#Maybe the robots will return...

[cookieswithay]

🤖"Reign of Donnie 0!"💜 Part dos, the conclusion!

🔨Donnie x female reader🧪

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Hey peoples. Thank you all for waiting so long. Please enjoy this big conclusion. And once again, because everyone's adulting, there is a smidge of suggestive talk. Only a smidge, though! Pt 1

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• Day 25

• "Donnie, c'mon!"

• "Mr. Murakami gonna make us pizza themed ramen!"

• Raph called from outside. Donnie sighed. He couldn't think about pizza delicacies right now. Why do you want him to snuff out smaller threats!? Of course, it's a good idea but... He thought you wanted him home. He wants to be back at home with you.

• "D?"

• The oldest walked into his part of the tank. (A perfect replica of his lab)

• "Why the long face? We're going home in a few days."

• Donnie sighed dramatically and slammed his face on his desk.

• "Oh-ho, I know that sound of anguish."

• Leo's in on the convo now.

• "Someone's having trouble with the future missis."

• His twin grumbled. He's...right. Donnie lifted up his phone to show the voicemail.

• "She...thinks we should stay longer to squash anymore threats."

• The brothers looked at each other.

• "That's it?"

• They said. The softshell gasped.

• "That's it!?"

• He shot up from his rolly chair.

• "She is my peanut butter and I am her jelly, existing without each other isn't something we enjoy."

• "So her throwing away the golden opportunity to reunite, is hurting my feelings!"

• Quietness. Now supes embarrassed, he sighs and melts back into his seat. (Y'know like Spinel did.) Raph looked around and put his hand on younger brother's head.

• "Okay...good job on spilling your guts, buddy."

• Donnie tucked into his knees.

• "Aww, cheer up. It'll only be a few more days."

• "We can catch the other baddies then."

• Raph said, attempting to lighten the mood. But, all it was doing was giving D a headache. Literally, Raph's hand is heavy. Leo scoffed.

• "Uh, how? It took us months just to pinpoint these guys."

• "They're probably PLENTY more evil organizations in this country."

• Leo got shoved into a nearby shelf.

• "Leo, we're trying to make him feel better."

• The oldest snapped. The blue twin muttered 'I'm just being saying.' as he got up. That gave Raph a lightbulb.

• "I got it!"

• "Let's take over Japan!"

• The twins looked at each other.

• "Huh?"

• Day 27

• You laid on the couch, staring at your phone. Meanwhile, Donnie 0 was vacuuming the floor with said couch over his shoulder. (Super strength was one of his many abilities.) You sighed. Why hasn't Donnie called you back yet? He always does, even if he's getting his arms twisted back. He hasn't responded to any of the memes you sent either. Is he over cats stuffed in shoes now?

• "Y/N."

• You looked down at your bot.

• "This task is complete."

• You gave him a little nod and looked back at your phone. You sent your live Donnie another message.

• Thinking about you 🥺

• You sighed. Is he hurt or something? Captured!? If he is, your taking the FIRST plane to Japan-

• Suddenly, the couch fell down. Making you shriek.

• "Apologies, my sweet,"

• Donnie 0 said, while looking over his limbs.

• "My arm joint got stuck."

• You laughed weakly.

• "No prob, Bob."

• He bent down and poked your nose.

• "I'm Donnie, you."

• He snickered. You smiled a little and looked down.

• "Something bothering you, Y/N?"

• You poked your lip out.

• "Uh-huh, my man's not answering me."

• The mention of the og Donnie, made the robot frown. But, he quickly wiped it off his face.

• "I think my is phone broken."

• You mumbled. That gave him an idea. A bad idea. He cleared his throat and imitated his creator's "triumphant" laugh.

• "Never fear, Y/N,"

• He stood up.

• "Your world's greatest robot is here."

• "I'll fix your phone."

• You blinked and stood up.

• "That's okay, I can just go to the Ephone store-."

• Before you could finish your sentence, you were dipped down. A robotic yet fleshy arm, secured your waist.

• "Please,"

• His hand clasped over your phoned one.

• "I insist."

• Your face nearly lit on fire. Laughing nervously, you squirmed away from the pose. (Falling on the floor.)

• "Okay, okay. Do whatever you need to do."

• You said, letting your device go. Mission successful, the robotic doppelganger thought. Teasing you has gotten significantly easier.

• "Well gtg, Donnie 0. I got a new anime with my name on it."

• "Bye, wifey."

• He replied smoothly. You smiled and walked into your room. But not before you said something that made his wires burn.

• "You're just like my Donatello."

• He wish that didn't URK him so badly. He is his own turtle! And he wishes you'd see him as such ! But, BUT, that's fine for now. Your falling in love thee update is still downloading. All he has to do is keep pushing and that beautiful, beating heart of yours will be his...

• Day 31 (Day before the departure)

• Your fiancee sighed as he put on his jacket. (Dark purple with a black dog on the back. It's part of a suit combo) You're still not answering. He even asked Donnie 0 to check your devices and he said they were working fine. Maybe you got a new phone? But, then why didn't you give him your new number-?

• "Donnie, Donnie!"

• D woke up from his trance. Mikey was shaking his shoulder.

• "Huh, what?"

• All his brothers were looking at 'im, their faces contorted with worry.

• "Turn off your blowtorch, Donnie."

• Raph said, with a 'calm down' motion (Also sporting a flashy dog suit🐶 His is red, of course.)

• "We're heading home tomorrow,."

• Donnie tugged his tie, anxiously.

• "And if this plan doesn't work!?"

• "Um..."

• (It's getting harder and harder to reassure this dude.)

• "We pack up and go home!"

• Leo said while swinging his sword over his shoulder. His twin looked astonished. Raph frowned.

• "No."

• He turned back to his brother in purple.

• "Don't even worry, D. This mission will go well, so stop thinking about losing so much."

• The scientist sighed and nodded. Everything's gonna be a-okay. Namaste.

• "Sheldon, turn on some of Donnie's calm jams."

• Mikey said with a smile. Suddenly, something rung in his brain. Sheldon...Shell...

• "Shelly!"

• Donnie shouted. 'Huh?' His brothers said in unison. He didn't have time to explain anything to them, he finally has a way to contact you! He grabbed Sheldon.

• (Who looked distraught and miffed about it.)

• "Sheldon, contact Shelly."

• The little robot perked up.

• "Shelly? You got it bro!"

• The softshell sighed of relief. Shelly (Sheldon's girlfriend) is your back up device that is made for emergency contacts. ANYTHING can get through to them. Though Donnie doesn't has time to have a long, wonderful chat with you, he can still leave a heartfelt message. He cleared his throat. The signal connects. He's on air.

• "Greetings my darling, I'm SO glad I finally got through. Miss me? Of course you did. Hope you it wasn't too much and..."

• He paused. Feelings rushed into his mouth.

• "I really love you and I can't wait to see you tomorrow. We gotta overthrow the Fujioka clan now, but...let's have a sleepover tomorrow, okay? We'll do whatever you want, anything...Bye, Y/N."

• Right before he signed off he remembered something he had to say. He smiled, showing off his very pearly whites.

• "Like my suit?

• Day 32 (The showdown.)

• "So you finally got in contact with him, huh?"

• April said, biting into a cookie. Right now, you and April ooo'neil are having a sleepover. Since you were feeling MAD lonely, you asked if she could spend some time with you. (April's usually busy trying to seal a business deal with her husband.) But, you finally got a message from your soon to be hubby! From your Shelly.

• "Yeah, apparently his phone was tripping out too."

• You replied, snagging a cookie yourself. She raised an eyebrow.

• "Donnie's phone was messing up?"

• You nodded. That's...weird. Like, really weird. She pointed to your closed door.

• "Did Donnie 0 fix your phone?"

• You laid back on your bed.

• "I dunno, he hasn't returned it yet."

• "Y/N, can you go to the store and grab some more sodas. We're all out."

• You answered while rubbing the head of the girl Sheldon. April frowns. That's it. Something's wrong. She thought quietly as you continued to talk about the message you got. Something just doesn't feel right. Donnie 0 is usually pleasant to her but he always looked at you kinda strangely...

• Omg.

• You frowned.

• "Why do I have to get 'em?"

• She scoffed.

• "You're the host."

• She retorted with crossed arms. You grumbled and hopped up and opened the door.

• "If you need anything, just ask my Donnie bot."

• She gave you a thumbs up and watched as you left. The moment you shut the door, she grabbed her phone. She has to call Donnie. She knows why you guys couldn't get in contact. And...there was no reception.

• "Dangit."

• She groaned. Wait a minute, Shelly! April picked up the robot and tapped away. Hopefully, the turtles are already on their way home.

• "Donnie, I know why you couldn't contact Y/N. Donnie 0 is in lo-"

• "Ahem."

• She froze. There he was, in the doorway

• "Donnie 0 is what?"

• He said with a his trademark smile. April said nothing, only narrowing her eyes. She has to play her cards right. This is a powerful Ai and it has feelings for her best friend. This could get ugly very fast. He took a step closer.

• "April,"

• He said calmly.

• "Put the robot the down and you can continue to have a peaceful evening, okay."

• She gripped it tightly. What should she do? She doesn't know if the boys are on there way or what Donnie 0's capable off. She could escape through the window but...she can't just leave you with this thing.

• "April, give me Shelly."

• The robot repeated, extending his hand. His purple pupils are starting glow. She's running out of time.

• "If you want her,"

• April said slowly.

• "Go get her!"

• She chucked the priceless invention out the window. Not able to resist the Donnie-ness flowing through him, he lunged for it.

• "Shelly!"

• April took that chance and dashed towards the front door. She'll pick you up and take you the airport and the boys will handle this crazy bucket of bolts-

• "Get back here!"

• A loud, distorted voice shouted. A long, metal claw wrapped around her, dragging her back to Donnie 0. He chuckled lowly.

• (Doing the tsk tsk tsk.)

• "It's such a shame I have to delete you April,"

• He said, tightening the grip.

• "I liked being your friend."

• She groans. Her bones...are gonna break!!! Suddenly, a orange ball crashed through the window. It hit Donnie 0 right in the jaw, nearly denting him. He yelped and dropped April. He looked around, ready to tear apart source.

• "Hey!"

• They both looked over at the front door.

• "Back away from our best girl, Robot Donnie."

• It was Mikey! And the rest of them. (Thank goodness) Donnie stepped up.

• "So,"

• He crossed his arms.

• "My greatest creation has gone insane."

• "WHY am I getting deja vu?"

• (Sheldon raised his wing to say something, but Mikey stopped him.)

• Donnie 0 laughed. Finally, he gonna let his true feelings free.

• "Oh poor, deluded, DUMB, Donatello."

• He chuckled. (Unintentionally crossing his arms like his creator.)

• "I'm not the insane one here."

• "You are."

• The softshell's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything.

• "Do you really think Y/N is always gonna wait around for you?"

• "You don't, do you? That's why I'm here. A remnant of you so she doesn't look elsewhere."

• His pupils burned a piercing purple.

• "But, your plan backfired. I imprinted. And now, I wanna take your place."

• "So be a good ex fiancee and make yourself scarce."

• All the brothers (and April) looked at D. Was he just gonna take that? The actual Donatello chuckled.

• (Not Haha, funny. Haha, you're dead.)

• "Phew, um, I have alot of choice words for you but,"

• He pressed a button on his Techbo, turning it into a double sided, light saber. (One of its many upgrades.)

• "Unlike you, I'll spare you the chit chat. And skip to the robot breaking."

• Everyone readied their weapons. And from lack of her mystic bat, April grabbed a rolling pin!

• "Haha! What now, Robo?"

• Mikey asked/laughed.

• "You got 4 angry, car lagged turtles AND a businesswoman on your back."

• "You're toast!"

• Donnie 0 chuckled, his shoulders bouncing. That's not a good sign.

• "Am I?"

• He snapped. The room began to shake. 3 more artificial intelligences came, each damaging your apartment in some way. And...surprise, surprise, it was the other mutated siblings. The robot in purple laughed, his voice switching from demonic to Donnie.

• "Did you really think I wasn't prepared for this!?"

• "Well, we were kinda hoping you weren't."

• Leo chimed in.

• "Brethren, take them down."

• "I'll handle master Donatello."

• And the fight begins! The Raphs clash fist, Mikey gets tackled by his bot, and Leo's is oddly super tactical. And of course, the main crazed robot is after Donnie's head.

• "Head ups, Raph!"

• Mikey shouted, swinging his robot his older brother's way. Despite, still blocking punches, the snap turtle ducked. Resulting in Mik-E slamming through the wall.

• "Bleh, I hate how much that thing looks like you."

• Raph mumbled. Mikey hopped on his back and pointed.

• "Ah! My look alike is still kicking!"

• The robot has indeed, got up. He cracked his head the right way and frowned. They screamed and ran off into the kitchen. Mik-E hot on their heels. Meanwhile, Leo and April were actually struggling with Le-O. He was in perfect sync with his original, yet he had quick enough reaction time to block their friend.

• "What do we do!? It's like fighting a computer in chess!"

• April shouted, trying to get one hit on the bot. Leo thought hard for a second. Then, he got it!

• "How do you beat computers?"

• He clashed swords with Le-O.

• "With cheat codes!"

• The robot scoffed at the lame pun and easily pushed him back into the coffee table.

• "Geez, D-0 wasn't kidding. You're super annoying."

• The slider smirked.

• "I get that alot."

• Suddenly, crackling was heard. The Ai turned around. There April was! Popping out of the classic blue portal and winding the pitch. She swung. And...!

• "Homerun!"

• Le-O was slammed in the cheek with the rolling pin, and crashed out your window. The condescending copycat was out for the count. (Maybe, nobody checked) The two high fived.

• "Another win for April and Leo!"

• Leo laughed.

• "Now let's go cream Raph's bot!"

• Donnie sighed as they scampered into the rowdy kitchen. Thank goodness, his brothers weren't struggling...much. Still looking at other commotion, the scientist caught the incoming staff.

• "It would be wise for you to keep your eyes on your opponent, Donatello."

• Donnie 0 hissed.(Although he couldn't pull his techbo back) The flesh and blood scientist scoffed and threw the staff away.

• "Bring it."

• Right before the fight you all have been waiting for began...!

• The doorknob turns. Everyone froze.

• You're home!

• "Hide!"

• Donnie whisper/shouted. The fam and the robots ducked behind the counter.

• "And you!"

• He pointed at the Ai next to 'im.

• "It's time for you to log off."

• He yanked on Mecha D's hoodie and reached Emergency shutdown button, (it's on the back of his neck) but the robot was ready.

• "Like hell it is."

• Donnie 0 snapped back. The scientist gasped and they began to tussle. Fabric was getting torn.

• "I did NOT give you foul language!"

• "Get your hands off me!"

• "Donnie?"

• Both of them froze and looked up at you. There you were. Standing in the doorway. Looking very confused (and a tad intrigued) by your turtle and robot tussling. The two of them stood up quickly and straightened themselves out. You looked around, slowly taking in your now destroyed home.

• "What the honk happened in here!?"

• You asked, while mourning over your broken, expensive coffee table.

• "It was him!"

• Both Donnies said like twins. You frowned. That's not a clear answer.

• "Seriously, Y/N, he did it!"

• They said together again.

• "Stop it!"

• "I'm serious!"

• "This copycatery is immature-!"

• You snapped your fingers. Both of them flinched and looked at you. You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose.

• "Donnie 0, speak first."

• "But-"

• You put your hand up, silently shushing him. Your fiancee grumbled and crossed his arms. Donnie 0 smiled smugly at him and returned to his "chill butler" vibe.

• "Dearest,"

• "You're fiancee is jealous of me."

• You raised an eyebrow, no opinion showing in your eyes.

• "He came home early and told me to leave."

• "When I refused, because it's not the time we agreed upon, he got hostile."

• The squad behind the counter was getting ticked. He's just gonna openly lie like that? You looked at the real Donnie. It's his turn. Before the softshell could say anything, the robot popped back in.

• "Y/N,"

• He pulled you close.

• "I'm in love with you."

• Donnie inhaled sharply. Right in his face, huh? This robot has ZERO tact. You looked shocked.

• "Whenever I'm with you or when you talk to me,"

• He put one of his hands on his steel plastron.

• "My heart drive sparks like crazy and maybe it's just a malfunction but..."

• "I like it, okay! And I like you!"

• Your head was spinning. Your apartment was near annihilated. Your fiancee's home earlier. And now, your Ai is confessing his LOVE to you.

• "Uhh..."

• Noticing your spiraling, he sighed and yanked Donnie next to him. (He would've grabbed you back, but the grip on your arm might be tight)

• "Y/N...choose."

• You and your fiancee looked at Donnie 0, very distraught.

• "Organic life or Artificial life?"

• The room hushed. The boys AND the bots peeked from the counter. April readied her rolling pin. And Donnie bit his lip. They all had the same thought.

• She's gonna choose the real Donnie...

• Right?

• You looked at the robot and then back at the original. Slowly, you walked towards...

• Donnie 0.

• Donatello's heart shattered while the other's sparked. Everyone was shocked, especially Donnie. It only took one month to...to lose you? Donnie 0 hugged you tightly and your arms curled around his neck.

• "Oh, Y/N."

• Finally! It's happening! It's really happening! You're finally his-

• Suddenly, the robots eyes turned grey.

• And he slumped forward...

• Unconscious.

• The other brothers walked from behind the counter.

• "Did you sleep him with your love!?"

• Mikey asked. You shook your head.

• "Nope."

• "Just used the emergency shutdown button."

• Donnie shoved the knocked out robot off you and picked you up. You nearly touched the roof. He looked up at you with wet eyes.

• "Don't scare me like that!"

• You chuckled and kissed him on the head.

• "I'm sorry, I wanted to give him a false sense of security."

• He smushed his face into your shoulder and just whimpered. You sighed. This past month must've been rough. As you rubbed his shell, you got bombarded with questions.

• "How'd you know the bot was phony?"

• "We don't have to pay damages...right?"

• "Did you miss us!?"

• "You're not hurt anywhere, are you?"

• You frowned as they talked. You're gonna get overwhelmed at this rate. You snapped and everyone hushed again.

• "Raph,"

• You chose his question.

• "I kinda always had my guard around him."

• "He's an Artificial intelligence, those are practically doomed to fail."

• Donnie mumbled "not always" in the background. You answered the other "questions" as well. No damages need to be paid, but they are gonna fix it. You did miss them and your a-okay.

• "So what do we do with them?"

• Leo said, nodding to the robo bros. They were looking over their fallen brother, talking amongst themselves. Raph shrugged.

• "I don't really know?"

• "They only got crazy when Donnie's robot told them to."

• That's true. They do seem alot more peaceful now, but also lost.

• "As much as I hate to say this,"

• D said, finally done wetting the inside of your neck.

• "We gotta scrap 'em."

• "What!?"

• Mikey shouted.

• "Yes, Mikey."

• "Despite being the greatest artificial intelligence ever known to the planet,"

• "They're dangerous."

• "We already have enough problems as is."

• That was a good point. Everybody did get pretty roughed up and you still don't know the status of Japan. But...

• "I got it!"

• You suddenly said. Everyone looked at you and once again...

• "Huh?"

• 2 updating days later...

• "Remember, turn him on when you guys get on the plane, okay?"

• You told Raph 3.

• (Yeah, no super catchy name for him.)

• He nodded and adjusted his beanie.

• "Don't lose your brothers either."

• Right now you guys are setting the bots free...to do the international missions. Yes, it's sounds harsh, but they'll be happier there. They won't feel odd or oppressed by their originals and they can have their own adventures. Save people in their own way. (And with the new update, they'll be no more dangerous rebelling.)

• "I'll miss you, Mikey!"

• Mik‐E shouted hugging up his live action. Mikey choked.

• "Oh! You're gonna make me cry!"

• Yeah, everyone got tight with their robots in the little time. Not your fiancee though. He had to make a BIG change to his. Namely, the memory card. It was better if Donnie 0 started with a clean slate. Otherwise, he might try to get revenge on you or something. And nobody wants that. After alot of goodbyes and steel hugs, it was time for their flight.

• "Well, looks like it's time for our final bow."

• Le-O said. Everyone got quiet. Donnie cleared his throat and open his arms wide.

• "Robot brethren."

• They looked at each other and awkwardly embraced him.

• "Enjoy the world,"

• "And Donnie 1."

• He looked up at them.

• "Can you do that for me?"

• They all smiled and started talking at once.

• "You got it, Fleshy Donnie!"

• "We'll send you a postcard!"

• "Wait, why does Donnie get the 1?"

• After some more last minute chatter, they had to go. They all waved one last time and Raph 0 slung his unconscious purple brother back over his shoulder. You and the brothers watched in silence as the robots ran to catch their plane.

• "Welp, I had my fill on life sized robots for a bunch of years."

• "Mine was the best though."

• The slider said with a stretch. (It's like, 5 in the morning right now.)

• "Who wants to loiter at that shooting star bucks with me?"

• He said pointing at the airport one. Mikey hopped on his back.

• "I want some of that action!"

• Raph was down to join as well.

• "Let's eat all the pastries!"

• He shouted. Now that they're going to harass poor shooting star bucks employees, it's just you and your fiancee. You looked over at him.

• "Man, I missed you so much."

• He snickered and pulled you close.

• "I know."

• "Not hearing from you was basically torture."

• You laid your face on his shoulder. (He happened to not be wearing his battle shell today.)

• "What do think set Donnie 0 off?"

• You finally asked the question that's been nagging for the past two days. Did you accidentally break him or something?

• "I honestly have know idea."

• "But, I knew he was always special."

• Your brows furrowed.

• "I only downloaded our childhood and recent memories into him and he was just like me. Must've been some something special about the metal I used."

• You sighed and nuzzled into his neck. Maybe that was the case...or something different. Maybe even mystic. You didn't know. And you were kinda too scared to find out. (Leo and Raph gave you the rundown of what happened before you came home. Terrifying stuff.)

• You snorted.

• "And that wasn't a big red flag, dear?"

• Donnie huffed and looked back at you.

• "I thought my engineering was just that good."

• He poked your side.

• "If you must know, my intrusive darling."

• You chuckled, sounding like chipmunk. You finally came out of his shoulder. You wrapped your arms around his waist.

• (...The turtles do have waist, right?)

• "So, wanna get a coffee?"

• You asked while fluttering your eyelashes. He put on his thinking face.

• "Nah,"

• He smiled.

• "I hoping me and you can spend some time together...alone."

• You gasped dramatically, pretending to be shocked by such a vulgar request. Then laughed. Of course, D wanted to "hang out". It's has been awhile. You linked your arm with his.

• "Then by all means..."

• "Lead the way."

• (Tricked you guys! You two are just playing Luigi cart in the Tank!)

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Whew! That was alot, but I'd happily do it again. Unfortunately, though, I'm burned out on Rise series. So, only turtle headcanons this holiday season. But, I will be showing designs of Donnie 0 and deleted scenes. And heck, maybe even a Q&A if anyone wants that. Stay cool!😎

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[zosonils-art]

some helmetless blues redoodles because i’ve been thinking about my boy…. i like to think that he’s a lot more expressive under the helmet than he’d like you to believe

[bobcat-pie]

considering that angus mcfife II is still only a prince despite his father being dead (and also the whole robot prince of auchtertool/mecha king situation, especially since we see Tooley become the mecha king in He Has Returned), maybe we can assume that the title of "prince" doesnt mean exactly the same thing in the context of gloryhammer.

maybe king and prince are synonymous, or maybe prince is just the word for any young royal no matter their rank, or, hell, maybe there's deeper traditions concerning coronations!

[batsplat]

oxley bom pod was talking about the friendly atmosphere in the paddock today and they brought up vale as someone who would make himself hate his opponents in order to beat them. they mentioned biaggi before saying vale didn’t need to make up a reason there lol, and the gibernau, stoner, lorenzo, marquez. thought it was interesting to hear them say that especially since oxley specifically had a particularly close working relationship with vale!

got around to listening to the podcast rather belatedly + had a chat about this general topic that helped me organise my thoughts on this a bit. I transcribed the most relevant comments - probably some small errors because of cross-talk and like... I'm a fast transcriptionist but can't be bothered to properly do it, here:

O: One is because racing is so fucking complicated now. [...] They've got so much to do, so much pressure - to have the negative energy of anger and hatred is actually - B: It's a waste. O: It's a bad thing, you're just wasting your energy. I mean it depends on the character, okay - B: So maybe Vale was the last who really needed to hate somebody to give him - and now even Vale invites Casey to his ranch to ride with him. But he really needed to - It was not difficult for him to hate, but he - Some riders he really looked for a reason to hate them even more, because then he could dig deeper in himself - because he was just a happy chap - in order to beat them. O: Max Biaggi. B: But it was easy to hate Max! That was not very difficult. Sete Gibernau, basically he needed to try - O: Casey Stoner. Sete Gibernau. Marc Marquez. B: He hated Vale probably before Vale hated Casey! But that's another podcast. O: Yeah, I think so. No, definitely, definitely, definitely. [...] Some people - they get fired up by hating other people, and that's fair enough.

so yeah. I mean, qualified agreement, I guess? they're definitely right about casey hating valentino before valentino hated casey lol. if valentino ever really hated casey at all. which is not necessarily a mainstream take, so it's nice to hear it!

I also agree with this general take about... y'know, the creeping professionalisation of the sport and how that affects how likely you're going to get fun drama. goes beyond just hours spent looking at data and also about... having a bit of a life, having time to actually form a personality. and as I've said before, it's the fans! clickbait news + social media featuring partisan fans, who aren't just going to read every statement but also react to every statement like it's life or death shit. pecco and jorge have gotten push back for some incredibly, deeply, ridiculously mild comments these last couple years. they HAVE to phrase everything they say as inoffensively as possible while still getting their points across, and even then they'll generally be jumped. like, forget valentino, how do you think casey would have fared in this current media environment? up against a fanbase as partisan as valentino's - or marc's nowadays? not well is the answer! I think to some extent you can get away with this stuff more depending on people's perceptions of you, so marc and increasingly pedro will generally be fine... but on the flip side, the pecco's, the casey's, the jorge x2's of this world... everything they say gets read in the worst possible light, but now everyone's just so much louder about it

but this ask was more about valentino than the current landscape, so I'll get back to him. I do think it is a bit of an issue if you frame it as a completely either-or issue - at the end of the day, most competitors will probably motivate themselves through their enemies at least a little. pecco definitely uses negative emotions to fire him up, people criticising him and the like. casey absolutely used them, often directed at valentino. all the comments from the haters to fire them up right, to show everyone how wrong they are. on a psychological level, there is not something *fundamentally* different between using your rivals or the fans or the press to motivate yourself - it's still the same underlying motivational process (and indeed the podcast references lawson's distaste for the press). casey signs off his first every grand prix win by saying how nice it was to beat a spanish rider sponsored by the circuit, like are we calling that pure love for the game? he and mostly martin and to a somewhat lesser degree pecco do share a tendency to... believe the world is out to get them, and use that to fire themselves up. idk if casey strictly needed to do that or if it was just ingrained at a young age and became a stable self-perpetuating way in which he viewed the world but also, it doesn't really matter, right. maybe in both valentino and casey there is a pure unpolluted soul who could have enjoyed winning just for the sake of winning, but in practise it's clearly more complicated than that. as has been recently discussed in quite some depth in this parish, late 2007!casey was getting sympathetic interview write-ups that described his mentality as informed by 'bitterness and rejection'. including bitterness at valentino, who at that point in time was not meaningfully reciprocating any of that stuff!

so I do have a bit of a bone to pick with this idea of 'the last guy'. valentino didn't 100% motivate himself by hating his enemies, the blokes after him didn't do so 0%. I think of the aliens casey is probably the most similar to him by this metric... some are definitely less inclined to do so. lorenzo's a bit of an odd case where at times it felt like he was better at making other guys hate him than necessarily hating them himself... complicated guy but I think he actually really did want to mostly fuel himself in a positive manner, except then for various reasons both external and internal he needed to also draw a bit more from. the darkness. marc is more likely than either valentino or casey to just fight to win for the sake of winning... then again you do have cute little incidents like misano 2019 where marc - off the back of two back-to-back last lap defeats - miraculously happened to find an extra bit of motivation through a spat in qualifying after duly harrying the yamaha's all weekend. again, it's a question of degree, right. marc is just inherently less restless than valentino and less inclined to think the world is out to get him than casey, which are all contributing factors

with valentino, I think I disagree a teensy bit in terms of framing more than I do in substance. first off, not to be a broken record on this, but obviously all of these feuds were very different, involving very different emotional landscapes. I don't think it's correct to say valentino needed an enemy to fire himself up, but he did always need something. some mission to dig his teeth into, some way of making the whole thing exciting. of making it fun! I'm not all that convinced of this happy-go-lucky characterisation of valentino - a lot of the time he had to go to an awful lot of effort to keep himself entertained, and when that didn't work he could get pretty miserable. he needed to keep himself stimulated, he needed to stop himself from feeling lonely, he needed to give himself a purpose to work towards. hatred did help him in a motivational sense, and he's talked in his autobiography about how anger has made him ride faster. it's useful... up to a point. it's just not a uniform thing across rivalries

my sense is that it comes down to two things. 1) he needs something to motivate himself and get excited, be it a rival or whatever. and 2) he needs some distance from his rivals. motivating yourself through a rival is not quite the same thing as motivating yourself through an enemy. for instance!! casey was only really his enemy once they were no longer on-track rivals - it was unrelated to actual competitive calculus, and was in some ways more about casey than it was about valentino. when valentino did that shit to casey at laguna 2008, he's not like... mad at casey. he doesn't hate him. he's gleeful at least in part because of how obviously pissed casey is, but he doesn't hate him. because he doesn't need to hate casey to want to beat him! casey is already so considerable a challenge that beating him is reward enough in itself - he's this super tricky puzzle for valentino to work away at... and when he comes up with the answer at laguna 2008, he's delighted. he doesn't really hate jorge in 2009 either - dislike, yes, hate, no. he's already plenty stimulated by the challenge of beating his feisty young teammate... he doesn't need anything else. he gets through 95% of the 2015 season with barely any animosity with his title rival - there, he would have seen it as distracting from his primary mission of winning his tenth in a way that was entirely disconnected from any particular rival. he also runs into the problem that it feels like any psychological warfare feels like it's getting aimed more at marc than jorge - but that's entirely accidental, he isn't TRYING to fuck with marc in the middle of the season. why would he!! and jorge refuses to be fucked with on the track because he's just never in the same postcode as valentino, and valentino isn't attempting to fuck with him off the track. he's barely even doing like,, mild mind games, like they're quite actively friendly the entire year

(I do sometimes think you can do a bit of displacement here where you don't necessarily need to hate the person you're actively fighting to get the job done - cf marc at misano 2019, also... tbh casey 2011-12 kinda had that vibe where he was getting all that energy out of his system in valentino's direction and could then keep things civil with his actual title rival. there's a LITTLE bit of that 2015 even pre phillip island but mostly valentino does have a more early 2008 'we move in silence' vibe or whatever that pecco tweet read. this is the restlessness thing, right - he kinda needs to fill his brain with SOMETHING)

which brings us to the second element: needing some distance. zero problem with biaggi, which is kinda the training wheels feud in that it takes a bit of a life of its own before valentino REALLY was intending it to. he's a kid (literal eighteen year old) who's kinda snarky about biaggi in the press and biaggi takes it EXTREMELY poorly and confronts him about it and it kind of spirals from there. with casey + jorge, valentino ensures that they never GET too close. I do think there is an element of... y'know, not wanting to be close friends with the guys who are your title rivals, because it's harder to beat people you care about and deprive them of the thing they want most in the world. which I actually think is pretty normal!! valentino's problem is that on a few occasions he has ended up in rivalries with blokes he was at some stage close in - and either he preemptively withdraws as with marc and... ? probably...? melandri...? - or the relationship deteriorates and then blows up as with sete and also marc. the 'preemptive withdrawing' bit does suggest a degree of self-awareness with regards to his own competitive process - and as has been previously argued in this parish, valentino's relationship with marc developing as it did was in large part due to his competitive situation 2010-14. the two of them falling out was probably always going to happen if they were competing, the two of them falling out that badly required valentino's stint in the competitive wilderness to let him lower his guard to such an extent

so that's the argument in broad strokes. yes, valentino can use enemies to motivate himself - he certainly enjoys having rivals, he enjoys fucking with them, he enjoys figuring them out and measuring himself against them and also a little bit of competitive edge. that doesn't mean he needs enemies per se, or certainly he wouldn't have seen some of his rivals in quite such extreme terms (casey in particular of course felt differently). he did need SOMETHING to motivate him... rivals, definitely - enemies, perhaps. and he also needed a bit of distance from those he was competing against. which post-sete he tended to preemptively enforce, except that one time when he didn't, and when it wasn't preemptively enforced it did have a tendency to blow up rather spectacularly. so in essence, you still end up at the same conclusion, right - valentino did get a lot out of having enemies, did motivate himself with them, did need to beat someone. but the working process is a bit different as I see it. sometimes making enemies is about emotional regulation, y'know. feuding as a healthy outlet for competitive tension. as it should be

[inorganicorgan]

"Professor Sylvia Maxis. Two-two oh-one two-six-oh-nine. Very late at night, I think. Haven't slept [er] good in [hhhnnn] a while. [huff]. No luck with opening that Cee folder. Found some... parts around here. I say parts, but they're a lot like... a lot like actual human [dah uh] limbs? And digits [mmnnm] things. Very clearly robotics, yeah, yeah, but they're [incoherent]. Big bloomin'... bloody... gah. Trail of parts. To the damming.. the [mm] basement. [Khhh]... I'll try to open it again, I found a key. I'll leave it to t'morrow. But that damn door, it can't stop me. I'm g'nna... I'm getting in there... I'll find out who I am. Who I was, maybe. And I'll find out who Cee was. Is. I'm tired. Shouldn't'a made this one, 's a waste."

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[polygonal-trees]

Look who I found while I was out shopping!

They're so scrungly I love them

[istherewifiinhell]

Smth smth vic con 'id beg you do to it' smth smth armada 'i enjoyed every nano second of it'

[your-dads-filing-cabinet]

I want to know Sean's thoughts on the new fumito ueda game :3 the concept trailer launched in like December but I don't have twitter so idk if he said anything abt it

[datshitrandom]

Darren Criss and Helen J. Shen will lead new broadway musical Maybe Happy Ending this fall | Direction by Michael Arden | Opening Night on October 17 at the Belasco Theatre

May 14, 2024 | 🎥 📸

[em1i2a3]

Send The Pain Below

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: After you return from a mission severely injured, Bob can’t help but offer you as much help as possible.

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts cause Bob. Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (kind of?), Mentions of Injuries/Blood

Author’s Note: Hey y’all! I had this on my WIP list and wanted to get it out, this wasn’t a request I just randomly wrote this and literally didn’t have a clue on how to end it to be quite honest lol. But I didn’t want it clogging up my drafts, and the idea was good in theory.

Word Count: 4,859

The elevator doors of the compound slid open with a quiet hiss, and you stepped out like your body might give out if you stopped moving for even a second.

Your boots landed heavy on the tile, your limp was masked only by sheer willpower and the remaining adrenaline you had running through your veins. Every step sent a bolt of pain up your legs, through your hips, lancing into your ribs and shoulders like tiny barbed wires that threaded themselves deeper with each shift. You didn’t stop to breathe–because it felt like if you tried to, your ribs were going to break.

Throughout the entire ride up to your living quarters, you hadn’t been still for a moment. You paced the tight space of the elevator like a caged animal–shaking, twitching, trying to outrun the memory of the fight. The metal walls had felt too close, too quiet, too loud with your thoughts.

Now, in the open hallway, your ears were still ringing. All you could smell was blood and dirt–iron and ash clinging to your skin like a second, suffocating layer. You didn’t know if it was your blood or someone else’s. You didn’t want to try and figure that out though.

“Hey, I called medical, they’re waiting for you.” Bucky’s voice echoed from the living room. He knew you were coming. He had been communicating with you through your comms the entire mission, and he had gotten a call from the extraction team who gave him a heads up on the damage you had taken.

”I’m fine.” You muttered back. Your steps were stiff, bordering on robotic. Blood had soaked through the fabric at your waist and dried in large dark patches. You were grateful you wore black tactical gear, because if you didn’t it probably would’ve looked like you worked at a butcher shop. One sleeve was ripped open, revealing a long, nasty cut that ran from your bicep to your elbow, and your back felt like it had been slammed through a concrete wall–and it actually had, or at least maybe in your haze you had convinced yourself that happened.

It was your first solo mission. A simple infiltration, Valentina had said. The mission description screamed that it was going to be quick and easy, you had planned it out so much, and you did everything right.

But it hadn’t been enough.

You rounded the corner into the living room, and all the conversations and commotion died instantly.

“Holy shit, Y/N.” Yelena said under her breath, getting up from the couch. You continued to drag yourself towards the washroom, ignoring the comment.

”Y/N, you’re not fine kid, come on–let’s not try to act tough right now. You need to go see medical.” Walker added, following suit with Yelena. You didn’t slow your steps, nor did you look back, because you knew if you stopped now you’d be glued to the floor, and you wouldn’t be able to keep moving.

You could feel the weight of their stares burning into your back as you made your way towards the washroom with one hand trailing the edge of the wall to stabilize yourself. Your vision was swimming–edges soft, depth distorted–but you knew this floor, this hallway, this layout, and thankfully you could walk it blind if your sight gave out.

“Y/N you’re literally leaving a trail of blood across the floor, this isn’t a walk it off type of situation here.” Ava commented, joining in on the pestering, her voice sharp and worried. Yet you still didn’t answer them, you just kept moving.

”Is she even hearing us?” Walker asked, his voice dropping an octave, then a door in the hallway opened and Alexei poked his head out of his bedroom, disheveled and confused from the commotion that was happening, tying his robe around his beefy upper body. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and right when he saw you there was an immediate look of concern that appeared on his face.

“Dorogaya,” He called gently, his brows pinching “You walk like dead woman.” You clenched your jaw hard enough at his words that it made your teeth ache.

“Let someone help, yes?” He added, his voice softer now, as if his words might land easier that way, “You don’t get glory for dying on your feet.” You felt your fingers curl slightly against the wall, but you didn’t trust your voice enough to respond–not with the heat gathering behind your eyes, not with the pain that was spiking again through your spine.

”She’s not listening to anyone,” Ava muttered behind you, voice tight. You didn’t hear the rest of what they said.

The voices behind you melted into background noise–blurred and echoing like they were underwater. You just kept moving. One foot in front of the other. Focused on the hall ahead, on the door you shared with Bob at the end of it. Your hand skimmed the wall, dragging along the paint like it was the only thing anchoring you upright.

The blood trail you left behind was uneven, smeared where your boot dragged slightly on the right side. You didn’t even feel the cuts anymore–not sharply, anyway. Just a dull throb beneath the surface of everything, like your whole body had been submerged in concrete and it was slowly starting to harden around you.

When you finally reached the door, you shouldered it open, and stumbled into the washroom. The light was too bright. The silence–too still.

You stood there for a second, just swaying feeling a wave of dizziness come over you. Then you slammed the door shut, and locked it, enclosing yourself in the small space you and Bob inhabited together.

Then it was just you.

You, and the sound of your breath–shallow, rattling, uneven, and crackling–shaking in your chest like it was a broken metronome. Now that you were alone you could also hear the light above you buzzing faintly, even though there was still a bit of bickering happening outside the door.

You moved stiffly to the switch for the fan and turned it on, letting the low hum kick in above your head. It vibrated in the walls, just enough to mute the sound of your breathing. Then you shuffled over to the shower, reaching in to turn on the hot water in one swift movement, hissing when your shoulder screamed out in pain. The pipes groaned slightly before water burst from the head, pounding into the tile like a rainstorm. Hot. Loud. And endless. Steam immediately began to fill the space, and that’s exactly what you needed–warmth, something to ease the pain that was about to come in full force.

All you wanted right now was solitude. You wanted to lick your wounds like an animal crawling into the shadows–quiet and wild and unwilling to be witnessed. You needed to hurt where no one could see it. Needed to unravel in private, where the grief could live without apology, and the shame could breathe.

You turned back toward the center of the washroom, your vision still swimming, limbs trembling slightly from the effort it had taken just to reach this far. The steam was already clouding the mirror, mercifully dulling the image of yourself–like even your reflection was sparing you the full truth of what you’d become.

You didn’t want to see it. Not clearly. Not yet.

Your fingers fumbled with the front of your vest, the fabric stiff and heavy with blood. It took two tries to get the buckle unclipped–your fingers were sticky and slippery, or maybe they were just numb–and when the strap finally gave, the release jolted your injured shoulder hard enough that your breath hitched through clenched teeth.

You pressed your lips together, hard, swallowing the sound before it could escape.

The velcro at your chest peeled back with a slow, wet rip, and the vest shifted. The weight of it–soaked through, dense and clinging–pulled down at your frame like it wanted to take you with it to the floor.

You reached up to shrug it off, and a bolt of pain exploded across your ribs. Your body locked up immediately, breath freezing in your lungs. For a moment, your knees threatened to buckle completely.

You caught yourself on the sink, gasping.

Your palm left a smear of blood against the porcelain.

Tears burned behind your eyes–not from sadness. From sheer, helpless agony.

Still, you didn’t cry. Not yet.

You stayed hunched over the sink, chest heaving, shoulders trembling with the effort it took just to stay upright. The pain was beginning to spike higher with each passing second–as if your body, now freed from the armor, had decided it was safe to let you feel everything all at once.

Your eyes flicked to the mirror again, just briefly. Your reflection was almost gone now, consumed by steam. Just a shape. Just a shadow of what was left of you.

You reached out blindly for the medicine cabinet.

The metal clinked as you opened it, and your fingers searched through the shelves with shaky, clumsy movements until they found the bottle. White cap. Red label. Tylenol.

It was something and it was all you had.

You unscrewed the lid with fingers that barely cooperated, spilling two pills into your hand. You didn’t have the strength to care about how many milligrams it was or if you’d already taken some earlier–which for the record, you didn’t. All you knew was that the pain had to come down–just a little–before you could finish what needed to be done.

You popped the pills into your mouth and chewed.

Bitter.

Chalky.

The taste coated your tongue like poison. It hit the back of your throat like ash.

You reached down, turned the faucet on with your uninjured hand, and leaned in to catch a handful of lukewarm water. You brought it to your mouth quickly, sloshed it back, swallowed hard.

The pills scraped down your throat like gravel.

You stayed there for a moment, hunched over the sink, your hands braced on either side. The water kept running. The fan kept humming. The shower roared behind you, thick steam curling around your legs, climbing your spine.

You wanted to rest. Just for a second, but you knew you couldn’t.

Not while you were still covered in blood. Not while your pants were still clinging to your thigh like a bandage made of fabric and failure.

You let the water run. You didn’t have the energy to turn it off.

Your fingers drifted down toward your utility belt next. You unclipped it slowly, fumbling with the strap at your hip until it loosened and slid free. The belt thudded heavily to the floor, landing beside the vest. It sounded final. Like a chapter closing.

Then came your pants.

You didn’t want to look.

You already knew what was underneath–your thigh had been burning since the moment you’d hit the floor in that alley. Your hip had felt wet and wrong the second the rebar tore your side open.

Still, you slid your thumbs into the waistband and began to shimmy them down—inch by inch. Pain flared instantly.

The cut across your thigh had stuck to the inside lining. As the fabric peeled away, it reopened with a slick, wet sound and a wave of heat that flooded your vision with white.

You gasped again, one hand grabbing the counter to stay upright. Your breath broke mid-exhale, and the sound you made was something just shy of a sob.

Blood rolled down the side of your thigh in a thin, fresh ribbon.

You stood there half-undressed and trembling, your legs streaked with red, your body steaming in the mirror’s haze, and your throat thick with everything you were still trying to hold back.

————————

Outside in the hallway, the team hovered like ghosts–uncertain whether to press in or give space, tense with the kind of helpless energy that made people argue just to feel useful.

Walker had his ear against the wall, arms crossed, one brow furrowed as he strained to hear through the sound of the water. “I think I heard her,” he muttered. “She made a sound…Not good.”

“I told you she should’ve gone straight to medical,” Ava said under her breath, pacing a slow, tight line across the hall. “We should just go in there.”

“No,” Yelena cut in, her voice quieter but far more final. “She locked the door. Let her have a minute.”

“You saw her,” Walker snapped. “She doesn’t have a minute, are we gonna break down the door if she passes out?!”

”No, I’ll just phase through and unlock the door you idiot.” Ava shot back, and before Walker could rebuttal, Bob’s door creaked open, causing everyone to turn their heads to look at him.

He stood in the frame like he hadn’t even realized they were all there. He was barefoot, dressed in a baggy dark grey scrub set, similar to the ones they found him in when they met him in the O.X.E Vault–when he had admitted he found them comfortable you had gone out and bought him a few pairs. His light brown hair was tousled, and extremely flat on one side like he had just peeled himself off his mattress. He looked like he had just rubbed out a decade of sleep from his eyes as he stretched.

”…W-What’s going on?” He asked, his voice slow and sleep-warm, like it hadn’t yet left the fog of dreams. He blink slowly, shoulders hunching forward slightly under the baggy scrub top. Walker turned to him first, running a hand down his face, exasperation cooling into something just a little more worried.

”Y/N is in the washroom,” Bob’s brows drew together in confusion, almost as if he was urging him to go on, “She came back from a mission looking like absolute hell–like barely walking and bleeding everywhere. She locked the door and hasn’t said anything to us since.” Yelena crossed her arms.

“She won’t let any of us in either…” Bucky said, as everyone began to exchange glances at one another, “But how about you give it a try?” Bob’s arms hung stiff at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling against the fabric of his scrub top, like his body was trying to move before his mind could catch up.

“…M-Me?” He asked, voice quiet–half-hoarse with sleep, half-tight with something else he hadn’t figured out how to name. His eyes flicked toward the washroom door, then back to the group, unsure. “W-Why me?”

Yelena was the one who answered. Calm. Certain. No hesitation.

“Because you’re her friend. And she trusts you.”

Bob’s shoulders twitched at the word–friend–like it didn’t feel big enough to carry the weight of what you were to him. It didn’t feel small either. Just…Not right. Not complete. Not everything.

“She listens to you…She likes being around you and she trusts you…” Bob looked down, jaw shifting slightly. His hands came up, one running across the back of his neck, the other tugging anxiously at the loose sleeve of his shirt. He could feel the familiar burn start to gather low in his chest–the one that always came with too many emotions pressing up at once, begging for escape.

He wasn’t good with being needed. He wasn’t used to being the person someone called for when everything fell apart.

But you’d never made him feel like a burden.

Not once.

Even when he couldn’t meet your eyes. Even when his hands shook too hard to pour water. Even when he curled up on the floor and told you he wasn’t sure if he was real. You stayed. You held his face in your hands and called him Bob in a voice that made it sound like that name had never belonged to anyone else. You were his calm…And now he needed to try and return the favour.

He swallowed hard.

“Okay,” He whispered,“I’ll try…Just…B-Back away for a second okay, or g-go down the hall.” The team scattered almost immediately, as Bob took one shaky breath and padded forward, every step louder in his ears than it should’ve been. He cleared his throat and knocked gently on the door.

”Hey…Y/N…I-It’s me,” He said, barely louder than the sound of the fan humming on the other side of the barrier between them. He pressed his hand flat to the wood, almost like he would be able to feel you through it, “I–I know you probably don’t want to s-see anyone right now…I get it, I–I do…But…” He faltered for a moment, glancing down the hall seeing the rest of the team watching him.

”B-But can I come in? Please?” There was a pause. A long one, but he didn’t move, he waited until there was a sign to either go, or come in.

And then–the lock turned.

His heart thudded, heavy and thick against his ribs, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

He pushed the door open slowly, the rush of steam hitting him in a wave. It curled around his ankles, ghosted against his chest, and painted the room in a blur of heat and wet air. The mirror was almost completely fogged, and the fan overhead did nothing to stop the fog from swallowing the space whole.

And then he saw you.

You were standing by the sink, half-turned, wearing only your sports bra and underwear. Blood was smeared down your leg in stark red streaks, tracing the lines of torn muscle and raw, reopened skin. Your shoulder was mottled purple and yellow, your arm wrapped around your ribs protectively like the pressure might keep something from falling apart.

Your face turned toward him when he entered. Slowly.

And even though you weren’t crying, not exactly, your eyes were glassy–rimmed with something bitter and deep, something that looked a hell of a lot like defeat.

“J-Jesus,” Bob whispered, the breath barely making it past his throat.

His stomach dropped. His hands clenched uselessly at his sides, eyes scanning every part of you like he didn’t know where to look first.

Your cheek had a shallow cut beneath the eye, already beginning to swell. Your lip was split. There was dirt caked under your nails, your hair was stuck to your neck with sweat and blood, and your expression–when your eyes finally locked on his–was exhausted in a way he’d never seen on you before.

You looked like you had fought through the end of the world and barely made it out breathing.

“Y/N…” He breathed, and for a second he couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t function. His throat tightened so sharply it almost made him cough. You shook your head slowly–once, twice–like each motion cost you something.

Bob flinched.

Not because you scared him, but because you looked like you were unraveling and still trying to hold it all in place. Because even just shaking your head seemed to hurt. Because you’d finally let someone in, and he didn’t know if he could be the person you needed, but God, he wanted to be.

He shut the door behind him gently, a soft click that sealed the two of you into that steam-filled quiet, then turned the lock. The air was thick, and his scrubs were already starting to cling to his chest, but he didn’t care.

His eyes were still moving over you–your thigh, your ribs, your face–and something in his jaw worked like he was trying not to cry for you.

“I–” He started, then stopped, trying again a second later “I know you don’t wanna hear it, but…M–Maybe we should go to medical, just for a minute. Y-You’re bleeding pretty bad and I–”

”No, Bob.” Your voice was sharp. Not cruel, but tired. Bone-deep tired. Your eyes were hollowed by it. “I don’t want to go. Don’t ask me again.”Bob’s lips parted. He froze like you’d slapped him with the words.

His hands came up instantly–palms out, defensive, the way someone does when they know they’ve stepped over the line. “Okay. Okay. I–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–I just…”

His voice cracked, soft and breathless, and his lashes fluttered quickly like something was stinging behind his eyes. “I–I just didn’t know what else to say. I just–I wanna help.”

You didn’t answer right away. You turned back toward the mirror, wincing slightly, your weight shifting between your feet like even standing was a negotiation.

Bob took a step forward. Then another.

“C-Can we at least get you cleaned up?” He asked, voice gentler now. “Just… Just so we can see the damage a little better? I–I promise I won’t touch anything unless you say it’s okay…And I–I won’t bring up medical again…”

You blinked at your own reflection. Or rather, at the smeared suggestion of it–nothing but a shadow behind fog and grief and wet heat. Your throat bobbed, your lips parted, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the roar of the water pounding the tile behind you.

Then, slowly–like each movement had to be dug out of you one inch at a time–you nodded.

Just once.

Bob exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the door opened. “Okay,” He murmured, so quietly it barely reached you. “Okay.”

He moved carefully, like you were a wild animal that might spook. His hands stayed visible, slow and shaking just slightly. His voice was raw and steady all at once. You watched him in the mirror as he stepped around you to reach the shower, his eyes flicking back to your face every few seconds like he was checking to make sure he wasn’t doing something wrong.

He pulled his scrub top over his head. His chest was lean and pale, the faint trace of old scars visible across his ribs. He didn’t look at you while he did it–he wasn’t doing this to be seen, only to be with you. To match your vulnerability. To show you he wasn’t going to ask you to do something he wouldn’t do beside you.

Then the pants went next, dropped quickly to the tile with a soft thund. He stepped into the shower in only his boxers, reaching up to adjust the temperature with a small frown, his brow furrowing as steam curled around him. Then, gently–so gently–it was his voice again.

“C’mon. I’ve got you.”

You turned, just barely, and let him take your hand. His fingers laced through yours so softly it nearly broke you. You stepped forward, and he guided you into the stream like you were made of glass and grief and things that couldn’t be named without breaking apart.

The moment your skin hit the water, the heat scalded into every nerve ending that had been screaming silently for hours.

You cried out.

Your knees gave out without warning, your body folding in on itself with a sudden, sharp gasp of pain.

“Woah–woah, hey, hey–I’ve got you–” Bob’s voice cracked mid-sentence as he caught you, his arms sliding around your waist and shoulder just in time to keep you from hitting the floor.

You collapsed against him with the weight of everything. Your cheek pressed to the curve of his collarbone, your ribcage shaking with shallow, broken breaths as the water soaked your skin, turning the blood on your body to long, diluted streaks that ran in ribbons down your legs, and floated around his.

Bob eased you down slowly. The tile kissed your knees, too cold beneath all the heat, but his arms stayed around you–tight, protective, and stable. He let himself sit with you fully, legs folding beneath his weight as he cradled you in his lap, one hand braced gently at your lower back, the other spread over your ribs, careful not to press too hard.

His chest rose and fell against your shoulder, each breath a little too quick, a little too uneven. You could feel his heart hammering, not with fear, but with something else–some horrible, aching emotion that had nowhere to go but into the way he held you.

You tilted your head up slightly–just enough to look at him.

And the look on his face made your breath catch in your throat.

Bob wasn’t crying. But his eyes were wet, the rims pink, his brows drawn in tight with something that looked like devastation barely leashed. His jaw was clenched, not out of anger, but because he looked like if he let it go, it would all fall out–every emotion, every worry, every broken piece of what this had done to him.

”Don’t cry Bob…I’m fine.” Bob leaned in closer at your words, his brows tightening even more–not with disbelief, but with something gentler. Something so heavy with care it made your chest ache worse than your ribs.

His forehead came to rest against yours, water beading and dripping between your skin, breath warm and unsteady against your lips. His voice was just a murmur, barely there beneath the drum of the shower.

“Please d-don’t lie to me…” He whispered, closing his eyes. “I c-can’t…I can’t see you like this and not do something, I–”

His voice broke completely then. And it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic or violent. It was quiet devastation—the kind that crumbled inwards, the kind that shook hands and pressed foreheads and curled arms around broken bodies in the dark.

And then something in the air shifted.

It was subtle at first–so small you didn’t register it until it started to crawl up your spine.

A hum.

Not from the fan.

Not from the pipes.

Not from the water.

From him.

From the center of Bob’s chest, where it pressed faintly to yours. A vibration–gentle, low, like the world taking a breath. It was warm. Not hot like the water. Soft, like standing in sunlight after a long, cold night.

Bob didn’t seem to notice.

His arms stayed around you, trembling slightly but strong, his breath hitching once more as he whispered, “I–I would take it if I could. I’d take all of it, Y/N. I swear I would…” You blinked.

Once. Twice.

Then the numbness hit.

It started in your cheeks, right under where Bob’s forehead rested against yours. A strange, tingling sensation, like static running under your skin—like the prickle of limbs falling asleep, but deeper. Warmer. It began to spread across your jaw, down your neck, over the pulsing ache of your ribs. You stiffened slightly in his arms.

“B-Bob…” Your voice came out thin. Cautious. “Something’s… wrong. I—I think I’m—”

You pulled your head back.

Just an inch. Just enough to look at him.

And that’s when you saw it.

His eyes–his eyes–weren’t the soft blue they usually were. They weren’t even shimmering yellow like when the Sentry burned through him, lit up and alive and untouchable. No, this was something else entirely.

They were light.

Not glowing with light–made of it.

Warm and impossible, like the moment just before sunrise. Liquid gold, honeyed and bright, but threaded with something deeper–something eternal. Like looking into a star too close. Like watching the sky open.

Bob didn’t even seem to realize it. He was staring at you like you had changed. Like something was wrong with you.

His brows furrowed suddenly, breath catching. “What the hell…”

You froze.

“What?” you asked, voice sharp and shaky all at once. “Bob—what is it? What’s happening?”

His eyes searched your face, wide and stunned and almost afraid to believe what he was seeing.

“Your face…” he whispered, “Y/N… it’s–”

He reached up–slowly–and touched your cheek.

His fingertips brushed the skin just below your eye, where the cut had been. Where the swelling had bloomed purple and raw. There was nothing there now. Not even the tenderness. Just heat from the shower. Just clean, unbroken skin.

“It’s healed.”

You blinked again.

And now that he said it–you felt it.

The pounding in your ribs was gone.

The throb in your thigh, the searing line from your bicep to your elbow, the burn from the rebar in your side—it was all gone.

Your body felt heavy, yes, but no longer from pain. Just from the realization.

You looked down at your arms, your legs, your skin, now mostly clean under the steady pour of water–and new. Whole. No dried blood. No open wounds.

You looked back at him.

“Holy fuck…You healed me…Is the…Is the Sentry back or something?” He shook his head in confusion.

”I–I don’t know…I didn’t e-even know he could do t-that to other people…”

[sukumna]

⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝟗:𝟏𝟕 𝐏𝐌; GOJO SATORU

gojo was so tired of being the strongest. so tired of pretending nothing ever got to him.

his body felt like it could break at any moment as he made his way back to his apartment, every step heavier than the last. the mission had been hell. his body hurts in places he didn’t know existed. his usual cocky stride was gone, replaced with a stiffness that made him feel like a damn robot.

when he opened the door, he didn’t expect to see you.

you looked up from the couch, frowning at him. “satoru?”

he blinked slowly, trying to shake off the fog.

“did we have a date planned?” he asked. his voice was rough, barely more than a rasp. he hadn’t messaged you, hadn’t checked his phone—hell—he didn’t even know if he’d eaten in the past few days.

you didn’t get angry like he expected. no eye rolls, no snarky comments, no judgment like his previous relationships. instead you just stood up, and moved towards him with that careful, knowing grace. almost as if you could sense he was about to crumble.

“c’mere.”

he didn’t hesitate, stepping forward until he felt your warmth at his side. you guided him with a steady hand towards the bathroom. in that moment gojo felt as if your touch was the only thing melting him up when all he wanted to do was collapse.

his whole life, people had leaned on him—looked to him for strength. with you he here taking care of him, he felt like is was finally his turn. you treated him like he was human, not some untouchable weapon. and that’s what made him feel like maybe he wasn’t just a tool, maybe he mattered outside of his strength.

once you helped settle him on the toilet seat gojo gently held yours hips as you stepped between his legs and gently removed his blindfold. he sighed and leaned into your stomach when you scratched his scalp.

soon the soft splashing of water filled the room as you. he watched you everything you did with low eyes. if he wasn’t so tired he would’ve had had his hands all over you.

when you turned back to him your hands reaching for the hem of his shirt—he didn’t protest. you just gently slid the fabric off, your fingers brushing his sensitive sides.

you cupped his checks and tilted his face towards your own. “did you eat today?” your voice was so quiet almost completely drowned out by the sound of the tub.

he chuckled into you hand but it didn’t carry the usual lightness. “don’ remember.”

you sighed, shaking your head as you pushed his soft locks off his face. “you never take care of yourself toru.”

his lips curved into a half-smirk. “that’s what I have you for, huh?”

you didn’t laugh, didn’t tease him back like you usually would. instead, you just gave him that look—the one that made his chest tighten. the one that saw through his tough exterior without even trying.

“get in.”

he sank into the tub, the warmth cascading all over his sore muscles in a way they made him groan. a shaky breath escaped his lips when you places his head in your lap from your place on the edge. and finally, with silver strands sticking to his forehead, bags underneath his eyes, head in your lap—gojos body finally relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever.

he was on the verge of sleep when he felt you stand.

his fingers twitched over the rim of the tub. “stay.” it wasn’t a command, wasn’t playful. just quiet. unsure. like he was afraid to ask.

you paused for a moment, but then you stripped and stepped in behind him, the water shifting with your weight. when your arms wrapped around him, pulling his back against you, he felt himself melting into the embrace.

your fingers slid back into his hair, massaging gently, your nails grazing his scalp in a way that made his whole body relax under your touch. you other hand was drawing small shapes into his chest.

no one had ever touched him like this. no one ever cared without expecting something in return.

“toru,” you whispered, lips brushing against his temple “you don’t have to do everything alone.”

his fingers curled around your wrist, holding you close, as if anchoring himself to you. “don’t go anywhere,” he whispered.

you pressed a soft kiss to his hair. “I won’t. never.”

his world had always been too loud. too fast. too demanding—but with you here, everything slowed. everything quieted.

he let himself sink into it—let himself need you. and, for the first time since he could remember, he felt was it was like to be loved unconditionally.

[sp0o0kylights]

Sometimes I think of a Steve Harrington that is absolutely exhausted by all the horror and bullshit and trying to keep the kids alive through said horror and bullshit, who watches Eddie rock up to him at the beginning of S4 with a dead eyed, flat stare.

"Steeeeve Harrington." Eddie taunts and peacocks and twirls around him, and all Steve wanted was for a couple months to process the trauma, maybe feel safe enough to start thinking about the future instead of stuck in a never ending anxiety loop of what might happen to Dumbass Near-Deatherson, should Steve go to college or move out of Hawkins (bc all the bad nicknames in the world won't erase the fact that Dustin's family, now. They're all family. And when they need help, they go to Steve.) and now he's suffering the unjust ordeal of being haunted by the high school drug dealer.

"His highness has come down from his castle!" Munson will crow, making a show out of Steve picking up the kids like this is a great battle of wits, a scoreboard between them and not like Steve is half dead on his feet, head aching, dreams full of too many teeth. "Quickly hide behind me, he'll try to cut off your heads!"

"Wouldn't he just cut yours off too?" Lucas asked, though the tone was slightly timid, Sinclair unsure if his joke would be well recieved.

(Steve doesn't care if the kid outright insults him. He still recalls the junkyard, the fight with Billy, the blood staining the kid's headband. Lucas lived, therefore, he can be a shit if wants.)

"Mine? Oh, the King wouldn't dare." Munson tosses his head, full of cartoon energy, too big for his body and grin both. "Many have tried you see, but no one had ever succeeded!"

Steve, equally, does not give a single shit that Eddie Munson has decided to play these games with him--until he realizes he's maybe been a little too exhausted and depressed and morose around the kids.

Watches them getting worried over him, whispering urgently and making dramatic gestures and talking to Robin and suddenly, playing a little tug of war over them the way Munson seems to want feels like a good idea. A way to hide all the rough edges, a way to be fine so they can be fine.

"How about you guys skip the dork brigade tonight," Steve taunts back the next time they're all together, standing like the man he used to be, wearing a dead personality. "And we go do something actually fun instead?"

Eddie laughs, lights up, is all too happy to match him tit for tat, and it's so easy to fake this kind of interaction, rolling his eyes and snapping his gum. Steve could match this energy in his sleep, and never once does Munson catch on that Steve's not doing this for him.

That he's not even looking at him half the time, eyes askew, locked on the kids. Seeing them relax as he banters, seeing Dustin glow as he returns to his favorite position, being the center of attention.

So long as they think he's okay, Steve will be okay. If that means putting up with Munson, then so be it.

Its not like he'll catch on.

Eddie doesnt.

(Or rather, he does--but Its months and several deaths later, when they're in the RV, chasing what feels like literal demons, does it dawn on Eddie what Steve is doing.

Has been doing, the whole time.

Steve, sassy, ridiculous, jock- brained Steve makes the mistake of doing it again, using the same trick he had on the kids to convince them he was fine on Eddie. To further convince Eddie that they were fine as a group.

That they'll survive, they'll figure it out, they'll make it.

Loudly bantering with dead eyes, smiling with a mouth robotically locked in. Jokes on jokes on jokes and all of them making the kids take their minds off VecnaHenryOne to screech ineffectively at their babysitter. Winks tossed to the girls, who both roll their eyed at him. A sly look given to Eddie, to include him.

Its then, that Eddie decides to cement his life with Steve's. Because this loyal bastard of a paladin is too good hearted to die, too protective to not try it anyway. The idiot is cutting himself to ribbons to tie them all together and Eddie can't undo the damage but he can grab all the pieces he can, loop them together.

He can make those dead eyes light up again.

And he does.

This time when things are over Steve finds himself unable to pull those little tricks of his. Every time he slides the mask over his face Eddie rips it right back off again.

They fight, a lot, until they start kissing instead and for a while that also, somehow, feels like fighting but Eddie's real good at this. The emotional part, not so much the kissing, but he knows how to draw Steve out. How to break down walls, and annoying his real personality out.

The kissing was just an odd little side benefit.

A thing they don't talk about.

There's a benefit to it, one he doesn't look very hard into, until strangely, one day, Eddie wakes with Steve's head pillowed on his shoulder and comes to the abrupt conclusion that he's screwed.

Or so he thinks--until bright, loving eyes blink awake, and turn on him, and Eddie realizes just how long it's been since they looked dead.

He wonders, vaguely, how long it'll take for Steve to catch on, that this just got serious.

Will laugh at himself when he learns that Steve already knew.

Guess that's what he gets for finally paying attention.)

[stargirlygirl]

you walk out on him

zayne x fem!reader

⭑.ᐟ part one of my 500 follower special

summary: after months of neglect from your boyfriend, zayne, you walk out on him

contains: angst, hurt no comfort, swearing, 2.6k words

from this poll + pt.2

For the past month, you’ve barely seen Zayne. He’s been waking up at god awful hours and coming home late at night, only to sleep for a few and then do it again the next day. And let’s be real, you’re missing him. A lot.

His good morning kisses pressed against your forehead before the sun rises are not enough to sustain you anymore. Nor are the quick texts he sends you on his break or murmured apologies as he climbs into bed with you.

You can’t take it anymore.

Putting your day off to good use, you bake some muffins. Their yummy scent disperses throughout your apartment, making you sigh as you touch up your lip gloss. After dressing in your shortest mini skirt and fixing your hair, you place a few warm muffins in a container and head down to Akso Hospital.

Rapping on his office door, you hear a quiet “Come in” from the other side.

You push the door open, chirping, “Surprise!”

Zayne gazes up at you before returning his attention to his computer, mumbling, “Hey.” Your mood dampens as the door thunks closed, and you come over to him. Retrieving the muffins from your bag, you set them down on his cluttered desk.

“Look, I baked muffins for you,” you say sweetly. He looks at the muffins and gives you that micro smile.

“Thanks.” You pop the sides and take off the lid; the delicious scent of baked goods fills the air.

You grin, “Do you wanna try them?” You watch him click away on his mouse before typing with fervour.

He murmurs, “Maybe later.”

“Oh, okay,” you nod. Your shoulders slump as you snap the lid back on. He hasn’t invited you to sit down. You glance back and forth between the doctor and the empty chair across from him, mentally screaming at him to just notice your uneasiness.

He doesn’t.

The clacking of his keyboard permeates the silence. You’re waiting for him to ask you how your day has been or comment on how pretty you look. But he just keeps typing away, as if his girlfriend, positively radiant in the afternoon light streaming through the windows, isn’t standing there.

“So,” you start. “Busy day or?”

“Mhmm.” His mouse clicks before he returns to smashing the white keys on his keyboard. The sound it makes begins to get on your nerves. Crossing your arms beneath your chest, you slowly walk around to his side of the desk and lean against it.

Gazing down at him, you say, “Aren’t you going to ask how my day’s been?”

Zayne responds robotically, “How was your day, honey?”

Clack! Clack! Clack!

You’re about to throw his keyboard out the window in your fury.

You bite the insides of your cheeks, mouth twisting as you sigh, “Fine.”

“Good,” he replies, his hazel eyes never leaving his screen. You push off his desk, your heels clicking as you grab your handbag.

“I’ll see you at home, okay?” You huff. He curtly nods, not even glancing up as you walk toward the door and inevitably shut it behind you.

That night, you planned to confront him. But lo and behold, you didn’t see him for the next few days. And when you finally did, it was a quick peck on the cheek as he grabbed the lunch you made him last night out of the fridge and left for work.

What had been a month of barely seeing each other spiralled into months of barely any contact. A few texts here and there. “Sorry, I’m so busy. I’ll be home early so we can chat.” You go to bed at 1am after waiting up for him (he fell asleep on his desk).

You feel like you’re going insane, more angsty than the day before last, every day, as work and poor communication drive a wedge between you two. You miss talking with Zayne. You miss getting brunch together on your off days and cuddling on the couch. You miss the little snow creations he would give to you after you’ve had a hard day at work. And of course, you miss being intimate with him.

After another gruelling day at the Association, you come home to an empty apartment. As always. Frustrated, you hit send on your phone, texting your boyfriend about having a date night. Within minutes, he responds, eager to see you, too. Stripping off your uniform, you two work out the details of your date over text.

This Friday, 7pm, that nice restaurant you’ve been eyeing for a while.

That’s what you repeat to yourself as you take a soothing, hot shower. It’s like a prayer, a chant, a mantra you say to yourself daily in the lead up to your date. You let Jenna know you’re taking the day off in advance; that’s how excited you are.

And finally, it’s Friday!

To start the day off, you sleep in till 11am. You wanna be well-rested for your date, especially since you’re hoping that Zayne will keep you up all night. To pamper yourself, you cook your favourite breakfast and enjoy it while watching your comfort film. Afterwards, you paint your finger and toenails, blowing on the wet coat as Netflix auto-plays the next episode of your current show.

And then somehow, it’s already 5pm?! You have a quick snack before hopping in the shower, exfoliating and then shaving. Drying yourself off, you do your face and body care routines. Next, you get dressed and then apply your makeup, finishing off with your hair.

It’s 6:15pm and Zayne isn’t back yet. You send him a quick text, and your phone pings instantly, saying that he’ll meet you at the restaurant. After drenching yourself in jewellery, you giggle to yourself about whether he’ll still be in his doctor’s coat when you see him. With one last glance in the mirror, you snag your shoulder bag and book it to the door. You make sure to lock up and turn all the lights off before catching the elevator down to your car.

You sigh, relieved that you made it in time, as you catch your breath at the restaurant’s door. Giving the waiter your name, they inform you that you’re the first to arrive. It’s no big deal, really. You brush it off as you’re seated at a cosy little booth toward the back. Low lighting, comfy cushions, and warm jazz overhead. The waiter couldn’t have picked a better spot.

You pull out your phone. 7:05. Okay, no reason to stress.

7:10. Alright, maybe he got stuck in traffic.

7:20. Whoa, the streets must be backed up for miles. Or maybe he got held up at work. You send him a quick message, about to rest your cheek on your palm before you remember that you’re wearing makeup.

7:30. No reply. The waiter asks if you’d like to order. You haven’t even looked at the menu.

7:35. You decide on the scallions for an appetiser and request some table water. Still, nothing from Zayne.

“For fuck’s sake,” you mumble beneath your breath. You text him again. He’s not about to stand you up, is he?

You wait until 8pm, sadly munching on your scallions before ordering dessert. The waiter apologises like it’s their fault your fuck ass boyfriend didn’t show up. You thank them for their kindness.

8:30. You pay the bill (a whopping $84) and leave. Sending one last message to Zayne, you drive home, talking to yourself animatedly about what the fuck just happened and what you’re going to do about it.

Past midnight, you finally hear the jingling of Zayne’s keys as he unlocks the front door. You sit on the couch, your presence only illuminated by a nearby lamp. He pushes the door open; you don’t move. It thuds shut, and he switches on the overhead light.

Seeing the top of your head poking over the back of the couch, Zayne sighs, “There you are.” He comes over to you, setting his bag down on the edge of the couch before sitting down on the coffee table, right in front of you. He grabs your hands, but you shrug him off and avoid his tired gaze.

“Honey,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

You huff, eyes glued to the philodendron in the corner, “It was supposed to be our first date in months, Zayne.”

Turning to face him, you say sternly, “Where were you?”

He replies in that clinical tone, “I had an emergency surgery.” You scoff, shaking your head and looking away. Any other day, you’d be cuddling him and congratulating him on saving another life, but not tonight.

“Of course you did,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“Darling—”

“No, Zayne. I don’t wanna hear it.” You lean back, crossing your arms over your chest as you scrutinise him. Slightly dishevelled locks, like he’s been running his hands through his hair. Dark under eyes. He deserves it. Chapped lips. You hope his throat burns from dehydration.

“Four fucking months, Zayne. That’s how long it’s been since we’ve had a proper conversation. Four months?! Where have you been? “I had an emergency surgery” I don’t fucking care!” You spit out.

He pushes up his glasses, sighing, “Do we have to do this now, love?”

“Am I fuckin’ chore to you?! Is that what this is?!” You ramble. He places his cold hand on your knee, but you push it off.

“Don’t,” you say, seething with venom. You lick your lips, at a loss for words. So many things you’ve been meaning to say to him. So many times you’ve rehearsed this. But facing perfection, you forget. All of your witty comebacks and cutthroat lines dissolve into raw emotion. You can feel the tears clawing at your eyes, hounding to be released.

“Are you l-losing interest in me? Is that it?” You choke out, unable to look at him.

“No,” he remarks without hesitation. “No, I… I’ve been too ambitious, I’m afraid. And in doing so, I’ve neglected the most important person in my life.” The tears spill, streaming down your cheeks before you can stop them. Zayne’s fingers twitch, the urge to wipe your eyes and kiss your sorrows better, overpowering. But he disciplines himself.

“I-I don’t—I don’t wa-wanna do this anym-more, Zayne,” you sob, bringing your legs up to your chest and wrapping your arms around yourself. You lay your forehead against your knees, crying as the weight of these past few months crashes down on you.

“I know. And I’m sorry, darling. I should have realised how much I was hurting you much earlier. I wish you had told me sooner how you felt.” His words only make it worse.

“Told you?!” You cry out, lifting your head to gaze at him with glassy eyes.

“How-how c-could I have-have told you? Y-you didn’t ev-even look at me? In-in your office,” you explain through the shuddering sobs racking your chest. Zayne’s brow creases, unsure of what you’re referring to. You haven’t been in his office for months. Not since you dropped off those delicious muffins and—

Oh.

“How w-was I sup-supposed to t-talk to you?” You ask, trembling. Your lips curl as more tears spew from your eyes. Before he can see you crying all ugly, you dip your head back between your knees.

After a long pause, all he mutters is, “I see.” The sound of your sadness ripples throughout the quiet apartment. Once a home: wafting jasmine, gentle sunlight, and lazy mornings in bed on the weekend. Now, it’s like a cage, keeping you trapped in an unhappy relationship.

“I-I don’t wanna do-do this anymore,” you repeat.

He sighs, “I know. We’ll fix it, honey. I’ll fix this.” You shake your head, pulling back and meeting his mellow gaze once more.

“I-I wanna take a-a break,” you sniffle. His eyes widen, and his body goes rigid. Even you notice through your cloudy vision.

“A break?” He clarifies sternly. You nod, the emotions swelling in your throat becoming too much to bear.

Zayne’s pink tongue darts across his dry lips, wetting them as he sighs, “Look, I know that this has been quite hard for you—”

“For me?! Wh-what? This has-hasn’t been h-hard for you either?” You retort. His brow furrows as he leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“No. That’s not what I meant. This has been difficult for both of us. But, I don’t think taking a break will solve anything,” he explains. You shake your head as you sniffle. God, your nose is so fucking runny right now it’s embarrassing.

He goes on, “More space will not bring us closer, love.”

You choke out, “B-but I nee-need m-more space to c-come back t-t’you.”

After a moment, Zayne huffs, “Generally, partners take breaks to see other people or to compose themselves before ending the relationship. I know that I’ve hurt you, but I believe that we’re strong enough to move through this. Don’t you agree?” Your sobs intensify tenfold. You curl back into a ball, rocking gently as you grapple with his words.

Are you about to do this? Are you about to break up with your boyfriend? Akso’s most handsome, young, and successful cardiologist. The man you’ve been with for almost two years. The man you love so much it eats away at you when he’s not close.

I guess you are.

Rational thinking has gone out the window as you stand up. Wiping your snotty nose and puffy eyes on your sleeve, you grab the bag you spent the last two hours packing. The one Zayne didn’t even notice sitting close by on the couch.

You murmur, “’M going,” as you head for the door. Panicking, Zayne grabs your wrist. You whirl around, gazing up at him while traitorous tears run down your cheeks.

“Sleep on it. Please,” he mumbles. His thumb caresses your wrist, feeling your rapidly beating pulse. You shake your head and tug your wrist back, but he catches your forearm.

“I love you,” he blurts out. Little whines escape your lips as you stare at him. Oh, how soft his black locks look in the warm light. You want to reach out and mess them up even more, but you stop yourself before you even move.

Your lips tremble as you deliver the finishing blow: “It’s not enough.” Yanking your hand back, you turn around and open the front door. It slams shut behind you. And you don’t even look back until you’re in the elevator.

An empty hallway. The grey doors close.

As you cry in your car for the next half hour, quietening down to text Tara and then bursting back into tears waiting for her reply, Zayne stands there. Right where you left him. In the living room, gazing between the closed door and his hand, the hand that still feels your lingering warmth.

After getting the a-okay from Tara, you pat your eyes dry and breathe deeply before setting off for her place. When you arrive, she invites you in with a warm hug and pats your back knowingly. You two chat into the early hours of the morning, until you eventually clean up and head to bed. Exhausted, you doze off into a dreamless sleep.

Zayne, meanwhile, doesn’t sleep at all. Your words play on loop in his mind, repeating until it drives him up the wall. As he lies in his empty bed, your scent still soaking the sheets, he thinks of all the ways to mend your broken heart.

Because you didn’t officially break up with him, right? You’re just taking a break. Like you wanted to. Like he didn’t want to. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself as he cuddles your pillow.

masterlist

a/n: thank you so much for all of the love!! this fic is not exactly an original idea, but i wanted to have a crack at it. lmk if you'd like a part two.

here are a couple similar fics:

you try to break up with them (zayne/sylus) by @heartyluv you ask him for a divorce mid-argument by @kaiist

[keferon]

I stand by the belief that Drift/Deadlock and Hot Rod would be friends in any universe. Much to the terror of everyone else.

———————————————————————

Deadlock was loosing his mind.

Deadlocks face plates were starting to hurt from the strain of manually stopping himself from reflexively smiling. And why did he have an overwhelming compulsion to smile?

Because: This. Tiny. Minuscule. Absolute Fragging SPECK of a human was somehow radiating more emotion out of his EM field than any other mech that Deadlock has ever met in his life.

And what was that emotion?

"THIS IS THE COOLEST SHIT IVE EVER SEEN IN MY FUCKING LIFE!"

Joy. Pure. Unfiltered. Unrestrained. And completely unreasonable levels of joy.

"RATCHET. RATCHET. HE'S SO COOL."

The mini nuclear reactor was currently shaking the medic by the shoulders, practically vibrating with unspent energy. Seconds ago, Hot Rod had seemingly slagging materialized next to him in an explosion of emotion that damn near knocked Deadlock on his aft. He was currently tempted to swat the little fragger halfway across the hangar to escape the onslaught of unexpected emotions except-

Ratchet had personally brought him in. Even now, the medics field remained calm and collected in the face of what to Deadlock felt like a fragging Sun. He kinda envied humans field numbness right now because it was definitely starting to screw with his processor.

Case in point, Deadlock had to take a click to refocus on what the squishes were talking about.

"No fucking way. Really?!"

“Yes, he really did take down those three quints near the wind farm by himself. Ate one of 'em too.”

"YOU EAT THEM?!?"

Deadlock was expecting disgust, but instead all he could feel was overwhelming awe. His resolve to remain aloof and detached was quickly beginning to crumble before the blast furnace of Hot Rods personality.

A manual override finally failed and Deadlock broke into a wide grin. At least he kept his fangs on prominent display. Equal parts smile and threat.

"Drink, actually."

Deadlock made a conscious effort to take on a more relaxed posture, one that would convey predatory pride and confidence.

"Dude. Dude. Dude."

Hot Rod held his hands to his face, leg rapidly bouncing up and down.

"YOU'RE A FREAKING ROBOT VAMPIRE FROM OUTER SPACE?!"

Before Deadlock could ask what a vampire was, Hot Rod had begun jogging away while screaming incoherently.

"What. What is happening?" Deadlock leaned towards his human, listening to Hot Rod get fainter as he rounded the corner of the hangar.

"About what I expected.” Ratchet grumbled, setting his hands on his hips.

“Roddy is intense as they come but he’s a damn good pilot and an even better friend."

Ratchet pointed a finger at Deadlock.

"Don't tell him I said that."

Hot Rod had become almost inaudible by now but was slowly gaining volume again.

"Right now kid, it's just been you and I. And trust me I enjoy the arrangement. But we can't fight every battle by ourselves. Sometimes you just need help. Sometimes,"

The screaming was quickly gaining decibels.

“You just need a friend.”

A friend.

Huh.

The scarred, defensive, self preserving part of Deadlock protested the thought of being pried open any further. Ratchet had started the process. But, c'mon. It's Ratchet. He scolded his inner self. Ratchet always left things stronger then before. So, maybe. Just a little bit. Deadlock could at least see what was so great about this squishy human.

The screaming returned to its initial volume as Hot Rod rounded the corner and mech. They were pretty sure humans normally breathed more often than that?

Hot Rod came to a stop before the two of them.

Finally gasping in fresh air. His field was absolutely roiling, pretty much all positive emotions but the screaming lap around the building had clearly vented a lot of energy.

"Can you turn into a bat?!"

Deadlock reset his optics, an idea spreading across his processor as he finally let his Em field reciprocate with giddiness and mischief.

Who cares if it's sparkling behavior? It’s fun. He told the Deadlock part of himself.

"Nope. But do you want to know what I can turn into?"

Hot Rod nodded so fast Ratchet looked concerned.

Che-che-chu-klunk.

Hot Rod started screaming again.

This time when when his EM field hit Deadlock he took it all in and reflected it right back. He revved his engine so loudly it shook the windows. Hot Rod was running and jumping in a tight circle around the two of them, radiating Joy Joy Joy Joy. Deadlock swore his field was even effecting Ratchet at this point from the way happy seemed to bounce between the three of them in various shades.

"Can we go for a ride?!"

Hot Rod had stopped by Deadlocks passenger side door. Rapidly looking between Ratchet and Deadlock, clearly uncertain who's permission to ask for.

"Well Doc, do you trust us not to get into trouble?" He wriggled his tires.

"You two? Staying out of trouble? Hell no."

Ratchet rubbed his chin the way he always did when he was trying to stop himself from smiling.

"But as long as you both come back in one piece and before dark... Well I don't see the harm."

Hot Rod gave his loudest "WOOP!" Yet. A feat in it of itself. A scrambled into Deadlocks cabin, forgoing the door entirely to throw himself bodily through the window.

They tore away from Ratchets hangar with a chorus of thanks and a spray of gravel.

———————

It was well after dark by the time the duo rolled into Ratchets hangar. Hot Rod stumbled out into a semi controlled summersault that left him spread eagle on the floor, laughing and panting. While Deadlock smoothly transformed and promptly rolled flat on his back in a similar state of delirium.

They had so much fun. He had so much fun.

When was the last time he'd ever felt like that?

When had he ever felt like that?

Ratchet was upside down frowning at him. No, wait. Smiling.

Happy. Fondness. Proud.

Love.

Deadlock cleared his vents and put a hand over his spark before his chest plates could do something very stupid.

Ratchet turned to the hot mess on the floor.

"I got the couch set up for you. Figured you're gonna stay the night."

Hot Rod stuck his arms straight up, palms open.

"Woo, sleepover!"

His field had finally simmered down to something like coals. A bone deep exhaustion that made Deadlock feel heavy by proxy.

They both gracelessly shuffled onto their respective resting arrangements, Ratchet taking the recliner after dimming all the lights.

Soon enough, all three were in recharge or asleep.

———————

Deadlock started out of recharge with tightly trained silence.

Something was wrong.

Threatened. Stressed. Afraid.

Deadlock seemed dead to the world still. But internally, his systems quickly synced to kill. A skill he had honed over many millennia of unsafe homes and attempted assassinations.

What surprised him was how he already mentally mapped out how to maneuver the humans into the safest location in a fight. Deadlock finally onlined his optics, casting the hangar in an amber glow. His processor clicked and Deadlock realized what was triggering his fight response.

Threatened. Stressed. Afraid.

Hot Rod.

Limbs twisted in fabric, face buried in the crook of the couch. Posture contorted. Breathing uneven. Field pulled in so tight it felt suffocating.

Deadlock loosely knew what a nightmare was.

Ratchet got them sometimes, though he wouldn't admit it until Deadlock made it clear the lack of context was freaking him out a little.

The way Ratchet explained it was that it was essentially a way for the brain to process excess information. Basically the same as defrag but with some weird human side effects because of course there were weird human side effects.

Like whatever was currently happening to Hot Rod.

From previous experience, nudging Ratchet awake usually resulted in a snort or other cut of vocalization. But if there was anything Deadlock had learned it was that Hot Rod did not do anything quietly.

Ratchet was still sleeping on his recliner, but there was a subtle shifting and a pinch to his face. Not a nightmare, Deadlock had learned the pattern, but something was bothering the medic and it threatened to wake him from his much needed rest.

Help.

The wave of desperate emotion spilled out like an overfilled cup.

Right, Hod Rods EM field was freakishly strong. It was restrained for now but Deadlock dreaded what it’d feel like if the dam broke.

He watched Ratchet stir again and. . . Wait.

Could humans pick up on EM fields?

Can’t a deaf mech still feel the vibrations of a song? Couldn’t a blind one still feel the warmth of the sun?

What if?

Deadlock moved as silently as death. Cupping a servo over the pilot. He stopped restricting his field and focused.

Calm.

Hot Rod made another almost vocalization. Like he was trying to yell without enough air.

Calm. Deadlock tried again. Comforting anyone was so, so far from his normal area of expertise. Did he even know what calm was supposed to feel like? What safe was supposed to be? He wracked his memories as Deadlock and abandoned that immediately.

Calm. Safe. Ratchet.

Okay. Deadlock didn’t know how to comfort someone, but Ratchet did. He focused his field again, this time on trying to mimic what he always felt from Ratchet as closely as possible.

Care. Fondness.

Deadlock vented slowly. It felt hollow coming from him. The new field was there but it was weak. Unsupported. Deadlock worried his lip with a fang. Hot Rod simmered.

He vented slowly. Deadlock opened the box at the back of his mind named Drift. He knew what he needed. Everything else could stay but he needed this one feeling. Just one.

The stars were out over Dead End. A brown out had swept the area, leaving everything in the dark. Drift didn’t know the sky could look like that.

The others were gathered around in silent awe. Nobody dared to break the spell. Tomorrow, everything would suck again. Scraping money for the next meal, the next hit, the next chance to live just a little longer.

But for a few fleeting moments, Drift was okay. They were all okay. Because the circles of light around Cybertron said so.

Peace.

Drift let the feeling fill his field. Calm and fondness meant something again.

He thought of his time with Ratchet and Hot Rod. Finding something new in himself.

Protect.

It was like smoke clearing all at once. Hot Rod exhaled deeply in his sleep, field going soft and gentle.

He kept it up, at some point his engine had started purring without him knowing. A pleasant white noise within the hangar. They were okay. Everyone he cared about was okay. He felt peace. Just for now. Just for them.

“Didn’t know you could do that.”

Ratchets voice was thick with sleep. One eye barely cracked to look at him.

“Me too.”

—————————

Part 1

This is long and it’s getting late. Deadlock has an emotional breakthrough and Hot Rod dreams about I dunno, pancakes or something.

-SSTP

Infinitely entertained by the mental image of Ratchet trying to pick someone who he can trust but who will also get along with Kid. And then looking at Hot Rod and being like Yep. That one.

ALSO. Hot Rod having an EM field equivalent of a nuclear fucking reactor is just so👌👌👌 YES HE WOULD. ABSOLUTELY YES HAHAHKFNGM

I never get tired of reading about Roddy and Lock losing their last brain cells when they are together. Anon. Anon look at me. I LOVE YOU ANON. I WILL CHERISH THIS PIECE FOREVER IT BROUGHT ME THE UNMEASURABLE AMOUNT OF JOY THANK YOU FOR SHARING IT

[chuxmy]

Hello! (First of all, please forgive my bad English, it's not my first language)

Could I make a request where the reader is Si-eun's sister, maybe a year or a few months younger and his friends come to his house to visit him and then meet her. At first they are confused because they think Si-eun is dating someone but they soon find out everything. The romantic partner could be Gotak. Please and thank you! :)

Not his girlfriend

Pairings: Go Hyuntak (Gotak) x Siuen‘s Sister!Reader

Summary: You had no choice but to open the door and you are already a victim.

Warnings: light flirting, mild language

The doorbell rang at exactly 2:03 p.m.

You sat on the couch, legs crossed under you, headphones in, lazily scrolling on your phone. The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and the instant noodles Sieun had made but only taken two bites of before returning to his room with a book under his arm.

You didn’t even flinch at the sound.

The doorbell rang again, followed by aggressive knocking.

You sighed, pulling one earbud out. “Sieun!” you called. “Someone’s at the door!”

From down the hall. “You get it.”

“Why? It’s probably your weird friends again.”

“Exactly.”

You grumbled, rising to your feet. You had on shorts and an oversized hoodie that probably belonged to Sieun at some point. Your hair was a mess, and your face well, you hadn’t expected to see anyone important today.

You opened the door.

And three pairs of eyes blinked back at you in surprise.

There they were Park Humin, Seo Juntae, and Go Hyeontak, standing awkwardly in the hallway, each holding something: drinks, snacks, and a bag of chips, respectively.

You tilted your head.

They stared.

“Oh,” said Juntae, blinking rapidly. “We… uh… Sorry—did we get the wrong place?”

“No,” said Gotak slowly, frowning. “Wait… Who are you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who are you?”

Humin pointed at you like he’d just cracked a conspiracy. “Is this- are you his girlfriend?”

You blinked. Then barked a laugh. “Ew. No.”

“Wait,” said Gotak, narrowing his eyes. “You sure?”

“Dead sure.”

You turned around and yelled into the apartment, “Sieun! Your friends think I’m your girlfriend!”

A moment later, footsteps approached, and Yeon Sieun appeared, looking mildly irritated. “Don’t scream weird things,” he muttered.

Then he looked at the guys. “What are you all doing just standing there?”

“You didn’t tell us someone else was here,” Juntae said, his voice full of suspicion.

“She lives here,” Sieun said simply. “She’s my sister.”

Your eyes met Gotak’s again as you stepped aside to let them in. You noticed then just briefly his gaze lingered on your legs before he looked away quickly.

“Hi,” you said dryly. “I’m Y/N. Unfortunately related to this emotionally constipated guy.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Juntae, grinning now that the mystery was solved. “That was honestly, a wild thirty seconds.”

Humin nodded. “We seriously thought you two were dating. Sieun’s expression wasn’t helping.”

Gotak said nothing, but you felt his eyes on you again when he thought you weren’t looking.

The boys settled in the living room, drinks and snacks sprawled across the table. You mostly stayed on the edge of the room, half listening as you played a game on your phone, curled in a corner of the couch opposite Gotak.

It was a rare day when Sieun had people over, and rarer still when you didn’t feel invisible in your own house.

“He’s like this all the time?” Juntae asked you suddenly, pointing at Sieun.

You smirked. “You mean uptight and emotionally unavailable? Yeah. It’s like living with a robot who judges you for breathing too loudly.”

Sieun didn’t even react. He flipped a page in his book like he wasn’t even part of the conversation.

Gotak chuckled lowly. “So you got the personality in the family.”

You arched a brow. “That a compliment?”

He tilted his head. “Depends. You want it to be?”

You looked at him more carefully this time black shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, lazy grin playing on his lips, a dimple peeking when he smiled fully.

Maybe not as dumb as he looked.

“Let’s just say… I’ll take it,” you replied.

Juntae made a loud oooh noise from beside him.

“Are you flirting with my sister?” Sieun asked without looking up.

Gotak didn’t miss a beat. “Not if you shoot me.”

You laughed, a real one this time, and Gotak looked at you with something like triumph. He leaned a little back, but you could feel it, his eyes found you again every few minutes, like he was trying to figure out where he stood.

You didn’t give him much. Not yet.

Sieun retreated to his room again eventually too much talking, too much noise. The others were still chatting, and you stayed, amused by their banter. Somehow, you and Gotak ended up washing the dishes after dinner. You scrubbed, he dried.

“Seriously though,” he said, quieter now, “I thought you were his girlfriend. Gave me a heart attack.”

You glanced at him. “Disappointed?”

“Honestly?” He met your gaze, smile softening. “Kind of. You’re cool.”

You stared at him for a second longer than necessary. “I think that was flirting again.”

He grinned. “You gonna report me to Sieun?”

You smirked. “Only if you suck at it.”

The silence between you stretched, warm and awkward in the best way.

“Do you… want my number?” he asked.

You handed him a dry plate.

“Smooth,” you said. “Try again after you don’t smell like garlic chips.”

He laughed, head tilted back, genuinely amused.

“Challenge accepted.”

As the boys left, Gotak paused at the door, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“See you around.” he said your name, giving you a look you felt in your stomach.

You nodded, just a little, before closing the door behind them.

From his room, Sieun called out, “Don’t date my friends.”

You called back, “No promises.”

And you swore, you could hear him sigh.

[honey-pages]

Seconds - Jayce x Reader x Viktor

Description -

One Shot- maybe a series if it is something that people enjoy.

Viktor and Jayce have lightly competitive games at work. You get caught in the middle.

F/M. 18+. Smut. Facials. NSFW.

It was usually competitive but friendly. Viktor and Jayce had no jealousy between them when it came you, everything you had was shared equally between the three of you. They would sometimes play good-spirited games around the lab, competing between themselves as to who would make you coffee in the morning or be the last to close the lab with you. These games often ended with some flirtation - between both you and them, and then between them themselves.

The post-it note game was perhaps the most memorable. Little notes were left around for you to find, flattering you and showering you with complements. You would sometimes find them with flowers or chocolates, Jayce’s handwriting was larger, rounder, Viktor’s was smaller, elegantly scrawled.

Viktor sometimes created little desk robots for your workspace, ones that carried away little balls of paper that you discarded. When Jayce caught on, he began to give them improvements, each with carved signatures with his name on. This was obviously met with hilarity from Viktor who began to write back notes declaring the robots to be patented and therefore his intellectual property. The next time all three of you were together, when Jayce was inside you, he made sure to explain to Viktor that it was you that was his property.

The next day on your lunch break, you sat with Viktor while Jayce carried on working. You had around fifteen minutes before you were due to get back to work. He sat you on the floor between his knees in the study room. He looked so tall sat over you, one hand trained on your chin, tilting your head back to give him a better target to aim for. You waited patiently, the two of you giggling about what Jayce’s response will be.

“Don’t move, (Y/N), I’m almost ready. I’m going to cover you.” He moans, giving himself the final strokes that push him over the edge, shooting hot streams over you. You open your mouth for him.

“You look so good like that, painted with me.” He uses his fingers to scoop back out the cum that fell into your mouth, wiping it over your face. “We need as much as we can on your pretty face for Jayce to see.”

When you went back into the lab, you walked up to Jayce who sat in his chair, focused.

“Hey (Y/N)!” He called as he felt your hands on his shoulder, he spun to talk to you.

He slowly took in the sight of you, covered in Viktor. There was silence, then laughter.

“What did V do to you?” He asked, not able to control his amusement.

He took your hand and guided you forward, he lowered you onto the floor, sitting you between his legs just as Viktor did.

“Did he do this?” He asked, pulling himself free and beginning to pump himself with his fist. He hovers over your face.

“Something like that” You reply, your face feeling completely wet. You smile up at Jayce.

“I am going to send you right back to him.” He promises, getting faster and faster, streamlining his pleasure to finish with speed. He spills over you, grunting as he does so. “Now tell Viktor to take his thirds, since I made such good use of his seconds.”

When you returned to Viktor, he was genuinely open mouthed at the sight of you, your face completely covered. He stood to circle around and examine you. He stiffened a little at the thought of what Jayce has just done to you. If he hadn’t emptied all that was inside of him, he may have been tempted to fuck you in a way in which he could see the collaboration of both of their work. He was speechless. He had no response to give, you had already exhausted him. All he could do was hold his hands up and accept temporary defeat. He made a mental note to come back harder - partner versus partner.