Little Leclerc princess takes Leo out for a walk on her own in the paddock and gets cornered by crazy fans so she ends up falling but uncle Lewis and Roscoe come to their rescue! And later all he grid uncles make it known they are not happy with such fan behaviour and charles makes an insta post but not being happy with it. 🩷🩷🩷
👸the princess & the pack
(platonic!f1 grid x toddler!reader, dad!charles, uncle!lewis, protective grid chaos)
The 2025 paddock is alive, buzzing with journalists, photographers, fans, engineers, drivers—every inch full of movement and excitement. Somewhere between Ferrari hospitality and the garage, the tiniest Leclerc of them all is plotting her escape.
Because as much as Papa Charles tries, he cannot stop his two-and-a-half-year-old daughter from being curious.
Today’s curiosity? Taking Leo (the tiny, regal dog) on a “walk.”
“Papa busy,” you whisper seriously, clutching the leash in your little hand. “Leo, we go.”
Leo, the unbothered Monaco pup, wags his tail and trots alongside you like this is his royal duty.
You are the Little Leclerc Princess, after all. And what princess doesn’t have adventures?
the escape
Arthur, the designated babysitter, is distracted helping Maman carry snacks into the motorhome. Lorenzo is on a call. Charles is deep in debrief.
Which means no one notices the tiniest figure waddling determinedly toward the paddock entrance, dog leash in hand, Ferrari cap bouncing on your curls.
“Leo, come on,” you command in the bossiest toddler voice, “we go see cars!”
Leo obliges.
And for about 47 seconds, it’s magical—walking past the Ferrari garage, waving at mechanics who melt instantly. Someone even takes a photo, murmuring, “The princess of Monaco, truly.”
the crowd
But then… you wander too far.
Past the safe zone.
And suddenly, the crowd of fans who usually scream for Charles spot you.
At first it’s gasps. Then shouts. Then phones are out, flashes blinding.
“Oh my god, it’s her!”
“Charles’ daughter!”
“She’s so cute—come here, baby, picture!”
“Look at the dog!”
You freeze. Little hands tighten on the leash. Leo barks nervously. The crowd presses closer, too loud, too fast.
You stumble back, tiny shoes slipping on the concrete, eyes wide and lip wobbling.
“Papa!” you cry out, voice breaking. “Maman!!”
The crowd doesn’t stop.
And then—
uncle lewis & roscoe to the rescue
Like a guardian angel in sunglasses, Lewis Hamilton appears out of nowhere, Roscoe strutting proudly at his side.
“Woah, woah, back up!” Lewis’ voice cuts sharp and commanding, instantly creating space. He kneels in front of you, arms open. “Hey, princess, come here.”
You don’t hesitate. You fling yourself at him, sobbing into his neck. Leo scampers behind Roscoe, who plants himself like a furry bodyguard.
Lewis stands, one arm carrying you securely, the other holding Leo’s leash. His glare toward the fans could freeze fire.
“This is a child,” he says firmly, voice low but deadly. “You don’t corner children.”
The crowd quiets, shuffling back, shame in their eyes. Security finally arrives, pushing them away.
Roscoe nudges your little shoes gently, tail wagging as if to say, safe now.
the papa meltdown
When Charles arrives two minutes later—face pale, heart in his throat—he nearly collapses seeing you clinging to Lewis, cheeks wet with tears.
“Mon dieu,” he breathes, rushing over. “Baby—mon amour, are you okay?”
You sniffle, clutching his race suit with one hand and refusing to let go of Lewis with the other. “Papa… scary…”
Lewis hands over Leo’s leash with a knowing look. “She’s okay now. But that crowd was too much.”
Charles kisses your forehead again and again, murmuring in rapid French. He looks up, eyes burning.
“They touched my daughter?”
Lewis: “Almost. I got there before it got worse.”
Charles doesn’t reply. Just holds you tighter, chest heaving.
the grid uncles assemble
Word spreads in minutes.
By dinner, every single driver knows.
And they are furious.
Max: “Fans or not, that’s insane. She’s a toddler.”
Carlos: “If I had been there—!”
George: “We should write a joint statement.”
Ollie: “I’ll fight anyone, I don’t care if they’re twice my size.”
Lando: “She’s literally two, who even does that?!”
The groupchat explodes:
f1griduncles 🍼🔥
maxverstappen1: protect the princess at all costs.
landonorris: she deserves bodyguards taller than her dad.
carlossainz55: taller? impossible.
arthurleclerc: i looked away for TWO MINUTES. she’s too fast.
lewishamilton: roscoe is now head of security. 🐶
charles_leclerc: not funny.
They all agree: next race, no fan will get within ten meters of you.
the instagram post
That night, Charles posts a photo of you in his arms, fast asleep in Ferrari pajamas, Leo curled at your feet, Roscoe at the door.
The caption is unusually sharp for him:
charles_leclerc: Today something happened that no parent should ever experience.
My daughter was cornered and frightened by fans who forgot she is only a child.
She is safe thanks to @lewishamilton and Roscoe, but I want to make this clear: my family deserves respect and privacy.
She is two years old. She is not for your photos, your videos, or your entertainment. She is my daughter.
Please remember that behind the drivers you support, we are fathers, sons, brothers. We will always protect our families.
The comments explode.
“Protect the princess 🥺👑”
“That’s disgusting, hope those fans are banned.”
“Thank you Lewis and Roscoe!!”
“Papa Charles mode ACTIVATED.”
But Charles isn’t satisfied. He paces the hotel room long after posting, watching you sleep, still feeling the phantom fear of not finding you in time.
the aftermath
The next race weekend, security doubles around the Ferrari motorhome. You hold Charles’ hand firmly, clutching Leo’s leash, refusing to walk without him.
“Papa,” you whisper shyly, “no scary people today?”
Charles kneels, presses a kiss to your forehead. “No scary people, mon amour. Not ever again. I promise.”
And just to be sure, the entire grid walks you into the paddock together—Max on one side, Lewis on the other, Carlos behind, Lando carrying your backpack, George holding extra snacks, Ollie grinning nervously as Roscoe trots alongside.
jokes aside, i think it's very cute how oscar tries to interact with the other drivers on social media, and it warms my heart when they go along with the banter, just like yuki did with the oscar's head cardboard cutout, or like charles is doing now by adopting him publicly
The morning after Silverstone was anything but quiet.
Even before the light had fully crept in through the curtains of their hotel suite, the internet had already exploded. Lando’s P1 win? Front page. His celebration with the team? Viral. But none of it compared to the moment that truly set fire to every social feed, fan thread, and F1 group chat.
Her.
(Y/n), walking beside him in a tailored ivory midi dress that hugged her second-trimester silhouette, a soft papaya satin belt wrapped just above her bump. The muted slate blue coat she wore fluttered lightly behind her in the paddock breeze, and her nude block heels clicked with a quiet confidence that somehow felt regal, deliberate, undeniably her. And yet, in every shot, it was the way Lando looked at her that turned whispers into headlines.
Now, with her phone buzzing nonstop, she sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through the chaos.
Reddit had a twenty-thread deep theory compilation. TikTok’s algorithm had latched onto her silhouette like wildfire, clips of her beside Zak Brown, walking into the McLaren motorhome, even one where she gently rested her hands on her bump while talking to Lando’s young niece. Someone had even slowed down the podium moment, catching the subtle glance Lando gave in her direction before spraying the champagne.
By the time she reached for her tea, she’d already lost count of the new tags.
Lando stepped out of the shower, towel over his shoulder, tousling his hair. He saw the look on her face immediately.
“You’ve been doom-scrolling for twenty minutes,” he said.
“I’m not even looking at the worst ones,” she replied, holding up the screen. “Someone just posted a side-by-side comparing me to a ‘princess from a racing kingdom.’ I don’t even know if that’s supposed to be flattering or insane.”
He laughed and sat beside her, leaning to look over her shoulder. “You were glowing yesterday. That dress made everyone forget what sport they were watching.”
“I was pregnant,” she deadpanned. “Not debuting at the Met Gala.”
“And yet you did both,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
She leaned into his touch for a second. “Do you regret it?”
“What, you coming? Hell no.”
“No, I mean… all of this. Me. The twins. Going public.”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he turned to her, voice low but firm. “Do I look like a man with regrets?”
She blinked.
“I won,” he said. “On the track, yeah, but off it too. I have you. And them. And now, the world knows. It’s not a secret anymore.”
(Y/n) exhaled, the tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying finally starting to release.
Lando reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles gently. “We’ll lay low for a bit. Austria’s next, but we don’t have to make it a whole thing again. If you want to stay here—”
“I want to go,” she interrupted softly. “I’m not hiding. Not anymore.”
His smile grew. “Then I’ll make sure the motorhome has whatever tea and fruit you’re craving by the hour.”
“And a bench. For my feet,” she added dryly.
“Obviously,” he smirked.
Outside, photographers were already camped near the carpark, long lenses trained on the upper windows. Somewhere down the hall, she heard a reporter’s voice echo. But inside their suite, there was a strange kind of peace, a shared decision made quietly between them.
(Y/n) reached for her coat, smoothing down the sleeve. “Well,” she said, glancing down at her bump. “Looks like they know about you two now.”
Lando placed his palm gently on the swell of her belly and kissed her shoulder. “Let them look.”
To be continued... 🧡
🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 27: ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴅᴅᴏᴄᴋ ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀ 🧡
📝 Note from the Author:
Fifth post of the day 😭 I’m clearly unwell (or deeply devoted, maybe both). Just needed this soft, grounding moment after the whirlwind of Silverstone. Lando saying “Do I look like a man with regrets?” lives rent-free in my head now.
Short and sweet, let them look. 👀
See you all soon.
(Note : these awards are just made for having fun during the winter break and are based on my choices that I tried to keep as open as possible but please, no negativity if you think I have missed an item!)
