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myfictionaldreams · 1 year ago

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Day 6: Dry Hump- James Potter

Summary: James Potter was your best friend, and he was unequivocally in love with Lily Evans. However, he has one secret he trusts only with you: he’s never kissed anyone.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, inexperienced James & experienced Reader, friends with benefits vibes, kissing/making out, dry humping, cumming in pants, teasing, nearly caught

Part 2 // Part 3

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James Potter was your best friend. He had many best friends, including the other Marauders and fellow Gryffindors, but he was YOUR best friend and had been since the first year at Hogwarts. James was the one person you always ran to and shared all happy memories with; if you needed cheering up, he’d be the only one who could pull a smile to your lips. It had always been just the two of you until he became infatuated with Lily Evans.

It had been years of hearing about how wonderful Lily was, which you knew anyway as she was your friend. Finally, you convinced her to say yes to one date with James, even though she did wait until everyone was finishing their time at Hogwarts and about to graduate. He’d waited long enough, and you were thrilled to see him getting his dream date.

This was until he casually announced one day, “I’ve never kissed anyone”.

He’d mumbled it to himself under his breath. James had gone from pure exhilarated joy to fear and doubt at the weight he’d put on his shoulders for having to be the perfect date for Lily. You’d taken him to the Shrieking Shack to try and get away from everyone else so that James could blow off some steam, but all he’d done so far was sulk in his armchair and stare into the fire whilst waiting for Sirius and Remus to join after their lesson.

Then, out of the blue, he admitted his secret that he had yet to kiss anyone. A frown dawns on you as you turn away from the book in your hand to inspect the messy-haired Marauder next to you visually. “What?” you asked with a hint of uncertainty as if he was telling the truth, “How have you never kissed anyone before?” Your mind raced to all of the parties in the Gryffindor tower where most people, including yourself, had made out with others, but now that you thought about it, you’d never seen James lip-locked with anyone else.

It was James’ turn to frown as he looked at you blankly, “When would I have had time? I’ve just wanted to be with Lily, and she’s always said no when I’ve asked before. Anyway, I don’t see why you’re saying it in that tone; it’s not like you’ve been kissing loads of people”. You give James a tight-lipped smile to show that he was, in fact, very wrong with that statement. His eyes widen as he realises the truth, “Wait, you have? Since when?”

“James, how can you be shocked? I’ve kissed plenty of people before, especially during those parties with the fire whiskey that Sirius always steals for us. You wander off with the Marauders or fawn over Lily, and what am I supposed to do? Stand on my own? Absolutely not, I go and find some fun”.

Your best friend’s mouth drops open in shock. Still, he quickly covers it up by looking away grumpily, “Great, so I’m the only person in our year who hasn’t kissed anyone, and now, I’m going to take Lily out, and she’s going to refuse to see me again because I don’t know what I’m doing, we’re going to finish school, and I’ll never see her again, and I’ll die alone!”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his over-the-top rant, shutting the book with a loud snap and facing him completely whilst still in your chair. “James, you need to chill out a bit; I’m sure it’ll be fine. Do you really think Lily’s been going around snogging loads of boys? I’m sure she’s just as inexperienced as you”.

James’ shoulders dropped in relief as he turned back towards you with hope in his hazel eyes, “Do you think so?”

Your face immediately gave it away that you’d been lying as you sighed, “Ok, I might have seen her making out with a Ravenclaw a year ago, but still, I wouldn’t worry about it! You’ll be excellent! You’re James Potter, the Gryffindor King, a founding Marauder and Gryffindor Seeker. You can sure as hell make out with Lily Evans correctly”.

The pretty Marauder smiled thankfully at your dramatic declaration, “That’s true, thanks, Sweetheart”. Relaxing back into your seat, the book returned to your hand, assuming the conversation was officially over. However, only a moment later, James is whining pathetically, “But what if I’m not good? What if I hurt her or lick her wrong or-”.

“Lick? Why are you licking her, James? I thought we were on about kissing?”

“We are! But you know, people use tongues and-”

“James, I don’t know what you want me to say; if you’re that petrified with kissing, why don’t we practice a little so you can stop freaking out”. It took you a couple of long seconds before the offer you’d just given him genuinely dawned on you. You weren’t sure why you had said it, expecting him to say no but wishing for him to calm down and thinking this was the only option.

James’ head snapped towards you, giving his full attention as he asked, “Wait, you’d do that?” He pushed himself up off the chair's arms, and his eyes were wide and hopeful again.

Lowering the book, you spoke slowly, “Yeah, sure. I mean, it’s just a kiss, and at least we’re friends, so no feelings have to be involved”.

“Yeah, that's a good point! Okay, right, so, um, how do we do this? Do I come over to you, or do we stand?”

Sighing at James, you stood abruptly, dropping the book and strutting to him with arms swinging. The marauder sits up suddenly, taking his feet off the stool he had been resting on as he stares up at you with wide eyes that you can see the whites of his eyes beneath his glasses. “What are you doing?” He questions uncertainly as you straddle his lap without a word, your knees resting on either side of his toned thighs, your fingers slipping around his neck and interlocking at the base of his skull.

“I’m going to kiss you, James. Is that alright with you?” You didn’t mean to sound sassy as you asked with a single raised questioning eyebrow, but you also needed to make sure that he was happy for this to continue.

Those two wide hazel eyes stared at your lips, licking his own to moisten as he slowly nodded, “Uh yeah, just tell me what to do.” A pang of sympathy rushed through your chest at seeing James becoming nervous, which was not usually a sight that you had to see as he was usually such a confident, happy person. You would have spent some time to explain that it was normal to be nervous during your first kiss, but you didn’t want to allow any more time for him to freak out, so loosening your intern locked fingers, you moved them to cup each of her freshly shaved cheeks and pressed your lips delicately against his. You wanted it to be quick enough that he didn’t even have time to tense, even though he did proceed to lock up as you moved back to assess his reaction.

“See, it’s not so scary. You’re supposed to enjoy this, James”. Thankfully, as your face lowered once more, he forced himself to take a steadying breath and relax the tension in his muscles as your lips caressed his.

They were softer than you’d anticipated, plump and smooth like a pillow and instantly, your eyes and his close. However, James surprised you by moving his first. His hand lifted and rested on your hip so gently that you hardly felt it until he gave your body a little squeeze to test the waters of how much he could get into the moment. So you rewarded him by pressing your face harder against his, lips beginning to move and rubbing against each other on instinct.

James even amazed himself with how naturally and quickly he could make out with you. Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss, nose pressing into his cheek so that you could smell his skin that had remnants of his aftershave, which was always spicy and woodsy. As the air became necessary, you pulled back enough to take deep, greedy breaths, now noticing he was doing the same thing but looking up at you with half-lidded eyes.

“So what did you think-”

James didn’t allow your sentence to finish as his other hand cupped along your jaw, pulling your face closer again until the two of you kissed with much more heat with the movements. His mouth opened wider to match how yours was moving against his; your heartbeat quickened as you leaned further into his tall, warm body, melting into his touch and kiss.

Then you wanted to take a risk and licked his bottom lip, which you were ultimately greeted with a praising deep groan of satisfaction that vibrated James’ entire chest and sent tingles straight to your core.

Ok, wow, you thought as James attempted and succeeded with his own lick back against your tongue; you were definitely getting turned on by this. As if he was reading your mind, James pressed harder on your hips, willing you to move down, which you did, your skirt pushing up on your thighs so that when you sat on his crotch, your panty-covered pussy was flush against the material of his trousers.

As one, the two of you pulled away from each other. Mainly because you were now sitting on his very hard erection and also because he knew you could feel his evidence of being aroused. You both stare at each other with wide, unblinking eyes, lips slightly swollen and the taste of his spit still on your tongue.

However, you didn’t want to stop and awkwardly sit back in your seat, and he wasn’t rushing to push you off, either. You were horny, and so was he. Yes, James Potter was your best friend, but that didn’t have to matter; you just wanted him to enjoy the moment and show that it wasn’t as scary as he thought.

Enough time passed, and if he didn’t want to continue, he would have said something by now, so you took the opportunity to lean back in, your thumb attempting to soothe him, stroking across his cheek in timid circles. As your mouths reconnected, your hips ground down on his crotch. You were hoping that he knew enough about anatomy to tell that the warmth from your pussy was a sign of arousal, wanting him to know you were just as turned on as he was.

You do it a few more times, rubbing back and forth with increasing pressure until James makes a pained noise that has you stopping altogether and checking in on him.

He’s looking everywhere but at you, as he apologises, “Sorry, it’s just these trousers are tight and rubbing me painfully”.

“You could just take them off”, you say once again, not thinking before you speak. James looks at you with dramatically wide eyes as he, too, realised what you’d just said. Quickly, you clarified, “I’m not saying that to have sex or anything; I just mean, we could kinda carry on doing what we are doing, but if your trousers are hurting, then just in your boxers”.

You’re surprised by his automatic response of a nod, yes, his arousal blocking all thoughts of Lily as he begins to undo his belt easily. Rising onto your knees to give him room, he pushed the offending material until his thighs were bare and his plaid boxers were on display, barely containing his length. Not wanting him to feel exposed, you lowered yourself once more, and both groaned at the contact, yours at a higher pitch as you could feel the entire outline of his cock against your cunt.

James was bigger than you’d thought and was currently pointing down his left thigh, so you angled your hips in this direction. Tilting your hips forward slightly, your clit grazed along his shaft, causing a hitch in your breath as it caused pleasure to pool in your abdomen, moisture slickening your hole with each movement.

You’re breathing just as heavily as he is, lips still moving against each other, exploring, tasting, needing more. You were kind of proud of him when he moved his face down your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses and causing more pleasure to pulse through you. You were half tempted to rise onto your knees again to show him the evidence of your arousal that had soaked through your panties and onto his boxers, but you didn’t want it to stop.

As your fingers delved into his messy black hair to hold his face closer, he thrust his hips up against yours to add to his stimulation. He was still apprehensive, so he didn’t push too hard, but he rocked back and forth until his tip was pressed against your clothed folds. The muscular thighs beneath yours tensed with each thrust, the muscles defined from all his years of playing quidditch.

His hands remained in place, one on the opposite side of your jaw to where his mouth still kissed, and the other hand helped to move your hips back and forth in time with his own ruts. You’d never actually gotten off like this with anyone before. Usually, underwear would be removed at this point, and more direct contact could occur, but it was still exciting to have some barriers between you. The lace of your underwear was quite rough against your most sensitive area, especially your engorged throbbing clit. You were sure to be sore afterwards, especially with the amount of pressure you were rubbing against each other; with each passing second, the need to find completion made you both desperate.

As his lips found yours again, his tongue began to delve and explore the hollow of your mouth, along your palate and even over your teeth; your pussy began to clench, fire blooming in your core with the impending release.

Pulling back, your fingers moved to rest on his shoulders to hold on tighter as you quickly moaned, “Please don’t stop; I’m going to cum”.

James moaned huskily, out of breath, but both of his hands were now on your hips, moving both his hips and yours faster to find his orgasm. Resting your forehead on his, you both shared the same area, still tasting the other in your mouths, sweat beginning to coat your faces. You were sure you could feel his own wet patch against your arse cheek from where precum was dribbling from his tip and staining his underwear.

“Ah, fuck- James!” your head tilts back as you finally orgasm, thighs shaking and pussy fluttering around nothing. However, just as you were beginning to come down from your pleasurable high, James suddenly grabbed you painfully, both arms wrapping around your waist as he sat up further on the chair, nearly knocking you off of him if it wasn't for his grip around your midsection. Reassuringly your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his face nuzzled into your chest, his body shivering as thick spurts of cum soaked his boxers.

His moans were like music to your ears and sounded slightly pathetic, making you cling to him more, attempting to run your fingers through his hair to calm the crazy style, but to no avail. Your pussy felt like it was on fire due to the rough stimulation and the untouched orgasm, but it felt so good you savoured the sensation for a few minutes whilst trying to catch your breath.

“There you go, Potter. Not only have you kissed a girl for the first time, but you’ve also made her cum”.

James laughs, loosening his grip slightly to look up at you, but then you both hear the worst noise imaginable: voices from a few floors below, especially those of Sirius and Remus. You scrambled to your feet, straightening your clothes and sitting back in your chair, picking up the book and opening it to a random page as James pulled up his trousers, both of you ignoring the bodily juices completely.

James just about had his feet back on the footstool before Sirius and Remus walked in, but both immediately halted and looked between you and James. It was Sirius who spoke first, eyes squinting in accusation, “Why do you both look so guilty right now? What did you do?”

#james potter #james potter smut #james potter x reader #james potter one shot #harry potter smut #harry potter #mine*#kinktober #kinktober 2023

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girlgenius1111 · 5 months ago

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casts, broken arms, & snuggles

alexia putellas x reader - part of the mila verse :)

an accident at the park pulls alexia from training and to the hospital, where she finds both her girls not doing their best. everyone is very overwhelmed with their feelings, and maybe don't handle it the way they should. basically, protective panicked alexia and insecure reader. a bit of angst / injuries / concussions symptoms, mostly fluff.

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You knew Alexia would panic. There wasn’t much you could do about that. Especially not when the only way you had to reach her was through the staff. It was somewhat of a bad omen within the team, having a staff member walk outside with a phone call for you. It only happened in an emergency, and unfortunately, this definitely counted as an emergency. When one of the assistant coaches, Xavi, answered the phone, he seemed to be on the same page as you.

“Try to act calm, otherwise she’ll just freak out.”

“I am not sure there is much I can do to avoid her having a nervous breakdown.” Xavi stated. You heard him call Alexia over, and tried to shush the very upset almost 3 year old in your arms.

“Amor, what is wrong?”Alexia asked, practically tearing the phone out of Xavi’s hand as soon as she heard who was calling.

“Everything is fine, okay? There was just a little accident.” You began, speaking in a soothing, calming tone, the same one you’d been using on the baby.

“What kind of accident?”

“Meels fell at the park-”

“¡AY DIOS MIO!” Alexia shouted. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“Ale, breathe. She fell off the slide and I think her arm might be broken. She won’t let me touch it and she hasn’t stopped crying.”

“Broken?!” Alexia squeaked.

“Ow.” Mila whimpered, frowning unhappily at her arm from where she sat in your lap. “Hurts, Mama.”

“I know, baby.” You told her. “Ale, the ambulance is here to take us to the hospital do you-”

“What were you doing? Were you not watching her? Why weren't you watching her, why did she fall?” Alexia snapped.

You bit back the retort you had ready, knowing this was just a result of her fear for Mila. You weren’t happy with what she’d said, but that could be dealt with later. “We’re leaving now for the hospital. Meet us there.” You said coldly, before hanging up the phone without saying anything else. Alright, you were pretty upset, and you let it show. You had already been beating yourself up for what had happened, thinking the things that Alexia had said.

As you and Mila got loaded into the ambulance, you realized you hadn’t mentioned something important to your wife. No doubt, she was hauling ass to the hospital, so she’d find out soon enough.

-------

Alexia burst into the room in a flutter of chaos, throwing the curtain aside and looking around frantically. Mila was sitting in your lap, holding her arm awkwardly away from her body, while you ran your fingers through her wavy brown hair and tried to keep her calm. Both of you looked at Alexia when she walked in, her panic clear on her face. She was sweaty, still in her training kit, and her eyes were only on her daughter.

“Mila, mi bebé,” she said gently, moving closer to the bed.

“Mami!” Mila cried, a pout on her small face, holding her arm out for Alexia to see. She squirmed in your lap, trying to get closer to your wife, but you both made sure she stayed carefully where she was.

“Pobrecita,” Alexia murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed and pressing repeated kisses to her baby’s head. She stared hard at Mila’s already swollen arm, trying to stifle her own tears. You weren’t pleased with Alexia, but you weren’t particularly upset that she hadn’t even glanced at you, her attention fully on Mila. “What happened?”

Mila’s voice wobbled as she began to talk, reaching out with her good hand to grip onto a few of Alexia’s fingers.. “Fell! Off the slide. Mama tried to catch me, but now she has an ouchie too.”

Alexia’s eyes flew to you, seeing for the first time the towel and large ice pack pressed to the back of your head. Her heart sank. She knew before that she would have to apologize for what she had said, and now she knew she’d have to do even more groveling. Especially if the hurt look on your face was any indication.

“Amor,” she sighed, reaching for your hand. You pulled it away, refusing to make eye contact with her.

“I’m fine.” You dismissed. “Mila’s got a basic fracture, just a month or so in a cast to fix it. They’ll be in to put it on soon.”

“Mama needs stitches.” Mila whispered conspiratorially to her Mami.

Alexia’s face grew, somehow, even more upset. “What happened, mi amor?”

Still avoiding her eyes, you spoke quietly. “I was going to catch her at the bottom of the slide, but she stood up at the top and fell off the side.”

“And your head?” Alexia asked, leaning closer to try and inspect your injury. Mila looked up at you with concern, her expression matching her Mami’s almost exactly. Where Alexia’s fingers were gentle as they cradled your head, Mila’s were clumsy and clunky as she tried to run her fingers through your hair. It was something you did to make her feel better, and she thought that maybe it would make your frown go away, too.

“I tried to catch her in time, but I slipped and hit my head on the edge of the slide. And I didn’t really catch her.” You admitted, slightly embarrassed at that fact. Alexia would have caught Mila, you were sure.

“It’s okay, Mama, you tried your best!” Mila said encouragingly, parroting back something you and Alexia must have told her a hundred times. Her arm temporarily forgotten, Mila shifted so she could lean up and press a kiss to your cheek, before she snuggled closer to your chest.

Your wife’s eyes were stuck on your daughter, practically turning into hearts as she took in how sweet and caring her baby was. You couldn’t blame her; you felt the same. That you had created such a perfect little person would never cease to amaze you.

“Thank you, my baby.” You mumbled, wincing slightly as you shifted, trying to keep Mila’s arm in a safe position. Every movement of your upper body sent waves of pain through your head, but you didn’t want Mila to know how upset you were.

“Mi amor, I-”

Whatever Alexia was about to say was cut off completely as the doctor entered the room, introducing herself to your wife, and beginning to talk Mila through the process of getting the cast put on. There were some tears, wiped away quickly by her Mami, as they began to wrap up her arm.

Once the nurses had taken over, and began adding the colored plaster to the cast, and Mila was suitably distracted, the doctor regarded you.

“Alright, let’s get that head wound taken care of.” She said kindly, motioning you over to a chair in the corner of the room. She stood by your head, beginning to clean the wound and prepare to stitch it up.

You shut your eyes tightly, trying to keep your wincing to a minimum. Alexia watched on worriedly from her spot next to Mila, knowing how much you hated needles. The midfielder so wanted to comfort you through this, but she also didn’t want to leave Mila alone if she was still upset. So, she did what you’d spent many years helping her do, and communicated.

“Milabear? Can I go hold your Mama’s hand while she gets her stitches?” She whispered, heart melting at how Mila looked over at you, and nodded enthusiastically.

“Go help Mama.” She said bravely, feeling much better now that she had her red cast on her arm, and that the nurse had given her some goldfish. Mila munched away happily, her eyes trained on the TV hanging on the wall, and Alexia had never been more grateful for having such an independent and resilient child than she was in that moment.

Your eyes were still shut, a few tears escaping as you tried very hard to act like the adult you were. You startled a bit when Alexia crouched in front of you and took your hand. Opening your eyes, you tried to breathe deeply, feeling the doctor begin to thread the needle through the skin of your scalp. A small, rather pathetic whimper fell from your lips, and Alexia brought your hand to her lips, pressing kisses to the back of it. Her adoring gaze only made more tears fall, and you felt completely ridiculous.

“You are okay, amor. It will be over soon.”

Every tear that fell was gently swiped away by your wife. The doctor worked as carefully as she could, but there were still tugs on your skin that had shivers running down your spine, and your stomach churning. There was only so much Alexia could do to help, but luckily, it wasn’t a very large wound, and the doctor was done within a few minutes, cutting the excess thread and reaching for a white bandage. She wrapped that around your head, holding a piece of gauze in place, which really felt like overkill.

“Okay, done.” The doctor announced, removing her gloves and stepping away from your chair. Alexia’s earlier words forgotten, you stood shakily to your feet, allowing yourself to fall into your wife’s open arms.

“You did so good.” She whispered, smiling despite herself at the bandage wrapped around your head. You looked adorable, frowning up at her with tears in your eyes, looking somewhat like a disgruntled mummy.

“Mama?” Mila called from her spot on the bed.

You wiped at your eyes quickly, plastering a smile on your face as you walked over to your daughter. “Hi Meels.”

“All better, Mama?” She asked, reaching both of her arms out for you to pick her up, which you did easily.

“All better.” You confirmed, holding her as close as you could.

“Almost all better.” The doctor smiled, turning to your wife. “She has a mild concussion with the impact on the ground, so she’s going to need to take it easy for a few days. I am assuming you know concussion protocol, Ms. Putellas?”

“Yes, yes of course.” Alexia said, her eyes squinting with concern as she studied you. “I will take good care of her.”

“Me too!” Mila added, squirming in your hold until she could loop her arms around Alexia’s neck and shift over into her arms.

Your wife very hesitantly pulled you into her as the doctor left the room. You tilted your head to make eye contact with her, still with a small frown on your face. It was clear that you were still upset with your wife, but the determination in her eyes told you she’d do anything to fix it.

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Apparently, anything consisted of making you sit on the couch next to Mila, holding an ice pack to your head, and not daring to move. Your wife went from room to room, collecting anything she had determined you or Mila might need. It was endearing, but also somewhat frustrating when she’d appear to hand you something, and go flitting off before you could just ask her for what you really wanted: for her to sit on the couch with the two of you, and relax.

Stressed Alexia made you stressed, but you knew this was just how she was coping with what had happened today. Alexia always held a lot of guilt for the little moments she missed while at work; any milestone that Mila achieved while Alexia wasn’t around was downright painful for your wife. She was a protective person, and you knew she was even more bothered because both you and Mila were hurt, and she hadn’t been there to help either of you.

You and Mila sat side by side, heads moving back and forth like you were watching a tennis match. In fact, you were just watching Alexia disappear and reappear with Mila’s favorite toy, a blanket, your favorite sweatshirt, a snack, some water, more ice, more painkillers and 6 different pillows for Mila to rest her cast on. You were exhausted just watching her.

She appeared back in the living room like a ghost the minute you stood up, her hands grabbing onto your shoulders and gently pushing you back down onto the couch.

“Ale, just let me-”

“No! Sit.” Alexia insisted, ignoring the small giggle from her daughter.

You rolled your eyes, shrugging out from under her grip and standing anyway. “Alexia, I have to go to the bathroom. You can’t do that for me.”

Alexia had the decency to blush, at least. “Okay. I’ll walk you there.” She decided, grabbing your hand and beginning to escort you to the bathroom. Honestly.

Always her mother’s shadow, Mila got up too, and grabbed your other hand. “Mami I can-”

“No. Sit!” Alexia repeated, though with a small smile as she regarded her daughter. “Mila, you stay there. I can take care of everything.”

“But Mami-”

“No! I can help Mama, you need to rest.” Your wife said, ignoring the amused look you were giving her, too focused on the attitude suddenly radiating off your daughter.

“Mami. I have to go potty too.” Mila said exasperatedly. Ale blushed further, nodding as she allowed Mila to accompany you both towards the bathroom. You turned your snort of laughter into a fake cough, knowing that Alexia could be sensitive to being teased about her over protectiveness. And, well… it seemed Mila was holding her own in showing her Mami how ridiculous she was being.

Once you’d arrived at the bathroom door, which took significantly longer than was necessary due to your wife and her mini-me insisting on walking slowly so as to not aggravate your head wound. You indulged them, only putting your foot down when both of them began to follow you into the bathroom.

“No. Enough. I can do this myself.” You sighed, looking between both Alexia and Mila’s skeptical expressions.

“But what if-”

“Mama, I can-”

You interrupted both of them by shutting the door and letting out a deep sigh. If you didn’t have a scar across your abdomen that told you that you’d birthed Mila, you’d be sure she was Alexia’s genetic clone.

------

The rest of the night consisted of overwhelming amounts of hovering, from your wife and daughter both. Alexia took turns fussing over you, and fussing over Mila, until you were sure you were going to make her sleep on the couch or something, before she suggested waking you up every 20 minutes and performing a cognitive test.

Alexia had just barely put Mila down in her toddler bed when she heard you call for her. There was urgency in your voice, but it was still obvious that you were trying to keep your voice down for Mila’s benefit. It had been hard enough to get the toddler to sleep; she had become suddenly very tearful once it was time for bed, because her favorite pajama shirt didn’t fit over her cast. It had taken one of Alexia’s t-shirts, around 45 minutes of cuddles, and 4 different stories, for her to finally settle.

“Alexia,” you whisper yelled, shutting your eyes as the dizziness got worse. You heard Alexia rush down the hall towards you and willed yourself to hold on just a moment longer.

Alexia ran into the room, seeing you with your head in your hands, sitting up in the bed. “What is it, amor?”

“I’m gonna be sick,” you managed, pressing a hand to your mouth as Alexia sprung into action.

“Okay, okay, just hold on one second.”

Just in time, Alexia thrust the bedroom trash can in front of you. You were sick, retching into the trash can uncomfortably. Your wife pulled your hair back, being careful to not jostle the skin around your stitches, tying it into a very loose bun. She rubbed your back soothingly, pressing kisses into the side of your head until you were done.

“Oh, amor, I am so sorry.” She murmured, taking the trash can from you once you were done. She was going to take it out of the room, but then she noticed the tears in your eyes, and decided that could wait until later.

You curled into her when she sat by your legs and pulled you into her arms. Within a second, you were sobbing brokenly into her shirt, incapable of resisting how comforted you felt when she held you.

Alexia whispered soft reassurances into your hair, beginning to think you were upset about more than just feeling so unwell. “Amor, is it your head? Or something else?”

You shook your head weakly into her chest, sucking in a few breaths before you tried to respond. “Meels broke her arm and it’s all my fault.” You said miserably.

“No no no, do not say that. It was not your fault, you did the best you could.” Alexia rushed to make you feel better, but that’s all it felt like; something she was saying just to make you feel better.

“You would have caught her.”

Alexia’s chest squeezed uncomfortably, knowing that she was partially at fault for how guilty you felt right now. Even if what she’d said had been in the heat of the moment, and it was just a reflection of how upset she was, of course you’d taken it to heart.

“It was an accident, mi amor. It is no one’s fault. Sometimes kids fall, sometimes they get hurt. It happens.”

“But Ale, it wouldn’t have happened if you had been with her. You’re just… so much better at this than I am.” You mumbled, refusing to untuck your face from Alexia’s shirt, even as she tried to get you to.

“That is so not true.” Alexia insisted. “You cracked your head open trying to make sure Mila didn’t get hurt. That is not something a bad mother does.”

You ignored her logic, wiping a tear away with that back of your hand. “You were right earlier. I should have been watching closer.”

Alexia shook her head again. “No. I was-“

“You blamed me then, what’s changed?” You snapped, not quite sure where all of these negative emotions were coming from, or why your mood was changing at the drop of a hat. Sad and guilty one second, angry the next. It wasn’t fair to Alexia, who was just trying to make you feel better, but there wasn’t any room for rationality in your jumbled head.

Luckily, your wife didn’t seem to take your words or your tone personally. Instead, she tucked a piece of hair back behind your ear and softly kissed your forehead, showing more patience than you were sure you deserved.

“I don’t blame you. I was terrified earlier, but that is no excuse. This was not your fault and I’m sorry I made you feel like it was. So sorry, amor.” Her voice was sweet and you could feel how sincere she was, just from the way her hand gently cradled your cheek.

Nodding shakily, you took a deep breath, suddenly feeling more than a little exhausted. “I’m sorry, Ale, I just-”

Alexia cut you off, though, placing her index finger over your lips. She looked stern again, like she had before when she was making sure you stayed on the couch and didn’t move. “It’s okay. No apologies. You are overwhelmed and hurt and exhausted. You need rest, we can talk about this more tomorrow if we need to.”

You nodded your agreement, shifting uncomfortably as you glared down at your pillows. Your head absolutely throbbed, and you hadn’t even tried to rest it on the pillow yet.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna sleep.” You mumbled, brow furrowing in confusion when Alexia smiled cheekily at you.

“I do!” She said enthusiastically, quickly tucking herself under the covers and pulling you to lay on her chest. Your head was completely safe from any contact with anything, and you found so much peace in the steady thump of Alexia’s heartbeat in your ear.

She was a miracle worker, Alexia. Just when you thought you were going to explode with the amount of thoughts swirling around in your head, she quieted your brain with a few words and a few kisses.

Unfortunately, as comfortable as you were, sleep did not seem to be in the cards for either of you. At least, not yet. No sooner than your eyes had fallen shut, and Alexia had settled comfortably into the pillows did you both hear the creak of Mila’s door opening.

You exchanged a glance with your wife, keeping completely silent, knowing that sometimes Mila would come check on you both during the night, before heading back to her room. You heard her little steps padding down the hall, a small gasp, and then a loud thump.

Alexia was out of bed before Mila could even cry out. “Stay there!” She threw over her shoulder, causing you to sit back down on the bed with a grumble. You were glad Alexia hadn’t turned the light off earlier, as she sprinted carelessly out of the room towards your daughter.

“Mama!” Mila sobbed, her little voice breaking your heart. She wanted you, and it took everything in you to not go to her in that moment, knowing that Alexia would bring her to you.

“It’s okay, cariño, I’m here.” Alexia soothed, Mila’s cries becoming muffled by her Mami’s shirt.

Still, you could make out her next words very clearly. “I want Mama,” Mila demanded.

Alexia just shushed her, a few seconds passing before they both appeared in the doorway. Mila’s face was red and stained with tears, her cast cradled to her chest. She reached for you as soon as she saw you, and Alexia wasted no time in bringing her over.

“Careful, Milabear,” she reminded softly, handing the toddler over to you. Mila curled up against your chest, and you rubbed her back soothingly, exchanging a worried glance with your wife.

Mila was a rough and tumble kid; she fell often, and really only cried if she was actually hurt. Sometimes, not even then. She was like her Mami in that way, so her inconsolable tears now terrified you.

“I think she tripped over my shirt.” Alexia murmured, running her hands through her daughter’s hair. Dressed in one of Alexia’s old warm up shirts, Mila surely had tripped over the hem of it. You could see this information really sinking into your wife’s head, as she began to gnaw on her bottom lip, worry and guilt clouding her face.

“Baby, did you trip?” You asked, easing Mila away from your body so you could get a good look at her face. She nodded, looking between you and your wife, her bottom lip jutting out adorably.

“Woke up and my arm hurt, and I wanted to sleep in here but I couldn’t see and I fell.” Mila said. “Mama’s shirt is too big.” She continued forlornly, as if just now realizing this piece of information.

Alexia looked truly distressed, opening her mouth to apologize for allowing Mila to sleep in her shirt, even though you knew the toddler had cried and cried until Alexia had finally given in to what she wanted, if only so she could sleep. You spoke before Alexia could, though, pushing a lock of hair out of your baby’s face.

“Did you bump your arm when you fell?” You asked. Mila nodded, sniffling sadly. “Does it hurt a lot more or just a little bit more?”

“A lot at first. Just a little bit now.” Mila said bravely, peeking at her Mami out of the corner of her eye. She loved to act tough, your little girl, but she was only three, and broken bones hurt.

Alexia still hovered on your side of the bed, looking like she wanted to cry.

“Alright, Mami will go get you some ice, and you can sleep in here with us tonight. Deal?”

Mila nodded, flopping forward again to rest on your chest. The fact that her mood didn’t even really lift when you told her she could sleep with the two of you told you that she was really hurting.

Without a word, only a soft kiss placed on Mila’s forehead, Alexia headed for the freezer. She walked calmly out of the room, but both you and Mila heard the unmistakable sound of her running her way to the kitchen, and running back.

“Mami’s running.” Mila said, a small smile adorning her face. You laughed quietly, doing your best to keep your smile in check as Alexia slowed to a walk just before walking through the bedroom door, acting as though she’d walked the whole way.

The blonde had returned with the biggest ice pack you had, the one that she’d used on her knee. She wrapped it meticulously around Mila’s arm, handed her a small sippy cup [of what looked suspiciously like juice, even though Mila was only supposed to have water this late at night], and some children’s pain medicine.

It was only when Alexia slipped back into bed that she spoke, addressing her daughter with a deep sadness in her voice. “I’m sorry about your shirt, cariño, I shouldn’t have let you wear it.”

Mila gave her a strange look, scooting out of your lap to lay directly on top of your wife. Her little fingers grabbed onto her Mami’s shirt, even the one’s restrained by her cast twisting into the fabric. “It’s okay, Mami. Was an accident.”

You smiled at your girls, watching Alexia’s face melt from guilt into adoration as she leaned down to kiss all over Mila’s face. Your daughter giggled, and your heart soared at the sound, more than happy that she had stopped crying and cheered up.

Mila settled back down against her Mami, reaching one hand out to latch onto your shirt and attempt to pull you closer. “Mama, closer.” She complained, huffing when you didn’t budge.

Alexia frowned, worried you would put yourself into an uncomfortable position with your head in order to make Mila happy, but luckily, your daughter seemed to have the same thought.

“Not on your back Mama! You gotta lay on your front. Here, lay on Mami.” Mila offered, whacking Alexia in the face with her cast as she struggled to move over. You snorted at the disgruntled look on your wife’s face, ignoring the fake glare she sent back your way.

It took some maneuvering from everyone involved before Mila was curled up against one side of Alexia’s chest, and you were resting with your cheek pressed into on the other side. Only once you and Mila were both comfy did Alexia kiss Mila on the forehead, and you chastly on the lips.

And it was only when Mila had drifted off, soft puffs of air leaving her as she gripped onto both you and your wife, that you relaxed. Alexia gave you a knowing smile, well aware that your daughter's insistence that you hold her when she’d gotten hurt, and that you be included in the bedtime snuggles, had put to rest your worries that you’d failed her today.

It all evened out, in parenthood. You couldn’t forget that. Tomorrow, when Alexia would turn away for a split second too long during breakfast and Mila would end up with syrup in her hair, you’d be even more sure of that. Mistakes didn’t change how much you or Alexia loved Mila, or how much she loved both of you.

Mila didn’t keep score. She just loved you both, and that was that.

-----

this has been in my drafts for genuienly several months so i apologize if it doesn't feel very cohesive. hope you enjoy anyway 🙂🫶🏻 thanks for reading 🫡🥰

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

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luveline · 10 months ago

Note

i think it would be adorable seeing a conversation of spencer freaking out about pregnant!bombshell and hotch just calmly telling him all about different ways to help and them talking about new dad fears :((

pregnant!reader, 1k (sorry it was more about the pregnant part than the new dad fears!)

Hotch doesn’t know what Spencer’s going to say when he knocks, but he ushers him inside his office regardless. He has the appearance of someone with grief to share; Hotch immediately starts to think of the people he and Spencer have in common.

“I need your advice,” Spencer says desperately.

Hotch puts his pen in its holder. “Of course.”

“She won’t sit down.”

Hotch lets himself relax. “Ah.”

“She’s acting like she isn’t pregnant at all. I want her to be happy, but she keeps running up the stairs. What if she falls?”

“Y/N has very likely thought of that possibility already.”

“Then why doesn’t she stop?”

Hotch chews his cheek for a moment. “Spencer, sit down.”

The chair squeaks as Spencer sits, scrubbing at his face roughly.

Hotch has watched Spencer grow up, in a way, moving from twenty three to thirty quick as blinking, and he’s watched him fall in love with you, and now he gets to watch Spencer have daily conniptions over your apparent lack of self-preservation. He’s enjoyed it, genuinely, and he doesn’t mind offering some wisdom now as a partner who’s made enough mistakes to know better.

“Spencer, you can’t make her sit down if she doesn’t want to. And she’s four months pregnant. Pretty soon, she’ll have no choice but to sit down. It’s best if you let her stay active as long as she can, so she stays as healthy as she can.” He leans back in his chair. The smirk is unbidden, but he can’t help it. “But you know this.”

“Her ligaments are weakening, because of the baby. The pregnancy. It’s about to get much more painful for her,” Spencer says.

“So?” Hotch prods gently.

Spencer nods. Glances out the window down into the bullpen, before dragging his chair closer to the desk. “Hotch, it’s like she’s two different people. Or three. There’s the crying one, and the happy one, and the…”

“The hates you one?” he offers.

“Yes. Which is luckily quite rare, but terrifying.”

“Just hormones, Spence.”

Spencer breathes out. Hotch can’t help the immeasurable wave of fondness he’s feeling for his colleague. He genuinely wants to round the desk and pat Spencer on the back. This is all a learning curve, a way of life. Partners have been wrestling with their scary pregnant wives for long before he and Spencer came around.

“The happy one is worth it, though,” Hotch guesses. He had some lovely days with Hayley.

“You know what she’s like,” Spencer says.

Hotch can imagine. Before your pregnancy, you adored Spencer. You’ve doted on him since you met him, and if the glimpses Hotch has seen of you these last few months are any indication, you are immovably in love. Yesterday, you brushed the sesame seeds off of Spencer’s sandwich one by one because he doesn’t like them. The day before, you’d pushed your chair next to his and drawn circles into his arm the entire workday (while, impressively, still managing to finish your assigned consults).

“There’s a common theme, I think, when she’s angry. She’s usually uncomfortable. I’ve started to go through a checklist,” Spencer says. He sounds guilty.

“I think it’s a good idea. I noticed you’ve been keeping candy in your bag.” Hotch laughs. Spencer joins in.

“Just the essentials.”

Hotch doesn’t doubt that you’re on every prenatal vitamin you could ever need, that Spencer has researched pregnancy from the latest journals to the very rarest myths. He has no doubt that you’re well taken care of. You’re going to be fine. Spencer has no need to worry about you. Hotch might have cause to worry about Spencer, though.

“Reid, I’ll tell you a secret. It might not work for you, but it worked for me.”

Spencer holds his hands together. “What is it?”

“The next time you want her to slow down,” —Hotch lays it out carefully, without judgement for you or any private teasing, just genuine care for the both of you— “you can distract her with the baby.”

“I’ve tried that,” Spencer says. “She tells me I’m worrying.”

“Not about the baby’s health. If she thinks everything is alright, it likely is. I mean about the future.” Spencer doesn’t seem to understand. Hotch searches for an example. “Baby shoes, clothes. I once calmed Hayley down from an hours-long meltdown by telling her I thought Jack would have her eyes.”

“That works?”

“It’s probably much nicer for her to have you encouraging positive thoughts than negative,” he says gently.

“I guess I worry too much.”

“Not too much, Reid. I’m just telling you what worked for me. When it’s over, you’ll miss it. A few years later.”

They smile. Hotch watches with a distinct fatherly pride as Spencer retreats down into the bullpen where you stand talking animatedly to Anderson. You’ve been on your feet all day, in kitten heels no less, and you look tired but not unhappy.

Spencer joins you for a while. You show no signs of moving. Hotch figures he’ll give Spencer time to act on his advice and goes back to his paperwork, losing track of time, ignoring the beep of his watch that signals lunch time.

He finishes his paperwork a little while after.

“I wonder what she'll have,” he hears Spencer saying.

“She’ll have my hands,” you insist suddenly, your voice floating up the steps. You’ve always had one of those tones that attracts attention, even when you aren’t shouting. “Don’t girls often get their mom’s hands? And their dad’s noses?”

He’s expecting Spencer to cite an article on genetic lottery, but he doesn’t. He sounds the polar opposite of how he’d panicked in Hotch’s office. “I think so. I got my mom’s hands, too. She had short nail beds.” A pause. Hotch glances out the window to find you sitting in Spencer’s chair, a sandwich laid out in two halves on a napkin, a tray of vegetable batons in your hands where they rest on your bump. “I hope she has your everything.”

You lift your chin. Spencer taps your noses together.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks hopefully.

“Yes, please. Anything you’re having.”

Hotch isn’t smug, exactly, but he is admittedly very pleased at the outcome of his advice.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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leviathanspain · 1 year ago

Note

Hello!! Would you be able to write a request for finnick? Just like he’s the capitols darling, reader is the capitals hound dog. Known to be fiercely protective and exceptionally violent and brutal. During the third quarter quell, katniss’ group is afraid of reader because they haven’t seen her all match, but they run into her and she defends them brutally against something? Sorry I know it’s specific:) love your writing!

my body is a cage

finnick odair x reader

synopsis: his focus was protecting katniss, but he sleeps with an eye open as long as you’re still out there..

a/n: i made some changes, jus go with it lmao

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“she’s still out there, katniss.” finnick had made this pointedly to katniss, who wanted to go out hunting for the remaining victors with johanna. you were shrouded in mystery, out of all the victors, finnick knew the least about you.

“where would she be?” peeta looked at finnick, who sighed, shrugging, “the arena is different than the arena she won in, i assume somewhere low to the ground-“ finnick sweeped the beach, eye catching on a rustle in the bush, straight across from them, “and close.” he remembered now how you had won your games.

you had tracked all the tributes like prey, manipulating their surroundings to kill them, it had been one of the most invigorating games for the capitol ever. “she’s a bloodhound, probably sniffed us out before we realized.”

johanna watched the area that finnick had saw you, but still offered her commentary, “she’s brutal, katniss.”

katniss looked at them all, surrounded by skilled people yet found herself doubting their abilities, especially her own. none of them were sure they’d win, not against her.

“the careers are the least of our worries with her out there.” peeta noted. finnick looked at him and shrugged, “she might just kill them herself.”

they knew getting back on the island was a bad idea. katniss ducked at the sound of a mysterious voice, feeling as something flew past her head, stabbing cashmere right in the chest.

“get up.” katniss looked up to see you, standing over her. you had an array of weapons on you, and you were reaching for another one. katniss felt the panic in her throat until you launched it at enobaria, who had thrown herself at katniss. “get up!” your voice sounded more frantic and katniss did, struggling from keeping her eyes off of you.

suddenly the island began to spin.

your grip was loosening, and you groaned with slight fear as you felt the cold water thundering against your feet. katniss reached out for you, “grab my hand!” she screamed, but the water trashing drowned her out.

you could see her hand amidst all the water and grabbed it tightly, closing your eyes as the island slowed to a stop.

you sat on the beach, alone as the others argued over you. katniss had defended you, deciding she wanted you as an ally. but finnick and johanna deemed it too risky, “she could kill us all in our sleep, then what?” johanna had made that point as one of your methods, and you inhaled sharply.

finnick glanced at you, noticing the solemn expression on your face. he had known that expression far too many times, and it made him change his mind.

“johanna.” finnick called her name and sighed, “she saved her life. that’s not something we can just ignore, we don’t even know her.”

there was silence between them all, katniss had looked to johanna, watching as she fought internally before giving in. “i’ll go get her, maybe threaten a little.” she stood up, taking her axe with her.

finnick looked to katniss as johanna left, “i’ll keep an eye on her. for you.” he knew that once katniss settled on allies, she settled. her choices weren’t always the best, but somehow it would work itself out.

“why did you save her?” finnick had taken the first watch with you. johanna had convinced him, as just having you as watch would be ‘asking for it’.

you shrugged, “why not.” there hadn’t been much decision making on the island. it was either her or cashmere, and you didn’t see much of a choice.

finnick looked at you, “i don’t believe that.” his eyes slid themselves back to stare at the beach and you scoffed, “and why is that?”

finnick shrugged, “no one would just randomly save someone without an ulterior motive.” he said it like a fact and you smirked, “do you have one?”

“have one what?” he looked confused, obvious by the furrow in his brow.

“do you have an ulterior motive?” you repeated the full length question and watched as finnick practically whipped his head around.

“no.” he stated plainly, and you rolled your eyes, “i saw you saved katniss, similiar to how i did. you and johanna can’t just be doing this,” you glanced back to katniss and peeta sleeping, “for nothing. whatever it is, finnick, is an ulterior motive.” finnick pursed his lips, almost as if he couldn’t believe it.

“i’ll let you have yours if you let me have mine.” you finished, catching his gaze. finnick knew there were layers to you. you were different than most victors, your brutality is what made you like the rest of them, the willingness to kill. but you were turning out to be way more than what meets the eye. whatever your motive was, finnick sensed it wasn’t malice.

finnick settled to watch the sun rise upon your face, ending the conversation with a nod.

finnick watched as you sat by the beach. it had been post jabberjays, you, him and katniss had all been trapped with the birds, fluttering and screaming your names. now it seemed, like you had decided to decompress by the beach, just as he was going to.

he piled up next to you, close but far enough to give you a good amount of space.

it was then that finnick realized you had been crying, tears evident on your cheeks. he had heard katniss yell her sister’s name, and he had heard annie. you had just screamed in response, as if you were trying to drown out the birds with your own voice.

“i’m sorry.” you apologized to finnick, wiping your eyes as he settled down. you sniffled, watching as the waves moved.

“don’t apologize, there’s no need.” finnick spoke, “who did you hear?”

there was silence for a moment, until you spoke, “my best friend.” your mind shuddered back the sound of his screams and you laughed, painfully. “he’s been dead for years. i killed him.” you admitted, “he died because of a mistake i had made during the games.”

your mind flashed back to the games, where you had accidentally launched a knife to his chest, thinking it had been another tribute.

“he had spent all of his games searching for me. and once he found me, i had killed him.” it was cruel for him to be your district partner, for only one would survive, but you “never thought it would be me.” you glanced at finnick, who had been listening.

“it was supposed to be him.” you cried, “i killed everyone else to get to him, and when it was down to four, was when he came to get me.” you shook your head, “there is nothing in this world that i loved more than him, finnick. now that he’s gone, there’s nothing left for me.”

finnick shook his head, “stop. you know that’s not true.” he tried to comfort you, your words mirroring his own thoughts.

“that’s my motive, finnick.” you revealed, “my body is a cage, and i can’t stand to live in it much longer.”

johanna had woken up abruptly. she clutched onto her weapon, eyes glancing around before she settled on the two figures on the beach. she squinted and made out finnick’s hair, and you. the only two missing from the group. you had your head leaned on finnick’s shoulder, as the two of you watched the rising sun.

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair angst #finnick odair smut #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x female!reader #thg #thg fanfiction #thg imagines #thg finnick odair #finnick odair oneshots #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick imagine #hunger games finnick #finnick odair

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aurorawritestoescape · 1 month ago

Text

HARDER THAN YOU THINK

Boss!Joel Miller x f!reader || 4,7k

Written together with @milla-frenchy

Summary: It’s your first day at work and you feel nervous. But what can go wrong if your boss is your dad’s best friend, a person you’ve known and trusted for years?

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, NON CON, Dbf!Joel, boss!Joel, dark!Joel, power imbalance, blackmail, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), oral (f), pussy slapping, use of a sex toy, degradation, unprotected piv, gangbang, creampies. Reader wears a skirt.

A/n: @milla-frenchy and I wrote this story for @romanarose ‘s Dead Dove December. Thank you for this event, celebrating dark fic, Roman❤️ Milla, baby, it’s always a pleasure to write with you! ILYSM🫂💖

Heed the warnings! If any of this makes you uncomfortable, do not pursue reading. We are not responsible for the content you consume. This is not for everyone and that's okay. We don't condone the actions of the characters.

MILLA’S MASTERLIST || KATE’S MASTERLIST

Day one at your first job started horribly. You overslept, got in a traffic jam and arrived at the office panting and apologizing. Fortunately, your boss, Mr Miller, didn’t tell you off for your tardiness. Instead he greeted you with a wide, most charming smile. You’ve known him for a few years, him being your dad’s good friend and his employer as well as yours now.

Mr Miller was a successful businessman and your parents owed everything to his generosity and kindness. He helped your father out when your family was about to lose the house and your dad always talked highly of his ‘best bud’. You’ve been calling him Joel all these years, but wishing to show respect at the workplace, you decided to call him Mr Miller.

Now you’re attending a company meeting in a spacious conference room, taking bullet points of the discussion on your tablet. Mr Miller is sitting at the head of the desk, leaning comfortably in his chair, his thick thighs spread, piercing eyes narrowed. His perfectly tailored blue suit which probably costs more than your future year salary accentuates his broad powerful frame. Throwing glances at him from time to time, you can’t help but admire the way the fabric stretches over his arms and shoulders. You’ve never thought about Joel like that, he was much older than you, but it was hard to deny how handsome he was.

Joel is listening to an employee’s report, pouting his lips from time to time. Knowing him quite well, you read his face easily, so it’s evident to you that he’s not pleased with what she’s telling him. Joel��s always been nice and kind to you and your parents, but right now you feel like a volcano is about to erupt.

“Are you happy with all this, sweet cheeks?” He asks but doesn’t let the woman reply. "I’m definitely not. I hope I won't hear these numbers ever again. Or you're gonna lose your job in a heartbeat. I doubt your family will be happy with you getting fired. You just had a baby, right?”

The woman swallows loudly and nods.

“Get your shit together!” Joel barks and the employee looks terrified. You feel bad for her. You’ve never seen Joel be so mean before but that's probably part of the character trait that goes with his job.

When the meeting is over, some people leave but three men stay behind with Joel, still chatting to each other. You get up, ready to sneak out, but your boss stops you at the door, calling your name.

“Sorry, I thought the meeting’s over”, you explain, coming up to him with an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, the main part’s done but we have something extra on our agenda today.”

Joel gets up and walks over to one of the cabinets. He takes something out of a drawer and puts it in the pocket of his suit pants. You raise your brows with a silent question and he turns his face to the managers,

“Gentlemen! Today is this young lady’s first day at our company and I’d like you to give her a warm welcome.”

You feel overwhelmed when all the attention is focused on you but, fearing to seem rude or disrespectful, you turn to the men and smile nervously, fumbling with your fingers. You wonder what Joel put in his pocket. You didn't expect to receive a gift on your first day, and you don’t know how to thank him properly.

The men hum approvingly but soon you feel uneasy noticing their eyes slide down your body and take you in with something more than simple curiosity. One of them smirks and your face falls. Fortunately, Joel steps up to you and his wide smile relaxes you a little. Knowing him for so long, you feel that he has your back. He takes your hand and holds it in his big warm palm.

“Sweetheart, we have a tradition in our company. We call it “Initiation”.

“W—What is it?” you mumble, smiling and blinking at him with confusion, while your stomach churns. You hope he won’t ask you to give a speech of some kind. You’d die of stage fright.

Joel explains, “Some of us gather here to celebrate our new employee and I’m happy that today it is you.“

Joel inches closer and you instinctively take a step back but he pulls you to him gently yet with unyielding determination.

“Usually one of our top managers does it, but of course, with you it had to be me. Also some of these gentlemen sent me messages during the meeting… Seems that they want to take part, now that they saw you.”

His face is inches from yours and he lowers his voice to tell you, “to be specific, we all are going to celebrate you and your body. Teach you some new things while we’re at it, too.”

Your gaze darts between his darkening eyes as you open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. You can’t comprehend what he’s saying but your instinct is screaming for you to run.

Joel gently cups your cheek and turns to the other men in the room, “she’s adorable.” With that he places his hands on your hips, and mumbling “c’mon”, moves you to the head of the desk.

“Joel, what are you…?” Your voice is shaky, your palms placed on his broad chest push him off you but he’s too strong and soon your ass is perched up on the surface, your back turned to the other men.

“Joel, please, what are you doing?” you mumble as panic rises in your chest.

“Shh, we’re just gonna have some fun, you and me at first, then I'll let the others join us.”

He looks behind you, and you hear the other men react.

“Fuck yeah.”

“I think I will.”

“Give it to her, boss.”

You hear their words and you start to understand what’s happening. Or rather, you start realizing what your dissociated mind was trying to hide.

“Joel… You’re scaring me…” you stammer, eyes wide.

“Fear is a good thing. It means I'm in control. And I want control over you."

Now you feel Joel’s hands rubbing your thighs, covered by tights, slithering up and under the hem of your skirt, while his gaze is set on your chest.

“No, Joel, please,” you plead, searching for his eyes, hoping to keep his attention on you, break the spell that turned these people into wild animals, turned this office into a cage that you can’t escape from. Trying to make him come back to his senses and remind him that it's you, the person he's known for so long, that he is your father's friend, who you thought would protect you from all dangers, if he had to.

But his eyes remain black, cold. The more you beg, the brighter an unhealthy spark shines in them. As if he likes it, likes you begging.

“You’re my dad’s friend, don’t do this to me,” you whine, overwhelmed by his big body caging yours against the desk, terrified to your core at the realization of what he’s about to do to you.

“Yes, you’re right,” he stops, giving you a glimpse of hope, and looks into your eyes. “Your dad’s a great guy but he has a big flaw. He has this pretty little thing for a daughter.”

Your heart breaks when you hear him, your hope is dead.

Joel leans closer and you pull away but he grabs the back of your neck and holds you still, brushing your lips with his.

“If he only knew how much I want to stretch your little holes. And you know me, baby,” he pecks your lips and whispers, “I always get what I want.”

The men behind you chuckle, loving this display of power. The smell of Joel’s perfume hits your nose and your head spins for a second as part of you still struggles to understand what’s happening. You feel tears well up in your eyes.

Your new boss, a man you’ve known for years, wants to fuck you in front of other people on your first day here. You try to make your mind work, get you out of the situation.

“I’ll tell my dad. I’ll tell everyone,” you cry out, making your voice firmer, but Joel just laughs, enveloping you in his tight embrace. To your horror you hear the sound of the chairs moving behind you and then footsteps. You’re surrounded now.

“If you start yapping, sweetie, you and your dad will lose your jobs in a second and I’ll make sure no one ever hires you both.”

His voice is calm, his breathing steady, as if he were telling you the most mundane things in the world, and you shiver.

“Besides, your dad owes me a lot of money. Your family will lose everything.” He searches for your widened eyes and whispers, “you work for me now so it means I own you.”

Suddenly his lips latch onto your neck. His hold is too tight but the kiss is slow and gentle.

“No, no,” you start sobbing and Joel pulls away and takes your face between his big hands.

“Honey, calm down, imagine there’s only you and me here. No one else, uh?” His eyes are obsidian and full of lust and you understand that you won’t get out of this. He will have you.

“Please, Joel, I don’t want to…“

“But you do, baby, you want me,” he kisses your cheek. “You want my big cock in your little pussy. I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

He drags his stubble over your cheek and you whimper when his hand snakes between your thighs.

“You really think I haven't noticed the way you look at me, the clothes you wear, when I have lunch at your parents’?”

“What? No!!”

“Shh…” he cuts you, brushing your lips with his finger. “You wanna get fucked by a man older than you. A man who will give it to you good.”

Through the material of your tights and panties you feel his hand caress your folds and you close your eyes shut, trying to escape the horror of the situation.

"Girls your age want that. A mature man,” he adds.

You mewl a quiet “no” again and he uses the moment to kiss you and push his tongue past your lips. With one hand keeping you close and the other gently massaging your pussy, Joel claims your mouth, licking into it, swallowing your soft cries.

As soon as he parts from you, your hands push him away but his strong physique overpowers you in seconds. He grabs your wrists and makes you lie down on the desk. You’re pressed to the wooden surface by his heavy body as his breath fans your cheek when he growls, “Don’t fight it. It’ll be my way or bad way, baby. Choose wisely.”

In your peripheral vision you notice the men next to the desk, one on the left and two on the right. Like hyenas they are waiting for their turn when the main predator is done with the prey.

You begin thrashing around on the desk and Joel slightly lifts his torso but holds you down with his hand wrapped around your neck. You freeze as panic grips your heart. He’s not squeezing it but the threat is swimming in his blown out eyes.

He smirks when you stop moving. “Good girl. Made the right choice.”

Joel straightens up, his figure looming over you, and then starts pulling up your skirt. You try to stop his hands but in vain.

“Let’s see what we have here. White lace. Fuck, it’s hot, baby. Innocence looks good on you. I know you’re not a virgin though,” he laughs and continues, “I remember a boy used to come to your bedroom all the time. Your old man was scared that you’d get pregnant. Fuck, I wanted to kill that little shit for touching you.“

You take a sharp breath, terrified of how long his obsession with you has lasted.

“I know you’re single now. It’s good. Now you have me. I’ll fulfill all your needs, baby. And will fill all your holes.”

With that he rips your tights between your legs, and you squeal scared to death. You try to slide off the desk but he presses his forearm over your belly, not letting you move away.

You hear the murmur of the others, watching you sob and fight the man twice bigger than you like it’s some twisted show.

When Joel grabs your hips to keep you in place, you turn your head, pleading eyes darting between the men but their expressions scare you. There’s not a trace of sympathy on their faces, not a chance that this vile group will help you.

With tears streaming down your cheeks you look back between your spread legs and find Joel’s hungry gaze there. He’s sneering at you, noticing your fruitless attempt to seek assistance from his employees.

“What’s that, baby? Looking for anyone to call an HR? He’s over there. Say hi, Steve.”

You hear a gruff voice somewhere from behind you.

“Hi, sweetie.”

“Aww, isn’t he nice?” Joel mocks and dread spreads in your chest. There’s no way out. You’re trapped. Your only hope is the man you thought to be a friend.

“Please, Joel. Stop. I won’t tell anyone. Let me go.” Your voice is barely audible, you sound pathetic, and Joel’s face softens. His brows knit together as he looks between your legs and talks while his fingers slowly pull your panties to the side.

“I think I’ve made a mistake.”

You gasp when his fingers graze your exposed folds and try to close your legs but he’s holding you securely.

“I haven’t explained your position in this company yet. It will help you to understand what’s happening and accept it.” His fingers stroke your seam and then push inside between your folds, leaving you shocked and breathless.

“From now on you’re my office whore. I tell you to suck, you suck, I tell you to bend over - you do exactly that.”

His voice is gruff and cold, eyes focused on the place where his fingers swirl around your hardening clit and you squeeze your eyes closed, fighting the fire in your core that’s burning brighter with every second of his caress.

“She loves it, your pretty pussy,” Joel smiles, looking up at you, “do you hear how wet she’s getting for me? You should relax, and let your body take what it wants. Stop fighting it, baby.”

He sinks two thick digits into your soft hole and you tighten your muscles, eyes wide, surprised by a heat spreading through your body.

You hear it too. When Joel begins pumping his fingers in and out of you, lewd squelching noises reach your ears, the sign of your body surrendering to his horrible act. A moan crawls up your throat and you muffle it with the back of your hand.

A sharp flick of Joel’s fingers lands on your clit and you cry out.

“Don’t. Don’t hide it. Wanna hear you enjoying it, little slut. I wouldn’t make my cock wait if I didn’t wanna hear some sweet moans from you.”

His hands leave your pussy and he places his palms on your inner thighs, spreading them wider.

“Now— Let’s have a taste.”

You watch him lower his head to your cunt and he licks a stripe between your wet folds from your clenching hole to your sensitive clit and sucks on it for a few seconds. Your back arches involuntarily.

“Delicious,” he mumbles, wet lips against your folds, and the vibrations send shivers down your spine.

You want to hate the sensation his mouth is giving you, but your whole body treacherously buzzes when his hot tongue laps away your slick. Joel kisses your pussy, his gentleness is a striking contrast to the situation. He’s eating you out to make you come, hungry to claim your pleasure as well, and you grit your teeth, fighting it with all your being.

He feels you holding back and growls before focusing all of his attention on your puffy clit, flicking it and rubbing it with his tongue, sucking it in between his teeth, and you can’t help but explode under his ministrations. You begin shaking against the desk, and through the sound of your heart pounding in your ears you hear cheers and clapping from the heartless audience.

“Good job, boss!”

“What a slut!”

“You’re the man!”

Their reaction makes your heart shutter into pieces.

Joel gives his employees his million dollar smile, pride lighting up his dark eyes, and absentmindedly rubs his hands over your thighs still partially covered by tights, ripped at the crotch.

He gets up from the chair and when you try to close your legs, he yanks you to the edge again, pushing his hips between your thighs.

Joel slowly unbuckles his belt with one hand and unzips his suit pants, talking to you, “I thought about asking you out on a date, honey. Making you my girlfriend.”

He chuckles and pulls his boxers down.

“Could be nice. You, waiting for me at home.”

His cock springs free and you feel even more scared if it’s even possible. His manhood is huge, long and thick, bigger than your ex boyfriend’s for sure. He holds it at the base and continues, “you’d greet me with a home-cooked meal and a wet pussy.”

You know what he’s about to do and all your being rises in protest so you slap his hand off and slide off the desk in a fast motion.

“Hold her!” Joel barks and a few pairs of hands grab you and push you down. Your back hits the desk and someone’s holding your wrists over your head, their hands keeping you still, at the same time gliding over exposed parts of your body - your neck, your chest, a slither of your naked belly.

Joel doesn’t stop them. His eyes are fixed on your bare cunt, glistening with the signs of your body’s betrayal.

A sharp slap lands on your mound and sends a bolt of pain through your body, and you squeal.

“Don’t do it again, naughty girl. Or I’ll let these heathens fuck your ass raw.”

You sob, trying to ease the steel grip on your wrists. Through tears in your eyes, you see Joel bring the head of his stiff cock to your pussy and in a second you feel him push it in, slowly, but not for the sake of your comfort. Only for his enjoyment.

His head falls back and he groans, “fuckk, she’s tight. You can’t find a pussy like that in an escort.”

Joel looks down at you with a hazy smile and you plead for him to stop but he ignores you and thrusts into your core. He takes out what’s in his pocket and brings his hand close to your stuffed cunt. You hear a “buzz”, when he turns on a bullet vibe.

“No, Joel, please…” you cry.

“I want you to come on my cock too. And with this little helper, I’m sure you will, baby.”

He begins rolling his hips, pushing his fat cock in and out of your dripping pussy. You whine, feeling your walls spread around his girthy member and your belly is heaving with a mixture of fear and arousal. Meanwhile Joel starts fucking you faster, talking to you like there’s no one else in the room.

“Your dad would mind if we started going out but who gives a shit? I could just throw some money his way. Money can buy everything.”

He winks at you and you sob, sliding up and down the desk with each mighty thrust.

“But — It’s not the main problem. I spend most of the time here. I work hard—Aahhh— and it’s nice to fuck someone between the meetings, right, guys?”

You hear sounds of agreement around you and squeeze your eyes shut, scared to see the faces of the monsters around you.

Joel’s cock is rhythmically brushing your g spot and you hate that behind the horror there’s pleasure, nauseating and terrifying, but pleasure nonetheless. Joel tilts his hips and you cry out when he grazes something ecstatic inside your core.

“You gonna come again, honey?” he coos at you and the pet name he used so many times before, visiting your father, cuts your heart with a sharp blade.

A river of fresh tears rolls down your face but your misery is not noticed by Joel who explains, after a loud grunt, “office affairs take too much time and effort. But you. You’d be perfect as my pretty cum dumpster.”

With that he grabs your sides, nails digging into your soft skin, and starts snapping his hips into you, violating your pussy with his fat cock.

“Fuck, gonna come soon. Pussy’s too good. I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

The men around you cheer again. Joel presses the vibrator to your clit and you whine, your walls clamp around his manhood and it sends him over the edge. With a loud grunt he begins spilling his hot cum into your pulsating pussy, pumping you more and more, pushing his cock deeper, while holding you with the iron grip of his hands.

You start sobbing again feeling the warmth spread deep in your core and it freezes your heart with another terror. You’re not on the pill.

Joel stays buried inside you for some time. You are so shocked that you don't react. You ignore his cock pulsating inside you. Ignore its last twitches. Until reality hits you and you cry harder. Your body betrayed you. Joel betrayed you.

“Joel, please… let me go.”

He finally pulls out and you feel some of his cum slide to your ass. You try to sit up but he grabs your wrists in his hands, keeping you down on the desk, leaning over you. His hazy gaze fixed on yours.

“Not so fast baby… we’re not gonna waste all this cum, are we? I want these men to remember who you belong to and fuck it back into you.”

You realize with shock that he really intends to throw you to them.

“Steve? You worked so hard this month. Enjoy your reward.”

Looking down at you, he adds, “come on, baby, be a good girl. Steve deserves it. And we already know you're a little slut. You clenched so hard on my cock, mmm?” He wipes away a tear running down your cheek with his thumb and steps away.

You try to close your legs but Joel clicks his tongue.

“No, no, no. I made myself clear, didn't I? Jim, didn’t I make myself clear?”

“Yes, boss, very clear.”

“If you're difficult, your father can say goodbye to his income. To his job. Your parents almost got divorced that time, didn't they?” His dark eyes are fixed on you. Even colder than before. There’s no hesitation or remorse in him. “So if you don't want your father to end up under a bridge, and your mother to whore around with her slutty daughter, you're gonna stop whining.”

He points his finger at you. You remember the meeting earlier. How cold he was, how sorry you felt for that woman. But now, it’s you who is facing this terrible side of him.

“And you’re gonna let them take their turn. Final warning.”

You suppress a sob, even when Steve settles between your legs and places one hand on your thigh and the other around his cock.

“Go on Steve, give her a good fuck.”

You hear the men cheer when Joel's employee pushes his tip in your already sore hole.

“Come on man, give it to her good!”

“Fuck that bitch!”

He thrusts in, grunting. Excited by the cheers of the other men. He fucks you hard as soon as he grabs your thighs and buries his length in you. You keep your eyes closed, unable to meet his gaze, and unwilling to give them any more of yourself by letting them see your frightened eyes.

“Well damn, Steve, you got great moves!”

The man puts his hands on your hips for a better leverage, jerking you forward with each thrust.

“Fuck, she's tight…”

“Yeah? Tighter than your wife?”

They all laugh, and you feel nauseous.

“Come on, Steve. Shoot your load. Don't enjoy it too much. I just lent her to you.”

Steve obeys and comes in your cunt, mixing his cum with Joel's.

Then Jim uses you.

And finally, Paul. He turns you around and bends you over to thrust into you from behind. He’s already groaning, when Joel’s phone rings.

“Oh!” he chuckles when he sees the name on the screen. He picks up and, looking at you, brings his index finger to his mouth, ordering you to be quiet.

“Hey, man! Calling to check on your daughter?” He walks around the desk to sit at your side and starts jerking his cock as he watches you getting fucked by the third man.

You can’t hear what your dad is saying, and your mind dissociates again.

“It’s going great. She’s already showing some serious skills!”

Joel smiles in response to what your father’s saying, his hand still fucking his shaft.

“No, sorry, she’s with Paul. He’s showing her some new procedures, they will be very useful to me soon.”

Paul is growling, rutting into you, and you hear Joel say, “Yeah sure, I’ll tell her you called.”

Paul spreads your ass cheeks and spits on your ring.

“No!” Joel gruffs in a low, menacing voice, after hanging up. “No one fucks her ass.”

“Sorry, boss, she takes it so good, I got carried away.”

“Don’t forget your place. Fill her up, and then get out, all of you. She’s mine, got it? We all… welcomed her, but now she belongs only to me.”

After using you like a fuck doll, the three men leave the office chatting happily.

Joel gets up, his hand working his fat cock.

“Gotta fill you again, baby. I can’t stay like this, with a hard-on, it’s painful, you know?”

You can’t believe he’s telling you this.

“Pussy’s already ruined, anyway,” he says as he thrusts in and fucks you hard and fast in all men’s cum, until he sends his load into your owerflowing core for a second time.

You’re lying on the desk, not even realizing they all left, that Joel has pulled out, until you feel a jacket covering you. Joel pulls down your skirt back over your thighs and grabs your arm to help you up. He fixes your shirt and looks at your face, your makeup smudged, mascara running down your cheeks.

“You’re gonna need some rest, baby. Come back next week. I’ll be the only one playing with you, from now on. Don’t forget - a pretty girl like you needs a man like me.”

You shiver. His voice pulls you out from the depths of your mind, that is lying to you that none of this has happened.

“Are you on birth control?”

You shake your head, eyes empty.

“I’m gonna give you an after pill, I don’t want you knocked up by one of the guys. You’re too precious for me. Now get your stuff and go home. And don’t think of telling anyone. No one will believe you anyway.”

As you grab the handle, he adds “Oh, before you leave. Add to my calendar, tomorrow, ‘a barbecue at your parents’, at noon. Your dad’s just invited me. It’s gonna be great, baby. Can’t wait to pay you a visit in your bedroom.”

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

Other fics by @milla-frenchy and me

Keep on your mean side - Joel x f!reader - dark fic

The Burglary -Joel x f!reader x Tommy - dead dove, noncon

Bad Girl - Joel x f reader x Tommy - dubcon

The hounds of hell - Series - Javier Peña x fem reader x Steve Murphy

MILLA’S MASTERLIST || KATE’S MASTERLIST

Tagging some lovely people who showed interest in the wips: @koshkaj-blog @604to647 @megangovier @tateypots @sunshineispunk @thundermartini @pedge-page @mountainsandmayhem @iamasaddie @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @evolnoomym @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

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misssilversunny · 10 days ago

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Ok wait i just had a funny idea

Why stop at just a yandere batfamily? Why not all of Gotham?

Like, imagine Bane kidnapping you, calling you his "firefly" or whatever because you're a fleeting light in the darkness or something, and you're more guarded than the actual thing he stole.

And despite that, Poison Ivy manages to nab you, her "little rose", while Bane is busy dealing with Batman. She takes you back to her apartment, where you greet the plants you recognize and introduce yourself to the new ones (There aren't many, you were here 3 months ago).

At some point you take a breath of fresh air through an open window, and Scarecrow grabs you, taking you to his lair, into a room which is also pumped with a special strain of fear gas that makes you cling to him for safety.

And then, shock of all shocks, the one and only, motherfucking Joker snatches you from the lair, leaving behind a dummy for Scarecrow to find. Unlike the others, Joker's obsession is in the fact that everyone else is obsessed with you. He finds it hysterical how one person can have all of Gotham in a spin!

Eventually, the Batfam grabs Reader from the Joker, since he's not actually obsessed so he has them the least guarded, maybe a short conversation with Batman, but even Joker knows he's in water too hot to joke about severe injuries, especially since he doesn't know if Red Hood is nearby.

Batman might not kill, but he cannot guarantee that anyone else wouldn't if he killed their favorite person, and he does not have the influence where he could get away with that.

You get returned to your nice cage room in the manor, where the Batfamily scolds you yet again for another failed escape attempt trip outside getting you shipped around Gotham for weeks!

At this point, you're pretty sure you not only can't leave, but also any attempts at a normal life are pointless. You mostly do this because humans are animals and animals need enrichment, and no, the cycle of games/quality time they're giving you are not a suitable replacement for touching grass and seeing new faces.

Even the brief moments of time between kidnappings, the short moments of normalcy that the other villains, the other heroes and vigilantes give you, are a welcome change of pace.

Bonus points if it's literally everyone in neighboring cities/Justice League, so Superman finds you and you're just like "Well shit" because now you're taken to his house, maybe his parents' farm, and you're kept there until someone catches on that Clark has you.

Also if you tack this onto Spoiled!Reader, this becomes infinitely funnier because In my mind I'm treating that AU as 90% a crack/lighthearted fic, and another thing is I think of them as being ~12 sometimes, so it's the entirety of Gotham fighting over a middle schooler.

If it's an adult Reader, it's more of a "This is fine" as they are carted from villain to villain to vigilante to hero because their family literally has a fan club for them, so their perception of what is "normal" levels of interest is severely skewed.

If you want to go for the Neglected!Reader, then it would be really interesting for them to try and figure out where is a good level of "interested in your hobbies", and doubts whether they're so uncomfortable because they're actually too invested in their day to day life, or if it's because they were neglected for so long that any interest feels overwhelming.

Btw all asks about Spoiled!Reader and this Reader are welcome!

#yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batboys #neglected reader #spoiled reader #obsession reader #That's what I'll call them #I am not tagging all of the DC villains and vigilantes

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atlabeth · 10 months ago

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(not so) simple pt 4 - anthony bridgerton

masterlist

summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple — that is, until it isn’t.

a/n: SO. UM. once again this took fucking forever to come out which is kind of insane when you think about it because i've had 7000 words of this chapter written for like 4 months. truly wild. 2 babies have been born in the time that it's taken me to write this mini series but anyways there’s a lot happening here, shoutout to anthony for finally getting some more pov parts, the fun thing about your mc being out of commission for a while is that you have no choice but to write for the other characters. equality we love to see it. anyways most of it is angst, but it’ll all be wrapped up with a little regency romance bow i promise

wc: 7.6k

warning(s): aftermath of the end of last chapter which is angst. stab wound, talks of death, mentions of edmund's death, quite a bit of crying, anthony bridgerton's inner angst, miss worthing makes poor decisions. not a happy chapter but WHAT CAN YOU DO

“What were you thinking?” Violet demanded.

Anthony could barely hear his mother over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears, the pure terror gripping his heart. He’d no idea how to respond to her. He doubted she would like to hear that he, indeed, was very much not thinking.

And he was certainly not thinking much now, what with you on the brink of death with their doctor and his apprentice the only thing there to stop you. He could be of no help to you, bent half over in his chair, head in his hands, the image of you collapsing burned into his mind.

“Anthony Bridgerton, answer me.” Violet stood over him, her face flushed and eyes filled with anger and fear. “What were you thinking, bringing Miss Worthing out into the city?”

“I cannot deal with your questions right now, Mother!” he snapped, something letting loose inside of him. Anthony would have been ashamed had he any sense. “My future wife is in that room fighting for her life, and it is because I was not able to protect her. I am hardly able to form words at the moment, Mother, so please—” Anthony’s voice broke, and he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Please just be quiet.”

It took a bit of nerve to be such an ass in front of his very own mother, but Anthony apparently had plenty of nerve at the moment. After you collapsed, he’d done the only thing he could think of in the moment and brought you back to Bridgerton House—it was closer than your residence, and if their physician had been able to keep his mother alive through eight pregnancies, then surely he could bring you back.

Now, though, he was not so sure. Every other option seemed to be plaguing his mind, for your blood still stained his hands and his clothing and Anthony didn’t know if he would ever be able to get it off.

His father died in his arms from something so small as a bee, and yet you had been stabbed. How were you meant to come back from that?

The door suddenly slammed open, and when Anthony glanced up, his insides twisted.

“Where is she?” Eloise demanded. Her windblown hair matched the wild look in her eyes, and the flush of her cheeks and haggard breathing told him everything. She was meant to be promenading with Penelope Featherington—her speed on foot was admirable.

“With our physician,” Violet responded. She seemed more subdued now, and though Anthony knew he would apologize profusely later, he could not find it in himself now. He could hardly find anything in himself apart from panic.

“With our physician—” She turned on Anthony, her gloved hands clenched into fists. “What in God’s name happened, Anthony?”

He allowed himself a moment to breathe before he responded. “She was stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” Eloise cried. “She was with you! How could she have been stabbed?”

“I was not with her when it happened—”

She scoffed. “That is a likely fucking story.”

“Eloise,” Violet said, “language.”

“I do not care about my language,” Eloise spat, gesturing wildly with her hands. “My best friend has been stabbed— I will say whatever I please!”

And then, as if to just add fuel to their fire, Benedict rushed in. Anthony held back a slightly unhinged laugh and shook his head. You were dying and they were out here arguing.

“I’ve made sure this hallway is off limits like you said, Mother.” Benedict looked just as shaken as the rest of them, and in a strange way Anthony was grateful. You’d grown closer to his family than he’d known. “Your lady’s maid is outside the door alongside a footman ensuring privacy, and your driver is on route to the Worthing residence to alert her parents. They’ve all been sworn to secrecy—no one will be disturbed, least of all Miss Worthing.”

“Thank you, Benedict.” Violet sighed, and she collapsed into an armchair. “At least one of us is in order.”

Benedict sat down on the sofa, his words coming out in a mumble. “I am hardly in order.”

The fire seemed to have died down in Eloise, for however temporary a time, and she settled down next to Benedict. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her.

“She’ll be okay,” Eloise whispered, “right?”

No one answered for a moment. At last, Anthony looked up, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Yes,” he rasped, hoping with everything in him that his words would be true. “She will be okay.”

He would not have been able to live with any other outcome, not when it was his fault in the first place that you were in this position.

Anthony didn’t know what he should have done, but he should have done something. He should have brought you to your senses and suggested a promenade in the park instead. He should have called on you at your estate, safe and sound in your drawing room. He should have been arm in arm with you, his heart steadily melting as you smiled and laughed and made him aware of all things good in the world.

He could not lose you. Not when he still had so much to tell you, so many words left unsaid.

Not when you didn’t know he loved you.

“I’m sorry, Anthony.” He looked up at the sound of Eloise’s voice—though she did not look at him and her arms were still crossed, the sincerity of it was not lost on him. “I know it was not your fault.”

His chest tightened. It was his fault.

“You clearly care about her,” she said. “It is not fair to pin this on you.”

“Sometimes we hurt the people we care about,” he said, his voice hollow.

“Sometimes,” she agreed. “But not this time.”

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Eloise had been at odds with him for nearly this entire season because of their ruse. Though she knew of its falsity, she still chastised him for taking up time that could have been spent with her, still rolled her eyes when he announced his leave to go see you, still questioned why he had to go after her best friend.

But Eloise was driven by her emotions, no matter how red hot or icy cold they may have been. At this moment, her concern for you outweighed anything, and she recognized the same in him.

So Anthony nodded. Once, twice, hardly moving but a clear acknowledgment. He glanced at his mother and brother, both unfocused with glassy eyes. His mother’s were red-rimmed, and she held a handkerchief tightly in one hand. The guilt hidden from earlier struck.

He silently thanked their governess for keeping Gregory and Hyacinth occupied, thanked that Francesca was on an outing of her own. The last thing he needed was for his littlest siblings to find out that the woman they believed to soon be their sister was one misstep away from death. And thank God for Colin’s decision to spend the day with Mondrich—one of his younger brothers in the heat of the moment was enough.

Anthony let out a shuddering sigh, screwing his eyes shut for a moment before he ran a hand through his hair then planted his palms on his knees. He could hardly sit still but he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to get his nervous energy out.

All he could think of was you. Of how the last word you spoke was his name. Of your dried blood on his hands, staining his clothing where he had held you. Anthony barely kept you from hitting the ground when you collapsed, and he nearly did the same once he reached his residence.

Yelling at any servant in the proximity to call for the physician, unaware of his mother trying to calm him until she shook him by the shoulders, having to literally be forced out of the room by the physician’s assistant once they arrived because he refused to leave your side.

It all felt like a blur, and yet he remembered it perfectly. It all played on repeat in his mind no matter how much he tried to block it out.

The door slammed open this time, and when Anthony looked up, he felt as if he could wither away.

“Where is my daughter?” Cecilia Worthing demanded, her husband trailing after her. She was all out of sorts, with an even wilder look in her eyes and a deathly grip on her skirts. Mr. Worthing’s expression made his heart sink, with his haunted eyes and taut lips.

“I am so sorry, Cecilia,” Violet rasped, and she crossed the room and enveloped her in her arms. It took a moment for your mother to respond, but she returned the hug as a sob escaped her.

“Your footman said she had been injured,” your father said levelly, though his voice shook ever so slightly. “How?”

“She was stabbed,” Anthony spoke up, forcing himself to look at your parents. “Some zealot in the city. I brought her here as quick as I could.”

“The city—” your father started.

“Stabbed?” your mother interrupted, halfway into hysterics. “How?”

“We got caught up in the midst of a riot,” he said quietly. “We were separated, and I assume it happened then.”

Mrs. Worthing let out another sob as she pulled her husband into her arms, and though he kept a semblance of solemnity as he whispered to his wife and held her close, Anthony could see the fear in his eyes.

How could he possibly offer reassurance? It felt different, staring at the desperation of your parents. The horrific realization that they might leave a family of two, might have to bury their only child.

His stomach twisted and Anthony’s head fell into his hands again. He couldn’t.

Eventually, Philip helped his wife onto the couch, and she remained curled into his side. No one said a word—how could they?

Apart from whispered reassurances between your parents and even shorter conversations between Benedict and Eloise, their saddened group continued in silence for the better part of an hour. No one spoke louder than a whisper, no one rose and left—they just sat together in their fear, hoping and praying that the inevitable could be denied.

Until the door creaked open and each of their heads snapped towards the noise. Anthony shot up at the first glimpse of their physician’s assistant.

“What news?” he asked immediately. The tension in the room had grown to be near palpably thick.

“The surgery went well,” the assistant said, and all the air dissipated from Anthony’s chest. “Miss Worthing lives. The doctor is ensuring a final few things, but provided our treatment is followed, we believe she will recover fully.”

Anthony fell back against the couch with a breathless laugh, and Mrs. Worthing sank against her husband, wrecked by thankful sobs. Eloise’s smile was enough to brighten the whole room, Benedict’s relief just as obvious. Violet just let out an exhausted sigh, her hand pressed to her heart.

“Thank you,” your father said. “Can we see her?”

“Miss Worthing is resting,” he said. “You will not be able to speak to—”

“We do not care,” your father asserted. “I need to see that my daughter is still alive.”

The physician’s assistant nodded after a moment, and the tension lessened in his shoulders. He helped your mother up, their hands clasped tightly together, and Mrs. Worthing looked at Anthony. You truly had your mother’s eyes.

“Will you come with us, my lord?” she asked.

“Oh, I—”

“You are family,” she said softly. “You’ve a right to join us.”

Emotion swelled in Anthony’s chest, and it took a moment for words to come to him.

“Of course,” he finally said, inclining his head. “And it is just Anthony between us. Please.”

The slightest smile spread across her lips as she nodded, and they all stood up together. Anthony took her offered arm and they started down the hallway together, your father on her other side.

How strange it was to be arm in arm with your mother. She thought the man beside her would be her future son-in-law, when he was truly nothing but a liar.

No, he thought, not wholly a liar. Not anymore. Because they believed that Anthony was to be your husband. And if there was anything this had proven to him, it was that he wanted nothing more than for it to be true.

Anthony just had to figure out a way to tell you. How strange that it would be the most difficult part of this ruse.

Violet’s maid and the footman stepped aside when they arrived and the assistant opened the door. Anthony followed your parents in, and his heart nearly stopped upon seeing you.

Your mother’s eyes filled with tears as she approached your bedside, and, after a nod from the doctor, brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear and laid the back of her hand against your forehead.

“She’s burning up,” she whispered.

“It is typical after surgery,” the doctor said. “With any luck, she will sweat it out. I will monitor her throughout.”

Your mother nodded, a shaky sigh escaping her, and she took your hand.

“I am so sorry, darling,” she whispered. “I am so sorry I was not there for you.” She brought your intertwined hands up and lightly kissed the back of your hand. “I love you more than anything. Please, come back to us soon.”

Your father joined her, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I do not know if you can hear us,” he said, voice slightly shaky, “but we are here for you. We will be here when you awaken, and every moment onwards.”

Mrs. Worthing looked back at Anthony, inclining her head towards you. Anthony swallowed his doubt as he moved forward, but the breath was stolen from him when he could fully see you.

Your eyes were closed. Your chest rose and fell just so, hardly noticeable, thin linens provided by the doctor rested over you, and sweat beaded on your brow. Alongside the discoloration of your skin, you looked…

You looked as if you were dead.

And Anthony knew that you were not—for God’s sake, you were breathing—but all he could think about, all he could see, was his father, all those years ago, dying in front of him while he could not do a single thing to stop it. And he felt that same helplessness with you; just standing there, watching, unable to do anything but hope.

“We are here for you,” he whispered. “...I am here for you. No matter what, I am here for you. Just know that, if nothing else.”

Your mother’s watery smile made him look to the doctor for fear of the same emotions eliciting even further in him.

“When will she wake?” Anthony asked. His voice sounded almost foreign to him.

“In a few hours, with any luck,” the doctor said. “At the very most, it will be the end of the day.”

“We will gladly host her until she is able enough,” Anthony said, looking at your parents. “And we have plenty of spare rooms for you to choose from if you wish to remain by her side during those days.”

“Thank you, Anthony.” Your mother placed her hands on his shoulders, though she had to look up at him, and she smiled. “You make her so happy. It will be my greatest pleasure to officially welcome you into our family.”

Anthony’s throat bobbed. God above, he hoped that was the truth.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “She… she means a great deal to me.”

“You’re a good man, Bridgerton,” your father said. “I’m thankful my daughter will end up with someone like you.”

“Your approval means the world,” he said, and he found he meant it wholly.

The doctor cleared his throat. “It would be best for her visitors to be limited as of now. The parents can stay, but…”

Anthony nodded, smoothing his lapels. “Of course.”

“We will alert you of anything,” your mother said. Anthony nodded again, and he allowed himself one more moment to look at you before he left.

You were alright. You would be alright. That was all that mattered.

Still, when he found himself alone in the hallway, finally able to breathe again, he still had that weight on his shoulders.

A revelation such as the one he’d had should have been a blessing, a relief. A man in love was meant to be a happy one. But a man in love did not usually find his feelings in the midst of season-long ruse whilst his beloved fought on her deathbed.

Anthony blew out a loose sigh, shaking his head as he continued through the halls. Being on his own, he found, was worse than sitting in silence with his family. He was trying to think of something to say, trying to gather his emotions and push them aside so he could be the man of the house as he was meant to be, but when he reached the room from before he was only met with Eloise.

She looked up from the floor, and he noticed the puffiness of her eyes, her slightly blotchy skin. His heart sank yet again.

“Benedict helped Mother to bed,” she explained, her throat bobbing. “All of this exhausted her. I’ve no idea where he is now.”

Anthony nodded, his mind still wandering. “Ah.”

“How is she?” Eloise asked, her brows knit in concern.

“As well as she can be.” Anthony sighed. “She has a fever, but she’s resting. Her parents are with her and the doctor is watching over her. He said she should awaken before the end of the day.”

The furrow softened as she smiled. It was good to see her smile. “Good. That— that’s good. I’m glad.”

“And how are you, Eloise?” Anthony asked, folding his arms.

“As well as I can be,” she responded wryly. Anthony’s lips twitched in a momentary smile, but she leaned against the couch and let out a sigh of her own. “This all certainly ended in the best way it could have.”

“The best way would have been for it to have never happened,” he said. “I should have prevented it—I was meant to keep her safe.”

“Brother,” she said wearily, “I already told you that you cannot blame yourself.”

“And I’ve never been one for listening to you,” he said dryly, “have I?”

Eloise huffed a laugh and shook her head. “I am not a fool, Anthony. I know what is happening between you two.”

Anthony frowned. “Eloise—”

“You love her,” she said bluntly. “Do you not?”

He tried to say something, but no words would follow. He could only stare at his sister and her nerve, resulting in a small smile from her.

“You are not that talented an actor, brother,” she said. “It is easier for me to believe the two of you are truly in love than that you could actually trick me in such a way.”

He blinked. “You believe she loves me?”

Eloise laughed, turning her head slightly. “I do,” she said. “And seeing as you are not denying it, I believe that means you love her.”

Anthony bit the inside of his cheek. So the two of you could fool the entirety of the ton for over half the season, but apparently not Eloise. How typical.

He walked over and took a seat on the couch next to his sister, leaving a bit of space between them. He took a deep breath before he spoke.

“I do.” He glanced at her. “I love her.”

Saying it aloud—admitting the truth of feelings he’d been fighting for so long—brought him an unexpected lightness. One other person knew both truths: that they had been lying about their love, and that Anthony had been lying about his lies.

It would have been laughable had he not been so unsure of everything else.

It took Eloise a moment to say anything back. For a while, she merely looked at him, unreadable depths in her eyes. He didn’t think he would ever be able to fully decipher his sister.

“I know my blessing means very little in the scheme of things,” she finally said. “But know that if this does come into fruition… I will support you two. Every step of the way.”

The smile that spread across Anthony’s lips was brighter than anything he’d experienced today, and he inclined his head. “Truly?”

“Yes, truly,” Eloise said, a smile of her own growing though she tried to hide it as she glanced away. “It is not a big deal. Do not make it out to be one. There are far worse men that she could end up with.”

“Alright,” he said, unabashed in his joy. For such a solemn day, Eloise had turned his mood around.

“And I will also keep your secret,” she said breezily, “again, so do not worry about that.”

“You say it does not mean much,” Anthony said, “but you are wrong. Your support means more to me than you know.”

She shifted, seemingly bolstered ever so slightly by his praise. “...I’m glad.”

He smiled as he stood back up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his outfit. Anthony grimaced as his hands came into view. He was in dire need of a bath and some new clothes. He could not deal with your blood on him for much longer.

“I must be going,” Anthony said. “I need to clean up. And,” he sighed, “ensure that none of this has spread to the rest of the ton.”

Eloise hummed, and Anthony was nearly at the door when she spoke up again.

“...Thank you. For being here for me.”

His expression softened as he glanced back at her. “I will always be here for you.”

Her lips curved just so. Anthony had never been so thankful to no longer be at odds with one of his siblings.

Your head hurt.

That was the first thing you could truly understand as your eyes slowly cracked open, squinting while you came to. You blinked a multitude of times, trying to regain your bearings and relieve the dryness of your eyes.

It took another moment for them to adjust to the darkness—the curtains were closed, but no light filtered through. How long had you been asleep?

You grimaced as you shifted ever so slightly, a dull but constant ache in your chest leaving you stiff, but there was a weight of a hand in yours. You glanced over and recognized your mother, asleep but still grasping your hand.

You smiled. She came for you after all.

But as you tried to shift further in the bed, you groaned, a sharp column of pain shooting through you. Your mother’s eyes shot open, her body starting from instinct, but it took a moment for her to truly realize it all.

“Nice of you to wake up,” you said wryly.

“You—” tears sprung in her eyes, and her lips spread in a grateful grin— “You must be alright if your first words are to antagonize your mother.”

“I am still here,” you said. You didn’t want to tell her you didn’t think you would make it. That you thought your fate was sealed when you pulled your hand away to nothing but blood.

“That you are,” she said breathily. “Are you alright, though? How do you feel? Does it hurt?”

“I believe I am alright,” you responded, “I feel… tired. And my chest aches.”

“The doctor said that would be expected,” she murmured. “What do you remember?”

“...That depends,” you said. “What do you know?”

Your mother gave you a look as she said your full name. “This is not the time for games.”

Your cheeks heated and you averted your eyes. “I was in the city with Anthony. I was stabbed after a riot broke out. That is all I remember.”

“Lord Bridgerton is the reason you are alive,” your mother said. “He brought you back to Bridgerton House, and their doctor saved your life.”

Somehow it was possible for your face to burn even more. You dragged Anthony out to that meeting, and you repaid him by making him drag your near lifeless body all the way back to his estate.

You were the worst fake fiancee a man could have.

You felt your eyes begin to fill with tears and you rapidly blinked them away.

“Where is he?” you asked quietly. “Where is Anth— Lord Bridgerton?”

Your mother gave you a knowing look. “It is alright to call him by his name, darling. It is quite clear how much he cares for you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You could not do this. “Where is he?”

“He is with his family,” she said. “You caused everyone quite a fright.”

“I can imagine,” you said hollowly.

“Would you like to see him?” she asked. “Because I am sure he—”

“No.” The haste with which you sat up drew out another wince. “No— I…”

You closed your eyes, biting down on the inside of your lip. You could not do this.

Your mother said your name softly. “What is it?”

You opened your eyes, ignoring the wetness around them as you looked at her. “Anthony and I cannot marry.”

She blinked. It looked as if it took a moment for your words to sink in. “What?”

“We cannot marry,” you repeated. “We— we never could marry. Our courtship is a ruse.”

Your mother blinked again, this time wholly taken aback. “What?”

“It is a ruse,” you repeated, more forcefully. “I wanted to escape the baron, and Anthony wanted to escape a thousand desperate debutantes. I proposed a mock courtship between us, and he accepted.”

Her brows furrowed deeper than ever before, as if she still couldn’t fully believe it. “You lied to me.”

“To everyone,” you said. You hadn’t a clue what had gotten into you, tearing apart a story carefully crafted throughout nearly the entire season, but something burned inside of you. You couldn’t keep going with this—you couldn’t keep stringing Anthony along, not when your feelings were far more real than they had any right to be.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because I did not want to marry,” you repeated. “The baron is nothing more than a lecher, and the thought of any sort of marriage to him disgusted me, but you and Father refused to listen to me. The only way to get out of it was for you to believe I had caught the affections of someone better. Anthony Bridgerton’s word was certainly better than mine in the eyes of the ton.”

Your mother stared at the floor for much longer than you anticipated, and you could not tear your eyes away from her.

“Mother,” you said quietly, “say something. Please.”

“I do not quite know what to say.” She finally looked at you, and your throat bobbed. “All of our plans have hinged on this marriage for the entirety of the season. What am I to tell your father?”

“Do not tell him,” you begged. “Please. It is enough that you know— I could not handle the shame if he were to as well.”

“I do not keep secrets as well as you,” your mother snapped. “Marrying into the Bridgerton family would have saved us, both in riches and name. Even your dowry would have gone to use for something of your choosing.” She shook her head, clasping her hands together. “And now you have almost died and we will have to control this and I just—”

“I will marry Lord Cardew,” you interrupted.

That ceased her arguments quite quickly. “What?”

“I will marry Lord Cardew,” you repeated. “He has both riches and name.”

Your mother frowned as she gripped your hands tighter. “You despise him. You got yourself into this entire mess in order to avoid him—you’ve said so yourself.”

“What choice do I have?” you asked desperately. “His name is enough to weather the scandal I’ve created. His money will secure a life for you and Father, and he has a fine pedigree. It is the only way to save the Worthing name.”

“Have you not considered the very man who has been courting you this season?” Your mother gestured with her hand. “Look where you are, darling! Lord Bridgerton has offered up his estate to us so we can be near you as you heal. Your courtship may have started as a ruse, but the man clearly feels something for you!”

“We have become very good friends over the course of the season,” you said, “and I am thankful for it. But I cannot taint the Bridgerton name further.”

“Dearest—”

“It is necessary,” you interrupted, but your quick movement brought on a sharp thread of pain in your chest and you winced.

“Do not push yourself,” your mother whispered, and you nodded.

“It is necessary,” you repeated, though slower. “My rebellion was just… naivete. I will not be the reason for our family’s ruin borne from my own stubbornness. I will secure our legacy, I will secure my future—I will marry Lord Cardew, and… and I will finally stop trying to resist my fate.”

Your mother stared at you, and you stared back. “You said it yourself—our family’s well being hinges on my marrying into wealth. What sane man would consider me after what I’ve done?”

She continued to look at you long and hard, her expression one of unreadable depths. “You are sure?”

No, you wanted to say. You had never been less sure of anything in your life. But you could see no other choice. So you nodded.

Your mother glanced away from you with a sigh, eyes searching the room for a moment before she nodded as well. “...Alright. If that is what you wish, your father and I will contact him once you are recovered.”

“Mother—”

“That is non-negotiable,” she said, and she smiled at you. “You may be blossoming into a true lady, but you are still my daughter. And I will not allow my daughter to do anything until she is fully healed.”

You nodded. “Alright.”

“I am sure that it goes without saying that you are never going to be allowed out of our sight until you are married and settled?” your mother said, and though it caused a sharp pain in your chest, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“I assumed just as much, Mother.”

Dearest Reader,

It is a fact well known throughout Mayfair that the social season requires the full attention of every single person, frantic mamas and bored bachelors alike. It is a game of wits unlike any other, and this season has proven no different. The middle of our merriment marks many of the most eligible debutantes as engaged — this author pays special attention to the season’s diamond, Lady Adelaida Kennington, who has found her happy ending with the young Earl Pembroke.

Though congratulations may be due to another lady of the ton, one of the simple yet highly discussed Worthing family — as it seems, Miss Worthing has tossed aside the much desired Viscount Bridgerton for the hand of the Baron Jonathan Cardew. One can only be left to wonder what Lord Bridgerton must have done to go from an obviously incoming proposal back to his rakish ways in little more than a night, but it most certainly has to do with Miss Worthing’s recent disappearance from society. Word has passed around of her frequent visits to the lesser parts of London, engaging in activity that can only be described as scandalous. Perhaps it was not the fault of the viscount indeed—Miss Worthing may have finally pushed Lord Bridgerton to his limits.

No matter the reason for the ending of the courtship, this author must extend her thanks to the pairing for providing such material for my pen. It is not every day a nobody in the ton manages to bring down two families at once. Perhaps Miss Worthing deserves congratulations for conducting this fantastical feat all on her own. If it was outrage she was searching for, she has certainly earned it.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

You huffed a sigh and threw the leaflet across the room, letting your head fall back against the wooden headboard. It was one thing for Lady Whistledown to criticize you, it was another thing entirely for her to bring your family and the Bridgertons into it. You deserved everything that came towards you for what you had done, but your parents, the Bridgertons, Anthony— they were not a part of any of it.

Especially when all your father had done was visit the Cardew estate to have a conversation with the man, see if he was open to the possibility of a marriage with you. Nothing was at all set in stone, but the way Whistledown told it, you were already steps from the chapel with a ring on your finger.

So now, as if it weren’t enough that you were bed bound until your physician deemed you recovered for regular activity, as if it weren’t enough that you were likely set to be married by the end of the season, as if it weren’t enough that you were constantly denying Anthony’s requests to visit you, every single one of your idiotic mistakes was revealed to the ton through a woman too cowardly to write without a pseudonym.

If you ever found Lady Whistledown, you thought bitterly, you would strangle her.

The silence in your room was broken by the door opening, and when you looked up you were greeted with Julia’s face. The usual smile she bore when around you was not there, but before you could ask she answered your unspoken question.

“I apologise for the interruption, my lady, but you have a visitor. He insisted on seeing you.”

A small part of you knew who it was even before she stepped aside, but when Anthony Bridgerton walked into your room your breath still hitched the tiniest bit.

“What are you doing here?” you asked immediately, holding back a grimace as you pushed yourself into a sitting position.

“I had to see you,” Anthony said.

“And you chose to do so by invading my privacy.”

“I have not heard a single word directly from you nor your pen since the accident,” he said, his voice not without a slight barb. But underneath it all, an uncommon hurt festered inside of him. You could not see it, exactly, but you could sense it. “Forgive me for wanting to confirm with my own eyes that you were still alive.”

“I will remain here as a chaperone,” Julia said, closing the door behind her. “You may talk as freely as you please — I will not repeat a single word.” Anthony nodded and pulled the stool away from the vanity so he could be closer to you, then sat down.

Despite Julia’s reassurance, neither of you spoke a word. The silence began to weigh heavily, the tension growing so thick it could be cut with a knife. For so long you had been rejecting Anthony’s requested meetings, not wanting to see him after what you had done. You feared for how he would react, both to your complete ignorance of him after your nearly fatal injury and your acceptance of Lord Cardew’s courtship.

You left Bridgerton House without a word mere hours after your ill-fated decision despite the protests of your parents—you could not stay there for another moment under Anthony’s good graces, not when you had doomed any possible future with him. You did not deserve a single millimeter of Bridgerton good will.

You stared down at the covers you laid under, fidgeting with your hands in your lap as you focused on everything except your visitor. You could not bring yourself to meet Anthony’s gaze, though you’d felt his own on you for the past five minutes.

“Is it true?”

You finally looked up at his sudden question, meeting the intensity of those dark brown eyes you’d lost yourself in so many times. “Is what true?”

“Your marriage to Jonathan Cardew,” he said stiffly. “Is it true?”

Just as quickly, you glanced away. It was near impossible to even be in the same room as the viscount since you had made the decision, even more so to think of the reason why it was that way. So instead, you just nodded.

“Yes. If all works out, we are to be wed at the end of the season.”

“Why?” Anthony leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees as his hands clenched into loose fists. “You openly despise the man—you asked me to court you to avoid him. Why in the name of all things rational would you willingly enter a marriage with him?”

“He will provide for me,” you said. “He has money, he has land, and he is a respectable member of society. He has already been content with the possibility of marriage once, and his name is enough to weather the scandal I have created. It is the smartest choice available.”

“And what of us?” He had an almost wild look in his eyes, and the worst desire took root in you to root your fingers in his hair and ease the troubles you’d caused him. “We have spent the near entirety of the season becoming closer, and you are willing to just throw it all away for a man like Cardew?”

“I could not trap you in a marriage you do not want,” you insisted. “You deserve more than a woman you share no love for, Anthony, and to be married to the woman who made a fool of your entire family. Lord Cardew is the only option.”

“Even if all of that is true, that does not mean it is a smart choice!” he exclaimed. “He is not a safe man to be around! If he has been pursuing you so strongly and only backed off because of my influence, what do you think will happen when you are his legal wife with no sort of protection?”

You swallowed thickly at his words. “He is not that sort of man, Anthony. He may be… horrid, and a complete egoist, but it will be a life of comfort. And that is the life that I need.”

Anthony laughed breathlessly, completely devoid of mirth as he frowned. “You cannot be serious. I have been by your side for an entire season of feminist rants and marriage complaints, half of which revolved around Cardew himself, and now you are telling me that you are just— just alright with this sort of compliance?”

“Nearly dying because of my own idiotic choices has forced me to reexamine my life,” you said plainly. “If I had been even the slightest bit unlucky, I would have perished on those streets, and what would I have had to show for myself? A rebellion that I was only able to take part in because of the privilege I so often fought against?”

“You have made a difference,” Anthony insisted. “You provided for women that no one has the gall to look out for. You’ve spoken out for your own rights, you’ve stood up for your own interests rather than sit around and take what you have been given.”

“I have been fighting against a life that so many less fortunate than myself would kill for,” you said. “I believed death to be a better fate than being forced to marry a man I did not love, but when I was on death’s door, I realized how foolish I was— how utterly selfish.”

“You are not selfish,” Anthony said, but you shook your head.

“I am. Unbelievably so.” You huffed a mirthless laugh as you looked at him. “My parents did not love each other when they married, but they were friends. They could tolerate the other’s presence, and neither of them were fortunate enough to be able to care about anything else. They have grown to love each other in their own way, of course, and they are in a better situation now, but they could not have known it would turn out that way. They did what they had to for the sake of their families and themselves, and it is time I do the same.”

“Love matches are rare,” you murmured. “And even if I were granted the opportunity… I would not deserve it.”

Anthony shook his head. “Do not say that.”

“It is the truth,” you said, letting out yet another humorless laugh. “I have been horrible to my mother when all she has ever wanted is a better life for me than she had. I have fought her for every step of the way for no other reason than my hubris and the dim belief that I deserved different than everyone else simply because I wanted it, no matter what the greater good was. How can that not be selfish, Anthony?”

“You do not have to do this,” he insisted. “You said you dreamed of unmarried life! You told me your fantasies of escaping from society, of living on your own and depending on no one but yourself. You are willing to give all of that up, just like that?”

“I was a fool for ever doing so!” you exclaimed. “Anthony, this world is hard enough on its own for married women — what do you think will become of my family if I do not marry? What do you think will become of me?”

“But you are strong.” Anthony leaned forward, his brow knit in determination. “You are strong, and intelligent, and fully capable of managing on your own. Spinster brand be damned, if it is what you wish, you will flourish completely!”

“Will I?” you questioned, and you gestured at yourself. “I am bound to this room of my own doing because I refused to see the truth of the world around me. I was young and naive to believe I could achieve anything of the sort I dreamed of without consequences, and I will be naive no longer.”

“If you insist on marrying, at least find somebody else,” Anthony begged. “You will be miserable for the rest of your life if you marry Jonathan Cardew.”

“I cannot afford to marry for love, my lord,” you said simply, “and even if I could find a man who loved me, I could never love them back. I would not force anyone into a marriage they did not want, not when…” You trailed off, the words catching in your throat.

You shook your head, choking them down. “It is not important.”

“Please do not marry him,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I beg of you.”

“Then who should I marry?” you asked, almost brazenly. “Who should I marry, if not him? I am certainly not one for options.”

You did not know what you wanted Anthony to say. To marry him? That he felt the same for you as you did for him? That, while you were indeed a fool for falling for him, he was one as well. That he would not leave you, not now, nor ever.

But instead he just stared at you with those dark brown eyes that even now could make you melt, a million emotions brewing inside of them yet none of them being given an outlet.

“I do not know,” he murmured, and your heart sank. “But I beg of you, do not let it be him.”

“It is not your decision to make,” you said quietly. “Soon I will be engaged to Lord Cardew, and I will be out of your life.”

There was an underlying desperation in Anthony’s eyes as he looked at you now, that storm of emotions thundering inside of him begging to be expressed. “I do not want you out of my life.”

The words felt like poison leaving your lips. “You do not have a choice.”

Before Anthony could protest any further, you stood up and looked over at your lady’s maid. “Please escort Lord Bridgerton outside. I wish to be alone.”

“My lady, are you—”

“Julia,” you said, your voice strained, “please.”

She nodded and she gestured for Anthony towards the door, but he did not move a centimeter.

Anthony said your name with such pain that you could not even stand to look at him, the inside of your lip drawn so tightly between your teeth that you could taste blood all in the effort to prevent tears from emerging.

“Do not make this harder than it has to be,” you whispered. “I beg of you, Anthony.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” Julia said quietly, “please obey my lady’s wishes.”

He stared at you with desperation before he finally nodded and walked out the door, Julia closing it behind him.

You screwed your eyes shut as you dug the heels of your palms into your forehead, letting out a frustrated sob as your hands dropped back down. The pinpricks of tears were already starting, and while you were thankful you were alone, you already longed for Anthony’s presence.

You wished, more than ever, that things could be how they used to be. You wished you’d never even made this ridiculous deal with him—then you would not be in such pain, yearning for a man you could never have while the reputation of you and your family was destroyed and your life fell to pieces around you. You could not do a single thing about it, and you could not blame a single soul for it other than yourself.

You’d never felt so useless.

taglist, only bc this series has been going on since i still had a taglist lmao. pls dont ask to be added because i do not do tag lists anymore!! follow me or rb the masterlist or something idk @ifilwtmfc @readers-post @fangirling-galore @funkydinosaurs @baby-i-am-fireproof @mess-is-my-aesthetic @likeballet @mdkfh @brezzybfan @magical-spit @lafy-taffy @miss-celestial-being @mercurysrhapsody @evilsailorsenshi @mainstreambitchlife @aangsupremacy @chloepluto1306 @lostaudfound @panhoeofmanyfandoms @blhemmings @my-acrylic-heart @seninjakitey @vlodi @arianagrandes-things @preciousbabypeter @youraliendaddo @stupidlittlebei @illuminwtesz @eringaitskill @otheliesstuff @users09 @chloepluto1306 @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @m-rae23 @the-horror-and-the-wild-simp @diemdurantia @theyoungestchild0w0 @mschievousx @alwaysreading1019 @ibelieveindragons141 @pretzywetzy

#this is so soap opera of me #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fic #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fic #anthony bridgerton fanfic #x reader #bridgerton imagine #sadie writes

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stillmonsterz · 10 months ago

Text

you know i'm down

pairing: jay x reader

genre: smut

summary: it's march 2020 and you're stuck in the house with your stepfather during lockdown. can the two of you keep it together?

warnings: stepcest, unprotected sex, swearing, dubcon, panty-sniffing, virus mention, COVID implication (?),

word count: 3.8k

“Yeah. Yeah, I know, things are getting crazy, but try to keep your head up, yeah? You’ll be safe,” Jay said into his phone, his forehead creasing as he spoke. His newly wedded wife had taken a trip to visit her mother shortly after their marriage, but now the government was advising that she stay where she was. The news was scaring her, and it scared Jay, too, but he couldn’t let her know that. He was her steadfast protector, her bastion, and so he reassured her that everything would be okay.

“And you’ll take care of her too, yes?” she asked firmly, referring to her daughter.

“Of course, honey. I’ll take care of her like she’s mine,” Jay said, rubbing his forehead. “I promise.”

“You’re so good with her,” his wife said. “You know, she really likes you, right?”

“I really like her, too,” Jay said softly, and it was the truth. His wife and her daughter had moved in with him three short months ago, and neither of them had caused trouble. On the contrary: Jay wished that he could see more of her daughter so they could be closer. He wanted to be a good stepfather, but she was always holed up inside of her room.

They exchanged goodbyes, I love yous, and promises to stay safe, and then Jay was alone on the couch with his own thoughts. If he sat there for too long, stewing in fear, he would lose his mind. Jay turned the television on and checked the news. They were strongly advising people to stay put for at least two weeks, and Jay made a mental note to coordinate with his employees about this in a few hours. No point riling people up and forcing them to worry about work so early in the day.

Jay was sitting on the couch with lips set in a line when you had tentatively crept down the stairs, worry etched on your features. He turned the television off and assessed you carefully. You were so similar to your mother in stature and facial features, but Jay doubted that his wife would ever don the dolphin shorts and hoodie combination you were so fond of wearing. Of course, you made it look cute. You shuffled over to him, wringing your hands.

“Mom really can’t come back?” you asked, hovering near the other end of the couch.

Jay nodded, setting his phone on the side table. “Yeah, they really want to curb the spread of the virus,” he said, smoothing his hands down his legs. “She’ll be okay, though. There’s a lot of food at her mom’s house, and she won’t be alone. It’ll only be two weeks.”

Your lower lip trembled, and you looked away from Jay as you tried to calm yourself down. You rubbed your hands along your arms, and Jay could see that you had goosebumps. “You don’t think she got it, do you?” you asked in a wavering voice.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jay said quietly. “Look at me.” When you refused, obstinately staring at the ground, his voice became firm. “Look at me.”

You lifted your head, and he spread his arms and gestured for you to come to him. He wrapped you in his embrace, rubbing your back. You leaned on him, kneeling in between his legs as you hugged him tightly. “There’s no way that she caught it,” Jay said soothingly. “She’s been with her family the entire time. She hardly went off their property.”

“I’m just so worried. I’ve never lived through anything like this before,” you said falteringly, pulling away so you could look at his face. Jay knew you were looking at him to check for chinks in his armor, a sign of doubt. He pulled his features into a convincing mask of resoluteness and confidence.

“It’ll all be okay,” he said, running his thumb along your cheek. “Look on the bright side, you won’t have to commute to school for two weeks.”

You chuckled, looking down as you smiled. “You’re right, Jay.” Jay liked that you didn’t try to call him Dad or Daddy. When he had first met you after a few months of dating your mom, he had been pleased to find that you weren’t the archetypal bratty stepdaughter. Instead, you were sweet and intelligent, and you hardly asked him for a thing. Jay stroked your hair comfortingly and kissed your forehead.

“You wanna watch a movie together? Would you like that?” You nodded your assent, and Jay reached around for the remote and went on Netflix. He put something lighthearted on for you, and shortly after the movie started you rested your head on his chest. Belatedly, Jay realized that it might be somewhat inappropriate to hold you like this, with you curled up in his arms, kneeling between his legs. But you were so worried, and you needed a guiding figure there, so what else could he do?

Jay continued to rub your back as you watched the movie together. At some point, though, Jay’s attention permanently moved from the film onto you, and he studied your features closely. His wife was a very pretty woman, and started to realize that her daughter was a very pretty girl.

Maybe this lockdown wouldn't be so bad, if he could get closer to you.

–

The next day, Jay took stock of everything in the kitchen. Thankfully, they tended to bulk-buy, so he didn’t think that they would have to go shopping for two weeks. Yesterday, you hadn’t eaten dinner, blaming your nerves for curbing your appetite. He decided to surprise you with a pancake breakfast. He smiled as he imagined you eating pancakes. You’d look so adorable with full cheeks…

As he started to gather the ingredients, he heard footsteps padding on the tiled floor.

“What are you doing?” you asked quietly. Jay turned to face you, and his breath caught. You were rubbing your eyes, looking around the kitchen, and you were so cute. Jay swallowed thickly and returned his attention to the array of supplies in front of him.

“Just making breakfast,” he mumbled. “Pancakes.”

“Can I help?” He heard you come closer, and he could smell your body wash. It was fruity and playful; something from Victoria’s Secret or Lush, a store like that. It went so well with your natural fragrance, Jay had to resist the urge to sniff the air.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Jay replied, kneeling down to find where the pans were stashed. It was his house, but his wife had reorganized the kitchen to her liking, so he had trouble finding things.

“I want to help,” you said, and Jay looked up at you. A mistake. How could he refuse those earnest eyes of yours?

“Yeah, sure,” he said, hoping he came off as nonchalant. He gave you some instructions, well-aware that his voice was somewhat strained. Jay watched you bustle around the kitchen, shamelessly checking you out. Guilt nipped at him, but he reasoned that it was just looking. There was nothing wrong with looking. And when you wore little shorts like that, you were asking to be looked at, really.

Jay snapped himself out of it and returned his attention to cooking. He flipped the pancakes without using a spatula, and you clapped. “I wish I could do that,” you said.

“Here, I’ll show you.” Jay wrapped your hand around the end of the pan and covered it with his own. “You have to utilize a certain flick of the wrist, but put pressure on your index finger, your middle finger, and your thumb…” When you successfully flipped a pancake with his help, you giggled, and he felt warm. Like a proud father, he thought. Just like a proud father.

As you two ate breakfast together, he could see your happiness returning. You must have been so worried about your mother, and he was glad to see you shoveling pancakes in your mouth and laughing about some video your friend had sent you.

“You’ve got syrup all over your mouth,” Jay said, smiling. Before you could wipe it yourself, Jay wet his thumb and wiped it off, relishing in the opportunity to touch your lips. “I bet you were such a messy kid,” he murmured.

“I was,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh. “My mom was always running after me with Wet Wipes.”

Jay chuckled at the thought, retracting his thumb. “I’m sure she didn’t mind. You were probably a cute kid, too.”

You groaned. “I was so cute. I have no clue what happened.”

You got pretty, Jay thought.

“You think I’m pretty?” you asked, a smile playing on your lips, and Jay realized that he had carelessly complimented you.

Jay cleared his throat. “Of course you are,” he said, desperately trying to center himself. “You look just like your mother.”

You nodded, still looking pleased with the compliment, and Jay could feel his heart racing out of his shirt. You were going to be the death of him.

–

The next day, after dinner, (another collaboration between the two of you), you had announced that you would do the laundry. Jay shook his head and handed his plate to you. “You do the dishes,” he said, smiling slyly. “I’ll take care of the laundry.”

You begrudgingly took the plate and stacked it on top of yours. “I hate doing the dishes.”

Jay laughed and ruffled your hair as he walked past you. “Doing things you hate builds character,” he called behind his shoulder.

As soon as he got upstairs, he made a mad dash to your bedroom to retrieve your laundry basket. He didn’t have a lot of time. Jay opened your door and bent down to examine the white hamper. Pawing through your clothes, he shakingly retrieved a pair of your panties. It was painfully conservative. Weren’t girls your age supposed to be wanton little sluts? He held it up, examining it closely. Common sense told him to put it back, morality told him to put it in the hamper, and his own conscience was screaming at him to just drop the fucking panties. But something stronger compelled him to hold the panties to his nose and sniff them deeply. Your scent was intoxicating, and he sighed. Jay took a few more deep sniffs before he dropped the panties back into the hamper and walked down to the laundry room.

It was lockdown, he concluded as he set the basket down. Lockdown was driving him crazy, turning him into a libidinous beast. Never mind that it had only been three days - three days was enough. Three days of being forced to watch as your stepdaughter pranced around in shorts that just barely hid her tight little ass, of having to smell her, of knowing that there was pussy that he couldn’t get to…that would drive a monk to drink. As long as he didn’t act on it, Jay reasoned, he’d be fine.

Over the next week, you and Jay had fallen into a routine. You ate breakfast together, then you dispersed to your separate rooms- you had to do online school, and Jay had to navigate running a business over Zoom. You would eat lunch together, discussing the virus, your problems, or just comfortably sitting in silence.

Then you squirrel away back to your room. When that happened, Jay would generally do two things in an interchangeable order. He would either retire to his office and read a business management book or go over his emails, or he would rub his dick raw in his ensuite bathroom to the thought of stepdaughter pussy. Pornography wasn’t necessary; he could just close his eyes and imagine you in those stupid shorts, imagine you taking them off and crawling towards him, imagine his hands groping your forbidden body.

After that, he would cook dinner for the two of you, and you would watch a movie together. You liked to rest your head on his shoulder, saying that that’s how you and your mother would watch movies. So Jay would wrap his arm around you, his other hand clenching the armrest of the couch so tightly his knuckles turned white as he tried to fight off his basest urges. After that, you would go to your room, and Jay would go to his room and edge himself for half an hour.

Then, he would text your mother and tell her that he loved her.

–

A week after the lockdown had been announced, Jay checked his appearance in the mirror in the living room and frowned. He had a meeting in an hour, but he noticed that he was developing a unibrow. Normally, his wife would help him pluck the hairs.

You walked downstairs and noticed Jay scowling at himself. “What’s wrong?” you asked, standing next to him. By now, just your scent went straight to his cock, making it stir, and Jay sighed.

“Your mom’s not around, so now I’m turning into a caveman,” he said, pointing at his eyebrows.

Your face brightened. “I can pluck them for you!”

Jay’s face fell, but he quickly put on a mask of indifference. “Oh, you don’t have to, I can figure it out,” he said, waving his hand.

You reached out and grabbed his hand. “Please, Jay? It’ll be so fun. It’ll be therapeutic. Please?”

You were the devil, he decided, the devil cloaked in the vestments of a college student. “Fine,” he relented, and you cheered.

Jay wearily stood next to the mirror as you sprinted up the stairs to get your tweezers. You bounced back down shortly, opening and closing the tweezers with the steeliness of a surgeon.

“Sit down,” you ordered, pointing at the couch in the living room. Jay obeyed, sitting down on the far end of the couch. You straddled his waist.

“What are you doing?” Jay asked, his voice somewhat panicked.

“I have to get close to you,” you replied. Jay realized that his reaction was unwarranted and he was doing a shit job of acting like he didn’t want to fuck you, so he nodded.

As you plucked his eyebrow hairs, Jay rested his hand on her waist to stabilize you. He stared at you as you worked; you were so lovely when you focused. Jay decided not to fight it, just for now. He languidly rubbed a circle around your waist as you plucked his eyebrows, and his other hand rested on your knee. If Jay tried, he could almost forget who you were. He could just pretend like there was no relation, that you were a stranger, that it wasn’t wrong to feel like this.

“Done!” You put the tweezers on the side table and examined his brows by tilting his head this way and that. Jay continued looking at you. He leaned back so that he was resting fully on the armrest, and your chest pressed against his due to the slight shift in position.

Jay’s voice was low and rough. “How does it look?” His hand still caressed your waist over your hoodie, and he noted that you made no move to get up.

“Very nice,” you replied, both hands still on his face. “You look very handsome now.”

Jay smiled slightly, looking you up and down. “Yeah?”

You looked in his eyes and nodded. “Yeah.”

Jay wasn’t sure who had leaned in first, but he did know that he was the one who deepened the kiss. You tasted incredible, and you weren’t a bad kisser, either. Your lips were soft and you took your time; your hands still cupped his cheeks. Jay’s hand slipped from your waist and worked its way up your hoodie, resting on your stomach. His other hand crawled up your leg, and he was endlessly grateful that you wore those dolphin shorts all the time.

You were the one who probed your tongue at the entrance of his mouth, and you were the one who ran it along his teeth. He stroked his tongue along yours, tilting his head even further. Your hands slipped from his cheeks to rest on his shoulders.

Strangely enough, as he made out with his stepdaughter, Jay felt no qualms. All he could focus on was how good it felt, on how warm your little mouth was, on the way your body tensed as he ran his hands over you. Jay brought his hand higher, from your stomach to your ribs, until it was resting just below your breasts. He waited for you to pull away, to tell him to stop, but when you didn’t, he continued. Jay’s hand cupped your breast, and he briefly broke the kiss.

“You didn’t wear a bra?” he asked in an accusatory tone, kneading your breast.

You shook your head.

“You wicked little minx.”

You shrugged, placing your hands behind his neck. “I normally don’t wear bras around the house. I mean, it’s just you and me in here.”

“No,” Jay whispered. “It’s not ‘just’ me.” Jay leaned in to kiss you with renewed fervor. His other hand slipped up into your shorts, fondling your upper thigh. Gently, Jay began to push you down onto the couch, until he was resting his full body weight on top of you. His hand groped at your chest, and he used both of his hands to pull your hoodie off. Finally, finally, he would get to see your body without a massive piece of fabric hiding it.

Jay moaned as soon as he saw your naked torso. He momentarily stopped kissing you to suck your tits. Both of his hands ran up and down your thighs, and he relished in your little gasps and whimpers. Jay took his mouth off of your breast and looked up at you. “You like that?”

You nodded, your face contorted in pleasure. “I like it, Jay.”

You had all but given him the green light to do whatever he wanted to your body, and almost without his knowing he began grinding his hips against yours. After leaving sloppy kisses all over your breasts, Jay kissed you again, sucking your tongue over and over again.

He continued to rut against your clothed pussy, the friction assuaging the painful stiffness he felt in his cock. Jay knew he was pathetic. He knew how degenerate, how desperate, how sick he was. Only a freak would dry hump their stepdaughter on the couch. He didn’t even last an entire week. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to fully care, let alone to stop. Jay ground his crotch into yours, pressing you deeper into the couch, and he groaned in your mouth.

His hands were all over you now, stroking your back, your chest, your stomach, your thighs, and he was dimly aware of your own hands snaking up his shirt.

Jay broke the kiss again, sweat dripping down his nose. “You can’t tell anyone,” Jay said frantically as he began to unbuckle his belt. “Got that? Not your friends, not your classmates, not your mom. Do you understand me?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t enough. “Do you understand me, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you said hoarsely, your lips already swollen. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Jay tossed his belt to the side and tugged his jeans down. “Our little secret, right?”

You shimmied out of your shorts. “Our little secret.”

Jay slid your panties down your legs and parted your legs, pushing one up the couch and leaving the other to hang off of the side. He glanced at you as he worked his cock a few times. “Are you a virgin?”

You shook your head.

“Good.”

“Why?”

“I’d never fuck a virgin the way I’m about to fuck you,” Jay said. Your eyes widened in apprehension, and Jay smiled.

He pushed himself inside of you roughly. As soon as he felt your pussy tighten around his cock, its warmth enveloping him, he swore. “Oh, fuck.” Jay kept your legs pushed open as he inches himself into you. At first, he shallowly thrusts into you with about half of his length. You’re already shuddering like a whore, whining and shaking, but you aren’t wet enough for his liking. Jay reached his hand down and stroked at the area above your vagina lips, eventually finding your clitoris. He rubbed it, just enough to get you nice and sopping wet. It didn’t take long, either; you must have been as pent-up as he had been, judging by the way you were gasping. Even just a few inches had you stuttering out some words that would make your mother blush.

He pulled out of you slightly, swirling his hips, before slamming his cock into you again. You moaned, a sound so gorgeous that he had to continue. Jay pounded your pussy mercilessly, his hands keeping your legs split open. His balls slapped against your thighs almost painfully as he kept up his pace.

“Should have done this at the start,” Jay huffed. “Should have been inside you the second lockdown started.”

You opened your eyes. “Why didn’t you?”

Good question. Why hadn’t he just fucked you like this when you had come running to him for comfort? Why had he bothered waiting? For propriety? For politeness? None of that mattered. The only thing that mattered now was the feeling of your pussy gripping his cock.

Jay smiled slightly as he imagined how your mother would react to this: her daughter splayed out on the couch, her tits bouncing up and down, her hand covering her mouth so her moans won’t echo all over the house, and her stepfather in between her legs, fucking her ruthlessly. The scary thing was, Jay didn’t think he could stop even if your mother had walked in. Your pussy felt too good, too tight, too warm, too inviting.

You were so wet that Jay could hear it, his cock making obscene noises as it ravaged your hole. Jay pulled out of you, breathing heavily. He dragged you from the couch and laid you flat on the rug.

“On all fours,” he said raggedly. “Now.”

You were weak, but you obeyed his instructions, displaying your red, aggravated pussy for him. Jay mounted you and fucked you like a dog, chasing his orgasm. His hands groped around your chest and he grabbed your tits while he pounded you. He leaned his head back and let out a primal moan.

Soon, your arms gave out and you collapsed onto the floor. Jay didn’t pull out of you, couldn’t pull out of you. He braced his arms on either side of you and slammed into you, pressing his entire body weight onto you.

He felt his orgasm approaching, and he sped up, grunting and groaning. Jay felt like he would die if he didn’t cum, and he fucked into you mindlessly. When his orgasm hit, he let out a strangled scream. He could feel the pleasure from his cock all the way to his fingertips; his hairline tingled as he emptied himself out in your pussy.

Jay didn’t know what he would do next. He didn’t know how you would act around each other. But he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had to do this again and again with you.

#jay x reader #jay smut #enhypen smut #enha smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #I don't like the title...

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be4chywritez · 3 months ago

Text

unbound | max verstappen

max verstappen x fem!reader

you get pregnant, and there is no doubt in your mind that it’s Max’s.

beachy’s masterlist 🐚

beachy’s prompt list🥥

You take a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the tests. The seconds tick by slowly, each one a reminder of how this moment could change everything. Amanda, your assistant, leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you closely.

"Okay, but does he know? Have you told Max?" Amanda’s voice cuts through the silence, and you feel your stomach knot up at the mention of his name.

You bite your lip, avoiding her gaze. "No... and I don’t plan on it. Not yet."

Amanda sighs. "You know that’s not going to fly. Especially with someone like Max. He’s not the kind of guy you can hide this from for long."

You feel the weight of her words but shrug it off. "I'll figure it out. Right now, I just... I need to know for sure."

You both fall silent as the timer hits zero. With shaky hands, you reach for the first test.

Amanda shifts beside you, clearly hesitant. “Before you look… have you thought about what you’re going to do if it’s positive? I mean… are you going to keep it?”

Her voice feels like a hammer against your already fragile state of mind. You swallow hard, eyes still glued to the test in your hand, the one that hasn’t yet revealed your fate.

Keep it? The question spins in your head, knocking against every other doubt you’ve been pushing aside. You hadn’t let yourself go that far in your thoughts—hadn’t let the possibility of becoming a mother really settle in. But deep down, despite the fear, there’s something else. Something you can’t quite name but it’s there, pulling you to this decision before you can even explain it to yourself.

“Yes,” you whisper, surprising yourself with the certainty in your voice. Amanda’s brows raise, but she doesn’t interrupt. “I don’t know why, but I just… I feel like I have to. I can’t explain it, but it’s like… this is happening for a reason.”

For the first time since you grabbed that handful of pregnancy tests, you let yourself exhale. The truth is, as much as the thought of raising a child alone terrifies you, there’s a small flicker of something new—a calm. You’d been feeling it for weeks. Alex had mentioned it, too, just the other night over dinner.

“There’s something different about you lately,” she’d said with a soft smile, her eyes flicking between you and Charles. “You seem more… grounded. Happier, even.”

At the time, you’d brushed it off. But now, that calmness makes sense. It wasn’t just work settling down or the comfort of being around friends. It was something else entirely.

Amanda is staring at you now, her skepticism softening into something more like understanding. “Okay,” she finally says. “But Max… What about him?”

Your heart tightens at the mention of his name. Max Verstappen. Memories of that night flood back, unbidden—the way the celebration bled into something deeper, something more intimate. You’d both been drinking, still riding the high of his podium finish, the afterparty spilling out into quieter spaces. You’d always felt that tension between you two, but you never acted on it, knowing how complicated it could get.

Especially since Max had just ended things with his girlfriend. You remember hearing it from Charles a few weeks earlier, and you couldn’t ignore how Max looked that night. A bit more reckless, a bit more vulnerable.

Maybe that’s why you hadn’t pushed him away when things escalated. You weren’t thinking about his ex or how raw it all was. For that brief moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, no strings attached.

But that moment didn’t stay in the past. Now it’s staring you right in the face.

Amanda raises an eyebrow, waiting for your response. You shake your head, avoiding her eyes. “I’m not telling him. Not yet. I don’t even know how to start.”

Amanda sighs, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed as if bracing herself for whatever’s next. “You can’t hide it forever, you know,” she says, her tone softer this time, but you can still hear the weight of her words.

“I know,” you mumble, eyes flicking between the tests. The seconds feel like hours, and you swear the air is thicker in the room. Your hand hovers over one of the tests, but you can’t bring yourself to flip it over just yet.

The fear gnaws at you, but there’s something else lurking just beneath the surface—something you haven’t let yourself fully acknowledge. It’s not just about Max or his recent breakup. It’s the deeper realization that everything in your life is about to shift.

You think about your career. How every fitting, every runway show, every photo shoot demands your undivided attention. And how, lately, it’s felt different. Less exciting. A sense of disconnect has settled in, like the passion that used to fuel you has been replaced by something quieter.

You’ve been more cautious, too. Alex had noticed that, even if she didn’t say it directly. She had joked that you were glowing, attributing it to stress-free work weeks. But in reality, you knew something was different. You just hadn’t wanted to admit it to yourself yet.

Amanda’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “If you’re serious about keeping it, you have to start thinking about what that means. For your career. For… everything.”

You finally reach for the first test, hands trembling as you turn it over. The small screen stares back at you, the two lines clear as day.

Pregnant.

Your breath catches in your throat, and your mind goes blank for a second. Amanda shifts beside you, leaning forward to peer at the result. You don’t need to look at her to know her expression—part concern, part disbelief, maybe a little bit of shock.

“Okay,” she says after a beat, letting out a long breath. “It’s real. So… now what?”

You can’t tear your eyes away from the test. “I don’t know.” It’s the only truth you can manage. The room feels too small, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once.

Amanda stands up, moving toward the door as if sensing you need space. “Take your time. But we need to talk about this—especially if you’re not planning on telling Max right away.”

As soon as she leaves, the quiet settles in, and for the first time since you grabbed the tests, you let yourself think about him. Max. You can almost picture his face—how serious he gets before a race, his intense focus on the track. And that night, when everything between you shifted, the wall he kept up with everyone else had cracked, just a little.

But you’d been ignoring the other side of it. The fact that he’d just come out of a relationship. You didn’t let yourself think about how complicated it would make things, how fragile he might’ve been, how vulnerable. And now, here you are, carrying a secret he has no idea exists.

You press your hand to your stomach, the reality finally starting to sink in. You are pregnant. With Max’s child.

And you’re not sure what to do next.

A few days later, you’re back in your studio, standing in front of a team of designers. The hum of creativity fills the air, but today, your mind is scattered. You’re doing your best to stay focused, but every now and then, your hand absentmindedly drifts to your stomach.

“So, as we prepare for the upcoming show, I want us to think outside the box for the new collection,” you begin, scanning the room as your team listens attentively. Amanda is there too, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She knows what’s going on beneath the surface, but for now, she keeps it to herself.

One of your lead designers, Jasmine, raises a hand. “Any particular direction you’re thinking of?”

You hesitate, the words sitting at the back of your throat. You hadn’t planned to go this route, but suddenly the idea feels right. Maybe it’s because the pregnancy is at the forefront of your mind. Or maybe it’s because designing has always been your way of processing things.

“I’ve been thinking…” you start, choosing your words carefully. “What if we explored a maternity line? Something that celebrates women at every stage, from expecting to post-pregnancy. Comfort and beauty, no matter the changes.”

The room goes quiet for a moment. You can almost see the gears turning in their heads as they process the idea. Jasmine looks intrigued. “A maternity collection. That’s… actually brilliant,” she says, and the others quickly chime in with nods and murmurs of agreement.

Amanda’s eyes flick toward you, but she doesn’t say anything. Only she knows the real reason you’re suggesting this. But for now, you focus on the work. It’s easier that way.

“We’ll workshop it,” you say, clearing your throat and moving the conversation forward. “But for now, let’s keep brainstorming. We’ll still need a core collection that fits within the show’s theme.”

As the meeting wraps up, you retreat to your office, sinking into your chair with a sigh of relief. For a moment, it feels like you’re back in control—like you’ve managed to keep everything balanced. But as the minutes tick by, the reality creeps in again.

You’re pregnant. And no matter how much you try to focus on work, it won’t change what’s happening.

Before you can dwell too long, your phone buzzes on the desk. A message from Charles.

Lunch with me and Alex today?

You stare at the screen for a moment, biting your lip. You’ve been

avoiding them. Ever since Alex pointed out how different you’ve been acting, you’ve been worried that spending too much time with them might give you away.

But Charles is persistent. You can already imagine him showing up at your office if you don’t respond.

Sure, you type back.

At lunch, the three of you sit outside at your favorite spot, the sun shining down on the café’s terrace. Alex leans forward, her eyes twinkling. “You seem busy lately. Is the new collection stressing you out?”

You force a smile, stirring your iced coffee. “You know how it is. Just a lot to manage.”

Charles tilts his head, a teasing grin on his face. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding us? We’ve barely seen you the past couple of weeks.”

You laugh it off, hoping they don’t notice how nervous you are. “I’ve just been focused on work. Things are… hectic.”

Alex narrows her eyes, studying you. “You’re different, though,” she says softly. “It’s not just work. You’ve been… calmer. Happier, even. Something’s going on.

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your expression neutral. “What do you mean?”

Charles nudges her. “Let her breathe, Alex. She’s probably just—”

“No,” Alex interrupts, still watching you closely. “There’s something else. You’d tell us if something was up, right?”

You nod, trying to keep your cool. “Of course. But there’s nothing. I promise.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but before she can push further, your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Max.

Hey, haven’t seen you in a while. You okay?

Your stomach flips. Of all the times for him to message you.

You quickly tuck your phone away, but not before Alex notices the look on your face. “Max?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you admit. “Just a quick text.”

Charles snorts, leaning back in his chair. “You and Max… I still can’t believe you two hooked up.”

“Charles,” Alex chides, but she’s smiling too.You roll your eyes, trying to brush it off. “It was just a one-time thing.”

Charles grins wider. “Sure it was.”

The days following your meeting with the design team become a blur of fittings, sketches, and late nights. Your life has always been busy, but now, every task feels ten times harder. The fatigue hits you in waves, leaving you drained before lunch, and the nausea is unpredictable, striking at the worst moments.

You’re at a photoshoot, trying to direct the models, when a sudden bout of dizziness hits. You steady yourself against the table, hoping no one notices, but Amanda’s sharp eyes catch you.

“You good?” she asks, her voice low enough so the others can’t hear.

You nod quickly, swallowing hard. “Yeah, just a bit light-headed. I didn’t eat much this morning.”

Amanda eyes you, clearly unconvinced, but before she can say more, one of the photographers calls your name. You straighten up, forcing a smile, and head back into the chaos of the shoot. But as you move around the studio, you can feel the weight of it all pressing down on you.

Later that afternoon, you retreat to your office, closing the door and sinking into your chair. You rest your hand on your stomach, feeling the subtle changes in your body. You’re not showing yet, but it won’t be long. The realization sends a wave of panic through you. You have no idea how you’re going to keep this up—how you’ll manage your work, your friends, and your pregnancy without something giving way.

Your phone buzzes on the desk, and you glance down to see a message from Alex.

Dinner tomorrow? We miss you.

You sigh. They’re getting suspicious, and you know it. You’ve been avoiding them, but you can’t keep this up forever. You type a quick reply agreeing to dinner, then toss your phone aside.

As the days pass, your work continues to pile up. Meetings, photoshoots, fittings—it never ends. Your team is buzzing with excitement over the maternity collection, and while part of you feels proud, there’s also an underlying anxiety. The very thing you’re designing for is the secret you’re desperately trying to keep hidden.

You’re in the middle of a meeting when another wave of nausea hits. You excuse yourself quickly, making a beeline for the bathroom. Once inside, you grip the sink, taking deep breaths to steady yourself.

The door creaks open, and Amanda steps in. “You okay?”

You nod, but it’s clear she doesn’t believe you. She waits a beat before asking, “Are you planning on telling anyone?”

You freeze, her question hanging heavy in the air. Amanda has been your rock through this, but you haven’t told anyone else. Not Alex, not Charles. And certainly not Max.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just trying to figure it out.”

Amanda watches you for a moment before sighing. “You can’t keep this up forever, you know. People are going to start noticing.”

You know she’s right. The signs are already there. Alex is suspicious, Charles keeps asking if you’re okay, and the physical toll is getting harder to hide. But you’re not ready—not yet.

It’s late in the evening when you finally return home, exhaustion pulling at your every step. The weight of your secret is growing heavier with each passing day. As much as you’ve tried to push through, the reality of your situation is beginning to feel impossible to ignore.

You’re in the kitchen, preparing a cup of tea to unwind, when there’s a knock at the door. You freeze, unsure who it could be at this hour. The only person who comes by unannounced is—

The knock sounds again, louder this time, followed by a familiar voice. “It’s us! Open up!”

Alex.

You rush to the door, already knowing who’s on the other side. Sure enough, when you swing it open, Alex and Charles stand there, both wearing expressions of concern. Alex pushes past you, stepping into the hallway with Charles trailing behind her.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Alex says, her arms crossed as she looks you over. “So, we decided to check in.”

You bite your lip, glancing at the unopened texts on your phone that you’d been ignoring all day. “Sorry, I’ve just been...busy.”

“Yeah, we figured,” Charles adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “But you’ve been acting weird for a while now. What’s going on?”

Alex walks over to the kitchen counter, leaning against it with her eyes fixed on you. “And don’t say it’s just work. You’ve been off. Charles and I have been worried.”

The concern in her voice stirs something inside you, and you feel the familiar pressure rising in your chest. You’ve been keeping this secret for weeks, but now, standing here with two of your closest friends staring at you, the weight of it all is unbearable.

You feel your heart race as you take a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

“I—I need to tell you both something,” you begin, your voice shaky.

Alex’s expression softens instantly, while Charles tilts his head, confused but attentive.

“What is it?” Alex asks gently.

You take another deep breath and close your eyes, forcing the words out before you can change your mind. “I’m...I’m pregnant.”

There’s a beat of silence, followed by a stunned look from both of them. Alex’s eyes widen, her mouth parting in shock. Charles, on the other hand, looks like he didn’t quite hear you correctly.

“You’re—pregnant?” he repeats, his voice full of disbelief.

You nod, your hands trembling slightly. “Yeah. I just found out a few weeks ago.”

Alex steps forward, her hand instinctively reaching for yours. “Oh my God...are you okay? How are you feeling?”

Her immediate concern almost undoes you, and you blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “I’m...I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Charles lets out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. “Wow. I mean...wow. Does...does Max know?”

At the mention of Max’s name, you shake your head quickly. “No, he doesn’t. And I don’t want him to—not yet.”

Alex’s brows furrow. “But you’re going to tell him eventually, right?”

You hesitate, the uncertainty hanging in the air. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can. He just got out of a relationship, and things are complicated.”

Charles shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, clearly unsure of what to say. “But...he’s the father, right?”

“Of course,” you reply quickly, your voice sharp. You sigh, feeling the tension in your body ease slightly. “It’s just...with everything that happened between him and his ex, I don’t want to make things worse. He’s been going through a lot.”

Alex squeezes your hand gently. “That doesn’t mean he shouldn’t know. He has a right to.”

You nod, but the idea of telling Max still feels too overwhelming, too complicated.

“I just...I need some time,” you say quietly. “I need to figure things out.”

Alex nods, her expression softening again. “Okay. We’re here for you, whatever you decide.”

Charles finally steps forward, his usual goofy grin gone. “Yeah, we’ve got your back. Whatever you need.”

You offer them both a small, grateful smile. “Thanks. I’m just trying to take it one day at a time.”

Alex hugs you, her arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders. “We’ll get through this together.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. You’re not alone in this anymore. Alex and Charles know now, and even though there are still so many unanswered questions—about Max, about the future—you finally feel like you can breathe.

The morning light filters through your studio windows as you sit at your desk, reviewing concept boards for your upcoming fashion show. You’ve tried to focus on work, pouring yourself into designs for your new maternity collection, but it’s hard to ignore the subtle changes in your body.

Your fingers hover over the designs, and despite how proud you are of the collection, you can’t shake the worry creeping up the back of your mind. Every day, the nausea comes in waves, the exhaustion more overwhelming than usual. The weight of the secret you’re carrying feels heavier with each passing moment, but for now, you have to keep it buried.

Amanda steps into the room, placing a cup of herbal tea on your desk. “Here,” she says, her eyes scanning your face. “You looked like you needed something soothing.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking a sip and letting the warmth calm your nerves. You hadn’t realized you were fidgeting until now.

You’ve been so careful at work, going through the motions of meetings, fittings, and shoots as if nothing is different. But Amanda’s keen observation skills—and the subtle way she’s been watching you—make you feel more exposed. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep this up.

As the day goes on, you notice whispers among the team. Little comments about how you seem “glowing” or how you’ve been calmer than usual. It’s innocent enough, but each time, your pulse races, worrying that someone is beginning to piece it together.

Later, during a meeting with your design team, you present the new maternity line. You speak confidently, knowing the collection is some of your best work, but a small voice inside you can’t help but feel nervous as you explain the inspiration behind it. One of your designers raises an eyebrow when you mention how the pieces will offer both comfort and style for women during all stages of pregnancy.

“Interesting choice,” one of the assistants remarks. “Are we expanding into maternity now?”

You force a smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yes. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I want this collection to reflect the different phases of life, including motherhood.”

The team nods in approval, but you can feel the weight of their curiosity. As you finish the presentation, you excuse yourself from the meeting, heading to your office for a moment of quiet.

As soon as you close the door behind you, you slump into the chair, rubbing your temples. The anxiety is starting to wear on you, and keeping this secret feels more daunting with each passing day. You grab your phone and see a text from Alex, asking how you’re holding up.

Just as you’re about to respond, Amanda pokes her head in. “By the way, don’t forget about the event tonight.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten. The event is a high-profile charity gala—a perfect storm for running into Max.

“Right... thanks for the reminder,” you say, trying to sound calm.

That evening, you arrive at the event, your oversized dress flowing elegantly as you step into the ballroom. The room is filled with the usual crowd—models, designers, athletes, and celebrities. You take a deep breath, hoping that blending in with the crowd will be enough to keep attention off you.

But as you make your way through the event, your eyes catch sight of someone across the room. Max.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, but the sight of him is enough to make your heart race. This is the first time you’ve seen him since... well, since everything.

He’s talking to a few people, his usual relaxed posture, but there’s something different in his expression—maybe from his recent breakup. Your breath hitches as you watch him for a moment longer before you turn to find Alex and Charles, hoping to stay out of Max’s line of sight.

But just as you turn to walk away, you hear a voice behind you.

“Hey.”

You freeze, knowing exactly who it is before you even turn around. Max stands there, his eyes scanning your face, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.

You turn slowly, heart pounding as your eyes meet Max’s. For a moment, it feels like the rest of the room fades away, and it’s just the two of you standing there, an invisible tension hanging between you.

“Max,” you manage to say, your voice steady but your nerves buzzing beneath the surface. You hadn’t planned on speaking to him, not here, not like this. But now that he’s standing right in front of you, you don’t have a choice.

He looks... good. That familiar sharpness in his gaze is still there, but you can see the weight of something unsaid behind his eyes. It’s probably the breakup. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, his tone neutral but tinged with curiosity. He looks you over quickly, taking in your outfit, but you’re thankful it hides enough that he wouldn’t notice anything off at first glance.

“I—yeah, I wasn’t sure if I’d come,” you say, forcing a small smile. “Work’s been crazy.”

He nods, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression, like he knows there’s more to the story. “I get it. Same for me. Trying to get back into the swing of things.”

You know he’s referring to his recent breakup, and for a brief second, guilt claws at you. He doesn’t know, and this would be the absolute worst moment to drop the bomb. Not at a public event, not in front of all these people. You can feel Alex and Charles watching you from across the room, their presence grounding you, reminding you that they know—but Max doesn’t. Not yet.

“Have you been all right?” he asks, his voice dropping a little lower, more sincere. “It feels like it’s been a while since we last... talked.”

The way he says “talked” holds so much more than the word itself. It brings back memories of the last time you saw him—when things between you had been anything but simple. The night you hooked up still lingers in your mind, the way it felt like something more, but you’d both walked away from it without a word about what it really meant.

“I’ve been fine,” you lie. “Just... busy. You know how it is.”

Max tilts his head, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Yeah, I do.”

There’s a pause, and the air between you feels heavier. You can tell he’s trying to read you, trying to figure out if something is wrong. And part of you wants to tell him. But you can’t. Not here.

Just as the tension starts to rise, someone brushes past you, pulling your attention away for a second. It’s Alex, making her way over with a casual smile that barely hides her concern.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Alex says, glancing between you and Max. “I just wanted to steal her for a second.”

You can see Max's eyes flicker to Alex, then back to you. He steps back slightly, giving you space. “Of course,” he says, his voice clipped, though you can’t tell if it’s from irritation or something else.

“Catch up later?” he asks, his tone softening, and you nod, though your stomach twists at the thought.

“Yeah, sure,” you murmur, and with that, Alex gently pulls you aside.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, Alex leans in. “You okay?” she asks quietly, concern etched into her face. “I saw you two talking, and I wasn’t sure if you needed an out.”

You nod, feeling a wave of relief but also guilt. “Thanks for the save. I wasn’t ready to talk to him... not yet.”

“I figured,” Alex says, giving you a sympathetic look. “But he’s going to figure it out eventually.”

You know she’s right. The more you run into him, the harder it’s going to be to keep the secret. And after tonight, it’s clear that Max isn’t going to let things stay unresolved between you for much longer.

After Alex pulls you away, you take a moment to breathe, letting the tension drain from your body. But the thought of telling Max still lingers in the back of your mind. Maybe tonight was the right time after all. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding and face whatever comes next.

You glance back at him, half expecting to see him still standing where you left him. But instead, your breath catches in your throat.

Max isn’t alone anymore.

His ex stands beside him, her hand resting casually on his arm as she leans in to say something. He’s smiling, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Still, it’s enough to make your heart sink. The sight of them together—so familiar, so comfortable—leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Whatever you were about to tell him evaporates in an instant. The idea of burdening him with the news of your pregnancy feels impossible now. He’s clearly moved on, and you can’t bring yourself to pull him back into something so complicated, not when he’s just gotten out of a relationship.

You turn away quickly, trying to shake off the sudden wave of emotion. Alex notices and wraps a supportive arm around your shoulder, leading you away from the scene. “You did the right thing,” she says quietly. “It’s not the right time.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I know.”

But deep down, it doesn’t make it any easier.

The night of the fashion show arrives, and the energy backstage is electric. Models are rushing around, designers are making last-minute adjustments, and the press is already swarming outside. Your collection is the centerpiece of the show, and the maternity line is about to debut in front of some of the biggest names in the industry.

But despite the excitement, a familiar weight presses down on your chest. You’re nervous—not just about the show but about being in the spotlight while trying to hide your pregnancy. The oversized designs you’ll wear tonight should help conceal it, but you can’t shake the fear that someone will notice a change in you.

As you step out into the bright lights of the runway, you remind yourself to breathe. Focus on the work. Focus on the moment. You can do this.

The show goes off without a hitch. The audience loves the collection, and you manage to keep your composure throughout. But as you walk backstage after your final look, you can feel the pressure building again. You’ve made it through the night, but the reality of your situation is starting to catch up with you.

As the weeks pass, your body begins to show subtle signs of the life growing inside you. The small bump is barely noticeable, but to you, it’s impossible to ignore. The reality of your pregnancy is becoming more apparent each day, and with it, the pressure to step back from work mounts.

After another long week of trying to conceal the changes and fighting off fatigue, you make a decision—you need a break. The relentless cycle of photoshoots, meetings, and creative pressure is too much to handle while carrying a secret this big. So, with a heavy heart, you inform your team that you’ll be taking a leave of absence from both modeling and designing. It’s the first time in a long while that you’re putting yourself first, but it doesn’t feel like a relief. If anything, it makes the situation feel more real.

You spend the next few days quietly preparing for your time away, tying up loose ends and planning for what comes next. But even as you try to rest, the world keeps moving. One evening, as you sit on the couch scrolling through your phone, you receive a text from Alex.

Hey! How do you feel about coming with us to Vegas for the Grand Prix?

You deserve a break, and it’ll be fun! Plus, it’s cold—perfect for layering up and hiding that cute bump of yours 😉

You smile at her playful message. Alex always knows how to make you feel better, and despite your initial hesitation, the idea of going to Vegas for the race sounds like a good distraction.

I’ll think about it, but I’m not sure…

No excuses! Charles and I already have everything set. You need this, trust me. It’s going to be amazing.

After a bit of back and forth, you reluctantly agree. The timing couldn’t be better—Vegas would be a good place to get away from everything, and the cold weather gives you the perfect excuse to bundle up and hide the bump that’s starting to show. Maybe, just maybe, you can get through this without anyone noticing.

The Las Vegas Grand Prix is buzzing with energy when you arrive. The city is alive with lights, and the cold air nips at your skin as you step out of the car, pulling your oversized sweater tighter around yourself. You’ve layered your outfit perfectly—no one would suspect a thing.

As you make your way through the paddock with Charles and Alex, you do your best to remain inconspicuous, but it’s hard not to feel like you’re under a microscope. Max is here. You haven’t seen him since that fateful night at the gala, and even though you’ve done your best to avoid him, you know it’s only a matter of time before your paths cross again.

Sure enough, as you’re chatting with Alex near the Red Bull garage, you spot him out of the corner of your eye. He’s walking in your direction, his gaze sweeping across the crowd until it lands on you. For a brief moment, you think about turning away, but it’s too late.

“Hey,” Max says, stopping in front of you, his eyes scanning your face. “You look… really good.”

There’s an awkward pause as you search for something to say, but all you can manage is a quiet, “Thanks.” The tension between you is palpable, but before anything more can be said, Charles interrupts, pulling you away to meet some of the other drivers.

As the race time approaches, Alex notices you’re starting to look tired and pulls you aside. “Hey, why don’t you watch the race from Charles’ driver’s room? You can get some rest if you want. It’s warm in there, and no one will bother you.”

You hesitate, but the thought of escaping the chaos of the paddock for a few hours is too tempting to pass up. “Okay,” you agree. “But you stay here and enjoy the race. I’ll be fine.”

Alex gives you a soft smile. “I’ll come check on you after.”

The room is quiet, the hum of the crowd fading into the background as you settle onto the couch, finally able to relax. You didn’t realize how exhausted you were until now, the weight of everything catching up with you. Before you know it, you’ve drifted off to sleep, your hands instinctively resting on your bump as you doze.

After the race ends, Max heads to Charles’ driver’s room, searching for him. The door creaks open softly, and he freezes in his tracks at the sight in front of him.

There you are, fast asleep on the couch, your oversized sweater no longer hiding the soft curve of your belly. His eyes widen, his mind racing as the pieces start to fall into place. The realization hits him hard—this isn’t just a rumor or a secret anymore. You’re pregnant, and somehow, he knows deep down, it’s his.

Max stands frozen in the doorway, his heart racing as he stares at your sleeping form. The soft rise of your belly is undeniable now, and everything clicks into place in a way that feels almost too shocking to comprehend. His breath hitches, the noise startling you awake. You blink, disoriented for a moment, before your eyes land on him.

“Max?” you murmur, your voice groggy with sleep.

But the look on his face makes your heart drop.

“You’re pregnant,” he says flatly, his voice stripped of emotion.

You nod, unsure of what to say. The words you rehearsed, the explanations and apologies, all seem to disappear in the suffocating silence between you.

Max’s eyes narrow, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. “And you weren’t planning on telling me, were you?”

“Max, I was going to—”

“When?” he interrupts, his tone sharp and cutting. “After the baby was born? Or maybe when the media started asking questions? Did you think I wouldn’t find out eventually?”

You swallow hard, feeling the lump in your throat grow larger by the second. “I didn’t know how to tell you… You just got out of a relationship. I didn’t want to make things more complicated.”

His jaw tightens, and he stares at you like he doesn’t even recognize you anymore. “More complicated?” His voice rises, incredulous. “You think hiding the fact that you’re carrying my child isn’t complicated enough?”

“I didn’t know how you’d react,” you say softly, your voice trembling. “I didn’t want to ruin everything.”

Max scoffs, his face twisted in disbelief. “Ruin everything? You already did. You made this decision for both of us without even giving me the chance to decide if I wanted to be involved.”

You feel your stomach drop. The look in his eyes is colder than you’ve ever seen, and the weight of his words hits you like a punch to the gut. “Max, please… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

He takes a step closer, his voice low but laced with anger. “You didn’t mean for what to happen? To get pregnant or to keep it from me?”

You can’t meet his gaze. “Both,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Max lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. “Max, I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing by giving you space. I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” he snaps. “You didn’t give me a choice. You took that away from me.”

Your heart sinks further, and the lump in your throat makes it difficult to speak. “I know I should have told you sooner. But we can still figure this out. We can—”

Max cuts you off, his voice cold and detached. “No.”

The single word hangs in the air between you like a death sentence. Your eyes widen, and your chest tightens with panic. “What do you mean, no?”

“I’m not doing this,” Max says, his tone icy. “I’m not going to be part of something you kept from me. You made the choice to go through this alone—so you can finish it alone.”

You feel your breath hitch, your resolve faltering. “Max, please. You don’t mean that. You can’t just walk away.”

Max’s gaze is unwavering, hard as steel. “Watch me.”

The finality in his voice cuts through you, but you manage to keep your composure, standing your ground. “You don’t get to make this decision for me. This is our child.”

“I didn’t get a say in that!” he retorts, anger flashing in his eyes. “You’ve known all this time, and you’ve had the luxury of time to process it. I just found out, and now I’m supposed to act like everything’s fine? Like I haven’t been completely blindsided?”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat. You can see the hurt and betrayal etched across his face, and it pierces you deeper than any insult.

“Max, this isn’t just about you. I was scared. I didn’t know how you’d react, and I didn’t want to complicate things more, especially after your breakup.”

“Maybe I wanted to be a part of this!” he yells, frustration seeping into every word. “But you made it clear that I’m not. You decided that all by yourself.”

A heavy silence hangs between you, thick with unspoken emotions. You take a breath, steeling yourself, but he’s not done.

“Do you even realize how selfish that is?” Max shakes his head, disbelief written all over his face. “You think you can just decide what’s best for me without even asking?”

“I thought I was protecting you!” you reply, your voice firm despite the tremor underneath. “This is hard for me too, Max. I didn’t want to burden you with something I didn’t know how to handle myself.”

Max’s expression hardens, the anger in his eyes morphing into something colder. “You don’t get to choose what I can and can’t handle. I’m not a child, and this is not just your life. This is our child we’re talking about.”

The tension in the air is palpable, and you take a step back, feeling the weight of the moment bearing down on you.

“What happens now?” you ask quietly, almost pleading for some kind of understanding.

Max crosses his arms, his posture defensive. “You’re the one who made this choice. You can raise our kid alone if that’s what you want.”

“Max, I never wanted that!” you insist, desperation creeping into your voice. “I thought we could figure this out together.”

He shakes his head, disappointment flooding his features. “I can’t be part of something you hid from me. I won’t. It’s too late for that.”

You feel a chill wash over you as the finality of his words sinks in. “You’re just going to walk away?”

“I’m not walking away,” he replies, his voice now steady, devoid of any emotion. “I’m choosing not to be involved in something I didn’t even know was happening. You’ve made that choice for me.”

With that, he turns, heading for the door. The sight of him walking away feels like a knife to your heart, but you refuse to let your emotions spill over. You hold your ground, your expression steeling.

“Max,” you call out, but he doesn’t look back.

The door clicks softly behind him as he leaves Charles’ driver’s room, leaving you alone with the echoes of his rejection. You stare at the space he once occupied, your hand drifting instinctively to your stomach. There’s no sobbing, no collapse of emotion—just a stillness, a numb realization of where you stand.

You wish you could cry. Somehow, the tears refuse to fall.

The quiet is almost suffocating, pressing against your skin like the cold air outside. Max’s anger had been expected, but the way he looked at you—the coldness in his eyes as he dismissed not just you, but the life growing inside you—had cut deeper than you anticipated.

You rub your hand absentmindedly over the soft curve of your belly, feeling that strange mixture of loss and strength. I can do this. You’ve been on your own before, and now, it’s not just about you.

You stand, smoothing down your oversized sweater, and move to gather your things. As you slip into the hallway, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Alex: We’re coming over.

You almost don’t want to see them, but the truth is, you need them now more than ever. Alex and Charles have always been your safe space, and tonight, that space feels smaller, more fragile. But it’s still there.

Half an hour later, the knock at your door is soft but insistent. You open it to find Alex standing there with Charles just behind her. Her face is a mix of worry and expectation.

“We came as fast as we could,” Alex says, pulling you into a gentle hug before you can speak.

You smile faintly at their concern, the warmth of Alex’s embrace easing some of the weight on your chest. Charles steps inside, eyes scanning your face as if searching for clues to what happened.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, his brow furrowed.

You nod, but it’s not convincing. “I told Max,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

They both stiffen at your words. Alex exchanges a glance with Charles before guiding you to sit down on the couch. “And?” she presses gently.

You hesitate, fingers tracing the seam of your sweater as you exhale slowly. “He doesn’t want to be part of it.”

There’s a long, heavy silence. The tension in the room shifts as Alex sits beside you, her hand finding yours, squeezing it tightly. Charles crosses his arms, looking frustrated but holding back his words.

“He’ll come around,” Alex says softly. “He’s just… dealing with a lot right now.”

You shake your head, the words not offering much comfort. “No, I don’t think he will. He was clear, Alex. He… he said I should’ve told him sooner, but—” You stop, biting your lip as the frustration rises. “I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping it from him. He just got out of a relationship; the last thing he needed was this.”

Charles leans against the wall, arms still crossed, his expression unreadable. Finally, he speaks. “Max is an idiot. He’s got his head so far up his ass, he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

You let out a dry laugh, but it’s tinged with sadness. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I expected him to be thrilled.”

“Still doesn’t make it okay,” Alex adds. “You don’t deserve that.”

Your heart swells with gratitude for them. They’re not sugarcoating anything or trying to fix what’s broken. They’re just here, and in that, you find comfort.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” you admit quietly, your hand resting protectively on your bump. “I wasn’t ready for any of this, and now… it’s just me.”

Alex’s gaze softens. “You’re not alone. Not by a long shot.”

Charles moves to sit beside you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Whatever happens, you’ve got us. And you’re going to be an amazing mom. Max… he’s missing out.”

You smile through the heaviness in your chest. “Thanks. I needed that.”

For a moment, you sit there in silence, the three of you. The conversation shifts to lighter topics—Alex telling you about some ridiculous thing Charles did last week, the upcoming races, and work. It’s grounding, reminding you that despite everything, there are pieces of your life that still make sense..

Max sat on his couch, his eyes staring blankly at the TV, the sound barely registering. His mind kept drifting back to the race, and more than that—to her. The image of her asleep in Charles’ driver’s room, her hand protectively resting over the curve of her belly, haunted him.

He sighed, rubbing his face, trying to shake the thoughts away. He didn’t want to think about it, about her, or about the decision he’d made.

But before he could fully retreat into his thoughts, there was a knock on his door.

Max frowned, standing up and crossing the room to answer it. When he opened the door, he found Charles standing there, his face hard with barely concealed anger.

“Can I come in?” Charles asked, his voice tight.

Max stepped aside, already knowing this wasn’t going to be a casual conversation.

Charles didn’t waste any time once the door was shut behind him. “What the hell are you doing?”

Max blinked, taken aback by the intensity in his friend’s voice. “What are you talking about?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about,” Charles snapped, his arms crossing over his chest. “She told you about the baby, and you just walked away?”

Max’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t walk away. I told her how I felt.”

Charles scoffed. “You didn’t tell her how you felt. You pushed her away because you were scared.”

“Scared?” Max repeated, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I’m not scared, Charles. She kept it from me for months. How am I supposed to feel about that?”

Charles stepped closer, his eyes blazing. “You’re supposed to care, Max! She’s pregnant with your child. You don’t get to just check out because it’s inconvenient for you.”

Max clenched his fists at his sides, the frustration rising. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is.” Charles’ voice softened, but his words were firm. “You’re making it complicated because you don’t want to deal with it. But she’s doing this alone. She’s carrying your son.”

Max froze at the last word, his eyes snapping up to meet Charles’. “Son?”

Charles nodded, his gaze steady. “Yeah. She found out a few days ago. And you should’ve been there.”

Max stared at him, his thoughts spinning. A son. He didn’t even know it was a boy. And the weight of that hit him harder than he expected.

Charles’s expression softened, his eyes filled with understanding. “I know exactly why you walked away.”

Max tensed, his heart pounding in his chest. “What are you talking about?”

“I know why you’re scared, Max,” Charles said quietly. “Because of him. Because of what Jos was like when you were growing up. You think if you stick around, you’ll turn out just like him.”

Max’s eyes flickered with surprise, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Charles could see the truth in his silence.

“I know you don’t talk about it, and I don’t need the details,” Charles continued, stepping closer. “But I’ve seen how hard he was on you. I’ve seen how you shut down when people talk about family, about fathers. You’re scared that if you stay, you’ll mess up the way he did.”

Max stared down at the floor, his heart pounding. “He made my life hell, Charles. Every mistake I made, he made sure I knew. He made me feel like I wasn’t good enough… like I’d never be good enough.”

Charles watched him closely, his voice soft but firm. “But that’s not who you are, Max. You’re not him. You know what not to do. That’s what makes you different.”

Max swallowed hard, his throat tight. “What if I’m worse?”

Charles sighed, shaking his head. “You won’t be. I’ve seen you with kids, with your nieces and nephews. You’re good with them, whether you believe it or not. You’re not going to be him, Max. But if you walk away now, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

Max didn’t respond for a long moment. The fear, the guilt, it all weighed so heavily on him, and yet Charles was right. He wasn’t his father. He didn’t have to be.

“I don’t know what to do,” Max finally whispered.

“You start by being there,” Charles said simply. “That’s it. You show up. Everything else will fall into place.”

“You’re going to regret it if you don’t step up,” Charles said quietly. “She’s stronger than you think, but she shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

Max didn’t say anything as Charles left, the door closing softly behind him. But the words stayed with him, even after the silence returned to the apartment.

Work had always been your way of coping. And now, it was a necessity. You threw yourself into finishing the pregnancy collection, meticulously crafting each piece to enhance the models’ natural beauty. The collection was personal—more than anyone realized—and every design was a tribute to the future you were about to step into.

The name you’d chosen for the collection, Adrie, was a secret only you and Alex knew. No one else had any idea that it was named after your son, a silent tribute to the life growing inside you.

As the final touches were made, you found moments of joy. Your appointments with Alex were always a reminder of what was coming. Finding out you were having a boy brought a strange sense of peace, even as your relationship with Max remained broken.

Now, the fashion show was finally here.

The runway was alive with excitement as your models strutted down the catwalk, each wearing pieces that reflected a new chapter in your creative journey. The audience was captivated—every detail, every design, was met with applause. But as you watched from backstage, your heart pounded for a different reason.

You spotted him. Max. He was here.

He sat in the audience, his expression unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. You hadn’t seen him since Monaco, since he walked out of Charles’ driver’s room without a second glance. And now, he was here, watching.

Your stomach churned, the slight bump beneath your dress making you feel more vulnerable than ever. You could have asked Alex if she knew he was coming, but there was no point now.

The show reached its peak, and it was time for you to take your final bow. You stepped out onto the runway, your face composed, your smile professional. The applause was deafening, and yet, all you could feel was the knot in your chest as you avoided looking directly at Max.

Don’t look at him. Don’t let him see.

But you could feel him. You felt his eyes on you the entire time. The weight of his presence was inescapable, but you held your head high, walking the length of the runway with grace.

Once you were backstage, the relief was instant. You’d done it. You had survived.

But before you could catch your breath, a voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Hey.”

You turned slowly, already knowing who it was. Max stood there, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands. His expression was softer than you’d seen in weeks, but you didn’t let yourself fall into the trap of believing it meant anything.

“I thought you did amazing,” he said, stepping closer. “The collection… it’s beautiful… you’re beautiful.”

You forced a polite smile, taking the flowers from him. “Thanks.”

But you didn’t say anything else. You couldn’t. Not yet.

Max seemed to hesitate, like he was searching for the right words. “Can we talk?”

Max’s voice hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you hesitated. The flowers in your hands felt heavier than they should, and the weight of the past few weeks pressed down on your chest.

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. “Okay.”

Max gestured toward a quieter part of the backstage area, away from the bustling crowd of designers and models celebrating the show’s success. You followed, your heart pounding in your ears as you prepared for whatever he had to say.

Once you were alone, he turned to face you, his eyes searching yours for something. But you didn’t give anything away. You couldn’t.

“I’ve been thinking,” Max started, his voice low, almost hesitant. “About everything.”

You folded your arms over your chest, waiting. You weren’t sure where this was going, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

“I reacted… badly, at the Grand Prix,” Max admitted. “I was angry, and I said things I didn’t mean.”

You raised an eyebrow, keeping your voice steady. “You made it pretty clear how you felt, Max.”

“I know,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But I wasn’t thinking straight. I was… scared.”

“Scared?” you repeated, incredulous. “Of what?”

Max looked away for a moment, his jaw tightening. “Of being a father. Of screwing everything up.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Why would you think that?”

“Because of him,” Max said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because of Jos.”

The mention of his father made your heart soften, if only a little. You knew about Max’s complicated relationship with his father—how Jos had pushed him relentlessly, made him feel like he was never enough. But this wasn’t about Jos. This was about the baby.

“You’re not him, Max,” you said quietly.

He shook his head, his eyes filled with doubt. “What if I am? What if I end up doing everything wrong, just like he did?”

“You won’t,” you insisted. “You’re not him. You’ve already proven that by caring enough to be scared in the first place.”

Max stared at you, the vulnerability in his eyes catching you off guard. This wasn’t the Max you were used to seeing—the confident, untouchable racer who never let anything faze him. This was a man who was terrified of repeating his father’s mistakes.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle into your chest. “Then why are you here, Max?”

“Because I want to try,” he said softly. “I don’t want to walk away from this. From you. From… our son.”

The word hung between you, raw and real.

You took a deep breath, your heart aching. “I can’t do this alone, Max.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. “And I don’t want you to. But I need you to believe me when I say I’m going to try. I just… I need time to figure this out.”

You reach a hand out hesitantly, before reaching his for his hand, you thumb pads over his calloused palms, you place his hand on your stomach, “His name is Adrie Emillian Verstappen,” you whisper.

Max’s eyes widened as his hand rested on your small, growing bump. The warmth of your skin beneath his palm sent a shiver down his spine, and for the first time, it all felt real. The name—Adrie Emillian Verstappen—echoed in his mind, grounding him in a way nothing else had before.

“Adrie…” he murmured, the name foreign on his tongue but already carrying so much weight. His thumb brushed gently across your belly, and for a moment, it was just the two of you—no racing, no fear, just this life between you both.

You watched his expression closely, unsure of what to expect. This was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him, and it made you both hopeful and terrified at the same time. But you couldn’t afford to let your guard down just yet.

“You need to understand something, Max,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “I’ve been doing this alone for months. I’ve been preparing myself for the possibility that you wouldn’t be there—because you made it clear at the Grand Prix that you didn’t want to be.”

Max flinched at the reminder, his guilt palpable.

“And now you’re saying you want to try,” you continued, your voice steady. “But trying isn’t enough. I need to know that you’re in this for the long haul, that you’re not going to back out the moment it gets hard.”

Max’s jaw tightened, his hand still resting on your stomach. “I won’t walk away again. I swear, I won’t.”

You searched his face for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was sincerity. He looked terrified, yes, but also determined. You wanted to believe him, you wanted to trust that he would follow through on his promise—but the fear of getting hurt again lingered.

“I want to believe you,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “But you’ve hurt me, Max. You’ve hurt me more than you realize.”

Max’s expression crumpled, the weight of your words hitting him hard. “I know… and I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes. I just… I can’t lose this. I can’t lose you.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, determined to stay strong. This was about more than just the two of you now—this was about your son, about the life you were about to bring into the world.

“You don’t have to do this perfectly, Max,” you said, your voice softening. “You just have to be here. That’s all I need.”

Max nodded, his hand pressing more firmly against your bump. “I’m here. I promise, I’m here.”

For the first time in weeks, the tension between you began to ease. You weren’t naive enough to believe that everything was suddenly fixed—that there wouldn’t be more challenges ahead. But for now, this moment felt like the first step toward something better.

As Max stood there, his hand still on your stomach, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth. Maybe he really would stay.

Because this wasn’t just about you anymore. It was about Adrie.

And for him, you would fight to make this work.

The following weeks settled into a rhythm, with Max becoming a regular part of your daily life. He started attending your doctor’s appointments, always arriving on time, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes, people mistook the two of you for a couple, and while it felt awkward at first, you quickly learned to brush it off. There were bigger things to focus on—like preparing for the baby.

“Your husband’s got a great bedside manner,” one of the nurses had said during your most recent appointment, and you’d simply smiled, glancing at Max, who didn’t bother to correct her either. Neither of you needed to explain what you were to anyone else.

Max moving in felt just as natural, though unspoken. One day, after another doctor’s visit, he casually mentioned that it would make more sense if he stayed with you, at least until the baby came. You hadn’t objected, and before you knew it, Max’s things were scattered around your apartment—his shoes by the door, his jacket hanging on your chair, and his presence… well, it made things feel a little less lonely.

The ultrasound technician turned to you with a warm smile as she spread the gel over your bump, your eyes glued to the monitor. Max’s hand, as always, was resting on your shoulder, his thumb absently tracing comforting circles on your skin.

“There he is,” the technician said, pointing at the screen where your son’s form appeared.

Max’s grip tightened ever so slightly, his gaze softening as he watched the baby move. “Adrie…” he murmured, the name that still felt so new but so right slipping from his lips

later that evening, Alex and Charles invited you to dinner at a nice restaurant by the ocean..

“You know,” Alex began, poking at her salad, “Max is really stepping up. It’s nice to see.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, glancing at Max and you, sitting across from him. “Yeah, you’re practically a family already.”

The air went a little still, and you felt your cheeks warm, though you quickly masked it with a casual smile. “We’re just doing what’s best for Adrie. That’s all.”

Max, seated beside you, stayed quiet but gave a small nod of agreement. He didn’t seem bothered by the comment, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you that things weren’t as simple as everyone else assumed.

Alex and Charles exchanged another look—one that said they weren’t buying your explanation, but thankfully, they let it slide. The evening continued with light conversation and laughter, but every now and then, Alex’s eyes would drift toward you and Max, her knowing smile never far behind.

Dinner had gone well enough. That is, until you ran into Max’s ex-girlfriend.

The instant her eyes landed on you, her polite smile shifted to something sharper, something filled with disdain. The glance she gave your bump—barely noticeable beneath your loose dress—felt like a dagger, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being… less than.

She was flawless. Tall, sleek, the picture of everything you weren’t right now.

You tried to smile through it, act like the growing tightness in your chest didn’t bother you. But the look on her face as she spoke to Max, dripping in casual familiarity, gnawed at the edges of your confidence. Her tone was light, as if to remind you that she and Max had a history, while you were merely the woman carrying his child.

When she finally left, you could breathe again, but the damage was done. The rest of the evening was a blur of polite conversation, your responses automatic. Max noticed, of course—he always did—but you shrugged off his concern, plastering on a fake smile until you got home.

Once back at the apartment, Max followed close behind you, his presence a silent comfort. But the tension between you both had shifted, the air thick with something unspoken.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft as he stepped closer. You could see the concern in his eyes, and that made it worse. You hated how vulnerable you felt, hated how the ex had made you feel small.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, your voice a little too quick. “I’m just tired.”

Max didn’t believe you. You could tell by the way he kept watching you, his eyes studying your face, your movements. But he didn’t press. Instead, he nodded, giving you space as he retreated to his own room.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, frustration swirling in your chest. Why did you let her get to you? Why did you care? But it was more than that. It was your body. You hadn’t felt like yourself in months. Your bump had grown, your clothes fit differently, and while you knew you were supposed to love the process, part of you felt disconnected, like you weren’t in control of your own body anymore.

Sleep wouldn’t come. Not with the weight of everything pressing down on you. So you slipped out of bed, pulling on a pair of shorts and a tank top, padding softly to the kitchen for a glass of water.

And that’s when you saw him.

Max stood by the counter, shirtless, looking like he hadn’t been able to sleep either. The dim light cast shadows over the defined lines of his body, and you paused mid-step. The air between you crackled with tension, neither of you saying a word.

His gaze swept over you, lingering just a little too long on the way your tank top clung to your frame, the hint of your bump visible. You felt exposed, and yet… drawn to him.

Before you knew it, you were standing close, too close, and Max reached for you, his hand brushing your arm as if testing the waters. Your breath hitched, and when his lips met yours, it was slow, tentative, as if asking for permission.

The kiss deepened, and suddenly, the world fell away. You forgot about his ex, about your insecurities, about everything except the way Max made you feel in that moment. His hands roamed your sides, skimming over your bump with the gentlest touch. But then reality crept back in, your self-doubt surfacing.

You broke the kiss, pulling back, your breath shaky.

“I… I can’t,” you whispered, avoiding his gaze. “Not like this.”

Max looked at you, confusion and concern flickering in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

You bit your lip, arms instinctively wrapping around your midsection. “I just… I don’t feel like myself. My body… it’s different. And I feel like…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t bring yourself to admit that you thought he might still want his ex.

But Max understood. He always did.

His hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, the sincerity in his voice making your chest ache. “More than you’ve ever been.”

When you didn’t respond, he lifted you gently onto the counter, his hands firm but tender as they held you in place. “This,” he said, his hand resting over your bump, “is the most beautiful you’ve ever been.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond, the words stuck in your throat. Max’s hand remained on your bump, his touch warm and grounding. There was something about the way he looked at you—like nothing else in the world mattered except this moment, except you.

“I don’t know how you can see me like that,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t even recognize myself half the time.”

Max’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his other hand reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know it feels different. But I see you. The same person you’ve always been. And more.” His thumb traced your jawline gently, his touch sending sparks of warmth through your skin. “You’re carrying our son. That makes you even more incredible to me.”

You swallowed, feeling a lump rise in your throat. There was so much you wanted to say—so much you’d held back because of your own fears. The weight of your insecurities pressed against you, threatening to pull you under, but Max’s gaze kept you afloat.

“I guess I’m just scared too,” you admitted softly, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shorts. “Scared that I’ll never feel… normal again. That you won’t see me the same way when I’m… like this.” You gestured toward your body, feeling the self-consciousness creep back in. “And what if you still want her?”

The confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. It felt like a weight off your chest, but the uncertainty still lingered, gnawing at the back of your mind. You couldn’t bear to look at him, afraid of what you’d find in his expression.

But Max didn’t flinch. Instead, his hand moved from your bump to tilt your chin upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. The intensity in his gaze caught you off guard—there was no hesitation, no doubt.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “I don’t want her. I want you.” The sincerity in his words wrapped around your heart like a lifeline. “I’ve wanted you this whole time.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the truth of his words sinking in. He wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better. He meant it. And you realized that maybe, just maybe, you had been too wrapped up in your own doubts to see that.

“But I—” you started, but Max didn’t let you finish.

“Shh,” he whispered, leaning in closer, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. This—” his hand pressed gently against your bump again, “—only makes me want you more.”

The words melted into you, warm and soothing, slowly chipping away at the walls you’d built around your heart. You could feel his breath against your skin, the closeness between you so palpable it made your head spin.

“Max…” you breathed, the tension still humming between you.

He smiled, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not going anywhere.”

In that moment, it felt like everything around you faded, leaving just the two of you suspended in a quiet, fragile space. Your heart pounded, and despite all the fears and insecurities you had, you leaned into him. You kissed him again, slowly this time, letting yourself get lost in the warmth of his lips, in the way his hand cradled your face with so much care.

This time, you didn’t pull away.

His hands slid to your waist, steadying you on the counter, and you felt the warmth spread from your chest to your fingertips. You were aware of every touch, every small breath between kisses, the way Max’s fingers brushed the exposed skin of your lower back. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t thinking about your body or the way it had changed.

You were just thinking about him.

When the kiss broke, both of you were breathing hard, the air between you charged. Max rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along the side of your neck.

And for the first time in a long while, you actually started to believe it.

The last few months had been a whirlwind, and now, at 29 weeks pregnant, you found yourself in a place you never expected: meeting Max’s family. Victoria, Max’s sister, and Sophie, his mother, welcomed you with open arms. Their warmth felt like a much-needed embrace, especially during those moments when the pregnancy felt overwhelming.

Victoria’s laughter echoed through the room as she shared stories. “You should have seen him as a kid! Always getting into trouble. There was this one time he tried to ‘fix’ my Barbie car, and it ended up in pieces all over the living room.”

You chuckled, imagining a young Max surrounded by chaos. “I can see that. It’s a miracle he became a champion instead of a mechanic!”

Sophie smiled, leaning closer. “He always had a knack for determination, but it’s his heart that really makes him special.”

As the evening wore on, you felt a warmth blooming in your chest. You loved hearing their stories about Max, but they quickly turned into advice about motherhood. “Just remember, every child is different,” Sophie said, her eyes shining with wisdom. “Trust your instincts.

That night, as you and Max settled in back at your place, you couldn’t stop thinking about it all—the baby, the move, everything. With Victoria and Sophie by your side, it suddenly made sense to have the baby in the Netherlands, closer to Max’s family. You looked over at Max, his face soft in the dim light.

“I’ve been thinking,” you started, playing with the edge of the blanket. “I want to have Adrie in the Netherlands. I want him to grow up close to your family.”

Max’s gaze flicked to yours, surprise flashing in his eyes before it melted into something softer. “You sure? You don’t feel like it’s too much?”

You shook your head, smiling. “No, I think it’s the right thing to do. Plus, Victoria and Sophie are going to spoil him rotten. He’s going to need us to balance that out.”

Max chuckled softly, reaching over to rest his hand on your bump, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “I think Adrie will like it here.”

A few weeks later, at the Zandvoort Grand Prix, you were there to support Max. At 30 weeks pregnant, you were still getting used to all the changes in your body, but you didn’t let that stop you from being by his side. You’d already become close with Victoria and Sophie, who spent time with you while Max was training.

That day, as you were making your way through the paddock, you finally met Jos. Max’s father had always been a shadow looming in the background—he rarely came to races and, from what you’d heard, wasn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type.

The meeting went as you expected—Jos was standoffish, his hostility barely veiled. “So, you’re the one Max has chosen to have a baby with,” he said coldly, scanning you with disdain. “Interesting choice.”

You stood tall, refusing to let his words shake you. “Yes, I am. And we’re excited to welcome Adrie.”

Max’s jaw tightened as he stepped closer to you. “That’s enough, Dad. You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

You placed a hand on Max’s arm, calming him down. “It’s fine, really. I don’t care what he thinks,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “But he did say something nasty, and I just thought you should know.”

At that, Max’s jaw clenched, his hand tightening into a fist. “What did he say?”

You repeated Jos’s comment, and Max immediately stood, pacing the room. “I swear, I’m going to—”

“Max, stop,” you interrupted, gently pulling him back to sit beside you. “He’s not worth it. You’re better than that.”

Max looked at you, his expression softening at your calm demeanor. His hand instinctively went to your belly, feeling the subtle movement beneath his palm. “I don’t want him saying those things about you. You don’t deserve that.”

You gave him a small smile, placing your hand over his. “He’s just bitter because we’re happy, Max. Don’t let him ruin this.”

That night, you FaceTimed Alex and Charles, updating them on everything. As always, they were excited to see how far along you were, Alex’s eyes lighting up when you told them about the latest doctor’s appointment.

“The baby’s kicking more now,” you said with a soft laugh, placing your hand on your bump as if to prove it.

“Let me see!” Alex demanded, leaning into the camera. Charles, sitting beside her, was equally invested.

You shifted the camera to show them your belly, and right on cue, Adrie gave a little kick. Both Alex and Charles gasped, their faces lighting up with joy.

“That’s amazing!” Alex exclaimed. “He’s going to be such a strong little boy!”

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth at their excitement. It was moments like these that made everything feel more real.

Finally, the day came. You went into labor, and everything happened so quickly that it was a blur. Max was by your side the entire time, his worry evident in the way he hovered around you, making sure you were comfortable. He held your hand through every contraction, whispering words of encouragement, his voice steady even though you could see the fear in his eyes.

When Adrie finally arrived, the room was filled with emotion. Max’s hands trembled as he held his baby boy for the first time, tears slipping down his cheeks as he looked down at his son. You’d never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so overwhelmed with love.

“He’s perfect,” Max whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He looked over at you, his eyes softening as they met yours. “You… you’re amazing. I love you.”

The words hit you like a wave, but they felt right, as if they’d been waiting to be spoken for months. Tears welled up in your eyes as you reached for Max’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I love you too.”

Just as you were about to revel in the peaceful moment, the door to your hospital room burst open, and in came Alex and Charles, balloons and gifts in tow.

“We’re here!” Alex declared, holding up a massive ‘It’s a Boy!’ balloon. Charles followed close behind, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

“Look at him!” Charles beamed, practically bouncing on his feet. “He’s perfect!”

You and Max couldn’t help but laugh at their entrance, the lightness of the moment breaking through the emotional haze of the past few hours.

“Well,” Max said, looking at the both of them, “We have something to ask.”

Alex and Charles immediately quieted down, their eyes wide with anticipation.

“We want you both to be Adrie’s godparents,” you said, smiling as you saw their reactions.

Charles let out an excited whoop, while Alex’s eyes filled with tears. “Of course!” she exclaimed, rushing over to give you a careful hug. “We’d be honored!”

And just like that, everything felt perfect. You had your family, your friends, and most importantly, you had Max and Adrie. It was the happiest ending you could have imagined.

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