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forteafy · 1 year ago

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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.

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tojisun · 7 months ago

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hockey player simon pt 03 // part of this plot // mlist

i swear it was just supposed to be a drabble w no plot

jo heaves a sigh the moment you slide in front of her, and you would have been insulted if it wasn't for the gentle smile she gives right after. still, she's staring at you with that teasing tilt of her lips and her eyes narrowed in humour, one that you're not privy to.

"what?" you finally bite out, fiddling with your iced coffee, feeling self-conscious.

you fleet your eyes to yourself and, yeah, sure you're wearing the same pants as yesterday’s but c'mon? you didn't get to go back to your place after, well...

at least you didn't repeat your top, and is instead wearing a sweater you've stolen from simon's closet. cashmere, cream and soft, and the material comfortable, if not a little bit loose in the arms that droop past your fingers.

you thought you at least looked like those typical college students in the movies—effortlessly chic in a boyfriend sweater, if not a little haggard because who is not when in university?

she finally chuckles, the thrum of her voice easing up the frown that tugged your brows together. “don’t sweat it, superstar. it’s just that i’m still not used to seeing you be a sugar baby.”

you choke mid-sip, her words devouring you like an angry tide. you feel your eyes water in protest, the feeling burning as you sputter.

“i’m not–!”

“you’re not what?” tim asks, sliding into the seat beside yours.

you grumble, wagging a finger as you wipe your stained chin with your other hand. jo snorts and fills him in, chuckling all the while as she gestures at your sweater because she knows it couldn’t possibly have been yours.

tim’s smile turns cheeky, teasing, and he wiggles his brows at you.

“shut up, oh my god,” you whine, rolling your eyes at them, almost shyly, and you feel your cheeks warming. “i’m not– simon’s not my–”

“oh c’mon, babe,” jo says, playfully throwing her mechanical pencil at you. you huff before chucking it back at her, giggling to yourself when it bounces off her arm and rolls into the floor.

tim picks it up for her.

“he buys you expensive things—” her eyes flit to the new promise ring that you’re wearing. you unconsciously hide it behind your palm. “and pays for your tuition which i’m so, so jealous of.”

“doesn’t he fly you around too? in a private jet or something?” tim pipes up, shamelessly snagging away your iced coffee now that you’re too preoccupied to drink it.

“he doesn’t!”

twin brows quirk up in silent judgement.

“…he buys us first class tickets, not, like, a whole jet.”

see? they seemed to say with the way they cock their heads to the side.

you sniff. “it’s for work,” you mumble, remembering the first time simon flew you for his games.

“i mean, for him, maybe. but you? tell me what business do you have in winnipeg?” tim chirps and you almost want to jump him just to make him shut up.

“sugar baby,” jo finishes, singing. “but i mean, who can blame him, huh?” she grins, her voice dipping into a faux southern accent. “i’d spoil you too, sugar.”

“oh, you flirt,” you trill, taking the opening she offers to change the topic.

tim takes the bait and whines about how jo doesn’t do all those things for him, but jo is unmoved, eyeing you knowingly, but thankfully drops it too.

it’s just—

there’s a whole stigma to athlete’s girlfriends. for god’s sake, they even have a whole label—puck bunny—which is honestly just a dig made up by really shitty men who burn with jealousy . and you know that, but—

you can’t help but wonder if some, not all, of simon’s love for you is because of what you do to him. of what you give him in return. especially since he’s so busy all the time, either flying during the season and is rarely home, or packed with training and other physical regimen during the offseason.

so you wonder if this—flying you with him on the days the official WAGs are not being flown by the franchise, bringing you to vacation spots on the other side of the ocean, buying you everything you used to only dream of ever having—was his way of paying you back for your support and patience and care and love.

tim knocks his shoulder with yours, worry now lining his boyishly charming face.

“y’alright?”

“of course.” you lick your lips. “so did you ever get a copy of the lab sheet from rayan?”

you watch from the front seats as the team wrap up practice tonight, their coach looking pleased at their performance. it was still difficult to follow the game, but the players all look content too despite the sweat and their ragged breathing.

they never did know how to hold back even during a practice.

you say your goodbyes to the other people who came to watch, shooting simon a text that you’ll be waiting for him in the parking lot, and walk out.

the cashmere sweater, thankfully, is enough to fight off the cool air and the gentle breeze while you make your trek to simon’s distinct range rover, all sleek and pure black like he’s got the damn royals for a passenger.

it’s locked so you hover outside, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your pants, and entertained yourself with making puffs of air like you’re ten again. it’s honestly not too bad to be alone, if it weren’t for the sudden swarming of your doubts—the very same ones you thought you already shrugged off before taking the cab to the rink.

fuck.

“hey, love,” simon’s voice pierces through your thoughts and you jump, barely smothering the yelp that almost tore itself from the base of your throat.

you swivel, heart pounding, and simon’s beautiful face creases into one of concern.

“are you–”

“si!” you greet, jogging to him.

he laughs and opens his arms for a hug, one that you excitedly give him. you tuck your cold face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, taking in the antiseptic scent of rink soap and the faint smell of his shampoo.

his body is so warm against yours, and you can’t help but melt in his hold, body relaxing at the comfort he brings you.

“you ready to go home?” he asks like the insinuation that his home is also yours is not heart-stopping and world-changing.

you nod, unable to trust your voice right now.

there’s something different whenever it’s just you and simon—your thoughts, for once, are quiet and your confidence in yourself peaking like simon is the only place in this world where you can truly be yourself. it’s not just indulgence, nor tolerance, but it’s pure unadulterated acceptance.

and maybe it’s because of that realization, that flipped switch, that in the lull of your conversation with simon, you bring it up.

“did you know? my friends think that you’re my sugar daddy.”

you feel him freeze, body going rigid as your words spill into the space between you two. you continue to hide your face away from, avoiding a serious conversation as regret begins to build, shame licking up from your fingertips to your ears.

stupid, you think to yourself. why the hell did i bring it up? fuck—

then, simon laughs, soft and sputtering, his whole body shaking as he giggles, choked wheezes uncontainable. you tip your head up just enough to catch his eyes, questions filling your tongue, waiting to be spilled, but simon cups your cheek so tenderly before you could doubt anything any more.

“do i need to be one to spoil you rotten?” he asks like he didn’t just shaken the foundations of your doubts.

do i need to be one to spoil you rotten, he said like spoiling you was the norm. like showering you with expensive gifts and booking you expensive flights and helping you with your expensive necessities was something that boyfriends typically do. like your friends are the odd ones for thinking he had to be anything other the man you’re dating to be able to splurge for you.

“no,” you say, dizzy with the weight of your affections.

simon’s smile droops, his eyes clearing. “was that something that honestly worried you?”

“i–”

the humour leaves him, and simon straightens up at seeing the gravity of the turmoil in your heart. his hands fall to your sides, thumbs hooked in the dip of your hips. he leans forward until his nose is brushing against yours.

“you know i love you, right?” simon asks, his voice quaking in desperation.

“yeah,” you sniffle, honest because god you mean it. “yeah, si. i know.”

“okay,” he says after a while, still intensely looking at you like you aren’t surely anything but a blob in his eyes with how close you two are pressed to each other.

then, his lips brush with yours, so faint, you almost missed it. you shudder at the feeling of it—how could a chaste kiss feel so intense?—your lips wobbling as something in your heart bloats.

you feel simon’s lips stretch into a grin from where they’re ghosting above yours, and then he’s kissing you again, this time deeper and longer. you curl your arms around his neck, feeling like you’re being swept off your feet all over again.

because simon is not good with words, truly, but he’s managed to swing an axe to the cornerstone of your self-doubt and made it crumble.

“oh god,” jo sobs in your arms, the two of you snuggled up under your sheets. “that was a joke! i promise!”

“i know,” you say, giggling. “i swear jo, it’s not you, it’s me.”

she looks up at you, eyes shimmering with tears. “are you sure?”

“yeah,” you croon, bumping foreheads with her. “...‘sides, simon’s taking me somewhere to make up for, and i quote, ‘making you doubt how serious i am about you’.”

she sniffs. “…permission to make a joke again?”

you grab your plushie from somewhere behind you and smack her ass with it.

“ow!”

“stop being dramatic—that didn’t hurt.”

[giggles nervously] so uh. 🏃🏻

#hockey au #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod x reader #f!reader #suns #guys. guys forgive me for my super self indulgence again 😭#this ones long-ish again whew boy

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bambiiboop · 7 months ago

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Honeypot: Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

Summary: Joel fucks hard. You’re a little sore. He takes the phrase “kiss it better” quite literally.

Notes: I don’t know how I got 2 fics written in 72 hours. Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s maladaptive coping mechanisms. No beta, we die like men. (As usual).

Warm sunlight streams through the bedroom window, the gap in the curtains allowing for a beam of warmth to hit the bed just so.

You wriggle under the warm sheets, rolling onto your side to bury your face in the solid wall of muscle that is Joel, inhaling the sleep sweat sex smell of him that makes you feel at home.

Really, you’re not too sure what you are. More than just friends with benefits, but not willing to put a label on it just yet. It’s a work in progress.

A big, thick arm wraps around you, tugging you closer. As you move, you wince slightly at the sudden ache between your thighs.

“You alright there, hon’?” His Southern drawl is a low, sweet sound in your sleepy ears.

“Mmhmm,” you inhale his scent again, wriggling when you feel the hot, hard length of him against your stomach. Fuck, he’s so big. No wonder you’re aching.

“You sure?” His lips brush your throat and you shiver.

“I’m a little sore,” you admit, shy in spite of everything. You’re a little worried that he’ll take offense to it, especially when you know he took such precautions to make it easier for you. He always does. Joel is so careful with you, at least when it comes to making sure you can take him.

“Aw, hell… was I too rough with you?” He pulls away from you ever so slightly, props himself up to look down at you, soft brown eyes concerned as he watches your expression.

“No!” You jump to reassure him, because god, if you hadn’t begged him for it, begged him to be rougher, to go harder, to hold you tighter. “You’re just… really big.”

You feel like an idiot for saying it, feel like an inexperienced fool, even though that isn’t the case. He just has, even though it sounds ridiculous, a huge cock.

Joel shakes his head, and even though you can tell you’ve stroked his ego with the comment, his expression remains concerned.

“Should’ve said something…”

You give him a wry, cheeky smile as he looks down at you.

“Pretty sure I did. Several somethings. And all of them were along the line of ‘give it to me harder’ and ‘don’t stop’ and begging you to fuck me.” You remind him.

Joel laughs, in spite of the pang of guilt he feels, because you’re right. All that came out of your mouth, aside from senseless moans and mewls of pleasure, were pleas for him to keep going, begging for it harder, deeper, faster. His cock twitches against his stomach at the memory.

“‘M sorry, I got carried away.” He chews his lip, caramel eyes softening with regret.

“Aw, Joel, it’s fine,” you tell him, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Besides. If you’re that worried, you can always kiss it better?”

You’re joking mostly, being facetious, because honestly it’s nothing that a couple of days without sex and a nice hot bath won’t fix, but his expression becomes almost devious as you say it.

“Kiss it better, huh?” Joel leans down to kiss you, then gently turns you onto your back, kissing down your throat, down your chest; his hands follow, sliding down your shoulders, across the curve of your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples as he kisses down your stomach, spreading your thighs and settling between them.

“I was jo- oh!” Your sentence is cut short as he nips at your inner thigh, one muscled arm flat across your abdomen as he looks up at you.

“Shh, honey. Gonna kiss it better, just like y’asked…”

Joel is goddamn dominant most of the time. Loves making you weak, loves watching you submit. Loves impact play; he fucking loves it all, but nothing turns him into a mess more than someone who lets him eat their pussy.

Keeping his arm flat across your abdomen, so your thighs are spread for him, he presses the lightest of kisses to your clit, carefully flicking his tongue out in the tiniest of kitten licks, before he groans at the sweet salty taste of you.

“Fuck, sweetest fuckin’ pussy…” he mumbles almost to himself, unconsciously rolling his hips slightly against the silky sheets, getting the tiniest bit of friction against his suddenly throbbing cock.

Fuck, you taste so good; his tongue dips inside you, making you wriggle above him. Still, he manages to hold you in place, moaning into your cunt as he licks and sucks greedily at your folds, taking his time, making sure to be careful.

You whimper, looking down at him; his deep caramel eyes look up at you, expression thoroughly pussy drunk as he nuzzles his nose against your clit. Your head drops back against the pillows, lips parted in a desperate moan.

Joel doesn’t like showing any sort of vulnerability; it’s incredibly difficult for him to try and be soft, be caring. Even though he does care, cares far more than he lets on, he’s afraid that if he shows it, it’s a weakness to be exploited.

Either way, he’ll take this moment for all it’s worth. Take the time to connect with you, to focus entirely on you. He doesn’t even seem to realise that his hips are rolling slightly against the sheets, getting a little bit of friction - not enough, not really - against the aching length of his cock.

He nuzzles your clit again, drawing a lazy circle with his nose as his tongue laps at your slick, drinking you down with zero hesitation or concern for how wet his scruffy beard is getting. All that matters is the way you writhe and moan for him, the way your hands move to tangle in his grown out curls as he keeps your thighs apart with his broad shoulders.

“Joel…”

You draw his name out in an almost loving whine as he drags his tongue lazily through your folds. He wants, so badly, to slip a finger inside you and curl it just so, knowing just the right angle to make you fall apart for him. But he doesn’t, knowing you’re still sore and aching and it most certainly wouldn’t improve the circumstances if he did.

Instead, he keeps on teasing you, sliding his tongue inside you and fucking you with it, waiting until you’re tugging lightly at his curls to withdraw it.

“Taste like honey, baby,” he groans, rolling his hips against the sheets again, feeling the way his cock drips with his own arousal, feels it hot and sticky against his belly as he suckles your clit into his mouth, barely grazing it with his teeth, making you mewl pathetically for him.

“Joel, I’m -” you can’t get the last word out, knowing he gets the point; your cunt tightens around nothing, aching to be filled in spite of still feeling the after effects of the previous night.

He doesn’t answer you verbally, just spreads your thighs wider, gently shaking his head from side to side as he eats your cunt like it’s his last meal, greedily drinking down your slick as it pours onto his eager tongue.

Fuck, he feels good, his skilled mouth sending you over the edge before you even realise it’s happening. Gasping, tugging on his curls, your filthy little moans echo off the walls as you come apart beneath his touch.

Joel groans into your fluttering cunt, feeling your walls pulsing against his tongue, tastes the sweet salty tangy taste of your release, and that’s enough to send him, too.

Before he even realises it, his cock is throbbing, aching, balls tight as he comes entirely untouched, his spend soaking the soft hair on his stomach, the linen sheets, making him groan into you before he turns his head to one side, resting on your thigh as you recover.

Chest still heaving with rapid breaths, you prop yourself up on shaky hands to look down at the sight that is Joel Miller looking up at you with a blissful, pussy drunk expression on his handsome face.

“D-did you just cum from eating me out?” You ask, voice a little hoarse from moaning for him.

Joel gives you a half shrug from his arguably extremely comfortable position.

“‘M sixty years old, darlin’, and your pussy tastes like a goddamn honey pot. Man’s gonna cum.”

You giggle and then smirk.

“Does that mean I get to kiss you better now?”

He groans, clearly appreciative of the idea.

“Fuck. Yes. But not right now, honey. Let me just enjoy this for now, hm?”

You hum your agreement, flop back against the pillows, link your fingers with Joel, and sigh in contentment as the sunlight warms your bare skin.

Yes, you think, you’ll be more than happy for Joel to take you literally any time soon.

#joel miller #the last of us #pedro pascal #my writing #my fics #Joel Miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou hbo #Joel Miller fic #the last of us hbo

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muniimyg · 5 months ago

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!jk (9) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ *nsfw*

series m.list // taglist request closed

note: some smut. some angst. some fluff <3

🏷️ permanent taglist:

@joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @maryy1300 @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo

when you arrive home, zion is fast asleep in jungkook's arms.

you tiptoe towards them and kiss zion's forehead. he shifts a bit but jungkook automatically pats his bum. he's literally asleep, yet his daddy senses are on. you aren't sure why, but your heart tugs at the sight... that's okay, right? for you to feel some type of way when you see them asleep together in your bed?

jungkook and zion truly look so alike.

from their doe-eyes to jungkook's cheeks—even their freaking hair! you can't help it. whenever zion gets hair cuts, he looks like a little man. a mini jungkook... and who wouldn't want that? jungkook has and will always be the most handsome to you.

yet, zion acts exactly like you. it's like the biggest bite in the ass ever. his pickiness and sensitivity root from you. the way he compromises and admits defeat (rarely) are completely you. his sweetness is copied by you but his cheekiness is definitely from jungkook.

zion is the perfect mix.

sometimes your heart aches. sometimes your heart fills up with joy. sometimes it makes you second-guess everything. sometimes it gives you gentle clarity.

"where's my kiss?" jungkook murmurs, eyes still closed.

your lips curve into a tired smile.

"have you guys been sleeping in my bed for the past 2 nights?"

jungkook rubs his eyes, sitting up. he then pulls his arm away from underneath zion's head. "yeah. he wouldn't sleep on his bed and i couldn't sleep on the couch. sorry, did i overstep—"

"no," you interrupt him. "what's mine is yours. it's always been like that."

he nods.

"still waiting for my kiss..."

you roll your eyes but give in. jungkook purses his lips, waiting for yours. instead, you kiss his forehead and pinch his cheeks.

"can you put him back in his room? i've been sleep training him to be more independent... and i miss my bed. he usually climbs into bed with me by 7am anyway."

sleepily, he complies with your request.

as he leaves with zion in his arms, you grab your flimsy nightgown from your closet and go to shower. then, as you step into your bathroom, you think about your closet... it definitely was a mess when you left.. yet, everything is folded so nicely. did he organize it up for you?

huh.

as you turn the water on and step in, you can't help but wonder what will happen tonight. sure, the nightgown is an obvious tell to jungkook that you're down to fuck—but aside from that... you wonder what else he could say or do tonight that will have you tossing and turning.

truth be told, the 2 nights away that was filled with work was exhausting. like, so beyond tiring that you felt miserable. it was so weird to be indulged in work and not come home to your boys... not that jungkook has been home with you since the separation; but the thought of it... it just... it felt good.

for the first time in a while, you felt it.

the want to be together.

as in, the desire to be a family in one house... all together... all over again.

it shook you to your core.

but there was also a relief that overcame your mind. you've never been the type to fight peace anyway (which is also why you asked for a separation 8 months ago... because you didn't feel any back then).

perhaps the poets are right.

time changes things.

people change.

... and so does love.

jungkook has a fistful of your nightgown while you have a fistful of his hair.

his tongue has been nothing short of perfection against your clit. there isn't a single inch of your pussy he hasn't devoured. he does it so well too. what you said was true... him eating you out is never relaxing.

of course, jungkook knew how to tease the shit out of you. how to drag your orgasms and make you last as long as possible. if he felt mean, he'd do it until you cried from how much your pussy throbbed from the edging. god, he was so mean sometimes.

but tonight, he's so nice to you.

he flicks his tongue at all the right spots. you squirm and all he does is wrap his arms around your legs and tug you closer. moving your pelvis to the rhythm of his licks; you feel yourself tighten and the need to close your legs. so, you do so. you close your legs, burying his face deep into you.

jungkook loves it.

god, he fucking loves this.

he eats you out like there's no tomorrow. he slurps you up as if you're the freshest thing to drink. he spits in between his sucking (completely unnecessary. you're literally drenching your sheets already) because he knows you feel it. you feel the heat of his saliva and the way it drips down your folds. how nasty it must make you feel because you like it so much.

again, jungkook loves this.

"that's it, honey..." he praises you. "doing so good. so fucking pretty—y-you're just the prettiest, aren't you? you know that, right? the absolute prettiest."

"s-shut up!"

"come on! ... my little starfish," jungkook chuckles. "say you're mine and i'll let you cum tonight."

you attempt to shoot him a glare. "t-thought you're gonna b-be nice to me tonight..."

he shrugs, reaching up and brushing the sweaty strand of hair off your forehead. "i'm whatever you want me to be."

you don't answer him. instead, you moan and murmur; "fine.. fine. yours. i'm yours."

sigh.

he loves this.

he loves you.

there is literally no other way of putting it.

he loves every hair pull you accidentally jolt to doing. he loves the way you mumble his name in between hitched breaths. he loves the way you watch as his head bobs up and down, right and left, and right in the middle. he loves the way you react to his nose, gliding and causing your pussy to pulsate like crazy. he loves the way you gasp when he slips his fingers inside you and the way your walls tighten around him.

it's everything.

to see you completely fall apart against his touch. to feel the way you let go of his hair and search for his hands, intertwine them, and need them the way you do. to see you come so undone; you release everything you have. you squirt, making a mess on his fingers. your gasps come out like stutters, but your moans take over.

a huge relief is lifted off your shoulders.

you can always count on jungkook for the most mind-blowing orgasm. he just knows your body so well. he does it so good. he's so good to you.

as you catch your breath, jungkook gets up to grab a towel from your cabinet. he returns to you, wiping your inner thighs and then your folds. he then lifts you up a bit to place the towel underneath. without an exchange of words, you open your arms and he collapse in them.

there, you two lay.

his head is on your chest as you play with his hair.

mumbling against your skin, he asks; "what time is it?"

"like.. 1am?"

"oh," jungkook yawns. "kinda early."

though it's true, you know you aren't as young as before. before, you two used to leave the house at 1am... now, with zion's routine and your career; you were usually asleep by 11pm.

"you're gonna regret saying that when zion comes in at 7am and jumps on the bed." you laugh, tugging on his hair a bit. "and when he demands for pancakes so you have to get up and cook them—"

"i can cook them."

"i know," you remind him. "you like making them heart-shaped... cos you like to show off."

"cos i love you, actually."

"yeah, yeah."

he chuckles and you kiss the top of his head.

then, a silence falls upon you two. a part of you wonders if he's asleep already and if you should shut your eyes and follow... but then, he speaks.

"are you okay?" jungkook asks you, as gentle as possible. "you just... you seem really stressed these days. you're handling everything well, by the way.. i just want to check up on you... cos i can take zion on the days you're busy, you know? it's no problem. i can also come by and help out in the house—"

"yeah," you think for a moment. "did you do my laundry? i saw everything in my closet was folded."

"i did."

"okay. thank you. you didn't have to."

"i know."

"okay."

jungkook sighs. "so... are you okay?"

you pause.

"should i quit?"

jungkook pulls away from you. he sits up and stares at you.

"are you kidding me?" is all he manages to say even though a million and one things run through his mind. "is that what you really want to do?"

"i d-don't..." you shake your head, eyes beginning to gloss with tears. "i just.. i feel so drained? like i'm not here for zion enough.. like i'm not present in moments with him. sometimes i cook breakfast without even realizing i'm burning the food because i'm daydreaming of a different life—i d-don't know. i don't know anymore. i'm so tired of winning all the time too. does that even... does that even make sense?"

jungkook looks at you sincerely. with all his heart, he can feel your pain and wants to do anything and everything to ease it. he knew something was up with you. he fucking knew it. you were like this before you asked for a break. you were like this when your best friend moved away. you were like this before graduating from law school.

it's a lot.

he knows it.

you have a lot on your plate and you've always been on the go. jungkook has been fortunate enough to have had time in his career and projects to pace himself... whereas you've always been the best of the best. the demands are crazy and coming home to wanting to be the best mom possible (which you are) must be completely exhausting.

he can't imagine how stressed you must be. he can't imagine what it's like to be you. he can't imagine what it's like to not be with you in moments like these.

"hey," he reaches out for you. you tighten your lips before burying your face to his chest. he wraps his arms around you, stroking your hair and easing your mind with his words. "you're brilliant, you know that? you have completely paved such a life for zion. you did it for yourself too... and it's tiring. i can't imagine how tired you are, honey. it's okay to rest and it's okay to need help. it's okay to put things down and it's okay to pick them up again when you're ready. you don’t have to do big things just because you’re capable of it… doing the right small things is good too. it’s more than enough, actually. ___, if you want to quit, if you want to lose, if you want to not want anything—so be it. do it all or do nothing at all... do it and let me be beside you through it all. i'm always going to believe in everything you do. i'm always going to give you what you need. i don’t want you to burn out. i’m here to protect you, you know? i'm always just... going to be... and you're... you're always going to—"

"shut up." you place your finger on his lips. "c-can you just hold me tonight or something? put me to sleep."

"okay, baby. should i sing you a lullaby too?" he chides as he kisses the top of your head. a little sleepy, he shuts his eyes as he rests his chin on top. as you pull yourself closer to him, you rest your head on his chest.

"... and can you leave more clothes here?"

jungkook's eyes shoot open. his heart flutters and in every possible way there is; he falls in love with you all over again.

"y-yeah," he clears his throat, attempting to hold himself together. "i can do that. i can leave more clothes here."

"okay," you yawn. "i love you... always."

"always," he repeats. "... forever too! i love you forever."

you snicker, teasing him about how cheesy he is. he laughs, blaming you for starting it. soon, you two talk about each other's day and little things zion does that make your heart glow. suddenly, then all at once, you two fall asleep.

it's beautiful, isn't it?

to be falling in love at the same time (once again).

you were right.

not that jungkook doubted you or anything—but you were right.

zion climbed into bed with you two at 7am. his eyes were barely open as he dragged mr kookie along with him. a few whines escaped his lips as he's frustrated and half asleep. to soothe his son, jungkook pulls him in and wraps him in his embrace.

you're still asleep when this happens but the slight movements make you responsive. shifting, you put your arm around jungkook and nuzzle yourself into the crook of his neck. he stretches his neck and kisses your forehead. then, he turns to his other side and does the same to zion.

zion then lets out a sleepy giggle from jungkook's kiss. his eyes are fluttering shut, but it's obvious he's fighting the sleepiness.

"dada?"

"mhm?"

mid yawn, zion asks; "you stay?"

"i'm staying."

jungkook breathes this moment in and holds you and zion tighter. he can't believe how lucky he is. how blessed he is for this second chance. how happy he is for this new beginning.

he’s so grateful for his forever and always.

#bts smau #jk scenario #jungkook smut #jungkook bts #bts fic #bts smut #bts x yn #jungkook x yn #bts dilf au #jk dilf

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theloveinc · 2 months ago

Text

jo togame x reader - on possessiveness

(warning: she/her reader, pet names, alcohol, etc.)

Jo Togame has quite an odd way of showing possession over you.

He is, of course, always happy to fight with his fists when need be, but unlike some of his… friends, he doesn’t usually feel the need to use violence to show others that you belong to him.

In fact, if anyone asked you about it, you’d probably answer that you’d never even seen your boyfriend jealous—that even when you’re shaking your butt when you’re out with him in a skimpy little number, he’s cool as a cucumber, just like normal.

But that’s not entirely true, as there is a little something he pulls when he notices others paying attention to you the way only he ever should—

“Baby?”

Togame presses his hand against the warmth of your lower back, slow to let it creep down to the curve between your hip and ass as he approaches from behind. You’re leaning against the bar of the busy club, smiling sweetly at the bartender who’s currently adding extra cherries to only one of the two drinks you’ve ordered, now starting to sweat on the lacquered wood where they wait to be handed off.

You are a sight for sore eyes. In Togame’s mind, you always are, but there’s something about tonight especially that has you glowing and has seemingly everyone noticing. If he were anyone aside from your boyfriend, or he was two inches deeper in a nicer mood, it’s possible he wouldn’t be so … irked by the attention you’re receiving… but something about the way this stranger appears to be gunning for more than just a tip doesn’t sit right in his stomach.

“Jo!” you turn away from the show easily, smile going from cheeky to something soft when your eyes lock with his. You’re quick to abandon your previous conversation, full of what Togame observed were comments made for batting beautiful eyelashes and forcing giggles, and lean into him, standing on your tippies to press a kiss to the side of his mouth as a version of hello. “What are you doing? I was just about to find you.”

You’re not just a pretty thing, you’re a sweet thing too, and it’s clear you had no intention of finding yourself swept up into a conversation with the man mixing your drink, but nonetheless, anyone who runs tabs at a bar should be able to recognize when the only reason someone keeps responding to their frivolous comments is because they’re too polite to cut short a conversation.

“Is everything okay, my love?” you ask, as though it’s clear something is on Togame’s mind, and you thread your fingers through the soft hair at the back of his scalp to draw his attention back to you.

He has to suppress a grin thinking about the little show he’s giving your new friend.

“I’m not sure,” he responds, letting the words settle one by one, watching as worry starts to weigh down your brow. Though he’s more intent on keeping your focus away from anyone other from him, the bartender’s annoyed expression does not go unnoticed out of the corner of his eye. “The music’s making my head hurt, thinkin’ I might head out soon?”

“Oh no!” you suck in a sharp breath, your lips tightening in a concerned frown as you move to press the back of your hand to his forehead, “want me to come with?”

“It’s okay, baby. Stay. Enjoy yourself, alright?” he presses a kiss to your pout, maneuvering your hand from his face to hold to his chest. He milks the moment, pulls away from the lights, the noise, and the people to drink you in, and remind any animals who think they have a chance at something more than just your courtesy that they don’t, and never, ever will.

“No, no,” you break the silence, dropping your hands from him only to make sure your tiny purse is still attached to the chain hanging from your shoulder before linking his arm with yours, “I’m going. No reason to stay, anyway. Wanna make sure you’re okay.”

(Togame can imagine what will happen when you're home: you'll run him a hot and herbal bath, he'll coax you into the water with him, and the steam will get you both get light headed enough for the medicinal to turn into something more erotic—and by the time the both of you wake up tomorrow, naked, limbs sticky and tangled, he'll be perfectly refreshed.)

“Miss, your drinks?”

You’re half away step away when the bartender calls, but without letting go, you throw a couple hundred yen behind you without even a cold look back.

"You can dump them, sorry.”

And while you take the lead to the road, Togame looks over his shoulder and grins.

She picked me.

#togame x reader #jo togame x reader #togame jo x reader #togame #he does this to shishitoren too when people are talking about u...#he calls u about a stomach ache and there u are with a lunch of porridge and a pocari sweat FOR HIM AND NO ONE ELSE #if this sucks. sorry. i wrote it in bed LOL #i am TIRED yall ! do you think i can nap today? i havent been getting a thing done this week lmao #caitie post #gen

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ma1dita · 9 months ago

Note

its 2am and im delirious im so sorry but

jealous! (and maybe clingy!)luke x apollo!reader when he sees the same couple of campers constantly coming to you for medical attention over small scratches or feigned illnesses just to get your attention..and reader is just so kind to everyone they’d never refuse to treat anybody no matter how minor the injury, but it drives luke a little mad teehee 🤭

🐥 also happy (late) birthday jo!!

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

luke castellan x gn!apollo!reader

a/n: i will never get tired of bf!luke.

wc: 947

“Be with you in a second, sweet boy!”

Your hands were fiddling with gauze as you brush past Luke sitting on the only empty bed left in the infirmary. And you weren’t even talking to him! Your words were directed to his half-sibling and with all the others waiting for you, it was obvious that you weren’t leaving your shift anytime soon despite his plans for your date night.

“Doc, what about me? I feel sick too,” he mutters into your neck, big hands pulling at your waist and playing with the smock tied around your frame.

“What’s the matter, my love?” You coo, brushing back his mop of hair and looking into his honey sweet eyes. He grins and it’s a bit boyish and quite sinister, all Luke with a definite trick up his sleeve.

“My heart hurts…. because I pulled a few strings to have dinner with you at the lake and we’re not there right now,” he sighs, hot breath tickling your earlobe, “And I need you to fix me up too.” Cheeky asshole.

You bite your lip and slowly pull yourself away from his embrace, not without kissing the corner of his mouth before the fluttery feeling is weighed down by the reminder of your responsibilities at the sound of a scream from across the infirmary.

The room was filled with campers of all ages vying for your attention and waiting for your gentle hands to tend to everything from a scraped knee to a rising fever (though if you ask Luke, he’s so sure he saw Bradley from cabin 9 standing over the forge in the armory trying to break a sweat earlier).

It was sickening. Someone ought to tell these campers to get in line. Connor Stoll almost skips–excuse me, limps, (now that you’re watching him again) towards Luke with a shit-eating grin at his moody disposition at the fact that he has to fight for your attention.

“Beat it, loser.”

“Baby! Don’t be mean or I’ll ask you to leave. Get up, Connie needs to get his knee wrapped,” you say with a furrow in your brow. Your eyes dart around the room wondering where the rest of your siblings have gone to help you heal these campers, but unlike you, they’ve already clocked out for the day. It’s a wonder how many kids at Camp Half-Blood get brutalized, maimed, or both on the daily, but it’s all in a day’s work of being a child of Apollo.

“Yeah, move it bighead!”

Luke grumbles, rising to his feet and shoving Connor a bit harder than what’s brotherly, so much so that the preteen falls face first into the cot. (Luke thought it was dumb that the kid was acting like a baby since the idiot scraped his knee jumping off the roof of the dining pavilion because Travis and Chris dared him to.)

“OWWW!” he groans, and before you can react, Bradley’s asking for another cold towel and little Lila from cabin 4 starts crying about her sun poisoning from being out in the strawberry field—your shaking hands and wide eyes let Luke know you’re at your limit so he ushers you behind a curtain for examinations.

“Honestly, you’re overworked babe. Take a break,” he says sternly, but softens as you look up at him with a pout and a whole lot of love. He smooths your hair down and hands you a glass of water.

“Just need to see the rest of the patients for the day and send them on their way. I don’t want anyone to be hurt,” you mumble through sips, leaning against the wall and shutting your eyes. To Luke, it sounded like the quicker you get through this the more time he spends with you— and so he moves so quickly that you barely process what he’s doing until you hear various complaints from campers (who are annoyed that their new nurse isn’t as pretty as you and dons a fierce glare and curls that hang over his forehead like a dark cloud).

Nurse Luke models after what he’s seen you do here countless times, but in a way that’s very much his own. He gives out ambrosia and nectar, cleans up booboos where needed, tells Bradley to fuck off and take a cold shower, tapes Connor’s mouth shut, and awkwardly jokes to a kid from cabin 6 that he probably shouldn’t be the one doing stitches or he’ll get a scar that looks like the one running down his cheek. They agree to wait until later, holding bloody gauze to their chin.

By the time you’ve calmed yourself down, you pull back the curtain to see an eerily quiet infirmary (and you’re not sure if they’ve been threatened into silence) but everyone is bandaged, fed and watered—to the best of Luke’s ability. It brings up a sunny smile on your face that reminds him of the first rays of morning light which is a view he never gets tired of, and you finally throw in the towel when Leo and little Will come in for the evening shift.

A resounding sigh is heard from the infirmary’s patients as you leave with your boyfriend, to which you don’t think much of as you look at Luke like he’s the answer to all of your problems. He kisses you in the doorway like its a cure, whispering sweet nothings and promises of a nice dinner at the lake even if it’s pitch black outside now.

It also serves to those damn kids as a reminder that he’s the one who gets to fuss over you and though he doesn’t like starting fights, boy, does he love ending them, in his own little way.

#jo's 23rd birthday bash ⋆｡°✩#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fluff #percy jackon and the olympians #made by ma1dita ♥︎#for my gn babies (づ ◕‿◕ )づ

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kthecutest · 1 year ago

Note

&team reaction to their s/o sitting on their lap?

-for the first time, while they’re alone in the room :)

(ot9 if u comfortable with it, also, obviously sfw!!!)

✧˚ &team reaction to you sitting on their lap ༊*·˚

Pairing ➳ &Team members x gn!reader Genre ➳ Fluff ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ A/N ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ This was really fun to make! ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

✧•——————•°•✧•°•——————•✧

K : Literally pulled you deeper into his huge chest. Your eyes widen from his action but before you could even turn around to say something, he hugged you tight with his right arm, that was huge enough to wrap your entire body in one swing. “Is my baby finally brave enough to sit on my lap~?” – a teasing chuckle followed as he whispered in your ears that got your entire face reddening. It’s been a while since you’ve wanted to sit on K’s huge lap, it seemed like such a comfortable seat to you personally, but you can’t deny that you were too shy. K knew you too well, but he wanted you to come to him on your own so he stayed quiet. He made sure to reassure you that it was totally fine to do so when you finally managed to let your intrusive thoughts win.

Fuma : Would stiff up subtly as soon as he felt your weight on his lap. It was just a normal evening, Fuma was focused on his game, headphones attached to him, his friend yelling incoherent words from the other line. You took this chance to try out something. You sneakily kept your closure to his figure sitting on the gaming chair before taking the opportunity to launch yourself on him. He was definitely shocked and it was obvious he lost focus from the game from the very start. When you started squirming on top of him though, he’ll hold you by the waist, still all your movements – “honey, stay still, I need to focus” That’s when you notice, your subtle little attempt wasn’t all that subtle.

Nicholas : The fastest person to make your existence on his lap known. Would straight up call you out and tease you about it. He would dwell on that little action of yours for weeks while completely teasing you about it nonstop. He’d spin you around, making you face him and look you straight in the eyes with a smug look on his face – “I see someone’s let their intrusive thoughts take over” You pouted at him, gesturing that you’re getting off immediately, refusing to take his tease but you’re only met with a tight pull at your waist and a sweet strawberry flavored kiss to your lips.

Ej : Would stiff up very evidently and even started squirming around at one point. Honestly, it ain’t even on purpose, he truly wanted to keep his reaction subtle but he’s just still got a lot more to learn from Fuma hyung apparently. He’d stiffen up so much to the point you would even notice, stilling his breathing while the air is caught in his throat as he struggled to find a certain distraction to keep him calm. You’d let out a chuckle when you found his entire face reddening and sweating. “Stop laughing~ you’re the one who started this..” – he spoke in a sulky tone as you kept chuckling at him. This little blushy tangerine didn’t even gave you a chance to blush first.

Yuma : The literal tease. But not as teasing as K. As soon as he felt your body heat on his lap, he’ll turn his head straight to your direction in the most obvious way. Will start squishing your cheeks and babying you, smiling like a cheeky kid inside from how happy he is. “Awww look at you so adorable on my lap~!” You grabbed him by his collar, landing a soft kiss on his lips to shut him up. And as expected, he’s content with your little payment, pulling you back into a deeper kiss just as bonus payment~

Jo : The ‘I did noticed’ but nonchalant one. Obviously the sudden warmth he felt on his lap wasn’t just to his imagination, especially when you started squirming around, disturbing his view of the book in his right arm. Out of nowhere, you felt a huge palm pinning down both your arms while pulling you closer to lean against him. “If you wanna have a seat.. stay still.” You’d panic a bit now that you noticed he knew but soon you came to a sense of comfort, on his warm lap, tightly wrapped cozily by his arm.

Harua : The Uno Reverse Card user. Would start squirming as soon as he felt your weight on him. Trying to keep it subtle but poor bunny boy can’t help that he was obviously a bit more petite compared to other group members and this applied to his strength and endurance as well. Finally had enough and gets up, pushing you up a bit before seating you back down. Then the most unexpected thing happens, he sat right on your lap as you looked at him with widen eyes. “Don’t mind me~” – speaking in a sassy tone as he started scrolling through his phone while you kept giving him side eyes.

Taki : He’s the ultimate mixture of Yuma and Harua. Don’t expect for this boy to let you get a free seat on him unless there’s a payment method. And his payment isn’t a simple sweet little kiss, no. It’s actually you allowing him to practically do the same to you whenever he wants. You want to sit on his lap? That’s okay but you’ll also have to let him sit on your lap. But you weren’t one to know this system beforehand, taking it as a free chance for a free seat when you caught him, legs crossed on the bed, focused on his phone screen. It’s only when you’ve taken a seat, which you knew you were now in deep trouble – “Oh~ seems like my cutie fell for my trap~”

Maki : The literal gentleman. He maybe the maknae and he maybe a tease but he’s definitely far off from the other group members when it comes to teasing. He barely teases you, because most of the time all you get is princess treatment. Would be completely comfortable with your sudden action, even resting his head on your shoulder to make you feel closer and more cozy with him. But then his sudden worry would click in his head. You could feel the soft warm breath of this gentle boy in the crook of your neck, when he spoke in a worry but gentle tone – “Had a bad day, love?”

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todayisafridaynight · 1 year ago

Note

SORRY I MEANT TO FOLLOW UP EARLIER but I got caught up in talking about The One And Only Thing I've ever added to Jo's backstory and gotten invested in so I lost track of time 😭BUT NO YEAH GOING THROUGH THE LIST WAS A 10/10 EXPERIENCE... I just really enjoy your commentary and seeing your takeaways so I don't need anything In-Depth to have a good time, even just finding out what your faves are is pretty neat; as a guide I definitely think it sells the works while setting realistic expectations overall :] On That Note would love to hear your thoughts on the movie!

LMAO YOU'RE GOOD i wasn't expecting a follow up anyhow so it's alright :]

and im glad the list was enjoyable. i suppose LMAO AGAIN i tried not to go too much into things so my thoughts are relatively sparse (because rest assured i have PLENTY of notes on everything i've seen but i didn't want the thing to be 100 pages long (╯▽╰ ) ) but as long as it gets the job done then that's fine with me:)

OH BUTTHE MOVIE YAYAYA I WATCHED THE CORRECT ONE THIS TIME LMAOOO IT WAS EPIC definitely enjoyed it A LOT and was a really great way to end the series !! again i love the sound design and track and i esp loved the music that played when the team was working out how to sneak into the house of representatives (i've noticed that bitches LOVE acoustic guitars in this series and While Unexpected it works SOOOO good)

the whole Handcuff Bit with inoue still gets me like My Brother In Christ How Long Have You Worked Here BUT I ALSO GET IT. AND ALSO WHEN HE WENT TO ARREST OGATA AND OF COURSE DIDN'T HAVE ANY CUFFS... GIRL I DIED FR...

anyway 11/10 movie SOOO glad you directed me to it LMAO

#snap chats #EPIC movie.... asada getting his ass chased Twice is mad hilarious but also I See Why We're Here.......... WACK...#also i did let out a Cheeky Chuckle when all the SPs were fighting and when eri and yukari were in their spat #eri just lightly slaps her like GIRL ☠️☠️☠️GOOFIEST SHIT.#ALSO THE WAY I RECOGNIZED HORIBE KEISUKE IN THIS MOVIE ??? yes i only know him from kyouen but STILL #very much liked him in kyouen....... but anyways...#RAD movie. Once Again Almost Had A Cheeky Chuckle when everyone broke into The House and everyone Started Blasting #BUT STILL a pretty epic falling action....#i can never be serious when watching anything though cause when inoue was telling ogata to drop the gun #i just thought back to that fuckin Malk video from like. 2009. where mate's all 'you're like a brother to me' and shit #IRONIC CONSIDERING. THE IMPLICATIONS OF THIS WHOLE SITUATION LEADING UP TO THIS POINT BUT ANYWAY #I'M SO UNSERIOUS SORRY but that's how you know i was engrossed. thats how you know i was invested #and when yamamoto was telling eri he'd want to get slapped by her again I Did Chuckle but also.. Lol But Also Aw #AND WHEN SHE DOES SIX MONTHS LATER SMACKING HIM TWICE IN LIKE THIRTY SECONDS.. ICONIC... PALS EVEN...#strange friendship to some but i get it...#ANYWAY again thank you for leading me to the right movie... very much enjoyed it...#now if i'll be excused... i have a lot to do today OOPSIE ☠️

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vivwritesfics · 1 year ago

Text

No Need To Ask

Chapter Twenty-Eight - The End Of It All

The Norris' were a notorious crime family in the UK. One of many. With Norris, the head of the family, running operations with his son, Lando, they work to keep Y/N Norris, Norris' daughter protected. Life in a crime family wasn't something they wanted for her.

But with tension with one of the Spanish crime families rise, Norris and his now deceased wife come up with only one plan, offer their daughter to the Sainz's or risk an all out war.

1.4K words

This is the final chapter of NNTA! I can't believe we're at the end. After 50000 words and heartbreak, we're finally at the end. Of course, I'm always open to blurb ideas for this series!

Series Masterlist

Being pregnant was hard, Y/N Sainz decided as she waddled around the house with Bones at her said. Bones was the guard dog, a beautiful Doberman, that her husband had bought for her. They had two other dogs, but Bones was hers, completely loyal to her.

She sat on the sofa, below the air conditioning, and turned on the television. Bones jumped up onto the sofa beside her, laying his head on her too large baby bump as the television started up.

"Querida," said Carlos as he walked past her, papers in his hands. He stopped and bent down to give her a kiss. "How is our little man doing?"

He didn't say anything about Bones, who usually wasn't allowed on the sofa when Carlos was there. Just scratched the space between his ears.

Y/N lifted Bones's head and grabbed a hold of Carlos's hand. She placed his hand onto her bump and let him feel. "Any day now," she said. "I can't wait to have him out of me."

Grinning, Carlos leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I can't wait to get you pregnant yet again," he said with a cheeky grin.

He went to stand up, but Y/N had already wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him in place. "Sweetie," she said slowly, still wearing her saccharine smile. "Honey, darling."

But then the smile dropped from her face. "You're not putting another baby in me, Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro," she said and let go of him. "Not for another year, at least."

Carlos laughed and leaned down to give her one last kiss. He scratched the top of Bones's head and made his way back up to his office.

Ever since everything went down, Carlos was a different man. He'd stayed the same as the man Y/N had for company in the cabin, if not even sweeter. He wasn't cruel, he wasn't domineering and he wasn't abusive.

He was perfect.

Y/N watched the television in Spanish, with English subtitles on the bottom. It was really helping with her grasp of the language. Carlos helped too, when he could, whispering sweet words in her ear late at night. But, the biggest help of all, was Señora Sainz.

She refused to speak to Y/N in any sort of english, so she had to learn to adapt. During family dinners (where Carlos sat in the place of his father), the entire family spoke in Spanish, chatting about their day and whatever else came to mind.

After she had been watching Spanish soap operas for an embarrassing amount of time, Carlos walked out of his office, down the stairs and over to his wife, sitting in the seat opposite her.

"Verstappen wants Max to come and stay with us for a few days," he said as he laced his hands together.

This was great new. Y/N loved Max and she hadn't seen him since her short stay in the Netherlands. But there was something off about the whole thing. "Is Verstappen sending him as punishment for something?"

The look Carlos gave her confirmed it. Max was being punished for something and, knowing Jos, it was probably for being too soft. "We should just keep him here," she mumbled under her breath and readjusted her seating position (it was incredibly hard to get comfy being this pregnant). "He's twenty six and his dad treats him like a naughty little boy." She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. "I hate Jos."

Max arrived at the Sainz house the next day. He went to say hello to Y/N, to wrap his arms around the woman he had gotten close to all those months ago, but Bones wouldn't let him. Held back by Carlos he barked at Max, snapping at his heels.

That was the first thing Carlos concentrated on, allowing the guard dogs to get used to him. It wasn't long before they realised he wasn't a dangerous intruder.

Max was the perfect companion for Y/N. He kept her company, had her relaxing with him in the pool (he was the first person to try going down the slide that Carlos had installed).

He was only in the Sainz house for a week before she went into labour.

The contractions started and Y/N didn't say anything, suffering through it with clenched teeth. Max didn't notice at first. He ate popcorn as they watched a movie, completely unaware.

And then they got stronger, closer together, and Y/N struggled to hide it. And then her water broke.

"Fuck!" Max cried when he finally notice. "Shit, shit, shit!" He ran out of the room, up the stairs and into Carlos's office. "The baby! Coming! Help!" He cried.

Max had never seen somebody move as fast as Carlos did in that moment. He was out of his office in the blink of an eye and running down the stairs heading towards his wife. "Max! Get the go bag from my closet!" He shouted.

As Carlos headed to Y/N, Max ran down the hall and into Y/N and Carlos's bedroom. He went straight into the walk-in closet and went through it, searching for the go bag. Carlos hadn't thought about what was in the closet when he sent Max to get the go bag. He didn't think about Max pushing the handcuffs, whips and more to the side as he searched for the go bag.

But Carlos didn't have time to think about that. He crouched in front of his wife and pushed her hair out of her face. "Mi amor," he said, taking her hands. "Max said the baby is coming. Are you ready to go to the hospital?" His voice was calm as he spoke.

Y/N nodded her head. "Get this thing out of me," she said through a laugh and allowed her husband to help her up.

Slowly and carefully he walked her through the house, leading her to the front door. Max joined them, go bag over his shoulder. He held the front door open as Carlos walked her towards the car.

Being the wife of Carlos Sainz, head of the Sainz family, meant that she got the best medical care available. Her cries filled the hospital as she pushed, her husband holding her hand and pressing a damp cloth to her forehead. "You're doing it, baby," he said softly.

Y/N couldn't hear him as he spoke, too focused on the pain. Nothing could have prepared her for this feeling. But it would all be worth it, she had to keep telling herself.

After a matter of hours (although it felt a lot longer), Oscar Pau Sainz was crying in his fathers arms. He had been wrapped in a blanket, a little blue hat on his head. Y/N had her eyes closed as she took a moment to rest, utterly exhausted after the whole ordeal.

Left out in the waiting room, it had been Max's job to inform the other heads of families. Everybody (but his own father, who didn't really care) messaged to congratulate the couple and made arrangements to get to Spain as soon as possible

The next day, after staying overnight in the hospital, Carlos and Y/N drove him. Max had taken the car and driven home the day before, but had come back to pick the couple up. He drove with Carlos in the passenger seat and Y/N in the back with baby Oscar, her baby Oscar.

"A package for you guys came," said Max as they drove towards the house. "I've left it in the kitchen."

When they got to the house, Y/N and Carlos walked straight up stairs and into baby Oscar's room. "This is your bedroom," she whispered as Carlos carried the carrier inside.

As Y/N laid baby Oscar in the crib, Carlos ran downstairs for the package. He didn't know what he expected, but it certainly wasn't this. He placed the package back in the box and brought it up to his wife, who was sitting in the rocking chair in baby Oscar's room.

"Here," he said, passing it to her. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up, sitting in her place and pulling her into his lap.

Y/N took the item out of the box. It was a little stuffed rabbit that looked a little worn and old, but had certainly been cleaned. "Oh, this is lovely," he said, laying the rabbit in her lap as she grabbed a hold of the note inside of the box.

He'd want him to have this - N. Piastri (Oscar's mom)

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