Love Has No Age

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Find your name with the gif button and add the one that is the most relatable

Find your name with the gif button and add the one that is the most relatable

field crasher

wonze x child!reader

been having baby fever from all the fics i’ve read with a baby so decided to write one

let me know what you think!

-grey

———

You were sitting in the stands with your babysitter, a stuffed elephant safely tucked under your arm. You were sitting right behind the players’ bench watching your Mom and Mama do their jobs. You didn’t really understand all that was happening, just that if someone scores a goal everyone gets too loud, which is why you had your protective headphones on.

Thirty minutes into the match you were getting restless. Sitting for a long period of time makes your hun all sore. You get up to stand near the railing that separates you from the field.

During halftime, your babysitter lead you to the food stalls, telling you to pick whatever you want to eat, settling on some pizza, chips, and a juice.

As you ate, the second half had started, but you were too focused on your pizza to notice. Finishing up your slice, you move onto your chips, having a hard time opening the bag so you grab your juice instead, also having some trouble opening it.

Turning to your babysitter for some help, she was too occupied talking to the person next to her. Looking around the stadium on who would be willing to help you, everyone else was too engrossed in the match. You’re getting frustrated at not being able to open your chips and drink that you were on the verge of breaking down.

Grabbing each one in each of your hands, you make it your mission to get some help. Wandering down to the field, you don’t see any of your favorite aunts or your moms on the bench so that could only mean one thing.

Looking out to the field, you see your Mama to be closest to you.

“Mama!” You yell, holding your things up and running to her as fast as your little legs could go.

“Oh, there appears to be a child running onto the field. No one seems to notice her, refs have not noticed yet, especially the security has not noticed. Who do you think she’s gonna go to? She’s got a bag of chips in one hand and a bottle of juice in the other.”

Getting closer to your Mama, you get even more excited.

“The ball is now back to Barcelona’s possession. Lucy Bronze running back over the half. Oh, towards the child. Is she gonna see the child in her way?”

“Mama!”

Lucy looks down to see you standing in her way, stopping as quick as she can. She grabs onto your form, hoisting you up so she doesn’t run over you. Referee’s whistle was blown to stop the play.

“The whistle was finally blown. Lucy Bronze now has the child in her arms. Very close to running into her.”

“What are you doing here baby? Where’s your babysitter?”

“Mama hep (help).” You say, holding your chips and juice towards her face.” You feel a hand start patting your back meaning you turn around in your Mama’s arms. “Mommy!” You lean towards her, hoping she gets the hint that you wanted to be held by her, which she does.

“Security is finally on scene to get the child off the field so the match can resume.”

“We can take her.” A security guard told Keira.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll just ask Jonatan for a sub.” Keira directs the last but to Lucy.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Also have a talk to the sitter that was supposed to be watching little miss here.”

You just look up at your Mommy with that little innocent smile you give her.

“Mama open peas (please).” You hold the bag of shops towards her, which she does giving it back to you after. “Tank (thank) you!” You give her a small kiss on her cheek.

“Let’s get this sorted so we can resume the match.” The ref directs everyone back in place, Keira walking to the bench with you still in her arms, her substitute ready to replace her.

“Keira Walsh is getting subbed off, play will resume.”

For the rest of the match, you sit on Keira’s lap, munching on your chips even offering some to the players around you. Towards the end of the match, your eyes started to drop, laying your head on your Mommy’s chest. When the final whistle blows, you’re out like a light.

“That’s the game folks! Barcelona wins three nil.”

Your sleeping form gets passed to another set of arms, whining until the familiar scent hits your nose making you relax, your face pressed into the crook of their neck.

“How was she?” Lucy asks her wife.

“She was good. Sat on my lap and ate her chips the rest of the match. Fell asleep.”

As the married couple talked, someone from the media team told Lucy she has an interview to do.

“Want me to take her?”

“No, but you should go look for the babysitter. You’re more levelheaded than me.”

Walking into the room full of reporters and cameras, Lucy walks to the front, your sleeping form still in her arms. Questions started about ones relating to the match, then the ones the reporters really wanted to ask.

“Lucy, is the child in your arms the same one that ran into the field?”

“Uh, yeah. I don’t know how she got passed everyone so easily, just shows we need better security and a better babysitter for her. If I hadn’t seen her I definitely would’ve crashed into her. That’s all I’ll say on that situation right now.”

“Alright. That’s all the time we have. Have a great rest of your day.” Barcelona’s head media person told the reporters.

Still asleep in her arms, Lucy tries to wake you up, which will be very difficult because once you sleep, you are dead to the world around you. After a few tries, you’re finally up, but a bit cranky. Your bad mood changes when you enter the locker room and see all your aunties.

“Hola, bebita.”

“Lala Nana.” (Hola Ona).

“You stay with Tía Ona while Mama showers okay?”

“‘Kay.”

“Look who it is. If it isn’t the field crasher herself.”

“There’s already articles being written about you chiquita.”

“Is there really?” Keira asks, taking you from Ona when you reach out for her.

“Baby Wonze is famous.”

Thawed

Kimi Räikkönen x sunshine!Reader

Summary: the many times throughout the years that only the warmth of his wife could thaw the Iceman

“He’s just so … cold,” your aunt comments, wrinkling her nose at Kimi’s back as he heads to the bar. It’s the first time you’ve brought him to a family event.

You bristle, prepared to defend your new boyfriend. “He’s not cold once you get to know him. He’s just a private person.”

Your aunt sniffs. “Still, he barely said two words all night. And that nickname — the Iceman! I don’t like it.”

You straighten your spine. “Well I do. His thoughtfulness and loyalty outweigh any lack of words.”

As you speak, you feel your doubts about mismatched personalities fade. Opposites attract for a reason.

Your aunt looks unconvinced, but you pay her no mind. You’re falling for the quiet Finn with a heart of gold. And you won’t let anyone’s disapproval chill that flame.

When Kimi returns, you lean up and kiss his cheek fondly. He looks pleasantly surprised. Let them judge. You see the real man inside.

***

“Smash it! Smash it!” The rowdy groomsman chants as you and Kimi cut into your wedding cake.

Other guests take up the chant, clamoring for Kimi to shove cake in your face per tradition. But you had quietly asked him not to — you don’t want frosting up your nose and ruining your makeup on your wedding day.

Kimi’s eyes meet yours, a silent question. You give a slight shake of your head. His expression hardens with resolve.

In one smooth motion, he whirls and smashes the slice of cake directly into the rowdy groomsman’s face. Icing splatters everywhere. The room goes silent.

“Here you go, since you seem to want the cake smashed so bad,” Kimi says coldly.

The groomsman splutters in shock. You have to hide your smile behind your hand.

Kimi winks at you as he licks icing off his fingers. “Now, where were we?”

Heart swelling, you lean in to kiss your wonderful, cake-covered husband. No one gets in the way of your wishes on your wedding day.

***

The paddock is bustling with activity as you make your way through the crowds, weaving between mechanics and engineers going about their race day routines. The smells of rubber and gasoline hang thick in the air. You smile and nod at familiar faces, receiving knowing looks in return.

Everyone here knows who you are — the bubbly, outgoing wife of the Iceman himself. The unlikely pairing has been the talk of Formula 1 ever since you started dating a few years ago. You’re warm and chatty. He’s cool and laconic. But somehow, it works.

You find Kimi in the Ferrari motorhome, sipping an energy drink, game face on. His brows are furrowed in concentration, icy grey eyes focused straight ahead. You know not to disturb him right now. This is business time.

Slipping into the seat beside him, you pull out your phone and scroll aimlessly, letting the comfortable silence stretch between you. The hustle and noise of the paddock fades into the background.

Finally, Kimi drains the last drops from his can and crushes it in his hand. He turns to you, the stern expression melting away. His eyes soften and the corners of his mouth tick upward ever so slightly.

“Morning,” he says quietly, voice gravelly.

You beam at him. “Good morning, love. Ready to go racing today?”

He nods, the hint of a smile still playing on his lips. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I did, thanks to my very comfy race driver pillow.” You wink.

Kimi snorts, the creases around his eyes deepening. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your temple.

Around you, mechanics and team members try and fail to pretend they aren’t glancing your way, still not used to seeing the Iceman so openly affectionate. But Kimi doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“I’ll see you after,” he says, standing up and giving your hand a squeeze. His face settles back into cool concentration as he strides out to prepare for the race.

You settle in to watch qualifying, heart swelling with pride and love for your Finnish fireball.

***

“Kimi, the stewards want to speak with you about the incident with Perez on lap 37.”

Kimi’s jaw clenches, eyes flashing. “Typical,” he mutters.

You touch his arm reassuringly. “Go on, I’ll wait here for you.”

He nods, striding off to the steward’s office, race suit half unzipped and hair disheveled. You know he’ll be lucky to escape without a penalty. Kimi has never been one to mince words or hide his displeasure with other drivers. You can only imagine the icy staredown happening behind those closed doors right now.

Twenty minutes later, he emerges looking ready to smash a table. You jump up and hurry over.

“Well? What did they say?”

Kimi’s scowl deepens, if that’s even possible. “Ten second penalty. Ridiculous.” He spits out something in Finnish you’re glad you don’t understand.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. You drove brilliantly today.”

He shakes his head and stalks down the hall towards the paddock. You scurry after him, nearly jogging to match his long angry strides.

“Forget it. Not your fault the stewards are blind.”

You slip your hand into his, lacing your fingers together. Immediately you feel some of the tension leave his body. He glances down at you, the hint of a smile breaking through the thunderclouds.

“Let’s get out of here,” you say gently. “I’ll make you your favorite dinner, open a nice bottle of wine ...”

He nods, expression softening. “Okay. Sounds good.”

You smile up at him, giving his hand a squeeze. The stormy Finn may have a heart of ice on the track, but you know better. He just needs a little sunshine sometimes.

***

You pause in the kitchen doorway, heart melting at the scene before you. Kimi sits on the living room floor, your baby niece perched happily in his lap. He bounces her gently on his knee as she squeals with delight, the hint of a smile on his usually stoic face.

“Faster Unca Kimi, faster!” She cries, unruly curls flying.

He chuckles and picks up the pace, eliciting delighted giggles from her. Your sister watches nearby, still looking a bit bemused at seeing the Iceman so good natured and playful.

Finally Kimi stops, feigning exhaustion. “Whew, that’s enough for Uncle Kimi,” he says, lifting her up and pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. “You’re too fast!”

She dissolves into giggles and wraps her tiny arms around his neck in a hug. He hugs her back, looking more content than you’ve ever seen him. Your heart feels fit to burst.

“Who wants ice cream?” You announce, carrying in two bowls.

“Me, me!” Your niece starts to squirm in Kimi’s lap, reaching eagerly for her treat.

He stands, swinging her up easily onto his shoulders. “Let’s go have ice cream on the porch, give your mama a break,” he says. She kicks her little legs gleefully.

Your sister shoots you a grateful smile as Kimi carries her outside. You grin and wink. Who would believe it — the Iceman, a big softie for kids. But you know better. Under that cool exterior beats a heart of gold.

***

The crowds pressing around the circuit are suffocating today. Fans shove programs and merch at you for Kimi to sign. One overzealous teenage boy tries to wrap you in an uninvited hug.

Suddenly Kimi is there, gently but firmly detaching the boy’s hands from your arms. His face is thunderous.

“Back. Off.” The boy stumbles away wide-eyed.

Kimi keeps a protective grip on your shoulder as he marches you briskly from the paddock. Once inside the privacy of the motorhome, he cups your face in his hands.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” His tone is urgent.

You shake your head, still a bit shaken. “Just got grabby. Thank you for the rescue.”

Kimi exhales, pressing his forehead to yours. “I don’t like you getting swarmed out there.”

You smile wryly. “Hazards of being Mrs. Iceman.”

He brushes his thumb over your cheek. “I just want to keep you safe. Those crowds make me nervous.”

You kiss him softly. “I’ll be okay.”

His eyes bore into yours, icy blue melting into tenderness. “Still. Stay close to me out there from now on. So I can protect what’s most precious.”

Your heart flutters under his intent gaze. You lace your fingers through his, feeling infinitely cherished.

“Always.”

***

“Kimi, your phone is ringing again,” you call from the couch.

He doesn’t respond, gaze fixed intently on the TV as he navigates a difficult turn in his racing video game. The phone buzzes angrily on the coffee table.

With a sigh, you reach for it. The caller ID says “Bane of My Existence.” You frown. That’s the third call from her this week that he’s ignored.

“Kimi ...”

“Hmm?” He pauses the game and glances at you, eyebrows raised.

You hold up the phone. “It’s your PR officer again. Don’t you think you should answer and see what she wants?”

His expression clouds over. “No. Told her not to call me anymore.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” You keep your tone light and curious.

He shrugs. “Kept trying to get me to do stuff. Go to parties and all that.”

You bite back a smile, warmth flooding your chest. Your shy homebody of a husband, sought after on the celebrity circuit but wanting none of it.

“Well, I’m glad she hasn’t lured you away yet,” you tease gently.

The corners of his mouth quirk up as he takes the phone from you and sets it aside before pulling you into his lap.

“Don’t worry,” he rumbles, nudging your nose with his. “You’re the only party I need.”

You kiss him softly, heart overflowing. The glitz and glam means nothing to your Kimi. Home is where his heart is.

***

You awake to whispered voices and the smell of something burning. Bleary-eyed, you shuffle to the kitchen doorway.

Kimi stands at the stove, hair endearingly mussed from sleep. He’s scowling down at a frying pan, clutching a spatula like a weapon. Your brother leans against the counter, trying and failing to stifle laughter.

“What’s going on?” You ask through a yawn.

Kimi’s scowl deepens. “Trying to make you breakfast. Not going well.” He prods the blackened lump in the pan disdainfully.

Your brother snorts. “He nearly set off the fire alarm. I got here just in time.”

“I told you I don’t cook,” Kimi mutters, avoiding your gaze.

You pad over and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “It’s the thought that counts. Thank you, love.”

He relaxes back into your embrace. Your brother mimes gagging behind his back. You stick out your tongue at him.

“Here, I’ll show you,” you say, gently prying the spatula from Kimi’s hand. “Just go slow ...”

Soon, the three of you are gathered around the table, eating the pancakes you made together. Kimi’s are a bit misshapen, but edible.

He looks inordinately pleased as you sample his. “Good?”

You beam at him and squeeze his hand. “The very best.”

His rare unguarded smile warms you more deeply than any breakfast ever could.

***

You awaken to the dipping of the mattress as Kimi slips under the covers. The red glow of his bedside clock reads 3:48 AM.

“Everything okay?” You murmur, rolling over to face him.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against his chest. You feel the steady thump of his heart under your palm.

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” His voice rumbles low near your ear.

You nuzzle into him, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin. “Worrying about the race this weekend?”

He exhales, his breath stirring your hair. “No. Just thinking.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, you lift your head to study his face in the dimness. His eyes shine in the faint light, gazing at you with an intensity that makes your own heart skip.

“What is it?” You whisper.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his callused fingers infinitely tender. “Sometimes I still can’t believe you’re here. That you’re mine.”

Emotion swells in your chest, words escaping you. You cup his stubbled face and guide his lips down to yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

When you finally draw apart, he pulls you close again, tucking your head under his chin. No more words are needed. You understand each other perfectly in the quiet spaces between heartbeats. Soon his breathing evens out in sleep, and you follow him down, still nestled safe in the circle of his arms.

***

You’re just drizzling the last of the chocolate over the molten lava cakes when you hear Kimi’s keys in the front door. A smile spreads across your face. Perfect timing.

He wanders in a few moments later, hair adorably rumpled, eyes lighting up when he sees you.

“Mmm, something smells good,” he says, crossing the kitchen to wrap you in a hug.

You kiss his scratchy cheek. “Made your favorite for dessert. Now go get cleaned up while I finish.”

He squeezes you tighter, stubble tickling your neck as he nuzzles into it. “Can’t I have you for dessert instead?”

You swat his shoulder playfully. “Go on, you. Plenty of time for that later.”

He steals one more kiss before sauntering off, a grin playing about his lips. You shake your head, unable to stop smiling. After all these years, he still makes your heart race as if you’re teenagers again.

When he returns, you’ve set out the seared salmon, roasted vegetables, and the two perfect chocolate lava cakes. His eyes light up.

“Have I told you lately that you’re the best wife ever?” He asks, pulling out your chair.

“Hmm, I think you could stand to mention it more,” you tease.

He takes your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. His eyes pierce yours. “You’re the best wife ever,” he says solemnly.

You lean in and kiss him, happiness bubbling up inside you. However many times he says it, you’ll never get tired of hearing it.

***

“So, what’s it like being married to the grumpiest driver on the grid?” The reporter shoves a microphone in your face, invasive and smug.

You recoil, blindsided. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, he’s not exactly Mr. Personality.” The reporter leans closer. “Does the Iceman thaw out at home or just freeze you out?”

Humiliation burns through you. Before you can respond, Kimi is there, gently moving you aside. His eyes are blazing.

“Don’t you dare talk about my wife like that,” he growls at the reporter. “You know nothing about our life.”

The reporter withers under Kimi’s icy glare. You feel a rush of gratitude for your protective husband.

Kimi turns to you, face softening. “Let’s get out of here.”

Once you’re alone, he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Sorry you had to deal with that. He had no right to badger you about our marriage.”

You lean into him, safe in the circle of his arms. “It’s okay. You came to my rescue like a knight in shining racing gear.”

He snorts. “Hardly a knight. But for you, always.” He kisses you tenderly.

No matter what the media says, your life together is not theirs to define. Your love writes its own quiet story each day.

***

You awake in the dark to a loud crash from downstairs. Heart pounding, you shake Kimi’s shoulder.

“Kimi, wake up! I think someone’s broken in.”

He’s up in an instant, alert and poised to strike. You hear footsteps creeping up the stairs. Kimi pushes you behind him and grabs the baseball bat by the bed.

The footsteps reach the landing and a shadowy figure appears in the doorway. Kimi flicks on the light, bat raised menacingly. You both freeze.

It’s Sebastian Vettel, eyes wide, hands raised in surrender. “Whoa whoa, it’s just me!”

Kimi’s shoulders slump as he lowers the bat. “Seb? What the hell are you doing here?”

Seb runs a hand through his messy hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was in town and my rental car broke down outside. I was hoping I could crash here tonight.”

Kimi sighs, shaking his head. “You couldn’t call first?”

Seb grins sheepishly. “Forgot to charge my phone.”

You step out from behind Kimi, laying a hand on his arm. “It’s fine, love. Let’s get some fresh sheets for the guest room.” You turn to Seb. “We’ll figure out your car in the morning.”

Seb’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thanks, I really owe you guys.”

As you make up the bed, you share an amused look with Kimi. Only Seb could turn up unannounced in the middle of the night and get away with it. But then again, that’s why you love him.

***

You’re waiting at the finish line, heart in your throat as the cars scream past for the final lap. Kimi is battling for a podium finish, but has fallen back after a poorly timed pit stop. He’s gaining ground fast, but is he out of time?

The crowd roars as the frontrunners cross the line. P2 … P3 … waiting for P4. Come on, Kimi.

Then you see it, the red and white Alfa Romeo flashing past the checkered flag, narrowly clinching third. You leap in the air, cheering loudly. Kimi did it!

You rush down towards the pits, arriving just as Kimi climbs from his car. His race suit is drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, but his eyes are bright. When he spots you, a grin breaks across his face.

You throw your arms around him, heedless of how sweaty he is. “You were amazing! I’m so proud of you.”

He lifts you off your feet in a bear hug, laughing breathlessly in your ear. The sound sends joy bursting through your veins.

As he sets you down, you cradle his stubbled face in your hands. “I love you,” you say fiercely.

His grin softens to something more tender. He tilts his forehead against yours, heedless of the crowds milling nearby.

“Love you too,” he murmurs.

The cameras flash around you, eager to capture this rare unguarded moment. But Kimi only has eyes for you. Third place has never felt so golden.

***

“Ugh, your wife is so annoyingly positive all the time. It’s nauseating,” the other driver’s girlfriend gripes to Kimi at a race afterparty.

You freeze mid-laugh, stung by her disdainful tone. Kimi’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“I would rather have a positive wife than a miserable cow like you,” he says coldly. “Come on, let’s go.”

He takes your arm and steers you firmly away. You blink back tears, embarrassed.

“Hey,” Kimi says softly, tilting your chin up. “Don’t listen to her. I love how positive you are. Don’t let anyone make you feel bad for spreading joy.”

You give a watery chuckle. “Really? You don’t find it annoying?”

“Are you kidding? Your light balances out my darkness perfectly.” He punctuates this with a swift kiss. “You keep me from being a constant grump.”

You laugh and swat his chest. “Impossible. No one can tame the Iceman’s grumpiness.”

He smiles tenderly and pulls you close. “You do. Don’t change for anyone else.”

***

You pace the bathroom floor, heart racing. The little white stick sits innocently on the counter, but its result will change everything. One blue line for negative, two for positive.

Three minutes have never felt so long.

When the timer finally beeps, you take a deep breath and turn it over with a shaky hand. Two blue lines stare back at you.

Positive.

Emotions swell within you — joy, nervousness, excitement. You and Kimi have been trying for a baby, but it still feels so surreal now that it’s actually happening.

You hear the front door open and Kimi call out your name. It’s time. Clutching the test behind your back, you go to him.

He must read something in your face, because his brows furrow in concern. “Everything okay?”

Your face splits into a teary grin. “Everything’s perfect.” You bring the test out from behind you and hold it up wordlessly.

Kimi’s eyes widen. For once, the unflappable Finn seems utterly flapped. “You … we ...” He stares at the two little lines, then back at you. “We’re having a baby?”

You nod, vision blurring with happy tears. With a joyful shout, Kimi sweeps you up in his arms and spins you around. His excitement is boyish and uncontained.

When he sets you down, he cradles your face in both hands. “I’m going to be a father,” he whispers in awe.

You put your hand over his, overjoyed tears spilling down your cheeks. “You’re going to be the best father.”

***

You fidget impatiently on the exam table, Kimi’s hand clutched in yours. After months of waiting, today is your first ultrasound. If all looks well, you’ll get to see your baby for the very first time.

“What’s taking so long?” You huff. Kimi smiles and presses a kiss to your temple.

“Relax, they’ll be here soon.” His calm steadies you, as it always does.

Finally the technician arrives and asks you to lift up your shirt. She squeezes cool gel over your swelling belly and begins moving the ultrasound wand through it.

The screen comes to life, showing grainy black and white images you can’t decipher. The technician frowns, adjusting some dials. Your heart leaps into your throat.

Sensing your distress, Kimi gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. Just be patient,” he murmurs.

After a few tense moments, the technician’s face clears. She turns the screen towards you with a smile. “There we are. There’s your baby.”

You gaze in wonder at the little shape filling the screen, tiny arms and legs visibly squirming. Your vision blurs with tears. That’s your child, your little miracle.

Beside you Kimi is utterly transfixed, eyes shining. “That’s our baby,” he whispers reverently.

He lifts your intertwined hands and presses his lips to your knuckles. “Thank you,” he says, voice husky with emotion. “For this gift.”

You have no words. You simply lean into him, his solid warmth anchoring you as joy washes over you both.

***

You stare glumly at your reflection in the mirror. At eight months pregnant, you feel like a beluga whale. Your ankles are swollen, your back aches constantly, and none of your clothes fit over your enormous bump anymore.

Voices sound from downstairs as Kimi arrives home. You feel tears prick your eyes. You don’t want him to see you like this, a beached whale in sweatpants.

Sniffling, you ease onto the bed and bury your face in a pillow. Kimi finds you there a few minutes later. The mattress dips as he sits down and rubs your back.

“What’s wrong, love?”

You shake your head, embarrassed. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Gently he turns you over, brushing the hair from your damp cheeks. “Talk to me,” he says softly.

A sob escapes you. “I’m hideous like this! I’ve gotten so huge. You must be disgusted looking at me.”

Kimi’s brow furrows. He takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his earnest gaze. “Is that what you think? That I find you disgusting?”

Ashamed, you drop your eyes, fresh tears spilling over.

“Look at me,” he says gently. You do. His ice blue eyes pierce yours. “You’ve never been more beautiful to me than you are right now, carrying our child.”

He places a reverent hand on your belly. “You are giving us the most precious gift in the world. How could I not find you beautiful?”

His words pierce your heart. You cover his hand with yours. “I love you,” you whisper.

He gathers you close, dropping feather-light kisses over your face. “And I love you. Always.”

You cling to him, feeling foolish and so very loved.

***

A contraction rips through you, more intense than any before. You cry out, squeezing Kimi’s hand desperately.

“Breathe, love, breathe,” he coaches, face taut.

You gasp air into your lungs as the vice grip on your insides finally releases. Kimi dabs the sweat from your brow with a cool cloth.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “Our little one will be here soon.”

Even through the haze of pain, his voice anchors you. Your Kimi, always steady as a rock.

Too soon, another contraction wrings a ragged shout from you. Kimi never leaves your side, letting you nearly crush his hand as you ride out the agony.

“I can’t … I can’t do this ...” you sob.

Kimi presses his lips to your temple. “You can. You’re the strongest person I know. I’m right here with you.”

His faith buoys you, even as your body is wracked with wave after wave of excruciating spasms. Your world narrows to the circle of his arms.

Then finally, miraculously, comes the thin, piercing cry of your child. Your exhausted tears mingle with joyful laughter.

Kimi cuts the cord with shaky hands, eyes shining brighter than you’ve ever seen. When they lay the squalling, pink bundle on your chest, the universe crystallizes to this one perfect point.

Your family, whole at last.

***

You awake in the small hours before dawn, reaching across the cool sheets only to find Kimi’s side of the bed empty. Padding down the hallway on silent feet, you peer into the nursery.

Your breath catches in your throat. Kimi stands over the crib, your tiny daughter cradled against his chest. One large hand gently supports her downy head.

He’s speaking softly to her in Finnish, too low for you to understand. But the love shining through his voice brings tears to your eyes. Your tough, taciturn Finn transformed into a doting father.

As he lays her tenderly back in the crib, you hear him murmur in a whisper, “Don’t worry little one, your isä will always protect you. I promise you that.”

He tucks the blanket snugly around her and brushes a feather-light kiss over her forehead. The tenderness of it makes your heart ache.

You slip silently back to bed before he notices you, not wanting to intrude on this private moment between father and daughter. But the image stays seared in your mind.

When Kimi joins you a few minutes later, you turn and press your face into his chest so he won’t see your tears of joy. His arms come around you reflexively.

“You okay?” He rumbles.

You nod, a lump in your throat. Your family is so very blessed.

***

The paddock is bustling with activity as you push your daughter’s stroller through the chaotic maze of the paddock. She’s only six months old, wide-eyed at all the commotion.

Mechanics pause to coo over her, their grease-smudged fingers surprisingly gentle. PR people stop to fuss and take photos. Word has spread — the Iceman’s baby girl is here.

Kimi strides over, stooping to drop a kiss on your head and tickle his daughter’s tummy. His race suit is on, grey eyes intense and focused.

“Sure you don’t want me to take her while you concentrate?” You ask.

He shakes his head, a corner of his mouth quirked up. “I need to see my two favorite girls before I drive.”

Your heart melts. Kimi scoops her up, and she clutches at his nose and gurgles. Nearby, you hear shutters clicking madly. The Iceman undone by a baby — it’ll be all over the press tonight.

But Kimi only has eyes for his daughter, face soft in a way it never is before a race. With a deep breath, he cuddles her close and murmurs something in Finnish before handing her back to you.

You kiss his cheek. “Go show them how it’s done, Daddy.”

He winks and strides off towards the pit lane, determination in his stride. Your daughter waves a chubby fist as he disappears from view.

No matter how many races he wins, now his best trophy waits for him at the finish line. His family.

***

“Must be lonely married to a man called the Iceman,” the reporter says slyly. “He’s not known for being warm and affectionate.”

Anger flashes through you. How dare this stranger imply your marriage is lacking.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” you reply sharply. “Kimi is very attentive and loving in private.”

The reporter raises her eyebrows. “But his public image ...”

You cut her off. “That’s all it is — an image. Kimi deserves more respect than tired old stereotypes.”

Your voice softens as you glance to where Kimi is chatting with fans, his body angled protectively towards you.

“There is no one kinder or more loyal than my husband. He cherishes our family greatly, he just doesn’t flaunt it to the world.”

The reporter looks taken aback by your fervent defense. You almost feel sorry for her. She’ll never truly know the man behind the Iceman legend. But you do and you won’t tolerate anyone maligning him.

Enjoy the Butterflies

Daniel Ricciardo x crazy rich!Reader

Summary: in which Daniel gets dropped by his team and picked up by an heiress with a penchant for taking in strays

The heavy bass of the club still hums in your bones as you step out onto the pavement, the humid Singapore night wrapping around you like a second skin. The neon lights from Zouk, one of the city’s most exclusive nightclubs, pulse in rhythm with your heartbeat, and for a second, you stand still, relishing the quiet that follows hours of dancing, laughter, and too many cocktails.

The sounds of the party still echo behind you, a muffled roar of privilege and extravagance, but out here, it’s just you and the night.

Or so you think.

Your attention is pulled toward a commotion just a few meters away. You blink, trying to make sense of the scene. There’s a man — definitely not local, tall, and a little scruffy compared to the sharp-dressed crowd you’re used to — being unceremoniously escorted out by one of the bouncers. His head hangs low, and his shoulders are slumped in a way that screams defeat.

It’s not the dramatic, messy kind of exit where someone’s too drunk to stand, or too proud to admit they’ve done something wrong. No, this is different. This guy isn’t even trying to fight back.

“Get lost,” the bouncer grunts, shoving the man one last time before turning to head back inside.

You can’t help it — you freeze, your gaze lingering on him. He doesn’t move, just leans against the wall like he’s considering sinking to the ground. His posture is pitiful in a way that tugs at something inside you, that soft part of you that your family says is too soft. The part that’s always drawn to the broken, the hopeless, the ones who don’t quite fit.

He lets out a long, dramatic sigh, his eyes flicking up to the club entrance, like maybe if he stares long enough, he’ll magically be allowed back in. He’s pathetic. There’s no other word for it. But he’s also kind of endearing, in a weird way.

“Pathetic,” you mutter under your breath, half-amused.

You could leave him there, you know that. This isn’t your problem. He’ll figure something out. Or not. It’s not like you owe him anything, but …

"Are you just going to stand there?” You hear yourself saying, your feet already moving toward him before you can stop them.

His head snaps up, clearly not expecting anyone to address him. His eyes — big, brown, and confused — lock onto yours. He’s a little scruffy, but there’s something boyishly charming about him.

“I — uh,” he stammers, straightening up slightly but still looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “No. I mean, yeah, I guess?”

You roll your eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

He shrugs helplessly. “Well, I don’t really have one. Kinda got kicked out of the only place I planned on being tonight.”

You narrow your eyes. “What did you do?”

“I, uh …” He scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t know, honestly. Might’ve been a little too loud, or maybe I was blocking someone important from getting their drinks. These places, man, they don’t like it when you’re … disruptive.”

You cross your arms, glancing at him up and down. He doesn’t look dangerous, just out of place. “You sound like you deserved it.”

He winces. “Probably did.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you’re still standing there, wondering why you’re wasting your time. Then, before you know it, you’re sighing. Your family would shake their heads at you, calling you too kind for your own good.

“Come on,” you say, jerking your head toward the curb. “Let’s go.”

He blinks. “What?”

You nod toward the curb, where your Rolls Royce waits, engine quietly idling. The chauffeur stands by, staring straight ahead like this is the most normal thing in the world, like this isn’t some insane act of kindness you’re pulling out of nowhere.

“I’m not leaving you out here,” you say, already heading toward the car. “Get in.”

“Uh — wait, seriously?” He hurries to catch up, still clearly not processing what’s happening. “You don’t even know me.”

You shrug, throwing a look over your shoulder. “Do I need to?”

“Usually, yeah,” he says, jogging slightly to keep pace with you. “I mean, what if I’m like, a complete psycho or something?”

“If you were, I doubt you’d be sitting against a wall feeling sorry for yourself,” you shoot back, opening the car door. “Now get in before I change my mind.”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation, like he’s weighing his options, but then he shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, and slides into the backseat beside you. The leather is cool against your skin, the scent of luxury and privilege permeating the air, and for a second, it’s quiet as the door closes behind you both.

The driver pulls away from the curb smoothly, not asking questions.

“So … you do this often?” The man asks, still clearly bewildered. “Pick up random guys outside clubs?”

You snort, turning to face him. “Definitely not.”

“Then why me?”

You shrug. “You looked pathetic.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and for a second, you think you’ve offended him, but then he laughs — loud, unabashed, and surprising. “Wow. Okay. Well, thanks, I guess?”

You smile despite yourself. “Don’t mention it.”

He leans back in the seat, still grinning. “I’m Daniel, by the way. Ricciardo. Not sure if that means anything to you.”

You narrow your eyes, the name clicking into place. “The F1 driver?”

He looks a little sheepish but nods. “Yeah, that’s me.”

You stare at him for a moment, processing that. It’s not like you keep up with racing, but you’ve definitely heard of him. Seen him in ads, maybe, or on TV. It’s a little weird, thinking about it now. The same guy who’s smiling at you, a little bashfully, is famous in his own right.

“I didn’t recognize you,” you say, somewhat apologetic.

He shrugs again, more relaxed now. “Don’t worry about it. Happens more often than you think. Usually, I’m not getting kicked out of places, though.”

You smirk. “Good to know.”

There’s a comfortable silence after that, the two of you settling into the soft hum of the car as it glides through the streets. You steal a glance at him, watching as he stares out the window, looking slightly more at peace now that he’s not sitting on the pavement outside of a nightclub. He catches you looking, raising an eyebrow.

“So, you’re just gonna take me home, drop me off like a stray cat?” He teases, flashing you that boyish grin again.

You tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “Depends. Do stray cats usually get rides in Rolls Royces?”

“Only the ones that get kicked out of clubs,” he fires back, and you can’t help but laugh.

This was definitely not how you expected your night to go.

***

You lean back in your seat, letting the smooth hum of the Rolls Royce fill the silence for a moment. Daniel seems more relaxed now, but there’s still something hanging in the air, something that makes you look at him again, curiosity getting the better of you.

"So," you say, turning your head slightly to study him, "where am I dropping you off? What hotel are you staying at?"

Daniel blinks, the question catching him off guard. He looks at you, then at the ceiling of the car like the answer might be written somewhere above his head. “Uh … yeah, about that …”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t know, do you?”

He winces, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Not exactly. I mean, I know I checked into a place, obviously, but I can’t remember the name right now.”

“You can’t remember what hotel you’re staying at?” Your tone is somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

Daniel shrugs, unbothered. “It’s been a long day. Plus, there’s like, a million hotels in Singapore. They all start to blur together.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Okay, genius. So how were you planning on getting back?”

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he admits, grinning lazily. Then, the grin fades, and something shifts in his expression — something a little sadder, more raw. “Honestly, even if I did know, I don’t really want to go back there.”

You frown. “Why not?”

He hesitates, eyes flicking to the window as if he can avoid answering by watching the city lights whiz by. After a long pause, he sighs and leans back against the seat, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I got dropped,” he mutters, almost too quietly for you to hear.

“Dropped?” You repeat, confused. “From what?”

“From my team,” he clarifies, his voice a little hoarse. “VCARB. They, uh, decided they didn’t want me around anymore.”

You blink, the realization hitting you like a sudden cold wave. “Oh.”

Daniel doesn’t say anything for a moment, the silence growing heavy. You can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch slightly as he picks at an invisible thread on his jeans.

“I mean,” he finally continues, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “I kinda saw it coming. Just didn’t think it’d happen this fast, y’know?”

The lightheartedness from earlier is completely gone now, replaced by something darker, something heavier. You can feel the weight of it pressing down on him, the frustration and sadness barely concealed behind his crooked grin.

“I thought I had more time,” he says softly, his voice raw with vulnerability. “But I guess that’s how it goes. One day you’re on top of the world, and the next … well, you’re getting kicked out of nightclubs.”

You stay quiet, unsure of what to say. You weren’t expecting to find yourself in this situation tonight — sitting in the back of a Rolls Royce with a famous F1 driver who just lost his job. And yet, here you are, listening to him spill his heart out in the middle of the night, somewhere between Zouk and wherever he was supposed to go next.

“I just don’t want to be around them right now,” he continues, voice thick. “The team, the people … they’re all pretending to be nice, like it’s just business, but it’s not. It’s my life. My career.”

He shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter laugh. “And now it’s over. Just like that.”

You let out a sigh, long and heavy. “So, you don’t want to go back to your hotel?”

“Not really,” Daniel mutters, slumping back in his seat.

You stare at him for a second, weighing your options. Your chauffeur is driving aimlessly through the city, waiting for your instructions, and Daniel is sitting here, lost in his own world of disappointment. He looks tired, drained, and you’re not cruel enough to leave him like this.

“Well,” you say, after a beat of silence, “I guess you’re coming with me then.”

Daniel’s head snaps up, his brows furrowing. “Wait, what?”

You glance at him, your voice firm. “You heard me. You can’t remember your hotel, you don’t want to go back even if you could, and I’m not about to leave you wandering around Singapore. So, you’re coming to my place.”

He stares at you, eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. “Are you serious?”

You roll your eyes. “Would I say it if I wasn’t?”

For a moment, he looks like he’s about to argue, but then he slumps back in his seat again, exhaling a long, tired breath. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

You nod, already turning to the front of the car. “Take us home,” you tell your chauffeur, who acknowledges the instruction with a curt nod before the car smoothly shifts direction.

Daniel leans his head against the window, eyes heavy. “Thanks,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

You wave it off. “I know.”

A few minutes pass in silence, the soft sound of the tires against the road lulling both of you into a calm quiet. You glance over at Daniel again, noticing how his eyelids are drooping more and more, his head bobbing slightly as he fights to stay awake.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” you comment, amused.

“M’not,” he protests, but his words are already slurred. “Just … resting my eyes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take long before his breathing evens out, and his head tips to the side, fully succumbing to sleep. You shake your head, watching him for a moment. He looks peaceful like this, the weight of whatever he’s been carrying lifted, if only temporarily.

“Of course,” you mutter to yourself, leaning back in your seat, “this is how my night ends.”

The car pulls up in front of your building — a sleek, modern tower in one of the city’s most exclusive neighborhoods. Your chauffeur steps out first, coming around to open the door for you. You step out gracefully, smoothing your dress, but when you look back into the car, Daniel is still out cold, slumped awkwardly in the seat.

You sigh. “This is not happening.”

Your chauffeur, ever professional, stands at attention, waiting for your next move. You consider your options for a second before glancing at him. “Help me get him inside, will you?”

The chauffeur doesn’t hesitate, nodding curtly. He moves to the other side of the car and carefully opens the door. Together, you manage to maneuver Daniel out of the backseat, his arm draped over the chauffeur’s shoulder as he leans heavily against him. Daniel stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, too deep in sleep to even register what’s happening.

The doorman, recognizing you immediately, rushes over to assist. “Miss Y/L/N,” he says, eyes flicking from you to the unconscious Daniel, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, giving him a tight smile. “Just … had a long night.”

The doorman nods, not pressing further, and helps the chauffeur guide Daniel through the lobby and into the elevator. You follow behind, feeling a little ridiculous but knowing there’s no turning back now.

The elevator ride is quiet, save for Daniel’s soft breathing as he leans against the wall, still fast asleep. You glance at him, half-amused, half-exasperated. What a night.

When you finally reach your penthouse, the door slides open smoothly, and the chauffeur and doorman gently ease Daniel onto your plush couch. He sprawls out, looking even more out of place among the sleek, expensive furniture, but you can’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“Thanks,” you tell the men, who nod before excusing themselves quietly, leaving you alone with your unexpected guest.

You stand there for a moment, looking at Daniel as he sleeps soundly on your couch. His shoes are still on, one arm hanging off the side, and his mouth slightly open in a way that’s almost comical. Shaking your head, you grab a blanket from a nearby chair and drape it over him.

“Well, this is definitely not how I thought my night would go,” you mutter to yourself, standing back and crossing your arms as you look at him one last time.

With a sigh, you turn and head toward your bedroom, already mentally preparing for the chaos tomorrow is likely to bring.

***

You’re in the middle of a dream when you hear it — the unmistakable sound of your mother’s voice. Loud, sharp, and utterly out of place in the peaceful silence of your penthouse. Your eyes snap open, heart pounding in your chest as you try to piece together why in the world she would be here, at this ungodly hour.

And then you hear it. A scream.

“Who is this man?”

Your stomach drops, the reality of last night hitting you like a freight train. Daniel. He’s still here. Passed out on your couch. And now, your very traditional mother is standing in your living room, probably about to have a heart attack.

You scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over yourself as you rush toward the living room. You can already hear her ranting, a mix of shock and outrage in her voice, and you don’t even have time to think before you’re standing in front of her, trying to calm the situation down.

“Mum!” You blurt out, trying to sound casual, like this isn’t the absolute disaster it clearly is. “What are you doing here?”

Your mother’s eyes are wide, her perfectly manicured hand pressed dramatically against her chest as she stares down at Daniel, who’s still blissfully unconscious, mouth slightly open, one arm dangling off the edge of the couch.

“I could ask you the same thing!” She snaps, her voice rising with every word. “Why is there a man sleeping in your living room? And why-” she leans in, eyes narrowing, “does he look like he’s been out drinking all night?”

Your mind races, panic bubbling up as you try to figure out what to say, what kind of excuse would possibly explain this. And then, without even thinking, the words tumble out of your mouth.

“He’s … he’s my boyfriend.”

The second the lie leaves your lips, you know it’s a terrible idea. But it’s too late now. Your mother freezes, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she looks between you and Daniel. “Your … boyfriend?” She repeats, her tone incredulous.

You nod, forcing a tight smile, praying that Daniel stays asleep long enough for you to get through this. “Yes. My boyfriend.”

Your mother looks like she’s about to faint. “And you didn’t tell me? You-”

“I was going to!” you interrupt quickly. “But it’s … it’s new. Very new. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.”

She crosses her arms, still clearly not buying it. “And this is how you introduce him to your mother? Drunk and passed out in your living room?”

“He’s not drunk,” you say quickly, even though that’s obviously a lie. “He’s … uh, just really tired. He’s been going through a lot lately.”

At that moment, you hear a groan from the couch. You glance over, heart sinking as Daniel stirs, slowly blinking awake. His face is pale, and the second he opens his eyes, you can see the hangover written all over him.

“Wh-” Daniel starts, voice groggy as he sits up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Where …”

Your mother’s eyes widen, and she turns to you, her expression one of absolute horror. “This is him?” She whispers, like you’ve just committed some kind of unspeakable crime.

You give her a weak smile. “Yes. Mum, this is Daniel.”

Daniel’s head snaps up at the sound of his name, his bleary eyes trying to make sense of the situation. He looks at you, confused, and you give him a pointed look, willing him to just go along with it.

"Daniel," you say through gritted teeth, “this is my mother. Remember? I told you she might stop by.”

Daniel blinks at you, his brow furrowed in confusion. It takes a second, but you can practically see the gears turning in his brain as he tries to process what’s happening. Finally, he nods slowly, trying to catch up. “Right. Your mum. Uh, hi.”

Your mother stares at him, unimpressed. “Are you alright?” She asks, her voice cold and judgmental.

Daniel, still clearly half-asleep and in the throes of a wicked hangover, gives her a shaky smile. “Yeah, just … didn’t sleep great,” he mumbles, leaning back into the couch.

You wince internally, but keep up the act. “He’s been working so hard lately,” you say quickly, hoping to smooth things over. “With his job and everything.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow further. “And what does he do, exactly?”

Daniel glances at you, panic flickering in his eyes, clearly not prepared for this interrogation. You jump in before he can make things worse.

“He’s … in sports,” you say vaguely. “He’s an athlete.”

Your mother’s gaze doesn’t soften in the slightest. “What kind of athlete?”

You feel Daniel’s eyes on you, pleading silently for help. “Formula 1,” you say quickly. “He’s a Formula 1 driver.”

Your mother blinks, taken aback by this revelation. “A race car driver?” She repeats, like it’s the most absurd thing she’s ever heard. “That’s … interesting.”

You can tell she’s not impressed, but at least it’s bought you a little time. You just need to get through this without her prying too much further.

“I promise, Mum, Daniel’s a good guy,” you say, trying to sound convincing. “He just … had a rough night. That’s all.”

Your mother’s gaze flicks between you and Daniel, suspicion still heavy in her eyes. “And where did he sleep?”

You freeze. “Uh …”

Daniel, finally catching on to what’s happening, sits up a little straighter. “I slept here,” he says quickly, gesturing to the couch. “On the couch. I didn’t … you know …”

He trails off, looking at your mother awkwardly, but the message is clear.

Your mother’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised by his admission. “You didn’t share a bed?”

You shake your head vigorously. “No, Mum. We didn’t share a bed. We’re not married, remember?”

For the first time since she walked in, your mother seems to relax a little, her rigid posture softening just a bit. “Well,” she says, sounding somewhat mollified, “at least he has some morals.”

You breathe a silent sigh of relief, nodding along. “Exactly. Daniel’s … very respectful.”

Daniel gives a small, awkward smile, clearly still trying to wrap his head around the situation. “Uh, yeah. Very … respectful.”

Your mother studies him for a moment longer, then nods, satisfied. “Well, I suppose it could be worse.”

You almost laugh at that but manage to keep a straight face. “Right.”

There’s a brief pause as your mother smooths down her dress, glancing around the penthouse like she’s looking for something to criticize. Then, her eyes land back on you, and she smiles — one of those deceptively sweet smiles that always makes you nervous.

“Well,” she says brightly, “since I’m here, I’d love to get to know Daniel a bit better. Why don’t you two join me for dinner tonight?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Dinner? Tonight?”

Your mother nods, clearly not taking no for an answer. “Yes. I think it’s high time I meet this boyfriend of yours properly.”

You glance at Daniel, who’s looking at you with wide, slightly panicked eyes. You can tell he’s regretting every decision that led him to this moment, but there’s no way out now. You’re both trapped.

“Uh, sure,” you say weakly. “We’d love to.”

Your mother beams, clearly pleased with herself. “Wonderful! I’ll have my assistant call to make the reservation. Seven o’clock sharp. You know where. Don’t be late.”

Before you can respond, she’s already turning on her heel, heading toward the door with a satisfied smile on her face. “I’ll see you both tonight,” she calls over her shoulder as she exits, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

The door clicks shut, and the room is suddenly, blissfully quiet.

You turn to Daniel, who’s staring at you, still half-dazed from sleep and now fully confused about what just happened.

“Boyfriend?” He croaks, his voice rough from the hangover.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh, rubbing your temples. “I panicked.”

He groans, flopping back onto the couch. “Dinner with your mum? Really?”

“Yes. And if you don’t play along, I’m pretty sure she’ll disown me.”

Daniel chuckles weakly, rubbing his temples. “Great. Just great.”

You stare at him for a moment, then flop down next to him on the couch, letting your head fall back against the cushions. “This is a disaster.”

“Eh,” Daniel mutters, eyes closed. “Could be worse.”

You shoot him a look. “How?”

He cracks one eye open, grinning. “At least I didn’t throw up on her.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “That’s not funny.”

But when you look up, you can’t help but laugh, because as ridiculous as this entire situation is, somehow, in the madness of it all, you know tonight is going to be even worse.

***

Dinner is already awkward. You can feel the tension every time your mother glances at Daniel, her polite smile not quite reaching her eyes. It’s a small, exclusive restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters wear gloves, and the courses are tiny but outrageously expensive. The chef is renowned for his traditional yet experimental take on Singaporean cuisine, which is perfect because your mother insists on a display of sophistication when it comes to hosting. Unfortunately, that also means the pressure on Daniel is palpable.

Daniel sits across from you, trying to look comfortable, though his hand is constantly fiddling with his napkin under the table. Your mother, seated beside him, is maintaining her usual air of grace, but you can see she’s sizing him up, scrutinizing every bite, every word. And you … you’re just trying to survive.

“So, Daniel,” your mother begins, swirling her wine like a seasoned critic, “what are your long-term plans? With your career, I mean.”

Daniel freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth, the question clearly catching him off guard. He clears his throat, scrambling to find an answer that sounds impressive. “Well, uh, things are a bit … in flux right now,” he says, offering a weak smile. “But I’m working on it.”

Your mother arches an eyebrow. “In flux? That doesn’t sound very … stable.”

You kick Daniel lightly under the table, silently willing him to come up with something better than “in flux.” He glances at you for help, but you just widen your eyes, urging him to recover.

“Yeah, well,” Daniel says, trying to salvage the conversation, “I’ve been racing for a while, you know? Formula 1. It’s a pretty high-pressure job, so … I’m considering my next move carefully.”

Your mother makes a noncommittal hum, clearly unimpressed. “I see.”

You want to sink into the floor.

“I’m going to excuse myself for a moment,” you say quickly, standing from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

Daniel gives you a look that screams *don’t leave me alone with her*, but there’s no way around it. You shoot him an apologetic smile before making your way toward the restroom, leaving him to fend for himself.

As soon as you’re gone, the silence at the table becomes almost deafening. Daniel shifts uncomfortably in his seat, glancing around the room as if he’s suddenly forgotten how to act normal. He’s about to reach for his water glass when he notices your mother watching him closely.

“So,” she says, her tone unnervingly calm, “Daniel.”

He straightens up, unsure if he should be relieved or terrified that she’s addressing him directly. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I think we should speak candidly, don’t you?” She says, her voice as smooth as silk but with an edge that makes Daniel’s skin crawl. She reaches into her handbag, and Daniel feels his stomach lurch with nerves. What’s she going to pull out? A contract? Some kind of questionnaire?

What she pulls out, however, is much worse.

It’s a small, velvet box. A ring box.

Daniel’s heart stops. His eyes widen as he stares at the box, his mind spinning, trying to make sense of what’s happening.

Your mother places the box delicately in front of him, her expression serene, like she’s offering him a cup of tea rather than a proposal-sized bombshell. “I’ve been waiting for Y/N to bring home a boy for quite some time,” she says, her voice soft but pointed. “And now that she has … well, I can’t let this moment pass.”

Daniel opens and closes his mouth, but no words come out. He’s too stunned to respond, completely blindsided by this sudden turn of events.

Your mother’s eyes gleam, and she leans in slightly, lowering her voice as if she’s sharing a secret. “Of course, I would have preferred if you were Singaporean,” she continues, her tone just a touch sharper, “but I’m not getting any younger, and I want grandchildren. So, we can’t be picky, can we?”

Daniel’s mind goes blank. He tries to form a coherent thought, a response, anything, but all that comes out is a strangled, “I … uh …”

Your mother regards him with the same calm, calculating gaze she’s had since the start of dinner, as though this entire interaction is completely normal. “You’ll do,” she says simply, and there’s a finality in her tone that makes it clear this isn’t up for debate.

Daniel stares at the ring box, his brain short-circuiting. Is this really happening? He glances around the restaurant, half-expecting someone to jump out and tell him it’s all some elaborate prank. But no one does. It’s just him, your mother, and the heavy weight of that velvet box sitting between them.

He’s completely out of his depth. He can’t even think of how to respond to your mother’s words, let alone the fact that she’s just essentially handed him an engagement ring.

“I-” he starts again, but his throat is dry, and nothing coherent follows.

“Daniel,” she interrupts smoothly, her gaze sharpening. “You’re a good man, I can tell. And you’re very … respectful.” The word drips with meaning, making Daniel shift in his seat.

Before he can stammer out anything in return, the restroom door swings open, and you reappear, walking back toward the table, blissfully unaware of the bomb that’s just been dropped.

Daniel panics. His mind races as you approach, and without thinking, he snatches the ring box off the table, slipping it into his jacket pocket in one swift movement. His heart is racing, his palms suddenly sweaty, but he tries to keep his expression neutral.

“Everything alright?” You ask, sliding back into your seat, oblivious to the tension radiating from both Daniel and your mother.

Daniel clears his throat, forcing a tight smile. “Yep. All good.”

Your mother smiles pleasantly, folding her hands in her lap. “Oh, we were just having a lovely little chat.”

You look between them suspiciously, but there’s no sign of the chaos that just occurred. Daniel’s poker face is impressive, but you can sense something is off. You raise an eyebrow at him, and he just gives you a strained smile in return.

The rest of dinner is a blur. You try to focus on the conversation, but your mother seems to be on her best behavior, keeping things light and superficial. Daniel is unusually quiet, nodding along and making polite comments when necessary, but there’s something distant about him, like he’s somewhere else entirely.

By the time dessert arrives, you can’t shake the feeling that something happened while you were gone. But Daniel isn’t saying a word, and your mother’s serene expression betrays nothing.

As the waiter clears the last of the plates, your mother dabs at her mouth with her napkin, looking between the two of you with an air of satisfaction. “Well,” she says, standing from the table, “this has been lovely. I’m so glad we could all spend this time together.”

You force a smile, standing as well. “Yes, of course. It was … lovely.”

Daniel stands too, his movements a little stiffer than usual, like he’s trying to keep his hands from shaking. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he says politely, though his voice is a bit strained.

Your mother gives him one last, long look, then smiles warmly. “Oh, Daniel, you’re always welcome. Anytime.”

With that, she gathers her things and heads for the door, leaving you and Daniel standing there in stunned silence. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, turning to Daniel.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad, was it?” You ask, trying to lighten the mood.

Daniel gives a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah … not too bad.”

You narrow your eyes at him, picking up on the odd tone in his voice. “Are you sure? You’ve been acting weird since I got back to the table.”

He blinks, his hand instinctively brushing the pocket where the ring box is hidden. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Just … full. Really full.”

You raise an eyebrow, not entirely convinced, but decide to let it slide for now. “Alright. If you say so.”

As you both head for the door, Daniel’s mind is still racing, the weight of the ring box burning a hole in his pocket. He has no idea what to do with it, or what your mother expects from him, but one thing is for sure — he’s in way over his head.

And he’s not sure how much longer he can keep pretending.

***

Back at your penthouse, the atmosphere feels … tense. Not the sort of charged tension from earlier, but something more fragile, awkward. The kind that makes everything feel a bit too quiet, like the air is too thick with things unsaid. You and Daniel are sitting on opposite ends of the plush couch in your living room. It’s not that big of a couch, but the distance feels enormous.

Daniel is fidgeting, running a hand through his hair, tapping his fingers on his knee. You’re sitting with your arms crossed, staring at him, waiting. But waiting for what, exactly? Neither of you knows. The silence stretches between you both, and it’s unbearable. Every breath feels louder than it should.

“Uh …” Daniel finally starts, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to find something — anything — to say. But nothing seems right, so he just ends up staring back at you, eyes darting around like he’s looking for a way out.

You, on the other hand, are unusually still, your eyes narrowed at him. It’s like you’re waiting for him to make the first move, but he’s not catching on. Not yet.

Daniel swallows hard, and after a moment of hesitation, his hand moves toward his jacket pocket. Your eyes flick to the motion, and his fingers tremble slightly as they close around the velvet box, pulling it out with an awkward kind of determination, as if it’s weighing him down more than anything. He holds it for a second, staring at it like it’s a puzzle he can’t solve.

Then, with a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, he opens the box.

The soft click of the hinge seems impossibly loud in the room, and for a moment, all you can do is stare. The ring glimmers under the soft lighting, catching the faintest reflection of the overhead chandelier. It’s not just any ring. You recognize it immediately.

And then, as if someone flipped a switch, you start laughing.

Daniel’s eyes snap to you in confusion, his brows furrowing. “What … what’s so funny?”

You’re still giggling, pressing your hand to your mouth to muffle the sound, but it doesn’t work. The laughter bubbles up uncontrollably, and Daniel looks like he’s caught between being relieved that you’re not mad and completely baffled by your reaction.

“You-” you manage between breaths, “That ring … that’s my grandmother’s. Oh my God, she’s really lost it.”

Daniel blinks, glancing down at the ring again, his confusion only deepening. “Wait, what?”

“My mother,” you say, wiping a tear from your eye, “She must be really desperate to get me married off if she’s giving out my grandmother’s ring to the first guy I bring to dinner. I can’t believe it.”

Daniel stares at you for a second, then back at the ring. “This is your … grandmother’s?” His voice is shaky, like the absurdity of the situation is just now hitting him.

You nod, biting your lip to stifle another laugh. “Yup. She always said it was meant for the man I’d marry one day. Guess she couldn’t wait any longer.”

Daniel’s face goes through a range of emotions — shock, embarrassment, and finally, something like disbelief. “I … I don’t even know what to say.”

You snicker again, leaning back against the couch and crossing your arms. “I think the bigger question here is — why didn’t you say anything to me? Did you just plan on pocketing the ring and hoping I wouldn’t notice?”

Daniel shifts uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing. “I — I didn’t know what to do. Your mom just … handed it to me. I mean, what was I supposed to say? ‘No, thank you, ma’am, I’m not ready for an arranged marriage just yet?’”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “That might’ve been a good start.”

He opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again, clearly struggling to find a way out of this. Finally, he lets out a defeated sigh and leans back, running both hands through his hair. “This is insane.”

“You think?” You quip, smirking.

Daniel’s gaze drops to the ring again, and there’s a beat of silence before you speak up, this time your tone more playful than mocking. “Well,” you say, drawing out the word, “if you’re gonna propose, you should at least get on one knee. You know, for tradition’s sake.”

Daniel’s head snaps up, eyes wide in disbelief. “What?”

You laugh again, your teasing smile growing. “I mean, come on. If we’re going through with this charade, you might as well go all in. Get down on one knee, Ricciardo.”

He blinks at you, completely at a loss for words. “You’re not serious.”

“Why not?” You shoot back, still grinning. “What’s stopping you? You don’t have a job anymore, so it’s not like you have much else going on. You could always be my trophy husband.”

There’s a flicker of something in Daniel’s eyes — part shock, part amusement, and maybe just a little bit of something else. “Trophy husband?” He echoes, his voice incredulous.

You shrug, leaning forward and resting your chin on your hand, as if the idea were the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. I mean, think about it. You wouldn’t have to work, I’d take care of you. You could just … exist. Isn’t that every guy’s dream?”

Daniel laughs — an actual laugh this time, though it’s tinged with disbelief. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

You grin. “Maybe. But I’m also not wrong.”

For a moment, the room is quiet again, but it’s not the awkward silence from before. This is something lighter, filled with the remnants of laughter and the weight of an unspoken understanding. Daniel is still holding the ring box, his thumb absently running over the velvet surface as he processes everything that’s just happened.

And then, because clearly, the universe hasn’t thrown enough chaos at him lately, Daniel does something that surprises both of you.

He nods.

It’s a small, hesitant nod at first, like he’s not even sure he’s agreeing to anything real. But then he meets your gaze, and there’s a flicker of something — maybe exhaustion, maybe delirium, maybe just the sheer absurdity of it all — and he nods again. This time, more certain.

“Alright,” he says quietly, still staring at the ring. “Okay.”

You freeze, blinking at him in surprise. “Wait … what?”

Daniel looks up at you, his expression unreadable but calm. “I said … okay. Let’s do it.”

For the first time tonight, you’re the one who’s caught off guard. “You’re joking.”

He shakes his head slowly, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Nope.”

You sit up straighter, suddenly unsure whether you’re still in the middle of some elaborate joke or if the reality of the past few days has finally broken Daniel’s sense of logic. “You — wait, seriously? You’d marry me?”

Daniel shrugs, though there’s a glimmer of humor in his eyes now. “I mean, like you said … I don’t have a job anymore. And hey, being a trophy husband doesn’t sound half bad.”

You stare at him, searching his face for any sign of a punchline. But the longer you look, the more you realize he’s not kidding. He’s serious. Or as serious as someone in his situation can be.

A beat passes. Then another.

And suddenly, you burst into laughter again.

“God, you’re insane,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. “This whole thing is insane.”

Daniel grins, leaning back into the couch with a relieved sigh, as if your laughter has lifted the tension from the room entirely. “Welcome to my life.”

You shake your head again, still chuckling, though there’s something warm and strange growing in your chest. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”

Daniel glances at the ring one more time before closing the box with a soft click and slipping it back into his pocket. “Hey,” he says, his voice softer now, “if nothing else, at least we’ll give your mother something to talk about at her next dinner party.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Oh, she’ll have a field day.”

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, side by side on the couch, the absurdity of the night finally settling over you both. It’s ridiculous, completely irrational, and yet somehow, in this moment, it feels … right.

Daniel nudges you with his elbow, breaking the silence. “So … when’s the wedding?”

You groan, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Daniel chuckles, leaning back into the cushions, finally starting to relax. “Yeah. One step at a time.”

But even as you say it, you can’t shake the feeling that this strange, accidental engagement is just the beginning of something even more complicated.

And maybe you’re okay with that.

***

You come home the next afternoon, practically skipping into the penthouse, your eyes sparkling with excitement. The energy around you is contagious, and even Daniel, who’s lounging on the couch with a glass of water — probably trying to recover from the whirlwind of the past few days — can’t help but smile at your entrance.

“You look … happy,” Daniel says, a slow grin spreading across his face. “What did I miss?”

You clap your hands together like an excited child, barely containing your glee. “I got you something.”

Daniel’s smile falters for a moment, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Wait, what? You got me something?” He straightens up on the couch, his brows furrowing. “You really didn’t have to do that-”

“Shush.” You wave a hand at him, cutting him off before he can protest further. “I wanted to. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

Daniel chuckles, though there’s a nervous edge to his voice. “Alright, alright. What is it then? A new watch? Shoes?” He pauses, glancing at you skeptically. “Wait, is it another one of your mum’s rings?”

You shake your head, grinning like you’ve just pulled off the best surprise in the world. “Nope. Guess again.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Okay … well, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s great but-”

“I bought Red Bull Racing.”

For a second, it’s like the words don’t register. Daniel blinks at you, his expression blank as his brain tries to process what you just said. There’s a long beat of silence before his mouth finally drops open in disbelief.

“You … you what?”

Your grin widens. “I bought Red Bull Racing. You know, the Formula 1 team? Your old team?” You say it so casually, like you’re talking about picking up a pair of shoes or booking a vacation.

Daniel’s jaw is still hanging open. “You — wait — are you serious?” He’s half laughing now, like he’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke. But the look on your face — pure, unfiltered joy — tells him you’re very, very serious.

“Yup!” You say, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “Apparently, if you offer double what a team is worth, the owners tend to sell pretty quickly. Who knew?”

Daniel stares at you, completely slack-jawed, like you’ve just told him you bought a small country. “You … bought Red Bull Racing?” His voice cracks a little as he repeats it, as if saying it out loud will make it more real.

You nod, your smile never faltering. “Yup. Just closed the deal this morning.”

“Jesus Christ.” Daniel runs a hand through his hair, looking like he might faint. “Are you insane?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit with a playful shrug. “But it’s an engagement gift, you know? Gotta keep things exciting.”

Daniel lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I … I don’t even know what to say. That’s — this is crazy.”

“I know,” you say, beaming. “But crazy is kind of our thing, isn’t it?”

He laughs again, though it’s still a little shaky. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

There’s a pause as Daniel tries to wrap his head around the fact that you, his new fiancée, just bought one of the most successful teams in Formula 1. He stares at you for a moment longer, then blinks, rubbing his temples like he’s getting a headache. “I … I don’t even know where to start. What does that even mean? You’re gonna be the new team owner?”

“Pretty much,” you say, like it’s no big deal. “And I’m planning to do a bit of restructuring. You know, make some changes, shake things up.”

Daniel gives you a skeptical look. “Restructuring? What kind of changes?”

“Well …” You tap your chin, pretending to think about it. “First of all, I figured I’d ask if there’s anyone you’d like me to keep around. I mean, it’s your engagement gift, after all. I want you to be happy with the team.”

Daniel snorts, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

You lean closer, your eyes gleaming mischievously. “And I assume you’ll want me to keep your boyfriend, right?”

Daniel freezes, blinking at you in confusion. “My … boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” you say, deadpan. “Max.”

Daniel nearly chokes. “Wait — what?”

You burst out laughing, unable to keep a straight face any longer. “I’m talking about Max Verstappen! Don’t act so surprised.”

Daniel’s face flushes a deep red, and he shakes his head, exasperated. “We’re not — he’s not my — Jesus, you’re impossible.”

You pat his head, still laughing. “Sure, he’s not. Whatever you say.”

Daniel groans, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my God.”

You sit back, grinning at him. “So, do you want me to keep him or not?”

He lowers his hands, shooting you a look that’s half amused, half irritated. “Obviously, you keep him. He’s the best driver on the grid.”

You nod, pretending to jot down notes in the air. “Okay, so keep Max. Got it.”

Daniel leans back against the couch, staring at you like he still can’t believe this is real. “I can’t believe you just bought a Formula 1 team.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner,” you say with a grin.

Daniel laughs, though it’s tinged with disbelief. “And you’re just … going to be the boss now?”

You shrug. “Why not? It’s not like I haven’t run a business before. Plus, how hard can it be to manage a Formula 1 team?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You do realize you’ll be dealing with, like, a whole bunch of egos and drama, right? It’s not just about racing. There’s politics, sponsorships, technical regulations …”

You wave a hand dismissively. “Details, details. I’ll figure it out.”

Daniel shakes his head, still grinning. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And that’s why you like me,” you quip, flashing him a playful wink.

Daniel’s smile softens, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that you can’t quite place. But then he shakes his head again, chuckling. “Yeah, something like that.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, and Daniel’s gaze drifts back to the ring box still sitting on the coffee table between you. It feels surreal — like the last few days have been one long, crazy dream that neither of you can wake up from. But somehow, despite all the madness, there’s a strange sense of peace settling over the room.

Finally, Daniel breaks the silence with a quiet laugh. “So … when do you get to meet the team?”

You grin. “Soon enough. I’ll introduce you as my fiancé. It’ll be fun to see the look on everyone’s faces.”

Daniel snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease. “You’ll love it. Don’t you like being the center of attention?”

He shoots you a playful glare. “I’m starting to regret this engagement.”

You laugh, leaning back into the couch. “Too late. You’re stuck with me now.”

Daniel chuckles, but there’s a warmth in his eyes as he looks at you. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

***

You and Daniel are curled up together on the plush couch, nestled under a thick blanket, a pint of ice cream balanced between the two of you. The glow of the TV flickers across the room as Crazy Rich Asians plays in the background, the glamorous scenes of Singapore flashing on the screen. You scoop a spoonful of ice cream and pop it into your mouth, your eyes glued to the over-the-top depiction of high society that, to you, feels more like a parody than reality.

“I mean, come on,” you mutter around a mouthful of ice cream, shaking your head. “That’s not how any of this works.”

Daniel glances at you, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “What do you mean? It looks pretty fancy to me.”

You roll your eyes, waving your spoon toward the screen. “Yeah, because all of us crazy rich Asians are just constantly jetting off to private islands in the middle of the week. And, of course, we throw dramatic, lavish parties for every minor inconvenience.”

Daniel grins, leaning back against the couch as he scoops up some ice cream. “I dunno, the whole secret wedding dress thing seemed pretty realistic to me.”

You nudge him playfully with your elbow, laughing. “Please. If anything, that’s understated.”

Daniel chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, so maybe Hollywood doesn’t exactly nail the rich lifestyle. But it’s entertaining.”

“Entertaining?” You snort, raising an eyebrow. “It’s borderline satire. Half the time, I’m watching these movies like, ‘Are you serious? Who even does that?’”

Daniel laughs again, clearly enjoying your commentary more than the actual movie. “Okay, but admit it, the wedding scene was pretty epic.”

You sigh dramatically. “Fine, I’ll give them that one. The water running down the aisle was a nice touch.”

“See? Even you have to admit there’s some good stuff in there,” Daniel says with a grin, licking his spoon.

You lean back against the couch, settling more comfortably into Daniel’s side as the movie continues to play. The ice cream between you starts to melt slightly, but neither of you seem to care, too caught up in the comfort of the moment. Your head rests on Daniel’s shoulder, and his arm is loosely draped around you.

There’s a comfortable silence between you two for a few minutes, the movie providing a soft background noise as you both watch absently. Then, without looking away from the screen, you break the silence with a casual question.

“Hey, so … do you want to drive for Red Bull next year?”

The question seems to catch Daniel off guard. His hand, mid-way to another scoop of ice cream, freezes in the air. He turns his head slightly to look at you, eyebrows furrowed in thought. He doesn’t say anything at first, and the silence stretches out long enough for you to glance up at him, wondering why he’s taking so long to respond.

“Daniel?” You prompt softly.

He pauses the movie, the room suddenly quiet without the chatter of characters and dramatic music. His face is serious now, a stark contrast to the playful mood from moments before. He places the spoon down in the pint and leans back, exhaling a long breath.

“I don’t know,” he finally says, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You blink at him, confused. “You don’t know? What do you mean?”

Daniel rubs a hand over his face, looking down at his lap as if the answer is written there somewhere. “I mean, I don’t know if … if I deserve it. That seat.”

There’s a heavy pause as you process his words. The casualness of the evening suddenly feels distant, replaced by something more serious, more vulnerable. You turn slightly, facing him more directly now, your hand reaching out to rest on his knee.

“Why would you say that?” You ask, your voice quiet but firm.

Daniel looks up at you, his expression pained. “I’ve been dropped twice now. McLaren, VCARB … And, honestly, I didn’t do as well as I wanted. As well as they wanted. What if I’m just not cut out for it anymore? Maybe the sport’s moved on, and I haven’t.”

You frown, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s not true. You’re still an incredible driver.”

Daniel lets out a bitter laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Incredible? You’ve seen the results. I’m nowhere near where I used to be. And Max? He’s on another level. It’s his team now.”

“Okay, first of all,” you say, your tone shifting into something more assertive, “don’t compare yourself to Max. You’re both amazing in your own ways. And second, this isn’t about what they want, Daniel. It’s about what you want.”

Daniel doesn’t respond right away. He just stares at the frozen image on the TV screen, lost in his thoughts. His jaw is tense, and you can tell he’s grappling with something deeper, something that’s been weighing on him for a long time.

You squeeze his knee gently, your voice softening. “You’ve still got it, Daniel. I know you do. And so does everyone else.”

He glances at you, his eyes searching your face like he’s trying to find some kind of reassurance in your words. “But what if … what if I can’t get back to where I was? What if I’m just holding onto something that’s not there anymore?”

“You’re not,” you say firmly, not missing a beat. “You’ve had a rough few seasons, sure. But that doesn’t mean you’ve lost it. It just means you’ve had setbacks. And if anyone knows how to bounce back, it’s you.”

Daniel still looks unsure, and you can tell there’s a part of him that’s scared — scared of failing again, scared of not living up to the expectations that have been placed on him, both by himself and by others.

You lean in closer, your voice gentle but insistent. “Daniel, you’re one of the best drivers in the world. You’ve proved that time and time again. Red Bull wouldn’t have taken you back if they didn’t believe in you. And I wouldn’t have bought the damn team if I didn’t believe in you either.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Daniel’s lips at that, though it’s fleeting. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “I just … I don’t know if I’m ready to go back. I don’t know if I can handle it if things go wrong again.”

You nod slowly, understanding the fear behind his words. It’s not just about driving. It’s about the pressure, the weight of expectation, the fear of failure.

“I get that,” you say softly. “But you can’t let fear stop you from doing what you love. You’ve been through a lot, I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. You have so much more left to give. And I’ll be there with you, every step of the way.”

Daniel meets your gaze, his eyes softening at your words. For a moment, the vulnerability in his expression is raw, unguarded. Then he reaches out, taking your hand in his, giving it a small squeeze.

“You really think I can do it?” He asks quietly.

You smile, squeezing his hand back. “I know you can.”

Daniel lets out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly as some of the tension seems to drain from him. He looks at you for a long moment, then nods, as if finally coming to terms with something inside himself.

“Alright,” he says, his voice a little steadier now. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” you say with a soft smile.

He leans back into the couch, and you both settle into a comfortable silence again, the tension from earlier slowly fading away. You reach for the remote and unpause the movie, but neither of you are really paying attention to it anymore. Instead, you both sit there, sharing the ice cream, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air but somehow lighter now.

***

The evening is quiet, the city’s hum muted behind the large windows of your penthouse. The movie’s credits are rolling, but neither you nor Daniel has made a move to turn off the TV. Instead, you both sit there, wrapped up in the soft blanket, the nearly empty pint of ice cream abandoned on the coffee table. There’s a sense of calm in the air, but underneath it, you can feel something unspoken, simmering just below the surface.

You glance at Daniel, who’s leaning back into the couch, his gaze distant. He’s still processing, you can tell — about Red Bull, about everything that’s been thrown at him lately. The weight of it all seems heavier in the silence.

After a long moment, you shift slightly, turning your body to face him more directly. “Daniel,” you say softly, your voice breaking the quiet.

He blinks, coming back to the present, and looks at you with a small, tired smile. “Yeah?”

“You’ve said something a lot that I keep thinking about,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “The whole ‘enjoy the butterflies’ thing. I’ve heard you say it in interviews, but I don’t think I ever really understood what you meant by it.”

Daniel’s smile falters a bit, and he looks away, his expression growing thoughtful. He doesn’t say anything at first, and you can see he’s retreating into his thoughts again, the way he does when he’s trying to figure out how to articulate something that matters to him.

You reach out, placing a hand gently on his arm, coaxing him back to the conversation. “What does it really mean to you? Enjoy the butterflies?”

Daniel takes a deep breath, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “It’s … it’s kinda hard to explain,” he says slowly, his accent thicker when he’s being reflective. “It’s not just about racing, you know? It’s more about the feeling — the nerves, the excitement, the anticipation. All those little moments that make your stomach flip.”

He pauses, glancing at you as if gauging whether you’re following. You nod, encouraging him to continue.

“I think,” he says, his voice quieter now, “for the longest time, I used to hate that feeling. The butterflies. It always made me feel … unsure. Like, am I good enough? Am I ready? Every time I’d get in the car, no matter how many times I’d done it before, I’d still feel that little twinge of anxiety. And for a while, I thought it was a bad thing.”

You listen intently, your eyes never leaving his face as he speaks. There’s something raw and real in his words, a vulnerability that you don’t often see in him.

“But then, I don’t know,” he continues, “at some point, I started to see it differently. Like, maybe those butterflies aren’t a sign of weakness. Maybe they’re a sign that you’re doing something that matters. That you’re alive. That you care.”

You nod slowly, your hand still resting on his arm. “That makes sense.”

Daniel meets your gaze again, his eyes softening. “Yeah. So now, when I feel the butterflies, I try to embrace it, you know? Instead of fighting it. Because if you’re not nervous, if you don’t feel anything, then what’s the point?”

You lean back slightly, absorbing his words. There’s a quiet wisdom in what he’s saying, a reminder that life’s most meaningful moments are often the ones that scare us the most. You think about how that applies to you — not just in your relationship with Daniel, but in everything. The choices you’ve made, the risks you’ve taken, the moments when you’ve doubted yourself. Maybe those butterflies are a part of the journey, too.

“I get that,” you say softly, nodding. “But … do you still feel them? After all this time?”

Daniel smiles, but it’s tinged with something bittersweet. “Every single time.”

You look at him for a long moment, the weight of his honesty settling between you. There’s something comforting in knowing that even someone like Daniel — someone who’s faced so many high-pressure moments, who’s been at the top of his game — still feels that same uncertainty, that same flutter of nerves.

“But now,” he adds, his voice softening even more, “I think the butterflies aren’t just about fear. They’re about excitement, too. Like, yeah, maybe I’m nervous, but I’m also excited because it means I still care. I still love what I do, even when it’s hard.”

You smile gently, your hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “That’s beautiful, Daniel. Really.”

He chuckles lightly, looking almost embarrassed by the compliment. “I don’t know about beautiful, but it helps me get through the tough days.”

There’s a pause, and you can feel the conversation shifting into something deeper, something more personal. You take a breath, feeling the moment settling between you like a quiet pulse.

“Do you ever get tired of it, though?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “The butterflies, the pressure, the weight of it all?”

Daniel tilts his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, his voice is tinged with a kind of quiet resignation. “Yeah. Sometimes. Sometimes it feels like too much, like it’s all building up and I just … don’t know how to keep going.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. You’ve seen Daniel at his best, but you’ve also seen him at his lowest. The moments when he’s struggled, when he’s doubted himself. And yet, through it all, he’s always managed to push through. To keep going.

“But,” he continues after a beat, his voice soft but steady, “those moments don’t last forever. And when they pass, when I’m back in the car, or when I’ve crossed the finish line, it’s like … I remember why I do it. Why I love it.”

You watch him closely, your heart swelling with both admiration and empathy. “You’re stronger than you think, Daniel.”

He glances at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just stubborn.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I think it’s a little bit of both.”

Daniel grins at that, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He shifts on the couch, turning more toward you, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. There’s a softness in his touch, a quiet intimacy that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You know,” he says quietly, “you’ve got your own butterflies too. I’ve seen them.”

You raise an eyebrow, slightly surprised. “Oh, really?”

Daniel nods, his eyes locking onto yours. “Yeah. Whenever you’re about to make a big decision or when something’s stressing you out. You get this look in your eyes, like you’re bracing yourself for something.”

You blink, taken aback by his observation. “I didn’t realize you noticed.”

He smiles gently. “I notice a lot about you.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence again, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air like a shared secret. You can feel your heart beating a little faster, the warmth of Daniel’s words wrapping around you like a blanket.

“Do you ever wish the butterflies would go away?” You ask after a moment, your voice soft.

Daniel shakes his head slowly. “No. I don’t think I do. Because if they did, that would mean I’ve stopped caring. And I don’t ever want to stop caring.”

You nod, understanding now in a way you didn’t before. The butterflies aren’t something to fear — they’re a reminder that you’re alive, that you’re still passionate, that you’re still fighting for what matters.

You smile softly, leaning in closer to him. “I think I’ll try to enjoy the butterflies a little more.”

Daniel smiles back, his hand gently resting on your cheek. “Good. You should.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel a sense of peace settle over you — a quiet understanding that, no matter what happens next, you’ll face it with open hearts and, yes, even a few butterflies.

***

The Red Bull Racing factory is a hive of quiet activity. The entire team, from mechanics to engineers, marketing staff to the senior management, stands gathered in a large meeting room just off the factory floor. Whispers ripple through the crowd, conversations hushed and speculative. It’s unusual to have the entire team assembled like this — especially during the off-season.

But today is different. They’ve been told that the team’s new owner will be making her first official appearance, and no one knows what to expect.

The announcement of Red Bull Racing’s sale had come out of nowhere, a shock to everyone. No one knew who the buyer was, only that it was someone with enough money to pull off the purchase in record time. The rumors had flown, the speculation mounting over the past few weeks, but nothing concrete had leaked. All they knew was that something big was coming. Something — someone — new.

The murmur of voices grows louder as the minutes tick by. Eyes dart toward the doors at the far end of the room, the anticipation palpable. Then, the doors swing open.

You walk in, a vision of confidence, head held high. The noise in the room instantly dies down, replaced by the stunned silence of dozens of pairs of eyes turning in your direction. Beside you, Daniel walks in, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, a familiar but unusual sight for the Red Bull team.

The shock is immediate, rippling through the room like a wave. Everyone stares, first at you, then at Daniel, as if trying to piece together how any of this makes sense. The whispers start up again, but you don’t let it faze you. Instead, you step forward with a wide, almost mischievous smile on your face.

“Good morning, everyone!” You greet them brightly, clapping your hands once, the sound echoing in the room. “I’m sure most of you have heard by now, but allow me to introduce myself formally. I’m your new boss.”

You pause, letting the statement sink in as the team stares at you in stunned silence. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m thrilled to be taking over as the owner of Red Bull Racing.”

There’s a beat of silence, the team processing the bombshell, before a smattering of hesitant applause starts. You nod, acknowledging the claps, but there’s still a palpable tension in the room. You know they’re still confused, still reeling from the surprise. You’re not done yet.

“And I have one more introduction to make,” you say, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You glance over at Daniel, who’s standing beside you, a little less sure of himself than usual but still flashing that signature Ricciardo smile. “This is my fiancé, Daniel Ricciardo.”

The room gasps. The shock is real this time, murmurs breaking out instantly among the team. Fiancé? Some people turn to each other, others crane their necks to get a better look at Daniel. The whispers intensify, but you continue as if none of it fazes you.

“And I have some exciting news for all of you today,” you say, your voice cutting through the growing chatter. You step forward again, your gaze sweeping across the room. “With the team being restructured, and with Sergio Perez deciding to take some time away from the sport to be with his family …” You pause, letting that hang for a moment, watching the confusion bloom on their faces. “I’m thrilled to announce that Daniel will be returning to Red Bull Racing as a driver next season.”

The room falls completely silent again, a collective intake of breath. For a long moment, no one says a word. Then, as if on cue, someone begins clapping. It’s slow at first, hesitant, but then others join in, and soon the room is filled with applause. The realization starts to settle in.

Daniel Ricciardo — back at Red Bull.

You glance at Daniel, and his eyes meet yours. For a second, you see the flicker of uncertainty in them, the weight of everything hanging in the air. But then, as the applause grows, you see the shift — the spark of confidence returning to him, the slow curve of a genuine smile spreading across his face.

Daniel steps forward, raising a hand to quiet the crowd, but they don’t stop clapping for several more seconds. Finally, the noise dies down enough for him to speak.

“Wow, uh … thanks for that,” Daniel begins, clearly taken aback by the reaction. He rubs the back of his neck, his grin widening as he takes in the faces of the people who, not so long ago, had been his team. “I’ve gotta admit, it feels pretty good to be standing here again.”

A few people in the crowd chuckle, a ripple of warmth spreading through the room.

“I know it’s been a strange few years,” Daniel continues, his voice more serious now. “There were times when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get back to this place. But when Y/N came into my life, well, let’s just say she’s good at making the impossible happen.” He glances at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and affection, and you feel your heart flutter in response.

The room watches this exchange, enraptured. There’s something surreal about seeing Daniel Ricciardo, a former Red Bull driver, now standing next to the team’s new owner — his fiancée, no less. It’s a lot for them to process.

Daniel turns back to the team, his expression softening as he addresses them. “This place has always been special to me,” he says quietly. “I’ve had some of my best moments in my career here, and I’m so grateful for the chance to come back and create more memories with you all. I know it’s not going to be easy, and I’ve got a lot to prove. But I’m ready. I’m ready to give everything I’ve got.”

The room bursts into applause again, louder this time, more genuine. The team members seem to be warming up to the idea now, their initial shock replaced by excitement. A few of the senior engineers, who had been with the team during Daniel’s previous stint, exchange nods of approval. There’s a growing sense of anticipation, the mood in the room shifting.

You watch Daniel as he steps back, the energy of the moment clearly lifting him. He catches your eye again, and for a brief moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you in the room. His smile is softer now, more private, meant just for you. You feel a surge of warmth, the bond between you solidifying even more in this shared experience.

Then, clearing your throat, you step forward again, reclaiming the attention of the room. “Now, I know this is a lot to take in,” you say, your tone playful. “But don’t worry. Daniel and I aren’t here to shake things up too much … unless we need to.” A few chuckles ripple through the room at that. “We’re committed to making sure this team remains at the top of the sport. And we’re going to do whatever it takes to get there.”

The applause comes again, more enthusiastic this time. You can feel the room shifting from shock to acceptance, and even a little excitement. The Red Bull team is known for its resilience, for thriving in the face of challenges, and this is no different.

As the clapping fades, one of the senior team members — a man with graying hair and a knowing smile — steps forward. He glances between you and Daniel, then says, “Well, if Daniel’s back, I guess we better start preparing for some shoeys.”

The room bursts into laughter, and even Daniel can’t help but laugh along with them, shaking his head. “You better believe it,” he says with a grin.

Slowly, the group begins to disperse, people heading back to their workstations, some still murmuring excitedly about the news. You catch snippets of conversation — mentions of Daniel’s return, your surprising entrance, and speculation about what’s next for the team.

As the room clears, Daniel turns to you, his expression soft. “You’re really something, you know that?”

You smile at him, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you. “It’s just the beginning,” you say, your voice filled with determination. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

Daniel grins, reaching for your hand. “Yeah, but I think we’re gonna be just fine.”

You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling with excitement and love. Together, you’ve just taken the first step into a new chapter — one filled with challenges, risks, and plenty of butterflies. But you know, with Daniel by your side, there’s nothing you can’t handle.

And as you leave the factory hand in hand, the future stretches out before you — unknown, thrilling, and entirely yours to shape.

***

The roars from the Melbourne crowd reverberate through the air as the final lap of the Australian Grand Prix begins. The cameras lock onto Daniel’s Red Bull, the #3 flashing as it leads the pack by several seconds. The circuit is electric, and the commentators can barely contain themselves.

“Here we are on the final lap,” David Croft’s voice crackles through the Sky Sports broadcast, almost trembling with excitement. “Daniel Ricciardo, the hometown hero, is this close to claiming his ninth career win — and his first ever win here in Australia. You can hear the crowd, the energy in the air — it’s absolutely incredible!”

Beside him, Martin Brundle jumps in, his tone equal parts admiration and disbelief. “This is what the fans have been waiting for, for years. After everything Daniel’s been through — leaving Red Bull, bouncing between teams, and now back with Red Bull and at the front of the grid — this will be a monumental moment, not just for Daniel, but for every Australian who’s dreamed of seeing him on the top step here.”

The camera flickers briefly to the Red Bull garage. You’re standing at the front, practically on your toes as you watch the live feed with bated breath, every nerve in your body tense with anticipation. You’re surrounded by engineers, mechanics, and team members, but it’s clear that all eyes in the garage are on you. The new team owner, the mastermind behind Daniel’s return to the team. And now, you’re witnessing the culmination of it all.

“Look at that,” Brundle says as the camera focuses on you. “There’s Daniel’s fiancée and the new team owner, Y/N Y/L/N. You’ve got to imagine what this moment means for her too, after buying the team and making the bold decision to bring Daniel back. She’s been nothing short of instrumental in this comeback.”

Crofty’s voice grows louder as Daniel approaches the final few corners. “And here he comes now, through Turn 13, a perfect line through there — keeping it clean. The crowd is going wild, and you can see why! He’s a few corners away from victory, from making history on home soil.”

As the camera switches back to the track, Daniel’s race engineer comes over the radio, his voice steady but filled with excitement.

“Alright, mate. Just bring it home now. One more corner. You’ve got this.”

There’s a brief pause before Daniel’s reply crackles over the airwaves, his voice barely containing his elation. “I’ve got it, mate! I’ve bloody got it!”

The Red Bull flies around the final corner, the engine roaring, and Daniel rockets down the straight toward the checkered flag. The crowd’s roar is deafening as he crosses the line.

“And there it is! Daniel Ricciardo wins the Australian Grand Prix!” Crofty yells, his voice barely audible over the roaring fans. “His ninth career win — and what a win it is! His first win here in Australia, and you can just feel how much this means to him and the crowd!”

The camera immediately cuts back to you, your face a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming joy. You’re laughing, hands clasped over your mouth as the enormity of the moment sinks in. The entire Red Bull garage erupts into cheers, people hugging and high-fiving all around you, but you’re frozen for a moment, just soaking in the euphoria of the victory.

“Look at her reaction!” Brundle says with a chuckle. “You can tell just how much this moment means to the team owner. It’s not just a win for Daniel — it’s a win for them. What a partnership!”

The scene cuts to Daniel inside the cockpit, raising his fists in victory as he slows the car on the cool-down lap. His voice comes over the radio again, almost breathless.

“YEEEEES! Let’s go! Oh my god, we did it! We actually did it!” Daniel shouts, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Mate, you’re a race winner in Australia!” His race engineer’s voice is filled with pride. “Take it in, soak it all in. This is your moment.”

“I’ve waited so long for this …” Daniel’s voice is quieter now, more introspective. “Thank you, everyone. This is unbelievable.”

As he makes his way around the track on the cool-down lap, the camera follows him, showing the thousands of fans on their feet, waving Australian flags and cheering for their hero. It’s an emotional scene, the kind that will go down in F1 history. The commentators fall silent for a moment, letting the raw emotion of the moment speak for itself.

Finally, Crofty breaks the silence. “Daniel Ricciardo has just made history. He’s become the first Australian driver to win here in Melbourne in front of his home crowd, and you can just see how much this means — not just to him, but to every fan in the stands.”

Daniel pulls into parc fermé, his car screeching to a halt under the massive “P1” sign. The mechanics are already leaning over the barriers, waiting for him, their arms raised in celebration. Daniel clambers out of the car, pulls off his helmet, and lets out a roar, his signature grin plastered on his face. The crowd erupts once more, their hero standing victorious before them.

The Red Bull team surrounds him, cheering and patting him on the back. But Daniel's eyes are searching, scanning the pit lane for you. Finally, they find you in the crowd, and without hesitation, he breaks away from the chaos and runs straight to you.

“Hey, boss,” he says, pulling you into a tight hug, his voice barely above the roar of the fans. “Did I do alright?”

You laugh, pushing him back playfully. “I’d say you did more than alright.”

Daniel grins, his smile wide and genuine, and then he’s swept back into the celebrations, the team lifting him onto their shoulders as the cameras capture every second.

The podium celebrations come next, the lights glittering, the trophy standing proud. Daniel, Max Verstappen, and Charles Leclerc climb onto the podium, their faces reflecting the joy and exhaustion of a hard-fought race. The national anthems play, first for Australia, then for Austria, and the crowd sings along, their pride and passion tangible.

When the champagne is finally handed out, Daniel holds his bottle aloft, savoring the moment. He walks to the edge of the podium, holding his finger up to signal the crowd. The fans know what’s coming. The mechanics in the garage know what’s coming. You, standing just below the podium, know what’s coming.

Daniel unlaces his boot and fills it with champagne, holding it high as he looks out over the sea of fans. The crowd roars with approval.

“Oh no …” Brundle says with a laugh, watching from the Sky Sports commentary booth. “Here we go. It wouldn’t be a Daniel Ricciardo victory without a shoey!”

Daniel grins and, with the flair only he can pull off, drinks the champagne from his shoe. The crowd cheers louder than ever, reveling in the chaotic joy of the moment. Even Max, standing beside him, cracks a smile as Daniel offers him the boot, but Max declines with a laugh, shaking his head.

As Daniel finishes the shoey, he looks down at you with a cheeky grin. He points the boot in your direction, his eyes twinkling.

“Wanna join in?” He shouts down, loud enough for the camera to catch.

You cross your arms, shaking your head with a smirk. “Absolutely not.”

Daniel laughs, tossing the boot aside and grabbing the champagne again, spraying the crowd as the podium celebration continues. The cameras capture everything, the joy, the fun, the relief of a long journey finally reaching its pinnacle.

Back in the commentary booth, Crofty speaks again, his voice soft but filled with admiration. “Daniel Ricciardo, a winner in Australia, celebrating in true Ricciardo style. This win means more than just points on the board — it’s the result of hard work, perseverance, and a love for racing.”

Brundle nods, his tone warm. “You’ve got to hand it to Daniel, and to Y/N Y/L/N as well. She brought him back to Red Bull, believed in him when others didn’t, and now they’re celebrating together on the biggest stage. It’s a fairytale moment.”

As the champagne rains down on the podium, Daniel glances over at you again, his face still lit up with that signature Ricciardo grin. And even though you’re not up there with him, he knows that none of this would’ve been possible without you by his side.

This is your team, your driver, and your moment.

Me: aw cute photo , yuki smiling happy as ever

My reaction when i read the other tweet:💀

💀😭😭brooo

Believe - Jack Grealish x Reader

This is inspired by the England vs Hungary game at Wembley.

After 90 minutes the game ended in a draw.

Y/N can feel the frustration from the audience. That frustration was soon followed by disappointment. Y/N was upset but she wasn't upset about the game she was upset about something else.

She was upset about Jack.

Her heart broke when she saw his reaction after he got subbed off. His face was a mixture of confusion and anger. As the game went on Jack looked down Y/N can see he was devastated it only made her want to reach out and comfort him. She knew she couldn't do that now not with all the cameras on them.

As soon as the game finished Y/N quickly moved through the crowd and went out the back. She leans on the wall and waits for her boyfriend. A while later there was still no sign of him.

That's odd.

Moments later Chilwell steps out. His expressions is grim.

"Hey Ben."

He turns and a smile immediately forms on his face.

"Hey Y/N."

"Do you know where Jack is?"

"He's just packing up he will be out soon." He answered.

"Ben." She gives him a worried look. "Is Jack okay?"

Ben shuffles from side to side. He hesitated feeling unsure on how to respond.

"Ben?"

He lifts his head and sighs heavily.

"I don't know." He admits. "I mean he's pissed but..."

"But?"

"He's been acting a little off recently."

"What do you mean?"

"He's been pushing too hard, rarely has a break. He is always on his phone as well."

"That's nothing unusual he is always on his phone you can't get the bloody thing off him."

"Yeah I know but..." He again sighs. "I think you need to talk to him."

Many thoughts begin to swirl around Y/N's head.

What is Ben talking about?

What is wrong with Jack?

Is he okay?

Has someone upset him? Who's upset him? Is he upset with me?

Her thoughts are cut off when she sees Jack stepping out of the room. His eyes meet hers. His frown turns into smile.

"Hey." He walks over in his usual confident swagger and wraps his arm around her. He seemed to sense the tension in the air. "Hey is everything okay? Did I miss something important?"

"No." Ben was the first to answer. "We're good." He smiles. "I'll see you soon mate."

He claps his friend on the shoulder before walking off. Jack turns his attention back to his girlfriend.

"What was all that about?" He asks.

"Nothing." She rests her hand on his chest. "Jack."

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm pissed about the draw but..." He shrugs. "Can't do nothing about it all we can do is move on and try again."

"You were subbed off."

"I was. That's the Gaffer's decision I will always respect his decision he knows what he is doing if me coming off benefits the game then..."

He again shrugs. Y\N wasn't convinced. She saw his face when he was on the bench being subbed off clearly bothered him of course Jack being Jack he is going to act like it wasn't a big deal.

"Shall we get out of here?" Jack says.

She sighs at that. Seems she will have to drop the subject for now.

"Uh yeah let's go."

They both go outside to the car. Jack slides into the passenger seat while his girlfriend goes behind the wheel. The drive home was quiet. Ben's words kept replaying over and over in Y/N's head.

Now thinking about it Jack has been a little bit off these last few weeks Y/N thought he was just mentally drained after playing three massive games. She also thought he was frustrated due to the bad games he had recently. She did ask him if he was okay and he said he was fine. She assured him that he can always talk to her she will be there to listen to him but in typical Jack fashion he tries to change the subject or tries to cover it up with humour. In the end Y/N decided not to push him she will wait for him to open up. He can talk when he is ready to talk.

Things got better when Jack scored his first goal for England. His face lit up when he spoke about his goal through the webcam he was so proud of himself just when things were finally looking up tonight's game happens and the familiar feelings of frustration and anger were back.

Y/N grips the steering wheel. She scowls at herself for not seeing the signs sooner. It was obvious now that the recent games have taken a massive toll on Jack. Bottling up his emotions was clearly not helping either. What was going to happen if he had another bad game or got subbed off? After seeing his reaction tonight Y/N feared the next time he might finally snap. She didn't want to imagine how that would go down.

Without realising it she places her hand on his while keeping her eyes on the road. He looks round at her then down at their hands. He didn't comment on it instead he leans back and blows out a sigh.

His hand remains on hers.

...........

"Are you hungry? You want me to make you something to eat?"

Y/N pokes her head round the door.

"Jack?"

Jack looks up from his phone.

"Sorry what was that?"

Her eyes went on the phone. She wasn't wrong when she said Jack is always on the phone but since Ben's comment she's now worried on what exactly Jack is seeing on his phone. He doesn't look happy whenever he is on his phone now.

She noticed Jack was waiting for a response. She clears her throat and says.

"I said do you want me to make you something to eat?"

"Oh no." He smiles and shakes his head. "I'm okay?"

She walks over to him and leans down and kisses his lips. He responds and gives her a curious look.

"What was that for?"

"Am I not allowed to kiss my boyfriend?" She purred at him.

He chuckled at that. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack has put his phone face down on the bed. Pretending not to notice she lies down on his chest and runs her fingers through his hair.

"So you got the day off tomorrow?"

"I have."

"And we got the whole day to ourselves."

"We have." He grinned.

"I was thinking..." She smirks. "We could have...some fun I have a few activities in mind."

She kisses him again. Jack turns away. His smile looked more forced this time.

"I was planning on hitting the gym."

"On your day off?"

"Why not?"

"You been on the go all week." She shakes her head. "You been training every day. You need a break."

"I'm fine."

"You might be fine now eventually you are going to hurt yourself."

"So now you are a doctor." He snapped. Realising what he said Jack sighs and holds his girlfriend's hand. "I'm sorry." He apologised. "It's just..."

His voice trails off he couldn't get the words out.

"Jack." Y/N cups his cheek with her hand. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He hesitated. Y/N felt his body become tense under her touch she can see his walls are starting to slowly crumble he couldn't hold the pain and anguish in any longer. Whatever is bothering him he needed to let it out now.

"Jack." She said softly.

He closes his eyes and leans back on the pillow.

"I can't lie to you." He opens one eye to look at her. "I can never lie to you. I'm..." He shakes his head. Y/N squeezes his hand and encourages him to continue. Jack clears his throat. "I need to do better."

"What do you mean?"

"I need to be a better player." He answered.

"What makes you think that?"

"PSG, Liverpool...I messed up."

"No."

"Yes. You saw what happened both games I was subbed off."

"It could be a tactical decision."

"No. I was subbed off because I wasn't good enough."

"That's not true. You give it you all in every game. You are one of the best players out there."

"You are only saying that because you are my girlfriend."

"I mean it." She brushes her thumb over his hand. "And hey." She smiles at him. "Everyone has a bad game. "

"I been having a lot of bad games recently."

"You scored against Andorra you're first England goal."

"Andorra...I scored against Andorra." He snorted at that. " I can't believe I actually celebrated that. "

"It doesn't matter what team it is, you scored, you had a goal that's all that matters."

"I was so stupid. " He shakes his head. "Tonight proved that."

"When he subbed you off. I knew it. I knew that bothered you."

"When I scored I thought I was one of the best players. Southgate opened my eyes and showed me what I really am. I'm a liability."

"Are you actually hearing yourself right now? Jack you're not a liability."

"Not everyone agrees with you."

"What the Hell does that mean?" His eyes went to his phone. "Jack? What have you been looking at?"

Knowing he couldn't hide it from her any longer Jack picks up his phone.

"Here." He swipes the screen and passes it to her. "Knock yourself out."

She takes the phone and looks at the screen.

On the screen there was lots of posts about Jack. All the posts were people saying horrible things about him.

Get out of my club.

Worst player on the pitch

100 Million down the drain.

Overrated

Useless player

He is exactly where he belongs on the bench.

The more Y/N read the worse it got. Twitter, Facebook, Instagram every page was filled with hateful and spiteful comments. Y/N couldn't read anymore. Her blood is boiling, she is furious. She wanted to give all these bastards a piece of her mind. She wanted them to know that Jack is an amazing and gifted player and that he is a wonderful man and a perfect boyfriend.

"Y/N?"

She snaps out of her enraged thoughts and looks at her boyfriend. Jack is next to her with his hand on her shoulder. Suddenly her vision became blurry. Tears begin to fill her eyes.

"Y/N?" Jack quickly grabs the phone out of her hand. "Hey it's okay." He wraps his arms around her. "I'm here."

"This is wrong." She sobbed into his chest.

"What do you mean?"

"I should be the one comforting you." She raises her head. Her eyes shine with tears. "Jack I know people online can be assholes but...I didn't know it was that bad."

"They might be a bunch of pricks but that doesn't mean their wrong. City paid all that money and...I have failed them. Pep had faith in me and look how I repaid him? I have been an embarrassment I'm...I'm probably the worst player he has ever had. Honestly I'm dreading on going back I fear he may drop me and I'll spend the rest of my days on the bench..." He glances at the screen and sighs. "Maybe they are right...maybe I do belong on the bench."

"Stop right there." Y/N pulls herself out of his arms and glares at him. "Their wrong...you're wrong. You have been amazing at City you scored your first City goal you scored your first Champions League goal. Yes you had a few bad games but that doesn't mean you are a bad player we knew the transfer would be tough it takes a while to settle into a new club those games instead of beating yourself up over it you should learn from it and think how you could improve next time. When I say improve I don't mean killing yourself in the process. You really think doing longer running sessions in the morning and spending more time in the gym will help you?"

When he didn't reply Y/N holds his hand and looks at him in the eye.

"You need to believe in yourself at the moment you are giving those morons exactly what they want. They want to knock you down they want you to feel like this its up to you to stand up and show them what you can do. In your next game, give them one Hell of a performance prove to them. Pep, Southgate everyone that you deserve a place in their team. Once you start doing that things will get better you will become an important player at City and England. All you got to do is give it time you need to be patient. I promise you people will eventually see your talent and they will know that you are worth every single penny. I believe in you and I always will."

He leans forward and presses his forehead against hers.

"Why are you always right?" He says.

She responds with a grin.

"So you admit I am right."

"Maybe."

His eyes lower on to her lips. She places her hand on his cheek.

"Let me show you how much you mean to me." She says.

Before he could respond Y\N gently pushes him down on to the bed. His eyes go wide as she climbs on top of him.

"Y\N?"

She silences him with a kiss.

"Let me show you."

After everything that's happened Y/N was determined to give him the best night ever. To do that she is going to give him exactly what he deserves. She will worship him every single part of him his mind, body and soul she will love it all.

Y/N grabs his shirt and tugs it upwards. Jack helps her pull it off and throws it on the side. She then moves to his shorts and slips them over his legs. She brushes her fingers against his thigh and grins when she felt him tense up underneath her.

Her hands go on the hem of his boxers. She goes in and runs her fingers along his manhood. Jack groans. That noise was music to Y/N's ears. She starts stroking his length wanting to get him nice and hard. Once she noticed his dick pressed against the fabric Y\N finally decided to remove his boxers.

His erection sprung out.

She grasps his dick in her hands. He cries out when she draws him into her mouth. She sucks, licks and teases him. His hips thrusted uncontrollably, making her take more of him into her warm mouth.

"Y\N!"

Hearing her name roll off his tongue sent a wave of excitement through her.

She takes his dick out of her mouth and licks her lips clean. She then makes her way up his body. She kisses every part of his body and runs her hands over his abs and thighs. When she reached his mouth she stopped. Y\N felt him squirm she knew he was desperate for a release. Y\N wasn't going to let him cum yet this is the only the beginning.

"Jack." She brings his hands to her chest and gives him a smirk. "I know you want to."

Within a second Jack sits up and pulls the shirt over her head. He brings her forward and slams his lips against hers. He pours all the love and emotion into the kiss. Moments later the couple pull away from each other to catch their breath. Jack's eyes darken with lust. That look immediately turned Y\N on she already felt herself becoming wet down there.

"That needs to go."

His eyes go on her bra. Y\N raises her arms and gives him a cheeky grin.

"You can do the honours."

Jack removes her bra then he lowers her on to the bed.

"So beautiful." He says as he took in the sight of her body. "I'm the luckiest man in the world."

"And I'm the luckiest woman in the world. " She beamed at him.

His eyes roam her body. He shakes his head.

"I swear I don't deserve you."

He gasps when she grabs on to his buttocks.

"Jack." She said her voice low. "Knock it out you are perfect and I love you remember that now less talking and more fucking. "

He chuckled at that. He leans towards her ear and says.

"And I love you."

His deep husky voice sent a shiver down her spine.

Jack leaves a trail of kisses along her collar-bone and bites down on her already sensitive nipples. Y\N cries out. He grins and starts to make his way down her body. He pulls her jeans off and tosses them to the side. His grin widens when he saw how wet her knickers are.

"Already soaking wet." He shakes his head. "You just can't help yourself."

"Please Jack." She begged.

He knew what she wanted. She wanted him inside of her. It's amusing how quickly she falls apart every time they have sex. Jack will never get bored of seeing her face like that.

Jack pulls the knickers over her thighs and calves. He runs his tongue along her wet folds. Then he pushes his tongue inside her.

"FUCK JACK...AH...AHHHH! "

Her hips move against his face as he continued to suck and lick her. He then sticks one finger inside her. Y\N wraps her legs around him tight and let's out another cry as he shoves another finger inside her. He pumps her harshly and enjoys the sweet sounds that came from her lips.

Eventually he removes his fingers and licks them clean. He then positions himself above her. Y\N gasps as she felt him going inside her. He pounds into her and sends over the edge. Y\N grabs on to his hair with one hand while her other hand left long scratch marks down his back. Her legs clench round him. The need to release started to build up inside her.

The couple rode it out until they both hit their climax. Both let out a strangled cry as they finally let it all out. Jack slides his dick out and takes a deep shaky breath. Y\N collapses on to the pillows. After taking several deep breaths Y\N blinks out of her blissful state and turns her head round. Jack lies down next to her. His warm body is pressed against hers. He takes her hand and kisses it. He then looks at her.

"Thank you." He says. "This...This really helped me."

Y\N looks at him. He is right it did help him he looked so much lighter now all the pent-up emotions he has built up in the last few weeks has all been released. It is the first time in a while Y\N has seen a genuine smile from him. God did she miss that smile.

"About tomorrow." He raises an amused brow. "Are those activities still available? "

She lies on his chest. She looks up at him and grins.

"Of course."

"Well then I suggest we get some rest last thing I need is you falling asleep while I'm in the middle of fucking you. "

"Hey!"

She slaps him on the chest. The smile remained on her face.

"Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"Promise me you will take my advice?"

He nods.

"I promise."

"You will start to believe in yourself?"

"Y\N." He holds both of her hands. "I believe in both of us."

She smiles and kisses him.

"Same Jack." She says. "Same."

The End

“Can Ansu come out to play”

“What is this?… Hello? Anyone there? Who were you talking to? No one? I’m just… it’s me” *starts fixing his hair*

📹tonicowanbrown

Honestly Best thing I’ve ever read ngl!😍

❣️!Love to hate you!❣️

Pairing: kylian mbappe X fem OC (Cherrie)

Word count : 6.2k

Warnings : kylian and Cherrie being mean little bitches to each other. (With love though). Love/hate. Mostly fluff . Enjoy xoxo

The players stood gathered in a close circle by the edge of the pitch as they all looked over to the tunnel with various expressions on their faces .

Some of amusement , a little bit of worry but mostly exasperation as they watched kylian lean against the wall beside the tunnel with a face full of thunder as he looked down at his watch impatiently .

Neymar was the first one to break the uneasy silence that had settled between them as they all waited for the real shit show to began. It was surprisingly off schedule today as usually they would arrive to the pitch to the drama already having begun.

But a certain someone was late.

And with each minute that passed with no sign of Cherrie appearing , kylian's face grew more and more pinched .

He was seconds away from starting to tap his foot like a pissed off parent too.

"Do you think it's ever going to stop?" Neymar mused as he leant his elbow against lionel's shoulder , ignore the look his friend gave him as he put all his weight onto his side.

Both Ramos and achraf pursed their lips and simply looked over at him like he had said something stupid.

Even Lionel snorted . Shaking his head like a disapproving father would.

"Is that a no then?" He asked again just to be sure. Grinning when they all rolled their eyes at him.

Ramos let out out a amused laugh , grinning to himself as they all watched the woman of the hour slowly start to appear from the end of the tunnel.

They could see her dragging her feet with sunglasses over her face , hesitantly peering around the corner as though she was about to face a fire breathing dragon.

She wasn't far off. Because the minute kylian clocked her arriving out of the corner of his eye, he almost starting breathing steam from his ears as he huffed and pushed himself off the wall quickly .

Stomping over there till he was stood in front of the tunnel with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, a cold glare already being levelled in her direction.

It was no secret to anyone that the two players just didn't seem to get on.

No matter how many team bonding exercises that they had been forced to participate in , each one had ended with the both of them in a screaming match while their friends had to rush over and physically separate them to stop a crime from taking place .

Both of them would be pointing fingers at the other in blame , refusing to admit which one of them had started it this time .

Although it didn't really matter who started it because the argument never seemed to fucking end.

Their friends had begun to understand the phrase of 'never go to bed angry with your partner' because they realised that it was applied to the pitch too.

Because when Cherrie and kylian left the match angry at each other , it wouldn't just be left at that. The bitterness and anger would then be dragged into the next day , and the next and the next .

They no longer argued about anything that made sense either .

At the beginning most of their fighting had been because of the fact that Cherrie was very close friends with Erling haaland.

And for some reason , kylian, had stupidly just expected her to let her friendship with his rival fade to nothing when she had arrived at psg as the newest player on their team.

But she hadn't because she simply told him that she didn't give a shit about how he felt about haaland , he was her friend , not his, she wasn't doing anything wrong and she wasn't about to lose a decades worth of friendship to soothe kylian's pride! No fucking way.

It had all went rapidly down hill after that.

With kylian deeming her a traitor and accusing her of probably telling Erling all of their tactics like a two faced snake .

Lionel had to physically grab a hold of Cherrie before she tried to de-kneecap their star player .

They had quickly learned that day that Cherrie had a mouth of a sailor and tongue like a fucking razor when she was upset .

Because the curses and insults that had started flying out of her mouth towards the player were... honestly , very impressive and more than a little scary.

She wasn't afraid to get up in his face and dish back what he spat out.

If kylian 'accidentally' tackled her during training , Then she 'accidentally' kicked him in the balls with the studded heel of  her boot facing up.

Things got ridiculously petty , incredibly fast.

Although it brought some amusement to their friends to see the both of them constantly competing against each other , even though they were on the same team.

Several times their coach and their team had warned the two Young players that they needed to put their differences aside and become a United front. That they needed to stop being so prideful and become friends.

Both of them had apparently went deaf during that meeting because not even the next day they had all stood back and watched in disbelief as they started rolling around on the pitch fighting together , kicking at each other and cursing each other out like little kids after kylian had once again 'accidentally' took the ball from her .

The ball had became long forgotten when Cherrie had tackled him to the floor and put kylian in a headlock. Leaving their teammates to rush over and tried to separate them.

His friend , achraf, had been in disbelief as he watched his best friend refuse to stop winding her up even when he was being choked out.

'Is that the best you got snake?!' He had merely hissed back at her as he threw his body back so the both went sprawling back onto the pitch , Cherrie still refused to let his head go even as the referee had been blowing his whistle above them like a mad man.

In the end the both of them had been red carded and sent off the pitch like naughty school kids . The two of them still pushing and shoving at each other's body as they stormed off , still insulting each other childishly . Not caring that their manager looked like he wanted to kill them.

And it hasn't gotten much better after that.

Only their friends found it more than a little strange how that despite kylian's constant vocal 'hatred.' Of Cherrie , he couldn't seem to leave her alone!

Lionel had been the first one to point it out . After Watching kylian lean forward in his seat once Cherrie had been sent off the pitch with an injury from a particularly nasty tackle .

Kylian hasn't been playing that match but Lionel had felt like he had been from the constant shouting and personal refereeing he was doing from beside him.

Every time that Cherrie had the ball , kylian would be muttering something about how she wasn't doing it up to his standard .

Like 'she was too slow on that tackle' or his favourite 'she should have just taken the shot!' Even though she was not even halfway close to the goal.

Yet when they had watched the other team start to target Cherrie and get more careless and dirty with their tackles .

Kylian had turned into a mega motormouth.

He had started cursing out every single player that even so much as nudged her . Snapping insults about the player that had absolutely nothing to do with football at all.

Lionel had then noticed the way that kylian had been unable to sit still after she had gotten injured, growing more antsy when she refused to be pulled out of the game. Determined that she could play on.

Kylian had been huffing and puffing beside him like a concerned mother hen.

"She's lost her mind!" He had exclaimed as he glared down at the pitch to where she was stumbling along.

He then turned to him with a scowl "you see what I mean? She does stupid things! She's going to hurt herself even more! And it's her birthday soon. Does she want to party with a limp?!" He sounded far too concerned for someone that apparently hated her guts.

Lionel had tried to calm him down. Aware of the cameras panning in the direction for their reaction.

"She'll be okay. She's strong." He had simply told him.

Only for his eyes to widen in surprise when kylian snapped his head over to him quickly , pulling a face like he was the stupid one.

Scoffing loudly "she's just pretends to be! She won't admit that somethings wrong. She could literally be bleeding from her eyes and she would tell us that it was just 'a headache' and that it's 'no big deal!" He mocked her girly voice , imitating her childishly while scowling with his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for her to be substituted out. 

Lionel couldn't help but grin a little at the clear worry that was written across the young players face as he realised then that perhaps kylian didn't hate her as much as he liked to make out.

Realising that it might have been the green little bug of jealously that was making him act so sour towards her.

Because he was certain then that if Cherrie hadn't had been such close friends with haaland, that their relationship would have been completely different.

He could even faintly remember from a couple of years ago when he had spotted kylian watching a video of her that a fan had made with a smile on his face and his eyes glued to her in awe.

At the time Lionel had teased him lightly "you like her? She's very pretty and a great player." He had said .

unaware that two years later that exact same girl would been joining their team and completely changing kylian's life.

Kylian had just bashfully chuckled and shrugged his shoulders a little sheepishly as he angled his phone towards him so he could show him a clip of Cherrie bicycling the ball into the back of the net.

"I thinks she going to become a top player. Everybody seems to love her too.." he had sighed a little like a boy with a crush.

“It's like watching a supermodel play football. No doubt she already has a boyfriend." He had muttered enviously .

Lionel had just patted him on the shoulder encouragingly and said a "you never know what will happen."  before leaving him to it.

He couldn't have been more right if he tried.

Because he hadn't expected kylian to suddenly decide to hate her guts when he finally had his chance to know her either . Who would have?

Instead he was stuck watching kylian pretend that he didn't care at all while his actions showed the exact opposite .

He said one thing but did another . Lionel thought amusedly as he watched kylian lean forward in his seat as Cherrie finally hobbled her way over to the bench.

Immediately she looked kylian in the eye and scowled .

“I don't want to hear it!" She warned him already knowing what he was thinking.

Kylian scoffed at her, unimpressed as his eyes flickered down to her swelling ankle with a glare.

Only Lionel could see the way his hand was clenching and unclenching on his lap anxiously as though he wanted to reach out and help her.

Instead he snapped at her "that was incredibly stupid! You should have come straight off! Did that tackle make you lose what little brain cells you have left as well?!" His voice rose angrily .

Cherrie just flipped him off as she went up to the seats behind them, picking the one that was furthest away from his.

Pulling off her shoe she flung it to the side with a wince . Then she pulled off her shin guard and rolled off her sock, assessing her throbbing foot.

Waving off the medic who had came over with a Frown.

“just need some painkillers and it will be fine." She had muttered stubbornly .

Swallowing the pills dry when the medic had handed her them before reluctantly leaving her be when she refused to let them help anymore.

Kylian finally had enough and abruptly got to his feet . Not uttering a word to either of them as he stomped out of view .

Leaving Cherrie to scoff to herself, pouting a little as she sunk back into her seat to get comfortable for the rest of the game that was left to watch.

"He's ridiculous. You would think that I deliberately made that player tackle me with the way he's acting."  She huffed .

Lionel looked over at her with a slight frown, shaking his head at her.

"You must admit you're a little stubborn . You shouldn't have kept playing. You know better than that. “ He scolded her lightly , being the only person that she would let do so.

She respected him too much to be upset .

Instead she just sighed and pursed her lips "maybe." Was all she muttered before kylian finally came back into view.

This Time he had a large flexible ice pack in his hand as well as a bandage . Jumping over his seat till he reached Cherrie side, the scowl never leaving his face as he sat down beside her.

"Stupid idiot." He snapped at her again as he grabbed her leg and swung her foot up into his lap without any warning making her Yelp.

She slapped at his shoulder with a glare "don't manhandle me like that kylian!" She threw at him angrily . Yet she didn't move her leg and instead settled back into a more comfortable position , still pouting like a child.

Kylian just huffed moodily as he placed the ice pack around her swollen ankle and started to wrap the bandage around it to keep it in place .

"It's going to hurt even worse tomorrow Cherrie! It's what you get for being such a stubborn lunatic! Do you ever think right?!" He shot back at her .

Not noticing the way Lionel was watching him fret over her ankle and insult her at the same time.

Watching as kylian started gently massaging her legs on his lap, even the uninjured one. Still glaring at her furiously.

That was some serious multitasking. Lionel was almost impressed by his stubbornness to keep up his 'I hate you' act like this. When it was so clear to him that it was the exact opposite .

Cherrie just groaned and threw her head back against the seat, closing her eyes as though if she couldn't see him then she couldn't hear him either.

Seeing what she was doing, kylian pinched her thigh making her gasp and glare at him again.

"How are you going to get up the stairs at home? I told you it was a bad idea to get a place with so many fucking stairs!" He scolded her , looking over at her questionably .

She just rolled her eyes at him as though she was used to hearing him complain about her house.

Lionel was taken a back. Eyes widening a little as he tried to keep discreetly eavesdropping .

How did kylian know what the inside of her house looked like? As far as he and their friends knew, the two of them had never even locked eyes once the game was over.

Were they missing something? He felt like it was something pretty crucial as he watched Cherrie pull off kylian's hat and place it on top of her head, the player not even doing anything about it.

Instead kylian then took off his scarf and wrapped that around her too.

What the fuck? Lionel couldn't believe what he was witnessing.

"Like your apartment is any better?" She had shot back at him . "It's top floor!"

Kylian pulled a face "it has an elevator dumbo!"

"You know I'm scared of elevators kylian! They're death traps!" She exclaimed .

Kylian was the one to groan this time as he gently pushed her legs off of him and got to his feet just as the whistle was blew for the end of the game.

Not taking his eyes from her as he carefully pulled Cherrie to her feet as well.

"You're going to have to get over it because I'm not dragging you up two flights of stairs till you recover . We'll be using my elevator because that's the smart thing to do..." he then wrapped her arm around his shoulder and swung his other arm around her waist as he began to lead her towards the exit.

"Don't even try to argue with me cherrie! You have no say in this! This is your punishment for being a stupid idiot!" Lionel heard kylian snap at her as they passed him.

Neither noticing the gobsmacked look on his face as he watched how easily Cherrie leaned into his side despite the stubborn scowl on her face .

"You can't tell me what to do! I'm going home!"

"Yeah , with me! Now shut up because your annoying ass voice is giving me a headache ..." kylian insulted her as they turned the corner to exit the tunnel.

There was silence for a moment before Lionel heard kylian mutter a  "you want pasta tonight? I bought the labyrinth for us to watch as well. Thought I might as well watch it seeing as you won't fucking shut your big mouth up about how good it is-"

He didn't catch the rest as they disappeared together through the exit door.

And it was that night that he realised that kylian and Cherrie weren't enemies at all.

Because what kind of enemies slept over at each other's place and had movie nights together?

And as they all stood watching them still bickering at each other , four months since Lionel had realised something was going on. They still just couldn't get it at all.

"Are you sure you didn't hallucinate the whole thing Lionel? Cause they don't look close like that at all!" Ramos frowned over at him judgementally .

Not believing him at all.

Lionel just scoffed at him, rolling his eyes, hard.

"I'm going to just ignore the fact that you're hinting at me going crazy Ramos." He said to him , deciding to be the bigger man.

Ironically.

"I'm telling you. He's in love with her , I don't know if Cherrie loves him too because she's a little harder to read-" he grimaced a little as they watched Cherrie slap the back of kylian's head with her hand when he asked her if she had suddenly forgotten how to tell the time .

"I slept in! And the roads are more confusing from Sarah's house! I got a little lost!" She tried to defend herself as she grabbed a ball and started to warm up .

Kylian quickly following her as they started passing the ball between them casually.

He bounced it on his knee a couple of times "I can see how you could get lost.." he nodded mockingly before kicking the ball at her , aiming for her head.

"If you closed your eyes! It's a straight fucking road here from your best friends house Cherrie!"

She dodged the ball and instead started dribbling it around the cones that were set out. Kylian jogging beside her as they took turns passing it around the obstacles .

Rolling her eyes at him with a pissy huff , clearly still hungover over from having girls night with her friend.

They had went from laughing over wine to taking vodka shots and crying over the latest romcom.

Then she had woken up in a bathtub hugging a pillow with Taylor swift’s face on it.

Which unfortunately wasn’t the first time this had happened.

Though it never made it any easier to handle in the morning when her head felt like a drum that was being slammed on.

"It's not that straight of a road If you go in the wrong direction dickhead!" She shot back at him. Annoyed that he was constantly taking shots at her terrible driving.

So she had gotten lost a few times while driving? It happened to everyone at least once.

It just happened to happen more frequently to her. That was all.

Kylian snorted , smirking as he shook his head .

"You look like you've been dug up from your own grave Cher. Hope you have some heavy makeup to cover up the hangover." He snickered as he flicked her forehead .

Before quickly Ducking to avoid the ball to his face .

"I'm still hot even if my brain is trying to fall out from my ears. You're just jealous that I look like this even on my bad days!" She arrogantly smirked as they came to a stop just as their coach told them to take a break.

"What? Ugly?" He grinned. Laughing as she kicked him. Shoving at his side as he tried to pull her into a side hug. "I'm kidding! You don't need that shit."

He pulled her over to the bench where his bag was, pulling out a bottle of water and handing it to her with a stern expression on his face.

"Drink that you alcoholic . You need to look like you haven't been inhaling booze all night. Was it wine?" He guessed as he held the water bottle up to her mouth, not pulling his hand away till she had started drinking it .

Neither of them noticing their friends gaping at their interaction from the middle of the pitch.

"Are you seeing this? Is kylian actually laughing and smiling at her?" Ramos couldn't believe it.

Neymar was blinking at them in disbelief "but he's calling her stupid all of the time!"

Lionel had a knowing smile on his lips as he looked smugly at them. Knowing that he had been right all along.

"Some people show love by bullying each other. Has kylian ever let anybody else other than him say a bad word about her?" He rose a brow slyly.

They all shook their head.

Ramos even grimaced.

"I made a joke once that she could make a nun swear with how annoying she is.." he inhaled deeply preparing himself to recall that awful day.

"-and kylian had me benched for three games. Coach told me that he 'recommended it' it to him an hour after I said that joke to her." He muttered. Still a little pissy about it.

There were some laughs between the players .

Neymar then piped up with his own memory.

“I tried to ask her on a date a couple of times but every time I tried to ask her , he would trip me up. Literally come out of nowhere and kick my leg out from underneath me!" He exclaimed as he realised that perhaps kylian wasn't just joking around with him.

That he had actually been jealous and made sure that he had absolutely no chance with her.

Lionel grinned "see? Only he can insult her. And only Cherrie can do the same to him. What did she do when neymar told kylian that he was a shit player with his left foot?" He pressed knowingly .

Neymar's  frown deepened as the rest snickered at the reminder of that day. 

“She then shoved me and told me to keep my feet planted on the floor unless I wanted to lose my pretty face." He grumbled .

Lionel then looked a Ramos who was already scowling , knowing what he was about to say next.

"And what about you huh? What did she do when you called kylian an asshole?"

Ramos sighed in defeat "she stole all my clothes while I was in the shower so I had to leave the stadium in a tiny towel.."

Then all their eyes averted back to the two young players that they had been convinced hated each other all this time.

Kylian was pulling at her hair as she slapped at his hands to get him to stop.

He only let go when she threatened to call his mother.

"I'm gonna go blonde again." He told her seriously as he then passed her a protein bar once she was done with the water.

It was a chocolate and raspberry one, her favourite. She refused to eat them unless they were covered in chocolate . So he had bought the whole box of them and always had one in his bag for her during training, knowing how she always forgot to bring one.

Cherries face lit up, gasping a little as she slapped his excitedly.

"Can I do it? I've still got some bleach left at home!" She pleaded to him. Having fancied herself a hairdresser to all of her friends .

Kylian pulled a face as he jokingly eyed her messy hair that was placed in a sloppy ponytail ontop of her head. He could still see the odd pink streak from where she had dyed it last time.

He had suggested she colour it blue .

So she did what was expected and went pink instead .

"The last time I watched you dye your hair you looked like someone has threw up a fucked up rainbow on you! It was a mess for weeks Cherrie! You were crying!" He recalled with a amused tone of voice .

Cherrie scowled "that was a ... slight mistake yes. But I fixed it and I looked great!" She defended her skills quickly .

Kylian looked at her with wide eyes "you had to cut off half off it! You complained the whole time!" He knew she did because he was the one who had to cut it for her .

"Whatever . You'll look stupid anyways.." she lied as she turned away from him grumpily . Not happy that she wasn't getting her own way.

Kylian smirked to himself , chuckling as he grabbed onto her elbow and spun her around to face him again.

Leaning his face down closer to hers , he gently nudged her nose with his.

“So stupid that you wouldn't let me leave your bed for the whole weekend the last time I dyed it?" He reminded her smugly .

Pinching her bottom between his fingers quickly , making her hiss between her teeth at him , startled.

Rolling her eyes at his cocky face , she huffed. "I don't know what you're talking about. You're loca." She denied him as she tried to pull away.

Kylian just laughed and bent his head down , kissing her square on the mouth in front of everyone without a care in the world .

Too lost in each other to notice the gaping mouths of their teammates as the pitch filled with shocked gasps at the sight of the two players who were always fighting , now kissing each other.

Only Lionel was grinning triumphantly , looking between his friends smugly . Unsurprised.

"Told you they're in love. They just love to hate each other. It's just another game they're playing." He chuckled as he watched kylian try to pull her back in for another kiss again, only for Cherrie knock out his knee from below him so he went tumbling down to the ground instead.

Cackling to herself as she gently kicked him in the butt before blowing him a kiss and jogging away.

Leaving kylian to lay on his back and let out a long and hard sigh.

Turning his head and finally noticing his teammates's shocked expressions , he simply grinned like a lovesick idiot.

"That's my future wife! She's fucking crazy!" He laughed to himself as he pushed himself back up to his feet and cupped his hands around his mouth so his voice would echo.

"je t'aime vous femme folle! N'oubliez pas de porter la robe rouge ce soir!" He shouted over to her.

(I love you you crazy woman! Don't forget to wear the red dress tonight!)

Cherrie just stuck up her middle finger over her shoulder and yelled back "va te faire foutre je porte la robe noire maintenant!" While grinning cheekily.

(Fuck you! I’m wearing the black dress now!)

Kylian shook his head at her , placing his hands on his hips with a frown.

"dites-le maintenant!"

(Say it back now!)

Cherrie giggled as she shook her head no "je ne mentirai pas!" I won't lie she joked .

Before taking one look at kylian's face and hauling her ass across the pitch with a loud laugh as he started sprinting after her.

"dis moi que tu m'aimes! sinon pas de film ce soir !" He threatened her as he tackled her down to the floor , wrapping his arms around her chest and locking his legs around her hips as he pulled her back against his chest tightly .

(Say you love me otherwise no movie tonight!)

Using his free handle to tickle her , laughing as she started shrieking and trying to wiggle away.

Paying no mind to their gobsmacked friends who looked like they were watching pigs fly in front of them.

Instead his eyes never left cherrie's, beaming down at her when she finally huffed and threw her head back against his shoulder so she could meet his eyes .

Gently kissing his jaw with a soft smile , she then jokingly bit at his chin to make him laugh again.

"je t'aime connard ! pouvons-nous regarder le match de la ville à la place ? mon joueur préféré est debout ce soir..." she bit down on her bottom lip mischievously as she watched his face fall flat .

Pursing his lips with a huff through his nose before he threw her off his lap , slapping her butt hard as she cackled like a mad woman on the pitch Next to him.

(I love you asshole! But can we watch the city match instead? My favourite player is up tonight..."

"I change my mind! I don't love you anymore!" He declared . Getting to his feet and kicking her ass with his foot one more time before stomping off.

Leaving Cherrie to giggle to herself as she quickly ran after him and threw herself onto his back. Wrapping her arms around his neck as he automatically grabbed the back of her thighs so she wouldn't fall off.

Pressing her cheek against his own as he side eyed her with a raise of his brow . His smile threatening to break through the longer she grinned at him cheekily.

"Only kidding . I'm my favourite player Ky. How does teenager ninja turtles sound?" She said instead.

Kylian rolled his eyes , laughing despite himself as he started heading  over to their friends.

"Fuck you. It's a good job you're pretty because you need to work on your personality some more!"

Cherrie slapped his head making him laugh "ass!"

Then she smiled at their friends when they stopped in front of them. Looking at their wide eyes and gaping mouths , she tilted her head at them curiously.

"Hey guys! What's got you guys looking like you just saw god?" She inquired not bothering to get down from his back. Far too lazy to stand and kylian was more than content in holding her.

Ramos looked between them blankly .

“You're kidding right?" He said.

Kylian frowned "what do you mean? What's wrong?" He played innocent . Chuckling at the looks that they were giving them.

Neymar gasped "what's wrong?! What's wrong is that we thought you guys hated each other!" He exclaimed as he wondered how they had missed the signs .

But to be fair to them they did act like they were going to kill each other half the time!

Lionel cleared his throat and sent them all a pointed look. "I am not included in that 'we' . I told you all ages ago but you didn't believe me!" He shot at them smugly .

He was always right .

The pair of them just casually shrugged as though they had no clue what they were on about .

Kylian smiled in amusement as he kissed her arm that was wrapped around his neck. Seeing the thin gold bracelet with his initials on around her wrist.

He kissed that too.

"I don't hate her she just annoys the life out of me sometimes. Plus we made up months ago and started over.." he informed them casually .

Cherrie pinched his cheek with a yawn. "Feels mutual asshole." She then looked over at the group with a frown. "I thought you guys knew?"

Ramos couldn't have scoffed any louder if he tried .

Blinking at her like she has grown a third head. "Obviously not! You two are permanently insulting each other ! That doesn't scream 'we're in love!' Oh my god!" He shook his head rapidly once he saw the matching smirks on their faces .

"You know what? You two weird fuckers deserve each other because you're both insane . That's the only explanation!" He exclaimed absolutely done with their shit.

"Most people who are in love hold each others hands or hug or .. smile at each other! They're at least nice to each other!" Neymar gaped at them.

Cherrie grinned "I am nice to him .. when we get home! What do you want me to do? Fuck him on the pitch?" She joked as she leant forward And kissed kylian's cheek happily.

Kylian laughed as he wiggled his brows at her cheekily.

Ramos looked at them like they were insane. "You could at least be nice to each other when you're not at home as well!" He said , baffled by how their relationship worked.

Both of them pulled a face like he was the one who had suggested something stupid.

"Why would we do that?" Kylian sounded genuinely confused at the thought .

“It's much funnier to piss each other off. We're just joking about. We know that. It's just our thing." He said like it was totally normal to have insult competitions with the one you love.

Cherrie hummed in agreement , smiling genuinely.

“Yeah. Kylian knows that I don't think he's a stupid , air headed . Arrogant asshole with two left feet and no brain." She laughed "don't you babe?"

Kylian nodded with a giggle "exactly . That's her way of saying that I'm an idiot but she loves me anyway. Just like me calling her a stupid , careless , brainless woman means that i think shes doing something stupid but I love her anyways." He explained to them as though it was simple .

Even Lionel looked at them a little weirdly . Awkwardly clearing his throat when a minute passed by with their teammates just gaping at them.

"Well... I can't say i get it because I don't but if you two are happy..." he looked between them warily.

They both beamed. Holding eachother close.

"We are." Kylian nodded his head as Cherrie finally slid off his back. Pinching his butt on her way down. He kicked hers in response .

Cherrie grinned as well "very happy."

Lionel just sighed and smiled at them. Patting both of them on their backs .

"Then I'm happy for you guys. Just maybe try not to fight each other on the pitch again?" He suggested lightly to them .

Kylian just smirked "you're right. I'll just wrestle her in bed instead!" He then burst into laughter as Cherrie shoved at his shoulder in scolding .

Leaving their friends to sigh as they watched the couple start to shove at each other and bicker about who was the fastest out of the two of them before beggining to race each other down the pitch.

Kylian tripping her up halfway .

Cherrie then grabbing at his ankle and pulling him down with her like a pair of  bad behaved children .

"It's never going to stop is it?" Ramos sighed.

Both neymar and Lionel shook their head .

"They'll have eachother in a headlock at the alter." Lionel muttered with a amused snort as they all watched Cherrie pants him.

Kylian gasping loudly and quickly pulling up his shorts again before running after her. Threatening to rip her thong off and make it into a armband.

Neymar chuckled "wedlock... headlock.."

They both looked at him with deadpan expressions making him raise his brows with a slight pout.

"Okay. Okay geez!"

Silence .

Then "do you think they'll last?" Ramos asked.

As Lionel looked at the way they were having the time of their lives with each other , acting like their true selves without any worry of the other one getting upset or judging them.

He nodded his head.

"They say that you're truly in love when you can act like a kid around someone without them judging you. And look at them.." he motioned towards the couple that were wrestling on the floor again with a sigh.

"They act like two naughty little kids when they're together . They're happy." He simply observed .

"And they're both very weird and might need to see a therapist but.." he then shrugged "they obviously love each other and just because we don't understand it doesn't mean that they don't."

His friends nodded in agreement .

Silence.

Then "I think Cherrie will wear the suit at the wedding." Neymar said.

Ramos laughed "obviously . It isn't kylian that's wearing those pants..!" He grinned as they watched Cherrie pat down kylian's clothes that were now covered in mud and scold him for shoving them both into the puddle.

Kylian just let her smack the back of his head with a grin on his face, his eyes never leaving her as he reached for her hand and interlaced their fingers together . Promising her that he would hand clean them himself .

And they might not have understood the way they loved but it wasn't their relationship to understand.

They clearly loved each other. That was all that mattered .

No matter how strange their love was.