solacestyles

[solacestyles]

Your Gray Wolf of the North

Cregan Stark x Glover!Reader

Tags: older Cregan (he's 56) and younger reader (she's 28), smut, oral sex and fingering (fem. receiving), p. in v. sex, slow burn fr babes! (this oneshot is so long, I'm so sorry lol)

As the widowed Lady Glover, you find stepping into your late-husband's role to be painful, especially when you're surrounded by men who remind you of all that you've lost. Comfort comes unexpectedly from Lord Cregan Stark himself, and a friendship blossoms between you - and perhaps something more.

You glance around the table, your eyes flitting from one man’s visage to another. But these young, middle-aged, and old faces don’t pay you much mind in return. They’re all focused on their liege lord, Cregan Stark – the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

But it’s hard for you to not look around at this gathering of Northmen. They remind you of your late husband, Lord Jon Glover, who was killed in a hunting accident ten months ago. He was only two and thirty. And now you have taken his place, as the widowed Lady Glover, sat in a stiff, high-backed chair around a long table in the Great Hall of Winterfell. 

As your eyes shift from man to man, Lord Cregan Stark and his maester finish collecting reports from each lord, and yourself, on the status of grain harvests. From House Glover and the lands surrounding Deepwood Motte – the ancient seat of your marital house – the harvest reaped was rather unimpressive, considering the area around the wooden castle is mostly covered by dense forest. But House Glover can provide something in abundance that most other northern houses can’t: lumber. Your report of the number of trees felled, hewn, and dried this year – soldier pines for the construction of homes, beeches for furniture, ironwood for making tools – seemed to satisfy the lords in attendance, including Lord Stark and his heir, Rickon Stark, who is sat to his father’s right and the youngest man in attendance. He’s only a few years younger than you, having recently celebrated his twenty-sixth name day. When you gave your report you had looked briefly at him back, and then back to his father – about forty more trees than the previous year, you had finished plainly. 

You kept your tone bereft of any emotion for a reason, for you are trying your hardest to keep your thoughts in check. It shocked you at how overwhelming and painful it is to sit so close to these lords of the northern realm, all of whom knew your late husband well. Several grew up alongside him, from training with the sword and bow, to practicing the art of ice fishing throughout the long winter months. Others filled the role as surrogate father after Jon’s own father had died, helping to shape him into a strong and honorable man. One of those men is Lord Stark himself, now in his mid-fifties. You feel his eyes on you from where he sits at the head of the table, watching you try to hide the steadying breaths you’re taking.

Though you find you can bear it no longer, you respectfully wait for a pause between Lord Bolton’s report of the number of sheep slaughtered and processed at the Dreadfort, and Lord Stark’s response, before rising from your seat.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lords,” you say calmly, gathering your skirts in your hands and turning towards the large oak doors leading out of the hall. You hear a smattering of chairs scrape against the stone floor, for northern lords are used to rising chivalrously when a lady enters or leaves their presence, even a widowed lady. You’re careful not to make eye contact with Lord Stark, not quite knowing how he’ll react to your sudden exit from the table and conversation. Whatever his opinion, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re desperate for a moment to truly collect yourself, and to breathe in the late-summer air. 

Once outside, you tug your fur-lined cloak tighter around your body and climb the steps up to the wall walk of Winterfell, seeking to follow the path of the inner granite wall to the Hunter’s Gate. You have only been up here only once, with your husband and Lord Stark, but you find you can easily manage the way. The guards stationed along the wall are clearly surprised to see you, but they know who you are, and let you pass by with subtle nods of their heads and murmurs of ‘m’lady.’

Finally at your chosen spot, you stop in front of a crenel to overlook the Wolfswood, as far as the eye can see. The Deepwood lies in the direction you’re gazing, far within the dense forest of pines. What would your husband think of you now, needing a moment alone after simply providing information about felled trees and a mediocre grain harvest? You hope he would understand that it’s more than that – that the weight of his lordship now rests on your shoulders, alone, and that it’s quite heavy and especially painful today.

Though it’s late summer, a light snow has already blanketed this part of the north, and the wind has picked up as well, swirling your hair in spirals. You breathe in the air, filled with the scent of pine and woodsmoke from the lit braziers lining the wall walk. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to halt your racing thoughts.

But the sound of footsteps draws your attention and your eyes blink back open. As you turn your head to the left, towards the direction of the footsteps, you see Lord Cregan Stark approaching, his broad shoulders covered by the thick brown fur of some fearsome northern creature. His cloak is fastened by leather straps, held together by two silver buckles at his chest, in the shape of direwolves – the sigil of his house.

“My lord,” you greet him softly when he stops in front of the crenel next to yours. Embarrassment creeps across your skin, undoubtedly making you flush. He had known where to find you in your moment of weakness and grief.

“My lady,” he responds, his voice low and weathered from constant use over many years, giving orders and responding to the concerns of his people. It’s the way of northern lords, and he’s the northern lord.

You wrap your cloak tighter around your middle, turning to face him fully. “I apologize for leaving the hall. I–”

“You needn’t apologize to me, Lady Glover. I know why you left, and I don’t hold it against you,” he says softly, turning his body towards yours as well. You see the kindness in his expression, the understanding. The change in his stance also makes the wind whip his shoulder-length hair around more dramatically, and you watch the sunlight reflect off of the silver threads that tangle amidst the rest of his brown tresses. The same has happened to his reddish-brown beard, now peppered with gray. Though you’ve known Lord Stark for a decade, and you saw him not long ago at your husband’s burial, you haven’t really noticed until now how the outward signs of age have creeped up on him. But he wears it better than the other men still left in the Great Hall who are of his generation, such as Lord Cerwyn, or older, such as Lord Umber. As you look upon his face, you notice the gray in his hair matches the gray of his eyes – parallel features that you find are actually quite appealing. It suits him, you think.

You nod, casting your eyes towards the stone at your feet before your thoughts can be given away. “Thank you, Lord Stark.”

You hear him inhale deeply, seeming to need the fresh air just as much as you do. “Your husband was very dear to me,” he states quietly. “Like another son.”

You look back up at him now, and give him a weak smile. “He always spoke so highly of you, and often gave you all the credit for his skill with the bow.”

Cregan gives you a small, sad smile in return. “He was a natural – he never really needed my instruction.”

You nod again, and glance out to the Wolfswood for a moment, before looking back to him. “The same can’t be said about his brother.”

Cregan mirrors your earlier behavior, casting his eyes to the stone before looking upon you one more. You can see that he seems to be choosing his words carefully. “How does his progress fair at the Citadel?”

You purse your lips slightly – you can’t help it, for the thought of your late-husband’s younger brother, Ethen, irritates you to no end. “He’s currently working on his healer’s chain, so he has a few more years left of study to complete. A few more years before he will assume his place as Lord Glover, and I will need to leave the North…I think I’ll join my sister and her husband in the Vale.”

Cregan takes a step closer to you, his large frame looming over you even more. His broad shoulders block out the blue sky behind him. “It’s against Westerosi law for the widow of a lord to be removed from her home by the next lord. I would never allow him to make you leave.”

You give him a small, but grateful smile, touched by his words. “Thank you, Lord Stark, but I wouldn’t stay where I’m not welcome. And I would never want to become a burden to you, needing to argue in my favor.” Your voice is quiet, nearly masked by the wind and the rustling of the trees in the distance. 

You see his expression harden a bit, a look of determination crossing his seasoned, but still handsome features. “You could never be a burden. Not in the North. Not to me, my lady.”

His words truly do touch you, thawing your heart that has been cold for some time now. “You’re very kind, my lord.” But wanting to change the subject, and lighten the conversation, you look out over the sprawling castle complex before he can say anything else. “It’s beautiful.”

You glance back at him, and see his head has cocked to the side a bit, and there appears to be questions in his eyes.

“Winterfell,” you murmur with a smile, looking around once more at the ancient granite walls. Frost still clings to the northern sides of the turrets of the Great Keep, the Great Hall, the First Keep, and the Broken Tower, where the sun can’t cast its warmth. They stretch high into the sky, surrounded by other buildings and people hurrying between them to tend to their responsibilities, darting this way and that. “You know, the first time Jon and I came to visit, I thought nearly the whole ride about what this castle might look like. I was so sure it would be made of some dark stone, sprawling haphazardly over the land, and surrounded by smoke or fog… The den of the direwolves,” you explain, giving him a smile.

His mouth twitches with amusement as he follows your line of sight across the castle complex. 

“But once we broke through the treeline,” you continue. “I thought I’d never seen something so beautiful. It’s formidable, yes, but it took my breath away. And it’s been here for such a long time… If only the walls could talk.” 

He looks over at you, a softness blanketing his face now. “They would talk of sleepless nights…” Your eyes connect with his, and for some reason you feel your skin heat again. “Of kings and lords pacing the halls, worrying over their people and threats to the realm.”

You nod, acknowledging this, shifting your shoulders beneath your cloak. “But thousands of Starks have lived here. Surely some of them must have found a moment or two of happiness.” 

His gray eyes, nearly the same shade as the stone of his home, slowly search your face for a moment. Under his gaze, you feel your flush creep further up your neck to heat your wind bitten cheeks. “Aye, that’s true… But true happiness hasn’t been found within these walls for quite some time now,” he admits, his age lines becoming more pronounced as his brow furrows.

Your face falls a bit too, understanding his meaning. “You must miss her…Lady Stark.” You state, referring to his late wife, who died five years ago from sweating sickness. It was a terrible loss for House Stark, and for the North.

He inhales deeply again, and looks out over his home once more. “Aye, I do...her loss has made Winterfell very quiet these days,” he replies softly, his jaw flexing as he holds back some emotion, just like you’ve been doing all day.

A sudden boldness seems to overtake your thoughts, and you begin to speak without even realizing what you’re saying.

“Well, then I’ll come to visit you more often,” you state in a rush. He turns his head to meet your eyes again, and you can see surprise in his expression. Not wishing to look like a complete fool, you continue on. “I can sing fairly well, and I know a few jokes, and I can certainly talk your ear off. So much so that I reckon it would put you to sleep.”

He laughs, and the sound of it surprises you as much as you’ve seemed to surprise him. It’s warm and clear, like the crackling of a fire in a hearth. It seems to draw you in – weaving around you like a thick blanket, sheltering you from the cold breeze.

“I could use the rest,” he states as his laughter dies into a chuckle. He gives you a small smirk.

It’s your turn to laugh – it bubbles out of you in the way a stream cascades over rocks, splashing this way and that. When you look back up at him, you see a genuine smile on his face and he lets out another chuckle. The lines around his eyes seem to crinkle even more with amusement.

“I would like that, my lady,” he says softly, once your laughter has subsided. His expression is more smoothed out now, much more collected – the face of a man who’s of great importance. But you can also see a warmth there too, and something, you think, akin to hope; perhaps hope that you will come to visit again soon.

“Well, my lord, please send a raven to the Deepwood when you’d next like some company, and rest,” you state, giving him a shy smile.

“I will,” he murmurs with a nod, returning your small smile. And now it’s your turn to hope that he means what he says.

The trees begin to thin out, allowing more light to stream through the canopy of pine needles. 

You didn’t have to hope for long that you would hear from Lord Cregan Stark. As soon as you and your entourage returned to the Deepwood, the maester presented you with a raven scroll.

To the Lady of House Glover,

I will be traveling to the Wall on the morrow, and will return to Winterfell within a fortnight. I am hoping you will return to Winterfell then too, so we might continue our conversation.

Yours, ever faithfully,

Cregan of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North

The maester confirmed that the raven must have been sent the morning that you left Winterfell. It warmed you, more deeply than you expected it would, that he was eager for your company again so soon.

And now your horse finally steps into sunlight, which shimmers off of the layer of snow that covers the hills and rocky outcrops that surround Winterfell. The castle, as breathtaking as ever, comes into full view. As do members of the Stark household guard, racing across the frozen landscape to meet you and the men of House Glover who have accompanied you and your lady’s maid, Hannah, back to Winterfell. Lord Stark doesn’t appear to be with his own men.

“Lady Glover,” a man of House Stark greets you, the head of a fierce direwolf emblazoned across his breastplate. “Welcome back to Winterfell. Lord Stark apologizes that he couldn’t be here to greet you in person. He’s injured, and is unable to walk or ride at the moment. If you’ll come with us, Maester Nevin will show you to your rooms.” The guards turn their horses back towards Winterfell, expecting their guests to follow them.

You do, but you feel panic creep up your spine as you urge your horse forward. He’s injured? How badly? What has happened?

When you finally reach the inner courtyard of the Hunter’s Gate, you spot the maester, and quickly dismount your horse. 

“Please take me to Lord Stark at once,” you say, kindly, but also firmly and clearly. The maester looks hesitant for a moment, but then seems to decide that arguing with the lady of an important northern house, and one who is the guest of his liege lord, wouldn’t be in his best interest.

“Right this way, my lady,” the old man instructs, gesturing a weathered hand towards the Great Keep. You nod, gathering your skirts and your riding cloak in your hands, and follow him.

He leads you inside, down a long corridor, and up a set of spiral stairs, before stopping in front of a large oak door with a running direwolf carved into its middle. He knocks.

“Enter,” you hear the muffled voice of Lord Stark call. The maester obeys.

“Lady Glover has arrived for you, my lord,” the maester announces, allowing you to enter the chambers. 

You step in slowly, now worried that you might have overstepped some kind of propriety – entering into a lord’s chamber like this, especially one who is not your husband.

“My lady,” Lord Stark greets you, gingerly pushing himself up on his bed to lean against the headboard, his olive green tunic ruffling over his torso as he moves. You can see that his left ankle appears to be wrapped securely with strips of cloth.

“What happened, my lord?” You ask, forgetting your momentary hesitation, and stride over to sit in the armchair at his bedside. He gives you a sheepish look before he glances behind you to the maester. 

“Thank you, Maester Nevin.”

“My lord, my lady,” the maester responds, and you hear the gentle click of the door shutting behind him.

Cregan turns his attention back to you. “I, um…tripped walking down the stairs this morning and twisted my ankle, rather painfully,” he says, sounding embarrassed. He looks at his hands now folded in his lap before glancing back up at you. “I’m truly an old man now.”

You shake your head, working to remove your traveling cloak as your nimble fingers tug the clasp at your breast. “You’re not old, my lord. I suspect you were simply focused on something very important and forgot about the divet in the stairs from where shoes have worn down the stone for generations,” you say lightly, giving him a small smile as you lean back against the chair.

He smiles too, looking a little less sheepish now. “Thank you for returning to Winterfell, and so soon, my lady.”

“Thank you for inviting me, my lord.”

“Cregan,” he murmurs, adjusting the furs draped over his lap. “Just ‘Cregan’ will do, my lady.”

You return his smile, suddenly feeling warm – there’s a fire blazing in the hearth, but you know that’s not the only reason for the heat spreading through your limbs. You’ve thought about this moment many times since you last saw him.

“I would ask that you call me by my name then too, Cregan.”

He nods, seeming pleased by the familiarity that’s building between the two of you. You certainly feel the same.

“Can I get you anything?” You ask, noticing an empty glass on the nightstand next to the bed.

“I should be asking you that,” he says, tugging at the pillows behind him to adjust them more comfortably.

You let out a light laugh, and stand before reaching for the glass and then walking over to a table where there’s a pitcher of water. You can feel his eyes follow your movements, and you make eye contact as you turn around and walk back to him, the heat in your body burning even more. You hold out the glass, and he takes it gratefully.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking a long sip while you sit back down.

“Well, I must say,” you begin, but wait a moment for him to finish drinking. “I’m rather impressed that you started your rest before I even arrived.” You fold your hands in your lap and give him a teasing look.

He laughs. That same warm laugh that escaped him on the wall walk during your previous visit. It makes butterflies flutter in your belly.

“Will you forgive me?” He asks, smiling, and leaning back against his pillows.

“Of course, Cregan.” You hold his gaze for a moment, and then look around, feeling your flush spread to your cheeks. Your eyes land on a stack of books, next to the bed.

You sit forward, craning your neck to read the titles on the spines. “Are these books that you’re reading?” You ask, eyes flicking to him and then back to the stack.

“Maester Nevin brought them up here in case I wanted to read while I…rest,” he says, glancing down to where the books are. “But I’ve misplaced the glasses I wear to read,” he finishes quietly. You see color sweep over his cheeks now too.

You stand again, walking over to the books and kneel down. “Which is your favorite?” You ask, looking up at him. 

He watches you for a moment, like he still can’t believe you’re here, and then clears his throat. “Oh, I think…Legends of Giants by Maester Calum Irons.” 

You locate the book in the middle of the stack, tugging it free, and then stand once more. It’s old – very old by the look of its worn leather binding. You’ve never read this one.

“How about I read to you for a bit?” You ask, cradling the book to your chest. He looks up at you, his wintery eyes searching your face. Then he moves his hand holding the water glass to place it on the nightstand once more. As he draws his hand back to the bed, he just barely brushes your dress with his fingertips.

He nods, slowly shifting himself further down the bed so he can lay more comfortably. “That would be welcome.” He gives you a light smile, but winces a little when his foot gets caught around the blanket. You step over to gently tug the blanket free and adjust his ankle carefully, making sure that he’s comfortable.

You glance up to see his expression has softened even more, and you know deep down that he’s very pleased that you’re here. It makes the butterflies in your belly flutter even harder as you sit once more, opening the book in your lap. With a deep breath, and a smile tugging at your lips, you begin to read.

“Do you really believe this bit?” You ask, still not quite convinced that giants helped to build the Wall of ice further north. You look up from the book, but see that he’s fallen asleep, truly resting now. You watch the slow rise and fall of his chest – a bit of graying chest hair peeks out from beneath his loosened tunic – and wonder for a moment what it would be like to trail your fingers down his torso. Surprised by your thoughts, you gently shut the book and place it on the floor. As you stand, you notice the fire has started to burn low. You silently cross the room to place a few more logs in the hearth, coaxing the flames to burn brightly again. 

Satisfied, you begin to slowly walk around the room, admiring the decorations throughout his chambers. Direwolves appear tastefully everywhere you look – carved into wooden furniture, such as on the sides of his desk and the front of the bed frame. The heavy, ice-blue drapes framing the windows also have silver wolves sewn into them, leaping across the fabric. The stone fireplace too: there are carved statues of wolves sat on their haunches on either side of the hearth. You find the decorations are simple and comforting, making this room warm and inviting on a cold winter’s day. 

Your feet carry you over to one of the windows, and you peer out into the courtyard below. Easily recognizable is the Library Tower, with a spiral staircase framing its outer walls, on the other side of the yard. You take a long breath, admiring the pleasant view into the beating heart of Winterfell.

Having looked your fill, you move away from the window, hugging your arms around yourself.

“Is there anything you would change?” 

You spin around to face Cregan, not having noticed that he’d woken up. How long, you wonder, has he been watching you walk around his chambers?

He shifts against the pillows, clearly trying to ease the stiffness from his body. He tilts his head too, evidently expecting an answer to his question.

You swallow, and rub your hands along your sides, before glancing over at the windows once more. You look back at him. “I might place a settee beneath that window.” You unwind one arm from around your body, pointing a finger towards the window with the best view of the courtyard. “It seems like a nice place to relax, with a book, and also enjoy watching the bustling castle life below.”

He nods, a smile playing at his lips, as you walk back over to the chair beside his bed. “And what about you?” You ask, sitting once more and folding your hands elegantly in your lap again. “Is there anything you would change?”

He considers the question for a moment, glancing around the room. “I’d make this bed bigger,” he finally says. 

You feel your skin flush again, and you cross your legs for something to do.

“I’ve never been able to sleep this way,” he explains, zipping his finger from the left to the right across his chest. “Only this way,” he finishes, his finger moving up and down the length of his chest, indicating the way that people normally sleep. You can hear the humor in his voice, and it pleases you.

“Mmm,” you hum, pretending to think through his explanation. “Well, you should have a new bed made, Cregan. That way you could even lay diagonally across it.”

He laughs, bright and clear, seeming to appreciate your sense of humor, which clearly matches his. It makes the butterflies in your belly beat their wings harder, and you laugh as well.

“I’ve never thought of that,” he says, still smiling. “Alright then, a settee for the window, and a new bed that is large enough to fit me from any direction.”

You nod, still smiling too, and reach up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He watches you do it, and it feels more intimate than you’re sure it ought to.

“Are you hungry?” He asks suddenly, stiffly pushing himself to sit up in bed. You watch the muscles in his chest and arms flex under his tunic, and it makes your flush run hotter. Even as a middle-aged man, he still appears as strong and fit as the youngest and fiercest of his bannermen.

Before you can do or say anything rash, you tear your eyes away from his body to meet his gaze once more, and nod. “I can fetch the maester and ask for something to be brought to us here.”

He shakes his head lightly. “I’d prefer to go down to the kitchens, if you’d accompany me.”

“Cregan, I’m sure you can hardly stand, let alone walk down to the kitchens,” you protest, sliding to the edge of your chair as you watch him gingerly sit all the way up and slowly move his injured ankle off the side of the bed.

“Alone, yes. With you, I think I can manage,” he states, meeting your eyes. The gentle tone he uses and the words themselves make warmth spread throughout all of you now, knowing that it’s he who thinks of you in this way. He shifts to the edge of the bed, which makes his knees just barely brush against yours. 

You bite at your lip for a moment, and then nod with a small smile, agreeing to his plan.

He returns your smile, and then motions his head in the direction of a wardrobe on the other side of the bed. “There are some socks in there and a pair of leather slippers. I think I can manage to put those on, if you’d be kind enough to get them for me.”

You stand, moving carefully around his ankle, but your skirts still brush against his wool trousers anyway. You gather your dress more securely in your hands, trying not to meet his eye, and make your way to the wardrobe to retrieve the items. You quickly return and he holds his hand out for them.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, making to take them from you, but you kneel down at his feet instead.

“Here, let me,” you say, glancing up at him. His breath is coming a little more shallow now, but you try not to think too much of it, and pull the sock and slipper onto his uninjured foot with gentle, nimble fingers. You peek up at him once more, and carefully, as if he, a rugged northman, is made of glass, place the sock and slipper on his injured limb with careful precision. He only winces once, and he tries to hide it by clearing his throat. 

“There,” you say warmly, standing back up in front of him. As you smooth out your dress, you realize that you’re standing between his spread legs, much closer to him than you realized you would be. He looks up at you.

“You have a gentle touch,” he murmurs, his hands coming to rest on his thighs.

You swallow and let out a shaky breath. “Well, you’re a very brave patient.”

He smiles. It’s warm and bright, and you know, deep in your bones, that this is a smile that very few people get to see – his genuine smile. You feel lucky to be one of them, and you grin back at him.

“Here,” you say, shaking your head of such sentimental thoughts before taking a step back. “Let me help you to your feet.” You hold out your hands.

He nods, and his warm, calloused hands encircle your smaller ones. It’s as if sparks flicker up through your arms from the feel of his touch, briefly stealing your breath. He appears not to notice as you slowly help him rise to his feet, letting him find his balance. When he does, you find yourselves very close to each other, your breast almost brushing against his lower chest. He seems momentarily reluctant to let go of you, and, if you were honest, you’d say you feel the same.

“Perhaps I should walk on your injured side so you can lean on me for support,” you suggest softly, looking up at him. He inhales slowly, his lips parting as he does. You feel a sudden urgency to kiss him, and you find yourself leaning closer to him, as if an invisible string is pulling you towards his body. You swear he leans in too, until you realize how inappropriate your thoughts are and you pull back a touch.

He nods, his expression shifting into something you can’t quite read. “Yes, that would be very helpful, if you don’t mind.”

��Not at all,” you say breathlessly. You gently let go of his hands and move around to his injured side, weaving your arm underneath his and around his lower back, to curl your fingers around his sturdy side. It doesn’t escape your notice how solid he is, like the stalwart pines that cover the North. He lifts his own arm to curl around your shoulder, and leans on you a bit for balance.

He’s incredibly warm too, which makes you instinctively lean into him more, drawn to his heat. You are acutely aware of his scent as well – like the pines he resembles, mixed with woodsmoke and something unfamiliar; something that must be him alone. You turn your head towards his chest, and your inhale is filled with his essence. It stirs something in you – something akin to longing – as you meet his eye.

“Shall we go, then?” He asks softly, but wintery gray eyes appear to hold more questions than just that one. Questions are forming in your mind too, but you nod before any slip from your lips.

Together, and slowly, you help him hobble from his chambers and down the stairs. As you near the last few steps, your free hand instinctively comes up to splay across his chest, not wanting him to fall forward, for you can tell that he’s in pain. His jaw is clenched, his body is tight with tension, and he’s taking heavy breaths. But you can also tell that he’s determined to push through the discomfort. You truly don’t know him well enough to be sure that this is typical for him, but you suspect it is. Your husband was stubborn – and all Northmen, you have found, are much the same.

Upon reaching the stone floor at the bottom of the steps, he lets out a soft groan, and your hand slips from his chest, falling back to your side. You look up at him, and he catches your eye.

“You look worried,” he says a little breathlessly.

You know your expression is giving away the pity and concern you feel, but you can’t help it. “You’re in pain, Cregan,” you say gently. 

“I’ve suffered worse. No need to worry. The kitchens are just that way,” he assures you, gesturing with a hand around the corner, and towards the Great Hall. “No more stairs.”

You nod, knowing there is no use in arguing with him. “Well, let’s keep moving then so we can get you to a chair,” you say, a bit more firmly than you meant it to come out. He chuckles lightly, clearly understanding that you do have some say in what comes next. It makes a smile pull at your lips.

As you continue on towards the Great Hall, a servant carrying a basket of linens crosses your path.

“M’lord,” she exclaims with concern, setting down her basket. “M’lord, there is no need for you to be out of bed. Why didn’t you call for one of us?” She’s an older woman, and you can tell from her tone, is used to mothering Cregan in this way.

He shakes his head lightly, giving her a small smile. “I’m fine, Georgina. I wanted to stretch my legs, and Lady Glover is all that I require to get to the kitchens.”

Georgina’s eyebrows knit together, clearly not believing him, but you can tell decides not to press the matter further. “I see,” she says curtly. “Well, if you require anything further, please don’t hesitate to call for me or Maester Nevin.” 

“I promise,” he says patiently, nodding.

“M’lord,” she says, giving him a small curtsy, and then she turns to you and does the same. “M’lady.”

You give her a smile, and watch the older woman pick up her basket once more and continue her walk. The two of you continue on too. 

“She has worked at Winterfell the whole of my life, and then some,” Cregan explains, for he can see the questions in your eyes when you glance at each other. “She has been like a second mother to me.”

“I’m glad to hear someone is looking out for your well being,” you say, giving him a lightly reproachful look, and he gives you a small smirk.

“Well, I consider myself lucky because you’re here now too,” he says, leaning into you more as he pushes open the door to the Great Hall with his free hand. His words make you feel special and appreciated, which you haven’t felt in a long while.

You help him through the doorway, and then push the massive door shut behind you. You find it’s truly as heavy as it looks. “Yes, but to help you rest.”

He chuckles again, and the two of you continue your way through the Great Hall, with you following his lead to head towards where the kitchens must be. When you enter them, a team of servants are bustling around the room, clearly working on dinner preparation. They all halt in their tracks once they notice your arrival, with murmurs of “m’lord” and then “m’lady.”

Cregan politely requests that they leave the kitchens for a bit, and they all do, but not without looks of confusion and curiosity. You feel your cheeks heat up again as they pass by the pair of you.

Once you’re alone, you lead him over to a stool tucked beneath a work table, and help him sit. He lets out a shaky breath when he’s finally comfortable.

“Better?” You ask, giving him a small smile.

“Much,” he admits, looking up at you with a lopsided grin. “Have you ever cut an apple?”

You’re sure your blush deepens. “No, I haven’t.”

He nods. “I’ll teach you,” he says softly. It makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter even harder than they have the whole walk here. “There are baskets of fruit, just over there,” he says, pointing to a set of shelves with woven baskets tucked neatly into them. “And there are knives in that block, just there.” He gestures to a wooden block on a far counter, with ironwood handles poking out of it. “Pick whichever one feels comfortable to hold.”

You follow his instructions, and locate an apple and pick what you think is the least intimidating knife, holding its handle gingerly in your hands. You bring them over to him as he tugs a wooden board from a stack on the table, and then stretches his body across the tabletop to pick up a small pot next to what looks like herbs and spices. He then pulls another wooden board closer to the two of you, which has a wheel of cheese on it. Finally, he pulls the stool next to his out from under the table and pats it, indicating for you to sit next to him. The stool is quite close to his, so your elbows brush against each other when you sit down. For a moment, you wonder if he did this one purpose. It makes your heart flutter.

You smooth out your dress and then look at him, waiting for his next move.

“I’ll show you what to do, okay?” He asks quietly, placing the apple in the middle of the wooden board, and picks up the knife in his right hand. You nod, and then focus your eyes on his hands. 

“First, curl these fingers back on the apple so you don’t accidentally cut yourself,” he instructs, and you watch as he curls the tips of his left-hand fingers back against the fruit. “Then, place your knife like this,” he continues, holding the blade against the apple. “And use your wrist as a leaver, pushing down and rocking the knife like this,” he finishes, slicing through the apple. 

You look up at his face with a shy smile on yours. “I think I can handle that.”

He returns your smile, and slides the wooden board in front of you. Following his instructions, you slice through another section of the apple, surprised by how much force you actually need to push the knife through the fruit.

“Well done,” he praises you, and it makes your heart beat faster. “You continue cutting that up into wedges, and I’ll slice us some cheese.”

The two of you continue working in a comfortable silence, your arms occasionally brushing against each other. When both of you are done, he places slices of cheese on top of the wedges of apples, and then drizzles a light layer of honey over them. You’ve never tasted this before, and you’re certainly intrigued. 

“After you,” he says politely, gesturing to the board. You pick up a stack and take a bite. It’s a delicious combination – salty and sweet, both complementing each other nicely. He picks up his own pieces and bites into them, and you can’t help but watch his hands and mouth as juice from the apple and honey mix and start to drip down his fingers. He finishes his piece before you’re even halfway through yours, and licks the wet slurry from his fingers, watching your face as he does it. It’s almost erotic, what he does, and you find yourself mirroring his movements, licking your fingers as well. As you do, you watch him swallow thickly, and his eyes flick down to your mouth, before he meets your gaze once more. You suddenly feel overly warm.

“I’ve never had this before,” you breathe, shifting a bit in your chair. 

It seems to pull him from his trance. “Have you not? Do you like it?”

You nod with a smile, trying to will your racing heart to slow down. “I do, very much. Do you make this for yourself often?” You look down at the wooden board, and then back to him. 

He chuckles. “More often than I should. I come down here, late at night, on most nights.”

“Why on earth are you coming down in the middle of the night?” You ask with a giggle as your hands come to rest on the table. You instinctively angle your body towards his, which makes your knees softly brush against each other, and that makes your heart start to race again.

You see his cheeks color with pink and he looks down shyly for a moment. “My body tends to wake me up in the middle of the night, from aches and pains, and–” He stops short, and you watch the color deepen on his face. 

“What?” You ask with a smile and a light laugh.

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I shouldn’t say what I was about to, to a lady,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes playfully, and pick up another stack of apple and cheese. “I’m not some blushing maiden, Cregan, and I’m one of your bannermen. You can speak plainly,” you say encouragingly, and he watches you bite into your piece.

He takes a breath, and then speaks. “Men find, as they age, that they will need to…relieve themselves more often, and often in the middle of the night. And so because I’ve woken up, it helps to stretch my legs. I’m usually hungry too, so I make something small like this,” he tilts his head, motioning to the board. 

You feel yourself blush now, understanding his meaning. You nod your head and lightly chew at your bottom lip. “I see.”

He nods, a smile playing at his lips too. “And you’re nothing like my other bannermen. You’re much more clever and…pleasing to look at,” he finishes quietly, picking up another stack for himself.

You know your blush must deepen from his compliment, and that he must see it too. Not quite sure how to respond, you change the subject before he can say anything else, and ask, “Where are your children? Are they at home?”

He shakes his head and licks the honey from his lips. “No, they’re not. Sarra and Alys have traveled to the Riverlands to spend time with their cousins,” he says, and you know he’s referring to House Blackwood and his late wife’s family. “And Rickon has gone south to White Harbor to escort a load of iron for ship welding. I suspect he’s also visiting with a young woman that I’ve come to understand he has taken a liking to, but he’s rarely that forthcoming with me about these things,” he admits, shifting in his seat.

“I suppose he’s not forthcoming with you about his romantic dalliances because he knows you won’t approve,” you say, a friendly tease in your tone. 

He chuckles. “Aye, you’re right about that,” he agrees, tracing his finger lightly against the grooves in the wooden table.

You laugh too, and glance around the room so you don’t blush even more under his gaze. 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but…” he begins, and you look at him once more. “You and Jon never had children.” He states, tilting his head to the side. From his expression, you can tell he has questions, but is waiting to see if you are willing to discuss this topic.

“No, we didn’t,” you agree, taking a deep breath. “But it wasn’t for…a lack of trying,” you admit. He nods, glancing down at his lap briefly before looking back up at you. You know he understands your meaning now. “But our maester, and several other maesters, determined that the problem seemed to lie with Jon, rather than with me… Which was a shame. I know he would have been a good father.”

You watch Cregan’s eyebrows knit together a bit, clearly thinking through your former situation. “You’re right in that, he would have been a wonderful father,” he agrees, giving you a sad smile. “And you, I think, would have been a wonderful mother. But you’re young – it’s still not too late for you.” His words are kind, but they twist something inside you – a combined feeling of longing and confusion.

“Would you ever want more children?” You ask before you can stop yourself.

You watch his eyes widen just a bit, for your question seems to surprise him as much as you’ve surprised yourself. You seem to keep doing this with him, for reasons you can’t explain.

He nods. “Yes, if I ever took another wife, I would welcome more children,” he says gently, his eyes languidly searching your face. He swallows slowly for a moment, and then speaks once more. “If you were to marry again, would you want children?”

Your eyes search his, trying to see if there’s some other question in them besides the one he’s just asked. Unable to read him clearly, for you know his skills at hiding his true thoughts are well-honed, as they would be for any lord of his age, you answer only what he has asked.

“Yes. Yes, I would.”

As your feet carry you through the still Godswood, on your way to the Glass Gardens, you think about your days that have pleasantly turned from one to another at Winterfell. The snows have fallen more thickly now, a fresh blanket of white covering the surfaces of the castle and grounds each morning. Both you and Cregan know that returning to Deepwood Motte at this point would be treacherous, but he seems not to mind that the length of your stay is indeterminable. As you have bid each other goodnight each evening, you feel he’s more and more pleased that you’re here.

You’ve spent hours and hours with him now, helping to nurse him back to health, talking with him, eating with him, walking and riding with him, and laughing with him. You both clearly enjoy each other’s company, with conversations flowing freely and a familiarity that has easily settled between the two of you. You’ve talked about a variety of topics, first in his chambers and over meals while his ankle continued to heal, and then on horseback rides too around the sprawling hills and knolls that surround Winterfell. On one particular ride, you asked him what it’s like being the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, and he asked you in return what it was like to leave your home in the West to make a new and permanent life in the North.

Challenging, you both agreed about your respective backgrounds and positions. He confessed that he also loses sleep at night from worrying over things he can’t control, such as when the first snows fall at the end of summer, which impacts the annual harvest, to wars and other demands placed upon the North in fealty to the whole of the Seven Kingdoms and maintaining peace throughout it. You stated that you understand some of what he feels. As the lady of a northern house, you have worried yourself over how your people will survive the harsh winters and what sacrifices will be asked of them on top of everything else. He seemed pleased by your answer, seeing that you take your role very seriously.

For you, moving to the North had been a challenge, as your family had lived a comfortable life in the more temperate lands of the West, and many of the things northerners think of every day were things that had never crossed your mind before, such as will the amount of grain stored last through the long winters. But you adjusted quickly, and felt you took up the mantle of Lady Glover as best as you could.

“Jon was so patient and kind as I learned my role and responsibilities,” you had stated as you and Cregan rode around the outskirts of Wintertown. 

Cregan had smiled and said he was glad to hear it. “But were you happy? Has living in the North made you happy?” He had asked, his gray eyes matching the wintry sky above you, indicating that more snow was soon to fall.

“Yes,” you admitted. “Yes, I was happy… I still try to be, even though Jon is gone now. The North, though harsh, makes you fall in love with it.”

He had chuckled and agreed with you, the lines around his eyes crinkling deeper as he smiled. “It has its beauty and charm, this is true.” 

“What is your favorite thing about the North?” You asked, as you and Cregan steered your horses down a path cleared of snow, heading back towards the East Gate.

He thought for a moment, and then said, “The smell.”

“The smell?” You asked with a light laugh.

He looked over at you, a smile on his lips. “The air smells clean and crisp. Hints of evergreens, woodsmoke, and wet earth all around you. I’ve been to the South, which smells dreadful. The moment I returned to the North, I felt like I could truly breathe again.” 

You had never thought about it that way. “I’m glad you get to wake up in the North everyday then.”

He had pulled his horse to a halt, and his eyes fixed on your face and he simply gazed at you for a moment. He has begun to do a lot of that, as if he truly enjoys looking at you. And every time, it makes you blush and your heart race. “I’m glad that you do too,” he finally said. And in that moment, with the cold breeze whipping your hair around and filling your lungs, you were sure he was trying to say something else too. As if he meant to say, “I’m glad that you do too, with me.” 

It’s like this, now, you think, as your feet crunch over the frozen ground, nearly to the entrance of the Glass Gardens. The two of you say so much, but sometimes you feel that certain things are left unsaid. That the two of you are dancing around not just topics of the past and future, but of the two of you. Of what he really thinks of you, of what you really think of him, and what that means between the two of you.

You know how you feel about him now. You’ve been without the love and affection of a husband for nearly a year now, and you had forgotten what it’s like to be the focus of a man’s attention, and of one who looks at you so tenderly. The more time you spend with Cregan, the more you feel drawn to him and his quiet gentleness towards you. His presence commands a room, there’s never been a doubt about that since you first laid eyes on him many years ago. But now that you’ve had the time to study him more closely, and the way that he carries himself in his lordship, you find you can’t look away. On a few occasions during your visit, you’ve sat in the Great Hall with him, just off to the side of the lord’s chair, while he answers the queries of northerners – settling squabbles between neighbors, offering resources to widowed women with young children, weighing in on the details of betrothals. The room falls to a hush when he enters, and when he speaks. His voice is never loud or forceful. It’s always measured and he exudes the quiet confidence of a man who has earned respect over many years, but who doesn’t take that for granted either. He listens intently, considers his pronouncements carefully, and speaks clearly, without fanfare. 

It’s impressive to witness, and the more you watch him do this, the more you have found yourself thinking about what it might be like to climb into his lap, while he sits in that chair, and ask him to weigh in on matters that concern you, and him. You wonder what it would feel like to have his hands curl around your waist, tugging you closer as you confess your thoughts. What it might feel like to caress your fingers through his graying beard, like he does when he’s thinking something through. What it might be like for his lips to brush against yours as he shares his thoughts with you.

The first time these thoughts crept up on you, it made you so flushed that he noticed, and thought you had gotten too warm from sitting so close to the hearth. You had agreed with him, and stepped outside to cool off and regain your composure. Never before has your imagination been captured like this – you’ve met countless Northmen, but none so assured in himself, and so thoughtful of you, that he leaves you breathless. Your husband was a wonderful man, and you miss him dearly, but Cregan is another man entirely. You feel sure that you’ll never meet another man like him.

And it doesn’t help that your sleeping quarters are right next to his, in the Stark family tower. You wonder if he did this on purpose, desiring to keep you close by, rather than place you in the Guest House. If he did, you’re glad of it. He always walks you to your door, sees you safely inside, and bids you goodnight. And as you lie awake in bed, tossing and turning as your fantasies become more lucid in your mind, you often hear him rise from his bed and make his way down the stairs. It takes all of your effort not to get up too and stop him from leaving for the kitchens, and ask if he would spend his sleepless moments with you instead. When you finally hear him return, you feel comforted by his presence too, knowing his strength, protection, and compassion are just through the wall behind your head.

You take a deep breath, trying to shake your thoughts as you approach the large wooden door to the Glass Gardens. You decided to come here while Cregan attended to business with some of Winterfell’s stone masons, and to find a place to quiet your mind, not rile yourself up.

Pulling the door open, you are instantly greeted by warm, humid air, as if you’re beside the sea, not in the middle of the North. It’s a welcoming reprieve from the icy chill outside the glass enclosures. You look around and see neat rows of garden beds, framed in with wooden boards, and dotted with plants throughout them. Most are fruits and vegetables that you recognize – for instance, the frilly tops of carrots poking up from the soil. You walk slowly, admiring the garden beds and how the plants seem to be thriving here.

You hear a door open on the farside of the glasshouse, and turn to see an elderly woman walking through, with a basket full of what looks like raspberries. 

“M’lady,” she says, giving you a curtsy, all while maintaining the balance of the basket on her hip. “Can I help you with something?” She asks kindly.

“Oh, no, thank you…” you start, but you’re not quite sure of her name.

She realizes what you are asking. “I’m called Miranda, m’lady. I’m the Head Gardener here.”

“Thank you, Miranda. I just wanted to see what the Glass Gardens looked like. I’ve never been here, and I thought I would leave Lord Stark to speak with his men without me in tow.” You give her a sheepish look.

She smiles at you, and you can see a knowing look cross her face. “You’re more than welcome here, m’lady.”

You smile back at her, and look around. “Do all of the glasshouses grow fruits and vegetables?”

Miranda walks over to come stand next to you, and a bed of what you think might be snow peas. “There are five glasshouses, and four and a half of them grow food. The other half of the fifth one, just that way,” she points towards the glass door she came through, and you can see now that all of the glasshouses appear connected by glass causeways. “That bit grows flowers, m’lady. Most are for medicinal purposes, but not all.”

“Flowers?” You ask, trying to contain your excitement. It’s been so long since you’ve seen flowers in lush bloom, for they just don’t grow in abundance in the North like they do where you were raised in the West. “I would love to see them.”

Miranda smiles widely and nods. “Of course, m’lady. I’ll bring you to them.” She motions a hand for you to follow her, and you do. “Would you like some raspberries?” She asks as you two walk side by side.

“Oh my, thank you,” you say, and she carefully scoops up some from her basket and places them in your cupped palm. “These grow in the third glasshouse, if you’re ever looking for a tasty treat,” she says, giving you a wink. It makes you giggle and you nod.

Finally, she gestures for you to enter the last glasshouse, and brings you to the back section. Rows of flowers are tucked in neatly, and their scent perfumes the air. Your eyes land first on bright orange flowers. “What are these?” You ask. You swear you’ve seen them before, but you can’t remember the name.

“Those are poppies, m’lady. Their seeds are what makes milk of the poppy,” she explains, her nimble fingers tilting a bloom so you can spot the seeds nestled inside.

“Oh!” You exclaim, now remembering that your family’s maester grew these in his herb and medicine garden too. “Yes, of course. I thought I recognized them.”

She smiles at you, but a bush beyond her shoulder catches your eye. “Are those roses?”

“Yes, those are golden roses,” Miranda confirms, and she leads you over to them.

What a delight, you think, to see them growing in the North. You lean down to inhale their perfume – a wonderfully rich fragrance with a hint of lemon. These buttery yellow roses have always been your favorite. 

“When the petals are crushed and mixed with water, it can be drunk to help with inflammation in the body. When your muscles are stiff and achy, for example. Maseter Nevin drinks a small glass each day,” she says with a smile. 

“They’re delightful – they’ve always been my favorite. I didn’t know they had a medicinal purpose too.” You return her smile.

“Ah, yes, m’lady. Sometimes beautiful things can be more than just that.” She gives you the look that a mother would, admiring her young daughter. It warms you inside.

“I think you’re quite right, Miranda.”

A throat clears from the doorway, behind the two of you, and you both turn to see Cregan standing there. His thick cloak almost makes him seem out of place in the warm glasshouse, but he’s a welcome sight to you.

“M’lord,” Miranda greets him, inclining her head.

“Miranda,” he says in his deep voice, walking over to the two of you. “My lady.”

“My lord,” you say softly, feeling the warmth in your veins spreading even more now that he’s here. He stops before you, a small smile on his face. You’ve missed that smile, and you’ve only been away from each other for no more than an hour.

Miranda seems to notice something in your exchange, and must decide to excuse herself. “I should continue on with my harvest. Do call for me, m’lady, if I can be of further assistance,” she says, curtsying once more. “M’lord.” She nods at him too.

“Thank you, Miranda,” you say gratefully, and she gives you a smile before walking off, back the way you both came.

When you’re alone, Cregan finally speaks. He looks pleased, you hope, to see you. “Are you enjoying the Glass Gardens?”

“Very much. I didn’t know roses grew at Winterfell until Miranda showed them to me,” you say, gesturing down to the bush at your side. 

“Do you like them?” He asks gently, stepping closer to you before leaning down to press his nose to a bloom, his hair fanning across his face.

“They’re my favorite. Just as you love the smell of the North, I love the smell of golden roses,” you say, leaning down too to smell them once more, delighted with being this close to him too.

When you both straighten back up, you see his expression is even softer.

You look at him for a moment. “What?” you ask gently, smiling.

“These roses were my mother’s favorite too,” he murmurs, his eyes roving slowly over your face.

“Lady Gilliane?” You say, your smile spreading wider.

“Mhm,” he hums, his smile spreading too. “I remember how much she loved coming in here to tend to them. I think it brought her peace.”

You reach out a hand to touch the satin petals of one of the blooms with your fingertips, still smiling. “I’m honored then to have something in common with the beloved Lady Gilliane,” you say gently. “Who was also a Glover,” you suddenly remember, looking up at him. “Much more of a Glover than I could ever be.”

Cregan shakes his head gently, his expression still soft. “When my mother became the Lady of Winterfell, she truly became a Stark, in her heart and soul, and no one ever saw her as anything different,” he explains, glancing down at the roses and then back up at you. “It is the same for you.”

He must notice you blushing, for he continues on.

“As a Glover, I mean.” You see color in his cheeks now too, which could be explained away as being too warm in the glasshouse.

“Of course. Thank you,” you say, truly grateful for his kind words. “I shall think of her now when I see these roses.”

He nods and then says gently, “She would have liked that.” He takes a deep breath and you bask in the tender warmth that he directs at you. “We should make our way to the Great Hall for dinner.”

“This was truly delicious,” you say, finishing the last of the pheasant on your plate. 

Cregan takes a small sip of his wine, his glass nearly empty, and nods. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“It’s, um…it’s nice to have company for meals,” you admit, and you feel his keen gaze while you finish your own wine. “It can be quite lonely at the Deepwood…especially at night.” You glance at him, and see a small smirk playing at his lips. You instantly feel silly for saying something that could be taken as suggestive.

“I mean to say,” you try to back track, “that as a woman, you tend to hear all of the strange sounds much more when you’re alone at night.”

“I understand,” he says, nodding more solemnly this time. 

You try to shift the focus to him, thinking of him by himself at night. “I’m sure you must feel the same too.” But your brain catches up with your mouth, realizing that you’ve just foolishly made an assumption about him. “Sorry, I ought not to assume that. You’re a lord, so things must be different for you.”

You meet his eyes again, trying to shake off your embarrassment. 

“I believe,” he says softly, leaning forward to fold his arms over one another on top of the table, before looking at you. “That I’m just as lonely as you are.” 

You let out a shaky breath, understanding his meaning. 

“And you’re always welcome here. Always.” His piercingly gray eyes hold your gaze, and you know he means it. And now you’re almost certain too that he’s been having similar thoughts to you, about what it would be like to spend your nights together, rather than alone.

“Thank you, Cregan,” you murmur, and you boldly place your hand over his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

His eyes seem to be asking you the questions you so long for him to voice. His head tilts a little as he looks at you, and his lips part, as if he’s trying to find the right words.

“Shall I walk you to your chambers then?” He finally murmurs.

You nod slowly, trying very hard to hide your sudden disappointment, and place your napkin on the table. You stand, smoothing out your dress, and he stands as well, following you from the Great Hall.

You try to stay ahead of him, so he won’t see the confusion that you know must be etched across your face. But his long strides easily keep pace with you, despite his ankle only having just finished healing.

When you make it to the top of the stairs, you start to walk past his chambers to your room next door, hoping for a brief ‘goodnight’ between the two of you.

But instead of following you, he stops in front of the door to his chambers, and calls your name softly, almost as if he’s whispering a prayer.

You stop in your tracks, and slowly turn to face him, and feel your heart thumping against your ribcage. Had you misread his intentions in the Great Hall?

“Will you stay?” He breathes, stormy eyes searching your face. 

Your eyes stare into his, and you release a shaky breath, relieved that you were right – that he wants you back. You step closer to him, and reach out tentatively to touch his hand, your fingers curling softly around his own. His warm hand easily envelopes yours, calluses built up over years of training with his sword rubbing against your delicate skin.

You take the last step closer to him at the same time that he gently pulls you to his chest, and it makes a shiver run up your spine. You slowly lift your free hand to lay it against his chest, your fingers curling lightly into his gambeson. Even through the quilted fabric, you can feel his rapid heart beat, mirroring your own.

His own free hand finds its way around you, his arm following to circle your waist, holding you even closer in his strong, warm embrace. 

You nod your head, sharing the same breath as him. You feel his chest shudder under your palm, and he slowly backs the two of you into his chambers, stopping briefly to push the door shut with his foot.

Heat rushes through your body, curling tightly in your core. Your hand on his chest slides up his neck so your fingers can slip through his trimmed beard, and you let go of his hand so your hand can join the other on his face. His eyes bore into yours, but his eyelashes flutter a bit as he feels your fingers caress his cheeks.

Now free, his hand joins his other around your waist, and he gently pulls you to him until your body is flush with his. For days, you’ve wanted to feel him pressed against you, so much so, it’s made you ache for him.

His face is inches from yours, but you can tell he’s waiting, wanting to be sure this is okay – that this is what you want. And you want him to be sure from this moment on that he is all that you want. You stretch up on your toes and your fingers slip behind his ears to snake around the nape of his neck.

He wastes no time closing the distance between you, dipping down to kiss you softly, his hands holding your waist and back tenderly. You can feel his strong fingers gently massaging you through your dress, learning the curves of your body. His beard tickles against your lips and cheeks too – you’ve never kissed a man with a beard before, and you find you love it. You find you want to feel his beard join his fingers in rubbing the rest of your body.

You sigh against his lips and he pulls back, just the slightest bit, and you know what he wants to ask.

“I want you,” you breathe, and you feel his shaky exhale fan across your cheeks as he takes in your words. 

In response, his hands slide down your hips, and he bends his knees so he can reach down to cup your ass and thighs, before lifting you into his arms. Though he’s no longer a young man, his strength doesn’t seem to have waned one bit. The thought sends a thrill through you as you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, and press yourself into his body. Your dress becomes bunched against his hips, and your need for him to remove it thrums through your veins. You find that now you’re the one looking down, and your eyes find his, two pools of ice, melting with desire. 

You shift your hips higher against his, making your breasts press into his chest as your fingers slip up to tangle in his hair. He grips you tighter, holding you steady in his arms. “I want you too,” he husks, before letting out a sigh from feeling your nails skimming along his scalp.

“You can have me,” you say with a sigh of your own. “All of me.”

He kisses you again, but it’s unhurried, his lips molding against yours with steady movements. It makes you melt in his arms, this deliberate pace, as if you both have all the time in the world. Your lips part for him with a whimper, and you lick into each other with languid swipes of your tongues, as he slowly walks you both towards the bed – the bed you’ve spent so many hours sitting next to, tending to him.

He lays you down gently, breaking from your lips only for a moment to crawl up the length of your body, his knees framing your hips and thighs and his forearms caging in your shoulders, before dipping down to kiss you again. Your palms slide up the planes of his chest, slipping against his gambeson. The laces dangle down, trailing over your breasts teasingly as your kiss deepens. You move your hands to tug at the laces, and he lifts his chest a bit to let your nimble fingers work through the knot. When you do, you tug apart the collar of his gambeson, and his tunic beneath, and then slide your palms against his warm skin. He sighs against your lips as your fingers card through the modicum of hair on his chest. 

“Can I touch you?” He husks against your lips. It makes you shiver to know he’d never do anything without asking you first. He’s such a gentleman.

You nod, your nose brushing against his. “Please,” you breathe.

In response, he tilts his head to nose at your cheek so he can kiss your face and then down the length of your neck, slowly and softly. His beard brushes against your sensitive skin, making your body tingle. Your hands slide up his shoulders to touch his neck again too before tangling once more in his hair. You feel his sighs against your skin, his warm breath washing over your skin as he kisses lower, his lips grazing your chest. His hands lift to rest on your breasts, his fingers toying with the laces of your dress, before his eyes flick up to meet yours. You know what he’s asking.

You arch into his hands, and he understands that he can continue – that he really can have all of you. His practiced fingers pull at your laces while he mouths at your breasts through the fabric of your dress. You want nothing more than to feel his lips on your soft skin. As if he can read your mind, he tugs your dress and shift apart, and his mouth finds your skin again. His lips move tenderly, reverently, between the swell of your breasts, his tongue slipping out to leave a wet trail in his wake, soothing the roughness from his beard. It makes wetness pool between your legs. You can’t help but let out a soft moan and tilt your head back into the furs when his mouth follows the soft curve of one of your breasts before his lips form around your nipple, his tongue swirling around the taut peak. He lets out a soft groan in response, the sound reverberating against your sensitive skin.

“Cregan,” you breathe, your fingers slipping beneath the collar of his loosened gambeson and tunic to touch his shoulders. You need to feel his hot skin against yours.

He looks up at you at the same time that you look down at him, while his mouth travels across to repeat his movements to your other breast, sucking on this nipple as well. You arch into him, breathless, and you feel your core clench around nothing. But you understand that he doesn’t want to rush – that he wants to savor these moments with you. It makes your heart flutter too, to know he cares this much.

But you can tell he also doesn’t want to deny you anything either. He keeps kissing your chest as his hands pull your dress down your shoulders and arms, bunching it around your lower back and hips. In any other circumstance, you know you’d be cold instantly, but you couldn’t possibly be under the heat of his gaze and the desire that is coursing through your body.

“Gods, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes, shifting down to kiss the softness of your belly. His compliment makes you smile and laugh lightly – it’s been so long since you’ve heard words like that.

He smiles up at you, clearly understanding the effect he’s having on you. “I’d like to see all of you,” he husks, pushing himself up and sliding off the end of the bed to stand, but still hovering his torso over you. You instantly miss his closeness, but are distracted from that when his hands slowly tug your dress and shift over your hips, his fingers expertly grabbing hold of your stockings to pull them down too. He quickly pulls your boots off as well, and then lets your clothes fall to the floor. 

His eyes rove over your naked form, and though you feel yourself blush, your legs tantalizingly slip against the furs before revealing your core to him. He looks there for a moment, and then back to your face, and his expression tells you there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. It makes your heart race in your chest, especially as you watch him tug his gambeson and tunic up over his body in one fluid motion, tossing them both to the floor. Your eyes follow the curves of his muscular chest, and his burly biceps that fade into powerful tendons that wrap down his arms – all still toned from the sword sparring you know he still does almost every day, though you’re sure he doesn’t really need the practice. Your eyes follow too down the trail of hair that runs from his chest and disappears beneath his trousers, more gray at his chest and then darkening as it trails lower. Your mouth waters as you watch him undo his trousers, and he watches you watch him.

Your legs fall apart even more – almost instinctively, as if your body is beckoning him to join you – as he pushes his trousers and small clothes down his sturdy hips, tugging them and his boots off too, now just as naked as you are.

As he straightens back up, can’t help but let your gaze linger on his manhood, long and girthy, hanging heavy with desire. Though your maidenhood is long gone, and you’ve had sex many times, you’re not entirely sure how he’ll fit inside you. He must see your momentary apprehension cross your expression.

“I wouldn’t hold it against you if you’ve changed your mind,” he says softly, catching your eye again.

You sit up quickly and crawl to the edge of the bed, before kneeling in front of him, your eyes never leaving his. Your hands come up to rest on his shoulders before you lean in to kiss him. It’s soft and slow, and you can feel his relief as his shoulders relax, glad you aren’t going anywhere. His hands lift to encircle your waist, holding you tenderly.

But just to make extra sure that you’re both on the same page, your right hand slips from his shoulder and your fingers follow the trail of hair down his chest and stomach. He shivers beneath your touch, and you can feel his breath in short bursts against your skin, as your hand wraps around his length, tugging languidly. 

He groans against your lips as your hand slips up and down his cock, your small fist swirling over his tip too, feeling him leaking against your palm.

“I want you, all of you,” you say in between kisses, and he gasps against your lips as your hand moves more purposefully along his length. “I want to feel you inside me.”

He moans into you, and you moan back, loving his reactions to your words and actions. You know he knows – he’s absolutely sure – that you both want the same things. 

Excitement courses through your body as his arm slides more securely around your back, and the other reaches out to brace his weight, as he guides you both back down to the bed, shimmying you up to the middle and finding his spot in the cradle of your thighs. He kisses you deeply as your hands trail over his warm skin, learning the shape of him too. 

After one last deep kiss and smile against your lips, he shifts his way down your body again, slowly and with the purpose of learning all of your curves and what he can do to bring you pleasure. His tongue follows the curve underneath your breast, making you tremble with bliss. He playfully nips at your sides, making you gasp. He sucks bruises into your inner thighs, making you writhe beneath him in pleasure. Your hands follow him as he moves too, carding through his hair, caressing his cheeks and shoulders. He leans into your touch as he worships your body, glancing up at you with reverence. It makes your heart feel like it might burst, to be looked at and touched in this way. You want to make sure you can give all of this back to him too.

But your train of thought halts as his lips shift down to hover over your core, his breath ghosting teasingly over your wet cunt. Your eyes find his again as he leans into place the most gentle kiss to the cleft of your cunt. You whimper, wanting so much more than just sweet kisses.

He can’t seem to deny you anything, for he gently lifts your legs over his shoulders, your heels coming to rest on his strong back, before he presses his face in firmer and swipes his tongue up languidly, but deeply, through your folds. You gasp, fingers tightening in his hair and your legs begin to shake a bit, for it feels incredible. He braces his weight on his elbows, and his hands curl around your thighs, holding you steady but tugging your legs apart at the same time. As his tongue swipes up and down, his beard brushes against your most sensitive spots, making you moan, much more loudly than you probably should. But he seems to want to hear you, moaning against you in response and licking into you like he’s never tasted anything so sweet. You moan again and again, and then cry out his name when his tongue presses inside you, opening you up for him. 

You can’t help but roll your hips down to meet the thrusts of his tongue, and he encourages you by tugging you closer, his biceps pressing firmly against the back of your thighs. Doing this together only makes him go deeper, and he swirls his tongue inside you too, making pleasure race up your spine.

He pulls another whimper from your lips too as one of his hands slips between your thighs, his fingertips teasingly rubbing your dripping cunt. Though his tongue is perfect, you’re desperate to feel his fingers inside you. As if he can read your mind, he draws his tongue from you, lapping at your wetness as his fingertip teases your entrance, dipping in only shallowly despite the rocking of your hips.

You whine, your fingernails raking gently across his scalp, very close to begging him. But you should have known that’s not necessary, for he’s given you everything and more so far. As you roll your hips, he gingerly pushes his finger inside you, and your head presses back into the bed with a moan. Though you sometimes touch yourself, two of your dainty fingers are nothing in comparison to one of his.

He kisses your inner thighs as you rock down against his digit, taking more of him inside you until he’s down to the last knuckle.

As he gives you a moment to adjust, he asks, “Is this what you wanted, beautiful?”

You clench around his finger, and look back down at him, your fingers slipping out of his hair to caress the line of his jaw while he lavishes your hips with kisses.

“Yes,” you breathe, and as you do, he draws his finger back before pushing it inside you again, swirling it as he does. But before you even have a moment to catch up, his tongue flicks out to play with your pearl too. 

“Gods, Cregan,” you moan, his finger and his tongue finding the same rhythm, sending pleasure washing over you. He moans against you too, the sensation sending sparks through your veins, lighting a fire in you that burns brightly for him.

As he pumps in and out of you, he also curls his finger to brush over that spot that you can never reach yourself, making you arch against him with a blissful whine. You feel him smile against your skin, and then he gently introduces a second finger, snugly pressed against your walls as you stretch around his digits. You rock your hips firmly against his hand, taking both of his fingers eagerly, wanting everything he can give you. Your body trembles as he sucks on your pearl and both fingers brush over your sweet spot, bringing you closer to your peak. 

“That feels so good,” you say, and he hums against your pearl in response before his tongue flicks quickly over it, his fingers speeding up to match his pace. 

A string of moans leaves your lips, as he quickly brings forth your peak. “Oh gods, Cregan, I’m gon–”

He sucks hard on your pearl and curls his fingers so perfectly inside you, as if he could feel your orgasm with his fingers and tongue and chose just the right moment to give it to you.

You cry out, your body convulsing with pleasure beneath him as he draws your orgasm out, stroking you through it and groaning as he feels you flutter around his soaked fingers. In all your years, you’ve never come like this. 

You’re still gently trembling beneath him, and your fingers slip down his neck to caress his shoulders, while he places one last kiss to your pearl, and slowly withdraws his fingers from you, his fingertips caressing your swollen cunt for a moment. He smiles down at you as he crawls up to kiss you once more, his hips nestled against yours and his arms framing your head. You smile against his lips and sigh between kisses, satiated – but only for a moment.

You wind your arms around his back and then press your hips up into his, feeling the heft of his cock press against your core, and he lets out a soft sigh. You spread your legs even more, and then run your sensitive cunt along the length of his cock, making him moan now while his tongue traces the shape of your lips. You feel him lean his weight onto one arm as the other rubs down your body before he takes himself in hand, teasing your cunt with the tip of his cock.

The feeling makes you moan against his lips, your legs lifting to slide against his hips and thighs as he mirrors your movements with his cock, sliding his tip up and down through your folds, his precum mixing with your wetness.

But you remember his size, and your earlier apprehension of how he’ll fit inside you, and so you speak quickly. “Can I ride you?” You ask, knowing that you being in control of the pace and depth of his cock might make it easier for you to take all of him as swiftly as possible.

He hums against your lips before pulling back to look down at you. Your hands slip down his sides to run back up the planes of his chest, locking eyes with him. His pupils are blown wide, only slivers of gray peering down at you now. “Aye,” he breathes, smiling at you. “Aye, of course.”

You hum happily and stretch up to kiss him. As you do, he lets go of himself and slides his arm underneath your back, before rolling you both over, still kissing you. He carefully holds your body against his, and you feel a swooping sensation in your belly to join your desire.

It makes you laugh lightly, and he laughs too, both of you enjoying this playfulness as he helps you straddle his hips.

You settle your knees firmly into the fur, and tuck your legs against his sides, before giving him one last kiss and sitting up to kneel. He watches you go, his chest rising and falling in anticipation. You love seeing him beneath you like this – watching you, wanting you.

After looking at him for a moment – you still can’t quite believe you’re here with him, like this – you lift your hips and reach between your thighs to take his length in your hand, running your palm up and down his silky cock. As you do, you find your balance on your knees before reaching further between your thighs to caress his balls, gently squeezing them and rolling them around with your fingers.

He lets out a groan, clearly surprised and incredibly aroused by what you’re doing to him. It thrills you to know that you can surprise a man with as much experience as he has.

You play with him for a moment, teasing his balls and stroking his length, before you mimic his movements from before, running the tip of his cock through your folds. He sighs in pleasure as he watches you, his eyes flicking back and forth between your hand on his length and your eyes. Your one hand comes back up to rest against his thigh, and you bite your lip as you line him up with your entrance.

As you slowly sink down on him, your mouth falls open, and hitched breaths escape your lips. You fall forward a bit, your hands coming to rest on his stomach for support. You can feel his abs clench beneath your palms, clearly trying to stay still for you. 

But his hands move to caress your thighs and hips, his eyes never leaving yours. “Are you alright?” He asks, and though you tell by the look on his face that he’s incredibly turned on, you can hear the concern in his voice too. You know now that that’s his way – to protect, always.

“You’re so big,” you moan, sinking down even further, stretching around his length. A groan is pulled from his throat and his fingers curl into the crease of your hips, holding you steady. You still your hips for a moment when you feel him throb inside you, for he clearly wasn’t expecting you to say that. It makes you smile and he smiles back.

And then you begin to gently roll your hips, taking more of him into you as your palms slide up his stomach to rest on his chest, leaning down even more. It makes him shift inside you, brushing against your walls and your sweet spot in a way that makes pleasure rush up your spine, and you can’t help the breathy moan that escapes your lips. He moans in response, and his hands and arms wrap around your back, following the waves of your body. The lower you get to him, the more he fills you up, until there is nothing left that you can take on your own. Your forehead comes to rest against his, and your long hair fans over his own tresses splayed against the pillows.

As he lets you adjust, he tilts his head back into the pillows so he can look up at you, his nose brushing against yours. 

“You feel so perfect around me,” he husks, and his words make you flutter around his length. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You feel your heart reach out to his, touched deeply by his need to make sure that you’re alright.

You nod with a happy sigh, kissing him softly. “I’m fine, I just needed to adjust. You feel so good inside me,” you breathe, grinding your hips against his. The way his cock swirls inside you makes you shiver with pleasure. He sighs with pleasure against your lips, clearly enjoying the feeling too, and your words of encouragement.

His hands continue to caress your back and hips as he kisses you languidly, before slipping his palms down to gently grip your ass with his massive hands. As you begin to move once more, he helps you roll your hips, gliding slowly up and down his length. Your own hands skim up his chest to curl around his shoulders, giving you more leverage to rock yourself back on him, setting an unhasty pace. You’ve realized he’s onto something – drawing out both of your pleasures. There’s really no rush.

He hums against your lips as your tongues dance languidly, tasting each other and swallowing the other’s moans. You start to feel him move beneath you too, his hips thrusting up gently to meet your hips. It drives him deeper, making you tremble with pleasure.

One of his hands slide up to splay over your back, keeping you close to him. You wouldn’t dream of going anywhere though – right in his arms is the only place you can imagine being. “How often have you thought about this?” He asks between kisses.

You gasp against his lips, surprised by his question. You feel yourself blush.

He chuckles, his one hand playfully squeezing your ass cheek. “You can tell me.”

You bury your face in his neck, your lips brushing against his warm skin. “For days, multiple times a day,” you admit with a smile.

“Is that so?” He asks, turning his head so he can gaze at your face, resting on shoulder.

“Mhm,” you hum, still smiling shyly, and wiggling your hips as he thrusts up to meet yours. “What about you?”

His hand on your ass leaves your skin before pressing into the bed. He pushes both of you up so he’s sitting, and you’re sitting in his lap, your breasts pressed into his chest. Your arms wrap around his neck, clutching onto him as you adjust to him in this new angle, which makes him go even deeper into you.

“For days, so many times each day,” he agrees, and then adds huskily, “And everytime I woke in the middle of the night, I wanted to know if you were awake too.”

You lift your hips up and then sink back down, clenching around him. “I was, and I was waiting for you,” you moan against his lips. 

“Fuck,” he breathes as you start to bounce on his length. His arm around your back slackens just a bit to allow you to move however you want, and the expression on his face shows how amazed he is by you. You feel the same, your heart beating wildly for him.

Your hands slip from around his neck to cradle his face, his beard tickling your palms. “Show me what you were thinking of,” you murmur, locking eyes with him.

He pushes his hand against the bed and tightens his arm around your back once more, rolling you both over. He manages to stay inside of you as he gently pins you beneath him, kissing you deeply. Your legs lock around his hips, thrilled that he does want to show you. Your hands run up and down his back, feeling his muscles ripple as he rolls his hips with shallow thrusts. It sends pleasure racing through your body to coil in your core.

“Let me show you,” he husks, sending a shiver through your body to join your pleasure, for you thought this was what he was thinking of.

You nod with a moan against his lips, and he slowly pushes himself up to kneel between your legs, sliding out of you. You clench around nothing and whimper at the loss, but his hands rub you soothingly, and he straightens your legs gently before lifting a knee to straddle your right leg. Then he lifts your left leg straight up, and brings it to his chest, caressing your shin.

“Can you lay on your side for me, my lady?” He asks playfully, and you obey with a light laugh, shifting to lay on your right side. As you move, he brings your left leg down to hook around his left thigh, holding your shin with one hand to press it against him, which makes your ass nestle against his cock.

You’ve never tried this position before, and you look up at him with a mix of curiosity and intense desire, knowing his mind thought all of this up for you.

He grinds against you for a moment, making you gasp with delight, before he draws his hips back, taking himself in hand and angling against your cunt. He holds himself there, and you know he’s waiting for your approval.

“Please,” you breathe, wiggling against him.

He lets out a pleased sigh as he pushes back into you, and it makes a high-pitched whine escape your lips. The angle is completely different with your hips being sideways like this, his cock rubbing inside you in the most delicious way. As thrusts fully into you, his now free hand curls around the curve of your hip, his hand covering you completely. And now he really grinds into you, swirling his cock so perfectly that he hits places inside of you that you know have never felt this type of pleasure. He also brushes his tip along your sweet spot, purposefully angeling his cock to do just that. 

“Does that feel good?” He asks, drawing his hips back to set a languid pace, letting you feel everything. 

“Cregan, gods, yes,” you moan, tilting your shoulder back so you can look up at him. He looks like one of the gods you just mentioned, towering over you, the muscles in his abs rippling as he thrusts in and out. His hair is mussed from you tugging on it, and you can see he’s starting to sweat – the heat in the room and the heat of your bodies making beads of moisture gather on his skin. You have an urge to lick the salty sweat from his skin, but your mouth can’t reach him just now.

Instead, your hands find his sturdy thighs, curling around them and holding on as he thrusts into you. Seeing that you’re okay, and that you’ve got something to hold onto, he picks up the pace, snapping his hips to plunge in and out of you. You moan and press your head back against the bed, overwhelmed in the best way.

“You look so beautiful. Gods, you’re perfect,” he says, his cock hitting your sweet spot over and over again. You feel your second peak building and you dig your fingers into his thighs, holding on as he keeps up this pace.

“Cregan,” you whine, clenching around him as pleasure washes over you. He seems to understand what you need, hitching your leg around his thigh higher up his hip. The hand that’s curled around your hip lets go so he can slip his hand between your thighs to rub your pearl in time with his thrusts.

It sends so much pleasure coursing through you that you’re shaking beneath him, and staring up at him with so much adoration. This – this is what he wanted to show you. This is the pleasure he dreamed up for the two of you. This is all for you.

You feel your peak suddenly wind tightly in your core.

“Cregan, I–” And then it snaps, making you cry out and come around him, fluttering even more than you did on his fingers as he draws out your orgasm, every thrust and swipe of his fingers bringing you untold pleasures. 

He moans your name with what sounds like reverence, worshiping your body on his knees. Your hands grip his thighs so tightly, you’re sure you must be hurting him, but he doesn’t complain. You can tell he’s enjoying every second of this, making and watching you come undone for him, again.

As he feels your peak subside, he slows his hips down and gently unwinds you so you’re lying fully on your back again, and then he moves back between the cradle of your hips, all while staying inside you. He’s incredible.

Your legs slide up to caress his hips as he leans back down, his forearms caging in your head once more as your arms wrap around his back. He leans down to kiss you, thrusting incredibly slowly, his tip dragging inside you to make pleasure keep sparking in your veins. 

“Keep going. Don’t stop,” you beg him, and he pants against your lips, nodding his head and resuming his thrusts with purpose. You lock your legs around him, your heels pressing into his lower back, making him plunge even deeper into you. 

You moan, completely pliant for him and rocking your hips to meet his thrusts. He kisses you deeply again, and your fingernails drag down his back as his body rolls in waves. He moans at the feeling, his hips snapping even faster.

“Come for me,” you breathe in between kisses, clutching at his back. You seem to set something off in him, as his hips move more erratically and you can feel his peak building, ready to burst.

He says your name with a plea. “I’m gonna–” He reaches a hand back to try to unlock your legs from his back, clearly intending to pull out.

“No,” you plead. “No, don’t pull out. Cregan, please.” He looks down at you, as if you are the most precious thing he’s ever laid eyes on, and comes, crying out with your name on his lips. He buries so deep inside you, you’re sure he’s kissing your womb, and you feel white hot ribbons coating your walls as he trembles in your arms. You clench around him, desperate to milk him for every drop and every ounce of his pleasure, wanting this to be something he’ll never forget. You know you won’t – nothing could compare to this.

He pants against your lips, and then tilts his forehead up to rest against yours. His fingers stroke your cheeks as you rub his back tenderly, giving him a moment to come down from his high.

As he catches his breath, you gaze up at him, feeling that he truly has all of you – your mind, your body, and now your heart too. It’s a breathtaking realization. He lifts his head to look down at you fully, and you see it on his face: your thoughts reflected back.

“Winterfell and I will always welcome you home, if you’ll have us,” he breathes. You feel your heart swell so much you think it might burst.

“Do you mean that?” You ask, your voice suddenly thick with emotion. You never thought – never dreamed – that you could find this type of happiness after so much loss and loneliness. 

“With all my heart,” he murmurs, rubbing his nose tenderly against yours. “Marry me, and be Lady Stark.”

Tears slip from your eyes as you press up to kiss him, nodding fervently. “I will. I will marry you, Cregan Stark.”

You gaze out at the courtyard below, smiling as you watch the bustle of castle life. You settle comfortably against the settee that sits at the perfect height beneath the window, allowing you to appreciate the view you’ve come to love.

In your arms, and nursing at your breast, is your’s and Cregan’s son, Edric Stark, born eight months after you and Cregan wed beneath the heart tree in the Godswood of Winterfell, surrounded by his other adoring children, so happy for the both of you. Cregan insisted the baby be named after your beloved father, bringing your family and heritage permanently into the fold of House Stark. You look down at your peaceful son, suckling contentedly, and you know you’ve never been happier. And your love for Cregan blooms even more in your heart, like the roses that bloom in the Glass Gardens.

As if he can tell you’re thinking about him, the door opens for Cregan to step across the threshold. A contented smile settles across his face as he takes in the pair of you – his wife and son – and strides across the room. He stops at your side and kneels down, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips and then dipping down to gently kiss his son. 

“Are you enjoying the view, Lady Stark?” He murmurs, grinning playfully at you.

“I am, Lord Stark,” you say, your complete and utter happiness coming through in your voice as you gaze into his gray eyes. You reach up a free hand to caress his cheek and ever-graying beard. “I’m looking at you.”

Moots and Cregan Wives Taglist ❤️:

@sylasthegrim @vividxpages @bucksplum

@eldrith @cregnstark @onebrainsel

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[solacestyles]

I Might Hold You With My Hands Tied (Show You I'm the Right Guy to Figure You Out)

Cregan Stark x Bolton!Reader

Tags: angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers and enemies to lovers, smut, oral sex and fingering (fem. receiving), p. in v. sex

When your brother, the Lord of the Dreadfort and House Bolton, betrays Lord Cregan Stark and the North, there must be consequences. Your fate hangs in the balance - a fate tied to Cregan himself.

You stare out of a window of the Dreadfort: the ancestral seat of your family, House Bolton. The earth surrounding the fortress is covered in a muddy blanket of snow, smeared into a slippery mess by the boots of men and the hooves of horses. But an unmistakable red blotch catches your eye, just along the eastern bank of the Weeping Waters, for it’s still bright against the dirty snow. It’s the blood of your brother, Wilhem, Lord of the Dreadfort and House Bolton, from when Lord Cregan Stark, his liege lord and the Warden of the North, took his head. You watched the whole proceeding from this very window. Watched, as a man you’ve known your whole life beheaded the only son of your late-father for inciting a rebellion against House Stark and the North.

You had tried to convince Wilhem not to rebel, no matter his grievances against Cregan Stark. House Stark, you had implored, is too powerful with too much of the North fiercely loyal to it, as was demonstrated by the amount of men who stood behind the Stark banners, bearing the head of a snarling direwolf. And you tried to remind Wilhem of the love he and Cregan shared as brothers in arms for so long. Wilhem had shrugged you off, and you’re sure now that he had been betrayed by his own men, but you suppose that will be confirmed soon enough. You know that the two uneven sides understood that a battle would have been over quickly, and so your brother and five other men were rounded up and thrown at Lord Stark’s feet. Those five men were ordered to take the black and would be sent to the Wall, but your brother was beheaded with Cregan’s Valyrian steel blade, Ice. You’re sure that Cregan knew what you did too: that the rebellion was Wilhem’s idea, and his alone. 

And now here you stand, the last Bolton in the North, your family destroyed, and the honor of your house deeply tarnished. You watch melting snow drip down the window pane, and you feel nothing other than exhaustion and emptiness, for not even the death of your foolish brother seems to bring you to tears. Because of Wilhem’s recklessness, your life is now in the hands of a man you’ve known and cared for all of your life, but have no clue of his intentions for you now: to be killed, tortured for more information, to be sold off, who knows. You’re nothing more than a prisoner in your own home, to be easily discarded or made a pawn for some other use. You swallow thickly, and your eyes focus once more on the gash of red, willing even just one tear to fall and slip down your cheek – like the melting snow on the window – for the state of your misfortunes.

But before you can even manage to blink, you hear a key rattle in the door, unlocking it. You don’t bother to turn around. You know who has come.

“Lord Cregan Stark for you, my lady,” Jonas says quietly – an elderly servant who has served your family for your entire life. You don’t acknowledge his announcement, nor turn to face Cregan. You simply stare at the crimson snow, and the rushing river beyond it.

Your quiet is further disturbed by the sound of heavy footsteps carrying Cregan further into the room, no doubt weighed down by his leather-coated armor. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and you wait to hear your sentence. 

He clears his throat, likely hoping you’ll turn to face him and make this easier for him. You will not.

“I’m sorry to be here under such circumstances, my lady,” he says softly, his deep voice cutting through the silence of the room. Such formality carried by his familiar voice twists in you like a knife. He’s never been this guarded with you. “It’s my understanding that you had nothing to do with this.”

You take a deep breath before speaking, still keeping your back to him. So this is how it’s going to be then? “I’m your prisoner, my lord. What does that matter?”

He’s silent for a moment. He must be choosing his next words with care, you think with rancor, as a man of his ilk ought to. If he wishes to be the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North with you, and not the man you’ve always known, so be it.

“It matters a great deal to me that you were not a part of your brother’s rebellion,” he states gently, and you can hear him shift his weight, leaning from one foot to the other, his armor creaking as he does. He and Wilhem had been so close, assuming their lordships at the same time. But none of that matters any more. “And you’re not my prisoner.”

Your jaw clenches sharply, and you finally spin around. “Then what am I?” You snarl. He visibly recoils from your sudden harshness, strands of his brown tresses sweeping along his cheeks as he jerks his head back, but then he quickly tries to smooth his expression. You feel your insides twist even more with anger, and perhaps a hint of grief, to see his fur cloak and armor still faintly splattered with red. He must have hastily wiped away Wilhem’s blood before coming to your chambers, but he did a poor job of it.

“That’s up to you,” he replies calmly, steeling his expression and folding his hands over the pommel of the secondary sword at his hip. Despite Cregan’s towering height, the longsword that killed your brother is strung across his back, too long to carry at his waist.

You clasp your hands at your front, wringing them together in irritation. “Up to me?” You ask, trying to keep your voice steadier this time. 

Cregan nods, his familiar gray eyes – two storms swirling around pools of black – never leaving yours. “You’re a noblewoman, and one who has done nothing wrong. I wouldn’t judge a sister by the sins of her brother,” he explains, taking a hesitant step closer to you. You automatically tense up and shrink back, pressing against the window. He watches you do this, his jaw flexing as he clenches his teeth, but doesn’t make an attempt to move any closer. “And so I offer you a choice: work with me to repair the reputation of House Bolton and bring peace to our realm, or leave the North and all of this all behind forever.”

You breathe hard, and cross your arms at your front, as you take in his words. But you want clarification. You want him to say what he means. “Work with you? What does that mean?”

He swallows thickly and tilts his head to the side as his eyes search your face. “I’m offering you my hand in marriage so that we might heal the North together,” he says quietly. He glances at his feet then, almost as if he’s nervous. It’s then that you remember that he’s only four and twenty, just three years older than you – his youth and inexperience are showing; his ignorance to what he’s just done to you. And it infuriates you.

“Marry you?” You ask, your tone thick with incredulity. You take your own step closer to him now, having regained a shred of confidence through your anger. “I just watched you behead my brother from this window, my house and family are destroyed, and you think, my lord, that I would want to marry you?”

His eyes find yours once more and you watch his lips part slowly, for he appears even more unsure of himself now, but he also finds his nerve to speak again. “I can’t undo what I’ve done, just like I can’t undo what Wilhem tried to do to me and the North. But I can ask for your forgiveness, and the chance to prove–”

“I want to leave,” you cut him off sharply, taking another step towards him. “I want to leave, and I hope to never see your face again.” In contrast to your lack of emotions earlier, your voice breaks on the last bit.

You can tell your words sting him, for though he’s a lord seasoned in masking his emotions and nerves, you know it’s not always an easy thing to do. His shoulders sag a bit, now doubt under the weight of his armor and his decisions. His jaw clenches again and he swallows slowly, his gaze holding yours. A tense moment passes between you before he speaks again.

“I shall have four of my guards escort you south to White Harbor at first light, and I will send you with coin to board a ship. To where is up to you,” he explains quietly, his thumb rubbing over the pommel of his sword, clearly for something to do in his moment of discomfort. “I wish you good fortune, my lady.” He inclines his head before looking up to meet your eyes once more. You can see what looks like sadness in them – undoubtedly from what he’s had to face and do today.  Though you’ve known him a long time, he appears like a stranger before you now, and his plight can’t get through your own rage and grief. You feel no pity for him. Your life is the one that’s destroyed, not his. You lift your chin in defiance.

His sadness seems to intensify as he takes one last sweeping look over you, and then turns to leave, rolling his broad shoulders a bit under his thick armor, and exits the room without another word.

The icy wind whips fiercely, biting your cheeks more harshly than you’ve ever felt as a daughter of the North. You and your escorts of House Stark are caught in a violent winter storm – one you had sensed was coming from the change in the air pressure last night, but had ignored due to your overwhelming desire to leave the Dreadfort. You didn’t care what you faced, so long as you could put all of this behind you.

But the head guard stops his horse abruptly, interrupting your thoughts and making your own mount nearly bump into his before it halts too. He turns to look at you.

“My lady, we must turn back,” he shouts over the wind.

“We can’t go back to the Dreadfort,” you yell back, panic rising in your chest. You can’t go back. You absolutely can’t.

“We’ll go to Winterfell,” he explains, raising an arm to shield his face from some of the wind and snow. “Our orders were to bring you safely to White Harbor, or to Winterfell if we can’t do that. We have no other choice, my lady. This storm is coming from the South. We can’t continue on.”

Your stomach drops and you can feel your heart ice over even more. Going to Winterfell seems worse than returning to the Dreadfort, but you know you really have no choice now. These men are loyal to Cregan, and they will heed his commands only, not yours. 

You nod your head, the battle lost, and you turn your horse to follow the guards. Even through the swirling, blinding snow, you know they’re leading you up the Sheepshead Hills, then down towards a stone bridge that crosses the White Knife, and into the territory of Winterfell and House Stark. 

Despite your heavy cloak, your limbs are frozen as they cling to your horse. You’re hungry too, and exhausted, having slept very little the night before. Sleep evaded you as your mind was plagued with a sense of guilt for abandoning the North and the chance to redeem your house, which has stood faithfully with House Stark for generations. But how could you ever sleep at night knowing you’ve given yourself to the man who executed your brother and left House Bolton without a lord or heir? What would your parents have thought? Your grandparents? And on, and on, back in your family line? Would they see you as a traitor to your own kin, unworthy of the Bolton name? The thought makes your empty stomach churn painfully as you steer your horse over the rocky terrain of the hills, desperate now for some reprieve of the wind the downslope might offer. Your hope is all for naught, for the storm whips fiercely on the western side of the hills too. But the White Knife is now in sight, as well as the bridge you’re meant to cross. 

Eventually, you and the four guards make it to the bridge, the horses treading cautiously. The water rushes swiftly beneath the stone, for the current is strong here as the river narrows before its two branches collide further south. 

Safely over the water, you urge your horse on and follow the men along a path to Winterfell. You try to quiet your mind and fight back the tears that threaten to leak from your eyes. They’ll only freeze on your raw cheeks.

After what seems like an eternity, the castle comes into view – sprawling and made out of gray granite stone, as formidable as you remember. But the only thing welcome about the sight before you is the thought of sitting by a warm fire to thaw out your weary bones. You resign that you must wait out the storm, but you will bid the men to take you south once more to White Harbor as soon as possible, for you’re determined not to stay at Winterfell a moment longer than necessary.

Upon approaching the East Gate, you find your sense of dread snaking even tighter around your throat, for servants hurrying around the courtyard slow their steps and then stop to stare as you enter Winterfell, surrounded by four guards. You know they know who you are.

You try not to look at them, and slowly dismount your horse, your frozen toes prickling painfully as you land on the ground.

“Lady Bolton,” calls a weathered voice. You look up and see an old man approaching, a heavy set of chains bumping against his torso. Oryn, the maester of House Stark. “Welcome back to Winterfell, my lady.”

You don’t respond, for your teeth are chattering violently from the cold, though some of the wind is blocked by the high stone walls of the castle. You simply look at the old man, letting him decide your fate. 

He seems to understand. “If you’ll follow me, my lady.”

You wrap your cloak tighter around your body, and follow him down a stone path and then through a passageway of the castle, before coming out of the other side. You have been to Winterfell many times, and you know the way to the Guest House well, but follow the old many anyway. Despite having always found your accommodations at this castle to be welcoming and comfortable, you’re sure you won’t feel the same on this occasion.

Grateful to finally be out of the wind, you follow the maester up a set of stairs and into a spacious guestroom. A fire is already burning in the hearth, as if he knew you were coming. He slowly stoops down to set another log on the grate, as if giving you a moment to collect yourself too.

He finally straightens up, his chains rattling as he moves. “If there is anything I can do for you while you’re here, please call upon me, my lady. I will have food brought to your rooms and a maid will draw you a bath.”

You nod your head again and then find the nerve to meet his eye. “Is he here?” You hate how your voice quivers, but you’re still chilled to the bone, and upset to be in this castle.

The maester gives you a sad smile. “No, my lady. Lord Stark has traveled to the Wall,” he explains gently, and you understand what he’s trying to tell you. That Cregan has accompanied the men that are traitors, like your brother, to the Wall to see their sentences through. “He shall return within the week.”

You nod again, worrying your teeth over your lower lip, and look down at your chest to unbuckle your cloak with stiff fingers.

“I will leave you now. Please know that, by the orders of Lord Stark, you’re welcome here, my lady. No one will treat you as anything other than an honored guest.” The maester takes a step towards the door.

“Did he really say that?” You ask quietly. The old man pauses his wrinkled hand on the doorknob before his green eyes find yours again. 

“He did,” he replies with a nod. “I expect that he had a hunch that you would find yourself here.” He gives you another sad smile, and then turns once more, leaving you alone with your thoughts and despair.

The days turn from one to the next at Winterfell, each much the same as the last. The storm subsided the night before, but left snow in thick, windswept banks, which only get deeper the further south one travels. You know it would be foolish to try to go to White Harbor now, meaning you’ll have to wait an indefinite amount of time before leaving. You take a steadying breath as you look around the library, neat shelves of leather-bound books tucked snugly against the curved stone walls. You’ve learned that it’s a place you’re unlikely to be disturbed, for it seems that you and Maester Oryn are the only ones who seek out books at Winterfell. You find you really don’t have an interest in reading any of them too closely today, but it’s a small comfort to change your scenery from the guest chambers you’ve been staying in. You absentmindedly flip to the next page of the book in your lap – one you’ve been reading for a few days now – letting your thoughts wander instead to where you might head once you depart White Harbor. Volantis, perhaps? Or Lys? You might be able to find work as a healer or midwife, for you’ve always favored the art of medicine.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as the oak door on the far side of the room opens gently, and you expect to see Maester Oryn walk through, his heavy chains clinking with his stiff movements. 

He does not.

Instead, it’s the one person you were hoping not to see while you’re here. The person you told you hoped you’d never lay eyes on again. 

He’s wearing a different cloak now than the last time you saw him, gray fur sweeping over his broad shoulders. He looks weary from the road, half of his brown, shoulder-length hair pulled back loosely, with strands having come free to frame his face. His cheeks are red too, as if he got off his horse and came in from the cold, straight here. Perhaps he did.

You eye him from where you sit, feeling sheepish. You’ve no idea what to say to him, having spoken so harshly to him the last time he stood before you. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that you remain bitter with him, and with your situation.

He clears his throat gently. “Maester Oryn said I’d find you up here. I wanted to see that you’re alright,” he explains, his voice carrying softly through the stillness of the library. “That you have everything you need while you’re here.”

“I do,” you say, just as quietly. “Thank you,” you add as well before you can stop yourself, for years of learned-politeness for a noblewoman don’t fade overnight.

He nods, and looks at the ground for a moment, and then back up at you, as if he’s trying to decide something. He takes a deep breath.

“I also came to say that I made a grievous error the last time we spoke,” he states, a little more loudly, as if he wants to make sure that both of you hear his words. “You’re your father’s trueborn daughter, and nothing but tradition says a woman can’t rule in her own right in the North. Should you wish, I would name you the Lady of the Dreadfort and of House Bolton, and escort you back across the Sheepshead Hills as soon as the roads are passable.”

You breathe slowly, taking in his words and offer, and simply look at him for a moment. For years, you’ve stolen lingering glances at his face, which turned from the softness of youth to the hardness of manhood. It’s odd for you, now, to look at him and have his full attention. As you stare, his throat bobs as he swallows thickly, likely unsure with how to proceed. Waiting for your reply. He’s never been shy with you, but perhaps he thinks he might have offended you once again. Perhaps the two of you don’t really know each other anymore.

“Have you ever read this book?” You ask softly, looking down at the open pages in your lap, and then back up at him.

His expression shifts from one of discomfort to one of confusion by your change in subject, and lack of acknowledgment of his revised offer. He shifts on his feet. 

“Which book is it?” He asks, clasping his hands together at his front. He’s always done that when he’s trying to keep his composure.

“The Great Northern Houses by Maester Elwic Bryson,” you state, gently shutting the book and showing him the cover.

He nods slowly. “I have.” You can see questions in his eyes now.

“I didn’t know that House Bolton had rebelled against House Stark so many times in the past,” you explain, your fingers curling gently against the book’s worn leather binding.

A faint sadness comes back to his expression – the one you saw briefly the last time. “Aye.”

You nod slowly. “And each time, the Stark’s forgave the Bolton’s.”

He nods, taking a deep breath as he does. “We have.”

You suck in a shaky inhale too. “Why?” 

He takes a hesitant step closer to you, his eyes holding yours. “Because stability and peace among the northern houses means more than the pride of one king, or one lord.” His words are careful, but they acknowledge how far back your family’s treason stretches – back to the days when the Starks ruled as Kings in the North.

You let out the breath you’ve been holding, and look down at the book, feeling the emotions you’ve tamped down suddenly bubble up to the surface.

“I won’t force my presence on you any further, my lady, as you made your preferences clear the last time we spoke. But should you need anything, or if you would like to discuss my offer, please don’t hesitate to call upon me,” he says quietly, and you can hear the faint pain in his voice. My lady, again, not your name. You’ve truly hurt him, you think, as he’s hurt you. He turns to leave.

“Cregan,” you call softly, your chest rattling as you try to hold back the tears that threaten to flow.

He turns in the doorway, and seems to find the courage to meet your gaze once more.

So do you. “Thank you,” you whisper.

He looks at you for a moment, a faint softness falling across his features. He dips his head in acknowledgement and then vanishes through the doorway, the deafening silence left behind him echoing around the library.

You stare into the fireplace, watching the flames dance around the blistering wood. 

“Cassandra,” you murmur, getting the attention of the lady’s maid that has been assigned to you. You’ve found that she’s a kind woman, and just a few years younger than you.

“My lady?” She asks, finishing folding one of your shifts and placing it in the wardrobe on the other side of your chambers, before walking over to where you sit by the hearth.

You take a steading breath. “Will Lord Stark be dining alone tonight?”

Cassandra pauses for a moment before answering. “Aye, he will.”

You nod, catching her eye. You force yourself to be confident. You’ll never get what you want if you aren’t. “Do you think he would prefer it that way?”

Cassandra smooths the folds of her dress before looking back up at you. “It’s hard to know the mind of Lord Stark, my lady, but I think he might welcome some company.”

You nod once more. “I think I’ll put my best dress on then,” you say quietly. She nods too, a faint smile tugging at her lips, and goes to retrieve a fur-lined dress from the wardrobe. It’s a deep blue, lined with simmering gray fur. She brings over a matching shawl too – made from the same gray fur – which will drape over your shoulders for warmth, and elegance.

You stand, and she helps you dress, lacing you up comfortably and smoothing the fur over your shoulders. Only the front strands of your long hair are pulled and tied behind your head, leaving the rest of your tresses to cascade down your back.

Cassandra finishes fussing with your hair and outfit, and then steps back to admire you with a gentle smile. “You look lovely, my lady.”

You feel the ice that has had a firm grip around your heart thaw just a little bit more from her kindness. “Thank you, Cassandra.”

She gives you a small curtsy, and then opens the door and ushers you through.

You steadily walk the long, winding corridors through Winterfell, past the armory and the Great Keep, to find your way to the Great Hall, grateful for your familiarity with these areas of the castle. It gives you some time to think about how you’d like to approach your thoughts with Cregan, and how to make him understand your perspective.

You take a deep breath as you approach the massive doors of the Great Hall. The guards nod to you in deference, and then one announces your presence. “Lady Bolton, my lord.”

As you enter the hall, your eyes land on the long dining table in the center, polished wood gleaming in the light of the flickering torches and the roaring hearth behind the lord’s chair at the head of the table. Your gaze comes to rest on him as he pauses the bite he was about to take, seemingly shocked for a moment that you’re here, in the Great Hall, standing before him. He lowers his fork before standing, his chair scraping against the stone floor.

“Are you alright, my lady?” You can hear the concern in his voice, and his eyes sweep over your body, as if searching for something wrong.

“My lord,” you greet him with a small curtsy. “Aye, I’m fine… I just wished to speak with you.” You’re pleased that your voice has remained steady despite your nerves. You’re just as unsure about standing before him as he’s clearly surprised that you’re suddenly in his Great Hall.

He nods, swallowing slowly. “Would you like to join me?” He asks quietly, gesturing a hand to the seat to his right.

“That would be welcome, thank you,” you reply softly, walking over to the seat, your dress swishing around your legs. A servant beats you to the chair though, tugging it out to assist you with sitting. You give the servant a polite smile, but he doesn’t catch it before he hurries away, likely to get another place setting for you, since Cregan was, as Cassandra predicted, dining alone.

Cregan settles back down into his chair, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. You know you should speak first, and put him at ease. You’ve both done enough to make the other uncomfortable every time you’ve been in each other’s presence.

“I wished to discuss with you the offer you made to me earlier.” You fold your hands in your lap, and find the nerve to meet his gaze fully. There is a softness in his gray eyes, but the rest of his expression is unreadable as he takes in your words. It reminds you of your father. “Of your offer to support my role as the Lady of the Dreadfort.”

He nods once, but then his eyes flick to the servant returning with a place setting for you. The servant pours wine into your glass as well, and then disappears once more into the shadows.

“Please help yourself,” Cregan says, gesturing to platters in front of you, filled with steaming meat, vegetables, and bread.

You do, filling your plate, and then look up at him once more. 

“I take it you’d like to accept my offer, and become the Lady of the Dreadfort?” His tone is calm as he glances at you before resuming eating his own dinner. 

You take a bite yourself, savoring the comforting taste of roast duck. It’s a common dish in the North, one both of you have grown up eating. 

“I would not,” you say after finishing your bite, and reaching for your wine glass.

He takes a sip of ale, his brows tugging together. “Why not?” There is an edge to his voice, one you’ve rarely heard in the past.

You take another sip of your wine before answering. “Because I’m a woman, my lord. It’s unlikely that the men who were loyal to my house would respect me as their liege lord… Especially not after what happened,” you finish quietly, holding his gaze.

He inhales roughly as he processes your words, as if he’s bothered by them. “I would order them to respect you as they would any other lord. I promise you that.”

You shake your head. “As honorable as your intentions are, I don’t know if that would be enough. Northmen might forgive, but they never forget.”

He lets out a low laugh that has nothing to do with amusement. “You’d still like to leave then?”

“Aye,” you confirm, skewering a roasted potato with your fork. “But I would ask you for something else.”

He eyes you for a moment, the muscle in his jaw feathering, but then nods for you to continue.

“Should I marry, I would ask that one of my sons be granted the Dreadfort, its lands, and the title of Lord Bolton, when he comes of age.” You hope it came out more confident than you feel.

You watch Cregan slow in cutting his meat before he meets your gaze once more. “I will agree to your request, so long as you agree that he’s raised here, as my ward, to learn the ways of the North.” He takes a slow sip of his ale, watching you take in his words now.

You feel your blood begin to simmer as you stare at him. “You’d ask me to give up my son, from a young age, to be raised by you?” You try hard to keep your voice steady – to mask your rising anger – but you’re not sure you succeed. You remember that he too knows you well.

He lifts his chin a bit and shifts slightly in his chair, making the black wolf fur on his cloak ripple in the firelight – a not so subtle reminder of who he is. “You plan to leave the North, and I would need to guarantee that your son would be prepared to lead in the North. He won’t be able to do that from wherever you plan to go.” His tone is a little sharper now, though you can see he’s trying to keep his frustration in check, just like you.

But he’s better at it then you are. “You’re impossible,” you hiss, standing quickly, your chair scraping harshly against the stone floor.

He does the same, following you as you march from the hall. “What would you have me do?”

You don’t look at him as you hurry down the hall, not having any idea of where you’re heading to in this part of the castle, but wanting desperately to get away from him. “You would let me raise my son as I see fit because I’m a Bolton, and you’re not.” You seethe, attempting to length your strides, but his long legs allow him to keep pace with you.

You turn a corner, following a more narrow corridor, your breath coming hard.

“I’m the Warden of the North, and I could teach him the ways of all northern houses,” he grits out, trying to catch your eye as you refuse to look at him.

“You know nothing about being a Bolton–”

But before you can take one more step, he shoves open a door, grabs your wrist and tugs you through. What little strength you have is no match for his, and you find yourself being pulled into some kind of study. You can’t take it all in quick enough before he slams the door shut and backs you up against it, caging you in with his bulk. You look up at his face, both of you breathing hard. His nostrils flare as he stares down at you, his familiar gray eyes boring into yours. You’ve clearly struck a nerve with him.

But so has he with you. “You don’t know anything about being a Bolton, and I do. He should be raised by me,” you snap, tilting your chin up in defiance now. “Or do you wish to make me suffer more?”

“I’m trying to help you. Why must you refuse me at every turn?” He growls, baring his teeth as he leans in closer, like the wolves of his house.

But you won’t back down, snarling back at him. “You’re not trying to help me–”

“I am–”

But his words are cut off and replaced by the loud sound of your palm colliding with his cheek, ringing clearly through the quiet room. You breathe hard, watching his skin redden from where you’ve just slapped him. He breathes hard too, his exhales fanning across your own reddening cheeks. He looks furious.

Something twists inside you – hatred morphing into something different – as you hold his incensed gaze. He’s so warm against you from where he’s caged you in against the door, his body pressed up against yours. His scent fills the air around you too, and you breath him in with every shuddering breath that you take: pine, woodsmoke, and leather. 

“You don’t understand what it’s like–” you start, your voice wobbling with emotion.

“I don’t understand what it’s like to be ripped from my home because of another’s mistake?” He cuts you off harshly, leaning even closer to you; so close your noses could brush. You can hear the disbelief in his voice. As if you could forget how his uncle tried to thwart his inheritance and titles, seizing them for his own.

“And have you forgotten that mine own father fought beside you? And died so that you might rule these lands?” You demand, eyes frantically searching his face. How could he forget?

He exhales roughly. “I could never forget the sacrifice your father made for me and for this realm.”

“Then why are you torturing his only daughter like this?” You ask, your voice breaking. You feel the hot tears you’ve been trying so hard to hold back finally begin to slip.

You watch his face crumble a bit, and he tilts his head. “Because I don’t want you to leave,” he breathes.

Tears roll swiftly down your cheeks as you take in his words, momentarily stunned into silence.

“You’re your father’s daughter, and you belong in the North. You should raise your son in the North,” he continues, and you can hear the pain in his voice. Pain both of you have caused.

But you push your hands roughly against his chest, which surprises him enough to step back, allowing you to slip from his grasp and walk into the middle of the room, hugging your arms around yourself. You try to steady your breaths and blink your tears away.

You hear him slowly follow you, and then sit in a chair near the desk you’re now bracing your hands against.

“What does that mean, Cregan?” Your arms shake as your tears drip onto the wood surface.

You wait, but he’s silent behind you. It’s only until you turn to face him once more, that you see it in his expression – something you’ve forbidden yourself from ever hoping for, even after he voiced his original offer to you. At the time, you had assumed he was only offering what was right, not what he truly wanted.

“Do you really not know? After all this time?” His voice is ragged, his eyes flickering over your face with disbelief.

You shake your head, leaning your weight back against the desk. 

His head tilts to the side as he swallows painfully. “I love you. I’ve always loved you,” he breathes.

Your own breath catches in your throat.

“I had planned to offer you my hand, but my plans were cut short when Wilhem rebelled. It’s why I was able to get to the Dreadfort so quickly – I was preparing to go there anyway. To you.” His words come out shakily, making your body shake as well as you process his words. He was going to come to propose. He loves you.

Your lower lip trembles. “Cregan–”

“I should have told you. But you were so angry with me, with what happened. I didn’t think you’d believe me.” He leans back in his chair, looking up at you. You can truly see the weight now of everything he carries – all of the hard choices, all of the things he must keep to himself no matter how much it pains him.

You finally find your voice. “But you let me go – let me try leave the North, forever.”

His expression softens even more, his sadness rippling over his body in waves. “I thought you’d never forgive me, and I so I wouldn’t yolk you to me, no matter how much I love you. I wanted you to have a choice.”

You push off the table and cross the few steps separating you from where he sits, his eyes tracking your movements. His left knee brushes against your dress when you stop before him.

“And what about now?” You whisper, holding his gaze as your fingers curl into the velvet fabric of your dress to stop them from shaking.

He takes a shuddering breath before slowly lifting his own hands to lightly curl around the backs of your thighs. You feel the warmth of his massive hands through your clothes, his thumbs gently caressing you, before slowly tugging you forward so you straddle his thigh. Your dress bunches up against his leg, and despite your frustration with him, your body heats with the desire to have your dress, and his clothes, removed entirely.

You slowly settle on his thigh as his hands slide up the sides of your thighs and hips to lightly encircle your waist. Your own hands come up to rest against his chest. You can feel his rapid heartbeat beneath your palm, matching the force of your own thumbing against your ribcage. His ragged breath fans across the exposed skin of your face, neck, and chest, making you shiver in his hold. 

“Your second child – boy or girl – would be named the ruler of the Dreadfort…” He takes a steading breath. “And your first would be the heir to Winterfell, if you’ll have me.”

Your heart leaps at his words, his honesty – what he’s always wanted is laid before you, and what he wants now is reflected with what you want. Your hands slip up the planes of his chest, bumping over the quilted fabric of his gambeson, and up the sides of his neck before framing his stubbled cheeks. He’s so warm beneath your palms, especially the cheek that you slapped mere minutes ago. Shame sweeps through you at how vicious you’ve been with him, at how you’ve assumed the worst of him. In your anger and grief, you’d forgotten about who he is, how deeply he cares, and how sometimes he’s forced to make impossible decisions.

You lean forward and press your lips gently against his. His lips are soft and plush despite the rough exterior of him as a hardened, rugged warrior. His lips move tentatively against yours at first, as if he still can’t believe you’re kissing him, but then his hands pull you closer, your core sliding against his thigh.

You gasp softly against his lips from the delicious friction of slipping against his sturdy leg, and he sighs against you too. You know deep in your bones that he understands how you feel. Years worth of desire, affection, and familiarity between the two of you comes rushing to the surface.

His tongue gently swipes against your bottom lip, as if he can’t help but taste you. You part for him with a sigh of your own as his tongue sweeps in to taste you fully, and you follow his lead.

Your fingers curl against his cheeks as you taste him, a shiver rushing up and down your spine. It’s better than you’ve ever imagined, ever dreamed. A sweetness like nothing you’ve ever experienced, an essence that is his alone. His hands sweep gently along the lines of your hips and back, clearly marveling at having you in his lap, in his arms. And you know he’s holding back as he licks into you and touches you.

You break the kiss. “I accept,” you breathe against his lips. “I want you. And I want our children to be raised here, to rule the North.”

A shudder rattles through his chest as he opens his eyes, his gaze meeting yours. The warmth you have always known in him fills his features.

“I’ve always loved you too,” you add, your nose brushing gently against his.

A noise escapes his throat that sounds like a mix of relief and desire, and it shoots right through you, turning your core molten as affection swirls through your veins too. 

He crushes his lips to yours again, licking deeply and you do the same. No longer just to taste, but to savor.

His hands slip down your back to cup your ass, hauling you even closer to his chest. Your hands move too, sliding down to curl against his chest, fingers toying at the laces of his gambeson. You’re so close to him now that you feel the outline of him pressed against your thigh that is wedged between his legs. He lets out a soft groan as you roll your hips slowly, chasing the feeling of his muscular thigh rubbing against your core, and wanting him to feel a similar pleasure as your thigh brushes against his manhood.

His fingers dig deliciously into your ass, gripping you tighter as he helps guide your hips against him, both of you lost in the feeling. But you want more – you’ve always wanted everything from him.

You break the kiss once more but he chases your mouth, evidently not wanting to give you up for a single second.

“Will you touch me?” You breathe, shocked that you can even speak, let alone those words, for the need coursing through you has clouded your brain. Everything about him has flooded your senses – the way he smells, so like the lands that you love so much. The way he tastes, more delicious than anything you’ve ever sampled. The way he sounds, with ragged breaths and a rumbling desire in his chest that become the things you want to hear the most for the rest of your life. The way he feels against your body, warm and solid, making you feel hot all over. But you want to feel all of him. You always have.

His tongue traces the curve of your lower lip while his hands continue to move you on his thigh, your sensitive core starting to soak the layers of your dress.

When he speaks, his voice is more gravelly and deeper than you’ve ever heard it. “When I touch you – really touch you, you beautiful woman – I want you to be my wife… And I want you spread out, naked on our bed, so I can show you just how much I love you.” 

Your fingers dig into his chest, and a whimper escapes your lips, as you squeeze your thighs tighter around his own. You didn’t even know he knew words like that, and they wrap around your heart, starting to fill the cracks that have formed there, all while he sets fire coursing through your veins. You feel a frenzied desperation to let this fire burn out of control, for him to give you what you long for. To feel the depths of his desire too.

But you nod your head, knowing he’s right. Knowing that straddling his thigh like this, kissing him like you have been, letting your thoughts run wild, is well beyond the bounds of propriety. And once again, you’re reminded that he always strives to do what’s right, even when it’s hard. 

To your surprise though, he doesn’t stop moving your hips as he leans in to mold his lips against yours once more. In fact, one of his hands continues to rock you against him as the other slips around to trail down your thigh, gathering a fistful of your dress in his massive hand. He slowly tugs on the fabric, and you lift your hips just the slightest, instantly missing the contact, but allow him to gather the front of your dress against his hips. Then he settles you back against his thigh – the thin layer of your lace underwear now the only thing separating your dripping, sensitive core from his leather trousers and solid muscle beneath. 

As you roll your body against his, tilting your hips forward, the friction is maddening. You moan into his mouth as his tongue delves deeper, sweeping against the roof of your mouth, the back of your teeth.

“Cregan,” you manage to whimper, the taut leather over his thigh becoming a slippery mess as you move and move. 

“I’ve got you,” he breathes against your lips, his voice thick with desire, as his hand snakes back around your hip to grip your ass. “Let go for me.”

You clench even tighter around his thigh, and around the emptiness in your core too. But even as you do, he tilts your hips forward even more so the tight bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs brush against his. It sends pleasure coursing through your body, making you moan far too loudly. 

He doesn’t seem to care as a growl looses from his throat, vibrating against your lips, while he slides your hips up and down the length of his thigh, again and again. Faster, and faster, his trousers becoming truly soaked from your wetness, but he doesn’t seem phased by that either. All he seems concerned with is making you feel good, knowing exactly what to do in this moment – showing you, you realize, just a glimpse of how deep his love and desire runs for you.

The thought and the way his hands glide you over him is enough to send your peak crashing over you, washing you in bliss you’ve never felt before. You cry out against him, and he swallows your moans with a deep kiss. You shake against his sturdy frame, feeling his hands grip you even tighter as he continues to roll your hips, seemingly drawing out your pleasure for as long as he can. 

Your hands slide back up his chest to cup the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair as he finally stills your hips. You gasp against his lips and feel his warm breath fan over your cheeks, his chest heaving to catch his breath. He gently tugs your bottom lip with his teeth, making you whimper again. How is it that your desire still burns brightly in your body, and that you’re still so close to begging him for everything he can give you?

He tugs you flush against his chest, and you feel him hot and hard against your thigh wedged between his legs, trapped in what you imagine are now painfully tight trousers.

You open your mouth to beg, but he speaks before you do.

“Will you meet me in the Godswood in thirty minutes?”

You settle back against the furs draped over Cregan’s large bed – your bed now too – and watch as Cregan leans forward from where he stands at the foot of the bed to place kisses on your ankles.

It’s been a whirlwind of a day – waking up still angry with him, the conversation in the library and at dinner, the events in the study. You’ve now come to learn that it’s his private study, where he spends long hours answering correspondence and pouring over account books. It’s as if your feet knew exactly where to take you to have those intimate moments with him – to confess what you’ve both been keeping tucked away in your hearts for so long. And then the quiet ceremony in the Godswood, proceeded over by Maester Oryn and witnessed by some household staff, Cassandra included. She had tears in her eyes at the end of it. Cregan swore before all and the Old Gods to honor and cherish you, to protect you for all nights to come. You vowed the same, and you’ve never seen him smile brighter. Then he draped a frosted blue cloak decorated with direwolves over your shoulders, officially bringing you under his protection. He sealed that promise with a kiss, breaking away eventually and whispering “Lady Stark” against your lips.

He insisted on carrying you from the Godswood to his chambers, in the way that husbands do with their new brides, all while you laughed with a lightness you haven’t felt in ages and stole as many kisses as possible without distracting him from climbing the stairs. 

As he entered the chambers – now marital chambers for both of you – he sat you down gently in a chair by the roaring fire in the hearth and knelt before you, taking your hands in his. “I asked Maester Oryn to write to the lords of the North, inviting them to attend a banquet in a fortnight in honor of our marriage. I trust you with my life, and so they should too. I wish for them to bend the knee to you, and to vow to support our children too, when they someday lead from Winterfell and the Dreadfort,” he’d said softly, his eyes searching yours. “I know I can’t change the past, my love, but I can set us on the right path for the future. I want to heal the North, and you.”

Tears came forth, and spilled gently down your cheeks. You know now that he’s truly loved you for so long, and he means what he says. You felt what little ice that still clung to your heart melt away completely, knowing he will do everything in his power to mend what has been broken.

You took a deep breath, and held his hands tightly as you said, “I forgive you, Cregan. And I love you.”

Tears pricked at his eyes too, and he leaned down to kiss your hands in his, before standing once more and pulling you up into his chest. For a long while he simply held you against him, kissing your forehead with such tenderness that it made you ache. 

Your hands had slowly slid up his chest between you, your fingers pulling at the laces of his gambeson, this time not willing to stop. One of his strong, calloused hands had lifted to cup your cheek, tilting your chin up so he could kiss you. It was a slow, lingering kiss – nothing like the desperate, wild kisses from earlier. A shiver rushed down your spine as you realized he meant to savor every moment tonight with you, his wife. 

It was with the utmost care that he unlaced your dress, never breaking your kiss as he let it fall to the floor and pool at your feet. He did eventually part from you, only to kneel before you again to peel off your underwear, long socks, and remove your shoes, leaving you naked before him, still clad in his own clothing and cloak. He’d softly kissed your hips and belly before standing again. You felt your nerves start to get the better of you – though it’s him, losing your maidenhood is not something you expected to happen today.

He leaned down to kiss you softly. Clearly sensing your apprehension, he said, “We don’t have to tonight. It’s alright.”

You shook your head. “No, I want to. I want to, Cregan. I just…I don’t know what to do.”

He kissed your forehead again before he bent his knees and reached down to lift you into his arms, his forearms wrapped securely under your thighs. Your chest brushed against his clothing, the fur of his cloak caressing your nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.  

“Let me show you,” he murmured, lips brushing against yours as he carried you to the bed.

And now you’re watching him remove his last layer of clothing, smiling softly at each other until he’s completely naked before you. Your eyes travel along the sharp angle of his jaw, down the column of his throat and across the broad planes of his chest, before following the light trail of hair leading down his stomach. Your eyes sweep over the v of his hips, before landing on the considerable length of him hanging between his sturdy thighs. Despite your nerves, your mouth waters at the sight of his cock, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip. Your eyes flick back up to catch a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips to see you admire him like this. He moves to climb onto the bed, crawling over you and caging you in with his knees and hands as he slowly kisses his way up your body. Your shins and knees, your inner thighs and hips, your belly and the valley between your breasts. As he does so, you reach out tentatively to touch him, fingertips trailing over his warm skin and tracing the faint scars on his forearms and shoulders – the marks of a seasoned warrior. 

“I love feeling you touch me,” he whispers against your skin, the tip of his nose brushing along the curve of your breast.

“It feels nice when you touch me too,” you agree breathlessly. “I love the way you kiss me.”

His lips skim higher, brushing lightly over your nipple. “Do you?” He asks, and you can hear the playfulness in his tone. His eyes flick up to meet yours as his lips close over the taut peak and swirls his tongue, making you gasp and arch up into him. It’s as if a bolt of lightning shoots right through your body from where he’s touching you, striking straight in your core. You grip his forearms where his hands are braced on the bed, framing your ribs. He swirls his tongue again, and then sucks in earnest.

You writhe beneath him in pleasure, your hips lifting to meet his. It makes his cock rub against your hips and belly, leaving a wet trail in its wake.

He moans against the friction and the sound reverberates through your body, making you even more wet for him. 

“Does that feel good?” He murmurs, moving over to your other breast and repeating his movements.

“Cregan,” you breathe, squeezing your thighs together from the pleasure rushing through you. Your hands sweep up to tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck as his mouth works over you.

He hums in response, kissing, licking and sucking, until his mouth travels up your neck, his tongue laving over your thrumming pulse. He pauses to kiss the soft spot behind your ear before finding your lips again, your heart hammering in your chest.

You kiss him deeply, needing to taste every bit of him, as he lowers himself so his chest and hips cover yours. He still braces his weight on his forearms, so as not to crush you, but you can feel every muscle clench and ripple against you as writhe beneath him, lost in the feeling of being enveloped by him.

His own fingers card through your hair, and the way the pads of his fingers skim over your skin sends shivers down your spine. “Can I touch you?” He husks in between kisses.

The question makes your shivers turn into a moan, and you nod, lips still brushing against his. You feel him smile against you, and your own smile spreads to mirror his.

Before he makes his way down your body, he grabs a pillow and pulls it with him, setting it next to your hips. Then he kisses his way down, pausing again to flick his tongue over one of your nipples, before leaving a wet trail down your belly and hips. Carefully, he shifts your legs to kneel between them, and then lifts your hips to place the pillow beneath you, with very little effort. His strength is something to marvel at, and you know you’ll always see him differently after tonight. Muscles coiled with desire, ready at any moment to lift you and tug you to him, before lavishing you with pleasure and affection. Your husband. You still can’t believe it – it’s real, he’s real, in your arms.

His eyes meet yours as he settles back down on his stomach, his head so close to your core that you can feel his warm breath tickle your skin. His eyes are glossy, only slivers of gray can be seen now. It steals your breath to be looked at like this – to be gazed upon with such hunger by him.

Slowly turning his head to kiss your inner thigh, he lifts your legs to drape them over his shoulders, before settling down to touch you, as you know you’ve both wanted for so long.

He kisses around your core, as if he wants to make you just as hungry for his touch – as if you aren’t already starving. You feel him smile against your skin as you shift your hips, a small whimper escaping your lips, and then you feel your world shift entirely.

Nothing, nothing, could prepare you for the feeling of his tongue dragging up and down through the wetness of your folds, making you even more drenched for him. You let out a breathy moan, your hands finding his hair again, desperate for something to hold onto as he licks you open.

“You taste even better than I ever dreamed,” he groans against your core, making pleasure throb so deeply inside you, you’re sure the spot could never be reached by either of you. You gasp, your thighs squeezing around his head for a moment before letting go, not wishing to hurt him. 

In response, his eyes meet yours with a playful smile while he shifts up to swirl his tongue over your pearl, with wet, quick flicks. 

“Oh gods, Cregan,” you moan softly, trying not to be too loud. Your fingers tighten in his hair as you try to ground yourself, but you can’t help but grind your hips against his mouth too. The pleasure is like nothing you’ve ever experienced, filling every fiber of your being more and more with every swipe of his tongue.

“Let me hear you, my love,” he encourages you before sucking on your pearl, drawing a loud gasp from you. “That’s it, my beautiful wife,” he says, his voice dripping with desire and affection. “I love the sounds you make.” As he speaks, you feel one of his fingertips drag through your wetness, and then swirl around the entrance of your core. 

Suddenly you’ve never needed anything more than to feel him push inside you, fill you up. 

“Cregan, please,” you plead, pressing your hips down against his digit. He flicks his tongue over your pearl once more as he obliges you, sliding his finger in slowly. You clench around him, marveling at how big just one of his fingers feels inside you. You have no idea how his cock might fit inside you, but you’re desperate to try.

Slowly, sliding in just a bit more, and then sliding back to your entrance, he helps you adjust with each thrust in and out, all while his tongue continues to work over your pearl. It all feels so incredible, making you moan over and over again.

Finally, down to the last knuckle, he curls his finger inside you, brushing over a spot that you didn’t know existed.

You gasp, spine arching off the bed. He tilts his head to kiss your inner thighs while he continues to sweep his fingertip over that spot inside you, as if he wants you to feel just that pleasure alone. It’s overwhelming in the best way, but you whimper when you feel him draw his finger backwards, away from that pleasure, only to arch again off the bed when he presses in again, but with a second finger next to the first. The stretch is pleasure that borders pain, making you gasp.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” he praises you, kissing your hip. “Just breathe for me.”

You do that as he works his fingers inside of you, any pain subsiding almost immediately as he finds that bundle of nerves again, both fingers curling to brush against it. And as he does, his tongue resumes playing with your pearl, sending your pleasure coursing through your body in waves that quickly rise to peak.

You cry out his name as his fingers and tongue move to draw out your orgasm for as long as possible – just like he did earlier in his study. As if he wants nothing more than for you to feel this blissful, this weightless, forever. And when he does finally slow, finally stills, your fingers slide down to brush tenderly against his jaw while he rests his head against your thigh, gaze meeting yours.

“Gods, I want to make you come again and again, everyday, for the rest of my life,” he husks, and turns his head to kiss the center of your palm.

You let out a light laugh and feel him chuckle against your hand.

“I’d like that too,” you agree breathlessly. “Will you…will you teach me how to make you come?” You ask, a little nervously. You want to make him feel the same pleasure you’ve felt – want to be everything he needs and more.

He kisses your palm again before shifting his body, crawling up to kneel between your thighs before dropping down to his elbows once more. Your legs lift instinctively to frame his hips, the pillow still nestled beneath you, and you feel the heft of his cock, hard, hot, and leaking against the apex of your thighs, brushing against your sensitive peal.

“Aye,” he agrees softly, kissing you with such tenderness that you’re sure your heart might burst. “But if you’ve had enough for tonight, we can always continue tomorrow or whenever you feel ready.” He lifts his head to look down at you, and you can see the depths of his love in his eyes. He clearly doesn’t want to overwhelm you, knowing you have the rest of your lives to learn how to make each other’s bodies and hearts sing. How is it possible to love him even more?

Your hands find his cheeks again as your thighs slide slowly along his hips. “I want you,” you breathe, fingers brushing softly against his skin. “I need to feel you inside me. I want to make you feel so good too, Cregan.”

A shudder ripples through his body as he leans down to kiss you once more, soft and lingering. “I love you,” he whispers when he pulls back just a bit.

“I love you too,” you breathe, eyes searching his. He smiles down at you, content, but you can see the hunger and the passion filling his gaze again. And you want nothing more than to feel the full force of his desire.

As if he can read your mind, he leans his weight onto one arm, and snakes a hand between your bodies, his knuckles brushing over your heated skin. He holds your gaze as you feel him take himself in hand, and then press the tip of his cock to your entrance. 

“Just breathe, my love,” he says gently, noticing the hitch in your breath. You do, as he presses himself inside you, just an inch or so, making you gasp at the stretch around him. He stills his hips as he drags his hand back up, framing his forearms on either side of your shoulders. He gently cradles your head in his massive hands, mirroring how you’re holding his face.

Slowly, he moves his hips, pressing a bit more into you. You tilt your head back into the bed, gasping again and squeezing your eyes shut.

He breathes your name, and your eyes fly open again. “Keep your eyes on me,” he says, and you do, finding his eyes again, trusting him so completely. You find you couldn’t look away now even if you wanted to. “Just like that,” he murmurs, thumbs brushing against your cheeks. He slides back out, nearly to your entrance, and then presses back in just a bit more, eyes locked with yours.

And so he sets a rhythm, pulling back and pressing back in just a bit more each time, giving you all the time you need to adjust, all while watching you carefully, his love and protection of you coming through with every thrust he takes. It fills your heart so deeply as he fills you so completely.

Finally, with the last thrust, he buries himself inside you, and you both share the same moan. “I still can’t believe you’re mine,” he gasps, nose brushing against yours.

“Yours,” you agree, “and you’re mine.” He nods in your hands that still hold his face, and then kisses you deeply before drawing his hips out and plunging back into you.

The rush of him against your inner walls sends pleasure cascading through your body, like water rushing over rapids, filling parts of you that you didn’t know existed.

He sets a delicious pace, your legs tightening around him as you clench around his length too.

“Fuck,” he moans, tilting his head to leave wet kisses on your neck, making you moan too. Your arms slip around his neck and your hands clutch at his shoulders, feeling his muscles ripple in time with his thrusts. Your lips brush against his shoulder too, your tongue slipping out to lick at the salty sweat on his skin. He kisses and kisses your neck, and you clench around him again – you can’t help it. He feels so amazing inside you, and his kisses leave you shivering with pleasure, every movement bringing another orgasm to wound tightly in your core.

And then he slows, panting against your neck and presses up to look down at you, amazement on his face. Before you can say anything, he rolls to his side, tugging you with him. He hitches your leg around his hip, stroking your leg in wonder, before curling his arm around your back, warm and strong. Your head nestles against his other bicep, and he kisses you deeply and thoroughly, his tongue swiping sensually against yours.

When he thrusts again, you gasp loudly and arch your back against his arm, for his cock not only reaches a depth you hadn’t thought possible – that place deep inside you that you thought neither of you could ever reach – his tip brushes against that same bundle of nerves his fingers had before.

Pleasure shoots through you like lightning as he does it again and again, making you a moaning mess in his arms, your peak so close. He seems to sense it; seems to note the way you’re fluttering around his length, when he says, “Come for me, beautiful.” He says it again, but this time with your name leaving his lips too. Hearing your name in that deep, gravely voice that you’ve only ever heard in your dreams, and his request, does it for you.

One more thrust has you crying out and clenching around him, your orgasm breaking over you in wave after wave – rolling thunder to match the lightning of pleasure striking through your veins. You find his mouth again for another searing kiss and you can feel his own orgasm before it happens, a tightened throb of him inside you as his muscles coil, and then release. 

He groans your name – something you want to hear everyday for the rest of your life – and buries himself deeper than he has yet, spilling and spilling hot ribbons inside you. You flutter around him, wanting to milk him for every drop, every bit of pleasure. He shudders in your arms, until finally he slows and stills.

He pants against your mouth, and pulls back just an inch to find your eyes. “You’re amazing,” he says, voice sounding wrecked. It makes your clench around him again, and he chuckles, brushing his nose against yours. “Are you okay?”

You nod, a smile spreading across your cheeks as your hands slide down to caress his chest. “I’m perfect.” Your eyes search his. “I’ve never been more perfect.”

His hand brushes softly up and down your spine as he kisses your forehead tenderly.

“Was that okay for you?” You ask, praying that it was.

“Perfect,” he repeats your words. “You’re perfect.” 

You nuzzle into his chest, still amazed that you’re in his arms, that you’ve just made love, that you’re his wife and the Lady of Winterfell. The pain and grief you’ve felt for days now seems to be fading into a distant memory. You’re not completely healed, but you know you he will strive to make sure you are.

After a few moments of blissfully listening to each other breathe, hands travelling softly over the other’s body, he speaks. “I was thinking you could practice your healing skills here too. I know you’ve always favored medicine and helping people, and I’m sure Maester Oryn would be grateful for your knowledge and skills.”

You pull back just a fraction to look up into his eyes, seeing the hope and peace in them. You had no idea he noticed that detail about you – had no idea he’d want you to bring your passions here, to Winterfell, too.

“You remembered that?” You ask, your voice wobbling a bit from emotion.

“Of course,” he breathes, his warm hand splaying lovingly over your back. “I could never forget how brilliant and selfless you are. The North is better with you in it, my love.” He says it with such tenderness, such sincerity, you feel as if your heart is reaching out to touch his.

You close the tiny space between you, kissing him with a love you never dreamed would be possible, but now couldn’t imagine living without.

You lean back into the sturdy, warm body behind you while you gaze down at the twin babies sleeping peacefully in matching bassinets, a content smile on your face. Cregan’s arms are wrapped around you, hands lovingly splayed over your belly. He kisses your neck softly before you feel him turn his attention back to your children. You know his gaze is filled with love too.

Twin boys, who will be taught how to lead the North by both of their parents. Brothers, who you and Cregan will raise to never have cause to betray the other, and to always support one another and maintain peace throughout the North. The future Lord of Winterfell and Lord of the Dreadfort. 

The last fissure in your broken heart has finally sealed over, filled only now with a love that knows no bounds.

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[solacestyles]

Talking Back

Summary: you're the newest on the team, but instead of getting the newbie roasts, you join in on making Reid the constant punching bag. He's getting tired of the public humiliation, even though it turns him on a little bit.

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: humiliation, making out, heavy petting, hickeys, hand job

You were sitting in the briefing room reading your respective files. It was a slow day and you were brainstorming helpful pointers for a local precinct. Without having to get on the jet, the room had no urgency. Sitting relaxed in your chair you went over the facts in your file, thinking about your own profile before contributing. 

Spencer sat across from you and was trying to act casual. Everyone was focused on their tasks but he couldn’t get himself to concentrate for too long without looking back up at you. He had been looking at the same page for 3 minutes and he was worried someone else was going to notice and ask him what was wrong. He was prepared to lie but didn’t want to if he didn’t have to. 

He was fidgeting with his hair, moving it behind his ear too often and almost choking out of awkwardness. His brow was sweating but it was August so he had an excuse ready. He watched as you chewed on the end of your pencil. 

“Y/n you know it isn’t healthy to put pencils in your mouth, you could end up poisoning yourself over time.”

“I’m chewing the erasure Spence. Like an oral fixation or whatever.”

He almost starts crying from how fast he blinks repeatedly. He doesn’t know what to say to you. Over the months you have been on the team, you have rendered him speechless multiple times and he’s really starting to hate it. Out of everyone on the team it’s you who makes him flustered and embarrassed. He wishes he had the guts to get mad at you for it but something tells him you’d see right through it. 

Spencer remembers a time a few months ago when he had to discipline you over not following protocol in the field. It was just the two of you following someone and you went forward without his knowing. You were still new and you were mandated to follow him, not the other way around. Everything went accordingly, but he wasn’t in the room first. He pulled you aside saying, “y.n, you cannot do that again” with his hand gripping your forearm. 

“Reid relax, everything’s fine”

“No it’s not fine, you can’t just go on your own like that you’re new!”

You glanced down at his grip on you, raising your eyebrows. He noticed and let you go. He tried a different tactic and stood up straighter towards you. He was already taller than you but he was really trying to make a point out of it this time. 

“Listen just- just don’t make a habit out of it.”

You giggled and walked away. That in itself was also unprofessional, and both of you knew it, but you knew that he didn’t actually care about the rules right now. He felt weird that you dominated him in this social situation and didn’t know how to react to you like he did with Emily. 

Reid prides himself on being composed and intellectual. When you entered his life you spun him around and made him second guess many many things. Women weren’t a problem for him, this he knew. He is friends with Emily, JJ, Garcia, Elle, this part wasn’t the issue. The issue was that not only were you a woman, but you weren’t listening to him. You were the newest on the team and you seemed to respect everyone else equally. But with Spencer, it was anyone’s guess. 

You knew you were the fresh meat and you also knew that a man like Reid is always the punching bag. You wanted to play along and bypass your newbie roasting. Everyone was catching on to this except Reid. 

He was still looking at you when you finally put the pencil down and he exhaled. 

“You happy now, spence? I won’t poison myself.”

He gulps but doesn’t answer. He just looks back down at his file. Hotch comes back in the room with more papers and passes them to Emily to pass the rest down around the table. You take yours and lean over to pass the last one to Reid. He looks up and notices the top button on your top has become loose. He imagines what would happen if the other buttons simply fell apart revealing your chest.

He’s still in his fantasy when his fingertips touch your knuckles. He’s never touched your hands before and they’re softer than he thought. He can smell your deodorant and perfume too. He hopes some of it will linger on him so he can remember this moment again later. 

“Reid? The paper?”

He pulls it from your hand and busies himself with reading it. After a few moments he hears you whispering to Emily. He assumes it’s about his weird behaviour and doesn’t want to wait and find out. He gets up awkwardly from his chair and it swivels around him, almost tripping him. You giggle again and try to hide it but it’s too late. You watch as he nervously excuses himself to the bathroom. 

Entering the bathroom he thanks god it’s empty. He has to deal with the stretch in his pants and he’s running through the ways to get rid of it. Should he touch himself? Or should he run through unpleasant thoughts until it subsides?

He’s leaning over the sink and staring at himself in the mirror when he hears the door open. He moves to enter a stall for privacy but when he turns around he meets your eyes. You’re looking at him with a smirk and he hates you. Of course you’re here right now with him, of fucking course. You just love getting under his skin like this. 

“You wanna talk about that?”

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“That’s not what I asked about. I said, do you want to talk about that?”

He shakes his head but you stalk closer to him anyway. He wants you to back out the door and forget this ever happened. He wants you to pounce on him and make it go away for him. He wants to make you feel humiliated like he does, and wonders if it would turn you on too. 

You’re in front of him now, pressing him against the counter without even touching him. If he had this kind of power over you, things would be different. He wouldn’t have to use his intellect or his body. You would just succumb to him without the fanfare. 

“Can I touch you?”

“I don’t think I have ever heard you ask permission to do something, y/n”

You look up at him with your big doe eyes, putting your hand on his tie, “I don’t like making a habit of it. Well?”

“Please…”

“Please…what?”

“God y/n..please…please just touch me.”

And you put your mouth on his. He’s finally tasting you and he starts to whimper. You eat it up as it eggs you on. You keep eating him up and he can barely stand it. If he was too tight in his pants before, now it’s almost painful. 

You put your hand over it and push, making a moan escape his mouth into yours. 

“Please…y/n…please..”

“What? What is it baby, what do you want?”

“Touch me. Please just- just touch me.”

You unzip his pants and put your hand inside. Spencer pulls his head away from you and you watch each other. His dick is in your hands and he’s whimpering as you put on the most innocent face you can manage. His jaw opens and you admire the sharpness. He’s so beautiful, how could you pass up this opportunity of obsession? 

Spencer barely has any energy left in him and he knows he’s going to finish any second. He leans his head into your neck and starts to suck, wanting to leave a mark. At least this way you won’t be able to ignore this afterwards. This can be a way for him to talk to you about this again, maybe make it happen again. 

“Y/vn, y/n I’m gonna….I’m gonna-”

He finished in your hand before he could say your name again. He coats your palm and you keep going until he tears up. He’s already getting hard again.

“I think you can do better than that, baby.”

He just wants to please you. He isn’t even touching you but he just wants to make you feel good this way if he can. He’ll touch you another time, when he brings up the hickey. He’ll tell you he likes the way his hickey looks on you and then he can be the one to touch you. 

He’s so hard he’s crying and can’t help it. Your hand just feels so good and you deserve to know just how good you are making him feel. This feeling is all your fault and you know that. You’re dragging it out of him whether he likes it or not. 

He finishes again and grabs the counter behind him to steady himself. You’re kissing his neck and calling him a good boy, saying he did so well. 

“Good boy Spencer. I knew you could do it for me, huh? Didn’t I say so?”

“Yes…yes you did y/n.”

Before you have the chance to walk away he grabs you and pulls you into his chest. He’s kissing you like he wishes he kissed you when he disciplined you. With his mouth on you and his hands gripping you, he turns you around so you’re pressed into the counter this time. You let him and he realizes this. You could easily push him away but you aren’t letting him. You’re right where you want to be. 

Spence kisses you hungrily while grabbing your ass, not wanting to miss the opportunity. He knows you can do so much better than him and he doesn’t want to take the chance. He sucks another hickey onto the other side of your neck and you let him. 

Of course you’ll want to do this again with him, but you enjoy messing with him more. You unbutton your shirt and he mouths down your chest, sucking and biting. It’s starting to hurt you but you like it. You like the passion he has and you don’t mind the marks he leaves. You’d let the boy cover you. 

Just as you start unclasping your bra, both your phones go off. You pull apart from each other and check the message. You have another case and have to get back to the meeting room ASAP. 

His hair is a mess and you’re both sweating. Reid buttons your shirt for you without being asked, and you move to fix his hair. He lets you. You’re both unsure of how to walk back into that room, but he knows he’ll end up letting you go first.

[solacestyles]

the four steps between (best) friends and lovers

summary: Long-time best friends, it's not a surprise that it's you Steve comes to when he needs a fake girlfriend. One little white lie, one perilous family dinner, one evening of pretending to be a couple.

How hard could it be?

[ 12k + best friends to lovers + fake dating + fem!reader]

STEP ONE: THE PROPOSAL

"Be my girlfriend."

The glass held between your fingers slips and makes a loud bang as it hits the sink. The water from the tap pours over it, unaware of the incredibly unusual change in the universe that just occurred.

You tilt your head up, ignoring the lost glass, and raise your eyebrows high. "Come again?"

Steve huffs a little, as though you're the one being rather dramatic, and leans further forward across the island. His hands are planted firmly, his hazel eyes wide as he all but pouts at you. You're still grappling with where the hell that came from.

"Be my girlfriend. Please." He says. "For just one dinner, I promise. I swear I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't actually desperate."

You blink, clearly having missed a beat somewhere.

Frowning, you finally shut off the tap and rescue your abandoned glass from the bottom of the sink. You pick up and give it a quick once over for any chips. Scot-free, luckily.

"Okay, back up." You say, giving a small shake to clear your head. You make a face. "First of all, Harrington, ouch."

Steve sags a bit. "C'mon, you know that's not what I mean."

Not even a hint of a smile at your dig — which tells you he's probably pretty serious then.

"Secondly, what dinner is this? What could be so important that you have to show up with a faux-girlfriend on your arm?"

Steve properly slumps this time, a loud groan accompanying the languished movement. His forehead presses against the counter-top and you bite your tongue to avoid making an unhelpful, teasing comment about it. Instead, you refill the glass in your hand and wait patiently.

"I…" Steve begins, his voice muffled against the counter-top.

"MybrotherisintownwithhisfiancéeandI—"

"Steveeee," You interrupt as you give in to the urge, leaning over and poking him in the head. "If you want my help, please stop mumbling into the counter and tell me the problem."

He doesn't move for a moment, still face down, but you can see the rise and fall of his back as he sighs deeply. He shifts, twisting so his face is no longer hidden. It's noticeably pinker than it was a minute ago.

"My brother is in town next week." He explains. "With his fiancée. And my parents really love to kick up a fuss whenever he gets brought up, whether it's, yanno, like, about jobs and shit or whatever."

Steve waves a careless hand out. He rises from his slumped position, tucking his chin into the palm of his hand.

"And, like, this time it was about relationships. It was all," Steve's voice pitches up, whiny and nasally. "When are you going to get a serious relationship like Brandon, Steve? When are you going to settle down, Steve? When are you going to stop being a disappointment, Steve?"

He huffs another sigh, this one tinged with more defeat. You feel your face twitch in sympathy.

"So, just to get them shut up I…" Steve averts his gaze to study the counter-top suddenly. He draws an idle circle with his free hand. "I said that I was actually dating someone."

You take in his words. "But you're not."

"Thank you, genius. I had no idea." Steve straightens up with a scoff, throwing his hands out. Dragging them down his face, another groan warbles out of him.

"But now they're expecting me to show up to this dinner with someone — someone I'm dating — and I cannot admit I lied. So, please, be my girlfriend for one night."

You snort. His distress, a disaster of his own making, is just a tad bit funny. Just a little. A smidge. "Dude, chill. Just say your girlfriend is sick and she can't come."

Steve laughs mirthlessly. "That's like the adult equivalent of saying oh you don't know her, she goes to another school. No, I can't do that! C'mon, please."

His hands clasp together, raised in a plea.

"Think of it as one hugely, massive favour."

You take a moment to think it over.

"When is it?"

"This weekend, Saturday, 5 o'clock."

"Dress code?"

"Formal. Duh."

"How many people?"

"Uh, my mom, my dad, my brother, his fiancée. Maybe my uncle? Four or five."

Saturday was only a couple days away. He'd left it awfully late to ask—and you're not exactly sure who else would step up for the job if you said no. For the first time since he threw out the insane suggestion, you properly consider it — and feel your face screw up instinctively.

You? Pretending to be Steve's girlfriend?

Sure, to some girls that probably sounded like a dream come true, but it hadn't ever been like that between you and Steve.

You weren't even sure if you could picture it, being tucked under his arm, receiving delicate kisses on the head instead of noogies. Your nose wrinkles again at the oddity.

It wasn't like people didn't like to speculate — men and women can't just be friends, after all — but getting on Steve Harrington's kiss list had never really been a priority to you. Would you even be able to pull it off?

Your mind casts out to the girls that Steve tends to date, nit-picking as you try to think of what separated you from them. While Steve would certainly vehemently deny it, you're pretty sure you can pick a pattern out from the array of girls. A type that you certainly wouldn't see yourself fitting into.

Steve just… doesn't go for girls like you.

Steve, watching you closely, sees the hesitation sink in. He leans forward again, bargaining face on.

"You can veto every movie we watch for the next month."

You squint at him. Raise your chin an inch, forcing yourself not to smile too obviously. It's not often you get to see Steve looking ready to actually grovel for something.

He narrows his eyes, catching onto your deviousness. "Fine. I'll pay for your shakes for the next month, too."

You take another moment to think it over, exaggerating the hmmm sound you make. You tap your finger against your chin, indicating you're not quite convinced yet.

Steve leans further forward, his expression inching toward a bitchy disbelief. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

He looks as though he might start another slew of scoffing, his tongue pressed into his cheek, before he seems to re-evaluate what's at stake here.

He says, "I will drive you up to Indianapolis on—" He holds up one finger. "—one occasion when you ask."

Grinning, you stick out your hand for him to shake.

"You've got a deal, mister."

Steve sighs, his shoulders sagging in relief as he drops his hand to rest in yours. You give it a firm shake and just when you can see the thank-you forming on his lips, you tug his hand forward. You grin wider, almost taunting.

"I would've done it just for the shakes, just so you know."

Steve does scoff this time, ripping his hand back from yours. "You're an awful friend."

You bite down your smile, already dreaming of the free shake you'll be sipping all the way out to Indianapolis. You take a sip of your water and raise your brows at Steve over the lip of your cup.

"Hey. Don't you mean awful girlfriend." You wiggle your brows, not failing to see the hint of pink that colours Steve's cheeks.

Despite the colour in his face, Steve manages to deliver a long, unimpressed stare at you.

His eyes flick down your figure, clearly turning your words over in his head, then back up. As though he's actually realising what he's asked you to do.

He huffs another sigh, running his hand down his face. "Jesus Christ. This is an awful idea."

"Hey, it's your idea, not mine."

—

A stray blouse flies from the closet, landing in an unceremonious lump at the foot of your bed.

You toe at it gently, narrowed gaze travelling from the murky colour up toward the closet, to the perpetrator currently tearing your wardrobe apart. He doesn't even pause, hands still digging, almost resembling a dog burying a bone.

Sighing, you drop your head back, hair splaying against your pillow. The water-stain on your bedroom ceiling greets your sigh with silence.

You had thought that, while sure, yeah, the Harrington's are a fancy bunch, it ultimately wouldn't be that much of a hassle to step in as Steve's date.

You'd have to dig through your closet for the nicest thing you owned (and seldom wore) and you and Steve would concoct a ludicrous story that could be the next John Hughes film.

It would take an hour, tops.

A severe underestimation. Maybe the promise of one hugely, massive favour should've tipped you off.

"Are you being serious right now?" You moan from your place on the bed. You shift your head forward again, eyeing your best friend across the room.

Steve, still buried in your closet, makes a loud harumph in answer. His voice comes out muffled against the clothes, too swamped amongst the fabric. "—Y'know, this wouldn't be so hard if you actually had anything wearable in here—"

You make a noise of indignation, tipping your head further forward. Your necklace shifts, the pendant sliding down the chain and hitting the comforter beneath you.

"And just what are you trying to say?"

Steve pauses for a moment, his hands halted on a pair of coat-hangers. He leans out from the clothing and lets his head loll back, his hazel eyes forming a flat stare.

"Har har." Steve says sarcastically. He turns back to the closet, the coat-hanger in his hand scraping as he pushes it along, assessing each piece with quick, attuned eyes. "I'm just saying you have a lack of clothing that my mother deems acceptable."

He turns back for a second. "Which is a good thing, by the way."

You hum in agreement, letting your head flop back onto your pillow. You've seen the pantsuits Cynthia Harrington wears.

Steve continues his barrage through your wardrobe, making a noise of disapproval every couple of seconds.

You also can't say you had expected to get started so soon; as in immediately post fake-girlfriend proposal. It occurs to you that perhaps you've said yes to something bigger than you expected.

"You're taking this really seriously." You comment.

"Yeah, well," Steve reaches in and tosses another blouse, this one pale-blue, on the bed by your feet. "I know you've met my parents before but they're, like, different when Brandon comes around."

"Different?"

"Like worse. Way, way worse." He draws a line with a flat hand. "Brandon makes them just so—"

His hand curls up, forming a fist. He sighs, dropping it to rest on his hip. For a long moment, he stares into your wardrobe.

You push up on one elbow, brows knitting together. "Steve?"

Steve jolts lightly at your voice, torn out of his thoughts. He reaches out and plucks another blouse from your wardrobe, a maroon pleated one that you'd sworn you had thrown away. It's horrendous and definitely picked out by your mother. He turns and chucks it on the bed, crumpling atop the others and looks up at you, hands perched on his hips.

"Just, like, the smoother this dinner goes, the better, okay?"

You sit up completely, catching the seriousness leaking into Steve's voice. Damn. He actually sounds pretty worked up about the whole thing.

You smile, aiming for comfort. Even if you hadn't quite grasped what you had said yes to, Steve was still your best friend.

His parents were… difficult on the best of days. It was clear he was going for the least eventful, head-down approach as he could for this.

You could do that.

"Okay." You nod, more serious this time, eyeing the blouses on the end of the bed. You miss the relief that shutters across Steve's face. "We got three days til Saturday. What do you need me to do?"

"You can start," Steve says, spinning back to face your chest of drawers this time. His eyes flash over, with a hint of mirth. "By telling me if you even own a skirt that goes below your knees, you scandalous woman."

You laugh and get to your feet, wandering towards your drawers to pull open the bottom most one. Fishing around, you try to recall if you have anything church-worthy, tongue poking out your lips.

A hideous woollen skirt gifted to you for Christmas a couple years ago springs to mind. You shiver.

"Below the knee, huh?" You say. "You better start telling me about the role I'll be playing if I can't even turn up as myself."

You're only half joking. Your fingers curl around the scratchy fabric and you wrinkle your nose in recognition. Tugging it forward, it escapes the confines of your drawers and splays out with a sudden poof. You get the joy of remembering just how ugly it really is.

Twisting, you hold it up to Steve who has taken your place on your bed, laid back.

"Think this'll do?"

Steve's head perks up and he locks onto the skirt in your grasp. "Ugh, it's awful. Perfect."

You drop the skirt, abandoning it to take your place next to Steve on the bed. The springs creak slightly as your weight joins Steve's, the bed dipping and forcing you closer together. A smile sneaks onto his face.

"Okay, but for real," You jab a finger into the softness of Steve's side and he makes a little noise of complaint. "You've gotta tell me what I'm expecting for this, dude. It would be, like, catastrophically mean of you to send me in there blind."

Steve sighs — something he's really doing that a lot recently — and rolls toward you, propping his head up with one arm. The edges of his polo stretch as his bicep bulges. He frowns down at your comforter as he thinks.

"I don't know if I actually can prepare you for it." He admits, raising his gaze to look at you through his lashes. "Like, I think we're gonna have to just come up with a story and fend off the questions as best we can."

Another thought occurs to you. You frown. "Wait, don't your parents, like, know about me already?"

Steve's gaze darts away, this time staring at your comforter with a greater intensity. He gives a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, well, that's why it'll work. They basically already ask me when we'll be getting together."

Your brows jump. A teasing grin taunts your mouth but you forsake it for a more helpful approach.

"Alright, then," You say. "Then let's do better than fending off the wolves. If I'm gonna be your fake girlfriend, I'm not gonna half-ass it. Let's knock the socks off your parents."

Steve's eyes jump up, meeting your stare and it takes another moment before he realises you're being genuine. You grin, poking him in the side again.

"And Brandon."

"Yeah?" Steve smiles. He sounds a tad awed at your dedication, his eyes roaming over your face gently. After a moment, he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts. "Okay. Uh, we have to come up with a backstory first."

"And it has to be one that your parents will believe too."

Steve nods, then pauses, a frown knitting together his eyebrows. "Wait, when did we get together? We can't have just started dating that's— like, almost as bad as showing up without a girlfriend."

You blink, perturbed. "What?"

"Oh, hey mom and dad." Steve says, his tone sardonic and flat. "Oh yeah, this is my girlfriend who I somehow started dating just one week ago, coincidentally just in time for this family dinner."

You cringe a little. He does have a point.

"Fine." You say. A little worry burrows into your brain — the longer you make your 'relationship', the more details you have to construct, to remember, and recall correctly.

You worry your bottom lip. "How long is long enough though? If it's too long, we have to remember more things."

Steve's mouth twists in thought. He gives a hmm.

"I think the last time you saw my parents was… sometime around New Year's Eve, right? They had that party, d'ya remember?"

You wrack your brain and find a memory with glittering fireworks and greasy hot-dogs. Steve had too much champagne and emptied his stomach into a bush. Faintly, the memory of passing by Mr and Mrs. Harrington fits in there— only for a moment.

"Yeah," You say.

Combing over the last years' events, you try to think if there's anything else you would've seen them at.

Graduation? You try to smooth out the wrinkles of that memory too; sunny day, sweltering gown. You hadn't remembered seeing Steve's parents there. "'Cos they didn't come to graduation, did they?"

"Nope." Steve says, popping the p. He rolls back to lie flat on your bed, folding his hands to rest on his chest. "What about after one of my basketball games? The final one of the season." He proposes, eyes tracking back to you.

You laugh without meaning to, spurred on by Steve's surprise.

"Really? At your basketball game? That's when the sparks went flying and we got together?"

Steve's mouth drops open an inch in offense. He throws his hands up. "What? That's, like, totally romantic." He defends. "Besides, it's a good reason for our friendship to have changed."

"You lost that game."

"I still scored!"

"Fine." You appease, laughing lightly. "We got together after you lost the last basketball game of the season."

Steve wrinkles his nose again. "Well, don't put it like that."

You laugh again, soft and light.

"Who asked who?"

"I asked you." Steve says.

You nod, carefully trying to commit the detail to memory. Your head spins as you try to think up the variety of different questions you might get asked at the dinner.

What sort of questions might his parents ask? Or his brother? They'll probably want to know the basics — how you got together, how it's going. You might get a shake-down to see if you're worthy of dating a Harrington.

Then, of course, there is the matter of ensuring you're a convincing couple. In love enough to be brought along to an exclusive family event.

That means… getting touchy. The thought sends a jolt through your stomach— will you have to kiss?

You bury the thought. You'll cross that bridge and have it's subsequently unavoidable, awkward conversation when you get to it.

You're not sure who'll you will have more trouble convincing; Brandon or Steve's parents. But from what you know of Steve's family, you'd bet none of them know him that well.

For all you know, this could well be a walk in the park. Maybe the easiest free trip to Indianapolis ever earned.

"What's Brandon like?" You ask, trying to get a better sense of who you'll be fooling. "Do you think he'll ask many questions?"

"He's…" Steve's eyes shift from you to the ceiling, his mouth forming a flat line. "An asshole, like my dad. He's got this amazing talent for getting under my skin. Which usually includes undermining just about anything I have going for me in my life. Or—" He gestures to you with a sigh. "—what I actually don't have going."

He rolls his head in your direction, his mouth twisted into a bitchy frown.

"He used to always rat on me to our parents when I was kid. He once got me in trouble for going to see Tommy just because he didn't want to walk me over. Said I disobeyed authority." Steve makes quotations with his fingers.

Your brows raise in disbelief. "Isn't he, like, fifteen years older than you?"

Steve huffs a mirthless laugh. "Yep. Told you, asshole. So, yes, he'll probably ask questions but I don't think he'll expect I'd do something as desperately pathetic as faking a girlfriend so hopefully we'll fly under his radar."

Reaching out, you whack Steve on the arm, relishing in his annoyed ow!

Eyes narrowed, you wait til he's looking at you with his what gives? face before you say, "What you're doing is not pathetic, nor is it desperate. It is an act of survival against your shitty family, okay?"

Steve stares at you for a moment before his shoulders seem to melt, the tension leaking from them. He flops his head back.

"Okay." He murmurs in agreement.

"Alright," You say. "Now, let's get this story straight. We got together at the final game of the season, which would mean we've been together for nearly…"

STEP TWO: THE ACT

Your legs itch and you fight the urge to readjust your tights for the umpteenth time.

Steve, in the driver's seat beside you, drums his hands against the steering wheel too rapidly to be casual. He keeps darting one hand to his mouth, teeth worrying at his thumbnail.

You'd reach out and smack him to get him to stop but you're beginning to feel the lurch of nerves yourself. The drive from your house to Steve's has never seemed so, so entirely too short.

"Okay, uh," Steve's throat clicks, clammed up from his silence for too long.

He hadn't spoken much when he had picked you up, other than to laugh at your joke at the mismatch of yourself and your prim outfit.

You'd ended up finding a double-breasted blazer in your mom's closet and you look almost ready to run as the local mayor. You're even wearing tights.

"We got together the 20th—"

"—of June, last year." You finish for him.

Steve nods, his face still facing forward. His eyes look a tad unfocused, even as he reaches out to adjust the collar of his dress shirt. "Right. So we've been together for, uh, about ten months."

You nod encouragingly, checking the details in your head. "You asked me out. Our first date was—"

"—at The Hawk." Steve cuts in, parroting off your memorised answers. "We saw Labyrinth and, uh, then I drove you home."

That part isn't technically untrue. You and Steve had gone to see Labyrinth together back in June of last year, but it certainly hadn't been a date. You find the details lend themselves quite easily regardless.

"That's when we had our first kiss." You remind him, even if it makes your face heat minisculy. "What did you get me for Christmas?" You quiz.

"Uh," Steve's hand rabbits against the steering wheel, nerves evident. He finally breaks his stare from the road to glance at you, his brows furrowed together, eyes worried. "Fuck, I can't remember."

"It's fine," You stress, waving a hand. "You got me tickets to Billy Joel and we drove out to Indianapolis for the concert in April."

Steve nods a bit too manically, his perfectly coiffed hair coming a bit loose. The houses flashing by the window gradually get bigger, fancier. He bites his thumbnail again and this time you do reach out and tug his wrist away.

"Thanks." He murmurs.

He turns the wheel, the engine droning as the car takes the corner to enter his street. Your nerves hike a mile higher and you tug at your tights fruitlessly again. The street is lined with nice cars — not unexpected for Steve's neighbourhood.

What is unexpected is the sheer volume. You and Steve peer out the car windows, eyes wide, as you take in the full street. When you swallow, your throat feels particularly dry.

You turn to Steve. "I thought they said it was a family dinner?"

Steve, his eyes darting from car to car, either trying to find a park amongst the packed sidewalk or maybe just panicking like you are, takes a moment to meet your eyes. He looks a lovely shade of chalky white.

"They definitely did."

There's a free space down the end of Steve's street, the driveway already full with two cars, neither you can recognise.

Steve's foot hits against the brake too abruptly and the car jerks to a stop, rocking forward. You grip the edges of your seat tightly as Steve kills the engine. For a moment, neither of you make a sound.

"What if there's more than just family in there?" Steve croaks, turning slowly to face you.

The paleness in his face has pitched toward something greener. He swallows heavily, twisting back to stare out the windshield and his hands on the wheel tighten. "Oh my god, this is— this isn't gonna to work."

"Steve."

"Valentines, we did Lover's Lake," Steve mutters to himself, eyes still out the window. "Fuck, this is so stupid."

"Steve," You try again. His own panic is worsening your own and if he continues to spiral, you fear you might never make it out of the car and you did not wear itchy tights for that to happen.

"You got me the Michael Jackson record for my birthday," He rattles off again, almost absentmindedly, as though his mind can't pick between panicking about trying to remember all the details or the apparent extra guests.

"This is— oh my god, we're never gonna convince them."

"Steve." You say firmly. His head snaps around, broken from his mutterings. He blinks at you.

You take a deep, exaggerated breath in. Steve follows instinctively, his shoulders rising as he inhales.

"We will convince them." You insist earnestly.

Offering out your upturned hand, you wait for Steve to shift to place his bigger hand in yours. When he does, your fingers curl around it, cradling it.

You can feel the rabbit of his pulse at your fingertips and you meet his eye as you say, "We know each other—really well. We're best friends. We've practised, we look the part, okay? Now, all we have to do is… be a couple for an evening. It's going to be fine."

Steve swallows and for a moment, he doesn't say anything. Then his breath bursts out in a release of tension, his hand finally squeezing yours back. "God, what would I do without you?"

"Crash and burn, probably." You tease, thankful when unease hanging on his frame is replaced by something more familiar.

Steve makes an appalled noise, tightening his grip on your hand so you can't pull it back. His other hand moves, his fingers dancing across the ticklish skin on the inside of your arm til you shriek out in laughter, yanking your hand back.

Your laughter seems to have dimmed the nervousness a bit. You glance over your shoulder, down the street, and track an older couple dressed primly entering the Harrington home. As you turn back to Steve, you swallow to gather your nerves.

"Ready?"

Steve doesn't look like he is, his shifting, unsure eyes and stressing hands. He pushes his palms against his slacks and takes a sharp inhale, before meeting your eyes. "Ready as I'll ever be."

You count the steps up to the doorway without even meaning to, arriving at the Harrington doorstep in approximately 47 steps. The maroon double doors before you seem taller than usual. Steve raises his hand to knock and then halts, his attention shifting to his upraised hand.

He quickly tucks it back against his side, except this time with his elbow held out for you.

A faint pang of surprise in your chest, coloured with something softer, nicer. You’ve seen somewhat what Steve’s like on his dates and you’ve certainly heard plenty of the aftermath. But you’ve never been on one, of course.

As you loop your arm to nook in his, you find yourself unexpectedly eager to find out exactly what it’s like to be Steve Harrington’s date.

Steve knocks on the door, then twists the knob and lets himself in.

Despite seeing the earlier guests, there’s little to prepare you for the room full of people that stand on the other side of the door. Moving on instinct, clinging to Steve’s arm, you step through the threshold and into the lion's den.

Your nerves fry. Never mind lion's den; you feel more like a fly caught in a web. Frog boiling in a pot? No, that doesn't work because you know exactly what you were signed up to when you said yes to Steve.

Well, not precisely. You survey the crowd, counting at least three times as many people as you were expecting with nervous eyes.

Your little white lie with Steve just graduated to having an entire audience. No pressure, right?

“Steven.”

The croon of Cynthia Harrington greets the pair of you.

You feel Steve stiffen up beside you, his shoulders rolling back, his entire body straightening up. His throat bobs as he swallows nervously.

“Mom,” Steve says. His voice is a bit dry and he swallows again. “You didn’t say there were going to be this many people here.”

He’s polite enough to not word it as an accusation. His niceties don’t work, bouncing off the painstakingly sculpted smile of a businesswoman.

“Please, it’s a networking event, I’m not sure what you expected.” She adjusts her diamond earring, swaying and heavy, as she speaks dismissively. “I told you this, Steven.”

You never hear anyone call Steve Steven other than his parents.

“No, Mom, you didn’t.”

There’s a barely restrained bite in his words.

That catches Cynthia’s attention. She stops her roaming gaze to focus on her son, not even glancing at you. After a moment, she gives an exasperated huff.

“Well, why else would we be back, Steven? Your father is trying to close business with Mr. Collings.”

The sting isn’t even for you — in fact, you don’t even think she realises she’s dealt it — but you feel it all the same. Steve’s arm looped with yours tightens, a minuscule motion.

Though you know he thinks they’re all assholes, it doesn’t stop Steve from hoping they’ll come back for him.

“Right.” Steve says, voice tight. “Sure. Of course.”

You’re just thinking about dragging him away from this barbed conversation, clearly pricking all his sensitive spots, when Cynthia’s sharp gaze slides over to you.

Her eyes gleam in recognition and her posture changes.

“Oh, is this the girlfriend you’ve spoken of?”

This time you’re the one who stiffens up. It’s momentary. You know that Steve’s likely freaking out too and at least one of you has to pull yourself together.

The most winning smile you can manage glides onto your face.

“That’s me.” You squeeze Steve’s arm with your hand. It's half in genuine comfort, half in show.

Cynthia regards you for another long moment before she manages to straighten up further, as though pinched.

“Oh! Yes, I recognise you. Remind me of your name, dear?”

It’s a struggle not to grit your teeth. Steve and you have been friends for nearing ten years now.

Still, you relay it politely for her. Your smile feels a bit wooden now.

“Oh, Steven. How nice.” Cynthia says, a touch of patronisation in her tone. Her beady eyes slice back to yours. “He had such a crush on you for the longest time, it’s—”

“Mom.” Steve hisses, cutting her off. Another unexpected jolt of something warm in your chest. Wait, really?

You chance a glance up at Steve. His ears are tinted pink.

You’re not entirely sure what to make of how that makes you feel, so you shelve it for later. Maybe when you’re not being thrown to the sharks by Steve’s awful parents.

Okay, too many animal metaphors. Falling asleep to the Discovery Channel last night is definitely taking its toll.

“We’re gonna mingle, find Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. He moves forward, past his mother, and tugs you with him. Your legs itch with the reminder of your scratchy tights.

“Alright, Steven. Make sure you say hello to your brother!”

Steve huffs, loud enough that you hear it, and you let him lead you through the throngs of middle-aged people. He stops when he reaches the kitchen, finally unwinding his arm with yours.

He does it so he can shove his hands in his hair, a stressed motion from Steve if you’ve ever seen one.

“God, okay, that went well.” He says sarcastically.

“Stop. You’re ruining your hair.” You reach up and rescue his lochs from his harsh grip, fingers around his wrists to tug his hands away. You’re far too aware of how long it had taken him to do.

Steve lets you. When you focus on his face, you notice the pink from his ears is also on his cheeks.

The question jumps off your tongue, unbidden.

“Was she telling the truth? About… the crush? Or was she just trying to tease you?”

The pink dips closer to scarlet. Steve sighs, his eyes closing for a moment.

“I— she- yes,” He admits. Your heart shudders at the revelation. Steve’s eyes open and he twists his hands so he can hold yours in them. “But, like, not now. In the past. Years ago, I promise.”

For his sake, you do your best not to take it too seriously. Even if you wanted to pry, now is not the time nor the place to do so.

However, you can’t resist a small, teasing grin. Steve catches it and his embarrassment gives way to exasperation instantly.

“You likeeed me,” You say in a sing-song voice.

Teasing is not unfamiliar in your friendship with Steve and getting to joke around, even at this strange party, feels nicer. Steve groans dramatically, his eyes closing and his hands pushing against your hands to shove you away.

A new voice interrupts.

“Liked? I sure hope he likes you now, being his girlfriend and all.”

You and Steve both snap out of your easy joking, remembering that you’re supposed to be presenting as a couple. Head turning to who had spoken, it only takes a couple of seconds for you to place who it is.

He looks a little bit like Steve, but not really.

The eyes are different, not as slanted and he hasn’t got any of Steve’s beautiful moles. But the nose, the mouth, put together with matching brown hair and tan skin, you know who this is without having to ask.

“Brandon.” Steve says. The name is stilted in his mouth.

Brandon smirks, his same hazel coloured eyes dragging a long, scathing once-over of his younger brother. He doesn’t look impressed, if his disinterested expression is anything to go by.

Then he does the same to you.

It’s almost tangible, the prickly feeling of his gaze raked over your body. Searching, hunting, nearly making you want to perk up to gain his approval.

God, Steve was right on the money. This guy is like his father but worse.

“The eye-candy of the month, huh?” He says to you, chuckling as if he’s made a joke.

You consider, then make the decision to throw all pleasantries out the window. You don’t smile back.

“Actually, Steve and I will be coming up on one year soon.”

Tangling your hands back together as you say it, you lean into Steve’s side. It’s warm, smells of his cologne. Only when you gaze up at him, do you let a smile grace your lips. It’s soft and genuine.

Steve smiles back down at you, crooked and lovely.

“I’m surprised anyone could settle him down,” Brandon continues and you turn back to him, fighting the urge to narrow your eyes. It doesn’t escape you how he’s jumped from one slight dig to the next.

He’s clever with it. Polite enough that Steve can’t exactly bring it up as an issue.

Brandon continues, swirling his crystal tumbler of whiskey idly. “Surprised he wanted to. Little bro always seemed like such a womanizer. Didn’t think he’d want just one chick.”

He leans in and socks Steve on the shoulder, hard, when he says the word womanizer. He’s grinning.

You have to admit, Brandon’s far too good at this — good at getting under your skin. If you hadn’t been forewarned of his behaviour, if you actually were Steve’s girlfriend, it would certainly rub you the wrong way. He’s certainly doing his best to sprinkle grit and strife between you two.

And you know it hurts Steve to hear — Sure, maybe when he was a thick-headed freshman, with no clue about the world, he had acted that way.

Nowadays... Anyone who knows Steve, even a little bit, knows he wants the real deal, more than anything.

“Not anymore,” Steve says, though it’s not nearly as confident as he usually is. He clears his throat and casts his gaze around. “Where’s Ariel?”

“Ah,” Brandon hums, looking around himself. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “Not sure. I think I left her in conversation with the Erickson’s from across the street. She’s been pleading with her eyes to be saved but hey, she’s gotta learn sometime, right?”

Your lip curls up in distaste before you remember yourself. Fingers intertwined with Steve’s, you clutch them tighter for some semblance of strength.

You’ve got to get the two of you out of here before you start outright sneering at this man — which is very much not the heads-down approach Steve had asked for.

“Babe,” you say, effectively dismissing Brandon’s comment as you look up at Steve. He looks down at you and squeezes your hand. “Can we grab a drink, please? I’m feeling thirsty.”

Steve murmurs his affirmation and you both turn back to Brandon to bid a polite goodbye. His left eye twitches just once, the only indication that he’s put off by your subtle rejection.

“Well,” Brandon fixes his features, his smirk sliding back into place. “Don’t let me keep you. What was your name again, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t say.” You say, forcing the politest, more nonchalant expression on your face. You let him stew in the awkwardness, waiting for him to break and ask.

He doesn't. Brandon just smiles, though this time it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He holds out his hand and despite how you don’t want to, you place your own in it to shake it.

“Well, it’s been real nice getting to meet you. I hope I’ll see more of you later tonight.” He smiles like a promise. His grip tightens in the handshake.

You grip his hand tighter, matching his strength, and for the first time in the whole conversation, you match his perfectly fake smile.

“Not if I see you first,” You say, spoken pleasantly enough that the meaning of your words doesn’t sink in until you’ve pulled back. You urge Steve somewhere, anywhere that’s not here.

“C’mon, let’s get that drink.”

There’s a punch-bowl out in the living room, thankfully. Displayed next to it is a large jell-o mould, arsenic green, and jiggling gently whenever someone bumps the table. Rich people stuff, you assume.

You eye it curiously as Steve quietly ladles a cup for you, then himself.

The punch is pineapple flavoured but peachy in colour. You sniff the cup Steve gives you hesitantly before you take a small sip. It’s nice. Mostly juice.

You peer up at Steve over the next sip and the cup hides your near hiccup of surprise when his hand slides along your waist. His hand, warm and large, settles on the small on your back and urges you closer.

“That was— wait, this is okay, right?” He pulls his hand back an inch, hovering over your waist. You nod without having to think about it.

“Okay,” He sighs in relief, resting it back down. His thumb moves, soothing along the fabric almost absentmindedly.

He grins at you, “That was, like, amazing to watch. The whole —not if I see you first— just, god, his face. Amazing.” His hand on your waist squeezes lightly. “You’re amazing. I didn’t know you could be so snobby.”

He says the last word slightly too loud and you laugh, worriedly stealing a glance around the room. No one’s paying you much mind. You do notice, however, that Brandon’s meandered into the living room now.

You sidle closer, tucking up under Steve’s arm.

Surprise touches Steve's features; his brows raising a bit, lips parting, and cheeks colouring that ruby colour once more.

It’s as if, despite all your previous agreements, he’s forgotten that you’re supposed to be acting like a couple.

As if he’s forgotten that couples act like this. In love, that is.

“Are you finding this weird?” He murmurs, volume control on this time. It’s said just to you, muffled into your hairline.

From afar, you think it might look like he’s kissing your forehead.

You take another sip of the punch, peering at his dress shirt, and consider his question. It’s not weird, per se. You tell him as much.

“I think it’s just new,” You look up at him — closer than you usually ever see him. His lashes are long and spidery. His hazel eyes are lighter under the lights. “Just different to what we’re used to. It’s… nice, I think.”

“You think?”

You expect Steve to tease you for your own unexpected soft answer but instead, his response comes out with a strange reverence.

If you had to pick a word, something traitorous would maybe call it hopeful. Wait, traitorous? Wait, hopeful?

"Yeah," You shrug a little, no big deal. "I mean it's not that much different from how we already are, right? Just a little more..."

Steve's thumb swatches along your back, more intentionally this time.

"Touchy?" He provides.

You nod and pretend the strange acknowledgement isn't making you feel a tad more flustered.

The touchiness is really quite nice. It’s sweet to have an anchor in this freaky social situation, very much unlike the aforementioned and abandoned Ariel. Steve’s hand on you is a grounding touch, a constant soft reminder of the person who has your back—literally.

And the person is Steve — which, again, isn’t really that different from what you’re used to. He sorta always has your back anyway.

You suppose it hasn't really crossed your mind before, not in depth at least, the small changes that would occur if you and Steve really did date.

How different would it really be?

Chin tilting up, you slyly steal a look at him as Steve scans the party. He's probably planning escape routes, jaw clenched subtly. He's clean-shaven, not a whisper of that stubble that you think suits him rather well.

Would you still be friends, if the two of you dated?

The question feels silly the moment you think it, even if it's only spoken in your mind. You wrinkle your nose lightly and hide it behind another sip of punch. There's an easy answer to that.

Of course you would. It's like you just said: not that different from how you are now. Same teasing dynamic, same loyal history, same sharing embarrassing secrets and same driving around doing nothing, loving it.

Just more. More of this.

Steve squeezes your side warmly, his head twisted to look back down at you. He's asked you a question you realise.

"Hm?"

"I was asking how long do you think it's acceptable to wait to fake a heart-attack to get us out of here?”

Amusement draws your eyebrows up. You grin up at Steve. "A heart-attack? At your youthful, healthy age? C'mon, Steve, they'll never believe it."

Steve's expression twitches closer to bitchy as he considers your rebuttal. You take another sip of punch. He relents.

"Fine. What else? I’m not above faking haemorrhoids.”

The punch in your mouth comes back out in a surprised splutter, thankfully landing mostly back in your cup. A drop of it streaks down your chin.

Your surprise quickly morphs into a glare, eyes shifting up to deliver it to your best friend.

The shit-eating grin on Steve’s face tells you that his timing was not accidental.

“You’re unbelievable,” You hiss because what happened to the polite, head down, and not eventful approach that Steve had all but pleaded from you?

He reaches for a napkin for you without asking — and then tugs you in closer with the hand around your waist, brings the napkin up to your face. He hovers, giving you a moment to realise what he’s doing, before he dotingly swipes away the streak of juice.

“Careful now, honey,” He says, giving the petname a teasing intonation.

How he managed to pick the petname that does actually make your heart perk up in your chest is beyond you. Maybe he knows you better than you think.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You ask, brows raised, pretending to be annoyed. Your bitten-back grin gives you away. “Making me spit my punch and then just sprinkling in a petname—”

“—like you didn’t do that first, with Brandon in the kitchen.” Steve interjects. He crumples the napkin and drops it back on the table.

“Okay," You say. "Fair."

"We forgot to discuss that, actually," Steve says. He sounds casual but he looks away, studying the punchbowl rather intently. "What... like, do you like to be called? In a relationship?"

It is an oversight both of you managed to miss, which makes you feel a little foolish now. You focus on the question.

"I like honey," You admit gingerly. A tepid smile threatens at your lips and when you look up at Steve, he's already turned back to watch you closely. "It's a bit old-fashioned. Sounds more like something you say if you're married but...I think it's nice."

"Yeah," Steve says softly. "Me too."

Something hums brightly in your chest at his gentle expression, his fondness zeroed in only on you. You break his gaze to swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.

"What about you?"

Steve chuckles. "Don't like babe."

"Too late."

“Yeah, well, obviously.”

There’s a beat and you think if you’ve ever had this conversation before. Sweetened preferences didn’t usually make it into your gossip sessions. This is new territory.

“I like sweetheart too,” Steve says, somewhat offbeat. As if he’d thought for too long if he’d say it or not.

He peers down at you, a scrunch in his nose. “Not like Brandon says it though. He might’ve ruined that one for me.”

“He can ruin this dinner, but not that.” You decide for him. “C’mon, sweetheart. We look like we’re stealing all the punch.”

Using your hand in his, you lead him away from the punch table and weave through the people milling about the living room. A touch of resistance makes you glance back. You can see a pink glow painted on Steve’s cheeks.

Your feet come to a halt, twisting back to properly face him. You can’t resist the urge to tease. “Oho, you weren’t kidding- you do like that one.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve murmurs, his tongue pressed into his cheek and his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t believe I raised you so poorly as to address a lady like that, Steven.”

You jump at the intrusion, realising you’d unluckily managed to stop right beside Mr. Harrington. Fuck, why are all of Steve’s family so good at sneaking up on you? You chalk it up to their snakeish tendencies.

“Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. Then, with a quick swallow, he corrects himself. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Mr. Harrington is not what you’d call an impressive man. Sure, his suit is tailored to fit and you have no doubt his overwhelming cologne costs more than three paychecks combined — but in substance? He lacks. Severely.

You’ve met him thrice.

Every time, you wonder how someone as wonderful as Steve, can come from someone like him.

Though, it certainly explains the god-awful ‘King Steve’ phase Steve had gone through in his freshman and sophomore year. You shiver at the memory.

“It was warranted, Mr. Harrington, believe me,” You jump in to move the attention of Steve’s father back to you, easily shouldering the blame. A smile, cool and collected, graces your face. “I was teasing him, after all.”

Mr. Harrington grunts in disagreement. “Hardly an excuse to speak so crudely, especially in front of guests.”

Opening your mouth to defend him again, Steve speaks first. “You’re right, sir. I apologise, it won’t happen again.”

Steve still shoots you a thankful glance. You clamp down your half-formed response and squeeze his hand instead. He squeezes back.

Maybe the two of you should’ve learned morse-code with all the squeezing you’re both doing. You hadn’t anticipated holding his hand for this long.

You could let go. You don’t really want to — and you’re pretty sure, neither does Steve.

You can’t remember the last time you held his hand.

“Your new girlfriend, I presume?” Mr. Harrington nods to you.

Steve barely gets a moment to respond when his father is waving him forward, stepping back to open a circle of middle-aged men behind him.

“Come, there’s a few associates I’d like you to meet, Steven.”

There’s no question, only a demand. Despite how it feels like stepping into a pit of vipers — damn you, Discovery Channel — you and Steve join the circle.

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Harrington addresses the four men before you, a wry smile on his face. “My son, Steven.”

Then, as an afterthought, with a glance your way. “And his girlfriend.”

“Oh? Not fianceé?” One of the men speaks up. He’s balding, his hair combed over in an attempt to cover his ruddy coloured scalp.

“I’m afraid you’re thinking of my other son, Brandon.” Mr. Harrington says, words suddenly imbued with a proud tone. Steve’s hand grows rigid in yours, though you don’t think he’s even noticed. You send a squeeze back.

A different man speaks up. This man has all his hair, but also has a pot-belly that threatens to send buttons on his dress shirt flying.

“Ah, well, fianceé to be, I bet.” He says, speaking directly to Steve and ignoring you. “Soon it’ll be the ol’ ball and chain. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, son.”

Then the fucker winks at you—as if you’re in on some big joke. A deep, miserable pity dawns in you for their wives.

“Actually,” Steve begins. There’s an edge in his voice.

You glance up at him concernedly — sure, these guys are douchebags, but you know that. Throwing in the polite and heads-down approach in front of his father might be the worst timing ever.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Steve says. The bite in his voice has receded and instead, he sounds calm. Polite. “My girlfriend is one of the best things in my life. She’s smart, talented, beautiful— and why she chooses to waste her time with me is a mystery to me.”

He speaks as though he believes every word he’s saying, a hundred percent. You realise you’re holding your breath when Steve turns to look down at you. His hazel eyes are soft, genuine.

“She makes me a better person. She’s… She’s my best friend.”

The line between your genuine friendship and this fake concocted act blurs entirely — and suddenly, you can’t tell what is real and what is not.

Worse, you’re not sure which you'd prefer more.

Does he really think all those things about you?

Steve, who should probably, definitely take up an acting gig after this, plants a quick, nimble kiss on your forehead to sell his loving words.

He turns back to his father’s business friends.

“Believe me, if I ever get so lucky as to marry her, I’d be the ball and chain.” He chuckles. “Not the other way around.”

You’re still holding your breath, heart stuck somewhere halfway up your throat. The businessmen before you show varying amounts of surprise and annoyance—none more of the latter than Mr. Harrington himself.

It doesn’t matter. Steve’s said it all in that perfectly polite way that’s so often been used against him. Something within you glows hotly with pride.

“Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us,” Steve says politely. He drops your hand to re-link your arms once more, then nods to them. “I need to reapply my haemorrhoid cream.”

You’re pretty sure Steve turns you both away from the conversation as fast as he does, knowing that you’re gonna laugh. You do, his last sentence so unexpected it turns your laugh into this foul half hacking, half coughing noise.

Steve pats your back, expecting it, raising his voice as he walks you forward, “There, there.”

There’s a little smugness in his tone. You wait until you pass back into the front hall — now Cynthia Harrington free — to unlink your arms and smack him on the chest.

“Asshole!” You exclaim, but you’re already laughing. Steve’s laughing too, the sound bright and honeyed amongst the dull murmur of the event. God, the looks on their faces.

“I didn’t think you would actually do that.”

“Hey, it got us out of the conversation, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but,” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, gaze falling from his for a moment. “I mean, won’t your dad…?”

Steve sighs and then shrugs. “I think I’m done trying to impress people like that. If you’re not up to standard to them, why the hell would I care about their opinion of me?”

Your heart feels a little wobbly at that. Steve has always been devastatingly earnest; it’s just less often directed at you. The two of you are used to teasing.

You fall back on it. “Awww,” You coo, gripping his forearms and leaning forward with a coy grin. “You got haemorrhoids for me, honey? That’s so romantic.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying and failing to suppress his own smile.

“Hey. Fake haemorrhoids, thank you very much.”

“Eh, what’s the big difference?”

“One is my bleeding heart, the other is my bleeding ass, is the big difference.”

He can barely get through the sentence before his laugh takes over. You dissolve into laughter too, cheeks beginning to ache with the force of your grin.

“Steve? Leaving so soon?”

The sweet bubble of laughter around you and Steve pops at the sound of Brandon’s voice. He’s in the doorway that leads to the kitchen and at your attention, he steps toward you, slow and deliberate.

“Yeah, actually,” Steve says. His eyes track Brandon with every calculated step his brother makes til he stops, a few metres from you both.

“Y’know, I heard that hasty exit in front of dad. Did you know that was in front of Mr. Collings? Y’know, the one guy dad’s trying to close a deal with?”

Shit. You swallow heavily. You didn’t know that. You know neither did Steve.

Beside you, Steve grows tense. When he swallows, you hear his throat click from dryness.

Brandon watches and revels in the tiny reactions, his smirk growing. He tucks his hands into his suit pockets casually.

“I talked with mom, too. Learned some interesting stuff, especially about your pretty lady here.”

He nods to you, hazel eyes slicing across to meet yours. Your nerves start to stand on end, something threatening in his calm demeanour setting you off. You grip Steve’s forearms tighter.

“That she is the best friend you’ve been mooning over all these years. And I just thought—” Brandon clicks his tongue. “Man, what are the chances that we don’t hear a thing about you two getting together until this conference? Crazy timing, if you ask me.”

He tilts his head to the side, examining the two of you closely. His smug nature is far, far too much like that of a predator toying with its prey.

“It’s like- wait, no—”

Brandon cuts himself out, fishing a hand out his pocket to gesture to you, grinning smugly like something is funny.

“Is he paying you?”

You recoil back, so baffled and taken aback by the cruel mockery Brandon jumps to make of his younger brother. To make of your best friend.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap.

Brandon blinks, surprised, and a bit of his smugness dries up. He draws his hand back, holding it up defensively.

“C'mon, like it's not just the kind of pathetic move he’d pull. I haven’t even seen the two of you kiss.”

He chuckles as if the idea is ludicrous.

STEP THREE: THE KISS

You act without thinking — turning back to Steve, your hands reach up to tightly grasp the collar of his dress shirt.

You see Steve’s hazel eyes widen ever-slightly, then you’re pulling him down, pressing up on your toes, and kissing him.

And… oh.

He’s not half bad at that, you think. It takes Steve a moment, but then his arms circle your waist and after a tentative moment, he kisses back gently, deepening the kiss. Not bad at this at all.

For one brief, precious second, you’re kissing your best friend.

And it's entirely incomparable to any kiss you've experienced before—immeasurable in passion and utterly undoing in a thousand ways.

Steve breathes a little heavier, his cheeks flushed, when you break away. You sink back down off your tiptoes, hands dragging off Steve’s rumpled collar to rest on his chest. You turn to face Brandon.

He doesn’t look so smug anymore. He looks ticked off. Good.

“Brandon, you’re an asshole.” You state plainly. “I hope one day, soon, your fiancée realises what a cruel and shallow bully you really are. And I hope she leaves you for it. Truly.”

The ticked off expression on Brandon's face veers closer to aghast and offended—as if he can’t believe you have the gall to speak to him that way.

“I hope you realise what a stain you are on other people’s life and I sincerely hope that I never have the displeasure of meeting you again.”

Moving to grip Steve’s hand in yours, you move towards the door without a goodbye.

STEP FOUR: THE AFTERMATH

It’s bright outside. Stepping out feels a bit like waking from a stress dream, where in reality, the sun is shining and things that were driving you nuts aren't really problems you actually have.

You stall on the front doorstep, where you were just an hour or so ago.

Well, that didn’t go… awfully, you think. In fact, you’re feeling quite happy with serving Brandon a perfect brand of his own medicine.

You’re about to open your mouth and say as much when Steve drops your hand, brushing past you to head down the stairs, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Your stomach drops at the tone of his voice, a prickly disappointment draped over his words. You’d think you’re reading into it — if Steve wasn’t currently heading for the car, not even waiting for you to catch up. A dead giveaway.

Tights itching from the hasty movement, you quickly follow him and puzzle for a moment. He’s mad. But at what? It takes only a moment to hazard a pretty good guess.

Before the dinner, the awkward conversation of how touchy you two would be had been breached. You and Steve both agreed; no kissing. Even with how close the two of you were, it felt like strange territory to cross into. An unspoken line not to cross.

By kissing him, you’d broken that rule.

Guilt wells up within you. Your moment of telling Brandon to suck it suddenly feels tainted by the sliminess of kissing Steve without permission. You pull at your tights uncomfortably, trailing behind Steve on the sidewalk.

As you reach his car, you swallow the lump in your throat, and speak up.

“I'm sorry, okay?"

Steve, who's reached the driver's side door, looks up and over the top of the car. Then furrows his brow.

"What?"

"For..." The word gets stuck in your throat like wet paper. "Kissing you when we said we wouldn't do that. That was-" You inhale sharply and study the trim along the edge of the car window.

"I just really couldn't stand how he was talking to you. And I thought that would shut him up."

You glimpse back up at Steve. He's softened a little at your words, the crease between his brows gone now. His eyes dart away, a muscle in his jaw working tightly.

"Yeah, well, you were right. It worked."

Steve seems to hear how short his words sound right after he says them, especially as you rear back an inch. He gives a sigh, his eyes falling shut for a moment. "Look, I'm not mad about the kiss, okay?"

His particular wording isn't lost on you.

"But you are mad." You press.

"I'm not."

You step closer to the car, desperate to understand. He is mad but he's not mad about the kiss? Does that mean he is or isn't mad at you?

"You sound mad."

Steve makes a sputtering noise, like he's torn between denying it or not. You catch it, pressing your hands against the car window to lean in even closer.

"So, you are mad. At me? Are you sure it's not because of the kiss?"

“Yes. No." He's furrowing his brow again, confused between how to answer your question correctly. He pinches the bridge of his nose with another sigh. "It’s- no, I'm not mad at you.”

Still not an exact answer. You eye him warily, your guilt still lingering at the front of your chest, aching painfully. It forces out your next words, reminiscent of a rambling apology. You take a step back from the car and begin to pace.

"It's okay if it is the kiss, Steve. I- I mean, we said we wouldn't and I broke that- and I don't want you to ever feel like—"

“I just— I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that!”

That halts your pacing, feet quite suddenly rooted to the spot. You turn rapidly back to Steve, your eyes wider than they were a moment ago, heart jammed back up your throat. Did he just say...?

Steve realises what's escaped him a moment after you do. His hand leaps to cover his mouth as if he can smother the secret he's just let slip.

His eyes crush closed. He smushes his hand against his face more forcefully as though he's trying to push the words back into his mouth.

"What does that mean?" You ask softly. "Steve?"

He clears his throat, dragging the hand down and off his face sluggishly. "That, ah, no- nothing!" He deflects, hands making a crossing motion. "It means—zilch. I just, ah, you know- it's—"

He's thought about it before—about how he'd want a first kiss between the two of you to go.

A glow in you dissolves, the saturated sweetness of it riding through your veins like a sugar rush. You have a sudden wish you weren't wearing such a ghastly outfit for this conversation.

"Steve," You interrupt him. You round the front of the car slowly, stopping with still some distance between you. Let him meet you in the middle. If you're right about all this, that is.

"If there's even a small part of you that wants to do that again," Your breath shudders at your inhale. "You need to tell me."

"A small part?" Steve echoes your words, his tone incredulous. He rounds the car to meet you, his hands out in front of him, flexing into fists. "Don't— don't say what I think you're going to say, if you don't mean it."

He pauses in front of you, eyes blazing with a fierce emotion as he stares down at you. He studies your face and then groans, tipping his head back and burying his hands in his hair.

"It's a big part, y/n. A huge fucking part of me wants to kiss you again and has wanted to for awhile." Steve stresses. His hands sag down from his mussed hair to hang off his neck before he gestures back to the Harrington house.

"What I said in there? About my crush on you being ages ago? I lied. I've had a crush on you for years and I don't think I ever stopped and so if you don’t mean what I think you mean, please don’t… Don’t give me hope.”

There's desperation in his final plea.

A thousand emotions course through you, all competing for your attention. You squint incredulously at Steve, half tempted to sock him for the feeling of a kept-secret. You're best friends for gods sake. Years. Years, he said.

A tremble takes your heart. You open your mouth and try to find the right words.

"Wha... You never said anything."

It comes out a little insulted.

Steve stares at you, flabbergasted. "You never seemed interested!"

"I didn't think I was your type!"

Though it seems impossible, Steve's eyes widen further, his hands shifting to hold out before him, fingers spread wide.

"Are you saying you've thought about it before!?"

"No!" You exclaim, suddenly stressed. You run your hands across your face agitatedly. "I mean, yes. Of course, I've thought about it before!”

Your fingers splay against your cheeks, pulling an expression not unlike the painting The Scream. You're not sure you've ever been this stressed, this undone before.

“Every day through fuckin' high school someone asked me if we were a thing. I just... hadn't, like, considered it til today. Properly."

"Okay, okay," Steve breathes in deeply.

He brings his hands together, clasping them, and he rests them against his forehead. For a second, he stares at the ground before he meets your gaze, dropping his hands.

"And... now?"

Fuck. Right. Cards on the table, you guess.

"Like," You don't know where to put your hands now. They drop off your face and hang loosely at your side. "I told you, I hadn't really, like, thought about it — but we were in there and it just wasn't that different!"

It's a heavy effort to keep yourself looking at Steve. There's no decoding the expression on his face, not when you're already frantically trying to unscramble your own feelings.

"If we did actually, yanno—" You stumble over the words, a fierce and bumbling heat flaming your face. "—date and be—I don't know—boyfriend and girlfriend, like, I guess what would actually change? And now I think we've just been one step removed from dating this whole time!"

Steve takes an almost quivering breath in and takes a step forward, bringing you both closer. He asks the million-dollar question.

"Would you... want that?"

"I," You flex your hands anxiously. "I don't think we can go back to the way things were." You say truthfully.

Something crestfallen ripples across Steve's face. It's hidden away in the next second. You gulp involuntarily. You feel so nervous you can feel it's fizzing inside you, bubbling like a freshly carbonated drink.

But more than that, it feels like you're balancing on the precipice of something good. Like waiting for news on whether you get something you desperately want.

And there it is; the true revelation.

"And I don't think I want to."

The admittance hangs between you, strung out and tinged with your apprehension and Steve's disbelief. He stares at you, brown hair tousled and messy, pink lips parted in his surprise.

He's your best friend and he's been waiting all this time. Holding the torch quietly, the flame flickering low sometimes, but always burning, always for you.

How the hell did you miss it?

"You..." He croaks. He reaches up and tugs at his tie as if it's suddenly too tight around his neck. "You mean that? You'd want to, like, date me?"

What you really want is to kiss him again. To chase away the tender look of disbelief in his eyes with a passionate press of your mouth against his. But you won't kiss him without asking twice in one day.

"I would like to try," You say. It takes a lot of courage to not lose your nerve. You rock up onto the balls of your feet to let out some of the rampant nervous energy.

Steve clocks it, some part of his brain that knows you, and all your tells well, finally coming back online. You're as nervous as he is, and maybe just as unsure.

But you want to try.

That's about all Steve's ever wanted. A chance for more between you.

He closes the distance between you, his hands shifting up and sliding along your neck to cup your jaw. It's ticklish enough to make you shiver and Steve smiles at the motion. He draws your faces closer and you push up on your toes to reach properly, magnetically drawn in.

He pauses just before your lips can touch.

Your eyes scan his face and he does the same to yours, both of you drinking in the intimate closeness. This close, you can see the tiny quiver hidden in his lips.

Fondness percolates between you, sweeter than sunlight and softer than a daydream. You can't resist the smile that toys at your mouth. Steve smiles too.

You're excited.

His pupils are blown wider than usual, only a ring of hazel around them. It might be your new favourite colour.

"I imagined," Steve murmurs lowly, his eyes now trained on your lips. "Our first kiss would be more like this."

The kiss is different from the one in the hallway. There's no surprise in it, no hesitance — Steve cradles your face between his hands preciously and kisses you so fiercely you ache.

He kisses with painstaking reverence. With an unfaltering adoration. Steve kisses you as though he envies anything that's ever touched your lips.

You grapple to find purchase on his suit jacket, your fingers curling around the material and pulling him closer without breaking the kiss. Steve hums into your mouth, his nose pressing against yours. You're both trying to pull each other closer.

"That was-" You breath heavily against his mouth as the kiss breaks. Your eyes open. Steve's gazing at you through his lashes, honey-eyes doting.

"You-" You try again, realising you haven't finished your sentence. You can barely get a word out, a relentless grin overtaking your lips. "I mean—you thought it- like that?"

"I hoped." Steve whispers. He's grinning too, not yielding any of the nearness between you. His thumbs on your jaw swatch softly across your skin.

God, he'll undo you entirely. This newness, this intimacy, it's ruining you. You capture your bottom lip with your teeth and bite it meanly to try to contain your grin.

"So, like, you wanna try? For real?" You say, matching his whisper. Speaking too loud feels like it breaks the moment—and you want to savour it as long as you can.

You can't even imagine how Steve must be feeling, waiting all those years. You take your feelings and multiple them tenfold. It's dizzying. It only endears you even more.

"Like, being boyfriend girlfriend?"

Steve's eyes crinkle in happiness as he scrunches them closed for a moment. His nose scrunches a little too at the motion. He takes a deep inhale and opens his eyes.

"Dating, boyfriend girlfriend, sweethearts, I don't care what you call it." He breathes. "Yes. Yes, to all of it."

Then he kisses you again, stealing the affection off your lips with an ardour that threatens to make your knees weak.

You kiss and kiss until you and Steve are both smiling too much to properly continue.

Only a couple days ago he'd asked the same question you had asked him, except as a begged request to help his ruse. He's the only one you'd have said yes to, you know now, the only exception.

One can only wonder how the two of you would have carried on if you had said no — never gone along with his frankly ridiculous plan, never showed up on his arm to fool an event full of people, never kissed him just to piss off his brother.

Never known the true depths of affection Steve held for you.

As you crowd in closer — your lips skimming across his gently, hearing the hitch in Steve's breath before you kiss him once more— you're thankful you'll never really know.

taggin some peeps below! @illyrianbitch @headkiss @brettsgoldstein @spideystevie @djotime

@katsu28 @inthehystericalrealm @djarinova @cheugyphobe @sunshinesteviee

@sunlitide @citrinesparkles @bigfrogs

just ppl that either expressed interest in the preview or i thought would enjoy! <3 i don't know what possessed me to pick this draft up and straight up like double the word count and finish it in one day but whew,,, i enjoyed that sm

[solacestyles]

Beyond The Play

college!Art x college!Reader

summary: Tashi needs some time alone with her man, which leaves you without a room for the night.

word count: 3.8k

rating: mature/explicit/18+

warnings: alcohol, fingering, dry humping, p in v sex with a condom, light praise, titty sucking, there's only one bed oh no!!

a/n: thanks for all the love on my first Challengers fic! hope you enjoy this one!

“You are so fucked,” Art says, taking another sip of his beer.

“Shut up.”

“He’s right,” Tashi agrees, sighing heavily, glancing at her cards.

You’re all sitting on the floor of your and Tashi’s dorm room, half-empty beer bottles littering the floor between you. You’d been playing poker for the past hour or so, swindling more of Patrick and Art’s money. It’d become a Friday night habit of yours, card games and beer with Patrick and Art. Patrick was always a maybe, he only came to visit his girlfriend a couple times a semester. 

But you, Art, and Tashi were always a solid trio. Tashi and Art had met through tennis of course, and you had met Art through Tashi after rooming with her freshman year of college. You’d become fast friends, and roommates for the next several years. You got along with Patrick well enough, you had to once he and Tashi started dating.

You could tell that had been a sore spot for Art, at least for a while. You’d suspected he’d had a thing for Tashi, and fire and ice hadn’t been the same since. You’d once asked Tashi about it and she’d only shrugged. Even though she was with Patrick for now, you knew Tashi had only one true love. 

Whatever Art felt for Tashi was easily molded into friendship, and the three of you became nearly inseparable. Which was good, even if you may or may not have developed some feelings of your own for the blond tennis player. 

But your friendship was more important. Those feelings could be pushed aside.

“God damn it,” Patrick curses, “I fold.”

Tashi snickers, revealing her cards and Patrick swears once more. 

“I need a smoke,” Patrick says, standing and leaning across Tashi’s bed to the open window.

“Oh no you don’t,” Tashi says, standing at lightning speed, “Outside, we are not getting in trouble for this.”

She grabs Patrick by the shirt collar, dragging him off the bed. He dramatically chokes, but lets her drag him towards the door.

“Art come on,” Patrick insists, reaching for his best friend.

“What? No, I wanna stay,” Art says, sandy hair falling in front of his eyes, “You don’t need a babysitter—”

“Yes I do,” Patrick insists, “C’mon five minutes, I swear.”

The boys tumble into the hall and you can hear their voices fading as they make their way outside. You stand from the floor, gathering up some beer bottles, and folding up the empty pizza box.

“Hey, d’you think you could sleep somewhere else tonight?” Tashi asks, brown eyes wide, “It’s Patrick’s last night, and y’know we really haven’t had any alone time.”

Your chest constricts at the thought. You totally get where she’s coming from but, it’s your room too. The thought of sleeping in the common area is less enticing. 

“Or at least just for a couple of hours,” Tashi backtracks, seeing your expression, “Just so we can—”

“Yeah, Tash it’s fine,” you tell her, swallowing your annoyance. Tashi’s been nothing but thoughtful and kind as a roommate, and friend. It’s an inconvenient favor, but nothing crazy. “I’ll get out of your hair for a couple of hours.”

“You’re the best,” she says, kissing your cheek, “Seriously, I owe you one.”

“You sure do,” you tell her, “I expect full payment for this.”

“Do you mean a trip to the movies with slurpees and popcorn?” Tashi asks, raising her eyebrows. 

“With extra butter,” you clarify and point at her, “You’re not cheaping out on me.”

“I’d never,” she insists, feigning seriousness before breaking into a grin. 

You finish helping Tashi clean up and begin your excommunication from your room. Walking down the hallway you bump into Patrick and Art on their way back from Patrick’s smoke break.

“What’re you doing out here? You start smoking?” Art asks as Patrick keeps walking past you, picking up the pace, “Hey where…”

“Party’s over,” you tell him, as Patrick turns the corner, eager to return to Tashi now that she’s alone.

Art frowns, confused.

“But we were—”

“Art,” you cut him off and place your hands on his shoulders, shaking him slightly, “Party’s over. Unless you’re eager to be a third.”

Art’s cheeks flush and he glances away, forcing out a laugh. Something tugs at your heart watching his half-smile appear. 

“Uh yeah ... .no thanks,” he says and you pat his shoulders before releasing them, “Wait but where are you going to go?”

You shrug, “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“You can’t just wander around campus, it’s like 2 am,” Art says, beckoning you with his hand, “Come back to my room, at least till they’re done.”

“Really?” you ask, “Cause if you’re tired I can just—”

“Don’t be silly,” Art says, poking your shoulder, “C’mon.”

Art’s room is in a separate building on campus, about a five-minute walk from you and Tashi’s building. Art is lucky enough to have a single; you’d been there a handful of times before class or practice. He keeps his room neat, aside from some clothes scattered on the floor from quick changes before practice. You smile as he hurriedly picks them up, throwing them into a hamper in his closet.

His bed is unmade, navy sheets messy as though he’d just woken up. 

“Sorry bout the mess,” he says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m not judging, you’re cleaner than most guys I’ve met,” you tell him and he laughs. 

Suddenly, it hits you how late it is, sleepiness hitting you like a train as you yawn. This triggers Art’s yawn and the pair of you stand awkwardly in front of each other. 

“Um,” Art says suddenly, “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” you agree, stomach sinking, “I can just—”

“You should stay.”

You’re silent at that. You stare at him, as he nervously plays with the hem of his t-shirt, waiting for your reaction. You’re not sure what to say. It’s fine, right? Just a friend, helping out another friend.

A friend whom you have a big fat annoying crush on.

“I mean….it’s just late and you’re tired and who knows when they’ll be done.”

“I don’t have anything with me,” you tell him, voice sounding softer, meeker than you’d like.

“Oh, here I got you,” he says, walking to his dresser. He shuffles through the drawer a moment before revealing a shirt and clean boxers, “Just did laundry today. You can….you can change in the bathroom. I even have an extra toothbrush.”

You roll your eyes at that, taking the clothes from him. 

“Okay,” you agree.

“Bathroom’s right there.”

You nod, quickly making your way across the room and into the bathroom. You close the door and quickly change, finding Art’s spare toothbrush unopened in a goodie bag from the dentist shoved into a spare drawer. You quickly wash your face, brush your teeth, and change into his clothes. The shirt is baggy, with Stanford Men’s Tennis written across the front. It smells like him, like his detergent and his cologne and you can’t help but greedily inhale.

When you exit the bathroom, Art dips in, leaving the door open as he brushes his teeth. You place your clothes in a pile on his desk, awkwardly waiting for him. When he emerges, he’s wearing only his boxers and a gray t-shirt.

“I’ll take the floor,” Art says, his face turning beet red, “You can have the bed.”

“Art no,” you insist, “It’s your room. I’ll take the floor, it’s only fair—”

“Yeah that is not happening,” he says, satisfied smirk on his face, “Tashi’d kill me if she found out I made you sleep on the floor.”

“We could…..” you wet your lips, struggling to get the words out, “We could share the bed?”

Art watches you, his eyes wide. You watch his Adam’s apple bobs as he contemplates your question. Suddenly your pulse quickens, and embarrassment floods your body, and your face flushes. You turn away from him, scooting onto the bed.

“I mean only—”

“—if you’re comfortable,” Art finishes and you shut your mouth. You both giggle at the overlapping sentences.

“Yeah, I’m comfortable, Art,” you tell him, patting the space beside you, “Come on.”

Art moves onto the bed and you push closer to the wall. He’s so close when he lies down beside you, stretching his arm above your head. You’ve grown accustomed to the moonlit room and at this distance, you can almost count each eyelash that frames his blue eyes. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, minty breath wafting over your face, making your head spin.

“Mhmm,” is all you can manage as the heat of his body warms you under the covers.

He’s silent then and you lay there for a moment, watching each other, listening to your shared breathing. Art chuckles then.

“What?”

“It’s just…” he trails off, “Nothing, it’s silly.”

“What is it?”

“You’re the first girl I’ve shared a bed with,” he admits, shyly glancing away from your gaze.

“Art Donaldson,” your tone is teasing, “I find that rather hard to believe.”

“It’s true,” he insists, brows furrowing together, “I mean….I’m not saying—wait” he wets his lips nervously, “I’m not a virgin—”

Your eyebrows raise, a smile curling at the corner of your lips. No, you did not doubt that. 

“Not that anything’s wrong with that, I just—wait and not to imply—”

“Art!” you cut him off, reaching forward and pressing your fingers against his lips, “I’m kidding. Don’t freak out.”

“M’not,” he mumbles, lips moving against your fingers.

“I’m fucking with you, Donaldson,” you whisper, taking your hand back, “I know you’re a gentleman.”

“Thank Christ,” he says with an exaggerated exhale causing you to giggle once more. He watches you, a smile on his face, eyes flickering to your lips.

Your face heats up as he wets his lips. Suddenly, nervousness flutters in your belly, and your heart flutters in your chest.

“Goodnight,” you tell him, turning away from him to face the wall.

You wait for his response, hoping he’s not disappointed. Disappointed about what, you’re not sure. 

“Goodnight,” he says softly and you close your eyes.

You wake up early. Birds are chirping outside the window, golden sunlight is beginning to bleed into the room, and Art’s chest is smushed firmly against your back. His arm is curled around your middle, hand splayed under your shirt and on your tummy, face buried in the crook of your neck. He’s so warm, his presence so comforting, you just want to close your eyes and melt back into him. 

Art groans in his sleep, moving his hips slightly and your eyes snap open.

Oh, Art.

He’s pressed firmly against your backside, rock-hard, hips unconsciously grinding against you. Your mouth falls open slightly feeling him against you, the hard outline of his cock bullying against your ass. Art groans again, hand on your stomach pushing you closer to him.

A breathy sigh escapes you and your head falls back against him slightly. 

“Art,” you breathe, answered with another groan, this one edging on a whimper. His hips gyrate, cock pressing against you with need, “Oh God…”

You swallow, breathing becoming more shallow. Your pussy clenches, and you can feel the growing wetness in the boxers Art had lent you, thighs pressing together desperate to relieve some of the pressure.

“Art wake up!” 

Art wakes with a start, head pulled from your shoulder. You can’t see him, but you feel him tense, the warmth of his body ripped from yours as he lurches backward, right off the edge of the bed. He falls with a yelp, hitting the floor with a loud thud. You sit up turning toward him. 

“Fuck!” he says, scrambling to sit and hide his erection, “Shit, I’m so sorry!” His face is red and he grabs a pillow, placing it over his lap, “God–fuck, I’m so sorry I was asleep—” He keeps stuttering, unable to meet your eyes. 

“Art.”

“It’s just biological you know, just morning wood, I would never do anything without your explicit consent–enthusiastic consent!”

“Art…”

“And I would never want to ruin anything between us, ever–”

“Art!”

His head snaps toward you then, eyes meeting yours. His mouth hangs open, eyes watery as he looks up at you. He looks so sad, so embarrassed, and disappointed. And something else as well. Worried, perhaps. 

“Get back up here,” you tell him.

Art’s mouth remains open in shock as he glances at the bed.

“Now?”

“Yes, right now.”

Art scrambles to rejoin you on the bed, lying beside you. He faces you just as he did last night, sandy hair falling across his forehead. You smile softly at his disheveled appearance and his flushed cheeks.

“I’m sorry—”

“Stop talking,” you tell him, reaching forward and brushing some hair from his face. You let your hand trail around to the nape of his neck, fingers curling in his hair. “You have my consent.”

Art’s eyes widen, lips parting in shock.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” you tell him, pulling yourself closer. His hand drifts to your hip, anchoring himself to it. “Explicit, enthusiastic, all yours.”

The last word has barely left your lips before he’s leaning forward, pressing his lips against your own. They’re warm and soft, he kisses you with innocent eagerness, the hand on your hip pulling you flush against him. You lift your leg, hitching it around his thigh, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging slightly, earning a moan against your mouth.

“Fuck,” he moans against your lips, “You don’t know how long I’ve thought about this.”

Something deep inside your belly warms at his admission. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” he answers, kissing you again, “Since freshman year.”

“Why didn’t you…..oh fuck..” your question trails off as Art mouths your neck, sucking and biting the tender skin.

“Didn’t want to ruin anything,” he mumbles, kissing your collarbone. 

You hum at his answer, tilting your head to give him better access. His hand moves from your hip bone, up under your shirt—his shirt. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, mouth returning to your lips.

“Yes,” you tell him, “Please touch me.”

You can feel his smile against your lips as he does what you ask, fingers grazing the underside of your breast. Pushing against him, his hand cups your breast, squeezing lightly. You pull away from his lips briefly, tugging your shirt over your head and tossing it to the end of the bed. Art’s eyes devour you and he kisses you desperately as he continues to play with your tits. 

“Fuck you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck until he reaches the top of your chest. 

Art’s lips move across the tops of your breasts, as though he’s struggling with choosing which one to lavish with attention. Luckily for you, he decides rather quickly and latches his mouth to your right nipple, thumb, and forefinger, tweaking the opposite. Your back arches as he gently bites down, sucking the hardened peak harshly before releasing it with a pop. 

“Art.”

He simply moans, ignoring your cries as he brings his mouth to your opposite nipple, repeating his previous action. Pleasure winds a current in your lower belly, your thighs clench as he repeats his little torture, alternating back and forth between your breasts. You grab his hair, tugging him not too gently until he glances up at you, cheeks red, lips glossy and puckered. 

He’s too pretty.

You pull him back to your lips, kissing him feverishly while trying to rid yourself of the clothing you have left. Art feels you squirming and assists, hands moving the boxers down your legs until you’re able to kick them off at your ankles. Your hands move to him next, eager to even the playing field. 

You tear his shirt over his head revealing his toned stomach from countless hours on the court. Your mouth waters at the sight before Art is on you once more, lips capturing yours in another heated kiss. His hand returns to your hip, curling against it before he reaches further, squeezing your ass.

You smile against his mouth as he squeezes again. 

“You’re just fucking perfect, aren’t you?” he murmurs, returning your smile.

His hand grazes down the back of your thigh before venturing to the front where your legs meet. Your breathing becomes more labored the closer he gets to your hot center. 

“Can I?” he asks, so softly, you nearly drown out his question with your heavy breath.

“Yes,” you tell him, and that’s all he needs. 

Art slides a curious finger between your wet folds, gently circling your clit. Your mouth falls open as he continues.

“You’re so wet,” he remarks, dipping his finger lower, and finding your entrance. 

He lets his middle finger sink into you, met with little resistance. Your walls greedily accept him as he curls his finger upwards, beginning to pump it in and out. Stars explode behind your eyes and you moan, clutching onto his shoulder.

Art smirks, eyes aglow at the pleasured noises you emit.

“That feel good?”

“Yes—fuck,” you squeak as he presses another finger inside of you, “Oh god.”

“Yeah?” 

Art crooks his fingers against your velvety walls, pressing against that special spot inside of you that has your head lolling against him, moans spilling from your lips. His thumb joins, caressing your sensitive clit in time with the strokes of his fingers. 

“Feels so good,” you moan, “I’m so close.”

“Yeah? You're gonna come for me?” he asks, kissing your neck. Your fingers tangle themselves in his blonde hair, tugging harshly, your orgasm building deep in your belly, “Come on baby, come on my fingers, I wanna feel this pretty pussy come.”

His words send you over the edge and your pussy clenches around his digits as you come, thighs shaking from the intensity as warmth floods through you.

“That was so hot,” Art says, kissing you, still buried to the knuckles inside you, “You’re so hot. Let me fuck you, please.”

You hum against his lips as he carefully removes his fingers from your warmth. He pulls away, bringing his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean. You watch him awestruck as he moans, eyes closing at the taste of you.

“Get inside me,” you tell him, “Right now.”

Art doesn’t need to be told twice, sitting up and pulling his boxers off as you lay on your back. Your eyes drift down his stomach to his cock. It’s pretty, just like the rest of him. Long, girthy, a neat tuft of dark sandy colored hair at the base. The tip flushed red and weeping as he strokes himself. 

“Condom?” you ask, and he nods, walking to his desk and rummaging through the first drawer. 

He comes up successful, ripping the wrapper with his teeth and rolling the condom on his length before crawling on top of you. You spread your legs for him as he lines himself up, rubbing the tip along your soaked slit. 

“Art, please put it in,” you whine, hips lifting.

“Jesus, I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up,” he says, shaking his head.

Your responding giggle is short-lived as he slowly sinks inside of you, filling you to the brim.

“Oh god,” you whimper, as he rests his forehead against yours.

“You okay?”

“More than okay,” you answer, cupping his cheek. He mirrors your action and you smile, a sudden burst of tenderness exploding in your chest, tears welling in your eyes. 

Art rotates his hips, pulling back and sinking back into your inviting warmth. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs, kissing your lips, “I’ve dreamt of this for years.”

“Me too,” you admit, wrapping your legs around his waist, “God, Art, I’ve wanted this forever.”

This spurs him on, his thrusts becoming quicker, more eager at your confession. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you whimper as he pounds into you, “Wanted this for so long—used to talk to….to Tashi about it—”

Art moves his hand along your side, reaching your thigh and hooking your leg over his shoulder.

“What’d you tell her?”

The new angle sends him deeper, the head of his cock rubbing perfectly against that spongy section of your walls that has your mouth dropping open in pleasure.

“Wanted you,” you manage as Art holds one of your hands above your head against the pillows, “Wanted this so bad.”

“I’ll give it to you,” Art says, his breath catching, “Fuck—oh god you’re so pretty like this, fuck.”

“Art!” you cry his name as your second orgasm builds, sneaking up on you as he slows his pace, “Why’d you—”

“Wanna savor this,” he says softly, kissing the tip of your nose. His thrusts have slowed, hips moving with leisure. 

The pressure in your belly continues to build as he smirks down at you. Tennis has done wonders to his stamina; he fucks you like he could keep this pace for hours, barely breaking a sweat. You whine, throwing your head back against the pillows as he kisses your neck, your hamstring burning deliciously with the stretch. 

“Please come for me,” he murmurs, right next to your ear, “I’ve got to feel that sweet little pussy come around my cock, please.”

You do as you’re told, spurred on by Art whispering praises and encouragement in your ear and you fall apart, clenching around his cock and milking him for all he’s worth. You feel his hips stutter, cock twitching inside your warmth as he follows your release with his own. Art’s lips find yours then, and you can taste yourself on his tongue as he kisses you like a drowning man coming up for air. 

You stay like that for several minutes, his cock softening as you kiss one another, before he slowly pulls out. He takes a moment to take off the condom, tying it off and tossing it in the trash before he rejoins you in bed.

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you across his chest. 

You lie with your cheek pressed against his pec, listening to the gentle beating of his heart. He strokes your arm with his fingers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asks, face buried in your hair, “About wanting me? This?”

“Mhmm,” you answer, putting all your cards on the table, “I may have harbored a small crush on you.”

Art picks up your hand measuring it against his own before lacing your fingers together.

“I wish I knew that earlier,” he admits, still holding your hand, “I’ve been in love with you for ages.”

You glance up at him between your lashes and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says with a smile.

“And here I thought Patrick was the only one who owned your heart,” you tease, causing him to playfully bite your wrist, “Hey!”

“Not the only one,” he admits, rolling you over onto your back, “I’m glad you got kicked out of your room last night.”

You lean up, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Me too.”

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[solacestyles]

Platonic Fred and Reader where they make everyone think their dating, but it’s all a joke to them

Hi! I know you said platonic, but this is 100% a friends-to-lovers fake dating trope ❤︎ So it started platonic...

I have no regrets. Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Friend who is a girl

Fred Weasley x fem!reader

8.6k words

cw: fluff, mutual pining, fake dating, Y/N

It wasn’t uncommon to find you doing your homework in the common room. Sure, a lot of people did their homework there, but you had the ability of getting work done while the Weasley twins and Lee planned pranks and fine-tuned products for the Weasleys’ future joke shop. You picked up this skill over the years as the trio of troublemakers decided that you would be their fourth member. Sometimes you think back to the first time they talked to you and wonder if you actually had a choice in joining their group. 

“Oi, what are you doing later?” Fred asks you, leaning over the table you’re sitting at.

“Nothing that I’m aware of,” you answer, not looking up from your book.

“Great! You’ll come watch quidditch practice then.”

You snort a laugh. “And why would I do that?”

“Because Wood’s girlfriend is going to watch and he told us to ask our girlfriends so she wouldn’t be so out of place in the stands.”

“Right… Um, two things. One, don’t you and George have a fan club or something that already goes to your practices? And two, we aren’t dating so I’m not… your girlfriend?” 

“Ah, but you’re my girl… friend. Friend who is a girl. I figure it’s close enough. And there’s no fan club. Good to know you think I’m attractive enough to warrant one though,” he says with a wink.”

You roll your eyes. Yes, Fred was attractive, but he didn’t need you to tell him that. He already had one of the biggest egos. You’re not sure if you could handle him if he was any more cocky. He’s already assuming you’ll drop your plans to do nothing to sit outside and watch him fly around on a broom. 

“Who’s George asking?” 

“Dunno. George!” His voice carries across the common room to where his twin is sitting Lee. 

The two look over at you and Fred. George immediately grins widely. 

“She say yes?” he yelled back.

Fred gives you a look before saying, “Course she did. Who’re you asking again?” 

George gets up and walks over to you and Fred, not wanting to yell across the common room. 

“Beatrice Haywood, Hufflepuff, sixth year, doesn’t give a rat’s ass about quidditch,” George says. “We figured you could explain what’s going on to them.” 

“Because I’m so knowledgeable about quidditch,” you snark.

You do know a fair bit about quidditch. How could you not with Gryffindor’s beaters and the regular match announcer as your closest friends? It was knowledge by association, proximity. Not by choice. 

“More than they do,” Fred says. “You’re coming.” 

You roll your eyes again and return to your book. But when the time came, you were walking down to the pitch with the boys. You sat between Beatrice and Oliver’s girlfriend, Gabrielle. As George predicted, you explained what was going on. More to Gabrielle than Beatrice. Thankfully, Oliver was running the Weasleys’ least favorite drills, meaning they had complained for hours on end about said drills and you actually knew what was going on. One of the more distracting parts of the practice was the group of fangirls who sat in the section behind you. Despite Fred’s denial of their existence, they were most certainly there for the twins and Harry Potter. 

After the practice ended, you waited for the twins outside the locker room with Gabrielle as she waited for Oliver. You made polite conversation with her, asking about how her classes were going and what she was looking to go into after Hogwarts. Just simple questions to ask a seventh year that you didn’t really know. Soon enough, the twins walk out. Fred throws a casual arm over your shoulder, which you immediately duck under.

“Get your sweaty arm off me,” you say mirthfully. Was his sweaty arm gross? Yes, but it wasn’t like you hadn’t hugged the twins when they were sweaty after a match before. 

“Oh, is my sweaty arm okay then?” George asks before putting his arm around your shoulders. 

Fred seizes the opportunity and returns his arm to your shoulders as well. You’re effectively trapped between the two. 

“Ugh, neither of your sweatinesses are appreciated!” you groan, causing both of them to laugh. 

They don’t remove their arms from you until you’re back inside the castle. The walk back to the common room is filled with them complaining about the drills Oliver made them do over and over again. 

“You know, if you did it correctly the first time, he wouldn’t have you do it ten times,” you say. 

“Oi, she thinks it’s easy,” George says.

“I’d love to see you try it.” 

“Ha,” you say dryly. “I will not be getting on that deathstick. No thank you.” 

“I think you need to give it a second chance. Use one of our brooms. It’ll be a step up from the shitty school brooms we used first year,” Fred says. 

“Madam Hooch said she passed me out of pity.”

“Ah, we’ll get you on a broom next time you come round the Burrow,” George says with some finality in his voice.

By then you’ve reached the Fat Lady and Fred gives her the password. You bid the boys good night and head to your dorm with the intent of showering to get their sweaty stench off of you. Alicia and Angelina are already in your dorm and doing homework when you walk in. They give you brief smiles before turning back to their work. Frankly, you’re a bit surprised that they didn’t ask about you being at practice, but you just assume that they are dead set on getting their homework done.

---

It didn’t take long for the first rumors to spread. 

“Oliver’s new girlfriend went to watch the Gryffindors’ practice. She was there, sitting with her. That probably means she’s dating one of them too.”

“I saw Fred Weasley talking to her.”

“I didn’t know they were dating.”

“Must be a new thing.”

You slam your books down on the table at lunch as you wink into your usual spot next to Fred. 

“The whispers, rumors, gossip. It’s driving me crazy, Fred. And it’s all your fault,” you say. 

“My fault?” 

“Insisting I go watch your little practice? Sit next to your captain’s girlfriend? All because being a friend who is a girl is, as you put it, close enough? Now it feels like half the school thinks we’re dating.” 

Fred just shrugs. “Let them. Who cares?”

You did. You care. Not that you’re overly sociable, but you want the freedom to flirt and be flirted with. You’re an honest person and it feels weird to not correct people that you aren’t dating Fred. His not caring attitude just feels off for the situation. But you try to brush it under the rug. You can be nonchalant about it, or at least that’s what you’re going to tell yourself. 

---

“Weasley!” Oliver calls, getting Fred’s attention as the ginger exits his last class of the day.

Fred nods to acknowledge Oliver before heading his way. 

“What’s up, capt?” 

“How would you feel about a double date?”

Fred raises his eyebrows in surprise. “A double date?” 

“Yeah, erm, Gabrielle really liked sitting with Y/N at practice. Was hoping the four of us could do something together. Hogsmeade, next weekend?”

“I’ll talk to Y/N about it…” 

“Brilliant. Gabs will be excited! You better get her to say yes, Weasley,” Oliver says before heading down the corridor. 

Fred runs a hand through his hair, partially worried about what Oliver has just roped him into. You were already feeling iffy about people thinking you two were a couple. But you would say yes, right? 

He heads to Charms, knowing it’s your last class of the day and won’t be too far. You’re chatting with Alicia when he finds you. Alicia excuses herself as soon as she spots Fred heading your way. He has a determined look on his face which she interprets as “incoming prank” and she didn’t want to be involved. 

“Hey, Y/N. How would you fancy going on a double date?”

“Have you suddenly gotten yourself a proper girlfriend? And found me a suitor at the same time?” you report.

“Hmm, well, no. It seems Gabrielle, Wood’s girl, you know,” he starts to say.

“I’m familiar,” you interrupt.

“She’s taken a liking to you. They want a double date. So, clear your schedule for next weekend.”

“So not only does the whole castle think we’re dating, but now we’re going on dates? Despite not dating?” 

“It’s one day, love. An afternoon, really. We’ll go, get drinks and chat and that’ll be all. Easy. No harm, no foul. You get free drinks and I keep my captain happy,” he says, trying to sell you on it. 

You narrow your eyes at Fred. “Fine. But you owe me.”

“Fantastic!” he says with a smile. “You’re the best, you know that/”

“I could stand to hear it more.”

“If you think about it, you’ll probably be hearing it all Saturday.”

“I will?”

“I mean, we’re leaning into this dating thing. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t remind you how great you are?”

You roll your eyes. “Probably a shite one. But still, you could remind me, as a friend, being that I do most of your Arithmancy homework.”

“I provide you with plenty of entertainment as compensation!”

“Entertainment you would provide either way.”

“How ‘bout this: I’ll buy you some chocolate frogs while we’re in Hogsmeade.”

You cross your arms with a satisfied look on your face. “Finally, proper payment.”

---

The walk to Hogsmeade on Saturday with Fred doesn’t feel like a date. It is just two close friends going to the wizarding village. Then you meet up with Oliver and Gabrille, who are holding hands and look very couple-y. It suddenly feels like you’re third wheeling, and Fred is also third wheeling, but that’s two third wheels and that’s not how things work. Gabrielle is nice and so is Oliver, but you still feel weird being here under the guise of having a relationship with Fred. 

You and Fred both cringe as the other two lead you toward Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. It isn’t somewhere either of you would be caught dead in any other situation. You grab Fred’s arm as Oliver and Gabrielle enter without any qualms.

“You seriously owe me, Weasley,” you hiss before shoving him toward the door. 

The shop is far too warm, too cramped and too frilly for your liking. Oliver and Gabrielle appear to have no issues with practically sitting in each other’s laps, electing to focus on each other rather than the steaming cups of tea in front of them. You sit as close as you can to the fogged-up windows. Any extra space between you and Fred would be appreciated, but despite your best efforts, his knee bumps into yours every few seconds as you both shift uncomfortably. 

Everywhere you look inside the small shop, there are couples being overly affectionate. And that’s including across the table. That leaves you with two places to look: at Fred, who you’re afraid that if you look at him for too long, he might try something to further your dating ruse, or at your tea. You stare at your cup with its swirling steam. You assume it’s an enchanted brew, given the way the steam curls into hearts. 

“Tea really that interesting?” Fred asks you in a low voice, almost as if to not bring attention to you despite there being no way that Oliver or Gabrielle are looking away from each other any time soon. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever had enchanted tea, you know? Do you think it tastes funny? Or will it make this shop any less nauseating?” you reply, voice just as low. 

“Yeah, not my first choice either. I’m guessing her choice.”

You look at Fred to ensure that he sees you rolling your eyes. 

“Maybe he secretly loves lacy table runners. Have you considered that?”

“My boy loves one thing, Y/N. And it’s quidditch.”

“If he keeps at this like he is now, he’ll have two loves soon enough.”

“Then we’ll never win the Cup!” 

“Oh no,” you say in mock horror. “What ever will we do?” 

“What if I told you it was the same as suggesting you’ll never get an O in Transfiguration?”

You gasp loudly. “No! Take that back!” 

“And now you see how dire the situation is.”

“No, that’s not fair. I actually need to do well in that class for my career. The Quidditch Cup is just bragging rights.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Tell me, Fred. How is winning the Cup going to help you with your joke shop?” 

“Uh… Teamwork?” 

You laugh. “I think losing would teach you better teamwork. And a bit of resilience.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Fred mutters while shaking his head.

“What? That joke product industry might be more cut-throat than you’re prepared for?”

“That you think we aren’t resilient!”

You scoff. “I know you are resilient. And there’s no one you work better with than George. You’ve already got those skills. Winning the Cup isn’t going to change that.”

“You’re ridiculous…”

“I have to agree with you on that.” 

About half an hour passes with you and Fed chatting like that while you periodically take sips of your tea. The tea doesn’t make sitting in the shop any easier as you had hoped. It’s the chatting with Fred that distracts you from the fact that Oliver and Gabrielle are essentially snogging across the table from you. When you finish your tea, you set your cup on its saucer with a sharp clink. That gets their attention.

“You ready to head out?” Fred asks them as they sheepishly separate. 

Their tea is completely untouched, yet they nod and get up. As the four of you walk around Hogsmeade, you plaster yourself to Fred’s side. Normally, you wouldn’t stand this close for so long. And normally, you wouldn’t entertain the way his hand continuously bumps into yours until he just grabs it. But you’re spending the afternoon with two people you don’t know all that well and the familiarity of Fred is necessary to get through the day. 

Fred and Oliver exchange excited looks as you come up on Spintwitches Sporting Needs.

“Do you ladies mind if we nip in for a look around?” Oliver asks.

You drop Fred’s hand and cross your arms.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll wait out here,” you say. 

“Me too” Gabrielle adds and the boys disappear into the shop with a tinkle of the door’s bell. “You and Fred are real cute together.”

“Thank you,” you choke out, certain it sounds like you’re being strangled. You, Fred and cute weren’t in a genuine statement often. 

“No, really, I mean it. You really work together.”

You shrug. “Probably because he’s my best friend.”

That makes her smile. And it’s the truth. Out of everyone at Hogwarts, you are closest with Fred, which is probably why you agreed to this charade. 

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Gabrielle coos. “Your person should be your best friend. Oliver and I, well, we just started dating so I can’t say he’s my best friend just yet, but I think we’ll get there.”

You mentally will the boys to hurry up. Talking with Gabrielle isn’t bad. It’s the talking about your relationship with Fred. What you have with him is platonic and you really don’t want to think about “how good you work together” romantically. If you entertained that idea, being in a real romantic relationship with Fred, the consequences are all that you can think about. What would happen to your friend group? What if you broke up and it was messy? What would happen to your friends then? Nope. Fred is your best friend and that’s all he will be. 

You carefully direct the conversation to focus mainly on Gabrielle and her relationship with Oliver. You’re able to get by with not saying much about you and Fred. You try to not sigh a breath of relief when the boys walk out of the shop. 

Your next stop is Honeydukes. On the walk over, you grab Fred’s hand and give it a squeeze. Fred looks down at you with a soft look on his face, but you don’t see it. You’re too focused on getting to the sweets shop to get your promised chocolate frogs. Once inside, you’re practically dragging Fred from stand to stand. This is something he’s used to. The amount of time the twins and Lee can spend in Zonko’s is the only rival to the amount of time you’ll take to decide which sweets and how many of each you want. The amounts you spend respectively are also similar. 

After Honeydukes, Oliver and Gabrielle say they’re ready to head back, but you look at Fred and ask if he’d want to get butterbeers first. He nods and that’s where the double date ends. Despite no longer having to put on a show for Oliver and Gabrielle, you don’t let go of Fred’s hand until you’re sitting in the booth across from him. 

“Sorry, but I need something to get that tea’s flavor out of my mouth,” you say, reaching to grab a chocolate frog already.

“Oi, make sure some of those make it back to the castle!”

“I’m having one, Fred. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” 

“And you’re thinking about my knickers? Disgusting.” 

You slap his hand that’s resting on the table and he gives you his trademark teasing grin. 

“Oh! You want to know something funny?” 

Fred gives you a look that says, ‘Really? Do you know who you’re talking to?’

“Right, of course you do,” you say flatly before continuing with more in your voice. “Gabrielle says we really work together. She called us cute.” 

Fred tilts his head in confusion. “And why is this funny?” 

“Because we’re not actually dating? It’s like, wow, shocker, two friends get along, totally weird, right?” 

“Ah.” 

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, Fred. Just amusing to me how easily we pull off the couple look. That’s all.” 

“You’re the one who’s all worried about the castle assuming we’re dating.”

“And you’re the one adding fuel to their fire!” you exclaim before placing your head in your hands. “Oh my Merlin. I think we already bicker like a couple and this isn’t even us getting into it. Remember when you wanted to paint the Transfiguration room red and gold after you got an O on your essay?”

Fred laughs. “You wouldn’t talk to me for a week, even after I told you we weren’t going to do it.”

“It was the principle! I stand by what I did.” 

“Fucking spoke through Lee the entire time too. I think it would’ve been easier if you avoided me for the week rather than that.”

“Why?” you ask through a laugh.

“If you avoided me, you’d be avoiding George and Lee too. It wouldn’t’ve felt like it was just me, you know? But you spoke through Lee. You talked to George. It was so clearly me.” 

“Your dumb idea, your dumb punishment.” 

“So, when you say I really owe you for today…”

“It’s your price to pay. Not George’s and certainly not Lee’s.”

“Right. I figured as much.” 

After you finish your butterbeers, you walk back to the castle. You don’t think about why Fred puts his arm around your shoulders as you walk. It makes you feel a smidge warmer, which is nice since the sun’s gone down. Tired from socializing all day, you head straight to your dorm once you get back to the Gryffindor Common Room. 

You’re tired, but there’s assigned reading to get done so you recline on your bed with your Transfiguration book in front of you. You read about half the chapter when the door opens. Alicia, Angelina and Katie all come in. Katie’s got her school supplies with her so you assume it’s their Chaser Study TIme. 

“So…. Y/N, when were you going to tell us about you ‘n’ Fred?” Angelina asks as she gets her own homework out. 

“Yeah, since when did you start dating?” Alicia adds. 

“Don’t… know…” you say slowly, trying not to lose your spot. “Ask Fred.” 

You had been able to handle Gabrielle outside of the quidditch shop. You barely knew her and could parry her questions easily. These girls? After Fred, George and Lee, they are your next closest friends. You could talk about more girlier topics with them, stuff that you wouldn’t dream of talking about with the boys. 

“Seriously cute together, you know,” Alicia says. 

There’s that word again: cute.

Then she continues, “I knew you’d get with one of the twins. No way you’re that close for so long without doing one of them.”

Katie throws a pillow at her. “Don’t be so crude!”

“I’m just saying! They are fit!” She pointed at Angelina. “And it’s not just them! You remember their older brother – Charlie! Some of them Weasley genes are something else.”

Angelina snorts a laugh. “Some.”

“No, she has a point,” you say, closing your book. You know you’re not going to be able to read any more with these three in the room. “Fred, George, Charlie, dare I say Ron, they all have something that Percy seriously lacks.” 

The rest of the girls start giggling. 

“Looks, personality, charm. You name it!” Katie exclaims. 

After a few more jabs at Percy’s lack of charisma, Angelina turns to you again.

“But really, Y/N, we didn’t even know you had a crush on him. How did it happen?” 

“I… I guess I didn’t know I had a crush on him,” you say. You needed something believable. “He’s just always been my best friend. We’ve been close since first year and it… sorta just happened?” 

“Is he a good kisser?” Katie asks, leaning forward with curiosity.

You turn bright red and look away from the girls. “We, um, we haven’t kissed.”

The room is filled with a mix of gasps and shrieks.

“What do you mean you haven’t kissed?”

“Is that not how you became ‘more than friends’?” 

“I don’t believe you!” 

Their reactions are too much for you. You get off your bed and head for the door.

“I’ll be, uh, back…” you say hurriedly. 

Once the door is closed behind you, you take a deep breath. So you haven’t kissed Fred. You aren’t actually dating. You didn’t need to kiss him. Part of you, however, is wondering if maybe you should’ve lied to the girls, just said that he is a good kisser. Another part of you is wondering what he’s told his friends, what he’s told George and Lee because surely they’ve heard the rumors and knew that you were going on a double date today. Maybe they knew it was all fake – that would make you feel better if they did. 

The common room is empty. You relish the quiet atmosphere as you take a seat in front of the couch on the floor in front of the fireplace. It isn’t too big or providing much warmth, dwindling down to just embers. But it’s something to look at as you think. 

‘Let them,’ Fred had said. ‘We’re leaning into this dating thing.’ 

Right, ignore what people think. It’s your friendship with Fred. That shouldn’t be a spectacle for the whole castle. Even if it seems like Fred likes being the center of gossip.  

---

You’re not sure what possesses you on Monday, but when the twins and the rest of the quidditch team start to head to the pitch, you’re right along with them. Once Fred gets over the momentary shock of seeing you walking with them, he slings his arm around your shoulder like it was something he did every day. After having his arm around you on Saturday, it doesn’t feel so foreign. His arm stays around you until you reach the locker rooms at the pitch. 

“I’ll see you after practice,” you say, turning toward the stand.

Fred watches you until you disappear up the stairs. George and Harry had gone into the locker room without him. George gives Fred a curious look when he does join them, to which Fred just shakes his head in response. If George wanted to ask him about you, it could wait until after practice. 

You take a seat next to Gabrielle, where you had sat at the previous practice. Only this time, it’s just the two of you, no Beatrice. Even with Oliver as her boyfriend, you are still explaining most of the practice to her. You think it’s a fair assumption that she likes you because you explain quidditch in simple terms, leaving out the effects of tailwind on velocity and how much the quaffle should spin if you’re doing a drop pass. 

Your presence next to Grabrielle at practices quickly became commonplace. You both skipped out on Wednesday’s morning practice, but you were back for Thursday and Friday’s practices. Those next two practices, you walked down with Fred’s arm around you. If the rest of the team didn’t believe the dating rumors before, they certainly did now. 

After Friday’s practice, you work on your homework in the common room. There’s a match tomorrow against Hufflepuff and everyone’s been talking about how it’ll be an easy win. That means you need to get your homework done ahead of time because while you can work through your friends’ prank planning, you can’t work through a party. Lee’s sitting next to you as you work. He has his Potions essay in front of him, but with the way his head is propped up on his hand, it’s clear that he’s not working. 

George is the next to join you. Freshly showered and his own essay for Snape in hand, he plops down in the seat next to Lee, leaving one more spot at the table to your right. For Fred, you thought. But Fred doesn’t come down anytime soon after George. You hate that you’re distracted by waiting for him to appear. Instead of working on your Transfiguration assignment, your eyes keep drifting to the boys’ staircase. 

“Snape wants… how many inches again?” George groans, letting the top half of his parchment curl over itself. 

“Two feet,” Lee says. He had managed to get a little bit done with George working on the same assignment. “I’m like six inches short.”

“Ditto… Swap?” 

“Swap.”

You roll your eyes as the boys lean closer together to read each other’s essay in hopes the other has information they can use to fill the last bits of space on their parchment. You’re not judging them. You’ve done the same thing with them before. That’s why you know that it’s more beneficial for them to swap with you than each other. The three boys’ essays always read fairly similar while yours have different points. 

You’re working slower than molasses, trying to finish this one assignment before you give up. Your endless peaks toward the stairs aren’t helping. 

Then he appears. His hair is dryer than when George came down, so you can assume that he hung around his dorm for a while before deciding to grace the common room with his presence. Only when he walks toward your table, you notice that he’s not carrying homework. He’s carrying a red fabric. He sets it in front of you before taking the open seat next to you.

“What’s this?” you ask, picking it up and letting it unfurl.

It was a quidditch jersey. With Weasley and 2 across the back. 

“Girlfriends wear their boyfriend’s jersey to matches,” he says nonchalantly with a smirk. 

You lean closer to him and whisper, “Are we still doing this?”

His smirk turns into a mischievous grin. “Might as well. It’s fun, isn’t it?”

“Don’t push your luck, Weasley,” you snap, sitting up straighter. 

You quickly gather your things, including the crimson jersey, and head to your dorm. It is fun being with Fred, even if it’s just pretend. Because, well, it’s Fred. Fun is practically synonymous with him. 

That doesn’t mean that you don’t feel odd as you stare at your reflection in the morning, wearing Fred’s extra jersey and jeans. You look positively like a girlfriend. You think about everyone who’s called you and Fred cute. Do you look like his girlfriend? You turn around and then look over your shoulder to see the letters spelling his last name sprawling across your back. 

It’s a shame that your roommates are all on the team and had to be at the field early. There’s no one to tell you that you look okay, that it’s normal for a girlfriend, albeit fake, to wear her boyfriend’s jersey. That it was cute that he gave it to you without you asking. There’s no one here to pull you out of your dorm. You have to go on your own accord. Which you do. Eventually. After talking yourself up in the mirror for a few more minutes. 

The all-consuming out-of-place feeling you have remains as you make your way to the pitch. You can feel eyes on you, on the jersey, reading your back as you pass by. 

W-E-A-S-L-E-Y

You’re branded as his. And you find that you don’t think you would mind it if it wasn’t fake. 

The eyes remain as you find a spot in the stands. You swear you see Ron and Hermione whispering to each other when you pass them. You wonder what Ron thinks about seeing his last name across your back. Why did you care what he thought? 

Then Gabrielle finds you. You feel the weight of feeling out of place lift off of you. She’s wearing Oliver’s jersey. Even if they are a real couple, it’s nice to not be the only one in someone’s jersey. And then you realize why Fred gave you his jersey – Oliver must have mentioned that he was giving his to Gabrielle to wear. First it was practices, then the double date, and now game days. This was for Oliver and Gabrielle. 

Even if that is what this is, you can’t deny the look on Fred’s face when he spots you. You swore you saw him scanning the crowd, looking for you. And when he finds you, he gets the brightest smile you’ve seen from him in a while. Then there’s a yell from Oliver to get into position and Fred’s game face takes over. 

Fred plays better than you’ve ever seen. He’s everywhere and all of his hits are going exactly where he wants them to. And he still has the time to look your way. Sure, he’s looked your way during a match before, but this felt different. You know it’s because he’s pretending to be your boyfriend. The looks aren’t as platonic, if that’s possible. It’s strange that he can make miniscule changes in his expression to convey a deeper meaning that you understand from across the pitch. 

Just as predicted, Hufflepuff doesn’t stand a chance. The score is heavily in Gryffindor’s favor when Harry catches the snitch. You join the rest of the Gryffindors in storming the pitch to congratulate the team. You feel yourself being shoved toward Fred, who picks you up in a bone-crushing hug to spin you around. You let out a giddy laugh that Fred mirrors. Like usual at this point, when he sets you back down, his arm is left slung over your shoulder and your arm is loosely around his waist. Once again, you feel that if anyone was still doubting the status of your relationship with Fred, they wouldn’t now. 

You remain at Fred’s side as he talks with everyone congratulating him on the win. He’s basking in the attention and you can’t help but smile up at him. It’s nice to see your best friend so happy. You miss the knowing look that George gives Fred after seeing you like that. 

Under Fred’s arm you stay until the pitch empties out and the team starts disappearing into the locker room to put away their things before returning to the common room. 

“I’ll see you up there, love,” Fred says softly as he lets go of you.

You smile and wave to him. Just like that Monday practice, Fred watches you walk away until you’re out of sight before going into the locker room. He smiles to himself. He doesn’t even care that George sees him looking like a fool. 

You’ve chosen one of the arm chairs by the fire to sit in while you wait for the team. Can’t really have a party to celebrate their win without them. You’re just observing the other Gryffindors when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“You must be good for him,” Percy says. “Never seen Fred play that well.”

You’re not sure if Percy’s ever actually spoken to you before, besides the occasional side note of telling you to try to keep your friends out of trouble. Like you could control them. 

“Thank you?” you say, it sounding more like a question than anything. 

He nods and walks away. Okay, weird encounter. You shake your head and turn to people-watching. 

A roar of cheers announces the team’s arrival with Oliver and Harry leading the bunch. Anyone who hadn’t gotten the chance to congratulate them on the pitch is crowding them now, clapping hands on their shoulders and backs. Somehow, through the masses, Fred spots you and makes his way toward your chair. You suddenly realize that you haven’t congratulated him yet. 

“You played really well,” you say, grinning up at him.

“I know,” he replies casually, sitting down on the couch right next to you. “Come ‘ere. Let George or Lee sit there.”

You roll your eyes but get up anyway. He grabs your waist and pulls you into his lap. You hadn’t realized that’s what he meant by “Come here.” His lap. You’d sat next to Fred during post-quidditch parties before, but never in his lap. This is new territory that you’re unable to leave because Fred’s got his arm anchored around your waist. 

When George and Lee make their way to the armchair and couch, they are both carrying two drinks. Lee hands one to you and George hands the other to Fred. 

“Thank you very much,” Fred says, enunciating each word. 

“So, Y/N, what have you been doing to him?” Lee asks.

You give him a pointed yet confused look.

“Fred’s accuracy has never been that good.”

You lean forward as much as you can with Fred’s arm holding you in place. 

“What if I told you I tampered with the bludgers?”

“Only to respond to Fred’s bat then? Georgie’s aim could’ve been better.”

“Oi!” George exclaims, looking insulted.

“He’s not wrong,” Fred says with a laugh. 

That was the joke that kept coming back for the rest of the day as your quartet lounged around. The rest of the common room was filled with louder conversation and music. Drinks were passed around and refilled. Someone at some point went to get snacks for everyone. It wasn’t the wildest party Gryffindor’s thrown but it was good. It felt nice to just sit and be held by Fred. 

And then an up-beat, high-tempo song comes. It gets the attention of several people and suddenly, the area behind the couch is filled with people dancing. 

You lean backwards to whisper into Fred’s ear, “Care to dance?” 

He nods and loosens his grip on your waist, allowing you to get up. You grab his head and lead him to where the dancing is happening. You don’t think about what you’re doing. All you know is that the music is very danceable. It’s easy to match the energy of the people around you. And it’s even easier when Fred’s hands find your hips to hold your body closer to his, moving in sync. 

For half a second, you want to take a step backwards and say, ‘Leave room for Merlin’ with a laugh. But you remember that you’re still leaning into the dating rumors. You let Fred continue to move your body, even if it made your heart pound in a way you didn’t want to think about. Song after song, you’re up against Fred. You’ve never been this close to him, never been able to feel his body, his muscles like this, never been able to smell his cologne this strongly. (Why they showered in the locker rooms after games and not practices is lost on you.)

Eventually, you tire and drag Fred back to the couch. Lee and George have disappeared elsewhere so it’s just you and him. And a few other Gryffindors but you weren’t talking to them. He sits down first and pulls you back into his lap, resuming how you were before you got up to dance. 

“You’re still in my jersey,” Fred mutters as his fingers play with the hem of it.

“I didn’t know if I should’ve changed after the game.”

“You decided correctly.”

“Gabrielle still wearing Oliver’s?”

“I’d assume so… Although I haven’t seen them in a while so she might not be anymore…” His voice trails off as he waggles his eyes.

“Oh my Godric! You did not need to go there!” 

He laughs. “But you know it’s true.”

“And you know I didn’t need to think about Oliver naked.” 

“Are you thinking about…” A mischievous glint sparkles in Fred’s eyes. “Wood’s wood?”

You slap his shoulder, which only makes him laugh louder. 

“You are disgusting, Fred Weasley.” 

“Maybe I just wanted to see you blush,” he says teasingly. 

It’s then that you realize his comment did make you blush. You hide your face in his shoulder. The arm that’s wrapped around you gives you a little squeeze. 

“Ah, come on, love. I’m just teasin’. You know that.” 

“I do,” you mumble into his shoulder. “I just don’t talk about people’s… wood with you guys.” 

Now Fred’s desperately trying to get your face out of his shoulder, moving it backwards and using his other hand to create space between your cheek and his shoulder.

“Are you saying you discuss that with not guys?” he asks with a cheeky grin. 

Your blush deepens to match the jersey you’re wearing. 

“Oh my Merlin, you do!” 

You groan loudly and attempt to hide your face again, but Fred doesn’t let you.

“Tell me, does mine come up?” 

Despite his grip on you, you rip yourself off of his lap. You did not need to tell Fred that, yes, you and your roommates had discussed what you thought each guy in your year was packing. Those were conversations that are better left in the confines of your dorm. You decide that that’s enough for the night. You’ve danced, drank and chatted. You can go to bed without anyone calling you a party pooper. 

But then Fred’s arm is around your waist again and he’s directing you to the boys’ stairs rather than the girls’.

“Weasley,” you warn quietly. 

A quick glance over your shoulder has you seeing George, Lee and their other roommate, Kenneth. Still, Fred continues to push you up the stairs and into their dorm. Your mind is spinning. What was he expecting?

He closes the door behind you and then lays down on his bed. His eyes flutter closed. You stand by the door, unmoving for a minute.

“You going to stand there all night?” he asks, not opening his eyes. 

“I… I hope you’re not… ah, expecting anything?” 

He pats the area on his bed next to him. You reluctantly sit on the edge of the bed near where he patted. You’re sitting too far away for Fred’s liking. You’d laid on his bed before. It was always his bed you laid on when the four of you hung out in their dorm. Kenneth was often banished the moment you showed up. 

“Y/N, I’m going to jump or anything,” Fred says, peeking through his eyelids to see you sitting just within arms reach. “If that’s what you’re thinking… Because of what I said downstairs…”

“Yeah…” you murmur.

Then you move more onto his bed and recline slowly. You’re both laying on your backs, shoulder to shoulder. Fred’s got his hands behind his head and you’re hugging yourself. 

After a few minutes of silence, you ask, “So why couldn’t I go to my dorm?” 

“Wasn’t done hanging out with you.” 

You snort a laugh. “Right.”

“I made a dumb comment, yeah? And then you go hide away for the rest of the night? Nah.”

“Nah,” you echo softly. “So you figure that you’ll drag me up here to what?” 

He hums. “This.”

“Stare at your canopy?”

“I guess.” He pauses before adding, “Anything really. ‘S my job to keep you from hiding in your dorm all night.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable time to go to bed!” 

“You’d be doing homework! Reading your Transfiguration book or something.”

“And this is so much better?” 

“Yes.” 

Silence falls between you again, but it isn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Thank goodness Fred’s your best friend or you’re certain it would be uncomfortable to lay next to him like this. There’s a question that you keep turning over in your mind that you can’t bring yourself to ask. You want to know how long Fred plans on pretending to be your boyfriend. Should you be pretend-breaking it off soon so that your friend group can stay intact without being weird? Do George and Lee know it’s fake? Lee didn’t appear to know it was, but maybe he was acting earlier. But as you lay next to Fred, now doesn’t feel like the right time to ask him. 

When his breathing evens out to shallow breaths, you look over at him. He is most definitely sleeping. You smile at his peaceful form. Then you get up and quietly leave his dorm. You’re not sure what time it is, but you’re trying to be sneaky. You are leaving the boys’ dorms after a party and that could start some more rumors if you aren’t careful. You think you’ve successfully switched from the boys’ stairs to the girls’ when a hand grabs your bicep. 

“Y/N.” 

George. 

You turn and give him a polite smile. 

“Um, you know you could’ve spent the night,” he says rather sheepishly. “Me and Lee, we don’t mind. And Towler can deal.” 

So maybe George doesn’t know it was fake. 

“Thanks, George, but I think it’s too soon to be spending the night,” you say. 

He nods and lets go of your arm, like he didn’t realize he was still holding onto it. You head up the rest of the stairs. Maybe you should ask Fred at some point what he did tell George and Lee about this faux relationship. 

---

You never can ask him. You can’t bring yourself to ask Fred when this is going to end, how it’s going to end and what did he tell your friends. The moment never feels right. 

It doesn’t help that pretending to be Fred’s girlfriend gets easier with each passing day. It’s just like being best friends, but on overdrive. There are also more times when Fred leaves George and Lee behind to find you, to hang out with you. He’s even gone to the library to study with you when you needed extra books for an assignment. 

The one thing that might have had people second guessing your relationship was a lack of public kissing. There was the occasional kiss pressed to your hairline or your forehead or your cheek, but that was it. The top of the head kisses weren’t new. Fred and George had given you those over the years as you helped with pranks or various homework assignments. But the first time Fred kissed your cheek, it left you more flustered than you would ever admit. It was the most genuine affection you had ever received from a boy. It wasn’t followed by an off-hand ‘you’re the best.’ No. The kiss had been placed on your cheek right before Fred left breakfast early, having forgotten his homework in his dorm. It was a goodbye kiss that you hadn’t been expecting. A goodbye kiss that had you hiding behind your mug for the rest of breakfast, willing your blush to disappear. 

You went to Hogsmeade with Fred, George and Lee. They went into Zonko’s, leaving you to either follow them around for at least an hour in that shop or go off on your own for a bit. You chose the latter, not caring to look over the same products that they would spend another hour in their dorm later showing you. You wander around for a little bit before going into Spintwitches. You’re not exactly sure why, but you were drawn inside. You look around, thinking about how Fred really had been performing better this term.

You stop in front of the beater section of the store. In the middle of the display is a new bat that you’ve heard Fred talk about for months. He even wrote about it in his letters to you over the summer. Something about it having better grip and a special weight distribution to help with aim. You’re not really sure what made it all that special, but you’re sure that Fred wants it. You barely glance at the cost before telling the shopkeep that you’d like to buy it. 

You claim a booth in the Three Broomsticks and wait for the boys. Meeting them there after their Zonko’s visit was the usual plan and sure enough, after fifteen minutes or so, they appear. 

“Got you somethin’,” you say casually as Fred slides onto the bench next to you. 

His eyes go wide as you place the box in front of him. George has an identical look on his face, staring at the box.

“Y/N… you shouldn’t have…” 

“You’ve been eyeing it for months. Plus, isn’t this what girlfriends do? Spoil our boyfriends?” you say with a teasing lilt. 

Fred pulls you into a tight hug and whispers, “Leaning into it now, are you?”

“Mhmm,” you hum. “Now, you really owe me.”

Fred chuckles as he pulls back.

“No, really, Y/N, thank you.” 

“Wait, where’s mine?” George asks. “I want a new bat!”

“Get a girlfriend, then mate,” Lee laughs.

For the rest of the time that you’re in Hogsmeade, Fred keeps stealing glances at you. You don’t notice, nor do you notice the way that when he does look at you, it’s with the softest look, full of adoration. 

In your head, you know that Fred doesn’t owe you. If he was your real boyfriend, you would’ve bought the bat for him without a second thought. You would’ve suffered through as many Madam Puddifoot’s dates with Oliver and Gabrielle as he needed you to. You would spend the night in his dorm, rather than leave when he falls asleep. You would do anything for him. 

---

It’s about halfway through December when something changes. 

“Y/N!” Fred calls from across the corridor. He didn’t have a class last period and it looks like he’s been waiting for you. He jogs up to you. “Mum wants to know when you’ll be joining us at the Burrow.”

You look taken aback. You shake your head briefly to shake the confused look from your features.

“I didn’t know I was coming to the Burrow?”

“You’re my girlfriend. Of course you’re coming to the Burrow,” he says like it’s common knowledge. 

You grab his arm and pull into the nearest alcove, away from the students now filling the corridor. 

“Fake girlfriend. I didn’t know that this extended past the wall of Hogwarts?” 

Fred runs an anxious hand through his hair. “Well, I mean, Ginny’s written to Mum about you. I think Perc has mentioned you too.. You have to come. I think Mum would murder me if I broke up with you right before Christmas.” 

“Merlin, Fred!” you sigh exasperated, throwing your head back and reaching to run a hand through your own hair. 

“Did it get a bit out of hand? Yes. But… I mean… I’m not complaining.”

“You got a happy captain and a new bat. You have no reason to complain.” 

He huffs a laugh. “I have one reason to complain.”

“Really?” you say disbelievingly. 

You cross your arms and give Fred an expectant look.

“Yes, a happy captain is good and the new bat was a widely unexpected plus. But spending time with you and seeing you in my jersey? Fuck Y/N…” He paused momentarily, giving you the brief impression that spending time with you was his complaint. “My complaint is that you keep saying this is fake.” 

Your expression immediately scrunches into something resembling confusion. 

“Because it is? You said I’m your friend who is a girl. You called this fun.” You try to take in Fred’s unreadable expression. “Isn’t that all it’s been? Just fun to mess with people for believing a rumor? And to make Oliver happy?”

“That’s… That’s certainly how it started.”

A beat passes.

“And now?” you ask. 

“I don’t think I can go back to being just friends.”

Oh. 

“This… more than friends… I want it. I want it with you.”

Oh.

He stares into your eyes for a few seconds, searching for something, some kind of reaction beyond shock. Then he leans in quickly. The kiss is soft, gentle and barely there. But it happened. His lips touched yours and now you’re breathless. 

He takes a step back and presses his lips together for a moment. He’s still watching you. 

“Y/N… please say something,” he whispers.

Right, words. You need to say those. You open your mouth but all that comes out is a squeak. 

“Is… Is that a good noise? Bad noise? Should I be running? Groveling? Going to tell George and Lee I just ruined our group?”

“Burrow,” you manage to say.

You want to disappear on the spot. That’s the word you went with? Your brain must’ve short circuited because that didn’t answer a single one of Fred’s flurry of questions. Except he seems to understand what you meant as he sighs with a small smile playing at his lips. 

“Mum’s not expecting you to stay for the whole time. Honestly, I think she’d love to have you for one day. I’d like to have you there for a few days, but I know I kinda sprung this on you and you probably already have plans with your family.”

You nod. You don’t trust yourself to speak just yet. Not when your last attempt ended up with you saying ‘Burrow.’ Fred watches intently as you walk deeper into the alcove and sit down beneath the window. He cautiously sits next to you, unsure of what else to do. 

“How long?” you ask quietly.

“As long as you want to stay. Mum loves hosting people.”

You shake your head and take a deep breath.

“When did it stop being fake for you?” you ask, clarifying your previous question.

“Oh…” he says with a sharp breath. “When you started regularly coming to practice. 

That wasn’t long after this whole thing started, you realize. It was before he even gave you his jersey. Before you randomly gifted him a new beater’s bat. So this whole semester that you’ve been having to remind yourself that it’s fake, he’s been having to do the same thing?

“Love, can you say something?” he asks, his voice shaky and unsure. “Where do we stand?” 

“I… I kept saying it was fake to remind myself that it was, that we were doing this for fun.”

Fred waits a moment for you to say more, but when you don’t, he asks again, “So where do we stand?”

“You don’t need to tell George and Lee that you ruined the friend group. As long as you don’t break my heart.” 

tags: @navs-bhat

[solacestyles]

‘tis the damn season

in which: Oscar’s ex calls him up one afternoon, proposing that they fake their relationship for a week at her parent’s house.

pairing: Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

warnings: loosely based on the TS song, use of y/n (once or twice), Oscar is hella whipped, cursing, idk I think that’s all.

wc: 7.3k

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ * ‧₊˚ ‧

Your thumb hovered over the call button, mentally preparing for the awkward conversation that was about to take place. Your chest rose and fell in deep motions.

Before you could psych yourself out, your finger mashed the call button.

“Oh my god, please don’t pick up. Please don’t pick up. Please don’t pick up. Please don’t p-“ he answered after the second ring. “Hey!” Your voice shook, an embarrassing amount of vulnerability.

“Y/n? Has something happened? You sound… on edge.”

You pulled at the strings of the blanket draped across your lap. “Well, I have a very big favor to ask of you, and of course you can say no. I mean it’s a huge favor—really weird actually,” you laughed awkwardly.

“It can’t be that bad.”

It was tough to swallow the lump in your throat. “My whole family want to spend next week at our cabin, and I…” it was suddenly hard for you to breathe, your heart ten pounds heavier. Oscar remained silent. “Well,” you sighed, “would you be able to come along?”

The silence on the other end was deafening. Not even distant breath. The static filtering through the speakers inflated your anxiety with every passing second.

“Okay.” He gave in with a breath. “Just text me the details.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

SUNDAY

Living out in Nice, the drive to his Monaco apartment wasn’t unbearably far. You stepped out of the car to help him put his bags in your trunk. You’d decided to take your car because, changes are, it would do better in the mountains than his McLaren.

When you rounded to the back of the car, the trunk was already closed, and soon the sound of your driver’s door shutting reached your ears.

You found Oscar occupying the driver’s seat. “What are you doing?” You raised a brow. Oscar smiled innocently. “have you ever driven when we are together?” It was a question not meant to be answered. You didn’t fight him, knowing it was a losing game. You just rolled your eyes and took up your place in the passenger’s seat.

You and Oscar traveled in near silence, only your music filling the empty air. The atmosphere was light, rid of all the awkwardness you assumed would hang around the both of you. Maybe Oscar was just easy company to keep.

You allowed your thoughts to travel far away from you, to the past to be exact.

You and Oscar didn’t end things messy. Not at all. It was a mutual agreement. In your year and a half together, you didn’t have many spats. Every day spent with together was brimming with endless devotion.

The problem arose when your schedules began to conflict.

With dreams of being a mechanical engineer, a lot of your time was spent on your studies. Oscar knew how dedicated you were, and therefore never pushed you to travel with him. But only seeing him for a few weeks of the year—less than half of them—began to strain your relationship. Mentally, it was draining the both of you.

So to focus on your studies, and for Oscar to focus on his career, you decided to part ways.

That was two months ago, and you’d been no contact ever since. Well, until you asked him to come with you to your parent’s cabin.

You felt a poke on your shoulder, followed by a “hey” and a laugh. You tore your eyes from the window, peering at Oscar with raised brows. “Where’re you at?” He grinned at you, taking glances out of the corner of his eye.

“Hm? Oh. Just thinking.” You shook your head, watching as the buildings transitioned into dead trees as you left Monaco’s limits.

He hummed a response, leaving a gap of silence before asking, “so, why did you want me to come along?”

You sighed, your hands falling to your lap. “You know how they are. They think I can’t keep a guy, and… I don’t know, I was hoping if they’d see you and think you’re still with me then their image of me would change.”

Oscar frowned. Reflexes guiding his movements, he reached out to you, having every intention to place a hand on your thigh or over your own hand. He caught himself before it got that far, placing his hand on the center console instead. The role of comforting you was no longer his part to play.

“It’s stupid, I’m sorry. We should turn around I’ll just-“

“It’s not stupid.” He cut you off. “I think it sucks, and I’ll help you the best I can.” He assured, giving you a soft smile, one you returned. “Thanks, Os.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

You and Oscar were the last to arrive at the cabin on Sunday night.

He followed in behind you. His eyes widened when he saw the whole family in the living room. Your parents, two sisters, your two aunts on your moms side, and your four cousins. Not to mention all of their significant others and your niece and nephew. In all, it was about sixteen people.

He leaned in close to your ear, whispering, “I didn’t realize you meant the whole family.” You shivered as his warm breath hit your skin. Goosebumps spread across your entire body. “It’s as much as a shock to me.” You told him truthfully.

Your mom saw you first, jumping up and running to greet you. “Oh! I’ve missed you.” She greeting, smothering you in a hug. Her strong floral perfume nearly choked you to death. “Missed you too, mom.” You forced yourself away before the noxious scent took you out completely.

Meanwhile, your uncle, Isaac, had kidnapped Oscar, dragging him away with a tight hold around his neck. “Oscar! My boy, good to see you’re still hangin in there.” Uncle Isaac was sure to stare dead in your eyes while saying the last part. The way he laughed at himself made Oscar’s stomach twist. His face remained straight, not a hint of amusement in sight.

“Hey, Uncle Isaac.” Oscar greeted politely.

Little five year old Theo jumped up, running toward Oscar. “Oscar!” He cheered, nearly toppling over from excitement. Oscars ability to move was inhibited when Theo latched around his legs. Isaac let go of Oscar.

“Hey mate!” Oscar greeted with equal enthusiasm, hoisting the kid up into his arms. Oscar held Theo over his head, and Theo spread his arms and legs out. “Mom look! I’m an airplane!” He cheered, making airplane noises. Lia, your sister, nearly had a heart attack when she turned to see what her son was talking about. “Okay, I think that’s enough airplane.” She rushed to Oscar’s side, who let Theo down. “Aww,” Theo pouted, crossing his arms and walking right past his mom, ignoring her.

Oscar felt a tug on his pants. Looking down, he was met with the large doe eyes of Theo’s twin sister, Thalia. She waved shyly under his gaze. He bent down to chat with her closer, pointing out the doll clutched in her hand. “That’s a pretty doll.” He smiled. “What’s her name?”

Thalia swayed herself from side to side. “Lillia.” She muttered. Oscar gasped softly. “That’s a pretty name.”

While Oscar was being bombarded by the children, you’d been dragged to the living room to greet all of your relatives.

“Ah, I see you’ve kept this one longer than a year. That’s a new record.” You uncle Leni laughed, embracing you loosely. You gave a half-assed laugh, though it hurt massively. You thought you could’ve avoided these kinds of comments if Oscar was here with you, but now it seems you’ve dragged him out here for no reason.

You should’ve known better.

“Are you still going for that mechanical engineering degree?” Your aunt Anne asked a bit of a judgy tone. She sat next to her husband Leni while swirling a drink in her hand. You nodded, sitting next to your sister Katie on the floor. “And you’re still aiming for a job with f1?” You gave another nod.

“Are you sure? I mean, isn’t that a bit unrealistic?”

Cocking your head to the side you asked, “what do you mean by that?” Your tone was harsh and accusatory. Anne shrugged. “Well, it isn’t really a place for a woman is it? If you look in any of those garages, it’s mostly men.”

You felt the anger swirling deep in your stomach, brewing a deeper feeling of resentment. You open your mouth to speak when Oscar’s voice joined the conversation from behind you.

“Yeah it is mostly men, but that doesn’t mean she can’t do it.” Oscar shrugged, taking a seat next to you. Close enough to not raise suspicion, but far enough to not be touching. You looked to him with raised brows. “I think she can do it. Last year, she majorly helped the team fix an issue with the car. And that was only in her third year of school.”

Uncle Leni laughed. “Eh, she’s got as good of a chance as any man.” He waved a hand through the air. For a moment, you thought he actually was showing some support. “She’s dating one of the drivers.” He motioned a hand toward Oscar, laughing loudly. Everyone else in the room chuckled.

You stood abruptly. “Excuse me, I need the restroom.” You muttered, trying your best not to run away from the family.

With worried eyes, Oscar watched as you disappeared down the hall. He had never been a violent man, but right now, he really wanted to take your uncle by the collar of his shirt and chuck him over the balcony to send him tumbling down the side of the mountain. Of course, he did not.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

As the family was winding down and preparing for bed, a realization hit you. If it was a physical force, it would’ve knocked you through a wall.

While Oscar helped you straighten up the living room, you leaned closer to him, whispering, “We have to share a bed.” Oscar turned his head over his shoulder to look at you with a raised brow. “What?” He genuinely had not heard you. “We have to share a room. And a bed.”

The color drained from Oscar’s face. “Oh,” he muttered, crossing the living room to create distance between you two.

When the two of you entered the room a little later that night, the air between you became tense and awkward.

“I’ll sleep in the floor.” Oscar proposed, making you shake your head quickly. “I can’t ask that of you. I dragged you out here.”

“I chose to come out here.” He reminded you. Your eyes drifted to the king sized bed. “I think it’ll be fine. We’ll just stay on our own sides.”

You moved a pillow, creating a physical barrier between your two sides of the bed. You faced him, motioning your hands to the quick fix as a way to say, see?

Oscar shrugged. “I guess.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

MONDAY

The family was off to the slopes the next morning. Oscar and yourself driving Theo and Thalia because your nephew was attached to Oscar, and Thalia was always by her brother’s side.

When you got there, Theo started dragging Oscar toward the small slopes. “I want to race you! I bet I’m faster than you.” Oscar laughed. “I was going to go down the big kid slopes.” Oscar pointed to the much steeper slope. Theo frowned. “But I can’t go to the big kid slopes.” He crossed his arms over his chest. It was hard for Oscar to deny Theo anything, so he looked to you with a question in his eyes. You gave him a small nod.

“Are you coming with us?” Thalia’s small voice asked form next to you, her hands, encased in bright pink gloves, gripping her goggles. You glanced up at Oscar and hummed. “Sure, why not?” You smiled, taking Thalias hand in yours and joining Oscar and Theo as they waited for a lift.

Oscar didn’t seem surprised that you had also wound up stuck with the kiddies. “I can look after the both of them if you want to go with the rest of my family.”

Oscar’s face scrunches up, like that idea inflicted physical pain upon his person. He shook his head. “Nah, I’m not a big fan of skiing anyway, so I think the kiddie slopes are the perfect pace for me.” He flashed one of his charming grins at you. You gave a small smile in response.

You flagged down Lia and Dylan, informing them from a distance that you and Oscar were looking over their kids. They seemed overly satisfied that the responsibility was taken away from them.

“I’m scared.” Thalia’s little voice squeaked from next to you. You smiled down at her, a comforting hand on her head. “It’s alright, Thal, I’ll stay with you.” You crouch down in front of her. “I’ll make sure you’re nice and safe. I pinky promise.” You offered your pinky to her. She hesitantly hooked your pinky with hers, splitting your lips into a smile.

Oscar called your name, causing you to look up at him with wide eyes. At the sight of your curious doe-eyed expression, he fought off a smile that tried to surface on his face. Half failing, he ended up with a slanted smile. “The lift.” He explained shortly.

The four of you piled in together. Thalia and Theo in the middle while Oscar and yourself occupied the outsides.

Thalia hung onto your ski pants when you got off. Theo and Oscar took off down the mountain, racing each other just as Theo wished. You could tell Oscar was majorly holding back, though.

“You’ve got it, Thal, you’ve done this before.” You reassured her and she gave you a small nod. You kept your pace slow at first, waiting for Thalia to catch up with every movement so you didn’t stray too far away.

But she eventually gained her confidence, and even tried to be faster than you. You let her fly on the skis ahead of you. It was easier to keep an eye on her that way.

At the bottom of the slope stood Oscar and Theo, waiting for the both of you. “So who won?”

“Me!” Theo tried to jump but his skis weighed him down. You turned to Oscar. “Getting beat by a kid? Shame. Better luck next time.” You teased.

Oscar smiled. “He’s just too good.”

Apparently, you and Oscar had been smiling at each other for too long, because Theo gags. “Yuck! Come on I want to beat you again.” Theo urged, leading the group as he walked back to the lift station.

Oscar was quick to follow, then you and Thalia. Thalia called your name once again. “What’s up, hon?” You replied.

Her eyes were trained on Oscar’s backside. “I think Oscar is pretty.” She confessed. You didn’t laugh, only smiled softly at her. “Really? Would you like me to tell him that?”

She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “No. He’s too old for me.” You chuckled.

Later that night, as you’re around the table eating dinner, sat next to Oscar, she tells him for herself.

She came between your chairs, tapping Oscar’s arm twice. He leaned down at her signal for him to come closer. His brows shot up when she told him. “Really? Well thank you. I think you’re a cutie, Thal.” At that, her face flushed a furious shade of red and scurried back to her seat beside her brother.

“Now she’s going to think you have a crush on her.” You whispered in his ear. A chill ran down his spine at the feeling of your breath contacting his bare skin. He tried his best to ignore how it made him feel.

He grinned. “I’m sure she won’t.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

TUESDAY

She definitely did.

Now Theo and Thalia were attached to Oscar for completely different reasons.

When Thalia saw Oscar the next morning, the first thing she did was compliment him. “I like your hair.” She said from her spot on the couch. Oscar first glanced at you before looking at her. “I just woke up like this.” He brushed it off, smiling.

But the compliments didn’t stop. When you went out again to ski, she insisted on sitting next to him on the lift, and told him, “your goggles are cool.”

They were plain black goggles.

“You have pretty eyes.” During lunch.

Pointing to his plain maroon colored shirt during dinner and saying, “I like your shirt.”

Wedging between the both of you during movie night and telling Oscar he smelt good.

“I like your toothbrush,” while he was getting ready for bed.

Anything she could compliment him on, she did. And it started to freak you out a bit. “Oscar you’ve gotta tell her you’re just friends.” You advised while fluffing up your pillow. “It’s a harmless crush,” he ran a hand through his hair. “She’ll probably be over it by tomorrow.”

You doubted it. “And what if she isn’t?” You threw your pillow on your side of the bed. Oscar laid on his side, raising a brow at you. “Are you jealous of a five year old?” He teased.

You scoffed, sitting cross legged on your side of the bed. “There’s nothing to be jealous about. For one, she’s a five year old and you’re not a pedophile. And for two, we aren’t even together.”

Oscar shifted uncomfortably at the reminder. “If she isn’t over it by tomorrow, then I’ll make it clear that we’re just friends.” He chuckled, shaking his head. He thought it was a little ridiculous that he had to clarify to a five year old that they were just friends.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

WEDNESDAY

Oscar was proved wrong first thing in the morning, because as you and him came out to eat breakfast, Thalia was sitting in your spot. “I told you.” You muttered before taking Thalias empty chair.

Oscar whispered something to Theo, who moved over to take Oscar’s seat right after. You looked to him with furrowed brows, a silent request for an explanation. “Told him I’d buy him whatever candy he wanted at the markets today if he swapped with me.” You laughed loudly, a hand on Oscar’s shoulder to stabilize yourself as you doubled over. “You’ll come to regret that decision.” You forewarned.

On the way to the markets, Thalia tried to convince you to let her sit up front with Oscar. The whole time while telling her no, you were glaring at Oscar. He held back a smile at your fierce looks.

But she won one over you when you arrived at the markets. She clung onto Oscar’s hand like it was her lifeline. “Your daughter is stealing my boyfriend.” You muttered to Lia. She laughed before calling her daughter over to her. Thalia reluctantly listened, latching onto her mother’s hand instead.

You took the five year old’s place next to Oscar. “I suppose we should hold hands then.” He whispered close to your ear, gesturing to the intwined fingers of your relatives. “You know, to keep up the act.” He reasoned.

Though truly, a part of Oscar just may have just wanted to hold your hand for the sake of just holding your hand. No act about it.

You peered up at him, eyes widened slightly. “Uh- well- if you don’t have a problem with it.” Oscar smiled at the way you stumbled over your words.

You appreciated the warmth his hand provided. The December air was biting at you with every small gust of wind that blew through. At a particularly strong gust, you instinctively hid your face in Oscar’s chest. You muttered quick and quiet apologies when you noticed. But he didn’t mind one bit.

Theo ran up to the both of you, holding a remote controlled race car in his hands. “Oscar! Can you get me this?!”

Oscar chucked, kneeling down to be closer to eye level. He kept his hand in yours. “Buddy, I thought I said candy.” He was gentle with the kid, careful of his feelings. Theo frowned. “You did but… but Oscar this car is so cool.” He gave Oscar big puppy eyes, pouting his lips.

Oscar held back his laugh, taking care when sliding the toy from Theo’s grasp. “Do you want the car over the candy?” He asked. Theo nodded. Oscar smiled and stood. “Car it is then.” He tousled the boys hair, whose pout was now replaced by a big toothy smile.

“Thank you uncle Oscar!” Theo wrapped his arms around Oscar’s legs. An attempt at a hug. Oscar rubbed his back. “‘Course, kid.”

Theo ran off, joining his parents and sister at a vendor not too far from where you stood.

But your mind was suck on the title he’d given Oscar. And apparently Oscar was thinking about it too, because he bumped your shoulder and teased, “I’m an uncle now, hm? That wasn’t in the agreement.”

Head bowed, you chuckled nervously. “Sorry,”

Oscar smirked. “Don’t apologize. I think it’s cute.” His hand squeezed yours.

The both of you continued on, hand in hand, straying farther from the family. You stopped at a jewelry booth, a pendant catching your eye. On closer inspection, a small gasp left your lips. “Oh, Oscar, look how pretty.” You held the pendant in your empty hand. A small, flower-like shaped charm, a pretty pink color.

“It suits you.” He smiled, gaze jumping from the pendant to you and back. “Uhm, excuse me?” You called for the seller, an older woman. “How much for this?”

“Three hundred.”

“Three… hundred?”

The woman nodded. “Yes, it’s sterling silver and real diamond, just dyed that pretty pink color.”

You couldn’t justify spending that price, so you politely said, “ah maybe another time.”

Oscar frowned at the disappointment in your expression. Three hundred seemed like nothing to him, but he understood the burden it was to you.

His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of little hands on his. When he looked down, he found Thalia trying to pry his hand from yours. You sighed, and gave him an ‘I told you so’ look. “I’m gonna go take Thalia, and discuss this crush with her.” You whispered close to Oscar’s ear before taking the child and walking off.

Once you were no longer in ear shot, he turned back to the woman. “Excuse me, do you take card?”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

That night at dinner, the conversation made a turn for the worse. Uncle Leni had one two many beers and couldn’t shut his mouth, so when he overheard your conversation, he just had to say something.

Oscar brought up your future, making a light hearted joke about you working in his garage next year. “Do you really think I have a chance? I mean, I did all that interning for McLaren last year and Andrea said he would ‘miss me greatly,’ but that doesn’t guarantee me a job anywhere in the paddock, you know?” You gushed. Oscar smiled at the way your eyes sparked when you spoke with such enthusiasm. He opened his mouth to speak, an encouragement and something about the future on the tip of his tongue.

The words were never spoken.

“I’d be careful with her, boy. She might be using you to get with your boss, and then fuck him for a job.” Leni interrupted. The vulgarity of the accusation had Oscar’s stomach twisting with something vile.

Your expression shaped into a mix of anger and disgust. Oscar watched you cautiously, offering a comforting hand to your knee. You stood abruptly just as his hand made contact. “I’d be careful with that alcohol, Uncle Leni. I think you’re one drink away from liver failure.” You shot back, leaving without letting him get another word in.

Oscar bowed his head, “excuse us,” he said to no one in particular, before turning to your parents and thanking them for the dinner. He cleaned up your plate and his and proceeded to follow you down the hall where you disappeared.

Muffled sobs came from the inside of your shared room. He knocked on the door hesitantly, calling your name in a soft question. “Go away,” your voice broke through your sobs.

But Oscar was persistent. He cared. You couldn’t get rid of him that easily. “I’m coming in.” He said, despite your very clear message.

His footsteps were cautious as he ventured into the room. You were lying on your stomach, sprawled out on the bed, face in a pillow. He was careful when he sat beside you, a hand coming up to rub in comforting circles on your back.

“It’s not fair, Osc.” The use of the nickname spiked his heart rate. He did his best to ignore it, putting his feelings aside for yours. “I know,” he hummed.

Your face emerged from the pillows, eyes already puffy and red. “No you don’t. Because you’re a man and they all love you.”

Oscar bit the inside of his cheek. “Yeah.” There was no point in arguing. He knew you were right. “Come here,” he encouraged, arms outstretched and waiting for your arrival. You drug yourself up, into his arms, lying against his chest.

The white shirt quickly became stained with your tears. Oscar didn’t care. He held you close while you cried. “I hate them.” You choked out. “They all think so little of me, have so little faith in me. Like I’m going to be nothing in life.” You clutched onto the white cloth of his t-shirt. “They talk about me like I’m a fucking prostitute.” Oscar ran a hand through your hair, and you snuggled your face closer to his chest.

Oscar tried to think of something comforting to say, but nothing felt quite right. He decided to pull you closer, instead. “I thought with you here they’d stop, but…” you shook your head. “I’m sorry I brought you all the way out here for nothing.”

“No,” Oscar jumped quickly to sooth your worries. “No you didn’t. I’m happy you asked. I’ve had fun here, with you.”

“You don’t mean that,” you tried to push yourself away from him, but Oscar held tighter. “Yes I do. I- on my life,” you struggled against his hold, desperately trying to rid yourself from the restraints that were his arms. “I promise you I meant it.” He urged, muttering the words close to your ear.

You relaxed at that, a palm coming to rest against his chest. Your tears still flowed freely. “And… and I’m so proud of you, too. And I believe in you more than you can even imagine.” He continued, dull nails scratching idly at your scalp.

You weren’t sure if his words were genuine. That didn’t matter. They were words you needed to hear, even if you had not known it until that very moment.

Oscar continued to keep you in his hold. He offered no more attempts to soothe you other than the hand of his that were tangled in the strands of your hair.

The exact timing you’d fallen asleep was unknown to him. He only realized you left consciousness when he stopped feeling your body shake with sobs and when the rhythmic tensing and relaxing of your hand ceased.

Your breathing had become even, too. Which he only took note of after he carefully laid you down in a more comfortable position.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

THURSDAY

You woke up, the clock informing you it was midday. You shot out of bed. The family was meant to go sledding today, and should have left an hour ago.

The floorboards under your feet creaked loudly as you raced to the living room. You froze upon entering. The only person there was Oscar, sat on the couch, only half watching the show on the television.

He turned at the sound of you approaching, and smiled. “Hey,” he greeted, soft and far too intimate for the current dynamic.

“Where is everyone?”

Oscar looked a bit guilty at the question. “Gone. I told them you weren’t feeling well, and we’d be staying here today.”

You nodded, padding over to round the couch. The cushion beside him became occupied by you. “Is that okay?” He asked, head tilted while he searched your eyes for some emotion. You nodded once more. “Didn’t feel up to it anyway.” You confessed. Then after a moment, “Thank you.”

A smile flickered across Oscar’s lips. “No need to thank me.”

You’d spent the day curled up on the couch together, strangely domestic for two people who had no business being so. Only when it was dark outside did Oscar raise any questions. “How long do they plan on being gone?” It was far past dinner time. 9pm to be exact. Oscar and yourself had already ordered and ate food.

Your head, being on his shoulder, tilts up so your eyes could meet. “They’re out at a restaurant, probably.” You shrugged.

Oscar’s eyes drifted to the window, the glittering snow having caught his eye. He had a sudden childish desire to go play in the fluffy white blankets.

So that’s what you did, before your family returned home.

You hid behind a tree with a tightly packed ball of snow held like a delicate jewel in the palm of your hand. The way your heart raced with anticipation sent a rush through you. Your face hurt, not only from the cold but also from the consistent strain of your muscles used to maintain the permanent smile on your face.

The sound of a snowball hitting the other side of the tree made you jump, but the reaction was quickly followed by a laugh. “Come on! I can’t get you if you’re hid behind a tree!” Oscar complained, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Then come get me!” You shouted back. The crunch of snow approaching closed caused you to smile harder. He had no idea what was coming for him.

But then it stopped suddenly. Definitely not close enough to be just on the other side. You peaked around the tree. Oscar stood still, his hands moulding a pile of snow. His brows creased in concentration. So much concentration, that he didn’t even hear the packed snow stress under your feet.

Once close enough, you let the snowball fly from the palm of your hand. It landed right on the side of his face. “Hey!” He laughed.

“That was totally on you. It should not take you that long to make one snow ball.” You teased, nearing closer.

Oscar frowned slightly. “It’s not a snowball,” he twisted his palm to face you. “It’s a heart.”

You stood close to him now. A small extension of your arm, and you’d be touching him. You smiled, soft and small. “It’s cute.” His cheeks were flushed with a light pink. Probably from the cold, you thought.

Careful fingers grabbed ahold of your wrist, twisting it so your palm faced the sky. Silently, Oscar transferred his creation from his palm to your. You chuckled. “Quite the romantic.” You teased once more.

“You more than anyone should know just how romantic I am.” Oscar leaned into the fun banter. You shook your head laughing. “Come on, I want some hot chocolate.” He followed you up the porch and into the house, pausing to wait for you to set his creation on the railing of the deck.

Plain white mugs were all that was in the cabinet, so it’s what you used to hold your hot cocoa. Oscar rummaged in the fridge while you blew into the cup, trying to cool it off. The steam continued to roll off it in heaps.

“Found it!” Oscar cheered, surfacing with a can of whipped cream. “Ah, good idea,” You hummed, holding your mug out to him. The spiral he put on top of your cup was nothing short of perfect.

You hopped up on the kitchen island, while Oscar stood beside you. He laughed at you after you’d taken a sip, his cheeks still colored pink despite the warmer environment inside the cabin.

“You’ve got a little—here, I’ll just get it.” He reached up, fingertips grazing your cheek. His thumb slipped across your upper lip, gathering the whipped cream.

His hand pulled back slightly, a smile on his face while he showed you the reason for his actions. You laughed.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, capturing his thumb between your lips. Oscar went red at the feeling of your tongue swiping against the pad of his thumb while your eyes remained on his. The situation far too sensual.

When your brain finally caught up to you, you jumped back. A hand of yours covered your mouth. “Oh my—I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean, obviously I wasn’t but—“ your breath hitched, his hand on your thigh.

“Don’t apologize.” His voice came in hushed whispers. His eyes scattered all around your face, settling for a beat too long on your lips.

The both of you were locked in an intense staring contest, wanting the same thing but too scared to be the one to initiate it.

Oscar’s chest heaved, like the moment was sucking all the oxygen from his lungs. Hesitantly, he reached a hand up to your face. It found its home on your cheek. When you didn’t react, his other hand traveled to your other cheek. Still, you did not move, but he did notice the rate of your breaths had sped up.

He was the one to take the risk. His body found its way between your legs, and he pulled your face down to meet his.

The feeling of his lips against yours was familiar. The feeling that bloomed in your stomach was familiar. The heat between your legs, familiar.

He overrode every one of your senses. Tasted sweet, reminiscent of the cocoa and whipped cream. Smelled of cologne, fresh. Like amber wood, orange, and a hint of vanilla. His hands in your hair and settled at the base of your neck were driving you crazy. His hips rut against the counter, and he released a small groan into your mouth.

The sound of the lock on the door caught your ear. Two hands on his chest, you shoved him away. He stumbled back, but quickly understood when your family funneled through the door. Your face was on fire.

“Feeling better, I see?” Your sister smiled, then her eyes shifted to Oscar. “Nice lip gloss.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

FRIDAY

The end of the trip was nearing. It was another relax day in the house, though the kids were far from relaxed. Their giggles were a constant echo through the house along with the patter of their feet.

You’d fallen asleep last night with Oscar’s arms around you, his body moulded perfectly to yours. But when you woke up this morning, the boy was no longer offering the warmth of his body heat to you. In fact, he wasn’t in the bed at all, and the sheets beside you were cold to the touch. He hadn’t been there for awhile.

It was the second day in a row you’d fallen asleep in his arms, and he was no longer there when you woke the next morning.

So it seemed he had a knack for fleeing when things got too intimate.

You swung your legs over the bed. The wooden floors under your feet were as cold as the winter air outside. You quickly shielded yourself with a pair of slippers, and the first hoodie you saw.

Just like yesterday, you found him on the couch. He wasn’t watching one of his shows, but bluey. Your brows were furrowed as you approached. Your eyes answered the question in your mind; Theo and Thalia sat on the carpet in front the television. Theo recklessly drove his new remote controlled car while Thalia played with his hot wheels. A content smile colored Oscar’s expression.

You ruffled his hair, muttering out a, “good morning.” Oscar’s greeting died on the tip of his tongue when he turned his head to find you in his hoodie and tight biker shorts. His throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly. “Morning,” he managed.

The dynamic between you two was different now. A conversation was never held after the events of last night, but the air shifted. An unspoken agreement that you crossed the line as friends but neither of you would dare to venture into the dating territory. You were stuck in a sort of limbo between the two, which meant neither of you knew exactly how to act around the other.

“Oscar, you sound like bluey!” Theo laughed, Thalia joining him. Oscar’s face contorted in amusement, brows raised and a broader smile. “You’ve got a good ear.”

When his eyes searched the room to find you, they landed in the kitchen, the fridge wide open.

You pulled out an avocado, an egg, and a bagel from the pantry. You jumped when you turned around to place them on the island. Oscar was standing with his back to the counter, staring at your every move. “stalker,” you laughed, standing beside him. He remained serious. “We should talk.”

Your body froze. “Where’s the rest of the family?” You asked, gaze focused on the countertop. “Downstairs. Playing pool.” He muttered, a quick glance at the twins. “They’ll be fine for a couple minutes.”

Your eyes met his, an unusual pleading look about them. You nodded. “Yeah. We can step outside.” You motioned towards the back deck.

Out on the deck, you waited for him to speak first, a foot playing with the fluffy white snow to avoid his gaze.

“So… last night,” he began. You shut your eyes, preparing mentally for an awkward conversation. He shook his head, restarting his mini speech. “I’ve tried to move on from you for the last couple of months. It hasn’t really worked and I’ve always had an idea as to why, but last night really solidified it.” His hand on your cheek directed your gaze to his. An uncharacteristically bold move.

His eyes searched yours. For what, you were unsure of. But his gaze burrowed into yours, making you feel light in the head and queasy in the stomach. “I still love you.” He spoke with finality, as if the statement would reign true for the remainder of his life. That’s what it felt like to him.

You gasped out a breath, shaking your head. “It’s not good for us. It didn’t work out. It won’t work out.” Your face, still held in his hands; your eyes, cast anywhere but on him.

He stepped closer. You could feel his body heat now. “It could. You’ll be out of school two months after the season starts, and then you can get a job at McLaren with me-“

“And then I’ll become everything Leni thinks I am.” You interrupted, words quiet.

“No you won’t, because you deserve it. You know it. I know it. Who cares if your drunk, deadbeat uncle thinks otherwise?” You breathed out a laugh, glancing at him for only a moment. “But that’s besides the point. It’ll be just two months with me away and you studying. That’s nothing. We’ve managed longer.”

His pleas were followed by silence, a slight frown, furrowed brows. Wandering eyes landed on the heart-shaped snow ball he carefully crafted for you. “I don’t know,” you spoke, almost too quiet for Oscar to hear.

The small swipe of his thumb against your cheek had your defenses crumbling. “The apartment has felt so empty without you.” He recalled how he continued to look for you in every room, even two weeks after you broke up. A hopeless dream that you’d be standing in the kitchen or sleeping in his bed. Of course, you never were. “Please. Just give me a month.”

The nod came slowly, after a long moment of silence; Oscar’s ears strained for even a breath from you. “A month.” You agreed, a silent pray to whatever god would listen that this wasn’t a horrible mistake.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

SATURDAY

Your last day at the cabin was spent back at the slopes, Oscar and yourself finally being able to break from the kiddie slopes and enjoy the more exhilarating ones. He’d tried to race you, and when you won, claimed that he slowed on purpose. His whole being exposed his lies, though.

The family ended the night on the couch, watching a Christmas movie, though Christmas was long past. Unfortunately for you and Oscar, you were demoted to sitting on the floor since you were the youngest of the adults.

Oscar didn’t mind. Not when you sat with your body pressed against his. Legs across his lap and head resting in the curve of his neck. He kept one of your hands encased in both of his. He wasn’t even sure what the movie was about. His eyes were hardly on the screen, opting to study you out of the corner of his eye. He felt incredibly lucky to be able to call you his again.

He only realized the movie ended when you looked up at him, laughing at how his eyes were already on you. “How was the movie?” You asked him, a soft smile. He absorbed every bit of it he could. “Amazing.”

Before you went to bed, Oscar pulled out a small box from his suitcase. Your back was turned, fluffing the pillow. He called your name softly. The curious look you gave him was just another thing he was sure to store in his brain for safe keeping.

“What’s that?” You hummed, interested. You stood in front of him now, the box within reach. He lifted the lid and presented it to you, earning a small gasp. “Oscar… that’s too much I can’t take that.” You shook your head, a hand pushing the box into his chest. “I bought it for you. No returns.” His nervous laugh filled the gap of your response.

A tentative hand of your reached for the pendant, the ridges of it gliding over your fingers. You bit the inside of your cheek, deciding there was no use in turning the gift away. “Will you put it on me?” He smiled. Nodded.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

JUNE

You began working in Oscar’s garage right out of school. Andrea was sure to pick you up before any team even had the opportunity to approach you.

The relationship between you and Oscar was common knowledge within the garage. Your teammates—the other mechanics—treated you no different, other than the occasional teasing about it.

“We agree that if anything is wrong with the car, we blame her, right?” One of the other mechanics joked, gesturing to you. Laughter rang out over the roaring engines.

Of course, once your family got wind of the news, they had something to say. Leni in particular washed up the achievement to be special treatment since you were dating one of their drivers. It didn’t get to you this time, because Oscar reassured you that it was purely based on your skill. His opinion mattered more than your Uncle’s.

Outside of the world of racing, Oscar treated you like an Angel fallen from heaven. Acting like he existed with the sole purpose to service you. It annoyed you at first until you came to the realization that it was out of love. He communicated his love for you through of acts of service. From then on, you cherished it.

[solacestyles]

Adrenaline state of mind | FC⁴³

𐙚 summary ──── After a long, eventful Sunday in São Paulo, Franco finds himself sharing an unexpected ride back to his hotel. What starts as a casual conversation about racing and dreams, slowly turns into something deeper, as the quiet intimacy of the night pulls them closer.

𐙚 pairing ──── Franco Colapinto x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, smut, explicit language, mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of racing incidents (Franco's crash in Brazil), swearing, suggestive/flirty behavior, unprotected shower sex (pull out game strong lol).

𐙚 word count ──── 4.6k

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 17, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Every single time I open my silly writing app I'm thinking, this is the day I'll go for pure smut & no build-up, and every single time I fail miserably 🤍

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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

FRANCO KNOWS IT could've been much worse. So, he's done overthinking for the night. After a chaotic race that ended with a crash on Lap 43, all he wants is to go back to his hotel room and wash the day off.

The adrenaline is still there, giving him random rushes throughout his body every time he remembers his error. The rain made it all difficult, of course, but he can't blame the weather — that's what amateurs do.

The impact was jarring, even from the angles the cameras caught. But for Franco, being inside the car while it was happening — it scared him. And he's now too scared to admit that he's scared. He’s spent hours afterward in the paddock, walking the line between shaking it off and dwelling on it, and still, he can't help but coming back to the same feeling. Again and again.

It's past midnight now, and most of the lights in the paddock have dimmed. The Brazilian night is humid, shadows stretching out beneath a heavy, damp sky. The sounds of engines are quieted for once, replaced by the murmur of distant voices and the occasional clash of closing garages. There aren’t many people left — just a handful of team members gathering last equipment, and a few scattered mechanics.

And her.

He knows her only through Alex. She’s the friend he’s seen around a for a couple of races — in Italy first, then US, and now here. Formally, they met in the Williams garage, after qualifying in Monza. They didn't talk much, but enough for him to remember her name. And her smile.

She’s leaning against a barrier near the Red Bull hospitality area, shielded from the light shower while scrolling on her phone. The light that comes from the screen is softly reflecting on her face, Franco noticing the little frown between her eyebrows and how focused she is, for some reason. Her head is tipped forward, strands of hair falling loose around her face, and he finds a softness in her expression that catches his eye the second he gets closer.

“Thought you left already?” he says with a thick accent, but it sounds more like a question in the end.

She looks up, a little startled, but then her face lights up in surprise. “Oh, Franco. Hey. No, just… I'm actually trying to find a ride. Alex and Lily took off right after the race. Probably should’ve left with them,” she says with a small laugh. “Caught up with some familiar faces and I lost track of time,” she explains, moving her weight from one foot to the other.

There’s a faint tension behind his easygoing demeanor, but he holds her gaze with a calm confidence. “Want to come with? We’re at the same hotel, no? I was just heading there.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, her eyes widening in recognition. “That’d be nice, actually.”

“Of course.”

They start walking together, cutting through the raindrops, neither of them looking very bothered by it. The crisp smell of rain blends softly with her sweet, floral scent, making Franco's mind wander, and he realizes too late she just asked him something, only because the space between them went quiet for a bit.

“I’m sorry, come again?”

She puffs a little chucke out, “I asked how are you feeling, but just got my answer.”

“Oh, yeah,” Franco shrugs, “Could've been worse,” he finally says it out loud.

“Still. It looked pretty intense on the screens.”

His heart clenches, but tries to keep a neutral tone, “It was. Maybe a bit too much,” he laughs dryly. “Felt like it happened in slow motion, honestly.” Franco glances down at her, half-smiling. “But I survived.”

She hums softly, nudging him gently. “Guess that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Crash, pick up the pieces, do it all again?”

He shrugs, “Pretty sure I’m supposed to try and not crash at all.”

He didn't even try to be funny, but she finds it hilarious the way Franco emphasizes the words, as if he pours his passion into each one of them. Her hands wrap around her own body as they walk, their footsteps the only sound echoing in the quiet paddock. He notices it immediately, taking off his Williams jacket and draping it over her shoulders.

“Cold?” asks Franco, smirking, without looking in her direction.

She blushes at the warmth that instantly wraps around her, the faint scent of his cologne somehow comforting. It's not intoxicating, or too strong. Just a slight trace of cardamom, followed by an unexpected freshness.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, wrapping the jacket close around her.

THE RAIN IS still falling lightly when they get back to the hotel, the sound a steady rhythm against the roof of the car. None of them kept quiet the entire drive — they started off boring, agreeing that the capricious weather was a real pain in the ass throughout the weekend, but their conversation took off, flying like ping-pong balls from one topic to another.

Now, the tension between them is like a subtle current that neither is rushing to acknowledge, but it's buzzing just beneath the surface.

Who would've thought they have so much in common?

“You up for a drink?” asks Franco, taking even himself by surprise.

She has to think about it for a while — it can't be a good idea. He's had a long weekend and needs rest, and she desperately needs to dry up. However, her pulse starts racing just at the thought of being around him more.

Her lips lift in a small smile. “ Alright. Just one,” she agrees, raising a finger in the air to accentuate her determination.

One drink turns into two.

Then three, each sip bringing them closer, the conversations drifting from track tales to late-night jokes, then back to stories about his unexpected rookie season. She listens intently, her laughter genuine, her gaze warm and focused, like he’s the only one she’s interested in hearing from. There’s a depth to her that Franco can’t look away from, a curiosity and calmness that makes him feel understood; he didn't know he needed that until now.

“So,” says Franco after taking a sip of his fourth drink. “Can I ask you something?” his gaze is observant, yet gentle, as he decides to take the conversation to a more personal tone.

“Shoot,” she nods once, just starting on her third Negroni.

“You seem to know a lot about the world of racing, and the people involved in it. But you’re not part of it. Why?”

She smirks in his direction, “Yet. I mean, there is no school to prepare someone for the position I want, but I hope I’ll get to be in front of the monitors one day. To tell your engineer when is the optimal time to pit or what tires to use in order to gain competitive advantage, maybe, ” her voice is lost in reverie, like she's been dreaming about this for a long time.

He cocks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by her answer, “You want to be a race strategist? That’s quite unique, no? Most people,” adds Franco, pointing at himself, “Dream of being racers.”

“I work better with my brain than my body. Plus, it's too late for me, even if I wanted to do something about it,” she says, a tint of nostalgia embracing her by the shoulders. “I've also seen Alex training before,” she continues, shaking her head while laughing, “Nope, thank you.”

“So then, brains over brawn, huh?”

“In my case, yes. Something like that,” she agrees, catching the little hint of interest in his eyes.

He studies her for a moment as if he tries to figure her out, because he knows there’s more to her than what meets the eye; their interaction so far proves that. It's a pleasant surprise for him, because it means there is a chance he'll get to see her around the paddock more frequently. And the thought makes him happier than it should.

Franco leans back, a playful smirk on his lips, “I see you, mystery girl. You seem to be full of surprises.”

“What about you?” she challenges him, copying his body language. “Who’s Franco when he’s not in the car?”

He grins, amused by her question. He takes one more sip of his drink, swirling the amber liquid around, stalling for a moment before he decides on his answer.

“Gonna sound cringey if I say I’m just a regular guy?”

“Oh, dear God,” she laughs, and Franco's eyes light up at the sound of it.

“I mean, I like the simple things, you know? Hanging out with my friends, music, enjoying good food… and drinks,” he continues in a suggestive manner.

“And drinks,” she repeats, nodding at his insinuation.

She looks back at him through her eyelashes, realizing for the first time since they bumped into each other tonight how late it must be. But, somehow, time seems to stay still when she catches him staring, her heartbeat fastening.

Franco’s gaze darkens slightly, the tension between them becoming suddenly palpable.

“And pretty girls,” he adds, lifting the glass and emptying it in one go, without breaking eye contact.

The warmth blooming in her chest catches her off guard, spreading from her neck to her cheeks as she shifts slightly, desperate to escape the intensity of his gaze. She tells herself it’s just the alcohol, of course. But then his lips quirk into a small, knowing smile, and her heart stumbles again in a way she can’t control it.

It’s not the alcohol, she realizes; it’s him.

It’s the way Franco looks at her like she’s something worth getting lost in, and she’s not sure she knows how to handle that.

He puts the glass back on the table and leans in slightly, as his eyes flicking from her lips to her eyes, and back again.

She looks at him, intently, feeling the warmth, and the way his breath hitches. It’s not just what she finds behind his gaze — it’s the reflection of her own desire, the undeniable pull that could easily make her lose it, if she's not careful.

And the realization is overwhelming.

“I think… we should call it a night?” she does not sound confident in the slightest.

“Probably a good idea,” replies Franco, studying her expression for a moment.

By the time they get to the elevator, the tension settles over them like a heavy blanket. He stands close, his hand brushing against hers as they walk inside, their gazes meeting in the reflective walls of the elevator the moment the doors close.

“Can you press 7 for me?” she asks, stepping back and waiting patiently.

He smirks, leaning over to do so, then he presses his own floor, just a few levels up.

The faint hum of the elevator is the only sound that surrounds them, but it barely registers over the rapid beating of her heart. Franco’s scent surrounds her from every direction, remembering the same unique smell from earlier.

His eyes catch hers in the mirrors again, and the look is almost unbearable, even through the reflection. They both know that, whatever this is, it's begging to snap. And it will. It's just a matter of when.

Every nerve in her body is dancing on the edge of patience — or lack thereof — and when he finally turns to look at her, slow and deliberate, she can't help but smile.

He takes it as a sign.

After that, Franco doesn’t think anymore — he just acts, leaning in, bringing his hand to her cheek as their lips meet in a soft, lingering kiss that deepens gradually, both of them feeling the weight of the night hanging heavily on their shoulders.

The kiss is experimental at first, like he asks a gentle question to which she answers to with a soft press of her lips on his. Then suddenly, they both start to feel the adrenaline of being in each other's space like that — so close and heated up, that it makes them wonder what contributed to the state they're in.

Aside from the alcohol, of course.

The elevator feels way smaller when Franco's free hand finds home on her waist, his fingers pushing the jacket away and then her blouse, gripping her warm flesh. The air gets heavier as they kiss, the oxygen becoming a secondary need for them, after tasting each other.

The soft ding of the doors opening goes almost unnoticed. But then she pulls back, stepping away, just enough to put some distance between them. Her lips are tingling with the aftertaste, mind so dizzy that her legs are currently made of jelly. She's about to step out when Franco's hands pulls her back to him by the edges of the jacket, their bodies colliding halfway.

So are their lips.

“That was me,” she manages, whispering against his mouth, her voice shaking slightly.

“Not tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low as he attaches his lips to hers again.

They stumble together, barely registering the way the doors close again to take them up to his floor. And by the time they reach his room, her back presses against the door as he fumbles for the key card, their mouths never straying far from each other.

Inside, the dim light of the room casts a golden hue, welcoming them as if it's not the first time.

“We walked through rain,” she reminds Franco, flushed as she catches sight of both their reflections in the mirror that’s hanged on the wall in the hallway. “Shouldn't we shower first?” she asks with a nervous laugh.

Franco smirks, his accent thick with the heat of the moment, “Ahora eso no me importa nada, bebita.” (I don't care about that at all now, baby.)

“No… vamos a ducharnos, por favor,” she cuts him off, “I feel dirty.” (No… let’s take a shower, please.)

Franco freezes for a split second, his eyes snapping to hers with a mix of surprise and something deeper, more intimate. He feels as though she has cast a spell on him, leaving Franco unable to resist doing everything in his power to fulfill her every desire, right here, and right now.

“¿Hablas español?” his voice is tinged with a boyish curiosity, as if her understanding of his language has just unlocked another layer between them.

It makes his head spin.

And that makes her smile.

“Un poquito,” the Spanish words roll off her tongue effortlessly, and he can’t help the slow grin spreading across his face.

“This just got even more dangerous,” he admits with a chuckle.

She lets out a breathy laugh as he steps back, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Her pulse quickens at the sight of him, the lean definition of his torso illuminated under the soft light. Franco follows, finally ripping off her — his — jacket, then her blouse, revealing her smooth skin.

Each piece of clothing dropped on the floor is another barrier that’s falling away, leaving a messy trail to the bathroom.

His hands roam up and down her body, frantically, kissing slopply until they get inside. Franco lets the shower run, stepping back for a moment, his breath catching as his eyes take her in completely, as if he just realized they are completely naked — no barriers, no hesitations, no inhibitions, just them.

It overwhelms him. The way the light skims over her skin, highlighting every curve and line. It reminds him of the first time he jumped into an F1 car and how each of his senses was somehow heightened up to the max, his pulse quickened by the gravity of what he was about to experience. He was over the moon then, and he’s over the moon now, though this time around, everything feels infinitely more personal.

“You're staring,” she notices his lingering eyes, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

Instead of contradicting her, Franco reaches for her hand, guiding her toward the shower. The steamy air envelops their bodies, giving them a sense of comfort and safety. She steps in first, letting the water cascade over her. He follows closely, pausing just before the spray to watch her tilt her head back, the droplets tracing paths down her body.

Franco swallows hard, parts of him awakening at the sight of her, while the heat soaks into his skin almost as quickly as the feeling of her presence does. His hands find her waist instinctively, pulling her in while his chest presses into her back.

The steam cloaks them in a moment that feels completely detached from reality.

He brings his hand up to tuck her hair out of the way, then he leans down to press his lips on her neck. She closes her eyes for a short moment, admiring his tenderness, but something tells her that it's him who needs it more. She turns around in his arms, finally facing each other again, her heart picking up the pace once she sees his hooded eyes filled with nothing but want.

“Turn around,” she tells him, managing to get a confused expression in return.

However, he doesn't question her, complying, while she stands on her tiptoes to reach his hair. Her fingers start threading through it with care, massaging shampoo into a lather. At first, it’s easy — an act of intimacy that’s supposed to bring them closer. But then she notices the way Franco’s shoulders sag under her touch, the tension radiating from him like a silent cry for help.

Her movements slow down, “Franco…?” she says softly, stepping closer.

He exhales sharply, his head tilting forward, “It’s fucking stupid, I don’t know why it scared me so much,” he murmurs, the words raw and heavy.

She doesn’t ask him to elaborate — she doesn’t need to. Everyone saw the state his car was in after the crash; of course it scared him.

She remembers holding her breath, the way time seemed to stop until she saw him climb out unscathed.

“It’s not stupid,” she assures him, her hands sliding down to rest on his shoulder blades, placing a tiny kiss between them, “You’re okay, Franco. It’s all that matters.”

He turns around, slowly, the water falling over his face, his expression torn between vulnerability and something deeper, something he doesn’t know how to name. It's not shame, but it could be.

Her hands rise to cup his face, her thumbs brushing over his wet cheekbones. As a response to that, Franco leans down, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths blending in the warmth of the shower.

“How did I come across you…,” he whispers thoughtfully, feeling her hands sliding down his chest, slick with water and soap.

As her touch grounds him, something shifts between them in an instant.

The vulnerability melts into something else entirely — a need, urgent and impossible to ignore. When their lips touch again, her back presses against the cool tile behind her, the contrast making her gasp as his hands find her waist, drawing her closer. The water pools around them like it's simply forgotten, as the intimacy of the moment consumes them both to the point it washes away the fear and everything else in between, leaving behind only one thing — the present moment. The now.

“I know we're both un poquito tipsy and the alcohol would be such a pathetic excuse tomorrow morning, but you have to understand that I've wanted you since we were in the car, and I wasn't drunk then.”

His confession makes her heart tighten, smiling up at him.

“Okay,” she says, giggling while looping her arms around Franco's waist to bring him closer to where she wants him.

Franco chuckles, “Okay?”

“Okay,” she repeats, feeling his hands cupping her breasts, making her whimper as a result.

He pauses for a moment as he looks at her reacting to his touch. “Are you sure?”

She nods, arching more into his touch.

To cover her sounds, his lips attach back to her mouth, moving against hers with increasing fervor, the weight of the day dissolving into the way she kisses him back. Her hands slide up his chest, water-slicked skin beneath her fingertips, and she presses closer, desperate to erase the lingering fear she can still feel surrounding him.

“Franco…” she whispers his name against his lips, her voice shaky, but laced with want. “Let me help?”

He doesn't need words to reply, instead he's deciding on tilting her chin up to deepen the kiss. The other hand wanders all over her body, mapping out her curves that fit against him as though they were always meant to. Her head falls back, resting on the wall as his lips move from her mouth to her jaw, then lower, tracing a line along the column of her neck, discovering her sweet spots for the first time.

“Is this good?” he asks, reaching her thighs, brushing the pads of his fingers between them and pushing his hand further, gently opening her.

“Yes…” she agrees, moving her hips against his hand, forcing his fingers inside her.

Her moans sound like they are accompanied by a choir of drunken angels, encouraging him to find a pace, fucking his fingers in and out until he feels her squeeze him tightly.

Her arms are draping around his shoulders, pulling him towards her tightly.

“Franco,” the girl gasps his name into his wet skin before she lowers her head to watch his fingers slipping free of her.

“Joder. You're so sensitive, cariño,” he figures, widening his eyes at her.

She looks back at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly, “That turns you on?”

“Sí...” he responds gruffly, taking a small step back, his eyes not leaving her body, drinking in every curve.

“Do something about it,” she urges, raising one leg up on his thigh.

Franco gets the memo, lifting her in his arms. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, the motion pulling him even closer. For a moment, everything else disappears — the crash, the weight of the day, the entire world. There is only her, her touch, her breath, her whispered name for him that sends his heart racing faster than any race car ever could.

She grips his shoulders tightly as he hovers above her. His dark eyes lock onto hers with an intensity that leaves her breathless, and Franco can't be sure either of them are breathing as he guides his cock to her entrance, hissing at the contact before sliding inside.

“Ay, fuck,” he breaths hard, feeling her body welcome him in, warm and wet.

She can't help but moan at how full she feels once he's all in.

Franco lets out another low grunt, his body responding to hers. He's struggling to hold back, to control the need that's consuming him. But soon, he realizes he can't resist the feeling of being inside her. So, he starts moving, slow at first.

“Feeling you so thight around me,” he mutters against her skin, “Fuck, there you go, cariño,” he ends up proppting a hand on the wall next to her head, to steady himself when he feels her fucking back against him.

“Franco, please,” she whimpers, digging her fingernails into his shoulders, breathing heavily at the sweet stretch.

Franco lets out a shaky breath, sliding all the way inside her, again and again, until his brain turns into mush. “You're so good, bebé. So good, unbelievable,” he rambles, his thrusts so slow and gentle, that make her see little white dots all around.

His mouth finds hers again, kissing her intently while fucking her so painfully slowly. It bothers her, but she knows it's about him right now; she doesn’t want him to rush. Franco's had enough of that today; enough speed, enough chaos. He doesn’t need to race toward the finish this time.

If he needs it slow, then she can take him that way.

She cups his face in her palms, forcing his eyes back on her — such a rookie mistake. The sight of him looking through wet eyelashes and glossy lips makes her pussy clench involuntarily around his cock, aggravating the need for him, causing a string of moans out of her mouth.

“Fran…” she loses her head, squeezing her eyes closed and rocking her hips harder against the wall to meet Franco halfway.

The way she molds to his rhythm, grounding him in the here and now, sends Franco to a completely different universe, where everything is pleasure. He needs it. Not to escape, but to rebuild himself.

They move together, each of his thrusts a reminder that not everything has to be fast to be meaningful, or to take your breath away — she's never been this close to coming from such a slow fuck before. His cock is hard and demanding inside her, though, throbbing against her walls the second he decides to pull all the way out, so he can fuck back in, finally setting a more alert pace.

“So good for me, aren't you? Letting me have my way like this?” asks Franco, his tone high and breathless. “Even though it's not how you like it, no?”

He's so close to the edge, too. She can sense it in the way his breaths are ragged and erratic.

“Talk to me, bébé. What do you want?”

“Mhm… more,” she manages, her body so close to collapsing in his arms.

That's all Franco needs to hear. His control snaps, the need and the pressure taking over as he lets out a low moan, “Sí, cariño... I've got you.”

He grabs her hips firmly, his fingers leaving indents on her skin as he slams into her harder, the feeling leaving her gasping for air. Franco smiles, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her wet skin.

“God, Franco. Don't—yes, don't stop.”

“So tight, and pretty, and hot, and—fuck, you're not real, bébé,” he's muttering in between deep thrusts, his words half-incoherent as he moves inside her, giving in to the primal lust, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

He can hear how wet she is, knowing it's just a matter of time until she finally lets go. So, he rises his head slightly, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, his voice raw and rough.

Franco's grip on her hips tightens, and it's almost painful, but then he suddenly stops, his body stilling inside her, the pleasure receding just slightly as he feels her come all over his throbbing length.

It takes everything in him to stop himself from following her, thrusting a couple more times to prolong her high. Then, he pulls out completely, guiding his cock between their bodies and pressing into her until his cum starts leaking onto her stomach. For a few seconds, it leaves a hot, dense trail before the water washes it away.

“Oh, my…” she breaths heavily, struggling to find her words.

As Franco finally releases his hold on her thighs, her legs falter beneath her, the strength utterly sapped from them. The slippery tile meets her feet, so unsteady, her body still trembling from the intensity her orgasm. Instinctively, her hands grip his arm, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping her from falling.

“Tranquila, bebita. ¿Estás bien?” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, while turning the water off. (Easy, baby. Are you okay?)

She lets out a soft, shaky laugh. “Sí.”

Franco chuckles softly, his grip on her tightening slightly.

For some reason, he feels the need to hold her, as though he’s afraid she might slip away — not in the shower, but from him.

“Have you ever been to Argentina?”

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2024

[solacestyles]

labyrinth - fc43

summary: as the only female driver on the grid, everything in yn's life was planned like a perfect qualifying lap. then franco colapinto had to show up. first, he was just that annoying new guy who took her best friend's seat. then he became the driver she absolutely couldn't stand (or at least that's what she kept telling herself) word count: over 13k + social media posts

folkie radio: GUYYYYSSS SHE'S HERE! i started writing this fic in september and it's finally her time to shine!! this is my first time writing driver!reader so please be gentle with me. also, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! may all of your wishes come true

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,027,537 others

yourinstagram p6 in zandvoort ! happy to see max on the podium for his home race. see you soon monza 🇮🇹

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username1 LEGEND

username2 p6 with that tractor feels like a podium finish fr

username3 give your seat to danny already

oscarpiastri Well done stinks 👊

↳ logansargeant Don’t praise her, her ego gets inflated

↳ username2 BEST TRIO ON THE GRID

↳ yourinstagram you’re both so jealous of me

redbullracing Keep pushing ! 💙

↳ username1 FIX HER FUCKING CAR

username4 p6 in a redbull? just hand the seat to someone more deserving

francolapinto Amazing 🙌🙌

↳ username2 franco is such a fannn

danielricciardo Proud of you 👌👌

↳ username1 haters want to create this beef between yn and danny for the seat but him adores her

maxverstappen1 Look she’s a nice teammate

↳ yourinstagram you adore me 😤

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A knot forms in your stomach as you read the messages. Something about the tone doesn't sit right with you. You quickly head towards Logan's motorhome, your mind racing and your axiety creeping in.

When you arrive, Oscar is already there, leaning against the wall with a concerned expression. Logan sits on the couch, his shoulders slumped and his gaze fixed on the floor.

"Logan?" you ask softly, stepping into the room. "What's going on?"

He looks up at you, then at Oscar, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and resignation. "I… I'm not coming back for the next race," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You feel like you've been punched in the gut. Deep down, a part of you had known this was coming. Rumors in the paddock spread faster than a Formula 1 car on a straight, and there had been whispers about Logan's seat for weeks. But you hadn't wanted to believe it. You'd pushed those thoughts aside, convinced that if you just ignored them, they wouldn't come true.

"What? What do you mean you're not coming back?"

Oscar pushes off the wall, his brow furrowed. "Mate, what happened?"

Logan takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Williams… they're replacing me. I'm out."

The room falls silent for a moment as the news sinks in. Then, all at once, you feel a surge of anger coursing through your veins.

"They can't do that!" you exclaim, your voice rising. "It's mid-season! You've been improving, you've been working so hard. How can they just… just throw you away like this?"

Logan shrugs, a bitter smile on his face. "Apparently, they can. And they have."

A wave of emotions come crashing to you. Anger at Williams for their decision, frustration at the ruthless nature of the sport, and an overwhelming sadness for Logan.

Oscar moves to sit beside Logan, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, mate. This is bullshit."

You start pacing the room, your anger building with each step. "Who are they replacing you with? Some pay driver? Some rookie who's never even touched an F1 car?"

"Franco Colapinto," Logan says quietly.

You stop in your tracks, whirling to face him. "Colapinto? The F2 kid? Are they out of their minds?"

Oscar tries to interject, his voice calm. "YN, maybe we should-"

But you're too fired up to listen. "No, Oscar! This is wrong. It's so wrong. Logan deserves better than this. He deserves a chance to prove himself. How is he supposed to do that if they don't even give him a full season?"

Logan looks up at you, a mix of gratitude and sadness in his eyes. "I appreciate you having my back, stinks. But it's done. There's nothing we can do about it now."

You shake your head. "No, there has to be something. They can't just replace you with some F2 kid like that. They're out of their minds."

"YN," Oscar cuts in firmly. "I know you're angry. We all are. But right now, we need to be here for Logan. This isn't about us or what we think is fair. It's about supporting our friend."

As Oscar's words sink in, you feel a wave of guilt wash over you. He's right, of course. This isn't about your anger or your sense of injustice. It's about Logan, your friend who's just had his dream ripped away from him.

The three of you have been racing together since you were kids, climbing through the ranks side by side. You've shared victories and defeats, laughter and tears. You've pushed each other to be better, to chase your dreams relentlessly. And now, one of you is being left behind.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "I just… I can't believe this is happening."

Logan manages a small smile. "It's okay, stinks. I appreciate your passion. It's one of the things I've always admired about you."

"Remember when we were in karting, and YN nearly got into a fist fight with that kid who tried to push Logan off the track?" Oscar says with a small smile, trying to light up the mood.

"How could I forget?" +

Logan chuckles softly, "She was like a tiny ball of fury."

You feel a smile tugging at your lips despite the situation. "Hey, nobody messes with my boys and gets away with it."

"And nothing's changed," Oscar adds, giving you a fond look. "We've always had each other's backs, through everything. This is not the exception."

Without another word, the three of you come together in a tight group hug, a physical representation of the bond you've shared for so many years.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri and 2,017,697 others

yourinstagram logan, you’re more than just a friend — you’re family. we’ve raced together since we were kids, dreaming of f1. to see that dream cut short for you is heartbreaking

your talent, dedication and kindness have always shone through. you deserved better than this mid-season swap. this sport can be cruel, but this feels especially unfair and i’m angry that my friend’s journey has been interrupted

but i’m also incredibly proud of you, logan. you have handled this with grace and strength and this isn’t the end for you — it’s just a detour. love you, stinks 🥲

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username1 IM SOBBING

username2 i still can’t believe this

username3 well hold your tears because you’re next

pierregasly Chin up, mate @/logansargeant you’re a champ 👊

alex_albon You will always be family @/logansargeant, It’s so sad to see you go

username4 that was cute now hand your seat to daniel or yuki

username5 THE FIRST PIC 🥺🥺 IM NOT OKAY

username6 oh she’s PISSED

username7 this is so unfair for logan

username8 colapinto has an enemy on track already and it’s her 😭

username9 the best trio will be incomplete now i’m not okay

username10 YOU NEXT BYE BYE

logansargeant Thank you for everything, go make me proud 💙

↳ username1 IM SOBBING AGAIN

liked by francolapinto, landonorris and 410,764 others

williamsracing Franco Colapinto to race for the remainder of the 2024 season.

username1 VAMOOOS

username2 hello?? hes cute

username3 OKAY I SEE

username4 good thing for the team, sargeant was just not it

alex_albon Welcome to the fam @/francolapinto 👊

username5 KIIING

username6 an f1 kid who's not even top 5 right now in the championship? risky move

yourinstagram not even giving logan a proper goodbye? yall suck

THIS COMMENT HAS BEEN DETELED

username1 OMFG YN WE SAW THAT

username2 YN 😭😭

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Monza is always a race to look forward no matter what team you drive for, but today, your excitement is just not there.

The paddock feels different without Logan's presence, you have always raced alongside him, and not seeing his face during a race weekend feels wrong.

As you make your way through the bustling crowd, you can't help but feel a pang of sadness and anger. Inside the Red Bull hospitality area, you find Max already settled in, scrolling through his phone. He looks up as you approach, a sympathetic smile on his face.

"Hey, kiddo. How are you holding up?" he asks, gesturing for you to take a seat next to him.

"As well as can be expected, I guess," you slump into the chair, running a hand through your hair. "It just feels wrong, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it," Max nods, his expression thoughtful, "How's Logan doing? Have you talked to him?"

The mention of Logan's name ignites that spark of anger inside you again. "He's… he's putting on a brave face, but I know he's hurting. This whole situation is such bullshit, Max. Williams made a huge mistake."

Max raises an eyebrow, sensing the storm brewing beneath your calm exterior. "You want to talk about it?"

That's all the invitation you need. The words start pouring out of you, your voice rising with each sentence.

"It's just so unfair! Logan was improving every race. He was working his ass off, putting in the hours, doing everything the team asked of him. And for what? To be tossed aside mid-season for some rookie?"

Max tries to interject, "Well, Colapinto has been pretty impressive in F2-"

But you're on a roll now, barely registering his words. "Impressive in F2? So what? F1 is a whole different ball game. Logan was just starting to get comfortable, to really show what he could do. And now they've brought in this Colapinto kid who's never even driven an F1 car, who's probably a paid driver who's just going to waste everyone's times. What kind of message does that send?"

You stand up, pacing back and forth as you continue your rant. "Williams is making a huge mistake. They're throwing away all the work Logan put in, all the data they've gathered. For what? A gamble on some unproven talent? And don't even get me started on how they handled it. No warning, no real explanation. Just 'Thanks for your service, now get out.' It's disrespectful, it's short-sighted, and it's everything that's wrong with this sport sometimes."

Max watches you, a mix of concern and surprise on his face. He's never seen you this fired up before. "YN, I understand you're upset, but-"

"No, Max!" you interrupt him, "You don't understand because you'll never have the fear of having your seat taken from you out of nowhere. You're Max Verstappen. You're safe. But for the rest of us… we're always one bad weekend away from losing everything."

Max's brow furrows, clearly taken aback by your statement. "YN, that's not true. I worked hard to get where I am-"

"I know you did," you interrupt again, your voice softer now. "I'm not saying you didn't. But you have to admit, your position is different. You're a world champion. You're untouchable. But for drivers like Logan, like me… we're always looking over our shoulders, always wondering if this race will be our last."

Max is silent for a moment, processing your words. "I guess you're right, I've been in a secure position for so long, I forgot what it's like to worry about your seat." He pauses, then adds, "But you know, you're in a unique position too. You're the only woman driving a Formula 1 car. That's pretty special. You should feel-"

You cut him off, your frustration flaring up again. "Exactly! I'm the only woman here, Max. Do you have any idea how much more pressure that puts on me? Every move I make is scrutinized. Every-"

Before you can continue, you spot Franco Colapinto walking past the Red Bull area, chatting animatedly with his new race engineer. The sight of him in Williams colors sends another wave of resentment through you, and you turn away abruptly.

"I need some air," you mutter, storming out of the hospitality area, leaving a bewildered Max in your wake.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The sun beats down as you stand next to Oscar on the flatbed truck, waiting for the drivers' parade to begin. The usual buzz of excitement surrounding Monza feels muted to you, overshadowed still by Logan's absence and the presence of his replacement.

"Oi, what's with the long face?" Oscar nudges you playfully with his elbow. "You look like someone stole your last Tim Tam."

"Oh shut up, you dork," you can't help but crack a small smile, "As if I'd ever let anyone near my precious Tim Tams."

"Too right," Oscar grins. "But seriously, how are you holding up?"

You shrug, trying to keep your expression neutral for the cameras. "Oh, you know, just peachy. Nothing like a bit of midseason drama to spice things up, right?"

"Always the optimist, aren't you?" Oscar rolls his eyes, "Come on, I bet you twenty quid you can't name all the Italian F1 circuits without googling."

"You're on, Piastri," you say, grateful for the distraction. "Monza, Imola, Mugello…"

As you're racking your brain for more, you notice Franco Colapinto approaching. Your playful mood evaporates instantly.

Franco's eyes widen as he gets closer, clearly starstruck. "Uh, hi," he says nervously. "I'm Franco. I just wanted to introduce myself."

Oscar, ever the diplomat, smiles and extends his hand. "Hey mate, welcome to F1. I'm Oscar."

Franco shakes his hand before turning to you, his expression one of barely contained awe. "And you're YN. I… I can't believe I'm actually meeting you. You're such an inspiration. The way you've broken barriers in this sport, it's incredible. I've followed your career since your F3 days and-"

You cut him off, your voice cool. "Thanks. Welcome to the grid."

Franco's smile falters, but he presses on. "I just wanted to say how much I admire what you've accomplished. You've paved the way for so many young drivers, especially women in motorsport. It's an honor to be racing alongside you."

You nod stiffly. "Thanks," you repeat, your tone making it clear that you're not interested in continuing the conversation.

An awkward silence falls over the group. Oscar, sensing the tension, tries to smooth things over. "So, Franco, how are you finding the step up to F1 so far?"

As Franco turns to answer Oscar, you take the opportunity to step away, moving to the other side of the truck. You can feel Oscar's gaze following you, but you can't bring yourself to engage in small talk with Logan's replacement, no matter how well-intentioned he might be.

As you're standing alone, Alex approaches, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Hey, mind if I join you?"

You shrug. "Free country, Albon. Or free truck, I guess."

Alex chuckles softly. "How are you doing? I know this can't be easy for you."

You sigh, your guard dropping slightly with Alex. "It's… complicated. I'm angry for Logan, but I know it's not Franco's fault. It's just…"

"It's the reality of the sport we're in," Alex finishes for you. "Trust me, I get it. Been there, done that, got the Red Bull rejection t-shirt."

Your stomach twists at the mention of that, suddenly remembering the endless conversations and warnings from your team. And how despite having a contract for next season, there's threats about your seat being take away after every race weekend. But you push the thought away.

"Always the comedian, aren't you?"

"Someone's got to keep the mood light around here," Alex grins. "But seriously, I know it's tough. Franco's a good kid, though. He's been working really hard, trying to learn as much as he can."

You nod, not quite ready to let go of your resentment but appreciating Alex's perspective. "How's he settling in?"

"As well as can be expected," Alex says. "He's got a lot to learn, but he's eager. It's a big step up from F2, but he's handling the pressure well so far."

You're about to respond when the parade starts moving. Alex gives you a supportive pat on the shoulder before moving back to his spot. As the truck rolls down the straight, the cheers of the Tifosi wash over you. You lift your hand to wave, a mix of emotions swirling inside you that go beyond just Logan's replacement.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,638,578 others

yourinstagram p8. it is what it is. ciao monza 👋

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username1 you will always be the moment

username2 FIX THE FUCKING CAR ALREADY

username3 ouu shes DONEEE

username4 most undeserved seat on the grid i swear

username5 anyway RICBULL IS COMING

francolapinto Such a pleasure to race alongside you!

↳ username1 franco respects and admires her so much i love it

↳ username2 im pretty sure yn hates him tho

username6 the constructors championship is gone thanks to her

logansargeant Chin up, love you 💙

↳ username2 i miss them so much

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 12,739 others

f1gossip YN arriving at Red Bull HQ in Milton Keynes

Tensions running high as rumors swirl about potential driver shake-ups. Sources say YN’s recent performance has bosses considering options

Is the Honey Badger eyeing a comeback or could young Liam Lawson be making the leap to F1? 🤔

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username1 bro...

username2 they better fix her car NOW

username3 RICBULL RICBULL

username4 honestly the best thing for the team would be her getting replaced

username5 YAAAS SHE'S OUT FINALLY

username6 oscar is the only 2023 rookie who actually puts in the work

username7 some people need to start putting some respect on yn's name bc yall keep forgetting she was third in the championship and got her first win during her ROOKIE SEASON and the reason she's struggling rn is bc redbull is not getting their shit together

↳ username1 right??? they're just saying shit

↳ username4 you said it yourself, she has a championship winning car and she's not delivering. she should be out

username8 YN GET BEHIND ME

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,638,538 others

yourinstagram great quali, we should have some fun tomorrow 😚

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username1 SLAYYY

username2 p4 after all the nonsense surrounding her seat? feels right

username3 THE QUEEN OF BAKU FOR REAL

lilyzneimer my favorite supergirl 💙

username4 she got lucky

username5 don't care, we still want danny or liam in that seat

username6 enjoy the race bc it might be your last

username7 watch her on that podium tomorrow

logansargeant Super proud always

↳ username2 LOGAN WE MISSS YOUUUU

francolapinto 🤩

liked by username1, logansargeant and 270,847 others

redbullracing Solid race and a bunch of points for the team 👊

Result 🏁PIA, LEC, YN P3, NOR, Max P5, ALO, ALB, COL, HAM, BEA

#F1 #RedBullRacing #AzerbaijanGP

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username1 SO DAMN TRUE

username2 yn back on the podium FINALLY

username3 yn saw the rumors about her seat and decided to shut them up

username4 SHES BEATING MAX FINALLY

username5 did they finally fix the car

username6 i don't want anyone commenting on her seat anymore

username7 i knew she got into that care absolutely PISSED

username8 QUEEN OF BAKU

liked by oscarpiastri, francolapinto and 1,764,933 others

yourinstagram was that entertaining? 😙 so happy to be on the podium for osco's second win, i love you so muuuch you diva

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username1 LEGEND

username2 she's so smug

username3 TELL THEM QUEEEN

landonorris The third pic is definitely your best @/oscarpiastri

↳ yourinstagram IKR

↳ username1 I LOVE THEM

logansargeant Congrats to both of you @/oscarpiastri @/yourinstagram I'm always proud of everything you achieve ❤️

↳ username2 logan should be there too i'm sad now

↳ oscarpiastri Love you mate

↳ yourinstagram this paddock will never be the same without you

maxvertsappen1 🙌🙌 So proud of you little sister

oscarpiastri Love you stinks

francolapinto Congrats! Always an honor to race alongside you

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The drivers' briefing has just concluded, and you find yourself lingering in the room, chatting with your friends.

"I swear, I almost peed my pants at that press conference!," Lando says, his eyes widening as he recalls, "When Max and YN just sat there in silence, staring down the journalists… I thought I was going to lose it!"

Pierre chuckles, giving you a knowing look. "I knew YN was the mastermind behind that. It has her written all over it."

"Well, someone had to make a point about these ridiculous penalties," you can't help but grin.

The group's laughter is interrupted as Franco approaches, a tentative smile on his face. "Hey guys, mind if I join?"

The others welcome him warmly, and you feel a knot forming in your stomach. You force a tight smile, trying to keep your emotions in check.

"Franco, mate!" George exclaims, patting him on the back. "That was some impressive driving in practice. You're settling in well."

Alex nods in agreement. "Yeah, you're really holding your own out there. Williams made a good choice."

You feel your jaw clench at Alex's words, but you remain silent, watching as Franco's face lights up with pride and gratitude.

"Thanks, guys," Franco says, his voice humble. "I still have a lot to learn, but I'm giving it my all."

"Well, it's paying off," Lando chimes in, "Points in just your second race? You're pushing that Williams harder than we've seen in a while."

As the conversation continues, with each driver offering praise and encouragement to Franco, you feel your frustration and anger building.

The memory of Logan's disappointment and unfairness of it all, mixed with the ever present threat of you seat having the same fate, bubbles up inside you until you can't contain it anymore.

"And what about Logan?" you snap, your voice cutting through the friendly chatter like a knife. The group falls silent, all eyes turning to you in surprise. Franco's smile fades, replaced by a look of discomfort and guilt.

"YN…" Oscar starts, his tone cautionary.

But you're too fired up to stop now. "No, seriously. Everyone's so quick to praise him, but what about Logan? He was improving every race, working his ass off, and for what? To be tossed aside mid-season?"

The atmosphere in the room becomes tense. George and Alex exchange uncomfortable glances, while Pierre shifts uneasily.

Franco, looking distressed, speaks up. "I never meant for Logan to lose his seat. I just took the opportunity when it was offered to me. Any driver would have done the same."

"Oh, so that makes it okay?" his words only fuel your anger. "You just 'took the opportunity'? Do you have any idea how hard Logan worked for that seat? How much he sacrificed?"

"YN, that's enough," Oscar says firmly, placing a hand on your arm.

But you shrug him off, your eyes blazing as you face Franco. "You waltz in here, taking a seat you didn't earn, and everyone's falling over themselves to congratulate you. It's not right. It's not fair."

The room falls into a shocked silence. Franco looks like he's been slapped, his earlier excitement completely deflated. The other drivers are staring at you with a mix of surprise and disapproval.

It's George who finally breaks the tension. "YN, I think we all understand you're upset about Logan. We all are. But this isn't Franco's fault. He's just trying to make the most of his chance, like any of us would."

You feel a flush of shame creeping up your neck, but your anger is still simmering. "You don't understand," you mutter, but the fight has gone out of your voice.

Franco, looking genuinely distressed, takes a step towards you. "I'm sorry about what happened to Logan. I really am. I have nothing but respect for him, and for you. I never wanted to cause any problems."

His sincerity catches you off guard, and for a moment, you see not the driver who replaced your friend, but a young, talented kid trying to navigate a difficult situation. However, your anger and frustration gets the best of you.

"Whatever," you mumble, pushing past the group and out of the room, leaving a stunned silence as you disappear.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by lewishamilton, alex_albon and 709,639 others

francolapinto still buzzing from singapore 🇸🇬growing up watching Lewis battle in marina bay and now getting to race wheel to wheel with him... surreal doesn't even begin to cover it 🤯 and that fight with YN for position was proper racing - those last few laps were intense! thank you to the team for giving me a car that could fight at the front. vamos 💪

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username1 he’s an f1 driver now but he’ll always be a fanboy

lewishamilton Good racing kid, you've got a bright future ahead 👊🏾

williamsracing Our boy! 💙

username3 Did anyone else notice how aggressive YN was when overtaking Franco? Almost pushed him into the wall...

↳ username1 fr she looked like she wanted to crash him

↳ username4 they were racing for position, that's what racing drivers do 🙄

username5 the way he always mentions YN in his posts but she never acknowledges him 👀

username6 that move from YN was unnecessarily aggressive, could've ended badly

landonorris Great drive mate!

liked by yourinstagram, maxverstappen1 and 2,370,739 others

f1 BREAKING: Daniel Ricciardo to leave RB, the team have announced. Liam Lawson will race in place of Ricciardo for the remaining six races of the season for the team.

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username1 DANNY NOOOO

username2 this sucks man

danielricciardo Been a hell of a ride! Thank you RB family ❤️

maxverstappen1 Going to miss you mate!

username3 Wrong driver leaving... YN should be the one out

↳ username1 exactly! she's been underperforming all season

yourinstagram always grateful for everything you taught me DR. more than a driver - you've been a big brother, mentor, and friend since day one. going to miss our pre-race dance parties 🥺🤍

↳ username3 now give him your seat

↳ username1 it's no annoying to see that drivers like her have an undeserved contract extension and talented drivers get left out

↳ danielricciardo Love you kiddo! Make me proud

username5 Gutted to see Danny Ric go 💔

landonorris Won't be the same without you mate!

username7 @/yourinstagram Maybe focus more on racing than dancing 🙄

↳ username8 she's literally P5 in the championship, shut up

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

As you step off the plane in Florida, the warm air envelops you, a stark contrast to the crisp autumn weather you left behind in Europe. Your heart lightens as you spot Logan waiting for you, his familiar grin a welcome sight after weeks of tension and stress. You missed your best friend so much.

You rush towards him, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. "I missed you so much," you say, your voice muffled against his shoulder. "That paddock sucks without you."

Logan chuckles, returning the hug with equal enthusiasm. "I missed you too, stinks." He pulls back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Now, let's grab a beer since you're out of race cars for a while."

You nod eagerly, letting him lead the way. He drives you to a nearby bar, one you've learned over the years of knowing him was the one he used to go to during his teenage years. The casual atmosphere is a refreshing change from the high-pressure environment of the paddock. As you settle into a booth with cold beers in hand, you feel some of the tension from the past few months start to melt away.

"So, how's life outside the F1 bubble?" you ask, taking a sip of beer.

Logan grins, leaning back in his seat. "It's… different. But not all bad. Actually, I've got some news." He pauses for dramatic effect. "I've been in talks with a few IndyCar teams."

Your eyes widen with excitement. "Logan, that's fantastic! Tell me everything!"

For the next hour, Logan animatedly describes his meetings with IndyCar team principals, the tracks he's excited to race on, and the new challenges he's looking forward to. You listen intently, genuinely happy for your friend's potential new chapter.

"It's not F1," Logan admits, "but it's a hell of a racing series. And who knows? Maybe it'll lead me back to F1 someday."

"I have no doubt," you assure him, raising your bottle in a toast. "To new beginnings!"

As the conversation flows, you find yourself relaxing more than you have in months. You chat about mutual friends, swap funny stories from your junior racing days, and discuss the latest paddock gossip.

Eventually, Logan's expression turns a bit more serious. "So, Oscar's been keeping me updated on what's been going on in F1. Sounds like things have been… tense with Franco."

You feel your mood shift at the mention of Franco's name. "Yeah, you could say that," you mutter, taking a long swig of your beer.

Logan leans forward, his voice gentle but firm. "YN, I know you're upset on my behalf, but you can't keep this grudge going forever. Franco's just a kid trying to make his way in the sport, like we all were not too long ago."

"I know, I know. It's just," you sigh heavily, "Every time I see him in the garage, in your overalls, talking to your engineers… it feels wrong, Logan. Like he's stolen something that belongs to you."

"But he didn't steal anything," Logan counters. "The team made a decision. It sucks for me, yeah, but that's not on Franco. He just took an opportunity that was offered to him. Can you honestly say you wouldn't have done the same in his position?"

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Logan has a point, and you know it.

"Look," Logan continues, "I've had some time to process all this, and I've come to terms with it. It's a cutthroat sport, YN. We all know that. Franco's not the villain here."

"But the way it happened," you protest, "mid-season, with no warning. It wasn't fair to you."

"Fair doesn't always come into it in F1. It just happens," Logan shrugs, "Besides," he adds with a hint of a smile, "I hear he's doing a decent job. The kid's got talent."

"He's alright," you grudgingly admit. "But he's not you."

Logan laughs. "No one's me, stinks. I'm one of a kind."

You can't help but crack a smile at that. "True enough."

"So," Logan says, his tone turning serious again, "can you promise me you'll try to ease up on Franco? Give him a fair shot? For me?"

You sigh deeply, considering his words. "I'll try," you finally concede. "But I'm not promising to be his best friend or anything."

"That's all I ask," Logan says, looking relieved. "Now, is this just about Franco replacing me, or is there something else going on? You seem… I don't know, more on edge than usual."

For a moment, you consider telling him about the talks with Red Bull, about the uncertainty surrounding your own seat. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but something holds you back. Maybe it's not wanting to burden Logan with your problems, or maybe it's not being ready to voice your fears out loud.

"No, nothing else," you lie, forcing a smile. "Just the usual F1 stress, you know how it is."

Logan nods, though he doesn't look entirely convinced. "Well, if there ever is anything, you know you can talk to me, right? Even if I'm not in the paddock anymore."

"I know," you say, feeling a pang of guilt. "Thanks, Logan. Really."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by logansargeant, landonorris and 1,289,673 others

yourinstagram florida !!! is one hell of a drug

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username1 AHHH she visited logan

logansargeant Next time we're doing the gator tour 🐊

↳ username2 i love them sm

oscarpiastri No invite for your favourite Aussie? Rude

↳ username2 we need the iconic trio together again

username3 they've been friends since forever, love how they support each other

username4 Logan and YN's friendship >>>>>

username5 Why is she on holiday when she should be working on her driving?

username6 the way logan always has her back 🥺

username7 surely there are better uses of time with 4 races left and her seat under threat?

francolapinto Amazing 🙌

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You arrive at the Red Bull hospitality area in Austin, the excitement of being back after the break palpable in the air. As you walk in, you spot Max lounging on one of the sofas, scrolling through his phone.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Max grins, looking up from his device. "Did you get lost in the Texas wilderness?"

You roll your eyes playfully, dropping your bag on a nearby chair. "Oh, I'm sorry, Your Highness. Did I keep you waiting? I was busy signing autographs for all my adoring fans. You know how it is… oh wait, you don't."

"Ouch, that hurt," Max clutches his chest in mock pain, "And here I was, about to show you something interesting, but now I'm not so sure you deserve it."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. The banter with Max always helps you relax before a race weekend, and you've missed this during the break. "Oh come on, spill it, Verstappen. You know you want to. Don't make me steal your phone."

Max chuckles and pats the seat next to him. "Alright, alright. Sit down before you hurt yourself trying to reach my phone."

As you sit down, he pulls up a video on his phone. "Check this out. It's an interview with your biggest fan."

It's an interview with Franco. Your initial instinct is to look away, a mix of guilt and stubbornness rising in your chest. But something in Max's expression makes you watch.

"Lewis Hamilton and YN are my biggest idols in F1," Franco is saying, his face earnest. "The way YN races, her dedication and skill, it's truly inspiring. She's broken so many barriers and shown that talent knows no gender. I feel honored just to be on the same grid as her."

As the interview continues, Franco heaps more praise on you, his admiration clear in every word. You feel a twinge of guilt, remembering how cold you've been towards him. The genuine respect in his voice makes you uncomfortable, forcing you to confront your own prejudices.

"Her overtake on Leclerc in Interlagos last year? That was pure brilliance," Franco continues. "I've watched that move countless times, trying to learn from it. YN's not just a great driver, she's changing the face of the sport. I hope one day I can race wheel-to-wheel with her and show her the respect she deserves on track."

Max turns off the video and looks at you expectantly. "I think you owe someone an apology," he says, his tone gentle but firm.

You nod slowly, the realization sinking in. A wave of shame washes over you as you remember your cold behavior towards Franco. "I think I do," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Hey, we all make mistakes. What matters is how we fix them. Franco's a good kid, and he really looks up to you. Maybe it's time to give him a chance?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "I actually talked to Logan last week," you confess, watching Max's eyebrows rise in surprise. "He's doing well, actually - focusing on IndyCar now. But we talked a lot about… everything."

"Yeah?" Max shifts in his seat, clearly intrigued. It's not often you open up about these things.

"He basically told me I needed to stop fighting battles that weren't mine to fight. Said he appreciates me having his back, but Franco isn't the enemy here. He's just chasing his dream, like we all did. Logan said he remembers how it felt, getting his first chance - we all do."

Max nods thoughtfully. "Logan's right, you know. We've all been there at some point - getting an opportunity because someone else lost theirs. It's just how F1 works sometimes."

"I know," you admit, standing up. "And I've been unfair to Franco. He's actually doing a really good job with Williams, fighting in the midfield with a car that's not the easiest to drive. And here I am, making him feel unwelcome when I should be supporting talent. Some role model I am, right?"

"So what are you going to do about it?" Max asks, though his smile suggests he already knows.

You spot Franco heading towards the Williams hospitality area. "I'm going to make it right."

Walking over to Williams, you feel your heart pounding a little faster with each step. You find Franco sitting at one of the tables, going through data on his laptop with his race engineer.

"Franco?" you call out. "Could I steal you for a moment?"

He looks up, surprise evident on his face. "YN? Hi… yeah, of course." He glances at his engineer, who nods and excuses himself.

"Mind if I sit?" you ask, gesturing to the empty chair. When he nods, you take a deep breath. "I owe you an apology. A proper one."

Franco starts to shake his head, but you hold up a hand. "Please, let me finish. I've been unfair to you, and it wasn't right. I let my loyalty to Logan blind me to the fact that you're just a talented driver making the most of your opportunity. I've been cold, sometimes even hostile, and you didn't deserve any of that."

"I… thank you," Franco says quietly. "That means a lot. I want you to know, I reached out to Logan when-"

"I know," you interrupt gently. "He told me. That's partly why I'm here. You showed real class doing that, Franco. And you're doing a great job with the car. That P8 in Baku? That was proper racing."

A genuine smile breaks across his face. "Coming from you, that really means a lot. You know, I've watched your races since I was in F3. The way you fought through all the doubters, proved everyone wrong… you're really an inspiration."

You feel your throat tighten unexpectedly. "I had no idea."

"That's why your opinion means so much," Franco admits, fiddling with his water bottle. "When you seemed disappointed in me being here… it hurt, you know?"

"I'm sorry," you say again, meaning it more than ever. "How about we start fresh? Maybe you can talk me through that overtake in Baku - I noticed you used a similar line to what I did in Interlagos last year."

Franco's eyes light up. "You caught that? I actually studied your move while preparing for the race! The way you positioned the car on entry…"

You spend the next twenty minutes discussing racing lines and overtaking techniques, the earlier tension completely dissolved. Franco's enthusiasm is infectious, reminding you of your own early days in F1.

When you finally walk back to Max, you feel lighter than you have in months. He greets you with a knowing smile. "Feel better?"

"Much better," you admit. "Sometimes you need a kick in the right direction So thank you, I needed that wake-up call."

"Anytime," he smirks, throwing an arm around your shoulders, "Can't have my teammate being the paddock villain, can I? That's my job."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1 and 1,667,459 others

yourinstagram rookies keeping us on our toes 😤 good battles today @/francolapinto

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username1 THIS IS LEGENDARY

username3 franco is going to piss his pants

williamsracing Our rookie giving the Red Bull a run for their money 💙

username4 she shouldn’t be acknowledging that a rookie in a williams is making it hard for her… embarrasing

username5 the start of YN and Franco's friendship? 👀

username7 the tension between these two was getting old, glad they're friends now

username8 HANDLE YOUR SEAT

username8 MY DUO 😭❤️

francolapinto Next time I won’t make it easy for you!

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The private jet hums quietly through the night sky towards Mexico City. Most of the other drivers are asleep, exhausted from the intense Austin weekend. You find yourself unable to sleep, your mind still racing from the events of the day. Glancing around the dimly lit cabin, you notice Franco is also awake, absently flipping through a magazine.

Catching your eye, he gives you a warm smile and moves to the empty seat across from you. "Can't sleep either?"

"Too much adrenaline still," you admit, adjusting your position to face him better. "Great drive today, by the way. That point was well-deserved."

Franco's face lights up at the compliment. "Thanks! Though it's nothing compared to your battle with Lando. I was watching it from behind and thought 'there's no way she's going to make that stick' but then you just… did. It was incredible."

You laugh softly, careful not to wake the others. "There was a moment there where I wasn't sure either. But sometimes you just have to go for it, you know?"

"Oh, I know exactly what you mean," Franco grins. "Like that time in F3 when I tried to go around the outside at Spa and ended up practically in another timezone."

"Please tell me there's video of that," you snicker.

"Unfortunately for my dignity, yes. I think my engineer still uses it as an example of what not to do."

The conversation flows naturally, jumping from racing stories to childhood memories. You find yourself genuinely enjoying his company, something that would have seemed impossible just a few weeks ago.

"So what made you want to be a racing driver?" you ask, genuinely curious.

As Franco launches into how he found his passion for the sport, you find yourself really looking at him properly for the first time. The soft cabin lighting catches the angles of his face, and you notice details you'd overlooked before. His eyes are warm with flecks of gold, crinkling slightly at the corners when he smiles. There's a small scar above his right eyebrow, barely noticeable unless you're paying attention. His dark hair is slightly disheveled from the long race day, a few strands falling across his forehead.

You catch yourself thinking how handsome he actually is, in that classic way. His animated expressions as he talks about racing make him even more attractive, his passion for the sport evident in every gesture.

"...and that's when I knew I wanted to do this forever," he finishes, then looks slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm rambling. I tend to get carried away when talking about racing."

"No, don't apologize," you say quickly. "It's refreshing to see that kind of enthusiasm. Some of the guys get so jaded after a while."

Franco's smile turns a bit shy. "Speaking of enthusiasm, I'm really excited about racing in Mexico this weekend. It's one of my favorite cities - the atmosphere is just incredible."

"The fans are amazing there," you agree. "Though I still haven't found a really good place to eat in Mexico City. The hotel restaurant gets old pretty quickly."

Franco's eyes light up. "Oh, you have to let me help with that! I know a couple of amazing restaurants in the city. There's this incredible place that serves the best traditional dishes you've ever tasted, and another one in that does contemporary Mexican cuisine that would blow your mind."

You find yourself intrigued, both by the suggestion and the eager way he's describing it. "That sounds way better than room service."

"We could..." he hesitates for a moment, then continues with determination, "we could go together, if you'd like? After Thursday's media duties maybe? I'd love to show you my favorite spots."

There's something endearing about the way he's trying to sound casual while clearly being nervous about asking. You feel a flutter in your stomach that you definitely weren't expecting.

"You know what? That sounds great," you say, surprised by how much you mean it. "It's about time I experienced proper Mexican cuisine."

Franco's face breaks into a brilliant smile. "Perfect! I'll make a reservation for Thursday evening then. Trust me, you won't regret it."

As the conversation continues, you can't help but notice how natural it feels now, how easily you're laughing at his jokes and sharing stories. It's hard to believe this is the same person you were avoiding just a few weeks ago.

As other drivers start stirring from their sleep, Franco returns to his original seat, but not before confirming your dinner plans one more time.

Watching him walk away, you find yourself looking forward to Thursday evening more than you probably should. It's just dinner with a colleague, you tell yourself, even as you catch yourself smiling at the thought of it.

"Just dinner," you whisper to yourself, but somehow, you're not entirely convinced.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

yourinstagram has added to their close friends stories

replies:

georgerussell63 So that was all the giggling I heard during the flight

oscarpiastri I’m so telling Logan

maxverstappen1 Can I say “I told you so” now?

francolapinto close friends privileges already? wow

↳ yourinstagram don’t push it colapinto

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The hotel lobby is relatively quiet as you wait for Franco, having agreed to meet there before heading to the restaurant. You've opted for casual - a simple black dress that makes you feel confident but not overdressed.

"Ready to have your mind blown by the best food in Mexico City?" Franco's voice makes you turn. He's wearing dark jeans and a well-fitted navy button-down, and you try not to notice how good he looks.

"Big claims require big proof," you tease, falling into step beside him.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Lando's familiar accent cuts through the lobby. He's just coming in from what looks like a gym session, and his surprised smirk makes you want to roll your eyes. "Interesting dinner plans?"

"Just showing YN the local cuisine," Franco says smoothly, though you notice his ears turning slightly pink.

"Right, right," Lando drawls, his eyes dancing with amusement. "The local cuisine. In your nice shirt. At that fancy place you've been talking about for weeks-"

"Goodbye, Lando," you cut him off, grabbing Franco's arm and steering him toward the exit, trying to ignore Lando's knowing chuckle behind you. You knew it was a matter of time before the entire grid finds out you went out with Franco.

The restaurant is everything Franco promised and more. The conversation flows easily between you, and you find yourself charmed by the way he seamlessly switches between Spanish and English while ordering, the way he leans in slightly when you're talking, the way his hand occasionally brushes yours across the table.

"No way," you laugh, taking another sip of wine. "You did not challenge your friend to a dance-off."

"I absolutely did," Franco grins. "And I won, by the way. Though there might have been some tequila involved."

"I would pay good money to see that."

"Play your cards right," he says with a playful wink, "and maybe you'll get a private demonstration."

The flirtatious comment catches you off guard, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. Franco seems pleased with this reaction, his confidence growing throughout the evening.

The evening continues, warm and comfortable. Franco insists on ordering dessert - "You haven't lived until you've tried their churros con chocolate" - and you find yourself sharing stories between bites of perfectly crispy churros.

"So," Franco says, wiping chocolate from his lip with a napkin, "you, Oscar, and Logan - that's quite the trio. How did that happen?"

You laugh, fondly remembering those early days. "We practically grew up together in karting. I was this tiny kid trying to prove myself, Oscar was already sassy even at eight years old, and Logan… well, Logan was Logan."

"Let me guess - immediate chaos?" Franco grins.

"Oh, absolutely. We used to drive our parents and coaches crazy. These three kids who wouldn't stop racing each other even after practice was over." You smile at the memory. "We've been inseparable ever since. Though now Logan's living his best life in Florida."

Franco's eyes soften. "You really miss having him in the paddock, don't you?"

"Yeah," you admit quietly. "I do. But he's happy, and that's what matters. Plus, he texts me stupid memes at least twenty times a day, so it's like he never left."

After asking for the bill — one that Franco didn't let you pay no matter how much you insisted — you decided to walk back to the hotel. You were aware that his hand was close to yours as you walked side by side, almost brushing your fingers, but you didn't dare to take that step, and neither did he.

You reach the hotel, but instead of heading straight for the elevators, Franco suggests taking the scenic route through the garden. The night is too nice to end just yet.

"I have to say," he remarks as you walk, "you look beautiful tonight. That dress is…" he makes an exaggerated chef's kiss gesture, making you laugh.

"Smooth, Colapinto. Very smooth."

"I try," he winks, and you roll your eyes but can't hide your smile.

The walk to your room comes too quickly. Outside your door, Franco turns to you with a soft smile.

"Thank you for tonight," he says. "It was… nice. Really nice."

"It was," you agree, finding yourself meaning it completely. "Thank you for showing me your favorite spot."

There's a moment where you both just look at each other, the air charged with something unspoken. Franco takes a small step closer, then seems to think better of it.

"Goodnight, YN," he says softly, squeezing your hand once before letting go.

"Goodnight, Franco," you reply, watching him head down the hallway.

As you close the door behind you, you lean against it, smiling to yourself. You can already hear Max's smug "I told you so" tomorrow, but somehow, you can't bring yourself to care.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 14,892 users

f1gossip🚨 Franco Colapinto and YN spotted having dinner together in Mexico City. They spent over two hours at the restaurant according to witnesses.

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username2 This is getting interesting... 👀

username3 STOP I'M CRYING 😭❤️

username4 they're just friends guys, calm down

username4 the way he makes her laugh though!!!

username5 watch how they'll deny everything tomorrow

username6 MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THIS

username8 this has to be more than just friendship...

username10 I MANIFESTED THIS

username12 focus on racing instead of dating maybe?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Brazilian rain hammers down relentlessly on the Interlagos circuit. It's barely 6 AM, but the paddock is already buzzing with nervous energy for the early sprint qualifying. You stifle a yawn as you check your phone for what must be the hundredth time that morning. Another message from Franco pops up - a picture of himself looking comically miserable in the rain with the caption "Maybe if we all pretend we didn't see the rain, they'll cancel quali?"

The past week has been unexpected in the best way possible. After that dinner in Mexico, something shifted. What started as sharing breakfast in the hotel turned into spending every free moment together. During the long flight to São Paulo, George had dramatically sighed and switched seats with Franco, muttering something about "not being able to take the longing looks across the plane anymore."

"Someone's cheerful for 6 AM," Max comments, walking into the garage as you quickly type a response to Franco. "Let me guess - Argetinian company keeping you entertained?"

You try to hide your smile but fail miserably. "Shut up and focus on qualifying."

"Oh, I'm focused," he grins. "Unlike someone who keeps looking at their phone every two minutes."

"I'm just-"

"YN," Max interrupts, counting off on his fingers, "he waited outside our debrief yesterday just to walk you to dinner. He somehow always knows your coffee order. And don't think I didn't notice him giving you his jacket yesterday."

You feel your cheeks heat up. "We're just friends."

"Right," Max smirks. "Friends. Like how Charles and I are 'just friends' when we're trying to punt each other off track."

"Shut up, as if you weren't secretly in love with each other."

A few hours later, as you prepare for the drivers' parade, Oscar sidles up next to you with his trademark grin.

"Well, well, if it isn't the stranger," he says dramatically. "Remember me? One of your best friends? Though I suppose you wouldn't know, being attached at the hip with a certain Williams driver these days."

You roll your eyes, but there's no heat in it. "Miss me that much, Piastri?"

"Just saying, used to be we'd get coffee before parade, now it's all 'Sorry Oscar, Franco already got me coffee,'" he mimics your voice terribly.

You're about to retort when Franco appears, and Oscar's grin widens. "And that's my cue. Have fun, kids!" He winks before sauntering off.

"Ignore him," you say when you notice a small smile in Franco's face, "He's the perpetual pain in my ass."

"He's okay," Franco says, standing closer to you. You're trying to get your hair in order when you realize something's missing.

"Shit," you mutter, patting your pockets. "I forgot my hair tie."

"You always braid it before races, right?"

"Yeah," you sigh, still searching. "I'm stupidly superstitious about it. Haven't gotten into the car without a perfect braid since F3."

"Here," Franco pulls a hair tie from his wrist. At your surprised look, he shrugs. "I started carrying one after Mexico. Just in case," he shrugs, as if he was saying the most obvious thing ever, "Turn around."

"You know how to braid hair?"

"Sisters, remember? I'm practically a professional." His fingers are gentle as they work through your hair. "Besides, can't have you breaking your streak because of a missing hair tie."

You're acutely aware of the other drivers watching with varying degrees of amusement. Lewis gives you a knowing wink as he passes, while Charles not-so-subtly elbows Oscar and gestures toward you two.

"There," he says finally, securing the end with your hair tie. "Perfect braid for perfect racing."

You reach back to feel it - it is indeed perfect. When you turn to thank him, you find him much closer than expected, his eyes soft as they meet yours.

"Show off," you manage to say, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing.

"Only for you," he replies with a wink, and you hear what sounds suspiciously like Alex whispering "Just kiss already" to George.

The moment is broken by the announcement for drivers to take their places on the parade truck. As you climb aboard, you catch Oscar making exaggerated swooning gestures at you, while Max simply mouths "Just friends?" with a knowing smirk.

Franco takes his place beside you on the truck, close enough that your shoulders touch, and somehow you find you don't really care who's watching.

"Nice braid, by the way," Charles calls out teasingly from behind you. "Franco, think you could do mine next time?"

"Get your own hair stylist, Leclerc," you call back, and Franco's laugh next to you makes everything - the bad qualifying, the rain, the teasing - worth it.

The truck starts moving, and Franco's hand finds yours, hidden from view between you. You intertwine your fingers with his, and neither of you let go for the entire parade.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 21,765 others

f1_insider🚨 Christian Horner spotted leaving Williams hospitality after a 2-hour meeting in Brazil. This comes amid increasing speculation about driver changes for 2025.

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username1 They're not even trying to be subtle anymore…

username2 leave YN alone challenge

username3 Franco to Red Bull confirmed? 👀

username5 WAIT WHAT

username7 the timing of this… right before quali 😬

username8 everyone acting surprised like this hasn't been brewing for weeks username11 They're trying to destabilize her before the race

liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 2,093,032 others

yourinstagram brazil never disappoints. p15 ➡�� p2. proud of this one.

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username1 IM STILL CRYING

username2 MIC DROP

maxverstappen1 Proper racing today 💪🏻 That defense in the last 10 laps 🔥Love you kiddo, couldn't ask for a better teammate

↳ username1 max said SHE'S NOT GOING ANYWHERE

danielricciardo THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! That's my girl!

username3 EVERYONE'S PRIDE AND JOY

username4 she got lucky and still no win this season

landonorris Absolute monster in the wet

logansargeant THAT'S MY BEST FRIEND

username5 this is why she deserves that seat

username6 where are all the haters now? 🤫

username7 that battle through the midfield was masterclass

username8 Silencing critics in the best way possible

liked by username1, username2 and 14,088 others

f1gossip YN's radio messages during Franco's crash show a different side to their "rivalry." Listen to how her voice changes when she finds out it's him. Sometimes the real feelings come through in moments like these.

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username2 this doesn't sound like someone who "hates" him

username3 top I'm crying 😭

username4 "tell me he's okay" broke me

username6 forget the rivalry narrative, that's genuine concern

username7 MY DRIVERS STOOOOP

username8 this is the most emotion we've heard from her all season

username9 notice how she's been cold towards him for weeks but the second he's in danger…

username10 SOMETHING SHIFTED

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The easy banter has become your normal over the past week. Ever since Brazil, where you fought your way from P15 to P2 in treacherous conditions, something has shifted between you. The walls you'd carefully maintained started crumbling during that rain-soaked weekend.

Your phone buzzes again - this time it's Christian Horner requesting a meeting. Your stomach tightens instinctively. These meetings have become more frequent throughout the season, always with subtle undertones about your future with the team.

Franco: "Meeting with James in 10. Wish me luck not falling asleep in the sim debrief. Call you after?"

You: "Sure, good luck x"

The 'x' slips out before you can stop it - you've never added that before. Your finger hovers over the delete button, but he's already seen it.

Franco: "Did THE YN just send me a kiss? Screenshots being taken. This is historic

You're still smiling about your early interaction with Franco when you walk into Christian Horner's office, but his expression is serious enough to make your smile fade. You've been here before - these "casual meetings" that could determine your future.

"YN, thanks for making time," he gives a polite smile, "Please, take a seat."

You sit, trying to read his expression. Last week's podium trophy sits on a shelf behind him - your trophy, earned after fighting through half the grid.

"As you're aware, your contract includes certain performance clauses. While your recent results, particularly Brazil, have been impressive, we need to consider all options for the team's future."

That familiar knot in your stomach returns. "What kind of options?"

"I was at Williams recently," Christian says carefully, "discussing various possibilities, including Franco Colapinto."

The world seems to tilt slightly. Franco. At Williams. Meeting about possibilities. Just like with Logan.

"I got P2 in Brazil," you say, hating how defensive your voice sounds. "Started P15. In the rain. I battled with the entire grid while also defending for Max to secure a double podium."

"Yes, and it was an exceptional drive-"

"I'm fifth in the championship. I've scored podiums consistently despite the car being a nightmare to drive most of the times. What more do I need to do?"

Christian's expression remains neutral. "This isn't about any single result, YN. We need to evaluate all potential scenarios for the team's future."

"So you're considering replacing me," you say flatly. "With Franco."

"I trust you understand this is just business, YN," Christian says as you stand to leave. "We have to explore every option."

You pause at the door, turning back slightly. "Of course. Business." Your voice is perfectly controlled. "Just like my P2 in Brazil was business. My podiums were business. Everything I've given to this team has been business."

"YN-"

"No, I get it. Really." You manage a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. "If you'll excuse me, I have some sim work to review."

It hits you as you drive back to your apartment - every friendly conversation, every shared coffee, every late-night text… none of it was real. Franco isn't your friend. He's just another driver who sees you as an obstacle to overcome, a seat to claim. Just like everyone else since you entered F1, smiling to your face while plotting to take what's yours.

Back in your apartment, your phone keeps lighting up with Franco's messages, each one making your chest tighter. You can't bring yourself to block him - that feels too much like acknowledging how much this hurts. Instead, you just... stop responding. Set the phone aside. Focus on your laptop, on race data, on anything else.

Your phone rings - Oscar's familiar face popping up on the screen.

"Finally!" he exclaims when you answer. "I've been trying to reach you all day. You missed the most hilarious thing - Lando tried to make vegemite pasta."

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling. "Please tell me someone filmed it."

The conversation flows easily, almost making you forget about everything else. Almost.

"Oh yeah," Oscar adds casually, "ran into Franco at paddle today. He seemed pretty worried-"

"He better focus on preparing for his Red Bull seat instead."

"His what?" Oscar sounds confused. "Stinks, what are you on about?"

"Horner had meetings at Williams. About Franco. About possibilities. Sound familiar?"

"Hang on, hang on. Did you even talk to Franco about this? Because he genuinely seemed concerned-"

"Of course he seemed concerned, Os. That's the whole point."

"YN, I know you. You're doing that thing where you push people away before they can hurt you. But stinks, I really don't think-"

"I have to go. Sim data to review."

"At least talk to him-"

You end the call, turning back to your laptop. Three races left. Three chances to prove everyone wrong. No more distractions, no more letting your guard down.

You'll do it the only way that matters in F1 - on track, where lap times speak louder than friendly texts, and championship points mean more than shared coffee breaks.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You've managed three weeks. Three weeks of perfectly crafted indifference, of calling him "the Williams driver" in interviews, of taking different routes through the paddock just to avoid those chance encounters that used to make your heart skip. Three weeks of pretending you don't miss his stupid sparkle messages, or the way he always saves you a coffee during early practice sessions.

But now your hands won't stop shaking as you stare at your dark phone screen, trying to ignore the screens showing the mangled Williams in the Las Vegas Strip. You've watched the replay seventeen times without meaning to, each time feeling your heart stop at the impact.

"This is getting ridiculous," Max's voice is quiet beside you, making you jump. You didn't even hear him approach. "Stop with this nonsense."

"I'm fine," you respond automatically, thumb still pretending to scroll on your black screen. "Just checking the timing sheets."

"Your phone isn't even on." Max's hand appears, gently taking the phone from your trembling grip. "They've taken him to UMC. Just go."

"I can't," you whisper, finally looking up at your teammate. You hate how your voice catches. "Everyone will—"

"Who cares what everyone will say?" Max interrupts, already reaching for your bag. "Hannah's got a car waiting. Go."

"I don't want to," you protest weakly, but even you can hear how unconvincing it sounds. "I don't need to—"

"Stop," Max's voice is firm but gentle. "You're not going back to this. Not after everything. You care about him, stop pretending you don't."

You take a shaky breath, then nod once. You're out of the garage before you can change your mind and rebuild those walls you've spent three weeks perfecting. Because Max is right – you do care. You care so much it terrifies you. And right now, nothing else matters except knowing he's okay.

You hate hospitals. You've spent too many hours in them after your own crashes, but somehow this is worse. Standing outside his room, you're suddenly unsure of everything. Three weeks of carefully constructed distance seems ridiculous now.

"You can come in instead of hovering at the door," Franco's voice carries from inside, slightly hoarse but still holding that hint of amusement that always used to drive you crazy. "Unless you're planning to run away again."

You step inside, trying to maintain some composure even as your heart clenches at the sight of him. "I wasn't running away," you say automatically, but it sounds weak even to your ears.

"No?" He raises an eyebrow, wincing slightly at the movement. "So you just happened to take different paddock routes?"

"Franco—"

"It's back to Franco now? Not 'the Williams driver'?" There's hurt beneath his teasing tone, and it makes your chest tight. "That last interview was particularly cold, by the way. Very convincing."

You stay by the door, arms crossed. "I thought that's what everyone wanted. Space. Distance. Rivalry."

"You're here now though."

"Max made me come," you lie.

"Sure he did." Franco's small smile tells you he sees right through you. "Nothing to do with how many times you asked if I was okay over the radio?"

You feel your cheeks heat up. Of course he's heard the radio already. "I would have asked about any driver."

"YN," his voice softens, and it breaks something in you. "Stop pretending. Please. I miss my friend."

The last words hit you hard, and you finally let your arms drop, taking a step closer. "I miss you too," you whisper, and it feels like admitting defeat and victory all at once. "I was so scared when I saw the crash."

"Come here," he says quietly, patting the edge of the bed.

You hesitate for just a moment before crossing the room, carefully sitting beside him. "I'm sorry," you say softly. "For these past weeks. For being harsh. For—"

"I know," he interrupts, his hand finding yours. "I know. But you're here now."

You squeeze his hand gently, feeling the walls you've built crumbling completely. "You could have died today and I would have never—" you stop yourself, running your thumb over his knuckles without thinking. "All because of this stupid seat."

Franco's quiet for a moment, then lets out a small laugh that turns into a wince. "Is that what you think? That I'm after your seat?"

"Aren't you?" You try to pull your hand away but he holds on. "The meetings with Christian, the—"

"YN," he interrupts, waiting until you look at him. "I never got any offers from RedBull.”

You freeze. "What?"

"I'm not taking your seat," he says softly. "In fact, I still don't have a seat."

"But...the meetings with Horner?" You're struggling to process this. "He basically told me they were considering options for next season, and those options were you in my seat."

"Sounds to me that he was pressuring you." His eyes hold yours. "My team had meetings with RedBull, yes. But we never got a solid offer, not even for VCARB."

You feel slightly dizzy. Three weeks of avoiding him, of building up walls, of convincing yourself he was just another driver trying to take your seat...

"I'm an idiot, aren't I?" you finally manage.

"Well, you've taken the long way through the paddock just to avoid me," he teases, then becomes serious. "I wouldn't hurt you like that. You know that. Or at least, you used to."

"I got scared," you admit quietly. "When I heard about the meetings, I just... it was easier to push you away than to admit that I care about you."

The silence that follows feels heavy with everything unsaid. Finally, Franco squeezes your hand gently.

"Well," he says softly, "nearly dying seems to have worked out well for me then."

"That's not funny," but you're fighting a smile.

"Made you come see me though, didn't it?"

"I hate you," but there's no heat in it.

"No, you don't," he says confidently. "You just admitted you care about me. No taking it back now."

You roll your eyes but don't deny it. "How are you feeling, really?"

"Like I crashed a car at 200mph," he grins, then softens. "Better now though."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1 and 1,908,479 others

yourinstagram champion x4 🏆so proud to be part of this journey. no one deserves it more than you @/maxverstappen1. thank you for being the best teammate anyone could ask for, on and off track.

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username1 IM CRYINGGGGG

username2 this is my family

maxverstappen1 Couldn't ask for a better teammate and bonus little sister. Thanks for having my back all season 💪🏻

↳ username1 HE SAID SHE'LL ALWAYS BE MY TEAMMATE

danielricciardo Look at my kids making me proud 🥹

christianhorner Fantastic team effort all year. Proud of both of you.

↳ username1 FIX HER CAR AND STOP FEEDING HER TO THE PRESS!!

username5 the way max waited to celebrate until she crossed the finish line

username6 remember when they said they wouldn't get along

username7 brother sister energy we love to see it

francolapinto Amazing work 🙌

↳ username8 bro ready to take her seat

username9 their relationship is too pure. max adores her like she's his little sister and yn would take a murder charge for him pretty much

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After showering and changing post-race, you're walking back to your hotel room when your phone buzzes. Franco's name lights up the screen: "Hey... could you come to my room? Need to get my mind off today. Room 412."

You hesitate only briefly before responding. After everything that's happened - the crash, the hospital, the conversations that followed - things between you have felt different.

Qatar had been grueling, you managed to score a solid P4 but the story for Franco had been different. He was part of a collision during turn one that ended his race right there. You heard it on the radio and your heart couldn't help but ache for him.

When you knock, Franco opens the door looking drained, his usual spark dimmed by the day's events. He's changed into soft sweatpants and a team shirt, hair still damp from his shower.

"That bad, huh?" you say softly, following him into the room.

He drops onto the bed with a sigh. "First lap incidents are the worst. All that preparation, all those hours in the sim… gone in seconds."

You settle into the armchair across from him. "I saw the replay. That wasn't your fault - Hulkenberg came across way too aggressively."

"Doesn't matter whose fault it was. Points are points, and I need them." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you've come to recognize as stress. "The pressure's getting intense. Everyone keeps asking about next year's plans, and I just… I don't know."

"Hey," you say gently, moving to sit beside him. "You're one of the most talented drivers out there. Everyone sees it."

"Do they?" His voice is uncharacteristically vulnerable. "Because right now it feels like every mistake is being magnified. One DNF and suddenly everyone's questioning if I deserve the seat."

"I know that feeling too well," you admit. "I mean, I spent three weeks avoiding you because I thought you were after my seat."

That draws a small laugh from him. "Not my finest moment in the hospital, guilt-tripping you about it."

"It worked though, didn't it?" you nudge his shoulder playfully, "Plus, I guilt tripped you about Logan's seat for the longest time, it's only fair."

"Yeah, well, I was desperate. Do you know how hard it was watching you take different routes through the paddock just to avoid me?"

"About as hard as it was taking those routes," you say softly. "I missed you."

"You did manage to find some creative paths though," he teases, his mood lightening slightly. "I particularly enjoyed watching you duck behind Lando in the airport."

"I did not duck!"

"You absolutely did. Practically dove behind him. Poor guy had no idea why you suddenly needed an urgent conversation about sim settings."

You feel your cheeks heat up. "Well, what about you? Mr. 'Oh sorry, I didn't see you there' when we literally made eye contact in the media pen?"

"That was Oscar's fault! He told me my hair looked weird and I got distracted."

"Your hair always looks weird."

He gasps in mock offense. "Take that back! This hair has its own fan accounts."

"Yeah, horror fan accounts maybe," you tease.

"Says the person who needed my expert braiding skills before races."

"Which you learned from your sisters, if I remember correctly?"

His expression softens. "Actually… I might have YouTube'd it after Mexico."

That catches you off guard. "You… what?"

"Yeah," he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking sheepish. "Spent like three hours practicing on a rope I found in the gym. Alex caught me and wouldn't stop laughing."

"That's…" you feel something warm bloom in your chest. "That's actually really sweet."

"Don't tell anyone," he grins. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"Oh yeah? What reputation is that?"

"You know, cool, mysterious, definitely not the type to watch hair braiding tutorials."

You laugh. "Hate to break it to you, but anyone who's seen you try to work the coffee machine knows you're not mysterious."

"That machine is complicated!"

"It has three buttons!"

"Three very confusing buttons," he protests. "Besides, you're the one who always shows up right when I'm struggling with it."

"Pure coincidence."

"Right," he smirks. "Just like how you 'coincidentally' started showing up earlier to breakfast after I mentioned that's when I usually go?"

You feel your cheeks warm again. "I just… wanted to beat the rush."

"The rush of exactly two other drivers who eat that early?"

"Shut up," you mutter, but you're smiling.

The air between you changes, becomes charged with everything unsaid. You're suddenly very aware of how close you're sitting, how his eyes have dropped to your lips.

He doesn't say anything else, instead, he leans forward and kisses you, soft and careful, like he's afraid you might pull away. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you feel yourself melting into the touch.

When he pulls back, you blink at him, slightly dazed. "You kissed me."

His familiar smirk returns, though his eyes remain soft. "Well done, Sherlock."

You roll your eyes at his sass, but can't help smiling. This time, you're the one who leans in, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss is deeper, more certain. His hand slides into your hair as you press closer, and you feel him smile against your mouth.

"You know," he says softly, playing with a strand of your hair, "besides being one of my racing idols, you've also always been my crush."

You pull back slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Don't let it go to your head," he grins.

"Oh my god," you laugh. "You were such a fan! Did you have posters too?"

He groans, hiding his face in your shoulder. "I'm never telling you anything again."

"No, no, this is great," you tease. "I'm just a year and a half older than you, Colapinto, and you completely idolized me."

"I hate you," he mumbles into your shoulder.

"No you don't," you say confidently. "You just admitted you had a crush on me."

He lifts his head, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. "Still do, actually. Although the real you is much more annoying than poster you."

"Poster me didn't call you out on your coffee machine struggles."

"Poster you was much nicer," he agrees, but he's smiling as he leans in to kiss you again.

This kiss is slower, deeper, filled with everything you've both been holding back. When you finally pull apart, you rest your forehead against his.

"Been wanting to do that for a while," he admits softly.

"Even when I was avoiding you? Or giving you crap to defend my best friend's honor?"

"Especially then. Do you know how adorable you looked trying to pretend you didn't see me in the paddock?"

"Shut up," you laugh.

"Never," he grins, pulling you closer. "I have years of fan stories to make up for."

You kiss him again just to shut him up, but you can feel him smiling against your lips, and you think maybe, just maybe, this is exactly where you're meant to be.

"You're never going to let me live down the fan thing, are you?" he asks when you break apart.

"Not a chance," you smirk. "I bet Alex has pictures of you practicing those braids too."

"Don't you dare!"

But you're already reaching for your phone, laughing as he tries to grab it from you, and somehow you end up tangled together on the bed, both laughing too hard to care about anything else.

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You're halfway through your coffee when Franco appears, wearing his team polo and that signature grin that used to irritate you but now makes your stomach flutter. It's still surreal how much has changed - from despising him for taking Logan's seat, to avoiding him over your seat rumors, to… whatever this is now. He slides into the seat next to you, leaning in for a kiss. You quickly place a hand on his chest, pushing him back playfully.

"Easy there, hotshot," you tease. "Let's keep it professional."

"Professional?" He raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, don't be shy now. Not after last week."

You feel your cheeks warm at the memory. "Last week was different. We were alone."

"Oh, so that's the rule? Only when we're alone?" He leans closer, lowering his voice. "Should we discuss what else happened when we were alone?"

"Franco!" You swat his arm, but you're fighting a smile.

"What? I'm just saying, for someone who used to avoid me like I had the plague, you sure changed your tune."

"Yeah, well," you stir your coffee, trying to maintain your composure, "turns out you're not as annoying as I thought."

"High praise," he chuckles. "Remember when you wouldn't even look at me in driver briefings?"

"Remember when you replaced my best friend and then tried to steal my seat?"

"I didn't try to steal your seat!" he protests. "That was all media speculation."

Before you can respond, Max drops into the seat across from you, already looking amused at finding you two together.

"Well, well," he says, reaching for the coffee pot. "If it isn't my favorite teammate and her… what are we calling this now?"

You roll your eyes. "We're calling it none of Max's business."

"Everything is Max's business," Max says cheerfully. "Especially when said business involves my teammate getting cozy with the competition."

Franco's phone buzzes and his expression shifts slightly as he reads the message, and you catch that flicker of worry he's been trying to hide all weekend. The weight of it being potentially his last race in F1 has been hanging over both of you.

"Engineers?" you ask softly.

"Yeah," he sighs. "Last pre-race meeting of the season. Hopefully not my last ever," he adds, attempting a joke that falls flat.

You reach for his hand under the table, giving it a quick squeeze. "Hey, you've shown what you can do this year. The pace is there, the talent is there-"

"The results aren't," he cuts in, running his free hand through his hair. "DNF and crashes don't exactly scream 'keep me for next year.'"

"The car's been shit though," Max speaks up, "Everyone knows that. You've outqualified your teammate and scored points."

"Try telling that to the team principals," Franco says, attempting a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Anyway, better go before they add 'chronically late' to my resume." He stands, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "See you later?"

"Of course," you say softly. "Good luck in the meeting."

Once Franco leaves, Max leans forward, "Okay, spill. Everything. Now."

"There's nothing to spill."

"Nothing to spill?" Max scoffs. "Last month you were convinced he was plotting to take your seat, and now he's kissing you goodbye at breakfast? That's not nothing."

"You don't need to know everything about my life, Max," you try to busy yourself with your coffee, that's pretty much cold by now.

"I'm the older brother you never wanted but got stuck with anyway, so I do need to know about these things."

You sigh, knowing he won't let this go. "Fine. After Qatar, things changed. We… spent time together."

"Spent time together?" Max wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Not like that!" you protest, then lower your voice. "Well, not just like that. We talked a lot. About everything again - the rumors, the misunderstandings, why I was so angry about Logan, and… I don't know. It's different now. Good different. When I'm with him, everything just feels…" you trail off, searching for the right words.

"Right?" Max supplies, his teasing tone softening.

"Yeah," you admit. "Which makes this whole situation even harder. If he doesn't get a seat…"

"Then you'll figure it out," Max says, "But let's not write him off yet. Season's not over until the checkered flag."

You nod, but can't help glancing at the door Franco left through. "You know what's ironic?" you say, turning back to Max. "A few months ago, I was worried about him taking my seat. Now I'd give anything for him to have one, anywhere on the grid."

Max smiles knowingly. "Amazing what a few kisses can do."

"It's not just that," you protest. "He deserves to be here. He's so talented-"

"And you're completely smitten," Max interrupts, grinning.

"Shut up," You throw a napkin at him. "I'm getting a new teammate next year," you declare.

"No you're not," Max laughs. "You love me." He pauses, suddenly looking both nervous and excited. "Actually… want to know a secret?"

Something in his tone makes you lean forward. "Always."

"Kelly's pregnant," he says, a huge grin spreading across his face. "We just found out last month"

You practically leap across the table to hug him, nearly knocking over both your coffees in the process. "Oh my god! Max! I'm going to be an auntie!"

He laughs, hugging you back. "Actually…" he pulls back slightly to look at you, "What do you think about being a godmother?"

Your eyes widen. "Are you serious?"

"Of course," he grins. "Who else would I trust to teach my kid how to properly terrorize the paddock?"

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. "I'm going to spoil them so much," you warn, hugging him again. "Like, an absolutely ridiculous amount."

"I know," he laughs. "That's kind of counting on it."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Just family for now," he says. "And you, obviously. Because you are family."

You're definitely crying now. "I hate you for making me cry before a race weekend."

"Sure you do," he grins. "Just like you hate Franco, right?"

You wipe your eyes, deciding to ignore his comment. "God, I can't believe you're going to be a dad!"

"Me neither," he admits, and there's something soft and vulnerable in his expression that makes your heart squeeze. "It's scary but… in a good way, you know?"

"You're going to be amazing," you tell him seriously. "The best dad ever."

His smile turns mischievous. "Just wait until Franco gets you pregnant-"

"And that's my cue to leave," you gather your things. "Congratulations again, future dad. I love you, even when you're the worst."

His laughter follows you out of the room. "Love you too, future godmother!"

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liked by maxverstappen1, francolapinto and 2,099,437 others

yourinstagram ABU DHABI WINNER! 🏆✨ still feels surreal to type those words. to win the last race of the season, after everything… no words can describe this feeling. thank you to every single person who never stopped believing in me, even when things got tough. to my incredible team - this one's for you. we did it! 🧡

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username1 SHE FUCKING DID IT

username2 first win of the season in the last race - poetic justice

username3 the way everyone doubted her at the start of the season and now look at her QUEEN BEHAVIOR

logansargeant YESSSS! That move was legendary! So proud of you!

username4 this feels so RIGHT

francolapinto Mi campeona 🖤 That last lap move was 🔥

↳ username1 IM CRYING OMFG

↳ username2 THEY'RE SO TOGETHER I DON'T MAKE THE RULES

username5 brb i'll be crying while i watch that video of her hugging franco

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You're still riding the high of your Abu Dhabi win as you unlock your apartment door. Your first win of the season, in the last race - it feels poetic, somehow. Like a final "fuck you" to everyone who doubted you, who questioned your seat, who spent the entire season speculating about your future.

The trophy sits in your bag, along with the champagne bottle Charles insisted you keep. Franco follows you in, still wearing that soft smile he's had since he watched you cross the finish line.

He's staying at your apartment since he doesn't have a place in Monaco and the now traditional drivers dinner is happening, after all you time together, inviting him over felt...natural.

The past few days have been a whirlwind - the podium, the celebrations, the multiple kisses stolen in your motorhome between media duties. The flight to Monaco where you both pretended to sleep but kept "accidentally" touching hands. It should feel fast, rushed, but somehow it just feels right.

"Still can't believe you pulled that move on the last lap," Franco says, dropping his bags by the door. "Even Max was impressed, I think you broke his brain a little."

"Speaking of broken, try not to destroy anything while you're here," you tease. "Some of us actually live in Monaco full-time."

Franco turns to you with mock offense. "When have I ever broken anything?"

"Do you want the list chronologically or alphabetically?" you raise an eyebrow. "Because I distinctly remember a certain incident with Lewis' scooter…"

"That was a manufacturing defect and you know it," he protests, moving closer.

"Sure it was," you laugh. "Just like the tablet in Singapore was a 'technical malfunction'?"

He's close enough now that you can smell his cologne, the same one that's been driving you crazy since Qatar. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Never," you confirm, but your voice comes out softer than intended because he's looking at you the way he has been since that first kiss in his room - like you're something precious.

"Guest room's down the hall," you say quickly, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "Bathroom's across from it, you know the drill."

Franco raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes that you're starting to know too well. "You're really going to make me take the guest room? After all our bonding?"

"Bonding?" you scoff. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Well, what would you call making out in your motorhome? And the plane bathroom? And-"

You cut him off by pressing your hand to his mouth. "Those were… moments of weakness."

He kisses your palm before moving your hand, and the simple gesture shouldn't make your heart race like it does. "Lots of moments."

"I was emotionally vulnerable," you argue weakly.

"Uh-huh," he steps closer, backing you against the wall. "And now?Are you emotionally vulnerable now?" His hands find your waist, and you try to ignore how right they feel there.

"I'm…" you start, but then he's kissing you, slow and deep, and you forget what you were going to say.

When he pulls back, you're both breathing heavily. "We should get ready for dinner," you manage.

"We should," he agrees, but kisses you again.

"Franco," you mumble against his lips. "We're already late."

"Five more minutes," he murmurs, trailing kisses down your neck.

It ends up being fifteen minutes before you finally push him away, your lips swollen and hair slightly messed up.

"Guest room," you point firmly. "Get changed."

He grins, stealing one last quick kiss before grabbing his bag. "Yes, boss."

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yourinstagram has added to their close friends story

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You arrive at Lewis' Monaco penthouse a fashionably acceptable ten minutes late, Franco's hand resting casually on your lower back as the elevator opens to the top floor. The space is already filled with the familiar chatter of your fellow drivers, the city lights twinkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Look who finally made it," Charles calls out, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Got lost on the way from your apartment? It's only three blocks…"

"Traffic," you say smoothly, ignoring Franco's poorly concealed laugh beside you.

"Must have been terrible," Alex joins in, eyes twinkling. "Considering you live literally around the corner."

Lewis appears, saving you from having to respond. He hugs you warmly before turning to Franco with a grin. "No scooters allowed inside this time, mate."

"That was one time!" Franco protests as everyone laughs. "And it was definitely faulty manufacturing."

The evening flows easily, conversation and wine flowing freely as everyone celebrates the end of another season. You find yourself constantly aware of Franco's presence - the way he automatically hands you your favorite wine, how his hand finds yours under the table, the soft looks he gives you when he thinks no one's watching.

(They're all watching. These are racing drivers - subtlety isn't their strong suit.)

"Get together, everyone!" you call out later, holding up your phone. "I want a picture."

There's the usual chaos of twenty-odd drivers trying to arrange themselves, plenty of shoving and laughing as everyone finds their spot. Franco ends up behind you, his chest pressed against your back, hands resting lightly on your waist.

"Alright, someone else take it," Lando announces. "YN's too busy making heart eyes at Franco to frame it properly."

"I am not-"

"You kind of are," Pierre interrupts with a grin.

"Just like in Abu Dhabi," Oscar adds. "And the flight home. And baggage claim. And-"

"I hate all of you."

The night continues with more conversation, more drinks, and constant teasing from your friends. Even Charles joins in, muttering something about "finally dealing with all that sexual tension in the briefings."

By the time you leave, you're both pleasantly tipsy, walking back to your apartment with slightly unsteady steps. The moment your door closes behind you, the atmosphere shifts.

"So," he says finally, stepping closer. "About that guest room…"

"What about it?" you ask, but you're already moving toward him.

"I'm thinking," he cups your face with one hand, "that it would be a shame to use it."

"Would it?"

"Mhmm," he's close enough now that you can feel his breath on your lips. "Especially when the winner deserves proper celebrations."

"Or maybe you're just being a horndog," you tease, even as your hands find their way to his chest.

"Maybe," he concedes. "Or maybe I just can't stop thinking about kissing you."

Your breath catches. "You've already kissed me plenty today."

"Not enough," he murmurs, then proves his point by capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is different from all the others. Those were stolen moments, quick and heated. This is slower, deeper, like he's trying to memorize every second.

"Don't make me take the guest room," he murmurs against your lips.

You pretend to think about it, even as your hands slip under his shirt. "Well, since you asked so nicely…"

"I can be very nice," he grins, then kisses you again, backing you toward your bedroom.

"Prove it," you challenge.

The guest room remains empty that night. And many nights after.

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liked by pierregasly, francolapinto and 2,044,387 others

yourinstagram i love my little dysfunctional family !! yes i'm the one behind the camera

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username1 THIS IS LEGENDARY

username3 FRANCO'S FACE ??? DEVASTATED BC HIS GIRL IS NOT NEXT TO HIM

lewishamilton Always family ❤️

oscarpiastri Never sitting between you and your lover boy again..

↳ username1 HUH??

↳ username2 oscar spill the deets PLEASE

↳ logansargeant to the gc NOW

↳ username3 LET ME INNNNN

↳ username4 im crying

↳ yourinstagram i hate you both

francolapinto ❤️

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yn's biggest fans groupchat

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You're curled up on your couch, watching the lights of Monaco twinkle through your window as snow falls softly outside. Franco's just finished unpacking his bags, having arrived from Argentina an hour ago. The past weeks without him felt strangely empty, even though you'd been surrounded by family for Christmas.

"Mama keeps asking about the foods I mentioned you cook," Franco says, settling beside you with a grin. "She's convinced I'm making it up."

"Did you tell her it's mostly pasta and those empanadas you taught me to make?"

"Si, but she says my standards have dropped since moving to Europe," he laughs, stealing some of your blanket. "How was your family?"

"Good. Dad's still buzzing about Abu Dhabi. He's watched the replay about fifty times, especially that last lap battle with Max," you grin, throwing your legs over his lap. "How was home?"

"Hot," he sighs contentedly. "Really hot. Nothing like a proper Argentinian summer."

"Meanwhile I was freezing in London," you poke his side. "Speaking of which… don't you have some news to share?"

He raises an eyebrow. "How did you-"

"Carlos texted me. He's terrible at keeping secrets."

Franco runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you've come to recognize. "I signed with Williams. As their reserve driver for next season, there's talk about 2026, but nothing concrete yet."

"Franco!" you exclaim, throwing your arms around him. "That's amazing!"

He hugs you back, letting out a relieved laugh. "You think so?"

"Of course I do!" you pull back to look at him. "Williams is doing great things, and with Carlos and Alex there…" you trail off, seeing something in his expression. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing bad," he assures quickly. "Just… I'll be based in England a lot. For simulator work and development."

"Oh," you say quietly, understanding dawning. You'd gotten used to having him here, in your space, in the paddock, in your life.

"Hey," he tilts your chin up. "It's not that far. And I'll still be at all the races. Plus," his lips quirk up, "I hear Nice has a pretty good airport."

You can't help but smile. "True. And I suppose I could be convinced to visit Grove occasionally."

"Only occasionally?" he teases.

"Well, I am very busy and important," you say loftily, making him laugh.

His eyes drop to your lips. "I'm sure you can save some time for me," he murmurs before closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft and familiar, like coming home after a long trip. When you pull back, he's wearing that small smile that always makes your stomach flip.

You settle back against him, comfortable silence falling between you. "Talk to me about next season," he says eventually. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Honestly? I'm nervous," you admit. "Abu Dhabi was amazing, but what if it was just luck? What if I can't do it again?"

"The same way Suzuka was luck? And Singapore? And that insane qualifying in Baku?" Franco shifts to look at you properly, "You've been fast all season. Abu Dhabi just proved what everyone already knew."

"Smooth," you laugh, then remember something. "Oh! Speaking of next year - what are you doing for New Year's Eve?"

"Nothing yet. Why?"

"Logan's throwing a party in Florida for his birthday. Want to come?"

Franco hesitates. "Won't that be…"

"What? Weird because you stole his seat?" you tease, making him groan.

"I thought we cleared that up months ago," he protests.

"We did, I just like messing with you," you grin. "Come on, it'll be fun. There'll be cake."

“You know my weakness,” he sighs dramatically. “Does this mean I get to kiss you at midnight?”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll be my midnight kiss,” you tease, even as you lean into him.

“No? Planning on kissing someone else?” he raises an eyebrow, hands settling on your waist.

“Maybe. Logan might have a hot friend…”

"Terrible," he murmurs against your lips. "You're terrible."

"You like it," you whisper back, just before he kisses you again.

When you finally break apart, he's already reaching for the remote. "Want to watch Qatar?"

You groan, but you're smiling. "I hate you."

"No you don't," he says confidently, pulling up the race highlights.

And as he starts his terrible commentary, making you laugh despite yourself, you think about how easy this is - whatever this is between you. No labels, no pressure, just… this.

Outside, Monaco continues to sparkle under the falling snow, but in here, with Franco's warmth beside you and his voice in your ear pointing out "that brilliant move you did in turn 4" for the hundredth time, you think maybe some things don't need defining to be perfect.

Plus, you already know who your midnight kiss is going to be. Not that you'll tell him that - his ego's big enough as it is.

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liked by username1, username2 and 12,870 others

f1gossip Spotted: F1's power couple enjoying a day out in Monaco! Franco Colapinto and YN were seen strolling around today, looking very cozy! The pair, who have been subject to dating rumors seemed to have no interest in hiding their relationship anymore.

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username1 THE FUUUUUCK

username2 i don't like this..

username3 FRANCO GET AWAYYYY she's going to distract him

username4 why is this lowkey powerful

username5 THIS PLOT TWIST OMFG

username6 i thought they hated each other ??

username7 oh how the tables have turned

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Music pulses from Logan's Miami beach house as you and Franco make your way up the palm-lined driveway. The December air is surprisingly warm, fairy lights twinkling in every tree and reflecting off the pool visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Your hand is loosely intertwined with Franco's, something that still gives you butterflies even after weeks of... whatever this is between you.

"Birthday boy!" you call out as Logan spots you from the entrance, where he's greeting guests in a ridiculous party hat and an even more ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.

"If it isn't my best friend and the guy who stole my seat," Logan grins, pulling you into a tight hug before turning to Franco with an exaggerated suspicious look that quickly breaks into a genuine smile. "Good to see you, man."

"Happy birthday," Franco offers with a grin, accepting Logan's enthusiastic handshake-turned-hug. "Nice shirt."

"Right? YN said it was terrible, but what does she know about fashion?"

"Hey!" you protest, but you're laughing. "I have great taste."

Logan's eyes drift meaningfully to your joined hands. "Clearly," he smirks, making you blush and Franco chuckle. "Drinks are everywhere, food's by the pool, try not to fall in."

"That was one time," you mutter as Logan gets pulled away by more arriving guests.

Franco raises an eyebrow. "One time?"

"Don't ask. Come on, I need a drink before I tell you that story."

After getting drinks, you find yourself drifting between groups, Franco's hand a constant presence at the small of your back or linked with yours. It's nice, you think, not having to overthink every interaction, every touch. Here, away from the paddock and the cameras, you can just... be.

It's about an hour into the party when Logan finds you again, now sporting two party hats and what looks suspiciously like glitter on his cheek.

"Stinks! Just the person I wanted to see," he announces, dragging you away from where Franco is deep in conversation with Alex. "Back in five," he tells Franco with an exaggerated wink that makes you roll your eyes.

"Subtle," you comment as Logan leads you to the makeshift bar.

"Please, subtle went out the window when you two showed up holding hands like teenagers at prom," he snorts, mixing drinks with practiced ease. "Speaking of which..."

"Don't start," you warn, but you're fighting a smile.

"Me? Start something? Never," he puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I just find it interesting that the same person who spent three hours ranting to me about 'that arrogant Argentine who stole your seat' is now making heart eyes at him across my party."

"You're impossible."

"And you're happy," he says softly, his teasing tone giving way to something more sincere. "Like, really happy. I haven't seen you like this in… well, ever."

You look down at your drink, feeling your cheeks warm. "Yeah, well…"

"Hey," Logan nudges your shoulder. "It's a good thing. You deserve this, YN. Someone who gets you, who understands the pressure and the crazy schedule and still looks at you like you hung the moon."

"He doesn't-"

"He absolutely does. Trust me, I've been watching him watch you all night. It's disgustingly cute."

"I'm kind of scared, Logan," you look down at your hands nervously, "Six months ago, I hated him. And now I can't picture myself apart from him. It's all happening really fast and I'm not quite sure when everything shifted, but I feel like there's no going back now. And that's terrifies me."

"Stinks," Logan says gently, "you didn't hate him. You were hurt because of how everything went down with the seat, and you projected that onto him. I get being scared. This sport… it complicates things. But I've seen how he looks at you and how you look at him. It's okay to have feelings for him."

"How do you always know what to say?" you look up at him.

"Because I'm your best friend," he squeezes your shoulder. "Now go get your man. And please kiss him at midnight so I can win the bet with Alex."

"You bet on us?!"

"The whole grid did. I have fifty bucks riding on tonight!"

Later, as midnight approaches, you find yourself on the beach with Franco, fairy lights and stars twinkling above. Your conversation with Logan keeps playing in your mind, making you fidgety.

"You okay?" Franco asks softly, touching your arm.

"FIVE MINUTES!" someone shouts from the house.

"I have feelings for you," you blurt out. "Like, real feelings. And I know it's fast and complicated and I was horrible to you at first because I was hurt about the seat thing but then you were so nice and understanding and you brought me coffee after bad practice sessions and you defended me to the press and you make me laugh even when I'm trying to be mad and your accent gets thicker when you're tired which is unfairly adorable and-"

"THREE MINUTES!"

"-and sometimes I catch you looking at me in debriefs and it makes me forget what I'm saying and Oscar keeps making these knowing faces at us and I pretend to be annoyed but actually I kind of like it and-"

"SIXTY SECONDS!"

"-and I know this could complicate everything but I can't stop thinking about you and the way you smile when you see me in the morning and how you remember how I like my coffee and-"

"TEN! NINE! EIGHT!"

"-and maybe this is crazy but I really really like you and I know we should probably talk about what this means for next season but-"

"FOUR! THREE!"

"-and I just needed you to know-"

"TWO! ONE!"

Franco cuts off your rambling with a kiss, one hand cupping your face while the other pulls you closer. You melt into him as fireworks explode overhead, your heart racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the celebration around you.

When he pulls back, he's wearing that soft smile that always makes your stomach flip. "You're so cute when you rant."

"I don't rant," you protest weakly.

"Mi amor, you just spent ten minutes listing all the things you like about me, including my accent."

"Shut up."

He laughs, pressing his forehead to yours. "I want to be with you, YN. Officially, properly, no more undefined territory. I want everyone to know that you're mine and I'm yours. I want morning coffees and post-race celebrations and quiet moments like this. I want all of it, with you."

"Yeah?" you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

"Yeah," he confirms, brushing his thumb across your cheek. "I'm crazy about you, in case my terrible attempts at flirting haven't made that obvious."

"Your flirting isn't terrible."

He kisses you again, laughing against your lips. "So… is that a yes?"

You pretend to think about it. "I don't know, Logan's friend is looking pretty good tonight…"

"Terrible," he murmurs, pulling you impossibly closer. "You're terrible."

"You like it," you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I like everything about you."

Your heart skips. "Everything?"

"Everything," he confirms. "Even your terrible taste in coffee."

You laugh, bright and happy, before pulling him down for another kiss. Around you, the party continues, music and waves and distant fireworks creating a perfect backdrop to this moment. When you finally break apart, you're both breathless and smiling.

"Happy New Year," you murmur.

"The happiest," he agrees, and as he leans in again, you think that maybe some feelings are worth being scared of, especially when they lead to moments like this.

Plus, you just won Logan a bet. Not that you'll tell him that.

[solacestyles]

it’ll pass // mv33

pairing: max verstappen X engineer!reader

word count: 18.5k

warnings: cursing and alcohol use. this is about the 2024 season and while i tried to make things as accurate as possible some things are tweaked for the storyline. so just read for the vibes and not biblically accurate season info :)

includes: right person wrong time, childhood friends, hidden relationship, a little friends to lovers, and ANGST

summary: when you think you've finally gotten everything you want in life... it goes and shows you just how unfair it can be.

playlist for the fic: apple music | spotify

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Not many children are certain on what they want to be when they grow up, especially at age nine, but you were an exception. Sure – millions of children say they are going to be a veterinarian or a doctor when they grow up, but how many of them actually end up being that? Life happens, plans change, and reality sets in for the majority of Earth’s population. Although you never planned on any of that happening to you. There was never a doubt in your mind that you were going to be anything other than a race car driver, but even the most determined and strong willed people get dealt a shit hand at some point in their life.  

You’d been surrounded by racing your whole life – a perk of your Dad being a successful rally car driver. The sound of the engines and the smell of the exhaust were ingrained into your brain by age five. You were a wild child, a thrill seeker and definitely your Father’s child according to your Mother, but you knew even if your Dad wasn’t a racer that you would have still found yourself drawn to racing one way or another. For a good chunk of your early childhood you claimed to want to be a rally driver like your Dad, much to your Mom’s dismay, but that all changed when you attended your first Formula 1 race.

F1 wasn’t a foreign concept to you, your family watched and attended lots of different kinds of racing, but you’d never been to an actual Formula 1 race before. The atmosphere was completely different to anything you’d ever experienced and watching it on TV was nothing compared to seeing it in real life. You were enthralled by the sounds and hustle and bustle of everything. Not to mention how fast the cars actually were. The little adrenaline junkie in you was on cloud nine and by the time the checkered flag was waved and the car crossed the finish line you knew you wanted to be the one driving it. 

Luckily being brought up in a motosports family meant you somewhat had an upper hand. You were blessed to have the finances to start karting and not to mention a very long list of connections. And sure having all these things help you, but you’ve still got to have the talent. Which in your case was never an issue. You were a menace on the track, a force not to be reckoned with, and your Dad taught you not to take any shit from any of the insecure little boys. Trophies and medals lined your walls and there was never a doubt in your mind that you couldn’t make it to the top, that was until you got older. 

As your brain developed more so did your understanding that a lot of people and your competitors didn’t think women belonged in racing. Sure when you were younger some of the boys teased you, but it was never anything that bothered you much. It wasn’t until you were around fifteen and looking to move over to single seater racing that you faced your first real case of self doubt. Even with you being one of the best drivers in your division you still had to work ten times harder than the worst male driver to prove to everyone that you were worthy to be there. It was exhausting to constantly be ridiculed, to hear people say you only had gotten this far because of who your Dad was. It amazed you how you had won all these championships and races and people still didn’t think you had the raw talent that you so clearly possessed. 

Even with spells of self doubt and days where it felt like the world was against you, you’d somehow made it to Formula 2. That Formula 1 seat that you’d dreamt about since a child was almost in your grasp and you were more determined now than ever to prove that you were one of the 20 best drivers in the world. You knew that this season was your make or break, if you didn’t put in 110% then what were you even doing here? You needed to make a statement, but even the most astronomical statement couldn’t help the fact that your fate was decided when you were born a female. 

It didn’t matter that you had won basically every championship in the previous feeder series or that you were clearly on your way to win the F2 championship. It didn’t matter if people claimed that you were the future of Formula 1 or if Susie Wolff was your mentor. It didn’t matter that you had meetings with just about every F1 team about the possibility of a seat next year or that you had a well known last name. None of it mattered because at the end of the day no one was actually ready to sign a woman as a driver. Sure, they’d string you along and give you the false hope of somewhat talking about a contract and then go and sign a driver who you could lap with your eyes closed. Sometimes you just thought they liked the publicity that the team got from the news of you being in talks with them and couldn’t care less about actually giving you the time of day.

Finally accepting that you weren’t going to get a seat in Formula 1 was a devastating out of body experience. You were sat in an uncomfortable chair in between Susie and your Dad as they tried to bargain you a seat at Williams. Although it wasn’t your first choice, you had thought and prayed that with a female CEO and Susie having ties there that Williams would be your saving grace. It was your last option at this point and as you sat there their voices became background noise and the longer you studied Claire’s body language you knew this was the end. You had zoned out, your fingers bloody from subconsciously picking at the skin around your nails as your mind wandered to a place that wasn’t this meeting. 

Ever so often you’d hear a statement from one of them and it only made you more catatonic. 

“She’s in a league of her own, Claire. I mean she’s a million times better than I ever was as a driver.” 

“Her stats alone should tell you everything you need to know. She’s more qualified than the drivers you’ve got right now. I can tell you that.” 

It’s what comes out of Claire’s mouth next that brings you back to reality and what also seals your fate. “We could offer you being a development driver like Susie was or possibly a reserve.” 

Your eyes focus on her as you sit up in your chair. “I don’t want to be a development driver or a reserve driver. I want to be in the car every race weekend. I want to be an actual driver and I know I’m more than qualified to be one.” 

You can feel your Dad and Susie’s eyes on you, surprised at your sudden brashness, yet they didn’t reprimand you. Both of them knew you deserved better than what you were getting dealt. You watch as Claire clasps her hands together and a tight lipped expression forms across her face. “I hate to say this, but we just can’t afford to take the risk.” 

“The risk?” You question, fully knowing what that risk is. 

She clears her throat, her eyes darting from Susie to your Dad and then finally landing back on you. “Yes you have talent, but we can’t take the risk as a team right now to sign a female driver. We are barely holding on the way it is and signing a female– it just– we can’t be the team to experiment with that right now, no matter how good you are. I’m sorry.” 

“So a woman can run a racing team, but just can’t drive for one? Got it.” You’re trying to be professional, but you’d already heard that sorry excuse so many times before and your dreams were literally getting crushed right in front of you, so who can blame you for being a little shitty.

“It’s not just me making this decision Y/N. There’s a million other factors and people that go into this decision. If it could be different I promise it would be.” The strained look on Claire’s face does nothing to ease the ache in your chest, if anything it makes it worse

There’s an awkward silence that fills the room and you want nothing more than to be out of this suffocating room. Your emotions are starting to bubble over and the last thing you want is for someone to spot you looking less than thrilled. In society a man is allowed to react and a woman can only overreact. There’s been countless times where your quote on quote emotions after a difficult race are used against you in an attempt to prove you shouldn’t be racing. 

The wooden legs of your chair screech across the floor as you get up and even though you don’t want to, you reach your hand out towards Claire. “Thank you for your time, it was nice talking with you.” 

“My offer still stands. I think it would be wise to think it over.” Her grip on your hand is firm as she speaks, but it does nothing to change your mind. 

You give her one last thank you before swiftly exiting the room and making your way out of the building. It’s not until you’re in the safety of the blacked out SUV that you finally let yourself fully feel your emotions. And once the first tear falls there’s no stopping the ones that come after. You’re angry that even with the talent you so clearly possess, no one will give you a chance. That you’d worked this hard, gave up your childhood and the possibility of having a normal one to do this. Spent hours, days, months training and being away from home just to get to this spot in your life. Your one dream in life was almost in your grasp, your fingertips could brush against it, that’s how close it was. Yet on a sunny afternoon on a random Monday it was ripped away from you.   

Sobs echo through the empty car and you’d never felt more hopeless than you do right now. You spot your Dad talking with Susie outside the building and a short minute later he’s walking towards the car. You try to pull yourself together, you don’t want your Dad to see you like this, but when he gets into the driver's seat you lose it all over again. You somehow feel like you’ve let your Dad down, he’s been your biggest supporter during this whole journey and you not getting a seat felt like the equivalent of you being the worst child ever.

Your Dad couldn’t be more proud of you though, he’d never seen someone work so hard to accomplish their dreams and he was always going to be in your corner no matter what happened. His heart breaks when he gets into the car and sees you so upset and defeated, he’s half tempted to march back in there and demand that they sign you. But right now he knows you need him more than anything. He reaches over the center console and pulls you into him the best he can. His little girl deserved so much better than what you had been dealt and he only wished he could take that hurt you were feeling right now away from you. 

“Darling I know this hurts right now. If I could, I’d make a whole racing team from scratch just so you could fulfill your dreams, but this isn’t the end for you. Maybe you could try different kinds of racing? Indycar? Endurance? Maybe follow in your old man's footsteps?” His hand gently rubs against your arm as you sniffle into his chest. “You never know, maybe if you take the reserve spot you could get a seat the following year.” 

You lift your head up, your eyes bloodshot as you make eye contact with him. “Dad, we both know that's not true. They’d just string me along.” You lean back into the leather seat as you close your eyes, already feeling a headache coming on. “I know life isn’t fair, but this is some cruel level of unfairness. I wish I had been born a boy because I know I would not be in this situation right now if I was.”

“You’re correct, if you were a boy you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. But that is only because you wouldn’t be half the racer you are as a guy. You’ve gotten this far and you’ve got the talent you do because of who you are and that includes being a woman. I like to take credit for your skills, but honey all your will power and strength and smarts and hell just about everything else you get from your Mother. The guts to be in love with dangerous racing I will take credit for though.“ He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear before resting his hand on the side of your face, gently wiping away your tears. “Listen, people may be blind and ignorant now, but when they finally realize just how good women can be in motorsports and stop being pussies and take that risk, they are going to regret waiting so long.” 

His words do nothing to calm the raging storm in your mind. “I know, but I wanted to be that person. I wanted that realization to happen now. I worked so hard and what did I get in return? To be passed over by someone who’s absolute shit? It hurts so bad.” 

His hands reach back over to yours, enveloping your much smaller ones in his as he tries to comfort you in any way he can. “That feeling will pass. It hurts now, but it’ll pass. I promise you.” 

The feeling never truly passes. 

You learn to deal with it, trying to find the positives in life, but the ache is still there. It's like a bad knee that hurts when it’s cold outside. It’s not there all the time, but certain moments take you back to that awful day. It hurts when you win the F2 championship and still don’t have a seat in F1. It hurts when interviewers ask you about what your future holds. It hurts when you see people you raced with as a kid be that one of twenty that you want to be so bad. 

Once the F2 season ends you honestly have no idea what you are planning on doing with your life. You really don’t want to dabble in other forms of racing, but you know if you take a year off your chances of getting that golden seat become even more slim. 

It’s not until the FIA Gala that you come to the conclusion that maybe you should take up the offer of being a reserve driver. You know you’re going against every word you’ve previously said and every stubborn bone in your body doesn’t want you to do this, but there’s nothing you want more than to be a Formula 1 driver. And if there is even a .1% chance that you could get that seat by doing a year as a reserve first, then you’d be dumb to not try. You know all the odds are against you and maybe you’re betting on a losing dog, but you needed to at least believe in yourself if no one else was. It’s a choice that you’ve mulled over for what seems like an eternity, but it’s a certain Dutch driver that makes you take the final leap off the edge. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You’ve known Max since you were kids in karting. The two of you were pretty close friends as kids, often seen attached at the hip around the track during race weekends. He’d found solace with you and your family, something that looking back now, you were glad to have been able to give him. He was the only other person who you truly considered competition back in those days. It was always a fun time when you raced against Max, mainly because he treated you like an equal, but also never downplayed your talent. He knew you were good and he expressed that many times– something that meant a lot to you back then and still does today.

As you two got older your friendship started to fade for no reason other than taking different paths. When he skipped F2 and went straight into F1 you were pissed, but he had the talent, you couldn’t deny that. You’d sometimes see him on weekends when F1 and F2 raced together, a few short words spoken in passing, but it was never like the old days. Your lives didn’t necessarily coincide anymore, he was making waves as the youngest F1 driver to exist and you were stuck in F2. So when he approached you at the Gala you were surprised. 

You’d been playing good racing driver and making small talk all night, talking to sponsors and random rich men who loved to hear  themselves talk. You’d finally escaped the tortuous sea of networking and found yourself at a somewhat secluded table with a flute of champagne in front of you. You hadn’t been at the table for very long  before you heard a familiar Dutch accent coming from behind you. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

You turned to see the one and only Max Verstappen standing there with his hand on the back of the seat next to you. Your eyes scanned across the white linen tablecloth to the several empty chairs surrounding the table and then back to Max. “I think they all might be spoken for, but I’m sure they can find another table to sit at.” He lets out a little chuckle as he sits down and you notice him fidgeting with his tie, clearly trying to loosen it. “It’s weird seeing you in anything other than your race suit or team kit.” 

His movements halt as his eyes comb over you and it makes you squirm slightly in your seat. “Could say the same about you.” 

He’s not wrong though, the dress you’ve picked out for tonight is nothing shy of stunning, but it’s not you. You always felt like these events were a form of torture more than anything and having to get all dressed up was just the cherry on top. 

“I saw that you had a good season.” You state before taking a sip of your champagne. 

Max’s eyebrows raise in surprise towards you, like you’ve just said the craziest thing. “I don’t think we should be talking about my season when you’ve just won a championship.” 

You lean back in your seat, crossing your legs as you adjust your dress. “It’s only an F2 championship Max.” There’s still a part of you that’s slightly bitter about him leaving you behind and you wonder what this night would be like if you were an F1 driver like him. 

“It still means something.” His baby blue eyes narrowed at you as he spoke. 

The remaining champagne in your glass is gone in seconds, this isn’t where you wanted this conversation to end up, but somehow you knew it was inevitable. “It doesn’t mean much if it can’t even grant me that seat I want. I won that championship basically halfway through the season, but can’t get anyone to offer me anything higher than a reserve driver. How does that mean anything?” 

Max shifts in his seat, he knows this is a sensitive subject to you and he knows what he’s about ready to tell you will probably get him slapped, but he has to at least try. 

“It could mean something and I came over here to talk to you about it.” Your eyebrows furrow at his words, confused as to what he could possibly mean. “I want you as my teammate.” 

You can’t help but laugh slightly at him, the Dutchman had clearly had one too many glasses of champagne tonight. “Did you think to express that to Red Bull before I had that world shortest meeting with them months ago? We all have dreams Max and yours is nice, but it’s a pipe dream.”

He shakes his head and scoots his chair closer to you. “It’s not a dream. It can happen. The team wanted to see how the rest of your season played out, but they for sure want you now.” 

“Where is Daniel going then?” A waiter comes past and you snatch another flute of champagne off of their tray. “And why is this not being discussed in a formal meeting setting?” 

“The team thought you might be more willing if you heard about this from someone you knew pretty well first. You know I’ve always been in your corner.” Max knows this is where the conversation will either go south or you’ll hear him out and he fears the latter isn’t the most likely scenario. “ And Daniel isn’t going anywhere” 

It takes you a moment to understand what Max’s words mean, your glass of champagne hovers near your lips as you slowly realize what he’s insinuating. And this time you actually do laugh at him because how could he think that after your disgruntled conversation just moments ago that you would want the one thing you were dissatisfied with? 

“Max, you've got to be kidding me.” You feel like this is one big prank and your tone is more defeated than upset at this point. 

Max on the other hand is trying to figure out how to convince you that this is your best option without making you throw that glass of champagne in his face. “Just hear me out ok? I know being a reserve is the last thing you want, but I also know that you’re one of the best drivers out there right now. And yes– you should have that seat already and it sucks that they are making you jump through so many hoops, but I’m trying to help you out in any way I can. So please just take Red Bull’s offer. You’d be a reserve for a year and then when Daniel’s contract is up at the end of the season you’d be the number one contender for his spot.” The only thing you can find yourself to do is blankly stare at him. It’s not a guarantee that you would be getting Daniel’s spot, you’d just be a contender and to you that means you would be just used for headlines and never actually considered. 

“You really think this is the best thing for me?” 

A sigh escapes past his lips, he should have known this wouldn’t be as easy as he hoped. “What are you really going to do if you don’t take this offer? You can’t do another season in F2. I mean, you’re driving laps around these guys for fun. You’re wasting your talent here and you’re also wasting it by being so determined to not take this opportunity.” 

Your arms defensively cross over your chest and you want what he’s saying to not make sense, but it is and it’s making you even more irritated. “I could seek out other forms of racing.” 

Max can’t help but roll his eyes at how stubborn you’re being. “You won’t though. You love rallying and yes it’s in your blood, but you lack the experience that you need. Endurance just isn’t you. Indycar is the closest thing to F1, but at the end of the day it’s not Formula 1, so I know you won’t actually seek it out. F1 is what you want Y/N and I’m trying to help you get there.” 

You know what he’s saying is true and it’s a tough pill to swallow, but you still can’t bring yourself to actually accept that this is your best and to be frank your only option at this point. Max can see the gears turning in your head, your teeth chewing on your bottom lip. “Y/N.” He’s trying to get you out of your head and bring you back to him. His hand reaches out and gently lands on your knee and that simple action has your eyes focusing back on his blue ones. 

“How do you know for sure? How do you know that I’ll actually be considered for Daniel’s seat?”  

A heavy sigh comes from Max and you know he’s not going to say what you want to hear. “I don’t. You know the racing world –  just because something is said doesn’t mean it’s true, but there’s a high probability. And I think if there’s even a slim chance and you don’t take it then you’d be dumb. You know I’ll always be in your corner and I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you as my teammate.” 

You still don’t know what to say to him, you’re torn between staying true to your values and not taking anything less than what you deserve and realizing that you may have to accept that this is the only way to even get close to your dream. “Stop making the guys in F2 cry and come join Red Bull, please.” 

A small smile finds its way onto your face when you realize Max is recalling all the boys you used to make cry when you beat them when you were kids. 

“Think you’re the only one I haven’t made cry yet, Verstappen.” 

Max mirrors your smile, the memories of old karting days also replaying in his mind. “Don’t see it happening anytime soon either.” A small chuckle escapes past his lips as he speaks. 

The atmosphere between you two had lightened and as you stare at the smiling Dutchman in front of you there’s really only one thing you can say to him. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

After much deliberation, a handful of meetings, and finally accepting that this was unfortunately your best option, you found yourself dressed in a Red Bull team kit three months later in Australia. 

Being a reserve driver was not where you expected to be right now, but you were trying to be more positive about the situation. If it wasn’t for Max you’d probably be sitting at home wallowing in self pity. At least with being a reserve you get to still be around the one thing you love. It was tough though, to be a part of the race weekend, but not actually be able to race. You’re in the team meetings, you occasionally do media, you train like a driver– you do everything that a driver would do on a race weekend except actually drive the car. You sometimes feel like you’re just being taunted, like an animal with a treat just out of its reach. It's hard mentally sometimes, but you push through with the help of a therapist and the hope that this suffering now will be worth it in the end. 

Being a reserve meant you spent basically all of your time on race weekends in the garage. It wasn’t a foreign place to you by any means, but you’d never really been in the garage while the race was happening. You were more accustomed to being the one out on the track and not in here, but you’d grown to love the behind the scenes work. The one thing in particular was the role of race engineer. You were very familiar with them, your own engineer had been with you all through Formula 3 and 2 and you had fully planned on taking them with you into F1 if it was possible. The bond between racer and engineer is a special one, you’ve got to have the utmost trust with one another, know how eachother thinks and trust that they are doing everything in their power to help you. It sounds a little dramatic, but truly what is a racer without their engineer? 

Throughout the season you’d found yourself lingering more and more around the engineers. The occasional times where GP let you sit on the pit wall during practice sessions or qualifying you found yourself glued to the seat next to him. To see how effortlessly Max and him communicate and the level of trust is amazing. It’s a completely different atmosphere and there’s somehow a calm adrenaline that comes over you when you’re on that pitwall. GP makes it look like a piece of cake— looking at data, having multiple people in your ear at once, thinking about strategy. It sounds like a nightmare to some, but you grow to love it. The analytics make the gears in your head turn and the little racing nerd in you can’t seem to get enough. 

You seem to be focusing more on the engineering side of things more than racing at a certain point in the season and maybe it’s because subconsciously you know you aren’t going to get Daniel’s seat so you’re trying to distract yourself with something else. There are some moments during the season that give you hope that perhaps you will be considered, like the couple times you get to drive Max’s car in FP1. That hour you get where it’s just you, the car, and the track in front of you makes you realize why you fell in love with this sport to begin with. It’s just that when that hour is up you’re brought back to reality and you don’t want to get out of the car, but the proud look on Max’s face and his insistent rambling about how it was a no brainer that you finished with the fastest time each session made it a little easier. 

But even with the slivers of hope, Max constantly advocating for you, and not to mention just your raw talent– the team still decides to go with someone else. They don’t come right out and tell you, but you hear the whispers around the paddock and online that Pierre Gasley is who they want. Your name is barely mentioned in talks and when the announcement finally happens at the end of the season you aren’t even surprised. In all honesty yes it hurts, but you knew when you signed that contract that there was the tiniest chance that you’d get that seat and so throughout the season you built your walls up and prepared yourself for the inevitable. 

If it was even possible Max seemed more upset than you about it, but when you tell him over winter break about the other deal you struck he seems to forget all about how you once again had been wronged. Somehow by not getting a racing contract you managed to sign a different one. It was a long depressing month during the end of the season of coming to terms with the fact that your racing career very well may never go any further than F2, but you’d realized that you can still experience your love of racing, just differently, by becoming an engineer. You’d fallen in love with the behind the scenes work during your year as a reserve and GP had somewhat taken you under his wing.

So when the two of you had an actual conversation about you possibly taking the steps to become one it just seemed to click. You’d signed a contract alright, but it wasn’t the one you’d imagined to be signing. The little girl with a dream of being nothing other than a race car driver couldn’t believe that this is where she was headed, but here you were. You were no longer Red Bull Racing reserve driver, you were now a Red Bull Racing apprentice engineer. Even with your knowledge from being a racer for some time, you’d still need to go to school and you somehow managed going to school while working under GP. How you managed that work load you’ll never know. 

Max was thrilled that you two still got to work together and was proud that you’d seeked out a new path for yourself. He’d still be holding out hope that one day you’d get to be teammates, but for now he couldn’t be more happy for you. Especially because you seemed happy with how your life was turning out. 

As the years pass you only grow closer with Max. It’s like you’re joined at the hip sometimes, but you come to realize there’s no one else you’d want to spend the majority of your year with. It feels like your old karting days, he gets you and you get him and for you two that’s just enough. You’re there for his first WDC and you don’t think you’d cried as much as you did then, seeing the boy you raced with as a kid win such a prestigious title. But you also cried for yourself, because as much as you were so proud of Max, you couldn’t help but still mourn the fact that it could have been and should have eventually been you winning a championship. It stings a little less when he wins his second, but that’s mostly because you got so drunk you couldn’t really remember much of it. When you graduate with your degree in engineering Max is there cheering you on, dressed in something other than his team kit for once. You don’t remember much from that night either, but you can’t seem to forget how genuinely proud he seemed of you and how he couldn’t seem to be anyplace other than right next to you. 

The following year with a degree and years of experience now under your belt you get a promotion, mainly because GP got poached by another team for the following season. So for the 2023 season that is truly an iconic one for Max you’re practically his race engineer, but GP is still there right next to you offering his knowledge when needed. 

When it’s finally official that you’ll be taking over the role as Max’s race engineer in 2024 the news is mostly positive, but of course there are some people that think you couldn’t possibly be capable of taking on the role. That a three time worlds champion shouldn’t have a woman as an engineer, let alone one that was around the same age as him. It was funny truly, you were more than qualified to be an engineer. You’d done the schooling and had the experience, yet once again because you were a woman people thought you didn’t deserve the job. 

Max on the other hand was ecstatic that you’d be filling GP’s shoes. He’d had a good run with him, but he couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t sure that you two would make an incredible duo. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“So maybe this wasn’t how I’d imagined us being teammates, but I did tell you I wanted us to be teammates didn’t I? And I think it’s safe to say I always get what I want.” Max stated as the two of you tried to hide in the corner of this end of season/Max's WDC party/your promotion party. Well technically it was Max’s WDC party, but of course he had to bring you into it and show his appreciation to the team as always. 

He’s clearly had one too many gin and tonics and the goofy smile on his face only got wider as he spoke.

“Cocky much huh? I think that third championship is getting to you.”  

He leaned in closer to you and those pretty baby blues narrowed in on you. “Well when we get my fourth title next year I’ll show you just how cocky I can be.” That was gin and tonic talking and you knew it was time for Max to retire for the night. 

“Alright champ. Think it might be time to call it a night.” Your hand wraps around his bicep to try and guide him towards the exit, but he’s a solid man and he doesn’t even budge. 

“No, it's still early! We haven’t even begun to celebrate you yet!” He’s being loud and pouty and all up in your personal space, classic signs of drunk Max. And truth be told you don’t want the attention on you whatsoever, hence you hiding in the corner. Which of course Max had invaded as soon as he could.  “Come on just one more drink?” 

You know one more drink is never just one more, but for whatever reason tonight you can’t tell him no. And so hours later when you’re both making your way down the fancy hotel hallway towards his room you don’t even recall wanting to leave early. Both of you tipsy are always giggling messes and when Max can’t seem to get his key card to work to get into his room it’s apparently the funniest thing on earth to you. Which in turn has Max laughing and you don’t realize how loud you two actually are until the door across from his opens and a disgruntled elderly man is stood there in his robe. 

“Sorry!” You barely squeak out to the man as Max finally gets his key card to work and you’re pushing him into his room before the old man can respond. When you hear the door click behind you, the both of you are stood in silence staring at each other for a moment and then laughter erupts out of both of you. 

Max plops down on his bed and you take that as a sign that he’s safely made it back to his room and you’ve fulfilled your duty as his friend tonight. “Alright. You’re safe and sound which means I’m gonna head to my room. Goodnight Max.” 

He quickly sits up on the edge of his bed at your farewell, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as he wonders if he should go through with the idea that’s been consuming his brain for some time now. He had enough liquor in him now to justify even considering it. It’s not until your hand touches the door knob that he finally speaks up. “Y/N. Wait.” 

Your head whips around at the sound of his voice and by the time you’re fully turned around he’s inches away from you. “If this is you trying to convince me to rally and head back out I’m convinced you want me dead, Verstappen.” 

“No no, it’s nothing like that.” His voice is soft and you can almost feel the energy in the room change. 

“What is it then?” You throw him a questioning look. 

He’d cracked the can of worms and if he didn’t fully open them soon he doesn’t think he’ll ever get the chance again. “Um- there’s something I-” How was he supposed to tell the girl who in less than a month is going to be his official race engineer that he has feelings for her? He’d been somewhat harboring them since they were kids and as he got older and the feelings seemed to lessen he figured it was just a silly little childhood crush. He’d only then realized since becoming as close as the two of you have ever been these past couple years that those feelings were not just ones of a silly little childhood crush.

Sure it started out as that and yeah his feelings may have just gotten pushed down when your lives started to go in different directions, but now that he had you with him all the time and your relationship had blossomed into something more than just two kids on the kart track. He’d come to the conclusion that those feelings never actually went away. And he knows he should have said something sooner because this new phase in your relationship and your work relationship takes priority over his romantic feelings, but Max can’t help but be greedy. The three time world drivers champion surprisingly wants to have his cake and to eat it too.

The alcohol coursing through his veins isn’t really helping him in thinking that clearly, he can’t seem to muster up the words in the order he wants, it’s all jumbled up and he starts speaking in Dutch without realizing it. 

“Max, you're making no sense. You’re drunk, just talk to me in the morning or guess I should say afternoon by the way you seem to be sounding.” He’s tipsy, not drunk. He could hold a conversation, but apparently not when it came to confessing his feelings. The liquid courage he thought he had possessed was clearly no longer working in his favor. It’s only when he feels your hand touch his forearm that he pulls himself together. “When I signed that contract to be your race engineer I didn’t think it would include babysitting.” You slightly teased him as you tried to guide him back to his bed, but like back at the party his feet stayed planted to the plush carpet. 

You knew drivers and their engineers were close, you had to be, but there was something definitely different about Max and yours relationship. Maybe it was because you had known each other since you were children, but you two were for sure closer than the average duo. Case and point– the situation you two had currently found yourselves in. You didn’t know of any engineers and drivers who went out and hung out outside of work like you guys do or even party like you two do, but for you guys it was normal. So perhaps things would have to change when the season officially started. 

“If you’re going to be so stubborn then you can put yourself back to bed.” Your hand drops from his arm as you turn towards the door to leave when you feel his much larger hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you back towards him. “Max-” 

Your faces are inches apart and his pupils are so dilated that those pretty blue eyes that always stare back at you resemble something more of a black hole than a spring sky. “I may regret doing this, but I think if I don’t I’ll regret it even more.” 

And it’s in this moment that everything between the two of you changes and your lives are forever altered. 

You don’t even get to question what Max is talking about before you feel his plump pink lips against yours. Your brain short circuits and it takes you a second to realize what is actually happening, but by the time your brain catches up with your lips he’s already pulled away and cursing. 

“Fuck I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Clearly you don’t feel the same-” 

Max doesn’t even get to finish his rambling before your grabbing at the material of his shirt and pulling him back towards you. Your lips crashing into each others and this time he’s the one surprised. His hands reach up to cradle your face as he deepens the kiss, your lips moving in perfect synchronization. The night's drinks linger heavy on your tongues and they begin to mix as his tongue slips its way into your mouth. He’s dominant yet soft with his actions and you find yourself becoming enthralled with them. 

When you two finally pull away you’re both breathless with rosy cheeks and giddy smiles on your face. There’s a silence between you, no one wants to be the first one to say anything. To bring you back to reality and ruin this moment, but Max is the first one to burst the bubble. “I hadn’t really planned on kissing you. I actually had a whole speech planned out, but guess this did the trick just as well.” 

“A speech?” You question. 

“Was gonna tell you that I may have had a crush on you since we were kids in karting and how I thought it was just a childhood crush for the longest time, but then we became so close ever since you joined Red Bull and I realized that I’ve always been enamored by you. We just get each other and being around you is so easy. You’re my person Y/N.” 

You weren’t going to lie to yourself and say you didn’t have a crush on Max when you were kids too or that you’d perhaps sometimes in the middle of the night when your mind wandered thought that there may be something a little more between Max and you than what you let on. But you’d always pushed those thoughts aside as quickly as they arrived. You didn’t allow yourself to be distracted with silly crushes when you were racing let alone now when this new dream was at your fingertips. But the fact was that it wasn’t just a silly little crush. Max is just as much your person as you are his. He’s your biggest supporter and embarrassingly the person you think about the most. And perhaps you do find yourself staring at his pretty blue eyes or the way his eyes scrunch up when he’s really happy or laughing hard. The way his lisp becomes more prominent when he gets excited or how you love to hear him “maxplain”. 

So perhaps you were more down bad than you had let yourself believe, but it was no use dwelling on it. You were colleagues and soon you would be his race engineer. This was just a drunk mistake and Max was only caught up in the moment– at least that’s what you kept telling yourself. This couldn’t happen right now and you know you know you shouldn’t have kissed him back, but god kissing resembled the same feeling of when you overtake on the track. That adrenaline rush that starts in your stomach and travels up to your chest. It’s addicting and as he stands there in front of you, those swollen pink lips of his keep shutting down everything in you that tells you to not let this go any further. 

Max gently reaches up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering as he tries to figure out how you feel. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same, but I mean after that kiss… there’s got to be something.” The sly smirk on his face only has you rolling your eyes at him, but he knows from the small smile your donning that the eye roll was nothing of significance. “I just had to tell you. It’d been eating at me.” 

His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across the top. You practically melt into his touch and as your eyes flutter shut a deep sigh escapes past your lips. You know this can’t continue, you know you’ve got to be the one to set the boundaries, but god damn if this wasn’t something like a dream. 

“I’m not going to lie and say I don’t feel the same because I do. Perhaps even more than you at times, but this was absolutely the worst time for you to do this. Before you know it the season is going to start and I’m going to officially be your race engineer. We can’t mix pleasure with business.” 

He knows what you’re saying is true, but to hear you say you feel the same as him has him willing to risk it all. “I know I should have told you sooner, but I think we could make it work.” 

“Max.” You’re trying to get him to think rationally for just a second. 

“We don’t have to put a label on anything and no one will know until we are ready. We will just take it slow. Nothing would have to change between us or the people around us. Work will always come first.” 

His hands move down towards yours and your fingers intertwine as you try to make sense of all the things flying around in your brain. You’ve never felt this way about anyone before like you do Max. You’d been burying it, trying not to let it get in the way of your job, but it had been there subconsciously the whole time. Now that you’ve come to terms with it and found out he feels the same, how the hell were you two going to move forward with this?

“Things will change Max, even if you say they won’t we both know they will. We’ll have to be careful about how we interact and sneak around. This isn’t some little make believe play time kind of thing. This is real life Max.” You squeeze his hand as you speak, trying to convey just how serious you’re taking this and how he should be too. “I also have a lot more at stake than you do Max. I’ve gone through hell and back to get where I am today, I don’t want it all ruined in the blink of an eye.” 

Max so badly wants to make this work. He understands your apprehension regardless of how strong your feelings are for him, but he thinks you guys should at least give it a try. 

“I understand what you’re saying. I also think what we’ve got here is pretty special. It would be a shame to not pursue it.” 

Your brain is telling you to choose your career and your heart is telling you to choose both your career and Max. Everything could work out fine and he could be the guy you end up marrying and living happily ever after with or it could all blow up in your face and you could lose your career and your man. But if you would have never taken the risk of becoming a reserve for Red Bull then you wouldn’t be here in this position. So you take the risk and decide to go with your heart. 

“Alright let’s see how this plays out Verstappen.” 

His eyes light up at your words. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

And for the third time that night you feel his soft lips pressed against yours. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The 2024 season starts out with a bang. Max puts it on pole in quali and wins in Bahrain and the same thing happens in Saudi Arabia. You’d been practically shitting yourself in the weeks leading up to the start of the season. There was an insane amount of pressure from the public and media for you to do well, but also an insane amount that you had put on yourself. You wanted to prove to people that you were good at your job, that you deserved to be there. So when the first two weekends went smoothly and your communication went well with Max you couldn’t have been happier.

Not to mention how well it was going with Max. You two had been nothing but careful when it came to your radio messages, but also your behavior in the garage. The fleeting glances or smiles thrown your way only mean that much more considering you two are the only ones who know their true intent. And the evenings spent in each other's hotel rooms are like your own personal getaway. It’s just you two once that door is closed behind you and it makes the kisses even sweeter. 

Although the following week in Australia you weren’t expecting to be dealing with a hiccup so soon, but that’s the world of Formula 1 for you. It started off normal, Max took pole in qualifying and the race started great. Everything is normal on the pitwall and then you see Carlos overtake Max on lap two. It of course is not what you want to see, but it was only the second lap and you weren’t that stressed at the moment, but then you hear the dial of Max’s radio.

“I just lost the car. Really weird.” Max’s voice fills your ears through your headset. 

“Yeah no problem Max. Still early.” 

You watch the data closely as the race continues and you can see his time dropping ever so slowly.

“Fuck. The car is loose.” 

“I know. Try and hold on, we are working on it.” 

His time keeps dropping and you're combing through everything trying to figure out what could be going on. As you glance at the monitor with the race coverage you notice smoke coming from the back of the car and not a second later his voice comes through your headset once more. 

“I have smoke. Fire fire. Brake my brake.” 

“Copy. Try and make it back to the pits.” 

Fuck. This could not be good. You’re first real issue as an official engineer and it’s only the third race of the season. You turn in your chair as you see him rolling down the pit lane, his rear brake on fire. Your stomach drops and you know it's a DNF for him. Thankfully it wasn’t a crash, you think you would have been going to the medics with him if that was the case. 

Your headset is off and you’re making your way across the pit lane as soon as you see him get out of the car. You’re nervous considering this is the first race issue you’ve dealt with while being “together” or whatever you two are calling it and you aren’t sure how Max is going to handle it. 

He’s in the garage taking off his balaclava as you walk up to him and you want nothing more than to wrap your arms around him, but you know you can’t do that. There’s clearly signs of disappointment on his face, but he’s trying to keep a poker face when he spots you. “You alright?” You question as you lean against the counter. 

“I’m fine. Car isn’t though.” He’s short with you and you probably should have let him decompress on his own before coming over here, but you couldn’t help yourself. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve seen him in a less than cheerful mood, but it’s the first time since coming to terms with how you felt about each other and you being his engineer.

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

He shrugs his shoulders at you, his hand running through his dirty blonde hair. “Wasn’t your fault.” 

You feel like it is though. “Are we good?” You ask with a low voice. 

Max could barely hear you with the sound of the mechanics and when he sees them moving the car into the garage he grabs you by the elbow and leads you towards the back of the garage towards the paddock entrance hallway. It luckily was empty for the moment, the garage too busy dealing with the car. 

“Why would we not be good?” He lowers his voice too. 

It’s your turn to shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s just that it was the first issue of the season and I wanted to make sure you weren’t upset with me or something.” 

“Schatje.” The term of endearment always has butterflies fluttering about in your stomach, no matter how many times you hear it. “It was not your fault. It was a mechanical issue.” 

He can see the worry across your face and he knows the amount of stress you’ve been feeling about everything. The last thing you need is to be worried about how your relationship is going. He quickly checks both directions and when he sees the coast is clear he pulls you into his arms. It’s what you both needed after the shit show that was this race and even if it was brief his actions told you everything you needed to know. “We’ll talk more tonight, yeah?” 

You simply nod at him, both of you knowing you have to go back to your respective roles in the team before someone comes around the corner. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before disappearing behind the corner and back into the garage. You lean your head against the wall as you let out a deep sigh. There was something in you that had a feeling that this season wasn’t going to be an easy one. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Japan and China have you guys back to regularly scheduled programming and then Miami comes and turns everything upside down. When Max wins by the skin of his teeth in Imola the following race week you know something is not right with the car, but you can’t seem to pinpoint it. You know Max and you know he’s driving the car to its full ability and he somehow manages to secure the win in Canada and Spain, but not without being vocal about how shit the car is over the radio, to which you can only reply copy that Max.

It’s clear to you and probably everyone else that this season is not looking to be a dominant Red Bull season and it makes your stomach churn to think about the headlines about you. There’s not a doubt in your mind that everything will be blamed on you, especially after the horrible weekend that is the Austrian Grand Prix. 

It doesn’t start out bad, Max puts it on pole in qualifying and he holds the lead throughout the majority of the race. It’s not until lap 48 that things start to fall apart. 

“I can’t hold this much longer.” Max’s voice sounds through your headphones. 

“A couple more laps Max.” 

“The tires are fucked.” 

You don’t want Lando to undercut Max and you know if you don’t time this pitstop right that it may very well cost Max the race. On lap 52 you call Max into the pits and McLaren pits Lando also. You need this pitstop to go well and of course — it doesn’t. A stubborn left rear wheel nut is what brings the gap between Max and Lando down to two seconds. 

There’s not a bone in your body that wants to relay that information to Max, but you’ve got to, it’s your job. 

“Gap to Lando is now two seconds Max.” 

“Fuck.” 

“I know, but you can hold him off.” 

As the time began to shrink between Max and Lando your confidence in Max holding him off was dwindling and you knew he wasn’t going to just let Lando pass him. He was going to hold Lando off for as long as he could and when the racing started to get sketchy you were sure you wouldn’t have any fingernails left by the time this race was over. 

“Keep it clean Max.” You tell him after a particularly close call. 

“Something is wrong with the car.” He replies. You can tell he’s got no grip, but he’s also trying to defend like his life depended on it. 

As the laps go by the two drivers seem to be getting more desperate as both of them are pushing track limits and each other. You know it’s not gonna end well and you can only do so much from the pitwall. It’s Max who makes the final decision out there regardless of what you say. 

It’s been a tiring back and forth game with them and when they finally make contact on lap 64 your stomach drops for the man you care for, but you shake your head as his engineer. Both of them have punctures and somehow Max is able to make it back to the pits and still finish fifth. It’s quiet on the pitwall and the cheers from the Mercedes team drown out anything that might have been said. You don’t know what to say to Max when you see him. As his engineer you know he was defending (rather recklessly in your opinion) but as his ‘girlfriend’ you want to slap him for being so reckless. 

You know it’s better to just let Max decompress on his own and at this point you somewhat need to also. He’s got media duties to deal with and you’ve got your own responsibilities. You don’t even bother in waiting around for him like you usually do after a race. Once your tasks are done you’re making your way back to the hotel and for the first time that weekend you actually go to your room. Nothing sounds better at the moment than a nice long hot shower and so you let the water help wash away the stress from this weekend. That is until you hear a rapid knock on the door as you’re wrapping yourself in the hotel branded fluffy white robe. You know exactly who it is, but considering you’re dressed in nothing but a robe– you check the peephole. To no surprise there on the other side stands a disheveled Max Verstappen. His hand runs through his hair obsessively and you can tell he’s not in the cheeriest of moods. You open the door and he wastes no time in coming in. 

“Why aren’t you in my room?” He immediately asks, his tone almost reads as offended that you were here instead of three rooms down. 

“A girl can’t use her hotel room?” 

“You know what I mean.” 

You sit down on the edge of the plush bed as Max remains standing. 

“I just wanted some alone time. To decompress after this weekend, specifically today. Figured you could use some too.” 

He’s standing in front of you now, his fingers lightly toying at the collar of your robe. “All I wanted to see when I came back to my room was my girl waiting for me.” His voice is soft and you can tell this weekend has taken a toll on him. He plays the tough guy act during racing, but at the end of the day he’s just a man who wants and needs love and comfort. And so without a second thought you're sneaking off to Max’s hotel room like a couple of teenagers trying to not get caught. 

The warm embrace of Max’s arms is one of the places you feel the most safe and tonight is no exception. Austria is clearly a weekend to forget, but you know the media will be dragging it out for weeks to come. “The only thing I’m gonna say about today is that you’re lucky all that happened was a puncture. As your engineer and girlfriend you put me through the fucking ringer today Verstappen.” 

He doesn’t even register you somewhat scolding him for his driving today, all he can seem to focus on his you referring to yourself as his girlfriend. Of course you’ve been nothing less to him in his mind, you were exclusively his and no other woman would compare. But with the somewhat tricky situation you’d found yourselves in you’d never really put a label on it and that was fine to him. In fact he’d been the one to suggest it in the beginning, mainly because he knew how nervous you were about exploring the relationship between you two. But to hear it nonchentaly come out of your mouth that you’re his girlfriend is perhaps the best thing he’s heard in a good while. 

“Girlfriend?” He questions, his tone somewhat teasing you. 

Your head leaves its home on his solid chest and moves to look up at him. You hadn’t even realized you’d referred to yourself as his girlfriend, but after six months of you two just going with the flow or whatever you wanted to call it. There was no doubt that you two were exclusively one anothers. 

“I mean– that’s what I am right?” You pray you haven’t just made a fool of yourself, but you know he feels the same. 

His hand cups your cheek and he looks at you like you’re the most breathtaking thing on the planet. You can feel the butterflies erupting in your stomach and just by the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, there’s no way he doesn’t feel the same. 

“Yes, but only if I’m your boyfriend.” His voice is sweet like honey and the butterflies are about ready to escape your stomach at this point.

“We sound like two 13 year olds right now.” 

Your laughter is like music to Max’s ears and he can’t ignore the swelling feeling in his chest. It’s terrifying, but thrilling at the same time and it’s a feeling that he’s sure he never wants to be without. 

“Well ok then I need to know if we are actually boyfriend and girlfriend.” Giggles fill the hotel room and you would have thought you two had been drinking with how ridiculous you two were acting, but you were really just lovesick fools. 

As the laughter dies down you can sense a shift in the atmosphere as you two lay there and stare at each other for a moment. In what seems like no time at all your leg swings over his waist and a second later you’re straddling him. His hands instinctively move to your hips and your hands lay flat on his chest as you lean forward. “I think it’s safe to say that you’re mine huh? My boyfriend?” 

Your lips hover just above his as you whisper to him and you can see his pupils dilating and feel the grip on your hips getting tighter. 

“I like hearing that.” He whispers back, his lips jutting out to connect with yours, but the tease in you has you pulling back ever so slightly. 

“Hearing what?” A playful smirk adorns your face as you sit up with your hands still splayed across his chest. 

He sits up too, but it’s clear you’ve ignited a fire in him. His hands snake around your waist as he holds you close to his chest. Your hands now resting on his shoulders. “That I’m yours.” 

And in one swift motion he’s flipped you onto your back as his large biceps bulge while he hovers over you. His head leans down towards your ear and his breath tickles your neck. It’s like every nerve in your body is heightened and you’re aware of every single thing he does to you and himself. “And that you’re mine.” 

A shiver runs up your spine as he whispers into your ear and by the look in his eyes you know it’s going to be a long night. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

To say you were looking forward to summer break was an understatement. The mere idea of having a month off was the only thing that got you through those last three races. Silverstone wasn’t horrible, but Hungary and Belgium were nothing to write home about. The team had figured out that the upgrades that were brought to the car weren’t working correctly, but now it was trying to figure out why they aren’t working and how to correct them. But even with potentially corrected upgrades it still seemed like the car would be a pace behind McLaren or Ferrari. You’d been stressing trying to work on a new strategy with Max and trying to figure out how to make the car faster with basically nothing to work with. Not to mention the headlines that had your head on a spike claiming “Red Bull’s downfall” was because of you. It was truly tiring and so when the checkered flag waved in Belgium you were one happy girl. 

It’s not everyday that you get to send a week on a private island with your boyfriend, yet here you were. When Max had mentioned something about getting away during summer break you had figured Saint Tropez or Bali or really any typical F1 driver vacation spot. You had also figured you’d be spending some time apart considering it would be a little weird to be spotted on vacation together. The last thing you wanted was for rumors to start flying around, but Max surprised you with the unexpected. 

When Max told you this was a private island you figured there’d be maybe a handful of other people, but it was literally just you two and the staff for the villa. It’s truly paradise on Earth and you have to pinch yourself sometimes to see if you’re dreaming. Days spent on the beach and in the ocean. Nights spent tangled inbetween the sheets and mornings spent waking up to the gentle lull of waves crashing onto the sand and alright sometimes it is spent tangled in the sheets. Decadent food at the snap of a finger and the feeling of the sun on your skin everyday. It’s just what you needed, what you both needed to help you recharge for the second half of the season. 

On one of your last nights on the island Max and you find yourselves cuddled up on one of the giant loungers outside. The ocean had calmed for the night and the moon’s light cascaded over the water and onto you two. For once Max had sought out comfort in your arms and you thought you had put him to sleep from running your fingers through his hair until he spoke up. 

“I’m glad we found our way back to each other.” 

Your movements stilled, you weren’t expecting him to say that. Sure Max is a lot more loving than people would expect, but he isn’t one to be overly sappy. “Me too.” There’s a beat in the conversation and your hand finds its way back to his hair. “I don’t think as kids we saw our lives ending up like this though did we?” 

“Career wise or us being together?” Max questions. 

“Both I guess or at least it was that way for me.” You can feel Max slip his hand under your shirt and his finger start to mindlessly trace patterns on your abdomen. “If you would have told the girl who hated your guts for a while after you left me behind in F2 that I would be on a romantic getaway with you years later, I would have laughed in your face.” You can sense the shit eating grin on Max’s face. “I also fully believed that I was going to be a Formula 1 driver. There was nothing that you could have told me back then that would have changed my mind. Hell even five years ago I was still holding out hope. Guess I should have known better.” You’d turned the conversation in a different direction, but it was Max and he was the one person who you could have these kinds of talks with in confidence.

Max knows this is still a very sore subject for you and how could it not be? He couldn’t imagine having gone through all the shit you have just to be denied over who you were. He may have had his fair share of shit to go through as a child and some other things, but in the end he got to achieve his dream and no one denied him of it because of who he was. He knew you had to look at him with envy more times than not and he wished he could only go back in time and somehow by the grace of the racing gods get you a seat. “There’s no such thing as “knowing better” you had a dream and the talent to back it up. There was no reason you shouldn’t have been able to achieve it schatje. Life is just one cruel fucker sometimes.” 

“But I guess without that happening we probably wouldn’t have ended up together then?” You try to change the subject to something less depressing than your failed racing career. 

“Everything happens for a reason.” Max states. 

You nod in agreement, it’s something you’d told yourself quite often to try and cope with your dreams getting crushed. 

“I do love my job now and however shit my luck may be it can’t be that bad. I still get to enjoy racing and I’ve managed to acquire you in the process.” 

Max lets out a small laugh at your statement. “Didn’t know I was some prize to be sought after.” 

“You were like an added bonus that came with the job.” 

Max playfully scoffs and after a few moments of silence he changes the subject.

“Maybe we should just stay here for the rest of the season.” He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s been dreading for summer break to end and to go back to driving a car that wants to disagree with everything he does.  

“It would be nice, but we have a championship to win.” 

Max looks up at you and even with the moon as your only light source those baby blues of his still sparkled. “You really think we still have a shot at it?” 

You know this season has been weighing him and the whole team down and as much as you’ve been stressed you still have faith that you guys can pull off the WDC. ‘I’m gonna tell you something my Dad used to tell me. Whenever I had a difficult race or was upset or even when I was getting rejected for an F1 seat he’d always tell me ‘it’ll pass’. You may be feeling like shit right now or hopeless, but after some time things get better and eventually that feeling of despair will pass. This rough patch we are in right now– it’ll pass Max. You’re gonna win again, especially if I have anything to do with it.” 

The overwhelming desire he has to tell you he loves you right now is something he can’t ignore. He’s never had someone in his corner like this before. Had someone that he cared about so deeply and loved be so involved in securing his success, but also reassuring him and instilling confidence back in him. It’s something you were good at as kids too, he couldn’t recall how many times he’d snuck off and hung out with you and your family during your karting years. If he hadn’t had a particularly good race he always knew you’d be there for him no matter what others in his life said or did.

But as much as he’s confident in his true feelings about you and the fact that he really hadn’t felt this way about anyone before, he decides to keep it to himself for the time being. If you by some chance don’t feel the same he doesn’t want to ruin this nice moment or vacation by blabbing his mouth about how he feels. So for now him pressing his lips against yours and the feeling of your hands on him will have to suffice instead of ‘i love you’. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The first race back after summer break is Max’s home race and you both want nothing more than for him to win this one. The usual cool and collected Max has some nerves to him this weekend. You’d been nothing but reassuring and supportive this weekend because you truly think with the little tweaks the team had made to the car and some new strategy techniques that you may have this weekend in the bag, but Max can’t seem to shake the doubt in his mind. He’s of course thrilled to be racing at his home race, but the fact that he hasn’t been winning and that his family is going to be here has his mind working on overdrive. The little boy who hated to be a disappointment is still inside of him no matter the size of the nonchalant facade he tries to put on. 

When Max qualifies P2 you know he’s going to be upset, but you know you guys can work with P2. You two go over the best possible strategy techniques Saturday night and come Sunday morning you’re both feeling good about the race. 

“Alright Max twenty seconds until the formation lap. Be smart and safe.”

Your voice travels through the headset and Max smiles at the last part. It had become a habit of yours to always tell him to be smart and safe over the radio. It’s your way of telling him you care and perhaps subconsciously that you love him and he wants to tell you he loves you back every time, but he knows everyone can hear what is being said, so he settles for the old stand by. 

“Copy.” 

When the lights go out you don’t realize you haven’t taken a breath until Max overtakes Lando on the first turn and you’re breathing out a giant sigh of relief. This is what you guys needed and now all Max needed to do was get some distance between him and Lando and pray for it to be a boring race and he’d be taking that top step. 

“Beautiful Max.”

You know the reassurance over the radio will have him smiling like a fool under his helmet. 

It doesn’t take long though for your confidence about the race to start to diminish. Lando wastes no time in trying to gain his position back and you can tell Max can’t hold him off much longer. He eventually overtakes him and the gap that Lando starts to create is making your stomach turn. You knew if Lando got out in front and into the clean air it would be game over and that’s exactly what happens. With only ten laps left you don’t even want to tell Max how big the gap has gotten, but from his radio silence and him not outright asking, you figure he already knows. 

22 seconds. 

That’s the gap between Lando and Max when the checkered flag waves. Your stomach is in knots as you take off your headset and make your way towards the crowd already forming for the podium celebration. Max still ended up with P2, but to be beaten with a 22 second gap at your home race has got to be killing him. You watch him from below and you can tell his mind is going a mile a minute, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins and the disappointment from losing the race is written all over him. 

After the podium celebration and the team debrief and every other responsibility that you have on a race weekend, you finally find yourself back at the hotel. Usually you’d be flying back home on his private jet, especially on a weekend like this, but Max opted to fly out first thing in the morning. So while Max finished up the last of his responsibilities you opted to torture yourself some more and go over countless amounts of data from this weekend.

Technically this isn’t even your main job, but if you can somehow figure out what the hell is wrong with this car then you’ll take on whatever job you have to. You don’t even realize how long you’ve been sat at this small hotel room desk, papers scattered everywhere as you hunch over your laptop. The sound of the door opening and closing doesn’t register in your mind and it’s not until you feel two strong hands on your shoulders that you are brought back from the world of tire degradation and sector times. 

“Baby, come on, let's go to bed. We can’t solve this in one night.” His fingers work slowly into your tense muscles and a sigh of relief comes from you as you lean back in the chair, eyes fluttering closed as he continues to work his magic. 

And as good as this feels, your brain wants to talk about the elephant in the room. “So we are gonna pretend like you didn’t get beat with a 22 second gap at your home race?“ His movements halt and you realize you probably could have worded that better. 

“Well I’d actually like to forget about it if that’s alright.” He moves away from you and chooses to sit down on the edge of the bed. His body language is nothing shy of defeated and you could kick yourself for how you spoke. 

“That’s not what I meant to say. It came out wrong. I was just trying to say that I’m trying to figure this out so it doesn’t happen again. We can act like it didn’t happen but it did and there’s clearly a reason here in this data.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you blankly. 

“I’m sorry if this isn’t what you want to be hearing, but I’m trying to get you a winning car again Max. I mean this is my first year as your actual engineer and I feel like I’m gonna lose my job if you aren’t winning races. The car is shit and we can’t seem to figure out a good strategy to work with the shit car. I don’t know what the fuck happened from last year to this year but I’m losing my fucking mind. People already think I shouldn’t be here and by not cranking out wins I’m just giving them more ammunition to use against me.” 

You hadn’t realized you’d started crying until you feel Max’s thumb wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Fuck I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go on some rant and have a breakdown.” 

You bury your head into his chest as his arms wrap around you, enveloping you in his strong warm embrace. “It’s fine. It’s good to let it out.” One of his hands moves to gently stroke your hair and when you finally pull your head back to look at him, he’s pressing a kiss to your forehead and it tells you everything you need to know. 

“I know we’ve both been under stress, but I didn’t know it was this bad baby. I wish you would have talked to me sooner before it resulted in this.” 

You shrug your shoulders at him. “Didn’t want to be a burden.” 

“You’re never a burden to me. We are a team, remember? Regardless of actually working for the same team, at the end of the day it’s still you and me. Don’t ever feel like you have to bottle things up because you’re worried it will stress me out. We’re in this crazy ass world together yeah?” 

A sniffle comes from you, but your tears had subsided. You find yourself just staring at him, getting lost in those ocean blue eyes and you know you’re so eternally grateful to have a guy like Max in your life. If only the world could see just how compassionate and loving he actually was. 

“Don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“Probably be miserable.” 

And there was the smart ass Max that you knew all too well. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The season was coming to an end in a little over a month and you and Max and the whole team had been working overtime in trying to get the cars back up to the normal Red Bull standard that everyone had come to know. Max hadn’t won a race since Spain in June and with only four races left in the season the media had been in a whirlwind over a possible title fight between Max and Lando. You tried not to pay it much mind, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Max wouldn’t win his fourth championship this season. Even with a less dominant car he still went out there and gave it everything and his talent truly showed this season, to see him pulling that car up to podium level multiple times told everyone what they needed to know 

Brazil was this weekend and it’s always a fun race in your opinion. Rain is always expected at least once throughout the weekend and the teams prepare for it, but this weekend it seemed that mother nature didn’t want this race to happen. Qualifying had gotten moved to Sunday morning which made things a little more complicated. If Max wrecked it didn’t give the mechanics much time at all to make any repairs. To make things even worse he was already starting with a five place grid penalty due to power unit change, so he had to make the most of this qualifying. 

The garage is alive preparing to send the cars out for qualifying, but you can see how wet the track is and you can’t lie– you’re nervous. Usually you’d be on the pitwall by now, but you’re lingering in the garage waiting for Max. When he sees you he’s surprised and when you pull him to a somewhat less busy spot of the garage he’s worried that something is wrong. 

“Everything alright?” He asks. 

“Yes. Just wanted to tell you in person to be safe. It looks nasty out there.” 

A smile creeps its way onto his face and before he can tease you about being a softie his head mechanic comes up asking him a question. You take that as a sign to get your ass over to the pitwall before anyone overhears anything else. With your headset on and your nerves at bay for the moment you turn around in your chair to see Max getting into his car. 

“Alright. Green light at the end of the pitlane. Be smart and safe Verstappen.” 

“Always am.” 

You roll your eyes at him and prepare yourself for what could be an interesting qualifying session. When the first cars go out you know there’s going to be multiple crashes, you can just tell. Luckily Max makes it to Q2, but that's where everything goes wrong. A late called yellow flag has Max qualifying P12 which is actually P17 and you know when you hear the static in your headset that what comes out of his mouth is not going to be pretty. 

“What the fuck? Why did they wait that long to pull out the flag? Should have been red to begin with, he went into the wall!” 

“I know Max. We will discuss it later.”

You’re trying to not let himself get more community service, so the less he talks on the radio the better. 

Max is raging as soon as he exits the cockpit of his car and you can tell from the pitwall that he has a bone to pick, but the race is in a few short hours and you have work to do. He can rant all he wants later, but you’re on a mission to somehow get him to win this race all the way from the back of the grid. He doesn’t come and find you for some time, but when he does you two don’t even mention the drama from qualifying. He’s clearly cooled down and you two know it’s now time to lock in and make this strategy work. You two go over three possible strategy plans, but you can tell from the fire in his eyes that he’s planning on pulling out a little bit of Mad Max today. 

There’s maybe a half an hour until lights out and you take that time to go and find your parents who had been invited to attend the race this weekend. You like to think their very cool race engineer daughter is the reason they are here, but unfortunately you are a nepo baby and your Dad was invited because of who he was. Unsurprisingly you find Max and your parents chatting in the garage, Red Bull lanyards hanging from their necks. They greet you with a hug and kiss and Max and your Dad continue to talk while your Mom and you head out into the paddock. 

“How’s the engineer life been treating my baby?” She asks as you two stroll down the paddock. 

“I can’t lie, it's been stressful, but I love it. Helps that I’ve got such a good driver to work with though.” 

“It’s nice to see you two reconnect.” There’s an inflection in her voice and you know there was a totally different meaning behind her words. 

“What is it Mom?” You groan. 

“Nothing. All I said it was nice to see you two reconnect. You two were close as kids and I’m not surprised that you found your way back to each other.” 

You stop in your tracks, turning to face her. “Mom.” 

“It’s truly nothing. It’s just a little bit of Mother’s intuition.” You stare blankly at her– waiting for her to continue. “I’ve heard how you talk to him over the radio, how you two look at each other in pictures, and I’ve witnessed firsthand how you two have acted today. You’re in love with him aren’t you?” Your heart starts to race and you don’t know what to tell her, of course your Mom would know this. She links her arm with yours and you two head back towards the Red Bull garage.

As you two walk through the entrance you find your Dad and Max still talking. Your Mom lowers her voice as she speaks to you. “Your silence tells me that I’m correct.” When Max spots you his whole face lights up and he’s waving for you to come join him and your Dad. “And I’d say it’s pretty safe to say he’s in love with you too.” She whispers to you before heading towards the two men.

You’re dumbfounded as you stand there in the middle of the busy garage, but the sweet sound of a familiar Dutch accent hollering for you has your legs moving before your brain catches up. 

In what seems like no time at all you’re back on the pitwall and the cars are lined up on the grid. After a mess of a formation lap the five lights finally go out and the race is underway. Max wastes no time in making his way through the field and you’re crossing your fingers that this rain on the radar goes around the track, but as the first few droplets fall you know this is about to get interesting. 

Max had made it up to second thanks to a combination of VSCs, other teams pit stops, and then by the grace of the racing gods a red flag. Which gave you guys a free pitstop and allowed for him to hold his P2 position. Things were looking up, but when the red flag lifted it seemed like the rain was only getting heavier. You knew at this point that this was the ultimate test of trust between Max and you. He was blindly following your orders and praying that what you were telling him wasn’t going to have him end up in the wall like so many others. 

“No red flag? This is getting dangerous, even for me.” 

“No red flag.” 

“What the hell?”

“I know. Anything can happen out there. Please be careful.” 

Your fingernails are non-existent at this point and you’re sure you’ve aged ten years from this race alone, but eventually Max overtakes Esteban and after more safety cars and yellow flags it’s down to the last lap. Max has got this and you can feel the happy tears starting to well up in your eyes. And when that checkered flag waves and he’s the first person to see it the whole pitwall and garage erupts into cheers. You would have thought he’d won the championship the way everyone was acting, but he was just reclaiming his spot at the top.

You can’t make your way over to the barricade fast enough and to see the pure joy on his face as he climbs out of the car makes your heart swell with happiness. It had been a long time coming this season and of course his first win in what seemed like forever was one hell of a drive. He comes running over to the team and when he spots you you’re the first person he’s hugging and practically pulling over the barricade. You can feel the happiness radiating off of him and you know that after this that he’s got the championship in the bag. 

The podium celebration was one for the books and to see him radiating up there and smiling down at you had you forgetting that you’re keeping this relationship a secret. But the one thing you know you won’t forget is how in love you felt and what you don’t realize is how bad it’s going to hurt. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The two week break before the triple header that ends the season has you spending some time at headquarters. It's just the usual end of the season stuff, but when an email pops up from HR wanting to schedule a meeting you’re a little concerned. You don’t mention anything to Max, figuring it’s just maybe something silly, but when you walk into the HR office you can sense that it’s not something small. 

“Y/N, so glad you could work this meeting into your schedule. I know you’re a busy woman so I appreciate it.” 

You sit down in one of the plush chairs in front of her desk and you try to calm yourself, if it was something so bad then why would she be so cheery towards you. “Of course. What did you need to discuss with me?” God, could you sound any more robotic? 

Her cheery demeanor turns more serious and when she clasps her hands together on her desk you know this is the moment that someone has found out about you and Max and you’re about to be canned.

“I don’t know how to really go about this, but I’m just going to come right out and say it. There was someone who got into contact with us and claimed to have pictures of you and Max engaging in less than professional activities after his win in Brazil.” 

You’re stunned for a moment and don’t know what to say, you’d been mentally preparing yourself for this moment, yet when you actually hear it you realize you didn’t actually believe that this was the reason you were being called in. You two had been so careful about maintaining professional boundaries while at work and out in public, but apparently not that weekend. 

“I can assure you that’s not the case with Max and I. Did they actually have the photos to back up their claims or is this all just hearsay?” You weren’t going to immediately give it up in case this was a test, but when she pulls out an envelope and slides it across the desk, you know it’s over. 

The envelope though it weighs virtually nothing – feels like the heaviest thing in the world.

When you finally work up the courage to open it you feel like you’re going to throw up. Your palms are sweaty, mouth is watering, and you feel light headed. There in your hands is the thing that is going to ruin your career– pictures of you and Max kissing outside his hotel room in Sao Paulo. How could you two have been so dumb? You aren’t sure if you want to cry or scream or throw up. 

“There’s no denying that it’s you in those photos, but I’m here to give you your options.” 

“Options?” Your eyes are still locked to the photos that are still being held in your shaky hand. 

“Listen. I admire what you’ve accomplished as a woman in a fully male dominated sport. I also know what happens to women who let things like this go public. Their hard work is diminished to becoming their partner's significant other or your hard work could only have been accomplished by selling your body in exchange for promotions. Luckily, I was the one who saw that email and I squashed it early enough to where we won’t have a scandal on our hands, but I need something from you in exchange.” 

You’re like a deer caught in headlights and there's so many things going through your brain that you can’t even communicate with her. 

“I get that this is overwhelming and the last thing you wanted to happen, but right now it’s only you, Max, and me that know about your relationship at Red Bull and we want it to stay that way. I also know that you’ve gotten offers from McLaren and Ferrari to work for them next year and you’ve ignored them.” How did she know about that? You hadn’t told a soul, not even your parents. You’d been mulling over it for some time. You didn’t want to leave Max and you had made a home at Red Bull, but McLaren especially had been so adamant about getting you to join the team. Your contract with Red Bull was only for a year, but you figured they’d resign you, now it doesn’t seem that way. “So, you’re only real option here if you want to continue to make a name for yourself in this world is to break things off with Max and accept one of those offers.” 

Your eyes snap up towards hers and you can feel your heart about ready to beat out of your chest. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but my higher ups will not want to deal with this scandal if you two continue to be careless. There will be no workplace romance, you will be gone and your hardwork will be for nothing. I followed your journey Y/N, you deserve to be out there racing with all of them, but life gave you lemons and you somehow made some damn good lemonade. Now don’t let them drink your lemonade.” 

She takes the photos and the envelope out of your hands and you hear her put them through the paper shredder. You feel like you’re frozen in time, like how you felt back in that meeting at Williams all those years ago. “I’m sure it’s nothing too serious between you two anyways. So this shouldn’t be a hard decision.” 

You’re brought back to reality and the words are slipping past your lips before you even realize it. “It’s not serious.” 

Yes it is. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The following days leading up to Vegas are a blur, you try to drown yourself in your work and Max can’t seem to leave you alone. It’s not that you don’t want to see him, it’s just that you’re waging a war in your mind right now and he’s at the root of it. 

You try to ignore the impending doom hanging over your head and actually enjoy this weekend. If Max finishes one place ahead of Lando this weekend he’s going to be a four time World’s Driver Champion. It’s the thing you guys have worked towards the whole season and to see it finally come together might be one of the highlights of your career. Vegas as always is a spectacle, the lights, the parties, the celebrities. It’s nothing like any of the European races or really any other race if you were being honest. 

When the sun sets and the track lights come on your mind only focuses on the task at hand and not the ultimate ultimatum you’ve been given. Qualifying goes somewhat to plan, Max didn’t manage to get pole but he does qualify ahead of Lando, which puts him in a great spot for tomorrow. He’s buzzing once he gets out of the car and when he finds you he can tell there’s something slightly off with you. Your energy isn’t necessarily what it usually is, but he figures maybe you’re cold and tired, so he doesn’t press the matter. 

You try to follow the script the following night, but the longer this thing festers in your brain the more you can’t keep on your poker face. 

“Twenty seconds till formation lap. Be smart and safe.” 

“Copy.” 

The race thankfully is pretty unremarkable. The main goal tonight was to just beat Lando, if you managed to score a win also that would be great, but the Championship was what you were going after tonight. 

And that’s just what Max does. 

The roars from the crowd and the team as Max crosses the finish line before Lando are deafening and you can feel the mixture of happy and sad tears streaming down your face. 

“Max! You’re a four time champion!” 

It’s nothing but pure glee back from him across the radio and you can’t help but laugh at the simply lovely through the tears. You managed to pull yourself together and accept the congrats from the rest of the pitwall and make your way through the crowd to see if you can find Max, but he’s already trying to find you. The crowd makes space for you to get to the barricade and when Max spots you there’s nothing but love in his eyes and it absolutely kills you. He pulls you up over the barricade and envelopes you in the most bone crushing hug you’ve ever experienced. There’s millions of cameras around so you have to be careful, but you savor the moment for as long as you can. “We did it!” Max exclaims and you can see the happy tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. 

“We did! I told you it was gonna happen, didn't I?” 

Seconds later you two get into a Rolls Royce with a cameraman that takes you along the track. You look over at him and he’s radiating with happiness and the ache in your chest only seems to grow. “I’m so proud of you Max.” That smile that you love so dearly beams back at you and you want to reach out and caress his cheek, but you know you can’t.  

“I couldn’t have done this without you. This championship is as much yours as it is mine. I hope you know that.” He goes to reach for your hand, but then remembers the cameraman and quickly snatches it away. Silence fills the luxurious car and you know Max is trying to take in being a four time back to back champion, while you’re coming to terms with the fact that not too long from now you’re going to not only break the man you love’s heart, but your own. 

That little girl with a dream is still inside of you, she’s with you every race weekend. You love Max more than you should, but you know if you continue on with this you’ll be the one losing your job and not him. It’s not fair, but you learned that life isn’t fair early on and you’ll be damned if you allow yourself to lose something else that you worked so hard to achieve. So if that means losing Max and moving teams then you guess that's how it has to be. Your Dad’s words replay in your head ‘it’ll pass’ and you know that nothing ever truly passes and that all you do is learn to live with it. The ache gets weaker over time, but it never truly goes away.

Even though you found a new dream to pursue you still have moments of truly missing racing. Like when you see the pure excitement and joy on Max’s face when he wins a race or when you see the adrenaline radiating off of him when he gets out of the car, you can’t ignore that ache in your chest. You can’t help but sometimes still think that should be you and you know you shouldn’t feel like that about the man you love, but you’ve never been able to live through him. He’s told you so many times that his wins and now this championship are as much yours as they are his because without you he wouldn’t be able to win. But those words do nothing to heal the teenage girl who got her dreams shattered just because she was a girl. You want to be able to have your dream and keep the man you love, but the career you chose doesn’t allow for you to have both. So for that little girl that still lives inside of you, you choose your dream. 

You attend all the team celebrations and end up getting soaked in champagne more times than you can count and you try to savor every last moment you have with Max and that includes going out and celebrating and coming back to his hotel room and celebrating some more. You savor it all fully knowing this is the last time you’re going to make love to him and kiss him and be held by him. And when he finally decides to fully bare his heart to you as you lay in his arms that night, you stick your knife right through it. 

“I love you.” 

You don’t answer him for a moment and you know this is how it’s got to happen. The longer you wait the harder it’s going to be. 

“It’ll pass.” 

Max isn’t sure he heard you right and he’s choking on his own words trying to form a coherent sentence. “What are you talking about schatje?” 

The tears are already falling down your cheeks and you know there is no coming back from this. “Please don’t call me that.” 

Max removes you from his grasp and sits up in bed. “Why not?” 

“It makes this harder than it needs to be.” 

He’s more than confused at the moment. His heart is racing and you’re crying and he doesn’t understand what is going on. He just won his fourth championship and finally told the woman of his dreams that he loves her and she replies with it’ll pass? “Y/N what the hell is going on? I love you and I know you love me back. I see it in your eyes when you talk to me or when you look at me. I hear it when you tell me to be safe as I line up on the grid. Am I a fool or something? Have I been blind this whole time?” 

“I love you more than you could imagine.” 

“Then why are you sobbing and telling me it’ll pass and asking me to not call you schatje?” In the back of his mind he knows, but he doesn’t want to come to terms with it. 

You just want to pull him back into your arms and kiss him and take back everything you’ve said so far, but you can’t and you wish this wasn’t your reality at the moment. “We can’t be together anymore Max.” 

He furrows his eyebrows at you, he really can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. “Are you being serious? Like are you being totally honest with me right now? Because we have something special here Y/N. I want to know why you’re throwing this away so easily.” 

You take a shaky deep breath and sit up next to him in the bed. “Someone got a picture of us kissing outside your hotel room in Brazil and Red Bull’s HR got wind of it. I got called in and she showed me the pictures. They squashed it before it got out, but Max, she basically told me that if we were to come out as a couple that I’d lose my job. I can’t afford to lose out another dream of mine Max. You don’t understand what it’s like.” 

He grabs your hand and the simple feeling of his skin on yours has more tears rolling down your cheeks. “Listen, I’d give away every championship every wi-” 

“You don’t mean that Max.” 

He’s up out of the bed at this point and you fear it’s only going to escalate from here.

“For fucks sake yes I do! I know we’ve made things a little complicated, but we can make it work. I mean I’m Max Ver-” 

“Exactly, you’re Max Verstappen. You won’t have to worry about losing your job over this. You’re F1’s golden boy, world famous Max Verstappen. It’ll be a little slap on the wrist for you, but for me in this boys club? It’ll be hell. I’ll be painted a whore, a girl whose only way to have gotten into this position was to have had sex with every guy I had to. You don’t know what it’s like to be one of the best drivers of your generation and not get to follow your childhood dreams simply because no one wants to take the chance on signing a female driver. I’ve had to give up one of my dreams and I’m not about to have to lose another one. So yes, I love you and it’s fucking killing me inside to do this, but sometimes we have to let go of the things we love. This horrible heart wrenching feel we are both experiencing will pass. I promise you. You deserve to be with someone who can give you their all.” 

He sits down at the end of the bed, your words finally sinking in and he feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. Like he's gone into the wall at full speed. “I don’t want anyone else but you Y/N.” You crawl to the end of the bed and wrap your arms around him and it’s at that moment you realize he’s crying too and the last little bit of your heart that’s intact finally breaks. “I’m not gonna be able to convince you to stay am I?” 

You press a chaste kiss to his bare shoulder. “No.” You whisper. “I’m probably always gonna love you Max, but this is how it has to be.” 

His hand reaches up and grabs yours and a shaky breath escapes from him before he speaks. “Guess you finally made me cry didn’t you?” 

FIA Gala 2025 

The black gown you’ve chosen to wear tonight is stunning, but you’ve still not grown accustomed to wearing them. And you haven’t grown to like these fancy Galas either, but you’ve got to go to it though. You’re being honored for being the first female engineer to win back to back WDCs with two different drivers on two different teams . Your season with McLaren this year was nothing shy of spectacular and people actually started to recognize your talent.

You’ve been nursing this glass of champagne for some time now, listening to the team talk about the season while all you can think about is taking this dress off later. They get called over to a different table to talk with some sponsors and you take the alone time to scroll through your phone. You’re just about ready to go and see if there’s anything here other than champagne when you hear him speak from behind you and that all too familiar ache blooms in your chest.

“Is this seat taken?” 

[solacestyles]

this christmas – op81

ski slopes, mistletoes, and the guy you've been crushing on for years – what could be better?

genre: fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers!au, smut (just one scene in the end, you can skip it if you want)

pairing: female leclerc!reader x oscar piastri

other characters: lando norris, charles leclerc, george russell & mundt, alex albon & lily muni he, pierre gasly & kika cerqueira gomes

warnings: mentions of alcohol, smut, not much more i think

word count: 13.8k (LMAO)

requested?: yes!!

author’s note: hello hello!! a lot to say about this one. first of all, thank you to @be-your-coffee-pot for this request, and i apologize for not getting to it earlier than now. for everyone’s knowledge, the request was sent in to me in august, so… yeah. i know it’s not exactly what you asked for, but i hope you like it anyway <3

second of all, i feel pretty happy about some of these scenes, but some… not so much. some of the fillers have parts that i really despite, but i don’t really have time to rewrite since christmas is like 2 days away lol. also, my description of the reader’s relationship to charles is not my best work, idk why he barely even appears, and i’m also not sure why logan isn’t in this...

third of all, my red divider things make my posts disappear from the tags, so i didn’t put any in this time. it looks bad, i know, but idk how to fix it. if anyone does, please let me know. :)

and lastly: i only proofread this whole thing once yesterday, but tumblr was being a bitch and i got so frustrated that i do not have the energy to proofread it again. so please, if you happen to find any spelling or grammar mistakes, i would be very thankful if you let me know. <3

hope you all enjoy !!

december 12th, 2:11pm

oscar has always loved winter.

it started in his childhood; the holiday films he'd seen as a child, the way it always seemed to magically snow right on christmas eve really started something in him. it hadn't been common for him to get snow back home in australia when he was younger but once he moved to the england, he got to experience it quite a lot. playing, fighting and just existing in the snow was like an unfilled childhood need that stayed with him until his older years.

he loved spending christmas at home with his family, but ever since he got to experience real christmases with snow, trees and cozy darkness, he craved it more than he craved lying on the beach in his swimming trunks.

so when he was asked to come along to the swiss alps for a vacation during the winter break, he packed his bags right away. he and lando just happened to book the same flight, and they both arrived at the airport around noon, getting into a cab to take them to the accommodation together.

when they arrive outside the cottage, oscar is in shock; it is enormous. he had imagined just a tiny, cute little house – not that he was sure how seven drivers and a couple of girlfriends would fit in a "tiny" house – but he was far from right.

him and lando are the second pair to arrive, just about an hour after alex and lily, who are the self-proclaimed 'hosts' as they took care of all of the booking and planning.

"we thought that one would be lando's room," alex starts, pointing down the hallway. "since it's far away from everyone else, and i'm sure we all would prefer to actually get some sleep during the night time."

"oh, shut it..." lando mumbles, shoving his friend on his shoulder.

"this one can be yours, oscar," lily says, moving in the opposite direction and gesturing to another room. then, she points at the one right next to it. "and this one has two beds, so it's for charles and his sister."

oscar's ears perk up. "y/n is going to be here?" he speaks almost took quickly, making the other three turn to look at him.

"oh, i thought you knew..." lily has an apologetic look on her face.

"i must've forgotten," oscar answers, though he's completely sure no one told him about it. there's no way he would forget you. "don't worry, it's cool."

the hosts continue to move down the hallway, and the mclaren boys are just about to follow along when lando elbows oscar's side playfully. "it's cool?"

oscar raises an eyebrow, trying to keep calm. "what?"

"the youngest leclerc coming along?" a grin takes up lando's entire face. "it's just cool? is she cool, or-"

"goodbye, lando." oscar shakes his head, darting towards alex and lily again. he takes a few deep breaths, hoping the blush he can feel spreading across his cheeks isn't too obvious.

unfortunately, lando didn't need to see the blush to know. he has caught his teammate staring at you too many times over the season, and he is fully aware of the way oscar always is suddenly interested in the conversation whenever you're the topic of discussion.

lando knows everything. and this christmas, he's going to be the best wingman the world has ever seen.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 13th, 12:53am

it's past midnight when you and charles arrive. your flight had been delayed, and then the gps had stopped working all of a sudden. and then, charles just refused to drive any faster than 30 km/h, saying it was too dangerous. as if he didn't drive cars in ten times that speed without even flinching.

you assume the whole house is sleeping already, so you and charles both sneak in as quietly as you can. someone – lily, assumably – has left you a note on the front door, guiding you to your shared room. it all goes smoothly – until charles trips over the doorframe, dropping his bag onto the floor as he tries not to fall down. the sound rattles through the hallway and you flinch, stopping in your tracks as you hope no one's woken up. but just a second later, the door opposite yours opens and a head sticks out.

oscar.

your heart softens and your shoulders relax when your gaze meets his. your soft smile is mirrored on his face, the sleepiness evident in his droopy eyes and the way strands of his bedhead point in every direction.

he looks like he's just about to say something when charles speaks up. "sorry, man! were you asleep?"

he walks up to the australian, giving him a firm handshake and a pat on the back. oscar shakes his head. "i was up reading," his huskey accent is like music to your ears. "i thought i heard some rustling out here, and then..." he nods his head toward the suitcase on the floor.

your brother laughs as he steps back, walking into the room with the "leclerc" sign. "well, i'll let you get back to that then," he says, picking up the bag from the floor and looking back one last time. "good night."

and then, you were just two.

you and oscar stand still for a moment, just watching each other. then, he opens up his arms, welcoming you into his embrace. you step forward and drape your arms around his shoulders as his wrap around your waist, and you let out a content sigh. he's warm, comfortable, and the way he squeezes your body has your mind spinning.

"it's been a while," he says when you part from the hug, a soft grin playing on his lips.

"like a month," you chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest.

"a month has never felt this long before."

you're not sure when your crush on him started forming.

as someone who's always been interested in racing, even in the series your brother isn't in, you've kept up with most results and championships – including oscar's seasons in f2 and f3. after seeing oscar, the unstoppable rookie who completely crushed his season in f3, you made sure to keep an eye at him in f2 the following year. and it's easy to say that you liked what you saw. especially in jeddah.

you'd meet him occasionally around the paddock the following year, just giving him a sweet smile and a quick greeting as if it was no big deal. but you always found yourself squealing on the inside and taking deep breaths to stay calm whenever you made eye contact with him.

then came 2023 and his debut in f1. yet again, he exceeded everyone's expectations, performing better than most drivers who'd been on the grid for years. with his permanent role on the grid, he was around more – and so were you. it wasn't uncommon for the two of you to bump into each other, around the paddock or during media days or in afterparties, and now you tried not to shy away.

talking to oscar was always simple. he was easygoing, it all seemed effortless, and you felt more relaxed. before you knew it, you could chat about racing strategies and tyre management for twenty minutes before a member of the mclaren staff interrupted you, rushing oscar away somewhere. you got to know each other slowly throughout the season, though never really going further than some friendly conversations, but you felt happy knowing that you'd taken the first step towards getting closer to him.

"so..." he starts. "you've been good?"

you nod. "yeah, a lot of studying but it's been alright. you?"

"yeah."

and there it is again, that slightly awkward silence. it's natural, you haven't seen each other since that night in abu dhabi and you're both a little unsure of where you stand after it. the tension is so thick that you could cut through it with a knife, and you kind of want to escape the whole situation. but then he speaks up.

"hey, i just wanted to-"

he's interrupted by the call of your name, and when you turn around, charles is leaning against the doorframe, eyes hazy. "are you going to sleep tonight or what?" he asks, dragging a hand through his already messy hair.

you feel a weight lift off your shoulders – and at the same time, your stomach tightens in disappointment. you nod at your brother, looking back at oscar to give him a wave and a "sleep well", before joining charles in your shared room.

oscar stands still in the corridor for a moment, before sighing and slapping himself in his mind for being so awkward and messing up this opportunity. but on the other side of the door, you stand still too as you watch your brother jump onto his bed, taking a deep breath to clear your mind.

you're just thankful the room is so dark that he can't see your ever-reddening cheeks.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 13th, 10:24am

despite the never-ending pitter-patter of your heart as you went to bed last night, you could fall asleep quite quickly, seeing as you were utterly exhausted from traveling. breakfast this morning feels like you and charles have just been reunited with your childhood friends after being kidnapped for years; not like you had just gone a few weeks without seeing each other. everyone runs around hugging, chatting about how much they've missed each other and how great this trip will be.

"did you get new highlights?" kika asks you, sliding into the seat next to you by the long table as you stuff a piece of bread into your mouth. the room is a combination of a kitchen and a dining hall, with a big cooking area and a glass wall giving the dining area a beautiful view of the mountains outside. in the middle stands a long table with enough seats for all of you, filled with fresh pastries and other breakfast goods to celebrate the first day of the trip. "or is it just the light?"

"just the light," you answer, shooting her a smile as you pick up your cup of coffee.

"oh my god, i almost forgot to ask you," lily starts and places her elbows on the table, her face resting in her hands. "what happened to that guy from raya you were talking to? did you end up going out?"

oscar is sitting a few seats down the table, pretending to be immersed in a conversation with some of the other drivers about the last few races of the season, while actually just doing his best to listen in on the conversation you're having. when he hears alex's girlfriend mention raya, his ears perk up and his breath gets caught in his throat. a million thoughts instantly crash into his mind.

she's seeing someone? how could i not know this? she's on raya? is she actively looking for a partner? who is this guy they're talking about?

he coughs and tries to act normal, shaking off the uncomfortable feeling passing through his body. he soon hears the sweet sound of your wholehearted laughter, and he almost smiles instinctively at it, before he can remind himself that lando's story about las vegas isn't exactly a smiley matter. "you're not going to believe this, i have the best story," you say in-between fits of giggles. "i met up with him for some drinks, and guess what he said? that he has a foot fetish and has dreamed about me caressing his face with my feet." all of the girls squeal and explode with laughter, making some of the boys flinch and look over to see what all the commotion is about. "so, safe to say, we never met up again. and i haven't wanted to go out with anyone else from there, either. i have a feeling they're all just creeps."

"hey, don't lose hope!" kika says while elbowing your side, but her actions are too soft, forcing you to fold over as an uncomfortable feeling spreads through your body. however, a burst of laughter spills past your lips. kika immediately holds her arm back, laughing along. "crap, i'm sorry! i totally forgot how ticklish you are."

you shake your head, your hand landing on her shoulder. "no worries," you tell her. "but, i haven't lost hope. i just don't think my soulmate is lurking around on raya with the foot fetishists."

oscar feels his shoulders relax again, feeling alright with focusing back on the boys' conversation now that he knows you in fact aren't seeing anyone.

maybe he has a shot, after all. as long as he doesn't talk too much about your feet.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 14th, 3:09pm

lando thinks he's so smart.

when he tells oscar to go ask if you'd like to have some of the gingerbread cookies he's bought, it's the third time today he has forced some kind of interaction between the two of you. he is sure that the more time that the two of you spend with each other, the more likely you will be to stop pining and just confess already.

but this time, oscar glares at the brit. "why don't you ask her yourself?"

"because you know what room she's in," lando hums back, reaching into the cupboard with some groceries. "i keep getting lost, the house is too big. plus, i'm busy." he motions to the half-empty grocery bag on the counter.

oscar lets out a sigh, but nods. "how can you memorize all tracks on the calendar, but you get lost in a cabin?" he asks rhetorically, whilst turning around and making his way down the hallway towards your room.

it's not that oscar doesn't enjoy 'accidentally' being forced into talking to you; it's the extreme lack of discretion lando is showing that makes him annoyed. it makes oscar seem like he's the one coming up with silly excuses to talk to you, and he doesn't like how it makes him look. he'd rather be seen as chill, laidback, someone who doesn't force things. he doesn't want you to catch on too early and reject him.

your voice echoes a 'come in' when he knocks on the door to your bedroom, and he pushes the door open just a little to reveal you sitting on the bed, a thick blanket wrapped over your shoulders. a grin spreads across your lips when you make eye contact with him. "hi," you say, placing the book you were reading on the bedside table.

"hey," he answers, stepping inside the room. "i... lando bought some gingerbread cookies, and we were going to make some hot chocolate, and..." his voice trails off as his eyes wander down your body, taking in the christmas sweater you're wearing and the fuzzy socks covering your feet. he smiles absentmindedly at the sight, loving how cozy you seem, and wishing he was sitting right there with you, sharing the blanket.

you nod, understanding him despite his lack of words. "i'll be right there."

oscar gives you a thumbs up – one he then facepalms himself for when he's left your room – before moving towards the kitchen again. but when he walks into it, he sees something hanging from a lamp. he stops in his tracks. "no way..."

festive cookies aren't the only thing lando bought when he went to the local supermarket. he also got the ultimate tool for securing his master plan – a mistletoe.

he doesn't know how, but he's planning to make sure you and oscar meet underneath it at least once before the holidays are over. there's no way you'll both be able to avoid it all week.

of course, lando isn't the only one rooting for the two of you. most of the other drivers know too – how can they not notice the glances you share and the way you light up when someone mentions the other in a conversation? – and most of them are in on his plans. charles is probably the only one in the house who's still oblivious to your and oscar's pining, and lando thinks that he might interfere with the matchmaking if he figures something out, so the brit keeps quiet.

oscar wants to pull the mistletoe down, rip it apart and throw it in the trash, but he refrains. something inside him tells him this might actually work out in his favor – and he decides to trust his gut this time.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 15th, 2:01am

sleeping can be tricky, especially when your brother is snoring loudly in a bed just a few meters away from you.

who even decided to put him and you in the same room?

when you've been tossing and turning to no avail for about an hour, you decide it's time to do something, anything, to hopefully get a little tired again. a glass of warm milk never hurt anyone, did it?

you make your way to the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of milk and put it in the microwave, before turning to look through the windows.

the view of the mountains is breathtaking. there is an untouched, thick layer of snow covering the area, with new flakes still falling. the sun set long ago, but the snow makes it all seem light. the lake below you is just barely visible by now, almost completely coated in snow.

it's completely serene, and you find yourself getting lost in the scenery. however, you're shaken out of your trance when you hear steps behind you. when you turn around, your eyes find someone standing just a few meters away, barely visible in the dark.

you jump in your place and clutch your chest in shock, not expecting anyone else to be up at this hour. when the person steps into the light of the little kitchen lap you had turned on, you relax instantly. "holy shit, oscar," you breathe. "you nearly scared me to death."

"i'm sorry," the australian chuckles. "i didn't know how to approach you without scaring you..."

"what even are you doing up?" you question, crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back against the counter.

"i was just reading in my bed when i heard your door opening, and then footsteps, so..." he trails off when his eyes wander out towards the living room, seemingly just as taken by the sight as you were just moments ago. "i wanted to make sure everything was okay."

"well, everything is okay, so..."

there's some kind of awkwardness hanging in the air. it's not only because of the obvious uncertainty of what to say or do in this situation; it has more to do with the fact that this isn't the first time that the two of you have found yourselves this close with this much tension, all alone at night. sure, it's a lot like the night of your arrival here, but another memory springs to your mind, too.

just under a month ago, following the after-party in abu dhabi, oscar had accompanied you back to the hotel when you started getting too tipsy to keep yourself up on the dance floor. your brother had been nowhere in sight, so oscar took it upon himself to help you out, draping an arm across your waist before walking you all the way to your hotel room. and when you'd arrived in the dimly lit corridor, you'd turned up towards him to thank him, accidentally brushing your nose against his as you did. both of you had broken out in giggles, neither especially sober, but you stayed close – and when the laughter settled, you just watched each other. when his gaze had flickered between your eyes and lips, your breath hitched in your throat, the anticipation growing stronger. you had leaned in even closer, your eyes fluttering closed-

but just as your lips were about to brush his, you had been interrupted. a door a few meters away had opened and the two of you jumped apart, watching as your brother stepped out and exclaimed that he had been wondering where you ended up. oscar had wished you both a good night before hurrying off, the embarrassment of almost getting caught by his friend being too much for him to handle.

you just hoped oscar had been too drunk to remember it, because otherwise, things were bound to get quite awkward. you didn't want him to act differently around you just because you have feelings for him.

thankfully, he hasn't said or done anything to make you think he does remember it.

as you're thinking back to that night in abu dhabi, you nearly get your second heart attack when the microwave goes off with a loud beep. you scramble to turn it off and take out your milk, almost burning yourself on the hot glass in the meantime.

oscar watches you with an amused grin before he forces his gaze off you, eyes wandering over to the windows again. "quite the view, huh?"

you look over your shoulder at the blanketed mountains. "yeah, it's breathtaking," you reply, before growing quiet.

he pauses for a moment, too. "there's something magical about this place. makes everything seem simpler, quieter..."

you nod. "yeah, it does."

something about the moment makes you realize that maybe, just maybe, the awkwardness between you and oscar isn't as insurmountable as you once thought it would be. the shared quietude is comfortable, and you feel at ease. he hasn't brought up abu dhabi – he probably won't, you feel – and maybe you could both just put it behind you and focus on enjoying your trip.

when you eventually get back in your bed, it's with the same kind of pitter-patter of your heart as when you and charles arrived in the cabin a few days ago. needless to say, the glass of warm milk probably isn't going to help.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 16th, 9:02pm

the mistletoe has moved.

when you first noticed it the other day, it was hanging from a kitchen lamp. and now, it's in the doorframe leading into the living room.

you're planning on avoiding it at all costs, not wanting to slip up and accidentally get under it with the wrong person. or the right one, for that matter. the awkwardness of kissing your crush in front of friends and family would be too much to handle.

some others seem to have the exact opposite attitude towards the decoration, though. kika and pierre can be found by it about ten times per day, and alex and lily have no issues sharing a few kisses whenever they "accidentally" pass it.

no matter what, lando has a mischievous grin whenever anyone mentions it, or even walks near it.

his grin stays on when he decides to let himself be in charge of the outing you all have to the christmas tree farm nearby. the farm is too big and would take too long if everyone was going to look at every tree, so lando divides everyone into groups of two based on who they're standing next to as you walk past the gates.

what a coincidence that you're standing right next to oscar when he says this.

lando ushers the two of you off to the rows with quite tall, pre-decorated trees. "so," oscar starts as you both stop in front of a tree with white lights and ornaments hung all over it. "what do you think about this one?"

"well, it's lovely," you say, scanning it thoroughly. "but isn't the true test how well it fits into the living room?"

he nods, despite his confusion, and he shoots a curious glance your way. "and how do we determine that?"

with a playful grin, you hold up an imaginary measuring tape, pretending to size up the tree with a critical eye. "i'm trying to figure out if it fits this corner best, or..."

he follows your gaze, realizing the tease in your words. "i think maybe it's better in the other corner," he hums and points to the side as you turn a little.

"exactly."

lando never inserted himself into a group; he's too focused on watching the two of you share a lighthearted laugh at the situation. though his mistletoe back in the cabin might still have a trick or two up its metaphorical sleeve, he is already proud of his matchmaking antics.

and, he is sure you'll both crack. it is just a matter of time.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 17th, 1:43pm

"i never thought skiing would be this hard," you groan as you step into a cottage, the warmth enveloping you and beginning to defrost you instantly.

oscar laughs at the exasperated tone in your voice. "this was just the kids' slope, you do remember that, right?" you stick your tongue out at him, slumping down on a bench by a table. "you just wait before you do some real skiing..."

you had never skied before today. oscar had, but he said it was too long ago and that he needed an easy start. plus, he couldn't just leave you all alone in the children's slope without an instructor.

you'd fallen over at least five times, despite the fact that the slope was practically flat. thankfully, oscar promised to buy you some hot chocolate in a cottage café to cheer you up.

when he comes back from the cashier carrying two big, steaming cups of chocolate, you've regained most of the feeling in your fingers again. the hot piece of ceramic almost burns your skin, but you think it's worth it; you need the sugar and you need it now.

"you know what the worst thing is?" you ask, bringing the cup up to your face with both hands. you start sipping on the drink and oscar glances at you with a questioning look as he slips down next to you on the bench. "carrying those goddamn skis with me. not only does it suck to actually ski, but dragging them all the way from the rental shop…"

"if it's that much of a bother, i can carry them for you."

"and carry your own too?" you scoff, watching him flinch as he burns his tongue on the drink. "you're not that strong."

he lets out a groan. "you're not even strong enough to carry your own, so you shouldn't say anything."

"i can carry them!" you protest, shooting him a glare. "i just don't want to. two very different things."

you both go silent momentarily, too busy focusing on how good it feels to no longer be frozen to the marrow. the cabin is filled with people; kids running in circles around the tables, soon to be tired again after the initial sugar shock from their afternoon snack; a group of older ladies gossiping and enjoying getting some rest just like you; and some young adults in the far corner are already busy dancing on the tables with their after-ski drinks in their hands.

"you know what? i changed my mind," you tell him, scooting away from him a little and placing your skiing boot on the bench. "these things. they're the worst."

you start to unclasp the boot, sighing in relief as you finally tug the shoe off your foot, throwing it onto the floor. you've only worn it for about an hour, but you can already feel the bruises beginning to form. you're just about to reach down to undo the other boot, too, when oscar reaches towards your foot.

your eyebrows shoot up as he takes it in his hands, pulling the foot into his lap. and then, his fingers begin to wander up and down your foot and ankle, giving you soft squeezes and pressing down on the spaces where he thinks the boot has squeezed you the most. you hold back a pleasured sound, seeing as it would sound way too inappropriate right now, but oscar subconsciously takes note of how you're getting flushed because he soon looks up at your face.

"is this okay?"

you swallow down the lump in your throat, nodding quickly. "y-yeah… just don't tickle me..."

when did things get so intimate? mere minutes ago, you couldn't think about anything other than how you were so cold your nose was going to fall off. but now, you can't stop your eyes from following his long, sleek fingers, thinking about how good they feel and imagining how good they would feel somewhere else-

"give me your other foot."

you're thankful that he interrupts your train of thought before your mind wanders too far.

compose yourself, woman.

"don't tell me you have a foot fetish, too," you tease, turning around so that you can place your other foot on the bench too. he lets out a hearty laugh, swiftly undoing your other boot before letting it drop to the ground.

"oh, shut it. do you want a massage or not?"

you shoot him pout, giving his shoulder a thankful pat before taking your cup in your hands again. you focus on the drink, watching how the steam rises and the marshmallows melt. you can't look over at him anymore, scared of your cheeks growing too red and your face giving away your feelings.

the bell by the door rings behind you, and you look towards it out of habit. and in comes alex, george, lily and carmen, laughing and chatting loudly about the black slope they just went down. oscar doesn't seem to notice, but you hastily pull your feet from his lap, sitting down properly – unfortunately making eye contact with alex as you do. he leans forward to lily, whispering something in her ear, and you watch as her eyes dart to you and a smirk grows on her lips.

shit.

the clicking of her boots against the stone floor meets your ears and oscar turns his head at the sound, suddenly realizing why you withdrew from him. "hey there," lily cheers, each of her hands landing your and oscar's shoulders. "what have you been up to?"

your eyes meet his briefly, before looking back up at lily. "just... drinking some chocolate..."

"oh, no skiing?"

"she crashed too much, i couldn't keep her out there and let her continue to embarrass me all day," oscar tells her and you shove his shoulder.

"do you mind if we join you guys?" george asks, coming around the table and not even giving you a second to think about it before he sets two cups of chocolate down on the table. the grin he's wearing only tells you one thing: alex told him already. carmen's lips show off a matching set.

"not at all..."

‎‎ ‎‎

december 18th, 10:32am

you huff as you slump down on the living room couch, your mood not even getting brought up by watching the newly installed christmas tree in front of you. you hadn't even been out skiing that much yesterday, yet every single inch of your body aches. not only do you have big, blue bruises on both of your hips due to the many times you've fallen onto the hardly packed snow, but every muscle screams with pain as you drape a blanket over your body. needless to say, you decided to stay at home today instead of heading out with the others for another round.

"are you sure you don't wanna come along?" kika asks as she enters the room, her pretty pink sunglasses perched at the top of her nose. the pout on her lips almost makes you doubt staying in, but when you move to sit up more straight again, you know you've made the right decision.

you nod, giving her a weak smile. "yeah, sorry."

"but oscar promised to come along?"

you freeze, your cheeks growing red as you hear her words.

did she know? about your feelings for him? did the others already tell her about the incident in the cottage yesterday? did they really interpret the situation that way?

"w-what?"

"oh," she chuckles at your reaction. "i just meant that he was so bad yesterday, so i thought that seeing him fall over a couple of times would be worth the pain."

"we're gonna trick him into going down a black slope with us," says pierre who walks into the room, arms lacing around his girlfriend from behind. "we'll send some clips."

you let out a breath of relief as they leave the room. maybe they don't know. maybe your secret will stay secret for a little longer.

the group leaves in pairs or trios and you tell them all goodbye from your place underneath the many blankets. everyone has left by now except for oscar, which confounds you since the others seemed to have so many plans for him. your confusion only grows when he steps into the living room without any skiing gear on, just wearing an oversized, cozy hoodie and a pair of sweats.

"why aren't you out with the others?" you question, your eyebrows raised at him.

"well," he sighs, flopping down next to you on the couch. "i can't find my helmet." when you shoot him a doubting look, he raises his hands defensively. "what?"

"i don't believe it."

"you don't have to, but it's the truth."

"how do you even lose a helmet? it's so big?" you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "i assumed you were used to keeping track of where your helmet is since if you don't have your helmet with you for races, then you can't race."

"i swear i put it on the drawer by the front door like half an hour ago. i don't understand what could've happened."

you have to give it to him; he is really doing his best to cover this up. you find it pretty obvious that he just doesn't want to ski because of what the others were planning to do to him. but maybe if kika and pierre hadn't spilled their plans already, you would've believed him.

"but hey," he says, bringing you out of your thoughts. "don't feel obligated to include me in whatever you were going to do here now that you finally have the house to yourself." he pushes himself off the couch, standing up and shooting you one last smile before turning to walk away. "i'll let you have some peace."

he takes a couple of steps towards the bedrooms, but then you get the idea. "oscar." he stops in his tracks, throwing a glance back at you. "i was planning on doing some baking, and…" you shuffle slightly in your seat. "it wouldn't hurt to have an extra helping hand."

"i'm a horrible baker, though."

"and i'm the best baker ever, so i guess we cancel each other out." you stand up from your seat, keeping the blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you make your way toward the kitchen. "let's go make some mediocre cookies!"

oscar shakes his head, grinning to himself as he follows behind you. this was definitely not what he had planned, but he sure is liking the way it's going.

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december 18th, 8:14pm

oscar had not been kidding when he said he sucked at baking.

he put in twice the needed amount of flour, and only half of the sugar. and as if that wasn't enough, of course the mistletoe had moved to the kitchen, making the whole situation quite uncomfortable as you both had to take strange routes while navigating through the kitchen to avoid it. not even your baking skills could save the cookies.

as an apology, oscar promised to buy some fancy gingerbread cookies tonight at the christmas market you'd all planned to go to in a nearby city. he was strongly set on going through with his promise, despite how many times you told him that it was alright and that they wouldn't taste as good as homemade ones anyway.

you've all been at the market for almost two hours now, but it feels like you've only gone about ten meters. your friends, mainly lando, george and alex, are stopping at every single shop and stand, making sure to check out all products and buying at least one thing in every store, no matter how long the line to the cash register is.

"lando-" you groan at the sight of the brit running into yet another store; this time, a shop filled with christmassy outfits for dogs. "he doesn't even have a pet…"

kika is grinning next to you, shaking her head. "he told me earlier today that he wanted to buy a present for roscoe if he got the chance," she says as most of the group joins lando. "makes more sense than when he bought that screwdriver thirty minutes ago just because it was green."

"the power of 'christmas colors', apparently," you hear oscar's voice from behind you, and you turn back to meet his eyes.

"well, i'm not surprised. just disappointed. and cold, and tired of standing still."

oscar points his head to the side, up the street. "i think i saw a stand a little further up that sells cookies, maybe they have some gingerbread ones."

you nod, a small smile entering your lips. "let's go check it out, then. kika, do you wanna come-"

you're cut off by the sound of pierre calling for his girlfriend, holding up a reindeer costume and blabbering on about how it would be perfect for her cousin's dog. "sorry guys," kika says before strutting off to her boyfriend.

you both shrug before walking down the street towards the stand oscar had spotted. the sugary scent of cookies meets your nose from far away, and your mouth waters at the mere thought of the sweets. when you arrive, a sweet old lady sitting behind the stand greets you and tells you all about the different cookies she's baked. gingerbread, sugar cookies with little candy canes, snowball cookies, and various traditional swiss cookies.

"would you like to have a taste, dears?" the lady asks, pointing her hand to a plate with samples. you and oscar take a gingerbread cookie each, popping it into your mouths.

"oh yeah, this is lovely," he says, looking like he's savoring every crumb.

"much better than ours," you answer, nudging his shoulder with yours. he gasps and places a hand on his chest, feigning offense.

you turn your attention back to the lady and telling her you'd love to buy a little box of cookies from her. oscar pays for them and she wraps the box in some pretty gift paper, handing it to you before you continue making your way down the street. the house walls and all trees are wrapped in christmas lights, some blinking in random colors and some with a soft glow of an elegant white. the streets are filled with people wearing santa hats, ugly christmas sweaters, and scarves so big half of their faces are covered. there's not a single frown in sight, the happiness and love so obvious you can almost see little hearts flowing above everyone's heads.

you glance into a couple of different stores as you stroll, stopping occasionally to check something out. when you reach a stand with different kinds of jewelry, something catches your eye: a golden necklace with a heart-shaped charm hanging from it. you carefully pick it up, your heart fluttering in your chest as you inspect it.

and when you look up at oscar from the necklace in your hands, he feels like the air is stolen from his lungs. your eyes are twinkling with happiness, outshining all lights in the entire christmas market. the excited smile on your lips is contagious, and suddenly, it's like the world around you has stopped and everyone else has disappeared. you're both just grinning at each other like two lovestruck fools, nothing in either of your minds other than the person in front of you. the sight of your rosy cheeks from the cold makes the butterflies in his stomach multiply by the second.

wow, he really is totally and fully whipped.

"really pretty," he finally gets out, unsure if he's talking about the necklace or the woman standing before him.

"pretty? it's gorgeous," you answer, eyes flickering back to the jewelry in your hand. "i adore it. how much is it?"

just as the guy in the booth is about to answer, you feel someone grab your free hand. "come on guys, they're closing down soon and we still have a bunch of shops to visit!" kika is pulling you along so fast you barely have time to put the necklace down.

lily notices the disappointment on your face and pats your shoulder. "we'll come back here sometime before christmas, don't worry."

lando shows you the christmas tree costume he bought as you wander down the market again, but oscar suddenly stops. "guys, i forgot my phone back at the cookie stand. keep walking, i'll catch up with you," he says, pointing behind him with his thumb and disappearing before anyone can say anything.

it's a good excuse, but you clearly see the outline of his phone in his back pocket as he hurries down the street.

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december 19th, 9:22pm

the days roll on with a gentle rhythm of shared glances and fleeting touches between you and oscar. unbeknownst to both of you, lando, ever the persistent wingman, continues his behind-the-scenes matchmaking efforts.

in some magical way, lando manages to get you and oscar paired up for pretty much anything. board game night? you and oscar just happen to get the exact role cards that make you teammates. time for some ornament decorating? you and oscar are the only ones who don't get a seat on the couch, having to sit on the floor together and share all your materials.

funnily enough, it never gets awkward between the two of you. even when you are left all alone, there is always something to talk about, some dumb thing lando has done that you can tease him about behind his back, or something you are curious about when it comes to his racing career so far. somehow, being with oscar started feeling comfortable, natural, unforced.

one specific night, alex comes up with the idea of playing card games, to which only a few of you are actually interested. some plan on going to bed early so they can hit the slopes first thing in the morning, while others just aren't in the mood. oscar said he would just finish wrapping some christmas presents and join you all later, and you catch yourself feeling disappointed that he's not on the couch next to you, helping you win (or taunting you to make you lose). it surprises you how much you're drawn to him, how it feels like something is missing when he isn't around, when you didn't feel this way just a few days ago.

you try to shake the feeling off, but it's still lingering even as you start playing with your friends. eventually, you excuse yourself to get a glass of water from the kitchen to take your mind off things. but-

just as you round the corner going into the kitchen, your head crashes into something hard. you shriek as you stumble, hands coming up to grab the person in front of you as you lose your balance, but a pair of hands wrap around your back, holding you up. when you look up, you're met with oscar's big brown eyes blinking down at you. "you okay there?"

you let out a relieved breath, nodding at him. "yeah, thanks to you. what were you doing coming around the corner that fast, though?"

he chuckles. "what were you doing not looking where you're going?"

"touché."

your hands are still holding on to the front of his hoodie, and you're about to let go of him and walk away when you notice something in the upper periphery of your vision. something is hanging above you. but, it can't be-

of course it is.

the mistletoe.

oscar looks up just as you do, jaw dropping slightly. "oh..."

"indeed..."

you both keep your vision pointed up, as if the mistletoe would disappear if you just keep on staring at it. oscar's hands slowly begin to slide off your back, and he's hoping you'll both just pretend like none of this ever happened. it would be the least awkward thing to do.

"maybe-" his breath hitches in his throat when you speak up. his gaze is on you again, but you're still looking at the plant. "maybe we should do it. just... for the christmas spirit, you know. i love christmas."

you don't even know what you're blabbering on about. you're trying to improvise a reason to kiss your brother's colleague that makes at least a little sense, but you're completely lost. you realize how dumb you sound, and you expect to see him staring at you like you actually are insane when you look back at him.

but what you don't know is that he thinks it's the best idea ever. he is just as into it as you are, if not more. he doesn't look at you like you're crazy; he's just dumbfounded, blinking at you as he tries to understand what's happening. did the girl he likes really just say they should kiss? because she loves christmas?

oscar gulps, but something in him gives him the courage to nod. "i mean," he starts, voice weak. "what's the harm? it's just... tradition."

"right. yeah, that's exactly what i was thinking."

the tension is higher than ever as your faces are already just inches apart. you aren't sure who should take the initiative and lean in, but before you can overthink it, you're both doing it subconsciously. your noses brush against each other briefly and a little giggle escapes past your lips, and this whole situation feels very familiar. this time, oscar can't hold back anymore, so he closes the gap and presses his mouth to yours.

the kiss is quick, not much longer than a peck, but something changes inside you. when you didn't know what it felt like to kiss oscar, you didn't think too much about it. but now that you have felt his lips on yours, you crave it.

he seems to feel the same way, because when you kiss him again, he's pressing against you instantly. your hands move from his chest to his shoulders as your lips move in sync, tilting your head to get a better angle. oscar's touch travels up and down your sides, fingers grazing the bare skin of your stomach when your sweater lifts.

oscar takes your bottom lip in between his teeth and you let out a hum, making him grin into the kiss. his tongue swipes between your lips before slipping into your mouth, exploring it for the first, but hopefully not last, time. you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, already growing hot as his hands move down to your butt.

kissing oscar is so easy, so comfortable. it's like you've done it so many times before, like it's what you were made to do.

you're so relaxed and so focused on the kiss that you don't even hear lando's footsteps right next to you, nor his snicker from a few meters away as he picks up his phone to snap a couple of pictures. you don't even hear him strutting away to the living room, nor his loud proclamation to the group: mission complete.

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december 23rd, 8:35am

the rest of the days leading up to christmas consist of a lot of sneaking around.

the days are filled with secretive kisses when you're sure no one is watching, fleeting pecks or longer liplocks, hurriedly parting and acting like nothing happened when you hear approaching footsteps. they're filled with soft brushes as you pass each other in hallways, little squeezes of your waist or his arm when someone is around, conveying more than anyone could guess. and they're filled with giant, knowing smiles matching on your lips, with longing gazes and sly winks across the dinner table.

now, his hand is warm in yours despite the freezing temperatures of the air. when you said you forgot your mittens in the cabin, oscar had just smiled, taking off one of his own to give it to you. and to heat your other hand, he intertwined his fingers with yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand as you walked.

you'd slipped out of the house before anyone else had woken up, wishing for a peaceful moment for yourselves. the two of you haven't really had time to properly talk ever since your moment under the mistletoe, and even though it wasn't outspoken, you both knew there were things to be discussed.

you're halfway around the lake when he finally touches on the subject. "so..." he starts, nudging your shoulder with his. "you like me, huh?"

you snicker. "i have for quite some time now, actually."

his hand squeezes yours. "tell me about it."

and when he asks, you tell.

you tell him about seeing him all those years ago, thinking that he was just a pretty face, a good driver, and not much else. you tell him about getting to know him more and more in the last two years and realizing that shit, he's so much more than that. you tell him about the butterflies, about the sneaky glances, about falling for him.

and then, he tells you his side.

he tells you about knowing of you from your first appearances in the f1 paddock, the curiosity in him growing for every picture of you and charles he saw. he tells you about wanting to approach you but not knowing how, not wanting to come off too strong or clingy. he tells you about how nothing has ever been more disappointing to him than charles's timing back in abu dhabi. then, he tells you about how his fingers had secretly been crossed all trip, hoping that lando's attempts to pair the two of you up wouldn't fall through.

you share giggles and smiles as you tell your stories, and it all feels so natural even though it's so new. and you think to yourself that maybe, this won't be so hard to get used to.

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december 23rd, 5:46pm

"how are things going with oscar?"

lily's voice makes your heart skip a beat. you had just walked into the kitchen to grab a gingerbread cookie, not expecting her to be doing the dishes this late in the evening – and especially not expecting her to ask you something like that. "what do you mean?" you ask back, trying to stay composed as you strut over to the cupboard, reaching into it for the box of cookies.

"are you going to be like... boyfriend and girlfriend now?"

the box slips out of your hands and crashes to the floor before you can catch it again. did you hear her correctly? your eyebrows shoot up and your mouth hangs open as you look at her again. she scoffs.

"oh please, the two of you aren't exactly sneaky," she says, looking back into the sink. "you know, lando took pictures of you under the mistletoe. and we all saw you coming back from your little trip to the lake earlier today."

"oh my god." you cover your face with your hands, letting out a groan. "oh my god. no way."

lily laughs, washing the last few plates under the tap before placing them on the side to drain. "don't worry, we were all in on it."

"and what does that mean?!"

"lando had a plan." of course he did. "we all agreed to help him out. except charles, he's still oblivious."

"what kind of plan?"

"well, just small things here and there, really." she wipes her hands on a towel before turning around and leaning against the counter. "hiding oscar's helmet so he'd have to stay here with you instead of skiing with us. walking really slowly in the market so you'd both get so tired of us that you'd stroll off alone. and the mistletoe, but that's obvious..."

as lily spills the details of lando's plan, you feel a mix of embarrassment and surprise, along with a hint of amusement. you're suddenly very aware of the collaboration that has taken place behind the scenes, and you take a deep breath as you slowly lower your hands from your face.

"so... lando really orchestrated all of this?" you exclaim, still trying to process the fact that your friends have been actively working to bring you and oscar closer together.

lily chuckles, nodding. "yes, and he's been loving every moment of it. we all figured you two needed a little push."

you shake your head in disbelief, a smile playing on your lips despite the initial shock. "what's the endgame here? is lando secretly a matchmaker or something?"

"he wishes," she says with a smirk. "i think he just enjoys playing cupid when he can." she shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest. "but hey, it worked out well, didn't it? you and oscar seem pretty cozy."

"yeah, i guess..." the mention of oscar brings a blush to your cheeks. "i just didn't expect to have a whole team of co-conspirators."

lily laughs, stepping forward to pat your shoulder. "it's all in good fun. besides, it's about time something happened between you two." you nod in agreement, smiling at her. "now, spill. how are you feeling about all of this? is he boyfriend material?"

you hesitate for a moment, contemplating your newfound dynamic with oscar. a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. "yeah, maybe. we're figuring it out, i guess. it's all been... surprisingly nice."

she grins, satisfied with your response. "well, then, i'd say lando's plan was a success." she backs away, walking towards the kitchen exit. "just enjoy it, okay? and don't be too mad at us. we just wanted to see you both happy."

you nod and watch as she leaves, still processing the directed events that have led up to this moment. as you're left alone, you can't help but smile to yourself at the thought of everything that's happened – and everything that's yet to come.

suddenly, for the first time in your life, you feel thankful for something lando has done. you'll have to remember to thank him later.

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december 24th, 10:23pm

just a few hours ago, charles was challenged to a snowball fight with the rest of the twitch quartet. and how could he ever say no to them?

for you to fall asleep before he got back would just be stupid, because there's no way he will be able to keep quiet when he eventually he crashes into the room post-fight. so instead, you sit against the headboard of your bed, a thick blanket draped over your body and a good book in your hands as you enjoy the tranquility of the last few moments of christmas eve.

there's a soft knock on the door, one so low you could've just as well missed it. "come in," you call out, looking up from your book as the door creaks open. surprise paints your face as oscar enters the room, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of carrying out a secret mission.

in his hands, oscar holds a beautifully wrapped box, adorned with a crimson bow. "merry christmas."

"oscar, what are you up to?" you ask, laughter dancing in your eyes.

"giving you your present." he sits at your feet, holding out the present to you.

you place your book beside you on the bed, accepting the gift with a curious smile. you unwrap the present, and as you remove the lid of the box and your eyes are met with a necklace, your breath hitches in your throat.

the heart-shaped pendant is familiar – it's the exact necklace you'd eyed in the christmas market. you look up at oscar, a myriad of emotions playing on your face. "i didn't forget my phone," he admits, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. "i just really wanted to get it for you."

speechless, you delicately trace the edges of the pendant with your fingers. "oscar, i..."

"it's a christmas gift, but you can wear it whenever you want."

you hold the necklace up to him. "like now?"

he nods and takes it from you as you turn around, brushing away your hair so that he can secure the chain around your neck. when you turn back, you catch the glint of admiration in his eyes. "you look beautiful."

you hold the pendant between your thumb and pointer finger, a silent acknowledgment of the connection formed by the gift. "it's perfect, oscar. thank you." you tilt your head, smiling at him. "you're not getting your gift until tomorrow, though."

"just seeing you with this necklace is enough of a present for me. i don't need anything else."

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december 25th, 6:04pm

christmas day morning is for gift exchanges. you all sit around the tree in the living room, giving out presents and sharing the background stories behind the silly little things you've bought each other. you receive a ton of random objects that people had bought that day in the christmas market; objects they bought just to irritate you and oscar. now that you know, you find it quite funny – and seeing charles's confused face as you unwrapped a green screwdriver from lando is definitely one of your highlights of the day.

your present to oscar is, obviously, better planned than most other gifts. beneath the wrapper is a box titled "skiing survival kit" written in big, red letters. in it lies a pair of thick socks (with a note reading "to protect your feet from those horrible boots"), a bag of hot chocolate mix ("for moments when skiing feels too challenging; a little warmth to make everything better"), a bottle of peppermint-scented massaging oil ("you never know when you find yourself in need of a massage..."), and a handwritten letter about how you enjoyed your stay in the cottage much more than the actual skiing and a promise to stay in and warm his chair for him next time he's out "skiing".

then, midday rolls around. the chefs of the group, also known as the few people who don't burn everything they attempt to cook, take their time to make a good dinner. in the meantime, the rest of you prepare some games and competitions, including a trivia, a snow fort building competition, and a gingerbread house-decorating contest that ended in lando letting his competitiveness get the best of him. safe to say that no other gingerbread houses were still standing, other than lando's, meaning the brit won by default. his price: getting thrown in the snow in just his pyjamas.

and the evening? it's dedicated to a movie marathon, as per russell family traditions.

it has all been planned into the finest detail; the couch in the living room is decorated with blankets and pillows, nearly every bowl in the house is filled to the brim with snacks, and mattresses and pillows on the floor for those who don't fit on the couch. everyone was included of the vote of what movie you were going to see, though you had a feeling george had cheated when you were told the 'home alone' series won. especially since it's the one series he hasn't been able to stop talking about wanting to watch all trip.

you're settled on the edge of the couch, a blanket wrapped over your shoulders and your knees pulled up to your chest. you're laughing along with something kika has said from right next to you when you hear a beep from the kitchen, indicating that the last bag of popcorn was ready. you assumed lando would be getting up to fetch it, seeing as he was the one who insisted you needed one more bag, but when your eyes find him, he sits very contently and comfortably a few seats away. he looks back at you, eyebrows rising as you make eye contact.

"hey, you're the closest to the kitchen," he says, nodding his head in your direction. "go get them."

he isn't wrong, but he still makes no sense. "no way, norris."

he pouts. "please, be quick so we can start the movie already."

"you suck."

he sticks out his tongue at you but you've already walked off. when you return, a new bowl filled with popcorn in your arms, you aren't exactly surprised to see lando in the seat that used to be yours. you shoot him a glare, to which he answers, "i could barely see the tv from where i was sitting!"

"oh, but you think i'll be able to?" you scoff at the way he shrugs his shoulders, seemingly to say that it's now none of his business. and when you look at his old seat, you are even less surprised to see who's sitting right next to it.

oscar is looking up at you, confusion mixing into his features. he's been scrolling on his phone for the last few minutes and didn't notice when his teammate left him alone.

neither of you complain when you slip into lando's old spot, though. oscar immediately grabs the blanket in his lap and drapes it over you too. you shuffle closer to him as the movie turns on, the soft fabric of his pyjama pants brushing against yours. the bowl of popcorn is propped up on your lap, and when you reach into it to grab a handful, it touches something warm. you rip your eyes from the tv to see your hand brushing against oscar's. of course.

considering the other touches and kisses you've shared these last few days, it's not even a very intimate action. and yet, something about it leaves both of you giggling.

"so many clichés this trip, huh?" he says, eyes flickering between your hands and your face.

instead of answering, you grab his hand in yours. your fingers slip in between his easily, as they've done so many times these last few days, but you pull your hands underneath the blanket to keep them out of sight from everyone else.

it's a good movie, but it's easy for you to zone out when you feel oscar's hand squeeze yours. neither of you can really stay away from the other, inching closer as the movie progresses and stealing little cheek kisses when everyone is focused on the most exciting scenes. and when you start to grow a little tired, your head instinctively lands on his shoulder as you let out a little yawn. oscar desperately has to hold himself back from cooing at you, feeling so soft and prideful that you're leaning on him, and he settles for leaning his own head on you.

you both think you're being subtle, but everyone in the room understands what's going on. even charles, who has now been let in on what's happened between you and oscar after he walked in on lando telling alex about how cute the new couple in the house looked walking around the lake, can't take his eyes off the two of you. as your older brother, he feels like he should be doing something or saying something to protect you. he wonders what his role should be here – aren't brothers supposed to scare their sisters' boyfriends away?

but charles realizes that oscar isn't an enemy. in this moment, you look so peaceful, so content; like you've found the the long-lost puzzle piece to make you complete. how could he possibly interrupt that?

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december 25th, 11:28pm

charles is still fast asleep on the couch when you slip into oscar's room after the movie has ended, fingers intertwined and your laughter mixing as he pulls you along to his bed. his hands find your hips as he sits down on the edge of the bed, urging you to lower yourself onto his lap, and you happily oblige.

"look up," he says, and when you do, you're not surprised by what's hanging in the roof.

the mistletoe.

"oh," you start, looking back at him. last time you found yourself underneath the mistletoe with oscar, you had been more nervous than ever before. but this time, it isn't as scary. this time, you're able to shrug, a teasing grin forming on your lips. "i guess we should kiss, then. just for the christmas spirit, you know."

his lips are curved into a big smile. "oh, i do know." one of his hands comes up to tuck some hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek in his palm. "it's because you love christmas."

you can't hold back from giggling, and neither can he, both of you leaning in to seal your lips. your first encounter underneath the mistletoe was hesitant, but it feels like that was ages ago, in another lifetime. now, with his lips pressing against yours, it feels like it's all you've known.

he's so gentle with it, his kisses delicate and tender, and your heart flutters at the feeling. his hands land on your waist as your arms wrap around his neck, scooting in even closer. when your crotch brushes against him, he involuntarily lets out a moan into your mouth, and you stop for a moment to pull away. both your eyes and his are wide as you look at each other, and oscar doesn't know what to say. his mind is racing, not sure if you thought that was awkward or too soon or-

"that's so fucking hot," you say, and he finally exhales. you kiss him again, speaking against his lips. "wanna hear more."

he has no problems letting out more sounds when you keep up your actions, your hips rolling down on him rhythmically. his hands find the hem of your sweater and slip inside, instantly roaming your sides. his cold touch tickles, and when his fingers move along your waist, you can't help but giggle against his lips. he laughs along with you, but he only does it to match you. he's dumbfounded when you part from him and you grab his wrists to make him halt.

"you're too cold," you start, a bit breathless already. "it's-"

"are you really that ticklish?" he chuckles, fingers running up and down your sides again to test you, and his heart melts when you throw your head back, laughing. "oh come on, how am i supposed to do this if i can't touch you?"

"warm your fingers next time and we should be fine."

"next time, huh?" a combination of a smirk and a grin plays on his lips. "planning ahead?"

"well, it depends on how well you perform tonight." he sticks out his tongue at your taunting tone. "just take it off already, will you?"

oscar happily obliges, pulling the material off you before reaching for his own sweater, throwing them both onto the floor. his eyes stick to your chest, to the soft, red bed bra holding up your breasts, and he feels himself growing harder instantly, because this is so much better than he'd imagined. you can't exactly complain about what your eyes are met with, either; oscar's toned chest and his broad shoulders are basically calling out for you to come and press your lips to them. or sink your teeth in them. probably both.

he gives you a few quick kisses before his hands land on your hips and he flips you both around, laying you onto the covers. his lips meet the skin below your ear, and then travel down the side of your neck. he hears your breath hitch in your throat when he finds a spot you enjoy particularly much, making sure to memorize it for the future. and when his kisses trail even further down, they meet something hard and metallic. when he leans back, he realizes that you're wearing the necklace.

he didn't notice it until now, since he was too busy being mesmerized by your breasts earlier; but now, he can't take his eyes off it. the little heart charm rests just above your actual heart, and something about seeing it makes his heart flutter. the necklace he bought for you, the one that makes you think of him and only him. it's like you're already tagged as his.

"cute," he whispers to himself, placing a long kiss right on top of the heart. he can feel your real heart beating underneath his lips, fast but not really enough, and he can't wait to make you feel like it's pounding out of your chest.

he starts placing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, his hands finding the waistband of your sweatpants.

"you okay with me taking these off?" he asks, parting from your skin to watch you nod your head. he pulls the material down your body, smiling when your underwear comes into sight. they're not a pair of lacy lingerie or victoria's secret-lookalikes, but just a regular pair of panties in a deep green color with little candy canes. his eyes flicker between your bra and your panties. "green and red, huh?"

"well, what can i say?" you smile. "i love christmas." he giggles, and so do you, as he leaves your pants somewhere on the floor before moving further down your body. when his hands near the fuzzy socks with little cartoon santas dressing your feet, you're quick to speak. "those stay on, though."

"oh, is that so?"

"gotta make sure you're not just doing this for that foot fetish you might or might not have." a laughter erupts from his chest. "i've had too much of that recently."

"well, i don't have one, so i don't mind you keeping them on." he moves up on the bed again, fingers reaching the hem of your underwear. "but i can take these off, right?"

"things would get kinda tricky otherwise, i'd say,” you tease, but oscar merely blinks up at you with raised eyebrows.

"tricky, yes. but not impossible."

you shake your head, a grin making its way onto your lips. "next time, oscar."

and there it is again. next time. the way you say it so casually, like there's no doubt in your mind that there will be another time, that you'll do all of this again.

yet again, instant boner.

your panties are off in a second, and he doesn't waste any time before pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh. his hand takes care of your other thigh, thumb brushing up and down your skin, as your lips travel closer and closer to where you want him the most.

you suck in a breath when you feel his warm breath against your core. his tongue meets your clit and your eyes flutter closed, one of your hands reaching down to entangle in his hair. as his tongue draws circles around your bud, one of his hands leaves your thigh, a finger swiping along your wet folds before pushing slowly into you. you don't know which sensation to focus on, both growing stronger and pushing you closer to your limit every passing second. when he's pumped you a couple of times, he adds another finger and then another, pushing deep into you. his fingers curling inside of you makes you pull on his hair even harder, your mind growing hazy and your breaths shorter.

"o-oscar," you let out, subconsciously buckling your hips towards him in hopes of creating more friction. "i'm so clos-"

you're cut off by the combination of a moan and a whine that leaves your lips when his tongue flicking your clit speeds up. "come for me, sweetheart," he tells you, his voice sending vibrations against your core.

your legs shake around him as you completely let go, feeling the climax wash over you just moments after his order. your free arm drapes over your face, covering your eyes in your arm as you try to catch your breath. oscar continues lapping you up, helping you ride it out, also licking his fingers clean before letting his hands caress your sides soothingly. he's unsure whether his fingers are warm enough now to not tickle you, or if you're just too busy coming down from your high to even realize you should feel ticklish, but he smiles at the thought nonetheless.

"everything alright up here?" oscar asks as he moves up to your face again, one of his hands prying the arm off your face. you slowly open your eyes, your hazy gaze meeting his loving one and you can't help but to cup his face in your hands. you pull him down to your lips, lazily lacing them together. he pulls away just enough for his lips to still brush yours when he speaks. "i'll take that as a yes."

you're quick to nod, but even quicker to connect his lips with yours again, not wanting to be apart for even a second.

your hands slide down his neck and the front of his body, loving the feeling of his strong muscles under your touch. your fingers reach down to the edge of his pajama pants, and you let out a chuckle when you notice the ever-growing tent in them. "don't laugh at me," he starts, biting down on your bottom lip as a warning. "you're so hot, how could i not get this hard?"

"oh, shut it," you say, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks. "just take them off, will you?"

"as you wish."

as he shuffles off the bed and pulls off his own pants, plus his boxers along with them, you take the time to reach behind you and unclasp your bra, letting it slide down your arms and off the bed. when he reaches into the bedside table and pulls out a condom, you raise your eyebrows. "oh, so you were planning this?"

he shakes his head as he climbs on top of you again. "i was hoping, not expecting. those are two very different things." he removes the wrapper and throws it onto the table, rolling the condom onto himself. "do you need anything? or-"

"just you."

oscar presses his smile to yours, kissing you like he has no rush in the world, like he just wants to savor this moment with you. "well then," he says against your lips, nudging his dick against your entrance. "i have to give the lady what she wants, don't i?"

you can't control the whine that slips into his mouth when he pushes into you. you thought you were ready for him, but he's so big and he stretches you out so perfectly. he pauses once he's slipped entirely into you, his lips finding a spot below your ear as he allows you to get used to him. your pussy is throbbing already, still sensitive from just minutes ago, and the little involuntary clenches around him make oscar grow more and more eager.

when he finally starts moving, you drape your arms around his shoulders for stability. his thrusts are slow but deep, and yet you desperately want more of him. you hook a leg over his hip, the other following soon after, and you gasp at the way he bottoms you out completely. one of his hands comes up to squeeze your breast, thumb flicking over the nipple as his pace speeds up. the sounds you make and the way your legs squeeze him close makes him feel like he could cum anytime, but he tries to hold back because he needs to see you fall apart beneath him for the second time tonight.

"oscar..." you cry out when his free hand slides down your body, a finger coming in contact with your clit again.

"just a little more, love." his thrusts have grown sloppy and his figures on your bud aren't exactly perfect, but it's good enough for your orgasm to hit.

your back arches off the bed, your chest pressing into his as you nuzzle your face into the side of his neck to hide your moans. when your walls tighten around him, he reaches his high too, his body shaking as he rides it out. your heart is about ready to jump out of your chest when he collapses onto you, both of you trying to catch your breaths. "holy fuck," oscar starts, his breath warm on your skin. "that was amazing. you feel amazing." you try to gather energy to speak, fingers getting lost in his curls. "you taste amazing, too. better than any christmas dinner."

you give him a weak slap to his shoulder. "shush."

"it's true!" he pushes himself back a bit, mouth hanging in mock offense. "this was the best present i could've ever wished for."

"the necklace is higher on my list, though."

oscar pauses for a moment. "i'm not sure if i should feel proud or offended."

you snicker. "i was hoping for the latter," you tease, but regret it the moment oscar's hands find your waist, fingers dancing along it and tickling you yet again. the squeal you let out does nothing to halt his actions, and he doesn't even budge when you try to push him away by his shoulders. "i was kidding!"

"apologize. now."

his fingers still working their way on your skin make it almost impossible for you to speak again, but you do your best to take a deep breath. "i'm- i'm sorry! oscar- stop it!"

he finally stops, and you finally get to breathe. "i'll go get a wet towel," oscar says, pulling away from you and giving you one last glance. he almost doesn't leave the bed when he looks at you, though – he finds the sight almost too good to be true. your rosy cheeks, the dreamy smile on your lips, your hair spread out on the pillows. he's scared that if he leaves you, maybe the spell will be broken and he'll realize all of this has just been a dream. because that's just how this all feels: surreal.

but it is real, and he can't wait to have you like this in his bed again.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 26th, 12:56pm

packing up after a good trip is always a bittersweet affair. realizing that you have the real world waiting for you, your actual lives with responsibilities and obligations, and that you can't just stay in this fairytale forever – this moment was definitely not something you looked forward to.

you and charles need to get back to monaco to celebrate christmas with your other brothers and your mother, before he needs to go away for pre-season work again. you're meticulously folding up your clothes, zipping up bags and exchanging smiles as you reminisce on memories of the week.

but, things are different this time. you know that the magic of this trip isn't going to stay here – in one way or another, you'll bring some of it with you back to your real life.

oscar.

you've already made plans to meet up after new years, and even when he's busy with work, you know that you'll at least see him during every race weekend. neither of you are ever more than a flight, or a call, away, and you just can't wait to see where this all takes you.

"so... oscar, huh?" charles's voice breaks the silence, his eyes glancing in the direction of your open door that lets in the sound of oscar's voice from the living room.

"hm? what about him?" you reply, trying to hold back the smile threatening to adorn your lips when you hear his name.

charles cocks an eyebrow at you. "you and him... kind of obvious." he gazes towards your bed. "besides, your bed is made. you didn't sleep here last night."

"well, i-" you start, but charles interrupts with a knowing chuckle.

"relax, i'm not going to be a police. just..." he shows off a sweet smile. "enjoy it."

with a nod and a shared understanding, you both continue packing, an unspoken acknowledgment hanging in the air. the group gathers to bid you farewell by the front door, and gratitude fills your heart as you exchange goodbyes with your friends. you grow especially soft when lando pulls you into a hug, a cheeky grin on his lips. "thank you," you whisper, giving his cheek a quick peck to really convey how much you appreciate everything he's done this holiday. he just squeezes you back, telling you not to worry about it.

finally, as you turn to say your farewell to oscar, the atmosphere shifts and the group watches with amused anticipation. "until next time," you say, your eyes holding a promise that transcends the physical distance.

"until next time," he repeats, smiling as you engulf him in a tight hug.

you pull away just enough for your ear to brush against his ear, your voice low. "charles knows, by the way."

"w-what?" his eyes widen for a moment, flickering between you and your brother – but then realization dawns. "well, in that case..."

before you can react, oscar pulls you closer again. he presses a goodbye-kiss on your lips, right there in front of everyone, and the group erupts into cheers.

and the loudest of them all? lando, of course. "if i'm not the best man at your wedding, i'll never forgive you guys."

[solacestyles]

After All

Charles Leclerc x bestfriend!reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, tooth rotting fluff

Charles is a lot of things. He’s determined, hardworking, a bit of a self sacrificing dumbass. He’s kind, talented, humble, confident, soft. He’s your best friend, your closest confidant, the person you would trust with your life.

And, according to everyone who’s ever seen the two of you together, he’s madly in love with you.

…..

Pierre’s the first one to say it. He’s known both of you the longest, he’s one of Charles’ best friends. He sidles up next to you on a warm afternoon. You’re both on Charles’ yacht, leaning against the railing and watching as he does a backflip off the deck and into the water.

“He’s going to hurt himself,” you point out, “and Ferrari will not be happy.”

Pierre snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “He is showing off.”

You give him a look of disbelief. “For who?”

Before he can answer, you’re drawn to look at Charles again when he calls your name. You watch and wave at him, and then he lines himself up for another stupid trick dive that makes your stomach lurch. He makes a splash when he lands, sinking deeper and deeper till you can’t see him through the bubbles. Just when you start to worry, just when you feel like he’s been under too long, he resurfaces. He kicks himself to the surface, hair plastered to his forehead, laughing raucously. He’s suddenly the boy you met at 13, big dreams and big plans and a big personality to get him there.

“You,” Pierre says, jarring you out of your staring. “He is showing off for you.”

You roll your eyes and elbow your friend. “What? He is not. Why would he be trying to impress me?”

“Because he is in love with you,” Pierre states, so matter of fact you almost don’t realize what he’s saying. “Come on, it’s obvious.”

“He is not!” You laugh, shoving at his shoulder lightly. “Jesus, Pierre, the fumes from those engines must really be getting to you.”

Pierre opens his mouth to speak, probably to rebut with some insane theory he’ll present as fact. He’s interrupted by Charles calling your name again. This time he’s waving you down to the back deck, eyes sparkling. He’s going to want you to jump in. You have a fear of heights, a fear of falling, a fear of deep, open water. Despite it all, you head down to meet him anyways. Charles could talk you into anything, could make even the scariest things seem easy.

“You have to hold my hand, though,” you say, when he urges you to jump in with him. “The whole way, no letting go.”

“The whole way,” he promises, knitting your fingers together.

…..

It’s a bit of fate that you end up in Suzuka for the race. You hadn’t been planning on going, but there’d been cheap flights available when you looked the week before, and suddenly you’re off to Japan. Charles is thrilled about it, always happy to have you there, even when he’s busy and barely gets to see you. He says there’s something comforting about knowing you’re in the garage or the stands.

He takes you with him to as many things as he can, including the pre race media days. The second you meet up with him after you get to Japan, he’s talking non stop about Sebastian’s Buzzin Corner project, and your heart melts at the excitement in his eyes. He’s been missing Seb lately, having a tough go of things and searching for guidance.

You watch from behind the scenes, behind the cameras, as the entire grid arrives to make pollinator hotels and decorate canvases. You smile when Sebastian spots Charles and runs over to give him a hug, and you smile even bigger when Charles follows Sebastian around like a lost puppy. Sebastian seems just as happy to be near Charles again, stopping by to check on Ferrari’s progress frequently.

Charles turns during a lull in the event, when the cameras are on another team and Sebastian is distracted, too. He waves you over, eyes bright, smile wide. You can’t help but be drawn towards him. Any time he wants you nearby, you go willingly, eagerly.

He has paint on his fingers, speckles of it on his shirt. Charles is creative, too. He doesn’t get nearly enough chances to show it, in your opinion. He’s stifled by brand deals and the public eye and overbearing management. You stand next to him, eyeing his and Carlos’ artwork with a soft smile. The pollinator hotel is filled with supplies, the roof is decorated, and Charles tells you excitedly that they’ve already had their first “guest”. He hands you a paintbrush when nobody is paying attention.

“You should add something, chéri,” he says, nudging you lightly.

You look up at him, twist your face into an unsure smile. “Am I allowed to?”

“Of course,” Sebastian says, having made his way back around to the Ferrari team. You smile at Charles’ old teammate as he pays your shoulder lightly. “It’s not exclusive, you know.”

You laugh, reaching out with the paintbrush and adding a small heart next to the stripes and stamps the guys have painted on. “A little love for the the pollinators and bugs.”

“You weren’t saying that about that spider last week,” Charles teases.

“It was in my hair,” you say through gritted teeth, looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t slander me in front of Seb.”

Carlos is giggling, watching the two of you. Sebastian is doing the same, his eyes lit up reminding you of years ago when he and Charles had been teammates. He’d joked about the two of you exhausting him, with your boundless energy and constant flip flopping between bickering and affection. You’d insisted you were the ones keeping Sebastian young.

Someone calls Charles and Carlos over for a photo op. You peruse the bee hotel while you stand next to Sebastian. There’s a lot of people’s artwork on there, but somehow you think you know which brushstrokes belong to Charles.

“I see not much has changed,” Sebastian says, nodding his head towards Charles. “He calls you darling and then teases you in the same minute.”

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks grow hot. “He is my best friend, both of those things are his job.”

“Ah, to be young and oblivious,” Sebastian says in a lilting tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughs, tilts his head at you. “Just that my wife was my best friend, once.”

You narrow your eyes at him. The glare has no effect if the grin on his face says anything. Sebastian is older, wiser, and Charles trusts his judgement on nearly everything, but you know he’s wrong about this. There’s no way Charles sees you as anything more than a friend. You’ve come to terms with that. You can live with that. You have to live with that.

Charles makes his way back over to the two of you, hands in his pockets. You plaster a sunny smile back on your face and try to ignore the way Sebastian is watching the two of you. Charles is telling you to paint something else, pointing out the empty space left on the canvas and the bee hotel.

He takes your hand, still wrapped around the paintbrush, in his own. He dips it in the black paint, leads you over to the wooden structure, and adds another heart.

“More love,” he says, singsongy, squeezing your hand. Behind you, Sebastian barely muffles an affectionate laugh. “More love for the bugs.”

…..

“This is my favorite song!” You yell over the booming bass.

You have a drink in your hand, your… 6th? of the night? You’re not sure, you’ve lost count. Charles keeps handing them to you every time your gets low. It’s always tequila and soda, always with two limes.

Charles laughs, shaking his head. “You have said that about every song in the past hour.”

“I mean it this time,” you say, eyes wide. You’re standing up from the table, pulling on his arm. “C’mon, we should dance, Charlie!”

He groans lightheartedly. Really, all of this should be your sign to cut yourself off. You don’t like dancing, and you rarely call him Charlie. Everyone calls him Charles, so you’d let the nickname go years ago. You’d worried it made you sound childish, made you sound like you were holding onto years past. He doesn’t budge from his spot in the booth, watching you warily.

“Amour, I don’t like this song as much as you apparently do,” he says, shaking his head. “And I like dancing even less.”

“Fine,” you say with a pout. “I will find someone else, then.”

You melt into the crowd before he can pull you back into the booth and down to earth. You’re at that pleasant stage of drunk where everything is funny and fuzzy and floaty. You spot Lily, Alex’s girlfriend, at the bar, and she needs much less convincing to join you on the dance floor. She abandons Alex with George and follows you eagerly. It’s Las Vegas, you’re here to have fun. This is fun. The two of you squeeze through the swirling mass of people till you find a good spot.

You don’t know how long it’s been when Charles finds you there- you just know you’re sweaty, a few drinks deeper, and past the point of no return. The song that’s playing now is your actual favorite song, a fact that you tell Charles when he steps in front of you, his hands on your waist to steady you.

“I know,” he says, because of course he knows. Nobody knows you better than him. “I also know you are drunk.”

“M’having a good time,” you tell him, wrapping an arm around his neck. It’s just to keep you steady, you tell yourself. “Vegas, baby!”

Charles laughs, shaking his head, but he starts to sway to the music with you. One hand stays on your hip, but the other comes around to your back and pulls you closer. You like being pressed against him, like being able to feel the warmth of him even through the fabric of your clothing. You don’t think before you spin in his grip, press your back to his front, keep your arm around his neck behind your head. Tomorrow morning, or rather, later today, you can blame it on the alcohol.

Charles wraps his arm around your waist in response, and you swear you feel his lips on the back of your neck as he pulls you in again. You’ll blame that on the alcohol too.

It’s like you blink, and then you’re standing out on the sidewalk, surrounded by the lights of the Las Vegas strip. The night air is cold, and you laugh to yourself, thinking about all the talk of a night race in the desert and the temperature.

“What’s so funny?” Max asks.

You’re surprised to find him standing next to you, and you blink at him.

“S’cold,” you say, unable to explain the rest of it. You just giggle again. “Where’s Charlie?”

Max raises his brows. “He went inside to get your jacket. You left it in the booth. Remember, five minutes ago, when you said it was cold?”

Huh. You don’t remember, but Max is probably telling the truth. He and Charles are more of friendly rivals than enemies now, despite their formative years. Max is definitely not trying to kidnap you as revenge. He has nothing to get revenge for- he won the race. Maybe he’s bitter that a Grand Prix he talked about so negatively had ended up being one of the best of the season, you suppose. Though you’re not sure that would give him a reason to kidnap you-

“I called him that once,” Max says, and you tilt your head at him. “Charlie. He didn’t like it.”

You remember. It was in Brazil, when they’d all been gathered in a garage. You’d seen it in a video. You can’t admit that, though, without admitting you watch tiktoks of your best friend, so you stay quiet on that subject.

“He thinks it’s childish,” you say with a shrug, scuffing the toe of your shoe on the ground. “I… forget, sometimes.”

You forget that Charles isn’t just your thirteen year old friend, the guy you’d never expected to even tolerate you. You can’t remember how it even happened, how you went from barely saying hi in the halls at school to dinners with his family, homework at their kitchen table. You’re not sure it matters now. What matters is keeping him a part of your life.

You’ve adapted. You’ve let pieces of him go, like childhood nicknames and any hope he’ll ever look at you the same way you look at him. Charles is larger than life, now. You’re still small. You’re still thirteen sometimes, still sitting at the table, begging Charlie to help you with your math problems.

“That’s the thing,” Max says, nudging your side lightly. “He doesn’t seem to mind when it’s you that says it.”

You frown. “Oh, he definitely minds.”

Max shrugs. “He doesn’t show it, then. Probably because he loves you.”

You nod solemnly. “I am his best friend.”

“Right,” Max laughs. “Sure. Friend.”

Charles reappears shortly after that, your jacket in hand. It turns out Max isn’t even leaving- he’d just been tasked with keeping an eye on you while Charles went back inside. He says goodbye and goes back into the club, while Charles is checking his phone, telling you the car should be there any minute. The night has gone from fuzzy to blurry, and you lean heavily on Charles’ shoulder, blinking repeatedly and trying to stay awake. He pours you into the backseat of the car, drags you out of it ten minutes later when you get to the hotel.

“You are so drunk,” he says, standing in the elevator, your head against his chest.

“I know you are but whatamI?” You slur, tugging on his jacket.

Charles just laughs. Even if he could understand you, he wouldn’t get the reference. His hand is resting on your shoulder, fingers squeezing your bare skin softly. You’d taken your jacket off as soon as you got inside, complaining about being hot. Charles had just taken it from your hands with an exasperated smile.

“I think you should sleep in my room,” he suggests when the elevator dings and the doors begin to open. “So I can keep an eye on you.”

You’re not that drunk, but you’re not going to argue. “Yeah, okay.”

When you wake up in his bed in the morning, Charles is asleep on the couch. He’s stretched out, one arm hanging off the edge, one foot on the armrest. His blanket is tangled in his limbs, and you feel guilty, suddenly. It was his night to celebrate, and he’d ended up taking care of you, ended up sacrificing his hotel bed and sleeping on the sofa. You sit up, feeling sick to your stomach, and not from the hangover.

“Lay down,” Charles says, not even opening his eyes. “S’too early. You need more sleep.”

“I should go to my room,” you whisper, and he opens one eye and looks at you warily. “That couch cannot be comfortable.”

“It’s not,” he admits, and the guilt lurches in your gut again. He’s smiling, though. “You tried to insist on sharing the bed, but you were very drunk.”

That’s not surprising. Drunk you always wants Charles close. You direct your eyes to the comforter and muster up all the courage you have left.

“I’m sober now,” you tell him. “So either we share the bed, or I go to my room. You look so uncomfortable.”

Charles hesitates for only a second. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, if you’ve crossed the line. But then he’d shifting, untangling himself from the blankets and tumbling off the couch. He crawls into the bed next to you, sighing happily as he sinks into the mattress. Seemingly almost without thinking, he reaches out, slips his arm around your waist, and hauls you against his chest. You let it happen.

There’s something sacred about the time between morning and night. The sky is a purple hue outside the hotel room window. The halls are quiet. Charles’ heart thuds in your ear, steady and beating out a soothing rhythm, and nothing about this feels out of place. It’s like this is where you’re meant to be, tucked against him, slotted together like puzzle pieces. You wrap your arm around his upper arm, and he pulls the blankets over the two of you.

“G’night, Charlie,” you mumble.

He laughs, and it’s a sweet sound. There’s no hostility behind it. “Goodnight, amour.”

…..

There’s something to be said about your inability to see something as it is until it’s staring you in the face. You’re stubborn as a mule, and maybe blind as a bat, too. It’s not till the holiday break that it all clicks into place.

Charles is sitting next to you at your kitchen counter, decorating cookies. You’ve been baking all weekend. It’s your grandmother’s recipe, now your responsibility to keep up the tradition. There are batches set aside for your family to decorate later, another set for the cookie party you’re holding with some of your friends from university. But Charles had whined and begged about wanting to decorate cookies, about wanting to be a part of the tradition, and you’d given in oh so easily.

He has a heart shaped one in his hand, a knife with red frosting in the other hand. He’s being so delicate, so particular, like it means so much to him. It’s just a cookie, you want to say to him. You hold my actual heart in your hands every day without a care, but you’re so delicate with a cookie?

Except, then, you’re thinking about it, and maybe that’s not true. Charles is brash and bold and confident, but he’s never anything other than gentle with you. He cares deeply, throws himself headfirst into things, he’s all or nothing. But when he’s around you he lets his guard down, takes the time to think. He’s cautious, heartfelt, kind. He takes his time.

“Max asked me to play padel today,” he says casually. “To make up for him missing our match.”

You laugh, though it feels a bit forced. You’re watching his hands, watching as he takes the white icing and writes something on the cookie. “Oh? You didn’t go?”

Charles shakes his head. “He wasn’t free till 11:00. I told you I’d be here at 10:30.”

You frown, blinking at him. He’s so focused on the cookie he doesn’t even notice you staring. He hasn’t spent this much time on a single cookie since he got to your apartment that morning.

“You could have come over later,” you say.

He shakes his head. “This was more important. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”

It shouldn’t be the moment, is the thing. Nothing spectacular happens. It’s not like he’s made some big confession, not like anything drastic has changed. Somehow, you just know. He looks up at you, a soft smile on his face, and it’s so, so obvious. You wonder if this is what he sees when you look at him. You wonder if this is what everyone else has seen and told you about. There’s so much love in his gaze that it makes your heart skip a beat, makes your skin feel hot, makes your fingertips go numb. You set your cookie down on the table.

He holds his in his own hand, peering down at it as if he’s judging it in a competition. He turns it between his fingers, leaving a red thumbprint on the underside of it. He has icing on his fingers, all the colors of the rainbow. It’ll probably stain his skin.

“You are always more important,” he breathes, and you can’t breathe at all. “The most important.”

He turns the cookie towards you, but you already know what it’ll say. His initials and yours, in white icing on a red backdrop. He’s been saying it all along, really. The whole way. More love. I know. Somehow it has still caught you off guard, stolen the air from your lungs and the words from your lips. All this time pining after him and you had never actually considered he might be feeling it, too. But it’s there, written on the cookie, and it’s written on his face, too.

You lean in to kiss him. He tastes like frosting and feels like love, and you wonder how you didn’t see it sooner.

…..

A week later, Pierre spots the matching hickeys on yours and Charles’ necks and laughs his ass off.

“I told you,” he says, through peals of laughter, shaking his head. “You are both so blind.”

Charles wraps his arm around your waist, and you shrug. You stare up at your boyfriend, happier than you’ve ever been, the weight of his hand on your hip grounding you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, dismissing Pierre even as he continues to laugh. “We figured it out. That’s all that matters.”

Charles leans close, presses his lips to your forehead. You feel it all. The years of waiting, wondering, wishing. Pierre is congratulating the two of you and saying something about calling Carlos about a bet they’d apparently had. You can’t bring yourself to care. In the end, you suppose, Pierre deserves to gloat. All your friends do.

They were right, after all.

thanks for reading! you can check out my other fics here!

[solacestyles]

HIDE YOUR NAME NOT YOUR TEAM - LN4

summary : In which a pretty red head catches Lando’s eye one night in mexico, a rude remark and laughable flirting stays on both of their minds. The last thing Lando expects is to see her again in the paddock, while he’s determined to figure her out, she’s determined to hide her name and why she constantly is spotted in orange.

listen up : panic attack, sexual comments, comedy!! lando norris x bosses!daughter.

word count : 5404

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I don’t usually go to these things. But Alexandra convinced me when she said I could borrow her dyson.

“I take it back.” I say as I get my drink, we’re sat at the bar, Charles already gone to find some drivers, “Let’s go back to the hotel! Girls night!” I beg her but she just shakes her head.

“You look too hot for that.” I sigh, I do look hot tonight. I’m in a black mini dress, sheer tights, and knee high boots that are the same shade of burgundy red as my hair.

Just as she says that, Rebecca, Carlos’ girlfriend, comes up to us, “Y/n! You never come out with us!” She hugs me and I smile. I never do but I do like hanging with my girls.

“I had to drag her here!” Alex sips her drink as Rebecca laughs. We’re in Mexico for the grand prix, something I also rarely find myself at.

“Don’t make that face! You deserve a day off.” I sigh, knowing they’re right.

“Alright.” I down the rest of my drink, coughing and turning to the bartender, “Three shots please! Surprise us!”

The girls squeal and as soon as I sit back down, I know it’s gonna be a good night.

I’m multiple drinks in, dancing with my friends, when Carlos and Charles sweep my friends away like it’s nothing.

I scoff, going to walk off the dance floor before a man stops me, “Wanna dance?” I almost laugh when I see who it is. I can tell he sees me thinking about it, “I promise I don’t bite.”

⋆༺

LANDO NORRIS

I noticed her when she was dancing with some guy who was out of his mind wasted. I saw her hair first, a dark cherry red with messy waves.

I don’t know if she’s here with friends but I do know that I want to know more.

She’s staring at me like i’ve just asked her to do a backflip, “Uh… no.” She shakes her head and walks straight past me.

What the fuck?

I haven’t had a girl reject me in a long time, but it’s not unheard of. Still, something about her is telling me to not give up.

“Wait! I’ll buy you a drink!” I hurry after her, she’s flipping her hair over her shoulder and eyeing me, “Please?”

“Please?” She laughs, “You can’t find any other girl besides me?” She hops up onto a bar stool and I lean against the counter, staying close.

“Maybe I don’t want to.” She narrows her eyes at me. “I’m Lando.”

“Yeah, I know.” This surprises me.

“Oh! Well then you know I'm not a creep, so you’ll let me buy you a drink?” She crosses her arms, she seems to be assessing me.

“Fine.” I get her a dirty martini and water for myself. “Thank you.”

“I’ll always be down to buy a pretty girl a drink.” I smile as she sips her drink, “I never caught your name-”

“Mhm…” She looks around the club, obviously not interested in what I have to say.

“Okay, Red.” She doesn’t even flinch at the nickname, “Why are you in Mexico?”

She hums, “Family.” she lets out a long breath.

I frown at her lack of interest, “That’s fun. I’m racing here this weekend.” She doesn’t respond, “Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I promise I'm not like whatever shit magazine you read.”

She looks at me after that and I immediately know I fucked up. Except instead of throwing her drink on me, she just laughs, “God, you’re an asshole.” And with that, she walks away.

⋆༺

YOU

Lando Norris hitting on me was not something I expected from that night.

But it immediately became worse once I remembered why I was in Mexico.

“Sweetheart!” My dad hugs me tight. Zak Brown is a lot of things but a shit dad isn’t one of them. He’s in all orange, contrasting my white dress. I smile as he pulls back, “I’m so happy you’re here!”

I have gone to four grand prix’s in my life. It seems a bit odd for someone who’s father is there almost every weekend, but we had a deal. I was a sort of trouble child, more in my teens when I wanted more freedom. I took some years off of school but I realized what I was wasting and got right back into college.

My dad said I couldn’t come to a grand prix until I finished school. I was annoyed at first, who wouldn’t want to spend their weekends partying with rich people and flying on private jets? But I sort of fell in love with my studies in fashion and had no time anyway.

But I recently graduated and am back in my papaya fathers reach.

“How are you doing? Excited to be back?” I nod as I walk up the paddock with him.

“Very! I’ve missed everything, especially my friends.” He smiles and I’m happy I can make him do that in public.

“I’m so proud. Oh!” I see my nightmare in neon and freeze, “Come meet one of our drivers, he’s a bit like you, I think.” My dad looks back at my frozen position and frowns.

“I forgot I have to grab food with Lily! New friend duties, right! Remember how happy you are that i’m making friends!? Bye!” I turn around and run.

I end up meeting up with Lily because as soon as I heard myself say it, I suddenly really wanted to see her. Lily isn’t new to the paddock, but I’ve only met her a couple times. We follow each other on instagram and have DM’d multiple times.

After our taco and gossip session, practice started and I know I should be watching, but I want to explore more. So instead, I walk around the Paddock alone.

I seriously missed this environment. One of my favorite memories from when I was a kid was my dad walking me around the paddock. I love the hustle and bustle of the paparazzi, fans, and drivers.

I also love the quiet in the paddock while the cars are on track. I make it back inside, finally finding a bathroom and after fixing my hair and makeup, I wander more halls.

I don’t want to admit I'm lost, but I definitely am. I’m about to call Lily and Rebecca but realize I am a strong independent woman! That and I'm a tad embarrassed.

I turn yet another corner and see the worst person for this situation. I realize he hasn’t seen me yet but when I go to turn he eyes me, “Red?” He looks genuinely shocked and I'm even more shocked that he remembers me!

I laugh awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He’s in his race suit, sweaty, and way too good looking with it unzipped. He runs his hand through his curls, has he always been this attractive?

Sorry! Dickhead. I don’t like this man. He’s an asshole.

“What the fuck?” Is all he can say.

“Hey!” I smile, “Thanks for buying me that drink the other night…” When I left him at the bar, I did not think about the whole MY FATHER IS HIS BOSS thing.

“What are you doing here?” I hide my paddock pass behind my back, “Seriously. You’re not some stalker are you?”

I roll my eyes, “No but I am lost.” I can’t ask him to point me to the Mclaren garage because then he’ll ask why so I go for the next best thing, “I’m looking for the ferrari garage!” I need to text Alex right now.

“I’m still confused- you said you were in town for family.” Fuck my life.

“Yeah! Well… Alex is like family to me! And she invited me. Alex as in-“

“Charles’ girlfriend. Yeah I know.” He moves his water bottle from one hand to the other, stepping closer. “But, why would I help you if you think I'm an asshole?”

Okay. Good point.

“Because you think I'm pretty?” I smile and I can tell he’s biting back a laugh. “And because you were being pretty cocky!”

He nods, “Fair enough. Come with me.” I didn’t expect him to give in so easily.

“Hey, why were you in here anyways?” He shrugs and keeps walking for a bit before answering.

“Needed a breather.”

I nod, walking with him in silence, he opens the door for me and the sun hits up straight on. “So… how's the whole driving thing going?”

He glances at me, “It's alright. Quali tomorrow.”

“Good luck. Although I kinda hope you don’t get first.” He raises a brow. “I’m a big Piastri fan.”

He looks genuinely hurt, “I didn’t even think you watched.”

I frown, “Why wouldn’t I? I mean, I'm here.”

“Yeah but you… nevermind.”

I stop, turning to him, “You have to tell me now!”

He grins, looking away and continuing to walk, “You just didn’t have a reaction when I hit on you.” I scoff, “I know, I know! Dickish.”

I can’t help but laugh, “Honestly… fair enough. If I looked like you with the whole famous rich thing. I’d be pulling left and right.”

He eyes me, “So you think i’m attractive.” My face drops and I look ahead, “Hey it’s okay we already know I think you’re hot!” God if my dad ever heard this…

“Just shut up.” He does.

Until he doesn’t, “You really a big Oscar fan?”

I’m happy that I got under his skin with that one, “What if I said I liked Verstappen more?”

“I’d leave your lost ass right here.” Lando says it so serious that all I can do is laugh. He looks proud after I look at him again. “Seriously though.”

“Ferrari girl through and through.” He rolls those gorgeous green eyes of his, “McLaren might be second best though. Plus that Colapinto kid…”

He rolls his eyes, “You can’t like Franco more than me.”

“What, you jealous?” He points to turn and when we do, I see the garages in view.

“Gonna give me your name yet? Or am I sticking to Red?”

I pull his same move and avoid the question, “Thanks for showing me back.”

“Is it bad I like it when you’re mean to me?” I groan and walk away, “Bye, Red!”

“Later, Norris.”

⋆༺

“He doesn’t know who you are!?” Lily and Alexandra scream at the same time, we’re sitting in my hotel room when I called an emergency girls meeting. Except Rebecca is with Carlos to celebrate a little after his pole.

I cover my face with my hands, “But why does it matter!?”

“He’s obviously is hot for you.” Alex shrugs as Lily laughs, rolling onto her back.

“Babe, No wonder he’s so interested in you! I mean- besides the fact that you’re hilarious and drop dead gorgeous- he definitely is intrigued.”

I shake my head, “More like plotting to get me back for calling him an asshole.”

“Wait! You called him an asshole!?” Lily laughs even harder, “I love you!”

“Genuine question though… why don’t you go for it?” I stare at Alex as if she has two heads.

“Go for it!? Lando Norris?” She nods, “No way! Besides the fact that my dad is his boss, he’s way too cocky, and he doesn’t even know my name, I still wouldn’t go for him.”

“That’s kinda part of the appeal.” Alex shrugs, “What!? He knows nothing about you but thinks your hot! Seems like enough to me.”

We end up crying laughing, the conversation straying from Lando and to all the on track drama.

⋆༺

I’ve been avoiding the McLaren garage like the plague. I was there this morning but stayed on Oscar’s side. After meeting him, falling in love with him (platonically of course), and seeing that Lando was completely locked into Qualifying, I took my first breath of calmness.

The boys went out and I popped over to talk to Pato. Quali was over way quicker than I expected, After Oscar’s P17 a weird energy was in the garage and as soon as I saw Lando’s car, I was out of there.

What game am I even playing? Maybe it’s a little hot that he doesn’t know who I am… I don’t know why. Plenty of people have bugged me because of who my dad is, but Lando doesn’t need extra grand prix tickets or me to spot him money.

I find myself in a large room, it’s filled with chairs and a couch facing them. I grin immediately, how the hell is this just open?

I obviously am going to take my chance and pretend to be a talented man! The couch is not as comfortable as I expected and I almost fucking jump off of it when someone walks in.

He's breathing heavily and I recognize something’s wrong immediately. He’s pulling off the velcro of his race suit, unzipping it and pacing. “Lando.”

His head shoots up immediately, just staring at me, “Fuck Red, why are you everywhere?” His breath is labored and shaky.

I stand slowly as he slides down the wall, pulling his knees to his chest and leaning his head back. I’m confused because he seemed fine twenty minutes ago. P3 was not bad especially for where they are right now.

I start to say something but he just shakes his head, “I can’t.” He points to his throat and I realize he can’t breathe.

“I like your hair.” I say quickly, he looks so shocked when he looks up at me, “You look really good with it.” He keeps breathing heavily.

“Huh?”

“Although, you should ditch that fuck ass hat.” He tries to laugh but he’s still struggling. I slowly sit in front of him, “Seriously, who told you to wear that?”

“I- I have to.”

I roll my eyes but my hands are shaking. I’m not a stranger to a panic attack and seeing it happen to someone in front of me is a little scary, “Free will? I mean we all know you have it with the amount of times you whip out your middle finger.”

He laughs again, breathy, but his breathing seems to be getting slower.

“You definitely have free will.” he chokes out, “Saw you- today. Flirting with Lewis.” He got me there.

“Okay! Have you seen him? Who wouldn’t!?”

He shakes his head, “He’s way older.”

“Some people might find that hot.” He side eyes me, “Don’t worry I'm still into guys my own age.”

He’s smiling, nodding. We stay silent for a moment, his head resting against his knees as he catches his breath. He finally slides his legs out in front of him and I scoot next to him.

I tap my neck to ask for permission and he understands immediately, nodding. My hand slips to his neck, feeling his pulse.

“I used to have panic attacks a lot last year.” I explain as I feel his heart underneath my touch. He doesn’t say anything, just looking into my eyes. I swallow, “Your heart is going crazy.”

He doesn’t miss a beat, “Yeah I don’t think that’s because of the panic attack.”

I give him a look, “Seriously? Even in distress you’re a flirt.”

He licks his lips, “You’re good at calming people.”

“All I did was talk, not that hard.” My hand is still on his neck. “Are you okay?”

He swallows, looking away just as I drop my hand back to my side, “Mhm. Thank you.” His hand goes to mine as if it’s nothing. I’m shaking. He rests his head against the wall, closing his eyes, and squeezing my hand. “I think I owe you another drink, Red.”

⋆༺

It’s not until after more press and the conference is over, when Lando finds me again.

“Let me buy you dinner.” I raise a brow, “Come on, as a thank you.”

“You already said thank you.” I sip my water as he frowns. He’s out of his race suit and into jeans and a McLaren shirt.

“Just let me take you out.”

“Are you feeling okay?” I reach up and press the back of my hand to his forehead, “Oh no! Seems like you have a case of aiming high.” He mocks me as I cross my arms.

“Red, If you’re that high, I'll take my McLaren rocket ship and meet you.” I laugh at his words.

“A bit late on the whole rocket ship thing.” He sighs.

“We’ll have fun. Please. Why not?” He goes through five emotions in two seconds.

“You’re sinister, evil, and orange.” My eyes stray who who’s also orange and walking quickly up to us, “Shit.” I don’t mean to say it out loud.

Lando turns around quickly, then back to me, “Don’t tell me you’re scared of Zak. I’ll introduce you-”

“No! I’m not! I gotta go!”

“Wha- Red!” I walk away so fast that I don’t see the man rounding the corner.

“Y/n?” Oscar looks at me confused, “Alright?”

“Hi!” I quickly move past him but he follows.

“What’s wrong?”

“Lando is trying to introduce me to Zak Brown.” I say simply as we turn another corner and Oscar frowns.

“Zak Brown as in your dad Zak Brown?” I look at him, nodding. Then he laughs, “He doesn’t know who you are?”

“Nope. Sort of a long story but I'm in too deep now.” I cross my arms and he starts laughing harder.

“I’m completely here for this- Just one question though… how the fuck does he not know who you are? You’ve been in the garage.”

“He’s blind and I'm a mastermind?” I shrug and of course, Lando finds us.

“Red! No!” He groans when he sees Oscar, “Osc, Don’t convert her into a you fan i’m trying so hard to get her to like me!” Oscar laughs harder, covering his mouth and looking at me.

“I don’t need to be converted! I’m already an Oscar fan!” Lando frowns as I shake my head.

“Don’t worry mate, everyone’s an Oscar fan.” He pats Lando on the shoulder before leaving. “See ya…” I can tell he’s about to say my name but he stops himself.

Lando narrows his eyes at me, “He knows your name?” I bite my lip and walk away. “Hey wait! Any thoughts about tonight?”

I glance back at him, “Don’t you have a race to be preparing for?”

He smirks, catching up to me, “Wanna know my pre race ritual?” I push him away from me, “I’ll give you a hint.” He winks and my stomach does a weird flip.

“You’re never gonna stop, are you?” I place my hands on my hips, looking up at the man.

“Tell me to, and I will.” I stay quiet, his eyes meeting mine and the corner of his lip quirking up. Someone calls his name but his eyes stay on me, smiling. He leans down and taps his knuckles against his hand, “Bye, Red.”

⋆༺

Although Lando has been running around my head, I still have other duties besides being flirted with. I’m at dinner with my dad, it’s been a while since it’s been just the two of us. And I will say, I missed it.

He’s busy and obviously distracted but i’m grateful for any time I get with him. We’re in the Paddock but everybody is gone except for a few engineers and workers.

“Tell me about your weekend! I haven’t seen you much in the garage.” He takes a bite out of his salad, looking down at his texts.

“I’ve been around.” I shrug, drinking my lemonade, “It’s good to be back. But I have been sneaking off with my friends a bit…”

He smiles, “I’m glad. Even if you aren’t cheering us on.” I laugh, “You will be watching from the garage tomorrow, though.”

I nod, “Yes yes, I know.”

We get into a conversation about the issues with my apartment and how he thinks I should move back home. I get the feeling that he’s worried about tomorrow and suddenly wonder if he’s like this every weekend.

My dad gets a call which ends our dinner early, “I gotta grab my bag then I'll head to the hotel.” I kiss him on the cheek and make my way to the garage.

There’s a few people hanging back, some looking at screens and someone laying on the floor, looking at Lando’s back wing.

I grab my purse, rummaging around in it to make sure my phone is there. “You sure you’re not stalking me, Red?” That damn voice makes me jump.

He's sitting on the floor next to his own car, his arms and black shirt dirty. Was he… fixing his car?

I raise a brow, “What are you doing?” He takes the rag next to him and wipes off his hands, standing up.

“What are you doing?”

I cross my arms, “Stealing information for ferrari.” He smirks, shaking his head and walking past me to grab his water.

“Instead of having dinner with me? You need to sort your priorities out.”

I flip my hair over my shoulder, “Do you work on your own car often?”

“I can’t do much but I do like to see how it looks.” He shrugs, leaning against the wall and glancing at the people working, “You seriously not gonna tell me who you know at McLaren? You obviously have an in.”

He waves to the people who are packing up and walking out. We are now alone.

I hum, knowing there’s no chance I'm about to tell him who my ‘in’ is. He laughs a bit, “Alright, stay mysterious. Wanna sit in it?” I almost think I didn’t hear him correctly.

“What?” He nods, standing and walking over to his car, “Come on, don’t tell me you’ve already driven one or something.”

I smile, shaking my head and walking towards him, “No. I used to kart but I’m actually shit at it.” He laughs, beckoning me closer. “Won’t you get in trouble for this?”

He brings his finger to his lips, shushing me as I stand in front of him, “Okay put your foot here,” he points, “And hold onto this.” He points again and I do as I'm told.

I hate to admit it, but I am quite clumsy. When I slip a bit, his hands go to catch me instantly. Thank you driver reaction practice.

He lifts me down into the seat, his hands regretfully leaving me. I look up at him, “For once, you look tall.” His smile drops, leaning over me.

“You’re one to talk.” He scoffs and starts pointing at things. I try to listen but his hand is right in front of my face and I’m genuinely surprised how much I don’t know.

“You’re so far down.” I hum, holding my hands out as if I'm driving, “My back already hurts.” He smiles and kneels next to me.

“You look good in here. Seems like a complete hazard though, even if the car isn’t on.” I tilt my head up to look at him. A curl is falling perfectly in his face. “I didn’t wear the hat as much today, what’d you think?”

I smile at the fact that he listened to my bullshit, “How are you, by the way?”

He nods, avoiding my eyes and messing around with something on the car, “Fine.”

“So the whole panic attack thing was just for fun?” He eyes me, biting his lip.

“Thank you again, It was kinda embarrassing but you made me feel better.” I chew the inside of my cheek, smiling softly at his expression. He looks tired, but a big step up from earlier.

I’ve seen Lando a million times. He’s on posters, all over my feed, in my dads photo dumps, billboards, ads… But none of that can compare to the real thing.

He shoots up so fast that I’m about to laugh and ask what he’s doing, but he starts talking to someone. “Lando!” It’s my dad. Alarm bells ring in my ears as my hand goes over my mouth. Okay. He can’t see me, I know that at least. “I thought you’d already left!”

Lando laughs awkwardly, I think he’s standing in front of the car now. “Uh! Wanted to make sure everything’s good with the car. Guess I lost track of time.”

I hear my dad laugh, rummaging around, “Get some sleep, kid.” I think we’re in the clear until I hear sneakers squeaking, “You haven’t seen a girl come in here, have you?”

My heart rate skyrockets as Lando clears his throat, “Nope. But I've been pretty distracted with the car.”

“Alright well… I have someone to introduce you to tomorrow! Get some rest and drink water!” The door shuts and I hear Lando sigh heavily.

I stand up and messily get out of the car, “I thought for sure I was dead!” Lando says, running a hand through his hair and shivering, “Sorry about that.”

“No worries! I don’t want to get you in trouble though so I should go…” He nods, looking a bit disappointed.

“Want me to walk you out?” I can’t help but smile softly at the soft way he says it.

“I know my way, Thanks though.” I grab my bag, thanking god my dad didn’t see it before, “Rest up.” I mock my dad as Lando chuckles.

“With you on my mind, that’ll be difficult.” I pretend like my cheeks aren’t on fire and open the door.

“Dream about me, then.”

⋆༺

The party environment of the Mexican Grand Prix is all I needed today. I’m in a white dress with marigolds embroidered at the bottom, a flower in my hand from one of the people who are painted.

I laugh with Rebecca and Alex as we walk through the paddock, their boyfriends already getting ready for the drivers parade.

I haven’t told them about last night. I mean, what is there to tell? I swipe my lipgloss on, checking my makeup in the reflection of Rebecca’s glasses.

“Is Carlos nervous for today?” I ask her as she smiles at his name.

“I think so, but I’m really hopeful for a good result.” we continue walking, “Hopefully I don’t jinx it.”

“Hey, Y/n.” Alex nudges me, “Someone just arrived.” She winks as we all turn to look at the Paddock entrance behind us.

Lando Norris.

He’s wearing a Quadrant crewneck and a big smile. He signs something for a tiny fan and hurry’s past the photographers.

He almost walks past us, but he does a double take. He looks happy, I’m glad. “Rebecca, Alex.” He doesn’t stop walking as he politely greets them. His eyes meet mine and his expression changes, “Hey, Red.”

I smile softly before he turns and practically runs away, “Yup! He’s in love.”

I swat Rebecca’s arm as she laughs, “Goodbye!”

“No!” Alex laughs, “Come get coffee!”

I shake my head, “I told Pato I would grab breakfast with him, I’ll see you later!”

I smile at the two of them as they wave and we split up, me going to McLaren and them to Ferrari.

⋆༺

Breakfast is good, we watch the drivers go around and laugh at George who is shivering like a leaf. I say goodbye to him as soon as the drivers parade ends.

I need to see my dad before the craziness begins. “Dad!” I smile as he sits on the pit wall.

“Sweetie!” He smiles and waves me over, letting me sit with him.

“Ready for today?” I ask as he looks over data.

He nods, “Definitely!” He crosses his fingers and I smile, looking over the data with him. He knows I have no clue what we’re looking at so he explains it to me.

I lean in to look at the tiny words when my dad gets distracted, “Oh!” I hear him say but i’m trying to decipher this code still, “I have someone for you to meet!” I’ve met a million different people this week so I smile and stick out my hand like usual, “Lando! This is my daughter Y/n.”

I stare at him. His smile drops for a second, then a look of panic washes over him before he takes a breath and shakes my hand.

“Nice to meet you.” I almost whisper it. He’s looking at me and I feel like I'm about to get swallowed whole.

His face contorts again, he looks like he’s finally cracked me, “Pleasure” My dad looks away and Lando takes that second to narrow his eyes, a smirk still on his face.

I drop his hand as my dad looks at us again, “I think Y/n has been avoiding the garage! I would have introduced you days ago!”

Lando’s jaw ticks, “Not a McLaren girl?”

I can’t help but smile, “Ferrari through and through.”

My dad shakes his head, “Don’t mind her odd preferences…” he’s about to say something else but gets pulled away by someone in orange.

Lando just looks at me, my cheeks hot as he examines me. I expect him to be mad, but he just smiles, “Y/n, huh?” I nod shyly, “It’s pretty. It fits you.”

“Okay! Lan you gotta go!” My dad claps a hand on his shoulder, dragging him away.

“Good luck!” I say quickly as he shoots me a devious look. I take a breath I didn’t know I was holding in, and watch him leave.

⋆༺

The race has me on the edge of my seat for all 71 laps. I accidentally gasp way too loud at Lando being pushed off track and maybe start clapping when it’s announced that Max got two penalties.

The whole time I have a feeling that Lando will be on that podium, but definitely not in third.

My manifestation comes true when Charles goes off track and Lando zooms by.

Ten laps to go and I don’t think I've taken a deep breath in twenty. But the moment Lando passes the finish line, the garage claps and I sigh in relief.

I hug my dad but I watch the podium ceremony from the side, smiling as the boys get sprayed with champagne while laughing.

I see Rebecca with tears in her eyes and when I look back to the podium, I see Lando looking at me. He's grinning, holding his bottle of champagne and pouring it into his mouth before winking at me.

If he’s still acting like this after he found out my dad is his boss, then I am unexplainably screwed. And I couldn’t be happier about it.

After the podium, I walk back to the garage, but Lando catches me first, pulling me into a hidden area. He’s soaked in champagne and grinning like an idiot, “Have fun out there?” I ask, crossing my arms.

He nods, “Think i’m cool yet?”

“A bit… maybe when I watch you win.” His smile grows, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“Go out with me.” I laugh at his words, “For real this time! Y/n.” He says my name like a prayer and I never want it to stop.

“I guess I sort of owe you.”

He nods enthusiastically, “Y/n Brown. What a name… I knew you had an in!”

I shake my head, “I’m sorry. But it was fun messing with you.”

He sighs in defeat, “I feel much better that I know who you are. Although I almost passed out when the words ‘daughter’ left Zak’s mouth!” I laugh with him, champagne dripping down his curls still.

“You did really well today.”

He bites his lip, “Think of how much better I'll do knowing you’re screaming my name in the garage.” I swat his arm but he swerves and plants a kiss on my cheek.

My jaw drops as he pulls back, “I’ll pick you up tonight!” he starts walking away, backwards, “I’ll text you!”

“You don’t even have my number!” I yell after him but he just winks and blows me a kiss. Just as I turn back around and roll my eyes, I see my dad in front of me, arms crossed as my eyes go wide.

He sighs, looking like he already has a headache, “What the hell did I miss?”

[solacestyles]

MEET ME IN THE LIBRARY - LN4

summary : He’s a certified book theif, she’s a perfect distraction. Some sweet interactions between y/n x lando in their college life.

listen up : LANDO NORRIS JOCK FRAT BOY AU🗣️🗣️ guys this was so cutie i love !! i need more romance books also lol. some dirty jokes but that’s about it! the FIA is lando’s frat lol

word count : 4480

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I regret wearing a skirt as I step into the library, the cold temperatures not changing at all. But I'm trying to get in and out quickly. Which is hard while surrounded by books.

I smile at Ms. Finigan, hurrying up the stairs and past favorite section, romance. I sadly walk past, seeing all of my favorite titles call to me.

I find the Shakespeare section and realize that I need to get out of my comfort zone sometimes. I’m scanning the books before I find my next victim. Romeo and Juliet. The overly romanticized book about two idiot pre teens.

I finally think something is going right for me today, until I go to reach for it. Someone next to me reaches over my head and snatches it right out of my reach.

I turn to yell at the man who’s taken my book, but then I realize who it is.

Lando Norris.

Of course, today of all days, he has to be in my way.

He’s devastatingly gorgeous, an insane athlete, and utterly annoying. “You’re Y/n… Right?” I push the fact that I've never introduced myself out of my mind and reach for the book.

He pulls it back, I'm still bookless. And he, with his backwards hat and FIA hoodie, is just peering at me like I'm some zoo animal.

He raises a brow at me as I frown, “Yes. Could I have my book?”

“Your book?”

He’s cocky and arrogant and I’m getting distracted by his eyes. “Yes, My soon to be book if you’d let me have it! Please, Norris. I’m late.”

“Norris?” He eyes me, “Didn’t know you knew who I was.”

“Glad you learned something today!” I reach for the book but he holds it over his head, “I need it!”

“Why do you need it?”

I cross my arms, “Why do you need to know?” Sadly, this doesn’t put him off. A smirk grows on his handsome face.

“Sassy.” He brings the book behind his back but when I reach for it, he just steps closer. I narrow my eyes because what game is he playing? “You’re cute when you’re angry.” Yeah… what the fuck.

I step back, “I'm going to be late, Lando.” He smiles when I say his name, “Why do you need it?”

“Just some light reading.” I frown, trying to think of any way I can get it from him, “I’ll give it to you if you beg for it.”

“Awh.” I fake pout before rolling my eyes and walking away, “I’d rather choke.”

“I know something you can c-” I snap my head around and he honestly looks scared. “Sorry.”

“Sorry? I swear to fucking god Norris, if you’re just screwing me over for fun-” I let out an angry groan and take a deep breath in, reminding myself how bad I need it, “I need it. My professor needs me to have the hardcopy, and I need him to like me because normally all my professors like me and I’ve never failed and he’s the type to fail me because of something like this.” I don’t mean to dump all my thoughts onto him but he doesn’t look fazed.

“Alright, Ace. Should have thought a bit ahead then, huh?” He gives me an annoying look and I suddenly get the urge to slap him.

“You don’t seem like the type to be into Shakespeare.” He almost looks surprised that i’m not falling at his feet.

“I’m not.” He shrugs in the way all frat guys do, and I know he won’t say any more.

I need to cut my losses, “Whatever, I am so late.” I start walking away but he follows.

“Need a ride?”

I eye him, standing in the front steps, “You’ll give me a ride but not that book?” He starts talking again but I just shake my head, not being able to deal with this anymore.

“Come on, wait!”

I keep walking.

“You made me feel bad, Ace!”

So he does have a heart.

“Your loss!”

When I turn back one last time, my middle finger in the air, I see him getting into his immensely expensive Mclaren, and winking at me.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I make it to my class late, after my professor embarrasses me in front of the whole class because I don’t have my book, I finally finish and make my way back to my apartment. I hear a loud sigh as I walk in. My roommate, Lily Muni He is spread out on the couch and frowning at her laptop, “I'm dropping out.”

“After the day i've had, me too” I go straight to the fridge.

“What happened?”

”Oh you mean spilling my coffee all over my favorite sweater, Lando Norris asking me to beg for it, Or my professor yelling at me in front of my whole creative writing class?” I open my tug of ice cream.

Her jaw drops, “What!?”

“Yeah my new sweater that I spent months saving for-” I dive my spoon into the chocolate and peanut butter mixture before she screams and cuts me off.

“NO! Go back! What do you mean Lando Norris!? Lando Norris asked you to beg for WHAT!?” I plop down on the couch with her.

“Oh. That.” I roll my eyes, thinking back to his dickish moves today. I’ve met him but not in a formal sense, when he was trying to get into the most exclusive frat on campus (FIA) the guys would volunteer at the library I work at to read to kids. Lily claps her hands in front of my face and I snap back to reality.

I tell her the story and while I'm hung up on my poor book, probably in his nasty room, she’s hung up on the fact that Lando offered me a ride in his Mclaren.

“You know, he’s not as bad as everyone makes him out to be.” I don’t believe her, “Seriously! He shared a room with Alex last year and was actually really nice to me. Definitely player vibes but at least he’s a nice one.”

I frown, “Well that’s great for you! But he’s holding my book hostage.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“One iced coffee with oat milk please!” I smile and reach into my bag, digging around for my wallet. Okay! no need to panic, I have no wallet but I have apple pay.

Except when I tap my phone, the lady taking my order shakes her head at me, “Declined… Any other way you could pay?”

I sigh, honestly about to walk right out with all of my shame left over. But a familiar arm reaches over me for the second time, handing over a credit card.

“I’ve got it.” Lando fucking Norris. “Good to see you again, Ace.” He shoots me that heartthrob smile before the woman swipes his card and within two minutes, we’re holding drinks.

“You really didn’t have to…” I take my coffee from him as we move out of the way. He sips his matcha latte and smiles.

“It’s no problem. I felt sort of bad that I took your book anyways.” I frown at his words, still angry, “But if you want to repay me back, you can sit with me.”

I don’t know why he wants to. But he bought my eight dollar coffee so who am I to say no?

We sit at the seats facing the window, looking out onto the street that’s covered in orange and brown leaves.

Lando doesn’t talk first, just sips his drink and watches the two dogs at separate tables outside play together.

I don’t know why I say it, but I can’t help myself, “Do you have pets?”

His head turns to me and I realize how curly his mullet really is. No hat or weird gel just makes him more attractive and I fear I'm not mad at it.

“Nah, the house doesn’t allow it. Besides Franco’s weird lizard…” He looks disgusted for a second before looking at me again, “Do you?”

I nod, “A cat.”

“What’s its name?” It’s a bit weird that he’s interested, but I’ll take any chance I get to talk about my child.

“Jo! Like Jo March.” He looks confused, “Little women?” He still looks confused, “Louisa May Alcott…?” When I realize he’s not getting it I nod, “It’s a book.”

“Ah… I don’t know much about those.”

I can’t help but say, “But you know about Romeo and Juliet, right?” He better because I did not get called out just for him to not read it.

“It was for my friend…” He cringes as I scoff, “I’m sorry! He needed it! Uh- Carlos? He’s in your class too I think…”

I swat his arm, “You gave it to someone in my class!? That’s even worse!”

He laughs, “Sorry, not sorry! He asked nicely.”

I eye him, “Oh, and I didn’t?” He shakes his head, his hand going to his hair as his elbow rests against the table. He hides his face in his arms but I can still see his smile.

I roll my eyes, “Well, thanks to you I got humiliated in class!”

“Hey, I bought you coffee, you can’t be mad!” I huff and look back outside, he stays looking at my side profile for a second then joins me in silence.

Silence that is quickly broken by a girls shrill voice, “Lando!” Kill me now. I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I don’t want to be apart of it.

Sadly, I'm not struck down by lightning and have to watch the blonde wrap her arms around Lando. His eyes go wide but when she pulls away, he gives a cool nod.

“Katy.”

“Where’ve you been?” She giggles, not paying any attention to me and resting a hand on his arm, “I’ve missed you.”

Lando glances at me, “Um… around?” She giggles at this again.

“I’ll be at the party on sunday! Me and Rennee!” Lando seems to be overtaken by a coughing fit and I promptly stand, grabbing my bag and coffee.

“Thanks for the coffee, Norris. I gotta go!” He watches me leave, looking like he’s going to say something. But he doesn’t.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

It’s not everyday that a frat car wash happens. But when it does, I know it’s going to be a good one. My friends make me drive, Lily’s next to me and she said she had to support her boyfriend.

Watching twenty shirtless guys grind shirtless on my car is definitely an interesting support system. But hey, i’m not complaining.

I’m crying laughing by the time my car is getting soaped up, Lily is screaming and Alexandra and Francesca are videoing in the back.

Lily bangs on the window, Alex pops up, smiling at her, “Get Lando!” I lunge for her as soon as she says it, “Ah!” She screams as I turn her to me.

“Lily!” The girls in the back are crying now, “Lily no!”

She just giggles, “Too late!” I look to my left to see Oscar (a guy from my chem class) and Lando walking towards the car.

Francesca and Alexandra are watching the man on top of the car but i’m totally and completely zoned in on Lando’s soapy wet abs.

“I hate you.” I say to Lily but she just giggles.

“No you don’t!” Him, Oscar and Alex start basically dry humping my car. I cover my face but Lando slams his hand on the window.

He looks personally offended, a fat grin back on his face. He points to my eyes, then his. I roll my eyes and he sticks his tongue out.

They continue to assault my car and just as I’m wondering why all of them are ripped. Lando gets thrown onto my windshield, being moved around like a rag by Alex and Oscar who are laughing hysterically.

I clap my hands together, honestly admiring his effort, I'm laughing still. I bring my fingers to my lips and whistle as Lando grabs the hose, pouring it on himself.

“Shit!” Lily hits my arm repeatedly as he sprays us.

“You’re ridiculous!” I yell and he laughs at my words.

He just spreads his arms and shrugs, “Only for you, Ace!” His muscles are distracting me. They're even making me gloss over that this is the third time he’s called me ‘Ace’.

He blows me a kiss before running his hand down his body, sticking his tongue out as I shake my head.

“Excuse me!” Francesca yells from behind us, “Are you and Lando Norris, fucking!?”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

LANDOS POV

I’m officially embarrassing myself. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Y/n whisper yells at me as I slide into the seat next to her.

“I had to wait for Carlos anyways so I thought, Hmm I know someone in this class!” The professor starts speaking as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“You can’t just be here! Why don’t you go sit with Carlos?”

“Well that’s easy, Ace. You’re much prettier than he is.” I don’t miss the blush that finds her cheeks, smiling to myself because I did that. “Saw you at our car wash last week.”

“Have you ever considered a career in the magic mike industry?” She whispers as she moves her pencil across the paper.

I laugh a bit too loud and when the professor calls me on it, I stand and wave, “Sorry, Prof! Won’t. happen again!”

When I sit back down, she gives me a death stare, “Why is it that in the three years I've been at this school, I've had the pleasure of never running into you, but in the past three weeks, I've seen you everywhere?”

“Maybe I just want you to see me now.” I knew her name, she was too pretty to forget but never hung around our group and I was otherwise occupied.

But now that I've actually talked to her, I realize that maybe I like her for more than her killer face.

She doesn’t look up yet, “Did you run out of girls on the campus and I'm the last victim?” I know she thinks I'm a sort of… slut? Town bike? Classic Frat boy?

But honestly is it a crime to enjoy myself?

I know I really enjoy myself with her.

“I’ll let you be anything to me, Ace. Anything except victim, seems like something I’d get kicked out for.” He laughs under her breath, I love when I make her laugh.

“The only thing I am to you, is a way to be distracting.” I grin because she’s exactly right.

“True.” I lean in closer, resting my arm on her chair, “I can think of a lot of ways we can be distracting to this class.”

She elbows my side and when I groan, she eyes me, “Ow!”

She shakes her head and continues listening. I let her for a while, looking at her shoes and avoiding looking at her legs. I fail at the second one and she snaps her fingers in front of my face.

“I won’t let you sit here if you’re gonna be checking me out the whole time.”

I listen to her, scrolling on my phone and making little remarks at what she’s writing, “So you wanna be an author?” she hums in response, “You like to read?” She nods again, “I bet you read smut.”

She hits me again, “Lando!”

“What!? With that reaction, I know I'm right.” she’s blushing again and suddenly all I want is to look at her bookshelf, “No need to be embarrassed we all have our vices.” She covers her face from me and I smile.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I down two shots before going to Lando’s frat party. My friends are obsessing over the fact that we were invited but i’m more nervous than I have been in a while.

Francesca is a lion, Lily is princess peach (a couples costume with Alex), Alexandra is a fairy, and the only things I could find were a white dress and wings so i’ve labeled myself as Juliet in the weird ‘modern’ adaptation.

As we walk up, I realize there’s people waiting to get in but Alex waves us to the front. It’s almost immediate when I spot Lando.

I thought I would at least have time for more drinks before I even got close to him. I don’t know why I'm anxious, maybe it’s because Lando is a sort of fun way to take my mind off things.

I don’t think anything of his costume, he just looks like he’s in gray. But as we get closer, I can see the shift in Lando’s face and when he turns to talk to Alex, I see the armor on his arms.

He’s fucking Romeo.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I’m avoiding him. Simple as that! He tried to say something to me when I arrived but I swerved him and ran after Alexandra.

Someone’s talking to me, I think his name is Liam or something? He’s blonde and dressed like a mouse.

But he’s cute and definitely interested in me.

“Hey!” Lando’s hand goes to Liam’s shoulder, squeezing him tightly, “Pledge! I see you’ve met Y/n.”

Liam’s eyes widen and he scurries away like… well… a mouse. I cross my arms, watching Lando smile as he leaves.

“You’ve been avoiding me, Ace.”

I sip my drink, looking anywhere but him, “No….”

He steps in front of me, way too close, “I like your costume.” His eyes move down my body and I might as well be naked by the way he’s staring at me.

“Yours could use a bit of work, not very accurate.” I lie.

“What, you wanted me to straighten my hair?” I cringe at the idea, “I don’t do well with books, the movie was good.”

I laugh a bit, “You’re a walking stereotype.”

“Oh and you aren’t?” He eyes me, “Nerdy with a big mouth who can’t stop blushing.”

I think about it for a moment and realize he’s right. Lizzie Bennett, Amy Santiago, Hermione granger. Shit why does he know me?

“You’re doing it again.” He pokes my cheek and I know they’re pink, “It’s cute.”

“You’re such a flirt.” He smirks at this, “It’s the jock thing! Is it in your water or something?”

He laughs, taking my hand, “Come dance?” I nod without thinking. He’s still sipping his drink as his hand moves from my hand to my waist.

His touch is soft and he smiles at me under the neon lights. It’s weird that four weeks ago I had all sorts of ideas about him in my head. Now I know him and I sort of love it.

We dance for a while, i’m in a haze of smoke and alcohol when I realize Lando is zoning out.

I touch his arm, leaning closer, “Wanna get some air?” He nods and looks around.

“Come on.” He takes my hand. Lando fucking Norris, grabs my hand and gently guides me through the crowd.

It’s different this time, I don’t know why. But his hand on mine feels more intimate.

He starts walking upstairs and when I pause he looks back, “I have a balcony. Fresh air only, I promise.” I nod and follow, trusting him.

His room is clean, with posters up and multiple photographs hung on the walls. He slides the door open, letting me go first.

I take a deep breath, the cool air washing over me as I lean against the railing, leaning my head back and rebelling in the muffled noise.

I look back up to him, but he’s just staring at me, “You’re beautiful.” It takes me by surprise, like genuine shock runs through me. His eyes widen, almost like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. “I’m-”

“Don’t apologize.” He looks relieved at my words, “Thank you.”

He breathes out, standing next to me, “Thanks for coming. My friend really likes yours- Alexandra, right?”

“Oh!” So that’s why he invited me. “Right, I heard they were hooking up…” He’s acting nervous and fidgety, “Are you okay?”

He nods, “Sorry. I’m kinda drunk and anxious and you’re great but I don’t feel great.” I frown, nodding to walk back inside.

I sit on his bed, pulling off my shoes and crossing my legs. He doesn’t look at me weird, just lays next to me, sighing.

For some reason, he looks so different than the Lando who teased me in a class he snuck into.

Are you really okay, you don’t seem like you’re in the party mood...”

He hums, “I’d rather be up here with you anyways.”

I sigh, “Stop fucking with me.”

He frowns, sitting up a bit, “What?”

“I know we laugh about you being flirty and shit but you’re gonna make me think you like me.” I brush my hair out of my face but I can feel him looking at me.

“Why would I joke about that? I do like you.” Oh.

Oh okay.

So he just drops that fucking bomb then goes into another room to “grab something” ??

I want to slap myself. What the hell is happening.

He walks back in with two waters and a bucket of halloween candy. “You can go back down, by the way.”

“Trying to get rid of me, Norris?” I reach over and grab a twix as he smiles. It makes me feel good that he’s feeling well enough to smile.

“Never, Ace.”

We sit in silence for a bit, eating candy and drinking water like the complete nerds we are. I glance over at him, making sure he’s still awake, “How many girls have you had in this bed?”

He frowns, “You want the real answer?”

“No.” He laughs as I turn to him, crossing my ankles and leaning against the wall, “Why do you call me ace?”

“Why do you think?” When I don’t say anything, he answers hesitatingly, “You went off about your grades and professors liking you. Like you ace everything. And even before that I knew you were smart. But now it’s more because I think you’re pretty close to perfect.”

I think my heart stops. Just then, the look he gives me… like he’s embarrassed or something, “I don’t really know what to say to that.”

“Then don’t say anything.” He lays back down, “What’s your favorite color?” I smile softly as Lando plays with my shoelace.

We sit like this for a while, the party is still in full effect when we get quiet again. I’ve learned about his family, his dreams and school life. I told him about my aspirations, what I've always loved, and what I truly read.

He gets a kick out of the last bit.

He’s feeling better now, I know because his eyes aren’t avoiding me. He’s just looking into my eyes, his are so green and I think I could write an essay about them.

His head knocks against the wall, he’s next to me now, our arms touching as he tilts his head to look at me, “Ace?” He whispers even though it’s just us.

“Hm?”

“I don’t want you to think i’m a slut.”

I smile softly, “I don’t.”

“I want you to like me.”

My heart rate rises, “I do.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Norris. You’re too nosy to believe me anyway.” He laughs at this. Then he gets really quiet.

My eyes flicker to his lips, he does the same. I lean in, so does he. I’m about to close my eyes. He backs away, clearing his throat.

I pull my lips into a thin line, looking away.

And again I think,

What. The. Fuck.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I’m embarrassed to say that my lack of a kiss with Lando last night, was truly humbling. He’s so confusing.

I mean, he said he liked me! And I go to kiss him and then he just doesn’t? After that awkward moment he mumbled something about joining the group and we went back downstairs.

Lando looked incredibly uncomfortable the rest of the night and I found my way to the tequila way too fast.

I march my way up the library stairs, my headache subsiding after the meditation and water. I don’t really remember anything after Lando and I went downstairs.

I’ve been unable to stop thinking about what happened with us, so i’ve come to my happy place.

I breathe in the smell of the books, drifting my hand against the spines of historical fiction. I make my way to shakespeare.

It’s probably not the best right now because all I can think of is how Lando smelled when he took that book from me. I look up, and see Romeo and Juliet staring back at me.

I reach up and take it from its place, opening it and flipping through the pages. I smile at the words that I've come to like after my class.

I’ve never felt such an all consuming love like Juliet, but I think I understand her just a bit more now.

Someone clears their throat and when I look up, i’m not as shocked as I was all those weeks ago.

Lando Norris.

He's in jeans and a plain white tee. Why does he look so good then?

He slips his hands in his pockets, walking towards me, “I’m sorry.”

I raise a brow because I certainly wasn’t expecting that, “For?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I like you.” he blushes and I want to tease him but he keeps talking, “But I really didn’t feel like myself last night. And I wanted our first kiss to be the sort of thing you could write in detail.”

A small smile meets my lips as he stands in front of me, my back to the shelves, “You’ve thought about kissing me.”

He rolls his eyes but a smile is on his face, he steps closer and his hand goes to my waist, “You are a distraction.” I laugh a bit, looking up at him innocently.

“Whatever do you mean?” He shakes his head and dips it down to be at my level.

“For real this time… Can I kiss you?” I can’t help but smile.

“Only if you compare me to a summer's day and would be willing to die for m-” He cuts me off with his lips.

My arms wrap around his neck, as I kiss him back. I can feel him smile against my lips. My hand goes to his hair, the other gripping the book.

That damn book that started this all.

He bites my lip a bit before moving back, his breath still on me. “I don’t think I've seen true beauty until I saw you in this library.”

[solacestyles]

THE BOOTH - LN4

summary : The booth. A notorious club in the heart of london, where y/n and lando met again after two years of silence.

listen up : fewtrell!reader. She sits in his lap. no smut, just hot and suggestive. creepy guy in the beginning! Prob my fav short i’ve written omg

word count : 1732

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“No.” I giggle out of uncomfortableness at the man getting closer to me.

“C’mon, let me buy you a drink.” the man reeks of alcohol and has fucked up teeth. I’ve seen enough. I pull down the bottom of my mini dress as I stand.

“No.” I repeat, pushing past him. The club is crowded and sticky, I see my friends but a hand around my wrist pulls me back.

“Really? Too good for me?” He scoffs in my face but the next thing I know he’s being pushed away from me.

“She is.” The voice comes from the man in front of me, the guy who pushed this dickhead away. “Piss off. She’s with me.”

The guy seems intimidated enough because he gives me a dirty look and leaves. “Thank y-” I pause when the man turns around.

I pause because the man is my childhood crush, brothers best friend, and fucking formula one driver.

“Lando?” I’m genuinely shocked that the britt I haven’t seen in two years is standing in front of me.

“Y/n!?” He looks me up and down, his mouth open, “Fuck… You look good.” I could say the same for him, in a navy button down, jeans, and his jewelry adorning his hands. He’s ridiculously hot.

I laugh, “Careful Lan, my brother could be lurking.” I switch my weight onto one leg as he smirks.

Max loves Lando. Max loves me.

Therefore, Max HATED the thought of us even speaking. We were all friends in childhood but our teens hit and suddenly I was completely off limits. I’m pretty sure he noticed how much I asked about Lando and swore that he would kill both of us if anything happened.

Someone walks behind him, causing him to get closer, his hand brushing against my hip, “Don’t scare me, yeah?”

I bite my lip at the thought, we start walking across the room, Lando’s hand firmly on me now as he ‘guides’ me. “Don’t worry. Idiots in Monaco… which means we have free rein.”

I see his jaw clench, his drink slide onto his lips again, “I’d like to keep my friendship.”

“I’d like to lose my panties.” I’m quick to reply, messing with Lando used to be my favorite thing.

You see, Lando is Max’s best friend. He feels bad lying and this would definitely be considered a betrayal of trust.

But for me… Max is my brother. I can lie and do whatever I want with no remorse. Lando is something I could do easily and as much as it would make me happy to piss off my brother, Norris has always been that one guy in the back of my mind.

“Christ Y/n. Missed your remarks.” We make it to the wall, it’s a bit quieter over here.

“You mean you missed my flirting?” I look up at him, he just bites his lip, hiding his smile.

“I missed you.” He surprises me with this.

“I missed you too.” I push my hand through my hair, “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Really good.” He smiles big and I know it’s because of his racing.

“Watched your win in Zandvoort.” I sigh, “Simply lovely was brutal.” He rolls his eyes, laughing and leaning his head back on the wall.

“Not you too!”

“It was hilarious! I liked it!” I hit his arm and the way he looks at me… it’s like every emotion that I've tucked away and only opened up in the darkness of my bedroom after midnight, comes out then. “I like this too.”

My hand goes to the back of his neck, playing with his curls that shape his baby mullet.

“Don’t do that.” He shakes his head, his eyes cut into me, his voice weak.

“What?” I say innocently.

“You always do this.”

“Do what, Norris?” Lando never was that much taller than me, but something about the two passed years has changed that.

His tongue runs over his teeth, he’s about to say something but two guys appear next to us, “Mate! We’ve been looking for you!” Another British man speaks, Alex Albon to be exact.

“Found a friend?” Carlos sainz eyes me, dressed in all black.

I smile at the drivers, Lando eyes Carlos. “Max’s sister. Y/n.” They both nod and look much too interested in how Lando says it, “Y/n… this is Alex and Carlos.”

“Pleasure.” I smile wide. I am an F1 fan, it’s a bit weird seeing Lando on the grid but I’ll sit and watch with Max almost every weekend that we’re together.

“Pleasures all ours! I’ve always wanted to meet Lando’s childhood crush!” Lando hits Carlos, making him grab his stomach, “Worth it!” The Spanish man chokes out.

Lando scratches the back of his neck, not looking at me. “Are you here with anyone?” Alex asks me, I knew he would be nice.

“Yeah! I’m not sure where they are but…”

“That’s okay. You have us now!” Alex and I end up getting a drink, Lando stays back with Carlos who’s definitely teasing him.

I get a vodka lemonade and four shots. Alex and I are already best friends and laughing so hard that Carlos and Lando won’t stop asking us what’s so funny.

They don’t know that I showed Alex a photo of Lando and I as smurfs when we were five.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

LANDO NORRIS

Describing Y/n is something i’ve done many times. To friends, for context in stories, but if i’d really describe her… I don’t think I would have an ending point.

She’s got long blonde hair. She cut it all off when she was fifteen and I almost fainted when I didn’t recognize her. She loved it.

She’s confident, you can see it in her walk. Her hips sway and the click of her heels is something I'll never forget.

When she talks to you, all attention is on you, her eyes are hazel, appearing brown in the dark but if you get close enough… you’ll see the green.

She never quite had an awkward stage, always been beautiful, probably always will be. I haven’t seen her in years yet she acts like I talked to her yesterday.

Y/n sucks on a lime after her shot, smiling and clapping her hands together, “God, I feel like i’m in highschool!”

I obviously didn’t go to school with her. She’s a year younger and Max would non stop complain about her. She was more popular than him, going out, and was basically friends with everyone.

I remind myself again that Max is the reason why my arm is around the couch and not her waist.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Y/N

“Norris!” I stand, holding out my hand, “Picture time.” I smile as he stands with me.

“What?” Carlos asks.

“Called the booth for a reason, Sainz!” I grin at the boys, gripping Lando’s hand tight and maneuvering us through the crowd.

There’s one photo booth in the back corner of the club. It’s notorious for famous photos and making everyone look good.

I look back at the boys who all look confused. All except Lando.

We came to the booth when Lando was in town from F2, we were 17 and 18. Max had gone off with some girl and we found ourselves in this exact booth.

We swore never to talk about it.

But I’m all for repeating history.

“Fewtrell…” He warns in my ear as we walk to the starred booth.

I glance back, dragging out his name, “Norris.”

He gets in first, unlike us as teens, only one person can fit. I smile and watch Lando’s face drop, I sit down on his lap, “Playing with fire here, love.” he says in my ear.

“I don’t mind getting burned.” He slips two coins in, his hand moving to my waist and holding me steady.

We smile first.

SNAP

I move a bit and give him bunny ears.

SNAP

Lando clears his throat, gripping my skin tighter as he looks at me. I move again, my skirt riding up a bit. “Trying to kill me?”

I smile and kiss his cheek, feeling something hard against me.

SNAP

“Of course.” I look at him, “The memories in here… You remember?”

“I’d be an idiot to forget.”

His hand moves down my hip, closer to my thigh. I look at him again as the photo booth starts up for the second time, “I shouldn’t.” He whispers, my face centimeters from his. I hear the whistles outside.

I shift once more, turning more to him. He groans, his head falling backwards and his eyes closing, “Give me a good reason.”

SNAP

He opens his eyes, meeting mine. I know I've got him. My hand rests on his neck, my rings pressing against his skin. He mumbles something but it’s too loud, “Speak up, Norris.”

“Never spoken.” His eyes flick to my lips, trying to get me to promise this is a secret.

“Never ever.” He leans in closer.

SNAP

“Come on rule breaker… I believe in you.” I whisper in his ear and it breaks him. I’m pulling his head closer to me, his lips on mine, a relief like no other.

He grabs ass, pulling me closer in the tiny space. I slip my tongue in his mouth, whimpering a bit. He bites my lip. I’m melting into him. It’s hot and needy but so much more than I could have ever wanted.

SNAP

Kissing Lando at Seventeen was scandalous and drunken. Kissing Lando at Twenty Three flat out sexy.

“Need you…” He whispers into the kiss which makes me almost come undone right then and there.

Someone bangs on the booth, “Alright Lovebirds!” Lando laughs but I'm the one to pull away.

“I can’t leave this booth.” He says quickly, his face red and sweaty.

“You’ll be fine-” I understand what he’s talking about when I go to leave and something brushes against my leg, “Oh.”

He looks away from me, blushing.

I smile, proud of myself for the boner and his pink cheeks, “Aw come on! I’ll cover you.” I wink and he rolls his eyes, He walks out behind me, his arms firmly on my waist again.

The two drivers grin at us, “You covering a boner?” Carlos starts but gets punched for the second time tonight by Lando. He holds his stomach again, “Still worth it!”

[solacestyles]

That one Christmas flight

summary: Y/N and Lando Norris are seated next to each other on a long flight. Innocent little Christmas tradition that Y/N does every year brings them just a little too close.

warnings: fluff, one-shot (whops a lie!), meet cute

Christmas. Y/N felt like an alien walking among people. It was impossible to avoid it. It was present in songs, in decoration, in fashion, online and on the news. Everywhere.

It's not like she was a grinch or anything. Nor was it because of some tragic incident causing trauma. Just pure fatigue from all the logistics and travel connected, which most kids of divorced parents faced every year.

Flying from Japan back to England, from her mother to her father, was a chore that seemed unavoidable. Her mother was kind enough to splurge on first class ticket for her, which her fancy Tokio job allowed. Ever since fours years ago, she continued a tradition that was introduced to her by a fellow Christmas traveller - the most stylish sassy French woman, who often spend the holidays on a plane. She would get herself and who ever was sitting next to her a glass of champagne and chat them up. Y/N has never laughed so much in her life like she did when she met this woman - so she took the tradition as her own.

Lando's plan wasn't to be on a flight from Japan to London on the 24th of December. He had so little time with his family and friends that this secret work trip to the Honda factory was really pushing him into staying with McLaren for the following years and not switching to a different team. This whole situation was like fuel for his current headache.

Y/N second guessed her tradition when a super gorgeous looking boy, who seemed to want anything but to be bothered, was sat next to her. She was used to having older people sitting next to her. Anyway, tradition is a tradition, so she eventually got up to order the classic. She nearly turned back at the thought that this guy was giving off some serious "I'm a dick" vibes, he had barely acknowledged her since she sat down. Luckily, she ignored this feeling.

When a glass of champagne appeared before Lando, he was sure it was a mistake.

"Well, to Christmas," his neighbor toasted. While he thought that she was a rather good looking girl, he was in no mood for a fangirl.

"I'm very sorry, um...I'll be happy to take a photo with you or something, but I am not in the best mood for a interaction with a fan."

She gave him a baffled look.

He continued. "Look, I'll be more than happy to sign anything. Or a photo, just as long you keep between un on which flight you saw me."

Y/N put her glass down, this was a first one.

"First of all, sorry for invading your private time. I have this stupid tradition of having a glass with whomever I'm destined to spend this Christmas flight. Guess I was mistaken. Second of all, I have no fucking idea who you are. So, calm down." She downed half of her glass. Of course this stupid year would include an asshole like this. Oh well.

Lando was confused for a moment and immediately after that he felt like an idiot.

"Apologies," he slowly replied, somewhat baffled. "I thought you were a fan and I'm just not in the mood for that." Y/N rolled her eyes and downed the rest of her champagne. "I'm Lando, by the way."

"Is that a stage name?"

"No, " he laghed. "I think it was a random decision of my mom."

"Interesting. Y/N," she introduced herself, without looking at him.

There was a weird tension in the air. Lando was determined to break it. Y/N was currently casually offended.

"Let me get you another one so that we can have a toast."

"Great, getting drunk is also an option. Hate flying sober," she joked.

Another glass was brought by a smiling flight attendant.

"So, how does this work?" Lando asked. Y/N was a person easily annoyed, however as quickly this came it also ended.

"Fine. There are rules, btw."

"Of course there are."

"Ehm, ehm, " she cleared her throat. "So, this tradition was started by Madame Tatanova and from now on, if you find yourself on a plane on 24th or 25th of December, you need to toast with your fellow neighbor passenger and answer the following: why and for how long-"

"I will have to write this down, I have a memory of a dead chicken."

"-I'm not finished! And then you follow up by your biggest regret and one thing nobody knows. The purpose of this is to gain or pass on wisdom and use the opportunity you'd normally miss by blasting up your headphones." She's done this for four times now, still the introduction was missing the "Madame Tatanova magic". Maybe one day.

"Ok..." Lando was not following yet, but he was keen on doing so. She raised her glasses, as did he.

"Cheers, to Christmas flights."

"Cheers, " he replied and they both sipped their champagne. "Wait, I have a question - what would you do if I did not speak English? Or if I was deaf?"

Lando was being his cheeky self and Y/N was not having it. She answered the question with a look.

"Got it! Anyway...what was the question?"

"Why."

"Why? Why is the sky dark or....?"

"Why are you on this plane."

"I'm trying to get to London from Tokio."

"I swear to god, I will ask to be seated somewhere else, Orlando."

"Lando, actually."

"If you say so..."

"Huuh, I'm going back from a work trip. And since you claim not to know me, I can probably tell you more than I should. Um, imagine I am in a band, right? I'm singing for a band and every few years they change their lead singer, one of the two actually, and I'm a the lead singer who might go to a different band now. But it's not clear yet and super secret actually. So, please keep it to yourself." Lando felt like someone who has just discovered speech and this was the first time he was using it. "Does that make any sort of sense?"

"Sort of I think. So you're cheating on your band?"

"Uhh, I'd say checking out options."

"Remind me never to date guys like you," she joked and immediately regretted that. Y/N was not good at flirting and did not want to appear creepy.

Lando passed on this comment, still not sure if he could trust this girl. "So, what about you? Why?"

"The curse of the divorced parents. One lives in London, the other one in Japan and I'm a package they pass each year," she said rather bitterly.

"Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah. I get to see mom twice a year and it's all always so planned and predictable. I would kill for spontaneity."

"Take me with you next time, I'm sure she'll be surprised." "Yes, she is a big fan of British guys, that's why she divorced one!"

"Great, happy to follow that route!"

Y/N started to relax a bit. This could be good, actually. "Ok, so now. For long are you staying in London, Lando?"

"Only few weeks. Then our music season starts. "

"Yeah, the one with all the singing, of course."

"Yeeah."

Y/N laughed a bit. He was suprisingly easy to talk to.

"So, how long?"

"A week. Then I'm off to Bologna."

"Uuuh, fancy that!"

"Yeah, I'm studying history there."

"Bologna is the one with the old university?" he asked, pretending he has never heard of that.

"No, not really, they just opened. Last year we did not have chairs, because the shipment got delayed," she replied with a dry tone.

"One does always study better while standing. I believe it was Socrates, who said it."

"Oh, yes. They teach you this at the singing music school?"

"Exactly. We were never allowed to sit."

They continued to chat all the way through the airplane dinner, getting few more glasses of champagne during that. Their laughter was interrupted by a flight attendant, who acted on a complaint from a fellow passenger. They both fell asleep watching a movie. Y/N woke up few times in the night and observed the boy next to her. Knowing this was the best Christmas plane encounter she ever had. Lando woke up as well, feeling strangely happy about the fact she was resting her head on his shoulder.

//

"Wait." Lando stopped her at the entrance to customs hall and pulled them both behind a column, so that they could not be seem by bystanders.

"Yes?" she turned to him.

"This might be weird, but can I kiss you?" Y/N looked at the boy in a hoodie standing in front of her, cheeky guy suddenly appearing nervous. He was absolutely gorgeous. She hated the fact he was random guy on a plane to London and not to Bologna.

"Yes. Must be midnight somewhere. So it could be like a New Years thing."

"Yeah. Just an airport thing." With that he kissed her. Just two young people having a little moment of silence. His kiss was a light slow brush on the lips. He cupped her cheek and her hand brushed through his curly hair. First kiss usually does not take long. For a person passing by, this would appear like kiss these two shared a thousand times before.

When they eventually parted, it all seemed a bit surreal.

"We never got to the second part of your Christmas interview," Lando commented.

"Well. Let's say that the one thing nobody knows is that I just kissed a random guy from the plane. And that my biggest regret is that we will never see each other again." For the first time, she was this bluntly honest with somebody who had just kissed her for the first time. It felt intoxicating.

Lando smiled. "See, I knew we had something in common."

Lando was usually not so open with his crushes, if he could even put her in that category.

"Don't worry. I won't search for you online or anything. I want to keep the mystery of Lando alive."

He kissed her once more, before they parted.

//

Their hearts felt a little more heavier than usual on midnight that New Years Eve. Both standing surrounded by their favorite people, yet with the one they would wish to kiss being impossibly far away.

part 2

_________________________

@superlegend216

[solacestyles]

the break up of the century - (l.norris, no 4)

----------------

----------------

pairing: lando norris (no.4) x fem! singer! reader

summary: you and lando break up on horrible terms, can a new album and a special performance bring you back together? is that even what you two want?

7.6k + words, brief fade-to-black smut, fluff, mainly angst :)

----------------

You weren’t sure how it happened, one moment you were on stage, the next, you were crying in your dressing room, hating every single thing about your life. Funny how one moment leads into the next, right? 

Y/n Y/l/n. Household name at the age of 19. Now, 23. Fans impatiently awaiting your next album, the album you hated, and now on a world tour that is sucking the life from your body. 

Sounds like you have it all. 

The money, the fame, the clothes, the boys, the voice. It’s all you’ve ever dreamed of. And now it means nothing, because you have it. And it’s nowhere near as good as you wanted it to be.

You’d always been told of the horror stories of fame taking more than it gave, and you always brushed it off with a smile and a ‘that’ll never happen to me’. Low and behold, you’ve had 4 stalkers in 2 years, 3 lawsuits against you from old record companies that dropped you, 2 grammys, and 1 ridiculously public break-up with he-who-shall-not-be-named. 

Having it all really means having too much to think about, and too much to deal with. You would’ve preferred to just go to university like all your friends. Be young. Make mistakes. But those were luxuries you took for granted, and now you’re paying the price. 

“Y/n?” Sasha, your manager called from outside. “We have the meet and greet.”

And then there was your fans. They were great, obviously, but they were also very hyper teenagers and young adults that paid a lot of money to see you, and it made you feel even worse about not being 100%. At least you’d cut ticket prices down by 50% in meetings, meaning they were much cheaper than any other artist at the moment. At least you could do that for your fans. 

You nodded, sniffling as you wiped your eyes on the sleeve of your dress. 

“Do you need your makeup touched up?”

“Yes,” you answered, voice hoarse. “How many more shows?” 

“This was your 97th. You have 53 left.”

“Fuck!” You groaned. “Fuck this.”

“You have the British Gran Prix tomorrow, you have to make an appearance, alright? I’m sending Maria in to fix your makeup,” Sasha was trying to pity you, but she also had a job to do, which you understood. 

“Thanks Sash,” you sighed as Maria came in. 

“Hey babe,” she smiled softly, sympathy and pity shown in her eyes. 

“Hi,” you sniffled, wiping your last tear away. 

“Let’s get you fixed up, yeah?” She started unpacking her bag with all your makeup as you nodded, turning to face her. “You’re amazing. You were so pretty tonight.”

You somehow didn’t scoff in her face. “Thanks.”

“I know you don’t believe me,” she sighed. “I can’t even understand why. You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You hiccupped, the tears threatening to pour again as you thought about him. 

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Stop thinking about him. You told yourself. He’s in the past.

But he wasn’t in the past, how could he be when he was always on your fucking feed with his new girlfriend. Allison and Lando, what a beautiful couple. More like a bunch of crap. They weren’t real, everyone knew it was just pr, especially considering that she was promoting her new racing movie. You had no idea why they even tried to keep up the charade. They didn’t even look good together. 

Alas, they were together, and you weren’t anymore. 

And you were going to be reminded of it every single second of the next day. 

----------------

You pressed your entry card to the barrier and walked through as cameras flashed and you smiled one of your best fake smiles.

“Y/n!” Oscar smiled, walking up and hugging you. You knew everyone, and you started to feel embarrassed about everything. This was his workplace, and you had to be here to do press and sing a song you didn’t want to sing.

Bullshit.

“Hey Osc,” you smiled, hugging him back. 

“You look so wonderful today,” he smiled, taking your hand instead. He led you to the McLaren paddock as you two chatted about tour and races. You asked about Miami, and Oscar answered. “It was the best day of his life- his words!” 

“Meeting you was the best day of my life. That’ll never change.”

Oh. I guess it changed. 

“How's the tour? It looks amazing!” He cheered as you two entered the paddock. Mechanics and engineers greeting and hugging you as you went through and lied about how ‘amazing’ the tour is. 

“Y/n!” Zak cheered. “My favourite girl!”

He pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, and you hugged back. It felt good to be back, and to still have so many people still like you. “Hi Zak.”

“I missed you so much! Please tell me that awful Allison girl is gone and you and Lan are back? She’s driving me crazy,” he scoffed.

“No, I’m just here to do some press with Ferrari,” you chuckled. “But I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to come see my favourite CEO.”

He sighed but nodded, knowing that Lando had the board cut you off the ‘influencer list’ when you two broke up. “Well, once you know that you’re my favourite.”

“You’re my favourite too,” you smiled. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Lips are sealed,” he smiled and moved on, going about his various duties. For a moment you looked around the paddock you had known so well and felt your heart ache a little. You loved Lando, you still loved Lando. You loved McLaren, and you loved the people here, yet you didn’t get to see them anymore because of the stupid fucking tour. This tour was ruining your life. You didn’t talk to family, or friends, you and Lando had broken up, you weren’t eating or sleeping, you always felt sick, you were rarely allowed to speak during the day so you could ‘conserve’ your voice for shows. 

But the worst part was that nobody noticed. 

“He's right y’know,” Oscar  smiled. “We all miss you. Even Lando.”

“Lando is with Allison. He has no reason to miss me.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “All they do is fight.”

“So? That’s what Lando and I did for weeks.”

“But it was different. You two were in a bad situation, but you loved each other, so the fights meant something. Allison and Lan are just wrong for each other, they’re fighting to fight.”

You groaned, sitting on the bench and resting your head in your hands. “When did you become a philosopher?”

Oscar laughed, and placed a hand on your back. “I’ve always been this philosophical, you were just too busy to notice.” 

“Shut up,” you chuckled, pushing him off. 

“All I’m saying is that you should talk to him, that’s all,” he shrugged, walking away from you and further into the paddock. 

“Y/n.”

Your head snapped up, so hard it hurt. There he was. Lando. For the first time in months. With Allison. And a dog.

Oh. 

“Hi,” you smiled, standing up. It was a puppy, a jack-russell terrier, the kind you’d always wanted. The kind like your childhood dog. Great, now they stole your dog breed. “Nice to see you.”

“I didn’t know you would be here,” he said bluntly. “What are you doing here?”

“Press for Ferrari. Oscar just… brought me in to say hi to everyone. So, hi. And now I’ll take my leave,” you smiled, then started to try and walk off. But Allison clearly had other plans, since she stuck out her hand for a ‘handshake’ that conveniently stopped you from walking off. 

“Allison,” she smirked. “And this is Mila.”

You stared blankly at Lando for a moment. Seriously? He’d taken the dog breed and what you’d agreed to be the name of your first child? Give me a break. 

“Y/n,” you shook her hand. “And I have to go, bye and good luck today.”

Thank god Ferrari was on the other side of the fucking track. 

“Y/n!” Charles cheered, hugging you close. You’d been getting closer with Charles since your split with Lando and his split with his ex had happened within a week of each other. “How are you?”

You took a deep breath. “I’m fine, tired.”

“I have been seeing the tour, it looks great!” he smiled, pulling back. 

“Thanks Charles, it was amazing to see you, but I better go. I have to-”

“Sing the new song? Yes! I can't wait,” he cheered. You mustered up a small smile, and left him alone. 

----------------

Sasha came and found you in the bathroom an hour later. “Y/n?” She was frantic, and stressed, so you just decided to give up and show yourself. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s time, come on,” she sighed. “I know this is hard-”

“How could you know it’s fucking hard? My entire life is in shambles and I’m supposed to be happy about it because I’m a ‘superstar’ what the fuck does that even mean? My boyfriend broke up with me because of this tour, and I thought I was going to marry him. Isn’t that insane? Isn’t that fucking crazy? And the worst part is, that I can’t even stop if I want to. I’m not allowed to stop. Sasha, how could you ever understand how hard this is for me? I’m 22. I should be in college, having fun. But instead I’m about to sing a song I don’t like or care about, in my ex-boyfriends workplace. Does that sound like fun to you, Sasha?” 

Her face was blank, stoic, unmoving. “Let’s go, you have soundcheck.”

You just followed her. Sasha was good at that, good at making you feel small, making you feel like a nuisance. The stage was big, bigger than most of your stadiums, but you didn’t care. You just had to get through it. 

“Have you eaten?”

“Feel sick,” you replied. “No thanks.”

Sasha sighed. “You’re going to faint one day.”

“Let’s hope I never wake up,” you replied dryly. Sasha scoffed and walked on, showing you the layout of the stage. You followed and asked questions, getting into ‘work mode’, and warming up your voice as you went along. A small crowd of the driver’s was gathering, even Lando was standing there, front row, just like he used to. 

You wanted to punch him, in all honesty. How could someone do that? He had no fucking right to stand there and watch you sing. He should be with Allison. 

“Start when you’re ready,” Sasha called and you nodded. 

The music started, and you were off. When the music started, you became someone else. You were moving around, laughing with your band, smiling. It was nice. Even if you hated the tour, you felt free on stage. Even if the song was sad. 

‘Champagne problems’, you’d written it right after your break up with Lando, it was new, and it had just been released. It had become the top of the charts in 15 countries. It would be on your next album, 

‘What if it doesn’t get easier like everybody says?’, and it was your most raw album. It was clearly all about your break up with Lando, there was no denying that. 

The song ended and the entire track clapped. You stopped moving when you spotted Lando’s parents, and you realised very quickly that you had to get out of there. 

You ran to the Ferrari hospitality, did some promos for your next album with them, and suddenly it was time to sing for real. The stands were full, the microphone was on, and the spotlight was on you. 

“Hi everyone,” you smiled, and the crowd erupted in cheering. “How are we feeling today?”

You had worn a short red dress, for Ferrari, and it was sparkling in the late afternoon sunshine. Everyone could see how beautiful you looked. Your hair perfectly styled, your makeup flawless, your beautiful face. 

Lando was entranced. 

You started singing and you sounded like an angel, truely. Lando had always thought you sounded otherworldly. He knew it was about him. He knew he’d fucked up. He knew he missed you. He knew it was too late, and that was the worst part. 

“Thank you so much for coming out and listening to my dumb sad song,” you chuckled as the crowd cheered. “But I have something else for you,” you were cut off by excited fans. I have something just a little bit happier, it’s called ‘Lover’. Please enjoy!”

Lando watched you as you danced around the stage, and he felt something dark growing in his stomach. You weren’t talking about him. It was someone new. You were seeing someone new. 

You couldn’t be seeing someone new, you’d been in a new city every few days. You couldn’t make it work with him, you were never on your phone, so it couldn’t be online. How did this happen?

You finished your song, and you left the stage. You fell into a chair and passed out. Maybe not eating was a bad idea? Probably. 

“Y/n,” Sasha shook you awake. “Someone’s here to see you.”

“I feel like shit-”

“We all do. Let’s go.”

And you followed. Because you had to. What else were you supposed to do but follow? Was this your life now? Taking orders and following them. 

“Now, you have to be nice to everyone, even Lando and Allison, alright?” she turned to you, stopping in front of the door. 

“I really don’t feel well,” you tried to protest. “Can I grab something to eat first?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’ll be 15 minutes, you’ll survive,” she sighed, opened the door, and pushed you into the room.

The drivers and their partners all cheered, happy to see you back in the paddock. 

“Y/n! I missed you so much!” Carmen immediately pulled you into a hug.

“I missed you too,” you smiled, even if it was forced. You needed to sit down, you needed a drink, and you needed to be alone. 

“Some pretty amazing songs!” George cheered, patting you on the back. 

“Thanks George,” you smiled. Soon you were all sitting on the various couches and chatting, even if you didn’t speak. Lando’s eyes were glued to his hands as Allison’s eyes were glued to you. She was practically sitting on him, on the verge of straddling him if you looked in their direction again. She didn’t know it, but you were looking at the door behind them, wondering when you’d be called. It had surpassed the 15 minute mark, and you felt yourself getting more and more faint as time went on. 

“Y/n?” Allison cut across Daniel chatting to you about your latest show in Manchester, remembering a story of the two of you when you were there, and telling it to the group. “How’s the tour going?”

You cleared your throat. “Well, thanks,” you smiled shyly. 

“So the rumours that you haven’t been performing to your full capabilities aren't true? Like I’ve heard you’ve been lip syncing,” she smirked as the rest of the drivers and wags just looked at her with disgust. Oscar rolled his eyes. He’d been sick of her for weeks, and he was usually quite good with people he didn’t like, but he hated her. So did Lily. 

You gulped. “I don’t lip sync, but obviously 97 shows in 113 days is quite a lot for my voice, so I don’t always sing my super vocally- challenging songs every night or else I’d have to go on vocal rest all the time,” you explained, feeling the change in energy in the room. 

“And that would just be horrible, right guys?” She turned to Lando with a smirk on her face, but he was just looking down, embarrassed by her. “I’m a huge fan of your music, how much of it is about Lando?-”

“What the fuck?” George stood up with Carmen by his side. “Allison, what is your problem with her?”

“It’s just a question!” Allison defended as Lando got up and left. She looked a lot less imposing with Lando gone. “He’s my boyfriend now!”

“Yeah, we wish he wasn’t,” Lewis said under his breath.

“Guys, it’s fine,” you just wanted to leave. “Some of my songs are, because I like to put my feelings into music, right? But not all of them, because my life doesn’t revolve around Lando, it never did. I am more than my relationships, and you’d do good to remember that for yourself. Don’t let love become who you are, it doesn’t end well.”

With that, you got up and left. You didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care if Sasha screamed at you, you didn’t care if they all came running after you. 

It was done. You and Lando were over. Was it your choice? No. Was it a choice you had to deal with? Yes. His choice. Yet, everyone had looked to you for answers. ‘What happened?’ ‘Was it going downhill?’ or your personal favourite; ‘Did he get bored?’.

You didn’t know. All you knew was that one moment, you were with him, and the next you weren’t. 

You ran to your dressing room and lay down, eating some random snacks you found. You felt better after eating, you felt-

Knock knock. 

“Come in!” You called, not caring much about who it was.

“Hi,” Lando’s voice was small and quiet. 

You sat up, staring at him. 

“Beautiful songs,” he smiled softly. “Missed hearing you sing.”

You nodded. “Good luck today.”

“Thanks,” he sighed. “I'm sorry about Allison, she’s the fucking worst.” 

You chuckled softly. “I’m sorry you’re dating her.”

He cracked a soft smile, then it fell. “Who’s the new lucky guy for you?” He watched as your face fell. 

“No… no new guy, just an old one I wrote back at the start of… us…” you trailed off. 

His heart was shattering, watching you be treated like this. Watching from afar as you lost your mind, lost your life, over a fucking tour. He saw the soulless look in your eyes, the dropped weight, the dampened smiles, all of it. He was shocked that other people couldn’t see it too. He’d regretted breaking up with you since the moment he did it. He was haunted by the way you begged him to stay, and he questioned how he’d ever said no to you. How was he so blind-sighted? How did he not see how much pressure you were under? How did he not see that he was what was keeping you above ground? 

“Oh,” he breathed out. 

You took a deep breath. “I’m releasing an album soon, and a lot of the songs are about our relationship,” you explained hesitantly. “I wanted to offer you a chance to listen to it before it goes out, just as a… heads-up? In case you’re worried about what’s on it.”

God, punching him square in the face would hurt less than watching you feel awkward around him. He cleared his throat. “Oh umm…yeah. I’d like that. Thank you.”

You nodded and got up, taking a cd out of your backpack. “Here you go. Sorry again, about… everything.” 

“I’m sorry too,” he nodded. “So, are you leaving now or…?”

“No, I’m holding the chequered flag today, so I’ll be up at race control,” you explained, trying to look anywhere other than him. “And I’m handing off the 1st place trophy.”

“Maybe I’ll be first to see you,” he chuckled. 

“Maybe,” you shrugged. 

“The tour looks… awful. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he spoke after a minute’s silence. 

You just shrugged. “Not your fault,” you lied. 

He knew this was when he was meant to leave, but he wasn’t sure when you two would be in the same room again. He didn’t know when he’d see you again, so he took a moment to fully take you in. “You were really incredible today. You sounded like an-”

“Angel? Thanks Lando, see you soon,” you nodded, finishing the compliment you always used to get from him. He nodded and left, realising he had no more time. 

When the door closed you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. How could he do that? How could he stand there and be nice to you, after what he said that night? After what he fucking put you through?

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Weeks of complaining from him, blaming you for his performance in races, telling you that you needed to be there for him, not calling you back, not texting back, not listening when you told him about how awful everything was going. 

“I’m sorry Lan, I know how hard this is. It’s hard for me too-”

“How the fuck can you say that? You’re the one who choose to do this, you fucking decided to tear us apart! This is all your fault, and you’re telling me it’s ‘hard’ for you. What is hard for you? Spending all your time with adoring fans? Being on stage and living your dreams? Being away from me?”

“Lan, you know better than anyone that I didn’t want this tour to happen,” you cried. Even then, even 48 shows in, you were being driven crazy. You were exhausted, you missed home, and you missed Lando. “I had no choice-”

“You had every fucking choice! And don’t give me that fucking bullshit about your label forcing you, we both know that’s a fucking lie!” he shouted. You hated it when he shouted, when anyone shouted. He had no fucking right to speak to you like that. You didn’t want this to happen, you had no say, you just had a contract and an incompetent lawyer to thank.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that,” you shrugged, your voice breaking. “I love you, and I miss you. We can make this work Lan, I just need time to figure it out, alright? I just need time-”

“Yeah? Well I’ve given you all the time I have to give. We’re done, I bet I could find a million girls just like you, girls who would actually take my feelings into account before she made huge life decisions!” he scoffed.

“Lando, please don’t do this. I-I don’t know what- I- Lan please, I need you,” you pleaded. “I’m trying my best I swear-”

“Your best isn’t good enough.”

And he hung up.

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The fallout of your relationship didn’t exactly go great either. A day later your feed was flooded with pictures of Lando out with someone else. One day later. 

What the fuck? Didn’t he care? Didn’t he love you?

Well, apparently not. 

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Lando knew he wouldn’t see you again for months. This was his only fucking chance to speak to you, to see you, and instead, he stayed in his driver’s room listening to the heart-wrentching songs you’d written about him. God, if he thought ‘champagne problems’ was devastating, ‘cowboy like me’ was worse. It was a long album, almost 2 hours long. It spanned your entire relationship, starting out, your first date, your grammy win, his podiums, the hate you two got, the start of the fighting, the end of the relationship, and the after. It was awful reliving it from your perspective, especially since you had tried to tell him, and every time he’d pick a fight. 

“Lando?” Oscar’s voice came from outside his door. “Allison’s looking for you.”

“Tell her to piss off!”

“You can do that, mate,” he scoffed and walked off, into his own driver’s room. 

“Lan?” Her voice rang out, and he wanted to scream. He had put himself in this position, he knew it,  but it was still difficult to fully self-actualise his own shortcomings. 

“What?” he groaned, opening the door. 

“The other girls are excluding me,” she pouted. 

“I wonder why,” Lando rolled his eyes. “They love Y/n.”

Her face fell into a frown. “But you love me, so they should love me. They keep going off to find her and talk to her, and any time I try to tell them that I’m uncomfortable around her, they tell me not to come.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” he sighed. 

“Talk to their boyfriends, ask them to include me!”

“Babe, I have a fucking race today, please leave me alone,” he sighed. He pushed past her to walk to the paddock, knowing he just had to keep his head down and race today, he just had to do the one thing he was good at. 

“Well, what am I supposed to do for the rest of the day?” 

“I don’t know,” he grunted, and moved on. The garage was somehow too loud yet not loud enough to drown out the negative thoughts in his head. Recent months had been difficult. Races were taking more and more out of him, he was lonely, and if he wasn’t training or racing, he was looking at old photos of you or watching the tour. He could see how you deflated as you left the stage, how upset you looked going on stage. It was all a terrible reminder of how selfish he’d been. How hadn’t he seen it? Why didn’t he listen? 

He remembered telling Max what had happened. He’d gotten so angry, begging him to call you back and apologise. He’d been so blindsighted, he wouldn’t listen to Max. Why was Max always right?

“You good?” Oscar asked, a hand on his shoulder to drag him out of his thousand-yard stare. 

Lando sighed. “Good,” he lied, and it wasn’t convincing. Everyone knew what you were to him. You grounded him, you knew him, every single part of him. You loved him. “You?”

“Good. Y/n’s set was great earlier,” he offered a small smile. “At least you have a good break-up album, right?”

Lando cracked a small smile. Oscar was good at that, making him laugh when he was down. “Yeah, it feels great when it’s about you.”

Oscar chuckled. “Story for the grandkids,” he shrugged. “Don’t sweat it.”

Lando nodded. 

“Oh yeah,” Oscar added. “When you left, Allison asked Y/n what songs were about you, so just… expect that conversation with her, I guess? I’m not entirely sure what’ll happen-”

“What did Y/n say?”

Oscar swallowed. “Something like; ‘some of my songs are, ‘cause I like to put my emotions into music. But not all of them, because my life doesn’t revolve around Lando, it never did. I am more than my relationships, and you’d do good to remember that for yourself’.”

Lando nodded, and could tell by the look on Oscar’s face that he was holding something back. “That’s it?”

“‘Don’t let love become who you are, it doesn’t end well’,” Oscar finished. “Then she left.”

Lando nodded as the weight on his chest got heavier. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Of course,” Oscar offered a pity-smile and walked off to his side of the garage. 

Lando was always a person to be stuck inside his own head. He wasn’t good at expressing his feelings. He didn’t know how to talk about them. Yet, you always knew how to get him to talk. You always had the right solution, the right thing to say, the right face to make. He was in awe of you, so effortlessly perfect. 

He remembered back to Greece, back in the off-season, before the tour, before the season started. Before he fucked everything up. 

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You smiled as he pulled you closer. The air was anything but cold, and the water was still. There you two sat, sitting on the bow of the as the sun set. The clear water beneath the yacht you’d been on for the past few days was calm and steady, lulling you both into an unmistakable tiredness. Yte, Lando wanted to stay up, wanting to soak up as much time with you as he could. He was going to miss you so much this season. You hadn’t ever been to every race in a season, you were a busy person, he understood that. He was a busy person too. But you’d go to as many races as possible. Now, ‘as many races as possible’ means about 4. Stupid tour. 

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, your eyes closed as you soaked in the moment. You leant against his chest as you lay in his arms, your favourite place to be. 

“How much I’ll miss you this year,” he admitted. There was never any point in lying to you, you always knew. 

You pressed a kiss to his arm. “I’ll miss you too.”

You were straight forward with things, he loved that. It was a bad situation. You were off to a tour you didn’t want to do, and he was off to another season. 

“I love you,” he confessed. He said it a lot, but it always felt special. He made you feel special. You made him feel special.

“I love you,” you opened your eyes, a smile on your lips. You spoke again after a few moments of silence. “You’re going to win a race this season, I can tell.”

He chuckled. “Once I get back home to you, I don’t care if I win.”

You laughed. “Sure, we all believe you.”

He smiled. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You looked at him for a moment, that perfect, soft smile on your face. “Ditto,” you laughed as he did too. Your laugh was melodic, his favourite sound. 

“Who says ‘ditto’ to that?!” he laughed.

“I do,” you chuckled. 

You two locked eyes for a moment, then he leant down and pressed his lips to yours, soft and sweet. 

The perfect night. 

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He caught a glance of your red dress walking into the garage. 

“Y/n!” The engineers cheered. He heard your laughter. 

The room was a collection of cheers and conversation, and he wanted more than anything to be able to walk over to you and hold you, and kiss you, and tell everyone to leave you alone because you were his girlfriend, not theirs. 

You walked in with a smile on your face. That smile dropped in half a second. Everyone was talking, everyone was patting you on the back, everyone was looking at you. You caught a glance of Lando and immediately felt the pit in your stomach grow. Everyone knew everything, everyone looked at you. Everyone blamed you. Oscar wrapped his arm around you and walked you through the garage as he saw you getting overwhelmed. He’d learnt the signs from his little sisters. Blown out pupils, teary eyes, tight features, heavy breathing. Oscar had always been a great friend to you, he’d always cared for you. He brought you through, doing most of the talking if anyone stopped you two and let you in his driver’s room, promising to grab you when you could leave without being bombarded by crew, or the press. 

Lando followed behind after a few minutes, then knocked on the door. He knew how to calm you down, he was probably the only person who did. 

Oscar opened the door looking panicked. “She’s having a panic attack,” he whispered. 

Lando nodded and walked in, taking your hand in his as you hid your face in your other hand. He knelt beside you on the floor as you sat on the bed. “It’s me baby, I’m right here. Come on, squeeze my hand,” he said, voice steady. You didn’t. “You need to start breathing properly, squeeze my hand like I’m squeezing yours,” He put some light pressure on your hand, which jump-started you into squeezing his hand as hard as you could. It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fair. You hated how well he knew you. You wanted him to not know you, to not understand you and your body better than you did. “Just like that,” he cooed. He pressed your hand to his chest, where you could feel his steady and calm breathing, feel his regular heartbeat. It was in stark contrast to you. The thump of your own heartbeat in your ears, the quick breathing, the erratic heart. “Breathe with me. Please baby,” his voice was soft and comforting. You tried, gently slowing your breathing down to normal. The adrenaline was still rushing through your body as you calmed down. Oscar offered you a water bottle and you let go of Lando’s hand to take it. 

“I shouldn’t have come here, I’m sorry,” you said, sounding smaller than ever. “Zak said he wanted to see me after my set. I should’ve just said no.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Oscar placed a hand on your shoulder. “Seriously.”

“We want you here,” Lando added. The air was sucked from the room. “I want you here.”

“You don’t,” you refuted. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Lando sighed. “Let me walk you back to Ferrari, please?”

You shook your head, finally looking up and making eye contact with him. “You and I both know how that’ll go.”

Lando nodded, his heart breaking for the thousandth time. It’s hard to find an end to something you never want to let go of. “Ok,” he whispered, his emotions getting the better of him. 

“Goodbye Lando,” you sighed, then took Oscar’s arm and let him lead you back to Ferrari. 

----------------

“I’m sorry about Lando,” Oscar sighed as you two walked up to the entrance to Ferrari. “About the break up, now, and basically everything in between. He’s been… difficult recently. He’s always been a ‘glass half empty’ kind of guy I guess… I just… you made him better, y’know?”

You chuckled sadly. “Thank you for apologising, but you don’t have to. Lando is an adult, so am I. Things just… end sometimes. Him and I just aren’t meant to be.”

Oscar cocked an eyebrow. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

You didn’t know how to respond. Oscar had never been this straightforward with you, and he sure as hell had never broached this topic before. You just nodded and took his hand. “Thanks for helping me.”

And then you walked back to Ferrari. 

Oscar did get one thing right, Lando wasn’t done with you. Maybe it was seeing you again, maybe it was the album, maybe it was Allison, maybe it was all of it, he didn’t know. But what he did know was that he was still in love with you. He’d never stopped. How could he? He missed everything about you, your lips, your smile, your kindness, the way you’d make him laugh, the way you’d make him smile. Everything. He missed listening to you sing, seeing you on a stage that you wanted to be on. Seeing you get to be you. 

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The Silverstone after-party with Charles who dragged you along. You’d thought it would be a bad idea, but when you were already 8 shots deep, you didn’t really notice. Yuki had pulled you away to sing a karaoke duet with him as Pierre and Charles laughed at you both, and you somehow ended up outside on the balcony with Carlos, both of you laughing at something random. 

“Y/n!” Lando cheered, clearly as drunk as you. A part of you had forgotten about everything before this moment, like you were seeing him for the first time. Perfect, with his curls, unbuttoned shirt, and damn pretty smile. “I didn’t know you were here!” 

“Lan!” you cheered, pulling him in for a hug. Carlos gave you both a very confused look, but was called away by Charles for a game of beer pong. Surprisingly, these ‘fancy’ parties usually just turned into something out of a frat house in Florida. Maybe it was just Logan’s presence. “How are you?” You slurred. 

“I feel great!” he shouted. “We should go for a walk!” 

“Yes!” you agreed. 

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And that’s how you ended up back in his hotel room making out with him on his bed as he pulled your dress off. Funny how things can happen when you’re actually 18 shots deep, not 8. Oops?

“So pretty,” he murmured into your neck as he settled you on his lap. “So pretty for me.”

You laughed into his mouth, pulling back. “Lan, speed up.”

He smirked at you, his eyes heavy, then pressed his lips to yours again. He fully pulled your dress off of you as you started making quick work of his belt and trousers. 

“Fuck me,” you whispered in his ear and he let out a low moan. “Please Lan.”

He didn’t waste time. 

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You woke up the next morning with a blinding headache, and a very naked Lando Norris beside you. You had to leave. You’d just fucked him, and he had a girlfriend. You were a homewrecker. You didn’t know if the sudden urge to vomit came up because of that, or the 18 shots of straight vodka you did the night before. 

You quickly grabbed your clothes, shoes, one of his hoodies, and tried to salvage whatever dignity you had left, then made a swift exit. It was still dark out and you were just praying that you could get through the 2 blocks you had to walk to your hotel without running into someone, or running into cameras. You quickly dialled Sasha’s number and tried to stop yourself from crying. You just pray you two used protection, or fell asleep before doing anything real.

“Morning?” she answered groggily. 

“Sasha I did something really fucking stupid,” you admitted, the tears welling up in your eyes as you walked into the lobby of your hotel. “And I don’t know what to do.”

“Come to my room, we’ll sort it out,” she sighed. “You’ll be ok kiddo, I promise.”

----------------

You knocked on her hotel room door, tears in your eyes. 

“It’s 5 am,” she stated, opening the door. 

You rushed in, bursting into tears. “I think I fucked Lando, I mean- I-I think we fucked, last night- we were so drunk a-and then I don’t re-remember,” you hiccuped. “I’m so fucking stupid!”

She put a hand on your shoulder, sighing. “That was a very stupid thing to do,” she nodded. “But it’s not the end of the world. Did you use protection?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll go get Plan B, you stay here. Get changed into some pyjamas. Get some water, relax. Just don’t leave the hotel, yeah?”

“Alright,” you agreed. She left for the door. “Sash?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you said in a small voice. She offered you a pitying smile, and went on her way. 

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Months passed and you both went on with your lives. He didn’t reach out, you didn’t either. Sadly, you were in fact a homewrecker. A week after ‘the incident’ Allison and Lando broke up. You truthfully felt so ashamed and awful for the girl. It wasn’t right what you two had done, and truly, you were insanely drunk. In no world would you fuck Lando Norris sober. 

The tour had finally ended, and your world was no longer turned upside down. You were working on new music, healing your body after all the travel and abuse you put it through, and continuing to try and get over Lando. 

It hurt like a bitch. He hurt like a bitch. 

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Lando two-wins. Contender in the Championship. Supposedly dating someone. Last Lap Lando.

Lonely Lando, more like. Max Fewtrell had decided to stage an intervention and join him for the rest of the races, worried about his mental state. Since seeing you again, he’d been… less than alright. He’d talk about you all the time, stalk your instagram (to the point that Max took his phone off of him in Greece), and generally just think about you a lot. It was coming up to the album drop, and you were having your launch party in Italy. The same weekend as the race. All because Charles wanted to come. 

Shit was bound to go down, and no one was more excited than Hallie. 

You were dressed to the nines, nervous and excited. You’d fired half of your team, you’d dropped your old label, and you’d become… happier? That couldn’t be right, not when you felt the oppressive weight of your own regret on your chest everyday. Not when you woke up reaching for Lando. Not when you watched every single race and couldn’t look away until he was safely across that damn finish line. 

You were surviving. That’s the best you could do. 

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“You look beautiful,” Charles smiled as he walked into the party. The night had gone off without a hitch so far. A select group of fans, influencers, celebrities, and almost all the drivers were mingling with one another, and not one sighting of Lando Norris. Not that you didn’t miss his face, or him in general. You did. More than you’d ever thought possible to miss someone.  

“Thanks Charles,” you smiled, pulling him into a hug. “You look great too.”

He smiled and beside him, Alexandria smiled at you, then pulled you into a hug. You continued the superficial chatting for a few moments, just hoping Charles wouldn’t ask the dreaded question. 

He looked at you for a second too long, and you knew it was coming. “Are you alright?” God, why did he have to ask stupid fucking questions? Obviously you weren’t alright. Obviously, if you could, you would run away. Obviously, you were drowning. 

Didn’t he see that? Didn’t anyone notice? Didn’t anyone care?

Apparently not. 

You nodded, putting on your best fake smile. “Just nervous.”

He nodded. It was enough to fool him. 

The night went on in a flurry of uncomfortable small talk, ridiculous requests from your most esteemed guests, and it was finally time to start listening to the album. You stood on stage, a nervous smile on your face as everyone looked at David, your producer, who was speaking in length about how proud of the record he was, and how proud he was of you. Everything was perfect. Everything was right in the world. 

But, of course, because he had to always be the centre of your universe, Lando walked in. 

And you were fucked. Every single breathing technique you’d learnt, every single pressure point tapping you’d done, it all left your head. Everything stopped. You stopped breathing. You stopped. 

But it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel bad to have him there. It felt awfully, and soul-crushingly, right. Lando was always meant to be there, a devastating realisation that you didn’t exactly want to make while on stage in front of 200 people. 

“Any words, Y/n?” David asked, passing you the mic. 

You looked at Lando and he smiled, waving at you. You smiled back. 

“Please enjoy this album, it’s from a very important time of my life where I finally learnt what it meant to be in love, and be loved wholly in return. Obviously, it didn’t end very well, and that’s when I learnt what grieving someone was. I still have a lot of love for him, probably more than I should. But I have it. And I had nowhere to put it, so I put it to music, which is really the only thing I think I’ll ever truly understand. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you understand it,” You explained to the crowd. You watched Lando the entire time, looking at how his eyes lit up when you talked about your relationship. Lando had always cared about you. He always would. 

The opening cords of the first song started playing, and the attention was off of you. The crowd just closed their eyes and listened. You exited the stage and joined the crowd, desperately trying to get out of there. You stood on the balcony as the music blasted inside. People danced along, sang along as they started learning the words, and you stayed outside, tears falling. 

“You’re beautiful,” Lando’s whisper made you jump. You turned to see him, standing there behind you. “The album’s beautiful.”

You scoffed. “The album’s an album. What was beautiful was us,” you sighed. “Thank you for coming.”

He nodded, leaning against the barrier beside you. “Do you even wish our lives weren’t as complicated as they are?”

You chuckled. “More than anything.”

“We were beautiful,” he shook his head, trying to remember why he ever ruined the best thing in his life. “If you ever find yourself wanting to love me again, just… call me?”

You nodded, looking at him. “I will.”

He nodded, putting his hand on your shoulder and letting it sit there for a split-second, just to remind him of what it was like to touch you. Just to remind himself that once, he didn’t have to wonder if you loved him, to remind him of the unwavering support you gave him, to remind him of how his whole world came crashing down when he made you leave it. “I love you,” he whispered before walking to the door. 

His phone started ringing in his pocket as he got back inside. Unknown number. He answered it. 

“I think I want to love you again,” he could hear your smile through the phone and he immediately whipped around, his smile growing as he got closer to you. When he stood in front of you again, you both took the phones down and smiled at each other.

Lando didn’t waste time. He closed the gap between you two in one simple stride, wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed his lips to yours. “I love you so much,” he pulled back. “I’m never letting you go again.”

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landonorris

1,488,928 likes | liked by oscarpiastri, y/ny/l/n, and others

love of my life. @ y/ny/l/n

comments

user28: WHAT THE FUCK THEY BROKE UP MONTHS AGO THO????-> user92: they were seen kissing at her launch party

y/ny/l/n: who's that pretty girl? -> oscarpiastri: she's too good for him -> landonorris: >:( -> oscarpiastri: hurt her again and I push you off the track. ->carlossainz: I second this -> charleslecerc: I third this -> alexalbon: I fourth this -> georgerussell: I fifth this.

georgerussell: Trying to beat me with no shirt?

lewishamilton: Yay! (I begged her not to take you back you asshole). -> pierregasly: Yay! (I'm trying to be supportive of her).

lilymhe: fuck off. ->user83: LMAO -> user18: DAMN EVERYONE HATES HIM

danielriccardo: HAHAHAHAHAH (I'm crying.)

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