thatmcubish

[thatmcubish]

Girllll what if an imagine where S3! Daryl and y/n are a thing and when Daryl left with his brother, rick and the others were the one who told y/n that he just left and she was so devastated that when daryl eventually came back she treated him coldly then eventually breaking down in front of him because they think it's easy for daryl to leave them

Idk maybe angsty in the beginning then fluffy at the end?? This scenario is stuck in my head for D A Y S 😩

Anws thanks!!

Listen before I go.

•Summary: Daryl leaves with Merle without thinking how it would affect you. (Fem Reader)

•Warnings: 18+, Twd violence, angst, fluff

•Word count: 2.6k

•Setting: The Prison

•A/N: thank you for the request! I’m really sorry if this isn’t what you wanted and you aren’t happy with it 😭 I rewatched a couple episodes to try and make it as accurate as possible to the actual series. also I’m a very strong believer that Daryl would call his partner sweetheart 🤞🏼(I promise I’ve seen all the other requests I’ve gotten!)

Rick, Daryl, and Oscar had set out to rescue Glenn and Maggie, who were being held prisoner in Woodbury. Michonne had accompanied them, serving as their guide through the hostile territory. The operation, however, hadn't gone as smoothly as planned. They had lost Oscar in the chaos, and the Governor had captured Daryl, forcing him into a brutal situation—pitting him against his own brother, Merle.

As the dust settled and the group reconvened, Glenn and Michonne stayed behind to watch over the car while Rick and Maggie went back for Daryl, determined not to leave him behind. Against their better judgment, they returned with more than just Daryl—Merle had tagged along, at Daryl’s insistence. Now, back at the car, an intense discussion was brewing over whether Merle and Michonne should be brought back to the prison.

“The Governor is probably headin’ to the prison righ’ now. Merle knows how he thinks and we could use the muscle,” Daryl’s eyes locking on Rick, his tone resolute. One way or another, he was bringing his brother back.

Tension radiated from Glenn and Maggie. Glenn, still nursing wounds from Merle’s brutal interrogation, was barely containing his anger. Maggie stood close, her face tight with the memory of her own trauma at the hands of the Governor. “He had a gun to our heads! You really want him sleeping in the same cell block as Carol or Beth?” Glenn's voice shook, both with fury and concern for his family’s safety.

Daryl shot back quickly, defensive. “He ain’t a rapist.” But Glenn was faster. His words were sharp, cutting through Daryl’s protest like a knife. “Well his buddy is.”

Daryl’s face tightened. “They ain’t buddies no more. Not after last night,” he said, growing more frustrated. To him, this was simple—Merle was family. Family was non-negotiable. Why was this even up for debate?

Rick, observing the growing argument, finally stepped in, his voice measured but firm. “There’s no way Merle’s gonna live there without putting everyone at each other’s throats.”

Daryl’s patience was fraying. “So ya gon’ cut Merle loose and bring the last samurai home with us?” His irritation was clear. They were even considering taking Michonne—someone they barely knew—while debating his own brother?

The group paused as Maggie spoke up, her voice softer but filled with conviction while gesturing towards Michonne. “She’s in no state to be on her own,” The trauma they'd all just endured weighed heavily on her, and she couldn't understand why Daryl seemed blind to it.

Rick and Daryl exchanged a look. They had their doubts about Michonne, and Rick had voiced that, telling the group that she’s not going back with them. “That’s righ’, we don’t know who she is. But Merle? Merle’s blood.” Daryl threw the statement out like it should end the conversation, as if everyone would automatically agree.

But Glenn’s response was immediate and cold. “No, Merle is your blood. My family is right here. And they’re waiting for us back at the prison.” His words hung in the air, heavy with finality. Maggie nodded in agreement, she wasn’t about to let Merle, of all people, endanger what little they had left.

Rick stepped closer to Daryl, his voice steady, attempting to bridge the growing divide. “And you're part of that family, Daryl. Not him.”

The statement struck Daryl hard. He looked baffled, wounded even. If they considered him family, why wouldn’t they accept his brother? “Man, y’all don’t know.” He shook his head, anger and confusion swirling inside him.

The silence that followed was tense. Everyone stared at Daryl, unsure of what more they could say. In their eyes, the decision was obvious—but for Daryl, it was far from simple. Finally, Daryl exhaled sharply. “Fine. We’ll fend for ourselves.”

The words hung in the air like a threat, and instantly the group erupted in protests. There was panic now, a desperation to keep Daryl from making a stupid decision out of anger. “No him, no me,” Daryl snapped, his voice thick with frustration. He felt cornered, like there was no room for him to protect both his blood and his new family.

Maggie stepped forward, “Daryl, you don’t have to do this.” He looked at her, and for a moment, his hardened expression faltered. “It was always Merle and me before this,” he said quietly, the pain in his voice clear. He was torn, and it was written all over his face.

Glenn, still reeling from everything, asked a question that Daryl forgot to consider in the heat of the moment. “What do you want us to tell Y/N?” It was a simple question, but one that carried so much weight. They both knew it would devastate you.

Daryl hesitated, his gaze dropping. “She’ll understand.” But there was a crack in his voice, a hint of uncertainty, deep down he knew that you in fact wouldn’t understand. The group fell silent, letting the gravity of the moment sink in.

For a long moment, Daryl stood there, chewing on the inside of his lip, torn between his past and his present. Finally, he began moving, heading toward the car. “Say goodbye to your pop for me.” Directing his comment towards Maggie. Rick quickly followed, refusing to let this situation go. “Hey, hey. There’s got to be another way,” he pleaded, knowing how hard this would hit not just Carol but you too.

Daryl paused, his back still to Rick. “Don’t ask me to leave him,” he said, accent thick as ever. “I already did tha’ once.” Arriving at the trunk he begins stuffing supplies into his bag, while telling Rick and them to take care of themselves. He hoists it over his shoulder, glancing one last time at the group, and walking away with Merle.

You stood quietly, arranging your belongings. Your cell had become somewhat of a sanctuary for you, a space to shape, however fragile, into a semblance of back home. You carefully sat down on your bed, deciding that you were going to nap, until you heard a knock, and saw Rick standing just outside. His hands rested against the cracked walls, not wanting to intrude too much. “How are you doing?” he asked, his voice very careful.

You offered a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m okay.” It was silent for a moment, you could tell he had more to say. “Is everything okay?” Rick slowly brought his gaze from your face to the ground, wondering how he could bring the news to you. “Listen.. Daryl’s gone. Left with Merle.”

Your heart lurched violently in your chest, but outwardly, you kept still, trying to keep your breath steady while each inhale felt like swallowing glass. “Is he coming back?” He was coming back right? You two had something special did you not?

Rick’s expression was one of apology, his shoulders heavy with the weight of what he had broke to you. “I don’t know. He told me you’d understand.” Understand? Understand that Daryl had chosen to abandon the love you thought you both had? Without even saying goodbye?

“Okay.” You replied softly, your voice refusing to betray the devastation roaring inside you. You couldn’t fall apart, and especially not in front of Rick.

He lingered for a moment longer, “if you need anything..—“

“I’ll be fine, Rick. Thank you.”

He gave you a solemn nod before stepping back into the hallway, the silence in your cell feeling almost suffocating. You sat frozen for a very long moment, staring at ceiling. Then, like a dam breaking, the tears came, hot and unbidden, blurring your vision as the enormity of it all crashed down on you. You sank onto your bed, your body shaking with silent sobs and your heart aching in ways you hadn’t expected. You’ve always known that Daryl was complicated, guarded.. but why did he leave? Were you not important enough to him? Did you really mean that little? A hundred questions burned in your mind, and none of them had answers.

It felt like an eternity before the next day finally arrived. The night had been restless, your mind circling endlessly around one thing, and that one thing was Daryl. The way he had just stood up and left you behind, it left a pit in your stomach that only deepened with each passing hour. But today, you had bigger problems, problems that made personal heartache seem almost insignificant.

Glenn was gone, in attempts to clear his mind. With Daryl gone and Rick wandering crazy town, he was the next in charge, and right now he had a lot of pent up anger on what the governor did to Maggie. But of course, while he was gone, the Governor had made his move, and it was brutal. His forces stormed the prison with a cold, ruthless efficiency, and everything erupted before you had time to prepare. Axel was the first to fall, a sharp crack of gunfire cutting through the air as he crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Carol, who had been standing just beside him, let out a sharp cry of shock. In a heartbeat she ducked behind Axel’s now motionless body, using him as a shield.

Bullets ripped through the air, the deafening sound of gunfire filling the space as you scrambled for cover. You crouched behind the crumbling remains of the prison walls that were near the gate, heart hammering in your chest, adrenaline surging through your veins. You clutched your rifle tightly, hands shaking slightly as you peeked out from behind the wall, eyes scanning for targets.

There. One of the Governor's men was in your line of sight, crouched low, his rifle trained on the courtyard. Without hesitating, you aimed and pulled the trigger. The recoil jolted your body, but you didn't wait to see if you hit your mark. You ducked back behind the wall, the echo of gunfire ringing in your ears. Around you, The group fought just as hard, each of them locked in their own battles.

As you leaned out again, carefully scanning for your target who you hadn’t known already retreated, your eyes fell on Herschel, who was still exposed in the courtyard. Rick, positioned just outside the fences, was also in a precarious situation. At that moment, the Governor and his men launched an assault, sending a car to smash through the courtyard fence. Herschel, crouched in the field with his rifle, began to feel the weight on him as walkers started to flood in from every direction.

The fear was palpable among you, Rick, and especially Maggie as you all dreaded the possibility of losing Herschel. Just as the Governor began to leave, Glenn had returned, driving into the courtyard while Michonne followed the truck, cutting through the walkers that stood in her way. Their intervention was a lifesaver; they quickly rescued Herschel, escorting him into the truck and out of the courtyard, into the safety of the prison gates.

Outside, Rick was struggling to fend off the relentless walkers closing in on him. Just when things seemed dire, a bolt flew through the air, striking the head of the walker attacking Rick. Daryl and Merle had returned, joining forces with Rick to clear the remaining walkers. Daryl and the rest of your family were okay.. and that’s all you needed to know before bolting back toward your cell, trying your best to avoid the archer in the process.

A couple hours later you found yourself sat on your bed, running your fingers absentmindedly over the pages of an old journal you started keeping. Without looking up, you could heard the familiar sound of boots shuffling just outside your cell. Daryl stood awkwardly in the doorway, his hand brushing against the frame of the cell, his shoulders hunched slightly as though the weight of the world rested on them. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, the air between them thick with tension.

"Hey," he muttered finally, his voice gravelly and hesitant.

You looked up at him then, your expression unreadable. Daryl shifted his weight, uncomfortable under your gaze. Without a word, you stood and brushed past him, your shoulder grazing his as you walked out of the cell. Daryl flinched at the contact, his jaw tightening. The cold shoulder hit him harder than any words could have, and as he watched you walk away, he felt the guilt gnawing at his insides.

The distance between you two only grew more unbearable. As the days flew by, you continued to ignore him, feeling as if he didn’t deserve your attention, while Daryl found himself missing the soft touch of your hand, the warmth you brought into his life that no one else ever could. He couldn’t stay away any longer. He needed to fix this.

He found you sitting on the edge of your bed again, scribbling quietly in your journal like yesterday, not looking up when he entered, just blatantly ignoring him.

"Damn it, why’re ya avoidin’ me?" His frustration finally boiled over, his voice harsher than he meant it to be. You paused, setting the journal down slowly before looking up at him with steely eyes, the walls around you finally beginning to crack. "Why did you leave, Daryl?" Your was voice trembling but controlled, laced with anger. "Was it that easy?"

Daryl froze, his usual tough exterior faltering. He wasn’t used to being confronted like this, especially by you. He fidgeted, biting the inside of his lip. "It ain’t like that… Merle— he’s my blood."

"And what am I, Daryl?" You instantly snapped, voice rising higher as your emotions spilled over. "Why was it so easy for you to leave me? You didn’t even say goodbye. Did you not care?" Daryl’s gaze fell to the ground, avoiding yours at all costs. “I wasn’t thinkin’ straight”

Your eyes instantly widened in disbelief and hurt. “You left me here, alone, when I thought we had something! You weren’t even clear headed enough to think about how it would affect me!” Daryl flinched at edge of your voice. “I didn’t know what to do! I was tryin’ to do what I thought was right.”

You stood up abruptly, your anger radiating off you. “What was right?! You think abandoning me without a word is doing what’s right? Why’d you even come back if clearly all you needed was Merle.”

Your words cut deeper than any wound he’d ever taken. He stood there, staring at you, the silence stretching painfully between you both. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I came back 'cause I realized I love ya."

Your heart fluttered at his words, the anger in your eyes softening, though the hurt was still there. For a very long pause you just stared at him, scanning his eyes for any possible doubt for what he just admitted to you. “..Actually?” You really couldn’t believe it, you never thought he’d be the one to say those words first, but he did. All You wanted to do was stay mad, to push him away for making you feel like you didn’t matter, but the vulnerability in his voice stopped you. He again chewed the inside of his lips and nodded slowly to answer your question. "I’m sorry." he mumbled, looking down. He looked like he was about to cry, and in that very moment you just wanted to nurture him.

So without thinking, you closed the distance and wrapped your arms around him. Daryl tensed at first, his back stiffening at the unexpected embrace, but after a moment, he slowly relaxed, his arms wrapping around you in return and leaning down into your neck, feeling comfortable and safe.

"I love you too.. but don’t ever leave me again."

Daryl leaned back and pressed a gentle kiss onto your forehead, lingering just for a moment. “I won’t, sweetheart.”

And that was a promise he’d never break. Not for anybody.

@vampiresluv

[thatmcubish]

Just us.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x F!Reader.

Summary: Daryl comes across you and your daughter and stays with you for a while. He grows close to you and your little girl, and when men come to your cabin, he protects you like you're his own.

You lived in a small three bedroom cabin, that was situated far in the woods, just on the lake. It was far from town, in a quiet and safe area. Not many people or walkers stumbled upon it.

You have wires with pots and pans surrounding the house, a few sharp pipes sticking out of the ground to capture the dead trying to stumble too close to the house. You have a few bear traps further around the woods too, and snare traps.

Your little girl, Macie, is ten years old and already handy with a gun. It was just you and her and you had no choice but to teach the little girl how to shoot.

"Mommy." She called out as she walked into the kitchen.

You were standing by the table, cutting up carrots for the stew you were making. You looked up at her, eyebrows furrowing. "What is it?" You asked, sensing by her wary expression, that something was wrong.

"There's a man outside." She informed you and your body tensed up. "I think he's hurt." She told you.

You dropped the knife in your hand and grabbed your shotgun. "Go to your room, close the door." You ordered her.

You walked out of the kitchen and carefully stepped out onto the front porch. There was a man on the front lawn, kneeling as he clutched his stomach. His sleeveless vest was covered in blood, and so was his gruff-looking face.

"What are you doing here?" You called out to him as you pointed your gun at him through the screen door.

"You gonna shoot, shoot." He gruffly challenged you.

"You bit?" You asked him as your eyes narrowed.

"Shot." He corrected you as he pushed himself up onto his trembling legs, his eyes flicking over to you behind the screen door.

"How'd you find this place?" You questioned him as you raised your eyebrows.

"Stumbled across it, searching for a place to hunker down." He explained simply as he stared at you. "Ain't here to hurt you or your lil' girl." He assured.

Your eyebrows furrowed. How did he know? You huffed softly and looked over your shoulder, seeing Macie standing in the doorway.

"I told you to go to your room." You reminded her sternly as your eyes narrowed a little.

"We have to help him." Macie insisted softly as she gave you pleading eyes.

You stared at her for a moment before sighing, turning back to the man. "You're not bit?" You asked him again.

"No." He responded as he stared back at you.

"What's your name?" You questioned as you opened the screen door and carefully stepped outside with your gun still pointed at him.

"Daryl." He replied, keeping his gaze sharply on you as you approached him. He looked as cautious as you did, but he didn't look scared of the gun on him.

"I'm Y/n." You told him. "I'll help with your wound, give you some food, and a bed for the night. Any funny business and I will shoot you." You warned him.

"Alright." He replied as he nodded his head in understanding.

You took Daryl inside and sent Lily to her room. To ease you, Daryl took off all his weapons and laid them on the table near the door.

You gathered a bowl of warm water and the first aid kit. "Show me." You demanded as you sat beside him, placing the bowl and the kit on the coffee table.

"You always this demanding?" He grunted as he carefully lifted his shirt, showing you the wound on his lower stomach.

"I can see the bullet, means it's not that deep." You commented softly, carefully wiping off the blood around the wound.

He hissed. "You ain't know to be gentle?" He questioned in a huffy voice as he scowled at you.

"Want me to leave you like this?" You questioned him as you raised your eyebrows. He huffed but turned his head, letting you go about helping him.

"You two alone out here?" He asked with his eyebrows furrowing. You looked at him, but didn't answer. "Dangerous to be alone now. Especially a woman and a little girl."

"We've been lucky not to be bothered until now." You replied as you shook your head. You grabbed the rubbing alcohol. "It's gonna hurt." You warned before pouring some of the rubbing alcohol over the wound.

Daryl groaned in pain, clenching his teeth together as his body tensed up. You began to carefully dig the bullet out. Lucky for Daryl, you didn't have to dig deep.

"You ain't being very gentle." He grunted as he scowled at you when you pulled out the bullet.

"You're really taking this like a man." You commented sarcastically as you cleaned the wound again.

"This always helps when I'm hurt." Macie's voice piped up as she approached, avoiding your stern scowl. She held her hand out to Daryl, a piece of candy lying on her palm.

"You got some magical candy there?" He asked as he raised his eyebrows at her while taking the piece of candy from her palm.

"No, it's just normal candy." She told him dryly as she quirked an eyebrow.

Daryl stared at Macie for a moment before looking at you. "I can see the resemblance." He commented dryly as his eyes narrowed a little.

You gave him a blank look, rolling your eyes a little. "This is going to hurt, princess." You cautioned him as you started putting in stitches and he winced a little.

"Imagine her brushing your hair." Macie told him as she shook her head. "It's worse." She said as he scoffed in amusement.

You finished stitching him up and wrapped his wound with bandages.

Afterwards he was sitting in the kitchen, watching you as you finished the stew. "How long have you been out here for?" He asked curiously.

"Since the beginning." You replied as you stirred the pot of food. "This was my dad's cabin. We came out here when everything started getting really bad."

"Where's her dad?" He asked curiously as he nodded toward Macie who was drawing in the living room.

"Dead." You replied softly as you pursed your lips. "Died when she was still a baby." You added softly. You looked at him, eyes narrowing. "How'd you end up with a bullet in you?"

"Ran into some people in town." He explained gruffly. "Wasn't very friendly or welcoming." He added with a soft huff, eating the candy Macie had given him.

"They follow you here?" You asked him as a frown tugged at your lips.

"Nah, covered my tracks." He replied as he shook his head. "Food ain't ready yet?" He huffed softly as he raised his eyebrows at you.

"Do you always complain so much?" You asked him curiously as you raised your eyebrows at him. He held his hands up defense.

You looked down at your pot and huffed softly. "Foods ready." You mumbled softly as you pursed your lips again.

You dished three bowls of stew and the three of you sat down at the dining table to eat.

"Are you going to stay here with us?" Macie asked Daryl curiously as she ate her food.

"I'm leaving in the morning," Daryl told her softly.

"You won't be fit to travel. You should stay until your wound is better." You suggested as you looked at him with a slight furrow in your brows.

He grunted softly as he raised his eyebrows at you. "I don't wanna overstay my welcome." He mumbled softly as he shook his head.

"I can't send you out there like that." You replied with a shake of your head as you nodded towards him, referring to his wound.

He stared a moment before nodding in agreement to stay a while longer. He began eating and you silently watched as he scarf the food down.

"There's more if you'd like?" You questioned softly, watching with slightly furrowed eyebrows as he ate.

He grunted in response as he nodded his head. You silently got up and grabbed the entire pot, placing it beside his plate.

The following morning, as you walked onto the back porch with a basket of wet laundry, you eyed Daryl as he smoked a cigarette.

"Pretty sure those are as unhealthy as they were before." You informed him as you rested the basket on your hip.

He looked at you, raising his eyebrows. "Getting shot wasn't any healthy for me either." He replied with his usual sassy tone of voice..

"Well, it's bad enough I have to worry about protecting my daughter from dead and living people, can't be worried about protecting her from second hand smoke too." You told him as you reached out and took the cigarette right out from between his lips, threw it on the ground and stomped it out.

"I was busy with that." He said sharply as he looked up at you through narrowed eyes.

"And now you're not." You replied as you stepped outside and hanged the clothes up on the wash line. Daryl got up after a moment and followed you outside, watching you. You looked at him. "Not gonna offer to help?"

"Those are your panties, not mine." He replied as he nodded at your white panties that laid in the basket.

You huffed, throwing a shirt over the panties to hide them. "You bring yours, I'll wash them too." You teased as you looked over at him.

"Yeah, I bet you'd like to see them." He teased back as he raised his eyebrows and you laughed softly in response.

Two weeks passed, and Daryl was still around. You had grown used to his presence and found comfort in having him around. He had gotten close with Macie, and both you and Daryl had begun to realize how crushed the little girl would be if Daryl had to leave.

One morning, you stepped out onto the back porch, eyes narrowing at Daryl. "What did I tell you about the cigarettes?" You questioned him.

"It's just one." He mumbled with the cigarette between his lips before turning his head to look up at you.

"You're stinking up my porch." You told him as you waved your hand through the air to get rid of the smoke surrounding you.

He scoffed softly but stumped out his cigarette nonetheless. "Where's Macie?" He asked curiously as he raised his eyebrows.

"Reading in her bedroom." You replied as you crossed your arms over your chest. "She's been asking when you're taking her for more practice."

"She tell you she lost two of my arrows last time?" He grunted as he narrowed his eyes. "Still owes me for them."

"Yeah she said something about making you cupcakes." You mused softly as you shrugged your shoulders.

He grunted in response. "I'll make my decision based on the kind she bakes." He mumbled with no seriousness to his voice. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat a little. "You get many wild life out here?"

"Yeah there's plenty of deer." You confirmed with a nod of your head.

"I'ma go hunting later, see what I can bring back for dinner." He informed you as he stood up.

"Bring back something good." You told him as you uncrossed your arms and rested your hands on your hips.

"Anything should be better than another night of vegetable stew." He commented as he raised his eyebrows teasingly at you.

"Haven't heard you complaining yet." You challenged as you crossed your arms over your chest again. "Actually, you're the one who finishes the pot every night." You reminded him.

"Didn't want you to feel bad." He explained with a shrug of his shoulders before lightly bumping your arm with his as you laughed softly in response.

Daryl went off an hour later and you stayed in the house with Macie. You were keeping yourself busy by knitting a blanket while Macie built a puzzle on the floor.

"Mommy, I think someone's outside." Macie commented as she sat up on her knees to peer out the window into the front yard.

"Daryl must be back." You replied as you set your yarn aside on the couch.

"Mommy, I don't think it's Daryl." Macie warned as she stood up, a look of fear crossing her face, stumbling back as she stared at the window.

You stood up, your eyes shooting towards the window as your brows furrowed. Your face fell when you saw three men creeping out from the woods, guns drawn as they eyed the cabin.

All three of the men were burly. Two white and one Mexican. One of the white men had long dirty blond hair and the other had a buzz cut while the Mexican man had short black hair.

"Go to your room. Now." You instructed your daughter as you grabbed your shotgun. "Lock the door and do not come out!"

"Mommy, I'm scared." Macie said softly, hesitant to go to the bedroom and leave you alone.

You bend down and brushed her hair out of her face. "It's okay baby. It's going to be okay." You assured her softly, brushing a thumb over her cheek. "But you have to go hide."

"We know you're in there!" One of the white men called out, the one with blonde hair. His voice was rough and angry, on the verge of snapping. "No one has to get hurt! We just want the archer!"

You clenched your jaw as you approached one of the windows that was opened ajar, nudging the barrel of your gun through the small opening without exposing yourself to the men. "He's not here!" you yelled back.

"Well then whose pants are hanging on the clothes lines?" Another one of the men called out, the Mexican one, and you squeezed your eyes shut in response.

"We ain't leaving until we have him." The first man called out as he cocked his gun.

"Even if we have to hurt you." The third man warned.

One of them, the Mexican one, cried out as an arrow was shot through his stomach and he collapsed onto the floor. You peered out of the window, watching as he cradled his bleeding stomach while the other two men glanced around with wide eyes.

"Well then you ain't fucking leaving alive." Daryl spoke up as he slowly stalked out of the tree lines, his crossbow pointing towards the two men.

"We won't hurt her. We just want you." The blonde one demanded as he took a threatening step closer to Daryl.

You pulled away from the window and stepped out onto the front porch, pointing your gun at the men.

"Go back inside!" Daryl yelled at you and the blonde man turrned to the house, drawing his gun on you.

You gasped, eyes widening when Daryl shot an arrow through the blonde guy's head before turning to the last man standing, shooting an arrow through his head before he even had a chance to react.

Daryl turned to the Mexican guy and shot an arrow through his head as well before tossing his crossbow onto the ground and approaching you with fast steps.

"You alright?" he called out as his eyes skimmed over you.

You let out a soft breath, putting your gun down before rushing towards him. He grunted as he caught you in his arms, pulling you closer to his muscular body, one hand pushing it's way into your hair as he held the back of your head.

"Are you alright?" He asked again as he pulled your head slightly back to get a look at your face. You stared up at him, letting out a soft breath as you nodded your head. "Where's Macie?"

"Bedroom." You whispered.

Daryl pulled away from you and you followed him into the house. Macie was hiding underneath her bed, clutching a stuff animal as she attempted to cry softly.

"Come on out sweetheart. You're alright." Daryl coaxed as he carefully helped her out underneath the bed.

You fell to your knees beside Daryl and pulled your little girl into your arms, running a comforting hand through her hair as she practically melted into your arms. "It's okay." You whispered.

"Are the bad men gone?" Macie asked softly, her eyes drifting towards Daryl.

"They're gone." He assured as he reached out and placed a gentle hand on the back of her head. "They won't hurt you or your mom. No one will, ever."

"How do you know?" She asked him softly as her head rested against your shoulder.

"Because I won't let them." He assured her as he slowly shook his head.

"Pinky promise?" She asked as she reached out her tiny hand, holding up her little pinky towards Daryl.

"I promise." He whispered as he reached out, hooking his pinky with Macie's.

Daryl took care of the bodies, burying them far in the woods before Macie could see them, he also managed to bring a deer home, skinned and cleaned it before making dinner for everybody and while you were putting Macie to sleep, he was cleaning the dishes.

You slowly approached him in the kitchen, lingering by the doorway. "So are you staying?" You asked softly as you crossed your arms over your chest.

He glanced at you over his shoulder. "Would you be alright with it if I did?" he asked.

"Yes." You admitted softly as you nodded your head. "Do you want to stay?" You asked as you raised your eyebrows.

"I want to." he confirmed as he put down the wash cloth and turned to face you, struggling to maintain eye contact with you as his gaze lowered.

"Good. Because I really want you to stay." You told him as you walked over to him, cupped his cheeks and kissed him softly.

Daryl didn't respond at first and for a moment you feared you had just made a terrible mistake. But then shyly at first, his lips moved against yours, softly kissing you back.

You pulled back and slipped your hands down to his chest. "If I do see one more cigarette, we will have problems." You informed him as you patted his chest.

He grunted softly in response as he quirked an eyebrow at you. "Fine." He agreed softly and you smiled in response as you stared up at him.

He leaned down, hesitating for a moment before brushing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Is Macie alright?" he asked softly as he pulled away from you.

"She was a little scared to go to sleep but I think she'll be okay." You replied with a soft sigh as you began drying the dishes that Daryl had washed.

"You got a tough little girl." He assured as he glanced at you. "She'll be just fine."

You looked up at him, smiling softly as you slowly nodded your head in agreement. He looked back at you again and you silently stared at each other for a moment before Daryl leaned down, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips.

"You getting sweet on me?" You asked softly, smiling against his lips as you cupped his cheek, his stubble scratching against your palm.

"Shut up." He huffed with a roll of his eyes, growing a bit shy as he returned to washing the dishes while you softly laughed at the adorable look on his face.

In that moment, you felt happy and you felt safe. And no way in hell were you letting this man go.

[thatmcubish]

My War is Over

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warning: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH; angst angst angst; no happy ending

Summary: Daryl wasn’t willing to let you go.

A/N: Needed to vent some emotions. Writing is therapeutic when I’m struggling.

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Daryl was tired. 

Though he could always use more sleep, his exhaustion stretched beyond that. His soul was tired. He’d been fighting, surviving for years, never really living. He had told himself so many times that if given even the smallest chance of a quiet life, he’d take it. After Rick, the need had become almost too painful to ignore. He had disappeared for six years. Six fucking years of isolation, away from everyone he loved. 

Away from you. 

You had been so patient with him. You had kept the little house in Alexandria clean and organized his things as if he would come back any day. You’d visit him frequently, tracking him down if he’d moved his camp. Even in isolation, he could say you were the only constant thing he could hold onto. 

He was thankful, now more than ever, that he had come back. That he had walked straight into that house and kissed the breath right out of your lungs. That he’d taken you to his bed. That he’d answered in kind when you’d said you loved him. 

He’d loved you openly, in front of the entire community, for a few beautiful months. He’d held your hand, hugged you to his side, kissed those perfect lips. He hadn’t cared who was watching. For the first time in his miserable life, he’d found something to live for. 

Now, he held your cold, pale hand in his. He brushed your tangled hair away from your face. That beautiful face, splattered with blood. He ached to see those mesmerizing eyes of yours, shining with love that was only for him. He’d never understand why you chose him, of all people. He was grateful. He’d had a chance to fall in love, an experience he’d never dreamed he’d have. 

He could hear Carol and Michonne screaming for him, running toward him with such fear in their cries. He could also hear the sounds behind him that should terrify him. Still, all he could focus on was you. Your pale skin, the warmth long gone. How long had he been sitting beside you while the battle raged around him?

Cold, slimy fingers wrapped around the side of his neck, Carol’s screams full of such devastation that he felt a flutter of guilt but it passed quickly. This was for him. 

Because he was tired. 

And you were gone. 

He’d made sure you wouldn’t turn. He couldn’t imagine you like that. Carol would ensure the same for him. Of that much, he was certain.

He had fought long enough. 

When rotten teeth first scraped against the junction of his neck and shoulder, he could only wonder if maybe there really was a heaven. If so, you would certainly be there, your gentle heart and never-ending kindness would ensure it. Maybe he would be allowed in, too. He’d done some terrible things, but he’d given so much for so many. Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to pay the price of admission. 

He closed his eyes and let it happen, focusing on a memory of your face, the sunset behind you painting the most beautiful picture. And even if he couldn’t promise it, he whispered as he smiled through a physical pain that would never be as intense as the agony in his heart. 

“M’right behind ya, sunshine.”

[thatmcubish]

gif @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Daryl, sitting on the roof and hearing Y/N sneeze from the porch: Bless ya.

Y/N, looking up toward the sky: God?

Y/N: Wow, you sound an awful lot like Daryl.

Daryl, opening his mouth and just closing it again: …

[thatmcubish]

heyy dear, can you write some fluff with daryl and gf reader where glenn gets one of those polaroid cameras and start taking pictures of everyone at the prison, and when he checked the photos he noticed that daryl is lovingly gazing at reader in all the photos they appear together? even when glenn or carol starts teasing daryl about it he still ask glenn if he can keep them🥰

Picture perfect

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: here goes another extra fic this week. I swear it won't always be like this but i have far too much free time and i don't know what else to do with myself.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: none.

Era: Season 4

Word count: 0.9k

“You’re gonna run out of Polaroids,” Carol said with a smirk, arms crossed as she leaned over Glenn, who was hunched at a table like it was a science project.

He didn’t look up, just grinned. “Already did. Totally worth it, though…look at this.”

He fanned out a handful of glossy squares, all slightly curled and sun-warmed. Carol leaned in, her expression curious until she saw it. You and Daryl, in nearly every shot but the focus wasn’t on the two of you smiling. In most, you were doing something completely ordinary…laughing with Maggie, cleaning your knife or merely walking next to the others, but in every single one, Daryl was looking at you, really looking. Unfiltered, soft-eyed and completely unaware of the camera. Sometimes he was in the background, sometimes next to you but never not watching.

Carol blinked and looked up. “What am I supposed to be seeing here?”

Glenn smirked like a kid holding a secret. “Blackmail, Carol, gold-tier. I'm talking ‘Dixon blushing’ level ammo.”

Carol laughed. “Oh, no. You don’t wanna play that game, Glenn.”

“Oh but I do. He stole my candy bar last week, this is divine justice.”

Despite her warnings, when Daryl finally rode back from his run that afternoon, Glenn was already posted up by the third gate like he was waiting to serve papers.

Daryl climbed off his bike with dust and grime smudging his neck and arms and his crossbow still strapped to his back. He dropped his bag onto the seat and looked around, automatically searching for you.

“Looking for someone?” Glenn teased, a grin stretching on his face.

Daryl scowled. “You know where she’s at?”

“Depends. How bad do you want to know?” He paused. “That hatchet you got there’s pretty sweet,” Glenn said with a sly grin, nodding at the weapon strapped to Daryl’s bike.

Daryl squinted, suspicious. “Ain’t for you.”

“It is now,” Glenn smirked, pulling a single photo from his pocket like it was top-secret intel. He glanced around dramatically before flashing it.

The archer looked down at it, then let out a low scoff, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Think she dun know I look at’er like tha’?” he muttered, tapping two fingers against Glenn’s temple once, snatched the photo and then, thwap!, he flicked Glenn’s ear, muttering “You creepin’ on me now?”

“Ow! What was that for?!” Glenn hissed. “You’re the one gazin’ like a lovesick outlaw.”

“Ain’t news to her, dumbass. Now, move.”

Grumbling, Glenn backed off but a few steps away, Daryl’s voice called after him. “Hey, Glenn!”

He turned. Daryl just stretched his hand out and Glenn sighed like he’d just lost a poker game, face falling. “All of them?”

“All of ’em.”

A second later, a stack of photos landed in Daryl’s palm, photos he quickly tucked into his bag without another word, meaning to look at them more closely later.

The sun warmed your skin as you approached the scene, steps slowing as Glenn passed you on his way back inside, rubbing his ear with a crooked smile.

“Hey…” you said, brow raised.

“Hey,” he muttered, shooting a sheepish glance over his shoulder at Daryl. “He’s all yours.”

“Right...” You frowned confused, then turned toward Daryl with that big smile he always pulled out of you. “Hi, handsome.”

He glanced up, immediately straightening a little, lips twitching upwards as he hid something behind his back. “Hey.”

“What was that about?” you asked, motioning toward the way Glenn had gone.

Daryl shrugged. “Kid’s troubled.”

“And you’re not?”

He smirked, still holding something behind him. “Maybe, but ya like it.”

“That I do,” you grinned, stepping closer. “Now, what are you hiding?”

With a little grunt, Daryl pulled two leather-bound journals from behind his back. One was your favorite color and unsurprisingly, it made the gift all the more meaningful. Your jaw dropped.

“Are you gonna start journaling with me?” You asked excitedly, taking them both from his hands.

Daryl scratched the back of his neck, glancing down like it was no big deal. “Kinda tired of watchin’ ya do it alone before bed. Even started wonderin’ if ya got a secret crush or somethin’.”

You wrapped your arms around him, laughing softly into his shoulder. “It’s you, so not very secret.” He hugged you back then, gentle and a little awkward, like always…exactly in that way you loved.

“Ya gotta teach me what t’ write, tho’, or it’s gonna turn into sum’ creepy book ‘bout ya.”

You pulled back with a giggle. “Doesn’t sound awful”

“Really doesn’t.” He reached out to gently squeeze your side, making you yelp and bat his hand away, but the more you looked at him, the more you could tell he was still hiding something.

“So…what’d Glenn give you?” you asked, poking at his bag with the journals.

Daryl hesitated for a beat before pulling out the photos, thumbing through them like they were old keepsakes. “Journaling material, ‘cause he’s nice like tha’” he said.

“The…troubled kid” You repeated in the same tone he had used.

“Mhm, the one.” He pointed at the pictures now in your hands, “For scrapbookin’. That wha’ ya call it?”

You smiled and nudged his arm teasingly. “Look at you, already learning and collecting.”

“Kinda fell into my hands,” he mumbled.

“Uh huh. I’m sure it did.”

You watched him a second longer, your heart fluttering as he carefully took the photos and tucked them into his vest’s inner pocket, like they were precious.

“You always look at me like that?” you asked, pointing at where the pictures were now carefully kept.

He shrugged looking away, ears already a faint pink. “Nah. Just when yer breathin’.”

[thatmcubish]

Dream a little dream of me

Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

SUMMARY: sometimes dreams do come true, at least Oscars dreams.

AN: English is not my first language and im lil dyslexic but tried my best! This is also my first fic so reblog, liking, following and all feedback is welcome, enjoy 🫶🏼

CONTENT UNDER THE CUT

”You know those dreams that feel so real for a moment that they linger in you mind, too much for too long and all you feel is emptiness of something that was not ’real’ But she was real, she had to be. He just had to find her and prove it.”

He was in bed, sleeping. Until a girl came to wake him up. She started stroking his hair gently, pushing it away from his eyes to see his face fully, her touch was softer than a feather.

”Oscar, honey get up.” She said peacefully looking him deeply with her pretty eyes, chuckling at his sleepish form. Oscar stayed looking into her eyes. It felt unusual but normal at the same time. He somehow felt he was in dream, and didn't want it to end. He wanted to stay in her touch, hers who name he didn't even know, yet. He opened his mouth to say something, something to react her touch and presence, until slowly everything started fading away.

Then he heard his alarm and snapped awake.

He laid in the bed alone, quiet and confused.

You know those dreams that feel too real, so after you wake up you are left with only emptiness inside. This was a dream like that. Oscar tried to brush it off, and get up from the bed and continue his morning like usual. But he still had this weird feeling in his stomach that didn't go away. He left to work, it was a media day. Oscar was quieter than usual, not that many people could tell the difference, but his team mate Lando did.

"Yo bro, u good? You've been quieter than ever today."

"Yeah, yeah i'm good just didn't sleep well last night." He lied, but right now he felt it was easier than start to rant about his silly dream.

"Okey, good."

Lando replied, after that the conversation of his quiet behavior ended.

-

He came home that day, exhausted from all the media duties and people. He fell on his bed almost immediately and drifted in to a deep sleep.

She was there again, stroking his hair. The exactly same pattern from his last dream. She holding him,until something loud started ringing beside his ear. It was his alarm that was way too loud, almost giving him an headache. He pressed it off and glanced the time, 6.30 am. He stayed quiet for awhile trying to process the dream, trying to remember something else than her eyes, something more ’real’. But the details faded from his mind too quickly to catch anything important.

The weird feeling in his stomach from yesterday had only grew stronger. He rolled restless in bed trying to catch sleep but gave up. Despite of the attempt of more sleep, he was still wide awake. Finally decided to got up and went to the shower, hoping it would refresh his mind before heading to the track.

it was practice day, and he knew he had to be present in his own mind. This little dream thing couldn't linger in his mind like yesterday. But oh it did, even more. The practice went well, but not too well and he knew that himself. Still his thoughts were somewhere else.

After those two nights the same pattern repeated over and over again, he saw her and felt her touch every night before the alarm went off. And it haunted him.

It bothered him, who the hell was the girl. Maybe she was someone he had met before in real life, because people in dreams are the ones we see or meet when we are awake, right?

He had to find her, this was affecting him too much. He was driving shitty out of a sudden, forgetting about important things, wasn't present on the track or with his team. Even other drivers started to notice it after awhile, making statements and asking lando about Oscar's well being.

"Is he alright?"

"Do you know what's going on with him"

"He is not himself."

Him and lando sat together at the Mclaren’s motorhome, in silence until Lando broke it.

"Bro seriously something is clearly bothering you, and i don't want to be the one to say this to you but you've driven like shit lately. The media's speculationing and the drivers are also. So what is up with you, something serious?"

"There is nothing major i guess, i just can't sleep probably, and i knowagle how my driving has been lately, i got to work on this.” Oscar stated firmly hoping that the conversation would end to this.

Lando didn't believe his words, Oscar saw it. But Lando didn't push him, of course he didn't. Oscar did not owe him an explanation, at least not yet. Maybe the day his shitty driving starts to affecting Landos driving, but he hoped it'll never happen, at least not very soon.

He was aware of the speculation around him, but he just didn't seem to care about it. He felt like he had something a lot bigger in life to solve than racing at the moment.

Those glimpse of her he saw every night were only times he felt relaxed and settle. He didn't want to wake from the them only to feel emptiness through the whole day again and again. He was peaceful in the dreams even it was the same one repeating itself, but something about it was so deep and real to him so it didn't mattered. He liked hearing her voice calling him honey and laughing.

He had tried to find her from his social media ofcourse, where else? He had tried to search her desperately from his followers list, cause maybe just maybe she followed him, if she was real. It had been hell of a work, especially when she didn't even have a name. The results were non-existent, and he started to feel hopeless, so hopeless he decided to ask mclaren’s social media manager for help. Help to find her from his instagram, where she maybe was.

Oscar was walking up to Anna, the media expert. He was doubting himself on every step, thinking if this was really necessary. But still kept walking towards her, for too long to escape from the scene anymore.

Anna greeted him friendly.

"Hi oscar, do you need something?"

"Hello, i um could we speak privately?" Oscar asked, eyeing the other workers around Anna.

"Yes of course, let's go there for abit." referring the quiet spot few meters away.

They settled and it was time for Oscar to ask his question.

"Hmm, how can i say this subtle as possible." He started

He took a breath and then blurted it out

"I need to find someone, that i don't know name of, yet…"

Anna watched him with pure confusion and then opened her mouth.

"Find who, from where? What are you talking about Oscar?"

"From my Instagram, i need to find someone from my instagram. I um, this fan gave me a handmade bracelet last week, and i promised to thank her personally, later. And i don't how other than through instagram, i only remember her from face" The lie was so bad and made up for him. He never did anything like that, thanking fans personally, and he knew that anna knew it too. But he couldn't go back from the lie anymore.

"Osc, you never do that. Why didn't you thank her face to face?"

"No no i did, it's just, i don't know it’s special to me? I won with the bracelet last week. I really need to thank her." He sounded desperate, which he was.

"Please Anna, i wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. You know i don't have knowledge or time to dig through Instagram." Which was a lie, he had time, he had has time when he was searching her himself, hell he would make time if it meant to get closer finding her.

"Okayy Oscar, if this is that important to you, i can try. But finding someone without a name is really hard especially from your 4 million followers." She said, almost laughing at him.

"Thank you." Oscar stated firmly as Anna started walking away. All he can do now is wait, maybe Anna will found her. He needed to stay optimistic.

And then he waited, and waited which felt like a tiny forever. He felt stupid about it, waiting and hoping something that didn't maybe even exist. Anna had send him a few suggestions, but neither of them was her.

Anna called him after a few days.

"Hi, Oscar. I couldn't find her, i'm sorry i really tried. But you know Oscar you have so many fans all over the world, that you can't thank all of them separately even if you wanted to. No one is blaming you, and im sure she understands if she still remembers the "promise"

Anna explained.

"Yeah, i guess you're right. Thank you anyway." Oscar responded.

"Yeah well, maybe you'll two meet again and then you can thank her." Anna continued "But for now bye oscar, see you around!"

"Yeah maybe.. goodbye Anna, see ya." And then he ended the call

He had given up, she didn't exist. The didn't want to admit it but there were no other option anymore. If he continued this mad show, he'll never know peace in his life anymore.

Then she popped up, random in Instagram likes. Like a destiny her name glow in the notifications. He quickly screenshotted it so he wouldn't lost it straight away.

He had found it, her user with a pretty profile picture. He stared the picture, feeling a bit unsure? The account was private, fuck of course it was, for his luck. Not thinking more he pressed the request bottom, and then he waited.

He knew it possibly caused confusion in her, sawing his official, pretty popular account in her requesting. It took only 15 minutes to her to allow it. To oscar it was a promise, a promise that she existed. She wasn't his made up fantasy, she was real, live and breathing.

He couldn't stop looking at her pictures, she was like a sunshine just like in his dream, the same smile glowed through his phone screen and brought a little smirk on his face too. He hadn't plan how to contact her with the proper way, cause saying something like "I seen you in my dreams for weeks, wanna meet up?" Was way too creepy. He knew that without saying. He didn't figure out nothing else than invite her, to the race.

And then he send the first message to her, he was sweating and nervous. Hell he was a multiple race winner and this was his life maybe scariest moment for a while.

Then he pressed sent. The message was very polite.

"Hi, Oscar Piastri here. I would like to invite you to the next F1 race in Monaco. This is completely a gift , you don't need to pay for anything. You are invited as Mclarens VIP visitor through the whole weekend. If you'd like to receive this gift, contact me your email so my team can send you more detailed info."

She read it almost immediately, and then started writing back

"Hello, Oscar. Im quite surprised about your offer. First i doubted if this was really your real account. But i guess i'll have to believe the follower count and the verification. I would love to receive this gift, thank you very much for it. My email is yn.email.com. I hope your race goes well, see ya there then :) From Yn"

"You're welcome, see you there Yn!"

To oscar it felt almost unreal call her by her real name, so many weeks she had been a girl in his dreams. And now she were a real human who was going to see his race in a week.

-

The week passed, he was more talkative and coming back to his old self. Everyone could see it, he was suddenly happier but only he knew the reason why.

Practice, went good same as quali, he had gotten a pole position and was ready for sunday's race.

She hasn't messaged him after his last response, but it was fine. Oscar didn't want scare her away, and he had a plan, to meet her after the race, somewhere privately. Now oscar was more focused to the upcoming race, which was good for him because he hasn't feel like this in weeks, full of energy, he was ready to win.

Then sunday came. He hasn't spotted her on the motorhome with the other VIPS the whole weekend, he had started to think that maybe she hasn't even come at all, maybe he had scared her for good with some stupid message. Oh god he could only hope he was wrong.

Oscar raced good, so good that he won the monaco grand prix. His fans and team congratulated him and he was so full on adrenaline, something he hasn't felt in a while.

Then he got a notification from, her.

"Hi, i um don't know if this appropriate way to congratulate you, but i'll guess this the closest i'll get you, so congratulations on your win! And thanks again for this gift, i've had such a nice time here! From Yn"

He smiled, not smirked, full on smiled at the text. She has been there, she has been close the whole time. He didn't a knowledge how loudly he reacted to the message, but it was loud enough to Lando notice it.

"Hey, what are you smiling at, something interesting on your phone os?" Lando asked as peaked trying to see Oscars mystery notification.

Oscar quickly locked his phone.

"Hmmm, maybe" Oscar smirked

"Okay okay, i see you smiley boi." Lando teased him "Also congratulations of the win" and then he disappeared.

Letting Oscar alone with his thoughts, now he had a perfect way of asking you to meet up.

"Hello, thanks of the congratulations, i'm also glad you had fun time. I was thinking actually, would you like to meet up in person at my apartment at 8pm today?" He cringed little when he was sending the message, it was very fast forward but the adrenaline from the race was still rushing through his body so he didn't care and then pressed sent.

"Okay, yeah that's fine i didn't have anything planned tonight, so sure why not."

"Perfect i'll get you cab to my apartment and tell to receptionist to welcome you in, see ya then :)"

He had couple of hours before meeting her, so he decided to rush home quick as possible to tidy himself and the apartment.

"You coming to celebrate tonight right, lando stopped to ask him?

"Yeah maybe i just have one thing in few hours, so i might be a little late." Oscar responded politely

Lando didn't say a word just smirked and nodded and then left god knows where.

-

Oscar was home, he had taken a shower, tidy the living room and kitchen and put the kettle ready if she wanted tea or coffee. He was dressed nicely, not in sweatpants and a hoodie but more casual. After all he was still at his own home, but it didn't mattered rightnow when she was on her way. Oscar was nervous, hands shaking and restless. He could not sit still at the couch and wait, so he raced through the apartment. Then the reception called,

"She is here, do i sent her through?"

"Yes," Oscar responded

Then followed a moment of a complete silence.

Then

A knock on the door, a soft one but still echoed in silence of the apartament.

He opened the door, and there she was standing still and suddenly his dream was true, in his reach, in front of him. He froze for a second, not too long but enough to glance her fully.

She spoke first, kind and soft words. ”Hi, Oscar"

Fic radio

[thatmcubish]

I have a suggestion for more angst

Txt messages of the drivers txting thier dead gf

I am a monster, no you dont need to do it at all, i would prefer it if you didnt, but the anon made me chuckle

your f1 boyfriend can't move on after you pass away (tw :: mentions of death)

★ : feat :: max verstappen, charles leclerc, carlos sainz, lando norris, oscar piastri, lewis hamilton ★ : a/n :: please don't read it if you are triggered by talks of death. you are responsible for what media you consume but turn away please!!!! if you can't handle heavy death talks.

( texts masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

★ : a/n :: oh this was so heavy to write actually i– scared to post this ngl. feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

[thatmcubish]

fresh out the slammer!

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

mv1 x childhood friend! reader

in which fresh out the slammer, you know who your first call will be to...

warnings: mildly suggestive, ANGSTY, one-sided pining until it's not

word count: 2.4 k

masterlist

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

your first relationship happened when you were 16.

he was smart, not as smart as you, but that was okay.

not many people were, your mom reminded you.

he was cute, too, in a boyish, charming way that reminded you of one of max's friends.

he shook your father's hand and kissed your mother's cheek; they liked him enough to let him tag along to one of max's races.

your first mistake was introducing him this early on to max.

18, a chip on a shoulder and something to prove, max had been yours since you were born.

your own father was his godfather, and max had deemed himself your protector since you were born.

you knew him when he was a shock of blonde hair and big blue eyes, before jos made it his mission to turn his firstborn into some project.

you'd stuck by him the entirety of his journey; he claimed you as family.

he'd told you once, last year, that you weren't his sister, not like victoria was, but something else.

when you'd asked him what, he'd shrugged, not meeting your eyes.

now, with your hands linked with someone who wasn't him, max's eyes glared the same way when someone beat him to a podium, or when the engine failed.

"well done, maxie," you murmur, and max hums, raising an eyebrow at the boy next to you.

"oh, this is..." you flush pink, "this is my boyfriend."

you turn to your boyfriend, who is turning paler and paler under max's gaze, "this is my..."

"i'm her max," he offers.

now, your boyfriend is turning purple.

"where's my congratulatory hug, liefje?" the nickname he uses doesn't go unnoticed, but you untwist your fingers from him, leaning to hug max.

max's arms go around your waist, and yours loop around his neck. you're practically off the ground with how much taller he's gotten. he squeezes, the same way he always does, presses a kiss to your forehead and smooths your hair.

when he lets go, you don't take the hand of the boy next to you.

the two of you break up the next week.

max doesn't question it, only shows up with ice cream and an offer to beat the kid up.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| 0:10

by the time you're 21, you've have your first long-term relationship.

he's older, right between you and max, and he's kind. he works as much as you, and understands your relationship with max.

no one has, ever.

you think you've found the love of your life, until you catch him in your shared bed with his colleague.

you're screaming at him, tears flowing down your face, until he raises his arms, confused.

"wait, wait. are you not sleeping with max? i thought we were both..."

now you're both pissed off and confused.

"what?" you ask, throwing your hands in the air, "no? why would i do that?"

needless to say, when you two break up, you don't tell anyone about what he had said about max.

but later, when you're hanging out with victoria at the paddock and you whisper to her what happened, she gives you a look.

"obviously, the guy is an asshole for cheating on you," she huffs, "but max is...i think he's in love with you."

coming from his sister, that's jarring to hear.

you shrug, and she rolls her eyes, taking your hand.

"do you remember," she prods, "the time he won his first race and he bought me a handbag and you a necklace?"

you nod, fingering the M pendant around your neck.

she nods, satisfied as if that proves a point.

"what? how does that have to do with anything?"

she throws her hands in the air, "he's practically peeing on you to mark his territory! how many best friends do you know are like you two?"

"alex! yeah, alex, come here," she beckons.

the british driver points comically at himself, then loping over.

"do you think max is in love with her?"

"absolutely." he nods, very seriously.

"guys, i really don't think-"

"do you know, that he keeps a picture of the two of you at all times?

"what?" you ask.

"yeah, he does." alex responds, "he looks at it all the time."

you flush, a little embarrassed and a little bit giddy.

"i still don't know..."

they both groan.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| 0:20

what victoria and alex say stays in your mind; in fact, it haunts you.

it's the little things you notice now, how max always opens your can of redbull (because he's nothing if not loyal, to both you and his team) for you before handing it over, how he always keeps his large, warm hand on the small of your back in crowds.

you know he's handsome, duh. with his pretty boy eyes and blonde, messy hair? of course you've always been aware.

but you start to notice him differently.

the way his muscles flexed under your hands when he lifted you onto a stairless platform to the hole-in-the-wall restaurant he found online, and the way his wide, pink smile pinched happiness all the way to his eyes.

if you're completely honest, you've always had a thing for him, really. he was just too...

out of reach.

a world champion.

completely wrapped in your history.

he knows every single part of you, every single mistake and shortcoming, but he still chooses to be part of your life.

so, with confusion and emotion turmoil at the forefront of your mind, you manage to ignore your budding feelings and move on with your life.

because there's no way anyone like max would ever want you the way you secretly wanted him.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| 0:30

"wow. hey, liefje. where you going?" he asks, eyes widening at the short dress you're wearing.

"uh, out?" you answer with your own question, and he smiles at you affectionately, rolling his eyes.

his eyes, blue like a thunder-driven sky roam over you, "with a guy?"

shrugging weakly, you nod.

he hums, shoulders tightening just an inch, the same way they do when he's tired after a race and asks you to hold him for a while.

"call me if you need anything," he murmurs, the soft tone of his voice turning something over in your chest until you can't breathe.

max presses a kiss to your forehead, the same way he's done since you can remember, but this time, this time it feels different.

different from a congratulatory kiss for a graduation or promotion, different from a comforting one after a bad day.

don't forget me, the kiss seems to say. don't forget that i'm here, waiting.

you feel crazy, to think all of that from a peck. but when you look at him, the plastic, long-suffering smile he gives you to reassure, you don't feel crazy at all.

"okay, i will."

he smiles, one more time, and you try and return it shakily, leaving through the front door.

the date goes exceptionally well; jonathan, his name is, is sweet, kind and doesn't know anything about Formula One, which you can tell grates on Max's nerves.

you bring him to the monaco grand prix, and he follows along, a little bored but tolerant, for you.

you appreciate it, and you tell him so.

max, during a season of redbull domination, inevitably wins.

he runs to you, tugging until you're in his arms.

when he smiles, your heart tugs. you don't understand why, but you're smart enough to know that you haven't felt it with anyone else.

that night, jonathan watches you carefully as the two of you sit in your living room with the race highlights on.

"how long has he been in love with you?" he asks abruptly.

you sit up straight, "what?"

he gives you a bit of a condescending look, not intentionally, but a look that tells you he knows something you don't.

"max. how long?"

"i-"

he sighs, picking up his jacket.

not unkindly, he grasps your shoulder, "you should really figure that out. before you lead on more people."

"wait, jonathan, i-" you try and stop him, not because you want him to stay but because you want an explanation.

he shakes his head, a small smile on his face, "really. i think...i think you have someone waiting for you anyways."

"i'm sorry," you offer weakly, feeling stupid.

"don't be. just, call him. i'd bet he's waiting."

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| 0:40

you don't call max, but you show up at his apartment instead.

he's not there, probably still out celebrating, but you let yourself in with the key he gave you.

jimmy and sassy wind themselves around your calves, rubbing their faces against your skin.

you murmur hello, stroking their fur. you wander around, going to the closet to grab a hoodie.

a box, ontop of all the shelves of redbull merchandise catches your eye.

scrambling onto one of the sturdier shoe shelves, you clamber up, taking it with you to the couch.

it's a pretty box, fabric-sown in your favourite colour.

you open it curiously, hoping whatever inside will be interesting enough to pass time.

to your surprise, it's full of letters.

carefully, you take the first one out.

2013, it's dated. your name, written in max's slanted print catches your eye.

dear schatje,

charles asked me about you today. he said you were pretty, but i told him you were off limits. he tried to laugh it off, told me i was an overprotective older brother.

i tried to laugh too. but you're not my sister. i don't know how to explain it, other than that i think i love you.

not in the way my dad loved my mum, we both know how that ended up. but like in those romantic movies you force me to watch, where the guy really, really loves the girl.

like leave the middle of a basketball game to get you a coke, or marry you so you don't get deported to canada love.

well, that doesn't really apply to us, but i'll stop watching a race to get you whatever you want.

anything for you, you know? i think i always will.

there's just something about you. you're always so kind to everyone, and you're so smart.

you talk about what you love so passionately, and you see people, not what's expected of them.

i know you love me, as a brother or a friend, but you never ask me to be max the champion. just max the boy.

i feel alive, with you. not the rush from driving, but a consistent warmth every moment i spend with you.

maybe some day i'll tell you.

love, your max.

by the time you stop reading, tears are streaming down your face.

max loves you.

since he'd been what, 16?

your breaths come out shaky, as you move on to the next letter, and the next, and the next.

every letter, dedicated to you, some soft, quiet declaration of love he's held in his heart for almost a decade.

you fall asleep reading them, late into the night. max finds you there, and picks you up into his bed.

the two of you fall asleep together.

when you wake up the next morning, max is already sat up in his bed, watching some old race highlights.

he studies you for a second, quietly and indulgently.

"morning," you whisper awkwardly, "i-uh. i found your letters."

shrugging, max smiles, although it doesn't reach his eyes, "i figured."

"i-"

"we-"

you laugh, and he reluctantly does too.

"let me go first?" you ask.

"sure," he says.

"um, i didn't know," you bite your lip, "i didn't know. or else i would've-"

this is a terrible time to cry; with max, all sleep-tousled, watching you with those careful, blue eyes like you're easily breakable.

he pulls you into his strong arms, into his warm, solid chest.

you take a shaky breath, and his palm that spans over the entirety of the back of your head stills you.

"if i had known," you start, sill not too steady, " i wouldn't have wasted all my time."

"i'm sorry," he says, and shushes you when you shake your head to dismiss his apology, "i should've said something sooner. to be honest, i didn't know if you had felt the same way."

"oh, max," your eyes start to water again, and he coos, brushing a calloused thumb under your eye.

"i love you, and i have for a very long time."

hearing him say that is way more jarring than you'd ever imagined it would be.

max loves you.

you start to giggle, "sorry!"

"are you seriously laughing right now?" he pouts, eyebrows raising.

"sorry, baby. it's just that the fourteen year old girl in me is jumping up and down."

"say that again," he demands.

"jumping up and down?" you ask, confused.

suddenly, you're met with a shy max, which is a very endearing max.

"you called me baby," he murmurs, nosing your hair.

you splutter a laugh, "max verstappen, world champion, are you blushing because of a pet name?"

"because you called me a pet name. okay, seriously though. i want to be with you."

he's so blunt, but that's something you've always appreciated about him.

"okay," you say, pretending like your heart is not exploding in your chest

"okay," he replies, stroking your hair once more. you can feel him smile into your hairline.

"i'm sorry for making you watch me go through all those relationships," you tell him.

you imagine having to see him be with other girls, and you want to throw up.

"but your first call after they ended were all to me," he grins, smug.

"now i'm here. i don't plan to leave," you tell him matter-of-factly.

"good thing, because i'm not letting you go."

when he pulls you up to kiss him, it's better than you'd ever imagined (which is surprising, because you'd imagined it quite a lot).

he's so warm, scent familiar, and he traces his fingers into the skin of your neck.

when you shiver, he pulls you closer, and you feel him smile.

you whisper a "i love you" into his lips, and you're both smiling so wide that it's hardly a kiss anymore.

neither of you mind: you've spent the first two decades of your lives together, as friends, as family. but you'll spend the rest with the love of your whole life.

[thatmcubish]

i don't want you like a best friend

op81 x childhood best friend! reader

song: dress by taylor swift

in which oscar yearns and pines

warnings: suggestive, sexual themes, angsty, mutual pining

word count: 1.8 k

masterlist

our secret moments in your crowded room, they got no idea about me and you

oscar finds you the same way he always does: he feels where his heart tugs, deep and familiar, and when he looks up, there you are.

you look at him a, half a second after his eyes land on you. because you know, you always do.

you squint, a little tipsy, dress ruffled. he relishes in the way you smile at him, that special one with your teeth showing, pretty lips stretched pink on your face.

he studies the way your cheeks plump, under the dim light of the party.

his stomach swoops when you shrug, strap slipping off of one delicate shoulder. he flushed pink when he realizes he wants to bite the smooth skin there.

weird.

you cock your head.

he nods, and you lope over to him, very ungracefully.

he wraps one arm around your waist, the same way he's done since parties in high school.

the two of you bid your friends goodbye.

charles kisses the side of your face, and then alexandra too, smiling her own farewell.

you wave to the rest, and let oscar practically carry you out the door.

later, when he tucks you into bed and curls his body protectively around yours, he hears you murmur something.

"i love you, oscar."

he swallows, those four words that have pained him to hear for the past three months lodging something thick and unknown in his throat.

"yeah, sweetheart. i love you too." he manages to grit out, despite how desperately he wants-

he needs you to want, to love him the same way he needs you like he needs to breath, like a car needs an engine.

he tries to think of a comparison to how he loves you, but he can't.

because he's never loved anyone, anything like this before.

that thought scares him, but he holds onto you as you drift to sleep anyways.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

all of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting

oscar has never been violent.

his sisters have always taken advantage of this when they all fought as kids, but he has never, ever hit them back.

the one time he ate the last cookie in your fridge when you guys were 11, he'd let you tackle him to the hardware floor of the kitchen, laying there until you relented and made him promise to make you more.

but he wants to right hook the sleazy finance bro that has been eyeing you up all night.

you'd forced (batted your lashes twice and he'd caved) him to come out and celebrate his maiden win, to distract him from mclaren's shit-show of a strategy.

the dress you're wearing, tight, short and black was very distracting. alex, with her sharp brown eyes has already caught him looking at your ass twice.

he'd danced with you, watched your drinks like a security guard while you danced with alex, kika and rebecca, and waited outside of the bathroom for you.

he'd left for like thirty seconds (5 minutes, the line was long) to get drinks, and this asshole had already claimed the seat next to yours.

which was his. it was always his. he made sure of that.

in every room, every country.

"excuse me," his tone not a bit excuseful, "you are in my seat."

the guy turns, and he realizes with a start that he's handsome.

like how lando and charles are handsome, charmingly roguish.

he could never be like that; he's too awkward, too quiet.

for the first time since he was a teenage, oscar feels insecure.

it's a disgusting feeling, sticky like the spicy marg he's holding for you, clinging to his skin and eyes.

"oh, sorry" the guy says, moving, "didn't know she had a boyfriend. my bad."

his eyes widened, then, recognizing oscar.

"oh, shit. oh, man-"

you roll your eyes, plucking the drink out of oscar's hand, sipping.

when the guy finally leaves, you frown at him.

"you scared him off," you pout, and oscar suppresses the urge he's had to kiss you again, "he was like, okay looking."

"sweetheart, that should not be your standard," he snorts.

you stare at him, eyes a little glassy, and then you do something that makes him choke on his own drink.

you cup his face, fingers smoothing over the moles on his face.

"no one can compare," you murmur, "you're the prettiest, oscar."

his heart explodes, right in that club in hungary.

into a thousand little pieces, each of them attaching to you.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

say my name and everything just stops

"oscar, baby! you did it, you did it again!" you cry into the speaker phone, your voice crackled and broken because of all the miles and time difference, but that's okay.

oscar holds you, carefully cradled and remembered in his heart, no matter where he goes.

"yeah, sweetheart," he laughs, "i know."

"i hate you! how are you this calm? hold on, hattie wants the phone."

he chatters with his sisters, his mom. but when the phone is handed back to you, you whisper his name, the same way you do in his dreams.

reverent and adoring, your tone giving him too much hope that maybe one day you would love him the same way he loves you.

"oscar," you murmur, and it reminds him of that night in the club in monaco, "i'm so proud of you. you've worked so hard."

he wants to cry a little. desperately, he wants you here.

but when you say his name, everything just stops.

he sits in his hotel room, time irrelevant outside of this long distance phone call.

oscar relishes in your voice, and closes eyes and pretends that you're waiting at home for him, as his.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

i don't want you like a best friend, only bought this dress so you could take it off

"-and his arms, alex! i want him to like, choke me out," you giggle, "i think i want him to use me as a chew toy. sorry, sorry, tmi."

oscar is rounding the corner of his kitchen, and stops in his tracks when he hears you.

he feels the exact moment his chest tightens, so much that it's hard to inhale, and the beer he had earlier with lando swirls in his stomach.

"you're seeing someone?" he blurts out. alex gawks at the two of you, oscar with what he's sure is a painfully twisted expression, and you, who is turning red from embarrasment.

"i'll leave you two. it's been a long night, charles and leo are probably..." she doesn't even finish the sentence in her slightly accented english, before darting out, slipping a hand on your shoulder as she goes.

you're still wearing the pale yellow sundress from tonight, after the 2024 season finish dinner the grid had hosted.

you look ethereal, tanned and glowing.

he wants to kick himself, for not saying anything.

for not offering his undying affections.

it's too late now, but he has to try.

you are meant to be together, he knows that.

all his friends, shit, all of your combined friends know that (and tell both of you so, too), and your families have been waiting with baited breath for this to happen.

"i love you!" he nearly yells.

you yelp in response, eyes wide with shock.

"oscar-"

"no, sweetheart, please, let me-let..." he can't talk, but you nod, as he crosses the kitchen to scoop your hands into his.

he kisses them, each fingertip, each knuckle. he prays that another man hasn't held you, not like this.

he feels you gasp, but he only tugs you closer.

"i have loved you, since we were teenagers. and i've been a coward, i think. because i was selfish and i need you, every moment of every day, and i didn't tell you." he confesses, and your hands press against the thump of his heartbeat.

"i will be everything you want," he promises, "please, just give me one chance. i'm going to do right by you, i swear. i'll win championships and i'll provide, and when you're ready, i'll get a ring and a big house and we can have kids. if you want. or just a dog." he's rambling, and then he realizes that your eyes are teary.

"i wasn't going to say anything," he repeats, "but you were talking about someone else, wearing that dress, and i-"

"i only bought this dress so you could take it off."

"i don't want you like a best friend," you cup his face, sliding into his hair, twisting until he sighs, from the pressure on his neck, and your words.

"i love you too, oscar."

he shakes his head, huffing out a shaky breath.

"say that again," he demands.

you do, and he scoops you over his shoulder, nearly sprinting to his bedroom.

that night, while he slowly took of your dress and more, he whispered "i love you" into your skin more times than you could count.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

i woke up just in time, now i wake up by your side

when oscar wakes, he does so with a shit-eating grin on his face.

last night, he fucked you deep into the mattress, you bodies intertwined the same way your souls have always been. he'd made you come 3 times, and then again when he took you in the shower.

it's like you were made for each other, every single scientific reasoning for attraction etched into your cells.

he frowns, realizing you're not in bed with him.

then you slip back into the room, wearing only his t-shirt, holding a plate of eggs and toast.

his mouth waters at the sight of you (not the eggs, but later you'll swear you heard his stomach grumble).

"hi, baby." you smile happily, squinted eyes and stretched pink lips.

he takes the plate and sets it down, pulling you back down to cuddle.

"hungry?" you ask.

"for you?" he presses his front to the bare swell of your ass, "always."

"oh no, i've created a monster," you laugh, turning in his arms, lips pressing to his.

he deepens the kiss, tongue sliding to lick, hot and heavy into your mouth, stealing your breath the same way you stole his heart at age 14.

"incorrect, you've unleashed me," he mutters into your jaw as his fingers pulled up his shirt from your morning-warm body.

you giggle and let him, and oscar thanks his lucky stars that you are finally his, the same way he's been yours since he could remember.

[thatmcubish]

Thicker Than Blood

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc’s Ex!Reader

Summary: you didn’t think things could get worse after your long-time (ex) boyfriend chose his team over you … until you see those two pink lines, but little do you know that his rival will soon prove that a found family can be thicker than blood

Warnings: includes depictions of labor complications and Jos Verstappen

Based on this request

“Charles, this isn’t funny.”

You’re half-smiling, half-laughing, like you’re expecting him to crack any second and say something ridiculous, something that would make you roll your eyes and shake your head at his poor attempt at a joke.

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, his eyes fixed on you with a seriousness that makes your stomach twist.

“Charles,” you repeat, the laugh in your voice now entirely gone. “What are you talking about?”

He runs a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s trying to find the right words, but they’re all jumbled up in his head. You know this Charles. This is the Charles who struggles when things aren’t easy, when he has to explain something he doesn’t want to. But this … this is different.

“We need to break up.” The words come out so softly, so carefully, like he’s afraid of them. But they hit you hard, a punch in the gut that leaves you breathless.

You blink, trying to process what he’s just said, but it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit. You and Charles are solid. You’ve been through everything together — the highs, the lows, the uncertain days before he was anything more than just another young driver trying to make it in the big leagues. And now, after all this time, after everything, he’s telling you this?

You shake your head. “No. No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do,” he says, his voice firmer now, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

“Charles, no,” you say, your voice rising, a mixture of panic and disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”

He sighs, a long, weary sound, and looks away from you, his gaze falling to the floor as if he can’t bear to meet your eyes. “It’s not what I want,” he says quietly.

“Then why?” You demand, stepping closer to him, trying to catch his eye, to pull him back to you. “Why are you saying this? We’re fine, Charles. We’re good. What’s going on?”

He finally looks at you, and the pain in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat. “It’s not about us,” he says, his voice almost breaking. “It’s … it’s the team. Ferrari.”

“What?” You say, blinking in confusion. “What does Ferrari have to do with us?”

“They … they think it’s better if I’m single,” he says, each word forced out like it’s costing him something. “For my image. For the brand.”

You stare at him, your mouth open, but no words come out. You’re frozen, your mind struggling to catch up to the words he’s just said, to the reality he’s trying to force on you. “You’re breaking up with me … because of Ferrari?”

He nods slowly, miserably, like he hates himself for it. “It’s complicated,” he says, trying to make it sound like it’s not the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard.

“No, it’s not,” you shoot back, the anger finally starting to break through the shock. “This isn’t complicated, Charles. This is insane. You can’t seriously be telling me that you’re ending things because some PR team thinks it’ll be better for your career.”

“They’re not just some PR team,” he says, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “They know what they’re doing. They’ve seen the numbers and the trends. They know what’s best for the brand … for me.”

“And what about us?” You ask, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “What about everything we’ve been through? Everything we’ve built together? You’re just going to throw that away because someone told you to?”

He winces, like your words are physically hurting him, but he doesn’t back down. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you’re choosing your career over me.”

His silence is deafening. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he’s struggling with what he’s saying, but he’s not fighting it. He’s not fighting for you, and that realization hits you harder than anything else.

“Why now?” You ask, your voice softer now, the fight starting to drain out of you. “Why are you doing this now?”

“It’s just … it’s the timing,” he says, fumbling for an explanation that makes sense. “The season’s starting, there’s so much pressure. They think it’ll be easier if I’m not-”

“If you’re not what? Tied down?” You snap, the words laced with bitterness. “Is that what they told you? That you’ll be better off without me weighing you down?”

“That’s not how they put it,” he says, but there’s no conviction in his voice.

You feel tears pricking at your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. You won’t cry. Not now. Not here. “Charles, we’ve been together for years,” you say, your voice trembling. “We’ve been through everything together. And now you’re telling me that none of that matters? That all of that gets erased because it doesn’t fit with Ferrari’s brand?”

“I don’t want to do this,” he says, his voice breaking, his eyes pleading with you to understand.

“Then don’t,” you plead back, stepping closer to him, reaching out to take his hand, but he pulls away, and the rejection stings.

“I have to,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

You shake your head, trying to make sense of the senseless. “How can you say that? How can you just … give up on us like this?”

“I’m not giving up,” he insists, but it sounds hollow, even to him. “It’s just … it’s not forever. It’s just for now, just to get through the season. Then we can figure things out, we can-”

“You can’t be serious,” you interrupt, the tears finally spilling over despite your best efforts. “You think I’m just going to wait around for you to decide when it’s convenient for you to be with me again? You think that’s how this works?”

He doesn’t respond, just looks at you with that same pained expression, and it’s enough to break your heart all over again.

“Charles, please,” you whisper, one last attempt to reach him, to get him to see reason, to see you. “Don’t do this. We can figure something out. We always do.”

But he’s already shaking his head, and you know, deep down, that he’s already made up his mind. “I’m sorry,” he says, and you can hear the finality in his voice, the way he’s closing the door on this, on you.

You stare at him, the boy you’ve known for so long, the man you’ve loved for years, and it feels like he’s slipping away from you, like he’s already gone. “You really think this is what’s best for you?” You ask, your voice hollow, defeated.

“It’s not about what’s best for me,” he says, and you almost laugh at the irony of it.

“Then what is it about, Charles?” you ask, but you’re not sure you even want to know the answer.

“It’s about … what’s best for everyone,” he says, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.

You take a step back, the distance between you growing, and it feels like a chasm opening up, one you can’t cross. “I never thought you’d be someone who’d let other people decide what’s best for you,” you say quietly.

He flinches at that, and for a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him, that he’ll take it back, that he’ll realize how ridiculous this all is. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, looking at you with those sad eyes, and you know it’s over.

“Goodbye, Charles,” you say, your voice breaking on the last syllable.

“Goodbye,” he whispers back, but it’s lost in the sound of your footsteps as you turn and walk away, leaving him — and everything you’ve built together — behind.

***

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft, golden light over the room, but it does nothing to warm the cold knot in your stomach. You’ve been feeling off for days now — nauseous, tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that sleep doesn’t seem to touch.

And the vomiting. It started a few days ago, just once or twice, but now it’s every morning, like clockwork.

You sit up slowly, careful not to move too fast, but it’s too late. The wave of nausea hits, and you barely make it to the bathroom before you’re hunched over the toilet, retching until there’s nothing left. You stay there for a moment, gripping the edge of the sink, trying to steady your breathing, trying to make sense of what’s happening to you.

It’s just stress, you tell yourself. The breakup, the uncertainty of everything, it’s all finally catching up to you. But even as you think it, you know it’s not true. This is different. This is something else.

You rinse your mouth, the taste of bile lingering, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look pale, drawn, like you haven’t slept in days. Your eyes are dull, shadows lurking beneath them, and there’s a tightness around your mouth that wasn’t there before. You almost don’t recognize the person staring back at you.

As you leave the bathroom, your mind races through the possibilities, trying to find some logical explanation. Maybe it’s a bug, something you ate. Maybe it’s …

You stop in your tracks, the thought slamming into you with all the subtlety of a freight train. No. It can’t be. It’s impossible. But as you think back, counting the days in your head, you realize it’s not impossible. In fact, it’s very possible.

You sink onto the edge of the bed, your heart pounding in your chest. It’s been weeks since … since Charles broke up with you. Since you last … Oh God.

The realization leaves you cold, your skin prickling with fear. There’s only one way to know for sure, but the very thought of it makes your throat tighten, your heart race even faster.

You can’t. You can’t be.

But there’s a part of you — a small, terrified part — that knows you need to find out. You can’t just ignore this, hope it goes away. You need to know. Now.

The walk to the pharmacy is a blur. You barely register the people around you, the sun beating down on your back as you make your way through the streets. It feels like everyone is looking at you, like they know what you’re about to do, but you push the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Inside, the air is cool, the fluorescent lights harsh as you make your way to the back, where the pregnancy tests are lined up in neat rows. You stand there for what feels like forever, your eyes scanning the shelves, your hand hovering over the different options, but you can’t bring yourself to reach out and grab one.

“Can I help you with something?”

The voice startles you, and you turn to see a woman in a white pharmacy coat standing beside you, her expression polite but curious.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m fine. Just … looking.”

She nods, but doesn’t move away, and you feel a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You need to do this, and you need to do it now.

Taking a deep breath, you grab the first box you see, then another, then a third, just to be sure. You avoid the woman’s gaze as you make your way to the register, your heart hammering in your chest as you hand over the boxes, praying she doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t. She just rings you up, sliding the tests into a small paper bag before handing it to you with a neutral smile. “Good luck,” she says, and you can’t tell if she means it or if it’s just something she says to everyone.

“Thanks,” you mumble, grabbing the bag and hurrying out of the store, the door chiming as you leave.

Back in your apartment, the silence is deafening. The tests sit on the counter, staring up at you, and you can’t bring yourself to move, to do what needs to be done. But you know you have to. You can’t put this off any longer.

Finally, you reach for the bag, pulling out one of the boxes, your hands trembling as you tear it open. The instructions are simple enough — pee on the stick, wait three minutes, then check the result. But as you hold the test in your hand, you realize those three minutes are going to be the longest of your life.

You follow the instructions, then set the test on the counter, stepping back like it’s something dangerous, something that could hurt you if you get too close. You glance at the clock, the seconds ticking by at an excruciatingly slow pace, and you force yourself to breathe, to stay calm.

But calm is impossible. Your mind is racing, a thousand thoughts and fears tumbling over each other in a chaotic mess. What if it’s positive? What if it’s not? What will you do? How will you handle this? You’re alone now — Charles is gone, and he’s not coming back. You’re on your own.

The minutes crawl by, and finally, you can’t wait any longer. You step forward, your heart in your throat, and pick up the test, your eyes locking onto the small window where the result will appear.

Two lines.

Positive.

You stare at it, uncomprehending, your mind struggling to process what you’re seeing. You pick up the second test, the third, repeating the process with shaking hands, hoping against hope that the first was a mistake, a fluke. But the results are the same. Two lines. Positive.

You’re pregnant.

The realization crashes over you like a wave, and you sink to the floor, the tests clattering out of your hands as you press your palms to your stomach, feeling the beginnings of a life growing inside you. A baby. Charles’ baby.

Tears blur your vision, and you don’t know if they’re from fear, from shock, or from something else entirely. You never thought you’d be here — sitting on your bathroom floor, alone, pregnant, and terrified of what comes next.

This isn’t how it was supposed to be. You were supposed to have Charles by your side, holding your hand, telling you everything would be okay.

But he’s not here. And now, you have to figure out what to do next. You have to figure out how to take care of yourself, how to take care of this baby.

You drag yourself to your feet, your legs weak, and stumble into the living room, collapsing onto the couch as the weight of it all presses down on you. How did this happen? How did you end up here, in this mess, with no one to turn to?

Your mind drifts back to the day Charles convinced you to quit your job. He’d said it was for the best, that you didn’t need to work, that he’d take care of you. He wanted you with him at the races, wanted you by his side, supporting him, and you’d agreed, because of course you did. You loved him. You trusted him.

And now … now you have nothing. No job, no income, no safety net. Just a positive pregnancy test and a future that feels terrifyingly uncertain.

You wipe at your eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You can’t afford to fall apart. Not now. You have to be strong, for yourself, for the baby. You need to figure out what to do next.

You reach for your phone, your fingers trembling as you pull up a job search website. There has to be something — anything — that can get you back on your feet. But as you scroll through the listings, your heart sinks. You’re overqualified for some, underqualified for others. You haven’t worked in years, and the gaps in your resume feel like gaping wounds that no employer would overlook.

Finally, something catches your eye—an ad for a cleaning agency. It’s not glamorous, it’s not what you imagined for yourself, but it’s work. It’s a start. And right now, that’s all you need.

You tap the number on the screen, your heart racing as you bring the phone to your ear. It rings once, twice, three times, and you start to think no one will pick up. But then, a voice crackles through the line.

“Hello, CleanSweep Agency. How can I help you?”

You swallow hard, your voice trembling as you reply. “Hi, I … I’m calling about the job listing. The cleaning position.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and you hold your breath, waiting.

“Yes, of course. Are you available for an interview tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” you repeat, your mind racing. “Yes. Yes, I can do that.”

“Great. We’ll see you at 10 AM. Our office is on Rue de la Paix. Just bring your resume and any references you might have.”

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as the call ends.

You stare at the phone in your hand, the reality of what you’ve just done settling over you. You’ve taken the first step. It’s not much, but it’s something. It’s a start.

But as you sit there, the weight of everything presses down on you again. You’re pregnant. You’re alone. And the path ahead feels impossibly daunting.

You place your phone on the coffee table, staring at it like it might offer you some kind of solution, some way out of this mess. But it’s just a phone, and the reality of your situation doesn’t change.

The room is too quiet, the kind of quiet that seeps into your bones and amplifies every fear, every doubt. You wish you could call someone, talk to someone, but who? Your friends? They’d be supportive, sure, but they wouldn’t really understand. Your parents? The thought of telling them is too overwhelming to even consider right now.

Charles? The name echoes in your mind, but you shake your head. He’s the last person you should be calling. He made his choice, and you need to respect that. Besides, what would you even say? That you’re pregnant? That his decision to break up with you for the sake of his image has left you in a situation neither of you ever expected?

No. You can’t go there. Not now.

You push yourself off the couch, pacing the small living room, trying to clear your mind. You have a job interview tomorrow. It’s not much, but it’s something. You can’t afford to think beyond that right now. You need to focus on getting through the next day, the next hour.

The baby. The thought is like a knife in your chest, sharp and painful. You press a hand to your stomach, trying to imagine what comes next, how you’ll navigate this new, terrifying reality. But the truth is, you have no idea. You’re scared, more scared than you’ve ever been, and the future feels like a black hole, pulling you in with no clear way out.

But you have to keep going. For yourself. For the baby.

You head to the bedroom, opening the closet to find something suitable for the interview. Your clothes feel foreign, relics from a past life that doesn’t quite fit anymore. You settle on something simple, professional, trying to ignore the gnawing fear that none of this will be enough.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the clothes laid out beside you, and take a deep breath. Tomorrow is a new day. A new start. You don’t know what’s coming, but you do know one thing: you’re not going to give up. Not now, not ever.

And as the night settles in around you, you cling to that thought like a lifeline, hoping it will be enough to carry you through whatever comes next.

***

Max pushes open the door to his Monaco apartment, dropping his keys on the console table with a tired sigh. The morning training session has left his muscles aching, and all he can think about is a long, hot shower and maybe a quick nap before the next round of meetings and commitments.

As he steps inside, he’s greeted by the familiar scent of cleaning supplies — a smell that’s become synonymous with Tuesdays, the day his cleaner comes to tidy up.

He doesn’t usually pay much attention to her, exchanging only a few polite words if their paths cross. She’s efficient, quiet, never in the way. But today, something feels different the moment he steps into the living room. The sound of soft scrubbing reaches his ears, and he glances toward the source — his gaze falling on a figure kneeling by the coffee table, wiping down the glass surface.

It takes him a second to register what he’s seeing, but when he does, he freezes, his breath catching in his throat. It’s not just any cleaner — it’s you. And you’re pregnant. Very pregnant.

“Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, the shock rolling over him in waves. For a moment, he wonders if he’s seeing things, if the exhaustion has finally caught up with him and he’s imagining things. But no — there’s no mistaking it. It’s you, and you’re here, in his apartment, on your hands and knees, cleaning.

You look up at the sound of his voice, your eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, neither of you says anything, both too stunned to speak. Then, slowly, you rise to your feet, one hand resting protectively on your rounded belly as you try to compose yourself.

“Max,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, like you can’t quite believe he’s standing there.

“What … what the hell are you doing here?” He asks, his voice rough with confusion and something else — something darker, angrier, that he can’t quite put into words yet.

You blink, looking down at the rag in your hand as if seeing it for the first time. “I … I work here,” you say quietly, your tone laced with embarrassment.

“Work here?” Max repeats, his mind racing to catch up. “What do you mean, work here? You’re … you’re pregnant! Why the hell are you cleaning my apartment?”

You flinch at his words, and he immediately regrets the sharpness in his tone, but the sight of you — pregnant, exhausted, and clearly struggling — ignites a fury in him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. “What the fuck is Charles doing, making you work like this?”

At the mention of Charles, something in you seems to break. Your face crumples, and before Max can process what’s happening, you’re crying — really crying, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Max says quickly, closing the distance between you and reaching out to steady you. “I didn’t mean to — look, just sit down, okay? You shouldn’t be on your feet like this.”

You let him guide you to the couch, your tears falling freely now, and Max feels a pang of guilt deep in his chest. He’s never been good with tears, but seeing you like this, so vulnerable and hurt, stirs something protective in him.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs, your hands covering your face as if trying to hide your pain. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.”

Max sits beside you, his mind spinning as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. This is all wrong. You shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be working some labor-intensive job, not in your condition. And where the hell is Charles in all of this? How could he let you get to this point?

“What’s going on?” Max asks gently, reaching for a box of tissues and handing it to you. “Why are you working here? What happened with Charles?”

You take a tissue, dabbing at your eyes, but the tears keep coming, and Max’s concern deepens. He’s never seen you like this before — so defeated, so broken.

“It’s … it’s over,” you manage to say, your voice trembling. “Charles and I… we broke up. Seven months ago.”

Max’s heart drops at your words, and a sick feeling churns in his stomach. He’d heard rumors, of course — whispers in the paddock, speculation in the media — but he’d never imagined it was true. He’d seen how much Charles loved you, how much you meant to him. But now, seeing you like this, the reality of it hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Why?” He asks, though he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “He said … he said it was for the best. That the team thought he’d be more marketable if he was single. That it would be better for his image.”

Max feels a surge of anger flare up inside him, hot and fierce. “He broke up with you because of PR? Are you kidding me?”

You nod, and Max can see the pain in your eyes, the betrayal that still lingers there. “I didn’t know what to do. I … I didn’t have a job. I quit when we started traveling together, and now … now I’m on my own. I have to take care of myself, and …” You glance down at your belly, your voice breaking again. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Max runs a hand through his hair, trying to process everything you’ve just told him. Charles left you — pregnant and alone — all because of some bullshit advice from his team? The thought makes his blood boil. He’s known Charles for years, seen him under pressure, seen him at his best and his worst, but this … this is something else entirely.

“Does he even know?” Max asks, his voice low, trying to keep his temper in check. “Does he know you’re pregnant?”

You shake your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I haven’t told him. I couldn’t … I couldn’t face him. And I don’t want to force him into something he doesn’t want. He made his choice.”

Max sits back, stunned. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. You’ve been going through this all on your own, with no support, no help. And now you’re cleaning apartments just to make ends meet? It’s too much. He can’t let this go on.

“Listen,” Max says, his voice firm, though he softens it when he sees the way you’re looking at him, like you’re about to fall apart. “You’re not doing this alone, okay? You shouldn’t have to.”

You look at him, eyes wide, searching his face as if trying to figure out if he means it. “Max, I don’t want to be a burden-”

“You’re not,” he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re not a burden. You’re my friend. And you’re … you’re carrying a child. That’s not something you should be dealing with on your own.”

“But what about Charles?” You ask, your voice small, uncertain.

“Fuck Charles,” Max snaps, then immediately regrets it when he sees the look on your face. “I mean … look, I know this is complicated. But right now, you need to take care of yourself and the baby. That’s the priority. And if Charles isn’t going to step up, then I will. Whatever you need, I’m here, okay?”

You’re silent for a moment, and Max can see the conflict in your eyes — the fear, the doubt, the overwhelming sense of helplessness. He wishes he could do more, that he could take away the pain, the uncertainty, but all he can do is be there for you, in whatever way you’ll let him.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I … I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Max says gently. “Just … promise me you won’t try to do this on your own anymore. You’re not alone, okay? Not as long as I’m around.”

You nod, but Max can see the hesitation still lingering in your eyes. He knows this isn’t going to be easy for you — to accept help, to let someone else in — but he’s determined to be there for you, to make sure you don’t have to face this alone.

“Come on,” he says, standing up and holding out a hand to you. “Let’s get you something to eat. You need to take care of yourself, and that means no more scrubbing floors, okay?”

You take his hand, allowing him to help you to your feet, and for the first time since he walked through the door, Max sees a faint glimmer of hope in your eyes. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

As he leads you to the kitchen, Max’s mind races with everything he needs to do, everything he needs to figure out. But one thing is clear — he’s not going to let you go through this alone.

***

Max sets a plate in front of you — a simple sandwich, some fruit on the side. He’s not exactly a chef, but it’s something, and he watches as you take a bite, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. You look exhausted, and Max wonders how long you’ve been running on empty like this.

He pulls out the chair across from you and sits down, his eyes never leaving your face. “So,” he begins, trying to keep his tone light, “tell me everything. What’s been going on since … since Charles, you know …”

You pause, swallowing the bite of sandwich, and Max can see the flicker of pain in your eyes at the mention of Charles. It’s like you’re bracing yourself to tell the story, and Max hates that it’s something you even have to relive.

“It’s been … hard,” you admit, setting the sandwich down. “After we broke up, I didn’t know what to do. I had some savings, but it wasn’t enough to keep living in Monaco. So I had to move.”

“Move?” Max echoes, his brows furrowing. He hadn’t heard anything about this, hadn’t realized things had gotten so bad for you. “Where did you go?”

You hesitate, as if ashamed to tell him, but then you sigh, the words spilling out in a rush. “I found a small place in France. It’s about an hour away. A tiny village. I couldn’t afford to stay here, not without a steady income.”

Max feels a pang of guilt, like he should have known, should have done something sooner. “You’re commuting to Monaco every day for work? That’s crazy.”

You shrug, a faint, humorless smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not ideal, but it’s what I had to do. I tried looking for jobs closer to home, but nothing paid enough. And I didn’t have many options, not with the baby coming.”

Max leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. The thought of you struggling like this, traveling back and forth every day, working a physically demanding job while pregnant — it’s almost too much to bear.

He wishes he could just write you a check, cover all your expenses, but he knows you too well. You’d never accept it, not without a fight. You’re proud, stubborn, and fiercely independent — qualities Max admires but wishes you’d set aside just this once.

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Max says softly, his voice filled with concern. “I know you’re strong, but you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Especially not now.”

You meet his gaze, your eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. “I know, but … I need to be able to take care of myself, Max. I need to know I can do this, for me and the baby.”

Max nods, understanding even though it frustrates him. You’ve always been this way — determined to stand on your own two feet, no matter what. But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to stand by and watch you struggle. There has to be a way to help you without making you feel like a charity case.

Then, an idea starts to form in his mind, something he remembers from the past, from the days when you were always by Charles’ side, supporting him in ways most people never even saw. “You know,” Max starts, leaning forward, “I remember how you used to help Charles with his social media. His accounts were always engaging, relatable … fans loved it. That was you, wasn’t it?”

A small smile flickers across your face, the first genuine one he’s seen since he got home. “Yeah, that was me. Charles never really cared about social media, so I took it over. It was fun, in a way, creating content that connected with people.”

Max’s heart lifts at your smile, at the spark of something familiar in your eyes. This could work. This could be exactly what you need.

“Well, I’ve got an idea,” Max says, trying to sound casual even though his heart is pounding in his chest. “Right now, Red Bull’s PR team handles all of my social media. I’ve never really been into it, you know? But honestly, they’re pretty … corporate. The posts are fine, but they don’t really have that personal touch. Not like what you did for Charles.”

You’re watching him now, curiosity piqued, and Max takes that as a good sign.

“What if,” Max continues, “you took over my social media? I mean, I’ve seen what you can do. The fans love that kind of content. You could work from home, set your own hours … it wouldn’t be physically demanding, and I’d pay you well. I mean, really well.”

Your eyes widen at his offer, and for a moment, you just stare at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s serious. “I don’t know … I’ve never done that professionally. It was just something I did to help Charles.”

“And you did it better than most professionals,” Max insists. “Look, I’m not asking you to do anything crazy. Just … think about it. You’d be helping me out too, you know? I could really use someone who gets what the fans want, who can make my social media feel more … real.”

You bite your lip, clearly torn. “I don’t know, Max. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I get that,” Max says quickly, not wanting to push too hard but also not wanting to let this go. “Just … think about it, okay? You’d be great at it. And it would mean you don’t have to keep doing jobs that are hard on your body. You could focus on the baby, on yourself. It’s just an idea, but I think it could work.”

You’re silent for a long moment, your gaze dropping to the plate in front of you as you consider his offer. Max waits, his heart pounding in his chest, hoping he hasn’t overstepped, hoping you’ll see this for what it is — a chance, an opportunity to take some of the weight off your shoulders.

Finally, you look up, and Max can see the conflict in your eyes. “I appreciate it, Max. Really, I do. It’s just … it’s a big change, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.”

“I get that,” Max says, his voice gentle. “But you don’t have to decide right now. Take some time, think it over. I just want you to know that the offer’s there. No pressure, no strings attached. Just … a way to make things a little easier for you.”

You nod slowly, your fingers toying with the edge of the napkin on the table. “I’ll think about it,” you finally say, your voice soft but sincere. “I really will.”

Max feels a rush of relief at your words, and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. “That’s all I ask. And, in the meantime, you can stay here tonight. No more commuting back and forth, okay?”

You start to protest, but Max cuts you off before you can even get the words out. “No arguments. You’re staying here. I’ve got plenty of room, and you shouldn’t be traveling so much. Just … stay, and we’ll figure things out together.”

You open your mouth to argue, but something in Max’s expression must convince you otherwise, because you close it again and nod. “Okay,” you agree, though you still look a little uncertain.

Max stands up, picking up the empty plates from the table. “Good. Now, you get some rest, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

As he carries the plates to the sink, he feels a strange mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Anger at Charles for putting you in this situation, frustration that you’re too proud to accept help, and something else — something deeper, a fierce determination to make sure you and the baby are taken care of, no matter what.

He doesn’t know what the future holds, doesn’t know how things will play out between you and Charles, but one thing is certain: he’s not going to let you go through this alone. You’ve been there for him in the past, supporting Charles, cheering Max on from the sidelines, and now it’s his turn to be there for you.

As he turns off the kitchen light and heads to his room, he makes a silent vow to himself. Whatever it takes, he’s going to make sure you’re okay. He’s going to be the friend you need, the support you deserve, and he’s not going to let you down. Not now, not ever.

***

Max enters his apartment, the familiar sounds of his footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floor. He’s looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe some time with his cats before bed. But when he steps into the living room, he stops in his tracks.

There you are, stretched out on his couch, resting. Jimmy and Sassy have claimed spots on either side of you. Jimmy’s large frame is draped over your legs, purring softly, while Sassy is curled up protectively near your stomach, her eyes half-closed but alert. The sight is so domestic, so peaceful, that it makes something tighten in Max’s chest. It’s a scene he’s never imagined but now, seeing it, it feels … right.

He’s struck by how well you fit here, in his home, in his life. The way you’ve naturally fallen into this space, as if you’ve always belonged. There’s something about the way you’re lying there, with Jimmy and Sassy close by, that tugs at his heart. He wonders if they sense the life growing inside you, if they somehow understand the significance of the new presence in the apartment.

Max approaches quietly, not wanting to disturb the serene moment. He can see now that you’ve fallen asleep, your breathing slow and steady, a slight smile playing on your lips. You look peaceful, more so than you have since you arrived. It’s a relief to see you like this, to know you’re finally resting.

He stands there for a moment, just watching. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there, time seems to stretch as he takes in the scene. There’s something intimate about it, something that makes him feel protective, like he’s responsible for making sure you and the baby are safe, comfortable. He’s not sure when that shift happened, when he started to care so deeply, but it’s undeniable now.

Carefully, Max leans down and gently scoops you into his arms, trying not to wake you. You stir slightly, mumbling something in your sleep, but then settle back down, your head resting against his chest. Max holds his breath, half-expecting you to wake up and question what he’s doing, but you remain blissfully unaware, lost in whatever dream you’re having.

He’s careful as he carries you down the hallway to the guest room, taking slow, measured steps so he doesn’t jostle you too much. It’s strange, carrying you like this. Not that you’re heavy — far from it — but the weight of responsibility he feels is almost overwhelming. You’re so vulnerable right now, so trusting, and it makes Max even more determined to make sure you’re okay.

When he reaches the guest room, Max pushes the door open with his foot, grateful that it’s already ajar. He steps inside, the soft light from the hallway spilling into the room. The bed is already made, and Max lowers you onto it gently, careful not to disturb your sleep.

He takes a moment to tuck the blanket around you, making sure you’re comfortable. You murmur something again, shifting slightly, and Max freezes, worried he might have woken you. But you just settle deeper into the bed, sighing contentedly, still fast asleep.

Max lingers for a moment, his hand hovering near your face. He’s not sure what compels him to do it, but he finds himself leaning down, pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to your forehead. It’s a simple gesture, one filled with a mix of affection, protectiveness, and something else he can’t quite put into words. He pulls back quickly, almost embarrassed by the tenderness of it, but you don’t wake.

He steps back, watching you for a moment longer. You look so peaceful, and Max feels a strange sense of contentment, like he’s done something right for once. The day’s exhaustion is starting to catch up with him, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave the room just yet.

There’s something about the way you’re sleeping, surrounded by warmth and comfort, that makes him feel … happy. It’s a feeling he’s not used to, but one he finds himself embracing more and more as time goes on.

Finally, Max turns and quietly leaves the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He heads back to the living room, where Jimmy and Sassy are still curled up on the couch, seemingly unbothered by the absence of their human pillow. Max sinks into the armchair across from them, running a hand through his hair as he tries to process everything that’s happened today.

He thinks back to the offer he made you earlier, wondering if you’ll actually take him up on it. Part of him worries that you’ll say no, that you’ll insist on doing everything yourself, but he hopes that maybe, just maybe, you’ll realize that accepting help doesn’t make you weak.

Max has never been good with words, but he meant everything he said. He wants to help you, to make things easier for you, and not just because he feels responsible. There’s something deeper at play here, something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s there all the same.

He’s never been in a situation like this before, never had someone depend on him in this way, and it’s both terrifying and exhilarating. Max isn’t sure what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s on the right path, like he’s doing something that actually matters.

As he sits there, the sounds of the city outside muted by the thick walls of the apartment, Max lets himself imagine what it would be like if this became a regular thing — if you stayed, if you became a part of his life, more than just a guest in his home. The thought sends a wave of warmth through him, a sense of belonging that he’s not sure he’s ever felt before.

But he pushes the thought aside, not wanting to get ahead of himself. One step at a time. First, he needs to make sure you’re okay, make sure you’re taken care of. Everything else can come later.

Max finally gets up from the armchair, heading to his own bedroom. The day’s events have left him drained, both physically and emotionally, and he knows he needs rest if he’s going to be any good to you tomorrow.

As he climbs into bed, pulling the covers over himself, Max’s thoughts drift back to you, sleeping soundly in the guest room just down the hall. He hopes you’re dreaming of something peaceful, something that takes your mind off all the worries you’ve been carrying.

And as he closes his eyes, the last image that flits through his mind is of you, smiling softly in your sleep, with Jimmy and Sassy curled up protectively around you. It’s a good image, one that brings a small, contented smile to his own lips as he finally drifts off to sleep.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, Max feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

***

The smell of coffee fills the kitchen, mingling with the soft morning light that streams through the windows. Max is already at the table, scrolling through his phone, but he looks up as you enter, offering a small, warm smile. He’s still not quite used to this — having someone else here in his space, sharing these quiet moments — but it feels right in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Morning,” he says, his voice a little rough from sleep. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better,” you admit, reaching for the kettle to make your own cup of tea. “Thanks for … everything yesterday.”

Max waves it off, trying to seem nonchalant, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — concern, maybe, or something deeper. “You needed it,” he says simply. “And it’s not over yet. We still need to talk about that job offer.”

You nod, pouring hot water over the tea bag and watching as the steam rises. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you start, your voice hesitant. “And … I think I want to accept it.”

Max feels a surge of relief, though he tries not to show it. “You sure? No pressure, if you’ve changed your mind.”

“No, I’m sure.” You take a seat across from him, your hands wrapped around the warm mug. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. I need something … something to focus on that doesn’t involve cleaning floors or worrying about everything all the time. Plus, it’s something I know I can do. And I’ll be able to take care of myself, of the baby, without pushing myself too hard.”

Max nods, his relief turning into something warmer, almost like pride. “Good,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m glad you’re taking it. I think you’ll be great at it.”

There’s a pause, the two of you just sipping your drinks in comfortable silence. But Max can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this, that there’s something else you need but aren’t asking for.

“So,” he begins carefully, “where are you planning on staying? I mean, if you’re going to be working for me … you’re going to need somewhere closer than … wherever you’ve been staying.”

You look up, caught off guard. “I … I hadn’t thought about that yet. I was planning on going back to France and just-”

“Stay here,” Max interrupts, surprising even himself with how quickly the words come out. “I mean, it makes sense, right? You wouldn’t have to travel so far every day. Plus, it’s safer for you and the baby. You’ll have everything you need, and I’ll be around to help if you need anything.”

You hesitate, clearly torn. “I don’t want to be a burden, Max. You’ve already done so much-”

“You’re not a burden,” Max says firmly. “You’re my friend, and you need help. It’s that simple.”

There’s a long pause as you consider his words, weighing your options. Finally, you sigh, nodding slowly. “Okay. I’ll stay. But only until I figure things out.”

Max grins, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Deal.”

There’s a moment of shared relief before Max’s mind drifts to a more practical matter. “Right, so … there’s one more thing,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t really have much in the fridge besides, like, trainer-approved meals and protein shakes. We’re gonna need to do some shopping.”

You laugh softly, the first genuine laugh he’s heard from you in what feels like forever. “Okay, I guess we should take care of that then.”

Max stands, grabbing his keys from the counter. “Let’s go before it gets too busy.”

***

The grocery store is bustling with the mid-morning crowd, but there’s something oddly comforting about the normalcy of it all. Max pushes the cart as you walk beside him, selecting fruits and vegetables, adding them to the growing pile.

Max watches you closely, noting the way your shoulders relax a little as you focus on the mundane task of picking out produce. He’s glad to see you like this — calm, in control. You seem to know exactly what you need, even as you pause occasionally to consider an item before adding it to the cart.

“Max,” you ask after a moment, turning to him with a slight frown, “do you even like any of this stuff, or am I just buying what I want?”

Max chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll eat whatever, really. Just make sure there’s enough for you and the baby.” He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “You know more about this stuff than I do, anyway.”

You give him a small smile, but it’s clear that the reality of your situation is still weighing heavily on you. Max wants to say something reassuring, but before he can find the right words, someone else does it for him.

“Y/N?”

The voice comes from behind you, and you both turn to see Pascale Leclerc standing a few feet away, her eyes wide with shock. She looks between you and Max, her gaze lingering on your rounded belly before returning to your face. “I …I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. “Pascale,” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hi.”

Pascale takes a step closer, her expression shifting from surprise to concern. “You’re … pregnant?” she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief. “What happened? Charles said you broke up with him-”

You shake your head, your throat tightening. “No, Pascale. I didn’t break up with him. He … he broke up with me. Said it was because of the PR team at Ferrari. They thought he’d be more marketable if he was single.”

Pascale’s eyes widen in horror. “What? He told me … he told me it was mutual, that you both agreed it was for the best.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you shake your head again. “No, it wasn’t mutual. It wasn’t my choice.”

Max, who’s been standing silently beside you, finally speaks up, his voice filled with anger on your behalf. “Charles lied to you, Pascale. He left her, and he doesn’t even know she’s pregnant.”

Pascale’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. “Oh, mon Dieu,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I had no idea. Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Please, Pascale,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “please don’t tell Charles about the baby. I … I don’t want him to know.”

Pascale looks at you, torn, but eventually nods. “Okay. I won’t tell him,” she promises, her voice gentle but firm. “But …Y/N, I want to be a part of my grandchild’s life. I want to be there for you, for both of you.”

The sincerity in her voice breaks down the last of your defenses, and you find yourself nodding, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Okay,” you manage to say, your voice choked with emotion. “I … I’d like that.”

Pascale steps forward, wrapping you in a gentle hug. “You’re not alone, ma chérie,” she whispers, her voice soothing. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

You cling to her for a moment, taking comfort in her words, before finally pulling back. “Thank you,” you say, wiping at your eyes. “Thank you so much.”

Max, who’s been watching the interaction with a mixture of relief and concern, gently places a hand on your back. “We should finish up,” he says softly, giving Pascale a nod. “Take care, Pascale.”

Pascale smiles through her own tears, giving Max a grateful look. “You too, Max. And Y/N … call me if you need anything. Anytime.”

You nod, giving her a small, shaky smile before turning back to the cart. As you and Max continue shopping, the weight of the encounter settles over you, leaving you emotionally drained. Max notices, his usual silence becoming a source of comfort as he quietly takes over, finishing up the shopping and paying for everything without another word.

***

The drive back to Max’s apartment is quiet, the earlier lightness of the morning replaced by a heavy, lingering tension. You stare out the window, lost in thought, replaying the encounter with Pascale over and over in your mind.

By the time you reach the apartment, you’re exhausted — physically and emotionally. Max parks the car and helps you carry the groceries inside, his movements careful and deliberate as if he’s trying to shield you from any further stress.

Once everything is put away, Max leads you to the living room, where you sink onto the couch, your body sagging with relief. He sits beside you, watching as you struggle to hold back tears, and finally, the dam breaks.

You bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably, all the fear and uncertainty and pain you’ve been holding in finally spilling out. Max wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his hand gently rubbing your back as he whispers soothing words into your ear.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice steady and calm. “Let it out. I’m here.”

You cry until there are no tears left, until you’re too exhausted to do anything but lean against Max, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your sobs. Max doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just keeps holding you as if his presence alone can shield you from everything that’s gone wrong.

When you finally pull back, your eyes are red and puffy, your face wet with tears. “Sorry,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologize,” Max interrupts gently, his voice soft but firm. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re going through a lot, and you don’t have to hold it all in.”

You nod, still feeling raw and exposed, but there’s something comforting in the way Max is looking at you — like he’s not judging you, like he genuinely cares.

“Thanks,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Max offers you a small smile, his hand still resting on your back. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he says. “I’m here, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and Max watches as you slowly regain some of your composure.

“Do you want to rest?” He asks after a moment, his voice filled with concern. “You’ve had a long day.”

You shake your head, wiping the last of the tears from your face. “No, I’m okay. I think I just need to … distract myself.”

Max nods, understanding. “Okay,” he says, standing up and offering you his hand. “How about we make dinner? Something simple, but better than those pre-prepared meals.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “Yeah,” you say, your voice steadier now. “That sounds good.”

***

Cooking with Max is surprisingly easy. He’s not much of a chef, but he’s attentive and eager to help, following your lead as you guide him through the steps of preparing a simple pasta dish. The kitchen fills with the comforting aroma of garlic and herbs, and for a while, you lose yourself in the routine of chopping vegetables and stirring sauces, the earlier tension easing with every moment.

Max watches you closely, noticing the way your movements become more relaxed as you focus on the task at hand. He’s relieved to see you like this — more at ease, more like yourself.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Max comments as he carefully stirs the pasta in the pot, a hint of admiration in his voice.

You shrug, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I used to cook a lot,” you say, your tone a little wistful. “Before everything got … complicated.”

Max doesn’t push for more, sensing that you’re not ready to delve into the past just yet. Instead, he focuses on the present, on the simple pleasure of cooking together, the warmth of the kitchen, the shared sense of purpose.

By the time dinner is ready, the earlier tension has all but disappeared, replaced by a quiet, comforting camaraderie. You and Max sit at the table, eating in companionable silence, the simple meal a balm for your frayed nerves.

After dinner, you help Max clean up, the two of you working together in easy harmony. There’s something oddly soothing about the domesticity of it all — like a glimpse of a life you hadn’t dared to hope for, a life where things could be simple, where you didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.

When everything is finally cleaned up, Max suggests watching a movie, and you agree, grateful for the chance to keep your mind occupied. You settle onto the couch with him, his cats Jimmy and Sassy immediately curling up beside you, their soft purring a comforting background noise.

Max flips through the options on his streaming service, eventually landing on an action movie. “This okay?” He asks, glancing at you.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “Something mindless sounds perfect right now.”

The movie starts, and for the next couple of hours, you lose yourself in the fast-paced action, the explosions and car chases providing a welcome distraction from the turmoil of your own life. Max is a solid, comforting presence beside you, and for a while, you let yourself believe that everything might actually be okay.

When the movie ends, you realize how exhausted you are, the emotional rollercoaster of the day finally catching up with you. Max notices too, and he turns to you with a concerned look.

“You should get some sleep,” he says, his voice gentle. “It’s been a long day.”

You nod, not having the energy to argue. “Yeah. I think I will.”

Max helps you to your feet, and you can feel his eyes on you as you make your way to the guest room. Before you can close the door behind you, he stops you with a soft, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You pause, looking back at him. “Goodnight, Max. And … thank you. For everything.”

Max smiles, a warmth in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “Just get some rest.”

You nod, giving him a small smile before closing the door behind you.

Once inside the guest room, you sink onto the bed, finally letting out a long breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The room is quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside.

You lie down, pulling the blankets over you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to relax, to let go of the constant worry and fear, if only for a little while.

As you drift off to sleep, the events of the day swirl in your mind — Pascale’s unexpected appearance, Max’s unwavering support, the strange comfort of being here, in this place that’s starting to feel like home.

And somewhere, deep in your heart, a tiny seed of hope begins to take root.

***

The apartment smells of freshly baked cake and anticipation. Max is in the kitchen, moving about with a nervous energy, double-checking everything — again. The cake is already on the counter, perfectly frosted, with a single pink and blue question mark piped on top. The knife lies beside it, waiting for the moment that feels almost too monumental to be happening in the cozy confines of his living room.

You’re sitting on the couch, absentmindedly stroking Jimmy and Sassy, who have taken up their usual positions on either side of you. Your hand rests protectively over your rounded belly, feeling the slight flutters of movement from the baby. Despite the warmth of the room, your fingers are cold, a mix of nerves and excitement pulsing through you.

“Everything’s ready,” Max says, breaking the silence. He’s trying to sound casual, but you can hear the edge in his voice.

You offer him a small smile, trying to steady yourself. “Thanks, Max. For everything.”

He just nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before turning back to the cake. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite read — something beyond just friendship and support. But before you can dwell on it, there’s a knock at the door.

Max visibly relaxes, glad for the distraction. “I’ll get it,” he says, moving to the door and pulling it open.

Pascale is the first to step inside, her smile warm as she takes in the sight of you. “Ma chérie,” she greets, leaning down to kiss both of your cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you reply, feeling a genuine warmth at seeing her. Pascale has been a rock for you since she found out about the pregnancy, offering support and reassurance in a way that makes you feel less alone.

Lorenzo and Arthur follow her in, both of them grinning widely as they approach you. “Hey,” Lorenzo says, giving you a quick hug. “Excited?”

“Nervous,” you admit, glancing over at the cake. “But excited too.”

Arthur chuckles, nudging his brother. “She’s having a girl, I can feel it. I’m gonna win the bet.”

Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “You always say that, but I’ve got a good feeling this time. I’m thinking boy.”

Max laughs, shaking his head as he closes the door behind them. “You two and your bets,” he says. “Let’s just focus on what’s important, yeah?”

Pascale gives him a knowing look, but doesn’t say anything, instead turning to you with a soft smile. “You look lovely, dear,” she says, reaching out to gently touch your arm. “And glowing.”

You feel a flush of warmth at her words, though part of you still feels a bit of that anxiety knotting in your stomach. This is Charles’ family, after all, and the weight of what’s unsaid lingers in the air between you.

Max clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to the cake. “Shall we?” He asks, looking at you with an encouraging smile.

You take a deep breath and nod, standing up and moving over to the counter. Max stands close beside you, his presence steady and reassuring. The others gather around, their faces expectant, and you feel the weight of the moment settle over you.

“Here we go,” you say softly, picking up the knife. Your hands tremble slightly, and Max’s hand comes to rest on yours, steadying it. You glance up at him, and he gives you a small nod.

You press the knife into the cake, cutting through the soft layers until you reach the center. The room holds its breath as you pull the slice away, revealing the color inside.

It’s pink.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Pascale lets out a delighted gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. “A girl!” She exclaims, her eyes shining with joy. “You’re having a little girl!”

Lorenzo and Arthur start laughing, both of them shaking their heads in mock disbelief. “I told you,” Arthur says, clapping his brother on the back. “Looks like you owe me fifty euros.”

But you barely register their words. Your eyes are fixed on the cake, on the pink filling that seems to glow with its own light. You’re having a daughter. The realization hits you like a wave, overwhelming and beautiful, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crying.

Max sees the tears and reacts instinctively. He turns toward you, his hands coming up to cradle your face. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing away the tears. “It’s okay. It’s good news, right?”

You nod, laughing through the tears. “Yeah,” you say, your voice trembling. “It’s just …a lot.”

And then, before either of you can think, Max leans in and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, hesitant, as if he’s not sure if he should be doing this. But then you kiss him back, and something shifts, deepening the moment. It feels like the world falls away, like it’s just the two of you, and everything else fades into the background.

When Max pulls back, his eyes wide with the realization of what he’s just done, he starts to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

You shake your head, cutting him off. “Don’t,” you whisper, your voice soft but firm. “I liked it.”

Max searches your eyes, looking for any hint of doubt or regret, but all he sees is the truth in your words. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I liked it too,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

The moment between you is tender and full of unspoken feelings, but it’s broken by the sound of Pascale clearing her throat. You both turn to see her watching you, a knowing smile on her face.

“Ah,” she says, her tone gentle but teasing. “I see.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, but Pascale just smiles wider, moving closer to you. “Ma chérie,” she says, taking your hands in hers. “I want you and my granddaughter to be happy. That’s all I care about.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you squeeze her hands in return. “Thank you,” you manage to say, your voice thick with emotion.

Pascale nods, glancing over at Max. “And I can see that Max will stop at nothing to make sure that happens.”

Max looks a little embarrassed, but he meets Pascale’s gaze with a quiet determination. “I promise,” he says, his voice steady. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Lorenzo and Arthur exchange glances, both of them grinning like idiots. “Well, this just got interesting,” Lorenzo quips, earning a light smack on the arm from Pascale.

“Behave,” she admonishes, though there’s a twinkle in her eye. “This is a celebration.”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension that had been building in your chest finally breaking. It’s a strange, wonderful feeling, being surrounded by people who genuinely care, who want what’s best for you and your baby. And as you look around the room — at Max, at Pascale, at Lorenzo and Arthur — you realize that maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of laughter and conversation. Pascale insists on taking a thousand pictures of you with the cake, with Max, with everyone, and by the time she’s done, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Lorenzo and Arthur argue good-naturedly over baby names, each of them convinced they have the best suggestion, while Max listens with a bemused smile.

Eventually, the party winds down, and Lorenzo and Arthur say their goodbyes, promising to visit again soon. Pascale lingers a little longer, giving you one last hug before she leaves.

“Remember,” she says as she pulls back, her eyes warm and full of affection. “I’m always here for you, no matter what.”

You nod, feeling a swell of gratitude. “I know. Thank you.”

Pascale smiles and gives Max a quick hug as well before finally making her exit, leaving the two of you alone in the apartment.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Max turns to you, his expression softening. “How are you feeling?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day settle over you. “Tired,” you admit, but there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before. “But … happy.”

Max smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he says simply.

You look at him, at the man who has done so much for you in such a short amount of time, and you feel something shift inside you — something that scares you a little, but that also feels like hope.

“Max,” you begin, your voice uncertain. “About earlier-”

He cuts you off with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “I just want you to be comfortable, to do what feels right for you.”

You nod, appreciating his understanding. “I just … I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit, your voice small. “But I know I don’t want to push you away.”

Max’s eyes soften, and he takes a step closer to you. “You won’t,” he says, his voice gentle but certain. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’ll figure this out together.”

You take comfort in his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You’ve been so used to handling everything on your own, and the thought of having someone beside you, someone who genuinely cares, feels like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.

“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his gaze. The air between you is charged, filled with the weight of unspoken possibilities.

Max reaches out, hesitating for a brief moment before gently cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes against your skin, and you lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through you. It’s as if time slows down, the world outside of Max’s apartment fading away until there’s only the two of you, standing close enough to share the same breath.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Max murmurs, his voice low and earnest. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you and the baby are safe, happy, and loved.”

You search his eyes, finding only honesty there, a depth of emotion that takes you by surprise. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this kind of connection, this certainty that you’re not alone.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

Max shakes his head slightly, as if to say there’s no need to thank him, but you know better. You know how much he’s done, how much he’s given, and you feel a rush of gratitude so powerful it almost overwhelms you.

Without thinking, you close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. Max holds you just as tightly, his chin resting on top of your head, and for a moment, everything feels right. The world outside, the uncertainty of the future — it all fades away, leaving just the comfort of his arms around you.

After a few moments, you pull back slightly, looking up at him. There’s something in his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you press a soft, tentative kiss to his lips.

This time, there’s no hesitation. Max kisses you back with a gentle intensity that sends a shiver down your spine, his hands cradling your face as if you’re something precious, something he’s afraid to break.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Max’s eyes are dark with emotion, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.

“Stay,” he whispers, his voice rough with need. “Stay with me. Let me take care of you.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “Okay,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I will.”

Max’s expression softens into a smile, one that lights up his entire face. He leans down and presses another kiss to your forehead, a promise in the simple gesture.

“Good,” he says, his voice full of quiet joy. “That’s good.”

You smile back at him, feeling a warmth in your chest that you haven’t felt in a long time. With Max by your side, it feels like maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay. As you both stand there, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around you like a cocoon, you realize that this — right here, right now — is the start of something new, something beautiful.

***

It’s early morning, the kind where the light hasn’t yet broken through the curtains, and the apartment is still wrapped in the quiet hush of dawn. You’re half-awake, swimming in that space between sleep and consciousness when you hear it — Max’s voice, low and soothing.

You keep your eyes closed, letting the sound wash over you, not wanting to break the spell. His words are soft, like he’s speaking to the most delicate thing in the world, and you realize he’s talking to your belly.

“Morning, little one,” Max whispers, his voice full of warmth. You feel the slight movement of his hand on your stomach, gentle and comforting. “Did you sleep well? I hope you’re taking it easy on your mama.”

You can’t help the small smile that curves your lips, but you stay still, wanting to hear more. There’s something so tender, so intimate about this moment, and you don’t want to interrupt it.

Max continues, his tone playful now. “You know, I’ve been thinking … you’re going to need a name for me, right? Something special. How about Maxie? Does that sound good to you?” He pauses, as if waiting for an answer. “Or maybe, one day, you’ll call me Papa. I’d really like that.”

Your heart swells, and you feel a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the blanket you’re curled under. Max’s words are like a promise, one that wraps around both you and the baby, binding you together in a way that feels unshakable.

He continues to talk, his voice filled with love and a hint of wonder, as if he still can’t quite believe this is real. “I can’t wait to meet you, you know. To see your little face, your tiny hands … I’m going to be right here, every step of the way. I promise. You and your mama … you’re my world now.”

You feel the gentle pressure of his lips as he presses a kiss to your stomach, and it sends a shiver through you, a mix of emotion that you can’t quite put into words. It’s the kind of feeling that settles deep in your chest, making you want to cry and smile at the same time.

Max shifts slightly, and you feel him lay his head next to your stomach, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll be here to teach you all the important things, like how to kick a football or how to drive really fast — though, your mama might not like that last one,” he chuckles softly, and you have to bite your lip to keep from giggling.

“And I’ll be here for the hard stuff too,” Max continues, his tone growing serious. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, and that you always know how loved you are. Because you’re already so loved, little one. So much.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your eyes sting with unshed tears. You can feel the depth of his commitment, the way he’s already made space in his heart for this child, and it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

Max falls quiet for a moment, his hand still resting on your belly. You can feel his thumb tracing small circles over your skin, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling. “I know I’m not your real dad,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “But I’m going to love you like you’re mine. And I’m going to love your mama with everything I have, because she deserves that. She deserves everything.”

Your heart clenches at his words, a rush of emotion so strong it nearly takes your breath away. You’ve never felt so cared for, so deeply cherished, and it’s all because of him — this man who has stepped into your life and turned it upside down in the most unexpected, wonderful way.

Max leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I promise, I’ll always be here for you. For both of you. And I hope, one day, you’ll call me Papa. But even if you don’t, I’ll still be the luckiest man in the world, just to be here with you.”

You can’t keep your eyes closed any longer. They flutter open, and you glance down at him, your heart full to bursting. Max looks up, catching your gaze, and there’s a moment of quiet understanding between you — a recognition of the enormity of what he’s just said.

“Did I wake you?” He asks softly, his hand still resting on your belly.

You shake your head, your voice thick with emotion. “No … I was awake.”

Max studies your face, and you can see the concern in his eyes, the way he’s always so attuned to your feelings. “You okay?”

You nod, reaching out to brush a hand through his messy hair. “I’m more than okay.”

His lips curl into a soft smile, one that makes your chest ache with how much you care for him. Max shifts, pressing another kiss to your belly before moving to lay beside you, gathering you into his arms. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, letting it soothe you back into that half-asleep state.

“You’re going to be an amazing dad,” you murmur, your words slurred with sleep.

Max’s arms tighten around you, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “Only because I have you.”

His words wrap around you like a blanket, warm and secure. As you drift back into sleep, the last thing you hear is Max’s voice, soft and full of promise, whispering to your belly again. “I’ll always be here,” he says. “For both of you. Always.”

And with that, you let the sound of his voice carry you back into sleep, your heart filled with a deep, unshakable sense of peace.

***

The contractions start in the early hours of the morning, sharp and unyielding, ripping you out of a restless sleep. At first, you think it’s just another false alarm — your body playing tricks on you like it has for the past week. But this time, something feels different, more urgent. Max is beside you in an instant, his instincts kicking in the moment you clutch at the sheets, your breath hitching in pain.

“Are you okay?” His voice is full of concern, his hand already on your back, trying to soothe you through the discomfort.

You shake your head, biting your lip as another wave crashes over you. “It’s time,” you manage to gasp, your hand instinctively reaching for his. “Max, it’s time.”

Max’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t hesitate. He’s up, grabbing the hospital bag that’s been packed for weeks now, guiding you carefully out of bed. The ride to the hospital is a blur of pain and tension, Max’s knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel, driving with a focus that betrays his worry.

When you arrive, everything moves too quickly and too slowly all at once. Nurses and doctors swarm around you, getting you into a gown, checking your vitals, assessing the baby’s position. Max stays by your side through it all, his hand never leaving yours, his voice a steady presence in your ear as he tries to keep you calm.

Hours pass, the pain intensifying until it feels like your body is being split in two. But you’re not scared — not until the doctor’s expression changes, his calm professionalism slipping as he exchanges a glance with the nurse. It’s a look that sends a spike of fear through your heart, and suddenly, the room feels too small, the walls closing in.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice shaking, trying to keep the panic at bay. Max’s hand tightens around yours, his eyes fixed on the doctor, demanding answers without saying a word.

The doctor clears his throat, his tone gentle but serious. “The baby is in distress. Her heart rate is dropping, and we’re concerned about a potential placental abruption.”

“What does that mean?” Max’s voice is hoarse, his face pale.

“It means,” the doctor says carefully, “we may have to make some difficult decisions. We’ll do everything we can, but in situations like this, there’s a chance we may have to prioritize-”

“No,” you interrupt, your voice rising in panic. The room starts to spin, your vision blurring as the reality of what he’s saying crashes over you. “No, no, no … you can’t do that. Save the baby. If it comes down to it, you have to save the baby.”

Max’s grip on your hand tightens to the point of pain, but it’s nothing compared to the anguish in his eyes. “Don’t say that,” he chokes out, his voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say that.”

The doctor nods, his expression somber. “We’re not there yet. We still have time to try and turn things around, but we need to act fast.”

You nod numbly, tears streaming down your face as the pain intensifies, the fear now mingling with the physical agony. Max leans in close, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged as he struggles to hold it together.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers, though his voice shakes with the weight of his own fear. “You hear me? Both of you. You’re both coming out of this. I need you to believe that.”

Your heart aches at the desperation in his voice, and you want to believe him, want to cling to the hope he’s trying so hard to give you. But the terror is overwhelming, and all you can do is nod, too afraid to speak, afraid that if you do, it will make everything too real.

Max pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression fierce despite the tears shining in his own. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice stronger now, a command wrapped in a plea. “You’re strong, okay? The strongest person I know. And she’s strong too. You’re both going to make it through this. You have to. I can’t-” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose either of you.”

His words break something inside you, and you sob, clutching at him like he’s your lifeline, because right now, he is. The pain, the fear, the uncertainty — it’s all too much, and you bury your face in his chest, trying to draw strength from him.

The doctors and nurses are moving around you, the room filled with a flurry of activity, but all you can focus on is Max. He’s your anchor, the only thing keeping you tethered to reality as the world spins out of control. His hand never leaves yours, even as the contractions grow stronger, more intense, your screams echoing off the walls.

“I’m here,” Max keeps repeating, his voice a constant in the chaos. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

But then, the situation worsens. You hear the doctor call for an emergency C-section, and your heart plummets. The pain is unbearable, and you can’t breathe, can’t think. They’re wheeling you away, Max’s hand slipping from yours as they take you to the operating room. The last thing you see is his face, pale and stricken, his eyes wide with fear.

“I love you,” he calls out, his voice cracking with the weight of everything he can’t control. “I love you so much. Please — please be okay.”

The operating room is cold, the lights too bright, and all you can think about is the life inside you, the baby you’ve grown to love before she’s even taken her first breath. You can’t lose her. You can’t. But the fear is suffocating, and as they prepare you for surgery, you feel a wave of despair crash over you.

Max’s words echo in your mind, a desperate mantra that you cling to with everything you have. Both of you are making it out of this. You have to.

The anesthesia takes hold, and you feel yourself slipping away, the world fading around you. But before the darkness consumes you, you send up a silent prayer, a plea to whatever force might be listening.

Please. Please let us both make it out of this.

And then, there’s nothing but darkness.

***

Max paces the waiting room, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break through his chest. Every second that ticks by is torture, every minute without news a knife twisting in his gut. He’s never been this scared in his life, not even in the most dangerous moments on the track.

His hands are shaking, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He keeps replaying the last look you gave him, the fear in your eyes, the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. The thought of losing you, of losing the baby — it’s unbearable.

He can’t breathe, can’t think straight. All he can do is wait, and it’s driving him insane. He feels so helpless, like there’s nothing he can do to fix this, to protect you, and it’s killing him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the doctor emerges from the operating room. Max rushes to him, his heart in his throat, fear choking him.

“Doctor, please — tell me, are they okay?” Max’s voice is raw, barely above a whisper, his eyes pleading.

The doctor looks tired, his face drawn, but there’s a small, reassuring smile on his lips. “The surgery was successful. It was touch and go for a while, but both your partner and the baby are stable.”

Max’s knees nearly buckle with relief, a sob escaping his throat as he covers his face with his hands. “Thank God … thank you,” he chokes out, his whole body trembling with the release of tension.

“You can see them soon,” the doctor adds gently, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s going to need a lot of rest, and we’ll be monitoring them both closely, but they’re out of danger for now.”

Max nods, unable to speak, his emotions too overwhelming to put into words. He’s ushered into a recovery room, where you’re lying on the bed, pale and exhausted, but alive. The sight of you sends a fresh wave of tears to his eyes.

“Hey,” you whisper weakly, your voice barely audible, but the sound of it is the most beautiful thing Max has ever heard.

“Hey,” he breathes, moving to your side and taking your hand in his. His other hand brushes the hair from your face, his touch reverent, as if he’s afraid you might break. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to … I just … I had to make sure she was okay.”

Max shakes his head, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, his tears mingling with yours. “Don’t apologize. You did it. You both made it. You’re both okay.”

You squeeze his hand, drawing strength from his presence. “I couldn’t have done it without you. I heard you, Max … I heard you telling me to hold on.”

Max pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “I meant every word. I’ll always be here, for both of you. I promise.”

A nurse enters. “Would you like to meet your daughter?” She asks.

The nurse wheels in the bassinet, and you can’t take your eyes off the tiny bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. Max looks at you, his heart in his throat, as the nurse gently lifts your daughter and places her in your arms. She’s so small, her eyes closed, her tiny fists curled up against her chest. The world narrows to this moment, the overwhelming surge of love crashing over you both as you stare down at her.

Max sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders as he looks at his daughter, his breath catching in his throat. “She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “So beautiful.”

You smile through your tears, nodding as you trace a gentle finger over the baby’s soft cheek. “She is. I … I’ve been thinking about what to name her.”

Max looks at you, his heart pounding, waiting for you to speak.

“I want to name her Emilia,” you say softly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “After you. I want her to have a part of you with her always. You’ve done so much for us, Max. You’re a part of her, a part of us. It feels right.”

Max’s breath catches, and for a moment, he can’t speak. His middle name is something he’s never thought much about, but hearing you say it now, giving it to your daughter — it takes on a whole new meaning.

“Emilia,” he repeats softly, as if testing it out. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body as he wraps you both in his embrace. Emilia stirs in your arms, making a soft noise as she opens her eyes for the first time, looking up at you and Max with wide, curious eyes. It feels like time stands still, the three of you cocooned in this perfect moment.

“She’s going to be so loved,” Max whispers, his voice full of awe and determination. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You nod, knowing he means it with every fiber of his being. Max has already proven that he’ll do anything to protect you and Emilia. It’s in the way he looks at you, in the way he holds you both as if you’re the most precious things in the world.

As you sit there together, your new family, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you won’t be facing them alone. Max is here, by your side, and with him, you have all the strength you need.

“Welcome to the world, Emilia,” you whisper, kissing her tiny forehead. “We love you so much.”

Max kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering there as he closes his eyes, letting himself feel the full weight of the love he has for you both. This is what he’s been waiting for, what he didn’t even realize he needed until now.

“I’ll always be here,” he murmurs, his voice a promise. “For both of you.”

And as you hold your daughter close, you know that those words are true. Max will always be here, and together, you’ll face whatever comes next as a family.

***

Max carefully pulls the car up to the curb outside his Monaco apartment, his hands gripping the steering wheel just a little too tightly. He’s driven this route countless times, but today feels different — monumental. He glances over at you in the passenger seat, Emilia cradled in your arms, bundled up in a soft pink blanket. She’s asleep, her tiny mouth forming an ‘O’ as she breathes peacefully.

Max’s heart feels like it might burst from his chest as he watches you both. The love he feels is overwhelming, so much that it almost scares him. He’s not sure how to carry it all, but he knows he wants to try — no, he needs to.

“Ready?” He asks, his voice soft, not wanting to disturb Emilia.

You nod, smiling down at your daughter before looking up at him. “Ready.”

Max steps out of the car and hurries around to your side, opening the door for you and helping you out, his hand warm and steady on your arm. You both move carefully, as if the world might shatter if you’re too rough. Emilia stirs slightly as you adjust her in your arms, but she stays asleep, oblivious to the world outside.

The front door of the apartment clicks open, and you step inside, the familiar scent of home wrapping around you. Max closes the door behind you, and suddenly, the apartment feels different — more complete, more alive. He watches as you walk into the living room, a sense of awe filling him as he realizes that this is your home now, Emilia’s home.

Jimmy and Sassy are lounging on the couch when you enter. They lift their heads lazily, eyes narrowing with curiosity as they spot the new addition to the household. Max watches them closely, his heart racing slightly. He knows how territorial they can be, and the last thing he wants is for them to feel threatened by Emilia.

You lower yourself carefully onto the couch, cradling Emilia in your arms, and Max sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders. “Guys,” you whisper to the cats, your voice gentle, soothing. “Come say hi.”

Jimmy is the first to move, hopping down from the couch and approaching slowly, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of the tiny human in your arms. He sniffs the air cautiously, his ears twitching, and then, to Max’s surprise, he rubs his head gently against Emilia’s leg, purring softly. Sassy follows suit, jumping up onto the armrest to get a better look, her green eyes curious and bright.

Max lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a smile spreading across his face. “Looks like they approve,” he says, his voice full of warmth.

You laugh softly, the sound like music to his ears. “I guess so. They’re so gentle with her.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees, his eyes never leaving Emilia’s face. “They know she’s important.”

For a while, the three of you just sit there, basking in the quiet joy of the moment. Emilia shifts in your arms, her tiny fingers flexing as she begins to wake up. Her eyes flutter open, and she lets out a small, contented sigh. Jimmy and Sassy watch intently, as if fascinated by this little creature that’s suddenly become the center of their world.

Max reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against Emilia’s cheek. She turns her head slightly, her eyes trying to focus on him, and Max feels a lump form in his throat. “Hi, meisje,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Welcome home.”

You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and for a moment, everything feels perfect. But then, as if the weight of the world suddenly returns, Max feels a pang of dread deep in his chest. He tries to push it away, but it lingers, gnawing at him.

You notice the change in him immediately, lifting your head to look at him, concern in your eyes. “Max? What’s wrong?”

He hesitates, not wanting to ruin the moment, but he knows he has to tell you. “I just … I’ve been thinking about the races,” he admits quietly. “I’m going to have to leave soon, and … I hate the thought of being away from you and Emilia. Especially now.”

Your expression softens, and you reach out to take his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Max, it’s okay. I know how much racing means to you. We’ll be fine.”

He shakes his head, his eyes searching yours. “I know you will. It’s just … I don’t want to miss anything. I don’t want to miss her first smile, her first laugh, her first steps …”

“You won’t,” you assure him, squeezing his hand. “We’ll make it work. And when she’s old enough, we’ll come with you to as many races as we can.”

Max’s heart swells at the thought, but then another worry creeps in. He hesitates, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you. “But… what about Charles? I don’t want you to feel like you have to be in the same paddock as him. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words, and then you shake your head, a determined look in your eyes. “Max, I’ve thought about it a lot, and I want to be there with you. Emilia and I will cheer you on, and Charles … well, he’s in the past. You’re our future. I want to support you, and I want Emilia to see how amazing her papa is.”

The relief that washes over Max is palpable. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that until now. “Are you sure?” He asks, his voice almost trembling. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I’m sure,” you say firmly. “Besides, I want Emilia to grow up surrounded by people who love her. And that includes you, Max. You’re her papa.”

Max’s breath catches at the word, his chest tightening with a mix of love and fear. He’s been called many things in his life — champion, prodigy, competitor — but ‘papa’ is new. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Papa,” he echoes softly, the word feeling both foreign and right on his tongue. “I like the sound of that.”

You smile, your eyes shining with warmth. “Me too.”

The rest of the day passes in a blur of small, beautiful moments. You and Max take turns holding Emilia, watching as she discovers the world around her with wide, curious eyes. Max can’t stop marveling at how tiny she is, how perfect. Every little coo, every small movement feels like a miracle to him.

When evening falls, you feed Emilia while Max busies himself in the kitchen, preparing something simple for dinner. He’s not much of a cook, but he’s determined to take care of you both in any way he can. As you sit at the table together, Emilia cradled in your arms, Max watches you with a sense of contentment he’s never felt before.

But as the night grows darker, that lingering dread creeps back in. Max knows he has to leave for the next race soon, and the thought of being away from you and Emilia feels unbearable. After dinner, he finds himself pacing the living room, his thoughts swirling.

You notice his restlessness and approach him, Emilia sleeping soundly in your arms. “Max,” you say gently, drawing his attention. “Talk to me.”

He stops, running a hand through his hair as he looks at you, his eyes filled with uncertainty. “I just … I don’t know how I’m going to leave you both. I hate it.”

You step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “Max, I know it’s hard. But we’ll be okay. And you can call us anytime, video chat, whatever you need. We’ll make it work.”

Max nods, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I just don’t want to miss anything,” he repeats, his voice strained. “I want to be here for everything.”

“And you will be,” you promise, your voice firm. “We’ll figure it out together. We’re a team now, remember?”

Max lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah,” he says softly, his voice filled with gratitude. “We are.”

You lean up to kiss him softly on the lips, a kiss that’s full of reassurance and love. When you pull back, Max looks at you with a mixture of awe and affection.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“For what?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

“For being here. For being you,” he says simply, his eyes locking onto yours. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smile, your heart swelling with love for the man in front of you. “You’ll never have to find out.”

Max pulls you into a gentle embrace, careful not to disturb Emilia as he holds you both close. In that moment, he knows that no matter how many races he has to go to, no matter how far he has to travel, this is where his heart will always be — with you and Emilia.

And as you both stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Max makes a silent promise to himself: to always be there for you, no matter what. Because this — this little family you’ve created together — is the most important thing in the world.

***

The doorbell rings just as Max is finishing up with Emilia’s bottle. He glances at the clock — 10:30 a.m. Whoever it is, they’re too early for lunch, too late for breakfast, and entirely unexpected.

You’re in the kitchen, humming softly while packing away the groceries Max picked up this morning. Max smiles to himself as he looks down at Emilia, her tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb. It feels like everything in his life is finally in place.

But that sense of contentment shatters the moment he opens the door.

Jos stands there, his presence immediately filling the entryway with tension. The older man’s eyes flick to you in the kitchen, then back to Max, his mouth curling into a sneer.

“Max,” Jos says, stepping forward before Max can say a word. His voice is cold, sharp. The man doesn’t even bother with a greeting.

“Dad,” Max replies, swallowing hard as he shuts the door behind him. Jos is already walking into the apartment, his eyes scanning the place like he’s looking for something to criticize.

You turn around, startled by the sound of footsteps you weren’t expecting. The soft smile on your face fades when you see Jos. Max can see the recognition in your eyes, followed by a flash of concern. You know about Jos, the kind of man he is. Max’s jaw tightens.

“What are you doing here?” Max tries to keep his voice steady, but there’s an edge to it, a warning.

Jos ignores him. His gaze is fixed on you now, his expression unreadable but undeniably harsh. “So this is her, huh?” He waves a hand in your direction. “The one Charles tossed aside.”

You freeze, hands trembling as you instinctively clutch the counter behind you. Max’s blood runs cold.

“Don’t,” Max warns, stepping between you and his father. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

Jos scoffs. “Relax, Max. I’m just stating the obvious. She’s nothing more than your rival’s sloppy seconds. And you … you’re playing house with another man’s child.”

The air leaves the room. Max’s vision narrows, and all he can see is Jos — the man who made his childhood a battleground. The man who pushed him so hard he could barely breathe under the weight of his expectations. Now he’s here, trying to break apart the life Max has built for himself.

“That’s enough,” Max snaps, his voice rising in a way that’s unfamiliar, even to him. Emilia starts fussing in his arms, sensing the tension, and it only makes him angrier. “You don’t get to walk in here and insult my family.”

Jos raises an eyebrow. “Family? Don’t kid yourself, Max. This isn’t your family. This is Charles Leclerc’s leftovers. You’re raising another man’s child, and you think that makes you a father?”

Max feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but he doesn’t flinch. He’s not that scared little boy anymore, the one who craved his father’s approval more than anything in the world. He’s a man now — a father — and he won’t let Jos tear him down again.

“You don’t know anything about this,” Max says, his voice shaking with fury. “I love her. I love Emilia. She’s my daughter, and I’m her father, no matter what you think. And if you can’t respect that, then you don’t belong here.”

Jos’s eyes flash with something dark, something that Max recognizes all too well. But before he can say anything, you step forward, your voice trembling but determined. “Please, just go.”

Jos glances at you, then back at Max. For a moment, it looks like he might push further, but then he shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You’ve gone soft, Max. You’re making a mistake, and one day you’ll see it.”

Max tightens his grip on Emilia, who’s starting to cry now, her small voice cutting through the tension. He turns his back on Jos, cradling his daughter close to his chest, and says, “Get out.”

For a moment, there’s only silence. Then, with a huff of disdain, Jos turns on his heel and leaves, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoes through the apartment like a gunshot.

You rush to Max’s side, reaching out to touch his arm. “Max, I-”

“Don’t,” Max says, his voice cracking. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as he struggles to keep his composure. “Just … don’t.”

He doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the anger, the hurt, it’s all too much. You say nothing, just move closer, wrapping your arms around him and Emilia, holding them both as tightly as you can. Max can feel the tension melting away, replaced by a deep, bone-deep exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Max replies, shaking his head. “It’s … it’s just him. He’ll never change.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “He’s wrong, Max. You are her father. You’re already everything she needs.”

Max looks down at Emilia, who’s slowly calming down in his arms. Her tiny hand grips his finger, and the simple, innocent gesture makes something in him break. He swallows hard, blinking back tears.

“I don’t care what he says,” Max whispers, more to himself than to you. “I’m not him. I’m never going to be him.”

You reach up, gently brushing a tear away from his cheek. “You’re not. You’re a good man and you’re already a great father.”

Max can’t find the words to respond, so he just leans down and kisses you, a slow, desperate kiss that says everything he can’t put into words. You kiss him back, your hands gently cradling his face, grounding him in the moment.

When you finally pull away, you smile at him, and it’s like the sun breaking through a stormy sky. “We’re going to be okay,” you say softly. “All three of us.”

Max nods, pressing his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “We are.”

You both stand there in the quiet of the apartment, holding onto each other and to Emilia, who has finally fallen back asleep. The storm has passed, but Max knows there will be more to come. But as long as he has you and Emilia by his side, he knows he can face anything.

And for the first time in a long time, Max feels like he’s finally home.

***

The room is silent except for the soft hum of the baby monitor, its rhythmic buzz a constant backdrop to the night. The apartment is dark, save for a thin sliver of moonlight seeping in through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the room.

You stir, groggily reaching for the warmth of Max beside you, but find only cold sheets. Instantly, you’re more awake, your heart quickening as you sit up and squint into the darkness. It’s late, or maybe it’s early — time has blurred into an endless loop of feeding, changing, and trying to snatch sleep in between.

Max isn’t in bed, but you can see his silhouette across the room, standing over Emilia’s crib. His back is to you, his posture tense yet somehow fragile, as if he’s holding something inside that’s threatening to spill over. You watch him for a moment, the quiet of the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, before you gently call out his name.

“Max?”

He doesn’t turn immediately, and for a second, you think maybe he didn’t hear you. But then he shifts slightly, his shoulders dropping as if he’s finally exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Did I wake you?”

You shake your head, though he’s not looking at you. “No. I just noticed you weren’t in bed.”

He glances back at you then, just briefly, his eyes shadowed and unreadable in the dim light. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, turning his gaze back to Emilia. “I kept thinking about … everything.”

There’s a heaviness in his tone that makes you push back the covers and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You stand up, crossing the room to where he’s standing. When you reach him, you place a hand on his arm, feeling the tension thrumming through his muscles.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” You ask softly, trying to meet his eyes.

For a moment, he’s quiet, staring down at Emilia with a look that’s a mix of awe and fear. Then he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “I keep saying she’s mine. I’ve said it so many times, but … I don’t think it really hit me until just now. I’m her dad.”

He finally looks at you, his blue eyes shining with something raw and unguarded. “I’m her dad, and that means … everything. It means I’m the one who’s supposed to protect her, to make sure she’s safe and happy. I’m the one who’s supposed to teach her, to love her, to be there for every moment of her life.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and you feel your heart break for him, for the weight he’s been carrying. You squeeze his arm gently, encouraging him to continue.

“I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be what my dad wanted me to be,” Max continues, his eyes dropping back down to Emilia. “I pushed myself so hard because I thought that’s what I had to do, that I had to prove something to him, to everyone. But this … being her dad, it’s different. It’s not about proving anything. It’s just about being there for her, for you.”

You can hear the fear in his voice, the uncertainty, but also the determination. Max has always been a fighter, always pushing himself to the limit, but this is different. This is about love, about responsibility, about a future that’s no longer just his.

“I promise,” he says, his voice stronger now, more certain. “I promise I’ll always do the best for her, and for you. I’ll make mistakes, I know I will, but I’ll always try to do what’s right. I’ll always be here.”

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You step closer, sliding your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that grounds you in the moment.

“You’re already doing it,” you whisper against his chest. “You’re already an amazing dad, Max. She’s so lucky to have you, and so am I.”

Max wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You feel the warmth of his body against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It’s a simple, quiet moment, but it’s everything.

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I didn’t think … I never imagined this. Having a family. But now that I do, I can’t imagine life without it. Without you. Without her.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes are soft, full of love and something else — something deeper, more profound. It’s the look of a man who’s found something he didn’t even know he was searching for.

“I love you,” you say, the words slipping out before you can even think about them. But they’re true, and you realize with a start that you’ve been feeling them for a while now.

Max’s breath catches, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to memorize your face, your words, everything about this moment. Then he smiles — a real, genuine smile that lights up his entire face.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, but it feels like the most important. It’s a promise, a commitment, a beginning.

When you finally pull away, Max rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For everything. For trusting me, for being here, for giving me this family.”

You smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He kisses you again, softer this time, a lingering brush of lips that sends warmth spiraling through you. Then he turns his attention back to Emilia, who’s still sound asleep in her crib, blissfully unaware of the world around her.

“She’s so perfect,” Max murmurs, his voice full of wonder. “I still can’t believe she’s ours.”

“She is,” you agree, leaning against him as you both watch your daughter sleep. “She’s everything.”

Max nods, his eyes never leaving Emilia. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she has the best life possible. I don’t care what it takes. She’s my little girl.”

There’s a fierceness in his voice now, a protective instinct that you know will only grow stronger with time. It’s the kind of love that can’t be measured, the kind that changes everything.

“And you,” Max adds, looking down at you with a softness that makes your heart swell. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you’re happy too. That you never have to worry about anything.”

“I know you will,” you say, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. “But you don’t have to do it all on your own, Max. We’re in this together, okay? We’re a team.”

He nods, his expression serious. “Yeah. We are.”

You stand there in the quiet of the night, wrapped up in each other and in the future you’re building together. It’s a future that’s still uncertain, full of challenges and unknowns, but it’s yours. It’s yours, and it’s beautiful.

After a while, Max guides you back to bed, and you both climb under the covers, your bodies fitting together perfectly. He holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you settle against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, feel the warmth of his skin against yours, and it lulls you into a peaceful sleep.

As you drift off, you hear Max’s voice one last time, a soft whisper in the darkness. “I’m never letting go of this. Of you. Of her. I promise.”

And with that, you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, feeling more loved and more secure than you ever have before.

***

Max is darting around the private jet, a man on a mission. He’s checking every corner, every surface, making sure it’s all baby-proofed, while you sit on the plush leather seat, watching him with a mix of amusement and affection. Emilia, cradled in your arms, is blissfully unaware of her father’s nerves as she gurgles happily, her tiny hands waving in the air.

“Max, it’s fine,” you call out, but he’s too busy testing the security of a cabinet door to hear you.

“What if the turbulence knocks something over?” He mutters, more to himself than to you, as he gives the cabinet another pull to ensure it’s locked tight. He moves on to the safety straps on the seats, tugging at them to make sure they’re secure.

You can’t help but smile at how seriously he’s taking this. Max Verstappen reduced to a bundle of nerves over the safety of a half-year-old baby on a private jet. It’s endearing, seeing him so out of his element, so completely focused on making sure everything is perfect for Emilia.

“Max, she’s going to be fine,” you say gently, but with a hint of laughter in your voice.

Max finally turns to you, his expression a mix of determination and mild panic. “I know, I just-” he pauses, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t want to take any chances. What if something happens? What if-”

“Max,” you cut him off, “everything’s going to be okay. You’ve checked everything three times already.”

He lets out a breath, his shoulders finally relaxing a little. “Yeah, you’re right. I just ... I want her to be safe.”

“She will be. And besides,” you add with a teasing smile, “you’ve already won the overprotective dad award.”

That gets a small smile out of him, and he walks over to where you’re sitting, leaning down to press a kiss to Emilia’s forehead. “You’re right,” he says again, though this time it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself.

You reach up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble there. “You’re an amazing dad, Max.”

He covers your hand with his, his blue eyes softening as he looks at you. “I just ... I never thought I’d be this worried, you know? Driving at 300 kilometers an hour doesn’t scare me, but this ...”

“Because this is different,” you finish for him, understanding completely. “She’s your whole world now.”

“You both are,” he corrects, and you can see the emotion in his eyes, the depth of his feelings for both you and Emilia.

The flight attendant comes by to offer refreshments, and Max asks for a bottle of water before turning his attention back to you and Emilia. He takes a seat beside you, carefully cradling the baby as you hand her over. The moment Emilia is in his arms, the tension in his shoulders eases, and he looks down at her with the kind of adoration that makes your heart swell.

“Look at her,” he murmurs, as if he still can’t believe this little person is real, is his.

“She’s beautiful,” you agree softly.

Max leans back in his seat, holding Emilia close. She’s starting to doze off, her tiny mouth making little sucking motions even in her sleep. “I can’t wait for her to see her first race,” he says quietly, his voice full of anticipation and pride.

You smile, watching the way he looks at Emilia, as if she’s the most precious thing in the world. And to him, she is.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” You ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.

He chuckles softly. “I don’t know. But I hope so. Maybe she’ll be my little lucky charm.”

“She already is,” you say, closing your eyes for a moment, just soaking in the warmth of the moment.

The plane starts to taxi down the runway, and Max holds Emilia a little tighter, his other hand reaching out to take yours. The takeoff is smooth, but Max’s grip on your hand doesn’t loosen until you’re well into the air.

“She didn’t even stir,” you note, nodding towards Emilia, who’s still peacefully asleep in Max’s arms.

“She’s tougher than we give her credit for,” Max replies, smiling down at his daughter.

As the flight progresses, Max eventually relaxes enough to stop checking every detail of the cabin. He spends most of the time just watching Emilia sleep, occasionally glancing out the window at the clouds passing by. You can see the wheels turning in his head, and you know he’s already imagining what it will be like to have her at the track, to share that part of his life with her.

After a while, you start to feel the effects of the early morning and the flight. The gentle hum of the plane and the steady warmth of Max beside you lull you into a state of drowsiness. You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder, your hand still holding his.

Max looks down at you, his heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. This is his family, his girls, and he would do anything to keep you both safe, to make sure you’re happy. He kisses the top of your head, the gesture so natural, so filled with love, that it almost surprises him how right it feels.

As the plane flies steadily towards its destination, you drift off to sleep, the last thing you hear being Max whispering softly to Emilia, telling her about the first time he’ll take her to the paddock, how he’ll introduce her to everyone, how he’ll teach her everything he knows. His voice is filled with so much love and promise that it makes your heart ache in the best way possible.

And then, you’re asleep, resting peacefully against Max’s shoulder, while Emilia snoozes in his arms. Max stays like that for the rest of the flight, holding both of you close, his heart full and content.

***

The paddock buzzes with the usual pre-race excitement, but today, there's an extra layer of curiosity. People are craning their necks, whispering to each other, their eyes widening as Max Verstappen strolls through, an unusual sight to behold. Emilia is strapped to his chest in a baby carrier, her tiny hands grabbing at the fabric of Max’s shirt, while you walk beside him, pushing a stroller that’s more a mobile storage unit for all the baby essentials.

It’s your first time back at a race since everything changed, and the significance of the moment isn’t lost on you. Every step feels heavy with the weight of anticipation, not just for the race itself, but for the reactions you both know are coming. Max, usually so composed in these environments, seems a little tense. His hand rests protectively over Emilia, his thumb gently stroking her back as he navigates through the crowd.

As you walk together, you catch the eyes of team members, fans, and media alike, all of them stunned by the sight of Max — stoic, single-minded Max — suddenly a father. The whispers grow louder, cameras discreetly capturing the moment, and you feel the eyes of the entire paddock on you. But Max, despite the tension in his shoulders, keeps his focus on you and Emilia, blocking out the stares as best he can.

You try to smile, to project confidence, but you can’t shake the feeling of being exposed, vulnerable. It’s not just that this is your first time back in the paddock — it’s that this is the first time the world is seeing you, Max, and Emilia together. You brace yourself for the reactions, knowing they’ll come.

Max senses your unease and squeezes your hand, a silent reassurance that he’s with you every step of the way. “Ignore them,” he says quietly, his voice firm. “This is about us, not them.”

You nod, taking a deep breath as you push the stroller forward. Emilia, blissfully unaware of the attention, coos happily against Max’s chest, her tiny head resting against him. It’s that sound, that innocence, that gives you the strength to keep going.

As you walk further into the paddock, the sea of familiar faces starts to part for you, some people smiling warmly, others too shocked to do much more than gape. Max acknowledges a few of the team members with a nod, his usual stern expression softened by the presence of his daughter.

Then, as you turn a corner near the Red Bull garage, you see him. Charles, dressed in his Ferrari red, stands talking to a few engineers. His back is to you, and for a moment, you think you might pass by unnoticed. But then, as if sensing your presence, Charles turns.

The world seems to slow as his eyes lock onto Emilia. He freezes, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief in a matter of seconds. His gaze flickers between you, Max, and the baby, and you can see the moment it all clicks for him. The green eyes, so like his own, staring back at him from the face of the baby strapped to Max’s chest.

“Max,” Charles says, his voice low, tight. His face flushes with a mix of emotions — shock, anger, betrayal. “What the hell is this?”

Max’s jaw tightens, but he stays calm. “Let’s not do this here.”

But Charles doesn’t seem to hear him. He takes a step closer, his eyes locked on Emilia, and you instinctively move closer to Max, as if you can shield your daughter from whatever’s about to happen.

“You had a baby?” Charles spits out, his voice rising with each word. “My baby?” He points at you, disbelief and fury written all over his face. “You stole my girlfriend and now you’re raising my child?”

The words hit like a slap, and you feel the blood drain from your face. You knew this confrontation was coming, but nothing could have prepared you for the intensity of it, for the venom in Charles’ voice.

Max steps forward, placing himself between you and Charles. “Watch what you’re saying,” he warns, his voice dangerously low. “Emilia is not your daughter. You gave up that right when you left her mother.”

Charles scoffs, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Max. “You think you can just replace me? That she’ll ever be yours?”

“She already is,” Max replies, his voice steady, unyielding. “She’s mine because I’m here for her, every day. Because I love her. And because you walked away.”

Charles looks like he’s about to explode. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, you think he might actually take a swing at Max. But instead, he turns his anger on you.

“And you,” he snaps, his voice dripping with contempt. “How could you do this? How could you let him take my place?”

The accusation stings, but before you can respond, Emilia starts to cry, the tension and raised voices too much for her to handle. The sound cuts through the air like a knife, and suddenly, all eyes are on the three of you, the scene unfolding like a car crash that no one can look away from.

Charles looks stricken at the sound of Emilia’s cries, but his anger doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it seems to fuel him further. “You think you can just replace me? That she won’t know who her real father is?”

Max’s composure finally breaks. He steps forward, his face inches from Charles, his voice deadly calm. “You lost the right to call yourself her father when you walked away from her mother without a second thought. Don’t you dare try to claim her now.”

“Max, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you reach out to him. But before you can pull him back, Charles lashes out.

“You think this is over? You think I’ll just let you play happy family with my daughter?”

“Stop it, Charles,” you plead, but your words fall on deaf ears.

Charles opens his mouth to respond, but Emilia’s cries grow louder, her tiny fists clenching in distress. Max’s expression hardens as he looks at Charles, then at his daughter, who’s clearly terrified by the escalating confrontation.

“That’s enough,” Max says, his voice firm. “You’re scaring her.”

But Charles doesn’t back down. He takes another step forward, his voice rising. “She’s mine, Max. And I’ll make sure she knows it.”

Emilia’s wails reach a fever pitch, and Max’s patience snaps. He takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he turns to you. “Take her,” he says softly, carefully unstrapping Emilia from the carrier and handing her to you. You can feel his hands shaking slightly as he passes her over, his control fraying at the edges.

You cradle Emilia close, trying to soothe her as you watch the standoff between Max and Charles with mounting dread.

Max squares his shoulders, turning back to Charles with a look that could freeze over hell. “If you ever come near her again,” he says, his voice cold as ice, “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Charles’s eyes flash with anger, but he’s out of words, out of retorts. He glares at Max, then at you, before turning on his heel and storming away, his footsteps echoing down the paddock.

For a moment, everything is silent except for Emilia’s soft cries. The crowd that had gathered disperses, but not without a few lingering looks of shock and curiosity. You can feel the weight of their stares, the buzz of gossip that’s sure to follow, but all that matters is calming Emilia and holding it together for her.

Max stands there, his chest heaving, the adrenaline from the confrontation still coursing through his veins. He watches as Charles disappears from sight, then turns back to you, his expression softening as he sees the tears in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t want it to happen like this.”

You shake your head, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you focus on Emilia, her cries quieting as she nuzzles against your chest, seeking comfort.

Max steps closer, his hand reaching out to touch your arm, grounding both of you. “Are you okay?” He asks gently, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m okay,” you manage to say, though your voice is shaky. “It’s just ... it’s a lot.”

“I know,” Max says, his voice filled with regret. “I wish I could make it all go away.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the tension start to ease as Max’s presence grounds you. “We’ll get through this,” you say softly, more for yourself than anyone else.

Max wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, his other hand resting on Emilia’s back. “We will,” he promises, his voice steady and sure. “We’re a family, and nothing’s going to change that.”

As you stand there, the chaos of the paddock fading into the background, you realize that no matter what happens, no matter what anyone says, you’re not alone in this. You have Max, and together, you’ll face whatever comes your way.

***

Max paces the length of his driver’s room, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low but urgent. Outside, the hum of the paddock continues, but inside, the tension is palpable. He runs a hand through his hair, the stress of the day catching up with him. His mind is a storm of thoughts, all centered on you and Emilia.

You stand at the doorway, hesitating as you hear his voice, too focused on the conversation to notice your presence. You can’t make out every word, but the ones you do catch make your heart pound in your chest.

“No, I don’t care what it takes,” Max says, his voice firm. “I want to make sure he has no rights. None. He can’t just walk back into her life and take her away.”

Your breath hitches, and you step closer, just out of his line of sight. Max pauses, listening to whoever’s on the other end of the call, his jaw clenched tight. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in, the gravity of what he’s discussing weighing heavily on your heart.

“Yes,” he says after a moment. “I’ve thought about that. Adoption. I want it to be official, as soon as possible. I want to be her dad in every way that matters.”

You feel like the air’s been knocked out of you. Your hand flies to your mouth, trying to contain the emotion that surges through you. You’ve always known that Max loves Emilia as his own, but hearing him talk about adoption, about making it official, is overwhelming. It’s everything you didn’t know you needed to hear.

Max’s back is to you, his shoulders tense, his free hand on his hip. “No, I don’t care about the PR fallout. She’s my daughter, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.”

You can’t stay quiet any longer. “Max …”

He turns so quickly that he nearly drops his phone. His blue eyes widen in surprise, then soften when he sees you. He quickly wraps up the call, telling his lawyer he’ll be in touch soon, and hangs up, his attention solely on you now.

“How much did you hear?” He asks, a touch of worry in his voice as he approaches you.

“Enough,” you admit, your voice trembling with emotion. “You’re serious about this? About adopting her?”

Max stops in front of you, his hands gently taking yours. “Of course, I am,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “She’s mine, in every way that matters. I don’t want there to be any question about that. I want to make it official.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you blink rapidly, trying to keep them from falling. “Max … I don’t even know what to say. You’re amazing, you know that?”

He smiles, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that tugs at your heart. “I just want to do what’s right for you and Emilia. You both mean everything to me.”

Your heart swells with so much love that it feels like it might burst. “I love you,” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Max’s eyes light up, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you close. “I love you too,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

You bury your face in his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you as you let the tears fall, tears of happiness, relief, and love. Max’s hand runs soothingly up and down your back, his touch reassuring, solid, and everything you need.

“I didn’t know if you’d want that,” you admit after a moment, your voice muffled against his shirt. “The adoption, I mean. I didn’t want to pressure you into anything.”

Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t about pressure,” he says earnestly. “This is about what I want. I want to be her dad, officially. I want us to be a family.”

His words hit you like a wave, and you can’t hold back the smile that breaks across your face. “We already are, Max. But … making it official … it would mean the world to me.”

He kisses you then, softly, sweetly, as if sealing the promise with his lips. When he pulls away, there’s a determination in his eyes that makes your heart race.

“We’ll get this sorted,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Charles won’t be able to touch her. I’ll make sure of it.”

You nod, trusting him completely, knowing that whatever happens, Max will be there, by your side, protecting you and Emilia. He’s already proven that in so many ways.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning into his embrace. “For everything.”

Max presses another kiss to your forehead, lingering there as if he never wants to let go. “I’ll always be here for you,” he promises, his voice a gentle vow. “For both of you.”

You stay like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, the weight of the world outside the room forgotten. It’s just you, Max, and the love that’s grown between you, a love that’s only getting stronger with each passing day.

Eventually, Max steps back, his hand slipping into yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again. “Come on,” he says softly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Let’s go check on Emilia.”

You smile back, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Yeah,” you agree, squeezing his hand. “Let’s.”

***

The FIA Prize Giving Ceremony is a glittering affair, with the most celebrated drivers in the world gathered under one roof, all eager to see who will take home the evening’s highest honors. The room is abuzz with energy, cameras flashing, and the air thick with anticipation. It’s a night of recognition, where the best of the best are acknowledged for their achievements on the track. But for you and Max, tonight is about something much more personal.

You sit beside Max at one of the front tables, your hands clasped together under the tablecloth. Max looks sharp in his tailored suit, but his usual air of calm confidence is tinged with a nervous excitement that he can’t quite hide. His eyes are fixed on the stage, where the host is just beginning to announce the next category: Rookie of the Year.

“... and the Rookie of the Year award goes to ... Emilia Verstappen!”

The applause is instantaneous, loud and enthusiastic, as the cameras pan across the audience. You squeeze Max’s hand, and he turns to you, his eyes shining with pride. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to — you can see everything he’s feeling written all over his face.

You both watch as Emilia makes her way to the stage, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, the bright lights catching the sparkles in her gown. She moves with the grace and confidence of someone who’s been in the spotlight her entire life, but there’s still that youthful energy in her step, the excitement of someone just beginning to make her mark on the world.

When Emilia reaches the podium, she takes the award in her hands, the applause still roaring around her. She takes a moment to look out at the audience, her eyes searching until they find yours and Max’s. She smiles — a smile that’s a little bit of yours, a little bit of her biological father’s, and completely her own. The room gradually quiets down, and when she speaks, her voice is clear and steady, carrying through the hall.

“Wow, this is ... incredible. Thank you so much to the FIA, to my team, and to everyone who’s supported me this year. It’s been a wild ride, and I’m so grateful for every moment.”

She pauses, glancing down at the award in her hands, turning it over thoughtfully. “But there are two people I need to thank more than anyone else, because without them, I wouldn’t be standing here tonight.”

You feel Max’s grip on your hand tighten just slightly, as if bracing himself for what’s coming. He’s always been proud of Emilia, but tonight, the emotion is running deeper than ever.

“My parents,” Emilia continues, her voice growing softer, more heartfelt. “Mama, Papa ... I owe everything to you.”

The crowd is silent now, all eyes on the young woman at the podium, the daughter of one of the greatest drivers in Formula 1 history, but tonight, it’s clear that this is Emilia’s moment.

“Mama,” Emilia says, her gaze finding you again, “you’ve been my rock, my biggest supporter, and the person who’s always believed in me, even when I doubted myself. You taught me what it means to be strong, to never give up, and to follow my heart. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You’ve watched Emilia grow from a baby into the remarkable young woman she is today, and hearing her speak these words is almost too much to bear. You squeeze Max’s hand again, finding comfort in his presence beside you.

“And Papa ...” Emilia’s voice catches slightly, and she takes a moment to steady herself. “I know I might not look like you, but no one can deny that I drive like you. You’ve taught me everything I know about racing, but more importantly, you’ve shown me what it means to be passionate, dedicated, and fearless. I’ve always wanted to make you proud, and I hope I’ve done that.”

Max can’t hold back the tears any longer. He blinks rapidly, trying to keep his emotions in check, but it’s no use. His eyes are wet, his chest tight with pride and love for his daughter. He nods, his lips pressed together in a tight line, as if trying to keep himself from breaking down completely.

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. In this moment, it’s just the three of you — everything else fades away.

Emilia takes a deep breath, her gaze sweeping across the audience one last time. “I’m so lucky to have parents like you. Thank you for everything. This award is as much yours as it is mine.”

The applause that follows is deafening, the crowd rising to their feet in a standing ovation. Emilia smiles, a little shy now that the speech is over, and nods her thanks before stepping back from the podium.

As the applause continues, Max turns to you, his eyes still glistening. “She’s incredible, isn’t she?”

You nod, too emotional to speak, your heart full to bursting with love for both of them. Max leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, a silent acknowledgment of everything you’ve been through together to reach this moment.

The ceremony continues, but you’re not really paying attention anymore. You’re too lost in your thoughts, in the warmth of Max’s arm around you, in the overwhelming pride you feel for your daughter.

When Emilia returns to the table, the award in her hands, Max immediately pulls her into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “So, so proud.”

Emilia hugs him back just as tightly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Thanks, Papa,” she whispers, her voice full of love. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They hold each other for a long moment, and you can’t help but smile through your own tears. This is your family — your beautiful, wonderful, extraordinary family.

As the evening draws to a close and the final awards are handed out, you find yourself reflecting on the journey that brought you all here. It wasn’t always easy, and there were times when you weren’t sure how things would turn out. But standing here now, with Max and Emilia by your side, you know that every challenge, every hardship, was worth it.

As you all make your way out of the ceremony and into the cool night air, Emilia holds her award close, her eyes still shining with happiness. Max keeps his arm around you, his other hand resting on Emilia’s shoulder, as if he can’t bear to let either of you out of his reach.

When you reach the car, Max opens the door for you and Emilia, and you both slide inside. As Max takes his seat behind the wheel, he glances over at you, his expression soft and full of love.

“Ready to go home?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, smiling at him, your heart full. “Yeah,” you reply, reaching over to take his hand. “Let’s go home.”

As Max drives through the quiet streets, Emilia leans her head against your shoulder, her award still clutched in her hands. You glance at her, at the peaceful expression on her face, and feel a surge of contentment wash over you.

This is what it’s all about, you realize. This is the life you’ve built together, the family you’ve created. And as you sit there, surrounded by the people you love most in the world, you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll face it together — just as you always have.

[thatmcubish]

whitaker and robby's reaction to you and jack naming your baby after them | dr. jack abbot x reader

summary: something like a part 3 to this.

pairing: dr. jack abbot x f!resident!reader, dr. dennis whitaker x reader (platonic), dr. michael robinavitch x reader (platonic)

tw: attending/resident relationship, age gap, mentions of blood, mentions of talking someone off the ledge, nothing else in think (lmk if you find something)

wc: 1.6k

author's note: this is shorter just coz i decided to just include the reaction lol i loooove the whitaker x reader interactions (sorry not sorry) so much, that if i ever wrote more, whitaker's gonna be a constant. hope you enjoy this and thanks for all the love on my other fics. might do some sort of masterlist so you can find the fics easily... this is not proofread (not a surprise at this point lol)

gif not mine

the news of your son being born spread quickly, as anything did in this hospital. nothing was a secret around here, everyone knew anything and if you wanted to keep something to yourself you had to protect it with all you had. you wanted that for your son, to protect him from anything but you also wanted to show him off to your closest friends and colleagues.

being a doctor in the ptmc had its perks. the midwife arranged a private room in the postpartum ward for you, dennis and jack, despite them always being occupied. the light in the room was dim and you still enjoyed the golden hour, dennis now being laid down on jack’s naked chest. the midwife helped you to the shower and toilet, feeling like a little kid that needed help with drying off and dressing up after showering. but you finally felt more like yourself, after washing off the dried blood and all the other fluids that marked your thighs.

“he’s perfect,” jack whispered, caressing dennis’ small, round cheek with his finger. you sat in the bed, munching on the leftover sandwich the midwife brought you.

“i don’t understand how you did all that,” he continued and you just gave him a smile. there was a whole new side to jack you’ve never seen. he was soft and careful when you handed him your son, but his hands never shook. he was not scared, he was used to handle things with care, but now there was more to it. he had one more life to protect and take care of.

there was a new side of you as well. as if from the moment dennis was handed to you, you knew what to do. you didn’t even flinch, your mind and body switching to the mother mode, despite this being your first child. you weren’t afraid to hold him, swaddle him, change him and dress him for the first time. even trying to breastfeed him. you didn’t really recognise yourself, but you kind of liked the new you. you got used to it easily.

there’s a quiet knock on the door and the midwife’s head appears in the room. “i have some visitors for you. should i let them in?”

you and jack both look at each other. he doesn’t want to answer for you in case you don’t want any visitors, but you just give the midwife a small smile and nod. the midwife opens the door and reveals robby’s tall figure.

behind him a small figure with blonde hair appears. it’s dana. they both have wide smiles across their faces. jack stands up and sit next to you with dennis still in his arms. you help him swaddle the baby up for your friends and colleagues to hold.

“who do we got here,” dana steps forward smiling at you as you hold dennis up for her to take.

“this is dennis michael,” you introduce him and dana almost squeals when she gets ahold of him, cradling his little body to her chest. robby is still standing behind her, frozen in place as his big sad brown eyes take in all of you and the information you just dropped. you swear his eyes well up with tears, but he’s too quick to wipe them and steps around dana to you and hugs you tightly.

his chest shake a little and you’re afraid he’s gonna break down in tears, but he just laughs. he then lets go of you and also hugs jack.

“i’m so happy for both of you. i’m proud of you,” robby whispers and you swear he and jack both are crying with happiness again. they pat each other on the shoulders in a brotherly manner and then robby goes to dana, wiggling his fingers at her.

“nooo, i’m not letting him go, he’s way too cute,” dana protests.

“dana. give mikey over,” robby says with a serious face but doesn’t hold for long and has to smile again. you and jack just smile at each other while you look at your friends fighting for your baby boy. if you could you’d give each of them their own dennis but your lady parts would probably fall off.

the blonde stops protesting in a moment and carefully hands dennis over to robby, who is already cooing over him. the older man’s smile never falters. he carefully grabs the little body all wrapped up in the blanket, his eyes never leaving dennis’ face. he looks so content and happy and you wonder why robby never had kids of his own. he would be a great father.

you and jack sit on the edge of the bed. you lay your head on his shoulder and he kisses your forehead as you take the picture of robby and your son in.

“he's gonna have the best people around him,” you say and jack hums in agreement.

when you were still pregnant you discussed with jack who will become dennis' godparents or whatever the non-religious equivalent was. you weren't one for religion really and jack after his experience in the army stopped believing there was any kind of god. there was only life and death he used to say. and you both could agree that if anything were to happen to dennis, you'd want robby to take care of him. you'll just give him a moment before dropping another bomb on him.

the room is quiet before robby’s pager goes off and disturbs the calmness. thankfully dennis doesn't even stir and keeps sleeping as robby hands him over to jack to look at the pager and turn it off.

“oh i’m sorry mikey, gotta go, there’s an emergency uncle robby has gotta get to,” robby says in a sweet voice and touches the baby's nose one last time.

you just smirk and say: “yeah, don't you worry about us. just say bye to the baby.”

“well he’s my favourite abbot, what can i say…”

jack’s jaw falls to the ground (basically). you've never seen him like this and you have to stifle a laugh to not make him even more mad. you can't be mad at robby yourself, as you're technically not an abbot (yet).

“what's he done to be a favourite? i've talked you off the ledge, man,” jack says and puts his hands on his heart acting like he's just been stabbed.

“he looks cute and doesn’t talk back,” robby smirks and then excuses himself to attend to the emergency he’s been paged to. dana leaves with him, promising she's going to visit again soon.

but when robby opens the door there's someone standing in front of them. the thin figure can't be exchanged for anyone else. it's whitaker.

“so-sorry. i was just about to knock,” he says and rubs his neck nervously. he's in his usual black scrubs, which look clean for once.

robby looks at you and jack unsure on whether to let the student come in or not. you give him a nod and a small smile. whitaker steps into the room and dana with robby step out, saying one last goodbye and closing the door.

“i’m sorry. again. i wasn’t sure if it’s okay for me to visit. i just wanted to see you're fine,” he says in a soft voice, eyes jumping between you and jack and the small bundle your man is holding in his arms.

“i'm fine, thanks for checking in,” you smile and motion for him to come forward, as he’s still standing by the door and you're not sure whether he's gonna run or stay.

“do you want to…” you grab the baby boy from jack's arms and look at whitaker. he smiles and gives you a small nod, disinfecting his hands quickly and stepping closer.

you move to him, handing him the swaddled baby and telling him to support his head. whitaker looks like it's his first time holding a baby. his hands shake a little and when you look back at jack you're sure he'd like to step in and just take dennis back from the students hands. but you trust whitaker. he's been through almost everything with you and you know you can trust him. damn, you named the baby after him, of course you trust him.

“well, he looks just like you,” whitaker says with a smile and you smile back. his big blue eyes are scanning the baby’s sleeping figure and he relaxes a bit when he realises the baby is not gonna just crumble under his touch. he moves a little, rocking the baby in his arms.

“thank you.”

“what’d you name him?” he looks up at you.

“dennis michael.”

whitaker freezes visibly. jack stands up next to you, ready to step in, in case anything was gonna happen to either whitaker or his son.

you see the shakes first, than the tears. jack is about to take a step forward and grab the baby out of whitaker’s arms, but you put a hand on his chest to stop him. you trust whitaker.

the tears start running down his face and seep into the soft material of the baby blanket. baby dennis is unfaced, sleeping calmly in his arms. whitaker hugs him even closer to his chest,

“i-i’m sorry. it’s just…”

“it’s okay,” you reassure him with a smile.

he’s still holding the baby close to him and then he puts his cheek to baby dennis’ head, hugging him even more. you want to start crying too and just lean back into jack’s chest. his arms fall on your hips, his head falling on your shoulder, giving it a small kiss. you both look at whitaker who’s rocking the baby in his arms, tears still streaming down his face but smiling nevertheless.

“congrats baby. we now have two sons,” jack whispers.

[thatmcubish]

In Sickness and In Health

Abbot x Sick!Reader (Platonic) Robby x Reader (Because who doesn't want to be cared for by this hunk)

Masterlist

You’re trying to listen to Robby as he gathers the day shift before things get too busy, you really are. However, you’re working harder to hold in the chest rattling cough that’s plagued you for the past 24 hours.

You lean against the nurses’ station, one hand on the counter the other on your knee as a pained cough finally rattles past your lips, another two or three escaping with it. 

You hear Robby pause slightly, him and Dana shooting you a look of concern.

“Wrong pipe,” you wheeze, pointing to the cup of crappy hospital coffee next to. You must be convincing enough as they both turn their attention back to the meeting.

Robby ends the meeting and people start to disperse. You offer him a small thumbs up as you drink the coffee, begging the warmth to sooth your throat.

“Don’t be stupid, I can see your forehead veins.” Dana mutters as you look up and glare at her, daring her to call your bluff. “Be a real shame if someone told Jack.”

Your eyes widen and before you can plead with her not to tell him, another fit of coughing doubles you over and makes your head swim.

“I think I’m about to eject my lungs out of my damn face.” You groan, sucking up a disgusting amount of snot before righting yourself, the world swimming slightly.

“You shouldn’t even be practicing medicine with the number of cold meds in your body, let alone be here.” She hisses over the counter, knowing how stubborn you could be.

“I’m fine.” You wheeze, placing your head over your arms on the counter, begging your body to pull it together.

“How the hell did you get this past Jack” Robby asks as he tips your head back, hand on your forehead.

You groan and bat his hands away. “I’m fine.” It comes out as a whine, your sinuses throbbing with each word.

What you don’t see is the silent conversation between Dana and Robby, both already knowing that you’re anything but fine. You stumble slightly as the world tilts, Robby supporting you by your elbow.

“Alrighty, let’s get you to South 4. Dana, fluids please.” You try to bat off Robby again as he guides you towards an open bed, Dana chuckling from behind.

You go to reassure him once again that you’re fine, that not even Jack noticed. But the world lurches and you stumble, your knees buckling.

“Alrighty kiddo, you’re done.” Robby says as he scoops you up, carrying you towards the trauma room. The world is swimming, and you try your best to stay awake, but the universe slowly closes in.

You wake to Dana sitting on her phone next to your bed, her feet propped on the edge of the bed. You groan and turn to fully face her, your body not responding quite as fast as you need it to.

“You move anymore, and I’ll put you in soft restraints. Nearly decked Robby when we put your IV in.” She doesn’t look up, her no nonsense tone enough to stop you from moving. A groan escapes your lips.

“Way to go. You’ve got influenza A kid. We’ve got you on fluids as you dehydrated yourself chugging coffee.” She laughs as she removes her feet from the bed and leans onto the bed, brushing hair out of your face.

“Please tell me you didn’t call him. He’ll kill me for not telling him and himself for not noticing.” You groan, your throat still scratchy and raw from coughing. Another cough rattles your chest.

“Going to work with a 100-degree fever, are you stupid?” Jack says as he rushes in, his hand on your forehead as he checks the saline bag you’re hooked up to. You groan, sending a glare to Dana. She holds up her hands in mock defense.

“If you’re going to shoot the messenger, aim for Robby.” She says as she pats your hand as she gets up to leave. “He barely got out that you’d passed out before this one freaked.”

“I didn’t pass out.” You say groggily as Jack takes a seat next to you, “I just got suddenly tired. Get that shit out of my face.” You bat at Jack as he starts shining his pen light in your eyes, his hands coming to put pressure on your sinuses. You groan at the pressure and pain.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if you develop a sinus infection.” He’s gone full clinical as he assesses you, talking out loud to no one in particular. “Well, they’ve got you on fluids, we’ll get you on an anti-viral as well. Add in some fever reducers and rest, you’ll be fine.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you scrunch your nose.

“Get out of here, I don’t want you getting sick.”

“I don’t’ get sick.”

You groan at his steadfastness, his unrelenting worry oozing from his eyes.

“Just discharge me and I’ll sleep it off on the couch, I’ll be fine.” You groan, pulling the blanket up to your chin, suddenly cold.

“You aren’t sleeping on the couch hotshot; I’ve got a full healing regiment I’m keeping you to once I get you home.” Jack smooths back your hair as you groan.

“I can manage.” You cough, turning away as to not cough directly in his face.

“Doesn’t mean you have to. You’re sicker than hell, let me help you out on this one.” He speaks. 

“Just get me home, and I’ll be fine.” You whine; another cough makes your tired lungs hurt.

“As soon as we finish hydrating you, be a good girl and finish that saline.” He laughs as you weakly put up a middle finger. “There’s my girl. I’ll get your discharge paperwork done and then you’re getting the full Abbot treatment once we get home. I don’t care if you don’t want to, you lost autonomy privileges when you snuck that sickness past me at shift change today.

You only groan at the pain in your head. “Stop talking, you’re hurting my head with your ego.”

“Love you to!” He says with a laugh as he goes to get you discharged so he can care of you at home.

-----------

Lmk what you think! This was purely self indulgent because I'm sick and love the idea of that man taking care of me.

[thatmcubish]

your honor i see no difference

[thatmcubish]

Language Lessons || Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Pairings: Steve Rogers x f!reader

Themes: Funny? Steve trying to relate to you more

Summary: Steve wanting to impress you, goes on a little lesson about Millenial/GEN Z slangs.

A/N: AGAIN, my sense of humour is shallow. . . I was crying when I read the full story because I find my own thing so funny welp. But hey, I finally wrote a Comedy for Steve 😅

Steve stands in the hallway of the Avengers Tower, a crumpled piece of paper clenched in his hand like it’s a mission briefing for a covert op. The words "Intro to Modern Slang: How to Speak Like a Millennial and Gen Z" are printed at the top of the flyer, making him sweat more than when he faced the Chitauri. He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of your mocking laughter echoing in his ears.

“I’m serious, Steve,” you had said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You can’t just say ‘groovy’ and expect people to take you seriously.”

Steve had taken that challenge to heart. He fought in WWII; he could conquer this.

As he steps inside the classroom, his eyes dart around the room. It’s filled with a gaggle of twenty-somethings, some in beanies and oversized hoodies, others with hair dyed in colors that defy nature’s palette. They’re staring at him like he’s a grandpa who wandered into the wrong building and refused to leave.

Steve steels himself. He’s Captain America. He fought Hydra. He faced Thanos. This… this is just another battlefield. He slides into a chair that creaks under his weight, pulling out a notepad and a pen like he’s preparing for combat.

“Welcome, everyone!” chirps the instructor, a guy named Dylan—according to his tag—who’s sporting a neon hoodie and a chain necklace that spells out ‘YOLO’ in gold letters. Earbuds dangle around his neck like he’s afraid to be without them for too long. “I’m Dylan, and I’ll be helping you unlock the wonders of modern communication.”

Steve nods seriously, his brows furrowed in concentration. He’s missing the confident nods and murmurs of agreement from briefings with the Avengers. Here, all he gets are side-eyes and a few raised eyebrows. But he ignores them. Focus, Rogers.

“Let’s start with something basic,” Dylan says, gesturing dramatically like he’s presenting a spell. “Say you’re excited about something… You might say, ‘that’s lit.’”

“Lit?” Steve repeats, his expression somewhere between confusion and fascination. It’s like he’s hearing about the Tesseract for the first time. He scribbles it down in his impeccable handwriting.

Dylan nods encouragingly, like Steve’s a kindergartener who just figured out the alphabet. “Right! And if something’s really cool, you can say ‘that’s fire.’”

“Fire…” Steve’s voice trails off as he writes that down too, then looks up, eyes narrowed like he’s running a complex equation in his head. “But… why would fire be a good thing? Fire’s dangerous.”

One of the teenagers snickers, and Steve glares, the kind of stare that once sent grown soldiers scrambling for cover. The kid immediately shuts up.

“It’s not literal fire,” Dylan explains gently, as if to a particularly stubborn toddler. “It’s metaphorical fire. Means something is awesome. Or really good.”

“Got it. Fire is good.” Steve nods firmly, though he doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Okay. Fire.”

“Great!” Dylan claps his hands, clearly thrilled that Steve hasn’t run out the door yet. “Now, if you want to show support or agree with something, you can say ‘that’s a vibe.’”

“A vibe,” Steve repeats slowly. “Okay. That’s a vibe.” He pauses, trying to wrap his head around it. “So, like, if Hulk is calm for once and not smashing things… I could say ‘that’s a vibe?’”

The room falls dead silent. A couple of the students are desperately trying not to laugh. Dylan blinks, then flashes a thumbs-up. “Sure, man. That’s totally… vibey. Now, when you’re leaving somewhere, you might say you’re going to ‘dip.’”

“Dip?” Steve murmurs, brow furrowing deeper. He’s trying so hard it’s almost painful to watch. “Like, uh… salsa?”

“No, man.” Dylan can’t hide his grin. “Like… you’re leaving. You’re out.”

“Oh.” Steve nods slowly, the gears turning. “I’m going to dip. Got it.”

“Yeah!” Dylan cheers, as if Steve’s just managed to take his first steps. “That’s a start.”

Steve looks down at his notepad, where the words lit, fire, vibe, dip are scrawled neatly, underlined for emphasis. “So, if I’m excited, I say something’s lit or fire… If I agree, it’s a vibe… and when I leave, I dip.”

“That’s the gist of it!” Dylan says brightly.

Steve’s head is spinning with unfamiliar terms. ‘Drip,’ ‘stan,’ ‘flex,’ ‘ghosting’—it’s all a blur of confusion. He gives himself a mental pep talk. He’s Captain America. He’s taken on gods and monsters. He can do this. He straightens in his chair, determination blazing in his eyes.

Dylan eyes him warily. “You, uh, feeling okay there, Steve?”

Steve looks up, a bit wild-eyed. “I’m Gucci, fam.”

There’s a strangled cough from the back of the room. One of the teenagers actually falls off his chair. Dylan just blinks at him, speechless.

“Good… job?” Dylan offers hesitantly.

Steve beams, mistaking the stunned silence for approval. He’s got this. For you.

× × × ×

The next day, Steve stands in the Avengers kitchen, carefully stirring his coffee. Bucky trudges in, still half-asleep, grumbling about the mission report he was up until 3 a.m. finishing. Steve looks up, a determined look in his eyes.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says with forced casualness. “What’s up, king?”

Bucky freezes mid-stride, one eyebrow shooting up so high it nearly disappears into his hairline. “What did you just call me?”

“King. Like… uh… ‘go off, king.’ It means… good job.” Steve’s expression is so earnest that Bucky can’t even bring himself to laugh.

Bucky blinks once. Twice. He glances around, half-expecting a hidden camera crew to pop out and shout, Gotcha! 

“Uh… Thanks?” he manages, voice thick with confusion. “You good, man?”

Steve’s smile is too wide, too tight. “Oh, yeah, I’m vibing. Just… vibing hard.”

Bucky stares at him, “Right. You want breakfast?” He starts moving cautiously toward the stove, not breaking eye contact with Steve.

“Nah, I’m good.” Steve waves it off with the confidence of someone who has no idea what he’s doing. “Not gonna lie, your last cooking attempt was kinda sus.”

Bucky stops again, brows furrowed, “Sus?”

“Yeah, like… suspicious.” Steve taps his chin, as if that’s going to clarify anything. “You almost burned the Tower down, Buck. That’s not very poggers of you.”

“Poggers?” Bucky repeats slowly, the word foreign and clunky in his mouth. He squints, searching Steve’s face for answers. “Steve, are you having a stroke?”

“No, I’m just being vibey.” Steve shrugs, like that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. “You know, staying on fleek.”

Bucky’s face contorts like he’s bitten into a lemon. “Steve, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but it’s stressing me out.”

“Okay, boomer,” Steve mutters, rolling his eyes with all the sass of a TikTok teen. “Whatever, I’m gonna yeet outta here.”

And with that, he picks up his shield, and with the gravitas of throwing a grenade, he yells, “Yeet!” as he hurls it at the training dummy across the room.

Bucky watches the shield ricochet off the dummy, his mouth hanging open. 

“He’s completely lost it,” Bucky mutters, rubbing his temples. “This man went into the ice for seventy years and came out with a mid-life crisis.”

From the hallway, Sam pokes his head in. “What’s with Steve?”

Bucky gestures helplessly at Steve, who’s now muttering “That’s so fire” under his breath as he fidgets with his coffee. “I don’t know, but if he says ‘poggers’ one more time, I’m gonna throw him out the window.”

Steve glares at Bucky, “Weird flex but okay.”

“The fuck?” 

× × × ×

Steve finally spots you in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, engrossed in a TV show. He straightens his shoulders, trying to channel the cool, easy-going energy he’s practiced in front of the mirror for an embarrassing number of hours. He saunters over—or what he thinks is a saunter—and stops right in front of her, hands on his hips like he’s about to deliver a speech.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, voice a little too loud and too intense, startling you.

You blinked up at him, surprised. “Uh, hey? What’s going on?”

Steve grins. He’s got this. “That outfit you’re wearing? It’s straight bussin’, no cap.”

Your mouth falls open, and you stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “I—what did you just—?”

“Bussin’,” Steve repeats confidently, though there’s a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. “You know… like, it slaps.”

“It slaps?” You echo weakly. yousets down your water glass, fully focusing on him now because this—this has got to be a fever dream.

“Yeah, like… it’s on fleek.” He tilts his head, assessing your expression. “It means you look really good.”

Your lips twitch, desperately holding back a smile. “And where did you learn all these… colourful words?”

Steve shuffles his feet, looking almost bashful. 

“I’ve been educating myself,” he says, clearing his throat. “You know, so I don’t sound like such a boomer.”

You lost it. You doubled over, laughing so hard you nearly slipped off the couch. “Steve, you do know boomer refers to the generation born in the mid 1940s to 60s, right? You’re more like—”

“I know!” Steve cuts in, hands waving frantically. “But the class said I could use it as, like, a joke.” He leans in conspiratorially. “It’s ironic.”

“That’s not what irony means, babe.”

Steve frowns, clearly frustrated. 

“Well, I still think it’s valid.” He straightens again, as if recommitting to his mission. 

“Okay, let me try something else. Uh… Oh, right—” He points dramatically at the TV. “That show you’re watching? Total banger.”

“Banger?” Your eyebrows shoot up. “It’s a cooking show.”

“Exactly!” Steve exclaims, clearly not getting it. “All that fire food they’re making? It’s bussin’, right?”

You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your burst of laughter. “Oh my gosh, you really did take a class. What else did they teach you?”

Steve brightens, as if she’s finally taking him seriously. 

“Well, if something’s bad, I can say it’s cringe.” He gestures to himself, a little sheepish now. “Like how I was talking before. But now? I’m all vibes, right?”

Your shoulders are shaking as you try to keep a straight face. “You’re definitely… a vibe.”

“Yeah, see? I knew I was getting the hang of it.” Steve nods sagely. “And if I want to agree with something, I just say ‘bet.’ Like—” He looks around the room. “—this whole conversation? It’s bet.”

You snorted. “It’s bet?”

“Yeah, like, I agree. It’s fun. And you know what? I’m not being sus, okay? I’m just being real. Keeping it 100.”

Your vision is starting to blur from the sheer force of holding in your laughter. “Uh-huh, sure you are.”

Steve leans in a little closer, voice dropping conspiratorially again. “Also, I’m totally shipping us right now.”

You choke. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” he gestures between the two of them. “Like, us together? It’s goals.”

“Oh my gosh, please stop.” you cover your face, both mortified and utterly charmed. “You’re not allowed to ship us. You’re in this relationship.”

Steve’s face lights up, triumphant. “So you admit we’re a ship?”

You throw your head back and groan dramatically. “Yes, fine. We’re a ship, Captain Cringe.”

Steve takes a moment to bask in his victory, looking immensely proud of himself. He’s practically glowing. Then, with all the suave energy he can muster, he smirks and says, “So, what you’re saying is… I’m the GOAT?”

You let out a cackle. “Yes, Steve, you’re the GOAT.” you paused and then added, just for kicks, “But only if I can be the MVP.”

Steve’s grin widens, looking like he’s just won a war. “Bet.”

And with that, he whirls around, strides confidently to the door, and as he opens it, he throws over his shoulder: “Anyway, I’m gonna dip before I embarrass myself further. Catch you on the flip side, Y/N.”

“Wait, where are you going?” You call, struggling to catch your breath. “You live here!”

Steve freezes mid-step, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “Uh… Well, I’m still gonna yeet.”

“Yeet where, exactly?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he awkwardly side steps out the door and half-jogs down the hallway, muttering, “This was not poggers…” as your laughter echoes behind him.

[thatmcubish]

Pregnancy Pillow vs Captain America

Pairings: Dad-to-be Steve Rogers x Pregnant Reader. Themes/Summary:Light-hearted. Steve is feeling lonely on his side of the bed, and it's the pregnancy pillow's fault. A/N: I haven't been giving Steve some love lately. . . so here a cute little oneshot of how he will react when y/n brings out the pregnancy pillow. I don't own any of the images ya'll credits to their owners.

tags: @mrsevans90 @haruvalentine4321

Steve comes out of the ensuite after his shower, his white t-shirt clinging to his body and hair damp. He throws you an easy smile, the kind that makes his blue eyes crinkle at the corners, as he heads towards the bedroom. But the moment he steps inside, he halts mid-stride, staring at the bed like it’s personally offended him.

There it is again: the pregnancy pillow. An immovable, unforgiving barricade that now divides your once-cozy bed like a dam, stretching from one end to the other. Steve tilts his head, squinting at it as if that might reduce its size.

He throws his hands on his hips and sighs dramatically. 

“You know, I fought Hydra,” he says, voice dripping with exasperation. “I’ve been through hell and back. But this—” he gestures to the pillow, “—is the one enemy I can’t seem to defeat.”

You burst into laughter from your side of the bed, propped up by a series of other pillows meant to cushion every conceivable ache or discomfort. “Steve, it’s a pillow.”

“It’s a monstrosity,” he argues. “It’s like the Great Wall of China, but made out of—” he pokes at it cautiously, like it might snap back at him, “—fluffy foam and… whatever this is.” He groans, flopping down onto his side of the bed with a huff.

“Pregnancy pillows are supposed to be supportive,” you say in an exaggeratedly sweet tone, rolling your eyes.

“Supportive?” He scoffs, attempting to squeeze his hand through the tiny gap between the pillow and your hip. “It’s so supportive I need to make an appointment to get within three feet of my wife.”

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh as you watch him contort, his long arms flailing. “I know it’s not ideal, but I need it, Steve.”

“Why does it have to be so big?” He sounds like a sullen child, tugging at the end of the pillow like he’s considering wrestling it out of the bed entirely. “Can’t they make a smaller one? One that doesn’t make me feel like I’m living on the opposite side of the planet?”

You shake your head. “Trust me, if there were a way to make it smaller and still work, I’d be using it.”

Steve finally manages to get a bit of his arm over the pillow’s edge, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder. He lets out a soft noise of triumph, and then—he leans in close, his forehead almost bumping the pillow’s fabric. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, as if the pillow itself is an eavesdropper. “Wanna come over to my side?”

Your laugh breaks out fully then. “Are you trying to seduce me over a pillow, Rogers?”

“Absolutely,” he deadpans, his face all faux-seriousness. He wiggles his eyebrows and purses his lips. “I’ve got ‘plenty’ of space over here, you know. Might be a little lonely, though. Could use some company.”

You lean back into the pillow, giggling at the sight of this fully-grown super soldier pouting at a piece of fabric. “I’m not crawling over this thing. You’ll just have to wait until the baby’s born.”

Steve blinks, his face crumpling in over-the-top shock. “Wait. Until the baby is born? That’s months away!”

“Yup.” You nod solemnly, enjoying the way his mouth drops open.

“Months?” He repeats, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I’m supposed to be a dad in a few months and I can’t even get a hug?”

You finally give in, shifting to face him. 

“C’mere, you big baby.” With some maneuvering, you manage to reach over the pillow, clasping his face between your hands. He grins triumphantly and leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed as if it’s the greatest victory he’s ever won.

Steve kisses your palm, peeking an eye open at the pillow. “We’re not done yet, pillow,” he mutters dramatically, earning another peal of laughter from you.

He straightens and stares at the pillow again, rubbing his chin like he’s trying to come up with a strategy. “Maybe… I can find a way to make this work.”

“Oh really?” you tease. “You’re gonna outsmart a pillow?”

“Absolutely.” He nods firmly. “If I can’t get past it, I’ll just have to—” With sudden determination, Steve heaves his leg over the top of the pillow, straddling it awkwardly like he’s mounting a wild horse. You raise an eyebrow, biting back a grin.

“Steve—”

He shushes you, waving a hand. “Shh. Let me have this.”

You watch, thoroughly amused, as he tries to maneuver his entire body over the pillow without crushing it—or falling off the bed. He flops, shifts, and mutters curses under his breath, but finally—finally—he makes it to your side, lying beside you with a triumphant smirk.

“See?” he pants, a little out of breath. “I did it.”

“Wow,” you say, clapping lightly. “Captain America, conqueror of pillows.”

“Damn right.” He beams at you, his face flushed from the exertion. “Now…” He reaches for you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close, despite the awkward angle. His hand, large and warm, comes to rest gently on your rounded stomach. His thumb makes slow circles over the fabric of your nightshirt, brushing against the small rise. The smile that spreads across his face is soft, almost reverent. 

“Hey there, little one.”

The teasing, playful glint in his eyes fades to something softer, more intense as he gazes down at your belly. His palm splays wide, covering the bump entirely, and he rubs with a featherlight touch. You feel the familiar flutter of movement beneath his hand, and Steve’s entire face lights up.

“Did you feel that?” He whispers, eyes wide with wonder, his breath catching.

You nod, your hand covering his, sharing the moment with him. “That’s your baby, Steve.”

He swallows hard, blinking away the sudden moisture in his eyes as he continues to trace gentle patterns on your skin. “I can’t believe it,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I can’t believe… this is happening.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion he’s never been able to hide from you. “You’re going to be a wonderful dad.”

He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Only because you’re going to be an amazing mom,” he murmurs against your skin. His hand lingers on your stomach, his fingers spreading as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of it.

The baby shifts again, and Steve lets out a soft laugh, a sound filled with awe. “I’m pretty sure this little one already loves you more than anyone else.”

“And what about you?” you tease, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

He shrugs, eyes still fixed on your stomach. “I’ll just have to win them over.” He glances up, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “Starting with getting rid of this pillow.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Nice try, Captain. It stays.”

He sighs dramatically but leans down to kiss your belly one more time. “Okay, okay, you win,” he mutters, though the smile on his face is nothing short of blissful. “For now.”

You lean back, resting your hand atop his, and the two of you stay like that for a while—Steve murmuring quiet promises to the baby, his fingers drawing lazy circles over your belly. Even with the pillow still stubbornly wedged between you, it’s one of the most intimate moments you’ve ever shared.

Steve might be fighting a losing battle against the Great Pillow, but right now, with his hand on your stomach and your laughter filling the room, he’s never felt closer to you.

[thatmcubish]

me when I reach the angst part of the angsty fic that I specifically chose for the angst