Deja Vu - Part 1

One in a Million (Guns n’ Roses x Fem!Reader)

Chap.1

Description: The tour life of a rock girl band in the 80’s, but not without their not so normal friends and band called Guns N’ Roses.

Warning: some curse, and a light mention of alcohol and drugs. It’s not a warning, but Mötley Crüe is going to appear into the chapters

Words: 2911

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Y/N exclaimed as she ran down Sunset Strip trying to get to the bus, and of course with a huge bag trying not to bump into anyone and screaming ‘sorry’ to a guy she almost knocked into the ground.

Today was the day her band would take a new level. They were going on their first big tour, opening with Guns N’ Roses for the crazy band called Mötley Crüe. She was beyond excited, but as always she was super late. The bus was supposed to leave at ten am and was already eleven. Y/N was certain that they had already left her in LA, but she had a little hope they waited for her because they couldn’t replace their amazing drummer.

Y/N was relieved when she spotted a huge bus with a not so tall redhead smoking a cigarette and kinda stressed talking with, what looked like, the bus driver.

Keep reading

Last Kiss

Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary: A freak accident took you away from your boyfriend, and he doesn't know what to do with himself, he's never faced a loss like this in his life.

Warning: Reader death (car accident), lots of suicide ideation (overdose, driving a car into a lake), suicide notes, swearing, Billy and reader are still in high school (entering their senior year), Billy says lots of hurtful stuff to his family (due to grief), vomit, substance abuse (drugs and alcohol), suicide (overdose), no happy ending

Word count: 3,151

A/N : Grab your tissues, this made me cry until I dry heaved. Loosely inspired by Pearl Jam's cover of Last Kiss (X) These are extremely heavy triggers please proceed with caution.

August 12, 1985

Billy laid in his room, cigarette between his lips, exhaling the smoke before doing the same thing. School was starting in three days, he was finally a senior and as soon as he would graduate in May 1986, he'd leave Hawkins with you, going back to California. He was on babysitting duty once again, Neil and Susan were who knows where, and Max was in her room with her weird friend, as he heard them giggling.

Music blared in his bedroom; he didn't even realize anyone was at the door until Max's fist banged on his door. He rolled his eyes, fixing the black shorts on his hips. He got up, putting the cigarette in an old beer can, shaking it a little before putting it in his trash can. He opened the door, "Need money for pizza?" Max shook her head, she looked odd, he noted the way her eyes were teary, Jane in the hallway, looking at Max.

"Chief of police is here, he needs to talk to you." His mind began racing. He was trying to figure out where to hide his ounce of weed. "Tell him I'm not here." Max shook her head, "You really need to talk to him." Billy sighed and nodded, leaving his room, shutting the door behind him. Max went to her bedroom, Jane following right behind her. Billy went to the front door; Jim Hopper was sitting on the railing of Billy's porch. Billy shut the front door and Jim looked up, hit hat off of his head.

"What'd I do?" Hopper shook his head and Billy raised a brow, sitting on the steps of the house and Jim joined him. "My dad and Susan?" Jim shook his head once more, clearing his throat. He reached into his back pocket, grabbing his wallet and he pulled a small clear bag out of it, handing it to Billy.

A bloody picture of you and Billy was in the bag, he looked at it, his stomach churning. He put it down, looking at the grass, trying to contain what he had eaten that day. "I don't know how you guys know each other, but that was in her car. It was a freak accident; a truck driver was falling asleep and didn't see her car." Billy grew increasingly nauseated, Jim putting the image in his head. He began to sweat, pushing his hair back.

"She's not okay, is she," he asked, choking on his words and the bile building up. Jim shook his head, "She passed a few hours ago, her parents didn't want anyone there." Billy leaned over the railing, throwing up in Susan's flowers and Jim put his hand on Billy's naked back, patting gently.

Billy spit a few times, trying to get the taste out of his mouth and he pushed his hair back again, wiping his mouth on his hand, wiping the liquid on the wooden railing. "Is your dad here?" Billy shook his head, "No, I don't know where he's at." Jim nodded. "When's her funeral?" Jim looked at Billy, "I'll come by when I find out." Billy nodded, looking at the picture again.

They were pictures from the Funfair from a photobooth, he remembers exactly how the night went. "Her mom said you were around a lot, even met them." Billy nodded, those were the first and would be the last set of parents he ever met. "Yeah, she was my girlfriend, was gonna be a year in December." Jim nodded and a static voice came through his radio, someone needing him at the station. "Take care of yourself, Billy. If you need anything, you know where to find me or ask my kid in there for our address.

Billy nodded, quietly thanking Jim and he got up, putting his hat back on his head and patted Billy's shoulder and walked to his car. Billy watched Jim leave, looking up at the sky, doing his best to contain his tears. He got up, going back into the house, Max and Jane on the couch. He handed Max money, "For your dinner," he said before going to his bedroom, slamming the door shut and he locked it.

He carefully took the strip of pictures out of the baggy, putting it on his bedside table that held a picture frame of the two of them at prom. He looked through his room, finding the black box that held a locket, his name engraved into the pretty heart locket, your guys' first picture in it. He snapped it shut, hoping you'd have an open casket service so he could put it with you.

He laid back down, letting his mind run rampant with memories of the two of you. Hours must have passed as he saw Neil's truck headlights pull into the driveway. He hoped for his sake that Max had ordered dinner and had cleaned up afterwards. He heard Neil's heavy footsteps go through the house and then he heard Max's door open as he heard her cry, most likely in search of her mother.

He heard a soft knock on his door before he heard Susan's voice, "Billy, I'm so sorry." He heard her soft footsteps leave his door and his brain finally came to terms that you were gone. He curled up, stuffing his face into his pillow as he cried, his body shaking with his cries as he struggled for air, gasping through his hiccups and sniffles.

Almost two weeks after he found out about your death, the funeral was held, Max joined him along with Susan, Neil out of town for his job. Your mom hugged him, rubbing his back and your dad hugged him, something he had never done before that day. It was an open casket and as everyone left the room, preparing to go to the cemetery, he walked to the front of room. He stood above your body, more tears falling, and he held the locket in his hand.

He felt someone's presence, someone was behind him, probably Max or Susan waiting for him since he drove them to the service. He unclipped the locket and put it around your wrist, clipping it back together. He looked down at the silver ring on his finger, something his mom gave him. At this moment, he didn't care, his mom never left a hole in his heart like this, he'd forget about his mom with time, but he'd never forget you and the mark you left on his heart.

He slid the silver ring off of his finger, holding your cold left hand as he slid it onto your ring finger, where the diamond ring he would've bought you, would sit. He looked at you, you didn't look any different than you usually did. He grabbed one of the chairs, moving it closer to your casket and he sat down.

"What am I supposed to do now," he asked, "I haven't gone to school, I think I'm going to drop out. I haven't left my house either until today, because I needed to say goodbye to you. I keep taking it out on Max and everyone else, I've never been this angry before, I think I'll always be like this. I know if you were still here, you'd tell me that you would want me to move on, but I can never do that, no one is going to treat me like you did."

He gulped, trying not to choke on his tears, "I decided to stay here so I can be close to you, I'm gonna come see you every day, just like I did when we were dating." He wiped his face with the back of his hand, "I love you, and I'm gonna love you forever, because you're doing the same for me." He moved the chair back, letting his fingers touch yours, trying not to react to the coldness of your body.

He turned around to leave the room, your mom standing in the doorway of the vast viewing room. "We have something for you." He nodded, following her out of the room, and out of the building, to the car where your dad was standing at the trunk. Billy walked over, wiping his face, his eyes burning from crying so much. Your dad opened the trunk, two boxes in it. "We kept what we wanted to, this is everything that has you two in it, your clothes that she took from you, and other stuff we thought that you would like to have." He nodded, thanking your dad and your mom hugged him again.

"You're still family and welcome to our house whenever, Billy." He nodded and thanked her, and your dad helped Billy take one of the boxes to the Camaro and Billy opened the trunk as your dad put the box into the trunk and Billy shut it, placing the other box in the backseat beside Max. Her hand went to reach out, "No, that's not for you. Keep your damn hands to yourself." He moved the driver's seat back to its regular position as he started the car.

He looked in the mirror, sighing as he saw Max looking out of the window, "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I shouldn't have snapped at you." She shrugged, "It's fine, I get it. That's her stuff." He nodded and he followed the black hearse to the cemetery. They all arrived, and he fixed his black dress shirt, throwing a blazer on and Max and Susan got out of the car. Billy met up with your dad, your brother that was a few years older than you, and other family members that he never got to meet.

Billy didn't want to be a Pallbearer, but your dad had asked him, and he couldn't say no to him. The six of them talked as the funeral director opened the back of the hearse. "Okay, so Billy and I will be in the middle since we're going by height." Everyone nodded at what your dad said.

Your dad introduced Billy to your uncle, grandfather and cousin and he shook their hands. Your grandfather and uncle grabbed the back of the casket as Billy and your father grabbed the handles on the middle and your brother and cousin grabbed the front handles. Your casket moved to everyone's shoulders, their other hands grabbing onto the handles as they all began walking to your grave site.

Susan held Max's shoulders as Max wiped under her eyes. They all put your casket on the contraption and took their seats, Billy sitting with your parents, Max and Susan on the other side of your mom. The funeral director began speaking before your dad got up and gave a speech. Your mom gave a speech as well, along with your brother and Billy stood up as your brother left the podium, your brother putting his hand out and Billy clapped his hand to his, leaning in and their shoulders touched, and your brother sat back down.

Billy grabbed the crinkled, tear-stained notebook paper out of the pocket of his blazer. He pushed his hair back, clearing his throat. "I'm Billy, I'm," he cut himself off, "was her boyfriend." He couldn't bring himself to say your name. "I had a whole speech prepared, but nothing I say will ever amount to how much I truly love her, how she made me feel during tough moments. We met on my first day at Hawkins High, I asked her to be my girlfriend in December and I met her family in January. I had never had a girlfriend before her, she made me feel like everything was okay during family problems, like nothing could hurt me. She was always so happy to see me, there was never a dull moment with her. She was the first person to tell me that they loved me and actually mean it. We did everything together; we were glued at the hip. We would have graduated together in May 1986 and then we were going to move to California and start our new life there, get married and have kids later on in life."

He wiped his face with his index finger, looking at your casket. "The Funfair was one of our last dates, she hated heights, but I was somehow able to convince her to go on the Ferris Wheel with me. She freaked out the first two minutes were on it." Your brother laughed with your dad and Billy chuckled at the memory, "We used to go on late night drives to the diner on the outskirts of town, we'd go to the lake just to go sit on the dock and look at the stars." He looked at your casket one more time, this last sentence for you and you only, "I love you more than I can ever say, I just wish I got to tell you one more time." He cleared his throat, a single tear slipping from his right eye, onto his paper.

He thanked the crowd and sat back down at his seat and your dad put his hand on Billy's shoulder. Everyone watched your casket get lowered into the dirt before someone began covering it with dirt, your headstone showing to everyone the more the dirt pile shrunk. People began leaving, your brother and Billy talking behind a tree as they smoked cigarettes. "You're still my brother, even though she's not here anymore. You need anything at all, you know where to find me." Billy nodded, thanking him.

"Is it hard for you?" Your brother nodded, "Very, I moved out because I couldn't sleep next to her room anymore knowing that she wasn't in there." Billy nodded. "How's school?" Billy hummed, "I don't go, haven't left my house since Jim Hopper came to my house to tell me that she passed." Your brother hummed, nodding in understanding. They finished the conversation and Billy saw Max and Susan at the car, ready to leave. He sighed, not ready. "I can take them back to your house, I know where it's at. Cherry Lane, right?" Billy nodded, thanking him and your brother walked to the girls, and they got into his car.

Soon, Billy was the last one left, and he was to your headstone, sitting right beside it, the dirt still too soft on top of your casket. He took a deep breath, "This is fucked up, I was supposed to go first from natural causes." He put his hand on top of the headstone, rubbing a ridge just like how he used to rub your skin. "I wonder how much these plots are, might as well put my down payment for the one right next to you," he chuckled before sighing.

Many weeks passed and not a day went by where he wasn't high or drunk. He was able to get ketamine, weed, and some type of pills. He was hoping that something would be laced with something that would kill him. He was mean now, to everyone he knew. Max did her best to breakthrough to him, but she ticked him off weeks ago when she said she understood the feeling and he freaked out, leaving his house and ending right back at your burial sight. She didn't understand, no one in his family knew how he felt.

He had gone through loss before, his mom leaving, his grandparents passing away, but nothing fucked him up like your death did. Now, he sat in his bed, weed in his system as he wrote notes, sealing them in envelopes as he wrote names on the front of the envelopes. He wrote one for his entire family, your brother and parents, and one for you. He had dreamt about his death, sometimes when he drove by Lover's Lake, he wondered if he'd be able to crash his car into the water, but determined he was too good of a swimmer to go through with it.

He knew that his drug supplier wouldn't give him anything laced, so it was in his hands. He finished his notes, coming to terms that he wanted to die. He left his bed, putting clothes on and making sure he had his wallet, making sure his driver's license was in it. He made his bed one last time, quietly making his way to Neil's bedroom as he found the high strength pain meds from a past surgery, he hoped they would still work.

He walked back down the hallway, shutting his bedroom door, walking past Max's bedroom, sliding the envelope under her door, leaving Neil and Susan's envelopes on the coffee table in the living room. He grabbed the keys to his Camaro, driving to your parent's house, putting their envelopes in the mailbox before he made his way to your brother's apartment complex, talking to the person at the front desk as they slid it into his mailbox.

Billy made his way back to his car, making his last stop at your grave, wedging your envelope between the vase and the headstone. He rubbed the top of the headstone before going back to his car. He looked at the plot right next to you, hoping that Neil would respect his last wish to be buried right next to you.

Billy made his way to Lover's Lake, the last place the two of you spent time at. He looked at the pill bottle, popping the top and started off with four pills, swallowing them with water from a bottle that had stayed in his car for days. He took more, and more until the bottle was empty.

1 AM

Max walked into her bedroom, seeing the white envelope on her floor and she picked it up before she heard the front door open, hearing Neil speak to someone before the door shut and she heard Neil scream like he was in pain. She tore her envelope open, and her eyes welled up at the opening words.

"I'm sorry for everything I put you through."

She felt sick to her stomach, clutching it as she read the letter as she heard her own mother cry, Neil's cries were the loudest. Someone knocked on her door before it opened, Susan standing in the doorway before she walked into the room and wrapped her daughter into a tight hug. Max sobbed into Susan's neck and Susan tightened her hold on Max's body, swaying them. "He was in pain, baby, he felt like he had no other option." Max cried harder, wishing she had tried harder to help him.

That night, two families were broken, your family dealing with two losses and Billy's family having to come to terms with his death, Max taking it the absolute hardest, because maybe just maybe, they could have been best friends and do what normal siblings do.

˖ ࣪ 🍦‹ kwonienana⁺˖🏹 ⸝⸝𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

➤ UNSENT <<part 1/3>>

producer ! woozi × reader

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

➤ 🍥 taglist : nothing to see here yet 𓍼

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

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Forced | Max Verstappen Ver

WC: 22.2K

Max x reader

Summery: Jos made a deal years ago that he can't get out of, and Max is the one to see it through.

Warning ⚠️: abuse(mental, physical), a little naive reader, slight ptsd, eating disorder implied, depression and suicidal thoughts, mention of parent death, family abandment, cursing, Jos being an ahole, injuries

AN: Dark one. Read the warnings.

SAT THERE EDITING SINCE THE RACE JUST SO I COULD GET IT OUT TODAY!!

Masterlist

Max Verstappen

Charles Ver., Carlos Ver.

How he ended up here was a mystery to Max, but here he was, sitting in a private room at some overpriced restaurant, his father on one side and a stranger across from him. Across from him sat the man he only knew as Mr Wilkins, his sharp eyes practically dissecting Max with every glance.

Max prided himself on being observant. He noticed the little things, the subtle shifts in behaviour, the unspoken tells. And tonight, Jos Verstappen was a man he barely recognised. His father, usually so confident and composed, was jittery, avoiding Max’s gaze, his hands restless against the polished table. Jos had been skittish for days, dodging every question Max had thrown at him. And now, this.

“Have you told him?” Wilkins’s voice cut through the tension, cool and unwavering. His question was directed at Jos, but it hit Max like a stone.

Max glanced at his father, his stomach twisting, this is what his dad has been dodging all week. “Told me what?”

Jos’s gaze fell to the table. He didn’t answer.

“I see you haven’t.” Wilkins said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Looks like I’ll have to do it myself.”

Jos shifted uncomfortably, his hand reaching for his glass of water but stopping halfway. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?” He asked, his voice low and almost pleading.

Max froze. Pleading? Jos Verstappen didn’t beg. Not for anyone. Wilkins, however, remained unmoved, his lips curling into a faint smirk.

“You knew the price all those years ago.” His tone was ice-cold, unyielding.

 “Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?” Max’s patience snapped, his voice cut through the room, loud enough to draw attention if there had been anyone else around. Wilkins chuckled, clearly amused by Max’s agitation.

“Relax, Mr Verstappen.” He said smoothly, as if the situation was nothing more than a business transaction. “You’re about to receive some… life-changing news.”

Max didn’t relax. He braced himself, his instincts screaming that whatever was coming next would flip his world upside down.

“I’m sorry.” Jos’s voice was barely a whisper, and when Max turned to him, his father’s face was pale, his eyes fixed on the table.

“Well, congratulations are in order.” Wilkins announced, his smirk widening. “You’re a groom.”

Silence. A heavy, suffocating silence settled over the room. Max blinked; certain he’d misheard.

“A groom?” He laughed, but it was hollow, a sharp bark of disbelief. He pointed at himself. “Me? You must be joking.”

 “Oh, I assure you, I’m quite serious.” Wilkins’s expression didn’t waver. Max’s laughter died instantly. His body stiffened, his hands curling into fists on the table.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not even seeing anyone!” He turned sharply to his father, his voice rising. “What is he saying? What’s going on? And what did you do?”

Jos flinched, his hand shaking as he reached for his son. “L-look, Max, I-I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did.” Wilkins leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as if settling in for a long story. “Let me make this simple, since it’s clear your father hasn’t explained. Many years ago, Jos and I made a deal. I did him a favour, quite a significant one, might I add, and now it’s time for him to repay it.” Wilkins slid a crisp document across the table. Max barely glanced at it. His glare was fixed on the man who’s trying to upend his life. “My business is failing.” Wilkins continued smoothly. “And I need investors. Your father, with his connections and not to mention his three-time world champion son, can help me secure them. And what better way to cement that relationship than a marriage?”

“And what does that have to do with me?” Max’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to keep his voice steady.

“Everything.” Wilkins said, his eyes gleaming. “Because you, Max, are the key to this entire arrangement. And let’s be honest, you’d do anything to protect your father, wouldn’t you?”

The insinuation hit like a slap. Max’s gaze darted to his father, whose face crumbled under the weight of guilt.

“I don’t get it,” Max muttered. “What could you possibly have over him?”

Wilkins’s smirk turned razor-sharp. “Oh, I have plenty. How about the fact that Jos embezzled money to secure his career in Formula 1? Or that he cheated his way into a few deals? One word from me, and the media would have a field day. And prison? Well, Jos knows what that’s like already, doesn’t he?”

Max’s stomach churned. He pushed back his chair, the screech of metal against wood cutting through the tension. Grabbing his phone, he stood, his movements sharp and final.

“I’m not doing this.” He said, his voice firm, resolute.

“Max, wait!” Jos half-rose from his chair, grabbing his son’s arm. “Please, just… think about it. Please.”

Max wrenched his arm free, his glare slicing through his father’s desperation. “Think about what? Selling myself off like some business transaction? No.”

“It’ll be good for your image,” Jos added hastily, his tone desperate. “And Wilkins’s daughter—she’s beautiful. Maybe just… meet her. Talk to her.”

Max’s head snapped towards Wilkins, his eyes narrowing. “Your daughter? You’re offering her up like some bargaining chip?” He scoffed, the disgust in his tone cutting deep.

Wilkins shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Believe me, she’ll be happy. And I know she’ll make you happy.”

Max’s gaze flicked between the two men. His father looked like he was on the verge of breaking, while Wilkins appeared positively delighted with himself. The chaos fuelled him; it was written all over his face.

Max exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ll think about it.” he said finally, his tone clipped. Without another word, he turned and strode out of the room, ignoring the sound of his father pleading with Wilkins behind him.

Max went back to his house, the penthouse he shared with his cats. His mind was swirling with emotions and ideas. There must be another way, there had to be. How could they expect him to marry someone he’d never met before? They were acting as if it was as easy as picking up groceries.

His phone pinged with a notification.

It was from his dad. Clicking on their chat, Max barely glanced at the attached picture of you before reading the text below it:

He gave us one week before you have to get married.

Max cursed under his breath and threw his phone, watching as it clattered against the floor, startling his cats.

The week crawled by painfully. It took Jos a few days to show up at Max’s door, trying to convince him. Jos pleaded, guilt-tripping Max at every opportunity. He even showed Max your Instagram profile, scrolling through pictures and pointing out that you weren’t a forever commitment—that marriage didn’t mean he had to be faithful. Jos insisted that Max could continue living his life as usual.

In the end, it wasn’t the arguments or assurances that drove Max to the courthouse; it was the love he had for his father.

Max sat stiffly in front of the officiant’s office, dressed in a blazer, a white shirt, and jeans. He refused to dress up more than that for what felt like a mockery of a commitment. Jos sat beside him, restless, while Max’s thoughts churned. The clock ticked away, but you and your father were nowhere to be seen.

Max glared at the door. Power play, he thought bitterly. Being late was a way to assert control, to make them wait, to show who was in charge.

When Wilkins finally arrived, his booming voice preceded him, pulling Max out of his thoughts.

“Oh good, you’re here.” Max stood without sparing a glance at the group, opened the door to the officiant’s office, and walked in.

You entered moments later, your smile soft but strained when your eyes met Jos’s. Wilkins’s hand gripped your arm tightly as he led you inside, his fingers digging into your skin. You kept your head high and your posture straight, despite the discomfort. When he lets go, you instinctively rubbed your arm but quickly stopped, aware of everyone’s eyes.

Max didn’t look up. He sat rigidly in his seat, staring at the officiant, his jaw set.

“I won’t take long.” The officiant began, sliding a paper in front of Max. He’s clearly paid by your dad. Max grabbed the pen and signed without hesitation, not sparing you a glance. When the paper was passed to you, your hands trembled slightly as you picked up the pen. You signed where indicated, your expression composed, but there was a flicker of hesitation before each stroke.

“Good, nice and easy. Now exchange the rings.” The officiant said.

Max hadn’t brought rings. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. Jos, however, handed him a pair of simple bands, evidently having planned for this.

Max took a steadying breath and turned to you. His gaze faltered for a moment. He hadn’t expected this. You were... breathtaking.

For a moment, he hated that it mattered.

The smile you wore didn’t waver, though it was faint and polite, not reaching your eyes. Max took your hand. Your fingers felt fragile in his grip, trembling slightly, yet he didn’t notice the faint pressure marks on your skin from Wilkins’s grip earlier. He just slid the ring on, his movements mechanical.

You took his hand with quiet care, slipping the ring onto his finger with the same delicate precision, avoiding his gaze. When it was done, Max pulled his hand back quickly, rising from his seat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Wilkins’s voice was sharp. Max froze mid-step, his shoulders tense. “You forgot your wife.” Max turned slowly, glaring at Wilkins. His father’s chuckle grated against his nerves. “You didn’t think just signing papers was enough, did you? You’ll take my daughter with you.”

Wilkins placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, making you flinch slightly before quickly composing yourself. Your smile shrank further, barely there.

Max’s eyes flicked to you. Your white dress clung to your frame, the heels on your feet absurdly high. You looked... smaller somehow, standing next to your father.

“Come on, then.” Max said brusquely, turning and heading for the door.

Wilkins leaned down, whispering something in your ear. You nodded quickly, not daring to respond aloud. You hurried after Max, your footsteps soft but purposeful.

Outside, Max’s car—a sleek Aston Martin DBS—waited. You moved to the passenger side without a word, glancing briefly at Max as you settled into the seat. Your hands rested in your lap, clutching your handbag tightly.

The drive to his penthouse was suffocatingly silent. Max glanced at you occasionally. You sat stiffly, your head slightly bowed, offering no conversation. By the time you arrived, Max began to wonder if you ever spoke at all.

Inside the penthouse, Max’s cats greeted him with meowing and weaving around his legs. He crouched to pet them, finding brief solace in their presence.

When he stood, you were still by the door, shoes off, holding them neatly in one hand. Your other hand gripped the strap of your handbag, knuckles pale.

“I’ll show you the guest bedroom,” Max said.

“Thank you.” Your voice was soft, measured, almost hesitant.

Max frowned. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the sound of your voice caught him off guard. It was far more subdued than he’d imagined.

You followed him quietly, your movements careful, as though unsure of your place in this space. You take a 360 degree look before your eyes fall back on Max.

“There’s a bathroom attached. If you need anything, let me know,” Max said as he stood at the doorway.

“Thank you.” Your response was the same, polite but distant.

Max closed the door behind him and leaned against it briefly, exhaling. You were too calm, too composed. It unsettled him. You weren’t angry or demanding. You weren’t protesting or pushing back.

That left only one possibility. You wanted this.

And Max despised you for it.

You sat on the bed in the guest room, unsure of what to do with yourself. The room was luxurious, similar to your bedroom back home, a little homier though. Looking around, your eyes landed on the large windows.

Walking over, you pulled back the sheer curtains and opened the window slightly. A salty breeze wafted in, carrying the faint hum of the city below. There were no buildings obstructing the view, just the harbour and the vast expanse of sea. The sight was breathtaking, but it did little to ease the tightness in your chest.

Your fingers twitched, an old habit resurfacing—a need to occupy yourself. But there was nothing to do. Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your nerves. You were in a stranger’s home, married to a man you didn’t know.

Last week, your life had been structured to the minute. You’d had your schedule, your tasks, your carefully planned routine dictated by your father. Now, there was nothing. No orders. No tasks. You bit at your nail beds, the nervous habit making a quiet comeback as you sat back down on the bed.

The hours dragged by. At some point, you lay down on top of the covers, staring out the window. The sky shifted from blue to orange as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. Hunger gnawed at you occasionally, but you didn’t dare leave the room.

Max had gone about his day as if nothing had changed. He’d spent time on the simulator, played a few rounds online with friends, and entertained his cats. For a moment, it was easy to forget you existed.

It wasn’t until he was sitting on the sofa, scratching Sassy behind her ears, that he noticed the wedding band on his finger. The sight brought him back to reality. His eyes narrowed as he realised, he hadn’t heard a sound from the guest room all day.

“Ridiculous.” he muttered, standing abruptly. He hesitated for a moment outside your door before knocking lightly.

When there was no immediate response, Max opened the door to find you sitting up on the bed, your dress slightly wrinkled and your legs tucked beneath you. You blinked at him, startled.

“I was—” Max cleared his throat, his eyes flicking over you briefly before settling on your face. “I’m ordering food. What do you want?”

“Anything.” You replied softly, your voice timid and polite.

Max’s jaw tightened. Of course, he thought bitterly. The perfect act.

He scoffed and left, the door closing behind him with more force than necessary.

When the food arrived half an hour later, Max knocked on your door again.

“Food’s ready.” He said flatly, turning and walking back to the dining area.

You emerged hesitantly, following the faint sound of Max unpacking containers. He placed a box in front of your spot at the table before sitting down with his own.

You opened the box to find a chicken pasta dish with a side of garlic bread. The sight made you pause, your brows furrowing slightly.

“What?” Max asked, catching the look on your face. “You don’t like pasta?”

Quickly, you schooled your expression into a neutral smile. “No, I like it. Thank you.”

Max narrowed his eyes, noting the sudden shift in your demeanour, but said nothing.

The meal passed in near silence, punctuated only by the occasional clink of cutlery. Max finished his food quickly, while you ate slowly, taking small, measured bites, just like you were taught. When he set his fork down, you did the same, despite having barely finished a third of your meal.

Gathering your food containers, you stood and asked quietly, “Which way is the kitchen?”

Max pointed in the direction, watching as you disappeared briefly. You returned a moment later to collect his empty containers.

Max was perplexed by your actions; you haven’t been there for 12 hours and you’re already confusing him.

From the dining room, Max could hear the sound of water running, followed by the opening and closing of cabinets. When you returned, he sighed and stood.

“I’ll show you around.” He said curtly.

You followed silently as he walked through the penthouse, pointing out the various rooms. The tour ended at the door to your guest room. Taking that as your cue, you nodded politely and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you.

The next morning, you woke early, unsure of what to do. You slipped your strapless bra back on, skipping your underwear, and pulled your dress from the day before over your head. It was wrinkled but all you had.

When you ventured out, you found Max in the living room, scrolling through his phone. At the sound of your soft throat-clearing, he looked up.

His eyes swept over you briefly, taking in the rumpled dress and your heels. “Getting married again today?” he asked, his tone dry.

 “Sorry. I... I don’t have any of my clothes with me.” You flinched slightly but forced a small smile.

Max stared at you for a moment, realisation dawning. He hadn’t considered that you’d arrived with only your handbag.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. Without another word, he disappeared into his bedroom, returning a moment later with a plain shirt and a pair of shorts. “These don’t fit me. You can wear them.” He said, holding them out to you.

“Thank you.” You said softly, taking the clothes and retreating to your room. When you emerged a few minutes later, you were wearing his oversized shirt and shorts, which hung loosely on you.

For some reason, Max found himself staring. You looked better in his clothes, he thought absently, before shaking the thought away.

“Can I go out for a bit?” You asked hesitantly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah.” Max replied, already turning back to his phone.

While you were out, Max got a call from one of his friends, inviting him to meet up for the day. He took off his wedding ring and left the apartment. He forgot about the rough week he’d been having and went out to eat and relax with his group of friends. It wasn’t until around 8 p.m. that he headed home.

As he reached his floor, the automatic lights flickered on, revealing your figure slumped against the front door. You were sleeping with shopping bags scattered around you, still in his clothes, his shorts slid up showing your legs, just like the dress did, and your heels discarded by your side.

Max scoffed, walking past you and unlocking his door without a word. He glanced back at you, deliberating for a moment. Should he leave you there? Or wake you up?

Before he could decide, Jimmy sidestepped him and jumped onto you, his head diving straight into one of the bags. That was enough to stir you awake. You jolted up, confused and disoriented, clearly not remembering when you’d fallen asleep.

"Jimmy! Come here," Max called, clicking his tongue. The cat ignored him, making Max sigh in annoyance. He looked down at you—those wide, innocent eyes staring up at him—and felt an unfamiliar mix of irritation and concern.

"Get inside," he said firmly.

You scrambled to your feet, still groggy, grabbing your bags and shoes, but not before Max noticed something red flash from the corner of his eye. He didn’t focus on it, though.

“My dad said your things would arrive in the next couple of days.” Max added casually, as if it was just another piece of information. You paused, turning to him.

"Uh, okay." You muttered in response, quickly retreating to your room.

Max narrowed his eyes but didn’t press you further. He was trying to be polite, trying to make things work. Here he was asking his dad about your things, all he got was that meek “okay.”

He closed the door behind you, then went to feed his cat.

He didn’t hear or see you for the rest of the day.

Two days later, two suitcases arrived. You rolled them to your room and opened them with a mix of dread and resignation. Inside were clothes you hadn’t bought and wouldn’t have chosen for yourself. But they were all designer brands, the kind of things you could sell if you needed the money.

You didn’t want to think about it, but you knew you had no choice. You had to get by somehow.

The week went by with Max either going out, working or gaming. You spent all day in your room, but you had seen Max’s nutritionist’s list he had left in the kitchen one day. Seeing the food he’s supposed to eat, all of it you could make. You memorized his food schedule and started preparing his meals, waking up earlier than him, just to make sure everything was ready. By lunchtime, the smell of food would fill the apartment, but Max never caught sight of you. He never heard you.

The first couple of days in his house missed with your sleeping schedule, so you’re awake way before he does, you memorised when he usually wakes up. So, he’d find food ready for him.

Days stretched on endlessly. You passed the time by reading the few books in your room, but there was no TV, no distractions. You stayed in your room, alone, only leaving to prepare Max’s meals or feed the cats. They started to visit you more often, meowing at your door, and you’d let them in. It made the days a little less lonely, even if the fear never really went away.

Despite everything, it was still better than your life in Switzerland. Better than the life your father had forced upon you.

One day, the doorbell rang. Max was engrossed in his simulator, the headset muffling the sound entirely. After the fourth ring, you hesitantly left your room to see who it could be. Half-asleep, you padded into the living room, noticing Max still focused on his sim in the corner.

Opening the door, you froze as your heart plummeted. Standing there was your father.

"Did someone come?" Max called out from the living room, removing his headset. You shrank back, taking a few steps away from your father. Max rounded the corner, his sharp eyes darting between your pale face and the men at the door. “What are you two doing here?” He demanded, his tone already hard.

“We came to talk about what comes next.” Your father replied, his voice steady but full of implication. Max stepped closer, his presence solid and unmoving beside you. Unconsciously, you edged backward, positioning yourself slightly behind him as if to shield yourself. Max noticed your movement but didn’t say anything—not yet.

“Next? What next? We’re married.” Max shot back, crossing his arms. His posture was sharp, shoulders broad, making him look even more imposing.

“Yes, but how will I get investors if no one sees you two together?” Your father raised a brow, his gaze flitting to you. You froze under his scrutiny, feeling as though the floor might give way beneath you. His eyes moved past you into the house.  “Aren’t you going to invite us in?” Your father stepped forward, but Max immediately blocked his path, his stance rigid and unyielding.

“That’s not happening.” Max said through gritted teeth. “And neither is whatever scheme you’re planning. Now piss off will you.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into a sharper tone. “Listen here, boy—”

Max cut him off, stepping closer until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “No, you listen. I married your daughter. That’s the deal. How you get your investors is your problem, not ours. You don’t come here. You don’t ask us for anything.”

Your father’s eyes darted toward you again, making you whimper softly. The sound was barely audible, but Max caught it instantly. He shifted, positioning himself fully in front of you, effectively blocking you from view.

“Your daughter is mine. She’s my wife now. You gave her to me—your choice, your consequences,” Max growled. His words were deliberate, cutting.

Your father’s expression darkened as he leaned closer. “I can still expose your father.” He threatened.

Max’s gaze flickered to Jos for a moment before refocusing. He felt the faint tug on his shirt where your fingers clutched the fabric, trembling. Whatever hesitation he had vanished entirely.

“Then do it.” Max bit out, his voice cold and venomous. “Expose him. And when it all falls apart, you’ll suffer just as much as him.”

Without giving your father, a chance to respond, Max slammed the door in their faces.

The moment the latch clicked, your hand released his shirt, and you took a shaky step back. Max was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm himself.

“I’ll have to talk to security about keeping them out.” He muttered, his voice low.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, barely audible.

Max turned to you, his eyes softening despite himself. You were on the verge of tears, and it was written all over your face.

“It’s not your fault,” Max said, his tone gentler than you’d ever heard it before.

Before the tears could spill, you turned and hurried to your room. His cats trailed after you, their tails swishing curiously. Max stood there for a moment, staring after you, wondering when his pets had gotten so attached to you.

In your room, you curled up on the bed, pulling the covers tightly around you as emotions overwhelmed you. Seeing your father again stirred everything you had tried to suppress. This was the longest you’d ever been away from him. Even when he was on business trips, his presence loomed over you through cameras and speakers. If you stepped out of line, even slightly, his voice would thunder through the house, ensuring you never forgot he was watching.

No one had ever stepped up for you. The staff in your father’s home were emotionless, stoic—just following orders. No one had ever comforted you, protected you, or even looked at you with kindness.

But today, Max had stood up for you. Max, who barely tolerated your existence, had blocked your father and shielded you. Max who has no idea what kind of relationship you have with your father. Maybe it was out of anger or frustration with the situation, but it didn’t matter. For the first time, someone had been in your corner.

The realization hit you like a wave, and the tears came. You sobbed quietly, your body shaking under the covers. The loneliness is killing you, why are you even living, what do you do in your day, no one will miss you if you’re gone. You tried not to think such dark thoughts but times like this you couldn’t help it.

The cats jumped onto the bed, circling you. Sassy licked your face, her rough tongue brushing away some of the tears. You patted her head softly, whispering a thank-you under your breath. Maybe they’d miss you if you were gone.

The next morning, Max was by the door, bags packed for two weeks of racing. The apartment was eerily silent—something he usually didn’t mind. But after hearing you cry last night, the quiet felt heavy.

He’d paced in his room for hours, debating whether to check on you. Max might not like you, but he wasn’t heartless. He hated hearing anyone cry, especially women. When he finally decided to go to your door, the sobs had slowed, and he didn’t want to risk waking you.

Now, standing by the door, he hesitated again. Eventually, he knocked softly.

“I’m leaving now. I’ll be gone for two weeks.” He said, his voice awkward but trying.

There was silence for a moment before your muffled voice came through. “Okay. Thank you.” It cracked on the last syllable, heavy with sadness. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Max replied, lingering for a second before leaving. He didn’t know what else to say, but he couldn’t ignore the tightness in his chest.

Max had thought about you more than he’d like to admit. His thoughts kept drifting back to you, no matter how much he tried to push them away. He didn’t like you, he knew next to nothing about you. Yet, somehow, he felt much less dislike toward you now. The truth gnawed at him: he barely knew you. Still, he’d left you in his home with his cats and had lived with you for over a week before heading to the race.

For once, Max couldn’t wait to get home. He was the first out of the paddock, the first on the plane, and the first off it when they landed. By the time he walked into the house, it was nighttime. The air inside was cool and still, the lights turned off, and the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound.

Jimmy and Sassy came trotting out from somewhere, nuzzling into him in greeting. Max bent down to stroke them absently, his mind already drifting. He headed to the kitchen for a drink, opening the fridge. Frowning, he pulled out a bottle of water. Everything inside was exactly as he’d left it—nothing had changed. No empty shelves, no dishes used. The realization unsettled him.

Max closed the fridge and moved to the pantry, only to find the same: untouched, just as it had been before.

A strange thought crept in, and his chest tightened as he turned on his heel, heading to your room. Your door was slightly ajar, and alarm bells went off in his mind. You always kept it closed.

“Y/N?” He called softly, knocking lightly before pushing it open.

The room was eerily tidy. The bed was made with military precision, the same way his mother liked to do it. Nothing was out of place, nothing personal added. It was as if no one had lived in it at all. Max’s heartbeat quickened as panic set in. Where were you?

He searched the house—your bathroom, the laundry room, even his own bedroom. You weren’t there. Finally, he ended up in the living room, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration.

Jimmy meowed loudly, trotting toward the terrace door, which was slightly ajar. Max frowned and followed him, pushing the door open wider.

The sight stopped him in his tracks.

You were lying on the floor of the terrace, flat on your back, eyes closed. Sassy was curled up next to you, and Jimmy padded over to join her. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Max thought the worst.

“Y/N?” His voice wavered as he rushed over, dropping to his knees beside you. “Y/N?” He repeated, louder this time, hands hovering over you as though afraid to touch. “Are you okay?”

He shook you gently, then harder when you didn’t respond. “Y/N!”

Your eyes snapped open with a sharp gasp, and you bolted upright—right into Max’s forehead.

“Fuck!” He groaned, clutching his head as you did the same.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry!” You exclaimed, reaching for him instinctively. “I didn’t mean to—are you okay?”

Max glared at you, rubbing the sore spot. “I should be asking you that. Why the hell were you sleeping out here?”

You looked away, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I wanted to see the stars.”

“In your pyjamas? On the floor? It’s freezing, Y/N!” His exasperation was palpable, but there was a hint of something else beneath it—concern.

You bit your lip, nodding, wishing you could disappear. “I’m sorry.”

Max sighed heavily, standing and extending a hand to help you up. “Come inside before you get sick.”

In the kitchen, under the bright lights, Max finally got a good look at you. You looked exhausted—darker circles under your eyes than before, your frame thinner, your movements sluggish. He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something was deeply wrong.

“Here.” You placed an ice pack wrapped in a towel against his forehead, your fingers brushing his skin lightly. Max caught the faint scent of lavender and something softer, uniquely you.

“I’m fine,” He muttered, gently taking the ice pack from you. “But you should have one too.”

You hesitated before nodding, fetching another ice pack for yourself. As you pressed it to your own forehead with a quiet hiss, Max leaned against the counter, studying you.

“Why didn’t you eat any of the food in the fridge?” He asked suddenly.

Your eyes widened in panic. “I didn’t touch anything, I swear—” Your hands falling to your side brining the pack with you.

“Don’t put it down.” Your hands flew back up. “I know you didn’t,” Max interrupted, his tone softer now. “That’s the problem. What have you been eating?”

“I buy my own food.” You mumbled, looking anywhere but at him. Everything you do and say just confuses him more.

Max frowned. “And you don’t put it in the fridge?”

“I did.” You said quickly. “I just… ran out.”

His brow furrowed further. “You don’t eat anything from my food?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t want to intrude.”

Max stared at you, his chest tightening. “So, let me get this straight: you cooked meals for me, but you didn’t make anything for yourself because you didn’t want to use my food? Seriously, Y/N, what have you been eating?”

“Yeah.” You said it like it was obvious, you then hesitated. “I managed… Do you not want me to cook for you anymore?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Max sighed. “I’m saying you can cook yourself food while cooking for me.”

“But…” You trail off feeling embarrassed of what you have to say.

“What? Tell me.” Max said and you meet his eyes for a second before you look at the floor.

“Your food is expensive; I don’t have a lot of money.” You mumble and chew at your lip. Max stands there in silence, he knew your dad is going bankrupt but not enough to not have money.

“Your cards are empty?” Max asked, his tone a bit cold. It wasn’t directed or because of you, but the more he finds out about your dad the more agitated he gets.

“I uh, I don’t have a card.” You admit and put the ice pack on the counter, you try to escape the kitchen and this conversation.

“Wait.” You stop in your tracks and turn to face Max, knowing there’s no escaping this now. “What else are you hiding from me? How have you been paying for your food, and you went shopping on your first day?”

His eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced by your words, and your mind flashed back to that first week in Monaco, just after you arrived.

You had left the apartment, the weight of Max’s indifferent nod still heavy on your shoulders. Monaco was unfamiliar, but you’d lived in many countries—surely you could figure it out.

Walking into the first jewellery shop you found, you approached the counter with a timid smile. The attendant greeted you warmly.

Italic is French

“Bonjour, madame, how can I help you?”

You hesitated before asking, “Do you buy jewellery?”

The woman’s friendly smile faltered. “I’m sorry, madame. We don’t.”

“That’s alright, thank you.” You murmured, retreating quickly.

The next three shops were the same story, the polite rejections wearing away at your resolve. By the fourth, a kind attendant told you there weren’t any jewellery shops in the area that would buy second-hand pieces, but she gave you directions to one on the other side of the city.

Following her directions, you trudged through unfamiliar streets, the cobblestones cruel to your feet in towering heels. The mismatched outfit you got from Max, drawing unwanted attention and making the walk even more uncomfortable.

Finally, you reached the shop and stepped inside, relief washing over you.

“Bonjour, madame. How can I assist you?” The girl behind the counter asked with a professional smile.

“Do you buy jewellery?”

“Yes, we do. What are you looking to sell?”

You exhaled deeply, reaching up to remove the Tiffany Victoria stud earrings from your ears. “These.”

The girl’s eyes widened as she took them. “T-These?”

“Yes. Can you pay in cash?” This just got weirder for the girl, you bit your bottom lip, your smile is now gone. “Look, my-uh, my dad cut me off, I just need money to get by.”

The girl’s expression shifted from confusion to concern as she glanced at you. “Um… I’ll see what I can do. Please, sit down.”

You sank into a chair, your nerves fraying. you sat chewing on your nail bed, feeling nervous. When the girl returned, she wasn’t alone. A man accompanied her, likely the manager or owner.

“Ilaria tells me you want to sell these earrings.” He began, holding them up to inspect.

“Yes, please.”

His brow furrowed.

“Madame, these are worth over 27,000 Euros. Unfortunately, we don’t carry that much cash on hand.” You deflated, the man now knew what Ilaria was talking about, he feels bad for you, he glanced at your wedding ring and wonders what kind of husband you have that left you selling your belongings for money. “However, I can offer you 5,000 Euros immediately and pay the rest in instalments, or when the earrings sell. Does that work for you?”

You nodded, overwhelmed with gratitude. “Yes, that would be perfect. Thank you.”

The man typed up a quick agreement on his laptop, printing it out for you both to sign. With the cash in hand, you left the shop feeling lighter, though the weight of what you’d done lingered.

The thrift store you passed on the way had looked promising, but once inside, you realised even second-hand items in Monaco carried hefty price tags. Thinking over the money you have and what’s the priority.You focused on the essentials: four shirts, one pair of jeans, one pair of trousers, and two pyjamas. The total price had your eyes go wide. Shoes would have to wait—your heels would suffice for now.

On your walk back it was already afternoon, you didn’t have anything to eat yet. But that was alright because you were heading to a grocery store next.

The prices there were equally shocking, but you told yourself it didn’t matter—you didn’t eat much anyway. You picked up a few basics for the week and some fresh produce before heading to a shop for a few sets of underwear. Glancing at the money you have left when you paid had your heart clenching. Ordering online must be cheaper, if only you had a card.

By the time you returned to the apartment, your arms heavy with bags and your wallet considerably lighter, you knocked on the door, only to be met with silence. A second knock, then the doorbell, brought no response.

Your stomach dropped as you realised Max wasn’t home. Exhausted and hungry, you sank to the floor outside the door, rummaging through your grocery bag for a cucumber, eating it as you waited for your ‘husband’ to come back.

You waited until Max went to bed before you ventured into the kitchen to put away the food you’d bought. The rest, you stashed in your room. You didn’t want to inconvenience Max.

You were already using his bathroom products, which you assumed belonged to his mother or sister, but you tried to keep to yourself as much as possible.

The memory faded as Max’s voice brought you back to the present.

“How exactly did you manage?” He pressed, his eyes narrowing further.

Your shoulders sagged, and the words slipped out before you could stop them. “I sold my earrings.”

Max’s brow furrowed. “Your earrings?”

“They were worth twenty-seven thousand Euros.” You explained, your voice barely audible. “But they’re paying me in instalments, so it’s like I have a job. I didn’t realize how expensive Monaco is.”

He stared at you, unblinking, as the pieces began falling into place.

Max’s jaw clenched. “What about the clothes? I thought your dad sent your things.”

Your face fell, and you looked away. “I can’t wear what he sent me.”

“What do you mean?” Max asked, his voice gentler now. “Can you show me?”

You hesitated, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t letting this go. Wordlessly, you led him to your room and opened the walk-in closet, both your ice packs forgotten in the kitchen. Pulling out the suitcases your father had sent, your hand was on the zipper for a while.

“You don’t have to show me.” Max said feeling that all this is bigger than he initially thought.

“It’s fine, it’s not my things anyway.” You said and unzipped the first one and stepped back.

Max crouched down, pulling out the first item: it’s a very small and tight crop top, the shorts will all show your butt, the jeans had rips on the butt cheeks or were skintight, and it’s coming from him. shirts were sheer, necklines low, and skirts that barely covered anything. His frown deepened as he opened the second suitcase—heels in every colour, some taller than seemed practical. The final suitcase made his stomach turn. It was filled with lingerie, nothing else.

He closed it with a sharp snap and turned to look at you. You were standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, avoiding his gaze.

“I’ll take you shopping this week.” Max said firmly. “Or you can order whatever you want online. No arguments.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine, really. I the got basics and when I need more, I can sell the other jewellery I have—”

“No, next time you want clothes I’m getting them for you” Max interrupted, his tone leaving no room for debate. “You’re not selling anything else. The food in the fridge is for both of us.” You wanted to retort, but he just continued. “Both of us may have not wanted this, but I’m not having you starve or spend money you don’t have. You’re my responsibility now.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave, and your heart skipped a beat. Max Verstappen is the nicest man you have ever met. He looked so scary the first time you saw him and you dreaded living with him, but here he is, being the kindest soul, you have ever met. He won’t gain anything in return but he’s still nice, he’s kind. For the first time in a long while, you felt safe—truly safe. Tears prickled your eyes, but you blinked them back, nodding quietly.

“Okay?” Max asked, his gaze softening.

“Okay,” you whispered.

That night, the suitcases were left by the door for donation. Max watched as you retreated to your room, and he made a promise to himself to be more attentive, to keep an eye out for you.

That night, Max decided it was time to reach out to you. Hearing your quiet sobs and observing your timid behaviour had forced him to confront an uncomfortable truth: you weren’t the only one forced into this marriage. For you, it must be infinitely harder. He had his friends, his job, and the comfort of his own home. You had none of that.

The next morning, Max woke early, ordering food for the both of you before you could wake and make breakfast yourself. He wanted to catch you off guard and show a gesture of goodwill.

When you finally emerged from your room, the smell of freshly baked goods wafted through the apartment.

“Good morning. Max greeted, passing you as he carried plates to the dining table. “Come on, grab whatever you want, and let’s eat together.”

You paused, wide-eyed and uncertain, watching him retreat to the dining room. Your stomach growled loudly, betraying your hesitance. Without overthinking it, you reached for a croissant and followed him.

“Thank you.” You murmured, sitting across from him as you noticed the glass of orange juice already poured for you.

Max glanced up. “I’d like us to talk a little after breakfast.” He said, his tone calm.

You froze mid-bite, your stomach tightening as fear flickered across your face. “Talk?”

“Don’t worry.” He reassured, noting your reaction. “I just want to get to know you better.”

Relieved, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. But as you ate, your mind spun. What would he ask? You hadn’t spoken much about yourself to anyone before. The way you’d been raised didn’t leave much room for idle conversation or personal interests. You have been taught what to do for when you got married, but Max is unlike anything they’ve told you a husband will be like.

After finishing breakfast, the two of you moved to the living room. You sat stiffly, your back straight and your hands folded neatly in your lap. Max, sitting on the other end of the sofa, observed you with a faint smile.

“Relax.” He said lightly, leaning forward. “This isn’t an interrogation. I just thought we could set some boundaries or rules and figure out how to make this work for both of us.”

You nodded, unsure of what to expect. “Rules?” Rules you understood. You could follow rules.

“First.” Max began. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

You frowned slightly. “I like to cook.”

“That’s fine, then.” Max said quickly. “But it’s not something you have to do. Same with taking care of Jimmy and Sassy.”

Your frown deepened. “But then… what would I do?”

Max hesitated, realising how rigid your perspective was. “You can do whatever you want. What did you do before… you came here?”

“Well…” You paused, uncertain. “Dad had a schedule for me.”

“Schedule?” Max raised a brow. “Like, what kind of schedule?”

“I woke up at six, exercised for an hour, showered, then had classes until three. After lunch, I went to ballet for two hours, then a piano class for an hour and a half. Then I helped with dinner and went to bed.”

“Every day?” Max asked, his tone incredulous.

You nodded, smiling as though this was entirely normal. “The times changed sometimes, but… yes, since I was 12.”

“Fucking hell.” Max muttered, his jaw tightening. Memories of his own gruelling training sessions under his father’s watch flashed through his mind. The times he had to train for hours on end, walk home alone. But Max loved racing, he thrived in it. And unlike him, you didn’t seem to have any passion or choice in what you did.

Pushing his anger aside, Max decided to steer the conversation away from your father for now. “Why didn’t you buy more food while I was gone?”

“I don’t have a key.” You said simply, scratching nervously at your nail bed—a habit Max noticed for the first time.

“That’s on me.” He admitted. “I’ll get a key made for you.”

He paused, his gaze softening. “How much food do you usually eat?”

You shrugged, not giving it much thought. “Enough.”

“Are you full when you finish eating?”

Your voice was quiet. “Not always.”

Max’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening again. “Right. That’s it. I’m ordering more food.”

Despite your protests, Max ignored you, placing a large order with the determination to figure out what you liked. When the food arrived, you stared in disbelief at the sheer amount spread across the table.

“That’s too much.” You whispered, overwhelmed.

“Just eat,” Max said firmly.

At first, you hesitated, but the hunger gnawing at your stomach made you give in. Bite after bite, Max urged you to try different dishes. “This is amazing—taste it!” he’d insist, or “You’ll love this one.”

You tried to keep up, but the more you ate, the heavier the food sat in your stomach. Not eating a lot had shrunk your stomach, you get full fast, but it seemed like something Max is not accustomed to. When Max handed you another dessert to try, your body couldn’t take it anymore. Springing up, you rushed to the nearest bathroom and barely made it in time before throwing up.

Max was right behind you, holding your hair back as you emptied the contents of your stomach into the toilet. You finally sat back, trembling and exhausted, you flushed the toilet and washed your face and mouth. He handed you a towel to wipe your face.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded weakly.

“Was the food bad?”

You shook your head. “Too full.”

Max stared at you, dumbfounded. “Why didn’t you stop eating?”

“You told me to keep eating.” You said, looking at him through your lashes.

Max groaned, running a hand through his hair as the pieces fell into place. You asked him if you could go out the first day, you stayed in your room unless he asked you to come out or to make him food, you stop walking when he told you to, you’ve showed him your bags when he asked. You’ve been doing exactly what he’s been asking you to do without as much as a remark or hesitation. You haven’t left the house to get food because he didn’t tell you, you can leave. This is fucked. “You don’t need my permission to stop eating, or to do anything for that matter!”

“But my teacher said I should always ask you, I’m sorry that I sometimes do things without asking, but-“

“Stop.” His sharp tone made you fall silent immediately, he groans, he’s done it again. He sighed, softening his voice. “Rule number one: you don’t need to ask me for permission to live your life. You can do whatever you want. I’m your husband, not your… owner.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Max leaned forward, his eyes locking with yours. “You’re free, Y/N. You’re not under your father’s control anymore. You can pursue whatever makes you happy, go wherever you want. You’re free.”

Your lips trembled slightly as his words sank in. “A-Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Max said firmly, but his voice softened when he saw the fragile hope in your eyes. For a fleeting moment, it was as though a veil had been lifted. The small, hesitant smile on your face wasn’t much, but to him, it felt like a victory.

“I… I’ve never really thought about being free.” You admitted, your fingers twisting together in your lap. “There’s always been rules, schedules, expectations. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Max’s heart ached at your words. He had grown up under his father’s strict guidance, but at least he had racing—a dream to hold onto. But you? You hadn’t even been allowed the space to dream.

“Then start small,” Max said gently. “You don’t have to figure it all out today. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Your smile wavered as a question formed on your lips. “Why are you being so kind to me now?”

The question caught Max off guard, but he didn’t look away. “Because I’ve been an idiot.” he admitted. “I was so focused on how unfair this whole situation was for me that I didn’t stop to think about how much worse it must be for you. You’re here, in a place that’s completely unfamiliar, with someone you barely know.”

You blinked, your lashes fluttering as tears threatened to spill.

“And the more I think about it.” Max continued, his voice tinged with anger—not at you, but at the circumstances. “The more I realise how much you’ve been… controlled. By your father, by this arrangement. I can’t change the past, but I can make sure you don’t feel like that anymore. Not while you’re here with me.”

Your breath hitched, and a tear slipped down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly, embarrassed by your reaction. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Max said softly. “Just… promise me you’ll try. Try to let yourself live a little, yeah?”

“I can try.” You whispered.

He smiled, a genuine warmth in his expression that you hadn’t seen before. “Good. That’s all I’m asking for.”

For the rest of the evening, Max stayed close but didn’t push you further. He handed you the remote to the television and suggested you pick something to watch while he cleaned up the kitchen. At first, you stared at the remote like it was a foreign object, unsure if you were really allowed to make the choice.

When Max returned, he saw you had settled on a light-hearted comedy, though you looked almost guilty about it. He sat beside you on the sofa, keeping a respectful distance.

“Good choice.” He said, nodding at the screen. “I like this one.”

“Really?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah. It’s funny.” He glanced at you. “Do you not like it?”

“No, I do. I just… I’m not used to picking.”

Max’s chest tightened. He didn’t know whether to feel anger at the people who had conditioned you this way or frustration at himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Well, from now on, you can pick whatever you like.” He said with a small shrug, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

You nodded, a tiny but genuine smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

As the film played, Max stole a few glances at you. You didn’t laugh out loud at the jokes, but he could see the faintest quirk of your lips, the way your shoulders relaxed just slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was progress.

When the credits rolled, you turned to him, your expression a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. “Thank you, Max. For… everything today.”

He waved it off, leaning back against the cushions. “Don’t mention it. This is just the start, yeah?”

You nodded again, the hope in your eyes a little brighter this time. For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

The next day, you heard Max calling for Jimmy. His voice carried through the house with growing urgency. Curiosity tugged at you, so you stepped out of your room to see what was going on.

“Have you seen Jimmy?” Max asked as soon as he spotted you in the hallway.

You shook your head. “No, I haven’t.”

“Strange, he never wanders off too far. Let’s check around the house.” Max suggested.

You nodded, and the two of you began searching every nook and cranny. As you walked past one of the guest rooms, you stopped and tugged at the handle of the door. It didn’t budge.

“I can’t open this door.” you called out to Max, who quickly came over.

He gave the handle a firm tug but had no more luck than you. “It’s locked from the inside.” He muttered, pressing his ear to the door. That’s when you both heard it—a muffled, distressed meow.

“I think Jimmy locked himself in.” You said, your voice tinged with concern. “What are we going to do?”

Max frowned, considering his options. “Let’s look it up on YouTube.” He said, pulling out his phone.

The two of you stood shoulder to shoulder, watching a video tutorial on unlocking a door without a key. The longer the video played, the more your frown deepened.

“This looks complicated.” You said, glancing up at Max, who seemed equally dubious.

“Yeah, it does.” He admitted before disappearing down the hallway. Moments later, he returned—with a hammer.

“You’re going to break the door down?” You asked, your eyes wide in disbelief.

“What other option do we have?” Max countered, already sizing up the door as though it were a rival on the track.

Before you could argue, he raised the hammer and brought it down with a loud bang. You flinched at the sound, your astonishment quickly turning to amusement. Holding Max’s phone in your hands, an idea struck you.

As Max continued to hack away at the door—his small hammer looking almost comically inadequate against the solid wood—you began recording. The absurdity of the scene combined with Max’s intense focus had you giggling quietly.

Max paused mid-swing, glancing over his shoulder when he heard your laughter. He smiled to himself. The sound was soft and delicate, like something fragile coming back to life. He decided then and there he wanted to hear it more often.

Finally, after several minutes of determined hammering, Max managed to break a hole large enough to reach through and unlock the door. As soon as the door creaked open, Jimmy bolted out of the room like his tail was on fire, his fur puffed up and his eyes wild with panic.

“That was… something.” Max said, running a hand through his hair as he headed to the kitchen. He set the hammer down on the counter and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, taking a long sip.

You followed him into the kitchen, your focus still on the phone. The video you’d taken was playing, and a smile tugged at your lips as you watched Max’s determined hammer-wielding.

Max turned to you, noticing your amusement. “I want to give you, my number.” He said suddenly, his tone casual despite the faint flush creeping up his ears.

“Hmm?” You hummed, looking up from the phone.

“My number.” Max repeated, shifting slightly, the tips of his ears went red. “In case something happens, besides you’re married now. You should have each other’s numbers at least.”

“Oh.” You said, handing his phone back to him. “I don’t have a phone.”

Max froze, staring at you like you’d just announced you didn’t believe in electricity.

“You don’t have a phone?” He asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

You shook your head. “No. My dad said it was a waste of time and that it was better for me to focus on my training. He said it was for my protection… from guys online.” You shrugged, your tone casual as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

Max set his water bottle down with a heavy thud, his jaw tightening. “I hate that man more every day.” He muttered under his breath.

You blinked at his reaction, confused by the intensity in his voice. “It’s not that big of a deal.” You said, brushing it off.

“It is.” Max said firmly. “You’re getting a phone tomorrow.”

You opened your mouth to protest but stopped yourself. The truth was, you’d always secretly wanted a phone. It had seemed like a symbol of freedom—something you never had. And now, Max was offering to get you one without you even asking.

“Okay.” You said softly, a small grin spreading across your face.

Max noticed and couldn’t help but smile in return. He picked up his water bottle and took another sip, his chest filling with quiet satisfaction.

Just then, Jimmy sauntered into the kitchen as if nothing had happened, his tail held high and his expression one of utter nonchalance.

“Look at that troublemaker.” Max said with a chuckle, watching as Jimmy headed straight for his water bowl. “Acting like he didn’t just give us a heart attack.”

You laughed again, and Max found himself smiling even wider. Yes, he decided. He would make sure you laughed more often—no matter what it took.

The next morning, you make breakfast for both you and Max. It’s a quiet meal, shared in comfortable silence, before you both retreat to your rooms to finish getting ready. Dressed in one of the shirts and jeans you bought, you hold your heels in your hands as you head to the door. Slipping them on, you wince slightly as the straps press against the tender skin at the back of your feet. Max steps out shortly after, and together you leave the penthouse.

The car ride is tranquil, with you staring out the window for a while before glancing around.

“I like this car.” You say softly, running your fingers over the leather seat. Max smiles, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. He’s driving the same Aston Martin today, saving the Valkyrie for another time. It gets him too much attention.

“Can you drive?” Max asks after a moment, glancing at you.

Your cheeks flush. “No.”

He hums thoughtfully. “We’ll have to change that.” There’s a note of determination in his voice. He’s a Formula 1 world champion; his wife will know how to drive. “You do want to learn, right?”

“Yes. Maybe not in a supercar, but yes.” You admit with a small smile. Another form of freedom you’d been denied. Another gift Max wanted to give you.

“We’ll start with a sedan.” He says, already planning out the details in his mind.

At the Apple Store, Max leads you inside, where you both gravitate toward a display of phones.

“What colour do you want?” He asks, standing close beside you. After a moment of contemplation, you tell him your favourite. Max nods, relaying the choice to a sales assistant, and adds a laptop, iPad, mouse, earbuds, earphones, and a phone case to the list.

“That’s too much.” You whisper, leaning toward him.

Max takes your hand gently, and you freeze, startled by the unexpected intimacy. His gaze is steady, his voice low so only you can hear. “It’s not too much. I want to give you everything you weren’t allowed to have.” His thumb brushes over your wedding ring, and his lips curve into a soft smile. “This is just the beginning.”

Reluctantly, you let him take the lead, wandering around the store as Max finalises the purchases. But after a while, your feet begin to ache, and you take a seat in one of the chairs near the display laptops. The relief is immediate, but you can feel the cut on your heel reopening.

From across the store, Max notices you frown as you touch your foot. His sharp eyes take in the subtle signs of discomfort, and when he sees you sigh, he excuses himself from the cashier. He walks over, carrying the bags, just as you look up and smile at him—a real smile, one that lights up your face.

It stops him in his tracks. For the first time, Max feels the warmth of your happiness directed at him, and he’s momentarily stunned. But as you stand, he notices the slight wince and follows your gaze. His eyes fall to your feet, he can’t see anything. He makes you walk in front of him and then he sees it, the backs of your feet are red and bleeding.

“Y/n.” He says his voice a mix of concern and frustration. You glance at him, confused, until you notice where he’s looking.

“Max.” you murmur softly, instinctively stepping to the side.

“Take them off.” He says through gritted teeth, crouching beside you.

Your cheeks burn as you look around the store, worried about the eyes on you both. “Max—”

“You’re in pain. Take them off.” He insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. When you hesitate, Max gently sets the bags down and reaches for your foot.

“Max!” You protest, placing your hands on his shoulders to stop him. He looks up at you, his eyes blazing with determination, and your resolve crumbles. Slowly, you step out of one heel, using his shoulder for balance, and then the other. The relief is instant.

Max clenches his jaw as he examines the heels. They look pristine on the outside, but the insides are stained with blood—both fresh and old. His chest tightens.

Standing, he towers over you, the anger in his eyes sharp enough to make you step back. “Do you even like wearing heels?” He asks, his voice tense. You shake your head, unsure how to answer.

“Not really.” You admit quietly.

“Damn it, y/n!” Max’s voice rises slightly, and you flinch, your heart was beating hard in your chest. He freezes, his frustration giving way to dread as he sees you retreat. You’re scared. Not of the world champion standing before you, but of what he represented—a shadow of your past. Gone the smile you had when you saw him, you’re frowning, trying to be in control of your feeling and reactions.

“Y/n—” You turn abruptly, walking away on bare feet, your steps hurried. “Wait!” Max calls after you, and you freeze in place. “Fuck.”

Max hates himself so much right now. Tears threatening to spill from your eyes as he approaches you. He’s taken so many steps towards making you comfortable and here he’s undone most of them. Max leaves the bags and heels and walks up to you, he takes your hand in his and pulls you out of the store. He quickly finds a hidden spot way from praying eyes and ears. When he finally faces you, he sees the tears in your eyes and wobbling lips. “Shit, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” Tears leave your eyes, and Max feels himself tearing up, he messed up, he messed up really bad.

“I didn’t mean to be angry at you, I’m sorry.” He says, his voice breaking. “I’m just angry about how you were treated, I want you to be happy, I want to make your life easier. I’m angry at how no one cared enough to stop it. But I rushed you, and that’s on me.” Max stops for a second, you’re not looking at him. “That’s a lot of I’s, I was selfish, I thought about how I wanted you to feel and now how you wanted to take things, I rushed you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I remind you of him.” His voice cracks.

A sob escapes your lips, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning into him. Max wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you as you cry. For the first time, you’re not crying alone, you weren’t hugging and comforting yourself. He doesn’t try to shush you or pull away. He just holds you.

Max may have caused you to cry, but he didn’t leave you to cry, he came after you and apologised. You know that as much as everything he’s doing is new to you, it’s also new to him. Every day you’re realising that you’re not normal, that what you went through isn’t normal.

“When you’re ready.” Max murmurs into your hair. “I’d like to know everything. Everything your dad did to you.” You shake your head, and though it pains him, Max doesn’t push. “When you’re ready.” he repeats.

You don’t know how long you stay there, shielded by his embrace, Max just holds you, hiding your face from the world, giving you the comfort you need. When you finally pull away, Max wipes the tears from your cheeks.

“Let’s go home.” He says softly, crouching to untie his shoes and place them in front of you.

“Max, you don’t have to—” You begin your voice is ever soft, clearly you’re exhausted..

“Humour me.” He insists with a small smile. You nod, sliding your feet into the oversized shoes as Max ties the laces snugly.

At the car, you slip in and Max turns on the car before he jogs back to the store to grab the bags but returns empty-handed when it comes to your heels. He tosses them in a nearby bin, not wanting their memory to linger.

The drive back is quiet. Both of you are lost in thought, but the silence is no longer uncomfortable. It’s reflective.

The car ride back is heavy with unspoken thoughts. You’re lost in the moment you flinched and stepped away from Max. He hadn’t even raised his voice by much, his hands remained by his sides, yet you flinched. Scared.

You didn’t want to feel scared. You knew, deep down, that there was no reason to be scared. Max cares. He’s shown you more kindness and humility than anyone else in your life, even during the days when he ignored your existence.

For Max, the silence in the car speaks volumes. He’s seen his share of abuse—read about it, watched it unfold in the media—but now, sitting beside you, he’s realising the extent of your mistreatment. It wasn’t just mental or emotional. It was physical, too.

The quiet lingers as you both walk into the penthouse. Max turns to you, his expression soft.

“You can get changed, and we’ll set up your devices,” he says.

You nod and retreat to your room, shedding the thrift store clothes for your pyjamas. The soft fabric feels like a balm after the day’s events.

When you return to the living room, Max has unpacked everything from the bags. He looks up at you, his expression warm.

“I wanted you to open the boxes.” He says, his voice almost shy. He knows the joy of opening something new, especially something you’ve wanted for so long. He wonders if you’ve ever had that experience. Sitting beside him on the sofa, you tuck your legs under you. “Where do you want to start?”

“The phone?” You suggest.

Max grins, handing you the box. You unwrap it, excitement bubbling in your chest. He guides you through setting it up, letting you explore while he works on the laptop. He’s already created an email for you, logging into everything you might need.

His number is the only contact in your phone, and you ask him to transfer the video of him breaking the door. He obliges with a faint chuckle.

“Max?” You ask hesitantly, looking up from the screen.

He hums in response, glancing over.

“Is there an app for Formula 1?”

His brow arches. “Yes. Why?”

“So, I can know when you’re racing.” You admit shyly, holding out your phone. Max’s smile softens as he opens the App Store. “Now I can also look up anything I didn’t understand from watching last time.”

“You watched the race?” This is news to max; he had no idea you watched the last two races. It’s something you’ve done on his smart TV but didn’t want him to know at first thinking he’d be angry.

“I didn’t.” Max admits. “Did you enjoy it?”

Your smile grows, and it feels like the first time Max has seen you truly at ease. “It was fun. I didn’t understand everything, but you came first both times.”

The pride in your voice makes his chest swell. “Well, now you can text me if you don’t understand something. After the race, I’ll explain everything.”

As the day unfolds, you grow more comfortable beside him on the sofa. Max helps you connect everything to your phone, downloading apps like Netflix and upgrading his Spotify to a duo plan. At some point, he broaches another idea.

“Can I order you some shoes?”

You glance up from your phone, hesitant. “Just one or two.” You say.

Max nods with a smile, but later, as he sits with his laptop, he realises he has no idea where to start. He’s never shopped for women’s shoes before. After a moment, he glances at you.

“Do you mind if I invite some friends tomorrow?”

You blink, surprised. “It’s your house. You can do whatever you want.”

“And you live here too.” Max counters gently. He sends a quick text before adding. “Let’s watch a film.”

You pick a random movie, and as night falls, the weight of the day catches up with you. The popcorn bowl between you grow forgotten as your eyes drift shut. At one point your eyes snap shut and don’t open again your head eventually tilts to the side, landing on Max’s shoulder.

Startled, Max glances down. For a moment, he freezes, unsure what to do. Your soft breathing fans his neck. Max tried not to move much but get you in a comfortable position, you groaned when he moved and buried your face into his shoulder. Max’s arm was in the air, he didn’t know what to do. When you moved closer, he placed his arm around your shoulder. That settled you down and he relaxes.

By the time the credits roll, Max thought it’s best to get you to bed. Carefully, he moves, trying not to wake you. He slides from under you, laying you down on the sofa before scooping you into his arms.

In your room, Max pulls back the covers and places you on the bed, tucking you in as you mumble incoherently. Jimmy jumps up onto the bed, curling up beside you. Max lingers for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

For the first time, you look peaceful. Truly relaxed.           

Max opened the lamp by the bed, casting a soft glow in the room, Jimmy jumped on the bed and curled into himself to fall asleep. Max took you in, he’s never seen you so relaxed before, so at peace. He wonders if it’s the only time you truly relax. Instinctively he pushes a few strands form your face. You sigh. With a soft smile Max turns off the lamp and leaves your room.

That night, Sassy sleeps in his bed, as if the cats have decided to split their time between you both, keeping you company in their own way.

The next day, around noon, Max’s friends arrived. You weren’t sure what to expect, but stepping out of your room, you froze when you saw the familiar face of the Ferrari driver who had been racing against Max last week.

“Hi, I’m Charles.” He introduced himself warmly, leaning in for the traditional Monaco greeting. You exchanged a quick press of the cheeks before your gaze shifted to the woman standing beside him. She was stunning, elegant, and radiated a warmth that put you slightly at ease.

“I’m Alexandra, but you can call me Alex.” She said, extending her hand. You repeated the greeting and introduced yourself.

“I’m y/n.”

Both of them noticed the rings adorning your left hand but didn’t comment. You’d noticed that Max wasn’t wearing his, though you hadn’t commented on.

The four of you moved into the living room, and you instinctively sat beside Max. His presence anchored you, offering a sense of security in the unfamiliar social situation. For a while, the conversation flowed lightly until Max and Charles excused themselves, heading to the balcony. You hesitated, but Alex smiled, clearly sensing your nervousness.

 “How long have you been in Monaco?” She said kindly.

You thought for a moment. “About a month.”

“That’s still pretty new! I’m guessing you don’t have many friends here yet?”

You shook your head.

“Well…” Alex said with a mischievous grin, “I’ve been looking for a new shopping partner. Maybe you’d like to join me sometime?”

Your cheeks warmed. “I’m not very good at shopping.” You admitted, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve.

“That’s okay! We can figure it out together.” She reassured you before pulling out her phone. “Here, let me get your number.”

She tapped it into her contacts, and you found yourself relaxing slightly. Alex didn’t press you with questions about yourself, instead sharing light anecdotes about her life. At one point, she showed you a picture on her phone—a beautiful painting that immediately drew your attention.

“That’s gorgeous.” You said, leaning closer. “It looks so calm and peaceful.”

“It’s by Claude Monet, part of his Water Lilies series,” Alex explained, watching your expression soften. “Do you like art?”

You hesitated, a small smile forming. “I do. I always wanted to study it.”

Alex’s eyes lit up. “Really? I went to art school! I’d love to talk more about it with you.”

Excitedly, you leaned in as Alex recounted her studies and experiences. You felt a spark of joy in the conversation, a rare moment of connection that felt genuine. When Max and Charles returned, you and Alex were laughing at one of her stories.

“What’s so funny?” Charles asked, sitting beside Alex and kissing her cheek.

“Oh, I was just telling y/n about my old art professor.” Alex replied. She turned to Max, her smile widening. “Did you know she loves art?”

Max’s gaze shifted to you, his expression softening. “You do?”

You nodded shyly.

“She wanted to study it.” Alex added, and you saw the flicker of recognition in Max’s eyes as he took that in.

“Do you guys want to go out to eat?” Charles asked, your eyes snapped to Max’s you don’t have any shoes. But before you could panic, Alex chimed in.

“Why don’t we order in instead? It’s cozier that way.”

You shot her a grateful look, and she winked.

Lunch was lively, Charles regaling you all with stories from his and Max’s childhood. You found yourself laughing more than you had in years, and Max couldn’t take his eyes off you. The sound of your laughter, the way your face lit up—it was like watching a new side of you emerge, you leaned towards him when you laughed.

Charles isn’t stupid he knew Max cared for you, even if he didn’t know exactly what’s going on. He’s known Max since they were kids, there’s something between the two of you.

“You should come to a race sometime.” Alex said casually.

You glanced at Max, who raised an eyebrow as if to say it was entirely your decision.

“Maybe.” You said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “If you’ll be there.”

Alex clapped her hands in delight. “Of course, I will! It’ll be so much fun.”

After Charles and Alex left, you helped Max clean up, the two of you working quietly in sync.

“How was it?” He asked, his tone careful.

“They were nice,” you said with a soft smile. “I had fun.” Max relaxed slightly, but then your smile faltered. “I’ve never had friends who weren’t chosen by my dad.”

You didn’t elaborate, but the weight of your words hung in the air. Max didn’t press, giving you space to share only what you were ready to.

Once the kitchen was tidy, you leaned against the counter, watching Max move about. He glanced at you curiously.

“What?”

“Thank you.” You said quietly.

“For what?”

“For everything.” You said, your voice trembling slightly. “For telling Charles and Alex what I needed without saying anything personal.” You tell him and glance at the floor before you look up again, your eyes meeting his. “Thank you for being the kindest person I ever met.”

Max froze. “I wasn’t kind at first.” he murmured, guilt flickering in his eyes.

You shook your head. “Even then, you cared more than anyone else ever did.” Your voice broke. “I know you didn’t want this,  I know that my dad forced you into it. And you didn’t have to be nice to me, but I’ve been alone for so many years.” A tear slipped down your cheek. Max was in front of you in an instant, his hands gently cupping your face. He wiped the tear away, his eyes locked on yours. “My sister…” you whispered, Max frowns he had no idea you have a sister. “She turned eighteen and left. I was nine. She never called, never sent anything. And my mum died giving birth to me, and after that... it was just my dad.” Your voice cracked as more tears fell. “No one ever asked what I wanted or cared if I was okay. As long as I did well in school, no one cared.”

Max’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning with an unspoken rage. But he buried it, focusing instead on you. Still holding your face, and your eyes not wavering away from each other, Max leans over and places his lips softly on your forehead.

“I promise you’ll never feel like that again.” He whispered against your skin. “I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

You let out a shaky breath and leaned into his chest, letting him hold you. For the first time, you felt like you could let go of the weight you’d been carrying for so long.

When you finally pulled back, Max smiled softly, and you returned it, the moment settling between you like a quiet promise.

It was a quiet Sunday morning with no race this week. You and Max had just finished breakfast—something simple, part of the diet routine his trainer had him on. You were following his plan, eating smaller portions, and Max had noticed you snacking more these days, which made him happy. After everything that had happened, he wasn't pushing you to eat more than you wanted.

Max sat back with his tea, scrolling through his phone when it rang. The number was familiar—it was his mum.

Bold is Dutch

"Hey, Mum."

"Hey, honey, I just got off the phone with your dad." Sophie’s voice sounded tense, and Max tensed instinctively, already sensing where this conversation was going.

"Yeah?" Max asked, trying to sound casual.

"He told me something weird… he said… he said you got married." There was a long pause, and Sophie didn't give him time to run around it. "Max, is this true?"

Max cursed under his breath, closing his eyes. The silence dragged on.

"Look, Mum, it’s hard to explain." Max began, but Sophie wasn’t having it.

"Hard to explain? Max, did you get married? Yes, or no?" Her voice was sharp now, demanding an answer. Max rubbed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

"Yes." He admitted.

"And you didn’t think to tell us? Who did you even marry? What the hell have you gotten yourself into? Is she pregnant or something?" Sophie’s voice cracked with worry. Max could hear the disbelief in her words. His mother wasn’t the type to overreact, but this was too much.

"Mum, calm down." Max sat up straighter, his voice calming. "Look, Dad signed a contract years ago, and if it ever gets out, he could be sent to prison. The man who signed it made me marry his daughter to keep everything quiet."

"What the fuck is wrong with your father?" Sophie wasn’t expecting Max to have an answer to that. "You can’t get out of it?"

"No, I couldn’t." Max’s voice was steady but firm.

"Is she living with you?" Sophie asked, her worry turning into concern for Max’s well-being.

"Yes." Max's voice softened slightly.

"Mum, be careful. I don’t know her, but she could be the one who asked her dad to do this. You can never be too sure with people like that."

Max paused, a flicker of protectiveness for you rising in him. "Mum, she’s not like that."

There was silence on the other end of the line as Sophie processed his words. Max felt the weight of her judgment shift. He had to convince her of this, for you.

"She’s nice. Quiet. Really beautiful. And she’s nothing like her dad. If anything, I’m just happy she’s away from him."

Sophie was silent, the tension hanging thick. She wasn’t used to hearing her son speak so openly about someone like this. "

"You like her." She said, the words not quite a question but more of a realization.

Max let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. "I do." And for the first time he’s said it out loud.

“I want to meet her.” Sophie said, her voice firm but not unkind. She’ll cast all judgment to the side until she met you.

“I’ll talk to her.” Max promised, knowing it was important for you to decide if and when you felt comfortable with meeting his family.

After the call ended, Max sat there for a moment, gathering his thoughts before heading back to you.

“y/n.” Max called as he entered the room. You looked up from the iPad, where you’d been experimenting with ProCreate.

"In two weeks, it’s the Dutch Grand Prix. Do you want to come with me?"

You raised an eyebrow, a little hesitant. "Will Alex be there?"

Max smiled, the corner of his lips twitching.

"I don’t know, but my mum and sister will be, and my mum wants to meet you." You bit your bottom lip, a nervous habit you’d picked up, and started scratching at your nail bed. "You don’t have to come if it’s too much."

"No, it’s okay… do they know?" You asked, hesitant but curious.

Max nodded. "Yeah. I don’t know about Victoria, but Mum wants to meet you first before anything." He gave a small, reassuring smile. “I know it’s a lot. You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready."

You nodded slowly, but the nerves were already starting to bubble in your stomach, your mind started overthinking every possible scenario that could happen. "I don’t know… what if they don’t like me?"

Max’s voice softened, a hint of concern crossing his face. "Don’t do that." He said gently, cupping your face. "Don’t get lost in your thoughts."

You sighed, your shoulders sinking a little. "I just…"

"Show me what you’ve done." Max said, cutting through your train of thought. He gently nudged you aside and sat next to you on the couch.

You hesitated before showing him your drawing on the iPad. Max leaned in, studying the strokes and lines you’d created. He didn’t know much about art, but the smile on his face said everything. To him, it looked good.

He turned to you, eyes soft. "It’s great. You’re really talented."

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest at his compliment.

He’s been talking with Alex for help, he’s getting you a good starter kit, different mediums and everything until you find what you like. Max has another an empty bedroom, where his sim was supposed to go, before he sat it up in the living room, he can convert it to your studio. He was making sure you had everything you needed to thrive.

"Will you come to the next race with me?" Max asked softly. "Just so you can see everything before you meet my mum and sister. It’ll be nice to have you there."

You agreed to go with him to the next two weeks, first stop was Hungary and then it was the Netherlands.

Alex would be there as well, and that eased your nerves a little, knowing you’d have someone else you were comfortable with.

Max also made sure you had some new clothes, a few more pairs of shoes—something that made him happy. You’d ordered them online, and he was genuinely excited to see you enjoy these little things.

While packing, Max’s eyes fell on the wedding band he’d taken off and placed on his bedside table. It had been there ever since, untouched. Without thinking much about it, he slipped it into his luggage.

The atmosphere of the paddock was nothing like you’d expected—it was electric, buzzing with activity. Alex made sure to meet up with you once the drivers had to go in for media duties. She showed you around, introducing you to the other WAGs, who were all genuine and easy to talk to.

Lilly showed you TikTok, and you downloaded the app instantly, amused by how much you were missing out. The girls didn’t pry into your relationship with Max. They accepted you for who you were—just a friend of Max, now Alex’s as well.

The weekend was enjoyable, thanks to them. You watched the race from the Red Bull garage, chatting with Max between sessions. Some photos were snapped, but no one really knew who you were. Your anonymity remained intact, despite the rumours circulating about you and Max.

Max kept an eye on the gossip online. He didn’t care about the usual scrutiny, but his family was off-limits. No one had asked for his life to be under a microscope. And now, you were part of his family. You shared his name.

That thought made something in Max shift. He felt a deep sense of possessiveness, pride even, that you had his last name. The primal part of him loved that you were his, and that realization struck him late that night. He wasn’t just liking you anymore—he was falling for you. Fast.

But Max wasn’t used to slow. He liked things fast, hard, and with determination. He knew what he wanted, and now that he had you, he would do whatever it took to keep you.

Usually, Max flies with his friends from race to race on his private jet, but since he’s bringing you this time, it’s just the two of you.

“How was the race weekend?” Max asked, eager to hear your thoughts.

“It was a lot.” You admitted, and his heart sank a little. He wanted you to enjoy it and wondered if he should’ve asked if you wanted to go in the first place. “But I enjoyed it. It was different from seeing it on TV. Also, the girls were all very nice. I’ve never been to something like this before. I wanted to see you win, though.”

“Maybe next time.” Max chuckled softly before adding, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

You and Max arrived in the Netherlands on Monday. The first two days, you’ll stay at his mum’s house, and then he’ll move to a hotel closer to the track. Your nail beds were raw from all the scratching you were doing, a nervous habit you couldn’t seem to shake.

In the car, Max took your hand in his, gently running his fingers over the red and irritated areas. You glanced at him, expecting a question or a comment, but he remained focused on your hand, his touch warm and soothing. Your heart raced, a blush creeping up your cheeks as his attention left you feeling giddy. No guy had ever held your hand before.

Your mind wandered. Every small thing Max did made you question whether it was all platonic or if he had feelings for you. You couldn’t deny that you had feelings for him. Every time he was near, your heart skipped a beat, and you felt weightless.

When you arrived at his mum’s house, his mum and sister were already at the door, waiting. As you both walked up, pulling your luggage behind you, Max greeted Sophie with a warm hug. Victoria waited her turn before stepping in for her own hug.

After they let Max go, Sophie turned to you with a kind smile. “Hi, I’m Sophie,” she said.

You smiled timidly and offered your hand. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

She shook your hand warmly before Victoria followed suit.

“Let’s go inside,” Sophie said, leading the way.

Max lingered for a moment, his eyes meeting yours as if silently asking if you were okay. You gave him a small smile, and the two of you followed them inside.

Once inside, you placed your bags next to Max’s and joined them in the living room. Max gestured for you to sit next to him on the couch, while Sophie and Victoria settled across from you. It felt like an interview, the kind where every word mattered.

Sophie broke the silence first. “Tell us a little about yourself, y/n. Max hasn’t said much.”

Your fingers unconsciously returned to scratching. “I-uh, what do you want to know?”

Sophie gave you a reassuring smile. “Where did you grow up?”

“Oh, we moved a lot. I was last in Switzerland, but before that, we lived in the UK, Spain, and Germany for a while.”

“It must’ve been hard moving countries and losing your friends.” Victoria said sympathetically.

You shrugged. “It’s alright. I learnt many languages.” You dismiss their concerns, you’ve never had much of friends in the first place, so moving wasn’t hard on you in that aspect.

“Oh? How many do you know?” Sophie asked, intrigued.

“German, Spanish, French, a bit of Italian, and some Dutch.”

“You know Dutch?” Max asked, clearly surprised.

You smiled genuinely for the first time since sitting down. “Yeah, not fluently, but enough. It’s a little similar to German and French.”

“That’s impressive.” Sophie said.

“Thank you.” You replied, brushing off the compliment.

“Did you watch Formula 1 before meeting Max?” Sophie asked.

“No. I had no idea about it until… Max.” You hesitated, unsure how much to share.

“What are your socials? I want to follow you.” Victoria said, pulling out her phone.

“I don’t have any.” Your fingers returned to scratching. They both looked at Max, who nodded in confirmation. You added quietly. “Didn’t have a phone until Max got me one.”

“Really?” Victoria’s shock was evident.

“Your mother was okay with this?” Sophie asked, her voice softer now. She would never leave her daughter without a phone in case something happened to her, and she needed help. Even if just an old phone or limit access to internet, but not having a phone is bazaar. Your nail digs into your skin.

Max glanced at you, his concern growing as he noticed your nails digging into your skin. Without a word, he took your hand in his again.

“I think maybe we should rest first.” Max says wanting to get you out of this situation.

“It’s alright.” You squeeze his hand, Max is closer to you now, your hand in his on his thigh. You give him the smallest of smiles, before turning to his family. “My mum died giving birth to me.”

“And your siblings?” Sophie asked hesitantly.

“Ran away when she turned 18.” You said matter-of-factly. “I know you’re just looking out for Max, but I would never hurt him. I only want the best for him.”

Sophie softened. “Thank you.” She said with a small smile.

Later that night, you were in one of the spare rooms, dressed in your pyjamas, staring out of the window when Max knocked on the door.

“Come in.” You called.

Max stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright.” You replied simply.

“They weren’t too much, were they?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“No, they love you.”

“They do.” Max paused, guilt creeping in. Even with his rough childhood, he’d had his mum and sister. You’d had no one.

“Don’t do that,” you said, raising a hand to smooth the furrow between his brows.

“Do what?” He took your hand from his face into his. He studies your hand, making sure there’s no more cuts on them.

“Feel guilty. Hate that you had a better life than me.” You said softly. “We’ve both had rough childhoods, but we’re here now.”

“We’re here now.” Max repeated, his voice heavy with emotion. For a moment, silence filled the room until you broke it.

“You know I’ve suffered all types of abuse from my dad.” Max’s grip on your hand tightened, his jaw clenching. “When I wouldn’t do what he wanted or got less than perfect on tests, he’d pull me by my hair. He loved seeing me stumble, dragging me around like I was nothing. Sometimes he hit me, but never hard enough to leave permanent marks. When my sister escaped, he made sure I couldn’t. He couldn’t break her, so he broke me.”

“He didn’t break you.” Max said firmly. You looked at him, your eyes hollow. “He didn’t. You’re here. You’re strong. You’re not following his rules anymore. You have a phone, you wear what you want, and you’re living your life. If he broke you, you wouldn’t have any of that.”

“All of that is because of you.” You countered. “You made me do all that.”

“No, you let me help you, you let me do all those things for you.” Max wanted you to understand how strong you are, how brave you are. “Someone else would’ve still ben in that shell, they’d still be afraid. Are you scared?”

“Not when I’m with you.” You admitted.

“And I’m not going anywhere.” Max whispers and you lean over and hug him. Something that you have come to love. You may have not experienced a lot of hugs in your life, but Max’s hugs are your favourite. There can never be a hug like his, a hug that makes you warm, feel protected, safe a hug that feels like home. Max waits until you pull away, his fingertips come up to your face and push the stray hairs out of your face. Your eyes locked in an intense gaze. After what feels like forever Max lets out a breath, he leans over and presses his lips to your forehead, before he bids you good night.

That night you dream of him; you dream of what it would be like being in a real relationship with Max. And you wake up wishing it was the truth; you wake up wishing that you were really with him.

Max wanted nothing but to find your dad and beat him up, who treats their daughters like this. How can he be human? He should be locked up. It took everything in him not to track him down, when you told him, and just end him. Just so he wouldn’t breathe the same air you breath, so he wouldn’t walk the same earth you’re walking. Max had to remind himself that you’re with him now, that your father won’t get to you. He gave you to Max and now you belong to him. And so, he planned.

The next few days felt surreal, almost as if you had stepped into a different life. Whether at her home or in the paddock, you spent most of your time with Sophie and Victoria, getting to know them in a more natural way. Victoria introduced you to her children and her partner, who seemed to warm up to you quickly. Their acceptance gave you a quiet sense of relief—you were finally starting to feel like part of something good.

On Media Day, you managed to catch up with Alex and the girls, who urged you to sign up for Instagram, even if you didn’t plan on posting anything. Their light-hearted teasing helped you relax, even if you weren’t ready to make that leap just yet.

Every night, Max ensured that you all ate together as a family. He was quietly thrilled by how easily you fit in, your laughter blending seamlessly with theirs. To him, it was a sign of hope, something he hadn’t realised he was holding on to so tightly.

But you were completely oblivious to the plan Max had set in motion after your heart-to-heart. Behind the scenes, he was orchestrating an end to your father’s influence. He wanted it done discreetly, leaving no room for you to suspect or feel burdened by it.

The energy in the paddock was electric as Quali Day unfolded, Max securing pole position in a thrilling comeback. You had been watching from the garage with Sophie, who nudged you playfully when you cheered so loudly it drew stares.

“You look happier than he does!” Sophie teased, a warm smile on her face.

“Well, he earned it!” You replied, grinning.

Sophie took your hand, leading you to where Max would be arriving. The timing was perfect—he walked in just as you reached the area.

“Max!” You called, your excitement spilling over as you ran up to him. Without thinking, you threw your arms around him. It wasn’t like the casual hugs you had gotten used to giving—it was unreserved, spontaneous. For a moment, Max froze in surprise, but then his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

“Congratulations.” You murmured against him, your voice warm with pride.

“It’s not a win yet.” Max replied, his voice muffled as he buried his face in your hair.

“You were still amazing.” You insisted, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I was starting to think I brought you bad luck.”

“You can never bring me bad luck.” He whispered, his tone serious. His arms around you a beat after you let go as his team called for him. “I have to go, but I’ll see you after.”

“Okay.” You whispered, stepping back reluctantly.

Sophie smiled knowingly, taking your hand as the two of you headed back to the garage. Neither of you realised that your tender moment had been caught on a live video, now circulating online. But none of you saw it that day, so busy with your lives to log online.

Max’s teams saw the video, they had previously asked Max about your relation to him, but he politely said it’s none of their business. Wanting the reigning world champion to focus on the win, they didn’t tell him about the video.

Max clinched victory in a hard-fought race, and the celebrations were wild. You stood with Sophie and Victoria in Parc Ferme. Max held your hand for a brief moment. He hasn’t talked to you yet about the media and how to deal with them, so he’d like to keep it all as private as he could. But he also wanted you to know how he apricated your presence.

The team went hard in celebrating, there was the photo taking after the media duties, champaign splashing, cheering and jumping around. You watched it all from the side with Sophie. The woman was starting to have a soft spot for you, the more time she spent with you. You left with the women to change at the hotel, for a dinner with the family, apparently even Jos was coming. You had all changed and went to the restaurant at the hotel, and Max joined you all soon after. His mum and sister purposely left the seat next to you empty, Max likes sitting next to you something that they’ve noticed.

As you scanned the menu, Max leaned closer, his arm draped casually over the back of your chair.

“Do you know what you’ll order?” He asked.

“I’m torn between these two.” You replied, pointing at the options. Max leaned in further to look; his face so close that you caught a whiff of his cologne.

“We’ll get both and share.” He decided.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded firmly, his easy confidence making you smile.

Across the table, Victoria nudged Sophie, tilting her head toward the two of you. “Look at them.” She whispered. Sophie smiled back, clearly entertained by the unspoken affection radiating between you and Max.

Sharing the food was a good option, you liked both dishes, Max ate more than you did which is expected. Before you get dessert, you excused yourself to the bathroom after the main course, you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.

The moment you rounded the corner, a hand grabbed your arm roughly. Before you could react, another hand twisted into your hair, yanking you back with enough force to make you stumble and you instantly knew who it was. A squeak left your mouth as you were dragged.

“I think you and y/n should date.” Sophie said to her son, the moment you were out of earshot.

“What? We’re married.”

“Yes, but not of your choice.” She says. “You both like each other, already married, why not try to date and see where it takes you, it’s backwards but why not?”

“I don’t know if she likes me.” Max said, feeling insecure all of the sudden.

“Believe me she likes you.” Victoria says and stands up. “I need the bathroom too.”

Leaving her mum and brother to talk, she sped walked to the bathroom, regretting the last glass of wine she drank. Victoria hears a squeak; she turns and just catches a glimpse of you being pulled away. Her eyes go wide, and she rushes back to the restaurant.

“Fucking bitch, shut up!” Your father spat, his voice venomous. Panic flooded you as he dragged you toward the emergency stairwell. Jos was already there, hovering uneasily but saying nothing.

Your back hit the cold concrete wall, and the impact knocked the wind out of you. Tears blurred your vision as your father loomed over you, his face twisted with rage.

“What did I tell you before you left?” He hissed. “I said to play dumb and keep your mouth shut! So, what the hell did you say to that asshole?”

“I—I, I don’t k-know.” You stutter vision blurry.

“The fuck you don’t! What did you say that made him talk to the investors, they’re all pulling out!” He’s screaming now, you flinch wishing the wall to just swallow you. you thought you’d be stronger the next time you see your dad, but here you are a whimpering mess. “Talk! What did you say?”

“I—I don’t know!” You cry, your voice trembling.

“Bullshit!” he roared, his hand striking your cheek with enough force to snap your head to the side. You whimpered, your legs buckling beneath you. The wall behind you the only reason you didn’t fall.

But before he could strike again, the door burst open. Max charged in like a storm, tackling your father to the ground with a roar of fury.

“Oh my god.” You hear Sophie gasp and rushes to your side, she pulls you from the stairwell.

“You fucking asshole!” Max shouted, landing punch after punch. “Who the hell hits women? I told you to stay away from her!”

Jos sees the rage Max is in and jumps into action, fearing his son will be locked up, he tries to pull Max of your father. Jos is far from being in his prime and Max isn’t young anymore. Max glares at his father.

“Max, stop!” Jos finally intervened, trying to pull his son off. But Max shoved him away, his anger boiling over.

“Piss off, this is your fault! You brought him here!” Max spat at his father; his voice thick with betrayal. He allowed him to come close to you, saw him hit you and did nothing.

Meanwhile, Sophie had her arms wrapping protectively around you. Victoria rushed to get security, her heels clicking frantically against the tiled floor.

You hear the shouting from outside, even through your pain you want to go to Max. You try to get back inside, but Sophie stops you.

“Wait, Victoria is getting security.”

“But Max-“

“Will be fine, he wouldn’t want you in there.” Just as she says that she sees the security running in your direction she points to the door, and they rush in. There’s more shouting and screaming from inside.

“Oh my god! Are you alright?” Victoria asks stopping in front of you. Tears haven’t stop, your scalp was hurting, and your cheek was pulsing. It’ll bruise, leaving a mark. “That’s a stupid question.”

“What are you doing? He started it!” You hear your dad scream, the door opens, and he’s pulled outside, his vision falls on you. “I was just talking with my daughter, and he butts in.”

“That’s my wife! And you laid hands on her.” Max says coming out of the door and takes quick steps to stand in front of you, his mum and sister. “You should call the police.”

The security nods and they take your dad away, as one of them call for the police. Jos walks out last, and the glares turn to him.

“I don’t care anymore, I’m getting him to jail, he can do whatever he wants.” Max tells his dad, Jos looks defeated, with what happened your dad will go to the media. There’s no fighting this, Max may have gotten married but, in the end, he’ll still be exposed.

Max then turns to you, he takes you in, your hair is a mess your mascara was running, and tears haven’t stopped leaving your eyes. Also, your cheek is red and buffy. It takes a lot for Max not to run after your dad and beat him some more.

“Schatje,” Max says softly, stepping closer until there’s almost no space between you. His hand cups your uninjured cheek, tilting your face so he can examine it. There’s pain in his eyes as he studies you. “I should’ve hit him more.”

You whimper, more tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Not now, Max.” Sophie reprimands gently.

“Sorry.” He mutters, taking a deep breath to steady himself. His focus shifts entirely to you. “I’m sorry, y/n. You’re okay. You’re safe now. I promise this is the end of it.” His voice is low but filled with conviction. “I’ll make sure he never comes near you again. This was a mistake, a blip. As long as I’m alive, no one will lay a hand on you again. Do you hear me? No one. I swear it.”

For the first time, you believe those words with your whole heart. Max would do anything to protect you. Overcome with emotion, you throw your arms around him, seeking comfort in his presence despite the pain it causes.

“Max, I... I—” The words stick in your throat as your sobs overtake you.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Max soothes, his voice a calming balm. His arms tighten around you, and his hand strokes your back gently.

When Max glances up, his eyes meet Sophie’s. The pain in his expression makes her heart ache. Any doubts she had are gone. Sophie makes a silent promise to herself: she will make sure you feel the love your family never gave you.

“Max, the hotel staff said we can wait for the police in your room.” Victoria interjects softly, breaking the moment.

Max nods in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to you. Gently, he pulls away enough to see your face.

“Come on, schatje. We’ll have more privacy in my room.” His voice is almost a whisper. You nod, letting go of him and letting him guide you. His arm wraps protectively around your shoulders, holding you close to his side. Sophie and Victoria lead the way.

The elevator ride is silent, the air heavy with unspoken emotions. Even once you’re in the room, no one speaks. You sit on the sofa, still wrapped in Max’s embrace. Sophie hands you a water bottle, and you whisper a soft thank you.

The knock on the door is almost startling. Victoria opens it to reveal two police officers. They introduce themselves as they step inside, taking seats across from you and Max. One officer pulls out a notepad, ready to begin.

“The hotel staff are providing us with the CCTV footage.” The kinder-looking officer says. “But we need your statement to build the case. Can you start by telling us what happened, Miss Wilkins?”

“It’s Verstappen,” Max corrects firmly. The officer looks momentarily confused. “We’re married. It’s Y/N Verstappen.”

The officers exchange a quick glance before the kinder one nods. “Mrs. Verstappen, can you tell us what happened?”

The words make your heart flutter momentarily, but the weight of the situation quickly crushes any joy. Taking a shaky breath, you grip Max’s hand tightly as he laces his fingers with yours, grounding you.

“I was on my way to the bathroom when someone grabbed my arm and pulled me back. Before I could react, a hand was in my hair. I knew it was my dad.” You explain, your voice trembling. You pause to wipe at your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “He dragged me into the stairwell. He kept asking me about something Max did... something about investors.”

You glance at Max, confusion in your eyes. Max’s jaw tightens as guilt flashes across his face. He now understands why your father attacked you—it’s his fault.

“When I told him I didn’t know, he hit me.” You continue, your voice cracking. “He was about to do it again when Max arrived and stopped him.”

The officer nods, his expression sympathetic. “Has this happened before? The abuse?”

“Yes,” you admit quietly. “Since I was young.”

The pity in their eyes makes your stomach turn.

“When was the last time, before today?” The second officer asks.

You don’t need to think about it. The memory is vivid.

“A week or so after we got married.” You say.

You went and opened the door, taking a step back when you saw who it was. Your heart dropped.

“Well, look who it is? The new bride. Come give a hug to your father.” Your dad opened his arms for a hug, Jos was standing behind him. Awkwardly. This feels like an ambush. You felt so naïve thinking that you wouldn’t have to deal with your father anymore. That you’re free from him. Your father hated that you didn’t instantly follow his rules, so he took a step closer. You then moved closer as well and opened your arms for a hug, he pulled you closer roughly, on hand on the back of your head, gripping your hair at the roots, the other on your arm. It would leave a bruise if he held you slightly harder. You held in the whimper that threatened to escape. “Why did it take so long for you to open the door?” He didn’t wait or expect an answer. “Just because you’re married, doesn’t mean you can forget what I taught you.” Moving your head back, you instinctively held into his arm for balance. “And what are you wearing? Hmm? I thought I sent you clothes. I’ve spent so much to make you the perfect wife, and this is how you are.”

"Did someone come?" Max called out from the living room, removing his headset. You shrank back, taking a few steps away from your father. Max rounded the corner, his sharp eyes darting between your pale face and the men at the door. “What are you two doing here?”

“What?” Max’s voice is laced with disbelief. You glance at him, biting your bottom lip.

“He didn’t hit me.” You clarify. “He just pulled my hair.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” Max whispers, running a hand down his face in frustration. “You should’ve told me.”

“You stopped him. You told him not to speak to me again.” You say softly, placing your hand on his thigh in an attempt to comfort him. Max looks down at your hand, his heart breaking further. Here you are, bruised and hurting, yet still trying to console him.

“Did Jos witness everything?” The officer asks, pulling your attention back.

“Yes. Today and last time.” You reply. Max’s anger bubbles to the surface.

“We want restraining orders against both of them. And we’ll sue.” His voice is sharp, final.

The officer nods. “That’s the next step. With the footage, this will be a straightforward case.”

“Okay, just a step by step, but with the cameras here, it will be an easy case.” The officer said looking grim. “Mr. Verstappen you attacked Mr. Wilkins, right?”

“Yes, he was hitting my wife.” Max admitted not fearing anything that could come his way.

“It was self-defence.” Sophie added, the officers spared her a glance.

The officers continue asking questions and taking statements from Sophie and Victoria before leaving. Once they’re gone, Sophie and Victoria ensure you have everything you need before saying their goodbyes, leaving you and Max alone.

The silence feels heavy again. Max moves quickly, grabbing the ice bucket that had been delivered earlier. He wraps some ice in a towel and approaches you with careful intent.

“Let me do it.” You say softly, reaching for the towel, but Max doesn’t let go. His frown deepens as he presses the cold compress gently to your cheek, his gaze focused solely on the bruised skin. He still won’t meet your eyes. “Max.” You call his name quietly, but he doesn’t look up. You try again. “Max, please.” Finally, his eyes flicker to yours, and what you see in them breaks your heart. Pain. Guilt. Anguish. “What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice trembling slightly.

“How can you ask me that?” He says, his voice cracking. “Your dad has hurt you twice since we got married, and I didn’t even know. I failed to protect you. Both times. And today... today was my fault. I tried to punish him for what he did to you, but all I did was give him a reason to come after you again. I wasn’t there for you before we got married, and I couldn’t protect you now. I—” His voice falters, and you see tears welling in his eyes. Max is strong, he doesn’t care about a lot of things to cry, but you? He cares about you, knowing and seeing what happened to you is tearing him apart.

“Max.” You say, your hand moving to cover his where it rests on your cheek. You sit up straighter, shifting until you’re kneeling on the sofa to face him. Your hands cup his face, forcing him to look at you.

“I’d still be with him—or worse—if it weren’t for you. You saved me, Max. I’d go through it all again if it meant I’d end up here, with you.”

Your words are soft but resolute. You brush away a stray tear that escapes down his cheek, and Max leans into your touch, his eyes searching yours.

“I love you.” You whisper, the words slipping out effortlessly. They feel right. True.

There it was as simple as that; the words just left you easily and smoothly.

Max freezes, his breath catching in his throat. He pulls back slightly, and your hands fall away from his face. The smile you wore drops, replaced by panic as your mind races. Did you misread everything? Was Max only being kind because he felt obligated?

“I—uh—I’m sorry if I overstepped.” You stammer, standing abruptly. Your nails dig into your palms as you try to steady your breathing. “This isn’t what you wanted. It’s not what you chose. Of course, you don’t feel the same. I’m sorry—”

“Wait.” Max grabs your hand before you can reach the door, turning you to face him again. His hands rest firmly on your shoulders, grounding you. “Just... wait.” You stop, your heart hammering in your chest. His touch is gentle as he cups your jaw, his thumbs brushing your skin. “I wasn’t expecting it.” He admits softly. “I was surprised, confused, afraid... I still am. I don’t want you to think you love me just because I got you away from your dad. I don’t want that to cloud your feelings. If you love me, I need it to be for me. For who I am.”

His words make your chest ache, but then his next words make your heart soar.

“Because I love you.” He says. “So much.”

Tears well in your eyes again as your voice trembles. “You do?”

Max nods, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “I’ve thought about this a lot. About us. About how I never wanted this marriage to be just an arrangement. I love you, Y/N.”

You let out a teary laugh, and Max’s lips curve into a smile at the sound.

“I love you for you.” you assure him. “I promise. This may not have been what we planned, but I’m glad it happened. I’m glad I have you.”

“Me too,” he murmurs, and then his lips meet yours. The kiss is soft and tender, a promise in itself. You kiss him back, savouring the moment. When you finally pull away, you rest your head against his shoulder, letting out a long sigh.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask quietly. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course.” His answer comes without hesitation.

Max gives you one of his shirts, and you retreat to the bathroom to change. When you return, he’s gone, but moments later, he reappears, holding your makeup remover from your room next door. His gaze softens as he takes in the sight of you standing by the bed, wearing his shirt.

You’re too exhausted to notice the way his breath hitches, the way he has to look away for a moment to compose himself.

That night, you both fall asleep quickly. Max spoons you from behind, mindful of your injuries, his presence a shield against the nightmares that might come. In his arms, you feel safe, loved.

When Max wakes before you the next morning, he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder before slipping out of bed. The warmth of his arms around you fades as he quietly gets out of bed, careful not to disturb you. He pauses at the edge of the mattress, his gaze lingering on your peaceful face. The bruise on your cheek looks slightly less angry now, but it’s still a stark reminder of everything you endured. Max clenches his fists as guilt and anger surge again, but he forces himself to take a deep breath. You need him to be strong, not consumed by his own emotions.

Max dresses quickly and heads into the small living area of the hotel suite, pulling out his phone. The police had assured him they’d be in touch for follow-ups, but Max wasn’t going to wait passively. He searches for a lawyer, determined to take swift action. Restraining orders would be just the start.

By the time he finishes his call, Sophie is knocking softly at the door. He lets her in, and she immediately places a comforting hand on his arm.

“How’s she doing?” Sophie asks, her voice gentle.

“She’s sleeping,” Max replies, his tone heavy. “I just... I don’t know what else I could’ve done to stop this.”

Sophie shakes her head. “Max, none of this is your fault. You’ve done more for her than anyone else ever has. She knows that. She feels it.”

Max nods but doesn’t respond. His mother’s words offer little solace when he feels like he’s failed you in so many ways. Sophie doesn’t push him further, sensing his need for space, and instead busies herself in the kitchenette, preparing tea for when you wake up.

You stir a little later, the ache in your body making it hard to move. But the warmth lingering on your skin from Max’s embrace makes you smile faintly, even through the pain. Slowly, you sit up. The events of the previous day flood back, and a lump forms in your throat.

Pulling on the robe draped over a nearby chair, you shuffle into the living area, rubbing your eyes. Max is pacing near the window, phone in hand, while Sophie sits at the small dining table, sipping tea. When she sees you, she smiles softly and stands.

“Good morning, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” She asks, her concern evident.

“I’m okay.” You reply quietly, though the rasp in your voice betrays your exhaustion. Sophie doesn’t miss it and quickly ushers you to the table.

“Sit. I made tea. It’ll help.” She places a cup in front of you before brushing her hand gently over your hair. “Max will be here in a minute.”

Max, who has noticed you now, ends his call abruptly and strides over. His eyes scan your face, and though he tries to hide it, you catch the flicker of pain in his expression.

“You should’ve stayed in bed.” He says, his tone soft but firm.

“I’ve rested enough.” you reply, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine, Max.”

He kneels beside you, his hand covering yours on the table. “You don’t have to be fine; you know. Not yet.”

His words sink in, and you let out a shaky breath.

“I know.” you whisper. “But I can’t let him take everything from me.”

Max nods, understanding. “We’re going to make sure he doesn’t. The lawyer is already working on the restraining order. I’ve also asked them to look into filing charges. I’m not letting this go by easily.”

The fire in his voice sends a wave of comfort through you. He wasn’t just saying these things for your sake. He meant every word.

Sophie steps back, giving the two of you space, and Max pulls his chair closer to yours.

“Today.” He says gently, “We’re going to take it one step at a time. First, we’ll see what the police need. Then, we’ll figure out what’s next. And after that... we’ll go home. Together.”

The word home makes your chest tighten. For so long, that word had no meaning. But now, with Max, it feels like you’re finally finding what it truly means.

Later in the day, after a follow-up with the police and some much-needed rest, you and Max prepare to leave the hotel.

Max’s phone buzzing insistently had been a constant backdrop for the past half-hour, and finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Max, just answer your phone.” You said, pressing an ice pack to your cheek and watching him pace. “It keeps ringing.”

With a sigh, Max glanced at the screen before reluctantly accepting the call.

“Hello?... Yes… what? How did they know?... No, just the police officers and—” He paused, his expression darkening as he ran a hand through his hair. “No, I think I said it in the hallway as well… fuck… okay, yeah… no… I said no, and I mean it. It’s no one’s business… No, because nothing in my contract says I have to… Mate, look, it happened. I’m not happy about it, but it happened. End of story… I’m going back to Monaco.”

He hung up, exhaling sharply as he tossed his phone onto the table. His jaw was tight, and it was clear the conversation had rattled him.

“What was that about?” You asked, wincing as you spoke. Your cheek throbbed, and smiling was definitely off the table until the swelling subsided.

Max hesitated, glancing at you before answering. “Someone from the hotel leaked that we’re married.”

Your eyes widened, and you turned toward the mirror to check your face again, trying to process his words. “What? How—how did they even know?”

“Don’t worry.” Max reassured you quickly, stepping closer. “We don’t have to say anything. I’ve always kept my private life private, and the police won’t release any details.”

“What about the officiant?” you asked, suddenly worried about the people who had been involved in your ceremony.

“If he says anything, he can kiss his license goodbye,” Max replied firmly. “And if your father tries to use this, his reputation—what’s left of it—will be done.”

You nodded, feeling a bit reassured by Max’s determination. But he wasn’t finished.

“Now, I need you to listen to me and think carefully before you decide.” His tone was serious, his blue eyes locked onto yours. “There are two options: One, we can go out and face the crowd together. Or two, I can go out first, and you can follow later when things calm down.”

Your stomach churned at the thought of stepping out there alone. “Do they have my face?”

Max’s silence was answer enough. Your heart sank, and you wrapped your arms around yourself for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “I don’t want to be on my own.”

Max’s shoulders relaxed, and he stepped closer to you.

“Alright, we’ll leave together,” he said gently, taking your hands in his. “But you need to know they’ll be taking pictures of you now. A lot. Once this is public, there’s no going back.”

You swallowed hard but nodded. “It’s okay. I don’t have social media anyway.”

Max’s lips twitched into a small smile. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, careful not to hurt your swollen cheek.

Sophie insists on staying until the very last moment, ensuring you have everything you need before saying goodbye. Her hug is warm and lingering, and she whispers in your ear, “You’re part of this family now. Don’t ever forget that.”

Victoria joins in with her own hug, giving Max a teasing look. “Take care of her, Max. You’re not off the hook just because she married you.”

Max rolls his eyes but smiles. “I know, I know.”

Max checked out of the hotel while you stood close to him, your fingers brushing against his arm for comfort, taking his left hand, you felt the smooth texture, looking down you see his wedding ring. Max smiles and presses your sunglasses up your nose. A Red Bull cap sat snugly on your head, and sunglasses shielded your swollen eyes. Even before stepping outside, the roar of the crowd was deafening, fans chanting and calling Max’s name.

“Stay close to me.” Max murmured, his arm slipping protectively around your shoulders.

The moment the doors opened, the world exploded with flashing cameras and shouting voices. Your head dipped instinctively; the weight of the crowd’s energy overwhelming. Max’s arm tightened around you as the bodyguards formed a path to the car, their presence the only barrier between you and the chaos.

The path was narrow, people pressing in on all sides, and you felt your heart race as the space seemed to close in. Flashes of light blinded you even through your sunglasses, and questions were hurled at Max, some directed at you. But he didn’t stop. His focus was solely on getting you to the car.

At last, you reached the vehicle, and a breath of relief escaped you as you slid into the seat. Max lingered outside for a moment, signing a few autographs for fans before quickly ducking into the car beside you.

His face was drawn, his usual calm replaced by a tension you rarely saw in him. You placed a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently.

“That was something.” You said, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

“Tell me about it.” Max muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. He glanced at you when he felt your touch and gave you a small, weary smile. Lifting your hand to his lips, he kissed the back of it before threading his fingers through yours.

The car hummed quietly as it carried you both toward the airport, leaving the chaos of the crowd behind. Max’s hand remained in yours the entire ride, a silent reassurance that, no matter how overwhelming things became, you wouldn’t have to face them alone.

Thankfully, everything went smoothly with the lawsuit against your father. While the statute of limitations on the abuse you experienced as a child had already passed, Jos provided compelling testimony as a witness, and the case concluded without much trouble. There were some whispers in the media, but Max spared no expense to ensure the story stayed out of the spotlight, keeping your life as private as possible.

Since that fateful day at the hotel, your life had changed dramatically. Your belongings had been moved into Max's room, and now you slept together every night. Max rarely went anywhere without you if he could help it, and the connection between you only deepened with time.

You’d also applied to art school and were now waiting for the new semester to begin. Alex, ever your cheerleader, was ecstatic about the news, eagerly discussing your potential and the projects you could take on. Meanwhile, Charles had taken to bragging that he’d known about your marriage before anyone else on the grid, which only fuelled the Lestappen theories online, especially with your friendship with Alex adding to the chatter.

The windows in your shared Monaco apartment were wide open, letting in a soft sea breeze as you sat in front of a canvas, your playlist softly filling the room. The view was breathtaking, but you were lost in your work, a blend of vibrant colours slowly taking shape on the canvas. You didn’t hear Max enter, fresh from the gym. He’d tried to get you to join him countless times, but you always resisted, finding your balance in Pilates a few times a week.

Max paused when he saw you, your brush gliding across the canvas as you mouthed the lyrics to the song playing in your ears. The sight made his heart swell—this was his proudest achievement, seeing you at peace, content, and thriving. Quietly, he walked over and wrapped his arms around your waist, startling you enough that you let out a squeak, dropping your brush.

“Max! The floor!” You whined, glaring down at the smear of paint on the floorboards.

“It doesn’t matter.” He muttered, his lips brushing your neck before his gaze turned to the canvas. “Again?”

“Not my fault you’re my muse.” You replied cheekily, turning your head to press a quick kiss to his cheek. The painting was of his eye this time—just a close-up as part of a larger composition.

“Would you like me to paint another man’s eyes?” You teased, raising a brow as you wiped your brush on a cloth.

Max smirked, pulling you closer. “No. Just mine, Mrs. Verstappen.”

“That’s what I thought, Mr. Verstappen.” You shot back with a grin.

As you turned to grab another brush, Max pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to you. “I got you something.”

You blinked in surprise as he opened his hand, revealing a pair of earrings—your Tiffany earrings, the ones you’d had to sell to survive. Your breath caught as you reached out to touch them, the memories of that difficult time flashing through your mind.

“Max… how did you…”

“I tracked them down.” He said softly, his blue eyes full of warmth. “I know how much they meant to you, and now they can mean something happy again.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, your heart swelling with emotion. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” He interrupted, his tone firm yet gentle. “You deserve to have everything you lost, and more.”

You smiled through your tears and threw your arms around his neck, holding him close. “Thank you.” You whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Max kissed the top of your head, his hands stroking your back.

“Anything for you.” He murmured. “Always.”

Main Taglist: @gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03 . @schniti-is-in-the-house . @lottalove4evelyn . @eywas-heir . @glow-ish . @lilypat . @directioner5life . @a-beaverhausen .

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@itgirlofthecenturysposts

IT'S SO EASY, guns n' roses.

pinned rules masterlist

pairing; guns n' roses x fem!reader

summary; your band, lethality, is the hottest thing that’s hit the sunset strip since mötley crüe and the notorious guns n' roses. after a sensational night playing the whisky a go-go, you to meet a very interesting group of men that take a peculiar liking to you.

warnings; cussing, no use of y/n, alcohol & cigarettes mentioned, veryy dialogue heavy, nothing really happens because i didn’t know if anon wanted it to be romantic/romantic encounter with a band member(s), steven is having fun somewhere else.

word count; 1.6k

a/n; i honestly loved writing this. i had a hard time starting it, but when i got it going i couldn’t stop. i was even considering making this a full fledged fanfic, if anyone would be interested.

requests open, not proofread, based on this ask.

The Whisky was packed, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of sweat. The crowd of people blended into one the further you looked out—was jumping around, their energy feeding into yours as you gripped the mic stand, swinging it around erratically. Your heart pounded with adrenaline as the house lights dim for dramatic effect, and with a deep, intentional breath, you launched into the final chorus of your band, Lethality's, set. Your voice was raw, passionate, and uniquely fresh. The audience erupted, fists pounding in the air, whistling and clapping being heard.

This is what made every sleepless hour, every shitty bar gig worth it. The feeling of the audience, the bass vibrating your core, the drums pounding hard and intentional, the guitar wailing along to your voice. You were in your element. This was everything.

With one last powerful belt, you let the song ring out, clutching the microphone as the sound of your heavy breath mixed with the cheers. A slow, sexy smirk tugged at your lips. They loved you.

You turned, locking eyes with your guitarist, tossing your damp, messy hairy over your shoulder and stepping back from the microphone stand. The applause and whistles followed you offstage, still roaring in your ears as you grabbed a towel and wiped your damp face.

You were shocked that Los Angeles had loved Lethality that much, given that they didn't take to women-led bands very kindly. They often watered them down to being a "woman in Rock" and not a "rockstar." You loathed it, and you be damned if it happened to you. You deserved to be on the same playing field as the rest of these young, dumb, and full of cum men. Not that you honestly wanted to be compared to that, though.

"You really know how to work a crowd," a voice called out.

Your eyes shot up to see an older, chubbier man leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking at you in thought. He nodded towards the dressing rooms. "You've got some serious fans wanting to meet you."

You raise an eyebrow in uncertainty, "Fans?"

The man sends you a shit-eating grin and sniggered, "Yeah. Ever heard of Guns N' Roses?"

For a brief second, your heart skipped a beat as you felt your hands get clammy—but you played it cool, tossing the wet towel onto a nearby beer crate. You exhaled through your nose and ran a hand through your hair. You knew Guns regularly went to the Whisky and other clubs you and your band frequented, and you were bound to run into them, but you still felt extremely nervous. You absolutely adored their newest album, Appetite for Destruction.

"Well," you eventually muttered, rolling your shoulders, "guess I better not keep them waiting, huh?"

With that, you strode down the hall, your heart beating so loudly you could feel it having a concert in your head. The hallway was dimly lit the further you walked down, the sounds of the Whisky still thrumming in the distance. Your heeled boots echoed against the floor as you approached the dressing rooms. Guns N' fucking Roses wanted to see you. You weren't one to get starstruck, you had met some of the best musicians to come out of the strip, but you weren't oblivious either. Part of you was curious, another part cautious. You knew how these men were. Hungry for sex, drugs, and dabbled in Rock 'n' Roll when the job called for it. You also weren't one to get caught up in the rock mystique. Yet, if they had something to say, you were damn sure going to hear it.

You reached the dressing room door and took a steadying breath. You took a second to smooth your hair and shake out the last of your post-show adrenaline. Then, you pushed it open.

The room was buzzing with soft conversation. The scent of fresh leather, whiskey, and cigarette smoke hung in the air. The ginger lead singer, Axl Rose, was the first of the four to look up, reclining in his chair, a drink idly dangling from his fingers. His sharp hazel eyes flickered with something unreadable as he took your figure in. Slash was perched on the couch, lazily tapping ash from his cigarette, while Duff and Izzy leaned back in conversation, their laughter cutting off the second you entered. Instantly, you noticed the lack of their drummer, Steven Adler. Huh.

Four pairs of beady eyes locked onto you.

"Well, well," Duff spoke up, giving a slow, acknowleding nod. "The woman of the hour."

You smirked, stepping inside with your arms crossed. "Didn't realize I was on your schedule."

Axl's lips curled into something between amusement and intrigue. "You weren't. But we couldn't ignore what we just saw out there," he tilted his head, studying you. "You don't just perform—you own that stage."

The way Axl said it wasn't flattery. On the contrary, it was a statement. A challenge, maybe. You couldn’t tell. Not yet, anyway.

You met his gaze without flinching, a newfound confidence overtaking you. "That's the job, isn't it?"

To your right, Slash chuckled, flicking his cigarette once more. "Yeah, but most people don't do it like that." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his leathered knees. "Where the fuck did you come from?"

You shrugged, "Same story as everyone else. Small-town band, a lot of shitty gigs, and too much cheap beer."

Axl smirked at that you noticed. He must've liked that reply, you thought.

"Not everyone makes it out of that."

Something about the way he said it made the air feel heavier, just for a beat. You could feel them sizing you up, trying to figure out if you were just another wannabe act, or something more. Maybe they were checking you out, who fucking knows?

You glanced around, then raised an amused brow. "So, you dragged me in here just to stroke my ego, or is there something else?"

Axl took a swig of his liquor, sliding his arm onto the armrest. "Maybe both."

Axl's words hung in the air, stretching the moment just long enough for you to feel the weight of their attention. You didn't mind it—if anything, you were used to being watched, analyzed, judged. But this? This was different.

Slash took a slow, tentative drag off of his cigarette, exhaling a thin breath of smoke before speaking again. "How long have you been playing as a band?"

You walked over to the other side of the couch he sat on, your eyes not leaving his hidden ones. "Long enough to know what I'm doing."

That earned a chuckle from Duff. "Yeah, we picked up on that, Susie-Q."

Izzy, who had been quiet until now, studied you with that easy, unreadable gaze. "Your sound's different. It's not just your voice—it's the way you hold a crowd. Who are your influences?"

You shrugged, "A little of everyone."

Axl chuckled and swirled the whiskey in his glass. "That's the safe answer," he retorted, clicking his tongue in amusement.

"Safe," you echoed with a knowing, smug smile, "or just true?"

That got a reaction—albeit a small one—a flicker of something behind Axl's eyes. The kind of interest that wasn't politeness. He wasn't just shooting the shit with you. None of them were. They had intentions—intentions you were unsure of.

Slash tilted his head softly, "You got a label yet?"

"Not one worth signing to," you replied smoothly as you shook your head.

Izzy and Duff exchanged what felt like their tenth glance of the night. Axl's smirk deepened as you quietly let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You were very nervous, after all.

"Good," Axl clicked his tongue, "means you're not an idiot."

You huffed a quiet laugh, "I try."

This whole conversation had your mind reeling: panic mode on. This was going nowhere, and you didn't really come here to get drilled about your music. They didn't even ask to see the rest of Lethality, just you. You weren't sure what to expect when walking backstage, but being rallied up by Guns wasn't it. Their gaze was still on you, making you feel small. You look at Axl from across the room—the gears in his head were moving. You soon realized that never meant anything good.

Axl turned his head to look at you dead on. "So, what's next for you?"

You met his gaze without hesitation, your eyebrows furrowing. "Why? You planning to keep tabs on me?"

Slash grinned, putting out his cigarette in the steel ashtray on the coffee table. "Wouldn't be the worst idea. Not every night we someone actually own the stage instead of just.. standing on it."

Duff gestured towards you with his beer bottle. "Crowd was losing their fucking minds. You got 'em wrapped around your pretty little finger."

You shrugged. “Like I said, that’s the job.”

“And like Slash said, most people don’t get that. They think it’s just about playing the songs.” Izzy eyed you, like he was still trying to figure you out. He motioned towards you as he pulled out a Marlboro from his pack. “You’ve got something else.”

Axl let out a low chuckle and cleared his throat while shaking his head slightly. Then, he raised his glass. “Right. Here’s to whatever the fuck happens next.”

Your eyes flicked to the band’s whiskey bottle on the table. Without a word, you picked it up, twisted off the cap, and took a deep gulp before setting it back down on the coffee table with a quiet, gentle clink.

“You’ll be seeing more of Lethality,” you said simply.

Slash huffed a quiet laugh. “Good. Scene’s getting boring.”

Duff nodded in agreement. “Listen—If you keep playing like that, you won’t be stuck in clubs forever.”

Izzy didn’t say anything, just gave a small, knowing smirk.

Axl’s gaze lingered for a second longer before he set his now empty glass down. “Guess we’ll have to just wait and fucking see.”

The conversation shifted, drinks flowed, and the night stretched on. Whatever this was—whatever had started here—you had a small feeling burning deep inside that this was just the beginning.

© lagunned (2025—) all rights reserved.

ADORE YOU ; KR7

kimi raikkonen x mclaren driver!reader

. . . your relationship with kimi was always civil, not too close like friends, but not too far apart like strangers. somehow you got stuck in a situation leaving both of you confronting your feelings for each other.

amgf still one of the best things i wrote, ever. this is my baby, the time i spent making the radio graphics was all worth it, i love this so much ughh

death of a bachelor ; masterlist

Getting called in for a private meeting with the team principal is always worrying. Usually you’re called for one of two reasons, either you’ve done exceptionally well or if you’ve fucked up. With how things are looking up, you’re clearly called in because you’ve fucked up and one of the sponsors has found something to complain about.

You were used to it, sadly. And despite his constant reassurance, you know Fernando doesn’t have that much power to help you. Paired with his recent win in the driver’s championship you kept your mouth shut from the pressure held on you.

The last thing you want is to take away the spotlight from him, it was his win after all. Despite the number of news outlets questioning his position, and the ambiguity of it all with you in the center of controversy.

All because of some harmless photos with Kimi, one that caught him off guard. Not because he was unknowingly involved, but with the fact that he only knew then just how many people loathe you in the industry who are constantly waiting for you to fuck up.

Breathing out, you shake off the million thoughts running in your head. There’s no use overthinking what has been done, standing in front of the team principal’s door you brace yourself for the worst that could happen.

Thinking to yourself that maybe this is the end of it all, that maybe they’ve finally succeeded in leaving you without a seat for the next season. The worst that could happen is Renault pulling out your contract early, and you were preparing for the worst.

The person out of your equation is Kimi Raikkonen himself- the first person your eyes landed upon entering the room. Looking around your eyes scan the room, your teammate nowhere to be found. It’s just you, Kimi, and your team principal.

“Good Morning.” You’re voice curt and short as you feel the dry scratch at the back of your throat. Sitting beside Kimi you lean towards him whispering, “What are you doing here? Did McLaren form a complaint?”

Next to you, Kimi shrugs his shoulders equally unaware. “I was called in when I arrived earlier, I thought you were the one with the complaint.”

Brows raised, you let out a small sigh in disagreement, “I don’t think I’m in a position to complain, you on the other hand, God knows what people are saying.”

You don’t notice the frown forming on Kimi’s face, his brows furrowed in annoyance, “How are you empathizing with me right now? God knows how much worse you’re having it, and here you are worrying about me. I don’t care what they say about me, as long as they don’t involve you in it.” Kimi scoffs, watching the corners of your lips curl into a small smile.

“You must hate being involved with me that much.” Teasing him, Kimi shakes his head with his eyes rolling back.

A cough breaks your attention away from Kimi, reminding you that you’re here for a serious meeting with your team principal. Turning your head you see him with a big smile on his face.

Huh.

“Do you know why I called you here?” His voice reverberates in the room, leaving your throat dry. Your eyes widen, gulping before attempting to answer.

“No, you don’t have to answer.”

Pressing your lips, you shrink down back in your seat feeling the drops of sweat press against your team shirt. Your eyes widen, avoiding contact, you prepare yourself with the worst anticipating the next words out of his mouth.

“It’s all going well in fact that I’ve decided myself to let you continue with what you two are doing.”

An audible gasp left your lips, “But there’s nothing, we aren’t doing anything,” quickly defending yourself from your team principal’s accusations.

Bewildered, a loud cackle escapes his lips leaving you and Kimi in confusion, “That’s even better. Honestly, you don’t have to date each other, just continue what you’re doing.”

Kimi shakes his head, “Doing what exactly?”

“Listen, all you need to do is be seen in public. Think of it as a fake secret relationship. Just like you said, if there’s nothing going on with you two then there is no need to confirm it. Just to keep the sponsorships happy, and free publicity for both teams.”

You share a look with Kimi, gauging from his reaction he doesn’t seem to mind. Then again it’s not like anything is happening between you two, it’s like hitting multiple birds in one stone. You can keep being friends with Kimi, you keep your seat, and you keep the sponsors happy with the advertisement.

Clearing his throat, Kimi speaks up first, “You know if you don’t want to-”

“I don’t mind.” Giving him a small smile, you assure him of your consent, “I’d rather it be you than someone else, plus we get to hang out more often. Unless you don’t want to, then we don’t have to-”

“I’m okay if you’re okay with it.”

Clasping his hands your team principal is smiling over the moon, at least someone is happy with the situation,

“Well if you have no other questions, you’re free to leave Kimi.” Your team principal dismisses the Fin, leaving an uncomfortable taste in his mouth.

“Why? If you have something to say to Y/N you can say it to me as well. What are you going to scold her for? You should’ve been there to defend her against the comments, I won’t leave. Whatever you say to her, I will be here and listen.”

His sudden outburst caught you off guard, uncharacteristic for Kimi to go over his emotions like that. Though his outbursts are short it’s usually directed out of frustration, but this was out of nowhere. Your eyes dart back and forth Kimi and your team principal with conflicted feelings.

While you feel proud that Kimi defended you, on the other hand you grimace at the sight of your team principal, still and speechless.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to wait for Y/N outside but Fernando is coming along in a while- we’re having a team meeting for the next season.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll guide Kimi on the way out, you know in case he reads any of our world winning strategies.” Standing up swiftly, you pull Kimi’s arm, dragging him away from the office and out to the paddock.

It wasn’t until then you realized the awkward silence looming between you two. Looking up to his eyes, you stare at his blue ones, getting lost into the deep hues akin to a storm. In the silence, a mutual understanding was built.

And unbeknownst to you, it was the beginning of a deeper relationship with Kimi.

You were on your way to Maranello when the announcement of your transfer was released. Sinking in your seat you close your phone, thankful to be on a plane avoiding the constant ping and ringing of your phone.

It was a short-lived moment of relaxation, not long after the seat beside yours was occupied. Observing the person, your eyes squint at the sight of a familiar face.

"Kimi? I didn't know you were on your way to Italy as well."

Turning around, Kimi blinked slowly taking in your presence. "Was staying with me that bad that you need a different vacation?"

Scoffing at him, you shift in your seat facing his, "As much as I want more time for vacations unfortunately I'm going to Italy for work."

Kimi tilts his head, "Didn't know Renault moved to Italy. Are you going over factories?"

You still yourself, contemplating telling him the truth or getting away with a little lie. Not in the mood for conversation, you chose the latter.

"Something like that. They want me to check something personally. My manager arranged it for me so, I really don't have a say."

Kimi nods again leaving you to do your own things, something that you appreciate when you're with him. There's no need for small talk, it's always comfortable silence.

A few people you feel comfortable being with for long periods of time, it's either him or your teammate Alonso. Contrary to popular belief, there's no "feud" between the three of you– more on the two of them, you were somehow stuck in between their "rivalry" and just how the company milked the media for more coverage.

Truthfully faking a secret relationship with Kimi was one of the easiest things you had to do last year, purposefully being seen hanging out, going on "dates" and vacationing together without having to confirm anything, you were winning.

And the end of it all with you getting a seat with Ferrari. It was a whirlwind of emotions, not just for you but for your teammate Alonso who was poached to McLaren.

A secret you had to keep from Kimi while vacationing together. You did carry a smidge of guilt hiding him from his new teammate, but vacation meant time away from work and racing. And one thing you learned about Kimi is that he hates race talk at the dinner table.

You sit in silence catching the last hours of sleep. By the time you wake up, the plane has already landed. You feel the seatbelt around your waist, scouring the area you look for Kimi.

"You were asleep the whole flight, I put on your seatbelt for you." You blink your eyes, in an attempt to keep yourself awake.

"When did we land?" Your voice is croaky and dry, you squirm in your seat yawning and stretching.

A small smile can be seen from Kimi's face as he hands you bottled water. "We just landed, you want to go now or wait for a little while?"

A small pout forms your face as you unbuckle your seatbelt, grabbing the bottled water from his hands you take small sips feeling more awake by the minute.

"I want to go now, I want to change clothes before going to the factory." Grabbing you things you stand up leaving the plane with Kimi beside you.

"Is someone picking you up or do you want me to drive you to your hotel?" Kimi offers, putting his bags at the trunk of a Ferrari 599. The way his arms flex, as he pushes his weight, leaning upon the frame of the trunk.

You shake your head off your thoughts, "You don't have to, someone is picking me up. I guess I'll see you around then." Frankly, you booked a one-way ticket to Emilia-Romagna as soon as your break with Kimi was over.

Spending your vacation with Kimi was one of the best things you've done, but the longer you stayed inside the bubble that is Kimi Raikkonen, the more you realized your conflicting feelings towards him.

And that is something you're not prepared to confront yet.

Nonetheless it seems as though the universe has a way of bringing you together— it comes in the form of sitting beside each other on the plane ride, and now seeing him through the glass window in Ferrari's headquarters.

IÑAKI GODOY AS MONKEY D. LUFFY (ONE PIECE, NETFLIX 2023)

MINGYU LALALI, 2024

The Fan Who Got Away - C.Seungcheol

Warnings: Angst, Comfort, Self-Doubt, Secret Relationship Genre: Drama, Romance, Idol!cheol x Former.Carat!F.Reader Word Count: 3.9k (reading time 14 mins-ish) Synopsis: Years ago, you were a dedicated Carat, attending concerts and collecting albums—until life got in the way, and you drifted from the fandom. One night, at a random bar, you bump into Seungcheol in disguise, hiding from the public. You don’t recognize him at first, but he recognizes you. Turns out, he remembers you from old fansigns. "You stopped coming," he says softly. "Why?" What starts as a simple conversation turns into years of texting, stolen glances at concerts, and a secret relationship that neither of you can walk away from. Author's Note: This story is for everyone who has ever found comfort in an artist but felt like they had to leave that love behind. I hope this brings warmth to your heart. 💙

The bar, a dimly lit haven of forgotten dreams and lingering scents of whiskey and regret, was a stark contrast to the vibrant, pulsating world you once inhabited. It was a place where the weight of daily existence was palpable, a tangible entity that pressed down on your shoulders. You, a ghost of your former self, sat at the counter, a drink swirling in your hand, its contents as stagnant as your life.

The years had been unkind, stripping away the joy that once defined you. The echoes of roaring crowds, the frantic energy of ticket sales, the sheer, unadulterated happiness of being a part of the SEVENTEEN fandom—all of it seemed like a distant, almost fantastical memory. Now, bills piled high, relationships crumbled, and the sheer exhaustion of survival had transformed you into a shadow, a hollow echo of the person you used to be.

"You stopped coming."

The voice, deep and resonant, cut through the haze of your thoughts. It was a voice you knew intimately, a voice that had once filled your life with joy. You turned, your heart pounding against your ribs, and found yourself face to face with Choi Seungcheol.

Even under the dim lights, concealed beneath a cap and hoodie, his presence was undeniable. The leader of SEVENTEEN, the man who had been your beacon of happiness, stood before you, his eyes holding a knowing, gentle gaze that sent a shiver down your spine. He recognized you.

"What?" you managed, your voice barely a whisper.

"You stopped coming to concerts. To fansigns. You used to be there—front row, every time." His voice was soft, laced with a hint of disappointment.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "Didn’t think you’d notice."

"I did."

Those two words, simple yet profound, were enough to shatter the walls you had meticulously built around yourself.

The stale air of the bar hung heavy, thick with the unsaid, the unspoken regrets that lingered like ghosts. You stared into the swirling amber of your drink, the liquid a distorted reflection of your own fractured emotions.

"Life happened," you repeated, the words sounding hollow even to your own ears. It was a cliché, a dismissive phrase used to brush aside the complexities of existence, but it was the only explanation you could muster.

Seungcheol remained silent, his gaze fixed on you, unwavering. He wasn't judging, wasn't offering platitudes. He was simply present, a silent witness to your unraveling. The weight of his attention, the intensity of his focus, was almost unbearable.

"Bills piled up," you continued, your voice barely a whisper. "My job… it barely covers rent. I'm constantly working, constantly exhausted. There's no room for anything else."

You paused, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "And then there's my personal life. Or what's left of it. Relationships fell apart. Friendships faded. It's like… I'm slowly disappearing."

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a raw, vulnerable pain. "It's not just about the money, Cheol. It's about feeling like I've lost myself. Like I'm just going through the motions, existing but not living."

You looked back down at the drink, unable to meet his gaze. "I used to find so much joy in being a Carat. SEVENTEEN was my escape, my happy place. But… I couldn't reconcile that joy with the reality of my life. It felt like a betrayal, almost. Like I was pretending everything was okay when it wasn't."

You took a shaky breath, the weight of your confession pressing down on you. "I felt guilty. Guilty for spending money I didn't have, guilty for taking time for myself when I should have been working, guilty for feeling happy when I felt like I had no right to be. And then… I just stopped. I stopped going to concerts, stopped buying albums, stopped watching your videos. I just… shut it all out."

Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, fighting back tears. "It wasn't that I didn't want to be there. It's just that I couldn't… I couldn't bear to see you all, to see the happiness I used to have, knowing I couldn't reach it anymore."

You closed your eyes, the memories flooding back, each one a sharp pang of longing. "I remember the first time I saw you perform. The energy, the passion, the sheer joy radiating from the stage. It was like… magic. And I wanted to be a part of that magic. I wanted to feel that happiness again."

"But I couldn't," you whispered, your voice thick with unshed tears. "I couldn't pretend anymore. I couldn't keep up the facade. And I didn't want to be a reminder of what I'd lost. So, I just… disappeared."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, and found them filled with a deep, unwavering empathy. He wasn't offering solutions, wasn't trying to minimize your pain. He was simply acknowledging it, validating it.

"I used to love SEVENTEEN," you admitted, the words heavy with a bittersweet nostalgia. "I still do. But loving something doesn’t always mean you get to keep it. Sometimes, life takes things away, and you have to learn to live without them."

You paused, a wave of exhaustion washing over you. "I didn't think you'd notice. I thought I was just another face in the crowd, another fan among thousands. I didn't think I mattered."

Seungcheol's silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of your inner turmoil. He was absorbing every word, every nuance, every unspoken emotion. His eyes, dark and intense, held a depth of understanding that made your heart ache.

He didn't interrupt, didn't offer empty reassurances. He simply listened, his presence a silent acknowledgment of your pain. It was as if he was creating a space for you to unravel, to lay bare your soul without fear of judgment.

The silence stretched, heavy and charged. It was a silence filled with unspoken words, with the weight of years of unspoken emotions. You felt exposed, vulnerable, yet strangely comforted by his unwavering attention.

You looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "I'm sorry," you whispered, the words barely audible. "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I stopped being a Carat. I'm sorry I disappointed you."

You felt a tear escape, tracing a path down your cheek. You didn't bother to wipe it away. "I just… I didn't know how to be happy anymore."

You closed your eyes, the image of SEVENTEEN's joyful performances flashing through your mind, a stark reminder of the happiness you had lost. "I felt like I was betraying myself if I was happy. I felt like I was pretending and I couldn't do it."

You opened your eyes, finding his gaze still fixed on you. "I didn’t want to be a reminder of what I lost. I didn't want to be a ghost in the crowd."

Seungcheol’s silence wasn’t indifference; it was a profound respect for your pain. He was allowing you to express the depths of your despair, to acknowledge the wounds that had festered for years. He was offering you a space to be vulnerable, to be broken, without judgment or interruption.

His silence was a testament to his understanding, a silent promise that he was there, that he was listening, that he cared. In that moment, his silence spoke volumes, conveying a depth of empathy that transcended words. It was a silence that held your pain, a silence that offered solace, a silence that promised understanding.

He let you finish, and when the last of your words faded into the murmur of the bar, he took a deep breath. He had heard you. He had truly heard you. And he understood. He understood more than you thought possible.

---

The glow of your phone screen became a familiar comfort in the quiet hours of the night. After that initial, raw conversation at the bar, the texts from Seungcheol were like a lifeline, a gentle reminder that you weren't alone. They started with simple check-ins, a way to ensure you were taking care of yourself.

Cheol: Did you eat a proper meal today? Not just coffee and a stale pastry, I hope. You: Okay, fine, you caught me. But I promise I’ll make a real dinner tomorrow. Cheol: That's what you said last week. I’m starting to think I need to send you a meal prep service. You: Or you could just cook for me. ;) Cheol: Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.

The playful banter was a welcome change from the heaviness of your earlier conversations. It was as if Seungcheol was gently coaxing you out of your shell, reminding you that laughter and lightheartedness were still possible.

As the weeks turned into months, the texts became more frequent, more personal. He would share snippets of his day, the behind-the-scenes moments that fans rarely saw.

Cheol: Rehearsals were brutal today. But we got a new choreography down. I wish you could see it. You: I’m sure it’s amazing. You guys always put on incredible performances. Cheol: It’s not the same without you in the audience. You: Are you trying to make me blush? Cheol: Maybe. ;)

The subtle flirtation was a delicate dance, a push and pull that made your heart flutter. You found yourself looking forward to his messages, eager to see what he would say next.

One night, he sent you a picture of himself, a candid shot taken during a break from filming. He was smiling, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Cheol: Thinking of you. You: You look good. Even when you’re tired. Cheol: Only for you. You: Smooth. Cheol: I have my moments.

The late-night calls became a regular occurrence, a way to bridge the distance between your worlds. You would talk for hours, sharing your thoughts, your dreams, your fears. He listened with unwavering attention, his voice a soothing presence in the darkness.

"You know," he said one night, his voice soft, "you never talk about yourself. You're always asking about me, about the members. But I want to know about you. Tell me about your day."

You hesitated, unsure how to articulate the mundane details of your life. "It's nothing special," you murmured. "Just work, errands, the usual."

"Try me," he insisted. "I want to hear about it."

So, you started to share, recounting the small moments that made up your day—a funny interaction with a coworker, a beautiful sunset, a new book you had started reading. He listened intently, asking questions, offering his own observations.

"You have a way of seeing beauty in the ordinary," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "It's one of the things I admire most about you."

You blushed, surprised by his compliment. "You're just saying that."

"I mean it," he said, his voice firm. "You have a unique perspective, a way of finding joy in the little things. It's refreshing."

The compliments, the gentle teasing, the genuine interest in your life—it was all so unexpected, so different from the distant idol you had once admired from afar. He was human, vulnerable, and undeniably charming.

One night, he called you late, his voice a little breathless.

"I just finished a concert," he said. "The energy was incredible. But all I could think about was you."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Me?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice soft. "I kept looking out into the crowd, imagining you there, singing along, cheering us on."

"I wish I could have been there," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"Me too," he said. "But next time, I promise, you'll be there. Front row, center stage."

The promise hung in the air, a tangible expression of his desire to bridge the gap between your worlds. It was a promise that filled you with hope, a promise that made you believe that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to the joy you had lost.

The texts and calls became a constant in your life, a source of comfort and connection. You found yourself sharing more of yourself, opening up about your fears, your dreams, your insecurities. He listened without judgment, offering support and encouragement.

"You're stronger than you think," he said one night, his voice filled with conviction. "You've been through so much, but you're still here. You're still fighting. And that's something to be proud of."

His words were a balm to your wounded soul, a reminder that you were capable of more than you thought. He was slowly piecing you back together, helping you rediscover the strength you had forgotten you possessed.

One late night, after a particularly long conversation, he sent you a final text.

Cheol: Sleep well, my love. You: You’re so cheesy. Cheol: Only for you. You: Goodnight, Cheol. Cheol: Goodnight. And dream of me.

You smiled, the warmth of his words spreading through you. You closed your eyes, the image of his smiling face filling your mind. You were falling, slowly but surely, and you knew that you were falling for him all over again.

2 years had passed by since you both had started texting and you had become a carat all over again; developed feelings for cheol but knew you had no chance with him. Or thats what…you thought.

The phone rang, a sharp intrusion into the quiet of your apartment. The name 'cheolie' flashed across the screen, and your heart pounded in your chest. His voice, when it came, was strained, a raw edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I can’t do this anymore i need to tell you something, And sorry to this over a fucking call i wanted to see you talk to you- this idol life is a fucking mess-" he said, the words heavy with a desperate sincerity.

Your stomach dropped, a cold knot forming in your gut. "Chill out cheol its fine- And you can't do what anymore?"

"Pretend you’re just a fan. Pretend I don’t—" He paused, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. "I don’t want to see you in the crowd. I want you beside me."

The words hung in the air, a declaration that shattered the delicate balance you had maintained for so long. You were silent, your mind racing, trying to process the weight of his confession.

"Say something," he pleaded, his voice laced with a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

"Cheol… I don’t think I’m—"

"Don’t." His voice was sharp, cutting through your doubts like a knife. "Don’t say you’re not good enough. Don’t say you don’t matter. I swear, if you say that, I’m coming over just to knock some sense into you."

Tears pricked your eyes, a mix of fear and longing swirling within you. "I’m just me. I’m nothing special."

"You’re everything," he countered, his voice softening, filled with a tenderness that made your breath catch in your throat. "And I want you to be mine."

You swallowed hard, the words echoing in your mind, a declaration that felt both surreal and intoxicating. "Cheol… I don’t understand. Why me? I’m not… I’m not pretty. I’ve gained weight. I’m just… ordinary."

A low growl rumbled through the phone, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you ever say that again."

His voice was firm, laced with a raw intensity that left no room for argument. "You are beautiful. More beautiful than you know. You have a light inside you, a warmth that radiates from your soul. It’s in your eyes, in your smile, in the way you care for others. And yes," he continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "you've gained a little weight. And honestly, it drives me crazy. You look so damn good, so… edible. You’re soft, you’re real, and you’re absolutely stunning."

Your cheeks flushed crimson, a wave of heat washing over you. You had never heard him speak like this, with such raw desire, such unfiltered adoration.

"I don’t care about the superficial things," he continued, his voice filled with conviction. "I care about your heart, your mind, your soul. I care about the way you make me feel, the way you make me laugh, the way you understand me without me having to say a word."

He paused, a heavy silence settling between you. "You’re the only person who sees me, truly sees me, beyond the idol, beyond the leader. You see the man beneath it all, the man I keep hidden from the world. And that… that means everything to me."

"Cheol…" you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

"I know I’m asking a lot," he said, his voice softer now, laced with a gentle vulnerability. "I know this isn’t easy. But I can’t keep pretending. I can’t keep watching you from afar, longing for something I can’t have. I need you in my life. I need you by my side."

"But… the fans…" you stammered, the reality of his world crashing down on you.

"We’ll figure it out," he said, his voice filled with determination. "We’ll find a way. We’ll be careful, we’ll be discreet. But I won’t hide you. I won’t pretend you don’t exist. You deserve to be seen, to be loved, to be cherished."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "Please," he whispered, his voice laced with a raw vulnerability that made your heart ache. "Please, say you’ll give me a chance. Say you’ll let me love you."

You were silent, tears streaming down your face, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. You had never felt so seen, so cherished, so loved. His words were a balm to your wounded soul, a testament to the depth of his feelings.

"I… I don’t know what to say," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Just say yes," he pleaded, his voice filled with a desperate longing. "Just say you’ll be mine."

You closed your eyes, the image of his smiling face filling your mind. "Yes," you whispered, the word barely audible. "Yes, Cheol. I’ll be yours."

A sigh of relief escaped his lips, a sound that was both shaky and filled with joy. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for giving me a chance. I promise, I won’t let you down."

The phone line went silent, but the connection between you remained, a bond forged in vulnerability, in honesty, in love. You were his, and he was yours, a secret whispered in the darkness, a love that defied the odds.

Your relationship, born in the shadows of fame and fueled by a deep, undeniable connection, became a delicate dance of stolen moments and whispered affections. It was a world of late-night phone calls, coded messages, and clandestine meetings, a world where every touch, every glance, was charged with the thrill of forbidden love.

Backstage at concerts, amidst the chaos and adrenaline, they would find fleeting moments of intimacy. A quick, stolen kiss behind a curtain, a lingering touch of hands in a darkened hallway, a whispered "I miss you" amidst the roar of the crowd. These moments, though brief, were precious, a reminder of the love that bloomed in the midst of their busy lives.

One night, after a particularly grueling concert, Seungcheol found a way to slip away, his manager covering for him. He arrived at your apartment, a figure shrouded in a hoodie and cap, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I couldn't stay away," he whispered, his voice hoarse from singing.

You pulled him inside, locking the door behind him. He shed his disguise, revealing the tired but happy face you had come to adore. He pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your neck.

"I need you," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

He showered you with neck kisses, each one a tender expression of his longing. The touch was electric, a reminder of the raw desire that simmered beneath the surface of their relationship.

"I missed you so much," he whispered, his lips tracing the delicate curve of your ear.

He pulled you to the kitchen, where he proceeded to make a late-night snack. He moved with a quiet efficiency, his movements fluid and graceful.

"I've been practicing," he said, a playful grin spreading across his face. "I wanted to impress you."

You watched him, your heart swelling with affection. He was so different from the charismatic idol the world saw. He was a man, vulnerable and loving, eager to please.

They cooked together, a silent dance of shared intimacy. The kitchen, once a place of solitary meals, became a haven of shared laughter and whispered secrets.

After they ate, they settled on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms. They put on a movie, but neither of them paid much attention to the screen. They were content to simply be together, to feel the warmth of each other's bodies, to lose themselves in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

"I wish we could do this every night," he murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm.

"Me too," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Movie nights became a regular occurrence, a way to escape the pressures of their lives. They would cuddle on the couch, sharing popcorn and whispered jokes, their laughter echoing through the quiet apartment.

Sometimes, they would simply talk, sharing their dreams, their fears, their hopes for the future. He would tell you about the challenges of being a leader, the pressure to always be strong, the fear of disappointing his members and his fans. You would tell him about your own struggles, the loneliness of your past, the joy you found in his love.

He listened with unwavering attention, his eyes filled with a deep understanding. He never judged, never minimized your feelings. He simply offered his support, his love, his unwavering belief in you.

One night, he surprised you with a handwritten letter, a declaration of his love that brought tears to your eyes.

"My dearest," he wrote, "I never thought I would find someone who understood me so completely, someone who saw me for who I truly am. You are my light, my strength, my everything. I love you more than words can say."

He signed it with a simple "Cheol," a reminder of the man beneath the idol, the man who loved you with all his heart.

Their secret relationship was a tapestry woven with stolen moments, whispered affections, and unwavering love. It was a world of hidden kisses, late-night cuddles, and heartfelt confessions. It was a world they built together, a world that was theirs and theirs alone.

He would send you goodnight texts every night without fail, no matter how late he was working.

And in those quiet moments, when the world felt too loud, he reminded you of one thing:

"You won’t leave me again, right?"

You smiled, fingers tracing the words on your screen.

"Never."

The secrecy was hard, but it made their moments together all the more precious. Each stolen kiss, each whispered "I love you," was a testament to the strength of their bond, a reminder that their love was worth fighting for. They were building a world within a world, a haven of love and understanding in the midst of the chaos of their lives. And in that haven, they found a love that was both extraordinary and deeply personal, a love that was theirs and theirs alone.

---

Under the Blood Moon || Peaky Blinders || Masterlist

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Series Masterlist (incomplete)

Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Chapter 14 || Chapter 15 || Chapter 16 || Chapter 17 || Chapter 18