#left to right btw ^^^^ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

illbegottenfaith · 25 days ago

Text

ferrari

as part of a social visit, you spend a fortnight at an English politician's estate with his god-awful son (politician's son!theo x american socialite!reader)

a/n - this fic took sooo long im so excited to publish it!!! also im such a sucker for the trope where one half of a couple is THE most insidious hater with absolutely no chill but then halfway through they start feeling like...why's the other person kinda........hmmmmmmm (p.s. this started off inspired by the song by the neighbourhood but idk if i would call this a songfic ehehe enjoyy)

tropes/warnings - enemies to lovers, forced proximity, fluff/banter, mildly british-phobic, incorrect descriptions of ferraris as manual (god i researched too much about ferraris against my will also i apologise for the inconsistencies car/f1 girlies)

word count - 5.8k

taglist - @kandralice @justme989898 @iamheretoread1234 @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf @user089167

A car.

A yellow car.

A bright, disgusting, honest-to-god canary yellow Ferrari was peeling into the driveway at the ungodly hour of a quarter to 7 in the morning.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes. Most of yesterday had passed in an exhausting blur, given how jet-lagged you were, but this took the cake. You blinked, opening your eyes further. The car was still there, as loud and insecurely showy as it had been at first glance.

Perhaps your eyes hadn't adjusted to the English countryside gloom. Yes, that had to be it. You were sure that in proper daylight, the car would appear a luxurious cream, or perhaps even an elegant taupe.

Once you had dressed and crept downstairs, shivering in the early morning chill that blanketed the vast estate, a butler informed you that Master Nott would be down shortly to join you for breakfast. But it wasn't the genteel, elderly man that had welcomed you and your father the day before that walked in.

"Apologies for my absence yesterday," said the man walking towards the breakfast table, fiddling with a button. "I hope my father wasn't too boring. I was occupied with some other business. Theodore Nott. Junior."

He stuck out a hand at the last bit, and you eyed it with a restrained distaste. Perhaps it was just the cynic in you, but something about his demeanour felt politically calibrated to dazzle you. The apple clearly didn't fall far from the tree - Theo Nott Jr. was every bit his father's son. However, this Theodore appeared more charismatic and charming, whereas his father seemed more reserved and cordial.

And yet, there was something untrustworthy about his smile. What kind of business did he occupy himself with?

"So, Theodore," you asked as you buttered a piece of toast, "what do you like to do for pleasure?"

"Nothing much out of the ordinary - golfing, collecting art, skiing. I enjoy a good holiday every now and then."

Your lips quirked a little at that. Calling it 'a little holiday every now and then' was putting it lightly, you decided. Theodore Nott Jr. had a reputation that could easily rival any of your more scandalous counterparts. It seemed like all he did was travel, jet-setting from one location to the next, finding ever-brilliant ways of dragging his father's name in the mud. Given his father's staunch refusal to comment on his son's debaucherous behaviours, you guessed there was no love lost between the two.

"Oh, and cars," Theo continued obliviously. "I do like cars."

You placed your toast down, frowning.

"Your business yesterday. It wouldn't have had anything to do with that...you know...the yellow..." you trailed off, motioning with the butter knife.

Theo looked surprised. The mildly curious look on his face felt miles more genuine than his unscrupulous smile just minutes ago. The curve of his lips hinted at something - like a smile, but not quite.

"Your bedroom does overlook the driveway, doesn't it? But yes - I was in town yesterday afternoon to pick up my new car." Misreading your curiosity as interest, he probed further. "Why? Do you like it?"

You thought back to the grotesquely gleaming vehicle. You barely held back from pulling an unbecoming face.

"Car is...a strong word for that monstrosity."

Theo's lips parted, giving you the impression that he had a dozen replies on the tip of his tongue, but no voice for any of them.

"Well. You Americans have the strangest ways of describing classics."

You raised your eyebrows. "Classic? Little Women is a classic. That...is a Colleen Hoover book at best."

Theo watched you curiously, uncomprehending.

"What? You're not up to date on contemporary unfeminist literature?"

From the blank look on his face, the quip was clearly lost on him. Merlin, was he going to be this slow the entire visit?

"When Father mentioned contacting a translator, I assumed he was having a laugh," the boy said, prying open a tiny jar of honey. "Now, I'm not so sure."

The two of you endured a painfully awkward meal and you excused yourself at the first available opportunity, taking care not to seem overly eager to leave the room. Behind you, you heard a faint clink of china and a muttered, sardonic echo.

"Monstrosity."

You didn’t intend to play. That much you wanted to make perfectly clear.

After spending the morning occupied with other business, Theodore's father had invited you and your father for afternoon tea and a game of lawn polo with Theo and his friends - all carefully groomed hedges and intimidatingly pressed uniforms. You had been under the mistaken assumption that you'd be on the watching end of things. When Theo invited you to join the game, you offered a tight-lipped smile.

"I'm afraid I didn't pack any riding clothes," you said apologetically. It was true, you hadn't, but your worries had more to do with the fact that you hadn't ridden since you were 12.

Theo turned towards you, his hair sun-tousled with a sly slant to his eyes that promised nothing good for you.

“Whatever you’re wearing now is more than fine.”

You looked down at your blouse and loose linen trousers, uncertain.

"Unless, of course," he continued, dropping his voice, "you don't feel up for the game?"

You glanced up, reading the challenge in his words. He was goading you, and you knew better than to fall for it. But you just couldn't stand the idea of him holding this over your head, subtly or otherwise, for the rest of your visit. And so, as utterly infuriating as it was, you took the bait - hook, line, and sinker.

"Don't be ridiculous," you muttered through clenched teeth, taking the helmet he held out for you.

And so you awkwardly mounted a dapple-grey gelding under the watchful eye of yours and Theo's fathers, pretending you weren’t one misplaced pebble away from sliding off your horse, face-first. Theo carelessly introduced his friends from boarding school - Mattheo Riddle and Blaise Zabini. They waved at you good-naturedly, and you nervously smiled back. They seemed friendly enough, but then again, so had Theo.

The game started fast - faster than you were comfortable with, if you were being completely honest. Within minutes, you were hopelessly lost while Theo, unsurprisingly, was in his element. He rode like he’d been riding all his life, and he probably had - back straight, jaw tight, eyes narrowed with something more intense than friendly competition. Meanwhile, you struggled to keep up, your hands slick with sweat on the reins.

Theo whirled past you on his stallion, calling over his shoulder, “Next time, try aiming for the ball.”

The others laughed, well-mannered, while Theo smirked with a special kind of malice, as if he were all too aware of the heat crawling up your neck. You smiled through it, chin high, your thoughts drifting to violent fantasies of bashing his perfectly sculpted face in with your mallet.

He wasn’t just fast; he was precise. Every time you neared the ball, he was there, cutting you off with easy, practiced turns or thundering by close enough to rattle you. Not enough to technically break the rules, but enough to make you painfully aware of how out of your depth you were.

At some point, the teasing and missteps began to chip away at your carefully composed expression. Your lips thinned. Your jaw locked. The linen blouse that once felt effortlessly chic now clung to your back.

You glanced around the lawn irritably when one of his friends caught your eye from across the field. Blaise, if you remembered correctly. He gave the subtlest flick of his wrist, adjusting the way he held his mallet. You mirrored him instinctively, and almost immediately, your wrist felt less strained. Stunned, you shot him an appreciative look.

A few minutes later, Mattheo came riding up beside you at a slower pace, his horse snorting softly.

“Alright, New York?” he asked with a lazy grin.

That piqued your attention. Although you currently lived in LA, it wasn't exactly common knowledge that you were born and brought up in New York City. Still, you weren't sure how much you could trust either of them. They were Theo's friends, after all.

“Just peachy,” you replied coolly.

He leaned a little closer, and you felt mildly jealous and how effortless he made it seem.

“You know, Theo only acts like this when he really hates someone.”

You raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Or,” he added casually, as he gathered his reins in one hand, “when he really likes them.”

The implication hit only after he had steered his horse away. You blinked, before seizing your own reins with a newfound determination. Whatever game Theo thought he was playing, you weren’t about to let him win it.

With your grip improved and your instincts finally catching up, you started anticipating the ball's path. Your swings grew sharper, more confident. You manoeuvred around Theo once, twice, three times.

At the final play, it was all heat and desire for vengeance. You galloped forward, timing your swing just as the ball veered to the left. Your mallet connected with a satisfying crack, sending it cleanly rolling between the makeshift goal posts.

The applause was courteous but audible; your father's a little more effusive than was strictly polite.

You trotted past Theo, heart still pounding, your smile flushed and wicked.

His face remained as impassive as marble. “There are less showy ways to win, you know” he said, voice neutral.

You leaned in. “But hardly half as satisfying.”

You dismounted and handed off your reins to a stablehand, still floating on the high of your victory.

“A play like that deserves its own prize,” Nott Sr. said with faux formality. “Perhaps a small trophy. Or a drink named after you in the club lounge.”

You nodded graciously, murmuring something demure.

But your eyes flicked to Theo as he dismounted a few paces away. His jaw was tight. His shoulders tense. The bad-tempered flick of his brow as he handed off his helmet was the clearest reaction you’d seen all day.

And, if you were being completely honest, that little crack in his perfectly constructed exterior was the best trophy you could’ve asked for.

"Bored out of your skull, aren't you?"

You jumped, startled from where you had been resting your head for a brief shut-eye. This afternoon, the Notts were hosting you, your father, and some Ministry officials at an art gallery. With considerable effort, you lasted about half an hour before you excused yourself to the car outside Even now you had to contend with a humidity that made your hair stick to the back of your neck. It had been drizzling incessantly since morning, introducing a dampness to everything.

"Understandably so," Theo continued in a smug tone that made you kick yourself for letting him catch you unawares. "It's all a little dry for me, and I grew up with this stuff."

You straightened in the passenger seat, resisting the urge to nervously fix your hair, smoothing out whatever scrap of dignity you had left.

"I don't know what you're talking about. The tour was highly intriguing. I was just in here looking for my...my sunglasses." You peered into the glove compartment. What had left your lips as a fib was now becoming a rather real problem, actually - where were your sunglasses? You were too distracted to notice Theo climbing into the driver's seat beside you until the door shut. You closed the glove box, defeated, thinking hard about where you last saw them.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked. "Or - what would that be for you? Dollar for your thoughts?"

"Cent."

"Are you sure? With these exchange rates?"

For what felt like the hundredth time since the beginning of your trip, you shot Theo a dirty look. Not that it seemed to upset him.

"Nice weather we're having," he tried again.

You shrugged, glancing up at the clouded skies. "I guess. Does it never get fully dry here?"

You regretted opening your mouth as soon as you saw the ill-disguised amusement on his face. Clearly, you had just said something wilfully ignorant of the place. It wasn't your fault. Who had the time to vacation in dreary old England when the rest of Europe seemed so warm, colourful and dry?

"'Fraid so. You must understand, we're quite a bit of ways from Californ-yuh."

You grimaced.

"Was that your attempt at an American accent?"

Theo grinned. You had been around your fair share of good-looking people, but when Theo smiled - genuinely smiled, full of mirth or adolescent mischief - it almost hurt to look at his beautiful face.

If only didn't come attached with that insufferable personality.

"Come on. It wasn't that bad."

"It didn't even sound like English."

"It did - and what's more, that is exactly what you sound like."

You gasped, appalled. This miscreant was supposed to be the well-bred progeny of an English Ministry official? The mocking and teasing you could put up with, but outright insults were where you drew the line.

"Is not!"

"Is too."

"Is - " you stopped yourself, giving Theo a dirty look. He looked hardly apologetic; if anything, he seemed awfully pleased with himself for successfully having roped you in some inane, childish spat.

"You know what? You're right. The day's wasted just sitting around."

Theo didn’t wait for you to respond. He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life.

You froze.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking you for a spin," he said casually, as if it were nothing. “You clearly need to get out more, get some fresh air in those lungs.”

"The hell I do - Theodore, no."

But he was already reversing, one hand on the wheel, the other behind the passenger seat headrest. The car jerked at a hard turn, gravel spitting beneath the tires. A moment later, he punched it forward, the sudden acceleration slamming you back against the seat.

“I am not dying in a British clown car,” you hissed with a white-knuckled grip on the door handle.

Theo didn’t even look at you. “It’s Italian,” he said smoothly, switching gears like it was muscle memory. “And she likes to be pushed.”

He turned towards you, peering over his sunglasses with his startlingly dull eyes.

"Though I have to warn you, if you insult my car again, I'm not above leaving you at the side of the road."

You could barely process the words before he was tearing down a narrow country road, weaving between bends. The hedges blurred into a smear of green. Your stomach lurched with every curve he barely braked for, the car swinging wide, tires shrieking with every corner he turned too fast.

“You're a lunatic!” you shouted, clutching your seatbelt, as the speedometer soared past any sane number.

“And you’re too uptight,” he said coolly, shifting gears with a little flourish. “But here we are.”

The tires skidded slightly as he made another turn. Raindrops streaked the windshield. Your fingers frantically fumbled along the seat. Seatbelt. Seatbelt.

“Jesus - Theo - SLOW DOWN.”

But he didn’t. If anything, the Ferrari sped up, surging forward like it had something to prove.

You felt it in your chest, in your teeth, adrenaline flooding your veins. Your heart was beating so fast it hurt.

“I swear to God, if you kill me—”

“Oh, I’d never. Imagine the paperwork.” His smile widened as the road narrowed. “Besides, this car is worth considerably more than your life.”

“You are such an asshole.”

Theo clicked his tongue, entirely unbothered. “Language,” he rebuked. “Bit unladylike, don’t you think?”

You'd have had your hands around his neck by now if he wasn't the one driving this death trap machine. Your stomach flipped as the car surged forward again. The car lifted slightly as it hit a bump, just enough for your breath to catch in your throat. When it slammed back down, you swore you felt your bones rattle.

“This isn’t fun,” you said, voice ragged.

“Not for you, maybe.” Theo downshifted just to hear the engine snarl. You were going to throw up. Or pass out. Or both.

All of a sudden, you felt the car slowing down. You looked up, dizzy with relief, just as Theo slowed to a stop outside the gallery. He looked invigorated by the ride, and also as though he was trying not to laugh. Delicately, he pulled down the sunglasses that you had stuck in your hair earlier that morning.

"Found them," he said, far too cheerfully.

But you were at your limit. You finally snapped.

You stepped out of the car on wobbly legs, slamming it closed just as your father and a couple of Ministry officials were exiting the gallery.

"Which way to the estate?" You asked crossly, interrupting their conversation. Your father looked between yours and Theo's faces, alarmed.

"What h- "

"Which. Way. to the estate."

Your father hesitated in his reply, clearly appalled by your bright red face. Or perhaps the state your hair was in.

"That way. But Y/N, honey, if you take one of the cars - "

"I'm walking."

"All the way back, darling?" he asked fretfully. "At least let Theodore drive you."

This was clearly the wrong thing to have said, if your aggravated shriek was any indication. You gracelessly turned and started walking back to the manor, uncaring of the scene you were making. And as for Theo -

Well. You didn't care to even spare him a glance.

"It was awful, Vee. He's awful. He just does whatever he wants whenever he wants, consequences be damned." You were lying on your room's window seat, fresh out of a shower after the hike back, talking to a friend on the phone while staring hatefully out the window at the blissfully peaceful sprawling grounds. Stupid England and its stupid politicians and their stupid sons and its stupid mud.

Your gaze drifted sorrowfully towards your boots, which hadn't survived the walk home. "And Daddy calls me spoiled," you sniffled.

You heard a familiar crunch of gravel and looked out to see a disgustingly familiar car pulling in. You glared at it as Theo killed the engine and stepped out. You watched him scan the exterior, presumably counting windows until he met your gaze. He waved at you, motioning for you to come downstairs. For a moment, you indulged in the fantasy of flipping him off and drawing your curtains.

"What?" You started crossly as you walked out to the porch, still too peeved to even pretend at civility.

Theo just tilted his head, leaning against the car, eyes hidden behind his sleek, rectangular shades. "You know, I don't think I've seen you smile once your whole trip. Is everyone in America always this discontent?"

"I don't know. Is everyone in England always this unpleasant?"

Theo had the decency to look a little embarrassed. "Touché."

He cleared his throat and stood up a little straighter. Prick. He probably liked the idea of you having to tilt your head upwards just to look him in the eye.

"I really am sorry about this afternoon. It's just - sometimes there's no stopping me when I really get going. Especially if it has anything to do with my father."

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "So that's it? I'm just a pawn for you to use to get back at your dad?"

"No, that's not - " Theo ran a hand through his rougishly dishevelled hair. He took a deep breath.

"Let me start over. My behaviour has been...rude, and disrespectful, and you didn't deserve any of it. So..."

Theo turned and picked something up from the passenger seat - a navy blue, velvet box. You eyed it skeptically.

"What's this?"

"Peace offering."

You stared at the box for a while before you caved in out of curiosity. You grudgingly accepted the box and opened it. You felt your mouth go dry. Nestled in the thick, rich fabric was the most delicate, exquisite set of diamond earrings you had ever seen. They glittered as if in slow motion in the late afternoon sun. This was no American brand - Cartier, perhaps?

"Truce?"

Your head snapped up, and you remembered why you were here, and who you were talking to. You traced part of the earrings' outline longingly. Damn. With diamonds like these, he could have a truce and then some.

"Yeah. I mean, fine. Truce, I guess," you stammered out disinterestedly, trying to hide how the gift had rendered you speechless.

You had specific tastes. You didn't shop excessively but precisely. It was why you could never take to a personal shopper - no one seemed to understand your tastes or preferences as well as you did yourself. Until today, that is.

With considerable difficulty, you shut the box. After all, it would be rude to reject such an expensive gift. You didn't even know if they did returns in this part of Europe. Why should you begrudge yourself such a fine piece of jewellery just because he decided to be an ass?

"Is that all?"

"Mostly. How did your boots hold up?"

You stayed resolutely silent, but something on your face must have given it away. Theo wrinkled his nose sympathetically. "Thought so. We have a cobbler a little way in the town. I can drop them off for you, if you'd like. They should be done by the time I get back."

"Back?"

It was only then that you noticed the trunk propped up in the backseat of the car.

"I'm visiting Normandy for a few days."

You raised your eyebrows, unimpressed but not surprised. "Didn't you just get back from Italy?"

"This one's more of a house call. Speaking of, I really should get a move on." "So, your boots?"

You hesitated. These were your Manolo Blahniks. Your babies. Could you really trust a man as vile as he was with them? Then again, it didn't look like they could get much worse.

While you deliberated, Theo rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. Keep your boots. Just wait for the mud to dry and then brush it off. That should get most of it."

With that, he stepped back into the car and fastened his seat belt. He looked up to where you were still staring at him mistrustfully.

"Well, I'm off. Feel free to direct some of that snark towards my father while I'm gone."

You numbly watched him reverse out the gate and turn into the main streets, the gift weighing heavily on your mind.

You hadn't anticipated how quiet the manor could be without Theo. Did he really occupy so much space that the manor felt incomprehensibly vast and cold without him? You whiled away your days at dinners and luncheons and how you usually occupied yourself on these kinds of alien social vists, but it just wasn't the same without anyone your age. You were starting to get so bored, it almost felt like you were beginning to miss him.

It was almost a week since you last saw Theo. You were in your room, making plans to go into town, when you glimpsed a figure near the perimeter of the estate's front lawn. You opened your window. There was something familiar about the carelessly sun-kissed crop of curls.

Looking closer, you realised you were right. You didn't know he was back, but it was most certainly Theodore Nott in the black suit - Merlin, that had to be uncomfortably warm - glinting cufflinks, purposeful stride. He looked stiffly formal in a way you’d never seen him. Polished and imposing with his usual languid gait replaced by something far more measured.

Theo's gaze drifted up the estate until his eyes met yours. You leaned against the windowsill and gave him a look, brow arched, lips parted, and he...nothing. Theo had absolutely no reaction to you. His eyes were on yours, but it was as though he was seeing straight through you. Just a tiny, barely there tick in his jaw before he looked away.

That was when you noticed the foreign dignitary following closely behind, dressed as sharply as Theo. You propped your chin up on your hand, watching with renewed interest. Ah. Hosting, are we?

Really, he only had himself to blame for you turning it into a little game. He should have known it would be dull as tomes without him. Every time his gaze wandered towards you, voluntarily or otherwise, you waved brightly, blew him a kiss or two, and the like, all while he did his best to keep a straight face and look away.

His posture changed. Stiffened. A flick of his shoulder. A twitch of the hand. A slight turn of his head as if fighting the urge to look again. You could see him biting the inside of his cheek. At one point, he even coughed. This all only further encouraged you.

Eventually, Theo turned away from you fully, his mouth moving as he muttered something to the dignitary. His face was mostly hidden now, but not before you caught the faintest curve of a smile biting into his cheek.

Victory.

You watched them retreat to the cool indoors. You stayed at the window watching the stray sprigs of dandelions toss their heads in the faint breeze until you ran out of patience. You hurried downstairs, determined to vex him for being away for so long. Theo apparently had a similar idea and you nearly ran smack into him as you turned the corner on the spiral stairs.

"How was Normandy?" you asked in a breathless rush, his hand warm at your elbow.

"Terribly pleasant without you constantly looking down on everything." Up close, he looked a little more bronze, a little more rosy than when you last saw him. Or maybe that had to do with him running up the stairs.

The hand Theo had stuck out to stop you from running into him had regrettably fallen. "Mother sends gifts." Then, as if his body couldn't physically handle being nice to you, he added, "Clearly, she's never met you."

Your lips twitched. "Clearly."

You let Theo lead you down to the living room, where there was no dignitary but only a fabulous spread of French cheeses, smiling at him prettily as he somewhat sarcastically offered you a seat. You took a sip of the wine he poured you, watching him pretend not to watch you back. The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon lazily picking at the variety of French cheeses Theo had brought home, talking about any and everything under the sun, from his trip to the summer camps you used to go to.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me you were back," you said an hour later, when the two of you were beginning to run out of things to talk about.

Theo gave an exaggerated wince as he refilled your glass. "Please. I came here straight from the jet, I promise you."

You rolled your eyes.

"Well, next time, you can tell your mother that I loved the - er, hang on...fromage de bois?"

"What?"

Theo sat up, watching your mouth intently. Your face was starting to feel a little hot, probably from all the wine.

"Say that again?"

You cleared your throat. "Um, fromage de bois?"

Theo shook his head. "Again."

You repeated yourself a little haltingly. French had never been your strong suit. Theo stared at you, brow furrowed, mystified.

"You are doing strange and unusual things with that tongue of yours...and none of it is right." He looked enthralled. Fascinated. Tipsy. You rolled your eyes. "Your accent is...in a word, abysmal."

You nibbled at the cheese you apparently couldn't pronounce right. "Sorry, Mr. Intercontinentally Educated. Some of us have to contend with the Ivy League legacies we were born into."

Theo busied himself with another wheel of cheese. You thought back to the foreign dignitary from that afternoon.

"I thought you didn't do your father any favours," you asked. It was a risky topic to broach, but you could always blame it on the wine.

Theo chewed for a long while.

"Usually, I don't."

"But?"

"But my mother thinks I should be less hard on him."

"Oh."

"And I think she's starting to forget what he's like."

Theo dusted his hands with a wry smile before reaching over you towards the crackers, broad-shouldered, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him. Too late, the thought to lean back crossed your mind, but by then Theo was already back in his seat, turning over the empty dish and eyeing you with mock disapproval.

"Someone's finished all the crackers."

You smiled innocently, crumbling the few crackers left in your hand as you watched him call for more.

It was your last night at the estate. There's no place like home, but it saddened you to leave this quaint slice of English countryside in the middle of nowhere. You were curled up on your window seat, trying to focus on a book you weren’t actually reading. You should have gone to bed hours ago, but something was keeping you up.

You were so sure he'd show up. One last time. Just for you.

You finally snapped your book shut, admitting defeat, and swung your legs into bed with a sigh. Then, you heard it - the low, unmistakable growl of a stupidly expensive sports car.

You hurried over to your window, shivering with anticipation. There Theo was, dressed down in a soft black sweater and slacks, leaning against that yellow Ferrari. You never doubted him for a second.

You padded downstairs with ill-disguised excitement.

"I'm here for your big send-off."

You raised your eyebrows. "Send-off?"

"Yeah. What kind of host would I be if I didn't give you the right send-off?"

Your eyebrows disappeared into your hair. The levels of hypocrisy of this man were astounding.

"You left the country for a week while we were here. Or have you forgotten?"

Theo was starting to look annoyed.

"Do you want a big send-off or not?"

"...okay."

You were in the passenger seat for barely ten minutes, cruising through narrow, moonlit country lanes, before Theo pulled into an empty side road.

You blinked at him. Maybe you trusted him too much, too quickly. Was this how you died?

“Why are we stopping?”

Theo walked over to your side of the car, opened the door and held out the keys. You eyed them distastefully.

"Please don't tell me you're giving me the car. Respect for other people's property is the only thing stopping me from driving this off a cliff."

"I'm not giving it to you," he said, as your fingers curled uncertainly around the metal. You relaxed.

"I'm teaching you how to drive it."

You laughed. Then stopped laughing.

“You’re serious?”

You were glad it was the middle of the night with nobody around, because you were gaping at him rather unbecomingly.

"Dr - drive this? Are you crazy?"

"I'm picking up a pattern here. I'm starting to think you have a very low bar for insanity."

"This cannot be legal. You guys don't even drive on the right side of the road here."

"Relax. I'll walk you through it."

And so, Theo eventually wheedled you into getting into the driver's seat, fastening your seatbelt and switching on the engine.

"Okay, so, foot goes on the brake, hands on the wheel - " For a moment, Theo's large warm hands enveloped yours, pulling them up to 10 and 2, and you felt your heart flutter. " - and, try not to kill us, yeah?"

You shot him a glare. "You're so funny," you deadpanned.

Theo grinned. You wiped the smile right off his face as the car lurched forward, nearly concussing him on the dashboard.

"Gentle, gentle," he wheezed.

The drive that followed was a mixture of cautious lurches and unexpected smooth patches. Theo’s instructions were teasing but not unkind. He guided you through each shift, each turn, with his voice low and amused. At one point, when you stalled the car trying to reverse out of a hedgerow, you noticed his shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth. You gave him the silent treatment for five blocks until he effusively and somewhat mockingly apologised.

When the two of you had had enough excitement for one night, Theo gave you directions back to the estate. Even in pitch dark, Theo knew the network of roads surrounding his family home like the back of his hand.

You pull into the driveway and kill the engine. A deafening silence settles over the two of you.

"So? How was I?"

Theo takes his time responding. "You did better than I expected."

You make a show of twirling your hair. "So you think I'm a natural."

Theo's oddly quiet. You can't make out his expression in the shadows.

"I think you're something," he says quietly. He leans forward enough for his expression to take shape in a sliver of moonlight. You feel your heart hammering in your chest.

All of a sudden, you don't want to go up to your room, knock out, and leave in the morning. You want to sit here in this god-awful Ferrari with Theo and his windswept hair and his bedroom eyes and the look on his face like he really wanted to kiss you.

"Theodore - "

"My friends call me Teddy," he murmurs, barely managing to force the words out before his mouth covers yours.

It’s not careful or practiced like most things Theo does. It’s a little desperate, a little clumsy - like he’s scared to hesitate. His hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth as he tilts his head slightly, deepening it enough to make you blush with the intimacy of it.

When he pulls back, just enough to breathe, his forehead rests against yours. You can feel how uneven his breathing is. How unsure.

You blink at him, stunned.

"Your friends don't call you Teddy."

Theo laughs shakily, and you realise that that isn't the most sensible reaction. For the first time in your trip, you laugh with him.

"What? You think I'm some idiot that doesn't notice what your friends call you?"

"You're right. They don't," Theo agrees with a breathless laugh. His breathing evens out. "But I was hoping you might."

You shake your head slightly, feeling a flush creeping up your neck.

"I can't believe I ever thought you were cool. You're so lame."

"And yet," he says softly, nudging his nose against yours, "you still haven't run for the hills."

You don’t answer. You don’t move. Not for a long, long while.

#did anyone pick up on the pun. the RIGHT side of the road #right as in the opposite of left but also right as in 'correct' heheh #btw colleen hoover i am in your walls for your damaging literature #you WILL be catching strays from me so long as i breathe that is a promise #also #honey on buttered toast!!!!! underrated combo #theo nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott fluff

601 notes · View notes