#Mr. X (Streets of Rage)

[soul-sparx]

the Y twins are so cool but their dad sucks so i gave him some Swag

[bison2winquote]

Mr. X, Streets of Rage 2 (SEGA)

[pocoslip]

Casey Jones VS X

[pitagain]

#365DaysOfVGM Day 202:

The Last Soul/S.O.R. Super Mix (Bare Knuckle/Streets of Rage & Bare Knuckle II/Streets of Rage 2 [1991/1992])

More Sega Mega Drive/Genesis highlights usually means an inevitably cool electronic Bass, and when Yuzo Koshiro’s involved, you know the genre variety will kick in and impress you at some point!

Which is to say, the slower pace of today’s pick combined with the instrumentation, helps “The Last Soul” stand out from all the competition. Because of this versatility, it also feels like a good sort of “hub world” track, funnily enough.

S.O.R Super Mix is the bigger highlight here though: With a mix of the predecessor’s “The Last Soul” and “You Became the Bad Guy!” themes as the basis for this remix, comes a worthy successor used for both the opening cutscene and final stage of this sequel. Again, the Bass is a common highlight in Sega Genesis soundtracks, with new sounds on top of it to provide an extra-detailed somber atmosphere, fit for the finale; you’re at the source of Mr. X’s cycle of miserable criminal activity, it’s up to you to put it all to an end!

(Length before loop [The Last Soul]: 1.5+ minutes, [S.O.R. Super Mix]: Nearly 3 minutes)

[tuliptheoshawott]

ANTAGONIST WHO WOULD WIN POLL #1

[msriri030]

Mafia!Ren/ [Redacted] x Reader

TW: mention and brief scene Abuse, slight mention of murder.

The night air was cold and heavy, each step you took down the dimly lit street weighed down by the lingering dread of what awaited you at home. You kept your head down, hands buried in your pockets, hoping, praying that tonight might be different—that your dad would be passed out, or maybe out drinking somewhere, anything to keep him away from you for just a few hours. But deep down, you knew he was there. He was always there, waiting for the next excuse to unleash his anger, fueled by the alcohol that twisted his thoughts into rage.

He would shout, throwing out slurs and curses, blaming your mother for leaving him, accusing her of destroying the family. You understood why she left—he was a monster to her. But what you couldn’t understand, what tore at your heart every time you thought about it, was why she left you behind. Why had she left you to fend for yourself with him?

These questions haunted you, but tonight, you pushed them away. Survival was all that mattered. You just needed to keep going, one more shift, one more day, until you had enough money to get out. You were so close. Just a little longer.

You quickened your pace as you neared home, bracing yourself for whatever was behind that door. The sounds of traffic and the city faded into the background as you got lost in your thoughts, barely noticing that you were walking straight into oncoming traffic until strong hands grabbed your arm, pulling you back with surprising force.

"Watch out, miss," a deep voice said with a small smile. "I don’t like seeing a pretty angel walking into traffic."

You blinked, stunned, and glanced up to find a large man standing beside you, concern etched on his face. “Giant… I—I’m sorry, how rude of me. Thank you for saving me, Mr...?”

"Mr. Ren," he replied with a grin, his voice calm and assured. "Just Ren is fine. And you are?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to trust him, but there was something in his steady gaze that put you at ease. “(First name)… (Last name).”

Ren raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Wait, (Last name)? Is... is (your father’s name) your husband?"

Your face flushed with a mix of surprise and frustration. “NO! He’s my father.” You quickly added, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you.” You paused for a second before offering hesitantly, “Why don’t I treat you to something? As a thank you, you know, for saving me?”

He chuckled softly, nodding. "A coffee sounds perfect. Just to keep you safe a little longer."

You nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips. There was something in his presence—calming, strong—that made the coldness of the night feel less oppressive. Together, you walked to a nearby diner, its neon lights casting a soft, inviting glow in the darkness.

Once inside, you settled across from Ren. The warm atmosphere of the diner contrasted sharply with the cold night outside, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you could breathe. Ren ordered two coffees, and as the two of you sat there, you couldn’t help but take in more of his appearance: the black hair tipped with pink, the piercings that glinted under the soft light, the tattoos that peeked out from under his sleeves and shirt collar. But it was his hands that caught your attention—scarred and calloused, like someone who had fought their own battles. The kind of hands that felt familiar in a way you couldn’t quite place.

"Something on your mind, angel?" Ren’s voice broke the silence. His eyes were kind, but there was an edge to them, as if he knew there was something more behind your guarded expression. “What made you so lost in thought that you didn’t see the cars?”

You hesitated, tracing the rim of your coffee cup with your finger, unsure of how much to say. "Just… life, I guess," you replied softly. "It’s been a little heavy."

Ren nodded, his gaze softening, understanding without needing more words. "Life can be a lot sometimes," he said quietly. "But it doesn’t stay dark forever. Even the longest nights end."

Your heart tightened at his words, an unexpected wave of warmth washing over you. “Thank you,” you whispered, feeling a flicker of hope in your chest.

You spent the next hour in easy conversation, the kind that allowed you to forget about the weight of the world for a while. When you finally checked the time, you realized it was late, and the reality of your situation rushed back.

Ren seemed to notice the shift in your demeanor. “Do you need someone to walk you home?” he asked, his voice gentle but insistent.

You hesitated, looking down the street toward the house that still felt like a prison. The thought of facing your father alone, of being caught in that cycle again, made your stomach twist with dread. “If you don’t mind…”

He smiled and stood, offering his hand. “Not at all, angel.”

You blushed, taking his hand.

The walk to your house was quiet, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel suffocating. Ren’s presence beside you, strong and steady, made the night feel less dark, less frightening. When you reached the door, your heart sank as you heard your father’s drunken voice spilling out from inside. The slurred words, the anger, the madness—it was all too familiar.

You turned to Ren, forcing a weak smile onto your face. “Thank you, Ren. I—I hope—”

Before you could finish, the door slammed open with a violent crash. Your father stood in the doorway, his wild eyes landing on you before narrowing in fury. He shoved you hard, sending you falling backward. Your back hit the floor with a painful thud, the wind knocked out of you. 

“YOU USELESS BRAT!” he shouted, his voice full of venom and alcohol.

You gasped, struggling to breathe as his boot slammed down on your chest, pressing all the air out of your lungs. Desperately, You clawed at his leg. You tried to push his foot off, but his weight was crushing.

“You think you can just come and go as you please?” he sneered, each word a dagger. “You’re just like your mother—always running off. Always a disappointment!”

You bit back the tears threatening to spill, your hands trembling as you still were trying to pry his foot off. The words cut deeper than his blows ever could, but you refused to cry in front of him. You wouldn’t give this man that satisfaction of breaking you.

Then, like a storm crashing through the door, Ren’s voice rang out, cold and deadly. “(Last name). Get. OFF. Her.”

You barely had time to process the change in the air before Ren was there, his massive frame a shadow over your father. He stood like a wall, his presence intimidating, overwhelming, as if the very air around him shifted with authority.

Your father, drunk and staggering, turned to face Ren, but the fear in his eyes was unmistakable. “Who the hell are you?” he slurred, his bravado fading quickly. “This isn’t your business…”

Ren didn’t let him finish. Without a word, he grabbed your father by the shirt and effortlessly lifted him off the ground, holding him with one hand. Your father’s eyes widened in terror, the drunken fog clearing just enough to see who was standing in front of him. “Mr. [Redacted]!” Your father whimpered, his voice shaking. “Please! I didn’t mean any disrespect! I’ll pay back the money, I swear!”

Ren tossed him aside like he was nothing more than a nuisance, his cold eyes never leaving your father. “You disrespected me when you laid a hand on my angel,” Ren hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “If I ever see you even breathing the same air as my angel, I am afraid you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

Your father crumbled, falling to the ground as Ren released him with a final shove. He fell back against the wall, eyes wide, too terrified to move.

Ren turned to you then, his expression softening as he crouched down to meet your gaze. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, your chest aching from both the pain and the overwhelming sense of relief. “I… I think so.”

He reached out, offering his hand to help you up. “You’re not staying here,” Ren said firmly, glancing back at your father, who was still crumpled in a heap against the wall. “Let’s go.”

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, your heart racing as you grabbed your bag and followed Ren out the door. As you stepped into the cool night air with him by your side, you realized that for the first time in a long while, you weren’t just surviving. You were escaping. And maybe, just maybe, you were finally free….Or entering a new cage. 

[emjayewrites]

Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton) (13.2/15) - Part II

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @a-moment-captured, @boujiestpoet, @avngrsfangirl, @yeea-nah @alika-4466 @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @saturnville @weetjy @lewlewlemon44 @cranberryjulce @chaoticcoffeequeen @periodjosh @melanin-queen369 @niahxo @purplelewlew @f1-football-fiend @imjustheretomanifest @gg-trini @kinggbl @iamryanl @mitruscity @nichmeddar @xoscar03 @4ftwonder

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore

CHAPTER 13.2: Baby LH-Squared On Board

Barcelona in June was a love letter to sun-drenched afternoons and evenings that stretched lazily into warm, starlit nights. The Spanish Grand Prix was always a highlight on the calendar for its energy, its sprawling Catalonian charm, and the way the city seemed to hum with possibilities. This year, it carried even greater significance for Lewis and Rorie. With Lyric happily spending time with Nina in Monaco, the couple had a rare moment to themselves.

Rorie sat on the sofa of their suite, her ginger tea cradled in both hands. The vibrant city stretched out beneath their balcony, the soft sounds of street performers playing Catalan melodies drifting in. At fourteen weeks, her belly was beginning to show, a small, undeniable curve that filled Lewis with pride.

He was crouched before her, his hands resting lightly on her thighs, leaning in close as if speaking directly to their growing child. "Good afternoon, little one," he murmured, his voice a tender melody of its own. He pressed a kiss to the soft fabric of her sundress, right where her stomach curved outward. "Your dad’s got a big race tomorrow, so you and your mum will be cheering me on, yeah?"

Rorie chuckled softly, running her fingers through his neatly braided hair. "I think your biggest fan is already ready to cheer you on, babe." She sipped her tea, savoring the warmth it brought to her still-sensitive stomach. "This tea is doing wonders, by the way. Not a total cure, but better than before. I’m not spending half the day in the bathroom anymore, so we’ll take it."

Lewis glanced up at her, a mixture of relief and concern crossing his face. He hated seeing her suffer through the extreme morning sickness that had plagued the early weeks of her pregnancy. The medication had helped, but there were still moments when the nausea crept in, stubborn and unrelenting. "You’re so beautiful," he said, his hand drifting to rest lightly over her stomach. "Both of you are. And you’ve been a warrior through all of this."

"Don’t make me cry," she warned, her voice teasing but her eyes soft. "Hormones are still raging. I’ll ruin my makeup."

He laughed, leaning in to kiss her gently before resting his cheek against her belly. "Okay, I’ll behave." But he stayed there for a moment longer, humming softly—some old Motown tune his mother used to sing to him as a boy. The vibrations of his voice traveled through her, grounding her in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

Rorie smiled, her hand drifting down to rest over his. "Martin called this morning," she said, breaking the quiet. "The meeting last month must’ve gone better than I thought because now he wants me to meet my half-siblings."

Lewis sat back slightly, his expression immediately shifting to one of cautious curiosity. "How do you feel about that?"

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the mug. "I don’t know. I mean, Athena seems fine—better than fine. She was fine when we met in Bahrain, but the others…" She trailed off, a shadow of uncertainty crossing her face.

Lewis reached for her free hand, lacing their fingers together. "Whatever you decide, I’ll be right there with you. But I won’t lie—I’m nervous about how this might pan out. People don’t always handle situations like this with grace."

Rorie nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Yeah, I’ve noticed." She took a deep breath. "But I want to try. If only to see what kind of people they are."

Her mind drifted back to that day in Monaco, just hours after discovering her pregnancy...

The restaurant terrace offered a perfect view of the Mediterranean, though Rorie kept her sunglasses firmly in place. Her lemonade sat mostly untouched as Martin spoke, his words washing over her like waves against the harbor wall.

"I made mistakes," he was saying, gesturing with hands that reminded her too much of her own. "The interview with Piers—that was wrong. I shouldn't have done that."

Rorie remained silent, one hand resting protectively over her still-flat stomach.

"And telling your mother to..." Martin paused, and had the grace to look ashamed. "Well, I was scared. That's not an excuse, but—"

"No," Rorie finally spoke, her voice steady. "It's not an excuse."

"I want to be part of your life," he pressed on. "Meet my grandson. Be a proper grandfather."

She took a careful sip of lemonade, buying time. The baby in her belly made her think differently about everything now. About family, about forgiveness, about protecting what matters.

"You don't get automatic access," she said finally. "To me or to Lyric. That's not how this works."

"Then how does it work?"

"You start with my mother," Rorie set her glass down firmly. "A proper, in-person apology. No cameras, no press, no excuses. Just you, owning what you did."

Martin's face tightened. "Rorie—"

"That's the first step. After that, we take it day by day." She stood, adjusting her flowing top carefully. "I'm not the angry teenage girl you imagined in that interview anymore. I'm a mother. Think about what kind of grandfather you want to be. Then act accordingly."

She left him on that sun-drenched terrace, her heart lighter than when she'd arrived. Some choices weren't just about us anymore—they were about the future we wanted to build for our children.

______________________________________________

Later that evening, they found themselves in a private dining room at a high-end restaurant, waiting for Rorie's half-siblings to arrive. Athena arrived first, dressed professionally - her media credential from Motorsport Weekly still hanging around her neck.

"I just finished some interviews in the paddock," she explained warmly, hugging Rorie. "The perks of interning with F1 media - getting to see my sister more often."

Before Rorie could respond, the door opened again. Azariah entered first, his six-foot-three frame commanding immediate attention. His dark skin gleamed under the restaurant lights, and despite his imposing height, his eyes held a gentle warmth. He wore his hair in neat locs that fell past his shoulders, his button-down shirt and pressed slacks suggesting the polished professionalism of someone used to boardrooms.

Aaron followed, shorter than his brother but built like a boxer. His dark brown complexion was offset by a fresh fade, geometric patterns carved precisely into the sides. Despite the designer clothes he wore, his entire demeanor radiated hostility - from the set of his broad shoulders to the way his jaw clenched. Where Azariah's presence felt welcoming, Aaron's felt like a storm about to break.

Aaron spoke, his voice dripping with disdain. "So this is the famous Rorie. Dad's little secret."

Lewis's jaw tightened immediately. "Watch yourself."

"Or what?" Aaron shot back, rising slightly from his chair.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Lewis's voice was dangerously low.

"You heard me, nigga. What, you think because you race cars you're better than–"

"Aaron!" Azariah's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "That's enough. Apologize. Now."

"Man, fuck that–"

"Get your brother," Lewis said to Azariah, his fists clenched. "Before I forget this is supposed to be a family meeting and fuck him up."

Azariah turned to Aaron, his expression stern. "Apologize. You're out of line and you know it."

After a tense moment, Aaron muttered an apology, though his eyes still burned with resentment. Athena quickly tried to salvage the situation, talking about her internship and then their son.

"So, how’s Lyric? We’d love to hang out with him."

Lewis’s response was immediate and firm. "That’s not happening right now."

Athena glanced at Rorie, as if hoping she might overrule him, but Rorie simply shook her head. "You heard what his father said."

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur, with Athena even inviting them to a dinner party their father was hosting, but Rorie gave a vague response, clearly unsure about attending. Eventually, Rorie gave Lewis the look — the one that said it was time to go.

Outside, walking through Barcelona's bustling streets, Lewis was still seething. "The audacity of that little–"

"Ice cream," Rorie interrupted, squeezing his hand. "We need ice cream."

They found a small vegan ice cream parlor tucked away on a side street. As they sat near the window, Rorie with her strawberry basil and Lewis with his salted caramel, the tension began to fade.

"I'm sorry about Aaron," Rorie said softly. "Though I appreciate you keeping your cool."

Lewis shook his head. "Azariah seems solid at least. And Athena... she's genuinely trying."

"Yeah," Rorie agreed, taking another bite of ice cream. "But let's be clear - Lyric isn't meeting any of them anytime soon."

"Agreed," Lewis said firmly. "Though I wouldn't mind seeing more of Athena in the paddock. Girl knows her racing."

Rorie smiled, reaching for his hand across the table. Despite the drama, they had each other. And right now, with the Barcelona sun setting outside and the taste of ice cream on their lips, that was more than enough.

Race day in Barcelona arrived wrapped in brilliant sunshine and electric energy. The paddock thrummed with life - carefully choreographed chaos of team personnel, media crews, and fans pressed against barriers.

"Lewis! Lewis! Please sign this!"

"Over here!"

"Just one photo!"

"Lewis, my daughter loves you!"

The chorus of voices rose and fell as they moved through the paddock, accompanied by the flutter of flags and the constant click of camera shutters. Rorie had grown used to this part of Lewis's world - the way people's eyes lit up at the sight of him, the surge of bodies toward barriers, phones thrust hopefully into the air.

But she noticed the change in Lewis immediately. Usually, he'd navigate these moments with practiced ease, a warm smile here, a quick wave there, walking slightly faster past the most enthusiastic fans while still maintaining his signature grace. He'd perfected the art of being both present and moving, of acknowledging the love without getting swept away by it.

Today though, his body language spoke volumes - one hand firmly at her back, creating a bubble of space around them as they moved through the paddock. His jaw was set differently, eyes constantly scanning, body angled to shield her from the press of the crowd. When a particularly enthusiastic fan leaned too far over the barrier, Lewis's hand tightened imperceptibly at her waist, smoothly guiding her to the opposite side.

"A bit much?" she murmured, glancing up at him, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders.

"Just being careful," he replied, steering them around a particularly enthusiastic group waving Mercedes flags and chanting his name. A security guard moved closer, reading Lewis's body language, but Lewis shook his head slightly - they didn't need the extra barrier. Not yet. Still, he kept his pace measured, deliberate, maintaining that protective bubble around them.

His protectiveness should have annoyed her - she'd always valued her independence, after all - but after their journey with Lyric, she understood. The years of trying, the heartbreak, the final success... every precaution felt justified, even if it meant adapting their usual routines. She caught the way his eyes flickered to her still-flat stomach, the careful way he positioned himself between her and the more boisterous fans, and felt a rush of love for this man who could command the attention of thousands but was most focused on safeguarding their precious secret.

A group of young fans called out in Spanish, waving a banner with Lewis's face. He acknowledged them with a warm smile and wave, but kept moving, his hand never leaving her back.

They ran into Susie near the Mercedes hospitality suite, her sharp eyes taking in Lewis's unusually upbeat demeanor. "Someone's in a good mood," she noted, looking between them with growing suspicion.

"Just feeling good about the race," Lewis replied smoothly, but Rorie caught the slight tell in his voice - the same one he got when trying to keep Lyric's Christmas presents a secret.

"Mmhmm," Susie hummed, clearly unconvinced. "Well, don't forget we're meeting later for the F1 Academy race."

"Wouldn't miss it," Lewis assured her.

As soon as Susie walked away, Lewis made an exaggerated grimace. "She's going to figure it out."

"Of course she will," Rorie whispered, squeezing his hand. "But family first."

They fell into planning mode, discussing timeline options. "In London," Lewis suggested. "When everyone's together."

C.J. found her shortly after Lewis had to scurry off for pre-race preparations, pulling Rorie aside to discuss an upcoming meeting with Polydor Records. "They're really interested," he explained, but Rorie's attention was already wavering.

"I don't know, C.J. The whole label thing…" She pressed a hand to her mouth suddenly, the familiar wave of nausea rising. C.J. reacted instantly, supporting her as she made her way to the nearest restroom.

"I got you," he murmured, holding her hair back. "I'll get some ginger tea."

While waiting for C.J.'s return, Rorie found herself ambushed by a welcome face - Louise Magnussen, her two little ones in tow.

"Rorie!" Louise exclaimed, pulling her into a warm embrace. "I was hoping to catch you. About the charity karting race - is Lyric going to participate? The kids are so excited about it."

"We haven't decided yet," Rorie answered honestly. "But I'll talk to Lewis about it today, promise."

C.J. returned with the tea just as Louise's maternal instincts kicked in. "Are you feeling alright? You look a bit peaked."

"Just a stomach bug," Rorie lied smoothly, accepting the warm cup from C.J.

After Louise left, C.J. shook his head. "People are gonna go crazy when you tell them."

"Fucking bonkers," Rorie agreed with a groan.

Her phone buzzed - a message from Julian updating her on the case. Reading about Deja's increasingly erratic behavior sent a fresh wave of tension through her temples. "I need carbs," she decided abruptly. "Something absolutely terrible for me."

"Garage snacks won't cut it?" C.J. asked, already knowing the answer.

"No," Rorie said firmly. "I need proper junk food. The kind Lewis pretends doesn't exist in the paddock." She paused, considering. "You know that little bakery we passed on the way in? The one with the chocolate-filled croissants?"

C.J. raised an eyebrow. "The ones dusted with enough powdered sugar to look like a crime scene?"

"Those exact ones. And maybe those potato wedges from the food truck by Turn 3. The ones with the garlic sauce." Her stomach growled appreciatively at the thought. "God, Lyric's going to have a sibling with a serious carb addiction."

"Better than your pickle and peanut butter phase," C.J. muttered, but he was already reaching for his phone to text one of the assistants. "You want the croissants heated?"

"Is that even a question?" Rorie deleted Julian's message, refusing to let it occupy any more space in her head. "And maybe some of those cinnamon churros too?"

"Now you're just being greedy," C.J. teased, but his thumbs were already typing out the addition to the order.

Rorie closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the ginger tea seep through her. In twenty minutes, she'd be stuffing her face with the most wonderfully inappropriate pre-race meal possible. Sometimes the best way to handle stress was with sugar, carbs, and a complete disregard for nutritional value.

___________________________________________________________

The Mercedes garage hummed with pre-race energy as Lewis began his meticulous preparation routine. Each movement was practiced, almost meditative - first the fireproof underwear, then the racing suit, pulling it up with practiced efficiency. The familiar weight of the HANS device settled on his shoulders as he secured it in place.

The balaclava came next, Lewis smoothing it carefully over his braids before reaching for his helmet and holding it in his hands. As he went through the final checks of his equipment, Toto approached with Bono, both ready for their usual pre-race briefing.

That's when they heard it - the unmistakable sound of enthusiastic munching coming from where Rorie sat by the screens, headset perfectly in place, looking utterly content as she dipped a churro into spicy mustard.

Several pit crew members did double-takes, their expressions ranging from fascination to horror as they watched her follow the churro with a bite of chocolate croissant dipped in cream cheese.

"Uh, Rorie…" one of the mechanics ventured, "you feeling alright there?"

She responded with a pout that only deepened when another crew member added, "That's some interesting culinary creativity you've got going on."

"Come off it," Lewis interrupted, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Leave my wife be."

After the others dispersed, Bono pulled Lewis aside. "Is she okay now? Wasn't she sick? What's up with the churros and mustard?"

Lewis couldn't suppress his dopey, toothless smile. "She's just being Rorie."

Bono crossed his arms, unconvinced. "Not with eating what she's eating but I'll leave it alone. For now."

As the final preparations continued, Lewis made his way to Rorie, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "I see your appetite is back. Morning sickness gone?" he whispered against her ear.

She turned to whisper back, "Baby LH squared wants carbs."

"Ah? Really?" He chuckled, nodding. "Alright, happy that you're eating, love. No matter…how…weird the concoctions, I guess." His eyes lingered on her unusual food combinations before he kissed her again.

Settling into his car, Lewis felt an extra surge of motivation. Starting from P3, Baby LH squared watching - even if from the size of a lime - he had everything to race for today.

The race itself unfolded like a symphony. From P3, Lewis maintained his position through the first corner, watching, waiting. The Mediterranean sun beat down on the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya as he found his rhythm, the car responding perfectly to every input. Lap after lap, he battled with the McLaren ahead, the gap shrinking and expanding like a living thing.

The pit stops were flawless, the strategy solid, but the front two had just enough pace to stay ahead. Lewis pushed the Mercedes to its limits, extracting every fraction of performance, ultimately crossing the finish line in P3 - a strong podium finish that felt like a victory given their recent struggles.

"Great drive, mate," Bono's voice crackled over the radio. "P3, solid points. The car's coming along nicely."

"Thank you, guys," Lewis responded, his voice carrying an extra note of contentment that had nothing to do with the podium. "Let's keep pushing. Good things coming."

The podium celebration was electric as always, champagne spraying under the Spanish sun. From his spot on the third step, Lewis's signature pointing gesture toward the sky seemed to carry extra meaning today.

Will Buxton caught him just after the podium celebrations, microphone ready. "Lewis, there's something different about you today - even with P3, you seem particularly focused, almost glowing. What's changed?"

Lewis's eyes found Rorie in the crowd, a small smile playing on his lips. "Just feeling good, Will. Everything's falling into place, you know?"

"Cryptic as ever," Will noted with raised eyebrows. "But there's definitely something in the air around you today."

They left the paddock together as the sun began to set, Lewis's race suit now tied around his waist, trophy in one hand, Rorie's hand in the other. The evening air was still warm, carrying the scent of champagne and flowers.

"Hotel?" he asked softly.

"Hotel," she agreed, leaning into him as they walked. "But maybe we can stop for more churros first?"

Lewis laughed, pulling her closer. "Whatever Baby LH squared wants."

The book in Dada's hands had a little brown boy on the cover, smiling next to a baby. At first, Lyric wasn't interested - stories about babies were boring. But as Dada read, talking about all the special things big brothers get to do, Lyric found himself leaning closer.

"Remember how you were upset about the baby?" Dada asked gently, pulling Lyric onto his lap. His bedroom in their Monaco penthouse was cozy, lit by the warm glow of his race car nightlight.

Lyric nodded, remembering his tantrum. He hadn't meant to be bad, but the idea of sharing Mama and Dada was scary.

"Well, being a big brother means you get to do more big boy things," Dada explained. "Like maybe…racing with Laura?"

Lyric's eyes widened. Jack always talked about racing, and Jack was the coolest. "Like Jack?"

"Exactly like Jack," Dada smiled. "Would you like that?"

Lyric nodded enthusiastically. As Dada tucked him in that night, thoughts of racing cars mixed with ideas of being a big brother. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

________________________________________________________

The Austrian airport was huge and exciting. Lyric held tight to Mama and Dada's hands as they navigated through the crowded terminal. The people with cameras were always there - "Papa-razzi," Mama called them - but Lyric knew to stay close whenever they appeared.

"Up, Dada?" he asked when the crowd grew thicker.

"Of course, big man." Dada lifted him easily, and Lyric watched the world from his favorite perch. A fan called out, "Lewis! Can we get a photo?" but Dada just smiled and kept walking.

"Maybe later," he said kindly. "Family time now."

At security, Dada made it extra special. He let him hold the important blue book - his passport, Dada called it. The nice man at the desk even gave him a stamp!

"Look, Mama!" he exclaimed, showing her the mark in his passport.

"Very official," Mama agreed, kissing his cheek.

The drive to the track was full of mountains - so different from Monaco's sea views. Lyric could barely contain his excitement about the karting race. His car at home that Pop Pop got him was fun, but this would be real racing!

Laura was waiting at the track, and they watched the grown-ups set up the karts while sitting on a stack of tires.

"Why we racing?" Lyric asked Laura, settling beside her.

"Dunno," she shrugged. "But Jack says it's cool."

"Dada read me a book," Lyric told her, proud to share his news. "'Bout being a big brother! I get to do big boy stuff now."

Laura wrinkled her nose. "Sissies can be a'nnoyin'. My sissy cry a lot. And takes my toys."

"But we get to race!" Lyric reminded her, bouncing slightly. "Like Jack! And like Dada!"

When his father called him to the driver's room, Lyric's heart did a little dance of excitement. The racing suit laid out looked just like Dada's - black with teal accents, sized perfectly for him.

"This is yours," Dada said softly, helping him into it. "Your very first race suit."

"Like yours," Lyric whispered, touching the material reverently.

"Just like mine." Dada's voice caught, and Lyric noticed his eyes were wet.

"Why cry, Dada?"

"Just happy to see you race, son," Dada pulled him into a hug. Lyric kissed his cheek, understanding this was a special moment even if he didn't know why. "Remember what I've told you?

"Have fun!" Lyric recited. "And be safe!"

"That's right." Dada helped him with the zipper. "And what else?"

"We race fair!" Lyric added. "No pushing!"

Mama appeared in the doorway, phone ready for pictures. "Look at my handsome racers," she said, and Lyric posed proudly next to Dada.

Before heading to the karts, they walked through the paddock where Lyric collected high-fives like treasures.

"Ready to show us how it's done?" Uncle Val asked, crouching down for a proper high-five.

Pierre ruffled his braids. "Future champion right here!"

Charles knelt beside him. "Remember to have fun," he advised with a wink.

The kart felt perfect when he climbed in, Laura on one side, Jack and the others nearby. Through the barriers, he could see Dada standing with the other racing dads, and behind them, so many people cheering. The racing talk people held their microphones, speaking quickly about "the next generation" and "racing legacies." Lyric didn't understand all the words, but he understood this was important.

A person stood in front of them with a flag. Lyric took a deep breath, just like he'd seen Dada do countless times. He thought about his car at home, about watching Dada race. His small hands gripped the wheel.

The countdown began.

Lights out.

And Lyric Hamilton began his first real race.

______________________________________________

From behind the barrier, Lewis watched his son's tiny Mercedes race suit - adorned with patches from Williams and McLaren, a nod to his own racing journey - as Lyric settled into the kart, which was a somewhat better model of the one he had at home. Since the kids ranged in various ages, they all agreed to do a kart race with a subdued motor, something even kids as young as his son could handle easily.

Before they got started, the commentators' voices carried across the circuit.

"And in an unprecedented move, Formula 1 has given us something special today," David Croft's voice rang out. "Free Practice 3 cancelled for what might be the most heartwarming event of the season - the F1 Kids' Charity Karting Race."

"Quite remarkable how they kept this under wraps, Crofty," Martin Brundle added. "Looking at these young racers - Lyric Hamilton, Laura Magnussen, Jack Wolff, Penelope Kvyat, Sergio Perez Jr. - all in miniature versions of their fathers' team suits. Though young Hamilton's got those special patches…"

"A tribute to where it all began for Lewis," Croft noted. "McLaren represented alongside Mercedes."

The atmosphere was electric, different from a regular race day. No championship points at stake, no team orders, just pure racing joy as the next generation took to the track. Lewis felt Toto's hand on his shoulder.

"Ready to be a racing dad?" Toto asked, grinning.

"Don't think I'll ever be ready," Lewis admitted, watching Lyric adjust his position just like they'd practiced at home. "I'm so close to shittin' my pants."

The lights sequence began. Five red lights illuminated, then extinguished. The karts lurched forward, Penelope taking an early lead with Lyric close behind. Jack slotted into third, showing his karting experience.

"And they're off!" Croft exclaimed. "Penelope leads into Turn 1, Lyric Hamilton showing his father's racing instincts in second…"

Lewis held his breath watching Lyric navigate the first corner. His son's lines were surprisingly clean for a toddler, the hours spent on his toy car at home showing through.

The three-lap race unfolded like a miniature grand prix. Penelope maintained her lead, but Lyric kept pace, occasionally getting close enough to challenge. Jack protected third place with skill that made Toto beam with pride.

"Look at young Hamilton's racing line through Turn 3," Brundle commented. "Someone's been studying their father's races."

The crowd cheered every overtake attempt, every slight wheel-to-wheel moment. Max and Lewis exchanged glances as the children battled for first, both fighting the urge to shout advice.

On the final lap, Lyric made one last attempt to catch Penelope, getting alongside through the penultimate corner, but Penelope held her nerve. She crossed the line first, with Lyric less than a kart length behind. Jack secured third place, completing the podium.

"What a finish!" Croft called out. "Penelope Kvyat takes the win, Lyric Hamilton a brilliant second, and Jack Wolff rounds out our junior podium!"

The paddock erupted in cheers as the kids pulled their karts to a stop. Lewis vaulted the barrier, reaching Lyric just as his son was climbing out. He scooped him up, helmet and all.

"Dada I raced!"

"You were amazing, big man," Lewis said, voice thick with emotion. Around them, other drivers were congratulating their children, the usual paddock rivalries forgotten in this moment of pure joy.

They had a proper podium ceremony, complete with small trophies and sparkling apple juice instead of champagne. Penelope, Lyric, and Jack stood proud, their fathers behind them, while photographers captured the moment.

"And to think," Brundle's voice carried over the celebration, "we were meant to have Free Practice 3 today. I'd say this was a much better use of track time."

Looking at his son's beaming face as he held his second-place trophy, Lewis couldn't have agreed more.

The podium celebrations were barely over when Jenson Button approached, microphone in hand but speaking off-record first. "Brilliant driving, kids!" His eyes landed on Lyric. "That defensive move into Turn 4? Proper racing stuff."

Will Buxton followed, crouching to the children's level. "Future champions, all of you. Those were some impressive lines out there."

Then Nico Rosberg stepped forward, and the paddock's atmosphere shifted subtly. He focused on Lyric, who was still clutching his trophy. "Excellent race, Lyric. You've got your father's instincts."

Lewis kept his expression neutral, professional.

"His hand-eye coordination is really good," Nico continued, glancing at Lewis. "The way he held that racing line…"

"Been practicing since he could walk," Lewis replied, surprising himself with the lack of tension in his voice. "Though Penelope gave him a proper challenge today."

"Good racing all around though," Nico agreed, extending his hand. "Congrats, man."

"Thanks, Nico." Lewis took it, a brief but genuine handshake. For their children's sake, they could manage this much. Nico moved on to congratulate Penelope as Rorie approached, tears streaming down her face.

"My baby!" She wrapped Lyric in a tight hug, covering his face with kisses. "You were so amazing out there!"

"Mama, you see? I race like Dada!"

"Just like Dada," she agreed, wiping her eyes.

Lewis clapped his hands together, grinning broadly. "Who wants ice cream?"

"Me!" Lyric bounced in his mother's arms. "Chocolate?"

"Champion's choice," Lewis laughed, leading his family toward the ice cream stall. Behind them, the paddock continued to buzz with excitement, the day's unexpected event already being hailed as one of the season's greatest highlights.

Today had been about something far more precious than he could ever imagine - the pure joy of racing, passed from one generation to the next.

The conference room in The Sun's London office felt suffocating as Alexander watched Julian review the settlement papers. Ten million pounds to be donated to fertility support organizations. A full retraction. A public apology.

The price to pay for invading the Hamiltons' privacy.

David, his boss, sat rigid beside The Sun's solicitors, his usual confident demeanor notably absent. The legal team had advised settling - the evidence was damning, the public sentiment overwhelmingly against them.

Julian made one final notation. "This seems in order," he said, his tone clinical. "The Hamiltons appreciate your cooperation in resolving this matter quickly."

The solicitors exchanged glances before signing. David's signature came last, a slight tremor in his hand.

"The funds will be transferred within 24 hours," The Sun's lead solicitor confirmed. "The retraction and apology will run tomorrow."

Julian gathered his papers with precise movements. "Good day, gentlemen." His exit left a vacuum in the room.

David dismissed the legal team with a sharp nod. As the door closed behind them, Alexander's throat went dry. He'd known this was coming.

"Alexander." David's voice was flat. "Your employment with The Sun is terminated, effective immediately. HR will process your–"

The door opened. David's boss, Richard, entered without knocking. Alexander watched David's face pale.

"Richard, I was just handling–"

"You're both fired," Richard cut in. "The board is cleaning house. This scandal has cost us more than money." He placed two envelopes on the table. "HR has your paperwork. Clear your desks by three."

The door closed again. Alexander stared at the envelope bearing his name, realizing how completely his pursuit of a story had destroyed his career.

David stood first, shoulders slumped. "Well," he said to no one in particular. "That's that."

Alexander remained seated as David left, the weight of his choices pressing him into the chair. Outside the window, London continued its busy Friday, indifferent to the careers that had just ended in this sterile conference room.

_______________________________________________

Alexander's phone buzzed as he began emptying his desk. Deja's name flashed on the screen.

"Well?" Her voice was tense. "What happened?"

"They settled." He placed a framed photo in a cardboard box. "Ten million to fertility organizations. Full retraction. Public apology."

"What? They can't do that! We had–"

"I'm fired, Deja." He cut her off, exhaustion seeping into his voice. "David too. It was above us."

A pause. Then, softer, scared: "Alexander, my lawyer called. They're… they're trying to have me arrested. Luisa's testifying against me on extortion and harassment charges."

He ran a hand through his hair, staring at his half-empty desk. This had spiraled far beyond a story about a celebrity couple. "Deja, I can't… I can't help you anymore."

"But–"

"Don't call this number again." He ended the call, immediately blocking her number.

The last items went into the box. Alexander looked around his office one final time, then walked out, leaving his keycard on the empty desk.

TO BE CONTINUED....

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 7 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warnings(s): i feel like the theme is pretty established by now, still homophobia. negative talk about weight. a brief segment about Mr George's A+ parenting. as in, he's bad at it.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 8

You accosted Cady Heron after Ms Norbury's calculus class. You took her by the purse strap and hauled her to the janitor's closet, ignoring all her indignant chirping.

You'd been stewing the whole class, glaring daggers at the back of her stupid orange hair.

"You've crossed a line." You said once the door shut behind you. She was cowering against the wall, looking like a cornered animal. "Those fucking Kälteen bars were too much."

"What? What're you talking about?" She tried to lie, to seem tough like the popular girl she was so desperately trying to be.

"I'm talking about the so-called weight loss bars you gave to Regina." You hissed, stepping closer so you loomed over her. You really wanted to get your point across. "It wasn't very hard to search up what they're really for. You don't mess with someone's body like that."

"She had it coming!" Cady finally relented, looking up at you defiantly. "She- she took Aaron from me and made out with him right in front of me all the time and then she just threw him away!" She yelled, hands clenched to fists and a red flush of rage blotching her freckled face. "All she does is spite me." She added with venom.

"Aaron isn't some trophy for either of you to own." You implored, trying to not react to her raised, aggressive tone. It would be mortifying to cry now. "I'm not saying she didn't do anything wrong, but Cady that's fucked up. You need to apologize."

"Why? Why in the world should I apologize to her? She hasn't apologized to anyone even though she's probably done something to everyone in this hellhole."

"Two wrongs don't make a right. I know that's cliche as hell, but what did you think you'd achieve?"

"We were trying to topple her. Make her lose her status. By making her gain weight, well, she'd get all ugly."

You shivered in repulsion. Regina had already sunken her claws deep into this girl.

"I... I honestly don't know what to say to you." Defeated, you said one last thing: "I'm out. I'm not taking part in your scheming anymore and I don't want to hear about it."

"It's not like you did anything!" Cady huffed.

"Exactly." You sighed. "I didn't do shit." She looked confused at that, but you didn't rightly care.

With that, you stepped out of the closet. This would probably be the only instance you'd step out of the closet, figuratively, in high school. A small victory, maybe.

"What were you doing in the janitor's closet?" You almost bumped into Regina.

Too stunned to hear her speak to you in public, you didn't get to answer before Cady stepped out as well. Her face was still flush and her clothes were a bit messy from you dragging her through the hall.

Regina's expression turned stormy. She seemed to coil back, tension rising in her body as she took stock of the state of you. You could do nothing but stare as she levelled Cady with a murderous look.

When she turned to you, you nearly flinched back. Not only was she angry, furious really, but you'd hurt her. It was clear in the way she was breathing hard and heavy, how she was shuddering the lightest bit, how her lips pinched together. When Regina was angry, only angry, she went cold. It wasn't like this. This was something worse.

"Reg," You tried to say something and went to touch her arm.

"Don't." Don't call me that. Don't touch me. She hissed, hurt turning to fear as she looked around you. People weren't staring, luckily you hadn't caused a scene, but there were always eyes on Regina.

You looked down at your shoes and, with great reluctance, walked away. It was considerably harder to keep from crying now.

Not feeling up to geography, you went to your usual spot. The number of cigarettes you smoked in a day was starting to get a little too much. You couldn't find it in yourself to care now.

Once you arrived behind the bleachers, you tossed your backpack onto the grass and sat on it. The ground was cold and getting colder by the day. Soon enough it'd snow.

What the fuck were you doing? You'd impulsively confronted Cady, angry for Regina's sake, but you hadn't been able to really say anything to her. You'd asked her what she was trying to achieve, and all the while you had no idea of what you wanted.

You wanted everything to be okay. That was vague. You wanted Regina to be not nice, but herself. She wasn't vindictive by nature. You wanted her to apologize, but couldn't open your fucking mouth and say that. You wanted Cady to stay the fuck away from her, same went for Janis and Damien.

You weren't so dumb as to expect you'd be able to convince anyone. You didn't have any weight in these people's lives. You barely existed. For Regina to change, something drastic needed to happen. Something like a fall from grace, you grudgingly admitted. It would change her, but it would also hurt her. You didn't want to do that. Maybe if her dad changed. Then again, even if he changed that wouldn't erase the past. Maybe Cady could move her somehow. Regina had taken her under her wing, after all, though for misguided reasons. Maybe there was something there.

(The pattern was hard to miss. Regina rounding up pretty girls around her. When you no longer measured up to her standards, she got Janis. Then she threw her away. Eventually, she found Karen and Gretchen. Now, Cady was next.)

You heard approaching footsteps and crossed your fingers, hoping it wasn't a teacher. Soon enough, Janis 'Imi'ike appeared before you in all her gothy glory.

"Gimme one." She demanded as she squatted down in front of you.

"That'll be fifty cents." You said back. There was only one person you'd share your pack with for free.

Janis tsked. "Fine." She reached into her pockets and after a bit of rifling handed you a coin. You pocketed it and offered the pack to her.

"Got a lighter?" She asked with the stick in her mouth. You tossed it to her. "Thanks."

You took the lighter back. She didn't say anything for a while. You could appreciate that, even if you didn't want to talk to her at all.

"So, you're out."

"Yup." You took a drag. "Espionage isn't for me."

"Even though you ruined all our plans?" You'd hoped they hadn't realized you were the mole, but you supposed that'd been naïve.

"Yeah. I'm not built for it." You looked at the slowly burning smoke between your fingers. "Y'know, you're not so different."

"What? Me and who?" She adjusted on her perch. The black eyeliner around her eyes made them look huge.

"Regina." She looked about ready to punch you. "What she did to you was evil, I know. It's not about that."

"Then what is it about?" She took an angry drag. It looked ridiculous. Sucking on the filter hard enough to scrunch her lips. You closed your eyes for a moment to not be so amused by it.

"You want revenge 'cause you were wronged. Regina, she..." You didn't want to sell her vulnerabilities to her mortal enemy, but you wanted to try and reach Janis. "She's been hurt too. It's not the same, exactly, but she's not doing this because she's rotten inside."

"You don't know shit," Janis snarled, cig nearly snapping in half in her tight grip. "You're just trying to sympathise-"

"Yes, I'm trying to sympathise with her, is that so wrong?" You interrupted her, frustrated she wasn't listening to you. Or maybe she was and just not liking what she heard. If that were the case, your words meant nothing and you were a fool for trying. Still, you kept going.

"This one time, Reg and I- I mean, Regina and I,-" You knew it was futile to hope Janis hadn't noticed your slip-up. "We were climbing the apple trees in their backyard. We had a great time, sitting up there and eating the small, sour apples, just being kids. When we got back, though, we ran into Mr George.

"Regina had on a white sundress. It was covered in grass stains and bits of tree bark. Mr George got so angry. He started yelling right in her ear, I don't even remember what he said. I was so afraid. Regina just stood there, staring at nothing. We were holding hands and she just went limp. It was as if she was used to it, like she knew exactly what to do.

"Then, he told her to get the dress to Mrs George immediately. And no dessert that day. As soon as we got away from him, I burst out crying. Poor Regina didn't know how to console me, so she just took me to her mom. She was sorting laundry in the mudroom, I think, and as soon as she saw us she just said: "Rick yelled?" Like it was so normal. Regina started crying then too."

You took a drag. "I can't stop you from seeking revenge. But I guess I'm asking you to. I'm asking the same of her. She doesn't need to take her revenge against the world, either."

Janis picked at her nailpolish. All black except for the ring finger, which was a shoddy rainbow. "If you think that sob story's gonna convince me, think again. So what, her dad yelled at her so it's okay for her to, hmm, let's go down the list, uhhh, belittle her supposed friends, degrade random passers-by, steal boyfriends like it's a hobby, breed eating disorders, and so on. Riddle me that."

"Where do you think Regina learned to treat others the way she does? Where did she learn that in order to be safe, she needed to be above everybody, that she needed to be in command at all times? Where did she learn that she needed to be mean to gain that authority? Not just mean, but vicious and cruel and fucking scathing." You raved, voice rising. "Riddle me that, Janis."

"Her daddy issues don't take away the choices she's made!"

"No, they don't, but they explain them. Doesn't intent make any difference to you?"

"You're seriously telling me she didn't intend to ruin my life when she told everybody in school that I was a lesbian?"

"I'm telling you she's a bad person, a flawed person, but redeemable. I'm not asking you to change your opinion, I'm asking you not to take this stupid revenge idea any further." You paused to take a breath. "Janis, I'm... I'm a lesbian too. She's not inherently bad."

"What?" Her voice was like a whisper.

"Yeah. I came out to her when we were, like, eleven." You'd known so early because you'd been crushing on your best friend. Wonder who that'd been. "Looking back on it now, I think she ditched me for you."

"And then she left me too, fucked me over, and moved on to her next victim." Janis looked shell-shocked. Did you really pass as straight so well? Or was her gaydar all wonky? "She- she didn't tell anybody?"

"No, I don't think so. I've never gotten any shit for it. Or, well, I have 'cuz I look pretty butch, but not like that."

Janis just looked at you, cigarette burning away. You took a pointed drag. She copied you.

"She's not homophobic. She just didn't like me." Janis said, mostly to herself it seemed. You couldn't tell what she was thinking or if this information had changed anything.

"Does that make it better or worse?"

"I don't know. It still hurts." You could understand that. "I need to talk to Damien about this."

"Don't spread any of this around." She looked at you sharply. "Obviously you're gonna tell him, I didn't mean that."

"Well. Good." She stood up and stretched her legs. "I'll think about your proposition." She said as she stumped the cig out with her boot.

You scoffed. "Bye." Proposition.

Her consideration would have to be enough for you. You stumped your own smoke as well. There was little time left to contemplate lighting a new one when yet another client came to your outdoor office. You could start charging visitors with the amount of people coming in and out of your alcove.

Regina stood above you, face still conveying not-good things, but the glassy surface of her eyes had disappeared.

"Move aside." She commanded. You shuffled off of your backpack obediently, planting your ass on the damp grass without complaint. Her pants were more expensive anyway.

"I was telling Cady she'd overstepped." You blurted before she could get a word out. "I'm sorry if it was, like, a bad move I just... I felt like I needed to say something."

"Yeah, well, that was stupid. You shouldn't have made it seem like you knew me." You winced sadly. "I don't need you to defend my honour. And you also totally ruined any leverage I had with that."

"I'm sorry." You kept your head down, looking intently at the grass.

"Hmm." She just hummed. You couldn't read her like you usually could, preoccupied with keeping yourself calm. "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

Confused by the sudden topic change, you looked at her. She was leaning her elbow on her knee, her temple on her fist. She had on a little smile, like she hadn't just shamed you. You should've probably been relieved. She wasn't mad. But you were still in it.

"Uh, I'm..." You shrugged, trying to regulate. "Dad isn't coming home, if that's what you're asking."

"Okay, you're coming to mine for Thanksgiving." She said so easily. "Mom will be thrilled."

"What? Thanksgiving at the Georges?"

"That sounds like a shitty TV show. Like Seinfeld."

"I'm serious, Regina." You swallowed. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"It'll be fine. If you act like you did the other night, everybody will be charmed." She grinned like that was an inside joke between you two. "Only my aunt and cousin, mom's side, are coming. I think you've met Riley. Aunt Josie is cool."

You were starting to feel sick. You knew her, at least thought you knew her, but her switching up how she treated you whenever she felt like it was getting tiring. What did she want from you? How were you supposed to act? Could you even ask without her getting mad or you embarrassing yourself?

You had conviction in that you liked her, wanted to protect her, and would be on her side, but was that enough? Did you have enough strength to sustain the rollercoaster that was Regina George? It felt as if there was no other option than to keep riding. You couldn't exactly jump off unless you were prepared for certain death.

"I've met Riley." Your tone must've been telling of how drained you were feeling. Regina tilted her head at you.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, just tired." You didn't want to be around people for the rest of the day. You wished you could just go home, nap, and have Regina there. Your Reggie, a little bitchy but funny, the side of her she only seemed to show when you were in private.

"You could go home." Her suggestion was tempting.

"No, dad's gonna yell at me again if I skip any more classes." He'd already called you earlier that month. It hadn't been pleasant, to put it nicely. Fifteen minutes of him berating you over the phone felt like a split second compared to the hour-long rants he'd go on when he was home. So, it could've been worse.

"I'll come over to yours later." She stated rather than asked. Obviously, you had to say yes, however reluctantly. "We could go shopping, too."

"You'd take me shopping?" Now that was new. You couldn't help but be a little pleased by that.

"Grocery shopping."

Oh.

"Mom says it's best to get some of the ingredients for Thanksgiving early." Regina recounted, crossing her arms and leaning against the metal backing. Your backpack had her elevated so she was a little above you. A change in pace.

Even her lower chin looked good. Damn.

"This early, though?"

"You know her. She's neurotic."

"Maybe a little bit."

"So, you'll come?" Resigned, you nodded. "I'll come to yours and we'll go."

"Why aren't we taking your car?"

"It's too recognisable. Duh." Yeah. Of course. How could you forget? "We're going pretty late, too. Less foot traffic."

You hummed. It wasn't as if you could change society. Even if things were different with Regina, you still couldn't be seen getting too cosy with her. You could like her from a distance and that was that. You could be a good friend and that should've been plenty. Really, above anything, you wanted her to be happy. With or without you.

That thought grated on you. You didn't want to lose her. You weren't sure if your choices made it so that you already had.

Why did everything have to be so hard?

Notes: This was originally supposed to be the climax chapter, but it seems we're still climbing. Next chapter then! Look forward to it :)

Taglist: @autorasexy, @wedfan2, @unadulterated-moron, @modernsapphicism, @9unknown0, @sage-rose2000, @massive-honkas, @nattys-swiftie, @likefirenrain, @luz-enjoyer, @dandelions4us, @natashamaximoff-69, @alexkolax, @jareaul0ver, @here4theqts, @charleeeesworld, @natsbiggestfan1, @brocoliisscared, @yellowwallflowers, @scarlettbitchx

(if you want to be added to the taglist, comment that on this post :))

[beembeem]

Hey, Love your work! Do you think you could write aizawa x student reader that was abandoned? (platonic, of course)

Have a nice day!

Aww, thank you, Anon! I'd be happy to write aizawa content he's one of my favorites! (^_^) this request hits a little close to home (a bit too close haha) but I had a lot of fun writing this! Let me know what you want me to write next!

Y/n sat on the streets curb, clutching her go bag tightly to her body, the rain pelting her hunched figure and drowning out her silent sobs. Y/n knew her parents were tired of her, all the threats they threw at her, their constant bickering, the number of times her parents told her they hated them to her face. Everything boiled up, and in a fit of rage, y/ns parents threw her out of the house. Leaving her where she is now. A homeless teenager bawling her eyes out in the rain while sitting on a curb in the city of mustafu.

Y/n jumped when a hand was placed on her shoulder, she was so lost in her scrambled thoughts that she hadn't noticed the blue umbrella shielding her from the rain. Y/n looked up and then over at her homeroom teacher squatting beside her holding the umbrella over her. "Y/n? What are you doing out here?" He asked, noting your tear stained cheeks and red puffy eyes. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" He questioned frantically scanning your body, without giving you time to answer he stood and pulled you up with him "I'll walk you to your house."he said before handing you his umbrella "m-my parents don't want me there" y/n said, already" choking on her words and fighting the tears that threatened to spill."your parents kicked you out?" Aizawa asked and y/n nodded, fiddling with her pajama shirt, her parents didn't allow you the luxury of getting real clothes on.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, "alright, come on, I'll take you to my house." He said before grabbing your empty hand and leading you along."Despite the fact that having you at my house is wildly inappropriate, it's either that or you catching your death in this rain. He stated that matter of factly, "plus nemuri would beat my ass if she knew I left you out here." he walked with you following closely behind him before long. You ended up standing outside of his apartment door, your brain still processing the events, and short-circuiting y/n could barely remember the walk. Mr. Aizawa twisted the key to the door, opened it, and ushered you inside. You immediately took off your soaking wet slippers and stood awkwardly by the front door while Aizawa put his coat and umbrella in a nearby closet. "Alright, kid, I'll run you a hot shower, then I'll call nedzu and let him know what's going on." He said, "a-alright. " You filled with the fabric of your wet shirt again, starting to lose yourself to your mind when you were pulled back by two snaps."Did you hear me? Bathroom is the first door on the left, " he said while pointing down the hall."Oh! Sorry, " you apologized before quickly running off to the bathroom and savoring a hot shower.

After drying yourself off and getting dressed in the clothes, Mr. Aizawa gave you and you silently, walked to his kitchen where you found him slumped at the table. You awkwardly stood in the doorway to the kitchen. "Uhm, thank you for the clothes, Mr Aizawa!" You thanked him, and his tired moved from his phone to you."No problem, they're just things nemuri left here." He stated before going back to his phone."nedzu said he reported your parents for child abandonment." He said, motioning you to sit down in the chair across from him before he stood up "I made some cocoa, I made you some" he walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed two mugs full of hot chocolate then returned to the table and set a cup down in front of you. "Thank you!" You said before taking a sip. "So," he stared at you. "What happened?" He asked bluntly. You froze for a few seconds before breaking down in tears .t-they just ditched me, I loved them, and they just threw me our like I meant nothing!" You cried."I - I don't have anywhere else to go! They were all I had and now I won't be able to go to UA because I can't afford my stupid tuition, and-and" it felt like you were choking, you couldn't let anything out except for tears and sobs. Aizawa moved to comfort you, pulling you into a hug and patting your head. He hushed you before saying, "we'll figure it out." You grabbed the back of his shirt and cried even harder.

There'd be hell for your parents to pay.

[bat-mom-writer]

Rage and Redemption: Part 8

Bruce Wayne X adoptive daughter(age 12)

Summary: It's your first day of boarding school

Rating: Curing, bullying, a bloody fight, Dick being a sweet brother

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9 coming soon

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Sometime after, you find yourself in front of your bedroom mirror, wearing the school uniform Bruce had got you—a crisp white blouse, a navy blue tie, and a plaid skirt. Your hair is pulled into a neat bun. You scowl at the unfamiliar reflection, tugging at the tie that feels like a noose around your neck. The idea of school makes you want to scream, but you know it's a battle you can't win.

"You're going to love it," Alfred says from the doorway. "You'll make friends, learn new things, and maybe even find a hobby. That hope won't involve breaking things."

You shoot him a glare. "I like breaking things," you mutter, though the edge of your anger is dulling.

Alfred's smile is warm, his eyes filled with something that looks suspiciously like affection. "And I like a clean foyer," he says, stepping into the room, "but sometimes life gives you lemons, as the saying goes."

You roll your eyes, but there's a hint of a smile playing at the corners of your mouth. You can't stay mad at Alfred, not when he's looking at you like that. "Fine," you huff, "but if I hate it, I'm coming home and burning this uniform."

Alfred chuckles, his eyes twinkling. "I'll save you a cup of tea," he promises, his voice gentle. "Now, come on, let's not keep Mr. Wayne waiting."

You follow Alfred down the grand staircase, the sound of your new school shoes echoing through the hallowed halls of the manor. Bruce is waiting by the front door, he's dressed in a tailored suit, looking every bit the billionaire he is. You feel like a fish out of water, your school clothes itchy and uncomfortable against your skin.

"Miss is dressed and ready for her first day at school," Alfred announces, his arms wide as if presenting you on a stage. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

Bruce takes a knee, his eyes level with yours. He smooths out your uniform, his hands brushing over the crumpled fabric with surprising gentleness. His touch is firm but not unkind, his eyes searching yours. "How do you feel?" he asks, the question loaded with more weight than you're prepared to acknowledge.

"Ridiculous," you reply, the word tasting sour on your tongue. The uniform feels like a costume, a façade you're wearing to pretend you're someone you're not. "Already ready to go back to bed."

Bruce's eyes hold yours for a moment, seeming to see behind the bravado. "It's natural to be nervous," he says, his voice softer than you're used to hearing.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "I'm not nervous, old man," you say, trying to sound more confident than you feel. The lie feels thick and bitter on your tongue.

Bruce lets out a chuckle with a gentle smile, "Alright, tough guy," he says, standing up. "Let's get you to school."

You follow him out to the car, the sleek black vehicle waiting like a silent sentinel. You've seen Bruce leave in it a hundred times, but now the sight of it makes your stomach twist into knots. This isn't a trip to the city or a fancy dinner—this is the start of your new life, one you're not sure you're ready for.

The drive to school is a blur of unfamiliar buildings and bustling streets. You feel like you're in a cage, trapped in a world that's too clean, and too orderly compared to the chaos of the orphanage. When the car finally stops at the school, your heart races like a caged animal's.

Bruce comes around and opens your door, his gaze steady on yours. You can see the question in his eyes, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of an answer. You climb out, the cool morning air slapping you in the face, a stark contrast to the warm cocoon of the car. The school looms before you, a monolith of education and structure, two things you've never been particularly fond of.

"Well," you say, your voice flat as you glance around the bustling drop-off area, "I'm here. At school." You pause, the words hanging in the air like a half-hearted declaration of defeat. "Alright, let's go back." You move to climb back into the car, the sanctuary of leather and luxury feeling suddenly irresistible.

But before you can retreat into the embrace of the vehicle, Bruce's firm hands are on your shoulders, turning you around to face the schoolyard.

"Not so fast," Bruce says, his grip firm but not painful. He gently pushes you towards the schoolyard, "You're already dressed and already here. Give it a chance."

You huff, your cheeks flushing with a mix of anger and embarrassment. You didn't want to admit it, but part of you was scared of what was waiting for you beyond the gates. The orphanage had been a harsh teacher, and you weren't sure you had the skills to navigate the social jungle of a school.

With a resigned sigh, you square your shoulders and march towards the schoolyard. The sounds of laughter and chatter fill the air as kids of all ages spill out of the school, forming groups and chasing each other around the greenery. You feel a pang of longing—those were the moments of camaraderie you never had.

Stopping at the gate, you look around at the buzzing students, and it's like a punch to the gut. Each one of them seems to have a place, a group, a purpose. You feel like the odd one out, the one who doesn't belong. You swallow hard, the knot in your throat threatening to choke you. You turn around and there's Bruce, less than a yard away, his eyes full of an understanding you don't think you deserve.

"You can do this," he says, his voice low and steady.

You straighten your back, "Of course I can," you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel. "I was just making sure you were leaving," you add, a hint of challenge in your voice, "You're making me look bad."

Bruce's smile carries a sense of understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the moment they just shared. He takes a deliberate step back, allowing the weight of the conversation to linger in the air between them, his hands falling casually to his sides. "I'll see you tonight," he says, his voice steady, as he strides around the car. With a smooth motion, he settles into the driver’s seat, the leather creaking slightly under his weight as he turns the ignition key, ready to drive into the evening ahead.

You don't miss the way his gaze lingers on you before he finally drives away, the tires leaving faint marks on the pavement as he goes.

You stand there for a moment, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. Then, with a deep breath, you square your own shoulders and march through the gates, your eyes scanning the crowd.

The first bell rings, a shrill sound that slices through the air, making the students scatter like a flock of startled birds. You grit your teeth, the sound a harsh reminder of the reality you've been thrust into.

You find yourself in a sea of unfamiliar faces, all of them seemingly at ease, all of them knowing exactly where they're going. You, on the other hand, are lost—both figuratively and literally. You pull and unfold the map with trembling hands, trying to make sense of the labyrinth of corridors and classrooms.

"Lost already?" a voice says, and you whip around to see a boy standing behind you, his arms crossed over his chest. Damian.

You narrow your eyes at Damian, his smug expression grating on your already frazzled nerves.

"I don't have time for you," you say, turning away from him to focus on the map.

"Father has urged me to be… inviting to you," Damian says, the word "inviting" sounding forced and unnatural. "But if you're going to act like a peasant, I'll leave you to it."

You don't bother to look up, but you can feel his gaze burning into your back. "Good," you murmur, focusing on finding your homeroom. "I wouldn't want to waste your royal time."

Damian sighs, the sound long-suffering, and takes a step closer. "Give it," he says, his hand outstretched.

You look up, your eyes narrowed. You don't want his help, but the way he's looking at you—like you're a puzzle he needs to solve—makes you want to scream. "I don't need your help," you say, your voice cold and even.

You ignore him, turning back to the map. The layout makes no sense, the letters and numbers swimming before your eyes.

“If you don’t let me help you,” Damian says, his voice firm and urgent, “Father will see me as a failure as a role model. If you’re late, he’ll believe it’s your choice. So hand over the paper now.”

You hesitate, then grudgingly hand over the map. Damian's eyes scan it quickly before pointing out your homeroom. "Room 214, up the stairs and to the right."

You snatch the map back, not bothering to thank him. "I've got it," you say, turning to leave.

"Don't get lost again," he calls after you, a hint of mockery in his tone.

You ignore him, pushing through the crowd of students who seem to part for him as he walks away. The halls are a blur of color and noise, and you feel like you're in over your head. But you're not going to let anyone see that, not even the annoying little know-it-all that is your new school's version of a knight in shining armor.

The school day began, and you struggled to keep up. The material felt foreign, even though some of it had been taught to you by the tutors Bruce provided. It was complex compared to the inconsistent education you had received before. You scribbled notes furiously, your hand aching from gripping the pencil too tightly. You weren't accustomed to sitting still for so long or listening without interrupting.

Time feels excruciatingly slow, with minutes stretching into hours. You find yourself out of place, struggling to adapt to the suffocating atmosphere. Surrounded by familiar faces, you sense a disconnect as they laugh and share secrets, leaving you feeling isolated and bewildered. It’s as if you’re an audience member in a play where everyone else knows their lines, while you’re left in the dark.

In the middle of a math class, while sitting in the back near the window, you glance up and spot someone outside—it's Dick! His head is lowered, but his eyes light up when they find yours. He gives you a cheerful wave and a grin that feels like an inside joke just between the two of you. You blink in surprise, feeling a warm flutter in your chest at his unexpected visit. It’s a delightful moment that brightens up an otherwise ordinary day.

You look around the classroom, wondering if anyone noticed the interaction. The kids are all heads-down, scribbling away at their papers, and the teacher's eyes are on the board, scribbling equations that might as well be hieroglyphs to you. You're the only one who seems to have seen him, and you're not sure if that's a good or a bad thing.

Seeing Dick again feels like a lifeline thrown to someone who's been struggling. You hadn’t fully grasped how much you missed him until this moment, how his easygoing nature and the way he always treated you like a little sister had come to mean so much to you. As you muster a wave in return, you sense a small but comforting lift of the burden you’ve been carrying.

Dick lifts his finger gently, signaling for you to wait as he searches through his bag. You watch him from your window, a flicker of curiosity sparking in your chest. You can’t help but wonder what he might find to brighten your day, especially when things have felt so heavy lately. After a moment of searching, he finally pulls out a jar of pickles and holds it up with a smile. The triumph in his gesture touches you, and his wink carries a warmth that brings a little lightness to your heart. In that moment, you feel understood and cared for.

He scans the room, his gaze flickering between the teacher's back and the students hunched over their work. With a daring glint in his eye and a surge of adrenaline, he stealthily lifts the window, the hinges creaking like a secret being shared. A refreshing breeze rushes in, sending your textbook pages fluttering like butterflies taking flight. The teacher is completely oblivious, her chalk fiercely scratching against the board as she passionately unravels another algebra problem—one that feels more like an unsolvable mystery than a lesson.

Dick holds out the jar of pickles, the brine glistening in the sunlight. You take it with trembling hands, feeling like you've been handed a piece of home in the middle of a foreign land.

"Good luck," he mouths, his voice a silent whisper that only you can hear. The words hang in the air, a promise that even in this strange new world, you're not entirely alone. You nod, a genuine smile breaking through the scowl you've been wearing like a shield all day.

"Hey!" The teacher's voice echoes through the classroom, cutting through the quiet whispers and scratches of pencils on paper. Your heart jumps into your throat as you realize she's calling out to Dick, who's still half in the window, half out of it.

"What are you doing, young man?" she demands, making her way towards the window, her eyes narrowing.

"Oops," Dick says, a grin playing on his lips as he pulls himself out of the window with surprising agility. "See ya later, kid," he says to you with a wink before sprinting off. You watch him go, his form blurring as he disappears into the schoolyard.

The teacher, with a stern look on her face, calls after him. "Young man, get back here!" But he's already gone, leaving you to face her wrath alone. You shove the jar of pickles into your bag with the speed of a magician performing a sleight-of-hand trick.

"And who was that?" she asks, her tone sharp.

You look at her, the question echoing in your mind. "Who was that?" you repeat, playing dumb. The teacher's eyes bore into you, searching for any hint of a lie.

"Yes," she says, her voice tight, "Who was that boy at your window?"

"What?" You ask, your voice a little too loud in the sudden quiet. "A boy at my window?" You repeat, feigning confusion.

The teacher's eyes narrow, and you can see the wheels turning in her head. She's not buying it, and you know it. "Don't play dumb with me, girl," she says, her voice low and filled with a warning.

"Me? Playing dumb?" you repeat all innocence.

The teacher's expression doesn't waver. "The boy at your window," she says, her voice like steel. "Who was he?"

You look to the window, the empty space where Dick had just been. "I don't see any boy," you reply, your voice cool and even.

The teacher's glare intensifies, and you can feel the heat of it on your cheeks. But you hold firm, staring back at her with a challenge in your eyes. You've faced worse than a displeased teacher, after all.

"Miss," you say, your voice filled with feigned sweetness, "I'm not sure what you're talking about. Perhaps you need to get your eyes checked?"

The teacher's expression shifts from suspicion to annoyance. She takes a step closer to you, her heels clicking on the floor like a metronome of doom. "Do not test me," she warns. "I don't tolerate disruptions."

You bite the inside of your cheek, tasting copper. "But miss, I was just sitting here, listening to your very important lecture," you say sweetly, laying it on thick. You've had to sweet talk your way out of worse situations than this.

The teacher's eyes narrow, her arms crossing over her chest. "Fine," she says, her voice tight with frustration. "But if I catch you or any 'visitors' disrupting my class again, I will not be so lenient." She turns back to the board, her back to you. The class has gone silent, all eyes on you before returning to their work. You let out a slow, quiet breath, your heart racing.

As the day wears on, the curiosity from your classmates grows. You catch whispers about the girl who talks to a mysterious boy at the window. But no one approaches you, no one asks for your name or tries to befriend you. You're a puzzle they're all watching but no one wants to solve.

When the bell finally rings for lunch, you make your way to the boarding school cafeteria, the smell of food wafting through the corridors. Despite the grandeur of the Wayne Manor, the food here isn't half bad. It's not the greasy mess you had to endure at the orphanage, but it's not quite up to Alfred's standards either. You grab a tray and start to pile on food, the clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversations filling the air.

"Hey, new girl! Who was the boy at the window?" A group of girls, all dressed in the same uniform as you but with a sense of belonging that you lack, giggle as they walk by.

You grip your tray tighter, the plastic edges digging into your palms. The question feels like a trap, a way to drag you into their social web, so you keep your eyes focused on the food in front of you, pretending not to hear.

"New girl," the girl sings, louder this time, "are you playing hard to get or just hard of hearing?"

Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard, and you feel your jaw clench. You know you should ignore her, but your temper flares. You turn to face her, and she's standing with her friends, all of them smiling in that fake, plastic way that you've learned to despise.

"Hey, there." the girl says, her smile widening, "Don't be shy. Why don't you tell us about your little boyfriend?"

"I don't have one," you reply flatly, hoping your lack of interest will make her drop the subject." I'm fuckin' 12 years old," you think to yourself, rolling your eyes internally, "Why the fuck would you be dating?" You've always found the concept of relationships at this age absurd, especially given your unique upbringing and the life you've led so far.

You start to walk away, and she sidesteps gracefully, blocking your path with the ease of a seasoned dance student. "If not a boyfriend, then who was it?" she asks, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. You can feel the challenge in her tone, the way she's baiting you.

"That was none of your business," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. You're aware that your response could lead to a confrontation, but you're not one to back down easily.

The girl's smirk turns into a full-blown smile as if she's enjoying your discomfort. "Oh, come on," she says, "Don't be so secretive. We're all friends here."

"I said, it's none of your business." You reply, taking a step forward.

But before you can move, a hand lands firmly on your shoulder. You tense up, expecting a gaggle of giggling girls to surround you, but instead, you feel a surprisingly strong grip and look up into Damian Wayne's unamused face.

"Leave her alone, Harper," he says, his voice as cold as the Gotham night.

The girl, Harper, looks surprised, glancing between you and Damian. Her friends exchange awkward looks, and the cafeteria seems to get a few degrees quieter. You shoot a quick look at Damian, who's staring her down with the intensity of a predator eyeing its prey. It's clear that he's not one to be messed with.

"Damian," she says, her voice now a purr, "this is a first, you standing up for the new kid." She looks you up and down, her smile twisted into something more malicious. "Wait, is this another one of Bruce Wayne's charity cases? This makes so much sense," she says, her words dripping with sarcasm.

Damian's grip on your shoulder tightens almost imperceptibly, and you feel a strange mix of gratitude and annoyance. You're not a charity case, and you don't need him to fight your battles.

"Oh my gosh, and that boy at the window was another stray he picked up from the streets?" Harper continues, her eyes sparkling with spite.

You feel your hand clench into a fist, ready to take a swing at her. But before you can act on your instinct, Damian's grip on your shoulder tightens and pulls you back firmly.

"It's not worth it," Damian whispers in your ear, his voice low enough that only you can hear. You grit your teeth, but you know he's right. You don't need to give her the satisfaction of seeing you lose control.

So, you start walking away, your tray of food trembling slightly in your hands. You're aware of Damian's footsteps behind you, steady and confident.

But Harper isn't done yet. Her laughter rings out behind you, echoing in the cavernous cafeteria.

"Look at her go, running to her street rat boyfriend," she calls out, her voice carrying.

You stop dead in your tracks, the laughter of her friends hitting you like a slap in the face. You've had enough. She could make fun of you all she wanted, but when she dragged Dick into it, it became personal.

You look to Damian, almost daring him to stop you. His eyes narrow, reading your intentions, but he pauses before stepping away.

You march back to Harper, who's still smirking, surrounded by her minions. "What did you just say about my brother?" You demand, your voice sharp.

Her smirk falters for a moment before she recovers, her eyes flashing with something that looks like amusement. "Your brother?" she repeats, her tone mocking. "Then what do you call your owner, Daddy?" she says, jabbing her finger in the air towards you. "Bruce Wayne is just playing house, isn't he? He ran out of ideas to use his money on so he brought you here to play dress-up."

The room goes quiet, the buzz of conversation dying down as the students turn to watch the unfolding drama. You feel your cheeks burn with anger, your knuckles turning white as you clench your fists.

"You don't know anything," you spit back, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

"Oh, please," Harper says, her smile wicked, "I know all about you. You're just Bruce's latest toy. He's probably already tired of you. That's why he brought you here to play pretend." she leans in close you, "You're nothing special. Not him," she points at Damian, "Not that orphan playboy, and most definitely not that useless piece filth you call brother."

Her words hit like a punch to the gut, but it's not just the insult to Dick that breaks you. It's the way she says it like you're nothing but a charity case, a plaything for Bruce to amuse himself with. You can't hold it in anymore. You snap.

With a roar, you lunge at her, your fist connecting with her nose. The sound of the impact echoes through the cafeteria, silencing the room. Harper's head snaps back, and her hands fly to her face. Blood trickles through her fingers, and her eyes widen in shock. Her friends gasp, taking a step back.

Her nose is now a grotesque mess, and she's crying, her pretty face smeared with blood and tears. The cafeteria's once bustling atmosphere is now thick with tension, everyone watching you with a mix of shock and fear.

"Say it again!" You shout, grabbing her by the collar of her uniform, your grip tight, your voice shaking with anger. "Say my brother is useless filth again!"

But she's too shocked, too stunned, to respond. Her eyes dart around the room, searching for help, but all she finds are the wide-eyed stares of her classmates, frozen in their spots like statues. You can see the realization dawn on her face - she's gone too far.

With a snarl, you hoist her up and throw her to the ground, your fury now in full control. You rain down punches on her, each one fueled by the years of pain and rejection you've suffered. The sound of your knuckles connecting with her face and body fills the room, a rhythmic punctuation to your silent rage. You can feel the satisfaction in each blow, the power you've denied yourself for so long finally unleashed.

But before you can land another blow, a firm grip wraps around your waist and pulls you back. It's a teacher, her face a mask of disbelief and horror.

"What on Earth is happening here?" she shouts, her voice cutting through the stunned silence like a siren. You struggle against her hold, fueled by your rage, but she's surprisingly strong, and she doesn't let go.

You're dragged away from the Harper, her friends hovering around her, looking torn between shock and excitement. You can see the spread of your lunch, now a mess on the floor, and the bruised look on Harper's face. The blonde's smugness is gone, replaced with a pained snarl.

As the teacher holds you back, you catch a glimpse of Damian. His expression is a peculiar mix of satisfaction at Harper's state and respect for your unbridled defense. He nods, almost imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards in what might be the closest thing to a smile you've seen from him today. The smirk isn't one of joy, but rather an acknowledgment that you've proven yourself in a way he never expected.

Your lips almost curve upwards to return Damian's smirk, but the teacher's firm grip on your arm snaps you back to reality. She scolds you, her voice a mix of shock and reprimand, as she leads you through the stunned crowd of students, the whispers and gasps of your new classmates following like a chorus of accusations.

Part 9 coming soon

[thekissofaphrodite]

Hey can I request a Luke Castellan x Rodríguez reader she is Chris Rodriguez half sister from mom side and she is maybe a demigod too or half witch or whatever and she is innocent and completely different from him and not one have idea of her existence because him is very protect of her and fluffy and happy ending.

I SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING 🤭

Ms. Rodriguez

Luke Castellan x Rodriguez!reader

Summary: A visit from your halfbrother and his best friend 🤭

Warnings: Some kissing, angst

Author's note: I'm in the verge of having a breakdown, my hair isn't cooperating, I'm uncomfortable and i don't feel well. But I'm still here to serve

——

Chris and Luke stood infront of a cream and yellow coloured suburban house, it had a white picket fence and a small garden, birds were chirping, and the sun was setting within the horizon.

"Are you sure we're in the right address?" Luke asked, looking around the neighbourhood, there were kids playing near the streets, middle aged woman, leaned against their fence, gossiping and a man washing his car. It was surely different, he never left camp and seeing all that was new to him.

"Of course. She'll like you man, don't worry" Chris said, patting Luke at the back, He rang the doorbell, at first, no one answered, but then, there was a teenage girl who poked her head on a window, a beam appeared on her face.

"MOM! CHRIS IS HERE!" The girl yelled, her footsteps thudding while she ran downstairs.

There was an indistinct voice of a woman, and sure enough, the door opened.

It revealed a woman with curly medium dark brown hair, with black eyes and tan skin, she was wearing a floral dress and an apron, when she saw chris, she immediately engulfed her boy into a hug.

"Oh my baby!" The woman began smothering Chris' cheeks with kisses, totally forgetting about Luke who stood beside Chris awkwardly. But Chris decides to pull away from his mom.

"Ma! Stop it's embarrassing" Chris mumbled, his mom laughed, Then, in the corner of her eyes, she saw Luke.

"Oh! Where are my manners?! You must be Luke, I'm Chris' mom, Carmen" Luke acknowledge the woman, he offered his hand for a handshake but was engulfed into a hug.

"We don't do handshakes, Mi hijo" Said Carmen, Luke can smell the mix of spices and a hint of floral perfume on the woman's clothes, He inhailed it, and somehow, it gave him a sense of comfort.

Behind Carmen stood a girl, No older than sixteen.

"Ah, this is Y/n, You've met her, I suppose?" Asked Carmen, You ran and jumped into your brother's arms.

"I missed you chris!" You squealed, Chris smiled and hugged you back, Leaving Luke awkwardly again.

"This is—"

"—Luke, I know" you said, pulling away from Chris and facing his friend. You looked at him, He had curly hair, a tall and muscular figure, there was also this playful grin on his face that he and Chris shared.

"Before all the talking, Come inside!" Carmen ushered, "Y/n, call your father, supper is almost ready, tell him we have guests" You obediently obliged, running upstairs with your thigh length Nike shorts. It'd be weird if Luke admitted that he liked it.

"Sit down, The food is still cooking, would you like some cookies?"

Cookies

Luke froze, Memories of his mother flooded his head again, the noises around him became indistinct, His breathing became ragged and heavy, His eyes blurred with tears. indescribable rage filled inside him before Carmen's soothing voice brought him back.

"Mi querido, are you alright?" Asked Carmen, Luke immediately wiped a tear that rolled down his cheek.

"Yes Mrs. Rodriguez, I'm sorry.."

"What for? We're your family, sweetheart..and no need to call me Mrs. Rodriguez, it makes me sound so old...Carmen would do" She smiled, Her smile brought Luke comfort again..but he can't describe it.

"Of course"

There was a moment of silence as Carmen walked back to the kitchen.

"You okay man?" Chris rubbed Luke's back and recieved a nod from the boy.

"Yeah.."

When you came back down stairs, a middle aged man was walking right behind you, He looked decent with a neatly trimmed beard and a man bun.

"Dad's here ma!" You yelled before flopping on the couch beside Luke.

Chris stood up and went to greet his Stepdad.

"Hey there, bud" Your dad patted Chris' back and hugged him, Luke stood up and shook his hand.

"Dad, this is Luke, My halfbrother" Chris said. Luke assumed that the man would be weirded out, The fact that he was Chris' halfbrother, and the man probably didn't know about Demigods, But surprisingly, The man smiled and patted Luke.

"Nice to finally meet Chris' favourite brother" Your dad joked, Luke smiled.

"He said that?"

"Yeah, i mean, i can see why"

"Don't get fooled by Adrian, he's full of surprises" Said Carmen, She placed the caserole on the table and unwrapped her apron.

When they all sat down, Luke learned more about Chris' family. When Carmen married Adrian 17 years ago and they had you, Adrian being Chris' father figure.

Luke felt quite jealous, All his life, He felt alone, What happened to his mom was Hermes' fault, it was all Hermes, Luke hated him, seeing Chris with his family makes him want to drag Hermes and make him apologise to his mother.

The dinner was full of chatter, Carmen asked Chris what camp is like, and Adrian was preparing desert. You were across Luke, silently eating your mom's Paella.

Luke wanted to start a conversation with you, It was maddening, he wanted to hear your voice and your laughs again.

"What about you, Y/n? I saw you talking to the Adler boy down the street" Said your father, Your head immediately snapped up.

"I was asking him about our homework, we were in the same algebra class" There was a hint of annoyance in your voice, You met Luke's eyes across the dining table.

"And i have a crush on someone else, Okay?" Your dad whistled teasingly, Chris laughed and Your mom suddenly found you interesting.

"Who is it?" Your mom asked, Your dad and Chris looked at you, waiting for an answer.

"Secret" They all groaned, but Luke stayed silent.

——

After dinner, Chris went to his room to get something, leaving you and Luke alone in the living room.

The movie 'Troy' was playing, and you were quietly watching, Luke right beside you.

"I hate that movie"

You turned your head towards him, eyes glinting with fascenation.

"It's not gay enough for you?"

Luke laughed, he threw his head bob giving you a view of his Adam's apple.

"Not quite, i hate the way they represent Heroes" He sat right beside you, watching the scene where Achilles wiped Briseis' face.

"About what you said in the dinner table, is it true you like someone?"

Your heart started beating faster.

"Yes"

"Who is it?"

You turned to him, a blush appeared on your cheeks.

"I think it's pretty obvious"

His hands found your cheeks and before you know it, you were kissing him in the living room, the movie still playing, but the only thing that you feel is Luke's lips and the way it move against yours.

You two pulled away when you heard a car pulling up in the driveway.

The blush on your cheeks won't fade away, but you'll definitely remind your mom to invite Luke on Holidays.

An extra bc ily guys

——

"This is such a nice movie, don't you think?" Chris munched on a whole bucket of popcorn, He was sat in between you and Luke.

"Yeah..."

"I'll remind mom and dad to get another set of couch"

[lovelyamarilala]

Can I call you mine?

"Can I call you mine?"

"HAHA! Get the fuck away from my sister."

"hm..what about..No!"

"Alastor calm down dear.."

Lucifer Morningstar x Older sister of alastor! Reader x Adam..(ish?????, NdYes it's female again..ahem but in future blogs it won't be " female!" Bare with me..) swearings, Alastor being a protective younger brother🤷🤷, flirty Lucifer, he's off character I guess? (Thank you so much, for enjoying my recent blog! I appreciate it!!) English is my first language, and I may have grammar issues

Part 1.

How are you a demon..? Well let's just say, you killed dozens of people in sadness and rage, after your younger brother died. you also killed the person who killed him.

"You are sentenced to be killed in the electric chair, Ms. Altruist." The judge looks at you with a heavy stare, you look back at him with a sweet smile, "Oh about time Mr judge." You knew about your brother's doings, but you still love him, and still think of him as your brother

You sat on the electric chair, with a small gentle smile, "It's terrifying to see ya still smilin, even if you're gonna die." You chuckled at the officer, "oh you! It's how I am~" the officer looked at you confusedly, "well uhm, are you ready?" You nodded,

He puts a bag in your head, you are starting to see darkness, as you start to feel electrified...

You feel the heavy floor, as you slowly open your eyes(your color palette is the same as alastor!) You were met by a red sky, you sat straight, and stood up, dusting your dress, and looking around your surroundings, it had a different feeling, you were still feeling bangs in your head, you walked down in the alleyway, and stumbled upon a store, you looked into the glass, you looked slightly different... (Your powers are lighting, due to you dying by the electric chair, but I also wanted you to be a deer, just like Alastor, I know it doesn't make sense, but bare with me please!) You had antlers, and ears, your nails were sharp, "Well would you look at that, seems like I'm in hell!" You laughed as the demons around you looked at you weirdly, you smiled back at them and started walking down the street, until you heard a girl singing...

"Today is gonna be a fucking happy d—"

"why hello there my dear!"

she jumped and looked around, she was wearing a suit, (hot pink? Or..pink Mix with red..?) She had long, blonde hair, with lighter blonde and pink highlights, which is tied into a twice-banded low ponytail. Her blonde bangs flip to her left with a curl with an untucked white, long-sleeved dress-shirt. Over this she usually wears a fitted red tuxedo jacket with dark-red lapels and a pair of red fitted pants. She wears black and white saddle shoes. (Found that in wiki..ahem..sorry..)

She looked at you, and laughed nervously "oh hey! Uh.." your smile reminded her of someone but she nudged it off.

"Quite an interesting song sweetheart! My name is _____! I'm quite pleased to be meeting you!"

Charlie softly smiled, "hey, I'm Charlie, Charlie Morningstar, I was heading for a meeting, would you care tooooo...go with me?"

You smiled wickedly, "Morningstar? My! I didn't know that was real, how shocking" you softly smiled, "I'd love to join you sweetheart!" She nods her head, and gestures to you to follow her, as you follow her, with a grave movement.

You both entered, a white looking room, it was a different feeling compared to when you guys were outside, you looked around while Charlie signed something, you looked back at her, and followed where she was going, you both now entered a room who is full of darkness, "Sup." then light suddenly filed the room as Charlie tripped, you helped her up and fixed her hair, "Hi! I-m charlie..uhh..my dad sent a meeting to Uhhh" (I actually forgot what she was saying so I'm really sorry if it's not interesting now) "Really nice to meet you!"

"Rightttt, nice to meet you too!" As the man held his hand out, Charlie went to it and to shake hands with him, only for her hand to go through it.

Timeskip (Really sorry, but I ran out of stuff to say in this part)

You were standing, all the time, you noticed The man kept looking at you, you looked back at him, as he winked at you, you sweat dropped and looked away,the man wore a smooth white and golden cloak that appears to have a large 'A' symbol emblazoned on the front. His visible hands were black in appearance, as well, and had golden tip spikes on the back of his collar. The mask also held a pair of horns similar to an exorcist, albeit longer, smoother, and with a golden ornamental attachment on the tips.

As Charlie talked about the hell population, about like..reducing.

"Oh Uhhh, ugly people?..math!..global warming wait no—"

Charlie talked about "BIGGEST PROBLEM"

"ohhh...yeah..well..that must've sucked for you!" Adam laughed, "Anyway, who's this chick beside ya?" Charlie came to the realization that you were still there, "ohh my gosh! ____! Really sorry, well Uhhh, Adam sir. This is ____!" You smiled widely "Adam is it? First man? Nice to be meeting you! I'm quite pleased!" You smiled even more, and fixed your hair, Adam smirked and got up from his seat and walked towards you, he took your hand and gave the back of your hand a kiss, you imagined alastor being here, you knew he would be fuming.

You chuckled, "how lovely!" You took away your hand, "thought you angels despise demons."

"well demon-tits you're an exception."

"how shocking! Don't call me that please."

"Call me Dick master first."

"hah! Never gonna happen."

Charlie dragged you away from him, she stared at you worriedly.

Adam spoke again "Whoops seems like we're outta time, guess we should get going."

Charlie smiled, "Oh well, I have a lot to go through!" She spawned papers with her hands, "and not a lot of time and I think you weren't hearing me before, so here it goes..

Timeskip after the song.

You already wanted to get out, as you saw Charlie being pushed out by Adam, you tried going to her then Adam grabbed you back, "hey babe, what about you give me a kiss before you go?"

"HAH! no."

You looked at him dumbfounded, as got out of the room, and helped Charlie up, the door closed, you and Adam held an eye contact.

"well how interesting!"

The grammar issues, I'm so sorry!!!

[percywinchester27]

The new Mrs. Winchester (18)

Word count: 3.1K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence; reader discretion is strongly advised.

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: Really slowly, but we are getting there ;)

Beta: My darling @deanssweetheart23

With your back to the damp wall, you stared at the mouldy ceiling. Sick green patches had bloomed all over it, giving the appearance of an ugly, mossy carpet. A guard had thrown two blankets over your body. Amazing the difference that warmth could make to the mind’s functioning. 

Thirteen men so far. 

The pins had been removed from your heels, and now littered on the cell’s floor.  Using the sharp point of one you made thirteen lines on the wall, then a fourteenth one. The guard from the first night should also count. But so should Nick, then.

Rage, the sort that could scorch the earth whole erupted inside you. A few days was all it took for the shock to turn into horror, then grief and finally rage. That monster was the reason Danny and Jamie were being held hostage. But they were safe. You had gathered your marbles and spent every minute since your recapture vigorously trying to understand the extent of your situation to the last detail. First: You were a commodity, with investment already put in place. If you behaved as instructed, you could avoid the worst of bodily harm, at least, from the captors’ side. The boss– a shudder ran through your body, in cold fear– wouldn’t let his men touch you… only the clients and him. The first assault from a guard was a one-time thing and would never be repeated, now that you knew all the rules. So, as an investment, you would be taken care of. Physical injuries would obviously reduce the value of the goods. 

Second: The kids were safe for now. The business didn’t deal with murdering children for fun, they were only a security and not a purposeful target. No one would ever go out of their way to hurt them. As long as you followed instructions, they would be untouched and well-educated. 

Third: You could manage and escape, but you wouldn’t even try now and everyone knew that. They managed high-end clientele and you were specifically chosen for being well-educated, where you could entertain body and mind. 

A possibility emerged from all the analysis. If you managed to stay alive for a few decades here, they wouldn’t want anything to do with a wrinkled woman. Then, instead of killing you, they might turn you onto the streets. 

A rattling cough sounded from the adjoining cell. In the afternoon, when they’d taken you upstairs for the man in the hideous purple suit, the cell had been empty. Noises could only mean one thing– you weren’t the newest piece for sale anymore. 

Gripping the bars, you hoisted yourself up, still in pain, and banged on the wall. No one was on duty in the passageways at that time. The girl must have mirrored you, for you could see the tips of her fingers if you craned your neck.

“Don’t resist,” you whispered. “They’ll get you one way or another. It’s no use.”

She spat. “You can give up. But I won’t. I’ll find a way of getting out of here.”

You didn’t mind her derision. Rather, a sadness gripped your heart at her confidence, at the fight she harboured. You were just the same once.

Sliding back, you bit back a shriek of pain. Everything hurt and you didn’t know if you would be ready to deal with more by tomorrow.

“Where… where are we?” She asked, voice shaky. “Which way is the exit?”

“We’re in Texas, near the border to New Mexico. This is the second basement and the exit is on the third right by the parallel passageway. Two guards are always stationed there. If you get past it, you’ll exit on a mile-long driveway and about two miles to the east of its end, you’ll find a bus stop.”

A sharp intake of breath.

“I managed to escape once,” you told her. “Almost made it into the bus, too.”

“So, there is a way out?”

You didn’t want to repeat words of hopelessness to her. In her own time, she would know how impossible it was.

Michael came rattling the bars and you pressed up against the wall, scared of the smirk on his face. But he stopped before your cell, in front of hers. 

“C’mon, Darling, it’s showtime,” he sneered. She must have spat in his face because the next minute you heard the clanging of the door being opened and then a slap, followed by a crash. 

“You better watch it, bitch!” 

“My boyfriend will rip you to pieces!” She screamed.

“Oh, really?” Another slap.

A sob broke free of your lips. That poor girl had also trusted a man and ended up here. You knew the drill, the water hoses, followed by nights of torment where she would worry sick about the guy before they would drop the truth on her of who really sold her.

“T-Take me!” The words left your lips, and then you couldn’t take them back. “Leave her. I’ll go again tonight.”

“My… my… how touching,,.” Michael came around to your cell. “Such a princess move! You know I’m not picky. If you want to get some more tonight, be my guest.” He opened your door and yanked you out. Slowly, you moved past her and registered nothing but her big brown eyes, before Michael poked you in the back. “After you, your royal highness.”

*****

“Would you like honey in your coffee, Miss?”

You craned your neck up to squint at her. “Honey? In coffee?”

“Yes,” said Abby. “Mr. Winchester has been taking it in his and it seems to have made all the difference.”

“Abby, the only thing that could make any difference to his coffee is throwing that whole jar away.”

She giggled quietly and added a single sugar cube to yours. You registered her mild tone. There seemed to have been a colossal shift in her attitude towards Sam. You wouldn’t be the one to complain, but regretted having missed the phenomenon.

“Mrs Winchester!” Sarah, the other maid on Wednesday’s wait staff barged into the room. “Ma’am, you need to come down, people have come asking for Mr Winchester.”

Sharing a confused look with Abby, you followed Sarah downstairs and then steeled yourself to find most of the board in the dining room, seated at the table.

“Mr Singer, it's wonderful to see you here,” you greeted Bobby and then the other members, most of whom were Sam’s cousins. “Sam isn’t home at the moment. What can I help you with?”

Sam hadn’t been home for a while now, away on business as he was.

“You can’t help here,” said Christian, but he didn’t appear surprised in the least to not find Sam at home. “It’s a board matter.”

None of the Campbells had ever spoken to you directly. Not Christian or even Gwen, but she was glaring at you now.

“Why, I think I deserve to know.”

“If you insist then,” he said, tilting his head. “The board has decided by a majority to remove Sam Winchester as the CEO. Considering the share of all present parties, the majority percentage agrees to instant dismissal.”

Your heart started pumping faster in your chest, but you managed to murmur, “How does that work?”

Christian seemed to be the spokesperson here. “Removing Sam’s forty per cent leaves sixty per cent. Bobby here refuses to agree–” a sneer in his direction– “ That leaves a majority of the shares with us! Is it simple enough for you, Y/N?”

You jerked at being called by your name by anyone other than Sam. However, you held your ground. “Doesn’t leave sixty per cent.”

“Excuse me?” Gwen stepped up.

“I said, removing Sam’s share, doesn’t leave sixty per cent. It leaves eighty. A week ago he transferred half of his shares to mine.”

A rumble ran through the assembled men. Apparently, the share transfer hadn’t been put up on a bulletin board. 

“That’s still what? Twenty to–”

“Twenty-five,” grumbled Bobby. “Don’t go forgetting this old man, Campbell.”

Christian was losing it now. “Fine, big deal. It’s still twenty-five to thirty-five. About time that Sam and his new bride packed up and left.” 

At your startled look, Gwen grinned. “Didn’t you know, Darlin’? The mansion’s run by a trust, no majority, no house.”

You looked about yourself, missing Sam in your bones. Insanely, while sitting at the dining table, of all people you thought of Han. The snapping, the hostile looks in everyone’s eyes reminded you of his words: “Lady, if you run into the wolves, I’ll be afraid for them.” You wanted to be that brave girl now, the one unafraid of wolves. And just like that you were homesick for him. He’d promised to come when you needed help, needed him– lamp or no lamp.

And here you were about to be thrown out when Sam wasn’t even home.

The doors of the dining hall were thrown open and you jerked up in your seat. As if in a fever dream you saw Han saunter into the living room, boots, leather jacket, muddy jeans and all, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

As he passed by your chair, he lightly ruffled the top of your hair briefly, then pulled the chair beside yours and fell on it. “Hey, Chewie!” He grinned, completely disregarding that every chair apart from his and yours had scraped and now everyone else was on their feet, emotions ranging from shock to being thunderstruck. He put his muddy boots up on the table over crossed ankles. The soles directly faced Christian.

You made a move to get up as well, but he placed a hand on yours to hold you there. You couldn’t help but gauge everyone’s reaction. Out by the brook, on your pier, holding Han’s hand would be the most natural thing in the world, but not only did he seem completely out of place here amidst these men in suits, but he also didn’t seem to care… at all. And you didn’t know if you did, as Mark Campbell’s eyes moved from Han’s face to his hand on yours. Be that as it may, you were still magnanimously glad that he was here for you.

“So, Christian, I heard you were harassing this young lady?” Said Han, eyes sharp. “Old habits die hard, huh?”

A slight panic started to rise in your throat. You didn’t want any of these people to be disrespectful to your friend, be horrible to him, because they were perfectly capable of it. 

“Ha–” you started, but he tightened the grip on your hand, and you understood his signal to be quiet.

No one had found their voices yet and were still gawking at Han as if he were some extra-terrestrial being.

In the end, Bobby cleared his throat and put a hand on your friend’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, son.” 

Han turned his face to meet Bobby’s gaze and you couldn’t see the expression on it anymore, but Bobby’s eyes became tender and he let go. When Han faced Christian again, the steel was back in his voice. “ Explain the math to me again, will you?”

“Y-you can’t just come back again and… and…”

“And what? Explain it like a five-year-old to you?” Han smirked. “Did you leave all of my twenty per cent out? Guess it doesn’t take the MBA that you don’t have to figure out forty-five is a bigger number than thirty-five, huh?”

“You, son of a bitch,” hissed Christian, putting his palms on the table. “You think you can disappear to God knows where and then turn up now to–”

For the second time, the door to the dining room opened and Sam stumbled in. At first, his gaze fell on the assembly as a whole, then he did a double take at Han, eyes going wide and wider by the second, until they dropped to your entwined hands and back up again, at your face first and back to the man next to you. You saw him rock a little on his feet and then go very still.

You yanked your hand back, but you needn’t have because Han let go, too, and got to his feet. You fully appreciated how tall he was, also. It seemed like an eternity passed between them as they stood staring at one another and slowly, very slowly the situation truly sank in your comprehension. 

Castiel followed after Sam and froze, too, then exclaimed, “Dean!”

With shaky feet, you stood up, realising how wrongly you had interpreted the entire situation. The board members weren’t shocked at the appearance of an alien person in their midst. Rather they were incensed at the entry of the strongest contender in the game save for Sam himself.

This man was Dean. Your Han was Dean Winchester.

“Cas,” Bobby warned, and Castiel schooled his expression. “Move along then, people,” Bobby raised his voice. “I believe the matter is settled. Let the family have some privacy.” But the men didn’t seem to want to move, as if they were also caught in the power of the unbroken gaze, expecting a shouting match… eager for it. And maybe they weren’t far off, because you knew Sam’s clenched jaw and Dean’s steely eyes. 

“Move now!” Bobby snapped and slowly the board filed out of the room. Cas, the last to leave, closed the door behind him with a look of apprehension.

Your breath caught.

Time unfroze then.

Suddenly, Sam crossed the room and closed the distance in between to engulf his brother in a tight hug. Dean hugged him back fiercely, eyes an ocean of emotions– pain, longing, love. And Sam? You had seen him stressed, worried, even vulnerable… but never like this, never seen him close his eyes so tight and simply let go. The weight he seemed to carry on his shoulders all the time, seemed to evaporate in a second and you could see in him the man who was only twenty-nine, without the responsibility of the world to pull him down.

They broke apart, eyes still roving each other's faces for a minute, before Sam turned to you, grinning. “Dean,” he said, voice lighter than a breeze, “This is Y/N. And Y/N, this… this is my brother, Dean.”

He took a step in your direction, but you moved back, flattening yourself against the wall. “Don’t… don’t come close to me.”

“Y/N?”

Sam’s brow furrowed. 

You inched further away, pointing a finger at him. “You got me good, Sam. You got me real good. You and your brother. Did you plan every second of it? And for how long? For two years, is it? For two years you’ve made a fool of the whole world… no bigger fool than me, though. Brilliantly executed good cop- bad cop routine.”

You felt disgusted at yourself for falling for the manipulation. Had anything been real at all? 

“You wouldn’t even look at me in the beginning. In… In the chapel, you wouldn’t even turn your head in my direction, as if I was something disgusting stuck to your shoe, and you treated me like an invisible ghost in your house. And then you graced me with your attention, your care, your… your…” You broke down crying. “All to get me talking. I know that now. I’m not stupid.”

Knees bucking, you fell to the ground, unable to stop the pitiful crying. 

Both brothers moved, but Dean was quicker to get on his knees.

“Chewie–”

“Don’t you fucking call me that,” you screamed. “I trusted you. I thought you were my friend.”

Over you, Sam started, worried eyes shifting between you and his brother in confusion.

“You’re an asshole,” you pointed at the man before you and then above. “You, too, Sam. You violated my trust. What you did is no better than any of those hundred men.”

Sam flinched. You might have slapped him.

Shakily, you got to your feet. “I’ll never forgive you.” 

The run up the stairs and straight into your room ended when you threw yourself onto the bed. The silk hangings mocked you. You had been blinded by the false promises and reassurances, but you were still nothing more than a piece for sale, to be used… had never been anything more.

Slowly the past few months started to feel like a dream… one that had always felt too good to be true because it was.

The girl in the next cell jumped up from the floor as you were nearly dragged back to the basement that night, having completely lost the will and ability to walk. You heard the clatter of steel bowl as she rushed, but couldn’t find the energy to meet her gaze. Then it was too late as the door to your cell opened and you were unceremoniously flung inside. The birds outside were just starting to twitter, signaling the early hours of morning, little rodents scurrying to get back into their holes now that the night had ended. How you wanted to crawl in a hole, too, and just… die.

“Why did you do that?” She asked, voice strangled.

You didn’t have an answer for her. Getting slapped six times was nearly the same as getting slapped five times, right? Tonight, you were beaten anyway and she wasn’t. You understood the difference.

“Thank you.” Her voice held all the gratitude.

With the last vestiges of strength, you dragged yourself up onto the cot and pulled the two blankets over your body. “It’s alright.” Maybe she heard the whisper. Maybe she didn’t.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m gonna get us out of here. Get you out, if it’s the last thing I do.”

She was brave that one. You wanted to tell her to hold on to that spirit because men knew nothing but to hammer against it. Men knew nothing but to take advantage of women, but you were too tired to open your mouth.

Maybe having her in the next cell, you might not feel so lonely anymore, you thought as your eyes closed.

The banging woke you up. Sam was hammering on the connecting door of your room. Pulling your hands up, you shut your ears tightly until the banging stopped. Sam didn’t rest, as the desperate banging gave way to structured knocks.

L-E-T  M-E  A-T-L-E-A-S-T  E-X-P-L-A-I-N

P-L-E-A-S-E

Y-N

One last loud bang against the door, as if he had banged his fists against it in frustration.

You must have fallen asleep or were nearly under when softer knocks sounded right over your headboard on the wall:

I-M  S-O-R-R-Y

But you didn’t have it in you now. All along you had been right: Men knew nothing but to take advantage of women.

*****************************

A/N 2: I am struggling to write. Encouragement is the only thing keeping me going at this point. Please chat me up/ message me/ share your thoughts on this chapter!

Please do let me know if you liked this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!

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[tuliptheoshawott]