#and if they are going to have me always doing automation

[quillvice]

"was there a reason you didn't cancel this" honestly I thought I had so no there wasn't a reason but also if clients are going to have Your personal number and reach out to You about canceling (when they Should be reaching out via email per our cancelation policy) then You should be canceling the appt anyway imo. all the other trainers cancel their appointments AND add their appointments to the system 🤪

[oodlenoodleroodle]

Team up with someone else to divide the tasks between you (most people do it with a spouse but it doesn't have to be a spouse).

[la-patrona-magdalena]

Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Translation or reposting to other platforms is also strictly prohibited without the author's permission. Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

prologue - Next chapter

Masterlist

Chapter one - A glimpse into the family secret

The knight of the night, the man with a thousand plans, Gotham's greatest detective, was holding his daughter, Serelith, with such tenderness and delicacy. She was crying in her arms, scared. And rightly so: Serelith had never lived through anything like this before. Her other siblings had some pity for her now, even Damian showed a hint of sympathy, probably because of the fear they all felt over what could’ve happened to her at the Joker’s hands.

Then there was the other daughter. Batman's illegitimate child, the youngest of the Waynes, no, the youngest of the Valfinsas, watching with tearful eyes from behind the bars as the family she grew up with held their blood daughter close. Leaving her alone.

The Joker just laughed, shoving the girl hard against the bars. -Hahaha! Looks like Batsy's got his favorites- he laughed louder. All the girl could do was stare through tearful eyes, praying, just once. for someone to turn around. To look at you.

-The Joker can wait. Priority is getting Serelith out of here- That’s what Dick said. The perfect big brother. Someone who, like her, had also been adopted. He handed Serelith a pill and a bottle of water. Carefully, they took Serelith away, leaving the building where the two of them had been held captive.Leaving you there. Not looking back. Not noticing you were missing.

The Joker let out a cold laugh, already getting ready to have fun with the new toy Bruce had left behind. -Don’t worry. I won’t take my eyes off you- he scoffed, looking right at you as you cried. How you wished you had gotten out of here, out of a place where no one ever looked at you.

You threw the comic across the bed, looking at it like it was the devil himself.

A few weeks ago, you'd decided to try reading comics to bond with your family. You'd once overheard Stephanie teasing Damian about reading and drawing manga, and maybe Tim might be into it too, right? After all, there are games based on comics. So, you spent your allowance on one, hoping it'd at least end with you arguing with Damian about the difference between manga and comics, or maybe Tim would recommend one based on one of his games.

You'd gone to a store after finishing your homeschooling session with Alfred, browsed a few comics, and then, suddenly, felt a strong bump against your side, right where your bag was hanging. When you looked down, you noticed three comics had fallen to the floor. You tried putting them back, but couldn’t figure out where they were supposed to go. With no other option, you looked for help from the clerk—who didn’t even bother to pay attention to you.

-Another kid trying to sneak in their hero stories? Listen, girl, you're not going to get famous just because someone randomly reads a comic drawn by a 12 years old-.

No matter how much you insisted they weren't yours, he didn't believe you. You got kicked out of the store. Great. But hey, at least you had three new comics to read for free! And not just any comics, they were about Gotham's great vigilante himself! Not exactly what you were going for, but maybe you'd get to connect with someone in your family by talking about the city's crime and its paper version.

You got back to Wayne Manor all excited, and started reading the three comics that had literally fallen from the sky.

And that's how you ended up here.

Batman: Bloodline. That was the name of the comic saga you just finished reading, the one that left a bitter taste in your mouth. At first, after reading the opening pages, you thought it was fake, a bad joke, some prankster who thought it would be hilarious to realistically draw the millionaire playboy dressed as a bat, acting as Gotham’s nocturnal hero. No wonder the shop clerk didn’t believe you. This probably wouldn’t help you get any closer to your brothers, but maybe if you showed it to Dick or Jason, they’d make fun of Bruce with you. So you kept reading.

But then all your siblings showed up, as the Robins and the Batgirls. And then you appeared. Not playing any role, not as a hero, just you. The daughter born from one of Bruce’s deepest loves, a model beautiful both inside and out, who had died just days after giving birth to you. A child who looked nothing like her mother, and even less like her father.

Everything was… eerily accurate. The mannerisms, the backstories, everyone’s personalities, they were spot on. Even the inside of the manor was a perfect match! You kept reading, uneasily, and that’s when she showed up: a girl with Bruce’s same stoic seriousness, and your mother’s same warmth. The drawing copied her features almost perfectly.

The comic was about her; Serelith. How she was found, as the original daughter. How she adapted to the family. And finally, how you and she were kidnapped by the Joker. How the family saved her. And left you behind.

You don’t want to believe it. Even if that girl crying behind the bars looked so much like you. Even if every detail lined up so perfectly. You didn’t want to believe that this family, the same one you beg and plead for even a crumb of love, forgot about you in such a horrible moment.

You hide the three comics under your pillow. You refuse to eat when Alfred calls for dinner, and you fake being asleep until the night falls.

You look at the time on the cat-shaped clock hanging on the wall waiting for the right moment to come. You get up from bed and carefully make your way through the giant manor, until you’re standing in the same room where the old clock is. If it’s true, if they’re really Gotham’s vigilantes , they would notice immediately, and all of this will have been for nothing… or maybe they won’t even glance in your direction.

You didn’t see anyone for a few minutes from your hiding spot. You thought maybe they’d glanced in your direction, and were just waiting for you to leave.

Until you saw Tim, Zesti drink in hand, clear signs of sleeplessness under his eyes, dark circles, and wearing his Red Robin suit, walk up to the clock and set the time to 10:47. The same time as in the comic.

You felt your heart beating faster and faster. You wanted to cry just from seeing that time there, right in front of you. Mocking you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You ran off, tripping over a few things along the way.

You got to your room and threw yourself into bed. You could feel the comics crinkle beneath your pillow as you laid your head down, just like your heart crumbled when you realized… that part of the comic was real. Which meant not only that you weren’t the daughter of that woman, but that all these years, and all the ones still to come, meant nothing to your family.

You feel the tears slowly forming in your eyes. You want to do something, think of a plan to avoid the day you end up in the Joker’s hands, but your mind is clouded. You try to sit up, feeling the anxiety course through your body. You need to start planning how to escape the Joker, how to live away from the Waynes. You don’t have time for whatever’s happening to you. Your trembling hand goes to search for the comics under your pillow, but it freezes when you hear someone knock on the door and then open it without waiting for an answer.

You turn to look at the entrance, finding Tim there, clearly exhausted. Your hands shift to clutch the sheets, gripping them tightly as you see Tim in his Red Robin suit standing in front of you.

Tim’s had a rough few days. He hasn’t slept well due to a case, and there’s a small crisis at Wayne Enterprises. He almost went without a shower for more than a week, he was close to breaking his own record. The lack of sleep made his instincts and everything he’s learned as a Robin falter. Even so, he insisted on going out tonight to look for clues. He got dressed and ready to leave with the others, and with a brain half-asleep, he didn’t realize something, or someone, was watching him as he was about to leave. Until he heard a noise that alerted him. By reflex, he turned to look and saw your smaller figure collide with a couch, then get up and keep running.

The sleep vanished in an instant, and on instinct, he ran after you, thinking about how he would convince you not to tell Bruce you’d seen him.

He opened the door without asking, just knocking out of courtesy, expecting to find you excited, shouting with joy at the discovery that your older brother was one of Gotham’s heroes. But instead, he saw you, breathing heavily, clutching the sheets tightly, crying.

You’ve always been sensitive, crying over the loss of your mother or because Bruce didn’t give you attention. He’d always agreed with Steph and Jason that you might be overreacting. Everyone in the family had lost someone, and it’s hard for Bruce to give more attention with so many kids and the mantle of Batman weighing on him. Even if you didn’t know the latest, you should be more patient. Besides, didn’t you have Damian keeping you company? And he was sure that at least once, you’d gone to the library with Babs…

Even though part of him thought you were exaggerating, the way you cried now, the way you trembled and avoided looking at him like he was a traitor, told him this time was different. And it made him feel something pressing inside of him.

He slowly approached the bed and sat next to you, studying you more carefully. You seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack. He tried calling your name to get your attention, but you didn’t respond.

Tim quickly thought about how to calm you down. You weren’t quite in the middle of an anxiety attack yet, so he might be able to stop it from escalating. He scanned your room, searching for something that might help him hold you steady.

…

Has your room always been this… empty? For being the daughter of a model and a millionaire, one would expect your room to be full of toys and luxuries. But it’s almost bare. There are a few things visible: misshapen cushions with exposed threads, a blanket of mismatched colors, and some decorations hanging from the shelves and walls, arranged from the ugliest to the most beautiful.

For your luck, he manages to spot a small blue plush dog on a shelf. He quickly grabs it and forces it into your smaller, more fragile hands.

– Squeeze – He orders. You obey. Your mind, at some point, kept replaying the comic's drawings, where they abandoned you, where the same person in front of you did nothing.

– Breathe with me, at least once, breathe – Tim's voice reaches your ears. By instinct, you follow, tightening the plush toy even more in your hands. The images slowly fade from your mind, what you felt could’ve been worse begins to vanish, and your tearful gaze meets a pair of blue eyes looking back at you with concern.

Tim feels a small relief inside him that you didn’t end up in a full-blown panic attack, but he's still worried about you. Why did finding out it was Red Robin cause that reaction? Why, all of a sudden, aren’t you looking at him with pleading eyes wanting attention, but instead, avoiding his gaze? The silence between you two forms slowly, becoming more noticeable, until you wipe away your tears. You summon strength to look at him and break the silence with a voice firm but trembling slightly.

–I won’t tell anyone you’re Red Robin… I promise… you can leave now – You didn’t feel like explaining to Tim that you found a comic from the future, you weren’t even sure he would believe you, or if he would listen.

He, on the other hand, was shocked. Were you kicking him out of your room? Was this your reaction to finding out he's Red Robin? Did you not care? What's wrong with you? He looked at you, still incredulous. Why were you acting like this all of a sudden? Or had you always been, and I just hadn’t paid enough attention to you? He replayed the events of the week in his mind, remembering that you once talked about going to buy comics, maybe like you tried to talk at dinner… dinner from… how long ago was that? He kept going over what he remembered, what could’ve triggered your near panic attack? Why weren’t you looking at him like before? And why, now that you did, was it with coldness and pain? Then it clicked. Maybe you heard his recent conversation with Jason? Both had mentioned what he talked about with Steph, how sometimes you cried too much and seemed exaggerated. Was that it? That was probably it, right? Maybe not the reason for your near anxiety crisis, but it was definitely why you wanted him out of your room. You didn’t want him to keep seeing you like this, did you? Well, he wasn’t the best at handling emotions, that was more Dick’s thing, but still, he couldn’t leave you emotionally constipated. They already had enough of that from Bruce, Jason, and Damian. So, he left your room, informed Bruce that he wouldn’t go out with them tonight, changed out of his suit into pajamas, and came back to your room. You looked at him confused. He didn’t blame you, he had never been close to you like this before, but now, he wanted to be. He wanted you to stop looking at him like that.

Thank God you took the opportunity when Tim left to move the comics. You couldn’t do much, just toss them under your bed. You were hoping he wouldn’t look there now that it seemed he wanted to sleep in your room. He lay next to you, and you gave him his space. You both stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, until he finally decided to break it.

–Are you okay?–

It was a simple question, short and direct, yet you just stared at the ceiling. Thinking about his question and everything else.

Some comics, from who knows where, revealed to you that this isn’t your biological family, that they’re also Gotham’s vigilantes, and that for a girl they’d known for only a few months, they abandoned you; To the daughter who, even if not by blood, had been part of the family all its life

Should you have seen it coming? Yes. Ever since you can remember, no one in this family has really worried about you, paid attention to you, or even looked at you. No parent events, no movie nights, nothing. You don’t have memories of anyone except Alfred giving you ice cream for every good grade on your tests.

Why were they different with you? More than half of the family doesn’t share blood, yet they still love and care for each other. Couldn’t you get just a little bit of that affection? What was different?

Was it because you took the place of your mother’s true daughter? Maybe they always felt like you didn’t belong, like you weren’t what they expected.

Serelith was the original, the real one. That’s why she earned their affection. That’s why everyone else cares about her. Not even your brothers… No, not even Bruce’s adopted sons or his two biological children lied. Only you. You were the only one who entered the family through a lie you never even told.

They’re detectives. Even if they don’t say anything or investigate, their instincts probably tell them you’re not who you’re supposed to be…

And now that you’ve confirmed the comics are real, it means you’re destined to suffer at the hands of the Joker.

In the comics, he finds out about Bruce’s “beloved” daughters, the only ones in the family who aren’t vigilantes, and kidnaps both of you. The family quickly comes up with a plan to search for you… to search for her. Bruce and the others completely forget you exist, leaving you at the mercy of one of Gotham’s worst criminals.

Were you okay? …No, you weren’t. Not while you remained in this family that doesn’t really feel like yours. What you want most now is to get out of here, for the Joker to never see you as Batman’s daughter, for no one to see you at all, until you’re far from where you never belonged. Only then would you be okay. But for now…

– Yeah, I’m fine – you answered, sounding a little too calm for Tim’s liking. He just sighed beside you and turned to face the other way. He couldn’t bear to look at you. Tomorrow, he’d make sure to finish the case and the situation at Wayne Enterprises as fast as possible, so he could focus entirely on figuring out what was going on with you. – Good night – Tim said as he tried to fall asleep. – Good night – you answered, turning your back to him as well, already thinking about how you’d make a plan tomorrow to leave this place as soon as possible.

This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but I had trouble concentrating and translating it into English. I’ll try to update this fic every Friday, or at least every two weeks if time allows. If for some reason I can’t stick to the two-week schedule (which probably means I have writer’s block and won’t be writing for a while), I’ll let you know. I’ll probably update on Ao3 first because the fanfic was originally written in my native language, and I’m posting everything there in its original form, in case anyone wants to check it out. On another note, I wonder if anyone will notice that the section dividers are different, one has Batfam and Philomel images in the background, and the other is empty…

Taglist

@lettucel0ver @sirenetheblogger

[th3mrskory]

Unspoken Desires

Pairing: fem!Reader x Old Man!Logan

Warning: 18+ MDNI, SMUT,explicit language, coercion (if you squint), oral (male/female receiving), handjob, fingering, unprotected p in v, missionary, doggy style, anal play, creampie.

Summary: Y/N is always the one taking care of everyone, but tonight Logan decides it’s her turn to let go. Rough, tender, and unapologetically intense, he’ll make sure she doesn’t forget who’s in charge—or how good it feels to be taken care of for once.

Word count: 5.6k

A/N: As @coocoocachewgotscrewed so brilliantly put it, 'As the girl that takes care of everyone: SOMEONE TAKE CARE OF ME.' And that’s how this little fic came to life.

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The world had never been kind to her softness. In her youth, she'd learned early that the only way to survive was to take up space, to become a force others couldn't ignore, even if they didn't understand it. She had built walls from the ground up, stone by stone until they formed a fortress no one could breach. She had everything together—mostly. She had to. People depended on her and needed her strength to carry them through the chaos of life, so she did. She carried it all. Always.

But there were moments—quiet moments, when the world was still—when the weight of it all pressed against her chest, relentless. The loneliness in her veins. The unspoken ache buried deep within her ribs.

She never asked for help. She didn't need it. Her hands were too used to giving. And when she laughed, when she made jokes about being single—"Men want to be babied. I don't have time to raise a child."—it was easier to mask the truth. It was easier to hide the hunger that lingered beneath her words. The hunger for something she couldn't name, something too soft to fit into the life she'd built.

It was supposed to be just another day, another task, another moment in the long string of motions she went through without thought. But then she saw him—Logan, standing there with that quiet, raw strength of his. The way he didn't try to impress anyone, didn't need to, because the power in him was as much in his silence as it was in his actions. There was no pretense. No façade.

And she hated that it drew her in. 

She hated how much she wanted him—him, the one man who wouldn't cower in her presence, the one who wouldn't need her to be anything other than exactly what she was.

She noticed him more these days, more than she cared to admit. She tried to bury the thoughts, to ignore the way her heart would quicken whenever he was near, the way her body seemed to ache for something it didn't know how to name.

Logan saw it, though. He always did. The way she wore that strength-like armor. But he'd spent enough time with it to know what armor looked like—he knew what it meant to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and never let anyone see how heavy it was.

He didn't pity her. Hell, he admired her more than anyone he'd ever known. But he saw the cracks. The storm churned behind her eyes. The way she pulled away just when things might have gotten too real, too close. 

She never let anyone in.

But he wasn't afraid of it. Not of her. Not of that ferocity.

And so, on that night, after a thousand little things had piled up until there was no room left for her to breathe, it came out.

Her words were sharp, and cutting, but they were the truth. The raw, jagged truth that she never allowed to be spoken. She was tired of pretending. Tired of holding the world together when no one saw her crumble beneath it.

"What, you think I don't need help? You think I like doing everything myself?" Her voice trembled only slightly, a crack in the fortress that she had so carefully built.

He didn't flinch. Didn't back away. He'd seen that wall before, and he didn't fear it.

He only stepped closer, his presence as solid as the ground beneath them.

"I think you're too damn stubborn to ask for it," he said, his voice low, but the understanding in it was enough to make her heart catch in her throat.

For a moment, the world paused. The storm inside her stilled, and she saw it—really saw it for the first time. He wasn't afraid of her strength. He didn't want to tear it down. He just wanted to be there, beside her, when it all became too much to bear.

He didn't need to fix her. He didn't need to save her.

He just needed to let her be.

Let her lean into him. Let her rest.

Her breath caught as she stepped toward him, her hands trembling, unsure but desperate. For once, she wasn't the one giving. For once, she could be held, could be taken care of. 

Logan's hands were steady, as they always were, but now, they weren't just offering strength. They were offering safety—something she hadn't realized she'd been searching for all along. 

"Hey," he whispered, his voice low, soothing. "You don't have to be strong all the time. You're allowed to let it out." 

The words broke something inside her. Heat prickled behind her eyes, and her chest heaved with the weight of everything she'd kept buried. 

Logan didn't move. He didn't push. He just let her cry, his hand resting firm and comforting on her back, his presence solid as the ground beneath her. 

"Y/N..." His voice was softer now, laced with something she couldn't quite place. Gently, his hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears with a tenderness that made her knees weak. 

"You don't have to carry it all, bub. Let me in, just this once." 

Her hands shook as she pressed them to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Grounding her. And when she rubbed her cheek against his palm, the motion instinctive, something inside her gave way. 

Her eyes fell to his lips. The urge to kiss him became impossible to ignore. 

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead, but then he paused, his gaze locking with hers. 

She couldn't stop herself. She leaned in, kissing him hard, desperate for the release, the comfort, the closeness. It was a kiss that broke everything wide open—a kiss that held the weight of everything they'd both been holding back. 

The kiss deepened, the world narrowing to the warmth of his lips and the solid strength of his hands still cradling her face. She felt the tension in her chest unravel, replaced by a need that clawed at her, desperate and all-consuming.

Logan didn't rush. He never did. His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, tracing over her arms until his fingers wrapped around her wrists. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his breath hot against her lips.

"No walls. No fightin'. Just let me.", he murmured, his voice gravelly and sure, sending a shiver down her spine. The words hit her like a hammer, shattering the last of her defenses. She wasn't used to this, wasn't used to handing over the reins, but with Logan, it felt...safe. Right.

Her pulse thundered as she nodded, the tiniest of movements, but it was enough for him.

Logan's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile before he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands guiding hers up and over her head. Her fingers curled instinctively as he pinned her wrists against the wall behind her, the roughness of the surface contrasting with the gentleness of his touch.

"Just let me make you feel good," he said, his voice low and commanding. She exhaled shakily, her head tilting back as his mouth moved to her neck, teeth scraping lightly against her skin before his tongue soothed the spot. Her body arched into him, her hips pressing forward, seeking more, needing more.

"Logan..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in the sound of his name.

He hummed against her throat, one hand still holding her wrists in place while the other traveled down her side, his fingers skimming over the curve of her hip. "That's it," he rumbled. "Let me hear you."

Each touch, each kiss, stripped away the layers she'd built to protect herself. She wasn't in control anymore—not of her body, not of her mind, not of the way she melted beneath him. And for once, she didn't care.

Logan moved with a precision that left her breathless, his hand slipping beneath her shirt, rough fingertips tracing the softness of her skin. He paused just below her ribs, his eyes flicking up to hers.

"Say it, darlin'," he coaxed. "Say you'll let me have you."

Her lips parted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I'm yours."

And that was all it took.

His hands, calloused and strong, gripped her thighs, hoisting her up with an ease that sent a shiver racing down her spine. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders as her body pressed tightly against his.

"Where's your bedroom?" he growled against her ear, his voice low, gravelly, and filled with the kind of raw command that made her knees weak, though she wasn't even standing.

"End of the hall," she whispered, the words trembling out of her as his teeth grazed her earlobe, a low hum rumbling deep in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise almost too rough to feel soft, and yet it sent heat pooling low in her stomach.

He moved through her place with purposeful strides, each step a reminder of the strength coiled in his body. She felt the steady rhythm of his breathing against her chest, the way his arms tightened around her as if he dared anything or anyone to take her from him.

When they reached her bedroom, Logan kicked the door open without hesitation, the force behind it making it swing back against the wall. The dim light from the hallway framed his silhouette—broad shoulders, wild hair, and eyes that burned as he looked down at her.

The room felt smaller with him in it, his presence overwhelming, and consuming. He didn't glance around, didn't make a single remark. His focus was entirely on her as if the world beyond her didn't exist.

"On the bed," he rasped, his voice cutting through the thick silence.

Before she could even process his words, he was lowering her onto the mattress, her back meeting the cool sheets as his hands lingered, pressing her down as he needed her to stay right where she was.

"Logan—"

"Quiet." The single word was sharp and commanding, and it sent a jolt of heat through her.

His eyes roved over her, dark and smoldering, drinking her in as though he was committing every inch of her to memory. One knee pressed into the mattress beside her, his weight shifting as he leaned closer, his hands bracketing her head.

"Spent your whole damn life holdin' everything together," he muttered his tone a mix of frustration and something darker. "Not tonight. Tonight, you're mine."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out, just a sharp intake of breath as he tilted her chin up with his thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I'm not askin', darlin'." His voice dropped to a growl, sending a shudder down her spine.

Her heart thundered in her chest as his lips claimed hers again, rough and unrelenting, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp. The sound made his grip tighten, his hands sliding down her sides slowly as if savoring the way her body responded to him.

"You don't have to be strong tonight," he murmured against her lips, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Let me carry it. Let me carry you."

Her resolve cracked beneath the weight of his words, her body trembling as her hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. For once, she didn't fight. She didn't resist.

She just let go.

Logan's eyes never left hers as he straightened, standing tall above her. His hands were steady as he reached for the hem of her shirt. The air between them felt charged, and heavy, like the moment before a storm.

"Arms up," he commanded, his voice low and rough, leaving no room for hesitation.

She obeyed without a word, raising her arms as he gripped the fabric, his knuckles brushing against her sides. He pulled the shirt up slowly, dragging the material over her skin with a sensuality that made her shiver. The shirt caught for a moment, tangled in her hair, and Logan let out a low chuckle, dark and throaty.

"Relax," he muttered, his voice softer now as he freed her, his fingers lingering against her temple, brushing stray strands away from her face.

The shirt dropped to the floor with a quiet rustle, forgotten the second it left his hand. His gaze roamed over her now-bare skin, unhurried and scorching, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every scar, every inch of her that she'd never let anyone else see.

"You're beautiful," he said, the words rough and quiet as if they weren't meant for her to hear, but they landed with the force of a confession.

Her cheeks burned under his scrutiny, but there was no hiding from him. He stepped closer, his hands moving to the waistband of her jeans. His fingers brushed her skin, calloused and warm, and she bit back a gasp as he popped the button with ease.

"Look at me," he ordered, his tone low but firm.

Her eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath hitch. He was utterly focused as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. Slowly, he slid the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room.

"Lift your hips," he murmured, his hands curling around the waistband, tugging the denim down with maddening slowness.

She shifted, doing as he asked, and he peeled the jeans away, dragging them down her legs. His fingers brushed her calves, and her ankles before the fabric joined her shirt on the floor. The air felt colder now, her skin hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch.

Logan's eyes raked over her, his expression dark and unreadable. Then he reached out, his hands gripping her ankles, his thumbs running along the delicate bone there. He tugged her toward him, pulling her to the edge of the bed with a strength that made her stomach flip.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, his voice ragged, laced with something almost feral.

Her heart raced as he leaned down, his fingers hooking into the thin straps of her bra, sliding them off her shoulders with an aching slowness. The straps fell away, his knuckles grazing her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"You don't need this," he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of her collarbone as he reached behind her, unhooking the clasp with a practiced ease.

The bra slipped from her body, and Logan let it fall without a glance, his hands already returning to her, tracing a path down her sides. His palms were warm, rough in the best way, and they left trails of fire wherever they touched.

"Every inch of you," he whispered, his lips ghosting over her skin as his hands slid lower. "Mine."

Her breath hitched, her body arching toward him instinctively, surrendering completely to his touch.

Logan's hands paused at her hips, his fingers slipping under the thin elastic of her panties. His gaze flicked up to hers, holding her there with an intensity that made her pulse thunder in her ears.

She nodded, her voice failing her, but it didn't matter. Logan saw everything he needed in her eyes.

With one smooth motion, he slid the last barrier from her body, baring her completely to him. He stood there for a moment, his gaze raking over her with a hunger that made her shiver.

"Perfect," he muttered, more to himself than to her, before leaning down, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Now let me show you what it means to let go."

Logan knelt between her legs, his hands on her knees, gently parting them as he moved with calm, deliberate intent. She froze for a second, a wave of embarrassment washing over her as she realized she hadn't shaved. Her gaze quickly flicked away, her cheeks flushing with the sudden vulnerability she felt.

But Logan noticed. He looked at her with a reassuring, almost amused smirk, his eyes flickering down her body before meeting hers again.

"Don't," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a thumb along her inner thigh. "I like it just like this."

Her breath hitched at his words, the tension in her body slowly melting under his touch.

He lowered himself slowly, nuzzling his face against her inner thighs, placing soft, teasing kisses along their expanse. His right hand moved to her center, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her sensitive bud. His middle and ring fingers slid over her hole, collecting her wetness, and spreading it across her labia.

"She's drooling for me," he murmured as his fingers slowly began to push inside, allowing her to adjust to the stretch. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, watching her pleasure as his fingers began to pump in and out, each movement deliberate and slow.

His fingers continued their rhythmic motion, working in tandem with his mouth. He moved his tongue over her clit, the tip flicking over the sensitive skin in a slow, teasing rhythm that made her body arch toward him. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her, desperately trying to hold onto something as the heat of his touch seared into her.

"Logan... please," she gasped, her voice trembling, her hips pressing closer to his face.

Logan didn't stop. His tongue flicked faster now, tracing every curve, every inch of her, his mouth drinking in her arousal. She couldn't stop herself anymore; her back arched as her body responded to him, the tension building within her like a wave. "So good," she moaned, her voice breathy and desperate.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Logan murmured against her skin, his voice rough, thick with desire. He paused for a moment, lifting his head to look up at her. "I can feel you shaking. Let go."

She shuddered under his gaze, the command in his voice stripping away the last of her resistance. Her body wanted to obey, to give herself over completely to the sensations he was creating. "I can't... I need you, Logan," she pleaded, tangling her fingers in his hair, urging him back to her, wordlessly begging for more.

Logan smirked, his hands sliding down her sides, gripping her hips tightly as he pulled her closer to his mouth, continuing the rhythm with even more force, more hunger. Every lick, every flick of his tongue brought her closer to the edge.

He could feel the way her body tightened, the way her breath quickened. And then, without warning, his mouth pressed harder against her clit, his tongue moving with desperate speed as he drove her to the brink. She moaned loudly, her body shuddering as she reached the edge. "Logan... oh god," she cried out, completely surrendering to the pleasure.

As she caught her breath, her body still humming with the lingering sensation of his touch, a quiet yearning stirred within her. She sat up, her eyes locking onto his as she gently took his hand. Without a word, she brought his fingers to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. She traced them with her tongue, sucking them clean, savoring the taste of her arousal, before pulling back just a little.

"Dirty girl…" he said, his left hand cupping her cheek.

"I could be sucking something else", she said seductively.

He looked at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "You don't have to," he murmured, his voice low, steady.

"I want to. Please."

Logan stood up slowly, keeping his eyes locked with hers. There was an intensity in his gaze, an unspoken challenge, and a silent invitation all at once.

She positioned herself on her knees before him. Her movements were deliberate, almost hypnotic, as her hands traced the strong lines of his shoulders, sliding down his chest, and over the hard muscles of his belly.

When her fingers reached his belt, she didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, she unbuckled it, the leather slipping free with an audible click before it fell to the floor. Her hands moved quickly to the button of his dress pants, flicking it open, and she slowly lowered the zipper.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it free from his waistband. Her fingers, delicate yet determined, began to unbutton the shirt, one button at a time. Her gaze never left him, and the way her hands worked with such slow precision sent a wave of heat through his chest. The act was intimate, each button a whispered invitation.

Once the shirt was undone, she moved to the cuffs, gently opening them before pressing a soft kiss to the back of each of his hands. Logan closed his eyes briefly at the touch, the tenderness of it catching him off guard. His thumb stroked the curve of her cheek, the touch affectionate, reverent.

There was something magnetic about the way she undressed him—each movement slow and filled with purpose. Her eyes held a quiet hunger that mirrored his own, a silent language between them that made his pulse quicken.

He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. She didn't waste a moment, pulling his pants and boxers down his legs in one smooth, fluid motion, letting them drop to the floor as he stepped out of the garment.

He stood there, bare in front of her. His body was exposed, but it wasn't the nudity that left him feeling vulnerable. It was the way his body didn't respond like it once had, the slow burn of frustration creeping in.

But that did not deter her. She braced herself on all fours, the movement full of quiet confidence. Leaning in, she began licking and gently sucking at his balls, the heat of her mouth sending a shiver through him. His breath hitched as her right hand took hold of his semi-hard dick, her touch light but teasing, coaxing him to respond. The softness of her lips, the pressure of her hand, stirred something deep inside him, and he could feel himself slowly hardening.

She licked a long stripe from his balls up to his tip, her mouth hot against his skin. The sudden surge of sensation had him grunting low, his hands instinctively finding their way into her hair, fingers curling into her locks as he pulled her closer.

"Fuck," Logan breathed, his voice low and rough, as his grip tightened on her hair, pulling her in deeper, the feeling of her mouth sending waves of heat through him. "Don't stop," he muttered.

Y/N could feel him growing heavier and thick in her mouth. She released his dick with a loud pop and with both hands began pumping it.

At the sight Logan closed his eyes and let his head fall back, the hold on her hair tightening. She took him in her mouth and, hollowing her cheeks, began taking him deeper.

She gagged around him when her nose reached the grey hairs on the base and pulled back coughing, a string of saliva connecting her to his member.

Y/N looked up and smiled mischievously seeing him fully erect.

Logan pushed her onto the bed, his hands firmly pinning her wrists to the mattress as he hovered over her. His eyes locked onto hers.

"You're trouble," he finally muttered, his voice deep and rough.

She smirked, but there was a glint of challenge in her eyes. "You don't seem to mind," she teased, her breath hitching as his gaze darkened with hunger.

His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. Without warning, he moved, pinning her down more securely. "No, I don't," he growled, his voice low as he leaned in closer, brushing his lips over her neck.

Her breath quickened as she felt the weight of his body pressing against hers. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and despite herself, she arched up, meeting the intensity of his gaze. He was in control now, his hands steady as he guided her into place.

He took a breath, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "You're going to beg for it," he whispered. His tone was rough, yet there was a subtle edge of something softer, almost possessive. "And I'll make sure you don't forget who's in charge."

She bit her lip, anticipating what he would do next.

Logan smiled darkly and kissed her again, his right hand traveling down her chest and grabbing her right breast, giving it a harsh squeeze.

He positioned himself between her legs, gripping his member at the base as he ran his tip along her sensitive center, teasing her with deliberate strokes from her clit to her entrance. Each motion made her hips twitch, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

Her moans filled the room, "Logan," she said breathlessly.

"Yes?"

She closed her legs around him pulling him closer. Logan laughed at her antics. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned back slightly, gathering spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto her, aiding his movement.

Her moans became desperate, almost broken, her hands clutching at his forearms. "Logan," she whimpered, her voice raw with need. "Please… I need you."

His smirk deepened as he held her gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her squirm beneath him. "I told you, you'd beg" he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Her chest heaved, her lips trembling with the words she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm yours, Logan. Please…"

One large hand moved to her throat, his palm pressing gently against her skin, holding her in place. His thumb traced the line of her jaw as his other hand gripped her thigh, pulling her even closer. "Mine," he growled, his tone possessive, claiming.

The pressure at her throat made her head swim, a strange mix of restraint and trust that sent a bolt of heat through her. She arched into his hold, her body surrendering completely.

"You like this, don't you?" he rasped, his lips brushing against hers but not quite touching. His voice was low and commanding, but there was a glint of something softer beneath it, a promise just out of reach.

Her breath hitched, and she let out a shaky moan, her hands clutching at his wrist. "Yes," she whispered, desperate and trembling.

His mouth curved into a wicked smirk as his hand shifted, loosening his hold just enough for her to feel the contrast. "Let me take care of you," he murmured, dragging his thumb along the curve of her jaw.

The words lingered in the air, heavy with intent but unspoken in full. His free hand slid down her body, fingers tracing her curves with a deliberateness that made her skin tingle.

She whimpered, her body responding to every calculated movement. "Logan..."

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over her ear. "Stop thinking. Just feel," he whispered, the edge of his voice rough yet grounding. "That's all I want from you tonight."

He shifted between her legs, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her with ease as he positioned himself. The heat of his body pressed against hers, and her heart thudded in her chest, anticipation coiling tightly in her core.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she felt the tip of his member pressing against her entrance. With a slow, fluid motion, he eased himself inside, feeling the resistance of her body disappearing.

Y/N threw her head back, a low moan slipping from her lips as her body adjusted to his length, "Fuck," she breathed, unable to hide the raw need in her voice.

She bit her lip at the feeling of him twitching inside of her. Logan leaned forward, his tongue sliding down the side of her neck. He then moved to her breasts, attaching his mouth to one of her nipples and sucking. He released her nipple.

"Breathe," he whispered, his hand sliding up to rest on her waist, grounding her. "I've got you."

He straightened up, his body towering over hers, and braced his hand on the headboard as he drew his hips back, the feel of his withdrawal sending a shiver through her. She barely had time to adjust before he slammed back into her.

She was trembling beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she tried to keep up with the brutal rhythm he set. Every time he pulled out, every time he pushed back in, the pressure inside her built, and she couldn't help but whimper.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts turning faster, more brutal, as he pushed into her with a hunger that matched the fire in her veins. Her hips moved to meet him, desperate for more, and he responded with a growl of approval, his hands tightening on her hips to anchor her in place as his rhythm grew harder, more punishing.

"Fuck Y/N."

She smiled at him.

"You like that, don't you?" Logan's voice was rough, and dark, as he pulled back slightly, only to push in even harder.

She couldn't stop herself from moaning, the sharpness of the sensation hitting her in waves.

"That's right," Logan growled, his grip on her hips like iron as he rocked into her with force.

Her body responded without thought, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, faster as if she couldn't get enough. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, mixing with the desperate gasps coming from her lips.

Without warning, he shifted his position, his hands leaving her hips for a moment, only to slip under her and lift her body, pulling her into a new angle. She gasped, the sudden shift throwing her off balance, but Logan's grip on her was firm, and controlling, as he guided her back onto him.

Her back arched instinctively, the new position deepening their connection, and she moaned, her hands reaching for the headboard to brace herself. Logan's thrusts grew slower but deeper, more deliberate now, aimed to bring her right to the brink.

Logan's hand came down hard on her left asscheek jolting Y/N forward.

"Logan…" she gasped, her voice trembling with need.

He could hear it—the desperation in her voice, the way her body was bucking against his. He watched her face, her eyes closed tight, her lips parted in a silent plea for release. He wanted to hear her, wanted to feel her break under him.

He gave one last hard, deep thrust, then paused, letting the sensation build before pulling back almost completely. She whimpered, the loss of movement driving her crazy, and before she could protest, he repositioned again, this time bending her further back, his hands now holding her shoulders down as he ran his member between her asscheeks.

Her breath hitched as she looked back at him, over her shoulder, her eyes filled with raw desire.

Logan didn't wait any longer. He positioned himself behind her, his hands firmly gripping her hips as he pushed into her slowly at first, savoring the tight, intense heat that engulfed him. The change in angle sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, and she moaned, her hands clutching at the sheets in desperation.

"Fuck," Logan muttered, his voice low and full of grit as he began to move, his thrusts quick and forceful, each one pushing her further into the bed.

She gasped with each hard thrust, the pleasure taking over her senses, her body rocking in time with his. The deeper connection from this position sent waves of bliss coursing through her, and she pressed back into him, her hips meeting his with every thrust.

"Does this feel better?" Logan growled, his hands tightening on her hips, guiding her with raw intensity.

She could barely manage a breathless, "Yes, harder…"

His thrusts grew harder, faster, and relentless, pushing her toward the edge.

She couldn't hold back anymore, "Logan …I'm gonna…"

His strokes grew sloppier as he grabbed her neck, angling her face so he could kiss her.

Y/N's moans filled the room. The mixture of his hard thrusts and the slap of his balls on her ass pushed her over the edge as she began shaking.

Y/N fell forward, her face on the bed and her ass in the air. Logan didn't stop. His hands opened her asscheeks as he watched his thick, veiny member going in and out of her hole, creating a creamy ring at the base of his member.

The new angle allowed Logan to continuously hit her cervix. "Be a good girl, come on my dick."

Her hands fisted the sheets and Logan, with his thumb began circling her other hole. The new stimulation tipped Y/N over the edge as she came hard on his member.

Logan didn't stop. Didn't even slow down as he followed her, his movements like a force of nature, unyielding, as he pushed her through the waves of pleasure, every last inch of her shaking with the force of it.

Her mouth fell open as she felt him stilling and his release spilling inside of her.

"Fuck!", he said, throwing his head back.

He remained still for a moment but then pulled out when he felt his member softening. He sat on his knees admiring their joint releases dripping out of her spent hole.

"Jesus, that's a fucking sight.", his index finger reached collecting the release and pushing it back.

Y/N moaned and fell on her stomach. He removed his fingers and lay next to her.

"Did it help?", he asked playfully.

"Shut up Logan."

______________________________________________________________

© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[scoupsakakitty]

Please Don’t Leave Me pt.2 | idol!Mingyu x Reader | fluff

The phone buzzed against the car's dashboard, but the call went straight to voicemail—just like all the others before it. Mingyu let out a sharp exhale, gripping the steering wheel tightly before pressing the phone to his ear as the familiar automated message ended.

"Y/N, you're leaving me no choice," his voice was hoarse, exhausted. "I'm on my way to your dorm. I can’t keep waiting for you to answer. We need to talk. You can be mad at me, you can yell at me, but you can’t ignore me. Not anymore."

With that, he hung up and started the engine, his heart pounding against his ribs as he sped off towards the university. The rain drizzled lightly, the city lights blurring against his windshield, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed by her. By them. By everything he was about to lose if he didn’t do something.

When he arrived, he parked haphazardly, not caring if he was in a student-only parking zone. He stepped out, pulling his hood up to shield himself, but it was useless. The moment he walked through campus, he could feel the weight of eyes on him. Whispered voices, subtle gasps—some had recognized him. But he didn't care. He had one goal.

Stopping in front of her dorm room, he knocked. No answer. He knocked again, harder this time. "Y/N, open the damn door." His voice was firm, unwavering. "I'm not leaving until you do."

A few seconds passed, and then—

The door swung open so fast he barely had time to react before Y/N’s hand gripped his wrist and yanked him inside. She slammed the door shut behind him, her eyes wide with disbelief and frustration. "Are you insane? Showing up here like this? Now people will definitely know you’re here! And then you knock like that? Desperate much?" Her voice was laced with panic.

Mingyu took a deep breath, stepping closer. "You left me no other choice. If you had just picked up the phone, if you had answered even one of my thousand messages, I wouldn't have had to come here."

She crossed her arms, her expression hard. "I don’t have to answer just because you call."

His jaw clenched. "Then I have to show up."

Silence settled between them, heavy and unyielding. Finally, she sighed, rubbing her temple. "What do you want, Mingyu?"

His brows furrowed, disbelief flickering in his eyes. "What do you mean, what do I want? Isn't it obvious? I want you. I want us. I can’t do this without you."

She scoffed, turning away. "Mingyu, wanting something doesn’t always mean you get to have it."

He ran a hand through his damp hair, frustration evident. "I talked to my management. I told them I want to go public with our relationship. I don’t care about the consequences. I don’t care about the fans who won’t support it. If they love me, they need to accept that I love you. That I can’t live without you."

Her breath hitched, but she remained silent.

"You’re not happy without me, Y/N. Just like I’m not happy without you. I know it. You know it. So why are we doing this?" His voice cracked, raw and pleading.

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the hem of her sweatshirt. "Mingyu... the stress, the sasaengs, the threats—it’s too much. Even if we go public, that won’t change overnight. And you’re always traveling. I barely got to see you before, how will it be any different?"

"I’ll take you with me." His answer was immediate. "We’ll talk to your university. My management has connections—we can figure out a way for you to do your studies online. That way, you can be with me. I can protect you."

She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "I can’t afford online tuition, Mingyu. I can barely afford my fees as it is."

His heart ached at the helplessness in her voice. Slowly, gently, he reached for her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "That’s what you’re worried about? Y/N, come on. How many times have I offered to pay for your tuition? Let me take care of you. Let me give you the life you deserve."

"I don’t want to be a burden to you," she whispered.

"You're not a burden. You're my life." His voice was thick with emotion. "Stop finding reasons for this not to work. I can and will fix everything, but I need you to fight with me. For us."

For a long moment, she just stared at him. At the exhaustion in his face, the desperation in his voice. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Like he was drowning.

Finally, she exhaled shakily, placing her hand over his chest, feeling the steady, desperate thump of his heart. "Okay... you’re right." Her voice broke. "I’m sorry, Mingyu. I’m so sorry for making us suffer like this. Please forgive me."

A choked sob of relief escaped him as he pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. "You won’t regret this, I promise."

She let out a watery laugh as he peppered kisses all over her face—her forehead, her cheeks, her nose. "Mingyu, stop! You're acting like a puppy."

He grinned, setting her down but not letting go. "Now that I finally have you back, I’m never letting go again."

His eyes flickered around her room, taking it in for the first time in person. "So this is your room, huh? I’ve only seen it on FaceTime. Cozy. I like it."

She rolled her eyes, nudging him playfully. "It’s small, but it’s mine."

"Not for long," he mused. "Once you start online classes, you’ll be moving out. Either to my dorm or, better yet, our own place. And when I’m on tour, you’ll stay with me. We’ll share hotel rooms, wake up together, fall asleep together. Doesn’t that sound perfect?"

Her heart swelled at the thought. "I always wanted to go on tour with you, to be honest."

Mingyu’s lips curled into a soft smile. "Then it’s settled. From now on, we’re always together. No more secrets. No more hiding. No more distance."

He cupped her face, his thumb tracing her cheek. "I love you, Y/N. More than anything. And I’ll spend every single day proving that to you."

Her heart melted as she whispered, "I love you too."

And as he kissed her, sealing their promise, she knew—this time, they were going to make it.

[odoraful]

𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑹𝑬𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹 𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑨𝑹𝑴 ᯓ 𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑩

⟡ content: gn!reader ; established relationship ; honey petname hehe ; minor hurt/comfort (which i didn't anticipate honestly, but it seemed to just go in that direction :O) ; 1.5k wc

⟡ a/n: i watched a clip where pepper potts helps tony stark replace like the tech in his heart and my brain went straight to caleb! also i don't know bionics at all so pls suspend disbelief at my descriptions of tech because its definitely all baloney HAHA also still figuring out how to write for caleb so it might be ooc..,, ANYWAY I DIGRESS i do hope it's an enjoyable read!! <33

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was beyond you why Caleb chose to entrust you with this task, and equally incomprehensible that you agreed to it. Sure, you knew your way around certain weaponry and gadgets—a skill every good Hunter needed to have—but you were certainly no biomechanical engineer. Yet here you were sitting in the living room of Caleb’s home, his bionic arm fully revealed to you and a set of tools being laid out on the table.

“Isn’t the maintenance process… automated?” you asked, voice quivering with trepidation.

Caleb finished arranging the equipment in front of him. A neat array of screwdrivers and wires.

Comparably, there was no indication of hesitancy in his voice when he spoke.

“Yes, it typically is,” he answered, sitting back down on the sofa. He flexed the fingers of his right arm before flashing a smile at you, “but this isn’t one of those typical times.”

His usually comforting smile did little to ease you. You sat down, observing his arm as he continued speaking.

“One of the wires here—” Caleb pointed to the area at his elbow, “—has loosened for some reason. It just needs some reconnecting and I’ll be right as rain.”

He was right. Upon closer inspection, you could see the wire now beginning to detach from the small, round metal piece it was connected to. Occasionally, a tiny spark of electricity flashed from within the empty hole. If this was left unchecked, it would certainly lead to some kind of malfunction.

You squirmed in the cushion. “Wouldn’t telling the Fleet be better? Don’t they have technicians to do this exact thing?”

Caleb's lips quirked upwards, betraying the stiffness he suddenly felt.

Yes, it would be protocol to let the people responsible for this arm know (whether that was the Fleet or not he would never admit the truth of to you), but it was far too bothersome to have them inspect and diagnose for such a minor issue. And then, there was the pain of it as well. Caleb was very familiar with gritting one’s teeth and baring it, but the soulless nature of the Professor’s rooms made him always feel so alone. Despite the bright, sterile lights and the group of masked technicians in white coats attending to his arm, it was always just him and the pain and the desire for everything to be finished already.

Things were a lot different now with you here, finally here with him.

“Oh, your touch is much gentler than anyone in the Fleet, trust me,” he replied.

Though he hadn’t actually answered your question, the line was enough classic Caleb charm to disarm you. He looked fondly over at your expression as your shook your head, trying to stifle your laugh.

“It’s not a full maintenance repair, just a simple replacement. I’ll walk you through every step, don’t worry.”

He patted the space right next to him and you shuffled over.

“Caleb… will this hurt you?”

You couldn’t help but recall the pain he was in when his arm was hooked up to that machine. Your chest grew tight at the memory.

“Not at all, I swear,” he quickly responded. “Like I said, it’s just a replacement.”

He reached over to pick up a screwdriver. Turning his right arm around so you could see his elbow clearer, he used the tool to point out a small screw on the round metal pieces where the wire was being held.

“So, all you need to do is turn this a little to the left, and it should loosen the wire enough to remove it.”

Caleb then reached for the table to pick up a wire the same as the one in his arm. Though, the metallic conductors could be seen emerging out from the ends of the black casing.

“Then, all you need to do is just need to replace it with this.”

You repeated his words over in your mind. Loosen and then replace.

Exhaling a nervous breath, you took the screwdriver. You placed a hand against his arm to help steady yourself. The metal cooled your sweaty palm. Moving closer, you inserted the tip of the screwdriver into the screw, turning it slowly as possible. Afraid that any quick movements might have an adverse effect.

Just as Caleb had said, once the screws were turned, the metal pieces widened and the wire was freely hanging, only held to the arm by its conductive metal.

So focused on making sure your hands weren’t shaking, you didn’t see Caleb’s eyes scrunched shut, taking in deep breaths through his nose.

“Ah!”

Your head snapped up hearing him wince. His eyes peeled open, a weak but sheepish expression on his face.

“Caleb! You promised it wouldn’t hurt you!”

At your accusatory look, he chuckled wearily. “That was nothing! Just a little—” he sucked a sharp breath in “—buzz that’s all.”

Panicked, you put the screwdriver down. “W-what do I do now?!” you stuttered out, holding your hands away from the exposed area.

“Take the old wire out and put the new one in the same spot.” Despite his discomfort, Caleb tempered his voice. His composure kept your fear at bay for the moment. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be alright.”

You nodded. Moving you hand closer again, you held onto the wire delicately. You pulled slowly. Thankfully, it released without any tugging needed.

“Mhm, there you go. You’re doing great,” Caleb reassured.

The conductive wire unfurled as if aware it was being replaced. You picked up the wire Caleb had held previously in demonstration and lined it up in the empty space. Similarly, the wire reattached itself.

“Now tighten it with the screwdriver.”

Turning the screws once again, you felt the round metal pieces tighten around the wire, holding it securely in place. The repair appeared successful.

You let out a long sigh, relief washing over you. You looked at Caleb’s face, hoping you wouldn’t find him pale and stricken. Instead, he was smiling. He turned his bionic arm around, bending his elbow and wiggling his fingers. It looked like it was back to normal.

“Look at that,” he beamed. “I knew you could do it, honey.”

Your laugh was filled with disbelief at his complete faith in you. “Please don’t ask me to do this again.” You were still slightly delirious by everything that just happened.

“What if I don’t have anyone but you?” he responded.

You knew that statement wasn’t true. There were plenty of people he could rely on to assist him with this. He was the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet after all. Yet, there was a softness in his tone and a distance in his eyes as he spoke. He really believed that to be the truth.

You looped your pinkie finger around his (still hesitant if your craftsmanship had fully worked). Caleb glanced down at your movement. He saw your tenderness and there was a phantom sensation of warmth right where your fingers connected. Though, he knew it was all just his brain and its sensory signals trying desperately to reconstruct a feeling he once had.

“But what if I messed up a-and something bad had happened? I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Caleb enveloped his hand around yours. His touch was cold and metallic, but his words were anything but.

“Nothing you do could ever hurt me.”

The color of his bionic arm began to change. It flickered in the same way a holographic screen did when you put your hand through it. His arm was recalibrating to project the perfect color, and to mimic the feeling of real skin. As fast as you could blink, it returned to its usual appearance.

Caleb squeezed your hand. “See? Right as rain.”

The sudden mixture of your fear and sadness made you crave being in his hold. You pulled him into a hug. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you buried you face into his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed, rubbing your back. “I’m still here with you, arm fully functional.”

“I know…” you remained glued to his shoulder, voice muffling.

“Nothing bad will happen to me,” he said, coaxing you gently both in speech and touch as he grazed his finger against your cheek. “Could I see you? Please?”

You lifted your head up, leaning back. Your eyes were glossy with tears and Caleb felt as though he’d been stabbed in the chest. He kissed you on the forehead. With his thumb, he carefully swiped at your bottom lashes.

“I'm sorry, honey. I don’t know what I was thinking wanting you to do this,” he murmured, his warm breath tickling your skin at his closeness. “You don’t have to do this for me next time.”

“It’s okay,” you sniffed, shaking your head. “Now that I know what to expect, I think I can help you if this happens again.”

The shock soon passed. Feeling the rise and fall of Caleb’s chest grounded you. You both held each other until the pain faded, talking to each other quietly in the embrace.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[catboybiologist]

So.

Re: tumblr bans of transfemmes.

Let's ignore PhotoMatt for a moment. Manbaby tech CEO doubling down on a stupid decision and making himself look like more of an ass doing so is not a new phenomena.

Tumblr has consistently said, in both public statements and leaked internal communication, that they're essentially running a skeleton crew.

They keep saying that they don't have the resources to moderate, manually review posts, have any kind of appeal process, or anything. So, as people have widely received communications about, they seemed to have automated a significant portion of the moderation to operate solely on the quantity of reports (probably with a basic filter, eg quantity of reports regarding a certain post, within a certain timeframe) to automatically ban or shadowban accounts.

And so, they wipe their hands, both to the users, the public, and their own consciousness, and go about their automated operations.

All of this is likely true. Tumblr, at this point, is essentially abandonware internally, a kind of weird vanity project/dumpster ground for server infrastructure for Automattic. Likely, they don't want the bad press of "shutting down" fully. Or maybe the trickle of revenue they get here just barely exceeds operating costs, so why not keep it around?

Whatever is the case, the bans are a result of an automated process working in the background. I'm giving them some benefit of the doubt here, of course, we can't know anything for certain- but it seems like the individual bans are not based on any specific, manual action.

And that doesn't fucking excuse anything.

Because at some point, multiple people sat down at tumblr, and decided how to cut costs.

And they decided that the bare minimum of report abuse prevention was one of the first things on the chopping block.

Before the boops. Before GUI reconfigures.

They decided to cut something that is necessary to manage online communities.

They decided to cut something that ensures any targeted group will have any kind of community online.

And then, after all of that, the only manual intervention is doubling down on the shitty decisions that the automated systems make, and plucking reasons out of their ass for why they were the right decisions all along.

It's pure silicon valley brain. Blame the computer often and always. Use it to shield the active decisions you made when designing the computer that way. Treat it as a fact of life as opposed to something they actively made decisions for.

Is tumblr staff hitting the banhammer on each transfemme one by one? No.

Is tumblr staff deliberately crafting a system that allows TERFs and other conservative bigots to get rid of the "undesirables" for them? Yup. But they sure as hell are trying to not say the quiet part out loud. If they can always point the finger somewhere else, to the advertisers, to the automated systems, to the TERFs, then they can always have juuusssttt enough plausible deniability.

But being the "queerest place on the internet" requires concious acknowledgement that queer people will be targets of harassment, and you will have to protect against that.

Side note, this is why I do try to keep my blog at least somewhat SFW. Its one of the main reasons why I choose not to reblog all of the posts I'm tagged in- if the post is overtly NSFW, I've probably seen it, appreciated it, and consciously decided my level of interaction with it mostly based on how "tumblr friendly" it is. Is that bowing down to them? A little. It's also my choice. I value the community I have here. The pushes that y'all have given me gave me the strength to transition, and honestly gives me a lot of motivation to research HRT biology as much as I can, among many other things.

Yeah, I post pictures that are clearly meant to be found attractive in ways that are generally not socially acceptable , but never actual NSFW. I would like to think that I'm pretty safe from bans, but hey. Who knows. I don't want to lose my follower base, and the community around it.

And yeah, I'm gonna annoyingly remind you of the other places to find me, make sure to check my pin. If you don't know where to go, just find me on reddit and go from there, I'll post about it if anything happens.

[pushinpieta]

"i think i'm falling for you" - weak hero class fluff (scenarios) pt. 2

characters: sieun, suho, juntae

synopsis: the exact moment they realize they're falling in love with you. pt.1

a/n: didn't write any other characters because i feel like i haven't studied them enough. just violence for warnings!

SIEUN:

me: y/n, where are you?

sieun sighed lowly staring down at his phone when you gave no response. it was unusual since you were supposed to meet up with him to work on an assignment together. the silence from your end unnerved sieun since it was never silent with you and that was what concerned him.

you were the one who propsed to meetup at a nearby cafe to work together but you were also the one missing.

sieun couldn't wait anymore; clicking on your contact to call you.

"the person you are calling is currently unavailable, please try again later"

sieun clicked his tongue, shoving his phone in his pockets, more anxious than concerned as the automated voice echoed through his ears. he thought of all the possibilities as to why you were not present; maybe you slept in and your phone died, or you forgot and left your phone on do not disturb, or— or something happened to you. the pit in his stomache weighed down on him like an anchor, chaining him to the ground, causing him to think of all the worst scenarios within the span of a few frantic seconds.

trouble always followed sieun and with that came the concern for the people around him. if trouble was with him, it was with the people he hung around. he hated every part of it; the guilt, the hurt, and the fear of losing everything. fear pinched at his skin when he thought of you in danger with some thugs because of him.

a bitter taste settled on sieun's tongue, palms sweaty from too much thoughts, his body reacted like a blood curdling scream in a forest that caused crows to squawk up into the sky— he ran. he never ran. he hated it. but he ran and he ran fast.

pants and tired groans escaped his lips as he searched every place you could be; the alley that led to the underpass, the underpass that led to the school, the school that led to your classroom but to no avail. you were AWOL. nowhere in sight, especially not his sight and that bothered him the most and nothing bothers him this way and that too, bothered him. he was bothered by the fact that he was so bothered over your absence. really, you could be fooling around, ignoring him but, something in him irked and he shook away the thoughts.

depleted and defeated, sieun felt the soreness strain his legs as he walked down the hill towards your house. this was the last possible place you could be. this was his last thread of positive hope that you were okay.

knock knock kno—

the door opened before he could knock for the third time to your puffy and sniffling nose, dark hallows under your sleepless eyes as you stared up at him in guilt. sieun was so relieved he could have fainted on the spot and without thinking he stepped through your doors to frantically embrace you in his arms. tight. his hands furiously snaked around you, engulfing you into him in an unexpected warmth.

sieun rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a sharp sigh, "you had me thinking something happened to you. I was worried."

"didn't you say you don't concern yourself with others, sieun?" you spoke weakly, feeling a cough coil in your throat but you managed to get your witty words out regardless.

"i don't." he spoke into you, slowly, unwillingly letting you go, "but you..."

"but i what?" you raised a brow, staring into his devastatingly tender gaze that made your knees buckle.

"you..." sieun thought for a long moment, contemplating, studying and revising why he was worried the way he was until he came to his answer. he wrote it out like an equation in his mind, went over all the possibilities just as he was when he was searching for you and the answer was just you. he had unintentionally fallen in love with you.

you coughed, "i'm waiting—"

before you could say anything more, he caressed the side of your face with a softness that only a lover could have. his eyes softened and he smiled. a genuine and unusual smile he didn't give to others— reserved only for the deepest of moments. he smiled at you.

"i concerned myself with you..." he answered, "beacause of the assignment."

at that you almost snorted in bewilderment, "asshole!"

safe to say, the assignment was not done. instead, sieun ran to the convenience store to buy all your cravings and medicine and came back to your house with two hands carrying bags filled to the brim with whatever you wanted. he tended to you and wiped your forehead with a damp cloth while you lazily laid on the couch as he fed you soup with a spoon like a parent would feed their child.

SUHO:

suho walked up the steps that lead up to the school rooftop where he sometimes went to skip class and take naps. it was usually deserted without a person in sight. not today, though because you were there.

with someone.

suho wondered what his friend could possibly be doing on the school rooftop with another person other than something inappropriate. the thought disturbed him more than he liked. not wanting to interrupt, he hid himself behind a wall to eavesdrop and peer his head out. his eyes widened at the sight— it was utterly not school appropriate— not PG rated.

you stood over a guy on the ground, his face beaten to a pulp, he stared up wide in fear. not so PG rated with this kind of violence.

"what did i say about bothering suho?" you snarled, lowering yourself over your victim like a tiger staring down at its prey.

"y-you said not to b-bother him." the boy stuttered, blood oozing from his probably broke nose.

"and what did you do?' you raised a brow, speaking in a condescending tone that made even suho feel small.

"i— i'm sorry—“

"what did you do?"

"i slashed his bike tires..." the bastard admitted, turning away in shame.

you let out a throaty laugh throwing your head back, "you're pathetic. is that what you do? resort to petty shit because you couldn't pack a punch?"

you stepped on the boy's hand not hard but firm, earning a sound of discomfort from him.

suho watched in awe and a little fear. the fact that you cared about him made flowers blossom in his mind and butterflies scatter in his stomach. his heart thrummed against his chest watching his girl fight for him. his girl because after this, he'd make you his.

a prideful smile tugged on his face as he emerged from behind the wall to place a hand on your shoulder. you let out a high-pitched yelp of surprise, stumbling back. the guy on the ground too, winced upon seeing suho whom he had done wrong. shame flushed his cheeks.

"hey, now, lets go easy on him. if he couldn't handle me, he definitely can’t handle you, y/n." suho chuckled heartily, slithering a hand around your shoulders proudly.

"suho— when did you get here?!" you asked in surprise, suddenly feeling shy.

"long enough to see you got my back." he winked, staring at you with saccharine sweet affection. his tone carried gratefulness and sentimentality, "you didn't have to do this for me."

"I did." your voice stayed firm yet had a warm edge as you started to back up from the bully sprawled under the ground, "i wanted to find the bastard that did it."

"thank you, y/n." he smiled, "really."

"i know you'd do the same for me." you did finger guns at him in absolute confidence. at that, he straightened up. its true; he would do the same and more for you.

wisps of emotions swirled around suho as he walked out of the rooftop with you to the staircase and in that moment he realized something sprouting in his chest— a realization— a truth that he was infact, falling for you. he had been for a long time without knowing what it was. but this, this confirmed it. your loyalty and care for him sealed his feelings for you. the way you both cared for each other so deeply made his mind turn into mush and feel relief because he knew he had someone who cared deeply for him and that was enough.

he vowed to himself that he'd make you happy no matter what it took as he sneakily interwined his fingers with yours. you gave him a look of surprise but when he just smiled in a silent response, you held him back.

"you should totally let me be your boyfrined." he shrugged, nonchalantly.

"hmm, i'll think about it." you teased, fake pondering.

"really, y/n? after all this?" he scoffed.

"mhm...wait let me think some more." you let go of his hand to start walking ahead of him. to rile him up.

"i'm growing impatient!" he called out, jogging behind you with a painfully big smile on his face. he knew your answer.

JUNTAE:

you and juntae were neighbours. hence why you always walked home together.

like any other day, you both walked together towards home, shoulder to shoulder. the backs of your hands brushed each other, but neither of you dared to move nor acknowledge it— scared you'd lose the moment if you did.

the smell of rain and earth lingered in the atmosphere, indicating a storm coming overhead. you turned to nudge juntae who seemed too focused on the street ahead.

"juntae, i think it's gonna rain." you started, "but i didn't bring my umbrella. did you bring yours?”

he adjusted his glasses, nodding to you, "we can share mine...if thats okay with you, of course."

"i'd be glad to share," you smiled, feeling a rain drop fall right onto the tip of your nose. ticklish, you giggled turning to juntae, pointing on the droplet on you nose. he laughed sheepishly, trying to hide the blush blooming on his cheeks from seeing how beautiful and adorable you were.

"It' time i bring out the umbrella, isn't it?" he lighlty chuckled, taking out a plain navy blue umbrella from the side of his backpack.

he opened it casually, holding it over your heads, but the umbrella was small. too small. made only for one person. now, your shoulders grazed a full touch. warmth traveled up your spine from the endless symmetry.

juntae froze, flustered, "do you, uhm, maybe wanna come closer? i don't want you to get wet and catch a cold."

"sure." you hesitantly nodded, moving even closer to his side, "sorry, this is such an inconvenience to walk under such a small umbrella. you don't mind this, do you?"

"i actually— i actually really like this, y/n." juntae answered, turning away to hide the rose-red blush colouring his cheeks.

your mouth gaped slightly, "y-you like this?"

"yeah... i do," he faced you with a awkward smile on his face, "i like being close to you."

juntae didn't know where this confidence was coming from but he took advantage of it to relay the truths he had hidden deep within his mind for some time. maybe it was the rush of excitement from being this close to you or maybe it was the impatience of wanting to confess gnawing at his throat. he didn't know. what he did know was that he was falling for you, he has been, but the closeness birthed a passion in him that raged like the thundering clouds clashing against one another up in the sky.

a bolt of lightning struck some place away causing you gasp and cower towards juntae who straightened himself protectively, feeling a sense of pride that you found safety in him. the roaring of thunder felt similar to the roaring rhythm of his heartbeat when you looked up at him through your lashes.

"i like being close to you too, juntae." you admitted, "maybe i should forget my umbrella more often, so i could be close to you like this."

juntae gulped when you wrapped your arms around his one arm as you walked ahead but he soon succumbed to your hold, "we can be close like this anytime."

"well aren't you flirty," you teased, leaning your head on his shoulder, "i like it."

"i like you." juntae blurted out before he would lose the confidence from being too flustered.

"then, i like you too." you kissed his cheek.

[rafesangelita]

🍪; lover, you should have come over by jeff buckley

♡ “sometimes a man must awake to find that really he has no one. so i’ll wait for you, love.”— in which rafe never took your relationship seriously when he had you, so you left the island in hopes of starting new. however, you’re back one year later, and this time you’re both on the same page.

warnings: second chance au, implied age gap, lots of talk about marriage and having kids, angst, time skip, rafe is pretty regretful in this one

a/n: this couldn’t have been a more perfect request! i’ve been wanting to do something like this for a while now. left this one on a little cliffhanger, pls don’t hate me </3 buttttt if requested enough, i’m completely open to making a part two!

rafe knew the night you left him without a word, he was the one entirely at fault. he knew deep down there was only so much you could take before you’d have to realize he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted more than anything else, and that was serious commitment. despite you being slightly younger than him, you valued the more serious, traditional side of things. while rafe was thinking about where he would take you to dinner next, you were wondering if your babies would have his blue eyes.

refusing to be the one to initiate that kind of conversation with him, you held your tongue and enjoyed the time you had with him until your heart couldn’t take it anymore. the final straw for you was when you two were laying together the way you always did post-sex, and rafe revealed to you that marriage would never be in the cards for him. he claimed that he was too much of a possessive person to share you with anyone else, let alone children, and you swore your heart broke in two.

“you don’t want to get married.. like ever?” you gazed up at him with those fucked out eyes of yours, just hoping he wouldn’t say the words that would give you confirmation to let him go. “no. i know a lot of people say this, but it’s true; marriage is just a piece of paper.” that night, you remembered every curve and detail of his face, forever engraving his image in your head as you silently slipped out of tanneyhill and didn’t look back. you cried. oh, god, you cried so much. apart of you felt like going back and erasing all desire of marriage and family and just indulge in what you and rafe had, but in no world would that work.

rafe woke up that morning, feeling a profound sense of emptiness he didn’t expect to feel without you near. he recalled the way you looked at him before he fell asleep, like you were never going to see him again. panic set in, his feet moving before he could think. he called your name out, checking every room and bathroom before the harsh reality hit him like a ton of bricks. he called your phone, throwing his own when an automated message said the line had been deactivated.

rafe was in denial the first week. he was sure you’d turn up somehow, somewhere, and wrap your arms around his shoulders while planting kisses on his neck, but you never came. that didn’t stop him from looking for you any chance he got, hoping, pleading that he’d bump into you somewhere and you’d go home with him. when he caught word that you had left the island altogether, he felt hurt, betrayed. how could someone as sweet and soft, and so precious as yourself just vanish without warning?

he didn’t understand, not being able to wrap his head around the fact that you felt like you had to run from him. you were the only thing he had on this god forsaken island. his family, his friends, no one truly knew him like you did. no one recognized his efforts to be a better man, no one comforted him, loved him. he spent his days focused on work, completely shutting everyone out. he was filled with regret, and it was your absence that made him realize marriage was so much more than a legal document.

it was vowing to never take that person for granted, it was carving your love in a stone of history, it was a sacred promise to never leave one another, a sacred promise that he so badly wished to have another chance at. before he knew it, an entire year had passed and just like you, there was nothing he wanted more than a family of his own. scratch that, he didn’t just want it. he dreamt about it, yearned for it just as much as he yearned for you. what he didn’t know, was that it wouldn’t be long until you showed up at his door.

[softlymellow]

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 10

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 4.3k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

"The city didn’t care. The war didn’t stop."

Anakin’s chest rose up and down frantically as he watched you disappear. He could only feel anger and disappointment. Disappointed at your insensitivity. Disappointed in himself…

He hated to admit it but he himself wanted to forget about all of this. To take you in his arms, caress your hair and feel your warmth. But he couldn’t. There was something inside of him, a lingering feeling that wouldn’t escape. It felt like revenge. Like he wanted you to feel his pain and suffering while you were suffering. 

He wanted you to know just how much he tried for you in the past year. Only for you to come back, no apology and no explanation. 

It wasn’t something a Jedi should be feeling. He should be rejoiced that you were even alive. 

But he didn’t feel that. It felt like he had a volcano in his stomach bubbling, waiting to explode.

So he went to the only place where he could let out his frustration with no shame. No regards for the Jedi code. He wanted to hit something and let it be okay. 

Anakin made his way to the Jedi temples training wing. His head felt hot and his hands were in fists. 

The training room was dark. He didn’t turn the lights on. He didn’t need to. The red glow of the emitter pads lit the room enough. 

His cloak was already on the floor and his saber ignited with a hiss so loud and abrupt it startled the stillness of the room. 

Blue lit up his own face in violent flashes as lunged forward and swung at the automated saber droid designed for training. Not destruction.

And he hit hard. 

Again.

And again until the droid automatically went into defence mode. 

But Anakin didn’t give it any time as moved to destroy it, not train with it. 

CLASH. SNAP. WHIRL. 

Anakin moved his body with gritted teeth and he slammed his saber through the droid's core and sent it crashing against the wall. 

His chest rose and fell in short gasps as he felt sweat beading off his forehead. He then dropped to his knees. 

And then—

A soft beep. 

A little trill. 

He looked up to see R2-D2 rolling into the room, checking up on Anakin as he always did. Anakin and R2-D2 had a special bond. It wasn’t just master and astromech. R2 was a friend to him. An attachment he shouldn’t have but Anakin would go to great lengths just to save R2. 

Another beep. Quieter. 

Anakin’s eyes burned and he wasn’t sure when they began to water. 

“Don’t look at me like that…” He muttered. 

R2 let out another trill, this time more like a question. 

“I don’t know, okay?” His voice cracked. “I don’t know why I care so much. I don’t know what I’m doing. She’s not--she’s not even the same person anymore.”

Anakin crossed his legs and his saber deactivated in his lap. His mechanical hand ran through his hair — frustrated. 

R2 chirped again. 

Anakin laughed once, sharp. 

“What? You want me to say I messed up?” He shook his head, his hair still sticking to his forehead. “That I yelled at her? That I made her hate me even more than she already did?”

R2’s dome rotated as if he was shaking his head ‘no’. 

“I practised every insult in my head for months. I thought that if I saw her again I’d be strong. Cold.” His hand slammed against the rubber pads on the floor. “But she accepted that offer like nothing had even happened. Like I didn’t even matter.”

Anakin leaned back against the cold wall. He closed his eyes.

“I don’t know anymore.” 

Beeeppp

Anakin looked down at his wrist as his comms were ringing.

Obi-wan. 

Sighing, he rubbed a hand across his face and blinked away any sign of whatever just happened. Pressing the small button on the left, Obi-wan's voice was heard. 

“You left the meeting rather fast.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and stifled a groan. “I had things to do.”

“Well, whatever it is, you will have to continue later. The Council has a mission for you.” Obi-wan said.

“What is it?” Anakin furrowed his eyebrows. 

“To fully wrap up this case, one of us do need to visit Dev in the detention center and make up a report.”

“And why can’t you do that?” Anakin inquired. 

“I have things to do.” Obi-wan mocked. Anakin could almost imagine the smirk on his face. 

Anakin audibly groaned and rose up from his spot on the floor. “You owe me for this.”

“This is part of your role as a Jedi,” Obi-wan said matter of factly, “I will see you soon.” And just like that the call disconnected and Anakin was left with a task he definitely did not want. 

“This day just keeps getting better and better…” Anakin said aloud. 

Whrrrrrp

R2 trilled, amused over Anakin’s situation yet happy that he rose up. 

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

You sat by the fountain, your palms rubbing at your sore red eyes. This was all stupid. Why did you let him affect you like this? Why couldn’t you have just walked away. 

The silence pressed against you harder with every passing second. A breeze drifted through and gently nudged your hair. 

With a quiet sigh, you pushed yourself to your feet. You turned around and towards the wall, wanting to cut across the courtyard —straight to your room. The temple courtyard buzzed with life. 

Clone troopers prepping transports, some snickering at their own banter and some gathering supplies. You used to have your own clones. Just like Anakin —his 501’st— and Obi-wan’s 212th. But you weren’t a Jedi Knight anymore. So you lost yours. You probably lost it just as fast as you left. The war continued. A new Knight would take your place. 

No one turned their heads towards you or stopped when you passed. Don’t think any of them noticed. 

Until one did. 

“Commander?” 

Commander?

No one had called you that for far too long. 

You whipped your head around. 

Captain Rex. 

Rex tucked his helmet under his arm, his mouth slightly agape, his armour dusty and his hair seemed blonder than you remembered. 

“Force,” he said, approaching slowly and blinking like he couldn’t believe it. “It really is you.”

You forced a smile on your face, suddenly hyper aware that your nose might’ve been equally as red as your eyes. “Rex.” You swallowed. 

And then a warm smile crept up his face. “Didn’t think we’d ever see you again.”

You smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, well. Things happened,” you tried to laugh it off. 

Rex shifted his helmet to his other hand, “word is that you will be joining us in our expeditions.” 

You narrowed your eyes at this, “us as in…?”

“General Skywalker,” he scratched his chin. “I think that includes General Kenobi’s 212th.”

You held back a groan and instead began to rub the skin under your lips anxiously. “Seriously?” You grumbled. 

“Seems like you guys know more than me,” You forced out an awkward chuckle. 

Rex shrugged, “word gets around fast around here.” And then with a cheeky smile, “I’m sure Sir was ecstatic to see you.”

“Anakin?” You questioned, taken aback.

“You know how he is. Wouldn’t say it outright, but…you could tell.” His voice more gentle now. “Every free second he had, he spent it with R2.” He added. “Thought he was fixing comm relays. But we knew.”

“He was still trying to reach you.”’

You felt your heart pang. You didn’t know what to say. Biting your lip, your brain scrambled to find anything to say. 

“Well…um…He was definitely-” You stuttered. “Emotional?”

So what the hell was the deal with Padme? Why did he have to make things so much more complicated for you than they already are. 

Force. 

Rex immediately sensed the way you uncomfortably shifted weights between your feet. To spare you, he changed the topic. His gaze grifted briefly to your untouched saber at your belt, then back up to your eyes. “You’re gonna be needed,” he said. “We’re spread thin. Too thin.”

You then looked at him, really looked at him.

This wasn’t about orders and pride from the council. It was about survival.

“It’s not the same,” you said, looking down. 

“No,” he agreed, his voice low. “But we’re not the same either.”

You glanced back at the Temple. Maybe you didn’t belong here. But you were needed. As much as you hated it, you had nowhere else to go. You already tried that. 

Before you could answer, a call crackled through Rex’s comms. He grimaced. 

“Gotta go,” he said, lifting his helmet and tucking it down under his chin. “But…it’s good to see you again. Really.”

“Likewise.” You shot him a small smile. 

He then turned away and jogged off. You stood there alone. Reality dawning upon you. You couldn’t ignore both Anakin and Obi-wan as much as you wanted to. You were all so close knit so of course they would place you under their supervision. 

Your shoulders slumped and you felt a ball of anxiety grow in your stomach. You weren’t excited for this. Not one bit. 

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

Anakin’s boots echoed as they hit the durasteel floor in rhythmic taps. 

In his usual confidence, he walked with his shoulders set, one hand on a datapad, the other swinging at his side. His gloved fingers were twitching like they wanted to grab something more useful than a report. 

He didn’t look around or glance at the other hallways. He knew this level. 

Level 6, Cellblock.

Judicial Detention Center, Coruscant. 

It was the level where high risk detainees were kept. Prisoners of war. Assassins. Dev. 

The corridor was narrow and lined up with holding cells built for function, not comfort. White-blue lightning. A singular bed and just enough room to sit, pace and regret. 

His nose crinkled as the place reeked of sterilisation fluid. 

As Anakin passed cells, he couldn’t miss the people who muttered to themselves, rocking in place. The ones who were scarred and slouched against the wall, eyeing him carefully. 

Anakin didn’t break stride to look at them, he didn’t need to. His presence said enough. 

Glancing down at the datapad as he neared the end of the hall, he tapped against Dev’s record. 

Bounty: Two confirmed Jedi targets — dead or alive. 

Affiliation: Independent. Known associate ‘Ani’ (alias). 

He felt his mouth twitch. 

Anakin paused at the final cell. And inside was Dev. 

Dev who sat against the edge of his bed, his wrists bound in stun cuffs, his ankles chained to the floor. He didn’t look up right away. 

Grabbing something in his pocket, Anakin pulled out an ID tag and scanned the scanner. The cell door slid open with a hiss. And then he grabbed a chair with rough hands that was placed at the end of the hall, where a guard would most likely watch overnight. The chair scratched the floor as he pulled it in the cell. 

Anakin stepped in, his shoulders broad and his face unreadable. 

Dev finally looked up, neither of them smiled or showed any emotion. 

Anakin sat on the chair across from Dev, clearing his throat, ready to begin. 

“Full name, Dev Lowsyk, correct?”

Dev didn’t say anything. 

Anakin’s expression darkened. 

“Answer.”

Dev rolled his eyes. “How long will this take?”

“If you work with me then we won’t be longer than 10.”

Dev looked down, his chest rose up slowly. “Correct.” He then exhaled. 

“Age twenty-one?”

Dev nodded. 

“Left the order at 15, yadda yadda yadda…” Anakin scrolled through the datapad before pausing at his most recent history. 

“Bounties including specifically targeting Jedi. And the Corellia bombing.” Anakin looked up from his datapad, a stern look on his face. 

Dev shifted slightly. His jaw was bruised —no doubt from the temple guards that dragged him in— and his knee was wrapped in bandages. 

Anakin continued, his voice level. “Tell me who paid you.” 

“You’d think I’d tell you?” 

“It wasn’t a request.”

Dev gave a sharp breath through his nose. “Look, I don’t keep receipts, alright? I get the target and then I get my credits. That’s how it works.”

“You’re telling me you don’t know who you deal with?” Anakin’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, the datapad forgotten now.

“We don’t ask questions,” Dev shrugged, “they aren’t usually too eager to tell anyways.”

Anakin paused at the mention of ‘we’. 

“And Y/n?” Anakin felt himself tiptoeing around a topic he knew himself wouldn’t like. “Did she know about the bombing?”

Something flickered in Dev’s face. So imperceptible. But Anakin saw it. 

Dev’s lips twitched. “You mean, Ani?” Anakin felt his stomach twist at his nickname. At the alias you chose to have. “She didn’t know.”

Anakin didn’t blink. 

He felt the Force in the room thicken with tension. 

“Let’s talk about you two.” Anakin crossed his arms defensively. “Where did you meet, Y/n?”

“Jakku.” Dev answered honestly. “I helped her get out of her Jedi clothes. She seemed pretty useful so that’s how we ended up here.” 

Jakku?

That was where you had been all along? 

The most remote, lawless planet in the outer rim. Anakin wanted to hit himself because how couldn’t he have thought of that? It was a planet for refugees, outlaws, thieves. It was the most perfect place you could retreat to. Still, there were too many systems for him to pick but he just wished he could have done different. 

Anakin cleared his throat, trying to not it affect him in front of Dev. “She worked with you for over a year. You coordinated jobs together,” Anakin nodded to himself, trying to understand the picture. 

“We recently had our one year anniversary,” Dev corrected.

Anakin ignored him. “So why take her in at all?”

Dev huffed a dry breath. “It’s not every day you see a rogue Jedi.” Anakin didn’t say anything, but gave Dev a hard stare, not satisfied with his answer. 

“Look, I saw myself in her. She didn’t know who to trust. Didn’t care if she lived through the next week, but still she wanted to find her footing.” Dev leaned forward. “She had the skills, I needed an extra hand, she had nowhere else to go, so it worked out.”

Anakin’s throat tightened, but said nothing.

“It wasn’t anything romantic,” Dev added, a strand of his golden hair falling over his eye. “I respect her. I still do. And then Dev’s mouth curled downwards, in an expression Anakin could almost describe as disgust. “But not when she acts like a Jedi.” Dev referenced the moments when you would defend the Order as if they didn’t abandon both you and him. When he saw the way you immediately obeyed Anakin and Obi-wan after being found, it made him realise the flaws you had. 

Anakin allowed him to continue, watching the way Dev shook his head as if he wanted to forget about that part of you. “She would give credits back to the kids on the outer moons. Never kept any for herself.”

Dev went quiet for a moment as if he was thinking. Then casually—

“She used to have this old comm receiver. Beat to hell. It never left her wrist.” 

Anakin’s head lifted, his eyes widened in slow realisation. “And what did she do with it?” He asked carefully. 

Dev watched Anakin with a growing smirk, like he was a predator and Anakin was the prey. Dev knew which buttons to push. 

“Oh, she didn’t tell you? She used to listen to your messages. Quiet little habit. Helped her fall asleep, I think.” Dev shrugged it off.

Anakin didn’t speak. He couldn’t. 

His jaw clenched hard and his teeth ached. His grip on the datapad was so tight it could almost crush underneath his white knuckles. His stomach twisted in knots and he suddenly felt very nauseous. It wasn’t because he didn’t believe Dev — but because he did. 

Because Anakin knew the way you would sleep. 

Anakin knew that you needed something to hold. Something to ground you. Whether he would spend the night in your room —your arms around his chest— or when you missed his voice when he was away, he would send you encrypted voice messages. 

You heard him. This entire time. 

Anakin stood slowly, trying his hardest to keep a neutral expression on his face. He didn’t want Dev to think that it affected him. 

“Where are you going?” Dev asked coyly. 

“I think our time is done here.” And without letting Dev have another word in, he made his way out the cell door. 

The door slid shut behind him with a hiss. 

Anakin didn’t stop walking and he most certainly didn’t look back. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe either.

Dev’s words replayed in his head over and over again. 

Anakin turned a corner and into the turbolift, wanting to get out of here as fast as he could. He wanted to punch a wall but instead he closed his eyes. 

Anakin had spent a year telling himself you didn’t care, that you had moved on, that you didn’t miss him at all. 

And now — now it was a shitty truth in his hands and he didn’t know what to do with it. 

He didn’t know anymore. 

Maybe he could call Padme? Padme knew how he felt about you. Especially while you were away. But now that you were back in the picture, it felt like he couldn’t. Like the problem was here, head on, and not tucked away in the corners of his heart and mind.

He wanted to sleep. 

He wanted to forget about you. 

Forget about everything you two had together.

Forget about the kind, sweet girl he grew to love.

He had wished he argued against Obi-wan and not taken this task. 

That night, Anakin didn’t go to bed. Instead, he stared blankly at the endless lights of Coruscant. 

The city didn’t care.

The war didn’t stop. 

And he would still be expected to turn up at 0800 sharp. 

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

Anakin was already there when the doors opened. Already aching in places he couldn’t name. 

The mission hall buzzed with tension. Multiple holomaps hovered mid air, showing different systems, landmarks and terrains. 

You walked in but dressed differently. Dressed like a commander. 

Across the room, clones murmured strategy amongst themselves. Both part of Anakin and Obi-wan’s army. 

Anakin stood near the front, his arms crossed against his chest and his jaw tight. He wouldn’t look at you directly. He never wanted to look at you. His heart burned every time he met your gaze and he would feel his throat tighten up. He still could still feel your palm lingering against his chest, pushing him away in anger. You didn’t even want to look at him. After the things he had said to you, how could you? It was clear enough he had changed. This wasn’t the same Anakin you grew to love. The Anakin you knew would have come to you at the late of night to apologise, gently taking you into his arms. But you didn’t know that such a thing was not part of Anakin’s agenda anymore. Certainly not after learning that you didn’t care as much as Anakin wanted you to. 

Obi-wan paced between the holomaps, gesturing and talking to Cody. No one looked at you directly. You could feel it. Questions buzzing around the room. 

Why is she here? 

What is she now?

You’re not a Jedi anymore?

Obi-wan and Cody went over usual protocols, debriefing the team on what was to be done.

“The final sweep team for Saleucami will leave within the hour,” Obi-wan said, his voice steady. “L/n, you’ll accompany Commander Rex’s division.” Obi-wan broke you out of your trance. 

You gave a short nod. And beside Obi-wan, Anakin shifted just slightly. The subtle roll of his shoulders. 

Cody glanced at you, and then back down at the map, and then back at you. Like he wanted to say something but he wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate. Raising his hand and enlarging a certain point on the hologram, he inhaled. 

“Commander, L/n. If you have worked there before-” he subtly referenced your ‘past’, "- we’d value your expertise.” 

The words were polite. Measured. Although, you suddenly felt on the spot. There was still some chatter amongst the other soldiers yet it felt like you were the center of attention.

You’ve been there once —with Dev— not exactly on Jedi business. 

“I mean, sure-” You walked up towards the magnified holo of the terrain, adjusting your glove absently. 

You inhaled deeply before beginning, "the west flank has collapsed terrain,” you pointed towards the ridgeline. “It’s narrow and we aren’t able to see much, but it's defensible if we can take it before dusk.” You said calmly.

Planning and strategising like this wasn’t new to you, you had done it a million times with your own troops, the troops here and with Obi-wan and Anakin. 

“The main risk is the drop off here.” You circled a cliffside on the eastern shelf. “It's too deep for us to scale on our own so if we set charges at the middle of all of that..." You hummed, licking your lips. "We can collapse the exit and trap anyone trying to come in from the south.”

“If we push Rex’s squad through the north pass at-”

“-Or,” Anakin snapped. “We don’t risk sending people into a canyon you’ve only seen from the wrong side of the war.”

The words immediately died in your mouth and the room fell silent. You stared at him and you didn’t even register the way Obi-wan’s head turned sharply towards him. Every clone fell silent and even the holomap flickered like it wanted to disappear. 

All you saw was him. Anakin. In all his glory. 

He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. 

The fury. 

The hurt. 

He couldn’t hide it after feeling another betrayal from you. 

You hadn’t even realised your arm was outstretched pointing to the map. You forced it down slowly, eyeing Anakin very carefully. 

“Excuse me?” You blinked. 

Anakin stepped forward. “That plan is reckless and arrogant.”

“I’ve led strikes like this before.”

“How long ago?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I know the terrain. I’m not just guessing-”

“You’re not a Jedi anymore.”

Silence. 

Rex looked down awkwardly, feeling the tension in the air. He felt torn between defending you and protecting his general. 

Kix busied himself with the holomap, beginning to adjust the map for no reason but to do something. And Cody pretended as if he wasn’t listening, fiddling with his helmet. 

You audibly scoffed, feeling the tips of your ears turn red. You opened your mouth to respond but Obi-wan stepped in just as fast. 

“Anakin.” He warned firmly. 

“I was given just as much authority by the Council to help lead this mission.” You defended yourself. 

“You’re not cleared yet. You’re here under supervision.” He said, his voice low. 

Your throat closed but you stayed standing.

Obi-wan stepped forward again, wanting to diffuse the situation. “Anakin, that's enough.” Obi-wan had a hard look on his face. 

Red —poor Rex— looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, glancing at you and then immediately away. 

You felt every eye in the room digging at your skin. You stood there frozen. Shocked that Anakin had embarrassed you this badly in front of your own people. 

Obi-wan broke the silence diplomatically. “Commander Rex, if you would please assign a recon detail to L/n and prepare for the shuttle.”

Rex straightened and immediately nodded, “Of course, Sir.” He said, eager to leave the room. The other clones busied themselves and maps began to blink out as they also aimed for the door. 

Anakin didn’t say anything else but stare at you across the room. His chest heaving and a glare on his face. 

And as you turned to leave the room, you still felt him shoot daggers at your back. 

While the room filed out, Obi-wan looked over at Anakin disappointed. This was not at all how he raised his padawan. 

“You crossed a line,” Obi-wan finally said, watching Anakin’s jaw tighten. “And you know it.” 

His lips parted, wanting to defend himself in fury, but Obi-wan didn’t let him.

“You humiliated her in front of the entire command council,” he continued. “You humiliated yourself.”

Anakin pushed his arms closer to himself and he looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. “She deserved it,” he muttered. 

Obi-wan’s gaze hardened. “No.” He said sharply. “She didn’t.”

Anakin whipped his head around to look at Obi-wan, his eyes blazing. “She heard everything, Master! All that time I tried to talk to her through my comms —like you suggested—” he pointed at Obi-wan, “she heard them! She doesn’t care.”

“How can we let her back in here like nothing happened? She–” he stopped himself. The words snagging in his throat like it would hurt too much to finish. 

Obi-wan took a step closer to Anakin. Master and apprentice. Obi-wan couldn’t miss the way Anakin’s hands shook ever so slightly. He saw the grief under all that rage. And Obi-wan knew, he knew how much it would hurt him to find out something like that. He was the one who suggested it. He told him to keep trying and he did. He also knew when Anakin had given up on it. 

“You’re angry,” he said softly, “I understand.” 

Anakin laughed bitterly, his boots squeaking against the polished floor as he fidgeted. “You don’t understand.”

“She was ours,” Anakin said quietly. “She was our friend.”

Pain flickered across Obi-wan’s features. He too yearned for the old days. 

“I know,” he said. 

Silence. 

“Hurting her won’t undo the pain you’re carrying. It never does.”

Anakin said nothing, just looked down at his shoes as if the answer was plastered there. Obi-wan inhaled deeply, slightly relieved that he had calmed down. 

“You owe her an apology,” Obi-wan gently said.

Anakin didn’t react. He didn’t agree nor disagree. He just stared down, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.

Obi-wan watched him for a long moment. Anakin looked like the child he once was after being scolded by his master. He saw the boy he raised. And the man he was becoming. 

With that, Obi-wan left the room and left Anakin to stand alone in the silence. 

a/n: YAAYY new chp guys better days r coming TRUST MEEE anakin wont forever be like this 😭😭😭😭hope yall liked it mwah omg also some credit to @k-n-e that whole dev and ani scene was like a light bulb moment i had to add it in hehe omg one more thing i hope that last part wasn't rushed or anything i just dont wanna bore u guys 😩

This isn’t proof read guys sorry I’m sleepy I will tmr💔

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift @heyitsbeeeb @user-3113s-blog @fandomhoe101 @veronaspencil @zudooms @hiphopdancer101universe @starfire21 @devotedlypaleluminary @miksxz @lacherrysouldy @lotushzl @biddycums @wandasblacknails

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

[janumun]

Faaaaa my babyyyy, I'm here as promised. 🥺🥺 We already talked about this in dms and you seemed so interested so can you write the lads men reacting to mc's death, please pretty please

When You Are Gone [All LaDS Men - Angst Headcanons]

Rated: SFW - Angst Tags: hurt/no comfort, poorly dealing with the death of a loved one

Summary: The LaDS men dealing with the aftermath of your death, in the heartbreaking messages they leave in your voicemail almost regularly even long after you’re gone, in an effort to cope with your loss.

Author’s Notes : Hey darling, absolutely! Here you go. Hope you enjoy (?). 😭 This headcanon’s a bit differently formatted because I was inspired by the game’s speech to text function. 

Sylus

TW: knowingly putting oneself in danger, mortally wounded Sylus, insomnia, mild spoilers for Razor’s Grip ASMR 

Transcript:

Hey there! You’ve reached my voicemail, which is a rare occurrence. That either means I do not know recognize your caller ID. Orrrr you are a certain infuriating Boss Man, trying to calling me up at all ungodly hours of the night again. Whoever you are, leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you ASAP.  

A heavy snort of sour laughter rolls past bruised lips, to hear the familiar automated sound of your voice playing on the other end of the line; one Sylus does not tire of no matter how many times he’s heard it. A thick, punishing burst of pain fractures across his torso when he chokes up on the blood gurgling within his throat.  

Sylus reaches to curb the sound within a bloodied fist, clearing his throat to speak once more. 

I suppose I did deserve all your reprimands, seeing as I am still calling you way past your bedtime, kitten.  

His voice lowers an octave, slow, gentle.   

I hope you’re having a good dream. 

I’m only calling because you told me to let you know anytime I’d be away on a risky mission. A hushed chuckle sounds on the other end of the line.  

You'd practically ordered it of me — do you remember?  

The night when you grabbed me by the lapels and asked me to not make a deal all on my own, ever again. That you worried for me whenever I was gone and you wanted to know the next time I planned on taking a mission, of this caliber. 

You’d willingly walked back to me and since then, I have always made space for you, just like you’ve wanted. 

I’ve kept up my end of our bargain.  

A guttural moan of pain sounds through the otherwise quiet of the night.  

These wounds of mine... functioning without sleep for this long, and a poor decision made on my end, the combination was bound to have consequences.  

His chuckles knell throaty, labored. 

And now, all I wish to do is sleep.  

A lengthy silence follows after, making one believe the user on the other end of the line might’ve cut the call. Or fallen asleep in exhaustion of his wounds, like he said.  

Before that gentle burr of his sounds once more. 

You know I can’t die, sweetie, unfortunate as that is in this moment.  

But I do have a wish for when my body inevitably loses its awareness for the short time it takes to recuperate.  

I hope, Sylus’s voice softens. that when I close my eyes this time, I get to see you in my dreams.  

Zayne

TW: allusions to embalming a body long after death, mentions of a protocore heart that continues to function even after the host’s death, denial of grief 

Transcript:

Hi, you’ve reached my voicemail. I am currently unavailable but drop me a message and I’ll get back to you, stat. 

A quiet insouciant voice — the clearing of a throat — begins on the other end of the line.  

Akso Hospital Log 171, the time right now is 4:17 AM. The host’s heart continues to function, although its less-than-optimal cardiac output remains at 1L per min. A pulse rate of 13 beats per min has been documented today. A slight decrease from its value yesterday, recorded at 17 beats per minute.  

A brief pause. 

Does it bother you to hear me speak of you this way? I’m sorry. A mere force of habit on my part. You are my patient, after all. Documentation must be precise, and to the point, for our research to progress, if we are to have even a sliver of a chance at resuscitating your heart.  

I have hope we will succeed; I will do my utmost as a doctor so that we may save you.  

Another pregnant pause. 

Do you too think I am foolish for my efforts?  

Greyson accosted me in the hallways tonight after my scheduled surgery and he seemed so... incensed. For being unable to give up on you, for crossing a line, to not get overtly attached to any of our patients, he said it was a clear violation of our Oath and called it my professional failing. And afterwards... he implored that I give up now.  

Someone once asked me, long ago: if I would go beyond death to try and bring back the person I loved, were they to pass away. And I answered that I would not, a desecration of the dead is not something I’d wish to do. Or wish upon the deceased. I would rather divert all my efforts to ensuring they would live, that their heart would continue to beat healthy.  

So, in retrospect, it is Greyson who’s strange in expecting my willing defeat, without having even tried to the best of my capabilities. Not when your heart still continues to beat. 

I do, however, miss you... very much, even though hope remains in my heart. 

When the day comes that you wake up, I hope you do not have to suffer like this, ever again. 

Rafayel

TW: gradual loss of vision, self-blame 

Transcript:

Hi, hello! I’m unable to answer your call at the moment but hey, feel free to drop me a voice message and I’ll get back to you soon. Bye-bye! 

A sharp inhale; as if the person on the other end of the line is wracked by sudden, vicious pain.  

Before the sound smoothens out, as if it had never been. An airy voice begins, although the nonchalant inflection to his tone sounds odd, all wrong — a fact the recipient of the voicemail would’ve been able to parse instantly, were they still around. 

Hey cutie! It’s me again, your favorite person in the entire world.  

Sorry about that earlier, I always get a bit startled whenever I hear you say good-bye in that crazy adorable voice.  

Since y’know, the very last time we met, you never told me you were leaving. 

Silence descends.  

It really feels like it’s been another 800 years, I fear the fish will actually start flying and the whales will start walking this time.  

Only, I don’t think you’re coming back this time, are you?  

My bride can be so cruel sometimes. 

A humorless laugh.  

Anyyyyway, I’m dropping a voice note today because my eyesight’s been acting up a bit lately so I can’t really leave you a text like I usually do.  

And before you scold me about it, I know I’m not supposed to be painting this long but I’m close to completing this new painting of you and I can’t rest until it’s done and dusted.  

Don’t hate me for it, pretty? 

A pleased, wistful sound.  

I really wish you were here so I could show it to you right now.  

A strident crash sounds in the background of the caller as paintbrushes overturn along with a color palette; garnet red and deep purple staining his floor a macabre color Rafayel cannot perceive in that moment.  

Whoa, now that’s gonna leave a mess from the sounds of it.  

Whatever, I’ll clean it up later once I get my sight back.  

The point is, cutie, I’ll share a snap of the completed painting with you once it’s done.  

Be prepared to be absolutely blown. So dazzled you fall head over heels in love with me. 

And then perhaps... return, if you like it and me enough.  

His sigh is steeped in mild vexation.  

Waiting hurts.  

Having you not remember our time together, in every lifetime we meet, hurts. It really is all your fault, you know.  

A soft, disgruntled moue you can hear within his words.  

But I hope, in our next life, we don’t cross paths.  

That way, you won’t be forced to sacrifice yourself for my sake, ever again, you silly girl.  

A throttled sound; it almost sounds like a wretched moan of pain.  

I don’t want our bond to shackle you down anymore so I think... I’ll let you go now.  

A human like you far suits the sun, not being saddled down below within turbulent seas. 

So, this will be our final farewell now. 

The words nearly scraped free of his throat on a rasped sound.  

Goodbye, my beloved bride. 

I loved— 

Beep. Your message has been recorded and sent.  

Caleb

Transcript:

TW: very brief traumatic remembrance of your demise 

Hi hi! You’ve reached the ever-diligent Miss Hunter’s voicemail. I’m probably out on a mission right now so I’m unable to respond but I’ll get back to you ASAP if you drop me a message instead!  

A soft chuckle warms the air in fond recollection to hear your voice. The knot of Caleb’s brow furrowing deeper as he tries to imprint that cheery voice into his skull to overwrite the sounds of your pained screams still knelling within his ears.  

Before he clears his throat to begin.  

Hello to you too, pipsqueak.  

It’s your 25th birthday today and I thought I’d record this little memento for us. 

Happy Birthday, my tiny hurricane of disaster. I really miss you, you know, even if you don’t seem to.  

He chuckles in resignation. 

I should’ve let you bother me more often if I knew you were going to be this terrible at keeping in touch with your best friend later.  

We really didn’t have much time together once I returned from my posting abroad. Work kept you so busy.  

I should’ve scolded you more often about taking appropriate breaks in between missions. God.  

A gentle laugh resounds on the other end of the line. 

Reprimanding you like a dad used to be Zayne’s job among us three, not mine.  

The tiniest of fractures slip into his voice. 

Anyway, I’ve kept to my side of the bargain we made while I was away from Linkon; to leave you regular voice messages about my day and I guess the habit’s just... stuck.  

I visited the grocery store earlier to shop for ingredients to whip up your favourite parmesan risotto tonight.  

It was almost like you were with me, you know.  

With each item I passed by; from the strawberries you love to inhale to your favourite cola displayed, front and center, within their fridge. I almost picked one up for you before I— 

He visibly halts himself, his breathing somewhat erratic. Before he resumes once more. 

That nice kid you’re friendly with was manning the counter today and he recognized me almost instantly. All thanks to being towed around the Supermart with you, no doubt. 

He even gave me a nice discount on the items when I told him I was whipping up a birthday dinner for you.  

A short pause. 

The risotto was pretty good, if I do say so myself. I wish you could’ve tasted it too.  

Sorry I didn’t bake a birthday cake for you this year because it’s just me in the house now. 

I don’t have a certain cute girl, with a crazy sweet tooth, to eat it with me and you know I’m not really fond of sweets.  

His voice drops into a hushed sound, wrought with emotion. 

Time flew by so fast. It seems like only yesterday when we were both kids, huddled around a coffee table with you trying your best to blow out the candles on the cake Grandma baked for us on your birthday.

He laughs softly.

You had a difficult time growing up because of your heart but you were always so brave.  

I wish I could’ve spoiled you more often. If only I knew then that our time together would be so short.  

His voice breaks into a slight tremor.  

Your Caleb really misses you... every day of my excruciating life. 

But... I hope that now... wherever you are, you aren’t in pain anymore. 

If there is a life after this one, I hope you let me find you in it, too. 

I love you, little spitfire.  

End of voice message. 

Xavier

TW: space travel, personal logging of a journey, self-imposed isolation and neglect

Transcript:

Hi there, you’ve reached my voicemail as I’m unable to attend your call at the moment. Leave a message after the beep and I’ll be sure to get back to you soon! 

Hi to you too, angel.  

It’s been a while since I’ve left you a message, hasn’t it?  

I’m sorry, I’ve been facing some turbulence anomalies ever since my ship hit the Bode’s galaxy so I’ve been a bit occupied.  

Where were we last time?  

Ah, I told you how Jeremiah’s shop has been thriving on Earth lately, because I remembered you saying you wanted to know how he was doing the last time we spoke.  

You never got the chance to see for yourself after.  

He pauses.  

I didn’t want to tell you at the time because you and Jeremiah really seemed to be growing close as friends and that bothered me.  

Forgive me? 

A shift of gears sounds within the quiet interior of the spaceship as Xavier adjusts a few controls.  

I know these logs will never reach you but I still want to talk to you about our journey.  

I never...  

His voice drops; the sliver of a whisper.  

got to show you this small planet I found while out on my travels, a long time ago. I named it Uluru. It’s a red rock planet, you see.  

I told you about it once and you said you’d really like to go see it someday. “Xavier’s own planet,” you said.  

I think you were teasing me then. But I wanted to tell you, it’s not just Xavier’s planet but “Xavier and MC’s little planet”.  

I didn’t have the chance to show it to you while you were still— 

A violent catch of breath followed by a soft curse, cleaves through the quiet. 

A low exhale before that quiet voice picks up once more. 

Uluru is reaching the end of its life soon after all these lightyears and I wanted to go together with you to see our planet one last time before it died.  

As for what I’ll do after...  

A pause and a thoughtful hum, follows. 

I think I’ll stay there once I’ve witnessed its demise.  

Earth no longer has any springs for me to return to now that you’re gone and Philos — well I can’t return to that place anymore.  

So, I think I’ll stay, among the ruins of the place that was supposed to be our home.  

With you. 

End Notes: Thank you for reading! I know many of us wept about how we wished for God to take all of Zayne’s pain and give it to us instead so here I am, happy to do exactly that. 😇 Happy Zayne story branch release, y’all. 

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated if you are so inclined, lovelies!

Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro , @beebumbo , @hellinistical

If you have not been tagged, it’s because I can’t tag you due to tagging permissions turned off on your end.

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here. If you’d like to be removed, shoot me a DM!

You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter, if you’d like to chat or just squeal with me about hot characters, in general.

[la-patrona-magdalena]

Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. I think this would also count as slow burn. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Translation or reposting to other platforms is also strictly prohibited without the author's permission

Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

Thank you so much to @seleneprince for being the beta reader and editor of the English version.

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Masterlist

Chapter Four - Too Many Looks!

After several days, the Batcave was suddenly filled with laughter as several masked figures came in..

— Nothing serious, probably just some entity wanting a milkshake or something.— Stephanie removed her mask, sighing in exhaustion.

— Yeah, well. I hope that “entity” also gives me back the hours of sleep I lost over this. — Terry glanced over his shoulder at Bruce with a hint of annoyance…noticing he looked more tired than usual, even overwhelmed.

— If it was an “entity” ordering a shake, it’s probably a glitch in the Batcave dispenser’s temporal condenser, — Harper said smiling, unlike the dark-haired boy, as she ran a quick check on her gear — I’m going to download the sensors logs; if there’s another “interdimensional creature” lurking around, I don’t want it to catch me off guard.

— I’m glad everyone’s here, — Alfred arrived through the elevator, greeting the vigilantes who had just come. Most of them were removing their gear and handing in their reports, the boy in the yellow suit simply nodded to Alfred and headed straight back to the elevator.

— Master Duke, she will be staying at Tim’s apartment temporarily.

— …What? — Duke stopped in his tracks, looking at Alfred in surprise. And it wasn’t  just him. Everyone else looked equally surprised. 

Well, at least some of them.

— Who? — Terry and Harper looked confused. Most of the female members had come with them, and Barbara had been helping as Oracle. So, who were they talking about?

— Avery’s daughter. Remember her? — Luke tried to jog their memories, though he looked a bit disappointed that the two of them clearly had no idea who you were, even though he at least remembered introducing you.

Terry ran through a mental list of faces and names he’d come to know since he started visiting this universe more often. He only had a faint recollection tied to that name.

— I remember the model… she gave me cookies. — He scratched the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward because he clearly had no clue who they were talking about.

Cassandra walked past everyone, approaching Alfred, her voice firm but tinged with sadness.

— She’s leaving? Why?

You knew Dr. Leslie already. She came at least once a month to give everyone a basic checkup, although you seemed more familiar with her than the others.

She confirmed Alfred’s diagnosis, so for a few days you were put on rest with a strict diet and, to your annoyance, it wasn’t just Tim worrying about you anymore, but Damian, and to your further consternation, Dick as well.

The doctor prescribed you two to three days of rest, but someone, you don’t remember who, (and right now it’s not your priority with everything you have to do) suggested it would be a good idea to keep you there for a week. That week would have been perfect for carrying out your plan to study the comics and gather information for phase two of your plan, but finding time alone proved almost impossible.

All week long you always had someone around you, starting with Alfred. You loved him, of course, but ever since you fainted, and knowing it was because of you skipping meals, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

— Young lady, if you don’t empty at least half of that plate, I’ll be forced to call Dr. Leslie to remind her of the importance of following medical instructions… again.

It was just typical Alfred worrying about you. It wouldn’t be threatening if it weren’t for the fact that you felt he wouldn’t leave your room until you ate every bite. You no longer went down to dinner in the dining room because they insisted you ate in bed. You could barely get up to go to the bathroom without someone trying to follow you or staying nearby. In theory, they had things to do, but somehow they always found a way to keep their eyes on you.

— Someone has to make sure your brain doesn’t rot while you lie around all day.

Ever since Damian arrived at the mansion, he hadn't seemed very enthusiastic about studying. You knew it took him a while to start studying and that, unlike you, he didn't study at home. Although, based on what you saw in the comics, he apparently didn't need to. You also didn't understand why he suddenly insisted on doing his homework with you around.

The comics never mentioned in detail what kind of place Damian came from, but the name “League of Assassins” and the fact that he was the way he was… told you a lot.

Damian never seemed interested in studying, so when he would come over with his books to sit beside you with the excuse of “studying together so you don’t turn dumb from resting,” it felt very odd. Although not as odd as the times he showed up with a pencil and notebook to draw—never letting you see what he was working on, but always picking moments when you weren’t moving too much. Once he even brought you new yarn and needles so “you’d have something to do” while he sketched. You ended up making a replica of Alfred The Cat with yarn and placing it next to the little crocheted Haley on your shelf.

— I… understand that you don’t want me around, but Haley can keep you company along with Titus and Alfred. You’re not going to turn down this adorable little thing, are you?

You really didn’t want Dick’s presence after he’d openly admitted to forgetting you exist, but you couldn’t do much since you couldn’t leave your room anyway. Besides, Haley wasn’t to blame for the kind of person her owner was, so you let her stay in your room… which gave Dick free rein to be there too. Each time Damian finished his time with you and went to the academy, Dick took his place. On the first day of rest he made no attempt. The hurt look you gave him must have stopped him…but only for a few days. It was barely over half a week before he tried everything to get closer. He never touched you or insisted on hugging you —you don’t know why—but his constant presence and need to talk to you was more than enough. It felt like he was forcing himself into your life.

— You knitted a Haley plush? How sweet. – It would be sweeter if he hadn’t been trying again to force conversation, sitting beside your bed and almost invading your personal space — How long have you been doing that? I also noticed you have a gymnastics book. Are you interested? — You were interested once, but you stopped after reading so many confusing lessons that sounded painful. And you're pretty sure you mentioned to him at some point that you were interested in knitting, although of course, he didn't listen. But at this point, you didn't blame him or hate him for it.

Yes, you felt betrayed and hurt by this family that you stopped calling your own since the day you fainted, yet you didn’t blame or hate them for it. They aren’t your real family—you know the painful truth of why you were never truly welcomed or treated like any other family member. So even if it did hurt, you’d never hate them.

What annoyed you was that in their eyes, you weren’t even a civilian worth keeping alive or giving minimum attention—unless something serious happened to you. Because now you had the full attention of those you once believed were your siblings, just as you wanted, but that’s not what you want now.

You’re certain they’re only waiting for you to recover to return to their daily routines. They feel guilty about your fainting, and besides, you don’t deserve this attention—Serelith does. Not you. You shouldn’t be here, with their… strange, affectionate attitude, their worried looks. Those looks weren’t meant for you, not even for a week. They weren’t yours; for a reason they never gave them to you. Those looks have always belonged to her. Not to you.

What you want, what you really want now, is to have enough time to gather what you need to live, to move to another country under another name and start over. You want them to stop trying to look at you. Their eyes don’t leave you for a second, and it bothers you more than their ignorant concern. At this point, you wouldn’t even be surprised if they took you from room to room in a wheelchair.

— You took one minute and fifteen seconds longer than usual to shower. Did something happen?

Tim hadn’t managed to keep you in his room, because as soon as he suggested it so he could monitor you constantly, Dick and Damian also demanded you stay in theirs, so you remained in your room while Tim brought his computer and a chair. He sat at your desk and worked on what you assumed was something related to his double life. You thought that, unlike the others, he’d be focused enough on that so you could do your own things in peace. It didn’t happen. Every time you tried to do something, he somehow anticipated it, dropping everything just to help you. If Tim was a nuisance during your panic attack, now he was worse after your fainting.

You didn’t have classes, even though you wanted to at least continue your knitting class. They wouldn’t let you—supposedly being in this state and doing school tasks could stress you more. Although you’d rather have a math class than be subjected to Damian’s lessons, Dick’s questions, and Tim’s concern.

– She’s eating much better, her blood levels are stable, there’s no sudden glucose drops, almost everything is fine.

– Almost? – Dick felt his heart drop to his feet when Dr. Leslie said that at the end of the week. He’d been one of the main causes of your condition; he was the one most terrified for you. If he hadn’t spoken with Bruce that day, if he’d stopped when he noticed your presence, you wouldn’t have fainted. He wasn’t even aware that you’d stopped eating. He should have stopped the conversation the moment he knew where it was going, he should have been there for you first.

– Don’t worry, her physical health is good. Her mental health…less so.

That wasn’t much comfort. Of course he was relieved about your health, but hearing the doctor’s hesitation about your mind stole any joy he felt. He could barely hide how sorry he was for what he’d caused you… Although he could see Bruce beside him looking worried too. Most might have missed it, but not him. After all, Dick had warned him.

– For the moment, she may show signs of severe anxiety. She should go to therapy to get a better diagnosis. I told you that part of the rest was to avoid the cause of stress as much as possible — didn’t you do that?

And that’s how you ended up clearing out your room to move to an apartment. 

You and Alfred are packing a few things from your room.

Just the essentials for a few weeks at Tim’s apartment: clothes and study materials.The first thing you slipped into your suitcase, once you were sure no one was watching, were the comics, hidden in a somewhat lumpy wool bag.

The final decision was yours. Dr. Leslie suggested you keep some distance for a while; she also recommended a psychologist. But honestly, you didn’t want to go. What would you say? That you’d seen a horrible destiny drawn in some comics? That you live with Gotham’s vigilantes and they left you to your fate? That you were switched at birth with another baby and your only proof is those few comic books?

Of course not, getting away from them for a few weeks was actually a better solution you thought, you'd have a respite from such a suffocating week. Alfred asked you directly, if you agreed to take some time away from this family, you could choose who to stay with.

You didn’t go with Dick because you still held resentment. And although you’d miss Alfred—and even Damian’s teasing—you were grateful not to have him with his notebook tracking you.

To you, Tim was the best option. You wouldn’t be near Bruce, and even though he’d brushed you off when the Joker struck and you’d once heard him call you “dramatic,” he’d never said anything hurtful directly. In fact, his previous indifference had hurt more.

Anyway, there were no other family members available at the moment; they left early two days before everything changed to who knows what. So you have no other options.

It was the first time you’d left Wayne Manor for anything other than shopping—and without Alfred by your side.

With your bags packed, Alfred took a couple and you grabbed the other two. Together you descended the stairs and reached the grand foyer, where the others waited: Tim and Damian glaring at each other, Dick with a downcast look… and, to your surprise, Bruce.

You’d already grown accustomed to not calling him your father.

The atmosphere felt heavy. It was the first time in days you’d seen Mr. Wayne outside of a passing glimpse in the hallways—or when you spied on him in secret. He hadn’t been around all week like the others; you weren’t even sure he’d been present during the time you were unconscious. Seeing him face-to-face after reading those pages, after learning the truth, was strange—but at least you’d spent the week resigning yourself to the fact that this man would never care for you as family… or even as a civilian.

Your real father barely appeared in the comic saga. You’d seen his face, you knew his name, but for now he didn’t seem like someone interested in his daughter. He didn’t even know you—or Serelith—existed. Though that brief glimpse in the comic might help you find him: a man with a single lock of hair falling over his brow. You wondered if he’d show you more compassion than Mr. Wayne ever would—they did seem to share one or two things in common from afar.

— How absurd. I don’t understand why she has to go with you. The manor is a better option— Damian grabbed one of your suitcases, nearly wrenching it from your hand as he stalked toward the car Alfred had prepared for you both.

— Oh, really? And who decides that—you? — Tim followed, yanking the other bag from your grasp before you could react. Their argument faded into the distance, leaving you behind with the two oldest while Alfred watched, clearly frustrated.

— Have they been like this all week, or has it been longer? — Even though Dick knew better than anyone that the two had a tense relationship, they’d set aside their differences years ago… at least enough to be in the same room without fighting.

— It’s recent, — Alfred replied, never taking his eyes off the warring teens. — Since the young lady’s episode.

— Oh, right. Tim mentioned it on a call. How bad was it? — Dick didn’t avert his gaze from the pair either, but he did glance at you out of the corner of his eye.

— Probably worse than we know. Master Tim didn’t want to leave her alone, and slept in her room that night.

The tension rose suddenly. Alfred stopped watching Damian and Tim argue in the distance. There wasn't much change in his sudden silence, just a slight tension in his fingers, gripping nothing until he spoke again, in a tone that tried to sound casual.

— All night?

— Until dawn — Alfred replied, simple and direct, but knowing full well what was causing it. —Apparently, that's what put young Damian in a bad mood. As far as I know, brothers argue about sharing toys, not custody.

Dick inhaled and exhaled. You and Mr. Wayne had witnessed everything. You don't know what he thought about it. You never knew him well enough, but what you do know is that Dick probably thought about the fact that you were very childish for staying with Tim. Not that you've heard anything from him, but the others said something similar. He probably had the same idea about you.

You wanted to leave quickly; being among them was suffocating. You were about to start walking past him, but Dick stood in front of you, blocking your way.

— If you need anything, anything at all, you can call me, I mean, call us. Okay?— He bent down to your level. He hesitated a little, but slowly placed his hand on your shoulder. It caused a slight shiver to run through your body.

—I don't have a phone. — Your answer came out colder than you intended. You knew you'd grown colder since that day. You'd noticed it unintentionally when you abruptly kicked Tim out of your class. You didn't mean to; you didn't want to be like that. You hated being like that, that's why you flushed the pills down the toilet at night. You loved laughing and running, but you just didn't have the energy these days. You hoped that distancing yourself, even with Tim around, would calm you down, like the doctor had said.

— Oh… — Dick knew you didn’t have a phone, you never had one, even so, right now I would prefer that you did have one, so as not to have an intermediary between the two of you and be just you. — …Ask Tim to call me then, don’t worry.

You just nodded. Dick stood there, staring at you as if he were imprinting your every feature into his memory. His hand felt heavier on your shoulder. You coughed a little, waiting for him to react. He did. It was just a slight movement of his eyebrows. He sighed and let go of you, moving away from you and standing up. His gaze shifted to Bruce, along with Alfred, a silent way of telling him that he should say something, also perhaps with a small hint of reprimand for having gotten them into this situation in the first place.

Bruce had remained at a distance from everyone, close enough to hear and see everything, but far enough not to be included. He doesn’t care, surely, you know that.

You don’t know, Dick and Alfred know Bruce well, they know it’s not like that.

In a few steps he was in front of you, his large figure overshadowing your much smaller one of a twelve year-old girl. He didn’t touch you,  just stared at you, which you were not able to understand.

— Have a good time — he said at last, his voice low and firm, without hesitation, with the same tone you expected from this man. — I hope that… you get better.

— Thank you — you answered, without thinking, without feeling anything. Only out of politeness. And before silence could take the room again Damian returned alone. Tim had stayed in the car waiting for you and Alfred.

Damian stood between both of you, separating your father from you, his annoyed gaze ran over you in the same way that Dick’s had before.

— It’s unnecessary for you to leave — He let out with the same dry tone that sometimes threatened to resemble Bruce’s. Deep down you wonder if Serelith would also speak that way… He extended a hand, showing you a small box, which you took with hesitation and, before you could ask him, he turned around and left.

How strange. If it weren’t because you know him you would think he went towards your room.

Still with the weird interaction in your mind, Alfred placed a hand on your back.

 — Young lady, it’s time to go.

You just nodded, letting yourself be guided to the car, sitting in the back with the box in your hand, Alfred settled in the driver’s seat next to Tim, fastened his seatbelt and started the car. Heading to Tim’s apartment, moving away from the mansion.

Bruce and Dick watched the car drive away, without moving from the entrance.

— Dick … You know what I meant by treating her as if she was dead.

— …I know.

Weeeeeeeeeell, another three weeks surviving solely thanks to Hamilton, Kpop demon hunters, and Shakira songs. I'm this close to putting this on hiatus—mainly because, like I said the first time I delayed the schedule, I like to have everything planned out before writing. And there’s one specific thing in the story that has no direction yet. It’s not important right now, but it’s bugging me a little.

On the other hand, once again I’m not totally happy with the result... But here it goes, I hope you all enjoy it at least. While we’re at it, someone on Tumblr asked if there would be a love interest. Honestly, I’m not really sure about adding one, even though the original manhwa has one. It could be useful, but I don’t know if they’d have a big role in the story. Still, I’ve been thinking a lot about it—especially after getting obsessed with a song that makes me want to base a romantic relationship around it. I have one or two people in mind, but I’d love to know if you have someone in mind or if you'd like one of the boys to shift from platonic to romantic later on. It wouldn’t change much of the plot aside from a few scenes, but suggestions are welcome! Now that I think about it, it's always a guy... but hey, if you’d rather it be a girl—or both—that’s totally valid too.

As always, thank you to everyone who leaves hearts, sweet messages, or comments about the story—you know I read them all even if I don’t reply... I think this is the first time my Tumblr note is the same as the one I posted on Ao3—well, not sure if you knew, but actually, the Ao3 chapter comes out a few hours earlier than the English one. Anyway.

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[writingslob]

SPIN-OFF: Lin Ling's guide to becoming an emotional support civilian [BIRTHDAY EDITION!]

[TO BE HERO X] x [LIN LING]

[The actual series can be found here!]

Author's note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LIN LING! This is written as a crack spin-off of my main series, so this is not canonical! I hope you enjoy!

Once again, thank you @kiraisrika for the idea (And for reminding me today is Lin Ling's birthday)

.

.

.

Nice was stressed.

E-Soul was running around at top speed, setting decorations, but they were all crooked, so Nice had to follow behind him and fix them. Even though that wasn’t his job. No, his job was to make sure everything was on schedule, but nothing was! It has been 50 minutes since X and Ahu were sent to go pick up the cake (From some bakery he doesn’t know, mind you). The only reason he allowed it was because X promised him they sold the best cake, and Lin Ling deserved the best. But! It has been 50 minutes! Where the hell are they!? (X can fucking teleport!) 

Behind him, as he straightened another streamer, he could hear Lucky Cyan arguing over the phone, telling the backup singers and dancers if they didn’t get over to the right location in time, she would personally make sure they were blacklisted from the industries forever. Loli, on the other hand, hasn’t even arrived yet, even though she was supposed to help Lucky Cyan and her team set up the stage for Lin Ling’s birthday concert. (There’s a text in the ‘Number 1. Lin Ling fan group’ which states that she would be late as she’s still putting the finishing touches on his gift. No one has seen it.) 

Dragon Boy and Ghostblade were busting in the kitchen, and he could hear the arguments and swearing from where he was standing. 

“You shouldn’t have put in that much butter. It’s not healthy for Lin Ling.”  Dragon boy snaps back, “IT’S HIS BIRTHDAY, OLD MAN!”  “So? I don’t want him to be as unhealthy as you.” Ghostblade calmly replies, continuing his chopping. “HUH!? WANT TO SAY THAT TO MY FACE, GRANDPA!?” 

Originally, they planned to hire the best catering company. But, when Lin Ling shyly told them that he preferred food made by his friends. Well, how could they deny him that? (The catering company was not happy with the late cancellation, but Queen and Ghostblade took care of it.) Speaking of Queen, he looked over to what she was doing, only to drop the banner he was fixing because—

“WHY IS THERE A ZOO IN HERE!?” The Johnnies looked over to him and glared at him witherly. The animals behind him give him the same look. “Because Lin Ling said he always wanted to visit a petting zoo, so this is our gift.” A faux look of surprise overcame his face as he looked at Nice. “Oh! Wait, no, you weren’t there when Lin Ling said that on our date. What. A. Shame.” Nice felt a blood vessel burst at Johnnie’s smug look. Before he could kill him, Queen intervened. 

“That’s Enough from the both of you. Lin Ling is set to come back any minute now. Get in your places.” She orders through gritted teeth. It was loud enough that everyone heard, and immediately complaints were raised.

“I HAVEN’T FINISHED FIXING EVERYTHING!”

“HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO HIDE ALL THESE ANIMALS!?”

“...” 

“THE STAFF WON’T COME IN TIME!”

“WE STILL HAVE 5 DISHES THAT NEED MORE TIME TO COOK.”

“SHUT UP!” Queen’s power takes effect, and Nice can feel his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth and his throat close up. He settles on glaring at her instead. She meets his and everyone’s glare head-on. “I don’t care about whether you finished your part or not. Lin Ling is coming. GET. IN. YOUR. PLACES.” His finger itches as his brain reminds him how many imperfections there still are (Lin Ling only deserves the best, after all.) But he backs down and flies over to his hiding spot beside the elevator. Nice can see everyone scatter, and the lights are turned off; the apartment is now pitch black. (Loli had designed automated curtains after Lin Ling muttered how he couldn’t sleep well because of the city lights.)

Waiting in the dark, Nice can only hear the sound of faint shuffling and soft breaths as they wait. Soon, the sound of the elevator rising and the glowing number up top illuminating what floor the elevator’s on—what floor Lin Ling is on. 

15

14

13

12

11

Nice’s hand spasms. Just one more floor. Then Lin Ling can be in his arms once more. (He already misses him.)

10

The elevator door opens. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LIN LING!!!”

X blinks back at them, a cake box sitting innocently in his hands. Ahu at his feet. They stood in silence before Dragon Boy groaned. “OH COME ON! WHERE THE FUCK IS LIN LING!?” That shout broke everyone out of the silence, and soon, everyone else was groaning and bemoaning the fact that Lin Ling wasn’t here. X blinked again. “Don’t worry, he’s coming soon. Very soon.” Taking a look around the place, the smile on his face turned into a slight grimace. “This looks…nice.” X turns to Nice. “No pun intended.” Nice, waves him off. “Whatever, just hand me the cake.”

X looks confused. “Why?”

“I’m going to greet Lin Ling with it.” Obviously. 

Before X can respond, Lucky Cyan jogs over. “Now hold on, why do you get to be the one to greet Lin Ling first with the cake?” Nice scoffs, “Because I’m his favorite, obviously. Now give it.” Before Nice can take it out of X's hands, X raises it above his head. His smile was now one of amusement. “His favorite? And here I thought I was number 1.” 

Nice opens his mouth to retort (X? The favorite? Please, Nice has been here the longest.) When the cake box is ripped out of X’s hand, Dragon Boy crackles manically. “Ha! And why would he want to hang out with you old fucks?” His grins widens “You know what? I’ll take this cake and Lin Ling, and we’ll celebrate his birthday. Privately.” Everyone saw red, and what transpired was a battle to the death. Punches were thrown along with all manner of weapons as they ducked out who could hold the cake.

They were so engrossed in their battle, in fact, that they didn’t hear the opening of elevator doors or the sound of footsteps approaching the battlefield before—

“What are you guys doing?”

Instantly, a feeling of calm washes over him as Lin Ling draws closer. However, the calm is instantly replaced with panic as he sees E-Soul kick the cake. It soars above them all as it flies directly over to Lin Ling. Nice tries to push him out of the way, and X has his hands ready to snap, but it’s too late as—

SPLAT

They all watch in horror as chunks of cake and frosting drip down Lin Ling’s head, splattering onto the ground below. The room is deafeningly quiet, and even with Lin Ling in arm’s reach, Nice can feel his heartbeat reach a crescendo. (Because Lin Ling is going to hate him because of this. This was supposed to be the perfect day—everything was supposed to be perfect. How did he fuck up this badly? Oh god, Lin Ling hasn’t moved. He’s going to hate it. What can he do? What can he do? WHAT CAN HE DO? Clean up. He can clean Lin Ling up and then beg for his forgiveness. Right, he can do that. Oh god, why won’t Lin Ling say anything—?)

Lin Ling laughs. 

Everyone freezes.

Ling Ling clutched his stomach and stumbled as he laughed. The laugh was loud, bright, and ugly, and Nice fell in love once more. It lasted for a few minutes, and everyone stared transfixed as Lin Ling's laugh turned into a giggle. His eyes were bright with joy. “Is…is this supposed to be my birthday party?” Someone nodded behind Nice. Lin Ling’s smile grew even bigger. “Then this is the best birthday party I have ever had!” His eyes soften. “Thank you.”

The party went smoothly after that. 

(“Hi guys! Sorry, Lin Ling, for being late—huh!? You already started without me!?”)

[revelboo]

ngl Ratbat kindaaa??

Wonder why there's so little content for him, is he like...? just not used as much in the comics? I'm so clueless.

Would you perhaps have any ideas in that glorious brain for him? If not it's cool (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)

Ah, in IDW, he was a senator and behind automating the mine Megatron worked in while trying to make a profit, and accidentally set Megatron on the path to become the leader of the Decepticons.

Soundwave pretty much yoinks his spark and shoves it into a cassette frame (why he’s so salty in Everything Is Alright)

He’s lovely, but such a manipulative dick lol

🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Pet

Ratbat x Reader

• “Go,” he growls, lifting a hand dismissively as he strides past Soundwave. “Find me something new. An opportunity.” Because dealing with the other senators has him in a mood. Ancient, backwards thinking fools. Unable to see beyond their rules and laws. To understand that their word is law. That they already hold the power, they just have to use it. Letting himself into his opulent habsuite, his optics slide around the space until he finds his little pet. Aggravation shifting to need.

• He’s back. And in a mood. Body heating as those yellow optics lock on you, hearing him snarl a command at you. While you can’t understand anything the massive alien says, you do understand what he’s demanding. It had been your idea to barter yourself, your body, to him in exchange for food, shelter, and the pampered life of a glorified pet. You’d just happened to luck out and find yourself in the care of an alien with a massive xenophilia kink. Slipping the sheer, loose garment from your shoulders, you sprawl on your belly on that cushioned bit of furniture he’d had made for you that puts your hips up at the angle he likes.

• “Such a good pet,” he snarls, mass displacing and joining you, a hand sliding up your spine. What would those old bastards think of him fragging an organic? That he has a little, pet frag toy? They’d probably blow a fuse. Freeing his spike, he slides his length against you, pleased to find you slick. Always so ready and eager for him. And those alien noises you make as he buries himself inside you? They sound so obscene, just like the wet sound of you taking his spike. Remembers Soundwave finding you and bringing you to him as a curiosity and he’d been so close to telling the other mech to discard you. So glad he changed his mind now.

• Clinging to the cushion as he stretches you and snarls, moving against you in hard drives of his hips, you whimper. A part of you aware that you really should try to get him to understand you, to try to learn each other’s languages. But you’re enjoying being pampered and fussed over. You’re pretty sure he just sees you as a plaything, but he’s constantly giving you gifts and crooning at you. And the sex? Mind blowing and addictive. Body coiling, you whimper and push back to meet his thrusts. “Please,” you whimper, nails digging into cushion. “Harder.”

• Hips snapping against you, he hears your breath catch before you cry out, chirping urgently in your alien nonsense as you fist his spike. And he keeps rutting against you, denta clenched as he lets the feel of your slick heat milking his spike tip him into his own overload. Servos digging into the cushion under you, his hips pump as he fills you. And your head turns to look up at him, chirping sweetly. “That’s right. You’re so good, aren’t you?” He croons, mouth brushing against your shoulder. And so easy to train. Hips rocking against you, he smiles when you moan, eyes closing. “Feel like you’re made just to take my spike.”

Soundwave being practical and getting a bit of revenge

[jetblack4realz]

protector - haymitch abernathy

watch the stars

masterlist

you haven't kissed the boy yet because whenever you get close only one question comes to mind: real or not real?

warnings: sexualizing, allusions to sa and gross people, spoilers to sotr, age gap of like 3 years

word count: 2.3k

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it was night 12, the theme following suit. the only colors in sight were black, white, and khaki, heaps of black powder coating tinted skin in what they called "shimmer dust" - except it didn't shimmer. it was as matte as the coaldust they were trying to emulate.

you'd lucked out with glittery black eyeshadow, random splotches brushed over your arms too, but still, your stylist tried to make sure you stood out.

and you did.

stand out.

after a few minutes of idle, draining socializing, you moved to stand outside.

you breathed in the crisp midnight july air, forearms on the railing as you overlooked the city.

"what are you doing?"

you turned sharply, breathing out a subtle sigh when your eyes landed on the tuxedo-clad blond boy leaning against the doorway to the balcony.

"what do you mean?" you hummed.

"i mean," he huffed as he came to your side, glancing from you to the bustling city below. "you haven't so much as looked at me since you got here and now you're hiding out here. we've only got one night left in the capitol, what are you doing, honey?"

you leaned back against the railing, eying the bubbling blue drink he was offering you. after a beat, you took it. "thanks."

"what's going on?" he asked. "we've been doing good. we have an image. we have to keep it up, ramp it up, even, before your victory tour so they stay off of you."

"i know," you sighed. "i just... needed a breather."

"yeah, well, i don't blame you for that." he turned so he was leaning his forearms against the railing, side-eying you like you wouldn't notice. he took a sip of his drink. "you look really nice."

"thanks." you returned his gaze with a small smile. "so do you. it seems like the district 12 theme agrees with you."

"couldn't imagine why," he answered, grinning lopsided. "it's agreeing with you too, though, honey. the black and the, uh, coaldust-" he gestured to your figure. "it works."

"yeah, of all our parties i'd say this one's the best theme-wise," you said. "except for the district 4 ones of course."

"of course," he chuckled along with you. a silence passed over you both for a few moments before he gestured back to the party. "you want to head inside for a dance?"

"you're always wanting to dance, abernathy. how about we just hang out here and enjoy the stars?" you said, leaning back over the railing and looking up at the sky with a smile.

he grunted, following your eyes to the black expanse overhead. "you know they're fake, right? automated so the capitol thinks they're seeing stars. all the light pollution ruined that for them years ago."

"well, you're ruining it for me now, just look at the damn stars," you said, trying not to smile but failing when he smirked at you. he shifted closer to you and raised his eyes to the stars in question, arm brushing yours.

you weren't a stranger to his touches. of course not. he'd been holding your hand or your waist or your back for two weeks now.

but here? now?

with no one looking and no pressures, even the subtlest of touches sent shivers up your arm. and you hated it.

"they're not watching," you whispered to him.

he didn't even look at you as he shrugged. "they usually are. either way, i'm not too worried about it."

you didn't know what he meant by that, but he didn't move his arm.

the music from the party and the chatter through the glass doors offered a nice sort of background hum as you stood there, arm to arm, eyes flashing between the other and the artificial sky.

"can i ask you something?"

again, he didn't look at you.

"just did, honey."

"i'll take that as a yes."

"you do that."

you eyed him with a small frown before taking a breath and trying again: "you ever kissed anyone?"

he froze.

well, no. he tensed.

and so did you.

just waited for him to answer your apparently uncomfortable question. you didn't think it'd be such a hard question to answer until you remembered how your grandmother mentioned the loss of his loved ones.

maybe 'loved ones' included a girlfriend. a kiss.

or he'd never kissed a girl and he was horribly embarrassed by it.

either of the two.

he took a breath, the silence dragging before he finally said: "yes."

you nodded slowly, pulling your eyes away from him to ask the next question. "were you good at it?"

he laughed then, which surprised you, and you could feel his gaze on your face. "why do you wanna know?"

"i'm just curious," you said with a shrug.

he considered your answer, his eyes scrutinizing as you've grown accustomed to. his smirk pulled further up and he shifted to face you, his arm now flush against yours. "have you ever kissed someone?"

"well, sure."

"and were you good at it?"

"a boy told me i was once," you said, chuckling a bit at the memory. "why do you wanna know?"

"just curious," he answered, grinning as he shrugged jokingly at you. "think at some point i get to know personally?"

your heart stopped for a moment before restarting and you breathed a laugh. "if you're lucky."

"recently, i've been very lucky," he hummed, shifting closer to you. his arm slipped past your shoulder, hooking loosely around your waist as he leaned sideways on the railing.

you didn't move towards him or away, the closeness of him already bringing a faint blush to your cheeks.

you knew he was flirty and charming and witty, and you also knew that all of this was fake. but, still, this dumbass boy made you nervous.

but then you glanced to the side, at the sea of people all too aware of where you and the golden boy of district 12 snuck off to, their eyes glancing not so subtly and their lips forming excited giggles.

and then up at where a faint blue flashing announced the cameras in the corners of the balcony.

"they're watching," you whispered, eyes returning to haymitch's silvery blues.

"yeah, honey," he mumbled softly, his free hand rising to cup your jaw. "they're always going to be."

the words were gentle and apologetic, almost. like it was something you didn't know.

which in some ways you didn't. not like he or your grandmother did.

but you would. and it would start with this.

"yeah," you said quietly, eyes falling to the floor again. "yeah, you're right."

he stared at you, eyes flickering over your features contemplatively. his thumb brushed over your cheek and he shifted the slightest bit closer to you, your hands coming up to rest on his chest.

"you know," you said. "you never answered my question - if you're a good kisser or not."

"oh," he laughed a bit, tilting his head at you. "i could answer that now if you'd like."

"that'd be much appreciated," you mumbled quietly, watching him carefully as he slowly leaned down towards you.

his breath was hot on your face and his eyes were shifting between yours and your lips, like he was wondering if now really was the right time.

it was private. it was public. it was on the last night you'd have together.

and frankly, you'd been wanting to kiss him for two weeks.

so you rose to your tiptoes, your hands slipping up around his neck as you raised your mouth to his. you moved slow, careful.

but haymitch didn't.

as soon as your hands threaded through the hair at the back of his neck and you lifted towards him, he smashed his lips to yours, using the hand on your jaw to tilt your face to better connect.

and you knew the answer to your question.

he held you securely, but his hands were gentle, and his lips were soft. the kiss was slow and firm, and he knew exactly how to push and pull in a way that had you leaning into him far more than you would've liked to admit.

he pulled back gently, pressing another, shorter kiss to your lips before he moved away enough to meet your eyes.

"what's the verdict, honey?" he hummed.

you nodded, a wide smile pulling at your lips. "yeah. yeah you're a good kisser."

"so," he said, grinning his usual teasing grin now. "you wouldn't mind if i did it again?"

"no, i wouldn't," you answered.

his grin widened and he leaned in once more, but stopped at a loud shout in the doorway. he breathed out a dramatic sigh when you pulled away, turning with furrowed brows to spy a plump woman in a black corset dress and a large studded coat standing with her hands covering her mouth, her eyes blown wide.

and then she laughed - twice, chirpy and eager.

"oh my snow! i've got to tell zelania!"

and then she disappeared, not without attracting the attention of literally half the party.

haymitch sighed again, taking your hand and dropping his mouth to your ear. "come on."

and then he was pulling you through the center of the crowd, a lopsided grin on his lips as he nodded at sponsors he recognized.

"hello, hi there, yes, excuse us-"

quickly, you were out the door and being dragged down the hall.

"haymitch, where are we going? what are they gonna think when-?"

"nothing they're not thinking already," he said with a grin, winking at you before he began to move quicker toward wherever the hell he was taking you. "nothing we don't want them to think. just come on."

"i'm coming, slow your roll," you laughed.

he pulled you into the stairway and then up, up, up the stairs until there were no more stairs to climb. halfway up you had to pull on his hand to slow down, extremely out of breath.

"jeez, i didn't realize a guy who drinks so much could be so in shape," you breathed out when you stopped in front of a steel door.

he laughed at you. "i didn't realize a girl who'd just won the hunger games could be so out of shape."

"oh, shut up," you laughed, pushing him gently before he opened the door and pulled you through it. "where are we?"

"the roof, obviously," he teased, grinning at you. "come on."

he was still holding your hand when you both sat at the edge, him leaning too far forward for you to be comfortable with. your grip on his hand tightened a bit.

"what, am i freaking you out honey? i thought you wanted to stargaze?" he was still grinning and he squeezed your hand twice.

"oh, wait," you breathed out, smiling widely. "that's kind of cute. we're stargazing now?"

"you asked, so you received," he told you. "see? i'm good at this kind of stuff."

"seems like it loverboy," you teased, grinning.

he just smiled at you then before turning his eyes to the sky. "or, you know, artificial-star-gazing."

"artificial or not, i think it's a good way to end our time together. it'll be a couple months before we see each other again," you said.

"yeah," he said, eyes on you even as you stared out to the sky.

you let out a breath. "what if they try something again? while we're apart."

"that won't happen."

"why not?"

"you'll be at home. you'll be with mags. and if they do try anything tell them you're with me and that you'll tell me and i'll do something about it, because you will and i will."

"what can you do to snow? he's untouchable."

"he's not." he let out a breath. "there's a reason i have no family. there's a reason he doesn't try with me the things he does other victors. okay? just... just trust me."

you watched him, your eyes soft as you nodded slowly. "i trust you."

"good," he breathed out. he looked at you, smiling a bit. "good."

you sat in silence for a good while, your head resting on his shoulder after a few minutes of it. he held you in his side, pressing a kiss to the top of your head that had your heart racing.

"hey honey?"

you hummed. "yeah?"

"d'you mean what you said? that you'd let me kiss you again?"

you paused.

and then you nodded against his shoulder.

"yeah."

"in real life?"

"yeah."

he turned his head, looking down at you with the softest smile. "good."

"why?" you asked, sitting up and mustering a small, teasing smile. "you wanna kiss me again or something?"

"i wouldn't mind," he admitted.

"convenient. neither would i."

and that was his cue. his hands were cupping your cheeks instantly, his lips on yours as you held his wrists. his lips moved against yours gently at first before he slowly leaned into you more, the kisses getting more intense the longer it lasted.

"haymitch," you breathed out as you pulled away. "we're on the edge of a roof."

"exciting, hm?"

and he kissed you again, muffling your laugh. you pulled away, a hand on his jaw as you smiled at him. "i don't want to fall off the roof, haymitch."

he sighed dramatically. "fine. have it your way." he kissed you again shortly before turning and pulling you back into his side. another kiss to the side of your head. "we can just relax on our last night."

[hotheadedhero]

Reach, Retry, and Requital

AN: Almost a year after its initial publishing date, we finally have a part two omg. Better late than never, ay? XD Now the boys can finally make up for their mistakes

Part 1

Bay Turtles x Reader

Leonardo

Not much time had been wasted after talking to Splinter, springing into forthright action, the weight of those shared words settling into his chest. His father always had a way of cutting through the noise, of seeing the core of the matter with unsettling clarity. Leo knew what he had to do. He had to talk to you, truly talk, not just attempt to ambush you in the kitchen while you grabbed a quick snack, not just exchange polite pleasantries while you pass each other in short, fleeting beats. He needed to carve out a moment, a real moment, where he could lay bare his disarray and, of course, his regret.

Finding you was the first challenge. You were a ghost in the lair these days, flitting from room to room, always busy, always surrounded by others. It was like you were actively avoiding him, which, let's be honest, you were. He had figured that out long ago.

Finally, he finds you in the dojo, assisting Donnie with calibrating some new training equipment. The sight of you, focused and determined, sends a fresh wave of longing crashing over him. Despite the initial urge that had him barrelling in search of your person, he lingers in the doorway, watching you for a moment. The way the low light catches in your hair, how you laugh at something Donnie said. Small things - insignificant things - but they were yours, and he suddenly realised more just how much he missed them.

Donnie notices him first, offering a small, knowing smile before excusing himself with a mumbled, "Gotta check on Mikey's pizza-making experiment.” A lame, half-thought-out excuse, but the deliberateness of it isn’t missed by his brother. “Good luck, you two."

As he migrates from the dojo, Leo moves in just a couple paces. "Hey," he begins, trying to keep his voice casual, but the nervousness is palpable. "Can we talk?"

You stiffen slightly, your hands stilling on the control panel of the automated training dummy you had been working on. In all honesty, you’d like to go back to working on it and keep your mind away from the turtle who is awkwardly approaching you. Being dismissive of what he has to say, of him entirely, may be seen as calloused but the mere sight of him gets your system all up in a tizzy. All it does is remind you of the conversation that put this wedge between you in the first place.

You turn back to the project, a carefully neutral expression on your face. "About what, Leo?" The bluntness stings, and it’s a stark reminder of the distance that has grown between you two.

"About... us. About what happened..." He trails off, unsure how to articulate the jumbled mess of emotions swirling inside him.

You sigh, a sound that holds a strange mixture of weariness and resignation. "I thought we made our positions clear. You're a ninja, you have responsibilities. I understand that, and you made it abundantly clear how you feel about relationships. The last thing I want is to be a distraction."

A poor choice of words on his part. A remark by the very same brother who left, from a much prior altercation, rings in his head. Does he really know so little about feelings? The insensitivity of what comes out of his mouth before he can think about the ramifications? A hand smooths over his face as if trying to wipe away the idiocy and rid himself of his past discretion. This must have been how you felt, your side of the street. He thinks he knows why you’ve been so distant - understands why it had to come to such drastic measures in the first place.

"You already distract me." The words just kind of blurt out, quiet and raw.

And your expression softens, just a fraction, and he clings onto that flicker like some sacred wish. You try to battle the urge, but ultimately, you fall prey to it and crane your head back over to look at him. He’s still some distance away, not daring move until you give him some sign or reason to, and his stance tells you all you need to know. Yet, you can’t ignore the hurt. Your hurt. The hurt you’ve been feeling all this time.

"Leo," you say softly, "I care about you - I do - but I need to protect myself as well. I can't…” You take a heavy breath, reserving the tremble that tries to knock you down. “I can't be someone's second choice, someone's maybe-someday."

He finds that opportunity he had been looking for, steps closer, his gaze locked on yours. "You wouldn't be. Not anymore. I was wrong.” Another foot forward, still tentative in case it’s too close for your comfort. “Give me a chance to prove that I can be more than just a man of responsibility, that I can be the kind of person you deserve."

Silence hangs in the air, thick and heavy, and Leonardo reckons that he could probably wave his katana around and feel some resistance were he to try. He can see the unrest in your eyes, a battle between caution and hope. Each tick of the clock is a deafening reminder of what’s at stake: his atypically loud mind, both of your feelings, a relationship altogether, even just trying to reclaim the old one.

Eventually, you speak, your voice barely a whisper. "I... I don't know. I just don't know."

It’s not a no, but it isn’t a yes either: a small glimmer of hope for the glass-half-full positioned individual, but he can’t say whether he’s on grounds for that junction or not. For now, perhaps he could take it. The middle of the seesaw, going in neither direction, having to wait for an affirmative. Either that or you’re just keeping him suspended in uncertainty before you deliver the final blow. He would probably deserve it.

Just when he thinks it might well and truly be too late to rectify his unjust, you speak again, “I’m not gonna regret this, am I?”

If it wasn’t for the soft curve of your lips pointed up in his direction, he’d be solely focused on the sombre tone of your question. A glimmer of hope. It was there after all. He isn’t completely out of the dog house but it’s a start, as good a start as any.

Matching your smile, he finally closes the gap between the two of you and kneels. “Not as much as I’ve regretted turning you down in the first place.”

Leo will be the first to admit it’s corny but sounding a little cheesy is worth it to hear the light snort it gets out of you. Playfully, you roll your eyes and lazily push him away. If not anything else, he’s just missed being this close to you without you feeling the need to bolt from his presence. It would take time, but he’ll prove to you, and himself, that he’s worthy of another chance. He has a lot of work to do, and he’ll do it. For you.

Raphael

Raph pushes past Casey, not saying another word, just twisting and launching himself into the night, the anger directed squarely at himself. The adrenaline is pumping now as he bulldozes his way towards your apartment, fuelled by a potent cocktail of guilt, self-loathing, and a fierce need to atone. If not for the chance to make something of these feelings, at the very least he needs to apologise for the way he acted.

The trek through the city feels longer than usual. Every shadow seems to mock him, every stray sound amplifies his dread. He vaults over rooftops, his movements driven by a desperate urgency until, finally, he reaches your place. He hesitates atop the building just opposite yours, his hands pressing into the ledge. He suddenly feels unsure of himself. What is he going to say? How can he possibly undo the damage he’s caused? He needs to think about this carefully if he wants to avoid blabbering like an incomprehensible idiot.

Whilst mulling it over, he spots your silhouette inside, cleaning up from dinner, if he has to guess. You’re busy with your idle tasks but he can see the tension radiating off of you in waves. Raph's heart clenches. Tense because of him, no doubt, and if Casey knows that he made you cry, it’s likely his brothers know too. That would explain their assistance in keeping you out of reach. If he can commemorate his family for anything, it’s for protecting you, even if it’s from him as much as that fact burns. You’re a beautiful spirit who gets along with most of anyone, and he had treated you like the very joke he thought you were playing on him. Thick-headed irony. He could berate himself with all the names under the sun, but that isn’t going to get him anywhere. He just needs to take that first step forward. Do something about it.

But despite being no stranger to making amends for his behaviour, this feels different. If he gets in a fight with one of his brothers, they always forgive each other eventually. That’s what families do, it’s part of the description, but this is you. Even if he lays out everything, will you forgive him so easily? Can he forgive himself?

The pacing comes to a halt, and he huffs quietly. It’s just like a bandaid - he needs to rip it off. He doesn’t want it to seem as though he’s ensnaring you in the comfort of your own home, somewhere you can’t escape from, but he also doesn’t know when or where he’ll get an opportunity alone without his brothers forming a protective barrier around you.

Raph jogs on the spot, smacks his face a couple times, does the few things he can think to do to psyche himself up before easing himself onto the fire escape and tapping on your window. The sound almost makes you jump, but you’re quick to open it up for him. He barely has a chance to lousily mumble your name when you hurriedly pull him in. Wrecked nerves and distancing aside, the last thing either of you needs is a neighbouring wanderer spotting a man-sized turtle hanging from your window.

The moment he’s inside, you shoot the blinds down and whip your attention towards him. “Raph, what are you doing here?”

Maybe it’s because you were so quick to pull him in, or the concern where he thought he’d be met with fear, but the breath in his lungs suddenly abandons him. The floor groans beneath his restless feet as he fidgets back and forth, although barely surpassing an inch with each movement. For a cold-blooded creature, he’s almost certain he’s working up a cold sweat, but he’s here now. There’s no point in drawing this out any longer than it has to.

“I came to apologise for what I said. How I acted.” The tense fingers at his sides clench further. “I didn’t know I made you cry, and I’m sorry. You didn’t- don’t deserve that. Not ever.”

This isn’t enough. It’ll likely never be enough at this rate. Each word out of his mouth doesn’t feel sincere, doesn’t make up for or even come close to truly demonstrating how sorry he is. Everything is solely meant but he knows he needs to knock down some more walls before you can see, genuinely see just how much he regrets himself. Your stare hones in on him expectantly, and his head rolls over his shoulders, trying to alleviate the knots in his neck.

"Truth is, I was scared. I thought there was no way you could actually feel that way about me. A freak." He winces at the words, hating how they sound out loud, but he misses the way your brows hood over your eyes, keeping his on the floor.

He takes a deep breath, the sensation barely lukewarm against his chest. Somehow, he feels smaller than you at this moment despite his hulking figure. All you can do is watch him, studying his posture, the lines etched into his face, the way his hands are balled into fists at his sides. Remorse warring with his stubborn pride; unequivocally contrite and vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen.

He hates how he dismissed your feelings, how he rejected your attempt at admitting yourself to him, how he ignored the pull of his own heart towards you for the sake of stupid self-preservation. If he had even given himself a glimmer of belief that you could feel some kind of way about him, neither of you would be in this mess. But he’s getting too caught up in the ‘whys’ when he should be focusing on the simple matter that what he did, what he said to you was completely unjustified.

"Look, you don't gotta forgive me. I ain't even expecting you to say nothing. Just know that I'm sorry I yelled and that if I could go back and do it again..."

His lips press shut to save himself from adding to this already sappy display, and it’s no wonder he hasn’t had anything back yet. You’re weighing something up - probably something big. He's just waiting for you to lash out, to fling back the fire he had so unceremoniously bestowed onto you. Befittingly, give him a taste of his own medicine. Instead, he hears your feet shift away from him, the sound strangely loud in the small space, followed by a quiet creak and some shuffling. When he risks a glance in your direction, you’re on your couch, a hand laid out on the neighbouring cushion.

"Here, let me tell you something.” You gesture for him and, warily, he sits beside you, the unsuspecting pillows gasping beneath his weight. “Don’t get me wrong, the yelling was a touch excessive,” you lightly laugh, downcast, “but I wasn't necessarily upset about that. I was upset because you didn't believe me. Raph, why in the world would I ever lie or joke about something like that?"

"You ain't bein' serious," he breathes out, marginally humoured, predominantly pained. "Look at me."

"I'm looking,” you retort quickly. “What's the problem, hm?"

He had a whole set ready, he swears, but the way you look at him instantly shuts him up. Never in all his years did he think that someone so beautiful could gaze upon him with such endearment, such adoration, though you’re mostly creased up with this stern glower. He doesn’t have an answer for you. All he can think to do is latch onto this thread and run with it.

"Does that mean… we can give this a shot then?" he asks quietly.

"On one condition," you barter, and the soft hand to his cheek almost makes him crumble.  "I know that head of yours works in funny ways, but I would never lie to you. Okay? Have faith in my word." 

Raph searches your face for any doubt, any sign that the dumb parts of his brain can possibly pick up to beat himself down again, and when he sees none, he slowly smiles. "I think I can do that."

You grin back only to get all pinched. “And one more thing.” You flick the space between his eyes and he blinks frantically from the sheer audacity alone. “Call yourself a freak again and I’ll have your head.”

He points a glare down at you, but it’s threatless. He can’t fight the tug on his lips with your scrunched face beaming up at him, nor does he want to with this fresh breath, this sense of a new start. There may be some rocky terrain to overcome, but just knowing that you see him for more than what he is on the outside is enough for him.

Donatello

Donatello spent the next several hours poring over Vern's advice, scribbling frantic notes on his datapad. Vern’s "field experience," as Donnie had so generously put it, seemed to revolve largely around retaining a smarmy bravado, casually nonchalant, half-attentive one-liners, pretending to be more confident than he is, and questionable fashion choices. He had suspected that this advice would be a mixed bag of dubious strategies, but there were still some surprisingly insightful points. He sifted through the static, disregarding about 90% of it, isolating the core principles: communication, understanding, and most importantly, acknowledging the other person's feelings. Easier said than done when he wasn't even sure what your feelings were.

The next few days were a blur of nervous energy and thorough planning. He felt like he was deciphering a complex algorithm, one where the variables were emotions and the output was… a date? He still wasn't entirely sure. He needed something subtle. Something that would resonate with you. Something him. He considered presenting you with a meticulously coded program designed to optimise your favourite hobby, but dismissed it as too nerdy, even for him. He then thought about building a miniature robot that would follow you around, showering you with compliments, but that bordered on creepy. None of these ideas seemed to feel right.

He was a disaster. A romantically inept, highly intelligent disaster. The truth is, he’s paralysed with fear of messing this up. He’s a genius when it comes to technology but the book of love is a series of intricate formulas he can’t seem to crack.

Days turned into a week, filled with agonising internal debates and discarded plans. He noticed you even less now, afraid that you'd see the turmoil in his eyes. He'd catch glimpses of you laughing with Mikey, strategising with Leo, or even helping Raph with his sai sharpening; each encounter a painful reminder of his own inaction.

Finally, he decided that the best course of action was to go with his gut. He was a scientist, after all. He'd treat this like an experiment: observe, analyse, and adjust his approach as needed. He started by paying closer attention to your interactions with the others: the way you'd patiently explain things to Mikey, the strategic insights you'd offer Leo, and the way you'd subtly tease Raph to ease his tension. He realised that you valued connection, humour, and intelligence. Armed with this admittedly very basic data, he devised a plan. A low-key, Donnie-esque plan.

One afternoon, you’re sitting at the main table of the kitchen, sketching something in your notebook alone, and he sees his chance. Taking a deep breath, he walks over, clutching a small, metallic object in his hand. His feet shuffle, suddenly forgetting all the carefully crafted lines he'd memorised.

"Hey," he greets, his voice a little higher than usual.

You look up, eyes clumsily shifting around before landing on him again. "Uh, hey, Donnie. Something I can help you with?"

He swallows, watchful of your uneasiness, but presses on nonetheless. "Actually, I wanted to show you something."

He holds out his hand, revealing a small, beautifully crafted origami crane, made entirely from thin wafers of aluminium, circuits and wires. A lot of his craftsmanship typically focuses on practicality and efficiency rather than aesthetic appeal but he knew he had to work on that for this particular occasion. If he were to say so himself, he’s rather proud of the outcome.

"Oh." Not exactly the reaction he was hoping for, and the perturbed cross of your brows only racks his nerves that much more. “You made this?”

He nods, cheeks flushing slightly. Whether it be from bashfulness or embarrassment, he can’t tell. “I was experimenting with conductive materials and, well, I thought you might appreciate it."

Considering how the last couple of months have been, you’re not entirely sure what you should say. A gift? Something that he made for you? He appears to be evasive of the true nature but you’re suspecting that he specifically made this with you in mind. It doesn’t do much to subside your confusion, but you can tell he’s hanging by a thin string for your reaction. Gradually, you take the crane, turning it over in your hands. It is rather pretty. You still can’t quite figure out why he’d do this but he may just threaten to split at the seams if you don’t say something more.

“It’s… beautiful.”

Donnie feels as though he can breathe again, encompassed by this wave of relief. "Thanks," he mumbles, looking down at his feet. "I also wanted to say, it's been weird without you around my corner lately." He rushes the words, tripping over his tongue. "I mean, I miss your visits."

You chuckle softly, sadly. "I miss them too. I just thought you were busy, and maybe... I was making you uncomfortable."

His head shoots up, baffled. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, you know-” You gulp, your positions suddenly shifting. “That time I... I was just rambling, wasn't I? It's fine. I shouldn't have bothered you."

"Bothered me? What are you talking about?" he asks, brows furrowing behind his glasses.

He replays the last conversation in his head, cupping the base of his skull like he’s trying to physically reach for it, stop it from escaping him. The last time you were in his lab, what had happened? It goes over a couple more times until suddenly dropping on him like a ton of bricks; the awkwardness, the slight stutter in your tone, the inelegance in how you held yourself.

He had been completely oblivious.

"Wait, are you saying...? I didn't..." he stammers, face burning with mortification. "I had no idea."

He wants to disappear, to crawl into a hole and never emerge. How could he have been so dense? He completely misinterpreted the situation and, in doing so, has probably ruined everything.

"Donnie," you utter softly, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay. Really. It was probably my fault for being so vague. Besides," you continue with an upturned lip, "maybe it's good that you didn't get it. Now you have a chance to do this properly."

"Do... do what properly?"

You laugh, a light, airy sound that makes his stomach flip. "Ask me out, silly. If you want to, that is." You bite your lip, the apprehension evident in your eyes.

Donnie's mind races. Vern's advice, the meticulous notes, the carefully calculated plans - it all flies out the window. He had to of accounted for all the outcomes of this conversation he could possibly conceive but he hadn’t anticipated this. That being said, your encouraging smile gives him new strength and he knows that all he needs to do is be himself.

"Yes," he affirms, his voice finally steady. "I would really like that. To... to ask you out. Properly." He pauses, then adds with a shy smile, "Maybe we could analyse the properties of bioluminescent algae? Or just get pizza. Whatever you want."

With a scrunched grin, you giggle. “Both sound good.”

Rest assured, the algae and pizza had soon become forgotten prospects when you find yourself in Donnie’s little corner after so much time, and he may or may not have admitted to seeking advice from the last person you’d suspect to get this ball rolling. It gets a good set of laughs out of you. As far as dates go, it’s a nice way to get back on track and ultimately the first of many more to come.

Michelangelo

With April's blessing - if you could call it that - Mikey felt a lightness he hadn't realised he was missing. It wasn't just the weight of unrequited affection, but the weight of stifled curiosity, of ignoring a pull that had been steadily growing stronger. He still cared deeply for April, but it was a different kind of caring, a comfortable devotion that he now understood as friendship. However, there’s still a surge of tension meddled in with the determined certainty. He bounces on the balls of his feet, his orange mask tails flapping as he bounds to seek you out. He knows that waiting any longer will only amplify his anxiety. He needs to talk to you, explain himself, and, hopefully, salvage what he had so carelessly thrown away.

He starts by looking for you in your usual spots: not in the kitchen, no sign of you in the dojo, and you were definitely not by the TV. He even checks the garage on a whim, thinking you might be tinkering with one of Donatello's inventions. Nope. The only place he could assume you’d be is back home, but that’s a problem for two reasons: it’s daytime, and there’s no guarantee you’d even open the window for him were he to turn up. All he can do is wait until you next bless the lair with your presence, but Mikey hasn’t always been known for his patience. He tries to fill the time with various activities, whether that be fiddling with his drums, attempting to break the pinball machine’s high score again, flicking through various channels on the TV, and so on.

This barely kills an hour.

Suddenly, a thought strikes him and he jumps up from the couch, making a grab for his skateboard. Maybe he could roll between the main entrances in a subtle attempt to “accidentally” bump into you. That way he can guarantee having the space to talk alone. Perfect. He throws his board down and bursts out of the lair, the grimy air surprisingly refreshing. Even if he still has to wait for your arrival, he can at least practise some new moves in the process, though he wouldn’t be practising for long. He’s halfway down the primary sewer line when he spots you, and all of the planned one-liners just disappear.

Even in the dinge of underground New York, you look beautiful, the dust motes dancing in the air and catching the glint of the flashlight in your hand. He takes the leap upon seeing you, quite literally hopping off his board and jogging into the last traces of momentum. In your surprise, you tread a couple of steps back, and he consciously keeps a respectable distance. He remembers how close he used to sit, how easily he’d tease and nudge, and diffuses under the shot of guilt - the hurt in your eyes when he'd previously bumbled around April like a lovesick puppy. How could he have been so blind? So oblivious? He'd been so caught up in a childish crush that he'd completely disregarded the person who truly understood him, who always had his back, who would make him laugh until his sides ached. The person in front of him, now tentatively avoiding his gaze like a stranger. Crap, he was meant to say something. How long has he just been standing here staring at you? Too long, it would seem. Your head tilts with another uncomfortable glance at the floor, and you pivot to walk around him.

"Wait.” He spins on his heel, watches you stop, and it dawns on him just how incredibly awkward this is. "Uh, look, I messed up. Big time. I thought we could just go back to being friends, but I was wrong. I didn't realise how much what I said would hurt you. I was so caught up in- well… never mind. The point is, I hurt you and I'm really, really sorry."

You still make no effort to face him, but you speak, cool and even. "Apology accepted."

It wasn't the response he'd hoped for or even the response he envisioned. He'd expected anger, maybe a lecture, but this detached acceptance feels worse. It highlights the chasm he's created between you both.

"I know an apology isn't enough,” he pushes on. “I get it if you don't want to hang out with me anymore, or play games, or anything, but I miss you. I miss laughing with you and just... being around you." He pauses, gathering his courage. "And I realised something else too: I was so busy looking in one direction, I didn't see what was right in front of me. I didn't see… how amazing you are."

Shoulders hunching, you scoff. "Please, Mikey. Spare me the flattery. It's not going to change anything."

"It's not flattery!" he insists, his voice rising defensively. "I mean it. I really do. This is how I feel.” Mikey’s hand takes a helm on his board and he holds it to his plastron. "Seriously, I was an idiot and I'm hoping, maybe, just maybe, you can find it in your heart to give me another chance. Not as a friend-friend, unless that’s what you want, but as something more."

He holds his tongue from everything else that wants to sputter out, reduced to watching the back of your head and praying for a sign. Aside from the occasional drip or muted whir of cars above, there’s a low, rhythmic thrumming in his ears, growing louder, beating against the inside of his skull mercilessly. He swears his heart must have jumped into his throat. It sits on pause for a short moment when you finally look at him, your eyes searching, and he sees a flicker of something other than indifference: a spark of hope veiled by uncertainty.

"Mikey, this is... a lot to take in."

"I know," he replies sincerely. "I just need you to know how I feel. I'm not expecting you to say yes, or even forgive me right away. But please, can we at least try?" He reaches out, his hand hovering tentatively near yours, waiting for your permission to touch. "I know I don't deserve it, but I'm asking for a second chance. Please, just tell me what I can do to make things right."

His bright blue eyes plead for an understanding. He’s not sure he’s ever wanted something so badly in his life. Not like this, and the wait on your behalf only punctuates that for him. Your gaze wanders up, expression unreadable. The sparkle in your eyes is still there, but it’s flitting like a dying ember.

"It's not that easy, Mikey," you say softly. "You broke my heart, you know? And even if I wanted to go back to the way things were, I don't think I could. Not completely."

Mikey’s heart sinks. He's already ruined everything, hasn’t he? The thought is a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and deflated.

"But," you continue, a hint of a smile playing on your lips, "I also miss you, and I'm a sucker for a sincere apology, so I'm willing to try. But you have to understand, this won't be the same. Not for a while, anyway."

A lifting deliverance, so intense it almost brings him to his knees. "Anything. Anything you want. Just tell me."

You smile a genuine, beautiful smile that lights up the dim sewer tunnel. "Okay, I get automatic dibs on the last slice of pizza for the next month."

"Deal!” He grins, answering without hesitation. “Anything for you."

Mikey knows it will likely take a whole lot of scrubbing to rebuild what he had broken, but he’s ready. More than ready. He finally sees what he’s been missing, and he isn’t going to let it slip away a second time. The possibility of something more than friendship still flickers in the back of his mind, but for now, he’s content to start with the pizza.