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Midnight at Club 30

 Michael Jackson

Synopsis: Your loving husband is not as honest as he claims to be. Tonight, you find out exactly what he's been hiding.

Pairing: Mafia boss!Michael Jackson x fem!Reader

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: Some sweating. Michael is nonchalant here ewww

Drea's note: I had so much fun writing this! Constructive criticism and suggestion are welcome in my inbox. Thank you for the request, babe. <3

March 1st, 1932

22:00

You take a deep breath in as you examine your surroundings. You can’t believe you’re going on a date with a man your friend, Aubrey, set you up with.

It had been a long time since your separation from your long-time boyfriend. The split was painful. You remember it every so often; sometimes the emotions of the split build up at random times of your day, leaving you teary and shaking with sadness. He promised you the world. Maybe that was the first sign of his infidelity. No man promises a woman the world three months into a relationship. It was all bull from the beginning, but could you have known? You were in your late teens, naive and lovestruck. You couldn’t have known.

Now, here you are, in front of Club 30, in a shimmery black dress, draped with a white fur shawl and sleek golden heels. Your hair is beautifully done in a top bun with a few loose curls draped behind your ears. You fiddle with one of the multiple rings you have on, contemplating whether you should go in. You take in one final breath before pushing open the heavy oak doors, ready for whatever the late night has in store for you.

The bass of the jazz band rumbles through the smokey air as you walk in. You notice a large crowd on the dance floor. Their bodies rock from side to side to the rhythm of the 4-count music. To the left are several tables designed for an assembly of friends. The booths are decorated in a simple brown leather with each table covered with wine-red cloths designed to give you an intimate feel as friends conversation.

There are 4 young men there right now. Their head all turned to you. You give them a small smile which excites them butyou ignore it and look to your right. That way is the bar. That’s where you’re expected. You clear your throat and slowly walk to the bar before taking a seat on one of the many high barstools. The array of alcohol beautifully decorates the large wall before you. From wine to whiskey, it’s all gracefully shelved, disguising the liquid poison as something beautiful.

“Can I get you something to drink?” The bartender interrupts your thoughts. His smile was genuine and calm, indicating his expertise in customer service.

You return the smile, your red lipstick morphing into a gracious grin as you speak. “I’m not too sure what to order. Any suggestions?”

“Of course, ma’am. Do you have a taste for a sweet or bitter drink?” He leans on the counter, clearly taken aback by your allure.

“Sweet, please.”

“I would suggest a lemonade or strawberry daiquiri.” He looks you up and down with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Strawberry, please.” You giggle, rolling your eyes as he nods before turning around to prepare your drink.

While the bartender works on your beverage, you fix your gaze on the large clock. 22:10. Aubrey had said your date would be by the bar by 22:00 but he’s not here yet. You decide to shrug it off and wait a little longer.

“Here you are, ma’am. A strawberry daiquiri.” He carefully slides the drink your way with a wink.

You take a long sip through the paper straw. The sweetness of the strawberry fizz compliments the thick rum. You’re quiteimpressed by the taste. Having never drank this before, your tongue enjoys every drop of it, and soon enough, you’re asking for another one.

22:30.

You huff.

“Are you expecting someone?” The bartender inquires, sliding you your second daiquiri.

“Yes, I am, but I’m afraid I’ve been stood up.” You take a sip of your drink with a frown.

“That happens here quite a lot, unfortunately,” he starts, “Just a few hours ago, an older lady sat here with me and waited for her date to arrive. Alas, he never did.”

You sigh and nod. Maybe the same fate had met you.

“Don’t fret. I’m sure he would have been a waste of time anyway.” He grins, tapping his fingers on the marble counter.

You nod again, accepting your circumstances. Instead of moping about your current fate, you turn to face the band across the bar. They play a more upbeat tune now. Something that has the dance floor cheering and whistling. The sight lifts your mood. Your head begins to rock to the rhythm.

“You should join the crowd, let loose!” The bartender encourages you.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” you lean back to turn the suggestion down.

“Oh come on, ma’am. I’m sure you’re great at it. Plus, why come to Club 30 if not to dance? This is the place to dance, and I know*-”*

The bartender’s words are cut off as he notices the large oak doors open again. The thick, smokey air in the club shifts, as if it’s being controlled by something greater than it; something that makes the jazz band mess up rhythmic jam.

“Oh no. Tonight of all nights?” He whispers behind you and you fix your gaze towards the two large men who you assume are bodyguards.

Before you can respond, another man walks in. He’s dressed differently from the black-suited large men behind him. You glance at his white tailored suit. The expensive fabric hugs his slim figure perfectly, accentuating his toned arms and legs. Beneath his white suit jacket is a soft pastel blue shirt sleekly complimented by a white tie. His hair, curly, thick, and longis topped off with a white fedora. His presence has undoubtedly changed the club’s mood. What you cannot decipher is if this shift is a good or bad one. What you do know, however, is that his arrival has garnered the attention of everyone in the club.

As swiftly as he arrived, his bodyguards escorted him to the far corner of the club. He sits between them as if he is royalty of some sort. He examines the room, seated in the perfect place to see every corner of the club; to see you.

You hadn’t noticed that you were staring at him the entire time he had sat there until he finally fixed his gaze on you. With a nervous smile, you wave at him. He tilts his head, but before he can do anything else, his table is surrounded by a cluster of girls ready to throw themselves at him.

“I wouldn't if I were you. That man is trouble.”

You turn to face the bartender whose face is painted with concern.

“Why’s that?” You smile inquisitively.

“He’s known for doing shady business around these parts of Chicago. Rumour has it that he’s taken a life just outside the club, in the back ally”

You scoff.

“I doubt that's true. If it was, we’d see news of a death on the papers, no?”

Before the bartender could answer, one of the large men from the corner table tapped you on your shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma’am. My boss would like to speak with you.” The large man speaks with an even tone.

You look at the bartender who shakes his head in disagreement with the request, but you; not having anything better to do here; smile and stand up to follow the black-suited man.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” You reassure the bartender before you walk to the designated table.

A dozen eyes watch you as you make it to the alluring man. The girls that once squealed with excitement at his arrival now fix their eyes on you with bitter jealousy. That doesn't stop the white-suited man from motioning you to sit beside him. You slowly scoot your way onto the leather seat, sitting just a few inches away from him.

“Leave us.” He commands, and as if they’re filled with fear, the two bodyguards make their way to the dance floor. The girls, on the other hand, linger.

“All of you. Now.” His voice is stern now, his piercing gaze scaring the girls away with those simple words.

Now, you’re left alone with him. With nobody around, his scent floods your nostrils. A deep sage with a mix of vanilla surrounds him. What an intoxicating scent, one you could inhale for aeons.

“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing here all alone at this hour?” He asks.

His voice is surprisingly softer than the tough visual that he is. He shifts closer to you, closing the gap you had left before looking you dead in the eyes. His deep brown eyes glisten in the mellow lighting of the club. Something is confusing about those eyes. They appear so innocent, but something in them hints at a darker reality.

“I- I had a date tonight,” you fidget with your rings, “regrettably, he never showed.”

He takes a slow sip of his drink, which you’ll come to learn is whiskey. His gaze never leaves yours as he drinks.

“What a foolish man he is to leave a woman hanging like that, especially a woman of your…stature.”

You giggle. He loves that. The sound of your giggle eggs him on.

“My stature?” You probe and he nods.

“An enchanting woman like you shouldn’t be treated so poorly.”

You’re taken aback by his words. Looking away from him you fiddle with your rings. He notices this and gently places his hand on yours. You look at. It’s much larger than yours with veins travelling to and fro. You look up surprised and are greeted by a soft grin.

“The name’s Michael. Michael Jackson. Yours?”

Without a second to waste you tell him yours. His smile brightens at your response, a few crinkles surround his eyes as he smiles.

“It’s very nice to meet you, darlin'.” Michael whispers into your ear in a sultry tone, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Now, tell me. What nonsense was our little bartender telling you about me, hmm?” He leans back into the leather seat.

“That you’re trouble.” You shrug bluntly, tapping your slim fingers on the table before you.

“Oh really?” He motions for his bodyguard, “What kind of trouble did he say I am?

Before you answer, he whispers something to his bodyguard before shooing him away. You watch the large man walk to the bar.

“That you’ve done some shady business here and even…”

“Even what, darling?” He coos.

The bodyguard returns to you and places a strawberry daiquiri in on the tabl before turning and leaving for the dance floor once again.

“Thank you.” “You smile and take a sip. “He said you’d killed someone in behind this very building.

Your words provoke a loud chuckle from him. His head tilts backwards as he laughs, exposing his Adam's apple.

“As you can see, Louis over there has quite the imagination.” He clears his throat and drops his expression into something more serious. “Don’t believe everything you hear about me around these parts. People love to gossip about my occupation. They know nothing of what they speak of.”

You sigh a sigh of relief and drink the last of your beverage, continuing the conversation. He remains calm and collected, only sharing enough to keep you intrigued, but not sufficient to satisfy your curiosity.

September 14th 1935

Three years into your relationship you’ve come to learn that Michael would always be that way. Not even the fact that you’re his wife could change that. Anytime you ask about his work, he’ll give you a short answer. Nothing too specific, just enough to reassure you that he’ll be safe on the next business trip he’d be heading to. Lately, things have changed. Your husband had no longer told you where he was headed. He’d simply leave a note alluding to where he’d be and what he’d be dealing with.

To say you were annoyed by his behaviour is an understatement. You spent the past 3 months with your housemaids. They knew the ins and outs of your new grand home, the home you moved into with Michael when he married you two and half years ago. You grew friendly to them in the early stages of your marriage which you thank yourself for doing because you can ask them what exactly your husband gets up to while you’re asleep or away with friends and family.

“Two weeks ago, he had three men here. They were all dressed in expensive-looking suits, and we were all ordered to serve them with whatever they pleased,” said Diane with an admitting tone.

“And a month before that, he had a woman here,” Claire adds, “but worry not. He did not lead her to your bedroom or anything of that sort.”

You listen to them intently, your fists clenching and relaxing as they tell you just how much Michael has been hiding from you.

“Do you know where he’ll be later tonight? You two are the eyes and ears of this house. I’m sure you heard word of his night excursion.” You look at them both.

“Yes. Of course!” Diane speaks. “I overheard him talk to his chauffeur, Bill, about being at Club 30 tonight at 11 pm for some business.”

“Perfect. Once he leaves for that, be sure to have a car for me to follow him there.”

Diane and Claire nod and disburse as your so-called honest husband makes his way to the kitchen where you’re situated.

“Good day, darling.” Michael coos, placing a soft and long kiss on your lips. “What were you all discussing just now?”

You kiss him back and hum, knowing not to tell him the truth. “We were planning for our housewarming party tomorrow.

“Ah, I see,” he sits beside you, placing his large hand on the small of your back, “I’ll make sure to get all the alcohol needed tonight, okay?”

You nod and cup his face with your warm hands, “Thank you, my love. You’re a lifesaver.”

He smiles, rubbing your back slowly before turning his attention to the newspaper. You notice his jaw clench as he reads the front cover, so you turn to the newspaper.

“Two Bodies Found at The Docking Pier Near Club 30”

“Oh my,” you gasp, catching Michael’s attention, “Poor souls.”

“It’s shocking indeed, darling,” he says not because he means it but because he has to in order not to alarm you. You can tell he knows more about these deaths than he’s saying so you probe.

“When did they find them?”

“The morning of September 9th.” He answers as he continues to read.

“Were you not there the night before?” you lean closer to him.

“What Are you sayin’?” He slowly turns towards you.

You huff and look him dead in his eyes. ”Surely you would have seen something.”

Michael’s Gaze hardens and his hand clutches the newspaper tightly. It’s not the first time you’ve angered him this way. There have been times when you asked him about his whereabouts, noticing how they always seemed to correlate with the discovery of a dead body. This time, however, you prob further. Gone are the days when you simply say “Okay fine” and let it go. Today, You want to know as much as he’ll tell you, even if it means he’ll be infuriated by your unwavering questioning.

“Darlin’…” He takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Why would I know a thing about this.” He asks irritated, shaking the paper firmly.

“Because you were they the night before, no?” He nods. “And the paper says there was a quarrel around the same you when there for a drink.”

You observe his increasing anger, his breath getting deeper as he attempts to keep himself from raising his voice at you. One thing is for sure; he has something to hide, but he won’t dare yell at you. He knows better than to treat his woman with such fury. He would rather die than create room in your heart for you to fear him. If he did that, he would have failed as a husband, as a man, but God, were you pissing him off right now.

“Darlin’, I do not witness the fights that break out at the club. I’m gone by then.” He speaks bluntly.

“So why’d you come home so late that night?”

“Listen,” He snaps but quickly lowers his voice, “what I do in my spare time is not your concern. All you need to worry about is the goings-on of our home and yourself. Is that clear, Darlin’?”

His tone is stern as if to discipline you like a child. He’s never used such a tone while addressing you. You knew now that he was not telling you the complete story.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to get ready for work.” That's the last thing he said to you that day before he disappeared out of the large wooden doors of your home to do God knows what.

19:00

Michael had arrived back from work an hour prior. He did not spend much time with you that evening, and soon, he was out the door. The only thing he said was that he’d be back with the alcohol for tomorrow’s housewarming. Why were you having a housewarming two years into moving here? You didn’t know, but that's not important. What's important is to figure out exactly what he has planned for the night.

23:17

“Mrs Jackson, the car is ready for you,” Diane whispers and you nod.

“Thank you, Diane. You and Claire be sure to take the day off tomorrow. We’ll have other servers here in your place.” Diane nods hastily at your words before she and Claire disappear into the servants’ quarters.

23:45

You thank the driver before stepping out of the car. Here you are, in front of Club 30 once again. It had been months since you were here, having feared that you’d meet the same fate as those two young men who were found dead this morning. That fear is now replaced with pent-up rage from your husband's lies. You were done with the secrets. Tonight, you’ll find out the truth, and nothing will stop you from completing that mission.

You walk into the ally and sneak your way into the club through the back door.

“Thank you, Louis. You’re a gem.” You give the bartender a soft kiss on the cheek as he helps you through the club’s kitchen.

“He’s here already. Two men came in shortly after him,” he blushed at the kiss, “Then two other men followed. They’re all seated together in his booth.”

You nod with a frown. “Do you know what they’re up to?”

“No, ma’am. They’ve had the jazz band playing to cover up their conversations, but the band will retire for the night soon.”

You follow him to the club’s end of the kitchen. To your surprise, the band has already left, leaving the five men, including Michael, to their own devices. Their conversation is clear as day. Both you and Louis lean on the door to listen in.

23:50

“How did they find the bodies?” Michael asks, his tone cold.

“We don’t know, boss. Don said he’d take care of it but-” One of the men tries to defend themself but is cut by the other.

“I never said I’d take care of anything!” You assume that is Don talking.

“Boss told you too! You always mess up the simplest jobs.”

“Enough!” You hear Michael shout as he delivers a loud bang to the table. “I will not tolerate such childish behaviour from anyone tonight. You all need to shut up and listen.”

A shiver runs down your back at his commanding voice. His soft-spoken nature seems to have shifted into something darker, something you didn’t recognise. Was this your husband? Of course, it was, but this was a side of him you were not acquainted with.

“But first. I must deal with something,” Michael begins, “Louis, bring her here.”

You dart your eyes to Louis, whose hand has already grasped yours, pulling you out of the kitchen and into the club's main room. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as Michael stands before you, his curls messy and suit well-kept. He clicks his tongue and circles you slowly, shooing Louis away with a knowing nod.

“Now, what do we have here?” Michael speaks with a disappointed tone.

You’re frozen in place. The shock of Louis having sold you out fogged your mind. All you can do is dart your eyes as he continues the torturous dance around you. At that moment, you feel small. Like a rabbit waiting for the cheetah before it to pounce. 

“I- I can explain-”

Michael chuckles. “What happened to all that spunk you had interrogating me this morning, Darlin’? Was it all a front?”

You have no choice but to look down abashedly. You’ve been caught, your plans ruined by someone you thought you could trust. Oh, once you get out of here, you’ll be ripping Louis a new one.

“Come. Sit.” Michael grabs your arm and leads you to the booth. You fall onto the leather seat and face the four men who sit across from you and Michael on hard wooden stools.

“Explain yourself, darlin’.” He commands.

The anger you’ve bottled up finally spills over as you begin: “Explain myself? You have a lot of nerve to say such a thing! How dare you lie to me about your life to this degree? Shame on you! Shame on all of you in this room right now!”

You’re seething with anger, your hands clench tight around nothing, your jaw tight, and your brows furrowed. Your eyes roam your surroundings. The four men facing you don’t react to your words. One, however, smiles contently.

“I never knew your wife could yell like that, Boss.” Don smiles.

“Neither did I,” Michael admits, “You’re full of surprises, young lady.”

“And you’re full of shit!” You spit at Michael, provoking a twitch of disapproval across his face.

“Watch yourself.” He lifts a finger, reprimanding your outburst. “I know you want answers, but I will not accept such foul language, darlin’. Understand?”

You shake your head, cross your arms and look anywhere but him or his lackeys. “Speak.”

Michael chuckles at your attempt to be tough. “Oh, you’re too cute, my love,” he says as he sits beside you, “As you wish. What would you like to know?”

“Who are these men?” You start with a simple question.

“These are Tony, Don, Trevor, and Allen. They’re my cleaners, my boys.” He sips his whiskey.

“Cleaners? Meaning what?” You raise a brow at them and they all bow their heads in acknowledgement.

“What an innocent mind you have” He coos. “They clean up after me. You know, after I deal with someone.”

“What?” You raise your voice.

“We get rid of anyone he kills, Mrs Jackson. That’s our job, but someone didn’t do it right on Friday.” Tony hits Don on the heads

Michael shifts in the seat and shakes his head. “You are all so childish.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Your husband, the man you love is a killer. A cold-blooded killer. How did he never show any sign of this sick side to him?

“Michael, you’re a killer?” You look at him with your cheeks red.

“Darlin’, it’s much more complicated than that-”

“Then explain yourself” You snap.

Michael sighs before nodding. He stands up, holding his hand out for you to take it, but you don't. Instead, you stand and follow him to the balcony on the second floor.

00:00

The hustle and bustle of Chicago has slowed down significantly at this hour. As you and Michael stand outside, you hear a dog bark from afar and a car rumble through the empty road. This calm view of the city lights does little to nothing to ease your stress. It seems as though nothing he has to say with change how you feel in the moment.

“Listen, I know what you’ve heard is concerning to you, but I must assure you, my love, that You have nothing to worry about.”

“Is that so?” You huff. “How am I supposed to do that when you’re running the streets killing people?”

Michael lifts his finger to hush you. The last thing he needs is to have the patrolling police listening to your heated conversation.

“It’s not that simple, my love.”

“Simplify it for me,” You cross your arms.

“You won’t believe me, but alas, I’ll explain.” He leans onto the rails, lighting a cigar before taking a long breath of the smoky substance.

“Remember when I told you about my upbringing? My family always had to move from state to state.” you nod. “Well, that was because my father was involved in criminal activity. But you know that part.”

You remember Michael telling you about how his father was killed in prison by a gang he worked in opposition with.

“Go on,” you command.

“When my father died, my older brothers wanted nothing to do with the life my father led, so I took over as boss.” Michael wraps his lips around the cigar, sucking on it as it fills his lungs with the smoky air. He puffs rings of smoke out as he watches for your reaction.

“You're some kind of mafia boss? here, in Chicago?” You cough as the aftersmoke hits your throat.

All Michael can do is nod. His eyes stay fixed on you as you take in everything you’ve heard. 

How long was he going to hide this? What would he have done if you were in trouble? What did he expect you to do if he got arrested or hurt?

“I would never let myself get hurt, let alone put you in any form of danger, darlin’. I swear.” He reassures you with one hand on your face and the other holding the burning cigar

“You’ve already endangered me by not telling me this from the beginning.” Your voice cracks.

“How could I tell a stranger that I’m a criminal?” He runs his fingers through his curls.

“You’re calling your wife a stranger? Jee, Michael. I never knew you were this cruel.” Your head shakes as tears roll down your cheeks.

“Darlin’…I meant no harm. believe me.” Michael wipes a tear from your eye which does nothing to soothe your sorrow.

“I cannot do this right now.” You turn away from him.

“My love…” his voice falls small.

“You’ve lied to me for three years, Michael. Three years.” You sigh and take a step away from him. “I cannot bear to look at you without feeling betrayed. I cannot be around you right now.”

You walk away, leaving him on the balcony with a cigar in his hand and a tear threatening to fall from his beautiful brown eyes.

00:38

As you hastily pack an overnight bag, you look at your shared bed with teary eyes. The thought of you sharing a be with a killer haunts your mind and breaks your heart. You had to get away from here, from him.

Right now, nothing could stop you from seeing him as a monster, and that hurt to admit.

You married a criminal. You married a killer.

March 1st, 1932

22:00

You take a deep breath in as you examine your surroundings. You can’t believe you’re going to do this, going on a date with a man your friend, Aubrey, set you up with.

It had been a long time since your separation from your long-time boyfriend. The split was painful. You remember it every so often; the emotions of that day build up at random times of your day, leaving you teary and shaking with sadness. He promised you the world. Maybe that was the first sign of his infidelity. No man promises a woman the world three months into a relationship. It was all bull from the beginning, but could you have known? You were in your late teens, naive and lovestruck. You couldn’t have known.

Now, here you are, in front of Club 30, in a silky red dress and sleek golden heels. Your hair is done beautifully in a top bun with a few loose curls draped behind your ears. You fiddle with one of the multiple rings you have on, contemplating whether or not you should go in. You take in one final breath before pushing open the heavy oak doors, ready for whatever the late night has in store for you.

The bass of the jazz band rumbles through the smoky air as you walk in. You notice a large crowd on the dance floor. Their bodies rock from side to side to the rhythm of the 4-count music. To the left are tables designed for an assembly of friends. The booths are decorated in a simple brown leather, with each table covered with wine-red cloths designed to give you an intimate feel as friends converse.

There are five young men there right now. Their heads all turned to you. You give them a small smile, which excites them, but you ignore it and look to your right. That way is the bar. That’s where you’re expected. You clear your throat and slowly walk to the bar before taking a seat on one of the many high barstools. The array of alcohol beautifully decorates the large wall before you. From wine to whisky, it’s all gracefully shelved in a way that makes you forget that all those liquids are poison.

“Can I get you something to drink?” The bartender interrupts your thoughts. His smile is genuine and calm, indicating his expertise in customer service.

You return the smile. Your red lipstick morphs into a beautiful grin as you speak. “I’m not too sure what to order. Any suggestions?”

“Of course, ma’am. Do you have a taste for a sweet or bitter drink?” He leans on the counter, clearly taken aback by your allure.

“Sweet, please.”

“I would suggest a lemonade or strawberry daiquiri.” He looks you up and down with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Strawberry, please.” You giggle and roll your eyes, and he nods before turning around to prepare your drink.

While the bartender works on your beverage, you fix your gaze on the large clock. 22:10. Aubrey had said your date would be by the bar by 22:00, but he’s not here yet. You decide to shrug it off and wait a little longer.

“Here you are, ma’am. A strawberry daiquiri.” He carefully slides the drink your way with a wink.

You take a long sip through the paper straw. The sweetness of the strawberry fizz is complemented by the thick rum.You’re impressed by the taste. Having never drunk this before, your tongue enjoys every drop of it, and soon enough, you’re asking for another one.

22:30.

You huff.

“Are you expecting someone?” The bartender enquires, sliding you your second daiquiri.

“Yes. I am, but I’m afraid I’ve been stood up.” You take a sip of your drink with a frown.

“That happens here quite a lot, unfortunately,” he starts, “Just a few hours ago, an older lady sat here with me and waited for her date to arrive. Alas, he never did.”

You sigh and nod. Maybe the same fate had met you.

“Don’t fret. I’m sure he would have been a waste of time anyway.” He grins, tapping his fingers on the marble counter.

You nod again, accepting your circumstances. Instead of moping about your current fate, you turn to face the band across the bar. They play a more upbeat tune now. Something that has the dance floor cheering and whistling with joy. The sight lifts your mood. Your head begins to rock to the rhythm.

“You should join the crowd, let loose,” The bartender encourages you.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” you lean back to turn the suggestion down.

“Oh, come on, ma’am. I’m sure you’re great at it. Plus, why come to Club 30 if not to dance? This is the place to dance, and I know—”

The bartender’s words are cut off as he notices the large oak doors open. The thick, smoky air in the club shifts, as if it’s being controlled by something—something that makes the jazz band mess up rhythmic jam.

“Oh no. Tonight of all nights?” He whispers behind you, and you fix your gaze on the two large men who you assume are bodyguards.

Before you can respond, another man walks in. He’s dressed differently from the large, black-suited men behind him. You glance at his white tailored suit. The expensive fabric hugs his slim figure perfectly, accentuating his toned arms and legs. Beneath his white suit jacket is a soft pastel blue shirt sleekly complemented by a white tie. His black curls upon his head are topped off with a simple white fedora. His presence has undoubtedly changed the mood of the club. What you cannot decipher is if the shift is a good or bad one. What you do know, however, is that his arrival has garnered the attention of everyone in the club.

As swiftly as he arrived, his bodyguards escorted him to the far corner of the club. He sits between them as if he’s royalty of some sort. He examines the room; he’s seated in the perfect place to see every corner of the club, to see you.

You hadn’t noticed that you were staring at him the entire time he had sat there until he finally fixed his gaze on you. With a nervous smile, you wave at him. He tilts his head, but before he can do anything else, his table is surrounded by a cluster of girls ready to throw themselves at him.

“I wouldn't if I were you. That man is trouble.”

You turn to face the bartender, whose face shows concern.

“Why’s that?” You smile inquisitively.

“He’s known for doing shady business around these parts. Rumour has it that he’s taken a life just outside the club, in the back alley.”

You scoff.

“I doubt that's true. If it were, we’d see news of a death in the papers, no?”

Before the bartender could answer, one of the large men at the corner table tapped you on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma’am. My boss would like to speak with you.” The large man speaks with an even tone.

You look at the bartender, who shakes his head in disagreement with the request, but you, not having anything better to do here, smile and stand up to follow the black-suited man.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” You reassure the bartender before you walk to the designated table.

A dozen eyes watch you as you make it to the alluring man. The girls that once squealed with excitement at his arrival now fix their eyes on you with bitter jealousy. That doesn't stop the white-suited man from motioning you to sit beside him. You slowly scoot your way onto the leather seat, sitting just a few inches away from him.

“Leave us.” He commands, and as if they’re filled with fear, the two bodyguards make their way to the dance floor. The girls, on the other hand, linger.

“All of you. Now.” His voice is stern now, his piercing gaze scaring the girls away with those simple words.

Now, you’re left alone with him. Without others around, his scent floods your nostrils. A deep sage with a mix of vanilla scent surrounds him. What an intoxicating scent, one you could inhale for aeons.

“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing here all alone at this hour?” He asks.

His voice is surprisingly softer than the tough visual that he is. He shifts closer to you, closing the gap you had left before looking you dead in the eyes. His deep brown eyes glisten in the mellow lighting of the club. Something is confusing about those eyes. They appear so innocent, but something in them hints at a darker reality.

“I had a date tonight,” you fidget with your rings, “regrettably, he never showed.”

He takes a slow sip of his drink, which you’ll come to learn is whisky. His gaze never leaves yours as he drinks.

“What a foolish man he is to leave a woman hanging like that, especially a woman of your…stature.”

You giggle. The sound of your giggle eggs him on. “My stature?” You probe, and he nods.

“An enchanting woman like you shouldn’t be treated so poorly.”

You’re taken aback by his words. Looking away from him, you fiddle with your rings. He notices this and gently places his hand on yours. You look at. It’s larger than yours, with veins travelling to and fro. You look up surprised and he shoots you a soft grin.

“The name’s Michael. Michael Jackson. Yours?”

Without a second to waste, you tell him yours. His smile brightens at your response; a few crinkles surround his eyes as he smiles.

“It’s very nice to meet you, darlin',” Michael whispers into your ear in a sultry tone that causes a shiver to run down your spine.

“Now, tell me. What nonsense was our little bartender telling you about me, hmm?” He leans back into the leather seat.

“That you’re trouble.” You shrug bluntly, tapping your slim fingers on the table before you.

“Oh really?” He motions for his bodyguard, “What kind of trouble did he say I am?

Before you answer, he whispers something to his bodyguard before shooing him away. You watch the large man stand at the bar, and the bartender fixes up a drink.

“That you’ve done some shady business here and even…”

“Even what, darling?” He coos.

The bodyguard makes his way back to you and places a strawberry daiquiri in front of you before turning and leaving for the dance floor once again.

“Thank you.” “You smile and take a sip. “He said you’d killed someone behind this very building.

Your words provoke a loud chuckle from him. His head tilts back as he laughs, exposing his Adam's apple.

“As you can see, Louis over there has quite the imagination.” He clears his throat and drops his expression into something more serious. “Don’t believe everything you hear about me around these parts. People love to gossip about my occupation. They know nothing of what they speak of.”

You sigh a sigh of relief and drink the last of your beverage, continuing, the conversation with Michael. He remains calm and collected, only sharing enough to keep you wondering.

14 September 1935

Three years into your relationship, you’ve come to learn that Michael would always be that way. Not even the fact that you’re his now could change. Anytime you ask about his work, he’ll give you a short answer. Nothing too specific, just enough to reassure you that he’ll be safe on the next business trip he’ll be heading to. Lately, things have changed. Your husband had no longer told you where he was headed. He’d simply leave a note alluding to where he’d be and what he’d be dealing with.

To say you were annoyed by his behaviour is an understatement. You spent the past 3 months with your housemaids. They knew the ins and outs of your new grand home, the home you moved into with Michael when he married you two and a half years ago. You grew friendly with them in the early stages of your marriage, which you now thank yourself for doing because you can now ask them what exactly your husband gets up to while you’re asleep or away with friends and family.

“Two weeks ago, he had three men here. They were all dressed in expensive-looking suits, and we were all ordered to serve them with whatever they pleased,” said Diane with an admitting tone.

“And a month before that, he had a woman here,” Claire adds, “but worry not. He did not lead her to your bedroom or anything of that sort.”

You listen to them intently, your fists clenching and relaxing as they tell you just how much Michael has been hiding from you.

“Do you know where he’ll be later tonight? You two are the eyes and ears of this house. I’m sure you heard word of his night excursion.” You look at them both.

“Yes. Of course!” Diane speaks. “I overheard him talk to his chauffeur, Bill, about being at Club 30 tonight at 11 pm for some business.”

“Perfect. Once he leaves for that, be sure to have a car for me to follow him there, please.”

Diane and Claire nod at your plan and disperse as your so-called honest husband makes his way to the kitchen where you’re situated.

“Good day, darling.” Michael coos, placing a soft and long kiss on your lips. “What were you all discussing just now?”

You kiss him back and hum, knowing not to tell him the truth. “We were planning for the housewarming party you and I are hosting tomorrow.

“Ah, I see,” he sits beside you, placing his large hand on the small of your back, “I’ll make sure to get all the alcohol needed tonight, okay?”

You nod and cup his face with your warm hands, “Thank you, my love. You’re a lifesaver.”

He smiles, rubbing your back slowly before turning your attention to the daily newspaper. You notice his jaw clench as he reads the front cover, so you turn to the newspaper too.

“2 Bodies Found at the Docking Pier Near Club 30”

“Oh my,” you gasp, catching Michael’s attention, “Poor souls.”

“It’s shocking indeed, darling,” he says not because he means it but because he has to in order not to alarm you.

You can tell he knows more about these deaths than he’s saying, so you probe.

“When did they find them?”

“The morning of September 9th.” He answers as he continues to read.

“Were you not there the night before?” You lean closer to him.

“What are you sayin’?” He slowly turns towards you.

You huff and look him dead in his eyes. ”Surely you would have seen something.”

Michael’s gaze hardens, and his hand clutches the newspaper tightly. It’s not the first time you’ve angered him this way. There have been times when you asked him about his whereabouts, noticing how they always seemed to correlate with the discovery of a dead body. This time, however, you probably went further. Gone are the days when you simply say, “Okay, fine,” and let it go. Today, you want to know as much as he’ll tell you, even if it means he’ll be infuriated by your unwavering questioning.

“Darlin’…” He takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Why would I know a thing about this?” He asks, irritated, shaking the paper firmly.

“Because you were there the night before, no?” He nods. “And the paper says there was a quarrel around the same time you were there for a drink.”

You observe his increasing anger, his breath getting deeper as he attempts to keep himself from raising his voice at you. One thing is for sure; he has something to hide, but he won’t dare yell at you. He knows better than to treat his woman with such fury. He would rather die than create room in your heart for you to fear him. If he did that, he would have failed as a husband, as a man, but God, were you pissing him off right now?

“Darlin’, I do not witness the fights that break out at that club. I’m gone by then.” He speaks bluntly.

“So why’d you come home so late that night?”

“Listen,” He snaps but quickly lowers his voice, “What I do in my spare time is not your concern. All you need to worry about is the going-ons of our home and yourself. Is that clear, Darlin’?”

His tone is stern as if to discipline you like a child. He’s never used such a tone while addressing you. You knew now that he was not telling you the complete story.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to get ready for work.” That's the last thing he said to you that day before he disappeared out of the large wooden doors of your home to do God knows what.

19:00

Michael had arrived back from work an hour prior. He did not spend much time with you that evening, and soon, he was out the door. The only thing he said was that he’d be back with the alcohol for tomorrow’s housewarming. Why were you having a housewarming two years into moving here? You didn’t know, but that's not important. What's important is to figure out exactly what he has planned for the night.

23:17

“Mrs. Jackson, the car is ready for you,” Diane whispers, and you nod.

“Thank you, Diane. You and Claire be sure to take the day off tomorrow. We’ll have other servers here in your place.” Diane nods hastily at your words before she and Claire disappear into the servants’ quarters.

23:45

You thank the driver before stepping out of the car. Here you are, in front of Club 30 once again. It had been months since you were here, having feared that you’d meet the same fate as those two young men who were found dead this morning. That fear is now replaced with pent-up rage from your husband's lies. You were done with the secrets. Tonight, you’ll find out the truth, and nothing will stop you from completing that mission.

You walk into the alley and sneak your way into the club through the back door.

“Thank you, Louis. You’re a gem.” You give the bartender a soft kiss on the cheek as he helps you through the club’s kitchen.

“He’s here already. Two men came in shortly after him,” he blushes at the kiss, “Then two other men followed. They’re all seated together in this booth.”

You nod with a frown. “Do you know what they are up to?”

“No, ma’am. They’ve had the jazz band playing to cover up their conversations, but the band will retire for the night soon.”

You follow him to the club’s end of the kitchen. To your surprise, the band has already left, leaving the five men, including Michael, to their own devices. Their conversation is clear as day. Both you and Louis lean on the door to listen in.

23:50

“How did they find the bodies?” Michael asks, his tone cold.

“We don’t know, boss. Don said he’d take care of it, but—” One of the men tries to defend himself but is interrupted by the other.

“I never said I’d take care of anything!” You assume it is Don talking.

“Boss told you too! You always mess up the simplest jobs.”

“Enough!” You hear Michael shout as he delivers a loud bang to the table. “I will not tolerate such childish behaviour from anyone tonight. You all need to shut up and listen.”

A shiver runs down your back at his commanding voice. His soft-spoken nature seems to have shifted into something darker, something you didn’t recognise. Was this your husband? Of course, it was, but this was a side of him you were not acquainted with.

“But first. I must deal with something,” Michael begins. “Louis, bring her here.”

You dart your eyes to Louis, whose hand has already grasped yours, pulling you out of the kitchen and into the main room of the club. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and fear as Michael stands before you, his curls messy and his suit well-kept. He clicks his tongue and circles you slowly, shooing Louis away with a knowing nod.

“Now, now. What do we have here?” Michael speaks with a disappointed tone.

You’re frozen in place. The shock of Louis having sold you out is still fogging your mind. All you can do is dart your eyes from left to right as he continues the torturous dance around you. At that moment, you feel small. Like a rabbit waiting for the cheetah before it pounces. Its heart thumps uncontrollably as it awaits its demise.

“I—I can explain—”

Michael chuckles. “What happened to all that spunk you had interrogating me this morning, Darlin’? Was it all a front?”

You have no choice but to look down abashedly. You’ve been caught, your plans ruined by someone you thought you could trust. Oh, once you get out of here, you’ll be ripping Louis a new one.

“Come. Sit.” Michael grabs your arm and leads you to the booth. You fall onto the leather seat and face the four men who sit across from you and Michael on hard wooden stools.

“Explain yourself, darlin’.” He commands.

The anger you’ve bottled up finally spills over as you begin, “No! You have a lot of nerve to do such a thing! How dare you lie to me about your life to this degree? Shame on you! Shame on all of you in this room right now!”

You’re seething with anger, your hands clench tight around nothing, your jaw tight, and your brows furrowed. Your eyes roam your surroundings. The four men facing you don’t react to your words. One, however, smiles contently.

“I never knew your wife could yell like that, Boss.” Don smiles.

“Neither did I,” Michael admits, “You’re full of surprises, young lady.”

“And you’re full of shit!” You spit at Michael, provoking a twitch of disapproval across his face.

“Watch yourself.” He lifts a finger, reprimanding your outburst. “I know you want answers, but I will not accept such foul language, darlin’. Got it?”

You shake your head, cross your arms, and look anywhere but at him or his lackeys. “Speak.”

Michael chuckles at your attempt to be tough. “Oh, you’re too cute, my love,” he says as he sits beside you, “As you wish. What would you like to know?”

“Who are these men?” You start with a simple question.

“These are Tony, Don, Trevor, and Allen. They’re my cleaners, my boys.” He sips his whisky.

“Cleaners? Meaning what?” You raise a brow at them, and they all bow their heads in acknowledgement.

“What an innocent mind you have, darlin’.” He coos. “They clean up after me. You know, after I deal with someone.”

“What?” You raise your voice.

“We get rid of anyone he kills, Mrs. Jackson. That’s our job, but someone didn’t do it right on Friday.” Tony hits Don on the head.

Michael shifts in the seat and shakes his head. “You are all so childish.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Your husband, the man you love, is a killer. A cold-blooded killer. How couldn’t you have known? How did he never show any sign of this sick side?

“Michael, you’re a killer?” You look at him with your cheeks red.

“Darlin’, it’s much more complicated than that—”

“Then explain yourself!” You snap.

Michael sighs. He stands up, holding out his hand for you to take it, but you don't. Instead, you stand and follow him to the balcony on the second floor.

00:00

The hustle and bustle of Chicago has slowed down significantly at this hour. As you and Michael stand outside, you hear a dog bark from afar and a car rumble through the empty road. This calm view of the city lights does little to nothing to ease your stress. It seems as though nothing he has to say will change how you feel in the moment.

“Listen, I know what you’ve heard is concerning to you, but I must assure you, my love, that you have nothing to worry about.”

“Is that so?” You huff. “How am I not to worry when you’re running the streets killing people?”

Michael lifts his finger to hush you. The last thing he needs is to have the patrolling police listening in on your heated conversation.

“It’s not that simple, my love.”

“Simplify it for me.” You cross your arms.

“You won’t believe me, but alas, I’ll explain.” He leans onto the rails, lighting up a cigar before taking a long breath of the smoky substance.

“Remember when I told you about my upbringing? My family always had to move from state to state,” you nod. “Well, that was because my father was involved in criminal activity. But you know that part.”

Your memory is sparked, and you remember Michael telling you about how his father was killed in prison by a gang member he worked in opposition with.

“Go on,” you command.

“When my father died, my older brothers wanted nothing to do with the life he led, so I took over as boss.” Michael wraps his lips around the cigar, sucking on it as it fills his lungs with the smoky air. He puffs rings of smoke out as he watches for your reaction.

“You're some kind of mafia boss? here, in Chicago?” You cough as the aftersmoke hits your throat.

All Michael can do is nod. His eyes stay fixed on you as you take in everything you’ve heard. How long was he going to hide this? What would he have done if you were in trouble? What did he expect you to do if he got arrested or hurt?

“I would never let myself get hurt, let alone put you in any form of danger, darlin’. I swear.” He reassures you with one hand on your face and the other holding the burning cigar.

“You’ve already endangered me by not telling me this from the beginning.” Your voice cracks.

“How could I tell a stranger that I’m a criminal?” He runs his fingers through his curls.

“You’re calling your wife a stranger? Jeez, Michael. I never knew you were this cruel.” Your head shakes as tears roll down your cheeks.

“Darlin’…I meant no harm. believe me.” Michael wipes a tear from your eye, which does nothing to soothe your sorrow.

“I cannot do this right now.” You turn away from him.

“My love…” His voice falls small.

“You’ve lied to me for three years, Michael.” You take a step away from him. “I cannot bear to look at you without feeling betrayed. I cannot be around you right now. I don't even recognise you anymore”

You walk away, leaving him on the balcony with a cigar in his hand and a tear threatening to fall from his beautiful brown eyes.

00:38

As you pack an overnight bag, you look at your shared bed with teary eyes. The thought of you sharing a bed with a killer haunts your mind and breaks your heart. You had to get away from here, from him. Nothing could stop you from seeing him as a monster.

You married a killer. You married a criminal.

Toto Wolff is in a bad mood and bumps into a girl who spills coffee over him and he goes ballistic on her, only to find her waiting in his office later that day and realising that she is his new assistant. And he apologises and accidentally reveals that he thinks she’s pretty.

Spilled Coffee

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toto wolff masterlist

pairing: toto wolff x assistant!reader

summary: Toto Wolff, in a foul mood, bumps into a woman who spills coffee on him. After a heated exchange, he discovers that she’s his new assistant. Unapologetically bold and confident, she challenges Toto in ways he didn’t expect, forcing him to rethink his first impression.

warnings: tense initial interactions, light humor.

Toto Wolff’s day was, in a word, terrible. Meetings had dragged on endlessly, strategy discussions had gone nowhere, and the pressure of an underperforming car was taking its toll. By the time he left the conference room, his patience was running on fumes.

All he wanted was a cup of coffee to pull himself together before tackling the mountain of paperwork waiting in his office. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

As he rounded the corner of the hallway, he collided with someone moving at an equally brisk pace.

A gasp escaped from the other party, and before Toto could react, a wave of hot coffee splashed across his tailored suit.

—What the hell! —Toto barked, taking a step back, glaring down at the mess. His dark suit was stained, the sticky liquid seeping into the fabric.

—Oh, fantastic. —a voice responded sharply. —This is just what I needed.

Toto’s head snapped up at the tone. He was met with a pair of defiant eyes glaring right back at him. The woman standing before him wasn’t apologizing; in fact, she seemed just as annoyed as he was.

—Excuse me? —Toto said, his tone sharp and cutting. —You just ruined a suit worth more than your monthly salary.

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. —Maybe if you watched where you were going, this wouldn’t have happened. But sure, blame the person holding the coffee instead of the one charging through the hallway like a freight train.

Toto blinked, momentarily stunned by her boldness. Most people would have been tripping over themselves to apologize, but not her.

—Do you even know who I am? —he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Her lips twitched into a dry smile. —Oh, I know exactly who you are. Toto Wolff, the team principal of Mercedes-AMG Petronas, right? Well, congratulations. Today, you’re also the guy who doesn’t look where he’s going.

Toto’s jaw clenched, his irritation boiling over. —You-

—You’re welcome for the coffee, by the way —she cut him off, brushing past him with a pointed look. —Consider it a wake-up call..

Toto stood there, speechless, as she walked away.

Later That Day

Toto couldn’t shake the incident. As much as he hated to admit it, her sharp wit and unapologetic attitude had left an impression. Most people didn’t dare speak to him that way, and it gnawed at him.

When he finally returned to his office, he hoped to bury himself in work and forget the whole thing. But as he stepped inside, he stopped short.

Sitting at his desk, flipping through a folder, was the same woman from earlier.

She glanced up as the door opened, her expression neutral. —Oh, you’re back.

—What are you doing here? —Toto demanded, his voice laced with irritation.

She closed the folder and stood, offering a polite but firm smile. —I’m your new assistant.

Toto stared at her, his mind racing to catch up. —You’re—what?

—Your assistant —she repeated. —Surprise.

For the first time in a long while, Toto was at a loss for words. —No one informed me of this.

—Well, I was informed —she said, leaning against the desk casually. —And here I am.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to suppress the wave of embarrassment washing over him. —Look, about earlier—

She held up a hand, cutting him off. —Don’t bother. I’m not fragile, Mr. Wolff. You were rude, I was rude back. Let’s call it even.

Her bluntness caught him off guard again. Most people tiptoed around him, afraid to upset the boss. But she wasn’t afraid, and it was… refreshing.

—I owe you an apology —Toto said after a pause, his tone more measured. —I was out of line.

She studied him for a moment before nodding. —Accepted. Now, are we done with the awkward apologies, or do you have more to add?

Toto almost smiled. Almost. —You’re… direct.

—Is that a problem?

—No. —he said quickly. —It’s… effective.

As she turned back to his desk, her movements fluid and confident, Toto muttered, almost to himself, —You’re quite pretty when you’re not yelling at me.

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

She froze, glancing back at him with a sharp look. —Excuse me?

Toto’s eyes widened slightly, realizing what he’d said. His ears turned red, a rare show of embarrassment for the usually composed team principal. —I- what I meant was—

She tilted her head, arms crossed. —Are you complimenting me, Mr. Wolff?

Toto cleared his throat, struggling to regain his composure. —It was just an observation. A poor choice of words, perhaps.

Her lips twitched into a smirk, her confidence unwavering. —Noted. For the record, you’re a bit easier to deal with when you’re flustered.

Toto blinked, caught off guard again. She was a force to be reckoned with, and he wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or impressed.

—I’ll keep that in mind. —he said, his voice softer this time.

She turned back to her work, a quiet laugh escaping her. Toto watched her for a moment longer, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe this wasn’t the worst first day after all.

George Russell Masterlist

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𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒

⌗ Tea and Laughter

HERE

- in which george’s tea obsession leads to a hilarious, love-filled adventure.

SEND REQUESTS PLEASEEEE 😞😞😞😞‼️‼️‼️‼️

btw guess who's birthday is (won't say who I am) 🗣‼️🔥

Fernando Alonso Masterlist

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𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒

⌗ Red Passion

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- in which during his ferrari years, fernando alonso finds solace and unwavering support in his girlfriend

Checo Perez with wife reader. Despite him not having a seat next year, she wanted him to start the new year afresh. Doing everything she could and he's just grateful for her support all his career in motorsports. He knew her didn't always there when she or their kids needed him. Always make him guilty. But he tried the better he could for them. Thanks!! :))

The New Year’s Fresh Start

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pairing: checo perez x wife!reader

summary: After losing his seat for the upcoming season, Checo feels weighed down by guilt and uncertainty. But with his wife’s unwavering love and support, he realizes that family is the true constant in his life, and she reminds him of his worth beyond the track.

The house was unusually quiet for a New Year’s Eve. The kids were asleep upstairs, their soft breaths audible through the baby monitor on the kitchen counter. Checo sat on the couch, staring blankly at the glass of wine in his hand. The weight of the year’s disappointments pressed heavily on his shoulders.

He swirled the wine absentmindedly, thinking about how it all unraveled. Losing his seat—no matter how much he tried to prepare for it—still stung. Racing wasn’t just his career; it was his life. And now, he didn’t even know who he was without it.

The sound of soft footsteps pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned to see you, his wife, entering the living room with a gentle smile. You were carrying a tray with two mugs of hot chocolate, a subtle gesture to remind him that some traditions were worth keeping, even on a somber night.

—Thought you could use this. —you said, handing him a mug as you settled beside him.

—Gracias, mi amor. —he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He set his wine aside and took the mug, the warmth seeping into his hands.

You studied him for a moment, your heart aching at the sadness in his eyes. Checo had always been the strong one—the fighter. But tonight, he seemed smaller, like the world had finally broken through his armor.

—You know. —you began softly, —a new year doesn’t have to mean starting over. It can just mean a fresh start.

He chuckled bitterly. —It’s hard to feel like a fresh start when everything I’ve worked for feels… gone.

You reached out, placing a hand on his knee. —Everything you’ve worked for isn’t gone, Sergio. It’s right here. In this house, in our family, in the memories you’ve created on and off the track. Racing might be a part of who you are, but it’s not all of who you are.

He looked at you, his dark eyes brimming with unshed tears. —You’ve always believed in me, even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I wasn’t there for you or the kids.

You frowned, shaking your head. —Don’t say that. You’ve always done your best for us, Checo. And yes, there were times when we missed you, when I wished you could’ve been home more. But we understood. We always understood. Racing was your dream, and we chose to support you because we love you.

His lips pressed into a thin line, guilt etched into every line of his face. —I just feel like I’ve let you down. I wasn’t there for the birthdays, the first steps, the hard days. I missed so much.

You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. —You didn’t let us down. You showed our kids what it means to chase a dream, to work hard, to never give up. And now? Now it’s time to show them what it means to find strength in the people who love you.

Checo’s throat tightened, and he set the mug down, pulling you into his arms. You sank into his embrace, feeling the tension in his body slowly melt away.

—I don’t deserve you. —he whispered against your hair.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. —Maybe not. But you’re stuck with me anyway.

He laughed softly, the sound breaking through the heaviness in the room. —I love you. —he said, his voice steadier now. —More than anything. Thank you for always being my anchor.

You pulled back slightly, resting your forehead against his. —And I’ll always be here, Sergio. Whether you’re racing or not, whether you’re on top of the world or starting from scratch. You’re my husband, the father of our kids, and the love of my life. That’s what matters.

The clock struck midnight, and the sound of distant fireworks filled the air. Checo leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that spoke of gratitude, love, and hope.

As the new year began, he realized that while his career might be uncertain, his family was his constant. And with you by his side, he knew he could face whatever the future held.

The Slip Up

A Dominik Mysterio x Reader (Y/N) Fan Fic

CW: fluff, flirting, embarrassing moment, embarrassment, suggestive, second person POV, uses Y/N

You were always nervous when you had to announce in the ring. You had been announcing for WWE for a year, primarily on Monday Night Raw. Your small crush on Dominik, which had started before working for WWE, had grown over the past year. Outside of his character, he was a genuinely cool and sweet guy. You had gotten to know Liv too and had let slip how lucky she was during a drunk hang out one night. Ever since then and every so often, Liv reminded you that you and Dom were both single and that her and Dom’s relationship only existed on screen. You brushed her off since you were just getting started in the WWE. Maybe you would consider chatting him up after announcing your first WrestleMania. 

You tried not to think about the comments you would get about your appearance and announcing skills. The IWC always had something to say and most of it wasn’t nice. You looked good though: a black dress, form-fitting but not too tight. Black sparkly heels. Your hair up in a neat bun. A soft glam makeup look with a soft red lip.

As Dom’s music hit, you kept your face neutral, but you were smiling on the inside. The boos started as he walked down the aisle. 

“Accompanied to the ring by Liv Morgan and Raquel Rodriguez, from San Diego, California, weighing in at 200 pounds, Daddy-” you paused for a second, realizing your mistake. You cleared your throat. “Dirty Dominik Mysterio!”

You wanted the ring to swallow you whole. The crowd was murmuring and snickering and pointing. You kept your face neutral, but that didn't stop the heat of embarrassment. 

“I didn’t know Y/N was a Dirty Dom fan,” Pat said. “Or should I say Daddy Dom fan?”

“Yes it’s unfortunate,” Michael Cole said. “I don’t know how he casts a spell over these women.”

When Dom got in the ring, he winked at you. Yep. It was time to disappear. Liv walked over to you while Dom stood on the ropes, flexing his muscles and sticking his tongue out. She snatched the mic out of your hand. You took a step back. 

“You’re not allowed to call him Daddy Dom,” she said angrily. “He’s my Daddy Dom, not yours.”

You held your hands up, playing along with her. “I’m sorry,” you said. You held out your hand to take the mic back since you still had to announce Kofi Kingston. Liv narrowed her eyes at you before holding out the mic and dropping it. Your hand swiped at the air. You quickly squatted to grab the mic and popped up just as Kofi’s music hit.

You announced Kofi perfectly and were relieved to get out of the ring. You sat in your seat and covered your face. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. You felt someone tap your shoulder. You looked up. Kim from production. She leaned down to whisper in your ear. 

“You okay?” She asked.

You nodded and whispered in her ear, “Just embarrassed.”

“You recovered well. And nothing super negative online.”

You raised your eyebrows, surprised. “That’s shocking.”

Kim smiled and patted you on the back. 

You focused on the match. Dom and Kofi were doing great. But you hoped Kofi would win. You didn’t want to announce Dom again, even though you knew you would get it right this time. As the match continued, it looked like it was going to end in Dom’s favor. After a devastating drop kick, Dom pulled Kofi closer to the corner. He climbed on the ropes and jumped: frog splash.

Dom hooked Kofi’s leg and the ref counted. 1, 2, 3. Ding, ding, ding.

Kim cued you. 

“Here is your winner, Dirty Dominik Mysterio!”

The crowd booed and he made his way around the ring. Dom locked eyes with you. He smiled and kissed his lips at you. You rolled your eyes and covered your mouth to hide your smile. 

As the crowd filtered out and the crew started packing away cameras and equipment, you headed backstage. You went into the locker room. You had a small bag with some extra clothes and sneakers in there. Sometimes you changed clothes, other times you just changed shoes. Tonight was a change shoes kind of night. You got your bag out of the locker and pulled out your black Air Maxes. You sat down on the bench. You saw a blonde blur out the corner of your eye as you removed one heel. 

“I can’t believe you called him Daddy Dom on the mic,” Liv squealed. She sat down next to you and gave your arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry, the IWC is blaming me for calling him Daddy Dom all the time.”

You laughed. “Glad I get a break this week.” 

“You could use this to your advantage,” Liv said. 

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Oh come on. I know you’re still crushing on Dom. Shoot your shot,” she replied.

“No, I don’t do that,” you said. “It’s failed every time and I’m not failing and then still having to see him every week. I’m good.” 

“But what if he’s interested too? I’ve seen him looking,” Liv said. 

“I’ve seen him looking too, but he doesn’t approach,” you said.

“Maybe he’s also worried about the whole work thing,” Liv said.

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you know something?”

Liv held up her hands. “I don’t know anything officially. I’m just guessing that when it comes to the work thing, you both probably don’t want to rock the boat. But you two can be private. It is hard to do, but you can make it work.”

You shrugged as you tucked your heels into your bag. “Well, we’ll see if he makes a move tonight.”

“He better or he’s gonna get an earful,” Liv said. “Maybe I’ll text him.”

You stood up. “Don’t! Let’s just see.” 

Liv pouted. “Are you sure?” 

You rolled your eyes, but a smile formed on your face. “Yes, I’m sure. Are you ready?”

“Yes, let me get my bag,” Liv said. 

You and Liv walked out the locker room together, heading toward the exit.

“Oh hi Dom,” Liv said.

You looked up from your phone and locked eyes with Dom. He smiled, looking you up and down. You returned his smile. 

“What’s up Liv, Y/N,” he said.

“Just heading out,” you said. 

“Can I walk with you?” Dom asked.

“Yeah,” you said.

Dom walked in step with you and Liv. You were in the middle of them. You and Dom eyed each other but didn’t say anything.

“Oh my gosh,” Liv said, holding up her phone. “I have to take this incredibly important phone call. I’ll see you two outside.” 

You wanted to point out that her phone wasn’t ringing, but you knew she was helping the two of you out. She walked ahead of y’all. 

You glanced at Dom and he had a smirk on his face.

“You want me to be your daddy?” he asked.

You busted out laughing. “Dom, please.”

“No, no,” he said, walking in front of you. You stopped. 

“You said that ‘daddy’ extra hard in the ring,” he said, crossing his arms. “Everyone heard you.”

“I was announcing!” 

He shook his head. “No, that wasn’t regular.” 

You sighed and crossed your arms too. “I’m not going back and forth with you.” 

“Well, I wanna get to know you,” he said. “Clearly that ‘daddy’ came from us making eyes at each other over the past couple of months.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “I wanna get to know you too.”

He opened his mouth, but someone way down the hall encouraged them to hurry up outside. You two both hustled. He handed you his phone when you were outside. 

“I was gonna give up on you,” you said after you finished putting your number in. You handed him his phone. “At least until I announced my first Wrestlemania.”

He laughed. “I get it. Don’t wanna rock the boat at work.”

“Exactly.”

“Are you staying in the hotel?” Dom asked.

“Yeah,” you replied. 

“You wanna ride over together?” he asked. “I’m gonna Uber.”

“Sounds good.” 

You two settled into a comfortable silence, but your mind was racing. It was finally happening! You and Dom were gonna get to know each other. You kept biting your lip to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot. You put your hand over your mouth trying not to giggle with excitement. 

“Don’t hide your pretty face,” Dom said, gently touching your hand. 

You moved it away from your face and he held it.

“You don’t have to be shy around me,” he said. 

“You’ll have to give me a minute,” you said. “I feel like we’ve been doing the shy dance for a while.” 

He chuckled and squeezed your hand. “That’s true.”

Holding hands with him felt really natural. You felt yourself moving a little closer to him. The Uber arrived and Dom put your bag and his in the truck. You settled in the backseat and he slipped in beside you. Your leg rested against his as he asked you about how you got interested in the wrestling business. You told him about how you watched WWE when you were younger, both your parents being big fans. You stopped watching for a bit and got back into it during the pandemic. You started announcing in high school when they decided to give the students a chance to announce and commentate during the football games. You found different opportunities throughout college and after. You became a permanent announcer for a local wrestling company. Then got the opportunity to announce at NXT. That opened the door for the rest of WWE. 

He was a great listener. And he talked about what he liked to do in his downtime: nap, play video games, watch monster movies and shows. You teased him, adding in ‘get tattoos’ as you linked your fingers with his. He chuckled and agreed, admitting he was planning to get another tattoo after he won a title. 

“Do you think I’ll be announcing you as a champion this year?” you asked.

Dom smirked. “For sure. I can see it happening. I’m going after the World Heavyweight Championship.” 

“I can’t wait to see it,” you said. “Don’t worry. I’ll announce your name correctly.”

He laughed. “No worries, cariño. I know all this,” he gestured to himself, moving his hand up and down, “can be distracting.” 

You giggled. “You just can’t turn it off, can you?” 

Dom winked. “It’s more fun that way. Keeps people guessing.” 

You two arrived at the hotel and he got the bags out. You both got your room keys and headed upstairs. He walked you to your room. 

You leaned against your room door and smiled at him. “Thanks for walking me.”

“I had to keep you safe,” he said. 

You smirked. “So you’ll call me?” 

“Yep. And if you can’t sleep, you know where my room is,” he said. 

“Oh, really Dirty Dom?” you asked. 

“Get your mind outta the gutter,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows. A grin was on his face. “I was thinking we could watch a movie, maybe talk some more.” 

You tapped the keycard on your door and opened the door slightly. “Ok. I was thinking, ‘I can't wait to get my fingers in your hair.’” 

His mouth dropped open and you smiled wickedly, pulling your bag into the room. You stepped inside the room and turned around to face him. 

“Goodnight Dom,” you said. 

He smiled. “Guess we’re done being shy. Goodnight Y/N.” 

Charles Leclerc Masterlist

back to my main masterlist

*gif not mine*

𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒

⌗ Under the mistletoe

HERE

-in which charles and his partner take a quiet christmas walk through the snow, chatting about the holiday season

Wild Games

back to my main masterlist

pairing: lewis hamilton x singlemom!reader

summary: a single mom, two teens, and lewis hamilton love unfolds through laughter, UNO, and a game of Twister.

a/n: dont have any ideas, so please send requests 🗣‼️

There’s pizza grease on Dash’s cheek, Ari’s taken over the aux cable, and Lewis is laughing like a man who’s finally figured out where he belongs.

The board games are scattered across the coffee table, but Dash’s eyes gleam with mischief when he holds up the UNO deck like it’s Excalibur.

—You ready to lose, old man? —he says, grinning at Lewis.

—Oh, it’s on —Lewis replies, cracking his knuckles in exaggerated slow motion. —But I play ruthless.

You raise an eyebrow, slipping into the couch next to Ari. —So do I.

Ari smirks. —Let’s destroy him, Mom.

Lewis gasps, clutching his chest. —And you, Ari?

The first few rounds go light and fun, until Dash starts stacking +2s like a little gremlin. Ari counters with a Reverse, you hit Lewis with a +4, and suddenly he’s drowning in a sea of vengeance-colored cards.

—You people are animals. —Lewis says, half-laughing, half-suffering. —How am I the only one with 27 cards?

—Because you messed with the wrong family —Dash says with the air of a supervillain.

You’re all cracking up by the time Ari wins the round with a smug. —UNO… and out.

Lewis throws his cards down dramatically. —That’s it. I’m challenging you all to Twister. Let’s see how flexible these egos are.

Dash lets out a yell and dives for the game box before anyone can argue.

Minutes later, you’re on the floor. Literally.

The Twister mat is sprawled out, and the living room looks like it survived a soft tornado made of teens, limbs, and suppressed laughter.

Ari’s already out, she “accidentally” fell during a left-foot-yellow situation that she swears was sabotage.

Dash is hanging on by a toe and a prayer.

Lewis is next to you, way too close for someone trying to win, and somehow his left hand is barely an inch from yours.

—Right hand, blue. —Ari announces with fake menace from the side.

You reach. So does Lewis. Your hands land at the same time. His pinky brushes yours.

It shouldn’t matter.

It shouldn’t send a lightning bolt straight through you.

But it does.

And when you look up, he’s already watching you with that smile. The one he saves for when the kids are distracted. The one that says, we’re more than just this game.

Your heart skips.

You’re not sure if it’s because of the tension in your back or the tension in the air.

Dash loses it, like literally and figuratively, tumbling to the side with a dramatic grunt. —I’m out. My spine doesn’t bend like that.

Which leaves just you and Lewis. Face to face. Hand to hand. Heart to—

—Left foot green! —Ari yells, loving this way too much.

You move. He moves. The moment stretches.

—You okay? —he murmurs, barely audible.

You nod, biting your lip to keep from smiling too much.