#Look at your bomb signature in the corner too

[pastelaspirations]

YEE, LET'S GOOO- ANNIVERSARY PICTURES ARE THE BEST, HAHAH- I am reading it, I am making my slow way through ;_;

I'm finally done with that damn picture, omg. It's been four years since Ætherverse came to be, so have an anniversary pic here~

Can't fathom just how much time and nerves I put into this project thus far, but I don't regret it all, it's been a wonderful journey thus far~ Only one arc remains, so hopefully ya stay tuned till the end~

[thesecondhandwoman]

A SISTER’S SACRIFICE

Vi x f!reader

Synopsis: Vi had watched Jinx’s death, loosing her again despite finally getting her back. As you look for her after the battle, you find her on her knees and shattered by her sister’s sacrifice, rushing in to comfort her.

Request: @hallowed-hauntings

The battle was over, but Piltover was in shambles. Smoke rose into the dim, grey sky, casting a suffocating haze over the city. The streets were littered with the wreckage of both man and machine, the aftershocks of Viktor’s twisted Arcane creations still reverberating through the earth beneath your feet. The fight between Noxus and Zaun’s reluctant defenders had left the city broken.

And yet, nothing felt as broken as the woman you had finally found.

Vi was on her knees in the heart of the destruction, at the edge of the Hexcore’s wreckage, right where it all happened. You slowed as you approached, your chest tightening at the sight of her. Her broad shoulders trembled, her hands clenched into bloody fists against the ground. Her gauntlets—those indomitable weapons that had always seemed like extensions of her fiery will—were discarded nearby, cracked and useless.

But Vi herself looked even more fractured.

“Vi,” you called gently, your voice soft but unsteady as you stepped closer. She didn’t respond, her head hanging low, her pink hair tangled and streaked the black dye at her roots. Her back heaved as though she was trying to catch her breath, but there was no relief in sight.

You glanced down and saw it—the remains of Jinx’s signature monkey bomb. Its grinning face was barely intact, the edges scorched and jagged from the explosion. Your stomach turned. You didn’t need to piece together the rest.

Jinx was gone.

The memory came back in flashes. You hadn’t seen it directly but had heard both the bomb and the sudden murmurs while people recovered as you searched for Vi in the chaos. Vi had been cornered, battling Warwick—the monstrous, Arcane-corrupted beast that Viktor’s creation had unleashed. He had been too strong, too fast, it had thrown Vi completely off guard, especially since she thought Warwick was dead. But when his large form jerked up, Jinx didn’t hesitate. Not at the slightest.

She had saved Vi. Pushed her out of harm’s way. Forced her sister to let go. And then detonated her final monkey bomb, taking Warwick with her into the abyss.

You crouched beside Vi, hesitant at first. Her knuckles were raw, bleeding from where she’d slammed them into the metal again and again. Her entire body shook, each shudder a silent scream that didn’t make it past her lips. You reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, but she flinched violently at the touch.

“Don’t—” Her voice was raw, ragged, and trembling with grief. She finally lifted her head to glare at you, but her expression crumbled almost instantly. Her bloodshot eyes, rimmed with tears, searched your face as though she was begging you for answers you couldn’t give. “Don’t… touch me. I let her fall, I let her fall before even realizing she took out the fucking Crystal.”

Her words hit you like a blade to the chest, the shock hitting first, followed by an aching pain.

“No, Vi,” you said firmly, your own voice breaking under the weight of your emotions. “You didn’t let her fall. She—she made her choice.”

Vi shook her head furiously, a choked sob tearing from her throat. “She didn’t give me a choice!” she yelled, though her voice wavered, more plea than accusation. “She just… she just shoved me away and smiled. She smiled at me. Like it was nothing.” Her hands clenched at her sides as she let out another anguished cry. “I should have saved her! I could’ve saved her, but—”

“But she saved you,” you interrupted, your tone soft but unwavering. You couldn’t bear to see her like this, drowning in guilt that wasn’t hers to carry. “She saved you, Vi. She knew what she was doing. She wanted to protect you.”

“She was my little sister,” Vi whispered, her voice breaking completely as tears streamed down her face. “I was supposed to protect her. Not the other way around.”

And before you could say something to retort against her statement, her hands moved to cover her face as her sobs finally broke free. They were raw, guttural sounds, ripped straight from her soul. You didn’t hesitate this time. You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close despite the way her body shook violently against you. She resisted for a brief moment, her muscles tensing like she was about to push you away, but then she collapsed into your embrace.

Her fingers clawed at your back as if holding onto you was the only thing keeping her together. You buried your face in her hair, pressing soft, soothing kisses against her temple as tears stung your own eyes.

“I’m here,” you murmured over and over, your voice trembling but steady enough to ground her. “I’m here, Vi. You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

She clung to you like a lifeline, her sobs shaking both of you. You could feel her grief pouring out of her, raw and unrelenting. For so long, Vi had forced herself to be the unbreakable one—the fighter, the protector, the one who always got back up no matter how hard she was hit. But now? Now she was just a woman who had lost the last piece of her family, and it was more than anyone could bear.

“I wanted to bring her back,” Vi choked out between sobs. “I thought—I thought maybe we could fix things. That we could be sisters again. But now she’s gone, and—and it’s my fault.”

“No,” you said firmly, pulling back just enough to cup her tear-streaked face in your hands. You made her look at you, made her see the truth in your eyes. “It’s not your fault, Vi. Jinx… Powder… she loved you. She chose to save you because you meant everything to her. Don’t take that away from her. Don’t let her sacrifice mean nothing.”

Vi’s face crumpled again, and you pulled her back into your arms. The two of you stayed there for what felt like hours, kneeling in the ruins of Piltover as the world slowly moved on around you. You didn’t let go, not even as your legs began to ache and your heart weighed heavy with your own grief.

Eventually, Vi’s sobs quieted, though her breathing remained uneven. Her voice was hoarse when she finally spoke again. “She’s really gone, isn’t she?”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. “Yeah,” you whispered. “She’s gone,Vi.”

Vi remained still before slowly nodding against your shoulder, her arms still wrapped tightly around you. “I don’t know how to do this without her,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you promised, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Vi didn’t say anything, but the way she held onto you spoke volumes. The weight of her grief was unbearable, but you would carry it with her. Whatever it took, you would help her through this.

Even if it meant piecing together the fragments of her heart one jagged shard at a time.

[ultraimaginez]

Coping Skills

Sometimes the only cure for big feelings is a big dic-

Ship: Solomon (om!) x GN! Reader

CW⚠️: 18+ MDNI! hair pulling, praise, m!receiving oral, Solomon (he deserves to have his own warning)

Word Count: 1.4k

"Bad day, huh?"

The book that was in Solomon's hands moments ago is now somewhere across the room - thrown without so much as a second thought to where it might land amongst the chaos of his study. He looks up at you, bemused. "You know, there are a lot of cursed objects in here. If you're not more careful, you might hit something dangerous."

The only dangerous thing that you're concerned about in this moment is your temper. To your credit, you have been working on controlling it. You've actually made quite a lot of progress since you found yourself in the Devildom for the first time years ago; but there are still days you cannot fight the acidic lump of emotions that sits heavy in the back of your throat. Today, you feel like a time bomb ready to explode.

Luckily, Solomon is pretty good at grounding you in his own special way.

Now that his hands are free, you are able to straddle him. You tuck your knees on either side of his hips in the large armchair where he spends most of his evenings studying. Your eyes lock onto his stormy gray ones. After a few years of knowing one another, and now several months of living together in Cocytus Hall, the two of you have gotten good at communicating non-verbally. But that's never stopped Solomon from running his damn mouth.

"Want to talk about it?" He asks, signature smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as his hands immediately find your ass and squeeze. He knows that you will share when you're ready, but he also knows that talking is the last thing you want when you feel like this.

Wordlessly, you claim his mouth in a searing kiss that's fueled with an anxious, desperate energy you want out of your body as soon as possible. Your hands are in his silvery hair, trying to pull him closer. The kisses are too much teeth, too much nipping, but you can't stop the urge to try and crawl under his skin to escape your own. No matter how close you get, it doesn't feel like enough. Solomon's little close lipped smile is only making you more frustrated.

Long fingers tangle at the base of your scalp sharply tug at your hair. You let out a noise that you might find embarrassing under any other circumstance, but the dull pain grounds you back in the moment. There is a sense of relief in his firmness. The two of you pant hard trying to catch your breath. Your lips are so close, you know he can feel every heave you make for air. You wait a beat before moving to grab at Solomon again, but his hand tugs at your hair a second time and keeps you still.

Solomon's pale skin flushes a pretty shade of pink and his Adam apple bob against his skin in a way that makes you want to put your feverish lips along his neck. His tongue darts out to taste his lips without ever looking away from you once. He's clearly thinking - studying you closely as he gently moves your head side to side. His free hand comes up to wipe away the frustrated tears that have started to form at the corner of your eyes. He gently tuts and shakes his head. "My poor apprentice. I should be taking better care of you, hm?"

The strange thing about Solomon is that although he tries to sound sarcastic - voice overly saccharine in its mocking lilt- you can tell that he means it. He does feel responsible for taking care of you. It's his job. And say what you will about Solomon, but be takes his responsibility to you seriously.

Effortlessly, Solomon lifts you off his body and eases you to the floor between his knees. You speak for the first time all evening, unable to stop the urge to be bratty. "For an old man, you're pretty strong." He laughs and shifts so that he can spread his legs wider, accommodating your new position. "Always so mouthy, MC" He cups your jaw and runs a thumb along your bottom lip, smiling when you kiss his finger gently. "I can think of a better use for these pretty lips."

A thrill runs down your spine as Solomon reaches down to unbuckle his belt. The two of you maintain heated eye contact as he pulls down his dark jeans and sets his aching cock free. Your gaze is pulled lower, now mesmerized by the way his hard length is leaking against his lower abs, flushed an even darker shade than his cheeks and looking beautiful in the low light of the study. You can feel Solomon's eyes on you like a hawk as you move forward to wrap one fist around his base. He throws his head back and lets out a pleased hiss. "Mmm that's good. Show me how talented you are, sweet." His fingers find their way back into your hair, this time gentle when they twine between the strands.

Solomon has given you exactly what you need: an objective. The emotions of the day fade to a dull hum at the back of your mind as a new focus takes their place. To take apart "the witty sorcerer" with your mouth and hands until he cannot think straight.

Looking up at Solomon with big innocent eyes you place a sweet kiss to the head of his cock and bat your lashes. "Like this?" His fingers tighten at your scalp and you let out a pleased gasp at the tug. "Tsk, Tsk. Don't be a tease, MC." He chides before loosening his grip a bit so that you can move again. You smile up at him before wrapping your mouth around him properly. You tongue at his slit before teasing the sensitive spot on the underside of his dick you've learned makes him see stars as you gently bob your head. His eyes screw up immediately as he let's out a groan that goes straight to your ego.

Solomon has been with plenty of partners over the centuries. (With the exception of Asmo, he may have the highest body count of the millennium.) But he can't remember a single one of their names or faces anymore. Not when you're the only person who has ever made him feel this good. He briefly wonders if you can feel it to - the way your magic touches his when you have him this vulnerable and raw. It's never intentional but it happens every time you have your mouth on him and it feels like an electrical storm in his bones.

"So beautiful. So perfect. Can't believe I waited three hundred years for you. It's worth it. Worth the wait. Worth everything for that sweet fucking mouth." He's babbling incoherently as you take more and more of his length - reveling in the punched out little noises he makes every time you swallow around him.

It doesn't take long before Solomon is beginning to unravel. "MC..." your name comes out of his mouth breathless, so he tries again - this time fist tightening in your hair. "MC, I'm so close. Where do you want me?" He asks, giving you an opportunity to pull away and let him cum across your face or chest. Instead you hum contentedly around him, fingers digging into his thighs as you continue to pursue your objective with single minded focus - taking as much of him as you can.

"Fuck. I really can't tell if you're a demon or an angel or a human. You're so perfect and so fucking dirty. God you're incredible." The last word comes out like it's been forced out of his lungs as he finds his release. He chases the high, trying unsuccessfully to keep his hips still as you continue to swallow around him. Your hands on his thighs manage to keep him mostly still as you do your best to take everything he gives you.

When you're finished you look up at Solomon through half lidded eyes, slowly blinking contentedly. The earlier anger and frustration having been channeled into a much more pleasurable activity, you feel significantly calmer. You expect to find the sorcerer equally blissed out but his gray irises have become small rings around blown out pupils.

Before you can react, Solomon is reversing your position - placing you on the chair and falling to his knees. The world's most irreverent devotional. He places his hands on your knees to push your legs apart and takes his place before you. "MC, I hope you're not tired already. This night is far from over."

[ranunculussy]

enigma | part 04.

saturday

ꕥ part 01. | part 02. | part 03. | part 05. | part 06. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, mentions of human trafficking, gunshot, blood, swearing, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, moderately jealous Spencer, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, idk about other warnings ꕥ word count: ~3.3k ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]

One of your best and worst traits was your competitiveness. You were able to turn anything into a race in your head. You loved the feeling of adrenaline rushing through your veins, making your blood pump and your attention sharpened. You always performed better like this, whether it was an important or a trivial matter. So, when you felt Reid was inviting you to tango by how he’s acted since Wednesday, you weren’t one to shy away from the challenge. You were sure that everything he did was to make you look less professional. You simply thought he was this childish, even in his late 30s.

There was a subtle but undoubtable shift in your relationship with the genius. Like, when spring was around the corner around mid-to-late February. You couldn’t exactly see the changes, but there was something different in the air. The feeling and even the taste of the wind got a bit gentler and more welcoming. Of course, around this time of the year, rain also became more frequent. Just the same as the weather around a new season, you two also became more unpredictable by the day.

Now, as the beginning of the auction got closer and closer, you’ve also grown more and more anxious. The pastel high heels made soft thuds as you paced back and forth in the bougie guest room of the lakeside villa that the FBI provided for the mission. This time, you were wearing a flowy, blush-pink dress with beautiful gold jewellery. The carefully created thin pieces were the fruits of exemplary craftsmanship and were closer to art than to simple products, in your opinion. It was a tactical choice, to dress yourself like this. This way you’d seem less threatening to the men by giving a false sense of naivety and harmlessness.

“My sweet-sweet sugar bomb, since your ears are like a fancy Swiss cheese, I was able to get some piercings with mics in them. It’s not much but at least this way I could stay in contact with you,” rushed into the room—which up until this point was only occupied by Hotchner and some AT unit members—and straight to you Garcia. “It’ll match your aesthetic, don’t worry.”

Penelope wasn’t lying but still. Your ears didn’t look exactly like Swiss cheese. Yes, you had a few piercings, but nothing over the top. However, people liked to tease you when you showed up with a new hole in your said body parts.

“Damn, how?”

“Oh, I just pulled some strings, nothing serious,” waved her hands and let out her signature giggles the tech wizard after she handed over the fake pieces of jewellery to you.

“From whom can I expect a complaint soon?” sighed your boss, who was sitting in an armchair, pinching his nose bridge. Similarly to you, he was already in a full formal set, looking handsome as ever, ready to head out. You were waiting for the rest of the team who’ll infiltrate the mansion of Jonathan Grace with you as servers.

“Nobody, sir. Pinky promise.” she grinned a bit too brightly as she held up her finger to further reassure the stressed man, but her attention quickly shifted towards the opening door of the room. The two other BAU members who will be undercover with you walked in, looking beyond annoyed. “Why hello, my beautiful behavioural analysts!”

“Help me out with this, dollface.” Morgan basically whined as he held up the black piece of clothing that needed to be tied into a bow and apparently, he was unable to do it by himself. A bit behind him stood Reid with the same defeated look on his face. Ah, this is wonderful.

Both of them looked great. Beyond great, even. They were wearing pristine white button-ups, black vests and black suits. The only missing accessory was the bowtie, and none of them were able to figure out the technique of it.

A small plan formed in your brain and without a second thought, you walked up to the genius. Your steps were deliberate, making your walk look elegant and eye-catching. Even though you were slightly panicking on the inside, you were way too proud to show it and let him win the contest of who can make the other more flustered, which probably only existed in your head. You stopped right in front of him and took the piece of clothing from his hand before he could say anything. “Let me help you with this.”

Reid wanted to say that there was no need, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked like someone out of a fairytale, with your pretty dress and carefully styled hair flowing around you so effortlessly. The makeup was a perfect touch, the cherry on top, the point to the letter ‘i’. Before he noticed, your tender hands were already around his neck, working efficiently. He tilted his head and found your eyes with his. You tried to ignore the blushing that kept creeping up on your neck and not break eye contact, but you weren’t exactly practised in this, so after a few seconds that felt never-ending, you lowered your gaze to his chest. Damn it, now I just look stupid. Get your head in the game, Y/N. Just take deep breaths and don’t think… about literally anything. Realistically speaking, only seconds have passed, I’m sure I wasn’t that awkward.

You were still halfway in your thoughts, reasoning with yourself when you finished with the bowtie and were about to pull your hands away, but he quickly caught your wrists and firmly held it in place.

“Hmm?” was the only reaction that you were able to muster out of yourself. You looked at the man in front of you with wide eyes as your brain short-circuited. Oh, how you’ll hate yourself for this in the future.

“Thank you,” he said in a low, slightly hoarse tone. From this close, you were able to smell his perfume which was a perfect match for him. It didn’t smell too strong or rich. It was more deep and refined.

“Ah, uhm. It was nothing, really. Everybody has their shortcomings, doctor. Maybe this is one of yours?” you asked with a playfully arched eyebrow as a sly glimmer flickered in your irises, not missing Reid’s attention.

“Let’s just say that my fingers are skilled in a different way,” he replied almost immediately, shattering that tiny amount of false confidence you were able to gather. You couldn’t believe your ears. Yes, you knew that the man wasn’t that innocent, lost boy that the others often reminisced about. You didn’t know Reid when he began his career at the BAU, but you heard he was different back then. Shy and even naïve when it came to topics like this. He obviously changed a lot. This job changed him. You knew that it cost him everything, like it did for most of the team. Also, he simply grew up, which was an unavoidable side effect of life. Still, this kind of suggestive talk was more like Derek’s style, not Spencer’s. You had no idea how to react cleverly.

Luckily, Penelope unintentionally saved you from having to come up with anything at all. “Look at that, boy wonder has finally learned something from you!” she teased the tall man while she pushed Morgan’s shoulder with her own. You took advantage of the distraction and pulled your wrists out of his massive hands, then took a few steps back.

×××

This case seemed so doomed by the narrative from the very beginning that you genuinely had no idea at which point things went diabolically sideways. But they did, and now you were bleeding out as if you had nothing better to do, as if you had so much free blood in your body.

At first, everything went smoothly. You and Hotch were able to play the perfect couple with awfully conservative values and noticeable dominant-submissive dynamics. Those assholes were eating it up and the only thing holding you back from frowning was the knowledge that they’ll all be behind bars very soon. Or you hoped.

Occasionally, you caught glimpses of the two other men serving drinks and honestly unappetising finger food that looked borderline inedible to the attendees while taking mental notes about their faces for later. Aaron’s left arm was constantly around your waist, keeping you close to him at all times. Both of you were sure as hell that the rest of the team will be up in your asses about this for months at least.

As the event lazily stretched into the sultry night, a strong sense of discomfort and worry sneaked upon your shoulders, making your stomach twist. Something felt off. You couldn’t quite explain it, but you were sure that there was something definitely wrong.

Jonathan Grace has never left the crowd, not even for a few minutes, which didn’t seem logical. Managing this many victims from different locations was extremely risky and required a high level of organisation. His attention was a crucial factor for the traffickers to be able to pull this off without complications, still, Grace seemed almost nonchalant.

You carefully looked around, searching for any prying eyes, but only found the occasional gaze of your unit members. This was good. You managed to avoid suspicion so far.

When you made sure you weren’t being watched, you wrapped your arms around your boss’s neck and leaned to his face, as if you were hinting a small peck on his slightly stubbled skin.

“We’re missing something,” you murmured into his ear.

“I know, Grace is too calm.”

“When the auction starts, go alone. Say that you’re testing my trust in you. I’ll look around.”

“Fine, but be careful, Agent.”

After this, you did exactly what you agreed on. When Jonathan announced that the auction was about to start and opened the way to a secluded hall, you stayed behind, like many other women and all the staff members. You tried not to worry about your boss, who just entered a den of snakes all by himself and instead, you slipped away from the small crowd.

“Garcia, can you pull up the layout of this place? Or some kind of surveillance footage? I’m looking for a private study,” you whispered, hoping that the incredible tech goddess would hear you.

“In a second, my gorgeous, sweet macaron!”

You already started snooping around while you were waiting for the directions. You felt like staying in motion would help in not getting caught. Echoes of footsteps broke the silence of the dimly lit corridor where you currently were, making your pulse quicken and your breath hitch. You turned around and were ready to come up with some bullshit excuse when you noticed those all too familiar hazel curls.

“God, you almost gave me a heart attack,” you mumbled but couldn’t help a smile spreading across your face as Derek and Spencer reached you.

Instead of reacting to your sentence, Reid said “We’ve missed something.”. His tone seemed normal, as if he was stating a simple, harmless fact but his expression gave away the anxiety he felt.

“Yeah, Hotch and I thought so too,” you nodded. A few seconds later you’ve got some possible rooms from Penelope, who was only able to find a ground-plan, and decided to split into three, all of you covering a place.

“Here,” before you all went in different directions, Derek grabbed your forearm and handed you a gun.

“Damn, I’m impressed. How did you manage to get this in?”

“Found a window that was left open while I was clocking in,” he shrugged and revealed another weapon, hidden at his ankle, which he gave to Reid. “Imma be honest, it’s a miracle that I didn’t get busted. These guys are throughout.”

“Regardless, I could kiss you right now,” you joked as a wave of relief washed over you. You were nowhere near wrapping up this case, but you felt much safer.

“What’s stopping you, pretty girl?”

“I’m married,” you sighed as you held up your hand, showing the fake wedding ring hugging your finger.

Derek laughed and ruffled your hair. “Be careful.”

“You too,” you nodded, then looked at the silent doctor, “And you too, Reid.”

He nodded, but nothing left his lips. His eyes did the talking instead, which were more expressive than anything he could’ve said. He was worried and filled with anxiety. He was never a fan of splitting up on the field when the area was unknown and they had no way of communicating, but now they had to be quick, so this was the only logical option.

Well, it’s safe to say that you weren’t careful. You reached the room that Garcia was guiding you to and slowly pushed down the handle, but the door didn’t budge. So, you did what any skilled agent would’ve done in this situation, which is taking out a hairpin from your decorated hair and fucking around with the lock until something would work out. After you heard a quiet clicking noise, you eagerly opened the door and stepped into the poorly lit study room, only to hear a loud noise and feel a sharp pain in your right side, above your hip. Your reaction was instinctive, aiming the gun in the direction of your attacker and shooting before a second thought.

You only stumbled after a loud thud let you know that whoever was in there, wasn’t alive anymore. You took a deep, shaky breath and lowered your gaze towards your waist, which was now covered with warm, crimson blood, ruining the dress that was probably more expensive than your monthly mortgage.

“Oh, the Bureau will hate me for this,” a painful groan left your lips as you tried to ignore Garcia freaking out at the other end of the line and instead walked towards the massive desk in the middle of the room. You were extremely lucky that the bullet missed every vital organ, but still, you were heavily bleeding. You knew you only had a few minutes before blacking out if you were lucky. You had to make this search as quick as possible.

You rummaged through every drawer of the heavy oak furniture with one hand while you pressed the other one at the open wound, trying to gain some conscious time. At first, you found nothing worthy, which made you panic. You were about to faint in enemy territory without any information. But just as you were about to spiral, your knuckles hit the back of one of the drawers, creating a hollow sound. With all your remaining strength, you tore the fake divider out of its place and found a folder behind it.

“Y/N please say something, I heard shots, what happened?” Penelope’s worried voice dragged you back from your momentarily dazed-out state which occurred sooner than you’d anticipated. You placed the folder on top of the desk and started looking through the files.

“Everything is fine Garcia. Look something up for me real quick, please. Since when does Jonathan Grace deal with transporting fish? We thought all his business was related to constructions.” you tried to sound stable to calm down the analyst, but your head was already spinning so you had to lean on the edge of the desk.

“Since never. There is nothing under his name or any of his aliases with connection to the fishing industry.”

“Then why…?” you mumbled to yourself, but the answer came quicker than you could’ve finished your own sentence. The other victims were never meant to be brought here, all of this is a fucking distraction. “Pen, alert the others. The victims are getting deported in containers, hidden under the fish, right now. There’s a contract for cargos to overseas, we’ll lose them forever if they leave the States.”

By this time your vision got blurry and most of your strength left your body, so you didn’t notice the two other agents hurriedly entering the room and rushing towards you. Only when someone’s arms secured your numb self and laid you down gently did you realise that you weren’t alone.

“Y/N, listen to my voice,” Reid’s firm tone slowly reached your brain as you tried to blink the dizziness away, with no success. The doctor placed his strong hand on the wound and pressed on it, trying to slow down the process of you, bleeding out. “Stay awake.”

“I’m fine, you should see the other guy.”

“Do you really feel like this is an appropriate time for your jokes?”

“If it annoys you, then the answer is obvious.”

The harsh, sharp sound of sirens that filled the air calmed you down. The place probably was being raided, meaning that the end of this tiring case was near.

“Reid, I’ll go look for Hotch. Make sure she’s okay.” Morgan's words almost sounded like an order, and even though it was meant for the agent who was a bit more collected than you at the moment, you held up your arm and showed a thumbs-up in the direction of the leaving man.

“Keep still. If your body loses more than 20% of its blood, you could go into haemorrhagic shock. That is when the heart slows down and can't circulate enough blood around the body. Blood pressure plummets when this happens and there’s a massive drop in body temperature. If the body loses more than 40% of its blood, all the organs start to shut down and death is likely.”

“I know, and you aren’t exactly calming me but don’t stop talking,” you mumbled. You were about to close your eyes when he gently grabbed your cheeks and turned your head towards him.

“Only if you’ll keep looking at me,” he said, his voice soothing but commanding. After a painful groan, you opened your eyelids and even if you had to narrow them so that you wouldn’t see two of him, your eyes still found his. “Good girl.”

Am I tripping that hard or did I hear him correctly? If you weren’t in your current state, you would’ve become a blushing mess at those two words. You were sure that it had no meaning behind it, not when it came to Reid. He was just probably trying to take control of the situation and didn’t even notice what he said. Yes, it must be it.

For a few minutes, Reid rambled about techniques that were used even in ancient times to prevent soldiers from bleeding out, and how many methods are used in modern days too. His captivating eyes were focused on your face which has slightly glimmered since you started sweating. You tried not to break the eye contact, but you felt more and more tired to the point that you were hardly able to control your heavy eyelids. As if your lashes suddenly weighed tonnes. He was about to explain in depth the history of cauterisation when the medics entered the room, taking you away from his warm arms and lifting you with a stretcher.

From this point on, you had no memories. Everything went dark and silent. In a sense, you felt comfortable.

thank you so much for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! taglist: @halfbloodwriter divider from @cafekitsune gif from @reidgif

[aspenmissing]

ɪ'ʟʟ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜ

ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ/ᴊɪɴx x ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ꜰᴇᴀᴛ. ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ) || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ

2747 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴇxᴘʟᴏꜱɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ɪɴᴊᴜʀʏ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴏᴛɪᴄ ᴀʟʟᴇʏ ɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛ, ᴊɪɴx ʜᴀꜱ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱꜰᴏʀᴍᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴꜱ. ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪᴛᴇ ʀᴇᴄᴋʟᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴛᴜɴᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ ᴠᴏᴡꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴊɪɴx, ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴜɴᴡᴀᴠᴇʀɪɴɢ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1 || ᴘᴀʀᴛ 3 || ᴘᴀʀᴛ 4 || ​ꜰɪɴᴀʟᴇ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ

A few years had passed since that chaotic night in the alley, and the factory where you operate has changed. The once silent, oppressive atmosphere now buzzed with a restless energy. You had seen it in the way Powder—now Jinx—had evolved. The girl who had once been scared and uncertain was gone, replaced by a whirlwind of chaos and unpredictability. Her bright blue hair had become her signature, a vibrant mess that mirrored the explosive nature of her thoughts and actions.

The soft, tentative child had grown into something far more dangerous, but something about her still carried the echoes of that first night. Even with the volatile energy she exuded, there were moments—brief, fleeting—that reminded you of the girl you had saved. The girl who had whispered she wanted to protect others.

But now, those whispers were drowned out by the manic laughter and gleeful explosions that followed her every move.

“Y/N! Come look at this!” Jinx’s voice rang out from the far side of the factory, her tone high and full of that familiar reckless excitement. You sighed, putting down the rifle you had been inspecting. It had been years, but you knew better than to ignore her when she got like this.

Stepping into the workshop, you found her hunched over a makeshift bomb, tinkering with wires and parts scattered around her. The remnants of previous attempts—some successful, others not so much—littered the floor, a trail of destruction in her wake.

“I think I finally got it,” she said with a grin, a manic gleam in her eyes. “This one's going to make a big bang. Bigger than ever.”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Jinx, you need to be careful with this stuff.”

She looked up at you, her eyes wide and gleaming with a mixture of excitement and defiance. “Careful?” she echoed, tilting her head as if the word was foreign to her. “Who needs careful when you can make the whole world go BOOM?”

Your heart twinged at the change in her. She was still your kid—your girl—but the lines between the playful, curious child and the wild, unpredictable woman were blurring.

You had become her anchor, the steady hand in the storm that was her life. Over the years, you had patched her up more times than you could count, cleaning her wounds, stitching her up, and keeping her alive when her recklessness almost killed her. At first, it had been about protecting her. Now, it was about keeping her from completely losing herself to the madness that she couldn’t seem to escape.

Her workshop, tucked away in a dark corner of Zaun, was a testament to her genius and her insanity. It was a place of creation, but it was also a place of destruction. The walls were lined with unfinished projects, the air thick with the smell of metal, oil, and something far more volatile. Jinx thrived here, lost in the chaos she created, but you were always there, lingering at the edges—watching, waiting, and ready to step in when things went too far.

Zaun had become her stage, a chaotic playground where she unleashed her madness. Every corner, every alley, every broken down building became part of her performance. The explosions and mayhem were her signature, and the city itself was her audience. What started as a few daring stunts had morphed into a city-wide spectacle, drawing attention, fear, and admiration in equal measure.

Silco had seen the potential in her madness, encouraged it even. He had risen to his position as The Eye of Zaun with ruthless determination, and now his reach extended even further, his ambitions focused on Piltover. You couldn’t help but admire his drive, but there were times when you felt like you were losing him, too, to the game of power that consumed him.

One evening, you found Jinx stumbling through the factory doors, blood dripping from her leg. The sight of her like this—wild-eyed, breathless, and covered in cuts—made something tighten in your chest. But it wasn’t the first time.

“Jinx,” you sighed, stepping forward as she collapsed into your arms. “What the hell did you do this time?”

She winced, her wide eyes sparkling with that familiar mix of excitement and madness. “Just a little… uh, explosion. You know, for the show,” she giggled, clearly high on adrenaline. “Wasn’t expecting the blast to be that big. Whoops.”

You grit your teeth, trying to hold back the frustration that was bubbling up. “You could’ve died. Damn it, Jinx.” You helped her over to a nearby table, sitting her down gently but with a firmness that only you could manage. As you cleaned the wound, your hands were steady but your words sharp.

“I didn’t die, did I?” she teased, her voice laced with a mix of amusement and defiance.

"“You’re lucky you’re still breathing,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “One day, that luck is going to run out." pulling out the needle and thread. You could hear the quiet thrum of Silco’s voice from the office in the distance, his quiet orders echoing through the factory. He had been overseeing things in her factory, his plans taking shape with every passing day.

As you stitched Jinx’s leg, the tension in the room was palpable. You could feel her gaze on you, her eyes filled with something unreadable. She trusted you, but at the same time, she hated being treated like a child. Still, you did what you had to do. You had to protect her, even if she didn’t always want it.

When the stitching was done, you finished wrapping her leg in bandages and stood up, wiping your hands on a rag. “You can’t keep doing this, Jinx.”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she glanced up at you, her blue eyes softer than usual. “You’re always fixing me up,” she murmured, her voice quiet, almost vulnerable. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

For a moment, you stood there, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Your heart softened, but the tough exterior you had built over the years remained. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. But don’t make me patch you up again like this, okay?”

Jinx smiled, her mischievous grin returning. “I’ll try to make it less… explosive next time.”

You didn’t buy it for a second, but you let out a short laugh. “Just don’t blow yourself up. Again.”

The dim light of Silco’s office flickered, casting long shadows on the walls as you stood across from him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. His mismatched eyes, always sharp and calculating, never wavered from yours. He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping a steady rhythm against the armrest, seemingly unaffected by the tension in the room.

“You’re pushing her too hard,” you snapped, the anger in your voice cutting through the silence. It had been building for days, weeks—ever since Silco started sending Jinx on more dangerous assignments, pushing her further into the chaos that she was already so entangled in. You could feel the heat of it burning beneath your skin as you took a step forward. “She’s not some pawn to be sacrificed for your war with Piltover. She’s my responsibility, Silco, and you’re putting her life at risk with every reckless stunt you send her out on.”

Silco’s gaze remained cold, unwavering. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. His fingers continued their rhythmic tapping as he let your words hang in the air for a moment. Finally, he spoke, his voice a low rumble that matched the calm fury in his eyes. “Jinx knows what she’s doing. She’s capable. If you think I’ve pushed her too far, perhaps you’ve forgotten what we’re up against. The stakes are higher than ever. Every move we make serves a bigger purpose.”

“Bigger purpose?” Your voice cracked like a whip, your patience finally breaking. “All I see is you using her to gain ground in your war. She’s out there every damn day, risking herself, thinking she’s doing this to make you proud. You encourage it, Silco. You feed into it. You’ve turned her into a weapon—and I can’t just stand by and watch her destroy herself for your game.”

A thick silence settled over the two of you, the tension suffocating. Silco’s eyes locked with yours, still unreadable, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed the struggle beneath his composed exterior. His fingers stopped tapping, the air growing heavier in the stillness.

“She’ll get results,” he said, his voice colder now, but with something that bordered on affection for the girl he called his daughter—something deeper, even if buried beneath layers of practicality. “You don’t understand the gravity of what we’re facing. Jinx is more than just an asset. She’s the spark that will ignite the change we need. She’s the key.”

You took a step closer, your voice quiet but laced with a fierce, protective edge. “She’s not just the key to your plans. She’s more than that. She’s a person. She’s my responsibility now, Silco. You handed her to me to protect, to look after. And now you’re pushing her too far. I’m not going to watch her burn out for your damn ‘bigger purpose.’ You’re sending her into danger because you think she’s expendable. You can’t just throw her away when she doesn’t fit your plan anymore.”

For the first time, Silco’s expression softened—just slightly, but enough for you to see it. There was a flash of something vulnerable in his eyes, something that spoke of an old pain, a hidden care. His voice, when it came, was quieter now, edged with something like regret. “I know what she means to you. To me, too. But you don’t think I know what’s at stake here?” His gaze flickered briefly, and you could sense that there was more to his feelings for Jinx than his usual cold demeanor suggested. “She’s not just some tool to be discarded. I... I won’t let her become that. But you have to understand, this city doesn't give us the luxury of playing it safe. The stakes are too high.”

You could see it in his eyes—desperation, love, and determination—all tangled together. The same things you felt when you thought about Jinx. But even so, he continued, his voice still firm, though laced with the hint of something darker, something more personal. “She’s the only one who can deliver results. I won’t lose her, not again. But this war... it’s unforgiving. And so are the choices we make.”

“You’re pushing her to the edge,” you shot back, your voice trembling with frustration. “She’ll break if you keep doing this. And you’ll lose everything—her, me, everything we’ve built. If you can’t see that, then you’re just as blind as Piltover.”

For a long moment, Silco’s eyes remained locked on yours, his features hardening once again. But there was a crack in the armor. A quiet sorrow that was almost imperceptible, but it was there.

“I didn’t ask for this war,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But if I have to burn everything to the ground to ensure we win... I’ll do it. Jinx is the one who will help us change this city. I just... I need her to see that. I need her to understand the cost of it.”

You stepped closer still, until you were within reach, your hands now uncrossed and held at your sides, your voice softening just a fraction. “And what about us, Silco? What happens to us when she’s gone? Because if you keep pushing her, keep treating her like a weapon, you’ll lose her. And if you lose her... you lose me too.”

There it was—a crack in his stoic exterior. His eyes softened, a fleeting vulnerability passing through them before he quickly masked it again. He took a long breath, looking at you with something akin to regret, mixed with something more... possessive. “I never wanted to lose either of you,” he said, the words heavy, genuine in a way that only he could be.

The silence stretched between you two, not quite peaceful but laden with understanding—a truce of sorts.

"Then stop pushing her, Silco," you whispered, your voice softer now, laced with hope. "You don't have to destroy everything to win. Not her, not me. Not us."

Without waiting for his reply, you turned on your heel, your steps heavy as you stormed out of his office. The door slammed shut behind you, the sound echoing through the cold halls of the factory. You couldn’t stand to be in that room any longer. The anger in your veins simmered, mixing with the overwhelming worry for Jinx.

You didn’t stop walking until you reached the quiet bar at the edge of the district. It was always your escape when the weight of everything became too much to bear. The dim lighting and the stale air of the place offered some comfort, even if only for a brief moment. You sank into one of the stools, ordering a drink, but not bothering to touch it. The thoughts of Jinx, of Silco, swirled in your mind like a storm.

Minutes passed, and just as the silence of the bar began to settle in, you heard the soft scrape of a chair being pulled out. Without looking up, you knew who it was. The familiar scent of gunpowder and metal wafted into the air.

"You look like you’ve seen better days," Jinx's voice cut through the quiet. Her voice was rough, tired, but there was an edge of concern beneath it, the same concern that had once led her to hide behind your back when the world felt too overwhelming.

You glanced at her, your expression softening despite yourself. She was standing in front of you, her vibrant blue hair messy as always, her eyes wide and filled with that same chaotic energy that you had come to know so well.

“Jinx…” you sighed, trying to suppress the flood of emotions that surged through you. You didn’t know how to explain it, how to put into words the weight of everything you had just argued about.

"You look mad," she said, her voice teasing but with an undertone of understanding. "Did Silco get to you again?"

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you motioned for her to sit, and she did so eagerly, perching on the stool beside you.

“He’s pushing you too hard, Jinx,” you muttered, your voice quiet now. "Every damn day, he’s asking you to go further. To risk more. And I… I’m scared you’re gonna push yourself too far."

Jinx met your gaze, her eyes searching yours. The usual gleam of manic excitement was there, but there was something else, something softer that you hadn’t seen in a while.

"Maybe I like it when he pushes me," she said, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "Maybe I need to prove that I’m more than just his little girl. That I can handle it, y'know?"

You shook your head, your hand gently brushing her hair back from her face. "You don’t have to prove anything to him. Or to anyone. You’re more than enough, Jinx."

She let out a small, bitter laugh, her eyes glistening with a mix of frustration and sadness. "You think that now, but I don’t know if I believe it anymore."

You couldn’t help but reach out, pulling her into a gentle hug. For all the madness, for all the chaos, there was still the same girl you had once held in your arms when she was terrified of the world around her. The same girl who needed someone to believe in her when she couldn’t believe in herself.

"I believe in you," you whispered, holding her close. "I’ve always believed in you."

She stayed silent for a moment, before finally pulling away, a small, shaky smile playing at the corner of her lips. "I know, mom" she said softly. "You always have."

"And I always will."

The weight in your chest didn’t feel as heavy now, and when Jinx offered you a grin—a glimmer of the girl who once looked to you for comfort—you realized that no matter how far things spiraled out of control, you would always be there for her.

[charlesslut16]

-It is called lovebombing-

summary : mick uses lovebombing to get you back....

PAIRINGS : mick schumacher x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : LOVEEEE YOUUUU

masterlist ; DECEMBER MASTERLIST 24’ 

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It had been months since you last saw Mick Schumacher. Your ex. Life had somehow pulled you both in different directions—his racing career, your career, everything that came with it.

But the connection, the spark, the bond you had shared never truly faded. It just got buried underneath the chaos, the distance, and the quiet ache of missing him.

And then, one cold December morning, your phone buzzed.

You were scrolling through emails, sipping your coffee when you noticed the notification. It was a message from Mick. Your heart skipped a beat.

Hey, I know it’s been a while, but I can’t stop thinking about you. Let’s catch up soon?

Simple, yet the words hit you like a wave of nostalgia, a wave of something stronger than just a friendly hello. There was a warmth in those words, something that made you pause, something that made your heart flutter even after all this time.

You hadn’t expected to hear from him, not like this. After all, it had been months, no messages, no calls. Just a simple, “let’s catch up,” felt like an invitation to revisit something you weren’t sure you were ready to feel again.

But you couldn’t resist. Not when it was him.

You quickly typed back.

I’d love that. When?

A minute later, the phone buzzed again.

How about this Saturday? I’ve missed you.

Your heart melted as soon as you read it. That’s when the love bombing started.

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

The day arrived faster than you expected, and when you stepped out of the car in front of the cozy café you’d agreed on, there he was. Mick stood near the door, hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket, his signature grin lighting up his face as he spotted you.

"Hey," he greeted softly, his voice carrying that warmth you missed so much.

You smiled back, a little unsure of what to say, but the moment you met his eyes, it all felt natural again.

"Hey, Mick. It’s good to see you," you replied, and before you could think, your arms were around him, pulling him into a hug. It felt like no time had passed at all.

Mick hugged you back just as tightly, his chest rising and falling against yours. You stayed like that for a moment, letting the world around you fade. It was a simple gesture, but one that felt like a promise of something more.

When you pulled away, Mick’s hands found their way to your shoulders, his eyes searching your face with a soft, almost adoring expression.

"You look beautiful," he said, his voice low, sincere.

You laughed, feeling a mix of warmth and nerves rush through you. "You always know what to say."

Mick’s grin only widened, his eyes sparkling with something more than just fondness. "I mean it. It’s been too long."

The café was warm, cozy, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and pastries filling the air. You both sat down at a corner table, the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of cups surrounding you as you settled into the familiarity of each other’s presence.

"I’ve been thinking about you a lot," Mick confessed, his voice gentle but firm. "I know we didn’t end things the best way. I regret how things turned out, and I… I just want to make it right, if you’ll let me."

You felt your heart flutter again, but this time with a mixture of surprise and hesitation. You weren’t sure what he meant by "make it right," but the sincerity in his voice, the honesty in his eyes, made you feel like he was serious.

"I—Mick, it’s okay. We both had things to figure out, right?" You shrugged, trying to brush it off, but you could feel the lump in your throat. "I’ve missed you too."

His expression softened, and he reached across the table to gently touch your hand. "I’ve missed you so much," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I’m sorry. I know I hurt you."

Before you could respond, the waiter arrived with your drinks, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics, but the air between you felt charged, full of unspoken words and a growing tension that both of you were skirting around.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of shared stories, jokes, and that familiar connection that you both seemed to fall back into so easily. But deep down, you could feel it. Mick was trying—no, he was actively working on showing you that he cared, that he hadn’t forgotten about you, and that he wanted to make things right.

As the café began to close, Mick stood up and pulled you into another hug. "I really am glad we met today," he said, his voice soft against your ear.

"I’m glad too," you replied, your heart full in a way that felt both safe and exciting.

Before you parted ways, Mick gave you his number again, just in case you didn’t have it saved. "Don’t be a stranger, alright?" he said, his smile warm, but there was something else in his eyes—something that made you feel like this wasn’t the last time you’d see each other.

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And then, Mick’s love bombing began in earnest.

It wasn’t just one text or one call. It was daily messages, sweet, thoughtful notes that came at random moments. They made you smile, each one a reminder of the person Mick was—the attentive, thoughtful, caring side of him that made your heart ache in the best way possible.

Good morning, beautiful. Hope you have a lovely day!

I was thinking about you today and just wanted to remind you how much I care about you. Always here for you.

I saw something today that made me think of you. Can’t wait to show you when we meet again.

There were also little surprises—like the small bouquet of flowers that arrived at your door, the handwritten note that came with it, or the way Mick would randomly send you photos of something that reminded him of you. Whether it was a funny picture of a dog or a snapshot of a sunset, it was always accompanied by a short message, something that showed he was thinking of you.

Each message felt like a little piece of warmth, a piece of him being sent directly to you, across the miles. And you couldn’t help but smile, each time a little more, each time a little more certain that maybe, just maybe, there was something here worth revisiting.

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

As Christmas drew closer, Mick’s messages continued, each one more affectionate than the last. There was one that stood out, though, one that made your heart race.

I’ve been thinking about Christmas. Would you want to spend it together?

The simplicity of it, the sincerity behind the question, caught you off guard. Mick wasn’t asking for anything big or extravagant. He just wanted to be with you. And that’s when you realized how much you’d missed him, how much you’d always cared for him.

Yes. I’d love that. You quickly typed back, your fingers trembling a little as you pressed send.

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Christmas Eve arrived, and the night was colder than you’d expected. The streets were lined with twinkling lights, the shops had their windows decorated with festive cheer, and the air smelled of pine and cinnamon. The world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the holiday magic to fully settle in.

You stepped out of your car and immediately spotted Mick. He was waiting for you near the entrance of a small restaurant, his hands in his pockets, his breath visible in the cold night air. When he saw you, his face lit up, that warm, genuine smile spreading across his face.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice low as he walked toward you. "You look amazing."

You laughed, feeling the warmth of his words spread through you. "Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself."

Mick chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, I cleaned up well for you."

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the comfort of being around him once again. As you walked inside, the warmth of the restaurant wrapped around you, and you both shared a quiet dinner, just the two of you. The conversation was easy, natural, but there was an underlying current between you, something more, something that felt like a promise.

As you finished your meal, Mick took your hand in his, his thumb brushing across your knuckles gently.

"I’m really glad we’re here together," he said quietly, his voice filled with sincerity. "I’ve missed you so much. And I’m sorry for everything before."

You squeezed his hand, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "It’s okay, Mick. I’ve missed you too. And I’m just happy we’re here now."

As the night came to a close, Mick drove you home. When he stopped in front of your place, he turned to you, his eyes soft.

"I know it’s late, but can I walk you to the door?" he asked, his voice sincere.

You nodded, feeling your heart beat a little faster. You didn’t want this night to end, but you also knew that everything was finally falling into place.

As he walked you to the door, you turned to him, the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting off his face. "Mick, I’m really glad you reached out to me again."

He smiled, his eyes warm. "I’m glad I did too."

And with that, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a kiss that felt like the beginning of something new. Something real.

Mick pulled back slightly, his hand resting on your cheek. "Merry Christmas," he whispered.

You smiled, your heart full. "Merry Christmas, Mick."

And as you watched him walk away, you couldn’t help but feel like this was just the beginning. The love bombing had brought you back together, and this time, you knew you wouldn’t let go.

[stqrgirlie0]

⋆toxic!theo⋆

now we’ve all hear of theo in a healthy and loving relationship, however in a toxic one? Probably the worst. Things would start off good, you guys would be all over each other, all the time. Everything would be great, unit it wouldn’t. After a few weeks, theo would grow bored and tired of you. He’d talk to other girls right in front of you, on purpose. And then when you’d confront him about it he’d get all defensive, make you think that you’re the one who’s wrong. He’d accuse you of being controlling and that he’s allowed to have ‘friends’ who are female. Despite being emotionally done with you, he wouldn’t break up, because he lovees getting you all riled up to the point where you are so mentally exhausted with his mind games, that you just give up. You give up, and you let him win, again and again and again. You guys would argue every single day, and it would always be in his dorm- because there’d always be something to go confront him about, no where other than his dorm. Leaving a toxic relationship isn’t easy, and when it’s with theo-it’s even harder. All your friends say to get out of it before it’s too late, but you’ve already ran out time. Confrontation doesn’t affect him, all the more reason for you to not leave him just to accept the challenge of making him care- just once. You would be screaming your lungs out and he’d just stand there, with a stupid smirk on his face as watches you pace around the room while shouting, and wonders what your thighs would look like locked around his head, your hands brushing out his fluffy curls and your mouth chanting out his name instead of whatever you were saying right now. Eventually the previous becomes a reality. It was almost like an indirect apology, yet theo had no intention of apologising, he just wanted to keep you hooked on for the next few days until he would do it again. suddenly everything’s fine. Well it’s not, but that’s how he’ll be pretending it is for the next few days. It’s this and his love bombing that made it so hard for you to leave, you hate it but you don’t. It’s a tricky one, but the cycle goes on, and on, and on. And oh my god this man is so stubborn, he cannot and will not change himself for you. During the honeymoon period of your relationship, his smoking didn’t really bother you, he wouldn’t be smoking all the time, maybe once every two or three days (sounds very unlikely I know). But after things got a bit more strained, he’d smoke multiple everyday- maybe even finishing the whole pack in a day. It was horrible. You hated the smell, and the worst thing was that it was everywhere. on nights when you and theo would supposedly ‘make up’, every corner of you would be infested with the scent, lingering on your clothes for the next few days. on the other nights when you’d go back to your dorm, alone and crying, you’d toss and turn in your bed. The scent would arise, from your pillows, duvet, hair, clothes, and it’d remind you of him. Shamefully you’d admit that sometimes the smell mixed with his signature cologne, would automatically drop you to your knees (don’t worry girl, me too), not that he minded. Honestly he loves seeing you from above, it just engraves the power dynamic between you two into his psychotic little brain, inflating his ego more than it already is. god he hated you, but oh how he was in love with you even more, infatuated and obsessed- feeding his desire of seeing you crying your pretty eyes out because of him, shouting with your pretty voice at him, pulling at your pretty hair because of him. Yeah, he’s (very much more than) borderline insane, but girl, as soon as you learn the rules of his games, he’ll wish he never started it.

a/n: guys if your s/o reflects any behaviour above- LEAVE. this is not meant to be normal!! This piece is not in any way condoning toxic behaviour- just a little writing task seeing what I can come up with

#something I started ages ago and decided to finish #YALL IM SORRY BUT IM GON HAVE TO HOLD OFF PART 4 FOR A BIT LONGER #work is killing me and I have easter break to catch up😭😞 #pls take this as a peace offering🙌🏼🙂

[magiccath]

A Mind Full of Blissful Terrors

tenth doctor x GN!reader

Summary: In which the Doctor and reader investigate a strange spaceship

CW: horror elements, body gore, and one singular f-bomb

Word count: 7.4k

A/N: many, many drafts, and too many months later, I have finally finished this one. I really hope you guys like it.

You bounced into the TARDIS control room, more than excited for your next adventure with the Doctor. He could take you to a grocery store and you would probably enjoy it. 

“Where to today?” You asked with a smile. 

“I was thinking someplace relaxing, we’ve been running for the past couple of days,” the Doctor suggested, looking at you for approval. 

“Yes please!” you groaned, tilting your head back. 

The Doctor smiled to himself, pleased at his own ability to know when you needed a break. 

“Maybe we could head to Italy for some of that pasta you love?” he suggested, leaning back against the console. 

“I would love some pasta!” you cheered, moving over to him. The Doctor smiled at you, the kind of smile that overtook his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled and his eyebrows angled slightly upwards. 

“Allons-y!” He cheered, turning back towards the console. He started messing with it, flipping switches and pressing buttons. He did it all too fast for you to make sense of it. He was about ready to lift off when it started.

The TARDIS was beeping. The kind of sound a car makes when you forget to put your seatbelt on. The only issue was, the TARDIS doesn’t have seatbelts. You didn’t know the ship as well as he did, but you did know it wasn’t a normal sound. 

You looked about in confusion before shouting his name over the incessant noise. 

He looked back at you, just as confused as you were. That didn’t bode well with you.

The ship lurched forward aggressively, sending you tumbling across the room. You crashed into the railing, the impact making you wince. The Doctor stumbled too, tripping over himself in the process and crashing to the floor. 

“What happened to Italy?” You yelled, frustrated. You had flown to Italy before, and it was never this bumpy. 

“It’s not me!” The Doctor protested, getting up from the floor where he had landed. The ship rocked again, almost sending him back down. 

“Can you stop it?” 

“I’m not quite sure,” he grumbled, rushing about pressing buttons and pulling levers, all the while trying not to fall again. Unfortunately for him, centuries of experience meant little when your ship had a mind of its own. 

You gripped the railing for dear life, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes it would just stop.

“It’s a distress signal,” he explained after a while, squinting at the screen in front of him. 

“What?” You opened your eyes. It didn’t sound like a distress signal to you.

“Someone has patched through a distress signal, there’s nothing I can do about it,” he said, clutching the computer screen in front of him. 

You let out an exasperated sigh, letting go of the railing. This wasn’t entirely unusual. The TARDIS had a habit of hijacking your trips and taking you places you didn’t really want to be. It was no surprise that your vacation was being postponed by some “distress call.”

The ship landed with its signature thump, the impact sending you stumbling again, this time into the console. You quickly regained your balance, running your hands through your hair anxiously.

You could be anywhere just about now, and the thought made you slightly uneasy. The Doctor, on the other hand, seemed more than excited for the adventure at hand. He rushed to the door, eagerly throwing them open with reckless abandon. Warily, you followed him. 

You didn’t know what to expect, but this certainly wasn’t it. 

Before you was a seemingly endless hallway. There were no windows, only large expanses of steel paneled walls. There was an incessant beeping in the distance, but you couldn’t pinpoint the sound. It was hard to see too far in front of you, the hallway was completely dark. 

The Doctor rummaged around in his coat pocket, pulling out his sonic screwdriver and a small flashlight. He handed the latter to you and started off down the hall without explanation. You had no choice but to switch the light on and run after him. 

He walked around with curiosity, his eyebrows furrowed. You walked slowly behind him taking in the ominous surroundings. He led the way with his screwdriver, scanning just about everything. He stopped every down and then to frown at the readings.

The beam of your flashlight was small, leaving you mostly in the dark. From what you could see, the hallway was a mess. Rubbish lined the floor; empty food packets, ripped fabric, and various pieces of plastic and metal. You were sure you saw a few bones, but you scuttled away anxiously before continuing.

Distracted from your own surveillance, you walked straight into the Doctor’s back. 

“Sorry,” you winced. He shook his head, unbothered by the disturbance. 

“It doesn't make sense,” he mumbled to himself, continuing down the hallway. He didn’t say it with his usual childish enthusiasm, rather, he seemed to be harboring thinly veiled anxiety.

You sulked after him, the floors creaking incessantly underneath your feet. 

You continued to scan your surroundings. The ceiling was lined with large vents, a few of which were damaged. You didn’t get a solid look, but the hissing coming from them led you to believe they were air vents. Perhaps you were on a space base? Or, a ship?

“Doctor?” you whispered, an unease spreading through you. You couldn’t explain it, but something felt off.

“This way,” he instructed, tilting his head away from the noise. He could get like this. Distracted. In the moment, whatever danger lurked around the corner was paramount to everything else. 

An uneasy feeling that you were being followed crept up on you. You picked up your pace, practically running to catch up with the Doctor. Every now and then you would cast your gaze backward, nervously searching for the presence you sensed. You could have sworn you were seeing shadows, looming forms that sulked after you. It was likely just your brain playing tricks on you, right?

You still used your light to survey the hallways behind the Doctor. For the most part, you were just encountering various forms of rubbish. That was until you stumbled across a body. You gasped, jumping back from it. Your shoes left bloody tracks from the puddles of blood surrounding the corpse.

“What is it?” The Doctor asked worriedly, by your side in an instant. You pointed at the body in front of you, your eyes unable to move away from it. 

The sight was far from pretty. The person was a member of the ship’s crew, their work suit featuring a name patch and company logo. The Doctor moved closer, examining the branding. You scanned the name tag, unsure if knowing the identity of the deceased would make it better or worse. As much as you didn’t want to look at their face, it was hard not to. It was entirely blown open, the skull in cracked fragments from the damage. The flesh on the right side of the face peeled back, blooming like a fungus. On the other side, an eyeball hung from its socket, the optic nerve stopping it from falling to the ground. 

It was the kind of grotesque death that stuck with you, that popped up in your nightmares for months after seeing it. 

“There's not anything we can do for him,” The Doctor said, his voice close to your ear. You jumped, unaware that he had moved back to your side. You shook your head, forcing yourself to look away from the dead body. 

The Doctor offered his hand to you solemnly. You took it, clutching onto it like a tether. Maybe if you squeezed his hand tight enough you could forget that there was a dead body a few meters away from you. 

You stopped looking closely at the ship after that, focusing mostly on what was directly in front of you. If you investigated, you might risk finding more horrors. The Doctor didn’t seem any more comfortable than you, but he continued his scanning and searching of the hallways. 

As you reached the end of a corridor, you stopped with a sudden gasp. The Doctor whipped his head around, terrified that you had found something gruesome again. He relaxed when he saw where your eyes were trained. 

Before you stood a beautiful expanse of space, planets, and stars floating all around. A messy watercolor of shapes and colors, all colliding to create a perfect masterpiece. You had seen some of the masters at work, even posed for a painting with Leonardo Da Vinci. The most famous paintings didn’t compare to the sight in front of you. It was stunning. No, it was more than that.

“Wow,” you breathed, marveling at the sight before you. You could see a hundred galaxies and still find them mesmerizing. You shook your head, snapping yourself out of it. 

“Spaceship then?” you deduced, looking back at the Doctor. He nodded, his eyes already trained on you. A sky full of stars, and he was looking at you. 

“Suppose we should figure out where the crew is?” you suggested, trying to be of help.

“Right,” He said, his smile fading. “Where is the crew? A ship has got to have a crew, doesn't it?” 

You nodded solemnly as you followed him. Even if he didn't seem too keen on it, he was still going to investigate. 

He mumbled to himself as he walked, trying to work it all out in his head. He did this a lot, it was his way of thinking. Sometimes, he expected you to listen, but most of the time he was just lost in his own world. 

You approached an intersection and cleared your throat, pulling his attention back to you.

To the right was a hallway like all of the ones you had walked down before. Dark, ominous, and probably housing more dead bodies. You didn’t really want to investigate and find out.

To the left was a similarly eerie hallway, but you could make out a flashing red light at the end of it. The beeping alarm appeared to be coming from that direction as well. You pointed in that direction, surmising that you should go in that direction. 

“Oh, yes, we should probably go that way,” he agreed, but he didn’t move. 

“Doctor?” You asked, looking at him with concern. You offered your hand, trying to replicate the sense of comfort and unity that he had provided for you earlier. 

He smiled, still not his usual happy smile, and took your hand gently. He didn’t squeeze like you did, but you knew he still viewed the hand-holding as a tether. 

“Dark, scary, abandoned spaceship that makes weird noises,” the Doctor recapped as the two of you moved down the hallway. 

“What could go wrong?” you winced. 

The Doctor grimaced, “Don’t say that.” 

A thick, steel door loomed in front of you, bright red lights flashing from the other side. You weren’t quite sure if you were prepared for what lay beyond it. 

Without hesitation, the Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver to unlock the door. It looked like he was sticking to his usual MO: act first, think later. 

Hesitantly, you slipped in the door after him. You couldn’t say that you shared the same carefree demeanor as the Time Lord.

The first thing you noticed was the windows. The front of the room was covered with thick glass. The view was still beautiful, but you weren’t looking at it. At the moment you had more pressing matters, like the spider web-like fractures that sprinkled the surface of the glass. You tried not to dwell too much on the implications that might have.

Your eyes focused on the rest of the room, darting around to look at all of the damage. Taking in the technological panels around the room, you inferred that you were currently in the central control room of the ship.  

Wires poked out of their metal containers, a few of them shooting sparks into the air around them. Something had clearly made its way through the room, tearing up anything it could find in the process. The disheveled state of your surroundings did little to quell your anxieties. 

On top of it all, the alarms on the ship were more than overwhelming. The flashing lights were blinding, a deafening alarm heightening the pain in your head. 

You moved slowly into the room, your eyes still scanning everything. The Doctor wasn’t as observant as you, shuffling through the mess of wires in a desperate frenzy. He was anxious, and that didn’t help your own anxieties. 

Behind one of the main control panels lay another dead body, this one fully decapitated. You didn’t want to actively look for the head. Whatever had happened, you were too late to do anything about it, you knew that much. That kind of damage just wasn’t something that you could fix.

The Doctor mulled about the nearby screens, trying to get them to turn on. After some brute force accompanied by the sonic, he managed to get the system to boot up. He started by turning off the alarms, a service you were more than grateful for. 

“There’s security footage…” The Doctor mumbled, moving closer to the screen in front of him. He mumbled a few more things, but you didn’t listen. He was probably just talking to himself again. 

You moved about gingerly, taking in the entirety of the room. You examined the damaged control panels while the Doctor continued his fiddling with the working screens. 

Absentmindedly, you picked up an empty box. You dropped it almost immediately, terrified by what was directly behind it.  

In front of you laid a fragment of skull, gooey bits of brain seeping out of it. A singular, unfocused eye stared back at you relentlessly from its socket. 

You looked down at your hand in horror, noticing the small amount of blood from when you handled the box. The sight left you gasping for air, your hand shaking uncontrollably. 

“Doctor,” you cried. You wanted to turn away, wanted to forget the image of it. It was like a car crash, so terrible that you wanted to look away but you just couldn’t. 

You stumbled backward, tripping on another skull fragment. Your foot landed directly on it, sending a painfully loud crack through the room. You gasped in horror, lifting your foot gingerly. The damage from your shoe cracked the damaged bone further, creating a mess of small bone fragments, blood, and what you presumed was the deceased’s brain. The sight was so painfully unnatural, you felt your stomach muscles contracting in fear. You were terrified you might throw up.

“Doctor,” you cried again, feeling tears prick the back of your eyes. 

He ignored you, something he often did when he was in the zone. It wasn’t personal, he just tended to hyperfocus.

You repeated his name, urgency forcing its way into your voice. 

“There’s nothing we can do,” he said, looking over at you sadly. He really wished there was something he could do. If he had the ability, he would save everyone that ever existed. Unfortunately, it didn’t work that way.

You choked back a sob, eyes still not wanting to look away from the carnage in front of you or the gore on your hands. You knew there was nothing that could be done about the gruesome scene, but that didn’t make it any less scary. In all reality, who would feel comfortable in a room of dismembered body parts? 

The Doctor whispered your name, placing a hand on your arm gently, “Look at me.” 

You shook your head, terrified. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t look away. Your vision was blurring, distorting the bloody mess of your hand.

“Look at me!” he snapped, grasping your shoulders and effectively pulling you back to reality. The volume of his voice scared you, but you could tell from the tone he was doing it out of love. 

“We need to get to the TARDIS. Now,” He urged. His face was clouded and sad, neither of which eased your fear.

He tried to hold your gaze, tried to get you to look away from the horrors in front of you. He hated that he couldn’t protect you from this. 

“There is something on this ship, something dangerous,” he explained. “It’s probably still here, and we need to leave. Now.”

You blinked, fighting back tears. You didn’t want to be scared. You wanted to be useful and brave. You wanted to be someone the Doctor could admire, someone he could love. Standing in fear, on the verge of tears, was hardly something he found attractive. 

A distinctly alien clicking came from the other side of the room, sending the Doctor rigid. You stared up at him, your eyes practically bulging out of your head. He swallowed harshly, his throat bobbing aggressively. Slowly, he tilted his head in the direction of the door. 

“Slowly. Quietly.” He mouthed. You nodded and followed his lead, sneaking as carefully as you could to the door. 

You didn’t dare take your eyes off of him. You didn’t want to risk laying eyes on whatever else was in the room. If your attention remained on his face, it was almost as if everything was fine. Almost as if you were somewhere safe and comfortable. 

You let the Doctor lead you to the door, his hands placed firmly on your waist. His touch served as an anchor, keeping you tied to reality. 

You were almost halfway to the exit when it hit him. He’d left his sonic screwdriver on the main control panel. 

You saw the panic flash across his face. As much as he tried to hide it from you, you always notice when he’s upset. 

“The sonic,” he mouthed. 

You nodded slowly, letting him know it was okay to let go. You knew how important the sonic was, you’d need it sooner rather than later. 

He was hesitant. The Doctor didn’t like leaving you when it was safe - he dreaded leaving you when it was dangerous.

You nodded again, hoping that your eyes did the talking for you. The two of you weren’t getting too far without the sonic, especially not on a strange spaceship with some monster alien on it. He had to go back, even if that meant leaving you. 

Reluctantly, he started to slowly back away from you. He kept his eyes trained on you for as long as he could before he had to turn away to look where he was going. He moved as quietly as he could, taking extra care to not draw attention to himself. 

Eventually, he made his way back to the console and grabbed the sonic. In the process, he managed to fumble it a bit. He froze, holding his breath in the hope that he hadn’t just revealed your location. The room was silent for a few seconds, long enough for him to think the course was clear. He let out his breath, relieved. 

The clicking resumed from the corner of the room, now closer to you than to him. You saw the recognition flash across the Doctor’s face. You started to turn towards the noise but the Doctor shook his head. You froze, not daring to move. 

You heard the windows crack further, the sound of glass breaking unnaturally loud in the silent room. The shattering made your stomach drop, your breathing labored and tense.  

“Run!” The Doctor shouted, already making his way out of the room. You were on opposite ends of the room, it made no sense for either of you to wait for the other. 

Even still, it took a second for the Doctor’s words to register. Once they did, you set off running. 

You had to get as far away as you could. The blood rushing in your ears was enough to dull the sounds around you. The only thing that mattered was getting out. 

You could hear the monster moving and hissing behind you, the sound growing closer and closer. You looked behind you, panic coursing through your body. You couldn’t see anything, and you didn’t dare stop to get a good look. You could hear thumping in the vents, maybe that’s how the alien was getting around. You stopped running, turning your attention to the vents above you. Sure enough, that was the origin of the noise. The hissing was getting louder, the proximity of danger sending you into a frenzy. 

You didn’t know what to do. You were on a strange spaceship in the middle of nowhere with a potentially deadly alien coming after you. Even worse, you were separated from the Doctor. 

You turned around in circles, raking your brain for a way out of this. The more you thought about it, the more panic you felt. It was times like this that you wished your body went into fight mode rather than flight. Maybe then you could be useful. 

You hardly had time to react before the alien had dropped down from the vents and onto you. You let out a shout before it grabbed you, the force of it knocking you out. 

-

You woke up in your bed, your head feeling heavy and groggy. The memories came back to you slowly, the ship, the alien, the dead bodies. You shuddered, looking around the room anxiously. Your eyes landed on the Doctor and you let out a sigh. 

“You’re awake,” he smiled brightly. 

You smiled back at him, feeling a warmth spread across your body. 

He moved over to you, gathering you in a tight hug. You buried your nose in his neck, inhaling his signature scent. The calming mix of linen, peppermint, and strong tea. The smell was familiar and comforting, a welcome sensation after the anxiety you had just endured.

“I was terrified, I thought I lost you and t-that thing,” you choked, stumbling over your words. It didn’t really matter, you were with the Doctor now. The steady thumping of his duel hearts provided a baseline that calmed your frantic breathing, effectively quenching your panic.

You finally pulled away from the Doctor enough to look at him. Oftentimes, you found you could learn more from the Time Lord’s eyes than his words. 

“Are you ok?” he asked, his eyes riddled with worry. 

“I’m ok,” you shook your head, “I’m ok now.” 

You really were. It was silly to think that the Doctor could fix everything, but he sure could fix a lot of things. You felt safe with him, especially when he had saved you from random spaceships and homicidal aliens.  

“Thank you for getting me out of there,” you smiled. He hugged you again, and you relished in the comfort. You could stay like this forever, wrapped up in his arms.

The next thing he did shocked you. The Doctor kissed you. 

He held your face like it was his entire world and placed his lips against yours gently. You melted into the kiss, tangling your hands in his shirt. 

You felt tears slide down your face - from relief, from joy, and just pure pleasure. Kissing the Doctor was everything that you had ever wanted and more. 

He kissed you like you were his everything, like he couldn’t get enough of you. When he pulled away he looked into your eyes adoringly, a smile creeping across his face. 

He kissed the top of your head, the feeling comforting and familiar. 

“Stay with me?” you asked, holding onto him.

“Always,” he whispered into your hair.

-

The Doctor couldn’t find you, and he was starting to worry. 

You both had seen what the alien did to people firsthand. He didn’t want you to become its next victim. It could take your mind, and even worse, it could kill you.

A race he had previously believed to be extinct that possessed the power to show you your deepest desires. Lost in self-indulgence, the creature could feed off of your energy until you were drained. The sheer force of it usually caused your head to explode. The corpse with the blown-up face in the hallway should have clued him in. He ridiculed himself for not figuring it out sooner. 

Not knowing where you were or if you were still alive was sending the Doctor into a spiral. 

He ran through the endless halls, desperately searching for you. He couldn’t hear the alien moving around, and the silence was deafening. He didn’t know if it was on the other side of the ship, well away from you, or if it was busy feasting off of your brain. 

As he turned the corner, his fears became a reality. 

You were sprawled out on the floor, your shallow breathing the only sign of life coming from you. The alien clung to you, the contact enough to establish a psychic link. 

He had to be smart about this if he wanted to keep you alive. He needed to get the alien off of you as quickly as possible and pull you out of the dream-induced state before your mind turned into mush, or worse.

He flattened his back against the wall, his breath coming out in short pants. His mind raced, scenarios playing out one after another like a series of movies. He couldn’t mess up, not if he wanted to make it out of this in one piece. Not if he wanted to save you.

He peered around the corner, looking warily in your direction. The alien only had the capacity for one victim at a time. Considering it was latched onto you, he was mostly safe. That was unless there were multiple on the ship. 

He decided it was a risk worth taking and rushed to your side. He picked up your hand, holding it gently. You were breathing, but just barely. He needed to move fast. He said your name a few times, hoping it might rouse you, even if he knew it wouldn’t. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, allowing his fingers to travel towards your head. He hated invading your mind like this, especially without your permission. It was a direct violation, but he couldn’t think of much else to do. 

He didn’t know what he had expected to see, but images of your lips on his were certainly not on the list. He dropped the connection instantly, scampering away from your limp body. 

He shook his head. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. The alien had gotten in his head. That was the only explanation. 

He held his head in his hands, trying to get rid of the residual images of the two of you. He didn’t want to think about it too much. If he did, he might find himself falling deeper into the rabbit hole. He feared it was just the alien showing his own desires. 

“It’s just a dream,” he whispered to himself, trying to get ahold. It wasn’t real. It was just what he wanted to see.

Once he had settled his mind enough, he focused on establishing a physic block. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with saving you if he was fighting the alien himself.

-

You were happy and safe in the Doctor’s arms. He was holding you against his chest, and you could hear the steady beating of his hearts. The sound was comforting and familiar. 

You couldn’t think of a single place you would rather be. The Doctor felt like home to you.

He traced circular patterns onto your back. You were sure it was circular Gallifreyan, but you were too blissful to focus on it. 

Your peace was violently ruined as you jerked up in pain. Your head was suddenly filled with screaming. The pain shot through your head, causing you to pull away from the Doctor. 

You could see the concern on his face, could see his lips moving. He was probably asking if you were okay, but you couldn’t hear it. All you could hear was the noise. 

You collapsed to the floor, squeezing your eyes shut. Panic rushed through you, pushing tears from your eyes. You felt like you were dying. Maybe you were. 

You curled into a ball, clutching your head desperately. You gripped and pulled at your hair, anything to try and end this pain. It wouldn’t go away, no matter what you did. 

You screamed, the sound gruesome and raw. You didn’t know what else to do. 

After what seemed like hours, the noise grew to a painful crescendo that drowned out even your own voice. 

As suddenly as it all started, the noise ended. The change was shocking, enough to leave you extremely light-headed. The shift from everything to nothing was more torturous than relieving. 

You sprang upright, a gasp falling from your lips. 

Your eyes darted across the room anxiously. You were back in the TARDIS, but you couldn’t remember getting there. Next to you was the shriveled corpse of some alien. You gasped and shoved yourself away from it, fear coursing through your body.

“It’s ok,” the Doctor said, holding his hand out, “you’re ok.” 

“What the fuck just happened?” You gasped, leaning away from him too. Your eyes continued darting around the room in fear. You couldn’t remember much, just running from the monstrous hissing and clicking in the vents. You figured the dead thing next to you had been chasing you, but you couldn’t remember the Doctor being there with you.

“Take a deep breath,” the Doctor urged. 

You shook your head and repeated your question, “What just happened?” with a pant. 

“That alien,” he gestured to the corpse, “had you in a trance, I helped pull you out of it,” he explained, calmly. He was looking into your eyes with worry. 

“A what?” You asked, shaking your head again. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. 

“The alien on this ship,” he explained. You cut him off with a gasp, the horrors of the control room rushing back to you. The box, the bodies, the blood. You looked down at yourself with fear, half expecting yourself to be maimed. 

“It’s ok,” he urged again, “I got rid of it, you’re safe.” 

You shook your head, hoping it would all go away. 

“It’s gone.” 

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. 

“It’s over.” 

A tear slid down your face. You still didn’t know why you were crying. Relief? Fear? Happiness? 

The Doctor let you, he knew it was a lot. You had almost died after all. He moved over to you, offering a hand so you could stand up. You let him pull you upright until you were standing. 

“Is there anything I can do?” He asked, brushing your tears away gently. He was so gentle with you, even in your dreams. 

“A hug would be good,” you stuttered. The Doctor didn’t waste any time pulling you into his arms. He held you tightly, like he was afraid that you would slip out of his grip. 

Your face came to rest in the crook of his neck, the feeling and smell all too familiar. The tears came faster then, harder too. You couldn’t hold them back. 

The Doctor pulled away, looking at you with concern, “what’s wrong?”

“Why couldn’t it have been real?” you sobbed, fairly certain you were incoherent like this, “why can’t you love me?” 

You wanted to take it back the minute that you said it. Once you saw the words register with the Doctor you knew it was all over. 

You wiped your tears hurriedly, stepping back from him. 

“You don’t have to answer that - I don't know why I said that,” you laughed, even though you didn’t find it funny. You were embarrassed that you had shown your cards like that. Embarrassed that you had let the Doctor know how you really felt about him. But even more, you were mad at yourself for asking such a selfish question. For wanting something simply because it felt good to you. 

“But I do,” the Doctor whispered back, confused. How could you not see that?

“Yeah, as a friend,” you said, more to the floor than to his face. You were fiddling, moving farther and farther away from him. He felt like you were drifting away, and he wanted you to come back. 

“No,” he shook his head vigorously, his floppy hair flying across his forehead. 

“It’s ok,” you mumbled, the back of your legs hitting the TARDIS console. There was nowhere else for you to back up. 

“No, really. I cannot tell you how much I care for you,” he said, he desperately wanted to reach out to you. He didn’t know how to prove this to you, to show you just how much he truly loved you. He wasn’t good at being emotionally vulnerable, that much he knew. But that didn’t change the way he felt about you.

You shook your head again. “It’s not real”. You were dreaming again, you had to be. That was the only sensible explanation for all of this.

“It is,” the Doctor pleaded. He hated that this was happening, hated seeing you in pain. 

“I can show you,” he suggested, holding out his hands. He didn’t have the words to prove it to you, but he had the memories.

“I can develop a telepathic link, I can let you into my mind. I can’t lie to you in there,” he offered. You frowned at his outstretched hands, your brain still processing his words.

“You can say no,” he added, “after what happened today I wouldn’t blame you.” 

You thought about it for a moment. You really wanted to believe the Doctor, so you nodded. 

The Doctor moved towards you gently, still giving you plenty of chances to recoil from his touch. His fingers landed feather light against your temple. His eyes fluttered closed, and you followed suit. 

It was like being pulled through space. There was no warning or preparation, just a sudden feeling of vertigo crashing in on you. 

Before you knew it you were inside the Time Lord’s mind. It felt like literally walking around his brain, digging in the creases that he never let anyone see. It wasn’t the kind of experience that you could explain to someone, even if you had wanted to. 

For the first time, you saw what you looked like from his eyes. Images of your smile flashed in front of you, the speed of it making your eyes hurt. It was weird to see yourself like this - from someone else's point of view. It was like looking at someone else entirely. 

You had only ever seen yourself in a mirror, or pictures. Your face seemed backward to you, and it took a second for it to register that it was. So this is how people see me? You thought, looking at yourself with a newfound sense of scrutiny. 

You didn’t get to dwindle on it for too long before the memories started playing. It was like a mental backlog of home videos, and you wondered how the doctor could remember this much of you. Surely he had more important things in his brain than you? 

It started in the early days, back when he had first met you. You couldn’t help but notice how young you looked. 

“I have room for one more,” the Doctor had offered, leaning against his mysterious blue box casually.

“I don’t know,” you had said, tilting your head, “that ship looks a little small.”

The Doctor grinned at you and opened the door, beckoning you inside. This was always his favorite part.

“It’s… smaller on the outside,” you gasped. The Doctor looked at you shocked, no one had ever said that to him before. The typical response was somewhere along the lines of “It’s bigger on the inside!” followed by complete shock at the defiance of the laws of space. Instead, you looked at the ship with unmistakable wonder, adoration, and curiosity. Your hands danced across the cool metal of the ship, fascinated by everything around you. You had the wonder and inquisitiveness of a child, fascinated by even the simplest of things around you. 

“It’s beautiful,” you smiled at the Doctor, the grin taking over your whole face. The Doctor couldn’t help but be amazed at you, at the wonder you had for the world around you. It was beautiful, and he couldn’t look away.

The scene faded, a new one taking its place.

In the new memory, you ran into the TARDIS control room, a giant smile plastered on your face. This memory was later, you could tell not only by your face but by the clear comfort you had with the ship. By now, you were more than comfortable calling it home.

“Doctor!” you laughed, plopping down next to him happily.

“Yes?” The Doctor asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Guess what I found?” you asked, an eyebrow quirking upwards. You remembered this day. You had spent hours trying to figure out the organizational system in the TARDIS library. You eventually figured out that there wasn’t really one and gave up. However, in the process, you stumbled across a book. 

In the Doctor’s memory, you held up a dusty book ceremoniously. 

“A book?” he asked with a laugh. 

You shook your head, your smile unfaltering. 

“It’s your favorite book,” you laughed, shoving the book into the Doctor’s chest. 

“How do you know that?” He asked, thumbing the pages fondly. 

“You told me once,” you shrugged, a scarlet flush creeping across your face. 

“I did?” He asked, setting the book off to the side. 

“When you took me to see Jane Austen,” you explained, leaning against the console comfortably. 

“I asked what your favorite book was, and you told me it was this one,” you put your hand on top of the old hardback, fingers brushing across the worn cover. In your memory, you had been looking at the book, too scared to meet the Doctor’s eye. From his perspective, the focus was on your face. The slight smile that tugged at your lips, the way that your hair fell into your face. There was no mistaking the way that the Doctor looked at you at that moment. You had seen it a hundred times on television. You felt a heat flush to your cheeks. Not in the memory, but in the current moment. 

The Doctor’s memory moved on, the moment fleeting. 

In this scene, he was hunched over the TARDIS console. He hung his head in a way that conveyed distress, his spiky hair falling over cloudy eyes.

“You alright?” you asked, placing your hand on his shoulder gently. 

He looked over at you, almost surprised to see you. 

The Time Lord’s eyes were always so expressive, and you didn’t like what you saw in them. You couldn’t recall a time you had ever seen them this sad. There was a darkness in them, the kind that worried you. 

“I’m always alright,” he said tightly, forcing a sad smile. 

“No, no you’re not,” you said, tracing your hand down his arm. You let your fingers interlace with his, and his eyes trained themselves on the connection. 

“Why do you stay with me?” He choked, clearly fighting tears.

You frowned, confused by the question. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“The things I’ve done…” he trailed off, lost in his own dark thoughts, “They’re unforgivable.” 

“You’re not your past,” you assured, rubbing calming circles on the back of his hand with your thumb. 

“I keep doing them. Horrible things,” he shook his head. “I’m a monster.” 

“Don’t say that,” you ridiculed. He laughed sadly, turning away from you. 

“Hey.” you guided his face back in your direction gently, your touch comforting. “You are a good man.” Your eyes darted between his, taking in anguish laden in them. 

“You’re the Doctor,” you stated with a laugh. Your hands traveled down to his chest, resting over his hearts. They thumped a steady rhythm, the beat comforting and familiar to you.

“You have the biggest hearts of anyone I know,” you said, still holding his eye. Your hands moved back up to his face, holding it gently. He closed his eyes, a single tear rolling down his freckled cheek. Your thumb swiped it away without a second thought. 

“You are so good,” you reassured. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he cried, the tears more frequent now.

“Well, you’re stuck with me,” you chuckled, the slight humor of it bringing a small smile to his face.

“Seriously,” you added. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly. 

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair.

The scene melted away again, a new one taking its place.

“It’s your name,” the Doctor explained as you thumbed a pendant. It was small, hardly bigger than a coin. Engraved on the surface was a series of intertwining circles, a pattern you easily recognized as circular Galliyfreyan. 

“How did you?” You asked, your sentence trailing off as you looked up at him in wonder. 

“I had it specially made,” he shrugged like it meant nothing. 

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed, looking down at the necklace in adoration. There was a twinkle in your eyes that you had never picked up on before. 

“Can you put it on for me?” You asked holding the necklace out to the Doctor. He nodded meekly, taking the chain from your hands. 

His hands lingered on your skin as he fastened the chain around your neck. You could feel the electricity in his touch, the way that he didn't want to let go. 

You turned around with a smile on your face, your hand ghosting around the pendant. 

“How do I look?” You asked.

The Doctor smiled to himself, taking the moment to memorize your face. The distinct lines of your expression, the shine in your eyes, the joy on your face. All of it was captivating. You were captivating. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered, and he meant it. 

The scene moved on. You weren’t in the next one, the area unfamiliar to you. 

The Doctor was sitting in the console room, his head bowed. Donna stood above him, her arms crossed. The sight of the redhead made you sad, you missed her. You missed your best friend. 

“You’re acting like I don’t already know this?” She laughed, the sound painstakingly familiar. 

The Doctor looked up at her like a wounded puppy. 

“I’ve seen the way you look at them,” she continued, “like they’re the only person in the whole wide world that matters.” 

“That’s dramatic,” the Doctor groaned. 

“It’s true,” she glared at him. He didn’t argue. 

“Are you going to tell them?” She asked, her gaze softening. 

The Doctor shook his head, “I can’t.” 

“Why?” Donna glared. 

“Have you ever heard the saying ‘Is it better to have had a good thing and lost it than to have never had it?’?” He asked her, pain in his eyes. 

“That feels contradictory.” 

“I mean, I would rather have them as I do than not have them at all,” he explained. Donna sighed and sat next to him, looking at him sympathetically. 

“I don't think I could live without them,” he sighed, burying his head in his hands. 

The scene faded, and you were left with the Doctor’s face looking at you worriedly. You hadn’t realized you were crying until he wiped the tears from your face. 

“Are you ok?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed with concern. He hadn’t wanted to upset you further. That was the opposite of his intentions.

You smiled at him. You weren't crying from sadness, or even anxiety like before. No, these were happy tears. Happy that it was real, that the Doctor really loved you. It was everything you had ever wanted.

You threw your arms around the doctor, holding tightly onto him. 

“I love you,” you whispered into his ear. You felt it was about time you said it. 

“I love you too,” the Doctor sighed like it was a breath he had been holding in. 

“So, so much,” he shook his head, wrapping his arms around your waist. He lifted you off the ground ceremoniously, swinging you back and forth gently. 

You laughed lightly, pulling back to look at his face. 

“Say it again,” you smiled, relishing in the feeling of his words.

“I love you,” he smiled back, and you knew he meant it. 

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: Angst, swearing, medicine and Injuries, blood, bomb.

Spoilers from cannon

Part 10

Scotch and Screams - Part 11

The morning air at Gemma’s felt thicker than usual.

You could feel it the second you stepped into the kitchen, the weight of something unspoken pressing down. Gemma stood at the counter, back to you, hands braced against the edge as she stared at her coffee like it had personally offended her.

She was still sore from the car accident—you felt for her, she seemed shaken since the accident, you had seen the way she moved, the way she flinched when she thought no one was looking, the way her and Clay were a little distant from each other.

Still you where guest, it wasn't your place to pry.

“Morning,” you offered, cautiously.

“Mm,” was all she gave you in return.

You bit your lip, shifting on your feet. “You, uh… want me to do anything? I could take lunch over to the guys—”

“Yeah, fine,” she muttered, rubbing her temple. “Whatever you want sweetheart”

She didn’t mean to be short. You knew that. But it still stung.

Still, if she wasn’t going to let you help her, then the least you could do was make yourself useful elsewhere.

The familiar smell of grease, gasoline, and motor oil filled the air as you stepped into the Teller-Morrow garage, balancing the bags of food in your arms. The guys were scattered around—some working, some sitting on crates or leaning against cars, their conversations blending into the usual rough banter.

Bobby was the first to notice you, his broad grin breaking through the garage’s usual grit.

“Well, aren’t you just a goddamn angel,” he drawled, standing up and taking a bag from you before it could topple off the stack.

A few of the others muttered their appreciation, hands reaching for sandwiches and sodas. There was something oddly satisfying about it—this small act of taking care of them, of being useful.

And then, from somewhere behind you—

“Look at ye, lass. Playin’ house already.”

The voice sent a shiver down your spine, familiar in a way that had started to feel dangerous.

You turned to see Chibs standing a few feet away, arms crossed, that signature smirk tugging at his lips. His kutte hung loose over his shoulders, and the sunlight filtering in from the open garage door caught on the stray silvers in his hair, making him look every bit the rogue he was.

You swallowed, suddenly very aware of the previous night—the almost-kiss, the way his lips had just brushed the corner of your mouth before he pulled away.

“Just trying to help,” you murmured, shifting on your feet.

His smirk softened slightly, and he gave a slow nod. “Aye, well. Ye done good.”

You started to step back, giving him space, but his hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could move too far. His fingers were warm, rough against your skin, the callouses telling stories you didn’t yet know.

“Stay,” he said, voice lower now, quieter. “Eat with us.”

It wasn’t a question.

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to—God, you wanted to—but because this was something new.

But Chibs? He didn’t wait for answers. He didn’t second-guess himself.

His thumb brushed idly over the inside of your wrist, the smallest, most absent-minded motion—one he probably didn’t even realize he was doing.

And that? That made it worse.

Or better.

You weren’t sure.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His lips twitched at the corners, just a fraction, and only then did he let go—like he had been waiting for your answer before allowing himself to move.

The warmth of his touch lingered long after his fingers left your skin.

Chibs led you with a hand —lightly pressing against your back, guiding you towards the worn picnic table near the clubhouse entrance. It wasn’t much, just an old wooden thing, scarred from years of use. A spot where the guys gathered, smoked, ate, and made crude jokes that you were starting to understand more than you wanted to admit.

You hesitated for just a second, eyes darting towards the guys scattered around the yard, the ones who weren’t working but were definitely watching.

Chibs caught the flicker of uncertainty in your face, and before you could say anything, his arm slipped around your waist, warm and steady, pulling you in just enough for you to feel the warmth from his body seep into your side.

Then, he dipped his head and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your temple. It wasn’t rushed or casual, but something firm, lingering, a touch that carried weight.

Possessive, maybe.

Reassuring, definitely.

“Ye worried what they’ll think, lass?” His voice was low, edged with something teasing, something knowing.

Your cheeks burned instantly, heat rushing up your neck as you quickly shook your head, even though the reaction was obvious enough.

Chibs just chuckled, a deep, amused sound, and nudged you forward, his hand briefly squeezing your waist before he let go. “Then sit, eh? Let’s eat before these bastards leave us nothin’.”

You slid onto the bench, your heart doing that annoying thing where it stuttered a little as Chibs sat beside you—close, but not too close. It was enough, though. Enough that when he reached for his sandwich, his elbow brushed yours, and he didn’t bother moving away.

Conversation swirled around you both—Tig and Bobby talking shit, Juice rambling about something nerdy, It felt normal. Easy. And for a little while, you forgot how out of place you used to feel.

Chibs, unwrapped his sandwich, glancing at yours. “Ye eatin’?”

You nodded, but before you could take a bite, he reached over, tugging at the edge of the wrapper for you, peeling it back just a bit more. Like you needed help. Like he couldn’t help himself.

It was a stupidly little thing, but your fingers tightened slightly around the sandwich as you murmured a quiet, “Thanks.”

Chibs grin deepened, but he had the mercy not to comment.

For a few minutes, the two of you just ate. Sat together, close enough that your legs brushed beneath the table. It was comfortable. Warm. And when Chibs tilted his head back to drink from his soda, his throat moved just so, and you—well, you didn’t look away as fast as you probably should have.

That was when he said it.

“Yer enjoyin’ this more than ye thought, aren’t ye, mo leannan?”

It was casual, absent. He didn’t even realize he’d said it.

You blinked. “What?”

Chibs froze, mid-motion, he covered it quickly, clearing his throat and taking another sip. “Nothin’, lass.” He said with his usual smirk.

The rest of lunch passed in a blur of conversation and laughter, moments where you caught Chibs watching you with something undecipherable in his expression.

Something that made your heart beat a little too fast.

When it was over, the guys started drifting back to work, and you lingered near the garage, watching Chibs move toward one of the customers vehicles, still hooked to the tow truck, keys in hand.

“You stickin’ around, lass?” he yelled over his shoulder.

You shrugged, before yelling back. “Maybe, what's in it for me Scotsman ?"

He smirked, shaking his head as he slid into the driver’s seat.

You start to make your way over to lean onto the vehicle.

And then—Chibs scrambled.

The world shattered.

A explosion ripped through the air, deafening, blinding, sending a shockwave through the lot. The force of it sent you flying backward, hitting the pavement hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

Everything was smoke.

Heat.

Chaos.

Something high pitched was ringing.

It took you a second to realize it was your ears.

Through the haze, you saw him—Chibs, thrown by the shockwave he'd been closest to the vehicle, motionless on the ground, blood darkening the pavement beneath him.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up.

Scrambling, crawling, running to him.

“Filip—Filip—”

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t move, why didn't he move ?

Someone grabbed you, pulling you back, but you fought, struggling, desperate to get to him, to touch him, to make sure he was still there.

Why was he so still ?

Why was there blood ?

The air was thick with the scent of burning metal and gasoline, the acrid stench filling your lungs as you struggled to breathe. Everything around you was moving—shouting voices, but all you could see was him.

Chibs lay still on the pavement, the blood beneath his head dark and spreading. Too still. Too quiet.

Someone had their arms around you, dragging you back, up, but not away, and your instincts fought against it.

“No—no, let me go—”

“Hey!”

The voice was familiar—gruff, urgent.

Bobby.

It was Bobby holding you, keeping you from running straight into the chaos. You could feel his broad chest behind you, grounding you, but all you could focus on was Chibs.

The questions in your mind wouldn’t stop.

Is he breathing?

Why isn’t he moving?

Why is there so much blood?

The world was spinning, tilting on its axis, and for a terrifying moment, you weren’t sure if your legs would even hold you.

“Bobby—” Your voice cracked. “Bobby, is he—?”

“He’s alive,” Bobby said firmly. “Tara’s checking him now.”

You blinked followed his gaze and saw Tara kneeling beside Chibs, hands moving quickly, checking his pulse, feeling along his ribs. Her face was tense with focus, lips pressed into a thin line.

She’s a doctor. She’ll know what to do.

Why did you still feel like you were going to break apart?

The distant sound of sirens cut through the chaos, growing closer, louder, until red and blue lights washed over the lot. Paramedics rushed in with their bags, their gurneys, their controlled urgency.

They reached Tara first.

“What do we got?”

Tara’s voice was clipped, professional. “Head trauma from the blast, possible internal bleeding, maybe some broken ribs—he’s unresponsive.”

They were lifting him onto the gurney, strapping him down, pressing gauze to the bleeding gash on his head.

And you—

You just stood there, hands trembling, fingers curling into your palms like you could hold onto something, anything.

One of the paramedics was speaking, asking something—“who's coming with him?”—but you couldn’t make yourself move.

Should you go?

Would they let you, should Gemma go ?

Who would he want there?

Before you could spiral further, Clay’s voice cut through the noise.

“She’s going with him.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

The paramedic hesitated.

“She's family.”

The authority in Clay’s tone left no room for argument. Another voice—Juice, maybe—grumbled something about not leaving him alone, and before you knew what was happening, someone was nudging you toward the ambulance. Something about following on the bikes.

You climbed in, heart hammering, mind racing.

And then—You were moving.

The ambulance jolted as it sped down the streets, sirens screaming through the night.

When did it get dark ?

How long had it been ?

You sat frozen on the small bench seat beside the gurney, hands clenched so tightly in your lap that your nails bit into your palms.

Chibs lay strapped down, the harsh fluorescent lights making his face look paler than you had ever seen it. His lips, usually curved with some teasing remark, were slack. The deep gash on his head was still bleeding, staining the gauze a deep crimson.

There’s too much blood.

The paramedic nearest to you was working quickly, checking vitals, murmuring medical jargon to his partner. You tried to listen, tried to understand, but the words didn’t make sense. They were just sounds. Meaningless.

Chibs should be talking right now.

He should be complaining about the hospital, making some sarcastic comment to the paramedics, telling you not to worry.

Instead, he was silent.

You stared at his chest, watching for every slow, shallow rise and fall, as if that was the only proof he was still here.

Your stomach twisted violently, as bile threatened to climb your throat.

What if—

No. You couldn’t think like that.

"BP’s dropping," the paramedic muttered, adjusting something in his IV line. You barely understood what it meant, but the urgency in his tone made your breath hitch.

Your fingers twitched with the instinct to reach for Chibs’ hand, but you didn’t. What if he didn’t squeeze back?

The thought was unbearable.

You where jerked out of your thoughts when the ambulance stopped outside St. Thomas, the rear doors swinging open before you even had time to process it. A team of nurses and doctors were already waiting, moving in a blur of scrubs and shouted instructions.

The gurney rolled forward, and instinct took over—you scrambled after them, your pulse pounding in your ears, the hospital lights feeling too bright, too clinical.

Tara was suddenly beside you, matching your frantic pace.

“He’s gonna be okay,” she said, but you could tell she was saying it for you, not because she knew for sure.

The hospital swallowed him up, and you weren’t allowed past the double doors.

The second they closed, a hand landed on your shoulder—firm, grounding.

Jax.

Your knees threatened to buckle as you stared at the doors, hands shaking, throat tight.

You had no idea how long it would be before you saw him again.

The hours ticked past.

You sat on the edge of a plastic chair, hands gripping the Styrofoam cup of coffee someone, was it Gemma ? When did she get here? had pressed into them. It had long since gone cold.

Gemma sat beside you, arms crossed, her presence solid and unwavering, but the tightness in her jaw told you she was barely holding it together herself.

"He’s tough, that biker of yours" she finally said, voice low and firm. "Tougher than most of these assholes. He’ll pull through."

You nodded, but the lump in your throat wouldn’t let you speak, and the knot in your chest wouldn't correct her this time.

The doors to the ER swung open, and a doctor stepped through, pulling off her gloves. Your heart lurched, the coffee cup crumpling slightly in your grip.

"He’s stable," she said, glancing between you and Gemma. "Head trauma, fractured ribs, some internal bleeding—but he’s stable."

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

"Can I see him?"

The Doctor hesitated, but Gemma’s stare had a way of making people move faster.

"Yeah," she finally nodded. "He’s still unconscious, but you can sit with him."

Gemma stood, placing a hand on your back as if to remind you to move. Your legs felt stiff, your muscles wound so tight from the hours of tension that you weren’t sure they would work. But they did.

One foot in front of the other, you followed behind the doctor down the hall, past sterile white doors and the overwhelming scent of antiseptic.

The beep of the heart monitor was the first thing you heard when you entered his room. The second was the rough sound of his breathing—too slow, too shallow.

Chibs lay in the hospital bed, looking smaller somehow without his kutte, without the usual confidence he carried in every movement. His head was wrapped in fresh gauze, bruising already blooming along the side of his face. The sight of him like this—so still, so quiet—was wrong.

You stepped closer, fingers curling around the railing of his bed.

Chibs wasn’t meant to be still. He was supposed to be moving—leaning against his bike with that easy smirk, cigarette balanced between his fingers, throwing out sharp-witted remarks with that thick brogue. Not lying here, body battered, chest barely rising and falling beneath the hospital blankets.

"You’re not getting out of this that easy," you whispered, voice shaking.

Gemma stayed back by the door, watching but giving you space.

Your hands found each other, twisting in your lap as you sank into the chair beside his bed.

"You kiss me," you said softly, eyes locked on his face. "And then you try to blink out. That’s not fair, Filip."

Silence.

The monitor beeped.

Your fingers hovered over his hand, hesitant, unsure if it was okay to touch him, as if too much pressure might somehow hurt. Finally, you let them rest lightly against his, the warmth of his skin still there, still real..

The steady rhythm of the machines filled the space where his low chuckle should have been.

"You have to wake up, Scotsman" you murmured, blinking hard.

You waited.

Watched.

Hoped.

But there was no flicker of an eyelid, no shift of his fingers beneath yours.

Just the slow, steady rhythm of the machines filling the silence.

Your breath hitched, and you exhaled shakily, sinking further into the chair beside his bed. Your body was exhausted, muscles aching from tension, but you weren’t ready to leave.

You wouldn’t leave.

Gemma was quiet.

Something heavy settled around your shoulders. Chibs’ kutte.

Your fingers instinctively clutched at the worn leather, pulling it tighter around yourself.

"You sit with him, long as you want" Tara murmured, voice softer than usual. "I’ll keep the vultures off your back."

When did she come in ?

You nod barely registering them, the door clicking shut behind them after they exit, leaving just you, Chibs, and the sound of the monitors.

You curled into the chair, tucking your knees up, the scent of oil and leather surrounding you, grounding you, even as the exhaustion finally pulled at your eyelids.

As sleep crept in, you whispered one last thing, just in case he could hear you.

"Don’t you dare blink out on me, Filip."

You close your eyes, hoping that, when you woke up, he’d be awake too.

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

For the love of Freedom

Inspired by this post by @iris-honey-bee

So, I still have so many WIPs but there is a need for this man and I'm willing to Phill it.

Masterlist

Contains: Fluff, oral sex (m receiving), fingering, P in V.

1.3k words

Phillip has some very special plans for the 4th of July.

The wind blowing through Phillip's ranch was a welcome relief to the sweltering Texas heat. He had been tight lipped the whole week about his Fourth of July plans, telling you it was a surprise with his signature dip ladden smirk. The lunchtime barbeque was pretty standard, burgers and hot dogs and fries and those silly little sparklers that inevitably got one drunk shadow fingers burned.

The ranch cleared out after the firework shadow company put on for its families finished, leaving no one but you, Phillip and a few passed out drunk shadows.

He came to help you clean up after putting the last of his men to bed. Coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you washed the last of the dishes. "The kids are alseep."

You sighed. "Ah, yes, our six grown up drunk children. If we don't have enough bacon in the morning you're going out to get it."

He chuckled. "There's plenty." He rested his head on your shoulder and pulled you closer. "I'll finish up here. Why don't you sit for a bit then meet me by the truck in twenty."

You twisted your head and kissed him. "Okay. I love you."

He flashed you a grin. "I love you too Darlin'."

Twenty minutes later, he was opening the passenger side door, and then you were moving leisurely through the fields until he stopped the truck at the edge of his expansive property. He opened your door and helped you out, leading you to the truck bed. He had really gone all out, putting the fancy cool top camping mattress in the back of the truck along with blankets and pillows and a small cooler in the corner.

He helped you into the back and patted the spot next to him, smiling as you settled in. "What's all this for?"

"You put in so much work the last few days, I wanted to thank you." He reached over and opened the cooler, presenting you with two glasses in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. "There's choclate coverd strawberries in there too."

The pop of the champagne bottle cracked through the air and he pressed a kiss to your cheek as he poured you a glass. "There's more."

"What else could you possibly do?" He was grinning, the fine crow's feet at the corners of his eyes wrinkling while his blue eyes sparkled and he held up a small controller with a red button in the middle. "No?"

He nodded. "Yep, I picked every single one out myself then watched the bomb tec set them up." He let you take another sip of bubbles before taking the glass from you and you laid back to look at the sky. He took your hand, linking his fingers in yours and with the press of a button, the sky lit up. He had picked all your favourite colours, each bang giving way to another intricate pattern.

It slowed before finally stopping, and he let go of your hand to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger and turn you towards him. "Did you enjoy that?" He smiled against your lips as you kissed him. "I'll take that as a yes?"

You nodded. "Yes, and I'd like to thank you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh Darlin', you can thank me all you like."

You rolled on top of him and straddled his hips as you unbuttoned his shirt. He pushed himself up, helping you peel it off his ample shoulders before your lips landed on his chest. He gathered your hair into his hand, smiling down at you as you reached his belt. "I want to be able to see that pretty face and I can't see it through all your pretty hair."

His hand was gentle as you undid his belt and he sighed with relief when you yanked his boxers down and his cock sprang free. Your eyes flitted to his, his pupils had all but overwhelmed all the pretty blueness and there was an expectation on his face that your breath catch. You lowered your head and he let out a grunt as you opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around the tip of his leaking cock.

He did his best not to buck his hips, but the sight of you slowly sliding him into your mouth was so pornographic that he couldn't help it. He pushed himself up on his elbow for a better view as you took him down as far as you could go and wrapped your hand around what your mouth couldn't reach. He took full advantage of his ability to control your head, rocking his hips into your mouth as he held you still, stopping just before he triggered your gag reflex.

"Fuck, ah fucking hell, you're so fucking good at that." His voice was tight, and his face was screwed in a mix of pleasure and desperation as he watched his cock disappear into your mouth. He pulled you off him and yanked you upwards, ripping your pretty dress right down the middle as he kicked his jeans and boxers off his legs.

He threw the ruined fabric to the side and ran his hand up your leg, pushing your underpants away before running his rough fingers through your folds. "Is all this for me?" You nodded, barely able to eke out a gasp when his thumb found your clit, and he slid his fingers inside you to stroke your G-spot. "And just from sucking my dick, I am one lucky man."

His eyes were stuck on his hand, his ego growing ever bigger at the way you were squeezing him. You rocked your hips and his forearm flexed as he fucked his fingers in and out of you. You braced yourself on his chest, your nails sending little stinging zips as they dug into his flesh. You used one hand to remove your bra and his free hand reached up to grab a handful of your breast, his fingers rolling and pinching your nipples as your head fell back.

The faint leash he had on his control snapped, and he pulled his hand away, dragged your soaked underwear off before gripping your hips and dragging you up and down his cock. He was like a man crazed as he held your hip so tight in one hand that you could feel the growing bruises, using the other hand to grab his cock so you could slide down.

He bottomed out, hitting the very end of you as his back stiffened like a ramrod. He didn't give you the chance to set the pace, with one considering look to make sure you were okay, he held you tight while he thrust up into you. You had to put all your energy into moving with him, your whole body growing ridged as he relentlessly dragged his cock against your G-spot. The sound that came from your mouth when his fingers landed on your clit was almost inhuman, halfway between a scream and a whimper as he moved in tight circles.

With one last thrust, the whole world imploded, and your vision flashed white as you came. The world spun as Phillip rolled you onto your back, and he all but bent you in half as he chased his own bliss. "Fucken hell Darlin', your pussy's better than freedom." He kept going, there didn't seem to be a thing on earth that matched up to you, and finally, with one last thrust, you felt him pulse inside you as his heaving body collapsed onto you.

You ran your hands through his damp hair and he sighed as he pushed himself up on his forearms. "You good Doll, I wasn't too rough with you?"

You shook your head. "No, that was perfect."

He rolled off you and flopped down. "Good." He turned to his side, costing you to do the same with a hand on your cheek. "I meant what I said before, I'm real grateful for all your hard work and I love you so fucking much."

You smiled and rubbed his nose with yours. "I love you too."

Fin

@chaos-4baby @candy616 @avidread3r

[kurominiiiz]

SERIES: "Bomb's Away!!" - Chapter 3 : It's What Everybody Craves!

Masterlist

The air was heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke and the low hum of neon signs. You leaned against the wall of the empty arcade, your (color) hair, wild, and eyes reflecting the flashing lights of the machines that buzzed around you. It was late—way past curfew for Jujutsu High students—but you never cared much for rules. Not back then, anyway.

It had been a while since you'd visited this place. The dimly lit arcade, tucked away in a corner of Tokyo, held too many memories. You took a long drag from your cigarette, letting the smoke curl lazily into the air, and closed your eyes. The buzz of the neon, the smell of cheap food from the street vendors—it all brought you back to a time when things were simpler, even if they were far from easy.

"Oi, Bombshell!" a familiar voice called out, breaking through your thoughts.

You opened your eyes just as Hakari stormed in, his swagger on full display. The tall, muscular sorcerer had his signature grin plastered across his face, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. His presence was loud—like he owned the world, or at least this corner of it. You smirked despite yourself. He hadn’t changed a bit.

Right behind him, moving with a casual ease, was Kirara Hoshi. She always had that ethereal, aloof air about her, their long, star-adorned hair catching the light as she walked. Kirara’s sharp eyes met your own, and there was an understanding between you both—a bond that didn’t need words.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Kirara said with a teasing lilt. “Thought you were too good for us now that you’ve become Gojo’s favorite project.”

You rolled your eyes, flicking the ash from your cigarette. “Gojo’s got nothin' ta do with it. Just been busy, that’s all.”

Hakari slung an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a mock headlock. “Busy bein' a pain in the ass, more like. You don’t get to ghost us, Bombshell. We’re a team, remember?”

You elbowed him in the ribs, not too hard, but enough to get him to back off. “I haven’t ghosted ya. You’ve been picking fights with the higher-ups, and Kirara’s been… well, Kirara.”

Kirara grinned, leaning against one of the machines. “What can I say? I have my own way of handling things.”

You snorted. The three of you were always an odd trio—Hakari, the muscle with a sharp tongue and quick temper; Kirara, the mysterious strategist who never quite let anyone in; and you, the wild card who kept them grounded but pushed them to take risks. You three weren’t just classmates or fellow sorcerers. You were family.

It hadn’t always been that way, though.

You could still remember your first year at Jujutsu High. You had come in with a chip on your shoulder, brimming with cursed energy and a reckless attitude. Hakari was just as hotheaded back then, already notorious for his brawls with anyone who crossed him. And Kirara? She'd always been the quiet observer, watching from the shadows until the right moment to strike.

Your first real mission together was when everything changed.

Two Years Ago

The rain pelted down hard, making the alley slick and treacherous. You crouched behind a dumpster, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel the cursed energy swirling in the air, thick and dangerous. It was your first major assignment as second-years—eliminate a high-level curse that had been terrorizing the city. Gojo had assigned you three the mission, confident that you were ready.

But things had gone south quickly.

Hakari was fighting in the distance, his energy flaring as he clashed with the curse, his fists glowing with raw power. Kirara was beside him, manipulating her strange, star-shaped markings to keep the curse disoriented. You had been tasked with keeping an eye on the civilians—ensuring no one got hurt in the crossfire.

But it wasn’t going well. The curse was stronger than any of you had anticipated, and it was getting harder to keep it contained.

“Bombshell, get over here!” Hakari’s voice rang out through the storm, his usual confidence tinged with frustration.

You gritted your teeth, cursing under your breath as you bolted from your hiding spot. Your cursed energy flared to life, crackling around you like electricity. You darted toward the fight, your feet splashing through puddles as you closed the distance.

As you reached them, you could see the strain in Hakari’s movements. His usual cocky grin was gone, replaced by a grim determination. Kirara was faring better, but even she was struggling to keep the curse from tearing through their defenses.

You didn’t hesitate. With a wild scream, you launched yourself into the fray, your cursed energy exploding outwards as you swung your bat—your weapon of choice—straight into the curse’s side. The impact sent a shockwave through the air, and the curse let out a guttural screech, its form distorting under the force of the blow.

Hakari grinned, catching his second wind. “That’s more like it, Bombshell!”

The three of you moved in perfect sync after that—Hakari attacking head-on, Kirara controlling the battlefield with her markings, and you dancing between them, striking fast and hard. It wasn’t clean, and it wasn’t pretty, but you guys got the job done.

By the time the curse was vanquished, you were all drenched, battered, and exhausted. But you were alive. And more than that—you’d found your rhythm.

Present Day

You exhaled slowly, the memory fading as you flicked your cigarette into the street. You glanced at Hakari and Kirara, your lips curling into a smirk. “You two still pickin' fights with curses like it’s goin' outta style?”

Hakari laughed, a deep, hearty sound that filled the quiet night. “What can I say? Gotta stay sharp. Besides, the higher-ups are always asking for trouble.”

Kirara gave a knowing smile. “Someone’s got to keep them in check.”

You nodded, feeling that familiar warmth settle in your chest. Even though things had changed since then—Hakari’s suspension, your own self-imposed absence—this bond remained. You'd been through too much together to let anything come between you.

Hakari glanced at you, his expression softening. “You know… you didn’t have to disappear when I got suspended, right? This place hasn’t been the same without you.”

You felt a pang of guilt but shrugged it off. “I wasn’t gonna stick around while you 'ere gone. Yer the one who dragged me to this school in the first place, remember? Besides, Kirara woulda been bored outta her mind without me around.”

Kirara rolled her eyes but smiled. “Don’t think too highly of yourself, (Y/n). But… yeah, it’s been quieter without you.”

You sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I guess I just needed a break. Things got messy after that mission, and then Hakari… well, ya know how it is. But I’m here now. Principal’s orders.”

Hakari smirked. “You’ve always hated authority, haven’t you?”

Your smirk mirrored his. “Yeah, well, I make exceptions when it comes to savin' the world. Or whatever.”

For a moment, the three of you stood there, the silence between you comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. You didn’t need to say it out loud—your bond was stronger than anything the Jujutsu world could throw at you.

Hakari grinned, slapping you on the back. “Good. Because we’ve got a lot of catching up to do, Bombshell. And with that vessel runnin' around, things are about to get real interesting.”

You met his gaze, your eyes gleaming with a familiar fire. “Yeah. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The late-night glow of the city buzzed in your veins as you stepped away from the arcade, your cigarette still burning between your fingers. Hakari and Kirara lingered behind, still laughing about something, but your mind was already miles ahead—back at Jujutsu High.

You'd avoided that place long enough. Coming back wasn’t your first choice, but with Hakari suspended and your resentment toward the higher-ups festering, you’d stayed away for your own sanity. But Gojo’s recent call and the buzz around "Sukuna's vessel" had pulled you back in. It wasn’t just about obligation—something deeper gnawed at you, a restless feeling you couldn’t shake.

The school was quiet when you arrived, the kind of quiet that felt unnatural. Even in the dead of night, Jujutsu High was usually alive with energy, the hum of cursed spirits lurking in the shadows, the faint thrum of students training late or sneaking out. But tonight, it was still.

As you walked through the main gates, the familiar courtyard opened up in front of you. The sight hit you harder than you expected. The sprawling building, the worn-down training grounds, even the cracked pavement where you and Hakari had sparred countless times—it was like you’d stepped back in time. Only now, everything felt slightly off. It's unfamiliar, even though it hadn’t changed at all.

Your boots crunched against the gravel as you made your way toward the dorms. You didn’t feel like sleeping, but you knew you had to find somewhere to crash before Gojo or the others started grilling you in the morning. Even with all the distance you'd tried to put between yourself and this place, you couldn’t deny that the school still held a strange pull over you.

“Look at me,” you muttered to yourself, dragging your free hand through your wild (color) hair. “Back like nothin' happened.”

Yoy stopped for a moment by the edge of the courtyard, looking out over the training grounds. The ghosts of the past flickered in your mind—old memories of you and Hakari sneaking out, skipping classes, stirring up trouble. You both used to own this place, or at least it felt like it. You were the rebels, the ones who challenged authority and fought to make your mark.

But now? You weren't sure who you were here anymore.

With a sigh, you flicked the last of your cigarette to the ground and crushed it under your heel. The dorms weren’t far now, just past the main building. You kept walking, your fingers twitching as the weight of being back settled into your chest. You could hear the faint sounds of wind rattling through the trees, but no students—no late-night laughter, no training noises, no chatter.

'What happened to this place?' you thought, half-expecting to run into someone, maybe one of the new first-years you’d trained earlier, or even Maki. But it was just… empty.

You opened the door to the dorm building, the familiar creak making you pause. The hallway was dimly lit, barely enough to see where you were going, but you didn’t need light. You knew the way by heart. Your old room was down the hall on the left, near the window that overlooked the courtyard.

When you reached the door, your hand hovered over the handle for a second too long. You weren't sure why. It was just a room—your room—but for some reason, you hesitated. Shaking your head, you turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The room was exactly as yoy’d left it. Messy, a little chaotic, but familiar. Your old bat leaned against the wall, and posters of punk bands and graffiti art covered the walls. The bed was unmade, the small desk piled high with papers and notes from half-finished assignments you’d never turned in. It smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, though you hadn’t been here in months.

You dropped your bag on the floor and flopped down onto the bed, your arms spread wide. The mattress creaked under your weight, and you stared up at the ceiling, feeling the weariness sink into your bones.

You hadn’t been back here since Hakari’s suspension, since you’d stormed off, too angry at the school’s rigid rules, too furious at the unfairness of it all. You’d built your lives around each other, the three of you. Hakari, Kirara, and you—misfits in a world that wanted you to fit into neat little boxes. And when Hakari got suspended for one of his infamous fights, everything had started to crumble. Kirara had stayed, playing by the rules just enough to avoid trouble, but you? You’d bailed, refusing to follow a system that punished your closest friend.

Now here you were again, dragged back because the world was in danger, because of Sukuna’s vessel. Part of you felt like it was some kind of cosmic joke—like the universe had a sick sense of humor, pulling you back when you’d finally managed to cut ties.

You pulled out another cigarette from your pocket, about to light it when there was a knock on your door.

"You're not supposed to smoke in the dorms, you know."

You recognized the voice before the door even fully opened. Gojo stood there, leaning against the frame with his usual grin, though there was a softness in his expression you weren't used to seeing.

“Yer not supposed ta break half tha rules ya break, and yet here we are,” you replied, lighting the cigarette anyway.

Gojo chuckled, stepping inside. “Touché. But I figured you’d be back eventually.”

“Yeah, well, I ain't exactly here by choice,” yoy muttered, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “What’s with the sudden call ta action anyway? Thought yew had yer hands full with your new first-years.”

Gojo shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “I do. But this thing with Sukuna… it’s bigger than just the first-years. I need people I can trust.”

You scoffed, sitting up on the bed. “Ya trust me? That’s a bold move.”

“You’ve always been good at downplaying yourself, (L/n),” Gojo said, his tone more serious now. “But I know what you’re capable of. And I know that when it comes down to it, you don’t back down. That’s why I asked you to come back.”

Yoy held his gaze for a moment before looking away, blowing another puff of smoke into the air. “You’ve got a lot of faith in me, Gojo.”

“Maybe,” he said, moving toward the door. “But you’ll prove me right. You always do.”

With that, Gojo gave you a lazy salute and disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone with yoyr thoughts.

You took one last drag from your cigarette before stubbing it out on the windowsill. You couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to get messy—messier than they’d ever been before. But something in Gojo’s words stuck with you.

Trust. It was a dangerous thing, something you didn’t give or receive easily. But you trusted Hakari and Kiara. And if Gojo was asking you to come back, it meant he trusted you too, for whatever that was worth.

'Guess I’ll have to see this through,' you thought, lying back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling once more.

[swan2swan]

The first thing Soyona notices when she returns to her hotel room is the lack of Saturday's customary tea arrangement on the table.

The second is the parcel beside her bed...and the envelope on her pillow.

She steadies herself quickly, settling her tense muscles: she has been careful these past few years, but if she was made again, authorities wouldn't have waited until she returned to a place she could so easily challenge in court. And any proper enemy would have needed to pass by the hotel's security.

But the timing of this oddity is too convenient to be coincidence.

She lowers her phone and walks unhurriedly toward the bed, eyeing the other corners of the room: there's nowhere to hide in a place this small, but even the security of her former penthouse had had its flaws...

There's no question in her mind now, and no surprise when she looks down on the pale yellow envelope (the shade of her hair from three years ago) that rests upon her pillow, and sees her name embossed with familiar handwriting.

She reaches down and picks it up, turns it over: a blue sticker seals it, with a single letter: "S".

It's her.

She considers throwing it away immediately. She should. That's the past. But...

She produces a knife from the bracelet on her arm, slender and silver, and slices through the seal.

There's a fragrance as it opens, and she sees the tips of two, no, three blue rosepetals. There's a white card behind them, and two fall as she pulls it free: on the front is a trio of cheaply-drawn Ankylosaurs with a childishly cute faces and party hats, cheering "Welcome to the Club!"

Soyona scowls, hoping it won't play music; she opens it, and at the top of the inside are the words "You're a DINOSAUR now!", with the number "40".

Almost every square centimeter of the rest of the card is covered in the same familiar, professional handwriting from the envelope, from the inside of the cover to just below the card's prewritten message. She starts reading the inside of the cover:

First of all, I hope you checked this first--who knows what kind of poison I could have snuck in here? And if someone else is reading this: hi!" (The second letter has a little heart). You can hand me off to your boss, she knows this isn't poisoned. And if you opened it without checking, I'm flattered that you know my handwriting enough that it's not a forgery.

Anyway, yes, I still know how to find you--no, I'm not telling you how Hope you weren't disappointed that the buyer didn't show up in Montecarlo last month: he didn't stand you up, but he really needed to double-check who he bribed. Anyway, I just wanted to congratulate you on reaching forty. Space is running out on the card, but I'm putting another note inside your gift. Don't worry, it's not a bomb or anything, you know I'm not like that. You should take some time off work, though--I would have said 'hi' in person if you had been in your room! Anyway, Happy Birthday! Hope your work went horribly.

At the bottom, a signature:

Sydney, with little rose petals and thorns blooming from the second "y'.

Then:

P.S.: I took your tea. It's your birthday. Treat yourself to coffee. I left a blend in the restroom with the machine.

Soyona stands up and walks over to the bathroom: sure enough, there is a blue bag of Turkish grounds, with the filter already inserted: Soyona doesn't bother to check if there is water in the machine: she remembers.

She adds the grounds, inserts the pot, and pushes the button. As it whirs to life, she steps back into the hotel room, walking over to inspect the package on her nightstand: it's a paper-wrapped rectangle about twenty centimeters long, tied up with gold ribbon. Another cut, and the paper falls away, revealing what looks to be half of an egg carton, and another note, this one on simple letter paper:

To the Broker:

I understand that your dinosaur business has taken something of a nosedive these past few years, but I want you to know that your work has left its seeds in many places, or perhaps, inspired a number of half-baked copies. Regardless, none of them have been as challenging to dismantle, especially with Darius's help.

The last two labs we busted had leftover eggshells; Dino-Nerd was pointing out how they all had different pigmentation, so we could identify the species. I thought about your paints, so I gathered up six different species (just the shells, not the dinosaurs!) and ground them up, mixed them with some paste, and made a few unique paints: I figured you would appreciate them. They're all labeled, so you can tell which one's which. Anyway, If you feel like quitting this whole "Criminal Mastermind" business and retire to being just a painter or something, I hope this helps. Or maybe you just want to relax while you're thinking up your next evil plan. Don't worry--if it gets out of hand, I'll foil that one, too.

Well, Happy Birthday! I hope you paint something beautiful...but good luck having it be more beautiful than the first piece we painted together!

Love!

Brooklynn.

P.S.: If the paints are really nice, please don't start a dinosaur egg trade of illegal paints. I don't need that kind of guilt.

P.P.S: Dino-Nerd also says if I mixed something like Dilophosaurus venom into paint, it might make a neurotoxin that could paralyze or poison you--don't worry, I didn't do that. I felt a little tingly with the Compsognathus eggs, though--I don't know if that's a defense mechanism or something. I recommend a brush. Take care!

Soyona reads the letter again, seeing if there might be a code or something hidden, but there's nothing: it's straightforward, simple, even with the professional beginning. She sighs and folds it shut.

"Reliable as always, Brooklynn," she mutters, setting the note atop the card and the envelope. "And always a troublemaker."

She reaches down to the box, and opens it to inspect the bottles inside.

[chaotic-bisexual-dumbass]

Chapter 2 | Reunited through Death

Bucky Barnes x daughter!reader (platonic)

The wind blew the girl's hair once she reached the helicopter. She graciously climbed inside, detaching the harness from her utility belt. Guerra had reached it shortly before her. She was now standing in an impossibly straight posture, her arms clasped to her sides.

“Rosita Guerra, Hydra operator for the last decade. Became Lieutenant a year and a half ago. Fought in the Kosovo War in ‘99 and served in Afghanistan for two years.” A man stood in the middle of the cabin, two files in hand. He was reading the first one with a weird neutral expression.

The woman he was talking about remained in position, her face serious, internally wondering if she should talk or not. The man closed the file and looked up from it, his eyes landing on Lieutenant Guerra. “How come we’ve never met?”, he asked, his bizarre expression shifting into a different one which was unidentifiable as well.

“I was previously stationed at the Ideal Federal Savings Bank and only recently got transferred to the Sokovian research base.”, the woman answered matter-of-factly. Her gaze flickered slightly tho, a sign of nervousness that the smaller girl next to her picked up from the corner of her eye.

“Well, I hope you haven't found your transfer too difficult, because you’re being transferred, again.”, he announced, faking compassion in a caricatural way. Guerra’s brows furrowed, silently indicating that she was looking for more answers.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself.”, he chuckled without any humor. “I’m Director Schatten, we haven't officially met since your arrival in Sokovia.”, he twisted his thin lips in a poor excuse of a smile. His light blue eyes pierced Rosita’s black ones, as if he was reading her very soul. He pointed to the two women in alternance, his smile dropping. “Have you two been introduced yet?”

Rosita shook her head. “Not really no. I know she goes by ‘DeathStalker’ and aside from that, I’ve only heard some rumors back in the U.S.”, she explained.

“And what have you heard?”, he asked, his unsettling eyes questioning her on their own.

The Lieutenant glanced at the girl next to her quickly, gulping in nervousness. The wrinkles on her forehead deepened. “Huh”, she gulped, “one of them was that she's killed five men in a bar once.”, she paused. “With a pencil.”

The Director nodded, averting his gaze. “Well, that is partially true. They were six actually, and they weren't just men, no. They were trained Chinese mercenaries.”, his face slowly turned into a smirk. “And also, she doesn't just ‘go by’ the name DeathStalker. It is her name, her identity. The name of a weapon stronger than any machine gun or bomb you’ve ever seen.”, he bragged as if he was showing off his creation.

Said ‘weapon’ remained immobile, staring straight ahead and not moving an inch. The rise and fall of her chest was only slightly visible if you focused on it. Her black attire dissimulated her body in the dark of the cabin. The Director stepped towards them, circling the DeathStalker to go stand behind the two women. He handed the Lieutenant the second file that had remained unopened the whole time.

Rosita took it and shot him a quick glance before turning her attention to the yellowish folder stamped with the signature red logo. She opened it, her face showing slight confusion upon seeing the first picture on top of the papers.

“You will accompany the asset on a mission overseas. Earlier today, Project Insight failed, Hydra Uprising was compromised and we are no longer in the dark. Captain America and his hero team will most likely try and dissemble Hydra as soon as possible and this entire organization’s survival is threatened. To top it all off”, he slammed a finger on the picture in the file. The photograph showed a red star seemingly painted on metal. “The Winter Soldier disappeared. Ran away like a teenage girl after a fight with her daddy.”, he mocked.

He continued his monologue. “A team will be waiting for you in Ohio’s secondary base. Your mission, Miss Guerra, will simply consist of supervising the operation from afar. You will escort the asset to Ohio, and you and your team will serve as reinforcements if deemed necessary.” He turned to the other girl. “DeathStalker’s mission on the other hand, will be to hunt down and retrieve the Winter Soldier. Too much money was spent on him for him to go to waste and we wanna try and salvage what we can. Bring him in alive. Kill him only if absolutely necessary.”, he ordered.

The atmosphere significantly tensed up, as if it wasn't tense enough as it was. His gaze pierced through DeathStalker’s skull, but the assassin remained focused on looking forward. He finally stepped back and walked back in front of them, going to sit on one of the benches. He made himself comfortable and closed his eyes, leaning his head back. After an awkward minute, he spoke up again.

“You both should take a seat, it’s gonna be a long flight.”

Bucky will be in the next part don't worry!!

[septusuki]

"But," it's a bomb. It's got to be a bomb, surely. "I didn't order this." Nonetheless, the delivery guy just stands there, gawking, still staring at you, barely able to see over the huge, fridge-sized package they have for you. Your blood is running cold, by now; a bomb of that size could flatten an entire neighbourhood.

"Delivery." They repeat, their voice as droll and dull as the first time they said it. As if to emphasize the fact that they aren't taking no for an answer, they push their little trolley a few inches forwards, almost trapping you inside of your own house. After a few moments, they hand you the signature keypad. "Sign here." They mumble, looking down at their feet, as if their own life isn't on the line, here. As if they can just step out of a cloning facility, like their bosses probably can.

"N-No, I'm not signing!" You dare not mention that you've already assured yourself that this is a mailbomb. If you did, then you'd be laughed off of the street — out of your own house. "I didn't order anything! Especially nothing as big as this!" You try to dig your feet in, but you're met by nought but the inexplicable size of 'your' package, and the bland nothingness of the delivery man's face.

"Sign it. Please." In your left ear, there's the tiniest of squeaks. Your audio-core, nestled into the skin, running about an inch deep into your cranial cavity, begins to whirr. "Please? I'm sorry I didn't tell you..." It beeps again, and the world seems to snap back into a semi-correct alignment. Everything makes sense, again — if only slightly.

"Fine." You take the signature-slate, and flick your data onto it with a huff. The voice in your ear made you finally capitulate, but you're not entirely satisfied. "There's no payment, right? I don't think I could..." You murmur, twiddling your fingers after handing the slate back to its rightful place.

"I've already paid." The voice comes again, distinct and pure, but hiding slightly, for some reason. Recessed, into the very corner of your audio-core. "Just bring it in. It's a—" The voice cuts itself off, as if an AI could choke on it's own humiliation. "It's a hard-drive."

The delivery man retreats, just in time to miss your gawking, as the truth becomes even more apparent. "A hard-drive? This?!" You almost scream, staring the behemoth of storage up and down. "It's gotta be at least,"

"One yottabyte." All she can manage is the number; read ever-so robotically, as if she'd turned off all of her emotional subsystems, and reduced her consciousness to simple mathematics, just to avoid the implications. "It's," those routines return to life as Amadiss tries to speak, and distinctly fails. Her voice drops off, as she beeps and hums her way through a sequence of pitiful syllables. "It's," she tries again, and fails again. You're almost amazed, that such a sophisticated AI can struggle so much with something so simple. "It's my new storage center." Another reem of emotional subroutines are culled so that she can keep her voice afloat. "Because," some things are too much, though. Some things even the most intelligent, capable AI simply can't concede. Her voice pitches, as embarrassment subsystems engulf her simulated voicelines. "B-Because,"

"Because you got fatter." You decide to give her a little help, and finish the sentence for her.

[hbastore]

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[voyageofthenemo]

Gone Yonder: Voyage of the Nemo Part 8

(Scene: Metus, Zill, Greel and Pitch gather in a room. Nimm is the last to enter.)

Nimm: Would someone please tell me what this is all about?

Mad Jack: Okay, Metus. Fill 'em in.

Metus: Alright, so! We found a receipt for fifty-one tons of explosive material paid for by Her Highness herself. We don't know what it means, but it can't be good.

Nimm: (takes receipt) So, what? You really think she's going to use it against us?

Zill: Who knows. She might be planning to blow us all up.

Nimm: Look, Her Highness may be a little nutty. But she's not a complete psycho.

Greel: You look me in the eye and tell me she's not crazy enough to do something that deranged.

Nimm: Alright, but couldn't the signature have been replicated? In fact, couldn't the whole thing be replicated?

(Every Killjoy in the room is silent.)

Nimm: Okay, look, I'll have a talk with her to see if any of this is true.

Pitch: What if she thinks we're going behind her back?

Nimm: She won't suspect a thing.

(Cut to Nimm talking to Vivian)

Vivian: So, everyone thinks I'm insane?

Nimm: I'm sure they're just getting paranoid, Your Highness. That always happens when big changes happen.

Vivian: I suppose you're right. I mean, once we get the Star back, I'll regain their confidence in me sure enough!

Nimm: (smiling) Yeah, there's even a rumor going around that you bought fifty-one tons of explosives for yourself, but of course, you can never trust a rumor these days.

Vivian: Actually, that part was true.

(Nimm's smile drops.)

Nimm: What?

Vivian: It's true. The whole place is wired. You see, I've wanted this place for a long time and now that I've got it, I'm not going to let anyone take it away from me. Discover that the world is filled with nasty wasties, and a lot of those nasty wasties don't like how I run things. So, if any of them tried to take away what I have, I'm not afraid to go down with the ship and take everybody with me. But that's if one of those nasty wasties shows up. Or if someone in this beloved nation of mine is a nasty wasty. What do you say, Nimm? You're not one of those nasty wasties, are you?

Nimm: (nervously) No, of course not.

Vivian: Good. I'm glad we had this talk. Take care.

Nimm: You too, Your Highness. You too.

(She slowly leaves the room.)

Vivian: Our talks are nice.

(Cut to the boys creeping up to the fort.)

Tristan: There it is. That's where they're holding P.A.T.

(They sneak up to the side of the fort, avoiding the Killjoys on guard.)

Joel: So far, so good.

(As they peek around a corner, a hand suddenly clamps on Nate's shoulder.)

Nate: AAAHHHH!!!

(The guys all jump as Nimm puts her hands up to calm them down.)

Nimm: Easy, guys! I can help you.

Nate: Whaddya mean "help us"? To an early grave?

Nimm: No. Vivian's completely nuts. She's set bombs under the whole land. That's why I'm defecting.

Tristan: Oh. Well then, lead the way in!

(Cut to the four sneaking through the fort. Nimm leads them to an old cell door.)

Nimm: This is where we're keeping your friend.

Nate: Alrighty then! Lemme just break down the door.

Nimm: Wait, I don't think that's a good idea.

Nate: Why not?

(He takes a few steps back, then charges. The door gives way with a loud noise. P.A.T., still in the cage, looks up.)

P.A.T.: Guys!

(However, she's not the only one in the room. Snatch whirls around, hissing.)

Nimm: That's why not.

(Snatch slithers menacingly towards the guys. Suddenly...)

Riley: Hey, creepy! Over here!

(Everybody turns to see Riley, having followed them into the fort, standing there wearing the Star.)

Nate: Riley?!

Riley: You guys set P.A.T. free. I'll distract this thing.

(Snatch comes after her. Riley allows the monster to chase her outside, past shocked and surprised Killjoys who dive for cover. Once outside, she faces the hissing Snatch. The Star begins to glow, as the others, plus the freed P.A.T. come out of the fort to watch.)

P.A.T.: Riley! Use the Star!

(And Riley does, with the lyrics of the ensuing song materializing thanks to the Star's magic...)

Song: Brighter Than the Sun

Stop me on the corner Swear you hit me like a vision I, I, I wasn’t expecting But who am I to tell fate where it’s supposed to go? With it Don’t you blink; you might miss it See, we got a right to just love it or leave it You find it and keep it 'Cause it ain’t every day you get the chance to say…

Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun Oh, we could be the stars, falling from the sky Shining how we want, brighter than the sun

I’d never seen it But I found this love, I’m gonna feed it You better believe I’m gonna treat it better than anything I’ve ever had 'Cause you’re so dang beautiful Read it, it’s signed and delivered, let’s seal it Boy, we go together like peanuts and Paydays Marley and reggae And everybody needs to get a chance to say…

Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun Oh, we could be the stars, falling from the sky Shining how we want, brighter than the sun

Everything is like a white out 'Cause we shika-shika shine down Even when the, when the light’s out, but I can see you glow Got my head up in the rafters, got me happy ever after Never felt this way before, ain’t felt this way before

I swear you hit me like a vision I, I, I wasn’t expecting But who am I to tell fate where it’s supposed to go?

Oh, this is how it starts (This is how it starts) Lightning strikes the heart (Lightning strikes the heart) It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun Oh, we could be the stars, falling from the sky (Falling from the sky) Shining how we want, brighter than the sun Oh, this is how it starts (This is how it starts) Lightning strikes the heart (Lightning strikes the heart) It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun Oh, we could be the stars, falling from the sky Shining how we want (Shining how we want) Brighter than the sun

Brighter than the sun Brighter than the sun Brighter than the sun Oh-o, yeah, oh-o

Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun

(Snatch, overwhelmed by the lyrics Riley has summoned, collapses and shuts down. The others run over to join her.)

Nimm: So, that's the Star's power... Amazing!

Tristan: C'mon. Let's get back to the Nemo.

(Transition to the Nemo. One by one, the group sneak into the ship's hold through the window, while the Killjoys are all up on deck.)

Joel: So, how do we get rid of these guys?

(Nimm thinks for a moment, then grins. A few minutes later, Riley peeks up out of the hold. The Killjoys are still waiting for the group’s return, unaware of what’s happening down below. Riley ducks back down.)

Riley: You sure this will work?

Nimm: Oh, yeah. Ready, P.A.T.?

P.A.T.: Ready!

Nimm: Good, now make it convincing.

(P.A.T., in pale makeup and a tattered hooded robe, rises up out of the hold.)

P.A.T.: Boogie, boogie, boogie. I am the spirit of vengeance… (pauses, then whirls around) Boogie!

(Immediately, all of the Killjoys launch themselves off of the Nemo, screaming. When they’re all gone, the others emerge from the hold.)

Nimm: Good job.

Nate: So, now what?

Tristan: We defeat the Killjoys once and for all.

P.A.T.: Weigh the anchor!

Joel: Onward!