#it’s too new and raw and they both need to figure out how to Be together

[minjoongism]

the way people talk about mg sometimes absolutely breaks my heart. we barely got ANYTHING from his preview and still people are running with their own narratives. “why is he barking that’s so cringe” “he’s doing way too much” “all he does is bark and take his shirt off” as if having fun and being confident and sexy immediately undermines any of his other contributions to the group. he IS over the top but so genuine about it, he is SO happy on stage and just wants you to be happy too

the good thing about a stage persona is the mask gives you the freedom to play around with how you act without needing it to bleed into who you are offstage. the bad thing about a stage persona is sometimes people take a few occasionally-seen traits and turn them into immutable parts of you as an individual.

this happens with plenty of public figures, whether positively, neutrally, and negatively, but mingi definitely gets the short end of the stick a lot with how he’s perceived. and it’s crazy to me because 1) the barking is clearly just a fun stage thing to engage with the crowd (and on their most recent tour, a lot of the barking was actually initiated by atiny from what i’ve seen, because they knew he’d done it at previous shows and wanted to experience that himself) and 2) mingi doesn’t undress all that much. it wouldn’t matter in the slightest if he did either of those things (san and seonghwa both showed a lot of skin on tour. they’re grown men who spend a lot of time working on their bodies - there’s nothing wrong with wanting to show that hard work off), but imo it’s blown way out of proportion for mingi and done solely to try and undermine him.

+ i went back and listened to the roar preview before answering this and the preview sounds very much to me like it’s going to be the chorus. choruses are meant to be more repetitive and engaging than the rest of the song, so having three (3) lines of barking makes perfect sense because it’ll give the crowd a way to join in regardless of what language they speak. ntm the song is called roar. why wouldn’t he be making loud (animal) sounds in the chorus?

none of mingi’s earlier solo projects (like desire projects 1 and 2 + untitled) have ever been dumbed down or shallow. he’s an incredibly raw lyricist who has always used his solo work to explore incredibly vulnerable periods of his life and share them with us as listeners. even if roar does end up being less complex, he’s honestly earned it after everything he’s given to us to date, but i really doubt it’s going to be an empty song. he’s just doing what he does best - giving 200% of himself to something and trying something new musically. walking his own path and sticking to his guns (ntm he went out of his way to get an entirely new production team… this doesn’t seem like something he’s half-assing. he clearly really cares about getting roar right). and i think it’ll pay off! a high-energy song amidst the rest of the solos is going to stick out like a sore thumb in the best possible way, since most of the others seem pretty even re: the energy levels of the previews.

++ “he IS over the top but so genuine about it” - exactly!! stage mingi is camp. he’s drag in the purest sense to me and he’s FUN to watch. his energy is so infectious and i can’t wait to see what a live performance of roar is going to look like <3

[nutmegtales]

Alive Again - Part 11

Cups of tea and quiet hours spent reading were lovely, and it filled a craving in Danny’s core that he’d long learnt to ignore.

But it was time to start moving again. He could feel the restlessness in Jason, it seemed to grow at night when the other would check his watch, and then pace around the tiny apartment, it reminded Danny of a caged tiger. It reminded him of himself after too long couped up in the castle.

He felt a little bad, knowing it was almost certainly because of him that the other man felt obligated to stay. If he could just get a handle on this damned human body.

Tonight though it seemed that Jason had plans. “Hey” he’d nudged Danny with a devilish grin on his lips that made Danny’s chest ache. “I was thinking tonight we could try something?”. Jason sounded so hopeful, and honestly who was Danny to deny him anything?

Danny landed on his back with a whoomph, the air escaping his lungs in a sudden burst. Oh, it felt good to breath like this! with real air in his lungs and his heart beat hard in his chest. Jason landed on the mats half a second later and tried to grapple Danny. There was still a big power difference between them even in this form, but Danny knew to pull his claws in and was thoroughly enjoying figuring out an even match to the others strength.

Danny managed to trap one of Jason’s legs, and damn weren’t they built like tree trunks -No don’t think of that, concentrate- He rolled them over so now it was Jason laying on the mats. Danny backed up quickly knowing the larger man would be up and following in a heartbeat.

They swung at each other, precise and hard. Grappling together on the mats of Jason’s sparring gym. Feeling the deep pressure and the exhilaration of the play fight.

Danny tried once or twice to tug at Jason’s Not core just to see if he could prompt some kind of power from it, but it seemed whatever it was it wasn’t in any shape to fuel Jason with anything but rage.

Now though they both had grins spread across their faces, Danny’s cheeks ached with it along with the rest of his body. He’d missed this. Ghosts need to brawl, it’s just one of the fundamental needs that they have. He’d learned from Frostbite in the early days that many ghosts he encountered would be more interested in challenging him for a brawl rather than being fueled by any real hostility. But what ghosts would brawl their King?

He realised now as he blocked a swing from Jason that maybe it isn’t just ghosts that need to brawl, maybe it’s halfas too. It would explain a lot actually.

Both of them were left panting together on the mats afterwards. It was wonderful, and Danny felt his core thrumming happily. He felt... He felt good really good. Like there was a new energy to him, a spring in his step, he felt he had a better grasp of what he was capable of in this form, and what his Anchor was capable of too.

As they caught their breath Danny’s mind turned to more thoughts of his Anchor, and his strange Not core. How did that fit in with the calm and caring man he was growing to know? What had happened to him to create such a raw and corrosive power.

The more he got to know Jason, the more curious he seemed to become.

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[thatonegirlonhere]

Behind the curtain

Chapter one: Not a Kiss, Not Yet

Seungmin x f!trainee reader

Cw: slow burn, love at first sight, eventual smut (in chapter 4),

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 ||

JYP’s building never slept. Even in the dead of night, one of the floors always had a light on. A rhythm echoing from behind a door. A dream in motion.

You were one of those dreams.

A new trainee, barely a few months in, eyes wide, body aching, chasing a future that felt both far away and one practice away.

Tonight, the dance studio on the third floor was quiet—until you walked in. Your group training had ended, but you stayed late to perfect a routine. You liked it best when no one was around to judge, when it was just you and the mirror.

You didn’t know someone else was watching.

Seungmin had only come to grab a charger he left behind. He didn’t expect to see someone dancing alone—someone he didn’t recognize.

You moved like you were trying to shake off the weight of the world. There was something unpolished, raw, but honest. Beautiful, even when it wasn’t perfect.

He stood quietly just outside the door, heart caught in his throat.

He had no idea who you were—but he felt like he needed to.

You finished the routine with a shaky breath, bending over with your hands on your knees. Your hair stuck to your forehead and your hoodie clung to your skin.

That’s when you noticed him. A tall figure leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, expression unreadable. You jumped.

“Oh my god, how long have you been there?!”

Seungmin smiled. Soft, amused. “Long enough to see you almost nail that ending.”

You blinked, still catching your breath. “Were you… spying?”

He shrugged. “Just admiring.”

Your heart stumbled in your chest. “A-admiring?”

He stepped inside the room, pulling his hood down. You recognized him now—Kim Seungmin of Stray Kids. Suddenly, your throat was dry.

“I’m Seungmin.”

“I know.” You laughed nervously. “I mean—not in a creepy way. I just… I’ve seen you perform. You’re amazing.”

He chuckled. “Thanks. And you are…?”

“Y/N. I just joined. Vocal and dance team.” You bowed instinctively. “Sorry if I was disturbing anyone.”

“You weren’t. Actually…” He tilted his head. “You kind of made my night.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“You looked like you were dancing for yourself. That’s rare.” His voice was softer now. “It was… real.”

You blinked again, unsure how to respond. Compliments didn’t come often in this world. Genuine ones? Even rarer.

“I—uh, thanks. That means a lot. Especially coming from you.”

He gave a sheepish smile, hands in his pockets. “Can I watch again sometime?”

Your stomach fluttered. “If I don’t trip and embarrass myself, sure.”

He grinned. “Even if you do.”

——————

After that night, Seungmin always seemed to appear.

In the halls. By the vending machines. During joint company meetings. And sometimes—when you stayed late to practice—he’d be sitting quietly against the wall again, earbuds in, pretending to scroll through his phone but eyes always flickering toward you.

You tried to act cool. But it was hard when Kim Seungmin smiled at you like that.

And harder still when he started bringing you snacks. Or warm tea when he noticed you coughed too much. Or offered to run lines when you were prepping for your first showcase.

Your friends whispered behind your back: “He likes you.”

You didn’t believe it. Not really. You were just a trainee. A nobody. And he—he was already someone.

But then came the night everything changed.

The rooftop of the JYP building was quiet at midnight. You liked going up there when things felt too much. Which was often.

Tonight was especially hard. You’d been scolded for missing a step. Your vocals cracked. You overheard a senior trainer say you “weren’t ready.”

You needed air.

What you didn’t expect was for Seungmin to be up there too, sitting on the edge with a iced americano in hand, staring out at the city lights.

“Rough day?” he asked without turning around.

You hesitated, then walked toward him. “Is it that obvious?”

He glanced at you. “Only because I know the look.”

You sat beside him, your shoulder barely brushing his.

“I don’t think I’m good enough,” you whispered.

He didn’t speak for a moment. Then, softly:

“I knew you were the moment I saw you.”

You turned to him, startled.

“I wasn’t lying that night,” he said. “You had something. You still do.”

You looked away, trying to hide the burning in your eyes.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I want to.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

You blinked, turning back to him. His eyes were sincere, steady.

“I’m not supposed to like anyone right now,” you whispered.

“I’m not either,” he smiled. “But here we are.”

The silence stretched between you, gentle and warm. Then, with careful courage, he reached out and laced his pinky with yours.

Not a kiss. Not yet.

But a promise.

———————

Your trainee group was finally set to perform at a small internal showcase in front of company staff and select artists.

It wasn’t technically a debut, but it was the first time your name was printed on a running order. The first time you wore in-ears. The first time the spotlight was yours.

You were shaking.

Backstage, you paced nervously, hands trembling. Your groupmates tried to comfort you, but nothing worked.

Until a stagehand whispered, “Someone’s asking for you in the hallway.”

You rushed out, confused—and there he was.

Seungmin.

Wearing a mask and cap, clearly not supposed to be here. But he didn’t care.

“Y/N.” His voice was soft, eyes crinkling. “You ready?”

“No,” you whispered honestly.

He smiled, stepping closer. “That’s okay. You don’t have to feel ready. Just feel real. Like you did that first night I saw you.”

You swallowed thickly. “What if I mess up?”

He reached out and took your hand.

“Then you mess up. And you smile. And you keep going. Because that’s what the best ones do.”

His fingers squeezed yours gently. “And you’re one of the best ones, remember?”

You looked up at him, nerves still dancing under your skin—but steadier now.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“Kill it out there,” he said. “I’ll be watching. Secretly.”

You went on stage.

You danced like it was just you and the mirror. You sang like it was your last chance. You stumbled on one move, laughed through it, and kept going—just like he said.

You finished breathless.

And when the lights dimmed and the audience clapped, you could’ve sworn you saw him in the back, clapping harder than anyone else.

——————

A week later, everything shifted.

Your group was selected to debut in the next rotation. You were ecstatic. Terrified. Overwhelmed. Trainers started pushing harder. Your days stretched from 10 hours to 15.

And somewhere in the rush, you stopped seeing Seungmin.

Until one night—he texted.

“Rooftop?”

You ran. Hoodie thrown over your practice clothes, breath caught in your throat as you pushed open the door.

He was already there, sitting on the edge like before.

“I missed you,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He looked up slowly, eyes searching yours. “I missed you too.”

You sat beside him, silent for a beat.

“I’m scared,” you admitted. “Of what happens if anyone finds out. Of breaking rules. Of ruining this before it even starts.”

He looked at you gently. “Me too.”

Another pause. The city lights glittered below, but they weren’t as bright as the way he looked at you.

“But I think…” He reached over and touched your hand softly. “I’d regret it more if I didn’t try.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

And then—your forehead pressed gently to his. A moment suspended in quiet.

Not a kiss, not yet.

But something even deeper.

A choice.

[thebookworm0001]

ideas beginning to solidify for post veilguard fic things

[glassbxttless]

No One’s Ever?

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 2.0k+

summary: Eddie’s 26, he’s had girlfriends before, he’s hung out at parties you threw with your college friends, and yet he’s holding back a secret that makes him feel like he’s missing out. You don’t mind fixing that little problem right up for him.

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, oral sex (m receiving), A new budding relationship, Eddie’s first blow job, a pinch of jealousy

notes: Eddie, my baby 🥹😭🫶🏻 This started off as a CC Fest fic, and it quickly evolved into something else lmao. So I hope yall enjoy it! Big thanks to @iitsmandii and @keeryhours for reading this over and @peachyproserpina for editing!

After ten years of friendship, you’d lost track of how many movie nights had ended like this— curled up with Eddie on his couch, both of you pretending you weren’t gradually orbiting closer to each other. Like two dumb magnets circling the inevitable— you’d had the conversation last week, decided you’d give it a go, the whole dating thing. The trailer was cluttered, guitar picks scattered on the side table, an ashtray on the counter that really needed to be emptied, a laundry basket of Eddie’s clothes that had clearly needed a wash.

You were sitting sideways on the couch, your legs stretched across his lap. That old blanket you’d gifted him back before graduation draped over both of your laps. It shows just how hard it’s been loved over the last six years, it’s threadbare, carries holes around the edges that Eddie has asked you to sew and then never brings it ‘round, the edges are fraying and yet, it’s still his favorite blanket. Simply because you had given it to him and now as it’s slung across both of you, your foot sticks out from under it. He picks at a loose string on your sock while the movie, Arachnaphobia, flickers in the background, droning on and on completely ignored.

Your eyes drift over your best friend’s— no, your boyfriend’s— face. His eyes focused down on what his hands are doing. He pulls the string loose and tears it from the fabric, leaning forward to toss it onto the coffee table before settling back in against the cushions. You watch as lean muscle moves under the faded Iron Maiden t-shirt that was definitely not his. You knew Eddie’s wardrobe and you knew he had never worn this one before. You figure it was Gareth’s by the way it rode up a bit in the back when he had leaned up. You smile, watching as he shakes his curls out just slightly, sighing.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” he says quietly— chewing the inside of his cheek raw— but his voice comes off casual. 

You finally meet his eyes, your eyebrows lifting in curiousity. “Yeah?”

He hesitates for a moment. It’s not dramatic, nor performative. It’s just long enough to let you feel the nerves bubbling up to the surface of his chest. He drags his hand upwards, his fingers pausing at your ankle. And then he runs his fingers up and down, rubbing gently at your skin. His fingertips are calloused and rough, but his palms warm, strong even. Your mind immediately drifting back to the way they had cupped your face the night he had told you he loved you at the feel of them. How he was so worried he’d ruined the friendship you had built up— he’d done it once before back in school, fucked up with a friend because his heart had gotten too involved. But you didn’t care, you just leaned into him, kissed him back, and—

“I’ve never had a blowjob,” he finally sighs, his eyes darting away from yours as his shoulders deflate. He leans back into the cushions, his index finger tapping against your ankle.

You blink, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” He lets out a self-conscious laugh, afraid you were just teasing him for half of a second. His mouth quirks up in an embarrassed smile as his cheeks start to pinken. “Kind of pathetic for a guy my age, right?”

You shake your head, sitting up just a little as one of your hands slides around his shoulders. “No… It’s just a bit unexpected... You’ve always talked like you were a walking sex manual.”

He huffs out another laugh and shakes his head. “Yeah, well... High school was all fumbles and dry-humping, and college…” He waves a hand vaguely in the air. Eddie didn’t go to college, his memories were just visits that consisted of him and Gareth trying to bang your roommates and nothing more than that. “I got good at some stuff. Fingering. Going down on girls. I’m not a total idiot. But somehow, no one’s ever offered to, y’know…”

You give him a look, a mix of confusion and pity. You rub his back gently, his shoulders, the back of his neck. Anywhere you can reach to make him just feel. “No one’s ever gone down on you, baby?”

“Not once.” He laughs again, but it was a little tighter, like he had just revealed his darkest secret. He fidgets a bit, shifts his hips under you. His hand tightening around your ankle for just a moment as he spreads his thighs just a little to get comfortable. But if you two were gonna try this dating thing, you might as well know. “I had one girl say she’d do it later.” You watch as he pulls at another loose string of your sock, biting his lip, nerves apparent with the way his brows are knotted down, before he speaks again, “Later never came. A few others just weren’t into it, I guess. I never wanted to be that guy who begged for it.”

You shift just a bit closer, your fingers brushing his wrist that had settled across your legs. “That really sucks, Eds.”

He shrugs, trying to play it off, but his pink cheeks are a dead giveaway. “It’s not like I’m really losing sleep over it, just… sometimes I think about it. Wonder if I’m missing out on something good, y’know?”

You pause, letting the silence stretch thin between you. Then you leaned in close to him again, your voice a whisper. “You are.”

He looks at you, his eyes sharpening just a little at the taunt. “Yeah? Am I?”

You nod at him, biting the inside of your cheek before you let out a breath. “And I’d like to fix that… If you want me to, that is.”

There’s a moment where you swear the only thing you can hear is Eddie’s heartbeat— just one moment— but then he exhales and smiles, a real big one this time. Crooked and soft and fucking stunned.

“You’re being serious, babe?”

“I am,” you say softly and nod, the blanket falling to the floor as you shift to straddle his lap. You run your fingers through his hair, catching on knots that you work out carefully. “Dead serious. Wanna let me blow your mind?”

Eddie lets out a laugh, not being able to believe what was unfolding in front of him. “God, I must’ve saved a fucking kitten from a burning building in a past life or something for this to be happening.”

“This is just what girlfriends do, Eds. Calm down.” You roll your eyes and kiss him— slow, steady, your hand twisting slightly at a bit of his hair— and he melts like warm wax right into you. His arms slide around your waist, his breath catching in his throat when you rock against him just once. By the time you pull away, his mouth is hanging slack and his pupils are blown wide. “Take your pants off,” you giggle softly. “Now.”

He obeys like he’d been waiting for you to give that order his entire life. He fumbles with the button on his jeans as you slide off his lap, sinking to your knees on the floor in front of him. His cock was already hard and strained against the black fabric of his boxers. He hisses when you pull the waistband back, revealing his cock, flushed and heavy, the tip fucking glistening.

You look up at him from between his thighs and see something you hadn’t really expected to see, you never had before, not like this— he was flushed up to his ears, his breathing shallow. He was fucking nervous as hell.

“You okay?” you ask softly, your hand rubbing along his thigh gently.

He nods, swallowing hard. “Just… fuck. Yeah, I’m fine… this just feels really real now. Like we’re dating dating.”

You smile at him, rolling your eyes a bit. “That’s because it is real, Eddie.”

You lean in and press your lips to the crease of his inner thigh first, kissing gently as your eyes flick up to watch his breath hitch. Then you move, pressing a kiss just above the base of him, then lower, dragging your mouth along his length without taking him in.

His hands clench at his thighs, trying to find a place to rest them. “You’re really gonna take your time with this, huh?”

You hum softly against the underside of his cock, moving back to nudging your nose against the base of him. “Damn right I am.” When you finally move up and wrap your lips around the head, his breath leaves his chest in one shocked, broken exhale.

“Holy shit,” he groans softly, his hips twitching up as he squirms under your touch. “That— fuck— your mouth is so warm, Jesus Christ—”

You suck gently, letting your tongue swirl around his heavy length, then you ease down slowly, taking him into your mouth inch by inch. By the time your nose presses into that thatch of brown curls at the base, his thighs are trembling. His hands hover over your head uselessly, trying to decide whether to hold your hair or cling to the couch cushions beneath him.

You glance up at him through your lashes, to be met with the sight of him looking down at you like you were some divine cosmic event— his eyes wide, lips parted as a soft breath escapes them, his chest heaving. “This is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me,” he mutters softly. “And I once had sex in the back of a hearse, so that’s saying something— fuck, do that again.”

You bob your head just a bit more. A little faster this time, stroking what you couldn’t take in your mouth with your hand. He groans so loud at the feeling— tossing his head back against the cushions— you were sure his next door neighbor heard.

“Shit— fuck, baby, that’s— goddamn, I’m not gonna be able to look at you again after this without getting hard.”

You moan around him at the compliment, hollowing your cheeks, and he actually gasps, closing his eyes.

“Oh fuck, okay, okay— if you keep doing that I’m gonna— shit— fuck, I’m cumming—”

You don’t stop, your mouth working him through it. His hips shallowly thrusting up into you with each little grunt from the back of his throat. You swallow everything as you pull away, then give one last gentle kiss to his twitching tip as he slumps against the back of the couch. 

You climb back up beside him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You settle yourself back into your earlier seat, toss your legs back over his lap, and drape the blanket over both of you again.

He stares at the ceiling for a moment, completely still. His chest rising and falling slowly, but his mind racing. He’s never gotten a blow job before that, but you sure as hell have given one. It pangs deep in his heart. Some guy from your college got your mouth before he did? If he thinks too hard about it, his chest may combust. So he shakes it off, and then he laughs, “I am literally never going to shut up about this.”

You laughed. “I’d be disappointed if you did.”

He turns his head back to look at you, bright red cheeks adorning his face, still catching his breath. “You just gave me the best orgasm of my entire fucking life, and now I have to figure out how to go on living with that.”

You smirk, moving closer to him settling in against his chest. He throws his arm around your shoulders, rubbing your lower back as you whisper, “You’ll manage.”

There’s a long pause between the both of you before he chuckles, “…You’re gonna let me return the favor, right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Eventually.”

He grins. “Cool. Cool cool cool. Just making sure. Because I’ve got a lot of fucking pent-up blowjob karma to balance out.”

tags ;; @vinecstasy @emxxblog @samslvrgirl @robinbuckleywife @hazydespair @joelmeller @djomorelikedelulu @dancininseptember @peachyproserpina @missjadesfics @iheartgrayson @meetmeatyourworst @punkrockmlchael @prettycalla @getaapologist

[thick-monster-thighs]

Warlord Yautja/Reader; An Act of Revenge

Title: An Act of Revenge Rating: Explicit Fandom: Predator: Killer of Killers Ship: Warlord Predator/Grendel King (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader Word Count: 7,4k Warnings: Dubcon, canon typical violence, knifeplay >> Warlord series Part 01 Author Note: This is the first part of this fic. The whole work is up on AO3! :)

The Hkr'Rcho is an enormous ship. It's so big that it's easy to get lost in its many corridors, especially if you can't read the Yautja language signs. If someone were to get stuck on a clan ship like the Hkr'Rcho without knowing the language or culture of this species, they'd be in serious trouble. Well, sucks to be you! Your karma must be pretty bad considering how the last six months have gone.

You're lying on your back, staring at the ceiling, bopping one foot up and down, which is resting on your bent knee. As always, the constant hum of the ship's engines and the omnipresent heat on board this ship almost lull you into a light sleep. Humidity also creeps into every corner of the Hkr'Rcho, even the Warlord's quarters. As you quickly learned, he's the leader of an entire clan of warriors.

And you? You're the pet.  

The exploding collar has been replaced by an invisible leash that is more effective than anything else – there's no way off this ship. Even if you manage to sneak out of your lord and master's quarters unnoticed, the route to the shuttle bay is lined with Yautja warriors who recognise you and know who you belong to. You've been caught and brought back more than once, locked in his quarters and left to stew like a roast.

The imposing Warchief isn't stupid. He knows he can punish you physically — and he does so occasionally — but the boredom and waiting are far worse. Being confined to his quarters with nothing but the sound of the engine and the occasional passing of a new solar system for days on end is enough to drive a person crazy. It's like solitary confinement when he decides to punish you for misbehaving. Even your food is hurriedly thrown into the room before the door is locked again.

He's not stupid. He quickly figured out how to make you furious, how to make you behave. Although being the Warlord's pet has its advantages, it's also a double-edged sword. Hey, on the one hand, you are well fed and clothed, and truly safe from the horrors of space.

The Yautja's diet mainly consists of meat, often even raw or severely undercooked, but they make sure you get exotic fruits and vegetables. In your position as the leader's favourite, they ensure you are fit for your rank. Considering that you have to endure the chief's needs, you need to be well fed. Being mounted by a 350 kg alien warrior is as dangerous as an extreme sport, if not more so.

And you are dressed in high-quality Yautja clothing. The revealing attire definitely shows off your body – you may not have an eight-pack, but the hearty food means the skimpy clothing fits. Not that it would be of much use when the Warlord returns from a hunt or a successful arena tournament. The fabric is no match for his claws and the hunger of the highly decorated warrior from Yautja Prime. On this ship and in this ongoing situation, it's truly a case of give and take: you've never lived in such luxury before. As a Weyland-Yutani employee, you were paid a meagre wage, given tiny food rations and your life was worth less than the cargo you transported. Under Weyland-Yutani, there were no richly decorated clothes resembling Yautja scales and no sweet, juicy fruit to make your mouth water.

All you have to do is serve the Warlord. You're his pet, his toy and his concubine. You are both his slave and his mate. His scent clings to you, signalling to every other Yautja on this ship that you are out of bounds. Bowing down to the muscle-bound warrior is the price you pay for living in luxury. Should you dare to rebel against him, he will be only too happy to show you who's boss. He has grabbed and taken you by force more than once, but you would be lying if you said you didn't get a strangely erotic kick out of it. Sometimes you act a little more rebellious than you really are because that's what gets him going.

But no matter how you look at it, you share your bed with a brutal killing machine. Truth be told, you don't really like him. This isn't romance; it's a state of affairs. In this tactical game, you're not an equal opponent, but an object: a pet monkey dancing for the Warlord to laugh at. He can throw you across the room and onto the bed with one hand while he loosens his belt with the other. He knows you watch him every time he takes off his armour. He knows you want him.

His bed, a collection of furs — also trophies — is soft and inviting; huge, it beckons you to rest and laze around. Most of the time, you lie bored on this nest of trophies, covered in the Warlord's and your own scent, and the memory of all the times he bent you over and brutally took what he wanted. It's always associated with pain in some way, but when you think about it, you feel a hot tingling sensation running up the inside of your thighs. It's not just bad. One thing you quickly learn on a Yautja clan ship is that violent sex is normal for these warriors. It's not at all uncommon for them to fight in the corridors and then have sex, sinking into each other with claws and tusks amid blood and bodily fluids. Sex isn't considered good unless there are open wounds or broken bones, and the females often put up a fierce fight. If you take these fights as a yardstick, you're actually being treated relatively gently - this is probably because you break more easily than a Yautja warrior. Don't wanna break the new toy, right? While you're brooding in frustration and thinking that you could escape through the air vents again if necessary, you hear heavy footsteps approaching. From far away, you can hear battle cries growing louder and echoing through the ship like a dark choir. Great — the hunting party is back. That means the annoying part of this situation is about to begin. No matter what one might think about the Yautja, a successful hunt is always celebrated extensively. Contrary to all expectations, these people definitely know how to party: they drink sour, high-proof wine and dine as befits great warriors. There are fights, songs and more fights. A good Yautja party doesn't end until someone is seriously injured. Not that you'd ever be invited to something like that, though. The door opens and, from the thunderous footsteps in the hallway, you already knew 30 seconds ago that your owner was returning to his quarters. The Warlord is as impressive as ever, though now he's covered with blood and has several fresh wounds on his upper body and arm. As the door hisses shut behind him, he doesn't even glance at you. Instead, he places his bone axe among the many other trophies adorning the room.

It's a game. A test. Another way to humiliate you.

He doesn't deign to greet or even acknowledge you when he returns to his quarters from a hunt. You never take your gaze off his body, out of pure caution, and he knows it. This makes him even more eager to put on a show, carefully placing new hunting trophies on the wall or in a corner. He takes his time, occasionally making quiet growling and clicking noises as though humming to himself in a relaxed manner. Meanwhile, you're tense, like nervous prey waiting to be pounced on by a predator.

Next, he takes off his heavy bone coat. This trophy, consisting of xenomorph skeletons, is ridiculously heavy. You could only lift it on your own if you put all your strength into it. He, on the other hand, moves smoothly and gracefully, even with this imposing adornment. He moves his massive body with a robust elegance that lulls you into a false sense of security all too often. Good-looking, is the word that forms in your brain when you look at him. His muscles glisten in the soft light of the room, making you clench your teeth in anger. You're only too happy to convince yourself that this is pure survival instinct. This physical attraction to the Warlord is your brain's desperate attempt to twist this terrible, traumatic situation into something bearable so that you suffer as little long-term damage as possible. Of course, there are often cases where hostages are attracted to their captors. This is obviously just another such case. Or ist it?

>>> Continue on AO3

[whatiswrongwithpeople]

Unspoken Understandings

part 2 to “Shattered Silence” (Jayce Talis x reader)

Part 1

Summary: After that fateful night in the lab both ,Jayce and you, have been unsure how to address the sudden shift in your dynamic. However, sometimes all it takes is a certain yordle to force Jayce to take a break from his work and leave the lab.

Warnings: none, no spoilers for s2, no canon plot, a good amount of domestic fluff

Notes: I am really REALLY surprised about how much love “Shattered Silence” has received and hope that you enjoy this follow up just as much. <3 Once again , this has been written in my notes app, I hope I didn’t miss any mistakes.

Tags🏷️ @a-queen-blr @anxious-doodler @brabuscoffwe

The days after the break-in were a blur of frantic packing and moving. You had to find a new place fast—nothing too fancy, just something safe, something that could hold your things and the remaining bits of your research. But the weight of it all pressed down on you, your muscles aching from days spent running between your old and new apartment. You didn’t have the luxury of time to process what had happened the night you stormed into the lab, or even think much about him.

But the nights…

The nights were when you couldn’t stop thinking about how, despite everything, Jayce had held you. How, for a brief moment, you had leaned into him without fear of rejection. You’d allowed yourself to feel vulnerable, and he hadn’t pushed you away.

Now, you found yourself trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in your chest every time you thought about him, but the silence between you both felt suffocating.

Meanwhile, Jayce had buried himself in his work. The breakthrough he’d been chasing for months was nearly within reach, and that goal, that obsession, kept him up at night. But even as his mind raced with equations and possibilities, something nagged at him—a thought that he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried.

It had started that night when you had collapsed into his arms, your trembling form clinging onto him like a lifeline. The way your body had felt in his embrace, how you had allowed him to hold and comfort you… something about it just felt right. And the days since? It was almost like he couldn't think straight without you. Your presence had become something he couldn’t quite get out of his head. Every time he closed his eyes, your face would appear—raw, vulnerable, but somehow more real than anything else in his life.

But what exactly was that thing between you? Was it something real, or just the aftershock of an unexpected and stressful situation? Jayce couldn’t even bring himself to ask.

---

It was late when Heimerdinger found him pacing in the lab, his mind so tangled in equations that the pieces didn’t seem to fit anymore.

“You’re working too hard, Jayce.” Heimerdinger’s voice was calm, but there was a quiet insistence behind it. He hadn’t seen the young inventor so distracted in what felt like ages.

Jayce, who had been scribbling furiously on a piece of paper, didn’t even look up. “I’m close to figuring this out. I just need a few more adjustments,” he said, but his voice lacked the usual tone of conviction.

Heimerdinger tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze studying the younger man. It didn’t take long for him to figure out the nature of the inventor’s problems. “You were always quick to tell me how distracting it was when you were around her. How you could hardly think clearly when she was near.” Heimerdinger spoke , a nonchalant tone covering up the intention behind his statement.

Jayce froze, his pen hovering mid-air. He couldn’t remember ever having said that, but since the incident the times of feeling annoyed by you felt so far away. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was true. That really had been how he’d felt around you, hadn’t it? You had always found a way of breaking through his concentration, making him second-guess his thoughts and decisions.

But now? He didn’t feel distracted anymore. The thought of you didn’t pull him away from his work—it was more like you were... quieting the noise in his mind. Every time he thought about you, his thoughts slowed, calmed. The gears in his brain didn’t spin at a hundred miles per hour anymore. They… rested.

Sighing, Jayce met Heimerdinger’s knowing gaze. "It’s not the same,” he said, his voice quieter now, unsure. “It’s... different.”

Heimerdinger gave him a pointed look, crossing his arms behind his back as he looked up at the young man. “You’ve been working non-stop for days, Jayce. Sometimes the best breakthroughs come when we step away from the work for a little while. You’re going to burn yourself out if you keep this up."

Jayce opened his mouth to argue, but Heimerdinger was already walking toward the door. “I’m forcing you out of here. Take a break. Go see her,” he said, an almost cheerful tone in his voice. And with that, he was gone.

Jayce sat in stunned silence for a moment, the yordle’s words hanging in the air. Go see her? If he was honest to himself, he hadn’t even thought about it. A part of his mind harbouring a feeling of anxiousness regarding the inevitable confrontation. But something in Heimerdinger’s voice made him hesitate. It was as if the older man had seen through all the layers of self-doubt Jayce had buried himself under.

With the scrape of his chair he stood up. He needed to get out of the lab. He needed to breathe. He needed to see you.

---

It wasn’t hard to find your new place. Jayce had always been able to track down anything and anyone, with ease—Piltover wasn’t exactly a large city after all.

But as he stood outside your new apartment, his stomach churned. The weight of everything he had avoided saying hung over him like a dark storm cloud. He had no idea how this would play out—what could he even say? That he hadn’t been able to think straight since the night you’d come to him? That he’d wanted to be there for you, but had no clue how to navigate what had happened between you both?

But before he could completely lose his nerve, the door to the apartment opened, and you appeared.

You looked… tired. Your hair was pulled back in a messy up-do, and your shirt was slightly wrinkled, but there was something comforting about the chaos surrounding you. Not wanting to stare , his golden eyes quickly drifting to the space behind you. It was clearly your place now, your sanctuary, but it was still a work in progress.

You saw him before he could even open his mouth to say anything, and a flicker of surprise crossed your face. “Jayce? What are you—”

“I—uh, I came to check on you,” he said, running a hand through his hair, suddenly awkward. His nervous gaze switching back and forth between you and the wood on your door. “See how you’re doing… with the new place and everything.”

You raised an eyebrow but stepped aside, allowing him to enter. “Well,” you said with a tired half-smile, “it’s been a lot of work. Still don’t know where half my things are.”

Jayce chuckled as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His mind reeling at how your presence suddenly made him feel less anxious, like he didn’t have to carry his burdens anymore . Not here, not now.

You motioned toward a pile of boxes in the corner of the living room, your smile sheepish, almost apologetic. “You wouldn’t happen to be good at putting together furniture, would you?”

Without a second thought, Jayce was moving toward the pile, rolling up his sleeves with a quiet determination. “I can manage,” he said with a grin, glancing back at you. “But only if you promise not to laugh at my attempts.”

You smirked, feeling a flicker of warmth in your chest. “No promises,” you teased, but there was a lightness in your voice now where tiredness had been before.

For the next few hours, the two of you worked side by side, not really talking, but filling the space between you with easy silence. There was something almost intimate in the simplicity of it—a shared task, each moment feeling like it stitched something new into the fabric of your newfound connection. The screech of a screwdriver, the soft clink of metal against wood, and the occasional, shared chuckle when one of you fumbled—it was like you were building something together, but not just the furniture. It was this. Whatever it was that had started to grow between you.

You worked in rhythm, so comfortable with him that it didn’t even feel strange. You caught yourself looking up at him a few times, watching the way he moved, how the muscles in his arms flexed when assembling the pieces and silently admiring the way the light caught the lines of his face. Jayce wasn’t just the scientist, the bold, sometimes aloof figure you'd known—here, in this space, he felt… real. Vulnerable, even. The arrogant mask you had become so accustomed to had slipped away, leaving only the person beneath. And for the first time, you saw him as someone who was just as human as you.

When the last piece of furniture was assembled, both of you collapsed onto the couch. The apartment was still a mess, but somehow, it felt more like home now. After hours of unpacking, moving boxes, and trying to make sense of the chaos, you and Jayce had both reached a kind of quiet, shared exhaustion. There was something about the way the late afternoon light filtered through the windows—golden and warm—that made everything feel a little less overwhelming.

Jayce was beside you on the couch, leaning back against the cushions with his sleeves still rolled up, hair unkempt and his face still a little flushed from the work. Normally, by now you’d be bickering with each other, exchanging sarcastic remarks til one of you would have enough and storm out of the room. But ever since your distraught form had stormed into his lab, that usual dynamic was missing. The crackling back-and-forth had faded into something quieter, something more... honest.

“So, this is it, huh?” you said, glancing around the room. It was a mix of completed and incomplete, a snapshot of a new beginning. “Still a long way to go, but... it’s getting there.”

Jayce surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on the boxes and the half-finished furniture scattered around. “It’s... definitely not what I expected,” he said, his lips twitching into a smile. “You still got a ton of stuff for someone who has been robbed.” You laughed lightly, but it wasn’t a tense laugh like it would have been just a few days ago. It was more... genuine.

The silence stretched a little longer, and you found yourself thinking about how easily you used to hide behind the jabs and insults. You had both spent so much time pretending—pretending that you couldn’t stand each other, pretending like there was nothing more beneath the surface. But nevertheless, despite years of constant back and forth, Jayce had been the one your heart had led you to when your mind was in a state of absolute panic.

“You know, I’ve spent a lot of time pretending,” you said softly, looking at him from the corner of your eye. “Pretending like we couldn’t get along, pretending like I didn’t... care.”

Jayce’s eyes flicked over to you, something unreadable in his gaze. For a moment, he didn’t respond, allowing the truth to settle between you.

“I think I was pretending, too,” he said finally, his voice low and honest. “Pretending I didn’t want... this.” He gestured loosely between you two, his hand hovering in the air, as if the words were more difficult to articulate than the feelings behind them.

There it was. That truth you had both danced around for so long. And now, it didn’t feel awkward. It felt like a breath you both had been holding ever since Jayce had comforted you that fateful night, waiting for the right moment to exhale.

You turned toward him, your body instinctively moving closer. You didn’t have to think about it. The space between you was just too small now, too important to leave empty. As if by reflex, your hand reached out, softly brushing his arm, letting your fingers rest gently against his. The touch was tentative at first but you felt him respond instantly—his hand turning slightly, his fingers seeking yours, meeting you halfway.

It was subtle, a small connection that sent a rush of warmth through you. Neither of you said anything. The words didn’t feel necessary anymore. Jayce shifted a little, his knee brushing against yours, his hand gently drawing you closer. He wasn’t in a rush. You weren’t either. But as the space between you closed even more, something shifted, and you both knew the moment was right.

Jayce’s thumb traced along the back of your hand, his touch light but deliberate. Slowly, he turned toward you, his body leaning in, and you could feel his breath on your lips before his mouth even touched yours. It wasn’t a desperate move, but one full of quiet intent, like this was something that had been building between you for far too long.

His lips met yours gently at first—just a soft brush, testing, as though waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. Neither of you did. The kiss deepened, slowly, naturally. His hand moved to your jaw, tilting your head slightly as his other hand slid around your waist, his electric touch finding its way underneath your shirt, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body against yours felt so right, so easy, just like it had back in the lab when he had shielded you from your troubles, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You melted into him. There was no rush, no hesitation now. Just the soft pressure of his lips on yours, the tender way his hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if memorizing the feel of of your skin underneath his fingertips.

When you pulled back, there was no immediate rush to fill the space with words. The air between you felt charged, but in a quiet, intimate way. You both breathed deeply, your lips tingling from the kiss, your pulse still racing a marathon in your chest.

Jayce’s hand lingered on your waist, his thumb absently tracing circles on your skin. “Guess we don’t have to pretend to not like each other anymore,” he murmured, his voice hushed, almost unsure, like the weight of everything was finally settling in. You shook your head slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your hand found his again. “No. I guess not.”

Jayce leaned back into the couch, his body angled closer to yours now. His eyes twinkled with that familiar teasing glint, but there was something new in the way he looked at you. Something lighter. “So, dinner? I think I’ve earned it.”

You chuckled, your fingers still intertwined with his as you stood. “You’ve already helped me move half my furniture, Jayce. You’re definitely sticking around.”

He flashed you a relaxed grin, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied sigh. “Guess I don’t have a choice.”

Letting go of his hand, you turned toward the kitchen, starting to gather ingredients, and Jayce followed you, leaning in just enough to rest his chin on your shoulder. “Need any help?”

You glanced at him with a smile. “Unless you’ve got a Hextech gadget to chop vegetables, I’ve got it under control.”

Jayce chuckled and stepped back, settling in at the table as you started to prepare a meal. There was something comforting in his quiet presence, in the easy rhythm of the evening. You moved around each other effortlessly, the space between you filled with warmth rather than words.

Soon enough, you set the table and sat down together, the simple meal feeling more like a shared moment than just food. Jayce took a bite, then raised an eyebrow in approval. “I’m impressed. Didn’t expect you to be this good at it.”

You laughed, your fingers brushing his as you reached for your drink. “I’m full of surprises.” He smiled at that, his eyes lingering on your face , as if trying to capture the moment.

After dinner, you started to clear the table and do the dishes when Jayce moved to help. You smiled and gently took the dish towel from his hands. “I’ve got this,” you said softly. He gave you a mock pout in return. “I was just getting into it.” Looking up at him, you smiled fondly at his behaviour. “You’ve done enough for today.”

Jayce stepped closer, golden eyes soft as his hand reached out for the towel again. “I don’t mind,” he murmured, his warmth filling the tiny space of your kitchen and wrapping around you like a safety blanket.

“Thanks,” you whispered, cheeks burning with a soft blush as you suddenly felt the quiet comfort of his presence in a way that made everything else feel far away.

Jayce leaned in to brush a kiss against your forehead, light but sincere. “Anytime.”

And just like that, everything felt perfectly in place.

[mossangelll]

yandere!jinx x reader headcanons

thought i’d go into how yandere jinx would capture get you into a relationship ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

tw: abusive behaviour

i feel like there’s two pathways to getting in a relationship with her, both suck equally

pathway 1: she stalked you for a while before deciding to talk to you! she wanted it to be “organic” but she couldn’t just go in knowing nothing about you…what kind of impression would that make?

the first time she does speak to you she mentions some obscure ritual of yours that she should absolutely not know about…she distracts you with a confetti bomb

you fell for it

i love the idea that once you become friends she gives you gifts with tracking devices in them and you’re none the wiser - this is exactly why you need her to protect you! if she has your best interests at heart and can get away with something like that, who knows what someone with bad intentions could do to you!

since she’s past the stage of just being acquaintances with you, her mask starts to slip and her manipulative behaviour becomes more pronounced

first she guilt trips you into hanging out with her for longer periods of time, then she starts complaining about the fact you have other friends - she absolutely weaponises her abandonment issues even if she hates to talk about it in any other situation

before you know it you’re isolated from your family and friends and spend all of your time with jinx :3

she treats it like a 24/7 sleepover except you have to do what she says if you don’t want to be victim to her lashing out

pathway 2: she straight up kidnapped you and figured she can form a relationship with you once you’re captive (that is how dating works, right?)

you would come home from work one day to find a weird metal device laying on your pillow, your name spray painted onto it surrounded by love hearts

you’d fiddle with it for a bit before gas floods your room

you’re knocked out like a light and jinx drops down from the ceiling doing a happy dance

she won’t tell silco about it but he eventually realises something’s up when she starts to steal large amounts of food from the bar

he finds you in her den and demands jinx tell him what is going on

she dances around the topic (literally and figuratively) trying to buy her way out of it but when she sees the disapproving glare in silco’s good eye she deflates - she can’t keep you her little secret anymore

honestly she tells him a few too many details like wayyyyyyyy too many

even he was weirded out

but jinx is his daughter so she gets away with it as per usual

ok back to the kidnapping, when you come to you’re tied down to a surprisingly plush chair and jinx is ALL up in your space

like imagine a kid with their face smushed up to the vending machine glass, she’s so entranced when she has you

she just thinks you’re so cute when you’re sleeping!

of course she expected there to be some…growing pains so she makes sure to have her gun in plain sight - she doesn’t want you getting any fun ideas about “escaping”

if you’re aggressive and moody with her she honestly loves it

in her mind the fact you’re showing so much raw emotion proves you must love her (even if you’ve only known her for like 5 minutes)

however if you’re constantly screaming and begging to leave even after you’ve been in captivity for a while it would trigger her abandonment issues and she would snap

she just doesn’t get it. she makes you fun gadgets, does your hair, tries to get you to open up about yourself even though she already knows most things about you - why do you want to leave her so badly?

however, if you refuse to engage with her at all and completely blank out her existence her patience would run out very quickly

you’re her new fixation and she wants to get to unravel every layer of you, not feel unwanted

so she does some good old trauma bonding by dangling you over the edge of her workshop railing, eyes cold and a deep frown set into her face

in her defense she catches you right as you’re about to fall!

she embraces you, crying with you as she tells you that if she was anyone else (who didn’t love you as much as she did) they would have let you fall but she cares about you 🥺 she only meant to teach you a lesson about the real world 🥺

you’re so conflicted and scared; you know what she did was fucked up, but adrenaline pumps through your veins and you feel like you’re about to throw up, so you just accept her comfort

sometimes she leaves you all on your own in her workshop when she’s off doing odd jobs for silco and you begin to crave human connection so deeply that when jinx suggests a spa night with cuddles at the end, you don’t say no

——————————————————————————

this is actually just me manifesting that jinx becomes real and obsesses over me…she’s so dreamy <3

masterlist

[twlgholts]

always kind of was, j. black

chapter five, full moon

— jacob black x f. reader

a/n: i have’t been able to stop writing LOL im having too much fun. especially loved writing the pack n leah (leah apologist forever sorry not sorry)

prev. series masterlist! next.

You have always loved Jacob Black.

But Jacob Black has always loved you.

Since the moment he met you, he knew. You were it. The one. And his crush on you? It was never really a secret. Everyone knew.

Billy knew first–long before Jacob even figured it out himself. He saw it in the little things: the way Jake would bolt for the first aid kit whenever you got a papercut, how he gave you the last bite of his sandwich even when he was still starving, and how he made a fool of himself dancing and singing off-key just to hear your laugh.

Billy rooted for you both in his own quiet way. He was there through everything–the good and the heartbreak. He noticed the way Jake flopped onto his bed and kicked his feet in the air like a kid after seeing you, saw the corner of his mattress cluttered with balled-up tissues from the day you told him you were moving to the few months that passed after you were gone.

He was never afraid to share his feelings with his dad, but this–this part of him, the part that loved you–was different. It felt too raw, too big. Too real.

Jacob Black was brave. Braver than most. He adapted to his phasing and new lifestyle faster than anyone expected. He faced monsters–real ones–without hesitation.

But losing you? That was what scared him.

And when you left, when the two of you went from inseparable to one hundred fifty miles apart, it almost broke him. Any further and he was sure he would’ve snapped. It was like some part of him had been ripped out and he didn’t know how to get it back.

Then you came.

The moment you walked down the hallway and looked at him for the first time in over a year, he felt everything crash over him like a tidal wave. His arms ached to you again. But when your eyes met–just for that moment–every system in his body misfired. Then lit up. Then misfired again.

And then he imprinted.

On you.

It wasn’t supposed to be like that. He thought he was prepared, thought he understood what imprinting meant. He didn’t expect it to be you. He didn’t even think it could be you. But he didn’t want it to be anyone else because no one else was you.

You had always been his everything. Now, you were his everything and nothing at the same time.

He needed you in ways he didn’t understand. He needed to see you. Hear your laugh. Feel your presence. It was all-consuming. Steady. Terrifying.

So he didn’t tell you.

He acted normal–or tried to. Even when everything inside him felt like it was shifting again, he thought keeping the truth from you was the right thing to do–at least for now. That keeping you away from the supernatural part of his life was protecting you. But maybe it was just protecting himself.

Things in Forks had been quiet lately, which was the only reason he had so much time to spend with you. But tonight? Patrol had picked up again and it seemed it would for the next couple days. Now, he’s rushing through the trees, pounding the damp earth beneath him as he shifts back and heads towards Emily’s.

You’re still on his mind. Always.

The porch light is glowing softly when he reaches the house. He opens the door and steps inside, shaking the cold from his limbs.

“How was patrol?” Emily calls from the kitchen.

“Quiet. Easy,” Jacob replies, a little breathless. He snatches a muffin from the counter and drops into a chair, stretching out his legs. “Need help?” he asks with a grin, even though he already knows the answer.

Emily gives him a look. “Not from you. Trying to avoid setting this place on fire tonight.”

He laughs around a mouthful of muffin as the rest of the pack filters in–wet footprints, muffled voices, and the usual chaos.

Paul groans and throws himself on the couch. “Dude. If I have to hear your inner monologue about her one more time–”

“You could phase out, you know,” Jacob mutters.

“I did. For like, five minutes. You were still thinking about her. Constantly.” Paul throws an arm over his face. “I swear, it’s like background noise now. Vampire, trees, squirrels, Jacob, Jacob, Jacob, her. Her smile. Her laugh. Her socks.”

“They were mismatched,” Jacob mumbles.

Embry chuckles. “He’s got it bad, bad.”

Leah, who’s been leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, raises an eyebrow. “Honestly? He’s been more himself with her back than he’s been in months.”

That quiets the room for a beat.

“Dinner’s ready!” Emily called out, cutting through the low murmur of post-patrol silence.

Instantly, the kitchen erupted into chaos—the shuffle of chairs, the scraping of plates, the bickering and teasing as the pack surged toward the table. Except Jacob. He stayed quiet, eyes down, mechanically loading his plate but barely tasting anything.

After dinner, everyone filtered out in different directions—Paul and Jared arguing over something dumb, Embry stealing another muffin on his way out, Quil making a joke about Sam’s “dad voice” before disappearing into the trees. Jacob lingered, collecting plates and stacking them neatly. Emily gave him a small, grateful smile as she took them from his hands.

“Thanks, Jake. You’ve got good manners for a wolf,” she teased gently, patting his back. “Go get some air.”

He gave her a nod and slipped outside.

The porch was quiet, soaked in moonlight. Sam was already out there, leaning against the railing, arms folded across his chest, eyes cast up at the sky like he was waiting for something.

A full moon. Ironic.

He hesitated for a second before walking over. They weren’t close—not like he was with Embry or Quil. For a long time, Jacob resented Sam. Thought he was a cult leader. Thought he stole his friends. But then Jacob phased and he started to understand. Started to see Sam in a different light. Maybe not a friend, but something like a quiet leader who carried more weight than he let anyone see.

Jake stood beside him without a word. The air was crisp, the breeze soft. Cicadas buzzed in the dark, their song a low, steady hum.

Sam spoke without looking at him. “You know, when I first phased I thought I was losing my mind.”

Jacob didn’t say anything, but he listened.

“I was the only one then. No one to talk to about it. No one to warn me. I thought I was broken,” Sam continued, his voice low. “Eventually I got a handle on it. But then I imprinted. And that was harder.”

Jake’s brow furrowed, eyes flickering on him. “On Emily.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. On Emily.”

He let the silence stretch.

“I was still with Leah,” he said, voice heavier now. “And I loved her. I really did. But imprinting doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t care about timing. Or history. Or who gets hurt.”

Jacob looked away, jaw tight. He’d heard the story before—but hearing Sam admit it, here, in the quiet, made it more real somehow.

“I fought it. Every day. For a long time,” Sam said. “Because how do you look someone in the eye—someone you hurt—and tell them it wasn’t your choice? That your heart doesn’t belong to you anymore?”

Jacob swallowed. “Do you regret it?”

Sam finally looked at him. “No. I love Emily with everything I have, but the pain it caused? I’ll always carry that.”

Jacob was quiet for a beat. Then he muttered, “I don’t feel guilty.”

Sam tilted his head, waiting.

“I’m just… scared,” Jacob admitted, voice rough. “It’s not just a crush anymore. It’s like—she’s in my blood now. Every second I’m not with her feels wrong. Like my skin doesn’t fit. But I don’t want her to feel like she doesn’t have a choice. I want her to pick me. Not because of some supernatural magic, but because she wants to.”

“That’s the thing about imprinting,” Sam said, thoughtful. “It doesn’t erase your personality. It doesn’t make you perfect. It just binds you. Makes your soul certain, even when your head is a mess.”

Jacob let out a short breath. “My head’s more than a mess.”

Sam cracked a small smile. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”

Suddenly, the screen door creaked behind them.

“Okay, seriously?” Paul’s voice rang out. “Can you two stop brooding out here. Some of us are still getting hit with your feelings at full blast, and it’s starting to mess with my appetite.”

Jacob groaned. “You eavesdropping?”

“We’re psychically linked, not eavesdroppers, genius,” Paul shot back, walking out onto the porch. He looked at Jacob, crossing his arms. “She likes you. Seriously. It’s kind of gross how cute it is.”

Jacob looked down, shoulders tense. “You don’t know that.”

“Okay, Romeo. She texts you first. She looks at you like you’re the sun. And you think we can’t tell? You’ve been howling about her in your head for weeks. Every little thought you have about her since you phased. I swear it’s like being trapped in a Nicholas Sparks movie.”

Quil leaned out the door behind Paul, muffin in hand. “He’s right dude. She’s into you. She always has been.”

Embry’s voice drifted from inside. “We’ve been placing bets. I said you’d crack by next week. Paul’s got Thursday.”

Jacob buried his face in his hands, groaning. “You guys are the worst.”

Sam laughed quietly and clapped him on the shoulder. “They’re not wrong. I got Sunday.”

Jacob didn’t reply, but his heart beat a little louder in his chest.

He still wouldn’t tell you. Not yet. But he was thinking about you. And the thought of you thinking about him too? That scared him more than anything else because it meant hope.

And hope, for Jacob Black, was the most dangerous thing of all.

[anantaru]

albedo with a breeding kink?

cw. breeding kink, you guys are kinda reckless, implications of wanting to get you pregnant!!!!!, fem! reader

a/n. albedo + breeding is so canon, like there's no way it isn't

albedo knows of the risks of deciding against using a condom tonight, and if anything, he was aware of it more than anybody else— although you said it's alright, only for this one time, ultimately you sought after feeling him inside of you as well, raw and pressed up deep against your most dearest places.

the possible consequences? well, certainly they could be dealt with after.

what's more to it, such prospect of naivety was quite audacious, yes, perhaps, but albedo had always inspired you to try out reckless things— because believe it or not but he was a fan of trying out new kinks in the bedroom, maybe for research purposes or simple curiosity.

for all you know, it could also be his way of figuring out the notions he found to be delicious.

now, one of his hands was clenched at the side of your thigh to keep you steadied while the other was wrapped around himself, slowly pumping his length to the bare sight of you as his cock stayed perfectly settled against your sopping folds, sticking and messing up your core with his pre.

you admire his chest, how it seems like he was just perfect, no flaws, barely dusted with sweat, at any rate that little glow on his skin made him even more beautiful.

his abs too, incandescent without blemish, sculpted with lean muscle.

albedo slowly taps the head of his cock against your hole and smiles when he notices how your slick was immediately covering him. as though sensing his stare, your hips shuffle up to play with him, in fact, giving your boyfriend a clear indicator that you've waited for him long enough turned him on even more.

to be able to jam you with his cum tonight sent even more blood rushing down to his dick until he hisses at the slight throbs his shaft would set free, until of course, he decided it was time for his cock to bury its inches inside of your melting walls.

his hips start to go fast immediately— each thrust multiplying its rhythm to the point where you could feel his warm ruts pervade your skin. it's almost cruel, as were his eyes so heated and hungry, pupils blown as his gaze slips up and down the connection of your joined bodies.

what had first started out as a foreplay session with no rush and taking ones time, now gradually developed into something much more delicious.

albedo wasn't drawing your pleasure out anymore nor did he want to keep you waiting any longer either, he stopped the teasing too— although he would still squeeze and pinch your erect nipples to keep them all nicely for him.

no taunting anymore, no tapping his cock-head against your folds or fucking you with his tip to watch your sweet reactions set the room on fire, because you see, albedo was seeking his own pleasure in this moment— said pleasure not being the climax himself, but the lewd sight of you taking him and that need to splatter his cum all over your sore walls until your legs were beginning to shake around his hips.

your lips part and you moan lowly as he pushes his chest against your own, the precious sounds slipping from your mouth breaking into rough parts as your walls wrap around him ever do tight, leaving the man breathless and hot inside.

instead of rolling into each movement, albedo decides on a different approach and rocks his hips back and forth your pussy, switching between as fast as he could go while then going slower again, forcing you to feel the way his cock presses up against the sweet spot inside of you, fast and slow fast and slow, taking only slight adjustment on his tempo as to make you feel the pressure all the way across your lower area, the feeling that he knew made your eyes roll back into your head.

that's what it was in the end, the pleasure that sent you aflame, too much for too little of time, making you want more as you both come undone, you two at the same time.

albedo's hips buck needily as they stutter through each thrust when you throb and clench down on him, cumming strongly all around his shaft until he could feel a filthy ring of whiteness cover his dripping erection.

a needy, god-awful whimper escapes his throat as he moans luxuriously into your neck when he feels his cum rush to all the right places, the tight entanglement of your walls pressing tight against his shaft spiking electric bolds through his nerves.

although his hips won't stop moving yet.

much to his surprise, your cunt still took him impossibly deep, so tight and wet and unable to slide himself out. yet you're utterly spent that you had to rely on him holding your legs up. even so, you didn't want to lose the connection yet and neither was your boyfriend as he decided to keep himself stored in you.

sure enough, albedo wanted to stay like this for a while, or even longer, because he knew if he was to pull out now, all of his hard work would come to waste and you'd be empty of him much faster than he could even process.

otherwise than that, he really hoped it had worked tonight, there's no way that it wouldn't have, right? after all, his precise calculations always seems to be right.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[be4chywritez]

unbound | max verstappen

max verstappen x fem!reader

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

beachy’s masterlist 🐚

beachy’s prompt list🥥

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pregnant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re not sure what to do next.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As the meeting wraps up, you retreat to your office, sinking into your chair with a sigh of relief. For a moment, it feels like you’re back in control—like you’ve managed to keep everything balanced. But as the minutes tick by, the reality creeps in again.

You’re pregnant. And no matter how much you try to focus on work, it won’t change what’s happening.

Before you can dwell too long, your phone buzzes on the desk. A message from Charles.

Lunch with me and Alex today?

You stare at the screen for a moment, biting your lip. You’ve been

avoiding them. Ever since Alex pointed out how different you’ve been acting, you’ve been worried that spending too much time with them might give you away.

But Charles is persistent. You can already imagine him showing up at your office if you don’t respond.

Sure, you type back.

At lunch, the three of you sit outside at your favorite spot, the sun shining down on the café’s terrace. Alex leans forward, her eyes twinkling. “You seem busy lately. Is the new collection stressing you out?”

You force a smile, stirring your iced coffee. “You know how it is. Just a lot to manage.”

Charles tilts his head, a teasing grin on his face. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding us? We’ve barely seen you the past couple of weeks.”

You laugh it off, hoping they don’t notice how nervous you are. “I’ve just been focused on work. Things are… hectic.”

Alex narrows her eyes, studying you. “You’re different, though,” she says softly. “It’s not just work. You’ve been… calmer. Happier, even. Something’s going on.

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your expression neutral. “What do you mean?”

Charles nudges her. “Let her breathe, Alex. She’s probably just—”

“No,” Alex interrupts, still watching you closely. “There’s something else. You’d tell us if something was up, right?”

You nod, trying to keep your cool. “Of course. But there’s nothing. I promise.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but before she can push further, your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Max.

Hey, haven’t seen you in a while. You okay?

Your stomach flips. Of all the times for him to message you.

You quickly tuck your phone away, but not before Alex notices the look on your face. “Max?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you admit. “Just a quick text.”

Charles snorts, leaning back in his chair. “You and Max… I still can’t believe you two hooked up.”

“Charles,” Alex chides, but she’s smiling too.You roll your eyes, trying to brush it off. “It was just a one-time thing.”

Charles grins wider. “Sure it was.”

The days following your meeting with the design team become a blur of fittings, sketches, and late nights. Your life has always been busy, but now, every task feels ten times harder. The fatigue hits you in waves, leaving you drained before lunch, and the nausea is unpredictable, striking at the worst moments.

You’re at a photoshoot, trying to direct the models, when a sudden bout of dizziness hits. You steady yourself against the table, hoping no one notices, but Amanda’s sharp eyes catch you.

“You good?” she asks, her voice low enough so the others can’t hear.

You nod quickly, swallowing hard. “Yeah, just a bit light-headed. I didn’t eat much this morning.”

Amanda eyes you, clearly unconvinced, but before she can say more, one of the photographers calls your name. You straighten up, forcing a smile, and head back into the chaos of the shoot. But as you move around the studio, you can feel the weight of it all pressing down on you.

Later that afternoon, you retreat to your office, closing the door and sinking into your chair. You rest your hand on your stomach, feeling the subtle changes in your body. You’re not showing yet, but it won’t be long. The realization sends a wave of panic through you. You have no idea how you’re going to keep this up—how you’ll manage your work, your friends, and your pregnancy without something giving way.

Your phone buzzes on the desk, and you glance down to see a message from Alex.

Dinner tomorrow? We miss you.

You sigh. They’re getting suspicious, and you know it. You’ve been avoiding them, but you can’t keep this up forever. You type a quick reply agreeing to dinner, then toss your phone aside.

As the days pass, your work continues to pile up. Meetings, photoshoots, fittings—it never ends. Your team is buzzing with excitement over the maternity collection, and while part of you feels proud, there’s also an underlying anxiety. The very thing you’re designing for is the secret you’re desperately trying to keep hidden.

You’re in the middle of a meeting when another wave of nausea hits. You excuse yourself quickly, making a beeline for the bathroom. Once inside, you grip the sink, taking deep breaths to steady yourself.

The door creaks open, and Amanda steps in. “You okay?”

You nod, but it’s clear she doesn’t believe you. She waits a beat before asking, “Are you planning on telling anyone?”

You freeze, her question hanging heavy in the air. Amanda has been your rock through this, but you haven’t told anyone else. Not Alex, not Charles. And certainly not Max.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just trying to figure it out.”

Amanda watches you for a moment before sighing. “You can’t keep this up forever, you know. People are going to start noticing.”

You know she’s right. The signs are already there. Alex is suspicious, Charles keeps asking if you’re okay, and the physical toll is getting harder to hide. But you’re not ready—not yet.

It’s late in the evening when you finally return home, exhaustion pulling at your every step. The weight of your secret is growing heavier with each passing day. As much as you’ve tried to push through, the reality of your situation is beginning to feel impossible to ignore.

You’re in the kitchen, preparing a cup of tea to unwind, when there’s a knock at the door. You freeze, unsure who it could be at this hour. The only person who comes by unannounced is—

The knock sounds again, louder this time, followed by a familiar voice. “It’s us! Open up!”

Alex.

You rush to the door, already knowing who’s on the other side. Sure enough, when you swing it open, Alex and Charles stand there, both wearing expressions of concern. Alex pushes past you, stepping into the hallway with Charles trailing behind her.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Alex says, her arms crossed as she looks you over. “So, we decided to check in.”

You bite your lip, glancing at the unopened texts on your phone that you’d been ignoring all day. “Sorry, I’ve just been...busy.”

“Yeah, we figured,” Charles adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “But you’ve been acting weird for a while now. What’s going on?”

Alex walks over to the kitchen counter, leaning against it with her eyes fixed on you. “And don’t say it’s just work. You’ve been off. Charles and I have been worried.”

The concern in her voice stirs something inside you, and you feel the familiar pressure rising in your chest. You’ve been keeping this secret for weeks, but now, standing here with two of your closest friends staring at you, the weight of it all is unbearable.

You feel your heart race as you take a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

“I—I need to tell you both something,” you begin, your voice shaky.

Alex’s expression softens instantly, while Charles tilts his head, confused but attentive.

“What is it?” Alex asks gently.

You take another deep breath and close your eyes, forcing the words out before you can change your mind. “I’m...I’m pregnant.”

There’s a beat of silence, followed by a stunned look from both of them. Alex’s eyes widen, her mouth parting in shock. Charles, on the other hand, looks like he didn’t quite hear you correctly.

“You’re—pregnant?” he repeats, his voice full of disbelief.

You nod, your hands trembling slightly. “Yeah. I just found out a few weeks ago.”

Alex steps forward, her hand instinctively reaching for yours. “Oh my God...are you okay? How are you feeling?”

Her immediate concern almost undoes you, and you blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “I’m...I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Charles lets out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. “Wow. I mean...wow. Does...does Max know?”

At the mention of Max’s name, you shake your head quickly. “No, he doesn’t. And I don’t want him to—not yet.”

Alex’s brows furrow. “But you’re going to tell him eventually, right?”

You hesitate, the uncertainty hanging in the air. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can. He just got out of a relationship, and things are complicated.”

Charles shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, clearly unsure of what to say. “But...he’s the father, right?”

“Of course,” you reply quickly, your voice sharp. You sigh, feeling the tension in your body ease slightly. “It’s just...with everything that happened between him and his ex, I don’t want to make things worse. He’s been going through a lot.”

Alex squeezes your hand gently. “That doesn’t mean he shouldn’t know. He has a right to.”

You nod, but the idea of telling Max still feels too overwhelming, too complicated.

“I just...I need some time,” you say quietly. “I need to figure things out.”

Alex nods, her expression softening again. “Okay. We’re here for you, whatever you decide.”

Charles finally steps forward, his usual goofy grin gone. “Yeah, we’ve got your back. Whatever you need.”

You offer them both a small, grateful smile. “Thanks. I’m just trying to take it one day at a time.”

Alex hugs you, her arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders. “We’ll get through this together.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. You’re not alone in this anymore. Alex and Charles know now, and even though there are still so many unanswered questions—about Max, about the future—you finally feel like you can breathe.

The morning light filters through your studio windows as you sit at your desk, reviewing concept boards for your upcoming fashion show. You’ve tried to focus on work, pouring yourself into designs for your new maternity collection, but it’s hard to ignore the subtle changes in your body.

Your fingers hover over the designs, and despite how proud you are of the collection, you can’t shake the worry creeping up the back of your mind. Every day, the nausea comes in waves, the exhaustion more overwhelming than usual. The weight of the secret you’re carrying feels heavier with each passing moment, but for now, you have to keep it buried.

Amanda steps into the room, placing a cup of herbal tea on your desk. “Here,” she says, her eyes scanning your face. “You looked like you needed something soothing.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking a sip and letting the warmth calm your nerves. You hadn’t realized you were fidgeting until now.

You’ve been so careful at work, going through the motions of meetings, fittings, and shoots as if nothing is different. But Amanda’s keen observation skills—and the subtle way she’s been watching you—make you feel more exposed. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep this up.

As the day goes on, you notice whispers among the team. Little comments about how you seem “glowing” or how you’ve been calmer than usual. It’s innocent enough, but each time, your pulse races, worrying that someone is beginning to piece it together.

Later, during a meeting with your design team, you present the new maternity line. You speak confidently, knowing the collection is some of your best work, but a small voice inside you can’t help but feel nervous as you explain the inspiration behind it. One of your designers raises an eyebrow when you mention how the pieces will offer both comfort and style for women during all stages of pregnancy.

“Interesting choice,” one of the assistants remarks. “Are we expanding into maternity now?”

You force a smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yes. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I want this collection to reflect the different phases of life, including motherhood.”

The team nods in approval, but you can feel the weight of their curiosity. As you finish the presentation, you excuse yourself from the meeting, heading to your office for a moment of quiet.

As soon as you close the door behind you, you slump into the chair, rubbing your temples. The anxiety is starting to wear on you, and keeping this secret feels more daunting with each passing day. You grab your phone and see a text from Alex, asking how you’re holding up.

Just as you’re about to respond, Amanda pokes her head in. “By the way, don’t forget about the event tonight.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten. The event is a high-profile charity gala—a perfect storm for running into Max.

“Right... thanks for the reminder,” you say, trying to sound calm.

That evening, you arrive at the event, your oversized dress flowing elegantly as you step into the ballroom. The room is filled with the usual crowd—models, designers, athletes, and celebrities. You take a deep breath, hoping that blending in with the crowd will be enough to keep attention off you.

But as you make your way through the event, your eyes catch sight of someone across the room. Max.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, but the sight of him is enough to make your heart race. This is the first time you’ve seen him since... well, since everything.

He’s talking to a few people, his usual relaxed posture, but there’s something different in his expression—maybe from his recent breakup. Your breath hitches as you watch him for a moment longer before you turn to find Alex and Charles, hoping to stay out of Max’s line of sight.

But just as you turn to walk away, you hear a voice behind you.

“Hey.”

You freeze, knowing exactly who it is before you even turn around. Max stands there, his eyes scanning your face, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.

You turn slowly, heart pounding as your eyes meet Max’s. For a moment, it feels like the rest of the room fades away, and it’s just the two of you standing there, an invisible tension hanging between you.

“Max,” you manage to say, your voice steady but your nerves buzzing beneath the surface. You hadn’t planned on speaking to him, not here, not like this. But now that he’s standing right in front of you, you don’t have a choice.

He looks... good. That familiar sharpness in his gaze is still there, but you can see the weight of something unsaid behind his eyes. It’s probably the breakup. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, his tone neutral but tinged with curiosity. He looks you over quickly, taking in your outfit, but you’re thankful it hides enough that he wouldn’t notice anything off at first glance.

“I—yeah, I wasn’t sure if I’d come,” you say, forcing a small smile. “Work’s been crazy.”

He nods, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression, like he knows there’s more to the story. “I get it. Same for me. Trying to get back into the swing of things.”

You know he’s referring to his recent breakup, and for a brief second, guilt claws at you. He doesn’t know, and this would be the absolute worst moment to drop the bomb. Not at a public event, not in front of all these people. You can feel Alex and Charles watching you from across the room, their presence grounding you, reminding you that they know—but Max doesn’t. Not yet.

“Have you been all right?” he asks, his voice dropping a little lower, more sincere. “It feels like it’s been a while since we last... talked.”

The way he says “talked” holds so much more than the word itself. It brings back memories of the last time you saw him—when things between you had been anything but simple. The night you hooked up still lingers in your mind, the way it felt like something more, but you’d both walked away from it without a word about what it really meant.

“I’ve been fine,” you lie. “Just... busy. You know how it is.”

Max tilts his head, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Yeah, I do.”

There’s a pause, and the air between you feels heavier. You can tell he’s trying to read you, trying to figure out if something is wrong. And part of you wants to tell him. But you can’t. Not here.

Just as the tension starts to rise, someone brushes past you, pulling your attention away for a second. It’s Alex, making her way over with a casual smile that barely hides her concern.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Alex says, glancing between you and Max. “I just wanted to steal her for a second.”

You can see Max's eyes flicker to Alex, then back to you. He steps back slightly, giving you space. “Of course,” he says, his voice clipped, though you can’t tell if it’s from irritation or something else.

“Catch up later?” he asks, his tone softening, and you nod, though your stomach twists at the thought.

“Yeah, sure,” you murmur, and with that, Alex gently pulls you aside.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, Alex leans in. “You okay?” she asks quietly, concern etched into her face. “I saw you two talking, and I wasn’t sure if you needed an out.”

You nod, feeling a wave of relief but also guilt. “Thanks for the save. I wasn’t ready to talk to him... not yet.”

“I figured,” Alex says, giving you a sympathetic look. “But he’s going to figure it out eventually.”

You know she’s right. The more you run into him, the harder it’s going to be to keep the secret. And after tonight, it’s clear that Max isn’t going to let things stay unresolved between you for much longer.

After Alex pulls you away, you take a moment to breathe, letting the tension drain from your body. But the thought of telling Max still lingers in the back of your mind. Maybe tonight was the right time after all. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding and face whatever comes next.

You glance back at him, half expecting to see him still standing where you left him. But instead, your breath catches in your throat.

Max isn’t alone anymore.

His ex stands beside him, her hand resting casually on his arm as she leans in to say something. He’s smiling, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Still, it’s enough to make your heart sink. The sight of them together—so familiar, so comfortable—leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Whatever you were about to tell him evaporates in an instant. The idea of burdening him with the news of your pregnancy feels impossible now. He’s clearly moved on, and you can’t bring yourself to pull him back into something so complicated, not when he’s just gotten out of a relationship.

You turn away quickly, trying to shake off the sudden wave of emotion. Alex notices and wraps a supportive arm around your shoulder, leading you away from the scene. “You did the right thing,” she says quietly. “It’s not the right time.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I know.”

But deep down, it doesn’t make it any easier.

The night of the fashion show arrives, and the energy backstage is electric. Models are rushing around, designers are making last-minute adjustments, and the press is already swarming outside. Your collection is the centerpiece of the show, and the maternity line is about to debut in front of some of the biggest names in the industry.

But despite the excitement, a familiar weight presses down on your chest. You’re nervous—not just about the show but about being in the spotlight while trying to hide your pregnancy. The oversized designs you’ll wear tonight should help conceal it, but you can’t shake the fear that someone will notice a change in you.

As you step out into the bright lights of the runway, you remind yourself to breathe. Focus on the work. Focus on the moment. You can do this.

The show goes off without a hitch. The audience loves the collection, and you manage to keep your composure throughout. But as you walk backstage after your final look, you can feel the pressure building again. You’ve made it through the night, but the reality of your situation is starting to catch up with you.

As the weeks pass, your body begins to show subtle signs of the life growing inside you. The small bump is barely noticeable, but to you, it’s impossible to ignore. The reality of your pregnancy is becoming more apparent each day, and with it, the pressure to step back from work mounts.

After another long week of trying to conceal the changes and fighting off fatigue, you make a decision—you need a break. The relentless cycle of photoshoots, meetings, and creative pressure is too much to handle while carrying a secret this big. So, with a heavy heart, you inform your team that you’ll be taking a leave of absence from both modeling and designing. It’s the first time in a long while that you’re putting yourself first, but it doesn’t feel like a relief. If anything, it makes the situation feel more real.

You spend the next few days quietly preparing for your time away, tying up loose ends and planning for what comes next. But even as you try to rest, the world keeps moving. One evening, as you sit on the couch scrolling through your phone, you receive a text from Alex.

Hey! How do you feel about coming with us to Vegas for the Grand Prix?

You deserve a break, and it’ll be fun! Plus, it’s cold—perfect for layering up and hiding that cute bump of yours 😉

You smile at her playful message. Alex always knows how to make you feel better, and despite your initial hesitation, the idea of going to Vegas for the race sounds like a good distraction.

I’ll think about it, but I’m not sure…

No excuses! Charles and I already have everything set. You need this, trust me. It’s going to be amazing.

After a bit of back and forth, you reluctantly agree. The timing couldn’t be better—Vegas would be a good place to get away from everything, and the cold weather gives you the perfect excuse to bundle up and hide the bump that’s starting to show. Maybe, just maybe, you can get through this without anyone noticing.

The Las Vegas Grand Prix is buzzing with energy when you arrive. The city is alive with lights, and the cold air nips at your skin as you step out of the car, pulling your oversized sweater tighter around yourself. You’ve layered your outfit perfectly—no one would suspect a thing.

As you make your way through the paddock with Charles and Alex, you do your best to remain inconspicuous, but it’s hard not to feel like you’re under a microscope. Max is here. You haven’t seen him since that fateful night at the gala, and even though you’ve done your best to avoid him, you know it’s only a matter of time before your paths cross again.

Sure enough, as you’re chatting with Alex near the Red Bull garage, you spot him out of the corner of your eye. He’s walking in your direction, his gaze sweeping across the crowd until it lands on you. For a brief moment, you think about turning away, but it’s too late.

“Hey,” Max says, stopping in front of you, his eyes scanning your face. “You look… really good.”

There’s an awkward pause as you search for something to say, but all you can manage is a quiet, “Thanks.” The tension between you is palpable, but before anything more can be said, Charles interrupts, pulling you away to meet some of the other drivers.

As the race time approaches, Alex notices you’re starting to look tired and pulls you aside. “Hey, why don’t you watch the race from Charles’ driver’s room? You can get some rest if you want. It’s warm in there, and no one will bother you.”

You hesitate, but the thought of escaping the chaos of the paddock for a few hours is too tempting to pass up. “Okay,” you agree. “But you stay here and enjoy the race. I’ll be fine.”

Alex gives you a soft smile. “I’ll come check on you after.”

The room is quiet, the hum of the crowd fading into the background as you settle onto the couch, finally able to relax. You didn’t realize how exhausted you were until now, the weight of everything catching up with you. Before you know it, you’ve drifted off to sleep, your hands instinctively resting on your bump as you doze.

After the race ends, Max heads to Charles’ driver’s room, searching for him. The door creaks open softly, and he freezes in his tracks at the sight in front of him.

There you are, fast asleep on the couch, your oversized sweater no longer hiding the soft curve of your belly. His eyes widen, his mind racing as the pieces start to fall into place. The realization hits him hard—this isn’t just a rumor or a secret anymore. You’re pregnant, and somehow, he knows deep down, it’s his.

Max stands frozen in the doorway, his heart racing as he stares at your sleeping form. The soft rise of your belly is undeniable now, and everything clicks into place in a way that feels almost too shocking to comprehend. His breath hitches, the noise startling you awake. You blink, disoriented for a moment, before your eyes land on him.

“Max?” you murmur, your voice groggy with sleep.

But the look on his face makes your heart drop.

“You’re pregnant,” he says flatly, his voice stripped of emotion.

You nod, unsure of what to say. The words you rehearsed, the explanations and apologies, all seem to disappear in the suffocating silence between you.

Max’s eyes narrow, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. “And you weren’t planning on telling me, were you?”

“Max, I was going to—”

“When?” he interrupts, his tone sharp and cutting. “After the baby was born? Or maybe when the media started asking questions? Did you think I wouldn’t find out eventually?”

You swallow hard, feeling the lump in your throat grow larger by the second. “I didn’t know how to tell you… You just got out of a relationship. I didn’t want to make things more complicated.”

His jaw tightens, and he stares at you like he doesn’t even recognize you anymore. “More complicated?” His voice rises, incredulous. “You think hiding the fact that you’re carrying my child isn’t complicated enough?”

“I didn’t know how you’d react,” you say softly, your voice trembling. “I didn’t want to ruin everything.”

Max scoffs, his face twisted in disbelief. “Ruin everything? You already did. You made this decision for both of us without even giving me the chance to decide if I wanted to be involved.”

You feel your stomach drop. The look in his eyes is colder than you’ve ever seen, and the weight of his words hits you like a punch to the gut. “Max, please… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

He takes a step closer, his voice low but laced with anger. “You didn’t mean for what to happen? To get pregnant or to keep it from me?”

You can’t meet his gaze. “Both,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Max lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. “Max, I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing by giving you space. I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” he snaps. “You didn’t give me a choice. You took that away from me.”

Your heart sinks further, and the lump in your throat makes it difficult to speak. “I know I should have told you sooner. But we can still figure this out. We can—”

Max cuts you off, his voice cold and detached. “No.”

The single word hangs in the air between you like a death sentence. Your eyes widen, and your chest tightens with panic. “What do you mean, no?”

“I’m not doing this,” Max says, his tone icy. “I’m not going to be part of something you kept from me. You made the choice to go through this alone—so you can finish it alone.”

You feel your breath hitch, your resolve faltering. “Max, please. You don’t mean that. You can’t just walk away.”

Max’s gaze is unwavering, hard as steel. “Watch me.”

The finality in his voice cuts through you, but you manage to keep your composure, standing your ground. “You don’t get to make this decision for me. This is our child.”

“I didn’t get a say in that!” he retorts, anger flashing in his eyes. “You’ve known all this time, and you’ve had the luxury of time to process it. I just found out, and now I’m supposed to act like everything’s fine? Like I haven’t been completely blindsided?”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat. You can see the hurt and betrayal etched across his face, and it pierces you deeper than any insult.

“Max, this isn’t just about you. I was scared. I didn’t know how you’d react, and I didn’t want to complicate things more, especially after your breakup.”

“Maybe I wanted to be a part of this!” he yells, frustration seeping into every word. “But you made it clear that I’m not. You decided that all by yourself.”

A heavy silence hangs between you, thick with unspoken emotions. You take a breath, steeling yourself, but he’s not done.

“Do you even realize how selfish that is?” Max shakes his head, disbelief written all over his face. “You think you can just decide what’s best for me without even asking?”

“I thought I was protecting you!” you reply, your voice firm despite the tremor underneath. “This is hard for me too, Max. I didn’t want to burden you with something I didn’t know how to handle myself.”

Max’s expression hardens, the anger in his eyes morphing into something colder. “You don’t get to choose what I can and can’t handle. I’m not a child, and this is not just your life. This is our child we’re talking about.”

The tension in the air is palpable, and you take a step back, feeling the weight of the moment bearing down on you.

“What happens now?” you ask quietly, almost pleading for some kind of understanding.

Max crosses his arms, his posture defensive. “You’re the one who made this choice. You can raise our kid alone if that’s what you want.”

“Max, I never wanted that!” you insist, desperation creeping into your voice. “I thought we could figure this out together.”

He shakes his head, disappointment flooding his features. “I can’t be part of something you hid from me. I won’t. It’s too late for that.”

You feel a chill wash over you as the finality of his words sinks in. “You’re just going to walk away?”

“I’m not walking away,” he replies, his voice now steady, devoid of any emotion. “I’m choosing not to be involved in something I didn’t even know was happening. You’ve made that choice for me.”

With that, he turns, heading for the door. The sight of him walking away feels like a knife to your heart, but you refuse to let your emotions spill over. You hold your ground, your expression steeling.

“Max,” you call out, but he doesn’t look back.

The door clicks softly behind him as he leaves Charles’ driver’s room, leaving you alone with the echoes of his rejection. You stare at the space he once occupied, your hand drifting instinctively to your stomach. There’s no sobbing, no collapse of emotion—just a stillness, a numb realization of where you stand.

You wish you could cry. Somehow, the tears refuse to fall.

The quiet is almost suffocating, pressing against your skin like the cold air outside. Max’s anger had been expected, but the way he looked at you—the coldness in his eyes as he dismissed not just you, but the life growing inside you—had cut deeper than you anticipated.

You rub your hand absentmindedly over the soft curve of your belly, feeling that strange mixture of loss and strength. I can do this. You’ve been on your own before, and now, it’s not just about you.

You stand, smoothing down your oversized sweater, and move to gather your things. As you slip into the hallway, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Alex: We’re coming over.

You almost don’t want to see them, but the truth is, you need them now more than ever. Alex and Charles have always been your safe space, and tonight, that space feels smaller, more fragile. But it’s still there.

Half an hour later, the knock at your door is soft but insistent. You open it to find Alex standing there with Charles just behind her. Her face is a mix of worry and expectation.

“We came as fast as we could,” Alex says, pulling you into a gentle hug before you can speak.

You smile faintly at their concern, the warmth of Alex’s embrace easing some of the weight on your chest. Charles steps inside, eyes scanning your face as if searching for clues to what happened.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, his brow furrowed.

You nod, but it’s not convincing. “I told Max,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

They both stiffen at your words. Alex exchanges a glance with Charles before guiding you to sit down on the couch. “And?” she presses gently.

You hesitate, fingers tracing the seam of your sweater as you exhale slowly. “He doesn’t want to be part of it.”

There’s a long, heavy silence. The tension in the room shifts as Alex sits beside you, her hand finding yours, squeezing it tightly. Charles crosses his arms, looking frustrated but holding back his words.

“He’ll come around,” Alex says softly. “He’s just… dealing with a lot right now.”

You shake your head, the words not offering much comfort. “No, I don’t think he will. He was clear, Alex. He… he said I should’ve told him sooner, but—” You stop, biting your lip as the frustration rises. “I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping it from him. He just got out of a relationship; the last thing he needed was this.”

Charles leans against the wall, arms still crossed, his expression unreadable. Finally, he speaks. “Max is an idiot. He’s got his head so far up his ass, he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

You let out a dry laugh, but it’s tinged with sadness. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I expected him to be thrilled.”

“Still doesn’t make it okay,” Alex adds. “You don’t deserve that.”

Your heart swells with gratitude for them. They’re not sugarcoating anything or trying to fix what’s broken. They’re just here, and in that, you find comfort.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” you admit quietly, your hand resting protectively on your bump. “I wasn’t ready for any of this, and now… it’s just me.”

Alex’s gaze softens. “You’re not alone. Not by a long shot.”

Charles moves to sit beside you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Whatever happens, you’ve got us. And you’re going to be an amazing mom. Max… he’s missing out.”

You smile through the heaviness in your chest. “Thanks. I needed that.”

For a moment, you sit there in silence, the three of you. The conversation shifts to lighter topics—Alex telling you about some ridiculous thing Charles did last week, the upcoming races, and work. It’s grounding, reminding you that despite everything, there are pieces of your life that still make sense..

Max sat on his couch, his eyes staring blankly at the TV, the sound barely registering. His mind kept drifting back to the race, and more than that—to her. The image of her asleep in Charles’ driver’s room, her hand protectively resting over the curve of her belly, haunted him.

He sighed, rubbing his face, trying to shake the thoughts away. He didn’t want to think about it, about her, or about the decision he’d made.

But before he could fully retreat into his thoughts, there was a knock on his door.

Max frowned, standing up and crossing the room to answer it. When he opened the door, he found Charles standing there, his face hard with barely concealed anger.

“Can I come in?” Charles asked, his voice tight.

Max stepped aside, already knowing this wasn’t going to be a casual conversation.

Charles didn’t waste any time once the door was shut behind him. “What the hell are you doing?”

Max blinked, taken aback by the intensity in his friend’s voice. “What are you talking about?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about,” Charles snapped, his arms crossing over his chest. “She told you about the baby, and you just walked away?”

Max’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t walk away. I told her how I felt.”

Charles scoffed. “You didn’t tell her how you felt. You pushed her away because you were scared.”

“Scared?” Max repeated, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I’m not scared, Charles. She kept it from me for months. How am I supposed to feel about that?”

Charles stepped closer, his eyes blazing. “You’re supposed to care, Max! She’s pregnant with your child. You don’t get to just check out because it’s inconvenient for you.”

Max clenched his fists at his sides, the frustration rising. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is.” Charles’ voice softened, but his words were firm. “You’re making it complicated because you don’t want to deal with it. But she’s doing this alone. She’s carrying your son.”

Max froze at the last word, his eyes snapping up to meet Charles’. “Son?”

Charles nodded, his gaze steady. “Yeah. She found out a few days ago. And you should’ve been there.”

Max stared at him, his thoughts spinning. A son. He didn’t even know it was a boy. And the weight of that hit him harder than he expected.

Charles’s expression softened, his eyes filled with understanding. “I know exactly why you walked away.”

Max tensed, his heart pounding in his chest. “What are you talking about?”

“I know why you’re scared, Max,” Charles said quietly. “Because of him. Because of what Jos was like when you were growing up. You think if you stick around, you’ll turn out just like him.”

Max’s eyes flickered with surprise, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Charles could see the truth in his silence.

“I know you don’t talk about it, and I don’t need the details,” Charles continued, stepping closer. “But I’ve seen how hard he was on you. I’ve seen how you shut down when people talk about family, about fathers. You’re scared that if you stay, you’ll mess up the way he did.”

Max stared down at the floor, his heart pounding. “He made my life hell, Charles. Every mistake I made, he made sure I knew. He made me feel like I wasn’t good enough… like I’d never be good enough.”

Charles watched him closely, his voice soft but firm. “But that’s not who you are, Max. You’re not him. You know what not to do. That’s what makes you different.”

Max swallowed hard, his throat tight. “What if I’m worse?”

Charles sighed, shaking his head. “You won’t be. I’ve seen you with kids, with your nieces and nephews. You’re good with them, whether you believe it or not. You’re not going to be him, Max. But if you walk away now, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

Max didn’t respond for a long moment. The fear, the guilt, it all weighed so heavily on him, and yet Charles was right. He wasn’t his father. He didn’t have to be.

“I don’t know what to do,” Max finally whispered.

“You start by being there,” Charles said simply. “That’s it. You show up. Everything else will fall into place.”

“You’re going to regret it if you don’t step up,” Charles said quietly. “She’s stronger than you think, but she shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

Max didn’t say anything as Charles left, the door closing softly behind him. But the words stayed with him, even after the silence returned to the apartment.

Work had always been your way of coping. And now, it was a necessity. You threw yourself into finishing the pregnancy collection, meticulously crafting each piece to enhance the models’ natural beauty. The collection was personal—more than anyone realized—and every design was a tribute to the future you were about to step into.

The name you’d chosen for the collection, Adrie, was a secret only you and Alex knew. No one else had any idea that it was named after your son, a silent tribute to the life growing inside you.

As the final touches were made, you found moments of joy. Your appointments with Alex were always a reminder of what was coming. Finding out you were having a boy brought a strange sense of peace, even as your relationship with Max remained broken.

Now, the fashion show was finally here.

The runway was alive with excitement as your models strutted down the catwalk, each wearing pieces that reflected a new chapter in your creative journey. The audience was captivated—every detail, every design, was met with applause. But as you watched from backstage, your heart pounded for a different reason.

You spotted him. Max. He was here.

He sat in the audience, his expression unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. You hadn’t seen him since Monaco, since he walked out of Charles’ driver’s room without a second glance. And now, he was here, watching.

Your stomach churned, the slight bump beneath your dress making you feel more vulnerable than ever. You could have asked Alex if she knew he was coming, but there was no point now.

The show reached its peak, and it was time for you to take your final bow. You stepped out onto the runway, your face composed, your smile professional. The applause was deafening, and yet, all you could feel was the knot in your chest as you avoided looking directly at Max.

Don’t look at him. Don’t let him see.

But you could feel him. You felt his eyes on you the entire time. The weight of his presence was inescapable, but you held your head high, walking the length of the runway with grace.

Once you were backstage, the relief was instant. You’d done it. You had survived.

But before you could catch your breath, a voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Hey.”

You turned slowly, already knowing who it was. Max stood there, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands. His expression was softer than you’d seen in weeks, but you didn’t let yourself fall into the trap of believing it meant anything.

“I thought you did amazing,” he said, stepping closer. “The collection… it’s beautiful… you’re beautiful.”

You forced a polite smile, taking the flowers from him. “Thanks.”

But you didn’t say anything else. You couldn’t. Not yet.

Max seemed to hesitate, like he was searching for the right words. “Can we talk?”

Max’s voice hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you hesitated. The flowers in your hands felt heavier than they should, and the weight of the past few weeks pressed down on your chest.

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. “Okay.”

Max gestured toward a quieter part of the backstage area, away from the bustling crowd of designers and models celebrating the show’s success. You followed, your heart pounding in your ears as you prepared for whatever he had to say.

Once you were alone, he turned to face you, his eyes searching yours for something. But you didn’t give anything away. You couldn’t.

“I’ve been thinking,” Max started, his voice low, almost hesitant. “About everything.”

You folded your arms over your chest, waiting. You weren’t sure where this was going, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

“I reacted… badly, at the Grand Prix,” Max admitted. “I was angry, and I said things I didn’t mean.”

You raised an eyebrow, keeping your voice steady. “You made it pretty clear how you felt, Max.”

“I know,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But I wasn’t thinking straight. I was… scared.”

“Scared?” you repeated, incredulous. “Of what?”

Max looked away for a moment, his jaw tightening. “Of being a father. Of screwing everything up.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Why would you think that?”

“Because of him,” Max said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because of Jos.”

The mention of his father made your heart soften, if only a little. You knew about Max’s complicated relationship with his father—how Jos had pushed him relentlessly, made him feel like he was never enough. But this wasn’t about Jos. This was about the baby.

“You’re not him, Max,” you said quietly.

He shook his head, his eyes filled with doubt. “What if I am? What if I end up doing everything wrong, just like he did?”

“You won’t,” you insisted. “You’re not him. You’ve already proven that by caring enough to be scared in the first place.”

Max stared at you, the vulnerability in his eyes catching you off guard. This wasn’t the Max you were used to seeing—the confident, untouchable racer who never let anything faze him. This was a man who was terrified of repeating his father’s mistakes.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle into your chest. “Then why are you here, Max?”

“Because I want to try,” he said softly. “I don’t want to walk away from this. From you. From… our son.”

The word hung between you, raw and real.

You took a deep breath, your heart aching. “I can’t do this alone, Max.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. “And I don’t want you to. But I need you to believe me when I say I’m going to try. I just… I need time to figure this out.”

You reach a hand out hesitantly, before reaching his for his hand, you thumb pads over his calloused palms, you place his hand on your stomach, “His name is Adrie Emillian Verstappen,” you whisper.

Max’s eyes widened as his hand rested on your small, growing bump. The warmth of your skin beneath his palm sent a shiver down his spine, and for the first time, it all felt real. The name—Adrie Emillian Verstappen—echoed in his mind, grounding him in a way nothing else had before.

“Adrie…” he murmured, the name foreign on his tongue but already carrying so much weight. His thumb brushed gently across your belly, and for a moment, it was just the two of you—no racing, no fear, just this life between you both.

You watched his expression closely, unsure of what to expect. This was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him, and it made you both hopeful and terrified at the same time. But you couldn’t afford to let your guard down just yet.

“You need to understand something, Max,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “I’ve been doing this alone for months. I’ve been preparing myself for the possibility that you wouldn’t be there—because you made it clear at the Grand Prix that you didn’t want to be.”

Max flinched at the reminder, his guilt palpable.

“And now you’re saying you want to try,” you continued, your voice steady. “But trying isn’t enough. I need to know that you’re in this for the long haul, that you’re not going to back out the moment it gets hard.”

Max’s jaw tightened, his hand still resting on your stomach. “I won’t walk away again. I swear, I won’t.”

You searched his face for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was sincerity. He looked terrified, yes, but also determined. You wanted to believe him, you wanted to trust that he would follow through on his promise—but the fear of getting hurt again lingered.

“I want to believe you,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “But you’ve hurt me, Max. You’ve hurt me more than you realize.”

Max’s expression crumpled, the weight of your words hitting him hard. “I know… and I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes. I just… I can’t lose this. I can’t lose you.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, determined to stay strong. This was about more than just the two of you now—this was about your son, about the life you were about to bring into the world.

“You don’t have to do this perfectly, Max,” you said, your voice softening. “You just have to be here. That’s all I need.”

Max nodded, his hand pressing more firmly against your bump. “I’m here. I promise, I’m here.”

For the first time in weeks, the tension between you began to ease. You weren’t naive enough to believe that everything was suddenly fixed—that there wouldn’t be more challenges ahead. But for now, this moment felt like the first step toward something better.

As Max stood there, his hand still on your stomach, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth. Maybe he really would stay.

Because this wasn’t just about you anymore. It was about Adrie.

And for him, you would fight to make this work.

The following weeks settled into a rhythm, with Max becoming a regular part of your daily life. He started attending your doctor’s appointments, always arriving on time, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes, people mistook the two of you for a couple, and while it felt awkward at first, you quickly learned to brush it off. There were bigger things to focus on—like preparing for the baby.

“Your husband’s got a great bedside manner,” one of the nurses had said during your most recent appointment, and you’d simply smiled, glancing at Max, who didn’t bother to correct her either. Neither of you needed to explain what you were to anyone else.

Max moving in felt just as natural, though unspoken. One day, after another doctor’s visit, he casually mentioned that it would make more sense if he stayed with you, at least until the baby came. You hadn’t objected, and before you knew it, Max’s things were scattered around your apartment—his shoes by the door, his jacket hanging on your chair, and his presence… well, it made things feel a little less lonely.

The ultrasound technician turned to you with a warm smile as she spread the gel over your bump, your eyes glued to the monitor. Max’s hand, as always, was resting on your shoulder, his thumb absently tracing comforting circles on your skin.

“There he is,” the technician said, pointing at the screen where your son’s form appeared.

Max’s grip tightened ever so slightly, his gaze softening as he watched the baby move. “Adrie…” he murmured, the name that still felt so new but so right slipping from his lips

later that evening, Alex and Charles invited you to dinner at a nice restaurant by the ocean..

“You know,” Alex began, poking at her salad, “Max is really stepping up. It’s nice to see.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, glancing at Max and you, sitting across from him. “Yeah, you’re practically a family already.”

The air went a little still, and you felt your cheeks warm, though you quickly masked it with a casual smile. “We’re just doing what’s best for Adrie. That’s all.”

Max, seated beside you, stayed quiet but gave a small nod of agreement. He didn’t seem bothered by the comment, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you that things weren’t as simple as everyone else assumed.

Alex and Charles exchanged another look—one that said they weren’t buying your explanation, but thankfully, they let it slide. The evening continued with light conversation and laughter, but every now and then, Alex’s eyes would drift toward you and Max, her knowing smile never far behind.

Dinner had gone well enough. That is, until you ran into Max’s ex-girlfriend.

The instant her eyes landed on you, her polite smile shifted to something sharper, something filled with disdain. The glance she gave your bump—barely noticeable beneath your loose dress—felt like a dagger, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being… less than.

She was flawless. Tall, sleek, the picture of everything you weren’t right now.

You tried to smile through it, act like the growing tightness in your chest didn’t bother you. But the look on her face as she spoke to Max, dripping in casual familiarity, gnawed at the edges of your confidence. Her tone was light, as if to remind you that she and Max had a history, while you were merely the woman carrying his child.

When she finally left, you could breathe again, but the damage was done. The rest of the evening was a blur of polite conversation, your responses automatic. Max noticed, of course—he always did—but you shrugged off his concern, plastering on a fake smile until you got home.

Once back at the apartment, Max followed close behind you, his presence a silent comfort. But the tension between you both had shifted, the air thick with something unspoken.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft as he stepped closer. You could see the concern in his eyes, and that made it worse. You hated how vulnerable you felt, hated how the ex had made you feel small.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, your voice a little too quick. “I’m just tired.”

Max didn’t believe you. You could tell by the way he kept watching you, his eyes studying your face, your movements. But he didn’t press. Instead, he nodded, giving you space as he retreated to his own room.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, frustration swirling in your chest. Why did you let her get to you? Why did you care? But it was more than that. It was your body. You hadn’t felt like yourself in months. Your bump had grown, your clothes fit differently, and while you knew you were supposed to love the process, part of you felt disconnected, like you weren’t in control of your own body anymore.

Sleep wouldn’t come. Not with the weight of everything pressing down on you. So you slipped out of bed, pulling on a pair of shorts and a tank top, padding softly to the kitchen for a glass of water.

And that’s when you saw him.

Max stood by the counter, shirtless, looking like he hadn’t been able to sleep either. The dim light cast shadows over the defined lines of his body, and you paused mid-step. The air between you crackled with tension, neither of you saying a word.

His gaze swept over you, lingering just a little too long on the way your tank top clung to your frame, the hint of your bump visible. You felt exposed, and yet… drawn to him.

Before you knew it, you were standing close, too close, and Max reached for you, his hand brushing your arm as if testing the waters. Your breath hitched, and when his lips met yours, it was slow, tentative, as if asking for permission.

The kiss deepened, and suddenly, the world fell away. You forgot about his ex, about your insecurities, about everything except the way Max made you feel in that moment. His hands roamed your sides, skimming over your bump with the gentlest touch. But then reality crept back in, your self-doubt surfacing.

You broke the kiss, pulling back, your breath shaky.

“I… I can’t,” you whispered, avoiding his gaze. “Not like this.”

Max looked at you, confusion and concern flickering in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

You bit your lip, arms instinctively wrapping around your midsection. “I just… I don’t feel like myself. My body… it’s different. And I feel like…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t bring yourself to admit that you thought he might still want his ex.

But Max understood. He always did.

His hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, the sincerity in his voice making your chest ache. “More than you’ve ever been.”

When you didn’t respond, he lifted you gently onto the counter, his hands firm but tender as they held you in place. “This,” he said, his hand resting over your bump, “is the most beautiful you’ve ever been.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond, the words stuck in your throat. Max’s hand remained on your bump, his touch warm and grounding. There was something about the way he looked at you—like nothing else in the world mattered except this moment, except you.

“I don’t know how you can see me like that,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t even recognize myself half the time.”

Max’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his other hand reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know it feels different. But I see you. The same person you’ve always been. And more.” His thumb traced your jawline gently, his touch sending sparks of warmth through your skin. “You’re carrying our son. That makes you even more incredible to me.”

You swallowed, feeling a lump rise in your throat. There was so much you wanted to say—so much you’d held back because of your own fears. The weight of your insecurities pressed against you, threatening to pull you under, but Max’s gaze kept you afloat.

“I guess I’m just scared too,” you admitted softly, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shorts. “Scared that I’ll never feel… normal again. That you won’t see me the same way when I’m… like this.” You gestured toward your body, feeling the self-consciousness creep back in. “And what if you still want her?”

The confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. It felt like a weight off your chest, but the uncertainty still lingered, gnawing at the back of your mind. You couldn’t bear to look at him, afraid of what you’d find in his expression.

But Max didn’t flinch. Instead, his hand moved from your bump to tilt your chin upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. The intensity in his gaze caught you off guard—there was no hesitation, no doubt.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “I don’t want her. I want you.” The sincerity in his words wrapped around your heart like a lifeline. “I’ve wanted you this whole time.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the truth of his words sinking in. He wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better. He meant it. And you realized that maybe, just maybe, you had been too wrapped up in your own doubts to see that.

“But I—” you started, but Max didn’t let you finish.

“Shh,” he whispered, leaning in closer, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. This—” his hand pressed gently against your bump again, “—only makes me want you more.”

The words melted into you, warm and soothing, slowly chipping away at the walls you’d built around your heart. You could feel his breath against your skin, the closeness between you so palpable it made your head spin.

“Max…” you breathed, the tension still humming between you.

He smiled, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not going anywhere.”

In that moment, it felt like everything around you faded, leaving just the two of you suspended in a quiet, fragile space. Your heart pounded, and despite all the fears and insecurities you had, you leaned into him. You kissed him again, slowly this time, letting yourself get lost in the warmth of his lips, in the way his hand cradled your face with so much care.

This time, you didn’t pull away.

His hands slid to your waist, steadying you on the counter, and you felt the warmth spread from your chest to your fingertips. You were aware of every touch, every small breath between kisses, the way Max’s fingers brushed the exposed skin of your lower back. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t thinking about your body or the way it had changed.

You were just thinking about him.

When the kiss broke, both of you were breathing hard, the air between you charged. Max rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along the side of your neck.

And for the first time in a long while, you actually started to believe it.

The last few months had been a whirlwind, and now, at 29 weeks pregnant, you found yourself in a place you never expected: meeting Max’s family. Victoria, Max’s sister, and Sophie, his mother, welcomed you with open arms. Their warmth felt like a much-needed embrace, especially during those moments when the pregnancy felt overwhelming.

Victoria’s laughter echoed through the room as she shared stories. “You should have seen him as a kid! Always getting into trouble. There was this one time he tried to ‘fix’ my Barbie car, and it ended up in pieces all over the living room.”

You chuckled, imagining a young Max surrounded by chaos. “I can see that. It’s a miracle he became a champion instead of a mechanic!”

Sophie smiled, leaning closer. “He always had a knack for determination, but it’s his heart that really makes him special.”

As the evening wore on, you felt a warmth blooming in your chest. You loved hearing their stories about Max, but they quickly turned into advice about motherhood. “Just remember, every child is different,” Sophie said, her eyes shining with wisdom. “Trust your instincts.

That night, as you and Max settled in back at your place, you couldn’t stop thinking about it all—the baby, the move, everything. With Victoria and Sophie by your side, it suddenly made sense to have the baby in the Netherlands, closer to Max’s family. You looked over at Max, his face soft in the dim light.

“I’ve been thinking,” you started, playing with the edge of the blanket. “I want to have Adrie in the Netherlands. I want him to grow up close to your family.”

Max’s gaze flicked to yours, surprise flashing in his eyes before it melted into something softer. “You sure? You don’t feel like it’s too much?”

You shook your head, smiling. “No, I think it’s the right thing to do. Plus, Victoria and Sophie are going to spoil him rotten. He’s going to need us to balance that out.”

Max chuckled softly, reaching over to rest his hand on your bump, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “I think Adrie will like it here.”

A few weeks later, at the Zandvoort Grand Prix, you were there to support Max. At 30 weeks pregnant, you were still getting used to all the changes in your body, but you didn’t let that stop you from being by his side. You’d already become close with Victoria and Sophie, who spent time with you while Max was training.

That day, as you were making your way through the paddock, you finally met Jos. Max’s father had always been a shadow looming in the background—he rarely came to races and, from what you’d heard, wasn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type.

The meeting went as you expected—Jos was standoffish, his hostility barely veiled. “So, you’re the one Max has chosen to have a baby with,” he said coldly, scanning you with disdain. “Interesting choice.”

You stood tall, refusing to let his words shake you. “Yes, I am. And we’re excited to welcome Adrie.”

Max’s jaw tightened as he stepped closer to you. “That’s enough, Dad. You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

You placed a hand on Max’s arm, calming him down. “It’s fine, really. I don’t care what he thinks,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “But he did say something nasty, and I just thought you should know.”

At that, Max’s jaw clenched, his hand tightening into a fist. “What did he say?”

You repeated Jos’s comment, and Max immediately stood, pacing the room. “I swear, I’m going to—”

“Max, stop,” you interrupted, gently pulling him back to sit beside you. “He’s not worth it. You’re better than that.”

Max looked at you, his expression softening at your calm demeanor. His hand instinctively went to your belly, feeling the subtle movement beneath his palm. “I don’t want him saying those things about you. You don’t deserve that.”

You gave him a small smile, placing your hand over his. “He’s just bitter because we’re happy, Max. Don’t let him ruin this.”

That night, you FaceTimed Alex and Charles, updating them on everything. As always, they were excited to see how far along you were, Alex’s eyes lighting up when you told them about the latest doctor’s appointment.

“The baby’s kicking more now,” you said with a soft laugh, placing your hand on your bump as if to prove it.

“Let me see!” Alex demanded, leaning into the camera. Charles, sitting beside her, was equally invested.

You shifted the camera to show them your belly, and right on cue, Adrie gave a little kick. Both Alex and Charles gasped, their faces lighting up with joy.

“That’s amazing!” Alex exclaimed. “He’s going to be such a strong little boy!”

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth at their excitement. It was moments like these that made everything feel more real.

Finally, the day came. You went into labor, and everything happened so quickly that it was a blur. Max was by your side the entire time, his worry evident in the way he hovered around you, making sure you were comfortable. He held your hand through every contraction, whispering words of encouragement, his voice steady even though you could see the fear in his eyes.

When Adrie finally arrived, the room was filled with emotion. Max’s hands trembled as he held his baby boy for the first time, tears slipping down his cheeks as he looked down at his son. You’d never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so overwhelmed with love.

“He’s perfect,” Max whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He looked over at you, his eyes softening as they met yours. “You… you’re amazing. I love you.”

The words hit you like a wave, but they felt right, as if they’d been waiting to be spoken for months. Tears welled up in your eyes as you reached for Max’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I love you too.”

Just as you were about to revel in the peaceful moment, the door to your hospital room burst open, and in came Alex and Charles, balloons and gifts in tow.

“We’re here!” Alex declared, holding up a massive ‘It’s a Boy!’ balloon. Charles followed close behind, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

“Look at him!” Charles beamed, practically bouncing on his feet. “He’s perfect!”

You and Max couldn’t help but laugh at their entrance, the lightness of the moment breaking through the emotional haze of the past few hours.

“Well,” Max said, looking at the both of them, “We have something to ask.”

Alex and Charles immediately quieted down, their eyes wide with anticipation.

“We want you both to be Adrie’s godparents,” you said, smiling as you saw their reactions.

Charles let out an excited whoop, while Alex’s eyes filled with tears. “Of course!” she exclaimed, rushing over to give you a careful hug. “We’d be honored!”

And just like that, everything felt perfect. You had your family, your friends, and most importantly, you had Max and Adrie. It was the happiest ending you could have imagined.

[polaritydisturbed]

Father’s Day and The Beast Below are two of my favorite Doctor Who episodes, and I don’t think that’s an accident. Both stories center around a companion making a deeply human, deeply flawed mistake. But more than that, they’re about what those mistakes reveal—about the companion, about the Doctor, and about what it means to be good in a universe where the stakes are impossibly high.

In Father’s Day, Rose’s mistake is raw and intimate. She sees a chance to save her father—the man she’s only ever known through stories, photographs, and her mother’s grief—and she takes it. It’s not calculated. It’s not clever. It’s just love. Desperate, impulsive, heartbreakingly sincere love. She acts because the pain of not acting is too much to bear. She doesn’t think about the consequences—about time or paradoxes or the delicate threads that hold the universe together. She sees someone she loves, someone she lost too soon, and she can’t let go.

The result is catastrophic. Reality begins to fracture. Time bleeds. But underneath the Doctor’s fury is something quieter: understanding. Because he’s not just angry—he’s scared. Scared of what Rose’s love could cost, but also scared because he recognizes it. Because if he were in her place, if it were Gallifrey, if it were his own family… would he really have done anything different?

In The Beast Below, Amy’s mistake is less personal but no less human. She’s still new to all this—still figuring out what it means to travel with the Doctor, what it means to make choices that can affect entire civilizations. She tries to do the kind thing. The merciful thing. She wants to spare the Doctor the burden of an impossible decision—to take it on herself without fully understanding what’s at stake. And it backfires.

But again, the root of her mistake isn’t carelessness or ego. It’s compassion. She saw suffering and acted. And the Doctor, as angry as he gets, doesn’t see cruelty in her failure—he sees heart. Misguided, maybe. But true.

And that’s what ties these episodes together: the mistakes aren’t born of selfishness or malice. They come from love. From empathy. From trying to help. From that very human desire to make things better—even if you don’t fully know how.

And the Doctor, for all his bluster and frustration, recognizes that. Because he’s made those kinds of mistakes too. He knows what it is to act from emotion and face the consequences later. He’s not just judging them—he’s seeing himself in them.

These aren’t just episodes where the companion slips up—they’re stories where failure becomes the crucible of growth. Where human error collides with Time Lord perspective. Where the Doctor is reminded of why he needs someone beside him, and the companion learns that saving the world is rarely clean or easy.

And in the end, he forgives. Because he understands. Because he cares. Because, in their worst moments, his companions show him the best of what humanity has to offer: the willingness to try, even if it means getting it wrong.

[klausysworld]

(Very short little piece but a small idea that kept nagging me)

The Colour In His Life

Elijah, Rebekah and Hayley made their way into the gallery, a sigh of annoyance and confusion on each of their faces, bare Elijah who remained unreadable as ever.

"I don't understand why Klaus wouldn't tell us he had a show on." Hayley muttered with a small frown and Rebekah hummed in agreement.

"He's usually all for flaunting his talents and what not." She scoffed as they made their way through the hall in an attempt to find him whilst paying the faintest attention to the paintings hung across each wall.

Both women stumbled slightly as Elijah's arms darted out to stop them all in their path. "What was that for?" Rebekah snapped, before following the direction of Elijah's eyes.

Klaus was stood with his arms round a young women from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder as they both started up at an abstract piece of art. It was difficult to hear much of anything over the chatter of the hall but Elijah was able to focus in.

"We should make another one just like this one." Niklaus murmured against her ear, his head turning to kiss the side of her neck as she squirmed and blushed red.

"That was..." She swallowed a lump, trailing off as he chuckled.

"A beautiful night." He purred against her. Elijah's eyes darted to the painting, this time realising the distorted hand marks and the way her hair must've sprawled over the paper in their...time together. He would have sighed but nothing was surprising for Niklaus, except that he'd been able to hide this new lover of his from them all for, by the looks of things, quite some time.

"We've been hovering here to long, people will start to stare at it too hard and figure it out." She whispered, Elijah could hear the gentle nerves and was surprised as Niklaus's hand took hers and interlaced their fingers, he was being comforting. It's nice to know he's capable I suppose. Elijah thought to himself.

He watched as they made their way to the next few paintings, listened to the girl praise and gush over everything Klaus had created. And yet, Niklaus did not gloat and his chest did not puff out as his ego was stroked.

No, Niklaus was only looking at her.

Elijah had not seen love on his brother too often, even over a millennia it had been rare for that feeling to be so raw that the naked eye could perceive it. But in that moment there was no doubting the feelings coloured across Klaus's features.

In silent agreement all three followed the couple at a reasonable but hearable distance.

The path seemed to wind a little, Rebekah's eyes narrowed as they turned corner after corner, Hayley narrowly catching the door that said employees only. Perhaps they were anticipating a confrontation by following them in but they quickly came to a stop. Going so far as to hold the breath that they didn't need as they hoped that Klaus wouldn't pick up on their presence.

Rebekah's eyes almost fell out of her head at he sight on her brother down on one knee.

The girl was in tears, her head nodding even as he continued his speech. Even after he'd pushed the ring along her finger and pulled her into his embrace.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" She chanted quietly, snuggling into him, pulling back only to kiss his mouth and reiterate her response.

Hayley's eyes drifted over the walls covered in familiar scenery, places in New Orleans. It quickly became apparent that they must have been special places to the pair, perhaps significant date locations. It melted her heart a little.

Thankfully Klaus was far too busy to notice them being their or the soft click of the door as they left.

Instead he focused on the bride to be in his arms all while his family sat at home looking to one another in some question of how on earth they had managed to miss such a huge thing.

"At least we know why he didn't invite us to his show..."

[revelboo]

Waitng patiently for a new insecticons story (i love them so much, thanks to you. Please dont die)

I will try my hardest not to 🤣 I’m just on the struggle bus today

You (Don’t) Know Me Pt 7

Insecticons x Reader

• Wary as they watch you, it’s like they’re waiting on something. They’ve called you their queen more than once. Mentioned a coronation, though the details get a bit hazy, lost in the heated ache of need when they’d kissed you, when that one had gone down on you. Body flushing at that memory as you wiggle out from between Kickback and Shrapnel, pulling one of the blankets you’re sitting on up over your lap so everything isn’t just on display. “What if I don’t want to be your queen?” You ask slowly and the other two both look at Bombshell, tensing. Big guy is definitely the one in charge. “Hypothetically,” you add as his head tips.

• “Hypothetically, you’re of little value except as food if you’re not our queen,” Bombshell growls, long glossa curling around a servo to clean it. Aware of the way you watch him, grinning crookedly as his battle mask clicks back together. It’s a threat plain and simple, a hollow one. Those two idiots have at least partially bonded you. Forcing his hand. And after having you, he can’t really deny that he’s decided he wants to keep you, too. Had imagined a fierce queen, but maybe a soft queen that looks to him for protection wouldn’t be so bad. Someone who needs him. Who won’t curtail his plans.

• “This hive is only temporary,” Kickback says into the silence when you lean further away from all of them. “Not fit for a queen.” Antenna back, he leans over to lay his head in your lap, pretending he doesn’t notice when you tense. “We’ll do better. Bigger, more fitting for you.” Room for young, room to expand. Freezing when you hesitantly lift a hand and touch his antenna. Gently. So gently ghosting your fingers against him. Has anyone touched him like that before?

• Heck of a choice. Play queen of the scary, bug robots or be dinner. The big one had asked you to make demands. Seemed to expect it, like maybe you’re supposed to take charge. Play queen. Mouth dry as you toy with Kickback’s antenna to make him shiver and chirp against you, you can’t break Bombshell’s stare. The challenge in it. “This place is drafty. Dirty. Not a proper hive,” you manage, rolling with it and all three of them go still. Listening. “And I’m not eating that.”

• Struggling to suppress his laughter as Bombshell goes rigid in offense at your scorn, Shrapnel clears his vents noisily. Can’t help but grin, though. “Organics eat flesh,” Bombshell growls, sweeping his hand at the deer. And Shrapnel’s starving, but won’t touch it until you eat. ‘Not raw,’ you counter, little chin lifting. ‘Cook it.’ And he is laughing now, not even caring how angry Bombshell is, because this is too delicious. You’re figuring out your place. Taking charge like you’re meant to.

• Heart racing as Bombshell looms over you, there’s fear that maybe you pushed him too hard. That you pissed him off and he’s going to lash out. Instead he just stares down at you, seizes Shrapnel by one of the beetle-like horns jutting up from his shoulders and yanks him up as he hisses. Ordering him to dig a fire pit. And you shouldn’t get a little thrill out of being obeyed by them. You should be plotting your escape, not idly playing with Kickback’s antenna. Freezing when he loops his arms around you and presses his face against your stomach, venting.

Previous

Next

[gazstations]

A Path Diverging

PART SEVEN of SERIAL KILLER AU

ᯓᡣ𐭩 CHAPTER SUMMARY

You grapple with the new reality while you try to figure out what to do.

♡ Chapter Warnings: Mentioned sexual themes but not detailed at all, talks of murders (duh), nothing extreme

◇ Note: Sorry this took so long, folks. My brain went dumb. But I think it's back some now.

○●○ SERIES MASTERLIST ♡ PREV ♡ NEXT

NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

YOUR EYES WERE HEAVY WHEN YOU WOKE UP. Arms barely functioned. Heavy and numb against soft sheets. Your throat was achingly dry, feeling like a hole was drilled through, or someone just rubbed the tender esophagus raw. You smacked your lips together, swallowing rapidly and trying to produce saliva.

You went to reach for water that was at your bedside, but a hand dropped over yours. It was large, didn’t need too much pressure to pin yours back down. Your neck twinged with a rotten ache as you turned your head.

“It was for the best, dove,” Kyle spoke, eyes downcast as he watched you recoil just the slightest bit.

It all came back to you. The barrage of emotions bubbled in your stomach as doubt and caution filled your head. The men you had loved, had trusted, were filthy liars. Your heart pounded as you tried to make sense of it yet again. Yet, your mind was foggy, dialed down to low operating power from whatever it was they made you drink.

“You drugged me,” you rasped.

Kyle bit his lip, “Technically, John did.”

You went to move again. To grab something but remembered yet again, both hands were currently indisposed. The binding rubbed against the delicate flesh of your wrists with each movement. You tried to find a loophole, but you lived with experienced fighters. The bindings were tight and strong, not going to break under you. Not at this angle.

“We’re still the same people you know,” Kyle continued. “You just have to let us show you. John just needed you to calm down.

A tight, lackluster chuckle of disbelief left your lips. Was he serious? Nothing was the same anymore. Your lovers killed people right under your nose for a long time. While you just sat there obliviously. This wasn’t some quick apology. It was a clusterfuck.

“Was in your position before,” Kyle said softly. He brushed a hand over your cheek. Loving. Present. Comforting. You forced yourself not to lean into it. “I fought. Was a lot less composed than you are.”

“That supposed to comfort me?" You asked bitterly.

“You end up here regardless of what you do, dove,” Kyle warned. The delivery was saccharine sweet, but the words were haunting.

You felt upset in your belly, acid threatening to come up your esophagus. You didn’t want to be alarmed, to be afraid. Not of any of them. You had always felt secure. Now you wondered how much of your time together was a lie.

“Will you kill me if I run?” You asked quietly.

“No. No. We don’t hurt what we cherish,” Kyle assured. “We love you.”

You looked away. Your head was splitting open from the strain of stress on your heart. If you blinked hard enough or slapped your cheek, you would wake up to the reality you remembered. The one where you were content in the mudane life with your four partners. Not one where their side hobby left bile poisoning its way up your esophagus.

“Do you like it?” You asked. Did you really want to know that? He would most likely would say ‘yes’ and leave you with your throat plummeting into your stomach.

“No,” Kyle’s answer was surprisingly quick, and you looked back over at him.

“What? Then why-” Kyle cut you off before you could run yourself silly in your rambling thoughts.

“You and I didn’t get the same terms of negotiations, dove.”

That just left you with more unanswered questions. Kyle went rigid after that, shifting uncomfortably. You've known him long even to find his small tells. The downturn of only one side of his mouth, the straightening of his eyebrows, the faintest way he bit at his lip, and the way his right foot tapped just the slightest bit.

You went to reach a hand out, but remembered you're locked like some poor prisoner to the headboard. They didn't trust you. They believed enough that you were going to frighten and run. Yet you knew better. The ones that ran in the books always were the ones that ended up killed. Brutally, usually.

“Ky…maybe we-” the doorknob jiggled before you could continue.

John walked in, a plate of food in his hands and the familiar grin on his face. The kind that made the lines around his eyes deepen as they squinted and his cheeks to puff out. It was always such a sweet smile, and it had you feel horrible. There was a sinister energy beneath the grooves of his exterior facade, one that had you swallowing slowly as you eyed him.

He perched next to you on the bed, dipping his fork into the eggs that were on the plate. He pressed the fork against your lips, but you refused to open. Stubborness would only get you so far. Though, you couldn't forget that he literally drugged you. Just to keep you quiet about your discovery.

“Darling, you need to eat,” John chastised. He clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing the smallest bit.

You said nothing, but you were, admittedly, hungry.

“Do not play games…” John hissed.

He reached up and pinched the dimple of your cheeks, making your mouth open instinctively. He shoved the forked eggs into your mouth, watching closely. Once he watched your teeth mash the food into a digestible pulp, he hummed.

“It breaks my heart that you think we're any different because of what you know now,” John continued. He seemed genuinely upset, and you almost had the compulsive idea to apologize.

But you didn't.

Doubt hazed your thoughts, creating a murky field. You stood at one end, squinting through the fog, hoping to find some answers beyond the unsettling gray. Maybe something would manifest, come towards you, and guide your hand with its own.

Maybe it was Kyle. Your unsuspecting leverage.

There was something about the way Kyle was responding that wasn't right. Would he even give you answers if you asked? You wouldn't have known since John chose that time to appear. You hated that you fidgeted in his presence now.

What you and John had was endearing. He took care of you with a steady hand. Was wise and could always calm you by coaxing you into his lap. He was the solid foundation you clung to for so long.

Now you didn't know where you were going to land. Back in his arms or right into the concrete.

Maybe it wasn't a big deal. Maybe if you pretended, maybe-

No.

That would've been a direct insult to the victims. It was already bad enough living within the boundaries of their killing spot, but now you had to live with the fact that while you were playing house, your partners were two-faced.

Fuck, how many people have they killed?

“You kill people, John,” you finally found your voice, bitten back by layers of cracking cement. Your tongue was in your stomach as you manifested the strength to look at John.

“And you weren’t supposed to know that,” John said. He seemed calm, but you could see the clench of his jaw. “Johnny messed up, and we're dealing with it.”

Your stomach was unsettled. You didn’t like that. It wasn't Johnny’s fault he walked into the conversation that roused your suspicion. And, if anything, Simon was more at fault for the way he reacted with anger rather than shutting down your claims easily. But Johnny wasn't the top of the food chain in your little relationship, so it was easy to pick on him. Of course, Simon wasn't going to be blamed for any of this.

Why were you even defending Johnny in your mind, though? He was still a killer alongside them. For all you knew, the same vileness infected his blood as well. Was it always there, or did someone craft that type of evil? If you had to guess, John would be the one that put it all together. That was easy to assume, considering he was the eldest and most natural leader. You weren’t too sure it mattered, however. A killer was a killer.

You were trying not to have sympathy.

“So, I'm your prisoner now?” You asked, pulling on your binds for emphasis.

“Just a precaution, dove,” it was Kyle that spoke this time.

You frowned.

That was just the same as confirming what you asked. You never felt demeaned by them, but at that moment, you did. It was an unnatural feeling after a blissful time with them. The honeymoon stage ended abruptly, you supposed. You felt like a sheep surrounded by wolves, considering you were lesser than them simply because they had the knowledge and you didn't.

You despised it.

“Just need you to stop throwing a fit, darling,” John spoke as his deep blue eyes analyzed your face closely. It was penetrating, making the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Was it fear or animosity? “Then I will undo those binds, and we can resume exactly as we were.”

“You think I'm just going to accept murder?” You asked incredulously.

Was he serious? This wasn’t some admission of thieving when they were three years old. This was comtinuous looping murderous sprees that made you want to vomit up your insides. It was no walk in the park.

You wondered how you could miss all the signs. They were good at hiding it, though. It was a dreadful thought. One that made your blood run cold. All this time, you were oblivious to the monsters that went bump in the night.

But it also made sense. The way John always steered you from the backyard sometimes. How Kyle always asked about how your writing was going, specially about the crime aspect. The way Simon had questionable nicks sometimes–easy to overlook when he was always getting dirty. Or the way Johnny always took you away from the house to go get food.

Is that when they dragged the bodies in? When you were halfway through a milkshake and burger with your partner chatting happily across from you.

The plate of food in John's hands suddenly felt like they were full of squirming maggots. You no longer had an appetite. Not that you had much of one before.

Kyle put a hand on your back and rubbed your trembling body. You couldn’t exactly run away from his touch, so you sat there in defeat.

“She needs a bath,” Kyle told John. “She's spooked. It will help her calm down.”

“Reckon you're right, eh?” John agreed. “You want Kyle to bathe you, darling?”

You shook your head. You didn’t want a bath. You wanted out of here.

“How about Johnny? Though, I doubt he'll be very relaxing? Mutt will be all on you begging for forgiveness,” John suggested.

“I can do it myself,” you declared. “I don't need help.”

John frowned. The lines on his face got deeper, and you swallowed. You knew immediately that you said the wrong thing. John's energy was commandeering. If it fluctuated, so did everything else. Easy to feed off of. Easy to be manipulated by.

“Okay. Kyle can do it,” you relented.

John kissed your forehead. He smiled, and you instinctively returned it before you dropped the expression. “Good girl, darling,” he cooed. “Don't get shy on us now.”

He glanced up at Kyle, and the younger man nodded. He picked himself off of the side of the bed, his impression still imbeded into the firm mattress. You watched him go into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. Allowing you to see his backside as he bent over to turn on the water.

You saw John move next to you. “Don't make me regret letting these go,” John said as he undid your binds. “Be good now. You always have been.”

Why did that feel so condescending?

You stumbled towards the bathroom, still a little dizzy from whatever John had drugged you with earlier. Kyle smiled at you when you entered the space and walked towards you. “Bath bomb or not?” He asked thoughtfully as you stared at the filling tub.

“Um. Sure…” you mumbled.

Kyle nodded and opened a cabinet and grabbed the collection of bath bombs you all had. You and Kyle used them most. Though, sometimes, John indulged as he liked the smells and how it made his skin feel afterward.

You glanced back to find John gone, though you still felt like someone was watching you. Or maybe you were just paranoid. You shook your head and turned back to Kyle.

He approached you after dropping the bomb into the tub, letting it dissolve into a bubbly essence. He gripped the hem of your shirt and looked at you. “Off this goes, dove,” he said.

You held your arms up, and Kyle pulled the shirt over your head. You didn’t miss the way his deep, analyzing eyes roved over your body. They all looked at you in a way that made you feel the cool structure of your skeleton. You were aware of everything because they seemed to glimpse beneath the ridges of your skin and into the very essence of you. Especially Kyle and Simon. They were the best at prying you apart. Limb for limb. Organ to bone. Bone to soul.

Kyle bent the distance it took to curl his dexterous fingers beneath the waistband of your bottoms. He kissed at your shoulder as he peeled everything off. You let him, unable to resist the desire to be taken care of. It made you sad to think that you might not have the simple loving caress of your partners after a while.

Everything had to fall apart eventually, right?

You let out a soft noise of surprise when Kyle suddenly cupped the warm flesh between your legs. Your core tightened for a moment, knowing the familiar touch and subconsciously begging for it. To your dismay, Kyle pulled away as quickly as he touched you.

“I won’t do anything while you’re still worked up, dove,” he said in a low timbre as he pressed one kiss to the delicate vein running through your neck. “C'mon…”

You watched with parted lips as Kyle pulled away and started undressing as well. Your eyes trailed up his body as every solid muscle was revealed. Yoy swallowed, unable to stop the involuntary response. It killed you that Kyle also wasn't indulging, but he seemed to be aware of your staring when he grinned over his shoulder at you.

He got in the tub first, letting out a content sigh as the water level rose due to his weight. He then blinked over at you and motioned for you to move.

You did, sliding into the warm bath and between his legs. The bath was custom-made to fit the mountains that you were surrounded by. Not a single one fit in a regularly sized bathtub. Well, a bigger tub meant more positives.

Kyle pulled you onto his chest, enveloping your body with his presence. Your mind was at war as his large, veiny hands ran up the now dampened flesh of your arm. He was respectful, simply touching you rather than pressing for more.

Despite the situation, you found yourself sinking into it as the seconds passed. You couldn’t help it. Kyle was always comforting, humming softly behind you as he rested his back against the back of the tub and cradled you against his chest protectively.

You relished in it selfishly for as long as you could because this would be the last time you did.

°•○●○•°

TAGLIST

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[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Secondhand Secrets

Pairing: Jeff Sadecki x Neighbor!Reader

Inspired by: @awarrenswhore 's fic Not an Affair and Jeff's fantasy of a customer coming onto him while buying furniture ahahaha

The bell over the door jingled as you stepped into Sadecki’s Furniture. The place smelled like wood polish and vanilla candles. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and glanced around, heart racing—not from excitement, but from the mix of freedom and fear that came with moving into your first home alone.

“Hi there,” a voice said warmly. “Can I help you find anything?”

You turned and found yourself face-to-face with a man in his late forties—tall, solidly built, wearing a fitted black polo and jeans. His hair was perfectly graying at the temples, and his smile made you forget whatever you were about to say.

“Uh, yeah,” you managed. “I just moved into my house a few blocks from here, and I need… everything, pretty much.”

He chuckled, offering a hand. “I’m Jeff. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

You shook his hand. “Thanks. I’m Y/N.”

“Let’s get you set up,” he said, and for the next hour, Jeff walked you through living room sets, mattresses, coffee tables, and a kitchen island you didn’t need but suddenly couldn’t live without. He was patient, funny, and attentive, asking how you wanted the space to feel, not just what you wanted to buy.

As you both stood beside a cream-colored sectional, you bit your lip. “I’m going to be honest… I have no idea how to assemble half of this when it shows up.”

Jeff smiled again, a little slower this time. “Well, my offer extends past the showroom floor. If you need help with setup or anything, just call the store. Or me, directly.” He scribbled his number on a business card and handed it over.

“Thanks,” you said softly, tucking it into your pocket.

A few days later, there was a knock at the door.

You opened it to find Jeff holding a toolbox and a six-pack of beer.

“Figured I’d stop by and make sure you didn’t impale yourself on an Allen wrench,” he said.

You laughed. “You’re not wrong. Come in.”

You worked side by side that afternoon—him assembling your TV stand while you read the instructions upside down and offered moral support. At some point, the conversation turned personal. You told him why you moved—needed a change, got out of a relationship, wanted to start fresh. He nodded but didn’t offer much about himself.

When the TV stand was finally up, you handed him a beer.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you said.

“I know,” he replied, sitting next to you on the couch. “But I wanted to.”

There was a pause. Heavy with something unsaid.

You looked at him. “You always this nice to new customers?”

Jeff’s eyes lingered on your face a little too long. “Not really.”

It wasn’t clear who moved first, but within seconds, your lips were on his and his hands were tangled in your hair. That night, you slept together for the first time on your brand-new mattress—no sheets, just the raw heat of something you couldn’t quite name.

Weeks passed like a blur.

Jeff would show up after closing the store, smelling like sawdust and cologne. Sometimes he’d cook. Other times, you’d end up tangled on the couch watching old movies you barely remembered the next morning. You didn’t ask too many questions, and he didn’t offer too many answers. He kissed you like he’d missed you for years. You told yourself it was just casual, but somewhere along the way, your heart started to ache when he wasn’t around.

One Saturday, you were at the supermarket picking up groceries when you heard someone say your name.

You turned and saw her.

“I’m Jackie,” the woman said, her tone sharp and too calm. “Jeff’s wife.”

The words knocked the air out of your lungs. “I’m sorry… what?”

Jackie tilted her head. “You didn’t know?”

You couldn’t speak.

She stepped closer. “I don’t know what he told you, but I thought you deserved to hear it from someone who wasn’t lying.”

Then she walked away, leaving you in the frozen food aisle feeling like your skin had been ripped off.

Jeff didn’t come over that night. Or the next. Or the one after that.

When he finally did, you didn’t say anything as you opened the door and walked back into your kitchen, arms crossed.

“I should’ve told you,” he said.

“No kidding,” you snapped.

Jeff ran a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”

“Don’t,” you said, voice trembling. “Don’t say that. That’s what everyone says when they don’t want to admit they’re shitty people.”

“She and I—Jackie—we haven’t been okay in years. We sleep in separate rooms. We barely speak. I should’ve ended it before I got involved with you. But I didn’t. I didn’t expect you to… matter.”

That stopped you.

“You think that makes it better?” you asked quietly. “That you didn’t expect to care about me?”

Jeff stepped forward. “I care about you more than I’ve cared about anything in a long time.”

You swallowed hard, tears threatening. “Then why did you lie?”

“Because I was scared if I told you, you’d push me away. And maybe I deserved that.”

You shook your head. “You don’t get to be the one who’s scared. I moved here to start over. I thought this thing between us—whatever it was—it meant something.”

“It did. It does.”

He reached out and took your hand. “But if you tell me to go, I’ll go.”

Silence.

You looked at him, everything inside you twisting. You should hate him. You should scream. But part of you didn’t want to let go. Part of you still hoped.

“I don’t know what I want,” you admitted, voice breaking.

“I’ll wait,” he said. “I’ll wait until you do.”

You didn’t sleep with him that night. But you didn’t tell him to leave, either. And as he sat beside you on the couch in the quiet dark, both of you saying nothing, you realized the hardest part wasn’t what he did.

It was that you still wanted him anyway.