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not-neverland06 · 1 month

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we're dating? ♡

logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've decided using the same X-men name/powers for the reader in my Logan fics is easier because coming up with superpowers is hard and stupid. They call you flux, like once, it's really just a nickname incoming warning for fluff so bad you'll get a cavity Summary: You're on probation from the team and official house arrest after a little accident with your powers. Logan knows you're going stir-crazy so he takes you to the arcade for some fun. And then your friendship takes a weird turn. (80's timeline in mind, but characters not from the 80’s will be mentioned) Clueless!reader

You’d had an accident, a few weeks ago. Well, accident might be downplaying it too much. You’d destroyed the garden and left a ten-foot crater in the backyard of Charles’ prestigious grounds. In your defense, you had warned them all that it wasn’t a good idea to take your cuffs off.

The metal bands are entirely necessary to make sure you can’t lose control and wipe out everything around you. Manipulation at an atomic level is beyond fatal. You don’t want to think about what would have happened if you’d had the meltdown and the kids were anywhere near you.

Charles had been able to shut you down, but now he’s keeping you on probation. You’ve been locked up in the mansion, unable to leave until you managed to get your abilities under control. There’s never been a problem with wearing the cuffs before. You don’t understand why he’s so against them now.

You’re going stir-crazy. There’s only so many times you can pace your room before you start to lose your mind. He’s not even letting you teach classes anymore. You’re stuck training, all day, every day.

“Focus!” Charles snaps and you resist the urge to turn his bones liquid. Maybe that would get him off your back.

Instead of killing your friend, you glare at the large tank of water in front of you. You do what you’ve been doing for the past half hour. It fluctuates from liquid to gas to solid, and then liquid again. An endless cycle of repetition that makes you want to melt your brain so you don’t have to do this anymore.

You drop your hand and huff. “This is pointless, Charles. What’s this even teaching me?”

He crosses his arms, walks over to you, and pointedly glares at the tank in front of you. You roll your eyes and look back at it. “Shit,” you hiss. In your frustration, the glass has cracked and splintered into dust. Water pools around your stool and leaks through the wood of the floor. You flick your wrist, the glass swirling around you before reforming into the tank. The water follows along, droplets lifting from the floor and dropping back into the container.

“One moment of frustration, of distraction. That’s all it took.” Charles shakes his head and walks back over to his desk. He picks the cuffs up and you slip them silently back onto your wrists. “How can you be trusted to protect your team on the field if you can’t control this? What are you going to do when you’re panicked and fighting for your life?”

Shame bubbles in your gut. It makes you nauseous and forces your eyes to the floor so you don’t have to face him. He sighs, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezing gently. You glance up at him briefly and he offers a strained smile.

“This is for your protection, as much as you hate it, Flux. It’s necessary.” You scoff at the use of your X-Men name. Not much of an X-Man if you’re not even on the field anymore.

“Right,” you mutter. “Thanks for the lesson in incompetency,” you don’t let him respond and slam the door to his office closed behind you. You feel bad the second you get outside and onto the porch. He doesn’t deserve your bitchiness. It’s your own fault you can’t get a handle on this. You don't have anyone to blame but yourself.

You let out a dramatic sigh, throwing yourself into a rocking chair and running your hands over your face. The once comforting weight of your cuffs is now oppressing. It just feels like a constant reminder of your failure. You should already have a handle on all of this, but you struggle to even manipulate water.

“Rough day?” You don’t open your eyes as Logan walks by. He takes a seat on the rocking chair beside you, letting out a low groan as he stretches.

You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at the sunset so you don’t have to face him. You’ve already dealt with enough dejection today. You don’t need to look at him and be reminded that you want him in a way you can never have.

“Mhm,” you hum, propping your head in your hand as you watch the sun disappear behind the clouds. The sky is painted in hues of pink and orange that seem too hopeful for how you feel right now.

Logan chuckles, the sound low and gravely. It makes your heart stutter in your chest and you cringe in embarrassment. You know he can hear the way your heart practically beats free of your ribs when you’re around him. You’re sure with that nose of his he can smell some sort of hormonal change in you every time you lay eyes on him.

You swear you’ve never felt this way about a man before. You haven’t had many boyfriends before, it’s not really common among mutants. Not many people are accepting of you when they know what you are. And some people are too into you.

But you've had crushes, and none of them have been as bad as this one is. You want to gnaw on him. It sounds fucking insane every time you think about it. But when you train with him and he tears his shirt off, you want to sink your teeth into him and never let go.

You feel feral around him, a side of you surfacing that you’re not used to. Maybe it’s because of his mutant abilities. They are very animalistic, it’s easy to blame that on how desperately you crave him.

You hate being around him and despise not being in his presence. It’s conflicting, and more often than not you sound like a bumbling idiot when you speak to him because your brain is going in a million different directions.

You hear the familiar click of his lighter and then he shifts again. You risk a peek over at him and regret it the second you do. His head is tilted back, eyes closed in relaxation as he stretches across the porch. Smoke leaks out of his lips as he groans in satisfaction.

You have to pick your jaw up off the floor and make sure there isn’t drool on your chin. This is insane. You’re a grown woman, how does he have this much of an effect on you? He’s not even doing anything! He’s just sitting there and you want to jump his bones.

You whip your head around, mumbling incoherently to yourself to get it together. Logan peaks an eye open and you miss the mischievous tilt to his lips. “Something wrong?”

I need to have sex with you or I’m going to explode.

You stutter for a few seconds, getting your mind back together. “Just training with Charles,” you mutter.

He sits up a little straighter and quirks a brow. When you don’t continue he sighs. “And?” He prods, impatient for your answer. You hope you’re not reading into it, but you think he’s been as disappointed by your absence from the team as you are. He always complains about being partnered up with Scott. You like to think it’s because he misses you. But you’re probably just delusional.

“And, nothing,” you sigh. Your hands flop against your legs and you glare at the bands on your wrists. “No progress. I still can’t control them without these on, and my abilities are watered down and useless with the cuffs.”

Logan huffs, you’re caught off guard by the sudden warmth on your thigh. You glance down, eyes widening ever so slightly when you see his hand on your leg. It nearly covers the whole thing and when he squeezes your thigh you think you’re going to pass out.

You’re friendly. But you’ve never been touchy. At least not like this. The placement of his palm is very intimate and you are struggling not to just get on your knees and profess your undying love. You take in a deep breath, looking up at him so you can get your heartbeat under control.

But looking at him just makes it worse. Because there is so much faith and fondness in his gaze as he looks at you. His lips are tilted up, eyes soft, and you’ve never had someone make you feel so warm and secure from just a look.

“You aren’t useless,” he tells you. He squeezes your thigh again before he retreats back to his chair. You have to clamp your jaw shut so you don’t beg him to keep touching you and never stop. “You’re just stuck in this house all day. You’ve got nothing to do but sit in your failure.”

You scoff and throw yourself back in your seat. “Don’t remind me. I’ve begged Charles to let me out.” Your gaze drifts to the crater in the backyard. Some of the kids have been working on filling it in, but whatever energy you’d let go of has left a permanent mark. “He refuses to give me permission.”

Logan laughs, the noise teasing and a little mean. Your brows furrow and you glance over at him with a questioning look. He tilts his head in disbelief like you’re an idiot. “Seriously, Flux? Just fuckin’ leave, who gives a shit?”

“Uh,” you think on it for a minute before weakly settling on, “Charles?”

His face falls and you sink lower into your seat. He looks out at the yard, gaze distant. His jaw clenches a few times before he puts the cigar out on the ashtray beside him. He gets to his feet and you think he might just leave. Instead, he turns towards you.

You’re caught off guard by the little smirk on his face. “Wanna have some fun?”

Only an idiot would say no.

You grin and place your hand in his, yelping slightly at how easily he pulls you to your feet. You stumble into his chest and are hesitant to back away when his hand drifts to rest on your waist. He looks down at you, smiling, he squeezes your waist once before he backs up.

“Come on, kid.” He tugs you inside the house, leading you downstairs to the garage. You already know what he’s going for before the door is even open.

“Didn’t Scott tell you to leave his bike alone?” Logan takes a step inside. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder and grinning at you. It makes your breath catch in your throat, the happiness on his face. You never see him like this around the others.

You hate thinking like that. Placing too much importance on your relationship with him will only lead to heartbreak down the road. But, you never see him act the way he does with you with anyone else.

“Since when have I ever listened to Cyclops, sweetheart?”

“Good point,” you mutter, moving to stand next to him.

He straddles the seat and looks over expectantly at you. “Don’t you need a helmet?”

You shake your head, “Oh, no, it’ll ruin my hair.” You laugh but he gives you a deadpan look. You don’t regenerate the way he does. An accident would be a lot more fatal for you than it would be for him. You huff, “Relax, Lo, I can use my powers.” When he looks like he’s not going to drop it, you let some energy swirl around your fingers. It solidifies the air around your skin, you reach up and flick at his skull hard enough to hear the metal ding.

He grunts, glaring down at your hand while you grin. “See,” you whisper, sliding onto the back of the bike and wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m perfectly safe.” He shakes his head and starts the bike.

The ride to the arcade is spent in silence. Logan always seems to break every speeding law known to man whenever he takes Scott’s bike out. You’re not sure if he does it to purposefully piss the man off, but it makes you cling to him like a wild animal. You feel like if you hit one speed bump you’re going to go flying.

By the time he parks your legs feel like jello. He laughs a little at the way your face has blanched. Again, he offers you a hand and holds the door open to lead you inside. You’re trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this whole thing is odd.

You guys are friends. And you’re friendlier with each other than most of the mutants in the school. But this feels different somehow. For one, Logan kind of despises the arcade. It’s an amalgamation of bad smells and loud noises, and it overwhelms his already sensitive senses. You’ve heard him complain about the smell of body odor and fake cheese enough times when you went on a field trip with the kids.

Secondly, he’s being more touchy than he normally would. You’re not complaining. You weren’t exactly hugged a lot as a kid, mainly just passed between different mutant fetish clubs. Logan isn’t known for handing hugs out so easily. But right now, he doesn’t seem to be ready to not have at least one hand on you.

Maybe he’s just cheering you up. You need to stop drifting so far into your mind and just enjoy the night. “Alright, what’s first bub?”

You grin and drag him towards the claw machine. “I’m horrible at these things,” you inform him as you put your quarters in. “But, I hold out hope that one day I’ll be able to actually beat this monster.”

Three failed attempts later, it’s become embarrassingly clear that you will never beat the claw machine. Logan isn’t even trying to hide his amusement as you become increasingly more frustrated. There’s a certain point where this game stops being fun and starts to be an affront to your character.

Logan peers into the machine and asks, “What are you going for?”

“The pigeon,” you mutter. Your tongue pokes between your lips, and your eyes narrow in concentration. You aim the claw over the pigeon perfectly and slam your hand down on the big red button.

You’re allowed five seconds of celebration before the damn thing slips out of the claws grasp and tumbles into the pile of stuffies below. “Dammit, Bart,” you let the ridiculous name you’ve come up with for the toy slip.

Logan snorts, leaning against the glass while you jam another quarter in the slot. “Bart?” He teases.

You shake your head and give him a look out the side of your eye. “What, you think I call myself Flux because I’m good at coming up with names?” You give up after the last failed attempt and turn to face him with a huff.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Tough luck, kid.” He slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you towards the concession stand.

“Shut up,” you laugh, slapping lightly at his chest.

The rest of the night is nice. He doesn’t play much except for the strength-oriented games. And then you kind of just exploit him for more tickets. By the time you get back to the mansion, you’ve forgotten all about why you were upset in the first place.

Nothing had gone wrong, you didn’t have a total meltdown and wipe out the entire arcade. You don’t know why Charles was so afraid of letting you out.

Logan walks you back to your room, his hand heavy on your lower back as you head up the stairs. You’re talking endlessly, filling up any gap of silence with rambling you’ve lost track of. You don’t know what it is about him that invites you to yap the way you do, but you’re always embarrassed by it the second he leaves.

You reach your door and smile up at him. “Thanks, Lo.”

He gives you a soft smile, his eyes wrinkling endearingly at the corners. He reaches up and brushes some hair off your shoulder. There’s a certain shift in his expression that has your breath stopping short. Whatever else you were going to say to him tumbles off into an incomprehensible whisper.

He leans down and every inappropriate thought you’ve ever had about him suddenly surges to the front of your mind. Your lips part in anticipation, thinking he’s going to kiss you and your fantasies are going to come to life.

His lips brush against your cheek so gently you almost don’t feel them. “‘Night Flux,” he leans back and your body goes with him. He backs off with a smile, walking down the hall to his own room. You feel dazed, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as you fan your cheeks and try to come to terms with what just happened.

He didn’t kiss you, but you oddly aren’t disappointed. You go to bed that night with a lovesick grin on your face. Well, you would have. Were it not for the annoyingly British voice ringing out in your head, “Training’s at four tomorrow morning. Consider it your punishment for sneaking out.”

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself. Stupid fucking telepaths.

You thought the arcade was a one-off moment. But Logan keeps sneaking you out of the mansion. Charles hasn’t officially lifted the house arrest, but he’s given up trying to keep you inside. Besides, you’ve essentially got a chaperone since Logan is always with you.

You make lunch for the two of you and he’ll take you out to the woods for a picnic. Or you’ll go to the movies together. Sometimes you don’t even do anything, just linger around each other. You enjoy the company, and you love having these quiet moments together with no one else around.

Your favorite part of all of this has to be the way he’s started touching you. He’s always got a hand on your leg or back. And if he can’t do that, then you’re tucked into his side. It’s feeding into a starved part of you that you’ve left neglected for far too long.

It’s only been about two weeks of these fun little adventures and odd behavior. You’re dreading the moment they’ll stop. You’re not sure when Logan’s going to deem you properly cheered up, but you’re hoping it’s not anytime soon.

There have been a few more moments where you think your friendship might turn into something more, and every time you’ve been interrupted. You’re actually starting to feel a little edged. You’ve been considering just grabbing him and planting one on him. But every time you think about it you get sick to your stomach.

You don’t want to make a move on him and end up getting rejected. You know he’s just being a good friend and taking care of you so you don’t end up spiraling too far in your head. It’s happened before, when you’ve been struggling with your abilities. He’s just keeping you from shutting down again and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable because you’re hopelessly in love.

When you walk out of your room this morning you’re immediately smacked in the face. “What the fuck, guys?” You yell at the two kids running past your room. Not the best language for someone who's supposed to be a role model. You can’t be bothered though, not when they’re running around throwing pink rolls of streamer at your face.

“Sorry!” Mary calls over her shoulder, laughing as she pins a heart up onto the wall. You’re sure Charles won’t appreciate the hole in his old ass mahogany wood. It’s only as you watch her run down the stairs that you register just what is going on.

There is pink and red everywhere. It looks like Dollar Store Cupid has thrown up all over the mansion. You’ve been so caught up in your attraction to Logan that, ironically, you’ve forgotten what month it was.

You grumble bitterly to yourself as you trudge down the stairs. Another Valentine’s Day alone and single. How lovely. You spot two kids giggling to themselves by the banister, they lean in like they’re going to kiss and you gag. “Hey!” You snap, and they jump apart, eyes wide with fear. “Quit it, get out of here.” They scramble off and you feel just a little bit vindicated.

“Not a fan of young love, Flux?”

You groan and roll your eyes, turning around to find a very smug Scott watching you bully teenagers. “Shut it, Summers,” you warn. You point an accusing finger at him and he raises his hands in surrender. Faux innocence played across his insufferable smirk. “When you’re in a committed relationship, you don’t get to judge me.”

His brows turn down in confusion, “Wait, but aren’t you and Logan-”

He’s cut off by the sound of a loud crash down the hall. You both turn around just as one of the classroom doors slams open. A bright pink explosion hurtles from the doors and a throng of coughing students follows.

Jubilee walks out a minute later, a guilty expression on her face. “Sorry, I was just trying to make it more Vanetine-y.”

You glance over at Scott, grinning widely at him while you pat his shoulder and walk past him, leaving him to clean up the mess. “Enjoy the young love, Summers.”

You actively avoid Logan all day. You’re already facing constant reminders of how lonely you are. You see kids walking around with baskets of bears and chocolates. Or you catch them passing notes in class with scribbled hearts all over the front.

There’s only so much a girl can take before she loses it. The last thing you need is to be faced with the man you have the worst unrequited crush on in history. But he doesn’t seem to get the hint. He’s everywhere you go, popping up around corners and trying to catch your attention.

You keep brushing him off and pretending like you have something urgent you’re going to be late for. Eventually, though, he was going to catch up with you.

It happens in the kitchen. Most of the kids are in their rooms or the library. The noise has died down and you’re alone. You grumble to yourself, ripping down a pink streamer that keeps drifting across the top of your head and pissing you off. You grab a frozen meal from the fridge and are about to microwave it when he speaks.

“Huh, thought you’d want something a little more romantic than a frozen burrito.”

You gasp, clutching your chest and whirling around on him while your heart races. “Logan, Jesus, you scared me.” He’s frowning at you, eyes glaring at the frozen package in your hand. “Um,” you toss it back in the freezer but the look on his face isn’t going away. “Yeah, I might just go with cereal instead.”

He looks at you and then glances behind him. You peer around his shoulder but you don’t see anything. Without much warning, he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the stairs. “Logan?” There’s no point in trying to resist him, he could just toss you up the stairs if he wanted to. Still, the silence is kind of creeping you out.

You call his name a few more times but give up when he makes it clear he’s not going to be answering you anytime. There’s a rotten feeling in your stomach. You have this awful idea like you’re in trouble for something. Like a little girl who's gotten her hand caught in the cookie jar too many times.

He stops you in front of his door and nods towards it. “You want me to go inside?” He crosses his arms and glares down at you. You huff and mutter, “Jesus, fine.” What the hell is wrong with him?

You grab the doorknob to his room, glaring at him while you do. You throw the door open dramatically, taking a step inside and surveying the area. “Wow,” you suck your teeth and shake your head. “You have not decorated at all.”

“Shut up, smartass,” he mutters in your ear. Chills prick at your skin from his proximity. A shudder goes down your spine as the low tone of his voice reverberates through you. “Look a little harder.”

You roll your eyes but acquiesce. Another run over the room finally shows you what you missed. You gasp and rush towards his bed, “Holy shit, Bart!” He chuckles behind you as you pick the stuffed pigeon up.

“Went back for him after we left,” Logan tells you.

You glare at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How many tries did this take you?” He mouths a smug one and you roll your eyes in irritation. You look back down at the pigeon and smile.

He smells like the inside of a claw machine. His head is sewed on crookedly and you’re pretty sure he’s missing an eye. But he’s absolutely perfect to you. You’re about to thank Logan when you spot something metal wrapped around the stuffie’s neck. “What’s this,” you mumble to yourself.

You slide your fingers under the chain and tug it off Bart’s neck. Logan’s dog tags dangle off your fingers and you stare at him in shock. A sudden cold dread washes over you and you find yourself immobile. “Logan,” you trail off, an unspoken question following his name.

He smirks, walking towards you and slipping the tags out of your hand. “I wanted you to have this,” he says, his voice low like this moment is too precious to break, “so you know you’re not alone. You’re always so afraid of what’s going to happen if you lose control out in the field. But you forget, you’re not alone. You have me, you’re always going to have me.” He places the tags over your neck, untucking your hair from the chain.

You don’t even have words for him. It’s such a deeply personal gift. But this also feels incredibly intimate. There’s no possible way for you to reason this away. This isn’t something “just friends” do.

He seems to prefer your silence, anyway. One of his hands drifts from your neck and cups your jaw. With the utmost tenderness, he lifts your face to his. “Wanted to do this for a while,” he whispers. You almost ask what he’s talking about, but his lips are already covering yours.

It’s incredibly soft, this kiss, softer than you’re used to. He’s barely putting any pressure on you and it makes you realize that you’re still not moving. You’re just standing there in shock, eyes wide open while the man you’ve wanted since you’ve known him kisses you.

You drop Bart to the floor and your arms come up to twine around his neck. You finally close your eyes, let your body melt into his knowing he’ll catch you. The second you reciprocate he really kisses you. Neither of you hold back, each of you pouring all the pent-up desire you’ve felt for each other.

You’ve spent so long dancing around this, around each other. It’s like a missing puzzle piece is returned to you as Logan holds you. You feel full, complete, warmer than you ever have before.

You part from him - needing air - painfully slow. You don’t want to spend a second away from him now that you have him. You wish you didn’t have to breathe. Wished you could have kept kissing him and never stopped.

Logan chuckles, pressing a kiss against your forehead like he can read your thoughts. You can feel the dorky smile that’s about to split your cheeks. You bite your lip, hoping it might suppress it, but you know it’s pointless.

You look up at him with a cheeky twinkle in your eye. “Are you asking me to be your Valentine, Lo?”

He scoffs and pulls away from you slightly. “Do you have to ask your girlfriend to be your Valentine?”

Your eyes widen and your mouth opens and closes rapidly. “I- Well- I mean,” you take a full step back from him and shake your head. “What?” You finally settle on. “I mean, I’m not objecting, at all, but what?”

Logan tilts his head, a disbelieving look on his face. “What do you think we’ve been doing the past three weeks?”

You shake your head, stuttering and struggling for an answer. “I don’t know. I thought you were being a good friend!”

He smiles, there’s no irritation on his face at your cluelessness. If anything he seems to be more endeared to you. “You think I take all my friends on romantic picnics in the woods?”

You sigh, letting out a long disappointed breath. You can’t believe you’ve been so blind. When you think about it, his behavior lately makes a lot more sense. You’re not sure how you were able to trick yourself for so long.

“Well,” you start, walking back towards him as he pulls you into a hug, “certainly not Scott.” He huffs and shakes his head. You give him a sheepish smile, brows knitted together. “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

He just presses another kiss to your temple and shrugs. “It’s alright, sweetheart, you can make it up to me by being my Valentine again next year.”

There’s something unspoken in his voice. A promise that he’s planning to be around for a lot longer than a year. You smile at him, silently promising the same. “Only if you’re mine.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

a/n: i’m gonna gag actually. Made myself cringe there at the end. I want a valentine next year so bad, it’s sad. But what’s the point of a valentine if it’s not going to be Logan?

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

#wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett imagine #x men #x men x you #deadpool and wolverine

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kitstanwood · 1 year

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Best Outdoor Workouts To Do In Spring

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Best Outdoor Workouts To Do In Spring Spring is a wonderful time to exercise outdoors, as the weather is perfect for getting fresh air and staying active. With so many great outdoor workouts to choose from, it can be tough to decide which one to try first. Whether you’re looking to build strength, improve your cardiovascular fitness, or just enjoy the beauty of nature, there’s an outdoor workout…

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byuntrash101 · 7 months

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big bad wolf

f!reader x bangchan ft. stray kids smut | mdni 2.6k maybe you bit off more than you could chew when you hyped up your game to the campus’ infamous big dick owner nsfw tags under the cut

#5: huge dick + size kink (twt p☆rnlink) college!au, toxic ex bf!minho, frat boy!bangchan, alcohol consumption, one night stand, explicit consent asked and given, chan is really a tease, gentle dom!chan, daddy kink (i mean we're talking about chan here) , size kink (reader is smaller than chan), huge monster cock!bangchan, size training, protected sex (good job), oral (f), multiple orgasms, some humor at the end ♡

a/n : i was like this 🥴🥴🥴 writing this because ughhh im in love with this bangchan! wanna see the other entries for the event? check out the link <3

3k celebration | skz masterlist | navigation

“I mean being single is great and all” you said while downing the rest of the ungodly cocktail your best friend mixed for you earlier at the party. Before she left with Jisung. “But like I miss the toxic sex, ya know?” Christopher nodded his head while he took the empty cup from your hand to set it at the table beside the both of you on the couch.

The party was over so to speak. Everyone had left or was just passed out on random surfaces all over the frat. ΝΣΒ (nu sigma beta) was the frat that organized the best parties on campus. Well the second best parties but ΩΔΦ (omega delta phi) had Minho going to their parties and well you were finally over him that wasn't to run into him at a random party to drink and hook up with him again. You were determined to break free of the destructive cycle. That’s how you came to attend the parties here and met Christopher and his frat bros Changbin and Jisung. These three were quite the trio. Well not right now because Jisung was probably fucking your best friend somewhere and Changbin was passed out over the keg. Only Christopher remained somewhat (if not entirely) sober. He didn’t like alcohol that much, he claimed.

“Yeah I get you dude. Toxic sex is the best…” Christopher sighed. “But why though?”

“I don’t know man!” you said with a pout. “Also my ex was like… packing” the alcohol in your system was making it harder to perceive the fine line between sharing past experiences and simply oversharing. But Christopher wasn’t phased by it at all. On the contrary he was… intrigued.

“Really?” He questioned.

“Bro, he was real big. Like real big.” you said, closing your eyes trying to recall the extraordinary appendix Minho was blessed with. “The biggest I’ve ever seen really. I just miss that…” you said, finally opening your eyes again, purposefully avoiding thinking about your ex’s devil dick for too long before you drunkenly run to the other side of campus and to him again. When you open your eyes you see Christopher looking at you with an indecipherable expression.

“Well yeah. I miss someone that’s used to dealing with guys that are on the bigger end of the spectrum” Christopher was speaking very carefully, he was very clearly trying to hint at something but at the same time he didn’t want to come off as pressing or bragging.

You raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” you asked as neutral as you could be, but still picking up on Christopher’s hint.

“Well you know. Girls always say it’s what they want. But like when I pull it out they either just run away or I mean they pull through but I can tell they’re not enjoying it. So I usually cut things short.”

It’s true you heard one or two rumors about Christopher also being on the bigger end but you never paid attention to them. Now, they were suddenly running back to you.

“I just wanna be with a girl that's kinky and that you know… just enjoys herself with me”

Suddenly you were looking at him differently. You looked at his big biceps resting crossed over his chest and the sleeveless loose fitted white top. He was wearing a cap that covered his soft brown curls but they were still peaking at the back of his head and around his reddened ears.

All of a sudden you were painfully conscious of Chris’ sheer size. Even though he was simply sitting next to you his large sturdy shoulders occupied the space on the couch. You found your eyes wandering to his lower half where his muscular thighs generously filled the black basketball shorts. And eventually your gaze wandered to his groin where you did notice a particularly remarkable bulge.

“You know, bro?” Chris took off the cap briefly, combing his hair with one large hand before flipping it backwards and patting it back on. He looked a little bit frustrated.

“Yeah I get it.”

Silence settled.

“Looks like we could like… help each other… maybe” you started carefully. That was uncharted territories, you didn’t know how Chris was going to react but you were a little intoxicated and that made you forget about the consequences or more like postpone thinking about them. You’ll do that tomorrow.

A cocky smirk spread on Chris’ face. An expression you had yet to witness. Usually he was all about wholesome smiles and cute laughs. But this one, this expression stirred excitement and thrill within you.

“Wanna see the big bad wolf?” Chan said right before sending you a cheeky wink that left you speechless. Before he started laughing out loud and lightly pushed you on the arm. “Just messing with you” Chris said, returning to the sunny smile.

“Why are you all cocky for anyway?” you outbid. “I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t seen” you said, shrugging, eyes a little defiant. And Chris’ smirked returned to his handsome face just as quick. He felt a tingle in his lower half. He enjoyed that attitude you had right now. Wouldn’t it be fun to make you swallow those words? Amongst other things…

“Think you can handle it, babygirl?” Chan said, extending his massive arm behind your head on the couch and leaning on to you, making you feel even smaller. You took a whiff of his cologne, the alluring aromas or vanilla, cedar and citrus casting a spell on you.

“Yeah of course I can” you said, steady voice oozing all the confidence in the world. Making Chris chuckle again.

***

Well maybe you couldn’t…

That is what you thought when Christopher dragged you to his room as the early rays of the dawning sun were licking the blinds.

“Having second thoughts, babygirl?” Christopher said, smiling down at you while you looked up at him and sat on his bed. The loose fitting top was all he had left on him. Even the cap was now littering the ground, letting the soft brown curls loose. and you silently thanked the heavens for this. Maybe if he would have been completely nude you would have died right there.

He was absolutely breathtaking: large shoulders, thick arms and veiny forearms going down to his big hand holding the absolute monster that usually peacefully rested between his sturdy thighs. But right now it was awakened, and awaiting.

The thing was not only incredibly massive but also unbelievably long. Thick veins ornamented the length of it from the base to the red and dripping tip.

“So am I bigger than your ex?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Um, yeah a little bit I think”

Lie. Big fat lie.

Christopher knew that. He knew that very well but he appreciated that you kept up with that act. He found that amusing.

“Perfect! Let’s get started then”

“What?” you said as he wrapped his warm hands around both your wrists, gently pushing you down on the mattress until you laid there with only your feet hanging off the bed. He put your wrists at each side of your face, laying his weight over you. He was heavy, but it was comforting, reassuring. You felt small but also safe under him. The heat from his body ignited a fire within you.

“Don’t worry babygirl” Chris whispered leaning into your ear. You felt his hot breath fanning your burning cheek. “Daddy will get you nice and ready for him.” You felt yourself flutter at the name. You were definitely responding to it.

Christopher licked big swipe on your ear making your breath itch in your throat and you bit your lip to repress a moan. Fortunately you didn’t have to think about it too much because Chris kissed you instantly, one of his hands leaving your wrist to wrap around your throat, his thumb pulling on your chin to open your mouth. You didn’t fight back, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth. He tasted sweet, like energy drinks and tropical fruit juice. Now you knew for sure he was completely sober. But Chris, on the other hand, wasn't so sure anymore, because he sure felt drunk right now. Drunk in you, in this kiss. He threw himself into you, moaning in your mouth as you arched your back and he rolled his hips into you, pressing his hard cock onto your hip.

Before you could think too much about it Chris stripped you of your clothes, one article after the other until you found yourself completely exposed to him. Chris got up and took a step back to admire your body under the rays of the sun piercing through the blinds. You were gorgeous, stunning and he couldn’t wait to finally be inside you.

He then pulled on your hips to bring you on the edge of the bed where he kneeled on the ground and gently parted your legs.

“Fuckk” he cursed under his breath when he saw your cute little pussy already glistening with need and lightly twitching. He only wanted one thing: to taste you. So he did.

He first laid a gentle kiss on your clit which made you jolt up and he smirked against you in satisfaction.

“Awww baby. Are you always this sensitive or is it daddy doing that to you?” He licked a large stripe from your entrance to your clit, staying there for a second giving more attention to the sensitive bud.

“F-fuckkk. No it’s y-you” you breathed in, arching your back and fisting the sheets beneath you. “Daddy is doing this to m-me”

Christopher felt his heavy length jump just as the mention of the word in your mouth, it sounded so fucking good, so fucking sexy. It made him want to please you, be good for you.

He licked and swirled his tongue on your swollen bud earning more moans and pants from you. Until your cunt was throbbing against his lips and your heart was beating in your ears.

“Im… Fuck… gonna c-cum” you said lifting your face to see Christopher looking up at you from between your thighs.

“Go ahead baby. Cum for daddy”

You came undone at the end of his tongue, your walls fluttering around nothing, thick slick gushing out of you and covering Chris’ face.

“God fuck.. don’t- s-stop” you begged, tensing up your legs and your orgasm ripped through you. Chris didn't stop there, instead he gradually slowed down to help you down your high at your own rhythm.

“Fuckkk... Please daddy I need you inside me” you said looking at him. And he got back on his feet again. With disconcerting ease he grabbed you at the hips and flipped you on your stomach and lifted you so you were on all fours.

He reached for his night stand where he took out of one of the drawers a condom and tore the wrapper hastily.

“Was hoping you’d say that babygirl”

As soon as the condom was on he brought his tip to your soaked and fluttering little hole. You were feeling desperately empty and you wanted nothing more than to be stuffed full of Chris’ big fat cock. You wiggled your hips to urge him to fill you up.

“Are you ready baby?” he asked, making sure one last time you were still on board.

“Yess daddy.. Yes please. Don't make me beg” You said, despair dripping from your lips. And Christopher resisted the urge to do just that. Maybe another time.

He started to push his huge cock inside you and you braced yourself feeling your walls expand beyond belief to accommodate the thick and hard length. Very slowly Chris continued to progress inside you. You gritted your teeth, fisting the sheet even harder and exhaling a faint complaint.

“It’s okay baby. You can do it. Big breaths, ok?” Chris encouraged you before continuing.

Thanks to Chris’ prepping, the pain was bearable. Now you didn't even have a single shadow of a doubt left. Chris was indeed bigger than Minho.

Soon enough he managed to push the whole monstrous thing inside you.

“There you go baby” Chris said gently stroking your back. “That’s my good girl. Say when daddy can move okay, darling?” he laid a soft kiss to the crown of your back, his voice appeared to be somewhat strained. Your tightness was also hard to handle on his part.

“Ok” you huffed quietly.

You took a couple of seconds to get used to him but eventually the pain disappeared.

“You… can move”

Slowly Chris started to pull out only to push right back in when his tip was just barely hinging in.

“Oh- fuckfuckfuck” you panted.

“You’re doing so good, baby. So good for daddy” Chris said, pulling out once again.

He repeated the process until he felt you relax around him and the sharp breaths and sighs turned into moans and whines.

“Fuckk so… so fucking big” you said arching your back while Chirs’ big hands wrapped around your waist to pull you back on his cock everytime he was pushing in.

“Fuck your little cunt is so wet and tight for me baby”

“Hmmm daddy” you whined. “Please faster”

“Fuck so fucking naughty” he said as started to fuck you faster, deeper, dragging your precious nectar on his cock and making you moan louder.

“Fuck I won’t last long baby”

“Pleasepleaseplease daddy I'm almost there”

Chris circled your hip and brought two fingers to rub circles on your clit, you threw your head back, completely letting go of the last bit of sanity you had left. Chris felt you throbbing around his cock.

“Fuck daddy…I'm cumminggg”

“That's it cum for daddy” Chris said, his voice was strained as he felt you flutter around him, urging him to let got. Spurts of hot cum rushed into the condom as he hips became erratic, as continuously fucked into you until you were both satifed and out of breath.

You collapsed and he rolled next to you, taking the condom off and tying it before rushing to the bathroom and returning with a warm towel and handing it to you.

“Fuck that was… amazing” he told you with a bright smile that you knew.

“So you like being called daddy? Now I understand why you’re into kinky girls.” you said, raising an eyebrow, teasingly.

“Oh– Hm.. well. Yeah… sorry it was like in the heat of the moment” he scratched the side of his face before ruffling his brown curls.

“Oh don't worry about it. I liked it”

“We should like.. do that again sometimes… I mean if you're down”

It’s funny how he started all cocky and confident and now he was the one stumbling on his words and being flustered. You found that cute.

“Yeah we should”

“CHRIS WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING???” You heard Jisung’s loud voice coming from the hall. “WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE FOR PRACTICE” He fumbled with the door handle. “WHY IS YOUR DOOR CLOSED?”

“Get the fuck out Jisung. I’m busy” Chris said and you giggled.

“Bro, I think he’s fucking someone in there” Jisung said, this time to someone else.

“OI, MATE WHO’S IN THERE WITH YOU?? IS IT Y/N??” Felix’ unmistakably low voice asked.

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT“ Chris shouted.

“Fuck… I think you made him mad.” Felix said.

“Bro how the fuck is it me? You the one who insisted” You heard the two voices getting further.

“Don’t pay attention to them” Chris said and you both laughed and went back to bed, to get a well deserved couple of hours of sleep before a day full of college classes.

3k celebration | skz masterlist | navigation

a/n: thanks for reading babe if you enjoyed reblig or leave a comment because delulu is the solulu <3

#bangchan smut #bangchan #christopher bang #skz smut #skz #stray kids #stray kids smut #bangchan x reader #bangchan stray kids #bangchan x you #bangchan x y/n #bangchan x female reader #kpop smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours #bangchan hard thoughts #bangchan hard hours

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laenordeservedbetter · 8 months

Text

Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want

Words: 1k

Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader (Godly parent not specified)

Synopsis: Clarisse was fine with not getting anything she wanted until she laid her eyes on you.

Warnings: Pining, whipped!Clarisse, This is mostly in Clarisse's POV, handling of dangerous weapons (a dagger and a spear). [Let me know if I missed any.]

A/N: I apologize if the storyline is messy. I wanted this to be longer, but my attention span was not cooperating with me today. I had to take a lot of breaks while writing this because I could not sit still for more than five minutes.

masterlist || previous work

—

Clarisse remembers the first time she saw you.

You were in the forge, polishing some of the newly-made spears because you had nothing better to do. You were under the supervision of Luke since he was showing you around, but the boy had kept his distance, opting to just watch from the sidelines as you worked. Clarisse had walked into the forge, the chatter that was going on around you stopping. You discontinued what you were doing in order to look at her, wondering why your fellow campers were on-edge at her presence.

Your eyes met hers, taking her aback.

She hadn’t seen you before.

Once Clarisse realized that she was staring, she promptly cleared her throat, scowling. “What are you looking at, newbie?” She asked, crossing her arms. Her plans on scaring you, however, failed when you smiled sheepishly.

You had been equally mesmerized by her, something that she failed to notice. “Sorry, you’re just so—”

Clarisse held her breath, preparing herself for an accusation (that she’s mean and terrifying – both of which are true, but words that sting nonetheless). Though, it’s not like she’s going to think about it for the rest of –

“—Pretty.” You conclude your sentence.

Oh.

Clarisse’s brows furrowed. She thought she would hear something insulting, but instead she was met with a compliment? Her eyes searched yours once again, looking for a trace of malice. She didn’t find any, which made her confusion stir all the more. She scoffs, furious at herself for not being able to figure you out. “Whatever.” Clarisse walks away, turning her back on you so as to not show her weakness. She storms back to the Ares cabin, forgetting the reason why she went to the forge in the first place.

You frown as you look at the dagger in your hand, examining the initials engraved on the grip.

C.L.R.

---

The next time Clarisse saw you was when you were watching her train, your eyes following her every move. Clarisse pretended to ignore you until she found herself unable to focus. She put down her spear, turned to you and asked, “Would you like me to teach you?” before she could even stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth.

You nodded eagerly, “Yes, please.”

You walked over and Clarisse pretty much had to use all her self-restraint to not just stand there and stare at you.

“…Alright, so you hold this and—”

---

It had been ages since that day.

Even though you and Clarisse have gotten closer, there was still a part of her that longs for more. See, ninety-nine percent of the time, her wishes don’t come true. Or it does, for a little while, but then it gets ripped away from her grasp. She gets her hopes up and then it all comes crashing down – a cycle that never ends.

Clarisse has come to terms with the thought that she will never gets what she wants. She supposed that she was okay with that, but then you came along and everything changed. For every smile, every crinkle of your nose, every stupid joke that made you laugh, she finds herself wanting to wish that you would feel the same way she does.

“Clary?”

She snaps out of her reverie and looks at you, “Yes?” She felt embarrassed for not paying attention, smiling apologetically.

“I asked if you wanted to—”

“Yes.”

You sit up in her bed, laughing. “I haven’t even finished the sentence yet.” You grab her hand gingerly, locking your fingers together. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go with me—”

“Yes.”

“Clarisse,” You whine, “Let me continue first.” You pout, trying to let go of her hand, but Clarisse wouldn’t let you.

Clarisse shakes her head, holding on to your hand firmly while her other brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “I don’t care. I’ll go wherever you go.” She says genuinely. Being that close to you made Clarisse’s heart race, but she couldn’t bring it in herself to look away because then you’ll know that something was up.

You stare at her in disbelief, crossing your arms, “Really? You’ll go with me to show the new kid around camp?”

Her lips purse and you know you’ve got her. Clarisse lets out a sigh of resignation. “No.” She mumbles. As much as she’d love to spend more time with you, she and you have very opposing ideas on how to welcome new campers.

“Thought so.” You deadpan.

“Why are you the one doing it, anyway?”

“Because I’m still in trouble for staying past curfew two days ago, pretty girl.”

Clarisse froze at the nickname. If her heart wasn’t beating fast before, it surely was now. You chuckle, beginning to make your way out of the bed. “Hey, no, where are you going?” Clarisse grabs your hand, another laugh escaping you.

“To give that tour.” You roll your eyes, successfully prying your hands away from Clarisse’s grip. You ignore her sounds of protest as you make your way to the door.

Clarisse could feel her stomach drop, feeling the warmth slip away the further your distance becomes. The longer she stares at you with your back turned, the longer she thinks you would leave without saying goodbye. To her surprise (and not for the first time), you look back at her.

“I’ll see you later at the bonfire.” You lean against the doorframe, your eyes narrowing. “Don’t be late, alright?”

Clarisse rolls her eyes at the look you give her. She was only late one time and that was because she was debating with herself whether to give you flowers or not. She wanted to tell you the real reason why she was late, but decided it would be best to keep her mouth shut. “I won’t.” She says instead.

“Good.” You straighten your posture, putting one foot out the door while a hand rested on the doorframe, giving Clarisse a smile she knows you only reserved for her. Only when she smiles back do you actually take your leave.

Clarisse gets a sense of hope upon your departure.

Maybe it would be different this time.

She leans back against the bed frame, sending out the same prayer to every god she could think of.

Please, please, please let me get what I want.

#clarisse la rue #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson series

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forteafy · 1 year

Text

Baby Steps | MV1

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

Word Count: 8.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were pregnant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Verstappen.”

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

“What are you going to do?”

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

You knew what you were going to do.

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

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

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

“Ah, there they are!” She glows.

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

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

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

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

“Horner!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

14:05: Max Verstappen

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

14:09: You

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

14:11: Max Verstappen

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

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

Max Verstappen was not a practical man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart almost stops when he sees you.

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

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

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

“I think we should move in together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’m- I’m not ready to be a father.’

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

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

You couldn’t handle this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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welcometotheworldofsekl · 2 years

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Fury mit den dicken Reifen ausreiten! . . #cycling #radfahren #lifebehindbars #training #cross #gravel #nevernotriding https://www.instagram.com/p/ClecoIvMS1N/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#cycling #radfahren #lifebehindbars #training #cross #gravel #nevernotriding

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babylawyerruns · 1 year

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Lil cross training/ strength things today !!! Thought I’d get back to postings runs but when I was going to run it was literally pouring rain and thundering so did the bike!!!

Having nervous energy for tomorrow!!!

I saw a cardinal today so that’s a good sign!!

#runblr #running #runner #cross training #spinning #peloton #my face #peloton spin #peloton strength #cycling #personal #selfie #me

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tjkl895 · 2 years

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Martin Lidberg (https://www.instagram.com/p/CR36GogpN3u/)

#martin lidberg #coach lidberg #coach #wrestling #wrestling training #training #cross training #cycling #adidas #compression shorts #compression #shorts #camouflage #video #shirtless

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vanteguccir · 7 months

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── ୨୧ !　𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗢𝗣𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗜𝗔

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N has suffered with an eating disorder for years, but lately, - because of the some "fans" and social media - her insecurities have been taking her to a more than dangerous path, which she couldn't get out without help.

WARNING: anorex!a, eating disorder, comparison, self sabotage, self hatred, panic attack, pure angst... PLEASE read with caution!

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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Atelophobia; the fear of not being good enough.

This was one of the millions of fears and problems that haunted Y/N's mind. Her head convinced her a long time ago that she simply wasn't enough; for her school teachers, for her classmates, for her friends, for her parents, past boyfriends... not even for herself.

This led her to listen to what others said and thought about herself since she was very young, the desire to be perfect and within society's standards in all aspects of a human being consumed her; personality, thoughts, knowledge... body.

She was told all the time how she should behave, act, and be. She was just a child, but that didn't seem to matter to those who did it, clogging her up with responsibilities and comparisons.

One thing led to another. Her desperation to be the best at everything started to include her own body. "Fat" was the first word people used to describe her. She had no control over the situations around her, but she had control over her weight.

Y/N was always the biggest girl in her class, and her classmates seemed to love reminding her of that; often being excluded from work groups, forgotten in groups of friends, or not chosen in any team during Physical Education classes.

Until the year when everything changed. During the school vacation, she decided to change, intending to return to school as a new girl. The new cycle started well, Y/N saw a nutritionist, cutting out all fatty foods from her routine and consuming only healthy ones. She started going to the gym daily, doing the recommended training time. All of this led her to lose a significant amount of weight.

Soon, the vacation was over, and with that, the negative comments from her classmates were replaced by positive comments. Girls asking what she had done to lose weight like that, searching for advice and seeing her as a miracle. Boys saying how changed and prettier she looked.

How could she not fall in love with her own illness?

So, that made her feel good. Too good... her mind began to yearn to become thinner, more beautiful, just to hear more from others. And then the healthy diet and the one hour training at the gym were no longer enough for her. She needed more if she wanted to be better.

Y/N then intensified her training, staying at the gym for 2 hours per day, doing more reps with more weight. She crossed out several foods from the list of permitted that her nutritionist had made, choosing for herself the ones she thought were ideal, until it had almost nothing left.

Her brain self-sabotaged so that she wouldn't go out with her friends, because they would definitely want to eat somewhere and she wouldn't be able to.

She no longer participated in family dinners, creating excuses so as not to be forced to sit at the table and eat.

Her mind convinced her that she wasn't thin enough to satisfy her boyfriends' sexual and non-sexual desires, which made her pull away during or at the beginning of any relationship she had until the guy got tired, or she simply ended it.

She spent hours on the internet, searching for sensational diets that reduced daily calories to 500 or less, promising extraordinary weight loss. In addition to getting on the scale at least 4 times a day, hoping for a miracle every time she looked at the numbers.

Y/N replaced her eating schedules with random hobbies like drawing, learning a new instrument, or picking flowers from her garden to make flower crowns, occupying her time and mind.

Some things scared her, her period hadn't come in months, clumps of hair fell out every time she ran her hands through it. Her vision went dark at least 3 times a day. Her body shivered from the complete cold of her insides, and her stomach hurt more than usual.

But she had to suffer them alone since she had no one to talk to about, always alone.

Until Y/N met Matt.

Matt was the boy who made her want to get better. He encouraged her to look for a hospital that fit her preferences, where Y/N finally began to receive psychiatric and psychological care.

Her diet changed for the better, into foods that Y/N saw as safe. She did not abandon the gym but reduced the weight and time, maintaining her training just for the health of her muscles, as she had lost a lot of lean mass during her worst moment.

The calculator in her head finally stopped. Her eyes started seeing food as just food and not as the enemy. Her stomach craved for all the snacks she loved, and she finally ate them, without feeling guilty.

Matt was so thoughtful about her entire situation, having suffered himself with extreme anxiety from a young age. He could tell he understood in parts what it was like to live with a mental illness.

So he helped her maintain her healthy diet and eat all her daily meals within her limit - often opting to eat together in their room, since he knew the trepidation Y/N still felt about doing it in front of other people.

Matt praised her in every possible situation, trying not to be extreme but to show his intense love and support for the girl. All of that was helping her a lot.

Until it wasn't.

Y/N and Matt never hid their relationship from the public, the girl knew how famous her boyfriend was and how difficult it could be to keep their relationship hidden, they would be seen together at one time or another.

So it wasn't surprising that the girl appeared in some of the triplets' pictures sometimes, and that's what happened that Friday.

As usual, Nick posted a photo dump on the triplets Instagram to promote the publication of their new car video, and one of the photos was of Matt and Y/N, specifically one in which the two were sitting on the couch in their living room, the girl had her legs draped over Matt's thighs, while his tattooed arm wrapped tightly around her waist, huge smiles decorating their faces.

It was a cute photo, but apparently, that wasn't what fans thought.

While Matt and his brothers were in the kitchen, preparing healthy snacks - a habit they built through the girl, but which in the end helped everyone -, Y/N was lying on her bed in the room she shared with Matt, wrapped in too-warm covers, holding her phone with her right hand while her left hand wrapped around her stomach in an almost painful grip.

Her thumb scrolled through the comments screen beneath the post. Almost everyone there talking about her picture with Matt.

"Matt can do so much better than her"

"I really don't know what he saw in her"

"She's going to end up crushing him like that"

"I'll pay for the gym for her if that's the price for Matt to have a worthy girlfriend"

And so on, it was as if they knew all of Y/N's weaknesses.

Some fans of them could be cruel when they wanted to, and Y/N knew this by heart since seeing Nick crying several times because he was body shamed, or when she noticed Chris being quieter than usual after reading comments saying how loud he was and how that was unbearable.

Her heart was crushed every time she saw Matt suffer in silence until he couldn't hold it in any longer and finally cried in her lap for hours after reading people saying how insignificant and quiet he was in the videos.

Even though a huge mass of the fandom loved them with all their hearts and took care of them as much as the distance of a phone screen allowed, it still wasn't enough to swallow the hate comments.

But when it came to Y/N, more than half of the fandom turned against her. Maybe out of envy, but it was obvious that the girl didn't see it that way. She was convinced that they were right.

Her heart tightened as if someone was crushing it with their bare hands. The air seemed to escape her lungs, and the lunch she ate hours before seemed to want to go up her throat. Her fingers trembled as she held her stomach, feeling everything she had and didn't have there. Her eyes began to water, her lips quivering from the tears that wanted to escape.

Y/N quickly moved her finger to the back button, hoping to break out of the horrible cycle she was about to enter. A loud sob escaped her lips when, upon finally leaving the post, her feed reloaded, and a picture of a model that Y/N followed and admired appeared.

Comparison was her biggest enemy.

Negative thoughts about herself began to pollute her mind, everything around her becoming a fog. The sounds coming from the kitchen became muffled to her ears. Y/N's right hand - which was holding her phone - was gripping the device in such a way that her fingers turned white. Painful sobs escaped her mouth as her eyes remained fixed on the woman's perfect figure.

Why can't I be like her?

The longing for the sensations she felt when she starved hit her chest hard. The desire to want to be as thin as before - or more - filled her.

It didn't take long, and soon, the bedroom door was slowly opened, Matt's silhouette appearing behind it. His face was lit up with a smile - probably because of some joke his brothers made - while his right hand held a plate with two sandwiches.

His cheerful expression was replaced by a frown of concern. Matt quickly closed the door with his feet, walking towards the bed, haphazardly placing the plate on the nearest bedside table before sitting down on the mattress.

His hands flew to Y/N's waist, stopping over her own hand that was squeezing her skin with a force that was sure to leave it bruised.

The girl seemed to wake up from her trance, lifting her head and meeting Matt's calming - but worried - gaze. She cried harder as she imagined what her boyfriend would be thinking of her now.

Automatically, her mind started to play her current state, messy hair, swollen and red face, skin wet with tears, eyes half closed and mouth open, allowing sobs to escape from there.

"M-Matt-" Her sentence was cut off by a sob, her eyes closing tightly.

Matt took a deep breath, trying to process what to do next. His left hand - the one that didn't cover hers - slowly took the phone, taking it out of his girl's death grip. He glanced briefly at the screen, automatically understanding what was happening before locking it and putting the device aside.

He moved his body so that it was closer to hers, resting his hand on her spine and guiding her until she laid her head on his chest, caressing the area below his fingers.

Matt felt his heart break with every tremble that rocked the body beneath his caused by the sobs. If he could take that pain away from his girlfriend, he would.

"It's okay, baby, let it out. I'm right here." He cooed, his fingers caressed the tangled strands of her hair lightly, stroking the area while moving his upper body back and forth, slowly calming his girlfriend.

"Ma-Matty-" Y/N's voice was weak, wobbly from the pain in her heart.

Matt removed his hand from hers for a few seconds, stretching it to the bedside table - where the plate was -, taking the bottle of water that Y/N always filled before going to sleep. He opened the lid in one quick movement, bringing it close to his girl's face.

"Come on, my love. Sit down for a moment and take a sip of water. Please." The boy asked in a soft voice, helping Y/N straighten her posture before bringing the bottle closer to her lips, helping her take a few small sips of the contents.

He closed the bottle after making sure she was satisfied, placing it on the mattress before turning his attention to Y/N again. He brushed away the strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear.

"What if they're right?" She asked in a whisper, catching her bottom lip between her teeth in an attempt to keep from crying.

"No, they aren't." Matt's tone was convincing, as if he was absolutely sure of what he was saying. "You are not worse than others because of your weight. You look great as you are. Your body is perfect, do you know why? Because he's healthy enough to carry you around and take care of you." The boy held her hands lightly, stroking the back of her fingers gently as he looked into her eyes. "The recovery journey is not easy, I remember the words your psychologist said to me when we had that session together. I imagine your head when you see clothes getting tighter, and these comments certainly make you want to give up, I know you, baby."

He paused momentarily, watching her reactions carefully.

Y/N knew that, recovery was hard work. Not wanting to die was hard work.

"Recovery is not a race. You don't have to feel guilty about taking less or more time than you originally thought or having relapses from time to time. This is part of the process, and I want you to understand this. You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my entire life. When I look at the most beautiful things, I remember you. In the pink tulips of the flower shop across the street, in the Cassiopeia constellation, in the bees that fly in our garden and in the greenest tree I have ever seen." Y/N let out a tearful laugh when she heard him mention the tree, knowing his immense love for nature. "Because you're pretty like them."

"I-I'm sorry." The girl whispered, sniffling then lowering her gaze in shame. "I... I saw the photos that Nick posted, and there were comments..." She shook her head, closing her eyes tightly.

"Oh baby." He leaned slightly over Y/N, sealing his lips over her warm forehead. "If you want to apologize, let me do it. If you went through this now, it was because of me."

"No, Matt. It was never and will never be your fault." Y/N shook her head, wiping her eyes momentarily with the sleeve of her - his - hoodie, sniffling slightly before taking one of Matt's hands, intertwining their fingers. "You don't control people, much less through the internet. They will always talk a lot because they are behind a screen that protects them, but that will never be your fault. I would rather go through this a thousand times and have you with me than never have you again."

"I understand." He paused momentarily. "Please, don't let it get to that point again while you're alone. If you see something that upsets you or makes you feel bad, turn it off instantly and call me. I want to be there to help you. I want to be there for you." The brunette asked, staring at her eyes.

Y/N sighed, nodding her head and leaning slightly closer to him, resting her forehead on Matt's shoulder, exhaling the softening scent and perfume that exuded from the fabric of the hoddie on his body.

Her eyes burned from the tears she shed, closing them tightly to prevent more from falling, her heart still feeling sore from everything.

"If you want, we can contact that psychologist again, the one who helped you throughout the process at the hospital." Matt lowered his head, bringing his face closer to the back of Y/N's head, pressing his lips against his girl's hair, closing his eyes as he felt the warmth of her body close to his. "I want to attend some sessions just like we did last time, so I understand how I can help you this time."

Y/N felt her heart warm instantly, her free hand snaking to Matt's thigh closest to her, stroking the covered skin lightly.

"Okay."

Matt loved Y/N more than he loved himself, and he would make sure that she understood that she wasn't alone anymore.

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