Pro Bono
Pro Bono
mafia boss!Max Verstappen x Reader
Summary: Max Verstappen could never be called a bleeding heart, he’s head of the mafia for crying out loud, but when his sister begs him to help her friend escape from an abusive marriage, he can’t help but be drawn to you … and do whatever’s necessary to keep you safe
Warnings: domestic violence, murder, and mentions of Jos Verstappen
The restaurant is loud, filled with the hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter from nearby tables. You sit across from Victoria, watching her tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she stirs her drink with the thin straw. The monthly dinner — the one you never miss — has always been a comfort. It’s the one place you can pretend, even if for just an hour or two, that everything in your life is … normal.
But tonight, Victoria’s eyes narrow as she looks at you. She sets the drink down, barely touched. “What’s that on your arm?”
You glance down quickly, tugging your sleeve further down. “What?” You say, trying to sound casual. Too casual. “It’s nothing.”
“Don’t do that.” She leans forward, her voice lowering. “I saw it earlier when you were reaching for the breadbasket. Bruises.”
Your heart stumbles in your chest. You reach for the glass of water, but your hand trembles. You pull it back, trying to hide the shake. “V, I told you. It’s nothing. I-I’m just clumsy, you know?”
Her eyes lock onto yours, and the silence stretches between you both. The noise of the restaurant fades into the background, muffled by the blood rushing in your ears. She’s not buying it. She never has.
“You’re not clumsy,” Victoria says quietly, her voice cutting through the noise. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t break eye contact. “You’ve never been clumsy. Not like that.”
You swallow hard, feeling the lump form in your throat, the one you’ve been pushing down for months, years, who knows how long now. You try to smile, but it falters. “It’s really-”
“Don’t lie to me,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “Please don’t lie to me.”
And that’s when it happens. The floodgates open. Your chest tightens, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek. You don’t even have the strength to wipe it away. You just sit there, trembling, while Victoria watches, her expression filled with concern and something like anger. But it’s not at you.
“He-” Your voice cracks, and you look down at your hands, twisting them together in your lap. “He hits me, Victoria.”
The words hang there, suspended in the air between you, before they drop like stones into the pit of your stomach. You regret saying them the moment they leave your mouth, but there’s no taking them back now.
Victoria’s breath hitches. “Oh my God.”
You shake your head quickly, regretting it all, wishing you could pull it all back, pretend you never said anything. “No, no. It’s not — it’s not like that all the time. It’s just — sometimes he gets angry. You know how things can get.”
Victoria’s face hardens. “No, I don’t know. And don’t do that. Don’t downplay it.”
You bite your lip, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free from your chest. You can’t look at her. Not when her eyes are filled with that mixture of pity and anger. It makes you feel small, weak. But you can’t stop now. It’s all coming out, spilling over like a dam that’s cracked.
“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “I can’t leave him, Victoria. I have nothing. I don’t have my own money. I don’t even have my own credit card. Everything is in his name. Everything.”
Victoria’s hand reaches across the table, grabbing yours. Her grip is firm, warm, grounding. “You don’t need money to leave him. You just need to get out.”
You blink away the tears, shaking your head, your throat tight. “I don’t even have enough for a lawyer. He’s smart, Vic. He’s careful. He makes sure I can’t-”
“I know a lawyer.” Victoria’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, steady and calm. “And he’ll take you on for free. Pro bono. No questions asked.”
You stare at her, your brain struggling to catch up with her words. For a moment, it feels like the world shifts, tilting on its axis. “A lawyer?” Your voice sounds foreign, like it’s coming from someone else. “For free?”
Victoria squeezes your hand tighter, her eyes sharp, determined. “Yes. For free. You don’t have to pay a dime. You just have to let me help you.”
“I-” You shake your head again, overwhelmed, the weight of everything pressing down on you. “I can’t. I can’t just leave. What if-”
“What if what?” Victoria’s voice rises slightly, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “What if he kills you? What if next time, it’s worse? You don’t have to live like this. You shouldn’t live like this.”
You pull your hand back, pressing it against your forehead, trying to stop the panic building inside you. “You don’t understand, Vic. It’s not that simple. He’ll know I’m planning something. He’s always watching, always checking up on me. And if I mess up, if I try to leave-”
Victoria interrupts, her voice fierce. “Then we’ll get you somewhere safe. You don’t have to do this alone.”
The tears come harder now, faster, as you sit there, your body shaking with the force of them. “I don’t know how I got here,” you manage between sobs. “I don’t know how it got this bad.”
Victoria gets up, sliding into the seat next to you, her arm wrapping around your shoulders. She pulls you close, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel something other than fear. You feel the warmth of her friendship, the safety of her presence.
“You don’t have to stay, you hear me?” She whispers, her voice soft but firm. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone in this.”
You shake your head, still clinging to that last thread of fear, of doubt. “He’ll come after me. He’ll find me.”
“No, he won’t.” Her voice is firm, stronger than you’ve ever heard it. “You’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it.”
There’s a long silence between you, the weight of her words sinking in. You wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand, sniffling, trying to catch your breath.
“I don’t know what to do,” you finally admit, your voice small, exhausted.
Victoria pulls back slightly, looking at you with those fierce eyes of hers. “You don’t have to know what to do right now. You just have to let me help you. One step at a time.”
You nod, but it’s more out of exhaustion than agreement. Your body feels heavy, weighed down by everything — by the bruises, the fear, the hopelessness. But there’s something else there too. Something small but growing. Hope.
Victoria squeezes your hand again, as if reading your thoughts. “We’ll get you out. I promise.”
You don’t say anything, because you’re not sure you believe her. But in this moment, sitting here in this crowded restaurant with your best friend by your side, it’s the first time in a long time you feel like maybe, just maybe, you have a way out.
***
Victoria doesn’t waste a second after dinner. The moment you part ways outside the restaurant, her mind is already racing, fingers scrolling through her phone for a contact she hasn’t dialed in months.
Max.
She knows exactly where he’ll be. He’s always at the penthouse late into the night — never sleeping until the early hours, always up to something. It’s been that way since their father passed. Even now, years after he took control of everything.
Her heels click sharply on the marble floors as she walks into the sleek, modern lobby of his building. The doorman gives her a polite nod — he knows who she is — but doesn’t stop her from heading straight for the private elevator.
The ride up is quick, the air tense. Victoria’s fingers twitch with nerves. She’s not scared of Max, not really, but talking to him about this — about you — feels different. She hasn’t brought him anything this personal in years. Ever since he took over their father’s operation, Max has become a closed book. Hard. Calculated. Cold, even.
The elevator doors open with a soft chime, and she steps into the hallway, making her way to the penthouse door. She doesn’t bother knocking. Max expects her by now.
The penthouse is a reflection of him — clean, sharp lines, monochrome tones, everything in its place. Expensive. Impenetrable. Just like him.
Max stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his back to her. The city lights cast shadows over his broad frame. He’s in a tailored suit, as always. Even at home, he’s never out of uniform, always dressed for business.
“Vic,” he says without turning around. He doesn’t need to see her to know it’s her. He always knows. “What brings you here at this hour? You usually text before showing up.”
Victoria exhales, trying to steady her nerves. “I need a favor.”
That gets his attention. Max turns, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as they meet hers. He doesn’t say anything, just waits. That’s the thing about him — he never rushes, never speaks before thinking. It’s why he’s so dangerous. And effective.
“It’s not for me,” she adds quickly, stepping further into the room. “It’s for a friend.”
Max raises an eyebrow, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “A friend?”
She nods, hesitating for a moment. “It’s … complicated.”
He walks over to the bar, refilling his glass, then gestures toward it with a tilt of his head. “Drink?”
Victoria shakes her head. “No. I need you to listen.”
Max leans back against the bar, his eyes fixed on her. “I’m listening.”
She takes a deep breath, plunging in. “You remember Y/N? My friend from university?”
There’s the slightest flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he doesn’t comment. He just waits for her to continue.
“She’s in trouble,” Victoria says, her voice lower now, as if speaking the words makes it more real. “Her husband — he hits her. She’s … she’s trapped. She can’t leave. He controls everything. All the money, the house, everything. She doesn’t have a way out.”
Max doesn’t react immediately, his face unreadable as always. But Victoria can tell he’s listening closely. He’s always been good at that, hearing what isn’t said.
“I told her you could help,” Victoria says, biting her lip. “I told her you’d represent her. Pro bono.”
Max raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a humorless smile. “Pro bono?”
“You’re a lawyer, Max. And you’re the best I know.”
He lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “I haven’t practiced law in years, Vic. You know that.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Victoria steps forward, her voice firm. “You’re still licensed, and you still know more than anyone else. She doesn’t have time to find another lawyer. She needs someone who can handle her husband — and he’s not just some random guy. He’s smart, careful. He knows exactly how to keep her under control.”
Max takes a slow sip of his whiskey, eyes flickering to the window before settling back on her. “And why should I get involved in this?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Her voice hardens. “And because … you know what it’s like.”
Max’s jaw tightens, the first crack in his stoic exterior. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” Victoria crosses her arms, stepping closer. “Dad used to beat the hell out of Mom. And you saw it, just like I did. You know what that does to someone. You know how trapped she must feel.”
Max’s eyes darken, but he stays silent, his grip tightening around the glass.
“She can’t do this alone, Max,” Victoria presses. “And I know you — if you get involved, you can get her out. You have the resources, the power. Hell, you’ve been running the goddamn mafia for the last six years. I’m pretty sure you can handle one abusive husband.”
Max’s expression hardens at the mention of the mafia. It’s a subject Victoria rarely brings up. But tonight, there’s no avoiding it.
Their father was a force of nature, larger than life, ruthless. A man who ruled with an iron fist both at home and in the underworld. But for all his power, for all his control, he had one weakness — his temper. And when he lost it, their mother bore the brunt of it. It’s a memory that neither Victoria nor Max can erase, no matter how many years have passed.
Their father insisted on education, though. “A smart leader is a dangerous leader,” he used to say. He forced both Max and Victoria to get degrees — real ones. Victoria went into business. Max chose law, not because he ever wanted to practice, but because he knew the value of understanding the system from the inside. It was a tool, a weapon he could wield in both worlds — the legitimate and the illegitimate.
When their father died, Max took over. It wasn’t a choice. It was an obligation. And he’s been running the empire ever since, using his legal expertise as just one more weapon in his arsenal.
But now, Victoria is asking him to use it for something different.
Max sets the glass down with a soft clink, walking over to the window. He looks out over the city, his hands in his pockets, the silence stretching between them.
“She’s scared, Max,” Victoria says quietly, her voice softer now. “She’s terrified, and she doesn’t know how to get out. I can’t just sit by and watch her go through this. And I know you won’t either.”
Max doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze is distant, like he’s seeing something far beyond the city lights. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he turns back to her.
“What’s the husband’s name?” He asks, his voice low but sharp.
Victoria exhales, relief flooding her chest. She knew he wouldn’t turn her away. He never does. “Jonathan Harper.”
Max nods once, his expression unreadable. “I’ll look into him.”
“Thank you,” Victoria says, her voice barely above a whisper.
Max walks over to her, his eyes meeting hers with that intensity that always unnerves people. “You’re sure about this?”
“Yes,” she says without hesitation.
“Good,” he says, turning away again, already moving toward his desk. “Tell her I’ll take the case. But she needs to be ready. Once this starts, there’s no going back.”
Victoria nods, even though he’s not looking at her. “I’ll tell her.”
“And, Vic,” Max adds, his voice colder now, sharper, “you know what happens if this goes sideways. He’s not just some guy. I’m not going to pull punches if things get messy.”
Victoria swallows hard, but she doesn’t flinch. “I know.”
Max’s eyes flicker back to hers, and for the first time tonight, his expression softens, just slightly. “I’ll make sure she’s safe.”
Victoria smiles, though it’s a sad smile. “I know you will.”
She turns to leave, her heart still racing, but lighter now. Max is involved. You’ll be safe. She’s sure of it.
Just as she reaches the elevator, Max’s voice stops her. “You’re a good friend, Vic.”
She turns, meeting his gaze. There’s something in his eyes that she can’t quite place — something softer than usual.
“So are you,” she says quietly.
The elevator doors close behind her, and for the first time that night, she allows herself to breathe.
***
It’s a quiet evening when you walk into Victoria’s house, your hands trembling slightly as you push the door open. The warm air from inside greets you, the faint scent of vanilla candles lingering in the air. But you can’t take any comfort in it. Your nerves are shot, and your heart hammers against your ribs with every step you take.
Victoria’s house is familiar, but tonight, it feels like foreign territory. You haven’t been here in months — haven’t been anywhere that felt safe in what feels like years. Your lips are swollen, your eye still tender to the touch, though the worst of the bruising has started to fade into ugly shades of green and yellow. You can feel the pulse of it beneath your skin with every beat of your heart, a constant reminder of what happened.
You don’t want to be here. You don’t want anyone to see you like this, especially not Victoria. And especially not her brother.
Victoria meets you at the door, her expression soft but concerned, her eyes immediately darting to your face. She’s trying not to show how horrified she is, but you can see it in the way her lips press together, in the tightening of her shoulders.
“Hey,” she says gently, pulling you into a hug before you can protest. Her arms are warm, firm around you, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into her.
“I’m fine,” you whisper, even though you know she doesn’t believe it.
She pulls back just slightly, looking at your face with a quiet sadness. “You don’t have to say that. Not with me.”
You nod, swallowing hard. “Is … is he here?”
“Max?” She asks, glancing over her shoulder toward the living room. “Yeah. He’s waiting inside. Don’t worry, he’s — he’s good at this kind of thing.”
Your stomach twists. You’ve never met Max properly. You’ve heard about him, of course. Victoria used to mention him all the time in university, back when he was in law school, back before he took over everything. But you’ve never been in the same room with him. And now? Now, it feels overwhelming.
You can’t stop thinking about how you look. How awful you must seem. A mess of bruises and broken pieces.
Victoria must sense your hesitation because she touches your arm lightly. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. But Max … he’ll help you. I swear.”
“I know,” you say, but your voice is small. “I just — I don’t want to waste his time. I can’t even pay him. I don’t have-”
“He knows,” Victoria interrupts, her voice firm. “I told him everything. He doesn’t care about the money, trust me.”
You glance toward the living room, anxiety tightening in your chest. “Okay.”
Victoria leads you inside, and you feel every step like it’s too heavy, like your body is made of stone. When you finally step into the living room, you see him — Max — sitting on the couch, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp, assessing. He’s dressed in a black suit, the jacket hanging open, his tie loosened just slightly at the collar. His hair is slicked back, and his features are sharp, chiseled in a way that makes him look both intimidating and somehow … calm.
He stands when he sees you, but the moment his eyes land on your face, something changes in his expression. The cold calculation that had been there melts away, replaced by something much darker — something that looks a lot like fury.
For a moment, you think he’s angry at you, but then you realize it’s not you. It’s what’s been done to you.
“Jesus Christ,” Max mutters under his breath, his voice low, dangerous. He steps forward, but then stops himself, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “He did this to you?”
You don’t answer at first. You can’t. Your throat is too tight, the shame curling around your chest, making it hard to breathe.
Max looks at Victoria, and then back at you. His voice softens, though it’s still edged with that same cold anger. “Sit down. Please.”
You nod, moving to the couch opposite him, your body stiff, awkward. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want anyone looking at you. But there’s no going back now.
Victoria sits beside you, her hand resting on your knee, offering silent support.
Max doesn’t sit back down. Instead, he stays standing, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze never leaving you. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice gruff. “I didn’t realize it was this bad.”
You try to smile, but it’s weak, and your lip twinges with pain. “It’s … it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Max says, his voice sharper now, cutting through the air like a knife. “And it’s not going to happen again.”
You blink, your eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “I can’t — I can’t pay you, Max. I-I don’t have anything. Everything’s in his name. The house, the accounts … everything. I don’t even have a credit card.”
Max shakes his head, stepping closer. “You don’t need to pay me. That’s not why I’m doing this.”
Your throat tightens. “But I don’t want to-”
“Don’t,” he cuts in, his tone softer but still firm. “Don’t apologize. You don’t owe me anything. I’m going to help you, and I don’t need your money to do it.”
“But-”
“Listen to me,” Max says, sitting down across from you, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans in. His eyes lock onto yours, intense and unwavering. “I’ve seen this before. I know what it’s like to feel trapped. My father … he was the same way. He beat my mother for years, and she stayed because she thought she didn’t have a choice. But you do. You have a choice.”
You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling over you. “I just don’t know how to — how to leave. He controls everything. He’ll find me if I try to go. He always finds me.”
Max’s expression darkens, his jaw tightening. “Not this time. I promise you, once we start this, he won’t get near you again. We’ll make sure of it.”
Your heart pounds in your chest, the hope you’ve tried to bury for so long flickering faintly in the back of your mind. “But how? He’s … he’s smart. He’s careful. He’ll know if I try to leave.”
Max’s gaze sharpens, his voice low and deliberate. “He might be smart, but he’s not smarter than me. I’ll make sure we take him for everything he’s worth. You’ll get what’s yours, and he’ll have nothing.”
You stare at him, trying to process the weight of what he’s saying. It doesn’t feel real. The idea of being free, of having something — anything — of your own seems impossible. But the way Max says it, the confidence in his voice, makes it seem … possible.
Victoria squeezes your knee gently, her voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. We’ll take it one step at a time. But Max … he’s got this.”
You nod, your throat too tight to speak. The tears you’ve been holding back slip down your cheeks, and you wipe them away quickly, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.
Max leans back, his expression softening for the first time since you walked in. “You don’t have to be sorry. You don’t have to be anything but ready to fight back. And I’ll be right there with you.”
There’s a long silence in the room, the weight of everything pressing down on you. But for the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like you’re carrying it alone. Max’s presence is steady, strong, and somehow … comforting. You’re not sure how or why, but you feel like you can trust him. Like he’ll keep his word.
You look up at him, meeting his gaze, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you can get out of this.
***
The city lights flicker below, casting shadows on the polished floors of Max’s penthouse as he stands at the window, phone in hand. He’s never been the type to hesitate, but this call — it’s personal now. His jaw tightens as he stares out over the skyline, the weight of what he’s about to do settling in his chest.
You’re staying at Victoria’s tonight, safe for now. It’s been hours since Max left you there, but your face — the bruises, the haunted look in your eyes — still lingers in his mind. He can't shake it. The rage he felt earlier, seeing you like that, bubbles back up to the surface, but he channels it into cold calculation.
He dials the number Victoria had given him, the one listed under your husband’s name, Jonathan Harper. Max’s fingers are steady, even though his blood simmers beneath the surface. He presses the phone to his ear, waiting.
One ring.
Two rings.
On the third ring, the line clicks open, and a voice comes through, sharp and annoyed.
“Who the hell is this?” Jonathan’s voice is biting, laced with impatience. “It’s late. What do you want?”
Max takes a slow breath, his voice low, smooth as steel. “This is Max Verstappen. Y/N’s lawyer.”
There’s a pause, a brief one, and then Jonathan lets out a derisive snort. “Lawyer? She’s got a lawyer now? You’re joking, right? She can’t even afford to pay for groceries, let alone a lawyer.”
Max’s grip on the phone tightens. “She doesn’t need to worry about that. I’m representing her pro bono.”
Jonathan scoffs, the sound thick with disdain. “Pro bono? Let me guess, you’re one of those bleeding-heart types, huh? Think you’re gonna save the poor damsel in distress? She doesn’t need saving, you idiot. She knows her place.”
Max’s chest tightens, but his voice remains eerily calm. “Her place? The only place she’ll be is as far away from you as possible.”
Jonathan laughs, cold and condescending. “You think you can just take her away from me? She’s nothing without me. She doesn’t have a dime. She’s got no friends, no family that gives a damn. She’s worthless. The only reason she’s got a roof over her head is because of me.”
Max’s jaw clenches. “She’s filing for divorce.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line, followed by a harsh, barking laugh. “Divorce? Is that what she told you? You must be even dumber than you sound. She can’t divorce me. She doesn’t have the guts. Besides, what’s she gonna get in the divorce? The clothes on her back? I own everything. And trust me, I’ll make sure she leaves with nothing.”
“You’re mistaken,” Max says, voice hardening. “She’s not walking away with nothing. You’re going to pay, and you’re going to pay big.”
“Pay?” Jonathan’s voice rises, anger seeping through now. “For what? For putting a roof over her head? For putting food in her mouth? I’ve been supporting her pathetic ass for years, and now she’s pulling this stunt? She’s nothing but an ungrateful little-”
Max cuts him off, his voice like ice. “Watch your mouth.”
The venom in Jonathan’s voice deepens. “I’ll say whatever the hell I want about her. She’s mine. She’ll always be mine. And you can’t change that, no matter what you do. You think a lawyer’s gonna scare me? I’ve seen your type before. You show up, throw around a few legal threats, and then crawl back under your rock when it doesn’t work out. But guess what? I’ve got a lawyer, too. And he’s ten times better than whatever pro bono hack you are.”
Max doesn’t flinch, doesn’t rise to the bait. He’s heard men like Jonathan before. Hell, he’s dealt with men far worse. But something about this — about the way Jonathan talks about you — makes his blood boil in a way it hasn’t in years.
“You’re going to bring your lawyer,” Max says, his tone calm but laced with menace. “And you’re going to meet me. We’ll settle this properly. Or I’ll take you to court, and I’ll make sure you lose everything.”
Jonathan spits another laugh. “You’re bluffing. You can’t take me to court. I’ll bury you, and I’ll bury her, too. You’ve got no case.”
Max’s eyes narrow, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “You’d be surprised what I can do. I’m not just some lawyer. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
Jonathan’s tone shifts, unease creeping in for the first time. “Yeah? And who the hell are you?”
Max doesn’t answer right away. He lets the silence stretch, lets the weight of the question hang in the air. Then, quietly, but with the full force of his reputation behind it, he says, “I’m the man who’s going to destroy you.”
There’s a pause. Max can almost hear the gears turning in Jonathan’s head, the realization dawning. Jonathan doesn’t know the full story yet, but he’s starting to understand that Max isn’t just some random lawyer off the street.
“You think you’re tough?” Jonathan spits, but his voice falters, just slightly. “You think you can intimidate me? You’ve got no idea what I’m capable of. I’ve got connections, money-”
“I don’t care about your money,” Max interrupts, his voice deadly calm. “And your connections? They mean nothing. Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to meet me in person. Tomorrow. Noon. I’ll send you the location. Bring your lawyer. This isn’t a negotiation. It’s a formality.”
Jonathan is silent for a long moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is colder, more calculated. “You think you can push me around? Fine. I’ll meet you. But don’t think for a second this is over. When I’m done, she’ll be crawling back to me, and you? You’ll wish you’d never gotten involved.”
Max’s lips curl into a grim smile, but there’s no humor in it. “We’ll see.”
With that, Max hangs up, the sound of the call ending echoing in the quiet room. He stares at the phone in his hand, his mind already working through the next steps, the strategies. But the rage — cold and burning at the same time — still simmers just beneath the surface.
He walks over to the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. The burn of the alcohol does little to dull the edge of his anger, but it sharpens his focus. He thinks of you, your bruised face, the way you flinched when you talked about Jonathan.
Max doesn’t care about the money or the case. This isn’t about winning a legal battle. This is about something much bigger. Jonathan Harper is the kind of man Max despises — the kind of man who thinks he can take what he wants, hurt who he wants, without consequence.
Max has dealt with men like Jonathan his whole life. His father was one of them. He remembers the nights his mother spent hiding in their bedroom, her face swollen, her eyes red from crying. He remembers standing outside the door, helpless, listening to the sound of his father’s rage. He swore, even as a boy, that he would never be like his father. And now, he’s making sure men like him pay.
He takes another sip of whiskey, his thoughts hardening into resolve. Jonathan Harper has no idea what’s coming for him.
Max pulls out his phone again, sending a quick message with the meeting details: the time, the place. It’s an upscale restaurant, neutral ground. He doesn’t need to lure Jonathan into a dark alley. No, Max is going to do this the right way — through the law. And if the law isn’t enough, he has other means at his disposal.
He glances at the clock. It’s late, but he knows sleep won’t come tonight. Not with everything spinning in his head.
Max looks out at the city again, the skyline glittering like a sea of possibilities. Tomorrow, Jonathan Harper will realize just how outmatched he is. And by the time Max is done, he’ll make sure you’re safe. Completely safe.
And Jonathan Harper? He won’t have a damn thing left.
***
The restaurant is quiet, the low hum of conversation mixing with the clinking of silverware against plates. You sit next to Max at a polished wooden table in a private room, tucked away from the rest of the patrons. It’s fancy — more than you’re used to — but everything feels off. Like you don’t belong here. You’ve been fidgeting with your hands for the past half hour, unable to sit still, as the minutes tick by.
Jonathan isn’t here yet.
His lawyer arrived on time, a sharp-looking man in a suit so clean it practically sparkles, sitting across from you and Max. He’s polite, overly so, but you can tell there’s no kindness behind his carefully measured smiles. The way he eyes you — it’s like you’re something beneath him, something he’s already decided isn’t worth much.
But it’s not the lawyer that’s making your stomach twist into knots. It’s Jonathan.
The lawyer checks his watch again, sighing lightly as if to signal his own annoyance. “I apologize for Jonathan’s delay. He’s … a busy man.”
Max doesn’t even glance at the lawyer. He’s been staring at the door for the last forty-five minutes, jaw clenched so tightly you think he might crack a tooth. His hand rests on the table in front of him, fingers drumming a slow, tense rhythm against the wood. Every second that passes, you can feel his anger growing — radiating off him like a storm about to break.
“It’s been forty-five minutes,” Max mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. “He thinks he can just waltz in whenever he wants.”
The lawyer opens his mouth, but Max cuts him off without even turning his head. “He’s late. That’s disrespectful. To me. To her.” His voice is low, controlled, but the edge is unmistakable.
You lower your eyes to your lap, where your fingers twist nervously in the fabric of your dress. You hadn’t wanted to come to this meeting in the first place. Being here, waiting for Jonathan — it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing you’re about to fall. The anxiety is suffocating.
“Hey,” Max’s voice softens, pulling you from your thoughts. You look up, meeting his gaze. “You’re doing fine. He’s the one who should be nervous.”
You try to smile, but it’s weak, and Max sees through it immediately. His expression hardens, but not at you — at the situation. At Jonathan.
“I won’t let him do anything,” Max adds, his voice steady. “You’re safe.”
You nod, though the tension in your chest doesn’t ease. You’re not afraid of Jonathan in the same way you used to be. Not exactly. It’s more the dread — the weight of knowing he’s going to walk in and say things that’ll hurt, that’ll drag you back down into the hell you’ve fought so hard to escape.
The door opens then, and you flinch, your breath catching in your throat. For a second, you think it’s Jonathan, but it’s just the server, bringing water to the table. Max watches you carefully, his eyes sharp, protective. You can feel him tense beside you, every muscle in his body on edge.
“Where the hell is he?” Max mutters under his breath, his patience clearly running thin. He checks his watch again, his hand tightening into a fist on the table.
The lawyer clears his throat, an attempt to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “Jonathan has a lot on his plate. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
Max shoots him a look, the kind that silences any further excuses. “He’s almost an hour late. If he wanted to show any respect for this process — for her — he would’ve been here on time.”
You glance at the door again, half hoping Jonathan won’t show. That maybe he’ll just stay gone, and you can pretend for a little while longer that this is all over. But you know better than that. Jonathan always shows up, eventually.
And he does.
Nearly an hour after the scheduled meeting time, the door swings open, and there he is — Jonathan Harper, in all his smug, arrogant glory. He strolls in like he owns the place, not even glancing at you as he makes his way to the table. No apology, no acknowledgment of how late he is. Nothing. Just that same cold indifference you’ve seen so many times before.
You shrink back instinctively, your heart pounding, your hands twisting tighter in your lap.
“Well, well,” Jonathan says, his voice dripping with mockery as he pulls out the chair across from you. He doesn’t sit right away. Instead, he stands there, looking down at you with that familiar sneer. “I see you finally found yourself a babysitter, huh?”
You flinch, the words hitting you like a slap. You can feel Max’s anger beside you, simmering just below the surface.
Jonathan sits down, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. “I have to say, I’m impressed. Didn’t think you had it in you to hire a lawyer. But then again, you’ve always needed someone to take care of you, haven’t you?”
The air in the room grows thick with tension, Max’s silence growing heavier by the second. His fists clench on the table, knuckles white, but he doesn’t move — yet.
Jonathan doesn’t even look at Max. He’s too busy reveling in his own cruelty. “I mean, come on. You couldn’t even manage to keep the house clean, let alone figure out how to divorce me. It’s cute, really. This whole act. Like you think you’re suddenly strong enough to stand up to me.”
Your chest tightens, shame flooding you, and you can’t bring yourself to meet Jonathan’s eyes. He’s always known how to hit where it hurts most.
Max’s voice cuts through the air, low and dangerous. “That’s enough.”
Jonathan’s eyes flick to Max for the first time, his smirk widening. “Oh, this must be the lawyer. What’s your angle, huh? You think you’re gonna play hero and save her from the big bad husband?”
Max leans forward, his voice cold. “I said that’s enough.”
Jonathan just laughs, leaning back in his chair, completely unfazed. “You’re not scaring anyone, buddy. You think I care about your little threats? I’ve got more money and more power than you can even imagine. And her? She’s nothing. She’s been nothing for years. You’re wasting your time.”
Before you can even process what’s happening, Max stands, his chair scraping back with a loud screech. His hands slam onto the table with a force that makes the glasses shake, his body leaning over the table, looming over Jonathan.
The sudden movement sends a jolt through you, and you glance up at Max, heart pounding. His face is inches from Jonathan’s, his eyes blazing with barely controlled fury.
“You’re going to shut your mouth,” Max says, his voice low, lethal. “Or I’m going to shut it for you.”
Jonathan blinks, his smirk faltering for the first time. But then, as if to mask his own fear, he laughs again, though it sounds more forced this time. “Oh, tough guy, huh? You think you’re going to intimidate me?”
Max leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that sends chills down your spine. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Keep talking, and I’ll make sure you lose everything.”
Jonathan’s smile returns, but there’s something colder behind it now. “You’re bluffing. She’s got nothing. And when this is all over, neither will you.”
Max straightens, his hands still planted firmly on the table, his eyes locked onto Jonathan’s. “Meet me at noon tomorrow. Bring your lawyer. Or don’t — it won’t make a difference. But I’m telling you now, you’re done. You’ll never hurt her again.”
Jonathan sneers, pushing his chair back and standing. He adjusts his jacket, glancing at his lawyer with a bored expression. “We’ll see.”
He turns without another word, walking out of the room like he’s already won.
You sit there, frozen, your heart still racing as the door clicks shut behind him. Max stays standing for a moment, his fists still clenched, his breathing heavy. Then, slowly, he relaxes, his shoulders dropping as he exhales a long, controlled breath.
You don’t say anything at first. You don’t know what to say. Everything feels raw, exposed.
Max turns to you, his eyes softening when they meet yours. “He’s not going to win. You hear me?”
You nod, though your body still feels tense, the weight of Jonathan’s words pressing down on you.
“I promise you,” Max says, his voice quiet but firm, “he’s not going to get away with this. Not this time.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, you believe him.
***
Jonathan grips the steering wheel with one hand, his phone pressed to his ear with the other. His friend on the other end of the call is laughing at something Jonathan said, some offhand comment about how pathetic you are — how you’ve always been pathetic.
“Can you believe she actually thinks she’s gonna win?” Jonathan says, his voice dripping with disdain. “I swear to God, it’s like she’s forgotten who’s in control. I’ve got everything — everything — and she’s sitting there with nothing, thinking some low-rent lawyer’s gonna save her.”
His friend’s laughter crackles through the speaker, fueling Jonathan’s ego. He glances at the dashboard clock — he’s late, but who cares? It’s not like Max and his little damsel in distress can do a thing without him. They need him there. They’re at his mercy. And that’s how it’s always been.
“Max, though,” Jonathan continues, “that guy’s a real piece of work. Acting like he’s some knight in shining armor. Bet he’s got his own skeletons. Probably looking to get a taste of what I had.”
He laughs cruelly, switching the phone to his other ear as he maneuvers through traffic. He barely pays attention to the road. He never does. There’s an ease to his movements, like the world bends to his will, like there’s no need to care about anything or anyone. Not you, not Max, and certainly not whoever might be in his way.
“Yeah, she was always weak,” Jonathan adds. “Clingy, needy … hell, even if she manages to win, she’ll still be nothing without me. Just a broken little girl playing house.”
The friend on the other line chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying the tirade. Jonathan feeds off it, leaning into his own bitterness, his own inflated sense of superiority.
“She’s nothing without me,” he repeats, as if saying it out loud makes it more true, as if it cements his control over you. The idea that you might actually be moving on — finding freedom from him — twists inside his chest, but he shoves the thought away. No, you’ll never be free of him. He won’t let you.
Jonathan shifts in his seat, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the wheel, the city blurring past as he approaches the meeting point. He’s already imagining the look on your face when he walks in, late and unapologetic, just to remind you who’s really in charge. He smiles to himself, his lips curling into a sneer.
“She's probably trembling right now,” Jonathan scoffs into the phone. “Waiting for me to show up, like a good little-”
Suddenly, something feels off.
He presses the brake pedal out of habit as the traffic ahead begins to slow — but nothing happens. His foot sinks down to the floor, the pedal soft and useless beneath his foot. Jonathan’s heart skips a beat.
He tries again. Harder this time. But still, nothing.
“Shit,” he mutters, his eyes darting to the dashboard, hands tightening around the wheel. He presses the brake repeatedly, panic beginning to creep into his chest as the car continues to speed forward.
“Hold on,” he says to his friend on the phone, his voice sharp now. “Something’s wrong with the damn car.”
The brake doesn’t respond at all. The car picks up speed as it rolls downhill, buildings flashing by in a blur of glass and steel. Jonathan’s breath quickens. He yanks the steering wheel, swerving between lanes, his tires screeching as the car narrowly misses another vehicle.
“What the hell …” Jonathan’s voice is a strained whisper now. He slams his foot on the brake again, harder, and his whole body tenses. Nothing. No response.
His friend’s voice crackles through the speaker, confused. “What’s going on?”
“The brakes …” Jonathan mutters, his voice strained. “The goddamn brakes aren’t working!”
The friend says something else, but Jonathan barely hears it. His mind races, adrenaline surging through his veins. He yanks the wheel again, veering off the main road, trying to avoid the cars ahead, but the car is moving too fast. Way too fast.
Jonathan curses under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. Panic claws at his throat, but he forces it down, refusing to let fear take over.
He’s not going to crash. He can’t crash.
He’s Jonathan Harper. He doesn’t lose.
His phone slips from his hand and clatters onto the passenger seat as he struggles to regain control. The buildings are coming closer, faster. His breath comes in shallow, rapid bursts as he wrestles with the wheel, trying to steer toward an empty alleyway. But the speed, the force of the car — it’s too much.
The last thing he sees before impact is a flash of brick and glass.
The sound of the crash is deafening. Metal crumples, glass shatters, the front of the car folding like paper as it collides with the side of a building. Jonathan is thrown forward, his seatbelt jerking him back just as his head slams into the steering wheel.
Pain explodes in his skull, his vision blurring as the world spins around him. The car is still now, steam hissing from the hood, the engine making a pitiful whine before going silent.
For a moment, Jonathan doesn’t move. His ears ring, his head swimming, the taste of blood sharp on his tongue. He tries to breathe, but his chest feels tight, constricted, like there’s something inside him squeezing the air out of his lungs.
Slowly, he lifts his hand to his face, touching his forehead. His fingers come away wet, sticky with blood. His own blood.
“Shit …” he groans, his voice weak, barely a whisper. He tries to move, to reach for the door, but something stops him. A sharp, searing pain in his chest. He gasps, choking on the breath, and a wave of dizziness washes over him.
The taste of blood is stronger now. It fills his mouth, thick and metallic, and when he coughs, crimson sprays across the shattered windshield.
Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong.
He tries to lift his head, but it’s too heavy. His hands shake as he grips the steering wheel, trying to steady himself, but his vision is fading, the edges going dark. He coughs again, harder this time, and more blood pours from his mouth, thick and viscous, staining his shirt, pooling in his lap.
No. No, this can’t be happening. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.
Jonathan struggles, panic surging through him now. He can’t breathe. His chest heaves, but no air comes in, just the taste of blood and the sharp, stabbing pain that’s getting worse with every second.
He tries to call for help, but his voice is lost, buried beneath the gurgling, choking sound coming from his throat.
He’s dying.
The realization hits him like a freight train. He’s dying, right here, in the driver’s seat of his own car, choking on his own blood. And no one’s coming to help him.
His fingers slip off the wheel, falling limp at his sides as his vision narrows to a pinprick of light. He gasps, trying to suck in one last breath, but all he gets is more blood, flooding his lungs, choking him from the inside.
As the darkness closes in, Jonathan’s last thought is of you.
You, standing in that restaurant yesterday, small and afraid, but maybe — just maybe — stronger than he ever gave you credit for.
***
The clock ticks loudly in the otherwise silent room. Each minute that passes only seems to grow heavier, the tension building with every tick. You sit in the same chair you did yesterday, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves, stealing glances at the door every few seconds.
Max sits across from you, his expression unreadable but his fingers drumming lightly against the table. Jonathan’s lawyer is seated at the far end, flipping through some documents with a detached boredom that doesn’t match the mounting frustration you feel swelling in the room.
It’s been almost two hours. Jonathan was late yesterday, but this … this is ridiculous.
Max finally speaks, his voice calm but edged with annoyance. “Two hours. How much longer are we supposed to wait?”
The lawyer doesn’t look up, just shrugs. “I’ve been Jonathan’s lawyer long enough to know he’s rarely on time. You’ll get used to it.”
Max’s jaw tightens. You can tell he’s fighting to keep his anger in check. “This isn't a casual lunch meeting. It’s a legal matter.”
“Legal or not,” the lawyer replies, turning a page, “Jonathan Harper moves at his own pace.”
You bite your lip, feeling the weight of their words hang in the air. You want to speak up, to suggest maybe you should leave and try again another day, but your voice feels trapped. Instead, you clasp your hands together tightly in your lap, trying to ignore the gnawing pit in your stomach.
Max glances over at you, his expression softening for just a moment. He sees how tense you are, how uncomfortable you’ve been this entire time. He leans back in his chair, looking like he’s ready to explode but holding it together, probably for your sake.
“He’s deliberately wasting our time,” Max mutters, almost to himself, though the frustration is clear in his voice. His eyes flick back to the door, then back to you. “We’ll give him five more minutes. If he’s not here by then, we leave.”
You nod, grateful for the out, but before you can say anything, your phone buzzes on the table. The sound is jarring in the quiet room. For a moment, you freeze, staring at the screen as an unfamiliar number flashes across it.
Max’s eyes are on you immediately. “You gonna get that?”
You hesitate, but something tells you to answer. You slide the phone off the table and hold it to your ear. “Hello?”
“Is this Mrs. Harper?” A woman’s voice, calm but urgent, crackles through the line.
Your heart skips a beat. You feel Max and Jonathan’s lawyer watching you, but their gazes blur as a cold shiver runs down your spine.
“Yes, this is she,” you answer, your voice barely above a whisper.
“This is Mercy General Hospital. I’m afraid I have some difficult news. Your husband, Jonathan Harper, was brought in around an hour and a half ago after a car accident.” The voice on the other end pauses as if giving you space to process.
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Car accident? Your mind races, trying to make sense of what she’s saying.
“An accident?” You repeat, your voice shaking.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman continues, her tone softening, “but unfortunately, he didn’t make it. He passed away on the ambulance ride over.”
The phone slips from your fingers. You don’t even feel it hit the floor. Everything around you blurs, the room spinning out of focus as your body goes cold. For a second, all you hear is the ringing in your ears, drowning out everything else.
Max is out of his chair in an instant. He’s at your side before you even realize what’s happening, his arms wrapping around you just as your knees give out. You’re not crying. You’re just … empty. Hollow. The world feels like it’s closing in, suffocating, but Max is holding you up, his voice low in your ear.
“Hey, hey — easy. I’ve got you.” His words are steady, but you can hear the concern threaded through them. He lowers you into the chair gently, keeping his hands on your shoulders to steady you.
You blink, trying to make sense of it. Jonathan is dead? He’s … gone?
Max crouches in front of you, his face level with yours now, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you’re still there, still processing. “What happened? What did they say?”
Your lips move, but no sound comes out at first. You have to swallow, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “Jonathan … he’s dead. There was an accident.”
Max’s expression doesn’t change. He stays perfectly still, but you see something flicker in his eyes, something unreadable. He’s quiet for a moment, then he glances at the phone lying on the floor before looking back at you. “When did this happen?”
“I don’t know,” you whisper, your voice shaky. “They said … they said he didn’t make it to the hospital. It happened over an hour ago.”
The lawyer finally looks up from his papers, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Jonathan’s … dead?”
Max straightens, his hand still resting on your shoulder as he turns toward the other man, his voice suddenly all business. “Yes, it seems there’s been an accident. He didn’t survive.”
Jonathan’s lawyer stands slowly, his face pale. He opens his mouth, then closes it, as if the gravity of the situation is just sinking in. “I … I’ll need to contact his estate. This complicates things.”
Max ignores him. He’s still focused on you, his thumb brushing lightly over your shoulder, grounding you, keeping you tethered as your world spins out of control.
You feel numb. The words echo in your mind: Jonathan is dead. Jonathan is dead. But you don’t know what to feel. Relief? Guilt? Fear?
Max crouches back down, his eyes never leaving yours. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice low and gentle but firm. “You’re safe now. Do you hear me? He can’t hurt you anymore.”
You nod, though the words feel distant, like they’re meant for someone else. You’re still struggling to catch up with the reality of what’s happened.
“I need you to breathe, okay?” Max continues, his hands still steady on your arms. “In and out. Nice and slow.”
You do as he says, inhaling shakily, then exhaling, trying to pull yourself back to the present, to this room, to the fact that you’re still here, even if Jonathan isn’t.
Max watches you closely, waiting until you’ve steadied yourself before speaking again. “We’ll go to the hospital. We’ll take care of everything. But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m right here.”
His words are solid, something to hold onto as the world tilts around you. You don’t know how long you sit there, just breathing, letting the weight of everything settle. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours.
Eventually, you nod again. “Okay.”
Max stands and helps you to your feet, his hand steady at your back as you move toward the door. He picks up your phone from the floor, handing it to you without a word. You take it, but your fingers tremble so much that you can barely grip it.
As you walk toward the exit, Max’s presence is a constant comfort beside you. You glance at him, and for a fleeting moment, you see something in his eyes — something deeper than concern, something more intense. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the calm, steady confidence that he always exudes.
You don’t know what’s waiting for you at the hospital. You don’t know how you’re supposed to feel about Jonathan’s death, or what it means for your future.
But for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe — just maybe — you’re going to be okay.
And that’s when you realize: you’re not alone anymore. Max is here. And for reasons you don’t fully understand, that thought makes all the difference.
***
The car hums beneath you, the soft rumble of the engine the only sound breaking the silence between you and Max. The city lights blur past the window, smudged streaks of white and yellow against the inky night sky. You barely notice the streets you're passing, barely hear the distant honk of horns or the murmur of the radio playing low in the background. Everything feels distant, like you’re watching your own life from somewhere outside of your body.
Max sits beside you, one hand gripping the steering wheel with calm certainty. His posture is relaxed, almost too relaxed for what’s just happened. You steal a glance at him, trying to read his expression. His face is as calm as ever, his jaw set, eyes focused on the road ahead.
But then you catch it — a flash of something. A fleeting, almost imperceptible smirk. It’s there for just a second, curling at the corner of his mouth before vanishing like it was never there. But you saw it.
And in that moment, something clicks.
You sit up straighter, your heart thudding in your chest as a realization settles over you like a heavy weight.
He knows.
He’s known for a while.
You blink, turning to face him fully now, your pulse quickening. “Max.”
He glances at you, his expression still steady, but something in his eyes shifts. “What is it?”
You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat. It takes everything in you to push them out. “Did … did you have something to do with Jonathan’s accident?”
There’s a beat of silence. Max doesn’t answer right away. He keeps his gaze on the road, his hand steady on the wheel, his fingers drumming lightly against the leather. But you can feel the air change between you, thickening with something unsaid.
Finally, he speaks, his voice low and calm. “What makes you ask that?”
Your chest tightens. You can’t look away from him now, the truth pulling at you like gravity. “I saw your face. That little smile. You’re not … you’re not surprised that he’s dead, are you?”
Max doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t rush to deny it. He just sighs, like he’s been waiting for this conversation, like he knew you’d figure it out eventually. His grip on the wheel tightens for just a moment before he lets go of a breath.
“No,” he says simply, his voice calm but firm. “I’m not surprised.”
Your heart skips a beat. The air in the car feels suddenly heavier, pressing down on your chest. You wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. He lets the silence hang there, the weight of his words sinking in.
“Max,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “Did you … did you kill him?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightens, and he glances at you briefly, as if gauging your reaction. And then, after a long pause, he says it.
“Yes.”
The word hits you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. Your hands clench in your lap, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to process what you’re feeling. Shock? Fear? Relief?
“Why?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, your throat tight. “Why would you …”
Max keeps his eyes on the road, his voice low but steady. “Because he hurt you. Because he would have kept hurting you if I hadn’t done something.”
You stare at him, your mind racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. There’s no remorse in his voice, no hesitation. He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like killing Jonathan was just another necessary task, something he had to cross off a list.
“You didn’t have to …” you start, but the words die in your throat. Because part of you knows he’s right. Jonathan would have kept hurting you. And no one else was going to stop him.
Max glances at you again, this time his expression softening, though there’s still a cold edge to his eyes. “He didn’t deserve to live after what he did to you. I wasn’t going to let him walk away from that. Not after everything.”
There’s something dark in his voice, something you’ve never heard before. It sends a chill down your spine, but at the same time, you feel a strange sense of comfort in it. Max did this for you. He killed Jonathan because he thought it was the only way to protect you.
You swallow hard, your mind reeling. You should feel horrified, you should be angry or scared or disgusted. But you’re not. You’re not any of those things. Instead, you feel something else entirely — a strange, overwhelming sense of … relief.
Jonathan is gone. He can’t hurt you anymore. And Max … Max made sure of that.
You take a shaky breath, the tension in your chest slowly easing. “You killed him for me,” you say, your voice soft but steady.
Max nods, his eyes still fixed on the road. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
His words hang in the air, and for a long moment, you don’t say anything. You let them settle, let them sink into your bones. He’s not ashamed. He’s not regretful. And somehow, that makes it easier to accept.
Finally, you exhale, the weight of everything lifting off your shoulders. “Thank you.”
Max glances at you, clearly surprised by your words. His brows furrow slightly, and for the first time since the conversation started, he seems uncertain. “For what?”
“For protecting me,” you say, your voice firmer now, more certain. “For doing what no one else would have.”
Max’s expression softens again, and he lets out a breath he didn’t seem to realize he was holding. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand moves from the steering wheel, reaching across the small space between you. His fingers brush against yours, and then he gently takes your hand in his, squeezing it softly.
You look down at your intertwined fingers, the warmth of his hand grounding you in a way you didn’t expect. You squeeze back, letting him know that you’re okay. That you understand.
The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable anymore. It’s calm. Steady.
You lean back in your seat, your gaze shifting back to the city lights outside the window. Jonathan is dead. The nightmare is over. And somehow, despite everything, you feel like you’re finally free.
Max’s thumb rubs lightly over the back of your hand, and you turn to look at him again. His face is still calm, but there’s something softer in his eyes now, something almost tender.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d do anything to keep you safe.”
You feel your chest tighten at his words, but not in the way it did before. This time, it’s different. This time, it feels like something is shifting between you, something you hadn’t noticed before but now feels impossible to ignore.
You don’t say anything. You just sit there, holding his hand, feeling the steady pulse of the city outside the car, and the steady pulse of Max beside you.
***
The hospital parking lot is almost empty, the few scattered cars gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. You and Max sit in silence, the weight of what’s just happened hanging heavy in the air. The hum of the engine dies as Max turns the key, and for a moment, neither of you moves. You stare at the hospital entrance, your heart pounding, your palms damp with nervous sweat.
It hits you — this is really happening. Jonathan is dead, and now you’re supposed to walk in there and pretend to be devastated. To mourn him, to cry for him.
Max shifts in his seat, turning toward you, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He’s been calm the whole drive, unshaken, and now he leans forward, eyes locked on yours, his voice low and measured.
“Listen,” he says, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is light, but his tone is firm. “When we walk in there, you need to act the part. They’re going to expect tears, shock — grief.”
You swallow hard, the idea of playing the grieving widow making your stomach turn. “I don’t know if I can do this, Max.”
His hand lingers near your face, fingers ghosting against your cheek. “Yes, you can,” he says, his voice softening. “You’re stronger than you think. Just focus on what you need to do. No one can know that you’re relieved. You loved him, remember?”
A bitter laugh escapes you, but it dies quickly in the back of your throat. The irony isn’t lost on you, pretending to be a devoted wife to the man who tormented you. But Max is right. No one can know.
You nod, taking a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I can do it. I’ll … I’ll cry if I have to.”
Max’s hand moves from your face to your hand, squeezing gently. “Good. And don’t worry about the rest. I’ll handle any questions, any details. Just play your part.”
You bite your lip, nodding again, your heart still racing but your mind clearing. You’ve played so many roles before — dutiful wife, obedient woman, silent sufferer. This is just another role to get through. Just another mask to wear.
Max releases your hand and pushes open the car door. “Ready?”
No, you think. You’re not ready. But you don’t have a choice. You force a smile, though it feels like it might crack your face. “Ready.”
The two of you walk toward the entrance, the automatic doors whooshing open to the sterile, cold smell of disinfectant and hospital walls. Your breath quickens as you step inside, the reality of the situation crashing over you like a tidal wave. Nurses bustle past, clipboards in hand, murmuring to one another, while the soft beep of machines hums in the background.
You feel exposed, like every person here can see straight through you, can see that the grief you’re about to display isn’t real.
Max leads you to the front desk, his hand resting lightly on your back in a gesture of support. He leans in toward the nurse on duty, his voice low and authoritative.
“We’re here to see Jonathan Harper,” he says. “He’s my … sister’s husband. We got a call.”
The nurse looks up, her expression softening with sympathy as she glances at you. “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says gently. “If you’ll just have a seat, I’ll call someone to come speak with you.”
You nod, not trusting your voice just yet. Instead, you let Max guide you to the waiting area, where you sit down in one of the stiff plastic chairs. Your hands are shaking, so you fold them in your lap, gripping your fingers tightly together.
Max sits beside you, his hand resting on your knee for just a moment, grounding you. His presence is reassuring, a steady anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside you.
“Remember,” he says under his breath, leaning close enough that only you can hear. “You loved him. Show them that.”
You nod again, taking a shaky breath. You focus on your hands, on the feel of the cold plastic chair beneath you. You need to let the reality of the situation sink in — Jonathan is dead. He’s really gone. The man who hurt you is gone.
And you’re supposed to be devastated.
The thought makes your stomach churn, but you force yourself to push it aside. This isn’t about what you feel. This is about survival. About making sure no one suspects the truth.
A few minutes pass before a doctor approaches, a man in his mid-forties with graying hair and kind eyes. He kneels in front of you, his expression full of the kind of sympathy you don’t deserve.
“Mrs. Harper,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry to tell you this, but … your husband didn’t make it.”
And just like that, you snap into character.
Your breath catches in your throat, your eyes widening as the weight of the words hits you. “No,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “No, that can’t be … there must be some mistake.”
The doctor shakes his head gently, placing a hand on your arm. “I’m afraid there’s no mistake. We did everything we could, but the injuries were just too severe.”
You feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, and you let them fall. You’ve always been good at crying on cue. It’s something Jonathan hated about you, your ability to turn on the waterworks whenever you needed to. But now, it’s a weapon, a tool to make everyone believe the lie.
You cover your mouth with your hand, your body shaking with sobs that come more naturally than you expected. It’s almost too easy to cry for the life you lost, for the years of pain, for the woman you used to be before Jonathan destroyed her.
“I don’t understand,” you gasp, your voice breaking. “How … how did this happen?”
The doctor sighs, his face etched with regret. “It was a car accident. The paramedics did everything they could, but he passed away before he reached the hospital.”
You let out a soft, broken cry, your shoulders trembling as the grief pours out of you. You don’t have to fake that part. The relief feels like grief in a way, like a release of something you’ve been holding onto for far too long.
Max leans in, his hand on your back again, his voice low and soothing. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
The doctor stands, giving you a moment to compose yourself. “We’ll need you to come with us to identify the body, Mrs. Harper,” he says gently.
You nod, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks. “I … I can do that.”
The doctor gives you a small, understanding nod and turns to lead the way down the sterile white corridor. Max stays close by your side, his hand never leaving your back. As you walk, you focus on your breathing, on keeping the tears flowing just enough to sell the part.
You feel Max lean in slightly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re doing great. Just a little longer.”
You nod, sniffling as you walk, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. You’re not just playing the part of a grieving widow — you’re erasing the evidence, erasing the truth. You’re erasing Jonathan Harper from your life, once and for all.
When you reach the morgue, the doctor stops in front of a pair of heavy metal doors. He pauses, turning to you with that same sympathetic expression. “Are you ready?”
No. You’re not ready. You’ll never be ready for this. But you nod anyway, because what else can you do?
Max squeezes your shoulder, his voice low and steady. “You’ve got this.”
The doctor opens the door, and the cold air hits you like a wave. The room is dimly lit, the fluorescent lights flickering slightly as the doctor leads you toward a covered body on a steel table. You feel your heart hammering in your chest, your pulse loud in your ears as you take each step.
This is it. The final act.
The doctor gently pulls back the sheet, revealing Jonathan’s pale, lifeless face. His features are slack, his skin bruised and bloodied from the accident. For a moment, you can’t breathe. The sight of him — so still, so powerless — it’s like seeing a ghost. The man who held so much control over your life now lies broken in front of you.
You force a sob, your hand flying to your mouth as you step back, tears streaming down your face. “Oh God … Jonathan …”
The doctor watches you, his eyes full of pity, but he says nothing. He doesn’t need to. You’ve done your job. You’ve played your part.
Max steps in, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close as you turn away from the body. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get out of here.”
You nod, still crying, still playing the part.
***
The car ride back is heavy with silence, the hum of the engine filling the void between you and Max. You stare out the window, watching the city blur by in shades of gray, your mind still reeling from the night’s events. Jonathan is dead. The words feel surreal in your head, like a distant truth you’re not quite ready to touch.
Max drives with one hand on the steering wheel, his other resting on his lap, fingers tapping lightly as though he’s thinking. His face is calm, focused, but there’s something different in the air now — an ease in his posture that wasn’t there before. He’s done what he set out to do. Jonathan is gone, and now it’s just a matter of cleaning up the aftermath.
After what feels like an eternity, Max breaks the silence, his voice smooth but carrying an undercurrent of something darker. “I had someone look into Jonathan’s will.”
Your gaze snaps to him, your heart skipping a beat. The words rattle in your brain, bringing with them a new layer of uncertainty. “What do you mean?”
Max glances at you briefly, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard. “Jonathan never updated it. He didn’t add you.”
The breath you’ve been holding releases in a sharp exhale, anxiety knotting in your stomach. Of course he didn’t. Of course, even in death, Jonathan would find a way to hurt you. You sink back into the seat, your head leaning against the cold window. “So … what does that mean? I don’t get anything?”
Max is quiet for a moment, but then his lips twitch into a faint smirk. “Not quite. The legal system will treat it like a case of forgetfulness. You were married, and he didn’t update his will, so you’ll still be the main beneficiary. It’s a loophole.”
You frown, trying to process his words. “Are you sure?”
He chuckles softly, his voice dripping with confidence. “I’m a lawyer, remember? Trust me. It won’t be a problem.”
You stare at him, your mind buzzing. Max always seems to have the answers, always one step ahead of everyone else. You’ve barely had time to think about what Jonathan’s death means for you — financially, legally, emotionally — but Max has already covered all the bases.
“It feels wrong,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “Like … taking his money after everything.”
Max raises an eyebrow, glancing at you with a look of mild amusement. “After everything he put you through, I’d say it’s more than fair. You deserve every cent.”
The bitterness in his tone is palpable, and for a moment, you see flashes of the man who took control of the situation with such ease. He doesn’t just see this as a legal matter, there’s something personal about it for him. Something about Jonathan’s abuse struck a nerve, and you realize again just how far Max is willing to go to protect you.
“But what if people start asking questions?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want anyone to think I-”
“Stop.” Max’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, firm but not harsh. He reaches over, placing his hand on yours. The warmth of his touch calms you, steadying the racing thoughts in your mind. “No one is going to question anything. You were his wife. You’re entitled to everything. No one’s going to think twice.”
You stare at your intertwined hands, the weight of his assurance sinking in. Max always seems so certain, so sure of himself. He makes everything sound simple, even when it’s not. Even when you feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall.
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “It just feels so … complicated.”
Max squeezes your hand, his voice softening. “I know it does. But I’ll make sure it’s not. You won’t have to worry about any of this.”
His words are like a balm to your nerves, but there’s still a flicker of doubt gnawing at you. You’ve been living under Jonathan’s thumb for so long, every part of your life controlled by him, that the idea of having any freedom — especially financial freedom — feels foreign. You’re not used to having power, and the thought of inheriting everything Jonathan left behind feels like stepping into unfamiliar territory.
“What did he leave behind?” You ask after a moment, your voice quiet.
Max’s eyes flicker with something — an unreadable emotion — but his tone stays steady. “More than enough to ensure you’re taken care of. He wasn’t exactly a modest man.”
You nod, biting your lip as your mind runs through the possibilities. Jonathan was always secretive about his finances, never letting you see the full picture. But you knew he had money — more than enough to maintain the lavish lifestyle he forced you into, the one that felt like a cage. Now, that money is yours, and the thought leaves a strange taste in your mouth.
“I don’t want it to feel like … blood money,” you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
Max’s grip tightens on your hand, his voice firm. “It’s not blood money. It’s justice. He took so much from you. Now, it’s time you take something back.”
You look at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but there’s none. Max’s conviction is unwavering, his belief in what he’s done — and what he’s doing — absolute. It’s both comforting and unsettling, this realization that Max sees the world in such clear-cut terms. Right and wrong. Justice and vengeance.
And somehow, you’ve fallen right into the center of it all.
As the city lights flicker by, you let out a soft sigh, resting your head against the seat. “I don’t know what to do with it all. The money. The house. Everything.”
Max’s eyes soften, his voice gentle. “You don’t have to decide right now. One step at a time. The most important thing is that you’re free.”
The word ‘free’ hangs in the air, and for a moment, it feels like a foreign concept. You’ve spent so long living in fear, tiptoeing around Jonathan’s moods, that the idea of being free — truly free — seems almost impossible.
“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice small. “I’ve never been on my own before.”
Max is silent for a moment, then he reaches over, brushing a thumb across your knuckles. “You’re not on your own. You have me. You have Victoria.”
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. The truth is, you don’t feel alone. Not with Max sitting beside you, guiding you through every step of this mess. But the idea of relying on someone else again — especially after everything with Jonathan — it makes your stomach twist with uncertainty.
“Thank you,” you whisper, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. “For everything. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
Max’s lips curl into a soft smile, but there’s something deeper in his eyes — something you can’t quite place. “You don’t have to repay me. You’ve been through enough. Let me take care of this.”
The car slows as you approach Victoria’s house, the familiar sight of her front porch coming into view. Your heart clenches as you realize that this — this strange, messy situation — is your new reality. Jonathan is gone, and with him, the life you once knew.
Max pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine, the silence between you thick and charged. For a moment, neither of you moves. Then Max turns to you, his expression softer than before, his eyes searching yours.
“You’re going to be okay,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I promise.”
You nod, though you’re not entirely sure you believe it yet. But there’s something about the way Max says it — something about the certainty in his voice — that makes you want to believe.
As you reach for the door handle, Max’s hand brushes yours, stopping you for a moment. “And if you ever need anything — anything at all — you come to me. Understand?”
You look into his eyes, feeling a strange warmth spread through your chest. “I understand.”
With a final squeeze of your hand, Max lets you go, and you step out of the car, the cool night air hitting your skin. You walk up to Victoria’s front door, the weight of everything pressing down on you. But as you turn back to see Max watching you from the driver’s seat, you can’t help but feel a flicker of hope.
For the first time in a long time, you’re free. And maybe, just maybe, you’re strong enough to figure out what that means.
***
The restaurant is one of those upscale places with white tablecloths and a quiet hum of conversation, the kind of place that feels almost too polished for the three of you to have anything resembling a casual lunch. You sit across from Max, watching him, trying to get a read on him the way you’ve been doing ever since everything happened. It’s hard to tell with Max. He always seems so composed, like everything is part of a plan that only he knows.
Victoria, sitting next to you, has been doing most of the talking, catching Max up on the little things that have been going on — her job, mutual friends, things that feel oddly normal considering how not normal your life has been lately. You pick at your salad, your appetite still shaky after everything that’s happened.
“So,” Victoria says, after taking a sip of her wine. “What’s the plan with the house?”
The question catches you off guard, though you’ve been thinking about it non-stop. Jonathan’s house. The house you lived in with him. The house that still feels like it’s haunted by his presence, his cruelty, the fights that rattled through its walls. You look down at your plate, avoiding Max’s eyes.
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I can’t … I can’t stay there.”
Victoria reaches over, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Of course not. You shouldn’t even have to think about it. You’re still welcome to stay with me as long as you need. My home is always open for you.”
You glance up at her, gratitude warming your chest. Victoria has been nothing but supportive through all of this, offering you a safe place to land when everything felt like it was crumbling. But even though you’ve appreciated every second of her kindness, the truth is … you feel like a burden.
“I don’t want to impose,” you say softly. “I’ve already stayed longer than I should have.”
Victoria waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not imposing at all.”
“I don’t know,” you continue, fidgeting with the napkin in your lap. “I just … I feel bad. It’s your space. I don’t want to be in your way.”
Before Victoria can respond, Max clears his throat, drawing both of your attention to him. He’s been quiet for most of the lunch, observing, listening. Now, he sets his fork down, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.
“You could move in with me,” he says, so casually that it takes a moment for his words to register.
Your head snaps toward him, eyes widening in disbelief. “What?”
Even Victoria looks taken aback, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Wait — what?”
Max shrugs, his expression calm, as if he hasn’t just dropped a bombshell on the table. “I’ve got plenty of space. The penthouse is way too big for just me anyway.”
Your brain scrambles to catch up with what he’s saying. Move in with him? Into his penthouse? You’re not sure how to respond, your mind immediately filling with reasons why that’s a bad idea.
“Max, I-I can’t just move in with you,” you stammer, feeling your cheeks heat up. “That’s … I mean, it’s your home. I don’t want to-”
“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Max cuts in smoothly, as if he’s already anticipated every one of your protests. “Like I said, it’s way too big for one person. You’d actually be doing me a favor.”
Victoria blinks, looking between the two of you, her surprise turning into a curious smirk. “I mean, it’s not the worst idea,” she says, clearly enjoying how flustered you’ve become. “Max does have that ridiculous apartment. It’s like living in a luxury hotel.”
You shake your head, still trying to wrap your mind around the suggestion. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t want to be dependent on anyone again, especially not after …”
Your voice trails off, but Max knows exactly what you’re thinking. He leans forward slightly, his gaze intent. “You wouldn’t be dependent on me. This isn’t about control, it’s about giving you a safe space to figure things out.”
His words hang in the air, their weight settling over you. Max always knows how to say the right thing, how to make it sound like everything is under control. And maybe it is, in his world. But in your world, everything still feels like it’s teetering on the edge of chaos.
“I don’t know …” you murmur, your fingers twisting the napkin in your lap.
Max reaches across the table, his hand resting on top of yours. His touch is firm, grounding. “I’m not asking you to decide right now. Just think about it. You don’t have to figure everything out at once.”
You glance at Victoria, hoping she’ll have some kind of advice, but she just grins, leaning back in her chair as if she’s thoroughly entertained by the entire conversation. “Honestly? I think it’s a good idea. You’d have more space to yourself, and you wouldn’t feel like you’re cramping my style.”
“I don’t feel like I’m cramping your style,” you mutter, giving her a playful glare.
She laughs, but there’s a softness in her eyes as she looks at you. “Look, you’ve been through hell, and I think the last thing you need right now is to worry about where you’re staying. Max is offering you a chance to take some of that stress off your plate. You should take it.”
You swallow hard, your gaze flicking back to Max. He’s watching you intently, waiting for your response. And while every instinct in you is screaming to refuse — to keep your independence, to not get too close — the truth is, you’re tired. Tired of fighting, tired of being afraid, tired of not knowing what’s going to happen next.
Max’s offer feels like a lifeline, and as much as you hate to admit it … you need one.
“I’ll think about it,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.
Max nods, his expression softening. “That’s all I’m asking.”
The conversation shifts after that, Victoria taking over with a story about a disastrous date she had earlier in the week, but your mind stays stuck on Max’s offer. Move in with him? The idea feels foreign, like stepping into a life that’s not your own. But then again, everything about your life has felt foreign since Jonathan died.
Later, as the three of you finish your meals and the waiter clears the plates, Victoria leans over and whispers in your ear, her breath warm against your skin. “You should say yes.”
You glance at her, your eyes widening. “To what?”
“To moving in with Max,” she says, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I mean, come on. A penthouse? You’d be living the dream.”
You roll your eyes, though her words stir something in your chest. “It’s not about the penthouse.”
“Right,” she says with a knowing smirk. “It’s about Max.”
Your face heats up, and you quickly look away, hoping she doesn’t notice the flush creeping up your neck. But of course, Victoria notices everything.
“You like him, don’t you?” She teases, nudging you with her elbow.
You shoot her a glare, though it’s more out of embarrassment than anger. “It’s not like that.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, clearly not believing you for a second. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”
You groan, leaning your head back against the chair. “Can we not do this right now?”
Victoria laughs, but she doesn’t push it further. Instead, she just gives you a soft smile, the kind that says she knows exactly what’s going on, even if you’re not ready to admit it to yourself.
By the time lunch is over and the three of you are standing outside the restaurant, the sun warm on your skin, you still haven’t made up your mind. Max’s offer feels too good to be true, like stepping into a different world, a world where you don’t have to be afraid anymore.
But as Max pulls you into a quick hug, his strong arms wrapping around you for just a second too long, you start to wonder if maybe … maybe it’s not too good to be true.
Maybe it’s exactly what you need.
***
The late afternoon sun casts golden light over the city as you stand at the entrance of Max’s penthouse building, staring up at the sleek, glass structure. It still feels surreal. A part of you wonders how you got here — how your life has shifted so quickly from the nightmare of Jonathan to this strange, uncertain new chapter.
Max stands beside you, keys in hand, effortlessly calm like always. He glances over, his dark eyes warm. “Ready?”
You nod, gripping the handle of the box you're holding a little tighter, though your nerves buzz underneath your skin. “Yeah. Ready.”
The moving truck is parked a few feet away, filled with your belongings. You don’t have much, just some clothes, books, a few personal items, and the memories that you’ve tried to leave behind. Victoria offered to help today, but Max insisted that he could handle it. You’re still not sure how you feel about that — about Max doing so much for you — but you’ve stopped protesting. Every time you try, he brushes it off like it’s nothing.
Max leads you into the lobby, the doorman greeting him by name. You follow him into the elevator, clutching the box to your chest. The ride up is silent, save for the low hum of the elevator. When the doors open, Max steps out first, turning back to give you a reassuring smile.
“Let's get these up to the apartment,” he says, his voice steady, like moving you in is just another ordinary task for him.
You step out of the elevator and into his penthouse. The doors open into a sprawling, open-plan living room, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the city. The space is sleek, modern, but somehow still comfortable — just like Max himself.
He sets his box down and glances over at you. “We can start setting things in your room if you'd like. The spare bedroom is down the hall.”
You try to hide the way your breath catches in your throat as you nod. “Sure. Thanks.”
As you begin moving boxes from the truck to the penthouse, you find yourself increasingly distracted by Max. Every time he bends to lift a box, his muscles strain against the fabric of his shirt, the sinewy strength in his arms drawing your attention. His movements are fluid, effortless, as though this is nothing for him.
And it's not just that he’s strong — it's the ease with which he carries himself. There’s no posturing, no arrogance. He’s doing this because he wants to help, because he sees you struggling and wants to make things easier.
You try not to stare, but it’s impossible not to notice the way his shirt stretches tight across his broad shoulders or the way his biceps flex when he lifts heavier boxes with one hand, like they weigh nothing at all. He catches you glancing once or twice, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything.
After a couple of trips back and forth from the truck, you’re standing in the living room, trying to decide where to start unpacking. Max steps beside you, brushing a bit of dust from his jeans, and glances around the space.
“Where do you want this stuff?” He asks, motioning to the remaining boxes.
“I guess I’ll start with the bedroom.” You bite your lip, glancing toward the hallway. “It’s not a lot, really. I don’t want to take up too much space.”
Max shakes his head. “You’re not taking up space. Like I said, this place is too big for one person. Besides,” his voice softens, “you deserve to feel comfortable. Make it yours.”
Something about the way he says that, like he genuinely cares, makes your heart skip a beat. You nod, feeling your throat tighten as you head down the hall with him. The spare bedroom is just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows and more space than you’ve ever had in any room you’ve lived in.
Max sets the box down near the door, watching as you take in the room. “What do you think?”
“I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, shaking your head. “It’s … beautiful. It’s too much, Max.”
He steps closer, his presence warm and solid next to you. “It’s not too much. It’s exactly what you need. And besides, I want you here.”
You swallow, trying to process the weight of his words. He wants you here. Max has always been protective of you, ever since you met him through Victoria, but this is something else. It’s not just protection — it’s … something more. Something you can’t quite put your finger on yet.
As the day wears on and more boxes make their way into the penthouse, you start unpacking, trying to make sense of this new chapter. Max works alongside you, quietly helping without ever making you feel like you owe him anything. Every time you glance over at him, he’s there, steady and calm, grounding you in a way you never expected.
After a while, Max heads back to the truck to grab the last few items, leaving you in the apartment alone. You take a moment to breathe, running your fingers over the smooth surface of the kitchen counter. It still doesn’t feel real, being here, surrounded by luxury and safety. You’ve spent so long being afraid, walking on eggshells around Jonathan, that this feels almost … too easy. Too good.
Max’s voice calls out from the hallway as he returns, carrying the final box. “That’s the last of it.”
You nod, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Thank you, Max. For everything.”
He sets the box down with a quiet thud, then turns to face you, his dark eyes steady. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do, though.” You cross your arms, feeling a mixture of gratitude and something else — something heavier. “I don’t even know how to start repaying you for all of this.”
Max steps closer, the air between you shifting, heavy with unspoken tension. He tilts his head slightly, a faint smirk on his lips, though his eyes are serious. “I’m not doing this because I expect anything in return.”
“I know,” you whisper, looking up at him. “But still.”
He reaches out, brushing his thumb across your cheek in a gesture so gentle it makes your chest ache. “You’ve been through enough, okay? You don’t owe me anything. All I want is for you to feel safe.”
The warmth of his touch lingers even after he pulls his hand away. You nod, though your throat feels tight, overwhelmed by the way he looks at you, like he actually means it. Like he’s the one person in your life who doesn’t expect you to give something back.
The two of you stand there for a moment, the weight of everything that’s happened settling between you. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you realize that maybe — just maybe — you’re finally safe.
Max’s phone buzzes, breaking the silence. He glances down at the screen, his expression shifting back to that calm, collected demeanor you’ve come to know. “I need to take this call. Are you okay unpacking the rest by yourself?”
“Yeah,” you say quickly, waving him off. “Go ahead. I’ve got this.”
He nods, already heading for the door. But before he leaves, he pauses, turning back to give you one last look.
“If you need anything,” he says, his voice low, “I’m here.”
You nod again, watching him leave, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the hallway as he disappears. Once he’s gone, you let out a long breath, sinking down onto the couch.
This is your life now. And somehow, despite everything, it doesn’t feel as scary as it used to.
***
The scent of simmering tomatoes and garlic fills the air as you stand in Max’s kitchen, stirring the pot of sauce slowly. The space around you feels both intimate and strangely unfamiliar, a far cry from the cold, silent kitchens of your past. Here, in Max’s penthouse, everything feels alive, warm.
Max leans against the counter beside you, watching the sauce bubble. He’s more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him, his sleeves rolled up and his tie long discarded. It’s a side of him you haven’t seen before — domestic, almost casual. You’re still getting used to it, the idea of Max being more than just the quiet force of nature who’s been protecting you. Here, in the soft glow of his kitchen lights, he seems … human.
“Are you sure it needs more basil?” Max asks, raising an eyebrow at the pile of fresh leaves you’ve already tossed into the pot.
“Trust me,” you say with a smile, turning the spoon in your hand. “It does.”
Max chuckles under his breath and takes the spoon from you, dipping it into the sauce for a taste. He blows on it gently, then takes a slow, thoughtful sip. His eyes narrow as he considers the flavor, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
“Not bad,” he admits. “But I think you’re overestimating the power of basil.”
“Basil makes everything better,” you say playfully, nudging him with your elbow.
He smirks, setting the spoon down on the counter before leaning back against the cabinets, his arms folding across his chest. “We’ll see. I’ll let you have this one.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head as you go back to stirring the sauce. Max watches you quietly, his eyes lingering on you in a way that sends a strange warmth through your chest. You’ve been in his penthouse for a few days now, and things between you have settled into an easy routine. It’s nice — this strange sense of normalcy.
But every now and then, when you catch him looking at you like that, you’re reminded that there’s nothing entirely normal about this.
“So,” you start, trying to focus on the sauce instead of the way Max is watching you. “Do you cook often?”
Max shrugs, still leaning back lazily against the counter. “Not really. Usually, I have someone come in to do it, but … I don’t mind doing it myself sometimes.”
You nod, stirring the sauce in silence for a moment. There’s a calmness between you, a quiet comfort that has become a regular part of being around Max. But there’s also something else. Something unspoken.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” you say suddenly, surprising even yourself with the question.
Max tilts his head, watching you for a moment before a small smile creeps onto his lips. “You know, you ask a lot of questions.”
“I do,” you admit, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. “And you never answer them.”
He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Alright. Let me think.”
There’s a pause as Max considers his answer. Then, after a moment, he leans in a little closer, his voice dropping just slightly.
“When I was in law school, I almost dropped out. My dad wanted me to be a lawyer, to have something legitimate on the side. But halfway through, I couldn’t stand it anymore.”
You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the honesty. “Really? But you stuck with it.”
“Yeah,” Max nods, his expression thoughtful. “I stayed because of Victoria. She said I was too stubborn to quit.”
You smile softly, stirring the sauce as you consider his words. There’s something oddly comforting about hearing that — even Max, the man who always seems so sure of himself, had his moments of doubt.
Before you can respond, Max reaches for the spoon again, dipping it into the sauce for another taste. This time, he doesn’t blow on it first, and the heat catches him off guard. He winces slightly, pulling the spoon away from his lips quickly.
“Too hot?” You ask with a grin, watching his reaction.
“Just a little,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. But as he does, a small streak of sauce remains on the corner of his lip, bright red against his skin.
You chuckle softly, pointing at his face. “You’ve got something right … there.”
Max pauses, his hand hovering near his mouth as he tries to find the spot. But before he can clean it off, something inside you stirs — a sudden impulse you don’t fully understand. Without thinking, you take a step closer, reaching out to him.
His eyes meet yours as you lean in, your heart pounding in your chest. The space between you shrinks, and before you can second-guess yourself, your lips brush against the corner of his mouth, tasting the faint hint of tomato and basil.
The moment is quick, fleeting, but the electricity in the air lingers long after you pull away.
Max freezes, his dark eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The kitchen is quiet except for the low simmer of the sauce on the stove.
You swallow hard, suddenly unsure of what you’ve just done. “I — sorry. You had … some sauce.”
Max blinks, his gaze softening as the corner of his mouth lifts into a small, almost amused smile. “I noticed.”
Your heart races as the weight of the moment hangs between you, and you wonder if you’ve crossed a line. But then Max steps closer, his presence warm and steady, his voice low.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says softly, his eyes searching yours.
“I … I know,” you murmur, your breath catching in your throat as he inches even closer. “But I wanted to.”
For a moment, Max just looks at you, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. And then, slowly, he reaches up, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek.
“You know,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re full of surprises.”
You let out a breathless laugh, your skin tingling under his touch. “Is that a bad thing?”
His thumb grazes your cheekbone, his touch gentle but firm. “No,” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Not at all.”
The tension between you crackles in the air, thick and charged, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world has narrowed down to just the two of you standing in the kitchen, the smell of tomato sauce and garlic surrounding you like a haze.
Max’s hand lingers on your face for just a second longer before he pulls away, clearing his throat and stepping back. The distance between you returns, but the weight of what just happened still hangs in the air, unspoken.
“I should, uh …” He glances at the pot, his voice a little hoarse. “We should finish dinner.”
“Yeah,” you agree quickly, trying to ignore the way your heart is still racing in your chest. “Dinner.”
Max turns back to the stove, grabbing the spoon and stirring the sauce again as though nothing happened. But you can’t shake the feeling that something did happen — that something between you shifted in that moment, even if neither of you is ready to acknowledge it yet.
As you move around the kitchen together, preparing the rest of the meal, the atmosphere is lighter, but there’s an undeniable tension simmering beneath the surface — something neither of you can ignore, no matter how hard you try. Every time your hands brush, every time your eyes meet, it’s there, lingering just out of reach.
And though neither of you says it out loud, you both know that whatever this is between you … it’s far from over.
***
The clink of dishes fills the kitchen, a peaceful rhythm as you and Max stand side by side at the sink. The scent of the meal you cooked together still lingers in the air — garlic, basil, and rich tomato sauce — its warmth a comforting backdrop to the easy silence that has settled between you.
You rinse the plates, passing them to Max, who dries them with a towel and places them in neat stacks. It’s strange how domestic this feels, how normal. After everything that’s happened, after all the chaos and tension, this moment feels almost surreal in its simplicity. The steam from the hot water rises, blurring the edges of your thoughts as you hand him the next plate.
There’s a calm between you, but also something unspoken. A simmering energy that’s been lingering ever since that brief, impulsive kiss earlier. Every time your hands brush, every glance you exchange — it’s there, lingering in the air like a spark waiting to catch.
You try to focus on the task in front of you, scrubbing a stubborn spot on a plate with a sponge, but your thoughts keep drifting back to the way Max’s lips felt when they grazed yours. The way his eyes darkened when he looked at you afterward. And how, even though neither of you has mentioned it since, you know he hasn’t forgotten either.
Lost in your thoughts, you absentmindedly squeeze the bottle of soap a little too hard, and a burst of bubbles shoots out, landing on Max’s arm. You blink, startled, then burst into laughter as you see the suds clinging to his sleeve.
“Whoops,” you say, biting back more laughter as Max looks down at his arm, then back at you with raised eyebrows.
“Whoops?” He repeats, his tone dry but with a playful glint in his eyes. “You did that on purpose.”
You shake your head, still giggling. “I swear I didn’t! You just-”
Before you can finish your sentence, Max reaches out, swiping a finger through the bubbles on his arm and flicking them back at you. You gasp as the soapy foam splashes your face, catching you completely off guard.
“Max!” You protest, laughing even harder now as you wipe the bubbles from your cheek. “That was not fair!”
Max smirks, leaning casually against the counter with the towel still in his hand. “Payback.”
You narrow your eyes playfully, but you can’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips. The tension that’s been simmering all night seems to dissolve in the laughter, replaced by something light and easy. For a moment, it feels like you’ve stepped into a different reality — one where the two of you can just be like this. Normal. Happy.
But then, as the laughter fades, the silence between you shifts again, the air thickening with something else. Something heavier.
Max is watching you, his eyes dark and intense, the playful smirk fading into something far more serious. His gaze lingers on your face, tracing the curve of your lips, the way your chest rises and falls as your breath quickens.
The mood changes so fast it almost knocks the air from your lungs. One second, you’re laughing, and the next, the tension between you is back, sharper and more urgent than before.
You can feel it — the pull between you. It’s like a magnetic force, drawing you closer together, even though neither of you has moved. The bubbles, the dishes, everything else fades into the background as Max takes a slow step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Max …” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. But you don’t know what else to say. You don’t know what this is, this charged energy building between you, but it’s impossible to ignore.
Max takes another step, closing the distance between you, his hand still holding the towel loosely at his side. His eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, it feels like the entire world has narrowed down to just the two of you. Just this moment.
You’re not sure who moves first. Maybe it’s both of you at once. But suddenly, Max’s hand is on your waist, pulling you toward him, and his lips crash into yours.
The kiss is hard, almost desperate, like all the tension that’s been building between you has finally snapped. His other hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, pressing you back against the counter.
You gasp against his lips, your hands instinctively grabbing at his shirt, pulling him closer. The cool surface of the cabinets presses into your back, but you hardly notice it. All you can focus on is Max — on the heat of his body against yours, the way his lips move with a hunger that makes your knees go weak.
For a split second, you can’t think. Can’t breathe. All you know is that you want more — need more. Max’s kiss is consuming, overwhelming, and you find yourself lost in it, lost in him.
His hand tightens on your waist, his thumb brushing against the bare skin just under the hem of your shirt. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you let out a soft, involuntary moan against his lips.
That sound seems to snap something in Max. He breaks the kiss suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his breathing ragged. His eyes are wild, dark with an emotion you can’t quite name.
“Are you sure about this?” He asks, his voice rough, low. His thumb still strokes your skin, a gentle reminder of the fire burning between you.
You nod, your heart racing. You can barely find your voice, but when you do, it’s filled with certainty. “Yes.”
That’s all it takes.
Max crashes his lips against yours again, harder this time, more intense. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your waist as he presses you further into the cabinets. The towel he was holding drops to the floor, forgotten, as both of his hands find their way to your body.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. His kiss is rough, insistent, and you can feel the barely restrained desire in the way his hands roam your body, the way his mouth claims yours like he can’t get enough.
The kiss deepens, growing more heated by the second, and you lose yourself in the sensation of it all — the taste of him, the feel of his hands on you, the way his body fits so perfectly against yours. It’s like nothing else matters in this moment, like the world outside this kitchen doesn’t even exist.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, Max pulls away again, his breath coming in harsh gasps. He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath.
You’re both silent for a moment, the only sound in the kitchen the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the rapid beating of your hearts. Max’s hands are still on your waist, his grip firm but gentle, as if he’s afraid to let go.
When he finally opens his eyes, they’re softer now, the wild intensity from earlier replaced by something deeper. Something more vulnerable.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.
You smile, your heart swelling at his words. “Me too.”
He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips — this one slower, more tender, like he’s savoring the moment. When he pulls back, there’s a small smile on his face, and you can’t help but smile back.
There’s a calm between you now, a quiet understanding. Whatever this is between you, it’s real. It’s undeniable. And as you stand there, wrapped in Max’s arms, you know that things between you will never be the same again.
***
“Is that …” One of the men, Gregory, squints toward the entrance of the exclusive restaurant, pausing in the middle of a flirtatious exchange with the hostess. His words trail off, confusion clouding his features.
“What?” Brian, the stockier of the group, follows his gaze, annoyed that Gregory stopped mid-conversation. “What’s up, man?”
Gregory gestures with a tilt of his chin toward the door, where a woman has just stepped in. The place is dimly lit, but something about her seems familiar, though they can't quite place her.
“Do I know her from somewhere?” Gregory mutters, his brow furrowed as he leans back in his chair. The hostess, sensing their distraction, uses the opportunity to walk away, leaving them with menus but no promises of a table anytime soon.
Brian cranes his neck to get a better look. “Wait … yeah, she looks familiar.” His eyes narrow, trying to make out her face in the low light as she stands by the coat check with a man. The guy is tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an expensive-looking suit. He’s effortlessly helping her out of her coat, revealing a very obvious baby bump underneath her fitted dress.
“That can’t be …” Gregory’s voice drops, his eyes widening. He leans forward abruptly, his voice incredulous now. “No way. It can’t be her.”
Brian is staring hard now too, the realization dawning on him slowly. “Holy shit. Is that …”
“It’s Y/N,” Gregory finishes, his tone a mix of disbelief and amazement. “No fucking way.”
Both men stare openly now, their jaws slack. This can’t be the same Y/N they remember. The meek, quiet wife of their old friend, Jonathan Harper. The one who always seemed so timid, always a little on edge, looking small beside Jonathan's larger-than-life personality.
“Didn’t she …” Brian begins, but the sentence dies in his throat as you turns, facing their direction for a brief second. There’s no mistaking it now. It’s definitely you.
“But she looks …” Gregory is still fumbling for words. Different is an understatement. The woman they remember had been quiet, always fading into the background whenever Jonathan had his friends over. The Y/N they’re looking at now is glowing, confident, carrying yourself in a way they’ve never seen before.
“Jesus, man,” Brian mutters under his breath, eyes still locked on her. “She’s pregnant.”
Gregory snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. “And with someone else? This quick after Jonathan? What the hell?”
Brian leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his tone taking on a gossipy edge. “Guess the widow moved on real fast, huh?”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Gregory's expression darkens. “She sure doesn’t look like she's grieving anymore.”
The two of them exchange knowing looks, already jumping to conclusions. In their minds, the version of Y/N they remember wouldn’t have been able to survive without Jonathan — without a man to take care of her. But here you are, very much alive, very much pregnant, and very much with someone else.
Brian’s eyes flicker back to your new partner. “Who the hell is the guy?”
“Beats me.” Gregory leans forward, intrigued. The man looks polished, strong, and carries himself like he’s someone important. He’s not standing too close, but his body language is protective, subtle but noticeable. He’s keeping an eye on you, as if ready to act if needed.
Gregory turns back to Brian, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Should we go say something?”
Brian looks at him, eyes gleaming with the kind of self-satisfied anticipation of someone about to stir trouble. “Hell yeah, we should.”
They exchange smirks, feeling a sudden surge of superiority. After all, you had been part of their circle by extension of Jonathan. You were Jonathan’s wife — emphasis on were — and to them, this move you pulled, getting knocked up by someone else and flaunting it in public, doesn’t sit right.
“Let’s see what she has to say for herself,” Gregory mutters, already starting to rise from his seat.
But as the two men stand up, ready to saunter over, something makes them pause.
The man at your side reaches up to adjust his suit jacket, and as he does, the fabric pulls back just enough to reveal something. Tucked into a holster at his side is a sleek, black gun, the metal gleaming subtly under the restaurant's dim lights.
Gregory stops mid-step, eyes widening. “Holy shit.”
Brian notices it at the same time. The two exchange glances, the smugness draining from their faces, replaced with a mix of uncertainty and alarm.
“Did you see that?” Brian hisses, his voice dropping several octaves.
Gregory nods, frozen in place, his gaze locked on the gun. He looks back at you, now laughing softly as the man beside you places a protective hand on the small of your back. You have no idea they’re watching you, no idea they were even thinking about approaching you. But your partner? He’s fully aware.
Max turns his head just enough to catch their eyes, and though he doesn’t say a word, his message is clear. The slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth says everything. Don’t even think about it.
Brian swallows hard. “Who the hell is this guy?”
Gregory shakes his head, suddenly regretting the entire idea. “I don’t know, but I’m not sticking around to find out.”
They both sit back down, their bravado evaporating as quickly as it had come. They exchange another uneasy glance, neither of them willing to admit they’ve just been scared off by a single look, but both fully aware that they want nothing to do with whatever’s going on here.
“Maybe she’s not our business anymore,” Brian mutters, grabbing his glass of whiskey and taking a long, deliberate sip.
Gregory nods, his eyes flickering back to you one last time. You’re completely engrossed in your conversation with the man, your hand resting on your belly as you smile softly up at him. Whoever this guy is, he’s clearly important to you. And as much as they hate to admit it, you don’t look like the fragile, breakable woman they remember.
In fact, you look happier than you ever did when you were with Jonathan.
“Yeah,” Gregory agrees, his voice subdued. “Maybe she never was.”
The two men settle back into their seats, the waitress bringing over a basket of bread and menus they’d long since forgotten about. They exchange a few more words, but the energy has shifted. The gossip that once seemed so juicy has lost its appeal.
As they half-heartedly resume their conversation, their eyes drift back to you and Max every so often. They can’t help it. There’s something captivating about the way you hold herself now — something different from the woman they once knew.
Brian, ever the more curious of the two, finally leans back in his chair and lets out a low whistle. “She really moved on, huh?”
Gregory shrugs, pushing his bread around on the plate in front of him. “Guess so.”
But as the night wears on, neither of them can shake the image of you and your new life. The woman who was once a shadow in the background of their lives is now someone they barely recognize. And for the first time, they realize that maybe — just maybe — they never really knew you at all.
Across the room, you and Max remain unaware of their scrutiny, wrapped in your own world, where the past no longer has a hold on either of you.
More Posts from Tammyfortis and Others
THE NEW AMERICAN
F1 Driver Reader Masterlist
Summary: You join the F1 paddock mid-season alongside fellow rookie Franco Colapinto, stepping in for Lance Stroll after a season-ending injury. This journey is far from sunshine and rainbows, but you’re ready to take on the challenges—and the deep-rooted misogyny of the sport—to prove everyone wrong. Determined to make your mark, you’ll fight to win over the skeptics and earn the respect of the F1 world.
The Debut
The Debut part 2
Azerbaijan GP
Azerbaijan GP part 2
Singapore GP
Singapore GP part 2
Autumn Break
Autumn Break part 2
USA TEXAS GP
USA TEXAS GP part 2
Post Maiden Home Win
Mexican GP
Mexican GP part 2
Brazilian GP
Brazilian GP part 2
Las Vegas GP
Las Vegas GP part 2
Qatar GP
Qatar GP part 2
Abu Dhabi GP
Abu Dhabi GP part 2
End of the Season
Creating a Section/Post for requests specfic to this story. I am open to basically anything even if its a change to the storyline that we can pretend isn't canon. I have written about 3 different versions of these, depending on how this one goes, I may edit and finish the other two f1driver reader series stories.
Two Stephens
+18 Smut (Ménage a trois, baby!)
Pairing: Supreme!Strange x Fem!Reader / Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader
Synopsis: When a spell goes wrong you and Stephen are throwed into another universe and end up needing the help of another Stephen Strange and things get a little intense between the three of you.
Word Count: 4,900k
Warnings: Ménage a trois (Vaginal and anal sex, DP, Oral sex with male and female receiving, Masturbation with male and female receiving.)
Writer Note: I needed to get this fantasy out of my head and I ended up being quite satisfied with the result. This is totally filthy. you are welcome ;)
As usual I would like to remind you that english is not my first language so will probably have some grammatical mistakes here and there but I hope it doesnt spoil your experience.
----------------------------------
“Okay, this is the worst day of my life, Strange and you will have to compensate me for all this mess.”
Strange held out his hand to you helping you up.
“Let's find a way to get back home first.”
You sighed looking around. You were on top of the roof of a building and you could take a good look at the city of NY from that universe. It was different. More alive, with much more greenery and flowers and even the smell of the air was better. No pollution or smell of factory smoke.
“I could get used to living here” You said sighing and Strange rolled his eyes. Of all the people in the world he could be lost with in another universe with no idea how to get back home, you were the last one he would choose. Wong insisted on saying that the problem he had with you came from a repressed feeling, but he couldn't imagine feeling anything for you at all. You were irritating, petulant, and although very pretty, you were definitely not a good company.
You felt your stomach churning, but you took a deep breath, doing your best not to throw up. “Okay, what's the plan?”
He was silent for a second.
“Strange, tell me you have a plan.”
“Maybe I’ll have one if you just shut up for a minute and let me think.”
You crossed your arms in annoyance “We're in NY. There must be a Sanctum here.”
He shook his head “Great deduction.”
You rolled your eyes “Maybe if we find the Sorcerer Supreme of this universe he can help us find a way to get back to ours.”
He thought for a moment looking at you “Maybe there is another me in this universe.”
You sighed “I'm praying we’ll find the Ancient One or Wong. I couldn't handle two of you.”
You walked the streets slowly, being surprised by the small differences between the universes. Here, for example, people walked in red instead of green, which made you almost get run over if he didn't pull you at the right time.
"Watch out" he said gruffly.
“Just for the record, this is all your fault!” You replied back in the same tone “If I die I will come back to haunt you!”
He looked at you offended “How is this my fault?”
“Are you really going to pretend it wasn't your spell that went wrong and caused all this?” You sighed irritably as you crossed another street “Just to remind you, I warned you not to do this damn forgetting spell. You never listen to anyone, Strange.”
“I was trying to help the kid! I know it's hard for you to have empathy for people, but he's suffered too much.”
“Okay, and I imagine he must be better now with all those villains loose there and both of us missing. How do you think he's handling it all by himself?!”
He did not answer. Strange was feeling tired and guilty. He was also worried about Parker and what might happen to him and you seemed to enjoy putting salt in the wound. He didn't know why you hated him so much, but it was exhausting to be around you for more than an hour and he was already around you for a long time. He just wanted to get home as soon as possible.
You finally arrived at the Sanctum Sanctorum and hesitated a little to knock on the door, but before you could knock the door opened by itself and you entered revealing a slightly more beautiful and well-kept hall.
“Hello” Strange called in the empty hall and then a familiar and annoying voice answered.
“What... How did you get here?”
You turned on your heel in time to see the man in a blue tunic coming down the stairs.
“Oh for God's sake!” You complained
Strange stared at the other Strange coming towards him. It was exactly like him, except he didn't have a goatee and wore a blue tunic and a blue cloak.
“I'm sorry for entering like that” Your Strange said “We are looking for the Sorcerer Supreme of this universe.”
The other Strange looked at the two of you curiously “Well now you find him. How can I help you?”
You couldn't help but notice the weird way that Strange was looking at you, as if he knew you.
You sat in the hall by the fire and he poured you a cup of tea and waited for you to explain how you got there.
“So let me get this straight” He said placing the empty cup on the coffee table “You used a forgetting spell to help your friend escape the persecution he was suffering, but somehow the spell went wrong and caused cracks in the fabric of reality opening rifts between universes?”
Strange nodded feeling ashamed before himself “It was a stupid mistake on my part. I could have fixed it, but the kid...”
“Now you want to blame a teenager for your mistakes, Strange?” You said irritated “Who understand the dangers, him or you?”
The other Strange looked at the two of you and smiled at you. A kind of smile you weren't used to seeing on your Strange. “I always knew that one day I would meet visitors from other universes, but I never dreamed of meeting a variant of myself and [Y/N]”
You stared at him in surprise “Do you know me?”
He nodded “Well, let's say so.”
Your Strange looked at you both curiously noticing the way the other Strange looked at you.
“Sorry, but what are you two to each other in this universe?”
Strange smiled, looking away from you and you felt your face heat up.
“We never decided that, actually.” He replied “Anyway, I haven't seen her in years. She's married and living out of the country from what I heard.”
You nodded, relieved to know that there was no way you could run into a version of yourself in that universe.
“I ask you the same question.”
Strange looked at you sighing “She is a student at Kamar Taj. One of my most powerful and intelligent students. No less irritating.”
You stared at Strange in surprise that he had said something positive about you.
The other Strange sighed “Well, if there is a rift between the universes as you say, I believe it's not impossible to return home, but first we have to find a way to fix this mess before other visitors start arriving from other universes.”
Strange agreed “I know I have no right to ask this, but I need your help.”
The other Strange looked at you again with that interested look and then smiled getting up and offering his hand to your Strange.
“I'll help you, Stephen. Besides, I would do anything [Y/N] asked me to.”
You felt your face getting red as you watched the two Stephens holding hands and it really did look like a vision from hell to you. Or, if you were going to accept that you had feelings for Strange that you never let on, then that would be a vision of paradise. A highly distorted paradise stemming from some forbidden fantasy.
You sighed getting up “Sorry, is there a bathroom I can use? Long day!”
Strange nodded “Of course. I imagine you know the Sanctum. You can have one of the guest rooms tonight. Make yourself at home!”
You agreed, turning your back on both of them as quickly as possible and walking away from that environment that suddenly felt inappropriate when added to your thoughts.
Strange noticed that the other Strange didn't take his eyes off you and noticing something inside him not liking it. It was almost as if he was jealous. But of course it couldn't be that, it was ridiculous.
“I presume you want to rest as well, maybe take a shower. There's not much we can do tonight. Tomorrow morning we'll find a way to send you home. The sooner you return, the less chance of an incursion.”
Strange looked at him confused “Incursion?”
“That's what happens when one universe collides with another. We don't want something like that to happen to our universes so, as amazing as it is to meet you, I'm inclined to get rid of you as soon as possible.”
Strange nodded “Of course. Yeah... thanks for the hospitality.”
The other Strange smiled “I presume you would do the same for me. After all, if we could't help ourselves, what kind of Doctor Strange would we be?”
Strange nodded and was leaving the room when the other Strange spoke again.
“You and [Y/N]... is there nothing between you?”
Strange didn't understand the reason for the question and again noticed that irritating feeling of jealousy invading him.
“She clearly likes you...” He smirked “us... that's why I'm asking.”
“And why do you want to know?”
Strange sighed “Because it would be quite an incursion!”
Strange gritted his teeth, but shrugged. “I doubt she likes us that way. Believe me, that woman hates me, she makes my life a hell all the time!”
Strange chuckled “Some would say there is a thin line between love and hate. Maybe we're somewhere in between.”
Strange shook his head “As long as she agrees, do as you please!”
Strange nodded.
You took a shower and looked out the window at the streets of NY bathed in lights. Tiredness hitting you like lightning.
You weren't content to wear the same clothes, but for lack of anything else to wear you stuffed yourself inside your pair of jeans and white long-sleeved blouse. A knock on the door took you by surprise.
“Come in” You said while drying your hair. The Strange of that universe entered the room in his glorious blue tunic and blue cloak.
“I hope you are well accommodated” He smiled “Me and your Stephen agreed that I will help you both to return to your universe tomorrow. Tonight you must rest. You're safe here.
You felt your heart racing and you looked away from the intense way he was looking at you.
“Yeah...thanks, Strange.”
He nodded “You can call me Stephen if you want to” He said taking a step towards you and getting dangerously close to you “We were very close.”
You nodded, swallowing your saliva “Thank you, Stephen.”
He smirked “The last time we saw each other you told me that you loved me. If I remember correctly, you said you loved me in every universe” He said touching your face and as strange as that was, you couldn't pull away. “I think this is a great opportunity to test that.”
He touched your lips with his thumb, forcing them to part.
“Of course, if you're as interested in finding out as I am.”
He came closer and kissed your lips lightly. Just a touch of lips, watching your reactions. You sighed, all the feelings you felt for him that you had hidden for so long now surfacing and overwhelming you. You knew it was wrong, but for that moment you couldn't care less.
He smiled as if reading your thoughts and took you in his arms kissing you intensely. The cloak fell from his shoulders and flew out of the bedroom.
You were lost in his arms when you heard the sound of footsteps that stopped at the door.
Strange stepped away from you and you stared at your Strange standing in the door looking at the scene with an expression you didn't know if it was anger, surprise or desire.
“Stephen, I was saying to [Y/N] that the last time I saw her in this universe she told me that she loved us in every universe, what do you think about testing this theory?”
Strange stared at the two of you. The arrogant way his variant referred to you, as if he knew you so much better than he did, made him jealous and he couldn't hide anymore that all the irritation he felt when you were around masked a feeling much stronger than he could have imagined. The fact that such feeling was so strong that existed in other universes only made him more sure of how real it was and seeing that variant kissing and touching you made him want to do the same. You were his after all.
He entered the room and the other Strange stepped away watching as he took his hand to the back of your neck and pulled you to his lips. You moaned softly in surprised but wrapped your arms around his neck and let him deepen the kiss, sucking your tongue with desperate desire. You pulled back for breath and opened your eyes to see the other Strange looking at the two of you with lust.
Your Strange stepped back cupping your face in his hands
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
You faced the other Strange who was waiting anxiously for your answer.
“Fuck this! Yes.”
You said launching yourself into the arms of the other Stephen, delighting in his lips while your Stephen approached you from behind kissing your shoulder and moving his lips to your neck. You moved away from the lips of one Stephen to surrender to the lips of the other, taking turns between their mouths, the contrast between the smooth face and the goatee was interesting and you were not at all in the mood to choose which was better. You wanted both.
The bedroom door closed with a slight movement of the other Stephen's hand and you heard the latch click.
Your Stephen ran his hands down your back holding your blouse and pulling it over your head and throwing it to the floor. He placed open-mouthed kisses on your bare shoulder and pressed you against his body so you could feel his shaft under his clothes.
The other Stephen caressed your breast over your bra and not satisfied pulled it down revealing your naked skin, the cold air making your nipple harden. He brought his lips to it sucking, his other hand caressing your other breast.
A low moan escaped your lips and your Stephen reached for your hand placing it on his shaft so that you could feel the state you had left him in. He buried his face between your neck and your shoulder, you tilted your head to create more room for him and he took a light bite of your neck, his goatee making your skin shiver, your hand gripped his cock over his clothes. God, it was huge.
The other Stephen lifted his lips to yours again, his hands going down to your pants unbuttoning the buttons and pulling them down, reaching down to help you get your feet over them. He turned his lips to your breasts as he brought a hand gently down between your legs, stroking through your panties.
You felt your entire body tremble at that touch. Your hand struggling to free your Stephen from all that clothing as he continued the assault on your neck.
He unbuckled his belt, getting rid of some of his clothing, leaving only his pants and boots. You moaned softly as the other Stephen slipped his hand inside your panties caressing your clit with his trembling fingers and taking one finger inside you.
“Oh look at that, she's completely wet, Stephen. And its all for us.”
You moaned in agreement putting your hand inside your Stephen's pants and finally taking his cock and releasing it. He was hard, full of visible veins, a fat, pink head, and the tip was wet with precum. You held him tight in your hand moving up and down jerking him.
“Oh fuck, baby, do you really want me that way? Why didn't you tell me before?”
"Shut up, Stephen" You said feeling your face blushing and pulling him to your lips as you stroked his cock and moved your hips against the other Stephen's skillful fingers. The wet noise his fingers made inside you was obscene.
“God, Stephen, this is so good!”
He chuckled kneeling on the floor, lifting one of your legs and placing it over his shoulder. He pulled your panties to the side and licked all the way from your entrance to your clit.
Your entire body shook and you moaned loudly, increasing the strength and speed with which you jerked your Stephen.
“Is it good?” He asked biting his lip to contain his own moans “Tell me how it feels with his mouth sucking you like that?”
You moaned “It feels good, Stephen. Really good.”
He growled impatiently “I want your mouth. I want to fuck that dirty mouth of yours until you confess that you always wanted me to fuck you. How does that sound to you? Good?”
You nodded, moaning loudly as the other Stephen stuck one more finger inside you and fucked you with them while sucking your clit. You brought your other hand to his head, grabbing his hair.
“Fuck Stephen you do it so good.”
He smiled satisfied looking at you. His smooth face all red and wet with your juices. “Yeah? How about letting your Stephen have a taste on you? Do you want this, Stephen?”
Your Stephen groaned impatiently “Fuck yes.”
Stephen pulled away taking your hand and pulling you onto the bed. “Lie down, honey.”
You obeyed, laying down leaning against the pile of pillows. Your Stephen got rid of his clothes and climbed onto the bed coming towards you. He brought his hands to your panties, taking them off and throwing them on the floor and your legs dangled to the sides. He bit his lip seeing you fully open to him. Your little cunt swollen and wet. He couldnd believe that was really happening.
“Stephen, please... I need you to touch me.”
He brought his fingers up your slit feeling how wet you were and opened the folds of your clit before diving there, flicking his tongue in your bundle of nerves making you twitch and moan.
The other Stephen smirked satisfied watching the two of you. It was beyond any dream he could conjure up seeing himself sucking you like that, it made him extremely hard.
He unbuckled his belt and got out of his clothes leaving only his boxers and climbed onto the bed kneeling beside you and taking your hand and placing at his cock over his boxer. You bit your lips caressing over the fabric, then you reached inside and took it out, stroking quickly.
"God, Stephen you are so big"
“Yeah? You like it? Put it in your mouth, honey. I want this wonderful mouth around my big cock.”
You moaned as Stephen placed three fingers inside you, fingering you intensely as he sucked on your clit making a delicious sucking noise.
You jerked him a couple of times and spat on him spreading your spit around him and only then your putted him in your mouth going as far as you could without gagging.
Stephen moaned loudly “Oh shit honey, your mouth feels so good wrapped around my cock like that.”
You hummed contentedly by moving your hips to get as much friction as possible from your Stephen's mouth as his fingers fucked you.
You took his cock out of your mouth and went back to spitting on him jerking him quickly. He held your hair, pulling it lightly.
“You do it so well, [Y/N]. I missed that. I missed you.”
You nodded knowing too well he wasn't talking about you, but it was all so confusing right now, you didn't really care.
Stephen raised his lips kissing your belly and breasts and took his hand to your chin pulling you off the other Stephen's cock to kiss him.
You kissed him, tasting you from his mouth and moaning between his lips.
“You taste so good, baby. I could eat you like this forever.”
You sighed into his lips as you continued to jerk the other Stephen making a wet noise.
“I want to taste you Stephen. Let me suck your cock too. Let me show you how much I care about you, how much I've always cared.”
He groaned, sitting up in bed.
The other Stephen cupped your chin kissing you. You got down on all fours and took Stephen's cock in your hand and spat on it stroking it quickly, squeezing it and fucking it with your hand.
He moaned loudly “Please baby, put it in your mouth. I want to fuck your mouth.”
You complied by sucking it willingly. Licking the tip and going as far as you could, relaxing your mouth until the tip hit the back of your throat.
“Fuck baby, you do it so perfectly. You’re so good”
The other Stephen caressed your ass cheeks and you felt his fingers penetrating you.
“You are dripping wet honey. So warm. I wanna put my cock inside you. Can I? Say yes please. Let me fuck you while you suck his cock.”
"Yes, Stephen"
You said feeling his tip rubbing at your entrance. You moved your hips against him, wanting him to enter you at once.
“Honey you are so needy.”
He spat on his hand, bringing the saliva to the tip of his cock and then positioned it at your entrance, penetrating you with a single thrust. You moaned loudly as his cock stretched you and you kept your Stephen's cock in your mouth sucking him fast while your hand caressed his balls.
“Oh shit, honey you are so tight. Your fucking little cunt is so tight. I love it.”
You moaned in approval as he fucked you with quick, intense thrusts. Both hands gripping your hips, squeezing and pulling you against his thrusts and going so deep it made your whole body shake.
Stephen pulled your hair out of your face and kept it in his hand in a ponytail so he could get a good view of your mouth swallowing his cock. You kept forcing him down your throat, going so deep that your nose brushed his pubic hair, your hand gripping his balls and massaging them.
“Baby you suck my cock so good. Why have you never sucked my cock before? Isn't that what you wanted all along?”
You hummed taking his cock out of your mouth coughing and gagging. Saliva dripped from your mouth in a thick tread between your mouth and the tip of his cock. Tears streaming from your eyes. You moaned loudly feeling each wonderful thrust while the other Stephen fucked you at such a fast and intense pace.
He pulled you to his lips kissing you and then pulled you off the other Stephen's and into his lap.
“It's my turn” He said turning your back to him while you put your leg through his legs. You held his cock helping him to penetrate you and supported yourself on your legs to ride him, but Stephen couldn't give up control. He slipped his hands under your thighs, holding your weight and forcing his hips against you, fucking you at his own fast, intense pace.
He moaned loudly “Baby, your cunt feels so good on my cock.”
The other Stephen got up standing on the bed and came over so you could suck his cock. You kept both hands busy behind your back resting on Stephen's chest, so he put his hands in your hair holding it and forcing your head against his cock making you swallow it.
“Fuck, honey, you're being so nice to us. I bet you never dreamed of having two Stephens in bed with you, did you?”
He held your chin taking his cock out of your mouth and you took the opportunity to breathe. He was right. You never dreamed something like that could happen.
You shook your head no and he placed his cock in your mouth sideways forcing it against your cheek and pulling it out with a delicious popping noise. He repeated it a few times moaning and then grunted impatiently "Fuck this Stephen, If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right.”
He pulled you off your Stephen and made you lie on your side, your head positioned at the perfect height so you could suck your Stephen.
He lay down right behind you running his hand through your slit collecting as much of your slick and dragging it to your other entrance.
He spat into his hand, bringing the saliva to his cock and placing the tip on your ass. He pushed slowly and you twitched insecurely.
“It's okay honey, I know how to do it. I won't hurt you. Just relax, okay? Trust me.”
You did as he asked and tried to relax. He pulled your thigh, bending your leg so that it was in the best position for him to penetrate you from behind and slowly he was putting it on.
Your Stephen held all your hair in his hand forcing you against his cock. He moaned loudly, enjoying the wonderful flutter in your throat as you moaned into his cock while the other Stephen fucked you.
Stephen really knew how to deal with you, he didn't hurt you and with patience you felt his whole cock inside you in that wonderful new way.
“Honey, you can handle my cock so well. Tell me when I can move.”
You moaned, moving your hips against him and he smiled satisfied, starting to move slowly at first and then increasing his speed until he found a slow but intense pace and little by little you got used to being fucked like that, the new pleasure revealing itself with each thrust.
Stephen pulled you lightly by the hair taking the cock out of your mouth and moaning satisfied “Look at you baby. Are you really letting him fuck your ass? Tell me, does it feel good?”
You moaned and he bent down to kiss your lips “Use your words, baby. Tell me how it feels.”
“It feels good, Stephen. It feels good to have him fucking my ass. I've never felt anything like this before.”
He smiled satisfied “I wanna have your ass too, baby. Will you let me fuck your ass?”
You nodded and the other Stephen stepped back sitting on the bed leaning against the headboard.
“Come here honey, let me fuck your little cunt so he can fuck your ass. What do you think? Is not what you wanted? Two Stephens fucking you?”
You moaned and shaked your head yes, sliding your leg through his thighs and positioning him at the entrance of your pussy.
Your Stephen waited for your answer.
“Come here Stephen. I want you to fuck my ass. I want to have both inside me fucking me at the same time. My two Stephens.”
He groaned as he positioned himself behind you and placed his cock at the entrance of your ass and slowly pushed until he was fully inside you and moaned at the feel of your tight ass squeezing his cock and you have never felt so full.
“Oh my god, you both feel so good fucking me at the same time. Fuck yeah, I love it. Just keep fucking me like that, just like that baby. I feel so full, so full. Oh my god.”
You leaned on the other Stephen's shoulders kissing him passionately as you moved on his cock getting as much friction as possible on your clit.
At the same time your Stephen was holding your hair tightly fucking you from behind and turning your face so you could kiss him while he fucked you.
It didn't take long for you to feel your climax building deep in your belly. Even that felt different because you felt so full with them both inside you like that.
“Oh my god you gonna make me cum.”
The other Stephen moaned loud “Fuck honey, cum on my cock while he fuck your ass.”
You didn't need anything else, your entire body convulsed on top of him as your Stephen fucked your ass and no words came out of your mouth, just a loud moan and you collapsed on the other Stephen's chest.
Your Stephen pulled away holding his cock and jerking off “I am gonna cum, baby. Where do you want me?”
You moaned, bending down to take him in your mouth in time to feel the hot load of cum flooding your mouth. He moaned loudly as you sucked every drop until he was completely dry. He pulled you to his lips kissing you and then collapsing on the bed.
The other Stephen handed his cock in your hand and you took it in your mouth sucking it and jerking him, feeling him throbbing and twitching.
“Honey I'm gonna fill your mouth too.”
You moaned in approval as the hot liquid flooded your mouth and you swallowed it all. It had exactly the same taste. You licked him until he was completely clean.
He sat on the bed panting running his hand through his hair wet with sweat and then he smiled getting up and with a gesture of his hand he was fully dressed.
He came around the bed and pulled you in for one last kiss
“I was right. You do love me in every universe.”
You nodded watching as he left the room and closed the door behind him.
Your Stephen sat up in bed and held your hand “Are we going to talk about this or...”
You sighed feeling the tiredness hit your body “We will, but not today. Today we're just going to sleep”
You said and he nodded, lying down on the bed and you lay on his chest, snuggling your arm across his belly and soon you both fell asleep.
-------------------------------
MASTERLIST
Tag list: @drstrangesgirl91 @polytheatrix @dragonqueen89 @newtsniffles @strangelockd @evelynrosestuff @cute-angi @aisling1985 @whiskeyho @prix1994 @graveyzxbabe @kirithadilitirio @sherlux @xourownsidee @rbymoon @kakashibabe02 @hobimysolecito @geeky-politics-46
daniel + tattoos
WAG-In-Training - Jude Bellingham.
Summary: Reader is insecure about her capabilities of being a WAG and feeling like she doesn’t fit in, especially after seeing the others at the World Cup.
Warnings: Insecurities, body image issues, brief mentions of lack of eating,very angsty.
A/n: please comment and reblog if you’d like too, i love to hear your feedback <3
Y/f/n = your friends name
-
You were ushered quickly into the stadium after giving Jude a quick good luck kiss when he got off the team bus.
The girlfriends of the other England players were surrounding you, all taking pictures of the stadium and pitch, some ushering their kids in with them.
The initial noise put you on edge slightly, your fingers itching to play with something as the nerves grow inside you.
You play with the hem of the blue and white football shirt Jude had given you to wear, his number and surname printed proudly on the back.
“You should tie that up, it would look so cute” Lucia, Marcus’ fiancée, says to you sweetly as you bite your lip looking at all the people in their seats.
You look in her eyes before looking at all of the other WAGs, their shirts tied into crop tops either at the front or tucked in at the back in an invisible knot.
You look down at yours to see it draping down past your hips, the shirt slightly too big for you, Jude doing it purposefully as he knows that’s how you like to wear his jerseys.
He, of course, prefers it too when you wear them with just your underwear on, the material of his shirts near the middle of your thighs.
Yourself and Lucia had grown quite close, the cruise ship all of the WAGs and families were staying on had placed your rooms next to each other, meaning you spent a lot of time together.
“Yeah, maybe I should” you say, beginning to bunch the shirt up at the front.
“Here, let me” the short girl says as she softly gatherers the material and twists the back together tightly before tucking it under the looser material of the shirt leaving you in a DIY crop top.
“Can you still see his number?” You ask, your priority being to support your boyfriend rather than to look good.
“Yep! You look so hot” she claps her hands together as she looks at you, “picture?” She asks and you laugh before nodding and leaning into her.
She shows you the picture afterwards and you agree, you do look cute.
But no where near as good as the others in the back of the picture.
Their makeup flawless, their hair with not a single strand out of place, their nails done perfectly with fake tan on and not a single hint of patchiness.
You can’t help but sigh leading Lucia to furrow her eyebrows but luckily the security ushering the both of you to sit in your seats distracts her.
You take your seat and cross one leg over the other, your arm naturally crossing over your stomach to hide it.
You feel the skin of your arm touch the skin of your stomach and instantly grow worried.
You look down to see your skin slightly over the edge of the hem of your jeans.
You wince at your appearance before pulling at the folded hem of your shirt and flattening it out back to normal.
“You okay?” Saka’s girlfriend says as he places her hand on your arm from your other side.
You smile at her concern, her being the closest in age to you, you had also grown quite close.
You look at her makeup, hair and nails and immediately feel sad again.
What would Jude think when he looks up to see you next to all these beautiful girls?
You just didn’t think you could compare to them.
“Just cold” you nod at her, a tight lipped smile being forced on your face.
“It’s 30 degrees?” She laughs jokingly at you, her perfect smile never fading.
“Yeah” you laugh awkwardly, thankful when the players come out of the tunnel and the crowd for growing out anything the two girls could’ve said.
You look at Jude and take a few pictures, knowing he’d want to remember his first World Cup regardless of the result.
Being called up at 19 was very impressive, he deserves a better girl, a prettier one, you think.
From your phone screen you see him look up to you and you blow him a kiss.
He furrows his brows at you and you instantly know he can sense something is wrong.
You smile widely at him anyway, a poor attempt to convince him that nothing is wrong.
-
After only a few minutes, the ball is crossed into the box, the perfect place for your boyfriend to leap forewords and head it into the back of the net.
The crowd instantly erupts into cheers as you witness your boyfriend score his first international goal in the opening match of the World Cup for England.
You jump up from your seat and scream as loud as you can for your boyfriend, clapping and jumping for joy as you watch him open his arms out to the crowd.
The other WAGs around you cheer as well as take pictures of you celebrating your boyfriends goal, happy for you but also happy of the new addition to their group. You not having met Jude before the Euros.
Before Jude joins the rest of players in restarting the game, he looks up to where you’re sat and blows you a kiss.
You catch it and blow him one back making him pretend to catch it and put it on his heart.
The both of you laugh as the WAGs around you ‘aw’ at the two of you young lovers.
-
The game ends with a brilliant win for England but sadly you aren’t able to see Jude before he’s whisked away on the team bus and driven back to camp.
You sit on your bed in your room for the next month or so, your boss being a football fan so allowing the time off on the promise of a signed shirt from Jude.
A towel wrapped around your body and your hair while you rest on top of the blankets, cooling down.
You pick up your phone and see Jude’s post, liking it and commenting how proud you are of him.
Shortly after, you receive a text.
J 🤍 :
You looked so beautiful tonight, im so happy you came. That goal was for you.
You instantly started smiling and clicked on the notification.
No, that goal was for yourself. Breaking so many records, J. I’m so proud of you and I couldn’t love you anymore.
You type back, the message immediately being marked as ‘read’ and you smile knowing he was sat there waiting for you to reply.
It’s not long before another response comes through.
J 🤍:
I wish I was with you, I didn’t even get a goodbye kiss 🙄
You laugh at his use of emoji before replying.
You know, I would’ve loved to give you one more than anything baby. I’ll see you tomorrow after training, now get some sleep, I know you’re tired.
You swipe out of messages before you get his response so you know he will actually sleep.
After a short while of browsing instagram, you come across an article posted by ‘brfootball’ on your explore page.
You click on the link seeing a picture of you.
Your eyes widen when you see the title.
‘Does England’s Golden Boy deserve better?’
Your brows furrow seeing a picture of you from the match this evening, you taking a picture of Jude when he was on the pitch.
You scroll down to continue reading the article.
‘Y/n Y/l/n, the latest edition to the WAG squad, was seen at tonight’s match with her new beau’s shirt on. Unfortunately for the young lady, it’s clear she doesn’t belong. Her shirt falling below her waist to conceal the curves she may or may not have, the other WAGs however, looking stunning. Their stomachs on show as they clap for their partners, perfectly manicured nails decorating their hands. Yet another thing Miss y/l/n seems to diverge from. I’d like to say she’s a diamond in the rough but unfortunately I think it’s the other way round. This leaves us with the question of whether Jude Bellingham deserves better. Does he? Let us know via our email’
You feel tears sting at your waterline as you read the harsh words.
Quickly you shut off your phone and close your eyes, wishing desperately to fall asleep.
-
A few weeks later, and the first match back at Dortmund looms.
After that first match at the World Cup, you became more reluctant to go to matches, making excuses that you had to stay at your cruise ship suit to do some work your boss said was essential for you to do.
Jude became slightly suspicious but unfortunately, England was knocked out a few weeks later leading any questions to go unanswered.
“Babe please come to the first match of the season. I need you there” he says, his chin resting on your stomach.
“I’ll see, I’ll probably have work though” you reply, to which his brows furrow and his head lifts from his previous position.
“Take some time off?” He says nonchalantly.
“Jude I’ve already taken a month off to be with you in a whole other country” you reply, your tone still soft but anger bubbling.
“But you told me he still set work for you to do?” He says referring to his boss, you feel slightly caught out yet you don’t want to explain the real reason, fearing that he might realise he does deserve better.
“Well I was away from work, not there at the office where I should have been” you say, anger now in your voice, not at him but yourself.
Why did you have to lie in the first place? Why couldn’t you be as pretty as the others? Why did that article have to be written?
“I’m so sorry that coming to support me was such a chore for you” he says, his voice sarcastic as he pulls himself off your stomach and up on his face, his taller frame seeming slightly threatening as he stands over you, you still laying across the sofa.
“Jude, that’s not what I meant. I mean that I can’t just upend my whole life for you. I have an actual job that I’ve worked hard to get, I can’t constantly ask for time off. That’s not how a real job works, that’s not real life Jude.” You reply, sitting up so he’s less threatening.
“So I don’t do a real job” he says, his voice raising to a shout.
“Not a conventional one, no! You have an easy life, you get paid a ridiculous amount of money to turn up to training for two hours and then come back home. You earn what I earn in a year, in a week, Jude. A week!” You say, your voice at a shout now too.
You don’t know how your insecurities turned into this shouting match but you are damn sure you don’t mean any of the words you are saying. You know his life is hard, you suppose it’s just jealousy.
“Oh yeah my life is so easy. I love getting racially abused for playing for my country. I love getting death threats for putting the ball just slightly wide of the net. You’re right! It’s great!” His voice is filled with sarcasm and disgust as he shouts at you.
Both with the fact that’s a normal reaction for you, from anyone who raises their voice at you, but also for the fact you know he’s right, from the beginning he’s right, yet you just can’t bring yourself to rectify the situation and tell the truth.
“That’s not what I meant Jude, im sorry” you say, your voice softer now yet his still loud one makes you flinch.
“You’re so selfish sometimes. You know what, maybe I don’t need you at the match.” He shouts before storming off upstairs and slamming the bedroom door making you flinch again.
Your eyes don’t move from the floor and the house goes eerily quiet.
Not one of you making any hint of noise.
You always liked peace, yet in this tranquil silence your whole body felt shackled with unrest.
A tear rolled down your face, the cool diamond dancing down your heated skin, leaving a trail of discomfort as the salt solution dried down.
It was at that moment you decided you would be everything Jude needed, wanted even, and more.
-
After the fight, you went back to your house, the both of you still quite young and not ready to actually live together yet.
You hadn’t spoken other than Jude occasionally asking you whether you were okay.
One thing about that man is that no matter how mad he is at you, he will always make sure you are safe.
Today is match day and you can’t wait to show Jude everything you did for him.
You went and got your nails done, longer than you expected and now you are struggling to function but he doesn’t need to know that.
You got your hair done, and styled to make sure you look perfect.
You also got your makeup done because you thought if you are going all out, you might as well feel confident while doing so.
You put on your most expensive outfit and paired it with Jude’s Dortmund shirt, cropped, before you are out the door.
He doesn’t know you’re coming, he doesn’t even know what you’ve been up to the past two days, yet you have a feeling he’ll be thrilled with what you’ve planned.
You find your usual seat you used to sit at, before the article of course, and waited for the match to begin.
Sunglasses over your eyes the way you saw the other WAGs do during the World Cup.
Despite not feeling the part, you definitely looked the part. And about 5 years older than you are.
Jude noticed you first when he was in the line before the match, the mascot in front of him and the captains armband on his arm.
Your heart drops slightly, you’re the girlfriend of a Captain (or a future captain), you have to start putting maximum effort in now. No doubt about it.
He almost did a double take, not sure whether it was you or not, your usual smiling face replaced with a slight pout, mirroring the other WAGs.
You didn’t see from the distance of the two of you but he furrowed his brows, confusion taking over him.
None the less, he had to focus. The match was what was important.
A few minutes into the match, Jude scored.
The infamous yellow wall erupting into cheers as you stay sat down, clapping gently the same way you saw the other WAGs do. The high profile ones.
Jude looked over to you, about to blow a kiss like he usually does but then he sees you, sat down and looking unimpressed.
So different to how supportive and free you looked during the World Cup.
He missed that you, yet another had seemed to push its way to the front.
You weren’t his you anymore.
You met Jude at your car, having called his mum to ask if you could drive him this time.
She of course said yes, she loves you. So much.
“I’m sorry Jude” you say straight away as he walks towards you, hands in his pockets as he drags his feet towards you.
“You shouldn’t be sorry, i should” he says in response, instantly pulling you in for a hug, his arms enveloping you as his scent fills your senses.
“No. I’ve missed you, so much” you say, your nails scratching the base of his neck.
“Ouch!” He proclaims, jumping away from you slightly.
You pull your hands from behind his neck and look at your ridiculously long nails.
“Sorry” you apologise again.
“I thought you didn’t like acrylic nails?” He asks, your man always asked too many questions, and remembered too many little details about you.
However the latter never fails to warm your heart.
“I thought I’d give it a try” you say, covering your arse yet again.
“Okay” he says, his brows raising and it’s obvious he doesn’t believe you but he moves on.
“Let’s go home” he says as he gets in his side.
“Okay passenger princess. Yours or mine?” you tease him, knowing he hates when you call him that.
“Hey! You know I haven’t had time to learn to drive yet! I’m a busy man with my ‘easy job’ and mine” he quotes you making you both laugh.
-
After a short drive, you arrive back at his place, two of you looking at a takeaway menu, deciding on what to get to celebrate his win.
“I think I’ll just get a salad” you say, knowing that’s not what you truly want.
“What? Why? You aren’t going for your usual?” Jude asks, he knows how much you love your favourite dish and you rarely eat proper salads as the main meal.
“Just not that hungry” lies. You hadn’t eaten more than a banana in two days.
“Right, okay” Jude sighs, his tone soft but quiet as he looks over the menu.
Your phone starts ringing from its place on the counter making both you and Jude look at it.
“It’s y/f/n , I should take this” you say and Jude nods in approval before you walk into his room for some slightly privacy, with your best friend, you never know what you’re going to get.
“Do you want to tell me why you looked the way you did at tonight’s match?” She says when you pick up.
“Huh?” You say, confused and slightly shocked at how brash she is.
“Why the sunglasses? It’s winter.” She starts.
Fair point
“Why the makeup and hair and clothes? Don’t get me wrong, you looked hot but that isn’t you. I’ve never seen you look like that before” she asks, a normal person might take offence but you know she’s right. That wasn’t you.
“I don’t know. Just trying something new” you reply, shrugging your shoulders but your voice becomes slightly unstable.
“Y/n. Please, what’s going on?” Her voice grows quiet, the delicacy in her voice making a sob escape your mouth.
You’re not entirely sure where it comes from but the recognition that the WAG lifestyle doesn’t suit you, hurts. Despite knowing it deep down, you could never be a regular WAG.
“Oh baby” she sighs over the phone.
“I wish I was with you” she says when you don’t reply, you trying to hide any cries so Jude doesn’t hear.
“I just, I saw the WAGs at the World Cup. All so glamorous and perfect and they just look expensive and so pristine and put together and not a single thing out of place. So gracious and skinny. God, why are they all so skinny! I sat next to them and felt like an elephant, the ones sat behind me probably thought I was with how broad my shoulder are, I just- I just want to be that for Jude. I just can’t be though, and I’m scared he’s going to wake up and realise I can’t and then leave me for someone exactly like the others” you say, some words needing repeating because of your sobs.
“Y/n” you hear a deep voice from behind you.
“I’ve got to go” you say to your friend and immediately hang up, your shoulders going tense as you stay facing away from him.
You quickly wipe your tears away and face him.
The wall you built barely withstanding the water inside the dam and you meet his eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jude says, his voice the softest you’ve ever heard, eyes glassy with slight tears in his own eyes.
And that’s all it takes, one crack in the concrete and the dam is broken.
Your tears flood out, enough to make Noah need to rebuild his ark.
His arms instantly envelope you, you fist at his shirt in desperation as you try to bury your head in his warm chest.
He holds onto you tighter, scared you might break as you stand in his arms the most fragile and raw you’ve ever been.
His heart breaks at your sobs, the sound of pure anguish coming from you as you sniff into his chest.
Jude swears he can feel his heart strings actually ache as you pull on them, each sob a new tug.
“Darling, I need you to breathe now” he says in a hushed but stern tone as your breathing becomes more erratic.
“Breathe in, one, two, three” he stops when you can’t follow his instructions anymore, a sob ruining your efforts.
“Good. Breathe in, one, two, three, four” again, a sob breaks it.
“Better. Breath in, one, two, three, four, five” and a sob.
“Perfect. Now hold your breath” he says as he takes your face in his large hands as he puffs his cheeks out and makes his eyes go cross eyed making you laugh, a sob breaking the giggles but the sound makes Jude smile none the less.
“Y/n you are so perfect. So, so perfect, down to the last hair on your head. Everything about you makes me happy to wake up in the morning, happy to wake up at three in the morning to make cookies with you when you can’t sleep, happy to run and get you your snacks late at night when you crave them, happy to hold your hand when he run up the stairs after turning the downstairs light off. Happy to be your man. Because that’s what I am no matter what, your man. There’s is no one better for me because you get me, to my core you get me. More than anyone I’ve ever met in my life and you probably understand me more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life.” He says making you tear up yet again but doesn’t let them fall far as with each one, he brushes it away gently with his thumb and places a kiss where it stopped.
“And you’re beauty. Oh my, I genuinely don’t know where to start. Your hair, it’s so perfect. Not just to me but to anyone who looks at it. Lucia told Marcus that she wants to know what products you use, actually. I’m sorry I forgot to ask you that but we’ll get to it later. Anyway, your makeup. To start, you don’t need it, but I know you like it and if you like it, I like it. You do it so perfectly. I’m in love with watching you do it. You seem so happy when you do and I fall in love with you every time you smile. And your smile! God it has me weak in the knees. Genuinely” he says making you smile and before you can stop him he’s dropped to the floor, limbs sprawled out as he clutches to his heart.
You laugh at him and all of a sudden he jumps back up to his feet and grabs your hand again.
“See!” He says, laughing himself now and slightly out of breath. “I love you more than I could ever love anyone. I don’t need anyone or anything in this world other than you” he says before cupping your cheeks once again and pulling you in for a kiss.
It tastes slightly salty given the amount of tears you cried this evening yet it’s still perfect.
As everything seems to be with Jude.
“Also I ordered your favourite. I think it would be a hate crime to eat a salad after the goal I scored today”
-
I hope you guys like it!! This was all over the place and not planned at all. Please forgive me if it’s bad <3
the fastest driver part 1
summary: you are a young and talented driver, who begins your journey in Formula 1 with Ferrari. despite your undeniable ability, you are constantly relegated to the background due to the Scuderia's strategies, which always favor your teammate, Charles Leclerc.
warnings: nothing for now
word counter: 9026
author's note: english is not my first language, this is from an amazing request
You grew up in a small town where dusty streets were your first track, and the only kart your parents could afford became an extension of yourself. You spent years perfecting your skills under the blazing sun, your hands always stained with grease, while dreaming of the big leagues. Your determination and talent didn’t go unnoticed for long, and by the age of seventeen, you were already competing in Formula 3, winning races, and building a reputation that few could ignore.
However, the transition to Formula 1 was no fairy tale. Despite your achievements in the lower categories, many doors remained closed. You were a woman in a sport dominated by men, and while you hated admitting it, you knew the battle to prove yourself extended beyond the circuits. But when Ferrari came calling, you realized all your sacrifices had been worth it. Ferrari, the team with the most history and prestige in Formula 1, had set its sights on you.
The first time you set foot in Maranello, Ferrari's heart, you felt a mix of nerves and excitement. The walls of the main building were adorned with iconic images: Lauda, Schumacher, Vettel... all the greats who had raced for the Scuderia. And now you were there, ready to make your mark in history.
They introduced you to Charles Leclerc, your teammate. Tall, charismatic, and with a smile that could disarm anyone, Charles greeted you politely but with a reserved attitude. It was clear he wasn’t going to let his guard down around you.
The technical team showed you the SF24, the car you’d be driving that season. It was beautiful, a machine designed to fly on asphalt, and when you finally sat in the cockpit for the first time, everything felt right. This was your place.
Preseason testing in Barcelona was your first big challenge. The media was eager to see you in action, and the headlines were as varied as they were predictable: some hailed you as a breath of fresh air for Formula 1, while others questioned your ability to handle the pressure.
When you finally hit the track, all the external noise disappeared. It was just you, the car, and the circuit. From the first lap, you proved you belonged in this world. Your times were competitive, sometimes even better than Charles’, which didn’t go unnoticed by the team or the press.
But then, in the middle of your best stint, you received a radio message: “Box, box. We need to check something on the car.” There was nothing to check, and you knew it. But you obeyed. Charles needed more track time, and Ferrari made sure he got it.
The day of the first race in Bahrain was a whirlwind of emotions. Seeing your name on the red cars alongside Charles’ was a dream come true. But you also knew your real challenge was just beginning.
You qualified third, right behind Charles, which left the team satisfied but not surprised. In the race, you had a spectacular start, overtaking Charles at the first corner. Adrenaline surged through your body as you realized you were leading the race for Ferrari. But then the radio crackled again: “Let Charles through. He has better pace.”
You clenched your teeth. You knew it wasn’t true, that you had the pace to fight for the win, but you also understood the unwritten rules of the Scuderia: Charles was number one. So you lifted your foot off the accelerator, watching as Charles took the lead while a bitter frustration built up inside you.
You finished second, a result any rookie would have celebrated, but for you, it wasn’t enough. In the press conference, journalists bombarded you with questions about being relegated to second fiddle. You smiled professionally and replied that it was all for the good of the team, but inside, you were burning.
The dynamics within Ferrari didn’t take long to settle. You were the driver who followed orders, no matter how illogical or unfair they seemed. From the beginning, you had accepted that a place in Formula 1 was a hard-earned privilege and that surviving in such a legendary team required showing commitment and loyalty. But at Ferrari, the price of that loyalty seemed increasingly steep.
You were always the first to arrive at the garage and the last to leave. You immersed yourself in the technical details, analyzing every bit of data from the car and holding long meetings with the engineers. But no matter how hard you worked, there was always an invisible line you couldn’t cross. Every strategy, every race decision, seemed designed to keep you in your place: the perfect support for Charles Leclerc, Ferrari’s "star man."
Some moments were particularly frustrating. Like that Sunday in Monaco, when the sky threatened rain and the track conditions were changing rapidly. You were in a strong position, right behind Leclerc, and clearly faster than him at that point. When you asked for permission to attack over the radio, the response was curt:
“Hold position. The priority is to protect Charles’ race.”
That day, you bit your lip and obeyed. You lifted slightly in every corner, letting Charles pull away enough to avoid pressuring him. And, as if it were a cruel joke, Charles’ strategy backfired: he was called to the pits at the wrong time, losing all his advantage. Meanwhile, you got stuck in traffic you couldn’t overcome with the car you had. You finished off the podium.
You could have screamed, could have let out your frustration, but you didn’t. When journalists approached with questions about the strategy, your response was impeccable, the “good girl” answer they expected:
“It’s part of racing. I trust the team and the decisions they make.”
Even when you didn’t feel it, even when it ate away at you inside.
Ferrari, an institution as legendary as it was unyielding, seemed to thrive on your docility. In internal meetings, you weren’t the one to stand up and challenge the strategists or argue over team orders. It was Charles who raised his voice, who demanded explanations or changes. You, on the other hand, nodded, worked harder, and returned to the grind. In the team’s eyes, that attitude made you the perfect driver to support the project. “Predictable,” some would say. “Reliable,” others would call it.
However, there were days when the injustice weighed too heavily. You remembered races like Silverstone, where you led for more than 20 laps, only to receive the order to let Charles through under the pretext that he had better pace. You complied without protest, watching your chance for a first victory vanish with a maneuver that didn’t even make sense to the commentators.
“Why didn’t you fight back?” a journalist asked you in the post race press conference, almost reproachfully.
Your answer was automatic:
“The team has its reasons, and I trust them.”
But inside, you wanted to scream. Of course, you wanted to fight. You wanted to prove you hadn’t come this far just to be a shadow.
Despite everything, you never broke. You kept working, accumulating miles, and learning every step of the way. At Ferrari, you were known as the hardest worker, the one who spent extra hours reviewing data and analyzing races. Sometimes, even Charles joked with you:
“You should relax a bit. You don’t need to prove so much to the team; they already know you’re good.”
But you knew it wasn’t enough. Your place always seemed precarious, as if you were under constant evaluation, always one step behind in the team’s priorities.
Throughout the season, this dynamic became so evident that even some fans began to notice the disparity. On social media, the discussions were constant: some praised your obedience, seeing you as the ideal teammate, while others criticized Ferrari for not giving you a fair chance. You didn’t say anything, but you read the comments. You felt the frustration of those who wanted to see you succeed, and that gave you strength to keep going.
And although that helped you move forward, there were things that got in the way. Spending so much time with Charles Leclerc was inevitable. You shared meetings, strategies, team dinners, and endless travels from one circuit to another. Sometimes, during long waits at airports or motorhome rides, he relaxed enough to drop the façade of being the perfect driver.
It was in those moments that you began to notice him differently. Maybe it was the way his smile widened when you managed to make him laugh with your sarcastic comments or how he looked at you with a mix of awe and admiration when you discussed strategies, showing detailed knowledge of every technical aspect. You found yourself anticipating those small moments, those conversations where the weight of the motorsport world seemed to disappear, even if just for a few minutes.
At first, you tried to ignore it. You told yourself it was nothing, simply a side effect of being so close to someone for so long. But little by little, that feeling began to grow. You found yourself watching him during meetings, noticing details that had previously gone unnoticed: the slight accent in his English, the way he ran a hand through his hair when frustrated, his easy laughter when something truly amused him.
Reality hit every time you remembered that, to him, you were just his teammate. Maybe a friend, even a sort of younger sister, but nothing more. Charles had a natural way of making you feel comfortable but also reminding you of where you stood in his life.
One night in Suzuka, after a long day of training and meetings, you both ended up in the small lounge of Ferrari's motorhome. You had gone to get a cup of tea to clear your mind and found him sitting on the couch, looking at something on his phone. He looked up when he saw you and smiled.
“Long day?” he asked, setting his phone aside.
“As always,” you replied, pouring hot water into your cup. Then you turned to him. “And you? I haven’t seen you since the last meeting.”
Charles sighed and stretched. “I was trying to reply to some messages, but I don’t even know where to start. Family, friends, everyone wants to know how I’m doing all the time. It’s exhausting.”
You smiled, sitting in a chair across from him. “Must be tough being Charles Leclerc.”
He laughed. “Don’t believe it. You’re a Ferrari driver too. You must have your own endless list of messages.”
“Yeah, but the difference is that I’m not seen as the team’s big star. I only have to worry about my parents and a couple of close friends.”
He tilted his head, as if evaluating your words. “Don’t think we don’t notice. The whole team knows how dedicated you are. Maybe they don’t say it all the time, but they know how much you bring to the table.”
Your heart skipped a little. You hadn’t expected that kind of recognition from him. You tried to stay composed.
“That’s... good to hear. Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way, but thank you.”
A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Charles looked at you with curiosity.
“And you? How do you handle it? Being here, under so much pressure, one of the few women in this sport... It can’t be easy.”
You lowered your gaze to your cup, letting your thoughts swirl.
“It’s not. But I don’t expect it to be. I grew up knowing I’d have to work twice as hard to get here. So, I do. Sometimes it’s frustrating, especially when it feels like no matter how much I try, things don’t change.”
“Are you talking about the team orders?”
You looked up quickly, surprised he mentioned it. He was watching you with that intensity of his, as if trying to unravel your thoughts.
“Don’t worry,” he said with a half smile. “I know. It’s not fair.”
“Then why don’t you say anything?” you asked, almost without thinking.
He seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Cause this sport isn’t fair. It never has been. You know that as well as I do.”
“That doesn’t make it any easier.”
Charles nodded, as if he understood perfectly what you meant. Then, to your surprise, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Look, I know it doesn’t always seem like you’re valued, but believe me, you’re incredible. You’re fast, smart, and more hardworking than anyone in this paddock. You don’t need Ferrari to tell you that because you’re proving it every time you get in the car.”
His sincerity left you speechless. For a moment, the noise of the outside world disappeared, and all you felt was the warmth of his gaze and the weight of his words. You wanted to say something, but the lump in your throat stopped you.
Finally, he broke the silence with a smile that seemed to lighten the atmosphere.
“Besides, if you start beating me, I’ll have to work harder. And I don’t want that,” he joked.
You laughed, grateful that the moment had turned lighter.
“Don’t worry. You still have a bit of an advantage... for now.”
You both laughed, and the moment passed. But as you walked back to your room that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about what you had felt. No matter how much you tried to deny it, your feelings for Charles were there, silently growing. And the worst part was knowing that, to him, you were just a teammate, a friend, maybe even that younger sister he joked about in meetings.
But you wanted to be more than that. And you had no idea how to handles.
The conversation with Charles left you more affected than you wanted to admit. His words echoed in your mind like a constant refrain: “Your incredible,” he had said. Did he really mean it? Or was he just trying to motivate you, like an older brother would with a younger sister? You couldn’t shake the feeling that, while he valued you, he didn’t fully see you. Not as an equal, not as a true rival, and certainly not as anything more.
That, combined with the weight of the team orders and the constant feeling of being a shadow in Ferrari, began to wear you down in ways you couldn’t ignore. The following races only reinforced your frustration. In Austin, you were once again told to hold position behind Charles, even though you were faster. In Interlagos, you were excluded from a key strategy that could have landed you on the podium. Every time you received the order over the radio, you obeyed, because that was what was expected of you. The “good girl” who didn’t cause trouble. The obedient driver who always put the team above herself.
But inside, something was breaking.
It was in the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, the last race of the season, that you reached your limit. At the Yas Marina Circuit, the sun was sinking into the horizon, bathing the paddock in golden and orange hues as the tension filled the air. For Ferrari, this race was crucial: the team was still fighting to secure second place in the Constructors Championship, and every strategic decision was made with that goal in mind.
But for you, this race meant something else. After months of following orders, of being relegated to a supporting role, you knew this was your moment. There would be no next time. Ferrari had made it clear that their priority was Charles Leclerc. You’d heard the rumors that, regardless of the results, your seat was at risk. You had nothing left to lose.
You had qualified fourth, right behind Charles, while the Red Bulls occupied the front row. You knew you would have to play your cards smartly to have a chance, but you also knew you weren’t going to follow orders that hurt you again.
As you adjusted your gloves in the cockpit, you heard your engineer’s voice over the radio:
“Remember, the priority is to maintain positions and support Charles if necessary.”
You bit your lip to keep from responding. Instead, you simply said:
“Understood.”
But this time, you didn’t understand. You weren’t willing to sacrifice yourself again.
When the lights went out, your reaction was flawless. You held your position, avoiding an aggressive attack from a Mercedes. Charles was trying to keep pace with the Red Bulls, but it soon became clear he didn’t have enough speed to catch them.
By lap 15, you were right behind him. Your tires were in better condition, and you were clearly faster in the technical corners. You tried to put pressure on him, but the order came over the radio before you could attempt an overtake.
“Hold position. Repeat: hold position.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. This was the moment. You could obey, as always, or you could risk it all.
On lap 18, down the main straight, you moved out of Charles’ slipstream and went for the overtake. The maneuver was clean, an impeccable move that left the team speechless. The protests came immediately over the radio.
“What are you doing? Give the position back, now.”
But you ignored the orders. You didn’t respond. Your only answer was to push harder.
From the pit wall, the tension was palpable. You could imagine the strategists shouting, the engineers exchanging nervous looks. Charles tried to reclaim the position, but his worn tires didn’t allow him to get close enough. You focused on your pace, pushing to the limit in every corner.
By lap 40, the critical moment arrived. A safety car came out after a crash, and Ferrari called Charles in first to change tires. However, you ignored your order to pit on the next lap, staying out to maintain the strategic advantage. When the safety car period ended, you were in third place, with the Red Bulls ahead and Charles behind.
The final laps were a battle of pure instinct. Max and Checo fought for the victory while you defended your podium spot tooth and nail. Charles attempted an aggressive overtake on the penultimate lap, but you blocked him with a move that was clean yet firm.
The checkered flag waved, and you crossed the finish line in third place. You had achieved your first podium in Formula 1. Emotions overwhelmed you as you heard the commentators’ cheers and the fans’ applause. It was the moment you had dreamed of your entire career.
But the celebration was short-lived.
When you arrived at parc fermé, the faces in the Ferrari team were telling. Charles stepped out of his car and gave you a look you couldn’t decipher. There was no anger, but no joy either. You removed your helmet and walked toward the podium, feeling the mix of joy and tension around you.
The podium was a whirlwind of emotions. You allowed yourself to enjoy the moment: the champagne, the cheers, the feeling of proving what you were capable of. But when you returned to the motorhome, reality hit you like a punch.
The team principal was waiting for you in the meeting room, his expression cold as steel.
“What do you think you were doing out there?” he asked, his voice restrained but loaded with anger.
You looked him straight in the eye.
“I was racing to win.”
“You disobeyed direct team orders, jeopardizing our strategy and our relationship with Charles. This is unacceptable.”
“What’s unacceptable” you said firmly “is that I was never given a fair chance. Today, I proved that I can compete. That I deserve to be here.”
A tense silence followed. Finally, the team principal sighed, as if carrying a massive weight on his shoulders.
“This cannot continue. There is no place in Ferrari for someone who doesn’t follow the rules.”
And so, the decision was made. You were fired from Ferrari that very night.
As you packed your things, you felt a mix of emotions. Sadness and anger, yes. But also pride. You had shown that you weren’t just another cog in the system. You had fought for yourself, for what you believed in.
Before you left, Charles approached you.
“That was a great podium” he said with a small smile. “I knew you had it in you.”
“Thanks” you replied, feeling a pang of emotion.
“What are you going to do now?”
You looked at him, letting a defiant smile cross your face.
“I’m going to keep racing. Wherever, with whoever, but I’ll keep racing.”
And with that, you walked away.
After your departure from Ferrari, there was no time for regrets. You had barely stepped out of the motorhome at Yas Marina when the motorsport world began to react. News of your dismissal spread like wildfire, and the controversy dominated every headline: “The rebellion that shook Ferrari,” “A driver fired for disobedience but with talent to shine,” “Was Ferrari’s decision fair?”
At first, you tried to escape it all. You hid at home, turned off your phone, and avoided social media. But you soon realized the world wouldn’t leave you alone. The story had become too big, and to your surprise, the public was mostly on your side. In every interview, in every analysis by the experts, the same argument arose: Ferrari had wasted undeniable talent.
It didn't take long before the calls started coming in. First, they were from midfield teams: Aston Martin, Williams, even Alpine. They all saw you as a golden opportunity, a talent Ferrari had let slip away. But there was something about those offers that didn’t quite convince you. After fighting so hard to prove your worth, you didn’t want to take a step back in your career.
One day, while you were having breakfast at home, your agent arrived with an expression you had never seen before a mix of disbelief and excitement.
“Red Bull is interested in you.”
You almost dropped your coffee cup.
“Red Bull? The world champion team?”
“Yes, them. They called me this morning. They want to meet with you.”
The news was surreal. Red Bull, the most dominant team on the grid, the one that had won championships with Max Verstappen, was now interested in signing you.
A few days later, you traveled to Milton Keynes, where the team’s headquarters were located. From the moment you walked into the building, you felt the difference. Here, there was no solemn, almost monarchical air like at Ferrari; Red Bull was modern, fresh, with an energy that was palpable in the atmosphere.
You were greeted by Christian Horner and Helmut Marko. During the meeting, Horner got straight to the point.
“We’ve been watching you all season,” he said with a confident smile. “What you did in Abu Dhabi was risky, but it showed you have a hunger for victory, and that’s what we’re looking for in a driver.”
“We know Ferrari didn’t give you the opportunities you deserved,” Marko interjected in his characteristic serious tone. “You won’t have that problem here. We want you to compete at the highest level.”
The proposal was clear: you would be part of the Red Bull team as the second driver, alongside Max Verstappen. It wasn’t an easy seat. Verstappen was the undisputed champion, and competing alongside him meant facing one of the greatest in history. But it also meant a golden opportunity to prove you belonged in the elite.
“What do you say?” Horner asked, smiling expectantly.
You looked at your agent, who gave you a slight nod, as if to say it was your decision. You took a deep breath and then responded:
“I accept.”
The news of your signing with Red Bull was announced during the winter break, just before Christmas. The official statement included words from Horner praising your talent and fighting spirit, highlighting that you would be a key piece in maintaining the team’s dominance.
The public reaction was explosive. Social media was flooded with messages of support and surprise. Some criticized the decision, arguing that Verstappen didn’t need internal competition, while others celebrated it as a victory for a driver who had earned her place against all odds.
Even Charles Leclerc reacted in an interview:
“I’m happy for her. She’s a great driver and deserves this opportunity. Red Bull is an incredible team, and I’m sure she’ll do well.”
The first day at the Red Bull factory was completely different from what you had experienced at Ferrari. From the beginning, they treated you like part of the team. The engineers showed you the progress on the new car, and Max, though reserved, gave you a professional welcome.
“It’s not easy here,” he told you during lunch at the factory canteen, “but if you’re here, it’s because you have what it takes.”
The buzz reached its peak after the announcement of your signing with Red Bull. While the whole world debated your arrival at the most dominant team on the grid, you were only beginning to process what this new chapter in your life meant. However, something kept crossing your mind. At first, the excitement and thrill of the new opportunity kept you busy, but when things calmed down, one question arose strongly: What had happened to Checo?
Checo had been Max Verstappen’s teammate for the past few seasons, and although he hadn’t reached the Dutchman’s level, he had been a key pillar in the team’s success. You had seen how he fought on track, defending positions with a ferocity few could match. So why had they terminated his contract?
Rumors about Checo’s departure started surfacing even before your arrival was announced. Some said his results hadn’t been enough for Red Bull, especially compared to Max’s absolute dominance. Others suggested that the internal atmosphere in the team had deteriorated and that Checo was tired of living in the champion’s shadow.
However, there was no clear statement. Red Bull, true to its style, had handled the situation discreetly. Even during your first weeks with the team, no one directly mentioned Checo. The engineers, mechanics, strategists… everyone seemed focused on you and Max, as if the past had been erased in one fell swoop.
One day, while you were in the simulator at Milton Keynes, you ran into Horner. You had finished an intense testing session and were wiping off sweat when he approached.
“How are you feeling so far?” he asked in his usual relaxed tone.
“Good, I think I’m adapting quickly,” you replied, though deep down you knew you still had a long way to go to reach Max’s level.
Horner nodded, but you noticed something in his expression. As if he knew there was something else you wanted to ask. You decided to take the chance.
“Christian, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
You took a deep breath before speaking. “What happened with Checo?”
Horner looked at you for a moment, as if deciding how much to say. Finally, he sighed.
“Checo is an incredible driver and was fundamental to many of our successes. But the level of demand here is very high. This year, he didn’t meet the expectations we had set.”
“Was it just that?” you asked, doubtful.
“He felt he deserved more support, and I can’t blame him for that. But in the end, we decided it was best for both parties to go separate ways.”
You nodded, though Horner’s words didn’t resolve all your doubts. You had seen Checo give it his all on the track, and it was hard to believe that simply hadn’t been enough. But at the same time, you knew how ruthless this sport could be.
A few weeks later, while scrolling through the news on your phone, you finally found out about his future. Checo had signed with Aston Martin, a team that wasn’t at Red Bull’s level in terms of performance but offered him the opportunity to be the undisputed leader.
You looked at the photo of his announcement on social media: Checo in his new green and black suit, smiling in front of a car that would hardly compete with the leaders. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite decipher. Resignation? Or perhaps relief?
You caught yourself wondering how he must have felt being displaced. Although you hadn’t made the decision, your arrival at Red Bull had been the catalyst for his departure. For a moment, you were overwhelmed by a sense of guilt.
The preseason began, and with it came the tests in Bahrain. It was there that you saw Checo for the first time since the announcement. You were walking towards the Red Bull hospitality when you saw him coming out of the Aston Martin garage. You hesitated but finally decided to approach him.
“Checo,” you called out, trying to sound casual.
He turned and looked at you with a friendly smile.
“Hey! How’s it going?” he responded, as if nothing had happened.
“Good… I think,” you said, a little nervous. “I just wanted… well, I wanted to tell you that I really admire what you did at Red Bull. You’re incredibly talented, and I know it wasn’t easy.”
Checo looked at you for a moment, then slowly nodded.
“Thank you. That means a lot. But don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Aston is a new challenge, and I’m excited to lead a project.”
You nodded, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.
“I know you’ll do amazing things.”
He smiled, and for an instant, you saw the determined and proud driver who had fought so hard on track.
“And so will you. You’ve got a great opportunity. Don’t waste it.”
You said goodbye with a handshake, feeling strangely at peace. You had feared there might be resentment, but Checo seemed to have found his path.
After the first day's testing and your conversation with Checo, you were in the circuit's canteen, reviewing your engineer's notes. It was a quiet night; most of the drivers had already retired to rest. However, when you looked up, you saw Charles walk in. He hesitated for a moment upon seeing you but then walked over to your table with his hands in his pockets.
“Can I sit?,” he asked, his tone more neutral than usual.
You nodded, surprised.
“Sure.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Charles fiddled with a napkin between his fingers while you waited, unsure of what to say. Finally, he broke the silence.
“Red Bull isn't an easy team.”
“I know,” you replied, keeping your gaze fixed on him.
Charles nodded slowly, as if carefully choosing his words.
“Max is... complicated. Not because he's a bad person, but you know how he is. He's the favorite, the team leader. And Red Bull isn't exactly forgiving with those who don't meet their expectations.”
“Are you worried I can't handle the pressure?” you asked, feeling a slight sting to your pride.
“That's not it” he replied quickly, his tone softening. “I know you can handle the pressure. What worries me is that you'll have to deal with an environment where you won't always be supported, where everything you do will be scrutinized to the smallest detail.”
You looked at him in silence. There was something about his words, the sincerity of his tone, that disarmed you. Charles, always so focused on his own career, was taking the time to warn you about the challenges you would face.
“It’s not so different from what I experienced at Ferrari, don’t you think?,” you finally responded, trying to sound confident.
Charles let out a faint smile, but he didn’t seem convinced.
“Maybe. But at Ferrari, there was... balance. Even when it didn’t seem like it, you knew there were people who believed in you, even if they didn’t say it outright. Red Bull is different. They’re all or nothing. And Max... he doesn’t share easily.”
You knew he was right. From day one, you’d felt Verstappen’s presence like a shadow that dominated everything. But it didn’t scare you.
“If there’s one thing I learned at Ferrari, Charles, it’s that I don’t need everyone to believe in me. I just need to believe in myself.”
He looked at you intently for a few seconds, as if evaluating every word. Finally, he nodded, though his eyes reflected something you couldn’t quite decipher.
“Just don’t lose yourself in all this, okay?.”
“Lose myself?.”
“Yeah. In the politics, the pressure, the constant need to prove something. Don’t let that define who you are.”
When Charles stood to leave, he left his crumpled napkin on the table. For a moment, you wanted to say something, maybe thank him, but the words didn’t come. Instead, you simply watched him walk away.
There was something unusual about that conversation. Charles had always been direct and competitive, but this time, there seemed to be something more. Genuine concern, perhaps even something deeper he wasn’t ready to express.
You stayed in the canteen for a while, thinking about his words. You knew he was right in many ways. But you wouldn’t dwell on that now.
Despite Charles’ warnings and your own fears about joining Red Bull, things started off better than you expected. Max Verstappen, the man who dominated the grid with a mix of raw talent and relentless confidence, surprised you from the very beginning.
You had assumed he’d greet you with reluctance or, at least, a certain coldness. After all, you were taking the seat that had belonged to Pérez. However, from the first day, Max was open and genuinely friendly.
That day, you had arrived early, nerves on edge. You were reviewing your notes in a meeting room when Max walked in with his characteristic relaxed stride.
“Hi, how are you?,” he said, smiling as he took a seat across from you.
“Good, thanks” you replied, feeling a bit awkward about the formality of the moment. “And you?.”
“Surviving the winter. I always miss being on the track.”
His tone was light, almost casual, and it helped you relax a bit. You briefly talked about the upcoming season, the regulation changes, and the expectations for the new car. Then, Max abruptly changed the topic.
“I know this might be tough for you. Joining a team like this isn’t easy, especially when everyone expects you to measure up to me.”
You looked at him, surprised by his candor.
“I suppose so, but I’m not here to measure myself against anyone. I’m here to do the best I can.”
Max nodded, clearly satisfied with your response.
“That’s what I wanted to hear. Don’t worry about me. I get along with everyone who works hard and is honest. And from what I’ve seen, you’ve got both.”
His words left you slightly taken aback. You had expected a more distant relationship, but it seemed Max had no intention of turning this into an uncomfortable rivalry.
As preseason progressed, you started working more closely with him and the team’s engineers. Max proved to be surprisingly collaborative, sharing information and advice without hesitation. There was something refreshing about his attitude: you didn’t feel like he was constantly evaluating you or trying to assert dominance.
“If the car feels weird in fast corners, try adjusting the differential. Sometimes it gives a more stable feeling,” he told you during a simulator session while you were reviewing your laps.
You tried it, and to your surprise, it worked.
“Thanks” you said, smiling.
“No problem. Just don’t thank me too much if you end up beating me on track,” he replied with a light laugh.
Many journalists speculated whether Max would try to "psychologically crush" you or if Red Bull would relegate you to the role of second driver. However, within the team, the reality was completely different.
Max seemed to understand that, while you were new to the team, you weren’t a rookie. You had proven your worth at Ferrari and didn’t need to show anyone you belonged at this level.
“The key here is to enjoy the process,” he told you one day while waiting in the paddock during testing. “Everyone’s going to criticize you, no matter what you do. So, just do it your way.”
His words resonated with you. They weren’t condescending advice or a lesson from an experienced driver to a younger one; they were the words of someone who understood exactly what you were facing.
Over time, you discovered a side of Max that few saw. Off the track, he wasn’t the aggressive and dominant driver everyone knew. He was relaxed, even humorous, and had a genuine passion for racing.
One day, while waiting for a meeting, he asked you:
“What made you fall in love with racing?.”
The question caught you off guard. It wasn’t common for someone in this world to talk about emotions so directly.
“I guess the freedom,” you answered after thinking for a moment. “The feeling that, when you’re in the car, everything depends on you.”
Max nodded, smiling slightly.
“Exactly. That’s the best part. Sometimes I think the teams, the sponsors, everyone forgets that. But in the end, we’re here because we love racing.”
It was at that moment that you understood something crucial: Max didn’t see you as a threat or an intruder. He saw you as someone who shared his love for the sport, someone who understood what it meant to live to compete.
When the first Grand Prix in Bahrain arrived, your relationship was solid. Max was still the undisputed leader of the team, but he had also become someone you could rely on. During pre-race meetings, he encouraged you more than once.
“Remember, the first race is always the hardest,” he told you as you walked towards your cars. “But once you start, everything else will feel easier.”
You nodded, grateful for his support.
The race itself was intense, but the atmosphere within the team was surprisingly positive. You finished in fourth place, right behind Max, who won the race in his dominant style. When you returned to the garage, he was the first to congratulate you.
“Good job. Not bad for your first race with us.”
His smile was genuine, and for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.
Despite your initial doubts, your relationship with Max turned out to be much easier and more rewarding than you had expected. You knew things could change quickly in this sport, but for now, you were enjoying the process.
Although you had the skill and determination needed, you knew that joining such a dominant team meant adapting to a completely new level of demands. Max, with his experience and ability to squeeze every fraction of a second out of the car, quickly became someone you admired more than you anticipated.
What you hadn't expected was for Max, the four time world champion, to take on the role of mentor with you. From the beginning, he seemed determined to share everything he knew, not just about the car but about how to survive and thrive in such a competitive team.
Max didn’t just give you technical advice; he also taught you how to navigate team dynamics and the stress of the season. During a testing session, he took the time to show you how to better analyze the car's telemetry.
“When you're looking for time, don’t obsess over what others are doing. Compare your laps against yourself. Sometimes, the small mistakes aren’t in the big corners but in the transitions, in how you shift the car's weight.”
You sat next to him as you analyzed a lap together. Max pointed out details you hadn’t even noticed, like slight steering corrections or changes in throttle pressure.
“You have good instincts,” he said, pointing to a particularly fast sector you had achieved. “But with a bit more analysis, you can be even more precise.”
His words motivated you. It wasn’t common for Max to give compliments, and whenever he did, you knew they were sincere.
More Than Technique: The Mentality
One afternoon, after an intense day of testing in Barcelona, Max invited you to his motorhome to chat. There was a relaxed atmosphere as you both shared a cup of coffee.
“Let me tell you something that took me a long time to learn,” he began, with an unusual seriousness. “Formula 1 isn’t just won on the track. Half the battles are up here,”
he said, tapping his head. “If you let criticism or politics affect you, you won’t have the clarity you need when it matters.”
“And how do you make sure it doesn’t affect you?” you asked, genuinely curious.
“I don’t always succeed,” he admitted. “But I’ve learned to focus on what I can control. It doesn’t matter if someone says you’re not good enough, or if the team doesn’t seem to support you. In the end, the only judgment that matters is your own.”
Those words stayed with you. Max wasn’t just a master at driving; he had also developed a mental strength that made him practically unbeatable.
Max helped you understand the trickiest circuits, manage tires in changing conditions, and anticipate other teams strategies. Whenever you had a question, he was there, willing to explain, no matter how busy he was.
In Japan, during a strategy meeting, one of the engineers suggested a setup you weren’t entirely convinced about. Before you could say anything, Max intervened.
“I think she’s right,” he said, gesturing towards you. “With that setup, the car will be more unpredictable in fast corners. Let her try what she suggests.”
It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot to you. Max wasn’t just helping you improve as a driver; he was also teaching you how to make yourself heard in an environment where you had often been silenced.
The mutual respect between you grew with each race. While Max remained the undisputed leader of the team, he never made you feel inferior. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy watching you progress.
After a Grand Prix in Japan, where you achieved your first podium with Red Bull, Max was one of the first to congratulate you.
“I knew you’d do it,” he said, patting you on the shoulder as you walked up to the podium.
In that moment, you understood that his support wasn’t just professional. Max genuinely wanted you to succeed, not because it benefited the team, but because he recognized your talent and believed in you.
Your progress within the team was evident: you had earned podiums, improved your lap times, and, most importantly, found your place within the team hierarchy. Max had become more than a teammate; he was a key figure in your professional and personal life. As the months went by, something else began to grow between you, something you both knew but neither dared to acknowledge.
The bond you shared was solid, forged on the track but also in those moments away from it. The long talks after races, lunches with the engineers, jokes, and knowing glances it felt natural, almost inevitable, to feel so comfortable around each other. Max had taught you so much, not just about driving a Formula 1 car, but about handling the pressures of life in the paddock. He had shown you his vulnerabilities, sharing stories of his career, frustrations, and fears, as only someone close would do.
But that closeness began to blur the lines between professional and personal. And you started to realize that the emotions you felt for him were more complicated than you had anticipated even more than they had ever been with Charles.
It was in Monza, after one of the most intense races of the season. The track was wet, making the race even more challenging. Both of you had fought to the end, and while Max won, you finished an impressive second. On the podium, the smiles were genuine, but there was a tension in the air, something neither of you could deny.
After the race, Max approached you to congratulate you. When he hugged you, it felt different this time. There was a palpable energy, something neither of you could ignore. A lingering touch, a soft and almost imperceptible whisper that made time stop for a moment.
“You were amazing today,” he said, his face just inches from yours.
The eye contact between you was intense, as if you were seeing something in his eyes you hadn’t noticed before. Suddenly, you became acutely aware of his closeness, the warmth of his body, the softness of his voice, the way his hands rested on your shoulders differently than before. Something in his demeanor had changed.
Max was the first to pull away, as if he had felt the same unease you had.
“Let’s celebrate,” he said quickly, smiling, but his tone sounded slightly strained.
You looked at him, but for a moment, the words caught in your throat. You knew what had just happened, and you knew Max did too. Yet neither of you said anything.
The celebration that night was lively, full of laughter and joy, but the atmosphere between the two of you remained marked by that unresolved tension. You were happy with the result, but there was something else on your mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about that hug, the way Max had looked at you, the closeness that had felt so different from any other interaction you’d had with him.
As the night ended and you returned to your room, doubts began to creep in. What did it all mean? You had worked so hard to be in this position, to be part of such a prestigious team, and now, it seemed like something was threatening to destabilize it all.
The next day, Max didn’t come down for breakfast as he usually did. His room was empty when you passed by his door. You decided to wait until the afternoon to talk to him, but when you found him on the track, the conversation was distant. He wasn’t rude, but there was something about his posture that told you he was also trying to process what had happened.
"Everything okay?" you asked, trying to sound casual.
Max raised an eyebrow, as if considering whether to answer or not.
"Yeah, sure. I just... felt a bit tired this morning." He shrugged. "But everything’s fine."
You knew it wasn’t just tiredness that had caused his silence. There was a lingering discomfort between you two. Something you couldn’t easily shake off.
By nightfall, the two of you were sitting on the hotel terrace, looking out at the sea. The cool breeze from the Italian coast made everything feel calmer, but the atmosphere between you was far from it. Max was silent, and so were you. Finally, he broke the silence with a phrase that felt much heavier than it seemed on the surface.
"You know, things get really complicated when you start mixing emotions with work."
You looked at him, surprised by the frankness of his words. You knew exactly what he was referring to, but you also knew it was a conversation neither of you wanted to have.
"I know," you replied in a low tone. "But it’s not that easy to control what you feel, is it?"
Max sighed, running a hand through his hair, something he often did when he was uncomfortable.
"No, it’s not." He was silent for a moment. "But there are lines we can’t cross, especially in this team. You know that I... I have Kelly."
That mention of Kelly hit like a bucket of cold water. Although you knew Max was in a steady relationship, you had never thought it would affect you so much. Acknowledging that reality, that he was committed to someone else, left you feeling a mix of guilt and confusion.
"I understand," you said, your voice barely a whisper.
But inside, you questioned whether you really did. How could you control something that felt so natural, so undeniable between the two of you? The attraction, the chemistry, that connection that had grown over time. You knew Max felt it too, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud.
After that conversation, it was clear that neither you nor Max were willing to cross a line that could cost you everything: your careers, your mutual respect, and the team’s stability. However, the attraction between you didn’t go away. If anything, the tension became more palpable. It was a constant game of restraint, a delicate balance between what was right and what wasn’t.
In public, everything seemed normal. Both of you maintained impeccable professionalism, working together as the team Red Bull needed. Max continued helping you as a mentor, and you kept learning from him, impressing the team and fans alike with your progress. But behind closed doors, things were very different.
One day at the Milton Keynes factory, during a simulator session, Max entered the room while you were finishing a run. When you stepped out of the simulator, he was reviewing your data, as he often did. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, but the way his eyes followed you as you approached the monitor said otherwise.
"You’re improving in the slow sectors," he said, not taking his eyes off the screen. "But you’re still losing a bit of time in the fast corners."
"Any advice?" you asked, trying to keep a casual tone.
Max looked at you for a moment, and that look lasted a second longer than it should have. It was enough to feel that spark of electricity between you, the one you both tried to ignore.
"Yeah, sure," he finally replied, turning to the screen to point something out. "Here, in Turn 5, you need to be more aggressive with the throttle. Don’t be afraid to use the full width of the kerb."
You leaned toward him to get a better view of the screen, and for a moment, you were too close. You could feel his breath, and the tension in the air was almost tangible. He was the first to step back, realizing that such closeness only complicated things further.
"Try it on the next run," he said quickly, breaking the moment.
Over the course of the races, that tension only grew. There were lingering glances during strategy meetings, accidental brushes in the garage, and prolonged silences that made it even clearer what you were both thinking. Max remained just as committed to helping you progress, but his behavior was sometimes contradictory. There were days when he seemed to deliberately keep his distance, and others when his closeness was unmistakable.
One night, after a team dinner in Monaco, you both ended up in the hotel elevator. It was late, and most of the staff had already gone to rest. The silence between you was almost deafening as the elevator ascended slowly. You could feel his presence, every movement he made, even if he didn’t look at you directly.
"Good job today," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.
"Thanks. You did well too. As always."
Max gave a small, sideways smile but said nothing more. When the elevator stopped on your floor, you both hesitated for a moment. You felt like he wanted to say something, something he was struggling to contain, but in the end, he simply nodded and let you exit first.
What surprised you was that, even though you tried to keep your distance, it seemed like Max was the one closest to crossing the line. There were moments when you caught him watching you from across the garage, with an expression that made you wonder what he was thinking. And then, in meetings, he always found a way to be by your side, even when it wasn’t necessary.
One day, during a technical meeting in Zandvoort, Max made a comment that, although it seemed innocent, had an undertone you couldn’t ignore.
"You know, sometimes I wonder if you do this on purpose," he said with a slight smile, pointing out a minor mistake in your data.
"Do what?" you asked, confused.
"Be so... persistent. It’s like you want everyone to notice you."
You knew he was talking about your determination on track, but something in his tone made you think he meant something more. You held his gaze, trying to decipher him, but before you could respond, someone else entered the room, cutting the moment short.
Despite everything, neither of you mentioned what was really happening. Both of you were aware that crossing that line could destroy everything you’d built. Max had a stable relationship with Kelly, and you were in a delicate position as the team’s rising star. There was too much at stake, and neither of you was willing to risk it.
could i req being an f1 dilf's race engineer during their prime? like for ex. seb in his red bull era, jenson in brawn, fernando in renault, etc
a/n: knew I watched brawn gp documentary for a reason 🤭🤭 how you didn’t mention mark’s prime 😔✊
— jenson button
When you discovered Honda was going to resign, you had no idea how to go on. Of course, Jenson was your first priority – all the eyes were on the only female race engineer. They doubted you, snickered at you, and didn’t believe the team could make it. ‘Fuck them all, darling,’ and you’re here celebrating his win for the hundredth time. Drowned in champagne, dress hunched up a bit too far, or your heels in Jenson’s hand – he loved every moment of it. When you calm him down with only your voice in his ear or hug him when the whole world only cared for who’s P1. And, he loves kissing you pumping with adrenaline, camera flashing for the best angle.
— sebastian vettel
Sebastian was a menace. He is the lion of Singapore, and doesn’t apologize for winning. You loved being the one he mentioned you while soaking in sweat, smiling at his place in P1. ‘my lovely race engineer…’ Rumors spreading like wildfire but you two couldn’t give two fucks, saying you were good only for the sake of your driver. And he couldn’t care less, he got the hottest and smartest race engineer, and he’s wrapped around your little fingers. Obviously, there were times when he’s a dick, never listens to your advice, and he’s unapologetic about it – leaving him breathless when you pulled his Red Bull collar into a kiss to get him to think straight. ‘…do that again, schatz.’
— mark webber
His time in Red Bull was the most bittersweet moment of his life – and, of course, you were his heavenly sent angel in the midst of the stormy night. He would, and will, calm down whenever he hears your sweet voice in his comms. He blamed himself for not fighting harder for his place…and not fighting even harder for you, while the rest argued differently. And don’t even get me started on kissing him on his stubble good luck before any race – gripping your headset whenever he’s close to lifting off the ground, asking if he’s okay before even checking the piece of metal. ‘I’m alright, sugar..’ And then there are times when he kissed you too hard for getting that P1, showing you off.
— fernando alonso
One thing about villains was they know how to fight for what they love: Fernando included. He knows you were perfectly capable of protecting yourself against the stupid comments media had to offer, but he wouldn’t mind stepping in. Getting win after wins, other teams played suspecting eyes, claiming all the things they could. But you’ve tried to play under the radar, avoiding drama anywhere you walked on the grid. Hell, you can’t even be seen near other team’s drivers. And he doesn’t mind; plus, he knew he had the sweetest race engineer under his belt – and he doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. Just until you said I love you on the team radio, leaving him with a big smirk. ‘mi hermosa.’
"You Can Call Her Phone" Series (George's Version)
author's note : okay here's the george version!!
pairing : George Russell x Fem!Reader
warnings : swearing, shitty men, and not proof read
word count : 597
“Darling!” George calls out to you from the kitchen. You’re currently folding laundry on the couch, and apparently nowhere near your phone. “Who’s this Josh Do Not Answer on your phone?” His question makes you groan and that makes him even more curious. “I’m going to answer it!”
“Wait!” You call out, jumping up from your spot to stop him, but you’re too late, speaker already next to his ear the by the time you get to the kitchen.
“Hello Josh!” George’s voice is cheery to the point of disgust and he’s smiling widely at you in way that makes you narrow your eyes. You try to grab the phone from him, but he just dodges your advances. You think Josh is talking, but you’re too focused on trying to grab the phone instead of straining your ears to hear him speak.
George’s eyes then narrow and he frowns, at which you stop trying to grab the phone and just wait. “Now, I don’t think that’s true at all mate.” He then directs himself towards you. “YN, you’ve told this Josh fellow that we’re dating right?”
His question makes you confused, because of course you have. And also, you’ve been dating for well over 2 years, there’s no way he could miss it. “Of course I have.” You’re sure you are loud enough for Josh to hear you over the phone.
“Yeah, she says that’s not true, Josh, and I have to believe her. But also, we’ve been together for almost three years, so there’s no way you could miss it. I’m sure it’s all over your social media because I’m a famous Formula One driver and she’s an amazing lawyer.” The subtle —not— brag causes you to roll your eyes, but it stops you from wanting to grab your phone and instead listen to how this plays out. “Let me listen,” you whisper to him as Josh is talking again and George nods, moving the phone away so he can put it on speaker.
“—She’s been giving me signals, mate. I’m talking sex eyes and lip biting.” That makes you roll your eyes even harder. “So, even if you two have been dating for a little while there’s no way she’s been loyal to you, not with the way she's been with me. Probably fucked half the grid behind your back.” That makes you scoff, and George can’t stop you from grabbing the phone from his hand.
“Hi Josh, this is YN,” your voice must be a shock to him, “I just wanted to let you know that those ‘sex eyes’ I’ve been making at you were actually ‘please get the fuck away from me you perv’ eyes.” George looks even more amused, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. “I will also be filling another complaint with HR on Monday for the harassment after work. I think that will be enough to terminate your contract and get you a pretty long list of places to not even think about applying to after your unemployment.” At that you end the call, placing your phone back down on the counter and then giving your boyfriend a stern look. “And this is why he’s Josh Do Not Answer on my phone, George.”
He just shrugs, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you in. “Yeah, but if I hadn’t done that I wouldn’t have gotten to see you be all Lawyer YN on him.” He pauses to give you a quick kiss. “And you know I think Lawyer YN is incredibly sexy.”
No but why can I see Checo and Leclerc! sister sending the overprotective brothers updates while they're on holidays or everyone sending pictures of Leclerc! Sister when she falls asleep in most random places.
Why do I feel so called out about the part where Leclerc!reader falls asleep at the most random places???
Since you’re the only female daughter of Pascale, your brothers tend to be overly protective of you, even when you got married to the point that they threatened Checo to send updates of you whenever you’re both on vacation or just together outside. So Sergio had no choice but to make a group chat of him together with your three brothers.
Your significant other and brothers kept this a secret from you as to not worry you or think that they don’t trust you. They do trust you, with their whole life, but they’re scared to lose you. After all, in their eyes you’re the princess, the lady Leclerc of the family aside from your mother, so they held great pride when it came to you.
It was summer break for both you and Checo so the two of you decided to getaway from the same place and go to Maldives. Your brothers didn’t know about this, but you had told your mother about it which she was okay with. When Charles was looking for you the next day, Pascale only shrugged saying she had no idea where you are. And that only left Charles to message the groupchat with Checo about your whereabouts.
When the notification popped up on Sergio’s phone, you were both having lunch in a bungalow. Checo looking at his phone, immediately saw Charles’ message, and when you weren’t looking, he snapped a photo of you sending it to the groupchat. When Charles received the photo, he nodded to himself before sending a “have fun” to Checo.
When three hours has passed, you decided to drag Checo and go scuba diving. While your significant other protested and thrashed, you were having none of it explaining to him that what was the purpose of having a vacation in Maldives if you weren’t going to scuba dive. Checo knowing that he won’t be able to argue anymore, let himself get dragged by you.
As he enjoyed himself getting pulled by you to the ocean, he took another candid photo of you, smiling to himself. He then sent it to the groupchat with the caption, “scuba diving” before leaving his phone at the given cupboard.
When Sergio saw you standing at the edge of the dock waiting for him, he smiled softly to himself as he admired you. He watched you as you basked in the warm, ethereal glow of the setting sun. The sun's gentle caress highlighting every contour of your face, casting long, romantic shadows. Your eyes sparkle, reflecting the hues of the sky, and your smile radiates pure happiness. In that fleeting moment, time seems to stand still, and Sergio was once again reminded of the beauty of love and nature coming together in perfect harmony.
When he was only an inch left away from you, he leaned down and captured your lips, pulling you into a soft and affectionate kiss. You were astounded by what he did, but you didn’t protest instead you pulled him closer wrapping your arms around his neck before pulling him with you to the ocean.
You both fell in the cold waters, and when you both got up to the surface, your husband was looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. You let out a gentle laugh as you swam closer to him, fixing his soaked hair and putting it to the side before pulling home into a kiss again, this time no more joking.
When he pulled away, he gave a cheeky grin then splashed your face with water. And let’s just stay instead of actually doing the itinerary, you and Checo instead just swam around the ocean, enjoying each other’s presence.
When the sun has set and the moon shone brightly on the dark sky, Checo decided that it was time for both of you to get out and have dinner. Hearing your stomach grumble, you followed him out the water, grabbing yourself and drying yourself up.
Checo noticing your shivers, covered you with his own towel before wrapping his arms around your shoulder, warming you up. You leaned yourself on him as he guided you to the bungalow.
When he saw you comfortably on the chair, he went up and grabbed dinner for the both of you. But when he sat down and arrived on your table, he was starstrucked at how you managed to fall asleep with your posture still fixed.
Holding back his chuckle, he took another photo and sent it to the group chat, this time the one with Pascale. Almost all of them immediately sent a reply, laughing and talking about how you’re always sleeping anywhere any time possible.
Checo knowing how tired you must be, tapped you softly on the shoulder and asked if you wanted to go rest instead of having dinner. You groggily shook your head, grabbing your utensils as you let out a gentle yawn making Sergio smile.
As you both finished eating, your husband took both your plates and placed it in their respective places before returning to you and helping you up. He guided you so that you were standing behind him before he crouched down and helped you get on his back while you half-sleepily wrapped your arms around him.
Carrying you in a piggyback ride, he slowly walked to your shared hut, humming quietly as he smiled to himself while thinking of those wholesome moment with you. It never ceases to amaze him how you have the ability to fall asleep anywhere, anytime as long as you’re exhausted. It doesn’t matter how uncomfortable it would feel after or what body part of you will ache, you will still fall asleep anyway.
When he arrived at your room, he gently placed you in the middle of the bed before disappearing into the bathroom and appearing again with a wet face towel. He went to your side and cleaned you up, removing your swimwear and replacing it with his own clean shirt. Finishing up with you, he covered your lower extremities with the thin blanket provided before taking one last photo of you then sending it to the groupchat and saying good night to your brothers as well as he cleaned himself too.
*fast forward after break*
As mentioned, it has been a weird habit of yours to fall asleep anytime and anywhere. And it’s no secret to your significant other, family members, and even co-drivers on how you are able to do that. In fact, even your fans know about that peculiar habit of yours and they adored you more ever since.
Since you were driving for Ferrari, you are team mates with your brother and let’s say the both of you are quite unstoppable when working together. But today, it seemed like none was going to your plans as two red flags have already occured and it’s just the second free practice.
The first red flag occured when Hulkenburg crashed into the barriers because of a break issue and that caused around 20 minutes of the first free practice to be wasted. What you did, however, was you asked your engineer to play soft classical music before dozing off in your car as you waited for the session to continue. When the cameras showed a display of you, everyone watching chuckled and shook their heads, clearly aware of your silly antics.
Now for the second time around, the red flag happened because even thought it was just the second free practice, everyone decided to play bumpy cars and crashed into one another, and by everyone you meant George, Max, and Lando.
But now instead of staying in your car, you went out of your car, and you sat beside your race engineer, deciding to talk about the upgrades brought into the car before you left and went to the Red Bull garage, specifically your husband’s garage.
On the way you greeted, Hugh Bird, Checo’s engineer and asking him where your significant other was. Hugh only shrugged, mentioning the last time he saw your husband was on his way to relieve himself. And upon deciding that you’ll wait for him, you sat at the little corner of his garage’s side.
Holding your knees to your chest, you leaned your forehead on top of your knees before even realising that you were falling into slumber. You only woke up from your power nap when you felt someone sit beside you. Looking up, you saw your husband, a wide cheeky grin plastered on his face before he kissed your cheeks.
“Nice nap, amor? No stiff necks?” He asked teasingly.
Scoffing, you nudged him softly and you rolled your eyes which made him laugh. And when he was done with his laughing fit, you leaned your head on his shoulder. Checo realising what you were doing, he guided your head on his shoulder before kissing the crown of your head.
“You can nap more, comfortably this time. I’ll wake you up when the session is green flagged.”
Yawning to his statement, you gently nodded your head to at least let him know you understood. He once more planted a kiss on your head before he took your hands in his and caressed it gently.
The next time you woke up, Checo was poking your legs and opening your eyes, you were greeted by the cameras of F1 medias and your brother, Charles.
Squinting as the flash hits your eyes, you looked at Checo who only gave you a sheepish grin as he stood up and helped you up too.
“Recharged again, mi cielo?” He asked softly and you nodded, stretching your body as you fixed your race suit.
Charles impatiently waiting for you, said good bye to your husband and grabbed your hands, dragging you outside your team’s rival garage and bringing you to your home turf.
Laughing to his childish behaviour, your laugh only disappeared when you saw the screen replay the video of you and Checo in the corner. Now it was Charles’ turn to laugh at your reaction, not until you punched him on the arm gently.
When your race engineers said that the session was resumed, you got ready and went into race mode.
MY GOD THIS TOOK FOREVER 😭
princess treatment pt.3? with mbappé, richarlison, and erling haaland? :)
# PRINCESS TREATMENT 3! — footballers! (final!)
— SUMMARY: you show off the princess treatment you get from your footballers boyfriends! (part 1) (part 2)
CONTENT: fluff, footballers being simps, light jealousy, sensual themes, just cute stuff overall!
PARINGS: earling haaland x fem!reader, richarlison x fem!reader, oliver giroud x fem!reader
NOTE: someone asked for giroud content so I combined it with this lol! any examples of this do not represent of the body type, race or ethnicity of the reader! tysm for reading! 💕
RICHARLISON DE ANDRADE — dollar bills!
Recently you saw a trend on TikTok where girls would hold their hands out to their boyfriends, friends, brothers or literally anybody to see what they would do.
Richarlison was currently playing video games with his friends on FaceTime but fortunately you placed your camera in the room before he went in & you’ve been recording ever since.
You were holding your phone camera in your hand as discreetly as possible to not alert your boyfriend about the challenge your trying on him. “Baby? are you in here?” You peaked into his gaming room spotting him on his chair as he shouted at Neymar for something in among us.
Hearing your voice his head whipped around and he opened his arms signalling you to come over, you shuffled over giving him a hug as his head was pressed onto your stomach & hands were wrapped around your ass.
Once you both pulled away your challenge had begun as you stuck out your palm standing there with a bright smile, at first he hadn’t noticed anything as he turned back to the computer screen.
Until you were standing there for a good 30 seconds & he spun his head around to look at you quickly before looking back at the screen, he took his hand off the mouse taking your hand flipping it over to the backside of your hand & giving it a kiss.
He turned back to the screen until he realized you were still standing there; cheeky smile on your face palm still stuck out in-front of you, he chuckled as he dug through his pants pulling out his wallet.
“Richarlison? Are you still there?” Neymar called at alerting him that the new round had started.
“Yeah I’m here hold on.” He replied back as he fished through his wallet grabbing a huge stack of cashing & placing it in your hand along with his black card. “Happy?” He asked looking up at your face which was filled with surprise.
You hadn’t expected him to give you this much money let alone any at all as you assumed he’d just take your hand & place it on his private parts. You scoffed happily curling your fingers over the stack. “Definitely, but what will I even do with this much money?”
“Whatever you’d like baby, it’s all yours.” He answered turning his head back to the screen & unmuting himself on face-time. You gave him a quick kiss pulling his face towards you before walking away checking your phone to see if the footage was recorded.
You edited the video a little before posting it captioning it with: “HE’S SO SWEET 😭😭” Seconds later likes, comments & replies came flooding in about how Richarlison was the perfect boyfriend.
OLIVER GIROUD — first class!
“You’re so excited baby have you never flown out of the country?” Oliver chuckled watching you practically fly out of the valet car that was escorting you to the airport tarmac.
Ever since you complained about how you haven’t gone on a vacation in a while that very day Oliver booked your dream vacation paying for unnecessary expenses like tour guides & other things; as-long as it made you happy he thought.
“I have! I’ve never been to the Mal Dives though.” You answered pulling his arm to get him out of the car, you both didn’t need to worry about your luggage since Oliver paid for it to be flown before-hand.
“I’m coming babe hold on, you’re gonna rip my arm off.” Oliver laughed as he stepped out of the car turning his head to look at what you were staring at all starry eyed.
“Look, it’s a private jet. Just for the two of us.” You rambled on about the jet standing in-front of you both, you were used to Oliver spending a fortune on you whether it was cars, jewellery or even 1000 roses but a whole jet was much different.
“I know, do you like it?” He asked as he placed his hands in his pockets leaning back and forth between his heels and his toes. “Are you kidding? Who wouldn’t like this.” You laughed in disbelief.
“I’m glad you like it, c’mon baby let’s board the plane before they leave without us.” Oliver took your hand into his as he directed you towards the plane, you greeted the flight attendant who was waiting for you at the entrance as she guiding you both to your seats.
Once you both were settled in your chairs chatting happily about your upcoming adventures a flight attendant had came around with a cart filled with expensive looking drinks & desserts. “Champagne or Club Soda?” She asked with a smile.
“Champagne please, babe what about you?” You turned to look at your boyfriend who was staring at the window as he unconsciously caressed your knuckles with his thumb, you squeezed your hand bringing his attention back to you.
“Hmm? Oh, I’ll have whatever your having.” He leaned into kiss you on your cheek before turning to stare out the window again continuing to stroke your knuckles, you smiled turning back to the attendant,“2 Champagnes please.”
As the flight attended walked away Oliver noticed that you had a particularly slummed look on your face, you were just jumping around in joy so seeing you down worried him.“Are you okay?”
“Yep! Just thinking of what we’re gonna do when we get there.” You sent your signature “i’m fine” smile his way continuing you tap your feet against the empty seat right in-front of you as you looked back down to face your feet.
“You look worried though.” He let go of your hand using his freed hand to pull your face towards his forcing you to face him, seeing his eyes filled with concern made you sigh before continuing, “Yeah it’s just, how much was this trip?”
His face soften hearing what you we’re concerned about, you both had fight’s about money in the past & about how Oliver spent way to much money on pointless things,“Oh, don’t worry about that baby.”
“I have too, you can’t go broke because you wanna please me. I’ll be fine with whatever you provide.” You admitted in a quiet voice turning your head to face the window across from your aisle. “With my profession I’ll go broke the day you go bald.”
“What if I go Bald tomorrow?” You wanted to laugh at his joke but it was quite hard knowing you really could go bald tomorrow & Oliver could become broke, after all nobody knows what could happen.
“You wouldn’t, what I’m trying to say is. I spend this money to make you smile, whether it’s a large purchase or small it’s for you. In this case; a private jet just for my princess.”
Hearing your boyfriend be so adamant about you spending his money & not thinking of you as a sugar baby or a gold digger relieved you greatly. Yes, you both were dating but you weren’t a mind reader, for all you know he could be planning to kill you.
“Alright then, on that note; I could get used to this. Fast.” You pushed your insecure thoughts to the side as you settled into your seat properly reclining the seat, feeling in all the luxuries to the max. He chuckled at your childishness as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder pulling you in.
“Get used to it baby, you’re stuck with me, my jet & my money forever.”
ERLING HAALAND — giant teddybear!
“I told you not to eat so many sweets before went on the ride, no wonder you almost threw up.” Your boyfriend reminded you as he leaned over helping you walk throughout the winter carnival without collapsing.
Seeing that his good friend Jude had gone recently to the Winter Wonderland you decided it be good for the both of you to go as well, until it wasn’t. It was either Erling was too tall for some of the rides or you chickened out just looking at it.
But seeing as you were low-key being a party pooper for your boyfriend who you basically forced to come to the attraction you decided to go onto the wildest ride there was available; bad, bad idea.
Erling had bought you almost every single foot item you looked at for to long filling your stomach much faster than you’d like, by the 4th taco you ate you were ready to unbutton your pants & burst.
“It was fun wasn’t it though?” You groaned out patting the shoulder of your boyfriend signalling him to slow down as you felt as if you were going to barf, he slowed down waiting for you to gain your composure.
Seeing as you took a little longer than usual he bent down pulling your body on his back giving you a piggyback ride, you on the other hand smirked into his back tucking your legs around his waist. “All apart of my plan.” You muttered into his neck taking in his scent.
“Did you say something?” Erling asked as he begun to walk passing by multiple food-stalls that just the smell of the food made you sick, you wrapped your arms around his neck & placed your head in the crook of his collarbone.
“Nope! Nothing! Don’t worry about it baby.” You whispered into his ear closing your eyes in the process, as Erling walked past multiple stalls you closed your eyes feeling peaceful almost falling asleep till you jolted up after feeling as if you were falling.
As you opened your eyes you looked around seeing that the entrance was just a few miles away, something also caught your eye; a stand with gigantic teddy bears. “Baby?”
“Hmm?” he hummed, waiting for you to say what you needed.
“Can you win that for me before we leave?” You asked him patting his shoulder to get him to slow down so he didn’t walk right by the stand.“Win what?”
“The giant teddy bear.” You slid down his back and turned towards the stall pointing to the humongous teddy bears.
“You’re such a child, fine.” Erling walked towards the stand grabbing a few of the tennis balls on the desk as he backed away throwing them at the targets scoring on each one of them.
The man at the stall handed him a giant pink bear almost the size of you leaving Erling to walk back to you giant big bear in hand stupid grin on his face, you took the bear out of his hand giving it a big squeeze. “Thanks baby.”
“What should I name him?” You asked as you both continued to walked towards the exits hand in hand, hearing that Erling turned to you looking at you weirdly, “You name your teddy bears?”
“Of course! Since you won him for me I’ll name him, Erlie.” You smiled at him squeezing his hand, Erling chuckled at your ridiculous as he bent down to give you a kiss on your forehead.
“You’re too cute, but Erlie is a horrible nickname love. Makes him sound like an old man.”
send me an angel - deacon kay x reader
Summary: When the reader gets in danger, Deacon needs being protective of her.
Request by @kenzie30david
Warnings: mentions of threat, swearing
English is not my first language and unfortunately it is not proofread (sorry)
Deacon lost ground as soon as he entered the headquarter, looking at the digital table where there were photos of 14 women, all with name for identification and age below. The only picture that mattered was of him, the woman he loved and that made him lose whatever sanity he had left.
“May I know what that means?” Deacon asks trying to sound as professional as possible.
“They are our possible victims, this morning eight of them received death and kidnapping threats and they all have in common a relationship with someone from SWAT.” Hondo responds.
“How are you sure they all have a relationship with someone from here?” Chris asks.
“The information is from the areas responsible for data collection, we are profiling them to find out who exactly they are with to keep them safe.” Hondo says
Deacon takes one last look at the table and leaves the area to try to call you while the rest of the team continues to work on locating each of the girls. After five failed attempts that took him straight to voicemail, he lets out a frustrated sigh and heads back to where he left the team.
“All are identified, only this one is missing.” Lucca says pointing to his picture.
“She must have been deceived among the others. We can call and check.” Street says, making everyone on the team agree.
"It won't be necessary." Deacon is serious. The entire team turns their heads to him, curiosity brimming on their faces.
"Why not? Do you know something?” Chris asks crossing his arms
"She is my girlfriend." Deacon responds with a sigh.
Silence dominated the environment, no one there knew for sure how to react, no one expected that Deacon would have someone after Annie.
“What do you mean girlfriend? You didn't say anything to us.” Luca says in disbelief.
"I know, I should have told you but she didn't want to and honestly I wasn't ready either." Deacon answers seriously.
Deacon's phone starts to ring, which makes his heart pound in his chest. As soon as he turned the viewfinder towards him, he could read his name on the screen.
"Why didn't you answer me?" Deacon asks.
"Because I was busy." You answer.
"I need you to come here now." Deacon says making you take a long breath on the other end of the line.
“What sudden authority is this? You were never like that.” You say worried.
“Babe, please… I need you to come here. You are in danger.” Deacon says, running an idle hand through his hair.
On the other end of the line you didn't know what to do, you just hung up the call and ran out taking the first taxi that passed. As soon as you get to Deacon, the first thing you see is your photo on the digital tablet.
"What is it?" You ask feeling your heart speed up even more.
"Someone is threatening the fellow SWAT members, we are investigating to find out the motivation but so far we don't have much." Chris says.
You blink several times and feel like you would start to hyperventilate. Deacon also notices and walks over to you, guiding you to a chair.
"I'm going to have to be stuck here is that it?" You ask, feeling tears fall.
“No, no way… we will work this out. I will never let anything happen to you my love, I will always protect you.” Deacon says kissing the top of her head. You really hoped that everything would be okay, but despite your fears you trusted Deacon. He was her guardian angel.
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