you couldn’t handle? Everything you didn’t want? Do you hate me because of him? Because I'm a Stroll?”
Fernando stood abruptly, the metal of the chair beneath him scraping harshly against the floor. “Nikola, stop it!” he snapped, his voice cracking under the weight of his own guilt.
But Nikola didn’t flinch. He just stood there, shaking, his eyes locked on his father’s, pleading for an answer. “Do you love me? Did you love him?” he whispered. “Because it doesn’t feel like it, Papa."
Fernando felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. He took a step toward his son, then hesitated, his hands trembling at his sides. How could he explain the storm of emotions that had consumed him since the divorce? The shame, the regret, the unbearable weight of knowing he’d failed the two people he’d loved most in the world?
“You look like him,” Fernando finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Nikola flinched as though struck, but Fernando kept going, his words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to bridge the growing chasm between them. “You look like him, and it kills me every single day because I can’t look at you without thinking about how much I screwed up. How much I hurt him. How much I hurt you.”
Nikola’s breath hitched, but he didn’t say anything, his eyes wide and shining with fresh tears.
“I’m not ashamed of you,” Fernando continued, his voice thick with emotion. “I could never be ashamed of you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Nikola. But every time I see you, I see him. I see the man I loved more than anything, the man I let down because I was too scared to face what we had, what we could’ve been.”
Tears spilled down Fernando’s cheeks now, his composure cracking under the weight of his confession. “I was scared, yes. Scared of being a father. Scared of being with a man. Scared of failing you both. And in the end, that fear made me do exactly what I was afraid of. I failed. I failed him, and I failed you.”
Nikola’s lips quivered, and for a moment, he just stood there, staring at his father. Then, with a sob, he rushed forward, throwing his arms around Fernando and burying his face in his chest. Fernando froze for half a second before wrapping his arms tightly around his son, holding him like he was afraid to let go.
“I’m sorry,” Fernando choked out, his voice muffled against Nikola’s hair. “I’m so sorry, hijo. For everything. For hurting you. For not being there. For making you feel like you weren’t enough. You are enough. You’ve always been enough.”
Nikola clung to him, his sobs wracking his small frame, and for the first time in years, Fernando let himself cry too. They stood there in the kitchen, father and son, broken but holding onto each other, trying to piece together the fragments of what had been shattered.
They stayed locked in the embrace, their shared grief filling the space that silence had once suffocated. Fernando’s grip on Nikola tightened, as if by holding on to his son, he could make up for all the lost time, all the mistakes that had created this chasm between them. The warmth of Nikola’s trembling body in his arms was a reminder that despite everything, he was still here, still his son, and still someone Fernando had a chance to fight for.
After a long moment, Nikola’s sobs began to subside, his breathing slowing into uneven hiccups. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at his father with tear-streaked cheeks and swollen eyes. “Do you think he hates you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Fernando’s heart twisted painfully. The question hit him harder than any of Nikola’s earlier accusations because it was the one he had been asking himself for years. He sighed, brushing a hand over Nikola’s hair, smoothing down the wild curls that reminded him so much of Lance.
“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly, his voice heavy with regret. “I hope not. I hope… I hope he knows how much I loved him — how much I love him — even if I didn’t show it the way I should have. Even if I messed everything up.”
Nikola searched his father’s face, his expression a mixture of sorrow and something Fernando couldn’t quite place. “I don’t think he hates you,” Nikola said after a moment, his voice fragile but sincere. “He never talked badly about you. Even when things were bad, even after the divorce, he always said you loved me. That you loved us.”
Fernando swallowed hard, his throat tightening. “He said that?”
Nikola nodded. “He never wanted me to think you didn’t care. Even when I was mad at you, he… he always defended you.”
Fernando closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the weight of Nikola’s words. Lance’s forgiveness, his enduring belief in Fernando’s love, was more than he felt he deserved. And yet, it was the lifeline he didn’t know he’d been waiting for.
“I wish I could fix it,” Fernando whispered, his voice breaking again. “I wish I could take it all back and do it right. For him. For you.”
Nikola’s lip trembled, but he reached out, placing his hand over Fernando’s. “Maybe you can’t fix the past,” he said softly, “but you can still fix us.”
Fernando looked at his son, his chest aching with a mixture of pain and hope. He saw Lance in Nikola’s eyes, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like a curse. It felt like a second chance. A chance to love his son the way Lance would have wanted. The way they both deserved.
“I’ll try,” Fernando promised, his voice steady despite the tears still clinging to his lashes. “I’ll do everything I can to make it better, Nik. I swear to you, mijo.”
Nikola nodded, his fingers tightening around his father’s hand. “That’s all I wanted, Papa. For you to try.”
They stood in the kitchen for what felt like an eternity, the hum of the wind outside now a soft lullaby to their shared pain and tentative healing. When Nikola finally let go, his movements hesitant but lighter, he wiped at his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
“Can I stay here tonight?” he asked quietly, his voice small, like he was afraid Fernando might say no.
Fernando’s heart broke all over again at the thought of Nikola feeling like he had to ask. “Of course,” he said firmly. “This is your home, Nik. It always will be.”
Nikola gave him a weak smile, the first hint of light Fernando had seen in his son’s eyes all night. Without another word, he turned and headed toward the living room, curling up on the couch the way he used to when he was little and afraid of the dark.
Fernando watched him go, his heart heavy but filled with a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in years. He grabbed a blanket from the hallway closet and draped it over Nikola, pressing a kiss to his son’s temple as he whispered, “Te amo, mijo. Always.”
Nikola murmured something in return, his voice slurred with exhaustion, and Fernando smiled faintly as he returned to the kitchen. The whiskey sat untouched on the table, but this time, Fernando didn’t pick it up. Instead, he poured it down the sink and stood there for a moment, staring out into the night.
The wind brushed against the windows again, but this time it didn’t feel so suffocating. It felt like a reminder that life was still moving, still offering chances to make things right. And for the first time in a long time, Fernando felt like he was ready to take it.
Congrats on the 800 omg!!! Maybe bit of whumpy strollonso where fernando got into massive crash and lance has to be the one rescuing him?
We got plenty of fics where lance is the one getting injured and i think we need to swap it once in a while.
800 followers celebration
so sorry this took me ages to write 💔 she's here now!!
Fernando and Lance were thrilled to have their home race weekends back-to-back. It wasn’t just the excitement of racing on familiar ground, but the opportunity to share these moments with their five-year-old son, Nikola.
For Fernando, the Spanish Grand Prix was more than just a race; it was a homecoming steeped in pride and tradition. He had spent years honing his craft on Spanish circuits, and to now stand as one of the sport's most revered figures, with Nikola by his side, felt deeply fulfilling. Lance, meanwhile, was eager to introduce his son to the Canadian Grand Prix, a race that had shaped his childhood dreams. He vividly remembered standing in awe as a young boy, watching his heroes race at Circuit Gilles Villeneuve. Now, he had the chance to create similar memories for Nikola.
Both fathers had made a point of involving Nikola in their racing world, and these two weekends were the perfect opportunity to immerse him fully. They envisioned him soaking in the electric atmosphere of the paddock, waving at fans, and sitting in the Aston Martin garage, wide-eyed as he watched his fathers compete — though they weren't sure exactly how invested a five-year-old could be. For Lance and Fernando, these two weeks were as much about creating lasting family memories as they were about securing strong finishes on the track. It was a chance to blend their roles as racers and parents, sharing their passion for Formula 1 with the person who meant the most to them, their son.
Aston Martin had embraced Fernando and Lance's dynamic from the moment Fernando signed with the team, recognizing the unique bond that set them apart both on and off the track. Their partnership wasn’t just professional; it was a family affair, and Nikola’s bright smile often became a fixture in the paddock. The young boy was a natural charmer, bringing warmth to the ever stressfull world of Formula 1, and the Aston Martin crew doted on him as if he were their own.
As the Spanish Grand Prix weekend kicked off, Nikola was dressed in a custom Aston Martin race suit with "Stroll-Diaz" stitched across his hip, a gift from the team. Fernando couldn’t help but grin as his son proudly showed it off to anyone who would look.
“Do I look like you, Papa?” Nikola asked, twirling to give Fernando a full view.
Fernando crouched down, fixing the collar of the tiny suit. “You look even better than Papa,” he said, moving his hand to wipe off chocolate residue from his son's chin. “You’re the real star this weekend.”
The energy at the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya was electric. The grandstands were filled with Spanish flags, and chants of “¡Vamos, Fernando!” echoed through the air. Nikola clung to Lance’s hand as they made their way through the paddock, his wide eyes taking in the bustling atmosphere.
“Papa, why is everyone shouting your name?” Nikola asked, tilting his head toward Fernando.
“Because they’re excited to see Papa race,” Fernando replied with a smile, kneeling to his son’s level. “But I think they’re even more excited to see you.”
Nikola giggled, and Lance ruffled his hair. “Don’t let him get too full of himself, Nik. You might have to sign more autographs than him.”
On race day, Nikola sat in the garage alongside the Aston Martin crew, headphones perched over his small ears and his grandpa Lawrence by his side. His gaze was glued to the monitors as he watched Fernando and Lance maneuver their cars with surgical precision. Every time Fernando overtook another driver, Nikola cheered, his excitement infectious.
“Go, Papa! Go faster!” he exclaimed, bouncing in his seat.
Fernando finished the race in third place, much to the delight of the home crowd, while Lance secured a strong points finish in fifth. As the team celebrated back at the Aston Martin motorhome, Fernando hoisted Nikola onto his shoulders, eliciting a round of cheers from the crew.
“Papa, so high up!” Nikola giggled, gripping Fernando’s hair for balance.
“That’s because we’re celebrating,” Fernando said, spinning around as Nikola laughed. “And you’re part of the team too, so you get to celebrate with us.”
“¡Fernando! ¡Fernando!” the team chanted, raising glasses of sparkling water and champagne. Nikola joined in, his voice louder than anyone’s.
Lance leaned against a table, watching his family with a soft smile. “Looks like you’ve got some competition for fan favorite,” he teased.
Fernando grinned up at Nikola. “I don’t mind. He can have it.”
The night ended with Nikola fast asleep in Lance’s arms, clutching a small Spanish flag someone had given him earlier that day. For Fernando, the day was everything he could have hoped for — a podium finish, the adoration of his home crowd, and his family by his side. It was a memory he knew they’d cherish forever.
Two weeks later, the family touched down in Montreal for Lance’s home race. The city embraced them with warmth — a new but exciting feeling for Lance — and Nikola was thrilled to explore Canada with his fathers. However, the race weekend promised a stark contrast to the sunny skies of Spain. Rain loomed ominously over Circuit Gilles Villeneuve the whole weekend they got to spend there.
By race day, the weather had deteriorated into torrential downpours. The track was slick with standing water, and visibility was minimal. Lance and Fernando, like many drivers, questioned the conditions during the formation lap, but the FIA gave the green light to race.
From the start, it was chaos. Cars skidded, DRS was disabled, and drivers wrestled their machines for control. Despite the treacherous conditions, Fernando was in a strong position, utilizing his years of experience. Lance, too, managed to stay steady, though the danger was palpable.
On lap 35, disaster struck. The rain had intensified to a near deluge, and the track was now more waterlogged than ever. As Fernando navigated the hairpin, his Aston Martin hit a deep patch of standing water. The car aquaplaning violently, spinning out of control. Despite Fernando’s years of experience and quick reflexes, there was nothing he could do to regain control.
The car careened off the slick tarmac, slamming nose-first into the barriers. The impact was horrific, the force of it ripping off the front wing, shaking the chassis, and sending shards of carbon fiber flying across the track. The protective halo held firm, but the sheer violence of the crash left the garage in stunned silence.
“Red flag! Red flag!” came the frantic calls over the team radios, but it was too late for Fernando.
In his own car further down the track, Lance immediately slowed, his heart pounding as he caught the aftermath on a trackside screen. The sight of Fernando’s wrecked car, crumpled and steaming against the barrier, made his breath hitch. He could hear the urgency in his own race engineer's voice, but his focus was elsewhere.
"Fernando, Fernando are you okay?!" Fernando's radio crackled desperately, but there was no response.
The marshals and medics began moving, but to Lance, it was agonizingly slow. The rain obscured everything, and he could tell from years of racing experience that this crash was bad — worse than anything Fernando had been through since he raced for Mchonda. Without a second thought, Lance made a decision.
“I’m stopping,” Lance said firmly over the radio, ignoring the protests from his engineer.
“Lance, you can’t just—”
He killed the feed before they could finish. Lance pulled his car over onto the runoff area just past the hairpin, jumped out, and sprinted toward the wreck despite the pouring rain and chaos around him.
“Stroll, what the hell are you doing?!” one of the marshals yelled as he approached, but Lance didn’t slow down.
“He just slammed face first into the barriers and you're the only marshal that has managed to get here.” Lance shouted back, his voice breaking. “Move!”
The sight up close was worse than Lance had feared. Fernando’s car was mangled, the front end completely caved in. He could see Fernando’s helmet, tilted to the side, but there was no movement. Lance’s heart thundered in his chest as he gripped the side of Fernando’s car. Rain streaked down his face, mingling with the tears he didn’t realize were falling. He screamed Fernando’s name, pounding on the crumpled cockpit, desperate for a response.
And then, as if on autopilot, his mind took over.
He rushed to unbuckle to driver and disconnect his helmet from the car, his hands steady despite the chaos around him. He could see Fernando slumped against the seat, unconscious but breathing. His own strength felt limitless as he reached in, unfastened the straps, and gently pulled Fernando out, cradling him in his arms.
“You’re okay,” Lance whispered, his voice trembling with relief. “I’ve got you, Nando. I’ve got you.”
He carried Fernando through the rain, ignoring the shouting marshals and the chaos surrounding them. Everything else faded away — the roaring engines, the downpour, even the burning wreckage of the car. All that mattered was getting Fernando to safety.
Lance heard the crowd erupting in cheers as he reached the ambulance, medics rushing to take Fernando from him. He refused to let go at first, his protective instincts overwhelming. But Fernando stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open, and he gave Lance a faint, reassuring smile.
“Lance,” Fernando croaked. “I love you.”
The words hit Lance like a lifeline, grounding him in the moment. He gripped Fernando’s hand, tears spilling freely now, his chest tight with relief.
But then, the image shattered.
Reality came rushing back, and Lance blinked, disoriented. The rain was gone, replaced by the sterile white walls of a hospital room. He looked down to find Nikola curled up on his lap, fast asleep, his tiny hands clutching a toy car. Lance’s cheeks were damp with tears he didn’t remember shedding.
“Lance?” a soft voice broke through his haze. It was a tan brunette woman, a nurse — he assumed — her expression kind but concerned. “Are you alright?”
Lance didn’t respond immediately. He looked around, his heart sinking as he realized Fernando wasn’t there. The weight of what had happened pressed down on him, and his mind raced with unanswered questions. Was Fernando okay? Had they gotten him out in time?
Nikola stirred in his lap, mumbling softly before blinking up at Lance with wide, innocent eyes. “Dad?” he asked, his voice small and confused. “Why are you crying?”
Lance swallowed hard, brushing a hand through Nikola’s messy hair. “I… I’m okay, buddy,” he said, though his voice wavered. “Dad's just… tired.”
“Is Papa okay?” Nikola asked, his gaze searching Lance’s face for answers — trusting him more than anyone in the world.
Lance’s throat tightened, and he couldn’t bring himself to respond. Instead, he hugged Nikola close, pressing a kiss to his son’s temple as fresh tears welled up. He didn’t know how to explain his fears, his guilt, the haunting image of Fernando’s car crumpled against the barriers.
The nurse placed a gentle hand on Lance’s shoulder. “He’s stable,” she said softly, as if reading his mind. “The doctors are with him now.”
Lance closed his eyes, his breath hitching. Relief flooded through him, but it didn’t erase the ache in his chest. He held Nikola tighter, unsure if he could do this without Fernando.
