open attachment | ben shelton/flavio cobolli / chapter 1/?
Flavio said, “Sorry. You said ex? Ex-girlfriend?”
“Yeah, man,” Ben said, hoping to imply, obviously. Not that having any other type of ex was wrong, or anything like that. Ben was totally okay if Flavio was like that. He’d sort of suspected it since the moment they met.
@tennisrarepairpromptfest prompts: Ben shelton /flavio cobolli- angst with happy ending-arguing-ben shelton has internalized homophobia-what are we situationship-getting together // sexuality crises but on Flavio "I'm straight" Cobolli's part rather than Ben's!
pretend by @shoves genuinely just exploded my head. never ever read this nestled in the wicklow mountains ever again. some of the largest tears ive ever cried x
SPA, BELGIUM - JULY 18: George Russell of Great Britain and Mercedes AMG Petronas answers questions in the TV media pen during qualifying ahead of the F1 Grand Prix of Belgium at Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps on July 18, 2026 in Spa, Belgium. Photo by Jayce Illman.
finding out by chance that red bull have a football team has really tickled me. even moreso that they also have a SECOND red bull football team and there have been several player transfers between the teams. and of course some sort of youth system/scouting network too. like omg is no sport safe from this energy drink's sick and twisted machinations?
reread pretend again… george had been opening up more to his coworkers, he neons alex with him when he goes to indonesia for a work conference, that trip is when he was planning to propose… do his corkers know about alex? have they met him? how does toto react to george dating a player they both supported if he finds out lol
“George,” Alex says, from behind the door, in his most frightening voice. His shadow moves closer, his leather dress shoes in full view, underneath the stall. George swallows. “You need to tell me exactly what you told your psycho boss about—“
“He’s not psycho,” George interrupts, standing up. “He’s enthusiastic.” George explains, stretching the word out diplomatically as he curls his feet inside of his own loafers. His legs sting; he’d been sitting for eleven minutes in the most uncomfortable position, now paying the price in the form of pins and needles all the way down his toes.
“He’s mental,” Alex asserts, clearing his throat. George doesn’t have to look at him to imagine the pose and face he’s making. “You told me you talked to him.”
“I mentioned it. In a way,” George says, flexing his fingers, staring down at the marble tiles of the floor. Who knew Kew Gardens had such lovely bathrooms?
“What does that even mean? In a way—I think he’s genuinely convinced that he’s up for the assistant coach position now. He asked me for Horner’s number for god's sake.” Alex’s incredulity is usually communicated in exaggerated humor, George can’t really tell if he’s being serious or not.
Toto’s always been like that. Expressive. Extremely opinionated, when it came to the management of his boyhood club. George would nod along patiently listening to Toto exclaim with great detail why Ricciardo was not a winger, that Horner wasn’t utilising his control on the ball enough, that Gasly was much better at crosses than Tsunoda.
It’s precisely why he’d never really known what to say. The problem wasn’t one he’d ever really thought he’d have to deal with. It was pure naivety, of course, but George was great at that. Packing things up and putting them away. He’d even kept their wedding invitations to initials only, just to kick the can down the road further. (“Unconventional,” in Nico’s opinion, “A vibe, for sure,” according to Lewis)
“I said you were affiliated with the club,“ George manages, rather weakly.
“Affiliated?” Alex guffaws. He rattles onto the handle finally, laughing. “I scored in half the bloody games I played in—God—can you just open the fucking door—“
“Alright alright,” George says, shrill. When the stall swings open, he’s rewarded with the exact Alex he’d predicted in his mind.
Seeing Alex in a suit knocks the wind out of George like it did when they’d first done their jacket fittings for the ceremony. His arms, crossed over his chest, unable to keep the smile off of his face, paints the rest of the picture. He’ll never get bored of the sight.
“Sorry,” George says, eventually, genuinely feeling bad. “I didn’t think he would be so—“
“If you say enthusiastic again.” Alex threatens, the corners of his lips betraying the stern tone of his voice.
“Irritating,” George supplies, surprisingly quickly. “I would have probably asked Lewis to say something.”
Alex steps forward, all the faux fight leaving his body, to rest his forehead against George’s shoulder and slump completely. The surprise of it isn’t enough to bowel George over, but he has to step back and bring both hands up to brace the pair of them. Alex, as always, is so warm, even through his tuxedo.
“He’s so annoying,” Alex bemoans. “Like genuinely the biggest Salzburg fanboy I have ever seen. He literally told me he has a jersey in the back of his car and asked if I could sign it—I was looking for you all over.”
George had noticed. For a celebration of their union it’s disappointing just how little time they actually have to spend together. Other than the brief hours of the morning, it’s the first time he’s been alone with Alex all day. George relishes in the joy of it, the way it always makes him feel. His fingers tighten where they clasp Alex’s shoulders, patting him very gently.
“Are you having fun?” George asks, a little quieter, possibly a little too serious.
“Yes.” Alex’s laughter shakes through his whole body, George is good at holding him upright. “I can’t believe you’re hiding at your own bloody wedding.”
“I wasn’t really hiding,” George replies. He’d watched Alex’s gaze track him all the way across the gardens to the bathroom, glancing away from where he’d been nodding to Toto over and over again, surrounded by the rest of his Salzburg teammates. George was struggling to stifle his laughter, waving away Lando with an ‘ok’ sign as he fled to the bathroom. Of course Alex was going to follow.
“I was playing~” George says, the same way Alex says it. Alex laughs again, then pulls himself up, clutching at George as he does so. His touch is like electricity.
They kissed at the ceremony. It was beautiful, obviously, underneath the spring sunshine and purple wisteria. Kissing Alex in a bathroom stall, though, comes with a delicious slice of desire George finds difficult to suppress.
Alex tastes like champagne and caviar, the chive dip canapes George had picked, which Alex, at first, had objected to. He grins into the kiss just for that alone.
“I knew you liked the bloody caviar table—“ George says, mumbling, satisfaction rolling through him in thick waves.
“You spent two thousand quid on the thing—“ Alex replies, taking his hands from George’s lapel to his jaw; they shuffle backwards. George kisses Alex again, swallowing the rest of the argument.
“God,” Alex says, pulling away, looking at George’s lips like he can’t really help himself. “Do you think it would be rude if we just—“
“Surely you’re not proposing what I think you are,” George says. The highness of his voice does nothing to conceal how turned on he is.
“Boys?” a voice comes reverberating through the bathroom. It’s Lewis. “Are you in here? Toto’s looking for Alex. Should I make him piss off?”
Alex rolls his eyes dramatically, deflating instantly, tilting his head back. George has to try very hard not to burst out laughing. He closes his eyes, but it’s not enough. The laugh that escapes him is so loud it shocks Alex into laughing too.
“Give us a minute please Lewis,” Alex says, after a moment. “We’re having a groom to groom discussion.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Lewis asks.
It only makes George laugh harder. He’s laughing so hard there’s tears coming out of his eyes, Alex is trying to make him shush, but it’s just making Alex laugh too.
“I’ll distract him,” Lewis promises. “You have ten minutes.”
The door to the bathroom clicks shut. George hears it lock from the outside. Alex licks his lips; George wipes the stray tears from the corner of his eyes.
“I think you owe me one,” Alex says, expression overcome with mischief. George has never, ever been so in love with him. “Don’t you think?”
“Only if you let me say I told you so about the caviar table. You have to admit it’s a hit.”
“Do you ever shut up?” Alex asks, pulling George back toward him. No, George says, but it doesn’t come out; his mouth is occupied with other things for the time being.
