Nerds Are Perfect

"Why is this here?" Lando asked, leaning over the desk.

The staffer, distracted by a spreadsheet, didn't look up. "Oh, that? Just more fan mail, Lando. We’ll process it for the archives. Don't worry yourself with the bulk stuff; we only bring you the high-priority sponsorships or official requests."

Lando’s brow furrowed. "Don't worry myself? These are people, Sarah. My fans aren't 'bulk stuff.'"

"Lando, there are hundreds of letters—"

"And someone spent their time and money to send this massive thing directly to me," he countered, his voice rising just enough to turn heads. Before she could protest, he snatched the package off the desk like it was a first-place trophy. "From now on, every single letter, drawing, or messy envelope comes to me. I’m the one they’re writing to, not the 'archives.'"

Back in his apartment, the silence of the evening felt a bit heavy until he dumped the contents of the envelope onto his coffee table. A literal mountain of notebook paper, construction paper, and glitter spilled out.

Right on top was a neatly typed letter on school letterhead: Sunshine Elementary – Miami, FL.

Dear Mr. Norris,

My name is Y/N, and I am a 3rd-grade teacher in Miami. My class has been working hard on their formal writing and persuasive communication skills this term, and when we discussed the idea of pen pals, they were adamant that they wanted to write to "the fastest man in the world."

I should confess: I’ve introduced them to Formula 1 as a way to make math more engaging. We use your season points for our morning warm-up word problems (you’ve helped them master subtraction!), and we watch the race highlights every Monday morning to get us energized for the week.

When you won the World Championship, I think the entire wing of the school heard us. The principal actually had to come by to make sure everyone was okay because the cheering was so loud. You’re a hero in Classroom 3B. I hope these letters find you well.

Best, Ms. Y/N

Lando leaned back, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. He could picture it—a room full of eight-year-olds doing "Norris Math" and screaming at a whiteboard. It felt more real than any trophy he’d ever held.

He started digging through the kids' letters. They were hilarious and heart-wrenching in equal measure.

“Do you eat pizza before you drive? My mom says I can’t because I’ll get a tummy ache.” “Why is your car orange? Orange is the color of carrots and I hate carrots but I like your car.”

Then, he reached a piece of yellow legal paper written in careful, shaky print.

Dear Mr. Lando,

My name is Leo and I am in the 3rd grade. I live with my Grandma and Grandpa because my mom is in heaven. They are retired, which means they are very tired and old. Career Day is coming up at school and every kid brings an adult to talk about their job. I don't have anyone to bring because Grandpa can’t stand up for long. Can you please come to my school? If you come, you would make all the other classes look super lame. My friend Toby’s dad is a dentist but that is boring. You drive the orange car and go VROOM and you win! No one else has a job as cool as yours.

I drew a picture of your car on the back of this paper. Please come? I will share my fruit snacks with you.

Your friend, Leo.

Lando felt a lump form in his throat. He looked at the calendar on his phone. Career Day fell right during the spring break in the F1 calendar. He was supposed to be golfing in Dubai.

He put the golf clubs out of his mind instantly.

Lando scrambled to the school’s website, his fingers flying across his phone screen as he navigated the staff directory. There she was. Ms. Y/N — Grade 3. He clicked her email icon, a determined spark in his eyes. He didn't want to alert his management yet—they'd try to turn it into a high-production PR "activation" with cameras, scripts, and a fleet of security. He wanted this to be real. He wanted it to be for Leo.

He opened his secondary email app—the one he used for Twitch, Discord, and ordering obscure sim-racing parts.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

Subject: Career Day - Classroom 3B

Hi Ms. Y/N,

I received the letters from your class today and they were brilliant. I’m actually going to be in Miami during the week of Career Day and I would love to come and present for Leo. Please let me know the details and where I need to sign up.

Thanks, Lando

Across the Atlantic, in the mid-afternoon heat of Miami, Y/N sat at her desk during recess, squinting at her laptop. She’d just received a notification from an address that sounded like a prank.

“Muppet driver four?” she whispered to herself, hovering her mouse over the 'Delete' key. She gets plenty of spam, but the subject line was too specific to ignore. She opened it, her brow furrowing as she read.

"Lando?" she muttered. She checked her class roster. She didn't have a student with a dad or uncle named Lando. Maybe it was a cousin? Or a family friend of Leo’s grandparents? Whoever it was, they seemed sincere about helping Leo, and that was all that mattered to her.

She typed back a quick, professional response, assuming this was just a well-meaning local gamer with a very strange handle.

From: Y/N Subject: RE: Career Day - Classroom 3B

Hi Lando,

Thank you so much for reaching out! It is incredibly kind of you to volunteer for Leo. He’s a wonderful boy, and I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to have a "stand-in" big brother for the day. I’ve attached the official visitor sign-up link below.

Just a heads up: 3rd graders can be a bit high-energy, especially with guests, so make sure to bring your "patience hat!"

Also, for the school's security records and the guest roster, could you please provide your full name and your current profession?

Warmly, Ms. Y/N

Back at his apartment, Lando’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. He swiped it open, expecting a "OH MY GOD" or at least a "Mr. Norris?"

Instead, he stared at the words "stand-in big brother" and "patience hat."

His jaw dropped slightly. He looked at his reflection in the darkened TV screen—the face that was currently on billboards from Monaco to Singapore. The face of the reigning Formula 1 World Champion.

"A stand-in?" he said to the empty room, a mix of disbelief and genuine amusement bubbling up in his chest. She had no idea. She thought he was just some random guy named Lando with a Muppet-themed email address who probably worked in an office or a shop.

He looked at the question about his "profession." He could have typed it right then, but the devilish side of him took over. He wanted to see her face when he actually walked into that gym.

He clicked the sign-up link and filled in the bare minimum.

Full Name: Lando Norris Profession: Driver

He hit send with a triumphant smirk.

"Just a driver, Ms. Y/N," he chuckled, leaning back into his sofa. "I hope your 'patience hat' is ready for the chaos I’m bringing to Miami."

-

The day before Career Day was usually a whirlwind of nervous energy and "desk-cleaning" (which mostly involved shoving crumbs into backpacks), but the atmosphere in Classroom 3B shifted the moment the school’s front office buzzed the intercom.

"Ms. Y/N? We have two... extremely large deliveries for you. We’re sending the custodian up with a dolly."

When the crates arrived, they were wrapped in heavy-duty shipping plastic with McLaren Racing — Woking, UK printed in small, discreet lettering on the customs forms. Y/N didn't even register the "Woking" part; she was too busy trying to keep twenty-two eight-year-olds from toppling over the boxes.

Y/N sliced through the tape of the first box. Inside weren't just generic flyers or posters. There were twenty-two individual, thick cream envelopes, each with a child's name written in surprisingly neat handwriting.

"Okay, okay! Everyone to the reading rug!" Y/N called out, her own heart racing. "If I call your name, come grab your mail."

As the kids tore into the envelopes, the room exploded into a symphony of high-pitched gasps and frantic whispering.

"He said carrots are gross for him too!" one boy yelled, waving a letter where Lando had hand-drawn a tiny "X" over a stick-figure carrot.

"Look! A real picture!" A girl held up a glossy driver card, signed in silver ink that caught the fluorescent classroom lights.

"He called me 'Mate'!" another shouted, trying out a very bad British accent.

The joy was unadulterated. It was the kind of pure, crystalline happiness only a third-grader can project—the feeling that someone "important" in the big, wide world had actually stopped to listen to them.

In the corner of the rug, Leo sat silently. He held his envelope like it was made of thin glass. When he finally pulled out the card, he didn't scream like the others. He just stared at it.

"Leo?" Y/N knelt beside him. "What did he say?"

Leo looked up, his eyes wide and shiny. "He said... he said he’s been practicing his 'cool walk' so he doesn't embarrass me tomorrow. And he sent me this." He pulled out a small, woven fabric wristband—Lando's own "Quadrant" merch—and slid it onto his tiny wrist. "He’s really coming, Ms. Y/N. The muppet driver is actually coming."

Y/N felt a lump in her throat. She still had no idea who this "Lando" person was in the grand scheme of things, but she decided right then that if he was a professional truck driver or a pizza delivery guy, he was officially the greatest human being on the planet for making Leo look that proud.

Then, there was the second box.

It was even larger than the first, heavy and solid. Taped to the top was a bright, neon-orange sign that looked like it had been scrawled in a hurry:

STOP!

MS. Y/N: DO NOT OPEN UNTIL AFTER THE CAREER DAY PRESENTATIONS IN THE GYM. NO PEEKING. I MEAN IT.

- L.

"What's in the big box, Ms. Y/N? Is it a car? Did he send a car?!"

"I don't think a car fits in a cardboard box, Toby," Y/N laughed, though she was dying of curiosity herself. She pushed the mystery crate against her back wall, the bright orange sign acting as a silent promise.

As she watched her students tuck their signed cards into their folders like sacred relics, Y/N felt a surge of protective warmth. Tomorrow was going to be special. She just hoped this "Lando" guy was ready for the absolute riot that was about to break out when he walked through those gym doors.

She checked her email one last time. Still no last name other than "Norris," and his profession was still just "Driver."

Probably a local delivery driver, she thought, smiling. I'll have to make sure the school gives him a really nice 'Thank You' mug.

Lando had stood on the podium at Silverstone with a hundred thousand people screaming his name, but standing behind a dusty velvet curtain in a humid Miami elementary school gym? His palms were actually sweating. He adjusted the collar of his team polo, checking his reflection in a trophy case filled with plastic bowling awards.

“You’ve got this,” he muttered to himself. “They’re eight. They’re literally three feet tall. It’s fine.”

He could hear the principal’s voice booming over a slightly feedback-heavy microphone. “And our final guest for today… he traveled all the way from England to be here for Leo in Classroom 3B. He told us his profession is simply ‘a driver’...”

Lando stepped out from behind the curtain.

For a split second, there was a stunned, vacuum-like silence. He was wearing the full papaya-and-black kit, the sponsor logos sharp against the dull gym floor.

Then, it happened. It wasn't a cheer; it was a sonic boom.

Twenty-two children in the third row erupted. They didn't just clap—they leaped onto their chairs, screaming, "LANDO! LANDO! LANDO!" at the top of their lungs. The rest of the 3rd grade, catching the fever, joined in.

Y/N, who had been leaning down to tie a student's shoe, snapped upright. Her jaw didn't just drop; she actually stepped back, her eyes darting from the man on stage to the "muppet.driver4" email thread in her head. The "delivery driver" was the reigning World Champion. The man who lived on her classroom's Monday morning highlights reel was currently waving at Leo.

The noise level was reaching "structural damage" territory. The principal looked helpless. Lando looked slightly terrified.

Y/N stepped into the center aisle. She didn't scream. She didn't use the mic. She just raised two fingers to her lips and let out a sharp, piercing whistle that cut through the air like a siren, followed by a rhythmic series of three claps.

Clap. Clap-clap.

Like a well-oiled machine, twenty-two kids snapped into a seated position and echoed the claps back. Clap. Clap-clap. Silence fell over the gym instantly, save for one stray kid whispering, "It's really him."

Lando stared at her, his hand frozen in mid-wave. He watched the way she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her expression shifting from "stunned woman" to "commanding officer" in three seconds flat.

Oh, Lando thought, his heart doing a weird little flip that had nothing to do with G-forces. I am in so much trouble.

Once the formal assembly was over, Lando followed the "Papaya Class" back to their room. He was immediately faced with his greatest challenge yet: the furniture.

"Mr. Lando! Sit by me!" Leo cried, pointing to the desk next to his.

Lando, who was nearly six feet of lanky athlete, proceeded to fold himself into a tiny plastic chair designed for an eight-year-old. His knees were practically hitting his chin.

"Comfortable?" Y/N asked, leaning against her desk with an amused smirk. She was still processing the fact that a multi-millionaire was currently trapped in her classroom, but her teacher-brain was starting to take over.

"Top tier," Lando wheezed, giving her a thumbs-up. "Aerodynamic."

"Okay, class," Y/N said. "Since Mr. Norris is here, we have ten minutes for questions. Remember: polite and one at a time."

The hands shot up like a forest.

"Are you rich?" Toby asked immediately. "Like, can you buy a million Robux?" Lando chuckled. "I... uh, I do okay. I could probably manage the Robux."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" a girl in the front row asked, squinting at him suspiciously. Lando’s eyes instinctively flickered to Y/N, who was suddenly very interested in her lesson planner. "No. No girlfriend. Too busy driving in circles, I guess."

"Can I touch your hair?" Before Lando could answer, three kids were already standing up. Within seconds, Lando was being swarmed. He leaned down, laughing, as six small hands patted his curls. "It’s soft! Like a poodle!" someone yelled.

"Wait!" Lando said, checking his watch as the lunch bell neared. "I realized I didn't ask what the cafeteria is serving today."

"Square pizza and lukewarm corn," Y/N replied dryly.

Lando made a face of pure horror. "Absolutely not. Not on my watch." He pulled out his phone, his thumb flying across the screen. "How many are we? Twenty-two kids, you, the principal, the janitor who brought the boxes..."

"Lando, you don't have to—"

"I'm ordering," he insisted. He didn't really know how much children ate, so he just started scrolling.

Forty minutes later, the school office called up, sounding panicked. "Ms. Y/N? There are four delivery drivers here with... is this right? Fifty large pizzas, twelve dozen wings, and three crates of lemonade?"

Lando looked up from where he was showing Leo how to play a racing game on his phone. "Is that not enough? I can get more. I didn't know if they liked pepperoni or pineapple, so I just got both of everything."

Y/N looked at the mountain of food arriving and then at the McLaren driver who was currently letting a student use his $50,000 custom watch as a "stopwatch."

"Lando," she sighed, though she couldn't stop the smile from spreading. "You’re going to give them a sugar crash that will last until the next Grand Prix."

"Worth it," he said, catching her eye and holding the gaze. "I'm the 'stand-in big brother,' remember? It’s my job to cause problems."

The week between Career Day and the Miami Grand Prix was a blur of logistics, permission slips, and what Lando technically called "strategic planning meetings"—which were actually just very poorly disguised dates.

For the sake of the thirty-two third-graders (and the school board), they kept it strictly professional in the group chat. But in the quiet moments after the school bell rang, things were a lot less formal.

A tucked-away taco shack on the edge of Wynwood.

Lando had shown up in a nondescript black hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low, looking more like a nervous teenager than a world champion. Y/N was still wearing her "Teacher Mode" cardigan, her hair a mess from a day of explaining long division.

"I still can't believe you're the 'Muppet Driver,'" she teased, dipping a chip into salsa. "You realize I almost deleted your email? I thought you were a bot trying to sell me crypto."

Lando laughed, a genuine, throat-clearing sound. "I was so offended. I kept looking at my phone like, Does she not see the blue checkmark? But honestly? It was the best thing that happened all month. No PR, no sponsors. Just... Lando."

He didn't mention that he’d spent twenty minutes in his hotel room choosing which hoodie made him look "casually cool" but not "trying too hard." When their hands brushed over the basket of chips, the electricity was enough to power the Miami grid.

A private corner of a high-end Italian restaurant (Lando’s pick).

They were supposed to be discussing the bus schedule for the field trip. Instead, the permission slips sat forgotten on the white tablecloth, stained with droplets of expensive red wine.

"So, is it always like this?" Y/N asked, leaning in. "The noise, the cameras, the people expecting you to be... perfect?"

"Most of the time," Lando admitted, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "It’s why I liked your classroom so much. The kids don't care about my points lead. They just want to know if I like carrots. It’s grounding. You’re grounding."

The way he said it made Y/N’s heart do a literal lap of the circuit. He wasn't looking at her like a fan or a teacher; he was looking at her like she was the only person in Miami who actually saw him. They stayed until the restaurant closed, talking about everything from his childhood in Bristol to her dream of opening a literacy center.

A late-night walk on a quiet stretch of Key Biscayne.

The Grand Prix was forty-eight hours away. The city was vibrating with F1 fever, but out by the water, it was just the sound of the waves.

"Tomorrow's the big reveal for the kids," Y/N whispered, her jacket draped over her shoulders—Lando’s jacket, which smelled faintly of expensive cologne and adrenaline. "They have no idea about... this."

"About us?" Lando stopped walking, turning to face her. The moonlight caught the curls he’d let her students mess with just days prior. "Is there an 'us' to hide, Ms. Y/N?"

The air between them felt heavy, charged with the kind of tension that usually preceded a lights-out start. Y/N reached up, adjusting his cap. "I think if twenty-two eight-year-olds find out their teacher is dating their hero, the school might actually implode from the excitement."

"Let it implode," Lando murmured.

He didn't kiss her—not yet. He just took her hand, his thumb tracing circles over her knuckles. It was a promise. A "see you at the finish line" kind of gesture.

As Y/N stood at the entrance of the Miami Paddock, herding twenty-two tiny humans in identical orange hats and "Team Norris" backpacks, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Muppet driver: Look at the camera during the pre-race interview. I’m wearing the bracelet Leo gave me. That’s for the class. The wink? That’s for you.

Y/N looked up to see Lando stepping off the driver parade truck. He spotted the "Papaya Class" and beamed, waving frantically. The kids went feral, screaming his name until their faces turned as orange as their shirts.

Lando caught Y/N's eye through the crowd. He didn't say a word, but he touched the woven friendship bracelet on his wrist and gave a quick, unmistakable wink.

"Ms. Y/N! Ms. Y/N!" Leo tugged on her hand, jumping up and down. "He did it! He wore my bracelet! He's the best driver in the whole world!"

"Yeah, Leo," Y/N said, her face heating up as she watched Lando disappear into the McLaren garage. "He really is."

The F1 Paddock is usually a shark tank of billionaire sponsors, frantic engineers, and celebrities trying to look like they know what a DRS wing is. It is not, historically, a place for "the buddy system."

Until today.

Lando didn't just walk into the Paddock; he led an invasion. He was at the front of a literal single-file line, holding a small orange flag he’d found in the garage. Behind him were twenty-two third-graders, each wearing a custom "Classroom 3B x LN4" shirt, a neon-orange cap pulled low, and a backpack that looked slightly too big for their frames.

"Okay, everyone! Eyes on me!" Lando called out, walking backward while checking for oncoming golf carts. "We are entering the 'Fast Zone.' If you see a car, what do we do?"

"FREEZE!" twenty-two voices screamed in unison, echoing off the hospitality units.

"Good. Leo, hands out of your pockets. Toby, stop trying to eat the lanyard," Lando directed with the focus of a man who was usually managing tire deg, not sugar rushes.

Y/N brought up the rear, acting as the "caboose." She was trying—and failing—to look professional, but watching the reigning world champion count heads like a nervous mother duck was doing irreparable damage to her composure.

As they passed the McLaren motorhome, Oscar stepped out, holding a green juice and looking like he’d just woken up from a very calm nap. He stopped dead, watching the orange blur of children march past.

"Uh, Lando?" Oscar asked, his voice deadpan as ever. "Is this a new weight-saving strategy for the car? Hiring smaller mechanics?"

Lando didn't even break stride. "Not now, Osc. I’m on Line Leader duty. We’re heading to the garage for the 'How a Turbocharger Works' seminar. It’s high-stakes."

Oscar blinked, watching a small girl at the back of the line wave at him. "Do they... do they know how a turbocharger works?"

"They will by lunch," Lando called back over his shoulder.

Further down the line, near the Red Bull hospitality, Max was leaning against a railing, talking to his engineers. He went silent as the parade approached. He watched Lando stop the line to help a kid tie his shoe, the British driver kneeling on the hot asphalt without a second thought.

"Lando," Max shouted, a grin spreading across his face. "Is this your new security detail? They look a bit short. I think I could take them."

Lando looked up, shielding his eyes from the Miami sun. "They’re my consultants, Max! They told me your car looks like a 'giant blue crayon.' Their words, not mine."

Max laughed, shaking his head. "They have good taste. Are you coming to the briefing?"

"Can't," Lando said, standing up and giving the signal for the line to move again. "I’ve got twenty-two juice boxes to hand out and then we’re doing a walking tour of the pit lane. I’m busy, Max. Real work."

Max watched them go, leaning over to his engineer. "I give him twenty minutes before he loses his mind."

As they reached the garage doors, the kids were ushered inside by a group of amused McLaren mechanics. Lando lagged behind for a second, catching his breath next to Y/N.

"You're actually really good at this," she said, leaning in so the kids wouldn't hear. "The 'Line Leader' look suits you. Very authoritative."

Lando wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, his eyes bright. "It’s harder than qualifying, I’m not joking. If I lose one of them, my career is over. Zak would never let me live it down."

He looked at her, his expression softening as he ignored the chaos of the Paddock around them. "Thanks for doing this, Y/N. Seriously. Seeing them here... it makes the race feel like it actually matters."

"Mr. Lando!" Leo’s voice chirped from inside the garage. "Toby touched the tire and his hand turned black!"

Lando groaned, but he was smiling. "Duty calls."

He gave Y/N a quick, lingering look—the kind that said I can’t wait for dinner when it’s just us—before diving back into the sea of orange hats.

The Miami sun was brutal, but the kids didn't care. They were a solid block of screaming papaya-orange in the grandstands right at the exit of Turn 11. Y/N felt like she’d aged ten years in the last fifty laps, her hands white-knuckled on the railing as she kept a mental count of all twenty-two heads every thirty seconds.

The roar of the engines was a physical force, but even through the thunder of the grid, the kids' voices were piercing.

"HE'S COMING! HE'S COMING!" Leo shrieked, jumping so high Y/N had to grab the back of his custom jersey.

Lando was P1, but Max was a shark in his mirrors, less than half a second behind. As Lando flew past their section for the final time, the "Papaya Class" erupted. They weren't just cheering; they were trying to physically push him toward the finish line with the sheer volume of their lung capacity.

Lando, inside the cockpit, shifted his eyes for a split second toward that specific flash of orange in the stands. He was exhausted, his neck muscles screaming, but he thought of the letters, the "patience hat," and the way Y/N looked at him during their secret dinner two nights ago.

"Lando Norris wins the Miami Grand Prix!" the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers.

The kids were practically vibrating as they watched Lando park the car at the #1 board. He hopped out, did his signature jump, and immediately looked toward the section where the school was seated. He gave a double-fist pump directly at them.

After the champagne had been sprayed (and the kids had cheered at the "adult juice" flying everywhere), Lando stood on the track for his post-race interview. He was drenched in sweat, his hair a chaotic mess of curls, clutching the trophy like it was a heavy 3rd-grade textbook.

"Lando, a massive win here in Miami," the interviewer began, the crowd roaring. "You had a lot of pressure from Max in those closing laps. What kept you focused?"

Lando took the mic, panting, a massive grin splitting his face. He didn't look at the main camera first; he looked toward the bleachers.

"Honestly? I had some very tough consultants watching me today," Lando laughed, wiping his forehead. "I’ve got twenty-two students from Classroom 3B and their teacher, Ms. Y/N, up in the stands. They’ve been using my race points to learn math all year, so I figured if I didn't win today, I’d be failing 3rd grade. This one is for the 'Muppet Driver' fan club. Thanks for the luck, guys!"

In the stands, the reaction was pure bedlam.

"HE SAID OUR NAME!" Toby screamed, hugging a random stranger next to him.

"WE'RE FAMOUS!" another girl yelled, waving her hat frantically at the jumbotron.

Y/N stood in the middle of the chaos, her heart doing something much faster than a pit stop. She looked down at her phone, which had buzzed in her pocket the second the interview ended.

Muppet driver: Did I make the other classes look lame enough? See you at the bus in 20 mins. I want a gold star for that one.

"Ms. Y/N!" Leo tugged on her hand, his eyes wide with wonder. "He’s the best driver ever, right?"

Y/N looked at the man on the big screen—the world champion who had just told the entire world that a group of 3rd graders was his motivation. "Yeah, Leo," she whispered, a tear finally escaping. "The absolute best."

The Miami Grand Prix had come and gone, leaving a trail of glitter, orange confetti, and twenty-two lifelong Formula 1 fans in its wake. But as the F1 circus moved on to Imola, Monaco, and Montreal, the connection didn't fade.

The "Monday Morning Highlights" had officially been rebranded. Now, it was time for The Lando Dispatch.

"Okay, class! If you want to see the video, I need everyone in their 'learning positions' in five... four... three..."

The chaotic scramble of 3rd graders hitting their chairs was a testament to Lando’s star power. Y/N stood at the front of the room, her hand hovering over the SmartBoard remote. She looked a little tired—the time difference for the European leg meant she’d stayed up until 2:00 AM on a FaceTime call with a certain driver—but she had a secret smile on her face that she couldn't quite shake.

"Is it from Japan?" Leo asked, leaning so far forward he was nearly off his seat. "Did he see a robot?"

"Let's find out," Y/N said, clicking Play.

The screen flickered to life. The video was clearly shot on an iPhone, the stabilization a bit shaky as Lando walked through a rainy paddock in Suzuka. He was wearing a bright yellow bucket hat and a thick team jacket.

"Oi, Classroom 3B! Checking in from Japan," Lando’s face filled the screen, grinning. He looked exhausted but his eyes were bright. "I’m currently hiding in the back of the hospitality suite because my trainer wants me to eat broccoli, and we all know how we feel about that, right Toby?"

The classroom erupted in giggles. Toby felt like a celebrity.

"So, update for the week: The track here is shaped like a figure-eight, which is basically a giant math problem. Ms. Y/N, I hope you're making them calculate my average speed through Sector 1, because I’m struggling with it myself."

Lando turned the camera around to show the mechanics working frantically on the car. "Look at the floor of the car. See those tiny holes? That’s for aerodynamics. It’s basically science, but faster."

The video slowed down as Lando walked toward a quieter area. His tone shifted slightly—it was still for the kids, but his eyes seemed to be searching for someone behind the lens.

"I heard you guys did great on your spelling tests. I’m proud of you. And I heard you’ve been looking after Ms. Y/N for me. Make sure she’s drinking her coffee and not getting too stressed about the end-of-year play, okay?"

He paused, a familiar, boyish smirk playing on his lips. "I sent a special package to the main office for you guys. It might involve some Japanese snacks that definitely have too much sugar. Don't tell the principal."

Then, just before the video ended, he adjusted his hat and leaned closer to the mic. "And Ms. Y/N? I found that book you were looking for at the airport. I’ve got it in my bag. See you soon. Bye, guys! Go McLaren!"

The SmartBoard went black, and for a second, there was total silence. Then, absolute mayhem.

"HE BOUGHT HER A BOOK!" "WE’RE GETTING CANDY!" "MS. Y/N, ARE YOU BLUSHING? YOUR FACE IS AS RED AS A FERRARI!"

Y/N quickly turned away to "organize" some papers on her desk, her heart thumping against her ribs. "It’s just... it’s hot in here, class. The AC must be acting up again."

"No it's not," Leo whispered, passing her desk to get a tissue. He looked at her with a knowing, 3rd-grade wisdom. "He likes you more than he likes the robot cars, Ms. Y/N. I can tell because he didn't even mention the turbocharger today."

Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text.

Y/N: The Ferrari comment from Toby really hit home. You're a menace. Thank you for the video—they’re currently vibrating with excitement for the snacks.

A second later, her phone buzzed.

Muppet driver: Only a menace for you 😉 Give them the sugar, let them go wild, and then call me when you’re off the clock. I miss my favorite teacher.

-

The end of the school year at Sunshine Elementary always smelled like floor wax, tropical humidity, and the impending chaos of summer break. But for Classroom 3B, the air in the auditorium was thick with something else: a bittersweet anxiety.

They were "graduating" from the third grade, which meant leaving the teacher who had brought a world champion into their lives and leaving the only classroom that felt like a second home.

The principal stood at the podium, adjusting her glasses. "To conclude our Moving Up ceremony, we have a very special guest. He’s become a bit of a fixture here at Sunshine Elementary—though usually, he’s just here to drop off excessive amounts of pizza. Please welcome, Mr. Lando Norris."

The room didn't just applaud; it shook. Lando stepped out, looking significantly more "put together" than his last visit. He was in a sharp blazer over a white tee, though he still had that signature boyish grin that made him look like he’d just won a race he wasn't supposed to.

He stood at the mic, looking down at the front row where twenty-two kids sat in their best clothes.

"I’m not great at speeches," Lando started, his voice echoing. "I usually just talk to engineers about tire pressure. But this class taught me something important this year. I thought I was coming here to help a kid named Leo and maybe show off a little. But you guys ended up helping me. You reminded me that no matter how fast life moves, you have to stop and write a letter once in a while. You have to care about the people around you."

He looked directly at Y/N, who was sitting off to the side, her eyes already shimmering.

"You guys have a world-class teacher," Lando said softly. "She’s the one who makes the real overtakes every day. So, as you move to the fourth grade, remember what she taught you: focus, kindness, and—apparently—how to subtract my pit stop times."

As the applause died down, it was time for the final certificates. Y/N walked to the podium, her hands trembling slightly as she held her final stack of folders.

"Before we hand these out," Y/N said, her voice catching, "I have a small announcement. Usually, this is where I say goodbye and tell you I’ll see you in the hallways next year. But... I spoke with the principal and the district board last month."

The kids went silent. Leo gripped the edge of his seat.

"I realized I’m not quite ready to let this team go," Y/N smiled, a tear finally falling. "So, next year, Classroom 4B will have a familiar face. I’m moving up with you. I’m looping."

For a heartbeat, the kids just stared. Then, it was Miami all over again. A sea of eight-year-olds (soon-to-be nine-year-olds) surged forward, ignoring all decorum, and tackled Y/N in a massive group hug.

"WE'RE STILL WITH MS. Y/N!" Toby roared, muffled by her cardigan.

In the middle of the celebratory chaos of cake and punch afterward, Lando found Y/N by the refreshments table. The parents were busy taking photos, and the kids were currently preoccupied with a "Who can eat the most icing" contest.

Lando leaned in close, his shoulder brushing hers. "You did it. One more year of chaos. You’re a glutton for punishment, aren't you?"

"I just couldn't imagine a year without them," she whispered, looking at him. "Or the vlogs."

Lando reached down, his hand finding hers behind the safety of a tablecloth. He squeezed it tight. "Good. Because I already cleared my schedule for next year's Career Day. I’ve got to defend my title as the 'coolest adult.'"

"Ms. Y/N! Ms. Y/N!" Leo ran up, stopping short when he saw how close they were standing. He looked at Lando, then at Y/N, then back at Lando. He squinted suspiciously. "Are you guys going to get married now?"

Lando choked on his lemonade. Y/N turned a shade of pink that rivaled the school’s hibiscus bushes.

"Leo!" Y/N gasped. "Go... go find your grandmother!"

Leo didn't move. He just grinned, a missing front tooth making him look especially mischievous. "It’s okay if you do. Then Mr. Lando can be our permanent dad. I’ll tell the class."

As Leo sprinted away to spread the newest rumor, Lando looked at Y/N and laughed, a bright, helpless sound. "Well," he said, pulling her just a little bit closer as the sun set over the Miami schoolyard. "I guess I better start looking at rings. I don't want to disappoint my consultants."

Y/N laughed, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Just make sure it's not orange, Lando."

"No promises," he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

-

The Miami sun was dipping below the skyline, painting the sky in deep shades of orange and purple that felt poetic. It was the color of home, the color of that first massive delivery box, the color of their beginning.

Classroom 3B wasn't just a class anymore. They were fifth graders now, older, taller, and more articulate, but they were still his kids. And they were all here, lining the walkway of a stunning estate terrace overlooking Biscayne Bay.

All twenty-two students stood in a single-file line, a "buddy system" one last time for this special occasion. Lando had insisted. They were dressed to the nines: the boys in matching navy blue dress slacks, crisp white shirts, and perfect papaya-orange bowties; the girls in matching pale peach dresses with delicate lace accents.

Toby, now slightly taller but still mischievous, was acting as an unofficial usher.

And right at the front, holding a small velvet box like it was the most precious cargo in the world, was Leo. He’d outgrown the Quadrant wristband, but he was wearing Lando’s actual championship watch for the day—a loan that made him feel like he was ten feet tall.

Y/N walked down the aisle, the sound of the ocean a quiet soundtrack. She looked breathtaking in a simple, elegant lace dress, her hair flowing in the soft evening breeze. When she reached Lando, he didn't even try to hide the tears. He took her hands, his hands still the ones Leo and the others had swarmed with curiosity just a few years ago.

"I promise," Lando murmured, "that I will always answer your 'muppet.driver' emails. And I promise that even if I'm on the other side of the world, I'll always be your 'patience hat' when you need it. You made math fun for twenty-two kids, and you made life a race worth running for me."

Later, at the reception, the party was in full swing. The kids were currently trying to organize a game of "freeze" on the dance floor, ignoring all requests to stay seated.

Lando stood up, champagne flute in hand. He tapped the mic, silencing the room. He looked around at the guests, at the McLaren team, at Y/N, and finally, at the group of fifth graders who were currently watching him with rapt attention.

"Hello, I’m Lando. Or, as Classroom 5B might tell you, I’m 'Muppet Driver Four.'"

The kids giggled. Leo nodded seriously.

"I have a confession to make," Lando started, his voice a little shaky. "I didn't come to Sunshine Elementary because I was a good person. I didn't come because I was a world champion with a soft heart."

He looked directly at Leo.

"I came because Leo wrote me a letter that said, and I quote, 'I want you to make the other classes look lame. Because none of their adults have a job as cool as yours.' I’ll be honest, I was a twenty-something champion, and I had a bit of an ego problem. I thought, 'Absolutely, I’m a professional racing driver, I can easily outshine a CPA from the neighboring class.' It was a competition. I came to win."

The room chuckled, but Lando’s face softened.

"I thought I was giving Leo a favor. I thought I was lending him an adult relative for a day. But I was so wrong. I came for Career Day, but I ended up finding my family. You twenty-two kids taught me that a win isn't just about points on a board. It’s about the noise when you walk into a room. It’s about being there for someone when they don't have anyone else. It’s about realizing that I didn't just meet a teacher that week. I met my wife. And she happened to come with twenty-two built-in siblings for my future children."

Lando choked up, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He raised his glass.

"To my amazing wife, the looping line leader of my heart. And to Classroom 3B, 4B, and now 5B. To family. To never racing alone. Cheers."

"CHEERS, MR. LANDO!" twenty-two voices screamed in unison, raising their juice boxes.

As the music swelled and the party really began, Lando took a moment to orchestrate one last group photo. There was Lando and Y/N, world champion and teacher, surrounded by the single-file line of matching papaya outfits. They weren't just the 'Muppet Driver' fan club anymore. They were the original, chaotic crew that had built a family, one letter at a time.

© 2025-2026 lap90. All rights reserved. Unauthorized duplication, distribution, or modification of this content is strictly prohibited.

Now, it would be the same gate where Travis would ask (y/n) to marry him. 

—

(y/n) thought something was off about Brittany all day. There was almost too much excitement in her voice when she called to tell her she was stealing her for the day. There was something about the day Brittany had planned, too, certain things scheduled and having to be somewhere specifically at 8 pm. 

What was even weirder was that (y/n) barely heard from Travis. He usually texted her throughout the day and even sent her TikToks that made him think of her. She tried calling him a few times, but only once did he pick up. The conversation was brief and Travis sounded nervous. When (y/n) hung up, she stopped in her tracks and looked at Brittany. 

“Brittany, what is going on? Travis sounded really nervous on the phone.”

“I’m sure everything is fine. Come on, we’ve got a nail appointment in a half hour.”

“No, stop. Seriously, what is happening? There’s been something off about you all day, too.”

Brittany sighed, “Please just trust me, alright?”

“No, I’m scared.”

“I know nothing I say is going to convince you, but at least pretend? I promise you’ll find out tonight.”

(y/n) conceded, “Sure, let’s go.”

—

During the nail appointment, Brittany refrained from mentioning anything else about the day the girls had. She knew (y/n) would eventually catch on, but she wasn’t sure how much further she could deflect (y/n) from learning about the proposal. While (y/n) was moved to the nail drying station, Brittany messaged Patrick. 

Brittany: SOS…she figured out that something was off before our nail appointment. What do I do?

Patrick: Keep it simple. It’s a girls' day. 

Brittany: Is everything set up?

Patrick: We’re trying, but the wind is not our friend today. Travis is stressed out.

Brittany: Oh no…what do we do?Patrick: Let me see what he wants to do.

Brittany was on edge, but she couldn’t show it. The setup for the proposal wasn’t going as planned, and she could only imagine the stress Travis had on himself. She looked at her phone again when it buzzed. Another message from Patrick came through.

Patrick: We got it under control. Thank God for spray adhesive. 

Brittany: Good. Is everything still a go?

Patrick: Definitely. Bring her down for 8.

Brittany: Okay, see you then

Brittany managed to keep (y/n) distracted the rest of the afternoon. After the girls ate dinner, Brittany started driving to Arrowhead Stadium.

“Where are we going?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t, it’s a surprise.”

(y/n) sighed, “You know I hate surprises.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” Brittany said with a smile. 

“Honestly, just bring me home.”

Brittany’s smile fell. She hated lying to her friend all day and she knew the lack of contact with Travis was really getting to (y/n). 

“I’m sorry. I know I said it earlier, but just trust me for a little while longer.”

As she pulled into the parking lot of Arrowhead Stadium, (y/n) perked up. 

“What is that?” she asked, spotting the bright light coming from the field gate. 

Brittany parked the car and smiled at (y/n), “Go check it out.”

(y/n) hesitated for a second, then got out of the car. “If I die, I’m haunting you first.”

When she saw Travis, she felt relieved. He was okay. She walked closer, seeing the flower petals scattered everywhere, the giant heart made of flowers, and about fifty candles lit. The bright light was a neon sign that read “It was always you”. Her heart felt like it was pounding in her chest in anticipation. 

“Trav, what is all this?”

“Come here,” he instructed. She stepped forward and he took her hands in his. 

It’s go time, Travis. You got this.

“When you came into my life, I didn’t know you’d be the one to turn my whole life around. It killed me when you left, but things turned out to be better than they were when you came back. During that time, I realized how in love I am with you. (y/n), I am crazy about you. You are the best thing in my life.”

Travis got on one knee and pulled out the ring, “I’ve known you were the one since the day I found you standing at my door soaking wet waiting to tell me you love me. (y/n), will you marry me?”

Tears streamed down (y/n)’s face as Travis’ speech progressed. When he finally popped the question, she nodded and said, “Yes.” Relief ran through Travis’ body as he stood up and pulled her in by her waist. He kissed her, but the smile on his face interrupted it. 

“I’m so fuckin’ happy, baby,” he said as he kissed her cheek.

“Me too,” she said with a teary smile. 

Travis slid the ring on her finger, and (y/n) took the time to admire it. But it seemed familiar. 

“Wait a minute. Isn’t this your mom’s ring?”

Travis nodded, “She overnighted it.”

A few more tears escaped (y/n)’s eyes. She kissed Travis again and thanked him. She knew how much his mom meant to him, and having the ring on her finger made her feel so special. 

“You don’t need to thank me, baby.”

“Yeah, I do. I know how much that means to you.”

“You know me too well, baby,” he said, kissing her again. 

Brittany and Patrick watched the scene from the car. 

“They’re so fricken cute,” she complimented as she sniffled. She’d been crying since Travis’ speech started. 

“Not as cute as us, though.”

“Shut up, he just proposed.”

“Are you saying we’re not cute?”

“We are, but they just got engaged!”

“Yeah, you’re right. But if we’re not the best man and maid of honor, they’re not getting a wedding gift from us.”

Brittany laughed, “Okay, deal.”

"Fucking great." Roy answered back, voice low and mellow, maintaining the peaceful atmosphere in your living room.

Ever since you'd moved in together a year and a half ago, your entire house had become a sanctuary for the two of you. Roy's new position as manager made it so that even though you worked together, you saw much less of each other during the workday - mainly because it wasn't at his leisure to go in and out of your office all day any more. Even if you did spend every minute of every day around each other, you knew you could never get sick of Roy; you'd become quite the experts at communicating how you were feeling and what you were thinking, especially since every time he tried to keep you out, you would figure it out anyway.

"I mean, I've had my theories throughout about who did it, but I'd never have guessed this." Roy missed your touch as soon as you let go of him, reaching out so that he could hold your hand in his tightly while you walked around the couch to take a seat by his side. "I thought surely, what, with the husband having the affair he did it - and I was half right, the husband staged the kidnapping."

"I knew something was up with him!" You gasped, wrapping your arms around Roy's waist as you curled into his side, the hand that had just been holding yours pulling his blanket to cover your lap then moving to rest across your shoulders. "How was the husband involved? He didn't hurt the baby did he?" He used the palm of his hand to press your head against his chest, tucking your hair back behind your ear and then moving his hand to rest against your bicep, scratching his fingers gently into the exposed flesh there. "Oh my god, he didn't, like, get rid of it so he could be with the neighbour did he?"

"Slow down, slow down," Roy shushed, folding the corner of the page he was on, something so close to the end of the book you could count the pages if you tried. He pressed a chaste, warm kiss to the crown of your head, placing the book down beside him on the couch. "Let me explain, Angel." Roy's other hand, now free from holding the book, cradled your chin gently, tilting your head up so he could press a tender kiss to your lips. "So Anne's dad-"

Another gasp slipped past your lips. More then anything, you wanted to let Roy explain the plot of what he'd been reading, but his nightly updates had kept you on the edge of your seat. Despite not having read a single page, apart from the 2 chapters you read aloud to Roy earlier in the week when he was feeling a little under the weather, you were completely and utterly enthralled; desperate to know how it ended. Besides, this daily discussion was the highlight of your days. No matter how good or bad your day had been, if you'd gone out of your way to ignore each other or talked nonstop: Roy still talked and you still listened. "What did Anne's dad have to do with it?"

"You'll see." He chastised, pressing a kiss to the tip-of your nose before continuing with his explanation. "Marco assists in kidnapping the baby, why? Because his business is going out of money and he plans on faking a ransom note for asking for the exact amount of money he needs to pay up to save his business." Roy slid his hand under the blanket, pulling your legs up and into his lap as you brought your head up from against his chest. Threading your fingers through his hair, you looked at him confused. "Anne's parents are rich, remember? But they won't give him the money so he stages this kidnapping to force them to pay the ransom."

"No." You gasped, you hand clapping against your mouth. "Why wouldn't they give their son in law the money? They do know it directly affects their daughter and grand-daughter, right?"

"They won't give him the money because they don't like him, so get this, the guy who convinced Marco to stage the kidnapping was hired by Anne's dad." Roy laughed at the gasp you let out, you completely enthralled with the story and him completely enthralled with you. He always was. "Anne's dad staged the whole thing because he wanted Anne and Marco to split up. And just when you think everything's okay because they got the baby back; Anne murders the neighbour because she had been having an affair - with Anne’s dad.”

You were practically jumping in your seat.

Sometimes you wish you had the same amount of patience as Roy so you could actually sit down and read with him. Most of the time, however, you were more then happy to listen to him passionately talk you through what he was reading, were happy to watch that wonderful smile you loved so much curl onto his lips.

"But!"

"But-" you repeated after Roy, pressing a kiss to his cheek, urging him to hurry up with his ending; you were waiting to hear it.

"But, Anne doesn't remember killing the neighbour, so there is this whole unreliable light cast on the whole story; it might not have even happened!" Roy expected to find you staring at him in shock, some commentary on what you think happened on the tip of your tongue, but it never came.

Instead, he found you staring at him with complete adoration, like you'd watched him mould the galaxies in his hands, hang the stars in the sky and spin the world on his fingernails. To you, he did, he really did. You leant forward a little, using the hand that you'd tangled in Roy's hair to pull him closer to you so that you could press your lips to his. The kiss was soft and tender, something that Roy, ever intense, had really come to enjoy through out your relationship; you brought out this entirely different side to him that he wasn't even sure existed until he met you.

"I love you." You murmured against his lips, going in for another quick peck before you pulled away, gracing him with the sight of a smile. "I love how passionate you get when talking about the stuff you love, and that smile - ugh that smile, Roy - you're killing me here."

Roy was certain he was doing the right thing. So certain, in fact, that he'd bought the ring the day you got together: Phoebe's accusation in your living room that you were getting married telling him everything he needed to know. The life Roy had dreamed of was right before him, all he had to do now was take it. "Marry me."

"What?" The hand that had began to caress his cheek as you kissed and the hand in his hair stilled; your entire body stilled in fact, and as quickly as he'd become confident enough to ask the question, he'd become nervous again.

"Fuck, what I meant was; will you marry me?" Roy shuffled underneath you, pulling out a ring box from somewhere behind him, though you weren't sure where considering you knew his pyjama bottoms didn't have pockets. "I'm not the kind of guy for a big speech thing, but I wish I was because you fucking deserve that kind of thing. You deserve a lot more then I can ever give you, actually, and yet you still love me day in and day fucking out. I'll admit, sometimes I don't get why you do."

"Roy..." You whimpered, tears brimming in your eyes as you moved both of your hands to cradle his face.

"But you do. And I'd truly, really, be the luckiest man in the world, if you would marry grumpy, old me." Tears had formed in Roy's own eyes, the pair of you totally overwhelmed by the intimate and tender moment. You'd never been more in love with Roy then right now. "Please fucking say yes, I'm an absolute mess without you"

"Yes, please." You whispered, hands still cradling Roy's face even though your eyes remained on the ring in front of you. It was as if he'd peeked inside your brain and made the perfect ring; it was simple yet elegant and entirely you, it was really perfect. This time, you answered louder. "Please, yes."

You pulled Roy's face to you, pressing a firm and hot kiss to his lips. You let your hands leave his face, sliding up and over his cheekbones until you reached his hair, twisting your fingers into it and pulling him even tighter against you, deepening the kiss as you did. "A million times yes, Roy, yes, yes, yes." Tears had begun to freely flow down your cheeks, though there was not an ounce of sadness to them. You were insurmountably happy - over the fucking moon. "I'd say yes in every fucking language in the world if I could. I love you Roy." You bit your lip back between your teeth, trying to contain your smile since your cheeks burned. "Mrs Kent." A giggle slipped past your lips. "That's me."

"Fuck yeah, that's you." Roy growled, pulling you into him and pressing a kiss to your lips. His grip in your hair allowed him to tilt your head back slightly, giving him the perfect angle to push his tongue past your lips with a tug of his hand on your hair. If he had already put the ring on your finger, he'd have picked you up and taken you to bed then and there with the moan you let out. "Now, Mrs Kent, you going to let me put this ring on your fucking finger or what?"

~*~

You were thankful Roy had proposed on a Friday night; not only because that meant you didn't have to worry about how late he kept you up or how quickly you needed to regain the ability to walk straight, but because it gave you the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday to figure out how to tell your friends. Phoebe and Molly were coming over for dinner later that night, but you had a slight feeling you weren't actually going to have to say anything to them - you had no doubt Roy had consulted Molly over it, and Phoebe, well, you just knew she'd pick up on it the second she saw you.

"C'mere." Roy groaned beside you, not giving you the chance to move yourself before he was wrapping one arm around your waist and the other under your thigh. He slid you across the bed with ease, years of training still paying off despite the fact he hadn't played on a pitch in nearly 4 years now. Placing the leg he'd grabbed over his own leg, he pulled you flush against him, chest pressed to chest. "Good morning, Angel, sleep good?"

Roy's voice had a deeper edge then usual to it in the morning. "Always do when I'm with you, Handsome." You purred, gently scratching your fingers against his chest. "Although I've got this awful kink in my neck, must’ve slept funny."

"I can think of a few other kinks you've got." Roy murmured against your shoulder, pressing open mouthed kissed along it and up your neck. When he nipped at the sensitive skin just under your ear, you pushed yourself away from him, not out of want, but out of necessity.

"We've got guests in a few hours, remember?"

"I can do a lot in an hour alone." Given how late the two of you had been up doing things, you'd slept in till lunch, but that didn't make the sound of sleepy and slow morning sex with Roy any less appealing. God, the thought of it alone had you wanting to cancel everything ever and stay here forever.

"Hmm, that you can do." Pulling his head out of the crook of your neck, you pressed a kiss to his lips, tangling your hands into Roy's hair and trying impossibly hard to get even closer to him. "Show me what you got, coach."

A growl rolled out of Roy's throat and he was quick to get started on his own assault of your lips, fully using the position he'd pulled you into to his advantage.

~*~

After everything the two of you spent your early afternoon doing, you only had 2 hours to make sure everything was ready for when Molly and Phoebe showed up, and since your cooking skills ended at turkey dinosaurs and pizza, you left most of the work down to Roy. He let you help prepare ingredients, standing behind you with an arm wrapped around your waist and a hand guiding your hand to cut things a specific way. But when the time came to actually cook the meal, he guided you out of the kitchen, encouraging you to go and get ready with a soft kiss; one to your cheek and another to your temple.

When you'd showered and gotten ready, you made it your turn to kick Roy out of the kitchen, promising not to touch anything unless he asked you to. You made sure to set the table all nice and proper for Phoebe and Molly's arrival, still slightly starstruck by the actual use of the dining table and not just eating dinner on your couch like you'd become so accustomed to before you and Roy moved in together. Sometimes though, especially when Phoebe stayed over, you'd all eat dinner together on the sofa, spy kids playing in the background, for old times sake. And before you knew it, you'd heard the knock at the door.

Swinging the door open, you knelt down immediately, sweeping Phoebe into your arms and hugging her tightly. With her head tucked in between your shoulder and neck, you stuck out your left hand at Molly, wriggling your ring finger enthusiastically. Phoebe squealed your name, wrapping her little arms tightly around your neck; even though you'd seen her two days ago when you picked her up from school, she still missed you as much as if she hadn't seen you for a million years.

As you went to stand back up, phoebe kept her grip on your neck, a silent plea for you to pick her up. Even at 9 years old, she still loved being paraded around in your arms, taking full advantage of your love for her and her love of being close to you. You pulled Molly into the house by the hand, kicking the door shut with your foot and leading them to the kitchen, where Roy was finishing up dinner.

"Hi, Uncle Roy!" Phoebe opted to stay in your arms instead of wiggling out of them to give Roy a 'hello' hug, knowing he was busy cooking and shouldn't be interrupted.

"Hey Phoebe, dinner will be ready in 2 minutes, okay? Why don't you go and grab your phoebe mug from your room before we all sit down?" When you and Roy moved in together, it was a unanimous decision that Phoebe needed her own room in your house; and when you were moving her things from Roy and your separate houses into your new house you got her a 'phoebe mug' as a housewarming gift. It was a bright pink ceramic mug, her name written once by you on the front and once by Roy on the back - it was the only thing she would drink out of when she was at your house.

The second phoebe had slipped out of the room, you turned to Molly with a squeal, the two of you grabbing tightly onto each other and jumping around the kitchen. Roy watched fondly as the two of you gushed over the ring Molly had already seen a thousand times. She took your hand in hers, running her finger over the ring with a featherlight touch, tears filling her waterline. Molly grabbed your hand and pulled it over her shoulder, hugging you again, though this time more tenderly, more teary-eyed.

"I'd say welcome to the family, but I think you've been a part of it since the day you met Phoebe." Tears began to fill your own eyes at the words she whispered against the shell of your ear. "You make him so happy, so, so happy, and that's all I could ever want for Roy. It's all I ever way for you." Molly pulled away from the hug, wiping her thumb under your eye as your tears threatened to spill over. "He loves you. We all do. I love you."

"I love you too, Molly." Just as quickly as she'd pushed you away, you pulled her in for another hug, squeezing her tightly as though it would convey everything you were feeling. It did.

At the sound of feet running down your hallway, Molly jumped away from you, quickly wiping at her own eyes before turning to face her little girl. She gently took the mug from her hands and passed it to you, ushering her to the dining table while you and Roy plated up.

"What did she say to you?" Roy asked, knocking his hip against yours as he he started putting food into each plate.

You pulled Phoebe's favourite cordial off your shelf, pouring some in then moving past Roy to get to the sink to dilute it. "Nothing." He couldn't see the smile that formed on your face as you thought on what your future sister in law had said to you moments prior. "Just that she loves me, she loves you. That she's happy for us."

Roy wrapped an arm around you from behind as he came to join you at the sink, leaning past you to put his cooking tongs in. "I can't wait to see Phoebe's reaction." Roy murmured against the skin of your neck, pressing a kiss there then spinning you around to face him. "She absolutely adores you. She's gonna be over the fucking moon."

"Not more over the moon then me." You pressed another kiss to his lips, making sure to keep the cordial far away from you and Roy incase it spilled.

Roy turned his back on you, picking up two of the bigger plates. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"Oh really?" You asked, picking up the final big plate and Phoebe's smaller own. "I get to marry the love of my life and be officially related to some of the people I love the most. I think I win."

"We'll see." With one last kiss the two of you headed towards the dining table, all four of you tucking into dinner and telling each other about your weeks like clockwork; though you and Roy refrained from one pretty big event till after dinner.

When your food was all finished, you'd given Phoebe a bigger bowl of ice cream then usual, immediately prompting her to be suspicious. "Either I've been really good at school this week, or you guys have done something really bad."

"It's not like that Pheeb's, we're actually celebrating." Phoebe's head perked up at that as she mentally checked it wasn't anyone's birthday, or 'uncles day,' or Mother's Day, or 'future aunties day' (as she'd dubbed it) and she'd forgotten. When she ruled that she definitely hadn't forgotten anything, she turned to you in wait.

"What are we celebrating?"

"Me and your uncle Roy-"

"Holy shit." Smiles crept on all three of your faces as Phoebe pieced it together in her mind. "Are you getting married? Please tell me you're getting married?"

"Are getting married." As you brought your ring adorned hand up for her to see, Phoebe burst into tears, jumping off of her seat and running around to the other side of the table where you and Roy sat. She was quick to climb into Roy's lap, wrapping one arm around each of your knecks to pull you into a hug.

"This is the best day of my life." She whispered, her words coming out in a whine as she tried desperately hard to keep her tears in. "Do I get to be a flower girl?"

"Of course you get to be the flower girl, what kind of fucking question is that?" Roy scolded though a smile remained on his face, you wouldn't have anyone one else as your flower girl. Your niece was barely walking and besides, not that you'd ever admit it with them present, but you much preferred Phoebe to any blood relative you had.

Phoebe's face turned into a frown at Roy's words. "You owe me £1, uncle Roy."

"After the S-bomb you dropped before? I think we're even."

~*~

When Monday rolled around, you were extremely nervous. It wasn't that you thought any of the people at Nelson road would react badly to your engagement, you knew non of them would, you were nervous in the way you are at 8 years old on Christmas Eve - in a giddy way when you can't wait for what you feel to be shared.

You'd come up with a plan in bed the night before - announce it to Beard first, then to the boys, and then you'd make your way up to Rebecca's office to announce it to her, Higgins and Keeley (who'd you thankfully knew would be at the dog track this morning for a meeting).

To execute step 1 with no interruptions, you made sure to arrive an hour earlier to work then you usually would - knowing that Beard liked to show up early and the boys would show up as close to practice as they could get away with. Just as you expected, Beard was alone in the office, only a couple of other people in the building at all, making for an easy entrance.

"Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of you two showing up earlier then you ever have in the 5 years I've known you." Beard asked, his feet perched high up on his desk and an open book dropped against his chest.

"I needed to ask you something, actually." Roy wrapped an arm around your waist, rubbing soothing circles into your skin, silently encouraging you to ask what you wanted to ask.

"Fire away, Katniss."

"I actually wanted to ask, um, well, if you'd walk me down the aisle?"

Beard stilled, then took a shaky breath, then stilled again. He slowly picked up the book from his chest, dog-eared the page and swung his feet down from his desk, standing and crossing the room so that he could stand in front of you. "You, you-" Another shaky breath. "You want me? Me? To walk you down the aisle?"

"Yeah. You're the closest thing I've ever had to a father and-"

Beard pulled you into a hug, something he'd never done before, and tentatively wrapped his arms under yours, pinning you against him. He was warm and smelled like cinnamon, and though you'd never been a big fan of the scent, you found right now that you'd happily bask in it forever. "Yes, of course I will, it'd be an honour."

No further words were exchanged between the two of you until he pulled away, quickly wiping at his eyes before turning to Roy with a scowl. "I can fight, just so you know." He took a step closer to him, and you swore you'd never seen Roy so afraid as when Beard stuck a firm finger in his chest. "If you hurt her, I'll hurt you." Then he retreated to his chair, picking up his book and replacing it against his chest. "So when were you thinking? I always thing spring is the best time for a wedding."

The three of you discussed everything from what date you were thinking to ideal song choices while you waited for the changing room to fill up, wanting to make sure everyone had arrived before you shared the news. When Roy had done his 6th head count and found everyone had arrived, he nodded towards the door, asking if you were ready to go and tell everyone. You nodded, letting Roy lead the way and hanging in the doorway of the coaches office until Beard was at your side.

"You didn't have to threaten him, you know. He's never hurt me once, I don't think he's going to start now."

Beard folded his arms across his chest then nudged you gently in the side as the the two of you came to stand next to Roy, him shouting 'whistle,' silencing the changing room. "Hey, that's what dads are for."

"Before I start, someone grab Nate and Will from the boot room." Jamie, being closest to the boot room, dashed in and right back out, Will and Nate right behind him. "Right. Angel, the floor is yours."

You thanked Roy before turning back to the boys, all of them waiting anxiously as they waited to see what you had to say that was so important Roy had even called Will and Nate out. "I need to know if you're all available next June - we're talking the end of June, early July." Thankfully, your job at Richmond often required planning things far in advance, even if far in advance was a year away, so no one expected anything as you started to speak. "I know it's the off season but I need you all here, in Richmond. Especially Colin."

"Why especially me?" Colin asked, one hand nervously wringing the other.

"Because I absolutely refuse to get married if my man of honour won't be able to make it."

The whole changing room erupted into a chorus of gasps, quickly followed by cheers and players and kitmen alike swarming you and Roy with hugs and cries of congratulations - which, for once, he actually entertained.

Colin was the first to reach for you to pull you into a hug, his hands shaking as he did. "You really want me to be your man of honour? At your wedding?"

"Of course I do, Col." It didn't get any less tearful asking people to be apart of your wedding. "Your my best friend. I love you." No sooner then Colin had pulled you into another hug had you been torn out of it, by a very excited Jamie.

"I can't fucking believe it me. Well, I can actually, but I also can't." He pulled you in for an even tighter hug then Colin had, probably down to the fact he had more excitement then nerves coursing through his system. "Feels like yesterday me and Phoebe were sat on your couch convincing you Roy did love you, and now look at yous."

"Will Phoebe be at the wedding?" Isaac had spun you out of Jamie's hold and into his, keeping one arm around your shoulder as he spoke to you. "Cause I don't want to be the only person eating the turkey dinosaurs; there will be turkey dinosaurs right?"

"Of course there will be, Isaac." Will pulled you out from under Isaac's arm and into a sweet, although brief, hug. "Right? Otherwise I might have to RSVP no."

"Im sure it can be arranged, what, with all of Roy's footballer money." The two laughed at your words, though a certain footballer turned coach found them more amusing.

"All my footballer money, huh?"

"I hope the fact I'm only marrying you for your money doesn't make you want to call off the wedding." You teased, spinning around and wrapping your arms around Roy's neck.

He pressed a slow and sensual kiss to your lips, ignoring the teasing shouts and cheers from his team. "Hmm, you're lucky you're cute." Roy pressed another kiss to your lips, paying no mind to the curious stares of the team around him. Though when they began to linger for a minute too long, he pulled away from you with a sigh. "Right, 50 laps, all of you." When no one moved, he raised his voice. "Now!"

Roy intertwined his fingers with yours, waving a goodbye to Beard but promising to be back before the boys had finished their 50 laps.

Keeley had reacted just how you expected her to - with many screams and squeals and a tight hug that nearly knocked you off the ground. Rebecca and Higgins were much more reserved in their responses but each offered a hug and a congratulation's to the happy couple. Roy kept your fingers intertwined the whole time, squeezing your hand tight each time someone reached out for a hug but putting up with their love otherwise.

You couldn't wait to marry him.

~*~

Knowing that the off season would start around  the beginning of June, you'd decided early on the last week of June was the perfect time for the two of you to get married. And while the end of June was still a month and a half away, you were seriously considering calling the wedding off.

When you'd found out you were pregnant in February, you knew you had to keep it a close secret until you'd finished the first trimester, just incase anything happened to you or the baby, and each week since you'd found out you kept swearing to yourself you were going to tell Roy. You still hadn't. Which brought you to right now, where you were crying on the floor of your ensuite bathroom at the dead of night, at just over 12 weeks pregnant and a baby bump beginning to show.

Given the cold weather of early spring you'd kept it hidden pretty well so far, but with the progressively warmer weather, it was getting harder and harder to hide. Above that, you were now very much aware that since the baby bump had appeared, it was only going to get bigger - and you were in absolute tears over wether or not you were still going to fit into the outfit you'd picked. While your choice of outfit for your wedding wasn't anything extravagant, it made you feel extremely pretty, and hugged you in just the right way - it wouldn't if you were four months pregnant and with a baby bump that you felt was the size of Saturn.

One particularly loud sob had you clamping a hand over your mouth, hoping and praying to anything out there that Roy hadn't heard you. You didn't want him stressing, especially when you were crying over trivial things considering the life you'd always dreamed was within your grasp.

Roy's eyes blinked open though he wasn't entirely sure why, however, when he rolled over and attempted to wrap his arms around you, he was met with cold and empty sheets. The cool feel of the sheets beneath his fingers had him shooting awake; clearly you'd been out of bed a while, and considering it was pushing 2am, his first thought was that you were sick. Which wasn't too far from the truth.

Slowly, he made his way towards your en-suite bathroom, rubbing at his eyes to get him to wake up quicker. Pushing the door open, his entire being froze at the sight of you crying on the bathroom floor, him immediately falling to the ground next to you and pulling you into his lap. One hand brushed your hair out of your face while the other cupped the back of your head, pressing it into the crook of his neck. "It's okay Angel, I'm here, I'm here."

It took Roy roughly 15 minutes of rocking you gently in his arms and whispering soothing words into your hair before your sobs calmed down enough that you could talk without your words turning into a whimper. "C'mon Angel, talk to me." The way Roy oh so gently cradled your face had tears springing to your eyes again. "Or is it about me? Do you want me to call Molly? I'm sure she wouldn't mind-"

"No, it's about me." A fresh set of tears were rolling down your cheeks, but the heaving sobs that had been coming from your chest before ceased. "It's me, I've ruined everything."

"Angel..."

"I just wanted to wear a nice fucking outfit on my wedding day, and I can't, and its making me so sad it's stupid." Roy's thumb continuously wiped at the tears that were furiously running down your cheeks. "And it makes me even more sad because, because, I'm getting everything I've ever dreamed of and I'm sad over something stupid like what I can wear."

"It's not stupid, Angel face." Roy murmured against your temple, the scratch of his beard against your skin familiar and comforting. "Nothings stupid if it makes you so upset. Just talk me through it, yeah? Why can't you wear what you picked? Did it get damaged or something?"

"No, no, it's fine, it's just- it won't fit me anymore." Roy pressed a kiss to your temple, immediately spouting words of reassurance that it would still fit you and if it didn't he'd hire the best tailor in the world to make it fit and that regardless, you'd look incredibly beautiful no matter what you wore. You shook your head gently. "It's not that Roy, it's, I'm-"

You readjusted yourself in Roy's lap, turning so that your legs were either side of his, caging him in. You wrapped your arms around his neck, looking down at the bump you could just see through one of Roy's old jerseys you'd fallen asleep in, while you avoided his concerned gaze. "It's not going to fit me anymore, because I'm pregnant, Roy."

Silence filled the bathroom.

When you finally gained the courage to look up at Roy, tears were pooled in his eyes, that wonderful smile of his making the most tender appearance you'd ever seen. "You're pregnant?" He whispered, mumbling the two words over, and over, and over again. "You're pregnant."

Before you could ask Roy if he was okay, he was pressing his lips to yours, allowing the tears to fall from his eyes though without the noise of a sob. He simply kissed you over, and over, and over again, only pulling away when he could no longer contain the smile that what pulling at his lips. Your hands cradled his cheeks, wiping away each tear gently with the pad of your thumb. "I can't believe I'm crying." He scoffed, though didn't move away from to ur touch as you continued to wipe away his tears.

"If it makes you feel any better, I find the vulnerability of it incredibly hot."

One of Roy's hands moved from the side of your thighs to cup your cheek, pushing hair back behind your ear as a watery smile took over his face.

"You know," Roy paused, tenderly running his fingers up and down the side of your neck as his hand slipped down from your cheek to hold you there. "If you'd come to me 5 years ago, back when Ted and Beard first started, and told me in 5 years time I'd have everything I'd ever dreamed of? And, with the gorgeous woman from the office outside the changing rooms? I would've laughed in your face and told you to fuck off." After a moments thought, he added. "I probably wouldn't have let anyone get close enough to me to tell me that in the first place, to be honest."

"Look how far you've come." You mused, one hand slipping into the hair at the base of Roy's neck as his tears slowly stopped. "Some might say that I've made you go soft.”

Roy laughed, head tilted back against the bathroom wall as he was prevented from throwing it back further. The tilt of his head upwards granted you the perfect position to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He smiled at you softly, bringing his hand forward from the side of your neck so that he could cup your jaw. "To be loved, is to be changed." He hummed, his chest tightening as tears filled your eyes once more.

"I love you, Roy." You whispered, as though even saying it would break the sincerity of the words slipping from your lips. Although you'd said them a thousand times, it was like Roy was hearing it for the first time all over again. "Like I really, really love you Roy." Leaning forward, you rested your forehead against his. "So much... so much so that I feel like I'm never going to be able to express it enough, like if I don't get it out of me, I might die."

Roy pressed a searing kiss to your lips, sliding his hand back up your jaw and under your ear, tangling his fingers in the hair there. "I love you too, more then i ever thought I was capable of loving anyone.” Roy leaned in for another kiss then pulled away with a smirk as you ground yourself into him. "Want me to show you how much I love you, yeah?"

"Definitely."

Roy put his hands back to their original place under your thighs, slowly moving the two of you from your position on the bathroom floor to standing once more. When he was standing, you held in his arms with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, you continued the clash of tongue and teeth you'd started moments again. However, before he could get started on showing you just how much he loved you, you leaned away from him, eyes running over his whole face. "You might have to hold off on doing that thing with your hips, y'know, because of the baby."

"I'll stop doing that when the doctor tells me to stop."

~*~

Fortunately for you, at your next check up the following Thursday, the doctor gave you the all clear - on the health of the baby and the fact Roy could continue working magic with his hips. Considering you were nearly 14 weeks along, the ultrasound technician had offered to let you know the gender of the baby, but both you and Roy had agreed that you didn't want to know. You so seriously didn't want anyone to know, in fact, that Roy made a show of ripping up the envelope that contained the baby's gender right in front of the ultrasound technician after she offered it out to you; her suggestion of a gender reveal dying on her tongue.

Roy had been nothing but attentive since he'd found out; moving at your beck and call even more then normal, so much so that people around Nelson road were beginning to notice.

"Alright, what's going on?" The second Roy left your office, Isaac, Colin and Will crowed into the room, locking the door behind them. If you weren’t such a veteran of their shenanigans, you'd be getting concerned. "Are you dying?"

"Why would I be dying?" You asked, clicking the email you'd been writing closed, giving the three lads your undivided attention.

"Roy's been following you, like, more then usual though." Isaac stated, folding his arms tightly across his chest. "Weird, innit."

Before you could question what they found weird about you talking to and hanging around your fiancé, Will stepped forward, his hands tucked sheepishly in his pockets. "You're pregnant, right? I'm like 80% sure you're pregnant."

Your hand came to rest against the small bump you'd concealed under your Richmond sweater.

"Holy fuck boyo." Colin gasped, smacking his hand into Will's chest. "She is. How did you know?"

"She's glowing." Isaac and Colin tilted their heads in sync while their gaze remained directly on you, as though they were trying to see what Will saw. When it appeared they couldn't, Will let out a sigh, scratching nervously at the back of his neck. "I don't know; maybe it's the lighting."

Silence took over your small office space, the four of you alternating between staring at each other and the hand that rested against your stomach.

"Angel, you got-" Roy paused at the sight before him, scanning the room with a pointed glare. While Isaac had had the sense to lock the main door to your office when he started his interrogation, it had seemed he had forgotten to lock the connecting door from your office into the changing rooms. You'd never been more thankful to be in an office with two doors.  After a few more seconds of assessment, he seethed out a "Fuck! Not a word of this to anyone, yeah?"

All three lads nodded in silence, scurrying from the room after a particularly harsh glare from Roy had told them they had overstayed their welcome in your office. As your head fell into your hands due to the stress of it all, Roy crossed the room, slipping his fingers into your hair and scratching gently at your scalp. "They're not going to tell anyone, Angel, don't stress."

"But, what-"

"No buts, or what if's, or anything." Roy chastised, pulling your head out of your hands and crouching down to meet you at eye level. He took your hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. "We tell everyone when you're ready. And if that's after the wedding, then that's after the wedding." Roy pressed a kiss to your knuckles. "And that's that."

You let out a long sigh, weight lifted from your shoulders at Roy's gentle touch and soothing words. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"You've mentioned it once or twice."

~*~

You were too scared to put your outfit on. After almost 10 months of planning every detail and waking up to see your engagement ring on your finger, you were finally getting to be Mrs Kent. And you were too scared to go out there and get dressed.

When Will, Colin and Isaac found out you were pregnant, it was on accident, but going out there, before your man of honour, bridesmaids, Phoebe and Beard to put on your outfit would be intentionally revealing your baby bump. It was so stupid, you thought, to be this worried about something that would make people happy - that would make you and Roy happy. But a small part of you just wanted things to work out how you'd planned then in your head; like being able to wear what you'd picked to marry the love of your life.

However, you wanted to get married to Roy more then you cared about keeping the baby a secret.

Everyone gasped as you walked into the main part of the hotel room. You'd forgone a dressing gown in favour of getting ready in the comfort of pyjama shorts and one of Roy's old jerseys, wanting to have a part of him with you even though you wouldn't see him the night before the wedding.

Roy had actually wanted to forgo the traditional 'no seeing the bride bullshit,' him in favour of spending every second he could get with you, but Keeley and Jamie had convinced him it would make that moment of you walking down the aisle all the more special. Though as you walked into the room, you'd wished more then anything you'd convinced Keeley to let him stay with you. All you wanted was his hand in yours as you did this.

All eyes fell to the shadow of a baby bump that could be seen through the loose material of Roy's jersey; it was the one he wore at his very first Richmond match, Kent printed and worn proudly on the back. No one moved or even dared to breath.

"Surprise?" You didn't mean for it to come out as a question, but the tense silence and feel of everyone's eyes on you had you shying away from your friends and family in a way you'd never done before. "I'm pregnant!"

Molly was the first to move, crossing the length of the room and pulling you into an embrace. "I love you." She whispered against your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "I'm going to be an auntie." Within seconds the remaining people in the room swarmed you into one big group hug. Each of Colin, Keeley, Rebecca and Beard whispered congratulations to you, telling you just how beautiful you looked and how excited they were to see you walk down the aisle. Phoebe, however, pulled the funniest face at you, her brow tense in the spitting image of Roy.

"You're not wearing that, are you?"

Phoebe had magically broke the tension of the room, smiles all around as Molly and Keeley ushered you back to the other side of the door, helping you into your outfit and making sure your hair stayed in the way you'd styled it when you got changed. Fully dressed and feeling yourself, you stepped back into the main room with newfound confidence.

You were going to marry Roy - Roy who updated you on his book every night and valued your opinion on it, who still brought you lunch everyday at work, who was willing to hold you on the bathroom floor at 3am when he should've been sleeping, who made you feel like you were the only person in a room that mattered - and you couldn't be more excited.

Colin held your hand the entire drive from the hotel and the whole way from the car to the church doors. Only two pieces of wood separated you from everything you'd ever wanted. He pressed a featherlight kiss to your cheek and wished you luck before heading inside, leaving just you and Beard outside the building.

"You nervous?" He asked, moving his hand so that it rested lovingly on the small of your back.

"It's Roy." Roy always made you nervous. From the smile that had you weak in the knees when he actually decided to show it, to the butterflies the simple movement of his fingers against your skin caused; Roy had you swooning every time he looked at you. "I can't wait to get in there."

"Can you wait a second?" Ted Lasso was stood behind you, hands bashfully tucked into suit pants pockets.

"Ted." You gasped, opening your arms but not leaving Beard's side. The American rushed towards you, scooping you into a tender hug. "What are you doing here? I thought you couldn't make it..."

"Well, you know how Roy is, stubborn, hard-headed," Ted had aged a little since you last saw him on English soil, but he still held that quintessential ted spirit to him; even though he looked a lot more tired then you ever remembered him being. "Will do anything for the people he loves. Even if that's calling someone everyday for 8 months straight and convincing them to clear their calendar."

Roy who called one of your favourite people daily until he convinced them to make time to come to your wedding despite the fact they'd have to fly halfway across the world to attend.

"Well, I'm glad you're here Ted." He pressed a kiss to your temple, unwrapping himself from you and flattening out the front of his suit.

"I'll see you in there." Ted walked to the doors Colin had entered through moments ago, stopping and turning back to you at the last second. "You look beautiful by the way, you're practically glowing." With a knowing wink, Ted slipped through the doors, finding the way to his seat to wait for the ceremony to begin.

"Well, I think we're really ready now." You mused, linking your arm though Beard's. When you turned to flash a smile at him, you saw eyes filled with fondness, tears threatening to cloud his vision if he thought about the scene before him for too long. "Aren't we Willis?"

"Lets go, sweetheart." The pet name struck you to your core, your hand squeezing his bicep in reassurance. There was no one else you'd want to walk you down the aisle. "You're getting married!"

The ceremony ran perfectly. Willis walked you down the aisle and handed you off to Roy after whispering what you were certain was a threat in his ear. Tears brimmed Roy's waterline the whole ceremony, but they didn't spill over under you were pronounced husband and wife. No one commented on the tears that ran down Roy's cheeks, and you didn't think anyone was ever going to bring it up; a mutual understanding settling over the room that the Roy Kent that stood at the alter wasn't Roy Kent football sensation, but that he was Roy Kent, loving husband.

All those years ago Jamie had been completely and utterly right, all Roy needed was someone to show him it was okay to be soft. Thankfully, he had found that in you.

~*~

"Nell, go back to sleep baby, daddy's here."

Roy had his back turned to you as he rocked Penelope in his arms, murmuring some song that you couldn't quite make out under his breath to help her get back to sleep. In the 4 weeks since Penelope - or 'Nell' as Roy had lovingly started calling her - had been born, Roy had more then proved himself to be the amazing dad you knew he would be. Though he'd voiced his worries about not being a good dad several times throughout your pregnancy, each time you'd soothed away the worry; scratching your fingers against his scalp and reminding him of everything he'd ever done for Phoebe.

Phoebe had been the most excited to meet the baby, begging her mum to let her come over every single day after school so that she could spend time with her newborn cousin (even though that time was mostly spent with Phoebe in your lap with Nell in hers).

The Boys at Nelson Road came in for a close second when it came to being excited to meet the baby. Will, Colin and Isaac had made it their duty to show up to you and Roy's house every day after training when you were 7 months along in order to paint the babies nursery and build all the furniture that you'd bought.

They were even worse when you went into labour.

Roy had called Beard to let him know the two of you wouldn't be able to make it to work that Tuesday, and Beard loaded up the coach for a group trip to Richmond's hospital. You had the whole of AFC Richmond crowded in the waiting room, arms filled with stuffed animals, balloons and flowers. Jamie had charmed up the nurse who you were charged to, convincing him to let all of the players into your room at once. While most of the team fawned over the baby, gave you their best wishes then made their way back to the coach, Colin, Isaac, and Will asked to hold her, tears filling their eyes as they took in the sight of the tiny baby.

"She's beautiful." Colin whispered, lightly running the tip of his finger up and down her button nose. "With your parents, you're going to be the coolest kid ever. And Uncle Colin is going to make sure of it."

"You know," Will whispered, stiff as a board as he held Penelope on his arms, scared to even breath less it hurt the baby. "I remember that day I saw you with Phoebe in Tesco, and I told you I didn't realise you were a mum." Roy shot you a confused glance, reminding you you'd never actually filled him in on your trip to the supermarket that day with Phoebe. "And now you are one. It almost doesn't feel real."

"I've never held a baby before." Isaac admitted, the most relaxed holding her despite his inexperience. "It's weird, innit. Like, this baby I'm holding right now started out nothing and now she's real and alive and in my arms…Spooky."

Jamie, however, you practically had to force to hold Nell; and even then he was scared shitless. When you managed to convince him to take a seat on your hospital bed, he seemed less tense about holding her, but the ever present crease in his brow told you otherwise. "She looks just like you."

"She's got Roy's nose, and I bet she'll have his eyebrows too."

Jamie's eyes never left the baby, even as the other boys slipped out of the room with one last goodbye and a promise to come and visit Nell again when you got sent home.

"Ask us what her full name is." Roy kicked Jamie's foot, finally snapping his attention away from the newborn.

"You what?”

Apparently, he hadn't been listening, the tender tone to Roy's voice leaving as soon as it had arrived. "I said ask us what her full name is, fuckhead."

Jamie didn't ask you, he wasn't sure he could get the words out without choking up, the suggestion of the question springing tears to his eyes.

"Her full name is Penelope Jamie Kent." You hadn't seen Jamie so upset since Roy dragged him into your office, sobs wracking his body, two years ago before the journey up north to play against Manchester City at the Etihad.

He pulled Nell closer to his chest, hugging her as best as you could hold a baby, then passed her to Beard, pulling Roy in for the tightest hug you'd ever seen the two share. When Jamie came to hug you, he pressed a kiss to your cheek, whispering in your ear; "You've made Grandad go all soft." And after a brief pause. "The rest of us too."

Beard didn't stay long after Jamie left, knowing the coach was only waiting on him to return to training. He muttered something under his breath, pressed a kiss to Nell's head and then handed her back to you, pressing a kiss to yours. "Jamie’s right. Spitting image of you. Though I do agree she has Roy's nose."

"I hope she gets his smile." You quietly confessed, not missing the way Roy's lips curled up into the wonderful  smile you loved so much. "We got something for you." Roy pulled out a gift bag from next to your 'we need to go to the hospital the baby is coming' bag and handed it to his fellow coach. Beard waisted no time opening the gift, a soft smile curling on his lips as he pulled out the mug, 'worlds best grandad' printed on the front and a Richmond crest printed on the back. "I love you...dad."

A tear silently ran down Beard' cheek but he didn't wipe it away, pulling you and the baby in for a group hug. After a tight squeeze, he opened up his arms, a silent invite for Roy to join. He did so without question, thanking Willis for everything.

Beard had used the mug at Nelson Road everyday since.

Nell had made a total of 3 visits so far to Nelson Road; every Thursday afternoon being the day you'd come to the dog track with her and disrupt afternoon training so that the boys could fawn over her as an end of the week treat. Tomorrow would be her 4th visit, and yet, Roy had been the one to wake up and tend to her when he'd have to be up in a few hours to coach Jamie and you could essentially sleep in until 12 and still be on time.

As he put Nell back inside her cot, you wrapped your arms around his waist and slid them up and under the front of his t-shirt. "You're such a good dad, Roy."

"Only cause you make me a good dad." He turned around in your hold, your hands now up the back of his shirt, his arms now over your shoulders/

"That doesn't even make sense." You countered, resting your chin against his chest so that you could look at him. Roy took the opportunity to press a slow and tender kiss to your lips.

"Fuck off, it totally does."

"Doesn't."

"Does."

"Doesn't."

"Does."

At a whine from Nell, the two of you fell silent, not wanting to wake her after Roy had just put her back to sleep.

"She know it makes sense." The two of your were looking down at Nell's tony from where she slept soundly in the crib.

"She's only agreeing cause it's you." You lowered your chin so that the side of your head rested against Roy's chest, giving you a better look at your beautiful baby girl. "She's a total daddy's girl already, you know."

"Gets that from her mother." Roy paused after he spoke, realising quickly that his words hadn't made much sense or come out in the way he intended. "I meant, she's a total me, girl. Like she loves me a lot because you love me a lot. Fuck."

"I knew what you meant, handsome."

Roy quirked his eyebrow at your response. "You did huh?" He swept you off your feet, literally, carrying you back to your bedroom with a slip in his step.

You hand slapped against his bicep, a gasp slipping from your lips as your pieced together Roy's words paired with his suggestive tone and that glint in his eye. "The doctor said no sex for 6 weeks, Roy."

"No penetrative sex for six weeks." Roy clarified, laying you down on the mused bedsheets and kissing his way down your form; starting with scrapes of teeth against the sensitive skin of your neck, all the way down to the thick skin of your thighs. "The guy said nothing about oral."

Lewis said "What the hell?!" during a game, he was playing with the cast and MJ furrowed her tiny brows. You and Tom tried your hardest not to curse in front of her and while your husband could develop quite the mouth, especially when he was angered, he kept it tight lipped when around his little girl.

Glen scratches his nose and subtly points to where MJ is seated with Monica.

"Baby Cruise Alert." He hisses.

Lewis covers his mouth and feels embarrassment rise in his body.

But then there went Miles. An f-bomb was carried loudly from his mouth and he was immediately smacked with a nearby pillow by Lewis who pointed at the observing little Cruise.

Greg and Jay were the curse police as Jennifer had named them, each taking it upon themselves to slap someone if they said bad words around MJ. To her, this was whole a fun game and laughter imploded from the baby girl's lips each time she witnessed someone getting punched.

After a while, a "MJCM Swear Jar" was created by Val. He had been around a couple of times when he heard the cast swear around the newest addition to the team and one day, the cast found the jar with Val's handwriting on it. So each time one would cuss around MJ, someone had to throw a dollar into the jar.

And it got big. There were so many dollar bills that when you and Tom uncovered it, it was the first time MJ had said a curse word.

She was in Tom's arms. All of you were in the room together. You hadn't noticed the jar yet because you were so busy trying to keep up with your daughter and husband, but as MJ fiddled with the toy in her hand, she couldn't work it properly.

It was clear as day. Everyone knew it.

The tiniest Cruise, with furrowed brows, and green eyes enlightened with anger, her face turned red and her mouth parted. "SHIT!" She yells, finally dropping the toy.

"MCKENZIE!" You yell suddenly.

Monica was hiding her face.

Glen and Miles teamed up together.

Jay, Lewis, and Greg were horrified.

And Danny...

"WE ALL GOTTA ADD TO THE MJCM SWEAR JAR!" He exclaims.

Tom's head lifted immediately. "Swear jar?!"

"Oh no," Glen mutters.

McKenzie looked around. "Shit?" She repeats.

"No! No, that's a bad word." Tom was trying his hardest to keep his composure. MJ stared at him.

"Bad word, dada?" She asks him.

"Yes, baby. Bad word." Tom nods.

MJ looks at you. "...Damn." She whispers, shaking her head.

Everyone lost it. You and Tom included.

And when the swear jar was brought out? And everyone threw a dollar into it? You face-palmed yourself.