Kagome45 - Kagome Ackerman

Always Come For You Pt. 1

Steve Rogers x Reader

Imagine on my fandom Instagram?: No

Prompt?: No

Request?: No

Requested prompt?: No

Edited: Yes

Word count: 5720

Ko-fi

Masterlist

Warnings here (none yet... they will be coming soon)

You can listen to the story be read out loud here.

Post Date: August 22ed 2022

Post Time: 9:46 pm

Summary: Steve thought he’d lost both his best friends in the war, but he never expected seventy years later to find out that he’d ever get to see the two that mattered most to him again. First Bucky, now he’s told the reader is alive too? Will he ever get the chance to tell the reader how he feels or is all lost? Bucky came back, so why can’t you?

This was based off of a post I saw on @druiigg page now it is in no way shape or form taking anything from the work that was posted to their page, it just heavily inspired it. So thank you Enna for inspiring this.

This is the post that inspired this:

Please refrain from stealing our work, thank you and please enjoy!!!

Steve’s Pov: *Flashback* 

“War continues to ravage Europe, but help is on the way. Every able-bodied young man is lining up to serve his country. Even little Timmy is doing his part collecting scrap metal. Nice work Timmy!” The war ad before the movie plays. 

“Nobody cares!” A guy shouts out from the front of the theater. 

“Just play the movie!” he continues to shout as he throws his hand up. 

“Hey, show some respect, won’t you?” I whisper out to the guy and he goes quiet as the ad plays on. 

“Our brave boys are showing the axis that the price of our freedom is never too high.” The ad continues to play on with it now quiet. 

“Let’s go! Get on with it!” he yells out again and I get angry. 

“Hey, just start the cartoon!” he continues on as everyone just lets him. 

“Hey, you wanna shut up?” I yell at him on my last straw as I lean forward. 

“Together with allied forces, we’ll face any threat, no matter the size.” The ad plays on as the guy slowly stands up in front of me and glares at me. 

Before I know it, we’re outside and I’m getting a punch to the face. I get back up, but he’s bigger than me so he easily throws another punch, making me fall to the ground again. I get back up using the wall and grab the lid to the trash cans that are next to me. 

I hold the lid out like a shield, but he easily rips it from my hand and throws it to his side. He then turns back and throws another punch, making me stumble back against the wall. I stand back up and get into a fighting stance, ready to fight back. 

“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?” he asks as he throws his arms up before letting them drop back to his side. 

“I can do this all day,” I pant out as I get down, ready to fight him off. 

I take one swing at him, but he quickly blocks it before throwing another punch to the other side. I go flying back to the floor and hit the trash cans on my way down. 

“Hey!” I hear a familiar voice say as I take a moment, but I turn my head to see Bucky. 

“Pick on someone your own size,” Bucky tells the guy as he walks backwards. 

The guy then swings at Bucky and he dodges it before laying his own punch to the guy. I get up and lean over the trash, watching as Bucky kicks him in the butt and the guy goes running off. 

“Sometimes I think you like getting punched,” Bucky jokes as he walks over to me. 

“I had him on the ropes,” I responded as I flick my hand to get goop off of it. 

“How many times is this?” Bucky asks as he bends over and picks up my recently failed enlistment slip. 

“You're from Paramus now?” Bucky asks as he looks up from the slip and I don’t reply as I start to dust myself off. 

“You know it’s illegal to lie on the enlistment form?” he asks as he looks at me. 

“And seriously, Jersey?” he adds as I wipe at my nose before I finally look up at him to see him in uniform. 

“You get your orders?” I ask as I continue to wipe my hands. 

“The 107th. Sergeant James Barnes. Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow,” he affirms and I nod slowly. 

“I should be going,” I state as I look down and rub my hands together one last time. 

“Come on. Knucklehead,” Bucky chuckles out after a moment of silence before gripping my shoulder. 

“It’s my last night. Y/n’s gonna clean ya up,” Bucky explains as he keeps his arm around me and we head outside of the alley. 

“Why? Where are we going?” I ask as we continue to walk. 

“The future,” he replies as he hands me a newspaper. 

I look at it to see an ad for the world expansion of tomorrow. I shake my head and fold the paper back up before turning to him again. 

“Is y/n going?” I ask and he shakes his head. 

“Nope. I asked her. Said she had other plans. She’ll be leaving the house at maybe 6:30ish. Gives her time to help patch ya up,” Bucky explains as we start walking towards my house. 

“But didn’t she just get off work?” I ask and he nods. “Maybe we shouldn’t bother her then,” I add on and Bucky chuckles. 

“I know you don’t want to have her do it, but you know what she’ll say if I don’t bring you to her,” Bucky replies and I only nod in silent agreement. 

“Well, come on. Hussle, buddy, we’re meeting the girls at seven,” he explains as he puts his arm around my neck again and pushes me forward slightly. 

“What girls?” I ask him and he chuckles. 

“I may or may not have found us dames to hang around for the night,” he admits with a grin and I roll my eyes. 

We walked for quite a while before coming up to my mom's apartment. Instead of going to mine, Bucky knocks on the door across from us. We wait maybe five minutes before we hear y/n. 

“Coming just a minute!” she shouts before the door swings open. 

“Boys! Hi!” Y/n beams at us before her mouth falls into a frown as she looks at me over. 

“Oh Stevie, did you win another fight?” she asks and I shake my head no as I grin. 

“No. I lost again,” I uttered and she gave a ‘whatever’ motion with her hand. 

“Awe, I really thought you’d win this time. I guess there’s always next time, bubs,” she mused with a smile and Bucky scoffs. 

“Y/n, please don’t encourage it,” Bucky complains and y/n lets out a heavenly giggle. 

“Bucky. I’m not encouraging anything, but the fact he’ll win,” she remarks and he rolls his eyes exasperatedly. 

“That’s encouraging him to fight in the first place,” he remarks and she shrugs, making him roll his eyes. 

“Well, come on. Gotta get you fixed up for that date,” she affirms as she grabs my hand and starts to pull me to her bathroom. 

“Did ya at least get one punch in?” Y/n asks as she pushes me to sit on her toilet and starts to get her supplies she keeps for this exact reason. 

“No.. he blocked it,” I murmur and she just smile at me. 

“There’s always next time, bubs. I know you’ll get one in next time,” she reiterates what she said before. 

“I heard that! Stop encouraging him to fight, y/n!” Bucky shouts from her living room. 

“Oh! You heard no such thing!” she yells back before turning to me and putting a finger to her lips, telling me to be quiet. 

“I like your moxie, Steve. Keep it. Don’t ever lose it,” she tells me as she puts a hand on my cheek, rubbing it lightly before going back to cleaning my cuts. 

“Did he tell you he tried to enlist again? Under another alias?” Bucky asks as he comes into the bathroom and leans on the door watching as she cleans at my lip. 

“No. Steve? Did you?” she asks and I sigh before nodding. 

“Stevie. I know you want to help, but please don’t do that. You could get caught. Then where would I be after you go away for it? Stuck with this pain in the neck… no, I really don’t think I could handle that…” she deadpans, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder at him and I laugh when Bucky’s face falls. 

“Hey! I wouldn’t be so bad to be stuck with!” he proclaims, making me and y/n laugh. 

“Sorry to tell you, Buck… but it’d be absolute torture. I need Steve more than you…” she jokes and he scoffs before shaking his head. 

“Oh, stop being all in cahoots, you knuckleheads,” Bucky grumbles with a frown, making me and y/n laugh. 

“Awe, Buck, I’m just ragging on you. That’s all,” y/n professes with another giggle. 

“Ragging on me? No, no it doesn't work that way. I’m the one who’s always supposed to be ragging on you. Not the other way around,” Bucky explains and she giggles. 

“Buck, it’s way above my pay grade to not be ragging on you,” y/n jokes back and he just huffs as he crosses his arms. 

“Whatever you say, doll,” Bucky settled as he shook his head still leaned against the door frame. 

“They're all done. The dame that’s going out with you tonight is a real lucky girl, Stevie, treat her right tonight. You hear me?” she tells me as she pokes my chest and Bucky bursts out laughing. 

“Y/n, you're the only girl he’s ever really been around. With the way he treats you, doll, I really don’t think Steve could harm a soul,” Bucky bursts out and y/n rolls her eyes. 

“Every guy is capable of hurting someone at least once, Buck. Whether it be physically or mentally. Even our Steve is capable of it. I love Steve and you, but you're still men in the 40s,” she explains and Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“And you’ll always be our doll. I promise I’ll treat her well,” I agree with her and she smiles an almost sad, soft smile at me. 

“Good. Now get going, I gotta get ready,” she tells us as she pushes us towards the door. 

“Boys, wait…” she exclaims as Buck opens the door. 

We both turn around and before I know it, I’m being pulled into a bone-crushing hug. I hug her back, confused, but I hear her sniffle. 

“What’s wrong, y/n? Are you ok?” I ask her and she quickly nods. 

“I’m ok, Stevie,” she responds before squeezing me one last time. 

“I love you, ok. Just remember that,” she whispers in my ear before she fully pulls away and I arch an eyebrow when I see her eyes are rimmed red. 

“I love you too. You know I always will,” I tell her and she softly smiles at me. 

“Can you give me and Buck a minute, Steve?” she asks and I give her a thoughtful look. 

“Sure. I’ll be just outside,” I say, pointing over my shoulder. 

Y/n’s Pov: 

“Bucky. If I’m not here for when you leave tomorrow, promise me you’ll give this to Steve,” I tell Bucky as I hand him the fat envelope that I had put my letter and a few other things to Steve in. 

“What? What do you mean you won’t be here?” he asks and I shake my head. 

“I can’t tell you. Government stuff…” I explain and his eyes widen. 

“Your aunt…” Bucky gasps out and I nod. 

“It’s time I take her place. Don’t worry, I won’t be the only girl. What’s your station going to be?” I ask him and he shakes his head in disbelief. 

“No. You were supposed to stay here and be with Steve,” he fights back and I sigh. 

“That was the plan, Buck… but I didn’t predict my aunt being killed in action then me needing to go take her place. What is your station?” I ask again and he rubs his face in frustration. 

“The 107th…” he reluctantly tells me and I shrug. 

“At least we’ll be together. Best friends helping one another through war,” I joke, but tears fill my eyes and I start to shake. 

“I don’t want to leave him all alone, Bucky,” I mutter as my tears start to fall now. 

“Oh, doll. Come here.” Bucky pulls me into a hug. 

“Why don’t you just tell him? You told me. Then maybe he’ll understand,” Bucky tries to reason with me and I shake my head. 

“There’s nothing to understand, Buck. My aunt told Erskine herself that she wanted me and not my cousin. She knew that I’d handle it far better,” I explain and Bucky sighs. 

“I really wish you didn’t have to go,” Bucky sympathizes with me and I choke back a sob. 

“Me too, but I have no other choice,” I explain as I try to hold back another sob. 

“But if for some reason I die over there, you give him this,” I tell him as I hit my knuckle against the thick envelope. 

“I promise I will…” Bucky says before he’s hugging me again. 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I state sadly and he nods. 

“Wait! I forgot to give you yours,” I exclaim before I rush back over to my desk to grab Bucky’s letter. 

“Just promise me, you’ll only read it if I don’t make it home,” I choke out as I hand it to him and he nods with sadness all over his face. 

“So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Bucky asks and I nod sadly. 

He gives me one last half-hearted smile before he shoves the letters into his jacket. I watch as he leaves my house and pats Steve on the back as they both walk off. Steve turns and gives me one last wave and I wave back as I lean against the door frame. 

I watch as they push each other back and forth until they're out of sight. I shake my head with a light smile before walking back into my house. I walk back into my room and see my suitcase half packed. 

I finish packing up my suitcase before sighing as a knock is sounded on the door. I walk out to the door and open it. 

“Dr. Erskine, hello,” I greet the older man in front of me. 

“Hello, dear. Are you ready to go? We need to make a stop by one of the recruitment buildings on our way out,” he explains and I nod as he holds out his hand before motioning for my suitcase. 

“Oh. Thank you. Just let me turn all the lights out,” I explain and he nods as he takes my suitcase for me. 

I walk back to my room and take one last look around at it. A tear falls down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away before sighing. I then turn off the light before walking back out to the living room and catching the rest of the lights off as I go. When all the lights are off, I walk out and turn around to lock the apartment door. 

After locking up, I turn around to see Erskine holding a car door open for me. I walk over and give him a light smile before getting into the car. He gets in next to me before telling the driver he can go. 

The driver drives for a while before coming up to a recruitment building. Erskine leans forward and talks with the driver for a moment before turning back to me. 

“Ok dear, the driver is going to take you to the plane where you’ll fly over with Howard Stark. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at camp,” he explains and I nod as I give him a light smile. 

“When you get to camp, you’ll be introduced to Miss Peggy Carter. She’ll share your tent with you as well as work alongside you. She’ll inform you more on your job once you get there,” he explains and I nod in understanding, making him smile. 

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow!” he reiterates as he gets out of the car. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr.,” I respond before the door closes. 

He waves at me and I wave back before the driver pulls the car out of its spot. I watch with my forehead against the window as the driver passes all the places I knew growing up. I let a few tears fall as I see the diner Steve would always take me to after nightmares. 

“Ma’am, are you ok?” The driver asks as he makes eye contact with me though the rear view mirror. 

“I’m fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m y/n,” I respond and he lightly smiles at me. 

“Edwin Jarvis Ma’am, but everyone just calls me Jarvis,” Edwin explains as he gives me a small nod. 

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Jarvis,” I tell him with a smile and he gives a nod. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Miss y/n,” he responds with another smile. 

“I hear you’ll be flying over with Mr. Stark. Good luck. He’s a lot sometimes,” he explains with a chuckle as he shakes his head. 

“Do you work for him?” I ask and he nods his head. 

“Yes, I do. I’m his family’s butler. I’ve been with them since he was maybe five,” Jarvis explains with a proud smile. 

“Well I’m sure he appreciates you very much,” I comment with a smile and he smiles back. 

He continues to drive for a while before pulling up next to a plane. He gets out before coming around to open my door for me and I smile at him as I get out. I turn and look at the plane to see someone standing by the stairs. 

“That would be Mr. Stark. He just finished his futuristic show,” Jarvis explains as he pulls my suitcase out for me. 

“Thank you, Jarvis. I hope we get to meet again,” I tell him as I turn to him and he nods. 

“As do I, Miss y/n,” Jarvis replies before handing me my suitcase. 

A well put together man who looks around my age comes over to us. “Ahh, you must be y/n. Alacia’s niece, correct? I’m Howard. It’s nice to meet you, dear,” he says.

“Yeah, that’s me. I was hoping I’d never have to do this, but I wasn’t anticipating auntie Alacia dying,” I explain and he nods solemnly. 

“Well I am sorry to hear about poor Alacia, we were real good friends,” he explains and I give him a sad nod as we start to walk towards the plane. 

“I’m afraid I didn’t know her very well. She was already busy working with the government by the time my mama died,” I explain and he frowns, shaking his head. 

“Well she certainly knew about you, my dear. She was always showing me pictures of you growing up when your mother would send them to her. You were what mattered most to her, my dear,” he explains as he puts a hand on my shoulder and my eyes widen. 

“Really? Cause my mama said she didn’t want anything to do with me…” I mutter out and he shakes his head. 

“All a cover story, doll. She had to stay away to protect you,” he explains some more and I shake my head in disbelief, making us stop a few feet in front of the plane. 

“I don’t believe you,” I timidly squeak out and he holds up a finger. 

“Of course you wouldn’t, you're just like her, you know,” he informs me as he pulls what looks like a wallet out of his back pocket.  

“Here. She kept one just like it with her all the time,” he explains as he pulls something out of the wallet and holds a picture out to me. 

“What? How do you have a baby picture of me?” I ask in shock as I look at the picture of myself. 

“Your aunt…” he starts, but trails off as he gives a dismissive wave in the air. 

“She gave me one when I said how adorable you were one time. She had older photos of you, but I liked this one. You looked so young and cute with your hair all done up,” Howard explains and I feel a blush rise to my cheeks. 

“Thank you. It’s nice to hear I had family I didn’t know around. I always thought of myself as a stray cat after mama passed. I mean I had the boys, but I guess I had you and my auntie out there too,” I timidly explain and he grins. 

“You became part of the team dear, even while not being around. I started to think of you like a sister,” he continues to explain as I just hold the picture:

“Well I hope we can really get to know one another then,” I reply as I give the picture back to him. 

“Glad to hear it! I’m sure we will. Come on then, best be going,” he declares as he puts a hand on my back before starting to lead me to the plane. 

“Oh wait!” I shout out as I set my suitcase down before running over to Jarvis. 

“Bye, Jarvis. I’ll see you soon, ok?” I promise as I pull him into a hug and he smiles as he hugs me. 

“Ok, Miss. See you soon,” he agrees before pulling away from the hug. 

“Hopefully very soon,” I nod in agreement before taking a step back. 

I give him one last wave before fully turning around to see Howard now handing my suitcase over to someone. The person takes it from him and walks away, I can only assume it’s to put it away for the flight. With one last sigh I grab onto my locket that has both the boys in it before starting up the stairs of the plane.

~Time Skip~

“Morning dear. Time to wake up,” I hear as I open my eyes slowly. I see Howard standing over me with a smile. I rub at my eyes as I sit up and Howard sits back down in the seat in front of me. 

“Where are we exactly? Dr. Erskine didn’t exactly tell me where we’re going to be stationed,” I ask through a yawn and Howard lets out a chuckle. 

“Right now you and I are in Paris, but when we head to camp you’ll be at Camp Lehigh in New Jersey,” Howard explains as he gets up out of his seat. 

“Wait, why Paris?” I quickly ask and Howard’s eyebrows furrow. 

“Did Erskine tell you nothing?” Howard asks in an angered voice. 

“No. He did not. He said Peggy Carter would fill me in,” I explain and he sighs, shaking his head. 

“Damn, Dr. Always leaving me to do it all,” he mutters under his breath before standing straight. 

“We are here to get you your uniform and work gear,” he explains as he walks over to the wall before opening the door to a closet. 

“Here, put this dress on. Your first official job starts now,” he tells me as he throws me a nice navy colored dress:

“Ok…” I agree with slight confusion before walking into the bathroom.

Once I’m done changing, I look at myself in the mirror and sigh. I shift around, feeling uncomfortable in the dress, a dress I’d never normally wear. 

Oh what would Stevie say if he saw me now…

A knock on the door breaks me out of my thoughts and I crack the door open. Howard stands there with a wide smile on his face. 

“You look absolutely beautiful, doll. Here, put some makeup on. Maybe before we leave we can do what me and Peg always do when we’re out here,” he declares as he holds a small bag out to me. 

“Well, thank you. I’ve only ever been called beautiful by two other people,” I bite my lip as I explain and blush a little before walking back into the bathroom leaving the door open as I apply the makeup he gave me. 

“Never had a beau then, I take it?” he asks and I shake my head. 

“No. I have, just none of them were really anything real. It was more just because, ya know?” I try to explain but fail and he laughs. 

“Ahh, so you got boyfriends to get over another boy, am I correct?” he asks with a raised eyebrow at me as I finish up and zip up the bag before walking back out. 

“Yes, ok…” I reluctantly agree and he smiles. 

“Well, what’s his name?” he asks and I chuckle as he eggs me on. 

“His name is Steve. We grew up together. Me, Steve, and our friend Bucky, well actually his name is James Buchanan Barnes, but we’ve always called him Bucky,” I explain and he smiles wide. 

“Well doll, why haven’t you tried anything with him?” he asks and I shrug. 

“I don’t think he’d like me like that. Now, what’s the job?” I ask and he grins, standing up. 

“You're not getting out of this that easily. We’ll continue this conversation later. Anyway, my plan for us to do what me and Peggy do when we come out here works into the plan,” he tells me as he puts a hand on the small of my back and leads me out of the plane. 

“Ok. What are we doing?” I ask as we now start down the stairs of the plane. 

“We’ll be having fondue while gathering information! It’ll be perfect!” he excitedly explains and I raise an eyebrow at him. 

“One, what is fondue, and second, who are we getting information on?” I ask and he gasps like a school girl getting dirty information. 

“You’ve never had fondue?!” he asks and I giggle, shaking my head no. 

“Well, then let's go quickly! You must have some fondue!” he shouts as he holds the door to the awaiting car open for me. 

“Ok. I guess I’m having fondue,” I reply with a giggle before he’s closing the door and running around to get in himself. 

“Trust me. You’ll love it,” he promises before he leans forward to tell the driver to drive. 

The driver starts to drive and before I know it, he’s pulling up to a nice looking restaurant. I smile as Howard gets out and opens my door for me before holding an arm out to me. 

“Play along. We have to look like a couple out having fun,” he whispers into my ear as I grab onto his arm and walk with him. 

“Of course, dear,” I agree though a giggle and he smiles. 

“You're a natural at this. No wonder your aunt named you instead of your cousin. I’ve met her, she wouldn’t be able to just blend in the way you are, dear,” he beams with a bright smile. 

“She is a little bland sometimes…” I agree and he throws his head back laughing. 

“This friendship is starting out very well, my dear,” he states as he pulls my chair out for me. 

“Yes. I would say it most definitely is, Howard. Thank you,” I agree as I take a seat in the chair. 

I pull my chair in as he takes a seat across from me. A waitress comes up to the table and Howard speaks with her in French. When they're done talking, the waitress walks off and he turns to me with a grin. 

“So, where is this fondue you speak so highly of?” I ask as I look over the menu before realizing I can’t read it. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve already ordered it. She’ll be back with it and to take our drink order shortly,” Howard explains and I sigh. 

“Thank you. I wouldn’t have been able to even read the menu,” I respond and he smiles as he shrugs. 

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. You’ll be learning French and so much more through this job,” he informs me and I nod. 

“Do you have any other languages under your belt?” he asks and I nod proudly. 

“One summer, my mamma thought it’d be good for me to learn something new, so she had me learn Italian,” I mention with a proud smile and he nods. 

“That probably was more your aunt than your mamma, dear,” he comments and my eyes widen in shock. 

“What do you mean more my auntie than my mamma?” I ask and he sighs as he takes a moment. 

“I mean your aunt most likely wanted you to know at least one other language before coming into the job. So she probably hinted at it to your mother,” he explains and I’m at a loss for words. 

“She… she…” I choke out and he places a hand on mine. 

“She really did love you, dear girl. She just couldn’t be there with you,” he spoke softly as he gave my hand a squeeze. 

“I just always thought she hated me. Learning she loved me from afar is just hard to believe, but you’ve truly made me believe it,” I explain as I wipe at a tear and he smiles softly at me. 

“Well my dear, you have me now and I’m sure you’ll have Peggy too after you meet her. She doesn’t exactly do what you and I do, but she helps out when she can,” he tells me and he smiles one last smile at me before the fondue comes to our table. 

“What would you like to drink?” he asks me as the waitress sets down the breadsticks along with sliced apples and a bowl. 

“Oh. Just water for me,” I affirm and he nods before talking to the waitress. 

“Well, are you going to try it?!” he asks with a raised eyebrow as the waitress walks away. 

“Of course I am. You didn’t even give me a chance to!” I joke and he chuckles, shaking his head before holding his hand out over the food. 

I grab a breadstick and tear it in two before dipping it into the bowl. After dipping it, I hold my hand under it as I move it up to my mouth and take a bite. The flavors mix together in my mouth amazingly and I let out a light moan at the taste. 

After I’m done chewing, I look up at Howard who’s smirking at me. I roll my eyes before dabbing my napkin around my mouth. 

“My, you weren’t kidding. That stuff is amazing,” I declare and Howard chuckles. 

“See, stick with me doll and you’ll try many new things,” he states with a wink and I giggle lightly. 

“Me and Pegs come almost weekly, just so we can get away from everything,” he explains and I nod in understanding. 

“Well I hope to join you in some of your getaways,” I note and he smiles as the waitress brings our drinks and sets them down. 

“Of course you can, my dear! It’ll be the three of us fonduing!” he proclaims and my face twists up in disdain. 

“Yeah, maybe we don’t call it that,” I inform and he chuckles. 

“Why ever not! It could be our code name for it,” he responds and I roll my eyes before giggling. 

“Ok, Howard, fonduing it is,” I reluctantly agree and he grins. 

“Perfect! It’s settled!” he beams and I nod as I pick up another breadstick to break in half. 

We continue to eat as Howard carefully watches a guy across the room. Soon all the fondue is gone and Howard is standing from his chair. 

“Come now, darling, our job here is done,” he tells me and I get up. 

“Really? But all we did was sit here and eat fondue,” I muse as he puts his hand on my back. 

“All you did was eat fondue. I, on the other hand, surveillanced who we needed to. Even got pictures of him,” Howard explains as he leads me to the car. 

“Wha- how…?” I ask in shock and Howard chuckles. 

“This is what you will get good at my dear, but in due time. For now I want your first real job to be a success,” he tells me as he opens the car door and lets me in first before getting in himself. 

“To the plane, Jarvis!” he declares and the driver turns around. 

“Of course, sir. Hello, Miss y/n, nice to see you again,” Jarvis responds with a smile before turning to me. 

“Good to see you too, Jarvis,” I reply and he smiles before starting up the car. 

He drives us back to the plane and we get into it. Howard hands me a new set of clothes, telling me it’s my uniform before sitting down. I walk into the bathroom and change before coming back out. 

“Sleep, my dear sister. We have a long journey back,” Howard tells me and I smile slightly at him as I put my new dress into my suitcase. 

“You too, Howard. Sleep well,” I tell my new friend and he smiles at me before closing his eyes and resting back in his seat. 

I sit in my seat and lean back with a light smile on my face. Before I know it, I’m being woken up by Howard again. 

“Wake up, dear. We’re here,” he announces softly as I blink my eyes open. 

“Hmm. Good morning, H,” I reply sleepily as I rub my eyes. 

We both pick up our stuff before heading out and when the door opens we see all the soldiers training. Howard leads me over to the ladies tent and helps me with my bag. 

“Welcome to camp, my dear,” Howard beams as he sets my bag down by one of the only two beds. 

“Thank you, H,” I reply and he smiles. 

“I like the new nickname, dear. And you're very welcome. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning in the head office to get you acquainted with everything. Peggy should be in for bed soon,” he explains and I nod as I roll out one of the mattresses. 

“Goodnight, doll!” Howard shouts as he leaves and I giggle. 

“Goodnight!” I shout back before plopping down on my bed. 

I let out a puff of breath before shaking my head in disbelief of how my day has gone. I smile lightly before standing up and getting ready for bed. Sleeping on an army cot doesn’t sound too appealing, but I am sure I’ll get used to it very soon. 

To Be Continued…

If your user has a strike though it means we were unable to tag you and we are terribly sorry.

Tag List: Add Yourself Here

Scooby and Dean share a sandwich 🥪🫶

Can I request a steve mix tape

I got you bby!! Hope you like it!!

My Only Wish This Year

(gif credit to the creator)

Part One

Master List

Pairing: Jensen x Reader Word Count: 2,249 Warnings: angsty teens, mentions of death, mentions of a dead parent, mentions of a dead spouse A/N: I’M BACK BITCHES!!!! I haven’t posted writing on this blog in exactly two years and seven months. I’m happy to be back and to be back writing Jensen. Writing Jensen (and Dean) always seems to come easiest to me so it makes sense that this was the way to go. If you’d like to be tagged let me know, in an ask (it’s the best way for me to keep track)! Hope you guys like it! Anyway, feedback for this is crucial seeing as I’m just stepping back in! :)

Keep reading

Good Girl

Max Verstappen x Wolff!Reader

Summary: Max wants to take care of you in every way possible, so you let him (much to your father’s displeasure)

Warnings: 18+ content

The muffled sound of raised voices catches Max’s attention as he walks past the back of the Mercedes motorhome. He slows his pace, straining to make out the words.

One of the voices unmistakably belongs to the Austrian team principal but the other is higher-pitched … feminine. Max’s curiosity is piqued as a snippet of the argument reaches his ears.

“But I hate it, Papa! I’m miserable!”

He knows that voice, even though it is now fraught with anguish. Max stops in his tracks, hesitating. He knows he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but his concern for you overrides his better judgment.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Liebchen,” Toto Wolff’s gruff tones reach Max’s ears. “This is for your own good. You need to finish your degree and make something of yourself.”

“I don’t want to make something of myself!” You cry out, your words laced with despair. “I just want to be happy!”

Max’s heart clenches at the pain in your voice. He’s never seen you anything less than perfectly composed, always carrying yourself with the poise expected of a team principal’s daughter. To hear you so distraught tugs at something deep inside him.

“Don’t be absurd,” Toto scoffs. “Happiness doesn’t come from idleness. It comes from hard work and achievement.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just marry rich then!” You retort, defiance tingeing your tone.

A surprised laugh bursts from Toto. “Is that what you think? That some wealthy man will sweep you off your feet and give you everything your heart desires?”

“Why not?” You sound small and vulnerable now. “At least then I wouldn’t be so miserable all the time.”

“I didn’t raise you to be some man’s ornament,” Toto snaps, his voice taking on a hard edge. “You’re my daughter — strong, intelligent, and capable. Finish your studies and make your own success. That’s an order.”

There’s a bitter silence, and Max can picture the imperious set of Toto’s jaw, the fire in his eyes when he’s crossed. He feels for you, truly, but he also knows how stubborn and uncompromising your father can be.

You sniffle, and Max’s heart twists imagining your lovely face crumpled with tears. “I … I can’t, Papa. I just can’t do it anymore.”

“Enough of this nonsense!” Toto’s voice is like a clap of thunder, making Max flinch. “I’ll hear no more. Get it together, Y/N. That’s final.”

There’s a flurry of footsteps, and Max instinctively steps back into the shadows as Toto storms out from behind the motorhome, his expression thunderous. He brushes past without sparing Max a glance.

Only you remain, your soft cries tearing at Max’s soul. Before he can overthink it, he rounds the corner towards you.

You’re a vision even with your eyes reddened and cheeks stained with tears. Max has admired you from afar for years, secretly yearning for more than your warm smiles and friendly small talk. Seeing you so undone breaks his heart.

“Y/N?” He murmurs, reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. You jump, gasping at his sudden presence. “I … I couldn’t help overhearing.”

Heat floods your cheeks as you hurriedly wipe at your face. “M-Max? I … you shouldn’t have ...”

“Hey, it’s alright.” His thumb strokes your shoulder in a soothing gesture. “I’ve been there too — feeling crushed under the weight of expectations. It’s okay not to be okay sometimes.”

You shake your head, a watery laugh escaping you. “You don’t understand. My father, he’s … it’s complicated.”

“So uncomplicate it for me,” Max says simply, holding your gaze. “Let me take you to dinner tonight. Get your mind off everything for a little while.”

Your eyes widen, and you nibble at your full lower lip — a gesture Max finds utterly captivating. “Oh, I … I couldn’t. Papa would be furious if he found out.”

“He doesn’t have to know.” The words slip out before Max can reconsider their forwardness. Heat prickles at the back of his neck, but he refuses to look away. “Just take a night for yourself, Y/N. You deserve it.”

You worry at your lip, internal conflict playing out on your expressive features. Max can practically see the warring thoughts flitting through your mind.

“Please,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck an errant curl behind your ear. Your breath catches at the gentle contact. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Something sparks in your eyes — acceptance, resignation … or perhaps a hint of excitement? Max couldn’t say. But when you nod, his heart stutters in his chest.

“Okay,” you whisper, sending Max’s pulse racing. “I’d like that.”

A slow smile curves his lips. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up outside your hotel at 8 tonight.” He takes a chance, reaching up to trace the line of your jaw with his knuckles. “Wear something pretty for me?”

The corner of your mouth ticks up in a small grin, and Max feels like he could float away at the sight. “It’s a date.”

With a dimpled wink and a last caress of your silken cheek, Max turns and saunters away, already counting down the hours until he can sweep you off your feet — however briefly. He only hopes one night in his company provides a respite from the burdens weighing you down.

You watch Max stride away, a curious fluttering taking wing in your stomach. Despite the turmoil still lingering from your fight with your father, you can’t deny the thrill that courses through you at Max’s tender attention.

There was a heat in his eyes that had your breath catching — a scorching intensity you’ve never noticed from him before. Like he was seeing all of you, the pain and insecurities you typically hide from the world, and accepting it all without judgment.

His gentle touches had set your skin tingling, leaving you flushed and flustered in a way you’re unaccustomed to. You can’t remember the last time someone looked at you the way Max did — like the weight of all his focus was centered on you alone, searing into your very soul.

Despite the circumstances, you find yourself unexpectedly … excited for tonight. To temporarily shed the burdens your father is so intent on piling onto your shoulders. To let someone else take the lead for once, absolving you of responsibility and expectations.

To let Max take care of you.

The thought sends a delicious shiver down your spine. Allowing yourself a moment of selfishness, of disregarding your father’s disapproval, you relish the delicious sense of anticipation unfurling within you.

For once, you think as you head inside to prepare yourself for your clandestine date, you’re going to indulge your own desires — if only for a few hours. Your father may call it idleness, but you call it sanity.

And if Max’s heated gaze is any indication, he seems more than happy to oblige you.

***

Precisely at 8 PM, Max idles his sleek Valkyrie hypercar outside your hotel’s entrance, eagerly scanning the revolving doors. He doesn’t have to wait long before you emerge, and the sight of you has his breath catching in his throat.

You’ve opted for a slim-fitting cocktail dress in a deep burgundy hue that clings to your curves in all the right places. The plunging neckline and thigh-grazing hemline leave just enough to Max’s imagination, stoking a slow burn of desire low in his belly. Your hair tumbles in artful waves over one shoulder, and you’ve accentuated your lips with a sultry red stain that makes Max’s mouth go dry.

He barely registers popping the passenger door and rounding the car until he’s standing before you, drinking in every delicious detail from your smoky eye makeup to the skyscraper heels lending those gorgeous legs an endless line.

“Y/N,” he rasps out, voice thick with undisguised appreciation. “You look … incredible.”

A becoming flush steals across your cheeks at the naked admiration in his tone. Ducking your head shyly, you murmur, “Thank you, Max. I wasn’t sure if this was too much or ...”

“Not at all,” he cuts you off firmly, unable to tear his hungry stare away from you. “You’re stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

Offering his arm, he escorts you to the car and helps you inside before joining you in the driver’s seat. As he pulls away, he has to force himself to keep his eyes trained on the road rather than drifting hungrily over every dip and swell of your body.

Max selects one of the finest restaurants in the city — an intimate establishment where the lighting is dim and romantic. The maitre d’ leads you to a secluded table in the back, discreetly ensuring your privacy.

Once seated across from you, Max can’t resist reaching across the table to take your hand, marveling at how tiny and delicate your fingers feel engulfed in his calloused grip. It’s a heady sensation, being so close and allowed to touch.

One he wants more of.

You go to take a leather-bound menu with a shy smile, but Max simply slides it aside and shakes his head.

“Don’t strain yourself tonight, schatje,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Let me take care of everything.”

Surprise flits across your lovely features, but then understanding and gratitude replace it as you nod mutely. He can sense the relief in you at being temporarily absolved of responsibility, even over something as simple as choosing your meal.

A subtle tilt of his head summons the waiter, and Max orders a selection of the finest dishes and robust wine for you to share — decadent fare perfectly suited to indulging your every whim this evening.

As the waiter departs, Max leans back and simply drinks you in, admiring the elegant line of your neck and curve of your jaw. You seem to bask under his appreciative scrutiny, almost … preening for him. It’s utterly intoxicating.

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” He asks lowly, searching your face. “After everything with your father earlier ...”

Your eyes shutter briefly at the mention of Toto, but you regain your equilibrium swiftly and offer Max a patently forced smile. “I’m alright. Just … trying not to think about it too hard tonight.”

“Good.” He strokes his thumb over your knuckles soothingly. “Because tonight is about forgetting all your cares and letting someone else handle everything for once.”

The promise in his words has your pulse fluttering wildly in your veins. You know you shouldn’t indulge this … whatever this is … with Max. That it could court disastrous consequences. But there’s something about him — about the way he looks at you, touches you, and speaks to you — that just saps your will to resist.

Perhaps it’s the bone-deep weariness you’ve been carrying from your ongoing battles with your father. Or the guilty craving you haven’t allowed yourself to admit to — the need to simply surrender control for once and let someone else bear the burdens weighing you down.

Whatever it is, you find it impossible not to fall headlong into the solace Max is offering so freely.

The waiter reappears with a bottle of bold Cabernet, carefully filling your glass before departing again. Max lifts his in a silent toast, and you mimic the gesture, reveling in the rich notes that flood your senses.

From there, the evening slips into a blissful cocoon of easy conversation and succulent food that Max deftly applies himself to serving you bite by bite. Each time his long fingers brush your lips as you accept a morsel, a frisson of electricity zips through you.

He pays immaculate attention to your smallest reactions, quickly discerning your preferences even before you voice them. It’s uncanny — and utterly disarming — how seamlessly Max seems to anticipate your every need without fuss or demand.

You can’t recall the last time you felt so … cherished. So indulged and seen. Like Max’s entire world revolves around you and you alone in these stolen moments.

It’s heady and intoxicating, this total surrender of control. And as the hours wind down over lingering sips of wine and heated looks, you find yourself all but drunk on the experience … on Max.

Eventually, once the dining room has emptied and the candles burned low, Max summons the waiter to settle the check with an imperious wave of his hand. He declines your attempts to assist, fixing you with a look that brooks no argument.

“Tonight is my treat,” he says simply, dropping a small fortune onto the tray with a casual air. “I’m not done taking care of you yet, schatje.”

A delicious shiver races down your spine at his words, your thoughts growing hazy and unfocused under the scorching weight of his stare. You can only nod numbly, incapable of voicing even token protest.

Pushing back from the table, Max rounds it in two long strides and pulls you to your feet, linking hands with yours. He holds your gaze as he brushes a kiss across your knuckles, letting his lips linger in a way that has heat pooling low in your belly.

“Back to my hotel?” He husks, voice gone rough in a way that steals your breath. “Or shall I take you home, printsesse?”

For a long, dizzying moment, the two of you simply stare into each other’s eyes, the intimate moment stretched taut like a tightrope. Then, as if in a trance, you find yourself shaking your head slowly.

“Your hotel,” you whisper before you can reconsider. It’s utterly mad, this reckless pull you’re surrendering to. But God help you, you can’t bring yourself to care.

A slow, heated smile curves Max’s lips as he nods sharply. Without a word, he tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow and escorts you from the restaurant.

You move almost in a fugue state, allowing Max to lead you with a surety you envy as he bundles you into his gleaming sports car once more. The ride to his hotel passes in a blur, punctuated only by the possessive weight of Max’s palm on your thigh and the fevered glances he keeps sending you from the driver’s seat.

By the time the valet has whisked his car away, all you can clearly process is the burn of Max’s fingers tangled with yours and the thrumming weight of his presence at your side. Everything else — anxiety, obligation, expectation — fades into insignificance under his piercing gaze.

He tugs you into the shadows of the hotel atrium and crowds you against a corner, his free hand coming up to trace the line of your jaw reverently. You go pliant against the hard plane of his chest, tilting your head back to maintain the searing lock of your gazes.

“Still with me, Y/N?” Max rumbles, the rough velvet of his voice sending sparks of need ricocheting through you.

You nod slowly, unconsciously wetting your lips — an action which has Max’s eyes riveting on your mouth hungrily. “Yes, Max. I’m here.”

His thumb brushes over the fullness of your lower lip with maddening tenderness. “Good girl.”

Those two words should not affect you the way they do — like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath while simultaneously stoking a raging inferno within. You can’t even begin to process the riot of sensations they provoke.

You simply let yourself be swept away in the wake of Max’s intensity, melting into the solid shelter of his embrace as he claims your mouth in a devouring kiss.

Max’s kiss quickly grows fevered and consuming, his tongue delving hungrily to explore the honeyed depths of your mouth. You melt against him, fingers clutching at the hard planes of his back as you surrender to the dizzying haze of desire he’s stoked within you.

He walks you backwards without breaking the molten seal of your lips, until your back meets the wall with a muffled thump. Emboldened by your soft whimper, Max pins you there with the solid weight of his body, hips tilting into yours as his hands roam feverishly over your curves.

You’re drowning, overwhelmed by the potent storm of Max’s passion. It sweeps away every stray thought, every lingering worry about duty and obligation, leaving you delirious and pliant in his arms. All that exists is the scorching brand of his mouth, the iron strength of his embrace, and the maddening friction of him pressing you into the unforgiving wall.

It’s everything and nothing like you imagined. More intense, more explosive, more overwhelming in its ability to strip away every pretense and doubt until there’s nothing left but raw need.

Max finally releases your lips with a ragged groan, pressing his brow to yours as you both gulp down air in harsh pants. His palms smooth over your hips, up your sides, cupping the underside of your breasts through the thin material of your dress.

“God, printsesse,” he rasps, voice wrecked in a way that has you clenching with fresh desire. “You’re so fucking perfect, do you know that?”

You can only whimper, thoughts scattered like leaves on the wind as he ducks to mouth wet, open kisses along the column of your throat. Every brush of his lips is like a brand, searing into your very core.

“And tonight ...” Another nip at your racing pulse has you arching shamelessly into him. “Tonight you’re mine. All mine.”

His hands slide beneath the hem of your skirt, bunching it around your waist as his fingers trace the lace edges of your stockings. You keen softly at the electric jolt of sensation, nails scoring down his shoulders and back.

“Max ...”

“Shhh, schatje ...” His tongue laves at the hollow of your throat, lips trailing a heated path up the line of your jaw until he’s devouring you again. The demanding sweep of his tongue robs you of breath, of thought, of everything but the exquisite present of his touch. “Just let go. No thinking. I’ll take care of everything.”

His words are like a mantra, a siren’s call urging you to surrender utterly to the exhilarating oblivion he offers. To shed every burden and float away on the current of his undivided devotion.

So you do. With a broken whimper, you sag in his arms, giving yourself over completely to Max’s intoxicating command. The doors of your suite can’t come soon enough.

Max can barely keep his hands off you during the agonizing elevator ride up to his penthouse. As soon as the doors close, cutting you off from prying eyes, he has you pinned against the mirrored wall, hands roaming feverishly over your body.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps against the slick column of your throat. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this. Of having you.”

You whimper shamelessly as his teeth graze the thundering pulse under your jaw, hips rocking helplessly against his muscled thigh that’s wedged between your legs. The delicious friction has sparks of pleasure-pain arcing through your nerves in dizzying waves.

With deft motions borne of practiced skill, Max strips you of your dress, leaving you clad in only a scrap of wine-colored lace before lifting you easily. You lock your legs around his narrow hips as he mouths hungry kisses along the swell of your chest, callused palms kneading the generous curve of your backside.

The elevator judders to a halt and the doors slide open, but neither of you pay it any mind. Max simply shifts you higher in his arms and carries you down the hallway, your shared gasps and muffled groans echoing off the plush carpets and paneled walls.

Finally, he’s nudging open the door to his suite with his shoulder, barely waiting for it to click shut again before slamming you against the nearest surface. You scarcely register that it’s a sturdy oak desk before Max is divesting you of the remaining flimsy barriers between your bodies with sharp tugs and deft fingers.

He stands you before him, towering and scorching with building intensity as his gaze tracks from your flushed face down to where your thighs are already starting to grow slick in anticipation. A punched-out groan tears from his chest.

“Fuck, printsesse,” he growls, palming the rigid length straining against his slacks as he drinks in the sight of you laid bare before him. “So fucking gorgeous. Made for me.”

With a sharp nip of his teeth against the swell of your breast, he urges you back until you’re bent over the desk’s edge. Cool wood presses against the heated flesh of your belly and breasts, making you gasp.

“Max ...” you keen, reaching for him with shaking hands.

But he bats them away with a low rumble, pinning your wrists against the desks’ burnished surface. His lips scald a path down your spine as he looms over you from behind, thick cockhead prodding teasingly at your entrance.

“So responsive, schatje" he praises in a gravelly rasp, free hand gliding down to pluck at your engorged nipples. “Always so ready for me, aren’t you?”

You can only whine wordlessly, squirming against the delicious torture of his touch as he takes his time mapping every dip and swell of your body. Marking you as his own by searing himself into your senses through each languid caress.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of exquisite torment, Max sheaths himself in one powerful thrust that punches the air from your lungs. He stills for a long moment, buried to the hilt, broad chest plastered to your back as you both shudder and gasp for air.

“Max … oh fuck, Max please ...”

With an animalistic growl, he complies — withdrawing nearly all the way before snapping his hips in a punishing grind that has your nails scoring the desk’s glossy veneer and guttural cries tearing from your throat.

From there, it’s a haze of sweat-slicked skin and desperate keens, of Max taking you apart with lavish, calculating precision. He’s utterly relentless, wringing every ounce of pleasure from your joined bodies until you’re hovering in a blissful state of oblivion.

It’s everything and yet not enough all at once. You’re ruined for anyone else, forever branded by his ferocious intensity. You’re addicted to the escape he offers from your doubts and burdens.

And as Max’s harsh grunts and increasingly erratic thrusts signal his impending release, you welcome the sweeping wave of darkness that accompanies your own shattering climax.

You’re his now. Utterly and completely. And you’ve never felt so free.

Later, with the tangled sheets pooled around your waists, Max gathers you close and strokes idle patterns over your flushed, sweat-slicked skin. Sated and boneless in the aftermath of his lovemaking, you curl into the strong circle of his embrace with a contented sigh.

Idly, Max’s fingers trail through your tousled locks, nails scraping lightly over your scalp in a way that tingles with delicious sensation. You make a soft sound of pleasure, earning a rumbling chuckle from deep in his chest as he presses a kiss to your brow.

“Feel better, printsesse?” He murmurs, voice a low rasp that strokes over you like velvet.

You manage a lazy nod, humming into the heated dip of his throat as you nuzzle closer. “Much better. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, schatje. Truly.”

You lapse into a comfortable silence, savoring the steady thud of his heartbeat under your ear and the soothing drag of his fingertips over your skin. For the first time in ages, your thoughts are utterly quiet, every worry burned away by the man beside you.

It’s like floating in a warm sea, cradled and buoyed by Max’s strength and devotion. Every breath comes easier, your soul unburdened and free in a way you can’t recall experiencing before. You want to bottle this precious feeling forever.

Eventually, Max breaks the tranquil quiet with a murmured, “Tell me why you hate university so much.”

You tense reflexively at the simple question before letting out a shuddering breath, curling closer to Max’s solid frame.

“It’s just … not me. Not who I am,” you mumble, struggling to articulate the turbulent storm of emotions your father’s demands have been stirring within you. “I’m expected to act and think a certain way, to follow rules and meet standards that I can’t bring myself to embrace. It’s suffocating.”

You pause, sifting through your scattered thoughts for the right words. “I’ve never known anything but expectation and obligation, Max. It’s like … being slowly crushed under this ever-increasing weight of being someone I’m not while being denied any chance at discovering my true self.”

Max’s arms tighten around you protectively, his lips brushing over the crown of your head. “So stop,” he says, the simplicity of his words at odds with the complex web of anxiety and disappointment your life has become.

You shake your head wearily. “I can’t. You know my father — he’ll cut me off without a second thought if I so much as breathe about dropping out again.”

Despite the hefty inheritance awaiting you, Toto has always been resolute that his children earn their share through grueling hard work and achievement. To do anything but, even for a moment, is a grievous failure in his eyes.

“No,” Max’s tone brooks no argument, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “Don’t you see? You don’t have to live like that anymore.”

One corded arm slips beneath your waist, rolling you until Max is looming over you, his chiseled features grave and intense. “You have me now,” he states with quiet certainty, words ringing with the weight of a solemn vow. “I’ll take care of you, schatje — no matter what. Even if your father cuts you off.”

The conviction in his voice steals your breath, your heart clenching almost painfully at the naked promise in his eyes. “Max ...” you start to protest weakly, but he quiets you with a brush of his fingertips over your lips.

“Hear me out,” he says, tone gentle but uncompromising. “What if … what if you just dropped out? Quit this half-life that’s slowly killing your spirit and let me take care of you?”

He leans in until his brow is resting against yours, eyes searching the depths of your own. “I know this is new between us. But I’ve wanted you for so long, printsesse. And I know — down to my very soul — that we’re meant for each other.”

A tremulous exhale escapes you, your chest tightening as Max’s words wrap around your heart in a heated embrace. It’s insane, surely — to take such a risk based on attraction and a single incredible night in his arms. But the vision he paints of safety and freedom sings an inescapable siren song you can’t resist.

“I … I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, suddenly afraid to break the delicate spell woven around you both.

“Say yes.” He kisses you reverently, until your lashes flutter shut at the tender onslaught. “Say yes, and let me take care of you, printsesse. The way you deserve to be cherished.”

God help you, but you can feel your resistance crumbling in the face of Max’s single-minded intensity and undeniable allure. He’s everything you’ve been missing — freedom, passion, and hope for something more than the crushing prison of expectation.

So with one last, shaky exhalation, you give in.

“Okay,” you breathe, the dam finally bursting as tears of bewildered relief prick your eyes. “Yes, Max. Yes.”

He claims your lips in a searing, triumphant kiss that leaves you lightheaded and clinging to him. When you part, his smile is brighter than a thousand suns.

“Tomorrow morning,” he vows fiercely against your swollen mouth. “First thing — you’re calling your university and withdrawing. No arguments.”

Your chest clenches sharply at the directive, fear and anxiety lancing through you at the enormity of what you’ve just agreed to. The crushing weight of your father’s disapproval already feels like a lead shroud.

But Max is there, holding you close and peppering your face with soothing kisses. “Shhh, schatje,” he croons, stroking your hair. “Don’t overthink it. This is what you want, isn’t it? To finally be happy and free?”

You manage a jerky nod, melting into the safety of his solid strength. “Y-yes. But ...”

“No buts,” he reproves gently, capturing your gaze again. “It’s you and me now, Y/N. I’ll handle everything else, I swear it. All you need to focus on is finding what makes you happy again. The rest is my problem. Understand?”

You suck in a shaky breath and let it out slowly, wrestling your scattered thoughts into a semblance of order. What Max offers — this safe harbor from all the pressures slowly drowning you from without and within — is everything you’ve been desperate for. Your own private rebellion against the rigid expectations suffocating you at every turn.

If nothing else, you owe it to yourself to take this lifeline.

With a tremulous smile, you curl into Max and nod against his chest. “Okay. I understand.”

“Good girl,” he praises, satisfaction and triumph ringing in his tone as he cradles you tenderly. “Everything’s going to be alright now, printsesse. You’ll see. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

His fingers stroke through your tresses again, the repetitive sweep quickly lulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep. The first of what you hope will be many where you don’t fret and stew over responsibilities and failures.

The last coherent thought that drifts through your mind as you let Max’s strong heartbeat under your ear lull you under is one of bone-deep contentment and relief.

You’re finally, blissfully free.

***

The first faint rays of dawn filter through the gauzy curtains, rousing you from the most restful sleep you’ve had in longer than you can remember. For a blissful moment, you simply bask in the cocoon of warmth and safety enveloping you — the solid weight of Max’s arm draped possessively over your waist, the clean, musky scent of him surrounding you.

Then the gravity of your decision the previous night comes crashing back in a dizzying wave. Your breath hitches in your chest as apprehension and anxiety spark to life once more.

Sensing the shift in your mood, Max stirs behind you with a quiet rumble, nosing aside the tumbled locks at your nape to press a hushed kiss there.

“Morning, printsesse,” he murmurs, voice still roughened from sleep in a way that has something inside you clenching with need. “Sleep well?”

You can only nod, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in your throat as you twist in the circle of his arms to face him. His brow furrows at the clear trepidation playing over your features.

“Hey now,” he soothes, brushing the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone. “None of that, schatje. You know what you need to do.”

Your teeth snag your lower lip in a nervous gesture as you give another jerky nod. Yes, you know. You agreed to call your university this morning and make your break official by withdrawing.

It should be a relief — knowing you’re finally free of all those crushing expectations and obligations. And yet ...

Max must read the swirling doubts and fears etched into the tense lines of your body. Because he simply gathers you closer, cradling the back of your head against his broad chest as his free hand strokes over your hip in a soothing caress.

“I know it’s scary, letting go of everything you’ve been groomed for,” he murmurs, the steady thump of his heart under your ear already working its magic in calming your turbulent emotions. “But this is what you want, isn’t it? To be happy?”

Another nod, this one more decisive. Because despite the trepidation gnawing at your resolve, you know deep down that it will be worth escaping the slow atrophy of your spirit.

“Then trust me. Let me take care of you, just like I promised.”

He tilts your chin up until your gazes lock, his eyes burning with so much intensity and conviction that your breath catches.

“Make the call,” he urges in a low rumble, searing you to your core. “Be brave and take the first step towards your freedom. Towards us.”

Us.

The word reverberates through your veins with dizzying potency, stoking the blossoming embers of hope and longing that have been kindled to life under Max’s tender, all-consuming attentions. He’s right — you do want this. Want him and the scorching promise of something more that he offers.

So with a shuddering exhale, you reach for your phone with trembling fingers and scroll through your contacts. It’s only when you tap the university’s number that the vise around your chest constricts.

You’re really doing this. Cutting ties with everything that’s suppressed your true self for so long.

Before you can lose your nerve, you hit call.

Max soothes you through every stumbling assurance and confirmation that yes, you’re formally withdrawing from your degree program, effective immediately. When the call ends, he cradles your face in his large, calloused palms and simply holds your gaze as you struggle to get your breathing under control.

Then, slowly, a smile blooms over his striking features.

“Well done, printsesse,” he praises, the rough timbre of his tone reverberating through your very bones. “So brave for me.”

And then his mouth is on yours, claiming you in a drugging kiss that swiftly banishes any lingering doubts or regrets thrumming through you. His taste, his scent, his unbridled passion — all of it combines into an intoxicating force that strips everything else away until only sensation remains.

He murmurs silken endearments to you as the desperate, frantic press of his lips gentles into something softer and infinitely more tender. Until finally, he’s simply cradling you close, peppering whisper-light caresses over your brow, your lashes, the flushed apples of your cheeks.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, gleaming with pride as he drinks in your dazed, thoroughly kissed expression. The profoundly peaceful one you haven’t witnessed on your own features in ages. “My brave, beautiful girl.”

And in that suspended moment, everything else — your father’s disappointment, your uncertain future, and the world at large — fades into irrelevance compared to the serenity of being in Max’s arms. Of having his full attention and accepting the release he offers so freely.

A few hours later, Max is escorting you through the familiar paddock with a possessive hand cupping your lower back. There’s a bounce to your strides that hasn’t existed for longer than you can recall, a giddy sense of lightness like all the burdens you’ve been carrying were finally, blissfully lifted away.

You’re practically glowing, the radiant joy suffusing your every pore in a stark transformation from the tense young woman who fought so hard to hide her unhappiness under a brittle veneer.

So caught up are you in the heady exhilaration of your new lease on life that you very nearly don’t register the familiar, thunderous bellow ringing out over the motorhomes.

“Y/N Wolff! Just what in the hell is going on here?”

The blood drains from your face as your father’s irate voice cleaves through the peaceful moment. Beside you, Max stiffens, his palm searing a brand against the small of your back as he half-turns to face the oncoming storm that is Toto Wolff.

Your father is stalking towards you both with the implacable force of an enraged bull, features contorted into a mask of fury that would cow most grown men into instant submission. But not Max. If anything, his shoulders go back as he shifts incrementally in front of you in a subtle, shielding motion.

“Papa, please let me explain-”

“Explain?” Toto roars as he draws up mere feet away, face mottled and spit flying as his blistering glare swings between you and Max. “Explain why I received an email this morning informing me that my own daughter has willfully withdrawn from the university without so much as consulting me!”

You flinch bodily as if struck, guilt and dread roiling sickeningly in the pit of your stomach. No matter how much he’s stifled you or how right this decision feels, your father’s disapproval is every bit as crippling as you’d feared.

“But Papa ...”

“I have half a mind to cut you off without a cent to your name for this unseemly lack of respect!” Toto’s massive hands are clenched into meaty fists at his sides as he fights visibly to regain control over his temper. “You spoiled, selfish girl. All that I’ve sacrificed to give you every opportunity is being thrown back in my face!”

Beside you, Max has gone rigid with rage at the verbal assault being levied upon you. The set of his jaw and rapid flaring of his nostrils are the only outward signs of the barely leashed fury trembling through his frame.

“Toto,” he bites out in a tone of forced calm that still somehow comes laced with subtle menace. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit? Y/N is an adult making her own choices ...”

“Enough!” Toto cuts him off with a contemptuous slash of his hand, bristling with scorn as he glares daggers at the younger man. “I should have known you’d have something to do with this blatant disregard for responsibility. Just like a driver to think only with what’s between his legs rather than his brain!”

A shocked hush falls over the paddock as mechanics and crew alike abruptly still at the team principal’s uncharacteristic loss of composure. Never before have they witnessed Toto’s infamous ire directed towards his own daughter and her … well, whatever Max is to you now.

But Max remains supremely unbowed before the fury radiating from the much larger man. If anything, Toto’s words seem to enflame his quiet indignation into something hotter. His hands clench into white-knuckled fists as he takes a bristling half-step forward, fully inserting himself between you and your irate father.

“No, Toto,” he growls, the timbre of his normally lilting accent gone dark and thrumming with promise. “That’s quite enough. You’ll not speak to Y/N like that again — not while I’m here.”

Toto blinks, seeming caught off guard by Max’s outright challenge … before a bark of disbelieving laughter rips from his chest.

When he speaks again, his words are bitten off and cruel. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose,” he sneers in your direction, mouth curled in an ugly sneer. “You’ve become the useless little trophy that I always dreaded having for a daughter. Just another parasite leeching off a wealthy man’s success while contributing nothing of value herself.”

Your breath leaves you in a painful wheeze, like you’ve been gut-punched. Tears of shame and wounded pride prick hotly at the corners of your eyes. Is that really how your own father sees you?

That’s the final straw for Max. With a vicious snarl, he very nearly lunges for Toto — only stopped by your panicked grasp around his rigid forearm and a breathless cry for him to stay back.

“Max! Please!”

The naked anguish bleeding into your voice seems to penetrate his haze of seething fury. He pauses, still trembling with scarcely restrained wrath, but nods once in silent agreement to your desperate plea. Behind his unflinching glower, you can glimpse the simmering promise that your father will face severe retribution in his own due time.

But for now, he forces himself to remain impassive and immovable by your side. No longer antagonizing but issuing a clear warning all the same.

The elder Wolff eyes Max with open disgust before shaking his head violently and spitting onto the concrete floor. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, Verstappen. Just you wait. And you!” He wheels on you with fresh outrage blazing in his gaze. “Don’t think for a second I won’t make you regret this ridiculous, childish display! You’re cut off, Y/N. Not a single cent until you return to your senses!”

His final scathing words slice into you like a blade, reopening all the wounds of disappointment and failure that have long festered under his stringent demands. You curl in on yourself with a soft, pained noise, unable to even raise your head properly.

Until Max is there.

Cocooning you protectively in the scorching circle of his arms, he gathers you to his chest and simply … holds you. One hand cradles the back of your skull while the other strokes over your back, soothing and petting until some of the rigid tension seeps from your frame.

“It’s alright, schatje,” he murmurs against your hairline, voice rough yet infinitely tender in a way that has tears stinging hotly against your lashes. “There’s no need for this. I’ve got you, printsesse. You’ll never want for anything, not while I’m here.”

His fierce promise rings with so much conviction, so much quiet authority that it bypasses all your ingrained doubts and hesitancies straight to the hollow pit of worthlessness that’s been carved out within you over the years. Soothing that profound ache and filling it with the warmth of Max’s oath.

Because somewhere in the eye of this turbulent storm, you’ve found your shelter.

“I won’t let him hurt you anymore,” Max continues in that same low, reassuring tone. One hand cradles your nape while the other settles against the small of your back, grounding you against the solidness of his strength. “Never again, I swear it.”

So you let yourself unravel against him, forehead pressed to the steady thrum of his pulse as years’ worth of tears flow unchecked down your cheeks. For the first time, you don’t feel shame or weakness in surrendering so utterly to another’s care and protection.

He murmurs wordless endearments and soothes your disheveled tresses as the storm breaks around you both. Making promises as uncompromising and eternal as the rising of the sun itself.

“Everything will be alright now, printsesse. You’ll see. I’ll sort it all, whatever it takes. This is our new start together. And I’ll never let you go.”

***

For the remainder of the weekend, you’re practically glued to Max’s side in the Red Bull garage. A permanent fixture nestled against his solid bulk, soaking up the quiet strength and support he provides like a soothing balm over the raw, aching wounds left by your father’s scathing vitriol.

With Max, none of the biting insecurities and self-doubts that have plagued you for so long can gain purchase. He simply won’t allow it — not with the way he gathers you up in his embrace at every opportunity, lips constantly seeking out your brow, your temple, the sensitive skin of your ear as he murmurs reassurances too low for anyone else’s ears.

And when it comes time for the lights to go out, Max doesn’t so much as compete as utterly dominate, blowing the rest of the field into the weeds. You watch with breathless awe from your spot in the garage as he carves through the field lap after punishing lap, pulling out a lead that turns him into a missile disappearing over the horizon in a blur of ear-splitting power.

By the final lap, Max is so far ahead that he simply has to bring his car home for a staggering 42 second victory. You’re one of the first to greet him after he clambers from the cockpit, all but throwing yourself into his sweat-slicked embrace with a joyful exclamation the second his boots hit the ground.

The cameras inevitably flock, capturing the moment Max lifts you clean off your feet in a bone-crushing hug as his team erupts into jubilant celebration around you both. But Max’s eyes only have focus for you, darkened and blazing with the same all-consuming intensity that’s been ignited behind his ribs since the first moment you let yourself surrender to him wholly.

Later, once the press obligations and podium formalities are complete, Max bundles you away with brisk efficiency — not even needing to explain where you’re headed. You simply follow his lead, gripping his hand tightly as he shepherds you to a private airstrip where his jet awaits.

Your heart skips erratically as you settle into the plush leather seats and Max seals you both inside the luxurious cabin, shutting out the rest of the clamoring world until it’s only the two of you in your own private oasis. Even after everything that’s happened between you in such a short span, you can’t quite shake the giddy disbelief that any of this is truly real.

But then Max is there, sinking onto the seat beside you and gathering you into his side like you’re made to nestle against him for the rest of time. His calloused palm curves over the nape of your neck, thumb stroking over the flutter of your pulse as he presses his brow to your temple and simply … breathes you in.

“That’s it, printsesse,” he murmurs, so low you feel the rumbling timbre in your bones more than hear it. “Just you and me now.”

The jet engines whine to life, as Max tips your chin up to capture your gaze. You go utterly breathless under the weight of his scorching stare, the fevered grey of his irises swirling with so much naked promise that your pulse kicks up several perilous notches.

“Where are we going?” You somehow find the means to whisper, unconsciously licking your lips in a gesture that has Max’s eyes riveting there hungrily.

Rather than answering right away, he nuzzles his mouth over the delicate line of your jaw until his lips are brushing the shell of your ear. “Home,” he rumbles, sending delicious shivers cascading through you. “We’re going home to Monaco, schatje. Where you and I can start our new life together.”

Your breath hitches audibly at the raw yearning, the adamant possession threaded through his words. The implication that you — his everything now, just like he is yours — will be shacking up in his private sanctuary away from prying eyes and unending scrutiny.

Just the thought alone has a molten thrill of anticipation blooming low in your belly. To be utterly alone with Max, isolated from the outside world and every toxicity that’s weighed down your every step until now. To finally spread your wings and breathe the first tendrils of long-denied freedom as his partner, unburdened of expectation or judgment for once.

Is there anything you crave more than that?

As if privy to your innermost thoughts, Max shifts until he can cup your face in his palms. The kiss he brushes over your lips is searing yet paradoxically soft around the edges — like he’s sealing an unspoken promise to cherish you wholly. To be your shield from a world too cruel and demanding when left to its own devices.

“Our new beginning,” he murmurs against your mouth, words scalding with the same intensity as his embrace. “I can’t wait to show you our home, printsesse. To have you all to myself for once.”

The plane surges into its takeoff run, leaving the ground behind as Max’s grip tightens incrementally, hands smoothing over the sloped curves of your neck and shoulders. There’s a sense of possession layered into his touch, a heady feeling that twines through your body until everything is gilded in need.

Languidly, he works his way across the cradle of your throat, painting the fragile hollows with the blistering heat of his lips and tongue. You shudder against him, nerves set alight and already keening for more of his undivided worship.

“I have the most gorgeous penthouse overlooking the marina,” he continues on a low purr, lips shaping endearments against your feverish skin. “Sweeping terraces with hot tubs and daybeds where you can lounge and not have a single care, schatje.”

Your lashes flutter closed in a dazed sweep, head tipping back against the plush headrest to allow Max easier access as he lavishes attention along the fragile dips of your collarbones. You can’t process anything beyond the raging heat blazing to life under his coaxing touch, exquisitely overwhelmed in the most delicious way.

“Mmm, and of course it’ll need some changes, no doubt,” Max rumbles, nosing aside the loose fall of your hair to trail open-mouthed kisses along the fragile column of your neck. “New furniture maybe. Whatever strikes your fancy to make it our space.”

He captures your wandering gaze with his own heated one then, a brow cocked in silent invitation. Somehow you gather enough mental function to nod breathlessly, surrendering control over yet another crucial element of your new life to Max’s steady and capable hands.

“Perfect. I’ll have the best interior designers come around to work their magic. That way you won’t have to strain yourself with all those pesky decisions.”

Relief crests through you in an almost dizzying wave at Max’s implicit assurance that he’ll handle everything, as always. That your only role in this brave new world you’ve embraced will be resting peacefully in the shelter of his care and devotion.

As if in reward, Max finally claims your lips in a kiss that scatters what few coherent thoughts still clung to your lust-drunk brain. His hands roam freely, mapping every sloping curve and silken plane as he lays you back against the buttery leather seats to hover over you.

“Don’t worry about a single thing from now on, printsesse,” he vows in a husky rasp, trailing smoldering kisses along the delicate skin over your thundering pulse. “Just let me take the reins and show you a life without all the endless strain and misery you’ve endured.”

His fingers drift up to wind through your tumbled hair, nails scratching lightly over your scalp as your eyes drift shut in blissful surrender. You’re floating, suspended in a state of hazy, unfocused euphoria with only Max’s low timbre washing over you.

“I’ll make sure you never want for anything again. That pretty head of yours won’t have to trouble itself over choices or tedious trivialities any longer.” A searing kiss is pressed to each of your fluttering eyelids, like he’s sealing each promise behind the delicate barrier of bone and flesh.

“No decisions, no worries,” he murmurs, nibbling a path down the delicate arch of your cheekbone. “Just bliss and contentment and pleasure as far as the eye can see. You’ll exist only for my warmth and protection from now on. To be cherished every second of every day for the rest of our lives.”

More kisses, like balms of heated adoration poured over your sensitized skin. You keen softly on each breath, body arching helplessly into his skilled caresses as he worships you with his hands and mouth.

“That’s it, printsesse,” he croons, slowly stripping you down to chase the slope and hollow of your form with his lips. Every fevered, burning press sears his devotion into your flesh, your consciousness spiraling inward until only Max’s raspy declarations anchor you in blissful desire.

“Let it all go. Forget everything but this — us, our love, our new start. Nothing but sweet oblivion from now until eternity.”

You shudder, boneless and needy in his cradling embrace even as serenity steals over your limbs. Max’s heated weight on top of you is an anchor keeping you grounded in a sea of molten liquid pleasure, his impossible heat seeming to bleed into your very bones with each passing moment.

“That’s my beautiful girl,” he praises in a voice like rumbling thunder, lips shaping words of adoration against the swell of your navel as your eyelids sag heavily. “So perfect and made for me alone. To take such good care of you from this day until my last, printsesse. To give you the world and then some.”

Unconsciousness beckons, cradling you in its downy soft embrace until only the sound of Max’s worshipful murmurs penetrates the enveloping cocoon of warmth and safety surrounding you. It’s the sweetest surrender imaginable, floating away on a sea of rippling, indulgent bliss with your beloved at the helm to guide you home.

The last threads of awareness slip from your grasp as Max shifts and settles behind you, pillowing you against his chest. With a contented sigh, you burrow deeper into the furnace of his solid strength and let the rhythmic thud of his pulse lull you under. His fingers stroke idle patterns through your hair, the rhythmic sweeps like a metronome steadying your descent into deepest slumber.

“Sleep now, printsesse,” he commands in that same soft, indulgent tone that wraps around your soul. “We’re headed for our paradise.”

His deep rumble quickly lulls you under again, cradled in the safety of his arms. The last coherent thought spinning lazily through the cozy haze enveloping you is one of profound gratitude and trust.

You know, deep in your bones, that Max will make good on his promise to cherish you without reservation. To shield you from expectations and disappointment alike.

So you let his softly murmured endearments and the steady cadence of his heartbeat under your cheek sing you into blissful, worry-free dreams of the life he’s vowed to craft for you both.

It’s everything you’ve ever yearned for yet been too afraid to reach out and claim.

Until Now.

Until Max.

***

The early morning sun filters through the curtains as Max stirs awake. His eyes flutter open and immediately drift to you, lying peacefully beside him. A soft smile plays across his lips as he takes in your features — the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair fans out across the pillow. In this moment, you look so beautifully unburdened, free from the worries that so often trouble your mind.

Max reaches out, tenderly brushing a few stray strands from your forehead. You don’t stir, lost in the depths of a dreamless slumber. Good, he thinks. You need this rest, this escape from the harsh realities that have been weighing you down.

His thumb traces along your cheekbone as his mind wanders back to the distressing news a few days prior — your father revoking your paddock access in a bitter act of retaliation. Max’s jaw tightens at the memory of the anguish clouding your eyes when you relayed the email to him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Max had said simply, pulling you into his embrace. “You’re with me now.”

And just like that, the tension seeped from your shoulders as you allowed yourself to melt against him, letting his presence anchor you. Max knew then what he had to do — create an oasis for you where none of your troubles could penetrate.

Leaning closer, he presses a feather-light kiss to your temple. “Wake up, schatje,” he murmurs. “It’s a new day.”

You stir slightly, eyelashes fluttering as consciousness slowly trickles in. Max watches, transfixed, as awareness blooms across your features. For a suspended beat, there is only serene blankness, a clean slate unmarred by the demons that so often still haunt you.

Then your gaze finds his, and the corners of your mouth tug upwards in a soft, wondering smile. “Max ...”

“Morning, printsesse.” He brushes his knuckles along your jaw. “How are you feeling?”

You blink slowly, as if trying to grasp at fleeting tendrils of thought. But there is nothing there to catch, only a tranquil emptiness. “Good,” you murmur at last. “Really good.”

Relief washes over Max at the simplicity and peacefulness in your tone. He leans in, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss. You melt into him, pliant and trusting, and he commits every little thing to memory — the warmth of your skin, the faint taste of sweetness on your tongue, and the way your fingers tangle in his sleep-mussed hair.

When you finally part, you are both slightly breathless. Max rests his forehead against yours, searching your eyes. They are clear, untroubled pools reflecting back at him.

“That’s it,” he praises softly. “No worries, no stress. Just … here. Present with me.”

You nod, something vulnerable yet beautiful flickering across your features. Max recognizes it as the look you get when you fully surrender yourself to him, allowing him to take the lead, to care for you in the way you so desperately need.

Brushing his thumb across your lower lip, he holds your gaze. “What would you like for breakfast, hmm? Anything you want, it’s yours.”

You nibble on your lip for a moment before shaking your head. “Don’t know. You choose.”

His heart clenches at the utter trust in your words. Nodding, he leans down to graze another deep kiss across your mouth before slipping from the sheets. As he pads across the plush hotel carpet to call room service, he can feel the weight of your eyes tracking his every movement.

Once the order is placed, Max returns to the bed, stretching out beside you as he pulls you against his chest. You burrow closer with a contented sigh, looping an arm around his waist.

“What do you want to do until breakfast arrives?” He asks, carding his fingers through your tousled hair.

You shrug one shoulder, nuzzling your cheek against the bare skin of his torso. “Don’t care,” you mumble drowsily. “Just … this.”

A profound sort of tenderness blooms in Max’s chest. He knows you would be amenable to anything, so long as it allowed you to exist in this carefree, thoughtless state a while longer.

“Alright, then just this,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to your crown.

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence, lazily trading soft caresses and occasional whispered endearments. Max finds himself lulled by the steady thump of your heartbeat against his ribs, the gentle ebb and flow of your breathing.

He has no notion of how much time slips by before there is a crisp rap at the door, jolting you both from the tranquil bubble. Your eyes widen slightly, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Max smooths his palm along the line of your spine. “Just breakfast, nothing to worry about.”

You seem to remember then, the tension melting from your frame as you peer up at him with trusting eyes. He brushes his thumb across the delicate arch of your cheekbone before carefully extricating himself from your embrace to answer the door.

While the server situates the laden cart inside, Max rejoins you on the bed, rearranging the plump pillows behind you so you can sit upright. You immediately slot yourself between his outstretched legs, reclining against his chest. His arms wind around your middle as you both survey the impressive spread laid out before you.

“What looks good?” He prompts, resting his chin atop your head.

You chew your lip for a moment. “I don’t know … everything?”

He chuckles, splaying one hand across your stomach. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want you to go hungry, now would I? How about we start with this-” He leans over, snagging a ripe strawberry from the platter and holding it to your lips. You part them obediently, eyes sliding shut as you savor the sweet burst of flavor.

Max nuzzles into the crook of your neck, letting his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Good girl,” he praises in a low rumble.

You shiver against him, tilting your head in a silent plea for more. He happily obliges, feeding you bite after bite until the platter is decimated. His free hand roams lazily, mapping every dip and swell of your form through the thin cotton of your oversized sleep shirt. All the while, his mouth works along the exposed column of your throat, peppering fervent, open-mouthed kisses against your flushed skin.

At some point, the scattered remains of your indulgent breakfast lay forgotten on the cart as Max rolls you beneath him, drinking in your breathy whimpers and sighs. He takes his time thoroughly ravishing you until you are both sated and deliciously disheveled.

Eventually, you find yourselves curled together amid the tangled nests of sheets, trading languid kisses and basking in the afterglow. Max strokes his fingers through your hair as your head lolls against his shoulder, expression blissfully serene. Your lashes are dark smudges against your flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted on shallow breaths.

“There she is,” he murmurs, drinking in your debauched beauty. “My sweet girl, all relaxed and happy ...”

Ducking his head, Max nuzzles his nose along your hairline, inhaling your comforting scent. “No thoughts, no cares,” he rumbles against your temple. “Just you and me in this perfect little world.”

You make a soft, wordless sound of agreement, snuggling closer in his embrace. He smiles, gathering you even tighter against his chest, relishing the sensation of your heartbeats falling into sync.

All too soon, however, the tranquil interlude must come to an end. Max glances at the clock, silently calculating how much time remains before he needs to head to the paddock. He heaves a reluctant sigh, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Come on, schatje,” he murmurs. “Time to get ready.”

You blink up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, still blissfully adrift in your peaceful daze. Warmth blooms in Max’s chest at your guileless expression. He would move mountains to keep you looking this way forever — soft and sated, basking in the afterglow with your head deliciously empty.

“Don’t worry,” he vows, thumbing away the crease furrowing your brow. “I’ll take care of you. You just let your thoughts stay nice and quiet, hmm?”

The worry lines ease from your features as you nod with implicit trust, allowing Max to guide you from the rumpled sheets. He quickly sets about straightening your mussed appearance, dressing you with unhurried tenderness. All the while, you remain pliant and completely biddable in his hands, seemingly unconcerned with anything beyond the present moment.

Once you’re both fresh and presentable, Max slips an arm around your waist, tucking you against his side. You go willingly, temple resting in the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“My good girl,” he praises, mouth brushing your hairline. “Let’s go, keep drifting for me.”

You make a soft, affirmative noise, slipping your hand into his as you allow him to lead the way from the sanctuary of your hotel suite. Max is acutely aware of your body listing bonelessly against his own, of the feather-light brush of your lashes against his jaw every few steps.

He knows others might gawk, might question the almost trancelike state you’ve allowed yourself to sink into. But he couldn’t care less about their muttered judgments. His only priority is ensuring you remain in this safe, blissful headspace for as long as possible.

When you finally reach the paddock, Max ushers you towards a secluded alcove in weRed Bull hospitality. He settles you on a plush loveseat, ensuring you’re situated comfortably. Crouching before you, he smooths his palms along the tops of your thighs, holding your drowsy gaze.

“Wait here for me,” he says, keeping his tone low and soothing. “I’ll come get you before FP3, yeah? Just … stay relaxed. Let your mind stay beautifully empty.”

You blink at him, lips curving in an utterly trusting smile. “Okay, Max.”

His chest constricts powerfully at your dreamy, unguarded expression. Rising on his knees, he cups your face in his hands, claiming your mouth in a gentle kiss. You open for him without hesitation, kissing him back with languid strokes of your tongue.

When you finally part, you are both left slightly breathless. Max strokes his thumbs along the swollen curves of your lower lip as you gaze at him from beneath heavy lids, looking thoroughly ravished and compliant.

“I love you,” he whispers fiercely. “I love seeing you like this — free and happy without all those nasty thoughts plaguing you. It’s just us in our own world. Nothing else matters here, printsesse.”

You keen softly in response, nosing deeper into his touch like a touch-starved kitten. He chuckles indulgently, dropping another lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises. “Stay pretty and sweet for me.”

With one final caress along your jaw, Max tears himself away, walking towards the Red Bull garage with purposeful strides. He can feel the weight of your eyes tracking him until he rounds the corner, can picture the blissful emptiness clouding your features.

The thought bolsters him, lending an extra swagger to his step as he readies himself for the day ahead. For once, he finds himself relishing the familiar paddock chaos, eager to simply immerse himself in the visceral thrill of the sport he loves.

He knows his favorite reward will be waiting when the practice session concludes — your warm, pliant form and those trusting doe eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

***

The next morning, Max wakes with a familiar sense of tranquil purpose. Shifting onto his side, he brushes the tousled hair back from your forehead, drinking in the sight of you sleeping so peacefully beside him. A contented smile curves his lips as he watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, reveling in how relaxed and unburdened you appear.

He knows today will be demanding — race day always is. But that makes moments like these where he can simply bask in your presence all the more precious. With gentle reverence, Max trails his fingertips along the delicate line of your jaw, tracing the bow of your slightly parted lips.

“Time to wake up, schatje,” he murmurs. “Big day ahead.”

You stir with a soft, wordless hum, lashes fluttering. Max feels his breath catch as your eyes open, glassy and unfocused for a few beats before finding his own. Just like that, the furrow between your brows smooths out, leaving your expression blissfully untroubled.

“There you are,” he croons, heart clenching at the naked trust shining back at him. Cupping your cheek, he leans in to brush a soft, lingering kiss across your pliant mouth.

When he pulls back, you’re already chasing his lips with a small, plaintive noise. Max chuckles fondly, combing his fingers through your tousled hair.

“Needy girl,” he teases, though his voice is laced with undisguised affection. “I suppose I’d better take care of that before we have to leave, hmm?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond — not that he expects any coherent reply in your current state. No, better to let your thoughts remain deliciously empty as he claims your mouth again in a series of heated kisses.

Max loses himself in the familiar glide of lips and tongue, the quiet whimpers that spill from your throat every time he nips at that sensitive spot just below your ear. He maps every inch of your sleep-warm skin with devoted hands until you are both flushed and panting softly.

Eventually, however, the persistent ticking of the bedside clock drags him back to awareness of the rapidly dwindling time. With a regretful groan, Max tears his mouth from the juncture of your neck, nosing his way along your jaw until he can capture your lips in one final kiss.

“We should get going,” he murmurs against the swollen curve of your lower lip. Though his tone is tinged with reluctance, there’s an unmistakable rasp of command underlying the words.

You blink up at him, pupils blown wide and dark, but give a trusting nod. Max feels his chest constrict powerfully at the easy acquiescence. Brushing his thumb in a tender caress across your cheekbone, he slants his mouth over yours once more, coaxing you through several more drugging kisses until your lips are kiss-bitten and slick.

“Good girl,” he praises roughly when you finally part, both breathing heavily. “You’re going to keep feeling this relaxed all day, aren’t you? No nasty thoughts creeping in, just … blissful quiet waiting for me.”

Something like reverence flashes across your features as you nod jerkily, unconsciously worrying your already abused lip between your teeth. Max groans low in his throat, capturing your face between his palms and slanting his mouth over yours in a filthy kiss, all heat and slick friction and desperation.

When he finally manages to tear himself away, you’re rumpled and utterly debauched beneath him, chest heaving. He has to actively resist the urge to simply drag you back under his body, to lose himself in ravishing you until you’re both sated and boneless.

“Gonna make me late for my own race at this rate,” he chides gruffly, though his heated gaze roams indulgently over your prone form.

Levering himself off the bed with obvious reluctance, Max quickly sets about readying the both of you for the day, tugging you along in his wake with firm yet gentle hands. You follow easily, movements loose and languid and so very pliant under his ministrations.

By the time he’s dressed you and seen to your grooming, your features have settled into that slack, dreamy expression he loves so much — eyes glassy and lips slightly parted, not a single worry line creasing your forehead. Perfection.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he rumbles in approval, reeling you into his arms.

You go willingly, slumping bonelessly against his chest with a soft, incoherent murmur. He smiles, nosing into the tousled hair at your crown and inhaling your familiar scent. For a long moment, he simply revels in the sensation of your body melting trustingly into his own, of the steady throb of your pulse against his ribs.

All too soon, however, the hands of the clock continue their march forward. With a rueful sigh, Max presses one last lingering kiss to your hair before reluctantly disentangling himself.

“Come along then, printsesse,” he murmurs, catching your hand and giving a gentle tug. “Time to go.”

You make a soft, wordless noise of agreement, falling into step beside him without a shred of hesitation. Every few paces, you angle yourself closer until your shoulder brushes his bicep, seemingly seeking his solid warmth.

Max feels an indulgent smile tugging at his lips as he slips a possessive arm around your waist, anchoring you against his side. You immediately slot against him, temple resting in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He can sense the dreamy, unfocused quality of your gaze as it skims over your surroundings, can practically hear the blissful white noise filling your head.

As you exit the hotel and navigate through the throngs of people clustered outside, Max holds you even tighter, letting the murmurs and clicks of camera shutters wash over him in a dull roar. He’s hyperaware of every point where your body molds to his, of the trusting way you tuck yourself into his shelter without so much as a backwards glance.

By the time the two of you reach the circuit, your cheeks are flushed and there’s a becoming sort of dazed softness to your features. Max has to resist the urge to simply tuck you away in some quiet corner, to keep you insulated in this perfect bubble for as long as humanly possible.

But race days are nothing if not a whirlwind of demands and tight schedules. So instead, he ushers you along the serpentine corridors with a sturdy arm locked around your waist, relishing the way you move beside him in that lovely, blissed-out trance.

When you finally reach the motorhome, he deposits you on the leather couch with gentle reverence, taking a moment to situate you with utmost care. You gaze up at him, eyes glassy but utterly trusting as he smooths back the hair from your forehead.

“Wait here for me, hmm?” He murmurs, cupping the line of your jaw. “I’ll be back before you know it. Just keep that pretty head deliciously empty and let me take care of everything else.”

The corner of your mouth curves in a soft, wondering smile before you give a tiny nod of agreement. Unable to resist, Max leans in to capture that gentle upturn between his lips, kissing you deeply until you’re pliant and breathless and unfurling like a flower against his chest.

He has to tear himself away before his precarious restraint snaps. “Good girl,” he praises roughly, drinking in the sight of your dreamy, intoxicated expression before forcing himself to turn away, walking toward the garage with purposeful strides.

The familiar race-day chaos swirls around him in a torrent of noise and movement, but Max easily blocks the distractions from his mind, focusing intently on his preparations. There is something grounding about the rituals, the procedural drive to ready his car and equipment. By the time he emerges onto the grid, he is centered and assured, every ounce of his concentration honed on the inevitable green light.

The race itself is, as always, a heated blur of adrenaline and split-second reflexes. Every nerve ending thrums with that singular focus until he’s drunk on the scream of the engine and the smear of color whipping past his visor.

When he finally returns to parc fermé, it takes Max a disorienting moment to recognize the distant clamor bleeding in from beyond the paddock. Handing his helmet off to a mechanic, he makes his way towards the steadily amplifying sound, chest still heaving from the lingering effects of the endorphin high.

Rounding the corner towards the pits, he’s abruptly met by a scene of utter chaos. People — crews and spectators alike — seem to be converging in a jumbled knot near the Red Bull garage, a strange sort of bristling tension in the air. Max falters for a moment, brow furrowing in bewilderment, when a familiar figure finally emerges in his line of sight.

You.

Your expression is one of naked distress, red splotches staining those beloved cheeks as you seem to shrink in on yourself. Though he can’t make out the words, it’s clear you’re pleading with the imposing figure looming over you.

Your father.

Something protective and ferocious ignites in Max’s chest at the realization. Surging forward, he shoves his way through the ranks of onlookers until he’s at your side, reaching out to splay a steadying hand at the small of your back. You automatically angle into his touch, small tremors wracking your frame. Up close, he can make out the tear tracks streaking your flushed face, the way your lips are bitten and swollen from worrying them raw between your teeth.

“What the hell is going on here?” He demands, shooting a scathing look at your father.

Before Toto can answer, another man steps forward, one Max recognizes as a FIA official. “Perhaps we should take this discussion somewhere more private,” he suggests in clipped tones, eyes darting around at the milling crowd.

A muscle ticks in Toto’s jaw, but he gives a curt nod of assent. Without a word, he turns on his heel and stalks away, clearly expecting the rest of them to follow. Max feels your fingers fisting in the back of his sweat-damp suit, clutching him like a lifeline.

Squeezing the nape of your neck in a silent gesture of comfort, he tucks you against his side before falling into step behind the two older men. It galls him to follow their lead instead of simply spiriting you away, but something in your father’s demeanor warns against open defiance. Better to hear them out.

You’re shown to a secluded room just off the main garage bay, fluorescent lights buzzing harshly overhead. The moment the door closes behind the four of you with a hollow thud, Toto whirls with an expression carved from thunderclouds.

“Get your filthy hands off my daughter,” he bites out, eyes flashing dangerously in Max’s direction.

White-hot fury races up Max’s spine, setting every nerve alight. His grip tightens fractionally where his palm is splayed against the dip of your lower back.

“Like hell,” he growls, edging closer until your slight frame is fully bracketed against his own. “She’s trembling because of you.”

“Oh, of course, I’m sure this has nothing to do with her being half out of her mind with Lord knows what substances,” Toto sneers. “A fine state to be wandering around the paddock in, isn’t it?”

Max feels you flinch violently against him at the blistering accusation, a wounded sound catching in the back of your throat. Something bright and violent surges in his chest at your obvious distress.

“How dare you,” he grits through clenched teeth, voice low and dangerous as he pulls you flush against his body. “She was perfectly content until you came along and started spouting such vile nonsense. She hasn’t touched anything, you miserable bastard.”

The insult hangs in the airless space as Toto’s complexion darkens several shades. He opens his mouth — no doubt to unleash a scathing volley — when the FIA official hastily interjects.

“Enough,” he cuts in sharply. “This behavior is unacceptable. If there has been some egregious violation, I must ask you both to lay out the facts as you know them so we might get to the bottom of this affair.”

Max’s nostrils flare sharply as he draws a steadying breath. He needs to keep a level head if only for your sake, to prevent this from spiraling any further out of control. Dipping his chin, he angles his mouth against the crown of your bowed head.

“Breathe, schatje,” he murmurs, one hand stroking soothingly up and down the quivering line of your spine as he holds your father’s shrewd gaze.

“There’s been no violation apart from Toto coming at his daughter completely unprovoked,” he asserts, voice steady and clipped. “Her current state is simply the result of being relaxed and free of negative thoughts, something I’d think any parent would want for their child.”

Toto scoffs indelicately, folding his arms across his chest. “Is that what you call completely zoned out and unresponsive? Don’t be absurd. I know perfectly well what that vacant look signifies — early morning drinking or worse. Trying to numb whatever guilt she’s wallowing in after throwing away her entire future like a petulant child.”

Max feels you stiffen, your nails digging half-moons into his bicep. Before he can retort, however, the official clears his throat once more.

“Ms. Wolff,” he addresses you directly. “I’m going to need you to confirm the situation from your own perspective. What is the cause of the … condition your father is alluding to?”

For a tense moment, there is only the sound of your ragged breathing filling the suffocating silence. Then, warm and tremulous, comes your voice muffled against Max’s collarbone.

“I … haven’t had anything. Really,” you insist shakily. “Max was just … helping me relax. Taking care of me like he always does.”

Toto makes a disgusted, disbelieving sound in the back of his throat, mouth already twisting in preparation to unleash another attack. But Max simply holds up a preemptive hand, wholly engrossed in studying the lines of strain bracketing your expression. His thumb grazes the flushed, tear-stained hollow of your cheek as he murmurs a gentle plea, voice dropping into that soft, honeyed register reserved solely for your ears.

“Tell me what you need, printsesse. How can I help chase those nasty thoughts away again?”

You blink up at him, pupils blown wide and irises over-bright, clearly struggling to hold his gaze. Max feels his heart clench at the naked torment written across your features as you falter, gnawing anxiously at that already mangled lower lip.

“I … can’t,” you whisper tremulously, a broken quality entering your tone. “It’s too loud. I can’t keep them quiet when he’s like this ...”

The vulnerable little admission lands like a physical blow, momentarily stealing Max’s breath. Gathering you closer, he brushes his mouth along the worry line creasing your forehead.

“I know, schatje, I know,” he soothes, cradling the back of your skull. “But you’re doing so well. So good for me, my sweet girl.”

Slanting his head, Max claims your lips in a slow kiss, trying to lose himself in the familiar glide of skin and breath. When he finally breaks away, you’re already chasing after him, eyes glazed and lips prettily swollen. He feels some of the knots in his gut begin to uncoil as he traces the delicate sweep of your cheekbone.

“Better?” He prods gently.

You make a soft, affirmative sound, nuzzling further into his palm. Max’s lips quirk despite the tension still coiled in his shoulders, relief trickling through him warm and heady.

“Let’s get out of here, hmm?” He suggests, punctuating the question with another lingering press of his mouth against your brow. “Back to the motorhome, just the two of us. You can fully relax again, keep your thoughts quiet and happy.”

Slowly, giving you ample time to pull away, he begins walking you backwards towards the exit, keeping his motions unhurried and soothing so as not to trigger another spiral.

“No,” Toto barks in a tone like shattered granite. “She is not going anywhere with you, Verstappen. If she is seriously this mentally addled, then she requires proper treatment, not … whatever sick fantasies you’ve allowed to fester in that depraved mind of yours.”

Max feels you shake like a leaf caught in a violent gale against him at your father’s harsh words. Clenching his jaw, he pivots to put himself bodily between you and that callous glare.

“You’re the one who’s sick if you think for a second I’d ever let anything hurt her,” he bites out in a tone laced with venom. “All I’ve done is try to give her the peace and respite she so desperately needs. If that’s a crime, then throw me in a fucking prison.”

Toto sneers, eyes glinting with undisguised contempt. “Don’t play the martyr with me. We both know exactly what kind of sordid games you’ve been playing while her mind is so clearly compromised.”

Max feels his face flush in outrage, desire to throttle your father warring with the need to keep you sheltered away from any further vitriol. He opens his mouth, another blistering retort balanced on the tip of his tongue, when a warm weight presses against his back.

Looking over his shoulder, he finds you peering up at him beseechingly, tears clinging to those thick lashes. Max’s expression immediately crumples into something infinitely softer, gentler around the edges.

“Please … I j-just want to go,” you stammer in a tiny voice, fingers bunching in his race suit. “No more yelling. I can’t … I c-can’t ...”

Your breath hitches in a wounded sound as your eyes skitter away from his, clouding over once more with panic and distress. It’s like a physical blow to Max’s ribs, stealing what little oxygen remains in the claustrophobic space.

Spinning on his heel, he crowds you backward until your trembling frame is braced against the wall. With an approximation of tenderness he hoped you’d find grounding, Max frames your face between his palms as he ducks his head, searching out your skittish gaze.

“Shh, hey … look at me, printsesse,” he croons, ducking to burrow his nose against your hairline. “Just focus on me, alright? That’s my good girl.”

He can feel the fine tremors wracking you even as he gentles your head into the crook of his neck, splaying one broad palm over the rapid flutter of your pulse. Max shushes you through another hiccuping sob, rocking your pliant weight against his as he whispers nonsensical endearments into your hair.

“You’re okay, it’s okay,” he soothes without ceasing the soothing motions. “I’ve got you. Deep breaths for me, there we go ...”

Gradually, he feels some of the tension ebb from your rigid muscles until you sag fully into his embrace, boneless and pliant once more. Risking a glance over his shoulder, Max finds Toto watching you with an inscrutable expression, frustration and something else he can’t quite name churning in those flinty eyes.

Uncaring of his scrutiny, Max returns his attention to mapping the curves of your face with reverent fingers, gentling you back into that headspace of tranquil bliss.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmurs against the seam of your lips. “Let everything else just … drift away. We’re going back to our sanctuary, yeah? Nice and peaceful, with all those thoughts gone quiet where they belong.”

He can see the worry lines slowly beginning to smooth from your brow, tension bleeding from your frame as his words seep in like a balm. Smiling softly, Max dips his head to capture your mouth in a series of deep, lingering kisses, savoring the addictive little sounds you make against his questing tongue.

“Mr. Verstappen,” a gruff voice cuts in, effectively shattering the lush, private bubble.

Tearing his lips from yours with obvious reluctance, Max twists to slant a scathing glare at the FIA official. He keeps one arm locked securely around your waist, refusing to relinquish an inch of the soothing skin-to-skin contact despite the interruption.

The official holds up a placating hand. “I’m going to have to ask you both to exit the premises for the time being. At least until whatever … this situation is has been resolved to a reasonable degree.”

Max opens his mouth to protest, but you choose that moment to whine softly, nosing against his jaw in search of his lips once more. A hot lance of protectiveness surges through his core. Swallowing back the words on the tip of his tongue, he gives a terse nod.

“We’re leaving. Don’t try to touch her again.”

He punctuates the thinly veiled warning by curling possessively around your smaller frame, tucking you against his side as he propels you towards the door with urgency. You keep up easily enough, still deliciously pliant and soothed by his touch if the lingering glazed look in your eyes is anything to go bye.

As the heavy door clicks shut behind you, Max doesn’t spare a backwards glance. His sole focus is getting you back to the sanctity of his private quarters, away from the scrutiny and toxicity currently swirling in the paddock. One hand splays protectively over the dip of your waist as you move, the other coming up to shelter the back of your head.

“Nearly there, schatje,” he murmurs into your hairline as he blankets you in the solid warmth of his body. “Just a bit further and we’ll be all alone, just how you like it.”

You hum in what he chooses to interpret as agreement, pushing up onto your toes to nose along the sharp line of his jaw. Max groans low in his throat, slowing his strides so he can tug you abruptly into his chest. Your mouth falls open on a soft gasp, which he eagerly swallows with a filthy slide of his tongue.

When he finally wrenches himself away, you’re panting and glassy-eyed, lips bitten and swollen to a lush pout. Tutting under his breath, Max traces the abused swell with the pad of his thumb, pupils darkening to fathomless black pools as he drinks in your wanton appearance.

“Need to stop doing that, sweet thing,” he chides in a low rasp. “Don’t want to tempt me into having my way you right here in the corridor, now do we?”

Twin spots of color immediately bloom in your cheeks as you emit a strangled little sound, thighs clenching convulsively for a dizzying heartbeat. He chuckles, low and wicked, before slanting his mouth over that sinful jut of your lower lip, sucking the swollen flesh between his teeth.

“Soon,” he vows roughly, nipping at the tender skin. “We’ll be alone and I can take care of that delicious ache properly. Would you like that, printsesse? To let me coax all those nasty thoughts back into pretty oblivion?”

You make a small, wanting sound against the sweep of his tongue, fingers clenching convulsively in the fabric of his race suit. Max hums in wordless approval, momentarily losing himself in reacquainting his senses with every lush corner of your mouth.

It isn’t until Max feels the hard planes of his driver’s room door against his back that he bothers dragging himself from the sensual haze. Panting harshly, he brushes a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your flushed brow, unable to resist dipping in for one more searing, open-mouthed kiss.

“Inside,” he growls when you part with a trembling inhale. “Now.”

You nod jerkily, eyes glassy and unfocused even as you chase his lips with a tiny, needy noise. Max gentles you backwards over the threshold with firm, steadying hands until you’re situated within the blessedly muffled quiet of his temporary sanctuary.

Distantly, he registers the faint sounds of celebration filtering up from the track, but they seem muffled and inconsequential compared to the rapid beat of your pulse beneath his palms.

Trailing one hand up the slender column of your throat, Max tilts your chin until your gaze meets his own. “You’re alright now, sweet girl,” he soothes, tracing the line of your lower lip. “Just us, safe and sound away from all the noise.”

You make a soft sound of agreement, instinctively pressing closer until your bodies are flush, every pliant curve molded to his hard planes. Max groans at the exquisite friction, hands spanning your waist to tug you even tighter against his burgeoning arousal.

“That’s it, stay right here with me,” he rumbles against the swell of your parted lips. “Let everything else drift away until there’s nothing left but my voice in that pretty head.”

Slanting his mouth over yours, Max proceeds to chase every lingering thread of tension from your frame with deep, indulgent sweeps of his tongue. He maps every intimate detail until you’re pliant and breathy in his arms once more, limp and trusting as a ragdoll.

“Good girl,” he praises roughly when you finally part, resting his brow against yours. “You’re doing so well, staying nice and floaty for me even after … everything.”

You blink up at him, that soft, dreamy haze already stealing back over your features. Max’s chest constricts powerfully at the naked adoration shining back at him, the implicit trust written in every fluid line of your body.

“Max ...” you breathe, the single syllable somehow encompassing a wealth of devotion and longing.

He hushes you gently with another toe-curling kiss, reveling in the way your mouth instantly softens and opens for the insistent sweep of his tongue. When he finally pulls back, the rigid lines of strain have melted from your expression, leaving only that beloved, blissful tranquility in their wake.

“There you are,” Max rumbles in approval, thumbing away the dampness still clinging to those long lashes. “My sweet, gorgeous girl. Nothing but beauty and peace between those lovely ears.”

You make a small, incoherent sound of agreement, already drifting back into that lush, thoughtless headspace under his ministrations. Unable to resist, Max ducks his head to mouth along the line of your throat, laving hot, openmouthed kisses over the wildly fluttering pulse point.

“I’ve got you, schatje,” he mutters between kitten licks and nips. “Not going to let a single ugly thought spoil this lovely blank canvas. You’re perfect like this, all soft and sweet with nothing rattling around in that pretty head but oblivion.”

His words seem to spur a full-body tremor that ricochets through your slender frame. You whimper brokenly against the crown of his hair, hips stuttering forward in mute pleading as your nails score desperate half-moons against the taut cords of his biceps.

“Please,” you whisper in a wrecked tone that goes straight to Max’s groin. “Need you ...”

“Soon, printsesse,” he promises in a low rasp. Though it takes every ounce of his negligible restraint, he continues blazing a scorching path down the exposed column of your neck and across the elegant jut of your collarbones instead of hauling you against him. “Let me take care of you properly first, yeah? Want you floaty and boneless for me.”

You make a whimpery sound of agreement, one hand uncurling to fist in the damp hair at his nape. Max hisses at the sharp sting, retaliating by capturing the pulse fluttering in the hollow of your throat between his teeth. He nips at the tender flesh until your breath is coming in shallow, hitching gasps, every muscle turned liquid and quivering in his arms.

“Good,” he croons in approval once you’re thoroughly debauched, sparing a moment to take in your wrecked appearance with heated appreciation. “My perfect girl, so prettily unraveled for me already.”

With exquisite care, he traces the bow of your lips with the calloused pad of his thumb until they part on a shuddery indrawn breath.

“Stay just like this,” he rumbles in that same dark timbre. “Let your mind drift. Never been more beautiful than when your thoughts are gone all hazy like this.”

You blink up at him, plush lower lip caught between your teeth in that completely docile way. Max rewards your compliance by angling your head to the side, nosing at your neck as he breathes deep of your tantalizing scent.

His hands skate down in blazing trails until they settle with light possessiveness at your waist, bracketing you fully against the solid wall of his chest. You keen softly at the contact, arching on pure instinct as you go pliant in his embrace.

“That’s it,” Max praises, hot and heated against the sensitive hollow below your ear. “Just let it all drift away while I make you feel good.”

Dipping his chin, he seals his mouth over yours in a series of drugging kisses, spine going liquid at your breathy whimpers. He loses track of everything — time, the muted noises of celebration filtering in from outside, even his own name — as his entire universe narrows to the slick glide of your tongue, the warmth of your body twining insistently around his own.

When he finally drags himself back from the precipice of mindless want, you’re boneless in his arms, flushed and trembling and so exquisitely unraveled. Max rakes his teeth over his lower lip as he takes in the picture you make — hair hopelessly tousled, lips swollen to an obscene pout, eyes glassy and dazed as they struggle to focus on his face.

“Look at you,” he husks in mingled awe and possessive pride. “Gone all sweet and floaty again, hmm? Not a single thought left in this little head of yours.”

As if in confirmation, you slur out a low, affirmative hum, butting your flushed cheek against his sternum in search of more contact. The sight sends a hot pulse of want ricocheting through Max’s veins. He barely tamps down a groan as he crushes you closer, driving your pliant body into the solid surface at your back.

“Beautiful, inside and out,” he rasps against the slick curve of your throat. “Every inch of you is perfect like this, schatje, and I’m the luckiest bastard alive to be the one allowed to see you come so utterly undone.”

***

Three Months Later

Toto rounds the corner onto one of Monaco’s picture-perfect side streets, the warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the canopy of leafy trees lining the cobblestones. His strides are clipped and purposeful as he navigates the throngs of lingering brunchers and slack jawed tourists.

He’s due for a terse meeting with several FIA officials in half an hour’s time to hash out the latest regulatory adjustments for next season. Not exactly how he’d envisioned spending his free weekend in the principality, but such was the relentless reality of his position.

As he approaches a charming little bistro tucked into a sunlit alcove, something within the open-air seating area snags his peripheral attention. Toto’s steps falter as a very familiar figure swims into focus — a beautiful young woman with features he knows better than his own.

You.

His stomach churns violently as he instinctively follows your line of sight to the man tucked intimately against your side. Max freaking Verstappen, of course, lounging there like he hasn’t a care in the world with one arm slung proprietarily across the back of your chair.

Toto feels his jaw clench harder with every passing second as he reluctantly catalogs the scene playing out not twenty paces away. You’re turned towards the Red Bull driver in clear invitation, chin tilted up and lips slightly parted in apparent submission as he lifts a forkful of food to your waiting mouth.

Despite the simmer of nausea roiling in his gut, Toto can’t seem to tear his gaze away, some morbid fascination taking hold. He watches, bile burning at the back of his throat, as Verstappen tips the bite between your lips with a gentleness that borders on reverence. A blissful sort of smile curves your mouth as you chew, eyes drifting to shut in an expression of utter serenity.

When you finally swallow, Verstappen leans in to chase the lingering crumbs from your lips with a series of indulgent, smoldering kisses. You allow it with blasé ease, cheeks flushing prettily as he nuzzles deeper into the cradle of your throat.

“Sickening,” Toto mutters through gritted teeth, only to have the words choked off as your breathy giggle floats across the open space between you.

He’s frozen in place, jaw clamped shut and eyes blazing, as Verstappen captures your face in one broad palm with a wicked curl to his lips. Leaning in until your noses brush, he appears to rumble something too faint to carry over the ambient chatter.

Your responding smile is incandescent enough to momentarily steal Toto’s breath. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen such pure joy light up those beloved features — not since those early summer afternoons when you were barely tall enough to see over the mechanics’ workbenches, giggling as he spun you in looping circles around the garage.

The imagery dissipates like smoke in a strong wind as Verstappen slants his mouth over yours, mercilessly chasing every last vestige of warmth and innocence until you’re left utterly ravaged. You drink him in with all the unrestrained fervor of the desperately parched, breaths coming in harsh little pants between every slick glide of lips and tongue.

Toto can only look on in mute revulsion as the Red Bull bastard sets about methodically staking his claim. One broad palm spans the curve of your jaw to better angle your head while the other strokes in bold caresses down the line of your arm and hip, searing brand of possession seared across every inch of skin. You arch into the contact, boneless and malleable beneath his sure ministrations.

When Verstappen finally releases you, your lips are bright and bitten, pupils blown wide into unfocused pools. Max clucks his tongue in wordless approval, thumbing away the dampness clinging to your lower lashes before dipping in for one more lingering peck.

A strangled noise startles from Toto’s throat despite his best efforts. Instantly, those predator’s eyes swing towards him, glittering with something perilously close to challenge.

Your gaze follows a moment later, drifting over Toto’s rigid stance in lazy, disinterested consideration. He expects a flicker of chagrin, even fleeting shame to ripple across your expression at being caught so indecently compromised. Instead, your lips curve into that same serene, soppy beam as you burrow deeper into Verstappen’s side.

The world seems to tilt sickeningly sideways as Toto watches his own flesh and blood regard him like a stranger, a foreign entity to be blithely disregarded. Verstappen, for his part, tilts his head in an almost confrontational motion as his fingers begin carding through your hair with a revolting air of indulgent possession.

Toto wants to scream, to rage and howl until someone — anyone — understands the utter travesty of what he’s just witnessed. But something has knotted itself viciously around his vocal cords so that all he can seem to produce is a low, garbled rasp.

So he turns on his heel instead, gritting his teeth against the swell of fury threatening to choke him from the inside out as he stalks away. Every step rebounds through his hollow ribcage with echoing finality, punctuated by the sickly sweet chime of your laughter ringing in his wake.

He can’t even recognize his daughter anymore. And, much to his disgust, you seem to prefer it that way.

Welcome to @f10werfae's library of Chris Evans💫 Enjoy your stay!

Here is my main masterlist for everyone else I write for♥️

[🌟]Favourites (over 400 or nearly over 400 notes)

[☁️] Fluff

[*] Smut

[🌧] Angst

- To request, please send in an ask or PM me ✨

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

➼ boutique-for-the-best [☁️]

(Chris Evans X Fashion Designer! Reader)

:Chris and Y/n the perfect example of the term 'made for each other' especially when in comes to support

➼ A Week In The Life Of The Evans[☁️]

(Husband!Chris Evans x Gothic! Reader)

: Y/n and Chris show off their new marriage, the only way they know how, via youtube

↪️Part two: Crybaby [☁️]

(Husband!Dad!Chris x Gothic!Mom!Reader)

: Looks like that pregnancy test in the vlog meant something, and sprouted into the cute and loving mini evans, Alice. Follow the adventures of their cute family with quite the image.

➼ Written on Polaroids [☁️*]

(Husband!Chris Evans x Plus Size Reader)

: Y/n's secret diary gets exposed in the best way possible, which may involve a few camera shots

➼ Designer Love [☁️]🌟

(Husband!Chris Evans x Pregnant!Reader)

: Y/n can’t find any darn clothes she loves, so Chris takes his role to the next level

➼ Hairy Shenanigans [☁️]🌟

(Husband!Chris Evans x Pregnant!Reader)

: Y/n needs some help with her shaving capabilities and her husband is more than willing to help out

➼ Hottie By The Bar [☁️/Slight *]

(Chris Evans x Reader)

: Y/n catches the eye of a familiar man by the bar, which can only end in her favour

➼ The Winner [☁️]🌟

(Husband!Chris Evans x Famous!Reader)

: Chris is Y/n’s number one fan, there’s no doubt about it

➼ Wisdom Teeth [☁️]🌟

(Husband!Chris Evans x Wife!Reader)

: Chris sends Y/n on one hell of a journey

➼ That Puppy Smell [☁️]🌟

(Boyfriend!Chris Evans x Reader)

:Reader takes Chris Evans to a Puppy cafe

➼ What Is Victoria's Secret Anyway [☁️]🌟

(Husband!Chris Evans x Model!Reader)

: When Y/n gets a massive career opportunity, all she wants is her husband’s support, and she always gets what she wants

➼ You'll Always Be My Girl [☁️/Slight🌧]🌟

(Chris Evans x Reader)

: Y/n’s relatives are anything but supportive, on the other hand we have Chris who is absolutely smitten and will do anything to make sure Y/n knows

➼ Girls' Holiday [☁️/Slight *]

(Husband!Chris Evans x Wife!Reader)

: Y/n and her friends get a few visitors while on their annual girl’s holiday

➼ Enchanted To Meet You [☁️]

(Chris Evans x Reader)

: Y/n Recalls her best memories with Chris, while getting ready for their wedding day ♥️

➼ Love In Translation [☁️]

(Chris Evans x Filipino!Reader)

: Chris is determined to become fluent in Tagalog, for the sweetest reasons

➼ My Spoilt Girl [☁️]

(Rich CEO!Chris Evans x Reader)

: Chris loves spending money on his girl, even if it means he’ll end up spending more in future

➼ I’m Only Yours [☁️/Slight🌧]🌟

(Chris Evans x Reader)

: Chris and Y/n overcome insecurities in their relationship with some tender loving care

➼ My Happily Ever After [☁️]🌟

(Chris Evans x Reader)

: Chris, his family and Y/n spend the day at Disneyland. Chris of course, uses this opportunity to show how much he loves Y/n, in the most adorable ways possible

➼ I Need You More [☁️/Slight🌧]

(CEO!Chris Evans x Nurse!Reader)

: A CEO gets admitted into hospital with mild amnesia, only to find himself falling in love with the only person that can heal him

➼ Magical Kisses [☁️]

(Chris Evans x Stunt Double!Reader)

: Y/n injures herself on set, just to find out a cast isn’t the only thing healing her pain

➼ Ghostly [☁️/🌧]

(Ghost!Soulmate!Chris Evans X Alive!Reader)

: Y/n has an extremely tiring day, but with her ghost boyfriend everything takes a turn for the better

➼ Back Home [☁️]

(Boyfriend!Chris Evans x Filipino!Reader)

: An island getaway leads to Chris meeting Y/n's family, and him finding a new family of his own. Very fluffy domestic settings

↺ Part 2 Where Y/n meets Chris' Family

My Home [☁️]

➼ Shag Me [☁️]

(Husband!Chris Evans x British Singer!Reader)

:Despite being together for so long, Y/n and Chris still need to overcome their “language barrier”

➼ Baby It’s Breaking News[☁️]

(Husband!Chris Evans x Kardashian Reader)

: After keeping their life for the most part quiet, Y/n and Chris agree to give a statement to the Hollywood press (Article Style with an interview)

➼ Coffee Run[☁️]

(Chris Evans x Nurse!Reader)

: Nurse reader who works part time at a coffee shop has more than one run in with Chris and babies

➼ I Am Groot [☁️]

(Husband!Chris Evans x Pregnant!Reader)

: With hormones at an all time high, Chris has to be prepared even in the most funniest scenarios, obviously leading to kisses and cuddles + a smidge of horniness

➼ The Build Up [☁️]

(Husband!Construction!Chris x Wife!Reader)

: Nothing better than an onsite visite by the Mrs, major domestic Chris! and fluff

➼ Chris Evans Pregnancy Scenarios (☁️/Slight Angst and Smut🌟

(Chris Evans x Pregnant!Reader)

=Not a series, just a compilation

Chapter 1,Chapter 2,Chapter 3,Chapter 4

➼ Chris Evans Dad Scenarios (☁️/Slight Angst and Smut)🌟

(Dad!Chris Evans x Mom!Reader)

=Not a series, just a compilation

Chapter 1,Chapter 2,Chapter 3

Affair with his Assistant !Drabble![🌧]

(Husband!Andy Barber x Wife!Reader)

: Looks like Andy's work trips with his assistant were just him acting with his dick and not his head. Now his marriage is over

kitty taking kitty bath in the kitty bathtub

Timeless lovin’ - Pt. 1

Pairing: 40s/CATFA!Steve Rogers x present!reader

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

WARNING - The following story contains: explicit smut (not in this chapter), angst, fluff, developing feelings/slow burn, spoilers, alternative reality.

Pt. | 1 | 2 | 3 |

Summary: Steve left for Peggy in the past, and you were determined to travel back in time and get answers after he left your relationship of 4 years behind him just like that. You get a little ahead of yourself and travel past where your Steve left off, and you meet Steve Rogers, - the man before he hit the ice and was frozen for 70 years.

Second person POV

Steve and you met each other through S.H.I.E.L.D. You first became familiar in 2014 when you became an agent for the agency. Steve worked as a counter-terrorist operative and was frequently put up on extreme missions which required the super soldier. You were in contrast put on easier but secretive missions, those of which required gathering information from anti forces of the U.S. government.

You were both too busy to exchange conversations, but you acknowledged each other with passing greetings. You had always thought Captain America was an admirable man, and you highly respected him. He seemed to have respect for you too, but he was known for having a big heart, and you knew it was anything but exclusive.

In 2015, when Steve was sent on less missions, he engaged in full conversations with you as you also became more available. There was of course the Ultron attack, but apart from that, crimes were quiet at this time around. You were moved over to writing reports at your office of the few missions that were in action. Steve would come by to ask about your well being, and sometimes drop a coffee off at your desk, - being the considerate man he was. A noticeable sexual tension was growing between you two with the way you would talk to each other, but neither of you acted upon it as it wasn’t deemed appropriate at the time. You sometimes wish you did.

Captain America disappeared from the face of the earth one day as a conflict had erupted between him and Iron Man, - also known as the civil war. He went undercover for 2 years without a word from him. You missed him a lot in that duration of time. It took a long time to get used to not having him pop in for a visit and greet you with coffee, just the way you liked it. Everything was as if he never existed, and you eventually accepted things would be that way until he shows up again, - or never.

Then another unthinkable happened in 2018 when half of the population were erased by Thanos. You were all put in a dark place, one that sought comfort from each other. Steve reached out to you at your office after years of not seeing each other, and a need to show more than just friendly kindness became an urge.

What started with desperate kisses and touches turned into rough sex, with you bent over your own office desk with Steve’s cock being thrusted inside of your cunt from behind. He wasn’t shy at all to test the grounds of fucking you, and you couldn’t say you minded with how good it felt to finally have a euphoric release after feeling down for some time.

The next four years would be the best ones of your life despite what would otherwise be the worst ones for many others. You officially became a couple, with Steve asking you out to a first date. One date turned into many, and you soon moved in together. He proposed to you two years into your relationship, and of course you said yes.

You retired as a SHIELD agent and became an office worker instead. Steve worked at several departments to help and restore damages that had been inflicted in the city due to the snap.

Steve had lost so much, but he had told you that he was still able to move on because you were there. You had become his everything. You were a reason for him to keep going. He showed how much you meant to him through his affection and the intimate moments you had. He put so many words perfectly together and made your heart melt with every sweet thing he said to you.

“You’re my doll. I’ll never leave your side, love.”

That used to settle it in your head that you would grow old with him. That you would soon marry, have kids and live the perfect family life, something you both had expressed wanting.

Little did you know at the time that he would do the opposite of what he had promised.

“Steve, I don’t know how I feel about this mission…” you shared when Steve brought up the plan the remaining Avengers had put together of traveling back in time to restore their failure and bring back half of the population that were lost.

“Love, I know you’re scared…I’m nervous about the mission too. But we need to try. We have planned this for a very long time now and you need to trust me when I say everything will work out accordingly to our plan. It’s not going to be like how it went last time. That was our last time failing. We will make everything right.”

Steve reassured, and kissed the top of your head as he stood by the door.

“Once I’m back, we’re getting married, love.” He huskily whispered the promise, and kissed the hand where your ring rested on your finger. “I love you.”

Those three words would be the last thing you heard from him before he left to the Avenger headquarters to go through with the mission.

48 hours later, and Steve had proved you right. It became world news within seconds that the people who were lost 5 years ago were now back and that Thanos had been defeated.

You remember being absolutely thrilled. You were so proud of Steve and the Avengers for managing the impossible. You were given an update from Scott through text that Captain America was doing alright, and that he would need a few days recovery before he could return home.

No one ever informed you about Steve’s second mission of returning the infinity stones to the past.

It was too late when you a week later asked about him and learned he never returned to the present.

2 years later…..

“Okay, so here’s the thing…—“ Bruce started, “The pym particles I have are not completely legit. They are clones produced by Dr. Strange’s sorcery and my knowledge in their substance, and while they match the substances they contain, the outcome from using them might not be completely the same.” He said, and picked one up to showcase you.

You narrowed an eye as you took the one Bruce held up, studying it with interest. “Do you know what kind of different outcome it may give if I use them?”

“Nothing too crazy, just simple things like, - specification of time traveling and whereabouts. You might not get to your chosen destination or year, so you’ll have to be more considerate and prepared for the unexpected.” Bruce hypothesized.

You were positive of going through with time traveling, even with the risks of having a harder time finding Steve. While this could be counted as one of your most challenging missions, you were up to the task.

“You’re still taking a risk though. This isn’t going to be like when we time travelled to get all the time stones where we were able to to go to a specific time and day. You will be sent to an unspecified year and place to your chosen time period. Not to mention we don’t even know where our Steve time travelled and continued his life, -“

“- It doesn’t matter.” You interrupted. “We know he left off for Peggy, so it must mean he left anywhere between Second World War to the beginning of the Cold War anyway. If I have to put my bets, I’ll guess he went back to the earliest time possible to continue his past life and relationship with Peggy. It’s not a big deal if I show up years later after he arrived there as long as I get to talk to him.” You said.

“Alright. If you’re sure about this, I won’t stop you. You have an extra pym particle, so if anything goes wrong, you just need to come back.” Bruce said, more so in question as he narrowed his eye at you.

“Of course, of course.” You reassured. “I just need to do this. It’s been 2 years and nothing has changed. I haven’t come to peace with the terms and I think a good talk and a screaming session with him will give me just that. I need answers. I know it’s pathetic, but honestly can you blame me?”

“I really don’t, Y/N. It was a shocker for all of us that he left behind his life here when he had said so himself that he had come to like it. I don’t know why he came to make that choice, but regardless it wasn’t fair on you. I totally get it.” Bruce sympathized, which made you quirk a smile.

All this time you thought you were insanse for not being able to leave Steve behind. People advised you to move on, and you tried. You went on dates and met new people all the time, but no matter how much you tried to move forward, you were held back by so many questions. Questions that haunted you and made you cry yourself to sleep as you went down memory lane, trying to find a single moment that you should have picked up on to know your relationship with Steve wasn’t everlasting.

But you couldn’t find a single one.

Why? Why did he leave?

What did I do wrong?

Wasn’t I enough?

Was our love ever real?

You didn’t know anymore about the last one. You couldn’t count all the times he had told you he loved you. He reminded you each time he came back from a mission, each time you woke up in bed beside him, each time you made love.

He had you on a chokehold, and he wasn’t there to release his hands on you.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard Banner rummaging through something in the storage closet.

“You can’t leave without some real useful gadgets. Here,” He put it on the table and gestured you to open up the safe.

You opened it up cautiously, only to find several cubes slotted safely in the protection cushion. Your eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

“What are these?” You asked, as you picked one up, surprised at how heavy it was.

“These are nanotechnological gadgets. They take forms as these tiny cubes until activated. The one you’re holding right there is a jet pack. Could be quite useful if you have to travel by far.” He explained. He then carefully picked up an earpiece with his hulk hands, “All you gotta do is wear this which is connected to all of them and call out after its given name, ‘Genesis’, for an activation.”

You nodded and took the earpiece into your ear. You looked into the little mirror on the table and saw that it suddenly shifted colour to match your own skin colour. You gasped, impressed by how well it blended. It was as if it wasn’t there.

Bruce laughed, “Isn’t that neat? That’s some ‘James Bond’ stuff right there. Another bonus is even if you loose them, they’ll transport themselves over to your location if you give that order. You can figure out what the rest of these are for by yourself.” He pointed at the other cubes and closed the safe. “Think it’ll be more fun for you that way.”

You chuckled, before a thought came to mind as you realized the suitcase was under the Stark industries trademark. “These were Mr. Stark’s though, weren’t they?…I couldn’t possibly take them.”

“It’s cool, I took part in creating these. I’m sure if he was still here with us right now, he’d lend one of his iron suits. Unfortunately I don’t have access to those as they are under Pepper’s name and all. I can only offer the things I have in the lab.” He said with an apologetic shrug.

Your eyes widened and you immediately shook your head, “Oh, no these will absolutely do! Thank you so much Bruce! I owe you a big one.”

He laughed. “Sure thing, kid. Now, let’s get started on this time traveling so you can kick America’s ass.”

You were up on the Time Heist machine with the safe and a backpack full of essentials, giving Bruce a final wave goodbye before you were swirled into the quantum realm for a nanosecond and into the past.

You were suddenly in an empty street corner of what you could presume was somewhere downtown New York. The town looked like it was in its fetus stage as you made your way to the Main Street, with barely any skyscrapers coming to view.

The team suit transformed and gave you conservative clothing, one that could pass as casual for women to wear during the 40s to 50s. There were young boys running around, selling the newest flyer to the curious adults, and posters promoting drafting were hung up on every light pole.

For some reason, you weren’t receiving any data of what time you had appeared in, but you could only guess it was the mid 40s based on your current surroundings.

Nervously you met the eyes of busy women and men who you passed by, not being mentally prepared for the social aspects of being in a time period of which your grandparents were probably living their early years of their youth. You were already feeling uncanny from knowing how out of place you were, but you could only remind yourself that this was just a quick visit to give Steve a piece of your mind.

“Genesis, I would like to have access of all governmental archives mentioning Steve’s proximities at this current time period.”

Genesis gave you multiple suggestions, but the primarily suspected location of Steve’s current whereabouts was a military base in Port Jervis.

2 and a half hour train ride? Not bad at all.

It sounded a lot better than using the jet pack, especially when other options were available.

You walked in a phone booth and unlocked the safe, reading through the functions to find what you were looking for.

“Genesis, I’d like to unlock the printer and print 20 US dollars and a fake ID card registered under military record, please.”

“Amy Preston from Newsburgh military base, is that right?” You nodded in response to the soldier who was checking your ID by the gate of Port Jervis military base. “What brings you here?” He asked.

“I have a couple of errands to run in connection with the mission in planning, sir.” You explained, as you straightened your military uniform and rested your elbows on the front desk. “The Howling commandos will be sent to Italy to infiltrate Hydra bases, and we may have some input of several coordinations which suggests where else they are hiding.” You reached out the documents which were actually accurate future knowledge.

You could tell the soldier was anything but focused on the papers though as he eyed your breasts through your clothes which you were firmly squeezing together to give off your sex appeal.

He cleared his throat and only took a few glances at the papers before returning them to you. “Alright ma’am, you may pass. Hope you have a pleasant stay with us while you’re here.” He said smugly, and winked at you before you carried on. You could only fake a smile until he was out of sight, your face pulling one of disgust.

The base was large, reaching as far as up to a hill. Vehicles were creating a traffic by the gate with several soldiers sitting on the open back trunks.

Some whistled at you as you walked past them, but you could care less of giving them your time of day. Your eyes scanned the area with interest for the one man you were looking for.

You walked around for a good half an hour, sneaking into tents to see if any of the men in there were Steve, but you had no such luck of spotting him. Then, as you walked though the weapon supplies area, a familiar face came to view. You saw Dum Dum Dogan talking to a fellow soldier, the man who after Steve’s presumed death would become the new leader of the Howling commandos. He was one of Steve’s close friends during the war. He had told you as such himself.

He has to be somewhere close then.

You reached the corner of a huge tent, and that was when you halted your steps. You had found him.

There he was. Carrying on with his duties as if he had never been frozen in ice for 70 years, become a beloved hero of the 21st century and captured your heart, promising a future as lovers only to break it and leave you behind.

He stood there, talking to Jim Morita, yet another one of his soldier buddies with what looked like a map as they were discussing something.

Your head boiled with fury, the sight of him alone making you want to scream your heart out.

I might just do that actually, You thought.

Fuck it.

“Steven Grant Rogers, — you piece of absolute garbage!” You called out after him, saying his name with pure venom.

Steve immediately turned to where his name had been called, completely dumbfounded as you stormed towards him, your steps firm as you kept your form tall and straight. The soldier excused himself and walked away, leaving more privacy to whatever this would be about.

“You really thought it would be this easy, didn’t you? That you could leave your girlfriend of 4 fucking years without as much as a goodbye? An explanation? An apology?” You spat at his face.

“Pardon, ma’am, I don’t think I follow -“

“Oh, shut up and cut the bullshit! You left me! Without a word! How could you?!” You shouted, your face flaring up with the pent up anger you had waited to release on him for 2 years. “You left for another woman who you hadn’t seen for decades and you thought I’d be okay with it? Because I’ll have you know I was not and am still not over what you did to me! After everything we’ve been through together, and you left it all, — like it meant nothing! Fuck You!”

Soldiers around the area were subtly following the the interaction from afar, some even snickering as the Captain was being told off by some woman who they could only assume was one of his many fangirls making a fit.

Steve looked around, embarrassed and confused as he sighed and said, “Please refrain from using that kind of language, there’s really no need to cuss at me when I don’t even know you. You must be mistaking me for someone else... ”

You saw Steve swallow, clearly getting agitated from your confrontation. You frowned at his mannerism. What was up with him?

Steve usually never showed nervousness and was good at keeping his composure.

You blinked, “What do you mean?….You really don’t know who I am?”

“No, I really don’t…no offense of course, but I’m pretty sure I would remember the face of my own girlfriend, - since that’s what you claimed to be earlier anyway…” he said with a sheepish smile.

You were frozen with disbelief.

“What month and year is it?”

“November, 1944, ma’am. Why?”

Wait…

Wait a moment…

Oh shit.

“So you don’t -…you aren’t my…”

You didn’t even want to complete that sentence as you knew there was no use. This was in fact not your Steve. You hadn’t considered how it wouldn’t be convenient for Steve to go in a time where his past self was still living.

Steve must have obviously travelled back after his past self got trapped in the Arctic. And now your last chance of having a talk with your Steve was put on a major stall because the time machine decided to be a real ass and send you the year before past Steve goes missing in the Arctic.

Actually it wasn’t technically in a year’s time, but 4 months since Steve would go on that mission and land the Hydra ship in February of 1945, 7 months before the war ends, - but still.

You had no idea at how long of a time you would have to wait for him regardless. You were internally having a meltdown, all the while Steve was standing there, not sure of what to make out of the whole interaction.

“Ma’am?…Are you feeling okay?” Steve asked with worry, his face tilted as he studied your empty expression.

You gulped and slowly nodded your head. “Erm…yeah, I’m fine…I just…” you shook your head dismissively as you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Actually, no. I’m not fine. At all. This is so bad. Worst part is I can’t even talk to you about it because you, - you don’t even know me yet. You don’t, - shit.” You cursed as tears were building up in your eyes.

You looked away as you began taking a few steps back, not wanting to showcase the misery you have kept in for so long and weren’t able to release because the right man wasn’t in front of you.

“Hey, don’t cry…I’m sure whatever you’re going through, you’ll find a way to solve it…” Steve tried to console as best as he could. He had frowned at the part where you had mentioned you couldn’t tell him because he didn’t know you ‘yet’, which left him to assume you were having a mental breakdown, or was simply confused.

Meanwhile in your mind, you were thinking of what you should do. You were figuring out how you were going to make this whole mission worthwhile, - if maybe you should tell him everything so you could get answers from him. After all, you were talking to the Steve who had fresh memories of the woman who he apparently loved more than you.

He was still Steve, but yet it didn’t feel right to put the heat on him as he had none of the experiences your Steve had. You felt stuck.

40s Steve POV

The woman’s lack of response in contrast to when she first came up to me left me concerned. My first assumption was she had some kind of mental illness. I couldn’t make any sense of what she had said to me, apart from knowing my full name.

“Ma’am, if you’d let me, I’ll take you to get help from the medical committee. It’s at the center of this base, -“

“I’m not sick, Steve!” She interrupted with frustration.

I flinched, not expecting for her to go full volume with her voice again.

“I-I apologize, I didn’t mean to insinuate you were…” I stuttered, and looked around again to see eyes were still on us from a distance. “Look, if you’d like to talk, we should maybe move somewhere else more…private. I would appreciate not attracting a crowd…”

She sighed and closed her eyes for a brief moment before she nodded in agreement. “Let’s.”

I took her with me to an unoccupied office where we could have a private talk about whatever she wanted to tell me. Her face maintained a pondering look, as if she was thinking about how to put words into sentences.

I could already tell I was in for more confusion.

“I came here to talk to you, but not you. I don’t, - I’m not sure how and if I should explain it…you’re not my Steve Rogers.” She said the last part in a whisper, but I heard it very clearly due to my enhanced hearing.

This dame is absolutely out of her mind, I thought.

“Then let’s begin with me pointing something out. You’re dressed in uniform, but you’re clearly not from our base. You’re missing a Howling commando pin on both sides of your suit. In fact, I don’t think you work for the military at all considering you’re missing a US star patch on your right arm.”

I didn’t miss the way she cursed under her breath as she looked up again to respond. “I had it on when I dressed up,…guess it was by pure luck I got in. I’m not surprised though. That soldier by the gate was practically checking me out.”

I didn’t expect her to be humorous, and she earned a chuckle from me as I wasn’t too surprised to hear that. Many soldiers were unfortunately too distracted in their male gaze.

“Of course. So, where are you from then? Did someone send you? Are you a spy?” I asked, and narrowed an eye with suspicion.

“No. — I mean, I guess I could say I sent myself if that counts.” She answered with a shrug.

I shook my head, unamused by this woman’s game. “If you’re not going to be serious about this, I’ll have to send you in for temporary arrest and have you interrogated by a professional. It’s illegal for you to be here, you know.” I held her arm, to which she immediately protested by shaking her arm off.

“No need to have me on your grip. It’s not like I can outrun you anyway. You can run a mile in a minute.”

I crossed my arms, caught off guard that she was being factual about my physique, though no information of it had been released to the public from my knowledge. “How did you know that?”

“I know a lot of things about you, - because I was your fiancé.“ she said, as if it was the obvious.

“Okay,” I sighed and decided to play along for a little bit more. “If we are that close, tell me something no one else knows about me.”

She bit the inside of her cheek as she took a minute to think. For a moment I thought she didn’t have anything more to say. I turned around and wiped my eyes from drowsiness, until she opened her mouth again and said something that would completely shift the atmosphere;

“A strong heart will take you further than any physical strength. A strong heart means you'll never quit. —”

I stiffened, my face immediately turning to look at her, my focus not shifted on anything else anymore.

“— Sarah. Your mother said that to you before she died of tuberculosis in 1936.”

My stomach dropped when her eyes met mine again. I took steps forward, my face only inches away as my glare drilled into hers.

My jaw ticked as my eyebrows narrowed, my hands landing on her shoulder to not have her move away.

“How do you know that? Who are you?”

Her lips quirked a smile as she leaned in and said, “I’ve already told you. I was your fiancé, -

From the future anyway.”

N/A: First part of a 4-5 part series! Already working on part 2 & 3, so this should go somewhat smoothly. >:)

Also fuck Endgame!Steve, am I right?

Hearts & Reblogs are very appreciated! <3