#chapter fifty two

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Fifty-Two

(AO3 counterpart here.)

That night was painfully long and alarmingly short all at once.

Once everyone had eaten, the bodies were carried outside, the entire Clan following Fireheart into the woods. Even Goldenflower left with them, letting Aspenpaw take charge of the kits. Fireheart dimly reflected on the humor of an apprentice barely older than the kits themselves being their guardian. Goldenflower didn’t comment, simply helping carry Bluestar alongside Frostfur.

Every path to and from the burial sites stretched on and on, ending in a heartbeat of digging, placing, and refilling in silence, then returning to an eternity of walking. It was a marvel that the final hole was dug and filled by midnight.

After that came the return home. With the forest completely lacking dog-scent, cats were more willing to spread out to hunt on their way back. Fireheart, to his own surprise, managed to focus enough to catch a shrew. He waited for everyone to come to him, whether or not they had prey, before leading them to camp. It was still silent.

The Clan came home together, Fireheart giving Cinderpaw his shrew and heading straight for the meeting stump. He hopped onto it, standing and waiting for everyone to deposit their prey and look up at him attentively.

“Is everyone doing alright?” he asked first. Some surprised and mildly amused nods and verbal confirmations replied to him, and he fought to keep his ears from going back as he said sheepishly, “Just wanted to check before I said anything else.

“I won’t pretend to be gifted in speech, and I know I should have done this before we went out, but… I thought I should say something in honor of our leader, deputy and seer before we continue on for the night.”

Darkstripe made a face out of the corner of his eye, but everyone else, weary though they were, did perk up a bit. Many curious eyes were on Fireheart as he took in a breath, sorting his thoughts briefly.

“First, Whitecloud,” he said. “He saved my and Cinderpaw’s lives, but beyond that, he saved all of us by taking charge when he was appointed after Speckletail.” Speckletail died saving you too; seems to be a pattern with you, a nasty little voice whispered in the back of his mind. He ignored it for now. “He was our leader when Bluestar couldn’t be, and he still took care of his aunt while taking care of us. I have a legacy to live up to, and I’m honored to bear that task.” He looked up to the sky. “Whitecloud, I hope you’ve made it to StarClan by now, but if you haven’t and you’re still here… we owe you more than we could ever hope to give back.”

He looked back down to saddened faces. He restrained a sigh of sorrow himself and continued.

“Yellowfang…” He twitched his whiskers. “Well, I know she wouldn’t want us to get overly poetic about her. She’d probably slap me if I tried to be anything but honest, no matter how rude the rest of us would find it.” A few small titters. “She was crass, cranky, and courageous. She saw the world from a practical perspective, and she wasn’t afraid to test her ancestors’ patience by being blunt and ready to fight at the drop of a feather.” His eyes slowly drifted downwards. “I feel lucky that I got to take care of her when she first came to us. She was unlike anyone I’ve ever known, and there’s no replacing that cursing, grumpy ball of fur from the marshes.” He looked at Cinderpaw. “But she made sure to leave us with an apprentice that she loved more than anyone in the world, one that she was eager to fight and die for. And, Yellowfang, if you’re here, I promise we’ll take care of her in your stead. Your fool girl couldn’t have been trained by a better mentor.”

Cinderpaw swallowed a lump and blinked her wet eyes gratefully at Fireheart.

“And Bluestar,” Fireheart said, returning his attention to the rest of ThunderClan. Everyone’s gaze immediately turned even more unhappy. He fought a lump in his throat himself as he carefully considered what he needed to say.

“It wasn’t fair,” he said after a pause. “It wasn’t fair for her to grow ill and alienated from us after leading for so long. It wasn’t fair for us to avoid her or be angry with her for it. I only saw the end of her reign, but even then I could see how great she was from how eager all of you were to follow her. She was noble and dignified and wise, and…” His voice trembled now. “And to have that ripped away from her by something she couldn’t control is unbearably cruel. I watched her forget me and her nephew, and all of you. It… it was like watching her die over and over again. We lost her a long time ago.”

Many heads bowed, and many eyes shut painfully.

“We can take comfort in that her pain is over,” Fireheart continued, fighting to steady his voice. “But we shouldn’t forget that pain. Nor should we forget who she was before: regal and intelligent and confident. Those two things can exist together, and they do whether we want them to or not.” His breath was shaky. “She was my mentor, the one who practiced what she preached and took me in to live in ThunderClan. I owe everything to her, even more than I owe Whitecloud. If you’re still here, Bluestar…” He returned his attention to the sky, throat tight enough that he had to force his words out, and even then, they came out quiet and taut. “…Thank you.”

When he looked down, everyone’s faces were miserable. He resisted the urge to shake his pelt and simply stood tall.

“We will survive without them,” he said. “We’ll make them proud and let them rest in peace, knowing that in their absence, ThunderClan stands strong and keeps moving forward, no matter how many blows we take.”

The aura of camp brightened up and eased. Cats sat straighter or murmured agreement, expressions relaxing.

“That’s about all I have to say,” Fireheart said, a little awkwardly. “Let’s rest up for the Gathering tomorrow night. If you want to go, let me know.”

He jumped down from the stump, the only tangible thought in his head being, Well, that could have gone worse.

He spent the rest of the night checking on everyone, answering their questions with very little confidence, offering comfort with much more, and finally retiring when the stars started fading. Before he could leave camp, Cloudpaw came up to him with his tail curled eagerly.

“Me and the other apprentices cleaned the leader’s den and got you new nesting stuff,” he said, proud but still peeking at Fireheart, seeking approval. “You don’t have to sleep with all that rotten prey anymore! Or– well, you didn’t before, but now you definitely don’t have to.”

Fireheart purred. “Thank you. I appreciate that. Where is Frostfur’s litter?”

“Oh, they already went to our den, I think.”

“Well, when they wake up tomorrow, I’ll thank them too.” He ruffled Cloudpaw’s head-fur. “You did me a big favor.”

Cloudpaw puffed out his chest in delight. Fireheart kept a happy face on until he left camp and went to his new den alone. He limply collapsed into the soft, fresh moss, staring absently at the wall. It took him a long time to fall asleep, barely able to get past the feeling of being the only cat in the whole forest. How had Bluestar tolerated this?

The next night came, and Fireheart (with some help, to make sure he didn’t bring the wrong number of cats) selected Ravenwing, Teaselfoot, Sandstorm, Lizardtail, Cloudpaw, and Frostfur’s sons. Brightpaw adamantly refused his offer to take her, and he didn’t push her on it, just gently reminded her that she was welcome to come whenever she was ready. It mildly surprised him to see her remaining fur smooth down again with his soothing tone.

The party set out warily, heads constantly turning and noses in the air. The dog never did appear, even as they reached the neutral grounds. The other Clans had already arrived, looking no worse for wear. Fireheart breathed slowly to steady his hammering heart, which did absolutely nothing as he padded through the crowd, his Clanmates dispersing and curiosity wafting off everyone else as they watched him walk along. He nodded politely to as many cats as he could, dreading reaching the boulder. Thank the stars that he managed to jump up onto it without any trouble, but the other leaders were staring at him with puzzlement.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Rookstar said flatly.

“Er…” Fireheart bobbed his head to him, chuffing awkwardly. “It’s been a pretty crazy month for us.”

Crookedstar purred and tilted his head, peering down at the much younger tom. “Bluestar’s still not well, I take it?”

Fireheart resisted the urge to sag in grief. “You could say that.”

The leaders fell silent, all exchanging questioning glances but not being rude enough to pry.

Fireheart watched the crowd, mourning his place in it. I’ll never get to just…talk to other cats again, will I? I’m going to be “the leader”, and I have to sit up here, watching everyone else have fun conversations. Will cats be afraid to talk to me? I’m still just me…

“Think we’re about ready,” Rookstar said after a lengthy pause, the warriors and apprentices’ conversations quieting down.

“I’ll do it,” Blackstar said, and stood, calling out with the same loud, elongated cry that Bluestar had used so many times before. Everyone immediately fell silent and looked forward, though some of the other Clans’ eyes were very closely focused on Fireheart.

As usual, Crookedstar began. “A night of peace to you all, and hopefully many more peaceful nights past this!” He grimaced about as well as a crooked-jawed cat could. “We’ve all scented or seen that one dog by now, I gather.”

“The other ones were killed or carried away,” Fireheart said. “They’ve been invading ThunderClan for a while now.”

Lizardtail winced and gave Fireheart a “don’t tell them that” gesture with his paw. Fireheart ignored him.

Crookedstar looked down at Fireheart. “Well, then, I assume you have a great deal to tell us!”

“A very great deal,” Fireheart confirmed. He stood up, took a step forward, and breathed in deep, mindful of every stare he was getting.

“Good evening,” he started, at least getting his voice to be a little louder than at home. “My name is Fireheart, and I’m here to speak for ThunderClan. We’ve…” He trailed off, shivered, and willed himself to keep speaking. “We’ve lost pretty much all of our senior warriors and our seer to the dogs, and illness in the case of Bluestar.”

ThunderClan’s warriors opened their mouths, looking mortified. The rest of the cats gasped or spoke to each other in surprise, followed by sympathetic murmurs as they looked back up at Fireheart.

“Bluestar wasn’t able to make any decisions on her own,” Fireheart went on. “We relied on our deputies, Speckletail and Whitecloud, to lead us. When Whitecloud succeeded Speckletail, he had two cats in mind to be his deputies when he went to the Mother to become a leader. That was me and my friend, Dustpelt.” Fireheart’s tail wanted to cling around his back leg, but he forced it to stay straight and tall. “Whitecloud was killed very suddenly, along with Yellowfang, who left behind Cinderpaw as our only seer. And Bluestar died right after them, only two nights ago. The Clan…” He braced himself for derision and bafflement. “The Clan has accepted me as the new leader.”

There was a heartbeat of a pause, then several loud voices cheered from the crowd, making Fireheart jolt. He caught sight of the tortoiseshell Mosspelt standing beside Pansyheart, both of them with shining eyes and curled tails, shouting excitedly.

“Congratulations!” a familiar voice called—Fireheart looked to see Rainpath standing beside his apprentice, tip-tapping joyfully in place. Badgerpaw added in a high pitch, “Blessings!”

“ThunderClan made a good choice for once!” a black tom yelled, receiving a wave of chuffs. Fireheart recognized him as Silverstream’s old friend, Privetclaw.

“How about that,” another familiar voice said, just barely above the normal volume. Wrenwhisker’s eyes were slightly crinkled, his long tail curling behind him. “Well done, buddy.”

“You’ll do fine,” Rookstar said, and he dipped his head respectfully.

“Ha!” Crookedstar nearly slapped Fireheart on the back, but caught himself and just tapped him with a broad paw. “Yes, you certainly will. Young to lead, but we’ve got your back if ever you need us, lad.”

“ShadowClan offers their well-wishes and support,” Blackstar added, his sour face ever-so-slightly warmer. “Our seer can come to assist Cinderpaw whenever she needs it. Even give her her name, if she accepts it.”

Fireheart’s gaze swept around, from the other leaders to the cats below him, all nodding in support or beaming for him. His heart warmed in his chest, and he couldn’t fight back a beam of his own, legs almost wobbly from relief.

“Thank you,” he said when it got quiet. “I– I’m very grateful for your support. All of your support.”

Cloudpaw, in the center of the gathered cats, was flaring out his fur in pride. Fireheart read his lips as he whispered to a brown-and-white apprentice beside him, “That’s my uncle!”

“I hope that’s the worst of your news,” Crookedstar said to Fireheart. “The dogs are mostly gone, save that one?”

Fireheart nodded. “We haven’t scented it anywhere else around the forest. The last time it was seen was here, in the neutral grounds.” He paused, then realized what he was supposed to do next and added, “That’s all from us.” He stepped back and sat down quickly, tail now wrapping tightly around his front paws.

“Well…” Crookedstar stood up now and took that usual step forward. “We’ve seen that bloody big dog too. It’s running all over the place, but it’s mostly been in the fields, chasing after rabbits and horses, and then disappearing for days. I’ll freely admit that we have no idea what to do about that.” He shuddered. “It’s been awful enough just having to constantly keep an eye on it and stay hidden.”

“You are not the only ones to watch something carefully,” Blackstar said. “We in the marshes have seen a human with a rronakrak walking our borders.” He scowled. “And the dog has been spotted in the far distance of the north, too.”

“And by our border, too,” Rookstar said. He let out the faintest sigh. “Humans are walking our land. Perhaps to find the dog.”

“I’m sure they are,” Fireheart said. “They were the ones to trap the other dogs and take them away. We haven’t seen those ones since.”

“Interesting…” Blackstar tilted his head, thoughtful. “Then you suggest they’d take this one too?”

Fireheart rolled a shoulder. “Or just kill it, if they’ve got a rronakrak. One car killed a dog in front of us. Those humans are the only reason we’re all alive right now.”

The crowd did not quite growl at this, but their chatter was less than friendly at the notion of humans being spoken of in the positive.

“They’re taking their sweet time killing this last one,” Crookedstar said, his joviality a poor cover for his anger. “We need it gone as soon as possible.”

A voice piped up. “Maybe we could speed it along?”

Fireheart was startled to hear Ravenwing, and even more startled to see that he didn’t look particularly afraid as everyone turned their heads to him. He flinched a tiny bit, but his voice stayed steady.

“When it was pel dogs, we couldn’t do anything, even as an entire group,” he said, loud and clear. “But we have just one left, and the humans are already seeking to kill it. If they show up at the right time, and the dog is led over to them or something, maybe they could kill it quickly.”

The crowd murmured at this, ears pricked and heads tilted.

“That’s not a bad idea you have there,” Crookedstar said contemplatively. “I don’t really see us taking it down ourselves. But how to pass it off to humans?”

“We’d need to find a location to bring it to, if we had someone lure it,” Rookstar said, tail tapping the boulder. “WindClan’s fastest could outpace it easily.”

“And RiverClan’s fields are flat and very open,” a round-faced patched molly called. “Humans are on the walking path all the time, and they’re always trying to get close to us.”

“Then that’d be a perfect spot.” Blackstar’s face was still dark, but his front paws kneaded in place. “ShadowClan always has its eyes on the Aulmir. We can locate a human with a rronakrak and alert the rest of you.”

“If we can get this to work…” Crookedstar’s short tail started wagging. “We ought to discuss it more. RiverClan’s territory will be open to all the Clans, if we work on this as a team.” He spoke to Fireheart. “ThunderClan’s staggering right now, I take it. You don’t have to be a part of this; you’re free to rest and recover.”

Fireheart twitched his whiskers. “Like blazes I’m not trying to help. I’ll speak to the rest of the Clan about it, but I’m sure we’d all want in. For those we’ve lost, if nothing else.”

“As you like,” Crookedstar said, eyes warm with approval. He turned to the crowd. “Now, let’s chat. We have a dog to kill.”

[steele-soulmate]

Princess of Candy Coated Lies, Modern Royalty AU- King Peter Steele & Single Mother OFC, Soulmate AU

Chapter 52

SUMMARY: Single mother Molly Anne Harper does the best she can do, given her circumstances- since she broke up with her ex-boyfriend by sending him to jail, she’s been struggling to be the best mother to twin daughters while working barely minimum waged jobs. But when she meets her soulmate- King Peter Thomas Ratajczyk of Brooklyn- she quickly finds herself falling heads over heels in love with the guarded, battle damaged ruler. Likewise, Peter finds himself with a family of a women and two little girls who call him daddy. But what happens when their father gets out from behind bars and starts to cause mayhem?

A Soulmate AU where you never know what the first words your soulmate says to you until they say it

STORY WARNINGS: mentions of postpartum depression (nothing graphic)

WORD COUNT: 1213

I leaned my hip into the doorway and watched affectionately as Peter tucked Evie into bed, having already pulled off her shoes and tugged off her jacket. He tapped her nose affectionately before bending down and pressing a whiskery kiss to her forehead.

“Sleep well Evie,” he rumbled gently before tiptoeing over to me and smiling at me as he pulled out a baby gate that was built into the door frame. “I’ve been meaning to show you this hidden little feature that I had built into all the doorframe in the house.”

“It’s so wonderful!” I smiled at him, shouting out a giggle when he scooped me into his arms and began the short trek to our private suite. “My love, how is it that you have truly thought of everything?”

“It wasn’t my idea- Pamela had the exact same thing in her house,” he told me, humble as always as he entered our bedroom, interrupting Coco and Luna from their kitty scuffle on the bed. “She gave me the schematic and I was able to work it in. I was hoping that my soulmate would want to bless me with many babies of my very own.”

My heart started drumming faster as he settled me onto the bed, smiling gently at me as he disappeared into the bathroom. I heard him removing his clothes, and I knew that he was changing into his sleep clothes, and would soon enough be out dressed in dark gray sweatpants and a loose fitting green t-short and carrying my nightclothes, hairbrush and a hair tie.

Sure enough, he emerged with a sweet smile on his face, setting everything onto the bed before crossing over to the chest of drawers on his side of the room. He pulled out a fresh pair of panties and clean socks before coming back over to me, taking to his knees as I set my feet into his lap. I knew that my kingly husband got off on doting after me, and would often take care in choosing something comfortable and warm for me to wear to bed, helping me in and out of the day’s outerwear and holding my purse for me. He loved taking care of me, and in return, I loved him for it.

“What names do you like?” I asked him as he was tugging my boots off from my feet.

“Names?” he asked me, setting my boots off to the side and peeling my socks off next. “Names for what, sweetheart?”

“Names for all of the babies that I will bless you with,” I answered him. “I’m not fond of classic names like Mary and Anne- I’ve always thought that they sounded boring.”

“Well, I absolutely hate the modern names that people these days are naming their kids,” he grumbled, pausing as I unbuttoned and unzippered my jeans before easing my out of them next. “Babies will grow up to become actual human beings. Some of the cringeworthy names I’ve heard of give me the impression that they will have a difficult time looking for jobs.”

“I’m really not a fan of names like that, either.” I surveyed him as he tenderly removed my panties next, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to my belly button. “Your majesty, you like autumn, right?”

“That is right sweetheart,” he answered, sliding me into the fresh panties and socks. “Why? What’s on your mind?”

“Autumn Rose?” I pitched, my arms up as he peeled me out of my long sleeved t-shirt next. “Autumn Rose? Do you like Autumn Rose for a little princess?”

“It is a pretty cute name,” he hummed as he dressed me for bed in my dark green sleep clothes. “What other names do you like?”

“Thomas Jospeh?” I suggested. “Thomas Joseph for a son?”

“Not Peter Junior?” he pouted, setting me up crossed legged right in front of him.

“NO.” I shuddered, relaxing when he started to gently brush my curly locks. “I’ve always hated passing down family names- what a way to tell a kid that they aren’t allowed to be their own, individual selves!”

“I’ve never thought of it like that,” he confessed, pausing to gently tease out a snarl. “But you’re right- my father was Peter Williams and my mom is Annette Catherine. My eldest sister and I were given their first names and completely different middle names.”

I made a face, which he didn’t see. Luna came up to me, clearly seeking cuddles from her human mommy, which I couldn’t help but provide her with. Coco and Buttercup both quickly followed their sister, the three kitties purring loudly as they rubbed themselves all across me.

PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUR

“Good kitties,” I giggled contently as Peter set my hairbrush down and began to carefully plait my curls. “My love, can our babies spend the first few months sleeping in our bedroom? I had horrible separation anxiety following the twins’ birth, followed with a bad case of postpartum depression.”

“One on condition.” He finished the braid and tied it off before draping the braid over my shoulder. “You allowing me to build the furniture for our babies- I’ve been crafting nursery furniture for my nieces for the past ten years.”

“But of course you can,” I answered him, giggling as he helped me to crawl underneath the covers, tucking me in tenderly before he turned off the light and got into bed next to me, tugging me to lay across his manly chest as he rolled onto his back. “I saw the furniture that you made for the twins- I really love all the hidden details you carved in. You want to know something, I bet you can sell furniture that you make and possibly turn it into a side hustle.”

“We’ll see sweetheart.” He pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of my temple. “Now, shut up. I’m tired and I want to sleep now.”

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@ch3rry-c0la

@rockstarsluttt

@angelxfuckk

[s4sharkteeth]

born to say we’re so back forced to mean it 💔

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[arolesbianism]

Ok looked at most of the extra stuff. Breaks everything in a ten mile radius and starts screaming

[vulpinesaint]

literally evil for my sacred texts professor to assign a two hour movie. i would not sit down to watch a two hour movie for pleasure much less for class

[anissapierce]

In another universe yyh was published in a girl's horror magazine.... Different trajectory for the story entirely though

[swan2swan]

Some context on the one piece anime.

The two episodes that most recently aired on Toonami adapted a single chapter. The prior chapter was also adapted into two episodes

The Chapter before that one was three episodes

I'm getting that vibe.

Yeesh.

[elytrafemme]

i don't thank you guys enough for sticking through cough syrup because i'm rereading bits of it and Jesus Christ this fic is so long. what the fuck. why did i write this much 😭

[renee-writer]

Out of Time Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-two

AO3

She goes to Jenny first. There is something about the woman’s straight forwardness that allows her to trust her.

 

“I have something to confess.” Jenny’s  eyes open wide and she frowns.

 

“Aye?”

 

“You know I am hiding something.” Jenny nods. She is sternly looking at her but, there is also a softness in her eyes. It gives Tara the strength to continue. “It isn’t anything bad, or at least I don’t think so.”

 

“I shall judge that. Out with it then.”

 

“I like ladies. I am a lesbian.” She holds her breath waiting on her reaction. She is still holding it when Jenny throws her arms around her and hugs her.

 

“My goodness dear,” she says as Tara starts to relax against her, “is that all? That isn’t an issue for me. I assure you that it won’t be for my family either. Any one who has an issue will have to deal with me.”

 

She is still hugging her when the lass starts to sob. Jenny makes soothing sounds as the defenses Tara was surrounded with, start to fall.

 

“I didn’t,” a hiccup, “know with breeding being…” Jenny pulls her away to see her face.

 

“You are a human being, not breeding livestock.” She smiles, “we don’t  need uterus ‘ and cocks but men and women to rebuild society. You are strong and brave. Exactly the type of woman needed in this family.”

 

Her sobs, that had been tapering down, start fresh again. “My family…”

 

“Not accepting, eh? I am sorry Tara. They were wrong. This family will accept you. I swear it.”

 

That night, with Jenny by her side, she announces it to everyone. Jenny is right. It is not a big deal. A huge weight lifts off her and she is a more open and giving lady from that point on.

[randomkidstarfic]

Every once in a while when I’m really bored I’ll play a little game with myself called ‘Can I remember exactly which chapter of Bet on Me this is by only the quote its named after?’ Mixed results every time. 

[mzcain27]

Begging the next book/series I read to have shorter chapters

[s4sharkteeth]

these damn kids done broke mr morlind’s brain

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[skrunksthatwunk]

in case you guys are wondering how infinite wealth is going for me

[britneyshakespeare]

i feel so empty inside

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 23: June 2024 - Part 4

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The smell of fresh croissants filled the apartment by the time Belle heard the knock at the door.

She padded barefoot across the kitchen tiles, hair still messy from sleep, and opened it to find Emilie standing there — oversized sunglasses perched on her head, a tote bag dangling from one arm, and a smug, very satisfied smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"You brought pastries," Belle said, immediately stepping aside to let her in.

"I also bring gossip," Emilie said, sweeping dramatically into the kitchen. "And judgment. Lots of judgment."

Belle laughed under her breath and grabbed two mugs from the shelf. "Coffee?"

"Obviously," Emilie said, dropping the tote on the counter. "You’ll need it for this."

Belle handed her a cup and sat down at the table, folding her legs beneath her. "Okay, what did you do?"

Emilie beamed. "I may or may not have verbally eviscerated Charles last night."

Belle blinked. "You what?"

"Ran into him and Alexandra while you were busy being majestic and ignoring his fifty desperate texts," Emilie said, taking a sip of coffee like she hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb into the kitchen. "He stomped over, full of righteous panic, and I… handled it."

Belle covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to choke on a laugh. "Handled it how?"

"I told him," Emilie said sweetly, "that maybe, just maybe, if he had spent half as much time seeing you as he does now trying to fix his own guilt, he wouldn't be in this mess."

Belle’s eyebrows shot up. "You said that?"

"And more," Emilie said brightly. "I told him he doesn’t get to be upset about the horse. Or the apartment. Or the job. Because every one of those things was him not noticing, not you hiding."

Belle stared at her, heart twisting — with affection, with shock, with a deep, raw kind of gratitude she couldn’t quite put into words.

"You’re terrifying," Belle said softly.

Emilie grinned. "And yet you love me."

"I do," Belle admitted, smiling even as she felt the sting of tears at the back of her throat. "I really, really do."

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes — Belle tearing apart a croissant, Emilie scrolling through her phone — before Emilie casually said, "Oh, and by the way, I also had a date last night."

Belle blinked. "You what?"

Emilie sipped her coffee like it was no big deal. "With Lando."

Belle nearly dropped her croissant. "With—LANDO?"

"Don’t yell," Emilie said, laughing. "You’ll scare the cats."

Belle gaped at her. "You had a date with Lando Norris and you’re just… casually dropping that like it’s nothing?"

"I mean, it’s not nothing," Emilie said, suddenly a little shy, cheeks pinking. "It was… nice. Really nice."

Belle set her coffee down carefully. "You like him."

"I might," Emilie admitted, voice soft. "I really might."

Belle sat back, a slow, warm smile spreading across her face. "You deserve nice."

Emilie shrugged, but she was smiling too. "He makes me laugh. A lot. And he listens. And he doesn’t… I don’t know. He doesn’t expect me to be anything but what I am."

Belle reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "That sounds pretty good to me."

"It is," Emilie said, squeezing back. 

"And if he hurts you, I’m telling Max," Belle added. 

Emilie laughed — a real one, full and bright and fierce. "Please do."

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Lando Norris

Belle: Hi Lando Emilie told me you two had a date recently.

Lando: 😳 uh yeah we did

Lando: I swear I was a perfect gentleman. Please don't kill me.

Belle: I'm not going to kill you. I just wanted to say something.

Lando: okay (this feels scarier somehow)

Belle: Emilie is one of the kindest and strongest people I know. She’s had enough people treat her like she’s second choice, or temporary, or just an option. I won’t let anyone add to that.

Lando: I would NEVER I mean it I really like her

Belle: Good. Because if you hurt her — if you make her doubt even for a second that she’s loved— you’ll be answering to me.

Belle: And I may not shout. I may not make a scene. But I promise you — you will know exactly how thoroughly you've disappointed me.

Lando: understood

Belle: I believe in people getting second chances. But I also believe in protecting the people who matter. Emilie matters. So if you care about her — really care — don’t let her ever question that.

Belle: That's all. Thank you for listening.

Lando: yes ma'am I promise I really do like her. A lot.

Belle: Then show her. Every day.

Lando: I will.

Lando: Also I think you might be scarier than Max.

***

Max balanced the box of pastries in one hand and rang the doorbell with the other, Belle tucked close to his side.

From inside, he could already hear the low thud of feet — Luka, probably, trying to beat everyone else to the door. There was a scramble, a shout, and then Tom's voice, stern but fond, cutting through the noise: "Let her answer it properly, boys!"

Belle smiled up at Max, her hand slipping into his as the door finally swung open.

Victoria stood there, baby Hailey cradled against her chest in a wrap, her hair in a messy bun and an exhausted but beaming smile on her face.

"You’re late," Victoria teased, stepping aside to let them in. "I was starting to think you got lost."

"We had to detour for these," Max said, holding up the pastries.

Victoria snorted. "Bribery. Classic."

Inside, the house looked like chaos disguised as domestic bliss — toys strewn across the living room, Luka and Lio arguing good-naturedly over a pile of Lego, Tom trying (and failing) to get them to clean up before guests arrived.

"Uncle Max!" Luka cried, barreling into him.

Max huffed as the kid hit his side like a tiny missile but grinned and ruffled his hair. "Hey, champ."

Belle crouched to greet Lio properly, getting a shy grin in return before he wrapped himself around her leg like a barnacle.

Max’s heart twisted — the sight of Belle, already so natural, so gentle with the kids, even now. 

Victoria plopped down on the couch, motioning them over. "Come on. Come meet your niece properly."

Belle followed, a little hesitant, while Max dropped the pastries on the table and shrugged off his jacket. Sophie appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel and greeting them both with kisses on the cheek.

"You're looking well," Sophie said kindly to Belle, squeezing her hand. "Keeping it all together, I see."

Belle just smiled — small, soft, almost bashful. Max knew the truth behind that smile. Knew how much it cost sometimes to keep it together.

Victoria grinned wickedly and, without warning, untied Hailey from the wrap and thrust her gently into Belle’s arms.

"Practice," she said, laughing when Belle let out a startled breath.

Belle blinked down at the tiny bundle, hands adjusting instinctively. Hailey made a soft cooing sound and settled immediately against her chest, tiny fingers curling into the fabric of Belle’s sweater.

Max sat down beside them, watching Belle like he was memorizing the moment.

It felt like the right time.

He slid his hand onto Belle’s knee, grounding her, smiling when she glanced at him — a question in her eyes.

He nodded, barely a tilt of his head.

Belle took a deep breath, looking down at Hailey, and then up at Victoria and Sophie.

"I guess we’ll need the practice," she said quietly.

Victoria paused mid-sip of her coffee. "What?"

Belle’s cheeks pinked. She shifted Hailey carefully into Max's arms, and Max cradled the tiny girl easily, used to the weight of something precious.

"We’re having a baby," Belle said, voice trembling but sure.

Silence.

Then Sophie gasped, hands flying to her mouth. Victoria’s coffee cup clattered against the table.

"No," Victoria breathed. "You’re serious?"

Max grinned, pride swelling in his chest. "Completely."

Victoria made a noise — somewhere between a squeal and a gasp — and surged to her feet too.

"Oh my God," Victoria said, practically vibrating. "Are you serious? You’re serious??"

Belle smiled — small but real — and Max thought he might physically explode from how proud he was of her.

"About three months," Belle said quietly.

Victoria burst into happy tears immediately. Tom wandered into the room just in time to see her practically tackle Belle in a careful, weepy hug.

“You sneaky little thing!” Victoria cried. “You didn’t say anything!”

Belle laughed, breathless and teary all at once, hugging her back.

Sophie was still standing frozen for a moment — and then she crossed the room in three strides and pressed her hands gently to Belle’s cheeks, her smile breaking wide and a little broken.

"I’m so happy for you," Sophie whispered, voice thick. “My sweet girl. You’re going to be such a good mom.”

Max swallowed hard around the lump in his throat as Belle leaned into it, tears slipping down her own cheeks.

Victoria clapped her hands once, bright and chaotic. "This is amazing!" she said. "Luka! Lio! You’re going to have a new baby cousin!"

Luka whooped and ran in circles around the couch. Lio just grinned shyly and latched back onto Belle’s leg.

***

The late afternoon light slanted warm through the apartment windows, dust motes swirling lazily in the golden air. Belle sat cross-legged on the couch, wearing one of Max’s Red Bull hoodies — it nearly swallowed her whole — flipping idly through a book she hadn’t really been reading.

Max was stretched out beside her, long legs hanging off the edge, his hand absently tracing the seam of the couch between them. It was quiet in the way it only ever was with him — no pressure to fill the space, no need to perform. Just breathing, just being.

Belle felt him shift, roll onto his side to face her. She looked up from her book and smiled automatically, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Max hesitated.

Then, in a voice so soft it made her chest ache, he said, "Can I...?"

His hand hovered mid-air between them, uncertain. And for a second Belle didn’t understand — until she realized his eyes weren’t on her face.

They were on her stomach.

Still flat. Still unchanged. But growing. Quietly, invisibly.

Their baby.

Belle’s breath caught in her throat.

She nodded, just once, not trusting herself to speak.

Max moved carefully, like she was made of something fragile. His palm settled, featherlight, against the soft curve of her belly — and he exhaled a shaky little laugh, pressing his forehead against her shoulder.

"You can’t feel anything yet," Belle whispered, smiling into his hair.

"I know," Max said, his voice low and reverent. "But you're there. Both of you."

Belle let the book slip from her hands and wrapped her arms around him instead, feeling the way he cradled her so instinctively — like she was precious. Like she was his whole world.

After a long moment, Max pulled back slightly, still resting his hand against her.

"It’ll take a while before you show, won’t it?" he asked, voice gentle, almost reverent.

She nodded, smiling wetly. "First pregnancies usually do. Maybe not until four or five months in."

Max made a soft, thoughtful noise, still tracing tiny circles with his thumbs. "Good," he said. "More time to enjoy it before everyone starts trying to figure it out."

Belle laughed shakily, threading her fingers into his hair. "They’ll have to get through you first."

The look in his eyes — tender, fierce, protective — made something tighten in Belle’s chest. A thought that had been lingering there for days, tugging quietly at the corners of her mind.

Max was leaving soon.

 Flying to Spain for the Grand Prix.

 Another weekend of cameras, flashing lights, noise — and pretending.

Pretending she didn’t exist.

 Pretending this didn’t exist.

Belle bit her lip, heart thudding a little too hard against her ribs.

It wasn’t just about the hiding anymore.

 It wasn’t about keeping things private for their own peace.

 It was about the quiet ache of being invisible. Of loving and being loved and still acting like she had to apologize for it.

She could handle being unknown to the world.

 But she didn’t want to be invisible to it — not when Max was the best, most real thing she had ever dared to hold.

"I don't want to hide anymore," she said suddenly, the words spilling out before fear could swallow them down.

Max blinked, startled, lifting his head properly to look at her — really look at her.

 Like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"You don’t have to," he said immediately.

 No hesitation.

 No question.

 Just simple, devastating certainty.

Belle’s heart twisted painfully at the way he said it — like there had never been another option in his mind. Like loving her in the open was as natural to him as breathing.

She smiled — a little shaky, but sure. Anchored by him. By them.

"We don’t have to announce everything," she said, voice low but steady. "Not the baby. Not yet."

Her hand slid down to cover his, where it still rested over the soft, flat plane of her stomach — a touch so gentle it made her ache.

"But... us," Belle said, eyes searching his. "Our marriage. You. Me. I’m tired of pretending you’re not my home."

Max’s entire face softened — the kind of rare, quiet smile he only ever gave her.

 Like something sacred.

 Like something permanent.

"Okay," he said simply, voice rough around the edges. "Okay. We'll tell them."

And just like that, Belle exhaled — slowly, shakily — a breath she'd been holding for too long.

Not because she didn’t trust Max. But because she was finally starting to trust herself.

To trust that loving someone openly didn’t make her a burden. That maybe — just maybe — she could take up space without needing permission.

Belle leaned forward and kissed him — slow and sure — and Max kissed her back like he was promising her something without words. Like he was stitching the vow right into her bones.

No more hiding. No more shrinking. No more apologizing for what they had built.

Just them. Together.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Jos Verstappen

Max: Hey. Are you free to come to the Spanish Grand Prix?

Jos: I can be. Why?

Max: Belle and I are going public. About the marriage.

Jos: ...Finally. About time.

Max: Yeah, well. We wanted it to be ours first, you know?

Jos: I get it. What do you need from me?

Max: Honestly? Run a little interference. The media’s going to lose their minds. And Charles… ...Charles might combust.

Jos: You mean Charles is going to make it worse by running around like a headless chicken.

Max: Basically.

Jos: I’ll handle it. I'll be there. I’ll keep the worst of it off Belle.

Max: Thanks, Papa.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Lando Norris

Max: Heads up. Belle’s coming to the Spanish GP.

Lando: WAIT WHAT

Lando: LIKE ACTUALLY IN THE PADDOCK???

Max: Yes.

Lando: HOLY SHIT

Lando: MAX. MAX YOU CANNOT JUST DROP THAT ON ME LIKE THAT.

Max: What, did you think I was going to keep her hidden forever?

Lando: I mean YES???

Lando: BRO YOU GOT SECRET MARRIED AND YOU’RE JUST LIKE "oh btw here’s my wife" AT A WHOLE GRAND PRIX???

Max: Exactly. Soft launch. Race weekend edition.

Lando: THIS IS NOT A SOFT LAUNCH. THIS IS A NUCLEAR LAUNCH.

Max: You'll survive.

Lando: Will I?? Charles might physically explode on track. And the entire grid is going to lose their minds.

Max: Good. They deserve a little excitement.

Lando: I’m not emotionally prepared for this level of chaos.

Max: Too late. Prepare yourself.

Lando: I NEED A SUIT. AND ARMOR. AND POPCORN.

Max: Belle likes popcorn. Maybe bring some.

Lando: I'M TAKING THIS VERY SERIOUSLY, MAX.

Max: So am I. See you in Barcelona, mate.

Lando: I’m going to faint.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sergeant, Esteban Ocon, Lance Stroll and Valtteri Bottas)

Lando: 🚨🚨🚨 EMERGENCY 🚨🚨🚨

Oscar: Oh no what now

George: You can't just start like that and expect me not to panic.

Daniel: I LIVE for this energy. Continue.

Lando: Belle is coming to the Spanish GP. IN THE PADDOCK. WITH MAX. OFFICIALLY.

Lewis: ...well. That’s one way to drop a bomb.

Carlos: Wait, WAIT. Publicly?

Lando: YES.

Oscar: oh my god.

Lance: Charles is gonna combust like an overheated engine.

Zhou: Charles is going to find out and collapse in parc fermé.

Fernando: I'd pay money to see it happen live.

Nico H: Is anyone placing bets on HOW he finds out?

George: He’s either going to see them together and short-circuit or he's going to hear the rumors swirling and spiral in slow motion.

Daniel: Imagine him walking into the paddock, seeing Max holding Belle’s hand, and just… Rage quitting life.

Sebastian: Peace and love, but Charles needs to sit down and shut up. 

Lando: I am 100% recording his reaction. I don’t even care anymore.

Oscar: Charles: "Hey Belle, why are you in the paddock??" Belle: "I'm with my husband." Charles: System error. Please reboot.

Lewis: Someone get medical personnel on standby.

Carlos: I'M STILL PROCESSING THIS He doesn’t even know Max married her yet. He still thinks Belle’s secret boyfriend is sugar daddy Fernando. 

Zhou: No but seriously. WHO is going to tell Charles??

Daniel: It’s going to hit him like a freight train of bad decisions.

Oscar: We need an over/under on how long he lasts before he confronts Max.

Lewis: Five minutes tops.

George: Two minutes if Belle is holding Max's hand.

Alex: Negative five seconds if they kiss.

Fernando: I want a front row seat. No regrets.

Carlos: I kinda hope Max punches him first if he says anything stupid.

Daniel: You say that like Max wouldn’t absolutely end him with one (1) look.

Lando: I’m bringing popcorn.

Oscar: I’m bringing a camera.

Zhou: I'm bringing bail money.

Lewis: And I’m bringing peace and emotional support. (And also a camera.)

Mark: This is going to be biblical.

Nico R: If Charles survives it without crying, it’ll be a miracle.

Daniel: Imagine forgetting your sister’s birthday, her horse, her marriage, and then getting bodied by reality in one weekend. Elite.

George: This is going to be the greatest off-track drama of the season.

Carlos: And we get to watch it unfold in 4K.

Sebastian: Prayers for Charles.He’s going to need them.

Oscar: Charles isn't surviving this.

George: Neither am I tbh.

Lando: see you all in Spain let the games BEGIN.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Belle: Guess what. 

Emilie: 👀 What??

Belle: I’m going to Spain with Max. To the Grand Prix. Officially.

Emilie: WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT LIKE… WALKING INTO THE PADDOCK AS MRS. VERSTAPPEN OFFICIALLY OFFICIALLY?? 😭

Belle: Yes. We’re not announcing the baby yet. Just… us. No more hiding. No more pretending.

Emilie: I’M SCREAMING internally because I’m in public and I don’t want to get arrested but STILL

Belle: 😂😂😂

Emilie: I am so proud of you, Belle. So, so proud. You’re going to walk in there and light the place up and Max is going to look at you like you hung the stars.

Belle: He already does. 🥹

Emilie: DID YOU WANT ME TO CRY AT THE GROCERY STORE?? BECAUSE MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

Belle: 😂 Sorry not sorry. (Also… any outfit suggestions for my "Hey, I'm married to a World Champion" debut? 👀)

Emilie: DON’T MOVE. I’m pulling outfit options right now. We’re about to make Monaco’s most famous secret the event of the weekend.

Belle:  Thank you for always being in my corner. 🖤

Emilie: Always. Now let’s pick a dress that’s going to make half the paddock faint. 😘

***

The doorbell rang, followed almost immediately by the sound of keys jingling and a familiar voice calling, "Don't panic, it's just me — and I'm armed."

Belle laughed, rising from the couch just as Emilie shouldered her way into the apartment, arms overflowing with shopping bags. Designer logos peeked from between brown paper and bright ribboned handles. Emilie kicked the door shut with one foot and dropped the pile dramatically onto the coffee table with a satisfied huff.

"I come bearing offerings," she declared.

Belle raised an eyebrow. "You robbed an entire mall?"

"Selective raiding," Emilie said sweetly. "And it’s called urgent fashion triage, thank you very much."

Belle shook her head, grinning as she started rifling through the bags. Soft silks, crisp white linens, sunlit yellows and rich blues — it was like someone had bottled the Spanish sun and turned it into clothes.

"You didn’t have to," Belle said softly, touched despite herself.

"I wanted to," Emilie said, plopping down onto the couch and already pulling out outfit combinations. "You’re about to walk into your first race weekend publicly as Mrs. Verstappen. You deserve to look and feel like a goddess while doing it."

Belle smiled, the word Mrs. Verstappen settling warm and giddy under her skin.

"And," Emilie added slyly, "it’s not like I needed much of an excuse for retail therapy."

Belle nudged her playfully with her foot. "You could always come too, you know. To the race."

Emilie gave her a look.

"I’m serious," Belle said, teasing. "Spain. Sunshine. Chaos. You could watch Lando drive. In person. Maybe even cheer him on."

Emilie snorted, but the tips of her ears turned suspiciously pink. "I am not that far gone," she said primly.

"Uh-huh," Belle hummed, utterly unconvinced. “Didn’t you watch a whole Twitch stream last week just to watch someone play virtual golf?”

"Shut up!" Emilie insisted, tossing a silk scarf at her. "Besides, Lando has a job to do. And so do I — making sure you don’t accidentally show up to the paddock in, like, a ballgown."

Belle laughed, holding the scarf up against herself. "Don’t worry, I am not planning ont that."

They spent the next hour going through outfits — laughing, discarding things, planning. Belle felt lighter with every minute, like the fear and tension of the last few weeks were finally cracking open to make room for something else.

When Emilie made her try on a soft linen dress and spun her around to admire her in the mirror, Belle caught her own reflection — flushed cheeks, bright eyes, the smallest, secretive curve of a smile.

She almost didn’t recognize herself.

Almost.

But this version — the one standing taller, shining quietly, no longer shrinking — this was who Max loved.

This was who she was meant to be.

And she wasn’t going to hide anymore. ***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Heads up. I’m bringing Belle to Spain.

GP: Hold on. Like… bringing her bringing her? Publicly?

Max: Yeah. No more hiding.

GP: Max. Have you thought this through? The timing, the media, the team — And, oh, I don’t know, maybe CHARLES??

Max: He’s not a factor. Not after how he treated her.

GP: I get it. Believe me, I get it. But you realize this is going to set off a bomb, right?

Max: Maybe it should.

GP: Max—

Max: He didn’t just forget her birthday. He forgot her. For years. He doesn’t get to dictate when or how Belle gets to be seen.

GP: (three dots appearing) (long pause)

GP: Okay. If you’re sure, I’m with you.

Max: I’m sure. We’re done pretending she’s not my wife.

GP: Alright. Just warning you — Christian and Gemma are going to have a heart attack. I’ll bring popcorn.

Max: Bring tequila too. For Christian. He’s going to need it.

GP: Noted.

GP: And Max? Good for you. She deserves to be seen.

Max: She deserves everything.

***

Max sank into the chair across from Christian’s desk, casually tossing a Red Bull can from hand to hand like he had all the time in the world.

Christian Horner leaned back in his chair with a sigh that sounded both long-suffering and suspicious. Across the table, Gemma — Red Bull’s long-suffering PR manager — tapped her pen against her notepad nervously, already bracing herself for whatever Max was about to drop into their laps.

Next to her, GP looked disturbingly calm, which only made Christian more suspicious.

Max finally set the can down, grinning faintly.

"So," he said, with all the innocent charm of a man about to light a building on fire, "I’m bringing Belle to the Spanish Grand Prix."

Silence.

Christian blinked.

 Gemma stopped tapping her pen mid-air.

 GP just nodded slightly, like he'd known this was coming for weeks. (Because he had.)

Christian leaned forward slowly, hands folded neatly. "When you say ‘bring Belle’..."

Max shrugged, far too nonchalant. "I mean bring her. Publicly."

Christian stared at him for a beat. "As in... she's coming as your wife."

Max grinned wider. "Exactly."

Another heavy pause.

Gemma looked like she was calculating seventeen separate crisis plans in her head.

Christian opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.

"And," Christian said carefully, "does Charles know yet?"

Max leaned back in his chair, utterly relaxed. "Nope."

Gemma made a small, audible squeak.

Christian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Max."

Max shrugged again, unbothered. "He had plenty of time."

"And he still doesn’t know?"

"Nope."

Christian exchanged a long look with GP, who simply lifted his coffee cup like you’re the one who wanted to manage Max, not me.

Gemma finally found her voice. "Are you planning to tell him before Belle walks into the paddock in Barcelona wearing a Red Bull pass and a ring?"

Max tilted his head, pretending to think about it. "I mean... should I?"

"YES," Christian and Gemma said at the same time.

GP just sipped his coffee and smiled.

"Max," Christian said slowly, like he was explaining something to a very excitable cat, "you realize this is going to break the internet."

Max grinned, utterly unrepentant. "Good."

"Belle is Charles Leclerc’s sister," Gemma stressed. "And you — you’re you."

"Which is why I married her," Max said simply, like it was obvious.

Christian scrubbed a hand over his face. "Do you have any idea the PR nightmare this could be?"

Max's grin widened. "Or," he said, "it could be great for the team. Verstappen and Leclerc bloodlines finally uniting. Think of the headlines."

Gemma looked like she was about to pass out.

Christian sat back, muttering something about needing a drink.

Max just leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, voice suddenly quieter but infinitely more serious.

"I’m not hiding her anymore," he said. "We agreed. She deserves better than that."

And despite everything — the chaos, the incoming storm — Christian found himself softening.

Because for all his recklessness, Max Verstappen had always been terrifyingly clear when it came to the people he loved.

"Alright," Christian sighed, raising his hands in surrender. "Bring your wife."

Max’s smile turned into something real, something proud.

"And Max?" Christian added as he stood.

Max glanced up.

"Maybe... maybe text Charles first."

Max smirked. "I’ll think about it."

GP, sipping his coffee: "He won't."

Gemma, resigned: "We’re going to need extra security, aren’t we?"

Christian: "And maybe a therapist on standby."

Max just whistled, hands tucked behind his head, already picturing Belle in his garage, wearing his team colors, no longer a secret.

Finally, finally, where she belonged.

***

Team Redline Stream Transcript

Luke Crane: Alright, boys, ready to get smoked by Max again?

Chris Lulham: Speak for yourself. I’ve been training.

Gianni Vecchio: Training what, exactly? Snack-eating speed?

Max: (laughs quietly) Just try to keep up.

Luke: (mock serious) Max, now that you’re a married man, you should slow down for us mortals.

Chris: Yeah, about that— Max. Max. Are we ever gonna talk about that?

Gianni: Yeah, mate. "Oh, I’m married," casually dropped in the middle of a press conference like you were ordering lunch.

Chris: You just YOLO’d your marriage announcement. No names, no details, just vibes.

Max: (grinning) Was there supposed to be a PowerPoint?

Luke: YES.

Gianni: Honestly, yes. Slides. Charts. Maybe a dramatic reveal with smoke machines.

Chris: At least a "guess who?" game. We deserve that much.

Max: (smirking) You’ll meet her soon.

Gianni: (suspicious) When is "soon"? Before 2040?

Max: (grinning wider) Spain.

Chris: Spain what?

Max: I’m bringing her to the Spanish Grand Prix.

Chat: 

SHE’S COMING TO THE SPANISH GP

OMG THE MYSTERY WILL BE SOLVED

WE’LL FINALLY MEET MRS VERSTAPPEN

Chris: (wheezing) WAIT WHAT.

Gianni: You’re bringing your wife to a race weekend?

Max: (shrugs casually) Yeah. Thought it was time.

Luke: (mock offended) Wow. Betrayal. We get a cryptic marriage announcement and now a surprise reveal.

Gianni: No hints? No clues? No scavenger hunt?

Max: (laughing) Nope. You’ll see.

[Chaos continues with chaotic racing and Max being suspiciously smug.]

[About 45 minutes into the stream…] [Soft knock. Belle’s hand appears in frame — a mug of tea sliding onto Max’s desk.]

Gianni: (high alert) WAIT. WHO WAS THAT.

Luke: Was that THE WIFE???

Chris: ENHANCE. ENHANCE.  CLIP IT. CLIP IT IMMEDIATELY.

Max: (without missing a beat) Thanks, Schatje.

Chat: 

GUYS THAT WAS HER HAND I’M NOT OKAY

MAX SOFT LAUNCHING HIS WIFE VIA TEACUP DELIVERY I’M SCREAMING

"Thanks, Schatje" I’M SOBBINGGGG

HE SOUNDS SO IN LOVE WTF

She’s the real MVP bringing him tea mid-race 😭😭

Gianni: Max, you just BROKE the internet with a hand cameo.

Chris: Soft launch supremacy.

Luke: I need to know everything immediately.

Gianni: If Spain isn’t a full reveal, I’m rioting.

Max: (smirking into his mic) Be patient.

****

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1MemeHub:  MAX JUST SOFT LAUNCHED HIS WIFE WITH A TEACUP DELIVERY LIVE ON STREAM 😭😭😭 "Thanks, schatje." I'm NOT OKAY.

@/GridGossip:  Max: "You'll meet her soon." Also Max: casually introduces her hand and then acts like it’s a normal Tuesday. THE SPANISH GP IS ABOUT TO BE HISTORIC.

@/TifosiTears:  Not to be dramatic but if we don't get a full face reveal of Mrs. Verstappen at the Spanish GP I'm organizing a formal protest outside Red Bull HQ.

@/SoftLaunchDetective: The fact that he called her "Schatje" in front of thousands of people and didn’t blink??? That’s LOVE your honor. That’s SOULMATES.

@/F1WivesClub: Me: I don't care about the drivers' personal lives

Max Verstappen, midstream: "Thanks, schatje."

Also me: building a shrine to Mrs. Verstappen immediately

@/mysterymrsverstappen: Hello yes this account is now entirely dedicated to figuring out who Mrs. Verstappen is. Applications for sleuths open now.

↳ @/GridGossip:  Are we 100% sure it’s not Isabelle Leclerc?

***

The sun was already low by the time Belle found Max in the living room, stretched out on the couch with Jimmy curled on his chest and his phone in one hand. He looked up immediately when she approached, setting everything aside without hesitation.

She hesitated at the edge of the rug, twisting the hem of her sweater between her fingers.

Max sat up straighter, instantly alert. "Belle? What's wrong?"

She shook her head quickly. "Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I just—" She swallowed, breathing through it. "I was wondering if you could... if you would come somewhere with me tomorrow."

Max’s eyes softened. "Anywhere."

Belle smiled faintly but didn’t move closer yet. The words were heavier than she expected, even though she’d thought about them all day.

"It’s... the anniversary of my father’s death," she said quietly.

Max didn’t interrupt. Just waited, the way he always did when she needed time to find her words.

"I go every year," Belle continued. "I bring flowers. I sit with him for a while. Just… talk. Tell him what he’s missed." Her voice cracked, and she wrapped her arms around herself. "It’s silly, maybe. But I—I don’t know how not to go."

"It’s not silly," Max said immediately, voice low and certain. "Not even a little."

Belle blinked hard, willing the prickling in her eyes to settle.

"I usually go alone," she whispered. "I always have. But... I don’t want to go alone this year." She hesitated, lifting her gaze to meet his. "Will you come with me?"

Max caught her hands in his, steady and warm.

"Of course I’ll come," he said, like it wasn’t even a question. Like he would’ve followed her to the ends of the earth if she asked.

Belle leaned into him, breathing him in — cedarwood, laundry detergent, and something that was just Max — and let herself be held.

"I want him to meet you," she murmured against his chest, voice small. "Even if it’s just... like this."

Max’s arms tightened around her.

"I’d be honored," he said simply.

Belle closed her eyes.

Maybe this year wouldn’t be quite so lonely after all.

***

The air was crisp and still when they arrived at the small cemetery just outside the city, the afternoon light casting long shadows between the rows of headstones.

Max kept close as Belle walked ahead of him, a simple bouquet of white roses, lavender, eucalyptus cradled in her hands. She moved with a kind of quiet certainty, like her body knew the way by heart even if her mind was somewhere else entirely.

They wove through the headstones until she stopped in front of one — clean, simple, with her father's name carved carefully into the stone.  A small lantern stood by the base, unlit but lovingly maintained, and Max could tell just by looking at it that Belle came here often. That she cared.

He stayed back a respectful step while Belle knelt, arranging the flowers neatly at the foot of the grave.

For a long moment, she just stayed there — head bowed, fingers brushing the stone as if in greeting.

Then, without looking back at Max, she started talking. Softly. Gently. Like she was sitting across from her father at the kitchen table, not kneeling at his grave.

"Hi, Papa," she said, her voice trembling just slightly. "It’s me."

Max felt something tighten in his chest — the rawness of her affection, her grief, her love — so undimmed by time.

"I’m sorry I haven’t been by as much lately," Belle continued. "It’s been a... complicated year."

She smiled, small and sad.

"You wouldn’t believe it," she said, voice light but strained. "Charles won Monaco. And nobody noticed it was my birthday."

Max saw her knuckles whiten slightly where they rested on her knee.

"Not even them," she whispered. "Not even Maman."

She brushed a hand quickly across her cheek, but kept her shoulders straight.

"I waved at Charles in the garage," Belle said. "I smiled. And he smiled back, and he didn’t even know."

Max stepped closer, crouching behind her without touching — just there. Just near enough that if she reached back, he’d be right there.

"I didn’t get angry," Belle said, voice softer now. "I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just... let them forget. And then I walked away."

Her hand touched the stone again, almost like she was offering her father a secret.

"And I’m not alone," she said, a thread of something stronger — pride, maybe — weaving through her voice. "I got married, Papa."

She glanced over her shoulder then, finding Max’s eyes. He smiled — slow, steady — and nodded once, like he was promising he was still right here.

"I married Max," Belle said, turning back to the grave. "You would’ve liked him. He’s... he’s good.  He’s steady in all the ways I needed and never thought I deserved."

Max swallowed thickly, feeling the burn at the back of his throat.

"And," Belle added, after a moment, her hand slipping instinctively to her stomach, "we’re having a baby."

The words hung there, delicate and astonishing.

Belle exhaled shakily.

"I wish you were here," she whispered. "I wish you could meet him. Or her. I don’t know yet."

Max stood, quiet but unmovable behind her, heart thundering with all the things he could feel but couldn't say.

Belle leaned forward, pressing her forehead gently against the cool stone.

"I’m trying, Papa," she said, voice almost breaking. "I’m trying to build something better. A family where nobody feels invisible."

Max’s hands fisted at his sides — not in anger, but in fierce, helpless loyalty to her. He would help her build that. Whatever it took.

Belle stayed like that for another minute — breathing, grounded, tethered to something older and deeper than grief.

Then she sat back, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her jacket, and turned toward Max.

He crouched down fully this time, opening his arms without a word. She came into them instantly.

For a while, they just stayed like that, kneeling together in the cold grass — Belle tucked into Max’s chest, Max shielding her like he could somehow carry the weight she never should have borne alone.

He pressed a kiss into her hair.

"I’m proud of you," he murmured against her scalp. "He would be too."

Belle nodded against him, and Max felt the faintest smile against his hoodie.

And right there, in the middle of a cemetery, surrounded by stillness and memory, Max knew it more clearly than anything:

Whatever happened — whatever came next — Belle was never going to walk alone again.

Not as long as he was breathing.

***

Lorenzo sat at his kitchen counter, staring at his phone like it might suddenly produce the answers he didn’t have.

The photo was still open on the screen:

 Belle, in a field of soft gold light, her arm tucked gently around the neck of a stunning white mare.

 Fleur.

He knew that name because Belle had written it herself — answering a question of a random user. 

She looked happy.

Peaceful, even.

And God, didn’t that just twist the knife deeper.

Because they hadn't given her that peace.

 They hadn’t even noticed she was still missing it.

It wasn’t the horse that gutted him, not really.

 It was what the horse represented.

The life they’d taken from her when she was thirteen.

 The dreams she never said out loud again, because what was the point?

They sold Blanche.

 They let her sacrifice everything quietly so Charles could race — so

Arthur could race — and none of them had asked her what she wanted in return.

 They just… assumed she’d move on.

But Belle hadn’t moved on.

She’d waited.

She’d mourned.

 And when none of them circled back for her, she found her own way.

Without them.

Without him.

Across the room, his coffee sat untouched. Cold now. Like the pit sitting in his stomach.

Arthur was taking it badly.

 Charles even worse.

Charles had been chewed out by Emilie a few days earlier — that much Lorenzo knew. Charles had tried to brush it off when he called later, voice tight and wounded, but the shame clung to him like smoke. Emilie hadn’t been polite about it, either. She had torn into him, sharp and clear and deserved, and Charles hadn’t even fought back.

Arthur was spiraling in his own way.

 Blaming himself.

 Telling anyone who would listen that he should have noticed Belle wasn’t okay. That he should have seen the signs when she started pulling away. That it was his fault she felt so forgotten.

But it wasn’t Arthur’s fault.

Not entirely.

And it wasn’t Charles’ alone, either.

It was Lorenzo’s.

He was the eldest. The one who was supposed to look out for them all when their father died. The one who was supposed to notice when Isabelle stopped smiling at family dinners. When she started standing a little farther away from them at the tracks. When she stopped volunteering information about her life, one tiny piece at a time, until there was nothing left she offered freely.

He had failed her. Worse than any of them.

Because he should have known. He should have seen her.

He should have protected her — from the weight of being overlooked, from the steady erosion of love measured only in podiums and points and wins.

And he hadn't.

He was ashamed.

Because he should have seen it coming.

 He was the eldest.

He was supposed to watch over them all.

And instead, he had let Belle fade out of their lives like smoke slipping through a crack in the window.

Maman wasn’t handling it well either.

Their mother’s texts to Belle had gone unanswered for days. Her voice on the phone trembled more now, and she had started reaching for familiar things — old traditions, old recipes — like baking a lemon tart would somehow undo the years of not seeing her only daughter clearly.

But no amount of lemon tarts couldn't fix this.

Nothing could fix the years they spent forgetting.

And now?

 Now Belle had a horse again — something he knew, deep down, she had dreamed about every day since the first had been taken from her.

But she hadn’t shared it with them.

She hadn’t shared any of it.

Because they hadn't earned it.

Lorenzo closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the counter.

How had they been so blind?

How had they let it get this bad?

He didn’t know where Belle lived now. He didn’t know who had given her that horse. He didn’t even know if she would ever want to come home again.

But he knew this: She had found happiness without them. And maybe — maybe — she was finally living the life they never thought to fight for on her behalf.

He just didn’t know if he would ever get the chance to tell her he was sorry.

And worse— He wasn’t sure he deserved it.

***

The private jet hummed quietly beneath them, the kind of low, steady sound that usually lulled Belle into a light doze. But not today.

Today, her nerves were a live wire.

She sat curled against Max’s side, his hand resting warm and steady on her thigh, their fingers loosely tangled together. Across from them, Jos Verstappen flipped idly through a magazine, a half-finished cup of coffee forgotten on the table beside him.

It wasn’t that Belle was afraid of Jos.

 He’d been nothing but kind to her — gruff sometimes, but protective in a way that made her feel safe, not small.

Still.

 Telling your father-in-law that you were pregnant — especially when your marriage was still a secret to most of the world — felt a litle daunting.

Max must have felt her tension, because he squeezed her hand, grounding her.

“You ready?” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear.

Belle nodded — small but firm.

Max leaned forward slightly, clearing his throat. “Dad?”

Jos looked up, eyebrows raised, expectant.

“There’s something we wanted to tell you,” Max said.

Jos set the magazine down slowly. His expression was unreadable — patient, but sharp-eyed in that way that always made Belle feel like he saw more than he said.

Max’s thumb brushed soothing circles against the back of her hand.

Belle took a breath. "I’m pregnant," she said, voice soft but steady.

The words seemed to hang in the air for a second, floating between them, too big and too small all at once.

Jos blinked.

 Once.

 Twice.

Then he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms slowly — and Belle couldn’t tell if he was about to yell, laugh, or both.

"You’re serious?" he said gruffly, but there was no bite to it — just something thick in his voice, something a little stunned.

Max smiled — that rare, raw smile that he reserved for the few people he trusted most.

 "We just found out a few weeks ago."

Belle tightened her fingers around Max’s.

Jos stared at them for a long moment — at their clasped hands, at Belle’s steady eyes, at Max’s quiet pride.

And then — to Belle’s utter shock — Jos smiled.  A real, honest smile, tugging awkwardly at the corners of his mouth like he wasn’t used to the feeling.

"Good," Jos said roughly. "You’ll be a great mother," he added, looking at Belle — and then, after a beat, to Max, "And you’ll be a better father than I ever was."

Belle’s throat tightened painfully.

Max squeezed her hand again, and she felt the slight tremor in it — the way those words hit him deep, carving something open and healing at the same time.

"Thanks, Pa," Max said quietly.

Jos nodded once, gruffly — like he couldn’t say more even if he wanted to — then grunted, reaching for his coffee.

"Hope you’re ready for no sleep and a lot of diaper changes," he muttered, like the most Jos blessing imaginable. "You’ll need all the patience you can get. Verstappen babies aren’t exactly easy."  A faint grin cracked across his face. "Take it from experience."

Max groaned dramatically. "Don’t scare her."

Belle laughed, watery and surprised — the nerves in her chest unraveling into something lighter. Something real.

Outside the plane windows, the sky stretched out wide and endless and new.

And for the first time in weeks, Belle let herself feel it too — The future.

 Opening up, bright and brave, and theirs.

***

Text Messages: Christian Horner & Fred Vasseur

Christian: Fred. Just a heads-up.

Fred: What now.

Christian: Belle will be in the paddock tomorrow. With Max.

Fred: What do you mean, with Max?

Christian: Exactly what it sounds like. Publicly. No more hiding.

Fred: Merde. Does Charles know??

Christian: Not as far as I’m aware.

Fred: You’re telling me Max Verstappen is about to make his marriage to Charles Leclerc’s sister public during a race weekend.

Christian: You might want to prepare your garage for a Leclerc meltdown.

Fred: I’m not paid enough for this.

Christian: Neither am I. (But at least it’s not my golden boy spiraling in public this time.)

Fred: I need a drink. And possibly a tranquilizer dart. For Charles.

Christian: Good luck. You’ll need it.

***

The hotel room was quiet, except for the muted hum of traffic outside and the low flicker of a Formula 2 race replay on the television. Max was already half-asleep, sprawled across the bed with one arm thrown lazily over the pillow where Belle had been sitting moments ago.

Belle sat cross-legged on the small lounge chair by the window, her phone in her lap, scrolling aimlessly — or, at least, pretending to. Her heart wasn’t in it. It hadn’t been all evening.

Her thumb hovered over the Instagram app again.

Tomorrow was going to change everything.

Tomorrow, she would walk into the paddock — into his world — not hidden behind whispered conversations or secret glances. She would walk in as his wife. Openly. Proudly.

For the first time, there would be no pretending.

And it felt… terrifying.

But also good. Right.

A smile tugged at her lips as she glanced back at Max, who mumbled something incoherent in his sleep and shifted closer to her empty side of the bed. Her heart clenched in that stupid, overwhelming way it always did around him.

She tapped into Instagram and stared at her profile.

@isabelleleclerc

It looked strange now. Wrong. Like a version of herself she was finally ready to grow beyond.

Belle took a slow breath and, with deliberate fingers, typed.

@belleverstappen

She paused for a heartbeat — not out of fear, but out of reverence. Out of the gravity of it.

This wasn’t just about a name. It was about a life she chose. A future she was building, one steady, stubborn step at a time.

She hit save before she could second-guess herself.

The screen flickered for a moment. Then it was done.

Belle Verstappen.

She set the phone down and padded quietly across the room, slipping into bed beside Max. His arm immediately found her, pulling her close in his sleep, like it was instinct.

She tucked her head against his shoulder, her hand resting lightly over the secret they still carried between them — small, invisible, but growing stronger every day.

No more hiding. No more shrinking.

Tomorrow, the world would know.

And for the first time in her life, Belle wasn’t afraid of being seen.

She was ready to be claimed — not by the spotlight, but by the people who mattered.

By the man beside her.

By herself.

***

[rawjutsu]

chapter one.

pairing: snow leopard hybrid!gojo x bunny hybrid!femreader

keep up here

you’re settling into the apartment, realizing just how hard this is going to be. everything smells like him—warm, musky, deep—and it takes a couple rounds of chlorine, vinegar, and scent-neutralizing sprays to finally scrub out the worst of it from your bedroom at least.

satoru—whose name you learned when he gripped your hand like he was shaking hands with a bunny plushie and not an actual person—watched from the doorway with a smirk.

"it’s a small place. bet it’ll reek of me again by the end of the week."

you glare at him weakly. there’s not much you can say. without this apartment, you'd be homeless. plus… he doesn’t seem that bad. most predator hybrids would’ve made fifty sleazy comments by now. satoru hasn’t.

whether that means he’s respectful or just hiding the sleazy, you're not sure yet.

that doesn’t mean your guard’s down. far from it. every time he’s near, he’s just a little too loud, a little too fangy with his smiles, a little too comfortable standing too close.

he frightens you. but maybe that’s just your body doing what prey bodies are built to do: recognize danger.

he offers you dinner when he cooks. granted, it’s always aggressively meaty—the kind of protein-heavy meals that make your molars hurt just smelling them. you remember the look he gave you when you passed on eggs and bacon in favor of a celery stick and hummus.

"that’s why you’re so tiny, lil bun. you don’t eat any protein," he says, smirking as he crosses his arms. "good thing i’m strong enough for the both of us. i’ll fend off any bad guys."

ironic, coming from him.

it’s been a week now. your family bet you’d come crawling back to the farm in two days. joke’s on them. you’ve got a job—minimum wage hostess gig at a sushi place with sticky floors —and a basic understanding of the city’s train lines. so far, you're winning.

you’re curled up on the couch now, still in your work clothes, a scent-blocker gum tucked into your cheek. the shitty tv is playing a rerun of some equally shitty dating show, and you're letting your brain rot happily.

the door slams open.

"maaaan, it’s hot!" gojo groans, already kicking off his sneakers.

you nod at him, slow. "it is a little warm."

standard tokyo summer heatwave. your hair stuck to your forehead on the walk home, even with a chilled melon soda can pressed against your neck.

gojo messes with the wall unit, setting it to barely-above-freezing. he plants himself in front of the vent, sighing as the cold air blasts his face. his snowy hair flutters. his spotted tail sways lazily.

you sigh too, thankful when the cool air hits you.

"by the way," he says, pulling something out of a plastic bag. "got us a calendar. for, y’know. tracking stuff."

it’s a digimon-themed calendar. hideous. bright. kind of cute.

"tracking what?" you ask, tilting your head. your ears twitch slightly.

he gives you a look. the kind that says c’mon now. then he grins, sharp and wicked.

"heats and ruts, obviously."

your body locks up like a rabbit under a hawk’s shadow. the remote in your hand slips between your fingers and clatters on the couch.

oh. shit. you completely forgot about that.

in all the chaos of city life and moving in with a stranger—a goddamn leopard—you forgot to plan for your heat cycle.

back when you thought shoko (neutral hybrid, unbothered) was gonna be your roommate, you’d done research, figured it was safe, thought maybe you could ride it out alone. but now? now you were going to be in a confined space, with him.

gojo’s still grinning. "don’t tell me you forgot about that, bunnygirl. unless…" his voice drops. his pupils dilate. "you wanted to go through them together."

you hurl a pillow at his face. he catches it with one hand, laughing.

"no, i did not!"

"relax, relax," he says, tossing it back beside you. "i’m joking. sort of. anyway, just give me a heads up when it’s coming and i’ll crash at nanamin’s."

you roll your eyes, you doubt your neighbor would be pleased with that idea.

"you don’t have to. this is your place."

he shrugs. "you pay rent, this place is yours too. and no offense, but i doubt you want me anywhere near you when you’re all soft and squirmy and smelling like—"

you shoot a glare his way that makes him shut up.

then you nod slowly. that… makes sense. you chew your lip and glance toward the calendar.

"okay. thanks. i’ll look at it in a bit."

there’s a pause. the sound of the tv fills the room.

then, slowly, you realize he’s still staring at you.

"what?"

he raises a brow, smirking. "well, we figured out what you’re doing for your heat, but what about me, huh? you think nanami wants to babysit a snow leopard that’s trying to fuck his couch?"

you bristle. "i’ve been around ruts before."

"yeahhh," he drawls, eyes half-lidded. "pretty sure rodent ruts don’t hit the same as mine. i get a little… intense."

you scoff. your fingers tremble around the tv remote.

"okay. then i’ll leave."

“yeah? where?”

you pause. crap. where?

he smirks. "exactly."

"pff, nah. we’ll figure it out. mine just passed, anyway. right before you moved in."

"is that why it stank so bad in here?" you say, not thinking.

he doesn’t answer.

you turn to look at him—and find his eyes locked on your chest. your nipples are hard, pressing against your thin tee from the cold.

your face burns.

you cross your arms. "you made it too cold in here, creep."

he hums a laugh and stands, stretching his arms behind his head. his muscles ripple, and it’s so annoying how effortlessly good-looking he is.

"get used to it, bunny. i love the cold."

he wanders into the kitchen.

you try to focus on the tv, but the image creeps in anyway—his face, twisted by his rut, eyes wild, claws flexing. the thought of what his version of a rut would look like crawls down your spine like ice.

you press the gum deeper into your cheek.

this is not going to be easy.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

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