#porcelain caps
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Porcelain Crowns (Caps)
A crown (or cap) is a covering that encases the entire tooth surface restoring it to its original shape and size. Â A crown protects and strengthens tooth structure that cannot be restored with fillings or other types of restorations.
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selene what's got you smiling so sweetly? (is it the hunter, covered in blood?) ŕšË˝ŕš
#ouroboros-if#interactive fiction#sene/selene#posting on tumblr nowadays like im golfing off a highrise roof#punting a post into the fray hand on my eyebrows to shield from the sun watching if it lands well#obligatory napoleon dynamite style fistpump if it does#anyway hi 𫣠im still scuttling around like crecher but im making so much progress on ouro stuff#been really enjoying S' character portraits and incorporating more hints of Oakwerths architecture into their design#thinking of adding some porcelain caps to their horns#happy to share some sneak peeks if you forgive me for not being very social :]#i have 722 asks right now! seven hundred and twenty two. that is a dizzying nr and i honestly don't even know where to start#hopefully it gets neater once the ouro blog is up. pffft a girl can hope#i cannot thank you enough for your kind words and evocative q's#(everytime something new comes in it feels like seeing the first spring flowers) it really fuels me#i am working on the not so secret secret project for a while longer#who would've thunk i'd be more productive when not spending so much time on social media. honestly its a mystery#i hope you are doing well â¨#*skedaddles back offline*
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I made a mushroom! Loosely based off of an inky cap mushroom.
Had a lot of fun playing with the levels of paint and water to try to create a gradient :3
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So found a new fast craft project that I love to bits right now, painted bottle caps! Been making them as accessories for my dolls' autumn outfits, but I'm certainly making one for myself to wear as well.
#My Art#Art#Bottle Caps#Painting#Autumn#Pumpkin#Leaves#Porcelain Doll Pumpkin#Oak Leaf#Maple Leaf#Poplar Leaf#Mod Podge Dimensional Magic#Doll accessories#Definitely making one for myself to wear as well#Acrylic paint#Fall#autumn leaves
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Iâve taken to telling devices âshut upâ and âthatâs enough out of youâ when I turn them off, just to feel alive or something
#I went to the dentist this morning and they had to pull out the temporary cap on my tooth so they could#put in the permanent porcelain one#and it was not very comfortable#but it only took like 5 minutes and now I donât have to be self concabout that tooth so thatâs nice#*self conscious about#Iâve been sick all morning though#nausea sucks#Iâm tired#my posts
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100 Years Of Royal Albert Cup & Saucer Set, Duchess, Excellent Condition ebay FCS Collectibles and More
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Different Types of Dental Crowns and Their Uses
Exploring different types of dental crowns is key to a healthy smile. At Cosmetic Dental Spa in Hurstville, we specialise in crowns that protect and enhance your teeth. Whether itâs fixing a broken tooth or covering a dental implant, our team guides you through the choices.
In addition, we simplify the decision process, ensuring youâre comfortable with your options. If youâre in Hurstville and looking for expert dental advice, visit us. Weâre here to help you pick the perfect crown, ensuring your smile shines bright.
Read More: https://thecosmeticdentalspa.com.au/what-are-the-different-types-of-dental-crowns-and-when-are-they-used/
#porcelain crown#types of dental crowns and cost#tooth cap vs crown#front tooth crown cost#disadvantages of dental crowns#tooth crown cost with insurance#preparing a tooth for a crow#dangers of dental crowns
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Purple Dental, expertise with state-of-the-art technology to ensure that every patient receives the highest standard of dental care, Purple Dental best care for dentures
#dental veneers#gold crown tooth#composite veneers#dental cap#porcelain teeth#gold tooth cap#root canal treatment#porcelain veneers#dental veneer treatments#gold crowns#Dental Implant#All-on-4 implants treatment#Dental Crowns#Dental veneers#wisdom tooth extraction#Dental bone Grafting
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thinking about kuna's gf trying to convince him to let her paint his long nails đ
⊠⧠Ë. â tags ⎠fem! reader, pure fluff, heian! era sukuna, panting his nails, meanie kuna but heâs a softie, petnames: little one, woman, girl.
âno.â
a downcasted frown drags against your glossed lips once you sigh. sitting on no one other than sukunaâs lap, you huff out a single vexed breath. âhuhh. what do you mean no, i didnât even ask my question yet.â
âexactly,â he replies in a low voice, leaning back against the ancient, comfortable throne. for a fleeting moment, dark, sinister eyes stare into yours before he cocks his head. âyouâre gonna ask me another one of your imprudent questions.â
âkuna, just let me ask you the question,â you protest, straddling the king of cursesâ it was never a dull moment with him, regardless of how grumpy he turns out to be. knowing sukuna, heâs almost always grumpy. his eyes gaze into you a bit longer and he then brings his thickset upper arms to cross near his chest, a cute pout on his lips as he waits for you to finish speaking. âpretty please?â
ââŚâŚ.fine,â he gives in, aware that you were probably gonna persist on asking him for who knows how many more times. with a sigh, he tilts his head at you. âwhat is it you wish to ask me, little one?â
smug grin and all, you pick up his broad hand that was so much larger than yours, brushing a thumb against his wrist before cooing, âcan i paint your nails, sukuna?â
âno.â
âsukuna!â
heâs leaning back against his throne, the well raised chair sitting up all high and mightyâone of his arms repose near the lower part of his torso and wraps around your hip, pulling you closer.
âyou already know what my answer was gonna be, no?â and this time, you give him a pout.
dewey red-shot eyes peer into you for a lengthy amount of time before he groans. that cute little pout of yours, you never fail to make everything so hard for him. âhmph. why do you want to paint my nails? theyâre clearly already painted, woman.â
heâs trying..
you hold back a giggle before bringing one of his hands up to your face.
glimmering eyes focus on his nails, how naturally long they wereâ he had a point though, they were pretty much already painted. full on richly black, the tips of them were oh-so sharp heâd be able to cut about just anything. still, you wanted to paint his nails yourself. you couldnât really come up with a good enough answer, so you just shrug.
âi just want to,â you hum in a soft voice, intertwining your fingers with his.
he scoffs, showing little to no reaction. with a puny eyebrow raise, you feel his right thigh start to gradually bounce. âplease, ryooo,â you mutter, tugging your eyebrows into a pleading, needy furrow. âthis way, we can match.â
âgoodness, youâre so annoying,â he grumbles, watching your grin stretch as you dangle your own hand up in front of his face.
dark cruel eyes stare at your nails, observing how well manicured and painted they were. he sighs again, uttering out a raspy, âvery well,â and he sits manspread, reaching for a nearby tiny table that resides against his infamous throne. âyou may paint my nails. just this once.â
with a precious giggle, you grab about two bottles nail polish from your pocket, gently placing his hand down against the porcelain glass table. heâs keeping a sharp eye on you, rolling his eyes at how ecstatic you were on this. the way you treated his hands with such careâthat cute little smile never once departing from your sheeny lips,
the moment you twist off the black tight cap that sticks onto the bottle like glue, the strongly loud aroma of the polish hits against his flared nostrils.
itâs heavily strong, the familiar scent of acetone wafts against his domain entirely.
âstay still, âkuna.â you whisper, gathering a good amount of polish. for a moment, you swear you could have heard a low growl escape from him.
oh, you were testing his patience.
you were testing sukuna ryĹmenâs patience and he was letting you.
âgood, good.â you give him a closed-eye smile.
âdo not praise me,â he snarls, and heâs already embarrassed. his tone made an attempt to come across as more stern and assertive, but it was just so cute.
with daunting, glaring eyes, he watches silently at the way you softly brush the tip against his nail.
each individual nail took a few seconds eachâ oddly enough, it was wholly soothing for a while.
âhmph,â he bleats, feeling the softness of your hand skin against his hand every so often. you were so thorough, so precise.
delicately, you lay the brush flat against the bed of his nail. the bristles coat against the layer of his nail and you feel a brief coldness of air fan against your skin. it was rather amusing to watch you pay so close attention to him, to his hands. âhm,â he raises a brow for probably the nth time today. still scowling, his face softens a bitâ you had him all relaxed. âyouâre quite good at that, i must admit.â
âaw. thank you,â you cheese. with a grin, you give him a cute exuberant glance, pulling up his ring finger to paint the entire part of his nail with a freshly new coat. âhowâs it feel?â
sukuna groans, not liking how sentimental this moment was. the entire mood was so ⌠soft.
you made him feel softâ he always thought things like that just wasnât possible. especially with someone as such as him.
who would have thought that painting the almighty sukuna ryomenâs nailâs would have him falling for you ten times harder . . ?
âitâs ⌠good,â he utters in a gruff tone, and youâre just about done.
his eyes linger toward your hands for a long time, youâre still placed on his lap before you feel the curseâs lower arms grip against your waist tightly. you felt a feeling of abrupt security and it was quite nice. within his touch, you always felt secure. moments with him like this, youâd never be anywhere else. âhurry up though, my thighâs cramping.â
âoh shut up.â you roll your eyes with a snicker, bringing the brush towards his pinky now. he sticks it out for you, staying still as possible before you pauseâ dipping it back into the glass teensy bottle, swirling it, delving it around the inner crevices of the glass before finishing up his final finger.
the audacity,
the audacity of telling him to shut up, you must have been out of your mind.
but truth be told, sukuna has somewhat of a sweet spot for you. it made him kiss his teeth in sheer exasperation. he wasnât used to such tender forms of affection. part of him wonders just why youâre always so warm to him. treating him with such care, heâs the king of curses after all, and yet here he isâ acting like his long lost self, the king of love..
âalllll done,â you harmonize, he looks down to see the final results. with low hooded eyes, sukuna stares at his sharp nailsâ once black, now a light pinkish color. his mouth dangles opens and his face scrunches up, eyebrows curling together and itâs hilarious. for once, sukuna ryomen was speechless. âi know right? youâre gonna get so many compliments, âkuna.â
âyou did not just paint my nails pink, woman,â he huffs out a grunt, you lean up close to him with a coy, impish look. âthe nerve is beyond me..â
you giggle, flashing off your nails in his face, the two of you now having the same exact color. âoh, donât be a baby. see, now weâre matching,â and his face is still all scrunched up. god, you had him feeling a feeling he didnât even know he could feel. his stomachâs tight, churning ridiculously, his heartâs racing, and even his palms start to sweat. âwith your long nails, you pull it off so well, heh.â
sukuna kept asking himself the same question the more he avoids eye contact.
why must you be so so cute..?
not a single reply comes from his mouth, instead he just crosses his arms into a mere fold. âmhm,â is all he replies with, tilting his head before resuming his words with an obstinate grouse. âwhatever. but iâll have you know that pink is not my color.â
you titter. âoh? what is your color then, my lord?â
you were being a brat, he sends you daggers before regretting he even said thatâ you always had the higher up on him, every single time.
âtch. nevermind that,â sukuna scorns, and his pout was so adorable.
pink stretched lips compressing together, stubborn as usual.
he brings his hand towards his face before exhaling lowly. âwhat in theâ the nerve of you to put little sparkles on it too,â and he watches your smile beam at his live reaction. âi ⌠donât know what iâm gonna do with you.â
âyou can start by thanking me,â you tease, planting your lips against his cheek.
he tenses up, the softness of your lips giving him whiplash for a moment. every time you present him either something as simple as a kiss, he was never prepared for it. âfine. thank you,â and as his bulky lower arms snake around your waist, he meets your brightly dilated irises. âare ya finished? i need a nap.â
âso old,â you stroke his cheek, and that earns a glare from him. âitâs not even the afternoon yet,â and you gift him with another mwah, the contact that your sweet lips provides has him growing more and more flustered. âbut yes, iâm done âkuna. thank you.â
ââŚ..good,â he responds after a long seven second pause. sukunaâs scowling before he finally returns your eye contact. his face was slowly getting more flustered from each kiss you give him before he tsks. âah ah,â he creates a swift hand motion, âoff my lap now, youâve had your fun.â
you frown. âaw,â a sweet disappointed tone hiding underneath your voice. heâs then taken aback once he feels your humanly hands sneak their way into his hair. pink slightly curled up strands of his was a bit messy and tangled. the curse was still publicly pouting, studying your every move before you get an idea. âhm. one more thing though?â
he exhales. âwhat.â
âcan i do your hair? i found some bows andââ
âcount your days, girl.â
âstop flirting with me, âkuna.â
ââŚ.foolish woman,â and after a long dreadful pause, sukuna pouts yet again. so cute, his arms remain crossed before he speaks through annoyingly gritted teeth, an almost smile pokes through his lips that conceals his fangs. âfine. you may do my hairâŚ. or whatever.â
#â
vegasbaby.#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna fluff#sukuna ryomen x reader#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jjk drabbles#jjk fic#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jjk imagines
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ŕ¨ŕ§ Genshin men and how kinky they are ŕ¨ŕ§
Note: thatâs a whole bakery
minors do not interact
Wriothesley
⢠Kinky and perverted. Very creative in bed will always find a way to surprise you even more. Be it handcuffs or a new vibrator, he leaves you shaking and craving for more
⢠He loves making you scream his name so he dives that cock really deep in order to bring your filthy sounds to his ears
⢠Sometimes calls you âbitchâ, âwhoreâ, âslutâ but making sure itâs in affectionate way while his whole cock is buried deep inside you and pulsing hard
⢠He is very noisy when he cums. Itâs usually a raspy groan that lasts for a few seconds and basically anyone near the door can hear him. You need to stuff your manâs mouth with something else unless you want others to hear that slutty mewl
⢠He fucks like a pornstar and he always jokes about it (itâs not even funny anymore)
⢠Has a sensitive ass so doesnât let you go near around it
⢠Loves slapping and humiliating your puss
⢠Secretly wants you to peg him âĄ
Neuvillette
⢠100% gentle, not kinky. He prefers traditional way of doing things so itâs no surprise his favourite is missionary
⢠Not very experienced, so he whimpered really hard in your first time together
⢠He has to see your eyes while you lie under him. Something about the look on your face makes him nut a generous amount
⢠Neuvilletteâs chill personality allows him to not spend all energy in one go so he is always up for a few rounds with you
⢠Neuvillette goes completely mad when you touch his hair and he will even request you to pull it. Usually he is cool and composed even during your session but once you grasp his hair between your fingers he will fuck you so senselessly you wonât be able to walk the next day âĄâĄ
⢠Dirty talks you to sleep
⢠Dreams of giving you an oral on his desk in the office during a break. He wants to see you muffle your moans while he licks your honey and whispers you to keep quiet otherwise others might hear you
Pantalone
⢠Heâs definitely something in between kinky and sweet. It all depends on his mood. One day he fucks you like he hates you, the other day he touches you so gently as if you were a porcelain doll
⢠He loves you face-sitting on him while heâs hungrily eating your puss. (But never admits it)
⢠Can be gentle and sweet asf. Heâs reeeally good at slow, sensual sex. He can finger you for hours before sheathing himself inside
⢠He cages his feelings so hard that he practically doesn't moan during sex. He only lets a little groaning when cumming. If you ever hear him moan heâll become so embarassed convincing you heard nothing âĄ
⢠Canât masturbate without your panties
⢠Pantyâs got very sensitive chest and nipples and he has to hold your hands above your head to prevent you from touching those
⢠Accidentally moaned during the meeting while you were sucking him off under the desk one day, doesn't do it again
⢠Protection king!!! He always has condoms in his drawers in case someone gets too horny. He respects your boundaries and wonât cum inside you if you are not ready
Capitano
⢠Not kinky, but rough. He loves you too much and thinks if you two are about to have sex, this sex should be passionate to the moon and back
⢠He loves a little thrill. The two of you were once caught up doing that in the forest, against the tree, while Capâs henchman was guarding your lovemaking
⢠First time in your night was afraid his dick wouldn't be able to fit so he was really sweet and gentle and asked constantly if you were in any pain âĄ
⢠He always makes sure you cum first, prioritising your satisfaction before his own đŻ
⢠Capi loves your nails the most
⢠He has a sensitive neck and might let out some whimpers for you if you bite around it good enough
⢠Broke the bed in your apartment one day, came to repair it himself. Heâs still apologising though
Alhaitham
⢠Not very kinky. A really gentle lover. Can be rough only if you ask him directly
⢠His guilty pleasure is slapping your ass, he loves seeing that fat skin reddened after his palm
⢠His favourite position is spooning, and he will not keep his hands off your clit
⢠He ALWAYS makes sure you cum from his fingers before anything else. He has really skillfull fingers and you are dying to have them inside you. He once teased you playing suggestively with the book, and you canât get it off your mind
⢠Alhaitham is bad at dirty talking but he REALLY tries to make it sound good. Embarrassing for him though, you giggle at occasional âgood girl, youâre taking me so wellâ
⢠He was once caught up masturbating by himself in early stage of your relationship and was really freaked out, but later you helped him out telling what he was doing was completely normal
⢠He rubs a good amount against you making sure you feel how hard he is for you
⢠Sensitive ass âĄ
Dainsleif
⢠Kinky and rough but can be gentle occasionally
⢠KING OF EDGING, will leave you unsatisfied only to shove his cock inside you with a double force making you shake and whine for him
⢠Dreams of fucking your throat while maintaining eye contact with you
⢠Sensitive fingertips, one day you grabbed his hand and pushed his fingers inside your mouth which caused him to cum prematurely. Doesnât let you anywhere near his fingers anymore
⢠His favourite thing ever is mattress pressing. He will grip your thighs pushing them apart as wide as possible making you open up for him before he slams into you with full force
⢠Is not very loud, he prefers you vocal. Can be loud when receiving a head, though
⢠Keeps a collection of your panties without letting you know âĄ
⢠Fucks you from behind most of the time coz the sight of your expression, eye rolling and flushed cheeks will make him nut prematurely
Dottore
⢠Very kinky. There is nothing he wouldn't try with you. He loves his sex dirty and messy. He needs the bed, floor and your thighs to have filthy evidence of your lovemaking
⢠He will whine to you about receiving a head every day possible until you finally give up. He just needs to see you choking on his cuck
⢠Very dominant and wonât let you be on top ever (I don't think you need it though)
⢠Leaves a lot of bites around your neck and collarbone, his mouth just can't get enough of you âĄ
⢠Will devour your pussy for hours
⢠Likes when you cum on his command, will slap your ass otherwise
⢠KING of overstim, really into vibrations and stuff. The more stim = the better
⢠Ballz so sensitive he cums nice and good if you graze your fingers around them
⢠After spilling inside you (with your consent), he pumps it back into you, disappointed if it drops all way down
#genshin x reader#anime x reader#anime smut#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#capitano x you#capitano x reader#dottore x you#dottore x reader#pantalone x reader#pantalone x you#alhaitham x you#alhaitham x reader#wriothesley x you#wriothesley x reader#dainsleif x reader#dainsleif x you#neuvillette x you#neuvillette x reader
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instagram
#Instagram#porcelain#julia pilipchatina#black raspberry#Rubus occidentalis#bear's eye blackberry#black cap#black cap raspberry#scoth cap#fruit#art#berries#raspberry
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Look... look at the absolute amazing plate i found yesterday searching trough the burned down and later demolished house !!
Beautifull babygirl named There Were Ants Under It
No but i am seriously amazed at how un-damaged this is! No chips or cracks, seriously better condition than some of the plates i own
Anyway after a quick rinse in the sink it's in the dishwasher rn
Worth falling earlier
#mike post#my favourite thrift shop is Demolished Remains Of Houses#there's also lots of old brown glass bottles still intact with caps on !!!#and also i found a cup but it lost it's handle and was chipped so i didn't bother#also there was an absolutely beautifull porcelain kettle but it was broken#and i couldn't even find the other pieces to maybe glue it together#but yeah yippie!!!
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FOOL MASK (GITM BY @venomous-qwille)
Handbuilt porcelain with slip, overglaze, glaze, and gold lustre accents. Paint and lacquer detailing added post fire. Handsewn fool's cap and bells added post fire.
This mask is a part of a (loosely connected) mask series, all hand-built and fired using a range of different temperatures and techniques.
My favourite mask to date, Fool from Ghost in the Machine by the wonderful @venomous-qwille !! GITM is absolutely incredible and I cannot put into words eloquently how much I adore it and Fool so instead I made this mask! Hi!
My word was this mask a struggle to make. The mask itself is entirely one piece, and entirely porcelain!! That's right, those long thin rays are solid porcelain!! The eyes and tips of the blades are done in 22 carat gold lustre. All colouring save for the black and the satin sections of darker red on the face were done with only slips and underglazes. The red colour was correct without the paint, but I thought a contrast from the rest of the gloss would look nice :)
Made to scale, the mask measures 50.8x60.96cm without the hat, and 50.8x116.84cm with it! (20x24in without hat, 20x46in including hat). He is Large, but turned out absolutely lovely and I send my many many thanks to the kiln gods for producing him unscathed.
(naku & wall for scale)
(he's so big guys i have large walls (the top of my head is only slightly above the top of the bookcase beneath him) look at him at the wall it's nuts)
#eyenaku#proudnaku#seriously so proud of this naku please interact with this my magnum opus of porcelain i hate porcelain but i love fool#my prof. encouraged me to make THE REST OF FOOL?? LIKE HIS BODY?? thats so much. i'm not gonna but that was a funny thing to experience#ANYWAYS HI QWILLE IF YOU'RE READING THIS THE TAGS!!#fool is such a guy#thas all! love ur stuff btw#art#pottery#ceramics#mask#masks#decorative masks#porcelain#fool#fool gitm#fool ghost in the machine#ghost in the machine au#fool eclipse#ghost in the machine#gitm au#gitm fool#eyenaku masks#hehe happy fool day#I think the funniest part of making him was the tactical smooch I had to make to save his face itâs a whole thing#clip next.
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blood sucker ââ
bang chan x reader
âą ! synopsis : your sweet boyfriend just can't resist you, no matter what time of the month it is, but especially the time when he can feed from your sweet cunt ...
âą ! content warnings : vampire!chan, human!f!reader, smut (mdni!!), period sex, clit play, cunnilingus, dom!Chris, sub!reader, pet names, daddy kink (act shocked), use of pain medication !!
You were groggy that morning, more so than usual. The pain in your stomach reminded you of why. You grumbled with every step you took to get to the medicine cabinet in your bathroom. Pop open the cap to the bottle of ibuprofen and swallow two of the white pills with a cup of water. You stare at yourself in the dirty mirror above your porcelain sink.
Your hair sat a mess on your head, greasy and in need of a trim, your face was unbelievably puffy, probably from eating so much greasy food for the past few days, and your eye bags seemed to be darker than usual. Your phone vibrating on the counter finally got your attention, upon seeing the caller id you couldn't help but perk up.
"Hi, my sweet girl," his Aussie accent crackles over the speakers of your phone, a sense of calm washing over your tired body, "are you feeling okay?"
"Mhm," you sigh, not fully sure if you are in fact feeling okay, "where are you?"
Your boyfriend's laughter rings in your ears, followed by, "straight to the point today, hmm?"
He is such a tease, but he knows you love it. "I miss you, Channie," you grumble, "when are you going to be home?"
"I'm just a few minutes away baby, what's bothering you, hmm?" he speaks to you so softly it takes your brain a minute to fully register what he is saying.
Chan is quick to talk when you are still contemplating what you need to tell him, "sweet girl? I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."
"Jus' miss you, need you," normally you'd cringe about how weak you sounded in that moment, but you don't because you know that Chris loves you even when you're weak.
"Oh," Chris' voice is impossibly gentle, "my baby, I'll be home in just a few minutes I swear. When I get back we can watch a show and I'll make us some food."
"Okay," you agree, "see you in a few, I love you."
"Love you more," you can hear his smile over the phone before the dial tone.
You groggily walk back to bed, flopping down onto your soft mattress. Your eyes feel heavier with each passing second but you just can't seem to fall back asleep.
Although your tiredness you can't help but perk up when the keys jingle in the door to your apartment. "Baby?" Chris calls out once he closes the door behind himself.
He steps towards your bedroom, his footsteps causing the wooden floors of your apartment to creak very slightly. He pokes his head in the doorway to your room, "hi my sweet baby," he coos.
"Channie," you're breathless when you talk for whatever the reason may be.
Chris is quick to walk over to your bed and lay right next to you, scooping you up into his arms like you're a baby. You are a baby, you're his baby. "I'm sorry I've been gone, my sweet girl," he apologizes like he can help the fact that he had to go.
"It's okay," you hum in a quiet voice, "you got to eat earlier?"
"Mhm," he flashes you a toothy grin, his fangs catching your eye, "I brought back my two month's supply," he tells you.
His hands run gently through your hair while he asks you about work and your friends and how your mom is doing. At first it used to freak you out about how cold his hands were against your skin. Now, no matter how cold they may be they seem to feel warm and comforting. A comfortable silence fills the air as Chris holds you close to his chest.
It's so easy to slip
"Channie," you break the silence shamelessly, "I-."
The words can't come out of your throat, but Chris knows exactly what you need, shifting quickly to grab a throw blanket and cover you with it. Your body moves unconsciously to the cramp that pulses in your stomach,"are your cramps bothering you?"
"Mhm," you're bending at the center trying to put pressure on your lower stomach, "how'd you know I'm on my period?"
Chris almost seems embarrassed to answer you this time, "can smell it - the blood."
"Does it smell bad?"
"Smells like you, smells delicious," he reassures your worst fears.
You hum in reply, your mind moving all too fast, "would you - y'know? Drink my b-blood?"
"Are you being rhetorical?" Chris' eyes squint trying to see your true intentions.
Honestly, you don't even know your own intentions, why else would you ask your boyfriend who happens to be a vampire if he would drink your period blood. You shrug, Chris continues, "I wouldn't drink it, but I'd love to eat you out and get a taste."
Your face gets all hot, your cheeks are a nice cherry color for sure, and shame wracks your brain. Your thighs are pressing together for some sense of reprieve. Chan likes this though, watching you get all embarrassed and squirmy. "Oh," his voice is deep this time, "my little one likes that idea? You wanna have your daddy eat from your cunt?"
"I-I," you're so embarrassed you could cry, Chris' right hand comes up to your chin and tilts it up so you're looking at him. His eyes are starting to turn red.
He only has red eyes when he's hungry, eating, or angry. He only looks at you with love, though. Chris is quick to manhandle you into a position on your back. While you take in the softness of the sheets, Chris stands up and walks into the bathroom.
He fetches a towel that he brings to the bed, folds it once, and puts it under your hips. "You gonna let daddy get a taste?" he hums, looking at you for confirmation.
"Mhm," you hum and nod in reply.
Your head feels fuzzy as he peels off your sweatpants, tossing them somewhere in the room. "Wait!" you cry out when you think of him seeing your underwear and pad.
All Chris' movements halt instantly, "yes, my baby?"
"C-close your eyes, I d-don't want you to see my pad," you can feel the blood in your face throbbing, as you watch relief wash over Chris' features.
"Baby, you have nothing to be embarrassed about, but if you really don't want me to watch I won't," he agrees, closing his eyes.
You hesitate for a moment before talking, "fine you can take them off," you hum.
You close your eyes so you don't see his reaction to your pad, you hear shuffling around the room and Chris' calloused hands pulling down your underwear. You feel his warmth next to you and the bed dips as it adjusts to his weight. "You can open your eyes now, princess," you can hear the grin in his voice.
When your eyes open you see Chris laying next to you in nothing but his boxers. "O-oh," you gawk at his nearly naked body.
His body is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen and you feel utterly over dressed. You're fast to fiddle with the hem of your crew neck, ready to pull it over your head. "Don't," Chris' voice is firmer, "you'll get cold, I don't want my baby to get cold."
You nod, and pull him down for a tender kiss. With every second that his lips are on your own, you feel more and more desperate to have them somewhere else.
Almost like he can read your mind, Chris is shifting down the bed and parting your legs. He slides between them and your fingers thread through his black curly hair. He looks up at you with his red eyes as he sucks your clit into his mouth.
A growl rips from the back of his throat at the taste of your blood. "Oh, oh God, daddy," you whine, hands tightening in his locks.
Every nerve is on fire in your body as your thighs start to tremble. Chris' composure is surely about to break because as soon as you start sputtering about how good it feels, he starts messily tongue fucking your cunt.
His tongue is drawing shapes on your sensitive clit and he's starting to lose himself in the feeling of it all. You can tell that he's enjoying himself by the way his hips grind against the bed. His pretty fingers prod at your throbbing entrance and push past the ring of muscle.
His fingers expertly curl in your cunt, making you see stars. everything around you starts to dissolve into pleasure and the band in your stomach breaks after a particularly harsh suck to your clit.
You cry out into the abyss of your room as Chris continues to lick you through your orgasm. Eventually, once your cunt stops throbbing, you pull Chris up by his hair, and that's when you see his state.
His eyes are half lidded, almost like he is high, and his lips are swollen, his fangs peeking out from his puffy lips. The lower third of his pretty face is covered in blood, your blood, and he's quick to lick his lips to savor the flavor of it. "Holy shit," you stutter.
"You tasted so sweet, babydoll," his voice is sly, "sorry I came in my pants, will you let me eat you out until my cock is hard again?"
You're definitely not going to deny his wishes when he's this debauched and this sexy.
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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.Â
The night of your first win wasâŚyou canât 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.Â
It also hadnât 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.Â
No, in order to be successful, respected; youâd 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, heâd frighten them off, in true fear that anybody would come near his youngest prodigy.Â
The third year had been set; the routine was laid out in front of you, ready to make mistakes youâd 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.Â
19th October; a month prior to what should have been the happiest day of your life.Â
Youâd 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.Â
Except there wasnât. A figure was relaxed into your sofa with a photograph in his hands, eyes trained on your body when youâd 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.Â
âYou shouldnât be here, Max.â 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. (Heâd also bought you a bullet vibrator, trying to remind you of your stubbornness, urging you to relax a little.)Â
âNice photograph.â 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. âFriends of yours?âÂ
âSisters.â 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. âCongratulations onâŚwas it P16?â You gloat, hoping your rival would catch the message that you didnât want him to be there.Â
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.Â
âThatâs why I came to see you.â He responds, standing up straighter, arms folded as his eyes train on your own movement. âIt makes my losses look miniscule compared to your own.â His own grin has returned now, satisfied with his own response to the situation.Â
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.Â
âHey, Iâll do anything to help you forget this will be my third World Championship.â You snap back, turning around to meet his figure, your own arms mimicking, folding against your chest. This time, you take a step closer. âMaybe next year Christian Horner will remember his âPrecious Little Maxie.âÂ
Max scoffs at the nickname you had given him, eyes noting the step you had taken. He responds, taking his own step. âTrust me. Thereâs nothing little about me.â 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.Â
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.Â
Maxâs 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.Â
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. Maxâs 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.Â
âMax-â 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. âMax, please-â
âShut the fuck up.â He mumbled, his own hand pulling down his trousers and underwear, rubbing his shaft for preparation. âDo not ruin this fucking moment.âÂ
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.Â
19th December, twenty-three days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.Â
You had finally thrown yourself entirely into a distraction; Christmas. Youâd 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.Â
And so, you attended a Christmas Market alongside George and Carmen, passing on the mulled wine the two had insisted on trying. Youâd gone to see Jackâs Christmas performance alongside Toto and Suzie but declined going to the fish restaurant they had mentioned; (youâd read somewhere in your first week of sheer panic that you could no longer go near fish whilst pregnant.) Youâd gone to Landoâs new apartment in London but had seen the scowl on his face when youâd complained about your âbad stomach,â and couldnât do any heavy lifting of decorations.Â
It wasnât until Christmas Eve; Lewis had come to your familyâs home, presents for your younger siblings, parents and yourself, of course. Heâd sat politely, sipped on your motherâs tea, laughed politely at the antics building up towards the big day itself.Â
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 heâd 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 âtop secret handshakeâ with your race engineer, (you insisted your race would always go more smoothly if you did so, the last time you didnât had resulted in a DNF.)Â
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 mothersâ 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 youâd vomit if you came into contact with them?Â
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.
âIâm going to take Roscoe out for a wee.â He nods towards your figure, slouched on the opposite sofa. âYou coming?â The way he phrases his question; you can tell itâs not a question, itâs a command. You nod, placing down your own mug, stretching as you pulled yourself away from the leather recliner.Â
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.Â
Lewisâ 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.Â
âAlright. Whatâs happening then?â He asks almost instantly, motioning for you to walk alongside him, taking the scenic route of the large garden. âYouâd never turn down sweet things. You do everything to make your mother smile, why would you turn down her cooking?â
âIâve just gone off that kind of stuff.â You mumble, not really thinking about what you were saying. Youâd 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.Â
âOh, my sister was like that when she was pregnant with-â 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. Heâs not stupid, heâs far from it.Â
âYouâre pregnant.â 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. âButâŚhow?â 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.Â
You canât tell him, not now. You couldnât tell him. You had to tell him.Â
âMax.â You whisper, barely able to have the name on your lips. Lewisâ brows furrow. He knows in his heart he is right, but he doesnât want to be.Â
âFewtrell?â He responds, referencing to Landoâs oldest friend. You had been to see them recently, after all.
âVerstappen.â
Lewisâ isnât 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.Â
âWhat are you going to do?âÂ
6th January, 41 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.Â
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.Â
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 wouldnât be recognised. You didnât want Mercedes to catch wind of the happenings, instead hoping nobody would openly tweet about your live location.
Your nurse doesnât recognise you; if she does, she doesnât show it. Sheâs polite and kind, makes sure that you havenât 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. Thereâs a sharp prod, a poke, and then you see the nurse smile.
âAh, there they are!â She glows.Â
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.Â
That was the moment you knew what you were going to do.
All you had to do now, was tell Toto. No big deal.Â
23rd February, 89 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.Â
âHorner!â
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, heâs seeing red, heâs seeing that Hornerâs 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 Âstill needed to be a part of the sporting world, even if you werenât driving.Â
At first, Toto thought it was Lewisâ 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 heâd first found out.) Toto didnât care about anything. More importantly, he didnât care that your pregnancy wasnât public knowledge.Â
Toto had stormed into Red Bullâs 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.Â
âHow can I help you, Toto?â He smirks, ready for some remark. Instead, Toto leans to Christianâs 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 Bullâs Team Principle had gone. In one swift move, he motions for Toto and yourself to follow him, calling out to his own team.Â
âSend Max to my office. Now.â His voice is unrevealing, but his skin is growing paler by the minute.Â
You had never been into a Red Bull garage, and yet now you sat in Hornerâs 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.Â
âSit.â 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.Â
âI donât know why youâre so mad at me.â The Red Bull team principal scoffs. âI didnât tell Max to sleep with your little prodigy.â 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.Â
âYou need to keep that boy away from my team!â 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 Verstappenâs face wiped instantly upon seeing Toto, Lewis and yourself.Â
âMax.â Christian starts, arms folded, the voice he used to reprimand his children now present. He canât continue his phrasing however, before Toto scoffs, pointing an accusing finger towards the driver.Â
âYou!â 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. âYou couldnât keep away; you have ruined my team! How dare you knock her up!â Toto is only stopped when you jump up from your seat, grabbing both of his arms in an attempt to stop his frantic ranting.Â
It takes Max a moment to process what has been said, heâs always struggled with quick responding when itâs not on a racetrack. It hits him all at once. Your pregnant. Youâd 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.Â
âYouâre pregnant?â Max canât 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. âAndâŚitâs mine? Are you sure?â
Your blood ran cold, you finally understood the rage that your Team Principle. You turn around, eyes darkened, shaking your head in pure anger. âWho else have I slept with, Max? You want to tell me that?â The audacity of this man. How dare he question you.Â
âYouâre not keeping it, right?â Christian is the first to question. Maxâs eyes gloss over, coughing lightly before overtaking the conversation from his own Team Principle. âIâm- Iâm not ready to be a father.â His own skin mimics that of Christian; he turns as pale as the white lines of a hard tyre.Â
âYouâre not-â You cut yourself off, instead opting to keep silent. You had nothing else to say. Max had made his stance on the situation Âclear. âI donât need you, Max. I can do this myself.â The entire room watches as you pull away from Lewis and Toto, never once looking at the father of your child.Â
10st March, 105 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.Â
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. Youâd opted to remain at your apartment. For a start, the headlines which had been spiralling across the media were growing overwhelming. âMercedes driver pulled out of racing until further notice.â âMax Verstappen breaks up with new girlfriend after only weeks together.â âValtteri Bottas to pose for nude charity calendar.â
Maybe that last one wasnât to do with your situation; you were all too aware of how your grid buddy could act in his down time.Â
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 didnât want anybody seeing what was happening to your body. Besides, it wasnât like the pregnancy was an Âentire secret anymore.
You hadnât 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. Youâd 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, youâd stayed sat next to Toto, cheering on the silver arrows. Maybe you hadnât seen Max because you barely set foot outside of the garage.Â
The news had slowly begun to spread from driver to driver, though each remained loyal and hadnât 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. Youâd had a visit from Daniel, telling you his best friend was aâŚwell, how he put it, âa grade-a cunt,â for how he had reacted.Â
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 Maxâs stance on the whole thing.Â
You knew he was visiting Monaco that weekend for the Grand Prix. When your phone buzzed from your living room, youâd 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.Â
14:05: Max Verstappen
I donât know if you have me blocked, Iâm 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.Â
14:09: You
I appreciate the message. Thank you. My next scan is on Tuesday, after Monaco.Â
14:11: Max Verstappen
Iâd 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.Â
Max Verstappen was not a practical man.Â
Despite telling him you would meet him at the address you had sent him, heâd 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 youâd never seen Max outside of jeans and a Red Bull polo shirt; it was refreshing to see him in crisp shirt and cargo trousers.Â
âYou didnât have to dress up.â 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 wasnât 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.Â
âYou look nice.â 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. âDo you need anything?â He looks back to the complex, concerned if you had forgotten something.
âI just need the bathroom.â You mention half-heartedly. Maxâs eyes widen, ready to step out of the car and lead you back into the apartment. âOh-â You cut yourself off, having to explain the situation. âNo, I need a full bladder for the scan, so they can see the baby.â The man nods in understanding, sitting himself in the driverâs seat, looking both ways before beginning to start the route towards clinic.Â
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 canât 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. Youâd 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.Â
Max had silently followed you into the room; it wasnât that he didnât 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. Heâd keep the baby safe; heâd 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.Â
He canât help but notice the soft underwear decorating your lower half. It wasnât as if he hadnât seen you naked, after all. Thatâs 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. Maxâs hand trails, feeling your own resting aside your body. He canât help but hold onto it, trying to offer you some sort of comfort. Maybe itâs the sudden nerves, but your hand grabs back just as tightly, feeling his thumb rub carefully against your knuckles.Â
âYou okay?â He mumbles, trying to keep a low profile from the nurse. You can only nod, comforted in the way yourâŚrivalâŚwas now holding your hand so preciously.Â
âNowâŚâ The nurse begins. âI wanted to check with you both, you mentioned wanting to find out the gender of your child.â Her question is directed towards you, Maxâs eyes darting between the two women in the room. âOf course, if dad doesnât want to know, he can leave-â
âOh, no.â Max interrupts, mind racing at a thousand thoughts per minute. âIâdâŚI want to know too.â He agrees, nodding in synch with you.Â
âWell, congratulations. Youâre having a beautiful baby girl.â 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.Â
You didnât miss the glossed tears in his eyes. He knew in that very moment that this baby, this moment wasâŚeverything to him.Â
2nd May, 158 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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. Heâd started to keep a calendar of every appointment that heâd attend alongside you, notes on the dates that youâre feeling a particular sickness or swelling. If you wonât bring it up with a doctor, he would.Â
Max tries to convince himself itâs to keep his baby safe; of course, you need to remain healthy too, but he doesnât care about you, not in that sense.Â
It isnât until he receives a phone call from you one afternoon, pleading for him to come and collect you from a friendâs house; your car had broken down and your Uber application wouldnât seem to find you a driver that wasnât 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.Â
The garden is in full swing; you hadnât mentioned it was a party; an extravagant one at that. Heâs taken aback by the decorations, a giant bounce house and the most enormous birthday cake he had ever seen.Â
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.
Heâs convinced himself, after all. He doesnât care for you. He worships you.Â
9th June, 196 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.Â
âI think we should move in together.âÂ
Maxâs 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.Â
What they didnât know was the father of the child was your sworn enemy.Â
Maybe, enemy was a word you didnât wish to use anymore. A friend didnât 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.Â
âYou knowâŚâ You continue. âI wantâŚher to have both her parents about. I donât want her to grow up in a broken household.â It was true; youâd 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 wouldnât wish that on anybody, least of all his own flesh and blood. His own baby.Â
âI missed my motherâŚa lot when I was younger.â He referenced his parentsâ separation, how he had barely seen his mother and sister whilst growing up. âI wouldnât want that for her.â 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. âWhy donât we have a look tomorrow? Find somewhere around here with enough space for us all.âÂ
You nod in agreement. âThatâs fine, but youâre painting the nursery.â 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 eyeâs meeting in shock.
âWas that-â He cuts himself off when he feels the movement again. Itâs a kick. The baby is kicking.Â
âSheâs awake!â You laugh, placing your hand carefully across Maxâs. You gently guide it across your stomach, tracing the sharp movement in your stomach. âWe must have woken her up. Sorry sweet pea.â You direct the last part of your sentence to the baby in your stomach.Â
Max gently removes his hand from your stomach, his head tiling closer to your bump. The baby can hear him. Sheâs in there, nestled and warm, awaiting her welcome into the world.Â
âHi, sweetheart.â He mumbles, voice thick from holding back heavy tears. âItâs your Papa.â
He doesnât miss the small laugh from you, entirely entertained by this whole situation.
âI know I canât see you yet, but youâre the most beautiful girl I could ever ask for. Just like your mother.â 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.Â
29th June, 216 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.Â
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.Â
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 Âmelted when they explained their mothers had taught them how to knit, both wanting to make a present for you, stitched with love. Youâd almost started crying, hormones were in full swing in the third trimester, kissing both on the cheek and thanking them endlessly.Â
Yuki had walked up to you that afternoon too, presenting a small Tupperware box. He had noticed youâd 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.Â
Daniel had come to find you, telling you to meet him in his garage, that he had a surprise for you both. Both, meaning youâd probably have to find Max, too.Â
His garage was only a short walk from where youâd been set up in the Mercedes camp. Youâd began to make your way over there, hoping youâd bump into the father of your child on the way. Youâd last seen Max that morning, having driven you to the paddock himself. Heâd becomeâŚfiercely caring since the evening of feeling the baby kick. Heâd slept in your bed that night, you are resting against his chest, a form of comfort in the third trimester.Â
What you hadnât expected to see, as you turned the corner, was a beautiful girl, hands resting on Maxâs waist, her eyes sparkling, lips moving. You couldnât see Maxâs face, his cap hiding any expression, but your heart knew that heâd be smirking, basking in the attention.
Loving the attention of a beautiful girl, one that wasnât pregnant with his child.
You couldnâtâŚunderstand why you had suddenly cared so much about who he was interacting with. When youâd first started this wholeâŚadventure, heâd still been seen in clubs, leaving with different women on his arm every weekend. Youâd hit the second trimester; his party and escapades had stopped, his sole attention of women being on you.
Maybe that was it. Youâd grown to like the attention of Max. Whether it was as the father of your child orâŚsomething else.Â
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 couldnât keep looking at the events unfolding in front of you. Your mind traces back to that morning in Christian Hornerâs office, how Max had turned pale, not wanting to be burdened with the birth of his child.Â
âIâm- Iâm not ready to be a father.â
Maybe he wasnât. But you were ready to be a mother.Â
8th August, 255 days since what should have been the-Â
You couldnât handle this.
The pain was beginning to seethe through your stomach. It wasnât supposed to happen like this, it was all wrong, it was happening too quickly.Â
Since the incident at the paddock, youâd been radio silent towards Max. He wasnât too sure of Âhow it had come to be. All he had known was youâd taken yourself home from Spa, telling him that youâd 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 wasâŚa little odd. After three, he was frantically packing a suitcase, trying to get hold of anybody who would possibly know your parentsâ address. Heâd 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. Heâd 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.Â
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, youâd 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 Maxâs answers, there was no excuse. âYou were hormonal. How did he think you felt when seeing Max with another woman, even if it was innocent, she didnât seem to be in that stance.âÂ
That was the case. It was an ex-girlfriend, sheâd 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.Â
The flight to your home had been fast. He couldnât 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 Maxâs sudden appearance. Your father barely said two words, just told Max you had gone into labour.
Maxâs blood had run cold upon that realisation. He wasnât there; he wasnât there to hold your hand when the pain started, to hold your hair up and get some coolness to your overheating skin. He wasnât Âthere. 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.Â
Car thrown carelessly into a parking spot, heâd sprinted into the reception, a nurse resting a hand on his arm when seeing the pure shock registered on his face. He couldnât 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.Â
The nurse nodded, motioning for Max to follow him down a corridor. He didnât like the coldness of the building. You probably felt so alone. Every time he had come with you to a clinic appointment, heâd notice the change in your demeanour, how you felt uncomfortable. You should have opted for a home birth; you would have been calmer. Safer.Â
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 wasnât present. He knew your stubbornness, knowing that you would have wanted to do this without her. Maybe, youâd want to do this without him, too.Â
His train of thought was interrupted, hearing a voice he had missed oh-so-much for the past three days.Â
âMax.â You cried, tears rolling down your cheeks. The gas wasnât working, the epidural hadnât kicked in yet. You were going to feel ever piece of this.Â
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.Â
âShh. Iâm here, Iâm not going anywhere.â He mumbles. Soft words of Dutch come from his lips; youâre too far gone to understand his words in English, let alone his native language.Â
âYou- why did you come?â You sob, feeling another contraction wash over your stomach. You canât 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.Â
âI couldnât leave the love of my life to meet our baby girl alone, could I?â 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, youâd never cry again. Not if he was around. Youâd stay with him in the paddock, you and his baby girl. Heâd make you laugh at every available opportunity. Heâd shower you both in gifts; heâd give his girls everything theyâd desire. If one day you decided to return to racing, heâd retire there and then to let you peruse his dream.Â
âOkay, okay. We need to push.â The midwife insists, seeing the pain flush over your cheeks. Max is Âthere, 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.
Thereâs a sharp scream from you, and then the tiniest cries from the end of the bed.Â
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, canât 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.Â
âSheâs here.â 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.Â
Her father in question had sat back in his chair, eyes transfixed on the bundle in your arms. What he isnât expecting is for you to motion your own arms towards him, letting the man cradle his daughter. Itâs soâŚnatural. 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 hasnât moved from your side, one arm around your back, both of you transfixed onto the peacefully sleeping child.Â
âSheâs here.â Max repeats for the hundredth time, eyes still focused on the sweet girl. His head turns to you, thereâs no better time to say it. âIâm sorry. For not telling you sooner. For not telling you how much I care about you.â He murmurs, hand finding yours, clasping them together.Â
âYeah?â 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. Itâs soft, itâs unexpected, but it feels so, so right. Itâs only interrupted with the soft cries from your baby once again.Â
âIs this what itâs going to be like from now on?â 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.Â
9th August, 1:06am. This was the happiest day of your life.Â
#F1#Formula 1#F1 x Reader#Max Verstappen#MV1#MV33#Max Verstappen x Reader#Max Verstappen Imagine#Max Verstappen One Shot#Reader Insert#Reader x Max#Formula 1 Imagine#F1 Imagine#Red Bull#Ferrari#Mercedes#Aston Martin#Fantiction#Max Verstappen x You#F1 x Y/N#F1 Fandom#Max Verstappen Fluff#Max Verstappen Smut#Charles Leclerc#Daniel Ricciardo#Lewis Hamilton#Toto Wolff
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âHeâs here again.â
You could swear the girl from reception says it like she knows something. Like thereâs some swirling inside joke that everyone was in on,
except you.
Instead, you were left with that swirling feeling in your stomach as the elevator traveled to reception. A swirling that shouldâve been laced with fear, but wasnât.
One that was gripping tight in your stomach as the doors opened and you were eclipsed by a sun wearing blue tradesmanâs clothes.
Ugly bastard.
Mean face with a shorn head, snarled lip and cauliflower ears. Tattooed arms like battering rams and tree trunk legs leading to steel cap boots like anvils.
And he was here for you.
âUm- Iâm not actually in facilities.â
You couldâve cursed yourself for sounding so small. Youâve lead meetings, addressed crowds, argued points with a voice like cracked thunder.
But he takes one step towards you and,
âB-but thatâs okay, Iâll take you.â
And he doesnât say a word, just grunts as he steps into the lift with you and you feel the tension spring.
He never says a word.
He met you for the first time three years ago, the girl from facilities was on maternity leave and you happened to be the lucky duck who sat beside the reception door.
Three years later youâd changed floors and you hadnât even seen him for at least six months. But he still asks for you.
âHe always asks for you.â
Youâd shushed your colleague, boasting about being helpful and having a tendency to be in office more often than not.
âProbably doesnât want to remember another name.â
âThen how do you explain the time he refused the job when you were off sick?â
You donât explain it, you actually try not to think about it.
When the doors open on the floor with the broken toilet, he follows you along the hall like a dog.
Like a hound.
The floor shakes every time he puts his boot on it and he actually manages to make you feel very small against picture windows.
Your colleagues look away when he walks past.
The sign for the ladies toilet at the end of the hall is like a beacon of hope, you can let him in and leave him be and then pretend to be on a phone call when itâs time for him to leave.
Until you get inside.
The sound of running water from the broken cistern echoes off the walls as you show him to the cubicle.
âItâs that one.â
He gives you a look that says âno shitâ before he lowers his head to step through the stall door. He must hear your shoes scuff against the floor as you break for your exit.
âStay put.â
You tell yourself youâre just shocked itâs the first time youâve heard his voice. Heâs British, Mancunian you reckon. Caught you by surprise.
Thatâs why you obediently spin on your heel and press your back to the wall.
No other reason.
You listen to the sound of grating porcelain as he removes the cistern lid and messes about with the flushing mechanism.
Your eyes catch him in the mirror, watching the way his back flexes under his work shirt as he reaches a bloody great paw into the water.
âPiece of shit.â
Second thing youâve ever heard him say. Granted, itâs under his breath but he definitely said it. You try not to show any expression lest he have eyes in the back of his head.
Wouldnât put it past him.
The sound of running water stops but you can tell by the huffing and puffing that heâs not fixed it, you can tell by his next outburst heâs not even close.
âCunt of a thing.â
You almost let a smile slip onto your face before youâre blanching at the sound of your name.
âIn âere.â
Heâs the mutt, heâs the hound with sharp teeth and clipped ears. Heâs mean and heâs nasty and heâs not good with others, definitely not house trained.
But itâs you whose ears prick up at his call and immediately walk to join him in the small space. Show dog.
A retriever, running towards the sound of a gun.
The cubicle is small enough as is but with Simon (the embroidered patch on his shirt tells you, heâs never actually given you his name) in here it feels like a coffin.
You end up with your back to the wall again, this time with his elbow all but digging into your stomach. Heâs got pieces of the flusher in his hand and heâs sending them your way.
Obedience in spades, youâre letting him place the dirty parts right in the flat of your hand.
Getting you as dirty as the rest of him.
âOh, okay.â
You catch him look at you out the corner of his eye before he huffs, again, and reaches right back into the cistern.
He almost looks disappointed, dissatisfied- like heâd hope youâd put up more of a fight with him. Like youâd shove the metal right into his chest and really give him something to huff about.
But you leave your hand out stretched and let him pick from it at his leisure. Take from you as he pleases.
(He wonders if thatâs a transferable skill)
To your delight (and his dismay) the toilet is back in perfect order and after three test flushes you can both leave the tiny fluorescent cave youâd been inhabiting for the last fifteen minutes.
âUm, do you need to go back upstairs or are you good to go?â
He dries his hands on the thighs of his trousers before he stares at you blankly. He snarls his lip in a way the makes the scar above it stretch and you wonder if it hurts him.
(If it does, you wonder if thatâs why he does it)
He turns without warning and suddenly itâs you following him back down the hall. Struggling to keep up, pretty pampered little dog following this great big mutt around on his heels.
âNeed tâgo down to my van- Iâll show you.â
You could probably stop walking here. It wouldâve been very easy for you to break to your desk and honestly? He probably wouldâve let you.
âOh, you donât need me to access the garage.â
But youâre following him to the elevator anyway and you think you see that same air of disappointment drift across his features as he realises how easy youâve made yourself.
âDonât tell me what I donât need.â
#ok yeah so that was my afternoon actually!#(dw the real plumber didnât refuse the job cause i was sick that was made up if that really happened my work wouldâve called the police)#(and i definitely didnât go to his van with him i love my bf donât get me twisted)#but the rest? kind of spot on#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley blurb#simon riley drabble
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