#couldn't find an english source

[electrosquash]

Follow the news. The Folkwang Museum's cancelling of Anaïs Duplan's exhibition (and still profiting from his work) is not the only institution overreacting preemptively in light of the current crackdown of israel-critical voices on a slippery slope to fascism.

These developments didn't just start with Hamas' attack on Israel of Octobre 7th:

But the political landscape is using its performative solidarity with Israel to restrict fundamental rights more and more especially with the rightwing parties heating up the migration debate again and the Ampel dropping all semblance of a backbone. And they aren't nearly done - keep in mind the upcoming elections where everyone wants a piece of AfD's fascism pie as they are projected to reach majority in three states.

[harminuya]

A 28-year-old transgerder woman was killed in her apartment in Armenia. May she rest in peace 🕯

[depoteka]

i may have years of education (including uni) but i will never overcome my greatest fear which is: native english speakers

[rpgmakerds]

SOMEONE POSTED THE REST OF THE CHOU SHOUNEN TANTEIDAN NEO ENGLISH DUB (excluding episodes 10,11, and 4) AS WELL AS EPISODES 7 AND 6 OF THE SUB ONLINE!!!!! IM SO HAPPYYYY

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　SLEEPLESS NIGHT

spencer reid x reader

SUMMARY: Where Spencer finally has a night to sleep at his apartment with his girlfriend, but the current case doesn't even let him close his eyes, leading him to study the files until ungodly hours. But who said that Y/N can sleep away from him?

WARNING: Slightly mention of age gap (reader is still in college), tooth rotting fluff.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Spencer hated bringing work home, and he had two very specific reasons for it. First, he loathed the idea of mixing his work life with his personal life. The BAU was a constant source of darkness; gruesome crimes, twisted minds, and the unrelenting pressure to solve the unsolvable.

His home was the opposite: a place of light and warmth, a refuge from the horrors that haunted him on a daily basis. But more importantly, home was where Y/N was. She was the one person who could pull him from the depths of his thoughts, her mere presence offering a calm that he couldn't find anywhere else. She was his life, his anchor, and his sanctuary.

Their time together was sacred, especially with the demands of his job taking him away so often. Whether he was chasing unsubs across the country or spending endless hours poring over case files at the BAU, being away from Y/N was the hardest part of his job. When he was home, he wanted to be fully present, to make up for the time he lost while he was away.

He cherished the quiet moments, the lazy evenings where they could simply exist together without the weight of the world bearing down on him. He wanted to give her every ounce of his attention, to make her feel just how much she meant to him.

But then, there were nights like tonight, when the case followed him home despite his best intentions, forcing him to divide his focus in a way that always left him feeling guilty.

The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, filtered through the sheer curtains that hung over the windows. The clock on the nightstand read 2:37 AM, its gentle green glow a quiet reminder of how late it had become.

Spencer lay on his back, his eyes trained on the ceiling, though his mind was far from still. It raced, chasing the loose ends of the case, replaying details, searching for the missing link that could unravel everything. The unsub was smart, meticulous in his planning, calculating in his movements. It was unnerving, the way this case was so close to home, right here in Quantico.

Hotch had granted the team a rare night to return home and rest, knowing the work would pick up again with relentless intensity in the morning. Spencer knew he should be grateful for the chance to sleep in his own bed, to hold Y/N close, and let her warmth lull him into rest. But sleep felt impossible.

Beside him, Y/N slept soundly, her body curled against his. One arm rested across his chest, her hand fisting tightly the fabric of his white shirt and her hand tucked beneath his shoulder, as if even in sleep, she sought him out. Her breathing was soft and even, the slow rise and fall of her chest a soothing rhythm against his side.

Spencer turned his head slightly, watching her. She looked peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep, the faintest hint of a smile still lingering on her lips, probably remains of a dream. His heart clenched with love, a wave of warmth and tenderness washing over him.

With a soft sigh, Spencer slid his right arm beneath her, his hand resting gently on her back, the warmth of her skin seeping through the fabric of the sweater she wore - his sweater. He brought his other hand down to her bare leg, carefully shifting her until her right one draped across his thighs, her body instinctively curling closer to him, almost laying fully above him.

His fingers trailed softly along her thigh, the smooth skin warm beneath his touch. The gesture was soothing, grounding him in the present moment, in the feel of her against him. His thumb stroked lazy circles on her flesh, his touch light and reverent, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of her - as if he already didn't had each part of her craved inside his head.

He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment as he breathed in the familiar, comforting scent of her hair. It was a mixture of her shampoo and something uniquely hers, a scent that had always brought him comfort. His lips brushed against the delicate skin of her closed eyelids, another kiss pressed to her temple. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her hand tightening its grip on his shirt.

His right hand traveled across the fabric of his sweater, slipping below it, his fingertips sliding higher, brushing against the bare skin of her back. She was so warm, her skin so soft, and the feel of her made something inside him settle, if only for a moment. He continued to stroke her thigh with one hand, his other one gently massaging the muscles of her back, feeling the way her body relaxed further into him.

He stared at her for a long moment, his mind flickering between her and work. He didn’t want to leave her alone in bed, didn’t want to let it drag him away from her. Spencer knew Y/N deserved a good night's sleep more than anyone. She had been tirelessly studying for her college finals, always the most academically involved and dedicated in her class, which caused her to staying up late, buried in textbooks and research papers - just as he spent sleepless nights away on cases.

But even as he held her close, the details of the case gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, refusing to be ignored.

With a reluctant sigh, he carefully began to shift, his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb her. His hand on her thigh slid away, and he gently eased her leg off his hips, tucking it back beneath the blankets. She mumbled softly in her sleep, her body instinctively moving toward his warmth even as he slipped out from under her.

Spencer sat up, pausing for a moment as he watched her stir. Her hand reached for him in her sleep, her face burrowing further into his pillow as if searching for his scent. The sight made his chest tighten with both affection and guilty.

With one last glance at Y/N, Spencer stood, moving with the quiet precision of someone who was used to slipping away in the dead of night. He padded silently out of the bedroom, the soft sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet beneath his feet.

The apartment was shrouded in a heavy, comfortable darkness, the only sound breaking the quiet being the distant hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Spencer moved with practiced silence, stepping lightly through the familiar space until he reached the small room they’d turned into a makeshift office. It was cluttered with his books, scattered papers, and, more recently, case files.

He flicked on the desk lamp, casting a soft, amber glow across the cluttered desk. His movements were slow, careful not to disturb the serene quiet that enveloped the apartment as he sank into his chair, rescuing his folded glasses from between all those papers.

In front of him lay the case file, the photographs of the victims staring back at him as if mocking his inability to piece it all together. He scanned the reports for what felt like the hundredth time, his brow creased in thought, eyes darting over the details.

Minutes bled into an hour, maybe more. His glasses had slipped halfway down his nose as he leaned in closer to the desk, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the outline of the crime scene photos. His other hand tugged at the cuff of his pajama sleeve, lost in the rhythm of his restless thoughts.

Just then, the sound of soft footsteps padding across the wooden floor reached his ears, the faint shuffling of bare feet snapping him out of his thoughts. He barely turned in his chair before he saw her; a sleepy, disheveled Y/N standing in the doorway, her figure backlit by the faint glow of the hallway light. The sleeves of his sweater were falling over her hands, causing her shoulders to become exposed, and her eyes were heavy with the remnants of sleep.

"Spence..." She mumbled, her voice raspy and thick with drowsiness. The sight of her tugged at his heart in the most tender way.

Spencer’s face softened instantly, guilt creeping in at the edges of his thoughts. He’d woken her.

"Hey, sweetheart." He murmured, pushing the file aside and giving her his full attention. His voice was quiet, filled with concern. "What are you doing awake? You should be asleep."

Y/N blinked at him, the bleariness in her eyes making her seem even smaller and more vulnerable. She swayed slightly on her feet, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"I woke up... and you weren’t there." She slurred softly, taking a small step toward him, her expression confused and sleepy.

His heart clenched at her words, a wave of guilt washing over him. He hated that he’d caused her to wake up, especially on a week that she spent too much time studying and having little to no rest. He adjusted his posture above the chair, motioning her closer with gentle hands, but Y/N was already moving on her own, shuffling across the room with slow, sleepy steps, her gaze never leaving him.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, dove." He whispered as she reached him. He reached out with his hands as she practically fell into his arms.

She pushed his arms open with little effort and maneuvered herself onto his lap, pressing against him as if seeking out the warmth she’d missed. Her legs straddled his thighs, her knees resting above the sides of the chair, her body curling around his like a koala hugging a tree. The weight of her felt perfect, grounding him as she nestled closer, her chest rising and falling softly against him.

"Spence, don’t apologize." She murmured, her breath tickling the skin of his neck as she shifted, her nose nuzzling into the curve of it, seeking his scent. She pressed her face against him, her lips brushing feather-light against the sensitive skin just below his ear as she planted a sleepy kiss. "You know I just can’t sleep well without you."

Spencer let out a shaky breath, the soft, familiar feeling of her lips against his neck sending warmth coursing through him. His left hand instinctively found her back, his fingers running to the hem of his sweater and lifting it slightly, making room for hand to enter under the fabric and meet her skin, spreading his fingers as he began tracing lazy circles along her spine, soothing her.

Y/N sighed in pleasure, her left hand gently crawling up to his face. Her fingers softly traced the rough stubble along his cheek before instinctively pushing his glasses back up to their proper place, her fingertips grazing the bridge of his nose in a familiar, soothing motion.

He smiled softly, his guilt still lingering but melting slightly under the comfort of her touch. She was so close, so vulnerable in her half-asleep state, and it made him feel even more protective of her.

"You should be in bed." He whispered, his voice low and affectionate, his hand continuing its gentle caress. "You have finals tomorrow... and this position’s going to make your back hurt in the morning." He tried to sound stern, but the amusement in his tone betrayed him. He couldn’t help but laugh quietly as Y/N shifted again, her hand leaving his face and meeting the other side of his neck, her right arm tightening around his torso in silent protest.

"I don’t care." She mumbled into his neck, her lips brushing against his skin as she spoke. "I love you. I want to be here."

His heart swelled at her words, an overwhelming wave of love flooding him. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the comforting scent of her.

"I love you more." He whispered back, his voice barely audible as he nuzzled his cheek against her hair. His hand never stopped its rhythmic movement along her back, his touch gentle and tender.

Y/N hummed in response, her breathing already slowing as the warmth of his embrace lulled her back toward sleep. Spencer could feel the way her body relaxed against his, her weight becoming heavier as she melted further into him. She was so peaceful, her soft breaths brushing against his skin in a steady rhythm.

Spencer's eyes drifted to the case file still resting on the desk, his mind unwilling to let go of the details he was trying to piece together. His hand continued to trail soothing patterns on her back, and he tilted his head down, pressing another kiss to her temple, noticing how her body was giving way to sleep again.

"Let me tuck you back into bed, sweetheart." He whispered against her skin, insisting. "You need the proper rest."

But Y/N shifted in his lap, shaking her head, clearly unwilling to move.

"No." She mumbled, her voice soft but convincing. "What I need is to be with you." She burrowed her face deeper into his neck, pressing her nose against his skin and nuzzling him like she was trying to become a part of him. "Let me stay here. Please."

Spencer sighed softly, feeling torn between the the case and the warmth of Y/N in his arms. He glanced back at Y/N, her soft breathing and her peaceful face pressed against his neck, shaking his head with how stubborn she could be.

Wrapping his arms fully around her, he held her close, one hand still caressing her back while the other pulled the case file closer to him again, reopening it and going back to the first page.

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited) john price knew he would marry you the first time he saw you.

john price met you in the rain.

the memory of the encounter remains etched in his mind like a timeless portrait. as the years pass and his recollections fade, the moment of your first meeting remains vivid and unblemished.

the sky, a somber shade of ashen blue, was adorned with brooding clouds of a dark and furious pearl grey. thunder roared in the distance, while lightning ominously streaked across the sky. the rain, a gentle drizzle, tapped rhythmically on his freshly trimmed lawn and his parked truck. seated on his porch, cradling a cup of tea, john's loyal english mastiff, simply known as 'dog', slumbered beneath his chair.

he'd only had a few more days left until he was back in the field, and despite having needed a couple of days to rest, john was ready to get back to the familiarity of work- especially when there wasn't anyone waiting for him when he got home. ( well, besides 'dog' )

john had always been content with his own company, finding relief in the quiet moments spent with his loyal dog. the peacefulness that came with his aloneness had become a sanctuary, a place where he could escape from the disorder of the world and his position; and find solace in his thoughts. but as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months and then further, john's heart began to yearn for something more.

the familiarity of being alone, once a source of comfort, now felt like a hefty weight on his shoulders. the emptiness that had once brought him peace now seemed suffocating, as if the walls of his home were closing in on him. he craved for a wife who would eagerly anticipate his return home from his weeks away, someone to hold close and shower with affection.

the stillness that had once brought him solace now echoed with a deep longing for intimacy. the sound of his footsteps seemed hollow, and the absence of life within the house filled the empty spaces of his home with a haunting void. john couldn't help but yearn for the day when his despondent home would be replaced with the joy of shared moments and the love of another.

he craved for the warmth of another's touch, the feeling of intertwined fingers and loving touches. he craved the sound of laughter filling the air, the kind that could only come from shared jokes and inside stories. john imagined the simple pleasures of cooking together, of sharing meals and conversations that stretched long into the night.

and despite himself, despite not wanting to feel anything. his heart ached for the intimacy of whispered secrets and stolen kisses, for the comfort of knowing that someone was there to catch him when he stumbled, unconditionally. he yearned for the simple pleasure of waking up next to someone, their presence a constant reminder that he was not alone anymore.

john price, for the first time in what felt like decades; craved for something more.

john's focus is abruptly interrupted by a thunderous slam, causing his weary eyes to shift from his tepid cup of tea. his piercing blue gaze fixates on the source of the commotion across the street. as he observes, his attention is captivated by you, and while being lost in his own melancholic thoughts, he realizes that the rain has intensified, pouring down relentlessly.

there you stand on your porch, engaged in a heated argument with a man. your gestures are animated, your lips downturned in a pained frown, and your brows knitted together in irritation.

the rain's melody drowns out all other sounds, leaving john in a world of silence from the conversation. yet, even amidst this deafening quiet, he cannot tear his gaze away from you, your eyes widening in disbelief as the man retreats into the house, slamming the door shut. price watches as you fish out a pair of car keys from your pocket, walking briskly down the porch stairs and to a car that sits in the driveway. you're immediately drenched in rain from head to toe and john finds that you still look breathtaking regardless.

inexplicably, the two of you lock eyes, and your lips pull into a thin line, your words barely audible over the pouring rain but he catches them nonetheless. "what the hell are you lookin' at?!" then you slip into the car and speed down the street before he can even process what he's heard. slowly a smirk pulls at his lips, the crowsfeet around his eyes deepening.

john price, wanted you.

[prettybean]

THEY’RE PERVERTS (COD +18)

* just for fun 🤐 don’t take it too seriously

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE

Ghost

He doesn't even realize how his eyes wander over your chest every time you stand in front of him. He tries his best to keep his focus on your face, but as soon as you start talking, his gaze involuntarily shifts downwards. He fantasized about your breasts countless times: he'd help you aim the rifle, standing closely behind you, just to secretly admire how they press against the weapon.

After practice, he would rush to his room, desperate to relieve the ache in his groin, picturing his cock between your breasts.

Soap

He felt like a creep: every time you went to take a shower, he would sneak into your room and crack open the bathroom door. Your naked body was too tempting for him, so he would pleasure himself discreetly until you finished and got dressed. Obviously, you caught on. This guy couldn't keep his mouth shut and you heard him moaning outside your door multiple times.

The next time you bumped into him, you couldn't resist teasing him. "Hey John, feel free to jerk off in my bathroom next time too."

Price

He adores it when you dress up in seductive attire for him, and you enjoy the power you have to arouse him simply by revealing your skin slowly. Whenever you're away from home, he eagerly rummages through your drawer, caressing the delicate fabric in his hands before using it to pleasure himself. He longs for you intensely, and the scent of you drives him wild. He vigorously rubs your panties against his throbbing length until they become stained with his release.

You've noticed on multiple occasions that your underwear has gone missing, and you're well aware of your boyfriend's kinky side. Despite this, you choose to ignore it.

Gaz

His gallery is full of nudes of you. Every time you two have sex, Kyle feels compelled to capture the moment, whether it's him fucking you or just you in a revealing pose. He spends his days admiring the pictures, proudly sharing them with his friends, as if they were a work of art (with your permission, of course). The sight of your dripping pussy on his phone screen brings a smile to his face, making his day. He leans in and whispers in your ear, "Darling, let me take another pic, I'll do whatever you want”.

Alejandro

Alejandro has a strong attraction to your legs. The sight of them in your uniform makes him feel aroused. He frequently requests you to wear high stockings, and you happily oblige. As the stockings cling to your thick thighs, Alejandro becomes more and more infatuated with their smoothness.

He lovingly touches and kisses them, gently caressing, nibbling, and even licking them. "Mi amor, I need your thighs around my fucking cock".

Graves

He takes pleasure in humiliating you. He's so twisted that he may publicly lift your skirt, revealing your underwear to everyone on his team. Your flushed face becomes his source of satisfaction. Even when you're walking alone with Philip, he wouldn't hesitate to tug your neckline down, exposing your breasts.

Many times, he deserves a firm slap from you, but your love for him is too strong. He'd even have the audacity to say, "Damn, next time, don't even bother wearing panties."

König

He couldn't resist letting you know how much you turned him on. Every time you bent down to tie your shoe or pick something up, he positioned himself behind you, pressing his hard erection against you. Even when you were cooking, he couldn't resist rubbing his cock against your ass. You loved hearing how excited he got, so much so that sometimes you purposely put yourself in ambiguous positions for him.

"König, my phone is under the bed," you say, bending down to retrieve it. Without hesitation, he gets behind you and thrusts his hips against your slit. "Search better, Schatz," he says with a mischievous grin.

Keegan

He couldn't help but find your tears beautiful. It stirred something inside him. You were a sensitive soul, crying at the slightest provocation - whether it was pain, anger or even joy. Keegan always tried to be there for you when you were upset, offering comfort and wiping away your tears. But every time he saw you cry, he couldn't help but feel a certain arousal. He tried to hide it, but you noticed the bulge in his pants.

“Sorry baby, sometimes it happens”, but you didn't mind. In fact, you found it exciting. When he fucked you, your tears only made it better. And he responded by pounding you harder and harder, as if he couldn't get enough.

[emjayewrites]

Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton) (8/15)

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: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @mauvecherie-writes @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @lovebittenbyevans @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @httpsserene @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @xoscar03 @saturnville @weetjy @pinkcatcus @lewlewlemon44 @cranberryjulce @chaoticcoffeequeen @vile-harlot @periodjosh @melanin-queen369 @destinyg237 @niahxo @purplelewlew

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

CHAPTER 8: Big Fraud

The Ritz-Carlton in Mexico City buzzed with anticipation as the cream of society gathered for the Almave tequila launch. Rorie stood beside Lewis, her sequined gown catching the soft light of the chandeliers. The ballroom was a symphony of clinking glasses and animated conversations in Spanish and English.

"You look stunning," Lewis whispered, his hand finding the small of her back.

Rorie smiled, leaning into his touch. "Thanks, babe. You clean up pretty well yourself."

As they made their rounds, greeting investors and celebrities alike, Rorie couldn't help but feel a sense of surrealism. Just a week ago, she had been on stage at Austin City Limits, her performance with Lil Yachty still reverberating through social media and music circles.

The aftermath of that night had been a whirlwind. Clips of her performance had gone viral, with music critics hailing it as a triumphant debut to the stage. She unconsciously placed a hand on her still-flat stomach, remembering the moment they had seen those two pink lines on the pregnancy test after such an amazing show.

"Rorie," Lewis's voice brought her back to the present. "Carlos was just asking about your performance."

Rorie blinked, focusing on the smiling face of Carlos Slim Jr. "Oh, I'm sorry. It was an incredible experience. The energy of the crowd was unlike anything I've felt before."

The launch was a culmination of Lewis's hard work and passion, but recent events cast a shadow over their celebration. Her mind kept drifting back to the recent developments. The lawyers had been working tirelessly to uncover the source of the leaked information.

Rorie's phone buzzed in her clutch. She ignored it, having grown accustomed to the constant notifications since her sperm donor's attempts to contact her had intensified.

Lewis sidled up beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Everything okay, love?"

Rorie sighed, showing him her phone. "Five missed calls from unknown numbers. I'm pretty sure it's him."

Lewis's jaw tightened. "We'll handle it, babe. Don't let him ruin this night for us." He leaned close to place a tender kiss on her forehead. "How 'bout we get some dessert?"

"Are you trying to distract me with sweets, Sir?"

Her teasing made her husband chuckle, his eyes brightening with mischief as he waggled his eyebrows seductively. "Is it working? Because I'd love to get you back to the hotel room and cover you in choc–"

"Lewis!" a familiar voice called, causing the couple to turn and face Iván Saldaña, Almave's co-founder and Master Distiller. "C'mon, unravel yourself from the missus for one second for a photo. Dios mio, you're obsessed with her."

"Shit, have you seen my wife?" was Lewis' response, followed by a hard slap on Rorie's ass. She yelped in slight pain, swatting him off, and he had the wherewithal to laugh like the menace he was. "Three photos tops, Iván."

Before she knew it, Lewis was off, padding towards Iván to pose for a couple of photos.

Rorie shook her head, smiling despite herself at Lewis's playful antics. As she watched him pose with Iván, her phone buzzed in her clutch. She pulled it out, her smile fading as she saw an unknown number flashing on the screen.

With a deep breath, she answered. "Hello?"

"Aurora," her father's voice came through, a mixture of relief and anxiety evident in his tone. "Thank you for picking up. I've been trying to reach you."

Rorie's jaw clenched. "I know. What do you want?"

"I want to talk, to explain. Please, give me a chance to—"

"Now isn't the time," Rorie cut him off, her eyes darting around the crowded ballroom. "I can't do this right now."

Before he could respond, she ended the call, her heart racing. She barely had time to collect herself when her phone buzzed again, this time with a text message from another unknown number:

Your perfect little world is about to come crashing down.

Rorie felt a chill run down her spine. This wasn't her sperm donor - the tone was all wrong. Who the fuck was this? Was it the same person from Paris?

"Are you ready to head out?" Lewis's voice startled her. He had returned from his photo session with Iván, concern etched on his face as he noticed her troubled expression.

Rorie hesitated for a moment before showing him the text. "I think we have a problem."

Lewis's expression hardened as he read the message. "We need to talk to our security team. This isn't just annoying anymore; it's threatening."

Rorie nodded, feeling a mix of fear and determination. "You're right. But let's not let it ruin the night. This was your moment, babe."

Lewis wrapped his arms around her in an embrace. "Our moment. We're in this together, remember?"

As they stood there, the party continued around them, oblivious to the tension between the couple. Rorie leaned into Lewis's embrace, drawing strength from his presence.

"I just don't understand who would do this," Rorie murmured, her voice muffled against Lewis's chest. "And why now?"

Lewis pulled back slightly, his hands moving to cup Rorie's face. "We'll figure it out, love. I promise you, whoever's behind this, they won't get away with it."

Rorie nodded, forcing a smile. "You're right. We've faced worse, haven't we?"

"Much worse," Lewis agreed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Remember that time Lyric decided to redecorate the living room with his finger paints?"

The memory brought a genuine laugh from Rorie, easing some of the tension. "God, that was a nightmare. This is nothing compared to that, right?"

Lewis grinned, pleased to see some of the worry leave Rorie's eyes. "Exactly. Now, let's say our goodbyes and head out. We'll deal with this head-on tomorrow."

With renewed determination, they made their way through the crowd, saying their farewells to key guests and thanking them for coming. As they stepped out into the cool Mexican night, both Lewis and Rorie knew that come morning, they'd be ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead – together.

The next few days were a whirlwind of preparations for the Mexican Grand Prix. Rorie accompanied Lewis to the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez, her presence a calming influence amidst the pre-race chaos.

The circuit was a marvel of engineering and culture, its layout weaving through the heart of Mexico City. The iconic stadium section buzzed with anticipation, its grandstands already filling with passionate fans. The air was thick with the scent of street food and the sound of mariachi bands, creating a uniquely Mexican atmosphere that set this Grand Prix apart from all others.

During a quiet moment in the Mercedes garage, Rorie's phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text from an unknown number:

Aurora, please. We need to talk. - Dad

Rorie showed the message to Lewis, her frustration evident. "He just won't stop."

Lewis pulled her into a hug, then hesitated. "Actually, babe, there's something I need to tell you. I... I had a conversation with your dad at the Austin Grand Prix."

Rorie stiffened in his arms, pulling back to look at him. "You what? Why didn't you tell me?"

Lewis sighed, running a hand through his braids. "It was unexpected. Toto called me to his office, and your father was there. I didn't want to upset you, especially with your performance coming up."

Rorie's emotions warred between anger and understanding. "What did he say?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "He said he wants to make things right, to be part of your life. He talked about regrets, about missed opportunities. I could see the pain in his eyes, Rorie, but I also saw determination."

Rorie's mind raced. "And what did you say to him?"

"I told him it wasn't my decision to make," Lewis replied softly. "I said that you're the strongest, most incredible woman I know, and that if he wanted a chance, he'd have to earn it. I made it clear that I'd support whatever decision you make."

Rorie nodded slowly, processing the information. A mix of emotions played across her face - gratitude for Lewis's protection, frustration at being kept in the dark, and a lingering sense of uncertainty about her father's intentions.

"I appreciate you looking out for me," she said finally, her voice thick with emotion. "But next time, please tell me. We're in this together, remember? No matter how difficult the conversation might be."

Lewis nodded, relief evident on his face. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just... I saw how stressed you were about the performance, and I didn't want to add to that. But you're right, we're a team. No more secrets."

Rorie leaned into him, drawing comfort from his presence. "Thank you for standing up for me. I just... I don't know how to feel about all this. Part of me wants to hear him out, but another part is so angry at him for showing up now, after all these years."

Lewis wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You don't have to decide anything right now. Take your time, think it through. Whatever you choose, I'm here."

"Lewis, it's time!" Rosa yelled, earning a small smile from Rorie.

"Go race, we'll talk later," she told him.

"You sure you'll be okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." After a kiss on her lips, Lewis jogged over to Rosa and his engineers.

Rorie watched as Lewis prepared for the race, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. The constant attempts at contact from her father, the revelation of Lewis's meeting with him, and the excitement of the impending race all vied for her attention.

She observed Lewis as he went through his pre-race routine, his focus unwavering despite the chaos around them. Rorie couldn't help but marvel at his strength, his ability to compartmentalize and perform under pressure. It was one of the many reasons she loved him.

As Lewis pulled on his helmet, he turned to Rorie, giving her a thumbs up. She returned the gesture, forcing a smile despite her inner turmoil. For now, she would push her personal concerns aside and focus on supporting her husband. The race was about to begin, and with it, a temporary escape from the complicated emotions surrounding her father's sudden reappearance in her life.

The roar of engines filled the air as the Mexican Grand Prix got underway and the cars lined up in their designated spots. From her spot next to Toto, Rorie nibbled on her nails, her eyes absentmindedly on a screen, her heart thumping erratically in her chest as she waited for lights out.

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

The Miami bar buzzed with Sunday afternoon energy, sunlight streaming through large windows. A woman sat at the counter, sipping a colorful tequila cocktail. She brushed her long extensions off her shoulders as she settled in her seat, her eyes glancing up at the TV.

Lewis Hamilton appeared on screen, celebrating his podium finish at the Mexican Grand Prix. The woman's lips curved into a slight smirk. There was no denying how attractive he was.

Too bad he wanted to be with such a boring, lame-ass bitch.

She sat up a bit straighter, a cocky air about her. Lewis would be so much better with someone like her on his arm. Someone who could truly match his star power.

Her phone buzzed with a message:

Running late. Be there in 10. - A

She sighed, signaling the bartender for another drink. As she waited, she contemplated the weight of the information she possessed about Rorie and Lewis's life. It was a power that both thrilled and unsettled her.

The door opened, and Alexander strode in, his face set in its usual mask of cool indifference. He took the seat next to her, ordering a scotch.

"What do you have for me?" he asked without preamble.

She reached into her bag, pulling out a manila envelope. "Everything I could get my hands on. Financial records, private correspondence, even some additional medical information."

Alexander's eyebrows raised slightly as he leafed through the contents. "Impressive. How did you manage this?"

A conniving smile played on her lips. "Someone close to them who's feeling... overlooked."

"Let me see the files," Alexander said, reaching for the envelope.

She held up a hand. "First, let's talk money. I want more."

Alexander's eyes narrowed. "We've discussed this. I can't increase the amount."

"Do you understand the risk I'm taking?" she countered. "If they find out—"

"They already have a lawsuit against us," Alexander interrupted. "We're proceeding carefully."

The woman leaned back, her posture defiant. "Without more money, I'm not giving you the info. Maybe I'll find another tabloid that values my contributions more."

Alexander's jaw clenched, anger flashing in his eyes. After a pregnant pause, he spoke, his voice low and controlled. "Fine. If that's what you want to do, then do it."

With that, he stood up and left the bar, leaving the woman alone with her secrets and her tequila cocktail. She watched him go, a mixture of frustration and uncertainty crossing her face as she contemplated her next move. The woman's confident facade faltered slightly. She turned back to the bar, her manicured nails tapping against the polished wood surface.

"Another?" the bartender asked, gesturing to her nearly empty glass.

She nodded, her eyes drifting back to the TV where highlights from the Mexican Grand Prix were still playing. Lewis's face flashed across the screen again, his radiant smile a stark contrast to her current mood.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. Her thumb hovered over a name - KiKi. She hesitated, weighing her options. KiKi had agreed to meet with her briefly for lunch a couple of weeks ago, but the meal quickly went left when KiKi realized that it was nothing more than a bashing on Rorie. Despite her initial liking for Kiara, she was still too far up Rorie's ass and she didn't need to draw any suspicion right now.

A notification popped up on her screen - a news alert about Rorie's recent performance at Austin City Limits. The woman's lips curled into a sneer as she read the glowing review.

"If they only knew," she muttered under her breath.

The bartender set down her fresh drink, and she took a long sip, savoring the burn of the tequila. Her mind raced with possibilities. Alexander might have called her bluff, but she wasn't out of options yet.

She opened her notes app, reviewing the information she had gathered thus far. Financial records, private correspondence, medical information - it was a treasure trove of potential scandals. But without Alexander's backing, publishing it would be risky.

Was I ready to put that kind of heat on me? I can always go to TheShadeRoom or something...

A familiar face caught her eye at the other end of the bar. It was a reporter she recognized from a rival tabloid. An idea began to form in her mind.

Gathering her things, she stood up, smoothing down her dress. She tossed back the rest of her drink and made her way towards the reporter, a calculated smile playing on her lips.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice honey-sweet. "I couldn't help but notice you're from The Globe. I think I might have a story that would interest you…"

She sat beside the reporter and began telling him about the secrets she uncovered about Rorie and her family.

The reporter’s brows furrowed as he listened, his interest slowly waning. He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "I’m not saying it’s not juicy," he began, holding up a hand to stop her mid-pitch. "But it’s too much heat right now. You’re talking about exposing big names, and our editorial team won’t touch it. They’d rather run another puff piece than risk the legal blowback."

The woman’s carefully constructed smile wavered, but she quickly recovered. "So, you’re telling me The Globe isn’t interested in the truth anymore? That’s disappointing." Her voice dripped with feigned surprise, masking her frustration.

"Look, I get it. You want to break a big story, but this one’s a no-go. If I were you, I’d sit on it until the timing’s better." He gave her a sympathetic shrug, clearly eager to wrap up the conversation.

She forced a polite laugh, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Thanks for the advice." With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the bar, the weight of yet another rejection pressing on her chest.

By the time she reached her apartment, her heels clicking against the floor tiles echoed the pulse of determination in her veins. She wasn’t about to let some risk-averse reporter stand in her way. She dropped her purse on the entry table and kicked off her shoes, moving with purpose through the space until she reached her living room.

The room was a contrast to the polished exterior she showed the world—papers strewn across every surface, sticky notes marking key points, and a laptop open to various incriminating files. She knelt down, spreading the documents across the floor, each one representing hours of careful digging, discreet meetings, and favors called in. Emails, private text messages, medical records — it was all there.

If no publication was willing to continue running with this, she’d have to do it herself. And she had just the platform for it.

Standing up, she crossed the room to her vanity where her ring light and phone stand were already set up. She adjusted the light, making sure it cast just the right shadows to enhance her fierce determination rather than reveal the strain she was feeling. This wasn’t just about revenge anymore—it was about taking control of the narrative, about showing the world that Rorie was nothing more than a bum-ass whore who used people.

She opened Instagram, her fingers moving swiftly as she set up the live stream. Her followers were used to seeing her poised, offering advice on fashion and makeup, but tonight’s stream would be different.

As the screen flashed "You’re live!" her expression shifted from controlled anger to cool confidence. "Hey, y'all," she began, her voice silky smooth, with just a hint of venom. "I know you’re all used to seeing me share fashion tips, but tonight’s different. Tonight, I’m exposing the truth behind the smoke and mirrors. Let’s talk about Rorie Hamilton, and the fact that she's nothing more than a manstealing, fake ass bitch."

She leaned closer to the camera, letting the tension build. "You see, perfection comes with a price, and what if I told you that behind every glowing headline, there’s a trail of deceit, betrayal, and lies? I’ve got receipts—documents, messages, things that will make you rethink every article, every performance, every charming interview she’s given."

The chat exploded with comments as her followers clamored for details, but she remained calm, letting the suspense build. "I’m going to walk you through it all. So sit back, grab some popcorn, and let’s dive into the real Rorie—the one who’s been hiding behind that carefully curated mask."

With that, she reached down and held up the first document for the camera, zooming in just enough to reveal a hint of the damning information. She knew exactly how to play this—releasing just enough to whet their appetites, while keeping the most explosive content for the right moment. She was in control now, and nothing was going to stop her from burning it all to the ground.

As she continued her exposé, detailing every sordid secret, the view count climbed higher and higher. This was only the beginning, and she was just getting started.

Rorie’s nerves were frayed, her fingers tapping anxiously against the armrest of the leather chair in their suite. The luxurious comfort of the hotel room did little to ease the tension that had settled in her chest. The room’s atmosphere was thick with unspoken worries, but the muted sound of Julian’s voice on the phone filled the silence.

The emergency meeting was inevitable after Deja Barnes' Instagram live took the internet by storm. Julian, the Hamiltons’ long-time lawyer and fixer, had booked the first flight to Mexico as soon as the situation escalated. Within hours, headlines were ablaze, tabloids feeding off Deja’s revelations like sharks scenting blood in the water. The story had gone viral overnight, turning their world into a frenzy.

Julian finally hung up the phone and turned to face them, his expression severe. "We’ve got a crisis on our hands. Deja’s live went beyond just gossip; she laid out things only someone close would know. Every major tabloid is picking it up—she’s framed it as the inside scoop on your marriage and the most salacious details about your lives."

Rorie’s hands curled into fists. "She’s not ‘someone close’ anymore, Julian. She hasn’t been for a long time."

Lewis sat across from her, his brows knitted in disbelief. "Deja? This doesn’t make sense." His voice was strained, caught between confusion and hurt. "Why would she do this? We were friends. She was like family at one point. This doesn’t seem like her at all."

Rorie’s chest tightened at the way he said "we were friends." She’d known this moment would come, when the truth she had kept buried would have to be laid bare. Her eyes met Lewis’s, seeing the pain and bewilderment swirling in them, but she had to tell him what she knew—even if it shattered whatever nostalgic image he had left of Deja.

"It wasn’t what you thought, Lewis." Her voice was low, weighted with exhaustion. "Deja had her own motives, and I ignored the signs for too long."

"What do you mean?" Lewis leaned forward, bracing himself for an explanation.

Rorie took a deep breath, bracing herself for the revelation she had kept to herself for years. "Deja had a crush on you. A serious one. It wasn’t just friendly affection or admiration. It was something deeper, something… twisted."

Lewis blinked, stunned, and let out a sardonic laugh. "A crush? On me? That doesn’t make any sense. We were all close, but she never—"

"She hid it well," Rorie interjected, bitterness lacing her words. "But I saw the signs, eventually. The looks she’d give you, the way she always found excuses to be around us, especially when things were tough for us."

Lewis shook his head, still processing. "We were trying to have Lyric during that time. She was supposed to be supporting you, helping us through it."

"That’s what I thought too," Rorie said, her voice growing colder as she recalled the events. "It was all a ruse. She was using our struggles to get closer to you. She even joked once about volunteering to be our surrogate."

Lewis’s eyes widened. "She what?"

"I thought it was a joke too, but it wasn’t. Looking back, I realize she was testing the waters, seeing if we’d be open to something like that." Rorie’s expression darkened as she continued, "It got worse. There was this one night—you had a race, and I wasn’t there. When I arrived later, I found Deja waiting for you in your hotel suite, naked in the bed."

Lewis recoiled, disbelief and disgust mixing in his expression. "She was what?"

"Naked, Lewis. She was there, waiting for you like it was normal, like she had every right to be there." Rorie’s voice cracked as she relived that moment, the betrayal still fresh. "I don’t know how she got access to your room, but there she was, like it was the most natural thing in the world. She even had the nerve to say that you two had been having an affair, but I knew better."

Lewis was speechless, struggling to comprehend how someone he had trusted could betray them so completely. He was visibly shaken, running a hand through his hair as he tried to wrap his head around it all. "What did you do? How did you handle her after you found out?"

Rorie’s expression hardened. "I had security escort her out of the hotel, and I blocked her from everything—social media, our contacts, everything. I didn’t want her anywhere near us, near you, near the family we were creating. She tried reaching out a few times, but I ignored her. I thought cutting her off was enough."

Lewis’s voice was barely above a whisper. "I had no idea. I’m sorry you had to deal with that alone."

Rorie looked at him, her eyes softening for a moment. "I didn’t want to burden you with it then. We had enough on our plate with trying to get pregnant, and you were dealing with the pressure of racing. I thought it was easier to just handle it quietly and move on. But I should have told you, should have let you know what she was really like."

Julian cleared his throat, bringing their attention back to the crisis at hand. "What’s done is done, but now we have to focus on damage control. Deja’s gone public with this, and the longer we take to respond, the worse it’s going to get."

Rorie nodded, her jaw clenched in determination. "She might think she’s got the upper hand, but she’s underestimated us. We’ll handle this, and we’ll make sure the truth comes out—our truth, not hers."

Lewis reached out and took her hand, a silent promise passing between them. No matter how messy things got, they’d face it together. But the betrayal lingered in the air, a reminder of how close their past had come to tearing them apart. And as much as they wanted to put this behind them, Deja’s actions had set off a chain of events that neither of them could fully predict.

For now, all they could do was prepare for the storm ahead.

Lewis sat alone in his driver’s room, the steady hum of the paddock outside muffled by the walls. His phone was propped against the table, earbuds snug in his ears as he listened to the interview playing on The Breakfast Club. He knew Julian had warned him to stay away from it, to focus on the race weekend and leave the crisis management to the professionals. But Lewis had never been one to sit idly by when his family was under attack. Protecting them, especially now with Rorie’s pregnancy, was his top priority—even if it meant shouldering the burden himself.

The interview was already in progress. Deja’s voice, slick with false sincerity, came through clearly as she spun her tale of betrayal and heartbreak. "Rorie always wanted what I had, but I never thought she’d go as far as taking Lewis from me," Deja claimed.

Lewis clenched his jaw, his fists tightening as he fought to keep his emotions in check. This woman, someone who had once been close enough to be considered family, was rewriting history with a twisted narrative designed to inflict maximum damage. And what frustrated him most was that people were eating it up—treating her lies like gospel.

Angela Yee, however, wasn’t so easily convinced. Her voice cut through the nonsense with precision. "But let’s be real here, Deja. If you were so close to Lewis, how come we never heard about this supposed love story before? You’re saying you were in love with him, that Rorie took him from you, but from what the public saw, you were just a friend. So what’s the real deal?"

Deja didn’t waver, her delusions fully intact. "Of course, it wasn’t public. We kept it low-key out of respect. But I was there before she was. I was the one he leaned on, and when she saw how close we were, she made sure to push me out. It’s not the first time she’s done this to people, either. Rorie’s always been good at playing the victim while she manipulates things behind the scenes."

Lewis couldn’t take much more. He paused the interview, running a hand down his face. He glanced at a small window to stare at the Brazilian race track. Brazil has always been their sanctuary, the place where everything seemed to fall into place. The chaos surrounding them now was a stark contrast to the peace they had always found there. Brazil wasn’t just another location on the race calendar; it was where their love deepened, where Lyric had been conceived during a trip filled with laughter, love, and hope. It was their “zen den,” a place where the rest of the world faded away, leaving only them, together.

That’s why it was so important for him to shield Rorie now. She was working on her latest Nike Women campaign, a massive deal that she’d landed just before everything started unraveling. On top of that, her ambassadorships were piling up, her brand flourishing. He couldn’t let this mess derail her success or put unnecessary stress on her during her pregnancy. Julian was doing everything in his power to contain the damage, and the cease and desist had already been issued to Deja. But the interview, recorded before the legal warning, was still out there, fueling the frenzy.

Lewis sighed, taking a deep breath as he tried to refocus. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now, not with the race looming and all the media duties he had to handle. But how could he not be? His family was everything to him, and knowing Rorie and Lyric were in Brazil as well, surrounded by close friends and family, brought some comfort. They were safe in their haven while he dealt with the ugliness of it all. That was the trade-off: he’d take the heat so they didn’t have to.

A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. Rosa poked her head in. "Media session in five minutes, Lewis."

He nodded, slipping his phone into his pocket as he mentally prepared himself for the inevitable questions. The journalists would be circling like vultures, eager to dig into the drama, but he’d handle it. For Rorie, for Lyric, for their future child—they were counting on him to keep it all together.

Lewis walked into the media building, the energy buzzing with anticipation as reporters packed into the room. Cameras flashed as he took his seat on the driver’s panel, dressed in his black Mercedes team shirt. His expression was steely, the usual playful glint in his eyes replaced with something more guarded. He could feel the weight of every gaze on him—some curious, some sympathetic, and others eager for controversy.

He nodded to a few familiar faces among the press corps. The other drivers were already taking their seats - Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, and Fernando Alonso among them. They exchanged brief greetings, a mix of professional courtesy and the camaraderie that comes from shared experiences on the track.

The moderator began the session, and as expected, the questions started rolling in. Most were about the race weekend—the setup for the car, tire strategy, and his thoughts on the circuit. Lewis handled those with ease, but he knew it was only a matter of time before someone brought up the topic he had zero interest in discussing.

And then it happened.

A journalist from a tabloid well-known for stirring up drama leaned forward, his tone dripping with false politeness. "Lewis, we’ve all seen the headlines lately, especially with that recent Breakfast Club interview involving Deja Barnes—"

Lewis cut him off, a bitter chuckle escaping as he shook his head. "Who?"

"What are your thoughts on the recent allegations made by Deja Barnes?"

"Oh," Lewis interjected, leaning back in his chair with a slight smirk. "I don’t speak on snakes. I save that for my lawyers."

The room fell silent, tension thick in the air as Lewis stared down the reporter. "Do you have any questions about the race? You know, the reason we’re here?"

The reporter stammered, caught completely off guard. "Well, uh, I was just—"

"Okay, let’s go to someone who has a question about racing," Lewis said firmly, turning away from the flustered journalist. "I’m not entertaining it."

The moderator quickly moved on, calling on another journalist who thankfully asked about tire degradation and track conditions. But even as Lewis answered the technical questions with his usual focus and precision, the shadow of that earlier exchange lingered.

Fuck The Sun, and most importantly, fuck that woman.

He could sense the ripple it had caused among the reporters, some nodding in approval while others scribbled furiously, eager to turn his comments into their next headline. But Lewis didn’t care. He was here to do his job, to represent his team, and to protect his family. And if that meant shutting down every attempt to drag him into Deja’s delusional circus, he’d do it unapologetically.

The lush greenery of São Paulo's outskirts provided a serene backdrop as Rorie lounged by the pool, watching 15-month-old Lyric splash around in his floaties. Her sister, Aaliyah, kept a watchful eye on the toddler.

"Wa! Wa!" Lyric babbled excitedly, kicking his little legs in the water.

Rorie smiled, her heart swelling with love. "That's right, baby! You're in the water!"

Aaliyah, at 23, shared the same warm smile as their mother, Marian. Though technically her half-sister - the daughter of Marian and Greg - Rorie never thought of her as anything less than her full sister. Aaliyah guided Lyric gently through the pool. "He's fearless, just like Lewis," she remarked.

"He really is," Rorie agreed, watching her son with pride. "Thanks for being here, sis. It means a lot."

Aaliyah shot her a supportive smile. "Always. That's what family's for, right? So, have you decided if you’re going to call him back?"

Rorie’s gaze shifted to her phone resting on the lounge chair beside her. The text from her father, Martin, had come in earlier that day, and it had been gnawing at the back of her mind ever since. She’d been going back and forth about whether to respond, torn between curiosity and the desire to avoid more stress. Aaliyah’s question brought that internal debate back to the forefront.

"I don’t know," Rorie sighed. “Part of me wants to just ignore it, but… I’m curious. I want to hear whatever bullshit he’s trying to spin this time."

Aaliyah raised an eyebrow. "You sure you want to open that door? You’ve done well keeping him at arm’s length. Sometimes it’s better to let toxic people stay where they are."

Rorie knew her sister was right, but something inside her nudged her toward at least hearing what he had to say. "Yeah, I know… but I think I’m gonna call him. Just to see what he’s really on."

Aaliyah shrugged, "Your call. Just don’t let him mess with your head. You’ve got enough going on without letting him add more drama."

As the day progressed, Rorie's mind kept drifting to the unopened messages on her phone. Martin's texts and voicemails had been piling up, each one a reminder of the decision she'd been avoiding.

After putting Lyric down for his nap, Rorie retreated to the privacy of her room. She took a deep breath, her thumb hovering over the call button, before eventually pressing the button.

As the phone rang, her mind raced with thoughts of Deja's betrayal, the media frenzy, and now this impending conversation with her long-absent father.

"Aurora?" Martin's voice, a mix of surprise and hope, came through the speaker.

"Hello, Martin," Rorie said, her tone neutral.

Martin took a deep breath. "I know I have a lot to explain. I've made many mistakes, and my absence in your life is my biggest regret."

"Why now?" Rorie asked. "Why reach out after all these years?"

Martin hesitated. "I've been following your career, your life. I'm so proud of the woman you've become. I... I want to be part of your life, if you'll let me."

Rorie's voice hardened. "You had that chance years ago. Why should I believe you've changed?"

The conversation continued, with Martin explaining his past actions and expressing remorse. Rorie listened, asking pointed questions about his absence, his current intentions, and his sudden desire to be in her life.

"I understand if you can't forgive me," Martin said towards the end of the call. "But I hope you'll consider giving me a chance to prove myself."

Rorie took a moment before responding. "I appreciate your honesty, Martin. But I need time to process this. I can't promise anything right now."

As they ended their call, Rorie sat on the edge of her bed, her mind reeling from the conversation. She replayed his words, searching for sincerity, for any sign that his intentions were genuine.

A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. "Ror? You okay?" Aaliyah's voice came through.

"Come in," Rorie called out.

Aaliyah entered, concern etched on her face. "I saw you on the phone. Was it...?"

Rorie nodded. "Yeah, it was Martin."

Aaliyah sat beside her sister, placing a comforting hand on her back. "How do you feel?"

"Confused," Rorie admitted. "He said all the right things, you know? Apologized, said he regretted not being there. But I don't know if I can trust it."

"You don't have to decide anything right now," Aaliyah reassured her. "Take your time."

Rorie leaned into her sister's embrace. "I just keep thinking about Mom and Greg, how they've always been there. And now, with everything happening with Deja and the media..."

"Hey," Aaliyah said firmly, "You've got us. Me, Mom, Dad, Lewis, Lyric. We're your real family. Whatever you decide about Martin, we've got your back."

Rorie felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. "Thanks, sis."

Just then, they heard Lyric's babbling through the baby monitor. Rorie couldn't help but smile. "Sounds like someone's up from their nap."

"Want me to get him?" Aaliyah offered.

Rorie shook her head, standing up. "No, I've got it. I could use some cuddles from my little man right now."

She padded over to Lyric's room, her heart instantly lightening at the sight of her son. Lyric was standing in his portable crib, his little hands gripping the rail as he bounced excitedly.

"Mama!" he exclaimed, his face breaking into a wide grin.

"Hi, baby," Rorie cooed, reaching in to scoop him up. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, inhaling his sweet baby scent. "Did you have a good nap?"

Lyric babbled in response, his little hands patting Rorie's cheeks. She couldn't help but smile, feeling the stress of the day melt away in her son's presence.

On a whim, Rorie decided she needed more than just a quick cuddle. She gently lowered Lyric back into his crib, then, to his delight, climbed in after him. It was a tight fit – the portable crib wasn't meant for adults – but Rorie managed to scrunch herself in, lying on her side next to Lyric.

Lyric giggled, clearly amused by his mama's antics. He snuggled close, his little body fitting perfectly against hers. Rorie wrapped an arm around him, savoring the moment.

"Mama swilly," Lyric said, patting her arm.

Rorie chuckled. "Yeah, Mama's being silly, huh?"

As they lay there, Rorie felt the tension from her conversation with Martin slowly dissipate. The world outside, with all its complications and challenges, seemed to fade away. In this moment, it was just her and Lyric, safe and content in their own little bubble.

Lyric's eyelids began to droop, the excitement of Mama's surprise visit giving way to post-nap drowsiness. Rorie hummed softly, a lullaby she remembered from her own childhood.

As Lyric drifted off to sleep, Rorie continued to hold him close. She knew she'd have to face reality again soon – decisions about Martin, dealing with the Deja situation, preparing for the baby on the way. But for now, she allowed herself this moment of peace, drawing strength from the pure, unconditional love of her son.

In the cramped confines of the portable crib, Rorie found a spaciousness in her heart. Whatever came next, she knew she had this – the love of her family, the joy of motherhood. And that, she realized, was more than enough to face any storm.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

[melloollem]

Evolution of touch||Batboys × No reader gender

Summary: What physical contact with them would be like in a relationship.

Warnings: This is not suggestive, this is a comfort, English is not my native language.

Characters: Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd.

(DC masterlist)

Damian Wayne

I'd start with your shoulders touching, for a while that was as close as you got. When you got into a relationship, he automatically had the thought "we need to be more intimate", so he would just hold your hand as methodically as he felt was necessary and give you a few quick kisses on the cheek at length.

It took him a while to understand that he didn't owe you touch, but that it was something he genuinely wanted. But even after that, you were always responsible for guiding the touch, the difference being that now you were both comfortable with it.

His body didn't stiffen when you got close, on the contrary, he relaxed. When Damian realized how calm he was with your touch, he began to use it as a source of recharge. Was he too tired after a mission? His head will rest on your shoulder, of course, the touches he initiated only happened in private, but it was because Damian relaxed so much when he had you that he couldn't allow this vulnerability to escape in public.

Tim Drake

He's happy to accept, but he never starts any. Since you were just friends, you could give him quick touches and he wouldn't mind.

When you started dating, you could initiate longer touches and he wouldn't mind either, but he still wouldn't initiate anything. Your touch wasn't disposable for him, because he could see the intention, but if you showed your affection in another way, it would be the same for him.

He knows what you want to convey through touch and prefers to reciprocate in another way. But if touch was very important to you, he would create a pattern, certain places on your body that he would always keep his hand on as a way of saying "I appreciate your touch and I see how important it is".

Dick Grayson

When you were just friends, he was as close to you as he was to anyone else, hugs, friendly touches, lengths.

Now, when you started dating, he always had a romantic touch with you, it felt like he was counting down the seconds until the next time to kiss you, he was always hugging you, but it felt like the touches came from a position of pleasing, not like he really wanted your touch.

After a long period of relationship, his touch changes completely. Whereas before he always touched you romantically with the desire to please, now he touches you casually with the desire for comfort. He always kept one part of her body resting on his or the opposite. The kisses were still frequent, but now they came from him wanting to. He was incredibly relaxed in your presence.

Jason Todd

Slow burn, very slow burn. When you were just friends, touches were limited to handshakes. When you started dating, you could always lean on him, kiss him or even hold his arms, but there were clear limits.

You could lean against him, but don't hug him, you could kiss him, but don't take him by surprise, he'd just shy away from your touch, you could hold his arms, but don't hold his hands, he'd feel his reaction time slow down.

For your touch to really begin to deepen, there was nothing you could do, it had to come from Jason. You could only hug him once he got into the habit of doing it with you in search of comfort. You could only kiss him sneakily after he'd done it to you so many times that it would be unfair not to. You could only hold his hands, because he was always the first to pull yours away. This method might be unpleasant for some people, but for Jason it was perfect, knowing that you trusted him would make him trust you.

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

I've never seen anyone working on it and it's a great subject to tackle. Duke Thomas is not included because I didn't find enough content to project on top of it, sorry.

[gubsbuubs]

Wanna come over tonight?

(18+nsfw)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~ 2k

Warnings/Tags: smut, Pet names, fuck buddies, creampie, slightly Dom Spence.

Request: Can you write something with the song called If you think I’m pretty by Artemas? That part that goes “I know that you’re shitty and you’re bad for me but I cant stop thinking about it”

Summary: Spencer and Y/N navigate a complex relationship as occasional “fuck buddies,” irresistibly drawn to each other despite the acknowledgment of their mismatch. When Y/N plans a date with someone new, Spencer’s jealousy surfaces, prompting him to encourage her to cancel. As she’s on the phone with her date Spencer decides to tease her and make her job harder.

My requests are open!

English is not my first language- barely proof read this. 🍒

I had been completely preoccupied looking for a particular file pertaining to a 1999 murder case in Pennsylvania when he made his entrance. I stood in the middle of the file room, lost in thought, staring at shelves full of carefully arranged archive boxes.

I only became aware of his presence when his distinct scent reached my nose, immediately followed by the warmth of his arms enveloping me and his lips gently grazing beneath my ear. I could recognize this embrace anywhere, so there was no need to turn around.

“Hi sweatheart" His voice resonated in my ear as I surrendered to the embrace, letting myself be engulfed by his comforting presence.

“Hi Spencer,” I whispered, a smile forming on my lips.

Turning to face him, he shifted his hands to my waist, pressing me against the archive shelves in the dimly lit file room.

"So..." he began, a mischievous twinkle danced in his eyes, the tone of his voice carrying a flirtatious hint.

"I heard you got a little date tonight," although his voice carried a touch of jealousy his lips sported a loose smile, as if he found the situation amusing.

Meeting his gaze, I lightly raised an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. "What's on your mind, Spencer?"

"Oh, really? And who might have been spreading such rumors?" I teased, leaning in closer to him, his mischievous twinkle growing brighter as he leaned in as well.

"Let's just say I have my sources," his smirk widened “So, do you?".

I couldn't help but giggle, "Maybe." I held a mischievous expression.

"Maybe." I replied once again, his gaze trailed down to my lips, a subtle yet deliberate movement.

His eyes locked onto mine, and the corner of his mouth lifted in response, "Didn't you already go on a date with Anderson?"

My hand gracefully found its place on his chest, my fingers tracing slight patterns over the crisp white fabric of his shirt.

"And he's worth a second date?" He furrowed his brows in confusion as he awaited my response.

"Maybe," he mockingly replied as he tried to imitate my voice.

"Are you jealous, Reid?"

I watched his expression change—a mix of surprise and smugness. His gaze lingered on mine for a moment before he finally spoke.

I chuckled softly at his playful response, my eyes still locked with his as he brushed a strand of hair away from my face.

"I will not confirm it or deny it"

"Oh, so it is true."

I leaned in even closer to match his proximity, “You sound jealous, Spencer."

His head found refuge in my neck as he chuckled, obviously amused by my comment.

"Stop talking...' A smile played on my lips as he reached for my hand, delicately placing a small, tender kiss on it.

"I don't need to be jealous, Y/N." I could feel the sly grin planted on his lips. "After all, you always find your way back to my bed."

He left a small kiss on my pulse before slowly traveling up to below my earlobe, where he whispered, "Not just my bed, but my car…" The vibrations of his voice resonated against my skin. "This file room, my offi.."

I decided to interrupt him, husking him with my finger as he was about to finish speaking.

"What?" He held a defensive tone, "You know the truth; he can’t fuck you like I do." His lips brushing over mine sent a shiver down my spine, drawing me in with an undeniable sense of desire. As his words hung in the air, I felt the temptation building within me. I knew, deep down, what would happen if I gave in to him.

“Have you fucked him yet?” he asked in a low tone. I took a momentary pause as I contemplated my response. The intensity of his gaze made it clear that he was not just seeking information.

“Spencer… Grant is a great guy; he…”

“So that’s a no,” he laughed, interrupting me. His laughter had a hint of mockery, as if he knew the answer before I even spoke. I could feel his jealousy radiating off him, mixing with his desire for control.

"We need to let this go, Spence. I'm trying to find someone else; you should do the same." My hand gently met his cheek, caressing his face softly as he leaned into the tender touch.

“But I don’t want it,” he whined, pursing his lips into a pout.

“How did your date go? The one with that blonde from White Collar Crime? " my tone was sweet as I let my hands roam his hair..

“It was fine,” he muttered, his eyes avoiding mine.

“Just fine?”

"Yeah, it was good, but… as soon as her lips wrapped around my dick, I could only imagine you on your knees,” he said before placing a kiss on my neck again. I chuckled softly, my fingers continuing to weave through his hair.

“Spence, stop,” I gasped, my voice trembling as I tried to regain control.

He sighed "I just miss you," his voice filled with longing.

I felt his hips thrust into me, his hand leaving my hip to slowly raise my leg.

“Why?” he asked as the kisses on my neck grew messier and hungrier.

“This is not right,”

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered against my lips.

"We can't keep doing this," I finally managed to say. "You know this is wrong; we don’t work together.”

“Shut up,” he said, holding my chin as his eyes locked on mine. “I know that you’re shitty and you’re bad for me; you don’t need to keep reminding me of that,” he said as his lips met mine. He kissed me hard, his desperation evident in the way he clung to me. It was a toxic cycle we couldn't seem to break, despite knowing it was tearing us apart. “I just can’t stop thinking about it.” He whined.

As our kiss grew more urgent, his hips pressed against mine, a familiar ache building between us. With only the flimsy material of our clothes between us, I could feel his desire as he pressed into my covered core.

"Can you please come over tonight, baby?" he asked, his voice husky with need.

"Spence, I have plans,” I replied, trying to resist the pull of his desperation. But deep down, I knew it was only a matter of time before I gave in to him once again.

"Oh, come on, you’re not balling on me for Anderson,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Why? I can always come running back to your bed, right?" I chuckled in amusement. “I think you can wait until tomorrow.”

His hands proceeded to loosen my belt and slip down the zipper of my jeans, and the mere thought of his touch sent shivers down my spine. He captured my lips once again, his fingers now trailing behind my pants, brushing over my lace panties. I couldn't help but moan softly as his touch ignited a fire within me.

"Did you pick them for him?" he remarked, a hint of jealousy creeping into his voice as he playfully snapped the band of my panties against my skin.

I blushed at his comment, feeling a mix of excitement and guilt.

"It's a shame he won't get to see them." He laughed mischievously, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "You're ruining them, getting them all wet," his words carrying a provocative edge as his middle finger came into contact with my slit. I felt a surge of pleasure shoot through my body.

"Maybe you should cancel your plans and reschedule? What do you say?" He suggested it with a sly smile as his finger breached my entrance and entered me. He pumped it in and out, skillfully teasing my sensitive walls. I couldn't resist the urge to give in to his suggestion.

"Fuck Spence," I said, falling forward, moaning into his chest as he slipped another finger in, his hand picking up speed.

With a mischievous smile, he got my phone from my back pocket and handed it to me. "Go ahead, sweetheart; let him know something came up." I took a deep breath, trying to keep my focus as I dialed Anderson's number.

The phone rang in my ear as Spencer removed his right hand from my cunt, letting it fall to my hips and pulling my clothes down. His hands then reached for his own belt, freeing himself.

I struggled to maintain my composure as I stepped out of my jeans. Anderson's voice echoed through the phone "Y/N, Hi!".

"Grant, hi!" I replied, trying to sound casual despite feeling Spencer´s cock brushing over my clit. I shot him a warning look as if to say, - not now.

"Do you need anything, or are you just so excited you couldn't wait to talk to me later?" Anderson asked, remaining oblivious on the other side of the line. His attempt at flirting was evident; he was completely unaware of the unfolding situation.

"I'm sorry, but I think I have to reschedule tonight," I quickly muttered, my voice strained.

"Is everything okay, Y/N?" Anderson asked, his voice tinged with concern.

I tried to keep my composure as Spencer slammed into me. "Spencer…" I gasped, unable to stop a moan from escaping my lips.

"Spencer?" Anderson asked in confusion. "Is he okay?"

Fortunately, he didn't realize what was happening and remained unaware. Spencer laughed slightly as he slammed into me again, attempting to make me break while I was still on the call with Anderson.

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine. Something came up; I'll have to reschedule. Is that okay?" I tried to speak, but my voice trembled with the effort.

"Sure, Y/N. No problem at all. Life happens, and I completely understand. Take your time and let me know when you're free," Anderson replied, his tone carrying a sweet and understanding demeanor.

"Thanks; I'll reach out; take care."

“He’s so sweet and understanding” Spencer laughed as I hang up the call.

"You´re such a jerk," I said, trying to contain my moans as he pounded into me with force.

His cock slid in and out of me with ease as he guided his hips towards my sensitive spot. The sounds of wetness filled the room as I gasped in pleasure. The feeling was overwhelming, I could feel every inch of him, the intensity building with each thrust. Spencer's hands gripped my waist tightly, his movements becoming more urgent. The connection between us was electric, a mix of desire and raw passion.

My mind was consumed by the intoxicating sensations, and my body surrendered to the waves of pleasure that washed over me. Spencer's deep, husky voice filled the air, his words laced with desire and a hint of dominance. "You liked that, didn’t you?" he whispered, his breath grazing my earlobe. Every nerve in my body tingled with excitement as I nodded, unable to form words.

"Having him listening as I shoved my dick in to you," I was a moaning mess of pleasure, unable to resist the overwhelming sensations that Spencer's words and actions were evoking within me.

"Maybe you shouldn't have hung up, and he could’ve listened as I make you cum on my cock" My mind raced and my body trembled with each thrust, surrendering to the pleasure that Spencer was delivering. The room was filled with our moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin

"Fuck Spence, I´m going to cum," I gasped, my voice barely a whisper as the intensity of the moment consumed me.

"Cum for me baby, common." Spencer's voice grew huskier, matching the increasing urgency in his movements. When I reached my peak and my walls thickened around him, I felt Spencer realease inside of me in a wave of ecstasy.

As he pulled away and relaxed against the shelving unit, we both stood there breathless, relishing in the aftermath. Our foreheads glistened with sweat, and our bodies continued to tremble with pleasure.

"So, since you don't have plans anymore, wanna come over tonight?" He asked laughing sarcastically.

[yurislilygarden]

ʚїɞ Self Aware! Hazbin Hotel

ʚїɞ Their reaction after becoming self aware and first thoughts about reader! part 1

ʚїɞ Alastor and Lucifer Morningstar

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so you may find mistakes!

ʚїɞ Word count: just about 1.7k

ʚїɞ I planned for all hotel characters first but then I realized how much I'm thinking on each paragraph and its details that I decided to just do 2-3 charas per part😭

Very few characters would notice something wrong on the first watch of the show, but wouldn't realize, nor become self-aware until the 2nd or further watch. 

While everyone's reaction would be different with different amounts of stages before total acceptance of the situation, they all would share the first emotion, simple disbelief. They would first need to even process the fact that they're not real, that they were created solely for the purpose of entertaining… something? Someone? In a completely different Universe. That everything that they thought had happened to them before they died didn't actually happen, they were never alive in the first place. Only after that did the emotions and reactions differ. The very first emotion or actual personal reaction would be:

ALASTOR

Irritation with a hint of madness.

His first thoughts about the situation would be how ironic it is that he seeks entertainment for himself while his own person, no, character, was a source of entertainment for whatever was watching them from time to time. It was quite ironic how he said that his face was made for radio when the truth couldn't be further from that. He was literally created solely to be watched on that funny colored box by… whatever was watching him and the others.

He was irritated at not noticing that something was wrong immediately, now he thinks about how blind he was, how obvious everything was. The city is actually quiet, too quiet when the noise and demons aren't needed, when they're not meant to be heard. Nothing actually happened that one time when he was out for a fix of his coat, it just got magically fixed, he went and came back when someone else decided he was to do so. They didn’t have much actual free will when he thought about it and that's what he was mad about. He thought that his deal was a massive problem to him, oh how wrong he was because the problem was you.

He doesn't know how he or the others didn't notice the small, glowing butterfly flying above their heads from time to time. They couldn't be that blind, could they? The little crystal thing (could he break it?) must have done something to be unnoticed for so long. He wondered how long they were watched for, the little thing above their heads seemed to be speaking sometimes, seemingly knowing what would happen… at least he thought so, the words would cut out so often that he was left with a pure guess at one point.

He didn't want to accept that he wasn't real, that he was just a 2D character with the sole purpose of entertaining someone. He was meant to be the one entertained, not you. But he couldn't actually do anything, could he? For sure not until more of the people he knew were aware. 

That's also something that he noticed. When it came to the hotel staff and guests, he seemed to be the only one who realized the situation at first. It took a few times of some events repeating before he noticed that someone else from the hotel was noticing the little crystal butterfly above their heads as well. 

Alastor seemed to be the first, or one of the very first people who noticed that something was wrong. He wasn't sure if someone realized before him, and if they did then who, but he was somewhat glad that he could finally discuss the topic at least a little once the other hotel patrons found out about the truth. He isn't one to really open up in any way, but this was a matter where he had to communicate with the others.

You. He didn’t know what to think of you at first. He did see you in a more negative light at first, under many emotions hitting him at once which he hated but after he calmed down, he started thinking. At first, he was sure you were some sick person seeking entertainment from the suffering of others, and yeah he was doing pretty much the same, but were you really alike when he wasn’t even real and you were? He was pretty sure that he’s never gonna get used to saying that.

Over time, when he stopped overthinking (he’s gonna deny that he was doing that till the day of his 2nd death), he noticed a few changes. The less negative his posture and thoughts were about you, even if neutral, the more he was able to find out. Alastor was able to pick up more than a few words whenever you talked, he was able to hear you talking clearly enough to recognize a possible gender, and something he wasn’t sure that he wanted to think about, it was way easier to pick up your emotions in your words.

I feel like he would be more lenient towards you if it turned out you were a female (or identified as one), but that would be the mama’s boy inside of him talking. There wouldn’t be too many differences of course, but those who spent enough time around him would be able to tell there's a difference after finding out your gender if it turned out you weren’t a man (again, not too much but it IS noticeable).

He would go from lowkey hating you at first to being mostly neutral with a hint of positive light as you seemed to do nothing but watch, up until later on when everyone is self-aware as well and would talk about the whole thing. Only then would the feelings towards you, the little watcher, as he first called you, turn more positive.

LUCIFER

Massive inner conflict and a complete mix of emotions

He didn’t know what to think. It was hard to comprehend that he didn’t actually live for as long as he thought, that all the things that supposedly happened, in fact never were even close to happening, they were just… a scripted past. 

Was all his suffering for nothing? Was it there just to entertain someone? Did those things who watched them enjoy seeing them sad and hurt? He was simply lost on what to think about the whole situation, it wasn't something that he could prepare himself for in any way beforehand. 

He was disappointed in himself for not noticing immediately or at least faster that something was not right. He's the literal King of hell! Even if… only in a show apparently… but he still is. No one better say anything about that because he's already on the brink of a yet another breakdown. He cannot take much more.

Should he try doing something about this? Or should he stay quiet and go with the script as he's supposed to? He wasn’t sure about the answer himself and had no one to answer his questions. The thought that what he thought were eons of life was actually a lie was… a little terrifying. Who knows just how much can someone force them to do without caring for their opinions because they don’t know that he and the others are aware of everything now, how much can you cause without their consent? He wasn’t sure if you or anyone else knew about them being self-aware or not.

He would actually try to ignore the little butterfly whenever he would see it, but at the same time, many questions were swirling in his mind.

Why were you around? Did you like to see them suffering? Did you have any control over what you saw? Did you have some sort of control over them? Did you have plans regarding them? Did you-

Yeah, again, he has a lot of questions and absolutely zero answers.

His personal feelings about you were all around at first. Not sure whether he should hate, dislike, or be generally negative about you, be more neutral, or be on the more positive side, especially since you didn't seem to do anything but watch them. Like it's all that you could do when it comes to them, but he couldn't be 100% sure.

Similarly to Alastor, he would be one of the characters who noticed something wrong on the first watch of the show before becoming self-aware quite soon after that. I don't think he, nor Alastor, would notice the other knows too fast, since both try to act like nothing's wrong around others. He did not want to be just a 2D character, something to be watched on a screen. It was… humiliating, in his eyes. He could tell that Charlie and the others weren't aware of anything at first so he didn't speak about it until later on when he was sure that they came to their senses, as he would like to say.

He wondered how long were you actually there before he, or anyone else, started to see or notice you, especially since he could literally hear you. Both as the small insect and the occasional words he was able to pick up. And that's if he was to forget the butterfly was literally, softly fucking glowing. Yeah, they're all blind.

I think that if you’re on the younger side, (which technically is any age a human can be alive at compared to him lmao) he would be a little softer, especially if you're similar to his daughter in character. It would come from the paternal side of his, you would probably remind him of Charlie so much :(

He would be more on the negative side at first, as much as he wishes he didn't straight up assume how you were as a person, it took some time but he went into the more neutral zone before being positive about you after being able to hear more of you talking, as he was able to at least have more idea about your character and wasn't completely clueless like at the start.

Your nickname also got changed to something else, something cuter over time, as Alastor’s name for you, little watcher, was deemed not good enough by everyone (Lucifer's words)

Notes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated

[ro-is-struggling]

In Sickness And In Health || Clark Kent x Reader

Summary: You're terrified that your boyfriend Clark —the local superhero and most perfect man on the planet— will see you sick, so you forbid him to visit you while you have a cold. However, when he shows up at your door saying he misses you, he proves that your insecurities were unwarranted.

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, reader being a little insecure, hurt/comfort kinda, my shitty titles (I tried my best :c )

English is not my first language

Word count: 2200

Notes: I wrote this for me while I was recovering from a cold that had me in bed feeling miserable for days. I was a mess and I felt ugly so I wrote this silly little thing to cheer me up as I continued to descend into the Henry Cavill filmography rabbit hole lol I decided to share it bc why not? Hope you guys like it c:

You hated being sick. You hated feeling weak and tired all day, spending hours in bed surrounded by used tissues. You hated that your throat felt scratchy and that your stuffy nose made you have to choose between eating and breathing. You hated having your daily routine interrupted by a stupid cold, but most of all you hated not feeling like yourself. 

You were a mess when you got sick, tangled hair tied up in a messy bun and wearing pajamas all day. You usually didn't move from your bed, which resulted in mountains of used tissues piling up on every surface near you. Multiple cups with leftover tea and a packet of crackers decorated the bedside table, being your main source of food for the day. It was an unpleasant sight so you preferred to spend your sick days alone in the quiet of your home where no one could see your red, irritated nose or the filth you were living in. 

You had specifically asked Clark not to come by your house for that very reason. You loved him to death, but you weren't prepared to let him see you in that state. You felt ugly when you were sick, almost unworthy to be in the presence of someone as perfect and magnificent as him. Clark was literally the perfect man, he never got sick or had to deal with colds in the winter or allergies in the spring. It was almost impossible to see him disheveled since he was able to stop a building from collapsing with his bare hands without a single hair on his head moving out of place. You knew he loved you and didn't care what you looked like, but you couldn't help but feel self-conscious about it since he was literally perfect. So, to save yourself trouble and to concentrate your energy on recovering, you asked him not to come see you for a few days.

Clark respected your wishes at first, but after two days without seeing you he couldn't wait. He missed you and didn't understand your insistence on being alone, it wasn't as if he could catch a cold from you. So when he finished his shift at the Daily Planet he headed to your apartment —stopping on the way just to buy some groceries and a bouquet of flowers for you. He didn't text you that he was going to see you, knowing that if he did you would find some excuse or some way to convince him to go home instead. That's why you were surprised to see him there when you peeked through the peephole in the door before opening it.

"Clark, what are you doing here?" You exclaimed with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. He wasn't supposed to be there. "I thought I told you not to come here!"

"I know, but I missed you." He pouted and you had to look away from the peep hole before he managed to convince you to let him in with those hurt puppy dog eyes of his. You missed him too, but you were in no condition to be around anyone, let alone him.

"I brought food, I thought maybe I could cook for you while you rest." Clark insisted when you didn't respond. You couldn't help but smile at his thoughtfulness, he sounded so genuinely interested in helping you and taking care of you that it almost broke your heart to have to say no to him.

"I'm not hungry," you lied. "You should go home, Clark."

"Why won't you let me take care of you?" he sighed in frustration. You leaned your forehead against the wood door, debating whether you should tell him the truth. You suddenly felt stupid for having such a specific and probably irrelevant insecurity, but it wasn't like you could control it. 

Despite the fact that you and Clark had been dating for quite a while, you still had a fair amount of 'first times'. You hadn't yet gone on vacation together for example, and he still hadn't met your family —though not by his own choice, he really wanted to. And, among other things, he had never seen you being sick. It was such a silly thing, but you felt ugly and disgusting and all you wanted to do was disappear under the covers and not come out until the cold was cured so no human being would ever have to see you in that state. 

"It's not that I don't want to," you muttered more to yourself than for him to hear, though you knew he could do it because of his powers. You fiddled nervously with the seam of your t-shirt, feeling a little silly for having to talk about this out loud. "It's just that I'm not in the mood to have guests."

"I'm not a guest, I'm your boyfriend."

“Claaark!” You pouted, begging the universe not to make you say out loud what your real problem was. You heard him let out a chuckle from the other side of the door and rolled your eyes, frustrated that he found the situation funny.

"What?" His voice was a perfect mix of confusion and amusement.

"It's just that... I'm not presentable, the house is a mess and I feel ugly. I'd rather you didn't see me like this." 

There was a long silence. Your fingers began to tug at the threads of the seam of the hem of your t-shirt while your teeth nervously nibbled at the skin of your lips, waiting for a response from your boyfriend. The tension grew with every second, time seemed to drag on as the uncertainty of silence ate you up inside. And then you heard a laugh. 

Clark was laughing. 

It wasn't a mocking or evil laugh, more an expression of his own surprise at your revelation. But it still bothered you. "I'm sorry, is this funny to you?"

"Yeah, a little." He replied with a chuckle and you let out a sigh of genuine disbelief. "I mean, you know I can see you through the door, right?" your eyes grew wide at the realization that due to his powers he had been watching you all this time. You turned quickly, facing away from the door as you hid your face in your hands. 

"Clark, stop it right now!" You ordered him and he let out another chuckle. "I mean it!"

"I'm sorry, it's just that I find it a little ridiculous. I mean, you have to know I couldn't care less about how you look. All I want to do is be with you and take care of you, baby." It melted your heart to hear the sincerity in her voice. It wasn't like you didn't know that, but it was nice to hear him say it, to reassure you that his love for you was genuine and pure. 

A part of you was dying to be pampered by him, to lose yourself in the warmth of Clark's strong arms as he held you against his chest, soothing all your aches and pains with his presence alone. It was tempting to think of him pacing around the apartment, making tea and cooking dinner while you rested between the sheets. But the other part of you —-the part that was usually in control of your decisions— hesitated, afraid of shattering some sort of illusion or image Clark had of you. It was silly and it only got sillier every time you thought about it, but you still couldn't bring yourself to open the door for him.

"I know, but still... I'm not ready for you to see me like this. I look hideous."

"You could never look hideous, baby." Clark sighed. His voice sounded closer and clearer, an indicator that he had moved closer to the door.

"You're just saying that because you love me and love has made you stupid and blind."

"Well, yeah, of course I love you. But also, you truly are the most beautiful woman in the world." You smiled to yourself, feeling your insides filling with that comforting warm feeling that you could only describe as the flame of love. Clark always knew just what to say to make all your problems go away. It was one of his best abilities, even if it was under-appreciated when compared to the rest of his powers.

"Flattery will get you nowhere." You lied, knowing full well that his sweet words were slowly softening the hard protective shield you had raised around your heart.

"C'mon, sweetheart! I'm gonna have to see you while you're sick eventually. Or what, once we live together you plan to lock yourself in the bedroom for a week and make me sleep on the couch so I don't see you with a cold? Or maybe I'll have to rent a room in a hotel until you get better? Is that what you want?"

You were silent for a moment as your brain tried to process what he had said, not his ridiculous options for staying apart when you were sick, but the part where he mentioned a future together. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't already imagined what your life together would be like for the next forty years. You wanted to wake up next to Clark every morning, share your free time with him and grow old by his side. He was the love of your life, you were sure of that. But what you didn't know was that he was also thinking about your future together. 

"Once we live together?" you repeated in an excited whisper, the smile on your face widening. "You think about that stuff?"

"Of course I do!" he assured you, sounding slightly offended that you thought otherwise. It hadn't been his intention to make it obvious that every night before bed he imagined his life with you, but he wasn't hiding it either. He was shamelessly in love with you so why bother disguising it. "I want everything with you, sweetheart. I love you."

All worries faded from your mind, banished by the echo of Clark's sweet words. Your hands worked quickly over the locks on the door, removing the latch before turning the key to unlock it. He had won, there was no way you could tell him to leave after such a confession of love. All you wanted to do was hug him and lose yourself in the warmth of his body until you melted into one, show him how much you loved him and how important his words were to you. It was more than the expression of a wish or a projection of the future. It was a promise. The promise of love and commitment. He wanted to be with you in sickness and in health, in good times and in hard times. Clark loved you as much as you loved him and that was all you needed to know to feel better.

"You cheated." You joked as you opened the door, stepping aside to let your boyfriend in. He smiled in amusement at your childish pout, letting out a slight chuckle as he set the shopping bag aside to close the door behind him 

"I was just being honest." Clark looked at you with such adoration in his eyes —his blue orbs glowing with the spark of love— that you couldn't help but feel self-conscious. Blood rushed to your cheeks, making you feel warm for the first time since you'd caught a cold.

"Stop it!" you whined, hiding your face in his chest as a defense mechanism to cope with how vulnerable you felt. 

You'd never been good at receiving compliments and always felt awkward when someone said something nice about you, unsure how to respond other than with a shy smile. And even though Clark seemed to make it his favorite pastime to give you compliments, it hadn't gotten any better. You still felt silly every time he complimented your outfit before going out to dinner or when he told you how beautiful you looked the next morning when you woke up in his arms. But just because you didn't know how to respond to his beautiful words other than with smiles and incoherent sounds of happiness didn't mean you didn't appreciate them. On the contrary, you loved the comforting warmth that flooded your insides every time he smiled at you, looking at you with pure love in his eyes. It made you feel special in a way that no one ever had before. It reassured you that you were on the correct path to happiness.

"I love you." You mumbled against Clark's chest and felt him tighten his grip on you, trapping you in his strong arms. You let the warmth of his body envelop you, slowly dissipating all your troubles. His simple presence was more powerful than any drug or medicine you could take, effectively making you forget all your problems in a matter of seconds. His hug alone was able to lift your spirits, restoring color and joy to your tired expression. That was the effect he had on you.

"I love you too, sweetheart." Clark whispered against your hair, placing a delicate kiss on the top of your head. "Now, will you let me take care of you?"

[nightfurmoon]

SECRET FROM THE BHO HANDBOOK FOR VILLAINS

Spoilers beware!!

SO Thor (a crew member) posted a HD version of this drawing on Twitter (source below) that you can find in the latest book, but in the book it was so low quality you couldn't really understand a thing. So now that it's in HD, I went ahead and decoded it!

For those of you that want to try, here is the decoder (if you got no clue where this comes from, it's from Flug's handbook):

Aand without further ado, here's what it says! First in Spanish, then in English translated by me (some words I had to guess because of the tears so they are indicated by the ?):

English:

Yes it is just as vague and confusing in Spanish. But here it is!

[saintescuderia]

pancakes (pt. 4)

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

A/N: apologies if this isn't 100%. i wrote this in between travelling to japan to attend suzuka. and then i got sick and couldn't even go lol.

P4 - L-sits and pull-ups

Charles Leclerc was known for being a nice guy. 

All the boys knew it. Lando experienced it when he saw how Charles was genuine with service staff whenever they went somewhere. Alex had experienced it in how Charles treated his family, leaving the F1 boys to spend time with Arthur whenever F2 joined the schedule - or when his mother visited the Paddock. Whereas George had just done a quick FaceTime to his mother on Mother’s Day, Charles had sent Pascale Leclerc a luxury basket with a surprise yacht trip and a massage.

“She was having a bad week.” The Monegasque reasoned when the boys found out.

Pierre’s PS5 was a result of Charles’ kindness; sourcing it for his upset friend who had missed the drop. Max's apartment was a result of Charles' kindness; helping him look for places in his home city for the Dutchman looking to buy property in the foreign Monaco. Max owed Charles a lot.

If not for his apartment, then for his F1 seat.

Mercedes were taking too long. Charles knew someone at Red Bull's junior team who could help him score an interview with Helmut Marko. And when you told Charles to stop being so nice to Max after all the drama that happened in F2, he shrugged and said it was the nice thing to do.

So you, a Torro Rosso trainer, helped Max Verstappen with an interview.

Because Charles was kind and he asked you.

And there was nothing you wouldn't do for Charles Leclerc.

Charles’ circles especially were all aware of you before he even joined the grid. It was just that sort of thing. Everyone knows everyone in motorsports. All those boys had seen you hanging around him at the karting races. Were it not for the stark difference in appearance, some might’ve thought you were family. Some did. Because for the longest time, that’s what you and Charles were. Family.  

You were always there for him. You celebrated him when he won. You supported him when he didn’t. You were always the first person he went to when he finished his race. Not his parents, not Jules, not anyone - you. 

He would come to you and you would quickly repeat some key English phrases for the interviewers who would surely come for him. You would pat him on the back and offer a warm smile - no matter the result - and offer some feedback based on what you saw. Performance was your speciality after all.

Then, after everything, you guys would finish with a homemade plate of your pancakes. No matter what. That’s how it went and how it would always go. 

Until 2018.

That had been a shit fucking show of a year. The rookie trio had been super confused when they finally arrived at F1 and saw you dressed as Hospitality. Charles gave no answer to Lando, Alex or George, no explanation to why he barely acknowledged you. It had been Pierre, the one who had been there through it all, who had quietly explained to them what had happened.

For a while, Alex had a hard time talking to Max when he found out. 

Charles hadn’t been surprised that the grid had found out. Nothing ever stayed a secret in this fucking place. NDAs were a joke. The whole agreement between him and Charlotte had been unearthed by some lower ranking Ferrari employee who didn’t know how to keep shut. Then again, Charles had expected it to come out eventually. Half the drivers were dating for PR anyway. 

Ferrari were already on his case about finding a new replacement, a pretty girlfriend for him to post boyfriend material pictures with so it can ‘increase his numbers’ with the female fanbase. Since Drive To Survive had done well to popularise the sport with a whole new demographic of F1 fans, teams were trying to capitalise on this as much as possible. Charles quietly suspected that this was part of the reason why Ferrari approached Carlos.

That and they probably wanted to get rid of Seb as quickly as possible after he found out what happened between to you and raged.

Though, Charles could understand Seb’s stance on it. He himself was conflicted about it, half the time unsure if he had made the right call to listen to Mattia. He had just been hurt and upset and his father had just passed away and the press had been vicious and Charles was just desperate to fulfil his dream of getting the coveted seat. 

Well, your joint dream. 

It had been the dream of the both of you. It was why you worked just as hard as he did. You had taught him English. He had taught you Italian. He networked and raced. You built cars and trained. He had helped you get a job in Torro Rosso. You had helped him get a seat in Alfa Romeo. 

Which, of course, led to him getting a spot in Scuderia Ferrari. 

Except by the time he was putting on the red, you two were no longer speaking to one another. Or, he was no longer speaking to you and you finally accepted he had cut you off. Gone were the days where he was searching the crowds for your face, rushing to you after the race finished.

Five years ago, he stopped eating pancakes. 

He knew you still made them, of course. And not because pancakes had been your everyday breakfast since you both turned fourteen and you started weightlifting and tracking your macros. He knew because he had seen some Alpine reserve driver eating them. 

His name was Oscar Jack Piastri. F2 Champion who also won F3 and the Renault Cup. He had more trophies than anyone else his age. For a moment, Charles thought it was because you back training drivers and were working with him.

Arthur later refuted this when Charles was grilling him that no, you weren't training Oscar Piastri. You actually hadn’t had much interaction with him when you would come down to F2. 

“Does this mean you’re talking to Y/N again?” Arthur had asked, assuming that’s why Charles was asking about you. “Can we be friends with her again?”

“No.” 

“You know maman still doesn’t believe what happened.”

Charles was known for being a nice guy, but he hung up on his brother. Charles really was one of the kinder drivers, but when Alex told them about the tweet, he had scoffed and sneered. When Oscar Piastri himself arrived in orange and held his hand out to greet the nice Monacoan driver, Charles glared and kept his arms crossed. Fuck this. He was not going to shake Oscar Piastri’s fucking hand. 

Even though, deep down, Charles knew there was no need for this. Arthur had confirmed that Oscar really was just a really talented driver - Y/N hadn’t trained him. This was no Max Verstappen situation.

Moreover, it wasn’t like Charles was in Daniel Ricciardo’s position.

If it weren't for the million cameras recording the first meeting of the two Australian drivers, Charles could only imagine Daniel's reaction to the rookie. It was one thing that Oscar essentially took Ricciardo's seat.

The other was that everyone had seen him with you.

Admittedly, Daniel had a reason to not want to shake Oscar’s hand, Charles could reason. Even if he still thought Ricciardo was an espèce de putain merde for what he did to you. 

Still, Charles couldn’t explain it. He wouldn’t explain it. He didn’t need to. The grid had so far understood it perfectly fine; you don’t go near Y/N. When Logan had joined the grid, Alex had the good sense to quietly fill him in on what had happened.

Why the fuck couldn’t Lando do the same?

Which brings us to right now: Bahrain 2023. A control unit failure meant a DNF for his first race of the season. When is this bad luck going to end? Charles retired his car, managing to make it past the McLaren garage on his way to the Ferrari red at the end of the Pit Lane.

It was just as well that his car was slowing to a stall. It meant that he managed to catch a glimpse of the McLaren garage - and the naive Australian rookie stood with a plate in his hands, very clearly eating some pancakes. 

Charles almost drove into a mechanic. 

It was 3am. $uicideboy$ was playing through your headphones. You weren’t wearing any shoes. 

This could only mean one thing: you were doing calisthenics. 

Your arms were shaking slighting as you bent your elbows and tucked your legs in before straightening them. Your grip on the parallette bars was slipping but you engaged your core tighter, hoping to keep balanced as you straightened out your legs and held the L-sit position. 

Oscar had DNF’ed on lap 13. The media was already going wild with questions about his decision to ditch Alpine for McLaren and whether or not this was just karma. McLaren looked horrible. Even his teammate had finished 17th. No matter your feelings on the young Brit, even you had to admit Lando Norris was a decent driver. 

During the course of pre-season preparations, wind had carried the gossip that Zak Brown had revealed the car to the team earlier this year with a sub-par level of enthusiasm. Whilst it wasn’t uncommon for cars to arrive at Sakhir with plans for future upgrades… you hadn’t thought it would be this bad. For McLaren. At this rate, the MCL60 was looking like a back of the field car. 

What’s more the team was struggling. One only needed to look at their qualifying session to see how bad it had been. Engineers giving mixed reports. Oscar’s radio not working and getting out in Q1. Lando getting mixed tyres and getting out in Q2. A whole ass clusterfuck, in your opinion.

And Daniel had been there, smiling smug whenever the camera decided to pan to the Red Bull garage.

The song changed in your headphones. Your arm strained. You dropped, fell forward. Cue the stream of expletives that would’ve made even Guenther blush.

You knew that going to the gym after the race had finished up - a night race that - was going to mess up your sleep schedule. However, you were too wired after everything to go to sleep. You needed the dopamine rush. There was too much going on for you to process any other way.

Because, firstly, you needed to get rid of the image of Daniel’s smug smirk that was currently etched into your brain.

You had skipped your post-dinner protein shake and had your coffees black today. You had started your session with a series of HIIT sprints on the treadmill before you did as many pull ups as your body would allow. It had been quite some time since you had done calisthenics training so religiously but you were already internally creating a new program for yourself. 

That is, you were already mentally preparing for the cut you had decided to undertake the moment Daniel Ricciardo had walked into the gym after finding out he'd lost his seat. And blame you for it.

You pushed yourself up off the ground and came to your parallette bars again. You grabbed each one and then lifted yourself up again. You closed your eyes and willed your brain to focus purely on the lactic acid running through your body. 

Because, secondly, you were stressing more than you should about Charles’ DNF.

You had watched the testing sessions carefully. You always did. Always keeping an eye out on the red car with the black T cam. Charles hadn’t done too bad but, obviously, it was hard to give a genuine judge. Everyone always sandbagged.

For example, Red Bull didn’t look as strong in testing, but then came out on race day and finished as they did. You could be happy for Max, especially since Jos was in attendance and knew just what that meant… but you also knew how it would look for Ferrari that Carlos had finished fourth and Charles hadn’t even finished the race. 

The car did look strong through. That was evident by how Ferrari had done in qualifying. Charles had out qualified Carlos, a narrow Ferrari 3-4 behind a Red Bull 1-2. However, your former childhood best friend had a bad luck streak unlike anything you had ever witnessed. 

And even though the word ‘former’ was in the equation, you never liked seeing Charles like this. Even if he was likely the reason no one in the grid spoke to you anymore.

Well, until now.

Because, thirdly, Oscar Piastri threw a spanner in the works.

You knew how it was going to look. You knew. It was one thing for you to interact this closely with a driver. It was another thing entirely for you to unofficially train him. However, as Zak Brown had found out, there was no way you could be allowed to join McLaren as a performance trainer for Oscar.

When the young driver had filled you in about his meetings with Zak Brown and his particular stipulation, you called him an idiot and told him to sign. When Oscar filled you in about his new plan to be able to work alongside you through all the loopholes his father's lawyer found, you called him an idiot and told him it wasn't worth it.

"I beg to differ. If you don't want to, that's fine. But not because of whatever drama happened."

He knew the drama. It was impossible that a team principle had looked into having you as his driver 's trainer and not found out what had happened. It was also impossible that Oscar Piastri, former Prema driver - as in, former Arthur Leclerc teammate - and current teammate to loose tongue Lando, didn't know about you and Charles.

You had honestly just waited for the moment he would bring it up. He never did.

Because Oscar, you were coming to learn, was far more level-headed and mature than most the drivers on this grid. And he was so young. You didn't want to see anyone fuck that up. You really, really didn't.

Still, you said no.

Then a week later you saw that fucking tractor make him DNF.

You leaned forward and brought yourself down into a handstand, counting to ten before bending your elbows and lowering yourself slowly. You lifted yourself up and then tucked your legs once more. Your whole body was shaking more and more know but and you fought to breathe through it. You finally lowered yourself and let out a deep huff. Whilst you weren't pleased with how out of practice you were, you were a little pleased that you finally managed to lower yourself - instead of falling down.

You looked ahead at the mirrors and then saw a familiar face of the driver walking into the gym. Oscar dropped his gym bag near yours and went straight to the treadmill to warm up. You kept your eyes on him as you held yourself up on the parallettes and watched the young driver fiddle with his phone and earphones before starting a light jog.

You took a moment before you pulled yourself up and went over to him. Oscar met your eyes as he continued to jog. He pulled down earphone but you said nothing as you pressed the button to increase the speed. Oscar raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"45 seconds on. 15 seconds off. 20 repetitions." You said. Oscar nodded and put his earphone back in. You shook your head. He frowned and pulled them down.

"You don't drive with music so don't play anything." You said. "Feeling something in your ear needs to become second nature."

He nodded and you went to his phone and pressed pause. Then you made a voice when you noticed that Ed Sheeran was playing.

"Don't judge me." Oscar said.

"I am. You're working out to fucking Ed Sheeran." You responded with a scrunched nose. Oscar shook his head, smiling slightly, but said nothing else. In the silence, you observed his form and counted his breaths. You noticed slight irregularity with his inhale and exhales and immediately pulled him up on it.

And so you spent the rest of the night training Oscar Piastri.

By the time you both finished, and he gave you a tired and sweaty high five, the clock read five thirteen in the morning.

< prev ch [3] | next ch [5] >

taglist:

@eugene-emt-roe @spookystitchery @vicurious28 @taytaylala12 @c-losur3

@hiireadstuff @samantha-chicago @fionaschicken @casperlikej @bookstore-of-dreams

@itsjustkhaos @sam-is-lost @laneyspaulding19

[letter-from-afar]

The Meaning Of Villains' Names (ft Vogel)

Inspired by the post @.cherryisagamer made for Ikemen Prince here

Take most of these with a grain of salt, because of Cybird's weird naming tendancy as well as how names are in most cases are perceived in various ways by everyone. Also included extra information because I'm a silly little nerd.

Name: William Rex

Meaning:

“William” meaning “resolute protection/protector”

“Rex” meaning “king”

William is actually German in origin. It derives from the Germanic Wilhelm, whose roots wil (“will, desire”) and helm (“helmet, protection”) combine to mean “resolute protector”

Name: Liam Evans

Meaning:

“Liam” is the Irish short form of “William”, therefore same meaning as him

“Evans” meaning “the Lord is gracious”

Evans is a boy’s name of Welsh origin. An Anglicized form of Ifan, which stems from the Hebrew John, it translates to “graced by Yahweh” or “God is gracious.”

Name: Harrison Gray (I had to go check if his last name was with an e or a)

Meaning:

"Harrison" meaning “son of Harry”

“Gray” meaning... it's literally for the colour. Funny how game uses the US spelling for it

Name: Elbert Greetia

Meaning:

“Elbert”, a variation of Albert, meaning “noble; bright”

“Greetia”... I couldn't find any info about it. It's made up I presume.

This masculine name has Old English and German roots, coming from the name Albert. Translating to “bright,” “noble,” or “famous.”

Name: Alfons Sylvatica

Meaning:

“Alfons” (there are many variants btw) meaning “noble; ready; brave”

“Sylvatica” comes from the scientific name for forget-me-nots, “Myosotis sylvatica”

Alphons is a masculine name of German origin. Composed of apalaz and funsaz, it means “ready for battle,” “noble,” and “brave.” This sweet moniker is thought to be ultimately derived from the Latin Alphonsus and boasts a wide variety of variants, such as Alfonso, Alfonzo, and Alphonso.

Name: Roger Barel

Meaning:

“Roger” meaning “famous warrior”

“Barel”... I couldn't find reliable sources. Or maybe it does have an obscure meaning.

This name is forged from the German elements hrod and ger, imbuing it with the striking translation of "famous spearman."

Name: Jude Jazza

Meaning:

“Jude” meaning “praised” and praised is he in the jp server

“Jazza”... I think saw a post here saying how it's a form of Jeremy? But I can't find it now. There's something similar in Arabic I found however, “Jaza” (pronounced differently, there's not much emphasis on the Z afaik) meaning “reward; recompense; good return” which I find fitting his themes of retribution for those not keeping promises and debts, how he keeps all his promises etc.

Name: Ellis Twilight

Meaning:

“Ellis” meaning “kind; benevolent”

“Twilight” in its literal sense, “dusk”. His eyes contains a similar colour palette + I believe it is a reoccurring theme with him

Name: Victoria

Meaning: “Victor” meaning “conqueror”

Victor is one of the earliest Christian names, borne (as Vittorio) by several saints and popes, symbolizing Christ's victory over death. Victor made it big in the English-speaking world during the reign of Queen Victoria, one of the few boys’ names popularized by a female version.

Name: Darius Vogel

Meaning:

“Darius” meaning “possessing goodness; maintains possessions well”

“Vogel”... German for “bird”.

Name: Nica Schwarz/Schwartz (I tried to do some research and it seems like both spellings are used. Please correct me if I'm wrong.)

Before we go in, I'd like to tell you that there's no single general meaning for his name. It could be the short form of something or entirely new. Both variations, i.e Nika and Nica yield separate results. And many sources claim differently. I've put together what sounds believable to some extent.

Meaning:

“Nica/Nika” meaning “true image; victory; very good; pure crystal water”

“Schwarz/Schwartz” meaning “black”

Name: Ring Schwarz/Schwartz

...Cybird has made questionable choices. So I went with what sounded nearest to his name: Lynn (it's so so much cuter for him)

Meaning:

“Ring” meaning “a small circular band, typically of valuable metal”

“Lynn” meaning “lake, waterfall, pool below a waterfall”

“Schwarz/Schwartz”... German for “black”

[iluvapplesxh]

⧽⧽ Behind The Scenes III. ⧼⧼

❀ pair: billie eilish x fem!reader

✯ summary: After bringing you to safety in her new home, Billie makes the recklessly stupid decision to go out to a small shopping trip by herself in the companies of her bodyguards, but that turns like the best and the worst decision of her life.

✰ warnings: injury, hospital, paparazzi, shooting, guns, choking, death, swearing, mentions of blood, fluff at the end, !ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE!

✯ part I, part II

✒ a/n: apologies for the late post! I just somehow couldn't get myself to write this, but I did it! (6k+ words)

It was so agonizing. The pain all over your body. It hurt all over and your head pounded especially loud, your ears picking up on the faint sounds of a beeping of some kind, maybe some words. Was someone talking? What the fuck is happening?

You slowly and, in all honesty, annoyedly peeled open your closed eyelids, thankful to whatever God that the room in which you were in had its blinds pulled in because otherwise you probably would have gone blind to top all things. 

You blinked a couple of times, taking deep breaths and looking around before all the memories came flooding into your head like a train crashing into another. Your heart beat faster and suddenly you were wide awake, sitting up which you regretted in that moment when a sharp pain shot through your side and your hand flew to cover the main source of the pain, a low but almost silent groan mixed with a grunt leaving your lips.

The realization of how dry both your mouth and throat have been almost made you choke on your breath, and you screwed your eyes shut when a small cough rocked your body, your hand pressing harder onto your side. 

“Hey, hey, be careful” 

The sudden rush of words came from the door which you’ve located in the left corner of the room and your head swiftly turned to look at the direction of the white entrance of what you recognized could be a hospital room and your confusion, panic filled eyes met with soft blue ones. Before you could say anything, she took hurried steps towards the uncomfortable bed you were now sitting on, arms stretched out and her hands soon were holding onto you, one of them gently pulling yours away from your bandaged side.

In her other hand was a bottle of water and your heart fluttered a little before alarms of scoldings and denial rang through your head, and you focused back on her creased eyebrows then her blue seas. 

Billie breathed in softly and held up the bottle to you, which you wordlessly took and uncapped before taking big gulps which earned you a dirty look from the woman next to you, but you ignored it and took a few more big sips before screwing the cap on the plastic bottle once more. 

“Thanks” You muttered out finally and a tender smile grew on Billie’s lips before her front teeth dipped into the lower part.

“How are you feeling?” The crease between her brows returned while her head tilted to the side the slightest bit, her hand never leaving yours which made your heart rate pick up again. And the action doesn’t go unnoticed by the heart monitor next to your bed, the beeping growing speedier and your cheeks heat when you see Billie’s eyes leave yours to confusedly glance towards the device before meeting yours again.

“Uh…-” You began after the small awkward silence. “I’m okay-...I think” 

Your words weren’t calming at all, but Billie decided to just nod subtly before taking a deep breath, her hand reluctantly letting go of yours as she took a step back and folded her arms over her chest.

“The doc said they’ll do a checkup when you wake and if everything’s okay, we can go home” She stated and her eyes stuck gazing into yours, making you lose yourself in them a little, almost missing her words before your head bobbed up and down, nodding. 

There was another long moment of silence, and your head quickly filled with questions about a lot of things. How long has it been? Did they find him yet? Did she see him? Why is she here? Where is he?

“Why’re you here?” The question left your mouth quietly, like you were afraid that the question would break the peace of the moment.

Billie sighed and dropped her arms to her sides, shifting on her feet. “I mean, you were attacked in my house…” Her gaze fell from yours almost as if she was nervous or embarrassed. “And-...kind of nobody came when I called. We-...well Finneas came by yesterday. He dropped off some clothes for me and food” 

When she began rambling your eyes narrowed in confusion before a small exhalation of a choked breath left your mouth and you nodded. “Right” You muttered under your breath, your tongue running along the inside of your cheek. “Thanks. For being here” 

Billie’s eyes lifted again and softened more when she saw your expression. She took a small step forward again. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be here?” She asked, because she knew that even if she wouldn’t have been there that night, she would have raced to you the moment she heard something.

Your gazes met again and there was a knowing look in your eyes to which a small, almost inaudible scoff left Billie before her head shook and there were a few seconds of stillness. “We’ll talk about everything when this shit is over, okay?” Her words almost sounded like a promise, but you knew better than to believe your own mind right now. Maybe if we talk at least, we’d stay friends

Although you knew that proposition was just hanging on by a small tinge of hope, you wanted to believe that it was true. Because if it wasn’t, it meant you would probably have to live your life without her in it and looking into that future, it didn’t seem right.

When you nodded your head, the door of the small room opened again and the doctor which you assumed Billie was talking about walked in with a soft, kind smile on his bearded face.

“Great to see you’re awake, miss” He said with a gentle look in his eyes when he approached the two of you. “My name is Dr. Hart” He extended his right hand, and you slowly did the same, giving his gruff hand a firm shake before pulling back.

– 

After Dr. Hart successfully finished up your check up, and signed the sign out papers, you were free to go. You sat in the wheelchair, now in your normal clothes which Billie had admitted to getting for you after borrowing your apartment keys a couple days prior when you were still unconscious, she was behind the chair, pushing it in silence as your eyes darted around the unfamiliar surroundings of the hospital hallways.

Finally, when the two of you made it out and arrived at Billie’s car which she had close to the entrance of the building, you just about got out of the wheelchair when the blinding flashes and lights of cameras almost took away the light of your world as seemingly hundreds of press employees and paparazzies surrounded the black SUV and, of course, you and Billie.  

“Fucking hell” You hear Billie mutter then the warm feeling of her arms wrapping around you made your breath hitch. “Come on, get in.” Her breath tickled your ear as she leaned close to your ear, then one of her arms left your body and opened the back door of the car, gently pushing against your back. 

The now muffled screamed questions of the reporters made your head pound once more as you watched Billie quickly being ushered into the car next to you by one of her bodyguards before he also hopped into the car in the passenger seat. 

You could see through the dark tinted windows how the security guards from the hospital had begun to push against the crowd, trying to make way for the SUV to leave.

You exhaled softly and leaned back against the seat you were in, one of your shaky hands reaching up to grasp onto the strap of the belt, pulling on it before grasping the latch plate and shifting in your seat, bringing it down beside you and fastening it inside the buckle with a soft breath of a grunt and when the soft clicking sound reached your ears, you leaned back in your seat again.

“You okay?” 

Your head turned to the side, eyes locking with Billie’s. “Yeah-...” You say, a little breathlessly. “I didn’t expect…all of this” You said and your eyes left hers, instead gazing at the slowly fading crowd, meaning the security guards were succeeding.

“Hm” Billie pursed her lips as her eyes followed your line of sight. “I should have thought about this before just bringing you out. I’m sorry.” Her words made your head turn back to her again, brows knitted together.

“What?” Disbelief tinted your question, and your head tilted a little to the left. “No, you couldn’t have known-...”

“Of course, I could have. I’ve been doing this a long time” Billie swallowed harshly and buckled her own belt when she saw the bright, orange light of the streetlamp next to the Hospital’s sign by the road, meaning the way’s been cleared. 

Your teeth bit down on your tongue, feeling like there was no argument with that and you took a deep breath, hearing your heartbeat in your ears at the sudden silence in the car.

–

You didn’t really pay any attention to where the SUV was heading, instead having chosen to stare at the gray carpet by your feet. So, when the car came to a halt and your eyes finally lifted, settling on the metal gates being lit up by vehicle’s headlights, your head filled with confusion.

“Uh, where are we?” You spoke finally, turning to Billie who was sitting in silence until now.

“Oh, right.” Despite the very uncomfortable situation, a small -almost cocky- smirk grew on her face and she slid lower on her seat, hands hanging loosely between her spread legs. “My house.” 

The crease on your forehead grew and you blinked. “Uh, no…this is not your house.” You shook your head, looking ahead again as the gates opened and the car began moving again. “And also, I thought you were taking me home? To- to my house? So, you wouldn’t be in danger” Anger and worry laced your voice, and your eyes glanced back at Billie.

Billie took a sharp breath and ran her tongue along the left side of her cheek. “First of all, I never said I’d leave you alone. Not now.” She muttered; expression hard before it softened again. “And also, I bought a new-...safer house right after you were treated. For my own safety and for your own since you will be staying here until that…-” Her eyes darkened and her jaw clenched. “Asshole is behind bars.”

Your head shook in disbelief. “Billie, you don’t understand!” Your voice grew somewhat desperate and frustrated. “Being with me is not safe for you!” 

Billie swallowed hard and her tongue darted out, moistening her drying lips before she spoke. “No, you don’t understand!” She said harshly, her gaze averting from yours for a moment when the car stopped on the end of the driveway and the bodyguards got out. “I won’t ever leave you like this, okay? No matter what the fuck happened or didn’t happen-...” Her eyes softened. “I just want you to be safe…”

Your own face eased and there was a minute of stillness, just the two of you gazing into each other’s eyes. You didn’t need words to talk. You never did with her. The both of you knew each other like the back of one’s hand.

Then, a simple nod from you and she was out of the car, turning back around to hold out a hand for you to take. Your heart almost melted at the small gesture and a lump formed in your throat, gaze stuck on the extended tattooed hand before you teared it away and unbuckled your belt, sliding towards the opened door and taking the soft hand. 

Billie slowly helped you out of the car and -much to both of your dismays- her hand left yours, pushing the opened door closed. Then she stood next to you and the two of you began walking towards the front doors.

When you reached them, Billie pushed them open with a soft grunt. Then she turned to the side, her eyes looking into yours before darting to the inside of the house then they met yours again. You took the signal and stepped forward, the unfamiliar warmth of the new place engulfing your body.

You heard the doors shut behind you before Billie was standing next to you again. “So, there are 2 guest bedrooms.” She paused, biting down on the flesh of her bottom lip. “I think…”

A small smile spread on your lips at her unsure knowledge about her new home and your eyes took in the sight of her side profile, tracing the sharp contour of her jawline before darting to her nose then her cheek and then your staring and Billie’s thinking was broken by a deep but not unkind voice from behind the both of you in the hallway.

“Hey, guys!” 

The both of you turned around, Billie’s face lighting up into a grin while yours turned into one of slight confusion when your eyes laid on Finneas walking towards the two of you, a gray button up hanging on his upper body and a checkered pair of pants clinging to his waistline. 

“I’m surprised you made it out of there.” He spoke again when he reached the both of you. And due to the puzzled looks from you and Billie, he elaborated; “It was all over the news.” 

A small ‘oh’ fell form Billie’s lips next to you while you only nodded, suddenly feeling very awkward in Finneas’ presence considering the two of you haven't spoken or seen each other since that day after the breakup at the airport. 

The thought made your throat tighten up and you cleared it, sadly gaining Finneas’ attention. He looked back at his sister for a moment who shook her head and Finneas sighed softly before shooting you a small smile.

“Is Claudia here, too?” Billie asked, glancing down the lit-up hallway.

“Yeah, in one of the guest rooms” Finneas replied, nodding his head. “Mom and dad will be here soon, too.” He continued.

Billie nodded and your brows furrowed, finally daring to speak up. “Uh, no offense, but why?” 

Both of the siblings turned to you, and it was Billie who answered your question after a small second of silence. “I just figured it would be best. I mean, the guy figured out where I lived. I couldn’t take any chances” 

You noticed how she tried to play her worry for her family off, but you saw right through it and the smile returned to your face, nodding. “Alright” 

–

After the small conversation by the entrance of this much bigger house compared to what Billie had previously, you were led to one of the other guest rooms -which you learned there were three of- and were very reluctantly left alone by Billie in it.

It was when you were finally alone that the worrisome thoughts came back into your mind. The uneasiness in your chest made you sit down on the twin bed in the middle of the room, and you could have sworn your side started to hurt more at the thoughts -or maybe the painkillers were just wearing off-.  

You knew that you really shouldn’t be as worried as before, this house was big and safe. He didn’t even know it existed. But then again, he did somehow find out where Billie lived previously, and that you were there. 

The images of what had happened flashed quickly before your eyes and your breath caught in your throat before you swallowed thickly and got up, deciding to take a hot shower.

After getting the towel which was folded on the bed and some of the clothes also laid out on it -no doubt Billie’s which made your heart race for a different reason than fear-, you walked into the bathroom attached to the room and rid yourself of the clothes Billie brought for you to the hospital. When your gaze found its way on the mirror above the sink, your eyes burned holes into your bandaged side and a sigh escaped your mouth at the tingling pain you felt with every twist of your torso.

After successfully and painfully tearing off the bandages as gently as you could, you didn’t dare give a second glance at the wound on your side, you just stepped into the shower and began washing your body.

When you were done, you got out, dried yourself up and put on the underwear and shorts you were given. Then you walked out of the bathroom with the T-shirt in one of your hands, the small medical kit which was placed on the counter next to the sink in the other. 

You tossed the T-shirt on the bed and stood next to it, opening up the box of medical supplies and taking out the needed things. Then you sat down on the plush mattress and one of your arms circled under your bare breasts, pulling them out of view of your wound and you groaned softly when your body twisted to the side, the skin around the gash stinging sharply. 

Your free hand held the soft cloth with the disinfectant on it above it, hesitantly bringing it down with a deep breath. The sting was not as bad as your head had previously told you it was going to be, and you exhaled loudly, pressing the cloth firmer against your side before pulling it back then pressing it there again.

The peaceful silence of the guest room was broken by a knocking on the door and your body tensed, causing your grip on the cloth to tighten and press hard against your side. A hiss left your mouth and your eyes screwed shut.

“It’s Billie.” A soft, seemingly angelic voice called from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

Your body relaxed at the sound and your eyes opened, taking in her words. You looked down at your half-naked body, the cloth now hovering over your wound and your thinking stopped for a moment. Was it clear that you couldn’t do this alone? Absolutely. Were you going to let Billie of all people help you with it? Absolutely not. 

 You weren’t ready for her to see you like this, so vulnerable and…wounded. Looking like a kicked puppy. It was humiliating. 

Well, as it turned out you were pondering for too long, and Billie grew quite worried by your silence. She quickly pushed the door open and when her eyes found your figure sitting on the bed with your back turned to her, her breathing calmed just for a moment before her eyes took you in and it hitched.

Your head whipped around quickly, and your heart jumped into your throat at the look on her face and you turned back just as fast. 

Billie’s eyes left your form and fell onto the bed you’re sitting on, looking over the medical supplies and her mind filled with worry rather than the acknowledgment of your state and she walked closer to you.

“Can I…-” She spoke softly, her eyes strained onto the wound on your side. “Can I help?” 

Heat bloomed in your chest and your arm tightened around your body as you looked up at her before sighing softly and nodding. Your hand which was hovering over your side extended and Billie slowly took the wet disinfectant drenched cloth and took a seat on your right.

The somewhat awkward tension in the room was palpable and it sent a hot shiver down your spine, or maybe it was the fact that Billie was leaning close to you, her hand dapping the cloth against your side while you felt her breath on your skin, that caused it.

A minute later, one of her hands rested against your hip bone, probably accidentally since you didn't notice any change in her focused expression, and the other was mindfully wrapping the bandage around your torso.

You could feel the heat in the air grow by the seconds that Billie was spending focused on taking care of you. Just like she had done so many times before and then after you would smile and kiss her as a ‘thank you’ before the two of you cuddled up in each other’s embraces on her bed or the couch. But not this time, no, when she straightened up with one last touch on your bandaged side, a respectful distance was created between you two again while she packed up the supplies and you wordlessly pulled the T-shirt over your head, letting it hang loosely on your body. 

Billie soon shifted further away from you on the bed to put the box on the bedside table and your teeth nibbled on the flesh of the inside of your cheek, your feelings all over the place.

You swallowed hard and took a deep breath, deciding to be the first to speak up. “Thanks” The words were muttered and quiet, but Billie caught them, and she turned back to you, pressing her lips into a thin line as she nodded.

“You’re welcome”

You looked away from her and a long exhale left you. You placed your hands on your knees. “Why-...uh why did you come?” 

Billie was silent for a moment, trying to read your body language before she folded her arms. “I was just going to check on you.” She said simply. “Oh, and also my mum made some dinner, if you’re hungry” 

You took in her words, and nausea swirled in your gut at the mention of eating right now. You felt like you had no appetite whatsoever. Your head was still far in the gutter of what had happened. 

Back at the hospital you had caught a glimpse of a television in one of the rooms, the news was on, and it was flooded with your name, some even mentioning Billie’s.

“I’m not.” You said lastly, not looking at her and instead carrying on staring at the pulled in curtains.

Billie smacked her lips, her jaw clenching as her eyes didn’t leave you until she stood up. “Alright.” She said with a sigh. “We’ll be downstairs for a little while longer, if you need anything.” 

When she saw you nod your head, she took a couple steps towards the door, her hand pulling it open by the handle and she cast one last lingering worried glance towards you before she stepped out and the door shut behind her.

-

It was a couple hours later, which was around 9PM, that you emerged from the guest room. You hesitantly took the large flight of stairs downstairs, following the sound of voices to the living room of the house. 

When you arrived at the entrance, your eyes scanned over the room. You saw Finneas and Claudia sitting close to each other in the loveseat while Maggie and Patrick were sitting on the sofa, all having a seemingly pleasant conversation. But your heart beat faster when you looked around the whole room and you didn’t find the comforting presence of the one person who you felt like actually wanted you here.

And unfortunately, when you turned back around to make your way back upstairs, Maggie’s voice stopped you with a call of your name and your breath hitched. Your jaw clenched and you turned back towards them, seeing all of their eyes on you, Maggie had a soft expression on her face, Patrick was looking at you with a kind smile and both Finneas and Claudia were looking at you a little skeptical but not unkindly.

“Would you like to sit with us, sweetie?” Maggie spoke up again and your eyes locked with hers. 

“Oh-...uh, no thanks, Ms. Braid.” You spoke quietly and pressed your hands together behind your back.

Maggie smiled at you softly and nodded. There was a pause in the air before she parted her lips to speak again. “Billie went out for some stuff for you” 

Her words made you freeze, and you felt dizzy all of a sudden. “Alone?” Your voice trembled slightly.

Patrick butted in; “Don’t worry, hon, bodyguards are with her. “ The smile never left his face, but it did little to ease the thumping against your sternum. 

“Yeah, but-...” You took a ragged breath and placed a palm against your chest. Maggie, taking sign of your panic, swiftly stood up and walked over to you, wrapping her arms around you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. She’ll be okay” Her hands rubbed your arms comfortingly. “There was nothing to argue about when she said she wanted to go out for more supplies.”

You shook your head. This was your fault again. 

–

Meanwhile, Billie sat in the same SUV which took the two of you home a couple hours before. Two of her best bodyguards sat in the front seats and one next to her in the backseat. She had a plastic bag of supplies in her lap, both hands placed on top of it as her eyes followed along the road through the tinted window.

A minute later, the car came to a stop by a gas station and Billie’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. She looked at the man next to her and he offered a small smile. 

“We stopped for gas, Ms. O’Connell”

Billie breathed out a puff of air, the small knot which began forming in her gut previously untying as she nodded. “I’m going to use the restroom” She told him, unbuckling her belt and placing the plastic bag down on the car’s floor.

“Would you like me to come with you, Ms.?” The bodyguard asked, slight worry in his tone and Billie smiled at him before she shook her head.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be quick” 

With that, she stepped out of the car and shut the door after her. She rounded the SUV and sent a small wave at the other two guards outside it, one of them filling the car with gas while the other stood watch. She walked into the dimly lit station and looked around in slight confusion at the lack of the cashier by the counter before shrugging and striding across the small store. She walked to the back door which led to the restroom and pushed it open, making way to the women’s bathroom.

When she was inside, she looked around. Silence was all that greeted her, and she took in a deep breath before walking into an empty stall and locking it.

When she sat down on the toilet seat, she exhaled loudly and relaxed a little. But her body tensed once more when the entrance door of the bathroom opened again, and footsteps followed the sound soon after. Loud thuds of boots against the marble floors and soon the door slammed shut, making Billie flinch a little. She held her breath as the person took slow steps in front of the stalls and her heartbeat in her ears when she saw the shadow of the boots stop right before the door of the stall she was in. Then the person turned and walked into the stall next to hers and Billie let out the breath she was holding.

Billie stood up, flushed and hastily tugged up the baggy jeans she was wearing, making quick work of buckling her belt before she unlocked the stall and stepped out. She took anxious glances around the premise before stepping towards the sinks and opening one of the taps. She held hands out and wetted them under the stream of water before one of them reached up to the dispenser of the liquid soap. She held her wet palm under the soap pump and her thumb moved to press down on it. After a couple of tries an annoyed huff left her lips when nothing came from the dispenser, and she muttered under her breath.

“Of course,”

Her frustrated muttering froze when the stall door next to the one she was in opened and the sounds of boots nearing made her pulse quicken.

Her movements froze as well, and she just stood there while the person took place next to her. 

“Hm, crappy bathrooms in this city, huh?” 

The voice made her throat tighten in fear. It was a gruff, deep male voice. In the women’s restroom. And she swallowed hard before nodding her head. When she heard a derisive chuckle from the man, she shakily stopped the running water and looked up. The man had dark hair, a messy, thick beard, and a mustache. He was wearing a brown jacket and a white shirt, and he had a few wrinkles around his eyes and forehead. The man appeared to be in his 30s or 40s. 

“Uh, sir, this is the women’s restroom” Billie finally spoke up, trying to keep the shakiness out of her voice as the man basically towered over her. 

“Oh, I know” The man said, his voice having a slight edge to it. Then a smirk appeared on his face, and he ran a hand down his beard. “I think you know who I am” He said lowly and Billie’s expression hardened, taking a step back.

“Oh? Are you scared now?” Another dark chuckle came from his mouth as he took a step toward Billie. 

“What the fuck do you want from me, dude?” She asked, her voice laced with anger and her teeth grit together.

The man’s smirk spread into a grin; his eyes dark. “I don’t like how close you are to what’s mine…” He began and tilted his head to the side, his grin falling. “And since plan A didn’t go as planned…” Billie continued to glare at the man. “Time for plan B” When the words left his mouth, he pushed forward and threw Billie against the dirtied wall of the restroom.

Air was knocked out of her lungs as her back collided with the wall and the man stepped close to her. Just as she was about to gather her breath, a large rough hand wrapped tightly around her throat and her own hands frantically came up to wrap around his wrist.

She struggled against his grip, pushing with all her strength when she suddenly froze to the sound of a loud click and something cool against the side of her head. Billie’s eyes widened and she looked at the man in panic, her lungs desperately searching for air while her heart thumped loudly against her ribcage.

Her sight became blurry, and she could see the man’s mouth moving but she couldn’t hear anything, blood rushing in her ears. When she felt the gun press against the side of her head harder a cry left her lips and she screwed her eyes shut.

She heard the man’s distorted chuckle one last time before a loud bang echoing through the restroom cut it off. Her ears began ringing loudly and then suddenly the pressure of the big hand around her throat flattered and her eyes opened. She looked down and saw the man on the ground, blood pooling underneath him as he coughed.

She felt dizzy and her throat hurt as she looked to the side and saw one of her bodyguards standing by the door, gun gripped tightly in his hands, his own gaze stuck on the man on the floor who was now chuckling quietly, the blood gathering in his throat making them sound choked.

Billie stayed pressed against the wall until the bodyguard came over and gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders, turning her away as they walked out of the restroom, leading her out of the gas station store to see the blinding lights of police cars paint the whole station red and blue, and somehow there were even some press around with cameras on their shoulders and microphones in hands, screaming while being held back by police.

Some of the officers rushed past them into the store while Billie was led to an ambulance.

– 

Panic was all over your body as your body stood frozen in the middle of the living room. All of your gazes were on the television in front of you and tears sprung to your eyes at the headline;

‘Popstar, Billie Eilish, attacked by her ex-girlfriend’s stalker at local gas station’

Your body moved on its own, mind hazy as you quickly rushed out of the room and to the front doors, trembling hands reaching into the bowl of car keys on the dresser next to them. You didn’t give a fuck about what car it was you took the keys for, you just took one and ran out the doors, pushing the button on the remote key, your head turning all around the place hastily when a pair of headlights on a random car in the driveway lit up and you quickly made your way over to it.

You all but ripped the door open and jumped into the driver’s seat, starting the engine and driving to the already open gates as fast as you can and speeding down the streets.

You didn’t even know which gas station it happened at. You just hoped that you were right about driving towards the closest one to Billie’s house. Your mind was a mess as you repeatedly blinked back your tears. Your chest hurt and you felt sick to your stomach the whole drive.

When you finally saw the red and blue lights flashing near you, you drove even faster and stopped just as fast behind a police car, the abrupt stop making your body jolt forward but you didn't care, you just pushed the door open quickly and jumped out of the car. You didn’t even bother shutting the door, you just ran through the crowd of reporters and such, pushing through them without a fucking care if they fell over ot not. 

When you reached the edge of the crowd, a police officer stood in front of you but you just pushed against his chest, making hims tumble back as you ran to the site, hearing some shouts and callings for you but you didn’t stop until your eyes finally found her, sitting on the back on the ambulance with an unreadable expression on her face as the paramedic explained something to her.

You raced towards her and when you were finally in front of her, she looked up and your gazes met. Her eyes were red and fearful as they looked into yours and your heart shattered into a million different pieces at the sight. Your chest now hurt for two different reasons and you felt slightly dizzy but that didn’t stop you from dropping to your knees. Billie caught your arms, making you fall into her. 

Your arms wrapped around her, clinging to her desperately as your tears finally fell. Her hold on you tightened and she shifted in her seat, brushing off the small blanket which was around her back and pulling you into her. Her own eyes burned with tears but she shut them as she pressed her cheek against the top of your head.

“It’s okay. I’m okay” Billie whispered softly while sobs rocked your body. “He’s gone. He’s gone” Her reassuring words made you cry harder, relief flooding your entire body.

The two of you held each other for a little longer before you stood again, and she followed you. Her hands lifted to cup your cheeks, her thumbs wiping the tears on your skin.

Then her hands fell and your own lifted, one of them placed on her right shoulder and the index finger of the other tremblingly hovering over the red mark around her throat. Billie took a deep breath and gasped your hand, bringing up to her lips and pressing it against them. 

Your eyes met again and she pulled your hand away, letting it fall on her other shoulder before she leaned in. Not leaving room for overthinking, or any thoughts or words at all. She didn’t care right now. It was over.

When you felt her soft lips press against your trembling ones you breathed in sharply through your nose, body tensing up. But then her hands held onto your waist and you relaxed, kissing her back. 

The kiss was filled with emotion, longing and hundreds of apologies. Your chest filled with warmth and your arms wrapped loosely around her neck, tugging her closer.

It felt right. It felt like nothing ever happened or maybe even if it did this one kiss sealed the happy ending of it. You felt at home again. In her arms. And she felt the same. She felt safe and calm, finally having you in her arms again. And there was no fucking way she’ll let you go ever again.

✒ a/n: I so, so hate how this turned out btw. but am I gonna post it anyway? fuck yeah! the endings are always so shit i'm gonna kms.

REQUESTS OPEN!

➣ tags: @be3flow3r