#And life will continue being better than before | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

comicarc · 1 day ago

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭 (𝐈𝐈)

•──✮ masterlist ✮──•

> Main Continuity Mark Grayson/Reader > y/n makes a lot of discoveries, some good and some bad as she officially starts working with Teen Team 【 wc: 2298 】

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Mark Grayson had powers. Mark Grayson was the new guy. Mark Grayson was sitting injured at the foot of his father’s hospital bed. y/n had no idea what to feel–betrayed by the fact that Mark never mentioned such a monumental change in his life or empathetic to the fact that he needed medical attention immediately. Frozen in place, lips slightly parted, y/n was deciding how to approach the situation when Debbie ran past her to hug her son. They both shed tears in each other’s embrace as y/n watched.

Taking a shaky breath she took a seat at the bench on the other side of Nolan’s hospital bed, back facing the Graysons her head hung low so her tears would be unseen. She silently wept, holding a tissue she had found in the corner of her eye so the salty water wouldn’t stream past her waterline. It was a plethora of emotion she released through her tears. She was trying to forget the literal pain emitting from her bruised body, just as much as she was trying to extinguish the anguish of having to lie to Mark about her own powers. She couldn’t tell him yet, for a promise was a promise.

A while had passed before silence crept back into the recovery room. Debbie had stepped out to grab some food for the three of them, while Mark paced back and forth, now realizing what he had brushed off before. He should have told her he’d gotten powers, he’d even promised she’d be the first to know at one point, so why didn’t he?

Mark tried to reason his actions before apologizing to y/n. “I thought things would be different if I told you, and the last thing I needed was more change–”

“–What? You thought I wouldn’t be excited? Or that maybe I wouldn’t like you anymore cause you’re different? You know you couldn’t have hidden it from me for long, I would have found out eventually. So what exactly would be different Mark, other than me knowing?” y/n retorted with a whisper yell for she feared her voice would have broken midway through her sentence with all the crying she had done.

“I–I just thought if you didn’t know, then you’d be safe from…” Tears welled in his eyes as he turned his gaze from y/n’s back to his father. “...this.” His voice broke as he finished.

Standing from her place, y/n made it to Mark’s side and hugged him, drowning in his reciprocated embrace. “Don’t worry Mark, I can take care of myself just fine.”

Mark chuckled, wrapping a hand around y/n’s waist. He noticed her wince ever so slightly at the touch but shrugged it off as a result of his super strength. He needed to do better, be better to help stop threats like the aliens, and protect his loved ones from himself. So he decided his first priority would be to get some lessons from a reliable and relatable superhero: Atom Eve.

“How about we get out of here, have some ice cream, and watch some trashy reality TV with your mom?” y/n suggested, hoping it would give Mark some much-needed laughter.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

“Cecil?” He’d teleported to y/n in the middle of an empty hallway at school, much to her dismay. “I’m at school, what was so urgent you couldn’t wait?”

He paced toward her, as a faux show of authority, before beginning, “I need you to meet the Teen Team at their quarters, as soon as you’re out. You’re going to have to work together to stop any new threats now that the Guardians are dead.”

y/n didn’t want to get in the middle of any superhero-ing activities, for that always spelled trouble. But, even working together, they were no match for the aliens that attacked downtown. The only way to solidify a weakened defense would be by unifying the most powerful people they could find, her being among them. Reluctantly, y/n answered, “Fine, but this is temporary.”

As if on cue, the bell rang, effectively ending her school day. Heading out the doors as quickly as she could, y/n beat the crowd of teenagers vying to leave campus and flew off to the Golden Gate Bridge without anyone seeing her. On her way there, she wore the costume she’d kept in her bag and stashed the backpack in her bedroom.

Descending into the base, Rex was the first to greet her, “Well, if it isn’t Ms. I’m Above Everybody. Finally joining?”

Throwing him the nastiest look she could conjure, y/n retorted, “You need all the help you can get. Think of this arrangement as a pity favor.” A smile snuck on her face as she finished and stood to the side watching Dupli-Kate play ping-pong with her other self.

The base was just the same as the day she’d first seen it, rooms located on the higher levels with the main area split into a spacious floor and a locker room. Kate and y/n stood in another section, where the ping pong table had been set up beside the platform with Robot’s computers.

y/n was about to strike up some conversation with Kate when the compound doors opened allowing Eve and Mark Invincible to enter. When Eve landed, subsequently having a mini-makeout session with Rex, y/n couldn’t help but feel proud for Mark as he wore his super suit with pride, just like his father. But she mentally reminded herself that she wasn’t supposed to know who he was, so she simply remained quiet, smiling at him like an idiot. Their eyes met for the briefest moment before Rex stole his attention by taunting him and blabbing about how the Teen Team was victorious.

Robot, shifting the atmosphere to a more welcoming mood introduced, “Welcome, Invincible. My name is Robot. Apologies for Rex Splode, he’s–”

“Unbelievably awesome.” Rex interrupted, with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Robot, unphased by the disruption finished, “–Incorrigible.”

Kate was next to introduce herself as all three of her walked up to Invincible. Turning his head, he looked at y/n who sent him a wave of acknowledgment as she said, “Wonder.”

He responded to both heroes with a succinct, “Invincible.”

Finishing with the introductions, Robot began debriefing, “The flaxans come from a dimension with a faster temporal rate. As a result, the tachyons they emit spin more rapidly than our own. I’ve created this detector to warn us if they return. It should give us a few minutes of early warning.”

Moving away from his computers, Robot stepped toward Invincible, continuing, “Cecil and the GDA have also requested to call on us for any possible emergencies. Since the Guardians are apparently indisposed, Invincible, may we count on you in the future?”

“You sure you want my help?” the boy began, waiting for a response. A moment of silence transpired before he manned up and responded, “Yeah, I mean, of course. Just text me, I guess.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Sitting at a cafeteria table besides William, who had caught y/n up on all of Mark’s drama, the girl taunted, “So, loverboy?”

Raising his hands in the air to make a point of his frustration, Mark answered, “We’re just friends.”

“Will you stop saying that? It’s like you’re trying to jinx any chance you have of dating Eve.” William chimed.

“A day ago you said I had no chance!” Mark countered, eliciting a laugh from y/n.

Smirking she elaborated, “That was before everyone saw you leave school with her yesterday.”

Mark’s eyes went wide at the realization. As he began bickering with William about any chance of being with Eve being nonexistent because of her boyfriend, y/n’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Pulling it out, she saw a notification from an unknown number telling her to head to downtown as quickly as she could. Knowing it was Robot, y/n patted William’s back, letting out a quick, ‘gotta go’ as she ran off to the lockers.

Grabbing her suit from the bag she had stashed inside, the girl made sure to be inconspicuous as she left school grounds fully suited. Flying to the city, she spotted Rex with his arms crossed and a cheeky grin. y/n walked right past him to the ledge where Kate and Robot stood.

Below, she observed the same Flaxan troops marching onto the streets in hordes, except this time they had new tech. The leader emerged from the portal, drawing a red cape and a scar where his eye should’ve been. It seemed they had taken the previous battle a little too personally. She wondered what they were waiting for, as more troops kept filtering in by the second. Her question answered itself when Eve and Invincible landed on the rooftop, occupied by Rex’ scrutinizing inquiries about their whereabouts.

Unwilling to wait another second on the rooftop, y/n was the first to fly down, landing on the ground with an impact that sent some soldiers flying. Using her speed to her advantage, y/n fought her way through the crowd, creating an opening for the others to land. Eve stayed back to give civilians enough time to escape while the others took their respective places in the battlefield, each superhero attacking a different horde. Once most of the civilians had managed to escape, Eve let out a blast that pushed the Flaxans pretty far back. But, the victory was shortlived for the others seemed to be getting overwhelmed by the forces and Eve was subdued by the flying orbs the army had brought with them.

Mark broke through the forces after being temporarily held back, directing his rage at the commander. y/n took the troop’s distracted state to decimate as many as she could, dwindling the force to a third of what it was to begin with. Permitting herself enough time to free Kate, Robot and Rex, y/n attempted to figure out how the Flaxan’s were able to stay alive for so long. Her eyes scanned the soldier heading toward her, when they landed on the wristband he was wearing. That was new.

Conveying her thoughts in her words, y/n tested, “Robot, y’think it’s the–”

“–wristbands. Yes, they protect the Flaxans from our timestream.” He finished. In no time, they were able to subdue the troops with Robot emitting a charge that dirupted all the bands on the same frequency. Retreating, the team had finally won.

As the dust cleared, y/n began cleaning up the scene as she piled up the debris from the nearby destroyed buildings. She’d left the team to bicker amongst themselves as they always did, knowing that if she waited for them then they’d all be at this for the rest of the day. Invincible was the first to leave, just as the team started to carry their weight in the task.

Mark wouldn’t have left early for no reason. Either, Debbie was in danger or something happened to Nolan, her mind leaning toward the latter reason. She couldn’t just leave the team to finish up on their own like Mark, so she opted to super speed her way out. Finishing in record time, y/n was finally able to act on the worries that plagued her for an hour. She rushed into the GDA facility, suit discarded at her house as soon as she had left downtown.

As the doors to the room opened, y/n let out a worried, “What happened?” not even registering the fact that Nolan was awake and sitting up.

Debbie was bewildered at the sight of the panting girl, asking, “You didn’t see my text?”

Feeling her pocket, y/n realized she had left it in her school locker. Shaking her head no, y/n came by Debbie and Mark’s side with a wide smile stretched across her face. Nolan’s awakening was the best news she’d witnessed all day. y/n asked the bed-ridden man the typical questions he’d probably gotten used to hearing ‘How are you? Any broken bones? Y’think you’re recovered, yet?’ before Mark and Debbie left the room to grab some coffee.

Now alone with the man, Nolan initiated, “Mark told me about his excursion in the field. How’s he doing?”

“Great! He’s got the basics down, pretty well and he’s more powerful than everyone else on the team, but I guess that was expected. But, I think the only reason he hasn’t realized his real potential is the weight of it all. Y’know watching people die and coming to terms with the fact he can’t save everyone yet.” She paused a moment thinking if there was anything more she needed to add. “Oh! Mark doesn’t know about me, if you’re worried about that.”

Nolan lightly chuckled, replying, “I trust you y/n. How are you?”

“With the Guardians dead, I’m with the Teen Team, but y’know how much I hate working in teams. It’s like commiting myself to being a superhero full-time and I can’t–” y/n couldn’t quite verbalize what she was thinking. She didn’t want to be a superhero for the very reason that Mark was hindering his full capabilities. She couldn’t handle the psychological aspect of having the power of preserving life and imposing death, without guilt building in her heart. She had an obligation to save everyone she could, and when she couldn’t, then was she really worthy of such immense power.

Redirecting the conversation, Nolan told her, “You’ve got just as much potential as Mark y’know. Out of every being I’ve faced, I’d say your powers are second to Viltrumite abilities. You’ll find your way in time.”

y/n chuckled his comment off, figuring he only said such sweet words because he pitied her.

-ˋˏ ༻💫༺ ˎˊ-

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taglist: @luvvfromme

#mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #female reader #x reader #invincible #original characters #atom eve #teen team #debbie grayson #nolan grayson #omni man #slow burn #friends to lovers #invincible x reader

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brucewaynehater101 · 1 day ago

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i've been thinking about Tim's 16th birthday, and had an idea, what if after that disaster Tim realizes he couldn't handle another birthday like that, so on his next birthday he decides to try making his own party, he invites his friends from YJ, rents a place outside of gotham and just completely ignores everything that comes from the Batfamily that day. And it ends up being the best birthday of his life, and so he decides to keep doing it, and it continues going well, until a couple of years later when Dick realizes he never celebrated Tim's birthday, so he decides to give Tim a surprise party. Surprisingly everyone of the batfamily gets together to make the party, and they think they managed to hide it from Tim, only despite the fact that his last few birthday parties were amazing Tim still has a lot of paranoia near his birthday, so as soon as he noticed the family was planning something on his birthday he left Gotham a week before his birthday. No one noticed until the day of Tim's 21st birthday, when Dick tried to find Tim, only to get an automated message saying that Tim's not working today because of his birthday, also that message was always on Tim's birthday ever since he first decided to truly celebrate it, only that was the first time Dick saw it because he never sent a message to Tim on his birthday. Later the batfamily discovers that Tim had a party without even mentioning it to them and get angry because they put a lot of effort on a party for Tim, while he didn't even want them on his birthday. Up to you how Tim responds to that.

I love exploring Tim's 16th birthday trauma. I'm going to tweak your idea slightly, if you don't mind. I myself hate celebrating my birthday, so imma be biased :) Let's go!

Warning: This is an AU, so obviously a lot of details aren't gonna be canon accurate.

Tim's birthdays have always been a hit or miss for him [If you want extra trauma, y'all could make the Flying Grayson show a birthday gift/celebration for Tim. Can be the weekend before, after, or directly on his birthday... Just for fun :D]. Before Tim became Robin, his parents... tried. They tried to be home, to celebrate, to be there. More often than not, they were too busy to actually be present. In those cases, if the connection allowed, they would call Tim.

His parents believed the gifts they gave him, the money they spent on him, made up for them not being there. This is when Tim started to have a complicated relationship with gift giving.

This was the case until Tim's fourteenth birthday.

Tim asked Bruce to become Robin at thirteen, but didn't actually hit the streets until he was fourteen. Obviously, a grieving Bruce didn't celebrate Tim's birthday with him, particularly because Tim wasn't Robin.

For Tim's fourteenth birthday, imma present you with two options:

His parents actually managed to come home and this is the last birthday he gets to spend with his mom

Tim was training in Europe over his fourteenth birthday and thus he was the one to tell his parents they can't celebrate with him

For Tim's fifteenth birthday, his dad is in a coma and his mom is dead. He's also a temporary ward with Bruce. Thus, he gets a fantastic and normal birthday for once. It goes far better than his previous one, giving him hope for future birthdays.

Then the 16th birthday happens.

After this, Tim doesn't trust Bruce and Alfred. Dick, Barbara, Steph, and YJ didn't know about it, so he still tentatively trusts them.

To add extra trauma, let's say Tim's 17th birthday occurs during the BruceQuest :)

Now, for Tim's 18th birthday, he's an adult. He has rocky relationships with his family, and he knows how to engineer distractions/excuses to avoid celebrating his birthday with the Waynes. Usually, he has "missions" with his friends that are really fun adventures or vacations.

He used to leave Gotham two weeks in advance, but, after his eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth birthdays, he calms down. He isn't expecting The 16th to happen again.

[To flesh out some of his other relationships (and feel free to regard as you please), let's say that Cass gets invited to the nineteenth and twentieth.

Steph (after Tim and Steph fix their relationship with one another) gets invited to the twentieth.

Jason and Tim both share a dislike for birthdays or presents, so they usually just send each other some text message phrased as an insult ("Seems you actually survived another year. Would you look at that?") and a cheap gift (a pack of cigarettes for Jason and a pack of Zesti for Tim).

Barbara and Tim send each other puzzles/challenges for each others' birthdays. Maybe Duke is the same way too.

Dick goes out with Tim *after* Tim returns to Gotham post-Birthday (if you want a trying/good brother Dick)

Tim does not accept gifts from Bruce nor Alfred. Alfred will instead make Tim's favorite meal and leave it in his apartment for when he returns. Bruce, on the other hand, feels immense guilt over it and only sends Tim a happy birthday text and money.]

But... Then, for Tim's 21st birthday, he notices his family planning shit. His ass immediately flees town and doesn't return for an entire month, just in case.

The Waynes are pissed at him, particularly the ones who don't know about the 16th. I think Cass probably told them not to plan anything and went with Tim when the Waynes continued their plans despite her warning.

Anyways, if anyone actually yells at Tim that they "put a lot of effort into that party for Tim," I hope he crashes out and yells at them for getting upset without even asking him what he wants. All of this could have been avoided if even one of them had asked him about his plans for his birthday and how he likes to celebrate.

#thank you for the ask!!!!#tim drake #dc au #tim drake's 16th birthday

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immortalmolloy · 18 hours ago

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Daniel wanted to deny that anything was wrong. He wanted to pretend it was all okay. He reminded himself that he was supposed to be honest with Mina about how he felt. “Not really,” he admitted quietly. He squeezed her hand lightly,

He was trying to be okay. He was trying to hold himself together. His emotions were such a mess that it was difficult to untangle it all. He was so happy and he loved his life with Mina and Louis and Lestat. This shouldn’t be effecting him so much. He didn’t want it to. He didn’t want to feel these things anymore. He couldn’t use drugs to numb it all. He had no choice but to suffer through it.

His voice was shaky when he spoke. “I can feel him,” he said. When Armand had intense emotions, Daniel felt it. The closer Armand was physically, the more Daniel would feel him. He couldn’t hear Armand’s thoughts, but he didn’t need to. Armand often had intense emotions though he tried to act so composed and in control all the time. When Daniel painted Armand and then left him, it must have stirred up all of Armand’s trauma. Armand was no good alone. He didn’t know who he was when he didn’t have a lover to tell him who he was. Daniel just always had to lob one last bomb before he left, didn’t he? What was he thinking? Why did he always do this? He couldn’t help himself. When he’d detonated Armand and Louis’ relationship it had given him such satisfaction. Armand had told him after ‘it’s your drug. You revel in it.’ Initially Daniel had so much more resentment and anger towards Armand. He didn’t want to hurt him. When he hurt Armand he only hurt himself. And Daniel had grown to see immortality as a gift. Yet, the pain of not having a choice, not being ready for the change, being so scared and so in pain and so manipulated, it was hard to let go of. He didn’t know if he ever would be able to let it go.

Daniel hadn’t meant to hurt Armand this time. He wanted to understand and know Armand. He wanted Armand to know himself. He shouldn’t have pushed. Now he felt the pain Armand was feeling. He felt how distressed he was. He felt Armand’s desperation for him.

“He’s not doing well,” he told Mina. “It fucking hurts.” It felt like his heart was in a vice being squeezed. “I think I fucked up when I went to see him. It’s my fault maybe. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to feel him.”

Lover. Murderer. Maker. What was Armand to him? Daniel doubted he could ever love Armand truly, but he had a bond with him that went beyond that. He craved Armand even now when he knew what a monster Armand could be. Daniel had always liked dangerous things. He was so fucked up. There was something deep within his soul that ached and only Armand could soothe him. Armand speaking to him so sweetly, Armand praising him, Armand telling him how special and loved he was. He’d fallen too easily into death’s embrace when Armand spoke those gentle words to him. It was pathetic. Louis, Lestat, and Mina were all Daniel should need. He shouldn’t need Armand. Yet, he did. The same way Louis and Lestat continued to be drawn together he was drawn to Armand. He was no better than a moth to flame.

Daniel started to cry, much to his own embarrassment. He was trembling as he hugged Mina tightly, clinging to her. It was hard work processing all of this. It was very complex.

“So, you want to interview vampires, so you?”

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nateezfics · 10 hours ago

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so this is goodbye;

just going to be to the point here. i cannot call what i am on right now as a semi hiatus or even a hiatus at all, really. i don’t want to make this a bigger deal than necessary or repeat myself because i’ve already shared my thoughts on this matter here before, but to be blunt i have no desire of ever writing for this blog again. so really, i should say that i am not on a hiatus, but rather that i am genuinely saying goodbye to nateezfics. i don’t need to explain anything, but to be transparent, i have lost interest in ateez and kpop as a whole. it is sad to say; kpop has been a major part of my life the better part of the last seven years. i noticed this decline in interest months ago, but had held onto the hope that i would rekindle my interest and love for it again. but now i cannot deny it. being into ateez/kpop just doesn’t feel the same anymore…like something hasn’t felt quite right to me. there is no desire to write fanfiction for ateez/kpop anymore. i simply have moved on.

i will always cherish the memories, the people i’ve met, the mutuals and friends made. of course ateez/kpop will continue to be something i look back on with fondness. i will always remember the happiness it brought me over these years. it’s an odd feeling, considering how deeply involved and passionate i used to be, but such is life…some times you just outgrow things, and that’s okay!

in this time i have rekindled my love for anime. i have also continued to be passionate about playing genshin impact, and have even started writing fanfiction for it on @zhongtea. if you want to keep in touch with me as well as read my genshin fanfiction, you are more than welcome to follow me over there!

so…here it is. my last time signing into nateezfics. thank you to the almost eight thousand followers, thank you to the handful of moots, and thank you for all the fun and great memories! i may be leaving, but i will always be grateful for the time spent here. much love!

— nat ᡣ𐭩 ་༘࿐

#important !!#nateezfics #🧸 — nat speaks

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cornsmash · 22 hours ago

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Home?

Mohawk!Mark x Male!reader

Word Count: 1164

Author’s Notes: You are essentially a male Eve variant, or you have her powers, whatever is your vice. Me personally I think Mohawk wouldn’t be so sadistic and as violent to someone he “cares” about like some of the other Marks. Don’t get me wrong he’s still an asshole and evil but he’s your evil asshole. Maybe I’ll make a part 2, depends on how people feel.

You sat in your bed as sunlight beamed through your window, the sun slowly descending down the horizon. Staring at it trying to ingrain its beauty into your memory. It was one of the last things left untouched in this world, your home and everything within it was destroyed. And rebuilt into a cheap imitation of what it once was, viltrumite influence was very much present. You rested your head on your arms, a slight breeze came through the window.

You closed your eyes and the memories came flooding back, Mark betraying humanity, the destruction and chaos caused, other viltrumites coming to finish the job. The way Mark looked at you as you confronted him, he had looked so conflicted at you. Your emotions got the better of you, a punch you tried to throw didn’t even connect. As Conquest punched you, causing your body to fly miles away, with him following. Mark had screamed “Wait!” But your body was already miles away.

You had tried your best to fight back against him, configurations of walls, bullets, swords, anything, anything at all to at least keep him distant from you. Yet nothing couldn’t stop the force or mass of this beast.

“Stand down worm” He announced. Your mouth was dripping blood, your lungs felt like they would give out at any minute. Every second you heaved causing hot flashes of pain to flow through your body. One eye was already shut from the bruising and swelling. Your bones creaked as you tried to summon a spear to throw, Conquest just shook his head.

“For being from such an inferior species you lasted much longer than expected…but not good enough”

Before you knew it his fist was coming towards your face, you didn’t even have time to take a step back before all you felt was incomprehensible pain and darkness.

You jumped as you heard Mark enter “Hey sugar tits, the fuck are you looking so depressed for?”

Mark only smirked as you glared at him “Come on, don’t look at me like that, did I do anything wrong?” He asked in a mocking tone.

You sneered, turning your head away from him.

“Be moody all you like, I got you something.”

You jumped and screeched as you felt ice cold metal hit your bare back. “WHAT THE FUCK-“ . You stopped as you turned midway to yell at him, in his hand was a..Pepsi can?

“W- How- How they hell did you get this?” You asked about grabbing the can and inspecting it. The feel of the cold metal and sloshing liquid brought nostalgia. You grimaced as it gave you a familiar sense of a life long ago. Mark had his hands on his hips and a smile as if he did something to be proud of.

“Well I know how much you loved Pepsi and of course miss it. You were a goddamn addict for that shit, surprised you never got cavities” He remarked pulling the sides of your mouth, while you tried to bat them away.

“So I found an old Pepsi factory, had some people do some shit and got it running again. Only for youuu and me..duh” He continued, poking your nose with the tip of his tongue sticking out. You let out a deep sigh as you opened the can and took a sip. Mark stared waiting for your response as you took another sip trying to absorb the flavor. It’d been so long since you last drank soda, so you had to re-remember what it tasted like from a couple of sips.

”It actually tastes the same” You remarked in disbelief. Mark only made a “hmph” sound with a smile. Sitting at the end of your bed, close to your feet. Neither of you said anything as another small breeze wafted through the place. He grabbed your feet from under the blanket and started to rub them. You propped the pillows to sit you up and laid down, sipping on your soda, staring at the window. Mark continued to rub your feet, switching to a different foot after spending time on one. Your legs were never the same, your feet often ached from pain. Walking was something foreign to you now, relying on either flying or a wheelchair to get around.

You flexed your toes and Mark stopped, rising from the bed before pushing your head with his finger.

“Anyways, sugar tits I’m gonna be out for awhile, don’t fuck up your room again, would hate to sedate you..again.” He remarked, his eyes squinting before he turned around and left.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but feel that he meant it. Looking out your window again the sun only had the tip of it still showing. Only one sip left in the can, you stared into the opening, the darkness within ever blank. One that was ever so familiar to you.

Voices were all around you were swarming and then disappeared, you couldn’t see anything, just darkness, not even the washes of faint color you saw when you closed your eyes were there. Everything burned, your muscles were sore and ached, you could feel scabs that had an insane itch to them. And you couldn’t move, unsure if it was due to your body having been completely broken or something was holding you down. You didn’t care, you wanted out, you needed to move at least one limb. You tried to lift up your arm but sharp pain scattered throughout. A hoarse cry left your throat, your eyes started to water giving some relief through the waves of pain.

Lifting your leg resulted in the same, you took a sharp breath that barely reached your lungs. After a minute of breathing you mustered whatever little strength that was in your body. You kicked your leg up but just as quickly as it rose it was snagged by something. Your ears ring with pain as waves wash through your body, your leg seared and now couldn’t rest laying down. What felt like a liquid soaked your leg, tears now streaming from your eyes. Your mouth was wide open though you were unsure if any sound left it. Then you felt someone hold your leg up, fear flooded your mind.

You tried to resist but your body had no strength so you could only let out cries, you felt a needle prick your skin before you could jump a hand was on your chest. Even with its light touch it was enough to hold you down. Cries still emanated from your mouth as you felt someone release the strap on your leg. As numbness flowed through your body you couldn’t tell what they were doing. Whoever had their hand on your chest removed it and took your hand. A grasp so carefully gentle as they gave air light kisses your knuckles. Slight chokes were the only sound you could produce as you felt your consciousness slipping.

#mohawk mark #invincible x reader #invincible #male!reader #mohawk mark x reader

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mediocre-shark-tales · 1 day ago

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BEFORE IT NO LONGER BEATS FOR YOU

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

The First Date….

The restaurant was one of the most expensive in the city—high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and a dim, intimate lighting scheme meant to exude sophistication. But no amount of wealth or elegance could change the fact that I was sitting across from a man who made my skin crawl.

From the moment I arrived, he had done nothing but talk about himself.

His accomplishments. His wealth. The people he knew. The companies he had built. Every sentence dripped with arrogance, as if he expected me to be hanging on to his every word, enraptured by his so-called brilliance.

I wasn’t.

I had perfected the art of appearing interested while mentally escaping years ago. I kept my face polite, nodding at the right times, taking small sips of my drink as I let my mind wander, hoping the night would be over soon.

Then he changed the topic.

And suddenly, I wished he would go back to talking about himself.

His voice, already deep and rasping from years of expensive cigars, dropped into something far more sinister.

He leaned forward slightly, his lips stretching into a smile that sent a violent shudder down my spine.

“You see, sweetheart,” he said, swirling his wine as if he were discussing something as casual as stock investments. “I don’t believe in the modern idea of marriage. These days, women are so… opinionated. So independent. They’ve lost sight of what it means to be a proper wife.”

My stomach twisted, but I forced my face to remain neutral.

He didn’t notice my discomfort. Or maybe he did and simply didn’t care.

“I have a vision,” he continued, his fingers tapping against the table in thought. “A household of young, beautiful women—each one fulfilling a specific role, just like in the good old days.” He let out a deep, satisfied sigh. “One woman to manage the household, another to prepare meals, one to handle the finer details of my social calendar… and of course, each of them would be available to serve me whenever I desired.”

I wanted to vomit.

I wanted to throw my drink in his face, stand up, and walk out.

But I couldn’t.

Because if I made a scene, my parents would find out. They would accuse me of embarrassing them, of ruining their plans.

So I forced my hands to remain still, clenching them beneath the table to stop the tremors of rage building inside me.

He continued, oblivious—or, more likely, completely indifferent—to my growing discomfort.

“I want at least seven wives,” he mused. “One for each day of the week. Variety is important in a man’s life, you know? Keeps things exciting.”

My throat tightened. I could barely breathe past the sheer disgust roiling inside me.

I had spent my whole life hearing my parents talk about the opportunities a good marriage could bring. The duty I had to uphold. But they had never once mentioned the absolute horror of being forced into something like this.

I could feel his eyes scanning me, drinking in my expression, searching for something—approval? Interest? Submission? I gave him nothing.

Instead, I let out a quiet, polite hum, feigning thoughtfulness as I took another slow sip of my drink, mentally counting down the seconds until I could escape.

He smirked, seemingly pleased with my lack of protest.

“You’re a quiet one,” he noted, his eyes gleaming with something wrong. “I like that. Women should be seen, not heard. It makes them far more desirable.”

My grip on my glass tightened. I was going to kill either him or my parents.

The Second Date…

The second date was different from the first. Not better—just different.

This man was younger than the last, though still far older than me. He carried himself with the kind of arrogance that only came from a lifetime of privilege, someone who had never been told no in his entire existence.

The restaurant was another five-star establishment, the type of place where the menu didn’t have prices because if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it.

He didn’t stand when I arrived. Didn’t pull out my chair. Didn’t acknowledge my presence at all until I was fully seated, and even then, it was only with a disinterested glance over the rim of his whiskey glass.

“Hm.” He frowned, giving me a once-over. “That’s what you chose to wear?”

I blinked, caught off guard. My dress was elegant, tasteful—chosen specifically to avoid criticism. But apparently, that didn’t matter.

I swallowed back my irritation and gave a polite smile. “Is something wrong with it?”

“It’s fine,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if I was wasting his time with the question. “I just expected something more sophisticated.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping back.

The waiter arrived, and without so much as a glance in my direction, he ordered for both of us. Something expensive, something I didn’t particularly want.

I wasn’t surprised.

“Women always take forever to decide,” he said when the waiter left. “It’s easier if I just handle it.”

I had barely touched my drink before he started picking apart every little thing about me.

The way I held my fork. The way I sipped my water. The way I tucked my hair behind my ear. The way I sat. The way I smiled—or rather, the way I didn’t smile enough because, apparently, I looked bored.

“Tell me,” he said at one point, swirling the ice in his glass, his tone casual but laced with condescension. “Did your parents ever teach you proper etiquette, or were they too busy letting you run wild?”

I inhaled slowly through my nose, willing myself to remain composed.

This was a game to him. A test. He wanted to see how much I would take, how easily I would bend under his scrutiny. I would not break. I could not.

I hummed, lifting my glass to my lips. “And here I thought a gentleman would make a woman feel comfortable rather than criticize her every move.”

His lips curled at the edges, something amused—almost entertained.

“Ah,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “So there’s a little bite in you. Good.”

Good?

He chuckled to himself as if he had just discovered something mildly interesting.

Then, he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach, and said, “Don’t get me wrong—you’re far from perfect, but you’re the best option I’ve had so far.”

My stomach turned.

Best. So far.

Like I was some thing he was evaluating, another name on a long list of options.

He must have taken my silence as an invitation to continue because he went on, detailing exactly what he expected from his future wife.

She would be flawless. Impeccably dressed at all times, no matter the occasion. Silent when necessary, but charming when required. A hostess. A prize. A reflection of his status.

He wanted someone who would never challenge him, who would follow his rules, who would accept his decisions without hesitation.

“I want a woman who understands her role,” he said smoothly, swirling his drink. “A woman who enhances my image, who elevates my reputation. If I succeed, we succeed. If I make a decision, there’s no room for discussion.” He smirked slightly, gaze unwavering. “I assume you can be that kind of woman.”

I stared at him, heart pounding in my ears.

My fingers curled tightly around my napkin under the table, nails pressing into the fabric.

I forced another smile, the kind that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Of course,” I murmured, voice smooth, practiced. “What woman wouldn’t want to be the perfect wife?”

He smirked, satisfied.

And I swallowed back the overwhelming urge to throw my drink in his face.

The Third Date…

The third date was almost normal.

Almost.

He was the closest to my age out of the three, just a few years older. That alone made him seem more tolerable.

Dinner had been... pleasant. He had good manners, asked about my work, even laughed at a few of my sarcastic remarks. For a fleeting moment, I thought, maybe this won’t be so bad.

I should have known better.

The moment we pulled up outside my hotel, the atmosphere shifted.

“You don’t have to rush inside,” he said smoothly, his hand resting on the gear shift. “I was thinking we could sit here for a bit... talk some more.”

Something in his tone made my stomach clench.

I forced a small smile, already reaching for the door handle. “It’s been a long night. I should really get some rest.”

Before I could pull it open, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist. Hard. Too hard.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he murmured, his voice still light, but there was an underlying forcefulness to it now. “We had a great time, didn’t we?”

I felt my breath hitch. His fingers tightened. Something cold ran down my spine.

Every instinct in my body screamed at me to get out.

“I did,” I said, keeping my voice even, calm. “And now I’d like to go inside.”

His grip didn’t loosen. His smile widened.

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” His free hand moved, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. My skin crawled.

I swallowed thickly. “Let me go.”

He chuckled. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

In an instant, he was closer—too close—his breath warm against my cheek.

Panic surged through me and I yanked my arm, trying to twist out of his grasp, but he didn’t let go.

“Relax,” he said, his grip now painful. His other hand landed on my thigh, squeezing. “I’m just trying to get to know you better.”

My heartbeat thundered in my ears.

“Stop,” I hissed, shoving at his chest.

He didn’t budge.

Instead, his smile dropped.

And then—slap.

Pain bloomed across my cheek as my head snapped to the side.

I barely had time to register what had just happened before his fingers dug into my jaw, forcing me to look at him.

“Listen to me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice now dripping with condescension. “You’re lucky to have someone like me interested in you. You should start acting like it.”

A sharp, sickening fear gripped my ribs.

No.

No, no, no.

I wouldn’t let this happen. I forced myself to breathe, to think.

Slowly, I raised my hands as if in surrender. He smirked, taking it as compliance.

Then, I dug my nails into his wrist and twisted hard.

He yelped, jerking back just enough for me to lunge for the door handle.

I ripped it open and stumbled out onto the pavement, my heart hammering.

“Bitch!” he roared from inside the car.

I didn’t look back. I ran.

My heels pounded against the pavement as I bolted toward the hotel doors. My cheek burned. My wrist throbbed. My nails were coated with his blood.

But I was out. I was safe. And that was all that mattered right now.

Running up to my room, I barely noticed the pain in my legs or the way my lungs burned with each desperate breath. My only thought was getting inside. Getting safe.

The second I slammed the door shut behind me, I twisted the lock. My fingers trembled as I yanked at the handle to double-check. Locked. But it wasn’t enough. I grabbed the chair from the desk, wedging it beneath the doorknob for good measure.

Only then did I allow myself to collapse against the bed, my entire body trembling.

Tears blurred my vision as my chest heaved, struggling to draw in air. My throat was too tight. My lungs weren’t working. It felt like there was a vice squeezing my ribs, suffocating me from the inside out.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but the moment I did, he was there. The leering smile. The rough hands. The sickening weight of his body hovering too close.

The sound of my own strangled sob echoed through the empty room.

I curled in on myself, gripping my arms so tightly my nails dug into my skin.

You got away. You’re safe now.

But I didn’t feel safe.

I felt trapped.

I needed out of my head. I needed something—someone—to ground me. With trembling fingers, I grabbed my phone, barely able to hit the right buttons as I pulled up the group call.

The phone rang once. Twice.

Ollie answered first, his voice lighthearted as usual. “Hey! What’s up, love?”

Then Kimi’s voice followed, casual as ever. “You finally decided to call us, huh?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but all that came out was a broken sob.

Silence.

Then—

“Y/N?” Ollie’s tone lost all playfulness. It was sharp now. Alert. “What happened?”

Kimi’s voice dropped to something more serious. “Talk to us.”

I squeezed the phone tighter, trying to speak through the lump in my throat. “That date—he—” My voice wavered, my breath hitching. “He tried to—”

Ollie cursed. “Did he hurt you?”

“I—I got away,” I stammered, barely above a whisper. “But I—”

My breathing hitched again, spiraling into shallow gasps. My heart pounded against my ribs, my body still locked in fight or flight.

I wasn’t in that car anymore. I was here. Safe. But why didn’t it feel like it?

“Breathe, love,” Kimi murmured, his voice unusually gentle. “Slow. Deep.”

I tried.

But my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. My chest wouldn’t stop aching.

Ollie, meanwhile, was furious. “I’m getting you a flight tonight,” he said, voice tight with barely contained rage. “You’re not staying there another second.”

I could barely process his words. “But—”

“No buts,” he snapped. “Pack whatever you need. Kimi and I will pick you up when you land.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “I—”

“Focus y/n,” Kimi cut in, his tone softer than Ollie’s but just as firm. “We’re here. Just breathe.”

I sucked in a shaky breath. Held it. Let it out. Again. Again.

Finally, the tightness in my chest eased, if only slightly. Just enough for me to start thinking clearly.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I’m getting my things.”

“That’s our girl,” Ollie said, his voice gentler now. “Just keep talking to us.”

With shaky limbs, I forced myself to my feet and grabbed my suitcase. My hands were still unsteady as I shoved clothes inside, but Kimi’s voice kept me grounded, reminding me of what to grab while Ollie reassured me that everything was handled.

Then, just as I zipped up my bag, Kimi hummed thoughtfully.

“You should go get your valuables from home,” he said. “No one should be there, right?”

I hesitated.

“I know you want to leave,” Ollie added, “but you don’t want them having anything to hold over you later.”

They were right. My parents loved control. If I left without taking what was mine, they’d use it as leverage. I gritted my teeth.

“I’ll go,” I said finally.

Ollie exhaled sharply. “Good. Grab what’s yours, and then get the hell out of there.” And I would. Because after tonight, I was done. With every one of them.

—

The rental car sat idling in the driveway, trunk packed full with my luggage. The only thing left now was to collect what was mine from my childhood home before I disappeared from home for good.

I tugged my hoodie tighter around me, the soft fabric comforting against my skin. The oversized sweats and track shoes were a far cry from the elegant outfits I’d been forced to wear all week, but right now, I needed comfort. I needed to feel like myself.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out into the cool night air and shut the car door behind me. The house loomed before me, a towering reminder of the cage I had grown up in.

Only one car sat in the driveway—Jack’s.

Good. My parents weren’t home.

Still, I hesitated, gripping the box I had brought with me.

Walking back into that house felt wrong, like I was willingly stepping back into a life I had spent years trying to claw my way out of. But if I didn’t do this now, my parents would have everything. They’d use my childhood memories, my sentimental keepsakes, as leverage.

You can do this. In and out.

I inhaled sharply and pushed open the front door. The house was eerily silent.

Each step felt deafening on the polished hardwood floors as I made my way to my childhood bedroom. The door creaked slightly as I pushed it open, revealing a space frozen in time. The walls were still adorned with old posters and photos, remnants of a past life.

I had spent years trying to make this room feel like my own, even when it never truly belonged to me.

Tonight, I was taking back what was mine.

I set the box down and got to work.

One by one, I gathered everything I couldn’t bear to leave behind.

A small stack of journals, filled with scribbled thoughts and dreams I once believed I could achieve. A few books with worn spines, the pages creased from being read and reread. The delicate necklace my uncle had given me when I was young, tucked safely inside its velvet box.

Each item I placed inside the box felt like reclaiming a piece of myself.

The weight in my chest grew heavier with each passing moment.

I had always dreamed of leaving this house behind. But I never imagined it would feel so much like mourning.

As I grabbed the last of my things, a voice cut through the silence.

“Y/N?”

I froze.

Turning slowly, I found Jack standing in the doorway.

His eyes flickered over me, narrowing as they landed on my face. I knew what he was seeing—the faint, ugly mark from the slap, the scratches along my jaw.

His expression darkened.

“What happened?” His voice was softer than I expected, his usual cocky tone replaced with something almost… worried.

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I turned away, gripping the box tighter as I moved toward the door.

Jack stepped in front of me, blocking my way. “Y/N, talk to me.”

I stared past him, my silence unwavering. His jaw clenched, frustration flickering in his eyes. Not anger—concern. Then his gaze dropped to the box in my hands. Understanding settled over his face like a storm cloud.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to. Jack swallowed hard, shifting on his feet. His hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach out, to stop me. But he didn’t. He just stood there. Watching. Fearing. Because for the first time, he understood that I wasn’t coming back here.

I stepped past him. Jack didn’t move to stop me. He just let me go. Walking through that house one last time, I felt the weight of years pressing down on me. The fights, the expectations, the suffocating control—I was finally breaking free.

By the time I reached the car, my hands were shaking.

I tossed the box into the trunk, slammed it shut, and slid into the driver’s seat. My breath came in short, shallow bursts as I gripped the wheel, forcing myself to stay steady.

Then, with one final glance at the house I once called home, I pulled away and I didn’t look back.

—

The bustling energy of the airport felt like a world away from the tension I had left behind. People huddled together, rushing to gates, talking amongst themselves, or heading to baggage claim. But I didn’t notice any of it. I was moving like a ghost, just trying to put one foot in front of the other without completely crumbling.

My phone buzzed in my hand, and I glanced at the screen, seeing an unfamiliar number pop up. At first, I thought it might be an airport announcement or something generic, but the name beneath the number made my breath catch in my throat. Max Verstappen.

I froze, my thumb hovering over the screen as I fought the urge to ignore the call. Max had always been a steady, guiding figure in my life—the kind of person who kept an eye on me when I needed it most, even if it was from the distance of the paddock. He had a way of making you feel like family, like you were important. He was my grid dad, the one who’d always checked in with me and made sure I knew I wasn’t alone.

Taking a deep breath, I answered. “Hey, Max.”

“Y/N?” His voice was immediately calm, but there was a certain edge to it that I wasn’t used to hearing from him. “I need you to listen to me, okay? I’ve heard what happened, and I’m gonna be real with you, I’m pissed.”

I could feel my chest tighten, and I leaned back against the wall, the weight of everything settling down on me. I didn’t want to talk about it—I wasn’t ready to open up to anyone, especially not after everything I’d just gone through—but Max wasn’t someone I could lie to, and I knew that.

“I... I didn’t expect you to find out, at least not yet” I murmured, my voice trembling slightly. I fought to keep it steady, but the walls were closing in.

“No one should have had to tell me, before you” he replied, but there was an undercurrent of concern. “I got a call from Ollie, and when he told me what your parents were doing to you and what those terrible men put you through, I just...” He sighed, and I could hear him rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s not how family treats each other, Y/N. Not ever. What your parents have done to you is disgusting. Even more so those disgusting men, but that would have never happened if not for your parents.”

My breath hitched. I had spent so much time trying to convince myself that I could just make it through this, that I was strong enough to survive it. But hearing Max’s words—his anger, his frustration—it felt like someone had pulled the last bit of strength from my chest, leaving me feeling exposed and raw.

“I didn’t even know if I was gonna make it out, Max,” I whispered, my voice thick. “I thought... I thought—” I cut myself off with I short choking cry.

“Nothing is going to happen. Not now. Not ever,” he replied fiercely. “I swear to God, if I had been there, I would have burned that whole situation down myself.” I blinked, tears threatening to spill over. Max wasn’t just angry—he was furious for me.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do anymore,” I admitted, feeling the quietest sob work its way up my throat. “I just... I don’t have a place there anymore. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You’re you,” Max’s voice softened, but only slightly. “And that’s enough. You don’t need anyone to tell you who you are. You don’t need your parents or anyone else to decide your worth for you. You’re strong, Y/N. I’ve always known that.”

There was a pause, and I could hear him take a deep breath. “Now, I need you to listen to me very carefully. Ollie called me—he asked if I could help. So, I’ve arranged for a private jet to come pick you up. It’ll be there in two hours. But I don’t want you to worry about anything else. I’ve already made sure there’s a room for you at the airport, prepaid and all. They’ll feed you. You’ll get some time to rest before you board the jet. I’m not letting you stay in that airport or go through this alone.”

I blinked in surprise. “Max, I didn’t... I didn’t ask you to do all that.”

“You don’t have to ask,” he said firmly. “I’m not letting you go through this alone. And trust me, Y/N, when I say that I understand. I know what it’s like to deal with parents who don’t give a damn about you. I know what it’s like to feel trapped. So I want you to know, if you ever need anything—if you ever need someone to handle your family or just want to talk—I’ve got your back. No questions asked. You’re my family now, okay?”

Tears welled in my eyes, threatening to spill over, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak for a long moment. I was overwhelmed by the compassion in his voice, by the fact that he cared in a way that felt so incredibly genuine. In a world where everything was complicated and conditional, Max had just made me feel like someone truly saw me.

“You’re not alone,” he added softly. “And I’ll make sure you never feel like that again.”

I finally found my voice, barely managing to choke out a whisper, “Thank you, Max. I... I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. Just get yourself together. The jet’s coming for you, and I’ll see you when you land.” He paused. “And one more thing—I don’t care how far away you are. You need anything, you call me. Anything.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “I will. I promise.”

“Good. Now, get some rest. You’ve been through enough. And if you need someone to kick those assholes into gear, just say the word.”

A small, shaky laugh bubbled up from my chest, and for the first time in days, I felt something that wasn’t pure fear or anger. I felt… safe.

“Thanks, Max,” I whispered again, my heart full of gratitude.

“You’ve got this,” he said, and the call ended.

I stood there for a long moment, still absorbing everything Max had said. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was more than just a pawn in my family’s game. I felt like I had a future again—one where I could make my own choices, where I wasn’t controlled by anyone’s expectations.

I wiped my eyes and let out a shaky breath, then turned and walked to the room Max had arranged for me, ready to finally leave the weight of my old life behind.

—

The room Max had arranged for me was quiet, dimly lit, and surprisingly comfortable. The soft hum of the air conditioning filled the silence as I dropped my duffel bag to the floor and let myself collapse onto the couch.

I pulled my phone out, hands shaking slightly as I navigated to the messages app. I opened a group chat with Lando, Oscar, and Franco—three of the most important people in my life now. They were the ones who had stood by me during the quietest of moments and the loudest, and I knew they deserved to know everything.

I began typing, my fingers stumbling over the words, unsure of how to say what had been eating at me for so long.

Hey, guys. I just wanted to fill you in on what’s been going on with my parents, and the dates. You all deserve to know just how bad it got. My parents have been trying to marry me off to some men, one of them being older than my dad. I thought I could make it through, but the dates were horrible. They were all wrong in different ways. The last one… he tried to hurt me. I managed to get out, I called Ollie and Kimi who talked me down from the panic. Max arranged a private jet to get me out of here tonight. I’m on my way home, thanks to all of them. I’ll be landing soon.

I’m so sorry to worry you, but I really need a reset when I get back. I hope we can all get together and just hang out—maybe a movie night or something. I can’t even begin to explain how much I need that right now. Just a normal, quiet night with you guys. It would mean everything.

I hit send, staring at the screen, wondering if I had said enough or if I’d said too much. Before I could second guess myself, the notifications started rolling in.

Lando’s reply was almost immediate.

What the hell, Y/N?! he texted, his anger almost tangible even through the screen. You should have called me! No one gets to treat you like that, and especially not your parents. If I could, I’d be on the next flight to pick you up myself. Don’t even think about going back to those assholes. They’re not your family anymore. WE are.

Oscar’s message came next, his words calm but equally as fierce.

I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through that, Y/N. I’m absolutely furious at your parents right now. No one—no one—has the right to treat you that way. If I’d known, I would have been there for you. You don’t deserve any of this, and I promise we’re going to make sure it doesn’t happen again. We’ve got your back, always. Just get home safe, and we’ll take care of the rest.

Franco’s message was the last one to pop up, but it hit me the hardest. I knew how much he cared for me, how much we had been through together, and his words were full of the protective love that he always showed when I needed it most.

Y/N, I don’t even have the words right now. I can’t believe this is happening to you. I’m so, so sorry you had to experience that. I just want you to know you are strong and you are so much more than those idiots ever gave you credit for. And I’m absolutely livid about the way those men treated you. You’ve been through so much, and I can’t even imagine the pain of all of this. But you’re safe now, and we will never let anyone—anyone—hurt you like that again. You’re part of our family now. We’ll protect you. And once you’re back, we’re going to have that movie night. You’ve got us, always.

I stared at their messages for a long time, tears welling up in my eyes as I let their words sink in. Their anger, their concern, and most of all, their unwavering support. They didn’t have to do any of this. They didn’t have to care about me like this. But they did.

And for the first time in what felt like ages, I felt like I mattered. I wasn’t just a piece of property for my parents to control. I wasn’t a pawn in their game. I was something more than that—I was a person with a family, and these guys, these wonderful, loving, fiercely protective people, were my family.

I quickly typed a response, my fingers still shaky, but I knew I had to let them know how much their support meant to me.

Thank you. All of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys. I can’t wait to be back and just spend time with you all. I need this—I need you guys. You’re the family I choose. I promise when I get back, we’ll have that movie night. I need it more than anything. I don’t think I could make it through this without knowing you have my back. I’ll be home soon. Love you all.

Before I could put my phone down, a new message popped up from Lando.

We love you too, Y/N. And no more of this "I'm fine" crap. We’re gonna make sure you never go through this alone again. Ever. Let’s talk when you land. We’ll figure out the movie night and get your mind off all this shit. Just stay strong for a little longer.

I smiled through the tears, feeling lighter than I had in days. I had a family now, a real one. And when I got back, I wasn’t going to let anyone—especially my parents—take that away from me.

No one was going to mess with me again, it was time to stand my ground and take my life back.

Masterlist

Taglist: @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @littlesimps-world

#x reader #driver!reader #f1 #f1 angst #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 grid x reader #f1 imagine #f1 driver!reader

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edwardseve · 2 days ago

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i can’t help but interpret that kitchen scene different because we have to look at buck’s and eddie’s relationship from tommy’s pov. from the outside, buck and eddie have been friends for a long time and buck recently just discovered that he’s bisexual and while the whole time he was actively trying to get tommy’s attention, tommy thought he was trying to get eddie’s. and maybe it’s because it’s something similar he went through with one of his straight friends and wound up confessing his feelings only to be left in the dust. or being a gay man he’s seen this story play out a million times, baby bi now falls for his best friend and once again, tommy is left in the dust.

and buck doesn’t make his insecurities any better when he winds up moving into eddie’s house still with these thoughts in his mind that he has feelings for him. buck tells him that eddie is straight to which tommy snorts and buck becomes defensive and immediately puts his foot in his mouth by say something hurtful to tommy. buck doesn’t know all the hurt tommy has been through so by him saying he doesn’t have to have feelings for everyone he sleeps with, was probably what someone else has told tommy before when he put his heart on the line and got hurt; and it’s happening again and buck doesn’t even know it. so rather than opening up to buck about this, tommy immediately shuts down once again and protects himself because he already knows how this plays out, he’s been through it before.

it’s not healthy at all but tommy has been on the defense his whole life whether it was from his father, gerard, co workers, ex boyfriends, his own self, whomever, tommy has been hurt one too many times and no matter how much he likes buck he’s so scared to take that chance again.

so something i would like to see happen, i would like to see tommy open up about the hurt, and who hurt him, in his past and have buck reassure him that there are no romantic feelings between him and eddie and that he’s choosing tommy first and will continue to choose him first. tommy has his own set of abandonment issues which he does need to work through but buck could also be the first and only one to help him see that he’s much more than a placeholder and that he’s someone’s first, second, and last. only then do i think they’ll be in a space ready to try again.

#t #bucktommy #tommy kinard #buck x tommy #anti buddie #<-not really anti post but i don’t want them coming and yelling at me #i am once again studying tommy like a bug i got him under a microscope

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kittycatfite · 22 hours ago

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Stobotnik fic! It's called "People Throw Rocks At Things That Shine"

I don't have an archive account yet (I am working on figuring out how to) so here you go! I wrote out the tags I plan to put (if people have suggestions for more I will gladly add). Dr Eggman | Dr Robotnik/Agent Stone, Dr Eggman | Dr Robotnik, Agent Stone, Male OC who was created to be a jerk for Agent Stone to kill, Commander Walters, People talking shit about Robotnik, Badass Agent Stone!!, Maybe a little OOC but I am trying my best (God damn is it hard to write Robotnik), Robotnik is an asshole but hey Stone's going to stay, Latte with steamed Austrian Goat Milk, Stone centric (It's from his pov), Agent Stone is in love with Dr Eggman | Dr Robotnik, Dr Eggman | Dr Robotnik has no idea what love is but he's trying, Protective Agent Stone, Possessive Dr Eggman | Dr Robotnik, Title is a lyric from Ours by Taylor Swift, Swears! I put swears in here!, I will get better at tagging this when its actually on Archive, First Fic! Whoop!,

This is somehow 3,600ish words so it is below the cut:)

fic time!

“Don't you worry your pretty little mind

People throw rocks at things that shine

And life makes love look hard

The stakes are high, the water's rough

But this love is ours"

And it's not theirs to speculate if it's wrong and

Your hands are tough, but they are where mine belong and

I'll fight their doubt and give you faith with this song for you”

-Ours by Taylor Swift

Every person who had ever worked for or met Dr. Ivo Robotnik agreed the man was insane. He was a genius, of course, but that genius came with a level of cruelty and brutality that was so extreme it was considered a punishment position to be assigned as an assistant to the doctor. No agent lasted longer than a week before either quitting, being fired, or experiencing an injury so badly that they were unable to continue working. (The best record for being fired the quickest was 13 minutes and 37 seconds) Sometimes an agent would come along, someone slightly smarter than the rest, that had quick reflexes, or knew how to keep their mouth shut. Those agents would last longer, but even then it was only a month or two before they were sent packing. The other government agents would watch the poor souls as they ran out crying, yelling profanities, vowing revenge, or just dead inside. Robotnik did not tolerate anything below perfection and no human could ever be held to his sky-high standards. There were rumors and betting games about how long each assistant would last. No one who valued their money bet over a week.

Or at least that was what Agent Stone had heard.

“-You’re the greatest G.U.N has ever had, Agent Stone. Which is why we need to assign you to Dr. Robotnik.” Commander Walters said “Of course, working so closely with the Doctor will come with higher pay because the hours he demands are irregular and the level of attention this job will require is high.”

“I am happy to accept the position.”

“Wait, really? I usually have to promise everything under the sun to even get someone to consider working for the doctor. Are you sure, Agent?”

“Quite sure, Commander.”

“I...Thank you, Stone. This is a last shot since he has pretty much fired or permanently injured any agent that would be willing to work for him and scared off any other potential candidates. I wish I could say keep your head down and don’t do anything stupid but this is Robotnik so just, be careful. This will be a temporary position, but try to last longer than a week until we can come up with a more permanent situation.”

Stone grimaced as he exited the office. He would start today since Robotnik’s previous agent had met an explosive termination of position just that morning. He had heard the rumors, hell he had seen the man in person a few times (it was four but it wasn’t like he was actively counting or anything) during meetings when the Doctor would show off his incredible creations to the higher ups but nothing could have ever prepared for actually meeting the hurricane of a man the was Dr. Robotnik.

“Oh GREAT. Another Agent Babysitter here to disrupt my work by not being able to follow simple instructions or take insults without whining like a child. Be better than Agent What-his-name and you can leave with your hands intact.” The genius was standing now.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I have heard interesting things about your employment strategies, and I am excited to begin my new position.” Stone was smiling. Most agents showed up begrudgingly or with misplaced optimism. No one had ever shown up excited or eager to work for Robotnik.

The doctor threw back his head and laughed. It was loud, it was cruel, and Stone found it strangely appealing. “We both know that working for me will not be a PLEASURE, Agent.” Robotnik had crossed the room in seconds and was now so close to Stone that he took a step back not really out of fear, but more respect. He had heard the doctor didn’t like physical contact. His back found the wall and it made his heart start beating harder. Every time he had been previously threatened on a field mission he had stood his ground, but he wanted to please the doctor for some strange reason as a feeling kept tugging at his chest. “You are not here for a good time or a long time. You will keep quiet, do as I say, and don’t question anything. Or you will be out on your ass within the hour.”

Agent Stone nodded, making sure to keep it a small moment so as to not knock his head into the doctor or against the wall. He didn’t dare speak, the doctor had told him to keep quiet.

“Hmph.” The doctor stalked off back to his chair. “Make me a latte. Figure out how to do it right and you might get to stay longer than the rest.”

____________

Five months had passed and so far Stone had been threatened with position termination 76 times, physical termination 42 times, and pinned to a wall more times than he could count. Robotnik had stuck gloved fingers in his mouth, electrocuted him, and used him as training practice for the badniks. But Stone was still working by his side. So what if Stone felt a little (Ok, A lot) of pride being Dr. Robotnik’s longest lasting assistant? He was just good at his job as an assistant/bodyguard/warm body that could offer praise at every genius thing the doctor said and agreement when the doctor complained about anything under the sun/personal latte maker. Sure it was more jobs than he had expected, but then again he had only expected to be in Robotnik’s employment for a week.

Stone spent every day of the week in Robotnik’s lab only leaving for coffee or food for the doctor or himself. He didn’t get to help on the machines; it was mostly paperwork or listening to the doctor talk about how smart he was. He was supposed to leave the lab at nine for eight hours every night, but he had started sleeping on the still couch in the breakroom after just the first week. It was important that he stayed close, especially since the doctor was constantly working and might need something from him at anypoint. Like a latte at 2am (His caffeine intake scared Stone, but he wasn’t about to say anything). The couch sucked at first for his back but Robotnik slept in his chair most nights so Stone decided he still had it better. At least he got eight hours of sleep over the doctor's occasional three. The doctor was the kind of person who slept where he crashed and Stone only moved him somewhere more comfortable when he was on the floor or actively holding a soldering iron (Stone had learned the hard way that Robotnik had few self preservation skills over the first month of his employment when the agent had discovered the doctor hadn’t anything besides half a granola bar in 72 hours).

Monday had rolled around again and Stone stood in the break room as he prepared a breakfast burrito (the doctor didn’t have to eat, but Stone was sure as hell going to provide food) and brewing a morning latte for the doctor. He had been carefully experimenting to discover what exactly the doctor liked in his coffee based on his reaction to what was brought. So far he knew:

Goat milk, steamed

Three spoonfuls of sugar dissolved into the milk

Hint of cinnamon

Three fourths coffee to 1 fourth milk

Keep the foam

Likes latte foam art

Prefers his own face or logo

Smiles at badnik designs when he thinks no one is looking

Doesn’t comment on hearts or other simpler designs

Sometimes he will ask for a syrup flavor

Half a pump of vanilla

Hates pumpkin, if he ever asks for that, stay out of his way or face his wrath (Stone would face his wrath any day of the week).

And the rare: Half a pump of caramel with drizzle on the sides of the glass. Stone had realised this was a latte that he ordered when something wasn’t going right.

Stone’s first job as a barista when he was barely sixteen had finally come in handy he supposed. This skill was never this useful in the military outside of having a steady hand when aiming a weapon.

It was calming to make the doctor his latte. A rare moment of serenity in the whirlwind that was working for Robotnik, not that he would give up this position for the world. He loved watching the genius work, he loved making him lattes, he loved watching him praise his badniks (Stone had even seen Robotnik kiss them on the ‘head’ before when he thought no one was looking), he loved to hear the doctor’s robot noises when he was feeling particularly relaxed, but what Stone really enjoyed was that he got to experience it all. He found what other people considered horrible, oddly enduring and it didn’t help that Robotnik was quite handsome in Stone’s personal opinion.

Past agents (or anyone who had ever met him, really) called Robotnik an asshole, egotistical, a mad man, a labrat, a physiological tyre fire, or even down right evil. Stone kept his true feelings of the doctor a secret to them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to defend the doctor every time someone sidled up to him with a “So sorry you have to work with him,” or “It's gotta suck being his agent”. They were trying to be chummy, and Stone would usually put on a customer service voice and disengage. He hated them all, but he wasn’t about to say that. Telling the world how much it sucked was Robotnik’s job.

Well that was usually. But today? Oh, today he was fucking done with it all.

“Hey, I’m making a new bet that you can’t last a year with that freak show.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“Hah! You don’t have to defend the stubborn bastard. He's not here and those drones of his won’t bother to listen in for him.” (oh they would, they really, really, would. Stone knew they were. SC-918 was always following the agent around.) The man reached over to grab at something in front of Stone when the agent's hand shot out and forcibly wrapped around his wrist. The man had his hand poised over Robotnik’s half finished coffee.

“Hey, now, man you don’t have to act like that hah-hah. Let me go. I wasn’t gonna touch his damn coffee.” The man’s words were strained as he struggled to get free of the agent’s grasp. Stone had already reached for his weapon from its holder that was flush against his chest.

“Do you think I am so stupid, that I can’t recognize an assassination attempt right in fucking front of me?” His voice was low, almost a whisper. A dangerous whisper.

Stone had pressed the man to the counter with the arm he had grabbed pinned so far behind his back it threatened to snap in two. Stone’s gun now pointed at the back of the man’s head. “Especially such a poorly planned and executed attempt? There are very few agents that use this break room since it is only for people who work under the doctor and so few of them actually use it regularly in fear that they will be fired if they ever see him. I have their faces memorized. You are not one of them.” The barrel of the gun was pressed into the man's head so hard it caused the man to squirm and try to free himself. “And they know better than to insult the doctor to my face.”

“I'M doing the world A FUCKING FAVO-” The bang that followed sounded through the whole lab. In the moment Stone decided two things, one he was going to ask the doctor for a personal kitchen within the lab or at least a coffee machine for safety reasons and two he was going to keep a spare change of clothes in his locker. Sure his black on black ensemble would hide the deep maroon splattered across his chest and legs but he really didn’t want to deal with the crunch of dried blood all day and the doctor always complained about the metallic smell.

As Stone cleaned up the blood splatter on the floor and prepared a new cup of coffee since the last one had not only been poisoned, but also had some idiot’s blood in it. The burrito was a little cold now, but it would have sat on the desk for an hour before Robotnik finally ate it anyway. When he returned to the doctor’s side with the fresh cup, the man actually seemed to have slight concern underneath the anger at Stone’s tardiness.

“Sorry that took so long, sir. There was an assassination attempt on you. It has been handled and cleaned accordingly.”

“I heard the shot. And you're wrong as always, agent, you are still covered in the imbecile’s blood. Go change or wash up or whatever. There's a spare suit in the box by your locker - yes, it's your size. I don’t appreciate the smell of blood so be through but quick since there's paperwork for you to do. More now that there's a dead body in the kitchen.”

“Oh, he’s not in the kitchen anymore, and no one will ever find him. So I think I can escape the government's paperwork this time since you and I were the only witnesses, if that’s ok with you.” He said with a wink at the doctor, one hundred percent sure that the older man had seen it reflected in his holo screens. The adrenaline was making him brave.

The agent spoke so nonchalantly as he turned to follow the doctor’s orders that he almost missed the doctor visibly tense as he looked up at him from where he had slumped down in his chair to drink his latte. They never did find the bodies when Stone or the badnik foiled an assassination attempt on the doctor and noone at the government really knew the extent of who or how many Stone had killed for Robotnik. Half the time Robotnik himself didn’t even know when another potential killer had been taken down by his agent.

Robotnik didn’t respond to Stone’s wink so the agent took that as his que to leave and change. Proud to see the doctor grab the cold burrito before staring at his computer screens.

Stone had pulled his shirt off and was scrubbing at the blood that had seeped through onto his chest with a towel when he heard someone enter the room. He immediately tensed and whirled around hand itching toward his waist where his gun sat against his hip, visible without his suit jacket.

“Jeez, Agent. It’s me.” Robotnik leaned against the doorframe frame. His eyes flicked over the agent's frame before settling on his latte, and Stone would have sworn his ears had turned pink.

“Oh, I’m so sorry sir, I am still feeling the effect of adrenaline, so-.”

“You're jumpy. It's fine, I will let it slide this time, Agent.” Still looking so intensely at the coffee, like he was trying to drink it with his eyes. “What did the assassin want to kill me for, this time? I still want a debrief, Stone, even if you don’t do the paperwork for G.U.N.”

“Ah, He never got a chance to say really. I believe he wanted to do the world a favor or something. He tried to poison your coffee while I was staring directly at it, so it wasn’t a very good plan. I have a suspicion that he was a disgruntled past agent, which implies G.U.N needs to up their security, honestly.” When Stone finally pulled on the clean shirt, Robotnik looked up, saw that it was still unbuttoned and promptly looked at the ceiling, ears turning from pink to red. Robotnik looked back down as Stone buttoned up his shirt.

“Hmm, they always leave so angry or broken. Not like you, Stone. You won’t leave, no matter what I do.”

“I plan to stay your agent, as long as you’ll have me.”

Robotnik gave a pleased hum. “You’re still here because you’re the only decent assistant I have been assigned, Stone and because you willingly stay by my side. You are MY agent, Stone. Never forget that.”

How could he forget? He loved being Robotnik’s agent. He adored everything about the genius.

Suddenly, Robotnik was in his personal space. “MINE.”

This had put their interaction squarely in the realm of flirting which only made Robotnik’s blush spread down to his cheeks. Stone was sure he hadn’t meant that to sound romantic, but Stone felt like it was one of the most romantic things he had ever heard. “I am yours, Doctor.”

“I really don’t like to share.”

“Only yours.”

There was no space between them. Roboniks chest was pressed against his. Stone was sure the older man could hear or at least feel the Agent’s heart beating with the proximity.

“Really?” there was hesitancy in the doctor’s voice. Stone knew that he wasn’t used to having people stick around. He was the only person who had willingly stayed by Robotnik’s side for so long.

“I really do mean it when I say I will stay by your side forever, Sir.” Stone shifted forward to rest his chin against the doctor’s chest. He could be fired for this, but HR was never really a concern between them. Robotnik didn’t give two shits about boundaries but Stone had never set any up in the first place.

In the end, Stone was the one who moved first, slipping his hand into Robotnik’s gloved one and gently squeezing. The doctor’s breath audibly caught in his throat.

“Never speak of this to anyone, Agent.”

“I would never share such a private moment. This is our’s alone to treasure, Sir.”

Stone would never grow tired of the sight of the doctor’s ears burning red.

__________

Stone knew it was going to be a bad day when the lab doors opened to reveal Dr. Robotnik shouting at the top of his lungs. After a year working with the doctor he knew his mood even before entering the door. He quickly discerned that Walters was the source of his frustration most likely since he was the target of his words.

As he walked closer

“We threw Agent Stone at you as a last resort. He wasn't supposed to last. A week or two and then he would be fired. We need him back in the field, Robotnik. He is the best shot we have at getting this information ba-”

“No! You assigned a half-way decent agent to ME. HE IS MY AGENT, AND I INTEND TO KEEP HIM UNTIL HE FUCKS UP. (Stone would have snickered at how much of a lie this was if they had been alone. He had fucked up.) Do you understand, Commander?” Robotnik had stalked over to Stone and thrown an arm around the agent's neck pulling him into more of a chokehold against his chest than an embrace. Stone held his arms still so as to not spill the coffee, but still allowed himself to be yanked around as the doctor continued his rage-filled rant. Possessive was one of the few words that floated around Stone’s brain. The proximity to Robotnik had shut everything else down.

Walters tried a different tactic and started to ask the agent what he wanted.

“If you ever try and reassign me, I will quit on the spot.” Stone was still aggressively pinned to Robotnik’s side, but he made sure his words sounded serious despite the less than serious predicament. When he glanced up he could see Robotnik was grinning almost manically. It was a grin that screamed ‘I won’. Stone treasured that grin, maybe a little bit more since everyone else seemed to fear it.

“Go find a new Agent to boss around, Walters,” The doctor’s voice was a viciously sing-song tone now that Stone had stated his own opinion on the matter. “This is my loyal sycophant.”

Robotnik’s eyes were flashing with what Stone knew to be amusement and a twisted sense of adoration when he looked at Stone but he also knew the rest of the world saw it as something evil. Maybe it did have a few malicious undertones, but so did the agent's own grin as he stared back. It was enough for Walters to give up.

They watched Walters' retreating form leave the lab, he knew better than to fight a losing war.

“Your latte, sir,” Stone handed him the cup with the steaming drink after the door slammed shut behind the commander.

The doctor took a sip, “I really do love the way you make them, Agent. Now come on, there is work to be done. Walters will be back in an hour to propose the idea that we do this recon mission together and we should prepare my babies.” Robotnik let go of the agent and disappeared into the rows of badnik along one side of the lab.

Stone was left reeling for a second with the sudden loss of the limbs that were partially obscuring his airway before taking up his place next to the doctor.

#stobotnik fanfic #stobotnik #holy shit my first fanfiction that I am posting to the internet this is terrifying #of course it was Stobotnik they have invested my brain #agent stone #dr. robotnik #fic based on a Taylor Swift song. I didn't mean for it to be so accurate to the song! I hadn't heard it in a while #so I only remembered the throw rocks at things that shine line and wrote around that but when I went to go back and find the actual song #turns out the fic I wrote was so damn similar to the actual lyrics idk how that happened #dr robotnik x agent stone #agent stone x robotnik #they even held hands like the lyric about hands are tough but mine belong? how did I do this??#this would be a song fic right?#i didn't mean for it to end up so long

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km-davidson · 3 days ago

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This was going to be an absolute catastrophe. Everything about this that would lead them into a spiral that would only be them existing. Getting his degree didn't matter, nor did baseball. All in life that mattered was the current moment and how stupendous this felt. Kyle could feel himself unravelling while coiling tighter. The constriction of his pants and the sway of her hips jostling the last remnants of sanity from him. He only moved his mouth to let her peel her bra down, immediately going for the taut nipple he'd spent days fantasising. Photos didn't do this justice. He'd have to remind her at a different time. His tongue swirled before his full mouth encompassed her.

It was the bang and the jolt of her body that had scared him. Mainly it was her reaction that brought him on edge. The pressure in his eyes came forth uncalled for causing him to shut them immediately. Oh God, oh God, oh God, he chanted in his mind. She'd see him. He'd blown his cover and they hadn't even gone to third base. He was such a failure. Her walking away took a moment for him to realise, only after he peaked an eye open to confirm.

"Oh my God, oh my God," he scrambled up, not even processing the reason why she got up, just that he had to get to the bathroom. He stumbled over her bed frame, thrown off by how sharp his vision now was. Whatever drew her away from him was a blessing. He didn't know what it was now, but being able to lock the bathroom door behind him was surely the universe's way of giving him another chance. His body shook, the adrenaline nearly getting the better of him. "In," he instructed himself, "Out." Repeatedly telling himself to breathe and get ahold of himself.

The way that Kyle held the bathroom sink was something he hadn't had to do in years. His grandparents had put him through various scenarios, testing his limits, and training him on how to hone himself back in. There'd been enough moments where he'd been in the embrace of another and had to calm down, but nothing like this. He really liked her. Really, really liked her. It was because of how enamoured he was with her that had triggered this. Looking up, he saw the state of his appearance. Gone was the blue he'd been born with. Sharpened features across his face making him more animalistic than man. "Fuck."

Kyle had to continue breathing through his high blood pressure. Thinking of every part of his body being his, and forcing oxygen into his lungs to further decrease the shift that nearly threatened him. He turned on the sink, running the water on cold to mask his breathing. It took minutes, he was sure, before his eyes finally didn't glow the cerulean they did when he was in his wolven form. He cupped his hands, splashing the water across his face repeatedly until he felt a semblance of normal again. A knock at the door had Kyle breathing in deeply again. "Hey, sorry, I had to take a piss."

Had her cheeks grown flushed? Could he see the pure want in her eyes? Kaden didn't know, but as he pulled back to momentarily stare at her, all she felt was the internal, radiant hunger that had her desperately longing for more. Phone calls were nothing, neither were his reactions from the photos that she occasionally sent his way. To witness him with hardly any distance between them? With a proximity so near that she could see the different shades of blue in his eyes and make out the separate pores that scattered across the tip of his nose? Surely no reaction could ever be as soulfully intoxicating as witnessing him in the flesh as he took in the curve of her bra against her chest in person for the first time.

The result of which drew forth the first breathy gasp from her mouth as his lips pressed and then sucked against her pale skin, her own head lolling forward as she momentarily curved her neck to rest against him. The movement of her hips had found a steady rhythm now, Kaden all too aware of how he'd grown beneath her, as the raised seam of her jeans only added to the sensation as she teased herself against him.

"Fuck, that feels good..." she sighed, reaching up to her bra to further to expose the hardening nipple still hidden beneath. Her fingers curved, dipping beneath the cup of her bra, itching to tug it down.... Kaden stilled. Her ears perked. The all too encompassing paranoia that came with the lifestyle she lived had her freezing, head jolting in the direction of her door (and therefore also the front door across the living room) as her eyebrows furrowed with momentary confusion. Was that...?

A loud bang sent her body jumping, the spiked heart rate uncontrollable despite the recognition of the sound. She wasn't crazy. That had been the jingle of keys in a lock. Not just any lock, her lock, not the one across the hall. And the bang? The all too recognizable sound that came at the worst of times — Carly trying to push open the door when the deadbolts were engaged.

"You've gotta be fuckin'—" It wasn't as if she could just jump up and close the door to her own bedroom as an indication that she wanted privacy. No, Carly wouldn't be able to enter the apartment until Kaden extracted herself from Kyle's frame and walked across the entire apartment to undo the deadbolt and let her in. "What the actual fuck..." Her tone came out whiny in the space shared between them. Kaden didn't care. She made no attempt to hide her irritation, brows creased just as they'd been hours before when they'd nearly been late to the game, as she forced herself painfully from his lap, enough of a mind still present to remember to pull up her tank top and grab the jersey. She didn't button it up, but she pulled it over her shoulders, leaving it hanging undone so that only a fraction of her dark tank top showed where the two sides failed to meet.

"Kaden?" Even Carly's small voice only brought the brunette further tense and frustrated, not even needing to mutter the words as she stole a glance towards Kyle, one that all too clearly stated: I'm going to fucking murder her.

She continued to smooth her hands over her shirt as she made her way across the living space, each step upon the wooden floor far more aggravating than it ever should have been. Kaden shoved the door shut (perhaps with a bit more force than necessary or usual) before sliding both of the deadbolts and opening the door to come face to face with Carly.

"I thought you were—" she was sent into momentary silence by another face that she didn't expect. Now the furrowing of her brows had become that of half-genuine confusion, the ignored vibrations in her pocket likely clearing up the situation before her if she'd decided to read them, "I thought you both were with everyone else?" Kaden couldn't hide the confusion. Momentarily, it even shielded a good portion of her frustration as she tried to piece the situation before her together.

"We were..." Kaden gestured with a vague hand in the direction of her room. Truthfully, it meant more of a gesture to the apartment in its entirety due to its layout, "I was gonna change and then we were headed out."

#mlbau

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gallifreyinstituteforlearning · 2 days ago

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🌌The Universe, the Menti Celesti, and the Gallifreyan Devil

Gallifreyans, being an ancient people, have long debated the mysteries of the cosmos. Where did the universe come from? Are gods real? Can everything be reduced to science?

Here's what Gallifreyan mythology, philosophy, and a whole lot of deeply questionable religious texts have to say on the subject.

🪐How the Universe Began

Like most civilisations, the ancient Gallifreyans have/had theories about how everything began.

The universe was born from a self-aware singularity, sometimes called Eru or Azathoth.

This entity split into ten dimensions at the moment of the Big Bang. (Why ten? No one knows. Some say the universe actually has eleven dimensions, but apparently, even the Creator wasn't great at maths.)

Time itself was poured into the void o the empty universe by the Mother Goddess, using something called the Aurora Temporalis (a.k.a. the Anvils of Heaven). This suggests that Time is a very fancy liquid, which raises more questions than it answers.

The seconds of time were then created by the Temporal Phoenix, a cosmic bird that was imprisoned in a time loop by the Philesians.

🤷 Or "Look, it Just Happened"

The more scientifically inclined Gallifreyans believe that time is a mathematical structure so complex that it became sentient by accident.

This would explain why causality occasionally behaves like an unsupervised child with a flamethrower.

🕊️ The Menti Celesti: Gallifrey's Gods (or Just Very Pushy Eternals)

The ancient Gallifreyans did worship gods—though they were less "divine cosmic overlords" and more "powerful entities that ignored prayers unless they were in the mood."

The Main Pantheon

Time – The youngest and most unpredictable. Ancient Gallifreyans worshipped her, but many modern Gallifreyans dislike her intensely. She wanders around in a grey shawl, holding an amphora filled with the dust of time, which she continuously pours to ensure time flows. She is represented by a shifting grey colour.

Death – Enjoys making deals. Represented by the colour white and a red circular symbol known as a Regenerative Circle. Old Gallifreyan tales state that when Death was born, drunken gods gave her name to someone else. She was annoyed by this, and now spends her time removing every mortal's name.

Pain – Oldest of the gods. Absolutely terrible at parties. Represented by the colours of red and black.

Fate (Osuda) – The hallowed hand of destiny, which means no one really likes her.

Life – Rarely mentioned. Possibly retired.

Hope – Existentially suspicious.

Light – Very much not talked about.

Gallifreyans, being deeply bureaucratic, eventually stopped worshipping them because they objected to the mass celebration of Eternals, which they saw as technically just worshipping another species.

Most of the Menti Celesti abandoned the universe before the War in Heaven, except for Death, who stuck around because she had nothing better to do.

😈 Gallifrey's Devil and the Nature of Evil

Gallifreyans don't really do "sin," but they do worry about entropy, time paradoxes, and apocalyptic horrors that eat civilisations like crisps.

Their myths speak of Valdemar, a dark god who was so terrible that the ancient Old Ones spent centuries fighting him.

The battle against Valdemar is considered the sixth greatest mystery of the Universe, because after winning, all the Old Ones promptly vanished and no one knows why.

🙈The Devil Theory: Can You Get Rid of Evil?

Ancient Gallifreyans believed that if all evil was destroyed, the good people who remained would eventually become evil themselves—because without opposition, even the best ideas can turn tyrannical.

This led to the grim conclusion that evil must always exist, which is a convenient excuse for not dealing with any major moral dilemmas.

Many modern Time Lords consider the concepts of good and evil to be outdated, redundant, or incomprehensible., which slightly contradicts the Great Moral Dialectic (see below).

🏛️ The Legacy of Belief

Though many Gallifreyans abandoned their gods long ago, a few rituals and superstitions persist:

📜 The Ratio 1:812 – The key to quantum string theory. Some believe it proves the gods exist; others believe it proves they never did. (Classic Gallifreyan argument structure.)

🏡 Shrines in Homes – Ancient Gallifreyans kept alcoves for offerings to the Menti Celesti, some still have them.

🌊 The Whispers of the Dead – Some believed that the souls of the dead ended up in the Sea of Life and that you could hear them whispering in the waves.

👍The Great Moral Dialectic – Some Gallifreyans believe in the Great Moral Dialectic, which is the rationale that as the physical Universe gets bigger, the moral Universe will lean more towards goodness.

🐍 The Crevasse of Memories That Will Be – A deep fissure used by the Pythia for prophecy. It contained snakes.

🚫 The Omniscate – A protective symbol often placed on powerful objects and rooms. Allegedly wards off evil, or at least makes people feel better about using dangerous technology.

🕰️ The Loa – Some Time Lords refer to history as a sentient being or beings they call the Loa.

🏫 So …

Gallifreyans don't worship gods anymore, but they do acknowledge their existence in an irritated, skeptical way. They've got a few ideas about the Universe, life, and everything, but as usual it's a hot mess.

(Assembled from ROOG + TARDIS Wiki)

Whoniverse Facts for Friday by GIL

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical.

More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜MasterpostIf you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

#doctor who #dr who #dw eu #gallifrey #gallifrey institute for learning #whoniverse #TOTM: Infinite Mysteries of the Universe #nuwho #GIL: Facts #GIL #GIL: Species/Gallifreyans #classic who #GIL: Gallifrey/Culture and Society #gallifreyan culture #gallifreyan lore #GIL: Gallifrey/History

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gullemec · 3 days ago

Text

From Now On

Golden Ruin - Chapter Five

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: Time seems to move extra slow in Butcher's absence. You try to fill it, with doctor's visits and coffee dates and missions, but nothing seems to help. Until you come face to face with a dark reminder of your past.

Warnings: doctor's office visit, talk of pregnancy, angst, lying to your friends :(, homelander jump scare!

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.5k

A/N: Now that the reader knows she is ~with child~ there's going to be mention of it a lot going forward, so i just wanted to be clear here that i am 100% pro-choice, any mentions of the fetus as being new life/a person is solely because the reader has chosen to keep the baby and thus sees it that way. i hope that makes sense! <3

Weeks pass, each one slower than the last.

You try to keep busy, filling your days with whatever work Mallory is willing to give you. Filing reports, combing through intel, even the menial, mind-numbing tasks that Frenchie and MM happily pawn off. None of it feels like enough. No matter how much you bury yourself in work, your thoughts always find their way back to him.

You take to walking in Central Park most mornings, hoping the fresh air and the familiar buzz of the city will soothe your restless mind.

The park hums with life. Dogs chase frisbees across the grass, joggers in monochrome lycra weave through the pathways, a guitarist with a goatee strums the opening chords to Wonderwall beneath the shade of a tree. A child’s laughter rings out as they run ahead of their parents. It’s all so normal, so achingly distant from the chaos you’ve come to know with the Boys.

And yet, even here, in the flow of city life, ordinary and extraordinary in equal measure, your mind can’t help but replay that last night. The way Butcher stood in your apartment, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the walls you tried desperately to deconstruct. The look in his eyes, the way they softened when they met yours. The rare, fleeting moment of vulnerability he let slip before retreating behind his armor again.

What did he mean when he said he cared too much? When he promised you’d talk again when he got back? Was it just a placating lie to ease the goodbye? Or does he replay your words in his head the way you replay his in yours? You can’t stop yourself from wondering, obsessing. Is he thinking about you too? Is he losing sleep like you are?

The questions are endless, the answers tied to a string that some unseen force continually yanks out of your reach.

You check your phone compulsively, even though you know better. Mallory made it clear they’d have limited contact during the mission. If any updates came through, she’d be the one to receive them, not you. But the silence stings all the same. Every glance at the blank screen feels like a tiny reminder of your insignificance in the grand scheme of things.

By the third week, the anxiety starts to seep into everything. You find yourself cleaning the apartment again and again, even when there’s nothing left to clean. You reorganize your kitchen cabinets, line up your spices alphabetically, scrub the countertops until your hands ache. Anything to keep your hands busy, to stave off the creeping dread that settles in your stomach like silt when you’re still for too long.

The shelf above your record player becomes a sort of shrine. You rearrange the photos there more times than you can count. Your mother’s face smiles back at you from her frame, her warmth a bittersweet reminder of the family you’ve already lost. You’ve added a couple of new additions, too. One of the selfies you and Annie took on your cocktail night, and a candid shot of the Boys, huddled in conversation at the office. Frenchie is mid-gesture, his hands animated as always, while MM looks on with his usual calm authority. Kimiko’s face is barely visible, half-hidden behind her curtain of hair, but there’s a shy smile playing on her lips.

Butcher isn’t in that photo.

You spent the better part of an hour scrolling through your phone’s camera roll, searching for him. Dread grew with each swipe, the ache deepening when you realized you had no good photos of him. He’s there, yes, sprinkled in the background of candids you took of the Boys, caught in blurry profile shots or sneaky attempts to snap him without his noticing. There’s one where he’s sitting at the kitchen table, scowling at a newspaper, and another where he’s leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, his gaze distracted and distant.

But there’s no photo that truly captures him. No image of the Butcher you know, the one who softens when he thinks no one’s watching, who hides his tenderness beneath layers of anger and sarcasm. The realization hits you hard. You never thought to take one. Not because he didn’t matter, but because, when you were with him, your phone was the last thing on your mind.

When you were with Butcher, you were caught up in the moment.

Heated arguments resolved in shed clothing and ruined bedsheets. Laughter that caught like fire between you until you were red in the face and your sides ached. Silences that stretched between you, comfortable, understanding of each other’s past hurts and present needs.

You never thought to pull out your phone. You didn’t need to. Every second with him felt too immediate, too raw to distill into pixels on a screen.

Now, standing in front of the shelf, you feel the loss acutely, not just of him, but of the moments you never captured. The shards of your heart feel like they’ve shattered all over again. You wish you had something tangible, something to hold onto while he’s gone, some proof that he was here, that he mattered to you in ways he’ll never understand.

The thought catches in your throat as you wonder—will the last photo you have of Butcher be the one in your mind from that night?

The rest of the Boys seem to sense your unease. Annie calls you at least every other day, plying you with snacks and movie nights so you’ll spend the night at her place. Hughie offers small, practical comforts, dropping off snacks, reminding you to take breaks. Even Kimiko, in her quiet way, keeps a watchful eye on you. But their kindnesses only make you feel worse. They’re carrying on, doing what they always do.

But you’re falling apart at the fucking seams.

Some nights, when the apartment feels too quiet, you put on a record and let the music fill the space. You play the songs you know Butcher would roll his eyes at, the ones he’d complain about just to get a rise out of you, only to scoop you up and dance around the room with you anyway. You can almost hear his voice, the sharp bite of his sarcasm softened by the ghost of a smirk. But when the song ends, the silence returns, the air in the room feeling heavier than before.

Sleep becomes a losing battle. The nights stretch endlessly, your mind conjuring every worst-case scenario imaginable. You see him in a Russian forest, bleeding out in the snow, his stubborn pride keeping him from calling for help. You imagine him captured, locked in some godforsaken cell, or worse, gone entirely, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions.

Other nights, you catch yourself whispering prayers to a god you stopped believing in years ago. You pray for his safety, for his return, for the chance to finish the conversation you started.

And then there's the secret you carry. You’ve started noticing the changes in your body, the faintest curve to your stomach, the way your clothes fit just a little differently. Soon, you won’t be able to hide it anymore, not from yourself and certainly not from the others. It’s just… not the right time right now.

Once Butcher gets back and you’ve had the chance to tell him first, then you can tell everyone else.

But what if they don’t find the weapon? What if the mission gets prolonged? What if they do find it, and an all out war breaks out? What if, when the Boys need you most, you’ll be unable to fight, not just a burden but a liability?

Is there ever really a good time to announce that you’re carrying the child of the leader of an anti-Supe vigilante group turned CIA operative?

You find yourself staring at the photo of your parents, wondering what kind of family you’ll be able to offer this child. Will they grow up only ever knowing their father from blurred, grainy photographs?

You try to remind yourself of Butcher’s promise.

We’ll finish this when I get back .

But the longer the silence stretches, the harder it is to believe him.

That evening, as the sun slips into the Hudson and the painterly hues of the sunset are replaced by neon city lights, you sit on the couch, phone in hand, willing it to light up. It doesn’t. You lean back, staring at the ceiling, tears crawling past your temples to your ears.

“Come back to me,” you whisper to the empty room. It’s a plea, a prayer, a desperate wish.

The silence offers no answer.

~~~

A week later, you find yourself in a cold, sterile clinic, harsh fluorescent lights beating down on you like the desert sun on a dry lizard. You try not to search the faces sharing the waiting room with you, as though not being able to see them might mean they can’t see you, either. Your name is called, and you look up to see a moon-faced nurse smiling politely, clipboard in hand. She gestures for you to follow her, and your legs feel leaden as you walk down the hall, your heart pounding against your ribs.

She leads you to a small exam room, the picture of clinical sterility. You perch on the exam table, the paper cover crinkling beneath your weight. You fiddle with your fingers, taking measured breaths, trying to distract yourself from the reality of where you are. It doesn’t work.

The door opens, and the doctor steps in, a clipboard tucked under one arm. He’s a middle-aged man with kind eyes, his expression professional but warm. He glances down at the paper in his hand, skimming it briefly before looking up at you with a small, practiced smile.

“Well,” he begins, his voice calm and steady. “Your bloodwork came back positive. Based on your hCG levels it looks like you’re about eight weeks along.”

You don’t know exactly why you’re surprised. You took the test, watched as those twin pink lines stared back up at you, mocking you with their certainty. Still, hearing the words spoken aloud makes it real in a way it hadn’t been before. No uncertainty or false positives. It’s happening.

“Eight weeks...” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

The doctor nods and launches into an explanation about prenatal vitamins, ultrasounds, diet changes, and the importance of follow-up appointments. You nod along, but his words feel distant, like they’re coming from the other side of a thick pane of glass. Your mind is elsewhere, spinning with thoughts that come too fast to catch.

When he finally finishes, you murmur a polite thanks and slip out of the room, clutching a bottle of prenatal vitamins and appointment cards you barely even look at. You step out into the busy city street, the sounds of honking cars and chattering passersby crashing into you like a wave. It’s overwhelming, the chaos of the world around you only amplifying the chaos in your head.

The noise feels louder somehow, the streets more crowded, the air more stifling. Your thoughts race, one after another, as you clutch your coat tighter around yourself. What now? What does this mean? Can I even do this? What will he think?

You walk back to your apartment, your brain on autopilot, your body moving through the motions without conscious thought. Distantly, physically, you feel everything. Fear, hope, guilt. Yet your head remains oddly blank, as if protecting you from being overwhelmed.

When you step through the door, your feet instinctively carry you to the photo shelf, the spot that’s become your quiet sanctuary. You let your eyes drift over the images of your friends, your family . Each face stirs something inside you, a reminder of the love they’ve shown you in the relatively short period of time you’ve known them.

There is a warmth in this realization. No matter how overwhelming your fears are, no matter how daunting the road ahead feels, you know they will be there for you. They’ll never abandon you. They’d stand by you and this child without hesitation.

And yet… guilt twists in your stomach. You think about the strain this will place on them, on the group. How can you drop a bombshell like this now? Not when Butcher, MM, and Frenchie are risking their lives in a foreign country. Not when the stakes are higher than they’ve ever been.

You swallow hard, pressing a hand to your stomach.

You need to keep this a secret, at least for now. Until things settle. Until you can be sure that your burden won’t drag them down.

Your hand drifts to the framed photo of your mother, her familiar peering back at you. You trace the edge of the glass with your finger, brushing it lightly over her face. You close your eyes, imagining the feel of her arms wrapping around you. You think of her quiet strength, the sacrifices she made to give you a happy childhood. Trapped in a loveless marriage with a cheating husband, enduring your father’s cruelty, she had every reason to give up. But she never did. She never let you feel the weight of her struggles. All you ever felt from her was love. Endless, unwavering love.

She gave you everything you needed to thrive, even when the odds were stacked against her.

You can do the same.

Tears well in your eyes as you whisper, “I love you.”

The words are meant for her, but as your hand shifts to your stomach, they’re meant for the flicker of life inside you as well. For both of them. From now on and forever.

~~~

Annie insists on dragging you out to a coffee shop on the Upper West Side, and you don’t have a good enough reason to bail. It’s a cozy little place, the kind that smells like freshly ground beans and baked pastries, with fairy lights strung across the windows. You pick at the edge of your napkin as the two of you sit at a small table by the window, perfect for people watching.

Annie stirs her latte absentmindedly, her sharp blue eyes flicking to your face as she watches you. There’s no judgment, only quiet concern, the kind that makes you feel comforted and exposed at the same time.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she says, breaking the silence. “Everything okay?”

You force a small smile, glancing at the untouched cappuccino in front of you. You don't know how to tell her that the smell of it has the croissant you forced down earlier threatening to make a reappearance.

“Yeah, just... trying to get back to normal. Whatever that means.”

She snorts softly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Normal’s overrated. Besides, I don’t think any of us get that luxury anymore.”

“Fair point,” you murmur, the corner of your mouth lifting despite yourself.

For a moment, the two of you sit in companionable silence against the sounds of grinding coffee beans and Macbook keyboards clicking. The clink of mugs, the hum of conversation, the hiss of the espresso machine, you can't deny that it soothes the chaos in your mind.

Finally, she leans in, her voice dropping just enough to make the moment feel private, intimate. “They’ll be okay, you know. Butcher and the others. They’ve been through worse.”

You want to believe her, to latch onto her certainty, but the knot in your belly doesn’t loosen. “It’s not just that,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “I keep replaying the last thing we talked about. I can’t figure out what he was trying to say. And now... no contact. It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Annie tilts her head, studying you carefully. “You talked about something before he left?” she prompts gently.

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around your coffee cup. There’s something about Annie, about the genuine way she listens, that makes it harder to keep things bottled up.

“He came over, right before he left,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “But now I’m even more confused about where we stand.”

Annie blinks, her expression softening. “Oh,” she says, sitting back slightly. “Okay. That’s... a lot.”

You laugh weakly, the sound bitter. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

“And now you’re afraid he won’t come back at all . ” Her voice is kind but hits uncomfortably close to the truth.

“Exactly,” you say, your voice cracking just enough to betray the depth of your worry. “I thought maybe I was doing the right thing, you know? Like, if I laid it all out there, he’d... I don’t know, see me? But instead, he just... shut down. And now I’m terrified that’s going to be the last conversation we ever had.”

Annie reaches across the table, her hand brushing yours briefly before resting on the handle of her cup. “For what it’s worth, I think you were brave for saying something. Butcher... he’s complicated. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel things, though. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Have you?” The question comes out more desperate than you intend, and you curse yourself for it.

“Yeah,” Annie says firmly. “He might not know how to handle it, but he does care about you. I’d bet anything on that.”

Her words are a small comfort. You know he cares. Is it enough, though? You can care a whole hell of a lot about a person, it doesn’t mean you’re ready to settle down with them, to start a family with them.

You nod, trying not to let your face betray your thoughts. Annie seems to sense it and doesn’t push further. She changes the subject, asking about some mundane detail of your day, and you’re grateful for the reprieve.

Still, as you sit there, forcing down sips of lukewarm cappuccino and pretending to be part of the bustling, ordinary world around you, the weight of it all doesn’t truly lift. It’s easier with Annie here, but it’s harder, too. You want to tell her so badly, to share the weight of your news, but you can’t. Not yet, at least.

It’s funny how protecting someone so often feels like betraying them.

~~~

When you arrive at the office next, there’s an uncharacteristic energy in your step. For the first time in days, you feel something close to excitement buzzing under your skin. The team in Russia finally made contact with Mallory. No radio silence, no cryptic reports of casualties, just word that they’re holed up in a safe house a couple of hours outside of Moscow. It’s enough to let a sliver of hope creep into the periphery of your consciousness.

Inside, the air in the office feels charged, like everyone is collectively holding their breath. The group gathers around a laptop hastily set up on a cluttered desk. Papers and coffee mugs are pushed aside to make room. Hughie is already hunched over the keyboard, muttering under his breath as he fiddles with the settings, trying to sharpen the grainy video feed. Annie stands behind him, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her nerves almost as apparent as your own.

Finally, the screen flickers, and MM’s face comes into focus. His expression is calm but weary, shadows under his eyes and a tension in his shoulders that no amount of shitty lighting can hide. He glances at the camera, his lips pressing into a tired smile as if trying to reassure you all, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You exhale a shaky breath, only then realizing you’d been holding it.

“We’re making progress,” MM says, his voice weighted with exhaustion. “Can’t say much, but Butcher thinks we’re close. Tell Annie to steer clear of Vought’s HQ. It’s heating up over here, and we don’t want any blowback on your end.”

Your stomach flips at the mention of Butcher’s name. You scan the background of the video feed, hoping for even a fleeting glimpse of him. Where is he? Is he okay? The questions rise to the tip of your tongue, but you bite them back, forcing yourself to stay quiet. You don’t want to derail the conversation, or worse, give away how deeply your worry is eating at you.

“Noted. Are you guys okay?” Hughie asks, his brow furrowed as he leans closer to the screen.

MM gives a humorless chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. “Define ‘okay.’ Frenchie got into a shouting match with a Russian cabbie. Kinda impressive how many curse words he knows in Russian, honestly. But aside from that? We’re alive. For now.”

The screen flickers, the image stuttering for a moment before freezing entirely. Hughie groans, jabbing at the keyboard in frustration. The signal cuts out completely, leaving only a blank screen and a spinning loading icon.

“Seriously? Why do their Wi-Fi connections always suck? It’s like a spy movie cliché,” Hughie mutters, throwing his hands up in defeat.

The room lets out a collective sigh, a mix of disappointment and relief. You lean back, trying to mask the bitter sting of not hearing Butcher’s voice or even catching a glimpse of him. You tell yourself it’s enough to know they’re alive, to hear MM say they’re making progress. But the hollowness that stretches inside you like a canyon tells you otherwise.

“At least we know they’re still breathing,” you murmur, more to yourself than anyone else. Your fingers curl around the edge of the desk, grounding yourself in the relief of that knowledge. It’s not much, but for now, it’ll have to be enough.

Annie gives your arm a reassuring squeeze, her touch warm and grounding. You glance at her, offering a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. She doesn’t press, but the understanding in her expression says she knows exactly what’s on your mind.

~~~

You crouch against the brick wall of the Flatiron Building, head between your knees, inhaling slow, deliberate breaths. The bitter ghost of bile lingers in your throat, your palms pressed against the cool, rough concrete as you try to steady yourself. Every muscle in your body feels wrung out, and though the fresh air helps a little, you’re still swimming in a fog of exhaustion and anxiety.

The sound of footsteps echo down the alleyway. You glance up, squinting against the sunlight filtering through the narrow passage. Mallory stands a few feet away, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t say a word, just pulls a cigarette from her pocket, lights it, and leans casually against the wall beside you. The faint click of her lighter is swallowed by the hum of distant traffic.

You don’t bother speaking, and neither does she. The silence between you is heavy but not uncomfortable. For a moment, it’s just the faint rustle of leaves in the gutter and the occasional honk of a horn from the street. Mallory exhales a thin stream of smoke, staring off into the middle distance as if she has all the time in the world.

Finally, she breaks the silence, her voice low and even. “So, how far along are you?”

You freeze, the world tilting for a moment as the words sink in. Your stomach flips, not from nausea this time, but from the sudden wave of panic that crashes over you. “How do you—?”

“I’ve been there before,” she interrupts, her tone matter-of-fact. “I know the look.”

Your shoulders sag in defeat. There’s no point in denying it. “Ten weeks,” you murmur.

She nods once, her face betraying nothing as she takes another drag from her cigarette. Then, to your surprise, she crouches down beside you, her knees cracking slightly. The cigarette dangles loosely between her fingers, the smoke curling lazily into the crisp air.

“Does Butcher know?” she asks, her tone more curious than judgmental.

You shake your head, staring down at the cracks in the pavement. “Not yet. We didn’t leave things in a great place before he left.”

Mallory huffs softly, the sound laced with dry amusement. “Why am I not surprised?”

You don’t answer, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve instead. You don’t know what to say and, truthfully, even if you did, the nausea swirling in your gut would steal the words before you could speak them. Finally, she exhales sharply, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

“I don’t know what the hell you see in him,” she says bluntly. “He’s a wrecking ball with a God complex. But… I’ll give him this much. He doesn’t walk away from a fight, and he doesn’t quit on the people he cares about. Problem is, he doesn’t know how to show it. At least, not in a way that doesn’t involve violence and destruction.”

Her words hit like a gut punch, and you bite your lip to keep the sting of tears at bay. “I’m keeping the baby,” you say quietly, your voice trembling. “Whether or not he cares enough to be involved.”

Mallory raises an eyebrow, studying you with a calculating look. She flicks the ash from her cigarette, letting it scatter onto the ground. “Well, that answers one question,” she says, her voice cool. “But let me ask you another. What are you going to do about the rest of it?”

You glance up at her. “The rest of it?”

“Your life,” she clarifies, gesturing vaguely with the cigarette. “Your future. When I first heard you joined the Boys, I thought, What the hell are they thinking? Letting someone who’s practically in bed with Vought into their little operation. But I’ve been watching you.”

Her gaze sharpens, and for a moment, you feel like a bug under a microscope. “You’re sharp. A risk-taker. You think fast on your feet. But most importantly, you’re loyal. And that’s rare in this line of work.”

You blink, caught off guard. “I—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she cuts in. “Just listen. I can make things happen for you, if you want. A more stable role. Official. CIA.” She pauses, tapping the cigarette against the brick wall. “But you’ve got to decide what you want here. This life, what we do… it’s not just dangerous. It’s consuming. Especially if you’re planning to bring a kid into the mix.”

Your throat tightens, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a vice. “I… I don’t know, okay? I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’m just trying to keep my breakfast down right now.”

Mallory chuckles softly, the sound devoid of humor. “Fair enough. But let me give you some perspective. I’ve done this job while raising a family. It’s possible. But it’s hell. You think it’s hard now? Wait until you’re trying to keep a baby safe from Vought. Or worse, from what we do.”

She straightens up, her gaze hardening. “MM’s got Janine half the time, and even then, he can’t shield her from all of this. She’s older, she can understand some things. But a newborn?”

Your composure cracks, tears spilling down your cheeks despite your best efforts to hold them back. You turn your face away, swiping at your face with trembling hands. “I’m sorry,” you choke out. “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you.”

Mallory sighs, tossing the cigarette into a nearby puddle. The glowing ember hisses as it dies. Then, to your surprise, she places a hand on your shoulder. Her touch is firm, grounding.

“I won’t lie to you,” she says. “I think getting tangled up with Butcher was… not your smartest move. But I’m not disappointed. And I’m not here to judge you.”

You glance up at her, searching her face for any trace of reproach. Instead, you find something softer, almost maternal. It’s the last thing you expected.

“You’ll be okay,” she says, her voice gentler now. “It won’t be easy, but you’ll figure it out. Just… don’t lose sight of who you are in all of this. And don’t let Butcher drag you down with him, no matter how much you care about him. You’ve got potential, kid. Don’t waste it.”

You nod, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “Thank you,” you whisper, the words barely audible.

Mallory stands, brushing off her pants. “Come on. Let’s get back inside before they start thinking we’ve gone soft.”

~~~

Time passes slowly, like it takes real, concentrated effort to move through. Your nights grow more restless. The doctor reassured you it’s normal in the first trimester, but you know the tossing and turning isn’t just from the tiny life stirring within you. It’s the echoing of the unknown, the nagging absence of the man who occupies far more space in your mind than you remember ever giving him permission for.

Butcher’s face haunts your dreams. His gruff smirk, the way he’d call you love like it was second nature, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes when he’d let his guard down just enough to talk about his past. Becca, Lenny, all the ghosts he carried with him. They’re etched into the corners of your memory, and they follow you into sleep.

In one dream, he’s standing in your doorway, his trench coat flaring like some antihero returning from battle. The dim light catches the hard lines of his face, but his expression softens the moment he sees you. He steps inside, his boots heavy against the floorboards, and before you can even speak, his strong arms are around you, pulling you close.

“I told you I’d be back, didn’t I?” he murmurs, his voice a rough promise, the kind that aches and soothes all at once. It feels so real, the warmth of his touch, the gravelly timbre of his words, that your heart lurches, aching for it to be true.

But when you wake, the emptiness beside you feels colder than ever, the dream lingering like the first frost on a fall morning

~~~.

You step out of the van, your heels clicking against the cobblestones of the grand drive as you approach the brightly lit entrance of the Vought-sponsored gala. The mansion looms ahead, a caricatured monument to corporate wealth and hollow patriotism. Above the towering double doors hangs a massive banner, emblazoned with gold lettering.

Celebrating the Legacy of American Heroes

A legacy night. A tribute to the fallen Supes who had sacrificed everything in the line of duty . You wonder how many of those heroes had actually died cleaning up Vought’s messes, lives lost to lies, cover-ups, and the relentless hunger for profit. How many of them had their stories rewritten with the swipe of a checkbook and the threat of an NDA?

You’d been invited personally, a relic of your late father’s long and profitable relationship with Vought. You hadn’t wanted to come, but Mallory had insisted.

"It could be a goldmine of intel," she’d said. "And for once, you don’t even have to go undercover. Just smile and listen."

Earlier that evening, you had stood in front of your mirror, studying your reflection as you prepared. Your hands had wandered to the new curve of your stomach, the tiny, barely-there swell just beginning to form. Pressing a tentative finger against your belly, you marveled at the hardness beneath the soft skin. It was subtle enough that no one at the gala would notice, let alone suspect, but you still couldn’t shake the instinct to shield it. Now, as you adjust the strap of your sleek black evening gown, your clutch rests protectively against your abdomen.

Your fingers brush over the delicate chain of your necklace, feeling the small microphone hidden in its pendant, a last-minute addition from Mallory. “Just listen,” she’d warned before you left. “Annie and Hughie will be in the van outside. Don’t dig too deep, and for God’s sake, don’t draw attention to yourself.”

Easier said than done.

Inside, the mansion is the picture of obscenely wealthy excess. Gold drapes shimmer under the glow of chandeliers, offset by deep blue accents that embody the kind of flamboyant opulence you’ve come to expect from Vought. A live jazz band plays softly in the corner, their notes weaving through the hum of polite conversation and clinking champagne glasses.

You plaster on a polite smile as you weave through the crowd, recognizing faces you haven’t seen since your father’s funeral. Old colleagues of his, Vought executives with perfectly polished veneers and embarrassingly obvious hairpieces, approach you with forced sympathy and thinly veiled curiosity.

“I was so sorry to hear about your father. Such a visionary, such a loss.”

“We were certain you’d step up as CEO! But… well, I’m sure that’s in your future, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure it won’t be long before we see you carrying on the Morgan legacy, right?”

You nod and murmur your thanks, the bile rising in your throat as you fend off their expectations with vague pleasantries. If only they knew what you were really doing, spending your nights unraveling their lies, pouring your soul into destroying the facade they’re indulging in tonight.

As the evening stretches on, you drift toward a group of executives gathered near the hors d'oeuvres table, their conversation low but animated. One of them, a heavyset man with a thick cigar wedged between his fingers, gestures emphatically as he speaks, his voice cutting through the background noise.

“...and you’re telling me no one’s confirmed a damn thing? Attacks that coordinated? It reeks of somebody pulling strings.”

Another executive, slimmer and sharply dressed, leans in. “Come on, Greg. You don’t need to confirm anything to know Vought’s had ties to Russia since the Cold War. It’s not exactly a secret.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Greg replies, lowering his voice. “Back in ’84, they had something cooking. A black ops deal. Real hush-hush. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

Your pulse quickens as you edge closer, pretending to admire an ice statue of The Deep. Your ears strain to catch every word, but their voices drop further, blending with the room’s ambient buzz.

“Whatever it is,” the slimmer man says, “I’m sure Homelander’s already got it handled. The man doesn’t miss a thing .”

The mention of Homelander sends a shiver down your spine, your clutch tightening instinctively in your grasp. You linger near the group, hoping for more, when a familiar voice breaks through the low hum of the conversation.

“Well I’ll be damned. Is that who I think it is?"

You spin around, freezing.

Adam.

Your former lab partner from your internship. A man with whom you shared a brief and uninspired fling, more out of loneliness than real connection. You cringe inwardly, remembering how you’d ended things abruptly after the explosion that had destroyed CytoGenix. Somehow a lifetime ago, and yet only six months ago.

He looks almost exactly the same, though his hair is cropped closer to his head, neater, and he’s wearing a tailored suit that screams Vought-sponsored success.

“Adam,” you say, forcing a polite smile. “Wow, I didn’t expect to see you here. It’s been… ages.”

“Not since your dad’s funeral, right?” he says with a disarming grin.

Your stomach knots. The funeral had been a blur of tears, stiff condolences, and forced smiles. You barely remember who was there. You definitely don’t remember Adam being among them.

“Right,” you say carefully, your smile tightening. “I didn’t expect to see you there.”

He waves it off. “Just paying my respects. Anyway, what brings you here? I didn’t think the gala scene was your thing.”

Well, he’s right about that. Adam certainly paid you more attention than you’d ever spared him. Poor guy.

You glance down, adjusting the strap of your dress as if the movement could ground you. “Representing my father,” you say lightly, hoping to keep the conversation surface-level. “Legacy and all that.”

Adam nods knowingly, his expression softening. “Makes sense. The Morgan name still carries a lot of weight around here.”

The genuine warmth in his smile catches you off guard, and for a brief moment, you remember why you’d turned to him in the first place. Back then, his boyish charm had been a comfort during those fragile, uncertain days when you thought your time with the Boys was over.

But then Butcher’s face flashes in your mind, his gruff smirk, his scathing humor, the way he’d say your name as if it were carved from stone. You think about where he is now. Breaking into labs in Russia. Cold. In danger. Maybe worse. And here you are, standing in a gilded mansion, a month’s worth of rent glittering on your wrist.

A wave of nausea passes over you, guilt swirling in your stomach like sickness.

“And what brings you here?” you ask, desperate to change the subject.

"Funny story. After CytoGenix went under, I wasn’t sure what my next move was. Then out of nowhere, Vought reached out with a job offer. Research and development. Turns out they liked what we were working on at CytoGenix."

You stiffen, keeping your face carefully neutral. Of course, Vought had to keep their fingers in everything.

An awkward beat passes between you and Adam. He plucks two glasses of champagne from a passing tray, holding one out to you with a soft chuckle.

“Here. A toast to… old friends.”

Your heart skips. You hesitate, scrambling for an excuse.

"Oh, uh, I can’t. I’m on antibiotics—sinus infection. You know how it is."

His brow furrows slightly, then he smirks. “The old antibiotics excuse, huh? Alright, I’ll let it slide this time.”

He takes a sip of his drink, studying you over the rim of his glass. “You know, I always thought you had a knack for R&D. It’s a shame CytoGenix fell apart. What are you up to now?”

The question catches you off guard. You falter, searching for an answer that won’t draw attention to yourself. What do you say to him? That you’re deep undercover, working with a rogue group hell-bent on taking down the very company hosting this gala?

The words stick in your throat, and Adam’s curious gaze feels heavier by the second. His unexpected presence here unsettles you. Not just the reminder of your life before, when everything revolved around CytoGenix, but the uncomfortable reminder of how deeply Vought’s web entangles everyone around you.

Before you can speak, the band abruptly cuts off mid-song. A hush falls over the room, and all heads turn toward the stage.

“Guess that’s our cue to shut up. Homelander’s probably got another self-congratulatory speech lined up,” Adam quips, grinning as the spotlights sweep toward the stage.

You force a laugh, but the sound is thin, brittle. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to miss that,” you reply, though your pulse is already racing.

Your stomach sinks as Homelander strides into view, his polished boots gleaming under the lights. His cape flutters dramatically as he ascends the stage at the center of the room, that all-too-perfect grin stretching across his face. But his eyes are cold, dead, the smile never quite reaching them.

“Good evening, everyone,” his voice booms, smooth and practiced. “Isn’t this just the most wonderful gathering of the best and brightest?”

The room erupts into applause. Your stomach twists, nausea rising in waves. You curl a protective hand over your abdomen. I know, baby. He makes me sick too.

Homelander continues, his tone oozing charm. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what makes Vought so special. Sure, it’s the heroes, the scientists, the executives. But more than that, it’s the sense of family . We’re all connected. Bound by loyalty, purpose, and yes…” He pauses, letting the word hang like a noose. “…Legacy.”

His gaze sweeps across the crowd. You tell yourself you’re imagining it, that he can’t possibly know. But then his eyes land on you, those unnervingly blue eyes, as if he’s dissecting you with a glance.

“Family is everything, isn’t it?” he says, his smile tightening. “The things we inherit. The people who shape us. Some might say… it’s in our blood .”

Sweat beads down your lower back. There’s no mistaking it now. He’s looking right at you. His words feel like a blade pressed against your throat, daring you to flinch.

The applause swells again as Homelander finishes his speech. He steps down from the podium, his movements unnervingly smooth, like a predator closing in on its prey. The crowd parts for him as he weaves through the room, his eyes fixed on you.

Your heart slams against your ribs. Your gaze darts around the room, searching desperately for an escape route. Adam’s curious expression catches your eye, and he mouths, You okay?

You don’t have time to respond.

“Well, look who decided to make an appearance,” Homelander says, his sudden presence at your side sucking the air from the room.

His tone is light, but the menace beneath it is unmistakable. You don’t wait for him to say more.

You turn on your heel, muttering a quick, “Excuse me,” as you brush past Adam. Your hands tremble as you push through clusters of guests, each step feeling heavier under the weight of Homelander’s stare.

“Leaving so soon, Miss Morgan?” His voice follows you, like the snap of a trap closing.

You force yourself to keep moving, weaving through the throngs of bodies. Your mind races, replaying the layout of the mansion. The service corridor. You’d spotted it earlier while scoping the place. It’s your only chance.

You duck behind a group of laughing executives, their oblivious chatter shielding you for a moment. Homelander’s presence looms behind you, closer now. You can feel the heat of his gaze boring into the back of your skull.

Reaching the edge of the crowd, you spot the narrow service corridor just ahead. Heart hammering, you slip through the doorway, yanking off your heels as you go. The muffled hum of the gala fades behind you, replaced by the harsh echo of your bare feet against the tiled floor.

The corridor feels like a maze, but you don’t stop, don’t dare look back. The air grows cooler as you push through a heavy door and emerge into the back alley. The night is crisp, the sharp sting of the cold biting at your skin.

Your eyes dart around wildly until you spot the van idling at the far end of the alley. Relief floods through you, but you know you’re not safe yet. You sprint toward the vehicle, your clutch pressed tightly to your chest, lungs burning with every step.

Behind you, the door slams open.

“Running, are we?” Homelander’s voice is calm, almost amused.

You don’t look back. You can’t. The van door slides open as you reach it, and you throw yourself inside, gasping for air.

“Go!” you shout, your voice shaking.

Hughie doesn’t hesitate. The tires screech as the van lurches forward, sending you sprawling onto the seat. You brace yourself against the door, your hands trembling as adrenaline courses through your veins.

“What the hell happened?” Annie asks from the front seat, her eyes wide as she twists around to look at you.

“Homelander,” you choke out, your breath hitching. “He… he saw me, and—”

“Saw you?” Hughie glances at you in the rearview mirror, his brow furrowed in confusion. “But it’s not like you weren’t supposed to be there. You were invited, right?”

You shake your head violently, pressing your fists to your temples as you try to steady yourself. “It wasn’t just that. He was giving this speech about family, and—God, it felt like he was talking to me . Like he knows something. Then he started coming toward me, and I just—I just ran .”

Annie and Hughie exchange a look, their expressions unreadable.

“Do you think he—” Annie starts, her voice soft.

“I don’t know!” you snap, harsher than intended. You suck in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to calm down. “I don’t know what he knows, but the way he looked at me... It felt like he was hunting me.”

Annie’s face softens. She reaches back to squeeze your arm, her grip firm and reassuring. “You’re safe now. That’s what matters, okay?”

You nod weakly, tugging the warm wool coat you’d left in the van over your shoulders. The cool fabric is grounding, but the dread still lingers like a hand around your throat, coiling tighter with every second.

Hughie clears his throat, his voice steady but tense. “We’re heading to the office. Mallory called right before you got in. Emergency meeting.”

Your stomach drops. You’re not sure how much more you can take tonight, but you don’t argue. Instead, you glance out the window, watching the city lights blur past.

You take a deep breath and press a hand over your abdomen, trying to calm the storm inside you. You’re okay, you tell yourself. You’re okay—for now. Still, your mind spins. You don’t know what he wanted, but you do know this isn’t over. Homelander doesn’t just let things go.

Taglist: @imherefordeanandbones

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