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or: max verstappen meets a sim racer and they figure out they fit well together quite quickly
featuring: max verstappen x f!simracer!reader
content warnings: nothing bad really?? this exists in a nonexistent time period that references real life events but by no means is actually accurate to them so enjoy that
authorâs note: ty to the anon for sending this in :) and thank you to all of the other anons as well, i promise i have seen them and will be doing the best i can to fulfill some of them!!! i have not forgotten!
[simyn posted a photo!]
liked by jastookes, simynracing, ynupdates, simucube, and others
simyn nobody here knows im simyn
[comments]
jastookes: missing your pretty face đ„°
‷simyn: i miss you more </3
‷user2: see yn being besties with jasmine tookes tells me that sheâs literally model-pretty, we will just never know
‷user61: she eats without showing her face i donât think we could handle a face reveal
ynupdates: yn when is the next raceeee
‷simyn: thursday, 3pm CET (sorry for all of my americans, iâm overseas the next few weeks!)
simucube: We canât wait for the next race! liked by author
user21: simyn x max verstappen sim race WHEN
‷user9: didnât know i needed this crossover until now omg
‷user10: i think maxâs team is racing in the same race as yn on thursday!!! thatâs what they posted on their instagram
‷user21: OMGGGGG
[secretyn posted a photo!]
liked by jastookes, alexandramalenaleclerc, rebeccadonaldson, lando, and others
secretyn having lots of fun traveling and iâm being soooo normal about racing max verstappenâs team tonight
[comments]
jastookes: youâre so normal babe donât even worry
lando: wow the two biggest racing nerds i know are finally racing each other
‷secretyn: maybe weâll bond over beating your ass so many times
‷lando: ur literally so mean to me
alexandramalenaleclerc: youâre gonna kill it! liked by author
[simyn posted to their story!]
[simyn posted a photo!]
liked by ynupdates, lando, verstappensimracing, jastookes, and others
simyn P1 đ
a valiant effort from everyone else that participated in tonightâs race, you certainly didnât make it easy on me đ
tagged: simcube, verstappensimracing
[comments]
verstappensimracing: Amazing race, YN!!!!! The whole team had a blast! đ„ liked by author
‷simyn: it was so much fun racing all of the guys! maybe next time iâll give you a head start đ
‷verstappensimracing: Dani says a five second head start will make it even!
‷simyn: i might have to negotiate that number with my teamâŠ
‷dani_juncadella: 10 seconds works as well. Maybe even a pit lane start for you? Just to give us a fighting chance
‷simyn: has anyone ever told you youâre bad at negotiating, dani?
‷lukecraneofficial: Yes, daily
maxverstappen1: You absolutely killed it tonight, great job! liked by author
‷simyn: thanks max!!! i had so much fun racing you and the team! liked by maxverstappen1
[maxverstappen1 started following simyn]
[simyn started following maxverstappen1]
[redbullracing sent you a message!]
redbullracing: Hi, YN! We were wondering if youâd like to come out to Austria for the race next week? Weâd love to give you the full experience again, and obviously we wonât film or post any content without your permission but weâd love to get some interactions between you and the drivers. We hope you can join us as weâd love to have you in the paddock again, itâs always a pleasure to see you!
simyn: I would absolutely love to come back! I always have a wonderful time with you guys, especially on your home turf. If you want to send details to my team, Iâll share the contact info in a separate message. You should be able to sort out all of the content details with them and then we can all go over it together in person as well. Thank you so much!! đ
simyn: shared a contact with you
[simyn posted a photo!]
liked by redbullracing, jastookes, maxverstappen1, and others
simyn đ đȘœ
thank you to redbull for inviting me out to the ring again, i had an absolute blast đ„° and thank you to max for being a wonderful tour guide on and off the track đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶
redbullring: The ring has never looked so good! Thanks for coming out this week, YN âșïž liked by author
redbullracing: On a scale of 1-5 how was your tour guide? Heâs new to the position and has a lot of room to improve
‷simyn: 5/5 stars đ! But just checking, do the tour guides typically let the guests drive the cars too? I thought hot lap guests were passengers only.
‷redbullracing: The new tour guide has been released from his position in light of recent developmentsâŠ
‷maxverstappen1: Did I just get fired??
‷maxverstappen1: snitch simyn
‷simyn: maybe itâs best you were fired if youâre calling your guests names đ€š
‷redbullracing: can someone call HR and Legal please
user31: Everybody Shut Up Now. This Is All Iâm Gonna Talk About For The Next Week.
user20: max got his ass kicked by yn in one race and said omgggg what if we kissed đđŒđđŒ
‷user4: she was invited by redbull not max
‷user20: okay and? i guarantee redbull wants to kiss her too
user92: okay but the plane pics are kinda sexy all womenâs top gun remake starring yn when
‷user3: sheâs not flying the plane sheâs literally getting in and out of it
‷simyn: i do fly this plane :)! i got my pilotâs license when i was 19 and this is a 6 seater beechcraft baron that i often rent from a private hangar near me
‷user92: SO THE TOP GUN REMAKE IS HAPPENING WHEN
‷simyn: tom cruise hit me up!!!!
user11: sorry but does anyone want to know what she means by max being a tour guide on and off the track⊠what were they doing off the track
‷user6: i think she just means literally lol. they did hot laps at the track and she also was in a promo shot on the redbull ringâs page at the actual factory building so iâm sure they filmed content there too
‷user26: they explored each otherâs bodies
‷user79: two types of people here
[secretyn started following maxverstappen1]
[maxverstappen1 started following secretyn]
[secretyn posted a photo!]
liked by maxverstappen1, jastookes, lando, and others
secretyn the theme is international date night
[comments]
maxverstappen1: you told me you were on your sim and couldnât text back but you posted this ???
‷secretyn: maybe iâm just that good at driving
‷maxverstappen1: đ€š
‷secretyn: maybe i dnfâd in the first 5 laps because i got distracted on instagram
‷maxverstappen1: thatâs what i thought
lando: AND NO ONE WAS GONNA TELL ME ABOUT THIS???????
lando: IM LITERALLY U GUYSâS BEST FRIEND AND I GET THE SAME HARD LAUNCH AS EVERYONE ELSE LIKE SOME PEASANT???
‷maxverstappen1: best friend is a stretch
‷lando: iâll kill everyone in this house
‷secretyn: lando omfg
‷maxverstappen1: did you want us to ask permission. should i have asked for her hand
‷lando: make all the jokes you want but i know where both of you live and i can hold a grudge for a LONG time
‷jastookes: breaking news lando norris arrested on counts of stalking and conspiracy to murder
‷lando: at least i know iâd look good in an orange jumpsuit
[simyn posted a photo!]
liked by jastookes, ynupdates, maxverstappen1, and others
simyn new studies show young woman evolved into car due to lack of other hobbies or skills, scientists baffled at her ability to still dress decently
[comments]
jastookes: what do the studies say about the young woman going out with her friends
‷simyn: while it will temporarily improve quality of life, the car evolution is inevitable and terminal
‷simyn: studies also suggest that it would greatly improve her longevity if her friends paid for her drinksâŠ
‷maxverstappen1: what scientist is doing this study
‷simyn: literally mind your business
user84: i donât know who i need to sacrifice to witness max and ynâs daily interactions but if theyâre this ridiculous on social media then i know theyâre insufferable irl
‷jastookes: Youâd be right!
‷simyn: blocked
user31: Address MeâŠ
‷simyn: ?
‷user31: thereâs a verstappen shaped elephant in the room i fear
‷simyn: iâve never met him or really interacted with him before but i hear heâs a really big fan of mine so thatâs super sweet!!! đ hope he gets his chance in the sim racing spotlight soon! #supportsmallcreators
‷maxverstappen1: on my couch with my cat saying this
‷simyn: i need him to talk about this on the jeremy renner app so that the whole world knows formula 1 driver max verstappen is a stalker
‷maxverstappen1: WHY WOULD YOU TAG ACTUAL GOVERNMENT ACCOUNTS
‷simyn: #yolo
user62: girl there's literally a picture of him in this post
‷simyn: no that's franz hermann
user11: idk how iâm supposed to just admire her pictures when sheâs actively engaging in foreplay with max verstappen in these comments
‷user80: we're also supposed to be ignoring the fact that she posted a picture of him not at an f1 race or a sponsor event but in his nĂŒrburgring suit .
‷user10: rue when was this
‷user95: DID EVERYONE MISS THE FACT THAT SHE'S LITERALLY IN MAX'S HOME RIGHT NOW OR WHAT
user40: there's no soft launching this relationship i fear, you had max flexing on twitter he's cooked
[maxverstappen1 posted a photo!]
liked by simyn, redbullracing, jastookes, lando, verstappensimracing, and others
maxverstappen1 Pretty exciting weekend
tagged: verstappencom, simyn
[comments]
verstappencom: Never a dull moment! liked by author
lando: text me back rn
‷maxverstappen1: ? I donât know you
‷lando: ENOUGH
user29: he tryna ignore it
user7: IT REALLY WAS YN OMFG I DIDNT BELIEVE TWITTER
user47: IS EVERYTHING A JOKE TO YOU PEOPLE THIS IS LIKE 15 9/11s
‷user5: itâs like 200 9/11s honestly
simyn: Next year Iâm joining the team for NĂŒrburgring! liked by author & verstappencom
‷lando: TEXT ME BACK
‷simyn: oh no thank you đ
‷lando: iâm gonna crash out
‷jastookes: iâm on landoâs side this time iâm gonna kill you both
‷simyn: đđ»ââïž
lukecraneofficial: This couldâve been an email
‷dani_juncadella: This shouldâve been an HR meeting
‷verstappensimracing: the HR department is on fire
‷maxverstappen1: all of you are fired how about that
‷lukecraneofficial: thank GOD đđ»
‷user82: when they sit down in 10 years to do the âworking for verstappen industries: a modern day horror storyâ documentary
‷dani_juncadella: When we lose, Max beats us with a crowbar
‷chrislulham20: Max holds a gun to my head when Iâm in the sim because he says I need to feel the pressure of the race
‷simyn: after i beat him in our first race together he messaged me and told me to kms
‷maxverstappen1: fuck all of you
‷verstappensimracing: HR quit
user21: the plot was lost so horribly in these comments i canât process anything
[simyn posted a photo!]
liked by maxverstappen1, jastookes, lando, verstappensimracing, lukecraneofficial, and others
cw: swearing, sarcasm, general silliness, probable typos (iâm dyslexic but i try my best)
regretâs note: another request! short and silly. iâll be posting two more max smaus over the next week because iâm about to hit 300!!! followers. itâs so insane, youâre all amazing. enjoy!
liked by gp.lambiase, ynln, maxverstappen1, and othersâŠ
redbullracing as we bid a tearful goodbye to longtime redbull team member gianpiero lambiase, we also are giving a warm welcome to the new race engineer in garage 1, yn ln! yn spent the last two years working alongside GP and is the woman for the job.Â
gp.lambiase: itâs been a great run of years, but i know yn will do great things!Â
f1gossip a source from inside the paddock reported rumors that redbull race engineer, yn ln, is in talks with mclaren about a potential contract. this, after months of tension in the redbull garage, doesnât surprise me.
user: yn literally bleeds redbull. no way sheâd go papaya
user: okay seriously. what tf happenedÂ
user: not to be that guy⊠but this is why coworkers shouldnât be friends outside of work
| user: user this is a stupid ass take
user: can you imagine yn and oscar teaming up? legendary.Â
âmax?â you asked, opening the door to your hotel room. the last few months had been long and tense. qualifying had been an unmitigated disaster, as had the meetings that followed the session. you just wanted to sleep and have an overnight stroke of strategic brilliance. but here, at 11:37pm, was the source of all your stress and frustrations. âwhat do you want?â
âcan we talk?â he asked. ânot in the hall.âÂ
you stepped back and let him in, saying nothing. you really didnât want to talk. he hadnât said anything after forcing you to talk in hungary, so you really didnât feel like hearing him out months later.Â
but he was max, and you were weak.Â
âi owe you an apology,â he started, catching you off guard. âfor a lot of things, but mostly for pushing you in hungary and then going radio silent. i shouldnât have done that.âÂ
âapology accepted. can i go to bed now?âÂ
âiâm not done,â he huffed a laugh, shaking his head at you. âi shouldnât have pushed you away, not after i forced you to be vulnerable with me. and i regret it. not because itâs affecting the team and the race results, but because you are not you. and fucking hell, i miss you.âÂ
âi see you everyday, max. you canât miss me.â you did your best to stand your ground and maintain an unaffected air.Â
âi miss you being mean to me, because at least then i knew you cared.â
âyour silence made your feelings on the matter perfectly clear.âÂ
âno it didnât,â he countered. âbecause i should have been honest with you that day. instead, i sat on my feelings and let the situation grow and spiral into this.
âbecause i am so unbelievably in love with you, yn.âÂ
âdonât,â your said harshly, taking a step away. âdonât say it just because you think itâs what i want to hear to make it okay.âÂ
âseriously? you think that low of me? iâm a lot of things, but iâm not a liar.âÂ
âyou canât do this to me,â you whispered, chest aching. âyou canât ignore me for months and then show up at midnight and tell me you love me. thatâs not fair.â
âiâm so sorry i hurt you,â he said, taking two steps towards you. âiâm so sorry i was a coward. iâm sorry that it took the threat of losing you to tell you how i feel.âÂ
âyouâre reading gossip pages now?â you scoffed.Â
âdidnât need to,â he retorted. âlando told me i need to get my shit together before i lose the best thing to ever happen to me.âÂ
âso you decided to tell me you love me? just so i donât leave the team?! thereâs something seriously wrong with you.âÂ
âi canât lose you, idiot. youâre my constant, youâre my calm. youâre fucking everything to me. on and off track.âÂ
âyour timing is convenient.â you glared, not letting your guard down for a second.Â
âdo you want to leave redbull?â he asked. âor are you running away from me because iâm an emotionally stunted dickhead?â
you said nothing. you both knew the answer, even if you were too choked by your pride to admit it.Â
max reached for you, cradling your cheek in his palm. âbecause i love you and i canât lose you. i know i fucked it, liefje. let me fix it. your sad eyes are killing me because i know itâs my fault.â
âyou hurt me,â you admitted, losing your battle with the tears in your eyes. âi hate you so much right now. but i kept showing up. i kept putting you first because thatâs my job. and every day it hurt more and more. every frustrated radio message twists the fucking knife because iâm paying the price for you being an ass.âÂ
âi know, and iâm sorry. iâll be better, i promise.â
âi donât trust you.âÂ
âiâll earn it again,â he swore. âiâll work for it. iâll put you first.âÂ
âyou should go. itâs late and we have a long, rainy day tomorrow,â you said, changing the subject. âi still need to find a magical strategy to save the race.âÂ
âiâll save it. you do your thing and iâll drive,â he told you. âand if i finish in the points, you canât leave. iâll do anything to fix what i broke. but you have to stay.â
âtop five,â you countered. âyou finish top five, and we can revisit this conversation.âÂ
âtop five,â max agreed. he kissed your forehead lightly. âget some sleep, liefje.âÂ
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
i get so emotional every time i think about fanfic culture. it's just so beautiful that people are writing and anonymously posting these thousand-word stories about characters we all love and not even getting any money or public fame from it. it's literally just for the love of the game.
shout out to everyone who participates in fanfic culture, be it reading or writing fanfics. you are contributing to such a lovely thing <3
reminder to everyone and myself to comment/ give kudos to/ bookmark your favourite fics because it makes a world of difference <3
fanfic culture is one of the best examples of how storytelling and art build communities and its incredible that we get to participate in it every day!!
From childhood friends to lovers, Max is Michael Schumacher's daughter
Crossing the Line - MV3
pairing: max verstappen x fem!schumacher!reader
synopsis: growing up as F1 royalty, Y/N (Michael Schumacherâs daughter) has spent her entire life navigating the chaotic, high-speed world of the paddock alongside her childhood best friend, Max. But after a victorious and emotionally charged Monaco GP weekend, the platonic boundaries they've maintained for years completely shatter.
wc: 3.9k
note: hellooo!! I did this with the reader as Michael's daughter, I hope that's what you meant!! đ€đ
The roar of V10 engines was the lullaby you both grew up with. While other kids were building sandcastles, you and Max were building barricades out of spare Pirelli tires behind the motorhomes.
Being Michael Schumacherâs daughter meant that the Formula 1 paddock was your backyard. For Max, the son of Jos Verstappen, it was exactly the same. Your fathers had been teammates at Benetton, friends, and fierce competitors, which meant you and Max were practically thrown together from the moment you could walk.
You remembered the early days clearly. Max with his messy blonde hair, always dragging you toward the karting tracks, his scraped knees a testament to his reckless need for speed. You were the only one who could get him to slow down, if only for a moment.
"Y/N, come on!" a seven-year-old Max would shout, tugging on your hand. "Mick is already ahead!"
Youâd roll your eyes, even back then, but you always followed him. You were a team. It was always Max and Y/N against the chaotic, high-speed world around you.
As the years passed, the paddock changed, and so did you. The innocent games of hide-and-seek between the hospitality suites turned into shared, quiet moments escaping the flashing cameras of the press. When your fatherâs accident happened, Max was one of the few people who didn't look at you with suffocating pity. He just sat beside you in a quiet corner of a motorhome, silently offering the only comfort he knew how to give: his unwavering presence.
But somewhere between his historic debut in Formula 1 and your own ventures into adulthood, the easy, childhood lines began to blur.
It happened during the Monaco Grand Prix weekend. You were standing on the balcony of the Red Bull energy station, watching the multimillion-dollar yachts bob in the harbor. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the principality, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
You heard the familiar, heavy footsteps before you saw him. Max, fresh from a grueling and triumphant qualifying session, his navy race suit tied around his waist, his hair damp with sweat from the helmet.
"Thought I'd find you hiding out here," Max said, his voice deeper and rougher than the childhood echoes you often replayed in your head.
"I'm not hiding," you replied, leaning against the glass railing, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Just enjoying the quiet before the storm tomorrow. Pole position, Max. Congratulations."
He stepped up beside you, close enough that you could feel the adrenaline and heat radiating off him. In the past, he would have playfully shoved your shoulder, made a sarcastic joke, and dragged you off to find food. But this time, he didn't move away. He just turned his head, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that usually only belonged on the track.
The air between you felt suddenly, inexplicably thin. You noticed the sharp cut of his jaw, the slight catch in his breathing, and the way his gaze dropped for a fraction of a second to your lips before meeting your eyes again. It was a look that didn't belong to a childhood friend.
"I was looking for you in the garage after the lap," Max murmured, his voice dropping an octave, completely ignoring your congratulations. "You weren't there."
"I didn't want to distract you," you whispered, acutely aware of how close his hand was to yours on the metal railing.
Max slowly moved his hand, his fingers brushing gently against yours. The familiar calluses on his skin, earned from thousands of hours gripping a steering wheel, sent a sudden jolt of electricity straight up your arm. He didn't pull away; instead, he carefully hooked his pinky finger around yours.
"You're the only distraction I actually want, Y/N," he said softly, stepping just a fraction of an inch closer.
Before you could fully process the heavy, shifting weight of his words, the heavy glass door to the balcony swung open. A Red Bull press officer called his name, shattering the fragile, charged bubble that had just formed around you both.
Max let out a quiet sigh, his jaw tightening as he stepped back. The familiar, guarded mask of the F1 World Champion slid back into place, but as he turned to leave, his eyes caught yours one last timeâpromising that this conversation was far from over.
The roar of the crowd and the blaring horns of the yachts in the harbor had faded into a dull, thumping bassline radiating from the Red Bull afterparty. Max had won. Of course he had. Driving the streets of Monte Carlo like he owned them, he had converted that pole position into a flawless victory.
You had watched from the back of the garage, your heart in your throat for entirely different reasons than usual. Every time the camera panned to his piercing blue eyes through the visor, your skin prickled, the phantom touch of his pinky finger against yours from the evening before replaying on an endless loop in your mind.
Now, standing on the edge of the sprawling yacht Red Bull had rented for the night, you swirled the champagne in your glass, feeling entirely out of place despite having grown up in this exact environment. You were wearing a sleek, dark dress that your friend had practically forced you into, insisting that a Monaco win demanded proper celebration attire.
"You're doing that thing again," a familiar, gravelly voice cut through the ambient noise.
You turned to see Max slipping away from a group of sponsors. He had changed out of his race gear and was wearing a crisp white button-down, the top few buttons undone, looking impossibly relaxed for a man who had just wrestled a Formula 1 car around the tightest circuit in the world for two hours.
"Doing what thing?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady as he closed the distance between you.
"Overthinking," he said simply, stopping right in front of you. He didn't leave the polite, platonic distance that usually existed between friends. He stood close, invading your personal space in a way that felt entirely deliberate. "I can practically hear the gears turning in your head, Y/N."
"I'm just... taking it all in," you deflected, looking out at the glittering lights of the principality reflecting on the dark water. "You were incredible today, Max. Truly."
He took your champagne glass from your hand, setting it down on a nearby table before turning his full attention back to you. The vibrant, chaotic party around you seemed to mute itself.
"I meant what I said yesterday," he said, his tone shifting from casual to intensely serious. The playfulness was gone. This was Max Verstappen, the laser-focused champion, and right now, his sole focus was you.
You swallowed hard, finally meeting his gaze. "Max, we've been friends since we were in single-digit ages. If we cross this line..."
"I know," he interrupted gently, stepping even closer so that the toe of his shoe bumped yours. "I know exactly what the stakes are. Believe me, I've spent the last three years trying to convince myself that you're just Michael's daughter, just my best friend, just the girl who used to beat me at Mario Kart in the motorhomes."
Your breath hitched. Three years.
"And?" you whispered, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
Max reached out, his hands gently framing your face. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, a touch so reverent it made your knees feel weak.
"And I'm terrible at lying to myself," he murmured, his eyes dropping to your lips. "I don't want to be just your friend anymore, Y/N. I haven't for a long time."
The cool night air of Monaco was completely forgotten, replaced by the searing heat of his skin against yours. When he finally leaned in, closing the agonizing gap between you, it wasn't a hesitant, questioning kiss. It was decisive, passionate, and deeply familiar all at once.
It tasted like champagne and adrenaline, a collision of a lifetime of shared memories and a sudden, exhilarating terrifying new reality. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, kissing him back with an intensity that surprised even you. All the unspoken tension, the lingering looks, and the blurred lines of the past few years finally made perfect sense.
When he finally pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, both of you were breathless. He let out a soft, genuine laugh, a sound that warmed you from the inside out.
"Took us long enough," he whispered, a triumphant smirk tugging at the corner of his lips that had absolutely nothing to do with the trophy he'd lifted earlier that day.
-
The morning sun over the Mediterranean was unforgivingly bright, streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Maxâs Monaco apartment. You woke up to the smell of strong black coffee and the sound of muffled Dutch coming from the kitchen.
For a brief, disorienting second, everything felt entirely normal. Waking up on Maxâs massive sofa or in his guest room after a long race weekend was a routine as old as time. But then you shifted, and the heavy, warm arm draped securely across your waist pulled you flush against a very bare, very muscular chest.
The memories of the yacht partyâthe confession, the champagne, the kiss that had completely rewritten the history of your entire relationshipâcame flooding back in a vivid rush. You hadn't slept in the guest room.
Max ended his phone call, tossing the device onto the nightstand before shifting his attention back to you. His hair was a sleep-tousled mess, and his piercing blue eyes were softer than the world ever got to see.
"Morning," he mumbled, his voice raspy with sleep as he pressed a lazy kiss to your bare shoulder.
"Morning," you breathed out, a smile fighting its way onto your face. "Who was on the phone?"
"Laurent," Max groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "Talking about debriefs and simulator schedules. I told him I was indisposed."
"Max!" you laughed, pushing lightly at his chest. "You can't just tell the Team Principal of Red Bull that you're indisposed."
"I just won Monaco, Y/N. I can tell him whatever I want," he countered smoothly, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. The playful arrogance was there, but the way he looked at youâlike you were the only thing in the room that matteredâmade your breath catch all over again.
He reached out, tracing the line of your jaw with his thumb, much like he had the night before. The transition from best friends to this felt incredibly fast, yet entirely overdue.
"So," you started, suddenly feeling a spark of nervousness about the reality of your situation outside this bedroom. "What happens now? Max Verstappen dating Michael Schumacher's daughter... the European tabloids are going to have an absolute field day. The Netflix crews will probably start camping outside our motorhomes."
Maxâs expression sobered slightly, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he tangled his fingers with yours, resting your joined hands against his chest.
"I don't care about the media, or Netflix, or what anyone in the paddock thinks," Max said, his tone resolute. "But I care about you. If you want to keep this quiet for a while, just between us, so you don't have cameras shoved in your face every time you walk down the pit lane, we keep it a secret."
You looked at him, feeling a surge of warmth. Max was notoriously private, completely detesting the media circus that came with his job. But he was offering to navigate it however you needed.
"A secret," you tested the word on your tongue. "Just for a little while. At least until we figure out how to act around each other without..."
"Without me doing this?" he interrupted, leaning down to capture your lips in a slow, deep kiss that effectively short-circuited every rational thought in your brain.
"Exactly," you whispered against his mouth when you finally pulled away, your heart racing. "We are going to be terrible at keeping this a secret."
"Oh, I give us until Barcelona," Max smirked, kissing your forehead before finally rolling out of bed to grab the coffees he'd left on the dresser. "Lando is going to figure it out in five minutes, and Charles will probably just look at us and sigh."
You laughed, pulling the duvet around your shoulders. The F1 circus was loud, chaotic, and completely relentless, but as Max handed you a mug, his fingers brushing yours with that same electric spark, the paddock suddenly didn't seem so daunting anymore. It was still you and Max against the worldâjust a slightly different version of it.
Max was wrong. It didn't take Lando five minutes to figure it out in Barcelona. It took him exactly three.
The Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya was sweltering, the Spanish sun beating down on the asphalt as teams geared up for Friday's Free Practice sessions. You were sitting in the cool, air-conditioned sanctuary of the Red Bull hospitality unit, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone while waiting for Max to finish his engineering briefing.
To the untrained eye, nothing had changed. You were still Y/N, F1 royalty, fixtures in each other's orbits. But underneath the surface, everything was a live wire. The secret glances across crowded garages, the brushed knuckles in the paddock, the way Max would find any excuse to stand just a fraction of an inch closer to you than necessaryâit was exhilarating, terrifying, and utterly exhausting to hide.
The glass doors slid open, and Max walked in, still wearing his dark blue fireproofs pulled down to his waist. He looked exhausted but focused, though the moment his eyes found yours, the hard edge of his jaw relaxed.
Normally, this was the part where he would steal your water bottle, throw a sweaty cap at your head, or make some sarcastic comment about how lazy you were being while he did all the hard work.
Instead, he walked up to your table, casually rested one hand on the back of your chair, and leaned down. "Boring morning?" he asked, his voice low enough that the nearby PR assistants couldn't hear.
"Just waiting for you to stop complaining about understeer so we can get lunch," you shot back, looking up at him.
The banter was entirely normal. But the way his thumb was absentmindedly, rhythmically stroking the fabric of your shirt at the back of your chair was not. It was a terrifyingly intimate gesture, completely subconscious on his part, and it made the breath catch in your throat.
"I don't complain," Max smirked, his eyes dropping to your lips for a microsecond. "I provide constructive feedback."
"Right. Tell that to GP."
Before Max could reply, a loud, chaotic energy entered the hospitality unit. Lando Norris bounced in, completely ignoring the unspoken boundaries of rival team areas, as he usually did when he was looking for Max.
"Mate, do you have any of thoseâ" Lando froze mid-sentence, stopping a few feet away from your table.
He looked at Max. Then he looked at you. Then his eyes drifted down to where Max's hand was still resting a little too possessively on the back of your chair.
You immediately stiffened, fighting the urge to lean away. Max, cool as ever, didn't move a muscle. He simply raised an eyebrow at the McLaren driver.
"Do I have any of what, Lando?" Max asked smoothly.
Lando narrowed his eyes, leaning forward slightly like a detective examining a crime scene. "Why are you two being weird?"
"We aren't being weird," you said quickly. Too quickly.
"You're being weird," Lando insisted, pointing an accusing finger at both of you. "Usually by this time on a Friday, Max is insulting you and you're threatening to run over his foot with a golf buggy. Why is it so... quiet?"
"Because I'm maturing," Max deadpanned.
Lando snorted loudly. "Right. And I'm going to win the World Championship in a tractor." He scrutinized the two of you for another ten seconds, his bright eyes darting back and forth. You could practically see the mental gears turning in his head until, suddenly, his mouth formed a perfect 'O'.
A massive, shit-eating grin spread across Lando's face.
"Oh," Lando practically whispered, vibrating with excitement. "Oh my god. Charles owes me fifty euros."
"Lando, what are you talking about?" you tried to deflect, your face burning.
"Nothing, nothing at all," Lando sang, taking a step backward toward the door. "Just... wow. Michael's going to kill you, mate," he added, looking gleefully at Max.
Max finally dropped his hand from your chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you breathe a word of this to the grid, Norris, I will personally make sure you never make it past Q1 again."
Lando just laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender. "My lips are sealed! But seriously, about time." With a final, knowing wink, he practically sprinted out of the hospitality unit, eager to go collect his bet from the Ferrari garage.
You dropped your face into your hands, letting out a long, muffled groan. "I am going to die of embarrassment."
Max chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling. He moved around to the side of the table, gently prying your hands away from your face. "Hey. Look on the bright side."
"What bright side?"
"Well," Max grinned, that trademark cheeky spark returning to his eyes. "Now that Lando knows, we only have to hide it from the other twenty drivers. The worst part is over."
By the time the summer break ended and the circus arrived at Spa-Francorchamps, your "little secret" was the worst-kept mystery among the younger half of the grid.
Lando had entirely failed to keep his mouth shut, meaning Charles Leclerc, George Russell, and Alex Albon all knew. They had formed a sort of unspoken, highly irritating protective detail around the two of you. If a Drive to Survive camera lingered too long while Max was whispering something in your ear, George would suddenly appear to block the shot, or Charles would loudly drop something metallic to ruin the audio. It was sweet, in a chaotic, kindergarten-level way, but it was also exhausting.
Spa, however, carried a heavier weight than the rest of the calendar.
The Belgian weather was doing what it did bestâpouring rain one minute, piercing sunshine the next. You stood at the back of the Red Bull garage, arms crossed, staring out at the mist rolling over the Ardennes forest. This track was holy ground for your family. It was where your father had made his legendary debut, where he had won his first race, and where he held the record for the most victories. Everywhere you looked, there were reminders of Michael Schumacher.
Usually, you handled the legacy with practiced grace. But today, with the media frenzy surrounding Maxâs home race and the suffocating pressure of hiding your relationship, the weight of your last name felt like an anchor dragging you down.
"You're doing it again," that familiar, low voice broke through your thoughts.
You turned to find Max stepping out of his driver's room. He was in his race suit, zipped down to the waist, a Red Bull cap pulled low over his eyes. He didn't care who was watching; he walked straight up to you, his eyes scanning your face with razor-sharp precision.
"Doing what?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.
"Carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders," Max said softly, stepping into your personal space. The mechanics were busy prepping the RB22 for Qualifying, the garage a symphony of whirring wheel guns and shouting engineers, but Max was entirely focused on you. "You've been quiet all morning. Itâs the track, isn't it?"
You let out a shaky breath, looking down at your boots. "It's just a lot. Everywhere I go, someone asks me about him. They want a quote about his legacy, or they want me to compare you to him. And then I have to stand there, smile, and pretend that the man breaking all his records isn't the man I'm entirely in love with."
The words slipped out before you could stop them. You froze, the ambient noise of the garage suddenly sounding like static. You hadn't actually used the 'L' word yet. Between the secret rendezvous and the adrenaline of the season, you had skirted around the depth of your feelings, letting actions speak for you.
Max went completely still. His blue eyes widened for a fraction of a second, the intense, guarded Champion mask cracking completely to reveal the boy who used to let you win at karting.
"Say that again," he demanded, his voice thick, dropping almost to a whisper.
"Max, the camerasâ" you started, panic fluttering in your chest as you glanced over his shoulder.
"I don't give a damn about the cameras, Y/N. Say it again," he interrupted, stepping closer so that you were pinned between him and the tool cabinets.
You looked up at him, seeing the desperate, genuine hope in his eyes, and the panic melted away into a profound, grounding warmth. "I'm in love with you, Max. I think I have been for years."
Max let out a breath that sounded like a laugh, his hands coming up to grip your waist, completely ignoring the fact that Laurent Mekies was standing less than twenty feet away.
"Thank god," Max murmured, resting his forehead against yours. "Because if I had to spend one more weekend pretending I don't want to marry you, I was going to crash the car into the wall just to get some time off."
"Don't even joke about that," you scolded, though a massive smile was breaking across your face, your hands instinctively resting on his chest.
"I'm not joking," he said, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. The playfulness was gone, replaced by a fierce, unyielding determination. "I'm done hiding, Y/N. I'm done letting Lando and Charles run interference, and I'm done pretending we're just friends for the sake of the press. This is my home race. It's your family's track. It's the perfect place."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. "Are you sure? Once this is out, we can't put it back in the box. The media..."
"Can write whatever they want," Max finished for you. He reached down, deliberately and confidently lacing his fingers through yours. "You are Michael Schumacher's daughter. I am Max Verstappen. We belong to this world, but they don't own us. Let them talk."
"Max..."
"Walk down the paddock with me," he asked, a soft, rare vulnerability in his tone. "Not as my friend. As my girlfriend."
You looked at your intertwined hands, feeling the familiar calluses on his skin, the steady beat of his pulse against yours. The ghosts of Spa suddenly didn't feel like a heavy legacy anymore; they felt like a blessing.
"Okay," you whispered, squeezing his hand. "Let's go give Netflix the season finale they didn't know they needed."
Max grinned, a brilliant, blinding expression that rivaled the Belgian sun finally breaking through the clouds. He pulled you out from the shadows of the garage, hand-in-hand, directly into the blinding flash of a hundred paddock cameras.
you'll like me eventually (oscar piastri x reader)
đ pairing: oscar piastri x f!reader.
đ word count: 11.3k
đ genres/warnings:Â alternative universe: university. frenemies (??) to lovers. oscar is the uk equivalent to a frat boy and reader thinks hes the most annoying person in the world. they're both down bad for each other. he fell first, she realised second type vibe. mild swearing and false rumours of a hookup. mentions of alcohol, being drunk and throwing up so warning. reader insert but no use of y/n.
đsummary: you've spent two years calling it hatred. oscar has spent those same two years calling it flirting.
đ author notes: the idea of oscar in a backwards cap is the main reason for this fic so please excuse. super geeked to say this is in the same universe as my dearest @verstarris 's fic 'dirty little secret', please check it out bara is a phenomenal writer !!!!! hope you enjoy <3
âI mean, just look at him,â you muttered, your nose wrinkling as you looked across the makeshift dancefloor. âWho does he think he is?â
Your eyes found him with embarrassing ease, cutting through the blur of moving bodies, sticky floors and the cloud of cherry-scented vape smoke hanging over the living room.
Oscar Piastri. Of course it was Oscar Piastri.
He was leaning against the wall like he hadn't a care in the world, one hand wrapped loosely around a red cup filled with something that almost definitely tasted horrific. His other hand rested against his hip as he laughed at something the girl in front of him had said, his head tipping back ever so slightly.
God, he looked pleased with himself.
She was twirling a strand of hair around her finger, smiling up at him through fluttering eyelashes and leaning in far closer than was remotely necessary.
It wasn't even that loud in here.
âYeah,â Alex replied dryly from beside you, following your line of sight before looking back at you. âAbsolutely criminal. He's talking to a pretty girl who's giving him attention. Someone should call the police.â
You tore your eyes away from Oscar long enough to shoot her a glare.
âStop trying to make it something it isn't,â you lifted your drink to your lips, taking another sip as the alcohol settled warmly in your chest. It softened the edges of the room, blurred the music into a pleasant hum.
Yet somehow Oscar remained in perfect focus. âI just mean,â you continued, waving your cup vaguely in his direction, âhe walks around like he's God's gift to humanity,â Alex raised an eyebrow. âWhich is annoying.â
âMm,â she nodded thoughtfully, though the smile threatening at the corners of her mouth suggested she wasn't taking you remotely seriously.
You huffed. âHe's just... so...â you searched for the right word before settling on the only one that really fit. âOscar.â
Alex barked out a laugh. âYou need another shot if you're going to spend the whole night giving us an Oscar report.â
Before you could argue, she'd caught hold of your wrist and started weaving the two of you through the crowd towards the kitchen. âAlex,â you complained, stumbling after her. âI'm not giving anyone an Oscar report.â
âNo?â She glanced over her shoulder with a grin. âYou've only been staring at him for the last ten minutes.â
âI have not.â
âYou've looked at him more than you've looked at me.â
You scoffed, taking another sip of your drink. âI was people watching.â
âInteresting,â Alex hummed. âConsidering the only person you've watched all evening has been him.â
Your mouth opened to argue, but the words dissolved the second the two of you passed him.
You felt it before you even looked. His attention shifting. Like he'd sensed you nearby.
Against your better judgement, your eyes flicked towards him. He wasn't looking at the girl anymore. Somewhere between one step and the next, she'd become background noise. His eyes had found yours instead.
His smile widened the second they did. Not smug. Not victorious. Just pleased. Like seeing you was somehow the best thing that had happened to him all evening.
You looked away first. Of course you did.
âSee?â Alex murmured quietly as she nudged your shoulder. âHe literally stops talking to anyone every time you walk into a room.â
You rolled your eyes so hard they almost hurt. âHe's insufferable.â
Alex snorted. âSure.â
The kitchen island was already crowded by the time Alex pulled you over, littered with abandoned cups, half-empty bottles of pop and enough questionable alcohol to make tomorrow morning thoroughly unpleasant.
The rest of your friends all stood around it in various stages of conversation, none of them paying much attention until Alex announced your arrival.
"Someone get her another shot," she sighed dramatically, dropping her head onto Lily's shoulder. "I'm so bored of hearing about Oscar."
You froze. "I do not talk about him that much."
Seven pairs of eyes landed on you. Then, almost in perfect sync, every single one of them rolled their eyes.
"See?" George said, gesturing lazily towards you. "That's exactly what someone who talks about Oscar too much would say."
"Honestly," Max muttered, taking another sip of his drink, "I don't even think he needs to be here anymore. You'd still find a way to mention him."
"That's not true."
"You mentioned him before you'd even said hello," Charles pointed out with a grin.
You opened your mouth, then closed it again.
Lando laughed under his breath as he reached for the bottle of tequila sitting on the counter. He held an empty cup up to the light, inspected it briefly before deciding it was clean enough, then filled it with a generous amount. "Here," he said, passing it over. "Drink this before you embarrass yourself any further."
You accepted it with a dramatic sigh. "I'm not obsessed with him."
"Didn't say you were," Lando replied innocently.
You narrowed your eyes. "You literally did last week."
He shrugged. "Yeah, maybe I was right."
George snorted into his drink. "The sooner you admit it, the sooner we can all move on with our lives."
"Move on?" you echoed. "You lot are the ones obsessed with this narrative."
"Narrative?" Lily laughed. "It's been two years."
Alex nodded solemnly. "We've accepted you're going to end up together. We're just getting bored waiting."
Laughter erupted around the kitchen. You tipped the tequila back in one go, grimacing as it burned all the way down. "You're all unbelievable."
Lando reached over immediately, replacing your empty shot cup with a fresh drink before you'd even asked.
"Shouldn't you be celebrating anyway?" George asked. "Didn't you absolutely smash your psychology exam?"
You wrapped your fingers around the new cup, grateful for the change in subject.
"Exactly," Alex agreed. "I thought tonight was supposed to be about you."
"It is."
"Yet somehow we've spent ten minutes discussing Oscar."
You looked around the circle in disbelief. "Because you lot keep bringing him up!"
Max blinked. "I literally opened the door to you moaning about him."
Silence. You pointed accusingly around the kitchen. "You're all incredibly annoying."
George grinned. "And yet somehow not as annoying as Oscar."
"Exactly," you exclaimed, grateful that someone had finally made sense.
George's grin widened. "Which is impressive, considering you've spent two years giving him your undivided attention."
You groaned loudly enough that a couple of people turned to look.
They had no idea what they were talking about. Oscar Piastri had simply mastered the art of being irritating.
You'd met him during your third week at university after Lando had dragged you along to one of the cricket team's sports socials, proudly insisting you "needed to meet the idiots I spent all my time with."
He hadn't been exaggerating.
Somewhere in amongst all of that chaos, Lando had introduced you to Oscar.
You'd expected someone easy-going. Humble, maybe. Instead, Oscar had smiled at you like he'd known you forever before announcing, with complete confidence, that you'd definitely like him eventually.
You'd decided almost instantly that he was insufferable.
Unfortunately, he'd never stopped proving you right.
Every conversation ended with him grinning while you rolled your eyes. Every party somehow ended with the two of you arguing about something completely pointless. He'd steal chips off your plate. Sit in your seat whenever you got up. Lean on your shoulder simply because he knew it annoyed you.
You'd even met his sister somewhere along the way, usually whenever she wandered onto campus looking for Oscar or Lando, somehow fitting into the group as naturally as everyone else. It wasn't unusual. Half the time it felt like Oscar and Lando shared a family anyway.
The worst part wasn't even that he was cocky.
It was that he somehow got away with it.
Everyone adored him. He was captain of the cricket team. Clever. Funny. Ridiculously handsome, which was deeply unfortunate.
You hated that you'd noticed the way he'd grown his hair out over the last year. Hated that you'd realised he smiled differently when he was genuinely laughing. Hated that you knew exactly what colour his eyes looked in the sun. Hated that, once, you'd caught yourself wondering what his hair might feel like threaded through your fingers.
You hated all of it.
Obviously.
You felt him before you saw him, as though he'd heard you thinking about him. A familiar warmth settled at your back. Broad shoulders. A chest brushing lightly against you. Then two arms draped comfortably over yours, his forearms resting across your collarbones like they belonged there.
Finally, a firm chin came to rest on the top of your head. "Talking about me again?" Oscar's voice rumbled beside your ear, amusement woven through every word.
A shiver darted down your spine before you could stop it. You blamed the tequila. "You're delirious," you muttered, driving your elbow backwards into his ribs.
It connected with solid muscle. Oscar barely reacted. If anything, he laughed. "That's not a no."
You wriggled free with an exaggerated sigh, smoothing your dress down as though he'd somehow managed to wrinkle your entire evening. "Do you ever get bored of winding me up?"
"Not once."
The answer came so quickly it almost caught you off guard.
You finally looked up at him. Big mistake. He was smiling. Not the cocky grin he flashed at everyone else. Something quieter. Warmer. Like he'd been waiting for you to notice him all evening.
It was deeply irritating.
"You need a new hobby."
Oscar shrugged, slipping one hand into the pocket of his jeans. "I've got one."
You frowned. "Annoying me isn't a hobby."
"Sure it is."
Lando wandered over, reaching straight past Oscar to steal the bottle he'd only just opened. "We've been trying to tell her that for two years," he said before taking a sip.
Oscar frowned. "You know that's mine."
"Our drink," Lando corrected without missing a beat.
"You bought one crate."
"We,â Lando grinned. âBought one crate."
Oscar barked out a laugh. "That was because you forgot your wallet."
Lando shoved Oscar's shoulder as the two of them laughed, the exchange so practised it felt less like an argument and more like muscle memory.
George watched them with a sigh. "You two are actually exhausting."
"We've heard that before," Lando replied cheerfully.
Oscar finally looked back at you. "It's still my favourite hobby."
Heat climbed stubbornly into your cheeks. "You're unbelievable."
"I've been called worse."
George pinched the bridge of his nose dramatically. "Can one of you just kiss the other so the rest of us can move on?"
Alex nodded immediately. "Please. I'm actually begging."
You looked between your friends in complete disbelief. "You all need psychiatric evaluations."
"You're literally the psychology student," Charles pointed out.
"Great," Max lifted his bottle towards you. "Diagnose yourself."
Laughter rippled around the kitchen. You rolled your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. "You're all idiots."
Oscar's grin only widened. "You forgot devastatingly handsome."
You groaned loudly. "See?" You gestured wildly in his direction. "This. This is exactly what I mean."
"What?"
"You just..." You waved your hands helplessly. "You think you're God's gift."
Oscar tilted his head thoughtfully, pretending to consider it. "I don't think that."
You folded your arms. "No?"
"No." His smile grew. "But my mum does."
The kitchen erupted into groans.
Lando physically turned away. "For God's sake." George muttered something remarkably similar.
Before you could stop yourself, a laugh escaped your lips.
Oscar's eyes found yours instantly. Like he'd been waiting for it. His smile softened almost imperceptibly.
You stopped laughing immediately. Absolutely not. "You're still annoying."
"Yeah?" Oscar asked, completely unfazed.
"Mm."
"See you on the dancefloor in five?"
You stared at him. "I'd rather walk home barefoot."
"So..." Oscar nodded thoughtfully. "Ten minutes then?"
You threw your hands into the air. "You're impossible."
Without waiting for another response, you grabbed Alex and Lily by their wrists, ignoring both of their protests as you dragged them back towards the living room. "Come on."
Lily barely managed to keep hold of her drink as she stumbled after you. "You know," she called over the music, "for someone who can't stand him, you two have remarkably good chemistry."
"Lily."
"I'm just saying."
"Don't."
She only smiled to herself.
You disappeared back into the crowd, determined to lose yourself amongst the music, flashing lights and bodies packed shoulder to shoulder across the dancefloor.
Determined not to think about Oscar Piastri for the rest of the evening.
Behind you, back in the kitchen, Oscar's eyes followed you until you vanished into the crowd.
Lando caught him watching and let out a long, tired sigh, bumping his shoulder against Oscar's. "Mate," he muttered, "you're never beating the allegations."
Oscar didn't even pretend to deny it. He simply smiled into his drink. "I know.â
By the time you finally let Alex and Lily convince you to take a break from dancing, the alcohol had settled deep into your bloodstream, leaving your limbs pleasantly heavy and your thoughts wrapped in a warm haze.
You stumbled as the three of you pushed through the crowd, laughing as Alex caught you under one arm while Lily steadied you on the other side.
"Careful," Lily laughed, tightening her grip around your waist. "I'd rather not explain to A&E that you broke your ankle attempting to dance to Pitbull."
A giggle bubbled out of you before you could stop it. Somewhere between the dancefloor and your fourth, maybe fifth shot, you'd completely lost count. Your arms had spent most of the evening waving through the air, your voice disappearing into whatever song happened to be playing, and despite every promise you'd made to yourselfâ
You'd still caught yourself looking for Oscar. Constantly. You knew, without even turning around, that if you looked now, he'd probably be looking straight back.
He always was. It didn't matter how many people packed into a room or how chaotic a party became. Somehow, Oscar always found you.
His eyes would catch yours across the room as though there wasn't another person there. It was infuriating.
Mostly because you could never seem to stop looking back.
You blamed curiosity. Everyone else seemed convinced it was something else entirely.
A groan escaped your lips. You came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the hallway, forcing both Alex and Lily to stop with you.
"What's wrong?" Alex asked, turning towards you with a crease between her brows.
You sighed dramatically. "Did I ever tell you about the time Oscar..." a hiccup interrupted your sentence, making you screw your face up. "...Oscar..."
Lily let out the biggest sigh of the evening. "For the love of God," she groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. "If you're still refusing to admit you fancy him, could you at least stop bringing him up every ten minutes?"
Alex dissolved into laughter beside you, the force of it making her stumble into your shoulder. "Congratulations," she managed between giggles. "You nearly made it an hour this time."
You frowned. "I don't bring him up that much."
Lily simply stared at you. "You literally started this conversation."
You opened your mouth to argue. Closed it again. "...That doesn't count."
Neither of them even bothered responding. They just exchanged a look over your head. The traitors.
You couldn't help laughing anyway.
The movement, unfortunately, made the room tilt. Your stomach lurched violently. The smile vanished from your face. "Oh no."
Both girls recognised the look immediately.
"Oh no," Alex echoed, grabbing your arm.
You slapped a hand over your mouth. "Bathroom," you mumbled through your fingers before wrenching yourself free and stumbling through the house.
Thankfully, this wasn't your first party here. You knew exactly where you were going. You shoved the bathroom door open with far more force than necessary, relief washing over you when you found it empty.
Barely making it to the toilet in time, you dropped to your knees. The evening made a swift and rather unpleasant reappearance.
The door burst open moments later. "She's in here," Alex called over the music as she hurried inside.
Lily wasn't far behind. Without a word, she gathered your hair away from your face while Alex crouched beside you, rubbing slow circles across your back.
Neither of them said, I told you so. Which, honestly, felt like real friendship.
By the time the nausea finally eased, every muscle in your body felt heavy. You leaned back against the wall with a tired groan, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth before immediately regretting how disgusting that felt.
"I think," Alex started carefully, glancing towards Lily before looking back at you, "We should probably get you home."
You squeezed your eyes shut. Home sounded incredible. Your own bed sounded even better.
The bass from the living room vibrated through the wall beside you while one of them took your hand, their thumb absently stroking across your knuckles.
For a few minutes, nobody spoke.Â
You just sat there, letting the room slowly stop spinning.
"I'm blaming Lando," you mumbled eventually, raking a hand through your hair. "And his stupid tequila."
Lily smiled softly before reaching for a glass waiting beside the sink. "Here," she said, holding it towards you. "Just water. I promise."
You accepted it gratefully, taking careful sips. The room still tilted every now and then. But at least your throat no longer felt like sandpaper.
The bathroom door creaked open again. Footsteps crossed the tiled floor.
"How's she doing?" came a familiar voice. You recognised it immediately. Even through the alcohol. Even with your eyes closed.
"She's exhausted," Alex whispered quietly. "I think she just needs to sleep but apparently Liamâs forgotten his promise."
There was a brief silence. Thenâ
"I'll sort it."
Oscar.
You frowned faintly but couldn't quite summon the energy to open your eyes.
You felt Alex's arm tighten around your shoulders. "Babe listen, the thing is," she said gently, smoothing your hair back from your forehead, "I've completely lost our designated driver, and an Uber's showing nearly an hour."
You let out a pitiful groan, dropping your forehead against her shoulder. Home suddenly felt impossibly far away.
"But," Lily added quickly, exchanging a glance you couldnât see with Oscar, "There's a spare bed upstairs. Someone's said you're more than welcome to use it."
If you'd been even remotely sober, alarm bells would've started ringing. Whose bed? Since when? Why?
Instead, your brain simply accepted the information with a sleepy hum. "...Kay."
The glass slipped gently from your fingers before someone carefully took it from you.
A moment later, another pair of hands slid beneath your knees and around your back.Â
You barely had time to register what was happening before your feet left the floor.
Instinctively, you curled towards the warmth. Your cheek settled against a broad chest.
Bergamot. Mint. The familiar scent wrapped around you as securely as the arms holding you.
A soft sigh escaped before you could stop it.
Whoever was carrying you adjusted their grip ever so slightly, one hand pressing a little more firmly against the small of your back as though terrified you might slip.
It wasn't possessive. It was careful.
You'd never realised how different those two things could feel.
The music swelled around you as you were carried back through the party before fading again with every step upstairs. Your fingers curled lazily into the soft cotton beneath your palm.
Beneath your cheek, a steady heartbeat pulsed against your skin. Slow. Unhurried. Without even thinking about it, your own breathing seemed to fall into rhythm with it.
You felt a rough thumb brush absentmindedly across the bare skin of your knee, barely more than a reassuring sweep to steady you, yet the touch lingered long after it had gone.
The other hand remained splayed securely across your back. Strong enough that you knew they wouldn't let you fall. Gentle enough that, before you realised what you were doing, you'd tucked your face a little deeper into the warmth of their neck.
The thought should have embarrassed you. Instead, it simply felt safe.
By the time you were lowered onto something soft, the room had stopped spinning quite so violently.
A mattress dipped beneath your weight. A lamp clicked on somewhere nearby, bathing the room in a warm amber glow.
You blinked slowly. Everything remained slightly blurry.
Except⊠Baby blue. The cotton shirt stretched comfortably across broad shoulders as someone leaned over the bedside table, rummaging through a drawer.
Oscar.
Of course it was Oscar.
"What," you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep. "are you doing here?"
Oscar glanced over his shoulder before letting out a quiet laugh. "Funny," he said, pulling a maroon T-shirt from the drawer. "I was about to ask you the same thing."
You frowned at him. "Not funny."
"Little bit funny," he crossed the room, stopping beside the bed before holding the shirt out towards you. "Here," he said softly. "You'll be more comfortable in this."
You took it obediently, pushing yourself upright. Then immediately reached for the straps of your dress.
Oscar's eyes widened. "Whoa," he spun around so quickly you almost laughed. "Wait until I've turned around first."
You blinked slowly at his back. It was⊠Very broad. Very, very broad. Drunk-you found this incredibly fascinating.
With an absent-minded shrug, you let your dress slide to the floor before tugging the oversized T-shirt over your head.
The soft cotton settled around your thighs. It smelled exactly like him. Bergamot. Mint. Clean washing powder. Home.
You frowned slightly. Since when had Oscar smelled like home?
"Done," you announced proudly.
Oscar stayed facing the wall for another second. "Promise?"
A giggle escaped you. "Promise."
Only then did he turn back around.
Even now, his eyes only flicked towards you for the briefest second before politely settling somewhere around your shoulder instead. Like he was making a conscious effort not to look.
You weren't entirely sure why that made your chest feel strangely warm.
He crossed the room slowly. Gentle fingers wrapped around the tops of your arms as he guided you back down onto the mattress, careful not to jostle you more than necessary.
"There we go," he murmured.
You let him. Far too willingly, really.
His hands slipped away almost as quickly as they'd arrived before moving to your ankles, lifting your feet one at a time onto the bed.
The duvet had twisted beneath you in your determined effort to get changed. Oscar shook his head with the ghost of a smile before pulling it free and tucking it carefully around your legs, smoothing it over you with absent-minded precision.
Like he'd done this a hundred times before.
You watched him through heavy eyelids. Every brush of his fingertips left warmth lingering beneath your skin long after he'd pulled away.
It was ridiculous. You'd spent two years insisting Oscar was the most infuriating man you'd ever met. So why⊠Why did every touch feel so gentle?
Your thoughts felt thick. Slow. Something sat stubbornly on the tip of your tongue, battering against the inside of your skull, desperate to be let out.
You couldn't quite catch it.
Not until Oscar looked back up at you.
"Am I..." you asked quietly, tilting your head as you studied him, "not good enough for you to look at naked?"
Oscar blinked. Then laughed. A proper laugh. Not at you. Just surprised.
He crouched beside the bed instead of towering over you, one forearm resting lightly against the mattress as he looked at you with unmistakable fondness. "It's not that."
You waited. So did he. His fingers lingered on the edge of the duvet, absent-mindedly smoothing a crease from the fabric before his eyes dropped to his hands.
"I'd just..." he cleared his throat softly. "I'd always want your permission first."
The room fell strangely quiet. Even in your drunken haze, something about the way he'd said it settled heavily inside your chest. Not rehearsed. Not flirtatious. Just true.
You stared at him. Really stared. His hair had curled slightly from the heat downstairs, brushing softly against the nape of his neck.
You'd wondered before what it might feel like beneath your fingers. You'd always dismissed it as idle curiosity. Looking at him now you weren't quite so sure.
The lamplight caught the sharp line of his jaw. It looked tense. Held carefully in place, as though he was trying very hard not to say something he couldn't take back.
Tiny moles freckled across pale skin. Without meaning to, your eyes traced each one. Like they were a map you'd somehow already memorised.
And then⊠His eyes. They'd always been brown. You'd never realised how many shades of brown there actually were. Amber where the lamplight caught them. Honey around the edges. Warm enough that looking away suddenly felt impossible.
They weren't teasing you. They weren't laughing at you. They were simply looking. Like you were something precious. Something worth being careful with.
Your chest tightened.
"You know..." you murmured eventually, burrowing a little deeper beneath the duvet. "You've got a serious problem."
One corner of Oscar's mouth twitched. "Do I?"
You nodded solemnly. "You're,â you squinted at him as though trying to solve the world's greatest mystery. "Too handsome," Oscar blinked. You lifted a finger vaguely in his direction. "It's really annoying."
For a second, he simply stared. Then he laughed again. The sound filled the room, rich and warm and completely unguarded. "That's my biggest character flaw?" he asked, shaking his head.
"Yep."
"I'll have to work on that."
You hummed approvingly. "Please do."
"I'll see what I can manage."
Satisfied with that answer, you sank a little further beneath the duvet, your eyes already beginning to drift closed.
Oscar smiled to himself before reaching across to place a bottle of water and two paracetamol carefully on the bedside table. He tapped the wood lightly beside them. "Take those when you wake up."
You answered with something that sounded vaguely like agreement. Whether it actually was, neither of you could really tell.
Your eyelids grew heavier. The room softened around the edges. Just before sleep claimed you completely, you thought you felt gentle fingers brush a loose strand of hair away from your face.
The touch was so light you almost convinced yourself you'd imagined it.
Then, almost too quietly to hear, "Goodnight.â
The bedroom door clicked softly shut. For a moment, Oscar didn't move. He stood with one hand still resting on the handle, listening.
Silence.
Then, your breathing settled into a slow, even rhythm. Only then did he finally let out the breath he'd been holding. He leaned back against the closed door, rubbing both hands over his face before letting his head fall gently against the wood.
A helpless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Too handsome," he muttered to himself, a quiet laugh escaping before he could stop it. "I'll take that."
He stayed there for another second. Just one. As though committing the moment to memory.
Not even a minute later, hurried footsteps echoed up the staircase. Oscar looked up just as a mop of curly hair appeared over the top step. "Cap," the younger boy called, slightly out of breath. "George said you were looking for me?"
Oscar pushed himself away from the door. "Kimi," the first-year student straightened instinctively. "Got a job for you."
Kimi's face lit up immediately. "Is this like my final initiation thing?"
Oscar nodded once. "Something like that."
"I knew it," Kimi grinned. "George said it'd be important."
"It is," Oscar reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet before counting out a few notes. "There'll be fifty quid in it for you as well."
Kimi's eyes widened. "Fifty?" Oscar held the money out. Kimi took it slowly, turning the notes over in his hands like they might disappear. "So," he said carefully. "What's the job?"
Oscar tipped his head towards the closed bedroom door. "No one goes in there, all night."
Kimi looked at the door. Then back at Oscar. "Right."
"No one."
"Okay?"
Oscar pointed downstairs. "Unless it's Alex or Lily, you know them right?"
Kimi frowned. "So," he glanced between Oscar and the bedroom again. "You want me to be a bouncer?"
Oscar ignored him. "If she wakes up, come and find me," Kimi blinked. "If she needs water, there's some on the bedside table," Another blink. "If anyone else tries to go in..."
"They don't."
"Exactly."
A long silence settled between them. Finally, Kimi tucked the money into his pocket. "Cap?"
"Yeah?"
"Is that it?"
Oscar looked at him as though the answer was painfully obvious. "That's it."
Kimi looked at the bedroom door again. Then at the staircase leading back down to the party. "Where do I sleep?"
Oscar had already started walking away. "Here."
Kimi stared after him. "What? On the floor?"
Oscar kept walking. "You wanted to join the team."
"I did."
"You still do?"
"Yes?"
"Good," Oscar reached the top of the stairs before pausing. "Oh," he glanced back over his shoulder. "And Kimi?"
"Yeah?"
"The floor's surprisingly comfortable, donât worry."
With that, he disappeared downstairs, the music swallowing him almost instantly.
Kimi stood alone in the hallway. He looked at the closed bedroom door. Looked at the fifty pounds in his hand. Looked down at the wooden floor.
"This," he sighed to himself as he slowly lowered himself to sit against the wall, "is the weirdest initiation ever."
He pulled out his phone, made sure the money was tucked safely into his pocket and settled in for the night.
From somewhere downstairs came the roar of another drinking game. Kimi glanced once more at the bedroom door. "Hope you're worth fifty quid."
The hallway fell quiet.
The first thing you became aware of as your eyes reluctantly fluttered open was the dryness coating your mouth.
The second was that your head was pounding so violently you briefly considered closing your eyes again and pretending consciousness had been a terrible mistake.
A groan escaped your lips as you burrowed deeper beneath the duvet, pressing your face into the pillow beneath you.
It smelled⊠Familiar. Not your washing powder. Not your room. Something cleaner.
Bergamot. Mint.
You frowned. Slowly, painfully, you cracked one eye open. The room that greeted you definitely wasn't yours. "Oh no."
You squeezed your eyes shut again, rubbing both hands over your face as though sheer determination might erase the hangover currently drilling into your skull.
It didn't.
After another minute spent feeling deeply sorry for yourself, you finally forced yourself upright, wincing as the room swayed slightly.
Your gaze drifted slowly around the bedroom.
It was tidy. Suspiciously tidy for a university student.
A cricket bat rested neatly against the wall beside the wardrobe, a couple of medals hanging from one of the bedposts. Textbooks sat in surprisingly organised piles across the desk beside a laptop and a stack of neatly annotated lecture notes. A pale blue hoodie had been tossed over the back of the desk chair, the only real sign that someone actually lived here.
A framed photograph sat tucked into the corner of the desk. You recognised them all immediately.Â
Oscar stood in the middle, one arm slung around Lando's shoulders, the other wrapped around his sister as all three of them laughed at something just beyond the camera. You'd met her more times than you could count over the years. The resemblance between the siblings had always been obvious whenever they smiled.
Your lips twitched before you could stop them. It looked comfortably him.
You weren't entirely sure what you'd expected Oscar's room to look like. Clothes strewn across the floor, maybe. Empty bottles shoved under the bed. Some sort of organised chaos.
Instead, it was warm. Orderly. Comfortable. It suited him far more than you wanted to admit.
"Brilliant," you muttered to yourself, although there wasn't nearly as much conviction behind the word as there should have been.
Your phone rested on the bedside table beside a half-empty bottle of water and two untouched paracetamol.
A hazy memory drifted to the surface. Take those when you wake up. His voice. Gentle.
The memory came with flashes rather than anything whole. Strong arms carrying you upstairs. The steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath your cheek. Warm hands tucking the duvet around you. Him turning his back the second you'd reached for the straps of your dress.
Before you realised what you were doing, a small smile had begun to curl at your lips. You caught it almost immediately. Absolutely not.
The smile disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
You swallowed, dragging your eyes away from the bedside table. No. You weren't thinking about that yet.
Instead, you grabbed your phone and unlocked it, squinting against the brightness.
The group chat had several unread messages.
[from: Alex] Let us know when you're alive xx
[from: Lily] Drink water before coffee.
[from: Alex] Actually drink water before anything.
A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.
You quickly replied that you were awake before locking your phone again.
Your eyes drifted to the maroon T-shirt you'd slept in. Oscar's. You reached down, catching the soft fabric between your fingers. For just a second, you stared at it.
Then, before your brain could wander somewhere thoroughly unhelpful, you peeled it over your head and carefully folded it.
Only after placing it neatly on the pillow did you realise what you'd done. "Whatever."
You grabbed your dress from the floor instead, pulling it back on before slipping your shoes over aching feet.
Coffee. You needed coffee. And preferably an explanation.
Taking one last look around the room, you quietly opened the bedroom door. You barely managed half a step before nearly tripping over the body stretched across the hallway carpet.
"What theâ" A startled yelp escaped you. The mop of curly hair immediately shot upright.
Kimi blinked at you blearily, his face creased from where he'd apparently been sleeping on the floor. "Morning," he mumbled.
You stared. He stared back. "Kimi," your voice cracked painfully, sounding more like sandpaper than words. You cleared your throat before trying again. "What the fuck are you doing?"
He rubbed both hands over his face with an enormous yawn. "Oh," he looked suddenly very awake. "You're up."
"I gathered."
He nodded seriously. "I've got to tell Oscar."
You frowned. "Why?"
"He told me to," Kimi shrugged as though that explained absolutely everything. "If you woke up, I was supposed to find him."
You blinked. "You slept out here all night?"
Another shrug. "Apparently."
Silence. You looked at him. He looked back at you. Neither of you seemed entirely convinced this had been a sensible plan.
"Please don't go and get him," you said eventually, rubbing at your temple.
Kimi hesitated. "He did sayâ"
"I'm leaving."
"Oh,â he looked genuinely conflicted. âDo you think heâll still let me keep the fifty quid?"
You stared at him. "The what?"
Kimi's eyes widened. "Nothing."
He very deliberately looked away. Your head hurt far too much to investigate whatever on earth that meant. Instead, you simply stepped over him. "You're all weird."
"I've been told that before," Kimi called after you as you wandered down the hallway.
The house was unusually quiet.
Gone was the music that had rattled the walls only a few hours earlier, replaced instead by the occasional creak of floorboards and the distant hum of someone snoring somewhere upstairs.
Alex and George's bedroom doors remained firmly shut as you padded down the hallway. Still asleep. Charles was probably back at yours by now. Lucky bastard.
The only bedroom door sitting slightly ajar belonged to Lando. You paused outside it. Maybe he was awake. Maybe he had coffee.
You nudged the door open with two fingers. "...Lando?" No answer. Only a loud snore.
Your eyes adjusted to the dim room. Lando was starfished across the mattress, still wearing yesterday's clothes, one arm hanging dramatically off the side of the bed while he'd somehow managed to steal almost the entire duvet.
A smile tugged at your lips. Typical. Then your eyes drifted to the sliver of mattress Lando had graciously left behind.
Oscar was somehow balancing on the very edge of the mattress.
One leg hung halfway off the side, one arm trapped awkwardly beneath his head while Lando monopolised not only the duvet but what appeared to be three quarters of the bed.
He looked uncomfortable.
Your brow furrowed.
The memories returned slowly now, no longer scattered fragments but moments beginning to stitch themselves together. Oscar carrying you upstairs. Oscar turning around the second you'd reached for the straps of your dress. Oscar giving you his shirt.
The water. The paracetamol. The duvet tucked carefully beneath your chin. Kimi. Sleeping outside the bedroom door.
Your gaze flicked between the room behind you and the bed in front of you. He'd given you his room.
The realisation settled quietly somewhere beneath your ribs. Warm. Confusing. Entirely unwelcome.
You'd expected him to tease you relentlessly afterwards. To hold it over your head for the next six months. Instead, he'd quietly slept half off Lando's bed so you could have somewhere comfortable to sleep.
Your eyes lingered on him for another second. It was annoyingly easy to forget, looking at him like this, that he was supposed to be infuriating.
He wasn't smirking. Wasn't making some smart remark that would have you rolling your eyes.
He was just asleep. The morning light spilled through the gap in the curtains, catching the unruly strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead.
He looked younger somehow. Softer.
You thought, fleetingly, about waking him. Just to⊠You weren't entirely sure. To say thank you. To see if he'd smile like he had the night before. To have a moment that belonged only to the two of you before everyone else woke up.
The thought hit you like a bucket of cold water. Absolutely not.
You frowned at yourself. God, this was exactly why you didn't let yourself think about Oscar for too long. Because every now and then your brain came up with something utterly ridiculous.
Like wanting to watch him wake up.
Gross.
Your phone buzzed against your palm, pulling you sharply back to reality.
[From: Alex] Outside x
You glanced back towards Oscar one last time. He hadn't moved.
One arm was still tucked awkwardly beneath his head, his face half-hidden by the pillow as Lando continued to wage war against the duvet beside him.
For the first time since you'd met him, he didn't look like the confident captain of the cricket team. Or the cocky idiot who somehow always knew exactly which buttons to press.
He just looked peaceful. And, irritatingly kind.
Your chest tightened.
You remembered, suddenly, the first time you'd completely bombed a pop quiz in first year. You'd been convinced nobody had noticed until Oscar had quietly appeared beside you after the seminar, slid a chocolate bar onto your notebook and told you, with the same stupid grin he always wore, that statistically someone had to finish below average and at least you'd increased everyone else's chances.
You'd rolled your eyes so hard they'd nearly fallen out of your head. Then you'd eaten the chocolate anyway.
Maybe⊠Maybe there had always been moments like that. You'd just never let yourself keep hold of them.
With a quiet shake of your head, you pulled the bedroom door almost closed again. "Thanks," you murmured, the word slipping out before you could stop it.
You weren't entirely sure who you were saying it to.
Oscar. Lando. Kimi. The universe.
Whoever had stopped you spending the night wrapped around a toilet bowl.
It didn't matter.
By the time you reached the front door, you'd already convinced yourself you hadn't meant it at all.
Monday arrived far too quickly.
Thankfully, your hangover had disappeared sometime between Sunday afternoon and collapsing into bed that evening, leaving behind nothing more than a lingering embarrassment every time you remembered whose room you'd woken up in.
Which, annoyingly, was more often than you'd have liked.
By lunchtime, you, Alex and Lily had claimed your usual table outside, half-heartedly picking at your food while Lily filled you in on the lecture sheâd thankfully managed not to miss.
You were only half listening.
All morning you'd been catching people looking at you. Every time you glanced up, someone else's head seemed to snap away. Whispers drifted across lecture theatres. People smiled when they walked past. One group by the library had actually laughed before quickly pretending they hadn't.
It was beginning to drive you mad.
You caught another pair of students staring from two tables away. The second they realised you'd noticed, they immediately looked back down at their lunches.
You let your fork clatter onto your tray. "Right."
Alex looked up. "What?"
"What," you repeated, gesturing vaguely around the courtyard, "is everyone's problem?"
Lily frowned. "What do you mean?"
"They keep looking at me."
You leaned back in your chair with a groan. "Have I got something on my face? Did I make a complete idiot of myself on Saturday? Did I throw up on someone?"
Alex and Lily exchanged a glance. It lasted barely a second. Long enough.
"What?" you asked, pointing accusingly between them. "Don't do that."
"Do what?" Alex replied a little too innocently.
"The look."
"What look?"
"The one you just did."
Neither of them answered. Instead, Alex stabbed absentmindedly at her chips before speaking. "Have you not heard?"
Your stomach sank. "Heard what?"
Another look. This time Lily sighed. "There's... kind of a rumour."
"A rumour?" you repeated slowly. "About me?"
Lily nodded. "About you and Oscar."
Your fork slipped from your fingers. "What?"
Alex rushed in before your brain could completely short-circuit. "People saw him carrying you upstairs."
"And into his room," Lily added gently.
"And..." Alex winced, "People have sort of filled in the blanks."
You stared at them. "You're joking," neither of them smiled. "I was wasted."
"I know."
"I could barely stand."
"I know."
"So why would anyoneâ" you stopped yourself. Actually, university students. Of course they would. Heat rushed into your cheeks anyway.
For one utterly traitorous second, your imagination supplied an image entirely uninvited.Â
Oscar. Close enough to touch. One hand resting against your waist. His mouth brushing your neck.
You squeezed your eyes shut. Absolutely not. "What the fuck?" you muttered, although at this point you weren't entirely sure whether you were talking about the rumour or your own brain.
"It's alright," Alex said quickly, reaching across the table to squeeze your wrist. "It's already starting to die down."
You looked up. "Why?"
This time it was Lily who answered. "Because Oscar's been shutting it down."
You blinked. "What?"
"He hasn't let anyone get away with it," she explained. "Someone made a joke after training this morning."
Alex nodded. "George said Oscar shut it down immediately."
"What did he say?"
The two girls exchanged another glance. Lily shrugged. "He told them," she paused, trying to remember the exact words. "'You were drunk. And to leave you alone.'"
Alex picked up where she left off. "And when someone kept laughing, he basically told him to shut his mouth before he said something he'd regret."
"He nearly swung for one of the second years," Lily added. "Apparently George had to drag him away."
Silence settled over the table. You looked down at your lunch, suddenly finding it very difficult to concentrate on anything Alex was saying. He'd done all that? For you?
The thought settled somewhere quietly inside your chest. Warm. Confusing. Entirely unhelpful.
"Why?" you heard yourself ask.
Neither Alex nor Lily answered.
Across the courtyard, laughter carried through the afternoon air. Almost instinctively, your head turned towards the sound.
Oscar. Walking beside Lando, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie as he laughed at something Lando had said.
He looked exactly like he always did. Easy-going. Confident. Completely unaware that your entire opinion of him seemed to be quietly rearranging itself.
As though sensing your eyes on him, his head turned. Of course it did.
Somehow⊠He always found you.
His gaze met yours across the courtyard. The grin he'd worn a second ago softened. It wasn't the cocky smile he usually flashed after winding you up. Nor the smug one he wore whenever he won an argument.
This one was smaller. Quieter. Gone almost as quickly as it appeared. Then he gave the slightest nod before turning back to Lando, the two of them disappearing towards their afternoon lecture.
You watched him go.
"He's still annoying," you muttered eventually.
Alex smiled into her drink. "Course he is."
Neither of you sounded particularly convinced.
The rest of the week passed in a strange blur.
Oscar hadn't changed. Not really. He was still cocky. Still appeared beside you whenever you least expected him. Still somehow managed to wind you up within thirty seconds of every conversation.
The only difference was⊠You couldn't quite convince yourself you hated it anymore.
Ever since Saturday, little things kept catching your attention. The way his eyes lit up whenever someone made him laugh. The way he always turned fully towards whoever was speaking, listening as though they were the only person in the room. The way he somehow remembered everyone's deadlines, training schedules and birthdays without anyone ever asking him to.
It was irritating. Deeply irritating. Because it didn't fit the version of Oscar Piastri you'd spent two years building inside your head.
You tried not to think about Saturday. About the water on the bedside table. About the paracetamol. About the fact he'd slept squeezed onto the edge of Lando's bed without mentioning it once.
Most of all, you tried not to think about the rumours.
You'd expected him to tease you relentlessly. Instead, he'd barely mentioned them. Heâd barely mentioned anything from that night. If anything, he'd been softer. The usual teasing never quite disappeared, but there was something gentler beneath it now. Every time he nudged your shoulder or stole food from your plate, it almost felt careful.
Which was deeply inconvenient.
Because pretending to hate him had suddenly become much harder.
By Friday evening, your entire group had migrated to the local student bar.
The boys had disappeared almost immediately, lured away by a dartboard and what sounded suspiciously like a tournament none of them had been invited to.
You, Alex and Lily claimed a corner near the bar instead, drinks in hand while the conversation drifted between coursework, weekend plans and George's truly horrific fashion choices.
Charles appeared halfway through, flashing Alex a grin before stealing her away for a game of pool.
"Wish me luck," Alex sighed dramatically as she was dragged backwards across the room.
"You'll need it," you called after her.
She responded by sticking her tongue out. Typical.
You smiled into your drink before turning back towards Lily. Except, your attention never quite made it back to the conversation. Instead, it snagged somewhere across the room.
Oscar. Of course. He was leaning against the old jukebox, a bottle dangling loosely from his fingers while a girl stood beside him.
She was pretty. Very pretty. She laughed at something he'd said, resting a hand lightly against his arm.
The room suddenly felt far too warm. You took a long sip of your vodka, hoping it might somehow wash away the uncomfortable knot tightening beneath your ribs.
It didn't.
Beside you, Lily quietly followed your line of sight. Then she smiled. "You know," she said, nudging your elbow gently with hers, "if you keep glaring at them like that, one of them might actually burst into flames."
You looked away far too quickly. "I wasn't glaring."
"No?"
"No."
Lily took a thoughtful sip of her drink. "Could've fooled me."
You sighed. "I just don't get him."
She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"This whole week," you shook your head, searching for the words. "He's been different."
"Different how?"
"I don't know,â you frowned into your drink. "He hasn't beenâŠâ you paused. "As annoying."
Lily actually laughed. "That's your compliment?"
"It's not a compliment."
She smiled into her glass. "Sure."
You groaned. "You know what I mean."
"I do,â Lily looked back towards Oscar. "I just don't think you do."
Your eyes followed hers despite yourself. The girl was saying something now, smiling up at him. Oscar smiled politely. But then, almost automatically, his eyes lifted.
Straight to you.
Your stomach flipped. He held your gaze for barely a second before glancing back towards the girl. She was still talking. He wasn't really listening anymore.
"You know what's funny?" Lily asked quietly.
"What?"
"I don't think I've ever seen you jealous before."
You almost choked on your drink. "I'm not jealous," Lily looked at you. Didn't say a word. Just looked. "I'm not."
She laughed softly. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
You opened your mouth to argue again. Nothing came out.
Because the truth had finally forced its way to the surface, lodging itself stubbornly somewhere beneath your ribs.
You weren't angry because Oscar flirted. Oscar flirted with everyone. You were angry because, for the first time in two years, it wasn't with you.
The realisation stole the air from your lungs.
Saturday had cracked something open. Whatever you'd spent the last two years calling annoyance, irritation, hatred⊠It had never been any of those things.
You'd simply given it a safer name. Something easier to carry. Something that didn't require you to admit why your eyes always found him first in a crowded room. Why every joke he made landed differently when it was aimed at you. Why every party somehow ended with the two of you orbiting each other, pulled together by something neither of you seemed willing to acknowledge.
The box you'd shoved those feelings into had finally split open. Now they were spilling out faster than you could force them back in.
Across the room, the girl stepped closer. Her hand slid easily from Oscar's forearm to his bicep as she leaned up to whisper something into his ear.
Your grip tightened around your glass until your knuckles ached.
Oscar didn't move. He didn't smile. He didn't lean in. Instead his eyes found yours.
Not for a passing glance. Not accidentally. He held your gaze. One eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. Almost expectantly. Like he was waiting.
The room seemed to disappear. The music. The conversations. The clatter of glasses behind the bar.
None of it reached you anymore. There was only him. Watching. Waiting.
The girl's lips curved into a smile before she hooked her thumb towards the corridor leading to the toilets. Oscar's eyes flicked in that direction for barely a heartbeat.
Then they were back on you.
Still waiting. Still asking.Â
Your pulse thudded painfully against your ribs.
Say something. Walk over. Tell him to stop looking at her. Tell him to come back. Tell him anything.
Instead, you stood rooted to the spot. Pride held your feet where your heart desperately wanted to move.
If he wanted you, he could come to you.
Across the room, Oscar's jaw shifted. Almost imperceptibly. Like he was reaching the exact same conclusion.
His shoulders rose with a slow breath before he gave the faintest nod to himself. A decision. He said something quietly to the girl that you couldn't hear.
She smiled and started towards the corridor. Oscar followed a couple of paces behind.
Once. Just once. He looked back.
Not at the room. Not at the bar. At you. His eyes lingered for the briefest second. Questioning. Almost pleading.
Like he was giving you one last chance to stop him.
You didn't. You couldn't.
"What the fuck..." you whispered, the words barely audible beneath the music. Something inside your chest twisted so sharply it almost hurt. He was really going.
Just walking away. With someone else.
You'd spent two years pretending you wanted Oscar Piastri as far away from you as possible. Now, as you watched him disappear down the corridor, all you wanted was for him to turn around.
To walk back. To look at you the way he always did. Like you were the only person in the room.
And he didn't.
Before you could lose your composure in the middle of a bar full of your peers, you set your glass down on the counter with a little more force than necessary.
"I'll see you later," you muttered.
Whether Lily heard you over the music, you had no idea. Your jacket was already over your shoulders before you'd consciously decided to leave.
Then you walked. Out through the front doors. Away from the music. Away from your friends. Away from him.
The cool night air wrapped around your flushed skin as you stepped outside, filling your lungs with a sharp breath that should have settled the storm inside your chest.
It didn't. If anything, it made everything louder. Your heart. Your thoughts. The ache spreading relentlessly beneath your ribs.
You knew exactly what this feeling was now. You just refused to give it a name. Because the second you admitted it, everything else would unravel with it.
Every eye roll. Every sarcastic comment. Every excuse. Every time you'd told yourself you hated Oscar because it was easier than admitting you wanted every bit of attention he threw your way.
You'd spent two years pretending you wanted him to leave you alone. Now, all you could think about was the fact he'd looked at someone else.
You shoved your hands deep into your jacket pockets and kept walking. The pavement was quiet this far from the bar, broken only by distant laughter spilling through the open doors behind you.
You'd almost reached the narrow alley beside the building when a familiar voice drifted through the darkness. "And where exactly do you think you're going?"
You stopped walking.
Of course.
Slowly, you turned around. Oscar was leaning casually against the brick wall at the mouth of the alley, hands tucked into the pockets of his denim jacket.
Like he'd known you'd come this way. Like he'd been waiting. The sight of him sent your pulse skittering wildly before you ruthlessly shoved it back down.
"I'm going home." You hated how flat your voice sounded.
Oscar tilted his head. "So early?"
"You'll survive without me."
"I wasn't worried about me," he pushed himself away from the wall. One slow step. "I was asking about you."
Your eyes dropped instinctively to the pavement. "I'm just tired."
Another step. "Is that really why you're leaving?"
You let out a slow, frustrated breath. "Oscar..."
"I'm asking."
"I know."
You rubbed a hand over your forehead before finally looking back at him. "I'm really not in the mood tonight."
Something softened across his face. The teasing smile eased into something quieter. "Okay," the single word caught you off guard. He watched you for another moment. Then spoke again, his voice noticeably gentler. "So tell me."
"What?"
"Why are you leaving?"
You laughed once. Short. Humourless. "I don't owe you an explanation."
"No," he nodded immediately. "You don't." Silence settled between you. Somewhere behind you, the bar doors opened and closed again before the sounds disappeared into the night.
Oscar broke the quiet first. "I just don't like seeing you upset."
Your heart stumbled painfully. "I'm not upset."
"You left without saying goodbye."
You blinked. The audacity. You actually laughed. "Are you joking? You've spent the last two years deliberately winding me up every chance you've had," you shook your head, disbelief bubbling beneath every word. "You flirt with me until I don't know whether I want to kiss you or throttle you..." your voice caught. "Then disappear after another girl and youâre saying I didn't say goodbye?."
The words slipped out before you could stop them. Silence. Your eyes widened.
Oh. God. You hadn't meant to say that part.
Oscar stared at you. Not smug. Not victorious. Just looking at you like you'd handed him the final piece of a puzzle he'd been trying to solve for years.
Heat rushed violently into your cheeks. "I..." you looked away immediately. "Forget I said anything," you turned sharply, already starting to walk again. "I just want to go home."
You'd barely made it three steps before his voice reached you once more. "This was about that girl?"
You stopped. Very slowly, you looked back over your shoulder. "What girl?"
Oscar couldn't quite hide the smile threatening at the corner of his mouth. "Donât act dumb, the one you just mentioned, the one you've been trying to set on fire with your eyes for the last twenty minutes."
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
"No?" He folded his arms. "I think your face might disagree."
"Oh my God."
"What?"
"You are unbelievable."
"You looked like you were mentally planning her funeral."
Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escaped. It disappeared almost immediately. You sighed, looking away again. "Just go back inside."
Oscar frowned. "Why?"
You swallowed. "She's probably wondering where you've gone."
"Who?"
You hated how quiet your voice became. "Your girl," Oscar blinked. "The one you were about to disappear into the bathroom with."
For a heartbeat he simply stared. Then, very slowly, a smile spread across his face. Not cocky. Not triumphant. Almost wonderstruck. "My girl?" he repeated softly.
Your eyes squeezed shut. "Oh God."
"So you were jealous."
"I wasn't jealous."
"You called her my girl."
You buried your face in your hands. "I know, alright?"
Oscar actually laughed. Not at you. Just with complete, unfiltered delight. Like this was the best thing he'd heard all week. "I don't even know her," he said, still smiling.
You frowned. "What?"
"I asked her where the toilets were."
You blinked. "What?"
Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, another quiet laugh escaping him. "She'd only been in the bar about five minutes," he shook his head, almost in disbelief. "But you thought..." his smile softened. "You thought I was leaving with her."
You folded your arms tightly across your chest, trying desperately to gather what little dignity you still had. "I didn't think anything."
"You stormed out. And you've never voluntarily left before midnight."
"I've matured."
Oscar snorted. "Today?"
You glared at him. "You're still unbelievably annoying."
"There she is,â his smile was impossibly soft now. "I've missed her."
The words settled somewhere deep inside your chest. You looked anywhere but at him. The pavement. The cracked kerb. The sleeve of your jacket. Anywhere except those stupid brown eyes that always seemed to know exactly what you were thinking.
Oscar didn't fill the silence. Didn't tease you. Didn't chase another joke. He simply waited. Patiently. Like he already knew you weren't walking away again.
Your thoughts were a mess. Part of you still wanted to protect yourself. The other part, the louder part, needed to know. Needed him to say it. Needed all of this to mean something.
Oscar took another slow step towards you. Close enough now that you could see the tiny scar beside his eyebrow. Close enough to smell the familiar scent that had lingered in his T-shirt all week. "Do you not want to know why I was out here?" he asked quietly.
Your eyes lifted before you could stop them. "What?"
"I left," he shrugged one shoulder. "The second you did."
Your brow furrowed. "ButâŠâ you gestured helplessly back towards the bar. "The girl..."
"What about her?"
"You followed her."
Oscar laughed again. Warm. Disbelieving. "I followed her because she was showing me where the toilets were," he smiled. "I never actually made it to the toilets," your heart skipped. "I saw you leave," his smile faded into something quieter. "So I came after you."
No dramatic declaration. No grand gesture. Just the truth. Like there had never been another option.
You stared at him. "Why?"
Oscar blinked. "Seriously?"
"I'm asking."
He looked at you for a long moment. Then let out a slow breath. "I don't really know how else to say this anymore," another pause. "I've spent two years flirting with you."
You gave a quiet scoff. "You flirt with everyone."
"I do," he nodded easily. "I've only ever meant it with you."
Silence.
The sounds of the town disappeared completely. Your heartbeat seemed impossibly loud.
"Oscar..."
"No," he smiled faintly. "Let me finish."
For the first time since you'd known him, he looked nervous. Not because he doubted himself. Because he cared what your answer would be.
"I'm tired," he laughed quietly at himself. "I'm tired of pretending I'm joking," his eyes never left yours. "I ask where you are before I even say hello to anyone else. I steal chips off your plate because I know you'll tell me off. I sit next to you whenever I get the chance. I know your coffee order. I know Tuesdays are your least favourite day because your timetable's awful. I know you always say you don't want the last chip," a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "You always eat it anyway."
Despite yourself, you smiled.
"I gave you my room," his voice softened. "I paid Kimi fifty quid to sit outside my bedroom all night because I didn't want anyone bothering you. I nearly punched someone because they were talking about you."
He took another step closer. Only one. "But none of that seems to matter,â his voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Because every time I think I've made it obvious..." he gave a tiny shake of his head. "You look at me like you still think I'm joking."
You swallowed hard.
Oscar smiled sadly. "And you're studying psychology," a tiny laugh escaped him. "So," he looked at you with so much fondness it almost hurt. "Either I'm the worst flirt in human history or you're absolutely terrible at reading me."
A watery laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Oscar's entire face lit up. "There she is."
You looked down at your shoes. "I..." the words tangled somewhere behind your ribs. "I thought..." you took a shaky breath. "I thought you were just..." you laughed quietly at yourself. âLike that."
"Like what?"
"Confident. Cocky. The sort of guy who makes everyone feel special," your voice cracked slightly. "I never thought..." your eyes finally met his again. "That maybe you were only making me feel special."
Oscar didn't hesitate. "I was," the words landed with startling simplicity. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just certainty. "It was always you."
Your eyes burned. You laughed once, covering your face with your hand. "...God. I've been such an idiot."
"I wasn't going to say it."
"You were thinking it."
"I've been thinking it for about two years."
You groaned. "I've spent all this time convincing myself I hated you."
Oscar tilted his head. "Did it work?"
You looked at him properly. Really looked at him. The answer had been there all along. Slowly, you shook your head. "No."
Oscar smiled. Not the cocky grin you'd spent years pretending to hate. Not the teasing smile he'd thrown across crowded rooms. Just Oscar. "I didn't think so.â
For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you had never felt so impossibly small. You could hear his breathing. Feel the warmth radiating from him.
One more step and your chest would brush his. One more step and⊠Neither of you seemed brave enough to take it.
Your eyes caught on his. For the first time in two years, there was nowhere left to hide. No jokes. No sarcasm. No pretending. Just the truth.
You let out a shaky breath. "You're still," you laughed quietly, shaking your head. "The most infuriating person I've ever met."
Oscar's smile widened. "I know."
"And I still want to throttle you most days."
"I'd be worried if you didn't."
You laughed again. It came easier now. "I really hate how right you were."
His eyebrows lifted. "About what?"
You looked at him for a long moment before giving in. "That I'd like you eventually."
Oscar's grin faltered. Not because he was disappointed. Because he suddenly realised you were serious.
You swallowed. "I don't think,â your voice softened. "I don't think I ever hated you."
Something flickered across his face. Disbelief. Relief. Hope. All at once.
"I just,â you laughed at yourself, eyes dropping briefly to the pavement. "I didn't know what else to call it."
Oscar didn't say anything. He simply looked at you. Like he'd waited two years to hear those words.
You looked back up at him. "You are so unbelievably annoying. But..." you stepped towards him. Just one step. "God, I like you."
The grin that broke across Oscar's face was unlike anything you'd ever seen. Bright. Unrestrained. Almost boyish. "Yeah?" he breathed. "No bullshit?"
You smiled. "No bullshit."
That was all it took.
You both moved at exactly the same time. You reached for the front of his denim jacket just as his hands found your waist. The last inch disappeared in a heartbeat.
Your mouths collided more than they met. Messy. Desperate. Two years of almosts crashing together all at once. You kissed him like you'd been trying not to for twenty-four months. He kissed you back with equal desperation, one hand sliding up to cradle your jaw while the other tightened instinctively around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.
You could feel him smiling. Actually smiling. Into the kiss. The feeling made you laugh against his mouth before he kissed you again, softer this time, smiling so much neither of you seemed capable of kissing properly.
Your fingers slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck. Soft. You'd known it would be.
Oscar let out the smallest, happiest sound you'd ever heard, his forehead dropping gently against yours as the two of you caught your breath. "I cannot believe," he laughed quietly, "That it took you two years."
You nudged his shoulder. "I hate you."
He raised an eyebrow. "No, you don't."
"No," you smiled. "I really don't."
He looked at you for another second. Like he still wasn't entirely convinced this was real. Then he leaned in again.
The second kiss was completely different. Slower. Gentler. No desperation. No proving anything. Just the quiet certainty of finally being exactly where you were supposed to be.
When you eventually pulled apart, neither of you had managed to let go of the other.
"So..." Oscar murmured. "Want to go back inside?"
You snorted. "They've probably started a search party for you."
Oscar held out his hand. "Come on."
You looked down at it. Then back up at him. Without another word, you slipped your fingers through his. They fit surprisingly easily. Like they'd been waiting to do that, too.
The music grew louder as you stepped back inside together.
It took approximately three seconds. George looked up from his drink. Saw your joined hands. Then looked across the table.
"About fucking time."
Lando didn't even look surprised. Instead, he held his hand out towards Max. Max sighed dramatically before fishing a twenty-pound note from his wallet and slapping it into Lando's palm.
"You two were betting on us?" you asked, horrified.
"No," Alex said far too quickly. A beat. "...Well."
Lily burst out laughing. "We were betting on which one of you would crack first."
You looked around the table in complete disbelief before you turned slowly towards Oscar. "You know, I still might change my mind."
Oscar leaned down just enough for only you to hear. "You won't because I know you."
Your eyes rolled instinctively. "You are impossible."
"I know."
You reached up anyway, fisting your hand in the front of his jacket before pulling him down into another kiss.
Around you, the entire table erupted. Someone wolf-whistled. George groaned theatrically. Lando covered his eyes. "Right," he announced to absolutely nobody. "They're unbearable."
You laughed into the kiss. And somewhere between the cheers, the teasing and Oscar smiling so hard his cheeks must have hurt, you realised something.
You hadn't just fallen for Oscar tonight. Or that night. You'd been falling for him all along.
Tonight was simply the first time you'd finally let yourself land.
I still love this website so much because it feels like the last connection we have to an internet that doesnât exist anymore like I can come on here and scroll through posts that are literally just funny or beautiful or interesting with no intention to sell me something or influence me we are all just here for a laugh. Nothing is just for laughs anymore EXCEPT tumblr dot com
Jannik Sinner x Reader A sports photographer shadows Jannik for a month, and she's a little... unconventional. She's kind of a hard one to figure her out, but Jannik kind of wants to... so he starts observing the observer, and it's a whole thing, and so on...
The first time Jannik Sinner saw you, you didnât even have a camera.
He had expected you to be snapping photos from the moment you arrived. Thatâs what sports photographers did, right? Chase action with their lens? But you seemed to be an exception.
Nike had hired you for this new campaign, assuring him you were an up and coming photographer with a singular eyeâsomeone who transformed sports imagery into something more like art. Heâd seen some of your past work, you'd covered the Olympics, even some Grand Slams. It was different. Unpredictable. An abstract mix of movement and stillness that made even the most familiar athletes look like something out of a dream.
The Nike representatives had mentioned you had a unique process, that you had different conditions than most other photographers. They hadn't quite said it as a warning, but maybe they should have. Because when they later revealed you'd requested to shadow his routine for nearly a month, and that you wouldn't have signed the contract otherwise, Jannik thought they were messing with him. He wasn't a stranger to the camera, he'd now participated in dozens of shoots and promotions, and all of them combined could have been done well within a month. Still, he agreed, despite being wary of being followed by a camera throughout his regime for weeks on end.
So when you showed up the first day without a camera, just yourself and an overflowing sketchbook, Jannik didnât know what to make of you.
At first, he kept his distance. You'd both exchanged polite introductions, of course, and you were professional, but clearly withdrawn and bashful. Quiet, but not unfriendly. You answered questions if his team asked, you engaged when prompted, but for the most part you just sat back and watched.
It was an unusual energy to have aroundâmost people in his orbit were either giving instructions or vying for attention. But you stayed in the background, present but separate, observing.
The whole team was intrigued.
Darren was the first to approach you in the early days, in his typical easy-going, perceptive manner. "You sure you're getting what you need?" he checked in one afternoon, standing beside you as Jannik worked through a drill. You glanced up from your sketchbook, surprised, then nodded.
"Oh, yeah. Just watching you guys doing your business as usual is enough. Its part of my process."
Darren watched as you made a few, incomprehensible notes in the margins of your page. "Fair enough," he mused, and nodded to himself to fill the space as he echoed again, "Fair enough."
Simone was a little more reserved but respectful, making sure you had space while still keeping an eye on you. Uli began to inquire about your work and would sprinkle in cheeky anecdotes in between his many, pensive proverbs. And Marco, perhaps the most outgoing of the group, started to just talk at you after a while, trying to gauge what made you tick. Nothing quite kept your attention long enough, though. You always retreated back into your own world of quiet observation.
One evening, after practice, Jannik decided to approach you himself as you sat near the benches, sketchbook in hand. He wiped his face with a towel before slinging it over his shoulder, eyeing the way you stared down at the open pages. He couldn't decipher the glimpse of scribbles and figures he saw on the paper, it looked as though you had written in code. He hesitated for a second before finally speaking.
"What do you see?"
You looked up, caught off guard by the question and any acknowledgement at all. You considered him for a moment before shutting your sketchbook. "I donât know yet. Thatâs why I keep watching."
Jannik didnât reply right away, only nodded, lips pressing together in thought. He didn't know what to expect from you, that fact was increasingly clear the more time you spent around, but he hoped maybe he'd get a less cryptic answer. Maybe something about composition, something about movement. Instead, it seem you were studying something else entirelyâsomething unseen, something felt.
And that only made him more curious.
---
He liked watching you work. So, as you continued to focus on observing him, he started to notice things too.
It was strange, the way he had become so aware of you. The way he caught himself looking to see if you were around before practice started. The way he started anticipating what youâd doâhow you always stretched your wrists absentmindedly when deep in thought, how you never spoke when taking a shot but would mumble to yourself after, analyzing. How you had a very particular way of standing when you were focusing, weight shifted just slightly onto one leg, while you forgot most of the world existed.
He saw how, despite being surrounded by the noise of the courtsâthe sharp pops of rackets hitting balls, the occasional shouts of players or coachesâyou never flinched at the loudest moments. Instead, you reacted to the subtle ones. The way a shoe squeaked differently on the hardcourt when Jannik did a sharp pivoted. The way his breath hitched ever so slightly before an important point, how he exhaled between strokes, a steady rhythm he performed unconsciously until he caught you watching him. It was like you were tuned to a different frequency, one that most people overlooked.
And how you always tucked your pen behind your ear when you were thinking. He watched you do it absentmindedly, often mid-conversation, your fingers moving as if by muscle memory. Sometimes he'd catch you reaching for it with your lips parted slightly, brows furrowed just enough to hint at the ideas running through your mind. Other times, you'd flick the pen side to side before placing it back behind you ear with a huff, as if you were frustratedâlike maybe something wasnât coming together quite right in your notes, though he couldn't even begin to guess what you could've been writing.
He once saw you do it after staring at him for a while. You were lost in some internal debate, chewing on the cap, and when you realized he was looking back your way, you flushed and immediately turned your head and pushed some hair out of your face while returning your pen to it's rightful place in one, swift motion. He only smiled to himself before returning to his drill.
Then there was the way you tilted your head slightly before jotting down a note, like you were considering every stroke before committing it to the page. It was slow, deliberate. Youâd pause, as if absorbing something, and only then would your pen move. He often caught himself wondering what it was you were writing about, if it was about him, if it was even about tennis at all. But he never asked. He just kept watching, drawn in by the way you worked, by the way you saw things he couldnât.
He would just watch you sometimes when you got lost in thought, staringânot at the obvious things, but at the details others missed. He caught you gazing at his hands once, studying the way he gripped his racket, thumb grazing the grip as he adjusted between points. Another time, you had been focused on the slight flex in his forearm as he tossed the ball for a serve, as if tracing the movement. And then there were the times you were watching him straight on, only to quickly avert your gaze when he met your eyes, looking embarrassed to have been caughtâalmost startled that someone was even noticing you at all.
And of course, Jannik's team noticed him noticing you, too.
âEyes on me,â Marco muttered with a smile one morning while tossing a ball back and forth during warm-ups. Jannik rolled his eyes, but made no move to deny or defend himself.
âI can't help but be curious,â he said, shaking out his arms. âThe way she works... its just different.â
Simone, standing off to the side, smirked knowingly. âYeah, sure. Curiosity. Thatâs what it is.â
---
It took nearly two weeks before you finally brought your camera out. Even then, you didnât start shooting. You moved around the practice courts, finding angles, testing light, still watching more than anything. By then, Jannik had gotten used to you being there.
His team had, too.
The first half of your time with them passed quickly, though you remained an unassuming presence. You sat in on every practice, every training session, quietly taking notes or sketching. They were a tight knit group, and you were a foreign entity placed into their natural environment, a disruption in a space that functioned on routine and familiarity. Before you arrived, the team had been hesitant at the proposition of having an observer for so longâno one felt fully comfortable with an outsider lingering too close for too longâbut you never felt intrusive. You were just⊠there.
Eventually, they got used to you. And sometime soon after, they became more and more endeared by your intriguing quiet and your odd methods.
At first they mostly left you to your own devices, letting you observe in silence. It wasnât unkind, just carefulâgiving you space to settle in on your own terms. Then slowly, during meals, they'd leave an open seat at the table just in case you wanted to sit in, though no one ever pushed you to join. And when you started to take the bait, things began to open up.
It started with Darren, who had a way of drawing people out without making them feel cornered. One afternoon, the first time you joined as the team sat around a small table during a coffee break, he had casually leaned back in his chair and asked, "So are you always this quiet, or just around us?"
You had looked over at him, surprised to be addressed in the conversation. You shrugged, looking down at your cup. "I mean, I'll talk if I have something to say."
"Smart kid," Darren had smiled, nodding at your answer, "I'm the same way."
And just like that, the conversation started flowing more easily around you, the invisible boundary that had been there before loosening. You even started to talk a little more. Not much, but stark compared to your distance at the beginning.
Once, during a cool-down led by Marco during an especially hot afternoon, Jannik was dripping in sweat from practice and the whole team had been rendered silent by the heat and their exhaustion. You all sat around and waited as Jannik stretched, wet towels around necks, caps drawn low, fanning your faces.
Somewhere in the distance came a loud, disgruntled groan. The cry carried through to the court and the sound bounced around the space, it was incoherent and strained and probably came from a player practicing nearby.
"Couldn't have said it better myself." You quipped dryly once the echo faded.
Everyone turned to look to you before immediately breaking down with laughter at the well-timed comment, humored even further when all you did in response was squint up at them as you took another sip of water. Jannik, still chuckling well past the joke, kept his eyes on you for a while afterâhalf amused, half surprised. It was the first time he felt you revealed anything of yourself, letting on to some of your humor and wit, and something about it made his chest feel a little lighter.
Another time, Simone and Darren were discussing a clip of a match at length. It was maybe a 5 second snippet of the hundreds of hours worth of footage they had watched, and yet they had spent much of the practice off to the side, dissecting the tactical, technical structure of the move in the video. Marco and Uli teased the coaches mercilessly, after they brought it up for the 5th time that day. Even Jannik would throw his hands up and laugh when they would reference it after a hit of his.
At some point, to defend themselves, Darren and Simone insisted on showing the clip, thinking everyone would immediately see reason to their fixation. Jannik was understandably impressed, shrugging in agreement while replaying the expertise demonstrated in the brief rally. Marco and Uli acknowledged the skill, but continued to poke fun. You had been listening quietly, eyes flicking between them as they debated a play that most people wouldn't think twice of.
When they showed the video your way, you figured it was just for the sake of including you. You only shrugged in response, but they prompted you to speak your mind.
Simone played it once more for you. "Come on, what do you think?"
"What do I think?" You had blinked, barely missing a beat before answering, deadpan, "I think you both have too much time on your hands."
Jannik let out a sharp, high laugh at your response, and clapped his hands once in delight, looking over to his coaches for their reaction. Your dry remark even had Simone suppressing a grin in defeat, as Marco hit his shoulder.
Darren only shook his head, but he was smiling, too. "Oh, so now she's got something to say."
The moments were small, and maybe infrequent, but they were always warm. And that did something.
---
One afternoon, after receiving a new wave of kits from Nike, the team was unpacking the packages while bantering with each other. They held up the shirts against themselves, and laughed and bustled with excitement. It was a welcome, novel interruption to the usual practice schedule. And after they finished the lively try on haul and began to pack up the rest of the garments into the boxes, they looked up to discover they were all wearing the same crewneck.
"Hey, we should take a picture, no?" Marco grinned after they shared a laugh, gesturing to the sweater they all wore, "For memory, come on."
They all lined up, arms slung across each others shoulder, and looked to you, the only other person in the room. You had tuned most of the activity out, choosing to compile your notes while they played dress up. You only looked up from your sketchbook after realizing the noise had died down, and found all of the team in a row watching you expectantly.
"Did you need something?" The corners of your mouth twitching as you raised an eyebrow.
"...Can you take a photo of us, or do you not actually do that?" Jannik said, eyes shining with a smile.
And at that, you laughedâlike really laughed. It wasnât just a quiet chuckle or a hum of amusement but something genuine, full. Jannik went still, nearly choking on his breath at the sound, but the rest of the room came alive again at his line and laughed along with you.
"It's true, we've yet to see you take a picture." Marco jumped in, bumping shoulders with Uli.
"Yeah, are we sure you're a photographer." Darren chuckled.
"Just hand me the phone," You shook your head, still laughing to yourself.
They all posed as you lined them up in the frame and counted down from three, taking a burst of photos. Most everyone smiled up at you, but Jannik was still floating in some sort of state.
"Uh? Smile please," You said, poking your head over the phone to look at him, "Jannik?"
"Sorry." He shook his head and managed a smile for the camera, and Darren ruffled his hair.
"He's just thinking about how to get you to laugh like that again." Uli teased, elbowing Jannik a little.
You chuckled in response, brushing it a off as a joke, and handed the phone back over, "Ever the romantic, Uli."
But Jannik was still watching you, and made no comment in response.
You caught him staring and tilted your head, still amused. âWhat?â
He swallowed, shaking his head quickly. âNothing.â
Though it was anything but.
The way you were opening upâit wasnât just amusing, just sweet. It was kind of⊠well, it was something else to him. For all that he observed of you, he was only just getting to actually know you. And just barely, at that.
It'd taken all this time to even scratch the surface, and soon you'd be gearing up to leave. He wanted to hear you laugh like that again. He wanted to make you laugh like that again.
But he wasn't sure he would have the time to.
---
Towards the end of the month, the team prepared to leave for the next tournament, and it was strange to think how different things had been when you arrived. The team had warmed to you fully, and Jannik hadâwell, he wasnât sure what had happened. He only knew that he felt drawn to you in a way he couldn't have predicted. That he found himself looking to you even when your attention was elsewhere. That he wanted to know you better, to really see all of you. That he was going to miss you when this was over.
And he knew the end was beginning when you actually started taking pictures.
The first time Jannik saw you shooting, finally fully in your element, he could only stop and stare. He had grown used to you as the quiet observer, sketchbook in hand, always watching but never intruding into a scene. But with the camera in your hands, you transformed. You commanded the space. You moved differentlyâfluid, intentional. Every angle, every beam of light, any shift at all, you saw it before it happened. Your weeks of observation manifested in this almost prophetic ability to anticipate anything and everything.
You barely looked away from the lens when you worked, you were always thoughtful, but now it was like you were lost in something else entirely. You crouched low for some shots, or moved quickly when the pace demanded it, and sometimes you just stood still and captured the weight of a moment. You werenât just documentingâyou were creating. And Jannik had a hard time playing as usual on the other side of it. He found himself watching you more than he should.
He had thought he understood focus before. His whole life revolved around precision, control, the discipline of an athlete who needed to be in tune with every part of himself. But the way you worked, completely immersed, as if the world outside the lens no longer existedâit was something else. And it left him a little breathless.
---
And then, just like that, it was over.
Your presence had slowly settled and become natural part of the teamâs daily rhythm, and it felt strange to think you wouldnât be there anymore. The others felt it too. The last few days had been filled with joking remarks about how they were going to look boring in every other set of photos from now on.
The last practice session had wrapped up, the last meals shared, and now, everyone was focused on packing up, readying themselves for the coming tournament. When you all made your way to the airport, everyone took more time than usual. They were making their way to California, you were headed elsewhere. This was goodbye.
Darren had playfully insisted you set up permanent residency as their official photographer, to which you had only smiled and said, "I donât think my other clients would be so thrilled about that."
Simone gave you a firm nod, a silent acknowledgment of the way you had managed to suit the team without ever demanding space.
Then Marco, who had taken to saving you a seat at team lunches, patted your shoulder and said, "Donât forget us when youâre famous."
Uli gave you a smile and pinched lightly at your cheek, before looking back at the team, "We're going to lose our little shadow."
And then came time to say goodbye to Jannik.
He had stayed back as you made your rounds, watching each interaction unfold. When you finally turned to him, something in his chest tightened. He had spent weeks watching you, studying you, growing an unconscious space in his life to make room for your quiet, magnetic presence. And now, you were leaving.
You met his gaze, smiling softly. "It was nice working with you, Jannik."
He should have said something thenâmaybe found the right words to make you stay just a little longer, or at least to let you know that he liked having you around more than he knew how to admit. But instead, he just took your offered hand, holding it a beat too long before saying, "Yeah. You too."
You squeezed his hand once, brief but firm, before stepping back. "Good luck in the tournament."
Simone, always more observant than he let on, cut in for Jannik's sake. "Donât disappear entirely, okay? Stay in touch."
"Will do," you promised, and you meant it.
The loud speaker crackled a last call for your flight and Darren nodded at you, offering a final goodbye "Take care."
And before Jannik could really register it, you were already moving away, blending into the hum of airport departures and travel plans.
And Jannik let you go.
---
Another month passed.
Jannik had thought about reaching out more times than he could count. Heâd pulled up your name in his phone, thumb hovering over the screen, running through a dozen different excuses he could use to text you. Something casualâmaybe bring up a funny story from practice, maybe ask a question about photography that he didnât actually need the answer to. But every time, heâd shut off his phone and tell himself there wasnât an organic way to initiate things. That if you wanted to talk, you would have reached out by now. That he should've done something when he had the chance, when he had you with him.
And then the photos came out.
Jannik had known they would be good, with all the effort you put in. But he hadnât expected them to be this.
He scrolled through the final selections, stunned. They were beautiful, yes, but beyond thatâintimate. Personal. They werenât just action shots. They captured the in-between moments, the quiet focus, the rawness of effort. The ones of him in motion looked kinetic, powerful. The ones of him stillâthose were the ones that really got him. They felt like him. Like you had seen something beyond just an athlete and actually found a way to show it.
Everyone was talking about them. That Nike had taken things to the next level, that this was your best work yet.
Jannik stared at the images longer than he meant to, longer than was probably normal. They werenât just goodâthey were unlike anything he had ever seen of himself. They werenât glossy, overly polished marketing shots. They were real. They felt like you had seen him, really seen him, and turned that into something tangible.
And all he could think about was how much he wanted to see you. Or, at the very least, hear from you.
He pulled up your contact before he could overthink it again, his fingers quickly tapping name. He could say something about the photosâhe should say something about the photos. His fingers halted over the keyboard as he began to type out a message.
Jannik exhaled sharply, staring at your name on the screen before deleting the few letters he had gotten out. A message felt too easy to ignore. Too casual. And after all this timeâafter how badly he had wanted to reach outâhe didn't want to risk the the chance of you slipping away again.
So he hit the call button instead.
It rang once. Twice. Three times. He was about to convince himself that this was stupid, that you wouldnât pick up, that you probably barely thought of your month on the courts with him, when he heard the small click of the line connecting.
"Hello?"
Your voice was exactly as he remembered itâquiet, even, always so careful in the way you spoke. He found himself gripping the phone tighter.
"Hey," he said, voice rougher than he intended. "Itâs Jannik."
There was a pause, just for a beat, then a quiet, amused hum. "I know... Caller ID is really big these days, and I do have your contact saved."
Jannik huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Right."
Another pause, this one a little longer. He could hear faint sounds in the backgroundâmaybe the hum of traffic, the distant murmur of music. You were out somewhere. You had a life outside of all of this. And, not for the first time, he wondered what you were up to.
"So," you said finally, and he could hear the curiosity in your tone. "To what do I owe the honor?"
Jannik leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, before letting out a breath. "The photos came out."
You made a small noiseâsomething between acknowledgment and amusement. "They did."
"Theyâre incredible."
Another beat of silence. Then, softer, "Thank you."
He swallowed, glancing at the phone screen as if it would tell him what to say next. He had thought about this moment so many times, thought up so many excuses to reach out, but now that he was here, none of them felt right. So he just went with the truth.
"I, uh⊠Iâve been meaning to call you."
"Oh?" There was something teasing in your voice now, the faintest hint of a smirk behind the words. "And what stopped you?"
He let out a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. "I donât know. Didnât want to bother you. I wasn't sure if you had enough of me after watching for a month."
A pause. Then, lightly, "So why now?"
Jannik shut his eyes briefly. "Now Iâm done waiting."
There was a shift in your silence, like you werenât expecting that level of honesty. Then, finally, "Well. Thatâs good to hear, because honestly... lately I've been feeling like a month wasn't enough."
His chest felt lighter, like some part of him had been holding onto something without realizing it. He felt himself smile. "So, then... when can I see you again?"
---
There are some lit ass tennis photographers out there, and they're honestly what brought me back to the watching the sport after a dry spell in my teens. Like, hello?? Love art, support art, all art. Okay, I'm off my soapbox.
Experimented with kind of a shier (shy-er?) reader than I have written in the past, it was fun. I hope you like her, and the fic xx
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â Pairing: Single Girl Dad! Jannik Sinner x Single Boy Mum! Reader
â Summary: Jannik Sinner is a single dad, a kids' tennis coach, and thinks you're the most beautiful woman he's seen in a very long time. Neither of you is exactly subtle about your sudden attraction to the other, so your kids decide to take things into their own hands.
â Word Count: 5.3k
â One Shot
â A/N: It's been forever, but I have way too much that I'm working on, so it'd hard to find the motivation sometimes, but I really love girl dad Jannik and just had to write something about it. Hope it's what you were looking for :)
The ball hit the net⊠again.Â
As a kidâs tennis coach, the ball hit the net a lot, and Jannik Sinner had gotten used to the dull thud of the ball falling to the ground. Heâd had the job for almost a year now, and heâd gotten used to the routine, to seeing the kids grow, to watching his own daughter get better and start taking after him.Â
When Vittoria died, Jannik had to give up tennis.
Andrea was only two, with a shocking tuft of ginger curls that copied his, and now, his sole responsibility. He gnawed on the problem for a while, continued to play the season out while his mother looked after his daughter, but he could never concentrate if she wasnât in sight. Vittoria used to bring her to matches, and he loved seeing her little chubby face in the stands, cheering him on. So, he left tennis, moved back to the snowy mountains, and lived off all that money one got from being World Number One for so long. He did the rare photoshoot for Gucci, the rarer appearance for the ATP, and tried to enjoy finally getting some peace and quiet with his daughter.
He got used to the easy life with her, and then she started school, and Jannik didnât quite know what to do with himself. Heâd gotten so used to spending all his time with her, and now he was bored. Heâd walk the village, help his dad in the restaurant, and try to figure out what to do now he was in his early thirties and couldnât play tennis. Not with Andrea needing him. Not when she deserved a better life than flitting around after him. Â
An old friend he used to play football with after school, now a teacher at the primary school, called him after a month of listening to him complain. Something about the local tennis coach deciding to move somewhere busier, and leaving the kids without their tennis lessons. Who better to take his place than the townâs very own tennis superstar?Â
Which is how Jannik Sinner found himself a job.Â
And you.Â
Your son was one of his students, and yet he hadnât met you once over the year. You lived in the next town over, and you were a nurse, and thatâs all Jannik learned about you from Florian. Usually, your parents would pick him up after the lessons on a Tuesday, kind but stern in the same way his own parents were, the type of people who would do anything for their grandchild and still complain about the amount of greens they werenât eating enough of.Â
But one week, Florianâs shrill scream rang through the hall. âMama!âÂ
All heads turned to see who Florian was frantically waving at, jumping around on his toes. Jannik froze, halfway through teaching tiny Michelle how to serve, one hand on Cindyâs head to stop her from getting whacked in the face. You stood just beyond the doorway, hair up and out of the way, wearing dark pink scrubs. When you waved shyly, he liked the way you smiled. Itâd been a while since Jannik had dated, and even longer since heâd dated anyone but models, and yet one sight of you had his heart flying out of his chest.Â
âSorry,â you said, hurrying closer. Your trainers squeaked against the gym floor. âAm I too early for pickup?âÂ
âYou can watch, Mama! Canât she, Janni?âÂ
All the kids had picked up on calling him Janni, and he had to admit, he liked it. It reminded him of being back on tour, of all the little nicknames they would give each other. Andrea, fortunately, still just called him papa.Â
âYeah, you can stay.â You finally met on the edge of the court, Florian buzzing around you both like an overactive bee at your side. When Jannik had taken over the class, he got a list describing all the children heâd be teaching. Florian had ADHD and took his medication with meals, which meant they usually started wearing off during tennis lessons. âGlad to meet you.â
You shuffled on your feet. âWell, usually I work until six, so Flo and I get home at the same time. My parents are on holiday, though, so Iâve had to change some shifts around.â You blushed, bright and sweet. He liked the way your gaze flitted around his face instead of meeting his eyes. âSorry, you didnât ask. Should I just sit here?â You motioned to the bench against the wall where, during the first few weeks of lessons, the guardians had jammed together to watch their kidsâ every move, before they finally got bored of sitting through the hour-long lessons. Now, they trusted Jannik enough to leave their kids and run their errands.
âYes, do. Enjoy.âÂ
He wanted to tell you heâd love to listen to you ramble on about the domesticities of your life. But he didnât; he just went back to coaching, making sure the kids didnât accidentally hit each other with tennis rackets while he tried to teach them how to be good tennis players for their age. He noticed that every time Florian did anything â even so much as return a serve without hitting the net â he spun around to make sure you were watching, grinning like it was his first time playing tennis. And you were always ready with a clap to make him smile even wider. You had the same smile. It was sweet.Â
âIt wasnât that good,â Andrea complained to Jannik, watching the slightly younger boy with a frown.Â
âLet him be excited, hĂ€slein (little hare).âÂ
âThey canât all be as good as me.â Jannik laughed softly, chided her, and sent her back to training with the other children, where she slid into the group far more easily than he ever felt he could as a child. She had all her motherâs charisma and all his ambition to be the best.Â
Jannik was very hands-on with his coaching, which usually meant racing this way and that way to corral them into doing what they were told. Your laughter trickled through the gym, and he liked having it as background noise, something to keep returning to.Â
At the end of the lesson, when all the kids trickled out with whichever guardian picked them up that day, you stayed behind. Apparently, you were just making sure Florianâs jacket was zipped up, and his shoes were tied, and his racket was perfectly placed in his tennis bag.
Or, really, it seemed you were wasting time.Â
You eventually caught Jannik when everyone else was gone. âI just wanted to thank you.â Andrea and Florian were racing each other from one side of the hall to the other, but he couldnât tell who was winning. âFlo loves tennis, so when we heard Stefan was leaving, he was devastated. We never imagined his new coach would be you.â Â
âIâm happy to hear that. Also happy to have been able to take over. I love having tennis in my life.âÂ
âProbably doesnât pay as well as Gucci photoshoots.âÂ
âYeah, but this is actually fun.âÂ
You both laughed â a little awkward, a little red in the cheeks. You sent him one last grateful smile and hiked your bag up your shoulder, halfway through turning to leave. Jannik caught you around the wrist before he could think to stop himself.Â
You blinked pretty eyes up at him, and he knew he was fucked.Â
âFlorian talks about you⊠uh, your family a lot, but he never mentions his dad. I didnât want to ask butâŠâ God, what was wrong with him?Â
âOh.â Slowly, you eased your hand out of his grip. His heart plummeted. Heâd tripped at the first hurdle. âTomasz left about six months after Flo was born.â You must have noticed the shift in his expression and hastened to keep speaking to make it less awkward. âOh, donât worry, I live near my parents, and theyâve been a massive help with everything. They look after Florian when Iâm working, or else Iâd never have managed.âÂ
âParents are good that way.â Jannik shuffled on his feet. So, there was a good chance you were single. âAfter Vittoria died, my parents really helped with Andrea.âÂ
Your face softened just a little. Just enough to be noticeable, the way people always looked at him when he mentioned Vittoria. That little bit of shock and grief. But there was something else in your eyes, too. Something he recognised feeling. Hope.Â
âMy condolences. You really lost a lot.âÂ
Jannikâs heart shouldnât have fluttered.Â
âI gained a lot, too.âÂ
And you both stood shoulder-to-shoulder for a long, quiet moment, watching your children laugh themselves breathless as they raced.Â
Over the next few weeks, youâd stay behind for ten minutes to talk to Jannik.Â
You claimed you were using the time to tire out Florian before taking him home, but you both knew better. It had been a long time since either of you had the chance to talk to someone like this â all shy and giggly and trying not to stutter.Â
When your parents got back from their holiday, he only saw you every so often. Heâd keep his eye out for you in town, but he knew it was silly. You didnât even live here. You had your own shops, cafes, pharmacies. You only came to his town for Florianâs lessons. He even had to take Andrea to hospital one day â nothing too serious, just an allergic reaction that he freaked out over â but, of course, you werenât working that evening, so he spent the whole drive over there coming up with a great opening line for nothing.Â
It was, surprisingly, the summer festival that brought you together.Â
Every year, all the surrounding towns held their summer festivals on different weekends, to give everyone a fair chance of visiting instead of just having to work them all. You both just happened to be visiting the same festival on the same day in Sexten.Â
Andrea always wanted to race ahead of Jannik to see all the stalls, claiming he was walking too slowly. But he liked slowing down, with the warm sun on his skin and the scent of summer flowers and barbequed meat filling the air. He wanted the chance to take it all in and teach his daughter that sometimes you just needed to slow down so you wouldnât miss anything. She never did, but heâd perfected the art of keeping a tight grip on her hand.Â
âJanni!â
He spun around in the line for the ball toss. It was his favourite of the game stalls, just having to throw tennis balls into old milk jugs, and it was the easiest way to win Andrea one of the massive teddies she loved. She had half a dozen already piled on the end of her bed.Â
âFlorian?â Jannik glanced around, but saw no sight of you or your parents. âAre you alone?âÂ
âNo. Iâm just too fast for Mama.âÂ
âYou shouldnât run away from her,â Andrea scolded him, and Jannik bit back a scoff. Yeah right. Sheâd be off in a flash if he gave her half a chance.Â
âDo you want to stay with us until we findââ
âFlo!â
If Jannik was in the middle of his toss, heâd have missed the shot entirely when he looked up and saw you. Heâd only ever seen you in those raspberry-coloured scrubs before, and nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you in something as simple as a floral dress and denim jacket, with the sunlight washing you in shimmering shades of gold. His mouth dried up entirely.Â
âI told you not to run off,â you chided your son, who hadnât strayed from Jannikâs side in a smart attempt to keep your groups together. âI told him not to run off,â you said now to Jannik, voice tinged with desperation. He knew how that felt, how the fear just shot through you entirely when you lost your child in such a large crowd. âI only let go of him to buy some water. I looked away for five seconds.âÂ
âBut I found a trusted adult,â Florian whined, and the way he smiled at the two of you made it clear this was his plan all along. âAnd now we can hang out with Janni and Andrea.âÂ
You knelt by your son, handing him the cup of water to take a sip of. You gently fussed over him, smoothing the sweat from his hair that was the exact same shade as yours. âYou have to ask people first before you can decide that.âÂ
Florian pouted, and turned the biggest, brownest puppy eyes up at Jannik. Heâd never be able to say no even if he wanted to.Â
âOf course, you can spend the day with us.â If he wasnât watching you so closely, he would have missed the pretty way you blushed. If you were looking at him more closely, you would have noticed his equally bright blush staining his skin.Â
So, you spent the day together.Â
Jannik won both Andrea and Florian teddies from the ball toss, one purple, one yellow, that they argued over until you managed to swap the yellow one for another purple one. You bought everyone marillenknödel to split, and by the time youâd eaten them, you were all covered in dusting sugar that made you all laugh. You let the kids try hook-a-duck, and drink apple juice while you and Jannik had cider, and race around as long as they were with each other and stayed within sight.Â
It gave you and Jannik ample opportunity to chat. To share a bag of peanuts as you flitted from stall to stall, commenting on the handmade jewellery, or fridge magnets, even the felt hats somebody had started making. He learned more about your family, about your nursing career, about life as a single mother to a very unruly son. He talked about tennis, and everything he had seen around the world, and Andrea.Â
When you laughed, Jannik froze. Itâd been a long time since a sound could make his entire body react. Like a shiver rolling down his spine.Â
âDid you notice we talk about our kids too much?âÂ
Jannik chuckled too, scratching away the shiver that clung to the back of his neck. âI donât have anything else to talk about.âÂ
âWeâll just need to get a hobby,â you joked, elbow touching his, and there was no way he could hide his blush anymore. Just bright red and pulsing across his face, a shining beacon of his rather sudden attraction.Â
âI do need a new hobby.âÂ
That was how you and Jannik found yourselves joining the roller-skating club.Â
Grass, clay, hard courts, he had mastered them all. Rollerskates, he was never going to be able to get the hang of. It had been a month and a half of lessons every Sunday, and yet he didnât feel any steadier on his skates. Every time he was sure he got the hang of balancing, heâd fall right back down again, and he was pretty sure everyone was laughing at him. You, on the other hand, were a fast learner.Â
He clung to the edge of the rink while you skated beside him, twisting and twirling and dancing along to the music. Jannik was just glad he was still standing. In his first lesson, he spent half the time on his arse with your giggles filling his ears.Â
âCome on, Nik,â you whined. It was a nickname youâd adopted fairly quickly once you realised youâd be seeing each other every week. He couldnât tell you just how much it made his heart jump. âJust let go.âÂ
âIâll fall.âÂ
âBest way to learn.âÂ
Jannik frowned, but he knew you were right. Heâd never be able to roller-skate like this. It was the same thing Darren and Simone used to tell him â if he never put the work in, heâd never see the results. Jannik hated stagnation. So, he slowly peeled his hand off the rink railing, feeling the tell-tale wobble in his legs without anything to keep him up, and stretched his arms as wide as he could to keep his balance. Around him, the roller rink kept moving. The disco music that they always played and that you loved dancing along to, the sounds of everyone else laughing as they managed to balance with no issues, and above it all, your giggles as you watched him flail. It was a sound he should have gotten used to over the past few weeks, but still, it made his heart flip in every direction.Â
âGod, youâre really terrible at this.âÂ
And then, as if he wasnât wobbly enough, you reached out to grab his hands. The heat spiked through his body at your touch, and it was like you didnât even notice, just kept giggling as you led him away from the edge of the rink.Â
No way heâd be able to skate with how much his body was shaking.Â
âDonât look at your feet,â you warned when his gaze fell to his rollerblades. âLook ahead. Look at me.â So he did. He took that time to really look at you. He liked the way the flashing disco lights made you pink, then blue, then purple. Like a dream. He liked the way the helmet squashed your hair that you always complained about at the end of your session. He liked your unwavering smile, and the colour of your eyes, and the very faint freckles on the tip of your nose. If he had to go to the hospital, there was no other nurse heâd ask for.Â
âYouâre beautiful.âÂ
Your hands slid out of his, and he went crashing down with you, a tangle of limbs and pain and too-fast hearts.Â
Andrea crawled into Jannikâs bed at seven in the morning the next Saturday.Â
He couldnât yet will his eyes to open as she burrowed under his blankets to curl against his side, head fitting easily under his chin. It had been a while since sheâd snuck into his bed for a cuddle in the early hours of the morning. He certainly wasnât going to complain, not when she always wanted fewer cuddles the older she got. He just pulled her closer and pressed a sloppy kiss to the top of her head to make her giggle. He loved that sound.Â
Just as Jannik was about to slip back into sleep, he heard her thin voice peek through the early morning quiet.Â
âPapa?â He hummed in return, not quite ready to open his eyes. Jannik had never been a morning person, and nobody would ever be able to change that. Most of the time, neither was Andrea. âWhat do you think of Florianâs mama?âÂ
That she was beautiful â and that heâd ruined everything by telling you so.Â
âWell, what do you think of her?âÂ
âI like her.â Jannik slowly inched one eye open to find his daughter twisted around to blink big blue eyes at him. She had Vittoriaâs eyes and Jannikâs unruly ginger curls. âI like when she helps do my hair, and the clothes she wears, and sometimes she sings to help Florian with his homework. Sheâs really good at making tea, and I like her macaroni. And her house is nice.âÂ
Over the past couple of months of growing closer, youâd both taken turns babysitting whenever it was needed, and soon it had turned into you both just hanging out. A lot. One of you would make dinner while the other helped the kids with their homework, or have movie nights with too much popcorn, or try to hike and get about a quarter of the way there before everyone started complaining. Jannik had barely noticed how domesticated his life was becoming with you, how easy it was to fall into a pattern of seeing you most of the time, of Andrea and Florian starting to act more like siblings than two children who shared tennis lessons.Â
He hadnât seen you since Sunday. Since he called you beautiful, you fell and had to run off. You told him you were swamped at work, and he had no choice but to believe you, but he still wished he could just see you again. Just to apologise. Just to say he didnât mean to make you uncomfortable. He had gotten used to the domesticity, and clearly, so had Andrea.Â
âI like all those things too.âÂ
âDo you think sheâs pretty?âÂ
âI do.âÂ
âMe too.â Andrea snuggled closer again. âI was just checking, papa. Go back to sleep.âÂ
So he tried to, but his mind kept returning to you. To you, roller-skating in a pair of low-waist jeans that he tried really hard not to stare at every time you turned away. To you, gulping down water on a hike with the sun shining over you and the droplets beading against your lips. To you, sending him a soft smile as you braided Andreaâs hair just like Princess Anna, even including a fake white streak to make her feel more involved in the movie. It was odd how, in so little time, he had grown accustomed to you just being there.Â
Itâd been less than a week and he missed you.Â
Midway through the afternoon, when Jannik was working on his answers for some magazine interview, the doorbell rang. Even though he wasnât expecting any visitors, he was happy enough for the distraction from the boring slog of answering the same questions over and over again in slightly different ways, and he pushed away from the desk. His back creaked as he stood, and he groaned slightly, stretching, not used to his body feeling so old all of a sudden. It was easier when he was playing tennis all the time. Constantly training made his body feel younger. Putting most of that aside to raise a daughter meant less gym time and a little bit more of a stomach to contend with.Â
He would recognise your shadow through the glass window of the door anywhere.Â
âHi,â was all he managed to say.
Almost a week, and he was immediately floored by the first sight of you. Pretty in the simple way you always were, the jeans he knew were your favourite just to throw on on a lazy Saturday, the old t-shirts youâd built up a collection of over the years, the thick cardigans to keep out the mountain-range chill. And yet, there was a new tiredness in your eyes, a slightly tighter pull to your smile. Florian stood behind your legs, but as soon as he saw Andrea, he went shoving past to meet her in the sprawling living room, already loud and bouncing and full of energy. Jannik had been just like that as a child.Â
âHi. You said you needed to talk?â Your head tilted as you spoke, the end of the sentence lilting up into a question.Â
âNo. I donât think so.âÂ
You showed him the text heâd supposedly sent about an hour ago. Jannikâs brows furrowed. Had he sent that in some strange moment of blacking out? He checked his pockets, but he didnât feel the familiar heaviness of his phone anywhere, and he remembered leaving it to charge in the kitchen so he wouldnât be tempted to procrastinate the work he had to do. He checked the text again and noticed the oddness of Plz come. Need 2 talk. He never texted like that, and he was pretty sure youâd know that.Â
He glanced over his shoulder where Andrea and Florian were already playing with the new racing cars heâd gotten for her just because he could.Â
âDrey?â She looked up, smiling innocently, and he knew immediately what sheâd done. She only ever looked the picture of perfection when she knew sheâd done something wrong. âDid you use my phone to text Florianâs mama?âÂ
âMaybe. I missed her. So did you.âÂ
âWeâll talk about this later.â Her smile never wavered, and they all knew Jannik wouldnât be too harsh on her. He was pretty bad at disciplining her, a fact his own mother never failed to bring up when he let her get away with everything. She claimed that if Andrea ever murdered someone, Jannik would just help hide the body. He shrugged it off. What else were fathers for?Â
Florian whispered something to Andrea, and she laughed so hard she almost choked.Â
Your face softened immediately.Â
âDonât be mad at her. I could tell it wasnât you.âÂ
âBut you came anyway?âÂ
âMaybe I missed you both, too.â
He welcomed you in, fully aware that he could feel the dramatic pounding of his heart, and led you through to the kitchen. You sat at the dining table, in the seat you always chose, with your back to the window so you could watch everybody come and go around the house. Jannik made you both glasses of water and brought them to the table, sitting in his usual seat beside you. It was close enough that he could touch your knee with his if he wanted to, but he refrained. He had gotten good at that.Â
âIâm sorry for what I said on Sunday,â he finally said after gulping down half his water just to fill the growing silence. You tapped clean fingernails against your own glass, though you hadnât even so much as taken a sip.Â
âNo, Iâm sorry for running off. Itâs been so long since Iâve even been on a date that Iâm still so rusty about all of this.âÂ
Jannik felt the wind go out of him. âIs that what weâve been doing?â Your eyes slowly lifted, and he recognised the emotion that flickered through your carefully picked-out expression. You hadnât really meant to say that. âOr do you want us to start dating going forward? Do you want to call our roller-skating lessons âdatesâ? Or do you want to go on different dates? Proper dates with dinner and nice clothes andââ
âStop, stop.â You were bright red and clearly flustered, one hand trying to cover your blush and the breathless way you spoke while the other flapped at him. He couldnât help his laughter. He couldnât help the sudden spike of adrenaline at the thought that youâd been thinking of dating him just as much as heâd thought about dating you. âIâm so embarrassed. Itâs been so long even hearing the word âdateâ is making me oddly giddy.â
He reached out to wrap his hand around your wrist and slowly lower it from your face. He liked the way you blushed. Liked the way it was never easy to hide.
âDo you really want to try dating?â
He couldnât believe heâd woken up this morning thinking heâd never see you again, that heâd only ever hear about you in the small snippets he got from Florian at lessons, that youâd just be a crush he would fan until he heard youâd moved on with someone far better than he could hope to be.Â
âYes. I⊠I was worried because I wasââ You cleared your throat, clearly not used to being so forward with your emotions. âI was starting to like you, and Iâve not really been close to a man since Tomasz, and Iâm clearly very bad at reading any signs, so I thought it was just me.â This time you chuckled. It was more like a scoff. More self-deprecating than anything Jannik had ever heard from you. His thumb traced the inside of your wrist. âAnd then you called me beautiful, and I just had no idea what to do. I was probably going to avoid you for way longer, but this morning, Flo asked me how I felt about you and told me all about how much he likes you. That youâre so patient with him, and you make amazing schnitzel, and you have really good stories about playing tennis. So when you â or Andrea â texted, I took that as a sign and threw away all my inhibitions.âÂ
âI like the way you ramble,â he said, because he suddenly realised heâd never actually said it out loud before, even though he must have thought it a thousand and one times over the past few months. âI like listening to you.âÂ
âI like the way you listen.âÂ
Jannik didnât kiss you, even though he wanted to. He shifted his hand so it was holding yours instead, fingers linked, and let the silence still for just a moment. A moment to catch your breath. A moment to just stare and take it all in. That these were real feelings and that neither of you was alone.Â
And realise that your kids had definitely planned this.Â
âShould we make tomorrow our first real date?âÂ
You lifted your joint hands to your lips to press a kiss against his knuckles, and for a moment, he was completely breathless.
Everything, Jannik was happy to realise, was easier with you. Looking after the kids, looking after the house, looking after himself, it all felt so much easier now he could lean against you and feel your lips on the curve of his temple.Â
You lived separately for the first year, but still spent as much time as you could together. Still had movie nights, and helped with homework, and made dinner for the other. You sprinkled in dates, without the kids, to fancy restaurants in a different town, or to the golf range so he could show off while you spent too long setting up the shot, or at the roller rink where he stopped falling when you held his hand and even taught him how to dance to the music. Then, he and Andrea moved into your house. It was bigger, and had nicer views from the window, and felt like something new. Something that he needed in his life.Â
Thatâs when it all started falling into place.Â
Thatâs when the kids started going to the same school, when you could cut your hours at work. After all, you could rely on Jannik to help pay. When answering the interview questions didnât seem so boring because you were there to help him come up with some new answers.Â
Thatâs when Andrea started calling you Mama, and Florian started calling him Papa. Thatâs when you got the dog, a Leonberger called Wendel that the kids named and that Jannik always walked because everybody else was too lazy to. Thatâs when you got the cats, two fluffy forest cats that the kids named Anna and Elsa because they were always watching Frozen, and that left ungodly amounts of hair everywhere. Thatâs when you had the wedding, something small, something just for you, with your families and friends in the back garden with the mountains sprawling behind you and the snow dusting the grass. Thatâs when you had the third child, Dorothea, who had Jannikâs gold-flecked green eyes and your hair, and that Drey was always fussing over while Flo tried to race his cars over her chubby legs.Â
Thatâs when everything started to feel just right.Â
Jannik crawled into bed, around two-thirty in the morning, after just managing to put Dot to sleep. She had been such a good sleeper at first, but teething made everything worse, and Jannik liked to be the one to get up so you didnât exhaust yourself any more than you already had.Â
âMaybe Klaudia for the next one. Or Dominik if itâs a boy.âÂ
âPlease do not joke right now, amore,â Jannik mumbled into your neck, trying to lull himself back to sleep with the smell of you invading his senses, with your hair tickling his face, with your nails softly scratching the back of his head.Â
âOkay, baby, Iâll wait until the morning.âÂ
And every Sunday, you still went roller-skating, with your hand in his, and your balance far better.
Summary: you once almost said yes to the wrong person and that wound took time to close. But Jannik didnât just wait, he made you feel chosen. So when you finally said yes to him, it meant everything.
Warnings: cheating mentioned, jealous! Jannik, angst but with happy ending
Word count: 2.6k
A/n: In honor of Jannik winning Vienna, here is a new work for you guys to read and also my lovely anon requested jealous! Jannik and I am sat for this!! Its longer than i though but anyways enjoy! requests are open and feedbacks are welcome! mwah <3
You and Jannik have been together for almost four years nowâquiet, steady, beautiful years filled with traveling between tournaments and fashion weeks, hotel rooms that felt like home because you were together, and love that neither of you ever doubted.
Except when it came to the next big step.
The proposal.
He was ready. God, he was so ready. He even had the ring, heâd carried it with him for weeks, waiting for the right moment. But when he finally asked youâ just the two of you in his apartment, your answer had been soft and apologetic.
âNot yet, Jannik. Please.â
He didnât push. He never would. He just smiled and nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead like it didnât sting. But some nights, heâd stare at the ceilingâ arms draped around your sleeping figure, cuddling next to him, wondering if ânot yetâ secretly meant never.
The flash of cameras and the hum of chatter filled the gala ballroom, all dressed in glitter and gold. You looked effortlessly ethereal â long dress, diamonds glinting under the chandeliers, your hand tucked securely in Jannikâs. He looked proud, grounded, every bit the man who adored you in quiet, consistent ways.
He was calm, smiling softly when people came to greet you both. Calm â until he noticed the name printed on the program.
Your ex.
The artist. The one with the chart-topping heartbreak anthem everyone once knew was about you. âAmore, did you know heâd be here?â Jannik murmured, voice steady but clipped.
You looked at him and you genuinely told him. âNo, I didnât know. Iâm sorry, we can leave if you want?â He shook his head. âNo, Itâs okay, donât worry.â Jannik smiled, kissed your temple. He doesnât need to worry because he knows youâre his and heâs yours. Or so he thought.
When your ex took the stage, microphone in hand and nostalgia laced in his voice, Jannikâs heart twisted. Because the first few chords were unmistakable â the song. That song. The crowd swayed. The spotlight softened. The lyrics painted stories of love and betrayal, of a woman heâd let go too late. And the man on stage looked straight at you while singing.
Jannik stiffened beside you, jaw tight. You didnât move. You didnât even blink. Your face unreadable, your fingers laced gently through Jannikâs, but not holding tight enough for him to feel assured. Suddenly, the calm broke into quiet, burning jealousy.
He clenched his jaw lightly, forcing himself to breathe. He knew better than to make a scene, but a dull ache pressed against his chestâthe thought of someone else writing songs about you, someone else having that kind of past with you and worse, the memory of you hesitating and telling him you arenât ready when he asked you to marry him replayed like a loop he couldnât shut off.
He stayed silent the whole ride back to the hotel. You could feel the storm building beside you â the unspoken tension, his thumb tapping restlessly against his thigh. When you got back to the hotel, you slipped out of your heels and sighed in relief, completely unaware of the storm brewing in his chest.Â
When the door shut behind you, he finally let it out. âSo that song he sang earlier,â he started, voice low, careful but edged. âYou heard it?â You turned to him, confused. âOf course I did. I think everyone heard that.â You tried to brush it off while you took off your makeup.
He took a breath, steady but heavy. âHe wrote it for you, didnât he?â You hesitated but still answered him. âHe did.â He looked at you and carefully asked you, âwhen did he write that song?â You stopped what youâre doing, and took a deep breath and said âHe wrote that years ago.â
âAnd you didnât tell me?â His voice was small, careful. You sighed, walking closer. âBecause it doesnât matter anymore, Jannik. That song doesnât mean anything to me.â
âBut it meant something once.â He snapped and you froze. âNo, I meanââ he swallowed, running a hand through his hair. âI just thought that it sounded⊠personal. I just wanted to know if it didnât mean anything to you anymore.â
You blinked at him. âJannikââ
âBecause he looked straight at you when he sang it,â he said, sharper this time. âLike it was still yours.â You sighed, stepping closer. âJannik, itâs not. You have to believe me that song doesnât mean anything now.â
He looked away. âYeah, but it meant something to you before.â And thatâs when you realized this wasnât just about the song. This was about everything heâd been quietly holding in.
âJannik, are you jealous?â you asked softly.
He scoffed, pacing. âMaybe I am. Maybe I hate that he wrote a song about you that the whole world knows. Maybe I hate that I canât even think of proposing without wondering if youâre still holding on to something you wonât talk about.â
Your heart clenched. âJannikââ He stopped, eyes meeting yours and cutting you off. âDo you even see a future with me, Y/N?â and he looked away and he bit his lip to keep it from trembling, âbecause if you donât, then please tell me now before one of us gets hurt even more.â
It was silent. Heavy, aching silence. You looked at him and you reached for his hands, âof course I do, Jannik.â He yanked his hands away and said âthen why wont you say yes to me? Do I have to write you a song just so youâll say yesââÂ
âBecause I'm scared.â You snapped and you cut him off. Heavy silence filled the room. You stepped forward, eyes glistening. âDo you know why I told you I wasnât ready yet?â He stayed quiet, shoulders tense. Jaw clenched. You took a deep breath. âThat song? Yeah he wrote that for me and sang it to meââ You paused and looked away. âWhen heâŠtried to propose to me.âÂ
Jannik froze. âI almost said yes that nightâ until I found out he was cheating on me.â You added with a tight lip smile like you remembered what happened that night as if it just happened yesterday.Â
âEver since that night, I promised myself Iâd only say yes when I knew I could trust again,â you continued, voice trembling. âAnd I trust you Jannik, god I do trust you. I love you. I justâŠI needed time to stop letting that night define what proposals mean to me.â You sighed and looked away, afraid to see the look on Jannikâs face.Â
âI guess a part of me was scared to say yes to someone again cause it means giving them the power to break me the same way. But when you came along, you never once made me feel rushed or small or replaceable.â You finally looked at him and for a moment, he couldnât move. Couldnât speak. Then, slowly, he exhaled, all that jealousy melting into guilt and heartbreak.
It was all sinking in to Jannik, the way you always brush off the topic when it comes to planning the future, the way you said you werenât ready when he asked you to marry him. It hit him like someone hit him with a ball at 210 km speed. You didnât say you werenât ready because you were rejecting him, no, you said that because someone from your past ruined your idea of forever.
He stepped forward, eyes and face softened and he cupped your face gently. âAmore, I didnât know,â he whispered. âGod, I didnât know.âÂ
âI know, itâs my fault for not telling you.â you said softly. âYouâve always been patient. I just didnât want to taint what we have with what he did.âÂ
His thumb brushed away a tear you didnât know had fallen. âYou could never taint it, Amore. Youâre it for me.â He swallowed hard, eyes glassy now. âI would never hurt you like that, you know that right?â You cupped his face with your hand and he immediately leaned on you like it's the only thing grounding him. âI know, Iâm sorry for making you feel that way.â
âHey,â he murmured, voice low and trembling. âYou never have to explain that to me, okay? I get it now.â He leaned in, forehead pressed to yours, voice barely a breath. âIâm sorry for tonight.â
âAnd Iâm sorry I made you doubtââ You looked up at him and sniffed, guilt flickering in your eyes. He shook his head immediately. âNo. You didnât make me doubt us. I justâŠI just wish I could take that pain away from you.â
You gave a breathy laugh and you leaned into his touch then, and for the first time in months, the space between you didnât feel uncertain. âYouâre allowed to feel that way sometimes, Jannik,â you murmured. âJust donât forget that youâre it for me and I'll always come home to you. Donât ever doubt that ever.â
Jannikâs throat tightened and his eyes glistening, he kissed your forehead softly like heâs afraid he might break you. âI love you, Amore,â he whispered. You looked up to him and said âI love you too, Jannik.â His lips curved into a small, sad smile before he kissed youâslow, grounding, full of everything words couldnât hold.Â
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. âIâll wait,â he said softly. âFor however long it takes. Because youâre it for me. And when youâre ready, Iâll ask again.â And for the first time, you whispered against his skin, âMaybe you wonât have to wait much longer.â
Jannik pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his forehead resting against yours. âYeah?â You nodded, smiling softly. âYeah.â He grinned â that boyish, golden grin and kissed you slow, deep, and sure. The kind of kiss that didnât ask for forever but promised it anyway.
Months had passed since that night full of confrontationsâmonths of quiet, intentional love.Â
Not a day went by without Jannik reminding you how much he adored you. Whether it was his morning texts before practice, his habit of holding your hand even in silence, or the way he always tucked a note in your bag whenever you travelledâhe made sure you never had to question his love again. You did the same to him as well. Because the last thing you wanted was for him to think your hesitation ever meant doubt. So you showed himâthrough words, through touch, through time.Â
When December came, the season was finally over. Work is on pause. Just the two of you, finally free. Jannik took you to St. Moritz for your little escapeâsnow, stillness, and everything that felt like magic. âThe most magical place on earth,â you had told him the moment Jannik booked your flights and he saw your eyes shining with excitement. And Jannik, who loved you almost as much as he loved the cold, didnât even pretend to argue.
It was perfect.
Snowflakes drifting against the windows, hot chocolate in your hands, laughter echoing through the room. Youâd spent the evening at a quiet dinner, your cheeks flushed from wine and cold air, your fingers intertwined as you walked back to the hotel.
When Jannik opened the door first, he froze. The lights were dimmed, candles flickered across the room, and rose petals trailed across the floor toward the bed and balcony where the snow fell like glitter outside.
âWowâ he breathed, eyes wide in disbelief. You stepped in behind him, closing the door softly. He turned to you, brow furrowed in confusion and awe all at once. âAmore, whatâwhatâs all this?â
You just smiled, your heart pounding so hard you could hear it. You reached for his hands, lacing your fingers with his. And then, before you could lose your nerveâyou sank down on both knees.
Jannikâs entire body stilled. His breath caught, eyes darting from your face to your trembling hands. âTesoro⊠what are youââ
âI told you I wasnât ready before and I donât want to wait for the perfect moment anymore. I just want you.â You looked up to him, lips tremblingânot with fear but just full of nerves.
You took a deep, shaky breath. âJannik, you've been my best friend, my safe place, my biggest supporter, and the person who makes me smile everyday, youâre the most patient, the most goofy and loving person and Iâ.â You tried to speak, you really did, but the words tangled in your throat. Every emotionâfear, love, and joy crashed into you all at once. Your eyes stung and your voice wobbled as you laughed through the tears.
âSee,â you managed, half-sobbing, âthereâs a reason why girls donât propose.â Jannik laughed tooâshaky, and his eyes already glassy as he dropped to his knees in front of you so you were level.Â
His hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears that wouldnât stop. âThen let me do it,â he whispered, voice trembling.
He took a deep breath, almost as if he couldnât believe this was real. âIâve been waiting for this,â he said, smiling through the tears now falling freely. âYou have no idea how many times Iâve practiced my speechâin hotel rooms, in locker rooms, even in bathrooms when no one could hear me.â
You let out a choked laugh, your heart splitting and healing all at once. âI wanted to wait until you were ready,â he continued softly. âBecause you deserve to be loved without fear. You deserve to say yes when it feels right, not when youâre scared itâll go wrong. And Iâm justâ Iâm just so lucky that you still chose me.â You were cryingâreally crying now.Â
He looked at you, eyes full of love and tears. âAmore, I knew the moment we met at Wimbledon, all I could think of was that I'm in so much trouble.â You laughed through your tears. âI used to think I had to win everything before I could deserve something like this, like love had to wait until I was⊠perfect.â He was sobbing and he made sure that youâre looking at him. âBut you never wanted perfection. You just wanted me, all of me.â
âYouâre my best friend, the love of my life, the person who makes me want to be better every single day, and the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.â When he reached behind him for his bag, which, thankfully, was only a few feet away. He fumbled with the zipper, his hands shaking slightly.
When he pulled it out a small velvet box. You gasped. He opened it slowly, and there it wasâthe ring and a shiny emerald cut diamond that can blind everyone. The exact one you had once pointed out months ago in a passing conversation about ârings youâd actually wear if you ever got married.â You hadnât even thought he was paying attention.
But of course he had been.
He always was.
âY/N, will you marry me?â he said simply, voice thick with emotion. You couldnât even form words. You just nodded frantically, through the tears, through the laugh that broke mid-sobâas you threw your arms around his neck.
âYes,â you whispered against his skin. âYes, Jannik. Iâm ready.â
He pulled back just enough to slip the ring onto your finger, his hands trembling but sure. You were both crying and you looked down at the ring, the candlelight catching the sparkle of the emerald cut stone, and then up at himâthe man who waited, who loved you without conditions, who made you feel safe enough to believe in forever again. Jannik leaned his head against you. âTi amo sempre, Amore.â and you laughed through your tears. âTi amo anch'io, Jannik.â And as the snow fell outside your window, you kissed himâdeeply, fully, endlessly knowing that this was exactly where you were meant to be. With him, in his arms, forever.
I love tumblr more than IG bc IG feels like Iâm posting looking for a job but on here itâs like I already lost the job and my wife and the house and Iâm just sitting on the curb talking to myself
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