#Surrogacy Concern

[coochiequeens]

Men 60 and over are purchasing g babies through surrogacy yet the average life span of men in England is 78.8 years. What plans do they have in place if they die before the babies are legally adults?

By Sanchez Manning 14 September 2024

Almost 300 men aged over 50 have applied to become the legal father of a surrogate child over the past five years – and 43 of them are over 60, new figures reveal.

And a total of 95 single men applied to become a parent, reflecting a growing trend in men, especially older men, having babies alone with the help of surrogates.

Since the law changed in 2019 to give single people the same surrogacy rights as couple, there have been 2,162 applications from intended parents in England. 

A total of 293 would-be fathers are over 50, both solo and in couples, according to figures released following a Freedom of Information Act application from The Mail on Sunday.

Older women turning to surrogacy has already sparked debate, with high-profile figures such as Naomi Campbell using a surrogate to have children in their 50s.

And in June, a 72-year-old man was granted permission in Scotland to become the legal father of a three-year-old boy, born to a surrogate, despite the death of his wife.

Commenting on the new figures from the Children and Family Court Advisory and Support Service, fertility and family law expert Louisa Ghevaert said: ‘The numbers of single men and men over 50 applying for parental orders reflects wider trends in solo and later-life parenting that are set to continue.’

She added that the numbers also reflected ‘the fact there’s no legal upper age limit for a parental order’.

However, the latest disclosure has caused anger among some campaigners. Helen Gibson, of Surrogacy Concern, said: ‘We are appalled to see such high numbers of single men and older men pursuing surrogacy, often abroad and in commercial arrangements which are banned in the UK. This is a worrying trend in which mothers are erased from the lives of their children.’

But Alan White, of Surrogacy UK, said: ‘As a society, perhaps we’re more used to considering maternal instinct than we are paternal instinct, but the desire to become a parent can be strong whether you’re a man or a woman.’

The UK ranks as one of the worst countries to bring up twins and triplets, a shocking report has revealed.

Research from the Twins Trust found parents of such children are at least £20,000 worse off in the first year after birth, compared with those who have had two babies in succession.

In a ranking of developed nations that looked at financial help such as maternity pay, mental health support and childcare provision, the UK came 23rd out of 27.

Shauna Leven, chief executive of the Twins Trust, said: ‘This report lays bare the grim reality facing families with multiples – the financial burden, mental health toll and lack of support.’

The charity is calling on the Government to change maternity pay so it is paid per baby instead of per mother.

[ex-foster]

Surrogacy is risky for children. This allows pedophiles acess to children without the same vetting process as fostering or adoption.

No background checks. No post placement visitation. Children suffer the consequences.

[montereybayaquarium]

Remembering Rosa the sea otter

Hello Aquarium family. It’s with great sadness that we share that our beloved sea otter Rosa passed away today. At 24 years old, Rosa was the oldest resident otter at the Aquarium and one of our most experienced surrogate moms, having raised 15 stranded sea otter pups in her time with us. 

While Rosa spent the last few months behind the scenes getting extra special care from our staff, she was the matriarch of the Sea Otters exhibit. Beloved and cherished by millions of visitors and fans of the live Sea Otter Cam, she was instantly recognizable thanks to her blonde head (eclipsed only by Ivy as our most grizzled of kelp grizzlies) and her signature head-all-the-way-back swimming style.

“Rosa was one of our most playful sea otters, and even at 24 years old, she would still be seen frolicking and wrestling with the younger otters when she instigated it,” said Melanie Oerter, curator of mammals. “Rosa was usually found sleeping against the window while on exhibit with her chin tucked tight into her chest and her tail swishing back and forth.”

After being found stranded as a four-week-old pup in September 1999, Rosa became part of the Aquarium family before our sea otter surrogacy program even took shape. Our Sea Otter Program staff raised her by hand for nearly seven months before releasing her to the wild. 

Rosa eventually returned to the Aquarium once again in March 2002 when she didn’t take to life outside of human care, and she immediately became a fixture in the formative years of our sea otter surrogacy program as a caring adoptive mother for rescued pups destined for wild release.

She was a delight to work with, though she certainly had her expectations of our staff according to the many Sea Otter Mammalogists who trained (were trained by?) Rosa over the years. 

"Rosa was an incredibly smart otter! Generally calm and patient with the staff. However, she could be defiant at times and there would be no convincing her to do something she did not want to do," said Oerter. "She would often just look at us or swim away. I believe she was the one who was really training us all of these years. I certainly learned a lot from working with such an incredible otter. It has been a privilege and to say we will miss her is understated."

Rosa relaxed into retirement from surrogacy in 2019, acting as a companion and cornerstone in the ever-changing raft of otters in our care. 

Wild female sea otters live between 15 and 20 years, and reaching the age of 24 is a testament to the exceptional care Rosa received throughout her life from our Veterinary and Animal Care teams. In recent years, she began showing signs of age-related health concerns.  In the last few weeks, her health had been deteriorating. After an exam, the veterinary and animal care teams made the difficult choice to humanely euthanize Rosa because those health conditions were compromising her quality of life. She passed away peacefully, surrounded by her caretakers.

Rosa’s legacy lives on both at the Aquarium with our other resident sea otters Kit, Selka, Ivy, and Ruby, and in the wild, where sea otter pups she raised continue to raise pups of their own, contributing to the recovery of their species and their ecosystems along the California coast. 

Rosa was an inspiration to millions as a charismatic ambassador for her threatened species while playing a leading role in the story of sea otter recovery from near-extinction during the fur trade. Rosa will be greatly missed by all of us who got to know her over the years.

To celebrate Rosa’s long life, please feel free to share photos and stories of your encounters with Rosa at the Aquarium in the comment section on this post, in her memory and for the staff and volunteers grieving her loss. Thank you all for being such a big part of Rosa’s life. 🦦♥️

[pucksandpower]

To Build a Home

Max Verstappen x wife!Reader x Charles Leclerc

Summary: after you and your husbands are left heartbroken by news that seemingly put an end to your dreams of a family, the three of you are drawn to two young orphaned siblings who need you as much as you need them

Warnings: struggles with infertility

Based on this request

The fertility specialist’s office smells sterile, like antiseptic and plastic. You’ve been staring at the same drab poster of the reproductive system for what feels like hours. A part of you wonders if it's designed to be boring, as if anything too colorful would be inappropriate in a place like this.

Max sits beside you, one hand on your knee, thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles through the fabric of your jeans. Charles is on your other side, leaning forward, elbows resting on his thighs, his fingers interlaced so tightly they’re almost white.

The doctor walks in, clipboard in hand, a practiced neutral expression on his face. You try to read him, but there’s nothing to read. He’s done this a thousand times.

“Thank you for your patience,” he says, sitting across from you. He glances at the three of you, clearly used to couples but perhaps not quite this combination. He doesn’t falter, though. “I have the results of your tests.”

You hold your breath. Max’s hand tightens on your knee. Charles doesn’t move.

The doctor takes a moment, flipping a page on the clipboard. “We’ve reviewed all of the tests extensively. There is no male factor infertility present. Both of you” — he nods toward Max and Charles — “have excellent sperm count and motility. No concerns there.”

Your heart beats so loudly you wonder if the others can hear it.

He looks at you. It feels like an eternity passes before he speaks again. “For you, we found a condition called primary ovarian insufficiency. It means that your ovaries are no longer functioning normally before the age of 40. In your case, this means lower egg production, and unfortunately, a significantly decreased chance of natural conception.”

You feel like you’ve been punched in the stomach. Max’s hand turns ice-cold against your skin. Charles shifts beside you, inhaling a sharp breath that cuts through the sterile silence of the room.

“So … what does that mean?” You ask, and your voice sounds so small you barely recognize it.

“It means,” the doctor says gently, “that it’s very unlikely you’ll be able to conceive naturally. There are treatments that might help, but with this diagnosis, the odds are lower than average.”

“Lower than average,” Charles repeats, voice tight, almost robotic. He’s staring at the floor. You know that look — it’s the look he gets when he’s trying not to fall apart.

Max clears his throat. “What are the options?” He’s speaking through clenched teeth, and it’s impossible to tell if it’s anger or fear or both. Maybe both.

“IVF is one option,” the doctor says, unperturbed. “But with primary ovarian insufficiency, egg quality and quantity are concerns. You might consider using donor eggs or exploring surrogacy or adoption.”

Donor eggs. Surrogacy. Adoption. Each word feels like another blow, another layer of guilt and inadequacy. Your throat tightens, and tears prick your eyes. You try to swallow them back, but one escapes, sliding down your cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor says, and it’s genuine, but it doesn’t help. “I’ll give you some time.”

He stands and exits the room, leaving the three of you in a suffocating silence. You don’t move. You can’t. Your hands are trembling in your lap.

“It’s my fault,” you whisper. It’s barely a sound, but they hear it. Of course they hear it.

Max turns to you immediately. “No. No, don’t say that.”

“It is.” You turn to look at him, tears blurring your vision. “You and Charles … you’re fine. You’re perfect. It’s me. I’m broken.”

“You’re not broken,” Charles says, voice cracking. He’s leaning toward you now, eyes desperate. “Don’t say that about yourself.”

“But it’s true.” You pull away, needing the distance. “I’m the reason we can’t have kids. The big family you both wanted … it’s because of me.”

“Hey.” Max’s hand moves to cup your cheek, turning your face to meet his. His blue eyes are so intense, so full of pain and love it almost shatters you. “We will have a big family. It might not be the way we planned, but we’ll get there.”

You shake your head. “But it won’t be the same. It won’t be-”

“It doesn’t matter how we get there,” Charles interrupts, his voice firmer now. “You think it makes a difference to me if our children come from your body or someone else’s? They’ll still be ours. They’ll still be loved. You’ll still be their mother.”

You look down, unable to hold his gaze. “It’s not fair to you two. You deserve someone who can-”

“Stop.” Max’s voice is low, dangerous in a way that makes you pause. “Don’t ever say that again. We love you. We chose you. We would choose you again in every lifetime.”

Tears are streaming down your face now. You can’t stop them. Charles takes your hand, threading his fingers through yours. His grip is tight, unbreakable. “We didn’t marry you just to have kids,” he says quietly. “We married you because we love you. This doesn’t change that.”

“But it changes everything,” you insist, frustration and heartbreak mingling into a mess you can’t untangle.

“No, it doesn’t,” Max says, leaning forward until his forehead touches yours. “It just means we have to find a different way. And we will. We’ll figure it out.”

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you. “I’m scared.”

“We are too,” Charles admits, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. “But we’ll face it. Together. Like Max said.”

Silence settles in again, but this time it’s different. Less suffocating. More like a fragile, tentative peace. Max wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb, and Charles leans in to press a soft kiss against your temple.

You exhale shakily. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Max says, and there’s a small, almost broken smile on his lips. “We’ve got this. We’ve got you.”

Charles nods, and his eyes are filled with so much hope it’s almost unbearable. “No matter what, we’ll have our family. One way or another.”

You nod, not because you believe it yet, but because they do. And maybe that’s enough, at least for now.

***

The orphanage is a charming old building tucked into one of Monaco’s quieter streets, its stone façade softened by ivy and strings of twinkling Christmas lights. The sound of children’s laughter spills out onto the sidewalk, where a handful of staff is arranging a small Christmas display. It smells like pine needles and freshly baked cookies, and you think it’s the kind of place that tries its hardest to be warm, even when life isn’t.

You tug your scarf tighter against the chill, glancing at Max and Charles. Max is holding a large bag of wrapped presents, the bright paper peeking out through the opening. Charles, as always, has a warm smile ready for anyone who passes by.

“I think this is going to be fun,” Charles says, glancing at you. “I mean, how often do kids get to meet Santa and two F1 drivers in the same day?”

“Santa’s still the headliner here,” you tease.

Max smirks. “I don’t know. I’ve seen Charles in a Santa hat. It’s a close call.”

Charles rolls his eyes, but there’s no hiding his amusement. He looks down at the bag of presents you’re carrying. “You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The three of you step inside, greeted almost immediately by the matron, a kind-faced woman named Madame Ricard. She clasps her hands together in delight when she sees the three of you, her warm energy a perfect match for the festive setting.

“Oh, this is such a treat for the children,” she says, her French accent thick but easy to understand. “They’ve been talking about it all week. Come, come, let me show you the way.”

You follow her into a large common room, where a group of children is gathered around a tree that looks like it was decorated by a dozen tiny hands. Tinsel hangs in uneven loops, and ornaments are clustered in some places and sparse in others. It’s perfect.

The kids freeze for a moment when they see you, their eyes going wide. Then, as if a switch has been flipped, they erupt into cheers and giggles.

“Charles! Max!” One of the older boys shouts, his voice cracking with excitement.

“Santa!” Another yells, pointing at the man in the red suit who follows close behind you.

Max laughs, setting down the bag of gifts. “I think they’re more excited about you, mate,” he says to Santa, who waves jovially.

You step forward, kneeling to hand out the first few presents. The kids swarm you, but it’s all happy chaos. Max and Charles are instantly surrounded, signing autographs on toy cars and posters that some of the children miraculously seem to have on hand.

As you hand out another gift, your eyes wander to a quieter corner of the room. There, separate from the laughter and commotion, are two small figures.

The older one is a boy, maybe five years old, with a mop of dark hair and a protective posture. He’s standing in front of a little girl who can’t be more than three, his arms spread slightly as if to shield her from the world. Her tiny face is buried in his shirt, her small hands clutching the fabric.

Your heart squeezes.

You tap Charles on the shoulder, nodding toward them. “Who are they?”

Charles follows your gaze, frowning. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen them move at all.”

Madame Ricard notices where you’re looking and sighs softly. “Ah, those two.” She kneels beside you, her expression full of a sadness that doesn’t belong in a place this joyful.

“They’re new,” she explains. “A brother and sister. Their parents died in a car accident a few weeks ago. They were on vacation here in Monaco when it happened.”

You feel your stomach drop. “They don’t have any other family?”

She shakes her head. “No one we’ve been able to find. And to make things more difficult, they don’t speak French, Italian, or English. It’s been hard for them to adjust.”

“They’re completely alone,” Charles murmurs, his voice barely audible.

Max steps forward, his jaw tight. “What language do they speak?”

“We’re not entirely sure,” Madame Ricard admits. “They haven’t spoken much at all. A few words here and there, but we haven’t been able to identify it.”

Max’s brow furrows, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He glances at you and Charles before stepping closer to the children.

“Hey,” he says softly, kneeling a few feet away from the boy. His Dutch accent is more pronounced when he speaks to children, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m Max. This is Charles and …” He glances back at you. “This is our wife. We just wanted to say hi.”

The boy doesn’t respond. His eyes are wary, darting between Max and the little girl at his side.

Max tries again, switching to Dutch this time. “Kan je me verstaan?”

Still nothing.

He exhales, then tries German. “Verstehst du mich?”

The change is almost instantaneous. The boy’s eyes widen, his grip on the little girl loosening just slightly.

“You speak German?” Max asks, his tone careful but hopeful.

The boy nods, just once, but it’s enough to make Max smile.

“What’s your name?” Max continues in German.

The boy hesitates, glancing down at the girl before answering in a small voice. “Lukas.”

Max’s smile grows. “Hi, Lukas. Is this your sister?”

Lukas nods again, his small hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Her name is Leni.”

“Hi, Leni,” Max says, his voice impossibly kind. Leni peeks out from behind Lukas, her wide, tear-filled eyes meeting Max’s.

“She’s scared,” Lukas says quietly.

Max’s expression softens. “That’s okay. It’s a scary thing, isn’t it? Being somewhere new.”

Lukas nods, his lip trembling.

Max glances back at you and Charles, switching briefly to English. “They’re German. Lukas and Leni.”

Charles kneels beside him, even though he doesn’t understand the words being spoken. “Can you tell them it’s okay? That they’re safe?”

Max translates, and Lukas looks at Charles, his expression uncertain but a little less guarded.

“Does she like presents?” You ask, holding up a small, brightly wrapped box.

Max repeats the question in German, and Lukas hesitates before nodding.

You crouch down, holding the box out to Leni. “This is for you.”

Lukas whispers something to her in German, and Leni reaches out with a trembling hand to take the gift.

“Go on,” Max encourages. “You can open it.”

Leni looks up at Lukas, who nods, and then she carefully tears into the paper. When she pulls out a soft, plush bear, her eyes light up for the first time. She clutches it to her chest like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

Lukas looks up at Max, his voice barely above a whisper. “Danke.”

Max smiles. “You’re welcome.”

You exchange a glance with Charles, your chest tight with emotion. You didn’t come here to find anyone, to change anyone’s life. But looking at Lukas and Leni, it’s hard not to feel like something’s already shifting.

“They’re so small,” you whisper.

Charles nods, his voice thick. “Too small to be alone.”

Madame Ricard watches the interaction, her expression unreadable. “They’ve been through so much,” she says softly. “But I can already see a difference. You’ve made them feel seen.”

You glance back at Lukas, who’s now sitting cross-legged on the floor with Leni, showing her how to properly hug the bear. Max is still beside them, speaking softly in German, his tone soothing and patient.

Charles leans closer to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “What are you thinking?”

You swallow hard, your throat tight with emotion. “I’m thinking they shouldn’t have to spend Christmas alone.”

Charles doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he watches them, his expression as soft and full of unspoken things as you feel. “Neither should we.”

You’re not sure what he means, but you think you might know.

***

The bedroom is quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside. The three of you are wrapped in the warm cocoon of your shared bed, but it feels different tonight. There’s no teasing banter, no sleepy laughter, no idle conversation about the race calendar or holiday plans. Just silence.

You’re lying between Max and Charles, your head resting against Max’s chest, while Charles holds your hand loosely under the blanket. Normally, you’d be lulled to sleep by the rhythmic sound of Max’s breathing or Charles’ absentminded humming. But tonight, your thoughts are elsewhere.

You can’t stop thinking about Lukas and Leni.

Their little faces flash in your mind over and over again — Lukas’ wary but determined expression, the way his body shielded his sister as if he alone could protect her from the world. Leni’s wide, tear-filled eyes and how tightly she clutched that bear once she finally opened up enough to take it.

You blink against the sting of tears.

“Alright,” Max’s voice cuts through the silence. He doesn’t sound annoyed, just concerned. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, though it’s half-hearted.

“You’ve been quiet all night,” Charles says, his accent softening the words. He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. “Lost in thought. We can tell.”

Max’s hand moves to your back, drawing slow, soothing circles. “Talk to us.”

You bite your lip, debating whether to say what’s been swirling in your mind since you left the orphanage. It feels big — too big to articulate. But when you look at Charles’ gentle eyes and feel the steady comfort of Max’s touch, the dam breaks.

“It’s Lukas and Leni,” you say, your voice trembling slightly.

Max stops rubbing your back, his hand stilling as he waits for you to continue.

“I can’t stop thinking about them,” you admit. “The way Lukas was protecting her … the way they’re so alone. They don’t even have anyone who can speak to them in their own language.”

Charles sits up more fully, his brow furrowing. “It’s heartbreaking,” he says quietly, and you can tell he feels it too.

You take a deep breath, trying to organize the mess of emotions inside you. “I don’t know how to explain it, but … it felt like we were meant to find them. Like they were meant to find us.”

Max’s hand moves to your hair, his fingers threading gently through the strands. “What do you mean?”

You hesitate, feeling the weight of what you’re about to say. “I keep thinking about how scared they must be. How lost. And I … I can’t stand the idea of them spending Christmas alone, in a place where no one understands them. It doesn’t feel right.”

The tears you’ve been holding back spill over, and you quickly wipe at your eyes. “I know it sounds crazy. We just met them. But I can’t shake this feeling that … I don’t know. That the five of us were meant to be together.”

Neither of them speaks for a moment, and you immediately regret saying it. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, sitting up and turning your face away. “I don’t even know what I’m saying. It’s just-”

“Hey.” Max’s voice is firm but gentle, and his hand catches yours before you can pull away completely. “Don’t apologize. You’re allowed to feel this way.”

Charles shifts closer, his hand brushing your arm. “I feel it too,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turn to look at him, your tears blurring his face. “You do?”

He nods. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them either. Lukas especially. The way he looked at us … like he wanted to trust us but didn’t know if he could. I can’t get it out of my head.”

Max exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair. “And Leni,” he says, his voice tight. “She’s just a baby. They’re both so small, and they’ve already been through so much.”

You sniffle, wiping your eyes again. “What are we supposed to do? We can’t just … leave them there.”

Max and Charles share a look over your head, one of those silent conversations they’ve perfected over the years. You’ve seen it before — on race days, in press conferences, during moments of unspoken understanding between them.

Finally, Max speaks. “We’re not leaving them there.”

Your heart skips. “What do you mean?”

Charles takes your hand again, his grip firm and reassuring. “I mean that we’ll go back. First thing tomorrow morning. We’ll talk to Madame Ricard, figure out what we need to do.”

“To adopt them?” You ask, your voice small but filled with hope.

“If that’s what it takes, yes,” Max says without hesitation.

You feel your breath catch, the weight of their words settling over you. “Are you sure?”

“We’re sure,” Charles says. “It’s like you said — it feels right. It feels like they’re meant to be with us.”

Max nods, his expression serious. “We’ve already been talking about starting a family. This … this might be how it’s supposed to happen.”

Your tears start again, but this time they’re different. Lighter. Full of something you haven’t felt in a long time — hope.

“I love you both so much,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

Charles pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you completely. “We love you too,” he says, his voice muffled against your hair.

Max leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’re going to do this.”

For the first time all night, the silence in the room feels peaceful. The three of you stay like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, until sleep finally comes.

And when it does, it’s with the quiet certainty that tomorrow will bring something new — something life-changing.

***

The drive to the orphanage feels longer than it did yesterday, even though the streets of Monaco are quiet in the early morning. Max’s hands grip the steering wheel tighter than usual, his knuckles pale against the leather. Charles sits in the passenger seat, his phone resting in his lap, while you’re tucked into the backseat, staring out the window. None of you speak, but the air is heavy with anticipation.

As soon as Max parks, Charles is out of the car, opening your door for you before you even have the chance to unbuckle. Max grabs the bag of gifts you’d brought back in case you see the other children again, though it feels secondary now.

Inside, the orphanage is quieter than yesterday. Only a few children are up, milling around the common room, their laughter softer in the early light. Madame Ricard greets you near the entrance, her warm smile faltering when she sees the determined expressions on your faces.

“You’re back early,” she says, glancing between the three of you.

“We need to talk to you,” Charles says, his tone polite but urgent.

Madame Ricard’s brows knit together, but she nods. “Of course. Come with me.”

She leads you to her small office, its walls lined with books and photographs of smiling children. There’s a wreath hanging in the window, and the desk is cluttered with papers and a half-empty cup of coffee. She gestures for you to sit, but none of you do.

“We want to adopt Lukas and Leni,” Max says without preamble, his Dutch accent more pronounced in his urgency.

Madame Ricard blinks, her surprise evident. “That’s … that’s wonderful, but adoption is not something that can happen overnight. There’s a process — an extensive one. Home studies, background checks, legal clearances. It can take months, sometimes even years.”

You feel your stomach drop, but Charles steps forward, his expression firm. “We understand there are steps, and we’re prepared to take them. But surely there’s something that can be done to expedite the process. They shouldn’t have to wait in limbo if there’s a family ready to take them.”

Madame Ricard sighs, her hands folding neatly on the desk. “I don’t doubt your intentions. You all seem like wonderful people, and I’m sure you would make excellent parents. But the system is in place to protect the children. It’s not something I can simply bypass.”

Charles glances at you, then at Max, before pulling out his phone. He scrolls for a moment, then presses a number and raises it to his ear.

“What are you doing?” You whisper, but he holds up a finger, his focus on the call.

“Bonjour,” Charles says smoothly, switching to French. “I hope I’m not interrupting, Your Serene Highness.”

Your eyes widen, and Max mutters something in Dutch under his breath that you’re certain isn’t polite.

“Yes, it’s Charles,” Charles continues, his voice calm but determined. “I need a favor. It’s urgent.”

Madame Ricard’s mouth falls open slightly, her gaze darting between Charles and the phone. You can barely process what’s happening as Charles explains the situation to the Prince of Monaco, his words measured but impassioned.

When he hangs up, he turns back to Madame Ricard with a small, triumphant smile. “Prince Albert has assured me he’ll do everything in his power to help expedite the process. You’ll be hearing from his office shortly.”

Madame Ricard stares at him for a moment, then laughs softly, shaking her head. “I forgot who I was speaking to for a moment. Well, if the Prince is involved, that does change things. But you’ll still need to go through some initial steps before we can begin the process officially.”

“That’s fine,” Max says, his voice steady. “We’ll do whatever we need to. But can we see them?”

Madame Ricard hesitates, then nods. “Yes, of course. Follow me.”

You walk through the halls in silence, your heart pounding in your chest. When you reach the common room, Lukas and Leni are exactly where you’d seen them yesterday — off to the side, separate from the other children. Lukas is sitting cross-legged on the floor, his arms around Leni, who is curled up against him with the plush bear you gave her.

“They’ve barely moved since this morning,” Madame Ricard says softly.

You exchange a glance with Max and Charles before stepping forward together. Max crouches first, his tall frame folding easily as he kneels a few feet from Lukas.

“Hallo, Lukas,” Max says gently in German. “Do you remember me?”

Lukas’ eyes lift, wary but familiar. He nods, his grip on Leni tightening slightly.

“This is my wife,” Max continues, gesturing to you. “And you remember our husband?”

Lukas nods again, his expression unreadable.

Max glances back at you, and you lower yourself to the floor beside him. Charles follows suit on the other side, forming a small circle around the children without crowding them.

“Lukas,” Max says softly, his tone careful but warm. “I want to ask you something. It’s very important.”

Lukas tilts his head slightly, his curiosity piqued despite his guarded demeanor.

Max takes a deep breath, his eyes locking onto the boy’s. “Would you and Leni like to come home with us?”

For a moment, Lukas doesn’t respond. His brow furrows, and he looks down at Leni, who is clutching her bear tightly, her small face pressed into his side.

“Home?” Lukas echoes, his voice barely above a whisper.

Max nods. “Yes. With us. We want to take care of you and Leni. We want to be your family.”

Lukas’ eyes widen, his grip on Leni loosening just slightly as he processes the words. He looks at you, then at Charles, his gaze searching.

“You want us?” He asks, his voice trembling.

You feel your throat tighten, but you manage to nod. “Yes, we do. More than anything.”

Charles leans forward slightly, his voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to be scared anymore. We’ll take care of you. Both of you.”

Lukas’ lower lip trembles, and he looks down at Leni, who finally peeks out from where she’s been hiding. Her wide, tear-filled eyes meet Max’s, and she whispers something in German that you can’t understand.

“What did she say?” You ask quietly, glancing at Max.

Max’s voice is thick with emotion when he answers. “She asked ‘are you going to be our Mama and Vatis?’”

You feel the tears welling in your eyes, and you don’t bother trying to stop them. “Yes, sweetheart,” you say, your voice trembling. “We are. If you’ll have us.”

Lukas looks at Leni, then back at the three of you. His small shoulders square, and for the first time, his expression softens into something that looks like hope.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “We’ll go with you.”

You reach out cautiously, your hand trembling slightly as you place it gently on Lukas’. He doesn’t pull away.

Charles exhales a shaky breath, his hand coming to rest on Leni’s bear. “We’re going to take care of you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Both of you.”

Max nods, his jaw tight as he fights to keep his own emotions in check. “You’re not alone anymore. You have us now.”

And for the first time, Lukas smiles — a small, tentative thing, but a smile nonetheless. It feels like the most important thing in the world.

***

One Month Later

The apartment is chaos. Wonderful, heartwarming chaos, but chaos nonetheless.

You can’t remember the last time it was this loud, and that’s saying something considering you’ve lived with two world-class athletes, three cats, and two mischievous dachshunds for years. But the addition of Lukas and Leni has turned the volume — and the energy — up several notches.

“Lukas, no running in the hallway!” You call, stepping over Jimmy, who is sprawled across the kitchen floor, his tail flicking lazily.

“He’s not running!” Max’s voice echoes from the living room. “He’s just … moving very quickly!”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips as Leni tugs at the hem of your sweater. She’s clutching a small pile of bath toys in one hand and pointing toward the bathroom with the other.

“Bath time?” You ask gently, crouching to her level.

She nods eagerly, her curls bouncing with the motion.

“Okay, let’s find Lukas and-”

A loud crash interrupts you, followed by Charles shouting something in rapid French that sounds suspiciously like a curse. You turn the corner to find Lukas standing in the middle of the living room, an overturned laundry basket at his feet and Leo gleefully chasing a pair of socks across the floor.

“Lukas,” you sigh, trying to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“It was an accident!” Lukas insists, his hands flying up in a defensive gesture.

Charles appears from behind the couch, his hair slightly disheveled and his expression exasperated but affectionate. “An accident that somehow involved the dog stealing my socks?”

Leo lets out a triumphant bark, the sock still dangling from his mouth, before darting under the coffee table.

Max leans against the doorway, arms crossed and a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I think it’s a team effort,” he says.

You shake your head, trying to stifle a laugh. “Alright, enough chaos. It’s bath time.”

“Bath time?” Lukas groans, his face scrunching up in distaste.

“Yes, bath time,” Charles says firmly, scooping up the laundry basket and tossing the scattered clothes back inside. “You’re covered in dirt from playing outside.”

“And Leni’s ready,” you add, holding up her bath toys as she beams up at you.

“I’m not dirty,” Lukas mutters, crossing his arms.

Max raises an eyebrow. “There’s literally mud on your knees, little man. Let’s go.”

It takes some coaxing, but eventually, everyone makes it to the bathroom. Lukas and Leni sit on the edge of the tub, Leni excitedly dropping her toys into the water while Lukas looks like he’s planning his escape.

“Okay, clothes off,” you say, trying to keep things moving.

Leni complies immediately, but Lukas hesitates, his arms crossing over his chest again.

“It’s just a bath,” Max says, kneeling down to Lukas’ level. “Nothing to be scared of.”

“I’m not scared,” Lukas mumbles, though his voice is quieter now.

Charles crouches next to Max, his tone gentle. “Do you want us to stay with you? Or we can leave the door open if that makes you feel better.”

Lukas glances at Leni, who is happily splashing her toys in the water, then back at Max and Charles. Finally, he nods. “Stay.”

You exchange a relieved look with Max as the two of you help the kids into the tub. The next ten minutes are a whirlwind of water, bubbles, and shrieks of laughter.

“Careful, Leni!” Charles exclaims as she flings a handful of bubbles at him, catching him squarely on the nose.

“Lukas, not the cat!” You yelp as Lukas splashes too enthusiastically and sends a wave of water cascading over the edge of the tub, directly onto Jimmy, who had wandered in to investigate.

Jimmy bolts, his tail puffed up like a bottlebrush, just as Leo decides to join the fray, leaping up to chase the bubbles floating in the air.

In the chaos, Max slips on the wet floor, catching himself on the edge of the sink. “This is a disaster,” he says, laughing as water drips from his hair.

“No, this is parenthood,” you reply, grinning as you wring out the hem of your sweater.

By the time the kids are clean and wrapped in fluffy towels, the bathroom looks like a hurricane hit it. Charles is soaked from head to toe, Max’s socks squelch with every step, and you’re pretty sure you’ll be finding remnants of stray bubbles for days.

But when Leni giggles and tugs on your sleeve, pointing at the three of you with a wide, toothy grin, it feels worth it.

***

That night, the apartment is finally quiet. Lukas and Leni are tucked into their new beds, Leo and Nino curled up at the foot of Lukas’ mattress, while the cats have retreated to their usual perches.

You’re sprawled on the couch between Max and Charles, exhaustion settling into your bones.

“I can’t believe how much energy they have,” you say, your head resting on Max’s shoulder.

“It’s like they’re powered by chaos,” Charles agrees, his arm draped over the back of the couch.

Max chuckles softly, his hand absently playing with the ends of your hair. “Chaos is putting it lightly.”

Despite your exhaustion, a sense of contentment washes over you. Your home feels fuller now — messier, louder, but fuller.

Just as you’re starting to drift off, a soft noise catches your attention. It’s the sound of small footsteps, hesitant and quiet, but unmistakable.

You sit up slightly, and a moment later, Lukas and Leni appear in the doorway, clutching their blankets and looking small and uncertain.

“What’s wrong?” You ask gently, swinging your legs off the couch.

“Nightmare,” Lukas says quietly, his free hand gripping Leni’s tightly.

Your heart clenches, and you’re already on your feet, moving toward them. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Lukas shakes his head, his eyes darting toward Max and Charles.

“Do you want to stay with us for a little while?” Max asks, his voice soft.

Both kids nod, and before you know it, they’re climbing onto the couch. Lukas settles between Max and Charles, while Leni crawls into your lap, clutching her blanket like a lifeline.

Charles pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over all of you, his hand resting gently on Lukas’ back. Max leans down to press a kiss to Leni’s hair, his eyes meeting yours over her head.

For a long time, no one speaks. The kids slowly relax, their breathing evening out as they drift back to sleep, cocooned in the warmth of your little family.

“I think they’re starting to trust us,” Charles whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

You nod, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Yeah. I think they are.”

Max tightens his arm around Lukas, his gaze soft. “We’re going to be okay,” he says quietly. “All of us.”

And in that moment, with the kids nestled against you and the warmth of Max and Charles surrounding you, you know he’s right.

***

One Year Later

The sun filters through the trees lining the courtyard of La Maternelle, casting dappled light on the cheerful faces of parents waiting to pick up their children. You stand between Max and Charles, your hands wrapped around a paper bag from the kids’ favorite bakery. Inside, two perfectly iced pastries sit, waiting to be devoured.

“Do you think they liked it?” You ask, glancing at the colorful mural decorating the preschool’s front wall.

Charles, leaning against the railing, grins. “Of course. Lukas was practically vibrating with excitement this morning. And Leni …” His voice softens. “She’ll love anything if Lukas does.”

Max chuckles, crossing his arms as he watches the doors. “Let’s see if they’re still smiling when they come out.”

You nudge him playfully. “Stop worrying. They’ll be fine.”

As if on cue, the large doors open, releasing a flood of tiny, chattering students. Teachers lead them in pairs down the stairs to their waiting parents, and the air fills with the sound of children’s voices, an overlapping mix of French, English, and the occasional giggle.

“There they are!” Charles says, pointing.

Lukas and Leni appear, hand in hand, walking down the steps alongside their teacher. Lukas is gesturing animatedly to a boy beside him, and Leni’s face lights up when she spots the three of you waiting.

“Vati! Papa! Mama!” Lukas shouts, waving so hard his backpack bounces with every step.

Your heart swells as they break into a run, dodging around other parents and children. Leni nearly trips, but Lukas catches her arm and steadies her before continuing their dash.

“Look at them,” Max murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You crouch down, arms open, and Leni barrels into you, wrapping her little arms around your neck. Lukas follows a second later, colliding into Max and Charles with equal enthusiasm.

“How was it?” You ask, holding Leni close as her curls tickle your cheek.

“It was so good!” Lukas exclaims, switching to German mid-sentence. “We painted, and I made a dog, and the teacher said it was good, and-”

“Wait, slow down,” Max says, laughing. “One at a time.”

Leni tugs on your sleeve, her voice quieter but no less excited. “I made a friend,” she says in French, her big eyes shining.

“You did?” You ask, your chest tightening with pride.

She nods. “Her name is Amélie. She has a pink dress.”

“Amélie is very lucky to have you as a friend,” Charles says, reaching out to smooth her curls.

Lukas jumps in, switching to English this time. “And there’s a boy who likes dinosaurs like me! His name is Leo-”

“Like our Leo?” Max asks, his grin widening.

Lukas laughs, shaking his head. “No, not like the dog!”

The four of you are caught in a swirl of excited recounting — art projects, new words they learned, and the rules of a game they played — when a sharp voice cuts through the happy chaos.

“Well, isn’t this quite the picture?”

You look up to find a woman standing nearby, her arms crossed and a thin smile on her lips. She’s impeccably dressed, her posture stiff as she surveys your little group.

Max tenses immediately, his arm moving instinctively to rest on Lukas’ shoulder. Charles straightens, his expression unreadable but his jaw tight.

“They’re yours, then?” The woman asks, her tone laced with something you can’t quite place.

You rise slowly, still holding Leni’s hand. “Yes, they’re our children.”

The woman’s gaze flicks between Max and Charles, her thin smile sharpening. “Which one of you is their father?”

You feel Max stiffen beside you, but it’s Charles who answers first, his voice calm but firm. “We both are.”

The woman lets out a laugh — short, clipped, and dripping with condescension. “Right. But which one actually is? You know, biologically.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you keep your voice steady. “Neither of them is.”

The woman raises a perfectly plucked brow. “Ah, so you’re one of those.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you take a step forward, still holding Leni’s hand. “One of those?” You echo, your voice low and icy.

The woman shrugs, her smile now openly smug. “A whore who managed to get her claws into two wealthy men.”

Max moves before you can even register it, his eyes blazing. “What did you just say?”

“Max,” Charles says sharply, placing a hand on his chest to stop him from advancing. But his own voice is tight, and his hand trembles slightly.

The woman doesn’t back down, her gaze flicking between the three of you like she’s daring you to challenge her.

You step forward, letting go of Leni’s hand to stand your ground. Your voice is cold, clear, and unwavering. “None of us are their biological parents because Lukas and Leni are adopted. But we are their family in every way that matters.”

The woman snorts, waving a dismissive hand. “Adopted. So you’re not actually their parents.”

The dam breaks.

Max’s voice rises first, his Dutch accent sharp as he glares at her. “We love those kids more than you can possibly understand. How dare you suggest otherwise?”

Charles follows, his words laced with steel. “It doesn’t matter if they share our blood. They are ours, and we are theirs. That’s what makes a family.”

You step closer, your voice trembling with controlled fury. “You don’t get to stand here and insult us or our children because you can’t understand what love and family look like.”

The woman opens her mouth to reply, but Lukas beats her to it.

“Let’s go, Mama,” he says loudly, tugging at your hand and looking pointedly at the woman. “She’s not nice.”

You blink down at him, your heart swelling with pride and affection. “You’re absolutely right,” you say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Charles bends down to pick up Leni, who has been watching the exchange quietly, her big eyes fixed on you. “Let’s go get a treat,” he says softly, his voice warm again.

As the five of you turn to leave, Lukas pauses. He looks back over his shoulder at the woman, his little face scrunched in determination. Then he sticks out his tongue, the gesture so quick and childish it takes you a moment to register it.

Max bursts out laughing, the sound startlingly loud after the tension of the moment. “That’s my boy,” he says, ruffling Lukas’ hair.

You can’t help but laugh too, the sound bubbling up as you walk away, hand in hand with your family.

“Good job, Lukas,” Charles says with a grin. “But next time, let’s not give her the satisfaction of a reaction, okay?”

Lukas looks up at him, confused. “What’s satisfaction?”

“It means she wanted us to be mad,” you explain, bending down to meet his gaze. “But we don’t have to let her make us feel bad. We know the truth, right?”

Lukas nods slowly, his brow furrowing in thought. “The truth is that we’re a family.”

“That’s exactly right,” Max says, his voice filled with pride.

As you hand Leni her pastry and take Lukas’ hand again, you can’t help but feel a swell of gratitude. For all the challenges, for all the moments like this, you wouldn’t trade your little family for anything in the world.

***

The paddock is alive with its usual pre-race buzz — team members rushing to and from garages, media personnel chatting with drivers, and fans craning for a glimpse of their favorites. You’re seated on a bench near the Red Bull motorhome with Lukas and Leni perched on either side of you, their little legs swinging in excitement. Max and Charles had just been whisked away for team meetings, leaving you in charge of keeping the kids entertained until they returned.

“Can we see the cars now?” Lukas asks, his eyes lighting up as a Red Bull engineer walks by with a shiny front wing. “I want to see the wheels up close.”

“Not yet,” you say, smiling as you ruffle his hair. “Soon, I promise. But first, we’re staying here. Your Vati and Papa will be back before you know it.”

“I want to see the helmets,” Leni adds, holding tightly to the small Ferrari flag Charles had given her earlier. “Are they shiny?”

“They’re very shiny,” you assure her, leaning in conspiratorially. “Maybe we’ll even help your fathers put them on later.”

Before Leni can ask another question, a young woman holding a camera and a phone approaches you hesitantly. “Hi, um, excuse me? You’re … you’re Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc’s wife, right?”

You blink, caught off guard. “I am.”

Her face lights up. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a TikToker, and I do these short interviews with fans and families at races. Would you be okay with answering a few questions? It won’t take long.”

You glance down at Lukas and Leni. “If it’s quick …”

The TikToker nods eagerly. “Super quick! Thank you so much!”

Max’s mother, Sophie, materializes beside you before you can even turn back to the kids. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on them,” she says warmly. “You go ahead.”

“Are you sure?”

Sophie waves a hand. “Of course. We’ll stay right here.”

Reassured, you follow the TikToker a few steps away, keeping the kids in your line of sight as the camera starts rolling. She asks about life as part of a racing family, what it’s like juggling everything, and even sneaks in a cheeky question about whether you think Max or Charles is faster.

You laugh, answering her questions as best as you can, but your attention keeps flicking back to Lukas and Leni. They’re sitting with Sophie, but a flash of orange catches your eye, and you see someone kneeling in front of them, grinning. Your stomach drops when you realize it’s Lando Norris, holding out what appears to be a chocolate bar.

By the time you wrap up the interview and return to the kids, Lando is gone, and Max and Charles are back from their team duties. The kids are bouncing with excitement, but something seems … off.

“Where did you get that?” Charles asks, pointing to the bright orange cap perched on Lukas’ head.

Max’s jaw drops. “Is that McLaren merch?”

Lukas beams. “Do you like it?” He gestures to his T-shirt, which features McLaren’s logo in bold black and papaya across the front. Leni twirls to show off her matching cap and scarf.

Max puts a hand to his chest, staggering back dramatically. “I can’t believe this. Our own children. Betraying us.”

Charles crosses his arms, giving Lukas an exaggerated glare. “What did we do wrong? Was it something we said? Something we did?”

“I don’t understand,” you say, shaking your head as you crouch to Leni’s level. “How did this happen? We were raising Red Bull and Ferrari fans!”

Leni giggles, her smile wide and bright, but you notice something unusual — a faint smear of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. Frowning, you reach out to wipe it away with your thumb. “What’s this?”

Max’s eyes narrow. “Chocolate? Where did you get chocolate?”

Leni freezes, her eyes going wide like she’s just been caught. Lukas, sensing danger, jumps in quickly. “We didn’t get chocolate. Nope. No chocolate.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because it looks a lot like chocolate.”

Charles kneels down beside Lukas. “Tell the truth, mon petit. Did someone give you candy?”

Lukas shakes his head firmly. “Nope. No candy.”

But Leni, blissfully unaware of her brother’s attempt to cover their tracks, nods enthusiastically. “Lando gave us sooooo much candy!”

You gasp, trying not to laugh. “Lando?”

“Lando!” Leni repeats, still grinning. “He said we have to cheer for McLaren now. He gave us these hats and shirts, too!”

Max stares at her, slack-jawed. “He bribed you? With chocolate?”

Charles leans back, laughing despite himself. “I knew Lando was sneaky, but this …”

Max, however, is not laughing. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, pacing a few steps away before turning back to face the kids. “You betrayed us for candy?”

“It was good candy!” Leni defends, crossing her arms in defiance.

Lukas looks sheepish, pulling at the brim of his cap. “It was a lot of candy …”

Max throws his hands up. “First McLaren merch, now this. What’s next? Mercedes?”

Charles smirks. “Careful, Max. If Toto hears about this, he might send over cupcakes.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t think the kids even know what a bribe is. They were just excited.”

“Exactly!” Leni says, nodding vigorously. “And Lando is nice!”

Max sighs, crouching down to meet Leni’s gaze. “Listen, princess. You can like Lando, but you’re not allowed to switch teams. Okay? Red Bull and Ferrari are the only acceptable teams in this house.”

“And no more taking candy from drivers,” Charles adds, his tone firm but playful. “Especially if it’s Lando.”

Leni pouts. “Not even a little candy?”

“Not even a little,” you say, trying to keep a straight face. “Besides, the caterer made your favorite treats. Remember?”

Their eyes light up, and the McLaren drama is momentarily forgotten as you hand over the brownies. Lukas takes a big bite of his, mumbling a happy “Mmm” through a mouthful of fudge.

Max shakes his head, still looking slightly betrayed. “I’m going to have words with Lando. Bribing our children …”

Charles grins, wrapping an arm around Max’s shoulders. “Think of it this way. At least they didn’t run straight to Mercedes.”

“Yet,” Max mutters, glaring at Lukas’ orange cap.

You laugh, watching as Lukas offers Leni a bite of his dessert. Despite the chaos, the sight of your family — all five of you together, happy and healthy — makes your heart feel full.

***

Ten Years Later

It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon at home, the kind of day that feels rare amidst the usual whirlwind of racing, school, and travel. The living room is bathed in soft sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You’re curled up on the couch with a book, while Max and Charles are in the kitchen, bickering good-naturedly over who makes the better omelet.

Lukas and Leni are sprawled across the floor nearby, surrounded by textbooks and laptops, pretending to study but clearly more interested in each other’s company. Leni’s hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, her feet propped up on a throw pillow, while Lukas is lying on his stomach, tapping a pen against his notebook.

“Do you think,” Leni begins, breaking the silence, “that people become like their parents? Even when they’re not, you know, biologically related?”

You glance up from your book, curious. “What makes you ask that?”

Leni shrugs, but there’s a playful glint in her eye. “Because Lukas has your stubborn face.”

Lukas looks up, feigning offense. “What stubborn face?”

“That one!” Leni says, pointing at him and grinning. “The one you’re making right now.”

“That’s not stubborn,” Lukas protests, though his furrowed brow and set jaw suggest otherwise. “It’s just … concentration.”

“Sure,” Leni teases, dragging out the word. “You do it all the time. Especially when Vati tells you to clean your room.”

You laugh, closing your book. “I hate to admit it, but she’s right, Lukas. You do have my stubborn face.”

Lukas groans, flopping onto his back dramatically. “Great. Now I’ll never hear the end of it.”

From the kitchen, Max’s voice rings out. “What’s this about Lukas inheriting something from you?”

Leni twists around, calling back, “His stubbornness! It’s practically genetic.”

Max appears in the doorway, holding a spatula, his eyebrows raised. “Oh, definitely. But he’s got my competitive streak, too.”

Lukas sits up, crossing his arms. “How do I have your competitive streak?”

Charles joins Max, wiping his hands on a towel. “Because you turned folding laundry into a race with Leni last week. And you were genuinely upset when you lost.”

“That’s because she cheated!” Lukas argues, pointing at Leni, who bursts out laughing.

“I didn’t cheat! I’m just faster than you.”

“You shoved my pile off the couch!”

“It fell!”

Max leans against the doorframe, smirking. “See? Competitive.”

Lukas mutters something under his breath, but the corners of his mouth lift in a reluctant smile.

Leni turns her attention back to you. “And I think I got Papa’s ... what’s the word? Dramatic tendencies.”

Charles places a hand over his chest, feigning shock. “Moi? Dramatic?”

You snort. “Charles, you once said the grocery store running out of your favorite cheese was a personal attack.”

“It was a personal attack,” he says, deadpan, which only makes everyone laugh harder.

Leni grins, leaning forward eagerly. “See? I’m dramatic like him. Remember when I fell during P.E. last week and told my teacher I’d never walk again?”

“I do remember,” you say, shaking your head. “And I also remember getting a very concerned phone call from the school about it.”

Leni shrugs, unrepentant. “It worked. They let me skip the rest of class.”

Lukas rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky you didn’t get detention.”

“I’m lucky I inherited Papa’s charm,” Leni counters, flashing a smug smile.

“You mean his overconfidence,” Lukas quips, and Charles gasps in mock outrage.

Max chuckles, stepping fully into the room and sitting on the armrest of your couch. “You both definitely picked up things from us. But it’s not just the big stuff, you know. It’s the little things, too.”

“Like what?” Leni asks, tilting her head.

Max gestures toward Lukas. “The way you bite your nails when you’re nervous? That’s all me. I used to do it so much when I was younger, my mom had to put gross-tasting polish on my fingers to make me stop.”

Lukas looks at his hands, startled. “I do not bite my nails.”

“You do,” Leni says, nodding solemnly. “All the time. Especially before exams.”

“Great,” Lukas mutters. “Now I’m going to be self-conscious about it.”

Charles points at Leni. “And the way you tap your foot when you’re waiting for something? That’s definitely me. I used to do it all the time before races when I started karting.”

“I do not tap my foot-” Leni starts, but she stops mid-sentence, catching herself as her foot bounces against the floor. Her eyes widen. “Oh my God, I do.”

Lukas smirks. “See? You’re not as perfect as you think.”

Leni sticks her tongue out at him, but there’s no malice in it. “At least I didn’t inherit Vati’s terrible taste in music.”

“Hey!” Max protests. “What’s wrong with my music?”

“Everything,” Leni says, grinning. “You play the same three songs on repeat every time we’re in the car.”

“They’re classics!”

“They’re old.”

“They’re timeless,” Max insists, turning to you for backup. “Tell her.”

You shrug, hiding a smile. “I don’t want to get involved.”

Charles grins, sitting on the floor next to Leni. “It’s okay, Max. At least she didn’t say you passed on your terrible cooking skills.”

Max glares at him. “You’re one to talk. Remember the time you burned spaghetti?”

“It was one time!”

“Burned spaghetti?” Lukas echoes, looking genuinely impressed. “How is that even possible?”

“It’s a talent,” Max says, smirking.

Leni laughs, leaning against Charles. “See? We’ve got the best parts of all of you. Except the bad cooking. That we avoided.”

You watch them, your heart swelling. It’s moments like these that remind you how deeply your family has grown together over the years. Despite not sharing blood, there’s no denying the ways Lukas and Leni have absorbed pieces of you, Max, and Charles — through habits, quirks, and inside jokes that only make sense within the four walls of your home.

“Do you ever wish you remembered what you got from your biological parents?” You ask softly, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

Leni and Lukas exchange a glance, their playful banter momentarily replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful.

“Sometimes,” Leni admits. “Like, when people ask where my freckles come from, I wonder if my mother had them too.”

Lukas nods. “Or when I see someone really tall and think maybe my father was tall. Stuff like that.”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Leni adds quickly, looking at you, Max, and Charles in turn. “Because we’re like you. In all the ways that count.”

“And we wouldn’t change it,” Lukas says, his voice steady.

You feel your throat tighten, and when you glance at Max and Charles, you see the same emotion mirrored in their eyes. Max reaches out to ruffle Lukas’ hair, while Charles pulls Leni into a side hug, kissing the top of her head.

“We wouldn’t change it either,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.

“Not for anything,” Charles adds.

Leni leans into him, smiling up at Max. “Even if you do have bad taste in music.”

Max groans, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll let that slide. This time.”

Lukas grins, leaning back against the couch. “See? We’ve got the best family.”

Leni nods in agreement, and for a moment, the room is filled with a comfortable, loving silence — the kind that only exists in the presence of people who truly know and understand each other.

[rvp32]

The Extents We Reach for Friendship

This is super messy. I honestly wrote this in between writing another series that I will upload soon but I really hope the person who put in an ask for this enjoys it. Sorry for the delay. As always any and all feedback is appreciated! No trigger warnings it is pretty chill.

You're in the dimly lit living room of your Seoul apartment, the soft glow of the cityscape through the window casting shadows on the walls. Sana sits next to you on the couch, her eyes fixed on the TV screen but her mind clearly elsewhere. Her hand rests gently on her lap, fingers occasionally tapping nervously.

"Honey," she begins softly, breaking the silence that had settled between you, "I've been thinking a lot about what we talked about last week."

Your heart skips a beat as you turn to face her, knowing exactly what she's referring to. The conversation was about starting a family, her inability to conceive, and the difficult decisions that followed. You nod, encouraging her to continue, your voice cautious when you reply, "I know, Sana. It's a lot to process."

She sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly, "I just... I want this so much, you know? A part of me feels like it's all slipping away, and I don't know how to hold onto it."

Reaching out, you take her hand in yours, squeezing gently, "We'll find a way, Sana. We always do."

Her gaze shifts towards the door, where a soft knock interrupts the moment. You both glance at each other, confusion etched on your faces before Sana stands up, smoothing out her dress as she walks towards the entrance. She opens the door to reveal Miyeon, her best friend, standing there with a hesitant smile.

"Hey, guys," Miyeon says, her voice soft as she steps inside, closing the door behind her. "Sana, you texted me earlier?"

Sana nods, her expression serious as she leads Miyeon to the couch, sitting down beside you again. "Yeah, I did. There's something important we need to talk about."

Miyeon's eyebrows furrow in concern, "What's going on?"

Taking a deep breath, Sana looks directly at Miyeon, her voice steady despite the weight of the topic, "It's about our situation. About us wanting a child, and... well, my doctor said it's nearly impossible for me to conceive naturally."

Miyeon's eyes widen, her hand flying to her mouth in surprise. "Oh, Sana, I had no idea. That's... that's really tough."

Sana nods, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, "It is. But there's another option we've been considering. Something... unconventional."

You watch as Miyeon processes this information, her gaze flickering between you and Sana, uncertainty clear in her expression. "What are you thinking?"

Sana takes another deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper, "We were wondering if... if you'd be willing to help us. To carry our baby."

The room falls silent, the weight of Sana's proposal hanging heavily in the air. Miyeon looks stunned, her lips parted as she struggles to find words. After what feels like an eternity, she finally speaks, her voice trembling, "You mean... like, surrogacy?"

Sana shakes her head, her eyes pleading, "No, not exactly. More like... well, we were thinking if you'd be open to... to being impregnated by Y/N. To have our baby together."

Miyeon gasps, her hand covering her mouth as she stares at Sana, then at you, her mind racing. "I... I don't know what to say. This is... it's a lot to take in."

Sana reaches out, taking Miyeon's hand in hers, "I know it is. And it's okay if you need time to think about it. But please, just consider it. For us, for the family, we want so badly."

Miyeon looks down, her fingers intertwining with Sana's as she contemplates the offer. The room is thick with tension, each second stretching out as they wait for her response. Finally, Miyeon lifts her head, her eyes meeting Sana's, "I... I need to think about this. Can I give you an answer later?"

Sana nods, relief washing over her features, "Of course, take all the time you need. Just... let us know when you're ready."

Miyeon stands up, her movements slow as she gathers her things. "I'll call you soon, okay? I just... I need some space right now."

You and Sana nod, watching as Miyeon heads towards the door, her footsteps heavy with contemplation. As the door closes behind her, Sana turns to you, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and anxiety.

"Do you think she'll agree?" she asks softly, her voice tinged with desperation.

You pull her into your arms, holding her close, "I don't know, love. But whatever happens, we'll face it together."

As you hold each other, the weight of the decision looms large, the future uncertain but hopeful. The night stretches on, each second filled with thoughts of what might come next, of the possibilities that lie ahead.

*****

The following day, the sun filters through the blinds of your apartment, casting a warm glow across the room. You're in the kitchen preparing breakfast when the doorbell rings. Sana, who's still in bed, sends you a sleepy glance as you head to the door. Opening it, you find Miyeon standing there, her expression a mix of determination and nervousness.

"Hey," she says softly, stepping inside. "Can we talk?"

You nod, leading her to the living room where Sana joins you a few minutes later, her hair tousled from sleep. The three of you sit down, the air thick with anticipation.

Miyeon clears her throat, meeting both of your eyes before speaking, "I've thought about what you asked, and... I want to help."

Sana's face lights up, her eyes glistening with tears of gratitude. "Are you sure? It's a big decision."

Miyeon nods, her voice firm, "I am. I care about both of you and if this is what you want, then I'm willing to do this for us."

You reach out, taking Miyeon's hand in yours, squeezing gently. "Thank you, Miyeon. We don't know how to thank you enough."

She smiles, her cheeks flushing slightly, "Let's just say it's for the sake of our friendship and creating something beautiful together."

The conversation shifts to practicalities, discussing medical procedures and timelines. But as the discussion winds down, the atmosphere changes, becoming charged with a different kind of energy. Sana looks at you and Miyeon, her eyes filled with a mix of desire and tenderness.

"Maybe... maybe we should start now?" she suggests, her voice barely above a whisper.

Miyeon glances at you, her eyes questioning, "Is that what you want?"

You nod, feeling your heart race as you stand up, extending your hand to Miyeon. She takes it, standing up as well, her body brushing against yours. Sana stands too, her hands reaching out to cup your faces, pulling you into a soft kiss.

The kiss deepens, fueled by the emotions swirling around the room. You wrap your arms around Sana, feeling Miyeon's hands on your back, her touch electric. The three of you move as one, heading towards the bedroom, each step a promise of shared intimacy.

In the bedroom, the lights are dimmed, casting shadows that dance along the walls. You lie down on the bed, Sana beside you, Miyeon between you. Her fingers trace patterns on your chest, her eyes locked onto yours. Sana kisses your neck, her tongue flicking lightly, sending shivers down your spine.

Miyeon leans in, her lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. Her tongue explores your mouth, the taste of her sweet and intoxicating. You feel Sana's hands on your thighs, slowly moving upward, her touch gentle yet insistent.

You break the kiss with Miyeon, turning to Sana, and capturing her lips in another fiery exchange. Miyeon moves down, her hands sliding under your shirt, her fingertips grazing your skin. You gasp, the sensation overwhelming, your body responding to their combined touches.

Sana pulls away, her eyes dark with desire, "Take off your clothes, all of you."

You obey, shedding your clothes quickly, revealing your arousal. Sana and Miyeon follow suit, their bodies exposed, each curve highlighted by the soft light. You stare, your breath catching in your throat, the sight of them together more erotic than anything you've imagined.

Sana lies down, pulling Miyeon with her, their bodies intertwining. You kneel beside them, your hand reaching out to stroke Miyeon's thigh. She moans, arching into your touch, her eyes closing briefly in pleasure.

"Touch me," she whispers, her voice husky.

You do, your fingers finding her sensitive spots, eliciting gasps and moans from her. Sana watches, her hand moving between her own legs, her breathing quickening as she pleasures herself. The sounds of their breaths and moans fill the room, the air thick with the scent of their arousal.

Miyeon turns, her back to you, her hands reaching behind to guide you inside her. You enter her slowly, watching her face contort with pleasure. Sana moves closer, her lips meeting Miyeon's in a deep kiss, her hand stroking your arm, encouraging you.

You thrust deeper, the rhythm building and each movement met with a sigh or a moan from Miyeon. Sana reaches between you, her fingers finding Miyeon's clit, rubbing in circles. Miyeon cries out, her body tensing, her orgasm hitting her hard.

You continue, your pace increasing, the heat between you intense. Sana moves, kneeling behind you, her hands on your shoulders, her mouth on your neck. She bites gently, the sensation driving you wild, pushing you closer to your own release.

Miyeon recovers, her hands guiding you to change positions. You lie down, Sana straddling your face, her wetness right above you. You lick, tasting her, the flavor is intense. Miyeon lowers herself onto you, her warmth enveloping you completely.

The room fills with the sounds of your moans and sighs, the intensity building with each passing moment. Sana grinds against your face, her movements synced with Miyeon's on top of you. You feel the pressure coiling inside you, the climax approaching fast.

Miyeon senses it, her movements becoming erratic, her body trembling. Sana reaches down, her fingers joining your efforts, pleasuring herself faster. The sensations overwhelm you, your release hitting you like a wave, Miyeon following soon after, her body shuddering with her orgasm.

Exhausted, you lie there, the three of you entangled, the air still heavy with passion. Sana kisses your forehead, her voice soft, "Thank you, both of you."

Miyeon smiles, her eyes sleepy, "No, thank you. For everything."

You pull them closer, the night wrapping around you like a blanket, each heartbeat slowing down to match the other's. The future might be uncertain, but for now, in this moment, you're complete, surrounded by the ones you love, the possibilities are endless.

*******

As the morning light filters through the curtains, Miyeon wakes up with a start, she feels sick, she immediately goes to the washroom and pukes. After which she takes a pregnancy test. Her eyes scan the kit, her heart pounding in her chest as she reads the result of the pregnancy test. A smile slowly spreads across her face, her relief and joy palpable. She turns to you and Sana, who is still asleep, and gently shakes you both awake.

"I'm pregnant," she screams, her voice trembling with emotion.

You sit up immediately, your eyes wide with excitement, while Sana lets out a soft cry, tears of happiness streaming down her cheeks. You pull Miyeon into a tight hug, the three of you embracing each other in a moment of pure joy.

Over breakfast, the conversation turns to celebration plans. "We should go somewhere special, just the three of us," Sana suggests, her eyes bright with anticipation.

"How about a weekend getaway? Somewhere secluded where we can relax and enjoy each other's company without any distractions?" you propose.

Miyeon nods enthusiastically, "I know just the place. It's a cabin by the lake, very private. We can even stargaze at night."

The plan is set, and within the week, you find yourselves driving along a winding road that leads to the secluded cabin. The air is crisp, filled with the scent of pine trees, and the silence is only broken by the occasional chirp of birds.

Upon arrival, the cabin exceeds your expectations—cozy, rustic, and perfectly equipped for a weekend of relaxation. The interior is warm and inviting, with a large window overlooking the serene lake.

As evening approaches, you prepare a simple yet delicious meal—grilled fish, fresh vegetables, and a bottle of wine. The dining area becomes a hub of laughter and storytelling, each memory shared deepening your bond.

After dinner, you decide to take a walk by the lake. The moon casts a silvery glow over the water, and the stars twinkle above like tiny beacons in the sky. Sana takes your hand, and Miyeon links arms with you, the three of you walking in comfortable silence, savoring the peacefulness of the night.

Back at the cabin, you build a fire in the outdoor fireplace, the flames dancing merrily as they chase away the chill. You settle onto a blanket spread on the ground, Sana nestled between you and Miyeon. The night sky stretches endlessly above you, a canvas of glittering stars.

Miyeon points out constellations, her voice soft and soothing in the quiet night. As she talks, you feel Sana's hand tracing small circles on your thigh, her touch sending shivers up your spine. You glance at her, catching her eye, and see the desire burning brightly in her gaze.

You shift closer to Sana, your lips meeting hers in a gentle kiss. The taste of her, sweet and familiar, sends a wave of heat through your body. Miyeon watches you, her eyes dark with passion, and leans in to join the kiss, her lips brushing against yours.

The world around you fades into insignificance as the three of you explore each other's mouths, the kisses growing deeper, more urgent. You reach out, your hands finding the hem of Miyeon's shirt, lifting it over her head. She helps you remove your clothes, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth of your skin.

Sana follows suit, her movements languid and sensual, her nakedness revealed under the starlight. Her body is a masterpiece, every curve highlighted by the flickering firelight. You admire her, your fingers trailing down her sides, eliciting a soft moan from her.

You lie down, the blanket beneath you soft and comforting. Sana lies between you and Miyeon, her back to you, your front pressed against her. Miyeon kneels beside you, her eyes locked onto yours, her hand reaching out to stroke your cheek.

"Make love to me," she whispers, her voice thick with desire.

You nod, your heart pounding as you position yourself above her. She guides you inside her, her warmth enveloping you completely. You move slowly at first, watching her face for signs of discomfort or pleasure. Her eyes close, her mouth forming a silent 'O', her hands gripping your arms tightly.

Sana turns, her lips finding Miyeon's in a deep kiss, her hand reaching between you to stroke Miyeon's clit. The sensation is overwhelming, Miyeon's moans filling the air, her body arching into your thrusts.

You increase your pace, the rhythm building, each movement met with a sigh or a moan from Miyeon. Sana reaches between you, her fingers finding Miyeon's sensitive spots, rubbing in circles. Miyeon cries out, her body tensing, her orgasm hitting her hard.

You continue, your pace increasing, the heat between you intense. Sana moves, kneeling behind you, her hands on your shoulders, her mouth on your neck. She bites gently, the sensation driving you wild, pushing you closer to your own release.

Miyeon recovers, her hands guiding you to change positions. You lie down, Sana straddling your face, her wetness right above you. You lick, tasting her, the flavor is intense. Miyeon lowers herself onto you, her warmth enveloping you completely.

The room fills with the sounds of your moans and sighs, the intensity building with each passing moment. Sana grinds against your face, her movements synced with Miyeon's on top of you. You feel the pressure coiling inside you, the climax approaching fast.

Miyeon senses it, her movements becoming erratic, her body trembling. Sana reaches down, her fingers joining your efforts, pleasuring herself faster. The sensations overwhelm you, your release hitting you like a wave, Miyeon following soon after, her body shuddering with her orgasm.

******

As the sun rises over the lake, casting a golden glow through the bedroom window, you awaken to the soft sounds of gentle moans and whispered words. Blinking away sleep, you see Sana and Miyeon entangled in each other's arms, their bodies moving together in a slow, sensual rhythm that fills the room with an erotic symphony.

Miyeon is on her back, her hair spread out like a dark halo on the pillow, while Sana hovers above her, her breasts swaying gently with each movement. Their eyes are locked, filled with a depth of emotion that speaks of shared secrets and unspoken desires. The air is thick with the scent of their arousal, a heady mix that mingles with the faint pine aroma from outside.

You watch, transfixed, as Sana lowers her head to kiss Miyeon, their lips meeting in a tender yet passionate exchange. The sound of their breathing, slightly ragged, fills your ears, stirring a deep longing within you. You reach out, your hand brushing against Sana's thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin under your touch.

Sana shifts slightly, making space for you, her eyes inviting you to join them. You move closer, your body fitting perfectly between Sana's legs as you lean in to kiss Miyeon, your tongue exploring her mouth with eager strokes. The taste of her, sweet and intoxicating, sends a surge of desire coursing through your veins.

Your hands roam over Miyeon's body, tracing the curves of her hips, the softness of her breasts, and the smoothness of her skin. Each touch elicits a soft moan from her, her fingers digging into the sheets beneath her. Sana watches you both, her hand moving down to stroke herself, her gaze hot with desire.

Encouraged by her response, you deepen the kiss, your tongue dancing with Miyeon's in a rhythm that mirrors the movements of your bodies. You feel the heat building between you, the tension coiling tighter with each passing moment.

Sana leans forward, her lips trailing down Miyeon's neck, leaving a trail of kisses that make Miyeon arch her back, her breath coming in short gasps. You take advantage of her momentary distraction, positioning yourself between her legs, your hardness pressing against her entrance.

Miyeon gasps as you enter her, her body welcoming you with a warmth that makes you shudder. You begin to move, slowly at first, watching her face for any sign of discomfort or pleasure. Her eyes close, her mouth forming a silent 'O', her hands gripping your arms tightly.

Sana moves around, her lips finding Miyeon's once more in a deep kiss, her hand reaching between you to stroke Miyeon's clit. The sensation is overwhelming, Miyeon's moans filling the air, her body arching into your thrusts.

You increase your pace, the rhythm building, each movement met with a sigh or a moan from Miyeon. Sana reaches between you, her fingers finding Miyeon's sensitive spots, rubbing in circles. Miyeon cries out, her body tensing, her orgasm hitting her hard.

You continue, your pace increasing, the heat between you intense. Sana moves, kneeling behind you, her hands on your shoulders, her mouth on your neck. She bites gently, the sensation driving you wild, pushing you closer to your own release.

Miyeon recovers, her hands guiding you to change positions. You lie down, Sana straddling your face, her wetness right above you. You lick, tasting her, the flavor is intense. Miyeon lowers herself onto you, her warmth enveloping you completely.

The room fills with the sounds of your moans and sighs, the intensity building with each passing moment. Sana grinds against your face, her movements synced with Miyeon's on top of you. You feel the pressure coiling inside you, the climax approaching fast.

Miyeon senses it, her movements becoming erratic, her body trembling. Sana reaches down, her fingers joining your efforts, pleasuring herself faster. The sensations overwhelm you, your release hitting you like a wave, Miyeon following soon after, her body shuddering with her orgasm.

Exhausted but content, you lay there, the three of you tangled in each other's arms, the afterglow of your passion wrapping around you like a warm blanket. The morning light filters through the window, illuminating your sweat-slick bodies, the room still filled with the echoes of your shared ecstasy.

"I love you both," Miyeon whispers, her voice hoarse with emotion.

"Forever," Sana adds, her fingers intertwining with yours.

You nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. The bond between you feels stronger than ever, a connection forged not just in passion but in love and trust. As you drift back to sleep, the world outside fades away, leaving only the three of you in your private paradise.

Sana's idea of filming this relationship sparks a mix of excitement and nervousness within you as she sets up the camera on a tripod near the bed. The room is bathed in the soft, natural light that filters through the curtains, creating a warm, intimate atmosphere. Miyeon watches her with a playful smile, her eyes twinkling with anticipation.

"Ready for this?" Sana asks, her voice a seductive whisper as she checks the camera angle.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest, while Miyeon bites her lip, her hands moving to adjust the straps of her lingerie. The click of the camera starting up echoes softly in the room, capturing the moment.

Sana joins you on the bed, her fingers gently brushing against your skin as she leans in to kiss you. The taste of her lips is electric, sending shivers down your spine. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her closer, your bodies melding together seamlessly.

Miyeon watches the two of you, her gaze heated, before she crawls towards you, her hands gliding over your thighs. You shift slightly, making space for her between you and Sana, the warmth of her body pressing against yours. She kisses your neck, her tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive skin there, causing you to gasp.

The camera captures every detail—the way Sana's hair falls across her face, the flush on Miyeon's cheeks, the intensity in your eyes. It's both voyeuristic and deeply personal, a private glimpse into your shared world.

Sana breaks the kiss, her breath hot against your ear as she whispers, "Let's make this unforgettable."

Her hands move down, undoing the buttons of your shirt, revealing your bare chest to the cool air. You shrug it off, letting it fall to the floor as Miyeon's hands take over, her fingertips tracing patterns on your skin that ignite a fire within you.

You reach for Sana, your hands cupping her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples until they harden under your touch. She moans, low and deep, her head tilting back as Miyeon continues her assault on your senses, her mouth now trailing down your chest, leaving a path of heat in its wake.

The camera records the scene, the lens capturing the flicker of desire in your eyes, the flush of arousal on Sana's skin, and the concentration in Miyeon's expression. It's raw, real, and incredibly erotic.

Miyeon looks up at you, her eyes dark with passion, and whispers, "I want you inside me."

Her words send a surge of urgency through you. You nod, shifting positions so that you're hovering above her, your hardness pressed against her entrance. She guides you in, her body welcoming you with a tight, hot embrace that makes you groan.

Sana moves to kneel beside Miyeon, her hand reaching out to stroke Miyeon's hair, her eyes locked on the scene unfolding before her. The camera pans, capturing the intimacy, the connection between the three of you.

You begin to move, slowly at first, watching Miyeon's face for any sign of discomfort or pleasure. Her eyes close, her mouth forming a silent 'O', her hands gripping your arms tightly. The sensation of being inside her, surrounded by her warmth, is overwhelming, each thrust met with a sigh or a moan from Miyeon.

Sana leans in, her lips finding Miyeon's once more in a deep kiss, her hand reaching between you to stroke Miyeon's clit. The added stimulation pushes Miyeon closer to the edge, her body arching into your thrusts.

You increase your pace, the rhythm building, each movement met with a sigh or a moan from Miyeon. The sound fills the room, mingling with the soft hum of the camera, creating a soundtrack to your passion.

Sana reaches between you, her fingers finding Miyeon's sensitive spots, rubbing in circles. Miyeon cries out, her body tensing, her orgasm hitting her hard. The sight of her climax sends you over the edge, your release hitting you like a wave, intense and all-consuming.

Exhausted but content, you lay there, the three of you tangled in each other's arms, the afterglow of your passion wrapping around you like a warm blanket. The camera continues to record, capturing the moment, and preserving the memory of this intense, intimate encounter.

Sana looks at the camera, a satisfied smile playing on her lips, and whispers, "Cut," her voice hoarse with emotion.

You turn to Miyeon, her eyes still closed, a serene smile on her face. You brush a strand of hair away from her face, your fingers lingering on her cheek. She opens her eyes, meeting your gaze, her smile widening.

"That was... incredible," she murmurs, her voice soft and dreamy.

Sana nods, her hand intertwining with yours, "A moment we'll never forget."

You agree silently, the weight of the experience settling over you. The camera, now silent, stands as a witness to your shared ecstasy, a testament to the bond between you. As you drift into a peaceful slumber, the room filled with the echoes of your shared passion, you know that this memory will stay with you forever, a cherished part of your journey together.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Stray Kids Reaction || You Can't Have Kids

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - October 2024

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅MASTERLIST

CHAN:

He sits across from you, silent after you reveal the news. You'd been agonising over it all morning since the doctor had phoned you and you'd had no idea how to tell Chan. You’re didn't know what you were expecting, disappointment? Maybe sadness, but instead, Chan reaches across the table and gently takes your hand in his.

“We’re a team, yeah?” His thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding you. Your heart racing as you looked up at him, you knew how much starting a family meant to him but he wasn't going to let you go through any of this alone.

“I love you, and this doesn’t change anything. We’ll figure out what’s best for us. We have options, and we don’t need a traditional family to be happy.” His smile is soft but steady, full of reassurance. Tears welled up in your eyes and he rushed to sit beside you, bringing you into his arms and holding your head on his shoulder.

“Whatever happens, I’m not going anywhere.” He promises you, holding you tightly as you close your eyes. The doctors told you that they would help you with anything you could need and gave you good clinics for surrogacy for even adoption agencies.

MINHO:

Minho stares at you after you tell him, not speaking immediately. The two of you had been trying to have a baby for a long time and when you weren't able to concieve you'd ended up going to see a specialist, just to see what you were dealing with but it was your problem. Turns out you weren't able to carry a baby due to a 'hostile' uterus and you'd just broken the news to your husband.

The silence makes you nervous, but before you can say anything, he stands and moves to sit beside you. Without warning, he pulls you into a hug, burying his face in your neck.

“We don’t need kids to be a family,” he murmurs, his voice low but tender. Your heart was beating so fast you were almost sure it was going to burst out of your chest and into his arms but he just stroked your back softly,

“We already are one.” He leans back, his hands still resting on your arms.

“And if you ever feel like you’re not enough because of this, I’ll remind you that you are. Every day if I have to.” You smile a little as he runs his hand over your cheek,

"I love you," you whispered to him, thankful you had him by your side.

"I love you more." he winks.

CHANGBIN:

When you tell Changbin, his eyebrows knit together in concern, not for the news itself but because you look so distraught. You'd gone off on a huge rant about it was "okay" if he wanted to leave you ebcause you couldn't give him kids. The whole thing left him fuming with himself that you could have thought he would leave you because you couldn't have a baby,

“Hey,” he says, tilting your chin up gently. “I don’t love you because I want you to give me kids. I love you because you’re... you.” He gives a soft chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, but you can barely manage a smile as you look at him, 

“Kids or no kids, it doesn’t change that. We’ll make our own happiness, alright? We can always explore other ways if we want to, but I don’t need anything else if I have you.” You smile at him and nod your head a little, cuddling into him as he holds you tightly against him,

"We could always adopt a bunch of puppies," He smirks at you, squeezing your shoulders a little as you giggle at the thought.

HYUNJIN:

Hyunjin sits quietly as you explain, his eyes never leaving yours. When you finish, the silence between you is thick with emotion, but before you can apologize or say anything more, Hyunjin reaches out, gently taking your hands in his. His thumb brushes over your knuckles in soothing circles as he studies your face.

"You’ve been holding this in for a while, haven’t you?" he asks softly, his voice gentle, almost a whisper. The idea of you holding all of this alone killed him inside,

"I can see it in your eyes. I’m sorry you felt like you had to go through this alone." His hands tighten around yours, and he scoots closer, leaning in until his forehead rests gently against yours.

"Listen to me, baby," he whispers. "This doesn’t change how I feel about you. We don’t need to fit some mould of what a ‘perfect family’ should look like. We can create our own happiness, in our own way." You feel the warmth of his breath against your skin as he continues,

"And if you’re worried that I’ll be upset... I’m not. I fell in love with you, not with the idea of a future that has to look a certain way. And if we want to explore other options for a family, we’ll do it together. You and me. That’s all that matters." He whispers, his tone so confident you couldn't help but believe him,.

JISUNG:

You'd been putting off telling him for weeks but finally it all came rushing out of you, unable to hold any of it back from him anymore. When you finish, he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just processing what you’ve shared. Then, he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly. You cry against his shoulder and he gently rubs your back,

“Is that what’s been bothering you?” he asks gently, resting his chin on top of your head. he knew you'd been going through something but whenever he asked you, you avoided it.

“You’ve been worried about this?” He pulls back enough to look into your eyes. He gently wiped his thumb under your eyes to remove the tears and you sniffled at him.

“This doesn’t make me love you any less. And if you’re upset because you think I’ll be disappointed... I’m not.” His smile is warm, and full of affection. 

“We’ll be okay. We can adopt or find another way. We don’t have to rush anything...We can take time a process this,” You nodded at him, liking the idea of taking some time to think before you acted on anything,

FELIX:

Felix immediately notices the fear and anxiety on your face as you reveal the news. There was something off about you for weeks and he now understood what it was. 

"I get it if you don't...If I can't- I let you down." you could barely get the words out and his heart clenches, not because of the revelation, but because of the weight it’s clearly put on you.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling you into his chest. He holds you close, running his fingers up and down your back softly in a comforting manner. 

“You don’t have to feel like you’ve let me down. You haven’t.” His words are firm but kind, filled with reassurance. There was nothing in the world you could ever let him down, least of all like this.

“We’ll figure this out together, yeah? There’s so much more to life, and we can still have everything we’ve ever wanted, no matter what.” He looks at you as you nodded,

"Besides, means we can travel more right now and I know for a fact you've been wanting to go and visit Paris." he smirks at you and you smile weakly, cuddling into him.

SEUNGMIN:

Seungmin’s reaction is measured, as always, but you can see the tenderness in his eyes as you explain the situation. He doesn’t rush to speak, instead giving you his full attention until you’re done. Once you finished you blew out a breath and he moved closer to you,

“We’ll be alright,” he says simply, but his tone is filled with confidence. He reaches out to hold your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel like there was a pressure on you to carry a child, there were other ways the two of you could have a baby,

“There are many ways to build a family, if that’s what we want. But no matter what, I want you to know that this changes nothing about how I feel. You’re still my person, and that’s all I need.” He promises you, reminding you of your vows to one another as you felt your body heating up and nodding.

"We'll figure it out together," he promised you.

JEONGIN:

Jeongin listens quietly as you tell him, and you notice the worry that flashes across his face, not for the situation but because he sees how much it’s affecting you. He takes your hands in his, squeezing them gently. He could tell that you had been feeling "guilty" about this whole thing and that was the last thing he wanted from you,

“You don’t have to feel bad about this,” he says softly. “I didn’t fall in love with you because I wanted kids, I fell in love with you because... i wanted to be with you for the rest of our lives. I wanted to grow old with you and eventually push you around in a wheelchair...or get matching scooters with you.” He gives you a shy but sweet smile and you laugh softly at the thought of you growing old and grey together.

"Matching scooters?" You giggled and he nodded, wiping the tears off your face,

"Oh and Zimmer frames, you'd have yellow tennis balls and I'd get blue," He winks at you and you relax a little.

“We have a lot of time to figure things out. What matters to me is that we’re together. That’s enough for me.”

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[trappolia]

thinking about soft domestic zayne as a father. no matter how you came to be with child (whether it was through your own pregnancy, surrogacy or adoption) best believe this man is by your side throughout the entire process. though a chronic overworker, he understands that he is needed by your side more often now and finds some way to delegate most of his tasks to other doctors he deems capable. he worries about the staff handling more complicated cases, but it's more often than not overshadowed by his concern for you, who is most beloved and dear to him.

his concern is more so on being a good father; certainly he handles both health and legal matters with meticulous care and a cool head, but it is the act of raising a child that makes him wary. while he has no doubt of your capabilities as a parent, he worries that he may come off as too... tense or standoffish to the child you will call your own. he finds himself poring over parenting books as often as he does medical journals-- perhaps even more so.

[pettysreverie]

Sorry not sorry, but I was just thinking about Married!Price who, as we all know, is a sucker for his woman. And now, finally, she has agreed to have a baby with him. His greatest wish, now finally granted! Woohoo!

CW: Dubious Consent(?), Age-gap (college student Reader), Surrogacy, AFAB Reader, Attempt at writing out accents (lol)

They’d always talked about having a brood of their own…but whenever it got down to actually going through with it, she would have one reason or another for not quitting her birth control or for not letting him go without a condom. So really, he’s super excited and eager for this next step of theirs.

And, okay, John understands. Childbirth is fucking scary, isn’t it? Actually, fuck the childbirth part! Watching as your body slowly morphs and changes, no longer being just your own, has to be a horror movie in and of itself.

So he gets it! He’s not going to push (although…whenever he passes by a baby or a seemingly happy family, his heart does feel a tug).

But then his wife agrees to have a baby…only she wants a surrogate.

And John is fine with that, too!

Again, it’s her body and it’s her choice.

It’s not as though she is infertile or otherwise unable to carry a child, but she just simply doesn’t want to—and he figures that’s fine. So long as he gets the family that he’s always wanted. Besides, all he’s got to do is nut into a cup and pass it off to the scientists or whatever, right?

Wrong.

His beloved Mrs. Price wants to get it done the old-fashioned way—sexual intercourse.

And that…that takes John for a ride.

“Ye wan’ me ta shag another bird?”He asks her, bushy brows raised nearly to his hairline.

His wife nods her head, seeming quite sure of herself. Says something about how babies that are born the natural way tend to fair better socially or something (he’s not sure that’s backed by science…but she showed him some mommy blogs she’s been perusing, so he figures she’s done enough ‘research’ to be sure.)

But the next concern is finding some woman that will be okay with not only being a surrogate, but being a surrogate in such a…unique circumstance such as this.

And that’s when his wife tells him that she’s already found one. You.

You’re the child of a friend of a friend. A college student in desperate need of a hefty payday if you want to continue your studies.

Truth be told, John feels icky about this. Feels like they’re taking advantage of you by doing this.

(“What do you think most surrogates do this for? The weight gain and health conditions?”His wife asks him with a raised brow. And you know what…that’s super fair. After that, he feels better…if only slightly.)

Meeting you, though, is something else entirely.

You’re a bit nervous, of course, but so beautiful. The most beautiful woman that John has ever seen in all his time on earth (though he’d never admit such, at least not in front of his beloved wife).

His wife is rather militant about the arrangement.

You two are to bang until there’s a baby in your womb. She wants to be there for every session. Not to mention that she is to be in complete and total charge of your pregnancy from there on (which includes moving in with them during your pregnancy so she can "protect" you), and when the baby is born you are to give up your parental rights immediately.

It’s…it’s an intense deal.

So one-sided.

John wants you to decline. Wants you to comment on how awful the conditions are. How controlling his wife is already being. How much of a useless sack of shit he is for agreeing to this—assuming that he sees you only as a hole to dump into.

He wants you to lash out.

But you don’t.

After a few heavy moments of complete silence, you agree. You ask to read over the contract but promise to have it signed by morning. And truly, that seems to be all his wife wants, because she smiles and agrees immediately.

And in the morning, you keep to your promise—presenting him and his wife with the signed contract.

This feels like such a lose-lose situation for you and honestly, John cannot just turn a blind eye to the injustice. But…he does really want a baby.

He can acknowledge that he is far too selfish to just simply end this agreement. But he promises to himself that he will make this as comfortable as possible for you. And that starts with him getting to know you.

If, maybe, he can make this a more pleasant experience, then he will.

“We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.”He tells you, his conscious weighing him even as he speaks with sincerity and honesty.

You smile that pretty, yet still reserved smile of yours and nod your head. “Okay Mr. Price, thank you.”

Fuck…he hopes that he’s not making some big mistake by agreeing to do this.

[unfgvien]

seeds of a dream chapter one

pairing - dom!mother rhea x sub!mummy reader

summary - Rhea and Yn, are devised to find out that yn has endometriosis The condition causes inflammation and pain, impacting yn's fertility. They research fertility treatments like IVF, donor eggs, and surrogacy, but the medical terminology feels impersonal. Their love and commitment guide them through the challenges, proving their resilience and shared dream of parenthood. In a fertility clinic, they face the responsibility of finding potential sperm donors, each contributing to their future child. Their love serves as the foundation for their journey and their shared journey.

word count - 5.5k

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the polished wooden floor of Rhea and Yn’s apartment. Dust motes danced in the golden light, a serene scene at odds with the storm brewing within Yn. The crisp white envelope sat on the coffee table, unopened, a silent, yet menacing presence. Rhea, perched on the arm of the sofa, nervously flipped through a magazine, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a quiet anxiety that mirrored Yn’s own. The air crackled with unspoken fears, the comfortable silence of their usual evenings shattered.

Yn finally reached for the envelope, her fingers tracing the sharp edges as if hesitant to break the seal. She knew what it contained, the results of the tests she’d undergone, tests that had hung over her like a dark cloud for weeks. The weight of possibility and dread pressed down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She ripped open the envelope, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The words swam before her eyes, blurring into a chaotic mess of medical jargon. Endometriosis. The word hit her like a physical blow, a jarring truth that stole the breath from her lungs.

She sank onto the sofa beside Rhea, the paper crumpling in her hand like a discarded autumn leaf. Silence descended, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, each tick a relentless reminder of the passing time. Rhea, sensing the gravity of the situation, gently took Yn’s hand, her touch conveying a silent promise of support. The warmth of Rhea’s hand offered a small measure of comfort, a lifeline in the sea of uncertainty that had suddenly engulfed them.

“What does it say?” Rhea whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and apprehension.

Yn’s voice trembled as she read the report aloud, each word a painful confirmation of her fears. The doctor's explanation replayed in her mind: the endometrial tissue growing outside her uterus, causing inflammation and pain, significantly impacting her fertility. The dream they had both nurtured for so long, the dream of building a family, felt suddenly fragile, threatened by a medical condition they knew little about.

Tears welled up in Yn’s eyes, hot and stinging. The image of a family, a happy, bustling household filled with laughter and love, flickered like a candle in a strong wind. The reality of their situation crashed down upon them, the weight of it almost unbearable. Rhea pulled Yn close, holding her tightly, offering the comfort only a loving partner can provide. In that moment, the cozy apartment, usually a haven of warmth and intimacy, felt cold and sterile, a stark reflection of their suddenly uncertain future.

They spent the next few hours lost in a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, anger, sadness, and a deep sense of loss washed over them in waves. The initial shock gradually gave way to a grim determination. They wouldn't let this diagnosis define their future. They would find a way. They would fight for their dream.

Their research began immediately. They spent hours scouring the internet, poring over medical journals, and seeking information from support groups. The world of fertility treatments felt overwhelming, a complex labyrinth of procedures, medications, and probabilities. IVF, donor eggs, surrogacy – the options felt both hopeful and daunting, each path fraught with its own set of challenges and uncertainties. The sterile medical terminology felt cold and impersonal, a stark contrast to the intimate and personal nature of their desire to have a child.

The initial despair gradually transformed into a focused energy, a collaborative effort to navigate the unfamiliar terrain of infertility. They learned about the different types of endometriosis, the various treatment options, and the success rates associated with each. They discussed their options openly and honestly, their communication a testament to their enduring love and commitment to each other.

Yn's pain became a shared experience, a bond that strengthened their relationship even as it tested its limits. Rhea learned to understand the often-unseen struggles that Yn faced – the chronic pain, the fatigue, the emotional toll of dealing with a condition that affected every aspect of her life. They were a team, facing a daunting challenge together, their love a beacon in the darkness.

The weight of their decision hung heavy in the air. Each option presented a unique set of challenges. IVF was expensive and invasive, with no guarantee of success. Using a donor egg would mean that Yn wouldn't be genetically related to the child, a thought that initially brought a pang of sadness. Surrogacy presented its own set of logistical and emotional complexities. Each path involved sacrifices, compromises, and a leap of faith into the unknown.

The conversations were long and sometimes difficult. Tears were shed, doubts were voiced, and fears were acknowledged. But through it all, their love remained a constant, a unwavering force that guided their decisions. They found comfort in each other's arms, in shared silences, and in the quiet strength they discovered within themselves as they faced this new reality. Their love story wasn’t just a fairytale; it was a testament to their resilience, a demonstration of their unwavering commitment to their shared dream of parenthood.

They were not simply a couple facing infertility; they were partners navigating a challenging journey, their love strengthening with each step. The journey would be challenging, full of uncertainty, but their determination remained firm. They would find a way to build their family, together. Their love was their strength, their compass, and their unwavering hope.

The diagnosis had been a blow, but it hadn’t broken them; it had forged a new strength in their bond, a determination that would guide them through whatever lay ahead. Their path might be unconventional, but their love was the foundation, solid and enduring. The seeds of their dream, though planted in challenging soil, still held the promise of flourishing.

The sterile white walls of the fertility clinic felt a world away from the cozy intimacy of their apartment. The air hummed with the low thrum of unseen machinery, a constant, almost unsettling background noise to the hushed conversations of other couples navigating the same complex terrain. Rows of identical chairs lined the waiting area, each occupied by a couple wrestling with their own hopes and anxieties. Yn clutched Rhea’s hand, the familiar comfort a small anchor in the sea of uncertainty that surrounded them. Rhea squeezed back, offering silent reassurance.

The counselor, a kind woman with gentle eyes and a calming demeanor, greeted them warmly. She guided them through the process, explaining the extensive database of sperm donors, each profile a carefully curated collection of information – physical attributes, medical history, genetic predispositions, personality traits, even hobbies and interests. The sheer volume of information felt overwhelming, a stark contrast to the simplicity of their initial desire: to have a child, together.

They spent hours poring over the profiles, a meticulous process that felt both clinical and deeply personal. Each donor was a potential father, a genetic contributor to their future child. The weight of that responsibility settled heavily on their shoulders, the gravity of their decision echoing in the silent clinic. They discussed each profile in detail, their voices hushed, their words carefully chosen. Did they prioritize physical resemblance? Genetic compatibility? Or did they focus on qualities they hoped to instill in their child? The questions felt endless, the answers elusive.

Yn, ever practical, focused on the medical details: genetic screenings, family history, and potential health risks. She meticulously checked off boxes, noting details that seemed insignificant to Rhea, yet held profound importance for her. Rhea, however, found herself drawn to the personal narratives, the snippets of life offered in the brief descriptions. She searched for a glimpse of personality, a spark of connection, a sense of shared values. It felt strange to choose a father for their child based on a carefully constructed profile, on a collection of data points, rather than through the familiar dance of love and attraction.

The process felt impersonal, almost mechanical. The clinic, with its clinical sterility, seemed to stand in stark contrast to the intimacy of their shared dream. They were creating a family, but the act of creation felt strangely detached, lacking the raw, organic energy of natural conception. It felt surreal, navigating the world of sperm donation, a world they hadn't anticipated when they envisioned their future family. Yet, here they were, determined to navigate this unfamiliar landscape, together.

They studied photographs, each image a snapshot of a potential father they would never know, a stranger whose genetic material would shape the life of their child. The smiles in the photos were generic, devoid of the warmth and intimacy of their own relationship. Rhea found herself searching for a resemblance to herself, a shared glint in the eye, a similar curve of the smile. Yn, however, focused on the factual data, seeking genetic compatibility, an assurance of health and well-being for their future child. Their different approaches, however, reflected a shared commitment to making the best possible decision for their family.

Days blurred into weeks as they immersed themselves in the process. They debated, discussed, and argued, their anxieties and hopes interwoven in a complex tapestry of emotions. The clinic became a second home, a space filled with both anticipation and apprehension. The weight of their decision pressed upon them, a constant, persistent pressure that challenged their resilience. Yet, their love remained a constant, a steadfast anchor amidst the storm of uncertainty. They relied on each other, offering comfort, support, and understanding. Their conversations were long, filled with both joy and apprehension, each word carefully weighed, each decision pondered.

The donor profiles became less like documents and more like stories, each containing a fragment of someone's life. They started seeing glimmers of potential parenthood in these brief descriptions, weaving narratives about the potential father and the child he might help them create. They imagined the child's future, their personality, and their potential, a tapestry woven from the threads of their love and the genetic blueprint they carefully chose. It was a delicate balance between practicality and emotion, a dance between the scientific and the deeply personal.

One profile, in particular, caught their eye. The donor was a musician, a graduate of a prestigious university, with a history of philanthropy and a passion for outdoor activities. His medical history was impeccable, and his genetic profile matched well with Yn's. The accompanying photograph showed a kind smile, intelligent eyes, and a gentle demeanor. He seemed like a good fit, a responsible and caring individual who would be a good genetic contributor to their child.

But the process didn't solely involve analyzing data and photographs; it was also about exploring their own hopes and expectations for their child. They talked about the kind of person they envisioned their child to be – intelligent, kind, compassionate, resilient. They discussed their dreams for their child's future, hoping that their offspring would lead a fulfilling and meaningful life, one filled with joy and purpose. Their conversations were a testament to their love, a reminder of their shared vision, and a testament to their commitment to building a family.

The final decision was a culmination of weeks of careful consideration, a mix of data-driven analysis and heartfelt intuition. It was a compromise between their individual preferences, a balance of logic and emotion. As they finally selected the donor, a wave of emotions washed over them – relief, anticipation, and a touch of bittersweetness. They had made a choice, a pivotal decision that would shape their future and the future of their child. It was a choice born out of love, determination, and the unwavering hope that their dream of building a family would come true. The sterile environment of the clinic receded into the background, replaced by the vibrant vision of their expanding family.

The weight of the decision didn’t vanish completely, but it felt lighter. There was still anxiety, the uncertainty of the unknown lingering, but now it was accompanied by a cautious optimism, a sense of hope and anticipation. They had chosen a path, a seemingly unconventional one, but a path paved with their love, their resilience, and their unwavering commitment to creating a family.

Leaving the clinic, hand in hand, they walked towards the sunset, their shadows lengthening, their hearts filled with a mixture of hope and trepidation, but primarily, with an unyielding love. The seeds of their dream were finally sown, ready to germinate and blossom into the family they had always envisioned. The journey would be challenging, certainly, but the path ahead, though unconventional, was paved with their love, and that, they knew, was more than enough.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of appointments, ultrasounds, and the slow, steady bloom of a life within Rhea. The stark white of the fertility clinic faded into a background memory, replaced by the warm glow of their apartment, now meticulously rearranged to accommodate the imminent arrival. Yn, ever the planner, had transformed a spare room into a nursery, a haven of soft pastels and gentle lighting, filled with tiny clothes and miniature furniture, each item a testament to their meticulous preparation and burgeoning love.

Rhea’s body, once a familiar landscape, transformed in subtle yet significant ways. The initial nausea subsided, replaced by an insatiable hunger that seemed to defy logic and reason. Yn, ever attentive, catered to her every whim, bringing her cups of chamomile tea in the morning, preparing her favorite meals, and gently rubbing her aching back at night. Their kitchen, once a space of shared culinary adventures, became a sanctuary of nourishing meals, tailored to Rhea’s ever-changing needs.

The first flutter of movement was a revelation, a moment both ethereal and profoundly real. It was a subtle shift, a faint tremor deep within Rhea’s belly, a sensation so delicate it could have been imagined. Yet, it was undeniably there, a confirmation of the life growing within her, a living testament to their shared dream. Tears welled up in Rhea’s eyes, a mix of joy, wonder, and a profound sense of awe. Yn held her close, her embrace a silent expression of shared joy and overwhelming emotion.

The physical changes continued, each day bringing new and surprising developments. Rhea's belly, initially a subtle swell, grew larger, more prominent, a tangible manifestation of the life growing within. The once-flat abdomen blossomed into a rounded curve, a living testament to the miracle of life. Her clothes, once comfortable and familiar, became increasingly snug, a constant reminder of the burgeoning life within. She started a pregnancy journal, meticulously documenting her changing body, her fluctuating moods, and the overwhelming emotions that accompanied this remarkable journey.

The weight gain wasn't just physical; it was emotional, too. The anxieties intensified, evolving into a complex mixture of excitement, apprehension, and the gnawing fear of the unknown. Rhea found herself overwhelmed by a wave of protectiveness, a primal instinct to shield this precious life from any harm. Sleep became elusive, her nights punctuated by frequent trips to the bathroom and the unsettling pangs of restless legs. The once-peaceful slumber was replaced by a series of interrupted moments, filled with anxieties and vivid dreams. Yn was her constant rock, a beacon of calm amidst the storm. She massaged Rhea’s feet, read her stories, and simply sat beside her, offering silent comfort and unwavering support.

The monthly checkups became milestones, each visit a small victory, offering a glimpse into the growing life within. The images on the ultrasound screen, initially grainy and indistinct, became clearer, more defined, revealing tiny fingers, tiny toes, and a tiny beating heart. With each visit, the reality of parenthood felt closer, more tangible, the weight of their responsibility becoming more profound. These regular checkups provided not just medical updates but emotional reassurance, each visit strengthening their resolve and nurturing their hope.

Rhea's relationship with her body evolved as well. She found herself strangely connected to her changing form, appreciating the subtle nuances of her burgeoning motherhood. The stretch marks that appeared on her abdomen, initially a source of self-consciousness, became badges of honor, marks of transformation and a testimony to the miraculous journey she was undertaking. The shifting center of gravity, the sudden fatigue, and the intense sensitivity – all were accepted as part of this extraordinary experience, a testament to the power and beauty of motherhood.

Their social life underwent a subtle transformation, too. Dinner dates were replaced by cozy evenings at home, conversations turning increasingly towards the practicalities of baby care and childcare. Friends and family rallied around them, offering advice, support, and gifts – a tangible manifestation of their love and support. Baby showers, filled with laughter, joy, and thoughtful presents, became a celebration of their expanding family. Rhea savored the warmth of connection, the outpouring of love and support from her loved ones.

Rhea's cravings became legendary. One day it was pickles and ice cream, the next, it was spicy noodles and orange juice. Yn, ever the accommodating partner, fulfilled her every whim, even at 2 am. Their shared laughter during these culinary adventures became a cherished memory, highlighting their unwavering commitment and the joy of shared experience. Their fridge became a kaleidoscope of strange and wonderful combinations, a testament to Rhea's ever-changing palate and Yn's unwavering devotion.

As the weeks turned into months, Rhea’s emotions ran a full spectrum. There were moments of pure joy, of overwhelming love, and intense excitement for the upcoming birth. But there were also moments of fear, doubt, and overwhelming anxiety. The unknown loomed large, a dark cloud hovering over the horizon of their bright future. The thought of childbirth, once a distant idea, now felt immensely real, filled with both excitement and trepidation. She sought reassurance from Yn, her words a steady balm on her troubled mind, a comfort in the face of uncertainty. They talked, they shared their fears, and their love for each other, and for the child growing within Rhea, grew stronger and more profound.

The preparation for the baby's arrival was more than just purchasing cribs and changing tables; it was a process of emotional and mental preparation as well. They attended parenting classes, read countless books, and discussed every aspect of newborn care – feeding schedules, swaddling techniques, and the art of soothing a crying infant. The once-distant concept of parenthood was now rapidly approaching, each detail a tangible step towards their dream of building a family.

Yn, ever practical, meticulously planned every aspect of the transition into parenthood. She researched different types of baby carriers, designed a detailed feeding schedule, and prepared a comprehensive list of emergency contacts. Rhea, however, focused on the emotional aspects of motherhood. She spent hours reading books about attachment parenting, imagining the joy of holding their child, the warmth of their skin against hers, the deep connection between a mother and her child.

The final weeks of pregnancy were a mix of excitement and anticipation. Rhea’s body was now fully prepared for the arrival of their child. Her belly was large, and her movements were slow and deliberate. She spent her days resting, tending to her garden, and connecting with Yn. The connection between them grew deeper, strengthened by the shared experience of their upcoming parenthood. Their love was a constant, a steadfast anchor amidst the storm of hormones and anxieties.

The apartment, once just a home, was now a sanctuary, a place filled with love, anticipation, and the unwavering hope that their dream of building a family would soon come to fruition. The seeds they had carefully sown, nurtured with their love and determination, were now ready to blossom. The journey had been challenging, filled with complexities and uncertainties, but their love remained their guiding light, the unwavering foundation upon which their future family would be built.

The air in the delivery room crackled with a nervous energy, a palpable tension that hung heavy in the space between the whirring of machines and the hushed whispers of the medical staff. Rhea, her breath coming in ragged gasps, focused on the rhythmic contractions that pulsed through her body, each wave a surge of pain and anticipation. Yn, her hand clasped tightly in Rhea's, offered silent support, her presence a steadfast rock amidst the storm. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor provided a constant, if somewhat unsettling, soundtrack to the unfolding drama. Sweat beaded on Rhea's brow, her face contorted in a grimace of exertion, yet her eyes, despite the pain, held a spark of unwavering determination.

The room, initially sterile and impersonal, had slowly transformed into a haven of shared emotion. The clinical white walls seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the warm glow of the bedside lamp and the soft light emanating from the monitors. The air thrummed with anticipation, a tangible energy that vibrated through the room, connecting the three of them – Rhea, Yn, and the tiny life growing within.

The contractions intensified, each wave more powerful than the last, bringing Rhea closer to the brink of exhaustion. Yn’s words of encouragement, whispered softly into her ear, were a lifeline, a source of strength that helped her navigate the turbulent waters of labor. She stroked Rhea's hair, her touch a soothing balm on her aching body and troubled mind. The nurses, efficient and reassuring, moved around the room with practiced ease, their presence both reassuring and professional.

Then, a shift. A change in the rhythm, a subtle alteration in the intensity of the pain. Rhea felt a primal urge, a powerful instinct that guided her through the next series of contractions. The pain became more intense, more all-consuming, yet within the throes of exertion, a new feeling emerged – a sense of purpose, a clear understanding of what she was doing, of why she was enduring this.

With each breath, each push, Rhea felt a profound connection to her body, a newfound respect for its strength and resilience. The pain was immense, but it was also a part of something beautiful, something extraordinary. It was the pain of creation, the agony of birth, and the exhilaration of bringing new life into the world.

Yn, her eyes filled with a mixture of awe and anxiety, watched with bated breath. She held Rhea’s hand, her grip tightening with each contraction, offering unspoken support and unwavering love. Their shared gaze, filled with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation, spoke volumes of their shared journey, their shared dream. The room was a sanctuary, a shared space where their hopes, fears, and dreams converged into one powerful moment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the moment arrived. A wave of indescribable relief washed over Rhea as she felt the pressure release, the culmination of hours of effort, a release that signaled the beginning of a new chapter. The cry that followed was a primal sound, raw and powerful, a sound that echoed through the delivery room, filling it with the promise of new beginnings.

A tiny, wrinkled face emerged, a perfect miniature of their combined features. Lilly. Their daughter. The nurses quickly worked to clean and wrap the newborn, their movements swift and efficient. The first glimpse of their daughter was a moment etched in their minds forever – a moment of overwhelming joy, of profound love, of an emotion so deep it transcended words.

Rhea reached out, her trembling hand gently touching the soft, delicate skin of her daughter’s cheek. The sensation was extraordinary, a connection so profound, so immediate, that it brought tears to her eyes. The exhaustion, the pain, all faded into insignificance as she gazed upon her child, her heart overflowing with love.

Yn, overcome with emotion, moved closer, her eyes filled with tears of joy. She gently touched Lilly’s tiny hand, her touch both tentative and reverent. The overwhelming emotion was palpable, a shared sense of wonder and gratitude that resonated through the room. They were parents. Their family was complete.

The bustling hospital room, previously filled with the sounds of medical activity, now hummed with a quiet, peaceful energy. The beeping of the machines faded into the background, replaced by the gentle sounds of Lilly’s soft breathing. The room, once sterile and impersonal, became a sanctuary of love and new beginnings. The three of them – Rhea, Yn, and their precious daughter – were a unit, a family bound by an unbreakable bond.

The nurses left them alone, giving them a moment of private reflection. The silence that followed was not an uncomfortable silence; it was a moment filled with unspoken emotions, a quiet celebration of their remarkable journey. Rhea, cradling Lilly close, felt a surge of protectiveness, an overwhelming sense of responsibility. Yn watched them both, her heart filled with a depth of love that seemed impossible to contain.

Hours passed in a blur of tender moments. Rhea gazed at her daughter, marveling at the tiny features, the delicate fingers, the soft downy hair. Yn gently cleaned Lilly, her movements precise and loving, while Rhea recounted their journey, sharing their fears, anxieties and the sheer joy that had overcome them. They whispered stories and dreams, their voices soft and filled with wonder.

The journey to this moment had been challenging, filled with uncertainties and complexities. The path to parenthood had been fraught with emotional and physical trials, demanding perseverance and unwavering commitment. But they had overcome the obstacles, their love serving as a beacon, guiding them through the darkest moments.

This love, their shared dream, had blossomed into a tangible reality. The seeds of their dream, sown with love and nurtured with patience, had finally yielded its most precious fruit. Their family, unconventional yet profoundly real, was a testament to their resilience, their unwavering commitment to each other, and their profound desire for family. In the quiet moments, they whispered promises of love, commitment, and shared adventures to come. Lilly, nestled securely in her mother's arms, seemed to soak in the warmth and security, the love that enveloped her completely. This was just the beginning of their story, a story filled with the promise of love, laughter, and the joys of building a family in their own unique way. The sounds of the hospital faded into the background as they focused on this small, perfect miracle of love. The future stretched before them, infinite and full of hope.

The hospital faded into a distant memory, replaced by the comforting chaos of their own home. Lilly, no longer a fragile newborn, was a tiny, gurgling bundle of energy, demanding and rewarding in equal measure. The transition from the sterile environment of the hospital to the warm embrace of their home was jarring, yet somehow profoundly right. The first few weeks were a blur of feeding schedules, diaper changes, and a sleep deprivation that stretched the limits of their endurance. The idyllic picture of parenthood they had envisioned, filled with gentle lullabies and peaceful moments of gazing at their sleeping child, was replaced by the stark reality of relentless exhaustion and a constant, low-level hum of anxiety.

Rhea, despite her own exhaustion, felt a powerful surge of protectiveness towards Lilly. Every coo, every gurgle, every tiny grasp of her finger was a source of immense joy. Yet, the relentless cycle of feeding, burping, and soothing quickly morphed from a sweet adventure into a relentless marathon. Nights were a particular challenge. The peaceful silence they had craved was replaced by the frantic cries of a hungry infant, the soft glow of the nightlight illuminating the frantic dance of feeding, burping, and rocking. Yn, her usually calm demeanor slightly frayed at the edges, would often take over during the night, offering Rhea precious moments of rest, her love and support a silent testament to their commitment to one another.

Their carefully constructed routines crumbled under the weight of Lilly's needs. The meticulously planned schedules, the romantic dinners, the quiet evenings spent curled up on the sofa, all fell by the wayside. Their lives, once their own, now revolved around the tiny human who had stolen their hearts. There were moments of frustration, moments when the exhaustion threatened to overwhelm them. There were times when arguments erupted, fueled by sleep deprivation and the sheer pressure of adapting to this new reality. But amidst the chaos, their love remained their anchor. They learned to lean on each other, to share the burden, to find moments of connection amidst the storm. A shared glance across the room, a silent nod of understanding during a particularly difficult night, these were the small moments that sustained them.

Yn, ever the pragmatist, took charge of organizing their new lives around Lilly's needs. She created meticulous charts tracking feeding times, diaper changes, and sleep patterns, her organizational skills proving invaluable. Rhea, more intuitive and nurturing, focused on Lilly’s emotional needs, soothing her cries, responding to her subtle cues, and building a strong bond through skin-to-skin contact and gentle rocking. They discovered that their different approaches complemented each other, their strengths balancing out the challenges. The division of labor, initially a carefully planned strategy, morphed into a fluid dynamic, adapting to the ever-changing needs of their daughter and themselves.

As Lilly grew, so did their understanding of parenthood. The early anxieties, the fears of inadequacy, began to fade, replaced by a growing confidence and a deeper connection to their daughter. The first time Lilly smiled, a radiant burst of pure joy, it felt like the world paused. The first time she reached for them, a small hand grasping their fingers, it was a moment of profound connection, a testament to the bond they were forging. They celebrated her milestones with a mixture of awe and excitement – her first roll, her first crawl, her first word. Each achievement felt monumental, a reminder of the remarkable journey they were undertaking.

Life wasn't always perfect, of course. There were still moments of frustration, moments of exhaustion, moments when they questioned their ability to do this. There were challenging days, filled with tantrums, sleepless nights, and the sheer overwhelming nature of raising a young child. But through it all, they found strength in each other, their love for Lilly binding them together, their resilience forged in the fires of shared challenges. They learned the art of teamwork, of finding joy in the small moments, of appreciating the preciousness of this journey.

Their unconventional path to parenthood had been challenging, yet it had also strengthened their bond in ways they couldn't have anticipated. The experience of creating their family, navigating the complexities of fertility treatments and overcoming the hurdles of unconventional family building, had forged an unbreakable connection between them. Their love story, woven with threads of determination, resilience, and unwavering commitment, continued to unfold, enriching their lives with the joy and challenges of family. They learned to navigate the delicate balance between individual needs and the demands of parenthood, maintaining their personal space while creating a secure and loving environment for their daughter.

They rediscovered the importance of communication, learning to express their needs and concerns openly and honestly. The exhaustion, the sleepless nights, the moments of doubt – they shared these experiences, finding solace in their shared vulnerability. They celebrated their successes, both big and small, cherishing the moments of quiet connection amidst the chaos. They learned to embrace imperfection, to accept the unpredictable nature of parenthood, and to find beauty in the messiness of family life.

As Lilly grew older, their focus shifted, but the challenges, though different, remained. The joy of watching her learn, grow, and blossom continued to inspire them, solidifying their commitment to one another and their family. Their love, their shared dreams, had not only brought them together but had created something profoundly beautiful – a family, unique and fiercely loved, a testament to the power of love, perseverance, and the unwavering desire to build a life together.

They sought support from other parents, sharing their experiences and finding comfort in knowing they weren't alone. They discovered the hidden joys of early parenthood - the quiet moments of connection, the laughter that erupted amidst the chaos, the shared sense of wonder at witnessing the growth of their child. The exhaustion was still a constant companion, but it was now tempered by the immense love they felt for each other and for their daughter. Their family, though unconventional, was undeniably strong, their bond woven with threads of shared experiences, unwavering commitment, and an abundance of love.

The challenges of early parenthood served only to strengthen their relationship, highlighting the resilience of their bond and the unwavering love that lay at its heart. They created rituals, small moments of connection that became anchors in the ever-changing landscape of their lives. Bedtime stories, snuggles on the couch, weekend adventures – these moments became sacred, preserving their bond amidst the demands of daily life.

Their home, once a haven of quiet intimacy, now echoed with the laughter and cries of a growing child, a beautiful testament to their journey together. They learned to adapt, to evolve, to navigate the complex terrain of parenthood, their love serving as their compass, guiding them through the joys and challenges. And as they looked at Lilly, their hearts overflowing with love, they knew they had found something truly special – a family, built on love, resilience, and the unwavering belief in the power of their dream.

DO NOT TRANSLATE, COPY PUBLISH OR EDIT MY WORKS, I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORKS BEING PUBLISHED ON ANY 3RD PARTY WEBSITE. © bunbun 2025 - 2027˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚

[autistichalsin]

How many times do we gotta tell y'all "you are not immune to propaganda" for you to start swallowing any alt-right and TERF propaganda that frames itself as "protecting" people?

Aphobia is alt-rightism. Sex worker exclusionism is ARism. Anti-pornography (note: not just 'there need to be changes to the industry', anti-porn wholesale) attitudes are ARism. Having "concerns" about trans athletes or teenagers getting gender affirming care is ARism. Antishipping is TERFism. Transmedicalism is TERFism. Thinking that seeing someone in a leather daddy costume on the street will damage children and is akin to indecent exposure is ARism. Believing that trans men have access to the exact same male privilege as cis men is TERFism. Denying intersex people access to queer spaces is TERFism. Believing that pornography causes misogyny instead of already-present misogyny twisting itself up in porn is TERFism. Being anti-adoption (not just 'there need to be changes made to the adoption system to protect vulnerable people' but wholesale anti-adoption, including surrogacy done with non-monetary motives) is ARism. Having concerns that "queerness is becoming trendy and people who aren't really queer are identifying that way for attention" is ARism.

Stop falling for their bullshit.

[coochiequeens]

Ladies in the UK, if you are opposed to surrogacy and want to connect with other ladies addressing the ethical concerns Che k out Surrogacy Concern.

We are a group of women and men in the UK, who have come together to oppose liberalisation of the law on surrogacy . We do not believe it is right to separate mothers and their children, nor do we believe the law should be relaxed to make this process easier in Britain.

Our founder and volunteers hail from left wing backgrounds; we campaign against surrogacy from a feminist perspective, which fundamentally centres the right of children to remain with their mothers, and against the commodification of women’s bodies and the commercialization of pregnancy.

If you agree, join us now: surrogacyconcern@gmail.com

[pankowcrumbs]

I was told pregnancy might be fatal for me.

Can I ask for Joseph Quinn x reader where she has same situation and he knows? He notices she's not well so he suggests doctor visit. Few weeks later she tell him she's pregnant and he is terrified so he suggests abo*tion, but she confess it's already too late, because she made her mind and decided to tell him when it'd be already too late. She comforts him and says she'll be fine. Labour day comes, she has complications but everything turns out ok.

We could lose everything X Joseph Quinn

MasterList

Joseph Quinn Masterlist

Stranger Things and Cast Masterlist

Trigger warning: mention of abortion and death.

They always said I’d never be able to carry a child.

Doctors. Specialists. That one particularly insensitive consultant who’d read my file like it was a death sentence rather than a person’s future.

My insides, apparently, weren’t built for it. Something to do with scarring, my blood pressure, a tangle of complications that could if things went wrong kill me.

So we didn’t try. Joseph and I had always been cautious. Careful. We’d talked about adoption, surrogacy, even made peace with the idea of it being just the two of us. That was our plan.

Until it wasn’t.

It started subtly.

I was tired all the time. Nauseous in the mornings. Moody...God, so moody. At first, I thought it was the stress of work. Joseph noticed before I did.

“Love,” he said one evening, as I slumped onto the sofa, too exhausted to kick off my shoes, “you’ve not been yourself lately.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered.

He gave me a look. That one raised brow, all concern and quiet disbelief.

“I’m serious. You should see someone. Just in case.”

I rolled my eyes, but even I couldn’t deny something felt… off.

So I went. Alone. I didn’t want to drag him into it if it turned out to be nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was everything.

I stared at the pregnancy test on the counter in the clinic bathroom, heart pounding so hard I thought it might crack my ribs. Two lines. Clear as day.

Pregnant.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just… froze.

Because in that moment, I knew with terrifying clarity that this wasn’t just a surprise.

It was a risk.

And I’d already made my decision.

I waited three weeks to tell him.

Not because I didn’t trust him. But because I needed the time. To process. To check in with my doctors. To brace myself.

He came home one night, all rain-slicked and tired from shooting, and I was sat on the bed, hands shaking, the scan photo tucked into my lap.

“Y/N?” he asked, instantly alert. “What’s happened?”

I looked up. “I need to tell you something.”

He didn’t sit. Just stared. Waiting.

“I’m pregnant.”

His eyes widened. Then he sat. Hard. Like his knees had given out.

“What?”

“I know,” I said quickly. “I know it’s a shock. I didn’t plan it. We didn’t plan it. But it’s real.”

He was silent. Not just quiet silent. Like someone had cut the air out of the room.

“Y/N… You can’t.”

“I know.”

“You can’t,” he repeated, voice rising with panic. “It’s not safe.”

“I know.”

“Then we have to... We have to end it. Right? There’s still time, we can..."

“There’s not,” I interrupted gently.

He froze.

“I waited to tell you,” I admitted, voice trembling. “Because I knew what you’d say. And I needed you to hear it when it was already too late to change my mind.”

He looked stricken. “How could you do that?”

“Because I need you to trust me,” I said. “I’ve spoken to the doctors. Every week. I’m monitored constantly. It’s high risk, yes, but it’s not impossible.”

“But if something happens to you..."

“Then it happens,” I said quietly. “But this is my choice. And I’ve made it.”

Tears welled in his eyes. “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” I whispered. “I promise.”

He pulled me into him then, arms around me so tight I could barely breathe. His cheek pressed to my temple. I felt his tears against my skin.

“You’re braver than I am,” he murmured.

“No,” I said. “I’m just stubborn.”

He laughed wet and broken and kissed the top of my head. “Whatever happens,” he whispered, “we do it together. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Pregnancy was hard.

There were mornings I couldn’t get out of bed. Days my blood pressure spiked so high the hospital kept me overnight. Weeks when I swelled like I was carrying triplets and Joseph would rub my feet and make me laugh just to distract me from the pain.

He was there. Every step.

He read parenting books cover to cover. Learned how to cook meals I could stomach. Installed a bloody car seat two months early because, in his words, “I’d rather be prepared than panic with a spanner at 3AM.”

He kissed my bump every night before bed, whispered secrets to the baby like they’d already made a pact behind my back.

He was terrified. I saw it in the way he watched me. The way he hovered when I stood too fast. The way he whispered “please be okay” against my back when he thought I was asleep.

But he never ran.

Labour hit like a freight train.

Early. Fast. Complicated.

I was barely 36 weeks. We were in the kitchen, and I dropped my tea mug mid-contraction. Joseph turned white as a sheet.

I was rushed in. Monitors beeped like alarms. Midwives rushed. Doctors murmured in clipped, efficient tones.

Joseph never let go of my hand.

“Breathe,” he said, over and over, like a mantra. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

Then everything stopped.

My vision blurred. The beeping grew frantic. Nurses shouted for oxygen. A doctor said something about losing blood pressure.

And Joseph his voice broke. “Please don’t take her take me instead, take me, take me."

I fought to stay awake. Fought to hold on.

And then

A cry.

Sharp. Piercing. The sound of life.

“Baby’s out!” someone shouted. “She’s stable keep her steady”

I slipped into darkness before I could even see my child’s face.

I woke up hours later.

The world was soft and blurry, like cotton wool had been stuffed into my ears and stitched behind my eyes.

Joseph was there.

Eyes red. Face tear-stained. Holding the tiniest bundle of blankets I’d ever seen.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered.

“She?”

He smiled. “A little girl.”

I cried then. Silent tears. Overwhelming love. Relief.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he murmured, brushing hair from my face.

“Sorry.”

He kissed my forehead. “Don’t be. You’re here. She’s here. That’s all that matters.”

I reached out, hand trembling, and he placed her in my arms.

Tiny. Warm. Real.

“I love you,” I whispered to her, then looked up at Joseph. “Both of you.”

He blinked fast. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

“No,” I smiled. “I’m just the luckiest.”

He leaned down and kissed me, soft and slow.

“We’re a family now,” he said.

[olderthannetfic]

Going back to the fujoshi wank because I find this mildly interesting: I'm part of the "I guess I just like it" faction. It doesn't go any deeper than that, and I liked it for many, many years.

Recently (nine months ago) I started trying to get pregnant. I'm slightly late for that, late enough that it starts to be concerning as I'm not that young anymore. Surrogacy isn't possible where I live, and adoption is also really fucking difficult and likely not an option for us.

I suddenly find male pairings really relaxing. I can either interact with them in a "biological children aren't something we're thinking about and the sex we're having have nothing to do about pregnancy" way or in a "we want to have biological children but the issues we're facing are very far from your cis woman issues" way, no pressure.

I don't want to trivialize same-sex couples fight to have children, especially because I live in a country (Italy, if you're wondering) where they seem set to keep things as difficult as possible, but...

I just think it's neat how a mindless hobby of mine has become a welcome breathe of fresh air while facing a really hard time.

--

Oh boy. Good luck, anon! Sometimes, it does just work out easily, but I too waited a bit long and it was an expensive nuisance. (I say as I try to pry the resulting menace off of my laptop, which she is currently trying to eat.)

[fearfulfertility]

CONFIDENTIAL MEETING TRANSCRIPT

DRC, Medical Ethics & Compliance Division

Date: [REDACTED]

Subject: Above Average Fetal Quotas in Low Compliance Areas

Location: Paternity Compound [REDACTED], Unsecure Conference Room

Attendees:

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager, Insemination Operations

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator, Compound Oversight

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Bioethicist

I… I need to voice my concerns again, Doctor. I understand the need for productivity, but these insemination rates already exceed what we know is a risky quota. We're well beyond the original operational guidelines that were put in place by HQ.

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

Doctor, we've had this conversation... twice this week already. The DRC's objectives are clear, and compliance rates should be raised. And [REDACTED] City has the lowest surrogacy conscription rates for all of Zone 6, which has the lowest rates for the entire country. With so few surrogates, increasing embryos is the only way to meet our quotas this quarter. I'd love to hear if you've found a way to double conscription rates by just waving your hands.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

But... but... the physicality of it, Doctor. These surrogates... men, are not just numbers on a ledger. They're carrying life in multiples beyond the body's capacity, well beyond what our medicine says is natural. We are knowingly creating a dangerous scenario… and for what? Marginal increases in birth quotas?

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

While I appreciate your… concern for the surrogates' livelihood, we must remain objective. This isn't a hypothetical situation where we have the luxury of prioritizing ideals over results. We have mandates, strict deadlines, and expectations from the highest levels. The DRC is operating under intense pressure to show progress. We've all seen the latest reports on our population projections. Desperate times, as they say, call for desperate measures.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

My concern is ethical, not emotional, Doctor. If I seem… invested, I can't help but think that pushing them to such extremes… to see them filled so… utterly... borders on sadistic indulgence at best. We cannot simply keep filling them up like a fish tank. The latest reports put our average pregnancy quota at 16 births per surrogate, and I know that the quota is higher now. This is too much for them, and their bodies can only hold so much.

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

"Borders on indulgence," you say? Interesting choice of words. But you know as well as I do that every additional fetus we bring to term brings us just barely into alignment with the national average. As uncomfortable as you are with their situation, your… fixation on the morality of the situation is, frankly, irrelevant.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

It's hardly a fixation, Doctor. It's a… concern for their wellbeing. They're under endless strain, stretching and expanding, filled to their limits with life… and yet, we expect each new batch to endure more. Are we prepared to reduce these surrogates to mere vessels? Some of these men are barely adults, scoped up the moment they've hit the age of majority. And we're pushing them to physical extremes with little regard for the aftermath.

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

The aftermath is a healthy generation that will keep this country from falling into the dustbin of history.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

Let me put this in concrete terms, Doctor. Consider the case of Surrogate S116-5221-O, who was conscripted at 18 and carrying 15 fetuses not three weeks after his birthday. The strain was so extreme that he required round-the-clock oxygen, feeding, and hydration to maintain his basic stability. His organs were compressed to such an extent that by Day 22, he couldn't breathe without assistance. Is this truly the level of strain we consider acceptable?

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

Yes, I recall S116-5221-O. However, as I mentioned, we specifically selected him due to his exceptional physique and vital health metrics. Despite the discomfort, he still brought each of those fetuses to term at a healthy birth weight and helped us meet our targets that quarter—an overall success in our otherwise abysmal quarter.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

Success story? Surrogate S116-5221-O was so big we needed a forklift to move him to the birthing wing. And he's not the only one. Surrogate S116-4418-Q was assigned 17 embryos, a record for our unit. By his second week, he was bedridden and needed to be suspended from the ceiling lest his womb crush him. He spent his final days hanging from the rafters, delirious from the strain. Are we to pretend that these outcomes are acceptable, let alone humane?

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

Every surrogate conscripted will suffer some potential risks. No one denies the burden they bear, but each successful delivery justifies the process. Their lives, tragically short as they may be, are meaningful in the contributions they make.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

Their lives are defined only by our demands, Doctor. We are bending them, breaking them, for output at a volume beyond any semblance of human decency. I can't look at cases like Surrogate S116-4418-Q and rationalize that level of suffering simply because it fits our agenda. This will not end well—morally or operationally.

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

Your concerns have been noted, Doctor, but let's keep sight of our objective here. We both know that the alternative. I'm sure they'd appreciate the DRC not enacting martial law or forcing raids on their families. We're weighing one outcome against another, and while it's not ideal, we're dealing with the greater good here. Besides, we're not enforcing this on every surrogate. Only the most robust candidates are selected for high multiples based on their physiological indicators. We're not arbitrarily assigning high embryo counts.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

We must consider the limits of the human body, Doctor. And seeing these men in their… altered states, each with bodies so... distended, reminds us of our ethical boundaries. If we push them further, we risk turning this program into a grotesque display rather than a scientifically sound operation.

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

Such high ideals for the precarious situation we're in, Doctor. It's time we refocused on the logistics rather than the aesthetics of the problem. I'll take your concerns under advisement. However, we will proceed with the current embryo protocols unless I receive a directive to change course. Besides their surrogates... we have a legal right to do as we see fit to preserve our way of life, even at the expense of theirs.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

Legal obligation does not absolve us of ethical responsibility. They are conscripts, but that doesn't mean they are disposable. We must maintain some semblance of humanity in our processes. This notion that quotas justify any means will backfire. It's only a matter of time until public scrutiny catches up, and then we'll be accountable for every life lost under our care.

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

Public scrutiny is not my concern. Meeting our birth quotas is. And, respectfully, the stakes are high enough that certain compromises must be made. These surrogates, as tragic as their fates may be, are providing an irreplaceable service to society. Their contribution is paramount.

If we cut back, we will lose ground, and soon, we will be too far behind to make any difference.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

Let me be equally clear, then. I will formally request a review of these practices. There is a line, Doctor, and we are perilously close to crossing it. I will be escalating this to the Director's office.

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

You're welcome to try. But we'll continue with these measures until instructed otherwise.

[Transcript ends.]

----------------

Memorandum

Following a formal complaint submitted by Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager of Insemination Operations, to DRC Headquarters regarding operational protocols and perceived ethical concerns, HQ conducted a preliminary review and determined that no formal investigation was warranted. Dr. [REDACTED] was subsequently placed on probation for insubordination due to his ongoing objections to established protocols. After observation and review by HR, Dr. [REDACTED] has been reassigned to the Anchorage Office, where he will continue supporting DRC’s initiatives under adjusted responsibilities.

In parallel, Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator, Paternity Compound [REDACTED], [REDACTED] City, has been recognized with a personal achievement award. This award acknowledges Dr. [REDACTED]’s dedication to maintaining and exceeding local birth quotas amidst low surrogacy compliance rates. His contributions have been instrumental in stabilizing output levels despite challenges.

End of Memorandum

----------------

Click Here to return to DRC Report Archives

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I have a hypothetical question what would happen if it was discovered meghan & harry

A- have no children

B- came from surrogacy

And then they say the Palace knew all along but said nothing?

Would this break the trust of the people towards the Monachy?

Because I've got this tinhaty feeling even Prince William (as a King one day) won't be able to stop their ongoing pr drama.

I know this is a hypothetical ask but let me be clear: I do not tolerate the inviskids theory here and I will not be addressing that part of the ask. If that's something anyone wants to tackle for the anon, you're welcome to do so someplace else.

Well the main thing is that this is unprecedented. As in no one knows what would happen because it's never happened in modern royal history before. There's what the BRF could do or should do, but it's only is speculation. We don't know what they would do because they've never had to do this.

There's a couple of different issues about children borne by surrogacy. I'll focus only on the issue about the line of succession since that's the most important one.

Quick sidebar: There are two kinds of surrogacy, gestational and traditional. Gestational surrogacy is when an embryo created from the genetic material of the mother and father is implanted in another woman to carry and give birth. Traditional surrogacy is when a woman uses her own egg and is artificially inseminated by the father through IVF. A couple who conceives their own embryos through IVF and which are later implanted in and carried to term by the wife are not using a surrogate. The controversy with the Sussexes is the alleged use of a gestational surrogate - Meghan's egg + Harry's sperm implanted in Woman B to carry to term and give birth to.

Where the line of succession is concerned, there are two legal questions: is the child of the royal's body (meaning is the child a natural legal descendant of the royal parent) and is the child born of the lawfully wedded wife (meaning did the royal wife give birth to the baby)?

According to the British legal interpretation of the line of succession, both questions must be answered 'yes' for the child to be entered into the line of succession. The latter (of the mother's body) It's why members of government (and the court before that) used to be present during the royal birth; to bear witness to the birth and to ensure that the child wasn't switched. (The practice of government officials being present at the royal births ended in 1948 when future-Queen Elizabeth gave birth to future-King Charles and in its place is the current modern practice of doctors present at the birth certifying and attesting to the birth.)

If the Sussexes used a gestational surrogate or if Harry is not the biological legal father of his children, then by law, the child should not be in the line of succession to the crown and if the child is, the BRF should remove them as soon as it has been legally and factually confirmed.

Then there's the follow-up issue: who knew what when? (And I think I've talked about that here before, but I'm too lazy to search for it.)

Did Elizabeth know? Charles? William? When did they know? How long have they known? Did any other family members know? Did any staffers/grey suits know? If they did, who did they tell? When did they tell? How much did they know? Did they know everything? Or did they only know rumors?

The longer people knew about the Sussexes' use of a gestational surrogate and the more information they knew about it, the worse it will be - this absolutely is a case of "the coverup is worse than the crime."

Will it shake public trust in the monarchy? Honestly, I have opposing thoughts.

On the one hand, yes, absolutely, because this is tampering with the LOS. Harry will bear the brunt of anger - by the press, the public and other members of the BRF - so kicking him out of the LOS too along with the children will be the first step to repairing the public trust, followed by taking all the titles. Charles will get pulled into it and how bad it gets for him will depend on how long he's known and what exactly he knows, and when he learned what he knows. Charles, however, is insulated by two factors: 1) all this happened while The Queen was still in charge, so he can deflect criticism onto her (but he'll still get flack for 'why didn't you do something when you became king') and 2) Harry's own statements that Charles no longer speaks to him and has never spent time with the grandchildren, which Charles can deflect by saying 'see, I knew it was wrong and thusly stayed away. William will also be affected, but I foresee it being more of a bumpy ride for William since he made very public steps as early as possible to separate his family/office/household from the Sussexes - from booting them from KP to kicking them out of the foundation - plus we have Meghan's complaint on record that the then-Cambridges didn't really do anything with them.

Is this an abdication crisis-level shaking of public trust? I don't think so. It'll be bad, but I think it's more 'reckoning with Diana's death'-levels bad than abdication crisis-bad, where if the BRF puts their heads down and does solid hard work for a few years with no scandals or little minor ones, they could probably come out of it relatively unscathed just in time for Prince George to take his place as the new Royal Heartthrob in his 20s (yes, I felt icky writing that).

Buuuuuuuut on the other hand...maybe not. There's already a lot of speculation about how the Sussex kids came to be. There's no public affinity for the kids. The BRF has never met the kids. William and Kate don't speak to the Sussexes and have never spent considerable time with them. George, Charlotte, and Louis probably don't even remember good/fun times with Harry and I doubt they spent any time around Meghan. Charles has it on record that he doesn't speak to Harry either and Harry has it on record that he doesn't speak to Camilla. The Sussexes aren't receiving or using taxpayer funding. So it's entirely possible that all the BRF needs to do is cut off the rotten branch at the right time and they come through with some minor scrapes and bruises (versus beaten to a bloody pulp).

But note that I said "at the right time" too. If there's no Charles-Sussex reconciliation and William takes the titles because they've been exploiting the monarchy for personal profit shortly after he becomes King and then it comes out later that a gestational surrogate was used and William then consequentially takes them out of the LOS, then I don't think it will be as shattering to public trust. Controversial, yes. Crisis, eh, maybe not.

But if it's revealed/confirmed there was a gestational surrogate tomorrow, Charles waffles on what to do, and public outcry grows louder and louder for a week (like what happened when Diana died), and then Charles finally takes the titles and/or kicks them out of the LOS, that's more of a crisis and not one that I think Charles's monarchy and Charles's image will ever overcome.

But that doesn't mean the drama is over - the unintended ripple effect means it'll be that much harder and that much more intrusive on the Waleses kids when they begin having their own families. There's going to be an enormous burden of proof on George, George's wife, and Charlotte to prove that their children are of the body in all the ways it legally matters. I don't think we're going back to the days of government ministers on the other side of the curtain/doorway, but possibly a lot more media scrutiny, maybe even more paparazzi photos.

There was a time when I thought that the BRF could excuse all of this and absolve Harry by deflecting it onto Meghan and having her bear all of the responsibility for this - as in Harry didn't know anything, Meghan kept him at arm's distance through the whole pregnancies, but the Netflix docuseries and then Spare squashed that because both 100% implicate Harry.

I do think now that the BRF's strategy - or at least Charles's strategy, if it came down to it - is to deflect all of it onto both Harry and Meghan by pointing to the Sussexes' very public complaints that they were abandoned, no one really talked to them, no one really visited, by creating plausible deniability that they were even around the Sussexes that much in her first pregnancy to think anything was amiss. (There's no plausible deniability for the second pregnancy - it's absolute denial because the Sussexes were in California and and they were all over there in England.)

But again, all this is what I think could happen and what the BRF should do based on what we know about their PR machine and legal precedent.

I have absolutely no idea what the BRF actually will do and how the public would respond. This is 100% uncharted territory, something we can only watch and see what happens.

[thatnonameuser]

Maybe you have already answered this question but how would LGBTQ relationships be affected in this world, i know that anything other than yandere x darling is taboo but how about queer relationships?

Bc on the one hand a yandere doesn’t technically choose who they fell in love with

But on the other hand male x female relationships would be preferred bc then there would be more darlings?

TW: Mentions of homophobia and conversion therapy,

* * * *

I have actually, but it's probably super deep in my posts so I'll save you the trouble.

First thing, I have to correct something here, anything other than a yandere-darling relationship is NOT taboo. Yandere-Yandere and Darling-Darling relationships are allowed, the most common/ traditional relationships are yandere-darling. Sometimes your darling is a yandere like you, sometimes two darlings either haven't met their yanderes yet or don't have one.

Secondly, LGBTQ+ yanderes and darlings do exist. Gay, bisexual, lesbian etc yanderes all exist with their type being dictated by the identity of their darling. You might have concerns to how bi or pan yanderes are attracted if a darling has one, permanent gender identity, but who they truly love, or feel attracted to, is specific to the darling themselves.

They're accepted because should you reject any of the non-heteronormative relationships you leave of yanderes without the opportunity to have their darlings and that's a disaster ready to happen.

As for the darlings, not really...

A darling's sexual orientation is ignored because it's their yandere that they're supposed to be with, so if their sexuality falls outside of that condition. Then, tough shit darling, you won't be able to be with anyone else.

In fact, there might be a darker element where LGBTQ+ and straight conversion therapy is done to help darlings 'change' their sexuality so that they can love their yanderes. Which obviously is incredibly traumatic but nothing

Thirdly, as for asexuals, same thing as regular romantic yanderes just no sex, and aromantics, these yanderes are strictly platonic. Darlings are probably going to experience the above.

And finally, if you're concerned about male-female relationships being preferred because of they can produce darling children, it's a damn good thing that this is a world of magic WITH all the modern world conveniences of IVF, sperm/egg donors and surrogacy.