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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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White Horse - Chapter 24: June 2024 - Part 5

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes:

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/F1TeaSpiller: GUYS. BELLE LECLERC JUST CHANGED HER INSTAGRAM USERNAME. SHE'S NOW @/belleverstappen. I REPEAT. @/belleverstappen.

🔗 (screenshot)

@/MonacoRoyalty: WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT

@/RedBullTroll33: So you’re telling me… Isabelle. LECLERC. is now VERSTAPPEN?????

I need to lie down.

@/FerrariF1Pain: I THOUGHT I WAS HALLUCINATING WHEN I SAW THE NAME CHANGE. SHE REALLY MARRIED MAX. AND THEY DIDN’T TELL A SOUL. ICONIC BEHAVIOR TBH.

@/F1MemeLord: Charles: forgot Belle’s birthday Belle: changed her last name to Verstappen in front of the entire internet Me: poetic cinema.

@/gridgossip:

EVERYONE WAKE UP

BELLE LECLERC IS NOW BELLE VERSTAPPEN

MAX MARRIED CHARLES' SISTER AND DIDN'T TELL ANYONE

IM SHAKING

@/gridgossip:

This is the softest, coldest, most brutal reveal of all time.

No announcement.

No photo dump.

No grand post.

Just a silent name change.

And now the whole grid is screaming.

@/f1memequeen: MAX VERSTAPPEN SECRETLY MARRIED CHARLES LECLERC’S BABY SISTERAND THEY SOFT LAUNCHED WITH A HORSE AND A USERNAME UPDATE

THIS IS CINEMA.

@/F1ChaosClub: how it started: "whose hand gave max tea on stream??"

how it's going: "max verstappen is married to belle leclerc and nobody knew and now the internet is on fire"

@/TifosiTears: charles leclerc is about to log on and have the worst 24 hours of his life i fear 💀

@/MaxIsWinning: max verstappen winning on and off the track as per usual 😌

@/WifeGuyMax: max verstappen, known cat dad and now confirmed wife guy. we love character development 💍��🐈

@/GridChaosDaily: the grid when they realize belle verstappen = belle leclerc = max’s wife = charles’s sister = absolute chaos

(photo attached: stock photo of a man having a breakdown)

@/FerrariTears: Charles finding out his sister is now Belle Verstappen because of Instagram is the level of sibling drama we deserve in 2024.

@/TifosiMess: Prediction:

Charles: 🧍‍♂️😭

Arthur: 🧍‍♂️😵‍💫

Lorenzo: 🧍‍♂️😳

Pascale: 🧍‍♀️🫠 Meanwhile Belle and Max: 🏇🏡❤️

@/MonacoRoyalty: So let me get this straight:

Belle disappears for weeks

Drops a horse like it’s a handbag

Soft launches her new life

NOW SHE'S A VERSTAPPEN?? I NEED TO LIE DOWN.

@/LandoSimp44: some of you OWE the soft launch detectives an apology. they said it. they were RIGHT.

@/RedBullUpdates MAX. VERSTAPPEN. MARRIED. BELLE. LECLERC. AND THEY HID IT FROM US FOR HOW LONG???

@/FerrariPain: the way the Leclerc brothers are probably finding this out at the SAME TIME AS US 😭😭😭

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sergeant, Esteban Ocon, Lance Stroll and Valtteri Bottas)

Lando: HOLY SH*T

Lando: HOLD ON

Lando: SHUT UP EVERYONE

Lando: sends screenshot of @belleverstappen

Oscar: OH MY GOD

Daniel: I AM SCREAMING INTO A PILLOW

Lewis: I’m sorry. Am I hallucinating?? Because that says Verstappen. Not Leclerc.

George: BELLE. VERSTAPPEN. BELLE. FREAKING. VERSTAPPEN.

Carlos: Belle… changed her name…

Zhou: I THOUGHT I WAS READY BUT I WAS NOT READY

George: DID THAT JUST HAPPEN LIVE???

Carlos: I need a drink.

Alex: I AM SCREAMING.

Sebastian: Honestly? About time. Good for her.

Oscar: SHE CHANGED HER USERNAME TO BELLE VERSTAPPEN. THAT'S IT. THAT'S THE ANNOUNCEMENT.

Fernando: Max said "no press release, no statement, just pure chaos."

Daniel: Can we talk about the absolute audacity???

Zhou: Max dropping "I’m married" casually during a press conference and Belle changing her name quietly the night before Spain is PEAK Verstappen behavior.

Lando: I’m gonna cry. She’s not even dramatic about it. Just boop name change.

George: Meanwhile Charles is somewhere punching a wall.

Carlos: somewhere? Try several walls.

Lewis: No but seriously—Belle just silently won the whole internet.

Logan: It’s not even loud drama. It’s silent nuclear bomb energy.

Nico R.: Charles is probably Googling "how to politely kidnap your sister back."

Checo: Max playing 4D chess while Charles plays Candy Crush.

Fernando: And still losing at Candy Crush.

Kimi: Wake me up when someone crashes a press conference about it.

Oscar: Okay but real talk. I’m SO proud of her.

Lando: Same.

Lewis: She chose her happiness over their comfort. Respect.

Esteban: Someone check on Charles.

Fernando: No, no, let him suffer a bit longer. Character development.

Lance: Wait does this mean Max is Charles’ BROTHER-IN-LAW now???

Oscar: i just had a full body shiver

David: I would pay so much money for footage of Fred Vasseur reading this right now.

Mark: I would pay more to see Christian Horner's face.

George: NO ONE TELL PIERRE. Let’s just see what happens.

Logan: What if Belle walks into the paddock tomorrow wearing Verstappen merch. I would pass away.

Lewis: Max really married the one girl Charles forgot to look at properly. Poetic.

Nico R.: This is better than any soap opera I’ve ever seen.

Sebastian: Not Max breaking Ferrari and Leclerc family morale in one move. That’s championship material.

Oscar: Belle really said "forget my birthday? Watch this."

Carlos: Reminder: Max said he’s bringing her to the paddock tomorrow.

George: THEY’RE GOING PUBLIC IN PERSON TOO???

Oscar: CHAOS. COMPLETE CHAOS.

Alex: I have popcorn ready.

Lando: I'm not ready.

Daniel: None of us are.

***

Charles didn’t mean to open Instagram.

It had become a form of self-torture lately—every scroll a reminder of the silence on the other end of his unanswered texts, of the messages left on read, of the birthday that no one in the family had remembered except Belle herself.

But his thumb moved on autopilot during breakfast, and there it was.

Not a post. Not a story.

A name.

@belleverstappen

Charles blinked. Froze. Then blinked again.

No. That couldn’t be right.

He opened her profile.

Same photos. His sister’s profile.

Charles stared at the screen.

Then he read the handle again.

@belleverstappen.

Verstappen.

A cold sweat started to gather at the back of his neck.

“Non… non non non…” Charles muttered, sitting bolt upright in his chair.

Across the hotel room, Alexandra looked up from her hair straightener. “What now?”

“Arthur,” he said, too sharp, holding his phone up like it was infected. “Look at this.”

Arthur, still halfway through a bowl of cereal, leaned over and squinted. He choked immediately.

“No. No, no, no. She didn’t.”

“She did!” Charles said, nearly tripping over his chair. “She changed her name!”

Arthur shoved his cereal away like it had personally betrayed him. “Wait—what does that mean? Did she get married? Wait, is this real?”

“What does it mean?” Charles asked, genuinely baffled. “Why would she—what—Why Verstappen?”

And then, like a bolt of catastrophic lightning:

“Oh my god. Is Jos Verstappen her sugar daddy??”

A sound of pure horror came from behind him.

“CHARLES!” Alexandra snapped. “What the hell?!”

Arthur looked like he had been personally insulted by the sentence. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I’m just saying—Verstappen! She’s going by Verstappen!”

Charles was already pacing. “She was always weirdly polite to Jos. Maybe he—maybe it’s him.He’s always lurking around the paddock! And she moved out a year ago and never told us. She quit her job. Someone’s clearly supporting her!”

Arthur looked horrified. “Charles. Please. That’s insane.”

Alexandra looked at Charles like he’d grown a second head. “You do realize Jos Verstappen is married, right? Like, currently. Publicly. Has been for years.”

“I saw her smile at Jos in Monaco!” Charles snapped. “And she said he was polite to her at the garage and she’s been so—so secretive and she quit her job and she got a horse—”

“CHARLES,” Alexandra interrupted, hands in the air. “Jos Verstappen is married.”

Charles blinked. “What?”

Arthur groaned and threw a pillow across the room. “Oh my god. This is actually the stupidest conclusion you’ve reached this month, and I was the one that thought Belle was being kept by a sugar daddy with a skincare routine.”

“IT MAKES SENSE AT THE TIME,” Charles insisted.

There was a knock, and Nicholas Todt stepped into the room, holding his tablet with the solemn expression of a man walking into a fire.

“Tell me this is not real,” Nicholas said, holding up a screenshot of Belle’s Instagram page.

“Oh, it’s real,” Arthur said, grimacing.

“Charles, please tell me this is not the first time you’re hearing about this.”

Charles opened and closed his mouth.

Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose and sat down heavily. “This is a PR disaster. If the media connects her to Max—”

“Wait,” Charles said slowly. “Why would the media connect her to Max?”

Everyone turned.

“You’re joking,” Alexandra said.

“What?” Charles asked, defensive.

“She changed her name to Verstappen,” Nicolas deadpanned. “What do you think it is?”

“She can’t be married to Max!” Charles blurted. “Someone would’ve told me!”

Joris, who had been quiet until now, finally looked up from his coffee with the most satisfied look on his face.

Joris shrugged. “Good for her.”

Charles stared. “Good for—what?”

“She’s been invisible to all of you for years,” Joris said bluntly. “And now she’s making herself seen. About damn time.”

Charles looked between them all, suddenly feeling like he was at the center of a soap opera everyone else had watched already.

“No,” he whispered. “It can’t be Max.”

Arthur looked vaguely nauseous. Joris looked like he had several things to say and none of them were polite.

Charles could feel the room closing in. “This is not happening.”

“I actually thought it might be Zhou,” Alexandra said mildly. “Or Lewis. They’re both polite. Hot. Emotionally intelligent.”

“Okay, please stop talking,” Charles groaned.

Arthur sat down beside him. “Do you think she’ll be at the paddock tomorrow?”

“If she shows up wearing Verstappen gear, I’m gonna throw myself in the gravel,” Charles muttered.

Alexandra raised an eyebrow. “No, you’re going to smile, and wave, and act like a supportive brother who didn’t forget she existed.”

"Max," he repeated dumbly. "Max Verstappen. My biggest rival. The guy who stole my karting trophies when we were twelve."

Arthur shrugged. "Apparently, he didn’t just steal your trophies."

Alexandra smirked behind her hand.

Nicolas rubbed his temples like he had a migraine.

Charles sat down heavily in the nearest chair, completely and utterly defeated.

Belle was married. To Max Verstappen. And the whole world knew.

Everyone except him.

She hadn’t said a word.

She’d just changed her name.

And somehow, that said everything.

****

Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Lorenzo Leclerc

Arthur: hey you up?

Lorenzo: I am now. What’s going on?

Arthur: don’t freak out but we need to tell maman something before she finds out from the internet

Lorenzo: Arthur. Tell me now.

Arthur: Isabelle changed her Instagram username. It’s belleverstappen now.

Lorenzo: … what.

Arthur: like not “dating” Verstappen not “soft launch” Verstappen I mean she married him she’s married like legally. emotionally. spiritually. all of it.

Lorenzo: What do you MEAN she’s married to Max Verstappen?! When?! How?! WHY didn’t we KNOW?!

Arthur: because we were all too busy forgetting her birthday and ignoring her for years? just a theory. 🙃

Lorenzo: Jesus Christ. Does Charles know?

Arthur: not until like five minutes ago. he thought she was dating JOS I’m not kidding.

Lorenzo: … of course he did.

Arthur: look can you please talk to maman like right now because the whole paddock is going to know soon and if she sees this online first she’s going to cry and then go full French Catholic guilt spiral and none of us are emotionally prepared for that

Lorenzo: On it.

Arthur: thank you.

Good luck

***

Group Chat: GRID 2024

Members: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz Jr., Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Logan Sergeant, Daniel Ricciardo, Nico Hülkenberg, Lance Stroll, Fernando Alonso, Sergio Pérez, Esteban Ocon, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sargeant, Pierre Gasly, Yuki Tsunoda, and Valtteri Bottas

Charles: MAX. ANSWER YOUR PHONE.

Charles: TELL ME THIS ISN’T TRUE. TELL ME THIS IS SOME STUPID INTERNET RUMOUR. MAX. DID YOU MARRY MY SISTER?

Max: Yes.

Charles: AND YOU LET ME WALK AROUND THE PADDOCK FOR WEEKS LIKE AN IDIOT.

Max: We got married in Monaco. She wanted to keep it private.

Charles: YOU GOT MARRIED AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME??

Charles: YOU DIDN’T THINK I DESERVED TO KNOW THAT MY BABY SISTER WAS MARRYING MY BIGGEST RIVAL??

Pierre: wait wait wait what do you mean married Isabelle???

Yuki: SOMEONE EXPLAIN WHAT IS HAPPENING

Carlos: Charles—

Charles: HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN TOGETHER? HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN A THING??

Carlos: Over a year.

Charles: I’M GOING TO SCREAM.

Charles: I’m going to absolutely LOSE MY MIND. You’ve all been lying to me. For MONTHS.

Charles: WHO KNEW?? I WANT A FULL LIST. RIGHT NOW. I SWEAR I WILL GO THROUGH PHONE RECORDS.

Lewis: It wasn’t our secret to tell.

George: They weren’t hiding it to hurt you. They were protecting each other.

Lando: Also, you literally forgot her birthday. You don’t exactly have the moral high ground here.

Charles: SHE’S MY SISTER.

Max: She’s my wife. Stop yelling like you own her.

Charles: SHE’S FAMILY.

Max: This isn’t about you, Charles.

Charles: SHE IS MY SISTER. MY FAMILY. AND NONE OF YOU THOUGHT I MIGHT WANT TO KNOW SHE MARRIED SOMEONE WHO’S BEEN TRYING TO BEAT ME SINCE KARTING.

Oscar: She didn’t forget to tell you. She chose not to.

Charles: SHUT UP, OSCAR.

Carlos: Hey.

Charles: NO. YOU TOO. YOU REMEMBERED HER BIRTHDAY. AND YOU SAID NOTHING.

Carlos: Because she asked me to. Because she knew you’d react exactly like this.

Charles: SO MY SISTER MARRIES MAX VERSTAPPEN AND I’M THE VILLAIN??

Max: You remember that now?

Charles: You think this is funny?

Max: No. I think it’s sad. That it took a ring on her finger and a horse on Instagram for you to realize she was gone.

Charles: You went behind my back. You should have told me.

Max: She didn’t want to. And I respect her choices. Which is more than I can say for you.

Charles: I’M HER BROTHER.

Max: Then maybe act like it. Because right now? You’re just noise.

George: Charles, this isn’t about you anymore.

Alex: It’s about Belle. And how she had to build a new life because her old one didn’t see her.

Oscar: And Max did.

Max:If you're done shouting, maybe try asking yourself why she trusted me with her future and not you.

Charles: …

Yuki: can someone please give me a recap. i feel like i skipped six seasons.

Pierre: I JUST FOUND OUT HE MARRIED HER AND NOW HE’S DRAGGING CHARLES INTO THE VOID I NEED TO LIE DOWN

Daniel: someone get Pierre a fan, he’s hyperventilating.

Charles: EVERYONE SHUT UP. EVERYONE JUST STOP.

Charles: I’M FINDING HER. SHE’S AT THE TRACK, RIGHT? I’M FINDING HER RIGHT NOW.

Lewis: Charles.

Charles: WHAT.

Lewis: Do not ambush her. You don’t get to demand explanations from someone you forgot how to see.

Charles: I DIDN’T—

George: You forgot her birthday, Charles.

Oscar: You didn’t notice when she moved. You didn’t notice when she quit her job. You didn’t notice when she stopped showing up to family events.

Carlos: You didn’t notice her.

Charles: I just want to talk to her.

Max: Then wait until she’s ready. You’ve taken a lot of things from her, Charles. You don’t get to take this, too.

Charles: You don’t get to talk to me about what I’ve taken.

Max: No? Then let me talk to you about what you didn’t give her.

Max: Time. Attention. Respect. Support.

Max: All the things she gave you without question. All the things you never gave back.

Yuki: i’m so uncomfortable but also very invested

Pierre: i feel like we should log off

Charles: ...is anyone going to back me up here?

Esteban: You kind of lost the moral high ground at “is she dating Jos.”

Logan: ngl we all knew but we also knew you’d react like this.

Lewis: This isn’t about us. It’s about her. You need to let her decide if and when she wants to let you back in.

Charles: She’s my sister.

Max: She’s my wife.

Max: And if you ever want a place in her life again, maybe start by realizing you don’t get to gatekeep her happiness.

Carlos: Max. Enough.

Max: I’m done.

The rest is up to her.

Not me.

And sure as hell not you.

***

Pascale Leclerc had always prided herself on knowing her children.

She had lived through the chaos of karting and exam seasons, through Arthur’s scraped knees and Charles’ broken hearts, through Lorenzo’s silent strength and Isabelle’s quiet brilliance.

She had watched them grow up like a garden — each one different, wild in their own way, but hers.

And yet now, as she stood in her kitchen — untouched tea cooling in her hands — she felt like she was staring at a house that had quietly caught fire.

And she hadn’t even smelled the smoke.

Lorenzo stood by the doorway, tense but calm in that way only he could be.

He had always been the family’s voice of reason, the one who didn’t panic, who showed up with logistics when the others brought emotions.

But tonight, there was something sharp beneath his composure. A tightness around the mouth. A shadow in his voice.

“Something happened,” Pascale had said, the moment he arrived.

Lorenzo didn’t answer right away.

He looked at her — really looked at her — like he wasn’t sure how to begin. Like he was about to hand her a truth that couldn’t be unspoken.

“Isabelle got married,” he said quietly.

The words didn’t register at first. Not fully.

They sat in the air, strange and unfamiliar, like hearing a sentence in a language she hadn’t spoken in years.

“What?” Pascale asked, blinking.

“Isabelle,” Lorenzo said again, slowly. “She got married. A few weeks ago. In Monaco.”

Her breath caught.

“To who?”

Lorenzo hesitated. “Max Verstappen.”

The name hit harder than the sentence.

Pascale lowered herself into the nearest chair like her legs no longer trusted her.

“She’s… married,” she said, tasting the word. “To Max. And we didn’t even know?”

Lorenzo sat across from her. “We didn’t even know she was in a relationship, Maman. We didn’t know she moved. That she quit her job. We didn’t know anything.”

Pascale stared at the table, at her own hands folded around a now-cold mug.

It was her fault.

Hers.

Because she had believed silence meant peace. She had assumed that just because Isabelle didn’t complain, she was content.

And in doing so, she had let her daughter disappear. Slowly. Quietly. Without fanfare.

“She didn’t want us to know?” Pascale asked, voice small.

“No,” Lorenzo said gently. “Because we’ve given her every reason to believe we only care when it’s convenient. When it’s public. When it’s about Charles.”

Pascale felt her eyes sting. “I thought… I thought she would come to me, if it was serious.”

“She did,” Lorenzo said, not unkindly. “She just stopped waiting for us to see her.”

Pascale pressed a hand over her mouth.

“I didn’t even know she still believed in love,” she whispered. “After everything we asked her to give up. After everything we never gave back.”

“She did,” Lorenzo said. “And he gives it to her.”

Silence stretched between them — thick with guilt and revelation.

“I missed her wedding,” Pascale said softly.

“We all did,” Lorenzo replied. “But we don’t have to miss everything else.”

Pascale’s hand trembled as she set the tea aside. It sloshed slightly over the rim — unnoticed.

“I missed her wedding,” she repeated, more to herself than to Lorenzo.

He didn’t speak. He knew better than to offer hollow comfort.

“I missed her,” Pascale whispered. “I missed everything.”

The silence sat heavy between them, stretching until it felt like a second skin. Pascale reached for her phone on the table — out of habit, out of desperation — and stared at the screen like it might offer her redemption.

A single name burned in her memory.

Isabelle.

Her thumb hovered, hesitating over old messages, until finally, she opened the thread.

It was all still there. Every breadcrumb of her failure.

Ma chérie… I didn’t realise. I thought I messaged you, but I sent it to Charles by mistake. That’s not an excuse. You deserved more. Always. Please let me come see you. I miss you.

Even reading it now, Pascale felt the shame wash through her like floodwater.

It was a lie. She had forgotten.

Not just the day. Not just the message.

She had forgotten her daughter — in the way that mattered most.

“I lied to her,” Pascale said aloud, her voice cracking.

Lorenzo closed his eyes like he was bracing for a storm. “Maman…”

“When I messaged her,” Pascale said, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “After I forgot her birthday. I didn’t want her to think I forgot. I told her I meant to text her — that I accidentally sent it to Charles instead. But that wasn’t true. I did. I forgot. I forgot the day she was born. And then I lied because I couldn’t bear the thought of her knowing that. I didn’t remember until Charles reminded us. I lied to make it seem like I hadn’t failed her. But I did. I have. Over and over again.”

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I told myself she was strong. That she didn’t need as much,” Pascale continued, tears now slipping freely down her cheeks. “She didn’t fight for attention. She didn’t make noise. She just… quietly endured. I thought that meant she was fine.”

“She wasn’t,” Lorenzo said softly.

“I know that now,” Pascale whispered. “But it’s too late to be there for the little girl who cried when we sold her horse. Or the young woman who spent her graduation alone because we were all watching a race.”

Pascale looked up, eyes brimming.

“But maybe it’s not too late for the woman she’s become. The one who found someone who sees her. Who loves her enough to ask for her forever, even when she felt invisible.”

Lorenzo nodded slowly. “You’ll have to show her. Not just say it.”

“I don’t even know if she’ll want to hear from me,” Pascale said.

“You’ll try anyway,” he replied. “Because that’s what she deserved all along. Someone who didn’t need a reminder to show up.”

The air shifted slightly — still heavy, still painful, but no longer suffocating.

Pascale exhaled shakily and picked up her phone again.

“I want to fix it,” Pascale said eventually. “I don’t know how, but I want to try. I don’t want her to think we only care now because she married someone famous.”

“Then don’t start with an apology for missing the wedding,” Lorenzo said, voice low but steady. “Start with an apology for everything before it.”

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

Lando: (sends screenshots)

Lando: okay so we all agree that was… A Lot™?

George: “Then maybe act like it.” Cold. Accurate. Deserved.

Lewis: I was hoping Charles would reflect Not double down on the yelling and gaslighting

Carlos: He kept yelling “SHE’S MY SISTER” like it was a spell It’s not. It’s just a fact. And not one he treated with care.

Zhou: I’m honestly mad at him. Belle deserved better than that meltdown.

Daniel: She’s been waving white flags for YEARS. The fact that she had to marry Max Verstappen for him to finally notice is… tragic.

Logan: He tried to make it all about himself. Again.

Esteban: And he really told Max “you went behind my back” like Belle is property

Sebastian: Disrespectful. Self-centered. Deflecting guilt into rage. I like Charles. But this? This was ugly.

Lance: You could see the second-hand shame through the screen

Valtteri: Honestly, I don’t blame Max for losing patience.

Nico R.: He gave Charles every opportunity to calm down. Charles chose violence.

Oscar: “Which is more than I can say for you.” Yeah. That line still lives in my head.

Fernando: Max protected her. Period. Charles tried to make it about rivalry. One of them is married. The other is playing victim.

Mark: I love when people forget that Max is scary when he loves someone Not just when he races

David: Charles thought the betrayal was the secret The real betrayal is that she stopped counting on him, and he never noticed

George: And now he’s blaming everyone except himself.

Lando: What exactly did he expect? That she’d send a save-the-date and beg for attention?

Lewis: She already did. Every time she showed up and got ignored.

Sebastian: She didn’t disappear. She just stopped asking to be seen.

Alex: And I’m done coddling Charles about that.

Carlos: Same.

Oscar: She chose happiness. He called it betrayal. That says everything.

Zhou: Should we be worried about today?

Daniel: We should be prepared. Max said he’s bringing her to the paddock. And Charles? He’ll implode.

Fernando: Let him. Maybe he’ll finally listen if it’s in public.

Lewis: He doesn’t deserve answers. He deserves the silence he gave her.

George: And if she does say anything to him, it’s her choice.

***

Belle had never liked the paddock.

Not because it wasn’t impressive — it was. Efficient, loud, organized chaos. But because it had never really felt like hers. Not even when Charles had brought her around as a teenager, wide-eyed and silent, watching her brothers shake hands and pose for cameras while she trailed two steps behind.

She knew how invisible you could be in a place like this.

But not today.

Not now.

She stepped through the gates with Max beside her — her fingers laced in his, steady and certain — and the hush that fell over the paddock was immediate.

Belle could feel it.

The weight of eyes. The slow, sharp recognition rippling outward from person to person like a silent explosion. Some turned to look, others tried not to, but they all felt it. The shift. The fact that something had changed.

That she had changed.

Max didn’t break stride. Neither did she.

The sun was warm on her shoulders, but the Red Bull jacket she wore — his, oversized and soft — felt like armor. Familiar. Safe. She’d tugged it from his closet that morning while he was brushing his teeth, said nothing as she slipped it on, and Max had only smiled at her like she was everything in the world worth looking at.

He hadn’t let go of her hand since.

Belle didn’t smile, but she didn’t flinch either.

She looked ahead, chin high, expression calm. If they wanted something loud — a statement, a spectacle — they weren’t going to get it.

They’d get this.

Her wedding band catching the light. Her hand in Max’s. Her name — Belle Verstappen — already echoing through the internet.

Let them talk.

She heard someone near the McLaren garage whisper, “Oh my god, it’s really her.” Heard another murmur, “She’s wearing his jacket.”

Belle didn’t look. She didn’t have to.

She could feel the stares. Could feel the quiet scramble of the media trying to decide whether or not to speak. To ask. To breathe.

She kept walking.

Max leaned in slightly, barely tilting his head toward her, and said under his breath, “Still with me?”

Belle’s lips curved — just slightly. “Always.”

His thumb brushed along the side of her hand in response. The smallest touch. But enough.

They moved through the paddock like a weather system — calm on the surface, but electric underneath. Some drivers straightened up when they passed. Some looked away. One engineer dropped their tablet. Someone near the Ferrari garage gasped.

Belle didn’t look toward it.

She didn’t need to see Charles to know he was watching.

She could feel it — that specific burn of a sibling’s shock, of betrayal, of too-late recognition. And it hurt, somewhere deep in her chest. But it didn’t undo her.

Not this time.

Max gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.

She kept walking.

Every step felt like reclaiming something. Every heartbeat steadier than the last.

Let them stare. Let them wonder.

They hadn’t seen her before. They hadn’t heard her.

Now they would.

Quietly. Unapologetically.

This was her life.

And Belle Verstappen wasn’t hiding anymore.

***

@/GridGossip: 🚨BREAKING: BELLE VERSTAPPEN JUST WALKED INTO THE PADDOCK HOLDING MAX’S HAND She’s wearing his jacket An emerald engagement ring And a gold wedding band I’m shaking. I’m actually shaking. 📸 (zoomed photo)

@/F1TeaSpiller: Forget soft launches. Belle Verstappen just HARD LAUNCHED HER ENTIRE MARRIAGE That’s a wedding ring, babes. A wedding ring.

@/RedBullTroll33: Max Verstappen didn’t post a wedding photo. Didn’t do an announcement. Just walked into the paddock with his wife wearing a rock the size of my student debt. Power move.

@/FerrariF1Pain: The Leclerc family watching Belle walk in like: 👁👄👁 With a RING With MAX In his jacket Wearing the smirk of a woman who’s been underrated for too long

@/f1memequeen: That emerald engagement ring is screaming “I don’t need your approval, I already have his last name” And honestly?? Obsessed.

@/WifeGuyMax: Everyone: when will Max post Belle? Max: I’ll bring Belle. Max: To the paddock. Max: With a gold band on her finger. Max: Say hello to my wife.

@/GridChaosDaily: Belle is wearing a gold wedding band and an engagement ring the size of a walnut and hasn’t blinked once Meanwhile Charles looks like he’s on the verge of spontaneously combusting

@/MonacoRoyalty: THE RING THE JACKET THE HAND-HOLDING THE WALK SHE’S THE MAIN CHARACTER

@/MaxIsWinning: Max Verstappen said:

Emerald ring ✔️

Gold band ✔️

My jacket ✔️

My hand ✔️

My wife ✔️ Legend.

@/f1memequeen: Belle: walks in calmly Internet: 💍😱🔥👗👀💀💍👑 The power of SILENCE

@/LandoSimp44: me: I’m over the Verstappen-Leclerc marriage drama also me: zooming in on the ring like it’s the Mona Lisa

@/FerrariTears: Charles is looking at that gold band like it personally betrayed him Arthur’s gone full ghost mode Pascale is probably praying in a dark room Meanwhile Belle’s just casually wearing a 5-figure emerald like it’s nothing

@/F1MemeLord: Belle: marries Max Verstappen in secret Charles: forgets her birthday Belle: walks into the paddock with a ring and a husband The plot arc is insane. The payoff? Cinematic.

@/gridgossip: MAX WALKING IN WITH HIS WIFE AND ZERO APOLOGY IS THE MOST VERSTAPPEN THING TO EVER HAPPEN

@/TifosiTears: Belle really said: you forgot me? let me introduce you to my husband and this giant green rock

***

The moment they stepped inside the Red Bull garage, Belle felt the shift.

It wasn’t like entering a room. It was like crossing a threshold — one she could never go back from.

There were voices, radio chatter, tire warmers humming. Mechanics moved with sharp efficiency. But as Max walked in with her hand still folded in his, everything… slowed.

Heads turned. Not in shock — they all knew by now. But in curiosity.

She was part of it now.

Max dropped his bag with practiced ease, nodded at one of the engineers, and then looked back at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the room.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, just for her.

Belle nodded, though her heart was fluttering too fast. “Yeah. Just—this is a lot.”

“You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” she said quietly. “I want to meet the people who know the version of you I don’t get at home.”

Max smiled like that meant more than she realized — like she’d just handed him something no one else ever had.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Time to meet the chaos.”

Belle only had a second to steel herself before she heard the gruff voice.

“About time you brought her here.”

Jos.

He was already standing near the back wall of the garage, arms folded, mouth tugged up in something that resembled a smile. As he looked at her properly, something softened in his expression. Something almost proud.

“See you survived the vultures,” he said drily, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

She blinked — caught off guard — and then smiled. “I’m told it’s a survival skill.”

Jos chuckled — actually chuckled — and nodded. “Good. You’ll need it.”

“Papa,” Max greeted casually, unbothered by the tension humming in the air. “Thanks for being here. You’ll keep an eye on her while I’m in the car.”

Belle blinked, surprised. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Max smiled slightly. “Didn’t want to stress you out.”

Jos’s lips twitched. Just barely.

“Sit where you want,” he said to her. “It’s quieter at the back. And if anyone annoys you, tell them you married a Verstappen. That’ll scare them off.”

Max gave him a look. Jos ignored him entirely.

Before Belle could respond, a familiar voice called out from just inside the garage.

“Well, well. You’re finally in the right garage.”

She turned — and smiled fully for the first time that day.

Gianpiero Lambiase stood near his station, headset already slung around his neck, amusement lighting his usually serious expression.

“Hi, GP,” Belle said warmly.

He approached, offering a half-hug, half-handshake that was somehow the perfect balance of affection and professionalism. “Max said you’d be here, but I figured he was bluffing.”

“I almost backed out,” Belle admitted. “Then he bribed me with his jacket and pancakes.”

“Classic Verstappen tactics,” GP deadpanned. “Food, flattery, and limited emotional vocabulary.”

Max, passing behind them, muttered, “I can still hear you.”

GP grinned, unfazed. “Welcome, Belle. We’ve all been betting on when you'd show up.”

She arched a brow. “And who won?”

“Helmut,” GP said, disgusted. “Which is horrifying.”

Max returned, tugging lightly on her sleeve. “Come on. Christian wants to meet you.”

Belle exhaled, nerves fluttering again, but she followed Max past rows of screens and engineers until they stopped in front of Christian Horner, who turned to greet them with the ease of a man who’d already been briefed but was pretending he hadn’t.

“Well, you’ve caused quite the storm.”

Christian Horner.

He approached with that signature half-smile of his, hands in his pockets, a subtle look of curiosity behind the polite charm.

“So this is the mysterious Mrs. Verstappen,” he said warmly. “Finally. The woman who managed to tame our reigning champion. Or so the rumors say.”

“I don’t think anyone tames Max,” Belle said dryly.

Christian laughed. “You might be right. But clearly, you’re the exception.”

She extended a hand, and he shook it firmly.

“Christian Horner,” he added, even though she obviously knew.

“Belle Verstappen,” she said quietly — testing the name again. Feeling it settle.

Christian’s gaze flicked to her left hand, where the emerald caught the overhead lights. “Well, it’s official now. Welcome to the madness.”

Belle took a slow breath as they stepped deeper into the garage, Max’s hand briefly grazing her lower back before he peeled off toward his car.

She watched him go, then looked around at the controlled chaos of Red Bull’s world — the data streams, the techs, the noise, the anticipation.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was standing on the outside of someone else’s life.

She was here.

She was his.

And the garage was exactly where she was supposed to be.

***

Arthur wasn’t sure what he expected.

Maybe denial. Maybe chaos. Maybe the internet was wrong — maybe Belle hadn’t really married Max Verstappen. Maybe someone had faked the name change. Maybe it was a fever dream.

But then he saw them.

Isabelle. Walking into the paddock like she belonged there. Wearing Max’s jacket. Wearing a wedding band. Holding his hand.

Arthur froze mid-step outside the Ferrari hospitality unit. His coffee trembled in his grip. For a second, he genuinely forgot how to breathe.

Because it wasn’t just that Isabelle was there.

It was the way Max glanced at her every few steps, the way she leaned in slightly when the crowd pressed too close. The way their fingers didn’t untangle, not once. Not even when flashes went off or someone whispered her name like it was blasphemy.

She looked calm. Not smug. Not afraid. Just… calm.

And that was what undid Arthur most.

Because she’d never looked like that before — not at races, not around the family, not anywhere she’d ever been expected to play the silent sibling to Charles’ glory.

She looked like herself. Like someone who had finally been given permission to take up space.

And beside him, Charles looked like he was about to snap.

“Unbelievable,” Charles muttered, voice too low and too bitter. “He couldn’t even tell me. He had to parade her in front of everyone like this?”

Arthur tore his eyes away from Isabelle — reluctantly — and turned toward his older brother.

“Are you serious right now?” he asked.

Charles flinched. “What?”

“She’s walking in with her husband, Charles. Not doing a press tour. What did you think was going to happen?”

“I thought maybe—” Charles stopped, jaw tight. “Maybe she’d have the decency to talk to me first.”

Arthur stared at him. “Decency? Are you hearing yourself?”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “She’s my sister—”

“And you’re acting like she’s your possession.”

Charles turned on him. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” Arthur snapped, stepping closer, voice sharp. “You’re acting like she owed you something when all she ever wanted was to be treated like she mattered!”

“Don’t twist this, Arthur,” Charles said, low and warning.

Arthur laughed — harsh, disbelieving. “You forgot her birthday. We forgot her birthday!”

“That was a mistake—”

“We forgot her birthday, and then when she finally chooses herself, finally chooses someone who sees her, you make it about you?”

“She married Max—”

“She married someone who shows up for her,” Arthur interrupted. “Which is more than we’ve done in years.”

Charles’ face tightened.

Arthur kept going. “You don’t get to be the victim here. Not when she’s spent years watching you get cheered while she was ignored. Not when she begged for scraps of attention and we gave her nothing.”

Charles looked like he wanted to argue. He didn’t.

“She stopped trying to be seen by us,” Arthur said quietly. “Because she found someone who already sees her.”

Charles swallowed hard, eyes flicking toward the Red Bull garage where Belle had disappeared with Max minutes ago. “I just… I didn’t think she’d leave us like that.”

“She didn’t leave,” Arthur said. “We just never noticed when she stopped waiting.”

Silence.

Thick. Tense. Regretful.

Charles looked down, jaw clenched. He didn’t say sorry. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Arthur sighed and set his coffee down on the table beside him.

“If you want to be part of her life now, Charles,” he said. “You’re going to have to show her that you’re finally willing to see her. Not as your sister. As herself.”

Then he walked away, leaving Charles in the middle of the paddock — alone, surrounded by people, and for the first time, not the main character.

***

Belle had just sat down with a cup of tea in the quiet corner of Red Bull hospitality when she heard it.

A voice. Sharp. French-accented. Not loud, but unmistakably firm.

She looked up instinctively — and wasn’t surprised.

Arthur.

Standing just outside the entrance, shoulders tense, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets like he was trying to shrink into himself. He’d clearly made it through the first layer of staff with that Leclerc charm that used to get him everywhere.

Unfortunately for him, Jos Verstappen was standing by the doorway.

And Jos did not do charm.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing here?” Jos asked, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Arthur hesitated. “I just—I wanted to talk to her.”

“This isn’t Ferrari,” Jos said, voice calm but cutting. “You don’t get to stroll in here after throwing a tantrum across half the paddock and acting like your sister��s marriage is some kind of betrayal.”

Arthur flushed. “I didn’t throw a tantrum—”

“You don’t belong here,” Jos said. “Not after this morning. Not after the way your brother behaved.”

Arthur’s face flushed. “I came her to…”

“To what?” Jos stepped closer. “Apologize on behalf of Charles? Defend him? Make excuses for how you treated her?”

“No!” Arthur said quickly, hands up. “No. I’m not here for Charles. I’m here for her.”

Belle stood before she even realized she’d moved.

“Jos,” she said, voice soft but clear. “It’s fine.”

He turned toward her, frowning. “Belle—”

“I want to talk to him,” she said.

And for the first time in a very long time, she saw someone else hesitate when talking to her.

Jos studied her face for a beat. Whatever he saw must have been enough, because he gave a terse nod and stepped back. Not far. But far enough to say I’m still watching.

Arthur looked like he was bracing for impact as she walked toward him.

Belle stopped a few steps away, arms crossed loosely. She didn’t hug him. Didn’t cry.

He stopped a little too far away, hands in his pockets, guilt etched into every line of his face.

“You weren’t really trying to sneak past Jos Verstappen, were you?” she finally asked dryly.

Arthur groaned. “I thought maybe if I moved fast enough, he wouldn’t see me.”

A faint smile tugged at Belle’s mouth. “He used to spot Max sneaking out after curfew with a hoodie pulled over his head. You never had a chance.”

Arthur groaned. “I thought maybe if I moved fast enough, he’d blink.”

“He never blinks,” she said.

He cracked a smile, brief and sheepish. “You look good.”

Her expression softened, barely. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t,” he admitted. “Charles is sulking like it’s a championship sport. Maman’s crying into a croissant. Lorenzo’s trying to schedule a family meeting like it’s a UN crisis summit.”

Belle sighed, gaze drifting past him for a moment. “I figured.”

He hesitated. “I didn’t come to defend anyone. Not Charles. Not Maman. I just… I needed to see you. For myself.”

She studied him in silence. Arthur had always been a little caught in the middle — younger than Charles, louder than Lorenzo, trying to carve space where there was none. He wasn’t blameless. But he hadn’t been cruel. Just… complicit.

But he was trying now.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable — just full. Full of all the things left unsaid for too long. All the messages never sent. All the birthday calls missed, the family dinners where she was present but not seen.

“You used to hide in my bed during thunderstorms,” Belle said quietly. “You’d ask me to read the same chapter of Le Petit Prince three times until you fell asleep.”

Arthur blinked, surprised. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything,” Belle said. “I remember the good things. I always tried to.”

His throat worked around the lump there. “Why didn’t you tell me? About Max. About the wedding. About… any of it?”

Belle looked down at the rings on her finger — the green of the emerald glinting faintly under the hospitality lighting, the simple gold band beneath it warm against her skin.

“Because you weren’t really looking,” she said. “None of you were. And I was tired of asking to be seen.”

Arthur didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue.

“I know,” he said instead, voice low and thick. “I think… I’ve known it for a while. I just didn’t know how to face it. But seeing you with Max — the way he looks at you, the way you look at you — I get it now. And I hate that it took this for me to see it.”

“It’s not about hating yourself,” Belle said, gentler this time. “It’s about doing better now. If you want to.”

Arthur looked at her like she was someone new. Someone stronger. Someone who had stopped waiting for the world to recognize her and built a place where she didn’t need permission.

“Are you happy?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

He exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding that breath all morning.

“Good,” he said. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

Belle stepped forward then, arms uncrossed, and opened them. The offer was quiet. Soft.

Arthur didn’t hesitate.

He pulled her into a hug like he was afraid she might vanish again. His arms wound around her, shoulders trembling just slightly. Belle hugged him back — firm and steady.

And it felt like something beginning again.

Not perfectly. Not fixed.

But trying.

When they finally stepped apart, Belle offered a quiet, teasing smile. “Next time, use the front entrance. Jos might not be so forgiving twice.”

Arthur groaned. “I’m still recovering. I think he aged me ten years with one sentence.”

She laughed — really laughed, for the first time that day.

Behind them, Jos gave a small grunt from where he stood — arms crossed, unimpressed — but Belle didn’t miss the way one corner of his mouth almost curved.

***

Max didn’t usually seek people out for conversations. Not personal ones, anyway.

He’d spent most of his life guarding things that mattered — like they were fragile, like they’d break if anyone else got too close. But this was different. She was different. And what they had now — what was growing quietly inside her — felt too big to carry on his own.

So he found GP.

It was a lull in the afternoon, the last briefing before the sim work, engineers rotating through data stations like gears in a perfect machine. But GP was by himself, leaning against the telemetry table, one brow raised as Max approached with the kind of expression that said, you better not be about to request a new steering wheel setting.

Max didn’t say anything right away.

GP waited.

“I need to tell you something,” Max said finally. His voice was lower than usual. Not tense — just held close.

GP straightened a little. “What happened?”

“She’s pregnant,” Max said.

The words came out smoother than he expected. Maybe because they’d been sitting on his tongue all day.

GP stared at him. Blinked once. Then again.

And then — grinned.

“Seriously?” he asked, already smiling. “Belle’s pregnant?”

Max nodded once, his throat tight. “Yeah. She told me a few weeks ago.”

GP exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Bloody hell. I should’ve seen that coming.”

Max raised a brow. “You didn’t?”

“I figured it was either that or you bought her a horse farm.”

Max laughed — properly, finally, the weight of the day cracking just a little. “I might still do that.”

GP was still smiling, but there was something else in his face now — something softer. Warmer.

“Kids are great,” he said, voice lower, more personal now. “I mean, chaotic and exhausting, but… they’re the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Max blinked. “You’ve never said that.”

GP shrugged. “Didn’t seem relevant when you were nineteen and trying to beat Lewis Hamilton into turn one.”

Max huffed a laugh. “Fair.”

There was a pause. A weight in the air — not heavy, but full.

“She’ll be a brilliant mum,” GP added, quieter now. “She’s got that calm strength to her. The kind you don’t notice until it’s the only thing holding you together.”

Max nodded slowly. “I know.”

“And you,” GP said, tapping a finger to Max’s chest, “are going to be fine. More than fine.”

Max hesitated. “Even with…”

“Even with your past? Your dad?” GP finished for him. “You’re not him. You never were.”

Max looked down for a moment, jaw tight. Then, after a long breath, he met GP’s eyes again. “I just want to give that kid something different. Something better.”

“You already are,” GP said simply. “You chose Belle. That’s your first good decision. Choosing that baby every day — that’s your next.”

“I’m scared,” Max admitted.

“Good,” GP said. “That means you give a damn.”

Max nodded once.

“I’m happy for you, mate,” GP added, reaching out and clasping his shoulder. “Really.”

Max nodded again, grateful in a way he didn’t know how to say.

“And just for the record,” GP added dryly, “I had a bet with my wife that you two would get pregnant before Charles figured out you were married.”

Max burst out laughing. “Did she win?”

“She always wins.”

Max was still grinning when he turned to leave, lighter than he’d been all day.

There was so much left to do — more secrets to tell, more people to face — but for now, it was enough that someone knew.

Someone who didn’t just understand racing.

Someone who understood him.

***

From the hospitality suite above the Red Bull garage, Belle had a near-perfect view of the final laps.

The Spanish heat shimmered off the track, waves of it rising like ghosts in the air, but Belle barely noticed. Her fingers gripped the arm of her seat, headset slightly askew, Max’s voice crackling faintly through the speakers — clipped, calm, focused.

She had never liked watching him race before she knew him.

Now, she knew better.

Now, she could hear it in the way he spoke to GP. The way he adjusted. Reacted. Fought, not like a man trying to prove something — but like someone who knew exactly who he was, and who he had waiting for him at the end.

You’ve got three laps left, mate, GP said calmly in her ear.

Copy. Leave it with me.

Belle swallowed hard. Her hand settled instinctively over the front of her stomach, hidden by the loose navy blouse she wore. She hadn’t told many people yet — just Victoria, Sophie, Jos, and Emilie, and now GP, thanks to Max.

But this felt like a secret the whole world would eventually know.

The final sector flew past in a blur. Tyres screamed. Crowds surged.

And then, the chequered flag.

“YES! That’s P1, Max. Well done.”

Belle exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her hand flew to her mouth, and then, just as quickly, to her chest — right over her heart.

He’d done it.

Again.

The team erupted around her — mechanics cheering, hugging, high-fiving, lifting cans of Red Bull like champagne flutes. Christian was already halfway out the door, and even Jos, who’d been watching beside her with arms crossed, allowed himself a rare smile.

But Belle?

Belle didn’t move.

Not until someone nudged her gently — a team assistant with wide eyes and an even wider grin. “He’s asking for you,” the girl said. “Go. Go!”

Belle blinked. “What?”

“Parc Fermé. He’s already out of the car. Go!”

She didn’t hesitate after that.

The hallways blurred past her — wide corridors filled with team personnel and security and overheated energy. Her flats slapped against the concrete. Her pass flashed in the light. People parted without even realizing it — as if they could feel she belonged to this moment.

She reached the barrier just as Max pulled off his helmet, hair damp with sweat, fire suit unzipped halfway down his chest.

And then he saw her.

His eyes lit up in a way Belle didn’t think he realized he saved for her. He started toward her before the cameras could swarm, before the journalists could shout, before anyone else could get between them.

He crossed to her like he knew she’d be there. Like he’d been driving toward her the whole time.

And Belle didn’t think. Didn’t care about the cameras or the crowd or the fact that Charles was likely still in his car wondering where it all went wrong.

She stepped past the barrier and met him halfway.

And then she kissed him.

There was no hesitation. No coy look at the cameras. No soft-launch subtlety.

Just her hands on his face, his arms wrapping tight around her waist, and the kind of kiss that felt like a homecoming.

The paddock erupted.

Somewhere behind them, a Sky Sports presenter squeaked. David Croft nearly dropped his mic.

Belle pulled back only when Max laughed against her mouth.

“You kissed me in Parc Fermé,” he murmured.

“You won,” she said simply, brushing sweat-mussed hair off his forehead. “You deserve to be kissed.”

Max looked at her for a long moment, then down — briefly, instinctively — at her stomach, where no one else had noticed her hand lingering.

And then he whispered, just for her: “Both of you.”

Belle smiled. “You came home to us safe.”

Max kissed her one more time, softer now, and then turned back toward the swarm of cameras and celebration.

And Belle?

Belle stood at the edge of it all — her lips still tingling, her heart full — knowing the headlines tomorrow would be chaos.

But for now?

She had kissed her husband in front of the entire world.

And she didn’t regret a single second.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/RedBullTroll33: i thought the name change was chaos BUT THIS??? BELLE JUST WALKED IN AND KISSED HIM LIKE THEY WEREN’T HIDING FOR A YEAR I’M LOSING IT

@/FerrariTears: charles leclerc being forced to watch max verstappen win the race and then watch his baby sister kiss him like it’s a romcom finale is actually greek tragedy level storytelling

@/f1memequeen: Belle: soft-launched a horse and an emerald ring Belle: quietly changed her last name to Verstappen Belle: walks into parc fermé and kisses her world champion husband Me: sobbing okay queen I GET IT

@/WifeGuyMax: MAX VERSTAPPEN KISSED HIS WIFE IN FRONT OF EVERYONE AND LOOKED LIKE HE’D JUST WON SOMETHING MORE IMPORTANT THAN A RACE i’m unwell

@/f1memehub: sky sports: mid-sentence belle: kisses max crofty: glitches karun: gasping social media admin: pressing post like their life depends on it

@/LandoSimp44: the paddock was like “max has a secret wife” max said “here she is. in my arms. deal with it.”

@/MonacoRoyalty: SHE KISSED HIM IN PARC FERMÉ AFTER THE WIN AND HE LOOKED AT HER LIKE SHE PUT THE SUN IN THE SKY i’m crying this is cinema

@/MaxIsWinning: max verstappen doesn’t do drama he does declarations first her name now the kiss next stop: world domination

@/FerrariF1Pain: charles watching belle kiss max in parc fermé after forgetting her birthday is the most older brother consequences i’ve ever seen

@/GridChaosDaily: “Belle kissed Max after the Spanish GP” is now officially my favorite F1 moment no context. just vibes. just love

***

Instagram Post: @/belleverstappen

@/maxverstappen1: Every lifetime, every circuit. Every time. 💍❤️

@/redbullracing: Belle Verstappen supremacy. (also congrats Max 👀)

@/emilie_abadie: this is my new phone background. and lock screen. and wallpaper. and religion. thanks.

@/pierregasly: i need everyone to stop posting this before i start believing in soulmates again

@/landonorris: i was THERE. i SAW IT. i’m never recovering.

@/f1: most liked paddock kiss of all time? confirmed.

@tifositimes: I didn’t expect to cry over a Verstappen kiss post today but here we are.

@/chaoticgridgirl: SHE POSTED IT. THE KISS. THE LEGENDARY KISS. I NEED A MINUTE. ACTUALLY I NEED A WEEK.

@/f1softlaunchdetective: this is what soft-launch girlies do when they hit their final form. she dropped ONE photo and burned the paddock to the ground.

@/maxielflamequeen: the ring. the kiss. the caption.

@paddockwhispers: arthur liked it. charles didn’t.

@softverstappen: i will never emotionally recover from this post. ever. she wins. every time.

@maxsvillainera: look at the way he’s holding her look at the way she’s smiling into the kiss no notes. pure poetry.

***

FIA Press Conference — Post-Race | Spanish Grand Prix 2024

Drivers: P1 - Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing), P2 - Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes), P3 - Lando Norris (McLaren)

Moderator: Congratulations, Max. A win today. How are you feeling?

Max: Good. Yeah, car felt great, team executed perfectly. Always nice to win in Barcelona.

Moderator: We’ll open the floor for questions.

Journalist #1: Max, first of all, congratulations. But obviously everyone’s talking about the moment in Parc Fermé. Can you confirm — was that your wife? And are the rumors true that you and Isabelle Leclerc got married in secret?

Max: Yes. That was my wife. And yes — we got married in Monaco a few weeks ago. We’re very happy.

Lando: (muttering into his mic) Understatement of the century.

Lewis: (grinning) Congrats, man.

Journalist #2: Max, there’s been a lot of talk online about Belle’s birthday being forgotten by her family and this being the reason she pulled away from them. Any comment on that?

Max: No.

Journalist #2: Nothing at all?

Max: (calmly) No.

Journalist #3: There’s a narrative online that Belle’s been overlooked for years. Some say this entire paddock entrance and Parc Fermé kiss was a statement. Was that intentional?

Max: (dryly) We walked in holding hands. We kissed. We’re married. If that counts as a statement, I don’t know what to tell you.

Journalist #4: Do you think this will affect your dynamic with Charles Leclerc?

Max: (expression flat) We’ll see. That’s between him and his sister. I’m just here to race cars and go home to my wife.

Lando: (quietly, to Lewis) He’s in his “husband first, world champion second” era.

Lewis: (laughing into his mic) He really is.

Journalist #6: Do you plan on making any public statement about the family fallout?

Max: No. That’s her story to tell, not mine. And frankly, it’s not gossip. It’s real life. So maybe let’s show a little respect.

Journalist #7: What was going through your mind when she kissed you in Parc Fermé?

Max: (finally smiling) That I’m the luckiest guy in the world.

Journalist #8: Will your wife be traveling with you to more races now?

Max (still polite, still done): We‘ll decide what works best for us as a family. That’s between us.

Reporter #9: Was Belle’s presence in the paddock today a signal? Especially given what happened with Charles—

Max: (cuts in, voice calm but firmer) Belle doesn’t need to signal anything. She’s not a statement. She’s a person. And she came today to support her husband. That’s all.

Moderator: Alright, I think we’ll wrap it there before anyone pushes their luck. Congratulations to all three drivers. Max, Lando, Lewis — thank you.

Lando (leaning into mic): Congrats again, mate. On the win and the wife.

***

Fred Vasseur closed the door harder than necessary.

The sound echoed through the otherwise silent room like a gunshot.

Charles looked up from where he was sitting on the small couch, still in his fireproofs, helmet discarded beside him. He was sweaty, tired, irritated — and entirely unprepared.

“Qu’est-ce que tu fais, Charles?” Fred said sharply. What are you doing?

Charles blinked. “What—?”

“You want to explain to me,” Fred continued, voice calm in the most dangerous way possible, “how your sister kissing Max Verstappen became the story of our weekend?”

Charles sat up straighter. “That’s not fair—”

“No?” Fred crossed the room, standing over him now. “Because I think it’s very fair. You let your personal drama become a paddock sideshow, and now everyone’s talking about the Leclerc family meltdown while we limp home with a P5 and a ruined PR day.”

“I didn’t ask for that to happen!”

“But you made sure it did,” Fred snapped. “You didn’t know Belle got married. Fine. You didn’t approve of who she married. Fine. You could’ve said nothing. But instead, you threw a tantrum. In the paddock. In group chats. Loud enough that half the drivers are mocking you and the other half are wondering if you even see your sister as a person.”

Charles flushed. “That’s not—”

“You forgot her birthday, Charles.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Fred didn’t yell. He didn’t need to.

“You forgot her birthday. You forgot her job. You forgot she moved. And when she stopped chasing your attention, you acted like she betrayed you.” His voice didn’t rise, but it sharpened with every word. “And now you’re shocked that the only person she trusted to hold her hand through it all was the man who sees her every single day?”

Charles looked away, jaw tight. “It wasn’t supposed to be public.”

Fred laughed — once, bitter and short. “And yet you’re the one who made it public. Max didn’t. Belle didn’t. You did. And now you’ve made us look like amateurs — not because of strategy, but because you couldn’t handle the fact that your sister’s life isn’t orbiting around you anymore.”

Charles opened his mouth. Closed it. No words came.

Fred sighed — not in exasperation, but in disappointment. And that hurt more.

“I expected more from you,” he said quietly. “As a driver, yes. But more than that — as a man. As a brother.”

Charles flinched like he’d been hit.

“You want to fix this?” Fred said, stepping back. “Then stop sulking. Start listening. And for the love of God, don’t let Max Verstappen be the better man in every single room you enter.”

He turned and walked to the door.

“Because right now?” he added, hand on the handle. “He’s not just beating you on track. He’s beating you in every other way that matters.”

And then he left.

Charles stayed seated, eyes burning, the silence pressing heavier than any helmet ever had.

***

Dinner had started out exactly the way Belle expected.

Loud. Warm. Slightly unhinged.

They were tucked into a quiet corner of a restaurant just off the Barcelona marina — the kind of place Max loved because no one there cared about racing unless it blocked traffic. The table was round, the lighting dim and golden, and the laughter had already started before the appetizers arrived.

Lando had barely let Max sit down before declaring, “You’re disgusting. You win a race and then get kissed like it’s a Netflix finale. Get out.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Max had said, completely unbothered.

Oscar, seated beside Lily, just smirked. “It was kind of romantic.”

Lily looked between the two of them with a soft smile. “Kind of? It broke the Internet.”

Daniel had toasted “to hard launches, soft kisses, and Verstappen chaos,” and Belle had nearly snorted water through her nose.

But now dinner had mellowed. Plates cleared. Dessert on the way. The kind of soft lull that usually came right before someone said something life-changing.

Max glanced at Belle. That look — gentle, checking, asking without words.

She nodded once.

He cleared his throat lightly. “We actually… wanted to tell you guys something.”

Four pairs of eyes snapped to attention.

“Tell me you’re moving to the countryside and buying a farm,” Lando said immediately. “Please. I need this arc.”

“Better,” Max said, eyes flicking toward Belle.

Belle rested her hands on the edge of the table. Her heart was fluttering, not with nerves exactly — more like awe. Like the moment was finally catching up to her.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

There was a pause.

A moment of stunned silence.

And then—

“NO YOU’RE NOT,” Daniel half-shouted, nearly knocking over his wine glass.

Lily gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “Are you serious?!”

Oscar just stared, mouth slightly open like his brain had hit the brakes.

Lando blinked twice, then pointed between them. “Like… with a baby baby?”

Belle burst into laughter — the tension cracking wide open. Max was already grinning like he’d been waiting for this chaos all night.

“Yes, Lando,” Belle said, wiping at her eyes. “A baby baby.”

Oscar finally found his voice. “How long have you known?”

“A few weeks,” Max said. “We’re keeping it quiet for now. But we wanted you to know first.”

Lily leaned across the table, eyes wide and shining. “You’re going to be parents. Oh my god. That baby is going to have cheekbones and a death stare.”

“And probably a kart by age two,” Daniel added, now fully beaming. “Holy shit. Max Verstappen’s going to be a dad. I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting down,” Oscar said, still blinking like he hadn’t caught up.

“I need to sit down harder,” Daniel muttered.

Lando reached for Belle’s hand across the table, squeezing it. “You’re going to be amazing.”

Belle swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “I’m scared,” she admitted. “But… I’m also happy. Really happy.”

Max’s hand found her thigh under the table, grounding and steady. She didn’t have to look to know he was watching her with that same soft, almost reverent expression he’d had ever since she told him.

Oscar was smiling now too, the initial shock melting into something warm. “Congratulations,” he said. “Both of you. Really.”

“And selfishly,” Lily added, “I’m just glad we get to love this baby too.”

Daniel raised his glass. “To the official grid baby.”

“We’re not calling them that,” Belle said immediately.

“To Max spiraling when the baby kicks for the first time,” Oscar added, grinning.

“To all of it,” Lando finished. “To them.”

They clinked glasses — softly, gently.

And as Belle looked around at the people who had chosen her — not because she was someone’s sister, not because she was attached to a name — but because they loved her, her heart felt impossibly full.

The world could stay outside tonight.

This was theirs.

***

1K notes · View notes

viennakarma · 6 days ago

Text

Good girls

Lewis Hamilton x Reader (+18)

Summary: When Lewis first sees you after many years, he wants you before he even recognises you. Once he does recognise you, he also notices you want him too, and a spoiled girl, you won't give up until you have him exactly where you want him.

Word count: 4k

Tags: female!reader, Rosberg!Reader (as in Nico's daughter), slightly taboo, age gap (ages not defined), smut, porn with almost no plot, teasing, Lewis is resistant but wants it, fingering, slightly angry sex, mutual masturbation, not discussed kinks, slapping, spit play (?), absolutely filthy, derogratory names (in a sexy way), angst, no hea, open ending (?), not beta read

Relationship: Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Note: This is inspired by this misunderstood banger Good Girls by Nick Jonas. Please suspend reality to believe Nico is older, and would have a grown woman daughter. If this is not your vibe, please, don't follow through. Comments and feedback are welcomed.

Find me on Twitter! | BUY ME A COFFEE ☕️

Lewis adjusted his shirt as he reached the club. The air was thick, bass thumping loudly. People dancing, drinking, and in far corners, making out. He stepped carefully around, going to the bar for a drink.

It was one of those private, exclusive clubs, no phones and no limits for people as rich and famous as most of the people inside. The kind of things that happened there, would never leave those walls. Big chandeliers and dark walls, no windows. Lewis had not gone to one of those in quite some time, but tonight… tonight he had an itch he had not been able to scratch yet.

Usually, he would reach out to any of the names on his hit list, but none of them were in Monaco this weekend. He had tried, so he might have to go old school and fish a pretty woman from a club.

He sat by the bar, taking a sip of champagne, scanning around until his eyes landed on one of the tables in the center. A bunch of men and women standing around the table and a pretty little thing dancing on the pole on top of it. She looked a little tipsy, not overly so, wearing a dress that had sparkling details, frilly and cute but dangerously sexy.

Her back to him, he stared at the curve of her back in that low cut dress, down to her perky ass, long golden legs. Hair wild, as she swayed her hips sensually to the deep bass song, sliding down the pole, making people cheer.

She was hot, undeniably. Lewis’ exact type of girl, a bit younger, sensual and looking like life is an eternal summer.

He decided he would approach her later, after she had come down from the table, maybe offer her some water, a smooth conversation and he was sure he could take her home before the end of the night.

Halfway through his drink, he watched when she spun around the dancing pole, face up like she was praying to a sinner’s god. And then… her face came fully into view.

Lewis’ stomach dropped.

You.

He knew you. He gulped, reaching for his phone to check something. Doing something he never expected to, he unblocked Nico Rosberg social media and checked the photos. It definitely was you, Nico’s older daughter. He put his phone away again, staring at you, still dancing on the pole dance. Trying to reconcile the sexy grown woman on the table with the scrawny little girl you were when Lewis had last seen you in person, probably had not even gone through puberty back then. Back when he and Nico still spoke.

He double checked on his phone, googling your name. Pictures of you in events, Motorsports related, charity events and galas. A few articles talking about how the Rosberg first-born was such a good girl, involved in many charity cases such as education for children from underdeveloped countries, women and young girls in earlier categories in motorsports, and sustainability. He looked at the pictures of you in long, elegant dresses and suits, looking like nothing but proper. And then he looked at you on the table, dancing, drunk and wild, looking like everything but a good girl.

He put his phone down and marched towards you on that table. He had no means to explain himself as he got close enough, shouldering off people as he got closer, and all but barked your name, enough to cut through the cheers and the music.

You had a lopsided grin when you turned to the sound of your name, bright lipgloss and a hint of recognition when you saw who had said your name.

“Sir Lewis Hamilton!” You laughed, unbothered by the evident anger in his eyes.

“Get down from that table.” He commanded, voice firm and gaze ablaze.

“No can do…” You sang, staring at him with your back to the pole, slowly sliding down. His eyes dropped to your legs for a half a second then he averted his gaze quickly, but you caught it.

“Get down on your own or I’ll make you,” He said, glaring.

You ignored him, still dancing, looking away. You were about to do a spin when a pair of big hands grabbed your waist and just… tugged. In a second, he placed you on your feet on the ground.

“Hey!” You pushed past him, walking towards the bar to ask for another drink, but he held you back by the forearm, tugging so you spun right back to face him.

“You’re going home,” He said, voice thick and teeth clenched like he was furious.

“My ass!” You tried to push him.

“This is no place for a girl like you. Do you think your father would approve of this?”

“What do you know about my dad? Not like you’ve spoken to him, or me, in a decade!”

Lewis blinked at your words. It was true, of course. He used to be the fun dad’s friend to you, always allowing a sweet here and there, and saying encouraging words about school or karting. Lewis was about to feel bad for not having any contact with your family for so long, when you drunkenly ordered another drink, and he got angry all over again.

“Okay, you’re done,” He huffed, firmly grabbing your forearm, not enough to hurt but enough to stop you, “You’re drunk and I’m taking you home.”

“Damn… at least take me out on a date first.”

“I’m taking your ass to your home. I’m not letting you make a fool of yourself here.”

“I’m a star here! Everyone loves me, you’re the one who doesn’t know that, old man,” you giggled as he started to guide you out, “Don’t be so rough, I might like it!” You teased and Lewis swore he could slam his own head against the wall. You were actively flirting with him, and he didn’t know if it was just to piss him off, but it was working.

He was about to leave when a different song started, you shouted about that being your song and started running back inside, he grabbed you before you could return, he removed his jacket and tied it around your waist and you stared at him confused. Then he just… crouched a bit and put you on his shoulder, carrying you out.

“Why the fuck are you thinking you can boss me around?!” You squealed, trying to get back to the floor, but his arm wrapped around your legs and the other wrapped around your waist and you felt… something.

“I’m saving your ass from the embarrassment, and tomorrow when you’re sober, you’ll thank me for it,” he huffed until he was at a parking lot and put you inside a car.

He got in after you, adjusting his jacket around your waist to cover your bare, tanned gold legs and- Lewis blinked, rubbing his face as he looked away. He absolutely shouldn’t be looking at you like that. Like a woman. You were the scrawny bratty teen he last knew you as, and not… this. Not a woman.

When Lewis gave the driver the address, but said your father’s house address, you bursted out laughing.

“I don’t live with my dad anymore, old man.”

“Then where do you live?” he huffed, annoyed.

But you just laughed, kicking your heels off and placing your feet on his lap. He stared confused as you pressed the button to turn the music up, then he turned the music down.

“I’m hungry…” You muttered, pouting. Lewis gaze went from your legs, up to your face, to your pretty lips sparkling with lipgloss, looking so soft and so kis-

“I’ll stop by somewhere,” He cleared his throat, looking ahead.

As the driver stopped by a restaurant and left the car to get some food, you stared at Lewis, and he turned to face you. With a mischievous smile, you moved your feet slowly on his lap, going to the inside of his thighs and lower. He choked, grabbing your ankles.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Like you don’t want it…” You laughed.

“I don’t. You’re a kid!”

“I’m a woman!”

He placed your legs back down on the floor instead of his lap.

“Behave. I’m not fucking you. You’re way too young.”

“Like that ever stopped you.”

“I don’t remember you being this mouthy before,” He said, annoyed and not looking at you.

“You don’t know me, Lewis,” his name on your lips sounded like a venom he wanted to drown in, “It’s been a decade.” You said, slightly more serious, leaning over him, this time, holding his wrist and tracing the lines of the tattoos that went down his hand and fingers. Lewis gulped, goosebumps on the back of his neck as he stared at the pretty curve of your neck, your collarbone and the valley of your cleavage showing prettily under the cut of the dress.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, sunshine,” he held your wrist and pushed your hand off.

“And if I can finish it…?” You whispered, licking your lips like you were about to jump him.

The driver returned, opening the door to the back seat, and you flinched away from Lewis, removing the jacket from around your waist and just putting it on. As Lewis unpacked the food and handed it to you, you relaxed against the seat.

In a moment, you were out like a light, and Lewis huffed, knowing he’d have to take you to his place after all. From the parking lot to the penthouse, he carried you in his arms bridal style, making his way to one of his guest rooms, the one closest to the main suite because he wanted to hear if you made any mess during the night. After laying you down under the covers, he gently ran a makeup wipe on your face, left a glass of water and painkillers on the side table.

When you woke up the next morning, you were slightly confused for a few moments, before sitting up and remembering the night before completely. You stood up, stretching as you made your way to the bathroom, removing your clothes and getting under the warm water of the shower.

After that, you wrapped yourself in a robe, brushed your teeth and washed your face, feeling brand new again.

As you left the guest suite, you slowly padded down the hallway, looking for Lewis, the house seemed quiet in the morning. You quietly opened doors, one by one until you were before the main suite, which you knew was Lewis’ bedroom because it was the most lived in compared to the other bedrooms.

“Lewis?” You called out, but only the silence replied.

You walked in, slowly, calling his name in case he was there. With your fingers tracing the bedsheets, you walked further inside, taking a peek inside the empty bathroom, then you walked towards the closet. Inside it was empty, but the heavy smell of cologne was everywhere and engulfed you. Touching a few of his clothes, you paused as you saw soft cotton pants and a t-shirt folded neatly over a chair. You grabbed the shirt, bringing it close to your face to smell his cologne in it. You had hoped he wore that recently. You smiled as you dropped the robe you were wearing and put on his shirt, long that went down to your thighs.

You wondered if that was enough to break his resolve.

As you went to the kitchen, the breakfast was set on the dinner table, rich, hearty food. You still looked around for Lewis, but he seemed to be out.

You sat and ate some, drinking a sweet iced tea that was there.

After finishing breakfast, you stood before his kitchen, sipping on a glass of cold water, when you heard footsteps.

Lewis stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you there, leaning against his kitchen counter, comfortable, wearing his clothes like you belonged there. He was dressed in gym clothes, shorts and no shirt on, the t-shirt tucked into his shorts, skin glistening with sweat as if he had just come from the gym.

In all truthness, he had hoped you’d have left before he came back from his morning run. He expected you to be mortified by the night before, by your drunk words and worse, your drunk actions. But he should have known better. He should know you would have absolutely no shame.

“You’re still here.” He pointed out like it was a glitch in his carefully constructed plan. You laughed at him.

“I didn’t get any memo about leaving early. Was that your plan?” You looked at him, amused, sipping the water, unbothered.

“I’ll ask the driver to take you home…” He reached for his phone, removing his airpods.

“And if I don't want to leave yet?” You walked closer, grabbed his phone and held it back, far from him.

As he stepped closer to take it back, he fell right into your trap, chest to chest, face dangerously close as you tilted your head to face him, your free hand landing on his chest.

“You know we can play cat and mouse all day…”

“You’re way too spoiled for your own good,” He hissed, still trying to reach for his phone, but the move had you pressed between him and the counter. He hated it. He hated that he could feel the shape and warmth of your body against him, he hated that mischievous glint in your eyes, that winning smile like you had him exactly where you wanted him. He hated that his body reacted to every single bit of it.

“I just know how to get what I want,” You said, placing his phone on the counter behind you as you propped yourself up, pressing your breasts to his chest.

You closed your eyes, leaning closer, your nose brushing his neck as you tiptoed to place a peck on his cheek.

“You’re too young.”

“You’ve been with women my age, come on now,” you giggled, unbothered by his excuse. The way you bit your lip, not a single care in the world had his cock hardening under his thin training shorts.

“But I knew you before! I know your dad, for fucks sake…” Lewis tried to cling to the last bit of his restraint, but it was hard, literally and metaphorically.

“Who cares?” You muttered, nosing at his jaw and he groaned.

“I care-” His voice failed, “-I care. We should not engage in this-”

“Then what-” You paused, hand trailing down his chest, index hooking on the waistband, “-is this?” You laughed in his face, index tracing the hard contour of his cock, on top of his shorts.

He bit his lip, holding back a groan, and you could see in his eyes the moment his resolve just snapped. Pupils dilated and heaving chest, his hand snapped up, going to the back of your neck and yanking at your hair, which made you gasp, staring up at him with a teasing smile. He looked angry, pissed that he couldn’t resist you.

“Don’t know how to take a no, do you?” He nipped at your lower lip and pulled away, it had you moaning, melting into him, “Always pushing and pushing to get whatever you want…”

You leaned forward, trying to kiss him, but he tugged your hair, stopping you before your lips could touch, clicking his tongue, almost annoyed at the fact you dared to try him. To test his patience and push his buttons.

He let go of your hair to grab at your jaw, angrily holding it as he ran his thumb over your lips, the other hand going down from your waist to your ass, sliding under his shirt you were wearing, finding you wearing no underwear at all.

“No panties on?! Wearing my shirt like that, with nothing underneath…” He scoffed, his touch growing tighter, your smile bigger as you saw the effects you had on him, his hand palming at your ass, kneading pulling you closer so he could roll his hips against you, making you feel his erection against you.

You gasped, grinding against him as you reached up, trying to kiss him again, and he offered you some mercy, pulling you close and smashing your lips together. He kissed you hard, pushing like it wasn’t enough, like he needed to merge into you. His tongue molten hot against yours, reaching and sucking and wanting more.

His hand let go of your ass and found your cunt, unceremoniously swiping a finger between your folds, which made you gasp, catching your slick, spreading it and pulling his hand back to force you to look at it on his finger.

“That’s what you wanted, huh? This pussy is begging for me, you greedy girl…” He muttered, half angry, half turned on. His hand found your pussy again, spreading your slick all over, teasing but never pushing a finger inside or even pressing your clit, “Making a mess for me, greedy little slut. Such pretty sounds, and I haven't even started with you.”

You whined, hips rolling into his hand trying to find that touch, trying to quench the need that had your cunt clenching around nothing, pulsing for more.

“Wan’ more… Lewis, more,” You gasped, and he finally, finally obliged, slowly sliding half a finger into you, and you moaned, desperate, needy.

“‘Course you do, spoiled brat,” He said, finger sinking deeper, and you grabbed his shoulders, trying to bite back louder sounds. As you got used to the intrusion of his fingers, your hands slid down his chest, tugging at the waistband of his shorts and boxers, pulling it down.

His cock sprang up, hard and leaking, ready for more. He was big, but especially thick, as you wrapped a hand around his velvety skin, warm to the touch and throbbing. He groaned as you tried to wrap your hand around him, and he noticed the size difference from your hand to his sheer thickness. He hummed as you stroked him tentatively, your eyes moving between his cock and his face, trying to read in his expression what felt good.

He pulled his fingers out of you, and you whined at the absence. He grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand up closer to his face, and he simply spat on your palm, moving it back down and wrapping your hand around his cock again, his hand on top of yours to show you the pressure and the speed to stroke him, “Like that…” He murmured, the last word elongated like he was holding back a moan, “Yeah, keep going…”

You two looked at the absolute filth that was both your hands on him, sliding down to his base, up to his head, smearing his pre-cum all around. It all made you absolutely wet, slick starting to slide down the inside of your thighs.

“Now be a good girl and keep going,” he commanded, letting go of your hand and watching as you kept stroking him the way he showed, slow, tighter at the base.

His hand went back to your pussy, sinking two fingers this time and you moaned, your hand on his stuttering, but you pushed through and kept stroking his as his fingers went deep, slowly searching until- you whined, moaning out loud as he brushed your spongy g-spot.

“Found it,” He whispered, smugly, planting a soft, cooing kiss to your lips, stealing your moans into his mouth, “riiiight here… can feel your cunt clenching around me, baby. Feels good?” he muttered, feeling your cunt gripping his fingers.

You tried to reply, but between the way he was pushing and pushing into you, his fingers massaging your g-spot over and over, and the way you were still trying to rub his cock, trying to give him the same pleasure he was giving you. The pleasure was overwhelming, reaching the spot and pulling back just enough to push you to the edge but never letting the wave hit. Your eyes rolled back, hand going slack around him.

“Hey, hey, baby…” Lewis called, whispering your name to bring you back to earth, with his other hand, he softly slapped your cheek, which made you snap back to reality, pussy clenching with each slap, “Are you already fucked dumb on my fingers?” He clicked his tongue, “Don’t stop touching me, baby. Go on, like I told you to. You’re such a good little slut, you can do both…”

You nodded, breathing hard as you went back to tugging at his cock with just half a mind. Meanwhile his fingers hit the spot, pressing harder, deeper.

“Fuuuck, Lewis- I’m close-” You gasped.

“I know, baby… Just let go, be good and give it to me…” He whispered, lips finding your neck and teeth just grazing the skin of your pulse point.

A few more strokes and you were cumming around his fingers, moaning, toes curling and head falling forward against his shoulder, so out of it that you didn’t realize your hand was grasping his cock hard, almost strangling his length. It was slightly painful, but Lewis was a filthy man, and your tight grip was enough to push him over the edge, spilling his cum on your hand and some even landing on your thigh. He groaned, eyes closed as he rode the high just beside you.

Once he could move again, he picked you up, taking you to his ensuite bathroom, sitting you on the edge of his jacuzzi. You were still feeling relaxed from the orgasm, so you let him grab a towel, dampen it under the running water and softly clean you. You hissed as the contact made you sensitive, but he was careful, slow. As he got you clean, he turned to the sink, washing his hand.

The haze of the orgasm finally faded and you stared at him, the set of his jaw, the way his eyes refused to look at yours. You paused, and you knew post nut clarity had hit him.

“Lewis?” You asked, slowly. He didn’t reply for a moment, leaning over the sink to wet his cheeks and neck. “Lewis?” You called out again and he finally turned to face you.

The regret was written all over his face.

“Lewis, this-”

“Shouldn’t have happened,” He said, voice sharp.

“Come on, don’t do this…” You stood up, walking up to him.

“No, no. This shouldn’t have happened at all. You’re too young, I knew you from before-”

“Lewis, it’s been years since we last saw each other. I know you, I know you never looked at me like that before last night!”

“This is insane. And wrong. Besides, you’re Nico’s daughter, this crosses so many boundaries.”

“So it all boils down to that? To your fucked up friendship with my dad…?”

“You know what I mean,” He shook his head, heading outside. You followed him, going back to the kitchen, where he got his phone, “My driver will take you home.”

“Don’t be like that…” You tried stepping closer, but he took a step back and you paused.

Your stomach dropped, realization dawned that he was serious, he was really shooing you away after that intense moment, like you were some sort of whore who he had his fun with and it was time to go. You swallowed, taking a step back. Lewis’ face softened as he noticed the hurt quickly passing through your face, but you straightened your shoulders, hurt being replaced by anger.

“You’re gonna regret this,” you told him.

“I already do.”

“Fuck you, Lewis.”

You went back to the guest bedroom where you had woken up in, not even bothering to change back into your yesterday clothes, only grabbing your purse, clothes and shoes. You stepped out of the bedroom and Lewis had made himself scarce.

The driver was waiting for you in the living room, and he quietly led you down the elevator, going down to the parking lot. Less than twenty minutes later, you had left a distraught Lewis Hamilton behind. But some part of you knew it wasn’t over yet. And however it may be, you were going to make him pay.

pls don't cancel me!

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456 notes · View notes

ofoceansandtombsanew · 10 months ago

Text

cw. 18+, not sfw, headcanons, gn!reader + afab!reader

pairing. multifandom

notes. i had an unnecessarily medium discussion about this with a friend today and couldn't stop obsessing over it so i'm making the internet's problem. y'all don't have to agree with me, i just have my own little thoughts and hcs in my little corner of the internet. divider by @/cafekitsune

hands

prefers holding hands during sex. they enjoy the inherent intimacy the action brings. it is a tether that keeps them grounded to earth so they don't float too far from its orbit.

Portgas D. Ace, Vinsmoke Sanji, Nico Robin, Nanami Kento, Umemiya Hajime, Mikasa Ackerman, Makima, Hayakawa Aki, Jonathan Joestar, Bruno Bucciarati, Giorno Giovanna

prefers keeping your hands held above your head with their own. it's how they are able to get the best look at you, seeing all the expressions you make and that edge of control that makes it all the more satisfying

Getou Suguru, Fushiguro Toji, Sukuna, DIO, Kujo Jotaro, Gyro Zeppeli,

prefers keeping their hands on your waist and hips. they want your lower halves as close as humanly possible and even then, it's not close enough. they want you to fall into their skin

Gojou Satoru, Donquixote Doflamingo, Roronoa Zoro, Shanks, Jean-Pierre Polnareff, Guido Mista, Joseph Joestar

tears

tends to cry during sex (emotional) it is all in the culmination of the love you share. how much they love you, the fact that you love them. the happiness overflows and somehow everything feels a mixture of being enough and not quite having enough of you

Portgas D. Ace, Vinsmoke Sanji, Donquixote Rosinante, Mikasa Ackerman, Nirei Akihiko, Jean Kirstein, Hayakawa Aki, Makima (if she considers you her equal)

tends to cry during sex (overstimulated) easily overstimulated and prone to tears. you'd feel worse if they didn't look so good with the tears streaming down their face

Haruka Sakura, Nirei Akihiko, Iori Utahime, Nami, Mikasa Ackerman

enjoys making YOU cry. second verse, first same as the first. the way you look is downright sinful and they love it

DIO, Narciso Anasui, Donquixote Doflamingo, Eustass Kid, Shanks, Crocodile, Sukuna, Fushiguro Toji, Tsukumo Yuki

level of freak

absolute freak. down to try just about anything give or take a few exceptions. they enjoy the excitement of experimenting with you and learning what make you both tick

Gojou Satoru, Fushiguro Toji, Sukuna, Tsukumo Yuki, Togame Jo, Suo Hayato, Shanks, Donquixote Doflamingo, Eustass Kid, Roronoa Zoro

medium. doesn't lean too far in either realms of kinky and vanilla; they are simply a happy medium. you simply do your best to match each other's freak

Choso, Nanami Kento, Getou Suguru,Dracule Mihawk, Vinsmoke Sanji, Sabo, Buggy, Trafalgar D. Water Law, Crocodile, Jean Kirstein, Armin Arlert, Eren Jaeger, Porco Galliard, Josuke Higashikata, Hiiragi Touma

vanilla. sweet and romantic. they know what they like and it's a bit on the simpler side but that doesn't make them any less passionate in their performance

Mikasa Ackerman, Portgas D. Ace, Umemiya Hajime, Haruka Sakura, Nirei Akihiko

position preference

hard dom. you might be able to talk them into switching things up but they prefer being dominant in bed

DIO, Kujo Jotaro, Donquixote Doflamingo, Eustass Kid, Annie Leonhart, Ymir, Zeke Jaeger, Togame Jo, Kaji Ren, Tsukumo Yuki

dom-leaning switch. while they tend to take the lead in sex, they have no issue switching it up and letting you do your thing. just as much as they enjoy making your back arch and head tilt back, they enjoy being on the receiving end of such pleasure just as much

Shanks, Crocodile, Dracule Mihawk, Trafalgar D. Water Law, Sabo, Gojou Satoru, Getou Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, Nanami Kento, Porco Galliard, Roronoa Zoro, Guido Mista, Hiiragi Touma

sub-leaning switch. they have no problems leaving things in your capable hands and honestly prefer it more times than most, but they can take charge at your behest and find it just as fulfilling

Vinsmoke Sanji, Buggy, Nico Robin, Koala, Nefertari Vivi, Choso, Sakura Haruka, Nirei Akihiko, Jolyne Cujoh

true switch. as flexible as the ever constant ebb and flow of the tide. they are able to adapt to their partner's preferences and doesn't mind either role as long as you are enjoying yourself

Portgas D. Ace, Usopp, Nico Robin, Umemiya Hajime, Historia Reiss, Pieck Finger, Hange Zoe, Armin Arlert, Johnny Joestar, Josuke Higashikata, Ermes Costello, Narciso Anasui

pillow princess. they'd rather leave control in your hands. but don't get it twisted. this is the highest form of trust they can bestow upon you, their beloved. relinquishing control and trusting you'll take care of them

Nami, Perona, Mikasa Ackerman, Makima, Sakura Haruka (i apologize for nothing), Iori Utahime

most prevalent kink

body worship.

Portgas D. Ace, Shanks, Nico Robin, Nami, Makima, Mikasa Ackerman, Jean Kirstein, Reiner Braun, Giorno Giovanna, Bruno Bucciarati, Jean-Pierre Polnareff

binding/tying up their partner or by their partner.

Donquixote Doflamingo, Roronoa Zoro, Nico Robin, Dracule Mihawk, Getou Suguru, Nanami Kento, Sukuna, DIO, Suo Hayato

praise (whether giving or receiving).

Vinsmoke Sanji, Sabo, Usopp, Buggy, Perona, Nirei Akihiko, Sakura Haruka, Umemiya Hajime, Jean-Pierre Polnareff, Getou Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, Iori Utahime

shotgunning.

Vinsmoke Sanji, Trafalgar D. Water Law, Hayakawa Aki, Narciso Anasui, Gyro Zeppeli, Zeke Jaeger

breeding.

DIO, Guido Mista, Narciso Anasui, Gojou Satoru, Choso, Tsukumo Yuki (she could get someone pregnant)

pegging.

Gojou Satoru, Choso, Tsukumo Yuki, Ieiri Shoko, Vinsmoke Sanji, Buggy, Sakura Haruka

face sitting.

Franky, Nami, Perona, Shanks, Fushiguro Toji, Togame Jo, Ymir, Porco Galliard, Reiner Braun, Guido Mista, Johnny Joestar

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jo-speaks · 2 months ago

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Can you do a request for luke Hughes? Maybr he meets a girl while doing an appearance with the team like a nurse at hospital and he has to try and find her the next day to ask her out. Maybe his teammates help

CHASIN' YOU

warnings: none!!

note: please excuse my lack of hospital knowledge.. ps. THANK YOU 700 followers. i love you all.

The Devils were making another one of their visits at RWJBarnabas Health, a trip that always had Luke feeling excited.

As awkward as he was, he felt great visiting kids whose days were made so much better just by spending time with him. It wasn’t just for him, it was for them too. So, when he and Nico were split up together walking around the hospital and meeting those kids, he didn’t think too much of it. Just another day at the office.

That was until the pair entered a room in the left wing. They were expecting a kid, and their parents, the usual sight they were met with during these trips. However, what they hadn’t expected was for you to be in there. You turned to face the men, a warm smile on your face.

“Hey, sorry! I’m just checking his vitals, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Nico nodded, thanking you before walking over to the parents, shaking their hands, and making small conversation as you did your job. Luke, on the other hand, was stuck still in his spot, lips slightly parted as he watched you work.

The way your hands were gentle as you lifted the boy's arm, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around it. The way you were smiling and laughing along with him as he told you about how the other nurses weren’t as nice as you. The way you chewed on your lip as you wrote on his chart. You weren’t doing anything a nurse wasn’t expected to do, but Luke thought you were an absolute grace from the heavens.

“Everything looks good, bud!” You said joyfully, high-fiving the boy before taking off the cuff. “I think it’s time for me to get out of your hair and let you enjoy these superstars, huh?”

The boy nodded, smiling widely. “Thank you, Ms.Y/N!”

Y/N. It suited you so perfectly, Luke was positive he’d never get it out of his head. You bid farewell to his parents, walking across the room to head out the door. As you passed Luke, he caught your eye, offering you a polite smile. In return, you smiled at him and let out a soft, “Hi,” before grazing his arm with yours, walking out the door into the hall.

It was one word, yet Luke felt a blush rise to his cheeks and a tingly feeling in his stomach. It was one word, and Luke knew that he needed to see you again.

~~~

“We don’t have to go again for the next two months. Why do you want to go back so soon?” Nico asked, his eyebrow quirking up at Luke’s sudden request.

He choked on his spit. “I- I just miss the kids, you know? I’m sure it gets lonely in those cold rooms.”

His reasoning was bullshit, and Nico knew it too. “Alright, spill it, Rusty.”

Luke sighed, knowing he’d been caught in a not-so-good lie. He shifted back and forth on his skates, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket as he avoided eye contact with his captain.

“You remember the girl who was in there with that Charlie kid?”

Nico furrowed his eyebrows. “His mom?”

“No!” Luke exclaimed, “The nurse. I thought she was kinda cute.”

The older man let out a sigh, his hand coming up to his teammate’s shoulder. It was possible, Nico knew that, but he wanted to tease the boy a little longer before giving in. “So you want to use those kids to get a girl? Didn’t think you were that kinda guy, Hughes.”

His tone was light and teasing, so Luke didn’t feel actual offense. Still, hid his face in his shoulder, face burning red. Maybe he was right. Maybe he shouldn’t be using visiting kids just for the slight chance of seeing you. Maybe he should just man up and ask a receptionist for your name. Maybe-

“I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

The look of pure joy on Luke’s face was laughable. His smile was wide, and he was pulling in Nico for a side hug before skating off quickly to do god knows what.

~~~

The hospital felt bigger than it had during previous visits, making Luke sweat a little around the collar of his jersey. The whole team was confused as to why they were back only two weeks after their initial visit, but they were happy to be making kids’ days again. Jack was with them this time, feeling well enough to join his teammates and brother on this visit, unaware of Luke’s ulterior motives.

They split off, leaving in groups of three. Coincidentally, Luke ended up with Jack and Nico, one of them who would actually be a help to Luke’s side quest.

He was antsy. Walking quickly through the halls that you would think he was a doctor trying to get to his patients, given he wasn’t wearing his jersey. Jack gave Nico a look, confused as to why his younger brother was zooming past rooms of kids they were scheduled to visit. “Is he alright? He’s been acting weird.”

The captain chuckled, placing his hand on his teammate’s uninjured shoulder, “You’ll see.” The lack of an explanation had Jack even more confused, but he kept on, speeding up his pace to follow Luke.

“Lukey, can you slow down?” Jack hollered, trying to avoid crashing into the hospital staff.

Luke turned around for a quick second, his eyes widening slightly as he saw the distance between himself and the boys. Before he could chirp back, a sudden pressure came onto his chest, a soft gasp following it, causing his head to whip back around. His jaw fell as he saw you, your chart and pens scattered around you as you looked up with furrowed eyebrows. It was impossible for you to keep that rapidly rising anger, your face immediately softening when you noticed it was the guy from a month ago.

He squatted down, helping you pick up your stuff, “I am so sorry. I-”

“It’s okay.” You laughed softly, picking up your papers and taking what he had gotten from his hands, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Luke stood up, his tall figure standing over you as he extended his hand, which you gladly took. “Still, I don’t think you’d expect someone to be standing in your way.”

By now, Nico and Jack had caught up. They were a few steps back from you and Luke, choosing to watch the situation unfold from a listening distance before they stepped in to help the younger boy.

“Well, if it were to be anyone, I’m glad it was you.”

Your words slipped out before you could stop them, mentally facepalming yourself at what you had just said to the cute stranger in front of you. The truth is, you couldn’t stop thinking about him either. Since the day he walked in on you, it felt like his face was imprinted into your head, every bone in your body wishing he would come back. Selfishly, you started picking up extra shifts, wanting to be there if he ever came back.

A blush rose onto his face, your heart beating faster at the sight. Yet, he did his best to keep his composure. “Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, “I’m Y/N.”

Luke remembered that. How could he forget? It was your name. The name that was engraved into his memory. The name he spent countless nights thinking about because it fit you so well.

“Luke.”

“Well, Luke,” You repeated, “It’s nice to see you again.” Your pager beeped, your eyes glancing down to see that you were needed down the hall. He noticed it too, but he knew he couldn’t let you go again.

“Do you think I could get your number?” He blurted, causing Jack and Nico to sputter out laughter.

You chuckled, taking his arm and sliding the sleeve of his jersey up. You took one of your pens, clicking down the tip as you scribbled your digits onto his skin, making sure he couldn’t lose them. When you finished, you looked up at him, noticing his impossibly redder face, smiling at him before dropping his arm and walking away. Jack came up behind him, picking up that same arm to see what you’d done. “Damn, Lukey. She’s got you whipped already.”

And his brother was right. He was already obsessed with you.

#jo speaks #luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fic #luke hughes x you #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes x y/n #new jersey devils #nj devils

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gay-dorito-dust · 5 months ago

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Just Luke and reader being camp halfblood parental figures.

Percy: why do you call Luke and y/n your parents?

Annabeth; it’s hard not to, epically not when Luke watched over me and made sure my wounds were healed, nurse me back to health when sick like a mother. Whereas y/n would advice me to crush my enemies, destroy their egos with my intellect and ability to think on the spot, but in the same breath beat the shit out of anyone that looked at me wrong.

Annabeth: they both essentially raised me when we were together with Thalia. Who in this situation would be my cool aunt.

Percy: *whispering to himself* note to self, if I am to ever date annabeth, hypothetically, don’t piss off the parental unit known as y/n.

…

Luke: where have you been young man? You’ve had us worried sick.

Percy: who are you meant to be my dad?

You: no I am your dad/parental unit, now answer your mother.

Percy: *crosses arms* it’s none of your business.

You: *also crosses arms* would you like to repeat that again since you’re feeling sassy today?

Percy: …no…I was with Grover and Annabeth.

Luke: we’re only looking out for you, that’s all. *pats his shoulder with a smile* but you do know you’re not allowed to sneak out of your cabins after curfew.

You: which is a rule you broke that thus punishable, so you know what that means ~

Percy: I’m cabin grounded…

You: yes you absolutely are, now get to bed and think about what you’ve done to your poor mother. *cradles Luke in your arms as he tries not to laugh*

…

You: the both of you get on top of your bunks! Get up there!

Connor and travis: *climbing their bunk beds* THIS CABIN IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!

Luke: this is what you get for replacing shampoo with hair remover, poor Lucas from the Aphrodite cabin can’t look himself in the mirror anymore.

(I like to imagine that Connor and travis sleep on the top bunks of their beds so they can scheme to one another)

…

New camper: *points to you and luke* mom/dad/ etc and dad?

You and Luke: uhhh…yeah! 👍

…

(Good guy Luke au)

Nico: *sweet boy with the sweetest smile, complete deck of mythomagic cards that he wants to talk about, bright eyed and bushy tailed, just over all needs to be protected*

You: *cradles him to your chest* you sweet little boy! I know your pain and you’ve been nothing but brave this entire time.

Luke: *joining you* absolutely the bravest our sweet child of hades, we’ll keep you safe from now on.

Nico: I don’t know what’s going on but do you want to listen to me talk about my card game? *shows you both his cards with a beaming smile*

You and Luke: *sitting yourselves down In front of nico* oh absolutely we do. Nothing would make us happier.

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temiizpalace · 11 months ago

Text

☆┊I SWEAR I ONLY FELL FOR YOU ON ACCIDENT..

SUMMARY: he never meant to develop feelings for you, and seven are these overwhelming feelings doing things to him.

CHARACTERS: leona, jade, jamil

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: cursing, CRINGE, spoilers for book 3!!!

ROMANTIC, PINING

NOTES: (kind of) based off this song + flustering boys who pretend to not be flustered ever + lyrics in fic not in order

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

🦁┊LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

“one time you crossed my mind and i promised id be careful”

he would have never expect his feelings to be like this after your first encounter.

the hostility he held towards you, he should’ve warded you away. yet you kept coming back. talking to him all buddy buddy.. it was admirable from the eyes of others. if he would’ve known better he would think you saw him as a large house cat (you do). well guess what, he ain’t.

at the start, he thought of you as nothing but a huge nuisance and thorn in his side in this already bothersome school. but after seeing your courageous news during azul’s overblot, he’s got a newfound respect for ya.

everything was fine from then. you’d bother him occasionally, and he’d allow you to bask in his presence. what? did you expect something else? well you’re wrong. but these moments have kickstarted some brand new fantasies for our beloved prince to indulge in.

it started off normally, he’s napping peacefully as you read a book next to him, giving him an occasional glance or two before focusing on the piece of literature in your hands. as we know, dreams can range in a wide variety of things. some can be absolutely blissful, some are really random, and others are just straight up nightmares!!

now, leona had no idea where to classify this one.

he walks into his room after finishing some duties concerning the kingdoms wellbeing.. being king is no easy task. “back already? that was quick.” your voice rang in his ears as he tossed the choking royal garbs to the side, making way to curl up in your lap. “can’t stand these people..” he murmured into your stomach, making you smile. you play with his hair, making an occasional braid or two before pausing. “hmph, why’d ya stop?” you lift his chin, looking him in the eyes. “i’m helping you de-stress.” suddenly, he feels pulled closer to your face, your lips barely ghosting each other til finally—

leona sits up quickly in a sweat, startling you as he emerged from the ground. what the fuuuucckkkk was that????? “ah, leona? are you okay?” you ask, concerned as to how quick he was to wake up. usually it’d take 10 minutes to get him out of a daze! “fine.” he grunts, getting up and walking towards the mirror hall.

“uhh, where ya going?” no response. he seemed grumpy, but you had no idea why. did you do something? nahhh, probably just typical leona. ..right?

you’ve noticed he’s been avoiding you a lot more lately. he will not respond when you say hi to him in the halls, will just up and leave if you see him in the botanical gardens, and will walk in the opposite direction of you just so you don’t have to cross paths.

now you’re concerned. was he mad at you? to put it simply, yes and no. yes because why are you occurring in his dreams???? are you crazy???? smh. get out. he’s the one dreaming but ok

yet no because, he’s no fool. he knows when he’s in love and unfortunately for him, this is love. you don’t understand how much he’s tossing and turning in his room because literally every gap in his head is filled up with thoughts of you, how much this aggravates him because he can’t get adequate amounts of sleep anymore. your fault!!!

he wanted to avoid you like the plague for at least a month to let these feelings wash over, but to no avail. someone just kill him and bury the body he’s hopeless. he cannot wait to be found six feet underground because feeling like this for a magicless human was the last thing he wanted.

that’s it, he’s never gonna tell ya. ever. just him and his thoughts. yep. mhm. yeah.. you’d look really nice in formal attire—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

he wants to scream but the best he can do is make a cringing face. how the hell do you make him so sappy??? this love stuff stinks… how could you do this to him?

🐬┊JADE LEECH

“one spark, you jump my heart and i feel it beating faster. yeah, it’s too late, im not ashamed.”

ah, love. something jade believed he’d never experience.

from the moment his eyes met yours, he’s always felt a twisting feeling in his chest. how peculiar.. to be fair, from afar you were quite bland to him. just another pawn and source of intel.

but then word began to get out you stopped two overblots, catching his interest. really? a magicless human? now he’s just dying to meet you.. and thank the seven he did. you had him the moment you spoke, your voice causing his heartbeat to speed up rapidly.

after azul’s overblot, though? jade is nothing but head over heels for you. without shame. he’s practically glued to your side, walking you to and from classes almost every day without fail, somehow always being your waiter whenever you ate at the mostro lounge, always having a hand on your back or shoulder.. huh.

it’s clear to anyone with half a brain that the leech twin definitely saw you more than merchandise, making them even more afraid to speak with you! whenever you were jade was like 2 feet behind.

only recently have you started to notice this. so, you’ll do what any normal person would do. ask him about it!

“hey, jade.” the eel-mer looks at you, an eyebrow raised with a polite smile. “is something the matter, prefect?” he asks, his demeanor the same as ever. “just wondering, but why’re you always around me? im not annoyed or anything! just.. just curious.” you stated quite bluntly, catching the boy off guard.

you could’ve sworn you saw him freeze with eyes wide, but the ability he has to rebuild his facade was impeccable. he pretends to think about it holding his chin before chuckling. “i suppose.. i just enjoy your company.” he smiles as you suddenly feel like an arrow was shot riiigghhttt through your heart.

“haha, really?” you laugh nervously, feeling the heat in your face flush to your cheeks as he stared you down with glee. before jade was able to respond, he was cut off by the sudden sincerity in your voice. “i enjoy your company too, jade.” you smile back at him, a sudden awkward silence falling before you.

“a-anyway, this is my class! gotta go! bye!” running inside the classroom, you try to hide the very obvious warmth in your face with your hands. THAT WAS SO CRINGE. IM FUCKED IM FUCKED IM FUCKED IM FUCKED. AAAGAGAGBABABAHAHAHAHAHA

this moment is going to haunt you for the rest of your life, you just know it. while you were dealing with the repercussions of the exchange, jade was in absolute heaven right now. his heartbeat was at an all time high, feeling nothing but sheer joy. falling for you was never his intention, but thank the seven he did.

the day passes by swiftly, nothing too out of the ordinary. as jade walks back to his dorm room, he flops onto his mattress face first into the pillows. an annoyed floyd looks at him with a disgusted expression, wishing this didn’t happen almost every day.

“yer so sappy, yknow that jade?” he grumbles, tossing a pillow at him with force. jade didnt care. it was worth it. all of it was worth it. falling in love with you was the best accident he’s ever made.

🐍┊JAMIL VIPER

“i’ll never see it coming but i know we’ll crash, cause when we’re with each other, yeah, we move too fast.”

kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill hi

those were the thoughts racing through jamil’s mind as you somehow convinced him to ride the magic carpet with you. what was he thinking??? he knows something is going to go terribly wrong whenever he’s with you.

not because of you (he hopes), but because of him! he’s a man who’s very meticulous about his work, making sure it’s done to absolute perfection. now, add you into the mix. it throws him horribly off.

when jamil first met you, he didn’t think much of it. you were a magicless human from another world. impressive that may be, that’s all you are. no major threat to kalim, so he’ll leave you be. then came the overblots.. you seemed more valuable than he originally thought.

then came his overblot. in all honesty, he hated you after that. or he thought he did. he always felt this burning sensation in his chest and this inexplainable image of you in his head nagging at him at any free chance he got! then came the scenarios.. domestic moments like brushing his hair, waking up next to each other, cooking meals for each other..

then he realized he fell into the deep end and fell in love with you. shit.

you treated him with such kindness! how didn’t he fall in love with you?? everything’s making his head hurt. the world must be upside down.

hearing kalim sing constant praise was nothing out of the ordinary, something he’s already grown used to and learned to despise. you on the other hand, your compliments send him to different universes. he swear fireworks get lit whenever you open your mouth and just explode all around him.

jamil’s behavior around you was a fairly noticeable difference to those close with him. he stuttered over his words, was a bit more expressive, and had a specific tone in his voice that seemed to be reserved for you. however, the most notable difference that almost anyone can see was the fact that THE jamil viper made a lot more accidents.

he seemed to embarrass himself every time he’s with you, but thank god you just shrug it off like nothing. screwing up was not something jamil EVER did before.. why must you ruin him like this? and these moments seem to just speed by, making it all seem like one huge fever dream that he just happens to remember. he hates it!

now, back to the present moment. he watches you sit onto the magic carpet, feeling the cold breeze in your hair due to the fact scarabia is much chillier during the night. he stares at you from the balcony, seeing as you turned back to smile at him. “you coming” you ask, watching him hesitate. “m-maybe i shouldn’t.. i must tend to kalim and—“

“do you trust me?” you ask, holding your hand out to him. he looks at you, taken aback by your sudden question. “what?” “do you trust me?” you repeat, a stern tone in your voice as you looked down at him with a certain gleam in your eyes that he just cannot resist. “..yes?”

jamil grabs your hand, pulling himself onto the carpet. the warmth from his palms spread throughout your entire body, suddenly regulating the your internal temperature. as you both kneeled on the carpet, your eyes met, staring into each other intensely. his hand subconsciously squeezes yours, holding to them for dear life, not wanting to let go.

while this was insanely romantic to you both, from outside perspective, it just looks like this 🧍‍♂️🧍

“ah, jamil, you’re squeezing my hand.” you laugh nervously, watching as the heat rises to his cheeks. “s-sorry. now then, shall we?” he clears his throat, sitting down properly before looking at you with a small smile. you can’t help but reciprocate, flashing him a grin before taking his hand again. “of course.”

before the carpet can take off into the clouds, cheering can be heard from inside scarabia halls.

it seemed kalim had a little.. arrangement for the both of you. jamil pulls his hood over his face in embarrassment as the carpet flies towards the glittering sky of stars, something both you and jamil can enjoy together.

A/N: jamil bias is EVIDENT (I kinda sorta didn’t go with the song that much and got carried away oopsies)

date published: 7/28/24

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theemporium · 1 year ago

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[14.5k] ethan edwards was prepared for his rookie year in the nhl. he just wasn't prepared for a rat infestation, an unlikely roommate and to fall in love too. (smutty scenes mostly implied)

aka a fic based in the future when ethan finally joins the devils so don’t take anything remotely seriously!

happy birthday @httplando!! enjoy the belated birthday fic🤠gonna go mute you now before you spam my phone with voice notes of you giggling over ethan xoxo

SEPTEMBER

Ethan Edwards thought he was prepared for his rookie year.

He had long come to terms with the fact he was in the National Hockey League. It still felt surreal but the reality had long sunk in since the day he was drafted. This was his goal. This was his dream. And he had made it.

And he knew it would be different from hockey in any other league he had played. He knew it would be faster, harder, more demanding than college hockey. He knew that he would be pushing his body to levels he had never experienced. He knew he was mentally going to go through some of the toughest months of his life as he settled into the big leagues. He knew he was taking the sport he loved to a whole new level and he was prepared for that.

He was prepared for his rookie year.

He wasn’t prepared to fall in love with you.

More than that, he wasn’t prepared to fall in love and not fucking realise it. Especially when you were his fucking roommate.

Though, when he thought about it, the signs from the universe directing you onto his life path was there long before his first game as a New Jersey Devil.

“Have you signed for a place yet?” Luke had asked him during the summer, somewhere in the days between wakeboarding and sunbathing and enjoying the freedom of his last stress-free summer before he entered the professional league.

“I’ve got a few potential options but it’s fine,” Ethan had replied, dozing off on the sunlounger with his eyes closed beneath his sunglasses. “I’ve got time before training camp starts. There’s no rush.”

And honestly? It was his own stupid ignorance that led to the karma of his current situation.

“We do apologise, Mr Edwards, but there is nothing we can do. The building manager won’t be able to fix the problems before your move in date and we have no available lots to accommodate you until the problems are solved.”

Ethan tried to let the woman’s soothing voice calm him, but it was hard to find any peace in the words she was saying. “So, I’m homeless?”

“Once again, we do apologise for the inconvenience but the apartment is completely inhabitable.”

Because of fucking course he would find himself scrambling for last minute accommodation in Jersey, days before he was meant to meet his new team and start settling in to his rookie year. The universe couldn’t be too nice to him, not in the year he knew was going to be one of the roughest of his life.

So, he did what any sane person would do and had a total breakdown on the phone to his mother. And then he called Luke, feeling somewhat spiteful that the boy jinxed his luck earlier that summer. The least he could do is help him out now.

After Luke had spent the first five minutes laughing because, in his words, “who the fuck has a rat infested apartment in Jersey?”

“Can you help me or not?” Ethan sighed, fingers pressed against his temples in hopes it would ease the ache that had been lingering behind his eyes since he first picked up the phone from the estate agent that morning.

“I mean, I’m sure Nico or one of the other guys wouldn’t mind taking you in. Jack stayed with—” Luke started but a distressed noise from Ethan cut him short.

“Yeah but Jack was, like, eighteen. I’m meant to be a fucking college graduate,” Ethan grumbled, his cheeks burning. “What impression would that set for the guys on the team?”

Luke paused. “You’re absolutely reading far too much into this.”

Ethan scoffed. “I think my reaction is justified.”

“Drama queen,” Luke grumbled under his breath before sighing. “I have a friend that was looking for a roommate, actually. You could always stay with them until your place is sorted. The apartment isn’t too far from the rink.”

“Someone on the team?”

“No, someone else.”

Ethan blinked. “You have friends outside of hockey? Outside of me?”

“Yes, Ethan, I have other friends. You aren’t my only friend.”

“You think you know people and they stab you in the back,” Ethan sighed, far too dramatically (in Luke’s opinion).

“Look, do you want the place or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ethan quickly spoke up. “That would be perfect. Send me your friend’s number.”

Now, when Luke had told Ethan that he had a friend—a non-hockey friend, at that—that was looking for a roommate, he wasn’t exactly sure what or who was expecting. He didn’t like to make assumptions on people when he knew little to nothing about them. It didn’t feel polite.

But he feels like he’s pretty fucking justified in feeling duped by the youngest Hughes brother when he finds out his new roommate isn’t a guy at all.

In Ethan’s opinion, that feels like pretty fucking important information to reveal before he shows up at your door with his car down below packed up with bags and boxes down in the carpark.

Because now, he looks like a fucking idiot when you open the door and he is left standing there, frozen and mouth open like a fish whilst every English word is thrown out of his head.

“You must be Ethan,” you said eventually, because Ethan still couldn’t bring himself to speak after a painful thirty seconds. “Luke’s friend?”

“Uh yeah,” he cleared his throat, at least having the decency to look somewhat embarrassed by his reaction with blushing cheeks. “Thank you so much, by the way. You’re really doing me a huge favour.”

“Luke said you were desperate.”

Ethan wanted to disagree but he couldn’t. Not really.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” he tried to laugh off, though your face remained mostly unimpressed. “So—”

“Your room is the one on the left. Your bathroom is right next door. Three cupboards have been emptied for you in the kitchen and you have the top shelves in the fridge,” you stated, so matter-of-factly that Ethan could only blink in response. “Any questions?”

“No?”

“Great,” and with that, you wandered further into the apartment, leaving Ethan standing in the doorway dumbfounded.

…

OCTOBER

It didn’t take long for Ethan to realise you had some walls around you, and small talk was certainly not the way to get past them.

It was a shift to the roommates he was used to, fresh out of college and having spent the better part of the last four years staying with some of his closest friends and teammates. But it wasn’t totally unwelcome on his part. It was kind of nice to have a space that wasn’t so…hockey.

And it helped that he had his own space.

September passed in the blink of an eye and soon training camp became the real deal. It felt surreal to think he was really in the NHL now, that he was a professional hockey player, that this was his job and his livelihood now.

But it also felt fucking great.

The schedule of an NHL player was no joke and it was certainly not something Luke exaggerated—despite what Ethan assumed during the summer. It was intense and tiring and he didn’t have much time to think about anything else.

Except maybe his ice cold, standoffish roommate.

As the regular season began, Ethan had come to a few conclusions.

One: you were not a morning person, especially before having any form of caffeine. That was something he learnt the hard way.

Early morning practices were nothing new to Ethan. He wasn’t exactly an early bird, but his body had trained itself to familiarise itself with the early mornings after years and years of playing hockey. It was the norm for him, to be awake as the sun started peeking through the horizon and the rest of the world was about to wake up.

He wouldn’t call himself chipper, not really. He was just as energetic as he normally is.

You seemed to disagree.

“Morning, stranger!” Ethan greeted you as you shuffled into the kitchen, with a boyish grin on his face and a spatula in hand.

You didn’t even glance at him as you shuffled towards the fridge.

“Not a morning person, got it,” Ethan nodded, biting back his smile as you turned to glare at him.

“It’s half six in the morning,” you grumbled. “Why are you so loud?”

“My mum says it’s a part of my charm.”

You didn’t look very amused in response.

The following mornings seemed to fit the same routine. Even on the days he didn’t have practice or meetings, Ethan would find himself waking up early and starting his day around the same time you would be up for work. He would be chatty, you would look like you wanted to gauge his eyes out. It was oddly comforting.

Somewhere in the middle of the second week of this fixed routine, he began to feel confident enough in watching your routine to know exactly what you needed the second you walked out your room.

“Good morning!”

You blinked, staring at the steaming mug he was currently offering you. It took you a few seconds to process the sight before you realised you hadn’t spoken.

“What’s this?” You questioned, a questioning look in your eyes.

“Coffee. Made exactly the way you like it.” Ethan stayed confidently, his grin widening as you took a sip and let out an appreciative hum.

“Thanks,” was all you said before shuffling around the kitchen to continue with the rest of his routine.

On the days he was in Jersey, there was always a coffee cup waiting for you every morning.

Two: you were always cold. Always. No matter what the temperature was outside.

In all honesty, Ethan didn’t get it at all. From what he had gathered in his conversations with you and what Luke told him, you had spent a fair chunk of your life in New Jersey so, if he was being honest, he thought you would have been somewhat used to the colder temperatures.

But walking into the apartment after afternoon practice to find you bundled on the couch like you were in a blizzard told Ethan that assumption was far from the truth.

“Did the heating break?” was the first thing he asked when he saw you, a wave of concern washing over him as he dumped his bags at the door and made his way to the thermostat.

“No,” you murmured from somewhere in the pile of blankets. “S’just cold.”

Ethan paused, reading the thermostat before turning back to you with an amused expression on his face. “It’s kinda warm for Jersey in October today.”

There was a bit of rustling before your head popped up from amongst the blankets, your eyes narrowed in accusation. “Not all of us are professional athletes sweating their asses off for two hours.”

“In an ice rink,” he added with a grin.

Your glare hardened.

“Do you want a hot water bottle?”

You paused for a few moments before nodding with a sheepish expression. “Please.”

Ethan huffed out a laugh before he made his way into the kitchen, kettle filled and turned on before he went to hunt down the hot water bottle he was pretty sure his mother had packed away somewhere in his stuff when he moved away from Michigan.

He returned a few minutes later, lightly nudging the pile of blankets until your face popped up again and your eyes softened at the hot water bottle. He couldn’t help but giggle at the way you quickly snatched it from him, murmuring your thanks as it disappeared under the blankets.

“Any time,” Ethan said, and he meant it.

Three: you really didn’t open up to strangers. Or roommates. Or anyone, really.

He wasn’t exactly sure how Luke Hughes of all people managed to wiggle his way into a friendship with you, but it was an anomaly that had been wracking his brain for the last few weeks.

It was a week or so before Halloween and he was laying on the couch, his brows furrowed together as he tried to scroll through the internet for an idea of what he could wear to the Halloween party one of the boys were hosting.

“Why do you look constipated?”

His head snapped up, finding you standing at the end of the couch. You had two smoothies in your hand, the bag you take to your classes still on your shoulder and your shoes still on. He briefly glanced at the time, frowning a little when he realised he had been sitting there for the better part of two hours before he turned back to you.

“Trying to figure out a last minute Halloween costume,” he told you, eyebrows raised in surprise as you handed him one of the smoothies. He smiled as he took it, taking an obnoxiously loud slurp before you settled down on the other side of the couch. “I wanted to do something with Seamus and Luke but Seamus said he had his sorted and Luke said he was doing a joint costume with someone else.”

“Oh yeah, me,” you answered casually and Ethan tried to hide his shock.

“You’re coming?”

“Yeah?” You responded, giving him an odd look. “Luke always invites me to these things. He’s also hopeless with costumes.”

“I didn’t realise you and Luke were so…close,” he said vaguely, his cheeks flushing a little when he realised what his words sounded like. “Not that it’s any of my business—”

“You’re right, it’s not.” You shrugged, taking a long sip from your smoothie before continuing. “But he’s one of my closest friends.”

Ethan nodded, ignoring the way his stomach twisted at your words. “How did you two meet?”

“The strip club.”

Ethan blanched.

“Geez, you’re more gullible than Luke,” you commented, the hint of a smile on your lips. “You ask a lot of questions, Edwards.”

“I’m a nosy person,” he answered honestly with a shrug. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“Because there isn’t much to it.”

And, in your defence, he knew you didn’t owe him any answers. But he was curious and he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around how close you and Luke were—close enough for you to willingly accept one of Luke’s friends as your roommate for an indefinite amount of time.

And, at the crux of it, he didn’t understand how Luke was able to get through to you when he couldn’t.

Ethan was never one to brag but he was a magnet for people. It helped him thrive in hockey, always willing to be that guy on the team that people feel like they could always talk to. It helped him thrive at university, being a social butterfly that could always make a friend in any situation.

It usually helped.

So yeah, maybe Ethan was a little stumped why you didn’t seem to want to be his friend, not in the way you were with Luke and some of the other guys on the team. It seemed like being your roommate added a wall he didn’t know how to break down.

And when the Halloween party happened, it felt like seeing a whole new person when you were chatting and laughing with Luke.

You looked more at ease as you stood next to him, happily sipping on whatever drink he had gotten for you from the kitchen. You seemed more relaxed, like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders as you laughed at whatever joke Curtis had made at Luke’s expense.

It fuelled a fire for Ethan, one he hadn’t realised had been started before that night. But he didn’t just want to be your roommate anymore, he didn’t like having that wall between you.

He wanted to be your friend too.

…

NOVEMBER

Three months into the NHL told Ethan that it was really no joke.

He was expecting the more intense training and physical playing. He was expecting his body to feel more tired, more hungry, more sore. He was expecting the ruthless journalists and vocal fans and tougher coaches.

He wasn’t expecting the mental toll of realising that hockey was all he had in his life.

It was stupid to complain about, considering it was his dream and all, but it was true. Hockey was his whole world right now. He woke up thinking about hockey, he went to the rink thinking about hockey, he made his dinner thinking about hockey, and then he went to sleep thinking about hockey.

Nine times out of ten, he dreamt about hockey too.

It was different to the hockey he knew growing up, or the hockey he experienced in Michigan. Because at least in Michigan, there were classes or parties or concerts or something to take his mind off hockey.

But it wasn’t the same in New Jersey.

There were hangouts with Luke and Seamus, or team bonding sessions organised by Nico. There were drinks at the bar after a good game to celebrate, or a particularly bad one they needed cheering up after. There were fun trips around cities he had never properly explored when they were away on roadies.

But it was all still linked to hockey.

And he guessed he wasn’t great at hiding his conundrum when Nico skated up beside him near the end of practice, throwing out the offer to grab a coffee and chat after they finished their debrief with the coaching staff.

For what it was worth, Nico didn’t think he sounded stupid when he explained himself. If anything, the captain was quite understanding.

“I had it when I first moved,” he had confessed as they sat in some urban coffee shop in a part of the city Ethan hadn’t properly explored before. But Nico swore up and down it had the best coffee to offer. “I was young and I was here for hockey so I thought my whole life had to be hockey.”

“What changed?” Ethan asked, hands wrapped around the big mug his latte was in like it would give him something to do, something to focus on rather than the restless itch under his skin.

“The older guys,” Nico said with a knowing smile. “The ones that learnt how to balance life and hockey. The ones with wives and families and friends outside of the team.”

Ethan’s brows furrowed together. “You think I should go get married?”

“Not right away,” Nico laughed, shaking his head. “But I know how easy it is to get wrapped up in the rookie year nonsense and everything. And you should be enjoying that, for sure. But there’s more to life than hockey, which is quite hard to believe right now. But it’s true, whether it’s a wife—or husband—and family or a hobby or a group of friends you can be a different Ethan with.”

Ethan nodded, a surprisingly serious expression on his face. “Hobbies?”

“Yeah, something different to hockey,” Nico explained. “Something that doesn’t require you to give up too much time and take your focus away from hockey, but instead be a respite from everything. Like cooking!”

He blinked. “Cooking?”

“You cook right now because you have to and you follow the diet plan the trainers give you. But you can find enjoyment in cooking because you want to,” Nico assured him, leaning back in his chair with a sure expression. “Give it a try. What’s the worst that can happen?”

As it turns out, the worst that could happen is that Ethan is a fucking horrible cook.

He tried to hold back his coughs, waving the tea towel aimlessly under the beeping fire alarm before he raced to the windows in hopes they would help get rid of the smoke. Or at least get the alarm to stop.

The one meal outside of his diet plan and he almost burned the apartment complex down trying to cook it.

Go figure.

He had collapsed on the couch an hour later, two pizza boxes lying on the table in front of him as he aimlessly scrolled through his phone. He didn’t lift his head when he heard the front door lock turning but did freeze when he heard you cough a little.

“Fuck, why does it smell like a shitty barbeque in here?”

Ethan turned to you, a sheepish expression on his face as he lifted one of the pizza boxes as a peace offering. “Does pizza count as a ‘sorry for almost burning the place down’ gift?”

You eyed the pizza box and then his face before you took the seat next to him. “Normally I would say no but you look like you had a pretty rough time, so I’ll accept it this time.”

“Geez, thanks,” Ethan snorted.

“What were you even trying to cook anyways?” You questioned, taking a silence of margarita pizza and taking a large bite. You resisted the urge to let out a moan. “Fuck, I’m glad whatever it was. I couldn’t be bothered cooking today.”

“Rough shift?” Ethan asked.

“Bitchy manager was on tonight,” you added with a grumble.

“Fucking Jerry,” Ethan tsked, shaking his head.

You turned to him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’re avoiding my question.”

“I’m delaying. There’s a difference,” Ethan corrected.

You hummed. “Okay, so why are you delaying?”

Ethan shrugged, turning his attention to the pizza box open on the coffee table in front of him. “S’stupid, no big deal. Promise.”

You were silent for a few moments before you spoke. “Is this the point where I take the bait and beg for you to tell me why you’re upset?”

He snorted, but it at least wrangled a smile out of him. “I’m not stressed. Just…overwhelmed.”

“With hockey?” You asked, but there was no malice or teasing in your voice. Just curiosity.

“I know this is what I wanted but it’s just…so much. I’ve never had hockey be everything in my life, there was always something else. And now I feel like I’m drowning and no matter how much I keep kicking, I’m no closer to the surface. And the older guys seem so put together and I was trying to take their advice but it isn’t really working out and—” Ethan paused, his cheeks flushing a light pink colour when he realised he had begun rambling. “Like I said, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” you replied and he was almost shocked to see the sincerity on your face. “It’s perfectly normal to feel overwhelmed. It’s a big jump. It would be weirder if you weren’t more stressed.”

He swallowed. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean,” you began, the pizza forgotten on the coffee table as you turned your body on the couch until you were facing him. “Your life will never be normal again. You’ve been shoved into the spotlight and you will continue to be there forever. That’s overwhelming as fuck. And you’re trying to catch up with a bunch of guys who have been here for years, who have had seasons to figure out who they are and who they want to be. It was always going to be an uphill battle.”

Something in his chest warmed at your understanding.

“Guess I have a lot to look forward to then, huh?” He tried joking because it felt easier than trying to say the words that were getting stuck in the back of his throat.

“I get it,” you explained with a small nod. “Not at the same level, but I get it. Every day I wake up and I know I’m working towards the thing I want to do for the rest of my life but, fuck, some days are just harder than others. I feel like I’m sacrificing so much of my ‘best years’ doing this and sometimes I just…wonder if it’s worth it.”

“That’s intense,” Ethan murmured with his lips turned downwards.

You gave him a sad smile. “Life can be overwhelming in a lot of ways. It’s just about finding things that help us…destress, I guess.”

“Which is hard to do when you’re a rookie in the NHL who doesn’t know who the fuck he is anymore or a student spending every free moment working her ass off in a shitty job with a shitty manager to pay for college,” Ethan added with a sorrowful smile of his own.

“Bingo,” you snorted.

“So,” Ethan sighed as he settled back against the couch. “What’s our game plan?”

You raised your brows. “Game plan?”

“Yeah, what are we gonna do to destress? We can help each other,” Ethan stated like it was obvious. “Like a ‘you scratch my back, I scratch yours’ situation.”

You shot him a look. “I’m not scratching your back.”

Ethan tilted his head, a grin on his lips. “So I’m assuming massages are off the table too?”

His laugh echoed through the apartment as you threw a pillow at his face.

If Ethan was being completely honest, he didn’t think finding a destressing hobby would be so…stressful.

He had tried asking a few other guys on the team for inspiration and advice. It hadn’t been as successful as he had hoped. Though, at least he knew a handful of weird facts about the boys he played with, so it wasn’t completely useless. Team bonding and all that jazz.

But the hobby-searching was starting to reach a point where he thought about it more than hockey.

He couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong with him. So many of the guys on the team had shared the hobbies they had outside of hockey to help relax. He even spoke to some of the UMich boys that had joined the NHL before him for some advice too. But nothing really clicked, nothing shut his brain off.

Golfing was too time-consuming to enjoy during the regular season. The mediocre attempt at knitting resulted in a massive knotted ball of yarn being chucked into the bin. He tried reading but got bored after the first few chapters. And it felt a bit pathetic and mind-numbing (the bad kind) when he found himself watching the third episode in a row of some trashy reality TV show that had been playing.

Nothing was giving him that relief and that step away from the busy, hectic schedule an NHL player brought.

“You got a new potential hobby for us?”

Ethan lifted his head to see you closing the front door behind you, bundled in about five layers of clothing you were slowly deshedding before you made your way over to him. He watched as your eyes went to the mess on the coffee table, your lips pressed together to hold back your laugh.

“What are you doing?” You questioned, tilting your head like it would help you figure out the little project he had been working on since you left for your class a few hours ago.

“It’s meant to be a model plane,” Ethan sighed, a tad too dramatic before he turned to you with a pout on his face. “Johnny said it was easy. He used to do them when he was, like, ten years old. I think he is lying to me.”

You snorted. “Or maybe he followed the instructions.”

Ethan frowned. “There’s instructions?”

You shook your head, trying to hold back your laughs as you settled on the couch beside him. There was a hint of deja vu to that day a few weeks ago—the day Ethan likes to believe the start of your buddying friendship began.

“You’ll find something,” you reassured him, nudging his shoulder with your own.

“I think some of the guys are just messing with me with some of the hobbies they suggest,” Ethan confessed. “Curtis does not seem like a knitter at all.”

You laughed. “Yeah no, he was definitely messing with you.”

“Knew it,” Ethan grumbled before shrugging. “Seamus thinks I’m just being dramatic.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” you retorted.

He shot you a look but you didn’t seem too bothered by his glare.

“He thinks I just need to get laid,” Ethan murmured, his eyes settling back on the lump on the coffee table that was supposed to resemble a plane.

“So why don’t you?”

Ethan blinked as he turned back to you. “Why don’t I, what?”

“Why don’t you just go get laid?” You asked, turning your body slightly so you were properly facing him. “Are you a virgin?”

Ethan startled. “What? No. No, I’m not a virgin.”

“Then I can’t imagine it would be too difficult for you to find someone.”

“Thanks?” Ethan frowned a little before shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, s’just a little much right now. I don’t really wanna go and sleep with anyone. And I’m a little too busy to properly start something with someone, you know? It wouldn’t be fair on them if I was…flaky.”

“What if we slept together?”

Ethan let out a choked noise of surprise.

You gave him an odd look. “What?”

“Us? Sleep together? Like sex?” Ethan blurted out, his voice a little more high pitched than usual.

“Well, I don’t mean just having a sleepover,” you answered with a shrug.

His brows furrowed together. “Would it not be…weird?”

“No, why would it be?” You retorted, sounding so sure of yourself. “I’m busy, you’re busy. I guess you’re attractive and if you find me attractive too, I don’t see what the issue is. It’s convenient for us both.”

His eyes narrowed. “You guess I’m attractive?”

“This is not the time for your ego,” you huffed, though he could see your lips twitching upwards.

“No no, this is the perfect time for my ego,” Ethan started, his back straightening as he sat up in his seat.

“Are you in or not?”

His eyes dropped down to your lips for a few moments before returning to your eyes. “Y-Yeah, I’m in.”

…

DECEMBER

As it would turn out, it was far from weird. It was actually pretty fucking great.

The awkward tension Ethan expected to rise from the first time you two slept together didn’t actually happen. The next day, everything was back to normal and, if it weren’t for the hickeys dotted over his torso, he would have assumed he dreamt the whole thing up.

It was surprisingly refreshing. The buddying friendship between you and Ethan continued to grow as the days passed, just like he wanted, there was just also the added bonus that sometimes the two of you fucked to let off some steam.

And as much as it pained him to say, Seamus was right. He just needed to get laid. He just needed to go back to something he knew he would always be good at, that didn’t take up too much space in his brain and felt as natural as breathing to him.

He just needed to feel someone else’s body pressed up against him, whispered moans of his name doing more to help shut up that voice in the back of his head far better than the crowds of fans screaming and chanting his name.

He was really missing out for all these with the whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing.

“Ethan.”

“Hm?”

“We can’t.”

“I think we can,” he murmured against your neck, his smile pressed against your skin as he placed a line of chaste kisses just below your jaw.

Your eyes fluttered close as his large hand splayed against your stomach, fingers brushing over your heated skin as he settled on the bed behind you. “You’re gonna miss your bus,” you managed to mutter out, a little breathless as you felt him rolling his hips against your ass.

“They won’t leave without me,” he assured you as he tugged you further back into him. Your panties had been kicked off somewhere under the sheets, not that either of you cared enough to give it a second thought. It just made it easier for Ethan to slip his hand between your legs, to listen to the choked noise of surprise you let out when his finger pressed on your clit.

“That’s not how it works,” you murmured, letting out a whine when he stilled his hand between your legs, focusing on marking the spot at the base of your neck that made your arch against him. “You’re gonna miss the bus and the team will be annoyed and you’re gonna—”

“Shhhh,” Ethan mumbled against your skin. “Too much talking.”

“Ethan.”

He let out a groan, his head dropping to your shoulder where he pressed a soft kiss there before lifting his head to shoot you a look.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmured with a snort. “It’s a seven day roadie. You’ll survive.”

“Maybe I’m really stressed about it,” he shot back. “Maybe a quickie before I leave would help me destress.”

You shook your head in amusement. “You’d be a lot less stressed if you weren’t thirty minutes late already.”

Ethan’s head snapped over to the clock on your bedside table. “Shit.”

“Told you so!” You called out as he scrambled his way towards the bathroom for the quickest shower of his life.

“Shut up!”

“That’s new.”

“What’s new?” Ethan questioned, leaning down to lace up his skates with the efficiency of a man who had spent the better part of his life in ice skates. He didn’t notice the shit-eating grin on Luke’s face until he sat back up and found the boy staring at him. “What?”

“Well, either the rats from your old apartment have found your new place and decided to take revenge or there’s a different reason for the marks on your back,” Luke retorted with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Marks are an understatement,” Seamus snorted, sitting on the stall on the other side of Ethan. He didn’t know what he did to deserve being stuck between the two of them. “Your back is mauled, dude. Who did you sleep with, a werewolf?”

“No,” Ethan scoffed, his cheeks burning red. “Don’t be jealous you can’t get the same reaction out of a girl.”

“So there’s a girl?” Luke chimed in, like the little nosey shit he was.

“Maybe,” Ethan answered vaguely with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s just a casual thing. Nothing serious.”

“Glad you finally took my advice,” Seamus grinned.

Ethan rolled his eyes.

“What’s her name?” Luke asked.

To be fair, you and Ethan never discussed the logistics of your situation beyond the actual sex part. He enjoyed the little bubble the two of you shared in your apartment. It was like the two of you forgot there were other people, that the signs would be there for people to pick up on. And he wasn’t exactly sure if it was something you would want people to know, even Luke.

He tried to bargain with himself that it wasn’t serious so there was no need for Luke or the other boys to know. You two were just scratching an itch for each other, that’s it. You were still friends at the end of the day, he didn’t want to ruin that because other people thought there was something more serious.

Ethan shrugged. “Uh, you don’t know her.”

Luke cocked an eyebrow. “So surely it doesn’t matter if we know her name or not.”

“It’s not like she’s my girlfriend or anything,” Ethan retorted, squirming a little under Luke’s gaze. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready? Coach wants us out in five minutes.”

“Subtlety is not your forte, Edwards,” Luke snorted in response.

The roadie ends up being a complete shit show.

Three games and they lost every single one of them. Three games and the loss just got worse with each game, with the final game being an embarrassing 5-1 loss. And all the boys were upset and annoyed about the results, but Ethan felt like he was going to lose his mind.

His suit felt uncomfortable and itchy against his body, like some foreign layer he desperately wanted to shed. His skin felt taut and stretched across his bones, the urge to claw at his skin so overwhelming that he forced himself to focus on picking the skin around his nails instead because it was less likely to get him odd looks from the other boys.

He had ignored Luke and Seamus’ attempts at pep-talks in the locker room, both boys seeming determined to try and reassure him the loss was not his fault—like it would stop the fumbled plays playing on a loop in his head. He watched Nico climb onto the bus, eyeing the empty seat next to him but he wasn’t in the mood to be babysat by his captain. He put his bag on the chair next to him and put his headphones on, pretending he couldn’t feel everyone’s eyes on him.

He wasn’t sure what time it was when they finally arrived back in New Jersey, but he didn’t care to know. He didn’t give anyone a chance to pull him back for a chat. He grabbed his bags and bolted to his car, wanting nothing more than to get out of his suit and just mope in his bed until practice in a few days.

Ethan wasn’t expecting for you to still be awake.

He jumped when he spotted you on the couch, the TV still on but on mute as it played some random sitcom he couldn’t quite remember the name of. His eyes wandered over your figure, huddled up in the corner of the couch with a blanket covering your legs and a Devils branded hoodie he didn’t quite know whether it was one of your own or one of his. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“You’re back earlier than I expected,” you spoke up, breaking the weird, tense silence that seemed to be suffocating the apartment since he walked in.

“We left just after the game,” he replied, his voice a little raspy considering it was the first time he had spoken since the end of the game. “Boys wanted to get home.”

You nodded. “M’glad you’re back. The place is pretty quiet without you.”

It was lighthearted. It was an opening for him to plaster on a smile and pretend he was okay. It was a chance for him to escape the same awkward conversations he avoided from his teammates.

But he was tired—the bone deep kind—and he didn’t have it in himself to keep pretending. Not in front of you.

“I’m not sure I’m feeling very talkative right now,” he admitted, swallowing back the acidic taste in his mouth, the one that had been lingering since he stepped on the bus with all his disappointed teammates.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you reassured him as you patted the spot on the couch beside you. “We can just sit in absolute silence if you want.”

“I’m not sure I want that either,” he confessed as his body slumped against the couch, melting into the fabric as he tried to ignore the constant buzzing voices in his head. “Just wanna forget the last week, to be honest.”

“That’s fair,” you hummed in agreement. “The refs were biassed dicks anyways. It wasn’t fair.”

He turned his head to look at you, his surprise clearly expressed on his face. “You watched?”

“I did,” you gave him a soft smile. “It wasn’t a pretty sight. I’m surprised the neighbours didn’t make a noise complaint against me when they put Luke in the box.”

And despite himself, he couldn’t help but snort. “They had it out for him and Jack.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Dicks.”

His lips twitched upwards. “Dicks indeed.”

Ethan let his head fall back against the back of the couch, let the exhaustion settle in as his eyes fluttered shut and, for the first time in the last week, let himself have some semblance of relaxation even if his brain was still on overdrive.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” you started and his body instantly tensed up at your words. And maybe you would feel his body lock up, considering his thigh was pressed against yours and the couch wasn’t all that big either. “But I am here if you want to talk. Have someone who’s not on the team to listen to you.”

He swallowed the lump in the back of his throat. “Just feel like I let them down.”

“You didn’t,” your voice soft but sincere. “And I bet the boys would agree.”

“I just…” he let out a sigh, keeping his eyes closed because it somehow made the next few sentences easier to say out loud. “I know no one likes losing. I would be a pretty bad professional athlete if I liked losing. But, I don’t know, it just…sucks more now.”

“Because the stakes are higher?”

“Because there’s more people seeing my mistakes,” he murmured, his words short and sharp. “This is all unreal. Being able to live out my dream and play in the NHL. But every time I make a mistake, I just feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like I’m waiting for someone to tell me it’s all a joke or I have been moved down or I get dropped and that’s the end of my career.”

There was a short pause.

“I’m scared it’s all gonna be for nothing.”

He wasn’t sure what response he expected. Truthfully, he had no intentions of ever telling you any of this. Or anyone for that matter. He had no intentions of ever saying the words out loud, letting them fester and swirl around in the back of his mind when he was left with his thoughts alone for too long.

And yet, he had just blurted them out to you.

Maybe he was more tired than he realised.

“Why did you keep playing hockey?”

Ethan frowned a little, his eyes blinking back open as he turned to look at you again. “What?”

“Why did you keep playing hockey?” You asked again, something swirling in your eyes but he couldn’t quite work out what. “It’s one thing to be a fan. You’re Canadian so I guess you kinda have to be. And I assume your parents put you into lessons. But why did you keep up with it? Why did you keep playing?”

“Because I love the sport,” he answered without any hesitation.

“Exactly, you love the sport,” you repeated with a soft smile on your lips. “It’s why you stayed. It’s why you play the next game even if you lost the last one. It’s why it’s your dream, why you kept working towards the NHL. And even after the shit show of the roadie, it’s why you will go out and play the next game.”

Ethan stayed silent but he didn’t move his eyes away from yours.

“It’s normal to have doubts. It’s normal to second guess yourself and assume the worst and let yourself spiral,” you continued. “It’s your rookie year. It isn’t easy for anyone. It wasn’t easy for Luke, for Seamus, for any of the boys. But you love the sport and the sport loved you back. Even on the bad days.”

“That was poetic,” he murmured, his voice a little raspy and thick with emotion.

“I was great at English in school,” you retorted with a grin. “You’re allowed to feel scared. And you’re allowed to be upset after you lose. But you’re a part of the team, nobody is putting the loss on your shoulders and you shouldn’t either. It’s your weight to bear together.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Did Nico message you?”

You snorted, and something about the sound made his chest tighten. In a good way, though.

“No, but considering how fast you got here, I would be wary that he will probably show up tomorrow morning to take you for a coffee check up,” you murmured. “Or he will corner you in the locker room.”

Ethan nodded. “Thank you. For listening and stuff.”

You flashed him a smile as you nudged his shoulder with your own. “That’s what friends are for.”

It was almost ironic that Ethan had spent the last few months working towards the title of your friend, only to feel almost disappointed when you said it.

Nico had been the one to organise the New Years Party.

All the boys from the team were there. There were other Devils employees from the marketing, media and training teams. There were friends and friends-of-friends. There were people he had never met before.

But it was a party and the buzz of the new year was humming through them all, and somewhere amongst it all, someone had suggested a game of truth or dare.

Ethan thinks it was Curtis, who was just drunk and nosy and a bit bored.

“Right, Baby Hughes, you gotta pick!”

Luke let out a groan, slumping into the person next to him—a chuckling John Marino who seemed amused by the glint in Curtis’ eyes—before nodding. “I feel targeted.”

Curtis grinned. “Never.”

“You’ve asked me every single time,” Luke grumbled under his breath, cheeks tinted pink and warm. “Surely this is against the rules. Right, Cap?”

Nico raised his hands in surrender. “Do not drag me into this!”

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “So much for looking out for your boys.”

“Pick someone else before he starts getting whiny,” Jack called out, grinning widely as he dodged Luke’s elbow to his side. “I don’t wanna hear him bitching on the way back home.”

“Fine, fine,” Curtis snorted, eyes scanning over the busy room before his eyes paused on Ethan. “Alright, Edwards, rookie’s turn. Truth or dare.”

Ethan straightened a little, something determined in his eyes. “Truth,” he answered with a grin. “I’ve been warned of your dares.”

“Smart,” Jesper coughed under his breath.

“Truth, he says,” Curtis mused as he sat back in his seat, contemplative and cunning before he spoke again.

“Play nice,” Nico teased.

“Cap’s orders,” Curtis hummed before he spoke. “Alright then, rookie, fess up. Which teammate is your least favourite? Name and shame.”

Ethan blinked. “This feels like a trap.”

“Oh, it certainly is,” Ondrej snorted.

“Don’t take him seriously,” Luke spoke up, leaning his head back to catch Ethan’s gaze. “He did the same to me and Simon. And Seamus last year. It’s his thing.”

Ethan raised his brows. “Is there a right answer?”

“Hey, no cheating!” Curtis called out.

“Maybe my answer is you,” Ethan called back teasingly.

“Oh, pretty boy has some fire,” the older man laughed, happily and drunkenly but it seemed enough to satisfy him before Nico was rounding everyone around for the midnight countdown.

The funny thing was that Ethan always knew that hockey was a team sport and every team he had ever played on—from the peewee team he played on as a kid to the boys he played with in UMich—every single one of them felt like a family, a place where he belonged and a team he loved both on and off ice.

The Devils had been another one of those teams—his newest family. It had been terrifying, a lingering thought in the back of his head since he had been drafted. Every team he played for before were teams he would move on from, stepping stones in his dreams. But the NHL was at the top and he didn’t want to fuck that up. He didn’t want to feel left out from his new family.

The Devils family had welcomed him with open arms.

He truly couldn’t complain. He felt a connection with these boys on and off the ice, he felt like the newest member in this patchwork family that was really cared for. Even now, as the seconds ticked down to midnight, there was warmth and camaraderie in the air as they welcomed the new year.

And yet, it was the most devastating loneliness he had ever felt in his life.

Because the clock struck twelve and the cheers echoed through the house and yet, his eyes were searching in the crowd of people. Searching for the one person he wanted by his side. Searching for the first person he has ever had the urge to kiss into the new year.

Because Ethan Edwards spent breaking in the new year wishing he was beside you.

…

JANUARY

New Years opened his eyes in ways that he hadn’t really considered before.

Unfortunately, eye opening nights are a bit difficult to focus on when you’re a professional athlete in the NHL hitting January in your rookie year. Because they were only half way through the regular season in one of the most physically and mentally intense years of his life, and he was a bit too fucking tired to have emotional epiphanies.

Which was fine if it weren’t for the fact he was currently in the middle of drills and his brain was definitely not focused on hockey.

“Edwards!”

Ethan blinked, his body moving before his brain could properly catch up. He had never been more grateful for the military-routine of drills he had been doing for as long as he had been skating.

His muscles were screaming by the time the boys were starting to head back into the locker room, laughing and shoving each other and discussing strategies for the game against the Sabres the following day. But he lingered behind, stick twisting in his hand as he tapped a few pucks closer to the net.

He had tried not to stare at the person lingering on the ice behind him, watching him, observing him.

He managed five shots before the person spoke up.

“You should lower your right hand a little,” Jack called out, lingering at the blue line. “It will help with the shot.”

His next shot hit the back corner perfectly.

Ethan straightened his back, nodding a little before glancing over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Jack responded, taking it as his cue to skate closer towards him. “You good? You should be getting some rest before the game tomorrow.”

“Yeah, just…wanted some extra practice on my shots,” Ethan said, shrugging his shoulders. “It needs some work.”

Jack nodded. “You’re having a good year.”

“Could be better,” Ethan retorted before he could stop himself. It was meant to be lighthearted, playful even. Instead, it came out a little self-deprecating and he winced at himself.

“It gets better,” Jack assured him, his expression a little softer. “The rookie year is always the worst, the media attention and expectations and everything. But it gets better when you find yourself, find your footing.”

“I know,” he murmured because he wasn’t sure what else to say. Nobody really talked about Jack’s rookie year. Not in much detail, not beyond a few comments here and there he had heard over the years in the lakehouse.

He was more than grateful that his own rookie year wasn’t anything like Jack’s.

“Enjoy it,” Jack continued, a kind expression on his face. It wasn’t hard to work out why Jack was given the ‘A’ on his jersey. “I know it’s easier said than done, but don’t let the critics get to you too much. They just wanna put pressure on you, make you squirm.”

And oh.

Because now Ethan was standing there, staring back at Jack like a hopeless idiot, realising he and the rest of the boys probably assumed his mood had been related to hockey. To the articles written about him. To the most likely and very reasonable explanation.

Not the fact Ethan was pretty sure he liked his friends-with-benefits roommate in a not very friends-with-benefits way.

His cheeks burned at the realisation.

“Uh, yeah,” he nodded helplessly, hoping his smile didn’t look as strained as it felt. “No, you’re right. I…I’ll try to really enjoy it. Not get in my own head too much.”

“Good,” Jack smiled back at him, all sweet and genuine and making him feel like a bit of a dick. “I’m here if you ever need a chat, you know? And I’m better at giving advice than Luke.”

Ethan snorted. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

The issue was that despite his eye-opening realisation, Ethan Edwards quickly realised he was a bit of a coward when it came to expressing his feelings.

Or, for that matter, confronting them.

It was odd for Ethan, if he was being completely honest with himself. Because he was usually good with these kinds of things. He knew when it was a ‘no strings attached’ situation, when to remove himself from any feelings that would compliment the matter. And he knew when it was serious, when the feelings were reciprocated, when there was something more than physical between him and the other person.

But that awareness was thrown out the window when it came to you.

It was like he had a little voice in his head, desperately trying to yell out how he felt about you until Ethan reached his breaking point and did something he couldn’t take back.

So, he did what any reasonable person did and locked that little voice away, pushed it to the back of his mind where it couldn’t bother him. And then he continued living his life like he couldn’t hear the rattling box in the background of every waking moment.

It was easy with hockey. Despite his little blip at the start of the month, he managed to prevent the annoying voice affecting his game on the ice. He stayed focused and concentrated and attentive. He managed to complete his drills and find the passes and shoot some goals so none of his teammates would catch on to his lacking grasp on his feelings.

But at home? With you? He clearly wasn’t coping as well as he thought he was.

“Are you okay?”

Ethan paused, body frozen as his brain wracked through a million different thoughts before he turned to look where you were sitting on the couch.

“Uh yeah,” he managed to blurt out, a slightly strained laugh following. “Why?”

“You’ve just seemed off the last few weeks,” you admitted with a shrug of your shoulders. “Like, tense and stuff.”

“S’just hockey stuff,” Ethan murmured with a stiff smile, the lie tasting bitter and acidic on his tongue. “The boys have just been talking about how playoffs are sneaking up on us and I just…guess I’ve been a little in my own head about it.”

You nodded in understanding. “You need days to chill out, you know? Take your mind off hockey.”

Ethan raised his brows. “You got any suggestions, sweetheart?”

“Actually,” you retorted with a knowing smile. “I do. I know exactly what you need to get out of your head.”

“You know, when you crawled onto my lap, I was expecting a very different outcome,” Ethan murmured, struggling not to move his lips too much as he focused on the concentrating expression on your face.

“Need to get your head out of the gutter, Edwards,” you teased, biting back your smile as you continued to sweep the brush across his face, careful to avoid his eyebrows while you were at it. “Facemasks are soothing and relaxing. Plus, your skin probably needs it after all the travelling you do.”

“Excuse you,” his nose scrunched. “I have a skincare routine.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, Luke told me that you ripped into Seamus after he used your fancy moisturiser.”

“It’s expensive,” he murmured in defence before the rest of your words caught up on him. “You talk about me to Luke?”

“Mostly to bitch,” you said with a lighthearted, teasing smile.

Yet, something in his chest tightened at the idea regardless.

“As long as you’re talking about me,” he shot back, something victorious washing over him at the way you laughed.

You leaned back a little, still sat on his lap with his hands on your waist to keep you balanced. You snorted at the mask covering his face before grinning. “Now, we have to keep these on for twenty minutes. And try not to move your face too much.”

Ethan ignored your words, pouting in response. “So if I asked you to make out—”

“I would tell you to fat chance,” you finished with a grin. “But I’ll admit the pink headband is really working for you.”

Ethan wiggled his eyebrows, once against ignoring the pointed look you shot him. “Enough for a kiss?”

“Enough for an episode of Pretty Little Liars,” you shot back at him, your smile widening at the sound of his groan but it still didn’t stop him from tugging you close before you could sit on the other side of the couch. “Or at least finish the one we started last night before—”

“I rocked your world?”

“Started drooling on my shoulder,” you corrected.

“That was after I made you come twice,” Ethan piped up, lightly pinching your side until you squirmed further onto his lap. “They cancel each other out.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” you snorted, eyes gleaming as you pressed play on the remote before he could come up with a witty comeback.

And, somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a distant voice screaming at him to say something. Telling him this was the perfect opportunity to say something to you. To just admit how he was feeling and end the pathetic pining he had been experiencing for the last few weeks.

But the mere idea of losing this—losing you—kept his mouth shut as he finally turned his attention to the tv and pretended like his stomach didn’t twist at his own cowardice.

…

FEBRUARY

Before he knew it, they were hitting February and all the buzz in the hockey world was around All Stars.

Ethan hadn’t been too concerned about it or the discussions leading up to the reveal on which team members would be heading out for the event. His mind had been preoccupied on the season, on playoffs approaching, on you. In all honesty, All Stars hadn’t even crossed his mind until the team was being rounded up into the locker room for the announcement.

It was not too much of a surprise that Luke had been selected for the Devils (most people expected it to be one of the Hughes brothers).

However, it was a shock to hear his own name follow.

“Looks like the fans want to see more of the pretty boy,” Curtis called out, joking and teasing and, yet, it still made his cheeks burn as the boys all slapped him on the back.

“Baby’s first All Stars,” Timo cooed jokingly, reaching out to pinch his cheek but Ethan was quick to slap his hand away.

“It’s Luke’s first too,” he defended weakly, a smile on his lips as he spoke.

“At least he is losing one of his virginities,” Seamus coughed under his breath, letting out a high-pitched yelp when the younger Hughes reached to smack him across the back of his head.

“I hope you get a horrible sunburn in Mexico,” Luke retorted with a deadpan expression.

Seamus snorted. “Don’t get bitchy because your ticket is non-refundable.”

Luke reached out to slap him again but he had already run off towards the showers, laughing and shoving some of the other boys into Luke’s path to help with his escape.

Ethan shook his head in amusement.

“Enjoy it,” another voice spoke up and he turned to find Nico standing beside his stall, a kind and genuine smile on his face as he patted his shoulder. “It’s fun. Promise.”

“More fun than chilling on a beach somewhere?” Ethan retorted with a knowing smile.

“It’s up there,” Nico grinned.

“But if Michael Buble offers you anything, say no,” Jack spoke up from the other side of the locker room. “Trust me.”

“How does it feel to be with all the big boys?”

“You saying I’m not a big boy?”

“You know exactly what I meant, perv.”

It was true. Ethan knew exactly what you meant. But he could almost imagine the way you rolled your eyes when you spoke, your nose scrunched up and your eyebrows furrowed and it sent a pang of something aching through him.

It was almost too pathetic to comprehend.

All Stars was insane. Truly, absolutely, positively insane. It was one thing to watch it from the comfort of his own couch. It was a whole other thing to be a part of it. And he knew he shouldn’t be starstruck, not really. He had spent the better part of the last few months playing against some of these guys.

But being in a not-as-competitive setting with the likes of Sidney Crosby and Nathan MacKinnon was a surreal experience he hadn’t fully wrapped his head around since he arrived.

And yet, here he was, all smiley and giddy and excited over the fact you had called him. The fact that you missed him enough, that you were thinking about him enough to call him whilst he was away.

“I stand by my question,” Ethan replied, shuffling further back into the plush pillows of his hotel bed as he held his phone to his ear. “Do you not think I’m a big boy?”

“I’m not going to talk up your dick size for the sake of your ego, Edwards.”

Ethan snorted despite himself. “Worth a shot. Could have made it really hot.”

“I refuse to have phone sex with you when Luke is probably in the room.”

“He’s not here,” Ethan said quickly, pausing for a moment before he continued. “Well, he’s gone out to grab us some snacks from the store around the corner but—”

“Exactly.” His stomach dipped a little as your laugh echoed through the phone. “Now, tell me everything.”

For a moment he wondered if it would be worth trying to facetime you to see your face or if that was pushing it too far.

“What do you want to know?” He retorted, his eyes closing shut as he tried to imagine the expression on your face as you thought.

“I don’t know! The important stuff! Like if Sidney Crosby is as hot in real life?”

Ethan blinked. “That’s your big question? If he’s as hot as he is on screen?”

Your reply came with no hesitation. “Yes.”

“Wow, so we can’t talk about my dick, which has been inside of you by the way, but we can talk about whether or not Sidney Crosby is hot.” There was a pause before he sighed. “Yeah, he is. Maybe even hotter.”

“I fucking knew it.”

“So you don’t even miss me? Not even a little bit?” Ethan questioned, trying to sound playful and lighthearted, hoping the small slivers of insecurity weren’t being translated through the phone.

“Don’t start pouting on me, Edwards. Of course I miss you.” Your voice was softer, more sincere. Or at least he was deluding himself into thinking as much. “Found a show for us to watch when you’re back. It looked good but I didn’t want to start it alone.”

It was embarrassing how big his smile was. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you hummed before gasping. “Oh god, I almost forgot to tell you. You won’t believe what happened at work the other night.”

Ethan huffed. “Don’t tell me it was—”

“Yup! And you’ll never guess what she did—”

It hit Ethan in the chest when he was lying on the foreign bed in a non-descriptive hotel room, phone pressed against his ear as you rambled away. It hit him just how much he enjoyed this, how much he enjoyed you. That it was beyond the physical attraction, that it was much deeper than a silly little crush.

It hit him how much he wanted this forever.

But he knew better to do it on the phone. He knew it had to be said face-to-face. He knew he needed you in front of him when he uttered the words. He knew he needed to be looking in your eyes when he blurted his feelings out.

So, he promised himself.

He promised himself he would do it when he headed back to New Jersey. He promised himself he would do it when he saw you. He promised himself he was just going to deal with it head on and not run away like he had been doing for the last month or two.

He promised he was not going to be a coward anymore.

It was embarrassing how quickly he threw his own promise out of the window.

Ethan was fucking exhausted by the time their plane laned back in New Jersey. It was barely even eight in the evening and he was ready to slump face first onto his bed and not get up for a few days—even if he knew they had practice the following afternoon.

But it was the principle of it all.

It was the mere exhaustion of it all.

And you took one look at him before you opened your arms, inviting him to join you on the couch. Ethan couldn’t even bring himself to feel too bad about the groan you let out as he slumped himself on top of you.

“Make sure they had good music at my funeral,” he grumbled, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck and his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke.

You hummed, your hands moving on instinct to run your fingers through his hair. “How do you feel about Barbie Girl?”

“Love it,” he murmured, a soft groan leaving his lips as your nails scratched along his scalp. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too, Edwards,” you whispered, soft and almost breathless. He wondered for a moment if he was leaning too heavily on your chest and winding you. “I never knew you talked in your sleep.”

Ethan froze.

“Luke sent me some interesting videos,” you continued and he could almost hear the smile in your voice. “You should really watch who you have sleepovers with.”

Ethan clenched his eyes shut, trying to nuzzle himself further into your neck. “M’gonna kill him.”

“It was just one video,” you assured him, lightly tugging his hair until he lifted his head to look at you. “Cute that you were so jealous over me liking Sidney that you started to sleep talking about it.”

His cheeks heated up. “I wasn’t jealous.”

You beamed back at him. “Uh huh, sure.”

Ethan narrowed his eyes at you. “This is emotional blackmail.”

“Aw, don’t let me stop you from doing it again,” you teased, unable to hide your amusement as his cheeks burned redder. “Would it make you feel better if I said I was jealous you got to hang around him all week?”

Ethan paused before he spoke. “Yes.”

You nodded. “Then, I was deeply jealous and envious that you got to hang around Sidney Crosby, the hottest guy in the league—”

“Oh my god,” Ethan groaned as he braced his hands on either side of you, prepared to push himself off you and the couch and sulk in his room. But before he could get far, you were winding your arms and legs around him and pulling him back down. “Nuh uh, let me go. You can go cuddle with Sidney since you think he’s so hot.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” you mused, choosing to be nice and not comment on the way he completely nuzzled himself back into your arms, eyes falling shut and relaxation taking over his body for the first time in a week.

“You’re a bully,” he retorted, words muffled from the way his cheek was pressed against your shoulder.

“You like it,” you retorted, keeping the banter going but it made Ethan’s head spin.

Because he did. He did like it. He liked you. He liked coming back home to you and he liked lying on the couch with you. He liked kissing you and he liked the noises you made for him when he touched you.

He liked you more than he cared to admit.

He liked you too much to lose you.

He liked what the two of you had. He liked it too much to risk losing it all over unreciprocated feelings. Feelings could change—his feelings could change. There was no need to ruin a good thing.

He had hockey to focus on. He had the team to focus on. He had playoffs to focus on.

Now was not the time to change everything, superstitions or not.

…

MARCH

March Madness was no joke.

It was pure fucking chaos and no previous league or championship he had ever played for could rival just how hectic the whole thing was. The Devils were having a good season. A great fucking season if they were being honest. And they were so, so, so fucking close to clinching that playoff spot.

But fuck if the other teams weren’t making it real fucking difficult for them.

Ethan knew that things were going to get rougher, tougher, harder when the playoff desperation started to settle in, when the end of the regular season was on the horizon and teams were starting to get dirty to extend their season.

He just underestimated how desperate they were willing to get.

It was easy to see why Nico Hishcier was so beloved by the team, by the fans, by the boys. To see why he was chosen as captain because he was nothing but supportive and determined and encouraging. He wasn’t letting them get too comfortable, he was keeping the boys working towards playing their best.

But he was also the damn proudest of them all.

It almost made the hits against the boards worth it.

Almost being the operative word seeing as he felt like his whole body was bruised as they came off a game against the Rangers.

“Fuck,” Ethan hissed as he all but waddled into the locker room, helmet in hand and skateguards on. “I think I’m bruised in places I didn’t know you could be bruised.”

Seamus snorted. “Fucking tell me about it.”

“The hit during the second period looked rough,” Luke spoke up from the stall beside him. “You sure you’re good?”

“Medical checked me over during the intermission,” Ethan assured him with a faint smile. “Just gonna be sore for the next few days.”

Luke’s eyes gleamed. “No strenuous activities then?”

Ethan rolled his eyes.

“Oh please,” Seamus mused, giving Luke a nudge with his elbow. “He’s a pillow princess.”

“Fuck off both of you,” Ethan snorted, already starting to peel his jersey off.

It wasn’t until he was almost dressed where he finally grabbed his phone out of his bag, turning it back on to see a flurry of notifications to take over his screen. His brows furrowed together in surprise as he skimmed over them.

“Is that a certain roommate?” Luke asked, peeking over his shoulder like the nosy shit he was but Ethan had already chucked his phone back in his bag.

“Nah, it’s just Patricia,” Ethan shrugged.

Luke blinked. “Who the fuck is Patricia?”

Ethan shot him an odd look. “Patricia, the woman from the estate agency you recommended to me.”

Luke gave him a pensive look. “Why is she blowing up your phone?”

Ethan shrugged again. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

As it would turn out, Patricia was contacting him because the apartment he originally signed on for at the start of the year seemed to have sorted the rat infestation problem.

She was cheery in her voicemail she left for him, like it was the best possible news Ethan could have ever received. And maybe it would have been a few months ago, back in September. Even a good few weeks into October, Ethan would have been over the fucking moon to hear his old apartment was available again.

Yet, as he listened to the voicemail now, he couldn’t help but let a sense of dread wash over him.

It was stupid in a way because he knew from the start his situation wasn’t permanent. He knew it was always a short-term solution to a short-term problem. He knew the arrangement between you both wouldn’t last forever—both as roommates and friends with benefits.

There was always a timer on it, but Ethan let himself get lost in the familiarity of it all that the upcoming ending hit him like an unexpected slap in the face.

If he was a sensible and good guy, he would have called Patricia back. He would have told her he was just as happy to hear the update on the previously rat infested apartment. He would have told her he was happy to move in as soon as he can, to have his own place in New Jersey to call his home and his home alone. He would have told her to send over all the paperwork as soon as she can.

But Ethan wasn’t sensible nor was he all that good because he never called her back.

Instead, he chose to pretend as though he hadn’t seen the calls or the voicemails or the messages. He told himself he was focusing on clinching a playoff spot. He told himself he was just prioritising the important stuff and, for as long as he had a roof over his head, the other apartment wasn’t a priority.

Ethan chose not to acknowledge the fact that ignoring and running away from any possible problem was becoming a bit of an odd habit for him over the last few months.

As it would turn out, people failed to warn Ethan that March Madness seemed to extend into a player’s personal life.

He couldn’t quite work out the exact moment everything changed but he noticed the switch two weeks into March. And he was fucking baffled. And almost embarrassed that it took him so long to catch on to your sudden cold behaviour.

If you were giving him the cold shoulder, Ethan would have assumed he had done something to piss you off. It wasn’t like you hadn’t done it before, the two of you had your fair share of petty roommate disagreements over the months where one of you would give the other silent treatment. But it never lasted more than an hour or so before you sat down and talked it out.

Ethan would have preferred if he was just given the silent treatment from you.

Instead, he got…whatever the hell you were doing now.

For a few days, Ethan considered that he was just being dramatic. That maybe it was something at work or in one of your classes. That eventually you’d come to him with whatever was bothering you and he would listen and this weird tension between the two of you would disappear.

He lost hope in that theory after a week.

You were talking to him, almost as normal, but there was a tinge to it. A shift. Almost like a step back. It felt like the early months as roommates, when your answers were shorter more often than not, when you treated each other as acquaintances with a mutual friend.

It felt fucking wrong.

And then there was the physical aspect.

It wasn’t like the two of you were on each other at every possible moment together. It wasn’t even about the sex. It was the way you pulled away from him like his touch burned you, like it was odd for him to casually nudge your hip with his own as he walked past you in the kitchen. It was the way you seemed to avoid sitting too close to him on the couch.

It was the way it felt like the two of you were reverting back to the awkward, polite strangers you were back in September.

He hated it but he didn’t know how to get it back when you seemed so adamant to keep him at arm’s length.

It was disorienting as fuck.

It was wrong.

It was everything he feared for.

It was almost-definitely-possibly worse than you rejecting him.

And Ethan felt like he was fucking spiralling with the realisation that he may have lost you and he wasn’t exactly sure how.

And just when Ethan craved normalcy in his life, Luke started acting weird too.

The youngest Hughes brother shut down any attempts to hang out outside of practice or training. He didn’t seem as talkative or chatty with Ethan the way he usually was, leaving most of their conversations to surround hockey or strategies or upcoming games.

Fuck, even Seamus was weirded out by Luke’s sudden change in behaviour.

It didn’t take long for the other boys in the team to notice the growing tension between the two boys. Jack kept shooting his brother weird looks. Nico seemed concerned. Even Curtis looked a bit awkward and unsure at what to say. Him, Luke and Seamus had been such a trio since Ethan joined the Devils at the start of the season.

Now it seemed like Luke tolerated him at best.

But Ethan knew Luke. He knew the way the boy would get when he was upset. He knew the way the boy tended to shut down a bit, knew that he needed the space to be moody and brood a little (the outcome of being the youngest child) before he was ready to forgive and forget and move on.

However, Luke Hughes seemed more than happy to carry out whatever grudge he was holding—even if it was affecting their game on the ice.

“What the fuck was that?”

Luke didn’t even bother turning to look at him, reaching to pull his practice jersey over his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“For fuck’s sake, Luke,” Ethan growled, angry and frustrated and done with whatever bitchy mood he was still in. “I was open. You saw that I was open and you fucking ignored me. What if we were in a game? What if that cost us a goal?”

“It’s just a practice,” Luke shot back, deadpan and unamused. “Calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down?!�� Ethan laughed, bitter and irritated. “This isn’t a fucking joke, Luke. I don’t know what your problem with me is but it’s fucking ridiculous if you’re willing to sacrifice the team for it.”

Seamus took a step towards them. “Okay, maybe we just need—”

“No,” Ethan snapped, a buzz of adrenaline rushing through him. “No, if he has a problem with me then I want him to fucking say it instead of keeping it some secret like—some coward!”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” Luke snapped back at him. “You know all about secrets, Edwards.”

His brows furrowed together. “Stop fucking talking in riddles, Hughes.”

“Oh Jesus,” Seamus grumbled under his breath.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Luke hissed.

“No, I don’t!” Ethan gritted out. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about!”

“And I don’t know who the fuck you are anymore!” Luke bit back, enough hurt and anger in his voice that it left Ethan—and the rest of the locker room—silent. “I thought you were one of my closest friends. I thought you were a good guy. Clearly you’ve changed.”

Ethan frowned. “What?”

“Okay, everyone out!” Nico clapped his hands together, snapping Luke and Ethan out of their little moment as the captain began shepherding the rest of the team out.

“Aw, come on, it was just getting good!” Curtis whined but sighed as he followed the rest of the boys out of the locker room, all in various degrees of undress as they left Ethan and Luke alone.

Ethan watched them all go before he turned back to Luke, a look of hurt and pure confusion on his face.

“I helped you out,” Luke rasped, swallowing harshly. His voice was softer, a little raw too. Like the fight had left him and all that was left was disappointment. “You needed a place to stay and I convinced her to let you stay, vouched that you were a good guy, that you weren’t a fucking douche, and you had to go and fucking play her like that.”

Ethan blinked. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“Ethan,” Luke muttered, his name full of frustration. “I know about the two of you. I’ve known for a while, I’m not fucking stupid.”

His heart sped up a little, despite himself. “What does our…agreement have to do with you?”

Luke shot him a look of disbelief. “Because she’s my friend! Because you’ve strung her along for months and now you don’t even have the decency to tell her you’re leaving!”

Ethan blinked again. “I—what?”

“You’re moving back to your own place and you—why do you look so confused?”

“Because I am confused!” Ethan squeaked out.

Luke slowly blinked. “So…you’re not taking Patricia up on her offer and moving out?”

“No!” Ethan replied, still looking confused. “Why would you think I am?”

“Because she keeps calling and emailing you!” Luke shot back.

“And I haven’t answered a single one!” Ethan retorted.

“Huh,” Luke murmured, his mind whirling with a million different thoughts. “Well, her emails suggest otherwise.”

Ethan tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I—” Luke sighed, looking serious once again. “I need you to be honest with me.”

Ethan shifted in his spot. “What?”

“Are you serious about her?” Luke questioned.

Ethan frowned. “Who? Patricia?”

“I—no,” Luke sighed deeply. “Unless you’ve been sleeping with Patricia this whole time—”

“What? No, no!” Ethan spluttered out. “I have—wait, does she think I’m moving out?”

Luke looked a bit sheepish. “I think you need to go have that conversation with her.”

“Fuck,” Ethan breathed out, something quite like nausea twisting in his stomach. “And she….I’m not….I would never play her like that. It’s literally the opposite!”

Luke raised his brow. “The opposite?”

“I—fuck, I need to go,” Ethan muttered to himself under his breath, not even acknowledging the other boy as he began to yank his gear off.

“Woah, Ethan, you need to—”

“I need to fix this,” Ethan interrupted. “She can’t—I need to tell her.”

The last thing Luke—or any of the boys—saw was Ethan rushing out of the locker room, looking frazzled and flustered and panicked.

Ethan wished he could say he was calm and collected when he finally made it to your shared apartment but that would be a fucking lie.

He was a mess when he arrived. Despite driving back, he was still breathless and panting as he forgoed the elevator, choosing to take the stairs two-at-a-time until he reached your floor. His hair was a mess, his cheeks were flushed, his keys were the only thing in his possession as he raced towards the door. He wasn’t even sure where his phone was. Nor did he care.

His only goal was to get to you.

It was embarrassing how badly his hands were shaking as he tried to shove the key into the lock, taking more attempts than he cared to admit before he managed to open the door. He didn’t even care about your neighbours as he began calling out your name, praying to every god he could think of that you were home.

He could have collapsed from relief when you wandered out of your room, a mixed look of concern and confusion on your face when you spotted him standing in the living room.

“Are you okay?”

Ethan tried to find the words to answer you. He tried to wrack his brain for a response to your question, a coherent sentence to calm the clear uneasiness in your voice. And yet, all he could do was stare at you and think one single thought that was leaving his lips before he could even stop himself.

“I’m in love with you!”

You blinked in response.

“Like, so painfully in love with you that I didn’t think it was possible to feel this way about someone. But it is. And I do. And I can’t keep it to myself anymore because I think I am genuinely going insane,” Ethan continued.

Your lips parted a little in surprise, but still no words left your mouth.

“And I should probably stop talking and embarrassing myself further because you’re not saying anything and I’m usually a lot better at these kinds of things,” Ethan blurted out. “But you’ve been pulling away the last few weeks and I can’t take it anymore because it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I have to keep pretending I’m fine with everything when I’m not.”

His body was moving before he could stop himself. He was taking steps forward, closing the small distance between you two because Ethan couldn’t stop the pull you had on him—on his body, his mind, his whole fucking world.

“I’m in love with you. Like in a ‘I wanna come home to you every night and kiss you because we are dating’ kind of way, not a ‘we are roommates who made up this weird agreement’ way.” Ethan breathed out, his voice just above a whisper but you heard him loud and clear. “And I don’t expect you to say you feel the same way but I can’t keep it anymore and—”

He was cut off by you throwing yourself at him, arms winding around his neck and lips on his. He didn’t even care about the rest of his sentence, sinking into the kiss like a starved man eating for the first time. The relief of feeling your body pressed against his was almost as addicting as the adrenaline pumping through his veins when you let out a blissful sigh.

“M’not moving out,” he managed to mutter out between kisses as he wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you tight against him. “Whatever you think—”

You pulled away a few inches, just enough to see his face. “Your laptop was open,” you murmured, something sheepish and guilty written across your face. “And the email came through from your estate agent about signing a new lease and I got in my own head about it. I thought you were going to leave and I wanted to protect myself from falling further and—”

“Falling further?” He repeated, a hopeful smile beginning to take over his face.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your smile mirroring his. “Turns out sleeping with your roommate is a real catalyst for falling in love with him.”

“Lucky me,” Ethan murmured before leaning back in to kiss you. “And I’m not leaving until you want me to leave.”

“We’ve really gone through this relationship thing in a weird order, huh?” You mused, laughing a little when Ethan kept leaning in to kiss you.

“Yeah but I think it’s worked out pretty well for us,” he murmured, his nose playfully nudging yours.

Ethan Edwards thought he was prepared for his rookie year.

He wasn’t. Not in the slightest. Nobody ever was, not really. He wasn’t fully prepared to fall in love either.

But with you in his arms and the Devils only points away from clinching a playoff spot, he thought his rookie year was going far better than anything he could have prepared for.

#ethan edwards #nhl #umich hockey #new jersey devils #ethan edwards x reader #ethan edwards x you #ethan edwards x y/n #ethan edwards fic #ethan edwards one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot #umich hockey x reader

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sebscore · 1 year ago

Text

EXCUSE ME

pairings: lewis hamilton x driver!reader

warnings: LEWIS GOING TO FERRARI !!!!!! also there is swearing in this.

author's note: i have finally risen from the death. gzd is back, baby!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

The knocking on his apartment door confused Lewis, not expecting anyone that day. He walked over to the front, and looked through the peephole, frowning at the sight of his younger colleague.

He opened the door. ''Y/N? Hey, how are yo-''

The young woman didn't spare him a glance, walking right past him. ''You are going to fucking Ferrari?!'' She exclaimed, her eyes wide.

Lewis stood there, momentarily stunned, as Y/N breezed past him into his home. He quickly closed the door, while shushing her. ''How do you know about that? How did you even get into the building? I didn't buzz you in.''

''Nico's daughter did, but that's not the point.'' She brushed his latter question off.

''Y/N, she's six.'' He stated, hoping his fellow driver was joking.

''Don't switch topics! You're going to Ferrari, it's actually true?'' She continued probing, absolutely in disbelief about the news she had received.

The man sighed, glancing around as if someone else was there that would be able to hear them. ''Yeah, in 2025.'' Lewis confirmed.

''Oh my fucking God…'' Y/N slowly sank down on his couch, in shock at the news of him leaving Mercedes the following season. ''Lewis, this is huge.''

He carefully nodded. ''How do you know this? I've barely told anyone, not even Toto knows.'' There had been a permanent frown on his face the moment she knocked on his door.

She smirked. ''Sorry, my sources stay with me.''

Lewis narrowed his eyes at her. ''I won't tell anyone. I'm excellent at keeping secrets.'' The Brit grinned.

''Yeah, clearly.'' Y/N teasingly scoffed, receiving a light push from the World Champion. ''But, dude, this is massive!''

The World Champion simply chuckled at her response, loving the dramatics.

''Lewis, this is like Zayn leaving One Direction! Like when this news drops, everyone will remember where they were on the day that Lewis 'The Great' Hamilton joined Ferrari!'' Lewis just watched on as he let the woman deliver her monologue, enjoying himself.

''Does Nico know?'' She asked him, the face of the German suddenly popping into her mind.

He shook his head, laughing in confusion. ''No, why would he?''

She shrugged her shoulders. ''To rub it in his face, I don't know.''

Lewis chuckled, feeling a tension that always resurfaced whenever his former best friend's name was brought up. ''You're a funny girl.''

She leaned back on the couch, crossing her arms, still wearing that playful smirk. "Oh, come on! Picture this: you strolling into the Ferrari hospitality, shades on, and casually waving at Nico like, 'Hey mate, look where I landed.' That would be fucking epic.''

The Brit arched an eyebrow. ''I doubt he cares that much.''

Y/N's jaw dropped, exaggerating her response. ''Lewis, it's Britney we're talking about. The biggest yapper of all time. Of course he cares.''

Lewis burst into laughter at the ''yapping'' comment, unable to resist her infectious enthusiasm. ''Does Nico know you talk about him like this?''

She shot him a sly look. ''Maybe, maybe not. But I can just imagine all the articles already. Oh! Imagine he takes your Merc seat! Anything is possible at this point!''

He shook his head, but was still smiling. ''You're on the internet too much.''

''Okay, boomer, and you aren't on the internet enough.'' Y/N retorted.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, feigning offence. "Boomer? Seriously? I'm not that old.'' He gasped.

"Well, you're old in internet years, Lewis.'' She smiled, innocently.

''You're one insult away from being thrown out of my house.''

''Hey, Lewis.''

''Hey, Pierre. How are you doing?'' He greeted the younger man on the phone.

Lewis could hear him scratch his voice. ''So, Ferrari, huh?'' Pierre smirked.

''Not you too!'' The Brit exclaimed, sighing loudly, much to the Frenchman's amusement. ''Where did you get this from?'' He asked.

Pierre snickered. ''I can't tell you that.''

''It was Y/N, wasn't it?''

''Yeah…''

#f1 x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x female driver #f1 x female reader #f1 fics #f1 fic #female f1 driver

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puckinghischier · 1 year ago

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Jersey Talk

nico hischier x fem!reader, jack hughes x platonic!reader, luke hughes x platonic!reader

summary: reader finds herself engaging in a lot of jersey talk

notes: part 3 of my lil unnamed nico series!! i loved writing this part and hope you enjoy it as much as i do 🥹 also, i didn’t really proofread so ignore any mistakes. and just a disclaimer, i don’t claim to know everything there is to know about any of the players mentioned in my writing, so if there’s inaccuracies on timelines or personality traits, just ignore them and assume it’s for the plot 😌

p.s.!! i’m thinking about starting a tag list for this/any of my writing i post so if you want to be a part of that, let me know!!

part 1, part 2, part 4

[6.4k]

You absolutely love how foot travel friendly New Jersey is. Coming from an area where foot travel is virtually nonexistent, the change is a welcomed one. You appreciate being able to simply grab your favorite totes, your headphones, and make the fifteen-minute walk to the small corner store. Surely in the winter you’ll feel differently about the five-block trek, but hopefully you’ll have your car by then. For now, the comfortable Autumn air makes the walk enjoyable. The fresh air, the beautiful buildings, and the surprising friendliness of the strangers you pass on the street make you feel like you made the right decision in relocating your life to the garden state.

Luckily this grocery run was fairly light, only needing to pick up some essentials until one of the boys gives you a ride to the larger chain grocery store on one of their upcoming off days. You really just needed the ingredients to make dinner tonight, making good on your promise to be their personal shopper and occasional chef in exchange for a place to live. You even stopped in a small bakery about a block from your apartment and picked up a few assorted pastries for a sweet treat later, knowing how much Luke loves his dessert.

As you walk into the apartment, courtesy of your shiny new key Jack gave you last week, you see both him and Luke on the couch, each with one hand on an iPad held out so both could view the contents on the screen. You assume they’re watching game film, preparing for their game later in the week against the Rangers. Your assumption is confirmed when you hear the unmistakable sound of sticks slapping against pucks and ice coming from the iPad in question.

They’re both so engrossed in the game film on the screen that they have no clue that you’ve even walked through the door. You make your way to the kitchen to unload what’s in your hands, putting away what little groceries you bought. Once you’re finished in the kitchen, you make your way back out into the living room, wanting to catch up with your roommates on how their midday practice had gone. As you walk towards the living area, rounding the loveseat adjacent to the sectional where the boys sit, Luke catches your moving figure from the corner of his eye. His body jerks slightly, clearly startled until he notices its only you.

“Oh my god you just scared the shit out of me,” you hear him exhale, holding his hand to his chest.

You just chuckle as you see Jack whip his head up, confused as to what Luke was referring to until he saw you sitting down, tucking your feet up under your legs to get comfortable.

“When did you get home? Have you been here the whole time?” Jack asks, pausing the game film and sitting the iPad on the small coffee table in the center of the room.

“No, you two were just lost in hockey land when I came in. I went to the corner mart a few blocks down to get stuff to make dinner, then put it all away before coming in here. Thought I’d give you guys a few more minutes before I came in here and interrupted,” you replied, resting your chin on your hands that are placed on the arm of the loveseat.

“Well, you have our full attention now. What’s up?” Jack leans back into the couch once again, stretching his arms above his head.

“Just wanted to talk to my boys. See how practice went today. Figure out how you guys are going to fare against the Rags,” you throw in a small dig at their biggest rival team.

“The Rags? Since when do you participate in hockey talk?” Luke chimes into the conversation, laughing slightly at your attempt to assimilate into the world of hockey.

“Since I overheard a conversation at this cute little bakery down the street. While I was waiting in line there was a man in front of me with a Devils hat on and the guy working the counter was asking him about his thoughts on the game this week. He was talking about how much he wishes ‘the boys can pull their heads out of their asses and beat the damn Rags’ and I thought it was funny. Figured I should probably adopt the local vernacular if I want to fit in around here. You know, participate in the Jersey talk,” you recall with a shrug of your shoulders.

The two brothers let out a little chuckle at your story, amused at your attempt to insert yourself into their world. The two of them and Quinn taught you a lot about how hockey is played and the rules over the years, but their hope of you fully getting involved in all of the aspects of hockey and the fanbase quickly dissolved. They would sit and force you to watch reruns of games with them over the summer at the lake, and you would sit there and whine because of how badly you wanted to go out on the boat or drive the golf cart down to the local ice cream shop, not listening to a single word the trio would say to you. Once you made the decision to move in with the two youngest brothers, you figured you should probably put a little more effort into the whole hockey fan experience, considering you would likely be attending games on a regular basis.

“Well, we’ve been preparing for the Rags, so that old man in the bakery can rest easy knowing we’re working our asses off, which our heads aren’t in, by the way,” Jack speaks, correcting the stranger’s statement.

“Yeah, we’re doing really well, actually. We keep splitting the team up and forcing one half to mimic the Rangers and some of their techniques, so we’re actually getting really good at stopping them from getting the puck into our zone. Plus, our goalies are putting out some insane stops during practice, so I really think we’ve got this in the bag,” Luke adds, excited to showcase their hard work.

You’ve noticed that practices must have been hard for the boys this week. A lot of naps and ibuprofen consumed. You haven’t really seen much of them, if you’re being honest. They’re usually gone by the time you wake up in the mornings and so tired by the time they come home that they go straight to the couch or their bedrooms and fall asleep. By the time they wake up from their naps you’re usually already cooking dinner, at least getting to chat a bit while you cook. After finishing dinner they’re back to the couch, watching game film or heading back to the arena for various events and strategy meetings. They go to bed fairly early, considering all of their early morning starts, so evenings are usually spent in your room by yourself watching tv or catching up with your friends back home. You suppose you should get used to spending time by yourself, though, knowing you’ll be here by yourself more often than not during the season.

They had a game in Boston a few days prior, leaving you with your apartment to yourself for the first time in the two weeks you’ve lived with them. They were only gone for one night, but it was definitely lonely. You really haven’t been here long enough to have an abundance of people to call up anytime Jack and Luke were unavailable, so you had passed the time by exploring the area around your apartment complex a little, finding the perfect park to go sit at to soak up some much-needed sunshine. You couldn’t hide your excitement when the two brothers returned home the next evening, though. You got up from the couch and ran over to the door, ready to greet them and ask them all about the game (you had watched it on tv, but you really just wanted to talk to someone after a full day with no one’s company but your own), but you were greeted with tired eyes and frowns, despite their win the previous night. You simply gave each of them a hug and then sent them off to bed, knowing once they got some sleep they would be up for conversation.

This is why, right now, even though you have zero knowledge of what preparing for a rival hockey game consists of, you’re taking in every word the two have to offer about the subject. You’re just happy to have a few uninterrupted minutes to sit and talk with them.

“Good! That’s great! Really…good,” you say, giving a thumbs up and awkward smile after failing to come up with a better response to Luke’s statements.

Luke just laughs, appreciating your attempts at interest in their jobs.

“You’re coming to the game, right? We put back a ticket for you, but if you can’t make it that’s okay, too. Got you a pretty sick seat, though. Glass seat, right beside the net,” Jack reveals, raising his eyebrows a bit, as if trying to convince you.

“Of course I’ll be there, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you exclaim, a little offended at the mere thought you’d skip out on such a big game for them.

“You won’t be disappointed, I swear. We’re gonna kick some major Rags ass,” Luke adds, excitement showing at the idea of you being in the crowd.

“The real question here shouldn’t be if I’m coming to the game or not. It’s whose jersey am I going to wear?” you throw out, poking fun at the two.

“Pshh, c’mon that one’s a no brainer. You’ll obviously wear mine, I’m your favorite,” Jack waves off your words, fully confident that you’ll agree with him.

“I don’t know, Rowdy. I feel like plenty of people will have 86 jerseys on. It is Moose’s rookie season, maybe I should wear his so he feels included.”

“Yeah, dickhead. You have a whole arena full of people wearing your number, she should wear mine. We all know it’s the better number anyways,” Luke retorts.

Jack rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to fire back an insult at Luke, but he’s cut off by a knock at the door. You look over at the two boys to see if they know who might be at the door, but both of their faces mirror your confused look. So much for your uninterrupted time with them.

“Did you guys invite someone over? Or should I be worried that there’s a murderer standing on the other side of our door right now,” you ask.

“Well first of all I don’t think a murderer would knock on the door. They would probably pick the lock or something. Isn’t the whole point of murdering someone to do it when they don’t see it coming?” Jack responds, standing up. “Second of all, it’s probably just Nico. I had mentioned watching game film together at practice earlier and he told me he’d see how he was feeling later. Kinda forgot about it, if I’m being honest, but this is around the time he wakes up from his post-practice nap.”

You sit up a little straighter when Jack mentions his teammate and captain. You hadn’t seen him since your first night in town about two weeks ago. You’d caught little bits of information about him in passing from both Jack and Luke, but tried to keep your questions about him to a minimum. The two of you were still practically strangers, not having had any reason to communicate after that night. You assume he’s been as busy as Jack and Luke, coming and going far more than you. Still, you’re surprised you haven’t even run into him once. You figure his captain duties keep him far busier than even Luke and Jack.

You hear the front door open and then two sets of voices making their way down the short hallway. You look over to see Nico in a hoodie and sweats, a hat hiding his long hair. You think back to that night at the bar when his hair was uncovered and he was having to push it out of his eyes for most of the night, wishing you could catch a glimpse of the brown locks right now. The two were continuing their short conversation from the door, so Nico had yet to acknowledge you or Luke yet. You look away, starting to pick at a loose thread on your socks, knowing you needed to avert your eyes before you were caught staring.

Unknown to you, Luke had already noticed your stare, observing how fixated you were on his captain. You look over to find Luke staring at you, an undecipherable expression on his face. You give him a puzzled look, as if to say ‘what?’ and he responds by simply shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders a bit.

“Oh, hey you two. How’s it going?” Nico’s voice pulls you from your silent conversation with Luke, noticing Jack was no longer next to him.

“Hey, man. How was your nap? Your shoulder okay?” Luke asks him, adjusting his body slightly on the couch to make room for Nico to sit down.

You turn your head to look at Nico once again, a small hint of worry surfacing. He doesn’t look injured? His arm isn’t in a sling or anything, and he’s not holding it in pain. You watch as he sits down to see if even the smallest wince makes its way across his face as his back comes to rest against the plush cushions. If he’s in any sort of pain, he’s not letting it show in his actions.

“Yeah, perfectly fine. Don’t give yourself that much credit, kid. You don’t hit nearly as hard as you think you do,” Nico chuckles, taking his hand and tapping Luke on the knee a few times.

“Trying to hurt your captain before a huge game, Luke?” you speak for the first time since Nico entered the apartment. “Maybe I should wear Jack’s jersey on Saturday.”

“I knew it! See, my jersey is clearly the better choice, Moose. Sucks to suck, huh?” Jack interjects with a grin, walking from the direction of the kitchen, glass of water in hand.

“Now c’mon, Y/N, that isn’t even fair. It was an accident!” Luke cries out. “We were running drills and I was trying to stop, but I misjudged and ran into Nico. He didn’t even hit the glass that hard, you heard him!”he argues, looking between you and his brother.

“All I’m saying is, it won’t look good if the rookie is the reason the captain can’t play against public enemy number one. Then you’ll become public enemy number one, and I can’t be caught at a game wearing the new public enemy’s jersey. I’m already a newcomer, I can’t tarnish my reputation this early,” you hold your hands up in defense.

“What have I just walked into?” Nico asks, eyes darting between the three of you.

“Well, right before you walked in, we were talking about which jersey Y/N was going to wear to the game on Saturday. I told her the obvious choice was mine, but she decided to spew some bullshit about there being too many 86 jerseys already, so she should wear Luke’s since he’s new and needs to feel included,” Jack uses finger quotes around the last part of his sentence.

“Well, she has a point.”

“See! Even Cap thinks so! That’s it, you’re wearing my jersey, Y/N. Cap’s word is final,” Luke leans back, taking in his assumed victory.

Your mind wanders back to Nico’s words he spoke to you at the bar a couple of weeks ago, wondering if Luke’s statement includes those words, too.

“Maybe I should be fair and not wear either jersey. Just go down the roster and pick a random name and then buy it,” you joke, watching the brothers widen their eyes like you just told them you ran over their childhood pet.

“That’s…not even funny. How dare you even joke about something so important,” Jack stares at you, seriousness painted on his features.

“C’mon, Y/N, that’s just…that’s just cruel,” Luke emphasizes the last word dramatically.

“I think you should do it. In fact, I have a spare jersey I think you can wear,” Nico adds, looking at you with mischievous eyes.

“Oh, well that actually sounds lovely, Nico, thank you! What better way to show my support at my first Devils game than sporting the captain’s jersey?”

Jack and Luke both turn their heads to glare at their captain sitting between them. If looks could kill, the poor Swiss man would be six feet under right now. The Hughes brothers don’t play around when it comes to their jerseys. You remember when you had gone to one of Luke’s games while he was playing for Michigan, wanting to buy a Michigan jersey in support, but the gift shop had run out of Luke’s number once he announced his contract with the Devils. You knew you could have simply asked him for a jersey, knowing he had several lying around his dorm room, but the trip was supposed to be a surprise.

You were forced to buy a random jersey with some lesser known last name on it, because you still wanted to show up in Michigan attire. You don’t even remember whose name and number it was, but you remember the look on Luke’s face when he saw you during warm ups, going from pure joy to disgust in seconds. He skated off, going to the locker room briefly before returning with a yellow Jersey that he then threw over the glass to your seat, motioning for you to put it on. You just laughed and did as you were told. You’ve had similar arguments with both Jack and Quinn over threatening to wear a teammates jersey over the years, but you just like to poke fun at how protective the three are over you. Jack explained to you that they want you to wear their jersey’s because it shows their teammates that you’re to be left alone, knowing the reputations of their fellow players.

“Cap, please don’t make me kick you out of this apartment right now,” Jack looks at Nico with complete seriousness.

“Maybe I need to work on my body checks in practice tomorrow, Cap,” Luke tries to threaten.

Nico simply laughs, shaking his head at the sudden unity between the two bickering brothers.

“Alright, chill out you two, all jokes. Unless…” You trail off, standing up.

“No, no unless. You’re wearing one of our jerseys, preferably mine. Hey! Where are you going, this is serious!” Jack yells after you as you walk towards the kitchen.

“Unless you want to starve tonight, someone has to start making dinner. Plus, I have some jersey shopping to do,” you say, hearing Nico’s laughter ringing out once more as you enter the kitchen.

———————————————————————————

“Hey, Nico! Are you staying for dinner? I need to know how much pasta to make!” you shout from your spot by the stove, having just sat down a large pot of water on the hot eye.

You walk over to the cabinet to grab the box of pasta and a couple jars of sauce, waiting for an answer from the living room. You decided to go with just simple spaghetti and salad tonight, not really in the mood for having to prep a ton of food and spend an hour and a half cooking. Jack will probably complain about the amount of carbs he’s consuming, but he’ll get over it. As if he doesn’t burn enough calories from practice and his personal workouts he does on a daily basis. Luke will just be happy to have something that isn’t chicken, seeing as that’s all you made for the first few days of your new living arrangement, trying to stick to the meal plan Jack had the nutritionist send you.

After the third night of some form of chicken and vegetables, Luke was quick to inform you that no one on the team follows the meal plan so strictly. You also learned that Jack is going through some phase of eating nothing but chicken or steak and brown rice, Luke revealing that’s what the two mostly lived on during the weeks leading up to your move. You had told Luke he should learn to cook for himself, and then he wouldn’t be forced to eat what Jack or you decide to make if he doesn’t like it, but he had rolled his eyes and told you “this was the agreement, right? We won’t let you pay rent, so you told us you would contribute by cooking. So really, I’m just helping you fulfill your roommate duties.”

You still don’t have an answer from the three in the living room. You figure they’re too busy with game film to hear you, so you decide to just make enough for Nico, too. You can always pack up the leftovers and have them for lunch the next few days if needed. You dump what you think to be the proper amount of pasta for four people into the pot once it reaches a boil, then work on pouring the sauce into a pan to let it heat up. You cheated on the salad, too, deciding to just buy two bags of salad mix, dumping the bag into a large bowl and adding the small packets of toppings. You’ve just dumped the now done pasta into the colander in the sink, turning to put the pot back onto the stove to cool off a bit when a voice causes you to nearly drop the hot pot in your hands.

“It smells delicious in here,” Nico announces his presence, walking through the doorway towards the fridge.

You settle yourself before setting the pot down safely on the stovetop before speaking. “You know, I really need to get on ordering those squeaky shoes if I want to avoid a heart attack by 25.”

Turning your body, you see Nico hunched over looking in the fridge, arm reaching towards a water bottle before raising up, flashing you a smile.

“Nah, even if you buy them I wouldn’t wear them. This is like, our thing now. Me sneaking up on you, you getting mad, me getting a good laugh out of it,” he stands back at his full height now.

“How comforting that you find enjoyment out of my jumpiness. Such an admirable trait to have,” you grumble, taking the pasta from the sink and transfer it into the pan filled with sauce. “I was going to ask if you wanted to stay for dinner, seeing as it looks like I made enough to feed the entire team, but I think I’ll just leave you to fend for yourself. See how funny that is.”

This earns another laugh, Nico moving to lean against the counter opposite of you, watching you try to combine the sauce and the pasta without making a giant mess.

“Why don’t you just put it back in the pot you cooked the pasta in. You’ll be able to mix it easier.”

“Because apparently that would have been too easy,” you step back and huff, wondering why you didn’t think of that before you created an overflowing mess of sauce and noodles.

Nico makes his way over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders to move you out of the way. He picks up the pan and dumps the contents into the pot sitting next to it, not spilling a single drop.

“There, now you can mix it easier and it won’t spill out over the sides and cause an even bigger mess,” he states, placing the dirty pan in the sink behind you.

“Okay, captain chef, next time you’re cooking dinner, since you clearly have more kitchen skills than me,” you tell him, making your way across the kitchen to collect plates to sit on the table.

Nico just chuckles as he watches you grab the plates, sitting one in front of each chair around the small dining table that sits in the kitchen.

“It smells so good in here, please tell me its almost done,” Jack enters the kitchen, Luke trailing behind him.

“It is, just finished actually,” you look up, Nico carrying the pot of steaming pasta from the stove to the table, careful not to drop it.

“Rowdy, grab the salad over there by the sink for me while I grab some forks for everyone,” you move towards the silverware drawer, walking around the Swiss man in your kitchen, having to turn your body slightly as he steps back from the table.

“Well, I better get going, my leftovers aren’t going to heat themselves up,” Nico announces, starting to make his way out of the kitchen.

“Cap, are you crazy? Do you not see how much food Bouy made?” Jack places the bowl of salad next to the pot of pasta, taking his seat at the table.

“Jack, I’m being so serious right now, if you keep using that stupid nickname for me I will sneak laxatives into your protein shakes.” You take the seat across from Jack, Luke falling into the seat to your left.

“Well, as long as it’s okay with Bouy, I’d love to stay.” Nico walks back over to the table, taking the seat next to Jack, smirking while avoiding eye contact with you.

“I know where you live, so the threat extends to you too, Cap” you glare at Nico.

The rest of the meal is mostly filled with talk between the three hockey players, you chiming in here and there, until Jack shifts the topic of conversation to you.

“So, what’s the update with your new job? You have everything lined up and ready to go?”

“Yeah, talked to them earlier today, actually. They said they’d have my office ready in about a week, so I should be starting not long after that.” You shrug, not wanting to bore them with the details of the corporate scene in New Jersey.

“Where are you going to be working?” Nico asks, genuine interest present in his tone, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“I got offered a position with a small publishing company not too far from here, actually. Mostly independent, up and coming authors, but still exciting,” you reveal, perking up a bit at the opportunity to talk about your passion.

“Was super worried I wasn’t going to be able to use my degree after college, seeing as the market for English lit degrees isn’t too wide unless you want to teach. At least, that’s how it is back home. After I graduated and Jack offered the spare room here, I applied to a few positions here in Jersey and a few in New York, willing to make the commute if needed. Only heard back from one place, though. And it just so happened to be a thirty-minute drive from here, so I accepted and started packing,” you explained.

“It was meant to be. The gang back together once again,” Jack beams.

“Well, the gang minus Quinn. The fucker just had to end up in Vancouver of all places,” Luke grumbles, still upset the oldest Hughes is so far away.

“Lucky for us I can work remotely if I ever need or want to, so this summer at the lake we can all be together again,” you try to cheer Luke up, knowing how much he wishes the three brothers could have played on the same team while making their dreams come true.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jack celebrates. “This is going to be the best summer at the lake house yet. We’re all grown, most of us legal drinking age, but don’t worry, we won’t tell if you won’t, Lukey,” Jack winks over at Luke, knowing the underage drinking rule has never really applied in the sacred space of the lake houses, “and we’ll all finally be there together again after, what, like 6 years?”

“It’s been awhile, at least that long,” you try to think back to the last time everyone was there together.

It was the summer before Quinn got drafted. Quinn had signed to play hockey at Michigan a few months before everyone was set to arrive at the summer oasis. You remember being so proud of him. You couldn’t wait to finally see him and congratulate him in person, knowing how hard he had worked for it. You figured things would stay the same for a few more years, expecting him to come home every summer for the next four years before moving on to the NHL. You had no clue that he would be drafted only a summer later and that it would be the beginning of the end for the summers of fun at the lake house.

“Nico, you should come up this summer! It’s always such a good time!” Jack pulls you from your reminiscing.

“I mean, maybe. I’ve been talking to my parents about flying home during the off season this year, since I didn’t make it over there last year. But I could probably come for a few days, at least,” he shrugs his shoulders.

You try to picture Nico at the lake house, hat covering his hair, swim trunks and a t-shirt covering his body. You picture him lounging on the boat in the sun while Jack takes everyone out for a midday ride, finding a secluded spot somewhere on the lake to stop and swim for a while. You picture him trying to wake surf, wondering if he’d be instantly good at it or if he would end up wiping out in the water. You picture him sitting around the fire at night, a light hoodie on to the mask the chill that never fails to make an appearance on Michigan summer nights, the glow from the fire illuminating his face just enough for you to admire him. You picture him with a slight sunburn on his nose, tan skin glowing from being in the sun so often.

You must have been lost in your thoughts for longer than you realized, because you came back to the conversation with several calls of your name from the seat next to you.

“Are you even listening to us anymore? Or do you really not want Cap coming to the lake house?” Luke looks over at you, slightly waving his hand in front of your face.

“What? No,” you say, looking around at the expectant faces surrounding you. “I mean, no I don’t care if he comes. It would be fun, yeah. If he can make it, of course. You heard him, I’m sure he’s excited to see his family.”

“I’m sure I can work something out. Have the best of both worlds. These two have talked about the infamous lake house so much I’m curious to see if it really lives up to all the hype,” Nico leans back, nodding his head towards both Jack and Luke.

“Then its settled! Cap is coming to Michigan this summer!” Jack cheers, throwing his arms up in celebration.

You laugh in response to Jack’s excitement, noticing that everyone seems to be done eating, plates clean and glasses empty. You stand up and start to take some of the dishes to the sink, setting them in there before walking back over to the table.

“Since you’re in such a good mood, I think now would be the best time to tell you that you and Luke have dish duty tonight.” You clear the last of the dishes off the table.

You watch Jack’s face fall, while Luke’s does a sharp turn in your direction. You turn your back to them to walk back over to the counter, opening the cabinet below you to find Tupperware to store the leftovers in.

“On that note, I better get going. Have some laundry I need to get done before practice in the morning,” Nico stands, bringing over a few stray pieces of silverware you seemed to have missed.

“Oh, no you don’t, Cap. You heard her, she cooked, we clean,” Jack turns to look at his captain as he makes his way to the sink.

“No, I said you and Luke have dish duty tonight. Nico’s name was never mentioned. Guests don’t do the dishes, Jack. I know Ellen raised you better than that.”

“Nico is hardly a guest. He’s over here all the time!” Luke chimes in, opening one of the drawers by the sink, grabbing a towel to dry dishes with.

“He doesn’t pay any rent for the apartment, therefore he’s a guest. Just accept your fate, you two. You’ll survive, I promise.” You hand the pot you just emptied to Jack, taking the food in your hands to the fridge a few steps away.

“You don’t pay any rent, and you’re not a guest,” Jack mumbles, hands covered in soapy suds.

“Exactly! That means I don’t do the dishes, either. I knew you’d catch on eventually! And they say you’re just a pretty face,” you shut the fridge door, looking over at Jack with an amused grin.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Jack whines.

“C’mon, man, you walked right into that one,” Nico adds, laughing at his teammate.

Jack glares at the taller man. “I thought you said you were leaving, that you had laundry to do or some shit.”

“I am, I am,” Nico throws his hands up in defense.

“I’ll walk you out, Nico. Leave the children to pout while doing their chores,” you jest, walking toward the kitchen’s exit.

“Thanks for dinner, Y/N. Ten times better than whatever I would’ve found in my fridge,” Nico says as you pass through the living room.

“Anytime, Cap,” you use his title, blaming Jack and Luke for the new habit. “After all, I owed you for rescuing me from sleeping in the hallway.”

This earns another one of those laughs you love to hear fall from his mouth, smiling to yourself as he follows you down the small hallway towards the front door.

“I feel like you definitely had to put in more effort on your end of that deal,” he steps through the door you’re holding open.

“I’ll just wait until you owe me a favor, then I’ll make sure to cash in some extravagant request,” you joke, leaning against the door as he stands in the hallway.

“I’ll be eagerly awaiting the day.”

Nico takes his apartment key from his pocket and unlocks his door, opening it and stepping inside, turning around to face you once again, his stance mirroring your own in his own doorway.

“So, I’ll see you at the game on Saturday, then?” He stalls a goodbye.

“Yep, I’ll be there. Still deciding which brother I’m going to piss off,” you reference the earlier argument over whose jersey you’ll wear.

“Oh, that reminds me-“ Nico says before propping his door open, leaving you alone in your doorway, confused as to where he could’ve gone.

After about a minute of you standing there, wondering if he was going to come back, he returns, holding a red jersey in his hand.

“Here, figured there’s no sense in you going out and buying one if you really wanted to mess with their heads.”

He hands you the jersey, stepping back into his doorway. You unfold the jersey and notice the big black C on the upper left corner of the jersey. It was a solid red jersey, the team’s symbol in the middle, two black stripes on the forearms of each sleeve, more black accents on the shoulders of the jersey. You look up at him, a little surprised.

“I- I can’t take one of your jerseys, Nico. What if I mess it up, or spill something on it? I’ll just wear one of the ones I have. This looks too nice to risk it,” you attempt to hand the jersey back across the hallway.

“No, I insist. I think it’ll be fun to mess around with them a little. Especially Jack, since he seemed so convinced you were going to wear his. They’ll never even see it coming,” Nico refuses.

You run the idea through your head for a second, thinking about how it would be a funny little dig at the boys. You also think about the implications of wearing a jersey that doesn’t belong to one of Hughes brothers. It’s harmless, though, right? Nico said it was just a fun way to get under their skin. ‘Don’t jump to conclusions, Y/N’ you think to yourself, trying to kick your habit of creative narratives in your head.

“Okay, but if I end up getting kicked out of my apartment I’m knocking on your door to sleep on your couch,” you finally agree.

“My door’s always open for you.”

You look back down to the jersey in your hands to hide the blush that appears on your face at his words. You know you’ve only known him for a short period of time, tonight being the first real chunk of time you’ve spent in his presence, but Nico is making it really hard for you to keep your feelings for him casual. You’ve always had a habit of getting a case of the heart eyes fast, but you’re trying to be normal, for once.

He’s likely just being his normal, personable self and you’re letting every smile and joke go to your head, placing more meaning on them than is warranted. There’s just something about him, though. He’s extremely attractive, for one. But it’s more than that. From all that you’ve learned about him through Jack and Luke, and the easy conversation that has flowed between the two of you from the moment you first spoke to him in the hallway, you can’t lie to yourself and say you’re not drawn to the Swiss captain.

Your mind circles back to the idea of wearing his jersey this weekend and what Jack and Luke will think. What if you seriously hurt their feelings? What if it affects how they play because they’re mad at you? What if they ignore you the whole game? You know the two brothers love you, but you also know how petty they can both be when mad.

“Stop overthinking it. I can see you getting lost up in that head of yours. It’s a harmless joke. They’re not going to freak out on the ice or anything. And if they do, I’m in more danger than you are,” Nico reassures you, pulling you from your thoughts.

“You better at least score a goal if I’m risking being homeless for you,” you tell him, looking back up at his face.

“How about I do you one better. If you promise to wear my jersey, I’ll score a hatty for your first ever New Jersey Devils hockey experience,” Nico offers, his eyes flashing with something you assume is delight at a challenge.

“Well then you better work on your slapshot tomorrow morning, Captain. I’ll be holding you to that Saturday night,” you take the bait, knowing how difficult a hat trick is to pull off.

“No need, I know I’ll have the right motivation night of to get it done,” he winks at you, causing your stomach to fill with butterflies. “And if I don’t, consider it your IOU for that extravagant request you might need one day,” He responds, crossing his arms and shrugging his shoulders, the nonchalance of his body language making you hope for his failure, just so you can think of some ridiculous task for him to perform.

“Thanks for the heads up, I’ll get right to brainstorming,” you respond, trying to prevent your thoughts from spiraling yet again.

Nico lets out a small laugh, standing up straight and placing his hand on the handle of his door. “Think hard. Let me know what you come up with. Have a good night, Bouy, see you Saturday.” He shuts the door before you can berate him for using the nickname you hate.

You walk back into your apartment, door shutting behind you, going straight to your room to hide the jersey before either of the boys see it. You think back on the entire interaction, a smile on your face at the possibility of being able to have Nico do anything you ask him. As you’re walking past the kitchen you hear Jack’s voice.

“Luke, am I stupid or did Y/N call me stupid earlier?” he recalls your earlier comment about him being ‘just a pretty face’.

“Think about how you worded the first part of your question and you’ll have your answer,” you hear Luke respond as you make it past the kitchen unnoticed, making you stifle a giggle so you won’t be discovered.

Oh how you loved being back with your boys.

686 notes · View notes

lovecla · 9 months ago

Text

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

chapter eight:

➴ warnings: none!!

➴ word count: 3.6k

➴ author’s note: don’t you guys love when people kiss and make up?

liked by jennaortega, arianagrande, elblue6 and 1,698,928 others

sophiamontenegro thanks for having me, new york 🎅🏻

View all 8,646 comments

mtv JAW IS ON THE FLOOR

trevorzegras you should’ve come to anaheim

sophiamontenegro trevorzegras and u should fuck off

user1 sophiamontenegro trevorzegras I wanna know the beef between them so bad someone put me in soph’s close friends list

user2 user1 im pretty sure its just Trevor who doesn’t know how to take a hint…

arianagrande i love you

morgan.grace you’re so fucking hot Sophia the hell

user4 PROUD TO SAY THAT I WAS IN THAT CROWD

user5 damn how did Jack fumble this 😂

— ♡

DECEMBER always brought more work than you’d like to have but for the first time since you started working as a singer, you were grateful for it.

You had so many appearances, so many fans to see, so many concerts to do. You were grateful singing was your favorite thing to do because time passed and you didn’t even notice it.

But, now some of the fuss calmed down and you were able to spend time doing things that weren’t related to your career, like;

“Sophia, come on, you’re gonna be late!” Grace shouted from the living room and you laughed, pouring the butter flavored popcorn into a bowl. “Sophia!”

“Jesus, Grace, calm down,” you shouted back, looking for napkins. “It’s not like we have to be there or whatever.”

Today the Devils were playing against the Blackhawks and Grace asked you if you both could watch it at your house.

“We don’t have to if you think it will make you sad, but i really wanted to watch Nico tonight.” Grace smiled, not even trying to hide how she was head over heels for him.

“It’s okay, Grace, I swear. I want to see Nico too,” you smiled, trying to hide the fact that you’d secretly been watching all of their games, desperate to catch a glimpse of Jack’s blue eyes. “We can do a girls night.”

“But you’re losing all the good shit,” she whined. “The Blackhawks players are fine, too. That Bedard kid is a cute, little honeybun.”

You chuckled, walking away from the kitchen and sitting on the couch beside her, putting the bowl on the table.

“He has a girlfriend, y’know. He dates his teammate’s sister, Ellie I think.”

“Oh, I think I saw a picture of them together at a party last month,” she tapped her chin with her index finger. “They do look cute together.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, watching as the commentator introduced the players. “Who do you think is going to win?”

“Girl, I don’t like to tell anyone my predictions because what if I jinx it?” She stared at you, like you were crazy just for asking.

You rolled your eyes. “Ever since you and Nico started fucking you became awfully surpersticious.”

“Sophia Montenegro!” She raised her arms, kicking you with her feet. “You can’t talk to me like that! I’m your sister.”

“Which gives me permission to say that you and Nico are fucking. Who cares?” You kicked her back, starting a kicking fight.

You both just stopped when you were both out of breath and the game was starting. The first period was going surprisingly smooth for the Blackhawks, which made you— secretly— worry.

Jack has probably seen better days. You would always say that he’s the number one player in the team because for you he absolutely is, but even someone who didn’t know anything about Hockey could tell that he was lacking.

You bit your lips and squeezed your thighs because, even after everything, Jack looked so fucking good. Especially with the black Devils uniform. He looked handsome and you knew that he was all of that, and he’d always be.

Sometimes you’d think about how good the sex between the two of you was, and you’d wonder if you’d find anything like that ever again.

At the end of the first period, the scoreboard read 2-1, the Blackhawks winning. You and Grace were in the middle of a discussion about how her ex looked like Shaggy from Scooby Doo when the commentator started showing the celebrities who showed up to the game.

“Who even cares about the celebrities who showed up?” You threw popcorn at the screen. “Or even better, since when do they show celebrities? Aren’t they supposed to be interviewing the players or whatever?”

“You know a lot for someone who doesn’t watch the games,” Grace teased you, and you just pushed a handful of popcorn inside your mouth. “And sorry to say this, sweetie, but if people didn’t care about celebrities, you and I wouldn’t have a job.”

You rolled your eyes, paying attention to the TV again.

“So, tell me, Nat, I’ve heard that we have some pretty famous people here today.” The announcer talked to the reporter who was standing in some kind of expensive room Sophia didn’t know the name of.

The black woman just smiled, nodding her head and bringing the microphone closer to her face.

“That’s right, Shaan. Some well known people blessed us with their presence here today…”

“I hope it's Ariana Grande or some shit like that.” Grace muttered beside you.

“Oh remind me to call her later, I need to visit her next time I’m in LA,” you replied mindlessly, still watching the sports channel.

“…And among all of these people, we have the one and only, Harris Dickinson and his girlfriend, Chloe McGill!”

“What?!” You heard Grace yelling beside you, which confirmed that what you were seeing wasn’t just your head trying to play games with you.

There he stood, in all his glory, with the cocky smirk that once gave you butterflies and was now making you sick, with his arm wrapped around a girl’s waist.

“Am I tripping or that girl looks awfully like you?”

You looked at the scene in front of you, where the reporter was now interviewing Harris with an enthusiastic smile. The girl beside him, Chloe you think, indeed looked a lot like you.

“She… she looks just like how I did when I started dating him,” you concluded, feeling sick all over again. “Even the fucking bangs, Grace.”

She put her hand on your left arm, caressing you. “I’m so sorry, bubba. Do you want me to turn it off?”

“No, ‘course not,” you reassured her, trying to smile. “I’m fine, I was just caught off guard, that’s all.”

“Okay,” Grace whispered. “Okay.”

“…I’m just happy to be here, y’know?” Harris stated, still showing his pearly white teeth. “I’m a huge Devils fan, just like my girl here.”

“That’s the biggest lie he’s ever said,” you laughed, feeling sorry for how pathetic he is. “He deadass couldn’t even stand the thought of Hockey, or any sport for that matter. What the hell is he even saying?”

“Well, apparently that little girlfriend of his, is the daughter of one of the Devils’ coaches,” Grace promptly replied, and you looked at her, ready to ask how the hell she knew that, but seeing the phone in her hand. “They’re like, rich as fuck.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Harris’ type to me.” You mumbled, praying that the second period would come faster.

And maybe God did hear your prayers because not even five minutes later, the Devils and the Blackhawks were back on the ice. The game was nerve wracking, your nails and eardrums long gone from how much you’d bitten them and how loud Grace screamed during the game.

Jack was smooth on ice, the best you’ve seen him playing all season, even before you and him fought. It was satisfying to watch him doing what he loved and you were happy that he was finally getting back on track.

Two hours later, the game ended; the Devils won. Grace cheered and jumped around while you laughed at her, happy to see her happy. Even if you didn’t understand much of hockey and even if you didn’t care about it, you were also thrilled, because you knew Jack would be happy.

You kinda hated your mind for always thinking about him but you couldn’t help it. Not when you saw how handsome he looked and not when you still loved him. A lot.

The same reporter from before, Nat, continued to talk, interviewing some of the players from the team. Grace whined about being hungry and you rolled your eyes, getting up to cook for her.

“What do you want?” You asked, opening your cabinets. “I can make pasta for us.”

“Ugh, yes, please,” she fake-moaned and you laughed. “If I’m going to fuck Nico tonight, Imma need all the carbs in the world,”

“You’re disgusting. I hope you know that,” you answered back, putting the water to boil.

“For Nico Hischier? Hell yes I am!”

You cut the onions and garlic, before putting olive oil on a separate pan and adding them. Grace continued to yap about the game, pointing out all the best players and who she liked best, while you just nodded and cooked.

“Ooh, they’re having a fancy celebrating party tonight!” She yelled from the living room, even if you could still see her and the TV because you had an open kitchen, grabbing your attention. “Is it a gala? I hope it is, Hockey players look so fucking good in suits.”

“And they say I’m the horny one…” you mumbled, putting the tomato sauce inside the pan.

“Can this woman give us some information we actually want to hear? I don’t care if they have points or not, I just want to see them in suits!”

“She’s just doing her job, Grace, stop being a whore.”

Moving around the kitchen, you finished Grace’s dinner, and grabbed a plate for her, not after filling up a glass of cold water and grating some cheese.

You went back to the living room, placing everything in front of her, while she hugged you from behind, giving you neck kisses.

“I am going to wife you up, baby!”

You giggled. “Shut up and eat, weirdo,”

She just let you go and sat on the floor, swallowing the pasta like it was her last meal.

You both watched as they showed the party, all of the players there, people laughing and smiling for pictures. Jack wasn’t interacting with the reporters, and you thought it was weird, even if you knew he low-key hated them.

“…so, yeah, I’m definitely happy we won tonight but we still have to work hard—” Mercer suddenly stopped himself mid-sentence, leaving the woman— Nat— beside him confused. He covered his mouth with his hand and laughed. “Is that Jack fighting someone? That’s sick! Film that, baldy!” He asked the cameraman.

You and Grace stopped talking and stared at each other. The camera suddenly changed angles and showed a body you knew way too well on top of another body you, unfortunately, also knew well.

“Jesus, Jack is punching Harris in the face!” Grace announced, like you weren’t watching it yourself.

The angles weren’t good because you’d bet money the cameraman wasn’t expecting to record a fight tonight, but it was still pretty damn clear that Jack was punching Harris’ face repeatedly, while his girlfriend screamed and cried and the other players tried to get him off Harris’ face.

Harris fought back, but even though he tried, he wasn’t used to fighting. Unlike Jack, who threw every punch with force and precision.

“It seems like our number eighty-six, Jack Hughes, is having a fist fight with the actor Harris Dickinson!”

“Stop trying to state the obvious, bitch, film the fucking fight!” Grace yelled.

“Grace, calm down.” you whispered, watching as the camera focused on Jack again, this time him being dragged by Nico and Nathan while he shouted at them to let him go.

This was bad. Like, bad, truly bad. They focused on Harris’ face for just a second, and it was enough— his face was all bloody and he was probably going to have a black eye for a week, with how swollen his eye was. Jack had most likely broken his nose and shit wasn’t looking good.

“Oh my God, why did he do this!” You got up from the couch, pacing around the room. “Fuck, does he know what this is going to do to him? Harris is dating the Coach’s daughter, what the hell!”

Grace was also too stunned to speak, something that did not happen often. You could tell she was just as distressed as you.

“Harris Dickinson is going to the hospital with his girlfriend Chloe and his father-in-law, Coach Ryan McGill.”

“What the fuck, this is bad,” you put your hands on your head, trying to figure out what to do. “I need to do something.”

Grace sighed, loudly. “I should be the brain in our friendship but… yeah. I mean, I know you guys are out of contact right now but this… he definitely did this for you…”

“Yeah, Grace, make me feel worse, go ahead.” You hissed.

“I’m not trying to make you feel worse, baby, you know why he did that!” She raised her arms. “You should talk to him. This obviously isn’t working for any of you.”

“Grace—”

“No, you will hear me now!” She talked on top of you, also getting up. “I’ve watched you put on a fake smile and pretend you’re fine and I didn’t say anything because I knew you had to figure it out yourself, but I can’t do this anymore. You’re drowning yourself in work, you spend half of your time at your studio and the other half at John’s studio. You don’t go out, you don’t live.”

“Grace.” You tried again.

“And usually I’d say something like: ‘get over that fucking asshole’ or ‘he isn’t worth it’!” She walked back and forth. “But the worst part is that Nico told me Jack is just like you!”

That made you stop. “What?”

“He’s not at parties, he’s not hanging out with the team, he’s not goofing around. All he does is sleep, eat and go to practice. And, fuck, Nico doesn’t know what to do because Jack never acted like this before.”

“Grace, what…” you breathed, almost yanking your hoodie with how much force you were holding it. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s so fucking obvious you both love each other yet you won’t do anything!” She lamented, staring at your eyes. “I can’t watch you fall apart like this. You have to tell him that you want to be with him.”

“Grace, I can’t— I can’t do that.” You stuttered, trying your hardest not to cry.

“Sophia,” she whispered, grabbing your hands. “That man loves you. He just punched your ex-boyfriend on national television, with everyone watching. I stand with what I said back at that dreadful Halloween party, I’ve seen how he looks at you. And he loves you. Jack Hughes loves you, Sophia.”

You let her words sink in, nodding once. Grace was bossy, delusional and a bit insane too but she was right. You needed to do something.

“Okay,” you agreed, holding her against your body. “What do I do?”

“Shit, I didn’t think you’d agree with what I was saying… I don’t know?”

“You’re such a dumbass sometimes,” you laughed and she pinched your butt. “I think… I think I’m going to his house.”

“That’s a bald ass move and so right. Want me to go with you?”

“No, I’m good. I don’t even know if he’ll hear me out but I’ll try?” You stepped back, grabbing your car keys and purse.

“Call me if anything goes wrong,” she blinked, going back to the couch. “If you don’t, I’ll call you and risk interrupting your fuck.”

“Like I’d ever pick up,” you joked, leaving the house.

Jack lived thirty minutes away from you, and alongside with that, it was a Friday night in Newark— of course the streets were filled with cars. It took you an hour to get there but even so, Jack’s car wasn’t parked in front of his garage like it used to.

You turned your car off, and waited. You could wait outside but with how cold it was, it was safer for you to wait inside. You couldn’t risk getting sick.

Seconds turned into minutes and when the one hour mark came, you sighed.

“Maybe he isn’t coming home tonight,” you said to no one, tired of waiting. You knew you could call him, but you weren't entirely sure he’d pick up. “Maybe it’s just traffic.”

You decided to wait a little bit more, half an hour. If Jack wasn’t there by the end of it, you’d just come back tomorrow. Fortunately, shortly after that, Jack’s car was parked outside of his house.

You watched as he got out of it, opened the back door and grabbed his duffel bag. Taking a deep breath, you left your car and closed the door silently.

Walking to his porch with fast steps, you called him. “Jack!”

He stopped immediately, turning around to face you. He had a bandage on his eyebrow and one on his cheek. Your heart tugged on your chest.

“Soph?” He asked, like he couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him.

You stepped closer, smiling awkwardly.

“Hi,” you said, softly, putting your hands inside your pockets. “Can we… hum… talk?”

He stared at you for a second, before nodding and turning around again, opening his door and letting you inside the house first. You thanked him and stepped inside, taking in the sight you missed so much, his home.

You both stayed quiet for a while; he put his things away and you stood there, weirdly. You didn’t know how to start the conversation, so you just stared at him. He looked tired, dark circles adorning his face, hair messy and face a bit swollen. Even if he looked hurt, he looked ten thousand times better than Harris, who was probably in the emergency room at the local hospital.

“Jack,” you started, noticing how his body went stiff and he stopped moving. “Why did you do it?”

You didn’t give him a chance to reply, stepping closer and putting your hand on his face, feeling the hotness of it, and realizing you missed him more than you knew.

“Jesus, Jack, do you even realize what you did?” You whispered, moving your thumb up and down. “He’s dating your coach’s daughter. He’s a powerful man, baby.” The pet name slipped out of your tongue, but you didn’t want to take it back.

“Fuck,” he breathed, grabbing your wrist and kissing it. “Say it again, Soph.”

Maybe someone else would need him to clarify it better, explain further. But not you. Not when the love you felt for him ran deep inside your soul.

“Baby,” you whispered again, watching as he closed his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Sophia, fuck, what did you do to me?” His voice sounded so tender, you could feel your body wanting nothing more than to melt inside his arms. “I can’t— Fuck.”

“Jack, you need to understand that what you did, baby, it could cost you a lot—”

“I know. Soph, I know that. And I still would break his asshole’s nose again and again.”

“Why did you do it?”

He stepped away, and you immediately wanted him to come back. “Why did I do it? Isn’t it obvious?” He laughed, humorlessly. “Sophia, I am in love with you. I love you.”

You felt your cheeks getting wet, and only then did you realize you were crying.

“I didn’t understand it sooner because, hell, I have never loved a woman before that wasn’t my mom, and even then, it’s not even close to what I feel towards you,” he ran his hands through his hair. “I didn’t think being in a relationship was for me, I didn’t even want it. But now I look at you and—” he looked at you, blue eyes brighter than you’d ever seen. “I look at you and I realize you’re all I want.”

You were fully crying now, the tears running down your face like models on a runway. Your hands were shaking, and you wanted to scream at him.

“You’re it for me, baby,” he stepped closer, gently putting his hands on your waist, letting you rest your head on his chest. “I know that you’re upset, and I know this isn’t easy for you. We all got bags full of shit that we don’t want, but I will unpack them for you, baby. Just… just let me.”

“Jack,” you sniffled, trying to stop crying. “I need you to know that I love you, too. But,” you pressed your lips together, organising your thoughts. “You need to know that sometimes it’s going to be hard for me. I don’t trust so easily anymore and I’m sorry for it but that’s just who I am.”

You could swear you could feel his smile, while he held you tighter. “It’s okay, Soph. When I tell you that I want you, I don’t mean only the good parts. I want you whole. I want the bad, the good and the in-between,”

“What if,” you hold him impossibly closer. “I don’t want you to get tired of me.”

“Tired of you?” He chuckled. “I want to marry you.”

You stepped away from his like he was on fire. Frowning, you raised your finger.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, Hughes. Besides that, you’re literally twenty-two.”

“I don’t mind you being my old sugar mommy,” he shrugged, smiling.

“Call me old again, Jack Hughes, and I promise you will never hear from me again.” You smiled too, and for the first time in probably two months, it felt real.

“Yes, ma’am,” he stopped smiling, stepping closer to you again. Holding your wrists to his mouth, he kissed the right first before moving onto the next. After he was done, he placed them on his neck, grabbing your waist.

You stood on your toes, trying to stay face to face with him.

“Can I be your boyfriend?”

You smiled. “I guess you can.”

“You guess?” He bickered back, plastering his white teeth for you. “Can I kiss you, baby?” He whispered, kissing your cheeks. Then your nose, then your forehead. Always gentle and steady. “Soph, sweetheart, can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering, you just glued your lips together, moaning because you had missed this so much. His lips felt like the sweetest thing in the world and when he touched your tongue with his, you were sure you had turned into butter and was now melting.

Maybe your forever wasn’t so distant at all.

#jack hughes #jack hughes x you #jack hughes x oc #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fic #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x singer!fmc #jack hughes x singer!reader #IYLMLMK

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earl-grey-teacake · 7 months ago

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There is a rumor that with Domenicali stepping down as F1 CEO, Nico Rosberg could be a potential replacement.

*I have a fanfic idea for this.

Hear me out, Nico Rosberg gets CEO position for 1 reason and 1 reason only, and that is to win Lewis back but also be petty with him at the same time.

Helmet Mario makes his regular racist comments? BANNED. Security is going to throw that old man in a ravine.

Need to represent the teams during a penalty disputes with the FIA? Lewis is absolutely at fault unless he accept my invite to dinner, then he’s never done anything wrong and I’m offended that we’re even having this meeting.

Mandatory meeting with drivers? Lewis has one scheduled every other week.

Interviews with the media?

Nico: Yeah, I mean that was an impeccable drive from Lewis. It’s nice to see him wrong out every ounce of potential from that car. He could absolutely be WDC this year. That overtake was classic Lewis, executed flawlessly.

Sky Sports: and his teammate?

Nico: Charles is fine, he’s there. Bad strategy call.

Is this a healthy work environment? Absolutely not. HR should probably be involved.

Is Lewis aware of what’s going on? 50/50

Does Nico fill his office fridge with only vegan food for their mandatory meetings? Yes, yes he does

Are other teams going to get involved? And get caught in the crossfire of Brocedes? No.

(I should note that I only have a very vague sense of what the F1 CEO does.)

*this is a fanfic idea. I have too many WIP to start something new. If anyone wants to write this, feel free to. But tag me since I want to read this.

#f1 rpf #f1 rpf fic #lewis hamilton x nico rosberg #nico rosberg #lewis hamilton #brocedes

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cressidagrey · 7 days ago

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Off the Record

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Lara Rosberg (Original Character)

Summary:

Lara Rosberg is F1’s answer to Amal Clooney and (unfortunately) Nico Rosberg’s little sister. Lewis Hamilton is a seven-time- world champion and (unfortunately) the guy Lara’s brother has sworn to never forgive.

Lara and Lewis have also been secretly dating for nearly two years, which was going perfectly fine… until a single grainy photo sets off a media firestorm and sends Nico into a full public meltdown.

Warnings and Notes:

Welcome to the thing that stopped me from writing anything else until it was done.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

📸 Instagram Post — @/f1gossipzone

Comments:

@/f1teaaccount: can we talk about how good she looks tho?? mysterious blonde doing it right

@/gridwivesanonymous: 2025 drama already heating up and it’s only March 😭🔥

@/gridtea: that “mysterious blonde” is giving very Lara Rosberg energy 👀

↳@/f1girliesunite: wait. WAIT. is that NICO ROSBERG’S SISTER???

@/drs_daddies: 😭 not the Rosberg-Hamilton peace talks happening over risotto

↳@/f1memesdaily: someone please check on Nico

@/rosbergstan: That’s definitely Lara. She was wearing that jacket in her cousin’s birthday pics last week.

↳@/f1stanbby: wait WAIT—like Nico Rosberg’s sister???

↳@/carlando_supremacy: WAIT WAIT WAIT. NICO’S sister??? 😭

↳@/hamiltonnation44: you’re telling me lewis hamilton is dating his archrival’s little sister???

↳@/beigeinteriorsofthegrid: does this mean Lewis is gonna be part of the Rosberg family Christmas chaos because I need that

@/f1teaqueen: wait… is that… Lara Rosberg???

↳@/leclercslens: THE LARA ROSBERG???

↳@/gossipgasly: not nico’s little sister and lewis in one frame, i’m gonna SCREAM

@/mercedesmemes: they said enemies to lovers but made it real life

↳@/hamiltonheartclub: no bc they look good together why am i invested

↳@/softlaunchcentral: not a Rosberg-Hamilton alliance in 2025 I wasn't ready

@/f1dramasociety: Hamilton really said “let’s keep it in the family” 💀💀💀

↳@/nrosbergfan89: someone tell Nico before he combusts on main

@/f1drama_daily: NO WAY. LARA ROSBERG AND LEWIS HAMILTON???? THIS IS 2016 FANFIC REALNESS

↳@/paddockcryptid: imagine nico finding out like this 😭

@/nicorosberg: Are you joking.

@/nicorosberg: That’s not a “mysterious blonde,” that’s my sister.

@/nicorosberg: Tell me this is edited.

@/nicorosberg: You’ve got to be kidding me.

@/nicorosberg: This is some kind of weird angle. That’s not who I think it is.

@/nicorosberg: NOPE. No way. Absolutely not.

@/nicorosberg: Why would LARA be out with him?? WHY??

@/nrosberg: IS THIS FROM LAST NIGHT OR IS THIS OLD??

@/nrosberg: ANSWER ME.

@/gridgirlboss: the way Nico is unraveling in the comments 💀

@/tifosiwifey: Lara Rosberg dating LEWIS HAMILTON wasn’t on my 2025 bingo card

@/dramatictifosi: “mysterious blonde woman” PLEASE she has a surname. A FAMOUS one.

@/rosbergstan: this is worse than Abu Dhabi 2016 for Nico I fear

@/itsgivingiconic: Nico said “not on my watch” and proceeded to detonate in public

@/dts_demons: can Netflix film the Rosberg-Hamilton family summit please

@/mclarens_mistress: max is gonna hear about this and scream laughing

@/charlesleclurrrr: nico going through the five stages of grief in real time 💀

@/notdanielricciardo: someone check on him before he challenges lewis to a duel

@/f1gossipgirlxoxo: confirmed: mysterious blonde is Lara Rosberg ✅

@/beigeprada: this is so Shakespearean. forbidden dinner. dramatic brother. the collapse of peace

@/hamilover44: if they’re dating i need them on the cover of vogue immediately

@/mclolaren: the secondhand anxiety I’m getting from nico’s comment spree is unmatched

@/tiredeprgirl: and just like that, the Monaco group chats are in flames

***

Vivian Rosberg had just finished tucking their youngest into bed—nightlight on, water glass full, lullaby playlist playing something suspiciously emotional about moonlight—when she padded back downstairs, fully expecting a moment of peace and perhaps a glass of wine.

She’d been gone ten minutes. Twelve, tops.

And in that time, apparently, the apocalypse had unfolded in their living room.

“Nico?” she called, rounding the corner.

There he was—half-on, half-off the couch like a man possessed. His phone gripped in one hand, stress ball in the other, jaw clenched, foot tapping, eyes darting across the screen like he was preparing to launch a full-scale military op via Instagram.

“What are you doing?” she asked, voice already tinged with dread. “Nico?”

He looked up. Wild-eyed. Sweaty. Dramatic.

“It’s Lara,” he said, like it was code for imminent disaster.

Vivian’s stomach dropped. “What happened? Is she okay?”

He wordlessly flipped the phone toward her. She squinted.

A blurry pap shot. Lewis. Lara. Laughing. Her head tilted toward him, his hand on the car door. Caption: Mysterious Blonde. The comments? Screaming. And smack in the middle: Nico Rosberg. Multiple times. In ALL CAPS.

Her brow rose slowly. “You commented nine times?”

“She was on a date,” Nico burst out, leaping to his feet. “With Lewis Hamilton. Lewis. As in: my former teammate-slash-rival-slash-walking ego complex!”

Vivian took a very slow sip of her wine. “Maybe they just had dinner.”

“They don’t look like just dinner!” he gestured at the photo like it physically hurt him. “They look like… like a rom-com poster! She’s laughing. He’s opening the door. There’s eye contact, Viv!”

Vivian squinted again. “I don’t know. Could be a really good punchline.”

He started pacing. “I have to go over there. Right now. Before she does something she can’t undo. Like fall in love with him.”

Vivian nearly choked on her wine. “What?”

“I’m serious. She’s clearly emotionally compromised. I need to speak to her before it’s too late.”

“Nico,” she said sharply, “you are not going to storm her apartment like she’s fifteen and you caught her kissing a boy behind the go-kart trailer.”

“I’m just going to talk to her.”

“You’re going to yell at her.”

“I won’t!”

“You will,” she said, crossing her arms. “You’ll yell, she’ll cry, Lewis will emerge from somewhere shirtless and smug, and I’ll have to spend the entire night repairing your sibling relationship and your blood pressure.”

He faltered.

Vivian stepped closer, her voice softer now. “She’s an adult. A brilliant, terrifying, completely capable adult. And if this is real—if something’s going on—don’t you want her to tell you because she wants to, not because you showed up with steam coming out of your ears?”

Nico deflated like a balloon. “I just… I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“She’s not the one blowing up the internet right now,” Vivian said gently. “You are.”

He stared at the floor. Then the couch. Then the photo again. His fingers twitched like he still wanted to go—but didn’t quite need to anymore.

Vivian reached out, took his phone, and calmly locked it.

“Nico.”

He looked up.

“Sit down,” she said, already turning toward the kitchen. “And if you even think about driving to her place, I will call Toto and tell him you’re having a full emotional crisis over a blurry dinner photo.”

He sat.

But not without muttering, “It wasn’t that blurry.”

***

📚🌍 user: f1filesanonymous [DEEP DIVE] Who Is Lara Rosberg, and Why Is She Basically F1’s Amal Clooney? …and why has she just casually been on the arm of Lewis Hamilton this whole time like it’s NBD???

Okay so you may have seen THOSE photos of Lewis Hamilton leaving a Monaco restaurant with a stunning blonde woman who is clearly trying not to be recognized and failing spectacularly because—surprise!—that “mystery woman” is Lara Rosberg, and she is not new here.

She’s just been quietly running laps around us all for years.

🧾 BASIC PROFILE:

Name: Lara Marie Rosberg Age: 35 Profession: International environmental lawyer, policy advisor, human weapon in heels Known for: — Suing actual oil giants — Getting called “a necessary force of disruption” by the UN Climate Chair — Being the only person alive who can make Nico Rosberg shut up with just a look

👩🏻‍⚖️✨ SO WHO IS SHE?

Nico Rosberg’s younger sister

Studied at Oxford, then took a research fellowship in The Hague

Wrote an article on international water rights that got published in a UN journal before she was 25.

Interned with the UN Environmental Programme

co-founded Rosberg & Bauman, a high-profile legal firm specializing in climate litigation and international law

Has been quietly advising multiple EU climate initiatives. Probably helped write half the green policies we tweet about and never read.

She’s essentially Amal Clooney for motorsport and climate reform, but with slightly messier buns and a terrifyingly dry wit.

Media Moments You Probably Missed:

2020: led a case that blocked a billion-euro fossil fuel infrastructure project in North Africa.

Gave a TED Talk in 2021 titled “Legal Leverage: Holding Polluters Accountable” that made half the oil industry visibly sweat

2022: Appears at FIA’s sustainability roundtable looking elegant and terrifyingly competent in a black suit. Spoke once. Killed the room.

2023: Profiled in Die Zeit for her work helping establish carbon accountability standards in multi-national litigation. Interview included the quote: “Motorsport is a spectacle. My work is a responsibility.” Everyone on Lawyer Tumblr melted.

🎓 THAT OXFORD MOMENT THOUGH:

The last public sibling appearance was in 2024 when she joined Nico at a Rosberg Ventures panel at Oxford.

Here’s what happened:

Nico gave a 12-minute talk about green tech.

Lara stood politely next to him in a grey silk blouse and minimal makeup.

The Q&A began.

It spiraled.

By the third question, law students were exclusively addressing Lara. Topics included:

The legality of carbon offset schemes

Her thoughts on climate reparations

Whether she preferred the European or Canadian legal frameworks for prosecuting ecocide

If she would consider mentoring

And—direct quote—“How does one become you without selling their soul to McKinsey first?”

Nico, to his credit, took it well. Kind of.

📸 Now About the Photos…

This week, Lara and Lewis were spotted leaving a private dinner in Monte Carlo.

No visible PDA. No statements.

But the vibes were LOUD.

Her laughing, him opening the car door, same vehicle—this is not “just friends and quinoa.”

⚖️ Important to Note:

Lara has always been incredibly private. She avoids PR events unless it’s climate-related, and she has zero public relationship history—despite being, and I quote, “absurdly beautiful in a terrifying EU commissioner sort of way.”

This is likely why the fandom is spiraling and the gossip accounts are eating their microphones.

📝 Conclusion:

Lara Rosberg is what happens when you cross elite academia with Monaco lineage, give her a law degree, an international caseload, and one (1) deeply chaotic brother.

She’s elegant, brilliant, unbothered by fame, and apparently—if the latest photos are to be believed—Lewis Hamilton’s dinner date.

And honestly? As a couple? It’s giving world peace. It’s giving intellectual dominance. It’s giving “He calls her Counselor and means it.”

***

Text Messages — Vivian Rosberg → Lara Rosberg

Vivian Hey. You might want to turn your phone off for the night. Your brother is currently pacing the living room like he’s prepping for a title decider.

Vivian Did you have dinner with Lewis?

Vivian I told him you’re probably just friends. He’s choosing to believe that. Please don’t prove me a liar before sunrise.

Vivian Text me when you’re awake. And maybe warn Lewis if he’s in Monaco. Nico’s dangerously close to printing flyers.

***

Text Messages — Nico Rosberg → Lara Rosberg

Nico Lara. LARA. Are you kidding me??

Nico Tell me this is a joke. Tell me that’s not you in those pictures. Tell me you have a TWIN I don’t know about.

Nico I SWEAR TO GOD. LEWIS???

Nico Answer your phone. ANSWER. YOUR. PHONE.

Nico: I SAW THE POST. Don’t even TRY to act like that wasn’t you.

Nico: Are you DATING him??? Are you out of your ACTUAL MIND???

Nico: Call me. NOW.

Nico: I’m not kidding. This is not a “haha oops paparazzi” moment. This is LEWIS. LEWIS HAMILTON, LARA.

Nico: ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW????

Nico: I FOUND OUT ABOUT THIS THROUGH A GOSSIP ACCOUNT. ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND????

Nico: Was that a DATE??? Are you DATING HIM?? Why is he TOUCHING YOU????

Nico: Why is he LAUGHING WITH YOU?? WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING WITH HIM???

Nico: I feel ill.

NICO: Are you INSANE? Have you lost your mind? Did he hypnotize you? Blink twice if you’re being held against your will.

NICO: Why didn’t you tell me? Wait—how long has this been going on? NO. I don’t want to know. YES I DO. TELL ME.

NICO: Are you DATING him or was this just dinner? Be honest. Because you’re smiling in that photo like you’re in love.

NICO: I cannot believe this. My archrival. My nemesis. The man who once parked half an inch too close to me in the garage in 2015.

Nico: You know what this is? This is betrayal. Family betrayal.

***

Voicemail Transcriptions:

[Voice Note 1] “Okay. Look. I’m going to be calm. I’m going to be respectful. I’m just asking. Are you—ARE YOU SERIOUSLY DATING LEWIS HAMILTON?! Because I—sorry, no. I’m not calm.”

[Voice Note 2] “What happened to standards? What happened to self-preservation?! I taught you how to ride a bike! I protected you from jellyfish! And this is how you repay me?!”

[Voice Note 3] “I saw the way he looked at you in that photo, okay? I’ve been looked at by Lewis Hamilton. That’s not just dinner. That’s strategic affection!”

[Voice Note 4] “I just—Lara. You had dinner with Lewis Hamilton. You had dinner with Lewis Hamilton and you didn’t tell me and now the internet knows and I’M COMMENTING UNDER A GOSSIP ACCOUNT LIKE A TEENAGER—”

[Voice Note 5] “This is fine. I’m fine. Maybe it wasn’t a date. Maybe he was just hungry. Maybe you were… helping him understand nutrition. I don’t know what you do anymore.”

[Voice Note 6] “You are grounded, by the way. I don’t care that you’re an adult. Grounded.”

[Voice Note 7]

“Vivian is telling me to calm down but she doesn’t understand what this means. This is like…this is like if I just casually showed up married to Sebastian Vettel and didn’t warn anyone. Which I wouldn’t do. Because I HAVE MANNERS.”

[Voice Note 8]

“Okay, I just think it’s funny—no, you know what? It’s not funny. It’s absolutely deranged. Of all the people in the entire paddock, you go out with Lewis bloody Hamilton. The man who once called me ‘calculating’ like it was an insult. LARA. I—I'm not even mad, I’m just—NO, I am mad. Call me back.”

[Voice Note 9]

“I’m coming over. No, Vivian says I can’t. But I will. I will climb your balcony if I have to. I know your security code. Actually, you changed it, didn’t you? Was that because of him?!”

LARA’S PHONE – 07:12 AM

Missed Calls (16) – Nico Rosberg New Voice Messages (9) Unread Texts (19)

***

Sunlight sliced in through the edge of the blackout curtains, soft and golden as it spilled lazily across the rumpled white sheets. The apartment was quiet. Peaceful. That rare kind of stillness that made it easy to pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Lara stirred beneath the covers, warm and content, tangled in one of Lewis’s oversized T-shirts. For a few precious seconds, everything was calm. Safe.

Then her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She groaned, blindly reaching for it, eyes barely open as she fumbled with the screen.

Her breath caught.

Missed Calls (16) – Nico Rosberg New Voice Messages (9) Unread Texts (19) 1 from Vivian Instagram: You’ve been tagged in 56 new photos

She blinked. Then blinked again.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

Beside her, Lewis hummed sleepily, still curled under the covers. “What?”

Lara didn’t answer right away. She just held her phone up, screen angled toward him.

“He knows.”

Lewis rubbed at his eyes and took the phone from her hand. His eyebrows rose as he started scrolling.

“My archrival. My nemesis. The man who once parked half an inch too close to me in the garage in 2015,” he muttered. “Wow. I forgot how theatrical he gets.”

“I didn’t.” Lara collapsed back onto the pillows with a groan. “I was really hoping we had one more week of peace.”

Lewis swiped through the notifications and found it—the photo. A grainy shot of them outside the restaurant. Her head tilted back in laughter. Lewis mid-smile, hand on the car door. The moment looked effortless. Intimate.

He turned the phone toward her. “We look good.”

She shot him a glare. “Lewis.”

He smirked, still half-asleep. “Sorry.”

“We were careful,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face. “We used the back entrance. We didn’t even kiss. I didn’t even touch you.”

“You smiled at me like I invented light.”

She threw a pillow at him. “You smiled first.”

He caught it easily and shrugged. “You were the one who wanted to keep it a secret.”

Lara turned to look at him, eyes sharp. “Did you want to come to Rosberg family dinners?”

Lewis winced.

“Yeah,” she snapped, “I didn’t think so.”

She exhaled hard and dropped back onto the mattress. “God. He’s going to go full 2016. Vivian’s probably hiding his passport as we speak.”

Lewis hesitated before speaking again. “We are going to have to tell him eventually.”

“Define eventually,” she groaned into the pillow.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for her, palm brushing gently along her side, resting just over the soft swell of her stomach. Barely showing. But not for long.

“You’re going to start showing any day now, Lara,” he said softly. “And I’m not letting you hide.”

She closed her eyes. Her voice came quieter. “I’m not trying to hide.”

“I know.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I just want to be allowed to love you out loud.”

Her throat tightened. She reached for his hand and wrapped her fingers around his, grounding herself in him.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Just… maybe give him a decaf tea and ten hours of sleep before we break the news?”

Lewis grinned. “So… no baby announcement via Ferrari Instagram post?”

“Don’t you dare.”

***

Lara startled, barefoot in the kitchen, a mug of tea halfway to her mouth. Her phone, resting on the counter, lit up again—more messages from Nico, one from Vivian, and at least six from various overinvested cousins.

She froze.

Then she heard it.

Banging.

“LARA! Open the door. I know you’re home!”

Her eyes went wide.

“Oh no.”

From behind her, Lewis appeared in the hallway, shirtless, towel slung around his neck. He looked unbothered. Warm. Glowing.

She hated him just a little for it.

“That sounds like Nico,” he said mildly.

“I know.”

“He’s here?”

“I know,” she hissed, voice rising with every syllable.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “So… are we telling him?”

Lara spun to face him, panicked. “No.”

The banging continued. Louder.

“LARA. I’M NOT KIDDING. I SWEAR, IF HE’S IN THERE—”

She spun on her heel, threw open the hallway closet.

Lewis stared at her. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“I’m not. Closet. Now.”

“Lara, come on.”

“Do you want to be murdered by a man who still hasn’t emotionally processed Abu Dhabi 2016?”

He blinked.

“Closet, Lewis!”

He looked at her like he might argue—just for a second. Then he saw the full extent of her panic and swore under his breath before stepping toward the closet.

“I am a seven-time world champion,” he muttered, ducking inside, “and I’m hiding in your linen closet.”

Lara grabbed the door handle.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he added darkly.

She shut the door in his face with a soft click. Then inhaled deeply, set her mug down with trembling hands, and marched toward the front door like a woman preparing for war.

Because Nico? Nico was banging on the door like he absolutely intended to blow her life apart.

She barely got the handle turned before the door flew open, Nico barreling inside like a man on fire.

“Do you have any idea what’s happening online?!” he demanded. “You’re trending. I’m trending! Vivian had to turn off comments on our wedding anniversary post because people think Lewis is now my brother-in-law! Is he here?!”

“Nico—” she tried, but he was already pacing.

“—and to make it worse, you lied to me! You said you were with friends! You said girls night!”

“It was just a friendly dinner,” she said, wildly flustered, stepping in front of him like she could physically block the chaos.

“With Lewis Hamilton?” Nico let out a laugh that sounded half-deranged. “Do you remember 2016? Do you remember what I went through? The psychological warfare?”

Lara pressed her palms together. “Yes! We’ve known each other for years. We talk sometimes. It’s not a big deal. We’re just friends.”

From down the hallway, behind the closed linen closet door— A faint, unmistakable sneeze.

She froze. Nico blinked.

“…Was that—?”

“The pipes,” she said too quickly. “It’s an old building.”

Nico frowned. “You live in a penthouse.”

She didn’t blink. “You are being insane, Nico. We’re not dating. Okay? We are not romantically involved.”

There was a long beat of silence. Then Nico sighed, shoulders deflating slightly.

“…Okay,” he said, though his tone was still edged with suspicion. “Okay. I just—Viv said maybe it was just dinner and I wanted to believe her but the comments were insane and I was spiraling and—”

“I know,” Lara said, voice softening. “It’s okay.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, visibly exhausted. “You’d tell me if something was going on, right?”

Her stomach twisted.

She nodded slowly, resting one hand—casually, carefully—over her still-flat abdomen. Then she smiled and lied, smooth as glass.

“Of course I would.”

Nico exhaled, raking his fingers through his hair. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry for freaking out. I just—he’s Lewis. You know how I feel about Lewis.”

Lara managed a tense smile. “You’ve mentioned it. Once or twice.”

“I just needed to see for myself that you’re not, you know… caught in some post-midnight Hamilton mind control scheme.”

“I’m good, Nico,” she said gently. “Promise.”

He nodded again, slower this time, reluctant but settling. “Okay. I’ll go. Vivian says if I show up without flowers and an apology she’s changing all the Wi-Fi passwords.”

Lara huffed out a quiet laugh, just barely.

Nico pulled her into a quick hug, kissed her forehead like he’d done since they were kids, and walked out with one last suspicious glance toward the hallway.

She waited until the door clicked shut and the lock turned.

Silence.

Then she pressed her back against the wall and exhaled so hard it nearly rattled the windows.

From the hallway closet came a muffled voice.

“Can I come out now, or do I need to wait for the emotional fallout round two?”

Lara didn’t answer. She just collapsed onto the couch and let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a strangled sob, muffled by the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

A few seconds later, Lewis stepped cautiously into the room. Barefoot, rumpled, he looked like a man recently freed from captivity—and mildly offended by the experience.

He stared at her for a moment. “Are you okay?”

Lara lifted her head slowly, resting her cheek against the arm of the couch. Her voice was flat. “Nico showed up unannounced. You had to hide in a closet. I lied to my brother’s face. I’m pregnant. And the father of my unborn child just sneezed in a linen shelf like it was a hostage bunker.”

Lewis raised his hands. “Technically, it was a very well-organized linen shelf.”

She dropped her head back down and flopped dramatically onto her side, arm over her face. “I can’t do this.”

Lewis crossed the room and knelt beside her, hands braced on the edge of the couch. “You are doing this,” he said gently. “You’re just… doing it with flair.”

“I’m going to be showing in, like, two weeks,” she muttered into the pillow. “There is not a single baggy sweatshirt on earth that’s going to save me from Rosberg family chaos when I turn up glowing and hormonal.”

He laughed softly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch lingered.

“Then we stop hiding,” he said. “He’ll survive. Eventually.”

Lara groaned again, dragging the pillow over her face. “Will I survive?”

“Barely,” Lewis said, deadpan. “But I’ll keep you stocked in chocolate and foot rubs.”

“Even when I’m mood-swinging like a possessed Victorian ghost?”

He smiled. “Especially then.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched with something dangerously close to a smile.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the chaos of the morning finally settling into something quieter. Her breathing slowed. His hand rested gently on her calf.

Then she murmured, almost to herself, “We’re going to have to tell him soon.”

Lewis nodded. “You ready?”

She turned her head and looked at him with the kind of expression only a woman who had recently shoved the most decorated driver in F1 history into a closet could manage.

“I just shoved you in a closet,” she said. “Take a guess.”

***

The office was quiet. Sleek. Clinical.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering blue of the Mediterranean, sunlight dappling across the glass table by the door. But Lara hadn’t looked at it once.

She sat rigid at her desk, spine straight despite the fatigue pulling at her limbs. Her hair was twisted into a tight bun, her dark blazer buttoned neatly over a flowing cream blouse that had started to feel uncomfortably snug across her midsection. A stack of contracts lay open in front of her—thick paper, heavy with redlining—but she’d read the same paragraph four times without taking in a single word.

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her water.

Still nothing in her stomach. No appetite. The nausea had been worse this morning, coiling low in her gut and rising bitter in her throat. And on top of that, she was still reeling from the full-body stress event known as The Nico Incident—Lewis in the closet, her brother losing his mind in the hallway, and the quiet guilt that had settled in after like a slow bleed.

She blinked hard. Rubbed at her temple.

The words on the contract blurred again.

“Paul,” she called, her voice thin and strained.

She hadn’t even finished saying his name before her office door opened.

Paul stepped inside with the precision of a man who had absolutely expected this. Sharp suit, smart glasses, and the kind of unflinching judgment only earned after five years of managing Lara Rosberg’s chaos with military efficiency.

“I knew you skipped breakfast,” he said, striding across the room. He set a protein bar and a bottle of green pressed juice on her desk with a decisive thud. “Again. This baby’s going to come out demanding better scheduling and proper prenatal vitamins.”

Lara managed a ghost of a smile. “You’re dramatic.”

Paul arched a brow at her. “I’m observant.”

She nodded faintly, reaching for the juice without drinking it. “Reschedule the ten a.m. with Duval. I’ll take the Thompson brief in here.”

“Already done,” he said, folding his arms. “And I brought ginger biscuits, a backup charger, and the good pen you like.”

Lara exhaled through her nose. Grateful. Exhausted.

Then the edges of her vision wavered.

She blinked, trying to clear it, but her head swam. Heat bloomed behind her eyes, and her stomach flipped dangerously. She swayed slightly in her chair.

Paul’s posture changed in an instant.

“Lara?”

“I’m fine,” she murmured, waving a hand she couldn’t quite steady.

She tried to stand.

The room tilted.

And the next thing she knew, her balance gave out and her knees buckled, sending her careening sideways into the edge of the desk.

“Lara!”

Paul was at her side before she could fall completely, catching her under the arms and lowering her gently to the carpet. Her skin felt clammy. Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingers—too fast, too light.

He pressed a hand to her cheek, already fumbling for his phone with the other.

“No, no, no—don’t you dare pass out on me,” he muttered, his voice somewhere between a plea and a scolding. “You brilliant, emotionally repressed nightmare. You’ve got a whole child cooking in there.”

***

Lewis had just stepped out of the shower when his phone rang.

He barely glanced at the screen—Paul—before snatching it off the counter, a flicker of unease already tightening in his chest.

Paul didn’t call unless something was wrong.

He pressed the phone to his ear, towel slung around his neck, water still dripping from his hair.

“Yeah?”

There was no greeting. No polite pause. Just Paul’s voice, clipped and urgent.

“It’s Lara.”

Lewis stilled.

Every nerve in his body lit up like a warning flare. “What about her?”

“She fainted,” Paul said. “Collapsed in her office.”

Lewis’s breath stopped mid-inhale. His free hand gripped the edge of the bathroom counter, knuckles whitening.

“Did she hit her head?” His voice came rough, rasping.

“No. I caught her. It was clean. But it was bad. She’s been pale all morning. I think she was hiding how awful she felt—skipped breakfast, looked like she was about to throw up before I even walked in.”

Lewis shut his eyes.

Of course she had.

Of course she’d been pushing through it like always—quietly, stubbornly, determined to pretend everything was fine because that’s what Lara did. Even now. Especially now.

Paul kept talking, his voice dropping slightly. “They took her to Monaco General. She’s stable, but still out cold. They’re moving her to room 208 once she’s upstairs.”

Lewis barely heard the rest.

All he could think about was her curled up beside him the night before, her hand resting absently over the soft curve of her stomach. Still hardly showing, but there. Real. Their baby.

It had been a surprise. For both of them.

A terrifying, beautiful surprise.

He remembered how stunned she’d looked when the test turned positive. How she’d said nothing for a long minute, then whispered, “This wasn’t supposed to happen yet.”

And how he’d taken her hand and told her, “Maybe not. But I think it’s the best thing that ever could.”

And now she was in a hospital bed, unconscious, and he hadn’t even been there.

“I’m on my way,” he said, already yanking open a drawer, throwing on jeans without bothering to dry off. “Tell them I’m coming.”

“Lewis—” Paul hesitated, then added, “She’s going to be okay. But I think she’d want you there when she wakes up.”

Lewis didn’t respond. He was already moving, already grabbing keys, wallet, hoodie—wet hair forgotten, socks mismatched.

“Thanks for calling,” he said, voice thick.

He ended the call and bolted out the door.

He didn’t care about traffic. About press. About what anyone saw.

The only thing that mattered was her.

***

The phone rang once.

Then twice.

Nico almost didn’t answer.

He was mid-rant—hands flying, pacing the kitchen like a man still trapped in a cooldown room—his voice bouncing off marble countertops and ignored entirely by his wife, who sat at the breakfast bar scrolling through her iPad and sipping tea like his stress was just white noise.

“You should’ve seen her,” he was saying, his voice rising with every word. “Sweating, stammering—wouldn’t even let me into the bedroom. If that’s not suspicious, I don’t know what is—”

The phone rang again.

He snatched it off the counter without checking the caller ID. “Rosberg.”

A beat. Then:

“Hey, it’s Paul. Lara’s assistant.”

Nico stopped moving.

He blinked. “Yeah?” he said, voice still sharp. “What’s going on? Did she send you? I’ve been trying to reach her all morning—she’s not picking up.”

There was a pause. Longer this time. Uneasy.

“She fainted at work.”

Everything inside Nico went still.

“What?” The word came out flat, disbelieving.

“She collapsed in her office about forty minutes ago. We called an ambulance. She’s at Monaco General. They’re monitoring her, but she hasn’t woken up yet.”

The blood drained from his face.

He sank into the nearest chair like the floor had been pulled out from under him.

Across the kitchen, Vivian looked up sharply.

“Is she—did she hit her head?” Nico asked, voice cracking at the end like it betrayed him.

“No. It was clean. I caught her. But it was bad enough they didn’t take chances. She’s been really pale all morning—kind of shaky. I think she’s been hiding how bad she’s feeling.”

Nico’s stomach twisted.

“She didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah,” Paul said softly. “She’s been doing that a lot lately.”

Nico dragged a hand through his hair, already rising from the chair. “What hospital?”

“Monaco General. Room 208 once they move her upstairs. And—” Paul hesitated, then added, “Look, I don’t know how she’s going to feel about you showing up right now. But I thought you should know.”

Nico nodded, even though Paul couldn’t see it. “Yeah,” he said, voice faint. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He hung up.

The kitchen was silent now.

Vivian was watching him from across the island, her expression unreadable.

“Nico?” she asked gently.

He didn’t look up. His grip tightened around the phone. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Fragile in a way she hadn’t heard in years.

“She fainted,” he said. “And I was too busy losing my mind over one dinner photo to notice she wasn’t okay.”

Vivian set her tea down and crossed the kitchen.

She didn’t say I told you so. She didn’t say anything at all.

She just handed him his car keys.

Nico stared at them for a long second before taking them from her hand.And then he left.

***

The room was too quiet.

Machines hummed in the background, soft and steady—heart monitor, blood pressure cuff, the occasional beep of a nurse’s console in the hallway. Lewis sat beside Lara’s bed, one hand curled gently around hers, his thumb brushing absent circles across her knuckles.

She hadn’t stirred.

Lara was still unconscious, her breathing slow and steady, her hand resting in his. Monitors beeped steadily. The room smelled like antiseptic and synthetic linen. His fingers never stopped tracing gentle circles across her knuckles, as if the contact alone could anchor her here—safe, real, still with him.

He’d spoken to the doctor. Twice. Everything pointed to a textbook fainting spell—dehydration, exhaustion, stress. But knowing that didn’t stop the gnawing panic sitting in his chest like a stone.

She looked small in the hospital bed. Fragile in a way she never was in the courtroom or at home. And he hated it.

Her skin was pale, her hair pulled back messily, oxygen clipped to her nose despite the doctor’s reassurance that everything was stable. That she’d fainted from stress, dehydration, exhaustion—but that the baby was fine.

The baby was fine.

Lewis had held onto that sentence like a lifeline the entire drive to the hospital.

She hadn’t even wanted him to come this morning. Said she had a brief to finish, a call to take. That she’d be home by lunch.

Now she was lying still and silent, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

The door creaked open.

He turned, expecting Paul.

Instead, it was Nico.

He froze in the doorway, eyes immediately landing on Lara in the bed. And then—

He saw Lewis.

The silence that followed was sharp, immediate, and dangerous.

Nico stepped inside, slowly. His face was pale, drawn tight with something between panic and disbelief.

“What,” he said, voice low and brittle, “are you doing here?”

Lewis stood, careful not to release Lara’s hand too abruptly.

“I’m with her,” he said simply.

Nico laughed—short, incredulous. “No. No, no. Don’t tell me—don’t tell me—you knew she was here. You’ve been here this whole time?”

Lewis met his gaze. “Since the moment I got the call.”

“You’ve got nerve,” Nico snapped, stepping forward. “You hide whatever this thing is with her—sneak around like it’s a game—and then show up here like you belong?”

“I didn’t sneak anywhere,” Lewis said, his voice low and controlled. “She wanted space. She didn’t want to deal with you spiraling. So we kept it quiet.”

“Oh, and that makes it okay?” Nico’s voice was rising now. “You don’t think I had a right to know my sister was—was—”

“She didn’t want to tell you,” he said quietly.

Nico crossed the room in three quick strides. “Tell me what, exactly? That my sister’s been sneaking around with you behind my back? That she lied about it for God knows how long?” He gestured wildly. “What is this? Some sort of sick joke? You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Lewis said evenly.

“You think that makes this better?!”

Lara stirred slightly in the bed. Lewis instinctively glanced down, checking her vitals. Still steady. Still sleeping.

Nico noticed. His voice dropped, but it didn’t lose any venom. “How long?”

Lewis met his eyes. “Over a year.”

“She’s my sister.”

“And she’s not twelve anymore, Nico,” Lewis said sharply. “You don’t get to control her.”

Nico’s fists curled at his sides. “I have every right to be protective.”

“You weren’t protective,” Lewis shot back. “ You were too busy having a public meltdown on Instagram to ask if she was okay.”

Nico flinched. Just for a second.

Lewis didn’t stop. He’d held back for too long.

“She’s been working fourteen-hour days. Skipping meals. Stressed out of her mind trying to hide us—not for her sake, but yours. Because she didn’t want you to react exactly like this.”

Nico’s mouth opened. Closed.

Then—defensively, stupidly— “She didn’t have to hide anything.”

“Didn’t she?” Lewis snapped. “You showed up at her place unannounced, Nico. Do you even know how close she was to telling you that night? And then she saw the look on your face and backed down.”

Silence crackled between them.

Then Nico’s voice, low and disbelieving: “You think I’m the bad guy in this?”

“No,” Lewis said. “I think you’re the brother. But you forgot how to be one.”

Nico stepped forward again, eyes blazing. “You think you know everything, don’t you? You think just because she—what, let you in her bed—you’re suddenly part of this family?”

Lewis’ mouth twisted. His pulse thundered in his ears.

He looked at Lara. Pale. Still asleep. The slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.

Then he turned back to Nico.

Voice calm. Measured.

Devastating.

“I’m not just in her bed,” Lewis said. “I’m the father of her child.”

Nico froze.

Time stopped.

The words settled in the air like dust after a demolition.

“What?” he whispered.

Lewis didn’t repeat it.

Nico blinked at him like he couldn’t comprehend the sentence. Then looked at Lara. Then at Lewis again. His face had gone white.

“You’re lying.”

Lewis didn’t say anything.

“You’re lying.”

He shook his head.

Nico stumbled back half a step like he’d been physically struck. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

The monitor beeped steadily beside them.

Lara didn’t wake.

And Lewis stood completely still, hand protectively on the edge of her bed, watching Nico come apart one slow breath at a time.

***

Nico didn’t remember leaving the room.

One second he was staring at Lewis Hamilton like the man had personally torn his world in half.

The next, he was out in the corridor, back against the cold wall, the sterile white spinning around him like a centrifuge. His breath was too fast. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs.

She was pregnant.

Lara.

His Lara. His little sister who used to sit cross-legged next to his karting helmet. Who cried when he left for testing in Bahrain. Who called him when she won her first case and who still sent him ridiculous memes when he was stressed out about podcast sponsorships.

She was pregnant. And he hadn’t known.

And the father— Lewis. Lewis Fucking Hamilton.

Nico pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes like that would make the truth disappear. Like he could rub the image out of existence.

He’d been screaming about dinner photos. About hugging. About lies. And all this time—she was growing a life. Their family was growing. And he’d been too busy spiraling into his own ego to notice.

His stomach twisted.

I didn’t know.

He’d said he was protective. That he was looking out for her. But she hadn’t come to him. She hadn’t told him. She hadn’t trusted him. Because on some level, she knew.

She didn’t think I’d be safe with the truth.

And maybe she was right.

Nico stumbled down the hall, past a nurse who looked at him with vague concern, but didn’t stop him. He pushed out through a set of glass doors and into the staff garden—small, shaded, and quiet.

Only then did he sit down hard on a bench, burying his face in his hands.

It was all too much. Too loud in his head. Too heavy in his chest.

His sister was going to be a mother. And he had no idea what to do with that.

Not because he didn’t love her. But because he’d spent so long trying to control her, to protect her from the world, that he hadn’t noticed she didn’t need protecting anymore.

She needed support. Softness. Belief.

And he’d failed. Spectacularly.

A choked sound escaped his throat. Something between a laugh and a sob.

God, she was going to kill him when she woke up.

And maybe she should.

***

The first thing Lara felt was the pillow under her head. Soft. Cool. Tucked just the way she liked it.

The second was the dull ache in her temple. And her mouth—dry, cottony. A strange taste lingered on her tongue, like antiseptic air and faint regret.

She blinked slowly. The room came into focus.

White ceiling. Faint beeping. Clean sheets.

Hospital.

Then—

A warm hand, curled gently around hers.

She turned her head and found Lewis sitting beside her bed. Still in the hoodie from that morning. His jaw was tight. His thumb was stroking her knuckles in slow, silent circles, but his eyes were fixed on the wall like he was holding back a flood.

“Hey,” she croaked, voice rough.

His head snapped around.

“Lara.” His voice cracked like he’d been holding his breath for hours. “You’re awake.”

“Unfortunately.” She tried for a smile. “Did I pass out in court or…?”

He huffed a breath—half a laugh, half relief—and shook his head. “Your office.”

“Ugh.” She sank further into the pillow. “Paul’s going to make this dramatic, isn’t he?”

Lewis didn’t answer right away.

Her brows knit.

“Wait,” she said slowly. “How long was I out?”

“Couple hours.” He hesitated. “Doctor said it was stress. Dehydration.”

She could feel it now. The heaviness. The hollow ache in her ribs. The tremble in her limbs like her body had burned through every reserve and then kept going anyway.

“I should’ve stayed home,” she whispered.

“I tried to make you,” Lewis said, voice quiet.

She turned her head toward him. His face hadn’t softened. If anything, the worry had carved itself deeper.

She swallowed. “Is the baby—?”

“They checked,” he said quickly, firmly. “Everything’s okay. Strong heartbeat. No signs of distress.”

Lara’s eyes filled with tears so fast it caught her off guard.

“Oh thank God,” she breathed. “I didn’t know. I couldn’t feel—”

“I know,” Lewis murmured, bringing her hand to his lips. “But they’re okay. You both are.”

She nodded, just once, eyes closing for a moment as the fear receded—still lingering at the edges, but no longer swallowing her whole.

A long pause passed between them.

“…What happened?”

He paused. Looked down at her hand in his. Squeezed it gently.

Then: “Nico came.”

Her stomach dropped.

She closed her eyes. “No.”

“He found out.”

“No.”

“He saw me here,” Lewis added softly. “And—he figured it out.”

Lara groaned and dragged a hand over her face. “How bad was it?”

“We fought.”

“Obviously.”

“And then I told him.”

She froze.

Her eyes opened. Slowly. Carefully.

“Told him what?”

Lewis met her gaze. Calm. Honest. Steady.

“That I’m not just in your life. I’m the father of your child.”

Silence.

Lara didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Just stared.

“…You told him.”

“Yes.”

“You told Nico Rosberg—in a hospital—while I was unconscious—that I’m pregnant with your baby?”

“Yes,” Lewis said, with the serene boldness of a man who had fully accepted death as a possibility. “He took it about as well as you’d expect.”

Lara closed her eyes again and muttered something in German that absolutely didn’t belong in a hospital.

***

The room had settled into something almost peaceful.

Lewis hadn’t let go of her hand once. The monitors beeped softly in the background, steady and unbothered, and Lara was beginning to believe she might finally breathe again.

Then the knock came.

Soft. Hesitant. Completely unlike Nico.

Lara’s stomach twisted.

Lewis glanced toward the door but didn’t move.

The knock came again. A little firmer this time.

She swallowed and sat up slightly in the bed, tugging the hospital blanket higher around her waist. “Come in.”

The door opened slowly, and Nico stepped inside.

He looked like someone had hit him with a very polite brick. Jaw tight, posture rigid, but his eyes flicked immediately to her. Then to the IV. Then, very briefly, to Lewis.

His lips pressed into a thin line.

“Hey,” she said, her voice softer than she intended.

“Hey,” Nico echoed, a beat too late.

Silence stretched. The weight of everything that hadn’t been said hovered like a second heartbeat in the room.

Nico cleared his throat. “Paul called me.”

“I know,” she said.

He looked at her again. Really looked this time. The color in her face. The way her fingers curled around Lewis’. The too-big hoodie stretched over her belly.

He blinked. “You’re…?”

Lara nodded once. Quiet. “Yes.”

A long pause.

Nico ran a hand through his hair and let out a shaky breath, pacing two steps into the room like he didn’t know what to do with himself now that he was here.

“I thought you were just friends,” he said finally, voice hoarse.

“I know.”

“You lied to me.”

She didn’t flinch. “I did.”

Nico looked away, jaw tightening. “You could’ve told me.”

“You were—” she stopped herself. Then tried again. “You’ve always made your opinion on Lewis very clear.”

He made a soft, bitter sound. “And you thought I’d what? Lose my mind? Storm into your apartment?”

Lara raised an eyebrow. “You did storm into my apartment.”

Fair.

He winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, but—this? This is you. And Lewis. And now—” His voice faltered again. “Now there’s a baby.”

“I know.”

“And I wasn’t even part of it.”

“You still can be,” she said gently.

Nico looked at her then. Really looked. And for a moment, beneath the shock and betrayal and bruised ego, she saw what was underneath:

Worry.

Fear.

Love.

“…Are you okay?” he asked, voice low.

She nodded, throat tightening. “Yeah. I will be.”

He turned to Lewis, reluctant but not hostile.

Lewis stood, quiet but firm. “She’s doing fine. The baby’s fine.”

Nico gave a sharp nod. “Good.”

Another beat.

“I’m still mad,” he added.

Lara gave a soft snort. “We figured.”

“But I’m not leaving,” he said. Then, to her, more quietly: “You’re my sister.”

Something cracked open in her chest.

“Thanks for not yelling,” she said.

“I’ve already done enough of that,” he muttered.

Lewis, wisely, stepped aside. “I’ll give you two a minute.”

He left without fanfare, the door clicking quietly behind him.

Nico sat down in the chair Lewis had just vacated.

He cleared his throat. “So. You and Lewis.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Still a problem?”

“No,” he muttered. “Yes. I mean—yes, but not because he’s him. It’s just. You didn’t tell me. And it’s you.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “But you—Nico, you comment-bombed an F1 gossip post like a lunatic.”

His ears went pink. “They called you a mysterious blonde. I panicked.”

“You think?”

They both exhaled, some of the weight lifting between them.

“I just…” He ran a hand over his jaw, voice quieter now. “I didn’t expect to find out like that. In a hospital. With him sitting there.”

Lara nodded. “I didn’t want it to happen this way either.”

“But you’re happy?” he asked, cutting to the core.

She hesitated for just a second—then nodded. “Yes.”

“With him?”

“Yes.”

“With the baby?”

Her breath caught. Then settled.

“Yes,” she said again. “Even though it scares the hell out of me.”

Nico’s expression softened.

He leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. “You’re going to be an actual parent. I’m going to be the insane uncle.”

“You already are.”

He glared.

She smiled.

After a long silence, he asked, “Does Mom know?”

“No,” Lara said. “You’re the first.”

He blinked. “You told me before Mom?”

She smirked faintly. “She hasn’t stormed into my flat waving a copy of BILD, so I’m guessing not yet.”

“You’re doomed,” Nico said.

“Absolutely.”

He paused. Then added, voice a little more sheepish, “You know I’m not actually mad at the baby, right?”

She turned her head toward him.

“I know.”

“I’m just… an idiot.”

“That too.”

A beat.

Then Nico reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a banana he must’ve swiped from the hospital reception area.

He held it out. “Peace offering?”

Lara rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m a dad. We have snacks for every crisis.”

She took the banana.

He hesitated again, then leaned over and pulled her into a one-armed hug, careful of the IV line.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I know,” she whispered back.

He pulled away. “Lewis still hiding in the hallway?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll go growl at him in the parking lot. Just to make him sweat.”

Lara snorted. “Be nice.”

“No promises.”

But when he stood, she could see it—the tension easing from his shoulders. The stubborn, protective big brother still simmering under the surface, but no longer ready to start World War III.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And for the first time all day, Lara let herself breathe.

***

The corridor outside Lara’s room was quiet now.

Lewis stood near the vending machine, one hand braced against the wall, the other cradling a black coffee that had long since gone cold. He hadn’t touched it. Hadn’t moved much since stepping out of the room. Just needed space to breathe. To think. To not say the wrong thing if Nico came out swinging again.

He didn’t have to wait long.

The door opened behind him.

Footsteps.

Then: “Hamilton.”

Lewis turned slowly.

Nico stood there, hands in the pockets of his jacket, posture deceptively casual—but the look in his eyes? That same Rosberg intensity Lewis remembered from wheel-to-wheel fights, from press conferences that felt like landmines.

“Nico.”

A pause stretched between them.

Then Nico sighed, stepped forward, and jabbed a finger toward Lewis’s chest—not quite touching, but close enough to make a point.

“If you ever hurt her,” he said flatly, “I will end you.”

Lewis didn’t flinch. “Noted.”

“Like, properly. With lawyers and pettiness and emotional warfare.”

Lewis huffed out a short breath. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“You don’t get it,” Nico bit out. “She’s not like us. She doesn’t do games. She doesn’t do drama.”

“I know.”

“She actually feels things. Deeply. Stupidly. It’s the worst.”

Lewis’s voice softened. “I know.”

Nico’s jaw clenched. “Then act like it. Protect her. Not just with your name or your money or your press team—really protect her.”

Lewis’s gaze didn’t waver. “I do.”

A tense pause followed. Long. Weighty.

Finally, Nico exhaled and looked away. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Of all the people in the world.”

Lewis almost smiled. “I know. You’re devastated.”

“I am! I’ve had to adjust my entire personality over this.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

Nico leveled him with a withering look. “I still don’t like you.”

Lewis nodded. “That makes two of us.”

“But,” Nico added grudgingly, “I don’t hate you anymore.”

Lewis raised a brow. “Is that your version of peace?”

Nico tilted his head. “Do you remember Spain 2016?”

Lewis blinked. “You brake-tested me into a sandpit.”

“You divebombed me on the inside.”

“You closed the door.”

“You didn’t lift.”

“You didn’t leave space!”

They stared at each other for a long beat. Then:

“Yeah,” Lewis said finally. “I remember.”

Nico sighed. “I think we were both assholes.”

Lewis shrugged. “We were thirty and impossible to manage.”

“Still are,” Nico muttered.

A reluctant silence.

Then Lewis added, quieter now, “She grounds me. Your sister. She makes everything quieter. Makes me better.”

Nico’s expression shifted—still tense, but something behind his eyes softened.

“You’re lucky she sees that,” he said.

“I know.”

Another pause.

Then Nico stuck his hand out. Awkward. Begrudging. Sincere.

“Truce?”

Lewis looked at it.

Then shook it, firm and steady.

“Truce.”

He turned to go, then paused at the end of the corridor.

“Oh—and if it’s a boy? I vote Nico Jr.”

Lewis made a face. “Absolutely not.”

Nico smirked. “Just putting it out there.”

And with that, he disappeared around the corner—still a menace, still dramatic, but no longer an enemy.

Lewis exhaled.

Truce achieved.

For now.

***

Lara had faced depositions more civilized than this dinner.

She hovered in the hallway for a moment, just out of sight, listening to the tension crackle like static in the dining room. It was palpable even from here—clinking glasses, too-long silences, the occasional muttered curse from Nico. She took a breath, smoothed a hand over the front of her dress, and stepped into the lion’s den.

Two generations of Rosbergs. One dinner table. Zero warning.

Her mother was placing the last set of cutlery on the table with a serenity Lara knew for a fact was weaponized. Vivian stood nearby, clutching a wine glass with the expression of a woman mentally mapping all emergency exits. Keke was by the fireplace, watching the room like a man who’d once stared down Senna and lived to talk about it. Nico was already halfway into a bottle of something expensive and clearly losing the will to live.

And Lewis—bless him—stood just inside the door, holding a bottle of red like it might grant him diplomatic immunity. His shoulders were squared, posture polite, and face neutral in that calmly unbothered way that only made Nico twitch harder.

“Lewis,” Keke said at last, voice flat as a straightaway. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Not a threat.

Worse—an ancient disappointment dressed as civility.

“Thanks for having me,” Lewis replied, smooth as ever.

“We didn’t,” Nico muttered.

“Nico,” Sina warned without even looking at him.

Lara crossed the room and slipped her hand through Lewis’s arm, letting her fingers rest against his bicep. She felt him relax a fraction under her touch.

She hadn’t planned to do this tonight. Not like this. But the air was thick with expectation, and Nico had been circling like a shark for days. Better to let the blade drop now.

“Right,” she said brightly. “Let’s just get it over with, shall we?”

All heads turned. She lifted her chin and faced the room, shoulders squared like she was delivering a closing argument.

“Lewis and I are together,” she said calmly. “We’ve been together for almost two years.”

There was a sharp inhale from Keke. A visible flinch from Nico. Vivian froze with her wine halfway to her mouth.

“And,” Lara continued, tone even, “we’re having a baby.”

Silence. Thick. Sudden. Almost cinematic.

Sina made a soft “oh!” sound and immediately moved in to hug her, eyes shining. Vivian looked like someone had just dropped an engagement ring, a baptismal candle, and a Molotov cocktail into her lap. Keke blinked once, as if recalibrating reality.

Nico just downed the rest of his glass like it was holy water and he’d seen a ghost.

“I’m sorry—what?” Keke said eventually, voice climbing in disbelief.

“You heard me,” Lara replied.

“We’ve been together for—” Lewis began, but Keke cut in.

“I heard you. I just thought you were joking.”

Lara glanced at Lewis, who gave her a small, reassuring nod.

“I don’t usually joke about lifelong commitments,” he said, deadpan.

Nico groaned and slumped forward into his hands. “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this for days.”

Lara lifted an eyebrow. “You had seventeen years to wrap your head around the fact that I’m an adult.”

“You’re having his baby,” Nico said, like it physically pained him.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“You brought Lewis Hamilton to family dinner and announced he knocked you up. What part of that isn’t dramatic?!”

Lara almost laughed. She would have, if her heart weren’t pounding in her throat.

The baby had been a surprise. A quiet, miraculous shock delivered in the bathroom one sleepy Sunday morning when she’d assumed the nausea was just bad eggs and too many long work weeks. She and Lewis had stared at that stick together for a long time, blinking. Neither of them had spoken at first.

She hadn’t planned it. Not now, not yet. She’d always wanted children—deep down, quietly, even if she never said it out loud. But she’d never had the right person, the right moment. Never felt safe enough to imagine it.

Until him.

Until now.

She turned her attention back to her father, who was still staring at Lewis like he might sprout horns.

“So,” he said finally. “Are you serious about this?”

Lewis met his gaze without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Because if you hurt her—”

“I won’t.”

“—I will personally fly to wherever you live and break both of your knees.”

“Understood,” Lewis replied, entirely unshaken.

Vivian choked on a laugh. Nico muttered something rude under his breath that Lara decided to ignore.

She felt Lewis’s fingers brush hers under the table, and she reached for his hand. He laced their fingers together and didn’t let go.

“I love her,” he said softly but clearly. “I love our child. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her mother clapped her hands together, smiling like that settled the entire matter. “Well. Dessert, then?”

Lara exhaled—quiet, relieved—and leaned ever so slightly into Lewis’s side.

They might be chaos incarnate. But for the first time, it felt like the kind she could build a life around.

***

📸 Instagram Post — @/lararosberg

Comments:

@/rosbergx14: EXCUSE ME

@/f1updatesdaily: BABY????? ROSBERG???? HAMILTON????

@/gridtea: THE WHAT NOW??????

@/f1wagsunofficial: WE WERE NOT EVEN IN THE SOFT LAUNCH ERA HOW DID WE GET TO PREGNANT

@/champagnetrauma: LEWIS HAMILTON. IS GOING TO BE A DAD. LARA ROSBERG. IS HAVING HIS BABY. I NEED TO LIE DOWN.

@/f1memegirl: I blinked and missed an entire relationship arc how is this already a sequel

@/dramat1que: you’re telling me nico rosberg’s little sister and lewis hamilton were not only SECRETLY TOGETHER but also MANAGED TO HIDE A WHOLE BABY???

@/gofasterbaby: this child is going to emerge with a law degree and a world championship

@/sirlewisfanclub: if this baby doesn’t win the Monaco karting championship by age 3 I will be shocked

@/teamvivi: Vivian Rosberg right now watching the entire internet implode like 👁️👄👁️

@/lando.jpg: wait WAIT am I allowed to be shocked or did I miss a group chat

@/tifositargaryen: they really said enemies to lovers to secret family reveal mid-season and expected us to survive

@/thef1files: somewhere out there, Nico Rosberg is screaming into a pillow and Lewis is already painting the nursery

@/the.mess.paddock: we need a DRIVE TO SURVIVE EPISODE IMMEDIATELY

@/wheresmygridtea I WAS NOT EMOTIONALLY PREPARED FOR THIS AT 8AM

@/carlossainzfan24 rosberg??? hamilton??? baby??? are we in a fanfiction AU???

@/nico_rosberg …I’m going to need a moment. ↳ @/vivian.rosberg: You’ve had a week of moments, Nico.

@/driveitlikelerclerc screaming. crying. shaking. throwing up. calling my therapist.

@/tumblruser194839 So you’re telling me… Lara Rosberg, actual Amal Clooney of F1, who once legally shredded a corrupt climate policy on a live panel, is having a BABY with Lewis “7x world champion, whisperer of dogs and emotions” Hamilton???? ↳ @/thiswasnotonthebingo: I KNOW RIGHT. I THOUGHT THIS WAS A FEVER DREAM.

@/girlsontrackhq: The way this baby is going to have the most elite genetics, style, and social conscience. Just take the Constructors’ Championship now.

@/tifosiburner: Lewis Hamilton becoming Nico Rosberg’s brother-in-law was NOT on my 2025 prediction card.

@/f1teaspill: THE WHAT. THE WHO. THE BABY???????

@/mercedesinsider: not to be dramatic but this has shattered the fabric of the grid.

@/hamilover44: what happened to soft launches?? soft launches with a HAND or a KEYCHAIN?? THIS IS A WARHEAD.

@/rosbergeditqueen: i cannot breathe. i thought they hated each other. what do you MEAN baby rosberg-hamilton.

@/mclarenmeerkat: if this child isn't born with a world championship and a law degree I will riot.

@/vivian.rosberg: Welcome to the family, little one. 💛✨ (Also yes I told Nico. Repeatedly. You're welcome.)

@/georgerussell63: This is more shocking than any on-track overtake in 2024. Congratulations, both of you! 🍼

@/charles_leclerc: Did anyone else know? Like… ANYONE??

@/formulaiconic: wait. WAIT. WAITTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

@/paddockcryptid: imagine beefing with a guy for ten years and then you find out he’s having a baby with your sister like what’s he gonna call the kid, “DRS zone”?

@/wagsupreme: this baby is going to be the most genetically blessed child in motorsport history.

@/engineeredchaos: Hamilton. Rosberg. Offspring. The F1 grid in 2045 is shaking.

@/gptrackerqueen: lewis really said “i’ll see your 2016 title and raise you a niece/nephew”

@/softlyhamilton: i have never in my LIFE been so blindsided by a pregnancy announcement and i follow the kardashians

@/gridteaofficial: [red siren emojis] 🚨WE HAVE A BABY ANNOUNCEMENT. I REPEAT. A BABY. ANNOUNCEMENT. 🚨 Somebody check on Nico.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/F1GossipGuru 🚨LEWIS HAMILTON IS GOING TO BE A DAD🚨 Repeat: SEVEN-TIME WORLD CHAMPION LEWIS HAMILTON IS HAVING A BABY WITH LARA ROSBERG??? THE DRAMATIC IRONY. THE FANFIC-LEVEL CHAOS. I NEED TO LIE DOWN. 📸 [screenshot of their joint IG post with the ultrasound]

@/lifebylando lewis hamilton getting nico rosberg’s sister pregnant is the most powerful revenge arc in sports history

@/F1Fanatic42 i am once again asking: what timeline are we living in

@/AlonsoWasRight this is giving enemies to lovers. forbidden romance. secretly married in vegas vibes. WHERE IS NETFLIX.

@/RosbergRetired lewis, at christmas dinner, passing the potatoes: “btw i’m the father of your niece” nico: [rage quitting real life]

@/tifosipanic can you IMAGINE the family dinners. Keke staring in Finnish. Nico drinking wine like it’s water. Lewis holding the baby in a Ferrari onesie. this writes itself.

@/formulawhyyy ok but lewis naming his baby after nico i actually can’t breathe (note: they haven’t confirmed the name yet don’t do this to yourself)

@/veganandvictorious the same man who dodged dating rumors for ten years just casually soft-launched fatherhood with an ultrasound pic??? i’m not okay

@/DriveToSurviveAnon when they said Brocedes was the most dramatic pairing of all time i didn’t realize they meant intergenerationally

***

INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT – SKY SPORTS F1 COVERAGE | CANADIAN GP | SATURDAY PRE-RACE SHOW

Simon Lazenby: Welcome back to Montreal! We’re here on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon, qualifying coming up shortly. I’m joined, as always, by Martin Brundle and 2016 World Champion, Nico Rosberg.

Martin Brundle: It’s already been a wild weekend, but Nico, I have to ask—because, well, the internet exploded— Congratulations… I suppose?

Nico Rosberg: (visibly bracing) …Thank you?

Simon: Your sister, Lara Rosberg, and—uh—Lewis Hamilton, expecting a baby. I think the entire paddock collectively dropped its coffee over that post. Did you know?

Nico: (tight smile) Eventually.

Martin: (grinning like a fox) You’ve always been protective of Lara. What’s it like knowing you’re going to be an uncle?

Nico: Well, it’s… it’s surreal. I mean, Lara’s my little sister. To me, she’s still the kid who used to hide in my karting trailer and demand snacks. And now she’s having a baby—with Lewis. (beat) I’ve had more relaxing weeks, let’s say that.

Simon: There’s some lovely poetry to it, though. Bridging the Brocedes rivalry into the next generation?

Nico: (dryly) Yes. Nothing says inner peace like finding out your former teammate is having a child with your sister.

Martin: You’re handling it quite well, considering.

Nico: I’ve gone through all six stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, wine, and acceptance.

Simon: That’s five.

Nico: Yes. I went through wine twice.

[Laughter from the studio team]

Simon: So—bottom line—you’re happy for them?

Nico: [Laughs in “I have so many feelings”] I mean, look—I’m thrilled for her. I love Lara more than anything. She’s strong, she’s brilliant, she’s going to be an incredible mother. As for Lewis— [long pause] We’ve…reached an understanding.

Martin (teasing): That sounds ominous.

Nico: Let’s just say I threatened him in a hospital corridor.

Simon: …That might be the most Rosberg-Hamilton sentence I’ve ever heard.

Nico: I’m working on being chill. It’s a process.

Simon: Well, congrats again—Uncle Nico! Think you’ll give any advice to the new dad?

Nico (flat): He didn’t listen to me in 2016. I doubt he’s going to start now.

[Studio laughter]

Martin: Fair enough. But all jokes aside—it’s a beautiful thing. You’ll be great.

Nico (finally softening): Thanks. I really am happy for them. Just…no one tell the baby about Abu Dhabi 2016. Let them have peace.

Simon (laughing): We’ll keep that out of the bedtime stories.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/f1teaaccount: 🚨 NICO ROSBERG JUST SAID ON LIVE TV THAT HE THREATENED LEWIS HAMILTON IN A HOSPITAL CORRIDOR what do you mean this isn’t Drive to Survive already

@/brocedes_fan47: “Let’s just say I threatened him in a hospital corridor” he says that like it’s a normal sentence??? this is PEAK divorced energy

@/rosberggirlies: nico pretending he’s chill while drinking 3 glasses of wine and blinking at Lewis like he’s trying to vaporise him with eye contact 🫡 an inspiration to siblings everywhere

@/yelledaboutlewis: “No one tell the baby about Abu Dhabi 2016” nico said ✨emotional growth✨ and ✨repressed trauma✨ in one breath

@/mercedes_f1_wives: not Nico saying “As for Lewis—we’ve reached an understanding” like this is the Godfather and Lewis kissed his ring in a hospital

@/karinabergkamp: nobody: nico: I’ve gone through denial, anger, bargaining, wine, and acceptance also nico: I went through wine twice. ICON.

@/rosberg_defense_union: he’s trying so hard. he’s spiraling publicly. he’s being soft in-between threats. he’s our girl dad uncle now 🫶

@/lh44_prayercircle: this child is going to be so powerful. born of a Rosberg and a Hamilton. can already out-strategise the FIA and win a kart race with a juicebox in one hand

@/f1nocontext: 📸 [Screencap of Nico saying “We’ve… reached an understanding”] caption: When your arch-nemesis becomes your brother-in-law

@/lararosbergedits: me: I’m fine also me, after nico said “she’s strong, she’s brilliant, she’s going to be an incredible mother”: 😭😭😭

@/F1YukiNation: nico rosberg casually dropping “i threatened lewis in a hospital corridor” like it’s not the most cinematic line in this sport since seb said “tough luck” to mark in malaysia

@/LaraRosbergUpdates: Lara Rosberg got Nico Rosberg and Lewis Hamilton to behave. She deserves the Nobel Peace Prize and a nap.

@/SilverstoneShambles: you can hear the 2016 trauma in Nico’s voice when he says “we’ve reached an understanding.” like. that man had to meditate in a forest for three days before saying that on live TV.

@/isthatglitteronlando: “You didn’t listen to me in 2016 and I doubt you’ll start now” — rosberg continues his reign as the Pettiest Man Alive™

@/hammy4life: laras pregnancy has now singlehandedly:

revived brocedes

healed family wounds

traumatized nico

given sky sports record-breaking engagement icon behavior

@/landohastaste: not nico basically saying “congrats, I guess” then softening like a soggy biscuit at the end. we love growth ❤️

@/thisisdefinitelynotvaltteri: “no one tell the baby about abu dhabi 2016” YOU CAN’T MAKE THIS UP. I’M CRYING.

@/lh44daily: The fact that Nico admitted he threatened Lewis and then moved on like it was weather small talk 😭😭😭

@/f1teaspill:THE WAY NICO SAID “I’VE HAD MORE RELAXING WEEKS” WITH THE DEAD EYES OF A MAN WHO JUST FOUND OUT LEWIS HAMILTON IS HIS PSEUDO BROTHER-IN-LAW 😭😭😭

***

📸 Instagram Post — @/lararosberg

Comments:

@/nico_rosberg: Okay… she’s really cute. You’re still grounded though.

@/vivian.rosberg: Welcome to the world, baby girl 💕

@/charles_leclerc: Congratulations ❤️

@/gridteaofficial: BREAKING: humanity restored. This child owns us now.

@/rosbergverses: Rose Hamilton is literally a poetic name. This child is going to be UNSTOPPABLE.

@/f1babytracker: Someone update the charts. She’s officially here. Stats: ✨Iconic✨

@/scuderiaferrari: We cannot wait to meet her. The tiniest team member 💙

@/rosberghamiltontruthers: WAIT WAIT WAIT—ROSE. ROSE-BERG. SHE DID IT. SHE NAMED HER DAUGHTER AFTER HER FAMILY NAME AND I’M SOBBING.

@/formuladrama: baby name: elegant. subtext: chaotic genius. we are witnessing storytelling.

@/gridteagossip: She said “this is a Rosberg baby” with her whole chest and Lewis LET HER. That's called love.

@/hamros_fanficclub: Rose Hamilton already sounds like a Nobel Prize winner / undefeated junior karting champion / poetic soul. I’m obsessed.✨

@/cryingatthewheel: Lewis and Lara naming their baby ROSE is the kind of emotionally layered chaos that rewires your DNA.

@/gridteaofficial: BREAKING: Rose Hamilton born. Grid immediately enters emotional meltdown.

@/rosbergxhamilton_is_real: SO LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT. He’s in a relationship with Nico’s little sister. They named the baby Rose. AND WE’RE ALL JUST BREATHING NORMALLY???

@/georgerussell63: Welcome to the world, Rose 🌹 You’ve already made history and you’re not even a week old.

@/f1fanfictioncentral: Don’t talk to me unless your baby name has an entire decade-long rivals-to-lovers emotional arc embedded in it.

@/mercedesamgf1: The newest member of the Silver Arrows family 💙 We’re already fighting over who gets to babysit.

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