Chapter Text
The world did not simply wake up. It detonated.
Every major sports outlet, gossip tabloid, fashion magazine, and fan forum carried the same headline, some screaming in capital letters, some whispering with elegant fonts, but all announcing one identical truth.
GEORGE HAMILTON ROSBERG IS PREGNANT AND THERE IS NO CONFIRMED FATHER
THREE F1 DRIVERS LINKED TO THE BABY DRAMA
IS THIS THE MOST ICONIC LOVE PENTAGON IN SPORTS HISTORY
LEWIS HAMILTON GRANDPA ERA BEGINS WITH A MYSTERY
Some headlines were ridiculous.
WHO PUT A BUN IN THE FASHION PRINCE’S OVEN
ALPHA TRIPLE THREAT DID THEY FIGHT OR DID THEY SHARE
A particularly bold tabloid even posted a poll titled:
WHO DO YOU WANT THE FATHER TO BE
1. Alex Albon
2. Max Verstappen
3. Oscar Piastri
4. Lewis Hamilton adopting the baby like the king he is
Within hours fans were making conspiracy diagrams with circles and arrows, matching bracelets, grainy photographs of drivers walking near the same hallway as George three months ago, and one blurry image that clearly showed someone who might have been Max or might have been a mop.
No one had any answers.
Except George himself.
And unfortunately, he had none either.
At the Rosberg Hamilton household, things were less like a quiet morning and more like the pre-race chaos of Monaco when it starts raining unexpectedly.
Nico Rosberg burst into the living room carrying three different newspapers at once, each opened to a different scandalous article. His expression was a unique mix of horror, fatherly panic, investigative determination, and the kind of face he made when someone mentioned 2016.
“George” Nico announced in a tone that suggested he had aged ten years since breakfast. “Explain this. All of this. Every single part of this. Preferably in order of least to most sinful.”
George sat on the sofa eating a bowl of cereal shaped like little fashion handbags that his own brand had sold as a limited edition stunt. He did not look up.
“Papa I am also very curious” he said as calmly as someone discussing the weather. “If you find out before I do let me know.”
Lewis Hamilton entered the room next, carrying a mug of tea and the aura of someone who had achieved inner peace long ago but was now being violently dragged out of it. He stared at the newspapers, then at George’s stomach, then at Nico whose soul was visibly ascending.
“Baby” Lewis said softly, “is there something you want to share with your parents”
“Yes” George replied. “I am experiencing cravings for strawberries dipped in tahini.”
Lewis placed a hand on his heart. “I meant regarding your condition.”
“I am pregnant.”
“We know that” Nico said loudly. “We found out because the entire planet knows that. What we want to understand is how this happened.”
George blinked. “Papa. People get pregnant.”
Nico let out a noise that was half groan half prayer. “George my sweet summer flower. Tell us the truth. Which one of those boys is responsible for this situation.”
“I do not know.”
“You do not know” Nico repeated slowly as if his son had announced that gravity was optional now. “What does that mean. Were you drugged. Hypnotized. Struck by a comet.”
Lewis sat beside George and placed a gentle hand on his head. “Love we will not judge you. We will not scold you. But we would like clarity so we can help you navigate this journey. It is important to know the father.”
George sighed deeply, leaning back into the sofa as if reflecting on the great mysteries of life. “I simply remember attending the end of season gala. I remember drinking one cocktail that tasted like strawberries. Then I remember dancing. Then I remember waking up in bed with a very faint scent of someone. It was pleasant. Warm. Masculine. Slightly competitive if that makes sense.”
Nico put both hands on his face. “Competitive. George that describes half the paddock.”
Lewis nodded. “My dear that is how alphas smell on race week. That is not a clue. That is an environmental hazard.”
George rubbed his stomach thoughtfully. “Perhaps this is a philosophical test. Perhaps the universe is saying that lineage is less significant than intention. Perhaps the true father is the one who steps forward with love.”
Nico pointed at him as if catching a criminal. “That is exactly the problem. All three stepped forward. Very aggressively. They are currently outside.”
George froze. “Outside where.”
Lewis sipped his tea. “Outside our house. All three of them. They arrived before sunrise.”
George nearly dropped his cereal. “All three.”
Nico nodded grimly. “Alex brought flowers. Max brought a contract. Oscar brought a spreadsheet comparing his genetic compatibility with yours.”
Lewis smiled faintly. “It was a very neat spreadsheet.”
For a moment the entire room fell into silence, heavy and contemplative, like the calm before a storm or the moment right before lights out at a Grand Prix.
George finally spoke. “So they are all determined to be the father.”
“They are determined to be your husband” Nico corrected. “The father is apparently optional. The husband part is obligatory.”
George pressed a hand to his forehead. “This is ridiculous. I am not an object in a marriage auction.”
Lewis rested a hand on his shoulder. “No you are not. You are an omega with a heart worth fighting for. But you are also an adult. You get to decide how this plays out.”
Nico crossed his arms. “But we must let them in. They have been waiting outside for hours and Max keeps pacing like he is mentally preparing for qualifying.”
George groaned. “Fine. Bring them in. But I want calmness. Civility. Maturity.”
Nico whispered to Lewis. “He says this as if he did not grow up surrounded by F1 drivers.”
Lewis chuckled. “Let us hope for the best.”
The doorbell rang.
Three times.
In three different rhythms.
Alex’s was soft.
Oscar’s was polite.
Max’s was aggressive.
George swallowed. “Papa. Dad. Please stay by my side.”
Lewis kissed the top of his head. “Always.”
Nico straightened his posture. “My son. My responsibility. My headache.”
Lewis opened the door.
Three alphas stood there like contestants in a romantic game show, each radiating determination, pride, and the faint scent of chaos.
George stood up, faced them, and sighed dramatically.
“Welcome to the Husband Game” he muttered.
Max stepped forward first. “I will win.”
Alex elbowed him. “It is not a competition.”
Oscar adjusted his glasses. “Actually statistically it is.”
And George wondered if perhaps the universe was laughing at him. But deep down he also wondered something else entirely.
Which one of them had kissed him that night.