🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 26: ʜᴇᴀᴅʟɪɴᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙᴇᴀᴛꜱ 🧡
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ / ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜱᴄʀᴜᴛɪɴʏ
ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ ɪɴ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴛʀɪᴍᴇꜱᴛᴇʀ (ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛᴡɪɴꜱ)
ɪɴᴛᴇʀɴᴇᴛ/ꜱᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ (ᴠɪʀᴀʟ ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏꜱ, ᴘᴀᴘᴀʀᴀᴢᴢɪ, ʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴛ/ᴛɪᴋᴛᴏᴋ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʀʏ)
ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴀᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴʟɪɴᴇ ᴠɪꜱɪʙɪʟɪᴛʏ
ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴜꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴄʏ, ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ
ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ-ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ (ꜰᴇᴇᴛ, ᴄʀᴀᴠɪɴɢꜱ)
ᴀꜰꜰɪʀᴍɪɴɢ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ᴅʏɴᴀᴍɪᴄ (ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀꜱꜱᴜʀᴀɴᴄᴇ, ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴄʏ)
ꜱᴜʙᴛʟᴇ ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀʟ-ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ɪɴᴛʀᴜꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀᴘᴀʀᴀᴢᴢɪ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ
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.
With love, me 🧡