#and she always says that she can always talk to me and everything

[sinofwriting]

Engineer in Law - Max Verstappen

Words: 1,758 Summary: Max and GP are far more close than most race engineers and drivers, which might have to do with the fact that Max is dating his daughter. Note(s): Takes place in 2021. Reader is GP’s daughter. Reader is 21, Max is 23. I don’t know what GP’s wife’s name is IRL but in this fic her name is Sarah. Also, reader is only given one physical descriptor which is that she has GP’s eyes, apologies if (like me) you don’t know have that eye color, but we can imagine and/or wish! This might end up getting a part two.

Masterlist | Support Me! 

“You're happy.”

It’s not something GP normally comments on, Max’s moods. Not unless it’s to make a sarcastic comment about how thrilled he looks to be going to a press event or something of the sort, but Max is beaming like he just won a race. It’s an odd look on the young driver, an unusual one, sadly.

“I asked the girl I was seeing to be my girlfriend, she said yes.” Max’s voice is quiet and GP leans in, his eyebrows going up at the news, at the soft but excited tone the words hold.

He smiles at the younger, reaching forward and clasping him on the shoulder. “That’s fantastic, mate. Want to tell me about her?” It’s a rather stupid question because if Max didn’t want to talk about her, he wouldn’t have said anything. And GP is rather happy to sit here and listen to Max talk about this new girl in his life.

“She’s amazing, GP. I mean really smart, funny, and she never backs down. She always has a response to anything I say. And even if I’m in a bad mood, she doesn’t let me just sulk. She knows exactly how to get a response from me and she knows it. She’ll get this little smirk on her face after I snap back at her and she’s great.”

GP has to stop himself from clearing his throat at how head over heels in love Max looks. It was oddly like looking in a mirror when GP was just four years younger than him and seeing his wife holding their newborn daughter.

“I hope you're not snapping at her too much.” His dad mode is in full force, nearly shuddering as he thinks of his twenty-one year old daughter getting snapped at often by a boyfriend. He further shudders at the reminder she currently has a boyfriend.

“Not like that.” Max reassures. “It’s kind of like us in the simulator.”

GP lets out a laugh.

It wasn’t often he joined Max in the simulator but every time they did, other people would gather around to hear the pair mock argue with each other.

“Well I’m happy to hear she’s keeping you on your toes.”

—

Max is practically vibrating in his seat as he waits for GP to sit down.

“She planned a date.”

GP stills from where he was about to reach for his water.

“Like a whole date. From everything, the food, the drinks, what we watched and it was all stuff I liked and fit in my training plan.”

He watches the younger closely, hearing something off in his voice.

“I thought I missed something. Like an anniversary or something, even though we’ve only been together five months.”

GP eyes shut for a second, rage threatening to overtake him. Max was never treated kindly enough and Max had never really talked about his few previous relationships before and he can’t help but wonder if this is why. Because Max never felt truly happy in them. Always something just wrong, always on the edge.

“She just wanted to do something nice for me. Said it wasn’t fair, I had been planning most of our dates.” Max looks confused, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks.

“Y’know, my wife and I trade off.”

Max tilts his head a little.

“I mean, we only do a date about once a month, but we trade off. I did the last one, so tomorrow, she’s planning our date. We used to do the same with vacations, but the whole thing stresses her out a little too much, so I plan them and get the travel plans sorted while she handles looking at things to do and places to go while we are there. It's a partnership, Max. It should be an equal give and take. And that doesn’t mean that it has to be you guys both are giving and taking the same thing equally, you just need to find the balance that works for you. Like you take out the trash, she does the dusting.”

“She has a dust allergy. And we aren’t living together yet.”

GP smiles, coughing to hide his laugh. “Yet, I see. And if she has a dust allergy she needs certain pillowcases and sheets, I’ll send you the ones I bought for my daughter last Christmas.”

“Thank you, GP.”

“I’m always here for you, Max.”

—

“You were out again.”

“Good morning to you as well, dad.” His daughter says, eyebrows raised even as she steps closer to press a quick kiss to his cheek before going to the fridge.

He glances at the clock, slightly miffed to see it is just after eleven am. “Closer to the afternoon.” He comments.

She signs, leaning against the counter, a Red Bull in hand, and he watches as her fingers play with the tab but not open it. It’s a habit he’s never seen from her before. “Dad,” He looks at her face at the sound. “Is me having a boyfriend bothering you that much?”

He softens a little. “No, well, yes. It’s just I don’t know anything about him. All I know is you have a boyfriend and that’s it. I don’t know his name, how old he is, what he does for a living, if he treats you well. And you're spending an awful lot of nights as his and I’ve never met him.”

Her fingers still against the can’s tab. “Is that something you want?”

“Well I’d prefer to meet him before you fully move in with him.” He gives her a look. “But yes, I would. He makes you happy.” It was a hard pill to swallow, the reason for his daughter seeming to be so happy being a boy, but that was the reason.

“Alright, I’ll text him and maybe tomorrow we could do lunch?” She offers.

“I’d like that.”

—

“I’ve been listening to Max talk about our daughter for months.”

Sarah’s lips thin as she struggles not to laugh, running a soothing hand over her husband’s back. “You said it was sweet how he talked about her.”

“Well, I didn’t know he was talking about our daughter then did I?”

His head somehow manages to drop further into his hands. “He talked for thirty minutes straight about her eyes. Her eyes, Sarah. She has MY eyes.”

Sarah can’t help the laugh that spills from her lips. “Well at least it was just her eyes you heard about.”

GP’s face screws up at that remembering the hickey he had seen high on Max’s neck last week and apparently he had some interesting scratch and bite marks as well. Those thankfully he had not seen. “Please, love, put me out of my misery.”

His hands fall into his lap and he presses his face against his wife’s neck, smelling the slightly faded scent of her perfume and her lotion.

“Oh hush.” She says, lightly swatting his shoulder. “It could be much worse. You like Max, you know Max. He’d never hurt our baby.”

GP softens, pressing a kiss to her neck before sitting straight, his back thanking him for it. “No, he wouldn’t. I just,” He sighs. “This is serious for Max and it’s obviously serious for her. She’s never invited a boy around the house that she’s been seeing. When she said lunch, I thought she had booked our usual table.”

“I know. You were all ready to go, wallet and keys in hand.”

“She let me think that as well you know.”

Sarah hums, “I wonder who she got that from.”

He smiles at her. “No clue, love.���

Her eyes give a slight roll and then she’s leaning forward. Brushing their lips together. “Max is good for her and it’s obvious that she is good for Max as well with what you’ve told me. And just think you always joked that Max was like a son. Now it’s just more official.”

“Oh my god, they’re going to get married.”

Sarah laughs at the horror and awe in her husband's voice. “I’d say don’t get ahead of yourself, but you saw exactly what I did at lunch.”

—

“Max, if you talk about my eyes one more time, I’m going to report you to HR.”

Max snickers at the older’s expression. “But, I’m not talking about your eyes.”

“She has my eyes.” GP cuts him off immediately, already knowing his defense. “We have the same exact eyes.” He holds up a finger, silencing Max. “And don’t even think of starting to list the difference between them.”

He kicks a little at the ground, faking a sigh. “Fine. Can we at least talk about you talking in the braking?”

GP sighs, but nods. “Yes, we can talk about it.”

They both fail to notice the Sky Sports camera that had been filming the conversation until much later, when Max is sitting in his driver’s room, chuckling at the broadcast that had just ended and the tweets on his phone.

“Listen to this one, Sky Sports seriously reporting that a female employee is threatening to go to HR because of Max’s comments while playing the video of audio of GP, his MALE race engineer, is seemingly joking about going to HR, is sending me. How is this a serious news source?”

GP snorts, looking at his texts with his daughter. “She just sent me this one, ‘Sky is doing nothing but proving their British bias and stupidity. How much do you think they suck Lewis’ dick for every year now?’ Honestly, they have a point.”

“More than a point.” Max says, tossing his phone to the side. “It’s one thing to say I’m a shit driver that shouldn’t be anywhere near Hamilton, but this? This is ridiculous even for them. They have the footage and audio, aired both, and are saying that it’s a female employee. Vicky is having the time of her life right now, and so are my lawyers.”

“Your lawyers?”

Max shrugs. “They’ll be working with Red Bull’s as well, but this is more than that.”

“It is.” GP agrees. “Sarah was with her when it aired. She was livid.”

“I could tell.” The driver chuckles. “My texts are filled with it. She wants to come to the next race, well, two.”

“Team home race. That’s a statement.”

His cheeks are a little pink. “She wanted to wait for Zandvoort to officially come as my girlfriend, but she wants to be with me for these next two now.”

“It will be nice to see her at both.”

[rcmclachlan]

Re: superhero Tommy

What are the chances of Buck persuading him to have sex in inadvisable places?

Also it's a good thing his ejaculations don't break the sound barrier

Buck would absolutely try to get Tommy to fuck him midair, or like at the very least hold Buck against the side of the Grand Mesa at 10,000 feet up and jerk him off.

When he tells Tommy this, Tommy doesn't even bother looking up from whatever car part he's tinkering with. "Pretty sure you'd get burns on your ass. That high up? The sun'll've been beating on it hard."

"You know what else should be beaten hard that high up?"

Tommy rolls his eyes and says, "I already have enough trouble controlling my strength when we have sex. Now you want to add heights to that?"

Which Buck latches onto like a dog being handed a lamb bone that still has meat on it, because it's an angle to their relationship he hadn't considered. A terrible angle. Terribly hot, that is.

"Wait, when we're fucking, you need to actively control your--really? Like, h-how bad would we be talking?"

There's a sudden spike in the nitric oxide in Buck's body, and Tommy smells the sweat that starts dampening Buck's armpits before Buck even feels it. He stops halfway through screwing a bolt into place and gives Buck the deadest of deadpan looks. "Really. The thought of me accidentally crushing your pelvis is doing it for you?'

"Oh my god, yes." Buck's going to combust all over this living room. His tongue is way too big for his mouth. There's a name for that but he can't think of it because his brain is too busy making Looney Tunes wolf noises. "Can whatever that is wait? I need you to not crush my pelvis right now."

Tommy puts down the screwdriver with a long-suffering sigh, but he does stand up and take his shirt off. And it's devastating like always and Buck's cock pulses in excitement like it usually does, but then his brain puts it's bulging eyes back in its sockets.

"Hey, wait, do you have to control it for everything? Like, would you just rip all your shirts if you weren't thinking about it? How much force do you exert naturally?"

Tommy stares at him. "Are we having sex or doing science experiments?"

"Don't make me choose," Buck whines, shifting from foot to foot. "Like, I wanna suck you so bad, but I also really want to call Karen and see if she has a tensometer lying around."

With another eye roll, Tommy picks up the car part and walks out of the room, calling over his shoulder, "I'll be in the garage. Text me when you decide."

Eight minutes later, Tommy's phone pings with a new message.

Karen's on her way over 👨‍🔬🔬

[harryspet]

the island program | r.cameron

[warnings] dark!gray!rafe cameron x addict!reader, billionaire!rafe, obsessive rafe, pogue!reader, sober!rafe, rafe has a private island, rafe and reader with established relationship, kidnapping, descriptions of s ubstance a buse & withdrawal, praise kink, dom/sub dynamic, mental health themes, stockholm syndrome, rafe controls everything, spanking, DUBCON

a/n: I really wanted to write Rafe taking you to his private island :)

divider credit: @/h-aewo

In which the cure for your cravings is a softer life, a secluded island, and Rafe’s personal brand of discipline.

word count: 5.9k

rafe cameron masterlist

Rafe hadn’t heard from you in three weeks. He completed his important meetings, signed million-dollar contracts, and immediately tried to get in contact with you. You were always on his mind even though he was never on yours. He’d texted you about fifty times. No reply.

He’d gotten you that expensive phone so you could call if you needed help but you’d never used it when it was an actual emergency. You didn’t call him when you needed to be bailed out. You didn’t call him when you needed a ride from the bar. So stubborn. You’d walk the eight miles back to your motel room in heels. He was starting to believe you were doing this to spite him. 

You did call him, however, when you needed money for drugs. Rafe went in circles with you. You’d shun him when he didn’t give in. When he offered you shelter and let you get high within the safety of his expensive condo, you stole from him. 

It wasn’t always like this. At one point, you actually wanted help. That’s how you and Rafe met. A narcotics anonymous meeting in a church basement that smelled like mildew and cigarettes. It took him two years to actually get clean and that was thanks to the meetings, his sponsors, and his determination to finally fulfill his father’s wishes for his future. He relapsed about three times but now he had been clean for an entire year.

He thrived now. Without the influence of mind-altering substances, he could actually make good business deals. He could make a real future for himself. He grew up lucky but he wouldn’t waste that privilege any longer. He had crawled out of the hole and hoped you would follow behind him. 

Except you didn’t grow up as lucky as Rafe. He thought he was good for you. He recognized the sadness in your eyes. He knew what it felt like when the world was against you. Rafe often took what he wanted but he took his time with you. You needed a sponsor but sponsoring someone required a lot of trust. If you were any other girl, he would’ve devoured you whole. Your soft skin. Big, beautiful, tired eyes. Plump and raspberry-colored lips. Long curls that defied gravity, never tamed by a hair tie. Your uniform usually consisted of a pair of jean shorts and a worn hoodie that swallowed your frame. 

The first time he actually talked to you was outside of the Marlin Mart, after filling up his truck with gas. He wandered into the store for soda and a pack of gum but walked into a chaotic scene. The gas station owner had you by your wrist, shouting curses at you, while you tried to pull away from him, “Hey, hey, hey,” Rafe intervened quickly, “Let her go, man!”

“She’s a thief!” You twisted in his grip, eyes wild, defiant, like a cornered animal ready to bite. “Let me see what's in your pockets!” 

“I don’t have anything, old perv! Let me go!” You shouted back. 

“Let her go,” Rafe said again, placing a strong hand on the man’s chest, commanding, pushing him back, “Calm down, I’m paying for her.”

The man argued, of course, but Rafe talked him off the ledge. When Rafe turned back to you, he gave you a warning look. C’mon, I’m helping you not get arrested, he wanted to say. You gave in a moment later. You emptied your pockets. A bag of skittles, potato chips, and a can of Modelo. Rafe took in a breath, taking the items in his hands, and walked over to the gas station counter. 

You spoke to him the first time when Rafe found you outside, leaning against a tall ice box, “You didn’t have to do that.” 

Rafe gave you your items, wondering you were hungry and this was your sad excuse for a meal, “I’m Rafe, I’ve seen you at a few meetings.” 

You didn’t give away whether you really recognized him or not. It didn’t matter, Rafe had already memorized the details of your face. You could brush him off but he’d find a way to talk to you again. He wanted to know you. 

“Hmm,” Was all you said. 

“If you want a real meal, I could take you to the Wreck. We could talk about the program, and you know, recovery.”

“I don’t put out for gas station food and burgers,” When you rolled your eyes, sticking your hands in your jacket pockets, Rafe’s lips pressed into a thin line. 

“I’m not – not trying to be shady. It’s just been awhile since I’ve met someone under the age of thirty who’s in recovery. Just trying to be nice. It’s on me, you don’t have to give me anything in return.”

You used to look at Rafe like he was an alien. Like no one from his side of the island had ever spoken a kind word to you. You didn’t trust him. Rafe wasn’t sure if you knew how to trust anyone. Later, the two of you talked over bowls of hot gumbo. Well, Rafe did most of the talking. He talked about how hard it’s been maintaining his sobriety, how much he’s grateful for the sponsor that practically saved his life, and how much more control he feels over his life. 

Rafe always like control. It just took him so long to realize how much chaos all of the alcohol and blow were bringing to his life. He saw something spark in your eyes, a glimmer of something real, but it went away quickly. 

At the end of the lunch, you leaned across the table, a wicked smile on your lips, “I bet you know where the Kooks like to party. I’ve never tried any expensive shit. Maybe we could get fucked up tonight.” 

You hadn’t been listening. Not really. But he understood why. He would help you get to the other side of your problems. You were too beautiful to leave to your own demons. Rafe could save you. 

He should’ve known that you’d disable your location services. It slowed him down but Rafe had prepared for this. He had informats. Other druggies that would keep eyes on you and snitch on the dealers who sold to you. Sheriff deputies that gave him a call whenever you got booked into the county jail. 

He tracked you down to a motel, someone had seen you enter a room with some lowlife guy last night. They were lucky to have disappeared before Rafe arrived. Rafe couldn’t even count on two hands how many sleazy guys had to injure to the point of hospilization because he found them on top of you while you were out of it or because they had sold you something. 

Rafe knew you were starting to hate him. He could take the hate. As long as you were alive. 

Surprisingly, you weren’t passed out when he found you. You opened the door when he knocked. He could smell that you were newly showered, your hair freshly washed, but Rafe quickly spotted the remnants of last nights “fun” sitting on the nightstand. You were wrapped in a robe, a mascara wand in your hand, your makeup half done. 

“Who paid for the room? I know it wasn’t you.”

An eye roll, of course, “I have more sugar daddies than you, Rafe.”

“I’m not–” He stopped himself from arguing, “What are you getting ready for?”

“None of your business,” You turned away, marching towards the bathroom, “You worry so much.”

Rafe followed, standing in the doorway. He watched the way your hands trembled as you tried to paint your eyelashes. The tremors were new. Things were getting bad. How were things getting worse when his leash had tightened so much?

“Y/N,” Rafe said, tired, exhausted, “I want to help you.”

“And I never asked for your fucking help,” You said although Rafe knew you didn’t mean it, “I’m going away for a while. Gonna get out of your hair.”

His fingers tightened around the wooden trim of the door frame, “With who?”

“Always with the questions,” Even now, you were beautiful. Even with bloodshot eyes and track marks on your skin, “You can’t stop me.”

“I can. I have before. I’ll tie you down to the bed and stop you from hurting yourself.”

“What if I told you I was going to get help?” You looked at him and Rafe knew you were lying. All you did was lie, “My friend knows about this new treatment program. I’ve done every program this entire state has to offer. She’s gonna drive me there.”

“And you need mascara for rehab?”

“Anyways, it’s in Florida. Gonna make it a little road trip. You should be happy for me. I’m finally listening to you.”

“If you go, you’ll probably get yourself killed in a few weeks.”

“Fuck you, Rafe.” The mascara hit the sink with a clatter. You turned, fists flying at his chest. He let you. When the hits got harder, more frantic, he caught your wrists, then your waist. You weighed less than the last time this happened. You always forgot to eat when you were using.

He sat you on the edge of the bed, pinning your thighs when you tried to kick. It was nothing. Rafe was all muscle, all control. You were all bones and smoke.

“Ugh,” you groaned, still struggling, “What do you want, huh? I can do this on my own.”

“You can’t,” Rafe said, feeling like a broken record, “Come home with me. I’ll take care of you.” 

Rafe felt some of the tension in your body melt away, your shoulders sagged, and you let out a breath. You were considering it, he thought. Maybe you’d finally grown exhausted too. He loosened his grip and fixed his blue eyes on yours, “Hey, I’m serious,” He continued, “You need sleep and an actual meal. I promise there will be no hospitals, no doctors, just you and me.”

“Rafe,” You whispered weakly. He saw a glimmer of that innocent side he knew was inside of you. A little girl begging to be taken care of and loved, “I see the way you look at me…”

“What way do I look at you?” Rafe noticed it though he didn’t give it away in his eyes. Your legs parted slightly, your head tilted to the side as you looked him over. Your eyes became playful. 

“Like you think I’m pretty …. even like this.”

“I do,” Rafe said, his voice deep and sure, “I think you’re beautiful, Y/N.” 

“You can have me. You can have it.”

“Y/N-“

“I know you want to. I’d play nice. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

You smiled. Rafe’s heart was breaking in his chest. 

“And you’d want something in return,” Rafe spoke knowingly. You parted your lips to argue but Rafe continued. He stood tall, towering over your figure, “You think I couldn’t have already taken that from you if that’s all I wanted? It wouldn’t be hard even if you didn’t play nice. You’re weak. You’re fucked up every time I see you. Sad thing is, you’d probably let me do it over and over again if that meant you could score.” 

His voice hardened. The words landed like punches. And still, you didn’t look away.

“Stop,” That was all you managed. 

“That’s not all I want, Y/N. I want all of you. I want you safe. Clean. Sober. I want you to fucking listen to me not because you’re looking for your next fix. I want you to listen because I’m the one who gives a shit. Who’s going to give you everything you need. Guidance. Structure. Love. All of it.” 

You shook your head. You probably stopped listening in the middle of his rambling, “I don’t deserve that.”

“I’ll tell you what you deserve,” Rafe let out a breath. His rough hands nervously roamed over his shirt, buzzed hair, “Get your shit together. You’re not going to fucking Florida. If you don’t want me to have your friend arrested for possession then you’ll pack your shit and get in my truck.” 

You stood, shoulders squared like you wanted to fight, but you were shaking again. You’d burned through whatever energy you have left. You were hollow. Empty. Rafe could see it.

“You want to own me,” you spat, but the words lacked conviction. 

“I already have you, angel. That’s what I can’t get you to understand.”

That night, Rafe gave you another chance. Took you home. Let you put yourself together. Fed you until you were sick. It was routine. You relaxed, laughed a little, told him scraps of what you'd been through. You always smiled through the shame. You fell asleep against his chest during some movie neither of you were watching. He carried you upstairs. You probably hadn’t slept in three days.

The banging woke him up just after dawn. You were gone.

He moved downstairs, groggy and shirtless, drawstring pants hanging low on his hips. The banging was frantic. He opened the kitchen drawer and took out the syringe Barry gave him. He’d practiced. He was ready.

Rafe held the full syringe at his side as he approached the front door. There you were, wild and furious. “You locked me in? Open the door, Rafe! I’m serious, I can’t do this. Please,” Your eyes wandered down to his right hand, hanging by his side, “What’s that?”

Rafe slowly closed the distance between you. The rest had given you some of your strength back. Even as you scratched at his arms, Rafe kept you pinned to the door, “Rafe! Don’t! Please!” You screamed, tears in your eyes. 

He shushed you as the needle finally pricked the side of your neck. Your eyes were wide and sad, “It’s okay, baby. I got you,” Your eyelids started to droop and you pushed at him weakly. Rafe caught you when your legs finally gave out, “It’s okay, just sleep. I’m gonna take care of you.”

You sat up too quickly. You were going to be sick. Your seatbelt kept you in place. You squeezed at the soft, italian-leather of your seat. You tried to get your bearings. Your lips parted. You thought you were talking but your voice came out in a moan. 

You sat back, your body was weak, your head lolled to the side. A window. Clouds. A blue ocean. Your eyes fluttered until they were wide open, “Easy,” A familiar voice said. 

“What did you do?” Your voice cracked. You tugged at your seat but your fine motor skills were practically useless. You were so foggy. Not in the way you usually felt when you were coming down or withdrawing. That needle. He’d knocked you out. On purpose. “What the fuck did you do?”  

He was calm. Calmer than he’d ever been. 

“It was the only way. You were hysterical yesterday. And you haven’t been in your right mind for a long time,” You shook your head, “I made a decision. And you’re gonna hate me for awhile. But this is gonna be good for you. For us, too.”

You’d really done it this time. This was your fault. Why did you have to show the most unhinged side of yourself to him?

You were so angry at him. If you were honest with yourself, it wasn’t because you were sitting on his private jet, going to a foreign place. It wasn’t even because you actually hated him. It was because you knew that Rafe wasn’t going to let your skin touch another heroin needle, let your lips taste another sip of alcohol, or let you smoke another joint to mellow your withdrawal symptoms. 

Fuck, you thought. Fuck. Fuck. 

Despite the warnings from his business partners about the futility of the tiny island of Isla Brisas, five hundred miles from the Ecuadorian coast, Rafe had proved them all wrong. There was no long-lost treasure, but his plan had not led to Cameron Development's bankruptcy as they had predicted. Not only had his men found gold, but there was a good chance that the parts of the island that had yet to be explored would yield similar findings. 

His secret project. No one would ever disturb the two of you. No one would even be looking for you, he knew that. But he wanted you to feel like it was only the two of you in this world. No one on the island would consider helping you. The closest piece of civilization was thirty miles away on the Galapagos islands. 

The villa was tucked between a grove of palm trees. The backyard stretched into the soft slope of a green hillside. The front of the house had a winding, stone path that led to an infinity pool before a five-minute walk shaded by tropical trees took you to a private beach. White sand sparkled underneath the sun, kissed by turquoise waves.. 

There were no fences. No barbed wire. No obvious guards. But inside there were rooms with locks that clicked shut when he pleased. Windows that let in the sun during the day but provided blackout privacy at night. Staff that were local. Silent. Loyal. Bought. 

The first two weeks on the island happened in a blur. The bed was massive, the sheets always cool, even though your skin was often on fire. If you weren’t sleeping for hours at a time then you weren’t sleeping at all. You threw up everyday. Rafe was usually there, holding your hair, rubbing circles on your back. You begged him everyday to stop letting you suffer, to help you feel better. 

“I am making you better,” He’d always say. The only drugs he gave you helped your sleep and nausea, they didn’t get you high, and a week into the nightmare, he starting giving you something for the depression and anxiety. The depression was probably the worst symptom. 

He carried you from the bed, to the bathroom, and to the bathtub. He brushed your teeth, detangled your hair, and changed your clothes. You fought him in the ways that you could. It didn’t matter. Rafe did what he wanted. You kept trying to hate him.

One morning, you finally had the strength to pick yourself off the bed. You looked down at your hands and legs. Some of the bruising on your inner arms had started to fade, some had scarred. You could already tell there was more meat on your bones. Your stomach didn’t ache with hunger. You smoothed your hand down over your dress. The yellow night gown was light-weight, smooth and your fingers traced over the lacy floral designs that decorated it. It barely reached the middle of your thigh. And you were sure you’d never worn anything like this. You’d never worn anything this nice. Nothing so…delicate. 

You wobbled towards the master bathroom. It was so big that even your steps seemed to echo. You gasped when you saw your appearance. Tentatively, you touched the skin of your face, unsure that it was really yours. You looked brighter, your eyes were no longer sunken in, the darkness under your eyes had smoothed out. 

You looked away and wandered further into the bathroom. You took note of a modern soaking tub and a spacious shower with a rainfall shower head. You found the walk-in closet next, a heavy silence pressing against you. You were walking into someone else’s life, you were sure of that. It was neatly organized, large, and one side, from floor to ceiling, hung all of Rafe’s polished clothing.

On the other side was a stark contrast. Your fingers grazed over the soft fabric of a dress that was hanging at eye level. Silk, just like the one you were wearing, except this one would reach down past your knees. Soft hues of pink blush, pale golds, baby blues, and creamy whites filled the racks. More dresses. Skirts. Delicate. Frilly, even. The only pants you found were shorts and those were all silk as well. Pastel ribbons and lace. 

Your fists squeezed at your side. Did he expect you to feel happy? This wasn’t yours. This was the wardrobe of some island princess. Who did he think you were? You closed your eyes tight. God, you just wanted to get high. This would all be easier if you didn’t have to feel. You could handle this. You could pretend to be what he wanted if he just let you get high. 

You found Rafe on the balcony connected to the bedroom. Looking through the glass sliding door, you saw him leaning against the balcony’s railing, a phone pressed to his ear. The view behind him was dazzling. The sand was so white it was blinding. He wore board shorts and a cream-colored unbuttoned shirt. The conversation seemed tense. 

This was your chance. You weren’t sure if you wanted to step forward or to run. You took a step back but just as you did, his head turned. He said something into the phone that you couldn’t hear. You turned quickly, too fast, you felt a headache coming on. You hurried to the bedroom door anyways, padding over a soft carpet, before you tried to yank at the large, mahogany doors. They didn’t budge. Of course. 

You heard the glass doors slide open and the sound of crashing waves flooded your ears. 

“You’re out of bed,” He said. You turned, pressing your back against the door, and mentally cursed. Rafe looked different too. He looked happy, hopeful, “Look at you… you look so good–”

“Where is this place?”

“Far, far away.”

You pressed a hand to you forehead, “God, I feel like shit.”

“I know,” Rafe spoke, eyes understanding, “It’s gonna be a process. But you - you look better than you have in so long.”

“I don’t–”

“You really do,” Rafe took a step forward. He was so handsome. Sometimes you forgot. He was tall, commanding, and he seemed to be coming into his own even more as his business became more successful. You hadn’t even seen the rest of the house but you never understood until now how successful he’d become. It made your stomach twist,  “I love you like this.”

You shook your head defiantly, “At the detox clinic, they give you stuff to help with the cravings. Helps with the withdrawal. It’s too painful without. Just a small amount would help wean me off.”

“You’re not going to find a bottle of wine in this house. No pills. No stash under the sink. Best I can do is an ibuprofen.”

Your chest heaved and your eyes started to burn, “That’s not enough. You can’t just lock me up and expect me to raw dog my way through withdrawal.”

His expression didn’t change, even as your tears started to fall, “I hate to see you in pain. I’m here to take care of you but I need your cooperation. If you sit down on the bed, I’ll give you some pain medication.”

“I don’t want your fucking medicine!” Rafe’s jaw clenched, “Take me home!”

In a matter of seconds, he had you by your wrists, and was hauling you over to the bed, “You make this easier for yourself by listening. I’m done playing by your rules. I’m in control now. Do you hear me?” Rafe growled, pinning your arms above your head. His knees parted your legs and he pressed his weight onto you, “You are going to be obedient.”

“You can’t do this,” You whined, struggling beneath him, “You can’t fucking do this!”

“I can!” His deep voice rumbled across your skin, and for the first time, you were actually scared of him, “I’ve decided I’m not going to let you kill yourself. I’ve decided you’re going to live and this is the life I’m giving you. You’re going to do what I say, when I say it. You’re going to eat three meals a day, exercise, take your fucking vitamins, breathe fresh air, and you’re going to act like you’re happy until it starts to feel real.”

“Fine, okay – just let go – you’re hurting me–”

He scoffed. “Hurting you? After what you’ve done to yourself? After what you’ve let happen to you? I’m the one hurting you?”

And then his mouth was on yours. Crushing. Possessive. Final.

It felt like love. Even though all his weight was on top of you and he hadn’t asked for your permission. It felt like love because of how gentle and hot his kisses were against your lips, against your neck, and against your jaw. He squeezed you tightly but not to bruise. Not because he was getting off on your pain. 

It was a warm embrace. You tried to run from it. It was so overwhelming that he fit against you like a matching puzzle piece. Strong hips rocked against yours and it made you dizzy. It was perfect. Just what you needed. Your headache was gone, all you could feel was him, hard and heavy against you. 

He pushed the top of your nightgown to the side, took your nipples into his mouth, and sucked until your back was arching. “Please don’t,” You begged but the more you talked, the less you were able to hear yourself, “Rafe, I can’t.”

He sounded like an animal, a deep rumbling in this throat, vibrated against your skin. Like you’d denied him so long of his primal instincts. This was your fault. 

“So fucking beautiful,” It was out of your control. He’d decided that you were ready. He got you there easily. Rocking against your hips, grinding into you, making your juices soak through your lacy yellow panties. You were so ready that when he finally pushed inside of you, he met no resistance at all, “All mine.”

Your head tilted back just as a strong hand wrapped around your throat. You screamed but he didn’t stop. He went faster, thrusted deeper, “Look at you,” He spoke in a low rasp, “You’re gonna come already, aren’t you?”

You gritted your teeth. It was painful. You tried to push the pleasure away. He noticed and became relentless. You screamed again, “Fucking feel it,” he commanded, “Fuck, you’re fucking perfect. Made for me. You can take it. Fucking take it.”

Clenching around him, your body betrayed your mind. Reisting had made it worse. You convulsed around him and he tightened his grip around your throat. You expected a break, some sort of relief, when Rafe finally pulled out of you. Your muscles were still twitching, squeezing, your walls ached. You felt empty. 

He flipped your body easily. Your fingers clenched the sheets as he pulled your underwear down to your ankles. A series of spanks against your bare ass made you yelp but you kept still. He pressed his weight down on you again, sliding into your welcoming hole from behind. At this angle, he could go even deeper. He kissed above your ear, “Good girl,” Your lips formed a permanent “o”, “Stay like that. My good girl.”

You came again. This time because of the voice in your ear. It put you in a daze. You didn't know if you wanted to cry or to beg him to stop, but the words didn’t come. Only the sound of his praise, "Good girl," "You're perfect", each word tightening its hold on you, sinking deeper inside. Finally he softly said an, “I love you so much”. You hadn’t ever felt anything like this. Consumed and cared for. Used and loved. It was everything, all at once. 

Rafe didn’t sugar-coat his intentions. He was training you. You made the mistake of showing him that he could give you pleasure. That your mind melted when he was fucking you. He could make you chase after the orgasms. It was the only high he provided you. 

You ate all three meals provided to you and he’d bury his face between your legs on top of the kitchen table. You went out to the pool and swam with him instead of throwing vases, he fucked you hard against a lounge chair. You went a whole week without asking him for drugs and he’d fingered you until you lost your voice. You wore a bow in your hair, a pink mini dress he picked out, and sat in his lap while he worked in his office and you came for the first time with his finger in your ass. 

You’d replaced one addiction with another. You still thought about your old life almost every hour of every day but the pleasure took the edge off. 

The first time you’d seen another person other than a cleaning lady was when Barry, Rafe’s business partner, came to visit. He warned you to be on your best behavior. You saw it as a chance to be on Rafe’s good side for a long time. Maybe that meant you would be able to get away with more. Maybe that meant he’d do that thing again where he tied you down to the bed, put a vibrator on your clit, and made you cum over and over. 

They were out together, surveying whatever Rafe’s secret project was. He still kept all his business under wraps. All you knew was that there was gold involved. And you’d only heard that when you were eavesdropping on one of his calls. 

When they returned at dinnertime, you had dinner and a dessert ready. Grilled mahi-mahi and sweet potatoes for the entree and chocolate cake for dessert. You started early, knowing you might burn your first attempt. Luckily, you perfected the recipe on the second attempt. 

You chose a floral, white dress, one that was low-cut and showed off your ever developing breasts. You were slightly insecure about them but Rafe complimented your blossoming figure consisting. 

Rafe eyed you cautiously but Barry was more than impressed. You hugged Barry to greet him and you felt the man’s hands linger on your waist for a moment too long. 

You made conversation easily. Your tone was light, almost fake, but this was how Rafe wanted you. You smiled until it felt real. Barry thought all of his jokes were funny. You laughed politely. 

You served them both chocolate cake, leaning over each of them as you scooped a slice on to each of their plates. Rafe eyed you again, “After dessert, should we all get in the pool?” You asked, your eyes flirty and on Barry. He smiled, gold-tooth flashing. 

“That sounds–”

Rafe interrupted him, “You want a beer, Barry?”

Your heart pounded. Your lips parted, “A beer?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Barry responded, unaware of the tension between you and Rafe.

“Angel, could you get two beers for me and Barry from the fridge in the pantry? I had some flown in the other day,” You hid your hands behind your back, to hide how bad they’d started shaking. 

You hadn’t noticed any beers. Then again, you hadn’t looked in that fridge in awhile. What was he doing? Without another word, you turned on your heels and made your way to the pantry. To your surprise, and likely, your downfall, there was a pack of beers in the fridge. 

Shaking you picked up two. Just two. You stared down at them, cold, condensation dripping down the glasses. Fuck. You hadn’t chosen this. Rafe chose this. It was just beer. It wasn’t a hard drug. He didn’t have the right to do this. He was testing you. 

It took everything in you to walk back to the table and set them in front of each of the men, “Thanks, sweet thing.”

Still trembling, you sat back down in your seat. You were sweating. You watched both of them. Rafe’s strong hands twisted open his bottle. You sat eerily still as the men enjoyed their dessert and the alcohol. The conversation continued without you. 

You tuned back in when you heard Rafe say, “Why don’t you head out there, Barry, and we’ll join you in a second.”

Barry’s eyes flicked between you and Rafe, suspicious, before he said, “Sure.”

When the coast was clear, Rafe asked, “What are you trying to do?”

“What?” You asked though your attention was fixed on his glass. 

“You’re trying to get something,” Rafe said. Of course you were. All addicts do is use other people to get what they want. 

You didn’t move your eyes from the glass. 

“Hey, look at me,” And you did. It had become second nature. Do as your told, “You’re strong. You’ve been doing so good.”

“I’m not,” You disagreed.

Rafe tilted his head back, taking a sip, “You’re my good girl, right?”

“Yes,” You said quickly, “I’m trying. Maybe if I could just have a sip–”

“I know what you really want, Y/N, and you know I can’t give you that,” Rafe continued, voice steady, “You know what I can give you though.”

You nodded, “Okay,” You rubbed your hands nervously over your dress. Your palms were sweaty, “Can I have your cock, please? Can you make me cum?”

“Stand up, lift up your dress and bend over the table,” You did so quickly. You even made sure to pull down your panties. You were already wet. He didn’t need to warm you up. Sometimes you liked it better when he skipped the foreplay and went straight for what he wanted. You liked it. You had a purpose. You had love. 

He didn’t move immediately. He watched you. He took his time, finished his beer. 

“All this was because you wanted a reward, huh?”

“Yes, Rafe.”

His chair scraped against the marble floor as he stood. God, you were soaked. If he could just touch you –“You trying to manipulate me now? Use my friend to get what you want?”

“N-No–”

He spanked you so hard you screamed, one of your legs kicking up as you tried to fight through the pain, “Y-Yes, I-I’m sorry!”

“I know when you’re lying. I’ve always fucking known. You’re bad at it.”

“I’m sorry,” Another spank. You winced. 

“You’re not gonna have a sip of beer. You’re not gonna cum either, okay?”

“Rafe, please, I’ll be–” Five hard spanks. 

“Shut up, angel,” Five more spanks, “This is what this has all been about. Discipline. Not giving into temptation. You’re so close to getting it.”

Shame. You used to run from it. You were so ashamed of your life and your decisions that you wanted to feel nothing. With Rafe, you felt everything. Shame. Depression. Happiness. Pleasure. All of it. He didn’t let you run from it. 

He kept going until you were sobbing and your thighs were glistening with the need that had dripped down from your aching center. 

When he was done, he was out of breath. You were sorry. So sorry. He was right. You just needed more discipline, “Thank you,” You whispered, pulling your body from the table. Your body had grown stronger but you were still so much weaker than him. Part of you liked that, “Thank you, Rafe.”

You got down to you knees, “For what, angel?”

“For caring,” Your voice was so weak. You hugged his leg, rested your head against his knee, “Thank you for caring.”

He bent down, brushing a hand through your hair before trailing his fingers gently along your cheek. You leaned into his touch instinctively, eyes fluttering closed.

“I want you to go upstairs,” he murmured, “put on your swimsuit—the one-piece with the sunflowers. Then grab one of my belts and lay it on the bed and come back down.” 

“I’m going to spank you again tonight,” he continued, almost reverent. “And I want you to thank me again. Just like this. Just as perfect as you are right now.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. Trembling legs brought you up the stairs. You’d never felt like this before. You wanted Rafe to be proud of you.

Reblogs w/ your thoughts are the best way to support me! Please message me with drabble ideas for this au if you have any :)

[lambcultist]

꒰ ♱ ꒱ gf!ellie who was oddly secretive about her 'career' since your relationship began, and you never stopped to question why...┆ dark content. hitman!ellie x naive!reader. toxic relationship, manipulation, gaslighting, love bombing. she's literally a murderer, you have been warned + i'm rusty because i've been tired lately, but wanted to get this out because i kept thinking about it ♡ MINORS DNI ( 18+ )

"it's just a job, babe. it's that simple. you never told me you were coming home early, the fuck is up with that?"

you had arrived home with a headache to a near-silent house, not even a whisper, only the faucet running in the bathroom. once you followed the noise, you couldn't get a peep out before ellie spotted your look of horror in the mirror behind her. she cursed quietly and made a pathetic effort in hiding the array of obscene, bloody weapons on the counter from your view with her body, but it was too late.

there isn't any option. you must cooperate, or you will be forcing her hand to her gun, and the barrel to your head. and for her own sake, ellie is praying you will listen.

"it doesn't matter that i came home early, i— i shouldn't have to come home to this—"

"shut the fuck up, if you never came home, you wouldn't have seen me like this," ellie hisses. she keeps her back to you, sparing you nothing but a menacing glare through the mirror as she wipes down her revolver. "you could have prevented this so easily. could've texted, or called."

she yields a fucking weapon, perhaps you shouldn't shout or argue; it may cost your life. truthfully your mind finds it hard to comprehend this. sweet, lovely ellie, who has always been a little overprotective, but not in any questionable sense—until now, that is—she's a killer.

"i'm not the one at fault." you take steps back, speaking more to yourself than ellie by this point, who can't bear to listen to your panicking. "oh my god. oh my god. i have to call the—"

now, this catches her attention. she spins on her heel, hands flying to your wrists to bar you from exiting. "no, you don't call anyone. you don't tell anyone. don't be stupid, baby, god. you know what happens when you call the cops? they take me away from you. that's what happens. you want that? you want me gone?"

fat, hot tears pool in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as you shake your head. your wrists are rigid, ellie's nails pressing into your flesh with a sickening burn. "no, no, just—"

"you'd fucking betray me like that? after everything i've done for you? i thought you'd be different."

"no!"

"then don't you dare turn me in," she spits. your vision is blurred and your brain foggy, but you can feel the callous look in her eyes. they are like daggers. "i do all of this for you. i do this so we can have a good life. and you'd really just... throw me to the wolves like that, huh?"

"no, no, i won't," you weep, frantically shaking your head now. how could you be so dumb, so selfish? ellie has opened up about her fear of abandonment enough times for you to be conscious of it. you should've remembered how this would hurt her. "i'm sorry ellie, i wasn't thinking."

"fucking hell," ellie mutters, letting go of you finally, critically surveying you up and down. your tears, your weary hiccups and sobs... you are easy enough now. "i'm not a murderer, babe. it's just a job. that's all there is to it."

"okay." she isn't satisfied with your lack of words now, but it is understandable.

"this job.. you know how much blood and sweat it takes? fuckin' look at me. this one didn't go down easy," ellie says. she talks, rambles, to fill the silence in the room. "this one fought. he hurt me. and i do this for us. to pay the bills, the rent, put food on the table, and to buy you whatever shit you want."

you nod along. she lifts her shirt to show you deep, purple marks she has earned, instructs you to watch her clean scratches and cuts she received, and then runs the shower.

"why did you come home?" ellie asks. she is milder now, throwing her black clothing to the ground piece by piece.

"i.. had a headache," you murmur between sniffles.

"why didn't you say that?" she scoffs, reaching for the hem of your sweater. "jesus, baby. could've been looking after you already. shower with me."

you flinch while ellie begins to undress you. she notices, of course, and gives you a warning glare.

"babe, don't be scared. i love you."

for a minute or two beneath the shower head, the water runs pink, the remaining evidence of her crime disappearing. her soapy hands run along your body firmly. her lips press against your forehead and her arms are pulling you in for a cuddle under the water. it should be warm, yet it feels so icy.

"i'm not a danger to you," ellie whispers, kissing your temple before she adds, "as long as you stay quiet."

🏷️ @abbysdollie @valeisaslut @eriiwaii @literallylautski @ellieshothousewife @piercedome @therealhexstrap @jinxedbambi @heyimrye @rhian88 @g4ys0n @yoosohh @marvelwomenarehot0 @l0veylace

[lazysoulwriter]

only ever you. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you so much for sending. (i'm sorry for taking a little longer than usual to post!)

----

You hadn’t meant to see it.

His phone had lit up on the kitchen counter at 2:13 a.m., vibrating with a soft buzz that broke the silence of the dark apartment. The name wasn’t familiar — Julia. And underneath, the preview: “You didn’t have to be so sweet last night.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t even realize you’d picked the phone up until you were staring at the message, hands trembling. The notification disappeared before you could open it, and the screen went dark again, leaving your reflection staring back at you.

You didn’t sleep after that.

Pedro stirred beside you hours later, pressing a lazy kiss to your bare shoulder like he always did. Like everything was normal. Like your heart wasn’t collapsing in slow motion.

You went through the motions of the morning. Coffee. His hand brushing yours when he passed the sugar. A soft “love you” before he left for the gym. And you nodded. You smiled, maybe. You weren’t sure. You just knew that as soon as the door closed, you sat down on the floor and tried to breathe.

You didn’t say anything for two full days. You weren’t ready.

You watched him like you were outside your own body — how he lit up when he talked about the project he was filming, how he still kissed the top of your head when he walked past the couch. You hated how badly you wanted to believe nothing had happened.

But the message replayed in your mind every time he smiled at you. So sweet last night. What the hell did that mean?

You finally broke after dinner on the third night. You were supposed to watch a movie together. Pedro had just pressed play, remote still in his hand, when you said, "Who’s Julia?"

His head turned slowly. Confused. “What?”

You hated the way your voice cracked. “Julia. She texted you. Said you were sweet. Last night.”

His whole body stilled. Remote forgotten. His brows furrowed in a way that was almost… hurt?

“Wait—what? What are you talking about?”

You hated that he looked genuinely confused. It made your stomach churn worse.

“I saw the message. I wasn’t trying to snoop, Pedro, I swear, it just—your phone lit up. I—” You ran a hand through your hair. “I just need to know. Please.”

Silence. Long and heavy.

He stood slowly, crossing to you. His voice was calm. Too calm. “Mi amor, you think I—?” He stopped himself, jaw clenching. “I would never. You know I would never.”

“Then explain it.”

“She’s part of the cast. We had a wrap dinner last week, and she had a panic attack when the paparazzi swarmed her outside the restaurant. Everyone else was too busy acting like it was normal. I offered to call her a car, waited with her until it came. That’s it.”

Your throat tightened. “That’s all it was?”

His eyes were glassy now. “You think I’d touch another woman when I have you?” He lean closer. “When I wake up every day thinking how lucky I am that you even look at me?”

You bit your lip, trying to keep it together. “It just felt real. The message. The way she said it—like there was more.”

He reached out, hesitant, then cupped your cheek gently. “I’m an actor. I know how things can look. But I’m also a man in love, and I don’t half-ass that. I don’t play games with your heart.”

You exhaled shakily. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it mattered. Not because I wanted to hide anything, but because I didn’t see it as anything worth remembering. She was scared, I was nice. That’s it. You’re the only one I come home to. The only one I want.”

Your tears fell silently. He wiped them away with his thumbs, kissing your forehead, then your temple.

“I’m so sorry you felt like you had to carry that alone,” he whispered. “Next time, please just ask me. I don’t ever want to see you hurting because of something I could’ve cleared up.”

You leaned into his touch. Let yourself believe him — not because you were desperate, but because he meant it. You knew his heart. And it was yours.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I believe you.”

He kissed you then, slow and full of emotion, like he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into your lips. You melted into him, arms wrapping tight around his neck, grounding yourself in the safety of his presence.

Maybe love wasn’t always easy. But with Pedro, even the pain had purpose — and the ending was always soft.

-----

[jakezzgirlz]

love love love Jake who knows he's being manipulative, trying to coax you into a quickie because he just wants you so bad, knowing damn well it won't be quick, but also knowing you couldn't say no to him when he gives you that look. Or when he tells you how he just wants to have fun with his pretty girlfriend, how's that a bad thing :((

ೀ TOOK ME 5 FUCKING DAYS IM SO SORRY :c i also kinda went off track... PLEASE INTERACT IF YOU ENJOY!!

ᝰ.ᐟwarnings ¡ DARK THEMES, coercion, verrrryy bad jakey, manipulation, painful sex, cervix fucking, possesive jake, jake is an insecure asshole, quickies uhhhh idk

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

He doesn't understand why you just cant be there for him when he needs you? He's always been there for you when you need to relieve some stress so why cant you be a good girlfriend and help him out? You'd guys would fuck like bunnies before but now you can barely spare 10 more minutes? Thoughts flood his head- maybe your not attracted to him anymore, or worse- maybe your seeing someone else. The thoughts plagued his mind even when he pushed them away because he cant stand the fact of you being with anyone else.

His fear of losing you warped into control, all because the idea of losing you was far more terrifying than the guilt of keeping you close by any means. Finding any way to claim you just to reassure himself that 'your not going''. You never even realized how you depend on jake. His voice calmed the noise in your head, and his presence was a kind of safety you couldn’t recreate on your own, jake knew you needed him, how much you depend and trust him. So he decides to use that to his advantage.

He'd disguise it as love, he’d isolate you gently, starting with casual comments like, "I just don’t think your friends really get you the way I do,” or "You always seem drained after seeing them—maybe you should take a break." Over time, you'd find yourself spending more time with just him, because it felt easier, safer. He’d play the role of your protector, framing himself as the only one who truly understood you, making you doubt your own judgment. When you were upset or anxious, not feeling energized enough for sex, just needing to rest. He’d flip it—“After everything I’ve done for you, and this is how you treat me?”— So you'd give in, letting him use your body no matter how sore or painful your core feels from his cock plunging deep, and filling you up with cum again and again.

Begging you before you leave to work for a quickie with his pleading eyes promising that he'll be quick. But behind those eyes is the need to claim you as his, to have you go outside with your pussy stuffed with cum-his cum.

Trying to talk to jake nowadays just turns to sex. Bringing up how you feel isolated and he will look at you crazy before he shrugs it off and kneels between your legs kissing you through your panties. Even when your pussy's still spasming and leaking out his cum- he'll make you miss the first half of your friends birthday party just to shove his cock down your throat... won't let you wash away the mascara that's running down your face.

At first, he might frame sex as a way to feel closer, saying things like, “I just want to be close to you. Isn’t that normal?” But soon, the choice would start to disappear. He’d push you past your comfort zone, brushing off hesitation with, “Why are you acting like this? Don’t you trust me?” or “You’re my girlfriend—you should want this too.” If you tried to set boundaries, he’d act wounded, withdrawn, or angry, forcing you to carry the emotional weight of “rejecting” him. Over time, sex would stop feeling like affection and start feeling like obligation—something she gave to keep the peace, to avoid conflict, or to prove her love. No longer taking his time with you, no more sweet words- just his cock bruising your insides-stretching you beyond belief, just his hands holding your head while he face fucks you. Looking at you with his beautiful brown eyes because he knows-you can't say no to him.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

likes, comments and reblogs appreciated !

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: part 2. idk

summary: natasha romanoff x married!reader; nat and you used to be in love. now, years later, you're married to a wealthy man and have a daughter with him. will running into natasha change everything?

warnings: none

word count: 6.4k

part 1, part 2, part 3, …

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— COOKIES AND CONVERSATIONS —

"Natasha?"

Her eyes lock with yours as she slowly straightens up, making Nina let go of her sleeve in the process. You pull your daughter closer, staring at Natasha incredulously.

"Y/N", she finally says, a tad too coolly for your liking.

"What are you doing here?", you ask, still wary. Nina has grabbed your hand, a bit confused by how icy and distant the interaction between you two seems. You both said you're friends, after all. She's too young to grasp just how complex your relationship actually is.

'Friends' is far from the truth.

Natasha looks around the lobby, noticing the stares she's getting from strangers.

Yes, she specifically. You're a familiar face around here, probably visiting every week with your daughter in tow. She, however? She's unfamiliar. A face that stands out, someone who doesn't fit in. Her traitorous brain remarks that she should be used to that feeling by now. But she isn't.

"Can we maybe move this outside?", she asks quietly, her eyes flitting back to meet yours. You frown, unsure whether you should agree to her request.

But then again, Natasha is safe. Despite the breakup, despite the years of distance — you trust her. Part of you also realizes that your conversation is being overheard, which you don't like. Too many people know too much about you already, so there's no need to give them more stuff to talk about.

"Fine." You reluctantly follow her, making sure you're holding on to your daughter. No way is she running off again. That'd be the second time within less than a week.

You look at her as soon as you're outside, standing by your car. Natasha pushes her hands into the pockets of her coat, observing you out of the corner of her eye. She still can't shake that habit, it seems — always on the lookout, always studying you. It's as endearing as it is frustrating.

"So?", you eventually say, your thumb rubbing Nina's fingers. You're trying to calm yourself down. Or keep yourself calm. Either of those. "Answer me."

Natasha's gaze briefly sweeps over your surroundings. Traffic, an empty sidewalk, that gigantic building you just exited. Nobody in vicinity, which is a relief.

"I wanted to see you", she says. A half-lie. She did want to see you, in some way at least, but that's not what she's here for. She came her to find evidence, to gather intel about your precious husband.

Can she tell you that, though?

No. Not yet.

Your expression falters for a moment, the mask of indifference crumbling and vanishing. A variety of emotions flickers across your face, unreadable yet obvious. Natasha can see every single one, making her chest feel tight with guilt.

"You've got great timing", you say weakly, feeling the early autumn breeze brush over your cheeks. "It's been seven years."

"It's been a little more than five days", Natasha corrects you, still stoic.

"You know what I mean", you say sharply. "That thing at the art gallery? Doesn't count. Besides: if you wanted to see me, why'd you come to my husband's office?"

"I didn't know this was his office", she immediately replies, which — to you — is even more ridiculous than her claiming she wanted to see you. She's a spy, for god's sake. She doesn't do anything without a purpose, especially not something like this.

"So this is a coincidence?" You let out a hollow laugh. "Natasha-"

"Okay", she says, stepping closer. You quickly look at her, feeling the urge to take a step back. You can't get close to her again. "Maybe I did know he works here. But how else was I supposed to find you?"

"Not at all would've been a start."

"Charming", she says drily, her attempt at concealing the hurt in her voice failing. "Nice to see you too."

"Oh, come on." You sigh. "I'm sorry, but this...it's odd. I didn't think you'd be the one to seek me out first after, you know...", you trail off. She smiles bitterly, averting her eyes.

"Not all of us hold grudges", she says, softer this time. "I guess you're just harder to forget than I thought."

There's a teasing lilt to her voice, something that's meant to protect you both. It doesn't work, but you appreciate the effort. Plus, it manages to elicit a small smile from you. That's more than enough for Natasha.

Nina, ever the restless one, lets go of you to grab Natasha's hand again. The woman looks down at her, a smile appearing on her lips. The child is staring at her as if she's some kind of superhero, which is pretty much spot on.

"Looks like I've been replaced", you comment, the smile on your face turning more genuine now.

Nina is sociable. She loves people of pretty much all ages and is guaranteed to talk their ears off. Still, this kind of immediate fascination is something you haven't seen before. Like mother like daughter, it seems. When you first met Natasha, you felt this kind of enchantment as well. It's a spell that's hard to break.

"I am very likable", Natasha boasts playfully, grinning at your daughter. The little one turns to look at you, pleased that she made the pretty lady smile at her.

"Mommy, she's nice", she pipes up. "Can we get cookies? You promised."

"I did promise cookies", you sigh, shooting her an affectionate look. Then you glance at Natasha. "We were supposed to pick up a snack on our way home", you say sheepishly. "Care to join us?"

"Change of heart?", the redhead teases.

"Yeah, well..." You crack a smile. You're aware you went from pissed off to mildly flustered, all within the span of mere minutes. It'd throw her off guard if she wasn't still familiar with it. "It's always been difficult to stay mad at you."

Natasha hums, looking at Nina again. The girl smiles as if on cue, bouncing on the spot.

"Please?"

"Will I get a cookie, too?", Natasha asks, raising her eyebrows.

Nina nods. "You can have one", she says, her tone generous yet slightly self-important. You and Natasha exchange an amused look — it's a kind and genuine offer, but the way she's saying it makes it sound like the cookies are hers to give away. You're starting to see why your parents have called your daughter spoiled before.

"Looks like the boss has spoken. So, you're joining us?"

"I can't say no to Miss Nina here", Natasha confirms, squeezing Nina's hand.

"Nobody can", you huff, smiling, and take Nina's free hand. "There's a café down the block. We can walk there."

To say that this is weird would be more than just an understatement.

You haven't seen her in years. Haven't talked to her, haven't texted her, nothing. Refusal to reach out from both sides resulted in complete radio silence. And now?

Now you're walking down the street together, both of you holding onto Nina as she walks between you. You're not talking — thankfully, your daughter has decided to do that for you. She's chattering nonstop, her little voice ringing through the air.

It's warm inside the café, with the scent of pumpkin spice wafting right into your faces. Nina instantly lets go of you both, running up to the counter to inspect the pastries. She clasps her hands together in front of her, as if to prevent herself from touching the glass that's separating her from the sweet treats.

"She's a good kid", Natasha says quietly as you catch up to the girl. "She must get that from you."

You smile slightly, glancing at the woman next to you. Your gaze gets stuck, lingers, traces her features. You never could've forgotten what she looks like — not in a million years — but she's even more beautiful than you remembered.

Natasha notices you staring. She looks at you from the corner of her eye, subtly tilting her head. "What?", she asks softly.

"Nothing", you respond in a low murmur, quickly digging through your purse. "It's just weird seeing you here."

She manages a faint smile, silently agreeing with your words. Her eyes zero in on your wallet as you reach for a few dollar bills and her hand comes up to gently stop you.

"I got this", she says, reaching for her own money.

"No, hey-"

"Hush", she says firmly, then gives the barista a polite smile. She lets Nina order her own cookie (the rainbow one, of course), then she lists off everything else. Chocolate chip cookies — a classic —, an espresso and your favorite beverage.

You hide your smile, trying to get over the fact that she still remembers.

You find a quiet, secluded corner of the café, and sit down there. The sky is littered with clouds, covering the sun and allowing the soft lights of the café to be the star of the show.

Nina is tucked into the corner seat between you, her little hands breaking the cookie in two. Her excitement over something so mundane is serving as a buffer between you and Natasha, helping you through initial awkward silences.

"It's a nice place", Natasha comments, taking a sip of her espresso. "Much better than that place in D.C. with the squeaky chairs."

"And the bitter coffee", you add, looking at her. You reach out, tapping the frame of the glasses she's wearing. Those are definitely new. "Didn't know you need glasses now."

"I don't", Natasha says, quickly sliding the glasses off her face. Her eyes meet yours, deep green and softened. "They just help me be recognized less, believe it or not."

"I recognized you", you counter, stirring the hot drink in front of you before taking a tentative sip.

"Yes, you did", she says pointedly, glancing at Nina as she holds out a piece of her cookie. The girl has her head tilted sweetly.

"Trade?"

"Sure, honey", Natasha says, handing her a piece of her own cookie in exchange. Then she focuses on you again. "Now let's hope the rest of Manhattan isn't as sharp-eyed as you."

You roll your eyes, an amused sound escaping you. "Well, don't look at me. I don't think a pair of glasses could ever make you blend in." You pause, a thought crossing your mind. "What are you hiding from, anyways?"

Natasha looks at you, her brain — again — settling on a half-truth. "You know me. From the rest of Manhattan, pretty much."

"Right", you say, smiling faintly. "Always on the run."

"Old habits die hard", she says wryly, leaning back with her arms crossed. Irony — her very own way of suppressing the guilt that's starting to rear its head. She's lying to you pretty much constantly, keeping secrets and finding excuses.

Natasha has reasons for that. She can't just tell you what's going on, not until she knows for sure. Until then, you might be of use.

Telling herself that is easier than admitting why she's actually sitting here with you.

"Funny. I thought you'd have found some peace by now." You tilt your head pointedly. "Or at least a better disguise."

"Me and peace in the same sentence? Never thought I'd see the day", she says, finishing her espresso. "And the disguise? It's low-maintenance."

You let out a sound that's between a laugh and a scoff, wiping a few cookie crumbs off Nina's face absently. She rubs her eyes tiredly and you place a soothing hand on her back. "You were never low-maintenance."

"I thought I was charmingly uncomplicated", she smiles, briefly glancing at Nina to check on her. The girl looks sleepy, so it must be nap time for her soon.

"Yes, sure. If that's what you'd call having three passports in the glove compartment whenever you drove me anywhere."

The sole purpose of the smirk on Natasha's face is to hide a wince. It wasn't just the passports — it was everything that came with being with her. Switching cars while driving in the middle of the night, being prepared to run at any given moment. Making sure she could up and go whenever she wanted. Never entirely grounded, one foot always in the shadows.

Her existence was unpredictable, untethered. A stark contrast to the safe but stifling life you lead now, filled with monotony and routines.

Being with her allowed you to soar, even if it sometimes meant crashing down.

"Touché", Natasha says, watching you smooth down Nina's hair. Yet another new mannerism you've picked up — an endearing one at that. "Makes me wonder why you didn't run."

"Maybe I liked the thrill", you reply, looking at her again. Nina's head droops onto your arm for a moment. She's definitely ready for her nap. "Or maybe I liked the person behind the passports."

"That person hasn't changed as much as you may think."

"I think we've both changed."

Natasha watches you scoop the yawning child into your lap. Nina nestles against you, her eyes closing.

She never thought she'd see you like this: all motherly and nurturing, quietly soothing a child — your child. So maybe you have a point. Maybe you did change.

"Maybe", she admits, giving a small smile. "Some things don't, though."

"Like what?", you ask quietly, a hint of challenge in your voice.

Natasha leans forward, her gaze holding yours. The café, the people around you, the noises and smells — it all disappears. At least for a moment, it does.

"Like the way I recognized you, too."

. . .

— THE WEB UNFOLDS —

Her office is small but efficient, filled with the tools of her trade. Screens glowing with data, paperwork and open files scattered across her desk, a steaming mug of tea. She toys with a pen as she scans the financial documents she retrieved once more, one name standing out: Durant Enterprises.

Multiple transfers to and from said company, the amounts large and the descriptions vague. It's the frequency that makes her pause. This isn't just routine business — it's deliberate.

Natasha feels on edge as she puts her pen aside, now pulling up a secondary window on her screen. She cross-references the company with known entities in her database and starts to dig.

At first, Durant Enterprises doesn't raise alarms. Everything seems ordinary until more troubling details surface.

Natasha pauses, her hands stilling. She stares at the screen, feeling a chill run down her spine.

Ties to overseas operations, suspiciously under-the-radar accounts — and, most notably, an association with human trafficking syndicates.

She swallows, her fingers continuing to move over the keyboard in a rapid pace. A list of contacts connected to Ethan catches her eye, several names matching aliases from SHIELD's database of traffickers and corrupt officials. A few of the numbers that are listed appear to be burner phones, heightening her suspicions.

Natasha plugs in the USB stick and runs a deep scan of the files on Ethan's computer. A dense folder of corporate documents, mostly financial data — endless spreadsheets, balance sheets, transaction records. But, nestled among them, an invoice marked for 'freight services' from a shipping company she's never heard of.

It's not an innocent transaction — the total is unsettlingly large.

She pulls up the details, her eyes narrowing as she connects the dots to previous intel. And there it is again: an obscure company, linked to the same shadowy network she's seen before.

Dammit, Bailey, she thinks, taking a hasty sip of tea. What are you dragging them into?

As expected, her thoughts have drifted back to you. To you and Nina, completely oblivious to what Ethan — the man who's supposed to protect you and care for you — is doing.

And then there's Natasha — about to tear this entire network down, about to expose him to his family and countless others. She knows you'll have to find out eventually; it's only fair, after all. You deserve to know the full truth, even if it'll add yet another weight to your shoulders.

Part of her wonders whether you'll forgive her. She's been lying to you ever since that night at the art gallery, and she continues lying to you constantly. It's what she has to do to protect you and Nina.

Lingering affection wars with duty. Shield you from all of this or tell you the truth, let you live in this little bubble you've created for yourself or make it burst. Natasha shouldn't let her feelings get in the way, especially not when this entire mess concerns you and your daughter as well.

Every part of her being is trying to stop her from getting you involved in this. You don't deserve to be a part of this — but here you are.

And she's certain she'll do everything in her power to protect you, even if it means losing you once and for all.

Natasha sets the tea aside and grabs her phone. Her finger hovers above the call button for an excruciatingly long moment, then she decides against it. She leans back in her chair, starting to massage her temples. A dull ache has started to form behind her eyes.

It's a realization, a resolve, that hurts.

She'll have to use you somehow.

. . .

— MOMENTS IN FOCUS —

The sunlight filtering through the windows has a richness to it, making everything appear softer and more vibrant. Leaves dance in front of the floor to ceiling windows, shades of amber and russet that make the scenery outside look like the perfect October morning.

You look up from the ingredients in front of you — bananas, berries, a handful of spinach, all ready to be thrown into the blender — when you hear footsteps approach. Ethan pauses at your side, briefly glancing up from his phone to press a short kiss to your cheek. 

"Good morning", he says, looking like the epitome of effortlessness. Hair wet and slicked back, a crisp white robe tied loosely around his waist. Nina doesn't even notice him; she's too engrossed in the picture in front of her, her tongue sticking out as she focuses on coloring within the lines of the butterfly. "What's on the menu?"

"Smoothies, scrambled eggs, yogurt with granola", you list off, turning on the blender. It hums softly as the colors swirl together, creating a nice pinkish shade.

"Hear that, Nina?", he asks, leaning against the counter next to you. She barely looks at him before going back to coloring, now choosing a purple crayon. "Jesus. We've really got to make sure she pays more attention. This is rude behavior."

"She's tired", you defend her, pouring the smoothie into two glasses and one plastic cup. "Also, it's 7 in the morning. You can't expect her to function properly at this hour, Ethan."

"Why not?", he counters, reaching around you to grab one of the smoothies. He takes a few big gulps, already sitting down at the breakfast table and reaching for the newspaper. "She's almost four. It's time she learns some manners."

"She has manners", you retort, crouching down in front of your daughter. She stops coloring, her eyes meeting yours expectantly as she waits for you to say something. "Breakfast is ready, sweetheart. Are you hungry?"

"No", Nina says, but gets up anyway. You smile and swiftly lift her into the air, then sit her down on the chair with her booster seat. She reaches for her cup, holding it with both hands as she takes a sip. "That's yummy."

"Thank you, baby." A kiss is planted on the top of her head, then you join them at the table.

Ethan looks up from the newspaper, casually drumming his fingers on the surface of the table. "Do you have anything planned for today?"

"Not that I know, no", you say, glancing at him. "Why? Did something come up?"

"Oh, yeah. This magazine — Art & Culture Monthly, you probably know them — called this morning. They want to feature the gallery's grand opening in their upcoming issue. It's a pretty big deal, you know? Anyway, they'll interview me and also feature our family."

You can hear the excitement in his voice, causing you to smile faintly. Of course — another thing he can add to his long list of achievements. You can't believe you thought he'd ask if you wanted to do something normal. Go to a pumpkin patch, maybe visit a park. Simple, ordinary things.

"Whatever. They want to take a few pictures of us later today — you, me, the kid. It'll be great for the gallery's reputation, and it'll really solidify our place in the art scene."

Your smile fades a bit. A photo shoot. You've done a couple of those before, but they were always for private usage. You don't want Nina's face to be printed in some magazine everyone can buy, even if basically no one would recognize her anyway.

"I don't know", you say hesitantly, handing Nina a napkin. She has some of the smoothie smeared across her chin and cheeks. "It's a bit unexpected. Plus, Nina is too young for that. She won't be able to sit still for that long."

"Hey, it's okay", he says, brushing off your concerns. "You'll be fine, Nina. Won't you? Anyways-" He turns to you without waiting for an answer, "it's a huge opportunity for us — for me, really. They want to showcase the perfect family, and we're pretty much spot on."

The perfect family — husband, wife, cute little daughter. Well-off but still relatable, at least in a way. Always happy, always fitting society's expectations. You're tired of being pushed into this mold.

You sigh, glancing at your daughter. She looks at you, not understanding too much. "Photos?", she asks curiously.

"Yeah, photos. A photo shoot", you say, feeling uneasy. "Are you sure this is necessary?"

"Come on", your husband pushes impatiently. "It won't take too long. Besides — it's not like you have anything to do, do you? You'd spend the entire day sitting around. At least you'll make yourself useful."

You roll your eyes. Yes, that's definitely the case. It's not like you have a toddler to take care of, right? And even if you do — it can't be as hard as what Ethan does, obviously.

"When do we have to be there?"

"Two hours", he says happily, eating a bite of his scrambled eggs. "By the way, did you put chives in this? You know I don't like chives."

. . .

It's an upscale studio, bustling with assistants, lights and backdrops. Ethan is just as polished as the space you're in, immediately stepping up to the photographer — an older man, balding, with tiny glasses and a sweater vest — and staff to charm them. You keep your daughter close, feeling out of place.

As much as you hate this — you have to admit that Nina looks impossibly cute in her outfit. A white cabled fisherman sweater, matching yours, paired with denim jeans in a light wash. A pastel yellow headband is keeping her hair out of her face, making her cheeks look even rosier than usually.

"Mommy, this is itchy", she whispers, tugging at the front of her sweater. You grimace, quietly sympathizing with your daughter. The fabric doesn't exactly feel nice on your skin.

"I know, honey", you reply in a hushed voice, making sure the assistants and photographer don't hear you.

"And it's bright", she adds, squinting as she accidentally looks at one of the lights. You snort in amusement, gently making her turn away so she doesn't let the brightness fry her eyes.

"Yeah, I know. It'll be over soon, alright?"

"You ready?", one of the assistants says, waving you over. You nod and gently nudge Nina along.

The photographer positions you in various poses — Nina perched on Ethan's knee, Ethan with his arm around you, you holding Nina. It feels rehearsed, like they know exactly what they want to sell. Which, realistically speaking, is probably the case here.

Picture after picture, pose after pose. You're not the only one who starts to get restless. You spot Nina fidgeting more than once, subtly reaching into her pockets to make sure her crayons are still there — crayons she brought along secretly.

"Stop that, please", the photographer's voice cuts through the air. You don't like the irritated tone with which he's speaking one bit, but you decide to ignore him.

Nina stops, quickly pulling her hand out of her pocket.

"Yes, perfect. Ideal!", he gushes, continuing to snap pictures of you. You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. You silently wonder whether anyone will look at the pictures and realize that you'd rather be anywhere else. Ethan won't, that's for sure — he's beaming, oblivious to your discomfort.

"Mommy?", Nina whispers as you pick her up, already clutching her crayons in her smaller hand. You're finally done after what feels like an eternity of posing and smiling stiffly. "Can we go home now?"

"Yes, sweetheart, we're going home", you nod, letting her nestle into you. "Let's just finish up here, okay?"

"Okay", she mumbles, her crayons pressed against the clean fabric of your sweater. They'll most likely leave stains, but you couldn't care less about that. You're just relieved you're done with this.

The drive home isn't silent, to your dismay. Ethan keeps going on and on and on about how great the photos are and how important this is and how it'll certainly elevate his public image. He's talking so much you're surprised Nina managed to doze off in her seat, her chin resting on her chest.

You don't bother responding — instead, you just stare out the window, your mind drifting. You wonder whether Natasha would've laughed at how absurd this whole thing is. You wonder what's she's doing, whether she's thinking about you.

In that moment, you get a text message.

Natasha: Hey, Y/N. This is a bit random, but does Ethan know a few guys in the whole arts world?

I'm looking into something for Tony. — 2.17 pm

You: Hey! I can ask him for a few of his

contacts and send you a list, maybe? — 2.17 pm

Natasha: That's perfect, thank you. — 2.18 pm

You look to your left when Nina stirs. She looks at your phone, rubbing one of her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Who is that?"

"That's Natasha", you say. Ethan doesn't even notice. He's now telling your chauffeur about the feature, again rambling about the interview and the art gallery. Part of you is thankful for that.

"Natasha?" Nina suddenly doesn't seem so sleepy anymore as her eyes light up. "Say hi!"

You smile at your daughter's enthusiasm. Seems like she's really starting to adore the redhead.

You: By the way, Nina says hi. She's all smiley. — 2.19pm

Natasha: Right back at her :) — 2.20pm

Natasha: Are you guys in town next week? There's this park near

the old tower, I think she'd love it. (I promise I won't hog the cookies

this time.) — 2.21pm

You glance at Nina. She looks at you, wide-eyed and practically buzzing with excitement.

"Natasha's asking if we want to go to a park with her", you say, reaching out to adjust her seatbelt. "What do you say, NeeNee?"

Your daughter immediately nods. "Yes, I want to go! Can we go?"

You smile faintly. "Sure, we'll go."

You text Natasha back, confirming the day and time. Then you slip your phone into your pocket.

You let out a small breath, your lips curving into a smile before you even realize it. The weight of your lousy day lingers, but it seems lighter now.

The idea of seeing Natasha tugs at your chest in a way you weren't prepared to unpack. It's almost absurd, how a simple text exchange could bring you such warmth. There's a faint flutter beneath your ribs, caused by a mix of excitement and a wary kind of anticipation.

It's been years, yet you still don't know what it is about Natasha Romanoff that can do this to you with such little effort.

. . .

It's a nice day — the October sun is warm but not overbearing, the chatter of children is echoing through the open space. You get out of the car and scoop the squirming child out of her booster seat, her hand tightly clutching her favorite stuffed bear. You set her on the ground, making sure she doesn't just run off.

"Mommy, can we go there first?", she asks, pointing at the swings. You smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Let's find Natasha first, sweetheart. Then maybe she can push you."

Your suggestion earns a gleeful nod. With her hand clasped in yours, you start making your way down the winding path leading into the park. The late-afternoon light dapples the ground through the trees, creating a peaceful but slightly surreal atmosphere — though maybe that's just your nerves.

You spot Natasha near a quiet corner of the park, leaning casually against the wooden fence by the playground. Her pose is relaxed, but her sharp eyes are scanning the area around her.

Once she sees you, her face softens.

"Natasha!", Nina yells, voice bubbling with excitement, and frees herself from your gentle grip to dart forward.

Natasha crouches down just in time to catch the girl in a gentle hug, her expression warm. "Hey, Tiny!"

You ignore the nickname and the way it sends butterflies through your stomach. Instead you approach her, your steps hesitant but steady. She straightens up, her eyes meeting yours, and the park fades into the background.

You feel a small rush of warmth — one that leaves you confused.

"Hi", you say, your voice quieter than intended.

"Hi", she responds, her tone equally soft. But her gaze lingers, taking you in, and the curve of her lips hints at something deeper. "Should we sit? Or does Nina have a playground mission I should know about?"

Nina tugs at Natasha's hand, a grin on her face. "Swings first!"

The little girl manages to slightly break the tension. You let out a laugh, shooting your daughter a fond look. "Looks like you've got your orders."

"Please", Nina adds, remembering the magic word. She keeps pulling at Natasha's hand, who plays along easily. She follows Nina to the playground, all while exchanging a brief look with you — a silent 'Is this okay?'

"Go ahead", you say, nodding, and follow them to the swings.

Leaves crunch beneath the soles of your shoes, the air having a slight bite to it already. A boy, slightly older than Nina, runs past with his father chasing after him. Laughter and voices carry through the air, allowing you to relax a little.

Natasha makes sure Nina's holding on tight before she takes the lead in pushing her. You stand next to them, arms loosely crossed over your chest to preserve some warmth.

"Higher!", Nina promptly demands, trying to glance at Natasha over the thick fabric of her scarf.

"Higher? What are you, a little daredevil in training? You're going to give your mom a heart attack!"

"She's already started", you say, mildly exasperated. "You should've seen her last week, when she tried to climb the bookshelf."

"Huh." Natasha smiles, her eyes briefly meeting yours. There it is again, that annoying tug of warmth. "Sounds like someone I used to know."

You huff, but you can't deny the truth behind her words. You shrug, pushing your hands into the pockets of your coat.

"You never complained."

"I didn't", she agrees, gently stopping the swing when Nina starts to talk about the merry-go-round. "Doesn't mean you didn't make my nerves fray, though."

"Please." You start walking to the merry-go-round, watching Nina speed ahead. "If anyone's nerves were frayed, it's mine. I watched you leave for missions on a weekly basis. I can't even count how many times I stitched you up afterwards."

"You make it sound like I was some kind of wrecking ball", she smirks.

"You didn't need to be." You let out an amused chuckle, your eyes glued to Nina as she sits down on the circular bench of the merry-go-round. "You were a force of nature, and I spent most of my time just trying to hold it together while you ran off into the chaos."

"You always did", she agrees, her voice quieter now. You stop when you reach the merry-go-round, watching Nina as she starts to spin around. "You were good at it, though. At stitching me up, I mean. Better than I deserved most days."

"Very true", you say, trying to keep it light. "I think I deserved a medal for keeping up with you."

"You mean for putting up with me?", Natasha corrects you, her hand briefly touching the handle of the merry-go-round to make sure it doesn't spin too fast.

A faint smile forms on your face. She's not entirely wrong — some of the time, it really was 'putting up with her'. Rolling with it, with her lifestyle, with the way every day seemed to be pure chaos.

You know it's not her fault. It's who she is, it's the life she ended up choosing for herself after never getting to have a choice. You were patient, too — you understood why she had to do all those things. Why she could never just rest.

"I'm just saying: most people would've thrown their hands up after the third emergency stitch job", you say mock seriously, earning a quiet laugh.

"Good thing you're not most people", she says, her smirk letting some tenderness shimmer through.

"Yeah", you agree, watching her. She's looking at Nina again, making sure she isn't spinning too fast or getting dizzy. Again and again you realize the same thing: only days later, Natasha fits in perfectly. Maybe that's what scares you the most. "Real good."

. . .

With Nina playing in a sandbox, you and Natasha get to be alone for a moment. You never take your eyes off your daughter to make sure she stays right where she is, but most of your attention is on the woman sitting next to you.

"I never knew how fast things could change", you speak softly, your words lingering in the chilly air. "I mean — one moment, I was making all these big plans. And now?"

"...now, you're a mom", Natasha says, smiling faintly as Nina smushes down her sandcastle.

"Yeah, exactly."

"You found a calmer life", she says, half to herself. It's bittersweet — she's glad you made it to a place where you don't have to worry about her or the dangers that come with the territory anymore. Now, your days are filled with cartoons and picture books and colorful bandaids. No more midnight missions, no more bloodies bandages. "A safer one."

"Calm and safe, sure", you mumble absently. "But I'm not so sure about...better."

Natasha turns to look at you, frowning slightly. What you said is odd enough, but the way you said it really threw her off. She scoots closer, her voice lowered.

"What are you talking about?"

You open your mouth to answer, but before you can say anything, Nina calls out to you. She's running, one hand clutching her teddybear. "I'm thirsty, mommy."

"Come here, honey." You grab a juice box from your backpack and hand it to her. She struggles with the straw for a moment, then she manages to poke it through the hole. The straw is now covered in grains of sand, making you grimace — but, of course, your daughter doesn't care about that.

She empties the juice box in record time, then she tosses it into the trash can. Off she goes again, her eyes locking onto the pony spring-rider. Natasha watches her with increasing fondness, silently wondering whether, in some other, faraway universe, this is what her life looks like.

"Always on the go", you say quietly, watching her. "So full of energy, I swear."

"I guess that's why I like her so much", Natasha says, glancing at you. You smile.

"She reminds you of yourself, huh?"

Natasha laughs under her breath, shrugging. "Maybe. Though I hope not too much."

You look down at your lap, at your hands that are resting there, and subtly toy with the ring on your finger. Your gaze shifts back to Natasha, a small, wistful smile on your face.

"I disagree. I wouldn't mind if she was a bit...wilder." You bite your lip, then add: "Like you. I mean, you were the one always pushing me out of my comfort zone. It was part of the deal: I tried to rein you in — unsuccessfully —, and you kept pushing."

Natasha smiles, her hand briefly reaching out to squeeze yours. You exhale softly at the simple touch — you haven't felt her skin against yours in years, but it's still the same.

"Did I ever do it right?", she ponders. "Push you the way you needed?"

"Maybe not always", you admit. "But you made me feel alive. Even when it was complicated."

. . .

"For you!", Nina says, handing a flower — a chrysanthemum — to Natasha. The redhead smiles, taking the small plant and twirling it between her fingers.

"A flower? For me? I'm honored!" Natasha turns to look at you, a teasing look on her face. "See? She already likes me better than most people."

You chuckle, lifting Nina into your arms. "I wouldn't be so sure", you say, smiling back just as teasingly. "She gave the mailman a flower last week, too."

"Oh really? And here I thought I was special."

You hum, adjusting your hold on your daughter. "You are special", you say, this time completely sincerely. You can't remember the last time Ethan spent the whole day with you like this — simply existing, doing things that aren't work-related, making sure Nina has fun. This was Natasha's idea, too — not yours. For the first time in a while, you don't feel isolated.

You clear your throat, giving a quick nod. "Well, uhm...thank you. For this. She really had fun."

Natasha hesitates, her gaze flickering from the flower to your face. "I didn't just come for her", she eventually speaks, the words hanging in the air as you exchange a look. You swallow, managing a faint smile.

"Let's not get too sentimental", you say, trying to sound lighthearted. You nudge Nina to distract yourself. "Say bye, honey."

Nina waves at Natasha. A few hours of playing outside in the fresh air have turned her cheeks rosy. "Bye, Natasha!"

"Bye, Tiny."

Another quick glance at each other, then you part ways. Natasha goes in one direction, you go in the other. Years linger between you, years that were spent together and that keep you close. There's a pull that's close to magnetic, and you're not sure how you managed to resist it for such a long time.

Both of you wonder whether you were ever able to truly leave your past behind — or if, somehow, you're still tangled in it, just waiting for the right moment to unravel.

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @fxckmiup

[halfwayhearted]

Hey , i wanted to make a request for Lamine Yamal if you could so it’s basically about Lamine’s little brother Keyne meeting his girlfriend for the first time at a family event where Lamine invited his gf and his little brother usually is very distend with new people but surprisingly really likes Lamine’s gf and he stickers with her the whole night which lamine found cute at first but quickly got annoyed since every time he try’s to kiss his gf his brother would push him away or tell him “no” and it’s mostly just fluff and Lamine’s mom and family also laughing at him for pouting and stuff i would really appreciate it thank you if you can

Dreaming Of You — Lamine Yamal.

Pairing: Lamine Yamal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spending time with your boyfriend was always a plus, spending time with your boyfriend’s family is even better.

Word Count: 990+

Disclaimer/s — Literally just fluff!

A/N: This might’ve been the cutest shit I’ve ever written??? Also, what a shock, I struggled writing this, but at the same time, I enjoyed it a lot 👅 I HOPE YOU LIKED! THANK YOU. Much reused vocabulary, I so need to expand what the hell

Lamine utters your name quietly. “He’s a toddler.”

“I’m aware,” you huff. “I’m not nervous. I’m just… oh, I don’t know! You literally said he might swat at me if I get too close.” The boy next to you laughs, and you narrow your eyes. “So not funny.”

“It is! Come on, you’ll be fine.” But will you? Well.

He takes your hand in his and guides you into his house, which is already buzzing with energy. You say your hellos, hang out with his mom as she starts making dinner. Helping her and chatting with Lamine, everything is going just beautifully.

“Keyne,” you hear Lamine, holding out his arms and crouching down to the toddler’s eye-level.

Okay, deep breaths. Your expression softens the second you see him, waddling over to his big brother and leaning into him as soon as he’s close enough. He’s genuinely the cutest little kid ever.

Once he’s up in Lamine’s arms, he twists his body and looks over at you. Taking that as your cue to step closer, a smile graces your lips. “Hi,” you coo.

Hi. Hi? Was that stupid? Whatever.

He looks at you for a second, then Keyne holds out his arms. Your eyes widen and you glance over at Lamine with a growing grin. “Uh. May I?”

With a smirk, he nods, gently handing his brother to you, and you carefully grab onto him. “Oh, he’s so cute,” you whisper, watching how his fingers grab at your hair. They don’t pull; they just linger.

You didn’t know what to… expect, but when you heard Lamine talk about him, it was always that he was picky. Who he would want to hold him, play with him, or sit by him—it was all up to him.

So this? This practically blew your mind.

His mom looks over her shoulder, noticing. “He likes you.” Your boyfriend nods in agreement.

“I’m pretty fond of him, too,” you reply, nudging his stomach with your pointer finger, and he giggles. Your smile grows—if that’s even possible, considering you’re smiling as much as you can. Your cheeks hurt, but you really don’t care.

After a while, he wants to be put down, and you oblige, letting him wander around. It lasts about ten minutes while you’re laughing with Lamine on the couch when you feel a tug on your pants.

“Is this going to be a problem?” He questions.

Your eyes light up and you lift him onto your lap. “Huh, I don’t know, Lamine, is it going to be?”

“This is my girlfriend,” the boy ignores you by saying, poking his brother’s cheek. “Go away.”

You roll your eyes, turning Keyne away from him. “Like he understands what you’re saying, idiot.”

Before he can argue further, he hears his name being called and sighs. He places a kiss on your temple, gets up, and walks away. You glance down, noticing the toddler looking at you with confusion in his gaze. It only makes you chuckle.

He loves to dance; you already knew that. Of course, you did. You just didn’t think that all it took was for you to hold his hands for him to start swaying side-to-side. So once you saw Lamine was gone, you placed him in his spot and watched as he stood on his feet, doing exactly that when you took his hands and moved him.

Have you mentioned this was the cutest kid ever?

Because this was the cutest kid ever.

The night goes by smoothly, more so than you would’ve thought. Everyone eats dinner, finishes, and continues talking and laughing; it’s truly a nice evening, just like every gathering of Lamine’s family. It was a big pleasure to be a part of this.

Now, you and Lamine are by the window, he’s leaning in to place a sweet kiss on your cheek, but he’s lightly pushed away, causing your eyes to widen. It wasn’t harsh at all, and a laugh spills out of you at the sight of Keyne standing there.

“No,” you both hear him declare.

This is the sixth time you’ve held him, not that you’re complaining or anything. You’re not so sure that the boy next to you feels the same way.

“No? What do you mean, no?” He huffs, furrowing his brows and glancing at his brother. He decides to test the waters again and leans in. Okay, right.

Keyne lifts a hand, frowning.

Your jaw drops. “Oh, wow. That’s actually crazy.”

“Mom,” Lamine calls out, and she peeks her head around the corner, quirking a curious brow. “Can you take him? Keyne’s hogging her.”

“Oh, Lamine, please,” you voice through laughs.

“Not much I can do about that!” She retorts, offering you a wink. He’s on his own. “Play nice.”

“Keyne, go play games.”

The toddler is quiet, ignoring him. That’s when your boyfriend exhales loudly, leaning in and resting his forehead on your shoulder. “He’s trying to take you away from me,” Lamine grumbles.

With both your hands supporting Keyne, all you can do is rest your head against his. “That’s not true. Look at him! You can’t even be mad. See?”

“I can,” he quips back. “And I am.”

Just then, a pinch on his neck makes him pull back quickly. “Okay, I’ve had it. Come on,” he proclaims, watching how Keyne pulls his hand back and tries to squirm the second he feels his brother try to pry him away from you. “Let go.”

He’s met with a blank stare.

Lamine clenches his jaw. “It’s time for bed,” he says, with one last gentle pull. He has his brother in his arms, and he’s shooting you one last look.

You give a wave and a warm smile, watching until they fade from view. The smile remains on your face, a reminder that you truly had nothing to worry about. In fact, you’ve a new favorite person.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedriache + @spidybaby + @iovepoem + @ferrarifudds + @levidazai + @sakashq + @joaoflms ! ౨ৎ (idk how i feel about this lowkey but wtv.)

[444sturns]

┈﹒ ꒰ sharp words like knives. ꒱ ﹐ ‏࿐ matt sturniolo x reader — based on this req. w/c: 1.7k

┈﹒ ꒰ IN WHICH... matt comforts you after an angry outburst. warning: mentions of anger issues & anxiety. i am in no way, shape or form trying to romanticize this specific topic. it's real, it's raw, it's important to talk about. ꒱ ﹐ ‏࿐

“okay, okay! it’s not fucking funny anymore, can you just stop!” you yelled, your voice piercing even your own chest when you heard it echo back to you. you stood to your feet, doing everything in your power to avoid eye contact with any of the three boys in the living room.

you didn’t mean to raise your voice. not at matt, not at chris and not at nick, though he had been the one relentlessly poking fun about something seemingly very small. he wasn’t doing it to be mean– more so in a way that a sibling would do when they don’t realize that the joke stopped being funny. nick and chris did nothing but charge one another like two endless cycle batteries.

the room had been loud and your chest had been feeling tighter than usual all night. all it took was one more small, meaningless little comment for you to crumble. that’s when it all came out— sharp, hot words that you didn’t even recognize until they were out. you should have excused yourself from the situation the moment you started to feel that pang in your chest; the ache that made your heart rate speed up, your cheeks to flush red, your jaw to clench. 

fight or flight instincts were not your best friend in times like these, as much as you would have loved for it to be. you always chose fight, even if it was a subconscious choice. 

three pairs of eyes, identical and all undeserving of that tone of yours, stared at you in shock. it hurt.

nick’s expression faded from day to night before you could even blink, “sorry, was just tryin’ to make you laugh. honest.” he muttered, and the shift in his voice made the ache in your chest all the more obvious.

matt shot his brothers a knowing look, a silent way of saying “she didn’t mean it.” they knew you didn’t. 

“did you hear me laughing?” you spat, your eyes finally meeting nick’s. he shook his head slowly, eyebrows knitted with genuine worry. “no? but you kept going. read the room.” you added, and before nick could say another word, you were already reaching for matt’s bedroom door. the room fell with a silence far heavier than your sharp words.

you’re sitting on matt’s bed, knees tucked protectively against your chest, fingers fumbling idly with the soft material of the comforter beneath you. the house had gone quiet; chris and nick left, letting matt know that they’d give you some space. matt, ever the comforting person, stayed right there with you. he kept his distance for the time being, not wanting to overcrowd you while you collected yourself. instead, he opted to sit on the floor facing you; back leaning against his wobbly closet door, legs stretched in front of him.

he didn’t say much after your outburst. nothing to you, at least– not yet. he knew to give you a few minutes to breathe before he’d try to intervene. he waited for you to be ready.

“i’m sorry,” you finally whispered, voice raw. your eyes burned from unshed tears, the guilt was eating you from the inside out and you hated it. “i didn’t mean to snap like that, i– i don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

matt sat up and gave you his undivided attention. he didn’t look mad, he never did when you were like this.

“there’s nothing wrong with you, y/n.” he breathed, “you got overwhelmed. it happens. trust me, i’ve had my fair share of lashing out on both of them. spent my whole life looking at them, dealing with them.. it’s not hard to get overwhelmed by it sometimes.” he added, his eyes lifting to find yours. his lips curled into the softest smile, a reassuring one that you definitely needed. 

you shook your head gently, arms going limp at your sides in shameful defeat. “no, i freaked out, for no reason at all, matt… i scared nick, i scared all three of you.” the last part slipped out before you could stop it, and your chest tightened all over again. 

matt slowly stood up and walked to you, plopping in the empty spot beside you with a quiet sigh. “you didn’t scare any of us, sweetheart.” he breathed, his arm instinctively hooking around your back to tug you closer to his side. “they were… surprised.” he admits. “but not mad, definitely not scared. look..” 

he shifts a little closer, bringing his free hand up to tap beneath your chin to get you to look at him. you do it, no hesitation, and the softness in his eyes made you want to fall apart right then and there. 

“we’re talking about the sweet girl that laughs so hard she turns bright red, right? the one who stayed up all night taking care of chris when he had a cold because he was afraid his nose would clog up and he’d stop breathing if he fell asleep.. right? the same girl who is quite literally an angel on earth? that’s who we’re supposedly scared of, huh?” matt cocked an eyebrow as he spoke, lips curling into a grin. 

you hated that he was right, part of you secretly wanting the satisfaction of someone admitting to your fault even if it was just a little bit, but god, he was right. “matt, come on.” you whined quietly, leaning into the gentle, lingering touch of his fingers supporting your chin. “i just hate how i made them look at me. i feel terrible.” you murmur, eyes stinging again. 

you finally let your body fully lean into his, and in one fell swoop, he’d lifted you up and into his lap with ease. his hands rested against your hips, warm and firm to hold you still. “they’ll get over it, they probably got over it before they even made it out the front door.” he assured. your hands fell to rest gently against his stomach, your fingertips grazing over the thick black material of his hoodie. you told yourself that matt was probably right– but the guilt still stuck to your ribs like glue. 

“they love you. they know that’s not you, baby. just… a storm in that head of yours that you didn’t know how to stop.” matt’s words, the painful truth behind them, stuck. you needed to hear that.

you shifted down a little, giving in and laying your head against his chest. your eyes closed, a soft, slow breath rolling from your chest. the guilt melted away just enough for you to breathe. “i don’t deserve you.” you mutter, voice soft and a little muffled with how your cheek is pressed to his chest. 

matt’s hands moved to rest at your lower back, holding you there and grounding you before leaning in to press a kiss to the top of your head. “you do. every single part of you deserves to be loved and to be heard. even the parts that you’re still learning how to handle.” 

© 444sturns

⨳ ᦒ author’s note: writing angst has become my new favorite thing. maybe i'm a sadist. who knows?  -eden ᵎᵎ 𖥻

444sturns taglist! ￤ഒ·°,

@cherryystemm @zenithsturniolo @chrissbows @sturnsrecord @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @ifwdominicfike @moond0llie @bambisturns @whore4mattsturniolo @madie4sturns

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 25: June 2024 - Part 6

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The office was quiet. Soft. Safe.

It always felt that way here — a small haven away from the noise of circuits and media storms, from the sharp edges of being forgotten and the new weight of suddenly being seen. The window let in filtered afternoon light, and Simone’s office smelled faintly of lavender and old books.

Belle sat curled in her usual corner of the couch, legs tucked under her, hands wrapped around a mug of peppermint tea she hadn’t yet touched.

Simone sat across from her with her notebook closed, eyes kind, waiting.

“I think the worst part,” Belle said softly, after a long pause, “is that I didn’t expect it to feel so loud.”

Simone tilted her head slightly. “The public knowing?”

Belle nodded. “It was quiet for so long. Just ours. Just… safe. But now—one photo, and suddenly everyone’s watching.”

“Does it feel like a loss of control?” Simone asked gently.

“Yes. And no.” Belle looked down at her mug. “I wanted people to know. Eventually. I chose to walk into the paddock. I chose to kiss him. I posted the photo. It wasn’t an accident. But now everyone has an opinion. People I’ve never met are dissecting my life like it’s a press release.”

Simone let the silence settle for a moment, then asked, “What grounded you when it started to feel overwhelming?”

Belle smiled faintly. “Max. He always knows when I’m spiraling — even before I do. He’ll just take my hand or touch my back and everything feels quieter.”

There was a pause.

“I told Arthur,” Belle said, voice softer now.

Simone’s brows lifted slightly. “How did that feel?”

“Better than I expected,” Belle admitted. “He didn’t defend Charles. He didn’t make excuses. He just showed up. And he listened.”

“That’s progress,” Simone said gently.

Belle nodded. “But it’s only him. I haven’t spoken to anyone else.”

“Do you want to?”

Belle was quiet for a long time. Then: “I don’t know.”

Simone didn’t press her. Just waited.

“I think part of me still wants them to reach out. To say sorry without being prompted. To see me on their own. Not because they’re embarrassed or because the media caught on. Just… because they miss me.” Her voice cracked just slightly on that last word.

Simone’s tone was careful, but warm. “It’s okay to want that.”

“I know. I just don’t know if they’re capable of it.”

“And if they’re not?” Simone asked gently.

Belle looked up. “Then I move forward without them.”

Another pause.

“Can I offer a thought?” Simone asked.

Belle nodded.

“If you do choose to let them in again — not now, not even soon, but eventually — it might be helpful to bring those conversations into a neutral space. Somewhere safe.”

Belle’s gaze flicked toward her. “Like here?”

Simone gave a small smile. “Like family therapy. With boundaries. With someone to help hold the structure while you explore whether rebuilding is even possible.”

Belle didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t want to excuse what they did,” she said. “Or pretend everything’s fine because I married someone famous and suddenly they care.”

“I would never ask you to,” Simone replied gently. “You’ve already built a life. A marriage. Soon a family of your own. The question is whether you want to let them try to earn a place in it.”

Belle’s eyes shimmered, but she blinked them clear. “I think I might be open to the idea.”

“That’s enough for today.”

Belle let out a slow breath.

And for the first time since the Parc Fermé kiss and the global chaos that followed, the silence in her chest didn’t feel like pressure.

It felt like peace.

***

It started with a dress.

Just a simple, pale blue linen one — a favorite of hers. Soft. Easy. Forgiving in the waist. She’d worn it to coffee with Emilie two weeks ago and felt fine in it. Pretty, even.

Now, it wouldn’t zip.

Belle stood in the center of the bedroom, barefoot on the rug, hair still damp from the shower, the zipper stuck halfway up her back as she twisted and strained and tried not to cry.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a flood of hormones and tears and shouting. It was quiet.

A soft, sharp ache of realization.

Her body had changed overnight.

She turned slowly toward the mirror. Pressed a hand to her stomach. What had once been the faintest suggestion now had shape. Curve. Weight. Not enough to scream pregnant to the world, but more than enough to make her clothes sit wrong. To make her feel like a stranger in her own skin.

The zipper finally gave up entirely, and Belle stepped out of the dress with more frustration than grace.

She tried another — a black cotton shift. Still no. Then a flowy skirt — fine at the hips, but suddenly too snug at the waist. A button-down she’d always liked? The buttons across her chest strained so badly it looked like they were preparing for launch.

One by one, the pieces fell to the floor around her.

When she finally dropped into the edge of the bed, she was surrounded by the soft wreckage of what used to fit. A fabric battlefield. Her hands rested on her knees, her breath shallow, her chest tight.

She hadn’t expected to feel sad.

This was supposed to be beautiful — the beginning of something. The miracle. The glow.

But all she could think was: Nothing fits anymore.

And Max wasn’t there.

He’d left for the race two days ago — a back-to-back weekend with media, meetings, track walks. He’d kissed her forehead before leaving, pressed a palm gently over her belly, whispered something about texting her after every session.

But he wasn’t here.

Not now, when her body had changed without warning and she didn’t know how to dress it. Not now, when she just wanted someone to look at her and say, you’re still you.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at it without hope — then saw his name.

Max: Morning, Schatje. I just got out of briefing. I miss you. How’s our co-pilot today?

Belle’s throat tightened. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a second before she typed back.

Belle: I miss you too. Co-Pilot seems to be growing faster than expected. Nothing fits. At all. It’s ridiculous. I feel like a puffed pastry with a heart rate.

The reply came almost instantly.

Max: That is the most adorable description of pregnancy I’ve ever heard. And also: please stop being mean to my wife. You’re beautiful. You’re growing our baby. I’m buying you stretchy things. All the stretchy things.

Belle let out a quiet, helpless laugh — one that cracked right through the tightness in her chest.

Another message came in:

Max: Also I demand a photo. Even if you’re in my hoodie with no pants. Especially then, actually.

Belle shook her head, smiling through the sting in her eyes.

She stood, padded over to the wardrobe again, and pulled out one of Max’s hoodies. It swallowed her whole, but it didn’t pinch. It didn’t judge. It just fit — in the way that mattered.

She took the photo. Hair damp. No makeup. Hoodie halfway down her thighs. The bump was there. Soft. Round. Theirs.

She sent it to him with one line:

Belle: This is what “nothing fits” looks like.

A minute passed.

Then Max replied:

Max: That’s my favorite person with my favorite future inside her. Perfect. P.S. I’m coming home the second this race is over.

And somehow, in that moment, even with her body unfamiliar and her closet defeated…

Belle didn’t feel alone anymore.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Belle: Slightly odd question. Do you remember what you wore when you were trying to hide your pregnancies?

Victoria: Hahaha Has the bump arrived?

Belle: It ambushed me. Overnight. I woke up and suddenly nothing zips and my jeans are threatening to report me to the authorities.

Victoria: God, I remember that phase. I once cried in a Zara changing room because a wrap dress betrayed me. So yes. I remember it well.

Victoria: Okay. Hiding-the-bump tips from a three-time pro:

Flowy dresses

Button-downs + high-waisted trousers unbuttoned and safety pinned

Distracting accessories (big earrings = nobody’s looking at your belly)

Never underestimate a good scarf

Belle: You’re terrifyingly prepared. I love you.

Victoria: We all cope in our own ways. Mine is emotional support designer handbag. Also. You’re glowing.

Belle: I’m sweating and panicked.

Victoria: That’s pregnancy, darling. And when in doubt, steal Max’s clothes, throw on lipstick, and pretend you’re doing it on purpose.

Belle: I’m texting you before every outfit now.

Victoria: I expect nothing less.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Belle: Everything I own has turned against me. I just tried on five dresses. None of them fit. One popped a button and hit me in the face.

Emilie: i’m sorry but this is the funniest tragedy i’ve ever read

Belle: I’m going to have to start wearing Max’s hoodies exclusively. Like some sort of tiny, emotionally unstable Formula 1 driver.

Emilie: you say that like it’s not THE aesthetic of the season also: pls send a pic immediately

Belle: No makeup. Wet hair. Hoodie down to my knees. I look like if depression bought a scented candle.

Emilie: okay that’s going in your baby book "week 16: mother described herself as a sad candle in sportswear" you’re glowing, aren't you?

Belle: No. I’m sweating and mildly offended by cotton. But thank you.

Emilie: you are perfect and your body is doing literal magic and i will be there tomorrow with snacks, tissues, and an emergency haul of ethically-sourced maternity leggings

Belle: I don’t deserve you.

Emilie: no but you’re stuck with me anyway

***

The house was glowing.

Not literally — though the late afternoon sun poured golden light through the open shutters like a blessing — but in the way old homes do when they’ve been cared for. When someone’s loved them back into themselves.

Belle stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled to her elbows, a pencil tucked behind one ear, as Daniel and Jules stepped inside.

“Mon Dieu,” Daniel breathed. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Jules let out a soft, stunned sound and turned in a slow circle, eyes catching every detail — the reclaimed beams overhead, the soft plaster walls in a mineral-washed hue, the original tile floor gently cleaned and sealed instead of replaced.

“I can’t believe this is the same house,” Jules said.

“I can,” Daniel murmured. “Because she did it.”

Belle smiled, cheeks warm. “It’s almost done. A few details left — hardware, window treatments, the stone for the kitchen counters is coming Tuesday.”

“Don’t rush,” Jules said. “We’d sleep on the floor if we had to.”

“No need,” Belle said, leading them deeper into the space. “The guest room is fully dressed. Just in case.”

They passed through the arch into the main living room. The old fireplace had been restored, the stone gently cleaned but still mottled with history. Belle had designed built-in shelves on either side — painted in a soft green-grey that picked up the light without swallowing it — and filled them with old books and ceramics she’d sourced from local artisans.

“Belle,” Daniel said softly. “This is… art.”

She smiled at that. Not flustered. Just pleased.

They moved into the kitchen, where Belle had reimagined the space entirely without losing a single antique tile. A large farmhouse sink had been inset into a custom cabinet she’d designed herself, and the walls were finished in limewash — textured, tactile, alive.

The wide French doors at the back opened onto the courtyard. Once crumbling, it was now a soft, green heart of the home. The old fig tree remained, but Belle had added lavender, herbs, and climbing jasmine that was already threatening to devour the wall.

Jules stepped outside. “You saved the soul of this place.”

“I didn’t want to change it,” Belle said. “Just… listen to it.”

Daniel glanced over at her, smiling. “It’s rare. What you do. Most people walk into old houses and want to erase the past. You made it feel like time had layered into the house instead of over it.”

Belle blinked. Something caught behind her ribs — not pride, exactly, but something deeper. Recognition.

“It’s the first full project I did under my name,” she said quietly. “No firm. No partners. Just me.”

“And it shows,” Daniel said. “There’s nothing generic here. Every choice feels personal. Considered.”

“There are still a few finishing touches. Light fixtures in the guest room, and one of the shutters needs repair. But everything else is… as planned,” Belle explained.

Jules looked around again — eyes slightly glassy now. “It’s more than we imagined.”

Daniel stepped beside Belle and nudged her gently. “You didn’t just design this. You gave it a soul.”

Belle swallowed around the sudden ache in her throat.

“I just listened,” she said. “To what the house wanted to be. And to what you needed it to hold.”

“You do realize this is what great designers say when they’re being modest,” Daniel said dryly.

But Jules only smiled and took Belle’s hands in his. “You made us a home.”

And somehow, that landed more than any award ever could.

As they sat down at the table with lemonade and cheese and fresh bread Jules had insisted on bringing from their favorite bakery, Belle let herself relax into the moment.

The laughter was easy. The compliments genuine. There was no shadow of someone else’s name over her work, no sense of borrowed validation.

Just sunlight, and two clients-turned-friends, and a house that now breathed.

And for the first time in her career, Belle didn’t feel like she was working to prove anything.

She had already done it.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: wanna tell me what the actual FUCK that was between max and lando????

Belle: Define “that.”

Emilie: THE AGGRESSIVE WHEEL-TO-WHEEL “ARE WE ENEMIES NOW” SLAP FIGHT THE DEATH STARES THE POST-RACE NON-HANDSHAKE I’M SORRY, IS THE BRO MANCE DEAD??

Belle: Ah. That.

Emilie: YES. THAT. YOUR HUSBAND WENT FULL FINAL BOSS MODE AND LANDO LOOKED LIKE HE WAS ABOUT TO BITE HIM

Belle: They’ll talk. Eventually.

Emilie: ARE THEY BREAKING UP DO I NEED TO GET THE DIVORCE LAWYERS DO I GET YOU IN THE CUSTODY BATTLE DOES LANDO GET VISITATION WITH THE BABY

Belle: 😂 You are so dramatic. And yes, obviously. 

Emilie: you joke but i’m FUMING i just spent six months convincing myself they were soft-launch brothers-in-arms and now max overtakes like that and lando’s giving “you were supposed to love me” after the race

Belle: It’s called racing, Em.

Emilie: it’s called betrayal he made him crash he gave him a puncture he RUINED HIM i’ve read enemies-to-lovers with less sexual tension than that post-race stare

Belle: Do you want me to ask Max for his side?

Emilie: no

Belle:For the record: Max says he “defended hard” And Lando “should’ve backed out sooner.” He also muttered something about “this is why I don’t have friends.”

Emilie: tell him that’s the most dramatic thing he’s said since “I’m not here to make friends” in 2015

Belle: He is the drama

Emilie: and you married him god i’m proud of you

Belle: Would you and Lando like to come for dinner tomorrow?

Emilie: EXCUSE ME??

Belle: Max is sulking. Lando is brooding. You’re screaming in all caps. I’m fixing it.

Emilie: YOU THINK A CHICKEN PARM IS GONNA FIX A BROKEN BROMANCE

Belle: Yes. That and a homemade lemon tart. Also, you’re bringing wine.

Emilie: oh my god you’re staging a peace summit this is monaco-based diplomacy you’re literally brokering a ceasefire

Belle: We’ve avoided a Red Bull–McLaren cold war so far. I’d like to keep it that way. Also Max gets weird when Lando’s mad at him.

Emilie: i’m bringing rosé and a truce playlist

Belle: Perfect. Tomorrow. 7 PM. We’re serving forgiveness with a side of grilled vegetables.

Emilie: you’re a queen a legend a domestic diplomat

Belle: Good. See you tomorrow. Also, if they refuse to make eye contact, we’re putting on a two-player Mario Kart match and leaving the room.

Emilie: excellent. passive-aggressive gaming therapy. you’re a genius

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Oscar Piastri

Belle: Congratulations on the podium 🧡 You were phenomenal today. Clean, calm, clinical. (And you looked very smug on the podium. It suited you.)

Oscar: Thank you 😊 It’s always nice when Max and Lando are too busy crashing into each other to notice I exist.

Belle: Speaking of which... Care to tell me what that was?

Oscar: Which part? The wheel-to-wheel drama? The parc ferme tension? The complete emotional collapse of an F1 friendship?

Belle: All of it. I’m trying to prep for tomorrow’s “spaghetti and feelings” dinner.

Oscar: I’d recommend garlic bread. And helmets.

Belle: Are they talking?

Oscar: Define “talking.” Max said “he’ll get over it.” Lando said “he can bite me.” So, no.

Belle: Excellent. Nothing like emotional maturity from two men who drive at 300km/h for a living.

Oscar: Incredible athletes. Emotionally 14.

Belle: We’ve having dinner tomorrow. I’m staging a ceasefire over lemon tart.

Oscar: Bold of you Godspeed Let me know if I need to be on standby for emotional support 

Belle: You might. If they refuse to speak, they’re playing Mario Kart until one of them cries.

Oscar: So, normal Verstappen conflict resolution. Got it 👍

Belle: Exactly.

***

Belle pulled the lemon tart out of the fridge at exactly 6:58 PM.

It was perfect. Glazed, golden, topped with thin slices of candied lemon and just enough powdered sugar to look effortless without trying too hard. Not unlike her strategy for this entire dinner.

She heard Max pacing somewhere near the front hallway again. That made lap four. Five, if she counted the loop past the cat bowls.

“Max,” she called gently. “It’s dinner. Not an FIA hearing.”

“They’re late,” he muttered, appearing in the kitchen doorway.

“They’re two minutes late.”

Max crossed his arms, expression unreadable. “Maybe we should cancel.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Because Lando didn’t arrive early to apologize like a teenager with flowers and a mixtape?”

Max looked away. Belle handed him the salad tongs.

“Go toss the greens and remember you’re a grown man with three world championship titles and a mortgage,” she said sweetly.

He muttered something in Dutch and obeyed.

The buzzer rang at 7:03.

Belle opened the door to find Emilie in her best peacekeeping sundress, holding a bottle of rosé in one hand and a smug smile on her face. Lando trailed behind her, suspiciously quiet, clutching a bakery box like it was a bomb.

“We brought peach galette,” Emilie announced. “And emotional tension.”

Belle stepped aside. “We already have both.”

Dinner began civilly enough.

The pasta was well-timed. The wine poured freely. The cats were temporarily bribed into not launching themselves onto the table.

Max and Lando, however, exchanged exactly four words in the first twenty minutes:

“Hi.” “Hi.” “Water?” “Sure.”

The eye contact was brief. The fork clinking was aggressive.

Belle and Emilie carried the conversation like diplomats on a sinking cruise ship. They talked about weather, Monaco construction permits, the absurdity of a $400 baby monitor Belle had returned on principle. They laughed. They smiled.

The boys sulked.

At one point, Max stabbed a roasted carrot like it had insulted his ancestors. Lando sighed in a way that could've shattered glass.

Belle met Emilie’s gaze across the table.

Time for the nuclear option.

“Okay,” Belle said, standing up. “Dessert in a bit. But first—living room.”

Lando blinked. “What?”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” Belle said, already walking, “I’m not hosting a three-course cold war.”

Emilie followed with the wine glasses. “We’re resolving this like adults.”

“In Mario Kart,” Belle added.

Max groaned. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m married to you. I’ve never been more serious.”

Lando slumped onto the couch. “This is ridiculous.”

Belle handed him a controller. “And yet you’re already holding the remote.”

Max hesitated—just long enough for Belle to raise an eyebrow. “Afraid to lose?”

He sat down next to Lando like she’d physically shoved him. “I’ve beaten him in real life. I’ll survive Rainbow Road.”

“Your funeral,” Lando muttered.

By the second race, Max had stopped muttering under his breath.

By the fourth, he and Lando were arguing about blue shell etiquette.

By the sixth, Belle and Emilie had abandoned the couch entirely and were watching from the kitchen doorway, with Emilie sipping rosé and Belle snacking on lemon tart, like it was theatre.

“I give it ten more minutes before they forget they were mad,” Emilie whispered.

“Seven,” Belle said, just as Lando shouted, “That’s what you get for punting me off in Austria!”

Max howled. “YOU STARTED IT.”

Belle smiled. “And… there it is.”

By the time dessert hit the table, Lando was retelling the story of Max drunk in a night club and accidentally running into a wall while sneezing. Max was defending himself with increasing indignation. Emilie was crying with laughter. And Belle?

Belle sat back in her chair, hand resting gently over her stomach, watching her husband finally laugh again.

And she thought — this is what peacekeeping looks like.

A lemon tart. A glass of wine. A video game and a well-timed eye roll.

And love.

Always, love.

***

Max hadn’t meant to wake up early.

The apartment was still hushed in the pale-blue light of morning, curtains shifting faintly with the breeze from the balcony doors. Monaco always felt quieter before eight — like even the yachts were still asleep.

He stretched, one arm blindly reaching for Belle’s side of the bed.

Empty.

The faint sound of running water met his ears, and then the rustle of a drawer, a closet door sliding open.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his hand over his face, and padded barefoot into the hallway.

What he saw stopped him completely.

Belle stood in front of the mirror in the closet, turned slightly sideways, her back to the door. She was barefoot, her hair in a loose braid, wearing nothing but a pair of soft cotton shorts and one of his white tank tops — the thin kind she always stole from his drawer without asking.

And her bump — their bump — was there. Real. Rounded. Glowing in the soft morning light.

Max felt something in his chest shift.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched her. Watched the way she ran her fingers over her stomach, gently, reverently, like she still couldn’t quite believe it.

Like it had finally hit her, too.

Belle caught his reflection in the mirror and startled. “God, Max—say something before you scare me to death.”

But she didn’t move to hide.

Didn’t reach for a robe or yank down the hem of the tank top.

And Max… Max couldn’t look away.

“I didn’t know it was like this already,” he said quietly.

Belle turned toward him, one hand resting low on her belly. “It kind of… popped overnight.”

He crossed the room slowly, his eyes never leaving her. When he stopped in front of her, his hands came up automatically — one to her cheek, the other hovering just above her bump.

“May I?” he asked softly.

Belle nodded, her eyes warm.

He placed his hand against her skin. Warm. Soft. Alive.

A small intake of breath escaped him — almost a laugh, but softer. “You’re really in there,” he murmured.

Belle smiled, tired and radiant all at once. “Surprise.”

He kissed her, slow and steady, his hand never leaving her stomach.

When he pulled back, his voice was a little rougher. “How long until you can’t hide it anymore?”

She exhaled. “A few weeks, maybe. Less if they keeps growing like this.”

Max was quiet for a beat.

Then: “Do you want to keep hiding it?”

Belle leaned into his chest, resting her forehead there. “I don’t know. Part of me likes having it just for us. But… part of me wants to stop hiding. Stop pretending nothing’s changed when everything has.”

Max nodded slowly. “We don’t have to post anything. Not unless you want to.”

She looked up at him. “Would you be okay with the media knowing? With the fans knowing?”

“I’m okay with them knowing we’re building a life together,” he said simply. “They’ll say things. They always do. But they don’t get to have this. Only see it. And only what we give them.”

Belle’s throat tightened. “What if they say I’m just—what if they think this is why we got married? That it wasn’t about us?”

“They can think whatever they want,” Max said firmly. “But I know. You know. And this baby—” he pressed his hand gently to her stomach again, “—will grow up knowing they were born from love. Not gossip.”

Belle nodded, slow and quiet. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I think…” She paused. “I think when it feels right, I want to share it. I just want to do it our way. Not through a headline. Not through some PR leak. Just… something honest. Something small.”

Max smiled. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

She leaned into him again, and he held her there — the two of them wrapped in early morning quiet, one heartbeat becoming three.

***

He didn’t mean to play for hours.

But his hands moved without thought, without permission — soft notes tumbling out one after another, half-finished melodies bleeding into each other, no structure, no rhythm. Just the ache in his chest, transposed into minor keys.

Charles stared at the keys without really seeing them.

Everything since the Spanish Grand Prix had felt like that. Blurred. Half-lit. Shame washing over him in waves until it was hard to tell what day it was.

Fred’s voice still rang in his head.

"He’s not just beating you on track. He’s beating you in every other way that matters."

It should’ve made him angry. Months ago, maybe it would have. But now?

Now it just made him tired.

The front door clicked open quietly.

Charles didn’t stop playing.

Alexandra stepped into the room, keys in hand, sunglasses pushed into her hair. She paused just beyond the piano, watching him. Listening.

He shifted into something sadder without realizing it.

She said nothing for a long time. Just let him play.

Finally: “That’s new.”

Charles nodded, fingers barely brushing the keys. “I didn’t write it down. I won’t remember it.”

Alexandra sat on the armrest of the couch across from him. “That bad, huh?”

He didn’t answer.

Alexandra watched him a beat longer. Then: “You haven’t said anything since Fred tore into you.”

“He was right.”

That surprised her.

Charles didn’t look up. “He was right about everything. About Belle. About Max. About me.”

Alexandra folded her arms, softening slightly. “Charles—”

“I forgot her birthday,” he said, voice flat. “I forgot where she lived. I didn’t know she moved. I didn’t know she quit her job. And I found out she was married with the rest of the world.”

A pause.

“I used to be the person she told everything to.”

His voice cracked on used to.

Alexandra shifted closer. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.” His hands stilled. “And I don’t blame her.”

“She’s your sister.”

“I forgot how to act like her brother.”

It wasn’t said for sympathy. It was just… fact.

He pressed a key. Dissonant. Hollow.

Alexandra exhaled. “You know what I think?”

Charles didn’t answer, but his silence invited it.

“I think you’re not upset she married Max,” she said gently. “You’re upset she didn’t tell you. Because it forced you to realize how far away you let her drift.”

That landed deep.

Charles looked at the keys like they might offer him absolution.

“She stopped waiting for me,” he said, barely a whisper.

“She had to stop,” Alexandra replied. “You never showed up.”

He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” Charles admitted.

“You can’t,” Alexandra said, standing. “Not completely. But you can start by owning that it’s not about you. Not her silence. Not her love. Not the baby. Not Max. You don’t get to demand a place in her life just because you regret not earning it before.”

That hurt more than Fred’s words.

Because it was the truth.

Alexandra stepped forward and kissed the top of his head, just briefly.

“Let her choose if you belong,” she said softly. “But maybe, for once, don’t try to race your way back in.”

She walked out without waiting for a reply.

Charles sat at the piano, still and quiet, and let the silence press in around him like a tide.

He looked down at his hands.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure they knew how to fix anything anymore.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Arthur Leclerc

Arthur: hey just wanted to check in how are you?

Belle: Hi That’s a surprise A nice one

Arthur: yeah well i figured it was my turn to show up you always did that for me even when i didn’t deserve it

Arthur: so you okay?

Belle: I’m good. Quiet days. Work. Sleep. Max. He’s home this week, which helps. I’ve been reading again.

Arthur: you always read when you feel safe i remember that

Belle: I do. Books are still better than people sometimes.

Arthur: not going to argue there i just wanted you to know i think about you a lot even when i don’t say anything

Belle: I know. I think about you too.

Arthur: and I’m sorry for forgetting the little things for thinking you’d always be there whether I showed up or not I hate that it took losing you to notice how much I missed

Belle: You didn’t lose me. You just stopped looking. But you’re here now. That counts for something.

Arthur: thanks for giving me the chance to do better i won’t waste it

Belle: I hope you don’t. Because I missed my little brother.

Arthur: still here still annoying just a bit slower to grow up

Belle: You’re getting there One awkward text at a time

Arthur: baby steps

Belle: 😉

***

They were sitting at the dining table, Belle with her laptop open and a very stubborn government website loading at glacial speed. The overhead lights were low, the cats were asleep on the windowsill, and the apple tart from dinner was reduced to a pair of crumbs and a fork that Max kept stealing bites with.

“I need to go to the town hall next week,” Belle said, frowning at her screen. “It’s ridiculous how many steps it takes to change a last name. I have to book an appointment just to show them I’m legally married.”

Max looked up from where he was balancing a spoon on his finger. “Want me to come with you?”

She smiled. “I think I can survive bureaucracy alone.”

“I don’t know,” he said, mock-serious. “You’re pregnant and emotionally allergic to slow websites.”

“Barely showing and mildly inconvenienced is not the same thing,” Belle replied, nudging his foot under the table.

He grinned, then leaned back in his chair. “We should change your credit card too. It still says Leclerc.”

She groaned. “One paperwork nightmare at a time.”

Max tilted his head, thoughtful now. “And we should probably set up a meeting with our lawyers.”

Belle paused mid-keystroke. “Why?”

He shrugged, casual. “Just to go over everything.”

“Max,” she said gently. “What kind of everything?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His fingers were still playing with the fork, but his gaze had drifted — focused, serious in that quiet way he got when he was thinking too far ahead.

“I want to make sure things are in place,” he said eventually. “For you. For the baby. If something happens to me.”

Belle’s heart pulled.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” she said softly.

“If something happens to me — if I crash or something stupid happens off-track — I want everything set up. No grey areas. No questions.”

Belle set the mug she was holding down carefully on the table and turned fully toward him.

“Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m not planning on dying,” Max said, managing a half-smile. “But I also know how this works. I’ve seen it happen to other drivers. One second, you’re invincible. The next…” He trailed off. “I don’t want you or the baby in limbo if the worst happens.”

She reached out slowly, threading her fingers through his. “You think about that?”

“Every time I get in the car now,” he admitted. “Not in a panicked way. But it’s there. You changed the way I calculate risk.”

“I’m not planning to die,” he added, a wry smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. “I’m just planning in case. I want to make sure you’re protected. That the house is in your name too. That there’s no confusion. That if I can’t speak for myself, you can. Not my father. Not my mother. You.”

Belle sat very still.

Not because she was scared. But because it hit her, suddenly and all at once, how much he was already carrying — not just the weight of fame and expectation and fatherhood, but this fierce, unspoken drive to shield her from the storm.

“I married you because I love you,” Max said. “But I also married you because you’re my person. And I want to make sure you’re not left sorting through a legal mess if the worst ever happens.”

Belle nodded, throat tight. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She reached across the table and took his hand. “Let’s make the appointment.”

Max exhaled — a little like he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.

And Belle, looking at the man who had been so many things to the world — champion, rival, myth — realized that this version of him, the one quietly planning a will while stealing bites of lemon tart, was the one she loved most.

The one who knew the risks. And stayed anyway.

The one who chose her. And kept choosing her.

Even in the fine print.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Lorenzo: We need to get ahead of this before she cuts us out completely. We’ve let it go on too long.

Charles: What do you want me to do, Lorenzo? I said I wanted to talk to her. She doesn’t answer.

Arthur: Because she’s not ready. You don’t get to demand a timeline for forgiveness.

Pascale: I sent her a long message last week. I said I missed her. She didn’t even react to it.

Arthur: Because she’s hurt. Because for years, we made her feel like she didn’t matter until she disappeared.

Charles: I’m trying to make it right.

Arthur: You’re trying to make it comfortable for you. Not better for her.

Lorenzo: Okay, enough. We need to approach this like adults. Arthur, you said she talked to you?

Arthur: Yeah. Because I apologized without making excuses. Because I didn’t act like she owed me anything.

Charles: So what, we just do nothing? Sit around and hope she decides to forgive us?

Arthur: Or we ask her what she needs instead of assuming we know best. Maybe try that.

Pascale: If she’d just sit down with us—if we could talk properly—I know we could fix it.

Charles: She won’t even look at me in the paddock.

Arthur: You yelled about her being married like the whole grid personally betrayed you.

Charles: Well it felt like that.

Pascale: Can we not assign blame? We all made mistakes. I sent a message. She didn’t respond.

Lorenzo: Because your message said, “I meant to text you, but I sent it to Charles instead.” Which we all know is a lie.

Pascale: It was a white lie. I didn’t want her to feel worse.

Lorenzo: She didn’t need you to protect her feelings, Maman. She needed you to show up. That’s what none of us did.

Charles: I’m trying. But every time I think about texting her, I hear Fred’s voice telling me I don’t deserve to.

Arthur: That’s because he’s right.

Pascale: So what do we do? Invite her to dinner? Send another letter?

Charles: I could try calling again.

Lorenzo: No. No more performing care. She’s not stupid. She sees through all of it.

Pascale: We have to fix this. She’s our family.

Isabelle:  You could start by remembering I’m in this group chat.

Isabelle:  I’ve seen every message. Every strategy. Every “how do we make her forgive us” as if forgiveness is a button to push, not something earned.

Isabelle: Arthur apologized. He listened. He didn’t make excuses. That’s why I’m speaking to him. Not because he said the right thing. Because he meant it.

Isabelle: The rest of you? You keep asking how to fix me. You never once asked what I need.

Isabelle: So here it is: If you want a relationship with me again, we start with family therapy. With a neutral third party. No justifications. No guilt-tripping. No “but we’re your family.” Just honesty. Hard conversations. Boundaries.

Isabelle: You want me back? You come sit in a room and prove it. Not with flowers or dinners. With work.

Isabelle: I am not your emotional support sibling. I’m not your afterthought. And I’m not going to pretend this didn’t hurt just because it’s inconvenient for you.

Isabelle: Therapy. Or nothing.

Arthur: …I told you.

Lorenzo: Family therapy it is.

***

[allthingsfangirl101]

Furiously Passionate – Jake Seresin

Jake's POV

When I first walked into the coffee shop down the street from base, I never expected to run into my childhood friend, Y/N. As little kids, we were inseparable. Well, that's putting it lightly.

The honest truth is that I followed Y/N everywhere. I was overly protective of her and was always there when she needed me. Even if she didn't need me, I was there.

Her first choir performance, I was in the crowd.

Her first spelling bee, I was in the audience.

Her first boyfriend, I was ready to tell her he wasn't good enough.

Her first heartbreak, I held her as she cried (after I beat the shit out of the guy).

When I joined the Navy, Y/N was terrified. She was so worried that something would happen to me and I wouldn't return to her. The night before I left for training, we fell asleep with tears streaming down our faces.

Two years went by. Two years of hand-written letters. Two years of emails. Two years of phone calls. Two years of making sure we never lost contact.

When I walked into the coffee shop and saw Y/N behind the counter making coffee, I almost jumped over the counter and wrapped my arms around her. I didn't have to, because she did.

She jumped over the counter and instantly took her break. We spent the entire time standing outside and talking. She eventually went back to work after I got her to promise to meet up that night. We started off the night by ordering dinner and talking. We ended the night with me leaving the next morning.

That was six months ago. Ever since we started going out, I go to her apartment as soon as we finish training. I only go out with my friends one night a week—the rest I spend with Y/N.

"What time are you done with training tonight?" Y/N asked me over the phone as I started walking into base.

"Not sure, baby," I sighed. "We're getting closer to the mission, so our sessions are getting a little more intense."

I waited for her to respond, but she didn't. "What's wrong, gorgeous?"

"It's nothing," she lied.

"Y/N," I elongated her name. "Tell me. What's on your mind?"

"It's just. . ." My heart felt tight when she sighed. "I kind of don't really want you to go on your upcoming mission."

"What?"

"See?" She said, her voice breaking. "I sound like a horrible and unsupportive girlfriend."

"You're not," I instantly corrected.

"I don't mean to be," she said, ignoring my earlier comment. "I'm just worried. Your mission could end badly. I could. . ."

"You're not going to lose me," I said before she could start to panic. "I promise, Y/N. I will be smart. I will make sure I make it home to you."

"I know," she whispered. "That doesn't mean I'm not scared."

I sighed, wishing there was something I could say to make her feel better. The thing was, she was right. She's right to be scared. I can promise all I want, but things can still go badly.

"Listen," I said gently, "you mean the world to me. I will do everything I can to make it back to you. As for tonight, I will order Chinese on my way over. Try and stay up for me?"

"Of course," she giggled, her tone of voice instantly shifting. I held back my sigh of relief.

"Great," I smiled. "I'll see you tonight."

I hung up the phone, noticing my friends studying me.

"Who was that?" Phoenix asked with a knowing smirk on her face.

"No one," I instinctively responded.

"Someone you're meeting tonight," Coyote laughed. "Hot date?"

"It's just. . ." I stuttered.

"Come on, Hangman," Payback pushed. "You walked in here, your phone glued to your ear, and smiling like an idiot. Fess up. Who's got you acting like an idiot?"

"Y/N," I said, clearing my throat as I put my phone in my pocket. I looked around to see them all smirking at me.

"And who's this Y/N?" Rooster asked. I struggled to control my anger caused by the way he said her name.

"My girlfriend."

"Your girlfriend?" Bob stuttered. "You actually. . . You have a girlfriend?"

"I do," I shrugged.

"Where did you meet a girl lonely enough to fall for you?" Fanboy scoffed.

"She works at the coffee shop near base," I shortly explained. "But we've known each other since we were kids. When I ran into her again, I asked her out."

"So," Coyote elongated, "when are we going to meet this girl of yours?"

"Yeah," Payback laughed. "I gotta meet the poor girl that puts up with our Hangman."

"I half expected our Hangman to leave her hanging after a drunken night," Payback laughed.

"I'd never leave her," I said through my teeth, shocking everyone.

"You really like her, don't you?" Phoenix said, her voice softening.

"I've known her forever," I said, sounding slightly offended. "We grew up together."

"When you'd finally hook up?" Payback asked. I had to grip my hands into fists to control my anger.

"Six months ago," I said, my jaw slightly tighter than normal. "I hadn't seen her in almost three years, but I ran into her six months ago."

"That's great," Phoenix smiled. "You should bring her by the bar sometime. We'd love to meet her."

To be honest, I'd never thought about introducing Y/N to my flight squad. I always separated my life in the Navy and my life with Y/N. Not because I was ashamed of her. I kept her separate to keep her safe.

* * * * *

"Jake," Y/N gasped when I wrapped my arms around her the second she turned. "What are you doing here?"

"Navy pilots need coffee too," I teased her. I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers. I broke the kiss and smirked down at her. I grabbed the rag she was using to wipe down the tables and tossed it into the counter as I asked, "Any chance you can take a break?"

She looked at her watch and smirked at me. "What do you know?" She asked sarcastically. "It just so happens to be my break."

I laughed as she took off her apron, tossed it onto the counter. I grabbed her hand and led her out of the coffee shop. Without saying anything, we started walking down the street. We took a few turns before arriving at the nearest beach.

"Okay," Y/N sighed, "what's going on with you?"

"What do you mean?" I tried to laugh it off. Y/N stopped walking, pulling me with her.

"We've been dating for six months," she started, "but I've known you all my life. You call me at work, text me in between flights, but you don't randomly pop by without telling me. So, I ask again: what's going on?"

"My friends know about you," I confessed, knowing there was no point in trying to hide it any longer. Y/N always knew.

"Oh," she said, her voice dropping.

"They really want to meet you," I continued hesitantly. I gently grabbed both of her hands as I continued, "Part of me thinks it's because they don't believe you're real. They want to see if you're out of my league. Or they want to see what kind of girl I can convince to actually go out with me."

"I don't know," Y/N stuttered, looking at our intertwined hands.

"Please, baby," I begged. "I really want my friends to meet you."

"What if they don't like me?" She asked, her voice dropping. I took a step closer to her, putting myself inches from her.

"They are going to love you because you are an amazing girl," I tried to reassure her.

"What if they don't think I'm good enough for you?"

My heart sank. "They have no reason to think that," I said softly. "You are more than enough for me, baby."

She paused as she studied me and nervously chewed on her bottom lip. I reached up and gently used my thumb to untuck her lip from her teeth.

"You really want me to meet your friends, don't you?"

"I do," I said honestly. "But only if you're comfortable meeting them."

"I guess I am," she shrugged. She smiled before adding, "As long as you promise not to leave me alone with them."

I leaned in and dropped my voice as I said, "I wouldn't leave you even if they paid me."

* * * * *

Later that night, I took Y/N to the Navy bar. She was really nervous, but as time went on (and drinks were drunk), my friends started to show her that they weren't anything to be afraid of. Towards the end of the night, we were the only semi-sober ones.

I pulled Y/N off to the side so we could have a moment alone. I wrapped my arms around her and "helped" her throw the darts. When she hit the bullseye, she giggled and jumped up and down. I had the biggest smile on my face until I looked over my shoulder to see Rooster watching us a little too closely.

I forced myself not to think about it the rest of the night. Instead, I focused on making sure Y/N was having fun. The entire drive back to my apartment, Y/N was buzzing. She was super happy about how the night went and went back through everything we did. She fell asleep in my arms with the biggest smile on her face.

She was still buzzing about it the next morning. I kissed her goodbye and headed to base. As soon as I walked in, everyone sent me smirks. They kept telling me that they liked Y/N and thought she and I were a good match. Everything was fine.

Until Rooster. . .

"I gotta be honest," Rooster smirked. "Y/N's not exactly the kind of girl I expected you'd bring around. I mean, by the way you talked about her, I figured she'd be a bit more. . . more."

Before I knew it, I was charging Rooster.

I let my anger take over. So much so, I wouldn't have stopped if it wasn't for the team.

"Y/N is the most gorgeous girl in the world," I yelled as Payback and Fanboy pulled me off Rooster. "I'm lucky a girl like her would go out with me."

"Both of you," Phoenix snapped, "calm down."

I tore my hands out of their holds and stormed off before my anger could take over again.

* * * * *

My anger was suffocating. I was about to leave base, struggling to calm myself down, but forced myself to stay. I walked into the pilot's room, relieved when no one was there. I sat on the couch and grabbed my phone. My screensaver stopped me.

It was a picture of Y/N and me on our first official date six months ago. It was my favorite picture of us. It was the only one where I looked truly happy.

I wanted to call her and tell her about Rooster, but I didn't want to worry her. She thought last night went so well. I don't want to make her doubt that. I looked up when someone knocked on the doorframe.

"I'm not apologizing," I said when I saw Rooster leaning against the doorway.

"That's not why I'm here," he chuckled as he kicked off the doorframe and walked in.

"What do you want?" I sighed.

"I wanted to talk to you about Y/N."

I scowled the second my Y/N's name left his lips. "Bradshaw," I warned, slowly standing up.

"How long have you been in love with Y/N?" He asked.

"All my life," I answered without having to think about it. "I've known her since I was a kid, and I've loved her more and more each day."

"Does she know that?"

"No," I sighed, looking away from him. "She doesn't."

"Why the hell not?" He asked, not sounding at all like he was teasing.

"I don't know," I stuttered. "We just barely started dating and. . ."

"You just said that you've been in love with her all your life," he said, taking a small step toward me. "It may have taken a while, but you finally got together. When you start dating someone you've known your entire life, you don't start at Level 1."

"What's the point of all this?" I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest.

"The point," Rooster said with a small smirk on his face, "is that it took you this long to finally get together. You really want to waste more time before telling her you love her?"

* * * * *

I walked into Y/N's apartment, a lot of emotions flooding my body. I hung my keys by the door and kicked off my shoes. I searched the apartment for her but finally found her asleep at the kitchen table. With a big smile on my face, I knelt beside her and gently woke her up.

"Y/N," I said softly, "baby, wake up."

She let out her sleepy moan as her eyes fluttered open. "Hey, you," she smiled. She slowly lifted her head and spent a moment looking around the room, still in a bit of a daze.

"You fall asleep while studying?" I asked, gesturing to the law books in front of her.

"Mmhmm," she mumbled. "Why do I want to be a family advocate?"

"Well," I chuckled, "according to you, you want to fight for children and make sure they get into good homes."

"Oh yeah," she sighed. She turned to me, and her eyes widened. She gasped as she quickly grabbed my face. "Jake! What happened to your face?"

I sighed when I realized that the punch I took from Rooster must have left a mark.

"It's nothing," I tried to soothe her.

"It doesn't look like nothing," she continued to worryingly stutter. "It looks like you got into a fight. Did you get into a fight?"

I reached up and gently pulled her hands away from my face. "I did get into a fight," I confessed, "but it was nothing. It was stupid guys being stupid guys."

I couldn't help but smile when she pouted. She opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off by pulling her in and pressing my lips to hers. It took her half a second to start kissing me back.

"I love you, Y/N," I whispered, breaking the kiss. She leaned back and studied me with wide eyes.

"You. . . You what?"

"I love you," I repeated. "I have loved you since we were little. I have loved you every day of our lives. I was just too afraid to tell you."

"Why?" She asked, catching me slightly off-guard.

"I didn't know how you felt about me," I confessed slowly. "And I didn't want to ruin our friendship. You were, and still are, the most important person in my life. I couldn't risk losing you if I was wrong."

"You're not," she said quickly.

"I'm not?"

"You're not," she smiled, "because I love you, too."

She gasped when I wrapped my arms around her, pulled her in, and pressed my lips to hers. I felt her giggle against my lips as I slightly picked her up.

We broke the kiss when neither one of us could breathe. We were still in each other's arms as we smiled too widely at each other. I reached up and moved some hair out of her face.

"I love you, Y/N," I whispered. "And I promise to spend the rest of my life with you, taking care of you. I will always be safe, so I can come home to you. I will always come running when you call for me. I will always be there when you need me. I will always love you."

Y/N smiled at me with soft tears in her eyes. "That's all I've ever wanted," she whispered. "You taking care of me. You being there for me. All I've ever wanted was you."

[pukefactory]

Do you think it’s possible for one of the entities of ENA to look like one of the reader’s favorite toys? I can imagine the reader being surprised and starts getting friendly with it. And in that note do you think ENA would get jealous of that fact? (If this sounds like a request then I am sorry cause that is not I was going for)

No need to apologize at all—this is such an adorable question, and absolutely something that fits the surreal yet emotionally layered world of Dream BBQ.

Yes, I do think it’s very possible for one of entities—those fragmented avatars—to manifest in a form that eerily resembles the your favorite toy. Not out of malice or mimicry, but more like… fate glitching on affection. Maybe it’s something soft and worn from childhood: a stuffed rabbit with one button eye, a plastic action figure that always smelled faintly of cinnamon, a handmade charm. It’s uncanny—how it moves like the toy shouldn’t, but still feels familiar in all the right ways.

And you? Of course you’re startled. But once the warmth of memory hits, it’s easy to relax into it. Start giggling. Talking to it. Maybe you even hug it or cradle it, just like you used to. The entity doesn’t mind—it might even act like the toy remembered them all along. Which is… oddly comforting.

But then there’s ENA.

She notices. Of course she does. She notices everything when it comes to you.

At first, it’s curiosity. She cocks her head, watching. But as the interaction deepens—more laughter, more softness—her expressions start to flicker. Glitches between amused, confused, and something… sour. She’s not used to sharing attention, especially not when you are her anchor in a universe that bends sideways on a whim.

It’s not jealousy in the usual way—it’s existential envy. Why does this soft-limbed doppelgänger, this memory-ghost, get that kind of affection so easily? Why does it get to remind you of home, while she reminds you of everything else?

She might not say anything, but the next time the you try to give her a pat on the head or hold her hand, she clings just a little tighter. Her voice might crack mid-sentence. Or maybe, when the entity is asleep (or disappeared), she whispers, “That wasn’t me. But I am real. I’m here. I’m yours, you know? Not some nostalgia puppet.”

And suddenly, all her chaos feels achingly human again.

[madebycloud]

Multo

jinx/powder x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: multo [mul · to]　spirits that are said to be entities taking the shape of a person but are instead the memories, the missed opportunities, and the wrong decisions that we cannot escape. | you dreamt of the same future, side by side, always together, but things didn't work out like they were supposed to. (requested by anon) warnings/themes: fluff (???) & angst, hurt no comfort, ex lovers, break up, toxic relationship words: 5.0k notes: if you’re filo, there are some references here (esp from paubaya mv and how’s of us) hope yall enjoy reading this and hopefully it doesn’t trigger anyone ;)

“Do you take Powder for your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

“I do.”

—

Sevika parks the truck in the church's parking lot and shuts the engine off. Her gaze then drifts towards the double doors. There's a small crowd gathering, getting ready for the wedding.

She sighs, then turns her head to give you a sharp look. “Don't do anything funny-”

“I know,” you dismiss her, unbuckling your seatbelt. “I'm over it, Sev.”

“Remember, you're here as a guest. Keep your head straight. You hear me?”

“I'm not going to cause trouble,” you reassure Sevika and open the door, hopping out of the truck. “I just want to see her one last time.”

Twelve years ago, you dreamed of this day. The day when Powder would walk down the aisle, wearing white, and you would be waiting at the end. You dreamed of the sound of the wedding march and her taking your hand, and you both saying your vows, spending the rest of your lives together. 

Twelve years later, you'll have to bury those dreams. Because once she was done walking down the aisle, she'd be someone else's wife.

—

10 YEARS AGO

“You're gonna be a doctor someday, and I'm gonna be an engineer.”

You're lying down on the couch, your arms wrapped around her shoulder as she rests her head on your chest. She traces her index finger lazily on your stomach. 

“We're gonna be rich and super smart.” Powder smiles and moves so she can face you, propping her chin on your chest. “I'm gonna invent all these cool machines and gadgets, and you're gonna be the best doctor in the world.”

“And then we can go to all these cool places,” you add. “Paris, London, Prague... everywhere.”

She grins and leans forward, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “I want to build a future with you,” she murmurs. “I want you by my side.”

“Always,” you reply. “I don't want a future without you.”

—

PRESENT

“Everything is in the past now. This is for her.” 

You blink once and rub your eyes, trying to shake out the memories dancing in your head. “That's easy for you to say. You weren't the one who dated her,” you mutter under your breath.

Sevika hears, though. “Oh? So that's what you're going to do? Complain about your failed relationship? You had what you wanted, and yet you threw it away.”

“I had to-” you start to say, but the sound of violins starting to play interrupts you.

The wedding march begins to play, and you stand up along with the rest of the attendees, turning your heads towards the entrance as the doors are pulled open.

There she is.

Powder wears a sleeveless off white wedding dress, and a long white veil covers her face. There's a bouquet of flowers in her hands, with long ribbons trailing along the floor behind her. You can see the smile on her face under the thin veil. 

If this was your wedding, what would it have looked like?

The beautiful church. The flowers lining the aisle. Powder, wearing a white wedding dress as she walks towards you. Everything is how you dreamed of it.

But then she reaches the end of the aisle, standing next to her groom before the pastor. Ekko whispers to her, and she laughs softly.

The pastor begins talking, but you focus your attention on Powder and Ekko. Ekko looks great. He cleans up really nicely in his suit. He reaches out to take Powder's hand in his. 

You look away, your attention turning back to the pastor.

“Those who have any reason why this couple should not be joined in Holy Matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

—

8 YEARS AGO

“I'll marry you here.”

Powder's arms wrap around you as she rests her chin on your shoulder, looking at the wide open view of the sky above. You stand on the roof of an unfinished building, watching the night sky. 

“Isn't this a little cliché,” you tease. “Making these future promises in the night sky?”

“Maybe… but I meant what I said. I'm going to marry you one day.”

“I know you do,” you say, turning around and wrapping your arms around her.

She chuckles. “I'm going to marry you in a church with all our family and friends. I'm going to wear a really pretty white dress, and you'll only be looking at me.”

“I'm already in love with you. It doesn't matter if you're in a dress or not. I'll still look at you like you're the most beautiful and amazing person I've ever seen.”

She smiles and reaches up to cup your face with her hands. “We're going to grow old together,” she whispers. “We're going to be happy forever. We're going to be happy… right?”

“Of course we're going to be happy,” you reply, covering her hands with one of yours. “I'll be happy as long as you're happy.”

—

PRESENT

You spot Silco in the crowd, watching the ceremony. He catches your gaze and gives you a nod. You return it and then turn your attention back to the front.

Powder stands beside Ekko, her focus on the pastor, her hand intertwined with his.

No doubt they're thinking of the same things you just were. Vows, love, happiness... they're thinking of the future. Of their future.

You wish you could be thinking the same things. But you're stuck in the past. Stuck in the memory of how it used to be. The what-ifs, the maybes, the supposed-to-bes.

7 years, 84 months, 2,557 days, 61,362 hours.

So many moments and days that were spent, just to be left with nothing but memories. 

You want to go back to those moments, to those days, and do things differently.

But life isn't like that. Time doesn't stop for anyone. Life doesn't stop for those left behind. Time keeps moving forward, and so does life.

Those memories you're thinking of? They stay in the past. And they stay there forever.

You have to learn to let go.

—

5 YEARS AGO

You don't know what to do anymore. Everything in your life just keeps piling up on top of you.

You're working part time jobs to keep the electricity on and to put food on the table. All while trying to keep your grades up at least above a B.

And Powder's failure on her board exams certainly didn't help.

She's been locked in the workshop for hours, working on some machine, some new gadget, something to keep her mind off the disappointment from the exam.

You've tried to be supportive. You've done everything you could. You've tried to reassure her that there's always next year, that she still has time to try again.

Still, she won't listen. She just locks herself away, avoiding you and ignoring your words. Every single night, she spends it in her workshop, working, building, and creating.

You've tried to talk to her about helping financially, offering to give you small jobs, or even just getting a part-time job. Anything would be helpful.

Yet, every time it's the same response. “I'm working on something important,” she would always say with a wave of her hand. Or if she didn't want to deal with you, she'd simply reply with “I just need a little bit more time.”

You know why she's not able to take your suggestions about getting a job. She feels like a disappointment. 

Her passion is her coping mechanism, and she has the right to cope with her failures in her own way. Her inventions and creations are the only source of joy she currently has, and you don’t want to tear it away from her despite the fact that it's slowly tearing apart your future together.

But you need the help, you need another source of income, and there's nothing you can do without upsetting your girlfriend.

So, you keep trying to keep everything together. You work, you cook, you clean, you stay up way too late at night studying, you run on less and less sleep, and you take on odd jobs on the weekends.

You tell yourself that it's going to work out. That everything will be fine. That if you just keep going, things will get better.

This is for you and Powder's future anyway.

—

PRESENT

After the wedding, people head into the reception hallway, chatting among themselves. You and Sevika find your way to a table with your name cards.

The reception hall is decorated with flowers hanging everywhere and strings of fairy lights hanging across the walls. The tables are covered with light blue tablecloths, and there are pink ribbons wrapped around the back of each of the wooden chairs.

“Can everybody take their seats?” You look up to the stage, where Ekko stands holding a microphone with Powder beside him. “We appreciate you coming here for us. It really means a lot.”

Powder holds onto Ekko's hand, and he brings it up to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of her hand, causing her to grin. 

“I'd like to thank everyone who helped us plan everything. I'd also like to thank the person who made this dream possible,” Ekko continues, and he motions for Powder to step up to the microphone.

“Thank you for coming to our wedding,” Powder says. “I'm really glad everyone is here.” She looks out to the audience, and her eyes land on you. “It means a lot to have everyone we care about here.”

She smiles and she looks at Ekko again, who is staring at her with adoration.

“I'd like to start with a toast to my now-husband,” she says. “Ekko... it's hard to find the words to express how I feel about you. I could never describe everything you mean to me or how you make me feel. Every second with you is a gift, and every day you make me the luckiest person in the world. I love you more than anything. Cheers!”

Everyone raises their glass, a chorus of ‘cheers’ rings around the room. You raise your glass as well, joining in. Sevika does the same, sipping her wine in one gulp.

The rest of the night continues with more speeches and congratulations. After the dinner, the room then becomes more lively. People are getting up from the table to dance, and you can see Powder and Ekko heading to the dance floor.

She used to love dancing with you. Back when things were good. When they were easy.

It would be after late nights when she was bored or restless, dancing around your apartment at two in the morning. Eventually, you'd give in and get up from the bed, grabbing her around the waist and dancing with her, even if you were tired.

But it was more than that. It's dancing in the rain, the moonlight, the early mornings. It was the smiles and the gentle touches when no one was looking. It was the promises you made to each other when it was only you and her. 

It was everything you dreamed of and more. And here you are, watching someone else dance with her.

—

5 YEARS AGO.

“You can't even—God, Pow!” you grumble to yourself, watching the pile of dishes in the sink. “I thought you were going to do these yesterday.”

The apartment is a mess. The couch is littered with food boxes and wrappers. The garbage can is overflowing with used plastic utensils, food scraps. The small kitchen sink is stacked with unwashed dishes. Some of them have been there for a few days. She said she'd do them last night after she finished up some tinkering in the workshop.

“I said I'm sorry-”

“-It's the same thing, over and over again! you say you're going to do something, and you never do it. It's like I'm talking to a brick wall. Why do I even bother?!” 

“I'll do it today!” she protests, “I just-”

“You just what? Didn't get around to it? Too busy tinkering on something that you'll eventually forget about?”

“It's not like that!”

You turn to face her, pointing with a finger. “You always say you'll do something, but you never do! You can't even go a day without messing up. I'm tired of cleaning up after you-”

“-I can help too-”

“-But you never do!” you snap. “I do all the cooking, I clean the apartment, I do the laundry, I take care of the bills, I do the groceries, I-” you gesture around the room. “-I've been working my ass off, trying to keep us afloat, trying to make sure we have food and power. Why cant you be useful for once?!”

Her face falls at that last word, and she clenches her fists. “Useful?” Powder repeats. “Seriously?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “You're not doing any better than a pet at this rate. At least a dog has some goddamn purpose-”

“-I'm not a dog!” She storms over to you and grabs onto your shirt, shoving you hard on the chest. “I'm not doing all this to be useless! I'm doing it because I have to! Because I'm going to make something that's going to matter! I want to do something that matters. I want to matter. I'm trying, alright?!”

“You're trying.” You scoff and shove her hand away from you. “Trying to do what? sit around and watch me do all the work? you're trying to what? make some pointless gadget that won't ever do anything other than blow up in your face?”

“Is that really what you think of me?”

“What the hell am I supposed to think?! all you ever do is screw up! every single thing you touch breaks, every single thing you try to do fails, and you just keep messing things up! I've been trying to be supportive. I've been trying to be understanding. Every single day, every time I come home, every single time I talk to you, but it's always the same!”

“What's that supposed to mean?!”

“Every time I ask you to do something, it's always the same excuse-”

“-Is it so wrong that I want to do things that make me happy?!” she interrupts sharply. “This is my passion. This is what I'm meant to do. YOU, of all people, know why this is important to me! YOU know why it means so much!”

“Passion?” you echo, pacing around the apartment. “Your goddamn passion? It won't keep the electricity running. It won't buy you food to eat. YOU only care about yourself and YOUR goddamn passion and YOUR stupid dreams and YOUR needs! It's never about us, or our future, or what WE need to do to survive. It's always ABOUT YOU!”

You stop in your tracks and look at her, your chest heaving. “I've given everything! Everything I have to keep us afloat! Everything to keep going! But I'm so fucking tired! I'm tired of carrying your weight. I'm tired of carrying your dreams. I'm tired of dealing with your bullshit.”

She's always hated it when you yell at her. She hates it when you argue.

You hate it too. You hate seeing her eyes fill up with tears while her lips tremble. 

“I've put up with so much, SO MUCH because I thought it was worth it. I thought if I just kept going, things would work out. I thought if I kept trying... I wanted something good for us. I wanted us together, happy, to be able to live good lives. I thought we were going together,” you gesture at her, “I thought we were doing this together.”

“We are,” she says, and she looks away. “We are.”

“Are we?” you ask her, and you sigh. “I'm so tired.”

“You... you're tired of me.”

You nod slowly, staring at the ground. “I'm tired of having to spend my time taking care of everything. I'm tired of picking up after you. I'm tired of doing everything by myself. I'm tired of cleaning up your messes. I'm-” you rub your eyes, tiredly “-I... I just feel like I'm wasting my time in this relationship.”

Powder steps forward, reaching out to touch you, but her hand falls back to her side at the last second. “Are you... is this it?” she asks. “Are you breaking it off?”

…

…

She flinches as your silence confirms her fears. “Then…” she starts to say, and she clears her throat. “Then just leave. Please just leave.”

Hearing her say that finally rips another piece of your heart. You look away from her, trying to control the tears that are starting to form in your eyes. “Fine,” you say, “if that's what you want.”

You turn away and start packing your things, making it quick. There's no time to stay here any longer than you have to. You shove your things into a suitcase, grabbing the essentials and shoving them inside. 

You look around the apartment. The apartment that you two made yours. The apartment that you two spent years in. The apartment that had more memories than anyone could count.

You spot a small, framed picture sitting on the nightstand. It's a photo of the two of you at her favorite bar. You were celebrating her getting into her dream university.

Her arms are wrapped around your neck, her cheeks pressed against yours as the both of you smile at the camera. One of your arms is slung around her waist. You're holding a beer in your other hand.

You were happy back then, weren't you? Back when both of you were sure about the future. Back when you thought all your dreams were within reach. Back when you believed you could spend the rest of your life together.

It was so easy to love her. So easy. And you did it so willingly. She stole every part of you until there was no part of you that belonged to you anymore.

You start moving towards the door, a suitcase in hand. Your hand rests on the doorknob, and you can feel her eyes staring at the back of your head.

You don't look back, because you know that if you do, you will run back to her. You'll forget everything that happened. You'll forget the fights and the arguments. You'll forget the cold shoulders and the sharp bites of words. You'll forget everything because you'll only remember how much you love her.

But for your sake, and hers...

You turn the doorknob and walk out the door.

Just as the door closes behind you, you hear the first sob from the other side.

You hear it in the hitch of her breath. You hear the faint thud of her landing on the ground. You hear her cry, you hear her gasping for air between sobs, you hear the sounds of her breaking.

And it's then, and only then, do the tears finally escape.

Your knees buckle, and you sink to the ground, your back pressed against the door. You press your hand over your mouth, the only thing to stop your sobs from being heard on the other side.

You miss what you used to be. You miss what you had.

But you know that there is no going back. This is the end of it. You and her, you and who once meant everything to you, will never, ever be the same again.

This time, when the door closes, it closes for good. 

Your hands tremble as you force yourself to get up, holding the handle of your suitcase tightly. You look at the door you walked through one last time before turning away to face your future without her.

—

PRESENT

The reception goes on, and a few hours later, everyone starts leaving the reception. You stand up and head out with Sevika, making the walk towards the parking lot.

You're nearly at Sevika's truck when someone calls out. “Hey... wait up.”

You look over your shoulder to see Powder walking towards you. You stop and turn to face her, Sevika stopping at your side.

“I was hoping to catch you guys before you left,” Powder says. “Can we speak for a bit?” she asks, and she looks anxious. “Alone?”

You hesitate for a moment before nodding your head once.

Sevika looks between the two of you. “I'll wait here,” she responds and lights up a cigarette, leaning against the truck.

She rubs her cheek awkwardly and then points towards a lone bench off to the side of the road. “Can we sit?”

You follow Powder, and the two of you sit down on the bench, leaving a few feet of space between you. 

Powder fiddles awkwardly with her ring, twisting it nervously around her finger. “Thanks for coming today,” she starts. “Um, Ekko... he wanted everyone to come. Wanted us all to sort of move on and... be at peace. Wanted to make sure everything is good between everyone.”

You nod, understanding. “It was a beautiful wedding,” you say politely. “You two looked great up there.”

“...thanks.” 

The silence is weird and awkward and strange, and you don't know her anymore because it's been so long. 

Then, she speaks again.

“I was hoping to talk to you about... a lot of things. But... mostly... I just wanted to say-” she pauses, hesitating. “I'm... I'm sorry,” she says, her eyes flickering to your face before looking away. “...I'm sorry,” she repeats. “For... everything, I guess. For letting things get so... messed up. I shouldn't have... I should've…”

“It's alright,” you say, and you sound gentle and understanding. “We don't have to-”

“-No, we do,” she interrupts. “I need to get this out.”

You nod again, and she continues. 

“I was... lost back then. I was messed up back then. I didn't know what to do... after my exams, and I-” she stops, biting her lip. “There were other things as well, but that's what tipped me over. I just didn't know what to do... but instead of doing nothing, I started doing something. And that ended up messing everything up-

I focused... I focused on what I was good at. I focused on what I enjoyed. I pushed you away cause... I didn't want to face everything. I didn't want to face you, cause I didn't want to face everything wrong with myself. I thought... I thought I could do everything by myself. I thought I could handle it. I wasn't thinking of you. I wasn't... I just kept thinking about... about what I wanted. What I needed,” she murmurs. “You were the only thing in my life that was going right. You were the only thing I had. And I was so scared of ruining it. I didn't mean to, though. I just…” she huffs, “...I'm sorry.”

She looks back at you, the tears starting to stream down her cheeks. “I'm sorry... I'm sorry for not being strong enough, for not giving you the love you needed, for not being better. You... I… I'm so sorry…”

You reach for her hand, and she lets your fingers intertwine. “I'm sorry too,” you tell her. “I'm sorry for leaving. I didn't do it because I wanted to, I did it because I had to. I had to do it for us-

It wasn't like I didn't... I didn't want to be there for you,” you continue as your vision starts to blur. “I did want to... but I couldn't keep giving everything while waiting for you... waiting for you to... find yourself. I needed to let go, because we were falling apart. We would never have gotten to where we are now if I didn't let go. You wouldn't be the engineer you are now, and I wouldn't be the doctor I am now. I had to let you go for both of us.”

“You were right for doing it,” she whispers as she stares at your fingers intertwined with hers. “I… I hated that you left. I didn't want to admit it, but deep down, I think I knew. I think I always knew that we weren't meant for each other.” A tear slips down her cheek and hits your intertwined hands. “We were always on different paths, you and I.”

It feels like the weight is off your shoulders and hers too.

“We tried, right?”

She nods, wiping her eyes with the heel of her palm.

“We tried our best, right?” you ask, and this time she pauses because it sounds like a farewell.

And it is. 

“We did…” she replies. “We tried our best.”

7 years of memories, the good and the bad. The ones that you would never forget.

“Thank you. Thank you... for the memories. I know… I know things didn't end how I wished they would, but I… I don't regret a single moment of being with you,” you say. “What we had... it was enough. For me.”

You pause as she turns to look at you, a smile on her face. It's a small smile, but it is genuine, and it's more than enough.

“I'm happy you're happy,” you murmur.

“I want you to be happy too.”

“...I'll be happy.”

Her hand squeezes yours, and you return the pressure. You don't want to let go.

A pause.

She lets go first. Her fingers sliding out of yours and falling back into her lap.

She then stands up. “I... I think Ekko is already looking for me.”

“Yeah.” You nod. “Yeah, good—yeah. I... I should be going too.” You follow suit, facing her, and try to memorize the look on her face one last time. “I forgive you.” And you do, somehow, you do.

“I forgive you, too,” she murmurs. “I hope you... live your life the best way you can. I... I hope you... find happiness.”

Then... she steps forward, hesitates, and wraps her arms around your waist. You're surprised, but you return the embrace anyway. Your arms wrap around her shoulders, and you can feel her burying her face in your chest as she finally lets herself feel it, all five years of it.

“Thank you,” she says against your chest. “Thank you-” her voice chokes up.

“It'll be alright,” you soothe, rubbing her back gently like it used to be, and she clings to you like she used to. “Everything will be alright.” 

You can't help but think, if the circumstances had been different, things would be different. That perhaps, in an alternate universe, it would be you and her. That, maybe, in another life, she would have taken you to see the stars on a cloudless night, and that you would have watched the sky together, with only the sound of crickets and the warmth of her hand intertwined with yours.

Maybe in another time, another universe, another life.

Maybe...

But not this one. Not this time, not this universe, not this life.

You're just two strangers, once again, caught in something that could have been a lifetime.

Two different people with completely different lives and futures.

You know nothing of her life for the past half-decade, and she doesn't know yours. You don't know the woman she has become, and she doesn't know the stranger you have grown into.

It's as if you've aged 5 years in the span of a few minutes.

Because you did, in a way.

You let each other go, in the end, and now you have to live the rest of your life in a world with her in it, but not with her.

Your time together is over, and you understand that. You will never be what each other needs or wants, and you accept that. You have the comfort of knowing that you've become who you're supposed to be.

It was fun while it lasted.

Maybe tomorrow, maybe in six months, maybe in a year's time, she will just be another memory. Maybe one day, when you look back at what you had, you could see it as a beautiful memory instead of a painful one.

You press a kiss into her hair before pulling away, your arms loosening around her frame.

She sniffs, rubbing both her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Take care of yourself, okay?” she asks, and you notice the tremble in her voice.

“You too,” you reply.

The wind blows, and she tucks her hair behind her ear. 

“Bye,” Powder says. “Take care.”

“Bye.” And... that's it. There's nothing more to say, nothing more to give.

She steps back and waves once. You wave back, and you hope for the best.

With that, you watch as she turns around and walks away to where Ekko is.

Once she approaches him, she leans into his side, burying her face into the crook of his neck. He puts an arm around her as she wraps her arms around his waist. You see them start walking away, back towards the venue, back towards all the happiness that will follow them.

Watching her go, you finally exhale. 

A few cars pass, people leaving the venue one by one. People leave with the ones they love, couples leaving hand in hand, friends talking amongst each other, families with their relatives. 

You smile once, then head back to Sevika, who's still leaning against the truck, finishing her cigarette. 

She looks you up and down as you approach, her eyes narrowing once she notices the lingering hint of wetness on your face. “How much are we drinking?” 

You laugh, but it's short lived, replaced with a deep exhale. “Your treat?” 

She scoffs. “Tch, you wish.” She looks at the venue before looking back at you. “Everything done?” 

You look over your shoulder, taking one last look at the venue. The lights, the people mingling, the laughter... and her.

Powder links her fingers together with Ekko as they head back. He says something in her ear that makes her laugh and shove him away playfully.

She's happy.

That's the only thing that matters.

“Yeah,” you say, finally turning away from the venue. “Everything's done.”

There are no more what-ifs, no more what-could've-beens. 

It is what it is.

[dimalry]

Humour me for a moment, please 🙏

A lot of people like talking about what if there was another Archeron sister? Just like, four instead of three, not like a secret sister. And since I really like your story telling, what do you think she would be like? Where would she fall in the birth order? What would her powers be? Etc. Obviously being that in depth is optional, but I, again, really like your story telling abilities and wanted to see what you would think!

Beware, some drawings look wonky and please excuse the poor dialog. I just drew it all over the weekend.

Meet Edith Archeron:

Let’s start with her past: Edith was born from a scandalous affair between Mr. Archeron and a wealthy lady. To protect her family’s reputation, her mother gave Edith up to the Archerons. It all happened shortly before Mrs. Archeron fell gravely ill and they lost their fortune. So unlike her sisters, she only ever knew poverty.

There was no one to properly raise Edith, even with her family around. Feyre was always out hunting, Nesta and Elain busy with chores, and their father sat uselessly in his chair. Edith grew up without guidance, no education, no manners, and little love. Nesta, angry at their father, would at times take it out on her, Elain was too focused on keeping herself alive, and Feyre believed that keeping them all alive was enough— Once, when Edith asked to join Feyre hunting, her clumsy movements scared off the prey and it frustrated Feyre a lot, she told her to not bother and go back. That’s when she got lost in the woods and got bitten by a magical little plant that infected her body. Without immediate treatment, she’s cursed with a slow, incurable disease. She’s in the early stages in which she can‘t use her bitten leg properly. She didn’t tell her sisters about it, thinking that it’s no big deal. She might not live past her early 20s.

I love to think of Edith as this weird, awkward, nonchalant kid. She‘d spent her time either helping with some chores, sleeping through the day or doing whatever she could outside (not far from the cottage) to entertain herself. She made some animal friends as well, hehe.

She also has no chill when it comes to saying what’s on her mind. Like when the Bat Boys meet the Archeron family for the first time— while Nesta and Elain are trying to stay calm despite their fear of Faeries, Edith just watches that one big bat spit some chewed-up food bits right into her dish. You can imagine how she called him out on it.

On to your question about her powers: She has none. She’s human and stays that way.-> After Tamlin provided them with enough wealth, Edith developed a habit of going out in the middle of the night to dip her feet into the lake. This act saved her from being kidnapped by Hybern‘s beasts when they came and forcefully took Nesta and Elain. It was quite a scare to run back in and find her sisters gone and their rooms destroyed.

While we see each of her sisters healing, finding their purpose in life and accepting their reality in the recent years, Edith starts to wonder about her future. She pretends it doesn’t bother her, but she questions her worth. She has no passions, any goals or a purpose in life and so It’s hard for her to watch her sisters happy while she’s left behind with nothing, merely passing through the days and waiting for the disease to take over. That is until she stumbles upon Bryaxis while trying to find a book with interesting enough pictures and doesn’t require reading.

The friendly, near invisible demon seems to know everything about her. It convinces her to strike a bargain: To live and be like her sisters in exchange for a favor it will call upon. (See the sketch above far right)— Don’t blame her, remember that she wasn’t taught basic survival skills and to be cautious.

It tells her exactly what to do, how to become immortal and powerful. The catch? She has to steal it from Rhysand. It was difficult but she pulled it off. ( Don’t ask how cause Idk. Maybe by using Faebane or something)

Edith now enjoys her new life. For the first time she has something that brings her genuine joy and she becomes quite obsessed with it. She even feels no pain in her left leg anymore! Her sisters though aren’t particularly happy about it and that bothers her a lot. She doesn’t understand what she‘s dealing with, nor that her sisters’ concerns come from love, not hatred. With that, Bryaxis takes advantage of her hurt and confusion and becomes her only „friend“. It speaks to her in mind, whispering manipulations, convincing her that everyone is against her. The more her emotions spiral, the stronger grasp Bryaxis has on her.

(Don’t mind the sketch below far right with the broken wrings, it has no relation to the story. I just thought it looked cool)

There’s a long history between Bryaxis and the royal family of the Night court. Long story short, It was hunted down and forced into servitude by a former High lord. In an act of vengeance, Bryaxis used people as vessels to spread chaos and destruction within this court. Therefor the High lord at that time caged it in the heart of the House of Wind, no one ever allowed to enter the the pit of the library and awaken this monster. (You can keep the scene of Bryaxis scaring the living sh*t out of Cassian when the bat boys were on their rebellious phase. It revealed its true form to him)

Rhysand is completely stripped of his magic and his immortality. You can Imagine how the power-hungry king feels about this. (Not to mention how disastrous it would be if people, within and outside the Night Court, hear a whisper of Rhys‘s current state). Rhys could learn how to view the lower class as more than weaklings.

And finally, when Edith completely loses control does Bryaxis step in and demand that she fulfill her end of the bargain: giving up her very soul to fuse with Bryaxis. Combined, they (more like Bryaxis) destroy everything in their path within the city of Starlight. Though Bryxis cannot venture beyond Velaris, it is more than satisfied with its newfound strength to destroy what’s precious to Rhys.

Feyre, of course, won’t stand for this. Since she cannot defeat Bryaxis without losing Edith in the process, she strikes a compelling bargain. Rhys isn’t at all happy about it.

As punishment, Edith is permanently banned from the Night Court. With Thesan's approval, she‘s sent to reside in the Dawn Court, where she undergoes surgeries and a mental recovery process. Elain decides to temporarily accompany her, working with scholars and scientists to assist in her treatment. Some of the researchers are excited to document her case, particularly the rare disease she contracted. With Elain's help, they manage to create a cure for it.

This is my design of her grown. During her recovery, Edith decided that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to receive an education. In the years that followed, she discovered her aspirations and passions and learns to be content with herself as a human

Don’t forget that Bryaxis is still out there, though no one heard a whisper of it since that incident. What if they meet again? And this time Edith‘s not interested in conserving with it while Bryaxis is kind of obsessed with her. I‘ve also added some love interests for it (see the rough sketches). I personally prefer no love interests, but if people like they can decide between the 2 or have both.

I‘m not quite sure what profession she‘d take. I’m thinking of her in the engineering field, working to progress the human lands maybe? Or she stays in the Dawn Court and work as an historian. Idk.

That was fun. When I first read your ask I actually just wanted to tell you that I‘m not a fan of the 4th sister theory and move on, but I decided to think on it. I wanted to draw it all too, but it didn’t come out right 😬

It’s not going to be a part of my remake though. Just a fun little story that could be applied to the original if people don’t have a problem with Bryxias & Feyre’s first meet up being changed. But thanks to you I have a new oc now! 🤗

[absdollievu]

You said you were different, but you’re the same

toxic!abby x reader

Warnings: none really, just toxic abby

You wake up in a cold bed. The sheets are tangled, your throat is dry, and your head is still foggy from crying yourself to sleep. The sun’s already dipped past the window, casting long shadows across the walls. For a moment, you lie there, hoping—praying—that maybe you just missed her leaving for a walk, or maybe she’s in the kitchen, brooding silently like she does when the guilt starts to weigh on her.

But the house is quiet. Still.

Your chest tightens as you pull yourself out of bed, every step toward the hallway echoing louder than it should. Her boots are gone. Her jacket too. The keys aren’t on the hook. You check your phone—no messages. No missed calls. Just the timestamp reminding you it’s been almost a full day since the screaming stopped.

The argument plays in your head like a curse you can’t shake. The shouting. The slamming doors. Her face twisted in rage, veins in her neck taut as she barked back at you. You’d accused her of shutting you out again. She’d accused you of always picking fights just to feel something.

“You think you’re the only one who’s fucking miserable here?” she had snapped.

“At least I don’t run away from my feelings like a coward,” you shot back.

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you, Abby. I’m done trying to fix you.”

You didn’t mean it. Or maybe you did. But it didn’t matter. You passed out eventually, emotionally drained and heart-raw. And she left. Just like that. No goodbye. No door slam. Just… gone.

The tears come quickly. Your knees hit the floor of the living room before you realize it, and you grab your phone, fingers trembling as you call your best friend. When they pick up, you don’t even try to hold it together.

“She left. I think for good this time,” you choke out, voice cracked and small. “I—I don’t know what to do.”

They talk you down. Sit with you on the phone. Tell you to breathe, to drink water, to stop blaming yourself. And you try. You try so fucking hard. But the pain is curling in your chest like a fist.

It’s past midnight when you hear the door open.

You whip your head around from the couch, heart pounding—and there she is. Abby. Calm. Like she didn’t just disappear for the entire goddamn day. Like your world didn’t just fall apart without her in it.

She shrugs off her jacket. “Hey,” she says casually, like she’s just getting home from work. “Did you eat?”

You stare at her in disbelief. “Are you fucking serious?”

She blinks, as if you’re the one overreacting. “What?”

“You fucking left, Abby! No note. No call. You just disappeared after that fight like I meant nothing to you!”

Her jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. “I needed space. You were acting crazy last night.”

That word. That goddamn word.

“Don’t you fucking call me crazy,” you snap, standing up. “You walked out. You left me to cry alone in this house like a piece of shit. And now you want to act like everything’s fine?”

“I didn’t come back to fight—”

“Then you shouldn’t have come back at all!”

The yelling starts again. But this time, it’s different. There’s no hesitation in your voice, no fear of losing her—just rage, built up over every night she came home late, every lie, every time she weaponized silence against you.

“Get the fuck out,” you say, shaking. “Take your shit and leave. I’m done.”

Abby scoffs, like you’re the unreasonable one. “You’re throwing me out? Seriously?”

You’re already gathering her things—jacket, gym bag, her charger, anything you can find—shoving it all into her arms, her duffel, the hallway.

“Don’t come back,” you say, voice breaking. “Not this time. I mean it.”

She stares at you for a long moment. And for once, she doesn’t fight it. She just leaves.

The door slams shut.

And you collapse onto the couch, the weight of it all finally crushing you. The silence is deafening. The anger fades. All that’s left is the ache.

And the tears.

You sit there in the dark, knees pulled to your chest, sobbing into the same couch where you once laid in her lap and thought you’d be safe forever.

But forever ended a long time ago. You’re just finally catching up to it.

⸻

a/n: repost because somehow I forgot the pictures and stuff. Part 3??

[sturnsblogs]

can we get more teacher!matt & elianna🙏🏼 maybe matt realising she still isn’t taking it very well so making sure to spend a lot more one of one time with her before the babies are born?

You are the reason.

Teacher!Matt X Milf!Reader

—

Matt noticed it more and more lately—Eliana’s shoulders shrinking when people talked about the babies, the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes when strangers asked if she was excited to be a big sister. She was doing her best to be brave, to be happy, but Matt knew her. And he could tell.

So he decided to do something about it.

One morning, while you were still in bed rubbing your aching back and fighting off morning nausea, Matt crouched down next to Eliana, who was quietly coloring at the kitchen table in her pajamas.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said gently. “What do you think about skipping school today?”

She looked up slowly, suspicious. “Why?”

“Because I want to steal you,” he smiled. “Just me and you. No babies, no mom, no distractions. We can do whatever you want. Ice cream for breakfast? Park? Arcade? Target? I’m yours today.”

Eliana blinked at him for a second, her eyes slowly widening. “Just us?”

“Just us,” he promised, bumping her nose. “You and me. Deal?”

She nodded slowly. “Deal.”

—

They started at the breakfast diner down the street where Matt let her order chocolate chip pancakes and chocolate milk. They played tic-tac-toe on the napkin and she won every round (mostly because he let her, but she didn’t need to know that). Afterward, they went to the little local park with the carousel she liked, and Matt pushed her on the swings so high she laughed so loud it echoed.

At the arcade, he let her win in air hockey and get 5 things from the prize wall. And at Target, she got to pick a new Barbie and a matching mini purse—one she picked out “for the babies” just so she could still feel helpful.

Later that day, after getting milkshakes to go, they sat on a picnic bench just outside the park, Matt watching her kick her feet beneath her as she sipped her strawberry shake.

“Hey,” he said softly, nudging her with his elbow. “Can I ask you something?”

Eliana looked up, her lips a little pink from the shake. “Yeah?”

“Are you still feeling kinda… sad? About the babies coming?”

Her face fell a little. She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Matt nodded slowly, keeping his tone calm and easy. “You can tell me stuff like that, you know. I’m not gonna get mad.”

“I just…” she sighed. “I don’t want everything to change.”

“It will a little,” he admitted. “Babies are a lot. They cry, they poop, they steal a lot of attention.”

She frowned.

“But,” he added, “nothing’s gonna change how much I love you. Or how important you are. You were my first. You made me a dad, you know that? Even if we aren’t blood.”

“I thought Mom made you a dad,” she mumbled.

Matt chuckled. “Okay, fair. But you’re the reason I like being one.”

Eliana looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I’m always gonna make time for you, El,” he said honestly. “Even if I’m holding one baby in one arm and the other’s screaming, if you need me, I’m there. I promise.”

“You swear?” she asked, holding out her pinky.

He looped his with hers. “I swear.”

And then, after a quiet second, Eliana leaned in and rested her head on his side, snuggling against him without saying anything else.

And that’s how they sat for a while. Strawberry shakes in hand. Just them.

Just as it should be.

—

A/N- K guys be super duper ready for the next fic. Grab tissues and wrap yourself in a blanket preparing to cry.

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss @ilovemenwithlonghairr @whore4-chrissturniolo