Ok picture this… reader wants to go to the Yule ball with Cedric but he takes Cho so childhood best friend George steps in and takes her and they realise they have feelings for eachother and kiss in the common room 🥹🥹
Yule Be Mine? | George Weasley x reader
Summary: You fully thought Cedric Diggory was going to ask you to the Yule Ball, but when he takes Cho instead, your best friend George comes to the rescue.
Warnings: allusions to sex, mentions of sex, swearing, fluff! Not proofread. Also, for the sake of this fic, Y/n, George, and Fred are all 18, and Hermione is 16.
a/n: my first George fic!! I wish you weren't anonymous. I really wanted your reaction for this :(( But anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!!!!
Cedric Diggory.
The Hufflepuff team’s captain and seeker, prefect, all teachers’ favourite student, and the boy you had fancied for the better part of this year.
It all started when the two of you were seated next to each other in Charms last year and talked for the first time…ever. You never noticed how pretty he was up close before, how smart and charming and funny and clever. A few months into sitting next to him, you two got to know each other better, and before you knew it, conversations turned into bants, and light touches here and there were barely out of the ordinary. Soon, that transitioned into occasionally finding yourself in his sheets, a quickie in an abandoned corridor when nobody was around, making out between classes with some light petting, a blowjob here, head there, and it had all been fun and slowly, but surely, you had caught feelings.
So, when the Yule Ball’s approach was announced, you quickly started daydreaming of going with him. How perfect you two would look: you in your alluring gown and him in a suit with a tie matching your dress, as if cut from the same cloth, a metaphor for how you two complemented each other.
You were fully convinced he was going to ask you as well. The signs were all there, and it was all you had talked to George about in the weeks approaching: how he was going to do it, where he’d do it (“I hope he does it privately, like on the Astronomy Tower”), when he’d do it, etc. So the redhead was thoroughly confused when he heard through the grapevine that Cedric had asked out Cho Chang.
George didn’t waste another second after Fabian Queenie told him after classes that Thursday, practically sprinting to the Gryffindor dorms to find you. He ran up to your dorm and knocked.
“Y/n…?” he called gently. “It's Georgie.”
A few seconds later, your meek voice came. “Come in.”
He twisted the handle and walked in to find you sprawled on your bed at the opposite end of the room in a starfish position, still in your robes, staring up at the ceiling with red, puffy eyes with an empty look in them. Your shoes were haphazardly discarded by the bed, and your books had been carelessly tossed on the desk.
He took in the room before turning back to you, arms crossed. “I heard what happened,” he said, standing by the bed and looking down at you.
You chuckled self-depraciatingly, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I feel so fucking pathetic,” your voice came out scratchy. “I mean,” you sniffled, twisting George’s heart painfully. “He’s never even said he fancies me. I just went about making these stories in my head that he does. I’m fucking daft.”
You pulled yourself into a seated position, smoothing out your hair and wiping the tears from your face.
“To be fair, after doing the things he did to you,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, leading you to throw a pillow at him. He caught it and chuckled. “But after your situation, you’re not wrong to assume he might be interested in you.”
You stayed silent for a few seconds, still staring at the ceiling, then closed your eyes. “I feel used.” Your voice came out small, as if it were an admission you were scared to hear yourself.
George’s heart squeezed in his chest at your tone. It wasn’t just that he was seeing you in pain. He greatly cared about his friends, and he wanted to fight anyone who hurt them. But more importantly, this was you. George had yet to come across someone as brilliant and kind and beautiful as you. You didn’t deserve this. Not from some soggy sock-looking bloke. Not from anyone. He just wished you’d see in yourself what he saw, that you deserved to be treated like a queen, to have whatever you wanted at your feet, a guy who’d lie on a puddle and let you walk over him so your shoes didn’t get dirty. Him.
“Don’t feel bad,” George ruffled your hair. “You weren’t wrong for liking him. He does have a certain…charm about him,” he said comfortingly, trying his best to hide the irritation in his voice.
You side-eyed him. “Don’t you hate him for telling on you after you and Fred flooded the dungeons with that sticky liquid?”
“And yet I’m praising him for you,” he replied as he sat down at the edge of your bed. “Imagine how much I must love you.”
You chuckled softly. “I love you too, Georgie. I really appreciate you trying to cheer me up.” You crossed your legs.
George smiled but quickly hid it with a grimace. “Now don’t get all emotional on me,” he said with mock disgust, although his heart was doing backflips in his chest at your declaration. If only you meant it the same way he did.
You swatted his arm, laughing again. “I’m trying to be appreciative here.”
“Exactly. Doesn’t suit you,” he shook his head disapprovingly. “You’re much better off being the cocky witch yelling at Fred and me for being irresponsible troublemakers.” George grinned at you.
“Someone's gotta keep you two idiots alive,” you replied coyly.
He laughed in response, earning a small huff of amusement from you as well, before you dragged your hands down your face.
“Ugh, I’m gonna look so fucking pathetic going to the ball alone now,” you groaned, plopping back down.
George rolled his eyes at how dramatic you were being. He lay down next to you, hands on his stomach, and nudged your leg with his. “You’re not gonna go alone.”
You peered at him through a gap between your fingers. “Who’s gonna ask me?”
George considered this for a moment, rubbing his chin in thought. “I mean, if all else fails, you could always go with Nearly Headless Nick.”
“George!” You smacked him in the face with a pillow, but he put his hands up in time, laughing.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said, still laughing, as he gingerly took the pillow from your hands before you attacked him again. “But,” he continued, suddenly serious. “If it's alright with you,” he looked away while talking with a timid cadence you had never heard before. “We could go together.”
Your breath stuttered at the suggestion. You turned your head towards him, brows furrowed in confusion. “Weren’t you gonna ask Fleur Delacour?”
He shook his head slightly. “Nah, that was just a joke,” he waved a hand dismissively, sitting up once again and looking down at his hands.
You observed him for a couple more seconds, taking in the way his hands lightly fidgeted with the pillow in his lap, his leg bouncing nervously, and a slight aversion of his gaze from yours, as if waiting for your rejection. A radiant smile overtook your features, and you sat up excitedly. “I would love to go with you, Georgie.”
His face lit up. “Really? Alright then!”
You nodded with a smile, feeling suddenly bashful, and averted your gaze, but if the pink dusting on George’s face was any hint, you weren’t the only one.
The week of the ball arrived sooner than anticipated. You and Hermione had gone shopping together, which was exciting in and of itself. Not only because trying on different dresses and feeling pretty was fun, but also because this was literally the first time you were doing something like this with Hermione. Usually, she would steer clear of anything “girly,” whether that be shopping, makeup, or boys. This time, however, she had been asked to the Yule Ball by the one and only Durmstrang hottie boom body, Victor Krum.
You two made a whole day out of it: brunch at a small, quaint cafe with a scent of coffee and cinnamon in the air, and way too many candles, then the afternoon spent walking around different stores in search of gowns.
“How's this one?” you asked as you walked out of the change room in a floor-length, navy blue gown encrusted with enough crystals to make it seem like you’d donned the Milky Way.
Hermione gave you a wide-eyed, awestruck up-down before nodding in approval. “This is it,” she smiled.
You grinned in response before going back into the change room to put on your regular clothes.
“So tell me again, how did the George thing happen?” she called out to you while you were changing.
You sighed, thinking back to it. “I told you. Cedric decided to go with Cho, and I was too embarrassed to show up by myself because that would look ultra mega pathetic, so George asked me to make me feel better.”
Hermione scoffed at your oblivion. “You really don’t see it, do you?”
“See what?” you asked. “Hey, can you help me with the zipper?”
“He is absolutely smitten with you!” she exclaimed as she entered the change room to help you out of the dress.
“What?” you laughed in disbelief. “He is not. He’s just my best friend, and he didn’t want me to be sad over some guy. He’s just being nice, Mione.”
She gave you an unimpressed look. “Mark my words. By the end of this year, you two will be together.”
You chuckled while shaking your head at her. You quickly put on the shirt you were wearing again and gathered the flouncy gown.
“So…you and Victor?” you said in a suggestive tone, making Hermione blush furiously.
And so went the entire day with you two finding your dresses, heels, accessories, deciding the looks, and discussing your tragic and her nonexistent love lives. A true girls' day for the history books.
“Looking absolutely breathtaking, Miss L/n,” George announced grandly, bowing as you stepped down the last stair.
“Looking mighty handsome yourself, Mr. Weasly,” you responded, setting your hand in his open palm.
Fred simply smirked at you from his place next to George. “You look hot, Y/n,” he said with that boyish charm that had you chuckling.
“Oi, that's my date,” George lightly shoved his brother.
You laughed, your hand still in George’s as he led you to the Great Hall where the ball was held. The hall had been redecorated with all the tables removed, icicles coming down from the ceiling looking as if they were sparkling, three massive trees with snow on the leaves stood at the back of the room, and beautiful fountains that looked as if the water was frozen. The room looked absolutely ethereal, and you couldn’t help but look around in awe at the beauty of it all.
“I'm going to go find Angelina,” Fred announced before departing, leaving you and George alone.
You leaned in and said quietly in George’s ear, “I still can’t thank you enough for coming with me, Georgie.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “No need to thank me, love. I got a beautiful date I can actually enjoy, instead of worrying about how I’m dancing or if I’m being entertaining enough. So really, the pleasure is all mine.”
You smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek that had George’s heart rate speeding up. The things you do to him without even knowing. He squeezed your hand before guiding you further into the throng of immaculately dressed, exquisitely smelling Durmstrang, Hogwarts, and Beauxbatons students. You looked around at everyone with a smile, greeting a few students from classes and some you had gotten to know since the Triwizard Tournament started. (“You look beautiful!” “Thank you! You as well!”).
As you made your way towards the centre, however, your happiness and excitement crashed and burned into a heap of dread, and the ashes stood in front of you in the form of Cedric Diggory and his date, Cho Chang, doing what could only be described as canoodling. Her arms were around his shoulders, and his hands rested on her waist as their lips met repeatedly for a series of puppy kisses that pulled disgusted looks from both you and George. Despite what you and Cedric had done together, this was still too inappropriate to be happening in public.
Cedric pulled away from her after a couple of seconds and turned around…only to lock eyes with you. He paused his meandering gaze to take in your look: your dress, the intricate updo your hair was in, the flawless makeup, and of course, the man on your arm.
“Hey, Y/n!” he greeted cheerfully as if you two were besties.
“Mhmm,” was the only response he got. Surely he couldn’t think you were happy with him at the moment after him using you for months and then discarded you when it came time to show real commitment. Some man, he was.
“Hey there,” George greeted in an attempt to diffuse the awkward atmosphere.
Now, you might be giving this soggy sock of a man too much credit, but you were expecting some kind of accountability. Some acknowledgement that what he did was wrong, to look the slightest bit apologetic for what he did, but no.
“You look nice tonight, Y/n,” Cedric commented with his charming smile. The nerve of this man!
“Stop talking to me,” you replied coldly and took a load of pleasure in watching his smile falter.
You only stayed long enough for Cho to look at Cedric quizzically before you and George walked past them.
“Cedric Diggory has no balls,” you sneered when you two were far enough away from the pair. “Metaphorically speaking, of course. I’ve seen the real ones. They’re very there.”
George stared at you in shock before bursting into laughter. “I can’t believe you just said that!” he laughed, doubling over.
Seeing him laughing, you couldn’t hold it in and started laughing with him. “I don’t know where that came from either.”
A while later, the two of you met with some friends: Fred and his date, Angelina, Lee Jordan and his date, Oliver Wood, Alicia Snippet, and Katie Bell. The lot of you chatted for a bit while snacking at the food table and sipping on your drinks before dancing started. Fred did not waste a second before bowing to Angelina before asking for her hand in a dance, which she graciously (and bashfully) accepted. Oliver shyly asked Katie if she’d like to dance, and Alicia was swept away by a Durmstrang Quidditch player (“You better not switch teams after this,” George teasingly instructed the girl), and eventually it was just the two of you standing there.
You looked to George, not saying it, but he knew what you wanted. He smirked cockily before bowing and offering his hand. “M’lady, care to honour this humble peasant with the blessing to dance with your highness?”
“Why yes, kind sir. Thought you’d never ask,” you replied in the same tone.
The two of you headed to the dance floor, one of his hands on your waist, the other holding yours to the side, while your other hand rested on his shoulder. You swayed to the music slowly, sinking into the rhythm of the gentle melody playing.
You looked around the room at the other dancing couples, even spotting Cho and Cedric, but your body did not fill with the jealousy and rage as you had anticipated. Instead, you felt glad that it wasn’t you with him, for you might have liked Cedric, but nobody except George could make the night as fun for you as it had been so far. The realisation jarrs you a bit.
“You having a good time, love?” George asked softly, pulling your attention back to him.
His wide brown eyes watched you carefully, taking in every minute change in your expression, and you felt something tugging at your heartstrings. Had he always been this attentive? Had his tone always been that soft and careful?
“I am,” you replied softly. “And you?”
“One of the best nights of my life,” he murmured, his face graced with a fond smile.
The earnestness in his tone caught you off guard. Normally, questions like this would be met with sarcasm from him, but tonight, he seemed to let some of his vulnerability show, to allow you a brief peek into his mind and heart through his eyes, and you had to admit that the world beyond the molten chocolate seemed like a dream you didn’t want to escape.
You tipped your chin up, bringing your faces impossibly closer, noses barely brushing against each other. You heard the slight hitch in George’s breathing, the change in his eyes that went from teasing to longing, and the hand holding yours at the side came to rest on the back of your neck, pushing your faces even closer. It would be so easy to close that gap. To feel his lips on yours. To cross that boundary between best friends and lovers.
“Y/n!” a voice called from somewhere to the side, causing you and George to jump apart. You turned to see Hermione walking towards you, no Victor Krum in sight, and tears in her eyes. Immediately, you imagined the worst: he had stood her up. She marched up towards you and pulled you away.
“I’ll find you later,” you quickly said to George apologetically and let Hermione lead you away.
George stood there, feeling flustered and disappointed that he hadn’t gotten to kiss you like he’d wanted to, basically since the second year, but he hoped he’d have more chances tonight to do it properly, grand romantic speech and all.
You sat with Hermione on the steps while she cried. She told you that she had a great time with Victor, and she was upset because of a stupid argument with Ron. You rubbed her back while she cried (“Boys are idiots, Mione”) and let her rest her head on your shoulder while she bawled her heart out.
When you didn’t return for a while, George came to find you.
“What’s wrong?” he asked worriedly.
“Your brother is an idiot,” you responded.
He put his hands in his pockets. “That could apply to any of them. I need you to be specific.”
You rolled your eyes. “Ron, obviously,” you gestured to Hermione.
“Ah, my apologies,” he said and took a seat on Hermione’s other side and gently nudged her shoulder with hers. “I don’t know what he did, but I can tell you, ever since he was young, he’s said things he hasn’t meant when he’s upset. Just whack him on the head and tell him he’s a dozy. That's what mum always did.”
That earned a laugh out of Hermione, and she nodded in response. “Noted.”
After sitting with her for a bit, you left her to find Victor again and enjoy the rest of her night.
“Wanna head back?” George asked softly.
You nodded. “Yeah, my feet are killing me,” you shifted your weight from one foot to another to soothe the ache that had settled there.
“Would you like me to carry you up the stairs?” he asked flirtatiously, head dipping towards yours.
You took this opportunity to tease him. You stepped back, gave him an up-down assessing look, then said, “I don’t think you’re strong enough to carry me.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”
“Maybe,” you smirked. “You strong enough to prove me wrong?”
He only smirked once before you were being swept off your feet. You yelped as your arms flew around George’s neck automatically to hold on. He laughed before walking out of the Great Hall and towards the Gryffindor dorms. Throughout, though, your eyes did not leave each other, lost in each other's gazes as if the rest of the school did not exist.
He finally set you down once you were in the common room, which was empty, only a lit fire in the hearth creating a warm atmosphere. However, the warmth of the fire was nothing compared to the warmth of George’s gaze as he looked at you. By this point, your hair had come slightly loose from its updo, a couple of the strands falling onto your forehead, which he gently reached out to brush back.
Unconsciously, you leaned into his touch, which released a swarm of butterflies in George's chest. Had you always been this adorable?
“You know,” you started quietly. “We never did get to have that kiss.”
“Yeah…we didn’t,” he whispered, stepping closer. His hands settled on your waist once again, and yours wound around his shoulders.
His eyes flicked to your lips as he leaned in a little more, your noses brushing once again, and this time, you closed your eyes and leaned in further. He followed, both of your hearts pounding in your chests until your lips met, and suddenly everything went silent. The crackling of the hearth, the faint sounds of music, and both of your erratic breathing, none of it existed anymore. Only the feeling of his lips pressed to yours, moving in a rhythm built by the drumming of your hearts. His hands on your waist pulled you closer as he kissed you deeper, like he’d been starved of you for ages. A soft sound escaped him, somewhat like a whine but with yearning that all doubts you might’ve had about ruining your friendship dissolved into nothing. Because this kiss was proof that this was meant to be. This one kiss told you that George would protect your heart forever, and you would protect his.
You two pulled away after a while with bright smiles and swollen lips and heavy breathing, yet unbelievably light hearts.
“Let's go up to my room?” you asked, and he nodded without hesitation.
In your room, you approached your bed and turned your back towards him. “Do you mind unzipping the dress?”
George stood behind you, and you could feel the heat of his body behind you. It thrilled you endlessly. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of your neck before sliding down the zipper gently. The dress slid down your body and pooled at your feet, leaving you in your underclothes in front of him.
You slowly turned around to face him, feeling weirdly shy.
His breath caught in his chest as he took in sight of you standing in your underwear. “You, love, are the most breathtaking creature I’ve ever seen.” He tentatively rested his hands on your hips again as if he was handling something fragile and delicate.
You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back. “I’m gonna change into my pjs. Make yourself comfortable.”
He nodded and watched you walk away with a whipped smile on his face.
You returned a few minutes later in your PJs to find George sitting at the edge of your bed in his undershirt and briefs. His elbows rested on his knees, and you couldn’t help but be taken by his very toned arms. Years of Quidditch had given him a beautiful physique, and you mentally chastised yourself for not appreciating it sooner.
“You still look handsome,” you smiled as you stepped between his legs. Your hands went to tangle in his hair as he peered up at you dreamily.
“And you still look breathtaking,” he murmured. “It's unfair.”
You chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. It was odd that it didn’t feel odd, considering your first kiss happened mere minutes ago. Yet the usual shyness that comes with a first kiss, with being vulnerable with a person for the first time, was nowhere to be found in either of you. Perhaps that's the best part about being with your best friend. There’s no shame, no nerves, just comfort and the feeling that for once, something is going incredibly right.
“Can you help me with my hair?” you asked softly.
He nodded, letting go of you so you could settle in front of him. His hands went to your hair and gingerly started fishing out the sparkly clips and bobby pins in your hair. He was unbelievably gentle, making sure not to tug on your hair too much and apologizing every time he accidentally pulled too hard.
When he was done, he buried his fingers in your hair and massaged your scalp for a couple of minutes.
“Mmmm, you’re a godsend,” you tipped your head back into his touch, utterly blissed out.
He laughed softly. “I remember you complaining last year when you did that bun for your birthday that your head was hurting. Figured it’d be the same this time around.”
You turned around to face him, causing his arms to fall to his sides.
“Someone should’ve told me sooner that dating your best friend is like this. I would’ve given in way sooner,” you teased.
He smiled and leaned in, as did you, and your lips met once again in a soft, loving kiss. The rest of the night was spent with you making out in your bed until you got tired and fell asleep.
Synopsis: Steve says that it's casual when everyone knows it's not, including himself.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Words: 2.8k
Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending, uses of baby, reader is anxious, Steve's a bit insecure, I think that's all, lmk if I missed anything :>
Thanks to @uzmacchiato for the divider(s) <3
Being Robin's friend had its perks.
You have so many funny stories with her, you knew each other's deepest secret. And of course, you used to have free ice cream when she was still working at Scoops Ahoy, even if it led you to Russians and weird monsters. And now you get to be able to give back tapes a bit later than you should.
And needless to say, one of the best perks has to be Steve. You weren't fond of him at first, the high-school image that you had of him was still engraved in your mind. But when you saw him for the first time in his ridiculous sailor outfit being so awkward at every interaction he had, yeah, maybe he wasn't that bad.
Unsurprisingly, fighting monsters that shouldn't even exist and Russians that were convinced that you knew more than you were telling made you way closer to Steve. Going from acquaintance to friends to maybe something more now.
Since they started to work at Family Video, you went almost every day. At first, it was to mainly see Robin after your own work, needing to rant about those awful customers at the record store. But Steve quickly involved himself in the ranting. And he was always so supportive of any story you were telling. His big brown eyes were so focused on you, hanging on every word you were saying like it was the most interesting thing he got to hear all day. And it probably was with how little things were happening in the store.
And recently, you were starting to feel like he was caring more than the stories you were telling. Each time you were being upset about something that happened earlier in the day, you could be sure that his hand would find any part of your body. A hand squeezing your shoulder, fingers brushing yours, or even his arm wrapping around your shoulders.
He was always dropping you off knowing that you were taking the bus to come here, and those moments were dragging since you were always speaking for ages about everything even when you were already stopped in front of your house.
You even had some 'friendly dates' on your rest days, going to take a coffee or just going at each other for movies that could escalate to some cuddles while rewatching Blade Runner because it was your favorite, and Steve just wanted a good reason to hold you close.
You always tried to brush it off, thinking that Steve was just being affectionate and caring as a friend, even if Robin always told you that it was anything but friendly. He has always been touchy with his friends. And you didn't want to have your hopes up because it had been easy to fall for Steve.
But it had also been easy to know that you weren't really Steve's type.
You weren't the type of girl that he went for. You weren't some flirty girls, giggling at every dumb joke he was throwing at them. You were awkward, not really comfortable with social interactions, and absolutely not a flirt.
But when Steve started to show even more interest in you, starting to even kiss you, after making sure you were comfortable with it, you couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, you could be his type.
One night, after dropping off Robin, you stayed together in his car, his hand around the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the skin there.
"Are you free Saturday night?" You heard him ask, his head getting closer to yours, his breath warm against your skin.
You blinked at him before nodding. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"
"You, me, and the restaurant at the corner? Your favorite?" Steve asked, a big grin on his face.
The question didn't even really register that you were already nodding, your cheeks feeling warmer.
"Yeah, sounds good."
"Perfect. See you tomorrow, baby." His lips went on your cheek, leaving a long kiss before waving at you the moment you were getting out of the car.
You couldn't wait for Saturday to arrive.
You opened the door of Family Video with your feet, your hands holding two cups of coffee, still hot and ready to be consumed by your two favorite persons.
As you were about to knock on the rest room's door, you heard them talking, and you couldn't help but listen when you heard your name.
"So... you two?" Robin asked, and even without seeing her face you could hear the smile on her lips.
"Us two?"
"Yeah, dingus. You're all over each other. And she's always so comfortable around you. Which means a lot coming from her." She says, and you smile as if you were hearing Robin.
"Oh, yeah, I mean... she's nice and pretty and all. But I'm not sure if this could work actually." You heard Steve shrug before continuing to talk. But you were too focused on what he previously said to even follow the rest of the conversation.
It was like everything around you disappeared. Your ears were ringing, your breath getting heavier as his words were repeated over and over in your head.
Not sure if this could work.
He said it so easily, like what you did together was nothing. Like every kiss, every date that wasn't labeled as a date but definitely was, every sweet word whispered in the middle of the night meant absolutely nothing for him.
The burning sensation of the hot cups in your hands brings you back to reality, and you quickly take a big breath before knocking on the door, your eyes a bit misty as you enter the rest room, your gaze focused on Robin.
"Coffee delivery." Your voice lacked the usual jolly tone you usually had around them. It was obvious you were seconds away from breaking down.
"You're a lifesaver, baby, thank you so much." Steve said as he stood up, arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to plant a kiss on your forehead before taking the cup.
"Yeah, thank youuuu... Today is way too long, it's hell... I swear I will start hallucinating customers if no one is coming." Robin spun on her chair, looking like she was seconds away from breaking down.
You just gave them a small smile that didn't even reach your eyes. And unfortunately for you, Steve was good at noticing that.
"You okay there?" He nudged his nose against your temple, a frown on his stupidly perfect face.
"Yeah, just tired. I... I think I'm just going to head home." And the moment you said that, you saw the way Steve was getting pouty, a sad frown taking place on his lips.
"Yeah? You need anything? The store is dead, I'm sure I can drop you off."
You just shook your head, not wanting to stay longer here. "I'm okay. Thank you, Steve." You pushed yourself away from him, his warmth leaving you.
"Okay, be safe, baby. Call me if you need anything." Steve leaned down to plant a kiss on your lips, but you were quicker than him, and you were already at the door, waving them goodbye.
The moment you were gone, Steve gave a confused look at Robin, and she could only respond with the same look, not sure what happened for you to act like that.
After that day, you didn't come after work to see any of them. You were feeling bad for your best friend because she didn't do anything to you. But it's not like you could separate them. They were attached to the hip. And seeing Robin meant seeing Steve. Which was what you were trying not to do.
You spend your nights getting in your head, thinking about what made Steve want to keep things casual. If you were maybe too much or not enough. You didn't have much experience with boys, maybe that was a turn-off, especially for someone like Steve. He could have anyone he wanted. Why would he choose you? He probably just liked the attention you were giving him so easily after being rejected for way too long.
Your thoughts were cut short by the sound of the phone ringing. You were too tired to even think that it could be Steve, so you answered, voice low.
"Yeah?"
"Thank god I thought you weren't going to answer." Steve's voice could be heard on the other line of the phone, relief obvious in his tone.
You gulped at his voice, tempted to just end the call. You were silent, not really in the mood to make conversation.
"Are you okay there, baby?" He asked, and you could hear how confused he was.
"Why did you call?" You finally asked, trying your best to not let your voice shake.
Steve scoffed at that question like it personally offended him. "Because I'm worried? I barely saw you this week. I miss you."
"If you say so." You whispered to yourself.
"What do you mean if I say so? You don't believe me?" He sounded hurt by your words.
"I don't know, Steve... I'm sorry."
"What do you mean you're so—" But you hang up before he can finish. You weren't ready to have that discussion now. And even if it was killing you to ignore him all week, you needed time for yourself.
Eventually, Saturday came, and you were sure that he wasn't going to come for that date you planned. Why would he when you ignored him for a week and hung up on him?
But, oh boy, you were so wrong because three loud knocks were heard at 7pm sharp. And you did open the door, thinking it would be someone other than Steve. You had been stupid enough to think he would give up that easily.
The moment the door opened, you were met by a cleaned-up Steve, pretty polo on, hair done nicely, and flowers in his hand.
"Hi." Steve said, his breath short, almost like he was nervous to even be here.
"Hey." You whispered back, fingers curling around the knob of your front door, unable to know what to do in this situation.
"So... I wasn't sure if you still wanted to see me. So the reservation is still available, we can go if you want. Or maybe something less fancy if you prefer. Or, uh, maybe I can cook for you if you want to stay home. Which is completely fine. Or I can just leave if you really hate me now. But the flowers would be yours no matter the choice." He rambled, eyes never on you as he talked.
The silence was deafening after that. You weren't sure what to say. You weren't sure if you even wanted to say anything.
But being horrible at social interaction made you say things when you didn't want to.
"Is it casual?" You asked, gaze fixed on his shoes.
Steve blinked a few times before shrugging. "I mean, you can dress however you want. It's not like a super fancy restaurant. So as long as you're comfortable, I'm happy."
Your lips quivered a bit, fighting the urge to smile at his answer. It wasn't what you were expecting him to say at all for that question.
Your fingers tightened their grip around the door handle, your eyes finally gazing up to meet his, seeing how full of hopes they were.
"I mean... is it casual between us?" You finally asked, voice quivering a bit.
It was the first time you saw Steve so lost, no word coming from his pretty pink lips.
"Casual? Why would... baby, why would that be casual?" He was completely panicking, the flowers falling from his hands, not caring about them at all, before he cupped your cheeks to force you to look at him.
You tried to look away, an embarrassed smile on your lips. "I heard you last time with Robin." You shrugged, trying to act like it didn't bother you when it was the only thing you could think about for the last days.
His thumbs were brushing small circles on your cheeks as he leaned even closer, noses touching. "So you heard what we said with Robin and thought that what I wanted was casual?" He asked, and you couldn't even be more confused. Was he playing dumb because he knew he hurt you?
"Uh, yeah? You said that you weren't sure if this could work between us. And, and if you want casual, that's okay. I... I just... I don't think I want that. S'not my thing, I mean... I'm serious about you, and if that's not... I mean, yeah." You started to ramble, hands coming to grip Steve's wrist, needing something to anchor yourself.
What you weren't expecting was to hear Steve laugh. A deep and honest laugh leaving his parted lips as he looked at you with the most confused and endearing face ever.
"And after that?" He asked.
"What do you mean after that?" Now you were the one confused.
"After I said that I wasn't sure if this could work. Did you hear what I said after that?"
You shook your head, not remembering any of the words that he could have said after. You just remember the way your throat tightened and your chest felt hollow after you heard that, heart beating so loudly you could only hear it.
Steve just smiled at the admission before pecking your nose. "Okay. So... after I said that, Robin threw a pen at me because she thought I was being an asshole. And I can understand because that sounded awful now that I think about it."
A small smile made its way onto your lips at his words, and Steve couldn't help but lean to gently peck those lips that he missed so much during those last days, letting you have the time to pull back if that wasn't something you wanted to do. But he was happy you didn't push him away.
"So I made myself clear and said that I thought you were too good to me." He mumbled against your lips. "Because you're so kind to the others, always thinking about their well-being even when you're not comfortable yourself." He kissed the corner of your lips. "You're actually really pretty it's kinda hard to stop looking at you." He smiled when you squeezed his wrist at his words. "You always make me smile and happy when you're there even when I'm not in the mood. Like wow, you're the sun in person." His fingertips were still rubbing small circles on your cheeks.
"And I'm not used to all that serious shit. I don't think I'm good enough, and I don't want to hurt you in the process of whatever you want to become. Can't say I've been the best with my past relationships. So yeah, I thought us being casual would be easier. But I was so wrong. So so so wrong. It's harder knowing you're not mine officially, and I want that. To be official with you, being able to scream to everyone that you're my girlfriend."
You never thought you would hear Steve say that one day. Not to you. But when you thought you were just a background character in his life, you had been his whole damn world the entire time.
"I... I thought you didn't want me." You whispered, embarrassed to even admit that.
"I know I'm dumb but not that dumb." He rolls his eyes playfully at your words, earning a giggle from you.
"I just, I let the thoughts in my head get the best of me."
"You should have talked to me, baby. You know I'm here for you." He hummed before kissing you again. "Okay?"
"Okay, I'm sorry for ignoring you instead of talking. I just didn't want to face you when I thought you didn't want me like I wanted you." You mumbled, your voice a bit muffled by his lips still so close to yours.
"It's okay. We can talk better about it later. For now, I'm going to cook whatever you want because you deserve it after being sad all week. Showing you that I'm a good boyfriend." Steve said as he wiggled his eyebrows, warm eyes looking at you with so much love.
"Sounds good to me, boyfriend." You giggled, the weight of the week finally off your shoulders.
His arms went around your waist, pulling you in a big hug, his body surrounding yours completely. His scent was so strong as your face was hidden in his neck, enjoying the way he was hugging you.
"Just need to hold you, if that's okay." His voice rumbled against your head.
You just nodded against his neck, sighing happily that every bad thought you had for the last days was just your brain making up things.
here's a little teaser for the PR relationship to real relationship fic with Oscar!! I haven't had any motivation to complete this, so please lmk how it is and bully me into finishing it
Miracles happen.
If anyone were to doubt it, one look at your life would prove it. One second, you were invited on a brand trip to the Las Vegas GP last November (don’t know how that happened either, honestly, considering you were pretty new to the content creation space). The next second, you were in a PR relationship, a showmance, as some call it, with the epitome of calmness and composure, Oscar Piastri.
I’d offer to backtrack, but I don’t know how you got here either.
Now, you and Oscar get along, you really do. He’s a good friend, a very sweet guy, and he genuinely cares for you, maybe too much, which is easy to tell. But that’s precisely why you don’t like this charade. Even though this has helped you grow your account exponentially, helped get a ton of brand deals, even McLaren for their merch, and get all sorts of opportunities for branching out, it feels fraudulent. Well, it is, but not for the obvious lying, but because you’re not romantically interested in Oscar. You like him, you really do, as a friend, which hurts because when, inevitably, this PR relationship ends, since let's face it: Oscar Piastri is a catch and anyone would be lucky to have him, you’re going to be forced to part ways with him when you want him in your life. You want him as a friend. At least that's what you tell yourself. But what girlfriend would be comfortable with her boyfriend being friends with his ex? Even if that ex was just a publicity stunt, which you knew was a secret you and Oscar would take to the grave.
So it's best if you just savoured your time with him.
Since last November, you have been following Oscar around the world for the races, posing as the perfect WAG: you’ve been socializing with the other WAGs (Carmen and Kika are your favourites), treating the paddock like a runway (since fans seem to get offended if people dress normally), you’ve perfected your polite smile for the cameras, and have been holding your hands in prayer for when Oscar is in the race, praying to whatever god listening that, at the very least, he won’t get hurt. That last part is probably the only thing that's not fake. Well, that and the friendship with Carmen and Kika.
“How much longer will this go on?” you had asked your manager in reference to the charade, to which you received a non-committal response. Great, so I’m stuck here for now.
Aside from the pretending, it has actually been fun. You’d be lying if you said otherwise. Attending the races is great, and being there with Oscar is fun, too. As mentioned before, you get along really well, so it's super fun hanging out with him and experiencing a level of luxury you have never known before. Besides, being a WAG comes with its own bonuses, like everywhere you go, you’re treated like royalty, you get VIP access to events, tables at the most exclusive restaurants and clubs that would never let you in otherwise, and a million high-profile connections.
You find yourself getting used to this lifestyle, wanting to bask in all the pampering, and you have to constantly remind yourself that this is all transient.
Unfortunately for you, Oscar seems intent on making you fall in love with him. He might not even be doing it on purpose, who knows? He has three sisters, so obviously, the man knows how to treat a woman right, because if not, there are four women (his mom included) at home to treat him very wrong. But he does little things here and there, mindless little details that genuinely surprise you that another person would ever pay that much attention to you. Listen to you intently. It really doesn’t help because this is supposed to be just pretend, right? So why did your heart do a little flutter when he remembered your coffee order perfectly? When he knelt in the middle of the paddock because you said the strap to your heel felt loose? When he recited your very detailed explanation of why Iron Man is the best Avenger, or why Logan Lerman is one of the most underrated actors of the century?
The list could honestly go on, but the point has been made. The man is unfairly attentive to everything you say, to the needs you haven’t voiced, to the thoughts you haven’t fully formed, and slowly but surely, you have been falling for Oscar Piastri.
To see how this man is infuriatingly boyfriend material, we have to see some of the incidents that have taken place since this whole thing started.
Hii can I request a max and ex wife reader where she’s dating someone else and the kids like the person and max is super jealous and angsty but then things end up not working out between her and the other person so her and max decides to try again and their kids are even happier so max asks if they’re sad the person mom was dating isn’t around anymore but no they’re just happy mummy and daddy are together again
Back Home Again
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ex!Reader
Summary: After a quiet breakup and years of co-parenting Max thought he’d made peace with losing you. But when your kids start talking more about your new boyfriend, he starts to wonder if it's really too late, or if he still has a chance to bring his family home. (Requested)
6.2k words / Masterlist
The paddock was alive, the usual energy of race weekend in full swing, but Max barely heard a thing. His world had narrowed sharpened into a tunnel vision of you.
Max felt you before the crowd even parted like his brain had been wired to find you first, even when he swore he’d stopped looking.
You were laughing.
Not at him, not with him, but with someone else.
Harry was crouched beside your daughter, carefully tying the laces on her shoes like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your son stood beside them, hand gripping Harry’s as he chattered about something Max couldn’t quite hear over the noise of the garage. Harry laughed, nodded, ruffled his hair.
It was domestic, comfortable, present.
And you? You looked happy, relaxed even.
Your sunglasses were perched in your hair, your sundress fluttered around your knees, and your arms were loosely crossed over your chest as you smiled down at them. Soft. At peace.
That that twisted something deep inside Max’s chest. Not just sharp like jealousy, not just bitter like resentment. It was worse than that.
It was longing.
He had invited Harry.
He’d invited him.
Stupidly, maybe, naively. He told himself it was for the kids that they’d feel more comfortable seeing them getting along, that including Harry would make Max the bigger person.
He’d even said it out loud, in a strained laugh over the phone a week ago.
“If he makes them happy he should come. It’s fine.”
He’d repeated it until he believed it. Until today.
Because the moment he saw you walk in beside him, wearing a smile that wasn’t for Max he felt something fracture.
You used to look like that with him before it all cracked apart. Before the exhaustion and pressure and distance turned love into silence. Before the calendar swallowed him whole. Before you stopped waiting.
It hadn’t been a brutal breakup… at least not in words. You’d tried to keep it civil, no screaming, no slammed doors. Just two people standing in the wreckage of something they didn’t know how to save.
You were both so young when the kids came. So in love, but so unprepared. Max was chasing podiums and records, you were chasing normalcy, stability, sleep. You tried to wait for each other, but the gap kept growing. Eventually you stopped reaching across it.
You had always promised each other you’d stay a team for the kids, and you had. Shared custody. Weekend swaps. School pick-ups. Text threads about tooth fairies and fevers and bedtime routines.
He hadn’t expected the ache to linger and never leave.
He hadn’t expected it to live in him like a second heartbeat.
He definitely hadn’t expected it to get worse when you moved on.
At first it was innocent, your son mentioned Harry over dinner one night.
“Harry lets me stay up to watch Star Wars. He knows all the names!”
Then your daughter chimed in.
“He makes pancakes shaped like animals.”
Max had nodded pretending it didn’t gut him, but it only grew. Weekend after weekend. Drop-off after drop-off. And Max… Max stayed stuck in the amber of what-ifs.
What if he’d just come home more?
What if he’d fought harder?
What if you both hadn’t let go so easily?
The mentions didn’t stop. Harry became a regular feature in their stories, trips to the park, school pick-ups, Sunday morning cartoons, inside jokes Max wasn’t part of. They talked about him like he’d always been there.
That’s what hurt the most, not that they liked him, not even that they talked about him, but that it started to feel normal.
The first time your daughter called him “funny like Daddy,” Max had to excuse himself from the table to breathe. The comparison wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t replacing him, but it felt like a slow, inevitable shift like the tide pulling his place in their world further and further out to sea.
He hated himself for how jealous he was. It wasn’t Harry’s fault. The guy wasn’t overstepping. He was good with the kids. Max had no right to be bitter not when he’d been the one who left gaps in the first place. Gaps that needed filling. Routines that needed soft hands and warm smiles and someone who was actually there.
Max had always loved being a father but in building his career he’d watched someone else quietly start building a life with his children.
Somewhere along the line he’d stopped being the one who knew your coffee order, who had a key to your front door, who made the you and the kids laugh until they couldn’t breathe.
Harry wasn’t the enemy.
He was just there.
Filling spaces Max had once taken for granted, maybe that’s what scared him the most. That the ache might not just be about what he lost but about what he might not get the chance to hold again.
Today, today was a knife to the ribs.
The kids clearly adored him. Harry was patient, kind, involved.
And you…
You were supposed to be glowing for him.
Not someone else.
Max had been staring too long he knew it, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away and that’s when he saw it, just for a moment, something shifted.
Your smile faltered.
You laughed at something Harry said, but your eyes didn’t sparkle. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your dress and when Harry stood up and leaned in to say something in your ear, you stepped back. Just an inch.
But Max saw it.
He always did.
You were trying. You were good at that. You always had been. Polished. Graceful. Pulled together, even when everything inside was falling apart.
Max knew you. He knew the difference between your real smile and your carefully constructed one. His jaw tightened. Somewhere behind him someone was calling his name, a mechanic, maybe, a camera crew waiting. He didn’t care.
He didn’t want you to be unhappy he would never wish that for you, but for the first time in months Max let himself wonder if maybe you weren’t as far away as he thought.
The feeling that started blooming in his chest wasn’t bitterness, it wasn’t resentment, it was something softer. Riskier. While the rest of the world saw a perfect little moment Max saw the crack in the picture and for the first time in months… he let himself feel something dangerous.
Something he’d been too scared to let himself feel again.
Hope.
One month later.
The house was quiet but loud in that oddly comforting way it only ever was when the kids were there, soft laughter still echoing faintly down the hallway, the smell of cookies lingering in the kitchen, toys half-forgotten on the couch. It was Sunday afternoon, sunlight spilling across the floorboards in golden patches, and Max was sitting cross-legged on the rug watching his daughter try to braid her doll’s hair while his son built a lopsided Lego tower beside her.
He should have been relaxed. It had been one of those rare, easy weekends, no tantrums, no rushed phone calls, no hurried schedules. Just them. Just his little family. But something itched at the back of his mind, a faint unease that had started Friday night and hadn’t gone away.
They hadn’t brought up Harry once.
Not at dinner. Not during the bedtime stories. Not in the car when they usually told him about all the things they’d done that week. No mention of movie nights, or pancakes, or the little inside jokes they’d picked up.
At first he thought maybe they were just distracted but as the hours passed the silence became too loud to ignore.
He didn’t want to push. He never wanted the kids to feel caught between two worlds, even if he sometimes did. But the question had been buzzing around the back of his mind since Friday night, and now it slipped out almost without him realising.
“So,” Max said casually, keeping his tone light, “what have you guys been up to lately? Any fun stuff with Mum this week?”
His daughter looked up from her doll, thoughtful. “We made cupcakes on Tuesday. Mine had pink icing.”
“And we went to the aquarium,” his son added, reaching for another box of bricks. “Mummy let us feed the penguins.”
Max smiled. “That sounds great.” A small pause. “Was it just you three… no Harry?”
His daughter looked up from her doll, her small face serious in that heartbreakingly grown-up way kids sometimes had. “Mummy said he’s not coming around anymore.”
“Mummy said they’re not boyfriend-girlfriend now. Just friends.” She pronounced it carefully, like she was repeating something she’d heard word-for-word. There was no sadness in her tone, just simple acceptance, the kind that comes from children who trust the world to make sense again eventually.
The words hit Max with a dull thud, knocking the air out of him. He set his mug down before he dropped it, staring at the floor as if it could give him answers.
Max’s chest tightened, but he kept his face calm. “Did she say why?”
“She said she was sorry,” his son said, focused on his toy. “She told us Harry still cares about us, but he won’t be coming over anymore.” The Lego tower fell apart as his son let one of the bricks slip through his fingers.
Max swallowed, trying to keep the emotion from cracking through. “And… how do you feel about that?”
His son shrugged. “It’s okay. We just like being here with you anyway Daddy.”
The words were so simple, so unfiltered, that for a moment Max forgot how to breathe. His throat burned and he had to blink fast to clear the blur in his eyes.
He reached out, pulling them both into his arms, their small bodies warm against him, their laughter muffled against his shirt. He kissed the tops of their heads, letting the weight of the moment settle somewhere deep inside his chest.
“Daaaad!” his son whined dramatically, twisting like a worm. “I’m building a garage! You’re squishing it!”
“Yeah!” his daughter chimed in, legs kicking against the edge of the couch as she clutched her doll like a shield. “We’re busy!”
Max grinned, not letting go. “Nope. Too bad. Come here you little menaces.”
They shrieked with laughter as he pulled them into his lap anyway, arms wrapped around both of them in a playful bear hug. His son tried to wriggle free, pretending to struggle, while his daughter began giggling uncontrollably as Max tickled under her arm.
They wrestled like that for a few more minutes all soft hair and socked feet and half-finished Lego tumbling to the floor until the energy slowly fizzled out and the room settled again.
His son rested his head against Max’s chest, breath coming in little huffs. His daughter curled against his side, fingers still tangled in her doll’s dress. Max looked down at them, one on either side of him, and felt something loosen in his chest. Something old and heavy and aching that had been there for far too long.
He kissed the tops of their heads once, then again and held them close for just a moment longer, listening to the echo of their laughter still lingering in the room.
“I love you guys,” he said quietly, voice thick.
“Love you too Daddy,” his daughter mumbled, already half-asleep.
That night after they’d fallen asleep he stood in the hallway beside their rooms and stared at them for a long time, the faint hum of the city outside blending with the soft rhythm of their breathing.
The news shouldn’t have shaken him the way it did. You had every right to do what you wanted romantically. Every right to end things, to start again, to choose whatever made you happy and yet all he could think about was the way your smile hadn’t quite reached your eyes the last time he saw you and suddenly that whisper of hope he'd felt in the paddock didn’t seem foolish at all.
It felt like something real.
Something worth waiting for.
When you picked up the kids on Monday morning you’d said barely a word. Just a tight-lipped smile and a tired look that didn’t belong to the same woman who used to light up the world around her. You’d kept your sunglasses on even though it was cloudy, and your voice had been gentle but distant when you told him what time you’d be around next.
He’d wanted to ask, to reach out, but he didn’t. You weren’t his to try and save anymore. Except maybe you always would be.
It was Monday night when the text came. He’d just finished dinner, dishes still sitting in the sink, when his phone buzzed softly on the counter.
Hey. Can I call you?
For a moment he just stared at the message thumb hovering over the screen then, without thinking twice, he pressed call. You picked up on the second ring your voice quiet, raw around the edges.
“So I guess they told you?”
Max exhaled slowly, leaning back against the counter, his heart thudding in his chest. “Yeah… they did.”
There was a pause, long enough for him to hear you breathing, the faint catch in your throat when you tried to speak.
“You okay?” he asked finally.
Another silence, then you said softly, “Yeah. I think I knew for a while. I was just holding on for… for comfort, maybe. The idea of someone being there, of not being alone.”
He understood that better than he wanted to admit. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I get that.”
“For the kids?” Max murmured before he could stop himself.
A small, fragile laugh filtered through the line. “Yeah. They liked him. I thought that if they were happy that could be enough and maybe I could be too. That maybe I owed it to them to try and make it work,” you went on, your tone measured, like you’d rehearsed these words a few times already.
“But they don’t need him,” you said after a long pause, and this time your voice trembled. “They already have an amazing dad and I think I… I just needed to be honest with myself.”
Max pressed his palm to the counter, grounding himself, eyes burning, the city outside blurred and distant.
You broke off, and for a moment, all he could hear was your breath catching slightly, like you were trying to steady yourself. “I wanted you to hear it from me… before they said anything.”
That made him look up, though there was no one to see it. “You did?”
“Yeah,” you said. “I didn’t want it to sound like gossip coming from them. I wanted you to know that it wasn’t messy, or ugly, especially with the kids involved.”
Max’s chest tightened at that, not out of triumph, but out of something gentler.
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I appreciate that, but please don’t worry, I know you always put them first.”
You exhaled slowly, and for the first time since you’d called there was a touch of warmth in your voice. “I figured I owed you that much.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” he said automatically, though the truth was it meant more than he could put into words.
“Maybe not,” you replied. “But I still wanted to.”
“How are they doing with it?” you asked.
“They’re okay. They’re really okay.”
You sounded surprised when you let out a soft breath. “Good.”
“They’re resilient,” he said. “They’re also a little distracted. I might’ve promised them ice cream for breakfast next time.”
That earned a real laugh from you. “Dangerous move.”
The kitchen was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator, the world outside his windows still and heavy. He didn’t know what it was, your voice, the silence, or the sudden clarity that seemed to fill the space between them, but something inside Max clicked.
Maybe it was the quiet exhaustion beneath your words that sounded so much like his own. Or maybe it was the realisation that no matter how much time had passed no one could ever really take your place.
“Come over tomorrow… when the kids are at school.” he said, his voice rough.
You hesitated. “Max…”
“Not for the kids,” he added quickly. “For us.”
The silence stretched, a breath held between two people who had once promised forever and then lost it somewhere along the way.
Then you whispered, almost too softly to hear, “Okay.”
For the first time in years Max felt like something broken inside him might finally be ready to heal.
It wasn’t overnight.
There was no grand romantic gesture, no dramatic kiss in the rain, no sweeping declarations that instantly erased the years of pain and miscommunication.
No coming back together was quieter than that.
Slower.
Earned.
The first time you came over after the call Max wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d spent the whole day trying not to overthink it, rearranging pillows that didn’t need moving, setting out mugs and then putting them away, checking the time every ten minutes like it would stop the twist in his chest. You weren’t just dropping the kids off. You weren’t coming over for any reason that had a tidy label.
When you finally arrived standing just inside his doorway with your hands clasped tightly together Max froze.
You looked... unsure. Like you were bracing yourself for something, or maybe waiting for him to say the wrong thing so you could turn around and walk back out. That look, that quiet, guarded tension was so achingly familiar it knocked the breath out of him. The same one you used to wear when everything between you was held together with duct tape and silent hope. When love didn’t feel like enough, but you didn’t know how to let go yet.
Max opened his mouth. Thought about saying hi, or maybe you look good, or even just I’m glad you came but nothing landed right. So instead, he gave you a small, uncertain smile and stepped back to let you in.
He made tea, because it was what he used to do after long days and the memory of you curled up on his couch with your hands around a chipped mug made the kitchen feel less cold.
You sat across from him at the kitchen table, cradling the mug between your palms like it was something delicate. For the first ten minutes, the conversation stayed safely tethered to the kids, school drop-offs, missing socks, the Halloween costume your daughter had changed her mind about three times.
But the air was tight. Your shoulders didn’t drop, your tea barely cooled, and every time you looked at him, your mouth opened just a little too long before you spoke, like you were swallowing words before they could make it out.
Max couldn’t stop watching the way your thumb traced circles against the ceramic. The way your mouth twitched a small, unconscious tug of muscle that always came when you were trying too hard to hold something back.
Finally after a silence that stretched just long enough to sting, you set the mug down with a soft clink and looked up.
“I think…” Your voice caught, and you took a breath. “I think I’ve been lying to myself.”
Max didn’t speak.
“Telling myself I was over it. Over us. That I was fine. That I’d moved on.”
You gave a small, bitter laugh one that sounded like it had collapsed under its own weight.
“But when I see you with them Max… just being there. Just you. The way they look at you, the way you look at them...”
You shook your head, like it was still hard to admit out loud.
“I realised I’ve been trying to replace something that was never finished in the first place.”
He didn’t know what it was your voice, or the truth in it, or the silence that followed but something inside him cracked open.
He cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
You looked down fingers curling around the hem of your sweater like you used to do when you were unsure of your own feelings.
“I didn’t know how,” you admitted. “I kept thinking… once I let go, once I said we were done, I didn’t have the right to ask for anything more.”
“You never needed to ask,” he said quietly.
“I miss them when I’m not with them,” you whispered. “But I missed you too. In all the little places I promised myself I’d stop looking.”
Max turned his face to the window. The city lights beyond the glass blurred into indistinct shapes, the world soft and far away.
His throat felt thick. His hands curled slowly into fists against the table.
“I’m not the same guy you left,” he said after a beat. “I never stopped wanting to be better for them. For you.” His voice shook just a little. “I’ve just been hoping, every single day, that maybe… it wasn’t too late.”
He wanted to feel relief and he did, somewhere deep down but mostly what flooded him was everything he hadn’t let himself say. The months of watching Harry slip into a space that used to be his. The ache of hearing your kids talk about someone else’s pancakes, someone else’s laugh, someone else’s presence at the dinner table.
He hadn’t hated Harry, but he’d resented him for getting the version of you and your life Max had spent years trying to save and had still lost.
“I used to see him with them, with you,” Max said finally, voice low, unsteady, “and all I could think was… that should be me.”
His eyes flicked up to meet yours. “Not just the bedtime stories or the walks in the park. It was the way you looked at him sometimes like you were really trying and I told myself I was happy for you. That I should be. But it…” He trailed off, jaw tightening.
“It gutted me.”
You didn’t speak. Didn’t interrupt.
Max exhaled, shaking his head a little, more to himself than to you.
“And I couldn’t ever blame you for it,” he said, quieter now. “Because I’m the one who let us fall apart.”
“We both let it fall apart,” you said. “Neither of us knew how to ask for help until it was already broken.” You looked down at the table, blinking slowly. “So no… you don’t get to take all the blame.”
Max who had spent so many nights sitting with that ache, turning it over like a stone in his hand just nodded.
Neither of you said everything you wanted to that night. There were too many years layered between the words, too many scars that hadn’t fully faded.
You didn’t jump into each other’s arms.
You circled one another, careful, cautious, the way people do when they’ve known what it’s like to lose.
Max started showing up more not just as a father, but as himself.
He stopped asking for extra days with the kids and just… stayed. He lingered after drop-offs, offering to help with bath time, with bedtime stories, with forgotten homework. At first you were hesitant. You’d both worked so hard to set clear boundaries. To not blur the lines, but somewhere between the quiet Monday nights and the shared routines the lines began to soften.
He hadn’t become someone entirely new he was still Max. Still driven, still focused, still chasing podiums with the same fire that had once made it impossible to slow down. But now there was space between the race weekends. Space that he was learning how to fill, not with distractions or distance, but with intention.
He made time. Not by sacrificing his goals, but by carving out room for the things that grounded him and you could see the difference, not in grand declarations, but in the quiet moments. The steady presence. The way he asked how you were, and this time actually stayed in the moment long enough to hear the answer and work through it.
And you… you let him in.
One night after dinner at your place, the kids already asleep upstairs, you found yourselves sitting on the living room floor surrounded by old photo albums. You hadn’t planned it. One of them had asked to see baby pictures, and after they went to bed, neither of you had the heart to put them away.
There was one photo your son curled up on Max’s chest, your newborn daughter tucked into your arms, both of you looking exhausted and impossibly young.
You’d stared at it for a long time before saying quietly, “We really tried didn’t we?”
Max’s voice had cracked when he answered, “We did.”
There was no bitterness in the silence that followed. Just a kind of wistful honesty. A shared memory of something that had once been good and the ache of having let it go.
Now there were new moments, soft and small, building something that felt even more fragile because this time, there was no illusion of invincibility. You both knew how easily things could fall apart.
He started making you breakfast again the way you liked it, even though you never told him. He remembered. He always remembered.
You texted him more when the kids were being particularly cute or particularly impossible, and he started texting back just to ask if you were okay, even when they weren’t with you and you did the same.
One Friday night after putting the kids to bed in his Monaco apartment, you stayed a little longer. Long enough for him to open a bottle of wine. You sat out on the balcony together, the city glittering below, the late-summer breeze lifting strands of your hair from your shoulders.
His voice was low, rough around the edges like he’d been holding the words in for too long.
“I never stopped loving you, you know.”
It hung in the air between you like a secret finally set free.
You turned your head slowly to look at him. He wasn’t watching you, his eyes were on the skyline, jaw tense, hands wrapped tightly around the stem of his wine glass.
You leaned into his side, resting your head against his shoulder, letting your fingers brush against his just enough to make his hand twitch.
“I know,” you said softly. “Me neither.”
His breath caught, barely audible, and then you felt his arm slide around your back, tentative at first, then firmer.
You didn’t kiss that night.
You didn’t need to.
Weeks later and the late afternoon sun cast a golden hue across the school parking lot, the kind of light that softened everything. Max stood beside you on the curb, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, sneakers scuffing the pavement as he watched the flood of children pouring out of the school doors.
You were there, right beside him.
Not as an ex.
Not as a co-parent.
Not as two people pretending to be fine.
But as something real again.
The drive over had been quiet, you’d smiled at him when he stopped for your favourite to-go drink. He’d reached across the centre console and brushed your hand with his thumb at the red light. These small things had become your rhythm again, familiar, tentative, sweet.
You saw the kids before they saw you, your daughter’s unmistakable bounce as she tore across the playground, schoolbag flapping wildly behind her. Max barely had time to brace himself before she launched straight into his arms.
“Daddy!” she squealed. “You’re here too!”
You laughed as she wiggled out of his arms and came to you, arms wrapping tightly around her, lifting her off the ground.
Max crouched just as your son came into view, his backpack slung low and eyes already lighting up at the sight of both of you.
“Hey little man,” Max grinned, ruffling his hair in that way that always made him grin.
He smiled wide, but then his expression shifted into something Max had seen more and more lately, suspicion. Sharp. Thoughtful. The kind of calculating squint only children could pull off with conviction.
He looked between you and Max, his small brow furrowing.
“Is Daddy your boyfriend again?” he asked, voice dead serious.
You froze just slightly, the question hanging in the air like the slow toll of a bell.
Max met your eyes, searching, checking. This had been your worry. Not media fallout. Not gossip.
The kids.
Always the kids.
You nodded slowly, keeping your gaze on them. “We’re trying again,” you said, voice soft but steady hoping they’d understand.
For a heartbeat no one said anything.
Then your daughter let out a delighted shriek, all energy and limbs, and your son’s face broke into a toothy grin as he shouted, “Yessss!” before throwing his arms around both your legs.
Laughter spilled out of all of you, and Max felt something loosen in his chest, like an old knot finally coming undone.
It was chaotic and loud and unfiltered, two little people unable to contain their joy. They didn’t ask why now, or what had changed, or if it would last.
They just knew they had you both.
That night Max was sitting cross-legged on the carpet of his daughter’s room, the soft hum of her lullaby playlist drifting through the air. The lights were dimmed to that perfect level she liked just enough glow to chase the shadows away.
She was in her pyjamas, cheeks flushed with sleepiness and the afterglow of an exciting day.
He helped her climb into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and smoothing her blanket down the way she liked. He kissed her forehead and reached for the light, but paused, the question already rising in his throat before he could stop it.
It wasn’t really fair. He knew that, but the insecurity still clawed at him, quiet and relentless.
“Hey…” he said, softly. “Can I ask you something?”
She blinked up at him, sleep-heavy and content. “Mmhm.”
He hesitated. “Do you… miss Harry?”
She blinked again, her brow creasing slightly as she processed the question and then with all the honesty only a child could manage, she said, “No.”
His heart jumped. “No?”
She shook her head, her voice even and unbothered. “He was nice, but…”
“But what?” Max asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper.
She smiled the kind of smile that didn’t belong to a kid who knew how to lie. The kind that was simple, warm, and whole.
“But it’s better when you and Mummy are together.”
Max froze, his breath catching in his throat. His hands stilled on the edge of the blanket. He felt everything, relief, guilt, gratitude, love crash into him all at once, sweeping through his chest like a tidal wave.
He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, letting his lips linger there longer than usual, as if he could somehow press his whole heart into that one tiny spot.
“I think so too,” he murmured.
Later that night after the kids were asleep and the house had gone quiet except for the soft tick of the hallway clock, Max found you standing at the top of the stairs.
You were leaning against the wall, arms crossed over your chest, eyes a little glassy. You’d heard.
“I didn’t mean to ask her,” Max said, guilt woven through his voice. “It just… slipped out. I was scared she missed him.”
You shook your head. “Don’t be sorry. I get it.”
He stepped closer, stopping just in front of you. You were barefoot, your sweater slipping off one shoulder, and there was a look on your face that made his chest ache like you were still trying to believe this was real.
“Still think we’re crazy for trying again?” he asked quietly, the faintest tremble in his voice.
You looked up at him, eyes searching his. Then, with the softest smile, you stepped into his arms and wrapped yours around his waist, holding him tight.
“Only the good kind,” you whispered against his chest.
In that hallway, in the stillness of your shared quiet, Max closed his eyes and held you like he wasn’t ever going to let go again.
It had been twelve months since that afternoon at the school gates, where everything began again, slowly, quietly, and this time intentionally.
Twelve months of learning how to love again, not from scratch, but from a deeper place, one built on everything they’d already been through the mistakes, the heartbreak, the letting go, and the even harder task of choosing each other again.
Now Max stood on the beach just outside your Monaco apartment, the sky dipped in amber and pink, the sun lazily beginning to set over the water. The soft sound of waves lapped against the shore, and a light breeze played through his hair as he adjusted the cuffs of his linen shirt.
He was nervous.
Which was absurd really he’d loved you forever, had a whole life with you, a home, children. He’d seen you at your strongest and your most fragile, had watched you give birth, watched you walk away, and then somehow watched you come back.
Still his hands trembled slightly as he reached into his pocket, fingers brushing over the velvet box hidden inside.
A small voice broke his spiral.
“Daddy is it time yet?” your daughter whispered, practically buzzing with excitement, eyes sparkling like it was Christmas morning.
Max crouched to her level, smoothing her hair and glancing over at his son, who was holding a folded note and trying to look very serious.
“Almost,” Max said, glancing toward the path where he knew you’d be coming down any moment. “You both remember what to do?”
Two quick nods.
“Okay. Deep breaths team.”
Just then you appeared at the top of the beach path, barefoot in a soft sundress, hair tousled from the wind, a confused smile playing on your lips as you saw them waiting for you.
All three of them.
Max.
Your son.
Your daughter.
Your heart skipped. “What’s going on?”
“Come here Mummy!” your son called, waving dramatically. “We need you!”
Still laughing you made your way down the sand, eyes flicking between them, warmth blooming in your chest. You were used to surprises, your kids were creative little whirlwinds, but something in Max’s eyes made your breath catch.
He looked calm. Certain. And a little like he might cry.
Once you reached them, your daughter stepped forward first, handing you a flower she had picked earlier and saying sweetly, “This is from me because you’re the best mummy and the prettiest one too.”
Your heart clenched.
Then your son walked over and handed you the folded note. “This is from me. I wrote it all by myself.”
You opened it slowly, unfolding the page and reading the crooked handwriting aloud:
“Dear Mummy, thank you for loving Daddy again. You both smile more now and I like that.”
You laughed eyes already stinging with tears as Max stepped forward, clearing his throat softly.
“I love you… so, so much, more than I ever thought possible, and I know we’ve done this out of order,” he said, his voice was surprisingly steady but thick with emotion. “We fell in love, we had a family, we lost each other and somehow… we found our way back. Not by going back to what we were but by building something new. And everyday I’m thankful we took that chance to try again and I will never take it for granted.”
He pulled the ring from his pocket.
It wasn’t flashy in the way that screamed for attention but it was stunning. Elegant. Thoughtfully chosen. The kind of ring that caught the light just enough to make you pause, not just because of its size, but because of the way it felt.
The band was a graceful, its curves modern but timeless. Inside engraved in Max’s unmistakable handwriting were the words:
‘In every lifetime’
A promise. A history. A beginning again.
Max sank to one knee in the sand, your children now practically vibrating beside him.
“So,” he said, looking up at you with eyes that held years of history, mistakes, and hope, “I was wondering if you’d let me try again. Officially. Will you marry me?”
You were already crying.
Your hands covered your mouth and for a second, the world blurred nothing in focus except this man.
You nodded, laughing through your tears. “Yes. Of course I will. Yes!”
Cheers erupted, mostly from your children, who jumped up and down in the sand, arms flung around both of your necks as Max stood to pull you into him, kissing you as the sky behind you melted into gold.
Later that night, your daughter climbed into your lap and whispered, “I knew you’d say yes.”
“How?” you asked, brushing her hair back gently.
“Cause you love Daddy and princesses always say yes when it’s love.”
Max smiled from the kitchen overhearing the tail end of it and you met his eyes across the room.
Heyy could I request something ? I got this idea from a video I saw where the guy said he didn’t want to wear the wedding ring because it felt uncomfortable. Maybe Max tells reader this and the reader gets upset and kinda does the same to provoke him ?
Thank you 🌷
A Matter of Principle
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader
Summary: Max says his wedding ring doesn’t matter in order to symbolise your love, but when yours disappears too Max learns that jealousy has a way of making symbols feel very real.
5.2k words / Masterlist
Max stopped wearing his wedding ring so casually that at first you thought he'd simply forgotten it.
You noticed it over breakfast, his left hand wrapped around a mug while he scrolled through something on his phone, his thumb moving absently across the screen. The pale band of skin around his finger was still there, a faint outline where the ring usually sat, but the gold itself was missing.
“Where’s your ring?” you asked.
He glanced down at his hand as though he hadn’t noticed until you pointed it out.
“Upstairs I think.”
“You think?”
“On the bedside table.” Max took another drink, entirely unconcerned. “I took it off last night.”
You waited for him to explain, but he returned his attention to his phone, forehead creasing at whatever message he was reading. You told yourself there was nothing unusual about it. He sometimes removed it when he trained, and once or twice he’d forgotten to put it back on before leaving the house, although usually he noticed within an hour and sent you a message about it.
This time, however, the ring remained on the bedside table.
It was still there when he left for the factory the following morning. It sat beside his watch, placed neatly on the dark wood rather than abandoned carelessly, which somehow made its absence from his hand feel more deliberate.
“You’ve forgotten this again,” you said, holding it out to him as he came back into the bedroom to retrieve his wallet.
Max looked at the ring, then at you.
“I didn’t forget.”
Your fingers slowly curled around it. “You’re not wearing it?”
“No.” The answer came too quickly, without the sheepish smile you had expected, and something unpleasant tightened beneath your ribs.
“Why not?”
Max sighed, already sensing that the conversation was becoming more serious than he believed it needed to be. He stepped closer and placed his hands on your waist, rubbing his thumbs over the soft fabric of your jumper as if affection alone would smooth the concern from your face.
“It’s uncomfortable, it catches on everything,” he explained. “Especially when I’m driving or training. I keep noticing it and I don’t really like wearing jewellery anyway,” flexing his fingers as though the ring had been causing him some terrible physical hardship rather than a faint inconvenience.
“You’ve worn it for nearly two years.”
“Yes and it’s annoyed me for nearly two years.”
You stared at him but he just smiled, trying his best to make it sound harmless. “Not because it’s our wedding ring… just because it’s a ring.”
“It never seemed to bother you before.”
“It did. I just didn’t say anything because I knew you would take it personally.”
“I’m not taking it personally.”
“You are.”
“Well you never said anything.”
“Because I knew you'd be upset.” His answer came too easily. You looked at him for several seconds, waiting for some awareness of how unhelpful that confession was, but Max merely took a small step back.
“So you knew it would hurt me, and you decided to do it anyway.”
His expression tightened. “That’s not what I said.”
“It’s very close.”
“I just told you.” Max lifted one hand to your cheek. “It has nothing to do with you. I love you. I am married to you. I am completely committed to you and a ring does not change any of that.”
“It represents it.”
“To other people maybe.”
“To me.”
His hand fell away from your face and he looked briefly frustrated, although he tried to conceal it. Max had never understood attaching enormous significance to objects. He cared about actions, loyalty and the things that existed privately between you, the parts of your marriage that did not require an audience. To him the ring was a symbol of something he already knew with complete certainty and symbols had always mattered less to him than facts.
The fact was that he loved you.
The fact was that he came home to you.
The fact was that he had stood in front of everyone who mattered and promised that there would never be anybody else for as long as he lived.
He didn’t understand why a narrow band of gold should carry more weight than all of that.
“It doesn’t make me more married when I wear it,” he said carefully. “And taking it off doesn’t make me less married. You know that.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you asking?”
“I suppose I was asking you to care that it means something to me.”
Max’s expression faltered, but only briefly. He stepped back towards you and placed both hands on your waist again, drawing you close despite the stiffness in your body. His voice softened as he kissed your forehead, evidently believing the affection should reassure you more effectively than any further discussion.
“I care about everything that matters to you,” he murmured. “But I think you’re taking this personally when it has nothing to do with you.”
You pulled back enough to look at him. “You keep saying that as if it helps.”
“It should help. I love you.”
“I know.” you repeated
“Then trust that.”
You did trust it. That was almost the most irritating part.
It’s not like Max was trying to appear single. He wasn’t ashamed of you, nor was he concealing your marriage from anybody. He spoke about you constantly, often without realising he had done it, he’d developed a habit of beginning stories with my wife even when your marital status had absolutely no relevance to what followed. There was no hidden intention behind his decision as far as you could tell.
Still, it hurt.
Perhaps because you remembered how he’d looked at the ring on your wedding day, turning your hand beneath the light with a tenderness that had made your chest ache. Or maybe because he’d spent weeks before the ceremony pretending not to care about the design only to privately contact the jeweller three separate times to ensure the engraving was exactly right. Possibly because after the wedding you’d caught him looking down at his own hand with a small, private smile, as though the ring proved something he’d once been afraid he would never have.
It had meant something then.
You didn’t understand why it suddenly meant nothing now.
“I don’t want to argue before you leave,” you said, placing the ring back on the bedside table.
Max studied your face. “Then don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’ve hurt you.”
You gave him a thin smile. “You should go. You’re already late.”
He kissed your forehead before leaving, lingering for a moment as though reluctant to end the conversation there, but he still left the ring behind.
Over the next week you tried to let it go. You reminded yourself repeatedly that he hadn’t changed. There no secret motive for you to uncover, no suspicious behaviour hiding beneath his decision and no sudden reluctance to acknowledge your marriage. Max spoke about you constantly, often with an unmistakable pride that made even strangers aware of how thoroughly his life had rearranged itself around you. He introduced you as his wife when everybody in the room already knew who you were, kept photographs of you tucked into places he thought you’d never noticed and called you after almost every meeting, flight or race because he seemed to measure the passing of his days by when he could speak to you again. He still reached for your hand beneath restaurant tables, and he still pulled you against him in his sleep as though even unconsciousness made him possessive of the space between you. He continued to behave exactly like your husband.
He simply did it without looking like one.
Other people noticed.
His mother asked whether his fingers had swollen from training. One of the mechanics jokingly asked if he’d already lost it. A journalist’s gaze dropped conspicuously towards his hand during an interview before she carefully rephrased a question about how married life was treating him.
Max answered every comment with the same calm explanation.
He didn’t like jewellery.
The ring was uncomfortable for his style of work.
It did not mean anything.
You smiled whenever somebody looked towards you for reassurance, unwilling to admit that each repetition made the irritation beneath your skin burn a little hotter.
The final push came at a sponsor dinner in Monaco.
You were standing beside Max while he spoke with a group of executives, only half following the conversation as you watched a woman at the edge of the group look him over. She was subtle about it, but not subtle enough. Her attention lingered on his face, his shoulders and then, predictably, his bare left hand.
Her smile changed.
She stepped closer.
You watched her direct questions exclusively at him, laugh too brightly at comments that were not particularly funny and touch his forearm while making a point. Max remained oblivious, answering politely and occasionally glancing towards you, but he didn’t move away from her touch until he saw your expression.
Then he shifted immediately, placing a hand at the small of your back and drawing you closer.
“This is my wife,” he said, although you’d already been introduced.
The woman looked briefly embarrassed. “Of course.”
Max’s hand remained firmly against you for the rest of the conversation.
In the car afterwards he glanced towards you several times before eventually saying, “You’re quiet tonight.”
“I’m tired.”
“You’re annoyed.”
“I’m apparently always annoyed now.”
“She knew I was married.”
“After you told her.”
Max frowned.
“She looked at your hand, saw no ring and thought she could try.”
“And then I told her you were my wife.”
You turned towards the window. “Exactly.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re making this into something it’s not.”
“I— I, maybe.” You stuttered slightly, and then looked back out the window.
The ease of your agreement made him suspicious, but he decided to let it go as you said nothing else.
The following morning you removed your wedding ring.
You didn’t announce it, you didn’t leave it pointedly on his side of the bathroom counter or place it somewhere he would be forced to notice. You simply slipped it from your finger while getting dressed and put it inside the small jewellery box in your wardrobe.
For the first few hours Max didn’t realise. He kissed you goodbye, left for a meeting and sent you two irritated messages about traffic. When he returned home in the afternoon he found you in the kitchen arranging flowers that had been delivered earlier that day.
He walked behind you, wrapped both arms around your waist and kissed the side of your neck.
“Who sent these?”
“The foundation.”
“For what?”
“The charity dinner next week.”
He reached around you to examine the card, and his gaze fell upon your hand.
His entire body went still.
You felt the change immediately, although you continued trimming the stem of a flower.
“Where’s your ring?”
The question sounded remarkably similar to the one you’d asked him a week earlier, except there was none of your tentative confusion in his voice. Max sounded sharp, alert and instantly displeased.
“In my jewellery box.”
“Why?”
“It was uncomfortable.”
He released you slowly. You could almost feel him arranging his response, separating what he wanted to say from what he was allowed to say. When you finally turned around, his jaw was set and his eyes were fixed on your bare finger.
“Your ring has never been uncomfortable. You’ve taken it off because I stopped wearing mine.” Max sighed frustrated.
“I thought you said it didn’t matter.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“Perhaps it’s annoyed me for years and I never said anything because I knew you would take it personally.”
His gaze lifted to yours. “You’re doing this to prove a point.”
“I’m just doing the same thing you are.”
“No you aren’t.”
“Why does the reason matter if the ring doesn’t? How is it different?”
“Because you like wearing yours.”
“You don’t get to decide whether I like wearing it.”
“I know you like it.” His voice tightened. “You play with it when you are nervous. You touch it whenever somebody asks about the wedding. You never take it off unless you’re showering or sleeping.”
“Maybe I changed my mind.”
“You didn’t change your mind. You’re trying to irritate me.”
You returned your attention to the flowers, choosing another stem. “Why would it irritate you? A ring doesn’t make me more married, and taking it off doesn’t make me less married. You know I love you. You know I’m committed to you. I shouldn’t need jewellery to prove that.”
Max stared at you in silence.
Hearing his own reasoning returned to him should have ended the argument. Instead, it seemed to make something darker and more complicated move behind his eyes.
“I don’t like it,” he said eventually.
You tried not to smile. “That sounds personal.”
“It is personal.”
“Interesting.”
“Put it back on.”
You looked at him then, unable to conceal your disbelief. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am serious.”
“So you can decide that you don’t want to wear yours, but I have to wear mine because you’ve told me to?”
“I didn’t tell you that you had to.”
“You just said, ‘Put it back on.’”
Max looked increasingly frustrated, not with you so much as with the fact that he had walked directly into a trap constructed from his own words. He rubbed a hand across his mouth, glancing again at your empty finger.
“You’re my wife.”
“And you’re my husband.”
“I know.”
“People can’t tell that when they look at your hand.”
“I’ll tell them.”
“And I’ll tell them,” you shot back quick.
“That’s not the point,” The words escaped before he could stop them.
Your eyebrows rose. “No?”
Max closed his eyes briefly.
He knew he was being hypocritical. He knew every argument he wanted to make could be dismantled with something he’d already said to you, and more importantly, he knew you knew it too.
You waited, but he had nothing else to offer. He couldn’t admit that the sight bothered him without giving validity to everything he’d dismissed, and he was too proud to concede the argument when he still believed his original reasoning made sense.
“All right,” you said eventually. “Then it shouldn’t be a problem.”
The following days became a quiet war.
Neither of you wore your ring and neither of you mentioned it. Max’s discomfort however, became increasingly obvious.
At dinner with friends he watched the waiter smile at you for a little too long while describing the specials. When you thanked him, Max’s hand immediately settled possessively on your thigh beneath the table. At a party an acquaintance you’d met only once before touched your elbow and asked whether you were attending alone. Max appeared at your side before you could answer.
“No,” he said, sliding an arm around your waist. “She’s here with her husband.”
The man blinked. “I didn’t realise.”
You pressed your lips together to hide your amusement.
Max did not find any of it amusing.
Without your ring every innocent interaction seemed to catch his attention, he noticed men looking at you in bars, strangers finding reasons to start conversations and old friends becoming slightly too familiar. Most of them likely would have behaved exactly the same way had the ring been there, but Max no longer had that immediate, visible claim to comfort himself with.
It made him restless.
It also made him clingy.
His hand rarely left your waist in public, he introduced you as his wife with unnecessary frequency. He kissed you more openly, sometimes in the middle of conversations, and stood so close behind you that the front of his body remained pressed to your back.
You knew precisely what he was doing.
He was replacing the symbol he had dismissed with constant physical reminders that you belonged together.
The hypocrisy was so obvious that you expected him to surrender.
Instead, the disagreement became something neither of you could address without reigniting the original argument. Max refused to wear his ring, and you refused to wear yours, while both of you quietly resented the other for making the same choice.
The situation finally broke at the next race weekend.
A set of images from a sponsor dinner appeared online showing you and Max standing several feet apart during a conversation. In one photograph his bare left hand was visible and in another, so was yours.
The speculation began almost immediately.
Most people dismissed it, but enough accounts repeated the suggestion that your marriage might be in trouble for the rumour to reach journalists. A reporter asked Max about it during a media session, disguising the question as casual concern.
Max’s face hardened instantly.
“My marriage is fine,” he answered.
The journalist began to clarify, but Max interrupted.
“It’s more than fine. My wife and I are very happy and there’s no story.”
When he came back to the hotel that evening, he was furious. You were sitting on the sofa when he entered, his phone clenched in one hand. He tossed it down on the table and began removing his jacket with agitated movements.
“They’re saying we separated.”
“I saw.”
“We could’ve released something.”
“A statement announcing that our marriage is intact but neither of us likes wearing jewellery?”
Max looked at you sharply. “This is not funny.”
“I don’t think it’s funny.”
“They’re saying you’ve moved out.”
“I’m sitting in our hotel room.”
“They don’t know that.”
You held his gaze. “You can tell them.”
The reminder of his own words made his jaw clench.
“I did tell them.”
“Then there shouldn’t be a problem.”
“There is a problem when thousands of people think my wife has left me.”
“Why do you care what they think?”
“I don’t care about them.”
“Then who?”
Max turned away, pacing towards the window before facing you again.
“I care that somebody might believe you’re available.”
There it was again, the truth he kept revealing in pieces without ever allowing himself to examine it fully.
“You know I’m not.”
“That’s not the point.”
You stood slowly. “That’s exactly what you said to me.”
“I know what I said.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, and I still believe it. I know you’re committed to me. I know a ring doesn’t change that.”
“But you hate other people not knowing.”
Max didn’t answer.
“You hate the possibility that someone might look at my hand and think there’s space for them in my life,” you continued. “You hate having to explain that I’m your wife after they’ve already approached me, and you hate that people are looking at photographs and questioning whether our marriage is secure.”
“Obviously.”
The answer was quiet, but it came without hesitation.
“That’s how I felt when you took yours off.”
“It’s not the same.”
Your frustration finally broke through. “Why do you keep saying that?”
“Because I didn’t take it off to hurt you!”
“And I didn’t take mine off to make people think I’d left you, I took it off because you made me feel foolish for caring about it.”
Max stopped. You had said versions of the same thing before, but never so directly. His anger faltered as he looked at you.
“You treated the ring like it was meaningless,” you said. “You made me feel shallow.”
“I never said you were shallow.”
“You kept telling me that your love should be enough, as though wanting the symbol as well meant I didn’t trust you. I never thought you were going to cheat on me. I never thought you wanted to look single. I only wanted you to understand that it meant something to see you choose to wear it.”
Max’s eyes lowered towards your hand.
“And when you refused,” you continued, your voice less steady now, “I started looking at mine and feeling stupid. Every time I wore it beside you, it felt as though I was publicly claiming something you’d decided was too inconvenient to acknowledge in the same way.”
“That’s not what I was doing.”
“I know… logically I know, but it’s how it made me feel.”
He came closer, but you stepped back before he could touch you. The movement seemed to wound him more than anything else you’d said.
“I need some air,” you murmured.
“It’s late.”
“I’m going downstairs, not leaving the country.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“I’d like to go alone.”
Max’s face changed. His protective instinct battled visibly with his awareness that following you would only make the situation worse.
You picked up your phone and left before he could decide.
The hotel bar was quiet, occupied mostly by guests finishing late drinks after the event. You found a seat at the far end of the counter and ordered water, wanting space more than alcohol.
You’d been alone for less than ten minutes when a man took the seat beside you. You recognised him vaguely although you couldn’t remember his name. He worked for one of the sponsors and had spoken to you earlier in the evening while Max was occupied.
“Escaping the crowd?” he asked.
“Something like that.”
He smiled. “I was hoping I might see you again.”
The intention behind the comment was clear enough to make you straighten.
“I’m married.”
His gaze dropped predictably towards your hand.
“I heard there might be some uncertainty about that.”
“There isn’t.”
The firmness of your answer should have ended the conversation instead he leaned one arm against the bar. “Then your husband is a very lucky man.”
“We both are.”
“Does he know you’re down here alone?”
You turned towards him fully. “I don’t need my husband’s permission to sit in a hotel bar.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“It sounded like it.”
Before the man could respond, a familiar voice came from behind you.
“She also doesn’t need to explain herself to you.”
Max stood several feet away, his expression too controlled to be anything but anger. His sleeves were rolled unevenly, the top buttons of his shirt undone like he had followed you before he could stop himself.
The man rose. “We were only talking.”
“I heard enough.” When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but unbridled jealousy sat beneath every word.
“Max,” you warned.
His gaze shifted to you, softening for only a second before returning to the man.
“She told you she was married.”
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Then leaving should be easy.”
The man muttered something beneath his breath but walked away. Max watched until he disappeared through the doors, then turned towards you. His restraint was already fraying.
“What were you thinking?”
Your disbelief was immediate. “Excuse me?”
“Sitting down here alone without your ring while people are saying we separated.”
“I told him I was married.”
“He didn’t care.”
“And that’s my fault?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you angry about?”
“That he looked at you as if he had a chance!”
His voice rose enough to draw attention from the other end of the bar. Max noticed it too, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to lower his voice, but the emotion was still there, sharp and impossible to hide.
For a second neither of you said anything more. Then Max looked around the room, like he had only just remembered where you were.
“We’re not doing this here,” he said.
You should have argued. Part of you wanted to, just to make him stand there a little longer with all that jealousy burning under his skin, but the truth was, your own chest felt too tight, and you hated the idea of strangers pretending not to listen.
So you walked past him towards the lifts.
Max followed half a step behind you, close enough that you could feel him there, but not touching you. That somehow made it worse. He was usually all hands when he was like this hand on your waist, fingers at your back, some small claim disguised as care. Now he seemed to know he had lost the right to do it.
The lift ride was silent.
The moment the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, the argument picked up exactly where it had left off.
“You don’t get to be angry at me for this,” you said, turning on him.
Max was already facing you, one hand still on the door handle. “I’m not angry at you.”
“You are.”
“No I’m angry because he thought he had a chance, he sat beside you because he thought you were alone and when you said you were married he looked at your hand and decided he didn’t have to respect it.”
“That is exactly what happened to me when that woman approached you.”
“I know.”
“You dismissed it.”
“I know.”
“Then why are we still having this argument?”
Max stared at you, breathing hard as the anger gradually drained from his face. In its place came something far more exposed.
“Because I was wrong.”
The admission was not enough to soothe you immediately, particularly after weeks of stubbornness.
“You could have said that days ago.”
“I always understood that it upset you,” he continued. “I guess I just didn’t fully understand why.”
“And now?”
Max looked down at your hand. “Now… I still think a ring doesn’t make us married,” he admitted. “I still think what we have is more important than whether other people can see it.”
You waited.
“But I hate that they can’t see it.”
There it was, not quite an apology, but close.
You leaned back against the table. “Why?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if the answer should have been obvious.
“Because you’re mine.”
You gave him a warning look laced with a smirk.
“You know what I mean,” he said quickly. “Not that I own you, but you’re my person. You’re my wife, and I don’t like somebody looking at you and thinking that place beside you might be available.”
“It isn’t.”
“No.” Max stepped closer. “But I like that it tells them before they ask.”
You studied him for a long moment Max came to stand between your knees, his hands settling on your hips. Unlike all the other times he’d touched you over the past week there was no performance in it now, no deliberate need to show anybody what you were to each other. It was only the two of you in the small room.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You made me feel ridiculous.”
“I’m really sorry.”
He bowed his head towards yours, “I thought you were putting too much meaning into an object when you should already know how I feel. I didn’t really consider that wearing it was one of the ways I showed you how I feel.”
“And?”
“And I have been an enormous hypocrite.”
A laugh slipped out before you could stop it.
Max’s mouth twitched. “I knew that would make you happy.”
“A little.”
He brushed his thumb over the place where your ring usually rested.
“I don’t like jewellery,” he said. “That part is true. I still find the ring uncomfortable sometimes.”
You gave him a flat look.
“But I would rather notice it a hundred times a day than make you believe I don’t value what it represents.”
“Then we can find one that isn’t.”
He looked at you. “What?”
“A thinner band. A different material. Something you barely notice. I never said it had to be the exact ring we bought for the wedding.”
Max frowned as though this practical solution had somehow never occurred to him. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“The ring matters because you’re choosing to wear it. I don’t care whether it’s gold, silver, silicone or something you found inside a cereal box.”
“A cereal box?”
“Perhaps not that.”
He smiled properly then, his shoulders finally relaxing.
“I’ll wear the original when we go somewhere important,” he said. “And we can find something more comfortable for every day.”
“That sounds fair.”
“But you have to put yours back on.”
You lifted an eyebrow.
Max corrected himself reluctantly. “I would very much like you to put yours back on.”
“And not because you nearly had an aneurysm when a man assumed I was single?”
He slid one hand around the back of your neck, leaning closer until his forehead rested against yours.
“I trust you,” he murmured. “I don’t trust other people to behave properly around you.”
“You can’t be angry with them for not knowing I’m married when you’re the one who said I shouldn’t need a ring to show it.”
“I can be angry about whatever I like. I simply can’t blame you for it.”
You smiled. “Growth.”
His mouth found yours the kiss beginning soft before deepening with the same possessive edge that had coloured his behaviour all week. His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, and you felt the last of the tension in his body finally ease when your arms settled around his neck.
When he pulled back, he kissed the corner of your mouth once more.
“Will you wear it tomorrow?”
“I haven’t brought mine,” you said.
“It’s here.”
You blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I put it in the hotel safe.”
“You’ve known where it was this entire time?”
“Yes.”
“And you brought it with us?”
His expression became faintly sheepish. “I didn’t like leaving it at home.”
The confession was so painfully hypocritical that you stared at him.
“You carried my wedding ring across countries while insisting it did not matter?”
“Hey, I’ve already admitted I was wrong don’t I get some credit for that?”
“Will you wear yours?”
“Yes.”
“Even if it’s uncomfortable?”
Max sighed dramatically. “Until we replace it.”
You pretended to consider it.
“Then yes.”
The relief on his face was almost comical.
Later he retrieved your ring from the safe and placed it in your palm without immediately asking you to wear it. He sat beside you on the edge of the bed, his knee pressed against yours while he waited.
He held out his hand.
You took his ring first.
For a moment you simply turned it between your fingers, tracing the engraved date hidden along the inside. Then you slid it slowly back onto his finger. Max watched you with an intensity that made the moment feel strangely reminiscent of your wedding, stripped of the ceremony and the guests but not of its meaning.
He picked up yours next.
“I don’t need this to know you love me,” he said, looking at you rather than your hand.
“I know.”
“And you don’t need mine.”
“No.”
“But I will wear it because it matters to you.”
You softened. “And I’ll wear mine because it apparently keeps you from glaring at every innocent man who speaks to me.”
“None of them were innocent.” He growled.
“Max.” You laughed as he slipped the ring back onto your finger.
His thumb passed over it once, then again, and you watched the familiar satisfaction settle over his face. He lifted your hand to his mouth, kissing directly above the band before lacing your fingers together.
The rings didn’t make you married. They didn’t create the loyalty between you nor did they guarantee it. They couldn’t carry the full weight of every promise you had made or every private thing your marriage had become, but as Max stared down at your joined hands, both bands finally returned to their places he seemed to understand that symbols did not have to replace the truth to matter.
The wind in the Illyrian camps is different from the rest of Prythian.
Sharper. Crueler.
It cuts straight through leathers and skin and bone until even breathing starts to ache.
By the time night falls, you’re exhausted.
The day had been long—training females who still flinched every time they made a mistake, quietly correcting stances when the males nearby muttered disapproval, pretending not to notice the glares burning into your back.
Cassian had been gone most of the afternoon, dragged from one meeting to another with camp lords and commanders already testing his patience.
You’d told him you’d be fine.
Now, standing alone in the small house assigned to you both, you’re beginning to regret that.
The fire crackles weakly in the hearth.
You’re still cold.
You sit curled near the edge of the couch, wrapped in a blanket that doesn’t help nearly enough, fingers tucked under your arms as you stare numbly into the flames.
Your body won’t stop trembling.
You’re so tired you don’t even realize the door has opened until—
“Sweetheart?”
Cassian’s concerned voice.
You look up slowly.
His expression changes the second he sees you.
“Gods,” he mutters, crossing the room instantly. “You’re shaking.”
You try for a smile. “It’s freezing here.”
“That bad?”
You nod once.
His jaw tightens slightly, eyes sweeping over you—checking for injury first, instinctively.
Then he kneels in front of you, large hands immediately finding your arms.
His palms are warm. So deliciously warm that you let out a small breath at the contact.
“How long have you been like this?” he asks quietly.
“I don’t know. A while.”
His frown deepens. “You should’ve sent for me.”
“You were busy.”
“I don’t care.”
The answer comes too fast. Too firm.
His thumbs rub gently up and down your arms, trying to coax warmth back into them.
“You’re freezing,” he murmurs.
“I noticed.”
That finally gets the faintest twitch of a smile from him.
“Smart mouth.”
You would grin back if your teeth weren’t threatening to chatter.
Cassian notices immediately and his face softens.
“Oh, honey.”
Before you can protest, he’s standing and pulling you up with him effortlessly.
You make a small sound of surprise as he sits first—then drags you directly into his lap, wrapping the blanket fully around both of you.
Warmth engulfs you instantly.
Cassian’s chest at your back. His wings curving forward around you like shields. His arms tight around your middle.
You practically melt against him.
“There,” he murmurs against your hair. “Better?”
“A little.”
He presses a kiss to your temple. Then another to your cheek.
“You worked too hard today.”
“So did you.”
“Yeah, but I’m built for this weather.”
You snort weakly. “Show off.”
He huffs a soft laugh, tightening his hold slightly when another shiver runs through you. Without another word, one hand slips beneath the blanket to take yours.
Your fingers are ice cold.
Cassian actually winces.
“Gods above.”
He brings your hand to his mouth immediately, breathing warm air over your knuckles before pressing kisses to your fingertips one by one.
You blink, heart squeezing painfully.
“Cass…”
“What?” he murmurs, still rubbing warmth back into your hands. “Can’t have my girl freezing to death on me.”
“I’m not dying.”
“You’re dramatic enough that I can’t be sure.”
You elbow him weakly.
He catches your hand before you can pull it away, kissing your palm this time.
"You know, there is a quicker way I can get you warmed up..."
You snort. "Does it involve less clothes?"
Cassian's grin turns positively wicked. "Maybe."
You roll your eyes, though it lacks any real bite when you’re still curled against him beneath the blanket, half frozen and entirely too comfortable in his lap.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” he murmurs, tightening his arms around your waist, “you continue to keep me around.”
“Debatable.”
Cassian laughs before he says softly, “Come here."
As if you aren’t already practically inside his ribcage.
He shifts you more fully against him until you’re completely tucked into his chest, your legs draped over his, wings cocooning you both from the draft slipping through the old cabin walls.
His chin rests lightly on your shoulder.
You can feel the heat radiating off him now.
Steady. Safe.
“Meetings go badly?” you ask quietly after a moment.
Cassian groans dramatically into your hair.
“The worst males alive,” he mutters. “I considered throwing at least three of them off the mountain.”
You laugh softly.
“There she is,” he says immediately, smiling against your skin. “That’s the sound I wanted.”
You relax further into him.
Another shiver passes through you, smaller this time.
Cassian notices anyway.
He rubs his hands firmly along your arms beneath the blanket before pressing another kiss behind your ear.
“Still cold?”
“Not as much.”
“Good.”
Silence settles comfortably.
The fire crackles.
Snow taps softly against the windows.
And Cassian just holds you.
No teasing now. No games. Just warmth and steady affection poured into every touch.
After a while, he murmurs quietly:
“You know I’d leave every meeting in Prythian if you needed me.”
Your chest tightens.
“I know.”
“And next time,” he adds, voice gentler still, “tell me sooner.”
You tilt your head slightly, brushing your nose against his jaw.
“Yes, General.”
He snorts softly.
Then pulls the blanket tighter around you both anyway—
Like he can shield you from the cold through sheer stubbornness alone.
pairing: kimi antonelli x childhood bestfriend!driver!reader
warnings: fluff, little bit of pining, 0 to 100 real fast, not proofread oops
word count: 4,461
Sunlight scattered bright sparks across the deep-blue Adriatic. Three weeks into summer break, the sea had warmed to a pleasant swimming temperature, which was why Maggie had woken you at six in the morning—far too early for a holiday, in your opinion—to go for a swim.
“If we go now, we’ll avoid the tourists!” Maggie insisted, opening the blinds to let in the morning sun. It was already getting warm.
“Counterpoint: if we go later, I get to sleep in,” you grumbled, pulling the sheets over your head to block out the light.
“Yeah, but Kimi is coming too!”
“Is he even awake right now?”
“He will be!” Maggie giggled, her energy seemingly endless. She grabbed the sheets and yanked them off the bed, leaving them in a heap on the floor before running out of the guest room and down the hallway to her brother’s room. Minutes later, you heard similar complaints from Kimi’s room. You grinned. Suddenly, swimming didn't seem so bad if it meant you could wind up your oldest friend. You pulled on one of the swimsuits that was hanging over the balcony railing to dry. It was still slightly damp from your day by the pool, but it would dry quickly on the walk to the beach. You tugged on a faded T-shirt, shorts and slides, ran a brush through your hair, though it would not matter once you were in the sea, and went to find Maggie.
Maggie had packed a small picnic in a grocery bag: an apple each, a hastily made sandwich and a carton of juice. It was a sweet effort from the eleven-year-old. Marco and Veronica were probably still asleep, enjoying the fact that you and Kimi could look after Maggie during the school holidays. Kimi finally slumped down the stairs in swim trunks that sat low on his hips and a battered old T-shirt. His hair was still mussed from sleep, and he looked only half awake.
“Maggie, it should be illegal to wake me up this early when I am not working,” he complained, rubbing his eyes and stretching out.
“I told you, the beach will get too crowded if we don’t go now. Everyone else is on school holidays too!” She packed the picnic into a backpack, handed Kimi a bundle of beach towels, and left you with only the water bottles.
“Why am I carrying the most stuff?” Kimi complained.
“Because you’re my least favourite sibling.”
“I am your only sibling! How can I be your least favourite?”
“Well, (yn) is practically my big sister, so she’s automatically my favourite. Keep up.” Maggie flicked his forehead. Kimi aimed a kick at her legs but deliberately missed. No matter how annoying Maggie was, he would never actually hurt her. The three of you set off down the cobbled street. The short walk to the beach was lined with olive trees and farmland, in what was usually a quiet town. It grew busier during the school holidays, when people from nearby cities escaped to the seaside, but it was never as crowded as tourist capitals like Naples or Bari. At least most of the tourists were still Italian, unlike you, who did not have a drop of Italian blood in you. Still, having grown up with Marco, Veronica, Kimi and Maggie, you were practically Italian by osmosis.
Down the hill, the water sparkled in the morning sun. The beach was empty, stretching into long bands of golden sand, with cliffs in one direction and more shoreline in the other. To you, it was one of the most special places on earth. However much you complained about getting out of bed before seven on your holidays, you would not trade this time with your second family for anything. Kimi laid out your towels on the sand, and Maggie immediately threw off her cover-up and sprinted towards the water. Kimi followed, tossing his shirt onto the towels and racing her to the shoreline. He caught her in the shallows and tackled her legs into the waves. You watched them with a fond smile, took a bite of an apple, and sat down with the book you had brought. You'd soak up the sun before going into the water, or maybe rest your eyes a little longer.
You woke with a start when a shadow loomed over you, cold droplets falling onto your face and chest.
“Come on, sleepyhead. Maggie wants to play mermaids, and I can’t be the only one subjected to that particular brand of torture.” Kimi was little more than a silhouette against the blue sky, but you could see his smile even with your eyes closed, as if it had been burned onto the backs of your eyelids and scorched into your brain. He offered you a hand, cold and wet from the sea. You took it, stood, and stripped down to your bikini.
“Fine, but I get to have the purple tail.”
The three of you came out of the ocean only when the sun was high overhead and you could no longer ignore your rumbling stomachs. Slightly sunburnt, hair soaked with salt water and matted to your heads, and dizzy from laughter, the three of you collapsed onto the towels and opened the sandwiches. The beach had grown busier, with a few families dotted around: children building sandcastles and paddling in the water, parents supervising or sunbathing. Maggie devoured her sandwich, then tried to steal half of Kimi’s, which he held out of her reach.
“I am a growing child, Andrea! I need all the sustenance I can get!”
“I am also growing, Margherita!”
“Ugh! You know I hate when you call me that.” She sat back down again, pouting.
“Come on, Mags. I was only joking.” It was amazing how quickly her mood could shift. Some days, he missed the sweet nine-year-old she had been only a few years earlier.
“It’s okay, Mags. Here, you can have half of mine,” you offered.
“See, this is why she's my favourite.” Maggie took a large bite of the offered sandwich and pulled a face at her brother. Kimi looked to you for help, but you just shrugged.
“Mate, she’s your sister.”
They bickered a little longer, until the sun grew too hot to bear and Maggie begged to go back into the water. You gave in, too warm to argue, and walked down to the shoreline to look for shells with her. Kimi watched the two of you walking hand in hand, his two favourite people in the world, and felt as though a giant hand had closed around his heart and squeezed. It had only been around a year since his perception of you had changed but keeping it a secret had become harder and harder each day. Somewhere between the action of the races and quiet moments behind the scenes together in the team motorhomes, your friendship had shifted. Kimi didn’t know if it was one sided, you had always treated him differently to your other friends in the motorsport world. You had always been physically close; you’d been ruffling his hair and only stopped when he had finally overtaken you in height. There were pictures of you two asleep on each other’s shoulders in the car, on trains and planes, you celebrated their wins together and mourned the losses together too. Nothing about that had changed, so why had his feelings. When did he start noticing how your eyes lit up when you were talking about the book you were reading, when did his heart start skipping a beat when you grinned at him during team briefings, or when there was an inside joke. Why couldn’t he stop staring at your lips when you talked. It was infuriating, but it was as natural as breathing to him.
This summer had only made his feelings ten times worse. Watching you with Maggie felt like being stabbed in the heart with a knife because he knew that if anything were to happen, and it all went to shit, not only would his heart be broken, but Maggie’s too. So, he tried to pretend like nothing had changed. He figured he was doing a good job of it, as you hadn’t changed the way you acted towards him in the slightest. Maggie was showing off a shell she had found to you, your hair reflected the sun and looked particularly radiant. In the absence of a bucket or bag, you shoved the shell down your bikini top, to the raucous laughter of Maggie.
“What are you going to do tomorrow?” Maggie asked you down by the shore.
“Not sure, probably whatever you ask me to do.”
“Well, we did the beach today, pool yesterday, so we should go down to the markets tomorrow.” She said decidedly.
“That sounds lovely, Mags, we can get some ingredients and make your parents dinner.”
“Why would we do that?” She pulled a face.
“To thank them for letting me stay over summer break!”
“I think looking after me is enough of a thank you. That and putting up with Kimi year-round.”
“I don’t have to put up with your brother, you know, he is my friend.”
“Yeah well. That’s on you.”
You snorted out a laugh, bending over to pick up another shell.
“Hey, this one has a hole, we could make it into a necklace!”
“We have to find two more, then we can all have one.” Maggie renewed her energy into looking for the perfect shells. You joined her, it was strange being thurst into the limelight so young, you felt like you'd have to grow up faster, so when you had breaks like this, you let Maggie take the lead and allowed yourself to be a child again. With the lapping of the sea and the concentration on finding shells neither of you noticed Kimi sneaking up behind you until his hands were around Maggie’s middle, and he carried her back into the waves. He had been heading for you but chickened out at the last second, dunking his sister into the water instead. He laughed as she squealed in protest, wriggling out of his grip and splashing his face with her hands.
“Get her! Get her!” Maggie yelled. Kimi strode through the waves, reaching for you, but you had a head start without the water resistance. Your long legs took you quickly across the sand, but he had overtaken you in height a year ago, and somehow he had always been the faster of the two. He eventually caught you, diving into you and sending the two of you sprawling to the sand and water. You rolled over into a breaking wave and were drenched. You coughed up some sea water as you slid out of his grasp, smacking his chest lightly, fighting off the heat you felt at being so close. Kimi didn't know (you were good at hiding it) that your feelings had changed too. You'd been fighting with your instincts for the better part of a year, every fibre of your being wanted to bridge the short gap between friends and something more, but there was always the element of the unknown that scared you off.
It didn't take long for Maggie to swim over though the shallows, laughing all the while at your hot cheeks and tangled limbs.
“He got you so good!” She exclaimed. “But we still need to find another shell for Kimi,” it didn't take long. The three of you wandered the shoreline, sand and salt in your hair, the sun kissing your skin and turning it a little redder. You talked about everything and nothing, about Maggie’s classes, about the upcoming races, about how he would kick your ass for the rest of the season. You just smiled, he had always been this competitive, especially with you. Once Maggie had found a shell she seemed good enough for her big brother, the three of you packed your things and began the walk back home. It was mid afternoon, the sun had dropped lower into the sky, casting everything in a beautiful golden glow. You and Kimi each held one of Maggie’s hands, and she swung them back and forth, giddy with excitement. She speaks about the plan for the rest of the day, the rest of the holidays, how she's excited to go to Monza later in the year and how jealous her classmates were of her famous brother and his famous best friend. You couldn't help but smile at her infectious energy, she was a delight to be around.
Marco and Veronica had left the house by the time the three of you were back, they had texted Kimi to let him know and left some extra snacks out on the counter. Maggie rushed back to her room to collect her crafting kit as you poured some fresh juice into cups and dished up some of the fruit salad that was in the fridge. There really was nothing like coming back from a morning at the beach to fresh fruit and the fans on high.
“I could go for a nap right now,” Kimi stole a piece of kiwi fruit from the bowl and threw it into the air, catching it in his mouth. You laughed at him, shaking your head.
“Maggie is insistent that we have to make these necklaces now, she wants us to wear them to dinner.” You watched him pick up another piece of fruit and scoff it down. His skin was tanner than it was a few weeks ago, long days spent outside by the pool or at the beach, his cheeks were red with a little sunburn, and you could still see flecks of sand in his curls.
“What you actually need,” you said, “is to get all that sand off you, you brought the entire beach home!”
“And whose fault is that? You were the one rolling around in the sand!”
“Andrea are you kidding me!?” Your hand reached out to smack his chest, but his reflexes were too quick, and he caught it with his signature cheeky smile. It was hard to ignore the spark of electricity that ran up your arm and straight to your chest. The moment lingered for longer than it should, his hand clasped around yours, eyes locked together, until Maggie came bounding down the stairs with a box of craft supplies. Kimi dropped your hand like it was made of hot iron and stepped back hastily. If Maggie noticed anything out of the ordinary, she didn’t show it, putting the box of supplies down on the kitchen bench and grabbing a fork, stabbing it into the fruit salad, and shoving a giant mouthful down. You laughed, as if the two siblings couldn’t be more alike, even their eating habits were the same. Maggie opened her crafting box, and you sifted through the various supplies until you found some jump rings and pliers, and a spool of cord.
“Can you grab some scissors, Mags?” You asked, setting out the supplies on the dining table. The room was large and open, huge patio doors lead out to the pool area, and the tiles on the floor were cool despite the heat. Kimi grabbed the bowl of fruit salad and brought it to the table, and Maggie grabbed scissors like you asked.
Once set up at the table, you gave the shells a wash in a bowl of fresh water and patted them dry with a rag and set to work putting them onto jump rings to make charms. Kimi fumbled with his, struggling to get the tiny jump ring open. You ended up taking pity and doing it for him.
“We should trade! I am giving my shell necklace to Kimi, then you can give yours to me, and Kimi will give you his!” Maggie implored, and you couldn’t say no to her. Once the shell charms were threaded onto cord, Maggie gave you hers and asked told you to tie it on her brother’s neck. Standing so close to Kimi was becoming a gamble. You’d already nearly broken before the summer break, when he had won at Monaco and you’d finished in the points. The way he had raced over to give you a hug, whispering how proud he was of you, despite him being the race winner. He dragged you to the Mercedes celebrations by the harbour and managed to pull you into the water with him. The internet loved that clip. You tried to shake the memory of the way that day had felt out of your head, reaching your arm around his broad shoulders to bring the cord around his neck. His usual necklace was getting tighter on his neck by the day. You remembered when he first got it years ago. A good luck symbol. The only time he took it off was racing, and that was only due to the rules around metal jewellery in the car. His laughter at something Maggie had said brought you back to the present, and you hastily tied her necklace around his neck, leaving enough room for it to hang onto his chest. He touched it carefully as you finished tying the second knot, giving the necklace the ability to be tightened and loosened as he wished. Your fingers brushed the back of his neck, and you noticed the goosebumps that rose on his arms.
“Sorry.” You muttered quietly, trimming the excess cord to stop it from being irritating. He then stepped away, and watched with a fond smile as you tied the same knots around Maggie’s neck while she held her hair up out of the way. She was beaming with pride at the necklace around Kimi’s neck.
“You did a great job!” Kimi said, touching the shell by his heart. “It’s beautiful!” Maggie laughed, then midway through, fought back a yawn.
“I think everyone needs a nap before dinner at this rate!” You smiled, finishing with Maggie, and lifting your own hair so Kimi could put the final necklace around you. He stands in front of you rather than behind and suddenly, the bowl of fruit salad is the most interesting thing in the world. You can’t watch him bite his lip as he concentrates, and you certainly can’t be held accountable for any actions you may or may not take if you did. Maggie just rolled her eyes.
“You guys are weird.” She said and yawned again. “…Maybe I could do with a nap.” You tried to keep your eyes on Maggie while Kimi’s laugh echoed around you. He finished tying a knot (not as neat and tidy as yours) and stepped back with a proud smile.
“Shower first Mags, or you will end up with sand in your bed, and you hate that.”
“Jeez, okay Mr Bossy.” She said and made her way back up the wooden stairs to the bedrooms, leaving a trail of sand behind her, and a mess of craft supplies for the two of you to clean up.
It didn’t take long for you and Kimi to fall back into old patterns, bickering over who had which chore to clean up, so as to not face the annoyance of his parents when they got back from their day out. It was times like this that he felt like he was imagining everything that he had been noticing in the past few months. It felt like being tweens again, and it was enjoyable. There was no pressure to be the WDC leader, no media, no track politics, just two best friends spending their summer together. Once the main kitchen/dining area had been cleaned, you suggested putting on a movie before getting ready for dinner. Maggie was still napping in her room (or more likely scrolling on her phone or texting her school friends), and a film was a good way to avoid any awkward silences. Kimi picked an action movie and you both flopped onto the settee, not quite close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the heat radiate from his body. The combination of the early morning, excitement and sun had your eyes beginning to droop by halfway through the third scene. You adjusted yourself groggily, tucking your legs up under you and leaning onto a pillow that was propped up against Kimi. He reached out an arm, with some hesitation, and placed it around your shoulders. You’d fallen straight asleep, the pillow being the only thing keeping your head from resting on his lap. He softly ran a hand over your head, only stopping when he was cupping your jaw. Kimi tried to keep his eyes on the film, he really did, but it was impossible with the way your eyelashes fluttered against your cheekbones as you dreamt.
That was how his parents found the two of you 90 minutes later when they arrived home. Veronica nudged Marco with her elbow and pointed at the two of you, now both passed out while the end credits played.
“Do we wake them?”
“They do have to get ready for dinner.”
Veronica sighed, she gently shook her son’s shoulder, his head had fallen to rest on your side as you rested on the pillow on his lap. He woke up, rolled his neck out and blushed furiously at the situation he’d been found in. It wasn’t compromising (not that he was thinking about being found in compromising positions with you). His mum just gave him a knowing smile, and muttered that he should wake you up, and that she and Marco were going to shower and change for dinner. When they retreated up the stairs, Kimi nudged your side. You groaned, shifting but not waking up.
“Hey, tesoro, wakey wakey,” He muttered by your ear, you grumbled again and reached a hand up to shove him away. He laughed, he shouldn’t have expected any better, you were always grumpy when being woken up, like a bear coming out of hibernation.
“Go away.” You said into the pillow, blocking out the light with your free arm.
“Come on, we have to get ready for dinner. Your hair is a nightmare right now.” That was enough to get you moving. Your head shot up, and you reached up to touch your hair, which was indeed a bird’s nest, the saltwater had turned it into straw, and it was sticking up at all angles.
“God you’re so annoying!” You exclaimed, unfolding yourself from your curled up position on the settee, and reaching to ruffle his curls. He swatted your hand away with a fond smile.
“Go shower bird-head.”
“That literally doesn’t make any sense.”
Kimi replayed the moment of waking up curled around you in the shower three times. If it was the closest thing he was going to get to waking up next to you, he would treasure it for the rest of his life. He only actually cleaned the sand out from his hair after he heard you banging on his en-suite door yelling at him to hurry up and stop being so vain. When he emerged, hair still damp from being towel dried, dressed in a light linen button-down and matching trousers. He pulled on a pair of boat shoes and left his room, where he nearly knocked you over. You’d been waiting outside his room, wearing one of your nice sundresses with a cream purse slung on one shoulder and a cardigan tucked neatly over it. His arms automatically reached out to steady you, afraid of tipping you down the stairs and causing injuries that would affect the rest of your season.
“Sorry!” You said, your hands had come to his waist to keep your own balance. You were practically chest to chest; it wasn’t since the Monaco incident that his face had been so close to yours. You could count every freckle the sun had brought out on his cheeks. He let out a shaky breath, a nervous smile as he studied you.
“I know you haven’t done anything, but could you please stop looking so ridiculously kissable? My parents are here.” He muttered.
“I- what?” You responded, mouth hanging open slightly. “Was that meant to be an outside thought?”
“That was not meant to be an outside thought.” Kimi stammered, backing away and looking anywhere but at you, his heart was hammering out of his chest.
“I figured.” You laughed, avoiding eye contact like it was the plague. “I can’t help it, you know.”
“Can’t help what?”
“Looking so kissable. I can’t help it.”
“I know. You always look kissable.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“We’re friends. Friends don’t kiss their friends in the way I want to kiss you.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t think friends think about their friends in the way I think about you either.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Why don’t you find out?”
His hand resting on the small of your back pulled you in until your foreheads were touching.
“Is this okay?” He asked, leaning in. You were done with waiting, your hand reached up and caught his collar, pulling him closer until your lips touched his. He let out a strangled noise from the back of his throat that could have possibly been classed as a whine. The hand that wasn't holding you by the small of your back reached up to caress your jaw, encompassing it fully with its size. You pressed against him, your other hand working it's way up his back until you had it curled into his hair. He made the same noise again, pulling back the slightest bit to catch his breath, pupils blown and cheeks red. You weren't much better, one hand still clutching his collar as your eyes nervously darted down to his lips and back. This time he closed the distance, pushing you back gently until you hit the bannister separating the upstairs from downstairs. You let out a small ‘oomph’ and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue passing your lips and exploring your mouth. Your hand in his hair pulled a little and he instinctively pulled you closer, pushing his hips against yours. You only separated when you heard footsteps on the stairs and Maggie's voice yelling from below.
“We have a reservation to make! Hurry up!”
Your eyes met and the two of you descended into a fit of nervous laughter. You ran your hands through his hair to try and straighten it, and he pulled at your dress, that had ridden up your thighs. There was truly no hiding what had happened from his family though, as the both of you walked down the stairs with sheepish grins on your well-kissed lips.
summary: new team. new color. new drivers. what could go wrong?
pairing: formula one + female!driver!reader
warnings/tags: smau + irl, poor kimi in this chap he's just living his dream :(, merc shade but thats honestly just a taste of it, luca and y/n r lowkey gp and max coded, sky sports cameos
notes: first chapter, hello ?!?!?! so overwhelmed w the love you gave driver!yn and i'm more than happy to introduce you to her new era :) all my love to u all reading and supporting xx
mercedesamgf1
liked by georgerussell63, lewishamilton, and 4,972,439 others
mercedesamgf1 Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS F1 Team is pleased to confirmed that Kimi Antonelli will race alongside George Russell for the 2026 FIA Formula One World Championship.
Welcome to the Silver Arrows, Kimi.
#MercedesAMGF1 #KimiAntonelli #F1
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kimi.antonelli Dreams really do come true. Let's get to work!
user8 yall are pissing me tf OFFFFF
lewishamilton Huge congrats mate
user29 truly think kimi's gonna do wonders but this feels so wrong for y/n...
georgerussell63 Welcome, mate 👊 Can't wait to get started
user72 Remember when mercedes said they were "building around y/n?" where tf is that energy now
user12 everyone's blaming kimi when he's literally done nothing lol
user90 why did they let admin post this knowing the comments are going to be MESSY
user53 laurent mekies refreshing the comments like 😋
redbullracing
liked by maxverstappen1, redbull, and 6,329,340 others
redbullracing Oracle Red Bull Racing is delighted to announce the signing of Y/N L/N on a multi-year agreement ahead of the 2026 FIA Formula One World Championship.
A proven race winner with exceptional pace and determination. Welcome to the family.
#RedBullRacing #YNLN #F1
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yourinstagram new beginnings babyyy
user63 TOTO YOU FUMBLED SO BAD
user5 merc basically spoon fed redbull
lando LETS GOOOOOO
lewishamilton Proud of you.
user72 other drivers interacting here more than the other side is kinda...
danielricciardo oh? OH?
user21 how do you even explain horner getting fired then the new tp hiring y/n l/n to a normal person
user4 imagine dropping your race winner only for your rivals to sign her IMMEDIATELY.
user10 admin was READY to post this
Your phone vibrated against your bedside table at exactly 8 AM.
You ignored it, pulling the duvet tighter around your shoulders, trying to cling to the final moments of sleep. Then it buzzed again. And again.
By the time you finally rolled over and blindly reached into the cold air to grab it, the bright light of the screen illuminated the room. It displayed an overwhelming amount of notification.
Your eyes adjusted to the glare, and the first major headline locked into focus.
BREAKING: Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS F1 Team confirms Kimi Antonelli as race driver for the 2026 FIA Formula One World Championship.
For a long second, you forgot to breathe. You didn't like the post. You didn't read the caption. You didn't need to.
Deep down, in the quietest part of your mind, you had known this day was coming for months. But seeing it written out officially still felt like a punch to the face.
Before you could even fully process the quiet sink in your chest, the screen lit up with another notification, overriding the first.
Oracle Red Bull Racing is delighted to announce the signing of Y/N L/N on a multi-year agreement.
For the last six months, your stomach had been in a permanent, tight knot. You had spent half a year waiting for the axe to fall. There had been endless, grueling meetings behind closed doors, hushed conversations in the back of the units, and polite but entirely empty smiles from Toto whenever you passed him.
You had been living in a state of constantly performing while knowing your seat was actively being shopped around.
Mercedes had chosen their teenage prodigy, Kimi.
But Red Bull, the ruthless giants of the grid, had chosen you.
You unlocked your phone, knowing immediately that it was a terrible mistake to do so on a morning like this. Within half a second, your social media feed refreshed itself, instantly descending into madness.
RED BULL SNATCHES MERCEDES STAR Y/N L/N
ANTONELLI PROMOTED. L/N DEPARTS IN SHOCK MULTI-YEAR DEAL.
WOLFF'S BIGGEST GAMBLE?
You scrolled down, your eyes catching the comment sections, which were updating so rapidly that the text literally blurred.
"Mercedes absolutely bottled it. How do you let a proven race winner walk away just to gamble on a kid? Toto has lost his mind."
"Kimi is the future, it's the right move. Mercedes is playing the long game. People said the same thing about Lewis back in the day."
"This is going to age horribly for Mercedes. Y/N is going to have the biggest advantage on her shoulders now."
"Max is going to absolutely destroy her. No one survives the second seat. It's a career killer."
The official announcements had been live for less than five minutes, and the internet had already mapped out the entire trajectory of your career, predicting either your ultimate downfall or your greatest revenge.
Before you could read any further, an incoming call came. You swiped the screen to answer, immediately putting him on speaker and placing the phone back down on the bed as you sat up, wrapping your arms around your knees.
"You've seen it?" Luca's voice slightly muffled, the low hum of morning traffic in the background suggesting he was already driving to work.
You let out a dry laugh. "I mean it's kind of impossible to miss. I think my phone is about to explode."
"I've had six different journalist call my personal number already," Luca said, his tone in sheer disbelief. "Half of them didn't even say hello! They just started asking if I was going with you."
"Only six?" you teased, trying to put some lightheartedness into the morning. "You're losing your touch. Usually, you're the most popular guy in the paddock."
"Just give it ten minutes," he sighed.
Luca had been your race engineer since the very first weekend you had ever turned the wheel. He was the calm, steady voice in your ear through the highest highs of your first podium and the absolute, miserable lows of failures and bad pit stops.
You two had spent countless late nights locked inside cramped rooms, arguing over strategy, upgrades, and degradation until the security guards had to physically knock on the door and tell you to leave.
He wasn't just your engineer. He was your anchor in a sport that constantly tried to pull you under.
"You okay?" Luca's voice softened, dropping his usual tone.
"I'm relieved, honestly. I didn't think I would be, but the moment they released it, it felt like a massive weight was lifted off my chest."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "I was hoping you'd say that."
"And you?" you asked. "How are you feeling about it all?"
"I'm furious," Luca admitted frankly. "You deserved a hell of a lot better than finding out once they've made their decision. They dragged their feet for months, keeping you on the hook while they finalized Kimi's contract. It's straight up disrespectful."
You didn't argue. Because he was entirely right.
Losing the opportunity to continue with Mercedes hurt. But the coldness of how they had handled it, making you play the role of the loyal team player while they secretly prepared your replacement, hurt a lot deeper.
"You know, I'm going to miss working with you," Luca said quietly, his voice cracking just a fraction.
Your throat tightened suddenly. "I'm going to miss yelling at you over the radio."
He laughed. "You mean ignoring my perfectly calculated strategy calls?"
"Luca, I love you, but they were usually terrible strategy calls."
"Hey, they won you races!"
lucaromano
liked by lewishamilton, yourinstagram, and 423,749 others
lucaromano I've been lucky enough to be there for the highs, the lows, the podiums, the celebrations, the frustrating sundays, and the little moments nobody sees.
Wherever you go next, I'll always be cheering.
P.S. Lucky misses you already. 🐶
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user16 oh i know LUCA HATES THEM
user47 race engineer subtweet is crazy
yourinstagram don't make me CRY
yourinstagram i don't think i'll ever find anyone who puts up with me like u do
yourinstagram im cryifn couldn't have asked for a better person next to me through all of this
user82 the fact everyone knows luca and y/n are a package deal 😭
user3 luca being the first person she looks for after getting out of the car will always be my roman empire
user29 they really broke up the best engineer-driver pairing for WHAT
user44 the fact that he NEVER posts and THIS is what he chooses to post
Three hundred miles away, in the heart of London, the cameras were already rolling in the Sky Sports studio.
Naomi Schiff leaned forward in her chair, her expression serious as she looked into the camera.
"I think Mercedes made the biggest gamble of the decade," Naomi said, gesturing with her pen toward the graphics on the screen.
"And let me clarify, this is not a criticism of Kimi. We all know he is an incredibly fast, generational talent. But Mercedes has allowed Y/N L/N, a driver who already knows exactly how to handle the immense pressure of a top-tier team, to walk straight out of their building and into their biggest rival's garage."
Nico Rosberg, sitting directly next to her with his arms crossed, nodded in agreement.
"If I was Red Bull," Nico said, a sharp, knowing smirk on his face, "I'm absolutely popping champagne today. You're getting a driver who's hungry, highly experienced, and massively motivated by how she was treated. Mercedes didn't just lose potential today, they lost guaranteed points to their rivals."
Jenson Button folded his arms, playing devil's advocate to keep the debate going.
"But you have to look at the long-term future here, Nico. Kimi represents the next decade for Mercedes. Sometimes you have to take a massive risk in the present to build the next era."
"The future doesn't score points in the constructors' today, Jenson," Naomi countered. "Red Bull just got significantly stronger, and Mercedes just handed them the perfect match."
By the early afternoon, you were walking through the doors of the Red Bull building in Milton Keynes.
As you walked through the main lobby, mechanics and engineers looked at you. Instead of the polite, formal nods you were used to, you were greeted with broad smiles and enthusiastic waves.
"About time you got here!" a voice shouted.
Another mechanic, dressed in team kit, held up a can of Red Bull, grinning widely. "Welcome to the dark side! I assure you that we have the better parties."
You couldn't help the genuine smile that spread across your face. It felt incredibly warm. It didn't feel like a PR stunt, and it didn't feel forced for the sake of the cameras.
For the first time in over a year, you felt like a driver who was actively wanted, rather than a driver who was simply being tolerated.
Mekies walked beside you, keeping his hands casual in his pockets as he guided you toward the simulator building.
"I told you," Mekies said in a reassuring voice, looking over at you with a small smile. "We wanted you here. We don't sign drivers just to fill a seat or to make up the numbers. We sign them because we believe they can help us win. Remember that."
Before you could reply, the doors of the simulator bay slid open with a soft hiss. Max stepped out, a towel draped over his shoulders, his hair slightly damp from a grueling simulator run.
He spotted you immediately. He didn't wait for his manager to introduce you, he didn't look around to see if any cameras were watching.
He just walked straight over to you and stopped, towering slightly over you.
"So," Max said, wiping his face with the towel.
"So," you replied, tilting you head up slightly and matching his tone.
"It's official, then."
"I guess. No turning back now."
He nodded once, his eyes analyzing your face, looking for any sign of hesitation. "You ready for this?"
"I think so," you said, keeping your voice steady.
Max shrugged, amusement appearing in his eyes. "I hope not. If you already think you're completely ready, this place gets boring very quickly. You have to keep pushing."
"Is that your way of a motivational welcome speech, Max?"
"Yeah," he said simply. "Pretty good, right?"
"Did you practice that in the mirror this morning?"
"No. I don't waste time on that."
"You probably should have," you retorted. "It needs a bit of work."
A grin broke across Max's face. He reached out, shaking your hand with a firm grip. "Welcome to the team, future champ."
yourinstagram via instagram story!
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user86 damn seeing her in any other color is giving me jumpscares honestly
user42 SHE LOOKS GOOD WITH IT IM SORRY YALL
user5 i just stared at this for 5 minutes in silence
lando finally got u in the right color
user21 and to think she was just mercedes' rookie
mercedesamgf1
liked by kimi.antonelli, yourinstagram, and 3,213,300 others
mercedesamgf1 Join us live from the Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS Formula One Team headquarters as we welcome Kimi Antonelli to the race team!
Kimi and George Russell will sit down with the media to discuss the new season, the challenges ahead, and the future of the Silver Arrows.
#F1 #Mercedes #KimiAntonelli #GeorgeRussell
Kimi stood in the main lobby, nervously adjusting the stiff collar of his brand-new team shirt. He looked incredibly younger under the lights that had been set up for the press day, his eyes wide and slightly overwhelmed as he took everyone crammed into the space.
George walked past the media pen, noticing the visible tension in the teenager's shoulders. He reached out, clapping a hand firmly on Kimi's shoulder with an encouraging smile.
"You'll be fine, mate. Just breathe and stick to the talking points."
"Yeah, I'm trying," Kimi muttered, offering a weak smile in return. "But there's so many people."
The moment Kimi sat down, a dozen microphones were instantly thrust into his face.
"Kimi! Do you feel any personal guilt taking Y/N L/N's seat, especially considering how much she has contributed to the development of the cars?"
Kimi blinked, the carefully memorized, media-trained answers completely evaporating from his mind. He looked down, swallowed hard, and tried his absolute best to find words that wouldn't cause a massive headline.
"Look... I don't think any driver ever wants to see another driver lose their seat," Kimi said, his voice quiet. "We all know how hard it is to get to this level. This was a dream opportunity for me and my family, and it was an opportunity I simply couldn't say no to."
Down in Italy, Lewis was sitting in the Ferrari lounge, dressed in his striking new team gear. He was quietly sipping a cup of espresso, watching the live coverage of the Mercedes press day on the screen.
Charles walked past, stopping to look at the screen before glancing at Lewis. "So? What do you think of the big swap?"
Lewis didn't take his eyes off the screen. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking his watch with a knowing smile. "I give it exactly an hour before they invent a rivalry between them. They love a good villain story."
He tapped his screen, scrolling through his contacts until he found your name, and hit dial. You answered on the second ring, your voice sounding a bit breathless.
"Congratulations," Lewis said immediately, his familiar voice instantly cutting through the noise in your head.
"Thanks?" you replied. "Congratulations to you, too. I have to say, seeing you in red is still going to take some getting used to."
Lewis chuckled softly. "They're acting like like the championship's starting today. The press is going absolutely crazy."
"It definitely feels chaotic," you admitted. "I haven't even sat in the car yet."
"It's all just noise," Lewis said, his tone turning serious and protective. "You have the whole year to write your story. Don't let them get inside your head."
"I'm trying not to. But it's hard when every second post is comparing my stats to his."
"And they're going to keep doing that," Lewis warned gently. "Every single weekend."
"I know."
"Don't play their game. Show them exactly why you belong in that seat."
f1
liked by redbullracing, mercedesamgf1, and 5,290,401 others
f1 The FIA has officially confirmed the media schedule for the upcoming Formula 1 Pre-Season Testing at the Bahrain International Circuit.
Teams and drivers will take to the track for the first time ahead of the new season, with media sessions, press conferences, and testing programmes scheduled throughout the week.
Full driver appearances and press conference timings are now available.
#F1 #Formula1
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user61 THISLL BE THE FIRST TIME WE SEE Y/N IN A RED BULL GARAGE AND KIMI IN A MERCEDES GARAGE
user3 i love how everyone already knows that the first conference is going to be the most watched non-race event in f1 history
user78 MAX AND Y/N IN MATCHING TEAM GEAR IM READY
By the late afternoon, the FIA officially released the media schedule for the upcoming pre-season testing in Bahrain.
Your phone buzzed again in your hand. It was your personal PR manager, who had been managing your media presence since your MotoGP career.
"Hey, do you have a quick second? I have a slight update regarding the media run."
"Please tell me it's actually a simple update, Ryland," you groaned, leaning your head back. "My brain is completely fried."
"Well... the media delegate just sent over a last-minute change to the seating arrangements for the main stage." Ryland paused, clearing his throat.
"Instead of seating us by teams like they usually do, they've decided to mix the order to create a more 'dynamic visual.' Their words not mine."
You sat up. "What do you mean? How are they mixing it?"
"It means... you'll be sitting directly between Max..."
He hesitated, letting the silence stretch for a beat.
"...and Kimi."
You closed your eyes, letting out a long, slow breath as you rubbed your temples. "You have got to be kidding me."
"I wish I was joking," Ryland said. "Everyone's throwing a party online. They know exactly what they're going to get."
After you hung up, you stared at your blank phone screen for a long moment. You locked your phone, tossed it onto the sofa, and looked out at the rainy night.
Tomorrow, the talking would finally stop. Tomorrow, you'd see them all again. And tomorrow, the real fight would begin.
Max is incredibly good with kids, like incredibly good. If you don’t already have children, I think he’d make it very clear from the start that he’d like to start a family in the future. Max is the type of guy to get his baby’s name tattooed in a discreet location, like behind his ear. Big family man! If you’re already a parent, he welcomes your child like they’re his own.
“I’m home!” Your voice echoes into an empty living room; a rare sight in your home. Usually Max would be on the simulator by now, lost in his racing. That was the cause of your initial hesitancy when your boyfriend offered to watch Wren, your daughter, by himself for the first time. But alas, he was nowhere to be found. That is until you heard giggling coming from your daughter’s room.
“Not like that!” A higher voice squeals, followed by a sequence of light giggles. It’s a sound you’re all too familiar with; a sound that always makes you smile.
“No? How do I do it then?” You slowly poke your head in, surveying the scene with a grin at the sight before you. Max was sitting in a chair far too small for him at your daughter’s play table. He had two pink boys clipped to either side of his head, and a princess tiara placed between them.
“Pinky out. We’re princesses, we have to be formal!”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” Max picks up a plastic teacup, his pinky extended as he pretends to sip. “Mmm, delectable.” His bears a terribly faux British accent that nearly makes you cringe
You leave the room, going entirely unnoticed, with a huge grin from ear to ear. You don’t want to interrupt their bonding time, so you listen to their giddy conversations as you start dinner. Your heart’s warm with love for the two most important people in your life.
There is no such thing as TMI in your relationship with Lando, which might sound like a turn off but it’s actually really comforting to know you’re with someone who will literally never judge you. Ladies, if you told him your tampon got stuck he’d literally offer (albeit with some fear in his eyes) to take it out. Need help shaving? You got it. Want to tell him a slightly gross story? He’s locked in and listening.
“Babe,” Lando called from the kitchen. You had just sat down, so his insistent neediness made you roll your eyes with a groan. “C’mere!”
“Can it wait a second?”
“No!” You already know that it 100% can, but unfortunately you love the idiot so you reluctantly climb off the couch and make your way into the kitchen, sighing heavily.
“What?”
“Look.” He’s holding a ruler, pointing to a mark on it. “This is how big it is, isn’t that crazy?”
“It?”
“It, yes.”
You blink at him, giving him a deadpan stare. “Yes, Lando. I know how big it is.”
“I just wanted to remind you. You know, in case you forgot. I know it’s been a minute.”
“Kind of hard to forget.”
He nods with a growing smirk. “Yeah it is.” You try to appear serious, but eventually you laugh, which only spurs him on more. His finger trails further down the ruler, and he announces with pride, “this is how big my longest shot was-”
“You’re so gross.”
“It’s important that you know! What if I break a world record?”
“This is when you stop talking.” You’re ridiculing him, but you do it with a smile. At least he trusts you with this… Vital information.
Always goes the extra mile, and you don’t even have to ask him to. If you ask Gabriel Bortoleto to pick something up for dinner he’s bringing home the ingredients to make your favorite meal from scratch instead of ordering takeout, just because he feels like it. He always goes all out just for you!
You’ve been having a rough week, and Gabi would be a total idiot if he didn’t acknowledge that. Work had been extraordinarily harsh to you, and having to do online classes simultaneously was not fun for your mental health. When you got like this it often took a wake up call to realize you’re in a state of depression, so instead of asking for help you sometimes wallow in your sadness subconsciously.
Thankfully, you chose the right guy. While you’re away working your strenuous job, he makes a quick stop at the store to make you a little care basket. It’s full of blankets, candy, books, and even your favorite movies. When you come home, he hands you the basket with a kiss on the forehead and a big smile.
“What’s this?” You ask as you eye the contents, your bottom lip quivering.
“I know you’ve been feeling sad lately so I got you a bunch of your favorite things to have a comfortable day on the couch. And I called your work and got you the day off tomorrow, so you can relax and focus on yourself-”
“Gabi, how-?” You bring a hand up to wipe the tears welling. To him it’s the bare minimum, but to you this means the world.
He pulls you in for a side hug, chuckling as he kisses your scalp. “Don’t worry about it, just get comfortable and lay back for a bit.”
He’d do absolutely anything for you.
Isack finds a way to bring you up in every conversation. Both to his friends and girls that are flirting with him, but especially the latter. Someone approaches him in public, acting a little too flirty? He’ll immediately look for a way to mention he’s taken. If subtly doesn’t work, he’ll turn them down mercilessly…
“Oh, I’ll be right back, I forgot something on the last aisle,” you say with a little sigh, your frustration at your own forgetfulness evident. Isack nods, pulling the shopping cart to the side to wait for you as he browses the current aisle.
Not even a minute after you’re gone, someone approaches. He greets everyone with kindness because that’s simply the type of person Isack is, so when they linger for a bit too long he’s quick to ask, “Sorry, am I in your way?”
“No, no, just… Looking.” Her eyes scan his form up and down when she says it, her tone uncomfortably flirty. He nods and scoots away, just barely. Like a few centimeters at most.
He turns to look over his shoulder. Behind him is just a jar of peanut butter, but he laughs and nods. “Oh, yeah, my partner loves this brand too.” He feels satisfied at the shock upon her face.
“Uh, cool. Thanks.” She grabs the jar, likely out of sheer embarrassment, and quickly scurries off. Thankfully you return soon after, a few items in hand.
He watches you with such adoration in his eyes, his lips curled up like a lovesick fool. “I found a bunch of other things too— It was probably a bad idea for me to go alone.” You look up, tilting your head. “What? You’re staring.”
“I just love you.”
“I love you too, but why are you being weird?”
“No reason.” You furrow your brows, but shrug it off as you place the things into the cart.
He’s obsessed with you.
He LOVES to include you in every photo dump. Every. Single. One. Sometimes it’s the most random ones, too. For example it’s a race weekend dump with the caption “good results from Sunday” and 5/10 of the slides are of you. Not even at the race, just you. Living your best life. He likes to show you off!
Pierre was scrolling through his camera roll, compiling a collection of photos that he liked from the last weekend. He wasn’t necessarily an avid poster but he liked to keep his loyal fanbase updated on his latest activities and whatnot. He was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, smiling at his phone.
Your senses were tingling, so you peeked over at him and immediately squinted your eyes. “What’s got you so smiley?” You trusted your man not to cheat, but you didn’t trust him to not be up to something mischievous. Not with a smile like that.
“Nothing,” he says in the form of an obvious lie. You roll your eyes and just go back to watching TV, certain that the contents of his phone will be publicly announced sooner or later. You just had to wait for now.
Time passes by and you eventually grab your phone out of boredom, defaulting to your favorite app: Instagram. But what do you see the second you open it up? A rather unflattering 0.5 picture of yourself, posted by none other than your traitor boyfriend himself.
“Pierre!” You shriek. To your horror, as you continue to scroll, more of these awful pictures continue to pop up alongside pictures related to his racing career. An odd mix. “Oh my God, why would you post these, I look terrible!”
“What on earth are you talking about?” He leaned over, looking at the screen. “You look beautiful! I gotta show you off.”
“I look disgusting.”
“Take that back right now.” His love for you is certainly loud and proud.
He always greets you with so much excitement, like you actually make his entire day. When you show up to a race he’s always running to you like an eager puppy afterwards, spinning you in his arms as he peppers your face in kisses. Or, even just when you come back from running errands or come to visit, he’s so excited to see you again.
Due to your differing schedules it had been a long time since you actually got to see Kimi in person. He had been busy being a top notch Formula One driver, and you were busy finishing up your first year in university. It felt weird to not be attending school without Kimi there alongside you, but you wouldn’t trade his happiness for the world. Nothing was better than getting to watch him accomplish his dreams live.
However, with the help of his dear friend Ollie, you finally got to arrange a surprise for your boyfriend who was all too depressed about how much he missed you. Trust me, he reminds you every day through the form of walls worth of text messages. You booked your flight, and now you were off to see him race in Canada!
And thankfully you did, because it ended up being a monumental moment in his career as he ended up finishing third, landing him a spot on the podium. His very first one. Still oblivious to your presence, he walked back into the garage coated in sweat, champagne, and a big smile. You were sure it wouldn’t get any bigger, but you were quickly proved wrong the moment he saw you.
“Y/N!” He ran straight towards you, pulling you in for a large hug as he squeezed you tight. You groaned, laughing at how clingy he was behaving. “Oh I missed you so much!” He pressed a series of kisses to your cheek, each one more dramatic than the last.
“Ew, gross, Kimi, you’re all sticky!”
“It’s from the champagne!” He was smiling from ear the ear, showing off his sharp canines and boyish eyes. “You must be my lucky charm— Please come to every race.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Fernando still believes in acts of chivalry and he’s very open about it. Of course it’s the bare minimum for your man to treat you with respect, but he also treats everyone around him with respect and is always reprimanding the younger drivers of the grid when they’re being impolite to their partners.
It was Sunday, which meant it was a chores day around the Alonso household. It was his turn to run some errands, and it was your turn to tidy the place up a bit. You guys liked to alternate, though Fernando usually preferred doing the shopping because it meant he got to go out and spoil you, but if he could… He’d honestly just do it all so you can rest.
You’re finishing up the dishes when you hear the door open, and he greets you in a familiar manner. “Welcome back,” you reply, drying your hands on a dish towel so that you can help him carry grocery bags in. But you stop in the doorway, because your husband is standing there with a large bouquet of your favorite flowers and a very cheeky smile. “Really? What’s the occasion.”
You take hold of them, leaning in to smell the beautiful plants. “No occasion,” he said as he gathered the bags that were set at his feet, walking past you to set them on the kitchen counters. “I just wanted to buy you flowers.”
“Well you have good timing, the last ones were wilting.” You take hold of the old vase, setting aside the dead flowers to clean the container out and replace with the new ones, which looked beautiful in the window of your kitchen.
“I know,” he kisses your cheek, hands resting on your hips. “You deserve nice things, mi media naranja.” He kisses your cheek again. And again. And- You get it.
“Ahh, you’re too sweet to me, mi amor.”
Fernando chuckles. “We’ll work on your Spanish another time.”
Celebrates every single accomplishment as if they’re his too. By this I mean business promotions, graduating college, getting your dream job, etc. Or even just small things like perfecting a recipe or making a new friend. Charles always gets slightly emotional for you, and he always goes all out to show how proud he is.
You’re buzzing with excitement as you walk into your home, setting all your things down as quick as you can. Charles isn’t anywhere to be found, so you assume he’s probably in your guys’ shared bedroom. You quickly make your way to him, opening the door hastily.
He’s standing there with slightly damp hair, a pair of pajama pants that hang low on the hips, and a shirt in his hands. His eyes briefly widens, but then he smiles. “What’s got you so excited?” He asks as he moves to slip the shirt on.
“I got the promotion!” You refrain from giggling like a maniac at your revelation. Charles fumbles with the shirt, struggling to put it on through his shared excitement. You laugh at his endeavors.
When his head finally pops through the whole in the top, he rushes over and places his hands on your hips. “Seriously?!”
“Yes!”
“Oh my God,” he kisses you. Hard. With a loud ‘SMACK’ as he pulls away. “I knew you’d get it— They’d be idiots to not give it to you. Ah- I’m so proud of you, mon ange. What do you want for dinner? I’ll make it. It’s a special occasion.”
Maybe to some people this would be a small achievement, but when he praises you so highly and speaks of it like the greatest thing in the world, it makes you feel special too. So you bask in his appreciative doting for as long as he’s willing to dish it out.
Pays for EVERYTHING. Sometimes this can be a red flag for some people, but Lance does it in a way that’s not pushy. He just casually pays for everything, and sometimes you don’t even realize. If you insist that you want to pay he’ll definitely let you, but otherwise it’s just instinctive for him to spoil you.
You don’t know what prayers you said to get you here in life, but you’d be forever grateful for whatever higher power gave you Lance. Not only was he eager to carry all your bags, but it was completely his idea to go shopping in the first place.
“What about this one?” You turn around, your hand still idly sorting through clothes on a rack. Lance is pointing at something in the jewelry display case, his eyes lit up. You walk over, your shoulders brushing as you settle beside him.
“Which one?”
“That one,” he points again, his finger centimeters away from the glass to avoid smudging it. You look at the necklace he’s gesturing to and gasp. “Pretty, right?”
“Yes, but it’s spendy, Lance. I can’t—”
“Uh-uh, I’m paying.” He smiles like an absolute dork, kissing the tip of your nose. You’re stunned in to silence all while he calls the worker over, asking for the necklace in question. As soon as it’s purchased, he takes it from the velvet box and wraps the chain around your neck, clasping it in the back with tender hands. “Beautiful…”
You pout. “Lance, this is too much…”
“No amount of money will ever amount to my love for you.”
Makes sure that BOTH of you get self care days. And I mean like full on spa days for the both of you. Yuki also respects that sometimes you need a day to yourself away from him, and he needs the same too. If you want to go out with your friends, do as you please! He just likes for you to keep your ringer on so he can always check on you (which he rarely does anyway, but it’s nice to know he CAN).
“Eww, why does it smell like that?” You cautiously sniff the face mask in your hands, the slightly slimy texture off putting to you. Sitting in the chair beside you, out on the balcony of your apartment, is your boyfriend, who’s already in his bath robe, face mask, and has his hair pushed back by a headband.
“Ignore the smell, your skin will be really smooth after.” You grimace, but then slap it onto your face nonetheless. The texture’s hard to get over, but eventually you manage to adjust to it. A soft sigh escapes your lips and you close your eyes, legs crossed as you bask in the sun. “This is nice,” Yuki adds on.
“Yes, thank you. I needed this.” You open your eyes minutes later to watch the sun dip past the horizon, your skin glowing in the final rays of the dusk. As day turns into night, you both begin to gather your things to head back inside.
You gather on the couch, limbs tangled affectionately as you turn on the new movie you’ve been waiting to watch. Yuki’s peeling his mask off, rubbing his cheeks with a big grin that makes you giggle. You reach up, awestruck by the smoothness. “See, I told you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” You peel your own off, rubbing your cheeks against your palm like a cat. You press your cheek to his chest, his arm wrapped around your shoulder casually. “Tomorrow I want to go shopping with some friends, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” You smile at his easygoing response. “Take all the time you need to yourself.”
True love!
Always has solutions to problems that are upsetting you. Alex has a calm, cool, and collected mind when it comes to your issues. He’ll sit down with you and calmly talk things out with you so that you don’t have to panic and freak out over it alone. The last things he wants is for your stress to pile up.
You’ve been pacing the house for hours now. It started with you simply being fidgety, constantly getting up to traverse the house in short bursts. Then, as your stress started to build over time, you developed into full blown pacing the floors, unable to rest. Alex immediately picked up on your uneasy behavior and was quick to come to the rescue.
He slid onto one of the stools in the kitchen island, his voice making you freeze. “Hey, what’s got you worked up?” He asks with a little laugh that’s both comforting and easygoing. You sigh softly, taking a deep breath in to calm yourself.
“It’s nothing big, I… My coworker just quit, so now my boss is giving me this huge project that I have to finish in under a week with no prior knowledge and I just can’t figure out what to do!” You bury your fingers in your hair, lightly tugging. Alex reaches over the island, carefully pulling your wrists back down to hold your hands.
You expect him to give some half-assed reply like, ‘that sucks,’ as a quick way of consolation, but instead he smiles. He smiles at it already makes you feel so much lighter. “Why don’t we break it down together, then? We’re a team. I’m sure we can figure it out,” he says that and for the moment you don’t feel so alone anymore. When you slowly nod, he pulls his hands away.
Alex pulls out his phone, opening his notes app to start jotting things down. You start to slowly explain the basics of it, and he keeps note of every important detail and goal for the project. By the end of it you’re feeling like you have a lot less on your plate and more like you know the general direction you want to head in.
“Why don’t you relax and brainstorm some ideas to start? I’ll worry about dinner and all the chores.” Alex brushes up behind you, tenderly kissing the back of your neck. “Your happiness is my happiness. I just want you to feel content.”
You could melt, you feel so at ease.
Nico has every important date written on his phone calendar. Your anniversary, your birthday, your parent’s anniversary (if they’re still married) so that he can send them both a nice message, the anniversary of the day you first met… There’s no fooling Nico Hülkenberg, because he remembers every important date.
You weren’t someone to frequently prank your husband, but life had been easygoing on the two of you as of late, and you felt that you both needed some spice in your day to day lives. So you began to hatch a master plan of pure, unadulterated tomfoolery targeted towards the love of your life. Did you have better things to do? Honestly, no.
“Y/N? My looove,” your husband called out curiously. You could hear his footsteps approaching, the door to your shared bedroom slowly creaking open as he walked in. “Did you get the ingredients for dinner? I can’t find them-”
He paused in the doorway of the bathroom attached to your bedroom, his eyes scanning over your figure. You were dressed in your more fancy apparel, and you were applying makeup. You had to hold back a smirk. “What are you talking about?”
“Where are you going?” He tilted his head, leaning against the door frame. The look of confusion was pure gold.
“Nico, stop joking. I’m getting ready for tonight.”
“What’s tonight?”
“Are you serious? It’s our anniversary. Don’t tell me you forgot…” You’re really pulling out all your acting skills for this. “If this is a prank, it’s not funny. I have a sitter on the way and everything…”
“I’m not pranking, but I’m sure you are.” He kissed your temple nonchalantly, laughing as he did so. “Our anniversary’s on the nineteenth. It’s the eleventh. I have it saved in my phone.”
You blink. “Wait, really?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I was trying to prank you but that’s so sweet…”
“Now about those ingredients? The kids are hungry…”
Writes you songs! Not in a performative male way, but in the way where you stumble across a journal in his nightstand and it’s full of scribbled song lyrics that are clearly about you. He doesn’t write them to show you, but just to put his love out there somewhere.
“Babe, while you’re up could you grab my phone charger from my nightstand? Should be in the first drawer.” Liam calls from the couch where he’s sprawled out, the movie paused while you went to the bathroom. You pretended to be inconvenienced with a hefty sigh, but trotted off to collect the charger anyway.
You followed his instructions closely, opening the top drawer. A white cord sat there, but it was what lie beneath that caught your eye. You carefully plucked the thin, leather journal from the drawer. You shouldn’t open it, and you should respect his privacy… But you don’t, because you immediately open it, letting your eyes shamelessly scan the first page.
“Liam,” you call in a singsong tone. You enter the living room, charging in hand with your other behind your back. You slowly present the notebook, and his eyes widen. “Found something interesting in your drawer.”
“No…” He sighs, shaking his head. “Please tell me you didn’t read it.”
“Oh, I read it alright.” You sit down beside him, cracking the book open to the first page with cheesily romantic lyrics written. He groans, tilting his head back. “It’s sweet. At least I think so. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“You weren’t supposed to ever see them.”
“Why else would you write them?”
“Because I love you so much that sometimes the only way to express that is terribly corny love songs that you’ll never see. Or I thought you’d never see.”
You frown, a deep playful frown. “You’re so cute it actually hurts.”
Supportive of literally everything you do, and is not afraid to vocalize his attraction for you. You get a haircut and you don’t like it? Don’t worry because your boyfriend will be very proud to express how hot you are to him. And I get it because sometimes a man calling you hot is kind of gross, but Esteban says it with such sincerity and love in his eyes that it makes your heart melt.
“It’s so hot outside, why are you wearing a sweatshirt?” Esteban asks his question with genuine concern. He’s got a towel around his waist, and water droplets roll down his toned figure to show how he’d freshly out of the pool, seeking relief from the intently hot sun.
You barely tighten the strings of your hoodie, closing the hood around your face to conceal your shameful hair. “I’m cold,” you say as a weak excuse. He scoffs at your response, rolling his eyes with loving playfulness.
“Ma moitié, you’re going to have a heatstroke.” He reaches out to pull the hood off your head, but you shoo his hands away with haste. He hums, clearly unsure of your response. “What are you doing? Is something wrong?”
You sigh. “Do you promise not to laugh?”
“Of course. I would never laugh at you, only with you.” You slowly pull the hood off your head, revealing your new haircut. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever tried before, and you feel absolutely ridiculous with such a new look. You avoid Esteban’s gaze, but after such radio silence you eventually look over at him. His eyes are sparkling, and he has a big smile. “Tu es magnifique! You look very sexy. What’s the issue?”
“You’re just saying that. You look ridiculous.”
“No, if I was lying I would say it like… You look good.” Esteban mocks a flat tone, which brings a little smile from you. “It’s different, but I love it. I think you look hot.”
“Esteban!”
“What? It’s true! I’m looking at a dream. I can’t believe I have you in my life, really.”
You soften at his genuine words, looking down at your lap. “Thank you.”
“Never doubt yourself again.” He runs a hand through your freshly cut hair before kissing your scalp.
Has so much trust in you and is trustworthy himself. He never feels the need to go through your things to make sure you’re not cheating or hiding anything from him, because he’s confident in the relationship and knows better. However, if you’d like to go through his phone he’d be just fine letting you do so because he has nothing to hide. Except maybe some embarrassing text messages with friends, but that’s no big deal.
You and Franco were out on a date, enjoying a nice meal. He had been rambling about work and racing all night, but for right now he was silent, feasting on his meal like a starved man. You were full, leaning back in your chair. You were filled with delicious food and regret for eating too much of said delicious food.
With boredom inching its way towards you, you decided to test a theory that had been occupying your mind. Franco’s phone sat beside his plate, wide out in the open with the screen facing upwards— A sign of his trust. You slowly reached out for the device.
He was quick to yank his plate back. It was so fast you initially thought that he had reached for his phone, and your heart sunk, but as the moment passed the realization sunk. Your fingers were curled around the small decide, and Franco was currently leaning back, holding his plate away from you. You both made eye contact, equally surprised.
“I thought you were trying to take my food,” he admitted sheepishly as he set it back down, letting out an easygoing laugh. He grabs the phone and hands it to you, though he’s still slightly hunched over his food like he’s worried you’re gonna take a second shot at it.
You laugh and playfully roll your eyes, setting the phone down. “I just wanted to see how you’d react. Didn’t realize you were so protective over your food.”
“I’m sorry, you can have some if you want.”
“It’s okay, Franco, I don’t want it.”
Defends you like his life depends on it, no matter the scenario. Sometimes Lewis will even defend you when you’re clearly in the wrong, just because in his eyes you can do no wrong. Whether it’s protecting you from a physical threat or defending you from rude people, he’s there to keep you safe!
Lewis was used to people crowding around him. He was regarded as the greatest of all time with hundreds of fans willing to throw themselves at him. Even after your relationship became public, that didn’t change. You walked beside him in the paddock, the two of you navigating through crowds of fans with ease.
But when Lewis turned around, you were gone, lost in a swarm of flash photography and crazed fans with pens and paper in hand. He huffed, rolling his shoulders as he pushed through the crowd, giving half-assed apologies as he did so. He reached for your arm, pulling your body towards his.
“It’s rude to crowd people,” he scolded in the most polite way he could muster at the moment. Lewis helped you out, his arm wrapped around your shoulder to hold you close to his side as you walked. “‘M sorry, love.”
“That was honestly hot,” you giggled, kissing his jawline with a gentle smirk. Your words and your actions sent a big grin from ear to ear onto his face, looking almost shy.
“Gotta keep you safe.”
Carlos always asks about your day. And it’s not just the typical ‘how was your day?’ because he follows up with ‘what happened?’ because he genuinely would love to sit and hear about every small detail.
“Welcome home, amor.” Carlos greets, helping you take your jacket off and hanging your bag on the rack by the door. Like clockwork, after a short peck, he asks, “How was your day?”
At the beginning of your relationship you’d always just tell him it was good, but he had slowly conditioned you into giving him the full rundown by asking you what made it good. So, this time you started with, “Honestly a little boring.”
“Yeah?”
You sit at the couch, and he takes his place behind you, hands on your shoulders to massage them. “Yeah,” you hum, melting under his touch. “Not much happened today. All the office drama seemed to die down— Or maybe everyone was just really tense after what Susan did so we were all a little afraid to speak.”
“Hopefully tomorrow’s not the same. You shouldn’t let one person scare you into silence.” He’s a good listener. He knows more about the people at your job than half of your co-workers do.
“True. Plus, once her two weeks are up things will likely go back to normal. I just gotta power through until then.”
“You’re very capable, amor. I know you’ll be okay.” He kisses your neck, making you giggle.
Would absolutely learn a new language for you. If you speak anything that isn’t English, George would absolutely learn what he can in a heartbeat. Especially terms of endearment.
Date night had been a dream. Suspiciously so… Shopping, dinner, a movie, and now you were taking a stroll along a beach, George holding both of your guys’ shoes in his hands as you dug your toes into the soft sand. You stopped eventually to look out at the ocean, a smile gracing your lips. “The sun reflecting onto the water is so pretty. Don’t you think, George—”
You turned around, and you froze in your tracks. There your boyfriend sat, knelt down onto one knee with that beautiful velvet box in his hands. Your hands flew to your mouth and your eyes widened. “Wait-”
“Y/N…” He took a deep breath. “No me puedo inaginar mi vida sin ti. (I can’t imagine my life without you in it.)” You could feel the tears welling in your eyes at the immediate realization. He was speaking Spanish— Your language. “Estamos destinados a estar juntos, y quiero estar contigo para siempre. (We’re meant to be together, and I want to be with you forever.)”
“George…”
“Tú eres la que ha estado esperando toda mi vida. (You’re the one I’ve been waiting for my whole life.)” He starts to pry the box open, revealing a beautiful ring that shines in the setting rays of light. “¿Te casarias conmigo? (Will you marry me?)”
“Yes!” You say through tears. George stands up, pulling you into a hug as you throw your arms around his neck. “I love you so much— How long did that take you to learn?”
“We don’t need to talk about that—” He said sheepishly, burying his face in your neck.
Gets super emotional around you! Oscar loves showing you his vulnerable side and showing how he’s definitely not robotic, and that the rumors aren’t true. He gets angry, sad, happy, etc. It’s just that sometimes you’re the only one who gets to see it.
This was the day you had been waiting for all of your life. Since you were a kid, you dreamed of a wedding like this. Surrounded by loved ones, a beautiful outfit, and a husband who loved you so dearly. Now, the moment was just a few steps away. The doors opened, and your audience rose as you began to make your way down the aisle.
Standing at the end was Oscar, who was taking a deep breath to keep his composure as he watched you inch closer and closer. So many beautiful moments had led to this, including a proposal that brought you to tears.
But he snapped, and the tears started to flow when you were about halfway down the aisle. When you reached him, standing opposite of your future husband, you couldn’t help but laugh as his surprising crying continued. He turned away from everyone, releasing one of your hands to wipe his weeping eyes.
“Oscar,” you cooed in the form of a little laugh. “Why are you crying?”
“You just look so beautiful,” he whispered with a choked laugh. Thankfully his best man was there to hand him a handkerchief, which he used to quickly dry his eyes. “Sorry, I’m okay now.”
“You’re too cute sometimes.” And people liked to call him a robot…
Prioritizes your comfort over all else. The moment you start to shiver, even if he’s freezing himself, Ollie will shed his hoodie to give it to you, ensuring you stay nice and warm. It doesn’t matter if he has to be inconvenienced to keep you happy, he will do anything to make sure you’re comfy.
“My feet hurt,” you whined, stopping to adjust your heels. Ollie, who had already draped his suit jacket over your shoulders, stopped to watch your carefully. “I shouldn’t have worn these stupid shoes.”
“Hey, hey, calm down…” He softly rubbed your back the moment he saw you getting frustrated, your voice cracking. “We can swap,” he offered, sliding off his more comfortable, though much larger, dress shoes.
You glanced at the shoes, and then at him. “Swap?”
“Yes, give me your shoes.” You hesitated, but you eventually pried your heels off and slid into his shoes instead. You sighed with relief, nodding your head. “See, much better.”
“Yes, but…”
You watched, biting back a laugh as he slid his feet into your heels. He couldn’t put them on all the way as they were just… Slightly too small, but he could at least fit the front of his feet in. Ollie wobbled as he took a step, making you both laugh. “How do you even walk in these things?”
“Well, for one, they actually fit my feet…”
Yes, he’d do anything for you. Even parade around in heels too small for him.
theodore nott x reader, smelling theo’s cologne while making the amortentia potion, swearing, ‘fuck it.’ moment, aggressive make out, enemies to lovers ish, love triangle??
wc… 2.1k
(masterlist) (nav)
blessings and riches, tessa
theodore nott, critically acclaimed ‘bad boy’ at hogwarts. you never spoke to him unless it was a taunt about the next exam. he usually smirked and said something under his breath, rolling his eyes. the two of you weren’t academic rivals per se, but something along those lines.
you were always top of your class, studying hard every day and staying late to do extra homework, while theodore just partied every night, showing up to class drunk or not at all, yet still excelling. you were sick of it.
so there you sat in potions class, theodore’s stupid head blocking your view of professor slughorn. he explained the essentials for your next potion, the amortentia. you gathered materials with the help of pansy parkinson, who sat beside you.
the two of you tried, and tried, and tried, not getting any where. you fall back into your seat with a sigh as you scan the classroom. everyone seemed to be struggling, including theodore, which made you feel a bit better.
after several failed attempts, you seem to finally get it. relief and happiness washes over you, excited to smell your ‘soulmates’ scent. you take a whiff of the amortentia, but it isn’t what you expected. “so? what does it smell like?” pansy asked.
you take another breath of the potion, “i can’t tell, because theodore’s stupid woody cologne is stinking up the room!” you put emphasis on the last part, hoping he’d hear it. “don’t get me started, all i can smell is your dumb vanilla perfume!” he retorts, turning to face you. you give him a dirty look as he shoots an overdramatic one back, the group around you silent.
“what?” you turn to pansy. “y/n…” she says in a small voice, then you realize it.
no way.
theodore nott was what you desired most, and you were what he desired as well. you look down at your potion in embarrassment as theodore turns back around.
you don’t say another word, simply carry on with class. afterwards, you met up with pansy to walk around hogwarts before returning to your dormitories. you just explore the school a bit more, even after going here for years, then walk up to the slytherin common room.
you’re about to enter, when you hear voices overlapping and the strong smell of cigarettes. “mate, if ya’ don’t fuckin’ like ‘er, then why was she in your amortentia? what you desired most?” blaise’s voice emerged. you held up a hand to get pansy to not walk in, and continued eavesdropping.
“i told you already, malfoy fucked it up. probably a mistake” theodore says, a strong pang of doubt lacing his words. “oi nott, don’t talk about my potions abilities, i know wot the fuck i’m doing. if anything you struggled for ‘alf the class and needed my help” draco says angrily.
“even if you do like her, she’s way too fuckin’ good for you. smart, gorgeous, funny. surprised one of us doesn’t have her around our shoulder by now.” mattheo says, laughing to himself.
“che cazzo, why do i hang with you idiots.” theodore says. it sounds like he’s about to depart from the common room, and if he turned that corner, you would be caught. so you grab pansy’s arm and walk into the room with her.
“ah, y/n! lovely to see ya here. i believe our mate theo here was just about to go and see you!” mattheo exclaims, gesturing to the standing figure that is theodore nott. you scoff slightly, ignoring him and putting your book bag down on the seat nearby.
“yeah, i was.” theodore’s voice makes you snap your head the other way, looking at him in confusion. did he not know you just listened to his entire conversation? he walks up to you, towering over your frame as his voice lowers.
“astronomy tower. 8pm.” he walks off into the distance, leaving the rest of the boys, you, and pansy all confused in the common room. “y’ladies want a hit?” mattheo chuckles, handing the cigarette in our direction. you and pansy look at each other, then take mattheo up on his offer.
you grab the cigarette first, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out the window. you pass it to pansy, and it continues like this for a while.
dinner time rolls around 6:30pm, as usual. you go down for a bit, poking at the plate in front of you. theodore was no where to be seen. you hang out with pansy and blaise for a bit, cracking jokes and talking.
you excuse yourself a bit later, saying you have to study. you didn’t tell anyone what theodore said to you earlier. you make your way to astronomy tower, the clock hitting 8:10pm. punctuality wasn’t your strong suit.
you see theodore standing there, looking to the sky. he’s the only person there, his back turned. you grab a cigarette from your book bag and light it, walking closer to him. he must’ve heard the lighter click, because he spun around to look at you.
“i thought you weren’t going to show up.” his accent is thick around his words. “here i am” you declare, taking a drag from your cigarette. “what was it you wanted to talk about theodore?” you ask, theodore’s hand extending out in a silent request for the cigarette.
you pass it to him, exhaling the smoke that once was yours. “call me theo.” he inhales, looking at you dead in the eyes. a beat of silence passes as he speaks up. “i need you.” the words are like strong blades of ice down your heart as you swallow down a twang of sadness.
“you said it was a mistake. your amortentia got messed up and you didn’t actually like me.” you say. he’s lying to you, a voice taunts. he just wants another thing to play with then throw away.
“when did you hear that?” he clears his throat as you take your cigarette back. “why did you say it?” you stare into his soul. why would he say that to his friends, but mean the other?
“because mattheo has a huge fucking crush on you, i didn’t want to hurt him. he only spoke up about us and how we both like you because of the amortentia. i didn’t want to rub it in.” he tells you.
the words start to make a little more sense, especially with what mattheo said after. you look at him, an unreadable expression on his face. maybe ‘bro code’ was a thing? after a few seconds, you make up your mind.
“fuck it.”
the words are barely above a whisper as you crash your lips onto his, cigarette in between your fingers still. his hands make their ways onto your hips, your arms around his neck. the kiss deepens with that movement, his tongue exploring your mouth.
after what feels like a minute or two, your kiss is broken off by a few giggles. you both turn around, entangled in each other, to see draco and mattheo giggling at you two. you immediately push off each other. “blaise what the fuck?” theo yells at the boys. “so you did fuckin’ like ‘er” blaise’s words sound like less of a question and more of a statement.
theo presses his tongue to his cheek, “yeah, ‘f course i did” he said in a small voice. you can’t identify what mattheo’s expression is like, an unreadable and perfectly cloaked sadness.
“i-i should go” you say, tossing your cigarette to the ground and brushing past the boys. they’re all silent, at least until you’re out of earshot.
you retreat to your dorm and just think. his lips on yours, his smell exactly like the one in your amortentia…
you hear the annoying beeps of your alarm clock, and wake up from your dreams. you rub the sleep from your eyes, a recollection of last night coming in a wave. dinner, the astronomy tower, the kiss. you feel terrible about what happened with theo, how you left so abruptly for no reason.
you groan, getting out of bed to go brush your teeth. you’re almost to the bathroom, then you notice something. a box. that wasn’t there last night.
you stop on your way to the bathroom, turning and checking the box. there was a note atop the box - filled with cookies. it read,
please say you’re mine. i really need you mia cara, theo
you smile to yourself, then it hits you. how did he get into your dorm? you didn’t let him in? you were sure to lock your door last night, and the only other person that has a key is… shit.
you grab a jacket, zipping it up as you practically run out of your dorm. you make it to another dorm room, the same wood door, different number.
you bang on the door like your life depended on it, hand practically breaking. “piss off!” the voice inside calls. “open the fucking door!” you yell back. first years walk past you in a rush, but you couldn’t care. you continue banging until the door opens, a short girl appearing.
“y/n, what the fuck do you want.” she sighs, walking into the room and leaving the door open. “pansy, you let theodore nott into my room?” the words spill out of your mouth. she stops in her tracks, turning to look at you.
“uhhh maybe?” she says. “pansy!” you scoff. “oh c’mon! he bought you a box of your favourite vanilla snickerdoodle cookies! and he bought me some chocolate chip cookies, too.” she smiles.
“just- come to my dorm. there’s too many people who hang out around the corner from here.” you explain. first years usually stuck around the benches nearby. “fine” she sighs.
you show her the note theo wrote you as she shuts the door behind her. “awww!” she swoons. you sigh. it was cute, but did he have to break in? “so?” she asks. “so what?” you ask her. she looks at you like you’re stupid. “so are you his or not?” she taunts, sitting on your chair and grabbing a cookie. she passes you one, taking a chunk out of the other.
“the yule ball is in a few days. what if you go with him? maybe he’s hinting at something bigger?” she says through a mouthful of cookie. “hm, maybe” you reply. “that’s it? maybe? c’mon! at least go talk to him later, there’s no classes today, text him or something” she recommends. “i’m living vicariously through you girl” you smile at the words.
“don’t you have harry, or one of those gryffindors, thirsting off of you? go with him” you say, shrugging. she looks upset, “just go talk to him! i heard him and mattheo in the common room arguing earlier, something about-“
before she can finish, you’re out the door running to the common room. you run in the hopes that theo’s still there, note in your pocket. you make it there on a whim, running into a few people, but making it there nonetheless.
you notice the back of theo’s hair - after seeing it in potions all the time - and walk up to him. “hey” your voice emerges in the chaos. “can we talk?” he nods. the common room is filled with kids, so you walk out to hogsmeade to talk with him.
after a few minutes of silence, you speak up. “i’m sorry about what happened last night. i wasn’t thinking straight, and i just left like an idiot-“
“y/n?”
“yeah?”
“did you… get my note?” he chuckles awkwardly, hoping you did. “yeah, thanks for the cookies by the way. how’d you know i loved vanilla?”
“your perfume. it’s been haunting me, if i’m gonna be honest. all i can think about.” you remember the amortentias. his cologne hasn’t exactly left your mind either, that made two of you.
“yeah, so… you made pansy break into my dorm?” you chuckle. “yes but for a good cause” he laughs as well. crisp autumn leaves crunch under your feet, making it perfect for a walk.
“i was hoping you’d show up.” he says after silence. “i wanted to ask you something, come this way” you follow him off the path, knowing hogsmeade was the other way. “wh-what about hogsmeade, isn’t it that way?” you ask.
“too many kids over there. need to ask you…” he starts, leaving anticipation as he heads in front of you. you make it to a small pit, trees traced around as he turns to you. “it’s a nicer shortcut this way.” he clarifies.
“what did you need to ask me?”
“right… y/n, could i go to the yule ball with you?”
holy shit. pansy was right, oh how she was gonna rub it in your face.
“oh my god, of course i will!” you say. he hugs you, the smell of his woody cologne filling your senses. you depart from the hug, looking him in his eyes as you peck him on the lips. he smiles down at you, eyes fixing on yours.
“mattheo’s gonna kill me” he chuckles.
tessa’s notes… can we all agree theo would smell like bleu de chanel
𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: 𝖺 collection of sweet headcanons about your best friend, Kimi Antonelli, who has been secretly in love with you for far longer than he'll ever admit. ♥︎
★ Best friend Kimi who always insists that he doesn't get jealous, but somehow ends up standing right next to you whenever someone started flirting with you.
★ Best friend Kimi who memorized your favorite coffee order before you even realized that you always ordered it.
★ Best friend Kimi who has secretly kept all the small gifts you've ever had given him, even the silly ones you have him as a joke.
★ Best friend Kimi who always looks for you first after his race because seeing your smile makes his results feel reel.
★ Best friend Kimi who knows and lets you steal his hoodies because when you return them, they always smell like you.
★ Best friend Kimi who never lets you walk on the outside part of the sidewalk, no questions asked.
★ Best friend Kimi who immediately gets happier the second you walk into the room, no matter how tired he was a few seconds earlier.
★ Best friend Kimi who gets all shy and blushy whenever you give him the smallest compliment and immediately tries to change the subject.
★ Best friend Kimi who secretly has a folder of dozens of candid pictures of you because to him you're the prettiest when you're laughing.
★ Best friend Kimi who always immediately notices when your angry or sad, even before you say a single word to him.
★ Best friend Kimi who would cancel his own plans in a heartbeat if you told him you needed him.
★ Best friend Kimi who reaches for your hand without thinking in overly crowded places before he even realized what he was doing.
★ Best friend Kimi who has a big smile on his expression everything he sees your name popping up on his phone.
★ Best friend Kimi who immediately melts on the inside when you rest your head on his shoulder during long flights or car rides.
★ Best friend Kimi who is teased by everyone in the paddock because he can't stop looking at you when you are near his garage.
★ Best friend Kimi who swears to everyone you're "just his best friend," but talks about you like you are the most amazing person he's ever met.
★ Best friend Kimi who will always remember every important date in your life and somehow will always know what gifts to get to make you smile.
★ Best friend Kimi who falls asleep on FaceTime with you more than he'd like to admit, but he loves it.
★ Best friend Kimi who had been in love with you for so long that he can't even remember when your friendship turned into something more...
