his jaw works. there's this tiny muscle twitching and you can see him trying not to react, trying to stay all unimpressed, but his ears are going pink. "we're not married though."

"not yet," you say, and his face does this thing. this complicated journey between exasperation and something softer, something that makes your chest warm.

he goes back to his phone. scrolls. pauses. "...husband."

you hear the smile he's hiding. "yep."

"ridiculous," he mutters, but his hand finds yours under the table anyway, thumb brushing your knuckles like maybe he doesn't hate the sound of it after all.

CHARLES LECLERC ｡ you're reaching for your coffee when you say it, casual as anything. "my husband makes better coffee than this" and you don't even look at charles when you do it. testing the waters. seeing if he'll notice.

what happens is nothing.

he doesn't pause, doesn't blink, just hums this low agreement in his throat and leans back in his chair. "of course i do."

then his eyes slide to yours, green and entirely too pleased. "and what does my wife want for dinner tonight?"

oh. oh.

your face goes hot. he says it like he's been saying it for years, like it's the most natural thing in the world, and there's this tiny smirk playing at his mouth because he knows what he's doing.

"charles—"

"yes, my love?" all innocence except how he's looking at you like he's already won. you're never calling him husband again. (you absolutely are.)

GEORGE RUSSELL ｡ you're scrolling through your phone when you say it. "husband, can you pass me the charger?"

george reaches over without looking, hands it to you. "yeah, here."

beat of silence. you try again, fighting a smile. "thank you, husband."

his hand freezes halfway back. you watch his brain catch up in real time. eyes narrowing slightly, head tilting just so, and then that eyebrow raises.

"sorry, what was that?"

"hmm?" you're the picture of innocence.

"right." he shifts closer, arm draping over the back of the couch behind you. "didn't realize we'd skipped a few steps. should i be concerned you've planned a whole wedding without telling me?" he's enjoying this.

"i mean, i'm not opposed," he continues, casual as anything, fingers playing with the ends of your hair. "but i'd like to at least be consulted on the venue. i have opinions."

oh, you're never living this down.

LANDO NORRIS ｡ you're arguing about whose turn it is to get drinks when lando says it, "wife, can you just—" all teasing and infuriating, and the guys around you absolutely lose it.

"oh, wife?" you fire back without missing a beat. "sure thing, husband. you want anything else while i'm up?"

his face does this thing. this stupid, gorgeous thing where he's trying so hard not to smile, biting his lip, but it's breaking through anyway. his eyes are bright and he's shaking his head like he can't believe you went there.

"you're ridiculous," he says, but it sounds too fond to be an insult.

"yeah? you started it, husband."

and there it is—that full grin he can't hold back anymore, the one that crinkles his eyes. "say it again."

"absolutely not."

"c'mon—"

"lando—"

"please, wife?"

someone across the table groans. "you two are actually unbearable."

lando's hand finds yours under the table anyway, squeezing once. still smiling like an idiot. yeah. unbearable.

ALEX ALBON ｡ you're half-asleep on the couch when you mumble it. "husband, can you turn off the light?"

alex pauses mid-step. looks at you. looks at the light switch. back at you. "...husband?"

"mhm." you don't open your eyes.

there's this beat of silence and you can feel him processing, that little smile starting to form. "that's interesting. don't remember proposing."

"maybe you blocked it out. traumatic experience."

he laughs, and the room goes dark. then the couch dips as he settles next to you, tugging you against him. "so we're married now? just like that?"

"apparently."

"cool. do i get a say in this?"

you crack one eye open. he's looking down at you with that soft, amused expression that makes your chest hurt in the best way. "not really, no."

"figures. hypothetically, if we were married, i'd be a great husband."

"hypothetically?"

"mhm. would make you breakfast and everything."

"you burn toast, alex."

"would make you breakfast," he repeats, grinning now. "didn't say it'd be good."

OSCAR PIASTRI ｡ you're wearing his gray hoodie again. the one he's had since his prema days, stretched out and faded.

"that's my favorite," oscar points out from the doorway, but he's already fighting back a smile.

"yeah?" you tug the sleeves over your hands. "want it back?"

"didn't say that."

he won't admit it, but you've seen him physically move his hoodies to the front of his closet where you can reach them easier. lando tried to borrow one once after a gym session and oscar deadpan told him "absolutely not, buy your own." but you? you've accidentally created a whole section of your wardrobe that's just his clothes.

you catch him staring as you flop onto the bed beside him. "what?"

"nothing." his ears go slightly pink and he's definitely fighting a smile. "just... bring that one back eventually? maybe?"

"no promises, piastri."

MAX VERSTAPPEN ｡ max is in full concentration mode, hunched over his sim rig with that death grip on the steering wheel. you can hear him muttering curses under his breath. never a good sign for whoever he's racing. you pad into his gaming room, and he doesn't even flinch.

"baby," he mutters, eyes still locked on the screen as he takes a corner. "there's snacks on the desk."

you weren't even looking for snacks but sure. you grab one and plop into the chair next to him, watching his concentration face. the little furrow between his brows, the way his jaw clenches.

"not now," one of his friend's voice crackles through his headset. "we're in the middle of—is that your girlfriend?"

"yeah," max says simply.

"mate, i thought you had a no-interruption rule?"

"i do."

"then why is she—"

"she doesn't count." he says it so matter-of-factly, like it's obvious. "different rules. now shut up, i'm trying to overtake."

KIMI ANTONELLI ｡ kimi's supposed to be asleep two hours ago. early morning training session, toto's orders, the whole responsible f1 driver routine. and he's got a sleep schedule that would make a monk weep. but he's still awake at 2am with you.

"and then she asked for oat milk after they made it with regular, are you even awake?"

"mhm." his eyes are definitely closed now. "she's... she's lactose intolerant?"

"go to sleep, kimi."

"no, no, i'm listening." he forces his eyes open, reaching for you blindly until his hand finds yours. "what happened with the coffee?"

"you know your manager would murder you if they knew you were awake right now," you whisper. "don't care." he tugs you closer, tucking his face into your shoulder. his words are muffled against your shirt. "tell me the rest. did she get the oat milk?"

"you're ridiculous."

"you're ridiculous," he mumbles. "keep talking. i like your voice."

OLLIE BEARMAN ｡ ollie's been glued to the soccer match for the past hour, practically vibrating every time they get near the goal. you've seen this level of focus exactly twice: now, and during qualifying. literally on the edge of the couch like he might fall off. you feel a little bad interrupting, but—

"ollie, do you think i should cut my hair shorter?"

his head whips around so fast you're worried about whiplash. "what? like how much shorter?"

"i dunno, maybe to here?" you gesture vaguely at your shoulders.

"wait, let me see." he's already grabbed the remote, muting the tv without a second thought. with this serious, concentrated expression. "hmm. i mean, you'd look beautiful either way, but—"

"GOAL!" the announcer's voice screams from the tv.

ollie doesn't even glance back. "maybe keep it long? but honestly whatever makes you happy. do you want to cut it?"

"ollie, they just scored."

"who—oh." he looks at the screen for half a second, then back at you. "it's fine, they'll replay it. so about your hair, have you thought about layers? or maybe curls?"