Kings Obsession

Behind the Armor

back to my masterlist

pairing: clarisse la Rue x fem!reader (no specific cabin)

summary: clarisse la rue is known for her strength and toughness, but when it’s just the two of you, she lets down her guard—and you wouldn’t trade those moments for anything.

a/n: its quite short but i needed to write about my wife clarisse 🤭

The training arena was quiet, the faint glow of the evening sun casting long shadows over the cracked floor. Clarisse stood in the center, her spear leaning against the wall, her hands on her hips as she watched you approach.

—You’re late. —she said, though her usual sharp tone was softened by a faint smirk.

—I was helping Chiron. —you replied, stopping a few feet away from her. —Besides, it’s not like you needed me here to win.

Clarisse snorted, rolling her eyes. —Yeah, well, maybe I just like having you around to witness my victories.

You smiled, stepping closer. —Or maybe you just like having me around.

Her smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer, something vulnerable that she rarely let anyone see. —Don’t push your luck. —she muttered, but there was no heat in her words.

You took another step, closing the distance between you until you were standing just inches apart. Her eyes searched yours, and you could feel the tension in the air—an unspoken truth that neither of you had been brave enough to say out loud.

—I like seeing you like this. —you said softly.

Clarisse raised an eyebrow. —Like what? Sweaty and tired?

You shook your head, your smile gentle. —No. Relaxed. Just… you.

For a moment, she said nothing, her usual bravado melting away as she reached out to take your hand. Her calloused fingers were rough against yours, but her touch was careful, almost hesitant.

—You’re not what I expected. —she admitted, her voice quiet. —I didn’t think I’d ever… —She trailed off, shaking her head as if frustrated by her own vulnerability.

—Feel this way? —you offered, squeezing her hand.

Clarisse looked away, her cheeks faintly red. —Yeah. Something like that.

You stepped even closer, tilting her chin up so she’d look at you. —You don’t have to hide with me, Clarisse. I love every part of you—the tough, the brave, and the soft parts you think no one sees.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought she might push you away. But then her hands were on your waist, pulling you closer as her lips met yours in a kiss that was as fierce and passionate as she was.

When she pulled back, her forehead resting against yours, she let out a shaky laugh. —You’re impossible, you know that?”

You grinned, your heart racing. —Yeah, but you love me for it.

Clarisse rolled her eyes, but the small smile on her lips betrayed her. —Don’t let it go to your head.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the arena in golden light, you held her close, knowing that beneath all the armor and bravado, Clarisse La Rue was yours—and you were hers.

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.

hiii!!! I really love your fics!! can i req some toto angst? i LIVE for angst 🤭

Of course you can ‼️ just tell me some details you want for the fic 🤭

Toto is sick in bed and his wife is at some gala. He need texting her throughout the night and being annoying because he’s clingy when he’s sick but he won’t admit it.

A Night with a Sick Toto (and His Clingy Texts)

back to my masterlist

pairing: sick!toto wolff x wife!reader

summary: Toto Wolff is stuck at home battling what he dramatically calls “the deadliest cold ever,” while his wife is attending an important gala

warnings: pure fluff, clingy and dramatic Toto Wolff when sick.

Saturday night should have been easy. You had spent the afternoon meticulously preparing for a prestigious gala, one you couldn’t miss because it was critical for networking. Toto had been supportive, at first.

—Don’t worry —he’d said, bundled up in the softest blanket he owned. —You go enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine. Im perfectly capable of taking care of myself.

Yet the moment you walked out the door, his first text arrived.

Round 1: The Neediness Begins

Toto: Are you there yet?

You: Just arrived. Are you okay?

Toto: I’d be better if someone was here to make sure I don’t die.

You: Toto, it’s a cold, not the plague.

Toto: A very serious cold.

You: I left you everything you need: tea, soup, medicine, tissues, and Netflix. What else do you want?

Toto: I don’t know… maybe my wife?

You: Stop being dramatic. You told me to go.

Toto: Well, now I regret it. It’s so lonely here.

You: You’re literally under three blankets.

Toto: And still freezing.

You: You’re impossible.

Toto: You’re beautiful.

You sighed, already anticipating how the night was going to unfold.

Round 2: Mid-Gala Drama

You’d barely had a chance to enjoy a drink when your phone buzzed again.

Toto: What are you doing?

You: Networking. It’s a gala, Toto.

Toto: Networking with who?

You: People important for my job.

Toto: Anyone taller than me?

You: Toto…

Toto: I’m just asking.

You: What do you want?

Toto: I think I’m getting worse.

You: Did you take your medicine?

Toto: It tastes awful.

You: That’s why I left the orange juice.

Toto: It’s not the same if you’re not here to give it to me.

You: Toto, you’re a grown man.

Toto: A very sick grown man.

You: Do you want me to come home early?

Toto: No, no. Stay. I’ll suffer in silence.

You: You’re literally texting me right now.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself not to laugh. He was impossible, but he was your impossible.

Round 3: Dessert and Desperation

Just as dessert was served, Toto escalated his antics.

Toto: The soup you made tastes like cardboard.

You: It’s your favorite soup.

Toto: Not when I have to reheat it myself. It tastes… soulless.

You: It’s literally the same soup.

Toto: It needs your touch.

You: Are you sure you don’t want me to come home?

Toto: No, I don’t want to ruin your night.

You: You’re already ruining it.

Toto: But I miss you.

You: Toto…

Toto: I think I have a fever.

You: Did you check?

Toto: I don’t know where the thermometer is.

You: It’s in the medicine cabinet.

Toto: Why can’t you just come home and check for me?

By this point, you’d had enough. Politely excusing yourself from the event, you called a car and headed back home.

When you walked through the door, you found him exactly where you expected: sprawled out on the couch, buried under a fortress of blankets. He glanced up, his brown eyes a mixture of guilt and triumph.

— You’re back early. —he said innocently.

—You made sure of that. —you replied, dropping your bag and crossing your arms.

—I wasn’t that bad.

—You texted me 27 times.

Toto winced. —That’s not so many.

Rolling your eyes, you moved to sit beside him. He immediately latched onto you, resting his head on your shoulder like a needy puppy.

—See? This is what I needed. —he mumbled.

—Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook. —you teased, brushing a hand through his hair.

—I’ll make it up to you when I’m better. —he promised, his voice already fading as the comfort of having you close finally allowed him to relax.

And as much as you wanted to be annoyed, you couldn’t help but smile. Because at the end of the day, being needed. Annoying texts and all. It wasn’t so bad.

Heyy, I loved ur recent fic about Toto meeting the reader’s family and was wondering if I could please request an angsty one shot of Toto x age gap Reader where she meets his family (maybe even his older children) and they maybe think she is too young for him or like disapprove in general in the beginning. But pleeeaaseee happy ending???

Through Their Eyes

back to my masterlist

pairing: toto wolff x gf!reader

summary: On Christmas Eve, Reader meets Toto’s children—Jack, Rosa, and Benedict—for the first time. Despite initial skepticism over their age gap, holiday laughter and shared moments help her earn their acceptance, proving love knows no bounds.

warnings: family disapproval (not so hard) and mentions of y/n.

The Wolff estate glowed under a blanket of snow, its windows framed with warm golden lights. Y/N took a deep breath as she stood beside Toto at the front door, clutching a neatly wrapped gift in her hands. She had insisted on bringing something for each of his children, though Toto had assured her it wasn’t necessary.

—It’ll be fine. —he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. —They’re just protective. Once they see how happy you make me, they’ll understand.

The door swung open, revealing Rosa, who greeted her father with a warm hug. —Dad! You’re here. —She stepped back, her curious eyes flicking to Y/N. —And you must be Y/N.

Y/N smiled, offering the younger woman her hand. —It’s so nice to finally meet you, Rosa.

Rosa shook her hand, her expression polite but reserved. —Likewise. Come in, everyone’s in the living room.

Inside, the smell of cinnamon and pine filled the air. Jack and Benedict were already by the fire, talking and laughing. When Toto entered, the boys stood, their expressions shifting from cheerful to guarded as they took in the sight of Y/N at his side.

Jack, the eldest, extended a hand. —Jack. Good to meet you.

She smiled, meeting his firm handshake. —Y/N. I’ve heard so much about you all.

—Same. —Jack replied, his tone unreadable.

Dinner was lavish and beautifully prepared, with everyone seated around a long oak table decorated with garlands and candles. Though the conversation was cordial, Y/N couldn’t ignore the occasional glances exchanged between the siblings. Questions were asked—about her work, her family, and how she and Toto met. It wasn’t overtly hostile, but there was an undercurrent of skepticism, especially from Jack.

It wasn’t until after dessert, when the family gathered by the fire for games, that the mood began to shift.

—Charades? —Rosa suggested, her voice light. —We haven’t played in ages.

Jack smirked. —Perfect. Let’s see how good Y/N is under pressure.

Y/N glanced at Toto, who gave her a reassuring smile. —You’ll be fine. Just don’t take it easy on them.

The game began, and to everyone’s surprise, Y/N threw herself into it with enthusiasm. Her exaggerated gestures and quick thinking had Rosa and Benedict laughing so hard they were wiping away tears. Even Jack cracked a grin when she acted out “skiing penguin” with theatrical flair.

—Okay, I admit it. —Jack said after her team won. —You’re pretty good at this.

—Pretty good? —Y/N teased, catching Toto’s eye. —I think you mean unbeatable.

By the time the game ended, the tension had dissolved into genuine camaraderie. As they gathered around to exchange gifts, Rosa handed Y/N a small box.

—This is from all of us. —she said with a shy smile.

Inside was a delicate silver bracelet with a snowflake charm. —We figured you’d want something to remember your first Christmas with us.

Y/N blinked back tears, her voice soft. —Thank you. This means so much.

Benedict stepped forward, clearing his throat.—Look, I know we were a bit… skeptical at first. But it’s clear you make Dad happy. And that’s what matters.

Toto placed an arm around her shoulders, his expression full of pride. —See? I told you they’d come around.

Later that night, as the snow fell gently outside, Y/N and Toto stood by the window, watching his children laugh together by the fire.

—Merry Christmas. —she whispered, leaning into him.

Toto kissed her temple, his voice warm. —Merry Christmas, liebling. You’re part of this family now.

And for the first time, Y/N felt like she truly belonged.

Oscar Piastri Masterlist

back to my main masterlist

*gif not mine*

⌗ Favorite Lap

HERE

- in which oscar finds his sweetest escape in her lover after races and roaring engines.

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.” 

Hole Albums as Eyeshadow palettes.

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Credit goes to @r0ckst4xr on Tik Tok

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Hey, I think I already requested this, but I didn’t specify what I meant. I asked about if you’d be up to writing an alternative 2nd part to “too wide a divide” where reader finds out she is pregnant?? Like before they got back together. Maybe happy ending??

Too Wide a Divide: Alternative Ending

part 1 | part 2 (endl 1) | part 2 (end 2)

pairing: toto wolff x fem!reader

summary: months after toto and the reader part ways due to the disapproval of her family, she finds out she’s pregnant. Torn between resentment and longing, she debates whether to tell him. Fate intervenes when their paths cross again, leading to a heartfelt confrontation and the possibility of a second chance.

It had been three months since that night when everything fell apart. His words still echoed in your mind:

“I can’t keep going, knowing your family is tearing you apart because of me. I can’t be the reason you’re suffering.”

The memory was a knife that twisted in your chest every time you let yourself think about him. You’d tried to move on, but the ache lingered like a shadow. His scent still clung faintly to your pillow, and when Formula 1 broadcasts filled your living room, your gaze always searched for him, despite yourself.

But something else had begun to demand your attention. It started subtly—a faint nausea when you woke up, an overwhelming fatigue that had you retreating to bed far earlier than usual. At first, you dismissed it as stress. The breakup had taken a toll on your body and mind.

But one morning, as you sat at your kitchen table trying to stomach your coffee, a wave of dizziness struck you so strongly you had to grip the counter for support. You froze. Your mind pieced together the symptoms, and a cold realization settled over you.

An hour later, you stood in the bathroom, a test in hand, staring at two unmistakable lines.

You were pregnant.

The discovery left you paralyzed. Joy and fear warred within you. A part of you thrilled at the thought of a life growing inside you, something so uniquely yours and Toto’s. But then, the doubts crept in.

What would Toto say? The question haunted you. Could you even tell him? After all, he had been the one to leave, to decide that love wasn’t enough to overcome the barriers between you. Would he see this child as another complication?

And then there was your family. The disapproving looks, the harsh words they had thrown your way when they learned about your relationship with Toto. You could only imagine their reaction now.

But despite the fear, one thing was clear: this baby was yours to love and protect. And no matter how daunting the path ahead seemed, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Weeks passed, and you kept the secret to yourself. You focused on preparing for the baby, slowly coming to terms with the reality of doing this on your own.

That all changed on a crisp winter afternoon. Leaving your first ultrasound appointment, you were tucking the image of your baby into your bag when you saw him.

Toto stood in the hospital lobby, speaking with someone you didn’t recognize. His tall frame and familiar presence made your heart lurch painfully. You tried to turn away, to slip out unnoticed, but fate wasn’t on your side. He looked up, his piercing eyes meeting yours across the room.

—You’re here —he said —his deep voice laced with surprise as he stepped toward you.

You froze, unsure what to say, until his gaze fell to where your hand rested protectively over your stomach. His expression shifted, confusion melting into realization.

—Is it…? —His voice trailed off, his eyes wide.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. There was no point in hiding it now.

—Yes. —you said softly. —It’s yours.

Toto’s face was a mixture of emotions—shock, disbelief, and something deeper, something raw that made your chest tighten. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped, as if the words refused to form.

—Can we talk? —he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You hesitated. The urge to run was strong, but you knew this moment was inevitable. Nodding, you led him outside to a nearby bench. The winter air bit at your skin, but the cold was nothing compared to the tension between you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. He was staring at the ground, his jaw clenched. You could feel his struggle to find the right words, and finally, he looked up, his dark eyes locking with yours.

—I didn’t know. —he said, his voice heavy. —If I had known… I…

You cut him off, shaking your head.

—If you had known, would it have changed anything? You made your choice, Toto. You walked away because you didn’t think we could make it work.

Your voice cracked, but you pushed through.

—I wasn’t going to tell you. I thought… I thought it would be easier for both of us. You left, and I wasn’t going to beg you to come back. But now…

You paused, placing a hand on your belly. The gesture was unconscious, but his eyes followed it, softening as he looked at you again.

—Now you need to know, because this baby deserves to have both parents if that’s what you want. I won’t force you to stay. I’ve already decided to do this on my own if I have to.

Toto’s brows furrowed, and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the ground again.

—You think I wouldn’t want to be here? —he asked, his voice quiet but firm. —You think I’d walk away from you? From them?

He sat up straight, his expression resolute.

—Yes, I made a mistake. I thought I was doing the right thing by letting you go. I thought I was protecting you from the pressure, from your family’s disapproval. But it was the worst decision of my life.

His voice wavered, but he pressed on.

—I still love you. I never stopped. And now… Now we have a chance to build something, to be a family. Please, let me prove it to you.

Your heart ached at his words. You wanted to believe him, to trust that he meant every word. But the pain of his leaving still lingered.

—This isn’t just about me anymore, Toto. If you’re here, it has to be for both of us, me and the baby. Not because you feel guilty, not because it’s the right thing to do.

He reached for your hand, his fingers warm despite the cold.

—I’m here because I want to be, he said softly. —Because I love you, and I already love them. I want to fix this. I want to be in your life, in their life.

Tears burned in your eyes as you searched his face for any sign of hesitation, but there was none. He was serious, and for the first time in months, you felt a glimmer of hope.

—Okay, you said. —your voice trembling. —But this is going to take time.

Toto nodded, squeezing your hand.

—As much time as you need. I’ll be here.

The months that followed weren’t easy. Trust had to be rebuilt, and the wounds of the past didn’t heal overnight. But Toto was there for every step of the journey—doctor’s appointments, nursery shopping, late-night cravings.

He made mistakes, of course, but he worked tirelessly to prove his commitment, not just to you, but to the family you were creating together.

The day your baby was born, Toto was by your side, holding your hand as tears streamed down his face. When he held the baby for the first time, his broad shoulders seemed to shake under the weight of his emotions.

—He is perfect. —he whispered, his voice thick with tears. —Just like their mother.

You watched as he cradled the tiny bundle, his hands so careful and steady, as if he were holding the most precious thing in the world. In that moment, the doubts and fears that had haunted you for months seemed to dissolve.

Toto looked up at you, his eyes shining with a mixture of love and determination.

—I’ll never let you down again. —he said softly. —Both of you.

You smiled through your tears, reaching out to stroke the baby’s cheek.

—We’ll hold you to that. —you replied, your voice light but full of meaning.

The three of you sat there in the quiet room, the chaos of the past forgotten as you embraced this new chapter. It wasn’t the fairy tale you’d once imagined, but it was real, and it was yours.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the divide between you didn’t feel so wide anymore.