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imaginepsyche · 1 year ago

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I loved every minute of reading this. It was so cute!

Baby Steps | MV1

Summary: You've always been Mercedes golden girl; your life and career have been set out in stone. All it takes is for your ultimate rival to change that all.

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: Mild Smut, Childbirth, Angst, Mentions of Jos Verstappen.

26th November; the night of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix should have been the happiest of your life.

Not many people in the world can hold their head up high and say they have won a Formula 1 world championship, let alone three. Ever since your toothy grin and shy comments when first stepping into the paddock, you had been making waves in the motorsport world. Years later, under the attentive eye of Toto Wolff and Mercedes, you had become effortlessly cool and undeniably talented; the core makings of a three-time world champion.

The night of your first win was…you can’t even say a distant memory; the last thing you could vividly remember was linking arms with the golden boy of Mercedes, laughing merrily as you were guided down to the foyer of the extravagant hotel, the entire team with their warm comments and loving attitude ready for their new-found champion. The next day consisted of crouching over the porcelain throne, your insides rejecting any form of substance, the smell of tequila on your skin making you belch more. It was a cruel cycle, but one that every world champion had learnt.

It also hadn’t ceased you from repeating the identical routine the next year; the feeling was so nice, you had to do it twice. Ironically, you had also worn the identical bra and panty set of the first year; not that anybody had seen it. Boys were off limits during the height of your career. This was your choice, of course. PR would have given their overpriced marketing tools to see you on the arm of a successful man, thinking of the faux love story they could spin.

No, in order to be successful, respected; you’d sworn off any romantic relationship. You were not a figure to be held next to a man for beauty. Moreover, you were almost certain that if Toto saw a man within three feet of you, he’d frighten them off, in true fear that anybody would come near his youngest prodigy.

The third year had been set; the routine was laid out in front of you, ready to make mistakes you’d groan and then forget about by the fourth. Instead, you found yourself crouched in the cramped cubicle of the nightclub, a hand over your mouth and nose, attempting to muffle the gulps from your lips. Your eyes had glossed over, intensely focused on the piece of plastic fisted in your palm. Two blue lines, interlapped to create a cross. A plus sign. A positive sign.

You were pregnant.

19th October; a month prior to what should have been the happiest day of your life.

You’d been the personification of a peacock; feathers flexing as you walked through the paddock, your tenth pole position of the year resting comfortably on your shoulders. Heavy pats on your back, a cheeky wink towards the camera of Sky Sports and cheers from the crowds had guided your return to your motorhome, thanking your PR assistant as you slid into the only four walls on the track where there was a form of privacy.

Except there wasn’t. A figure was relaxed into your sofa with a photograph in his hands, eyes trained on your body when you’d entered the room, unknowing of their presence. A grin appeared on his smug face upon seeing you practically skyrocket out of your skin, noting the other person in your sanctuary. He eventually stands up, removing his branded Red Bull cap to place on your sofa.

“You shouldn’t be here, Max.” You scoff, snatching the polaroid out of his fingers, returning the photo to its rightful place; atop of the plush chilli Carlos Sainz had bought you for your birthday. (He’d also bought you a bullet vibrator, trying to remind you of your stubbornness, urging you to relax a little.)

“Nice photograph.” He comments, his blue eyes flickering over to where it now stood, propped up in pride. You sat centre of the track in Abu Dhabi; two younger figures sat between your legs. They both rested a chubby hand on your World Driving Championship trophy, huge grins at the shining object. “Friends of yours?”

“Sisters.” You mumble in return, removing the snapback from your head, balancing it on top of your shelf. The cool air finds the roots of your hair instantly, a wave of relief rolling through your entire body when your hand comes up to soothe your scalp. “Congratulations on…was it P16?” You gloat, hoping your rival would catch the message that you didn’t want him to be there.

Max feels his lips drop and eyebrows meet at the cold reminder of his own qualification result. He knew the season was drawing to a close, quickly at that, and the constant reminder that he would be losing another championship to Mercedes golden girl was the last thing he needed. The smug grin on your lips remains, turning around to slide your arms out of your race suit, letting the top half rest on your hips, sleeves hanging loosely at your legs.

“That’s why I came to see you.” He responds, standing up straighter, arms folded as his eyes train on your own movement. “It makes my losses look miniscule compared to your own.” His own grin has returned now, satisfied with his own response to the situation.

You had been playing this game for months. The first year of your relationship on the grid had been friendly, the second had been hostile. The third had been downright dangerous. It began to get to a point where the grid, the press, everyone had picked up on the relationship between yourself and the Red Bull driver.

“Hey, I’ll do anything to help you forget this will be my third World Championship.” You snap back, turning around to meet his figure, your own arms mimicking, folding against your chest. This time, you take a step closer. “Maybe next year Christian Horner will remember his ‘Precious Little Maxie.’

Max scoffs at the nickname you had given him, eyes noting the step you had taken. He responds, taking his own step. “Trust me. There’s nothing little about me.” His eyes meet yours when he finishes his sentence, and for the first time, Max Verstappen has left you completely and utterly speechless. Mind goes into overdrive, years of hatred are forgotten has his hands fly out, grasping each side of your face, meshing his lips to your own.

Your first thought is to push the swine away, slap him across the face and scream for Toto Wolff to grab him by the collar. Clouded, spaced out; your mind begins to crack, your only thought is how good his lips feel against your own, how soft they feel against your cheek, how sinful they trace against your neck.

Max’s palms had originally rested on your cheek, they had begun their trail, slithering down your sides, grip tightening as they reached your hips, forcefully pulling you towards his body, grinding his crotch against your own, the desperation of his member clearly noticeable.

A gasp emitted from your lips, feeling his teeth begin to nip across the soft skin of your neck, desperately searching for that one spot that would make you crumble. Max’s hands make quick work, one wrapping around your waist in order to keep you secure, the other grasping you fireproofs, race suit and panties in a fluid motion, exposing the sweet centre he had been craving. Nimble fingers trail around your entrance, swiping a finger against your most sensitive bundle of nerves, rewarding him with the most sinful sound he had ever received.

“Max-“ You gasped, mind clouded by lust, how your desire of this man had built from your core the moment you had seen him in person, years ago. “Max, please-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He mumbled, his own hand pulling down his trousers and underwear, rubbing his shaft for preparation. “Do not ruin this fucking moment.”

In a swift motion, Max has you pinned against the wall of your driver room, the cool wall sending a shiver against your skin. You barely have time to register the coolness dancing across you before your mind is overwhelmed by the feeling of his length slipping into your wet folds, and there is truly nothing little about him in that moment, mind sent into overdrive when he brings his lips back to yours.

19th December, twenty-three days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

You had finally thrown yourself entirely into a distraction; Christmas. You’d flew back to Brackley alongside your teammate, both of you returning to the Mercedes base before retiring for the holidays. There had been no string short of invites flooding into your inbox, asking if you wanted to join them in any festivities. Anything at this point was a wanted distraction from the impending coil growing in your stomach, both figuratively and literally.

And so, you attended a Christmas Market alongside George and Carmen, passing on the mulled wine the two had insisted on trying. You’d gone to see Jack’s Christmas performance alongside Toto and Suzie but declined going to the fish restaurant they had mentioned; (you’d read somewhere in your first week of sheer panic that you could no longer go near fish whilst pregnant.) You’d gone to Lando’s new apartment in London but had seen the scowl on his face when you’d complained about your ‘bad stomach,’ and couldn’t do any heavy lifting of decorations.

It wasn’t until Christmas Eve; Lewis had come to your family’s home, presents for your younger siblings, parents and yourself, of course. He’d sat politely, sipped on your mother’s tea, laughed politely at the antics building up towards the big day itself.

Spending time with somebody for three quarters of the year will teach you a lot about them; Lewis knew you like he knew each twist and turn of every track he’d raced along during the years. He knew you laughed with your whole stomach to the point where you had to grab something for support; that before every single race you would have your ‘top secret handshake’ with your race engineer, (you insisted your race would always go more smoothly if you did so, the last time you didn’t had resulted in a DNF.)

What Lewis knew most, was you were a complete and utter sucker for anything with chocolate. He had seen you practically sob when your trainer had found protein brownies that would work in your diet. So why did you decline your mothers’ sweet desserts when offered around the lounge? Why did you seem to hold your breath when the scent of treats was wafted under your nose, almost as if you’d vomit if you came into contact with them?

Carefully, your teammate placed his mug down on the low table, wiggling out of the space between your younger sisters; both were entranced by him. In any other situation, he would have sat there for hours, listening to their oh-so-sweet stories. Instead, he whistled for Roscoe, watching as the dog stooped up from his position by the fire, tottering over towards his owner.

“I’m going to take Roscoe out for a wee.” He nods towards your figure, slouched on the opposite sofa. “You coming?” The way he phrases his question; you can tell it’s not a question, it’s a command. You nod, placing down your own mug, stretching as you pulled yourself away from the leather recliner.

Your sisters were now engrossed by one of the presents Lewis has insisted they had to open early. Your mother and father were running through their guest list for tomorrow; nobody seemed to notice as the two of you slipped on your outerwear, whistling for Roscoe as you stepped through the dining room and onto the porch of the family home you had gifted your parents almost 1 year ago now.

Lewis’ eyes meet yours the moment you had closed the ornate doors. You struggle to meet his gaze; you know he has begun to put the pieces of this metaphorical puzzle together. He barely waits for the sound of the door closing before he starts to speak, the mannerisms he reserves for his teammate in instant appeal.

“Alright. What’s happening then?” He asks almost instantly, motioning for you to walk alongside him, taking the scenic route of the large garden. “You’d never turn down sweet things. You do everything to make your mother smile, why would you turn down her cooking?”

“I’ve just gone off that kind of stuff.” You mumble, not really thinking about what you were saying. You’d later remember to be more careful with your responses. You were not expecting him to piece it together so quickly through his own train of thought.

“Oh, my sister was like that when she was pregnant with-“ He cuts himself off, ceasing his steps when he realises what has escaped his lips. His head snaps back to look at you, and his heart melts. You, his self-assured, sweet teammate, now with tears in your eyes, a visible shake running across your body. He’s not stupid, he’s far from it.

“You’re pregnant.” He almost whispers, seeing how the words are visibly affecting you. Lewis says nothing, instead pulling you straight into his chest, arms engulfing you as he feels your body loosen, silently shaking with held back tears of being reminded of your current situation. “But…how?” He murmurs, loud enough for you to hear. He knew of your dating rule. Even outside of the press, no man ever seemed to be enough to knock you down, let alone knock you up.

You can’t tell him, not now. You couldn’t tell him. You had to tell him.

“Max.” You whisper, barely able to have the name on your lips. Lewis’ brows furrow. He knows in his heart he is right, but he doesn’t want to be.

“Fewtrell?” He responds, referencing to Lando’s oldest friend. You had been to see them recently, after all.

“Verstappen.”

Lewis’ isn’t sure what to say in that moment. Instead, he simply keeps you in his arms, in this moment at least, he can keep you warm, safe. Away from questioning eyes and the stories which will surely follow you until the end of time, until the end of your career. Instead, he asks the one question which you had been blocking out for oh-so-long, that you had been putting off since you threw yourself into these festivities.

“What are you going to do?”

6th January, 41 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

You knew what you were going to do.

You knew from the moment you had been called into your first ultrasound scan; by this point, only a few select people knew of the situation. Lewis. Your parents. The delivery driver at Dominoes Pizza whom had given you a strange look when handing over a pizza with no cheese, but three lots of spicy peppers.

Going to your first ultrasound alone had been terrifying; bringing somebody along would have drawn too much attention. You had played a mighty risk by going alone, hoping you wouldn’t be recognised. You didn’t want Mercedes to catch wind of the happenings, instead hoping nobody would openly tweet about your live location.

Your nurse doesn’t recognise you; if she does, she doesn’t show it. She’s polite and kind, makes sure that you haven’t used the bathroom in four hours, something to do with amniotic fluid. The cold jelly on your stomach sends an odd feeling through your body, as if cold cream was balancing on your tummy. There’s a sharp prod, a poke, and then you see the nurse smile.

“Ah, there they are!” She glows.

And there they are. Sat there, in your stomach. A small curve, to anybody else, a completely unidentifiable shape. But to you? The most precious shape that was completely and utterly undeniably yours. How you could have thought that you could go through life without knowing them is beyond you.

That was the moment you knew what you were going to do.

All you had to do now, was tell Toto. No big deal.

23rd February, 89 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

“Horner!”

Toto was known to be larger than life, and his voice only proved that theory as he stormed out of his Paddock Office, completely abandoning any information being presented about Pre-Testing in Bahrain. Instead, he’s seeing red, he’s seeing that Horner’s complete and utter dickhead of a driver has knocked up his winner. His current champion. (With no disrespect to Lewis, of course.)

Your teammate had been there, holding your hand when you had broken the news to Toto, your race engineer and your trainer. Your PR assistant was aware of the situation, currently attempting to make a game plan of how to handle the situation. She was adamant you needed to remain in the paddock; you still needed to be a part of the sporting world, even if you weren’t driving.

At first, Toto thought it was Lewis’ baby, ready to bang both of their heads together and reprimand them for not being careful. When it had slipped whose child it was, (Toto was well aware of your rule too, he was just as confused as Lewis had been when he’d first found out.) Toto didn’t care about anything. More importantly, he didn’t care that your pregnancy wasn’t public knowledge.

Toto had stormed into Red Bull’s garage, much to the widened eyes of Christian Horner. Despite being shorter, he instantly holds himself against the Austrian, arms folded, a smirk on his face at the entrance of the unwanted guests.

“How can I help you, Toto?” He smirks, ready for some remark. Instead, Toto leans to Christian’s ear, murmuring something unhearing to the rest of the garage. You can take a guess to what is said however, judging by how pale the Red Bull’s Team Principle had gone. In one swift move, he motions for Toto and yourself to follow him, calling out to his own team.

“Send Max to my office. Now.” His voice is unrevealing, but his skin is growing paler by the minute.

You had never been into a Red Bull garage, and yet now you sat in Horner’s own office, amazed by the fact their colour schemes and trophies could be carried around the world. Mercedes kept theirs at home, sometimes plain and simple was the way to go. You began to wonder if you should bring your trophies to your next races, maybe it would give the team a reminder of what can be achieved.

“Sit.” Horner motions to the couch in the office. You take a seat almost instantly, overwhelmed by the entire situation. Lewis places himself next to you, an arm around your back protectively. Toto refuses to take a command, instead remaining standing, arms folded, a glare of hatred towards Christian.

“I don’t know why you’re so mad at me.” The Red Bull team principal scoffs. “I didn’t tell Max to sleep with your little prodigy.” He may not be showing it, but Christian himself was downright livid with his driver. Max needed to focus; the team needed to focus on gaining back a world championship. Max was scarily focused, but when it came to the women in his life; his mother, his sister, his new little girlfriend Christian had seen in the paddock earlier that day, he would change, they became his focus.

“You need to keep that boy away from my team!” Toto retaliates. He could have gone deeper, he was all but ready to drag Max into the middle of the track and hold him there, letting Lewis drive into him at full force. Before any more threats could be thrown across the office, a door opens, the present grin on Max Verstappen’s face wiped instantly upon seeing Toto, Lewis and yourself.

“Max.” Christian starts, arms folded, the voice he used to reprimand his children now present. He can’t continue his phrasing however, before Toto scoffs, pointing an accusing finger towards the driver.

“You!” He roars, instantly forgetting the plead you had given him half an hour before, longing to keep this news as quiet as you could for as long as possible. “You couldn’t keep away; you have ruined my team! How dare you knock her up!” Toto is only stopped when you jump up from your seat, grabbing both of his arms in an attempt to stop his frantic ranting.

It takes Max a moment to process what has been said, he’s always struggled with quick responding when it’s not on a racetrack. It hits him all at once. Your pregnant. You’d slept together a month ago. Without protection, purely in the heat of the moment. Max Verstappen was going to be a father alongside his arch-rival.

“You’re pregnant?” Max can’t help his questioning, catching your eyes for the first time since entering the room. You can only offer him a nod, unable to form words in that current moment. “And…it’s mine? Are you sure?”

Your blood ran cold, you finally understood the rage that your Team Principle. You turn around, eyes darkened, shaking your head in pure anger. “Who else have I slept with, Max? You want to tell me that?” The audacity of this man. How dare he question you.

“You’re not keeping it, right?” Christian is the first to question. Max’s eyes gloss over, coughing lightly before overtaking the conversation from his own Team Principle. “I’m- I’m not ready to be a father.” His own skin mimics that of Christian; he turns as pale as the white lines of a hard tyre.

“You’re not-“ You cut yourself off, instead opting to keep silent. You had nothing else to say. Max had made his stance on the situation clear. “I don’t need you, Max. I can do this myself.” The entire room watches as you pull away from Lewis and Toto, never once looking at the father of your child.

10st March, 105 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

The Monaco Grand Prix was usually the highlight of your year; champagne podiums, speed boats and the comfort of sleeping in your own bed. However, this time you were not watching it from the screen of your car, nor the comfort of the paddock. You’d opted to remain at your apartment. For a start, the headlines which had been spiralling across the media were growing overwhelming. ‘Mercedes driver pulled out of racing until further notice.’ ‘Max Verstappen breaks up with new girlfriend after only weeks together.’ ‘Valtteri Bottas to pose for nude charity calendar.’

Maybe that last one wasn’t to do with your situation; you were all too aware of how your grid buddy could act in his down time.

Your second worry was the fact that your bump was beginning to grow adamant. It had only been around three months, yet the bump seemed almost ballooning. Every piece of clothing you tried on made you feel like it was more and more obvious. You didn’t want anybody seeing what was happening to your body. Besides, it wasn’t like the pregnancy was an entire secret anymore.

You hadn’t heard from Max since that day in the office. Toto had found you crying an hour later, coaxing you to stop for your own health and the sake of the baby. For the first part of the racing season, your unfilled seat had been passed to George Russell. You’d smiled at each interviewer, telling the world you had an injury which made driving next to impossible at the present time. For each Grand Prix, you’d stayed sat next to Toto, cheering on the silver arrows. Maybe you hadn’t seen Max because you barely set foot outside of the garage.

The news had slowly begun to spread from driver to driver, though each remained loyal and hadn’t told the press of your true reasoning for stepping away. Charles had been around in an instant, helping you to talk through what had been happening. He was your neighbour, after all, he liked to check in when he could. You’d had a visit from Daniel, telling you his best friend was a…well, how he put it, ‘a grade-a cunt,’ for how he had reacted.

There was only one person, however, whom you had wanted to speak to. Sebastian had been a close friend, almost a mentor, during your first batch of Formula 1 seasons. He was also a father himself, maybe he would be able to explain to you Max’s stance on the whole thing.

You knew he was visiting Monaco that weekend for the Grand Prix. When your phone buzzed from your living room, you’d assumed it was him asking for you to come and let you into the complex. What you were not expecting, was the text on your phone from none other than the father of your child.

14:05: Max Verstappen

I don’t know if you have me blocked, I’m hoping you do not. I want to apologise for my reaction. It was a lot. I want to be there, for you and our child.

14:09: You

I appreciate the message. Thank you. My next scan is on Tuesday, after Monaco.

14:11: Max Verstappen

I’d like to be there. Could you send me the details, please?

14th March, 109 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

Max Verstappen was not a practical man.

Despite telling him you would meet him at the address you had sent him, he’d shown up to your apartment just before you were set to leave. Standing in the lobby of your apartment complex, a large bouquet of flowers resting in his arms. You could have sworn you’d never seen Max outside of jeans and a Red Bull polo shirt; it was refreshing to see him in crisp shirt and cargo trousers.

“You didn’t have to dress up.” You mumble, looking down to your own outfit; a soft summer dress seemed positively ordinary; hair loose around your shoulders. It was just a scan, after all. It wasn’t as if the two of you would be going on a date; you hated the man stood in front of you. However, a smile is soon nestled on your face when the man offers you the bundle of flowers, offering a warm grin alongside them.

“You look nice.” Max nods, motioning towards the exit of the complex. His car was parked directly outside, as in order to avoid the press whom would undoubtedly be looking for the drivers in Monaco. The flowers decorated your arms, carefully resting them on your lap before adjusting your seatbelt. “Do you need anything?” He looks back to the complex, concerned if you had forgotten something.

“I just need the bathroom.” You mention half-heartedly. Max’s eyes widen, ready to step out of the car and lead you back into the apartment. “Oh-“ You cut yourself off, having to explain the situation. “No, I need a full bladder for the scan, so they can see the baby.” The man nods in understanding, sitting himself in the driver’s seat, looking both ways before beginning to start the route towards clinic.

The car ride between the two of you was unusually peaceful; Max made light conversation, filling you in on the antics of the paddock from that weekend. You can’t hold back the laugh from your lips when he mentions Christian Horner slipping off his high seat when excitedly jumping to his feet. You missed the paddock; you missed the feeling of racing; you especially missed the banter between your friends. You’d have to return, sooner rather than later.

When the two of you pulled into the car park, Max was quick to step out of his seat, opening the car door for you. You offer him a quiet thanks before making your way into the building, side by side. The nurse you had previously seen gives you a smile, delighted to finally see the father of the baby alongside you.

Max had silently followed you into the room; it wasn’t that he didn’t want to speak, quite the opposite. The man was taking in every piece of information that was being given, silent notes in his mind on each aspect. He’d keep the baby safe; he’d keep you safe, too. Ever now the gentlemen, he helps you to lie down on the seat, your bumped stomach revealed through lifting the skirt of your summer dress.

He can’t help but notice the soft underwear decorating your lower half. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen you naked, after all. That’s how you had got here in the first place. His thoughts are soon side-tracked when seeing you wince from the coldness of the jelly and the cramp of the scanning machine. Max’s hand trails, feeling your own resting aside your body. He can’t help but hold onto it, trying to offer you some sort of comfort. Maybe it’s the sudden nerves, but your hand grabs back just as tightly, feeling his thumb rub carefully against your knuckles.

“You okay?” He mumbles, trying to keep a low profile from the nurse. You can only nod, comforted in the way your…rival…was now holding your hand so preciously.

“Now…” The nurse begins. “I wanted to check with you both, you mentioned wanting to find out the gender of your child.” Her question is directed towards you, Max’s eyes darting between the two women in the room. “Of course, if dad doesn’t want to know, he can leave-“

“Oh, no.” Max interrupts, mind racing at a thousand thoughts per minute. “I’d…I want to know too.” He agrees, nodding in synch with you.

“Well, congratulations. You’re having a beautiful baby girl.” The nurse confirms, turning around the screen to you both. The undefinable shape you had seen mere weeks ago had developed, becoming a more shaped being. You could see the baby forming, eyes widening in shock. Your eyes glanced over to Max, his grip tightening on your palm.

You didn’t miss the glossed tears in his eyes. He knew in that very moment that this baby, this moment was…everything to him.

2nd May, 158 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

Overnight, Max Verstappen had truly wiggled his way into your inner circle. The two of you had barely said ten civilised words to one another since meeting all those years ago. Now? There was a string of texts almost every morning, asking how you were feeling, to let him know if you needed anything. You had truly begun to push the limits of his patience. The man had showed up your doorstep one morning with a bag of cinnamon pretzels after hearing your cries down the telephone line.

Right now, the two of you were basking in the bliss of your little bundle of joy; there were still a lot of heavy conversations to come, but the first wave of nerves had passed, you were now simply excited to meet the little being growing in your stomach.

The two of you had developed a successful co-parenting system to work your way through the pregnancy; Max had engrossed himself in endless copies of baby books. Daniel had found him one afternoon in his driving room, highlighting a textbook on what the main causes of a baby crying could be. He’d started to keep a calendar of every appointment that he’d attend alongside you, notes on the dates that you’re feeling a particular sickness or swelling. If you won’t bring it up with a doctor, he would.

Max tries to convince himself it’s to keep his baby safe; of course, you need to remain healthy too, but he doesn’t care about you, not in that sense.

It isn’t until he receives a phone call from you one afternoon, pleading for him to come and collect you from a friend’s house; your car had broken down and your Uber application wouldn’t seem to find you a driver that wasn’t half an hour away. Max had shown up at the doorstep ten minutes later, knocking on the door to signal your arrival. When there was no answer, he took his own incitive to investigate the back garden, hearing the light sound of music, chattering adults and giggling children.

The garden is in full swing; you hadn’t mentioned it was a party; an extravagant one at that. He’s taken aback by the decorations, a giant bounce house and the most enormous birthday cake he had ever seen.

His heart almost stops when he sees you.

You, hair framing your face beautifully, a pale pink dress hugging you in the most delicious way. Your attention is focused to the toddler on your hip, your godson. How on earth could you think you were not ready for this? You pulled faces at the young being his giggles screaming through the air. Max had always thought you were pretty, but now he could only see you as a goddess.

He’s convinced himself, after all. He doesn’t care for you. He worships you.

9th June, 196 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

“I think we should move in together.”

Max’s attention is drawn up from his phone. Christian and himself had been texting backwards and forwards for the past few days; the driver was trying to rework his schedule so he could at least be with you for a week after the birth. It was getting closer; the world now knew of your pregnancy, the media torn between harsh critics and positive glows.

What they didn’t know was the father of the child was your sworn enemy.

Maybe, enemy was a word you didn’t wish to use anymore. A friend didn’t seem right, either. A mix of late-night conversations, spooning ice cream to one another whilst binging a new Netflix series and picking out a bundle of pink pyjamas had drawn the two of you into an undefinable relationship.

“You know…” You continue. “I want…her to have both her parents about. I don’t want her to grow up in a broken household.” It was true; you’d seen how it could affect people, especially the man who was sat by your side. He understood, completely and utterly. After what he had been through, he wouldn’t wish that on anybody, least of all his own flesh and blood. His own baby.

“I missed my mother…a lot when I was younger.” He referenced his parents’ separation, how he had barely seen his mother and sister whilst growing up. “I wouldn’t want that for her.” Max rests a hand on your stomach, a soft smile on his face when he looks at you. Even with no makeup, a hoodie which was way too big for you, you were still positively glowing. “Why don’t we have a look tomorrow? Find somewhere around here with enough space for us all.”

You nod in agreement. “That’s fine, but you’re painting the nursery.” You mumble in response. A small laugh emits from both of your lips. However, yours is soon replaced with a sharp wince, a rumble in your stomach. Max, whom still had a hand resting on the bump immediately stops laughing, both of your eye’s meeting in shock.

“Was that-” He cuts himself off when he feels the movement again. It’s a kick. The baby is kicking.

“She’s awake!” You laugh, placing your hand carefully across Max’s. You gently guide it across your stomach, tracing the sharp movement in your stomach. “We must have woken her up. Sorry sweet pea.” You direct the last part of your sentence to the baby in your stomach.

Max gently removes his hand from your stomach, his head tiling closer to your bump. The baby can hear him. She’s in there, nestled and warm, awaiting her welcome into the world.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He mumbles, voice thick from holding back heavy tears. “It’s your Papa.”

He doesn’t miss the small laugh from you, entirely entertained by this whole situation.

“I know I can’t see you yet, but you’re the most beautiful girl I could ever ask for. Just like your mother.” He finishes, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your stomach. Softly, he lifts himself up, pressing a kiss to your temple, heads resting gently against one another as the next episode of your series began to play.

29th June, 216 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

Spa-Francorchamps was the last race on the calendar before the summer break. It was also the last time you would be able to be in the paddock without a baby strapped to your side.

It had been magical, when walking into the Mercedes garage. Cheers had erupted upon seeing their golden girl return to the paddock. Lewis had barely been able to contain himself, pulling you into the tightest hug which could be imagined. Toto had almost started crying, kissing the top of your head and resting a hand on your stomach, declaring the baby as his unborn prodigy.

There had been no end of drivers coming to meet you, too. Charles and Carlos had declared how much they had missed having you around, presenting you with a baby blanket and beanie. Your heart had melted when they explained their mothers had taught them how to knit, both wanting to make a present for you, stitched with love. You’d almost started crying, hormones were in full swing in the third trimester, kissing both on the cheek and thanking them endlessly.

Yuki had walked up to you that afternoon too, presenting a small Tupperware box. He had noticed you’d completely rejected fish, and most of all sushi, so instead had made you a batch which was pregnancy safe. The two of you had tried a piece there and then, declaring it as quite possibly the best thing your tastebuds had found since pregnancy had altered your tastebuds.

Daniel had come to find you, telling you to meet him in his garage, that he had a surprise for you both. Both, meaning you’d probably have to find Max, too.

His garage was only a short walk from where you’d been set up in the Mercedes camp. You’d began to make your way over there, hoping you’d bump into the father of your child on the way. You’d last seen Max that morning, having driven you to the paddock himself. He’d become…fiercely caring since the evening of feeling the baby kick. He’d slept in your bed that night, you are resting against his chest, a form of comfort in the third trimester.

What you hadn’t expected to see, as you turned the corner, was a beautiful girl, hands resting on Max’s waist, her eyes sparkling, lips moving. You couldn’t see Max’s face, his cap hiding any expression, but your heart knew that he’d be smirking, basking in the attention.

Loving the attention of a beautiful girl, one that wasn’t pregnant with his child.

You couldn’t…understand why you had suddenly cared so much about who he was interacting with. When you’d first started this whole…adventure, he’d still been seen in clubs, leaving with different women on his arm every weekend. You’d hit the second trimester; his party and escapades had stopped, his sole attention of women being on you.

Maybe that was it. You’d grown to like the attention of Max. Whether it was as the father of your child or…something else.

Your hormones were truly beginning to overtake you, feeling tears trickling out of your water line. You had to look away at that moment, you couldn’t keep looking at the events unfolding in front of you. Your mind traces back to that morning in Christian Horner’s office, how Max had turned pale, not wanting to be burdened with the birth of his child.

‘I’m- I’m not ready to be a father.’

Maybe he wasn’t. But you were ready to be a mother.

8th August, 255 days since what should have been the-

You couldn’t handle this.

The pain was beginning to seethe through your stomach. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it was all wrong, it was happening too quickly.

Since the incident at the paddock, you’d been radio silent towards Max. He wasn’t too sure of how it had come to be. All he had known was you’d taken yourself home from Spa, telling him that you’d needed to fly home to be with your parents before the birth.

One day without a phone call was okay, he suspected it would be due to the time zones. Two was…a little odd. After three, he was frantically packing a suitcase, trying to get hold of anybody who would possibly know your parents’ address. He’d resulted to finding your teammates phone number. After he was met with a string of questions, asking how on earth he had gotten hold of his phone number. When Max had explained you had gone off the grid, Lewis had simply scoffed.

Of course, Lewis had known what had happened. He’d seen you return to grab your bag, eyes glassy as you offered the team a quick goodbye, promising to bring the baby to meet them all as soon as possible.

The driver had been the one to guide you back through the paddock. Despite not racing together for almost six months, he still had your mannerisms sketched into his mind. Eventually, you’d confided in your closest friend, letting the tears fall freely as he guided you back to your Uber, pressing a kiss to your forehead, a silent promise that he would be there if you needed anything, if there were any more thoughts or issues.

He had no issue telling Max his thoughts over the telephone. Despite Max’s answers, there was no excuse. ‘You were hormonal. How did he think you felt when seeing Max with another woman, even if it was innocent, she didn’t seem to be in that stance.’

That was the case. It was an ex-girlfriend, she’d been in the paddock that afternoon, seeking out the world champion in an advancement to get them back together. Max had no intention of going there, not when he was during finding something, some gesture to show you of his advancing feelings over the past few months. That was why he had asked Daniel to get you to his garage. He would be able to surprise you, tell you how he was really feeling, how he loved you, and not just for being the mother of his child.

After copious amounts of pleading, Lewis had eventually sent over the address, giving Max a dire warning as to if he upset you again.

The flight to your home had been fast. He couldn’t thank his assistant enough, getting a hire car set for the moment he stepped out of the airport. However, turning up at your home to find your father, arms folded, and eyebrows raised at Max’s sudden appearance. Your father barely said two words, just told Max you had gone into labour.

Max’s blood had run cold upon that realisation. He wasn’t there; he wasn’t there to hold your hand when the pain started, to hold your hair up and get some coolness to your overheating skin. He wasn’t there. Not for his little girl, and not for her mother. Being a Formula One driver in that evening was the most helpful thing in his opinion, arriving at the hospital in record time.

Car thrown carelessly into a parking spot, he’d sprinted into the reception, a nurse resting a hand on his arm when seeing the pure shock registered on his face. He couldn’t get any words out properly, simply repeating your name, that he was the father of your child. He wanted to see you, he wanted to see his baby.

The nurse nodded, motioning for Max to follow him down a corridor. He didn’t like the coldness of the building. You probably felt so alone. Every time he had come with you to a clinic appointment, he’d notice the change in your demeanour, how you felt uncomfortable. You should have opted for a home birth; you would have been calmer. Safer.

Max eventually reached your hospital room, heart breaking at the sounds from the other side of the door. You were in pain. That much was obvious as he opened the door. Your mother wasn’t present. He knew your stubbornness, knowing that you would have wanted to do this without her. Maybe, you’d want to do this without him, too.

His train of thought was interrupted, hearing a voice he had missed oh-so-much for the past three days.

“Max.” You cried, tears rolling down your cheeks. The gas wasn’t working, the epidural hadn’t kicked in yet. You were going to feel ever piece of this.

The man sprang into action; in an instant, his jacket was removed, revealing his soft t-shirt and trackpants. A seat was pulled up to the head of your bed, Max sitting himself down, one hand running across the top of your head, the other arm resting by your hands, letting you grip into him as deeply as you needed to.

“Shh. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” He mumbles. Soft words of Dutch come from his lips; you’re too far gone to understand his words in English, let alone his native language.

“You- why did you come?” You sob, feeling another contraction wash over your stomach. You can’t help but sob out, overwhelmed by the physical pain of the baby, the emotional pain of Max after seeing him in the paddock with that girl.

“I couldn’t leave the love of my life to meet our baby girl alone, could I?” He responds, leaning upwards to press a soft kiss to your cheek. He can taste the salt from your tears. He swore there and then, you’d never cry again. Not if he was around. You’d stay with him in the paddock, you and his baby girl. He’d make you laugh at every available opportunity. He’d shower you both in gifts; he’d give his girls everything they’d desire. If one day you decided to return to racing, he’d retire there and then to let you peruse his dream.

“Okay, okay. We need to push.” The midwife insists, seeing the pain flush over your cheeks. Max is there, clasping your hands, running a palm across your cheek, promising that oh-so-soon, your baby girl would be here, she would be in your arms, you would be complete.

There’s a sharp scream from you, and then the tiniest cries from the end of the bed.

She was here. Bloody, high pitch screams fill the room as the baby is placed onto your chest.

A wave of relief flushes over you, lying back into the cushions, sobbing in hysteria; your baby girl had been welcomed into the world. Max this time, can’t hold back his own tears, aiding the midwife in cutting the chord, eyes in awe as he watched the midwife gently rub a cloth against her soft skin.

“She’s here.” You whisper, the midwife aiding you in wrapping your daughter in a pink blanket, her wails cooling down, eyes blinking up to her mother. The blue eyes, identical to those of her father.

Her father in question had sat back in his chair, eyes transfixed on the bundle in your arms. What he isn’t expecting is for you to motion your own arms towards him, letting the man cradle his daughter. It’s so…natural. Your heart fills with adoration; how you could ever believe you hated this man was beyond you.

Eventually, the baby is placed into the cradle, deep in slumber. Max hasn’t moved from your side, one arm around your back, both of you transfixed onto the peacefully sleeping child.

“She’s here.” Max repeats for the hundredth time, eyes still focused on the sweet girl. His head turns to you, there’s no better time to say it. “I’m sorry. For not telling you sooner. For not telling you how much I care about you.” He murmurs, hand finding yours, clasping them together.

“Yeah?” You tease, running your free hand through his soft hair, feeling his head press into your touch. His touch subsides, leaning in ever so gently, pressing his lips to your own. It’s soft, it’s unexpected, but it feels so, so right. It’s only interrupted with the soft cries from your baby once again.

“Is this what it’s going to be like from now on?” Max laughs, his moment being disrupted by the baby. You can only laugh as he stands up, scooping up the baby into his gentle grasp.

9th August, 1:06am. This was the happiest day of your life.

#psyche’s recommended fics #f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #max verstappen #mv1 #mv33 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen one shot #reader insert

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imaginepsyche · 1 year ago

Text

I only just got into swat not long ago and had fallen in love with Luca. This was really cute! I loved reading it!

high stakes [ dominique luca ]

⋯ SUMMARY ; with the annual police verses fire department tournament just around the corner, you catch luca teeter on the edge of his stress // @b-uckyreadss

⋯ PROMPT ; [ fictional couples 1 ] taking each other’s hands during a stressful situation, instantly reliveing the pressure of the situation

⋯ WARNINGS ; female!reader, slight angst [ stress + bad coping methods ] + general fluff [ hurt // comfort ]

you watch from afar as luca strapped his knuckles for what seemed like the twentieth that week – all in preparation of the police verses fire department tournament that he had long been looking froward to since it was announced.

it had also been something he had talked about non-stop. and seeing as he was placed to arm wrestle one of the firefighters from the 126, it seemed to only heighten the intensity of the match set to play out.

Keep reading

#psyche’s recommended fics #swat #swat x reader #swat imagine #s.w.a.t.#s.w.a.t. x reader #s.w.a.t. imagine #dominique luca #dominique luca x reader #dominique luca imagine #dominic luca

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imaginepsyche · 1 year ago

Text

This was Omg. It’s was such a good read!

How to train your dragon ft Zhongli + fem!reader

cw/tags: dom bottom!reader and subtop!zhongli YEEAAAAH WE DOING THIS BABES. Collaring/Leash. pet play. primal play. praise kink. bit of shibari at the start. oral on reader.Zhongli has dragon features (horns/tail/tongue) but only 1 dick this time tho//hit.

notes: I ABSOLUTELY BLAME @zhxngii BECAUSE SHE AWAKENED MY INNER DOM. I DIDN'T KNOW I COULD DOM??? //HIT also @silentmoths bc together we brainrotted this idea I am so fucking WEAK for petplay dcbhbchjkancjak //rabid horny crys noises.

Light breathy moans escape your lips as you shift slightly against the bed headboard, back arching and biting your lip at the heated pleasure.

Your spread legs twitch a little as you groan, right hand tugging just slightly at the leash held in it. "Hng... fuck, t-that's a good boy..."

The pull of the collar around Zhongli's neck makes him press even closer against your pussy, licking and sucking more insistently at your wet folds. Long hair cascading down his back, though some strands drape around his shoulders and tickle at your skin.

You keen, free hand gripping so hard at the bed covers your knuckles turn white. The man buried between your legs dives in with as much raw passion as a certain determination. With his arms tied behind his back, Zhongli tilts his head for a better angle and his nose presses against your mound, sinful long tongue drawing wet stripes along your core and flicking at your clit, teasing the little pearl and earning him more of your sweet sounds.

The sight, coupled with the hot, wet slide of Zhongli's mouth steadily surrounding you, buzzes like electricity under your skin, leaving your fingers tingling and pooling more fire in your core.

"S-so good for me..." You can't help but roll your hips towards him, searching for that delicious friction. "So well trained and behaved hmmm-"

His long dragon tail sways after him at that.

Working his tongue sinuously against you. Each fluttering motion sends sparks up your spine, until your heart is pounding in your chest in anticipation and your head is swimming with arousal. Zhongli snakes that long dragon tongue inside you, probing carefully and slowly at your insides and feeling you clench. The motion has your thighs trembling and you let out a loud whine, unconsciously tugging at the leash again on reflex. Heat screws directly into your gut, surging with each swipe and flick of his tongue, dragging in and out of you, the wet muscle reaching deeper every time. Each little noise that falls from your mouth seems to spur him on, increasing his speed until your toes are curling at the sheets, body taut with pleasure.

"Yes, yes... oh! Ooohh... m-make me cum... and I'll let you- hng- fuck me. You want that don't you?" You coo, free hand releasing the sheets to instead curl around one of his golden antlers.

The reaction is instantaneous as Zhongli purrs.

"F-Fuck!" Waves of pleasure crash down on you at the vibrations against your sensitive folds, cresting higher each time, and you toss your head back. Skin burning, muscles trembling, breath stuttering until every sensation peaks abruptly with an obscene shuddering moan, leaving you helpless to keep from coming in Zhongli's mouth.

Distantly, you feel him growl against your pussy, retracting his tongue to slurp and lick at your juices instead like they’re the sweetest ambrosia.

You ride out the flood of heat, gasping for breath as your body slowly melts into relaxation, and when the tide recedes, you blink the dots out of your vision and look down to see the dragon lapping gently at your core, cleaning up your arousal. “Good boy...” You rasp, letting go of his antler to card your fingers along his dark hair, fingers massaging idly at his scalp.

Those bright golden eyes stare up at you with adoration and your heart flips in your chest.

Zhongli nuzzles at your inner thighs as you enjoy the fading glow of your orgasm before you start shifting and tug gently on his collar to make him pull back. He lets out a huff.

You sit up and surge forward, cupping his face in your hands. "Hmm, you really are so good for me, aren't you?" You nuzzle at him, planting kisses around his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. He sighs and relaxes, tail once again wagging after him. "My beautiful beloved dragon..." You nip at his neck and he inhales sharply. From the corner of your eye, you see his large erection twitch. Straining against his stomach and drooling tacky precum, the head flushed in a lovely dark color.

"Well, we made a deal, didn't we?" You whisper against his skin as your hand lowers down to rub against his length, giving him a couple of lazy strokes as he lets out a mix between a whine and a moan as his hips buckle against your hand. “You earned it…” You coo at his ear.

Even though he could have shredded them apart at any time, he lets you painstakingly undo the knots at his arms and unwind the rope from them. You rub and massage a little at the wrists and muscles, leaving another kiss at his forearm as he flexes them a little. In seconds you find yourself caged under his larger frame, pressed against the bed and crossing stares with him.

His golden eyes are feral, simmering under his skin you can almost feel the scales flickering to life, to burst free. The dragon claws and howls within its cage, every instinct carved within his ancient bones demanding he take action, demanding freedom from the confines of his mortal guise.To take him mate and claim you, breed you.

And yet he stays still. For you. Hanging on your words.

You stroke your hands along his skin, before going up and curling a finger around the collar, appreciating the lewd contrast of the black color against his skin. You fidget a little with it. “Do you want me to keep the leash on or not?” You ask coyly. “You can speak.”

“Anything you want.” He replies evenly.

You chuckle. “I am asking you though, this is your prize after all…”

He bends down a little until his forehead rests against yours. “My prize is you. In any way you’d have me.”

Your breath hitches at the sincerity and pure desire in his words.

“Keeping it on then…” You say, giving a quick peck against his lips before you shift and roll over, pulling a pillow closer to your chest, burying your cheek on it as you stare at him over your shoulder, hand pulling at said leash just a bit.

He straddles your legs and you feel his cock rub against your ass. His hands at both sides of you with one of them intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Now… give me a good fucking, my pet…”

You feel a clawed hand guiding your hips and finally, the blunt head of his cock prods at your entrance. Zhongli shoves forward and you gasp as he slips inside. Your walls stretch to accommodate him and you moan low in your chest from the steady drag, head falling forward. He doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated and you shiver at the sensation of being so full.

The hand at your hip slides underneath to press against your stomach and the sound that escapes you is pure sin. Zhongli seems to like it, since he presses harder and his hips jerk, shifting his cock inside you, giving aborted little thrusts and eliciting another high-pitched whine.

“D-don’t- Don’t tease me-!” You jerk the leash. His chest pressing against your back. “Behave.”

Zhongli nips at your shoulder and growls.

“Don’t get an attitude with me or I’ll change my mind.”

Zhongli grumbles low in his chest and your chuckle is cut short as he quickly pulls out and slams forward again before you can even process, you’re empty.

“Fuck-!”

Detaching from your back, he holds your hips again and thrusts once more, using his grip to drag you back against him, holding you there so you can feel every inch of his cock filling you up, rubbing and touching you so deeply it was too much and simply not enough. You gasp and whine, eyelids fluttering. Zhongli slides out, then back in, gaining speed with each tantalizing stroke until his pelvis is slapping loudly against your ass.

Every thrust snaps an electric spark as the dragon practically mounts you, rocking you against the mattress until your thighs are trembling and you’re muffling your moans and squeals against the pillow. Zhongli is panting above you, each rasping breath rattling with a gusty exhale, catching on the growl building within his chest. Blood pounding in your ears, heart rattling as his pace chases even faster, reaching a desperate frenzy; The hot rigid length filling you over and over again blurs into a steady, burning stream of sensation.

You let Zhongli use your body like a feral animal in rut, every thrust punching out a pitiful noise out of your lips, stars dancing in your eyes and heat surging until you’re nearly incoherent with it, drooling against the pillow.

Your trembling hand yanks weakly at the leash and his pace stutters, you call out to him with a whine, teary eyes begging at him and he surges forward in an open-mouthed kiss, filthy and clumsy with how you both are worked up right now.

“Good-” You choke out against his lips. “T-That’s a good boy, Li-”

He growls with satisfaction, losing his even rhythm as his thrusts become sloppy, recklessly slamming in and out of your warm heat. His tail wraps around one of your legs.

“Such a good pet for me-” Your nails dig into your palms, one of them tangled with the leash, the other held by Zhongli’s for dear life. “Come on… come on, Li… c-cum inside me-”

The dragon slams a few more times against you before burying himself completely inside, going rigid as a loud groan tears out through gritted teeth. You all but mewl at the familiar feeling of his hot cum seeping inside you, body shaking with your own release as the heat climbing through your body overflows with a blinding flash.

You whimper and whine as you ride the dizzying wave of pleasure, vision blurred, mouth hanging open.

Once the peak ebbs away, you’re left with trembling limbs and a heaving chest, sagging on the bed exhausted.

Zhongli gingerly slides out making you moan softly at the now unpleasant emptiness, your combined fluids running down your legs. You twist sluggishly onto your side and pull him down not by the leash this time, but by wrapping your arm around his shoulder. He presses and nuzzles against you and you let out a breathy tired chuckle. “Good boy…” You mumble.

He intertwines your hands again and pulls them up to kiss at the back of your hand, then your knuckles. “Hm… I do believe no one had ever called me those names before.”

Had you not been so tired, you’d be more embarrassed about the whole ordeal, but right now you can only manage a bashful smile. “Well… did the mighty lord of geo enjoy being my pet?” You ask, fingers tracing the black collar around his neck.

“I did.”

“You want to… try it again sometime?”

“If you want to.” He replies, his gaze warm and affectionate, scanning your face searchingly. “Did you enjoy it, my dear?”

You avert your eyes, a blush finally creeping in your face as the adrenaline washes off with the calm atmosphere. “I… really did.” Your hand moves up from the collar to his cheek. “You’re always so good to me, Li.”

“Hm, I simply love you. My mate…” Zhongli leans in close, the tip of his nose tracing a path along your cheek.

“I love you too.” You close the few inches of distance between your lips and kiss him, slow and meaningful.

He kisses back immediately, sinking into it with a low, throaty croon. Suddenly you find yourself on your back with him pushing you into the mattress, the leash and strands of his hair dangling over your sweaty skin, and his hips rolling up to yours.

You swat at his shoulder playfully. “No! Bad dragon! Insatiable-! That’s all you get!”

Zhongli chuckles, deep and rich voice making your heart skip. He nuzzles into the space between your shoulder and neck once more before pulling back and sitting up on the bed. “Let’s go take a bath, then.”

“Oh, so we’re back to you giving the orders? You’re still wearing the collar, you know?”

“I suppose I am. In that case, whatever my sweet mate demands…”

“A bath sounds good.” You chuckle. He nods and stands up, you get only a few seconds to admire his body before he picks you up, ignoring your squeal, and heads over to the bathroom. Hopefully, only to get cleaned up…

#zhongli smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #psyche’s recommended fics

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imaginepsyche · 2 years ago

Text

I really enjoyed reading this!!

The Mistress

Harry Gardner x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: smut (blowjob), cheating, sex in a public bathroom literally while his family is in the other room (who am i)

Author’s Note: Hi love! Sorry this took so long! I feel like I went with the slightly creepy route straight into a bj lmao so I hope you like it. I don’t know how I feel lmaoo

Requested by anon, Happy to hear you're doing well, hun! I'm so excited to see your upcoming pieces because these most recent two are absolute gems 💗(I'm a big GTA and RE fan what can I saw I was overjoyed to see them 🤭)

Don't mind me with another Harry request (my sincere apologies, I'm obsessed 😌) I had this potentially spicy plot in mind - Harry x fem!reader. When he sees her being flirty with someone but cannot let his jealousy show since his wife is like RIGHT there. But still makes sure to let her know how much she upset him later on 😉 Take your time with this sweetie and if you don't feel like writing it that's totally ok too! 🤗 Thank you for gracing this site with your lovely works and making my day with them as well. Take care and have a wonderful day/night ~ Addie ❤

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Harry’s love for his wife was obligatory. The love he had for her was necessary, to keep their family going. He had created a space where he could comfortably do his job and be seen as successful. He had the wife, the house, and the kid. He had the room to grow and the means to do it.

But you…you were not a want. You were a need. You were alluring in his worst times, gorgeous in his best. He could watch you move for hours and wonder what it was about you that entranced him. He could picture you from the bed as you slipped your clothes on and the memory filled his entire eyesight. He could see nothing else but you when you were there.

You were like one of the people he wrote about. You were unreal. He couldn’t live without you now.

“You’re starring,” your voice broke him from his thoughts. Sometimes he forgot you were actually there. You sat on the side of the bed, arms moving with grace down to your feet. You put your socks on, side eyeing him. “Everything alright?”

“Uh huh.” He was in a shitty motel with sheets that he knew hadn’t been washed in far too long.

“H?” You sat up straight. He grabbed your hand, shaking his head.

“I’m fine,” he promised. You pursed your lips, nodding slowly.

“You have to get back.” The time schedule he was on was brutal. Sometimes he wondered if the life he had was even worth all this. Couldn’t he just live here with you forever? The misery of his demonic child and his never ending wife seemed like a hell he had trapped himself in. When had he wanted that? “Henry.”

“I’m here. I swear. I just don’t want to leave you.” Your face read the emotions he was feeling. You didn’t want to leave either but someone had to. If this thing was to be sustainable, you had to go.

“I never thought I’d be here you know,” you muttered. Even your voice sounded melodic. “In bed with a married man. Jesus. What would my mother say?” He felt a pang of guilt but not for the person who he should’ve. He had put you in this position. You could’ve been living a life with a free man, someone to show you off to the world. Instead you were in shitty hotels by the ocean, the salt coming in through broken window frames.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. You shook your head.

“It’s alright. We’re in this boat together, hm?” He grabbed your hand and held it. The hand that had just been all over him, the hand that had felt every inch of his body. You must have been thinking about it too because you kissed him gently. A goodbye kiss. He wanted to curse, to beg you to stay. He didn’t.

“I need to write you into a story,” he said against your lips.

“Oh yeah? The girl who never got what she wanted?”

“The girl who could get whatever she desired.”

“That sounds better than my thing.” You smiled gently. “I’ll see you later?” He nodded, a promise he was sure to keep. He hoped he wouldn’t see you around town before that, for the sake of his life. For the sake of yours! You stood up. “I’m excited to read what you write me into. Hopefully a better situation than this.”

You thought about the character of you and envied her. You would be her one day, you hoped.

She was like fire if it never spread. Her silence was dangerous, the presence of her was terrifying. Electrifying was an understatement. She was the lightning that made electricity. She was the origin, the start, the very being that could bring down trees with a touch. She was-

“What’re you writing?” Doris’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard. His initial reaction scared him a bit and he tried to be more caring.

“Nothing. Nothing, I don’t think anyway.” He shut his computer.

“Are we still going out to dinner?”

“Yes. Yeah, sorry, time got away from me.” He got up from the chair. Doris was standing beside Alma who had her coat and shoes on already. She was giving Harry a look of disinterest, similar to her mothers. But Doris at least tried to cover it with a feign emotion, one he couldn’t grasp. “Coming.”

They piled into the car and were quickly arriving at a small diner. The small diners in Provincetown were stereotypical and uninteresting. There was little local color and little locals. He saw you the second he walked in, like you had attracted his eyes like a magnet. You were sitting at the counter, a milkshake between your hands. Your hair fell in front of your eyes a bit as a smile played on your face. His eyes followed to the waiter you were speaking to. A man about your age, sharing your smile. The jealousy in him was surprising. He didn’t own you.

But he wanted to.

You hadn’t seen him yet. Maybe he could convince Doris to leave and go somewhere else.

“Right here. You’re the newer family right? Big house on the water?” Their waitress said, gesturing to the table. Doris had been speaking and he hadn’t even noticed.

“Yes ma’am,” Harry responded.

“We don’t get lots of visitors here, except for the writers.”

“My husbands the writer,” Doris explained. At the mention of the topic, you turned your head ever so slightly. Your eyes locked for just a moment, zero panic in your face. It was like you didn’t even know him. You turned your head back to the waiter behind the counter.

“What kinds of things do you write?” the waitress asked.

“Screenplays.” “Anything I’ve seen?”

“Not yet,” Doris promised. You were too distracting. He couldn’t stay here with you. His phone buzzed and he knew it was you. He checked it obsessively, turning it towards him so that Doris and Alma couldn’t see.

I’m sorry, you texted. He didn’t answer.

“Can I get you started with some waters?”

His eyes flickered to you. Smiling at the waiter, a gentle comradery. It made him sick.

“Yes please,” Doris said. She watched him and his discomfort but couldn’t find the source of it. The waitress left, leaving them alone, without a buffer between him and you. He opened up his phone again, staring at the message. You should leave. Why weren’t you leaving? “Everything okay?”

He couldn’t hear what you were saying but he could see your hand brushing the waiters. Closer to your age, likely not married. Attainable. You could have something attainable. He glanced at Doris and nodded curtly.

“I just need to go to the bathroom.” He got up, loudly. She scoffed, nodding.

“Okay.” He pushed past you. Your eyes followed him as he turned the corner. You looked back at the waiter.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to use the little girls room.” You slid off the stool with a small smile and left your milkshake. You turned the corner and knocked on the men's bathroom door. It opened quickly. It was the type of bathroom that was private, without stalls. Just two rooms.

Harry grabbed your hand and dragged you inside. He shut the door and locked it behind you.

“I didn’t know you would be here,” you argued. He was standing so close to you, practically pining you to the door.

“Who was that?”

“Who was who?”

“Don’t act coy,” he spat. You had never seen him so angry, jealousy practically dripping from his eyes.

“The waiter? He’s a friend.”

“That all?” “Harry, we can't do this right now. Your family is outside. Come on, we’ll talk later.” You made no movement. He starred, at you, at your features, the ones he could always find comfort in. He grabbed your wrist. “Harry?”

“Get on your knees.”

You raised an eyebrow but the look in his eyes was too alluring to argue. He was usually gentle and guiding through sex, always careful with you even when he was rougher. You didn’t mind the demanding tone in his voice. You slinked down the door, onto your knees. You looked up at him.

He was gazing down at you, his hand cupping your chin. You waited to see what he would do. Was he being so daring because his family was out there? Had you crossed a line neither of you had dared to verbalize?

You put your hands on his waistband. He nodded, ushering you along. You undid his belt and fought with his jeans to pull them down. It didn’t take long for him to get hard at the adrenaline of the moment and you sitting before him. You pumped with your hand, staring up at him still.

You wanted to tell him the waiter meant nothing. But actions spoke louder than words. You wrapped your lips around him, eyes locked, a glaze over his. He was staring at you like you were a meal. As you moved up and down, bobbing your head back and forth, he grabbed a fist full of your hair. He started to guide you more forcefully, a jealousy lacing his touch.

You came up for air as minimally as you could. He lasted too long. His family was going to miss him. They would see your lone milkshake and wonder which of you would leave first. There weren’t enough people in this diner to not connect the dots.

His precum was drooling down your chin. He wanted to fuck you. He knew he didn’t have time. Instead he let you make him cum, swallowing everything you could, making an erotic gagging noise as you did so. His moans came out muffled but clear, head tilted back in pleasure.

You wiped your mouth, leaning your head against the door.

“Feel better?” you asked. He scoffed. He helped you up, catching you as you stumbled. He kissed you, tasting himself among your lips. He could stay here with you forever and starve happily. “You go out first,” you muttered. “I’ve gotta wash up.”

He nodded. He stared at you for a moment longer, brushing your hair out of your face. You locked eyes and the intimacy filled up the bathroom. You wanted to kiss him again but knew you had no time. You would have to let him go, just this once.

“Thanks,” he muttered under his breath.

“Anytime H.” You slithered away from him. “Pull your pants up and go back to your family.”

#harry gardner x reader #harry gardner x fem!reader #american horror story imagines #harry gardner imagines #ahs imagines #american horror story fanfiction #psyche’s recommended fics

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