#and i have a feeling that's exactly the case

[heyysteven]

I love, I love, I love

Summary: Some Husband!salesman headcannons

Warnings: Brief mentions of death and Fluff :))

Husband!salesman who just loves to be the little spoon, he absolutely loves the feeling of resting his head on your chest as you caress his hair talking about the details of your day. He didn't mind being the big spoon either. He just loves any reason to be wrapped around you really.

Husband!salesman who could hear you talk for the rest of his hours. Tell him about the book you just finished reading, tell him about the new recipe you wanted to try, tell him about new gossip at work. He would listen patiently and ask questions wherever he got confused.

Husband!salesman who texted you every two hours. Did you reach your office safely? I’m eating the sandwich you packed! Did you have your lunch? Any updates on the new gossip? Will reach home in twenty minutes;)) Do you want anything from the grocery store? Got you donuts just in case.

Husband!salesman who would take pictures of every sunset, every animal, every flower and send them to you because they reminded him of you and how you would have taken pictures if you were with him.

Husband!salesman who would buy you a huge bouquet of flowers before every date night, conveying different messages using the language of flowers. Last time he got home one full of red tulips and sunflowers (because his passion for you ran murderously deep silly!).

Husband!salesman who planned every date night down to the minute. He would book the reservations for that cuisine you once mentioned you wanted to try. He would whistle as soon as you step out the room in your evening dress, twirl you by your hand and ask for the n’th time how he got so lucky (would definitely be disappointed if you wore something without back zips). He would always be the perfect gentleman for you; right from driving you, opening the doors, pulling your chairs, all you had to do was shut your brain and enjoy the evening.

Husband!salesman who always tried matching his tie to the color of your dress.

Husband!salesman who loved holding hands more than life itself. He would love feeling the cold metal of your wedding ring every time you locked your fingers. He would walk around with the most proud smile ever on his face, softly swinging your intertwined fingers with each step.

Husband!salesman who could never say no to you. He was born with a lot of impressive abilities and strategic skills. Murdering someone with a fork? Easy! Selling people the idea of getting rich by playing a bunch of game? A piece of cake! Saying no to his wife? What is that? Shouldn’t it be punishable by law?

Husband!salesman who couldn’t cook to save his life. He somehow ended up burning everything he put on stove, so he just stuck to cleaning instead. It was a silent agreement, you would make the breakfast and dinners and he would wash and dust while you cooked. On days he ran late, he loved being welcomed by the aroma of the dish you were making. It made him feel like that this was the reason he was alive.

Husband!salesman who still got flustered when you kiss his cheek. It had quickly become your power move. On the rare occasion where you disagreed upon something, you would simply kiss his cheek and watch him fumble with his words. It was the most adorable thing ever.

Husband!salesman who would kiss and bite your neck every chance he got. He loved the fact that he could attack your neck any time he wanted.

Husband!salesman who loved when you asked him to pick you up after work. He waited for the moment you would come running and jump to hug him tight.

Husband!salesman who always noticed every single detail. Like the time he caught a man making you uncomfortable while walking. He did exactly what the man deserved; beat him till his teeth were bloody and carved his fingers out from their socket,  for ever daring to make his wife feel unsafe.

Husband!salesman who got jealous easily. He didn’t ask for much, he just wanted every single person with conspicuous intentions towards you to just get hit by a truck on the highway (with him driving the truck preferably).

Husband!salesman who always made sure to support your hobbies! Even if you abandon them after two weeks, he’s proud of you for trying.

Husband!salesman who hated your plushies and teddy bears. He hated how much distance they created between you while sleeping. He would just throw them to the floor when you weren’t looking.

Husband!salesman who doesn’t like getting his shirt bloody because “My wife chose that for me, its rude of you to bleed on my clothes.”

Husband!salesman who says I love you like it’s the air he needs for breathing. He would find every reason to squeeze your hands thrice.

[void-speaks]

🌧"Hm, we don't really have those kind of luxuries nor the necessity for them, so I just dive head in even if its pouring. I do enjoy rain quite a lot. It's refreshing."

🍳"Well, I'm not exactly the best, but I do know how to make the most basic of things. Sigh, I do wish I had the chance to learn how to cook something more cool and interesting, but oh well. Oh, surprisingly enough, I do. I used to hate any and all kind of chores before, but now it's just something you can shut off your mind for and do on autopilot. Mmm, probabaly omelets. No particular reasons, I just think it's neat."

🧼"It's not like we get much of a choice. In this economy, we shower whenever we can. I do enjoy showering, but I haven't gotten many chances to bathe before, so I can't really tell anything. Again, it's a miracle if we find gel in this situation."

❌️"Obviously I would. It does depend on who is telling me what, but just in general, I would. Hmm... Probabaly Crane. He's seen some shit and has a good base of knowledge about the world, more than me and Aiden have."

🏳️‍"Well, it's hard to say right now. I can't really imagine anything that would make me give up, but there's probabaly something. Like, maybe if I was in complete despair? I don't know, hard to say."

📖"Gosh, don't even get me started on books! I really, really love books. I've always loved reading books even as a child. I mostly favored fantasy and detective novels and sometimes romance I suppose. Queer romance specifically because. Well. Guess. I wouldn't say I have a lot of opportunities to read in that sense that new books that I haven't read are a rare thing to find right now."

⛸️"I'm not... too into sports, to be fair. Would parkour count as a sport? Probabaly not right now. Hm... I guess Carnage Hall fights would be considered a sport? In that case, I don't really follow that stuff at all."

😷"I have an average immune system, so I don't get sick too much. Well, 'staying at home' right now isn't exactly an option, however, when I get sick, I tend to not overwhelm myself with chores, but don't stay in bed all day either. Well, medical masks are surprisingly hard to find, and just regular clothing pieces won't do much, so I tend to stay away from people or be very careful around them."

🥼"No, I don't. Hm, what kind of uniform... To be fair, and don't quote me on this, but Renegade uniform looks sick as Hell."

🥂"Huh, I never really thought about it. I guess I just pat myself on the back or don't really acknowledge them at all."

🛴"Parkour. It's probabaly impossible to get around on a bike in this environment, but it would be nice if I could. Traffic rules aren't really a thing right now, so eh."

🕰"Hm... Now that I think about it, we don't do that too much? Or I suppose we just use the sun as our guide most of the time. Or Peacekeeper sirens or church bells if it's in Old Villedor."

🥰"There's many things that can make me... Well, not happy, but bring some kind of positive feelings for sure. As for loved... I don't know how to answer that."

🐇"I don't. I prefer to live in the now and here. Believing in this kind of thing would be an escapism method for me, and I prefer not to do that."

🎺"I'm getting tired of saying it, but there's not much choice we have nowadays. I'm starting to sound like my grandma... I think. But, if I had to chose from all the songs I know, my current choice would be that tape that Aiden showed me recently. I don't know its name, but it goes like... 'Some people cheat, some people sin, but ohhhhh I play to win, tu-tu-tu-tu-tu-tu-u-u-u-u-u,' and so on. Sorry, I'm not the best singer. Mm, no, not really. Never had a chance to learn. Probabaly the violin. I heard it's a difficult instrument, which is one of the things that intrigues me about it."

💽"Yes! I like collecting books, newspapers from the 'old times,' audio tapes and stuff like that. Really to collect information. But especially books. There isn't a particular reason, I just enjoy doing it. Or I suppose the reason would be that I want to know as much as possible about Villedor and its life and how life was for other people in the hot of the apocalypse."

🧋"Tea. By God how much I love tea. Especially black tea with thyme. I can't even explain it, I just do. My second top tea is from a specific brand, but it's also black tea with apple and... and some other berry. I don't know its name in English. Oh, that entirely depends on the season and how I'm feeling. But generally, I lean more towards warm or hot drinks."

🌻 random in-character questions

an ask game where, instead of replying from your perspective, you answer as if it's your original character/muse/self-insert/etc. answering the question ✨

🌧️ "When outside during the rain, do you use a raincoat, an umbrella, or something else? Do you enjoy rain?"

🍳 "Are you a good cook? Do you enjoy cooking? What's your favorite thing to cook?"

🧼 "Do you prefer to take a shower during the morning or evening? Do you like taking baths? What's your favorite scent of shower gel?"

❌ "Would you do something that someone told you not to do? Why? Is there someone you'd actually listen to more than everyone else?"

🏳️ "What will make you give up?"

📖 "What kinds of books do you read? Do you have a lot of time to read?"

⛸️ "What's your favorite kind of sport? Do you follow sports closely or don't care at all?"

😷 "How often do you get sick? Do you stay at home when sick or do you end up going outside to, say, get some groceries? If you go outside, would you wear a mask?"

🥼 "Do you have to wear a uniform somewhere? If yes, how do you feel about it? If no, what kind of uniform would you love to wear?"

🥂 "How do you celebrate you accomplishments?"

🛴 "What's your preferred way of getting somewhere - own car, public transport, a bicycle, or something else? How well do you follow the traffic rules?"

🕰️ "What do you use to check what time it is?"

🥰 "What would make you feel happy and loved?"

🐇 "Do you believe in other dimensions?"

🎺 "What kind of music do you mostly listen to? Do you know how to play an instrument, and if not, which one would you want to learn to play?"

💽 "Do you collect anything? Why?"

🧋 "What's your go-to thing to drink? Do you prefer cold or hot drinks?"

[wchswift]

ଓ The apple pie life

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader Summary: you and Dean are tasked with going undercover as a married couple in a suburban neighborhood to investigate a string of mysterious disappearances linked to a local HOA. Content: fluff, one kiss, angst (kinda), idiots oblivious to their own feelings, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, demons, spells, not proofread, English isn’t my first language :) Word count: 4k a/n: I've been keeping this in my drafts for a while now and while life happens and I work on my dofp!logan one shot, I decided to post this :) I hope you enjoy it

mdni 𖤐 18+

“Yeah, no. This ain’t happening.” Dean Winchester stood at the edge of a freshly mowed lawn, surveying the neighborhood like it was a Hellmouth in disguise. Which, for all they knew, it very well could be. Rows of cookie-cutter houses lined the street, each painted in calming shades of beige, sage, or blue. Even the mailboxes were identical. Dean glared at one as if it had personally offended him.

Sam sighed, arms crossed, watching his brother’s tantrum. “Dean, it’s a neighborhood. Not a death sentence.”

“You’re asking me to pretend to be Mr. Suburbia. Me. You know I don’t do...” Dean gestured vaguely at a garden gnome. “This.”

Standing between the two of them, you held a faux wedding photo that Sam had printed for the cover story. “We’re married. You’re a mechanic. I work from home. We moved here for the good schools. Sound familiar?” you said with a smirk, holding the picture up.

Dean snatched the frame and scowled at the image. “I look like a hostage,” he muttered.

“You always look like that,” you shot back. “Now come on, let’s get unpacked. Our ‘friendly neighborhood welcome committee’ is stopping by in an hour.”

Dean groaned, but there was no backing out. Sam had been adamant: five people had disappeared from this very block in the past six months. The only connection? All were new to the neighborhood, and all had been avid participants in the HOA’s activities.

“Fine,” Dean grumbled, hoisting a box from the Impala. “But I’m not calling you ‘honey.”

Dean’s idea of "unpacking" consisted of dumping boxes onto the floor and shoving furniture into place like he was playing Tetris with his life. You trailed behind him, trying to make the house look halfway livable. It wasn't easy; the entire setup resembled a sitcom scenario, complete with ruffled curtains and throw pillows that Sam insisted would help you blend in.

Dean picked up one of the pillows, squinting at the stitched slogan: Home Sweet Home. “This thing screams demon bait,” he muttered, tossing it onto the couch.

“Maybe if you acted like a halfway decent husband, it wouldn’t,” you quipped, earning a low chuckle from Sam.

“Yeah, hilarious,” Dean shot back, hauling a box of what appeared to be mismatched kitchen supplies onto the counter. “This is my nightmare, by the way. Thought you should know.”

“It’s not exactly a dream for me either, sweetie,” you replied, stressing the endearment with a sugary grin. Dean’s eye roll could’ve powered the whole neighborhood.

The doorbell chimed just as you finished arranging a vase of fake flowers in the living room. Dean peered through the peephole like he expected to see a mob of demons. Instead, a group of impeccably dressed neighbors smiled back at him.

“Kill me now,” Dean muttered, opening the door.

A blonde woman with a Stepford-wife grin and a clipboard stepped forward. “Hi there! Welcome to the neighborhood! I’m Lana, the HOA president. And these are Sheila and Rick, your next-door neighbors!”

Dean gave his best approximation of a smile, though it looked more like a grimace. “Uh, hey. I’m Dean. This is my—uh—wife.”

You plastered on your most winning smile and shook hands all around. “So nice to meet you all!”

Lana’s eyes swept over the living room, clearly appraising your decor. “You’ve done such a lovely job already! Oh, and Dean, we’ll have our weekly HOA meeting at the clubhouse tomorrow night. We expect all new residents to attend. You’ll come, won’t you?”

Dean opened his mouth, likely to come up with an excuse, but you elbowed him. “We’d love to,” you said quickly.

“Wonderful!” Lana chirped. “I’ll leave you with the neighborhood handbook. Everything you need to know is right here.” She handed over a spiral-bound monstrosity of rules and regulations before bustling off with her entourage.

Dean stared at the handbook like it might explode. “Fifty bucks says they’re part of a cult.”

That night, Sam joined you both in the kitchen, where you poured over the HOA handbook. Sam had come by under the guise of helping you move in but was really playing the role of a nosy family friend who conveniently lived a few towns over.

“Okay,” Sam said, flipping through pages. “This is weird. Every house here has to have a specific type of lawn ornament? And look at this—rules about curfew, holiday decorations, even what kind of car you can park in your driveway.”

“Classic control freaks,” Dean muttered, popping open a beer.

“Or something worse,” Sam countered, pointing to a line about mandatory attendance at neighborhood socials. “People start disappearing, and the HOA gets more power over the remaining residents. It seems like they're under some spell… perhaps they made a pact? Maybe with a demon.”

Dean groaned. “Great. So it’s not just bad casseroles we have to survive.”

“We need to hit that meeting tomorrow,” you said. “Whatever’s going on, that’s where we’ll find the first clue.”

The next evening, you and Dean made your way to the HOA meeting at the neighborhood clubhouse, blending in among the perfectly groomed crowd. Everyone was dressed like they were auditioning for a suburban magazine spread: crisp polos, floral blouses, and smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes.

Dean leaned closer to you, muttering, “Tell me this doesn’t feel like a Stepford reboot.”

You elbowed him lightly, smiling for the neighbors. “Try to look like you’re not plotting their demise, honey.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, adjusting his flannel like it was armor. “Let’s just hope these people don’t sacrifice newcomers to their God of Lawn Care.”

Inside the clubhouse, Lana, the HOA president, stood at the front of the room, clipboard in hand. She welcomed everyone with her signature cheerfulness, but you couldn’t miss the way her eyes scanned the crowd, lingering on the newcomers—you and Dean.

“Now, let’s get started!” she chirped. “First order of business: Mr. Peterson’s garden gnomes. We’ve had complaints they’re too whimsical.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at you, mouthing, too whimsical? You struggled not to laugh.

The meeting droned on, a mix of petty complaints and rigid enforcement of bizarre rules, until Lana’s tone shifted.

“And finally,” she said, her voice dropping an octave, “a reminder that all residents are expected to attend next week’s neighborhood barbecue. Remember, harmony is our greatest strength. We’re all part of something... bigger here.”

Her words sent a ripple of unease through the room. Most of the neighbors nodded dutifully, but a few glanced nervously at each other. You caught Dean’s gaze, and his expression was sharp, all traces of humor gone.

Later that night, back at the house, you pored over what you’d observed with Sam and Dean.

“It’s not just the rules,” you said, pacing the living room. “It’s the way they act. Like they’re afraid of stepping out of line.”

“And what’s with Lana’s ‘bigger picture’ speech?” Dean added, tossing the HOA handbook onto the coffee table. “She’s definitely hiding something.”

Sam tapped at his laptop. “I did some digging. Lana moved into this neighborhood ten years ago, right before the HOA’s rules got so strict. Before that? No disappearances, no creepy cult vibes.”

Dean frowned. “So she’s the ringleader?”

“More like the summoner,” Sam replied, turning the screen to show an old news clipping. It detailed Lana’s involvement in occult studies years ago. “If she’s behind this, it’s not merely a pact. It’s using the HOA to enforce perfection, as it literally sustains the spell that keeps it anchored here.”

“So, the HOA handbook’s not just a pain in the ass,” you said, glancing at Dean. “It’s the demon’s playbook.”

The next morning, Dean decided to “blend in” by taking his role as a suburban husband to absurd levels.

You came downstairs to find him in an apron, flipping pancakes with an exaggerated flourish. “Morning, sweetheart!” he called, his grin annoyingly smug.

“What are you doing?” you asked, still half-asleep.

“Being the perfect husband,” he said, loading a plate with a stack of slightly burnt pancakes. “You should try it sometime, darling.”

The sarcasm in his tone made you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t suppress a small laugh. “If this is your idea of perfection, the demon’s going to smite us before lunch.”

Dean’s antics didn’t stop at pancakes. Later that day, he decided to tackle the front yard—shirtless, of course, because “that’s what husbands do, right?”

You stood on the porch, arms crossed, watching as he wrestled with the garden hose like it owed him money. His flannel was tossed onto a nearby fence, leaving his t-shirt in a crumpled heap in the corner. The summer sun glinted off his shoulders, and despite the ridiculousness of it all, you couldn’t help but stare.

“You know,” you called out, fighting a smirk, “the neighbors are going to think you’re some kind of exhibitionist.”

Dean glanced up, his grin wolfish. “Or they’ll think you’re married to the best damn landscaper on the block.”

“You missed a spot.” You pointed at a section of the lawn.

He mock-groaned, holding a hand to his chest like you’d mortally wounded him. “Man slaves away, and this is the thanks he gets? No wonder I’m burned out on marriage.”

“Burned out implies you ever tried,” you shot back, leaning against the doorframe.

Dean’s expression shifted, just for a moment—a flash of something vulnerable, quickly buried under his usual bravado. “Yeah, well... guess I never found the right reason to try.”

The air between you grew heavier, the teasing edge dulled by an undercurrent you didn’t quite know how to address. He broke eye contact first, turning back to the yard. “Don’t just stand there, princess. Grab a rake or something.”

The barbecue was the kind of event you’d have laughed at if you weren’t actively part of it. Neatly arranged folding tables with checkered cloths stretched across the neighborhood park, and neighbors mingled with drinks in hand, every one of them smiling just a little too wide.

Dean leaned against the grill, flipping burgers with the same intensity he used while sharpening knives. “This is a trap. You know that, right?” he muttered, glancing around.

“Obviously,” you replied, sipping a too-sweet lemonade. “But we’re undercover, remember? Try to act like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Dean’s grin was laced with sarcasm. “Oh yeah, I’m having a blast. Love talking about lawn fertilizer and HOA-approved fence heights.”

Just then, Lana appeared beside the two of you, her ever-present clipboard tucked under her arm. “Dean, those burgers smell amazing! And you—” She turned to you with that polished grin. “You’re just glowing, aren’t you? Married life suits you two so well.”

Dean, never one to miss an opportunity, slung an arm around your shoulders. “Well, Lana, we’re just one big, happy couple.” He punctuated the sentence with a quick kiss to your temple, the smug look on his face daring you to react.

You forced a tight smile. “Couldn’t be happier.”

Lana beamed, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Wonderful to hear. It’s so important to maintain harmony in the neighborhood.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping. “After all, everything falls apart if even one house doesn’t meet expectations.”

Dean’s arm stiffened against your shoulder, his instincts flaring. “Is that right?”

Lana nodded, her expression unreadable. “Absolutely. Well, I won’t keep you. Enjoy the barbecue!”

Once Lana was out of earshot, you and Dean regrouped with Sam near the dessert table.

“She’s hiding something,” you said, cutting straight to the point.

“Definitely,” Dean agreed, setting his plate down. “And what’s with the whole ‘harmony’ thing? She sounded like a cult leader.”

Sam nodded, keeping his voice low. “She is. It is indeed a deal, an exchange. The more the neighborhood conforms to the rules, the stronger it gets. People who can’t meet the standards? They’re the ones who disappear.”

You frowned. “So the HOA rules aren’t just annoying—they’re literally fuel for this thing.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “Well, good news. We’ve got the perfect distraction right here.” He gestured at himself and you with a smirk.

“Perfect distraction?” you repeated.

“Think about it,” he said. “We’re new, we’re not exactly HOA material, and if anyone’s gonna tick off a demon about their precious rules, it’s us.”

Sam sighed. “Just be careful. If the demon gets wind of what you’re doing, it won’t wait for you to break a rule—it’ll come for you directly.”

The first crack in the HOA’s perfectly polished façade came two days after Dean decided to rebel in his own loud, stubborn way. The offending incident? A single garden gnome—brightly painted and flipping the bird—set proudly on your front lawn.

You crossed your arms, staring at the gnome as Dean lounged against the doorframe. “Really?”

Dean grinned, proud as a kid showing off a bad report card. “What? It’s art.”

“It’s bait,” you corrected, shaking your head.

“Exactly.” He smirked, arms crossed. “Lana won’t know what hit her.”

Sure enough, Lana arrived within the hour, clipboard in hand and fury barely masked beneath her painted smile. “Dean, we need to discuss your lawn decorations,” she said through gritted teeth.

Dean stepped outside, wearing the smuggest expression you’d ever seen. “What’s the problem, Lana? Don’t you like art?”

She blinked, momentarily stunned by his audacity, before recovering. “This neighborhood thrives on harmony. Your—choice of ornament—disrupts that balance.”

Dean leaned casually against the porch railing. “Huh. Didn’t see anything in the handbook about freedom of expression being against the rules.”

You watched from the window, biting back a laugh as Lana sputtered, her usual control slipping. She left with a curt, “This isn’t over.”

After Lana stormed off, you expected Dean to be all bravado and quips, but instead, he started fixing the fence. It was such a rare sight that you almost did a double take.

“What are you doing?” you asked, leaning against the porch post.

“Making sure the place doesn’t fall apart,” Dean replied, hammering a nail into place. “If we’re staying here long enough to take down a demon, might as well make it look good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were so handy, Mr. Winchester.”

He smirked, not looking up. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m full of surprises.”

That night, you found Dean in the kitchen, you noticed Dean seemed... different. Focused. Almost like he belonged here. He stirred a pot of chili with a level of precision that rivaled his aim with a gun.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” you remarked, leaning against the counter.

Dean shrugged. “I used to cook for Sammy when we were kids. Guess some habits stick.”

The soft admission caught you off guard. For all his bravado, moments like these reminded you of the man underneath—the one who took care of everyone else, even when he didn’t have to.

“This is weird,” you muttered, setting the table.

Dean looked over at you. “What is?”

“You. Doing all this domestic stuff. It’s like you’re... enjoying it.”

Dean shrugged, placing the bowls of chili on the table. “I don’t hate it. Beats getting shot at every day.”

“Guess you’re not half-bad at this husband thing after all,” you teased.

Dean smirked, his usual cockiness back in place. “Don’t let it go to your head, sweetheart.”

Later, the two of you sat on the couch, flipping through channels. Sam had gone back to his motel, leaving you and Dean with a rare bit of downtime.

The sound of the TV faded into the background as Dean spoke up. “You ever think about it? A normal life, I mean.”

You looked over at him, surprised. “Sometimes. Why?”

He leaned back, one hand draped along the back of the couch, his expression unusually serious. “I don’t know. It’s just... this case, all this fake domestic stuff... It’s kinda nice. Not worrying about what’s lurking around the corner every second.”

“You’ve never thought about it before?” you asked gently.

Dean gave a short laugh, his gaze distant. “Nah. Figured it wasn’t in the cards. Even when I was a kid, normal wasn’t exactly in the Winchester playbook.”

His words hung in the air, heavier than you’d expected.

“Maybe it’s not about the cards you’re dealt,” you said softly. “Maybe it’s about finding your own kind of normal.”

He turned to look at you, his green eyes searching yours. For a moment, the air between you felt charged, but he broke the gaze first, his usual smirk returning. “Well, my kind of normal definitely involves better TV shows than this crap.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Fair enough.”

The tender moment passed quickly as the two of you turned back to the case.

The next morning, Sam returned with a crucial discovery. “Lana made a deal with a demon ten years ago. She wanted the perfect neighborhood, and the demon delivered. But the cost? Anyone who doesn’t fit her version of perfection gets sacrificed to keep the deal going.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “So she’s trading lives for lawn perfection? Well, that’s messed up.”

Sam nodded. “It thrives off the conformity she enforces. The more people play by the rules, the stronger the demon gets. The ones who disappear? They’re used as sacrifices to maintain the spell.”

Dean stood abruptly. “Great. So we take down the demon, and her whole Stepford act goes up in flames.” He looked at you. “But first, we gotta piss her off enough to make a move.”

After talkng with Sam, you and Dean turned the dial on your undercover roles.

You started your day loudly arguing in the driveway about “trivial” things—how Dean never folded the laundry right, how you “always” bought the wrong coffee creamer.

Dean played it up like a pro, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. “Fine! Next time, you go grocery shopping!”

“Oh, because you’re so busy, huh?” you shot back, struggling not to laugh.

So you two just keeped violating the rules. Determined to push Lana past her breaking point, Dean added strung mismatched Christmas lights across the front porch, even though it was July.

“Dean,” you said, standing in the driveway with crossed arms, “I’m pretty sure even the demon is rolling its eyes at this point.”

Dean grinned as he plugged in the lights, which flickered in a garish rainbow. “Oh, come on, admit it. This is the most fun we’ve had on a case in months.”

You couldn’t argue with that. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re married to me,” he shot back, winking. “You know,” Dean said, leaning in close as you adjusted the strand of blinking lights, “we make a pretty good team when we’re breaking all the rules.”

You smirked. “Better than your pancake-making team, that’s for sure.”

He laughed, the sound rich and unguarded. “Touché.”

Lanas’s car pulled up just as Dean propped his flamingo lawn ornament next to the mailbox. Her expression was a masterclass in repressed rage as she stepped out, clipboard in hand.

“Dean!” she barked, her voice sharp enough to make the neighbors glance over from their gardening.

He sauntered up to her, feigning innocence. “Morning, Lana. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Her smile was brittle, her grip on the clipboard tightening. “We need to talk.”

Dean’s escalating antics had done the trick. By the time night fell, Lana’s perfectly polished demeanor had cracked. She called an emergency HOA meeting, under the pretense of “addressing a disturbance in harmony.”

“You ready for this?” Dean asked as the three of you crouched outside the clubhouse, peeking through a window.

“I’ve been ready since the gnome,” you replied, flashing him a quick grin.

Sam whispered, “Looks like she’s prepping for a ritual. We need to stop her before she completes it.”

Dean nodded. “Sam, you cut off the ritual. We’ll handle Lana.”

“We?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean smirked. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“Not as far as I can throw you,” you shot back, but the teasing tone didn’t quite mask the warmth in your words.

The two of you burst through the clubhouse door just as Lana lit the final candle on an ornate altar covered in sigils. The neighbors, all eerily quiet, stood in a semicircle around her, their expressions blank and glassy-eyed.

“Lana!” Dean called out, his voice cutting through the room. “You forgot to put this on the HOA agenda.”

She turned, her face twisting into something feral. “You don’t understand,” she hissed. “This neighborhood is perfect because of me. Because of what I’ve done!”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, your definition of perfect kinda sucks.”

Lana snarled, grabbing a knife from the altar and lunging at him. You moved instinctively, stepping in to block her path. Together, you and Dean fought her off, moving in perfect sync.

She was fast, unnaturally so, but you matched her step for step, Dean covering your back with practiced ease. At one point, she swung the knife in a wide arc, and Dean caught her wrist, twisting it just enough for you to knock the blade free.

“You good?” he asked, glancing at you.

You nodded, catching your breath. “I’m fine. You?”

“Peachy,” he replied, his grin full of adrenaline-fueled bravado.

Behind you, Sam chanted Latin, his voice steady as he worked to dismantle the ritual. The sigils on the altar began to glow, flickering as the power binding the neighborhood started to unravel.

Realizing she was losing, Lana screamed, “You’ll ruin everything! Without this deal, this place will fall apart!”

Dean shrugged, stepping closer. “Good. Then maybe it’ll feel a little more human.” With a final swing, he knocked her unconscious, the force of it sending her crumpling to the floor.

Sam finished the ritual just as the sigils burned out entirely, plunging the room into silence. The neighbors blinked, their blank expressions fading as they seemed to wake from a dream.

“It’s over,” Dean said, his voice low.

Outside the clubhouse, you leaned against the Impala, catching your breath. The air felt lighter now, the oppressive weight of the neighborhood’s perfection finally lifted.

Dean stood a few feet away, looking at you with an unreadable expression. For once, he seemed at a loss for words.

“You okay?” you asked softly, stepping closer.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “Just... thinking.”

“Dangerous habit,” you teased, but the smile you gave him was gentle.

Dean’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Before you could think, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing into yours.

The kiss was intense, filled with all the emotions he’d been holding back—relief, affection, gratitude and something deeper, something unspoken. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Took me long enough, huh?”

You laughed softly, your hand resting against his chest. “Yeah. But worth the wait.”

᭝ ᨳଓ𓂃⋆.

The next morning, as the three of you packed up to leave, Dean was back to his usual self—mostly.

Dean hesitated, glancing at the house. “Gotta admit,” he said, his voice softer than usual, “this whole domestic thing... wasn’t the worst.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? I thought you hated it.” Dean smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, turns out I don’t suck at it. Could even get used to it, maybe.”

“You know,” he said, leaning against the Impala as you loaded the last bag into the trunk, “this whole married thing has its perks.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked. “Yeah. Hot meals, shared insurance benefits, someone to remind me when I forget my wallet.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly. “God, you’re insufferable.”

He shook his head, but there was a warmth in his gaze as he looked at you. “Maybe in another life.”

You didn’t answer, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. Dean opened the driver’s side door, his usual cocky grin back in place. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s hit the road.” You climbed in, Dean kissing you on the head before closing the door.

As the Impala roared to life and the too-perfect neighborhood disappeared in the rearview mirror, you couldn’t help but think about Dean’s earlier words. Maybe this undercover mission had been more than just a case.

Maybe, in some small way, it had given both of you a glimpse of what could be.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

[sulumuns-dootah]

In case requests are open, can we get headcanons for Kings and how they react after having a nasty argument with the mc? Bonus if the mc just yells “I hate you!” mid way

Thank you!

WHB kings having an argument with reader

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Kinda wrote this more as a general argument HC's so I hope you don't mind U.U

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It's kinda hard to have a mutual argument with Satan with his whole anger kink

The moment you start raising your voice at him, he's all red in face and begging for more

Maybe even hit him as hard as you can? *puppy eyes*

Now, if you actually manage to get Satan angry, he'd instinctively prepare to kick or punch you, but stops himself in the last second

He may be pissed, but he still cares about you and doesn't want to hurt you

So instead he'll just stomp away to try and clear his head

Afterwards he'll come back to you like nothing serious happened and try to talk things out with you

       ༺☆༻

Mammon is another one I can't exactly imagine getting into an argument with you

He's simply too reserved

That still doesn't mean he doesn't care

He does, but he's more apologetic than that

All he simply states is the truth and he understands that it may upset you

Just from the dynamic he has with Satan, it's clear he doesn't take stuff said/done in an affect seriously

But if you were to say some hurtful stuff, he would feel bad and calmly as you to take those things back after you've gotten it out of your system

       ༺☆༻

Oh, good heavens!

Arguments with Levi go as bad and are as frequent as you can imagine

9/10 of those times end with being hung from the ceiling once he's fed up with you

The words 'I hate you' don't even make their way out of your mouth before you're left gasping for air and pathetically kicking your feet in mid-air

Thankfully, since it's you, Levi won't "forget" about you so you're not at the brink of suffocating

Instead, he'll just let you down, give you a few seconds to catch your breath and ask you to apologise to him

       ༺☆༻

"I hate you!!"

"Pshah... No you don't. You love me"

Beelzebub's too carefree to actually take anything seriously

You could activelly try to cut him up into pieces and he'd still make jokes about you being kinky

Anger doesn't work on him

Have you seen any of his interactions with Bael?

I HC him having the same ADHD thing as me:

When someone yells at us, we just zone out and wait for the person to finish just to ask them to repeat themselves again, but calmly this time

       ༺☆༻

Belphie is somewhere between Mammon and Leviathan when it comes to arguments

He's too tired to get mad himself and will just let you express your emotions openly

But when he's fed up, you're quickly swallowed up by his void and kicked out Nifleheim

And not even Beleth can save you if you forcibly wake Belphie up just to pick a fight/yell at him over something

That's a big no-no

His country may be militant, but you're no drill sargeant to pester him whenever you want

       ༺☆༻

If you're arguing with Asmo, I recommend you watch out for what you're saying

Any iteration of the words 'fuck', 'suck' or a bodypart like 'dick' and 'ass' can veeery quickly turn the whole situation legs up

...Or maybe make Asmo turn you legs up

I mean, you will end up like that eventually (there's nothing better than angry sex), but still, you might wanna voice your point before you're unable to say more than his name, if even that

And what else can possibly follow up a hefty argument?

That's right! Makeup sex!

       ༺☆༻

I imagine Lucifer being used to arguing and screaming since all the other three Seraphims used to fight for God's favor all the time

So when you come storming into his greenhouse to pick an argument with him, he'll just calmly continue drinking his tea and answer you like it's nothing

But, if something mean and personal slips your tongue, expect to get the silent treatment until you chase him down and apologise with absolute sincerity since he can sense lies from a country away

[affableramen]

hiii i love ur writing and i have a request. what do u think pantalone would do if reader got a vision? tysm!!!!!

Hi, thanks so much

Actually it is a very complicated situation both in terms of emotions and future interaction of the characters. I think there could be 2 possible scenarios of how this case could develop:

The reader is hiding existence of her Vision for a long time, wanting Pantalone to feel closer and more similar to her in terms of being a loser, unsuccessful and not chosen. Yet she ends up getting a Vision after all.

Potentially it would mean that she is lying to him and sooner or later he will find out about it, as we all know Pantalone is a pure character of wisdom, there is nothing to slip off his fingers. In this case he would call her privately to his office and plan the discussion with cold mindset. He would even make his own lines in his head to not appear agitated (he is very agitated and shaky, but because it is also Pantalone we may not even see it – he is a good example of artless subtlety).

The reason for you to hide your Vision from him is because you would like to make him feel safe and protected, knowing that you are just as desparate and lonely as him. Around you there is a bunch of ‘heroes’, Vision users which make Pantalone most definitely feel like a black sheep. Knowing that you obtained no Vision he found himself comfortable, given the feeling ‘Yes, she is just like me’. After a while this however vanishes, once he learns you actually possess one. He cannot be mad at you, because he realises it is your responsibility to wield one, but he cannot deny how infuriated he becomes because of your lies. In this case I think he needs time and the best you can do for him is just leave him alone for a while before he cools off. He will, for sure, have a long ass conversation with you about why you’d keep it secret from him. In this case you just calmly explain him the situation that you wanted for him to feel better and you to not be the one priveleged.

However if acquiring the Vision was a recent achievement for you and Pantalone discovers it in the real time, he will be extremely shaken as the situation happens right in front of his eyes, and he is the spectator. When it is something that happened before you knew him, it is more likely acceptable for him because he does not hold power over your achievement, however if you get one during a relationship (or simply encounter, let’s imagine the two of you are not necessarily lovers) it will be difficult for him because it is something he could not control.

***

Pantalone was sitting in his headquarters, his hand gripped the glass of whiskey when he called you in. The guards carefully led the way to his private office and shut the door tightly, making room for you and Regrator to have a private conversation.

His fingers gripping the glass were shaking slightly which was definitely ironic, considering how usually composed he was, in front of you included.

As the door was closed you slowly approached his desk but stopped at a reasonable distance as you sensed the cold atmosphere between you two. It felt like Pantalone was not ready at all to let you in closer.

“You got a Vision”, he didn't ask you, rather stated a fact. A fact that raised both panic and frustration in you as you understand how it might affect the relationship between you two.

In all his hundreds of years he never got one, but you received it just in your twenties. His blood must have been boiling.

“I got it just recently.”

His playing with the whiskey glass stopped and he looked at you. The lights reflected the metal of his silver glasses which would only add coolness to the already icy room.

“How did you get it?”

That was the question you feared the most. Yet he already asked you in, and you had no point in lying and keeping things to yourself. You were not currently on good terms exactly and suffered quite an argument however Pantalone still treated you as a valuable asset, with a possible development of you into his official lover. Or at least that’s what you wanted to believe in. You wanted to feel as someone important to him, and it wasn't entirely stupid. It’s just that it was above his icy-cold rationality.

“Actually, after I fought you”, you responded quietly, your voice suddenly breaking, no matter how anxious you were, you felt as if you had to. “I got my Vision after I fought you.”

Pantalone scoffed,

“Wonderful. Amazing. You got what you wanted, didn't you?”

“I do not understand you.”

Pantalone shifted in his seat and finally stood up, he approached you with solid steps.

“Wasn’t it your dream – defeating me? I thought you would feast upon my sufferings. But you seem reluctant to it. What, cat got your tongue?” he would continue mocking you, his face inches away from yours, but his eyes were glassy once he opened them, as if he were crying all night like a teenager after being bullied at school.

“You know it is not like this. I dreamt of Vision, but when I met you, I promised I wouldn’t be seduced by its power.”

“Yes, that’s what you promised. And look at yourself now”, circling over you languidly, Pantalone used an excruciatingly degrading tone. “Now you’re chosen. You’re a hero. And what heroes do? They defeat villains. And that’s exactly what you did.”

“I never wanted this”, you tried to convey some thoughts into his head, to soothe him, but Pantalone immediately became blind to all your opinions. “It is not my fault that the Vision appeared to me. I didn't force it to come.”

“You want me to believe in this bullshit? You used me like a piece of meat to only leave me in shambles and get your little artifact. And now I am nothing in your eyes except for a villainous Harbinger.”

His words hurt and you could not deny it. Your hand softly grazed his fingers, not inviting into a intimate contact but making it enought for him to have shivers down his spine.

“Your tongue is spilling poison, as always, but weren't you mad now, you would never say such things to me. You just need to cool down.” With those, you exited his office, leaving him completely alone with his dark thoughts. But the way you touched his hand was so warm and gentle, he felt as if he needed more of those, and his conflicting thoughts were messing around his mind. He was weaker than this, he wanted you back immediately.

“I did not allow you to leave my office yet”, he spat. “Come back.

You’d ignore him and decisively leave without looking bad knowing that it would be better for him.

“I said come back here you idiot!” He’d scream and run after you, but it was late and made no sense. He fell to his knees, both his traumatic experience and alcohol taking a toll on him. Weak in his legs, he silently started sobbing, his head hanging down as he found himself completely shattered and unable to hold back tears. How could a mere mortal obtain a Vision while he was the one waiting for it for almost 400 years? This is unfair! How is he worse than anyone? How is yourself better than him? Where did he make a mistake? Why is he such a failure? Is he a joke, a mistake of this world?

You thought that once he’d be tranquil again, you’d visit him and make amends, but currently all he could do was accuse you of something you weren't guilty of. However, once the quiet sobs reached out to your ears, you made your way back from the staircase to his office. Upon entering the lavish, elegant decorum of his headquarters you see a not so elegant man sitting on the floor like a pathetic mess. The sight was nothing you would ever expect from him and if such a rational and reserved man acted this way, it would only mean the pain was insufferable. It is stupid, you thought, but you got nothing to lose, as you kneeled down to him and took his hands in yours, the cold leather of his gloves rubbing against your hands as you embraced him, trying to share the heat with his shaking body. And he let you do this, surrendering himself to you as he realised all you ever did for him was caring, not taking. And he had no right to accuse you of obtaining a Vision, no matter how hard it was to his chest.

[emjayewrites]

Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton) (14.2/15) - 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, @cocobutterqwueen @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 @eugene-emt-roe @cherry2stems @louvrepool @tremendousstarlighttragedy @ggaslyp1 @lewisroscoelove

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. I've may have watched too much Law & Order: SVU.

CHAPTER 14.2: 'Til The End

The Los Angeles courthouse steps felt endless in the July heat, reporters and photographers crowding the perimeter despite the early hour. Lewis's hand remained steady at the small curve of Rorie's back as they ascended, her flowing Dior maternity dress (a gift from Kim Jones himself) catching the morning breeze. At seventeen weeks, their daughter made her presence known in the graceful way Rorie navigated each step, one hand resting protectively over her bump.

"Mrs. Hamilton! Over here!" "Lewis! A comment about the case?" "Rorie! How are you feeling?"

The cacophony of shouted questions blended together as their security detail maintained a careful barrier. Julian met them at the top of the stairs, his usual composed demeanor a stark contrast to the circus below.

"Ready?" he asked simply, noting how Lewis shifted slightly to shield Rorie from a particularly aggressive photographer.

"More than ready," Rorie replied, her voice steady despite the circumstances. The past months of preparation had led to this moment - facing Deja Barnes in court.

Inside, the courthouse's air conditioning offered blessed relief. Their footsteps echoed through the marble corridor as Julian briefed them on last-minute details. "Deja's new attorney, Margaret Nguyen, has a reputation for aggressive cross-examination. Don't let her rattle you. Stick to the facts we've discussed. District Attorney Jones is a real shark though."

They paused outside the courtroom doors. Lewis turned to Rorie, his eyes full of concern. "You sure you want to be here? No one would blame you if—"

"I need to be here," Rorie cut in softly, squeezing his hand. "She tried to destroy our family, Lewis. She needs to see exactly who she failed to break."

With that, they walked into the courtroom together, hand in hand, their presence commanding attention. DA Jones, seated at the prosecution's table, glanced up from her notes and offered them a brief but confident smile.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton," she greeted warmly, her tone professional but reassuring. "Glad you’re here. Let’s make sure justice is served."

Rorie returned a polite smile, her grip on Lewis’s hand tightening for a moment as they approached their seats with Julian in tow.

As they sat down, the quiet strength radiating from Rorie and Lewis was palpable.

The courtroom fell silent as Judge Morrison took her seat. Deja sat beside Margaret Nguyen, dressed in a conservative navy suit that couldn't quite mask the hostility radiating from her posture. Her eyes locked onto Rorie immediately, a mixture of hatred and something else - perhaps regret - flickering across her face.

The charges rang out clearly in the hushed space: "The State of California vs. Deja Barnes on multiple counts of criminal harassment, attempted extortion, theft of medical records, and conspiracy to distribute confidential information."

DA Jones's opening statement cut through the tension. "Your Honor, this case goes beyond simple harassment or theft of medical records. This is about the calculated betrayal of friendship, orchestrated by Ms. Barnes when her obsession with Mr. Hamilton led her to exploit every confidence Mrs. Hamilton had ever shared with her."

Margaret Nguyen's defense strategy became clear quickly: paint Deja as The Sun's victim rather than a conspirator. But Luisa's testimony shattered that narrative.

"I've worked for Sir and Mrs. Hamilton for three years," Luisa testified, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "They treated me like family. When Ms. Barnes approached me about Miguel's visa… she knew exactly what she was doing."

"And what happened when you refused initially?" Jones asked.

"She said if I didn't help her, she'd make sure Miguel never got back into the country." Luisa's voice cracked. "I was desperate. But when I saw what The Sun published… what they wanted to do to Mrs. Hamilton, to their family…" She paused, wiping a tear. "I couldn't live with myself."

Rorie squeezed Lewis's hand as Luisa detailed how Deja had manipulated her way into accessing not just the IVF records, but had also helped Alexander uncover documentation about Martin Edwards's affair.

When Deja took the stand, her facade cracked. "He noticed me first," she insisted, staring at Lewis. "All-Star weekend, 2017. We had a connection before she came along."

"Ms. Barnes," Jones's voice was precise, "could you describe this alleged 'connection'?"

"He smiled at me. We talked about basketball." Her voice took on a desperate edge. "He remembered my name."

"For how long did this interaction last?"

Deja shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe… five minutes?"

"And based on this five-minute conversation six years ago, you felt justified in stealing medical records and attempting to expose Mrs. Hamilton's most private matters?"

"She wasn't supposed to have him!" Deja burst out, her composure finally shattering. "She knew how I felt about him. She knew, and she went after him anyway."

"Did Mrs. Hamilton know about your interaction with her husband at the 2017 All-Star weekend?" Jones asked calmly.

"No," Deja admitted reluctantly. "I never told her."

"So how exactly did she know 'how you felt about him'?"

Deja's composure cracked further. "She should have known. She was my best friend. She should have..."

"Ms. Barnes," Jones continued, "please tell the court about what happened in Melbourne, Australia in April 2022."

Deja's jaw tightened. "I was just trying to show her the truth."

"The truth?" Jones's voice sharpened. "Or were you attempting to stage a scene to destroy their marriage? Please explain to the court how you gained access to Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton's hotel suite."

"I..." Deja faltered. "I told the hotel staff I was Mrs. Hamilton's friend, that I was surprising her."

"And then?"

"I waited until Lewis came back from qualifying. Made it look like..."

"Like you and Mr. Hamilton were having an affair," Jones finished. "Despite knowing Mrs. Hamilton was in the middle of an IVF cycle at the time."

"She needed to see—"

"Ms. Barnes," Jones interrupted, "please explain the text messages between you and Alexander Davies where you discuss, and I quote, 'using the bastard child angle to really twist the knife.'"

The courtroom gasped as Jones displayed the messages on the screen. Deja's words about exploiting Rorie's parentage, about using Luisa's desperation to access medical records, about staging the Australia incident - all laid bare in black and white.

"I have more messages here," Jones continued, swiping to the next screen. "This one from March 2023, where you tell Mr. Davies, and I quote: 'I know everything about her IVF struggles. Every failed attempt, every heartbreak. When this story breaks, it'll destroy her.'"

Rorie's hand tightened around Lewis's as their private pain was exposed in the courtroom. But she held her head high, their daughter's movements beneath her palm a reminder of everything they'd overcome.

Deja was rendered speechless. "The prosecution rests, Your Honor," Jones stated, returning to her seat.

Judge Morrison turned to Margaret Nguyen. "Your witness, counselor."

Margaret rose smoothly, adjusting her blazer. "Ms. Barnes, could you tell the court about your relationship with Mrs. Hamilton before all of this?"

"We were close," Deja's voice softened slightly. "Since college. I was there for everything - her struggles with her father…"

"And when she began dating Mr. Hamilton?"

"She knew," Deja's voice hardened again. "She had to have known how I felt. I talked about him all the time after that All-Star weekend, about how amazing he was. Then suddenly she's dating him, and she never even mentioned knowing me to him?"

"Objection," Jones interrupted. "The witness has already admitted she never told Mrs. Hamilton about her interaction with Mr. Hamilton."

"Sustained," Judge Morrison ruled.

Margaret shifted tactics. "Let's talk about Alexander Davies. How did he approach you?"

"He said he was doing a story about Rorie. About her rise to fame, her marriage…" Deja paused. "He said The Sun would pay well for insider information."

"Did he pressure you to provide specific types of information?"

"Objection," Jones stood. "The defendant's text messages clearly show she was the one suggesting angles to pursue."

"Overruled. The witness may answer."

"He kept pushing for more," Deja continued. "Said the story needed something juicier than just her background. When I mentioned her dad…"

"So Mr. Davies manipulated you into revealing private information about your friend?"

"Objection!" Jones's voice rang out. "Counsel is leading the witness."

"Sustained."

Margaret changed direction again. "The incident in Melbourne - why were you really there?"

Deja's eyes flickered to Rorie for the first time since taking the stand. "I wanted to talk to her. To explain. But then I saw an opportunity to…"

"To what?"

"To make her feel what I felt," Deja's voice cracked. "Watching them together, seeing their perfect life, their perfect marriage. While I just had those five minutes…"

Margaret stepped closer to her client. "Ms. Barnes, could you describe your emotional state during this period?"

"Objection," Jones interrupted. "Relevance?"

"I'm establishing my client's state of mind, Your Honor," Margaret countered.

"I'll allow it, but tread carefully, counselor."

Deja dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "I was... I felt betrayed. He promised to stay in touch after All-Star weekend."

"Objection, Your Honor," Jones stood. "The defendant has already testified the interaction lasted only five minutes. There's no evidence of any promises."

"Sustained."

Margaret pressed on. "You were distraught, weren't you? Watching your best friend live the life you'd dreamed of with the man who—"

"Objection!" Jones's voice cut through. "Counsel is testifying for the witness."

"Sustained. Ms. Nguyen, please rephrase."

"How did you feel, seeing their relationship develop?"

"I couldn't handle it," Deja's voice wavered. "Every Instagram post, every race weekend, every time she called me crying about the IVF not working... I just kept thinking it should have been me."

"And when Alexander Davies contacted you?"

"He said people deserved to know the truth about her. About her father, about how she was..." Deja paused, glancing at Rorie. "About how she was trapping Lewis with the IVF treatments."

Their daughter chose that moment to kick, as if protesting the lies being told about her parents.

"So you were emotionally vulnerable when The Sun approached you?"

"Objection," Jones stood again.

"Sustained."

Margaret changed tactics. "The Melbourne incident - you've expressed regret about that. Could you explain why?"

Deja's eyes welled with tears that Lewis and Rorie both recognized as performative. "I was desperate. Watching them together, seeing their perfect life… I just wanted her to feel some of the pain I felt."

"No further questions, Your Honor," Margaret concluded, returning to her seat.

Judge Morrison checked her watch. "Given the hour, we'll recess for the day. Court will reconvene tomorrow at 9 AM." The sharp crack of her gavel echoed through the courtroom.

As the bailiff announced "All rise," Deja's eyes locked onto Rorie and Lewis. There was something unsettling in her gaze - not quite hatred anymore, but something more complex, more dangerous. Even as her attorney guided her toward the exit, she kept looking back at them.

DA Jones approached the Hamiltons as they gathered their things. "We're in a strong position," she said in a low voice. "The evidence is overwhelming, and her testimony today did her no favors."

"How much longer?" Julian asked, his tone making it clear he wanted this chapter closed for his clients.

"With the pace we're moving, we should have a verdict by end of week," Jones replied. "Her attempts to paint herself as the victim aren't landing with the jury. You can see it in their faces."

Lewis kept his arm protectively around Rorie as they headed for the exit. "The sooner this is over, the better," he murmured, feeling their daughter's movements against his side where Rorie pressed close.

"Tomorrow we'll hear from the hotel staff in Melbourne," Julian informed them quietly. "Then the digital forensics expert about the text messages. We're almost through this."

As they reached the courthouse steps, they could see Deja being led to a waiting car, but even then, she turned for one last look at them - at the life she'd convinced herself should have been hers.

____________________________________________

The private conference room provided a quiet refuge from the craziness outside. Rorie picked at her salad while Marian watched with concerned eyes. The past two days had been grueling - twelve witnesses, including the Melbourne hotel staff and even a digital forensics expert breaking down the text messages.

"Baby, you need to eat something," Marian urged, pushing the plate closer to her daughter. "My grandbaby needs nutrients."

Rorie shook her head, her hand resting on her bump. "I can't, Mama. Not with…" She trailed off, remembering yesterday's testimony from her former clinic nurse about how Deja had pumped her for information, pretending to be concerned about Rorie's struggles.

"I always knew that girl wasn't right," Marian said softly. "The way she'd look at your photos with Lewis, how she'd ask those strange questions about your relationship. Like she was studying you instead of being your friend."

"I should have seen it."

"Don't you dare blame yourself," Marian's voice was firm. "That girl had screws loose long before you met Lewis. I remember how she used to show up at odd hours, always with some crisis that needed your attention."

A gentle kick from her daughter made Rorie smile faintly. "Your granddaughter agrees with you."

"Smart girl already," Marian smiled, but her eyes remained worried. "You sure you're ready for this?"

Before Rorie could answer, a security guard appeared at the door. "Mrs. Hamilton? Court's resuming."

Lewis was waiting outside the conference room. Rorie took his hand, drawing strength from his steady presence as they made their way back to the courtroom. Marian followed close behind, her prayers barely audible.

The bailiff's voice rang out clear: "The Court calls Aurora Isis Phillips-Hamilton to the stand."

Rorie squeezed Lewis's hand one final time before making her way to the witness stand. After being sworn in, she settled into the chair, adjusting her flowing dress over her bump.

"Please state your name for the record," DA Jones began.

"Aurora Isis Phillips-Hamilton."

"Mrs. Hamilton, could you tell the court about your friendship with the defendant?"

"Objection," Margaret Chen stood. "Relevance?"

"Your Honor," Jones replied, "the defendant's relationship with Mrs. Hamilton is central to establishing the betrayal of trust that led to these crimes."

"Overruled. The witness may answer."

Rorie took a deep breath, her hand instinctively moving to her bump. "We met in college. She became one of my closest friends and was there for everything…"

"And when did you meet your husband?" Jones asked.

"I met Lewis in 2018, about a year after the All-Star weekend she mentioned. She never once told me about meeting him there."

Jones nodded. "Could you tell the court about what happened in Melbourne?"

"Objection! Your Honor, this has already been established through other witnesses."

"Your Honor," Jones countered, "Mrs. Hamilton's direct experience is relevant."

"Overruled. Proceed."

Rorie's voice remained steady. "I was going through our fourth round of IVF. Lewis was at the paddock for qualifying. I was there to surprise him…" She paused. "That's when I found Deja there, staged in our bed."

After Jones finished, Margaret approached with a predatory smile. "Mrs. Hamilton, isn't it true you knew about my client's feelings for your husband?"

"Objection," Jones stood. "Asked and answered."

"Sustained."

Margaret tried another angle. "You enjoyed having power over her, didn't you? Keeping her close, watching her pine after your husband?"

"Objection!" Jones's voice rang out. "Counsel is badgering the witness."

"Sustained. Ms. Nguyen, move on."

"You never considered her feelings when you started dating Mr. Hamilton?"

Rorie's eyes flashed. "How could I consider feelings she never expressed? But more than that - how could she consider my feelings when she tried to destroy my marriage during one of the most vulnerable moments of my life? When she used my struggles with infertility as ammunition?" Her voice cracked slightly. "She wasn't just my friend. She was family. And she used everything she knew about me, every private moment I shared with her, to try to break me."

The jury leaned forward, several members nodding. Margaret's face tightened as she realized the impact of Rorie's words.

"No further questions," Margaret said quickly.

"The witness may step down," Judge Morrison announced. "Ms. Nguyen, does the defense have any more witnesses?"

Margaret stood. "Your Honor, I request a meeting in chambers."

A ripple of surprise went through the courtroom. Judge Morrison's eyebrows rose, but she nodded. "Very well. Counsel, in my chambers. Court is in recess."

Rorie made her way back to Lewis and her mother, her legs slightly shaky after the emotional testimony.

"What just happened?" she whispered as they watched the attorneys disappear into chambers with Judge Morrison.

"Something's up," Julian muttered, his eyes narrowed. "Nguyen must realize how badly this is going."

"The jury's faces when you spoke…" Marian squeezed her daughter's hand. "Baby, you did so good."

Ten minutes later, the doors opened. Judge Morrison returned to her seat while DA Jones quickly approached their group.

"Nguyen asked for a plea deal," she informed them in a low voice. "She wanted probation and a fine, no jail time."

"And?" Julian pressed.

"I said no. With the evidence we have, she's looking at serious time. She tried to destroy lives here."

Judge Morrison called the court back to order. "Counselor Nguyen, your witnesses?"

"Yes, Your Honor. The defense calls Lewis Hamilton to the stand."

Lewis squeezed Rorie's hand before making his way to the witness stand. After being sworn in, he settled into the chair, his posture relaxed but alert.

"Please state your name for the record."

"Sir Lewis Carl Davidson Hamilton."

Margaret approached, holding a presentation clicker in her hands. "Mr. Hamilton—"

"It's Sir," Lewis interrupted, causing Margaret to tilt her head in confusion. "I was knighted by the King of England, so my proper address is Sir Hamilton - Mr. Hamilton is my father, just FYI."

Several jury members and court attendees chuckled softly.

"Sir Hamilton," Margaret declared with a slight frown, "let's talk about 2017. You were quite the party boy then, weren't you?"

"I enjoyed myself," Lewis answered candidly. "I was single, successful. Yes, I had my 'fuckboi era' as people call it."

"And you met my client during All-Star weekend?"

"Apparently. I honestly don't remember the specific interaction she described."

Margaret displayed the first photo on the screen - Lewis with his arm around both Deja and KiKi at what appeared to be a beach party. "Just friends?"

"Just friends," Lewis confirmed firmly. "That photo's from a group trip to Mykonos. There were about fifteen of us there."

She showed another photo - Lewis kissing Deja's cheek while Rorie kissed the other. "This seems rather intimate."

"That was Deja's birthday party," Lewis explained patiently. "I have similar photos with all our friends. You can check my Instagram - I'm affectionate with everyone in my circle. But I never looked at any of Rorie's friends that way. Never gave Deja any reason to think otherwise."

"Are you suggesting my client imagined your connection?"

"Objection, argumentative!"

"Sustained."

"Look," Lewis leaned forward slightly. "You can pull up every photo from every party, every group vacation. What you'll find is exactly what I'm saying - a group of friends hanging out. Nothing more. I never led your client on. I never promised her anything. And I certainly never gave her any reason to think she had the right to try to destroy my marriage."

Several jury members nodded, and Margaret's shoulders tensed as she realized her strategy was backfiring.

Margaret tried another angle. "Sir Hamilton, did you ever contact my client privately?"

"Only in group chats with all our friends. Never one-on-one."

"Yet you had her number?"

"Objection," Jones interrupted. "Asked and answered through previous testimony about group communications."

"Sustained."

Margaret shuffled through more photos. "These trips, these parties... you were very comfortable with my client."

"I was comfortable with all our friends," Lewis replied evenly. "That's what friendship looks like."

After several more failed attempts to imply impropriety, Margaret concluded her cross-examination. DA Jones stood.

"Sir Hamilton, in your own words, what was the nature of your relationship with Ms. Barnes?"

"She was my wife's friend. Nothing more. I never saw her as anything else, never acted in any way that should have given her that impression. I barely remember talking to her at that All-Star weekend."

"And your relationship with Mrs. Hamilton?"

Lewis's face softened as he looked at Rorie. "She's everything. My wife, the mother of our son, and our baby on the way. We've been through so much together - the ups and downs of IVF, building our family..." He turned back to face the jury directly. "What Ms. Barnes did... accessing our private medical records during one of the most vulnerable times in our lives, trying to expose my wife's relationship with her father, staging that scene in Melbourne... it's unforgivable."

His voice grew firmer. "She betrayed not just my wife's trust, but our entire family's. She should be ashamed of herself for working with The Sun to try to destroy us, for exploiting Luisa's situation with Miguel, for using private information my wife shared with her in confidence. The fact she thought a five-minute conversation at a basketball game six years ago somehow justified all this..." He shook his head. "It's delusional."

The jury was hanging on every word. Even Judge Morrison seemed moved. In the gallery, Deja had shrunk in her seat, while Margaret's face had gone pale.

"No further questions, Your Honor," Jones concluded.

Judge Morrison turned to Margaret. "Any redirect, Ms. Nguyen?"

"No, Your Honor," Margaret replied, her voice tight.

"The witness may step down," Judge Morrison announced.

As Lewis returned to his seat beside Rorie, Judge Morrison addressed the courtroom. "Does either counsel have any additional witnesses?"

"No, Your Honor," both attorneys responded.

"Very well," Judge Morrison shuffled her papers. "We'll hear closing arguments tomorrow morning at 9 AM. Court is adjourned." The crack of her gavel echoed through the room.

As people began filing out, Deja's gaze followed Lewis and Rorie, watching as he helped his pregnant wife stand, his hand protective at her back.

"You did amazing," Rorie whispered to Lewis as they left the courtroom.

"Just told the truth," he replied softly, pulling her closer. "Ready to end this tomorrow?"

Behind them, they could hear Margaret urgently whispering to Deja about considering options, but they didn't look back. They'd said their piece. Tomorrow would bring the final chapter of this painful saga.

______________________________________________

The next morning arrived heavy with anticipation. The courtroom was packed as Jones delivered her closing argument, methodically laying out how Deja had betrayed trust, stolen private medical information, and conspired with The Sun to destroy the Hamiltons.

Margaret's closing felt desperate in comparison, still trying to paint Deja as a heartbroken woman manipulated by the media. The jury's expressions suggested they weren't buying it.

As they filed out to deliberate, Marian squeezed Rorie's hand. "Now we wait."

Three hours later - a surprisingly short time for such a complex case - the bailiff announced the jury had reached a verdict.

"That's quick," Marian whispered, her voice tense. "That's real quick."

Judge Morrison addressed the packed courtroom. "Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?"

The lead juror stood, paper trembling slightly in her hands. "We have, Your Honor."

"What say you?"

"In the matter of The State of California vs. Deja Barnes, on the count of criminal harassment, we find the defendant guilty."

Rorie's hand tightened around Lewis's.

"On the count of theft of medical records, we find the defendant guilty."

Deja began to shake her head slowly.

"On the count of conspiracy to distribute confidential information, we find the defendant guilty."

"On the count of attempted extortion…" the juror paused. "We find the defendant not guilty."

"The jury is thanked and excused," Judge Morrison announced. "Sentencing will take place next week, Monday at 10 AM. The defendant is to remain in custody until then."

"No!" Deja suddenly screamed, jumping to her feet. "You don't understand! She stole everything from me! Everything!"

"Ms. Barnes!" Judge Morrison's gavel cracked sharply. "Control yourself!"

"This isn't fair!" Deja continued, struggling as Margaret tried to calm her. "Lewis was supposed to be mine! She trapped him! She—"

"Ms. Barnes, you are in contempt!" Judge Morrison's voice cut through the chaos. "Bailiff!"

As the bailiff moved to restrain her, Deja's wild eyes found Rorie. "You think this is over? You think—"

The bailiff wrestled her toward the door leading to holding, her screams echoing through the courtroom until they were finally muffled by the heavy doors closing behind her.

Judge Morrison banged her gavel once more. "Court is adjourned until sentencing."

In the sudden quiet, Lewis wrapped his arm around Rorie, pressing a kiss to her temple. Their daughter kicked strongly, as if celebrating the verdict in her own way.

"It's over," he whispered. "It's finally over."

Lewis helped Rorie up, guiding her quickly through the crowd and into a private conference room. As soon as the door closed behind them, her composure finally broke. Months of stress, betrayal, and pain came pouring out as she collapsed into sobs.

"Baby girl..." Marian rushed to hold her daughter as Lewis supported them both.

"It's over," Rorie gasped between sobs, her whole body shaking. "Oh God, it's really over."

Lewis gathered both women into his arms, one hand protectively covering where their daughter was kicking frantically, responding to her mother's surge of emotion. "Let it out, love. Just let it all out."

"My sweet girl," Marian murmured, stroking Rorie's hair as she had when she was small. "You've been so strong."

Rorie couldn't stop crying, months of carefully maintained composure dissolving in the safety of her family's embrace. Every terrible moment - finding Deja in their Melbourne suite, learning about the stolen medical records, seeing their private struggles splashed across the papers - came pouring out in gut-wrenching sobs.

"I trusted her," she choked out. "I trusted her with everything..."

"I know, baby," Lewis whispered, his own eyes wet as he held his wife closer. "I know."

They stayed like that, wrapped around each other, until Rorie's sobs gradually quieted to hiccups and shaky breaths. Their daughter had settled too, as if sensing the storm had passed.

"Ready to go home?" Lewis asked softly, wiping tears from her cheeks.

Rorie nodded, exhausted but lighter somehow. The betrayal would always hurt, but today justice had been served. Today, they could finally begin to heal.

The Parisian morning light filtered through gauzy curtains as Rorie moved above Lewis, her braids falling around her face like a silken curtain. Her skin gleamed, her every curve mesmerizing as she rode him with slow, deliberate movements.

"Fuck..." Lewis groaned, his head tipping back against the pillows as his hands gripped her hips. "Rorie... you’re unreal," he murmured, his voice husky with awe.

Rorie smirked, leaning forward to press her lips to his ear. "I know," she teased, her breath warm against his skin.

His hands slid up her back, holding her closer as he whispered, "You feel so good, baby. I could stay like this forever."

Her laugh was soft and throaty, her movements quickening as they lost themselves in the moment. They both came apart five thrusts later and then she laid on top of him, tracing lazy patterns on Lewis's chest, both still catching their breath. Their daughter was particularly active, as if protesting their early morning activities.

"Think we woke her up," Rorie chuckled, guiding Lewis's hand to where their daughter was doing what felt like somersaults.

"Sorry, baby girl," Lewis murmured to her bump. "Blame your mama for being irresistible."

Before Rorie could retort, tiny fists pounded on their bedroom door. "Mama! Dada! Up up!"

"Speaking of being woken up," Lewis laughed, reaching for his shorts while Rorie wrapped herself in a robe. "Coming, big man!"

As Lewis let an excited Lyric bounce onto their bed, Rorie's phone buzzed with a text from Julian: "Barnes sentencing - 2 years with possibility of parole after 18 months. 5 years probation after release. Mandatory psychiatric treatment. Permanent restraining order granted. No contact allowed with any member of Hamilton family, including social media. Also banned from all F1 events/paddocks worldwide."

"Good," Lewis said, reading over her shoulder while Lyric snuggled between them.

"Sister kick!" Lyric announced, placing his small hand on Rorie's bump.

"She's very active this morning," Rorie smiled, the weight of Deja's sentencing lifting from her shoulders. "Ready to watch Uncle Miles win his medal?"

"He got this," Lewis agreed, checking the time. "Semi-finals start in three hours."

Rorie's phone buzzed again - Julian adding: "She broke down crying during impact statements. Kept apologizing. Judge wasn't moved. Said her actions showed calculated malice, not just emotional distress. The psychiatric evaluation revealed concerning obsessive patterns."

"It's really over," Rorie whispered, leaning into Lewis as Lyric chattered excitedly about breakfast and Uncle Miles's "sword fighting."

"It's over," Lewis confirmed, kissing her temple. "Now let's go watch my best friend win Olympic gold."

"Breakfast first!" Lyric insisted, tugging their hands. "Pancakes!"

As they got ready for the day, Rorie felt lighter than she had in months. Paris sparkled outside their window, Miles had a shot at Olympic glory, and their daughter proved to be just as energetic as her brother. The darkness of betrayal was behind them, sealed away by justice and time.

______________________________________________

Lewis looked like Miles' biggest fan, decked head to toe in Team USA fencing gear with "CHAMLEY-WATSON" emblazoned across his shirt. The Olympic venue was packed, and cameras constantly turned to their section, where Snoop Dogg had been entertaining Lyric with funny faces between matches.

"Uncle Snoop!" Lyric giggled as the rapper pretended to fence with imaginary swords.

"Little man got the moves," Snoop laughed, fist-bumping the toddler.

Nina leaned over to Rorie, both wearing matching "Team Miles" shirts. "The paps are having a field day with this section," she whispered, nodding toward the photographers below. "Lewis Hamilton, Snoop Dogg, and a baby watch?"

KiKi was seated on her other side and she shook her head at the photographers nearby. "Fucking vultures," she muttered to no one in particular, but Rorie heard every word and she squeezed her friend’s arm. Since the court ruling, KiKi had gotten more protective, if possible, and she was supposed to be watching her man win a gold medal, not worry about her. But then again, KiKi will always be KiKi.

Shaun White, sitting with his arm around Nina, chuckled. "Don't forget Spinz trying to teach Snoop fencing terms."

"It's called a parry, Uncle Snoop!" Spinz was explaining enthusiastically. "Not a block!"

The semi-final match was intense, Miles moving with precision and focus. But his opponent, a veteran French fencer, matched him point for point. The crowd gasped as the final exchange ended with Miles just missing his target.

"Fourth place," Rorie sighed as they watched Miles take his position off the podium during the medal ceremony. "He's going to be devastated."

"Still proud of him though," Lewis said, adjusting Lyric on his hip. "Making the Olympic semi-finals is huge."

Later, as Miles approached their group, still in his Team USA gear, his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sorry I couldn't get that medal."

"Are you kidding?" Snoop stood up to hug him. "You showed out, nephew! Fourth in the world!"

"Uncle Miles sword fight good!" Lyric declared with all the confidence of a toddler, making Miles' smile finally turn genuine.

"Thanks, little man." Miles ruffled Lyric's hair before turning to Rorie. "At least you and my niece showed up."

"Wouldn't miss it," Rorie hugged him tight. "LA 2028, yeah?"

"Maybe," Miles laughed. "But first, I need food. And possibly several drinks."

"Non-alcoholic for some of us," Nina patted Rorie's bump.

Miles then diverted his gaze to KiKi, and Rorie smiled brightly as she recognized that lovey look Lewis was fond of giving her. "Hey baby."

KiKi stretched as much as she could ok her tiptoes, no doubt trying to accommodate Miles’ staggering height, to kiss him quickly on the lips. "You did such a great job today, okay? Don’t dwell on this too much. I’m so proud of you."

As they made their way out of the venue, photographers called out for group photos. Snoop immediately struck a fencing pose, making everyone laugh.

"Alright rockstar, ready for dinner?" Lewis lifted Lyric into his arms as they headed to their waiting van.

"Pizza!" Lyric declared, playing with the curls at the nape of his father's neck.

"Always pizza with you," Lewis chuckled. "Just like your mama."

Rorie watched them from her seat, smiling at their exchange. Lyric had Lewis wrapped completely around his little finger, and she had a feeling their daughter would be exactly the same.

"Uncle Miles meet us?" Lyric asked hopefully.

"Yeah, baby. He's just getting changed first," Rorie assured him. "He'll meet us at the restaurant."

At the trendy Parisian bistro, Lewis kept Lyric entertained in his lap while discussing his upcoming plans with Shaun.

"So after this, I'm doing this whole African tour - Madagascar, Morocco, Senegal. Got some sustainability projects I want to check out, plus some cultural experiences I've been wanting to explore."

"You're leaving your pregnant wife all alone?" Shaun teased, earning a playful swat from Nina.

"Actually," Rorie piped up, sipping her water, "I'm kind of looking forward to it. Give me time to nest, hang out with the girls. Plus, someone needs to supervise the nursery renovation."

Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:

"Hi"

Then immediately after:

"It's Aaron. Your brother. I wanted to apologize for everything. Can we meet?"

Rorie's hand trembled slightly as she stared at the message. After everything with Deja, trust didn't come easily anymore.

"You okay, love?" Lewis noticed her expression.

"Yeah," she replied softly, typing back a simple 'yes' to Aaron. "Just really hungry."

The bourbon arrived first, a small mercy as Aaron checked his watch again. Fifteen minutes late - typical. His father had always operated on his own time, everyone else's schedules be damned. The crystal tumbler felt cool against his palm as he took a slow sip, letting the liquid warm his throat.

A flash of movement caught his eye as their waitress approached, all curves and honey-brown skin. "Can I get you anything else while you wait?" Her smile was sweet but knowing.

"Nah, I'm good mamas. Thank you though." He returned her smile, appreciating how her dress hugged her hips as she walked away. At thirty-one, Aaron had mastered his father's charm, but he'd sworn never to deploy it the same way.

The same way that had produced a sister two months older than him.

The math had been eating at him since the news broke. Two months. His mother had been seven months pregnant with him while his father had another child being born. The fucking audacity of it all made his jaw clench.

Martin Edwards finally swept in, all Tom Ford suit and corporate confidence. "Sorry I'm late, son. Board meeting ran long."

"Sure it did," Aaron muttered, but raised his glass in greeting anyway.

The waitress returned, and Aaron watched with growing disgust as his father's eyes tracked her movement, that same appreciative glance he'd caught himself making earlier.

Like father, like son - the thought made his stomach turn.

After ordering and some surface-level chat about Aaron's investment firm, he couldn't hold back anymore.

"Were you ever going to tell us about her?" The question cut through their carefully maintained screen of normalcy.

Martin's face tightened almost imperceptibly. "It's complicated, son."

"Complicated?" Aaron's laugh was bitter. "You went on fucking Piers Morgan and lied through your teeth. Made it seem like you and Mom were separated when you knocked up Rorie's mother. But that's not true, is it?"

"I was put in a corner when the story broke. I had to protect our family name—"

"Our family name?" Aaron's voice rose slightly before he caught himself. "You mean the same name you almost gave to your outside child while my mother was pregnant with me?"

Martin sipped his drink, too composed for a man being confronted about his infidelity. "Your mother and I have an… arrangement. Have for years. She does her thing, I do mine. The only rule was no other children."

"And yet."

"Marian was adamant about keeping the baby. I tried to handle it quietly, but…" Martin shrugged. "At least she never asked for money."

The casual way he dismissed creating and abandoning a child made Aaron's hands shake. "Why not just divorce? Why keep up this fucking charade?"

"Divorce?" Martin scoffed. "Never. It would look bad."

"But having a bastard isn't?"

"Watch your tone," Martin warned, his mask slipping slightly. "You don't understand the complexities of adult relationships—"

"I understand plenty," Aaron cut in. "I understand you're so obsessed with appearances that you'd rather live a lie. I understand why we only saw you at carefully choreographed family events. I understand why Azariah's marriage seems so foreign to me - because I never saw what a real one looked like growing up."

"You're out of line."

"No, you're out of line. Have been for decades." Aaron stood, throwing cash on the table for his drink. "You know what the worst part is? Not the affair, not the lies. It's that you're still trying to control the narrative. Still trying to play puppet master with all our lives."

"Aaron—"

"I'm meeting with Rorie next week," he announced, watching his father's face pale slightly. "Because unlike you, I actually want to know her. The real her, not whatever story you're trying to sell to the outside world."

He left his father sitting there, barely acknowledging the waitress's goodbye. The summer air hit him like a wall as he stepped outside, his mind racing with three decades of realizations. Everything he thought he knew about family, about marriage, about love - all of it filtered through his father's carefully constructed lies.

His phone buzzed - a text from Azariah: "How'd it go?" "About as well as expected," he typed back. "Dad's still Dad." "You good?" Aaron paused, thinking about Rorie, about their upcoming meeting, about all the years they'd lost. "No," he replied honestly. "But maybe I will be."

_______________________________________________

Aaron sat in his car for a moment, taking in the elegant Georgian façade of his sister's London home. Sister. The word still felt foreign on his tongue, especially knowing she existed while his mother was carrying him. Life had a sick sense of humor sometimes.

He checked his reflection, running a hand through his waves and adjusting his gold chain before popping a mint in his mouth. The orange Hermes bag sat in his backseat - the saleswoman had assured him it was foolproof for apologies, though she probably hadn't dealt with many "sorry I was an asshole to my newly discovered sister" situations.

Grabbing the bag and the two teddy bears - one for Lyric, one for the baby - he walked up the path and rang the doorbell, his mind drifting to the headlines he'd read about Rorie's court case. Her supposed best friend doing her dirty like that… maybe trust issues ran in the family.

His own behavior in Barcelona made him cringe now. Lewis Hamilton would've been well within his rights to knock him out that day. Getting his ass beat by a Formula 1 driver - Twitter would've had a field day with that one.

A dog's bark interrupted his thoughts, followed by the patter of small feet and a child's excited "I get it!"

"Lyric Apollo Hamilton, don't you dare touch that doorknob!" Rorie's voice rang out clear and firm.

Aaron couldn't help but chuckle. Black moms really did all share the same tone.

The door opened to reveal Rorie, her bump obvious now in plain white t-shirt and cute overalls, with Lyric beside her. The kid was almost to her waist - though considering Rorie's height, that wasn't saying much. The resemblance to Lewis was uncanny, from the braids to his facial features.

Damn...did her genes even put up a fight? "Hi," Aaron said softly, suddenly nervous.

"Hi," Rorie replied, one hand resting on her bump.

"Can I… can I say hi to him?" Aaron gestured to Lyric.

After Rorie's nod, Aaron crouched down. "Hey little man. I'm your Uncle Aaron."

"Hi," Lyric said shyly, peeking around his mother's leg. "You tall like Dada."

Once introductions were over, he followed Rorie through the house. The kitchen was all sleek marble and natural light. They stood awkwardly for a moment, studying each other's features - same eyes, same nose. Yeah, they were definitely siblings.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Rorie asked. "Water? Coffee? Lemonade?"

"Lemonade would be nice."

As she waddled to the fridge, Aaron gestured to the bags. "I, uh, brought some things. For you and Lyric. And the baby."

"Thank you," she said softly, returning with his drink. Her hand went to her belly again.

"How far along are you?"

"Six months. Due in November." A small smile crossed her face. "It's a girl."

"A girl?" Aaron felt a unexpected wave of emotion. A niece. "That's… that's amazing."

"Yeah," Rorie agreed, then added quietly, "Listen, about Barcelona—"

"I was wrong," Aaron cut in. "So wrong. I was angry at Dad and I took it out on you. Lewis should've knocked my ass out."

A hint of amusement crossed Rorie's face. "He considered it."

"Dad finally told me everything," Aaron said, watching as Rorie leaned against the counter. "About how you were born while my mom was pregnant with me. About their 'arrangement.'" He made air quotes around the last word.

"That must've been…" Rorie searched for the right word.

"Fucked up? Yeah." He took a sip of lemonade. "Makes me question everything, you know? Like was any of it real? The family dinners, the holidays…"

"Mama! Hungry!" Lyric announced as he ran inside the kitchen, tugging at Rorie's clothes.

"What do you want, baby?"

"Apple and peanut butter!"

"Okay, go sit at the island," Rorie instructed, moving to grab an apple. As she started slicing it, she continued their conversation. "Azariah did mentioned that you went to see Martin."

"Yeah, it happened last week in New York." Aaron watched as she carefully spread peanut butter on the apple slices. "He's doing what he does best now - pretending the conversation never happened."

"Here you go, baby," Rorie placed the plate in front of Lyric, who immediately grabbed a slice. "Careful, don't make a mess."

"Thank you, Mama!"

"He's so polite," Aaron observed.

"Lewis is big on manners," Rorie smiled, one hand absently rubbing her bump. "Though sometimes I think Lyric's just naturally sweet."

"Unlike his uncle, huh?" Aaron said ruefully. "I really was an ass in Barcelona."

"You were," Rorie agreed, but her tone was gentle. "But I get it now. Finding out about me… it couldn't have been easy."

"Still. The things I said to Lewis…"

"Dada best!" Lyric chimed in, peanut butter smeared on his chin.

Both adults laughed as Rorie grabbed a napkin to clean his face. "Yes he is, baby."

"I've been…" Aaron paused, watching this domestic scene that felt so foreign yet familiar. "I've been so focused on work, on being Dad's perfect son, that I forgot how to just… be human sometimes. Seeing you with your family, it's made me realize some things."

"Like what?"

"Like maybe success isn't just about board rooms and investment portfolios. Maybe it's about this too - family, love, apple slices with peanut butter."

Rorie smiled, reaching for her own apple slice. "Well, you're welcome to be part of this family. If you want to be."

"More apple please, Mama!" Lyric interrupted again.

"What do we say?"

"Please and thank you!"

As Rorie prepared more apple slices, Aaron felt something shift inside him. Maybe this was what growing up really meant - not corner offices and power moves, but learning to open your heart to new possibilities, new relationships. Even if they came with sticky-fingered nephews.

"Still can't believe that I have another sister," Aaron mused, watching Lyric happily munch on his snack. "I always thought Athena would be the only one I had to worry about."

"Speaking of Athena," Rorie said, wiping peanut butter from Lyric's hands, "she's been amazing through everything. Coming to races, checking on me during the trial..."

"Yeah, she got Dad's media savvy but Mom's heart, thank God." Aaron paused. "Have you... have you met my mom?"

Rorie's hand went to her bump again, a protective gesture Aaron was starting to recognize. "Not yet. I'm not sure she wants to."

"She asks about you," Aaron admitted. "Tries to be subtle about it, but I can tell she's curious. Especially after everything with that Deja person hit the news."

"All done!" Lyric announced, holding up his clean plate.

"Good job, baby. Why don't you go play with Roscoe for a bit? Stay where I can see you."

As Lyric scampered off to find the dog, Rorie turned back to Aaron. "It's been a lot, honestly. Finding out about Martin, dealing with Deja's betrayal, this pregnancy..."

"But you seem happy," Aaron observed. "Like, genuinely happy."

"I am. Lewis, Lyric, this little one," she smiled, patting her bump. "They're everything."

"The Birkin's not gonna fix what I said about your family in Barcelona," Aaron said suddenly. "But I hope it's a start."

"The fact that you're here, trying - that means more than any bag." She paused. "Though I definitely won't say no to the Birkin."

They both laughed, the tension finally breaking.

"Uncle Aaron!" Lyric called from the living room. "Look at Roscoe's trick!"

"Go," Rorie nodded toward her son. "He's been dying to show someone new how he taught Roscoe to 'high five.'"

As Aaron moved to join his nephew, he felt something he hadn't expected - peace. Maybe they couldn't change the past, couldn't fix their father's mistakes, but they could build something new. Something real.

In the soft lighting of their home studio, Rorie sat at the piano, her phone propped up showing Lewis's face as he lounged in what looked like a Moroccan riad.

"Listen to this part," she said, playing a haunting melody. "I wrote it after Aaron left yesterday. It's about family - the ones we're born with, the ones we choose…"

"That bridge is beautiful, love," Lewis said softly. "How did it go with him?"

"Better than I expected. He's… he's trying. It's weird though, seeing pieces of myself in someone I just met." Her hands drifted over the keys. "He brought Lyric a teddy bear."

She turned the camera to show their son fast asleep on the studio couch, clutching said bear.

"Poor little man couldn't keep his eyes open," Lewis chuckled. "These late studio sessions with Mama are wearing him out."

"Speaking of wearing out," Rorie shifted, their daughter particularly active. "How's Morocco?"

"Incredible. Bittersweet though." Lewis's voice grew thoughtful. "Last season with Merc… feels like the end of an era."

"But the beginning of so much more," Rorie reminded him. "The fashion line, the movie–"

A FaceTime request from Justin Bieber popped up on her screen.

"Oh shit, babe - can I call you right back? It's Justin."

Lewis's expression immediately turned concerned. "Yeah, go take care of it. Probably about Hailey."

Rorie quickly switched calls to find Justin's excited face. "Ror! It's happening!"

She could hear Hailey's controlled breathing in the background. Justin flipped the camera to show Hailey in what looked like the back of an SUV, clearly in labor.

"Oh my God!" Rorie squealed. "My godson is coming! Hang on–" She quickly opened her British Airways app. "There's a 6 AM flight, I can be there by tomorrow afternoon–"

"Breathe, baby, breathe," she heard Justin coaching Hailey.

"We're almost at Cedars," Hailey called out between breaths. "Love you, Ror!"

After they hung up, Rorie quickly texted Lewis: "Hailey's in labor! Can you change your flight to LA instead? 🙏🏾"

His response came immediately: "Already on it. See you tomorrow, love. Tell Hails to hold that baby in till we get there 😂"

______________________________________________

In the private suite at Cedars-Sinai, Rorie couldn't stop staring at the tiny bundle in her arms. Jack Blues Bieber had his father's chin but his mother's delicate features, and he was absolutely perfect.

"Look at his little fingers, Lyric," she whispered to her son, who was perched carefully beside her on the plush hospital chair. "That's your new friend."

"He small," Lyric observed, gently touching Jack's hand.

"You were that small once," Hailey smiled from her bed, looking radiant despite having given birth just hours before.

The door opened as Lewis arrived, laden with gift bags. "The party can start now," he grinned, greeting Justin with their signature handshake. "Congratulations, brother!"

"Thanks man," Justin beamed with new-dad pride. "Look what we made."

Lewis made his way to Rorie, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before dropping one on Lyric's cheek. His eyes went soft as he took in the sight of his wife holding the newborn.

"He's gorgeous, Hails," Lewis said, carefully stroking Jack's dark hair. "Got your nose."

"Thank God," Justin laughed.

"He's perfect," Rorie cooed, her own bump pressing against Jack as she held him. "Aren't you, Jack Blues? The most perfect godson ever."

"This'll be us in a few months," Lewis murmured, his hand finding her bump.

"Speaking of," Hailey sat up slightly, "have you guys decided on a name yet?"

"We have," Lewis smiled mysteriously. "But we're keeping it quiet for now."

"That's not fair," Justin protested. "We told you guys Jack's name months ago!"

"Patience," Rorie laughed, carefully passing Jack to Lewis. "Look at your Uncle Lewis, baby boy. He's going to teach you all about racing."

"And fashion," Lewis added, cradling Jack with practiced ease from his experience with Lyric. "Got to start them young."

"Baby sleep lots," Lyric observed seriously, making all the adults laugh.

"Yes they do, big man," Justin ruffled Lyric's hair. "But soon you'll have a baby sister to play with."

Watching Lewis hold Jack while Lyric peered curiously at the baby, Rorie felt her heart swell. In a few months, they'd be back here, introducing their daughter to the world. But for now, she savored this moment - her best friend's happiness, her husband's gentle way with babies, and the pure joy of new life.

"We did good, didn't we?" Hailey said softly, reaching for Justin's hand.

"The best," Rorie agreed, one hand on her bump. "Welcome to the world, Jack Blues."

TO BE CONTINUED....

Can you believe that we have only 3 chapters left???

Do you like my work? Buy me a coffee to support

[pupwashing]

i ain't even gon hold anyone anymore i lowkey need swansea rape. like... he's not that type of guy AT ALL but i need some swansea pseudo-incest rape. he's my dilf crush so i need to assign him a sleazy pervy second side

-👧🏿nonnie who's so fucking gone

oh my god nonnie.

SWANSEA RAPE? SOUND THE ALARMS! A FIRE IDEA HAS HIT THE TOWER!!!!!!!!

umm I may have gotten carried away with this,,,, TW for noncon, unprotected sex, and a creampie :3

swansea really doesn't fucking like you, has never liked you, and always tries to keep you away from him, but you won't get off his back. you're more annoying than daisuke, and daisuke annoys the ever living hell out of him.

its clear you have some type of issue that just keeps you clinging to him, and there doesn't seem to be much he can do about it.

so when you can't beat 'em, you take advantage of your situation.

you're doe eyed and naive, the perfect target for any low level sleaze to have his way with you, which he plans on doing. you trust him enough to cling to him like a damned leech, so its not hard to get you alone in utility.

even easier for him to get his hand down your pants, and before you realize whats happening, his thick fingers are already scissoring your juicy cunt open.

jesus, you're already soaking wet. he tells himself its because of his old charm, not because of basic biology or whatever. you clearly want this, even if you're crying and struggling against him.

despite being up there in age, swansea's pretty strong. you don't stand a chance against him.

once his fingers are done opening you up, it's time for the main event: his dick.

it's been a while since he's been in this position. his wife doesn't care much for sex anymore, and neither did he, until you came along.

suddenly, his libido's back and better than ever.

one hand clamps down on your mouth in case you try to scream, while the other moves your dainty little panties to the side. your pussy is practically begging him to fuck it, and so he will.

you never thought you'd get raped by a man you considered as a fatherly figure, but life has a way of throwing wrenches into the happy ideals people love to have.

his dick isn't very big, but it is wide, so it feels like theres a battering ram stretching you wide open. it's girthy enough to make your insides feel like mush, to bring tears to your eyes, to make your legs feel like jelly.

every stroke breaks your little heart, piece by piece. you don't know why he decided to do this to you. maybe you should've stayed away when you had the chance.

you don't have time to dwell on your poor judgement, because your thoughts get jumbled with every snap of swansea's hips.

a con of being old is the loss of stamina, and swansea isn't exactly the stud he used to be. gone is the man who could last for hours keeping his partners satisfied, now a bitter old man who would rather work than use his dick.

it was over as quick as it started, ending with swansea painting your gummy walls white. his pull out game isn't like it used to be either.

you collapse as soon as its over. your legs can't handle your weight.

and of course, he simply zips his pants up and leaves. no one goes to utility, so no one would come to your aid.

as you lay on the cold ground, you think. about all the times swansea told you to get lost, or how he would always shoo you away.

but the cold hard truth is that swansea would've done it no matter what you chose to do. he was going to do this anyway. it was just a matter of time.

you were a ticking time bomb, and he was the detonator.

[asarigg]

Inside the Character's Mind: Part 6

CHILDHOOD. SLY AND KOUJAKU. THE AVOIDANT BEHAVIOR: part 3

As if all that wasn’t already enough, at the end of the Re:connect, this happens. Aoba thinks to himself that this is not what Koujaku wanted, as much as Sly wants to think that it is, that he’s in the right. As if what he has done has helped the Koujaku inside, the one who’s like him, the true Koujaku, to come out. As if they could be free inside that cell.

Koujaku reacts to Aoba’s thoughts. Sly thinks for a moment that it’s his imagination, but when Aoba repeats his thoughts, Koujaku says his name. Koujaku, who despite not having articulated a single word all this time, weeks, months, says his name as soon as Aoba “speaks”, that’s what I’m talking about when I mention their spiritual connection, that’s how strong it is. It happening after such a different sex scene, where neither of them can say no, nor show any kind of rejection, is just a reminder that they are both locked away, suffering, and that they will stay there watching this happen day after day until the day they die, not being able to see, or touch, or call each other’s names, or say “I love you” or anything they once wanted to say. They can only just watch each other wither away.

These thoughts of “This isn’t what Koujaku wanted” are very interesting because just like Sly thought, Koujaku really wanted Aoba to accept and love him. But the last thing he wants is having Aoba reciprocate him just because that’s what Koujaku wants. He’d rather be rejected, and even die in the extreme case of the situation hurting Aoba, than having him living something he doesn’t really want, that he doesn’t feel in his heart. Giving himself to Koujaku letting him do whatever he wants without thinking twice, without thinking about his own wishes. A life that doesn’t respect Aoba’s wishes is a nightmare for him. Just like he says in the confession scene “All I can remember is that I didn’t want to touch you like that”.

I mentioned that they don’t treat the tattoo as something that changed Koujaku, but as someone else inside his mind. When Sly appears before him, Koujaku immediately knows that he’s not Aoba, but has a hard time believing it, because physically he’s the same but white. He doesn’t know what’s going on, he can’t process it, but he knows. And the thoughts that tell him that the man in front of him is not Aoba are in red, like someone else’s, with some lowercase and some uppercase, growing more intense as the madness and anger of his tattoo reflects through. Doesn’t it remind you of how Sly’s thoughts appeared in the middle of the screen when Aoba was in charge?

Sometimes I wonder what Sly’s real intention was here. In theory he wants to break Koujaku and bring out the beast because that’s the part of Koujaku that he sees himself reflected in, that destructive entity, his darkest, true side, his pure animal instinct. Exactly what Sly is.

But he still tells the sane Koujaku that he loves him and wants to convince him that he’s Aoba. If that had worked then what would he do next? Because he truly believes that’s what he wanted to hear, and when the narration returns to his point of view he tells us that his love for Koujaku is true. Obviously locked in a cell it would be difficult for anyone to believe him, and Sly wouldn’t get him out of there anyway when he wants to keep Koujaku for himself. But then why does he keep trying to convince him, over and over again, even when Koujaku still doesn’t recognize him as Aoba any time he wakes up? Would he have been satisfied with a sane Koujaku, with those restrictions he hates, just because he accepted his words? It’s only when he sees that Koujaku won’t buy it, no matter what he tells him, that he changes his strategy.

And it’s in this scene that we see Koujaku in control for the last time, and again the last thing he says before losing his mind is Aoba’s name. This ending makes us see how Koujaku once again enters a cycle of abuse. He has gone from being his father’s slave, to Ryuuhou’s, and now Sly’s, and he will probably never get out of that cell alive. He no longer has prayer beads protecting him, only chains imprisoning him.

Sly is aware of what he has done, and he believes that since he has destroyed Koujaku’s consciousness/spirit, it’s only fair that he is the one to destroy his body, not only fair but it even seems like an attractive idea, to die at his hands (Sly try not to be Ryuuhou challenge). I really like this dialogue where Sly tells Koujaku that he can tear off his flesh if he wants, on the condition that he stays. Staying with him, a reflection of his desire to feel loved, accepted, after so many years of abandonment. After hearing Koujaku speak back to Aoba, it must feel like a punch to the stomach to think for a moment that he’s wrong with what he’s chosen for the two of them, to think that Koujaku doesn’t really love him.

Having him locked in a cage somehow is perfect to prevent the slightest chance of Koujaku walking away, as well as keeping him in this state, unable to speak, unable to think, unable to reject him. It’s because of these things that I usually think that at least at the beginning the relationship with Koujaku in a good ending would be quite turbulent. He would like to flirt with Koujaku, but when he realizes that he really feels love for him, he feels vulnerable, weak, and needs to protect himself because the people who were supposed to always be with him and protect him, abandoned him. And Koujaku somehow “abandoned” him once too. So before exposing himself to that, he would rather push Koujaku away. Sly would always come back to him, because as much as he wants to walk away he can’t, he needs Koujaku to stay by his side. It doesn’t matter if it’s love or hate, Sly will take it because it’s intense, real and raw.

Fun fact: Sly and Beast Koujaku both have golden eyes, when they “transform”. Everyone has those three sides of their conscience but Aoba’s just have a distinct personality and identity each, which I think might lead to thinking that beast Koujaku might have a personality of his own. I think he’s somewhere in between, he’s obviously not like them, but he’s definitely his own entity. Like some kind of natural force, like rain, wind, the energy of the cosmos, possessing him, something more abstract than a spirit or god, which we usually see as human or animal-like appearance wise.

The first thing that strikes us when we see Aoba is that his design radically changes. When Sly takes control of his body it’s not like he suffers any physical changes, besides the shine of his eyes, however here he turns completely white. The only time we see something like that happen is when we see the true forms of Sei and Aoba, but those black marks don’t appear. This is what makes me wonder if the white color has something to do with those forms, as if it were some kind of symbolism of Sly “breaking free” and being himself, without restrictions, without Reason, but they don’t add the black marks to not spoil it, or because it looks like shit with the design, or because it simply has nothing to do with that.

The white color is the color of death, mourning, the color with which the deceased are dressed. A sterile color, without impurities, highly related to the spiritual world. Many white flowers are commonly used in funerals, usually Buddhist, such as the white chrysanthemum, used for its meaning of truth and sincerity. Aoba wears a white kimono and also gives one to Koujaku. These traditional elements could be there just to remember Koujaku but nothing in this document could ever be simple of course.

The hair of a dead person is considered to turn white after a certain period of time, meaning that the hair is no longer a source of impurities, it can't be possessed by an evil spirit, and can be transported beyond the border that marks the separation between the sacred realm of the dead and the ordinary world of the living.

His skin, his characteristic blue hair, his eyes and his clothes turn completely white because at this point Aoba is no longer there. Not in a literal sense, of course, but in a figurative sense, Aoba is dead. And this is basically the same thing that happens with Koujaku. They are both reborn, destroyed, spiritually dying so that something else can be created, the ID, the instinct of destruction, the two beasts freed from the bodies that held them prisoners.

His clothes in general resemble those of a Miko, with a more “fantastical” and sexualized appearance. This post talks about it as well. Again it’s a reference to the spiritual realm, their religious side and how Aoba/Sly is an object of devotion, of how Aoba is somewhat a channeler for Koujaku. Just like there are rituals that call the gods to our world, like I’ve said in the section about hair, which serves as a connection with gods, Aoba is the only thing that connects Koujaku with this world, the only reason why he’s still alive.

[trrenchertrash]

The initial tag is mine. The issue is that episode 7 is not about Ekko “learning to trust” an “ideal version of Powder.” It’s about Ekko being reminded who she is. It’s about him realizing that Jinx is still the girl he loves/trusts/remembers from when they were kids. That’s why we’re seeing him bond with AU Powder and that’s why we don’t need to see him do it again with Jinx, because the point is that she’s the same person.

You’re right that it doesn’t develop Jinx, but again, it’s not supposed to. Episode 7 is about Ekko and the way he sees/feels about Jinx. Jinx has been developed all season long and doesn’t need that time the way that Ekko, who has been missing for an entire arc, needs it.

The biggest problem with this argument is that the show does in fact give us everything we need to know about Jinx and what gives her the hope she needs to move on. She tells Vi, “there’s no good version of me,” and then Ekko shows up and tells her, in not so many words, yes there is and I met her. Vi tells Jinx “maybe we can rewrite your story” without understanding that it’s too late for Jinx to go back. Her only way out is to move forward by leaving her past behind, which is exactly what Ekko and Powder talk about in e7 and what Ekko passes along to Jinx in that key moment. He says it’s never too late to build something new, and that he learned that from “someone worth building it for.” Then we see Jinx look at the Z Drive and see her little signature monkeys in there and THAT’S when she changes her mind. We’re supposed to understand that she understands what Ekko is saying to her here and that the reason she finds the strength to move forward is because Ekko is presenting her with proof that what she said to Vi isn’t true. She was wrong about herself, and that’s what changes her mind. We don’t need to see them talk it out in detail and honestly I’m glad we don’t because in this case I think less is more. I can’t imagine anything they could’ve written into Ekko’s mouth that would’ve been more powerful than what we got and I don’t see how anything more they could’ve written wouldn’t have come across fanfictiony and cheap.

It’s one thing to say you wish we got to see more or that you would’ve liked to see more, it’s another thing to criticize the show because it didn’t cater specifically to your desires. There’s no flaw in the storytelling here.

S2 skipping over Jinx and Ekko bonding, rallying zaunites together, and both realizing they can built a new future, motivating them to fight for Zaun is the equivalent of taking s1 ep9 or arcane, keeping it the exact same, except the dinner party scene happens off-screen and we just cut to Jinx blowing up the council.

[hiraizyo]

girl, do you really wanna be my friend?

synopsis — megan needs your help staging a relationship. things get a little out of hand once it comes to public displays.

fake dating trope, non idol au, making out, masc!reader, mature language.

now playing: pretend lovers, montell fish.

a/n: been thinking about meg having a masc gf with a size difference lately… this was the result of that.

“are you fucking kidding me?”

“what is it?” lara asked as soon as she heard megan’s yell of displeasure.

“look at this!” the chinese girl shoved her phone in her friends face. taking it into her hands, lara comes eye to eye with an instagram story of megan’s ex and her new girlfriend.

“oh, yikes…” the redhead muttered lowly, handing the phone back to her. she pursed her lips, feeling pity for her friend.

megan’s previous relationship had only just ended a mere two weeks ago after being together for over ten months. to move on that fast, lara knew it was huge sting to the ginger.

megan flopped onto her back, her elbow almost knocking lara in the process. she groaned loudly, anger running through her whole body. her ex girlfriend had told her multiple times how much megan meant to her, only for her to move with the girl she was supposed to not worry about.

it was absolute bullshit.

“what are you going to do?” lara questioned, moving to lay on her side while resting her head on her propped up arm.

“what can i do?” megan retorted back, staring at the ceiling in hopelessness.

it was enough to have her heart broken over the relationship ending, but seeing the instagram story sent her mind into a deep spiral. hurt, betrayal and rage was all that she felt in the moment.

lara hummed at she contemplated different ideas in her head, trying to figure out the best solution for this.

“oooh wait, i have an idea.” she grinned devilishly, sitting up and crossing her legs.

megan lifted her head, her interest piqued. seeing the look in her friends face, she shuffled upwards until she was laying with her back on the headboard, waiting patiently.

“you should one up her, show her that you’ve moved on too.”

it was a simple idea, one that wouldn’t require much effort — the only question left was who.

that’s when you came in.

lara had the perfect idea for megan to have you act as her newest lover. it wasn’t going to be hard to believe in any case. the indian thought you were exactly megan’s type, and she always imagined that you’d make a great couple.

you were a mutual friend of lara and manon, discovering that when the latter arranged for you to meet her newest group of friends, only to be surprised that you already knew the redhead girl. that was a little over three months ago, and by now you’d made somewhat of a connection with each girl in the group.

two days later, when you were over at lara’s for a short visit, megan had made her request to you while the rest of the girls were busying themselves with playing games on the tv.

you and megan were off to the side, sitting on a two seater couch.

“so… you want me to pose as your rebound?”

it was meant as a taunting remark, but megan, already nervous for asking you this, thought you were serious about it.

“no! no, not a rebound.” she awkwardly scratched the side of her neck, eyes wide. “just maybe as my new… girlfriend?”

her voice squeaked. it was hard not to find her adorably cute.

“i’m just teasing, darling.” the pet name rolled off your tongue out of habit, but it didn’t stop the blush that dusted over megan’s cheeks.

“oh,” she mumbled, looking down. “so, will you? help me with this?”

you grinned, thinking it over in your head.

you weren’t currently involved with anyone, and megan surely seemed like a girl you’d go for. it wouldn’t hurt to do this, even if it was just a once off thing.

“sure.” you agreed after a few seconds.

megan didn’t expect you to say yes, her eyebrows raising up in surprise. the look on her face resembled a fish out of water, mouth hanging ajar.

“o-okay,” she stammered, “cool. okay, thanks yn.”

you chuckled at seeing her like that, all nervous and tense. quickly checking the time on your phone, you noticed you had to leave now in order to be time to pick up your younger sister, hyein, from a friend’s place.

“i’ve gotta go now, but i think we should meet up or you could text me to plan this.” you suggested, pocketing your phone.

megan nodded in agreement, already planning what she’d have you do in her head. when you stood up and stretched, your shirt rose slightly, exposing your lower abdomen. the ginger tried not to let gaze linger, but damn you looked good.

you sauntered over to the group, pressing a kiss to lara and manon’s cheek, ruffling yoonchae’s hair and telling lara to let her parents and sister know you give your regards.

after the game had finished with lara and sophia winning, the former sat herself next to her friend.

“so, did you ask?” she inquired, a teasing smile tugged on her lips. lara played with megan’s fingers absentmindedly, a habit of hers that began the closer they grew.

megan hummed, “yeah, i’m supposed to text her a plan of how it’s going to work.” she used her thumb picked at her finger nails of her free hand, coming up with different scenarios.

“oh cool, do you have anything in mind?”

she shook her head as a way to say no, but it would come to her eventually. megan leaned in closer to lara, speaking in a hushed voice.

“do we let the girls in on this?” she asked, looking over at them as they restarted the game.

yoonchae had taken lara’s place as sophia’s partner in mario kart, so they were all distracted enough for the two girls to discuss their plan.

“maybe only manon, since her and yn are close. but it would be more believable if the rest didn’t know.” lara commented, almost as if she was an expert in this whole faking a relationship ordeal.

megan thought it over, deciding lara was right. the conversation ended, and they watched and laughed as manon and daniela cussed at one another after losing.

a couple days later, you found yourself in megan’s room. she’d texted you, asking to come over in order for her plan to take place. she thought a simple action such a posting a picture on her story would do. after all, it was how she found out hex ex had moved on.

you waited patiently, sitting on megan’s bed and admiring the interior design of her room and the decorations that hung on her walls. there were a couple pictures of her and the girls, a framed photo of her family and a few band posters hanging on her walls.

when megan walked into the room, you turned to her looking like an obedient puppy. she found it funny considering your large stature.

“alright, so like, how are we going to do this?”

the ginger laughed at your eagerness, the frown on your face making her laugh enough me. she gestured with her hand, “follow me.”

megan strolled out the room with you in tow. you were now in the bathroom, with her closing the door behind you.

“i was thinking of a mirror pic, like all those couples do on instagram.” she told you, moving a few things around the bathroom counter top in order to make space.

she faced you, planting her hands face down on the counter and pushed off the ground, sitting down in the surface. the white marble counter had enough space for her to be there, it was long and had a square sink in the middle, with draws underneath it. there was a large mirror behind her, good enough to capture a perfect photo.

megan signaled for you to come closer, handing you her phone. the camera app was already open, awaiting the start of your agreement.

“we should try and make it intimate.” she told you, while you stepped closer to position yourself in between her legs.

you thought of poses you could do before settling on one that thought would definitely send a message she was taken.

placing a hand on her lower back, you looked directly at her.

“is this okay?”

with your height, megan was eye to eye with you, feeling your breath on her skin. she nodded silently, while you slid your hand down until a part of it was tucked into the back of her jeans.

the tank top she wore allowed for her to feel your skin on hers, her heartbeat rising at the feeling. your stepped closer, the proximity making you hyper aware of everything in the room.

megan then wrapped her arms around your neck and you leaned in, near enough for you to tuck your head into her neck. holding the phone up with your right hand, you snapped a couple pictures, hoping it would be enough.

when you finished, megan let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding, her arms unwrapping from behind you. you handed the phone back to her, looking down at what you captured.

“do you think it’ll work?” you questioned.

“mh, i hope so.” she gazed up for a split second.

neither of you realized that you were still so close, the sudden awareness of your proximity caused heat to run through both of your bodies.

she chuckled and stared at down her phone, thinking you both looked amazing.

this would definitely do.

quickly open up imessage, she sent the photo to lara, asking her opinion on it. her nails tapped against the screen, as you watched the words delivered turn into read.

meg <3: *one photo attached*

meg <3: thoughts?

lara responded back almost immediately, her message making both you and megan laugh aloud.

lara 🍒: oh GIRLLL

lara 🍒: that’s so hot !!!

lara 🍒: pls tell me ur posting it

megan typed a quick message to her, and then opened up instagram to post it on her story. she captioned it ‘mine ;)’ and placed her phone down on the counter when she was done.

you stepped back, titling your head. “was there anything else you needed?”

the chinese began to think of any other ways for the two of you to sell the ruse, suddenly remembering a party that adéla would be throwing this upcoming weekend.

“actually, my friend is having something this saturday.” she informed you, leaning back on her hands. “i don’t know if my ex will show up, but it’d be great to have you there either way.”

“you got it, gorgeous.”

that was how you ended up standing with megan in a room full of people that you didn’t know. the rest of the kats’ were scattered around different parts of the house, enjoying the party with their own entertainment.

the music boomed loudly in your ears as you weaved through the dancing crowd, trying to make your way over to megan on the other side.

“here you go.” you handed her the drink she’d ask for a few moments ago. she flashed you a light smile, telling you thanks while you took a sip of your own.

you and megan began conversing over the marvel cinematic universe, discussing your favorite movies and characters of the franchise. her voice occupied your attention, hanging on to every word.

then, as if it was happening all in slow motion, her eyes caught sight of her ex over your shoulder.

megan stilled, stopping herself mid sentence. you noticed this as you looked at her in confusion. she gazed at her ex girlfriend, before she looked back at you, her voice low. she placed her hand on your back, bringing herself closer.

“she’s here.”

you tried to sneak a glance, craning your neck to the side and looking over your shoulder. “the ex?”

“uh huh.” she confirmed.

megan glanced for a second time, quick enough to notice her ex looking, but also quick enough for her not be caught staring. she was holding hands with a woman, but her attention was on the ginger. megan could feel eyes burning holes into the side of her head once she placed her gaze back on you.

carefully, she set her drink down on a surface nearby. she whispered lowly, leaning in closer until you could feel her breath fan against your skin. megan’s eyes looked up into yours, holding hints of a question and nervousness.

“can i kiss you?”

the question fell from her lips quickly. it caught you off guard, almost knocking the air out of you. your mind spiraled. you knew at some point you and megan would have to kiss in order to sell the scheme of your fake relationship, but now it was becoming a reality.

you cleared your throat, taking in a deep breath.

"sure, yeah, that— that's fine." stumbling over your words, you pat your thigh softly with your hand, as if to remind yourself this was really happening.

megan giggled one last time at your reaction and your attempt at composing yourself. her hand was still on your back, moving down slowly until it rested on the lower part. she began to fill the gap, gazing up at you for a final confirmation, before her eyes fluttered closed as she pressed her lips against yours.

the kiss was sweet, albeit a little bit tentative, but it was nice nonetheless. megan’s lips were soft, and you could taste the sweetness of her strawberry lipgloss.

as you pulled away, your lips hovered over hers, quietly mumbling, “i think we can do better than that if we really want to convince her.”

megan frowned, “huh?”

you placed your own cup down on a table beside you, and leaned down to capture her lips again. your left hand was now cupping her jaw while the other went to hold her waist, lightly pressing her against the wall.

megan gasped into your mouth, her eyelids falling closed while her hand on your back pressed deeper into the material of your t-shirt. her free hand fell to hook her fingers into the belt loops of your jeans, pulling you closer by the waist.

this time, the kiss was rougher but still had a tinge of gentleness to it. her lips moved against yours in a rhythm that seemed as if you’d done this before. everything around you began to fade away, feeling only megan; her hand bunching up your t-shirt in a fist, her delicate lips, her chest moving up against yours.

time seemed to slow as you pulled away from one another, being so close that you were sure she could feel your heartbeat. megan’s eyes were still closed for a short second before they opened again and she gazed at you with a hazy glint. the both of you were breathing heavily, the kiss clearly taking an effect.

you were the first to speak, eyes still trained on her lips. “do you think that did it?”

megan looked lost, momentarily forgetting where she was and why she was doing this in the first place. she breathed, slowly. her voice was hoarse when she finally replied.

“yeah,” she swallowed, “mh, definitely.”

should i do a part 2? 😋

[0rczy]

I really like analyzing Varigo, one thing I've noticed recently is how different their approach to romance (and human connections in general) really is, but also how they're pretty much the perfect foils in this regard.

Varian grew up sheltered away in their mansion. He didn't have much clue about socializing, so when Rapunzel came to him, he gives all of them proper respect (calling Rapunzel "Princess", Eugene "Flynn Rider", as in the full name). You could assume it's because of his dad; later when the two confronted each other, Varian called him "Sir". Probably because Quiring taught him to be respectful of others, and they both clearly take this social rule rather seriously.

So then Cassandra comes in and saves Varian, for apparently no selfish reasons. She likely just didn't want to have a child get crushed when she could've prevented it, but to Varian, this changes his view on people. Cassandra isn't just a distant figure to respect; instead, someone he could have a connection with. And this is where one of Varian's most essential traits come to light: when comfortable, he treats situations like an experiment. He immediately starts calling her by a nickname, "Cassie", to see how she would react. At the day of the expo, he keeps trying out different tactics, trying to essentially just get close to Cassandra. One could Interpret this romantically, but I personally like to think he just really wanted a friend. A lonely kid, seeing someone cool show any kind of affection for him immediately made him go "there could be something here! I need to find out!", and so he does. In his own, nerdy way.

Hugo, on the other hand. He, unlike Varian, grew up having to socialize all the time. Having to talk his way out of situations constantly, he learned to put up walls so that the most desirable results come out, benefiting him and his missions. When he weasels his way into the Team, he also calls them nicknames. In his case, it stems from a need to distance himself from people, so that he doesn't get attached. One slight exception though is Varian, as Hugo seemingly not only uses nicknames on him to keep up built-up walls, but to get a reaction out of him. This is very similar to how Varian approached Cassandra when he was younger. He's interested in Varian from early on, and he handles this in his good old Hugo fashion, because he finds Varian entertaining. Varian at first doesn't trust Hugo, but when he proves himself trustworthy, he gives in. He's willing to reach out, making Hugo more than a means to an end. Eventually, the two become friends! Then more than friends!

And then, their approaches change.

I'd like to think that it was Hugo, who fell first. Or at the very least, he's the first to realize it, and he HATES THIS. His flight or flight is activated, and he really wants to flee. He's the type to ignore his feelings, try to bury them. That's all he knows how to do, really. Especially because for what could be the first time in his life, he's actually falling for someone who is his friend. Someone who means a lot to him! He wouldn't want to ruin things, especially because he knows that betraying Variant will break the guy's heart, once he finds out. Therefore, the less pain, the better.

Varian is the exact opposite of this. It takes him a long time to figure out what he feels, and that it could be romantic (he didn't exactly have the history with romance before. The "puppy crush" on Cassandra could have easily been more of an obsession with the possibility of someone showing affection towards him). But once he realizes that there's a chance that the two could be a thing? He doesn't have to think hard about what his next step should be: he likes Hugo, and he's a scientist. Trial and error is practically in his blood at this point, so if there's even a small possibility of them getting together? That Hugo likes him back? Varian will do anything to find out how probable his theory is. And so, once again, he treats the situation like an experiment. Wasting no time, he tries to confess or bring up the idea as quickly as possible. And Hugo FREAKS OUT. He's not ready!

Varian's other big trait is his stubbornness. He's not satisfied with an uncertain answer. He wants to know Hugo's view on them, as clearly as possible. So he keeps poking around, trying to find an approach that brings out different reactions, different answers as to why Hugo would be scared of them being together. Again. Really similar to how he treated Cassandra at the expo back then. This is the only way he knows how, though. And he needs clear answers.

He gets one at the last trial. Boom. Heartbreak. This isn't about angst though, so I'll end it here.

I find them so interesting. How their upbringing influenced their view and approach to people, to friendship, to romance. To each other. They are both scientists, but one is more afraid of the results than the other.

So it all boils down to the importance of clear communication: another big theme in Vat7k, what with Ulla and Donella setting an example as what not to do.

I could ramble about these characters for ages, but yeah. This is my view on them, I loooove reading different Interpretations in fan fiction though!

[olderthannetfic]

www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/771823370694213632

You need the say the bit about the way canon treats characters way louder because I really think that the way the character is... framed, I guess? accounts for huge chunks of it.

I remember when the Disk Horse was about Finn vs. Kylo Ren from the Star Wars sequel trilogy and I got called racist for trying to point out that Finn was always framed as the comic relief/unserious by the canon. He has a character arc in the first movie, but his emotions and his trauma and his personality are mostly played for laughs (ha! ha! Black janitor guy is scared because he's a coward! - and him being a janitor is a change that came pretty late, he was originally meant to be the top of his class). OTOH Kylo Ren has the camera linger on his anguished face while sad music plays and he monologues about the moral conflicts that he's facing.

The average viewer/reader - especially in the case of visual media - doesn't really stop watching to form non-prejudiced independent opinions on every character (and really shouldn't if your narrative is well-constructed!), that'd take up too much of their mental bandwidth! They let themselves be guided by how things and people are framed, so of course they'd see Ren as Serious and Tragic and Finn as the funny guy, which is inherently less sexy to most people!

Same thing with F/F: when canon treats its women with any degree of complexity and gives them the sort of character traits that are conductive to blorbofication people are all over it!

My dash's been drowning in Rhaenycent for a year now, and that's a show that arguably sorta botched its female characters in the attempt to make them complex! But it doesn't matter, because they set up all these juicy dynamics and the fans are all over it!

Fans LOVE Claudia from IWTV even though the tragedy of her canonical role is that the guys always sideline her for each other.

I went to the Anora tag after seeing the movie and saw a bunch of Anora x reader fic in between the gifs the same way I did for Feyd Rautha from Dune or any other feral unhinged character fans love imagining themselves having sex with (and then blocked it lol).

Like, my taste in women and men is exactly the same but the large majority of characters that fit it are men, because we just don't get a lot of women who are composed, charming rogues on the outside and crippled traumatized messes on the inside, with a narrative that gives this sufficient weight, and also lets them be feral and unhinged. And I actually prefer minority characters because where I'm from I'm from a minority group myself, but again, most of them don't fit the bill personality-wise or framing-wise.

Fandom's a hobby and it's meant to be fun - I'm not gonna be constantly swimming uphill from what the canon is trying to present to me just because a character shares a demographic category with me. I think this is the case for most people, really.

--

My read on a lot of this is that people are sad about the status quo (fair) and are lying to themselves that the culprits are nearby where they can reach them.

If we confront the fact that the real source is the director or the cinematographer or the studio head, it all feels so much more insurmountable.

Of course, one can opt for niche, indie media, but a lot of people don't want to do that, so they fall back on this shitty coping mechanism of pretending that they can yell at the people around them and effect meaningful change.

[caffedrine]

Clavis and Matias - Christmas Special: The Beasts' Drink - Event Translation

Thank you to @otomehoneyybearr for providing the script for this event.

This is a poor attempt at a fan translation, so take everything with a grain of salt. For a better translation, buy this when it comes out on the ENG server.

On a winter day as Christmas approaches, at the Rhodolite Castle—

Matias: At Rhodolite’s Christmas, the tree is decorated with roses, huh?

Matias: It’s truly beautiful. I hope to visit here someday with my bride. Ah, I’m looking forward to that day.

Matias: In a romantic atmosphere filled with the rich fragrance of roses, as I sit closely with my bride and suddenly—…

Clavis: Still as much of a pervert as ever, huh? I’m relieved, Matias.

Clavis: If that fantasy were to somehow become a reality—

Clavis: As your friend, I’d arrange an exciting, heart-pounding Christmas date in Rhodolite for you.

Matias: I am not a pervert… However, I appreciate that offer.

Matias: I wonder if you could create a scenario where just a touch of our fingertips would make our shy couple draw closer together.

Clavis: Haha, your detailed setting just makes you even more of a pervert. So, in other words, you just want to be lovey-dovey?

Matias: To put it bluntly, that’s exactly right.

Clavis: Then leave it to me.

Clavis: I will set up all sorts of love traps in the rose garden of this castle to physically bring you and your bride closer together.

Clavis: After that, I’ll personally cook up some exquisite dishes that you won’t be able to resist.

Clavis: Because it’s for an important guest and a friend, I won’t hold back. I’ll provide you with delights worthy of a perfect Christmas.

Matias: …You’re going to do it yourself, huh… I appreciate the offer.

Clavis: What’s wrong?

Matias: There’s a huge difference between your idea of the perfect Christmas and mine.

Matias: For instance, that special Christmas candle you once made…

Clavis: Ah, you mean that masterpiece I made during our student days?

Matias: A few years ago, the students who found it stored in the dormitory’s warehouse used it for the candlelight event.

Matias: That’s right, at the largest royal school candle night event held by Acroite.

Clavis: That must have been quite a lively event. It was a genius creation, if I may say so myself.

Matias: ...It was indeed lively.

Matias: When it was lit, the rainbow-colored smoke shot up extraordinarily.

Matias: No one could stop laughing to the point of collapse.

Matias: And just when we thought the smoke was clearing, there was a strange creature resembling Santa drawn on the snow.

Matias: It sparked a detective show among everyone present, wondering if it was some code…

Matias: In any case, the scene was tumultuous.

Clavis: That sounds like a delightful Christmas, right?

Matias: It’d be fine for a party among men, but a date with my bride calls for something more romantic.

Clavis: Is that so? Just imagine. In front of the rising rainbow smoke, your bride shouts, ‘Kyaa, Prince Matias!’

Clavis: What do you say to protect her?

Matias: ‘It’s okay. No matter what happens, I will protect you. So, would it be alright if I held your hand to make you feel safe?’

Matias: ...Nodding, my bride's warm hand touches mine…

Clavis: Successfully holding hands naturally, and suddenly, as the smoke clears, you see her smiling face, right?

Matias: Seeing her adorable smile, I would say, ‘Your smile is truly lovely.’ To which she replies, ‘I’m so happy!’

Matias: The two of us smiling at each other, a bit of tension melts away-

Clavis: And then Santa appears.

Matias: ‘This happy holy night, where the distance between us has shrunk, might be a gift from Santa.’

Matias: As I whisper this, my bride shyly says, ‘I want to get even closer…’ Ah, it’s wonderful!

Matias: You truly are a genius, Clavis.

Clavis: Right? Right?

Matias: Oh, there’s no doubt about it. I definitely want to entrust my Christmas date to you.

Matias: And when you enjoy Christmas in Acroite with me and my bride, please leave it to me!

Clavis: In that case, prepare the finest shovel for me!

Matias: Understood. Now, let’s toast to our unchanging friendship.

Clavis: Ah, cheers with the most delicious juice!

[ssentimentals]

Hi, are you only take requests from the prompt? I’m gonna leave my request and if you want to write it I’ll be really happy…🙏🏼

So the reader is also a singer but her brother is one of the f1 drivers can be Sainz or Leclerc, and she is dating (can be S.Coups, Joshua or Wonu) and they meet for the first time at the GP and get along really well .

Thanks 🤍🤍🤍

oh my god. my dear anonie. i have no hope left that you are still here, but in case you are - i am so, so sorry for catching up so late with this wonderful message. i was focused on prompts and my inbox was floored. but i got to it now and i am hoping that you'll like it!! sorry again :((

seungcheol + singer!reader (carlos sainz's sister)

seungcheol had many nerve-wracking moments in his life. his first ever performance, first tour abroad, performance on international festival, performance in front of a president for god's sake. but nothing really made him as nervous as he is now, entering the race venue. for all his bravado on being the fearless leader, seungcheol feels fear gripping his heart at the thought of meeting your brother. he tries to tell himself that it's all good - it's not like cheol has anything to hide and it's not like your brother is some kind of-

'is that carlos? oh my god, it is! carlos! carlos, carlos sainz!'

right. no biggie. seungcheol follows the direction of running and screaming girls and instantly clocks familiar red posters and dozens people with cameras around. he pauses and pulls his cap even lower, taking a deep breath. you can do this, he pep talks himself, slowly coming closer. so what that he's a famous f1 driver? so what that he looks like one punch from him will send me flying to the next wall? it's all good, all good. seungcheol notices you too when he comes as close as fans allow him to; you're standing not far from your brother, looking beautiful in red ferrari merch, smiling happily at the sight of people swooning over carlos. seungcheol lets himself enjoy these few moments of just looking at you without you noticing, just taking you in. he saw thousand photos of you from your concerts and red carpets, even more from your ads and magazines, but nothing beats just looking at you up close. your beauty never fails to amaze him; he still has no idea how he managed to make you his. sometimes it all does feel like fever induced dream from his part.

'sorry, excuse me,' seungcheol makes his way through the fangirls and photographers, waving a little when you notice him. your face lights up at the sight of him and his heart skips a beat - how did he get so lucky? waving him over, you giggle loudly when he hugs you tight. 'hello, gorgeous.'

'you made it!' you squeal, hugging him even tighter before pulling back. 'you weren't replying, i thought maybe something else came up.'

'sorry babe, just wanted to surprise you.' seungcheol is relieved that for once cameras are not pointing at you two; he confidently wraps his arm around your waist. 'everything's okay?'

you nod, smiling. 'i'm so excited! it's been a while since i came to the race.' your eyes drift to your brother's tall figure before looking back at your boyfriend. 'are you ready to meet my brother?'

seungcheol hopes his smile is convincing. 'of course i am. i'd love to.'

you see through his acting and squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. 'you have nothing to worry about, cheollie. he's amazing and he already knows so much about you!'

seungcheol gulps. he knows exactly what? does he know that he made you cry one month agoo during your fight? does he know that he gets weirdly possessive over you? does he know this or does he also know that seungcheol makes sure you have a bouquet waiting for you in every single hotel you stay whenever you're touring or that since you came into his life he never had eyes for anyone else? what exactly does carlos sainz know?

'come meet cheollie, carlos!' you wave at your brother, who walks over to your side, eyes trained on seungcheol.

seungcheol does not tremble. he does not shiver. he's a world class performer and he puts on his best smile and shakes carlos's hand with what he hopes is an adequate amount of strength. carlos's raised eyebrow tells him that he fucked up that one. 'nice to finally meet you,' carlos says, voice rather friendly even if his face remains impassive.

'likewise,' seungcheol says and tries to come up with something else, hating his own short answer: 'uh- happy to be here! on the race, i mean. good luck today, beat everyone.'

carlos tilts his head and chuckles. 'it's just a free practice today, race is on sunday.'

next to him, you snicker and seungcheol feels how tip of his ears burn in shame. god, what a way to go. right when he's scrambling for words to say, carlos saves him with a friendly pat on the shoulder: 'it's okay. you know nothing about racing, right?'

'i'll teach him everything!' you volunteer, snuggling closer to his side. seungcheol is thankful for your support and he's also happy that carlos doesn't point out anything about your pda. 'by sunday he'll be your main fan, carlito.'

'i already am!' seungcheol rushes to say. 'a fan, big fan, i mean.'

carlos is nice enough to let his awkwardness slide. his eyes linger on the way seungcheol's arm is wrapped around his sister's waist, but he says nothing. 'let's go to the paddock, you'll meet my team.'

seungcheol has a running suspicion that he fucked everything up, but the way you glow happily makes him think otherwise. he leans in, kissing your cheek and smiling at the way you lean more towards him; it feels so good to be able to do this without worrying. 'are you happy?' seungcheol asks, not being to look away from your shining face.

'i am,' you confirm, turning to him. 'you are here, my brother is here, it's a race weekend! everything is great.' you reach out, caressing his cheek. 'he likes you. i can tell, don't worry.'

'i am making a fool of myself in front of him,' seungcheol whispers, very close to whining. 'tell him that i am not like that usually.'

'i know how you are usually,' carlos suddenly says, turning to him with a wide smile. 'she tells me everything. always gushes about you.' carlos pauses, letting them catch up with him. he jokingly slaps seungcheol's shoulder. 'you're putting that bar very high, my friend.'

seungcheol rarely blushes but he is sure that his face is all red now. it feels undeserving to have carlos praise him like this, for some reason.

'he makes me happy!' you proclaim, making seungcheol's heart squeeze in his chest.

carlos's gaze softens and he reaches out, gently ruffling your hair. 'i know he does, bebe. it's good.' he then turns to seungcheol: 'you better keep it that way.'

seungcheol clears his throat. 'planning on it.'

carlos nods, satisfied. 'good. now let's go and turn you into tifosi.'

a/n: what a crossover this is :D hopefully you liked it, let me know! - nini

find more seventeen works HERE

find more formula 1 works HERE

[stylesluxx]

all of the girls you loved before – a. hotchner

[warnings: none]

summary: in which y/n is grateful for aaron's experiences – inspired by all of the girls you loved before by taylor swift

word count: 773

main masterlist

You've heard the stories before, the whispered mentions of the women that had come before you. Each one left a mark on him, a trace you sometimes wondered if you could see in the way he moved, the way he held you when you felt his steady hands against your back. Aaron Hotchner didn't often talk about them, but in the quiet moments, their presence lingered like a ghost in the room, a history you couldn't touch but could feel.

It wasn't jealousy, exactly. It was more the weight of knowing you weren't his first love, that he had lived entire lifetimes before you. Maybe you'd catch him staring off into the distance, his jaw tight as memories flickered across his face. You never pried, though the questions sometimes bubbled at the back of your throat. He would have told you if he wanted to, you reminded yourself.

But tonight was different. Tonight, something between you shifted.

You were sitting together on the porch, the soft hum of autumn night air around you, the distant sounds of traffic on the street below a low murmur. The team was away on a case, but for once, he wasn't. He had stayed behind, citing exhaustion, though you knew it wasn't just about fatigue. He needed time. Space. And you were here for him, silently offering the support he rarely let himself ask for.

Aaron sipped his drink, his fingers grazing the glass as he looked out into the darkened sky. You followed his gaze, wondering where his mind had drifted this time. His silence wasn't unusual, but there was a tension tonight that made the air between you feel thicker than usual. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft, like he wasn't sure he was ready for the words.

"I don't think I've ever told you about Haley."

His ex-wife. You'd heard her name before, of course, but he rarely mentioned her. Even now, years after her death, the grief still hung in his eyes when he did. You turned slightly, giving him your full attention, heart tightening as you prepared yourself for whatever he needed to say.

"She was... everything to me. For a long time." He let out a breath, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass. "And when I lost her, I didn't think I could feel that way again. About anyone."

You didn't speak, just listened, knowing this wasn't something you could fix. This was something he had to let out, piece by piece.

"I wasn't looking for this, for us." His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world stopped turning. "But somehow, you're here."

He shifted, setting his drink aside and taking your hand in his. His fingers were warm against yours, grounding you as his gaze softened, the weight of years of pain and love swirling in his eyes.

"I used to think the past would always have this hold on me, that I'd never be able to let go of all the girls I loved before. But then I realized... they led me here. To you."

Your breath caught, the weight of his words pressing into your chest. You didn't need him to explain further. You knew what he meant—that every love, every loss, every heartbreak had shaped him into the man sitting beside you. And somehow, through all of it, he had found his way to you.

He squeezed your hand, a silent reassurance that he was here, with you, now.

"I don't regret any of it," he continued, his voice quieter now. "Because without it, I wouldn't have you. And that's something I wouldn't trade for anything."

The tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them, the emotion of his confession wrapping around your heart. You'd always known there was a part of him that would forever belong to the past, to Haley, to the life he had before. But now, hearing him say it, you realized it wasn't about competing with those memories. It was about understanding that you were part of his story now, a chapter he hadn't expected but cherished all the same.

You leaned in, resting your head on his shoulder as he pulled you closer, the unspoken understanding settling between you. There was no need for more words, not tonight. You both knew that love wasn't about erasing the past—it was about accepting it, embracing it, and realizing that every step along the way had led to this moment.

And in that moment, you realized something too.

You were glad for all the girls he loved before, because without them, without everything he had been through, you might never have found your way to him.

And now that you had, you weren't going to let go.

[AN: oh hey... I think I'm going to do febuwhump to get out of my writing slump. I'll keep you guys updated. I also have a ko-fi account now??? no pressure but it's link in my navigation and here! and of course... my taglist. lmk your thoughts. love you byeee]

[snackugaki-jestsjapesjokes]

ヤッホー ！！スナクがきついたよ！°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

でも 日本語が少し分かります

ngl my ass had to whip out my old dictionary because I doubt my reading level is a solid N5 when I don't practice as often as I should. also since japanese is my third language so idk, I'm gonna try ok

so! i do rag on and bully these poor turtles a lot but the kanji on them is very like.... gymbro style "fire", "dragon", "strength" type of tattooing or marking oneself. Which does fit considering Bay splinter taught them ninjutsu from a book he found while sweeping the sewers. To me, they're canonical ninjaboos (affectionate).

but usually it's like a motto or a mantra or an oath that's tattooed if ever but that's neither koko nor soko

_ _ _

starting with Leo's bandana

So yeah, confirmed for 息子, musuko. more or less. looks like 'musu' is missing a few strokes plus a few misplaced ones. anyway. looks like it was written on with a paint pen. i would think splinter wrote it because it just seems kinda weird for Leo to have written it himself. i don't have the linguistic perspective to describe why it seems weird to just have "son" on his mask. "blue son" would be less weird actually, "beloved son" would work. "upstanding son". but just "son" is like... idk man, ig, they replaced it with a bunch of staples in 2016 so moot

I cannnnnot get a clean shot of his shell kanji the only clear part is 子

three zero action figure of Out of the Shadows Leonardo

I got this from the figure but even zoomed in I can't make heads or tails of the first kanji, i feel like this puzzle is for someone whose first language is japanese

visually something about the top kanji makes me think about those "fonts" that arbitrarily assign kanji radicals to the english alphabet to "spell" things. at most it looks like whatever kanji it is it has the 勹 radical other than that? a mystery to me

_ _ _

now for Raph's 憤

which is an example of what I mean by gymbro-style "dragon" or "strength" tattoos in that 憤 is not exactly a word by itself, it's part of a word or I guess concept would be better? either way it's like writing "indig" instead of "indignation"

憤慨 fungai, is "indignation", technically it IS also "anger" in that when you resent someone you're also a little angry at them. Which considering... Raph does a lot of resenting, he resented being benched, he resented not being told about the purple ooze, he resented Leo for disregarding not only his but also Mikey's input.

i guess if you wanted to keep 憤 then 憤激 (fungeki) fury would work?

i think the funniest thing is the font choice for 憤 as it's written on his bandana because it's like a very official for-use-in-textbooks type of font. like the kind of font for government buildings or legal documents.

tried to find in-movie examples alas, three zero coming in clutch with the clearest details for at least the Out of the Shadows designs. but. looks like another chopping problem where there's 憤 and 怒 which together don't really make a word. although 怒 oko from 怒るokoru which is the "angry" you use when you say things like "I'm angry!" again, both kanji are written with the legal document font which: haha heehee

獣 confirmed though i'd go so far as to guess he meant for it be "brute" either way it hurts a little because the connotation is like "unthinking beast compared to thinking human", like the whole sort of "the difference between 'animal' and 'man' is like logic/reason/empathy whatever". especially since this is his 2014 design when he was accusing April of taking pictures of the freaks to show her friends

_ _ _

now for donnie's 明

i think this is another case of just putting in a piece of a word. 明 by itself is like the phenomenon of something being visually bright and the light we see but i'm guessing they were thinking of trying to put adjectives on them for in-jokey sort of design tells. in that case I would have opted for like 説明 setsumei (explanation) which.... explains itself ba dum tss or i guess on a more serious take 明確 meikaku (precise, clear, definite) which is bay Donnie with his habit of expressing the probability of something happening in percentages down to the like 8th decimal place

_ _ _

annnd Mikey's 仲

This one was a little frustrating as the most handwritten looking one. at one point I swore it looked like 5 TH but whether the top mark is a 5 or an S or even a 己 at a stretch. again it seems someone who might have a passing familiarity with how hanzi/kanji works possibly swiped a part because given 仲 I'd have went with 仲間 nakama yes like from One Piece, comrade, the kind you go up to bat for or fight a shark man with a chainsaw for a nose. hell 仲良し nakayoshi the shoujo manga magazine?! good friend/close friend, Mikey can be anyone's nakayoshi and if you're not careful to stay aloof Mikey will instantly consider you nakama.

hoo, yeah, those are my best guesses idk man

Okay nertles, I need Bayverse help on my little investigation and appreciation journey. Today I’m looking into the kanji on the turtle designs, please help me fill in the blanks and correct me!

Leonardo’s shell has a painted 子 for son, and also “ne” sign of the rat in the zodiac (which isn’t just interesting in the Splinter way, but in the way that the ninja turtles were first conceived of in 1983 but published in May of 1984, making the franchise’s “birth year” the year of the Rat). His bandanna tails either say 忍 子 patience and son or just son 息子

Raphael’s scarification on his right arm, bandanna, and shell are all the same, “憤”indignant/hate, but beneath it on his shell is “怒” which means to get angry (like ok, we get it), and his bandanna appears to say “beast” 獣.

Donatello’s bandanna tails have bright 明 on them.

And Michelangelo has this, and I can’t find anyone talking about this at all but it looks like poorly written kanji for naka, go-between/relationship “仲”, which would make so much sense with his being the heart of the group and most socially outgoing.

I’m so sure there’s more, pretty sure Mike and Don both also have shell paint but I can’t find good screens. Will update this as people add if they do.