#and some of them really seem to need someone to talk to

[sanakiras]

SINNERS

PAIRING — kim mingyu x reader

WORD COUNT — 11k

SYNOPSIS — the sudden, unwanted merger of your father’s company and his biggest rival’s causes a rising tension between everyone involved. you weren’t planning to be the reason everything turned around.

TAGS — frenemy!mingyu, age gap (mc is in her early 20s, gyu in his early 40s), gyu is a hot perv, dubcon sort of but both sides are into it, explicit sexual content, anal play, panty stealing™, smoking cigarettes solely for the aesthetic of it :D

NOTE — very loosely based on the main ship of the show rivals (2024-) which is super juicy with sexy and talented people in it. so go give that a watch. enjoy! <3

YOUR FATHER HAS ALWAYS BEEN A STUBBORN MAN. it’s him you get it from, probably.

despite being a wealthy, influential ceo, your father had no ground to stand on when practically the entire board voted for a merger with the company that’s always been their biggest rival.

a company that is led by kim mingyu — a rich prick with a surprisingly good eye for business. as per your father’s words, anyway. you know little of the man. business has never been up your alley, so you’ve never really cared much for your father’s affairs, or his associates for that matter.

but this one seems to concern the whole family.

your father is not just against the merger, he’s against mingyu. as dramatic as that might sound. apparently, he believes mingyu has the plan to take over as ceo of the new, merged company and cut your father out of it entirely.

which isn’t good, if true. you know for a fact that your father is great at his job and has built the company from the bottom up into the million-dollar business it is now, whereas mingyu only came into his position as ceo because his sister was running the place before him and she wanted him to take over.

the conflict has been stirring for a while now. even the employees sitting lowest in the company’s hierarchy are talking about it, leading to the board making a proposal — albeit an odd one.

with the summer holidays approaching, mingyu has offered for the main investors and some of the people occupying the top positions to take a few weeks off and stay at his estate in spain for a little while. your father certainly didn’t feel like attending, but not going meant mingyu could get everyone he needed to persuade right into the palm of his hand, so the choice was made easily.

the invitation goes for the whole family, so your parents expected you to come with as well. something along the lines of ‘putting up a strong front’ as your mother told you.

it wouldn’t be the first time they used your prominent grades in law school for their own gain, but since they’re paying for your tuition, you don’t see a reason for them not to.

and you work hard to achieve those good results, so why not brag about them a little?

truth be told, even though your dad would much rather be at home right now, you do have an appreciation for the massive estate. it’s gorgeous on both the inside and outside, equipped with every luxury imaginable while still having a classy style. after all, the kim family is notoriously well-known for their wealth. ambitious, driven, impeccable at what they do — each generation bringing in more money than the last.

you’re certainly much more privileged than other people your age, and you’re lucky to have a father that has worked so hard to achieve what he has. perhaps that’s why it angers you so much that he now has to fight for his position as ceo; you can’t fathom why the guy who got everything handed to him, someone who could easily land any other job, is supposedly more deserving of being ceo than your father.

so you’ll try to do your best to come across as the perfect daughter for these next few weeks — impressions are everything, with these people anyways.

the first party, organized to celebrate the merger and the start of the holidays, is a sight to behold. floral dresses, freshly mown grass, blooming flowers, the shining sun and clinking glasses all but floods your senses.

then people open their mouths, and things are not as fun anymore.

a gorgeous day in a gorgeous place — wasted by talk of business, talk of things that are so painfully uninteresting that you’re really considering going back into the kitchen and drown yourself in whatever bottles of booze they’ve got down there.

from your secluded place by the porch, you find yourself in the best spot to stay away from all the chatter but keep a good eye from a distance.

“god, this is fucking bullshit.” you mutter to yourself before taking a sip of your champagne.

“took the words right out of my mouth.”

a man who was just passing by has taken an apparent interest in you. you hardly bother to look him in the eye, only glancing at him for a split second.

“did i?”

“yeah, it’s all just a bit… over the top, isn’t it?”

“oh, no, i mean, everything’s beautiful. couldn’t have picked a better day for a party like this, probably. i guess i’d just hoped to see more people here who aren’t…”

“… old?”

“well, maybe they should’ve extended the invitation to some folks who don’t already have one foot in the grave. to put it plainly.”

“fair. though they are the biggest investors out there.”

“right. i keep forgetting i’m here for business. albeit not my own.”

“whose business are you here for?”

“the fight for the new ceo. to put it plainly.”

that seems to change up his body language a bit — he tenses up, yet nothing of the sort can be found on his face. if anything, his smile seems more playful. “so who’re you betting on then? who do you think is gonna make the finish line first?”

you pause a moment before answering. “my dad.”

“wait, your father is—”

“yeah.”

“in that case, you should probably be mindful of your words. you never know who you’ve got in front of you here. you don’t know these people, after all.”

“unless you’re the competing ceo, i should be fine.” when he remains awfully quiet beside you, a devilish smirk rising to his face, you pinch the bridge of your nose. “oh, hell—”

“no, no, go on.”

“you’re the guy who’s trying to steal my dad’s job.”

“steal is a strong word.”

“i know. that’s why i used it.”

now that you’re finally facing him completely, your eyes locking with his, you seem to realize something.

your father’s main enemy is ridiculously attractive.

tall, dark, handsome. straight out of one of those romance novels your best friend can’t stop gushing about. he’s wearing a white dress shirt that clings onto his skin, accentuating every single curve and muscle he’s got. pitch-black hair that reaches the bottom of his ears, the front pieces framing his sharp features perfectly. his long sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, baring veiny arms and a pair of big, strong hands. he’s a big man in general. broad shoulders.

the man is clearly older than you, and you vaguely remember your dad saying he was only a couple years younger than him — but when he said that, you didn’t see this coming.

luckily, you don’t need to snap yourself out of it, because mingyu does it for you, by being the petty bastard that he is. “hey, i understand. you’re fighting for him to be head of the firm ‘cause he’s your family. all good and well. but that’s not how this works.”

lord, he’s certainly living up to the expectations your father set for him.

his borderline derogatory tone is starting to piss you off. “do you really believe that’s the only reason i’ve got to think he might be the better fit?”

“yeah. it’s glaringly obvious. you think he’s the most deserving of the position because he’s your father. biased judgement.”

“absolutely not. look, my dad started at the bottom. you got everything handed to you on a silver platter.”

“maybe. still doesn’t equal him being a better businessman.”

“oh, please. he built that company, all you had to do was keep yours steady. you can claim you’re a better businessman all you want — my dad’s been holding that position for years. you started, when? a couple months ago?”

“two years.”

“same thing. and funnily enough, so far you’ve failed to give any reasonable arguments as to why you should win this.”

“because i’m better.”

“wow. compelling — no substance, but hey, that can probably be said about more than just your reasoning.”

mingyu is somewhat taken aback by your sharp insults, but they intrigue him more than anything. how long has it been since someone’s talked him down like this? he’s not sure, but what he does know for certain is that a part of him enjoys it.

not allowing him to say anything else, you harshly set down your glass onto the thick railing, continuing your complaints.

“and i hate champagne. why don’t you people ever serve anything else?” you huff before walking away from him, and he watches you leave with his hands still in his pockets, absolute amusement on his face.

blinking a few times to himself, he processes what just happened. all he can think about when he downs his second and third and fourth glass and when he speaks to the investors is you.

some girl he had a brief conversation with.

every time the person he’s talking to is distracted with something else, he subtly looks around the garden, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

for hours, he can’t seem to find you anywhere. that is, until your father out of all people comes over to him to introduce his wife — and his daughter.

for a split second, he catches some kind of worry in your eyes when your dad introduces you. that you fucked up earlier by speaking your mind, that he may use the insults you’ve thrown his way against you.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he pretends to never have seen you before. “lovely to meet you.”

he stretches his hand out to you, and when you accept his greeting, giving him your name, he has to fight the urge to repeat it just to feel it roll off his tongue.

like a schoolboy with a crush, he thinks of you when he goes to bed that night, hoping to see you again as soon as possible. it’s a foreign feeling to him.

who knows. he might just try and see where it leads him.

the next gathering takes place two days later. you’re wearing a bright red dress this time, your skin glowing under the heat of the sun. it doesn’t take long before you move to stand into the shadow for a moment, allowing yourself a slight break from the intense heat.

“miss? what drink would you like to have?” one of the hired waiters asks, making you frown, since everyone else is drinking either champagne or water.

“um… a martini, please.” you stumble out, and mere minutes later, he comes back out of the kitchen with a single martini on his platter, which you take with a still very confused expression on your face. “thank you.”

“you’re welcome. courtesy of mr. kim.” he says with a gentle smile before walking away, and you mindlessly stare at your drink, almost as if you’re unsure what to do with this gesture.

“is it not to your liking?”

looking up from the glass, you find him standing in front of you in a white suit that emphasizes his tan skin. he’s a hulk of a man, anything but subtle. the type to always be the center of attention, even when he’s not asking for it.

his dark eyes are utterly shameless when drinking the sight of you in, something that causes heat to rise to your cheeks — you’d absolutely fuck him under different circumstances.

not that he needs to know that. “i’m just... wondering if it’s been poisoned.”

mingyu chuckles. “nah, that’d be way too obvious a method. poison’s gotta be done subtly.”

“good advice. maybe i’ll try it out sometime soon.” you give him a fake smile, happy that you don’t seem to be planning on toning down your insults one bit.

“didn’t peg you to be a martini kinda girl.”

“usually, i’m not. just needed something stronger to get through the evening. why did you have a drink made for me?”

“because you don’t like champagne.”

“yeah, but why do you care?”

“oh, that’s just my personality. i’m caring. generous, too. great qualities for a ceo.” he jests, and for a guy you so strongly dislike, you have to give it to him — he is charming.

“you’re hilarious.”

“i’m just messing with you, princess.”

“flattery will get you nowhere. not with me.”

“no? and what will?”

“it wouldn’t be any fun if i outright told you.”

“why? afraid that i might sway you?”

“as long as my brain is functioning properly, that’s not happening.”

“well, you should at the very least give me the chance to find out. so... talk to me like you would to all these other people. i heard you’re in law school.”

narrowing your eyes at him, the distrust is clear in your features, but you shrug to yourself. if you’re going to have to bear his presence for the summer, you might as well give it a shot to be somewhat civil with him. for your father’s sake.

and for what it’s worth, he seems genuinely interested in your life, even if you still don’t trust him. you tell him how much you hated high school, how your grades used to be incredibly low, until you graduated and got into university and things changed for the better. you’re in a good spot in your life.

mingyu finds you have a refreshingly healthy ambition — you have a solid determination to get far in your career, but you don’t need to be the best of the best if that’s what will give you a better balance between your work and private life. he comes from a family with high expectations; living the way you described has always been a dream for him, and never a reality.

he asks what your fellow students are like, mentioning he always thought the students from the law faculty were stuck-up assholes back when he went to college, causing you to roll your eyes as you so often seem to do in his presence.

you tell him about your friends studying other things, and how some of them are in completely different phases of their lives, but you’re completely fine with that, and you eventually end up talking about your love life.

mingyu has to force himself to keep a straight face when you tell him you’re single, and you have been for a few months now. what the fuck kind of hold do you have on him? he’s never felt this impulsive, this... out of control.

it doesn’t help that you’re wearing this gorgeous dress that makes you look even prettier than you already are.

you fail to register his eyes looking you up and down, and he takes his time drinking the sight of you in. if only you could hear how sinful his thoughts are when he gazes upon your figure.

eventually, when you decide to leave him behind and go to bed, you say your goodbyes, and he realizes he doesn’t deel like talking to anyone else anymore, so he heads up the stairs to into his own room as well.

while he knows that he needs to pass your room to get to his own, he doesn’t think much of it at first, but then he bites his lip, standing still for a moment.

the estate is older than it looks — it’s got creaking floorboards, dark hallways and high ceilings, and in some rooms, there’s a slight crack between the door and its post, just big enough to peek inside if you’re standing close to it.

mingyu should know better than to get closer to that door. he should know better than to wish he might catch a glimpse of you. he should know better than to keep looking at your almost entirely naked body while you undress.

deep down, he does know better.

but his lust is stronger. the sight of your curves, your fingers pulling at the straps of your bra, the way your skin glows in the dim light. it gives him air and immediately takes it away.

it’s so wrong. yes, he’s been sleeping around plenty since his divorce, but a girl as young as you are… you could’ve been his daughter. he’s only a few years younger than your dad, for christ’s sake.

and yet he can’t help himself.

there’s something about you that makes his head spin. a beautiful, intelligent girl who, in spite of your age difference, isn’t afraid to knock him down a peg. he relishes in your presence.

he’d just treat you so fucking good. much better than any of those college guys.

the sound of a door opening somewhere at the other end of the hall pulls him out of his perverted thoughts, and with a prominent bulge in his pants, he backs away from your room and heads to his own.

over the course of the next few days, he doesn’t see you as often, much to his annoyance. he’s so bored, and his mind constantly working its way back to you almost has him forgetting why all these people are even here in the first place.

as if it were a chore he’s been putting off for months, he engages in the mandatory small talk with that charming attitude he always sports. the brief moments you share with him become the highlight of his day, his internal conflict about really being way too old for you getting pushed under the rug like some dirty secret no one can know about.

it’s a friday afternoon when he’s suddenly called into a shareholder’s meeting, after a mishap back in the main office due to some bad communication. nothing worthy of his time, in his opinion, but as always he does what is asked of him.

the humid weather has him sweating through his clothes. once the meeting is over, he walks outside, genuinely considering just jumping into the pool with everything he’s got on, but he spots a familiar figure sunbathing in one of the lounge chairs.

he recognizes your curves as if he’s known you for years. you’re lying on your back, the striped bikini you’ve got on making his breathing quicken. yet he can’t help himself, and he’s already heading over to you before he knows it.

“a suit in this weather?” you ask when he walks up the stone walkway, lifting your sunglasses to sit on top of your head. “are you actively trying to get a heatstroke?”

“they don’t allow anything different at a meeting, i’m afraid.” he says while using his index and middle finger to remove his tie.

“aren’t you at the head of the company? you could always set a different dress code. not like anyone’s gonna stop you.” you suggest, at which he smiles.

“i like the way you think.” he chuckles, shrugging off his jacket, loosening the top buttons of the white dress shirt. “you need me to put some sunscreen on your back? if you’d rather have someone else do it, that’s fine, too.”

“no, i’d… appreciate it.” you hand him the yellow bottle of sunscreen, switching from lying on your back to your stomach, undoing the back of your bikini so he can properly apply the sunscreen.

lord, why did he propose to do this again?

with smooth motions, he massages the sunscreen into your skin, trying not to focus on the heat of your body, his hands trailing down to your hips or the fact that your ass is on perfect display. jesus, he needs to get a fucking grip.

so he distracts himself. or tries to. “your dad seemed chipper in there. must be having a good day, huh?”

you clench your jaw — you know exactly why your father is so happy today. when you walked out of your room this morning, you overheard him talking to your mom about the dirt he was digging up on mingyu, all in the hope of finding something bad enough to use it against him in the fight for the ceo position.

smart, but childish.

“yeah, he’s...” for a moment, remain quiet, but then you turn your face to lock eyes with him. “mingyu, i need to tell you something.”

the seriousness in your tone has him worried. “is everything okay?”

"if i say this, you can’t tell anyone.” you slightly close the distance between the two of you.

“you’re scaring me. what’s wrong?”

you turn around to check whether anyone is around, but the coast seems clear, so you tell him the truth. “i overheard this morning that my dad doesn’t think he’ll get the ceo position if he plays fair. so he’s gonna play dirty instead. he’s trying to find something in your past he can use against you.”

mingyu scoffs. “what a class act he is. but i gotta give it to him, it’s a good strategy.”

“he said something about... your divorce. that’s what he’s looking into. maybe i shouldn’t be saying this, but… i think you should be careful. i’m worried he’s gonna do something shitty. he certainly doesn’t have your best interests at heart.”

“is that so?” he asks while you slightly sit up with a serious face, “do you? have my best interests at heart?”

it’s a bold thing to ask while he had his hands on you just seconds ago, and you’re holding your bikini top in front of your chest, which does little to actually hide your perky nipples from him.

“maybe.”

one corner of his mouth curls up. it’s clear to you both that you enjoy his presence and he enjoys yours, and that whatever dynamic it is that you have can never see the light of day as long as your father still roams this earth.

“why are you telling me this? could be your dad’s golden ticket to getting that position.”

yeah, you should’ve seen that question coming. honestly, you’re not sure why you’ve grown to like him as much as you have, but to you, he’s not the bad guy your father has always described him to be. and that scares you, because mingyu has a point — why would you tell him something that might put your dad’s job at risk?

“i just... want my father to beat you fair and square, i guess. consider it good sportsmanship.”

he’s smirking now, coming to exactly two conclusions: one, you’re a terrible liar, and two, you like him.

“careful, sweetheart. i might start to think you’re switching teams.”

“mingyu.”

“i’ll be fine. promise.” he tells you in a manner that’s a little too smug for his own good, and it has you tilting your head at him. “i’ll pinky swear if that’s what you’d prefer.”

he’s got you rolling your eyes at him, making him smile, and your moment together is interrupted by the sound of your father’s voice somewhere near the driveway, which is enough for mingyu to know he should get the fuck away from you and your tiny bikini.

“i’ll see you later, alright?” he says, his ego suddenly boosted through the damn roof.

you like him.

he doesn’t even give a shit that your father is looking into his past. hell, maybe he’s curious to see what’ll come out.

and while heading back into the estate, planning to go into his room to change into some clothes more fitting for the heat, he walks past your room again, and he notices the door is slightly ajar. he assumes you must’ve left it open on accident, so he should probably close it up for you.

but he makes the mistake of looking inside as he puts his hand on the doorknob.

because right in front of him sits your opened suitcase, a pretty set of red lingerie on top of some neatly folded tops.

no, this is a line he can’t cross. sure, the knowledge that you’re still lounging by the pool would be perfect if he wanted to take it, but this — no, he can’t go as far as to do something like that without your permission.

clenching his jaw, he sighs to himself.

maybe he should feel like a pervert when he walks out of your room with your red panties stuffed in his pocket. in a way, he kind of does, but he enjoys the feeling. he feels good, knowing the piece of fabric that you’ve worn is in his possession.

he feels even better when he uses it to jerk off later that night, hot spurts of cum hitting his abdomen while he thinks of fucking you. just the sight of your panties coated in his release is enough to get him hard again, so he continues to fist his cock, imagining the curves of your body.

and he decides it doesn’t matter what it’ll cost him — one way or another, he will have you.

with a heavy sigh rolling past your lips, you switch from your back to lay on your side.

you’re not sure why you’ve been tossing and turning for the past two hours or so, but it has you frustrated and sweaty. it’s too hot in the room to sleep under the covers but it feels wrong not to have some sort of blanket over you, and closing your eyes forcibly isn’t working as you’re still wide awake.

checking your phone, the light hurts your eyes in the darkness of the room. it’s in the middle of the night, and according to your weather app, it’s supposedly cooled down significantly outside, so maybe a short walk through the garden might do you good.

pulling on a thin top and a soft pair of shorts, you step into your slippers and quietly leave your room, carefully walking through the hallway to make sure you don’t wake anyone up.

you head down the stairs, softly closing the door to the outside behind you, and you’re about to walk down the steps to the garden until you look to the side, and you’re pretty sure there’s someone sitting at the terrace. it’s at a distance, so it’s hard to tell, especially in the darkness.

then you recognize the dark hair and the broad shoulders, even from behind — mingyu.

it’s enough for you to walk over to him, and he looks up at you once you’re standing beside him, a cigarette between his lips and a glass of whiskey to go with it.

“hey,” he greets you softer than ever before, “what’re you doing up, sweetheart? it’s late.”

“couldn’t sleep. what are you doing up?”

“can i give the same answer?”

“sure.” you shrug, and he gestures for you to sit in the chair across from him, which you do.

he leans back in his chair. “you know, i just realized i didn’t thank you for warning me about your father yesterday.”

“you don’t need to.”

“i do. i appreciate it, so... thank you.”

you roll your eyes as if to casually play it off, but you both know better. while the silence that follows between you is comfortable, you just can’t help yourself. “i didn’t even know you’d been married until i heard my dad say it.”

“you sound surprised. is the idea of someone marrying me so strange to you?” he asks, pouring you a glass of whiskey, which you gladly take.

“no, the idea of someone divorcing you is.” you answer, and when he looks at you suggestively, you shake your head. “don’t take this as a compliment, but… from the outside, you seem like the type of guy who’s got it all.”

“and what would that all be?”

of course he knows the answer to that question. he just wants to hear you say it.

which leads you to shrug. “you’re a handsome, smart millionaire from a prominent family. for most people, that’s everything, right?”

mingyu sighs. staring into the massive fields of grass in the distance, he runs a hand through his dark locks. “yeah. just not for everyone.”

you sit up straight, tilting your head, the teasing in your tone gone entirely. “your wife... left you for someone else?”

“she found love elsewhere. i couldn’t blame her. we were in a loveless marriage.” he doesn’t know what it is about you that’s making him open up, but he does. there’s no stopping the words from tumbling out of his mouth. “it was a business proposition to me, but in hindsight, it wasn’t for her. she genuinely liked me. and when i agreed to marry her, i thought to myself — surely i’ll grow into that love. and it just never happened.”

his clear disappointment in himself makes you hesitate before speaking up. “was the divorce messy?”

“oh, it was terrible. the woman hates me. with good reason, i guess.” he rubs at the inside of his eye with his finger. “and you know what the thing is? i didn’t even give a fuck. i don’t think i’ve ever even been in love. or i hadn’t been, back then.”

the sudden confession falling from his lips surprises both of you. mingyu tells himself it’s the alcohol that’s making him open up to you, but in reality, he doubts it.

“is that what’s keeping you up at night? not having fallen in love?”

“for a really long time, it has.” he breathes out, not having the guts to say to you he’s pretty sure he is in love now — it’s such a foreign feeling to him that he doesn’t know how to deal with it. “but it’s more than that. it’s my job that i hate, my life that i hate, the face in the mirror that i can’t stand. i’m just... tired. always surrounded by people yet always alone.”

god, he needs to shut the fuck up. saying things like these is terrifying, and he’s afraid of how you might respond to it, but you don’t seem to be judging him at all.

“i thought you enjoyed working in this business.”

“no, i hate it. i like the praise and the money, but... doing something you’re good at doesn’t automatically equal liking it, as i’ve discovered.”

“but then — why are you fighting so hard to regain that position?”

“because it was my sister’s company. she got sick two years ago, begged me to look after it. she did a remarkable job at expanding it, and her career is everything to her. she didn’t trust anyone else to take over, and i couldn’t let her down. and my family has always worked in this industry, meaning they won’t respond well to my leaving it. but just the knowledge that i’ve been doing this for the past twenty years, and probably having to continue until i retire... i despise it.”

“so if you don’t want to do this type of job — what is it you’d want to do?”

the question makes his face light up. “i’ve always had the dream of setting up a label that represents artists in different industries. musicians, actors, dancers, filmmakers, producers — along those lines.”

“really? i didn’t think you’d be into that kind of thing.”

“oh, i am. one of my neighbors with a house down the road, she’s an exceptional painter. has some of her art up for sale but really doesn’t see how good her paintings are — i’ve bought several of her pieces. everyone who walks into the house for the first time asks about it. i just wanna give people like that a chance to showcase their art to more people.”

he speaks of it so passionately, and as he continues to talk about it with you, you realize how well you get along with him, how you have a lot of interests in common with eachother, and that neither of you wants to leave the other’s presence.

but as the hours pass, you’re both starting to get sleepy, and with the whiskey bottle practically emptied and his last cigarette sitting put out in the ashtray, he decides it’s time for both of you to go to bed.

mingyu shushes you in the hallway when you laugh at something he said, unable to help the smile on his face.

when you arrive at your room, you turn to face him. “look, i just wanted to say that... i think you should chase your dreams, as cliche as that might sound. it’s your life, you should do what makes you happy. your family can’t expect you to live by their standards forever.”

“then you haven’t met my family.”

“how bad could they possibly be? hey, if your parents end up banishing you from coming over during christmas or something, you can come over to our place instead. promise.”

there’s amusement on his face now. “i doubt your father would welcome me.”

“i’ll invite you over as my guest. so no need to worry.”

“okay. i’ll keep it in mind, yeah?”

“yeah, you do that, mister.” your fierce need to make him feel better about himself is endearing, he finds.

“alright, c’mon. time to go to bed.” he tells you, opening your door for you. the booze in your system is making you daring, so you look at him like his words have a different meaning, which he catches quickly. “to sleep, sweetheart.”

it makes you roll your eyes, but you do as he says. “fine. goodnight, mingyu.”

“goodnight.” he watches you go into your room with a sweet smile, which he reciprocates, and while he walks back to his room, he finally understands — this is what it must feel like to be in love with someone.

the next morning, you wake up with a pounding headache. you really drank one glass too many last night, and after pulling yourself out of bed and going downstairs to get breakfast, you join your parents already sitting at their usual table.

the weather is much more bearable today, as the temperate has finally gone down significantly compared to the past weeks. the cool breeze blows through your hair as you put some of the scrambled eggs onto your fork.

“did you sleep well, honey?” your father asks, looking mildly concerned at the bags underneath your eyes.

“yeah, fine. just got a bit of a headache.” you shrug, certainly not planning on telling your parents that you were up nearly all night, secretly hoping to jump your father’s worst enemy like a tree.

after a few minutes, your dad walks away to go to the restroom, and your mother’s tone changes into something sharper. “what were you really doing last night?”

“nothing?”

“don’t you lie to me. i went to the bathroom in the middle of the night. just when i’m about to get back into bed, i see you, through the window, sitting outside next to kim mingyu on that terrace.”

shit. that’s certainly not good.

“mom, i just—i couldn’t sleep, so i was gonna go on a walk, and i just greeted him, and he offered me a drink. that was it. why are you acting like i did something wrong?”

“has he tried anything with you?”

“you don’t understand—”

“no, you’re the one who doesn’t understand. yes, he’s charming and good-looking and rich — but he’s also a man who will do whatever’s necessary to take what he wants. and currently, that’s your father’s position.” she tells you, everything she says completely unfiltered. “convenient that he’s getting closer to you of all people, right? has he made you feel special? wanted?”

the words are like a punch to the gut. you want to tell your mother that she’s wrong, that he’s not like that. that he wouldn’t do such a thing.

but the little voice in your head begins to creep in. what if he is like that? what if he’s indeed just using you as a means to an end? you’ve always thought you were smart. you can’t let yourself end up betrayed like that.

your mother’s tone is softer this time. “i don’t want you to get hurt, honey. i wouldn’t say something like this if i didn’t think it was true.”

and you lower your head, not saying another word — but your facial expression says enough. you feel ashamed, in a way. how did you let some guy play you like this?

she turns to look behind her to see if your father has returned yet, and when it’s clear he hasn’t, she sighs. “they’re planning to host a gala here, in three days time, during the last night of the stay. and based on what we’ve heard, that’s when the higher-up will be announcing who got the position.”

a feeling of nervousness floods through you. surely the information you’ve given mingyu won’t be the dealbreaker for his career, right?

oh, fuck.

you don’t have it in you to come clean to your mother about the things you’ve said to him. “do you think dad stands a chance?”

she shakes her head. “i wish i knew, but both your father and mingyu have people on the board backing them up. it’s hard to say. the investors are tight-lipped.”

taking a deep breath, you can barely swallow the last bite of your breakfast. “mom, i didn’t ruin dad’s chances, right?”

despite her harsh tone earlier, she puts her hand on your back, comforting you. “no, i think it’d take more than this to do so. but you need to promise me one thing — you’ll stay away from mingyu these next couple days, or at least until the announcement has been made. okay?”

with an anxious sigh, you nod in agreement. “yeah. i promise.”

over the next two days, you somehow manage to avoid mingyu like the plague. you watch him from a safe distance, and you try not to think he must be looking for you every time his eyes scan the room. the few times he spots you, you sneakily slip away, and you’re gone from his field of view before he can comprehend it.

he doesn’t understand why you’re keeping your distance from him all of a sudden. he doesn’t think he said anything bad — matter of fact, he was under the impression that your last conversation went well. really well. why don’t you allow him to get close anymore?

it’s the morning of the final day, and he’s heading into town to get a new tie for the event tonight when he suddenly spots you in the store across from him, looking as gorgeous as ever.

you’re checking out a pair of heels to wear tonight when you feel the presence of someone behind you.

so you turn around, met with the sight of him, and he knows something is wrong when you don’t greet him as you used to. no kind smile, no teasing — just the face of someone who really doesn’t want to be around him.

“can i help you?” you ask with a voice cold as ice.

he refrains from making any snarky comments, since you certainly don’t seem in the mood for it. “why are you avoiding me?”

taking a deep breath, you shrug. “it’s the last week. the vacation is practically over, we’re going back home tomorrow.”

“so everything that we talked about the other night — you were just planning to never talk to me again after that?” he asks, not believing you at all. he knows you’re hiding something from him. “what’s this really about?”

your cold attitude shifts into anger. “look, i’m not falling for your act anymore, so you can just drop it.”

“what the hell are you talking about?”

“you were just using me to get closer to what you really want. my dad’s position.” you hiss at him, body heating up from how close he’s standing to you. “i’m not gonna be a pawn in your game for one more second.”

with a deep frown etched into his forehead, he scoffs in disbelief. “you’re kidding, right? do you really believe i’d stoop that low?”

“i don’t know what to believe. what i do know is that today is the final day, and i wanna be able to enjoy it. so just... stay away from me.”

before he can protest, you’ve already walked past him, leaving the store all by yourself. he’s frozen in his spot, upset that you’d think he’d go that far. there’s no way you completely switched up on him like this out of nowhere — someone must’ve said something to you.

whatever caused you to think this is irrelevant. he only has tonight to prove you wrong, and that’s exactly what he’s gonna do.

hours later, he’s standing in the estate’s huge main hall, which has been beautifully decorated with flowers and candlelights. the men are all in their tuxedos, the women in their long gowns.

anxiety is a rare thing for mingyu, yet it’s all that’s rushing through him right now. he has yet to spot you, even though most people are here already, and he’s wondering why the fuck you’re not here yet.

but then he sees you walk into the room through the other entrance. just the sight of you in that stunning dress is enough to steal his breath.

you lock eyes with him from your spot next to your father, having to force yourself to tear your gaze away from him. he looks utterly handsome in his expensive suit and styled hair, and as upset as you feel by the sudden change in your dynamic, you’re still so fucking attracted to him.

maybe, deep down, part of you still wants him. but you can’t allow yourself to think about that.

two hours have passed when the music suddenly stops playing. one of the men you recognize as an associate of your father’s gets up on the first few steps of the staircase, tapping on the microphone to test if it’s on.

he begins to talk about how the two companies have each had quite a history, that the merger marks the beginning of an exciting new chapter — you don’t care much for it.

but then he starts talking about two men who each led their company as best they could, and you could cut the tension in the hall with a knife. anxiously, you fiddle with your rings, wishing the announcement could just hurry up already.

and then, they call your father’s name, saying he will take over leadership as the new ceo.

everyone in the hall claps at the announcement, and your parents look very controlled with their big smiles. while your father goes up to his associate, taking the microphone to give a brief speech, you turn to look at mingyu.

he’s clapping for your father just like everyone else. he doesn’t look surprised at all — but it’s not exactly happiness that paints his features, either. you can’t put a finger on it.

when everyone else is raising their champagne glasses in a toast, mingyu exits the room, taking the other staircase to get away from everyone.

you clench your fists, unable to shake the itch that wants to follow him. you and him can’t part like this — you need some kind of closure with him. you need to know the truth.

getting up the stairs, you find him standing in his study, pouring himself a glass of scotch and downing it in one go, the liquid burning in his chest. his back is still facing you, but somehow, he’s already figured out it’s you behind him.

“you know, it doesn’t really matter who told you i was trying to seduce you for my own gain.” he says without looking back at you, pouring himself a second glass. “because the thing is — if i wanted to have that position, i wouldn’t need you to get it.”

the words make you frown. “and how do you know that?”

there’s a smug look on his face once he finally turns around. “they were gonna do it. make me the ceo. you know that influence is always gonna win, sweetheart.”

“what the hell are you even doing? bragging about the victory you didn’t get?” you sneer at him.

but mingyu is not composed like he usually is. matter of fact, he seems desperate in some way, like he’s utterly falling apart, his breathing heavy and uneven. “your father became ceo because i quit. i told them i wouldn’t do it anymore.”

“why? after weeks of this ridiculous competition—”

“you wanna know why? i did it because of you.” he breathes out, and you take a step back every time he steps forward. “i hated that fucking job. but more importantly, i couldn’t have you think that i played you to get it back. because i didn’t.”

he’s slowly backing you up against the wall, and you’re letting him, the distance between your bodies closing bit by bit. “i thought you only got close to me ’cause you wanted to win.”

oh baby, he thinks, you have no idea.

bumping into the shelves of books behind you, he’s got you caged, his left arm beside your head. your gaze briefly flicks down to his lips, and as if you shouldn’t, you make eye contact with him again.

mingyu presses his lips together, having to restrain himself. “at that first party, you looked like you just stepped out of my dreams. you were so mean to me... god, i already liked you from the start.”

“did you?” you manage to push out, feeling his hand trailing up your hip.

“yeah. and that bikini — i tried not to stare. you let me rub sunscreen on your back, and then you told me you were worried about me with only your hands covering your tits. i almost began to think you were doing it on purpose.” he lowers his head, taking in the floral scent you’re wearing before pressing a kiss to your neck.

a hot wetness rises between your legs. you want him to bend you over his desk, to touch you all over your body.

his right hand runs through your hair, going down to your cheek, his thumb brushing your lower lip, and he’s about to lean in and finally kiss you when someone walks in.

one of the waiters, apparently. “mr. kim, there’s people asking for you downstairs.”

“i’m busy.”

“they’ve asked for you several times already.”

mingyu huffs, but agrees to come with, even though he really doesn’t want to leave you. “fine, fine. just give me a second.” his gaze turns much softer when it’s directed at you again, his face still mere inches away from yours. “i’m gonna be back for this tonight. i promise.”

“okay.” you nod, and much to his frustration, he has to walk out of this damn room without kissing you.

both of you end up in the main hall again. people ask him why he decided not to continue in this business and congratulate you for your father’s win. you all respond to them mindlessly with the same lines over and over again.

all you can think about is him — all he can think about is you.

eventually, while your parents and many others are still dancing and drinking downstairs, you decide to retire for the night and head up the stairs. you just figure mingyu’s gonna be too busy tonight to spend any more time with you anyways, in spite of your heated moment in his study earlier.

in your bedroom, you pull your dress off and change into something much more comfortable, planning to lie in bed and scroll on your phone for a little while.

about thirty minutes later, you’ve put your phone away, half-asleep when you catch the noise of the doorknob being twisted around in the distance, and you think you register someone coming in. assuming it’s just your thoughts, you sink deeper into sleep.

just being in your room is enough to make mingyu want to claw away at the walls. how many times has he walked past this room, stopping to catch a glance of you as you undressed? how many times has he gotten hard from just thinking about you, or seeing you all dolled up? how many pairs of your panties has he snatched away, safely tucked away in the secrecy of his nightstand?

the desire he feels for you might be considered unhealthy. he’s not sure.

then again, he also doesn’t care.

not when you’re in this bed, wearing nothing more than a white tanktop and dark blue panties.

his twitching cock presses against the fabric of his pants. biting at the inside of his cheek, he gets into your bed, positioning himself behind you, and the creaking of the bed causes you to wake up. when you turn to look beside you, you gasp, saying his name louder than you intended to, after which he shushes you with a finger to your lips.

“the walls are thin here, doll.” he warns, his eyes travelling down to your cleavage.

you talk to him in a quieter manner now. “what are you doing here?”

honestly, you don’t even know why you’re asking. it seems clear enough.

“i’m here because—” as if he were suffering from overheating, he feels the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, “—you are driving me insane to the point i can’t think anymore.”

turning you around so your back faces him and then pulling you closer, his hand begins to lower itself towards your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your panties.

you let him breathe down your neck, and you certainly don’t stop him when he tests out the water by dipping two fingers underneath the cotton of your panties, slowly getting closer to touching your pussy.

he rubs his hard cock against your ass, groaning to himself at the feeling of your clothed skin against his. “do you want me to do this? tell me to stop and i will.”

but you don’t refute him, gasping when he rubs at your clit for the first time. he kisses down your jaw, breathing heavily by your ear as his fingers dip into the heat between your legs.

“i knew i was gonna find you wet,” he whispers in a tone that’s almost mean, “this is what you wanted me to do all night, isn’t it?”

the pressure he applies to your clit is what gets your first moan out. he smirks to himself, moving himself to get on top of you, and you go on to lie on your back for him.

it’s then that he finally kisses you. it’s full of wanting and lust and pent up tension that’s finally getting out after weeks of being torturously restricted. your hands slide over his shoulders, up his neck, your fingers slightly pulling on his hair as he’s fantasized about so often.

you return the kiss like it’s the air you need to breathe. his mouth is like a brand on your lips — he pours his whole heart into that kiss, making him forget about every single thing that was running through his head.

his hands are moving down, pushing your top to sit above your breasts, and his tongue wets your nipples, licking them, taking them in his mouth.

he squeezes your tits, hungrily touching and kissing every square inch of your body. he’d melt into your skin if he could.

god, it feels like the heat is just dripping down your legs at this point. you’ve thought about those big hands and strong arms of his more times than you can count — and now you’ve got him in your bed, your hand sliding up his chest while he pulls his shirt over his head, discarding it on the floor, your panties off and thrown away just as easily.

he plays with your clit again, teasing you on purpose, watching you squirm under him.

“please, mingyu—” you breathe out, bucking your hips up against his hand, reacting just as he hoped you would.

“don’t worry, ‘m gonna take care of you, baby.” he promises, moving back onto the bed a little so he can put your legs over his shoulders, his tongue on your pussy.

the sudden sensation causes you to grab onto the sheets, a whimper escaping you.

the sound of his name on your lips has his chest swelling with pride. it slices through him all the way to his core, the eroticism of it making his carnal needs flare up.

it’s hard to tell whether the excessive wetness between your legs is his saliva or your arousal, but he certainly doesn’t care, his fingers digging into your thighs in greed. even with the moisture dripping down his chin and his jaw aching, he wants to taste more of you, get as close as humanly possible.

his grip on your waist turns so severe that he knows you’ll have some finger-shaped bruises there later.

another mark left by him — proving that you’re his.

the stimulation of your nerves causes your legs to clamp around his head, thighs nearly suffocating him, but he wants to tease you a bit more. “you can keep ‘em open for a little longer, can’t you?”

he clearly won’t continue until you give him an answer, so you nod, struggling to push the words out. “yes. please, just—touch me.”

like the smug asshole that he is, he pinches your clit, keeping you on edge. “what was that? i wanna hear it clearly.”

honestly, you don’t even care anymore. you just want his tongue back on your pussy, and you’ll get that one way or another. sitting up, you kiss him again, tasting your arousal on his lips.

“please eat me out, mingyu. i wanna cum on your tongue.”

a shiver goes down his spine. every time he thinks he’s got complete control over a situation, you get into his head like a siren, and he wants nothing more than to give you whatever it is you want from him.

and when he pushes you down on your back again, face diving right back into the heat between your thighs, you giggle to yourself, because you know it, too.

mingyu would eat you out for hours if you asked him to. he pulls at your thighs so he’s completely smothered by your wet, pulsing cunt, refusing to waste any time, picking up right where he left off. the scent of your pussy drives him into a frenzy, two of his fingers mercilessly rubbing at your clit.

you were trying your best to keep your noises down before, but at this point, you can no longer find it in you to care — the sensation of his tongue on you like this is too much to keep quiet.

while his lungs are burning from the lack of oxygen, he feels you’re close, hips bucking into his face while also trying to push him away out of reflex, the building pressure in your stomach starting to get too intense.

breaking away from your sopping wetness just for a moment, he murmurs, “c’mon, pretty girl. i wanna feel it. let go for me.”

his tongue is back on your skin, and you feel yourself hit your peak, your hand acting on its own when it pushes his head down, much to his pleasure.

warm sweat drips down your neck when you slightly regain your senses, cunt clenching around nothing as your legs tremble from your orgasm. mingyu is pretty sure just seeing you be this sensitive from his touch made him cum in his boxers.

even with the dark pants of his tuxedo still on, his erection is glaringly obvious, and the only thing going through your head is that you want him inside you.

he catches you staring and finally decides to take his pants off, his boxers rapidly following.

his hard cock springing free makes your mouth water. if you didn’t need to be fucked as desperately as you do right now, you’d have your mouth on him already.

he flips you onto your stomach, giving a smack to your ass, and he immediately notices how sensitive you are, assuming it’s from your orgasm.

“gyu, wait, i’m—” you try to tell him, but he’s already caught sight of it.

a shiny, heart-shaped, red jewel stares back at him, and if he thought this night couldn’t get any better, he was sorely mistaken.

“when did you put that in, sweetheart?” he asks, trying to come across as calm when in truth, he’s losing his shit at how badly he wants to fuck you, his lust increasing to levels he’s never even experienced before.

“couple minutes before you came in.”

lord, if you were to tell him you’ve slipped an aphrodisiac in his champagne, he would believe you. just imagining you put some lube onto the steel buttplug, inserting it in your ass, having had it inside you this whole time he’s been touching you—

his hips are pressed up against your ass when he licks a long stripe up your back, putting one hand on the back of your neck. “have you ever worn it around me before?”

“you remember that time we talked by the pool?” you answer, and his heartbeat shoots through the damn roof.

jesus christ. so you were wearing that plug when he was putting sunscreen on your back.

“oh, you fucking slut. i like you.” his palm hits your ass again, at which you let out a low chuckle.

“then fuck me.”

“in which hole, sweetheart?” he so nicely asks, at which you shrug.

“your choice.”

he’s reaching inside his wallet, ripping the package open with his teeth and rolling the condom around his cock. he chooses to leave the buttplug in your ass, as it’ll offer you some extra stimulation while he fucks you.

slowly burying himself inside you to the hilt, his eyes roll back while letting out a low groan. god, he’s only pushing himself in, but you’re so warm, so wet — it’s a miracle he’s not immediately emptying himself inside you.

you arch your back for him, his hands reaching to hold onto your hips. he slowly begins to move, making you feel every inch of his cock as it slowly drags in and out of you.

“feels good, doesn’t it? being all filled up.” he breathes out, ever so slightly increasing his pace, still making sure he keeps burying his dick into you as deep as it can go, each time. “if i’d known you wanted my cock this badly...”

“then what?”

“then i wouldn’t have had to steal so many panties of yours.” he confesses, lowering his upper body so his chest is pressed against your back as he fucks you from behind. “i would’ve slipped into your room and fucked you night after night.”

his words make your eyes widen. over the past weeks, you noticed a few pairs go missing, but you shrugged it off. only once did it cross your mind that maybe someone took them, but you found it such a reach that you swiftly shrugged it off.

you had no idea his desire for you made him go to these lengths, and maybe it shouldn’t be something that turns you on — but you’re well past the debate of what you should and shouldn’t be doing.

“stealing a girl’s panties? that’s a little perverted, even for you.” you challenge him, and he smirks at the statement.

breathing into your neck, he whispers, “if that alone is perverted to you, you’re not gonna like what i did with them.”

“you gonna tell me?”

who is he to deny a request from you?

“the first pair was the red lacy one. i just couldn’t stop imagining you in that, with a matching bra, sitting on top of me. riding me, taking whatever you want from me... i hoped that maybe, eventually, you’d stand at my door, asking if you could come in. or that night when we talked for hours — if you wanted to get in my lap and fuck me right then and there, i would’ve let you.”

the confession has you clenching on him. he fucking knew you’d like hearing that.

a really filthy part of him wants nothing more than to record this, just to throw it in your father’s face — just to say yeah, i fucked your little girl.

the way he fits in you is so — perfect. like he belongs there. he’s buried so deep, you swear he’s trying to ruin you from the inside out. the pace of his hips rocking against you is slow and mean, the noise of his cock going in and out of your wet pussy so utterly pornographic that it makes his head spin.

with his left hand, he pulls at the handle of your buttplug, enough to make your hole clench around it but ensuring it stays in all the same. it’s so much; it makes your legs tremble, your arms beginning to give out on you, yet at the same time, you want more.

like clockwork, he fucking knows it.

“tell me what you need. i wanna hear you say it, baby.” his voice is firm and authorative, sentences coming out through gritted teeth. “i’ll give it to you.”

you have to force yourself to push it out of your throat. “fuck me harder, gyu.”

mingyu isn’t sure what it is that makes him snap — the nickname you’re now using for him, the sheer need in your voice, your body looking like you’re absolutely crumbling under him or the request that’s just crawled out of you.

his arm loops under your chin, right around your throat, and he drags your body back against his chest his chest like you weigh nothing. you’re breathless, tits bouncing with the force of his thrusts as he bends you into a headlock.

you’re completely soaked. his pace is something close to vicious now as he slams into you from behind, the force of it causing your body to jolt in his grip. your legs are shaking, but he’s fucking you so hard that you can’t even think about the possibility of not being able to sit up properly.

“it that what you wanted? hard enough for you?” he rasps with his lips by your ear, breathing heavily into your neck. his tone is so mean and degrading that you tighten around him, making him hiss out, “yeah, that’s it, huh? you like being fucked like this.”

you nod at his words, gasping a little with every thrust. his pace doesn’t falter in the slightest. the sound of skin slapping echoes through the room, and jesus christ, if no one in the estate has heard anything so far with how loud you’re both being, it’d be a damn miracle.

too fucked out to speak, you moan at the deep pressure building in your gut, so close to your orgasm that it makes you want to sob. it has your pussy clenching around him, and he can feel how close you are.

it has him groaning behind you. “i’m not stopping 'til you cream on my cock. c’mon, sweetheart.”

him spurring you on is enough to make you hit your climax. your orgasm hits violently, and he fucks you right through it until a long, dragged-out moan escapes him. his hips jerk and body shudders as he spills inside the condom.

for a brief moment, he keeps holding you in the same position, both of you sitting still, your shaking bodies leaning against eachother. you’re both panting, covered in sweat, his cock twitching as he remains buried deep inside you.

you’re like a limp wreck in his arms. he releases you from his hold, gently letting you down onto the matress.

he kisses your collarbone, letting himself collapse on top of you, and you cough from his entire bodyweight pushing you down. “gyu, you’re crushing me.”

“sorry.” he chuckles, and you’re able to laugh at it, his exhaustion making you grin in satisfaction — after the fuck he just gave you, he can crush you like this for as long as he wants.

the rays of sunlight shining on your face the next morning get you to realize you fell asleep mere minutes after what might’ve been the best sex of your life, and the man who so kindly gave it to you is still in your bed, snoring soundly beside you.

and he’s still entirely naked, just like you.

wait, you suddenly think to yourself, what time is it?

turning around to look at your phone, you notice it’s nearly ten o’clock — you promised your parents you’d be ready at that time, to have breakfast together and then head to the airport for your flight back home.

“shit!" you push at mingyu’s body, trying to get him awake. “mingyu!”

he frowns, still half-asleep. “why the hell are you being so loud?”

“because i overslept, and my parents are about to check in on me, and they cannot see you, or i’m dead.”

mingyu rubs at his eyes, unable to refrain from snickering when he watches you get out of bed, having a hard time walking around from how sore you are. “tell your parents you’re not feeling well and take a flight later.”

“yeah, no. they don’t tolerate that sort of thing.”

“we can hide in my room, if you’d prefer. in bed. together.”

throwing his pants at his face, you try to snap him back to reality. “get out, gyu. seriously.”

“hey, are you still wearing that buttplug?” he cheekily asks with that damn smirk on his face again, at which you continue to throw clothing at him — the blazer of his tuxedo, this time around.

you walk over to his side to drag him out of the bed, and he hurriedly puts his pants from last night on, huffing when you shove the rest of his clothes against his chest. “i gotta get ready, and you need to go. make sure no one sees you.”

when he’s almost at the door, he stops his movement. “are we really not gonna talk about what we did? you know i like you.”

“i’m so charmed.” you quip at him, but he tilts his head.

“doll.”

“yes, we’ll talk about it. just not here, and not now. will you please just go?” you’re nearly begging him, and he sighs, nodding at you. the mere idea of taking you out on a real date is making his chest swell up in excitement.

“i’m holding you to that.” he says, and you nod, gesturing for him to get to the door already.

once he finally opens the door to leave, you press your lips together the very moment there seems to be someone right outside — someone who looks angry.

mingyu’s smirk slowly fades from his face when he recognizes your father, and he looks down at his bare chest, realizing you’re barely dressed as well, and he smiles awkwardly at himself.

this is bad. really bad.

but he’s always had the habit of making things worse.

“well, um…” he scrapes his throat, “morning. great weather outside, right?”

to say he receives the worst black eye he’s had in his life so far would be putting it mildly.

thank u for reading, let me know if u enjoyed it <3

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[mayapapaya33]

I'm definitely also a bummer to be around right now so I feel you. It depends on the people around you, are they Trumpers or are they just tired normal people doing their best to survive and blocking out the horrors for a day with some fireworks? If they're MAGA then what I'm about to say doesn't apply and you need different tactics, ones for dealing with cult members really. But if they're normal: Are they ACTUALLY oblivious or is it apathy born of decades of political corruption and hopelessness in the face of seemingly insurmountable problems combined with the bone deep weariness of overwork? You said, "it seems like people don’t even care anymore unless something is affecting them right this second." The challenge is to determine whether those people are just assholes or if they're in survival mode.

If it's genuine ignorance of the events currently happening, you can be the bearer of bad news and fix that, complete with facts and evidence, printed out if you're feeling ambitious. But you'll have to be kind if you want them to be persuaded to do something about it. And being kind when you're angry is hard.

I'm not a doctor, but I think apathy is a defense mechanism the brain employs when it is overloaded by too much empathy and sadness that it can't do anything to resolve. We are inundated with the suffering of millions of strangers daily. If we felt a commensurate amount of sadness about each individual tragedy in the world we'd be useless sobbing wrecks lying in bed at best and realistically there would be a lot more suicides. On some level we do feel it, which I think is one of the reasons why mental illness rates are skyrocketing. Chiseling the protective layers of apathy off of people is delicate work that takes dedication and care. Part of that care is providing actionable, tangible small goals for people to feel a sense of real achievement.

If it's apathy due to sadness, despair, fatigue, or not knowing what to do, or thinking that everything is pointless, you can do something about that. Be the hope in people's lives. Don't be a doomer. You can be realistic about how fucked we are and still have hope that people working together can resist and change the world for the better. It's happening right now. Give historical examples of the various resistance tactics currently being employed and how they worked separately and in tandem to bring about positive change. Talk to people about specific, manageable tasks.

This is how a lot of people feel: "What good is caring? All it does is hurt me, it's not like there's anything I can do to help, I'm powerless. I might as well dance on the deck of the titanic."

You can be there to say: "Here's what good caring can do, it doesn't just hurt you, it helps you, and it helps other people, come join me helping these specific people with this specific problem. Come help me achieve this specific goal."

There's a fine line between productive outrage and actual blinding rage. One gets you active, to call/email your reps, protest, participate in a rolling strike, and go to food pantries, etc vs the kind of rage that makes you mad at people for not 24/7 performatively acting out the misery they should, if they were good people, be feeling about how terrible everything is. It's the same sort of anger you feel at seeing a random birthday party on the day of someone's funeral, when by all rights the world should be as rainy and miserable as you. That isn't productive, and it isn't rational, it's just feelings. Like you said, there's nuance and life can't stop every time something bad happens. You can also stop and ask yourself; Am I 100% sure these people I'm seeing aren't doing anything at all productive in the privacy of their own personal lives to fight this administration, or am I just assuming based on vibes?

People are allowed to take breaks and feel feelings of happiness and joy while terrible things are happening and that doesn't make them bad people. You are also allowed to experience happiness and joy while terrible things are happening and that doesn't make YOU a bad person either. Flogging yourself psychically doesn't help anyone, it just hurts you.

Protest is in some sense a celebration. And celebration can be, in and of itself, a protest. Look at Pride, Pride is a protest, always has been, always will be, despite some people trying to turn it into just a toothless show. Sometimes people enjoying themselves IS resistance.

I've started trying to get people to participate actively with me doing things like writing to representatives. I got one family member who's never gone to a protest before to go twice, and she's coming to more. It started because she was worried about my safety and at first went purely to support me. It turned into her actually appreciating the protest itself. She felt good about it and thought it was worth it and that it might actually be achieving something.

If you're talking to people you care about who you know also care about you, just be honest with them and tell them how much it would mean to you if they participated in these activities with you. Tell them how sad you are about what's happening and how action makes you feel better. Who gives a flying fuck if their motives are the same as yours. Even if they're just doing it because you asked them too and they care about you, they're still doing it. Make it about you, there are no invisible observers there to judge the purity of your methods. Action is action, it's not going to be weighed on some scale against Anubis' feather. And eventually maybe they'll grow to enjoy and appreciate taking action themselves for its own sake.

Do their homework for them if you have to, get all the websites and information together and email it to them, that's what I did. Hell, write them a script if you have to. Maybe they're bad at talking or writing or they don't know what to say. Send them an email with a script in it so they can copy and paste it into their letter to their representative or read it on the phone. Should you have to? Who cares, it's not about should, it's about what you're willing to do. Hold people's hands through things. A) It's a nice thing to do and B) It's effective.

"I don’t understand how you can go and celebrate a country while that country is actively trying to kill you." Part of it is Simple and part of it is Complicated.

Simple part: The Republican Party are traitors to this country. (Definitely in spirit and quite possibly also literally in a legal sense. I'm not a lawyer but they've violated the constitution like 100 times easily and are definitely colluding with foreign powers against the interests of the American people. We're not technically officially at war even though we definitely are so maybe they could wiggle out of being labeled official traitors but the point stands).

The Republicans do not own Patriotism, they do not own the flag, they do not own the constitution, they do not represent this countries' values. There were protests all over the country on July 4th, which is exactly in the spirit of the 4th. The Republican Party is a white nationalist party. That's not patriotism. A real patriot looks at their country with clear eyes. They see it's flaws and love it enough to dig in and work to change it for the better for Everyone. So, this country isn't trying to kill everyone including me. It's The Republican party (with the help of spineless corporate Democrats) who are trying to kill everyone including me.

Complicated part: America IS trying to kill me and everyone else because this is what people voted for and that hurts. Here's how I sort my thoughts about that. People have been propagandized for decades into voting against their own self interest. It really is cult tactics. However, no one is immune to propaganda. That and or they've been driven to apathy by a two party system that doesn't really reflect anyone's views and is broken. A two party system that incentivizes a mindless team sport mentality purposefully. Add Voter suppression and gerrymandering and we aren't seeing the full picture of America's true opinion on anything, ever. America has been parasitized from the inside out by corporate greed and religious fundamentalism.

The corruption and erosion of the political system is grim. Our history is dark and full of horrors. But I believe in the power of education. I believe in the power of free speech (Actual free speech, not the republican version where they say the words "free speech" and then censor people they don't like). I believe in compassion, solidarity, community, secularism and tolerance (but not tolerating intolerance). I think the worse things get, the more galvanized people will be to action and that gives me hope. I think true evil is rare and ignorance is an epidemic. Ignorance that evil takes advantage of, and the more ignorance we cure, the less power evil holds. I think eventually truth and justice win out, just not as fast or as peacefully as we would all wish. And even when it wins, it is never a permanent win, and we will all need to work to maintain it. I love my home, and I believe in what we can be if we work together.

Being a person who pays attention to politics and is affected by others suffering around you is really odd because I’ll be going through my day filled with dread, grief, worry, etc. because of y’know, everything going on right now, and most of the people I encounter are just completely oblivious. The “big beautiful bill” just passed today, which on top of many other things, likely means that a TON of Americans are going to lose their healthcare, and everyone is still going on as normal with all the 4th of July bullshit. It’s insane to me; I don’t understand how you can go and celebrate a country while that country is actively trying to kill you. I get there’s nuance and that life can’t stop every time something happens and all that, but it seams like people don’t even care anymore unless something is effecting them right this second.

But according to the people around me my whole “caring about others” thing makes me a “bummer” to be around so idk, maybe I am the crazy one for giving a damn at all at this point.

[neurotica-tales]

Just an idea, but for your latest yandere Hiccup series - the one where he accidentally forgot about reader - imagine when he and reader finally talk about what happened and Hiccup tries to apologize, reader instead imparts some wisdom upon him.

“I was bitter when you started to drift away, and part of me is still bitter, but I’ve learned that sometimes people just…drift apart. It’s not necessarily anyone’s fault, we just grew apart.”

Not only would it show reader’s maturity, it would also end up making Hiccup feel worse because her complete acceptance means that she has given up on reconnection, which is even worse than her being angry.

This Part Three is inspired by two requests—one from above and another from @itsshazaa. Hope you both (and everyone else!) enjoy the story!

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

A Heart Too Late (Yandere Hiccup x Reader) [Part 3]

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Years have passed since Hiccup vanished from your life, swallowed by duty, dragons, and a girl who wasn’t you. You moved on—learned how to breathe without him. Or so you thought. But the moment he returns to Berk, awkward and familiar, everything inside you shifts. One flight on Toothless becomes a crack in your armor, and Hiccup—slowly, quietly—starts slipping back in.

He doesn’t know why it hurts to see you laugh with someone else. He doesn’t understand why his chest twists every time you don’t look at him the way you used to. Until one morning, he does. And by then, it’s too late. Because he's already decided—he lost you once. He won’t lose you again. Not now. Not ever.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

What He Never Saw Series: Part 1, Part 2

Up Next:

A Visit to Berk (Yandere Hiccup x Berserker!Reader x Yandere Toothless)

Forged in Obsession (Yandere Hiccup x Reader) [Part 1]

Marked By the Chief (Yandere Hiccup x Reader) [Part 2]

To find my main masterlist, click HERE. (Hint: Tuffnut Madnes)

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The door closed with a soft creak behind him, and silence settled in the hut again.

You exhaled slowly.

The air still felt heavy, as though it held the shape of his presence. You turned back to the tray of vials, but your hands hovered above them, useless.

Your heart was still beating too fast.

You pressed your palms against the edge of the table and lowered your head.

It was ridiculous. It had been years. Years of absence, silence, and distance. Years where he hadn’t written, hadn’t visited, hadn’t even thought to ask. You had told yourself, over and over again, that it didn’t matter anymore. That you didn’t need him.

And yet—all it took was a few awkward words and that familiar nervous grin, and suddenly you were the same person from before again, patching him up with trembling fingers while trying not to stare too long at his eyes.

Get it together.

You straightened your posture and picked up a cracked jar, inspecting the clay like it held all the answers you needed.

What was it about him that still got to you? It wasn’t like you hadn’t imagined this moment—bumping into him again, years later, more sure of yourself, finally unaffected. In every version of the fantasy, you were calm. Indifferent. You had moved on.

But now your pulse was racing, and your stomach twisted in that familiar, frustrating way. Like something inside you still hadn’t caught up with all the years that had passed.

You hated it. Hated how easily your walls had wavered. How polite you’d been, how steady you’d tried to seem. Because deep down, part of you had hoped—stupidly, foolishly—that he’d noticed. That he’d said more.

But what did you expect?

You weren’t a part of his world anymore. Not really. Not since dragons became allies and he became something more than the village embarrassment. Not since Astrid. Not since Dragon’s Edge.

He had outgrown you.

And that was fine.

That was what you had wanted, wasn’t it?

You rolled your shoulders back and resumed sorting. Left tray for usable. Right tray for damaged. Focus on the rhythm. Focus on the task.

But even as you moved with purpose, your thoughts spun.

His voice was deeper now. But still him. Still warm. Still unsure. And that look in his eyes…

You shook your head, forcing the memory away.

There was no use dwelling on it. He had moved on. And so had you. Or at least, you were supposed to have.

Outside, the village was waking up fully. You could hear the forge hammer ringing, children laughing, dragon wings slicing through the air.

And somewhere among them—Hiccup.

You let out a breath, slower this time. Controlled.

You’d survived this long without him. You could survive a little longer.

You had to.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The next few days passed with an odd, lingering tension. On the surface, everything was normal. The villagers moved about with their usual cheer. Dragons soared and rumbled overhead. The forge clanged from dawn to dusk. But for you, there was an undercurrent you couldn’t shake.

You tried not to think about him. You truly did.

You buried yourself in tasks. Tending wounds, mixing salves, preparing compresses. Gothi kept you busy enough, and you told yourself that was a blessing. The more your hands worked, the less your mind wandered.

But every now and then—when you glanced up from washing bandages or stepped outside to fetch fresh herbs—your eyes would catch movement.

And it would be him.

Hiccup.

He didn’t approach right away. But he was around. More than usual.

Once, you caught sight of him walking with Gobber near the training ring, gesturing at something with a charcoal-streaked hand. He was mid-conversation, animated—but his gaze flicked toward the healer’s hut. Toward you.

Another time, you spotted him near the edge of the village, standing beside Toothless as the dragon stretched his wings. You were headed to deliver a healing potion to a farmer with a limp, and your paths didn’t cross. But as you passed, Hiccup shifted—like he was about to call out. He didn’t.

You didn’t look back.

Then came the third day. This time, he came to you. Claimed Toothless had scorched a paw pad during a flight dive. The burn was minor, barely more than a warm patch of skin.

Still, you treated it. Gentle, thorough. Professional.

And he lingered.

Toothless rested patiently at his feet, content, but Hiccup remained by the doorway long after the bandage had been tied. His fingers tapped lightly against the doorframe as if he wanted to say something—but didn’t.

You didn’t offer a conversation. You didn’t ask why he was there.

And eventually, he left.

But on the fifth day, he returned. Alone.

You had just finished stacking fresh linens when you heard his footsteps outside. You knew them by sound alone—quieter than most, but familiar. Hesitant.

He paused at the threshold. Knocked once, gently.

You looked up from the bundle in your hands.

He offered a tentative smile, hovering in the doorway like a question you hadn’t prepared for.

“Hey.”

Your hands lowered slowly, the linens forgotten in your grasp. You kept your expression composed as you nodded.

“Hi.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched—not tense, exactly, but uncertain. Like neither of you could figure out which version of yourselves you were supposed to be.

Then he cleared his throat.

“I was wondering… if you had time,” he said, glancing back toward the village like he expected someone to call him away. “Would you want to go for a walk? Just for a little while. I mean—we don’t have to go far. I just thought… we could talk. If you want.”

Your stomach tightened. A thousand reasons to say no flashed through your mind. You were busy. You had work to do. You needed to check on Gothi’s supplies. You weren’t ready.

But still, your eyes met his.

There was no pressure in his expression. Only hope. Soft and hesitant.

You swallowed around the lump in your throat.

“Alright,” you said gently. “Let me wash my hands.”

You turned away before he could see your face—before he could see the way your breath caught as you reached for the basin. You dried your fingers slowly, deliberately, trying to calm the flutter in your chest.

And when you finally stepped outside to join him, the sun hit your shoulders, warm and quiet.

You stood beside him. A familiar stranger. Heart calm on the surface—but aching just beneath.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The walk began in silence.

The path Hiccup chose led along the outer ridge of Berk, winding past the edge of the forest and opening to a quiet cliffside that overlooked the sea. You’d walked this route a hundred times before—when you were younger, when things were simpler. Before dragons, before battle scars, before Astrid.

The air was cool but not cold, crisp with salt and pine. Gulls cried in the distance. A Terrible Terror zipped past overhead and disappeared into the trees.

Hiccup walked with his hands behind his back, eyes on the horizon like it might give him courage. You matched his pace, arms folded lightly in front of you, eyes down.

You could feel him glancing at you from time to time, but he said nothing. Not at first.

Then, finally:

“I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.”

You hummed in response, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

He laughed under his breath. It was a small, self-deprecating sound.

“I deserved that.”

Another few steps passed before he tried again.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you. For a while, actually. Since we got back.”

You looked at him briefly. His eyes met yours—honest, apologetic—and dropped again.

“I didn’t mean to… I don’t know. Disappear, I guess. Things just…” He hesitated. “Got busy.”

“They always do,” you said quietly.

He winced. “I know. That’s not an excuse. I just—” He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. “I never should’ve let things get like this. We used to talk about everything. And now it feels like…”

“Like we’re strangers,” you supplied.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

The breeze rustled your hair. You didn’t look at him.

“It’s not just you,” you said after a moment. “We both changed.”

“But I miss you,” he said quickly, too quickly. Then quieter: “I miss who we were.”

That hurt.

Not because it wasn’t sincere. But because he didn’t seem to realize you couldn’t go back.

“People don’t stay the same forever,” you said gently. “Not even us.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. Instead, he stepped closer.

“Can we at least… try again?” he asked. “Even if we’re different now?”

You hesitated.

Then you gave a small nod.

You weren’t ready to give him your heart again. But maybe… maybe you could offer him your time.

You paused, fingers brushing along the edge of your sleeve as you searched for the words. When they came, they were gentle. Measured.

“It wasn’t anything either of us did,” you said quietly. “We just… drifted. Like people do.”

You looked out toward the horizon, the sea stretching endlessly below.

“Sometimes things don’t fall apart because of some big reason. Sometimes they just… fade.”

You glanced back at him, voice still soft but steady.

“It doesn’t mean it didn’t matter. It just means it didn’t last.”

Hiccup didn’t respond right away. He only stared at you—eyes shadowed, mouth slightly parted—like he was realizing something far too late.

And that, more than anything, said it all.

You had made peace with it.

But he hadn’t.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

That night, sleep didn’t come at all for Hiccup.

He lay on his back in the dim flicker of firelight, the hut quiet save for the soft puff of Toothless’s breathing beside the hearth. The air was warm, but his skin felt clammy. Every time he closed his eyes, your voice echoed in his mind—quiet, steady, and painfully final.

“It wasn’t anything either of us did… we just drifted.”

Drifted.

He’d thought the worst thing you could say to him would be that you hated him. That you were angry. That you resented how he’d left you behind.

But no. You weren’t angry. You weren’t bitter.

You’d simply moved on.

And that, somehow, made it feel worse.

Hiccup sat up and rubbed at his face, dragging his fingers through his hair with a frustrated exhale. He could still feel the weight of your gaze—the way you hadn’t flinched or raised your voice or asked for anything.

It was like you didn’t expect anything from him anymore.

And that hollowed something out inside him.

He stood and paced the floor, bare feet silent against the worn wood. The silence pressed in on him, more oppressive than any battlefield he’d known. He kept thinking back to your face—how calm it was. Not cold. Just… distant.

You used to look at him like he mattered. Like you knew every part of him and loved him anyway.

Now, he couldn’t tell if you even needed him in your life.

And maybe you didn’t.

That thought made his chest tighten with something sharp and aching. He had taken you for granted. Assumed you’d always be there. That he could pick up where you left off whenever he wanted.

But the truth was, the person you’d once been—the person who smiled at him every morning, who helped him with burns and bruises, who sat beside him and asked about things no one else noticed—was gone.

Because he hadn’t been there to grow with you.

And now… now he wasn’t sure who you were.

Or if he had any place beside you.

He returned to bed, but didn’t lie down. He sat at the edge, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The fire crackled low, shadows crawling along the walls.

He had to do something. He couldn’t let it end like this.

He had lost too much in his life—his mother, his leg, just a couple years go, his place in the village. He couldn’t lose you, too. Not without trying.

So he made a quiet promise in the dark:

He would earn your trust again.

Even if it took everything he had.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The next morning, you noticed it immediately.

The way he hovered.

Not overtly. Not enough to draw attention. But you knew him too well to miss it—the shift in his presence, the way his silhouette showed up more frequently near the healer’s hut, the quiet glances when he thought you weren’t looking.

At first, you thought it was a coincidence. Berk was small, after all. There were only so many places to be. But by the third time he passed by while you were sweeping the stone path outside, you realized it wasn’t random.

He was trying.

And it made everything worse.

Because now you couldn’t stop noticing him.

The way he stumbled over his words when he greeted you. The way he offered to help carry supplies even when you didn’t need help. The way he lingered near Gothi’s hut under the pretense of checking in on village affairs, only to leave without speaking to her at all.

It was awkward. Stilted.

And it was working.

Not because he was saying the right things—he wasn’t. Half the time, he barely said anything. But because you knew how hard it was for him to do this. To reach out. To not run from discomfort.

It should have made it easier to forgive him.

Instead, it made you feel more twisted up inside.

You caught yourself watching him again—tracking his movements when you weren’t supposed to care. Listening for his laugh. Noticing how the others still revolved around him like he was the sun they’d always followed. And you hated yourself for the flutter in your chest when he waved to you from across the village green.

One afternoon, you were sorting dried herbs into jars when the door creaked open again.

"I brought these," Hiccup said, holding out a small bundle wrapped in linen. "Sage and some of the bitterleaf you mentioned the other day. Thought Gothi might need more."

You glanced up, heart betraying you again with a quiet jolt.

"Thanks," you said carefully, taking the bundle. Your fingers brushed his, and you pulled back too quickly.

He didn’t comment.

Instead, he rocked on his heels for a moment, then asked, "Do you need help organizing?"

You gave a tight smile. "I think I’ve got it covered."

He nodded. But didn’t leave.

You didn’t tell him to go.

Eventually, he moved to the shelf beside yours, not touching anything, just standing there like the silence between you needed company.

And maybe it did.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It wasn’t the last time Hiccup came by.

Over the next few days, his visits became more frequent, though always laced with that same gentle hesitance. He never pushed, never pried—just hovered at the edges of your day, like a shadow slowly rejoining the shape it once belonged to. You didn’t stop him. You told yourself it was because he wasn’t hurting anyone. Because it was harmless. Because it was easier than telling him to go.

So when he appeared one afternoon with a crooked smile and a glint in his eye, you knew something was coming.

"I was thinking," he said, rocking back on his heels in that boyish way he used to when pitching wild ideas, "maybe you’d want to go flying with me. On Toothless."

You blinked. "Flying?"

He nodded, like it was the most casual thing in the world. "Just for a bit. Not far. Toothless could use the stretch, and the weather’s perfect."

Your stomach turned. You’d seen him take others flying—Astrid, the twins, even Fishlegs once—but never you. You’d never asked. Never thought it would happen.

"I don’t know, Hiccup. I’ve never… I’ve never done anything like that," you admitted, trying to mask the nervous edge in your voice.

"Which is exactly why you should try," he said, stepping closer, his voice softer now. "You’ll be with me the whole time. And Toothless is incredibly gentle. He’d never let anything happen to you."

Your gaze flicked past him to Toothless, who was lounging near the hill, tail twitching lazily. As if he sensed your attention, the dragon raised his head and blinked at you with wide, curious eyes.

You chewed your lip. "What if I fall?"

Hiccup smiled, almost fondly. "Then I’ll catch you. Promise."

You hesitated. Long enough that the moment nearly passed. Then, slowly, you nodded. "Alright. But if I die, I’m haunting you."

He lit up. "Deal."

Mounting Toothless was easier than you thought. Hiccup guided you through every step—how to hold the saddle, where to place your foot, how to shift your weight—and his hands were steady against your arms, his voice low and reassuring in your ear.

When you were finally settled behind him, gripping the saddle horn so tightly your knuckles ached, you could feel the warmth of his back against your front. His scent—leather, soot, and something faintly herbal—settled around you.

"Alright, Toothless. Nice and easy," Hiccup murmured, patting the dragon’s side.

Toothless purred, then crouched.

And launched.

Your stomach dropped. Wind tore through your hair. The ground vanished beneath you.

And before you could think—before you could scream—you yelled:

"GODS—FUCK—WHAT IN HELHEIM’S PITS IS THIS?!"

Hiccup jerked in surprise, laughing out loud. "Did you just—?"

"I swear on every Viking god, if you so much as tilt this beast sideways, I’ll knock your teeth out!" you bellowed, clinging to the saddle like your life depended on it.

Which, to be fair, it did.

Toothless climbed steadily, unbothered by your outburst. The world spun around you—sky above, sea below, wind slicing through your clothes like knives. Your heart raced, your stomach flipped, and your mouth kept running.

"I hate you, Hiccup. I hate you and your flying lizard and your stupid grin. Why did I think it would be a good idea to do this? I should have never let you convince me... WHY ARE WE STILL IN THE AIR?"

Hiccup was cackling by now, shoulders shaking with laughter. "You’ve never cursed in your life! This is amazing!"

"I was SAVING it for something worth the breath!"

He turned his head slightly to look back at you, grinning wide. "You alright back there?"

"NO I AM NOT ALRIGHT, I AM HAVING A FULL-BODY PANIC!"

But even as you said it—screamed it—you felt something shift. The terror was real, but so was the exhilaration. Your death grip on the saddle loosened just slightly. The wind that had terrified you moments ago now thrilled you.

You looked down. The village was a tiny cluster of dots beneath you, the sea glittering around it like scattered coins. Dragons wheeled in the distance, wings catching the sunlight. You could see forever.

And it was beautiful.

You let out a breathless, giddy laugh.

"Don’t you dare tell anyone I screamed like that," you muttered.

"Your secret’s safe with me," Hiccup replied, still grinning.

He didn’t say it, but you knew. In that moment—amid the wind and sky and curses—you had given him something. A crack in your armor. A glimpse of the person you’d once been with him.

And gods help you… you were starting to remember why you’d loved him so much.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The wind rushed past your ears, tugging at your clothes and hair as Toothless glided effortlessly through the open sky. The world spun beneath you, a dizzying whirl of green cliffs and silver sea—but the initial terror had begun to fade.

Not completely. Your knuckles still clutched the saddle. Your heart still pounded against your ribs like it was trying to escape. But there was something else now, layered beneath the panic.

Wonder.

You’d never seen Berk like this before. You’d never seen anything like this before.

Toothless banked gently, catching a warm updraft, and the motion made your stomach lurch—but not in fear, not anymore. The vastness of the sky opened around you, the wind sweeping your laughter away as soon as it left your lips.

You heard Hiccup chuckle in front of you, and you realized—mortifyingly—that you’d just let out something between a war cry and a hysterical laugh. You didn’t even care.

“You alive back there?” he called over his shoulder, his voice light, teasing.

“Don’t you dare do a roll,” you yelled, clinging tighter, half-terrified and half-joking. “I swear I will vomit all over your saddle.”

He barked a laugh. “Guess I’ll save that trick for next time, then.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Next time?”

“Well, I figured if you didn’t try to kill me midair, that meant you were open to doing it again.”

You shook your head, muttering, “You are absolutely insufferable.”

“And yet here you are,” he said with a grin you could hear in his voice. “Flying with me. Screaming your lungs out. You sure you haven’t missed me just a little?”

That made something shift in your chest. A sharp pull behind your ribs.

Because the truth was—yes. Of course you missed him. You’d never stopped missing him. You missed his terrible jokes. His awkwardness. His ability to make you feel like you were flying, even when your feet were on the ground.

But things weren’t the same anymore.

And as much as you wanted to pretend this flight meant everything was going back to the way it used to be, you knew better.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned forward slightly, resting your forehead gently against his back, trying to catch your breath—not from fear anymore, but from everything else.

He stiffened slightly, surprised. Then relaxed.

The ride slowed, the dragon’s descent gentle and careful. As Toothless began to circle back toward Berk, you found yourself wishing the ride would last just a little longer.

Because up here, in the sky, it was easy to pretend.

Pretend that no time had passed.

Pretend that he hadn’t forgotten you.

Pretend that nothing had changed.

But as the village drew closer, roofs and paths coming into focus, you felt reality creeping back in—like the cool edge of a blade.

Still, when your feet finally touched the ground again and you climbed off Toothless—legs shaking and heart still racing—you looked at Hiccup, and you couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, voice hoarse from the wind and the shouting.

He blinked at you. “For what?”

You shrugged. “For the terror. The view. The... distraction.”

He tilted his head, studying your face. “You’re welcome.”

You turned away before your heart betrayed you again.

But even as you walked back toward the healer’s hut, you knew—he’d made a crack in your defenses today.

And you didn’t know whether you hated him for it.

Or hated yourself for letting it happen.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

That evening, Hiccup sat cross-legged just outside the forge, a half-finished saddle spread across his lap and soot smudged across one cheek. The sun had dipped beneath the treetops, casting the village in that golden hush before twilight. The usual clang of Gobber’s hammer was missing—he’d taken the night off, claiming that even metal needed to rest sometimes.

But Hiccup wasn’t working.

He was staring at the sea.

Toothless lay beside him, head nestled between his paws, eyes blinking lazily. Every so often, he’d flick his tail and rumble deep in his throat, trying to nudge Hiccup back into focus.

It wasn’t working.

Hiccup leaned back against the stone wall, fingers idly twisting a length of leather strap. The flight had gone well. Really well. Better than he’d expected, honestly. You hadn’t fallen off, Toothless hadn’t acted up, and by the end of it, you were even smiling. Laughing, sort of. That biting sarcasm had caught him off guard, but it had been refreshing too.

He’d forgotten how sharp your tongue could be when pushed. Forgotten how expressive your face got when you were flustered.

And for some reason, he couldn’t stop replaying it in his head.

The way you clutched the saddle horn like your life depended on it. The way you shouted curses he didn’t think you even knew. The way your voice cracked when you threatened to haunt him if you died.

It was hilarious. And kind of… cute?

Hiccup frowned slightly, shifting against the wall. Cute wasn’t the word he usually used to describe people. But he couldn’t deny that something about your panic-fueled rambling had made him laugh harder than he had in weeks.

He wasn’t sure why he’d asked you to fly with him.

No—that wasn’t true. He knew exactly why. Because he missed you. Because he hated the distance that had crept in between you over the years. Because every time he passed the healer’s hut, he remembered how you used to look up from your mortar and pestle with a smile, waving him in without a second thought.

And because… you’d always been there, hadn’t you?

Back when no one else believed in him. When his ideas were laughed at and his dragon traps misfired and he couldn’t walk through the village without someone muttering behind his back—you were the one who helped him pick up the pieces. Who treated his burns. Who asked what he was building next. Who saw something in him before anyone else did.

He’d forgotten how much that used to mean to him.

And now, it was like he was seeing you again for the first time. Like he’d been looking through the wrong lens for years, and something had finally shifted back into focus.

But he still didn’t understand why it unsettled him so much.

It wasn’t like he felt anything serious. Not really. Not like…

He didn’t finish the thought. Didn’t want to.

Instead, he looked toward the sky, where stars were beginning to pierce the blue. He let out a slow breath and leaned back on his hands.

Toothless snorted quietly beside him, eyes half-lidded.

“I don’t get it,” Hiccup murmured. “Why now?”

He wasn’t talking about you. Not exactly. He was talking about this feeling—this ache in his chest that had nothing to do with duty or dragons or battle plans.

It was like something had slipped out of place in his life and was only now trying to settle again. And it had your name on it.

But he didn’t know what to do with that.

He didn’t realize it yet.

Didn’t realize that he was starting to fall for you in the quiet, slow-burning way that snuck up on people like him. That the laughter and the nostalgia and the guilt were beginning to twist into something deeper, something tender and unshakable.

All he knew was this:

He wanted to see you again.

He wanted to make you laugh again.

And maybe… tomorrow, he’d find another excuse to do just that.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The next morning, Hiccup was awake before dawn. He hadn’t needed an alarm, hadn’t even heard Toothless snoring in the corner—he just… was. His mind was wired, thoughts tangled and sharp, an endless loop of your face, your voice, your laugh from yesterday.

He hadn’t felt like that in a long time. Not even with Astrid.

That bothered him.

He shook it off, trying to focus as he washed and dressed. He’d planned to catch you before your rounds—maybe bring a wrapped bundle of herbs from the forge, say it had been left behind. Anything to make contact again.

But as he stepped out into the cool morning air and walked down toward the market, something halted him in his tracks.

You were already there.

And you weren’t alone.

Snotlout was lounging beside you near a stack of salted barrels, hands waving dramatically as he told one of his overblown stories. Probably something about dragons or women—or both.

You laughed.

Not a polite laugh. Not a nod-and-smile kind of laugh.

You really laughed.

The sound hit Hiccup like a punch to the gut.

His feet stopped moving.

There was something so vivid in your expression—your eyes were bright, crinkled at the edges, your lips parted mid-smile, and you reached out to nudge Snotlout’s arm in mock exasperation. The easy touch. The natural rhythm.

It shouldn’t have bothered him. You were free to talk to anyone.

And yet…

A strange, prickling sensation crept up the back of his neck. He didn’t even realize his fists had clenched until he felt his fingernails pressing into the skin of his palms.

Snotlout leaned a little closer. You swatted him playfully.

Hiccup’s heart thudded—slow, heavy, confused.

You had never laughed like that with him—not since you reconnected. And before that? Maybe when you were younger. But even then, it wasn’t like this. Not like you were glowing from the inside out.

He hated how much it stirred something in him. Not because he didn’t want you happy—but because he wasn’t the cause of it.

You hadn’t even noticed him standing there.

He stepped back into the shadows of a nearby archway, his breathing shallowed.

What am I doing? he thought.

But he didn’t move. He just… watched.

Something twisted deep in his gut. Jealousy, yes—but it was sharper than that. It was the slow, creeping dread of being replaced. Of being forgotten.

And Snotlout was standing where Hiccup should have been.

The back of his throat burned.

He couldn’t explain it, not even to himself—but in that moment, he wanted to walk over and stand beside you. Instead.

He wanted you to look at him like that.

Wanted to hear that laugh again—but meant for him.

Wanted to rewind time to when it had only been the two of you sneaking bread from the kitchens and giggling behind the old mead barrels. Before dragons. Before glory. Before everything complicated who they were to each other.

Toothless crept up beside him, blinking slowly.

Hiccup barely noticed.

Why did it hurt this much?

He forced himself to turn away, jaw tight, chest hollow.

But even as he walked off in the opposite direction, the echo of your laugh haunted his every step.

It followed him through the winding paths of Berk. It echoed between the forge walls as he tried to distract himself. It repeated in his mind as he watched Astrid train in the distance and felt nothing. Nothing but numbness.

Hours later, he was still thinking about it. Not just the laughter, but what it meant.

You had moved on.

And him?

He was just now realizing that maybe he never did.

The pit in his stomach grew heavier as the thought pressed in deeper.

He wasn’t just hurt. He wasn’t just nostalgic. He was—

In love.

Not new love. Not a spark. Not some recent change.

He had always loved you.

The signs had always been there. The way he always sought your opinion before anyone else’s. The way your absence had made Berk feel like a stranger’s village. The way your silence had been the one sound he couldn’t bear.

His knees felt weak, and he sat down hard on the workbench, breath shallow.

He had been so stupid.

He had walked away.

He had forgotten.

And now you were slipping through his fingers—smiling at someone else, laughing like you didn’t even miss him.

But he missed you.

He had always missed you.

And now that he remembered what he had, what he lost—he couldn’t lose you again.

He wouldn’t.

Not now. Not ever.

He stood slowly, breath steadying, eyes darker than before.

If he had to start over, he would. If he had to remind you what you once had—he’d find a way. If he had to wait, to push, to earn—he’d do all of it.

You were his.

And he was done pretending otherwise.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tags: @thatoneunripefruit, @fyophinh, @inkycapps, @taodarlington, @lilloool

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

[laumier]

TWO-MAN PLAN ──── 성화 + 산.

taking on two after your best friend bailed..

fem reader nsfw / swearing, pet names, threesome (obvi), alcohol mentioned, nipple play, fingering, praise.

˶ˊᜊˋ˶ : ty to @chuhees for the inspo ☺️ this is for u mama. also, this was supposed to be longer ! but i felt like this would be a good way to end it >.<

you’re not even sure how you got here. from the nightclub, to sitting on some stranger’s leather seats—sandwiched between two of the hottest men you’ve ever seen.

it wasn’t even supposed to be like this. but your best friend, nari, had left you inside. all alone, with the man who was supposed to be her “date” and the other one you met.

EARLIER AT THE CLUB…

“no, y/n— i’m just gonna step outside really quick,” nari gave you a small smile as you tugged her away from the door. “i’ll be quick, promise.”

“nari, no, no. you cannot leave me here with them.” you giggled nervously, glancing back at the two men talking.

they wore long trench coats, dressed in suits that made them look like they were apart of some type of mafia gang. the one in the glasses—san—that was nari’s date.

the other one was yours. seonghwa—he looked as if he wouldn’t hurt a fly, but could if he wanted to.

“why not? you scared?” she smirked, tilting her head.

for some odd reason, you both were immensely intimidated by the two. they were just so.. tall and broad. any time they stood in front or in the back of you, they towered right over your heads.

you scoffed, “you’re the scared one. you just said san looks like he’d put you through the mattress—literally.”

“and i love that.” she bit her lip playfully. you rolled your eyes before continuing to beg her.

“nari, please. we just met them and i don’t know, i just—“

“y/n. they both bought us drinks and they weren’t spiked.” nari deadpanned.

“so?”

“so, loosen up. chill here until i come back and stop running from getting some,” she said, turning back to eye seonghwa up and down.

and then, she was gone. but never came back.

“nari’s leaving?” san said from behind you suddenly, causing you to spin around to face him.

“uh, y-yeah, she told me to wait for her.” you explained, avoiding his eyes.

he hummed in response, his hands shoved in his pockets as he looked around the club for a moment.

“let’s go sit.” he nodded to the sofa.

you followed him, seonghwa right behind both of you as you all took a seat on the burgundy cushions, watching everyone around you drink and grind on each other.

sitting between the two of them wasn’t helping the uneasiness in your stomach. san’s knee brushed yours, while seonghwa’s arm wrapped around you.

it was silent between the three of you, but the air was thick. thick with a tension you’d only felt with someone you were intimate with.

seonghwa’s fingers brushed your arm lightly, tracing shapes on your skin while san seemed to get closer as the minutes passed.

“did nari tell you where she was headed?” san turned to you for a moment.

you shook your head, “no, said she just needed to step out..”

he nodded, a smile growing on his face. “well at least we have you, right?”

seonghwa’s chest rumbled with laughter as you sat between the two, confused and flustered.

we? weren’t you just there for seonghwa?

your thoughts were scrambled as san and seonghwa continued chuckling next to you. the warmth of their bodies ghosting over your skin.

“you alright, love? you seem tense,” san leaned down once again, closer to your ear this time. his arm brushed yours—definitely not by accident.

“we could always go somewhere quieter if you’d like.” seonghwa chimed in, his thumb rubbing your shoulder.

you swallowed. suddenly, the club was too loud. too hot.

he chuckled again, “we don’t bite.”

but the way his eyes scanned your face and body said otherwise.

you shouldn’t.

but your legs are already shifting as you leaned off of the couch.

“..yeah, sure,” you murmured. “let’s go.”

they didn’t hesitate. they stood with you, seonghwa’s hand slipping into yours as they both guided you to the door, san’s hand resting on the small of your back.

what were you getting yourself into?

there you were. in the back of the dark car, sandwiched between the two of them once again. this time, it felt different.

you didn’t feel as nervous.

as san’s larger hand rested on your knee, you bit your lip subtly, feeling the inside of your thighs tremble.

the driver in the front had a partition window inside of the car. he closed it as soon as the three of you climbed in.

seonghwa and san looked ahead at the dark road, but you felt as if they were aware of your every move and emotion.

the silence grew heavier as san’s hand brushed further up your leg, reaching your upper thigh now. dangerously close to the area that had been pulsing since the moment you saw them.

you turned to your right to look out the window, but seonghwa was staring at you now.

“still so tense..” he said as his fingers came to brush your jaw gently.

“i’m fine.” you said softly, your voice too shaky for your liking.

seonghwa chuckled under his breath, leaning in closer. “you’re cute when you lie.”

before you could respond, he gripped your jaw tightly, bringing you in so your lips crashed into his. warm, slow, and teasing. he kissed you as if he knew your body—like he’d done this hundreds of times before.

you could feel san’s hand brush your inner thigh now, coaxing you to spread your legs in your seat.

“such a good girl already,” he mumbled from the other side, his fingers stroking the middle of your panties—soaked and clinging to you.

seonghwa slid his tongue into your mouth, groaning into the kiss softly.

your hand traced down your body until it found his friend’s, guiding san’s hand to cup your pussy.

he hissed, pulling his hand away for a moment to drift up to your top half, peeling down your strapless dress, revealing your hardened nipples that he latched onto right away

he gripped and groped it, squeezing here and there as you whimpered into hwa’s mouth.

you pulled away for a moment, only for him to pull you back in, hand wrapped around your neck now.

san’s tongue swirled around your nipple, teasing it slowly. his fingers eased inside of your underwear, not hesitating to drag the pad of his fingers over your clit.

“oh my gosh—“ you moan against seonghwa’s lips, spreading your legs as san rubbed in slow circles.

“mmph, so wet..” san whispered, his fingers pushing into you. your thighs shook with pleasure as you felt the stretch, his thick fingers plunging in and out of your hole.

seonghwa’s hand came to grope the other side of your chest, teasing your nipple between his fingers.

you were overwhelmed with pleasure now—desperate for the both of them. it almost made you glad that nari bailed on you.

[arc-misadventures]

C0-C0AD3L

Jaune: Okay Ren... We've got a new member to our team!

Ren: What?! Did you hire someone without my knowledge? Again.

Jaune: Okay, that wasn't my idea! You try, and refuse a Tygorix War reaper...

Ren: ...

Ren: N-No...

Jaune: Thought so.

Jaune: Okay, so... The Atlasian Commonwealth, Navel Command to be specific, assigned a Specialist to us.

Ren: ACNC? Why are they assigning one of their Specialists to us?

Jaune: They also gave us a high value bounty, then want us to capture a terrorist, a high ranking member of the White Cabal. A Falintyn who goes by the name of, A'Dim Tauriny.

Ren: The White Cabal? Why do they want us to capture a terrorist? The White Cabal is fighting against the Mistral Dynasty, the Atlasian Commonwealth has no steak in this.

Jaune: Somewhat, reports say that the White Cabal is getting support, mostly military support from the Commonwealth. Seems like they're trying to ease relations with the Mistral Dynasty by taking him in.

Ren: And, since we're bounty hunters licensed by the Commonwealth they want us to capture him, so the Commonwealth is show showing their support, but not being directly involved in it.

Jaune: And, the Specialist they've assigned to us is mostly here as a liaison between us, the Dynasty, and the Commonwealth. And, on the completion of the mission, they are to take the prisoner when we're done.

Ren: Ahh, I see where they're coming from... But, do you really want to take on this mission?

Jaune: I didn't, but then I saw the man's rap sheet, and I changed my mind...

Ren: what did this guy do?

Ren: Oh...

Ren: ...

Ren: Oh.

Ren: ...

Ren: Oh by the celestials...?!

Jaune: Yeah, bounty aside, this guys needs to go down.

Ren: Okay... So... you got a plan?

Jaune: I have one in the making, but I'll save it for when the Specialist arrives.

Ren: Smart. So, any idea on who this Specialist is?

Jaune: Yeah, they gave us a small document about them, just basic stuff, nothing deep. Let's see... They're name is C0-C0AD3L...

Ren: C0-C0AD3L? Are we working with an android?

Jaune: Uhh... Yes, and no. She is a Zelttrian.

Ren: A Zelttrian? I've never heard of those before; What are they?

Jaune: They are a tragic race, in some ways they are considered to be a dead race.

Ren: Considered to be? Clarify.

Jaune: Zelttrian's were once a, what I would describe as a humanoid race, a race of with bodies of flesh, and blood. But, five centuries ago a bio-plague spread like wildfire throughout their entire species. Completely destroying their species reproductive capabilities, rending their entire spices infertile, and slowly destroyed their bodies over time from a cellular level. It was all utterly irreversible on top of it all as well. Estimated reports said they would be rendered extinct in two centuries.

Ren: Oh gods! But, if one of them is joining us on this mission, that means they haven't gone extinct.

Jaune: Yes, and no. The last humanoid Zeittrain died about three centuries ago, as the report said. But, the Zeittrain were, and still are damn good, damn good at what they do, specifically in the creation of androids, bio-cybernetics, cloning, and neurological sciences.

Ren: Bio-cybernetics, cloning, and neurological sciences? Wait... why are you talking about such specifics specialties?

Jaune: Because, the Zeltrian's were dying out due to a genetic plague, The Sterilization Purge as they called it. They used a lot of their technological specialties to save their species. They developed through their mastery of bio-cybernetics to create 'flesh, and blood' androids that can replace their people. They used their mastery of neurological science to then transfer their minds into these androids. But, the Zeittrain's still couldn't reproduce, so they created a massive data bank filled with millions of strains of Zeittrain's DNA sequences, that they then slice into an infinite amount of a new DNA, and the create clones from these sequences.

Ren: Holy hells... But, if they were able to 'reproduce' from DNA slicing, and cloning, how come they're still an android race?

Jaune: Sadly no, The Sterilization Plague is still in those DNA sequences, and despite their best efforts they can't get rid of it. All these clones still have the Sterilization Plague so they all sterilized, and slowly dying, so when these clones reach twenty years of age their minds are transferred into an androids body.

Ren: Oh, that's a shame. But, since they're androids now they probably live longer now.

Jaune: Well, kinda. Humans, thanks to the advances of medical technologies can now live to about one hundred, and fifty. Zeittrians commonly lived to be around one hundred, and fifty years old, since becoming androids they can now live to be about two hundred years old.

Ren: They're not immortal machines?

Jaune: No, the androids body does degenerate with age considering they are designed to age like a normal Zeittrians. They did this as a means of retaining their Zeitanity...? What ever the Zeittrians equivalent of 'humanity.'

Ren: So they don't develop a god complex, and die like any of the other advance civilizations that developed god complexes?

Jaune: That, but there is also a religious belief among the Zeittrains about the sacredness of the body. Life, and death cycles, things like that. I think they find immortality an affront to their religious doctrine.

Ren: Oh that's interesting... but, can I ask you one more question, Jaune?

Jaune: Sure.

Ren: How do you know all of this? How do you know so much about an entire alien races reproductive cycle?! Is this a human thing...?

Jaune: No, it's not 'a human thing?' My favourite show growing up was "Defenders of the Cosmos." A team of renegade, freedom fighter composed from people all across the universe. My favourite character was a female Zeittrain named KY1-Z4Q6, everyone just called her, Kayz. I never heard of Zeittrian before so I did some research on them, and fell down a rabbit hole. I even used them for a history report in school, I got a hundred percent on it too!

Ren: Okay... Then you're not going to act weird around...

Jaune: C0-C0AD3L.

Ren: Around... C0-C...?

Jaune: Unless she already has a name, a nickname, whatever. I think we should just call her Coco.

Ren: 'Coco?'

Jaune: Yeah, the first four letters/numbers of her name spell coco. I think it's a nice name.

Ren: The way you're saying this, is 'coco' an actual thing?

Jaune: Yeah. 'Coco powder.' it's a key ingredient for making chocolate.

Ren: Chocolate; That brown stuff you fed me is made from a substance called, 'coco powder?' Do you really think someone whose name is...

Jaune: C0-C0AD3L...

Ren: Will they be okay with a nickname like, 'Coco?' Based off a food ingredient?

Jaune: That's not for me, or for you to decide. That's up for C0-C0AD3L...

: Coco.

Jaune: Sorry. That's not up for you, or me to decide, that's up for Coco to decide!

Ren: ...

Jaune: ...

Jaune: You weren't the one who said 'Coco.' Were you?

Ren: No... No I didn't...

Jaune: Then...?

: I did.

JR: AHHHHH?!

: ...

Ren: Hi...

Jaune: You must be, C0-C0AD3L?

: Coco... I would prefer it if you called me: 'Coco.' I've never had a nickname before, and I like the sound of it. It... It sounds cute.

Jaune: Well then Coco... Before I welcome you aboard there is something I must ask you.

Coco: Yes?

Jaune: Hod did you get aboard? The door has like seven locking mechanisms that need to be undone before even we can get in.

Coco: Door was unlocked.

Jaune: Sona'bitch!

Ren: I blame you.

Jaune: Shut up! H-How long have you been here?

Coco: Since you mentioned you had a plan in mind.

Jaune: Then that means you also heard all about the discussion we had about Zeittrain's?

Coco: I did, you are quite knowledgeable about us, for a human that is.

Ren: Did you just...? You bloody humans...

Jaune: Shut up, and go and check the ships locks.

Ren: Alright, alright...

Jaune: Well, Coco... welcome aboard the, 'Everlight!' An Atlas model XA-72 Light Corsair. Granted we've heavily modified her, so she is basically more of a Mid tier Corsair than a Light tier Corsair. And, the fact she's an Atlasian model might make my plans to capture that A'Dim fellow a little tricky...

Coco: Oh, you already have a plan to get him?

Jaune: I have one in the works; Gun running if your curious.

Coco: Gun running? Ahh, so you plan is to get close to A'Dim by selling weapons to the White Cabal... Clever. Depending on the weapons, I can acquire them for you.

Jaune: By asking the ACNC?

Coco: Yes.

Jaune: Hmmm... No, can you ask the ACNC to give us some Galactic Credits instead?

Coco: Sure, but why?

Jaune: The White Cabal doesn't trust the Commonwealth, because of their closeness to the Dynasty. We need to limit the Commonwealth's, and by extent your existence in this mission to as little as possible.

Coco: I see... I suppose ten million Galactic Credits will suffice...

Jaune: Ten million? Mmmm... Better make it fifty million. I can get better shiny trinkets with that amount of money to entice them with.

Coco: Fifty million? That may be a little difficult, but for a prize like A'Dim Tauriny, I think they'd be willing to pay for more.

Jaune: Alright then. I'll leave the money to you, and I'll get into contact with a weapon smuggler that I, somewhat trust.

Coco: Now then, can you show me to my quarters?

Jaune: Oh yeah, quarters! Sorry, talking about the plan got me distracted! T-This way.

Coco: Thank you.

Jaune: Well, your room is over here.

Coco: Hmm... looks cozy...

Jaune: Well, you get yourself comfortable. I'll be in the coms arranging a deal with a seller.

Coco: Okay.

Jaune: Okay, well I'll contact you when I get a word with a seller. Welcome aboard the 'Everlight,' Coco.

Coco: Thank you Jaune. Oh, and Jaune?

Jaune: Y-Yes?

Coco: Although we may be an android clone race... there are ways for us to reproduce with other species...

Jaune: T-There is...?

Coco: Yeah, us female Zeittrain's can collect male genetic samples, and splice them with ours in order to reproduce. They may be considered half breeds, but this practice has proven to be helpful in combating the effects of 'The Sterilization Plague. '

Jaune: Is that so... I never heard of that.

Coco: Yes. I should also mention that Zeittrain/Human offspring have proven to be particularly effective at combating the plague.

Jaune: R-Really?

Coco: Yes. So play your cards right, and I might have to thank you for your services in another way~!

Jaune: W-What way...?

Coco: Prove your value, and I'll be more than happy to show you myself. Till later Captain Arc~!

Jaune: L-Later?! W-Wait! I'm not the...

'Click.'

Jaune: Captain...

Jaune: I'm not the captain...

Jaune: Actually, who is in charge of this vessel?

Ren: You're the 'Captain Slut' if anything!

Jaune: SHUT UP REN?!

///

Writes, Smash story.

Spends two thirds world building, and creating an entire fictional race, and why they're androids than writing about romance...

Seems like something I'd do.

[lexus-k4]

Dp x DC ideas/prompt

I think from now on I'm just calling them ideas/prompts and not just prompts because they end up being more than I initially intended them to be.... °_°

"The names Flash. What's yours?"

So what if Danny never bacame a halfa. But he still had his accident. And what if Danny's parents were extremely ****phobic people in almost every way because they are the 'traditional way' type of parents.

Homophobic? Yes sir, you need to marry the opposite gender, we want biological grandkids and being with the same gender is just wrong and if you were meant to be trans then you wouldn't have been born the way you was.

Metta phobic? Yes sir, they can't be humans if they aren't like normal humans have been since day one.

Ghost phobic? Of course, that's their work.

And so on. So when Danny had his accident and came out with powers it didn't end well. They weren't ghost powers, no. He didn't die. The portal didn't work. Danny only got heavily electicuted with a mixture of chemicals entering his genes.

Which caused his Metta gene to awaken.

He tried to keep it quiet. He really did. But he can only hide it so muchwhen all of a sudden his metabolism has increased ten fold, w hen all of a sudden he's completing things way faster than normal. When he is all of a sudden producing more static shocks than normal. When he is leaving things to the last minute and yet still managing to complete things perfectly. When sometimes it seems that he is talking too fast.

So when Danny's parents found out, they didn't take it well. Even when Danny tried to deny it.

But Danny didn't even know what was happening. All he knew is that after being electrocuted by the thing that was meant to be a portal he apparently he died from the electricity but also got brought back by it, because it shocked his hear back into working. And after that he was faster. Faster than possible. He knew that all of a sudden he was extremely hungry, constantly. He knew that for some reason his thought had been increasingly faster just like his physical speed.

And he knew that he was scared.

Scared of what's happening to him, of how his parents will react, of how his friends will react. He was scared of not knowing.

So when his parents find out all hell breaks lose and Danny has to leave home. When he was told to pack his bags and leave he did. Maybe at an inhumanely speed but he did. And out of sheer spite he took all the lose change around the house along with any and all snacks and went to buy even more high kallorie snacks. Packed his duffle bag with all his clothes and took the sleeping bag they bad for camping and left. He ran from home.

He maybe spends a year moving city to city trying to find a place to stay picking up jobs along the way (all somehow legal) earning money and having a diet of mainly high kallorie foods and snacks and whatever cheep water he could get from gas stations and convenience stores.

Then he gets to star city. And he found out not long ago that his powers were called meta abilities. And moving to star City he found out that there was a city highly populated by metals called central City. So he made his way to central City as a next stop. And the day he arrived he by chance encountered the flash. Who he didnt know about till he met him might I add.

And he met him by being caught up in a building fired, and as he was about to run, someone runs up to him wearinf a red costume thing, and goes to grab him. Of course Danny being the paranoid shit he is goes to swat away the guys hand before he realised he was using his speed again and stopped just as the red guy looks stunned before going even faster and taking him out the building.

He went faster. That's all that played through Danny's head after that incident.

Taking the chance Danny ran away from the scene with all his stuff and went to research this city. He knew about hero's and what not. But he didn't know much because his parents never let him to even know about them. So finding out there was a speed based hero called the flash in Central City, made him feel hope.

So Danny went about ways to try find the guy.

Meanwhile Barry Allen was in star labs ranting to Katelyn and Cisco about how there was a guy that moved fast when he tried to rescue him. Bart walks in with Wally, and over hear part of the conversation before he realises what they were talking about and blurts out words before thinking.

Bart: OH OH. Is this when we get to meet Danny? He's so cool. When do we get to meet him? Do we get to meet him? Ihopewegettomeethim, hesgotamazinghumour, itsalwasyfunnytowatchhimcausemigrains.

Barry: wait. What? Who? Who's Danny?

Bart: ... Ohhhh. You've Just met him. Oh, yeesh.. Well... I'm... Gonna goooo...

----

Danny and Barry meet again when Danny is sat on a roof trying to figure out what to do and Barry goes there thinking he's gonna jump.

But when Barry speaks, Danny turns and instantly gasps.

Danny: Your the flash. Oh thank god, I've been trying to figure out how to talk to you and I really wanna talk. You're fast and I thought that maybeyoucan helpmebecauseIdontknowwhatimdoingorehatshappeningandIjus...

Barry: wow wow wow. Calm down. Are you by any chance called Danny?

Danny: yeah. H-how did you know?

---

From there Danny and Barry talk, and get to know each other. Danny tells Barry about his parents which later leads to Barry contacting Batman to help with making them suffer. Barry takes Danny to star labs, everyone meets him, Bart is super stoked and Wally is happy to get someone knew to teach things to and a new friend. And Danny is just happy. He's now got people to call a family. Mentors, friends and he feels accepted. And he's become another speed hero.

I'll be honest, most of the ideas I write down I either get randomly or it's a type of thing I wanna read but can't find so I decide to write it before it's too late :3. But yeah. In this the fentons are shit parents ghosts don't exist and flash adopts Danny because yes.

Speedy Gonzales Danny. :D

[runnning-outof-time]

CHAPTER 1: A Letter, Mr. Shelby

Summary: Tommy receives a letter from someone he hasn’t heard from in thirteen years.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!OC

Warnings: smoking

Word Count: 2556

A/N: Thanks for liking the prologue enough to come back and read this first chapter. We’re really gonna get into it now! Hope you don’t hate it! :)

A/N 2: Inspo for the letter in this chapter was taken from Red Dead Redemption II — I’ve linked it at the end!

COMMENT/MESSAGE ME TO JOIN THE TAGLIST!

[PROLOGUE] [SERIES MASTERLIST]

Tommy rode the black horse along the gravel path, the sprawling estate he now resided in slowly coming into view. He felt a fog roll over his mind, one that grew denser with each step that was taken closer to the towering manor. The closer he got to Arrow House, the more it seemed as though its walls were already swallowing him up.

He entered the foyer and found it empty, as he expected it to be. Most of the staff had been let go, save for the few essential personnel that were needed to keep things up and running. No woman in the house meant there was no one there to boss the extras around.

Nobody bothered him. The few maids he encountered on the walk to his office knew better than to offer more than the simple nod of respect. The last thing anyone wanted to do was come off wrong to Mr. Shelby, especially during these trying days.

Tommy went straight to his desk upon entering the office. He busied himself with lighting a cigarette, then taking a long drag and slowly blowing out the smoke as he sat in the seat behind the sturdy, wooden piece of furniture. He stretched out his arms, placing them near either edge of the desk so that he could push his chair back and hang his head down. A deep, tired sigh escaped his lips.

“The post has been delivered,” a voice came from the door. The sound of it made Tommy look up again.

“What is it today, Mary?” Tommy questioned the woman he considered to be the head of his staff.

He was thankful for her; she’d been keeping things up and running around the home whilst he was off trying to cope with what was going on. At times, though, it seemed more so like he was just running away from everything the house reminded him of.

“A letter, Mr. Shelby,” Mary answered, holding out what she had.

Tommy raised his hand and motioned for her to come over. She wordlessly listened, walking to the desk before handing the stark, white envelope to him. “Thank you,” he said once it was in the palm of his hand. His voice came out in a gruff whisper, but Mary heard it. It was enough for her to nod and turn to exit the room.

Tommy wasted no time in opening the letter he wasn’t expecting to receive. It wasn’t uncommon for him to receive written correspondence, but the penmanship present on this particular letter was one that he wasn’t sure he’d seen recently. Moreover, it intrigued him that this letter had ‘urgent’ stamped on its envelope in bold, red letters. He took the letter out and unfolded it slowly, reading it once he had it opened:

Dear Thomas,

It has been hard to find the words to write this letter out. What do you say to someone you’ve not spoken to in years?

It’s me. I’m sure you were able to tell that right away from the terrible penmanship. I know that things between us did not end on the best of terms, but I think of you often, Tommy. I hope that in this case my reaching out to someone who cares, or rather cared, for me is warranted.

I saw your name on the trucks driving around the city and got your address through some asking around. You’ve made something rather impressive of yourself and knowing that fills me with a deep happiness. I remember your ambitions were something we commonly talked about when things were simpler, and now they’ve been made a reality.

I’ve arranged a tea time at the Café Royal in London this Thursday at four in the afternoon. I want to speak to you about a rather urgent matter. I hope you’ll be able to spare this time to meet. I would love to see you again, Tommy.

Yours,

Jane Rivelli

Memories flooded back to Tommy’s mind as soon as he started to read the letter. Once finished, he tipped his head back, resting it against the leather chair as he was transported back to the summer of 1910.

Things were much simpler then. He was given the opportunity to look after the horses owned by a family that resided on a sprawling estate. What he did not know was that along with this opportunity would come a bright-eyed, beautiful young woman who he quickly became attracted to and utterly enthralled with.

Her name was Jane Rivelli. She was the eldest child and only daughter of the Rivelli family, who were the owners of the estate Tommy was working at.

Tommy managed to find out that the family’s money came from the mother’s side. Isabella Cardona-Rivelli’s father owned a prosperous brass manufacturing factory in the heart of Birmingham. Her father had no sons and she was his eldest daughter, which made her the heir to the family’s fortune and the one who would carry it into the next generation. This was why the Rivelli family did not need to live on the streets of Birmingham. The Cardona family was, and still is, quite an influential one within the city. Her father had the MPs in his back pocket, which meant he and his business got rather favorable treatment. If there was something happening, Antonio Cardona most likely knew about it.

Jane’s father, Albert Rivelli, came from a family that was more similar to Tommy’s. It’s unclear of how he and Isabella met, but whispers tell of the fact that he worked at the company he now “owns”. That could have very well been why he wasn’t afraid to still put in a shift from time to time…as a way of keeping skin in the game.

Tommy remembered Albert as being a lot more personable than Isabella. He was willing to actually have a conversation instead of just barking orders and expecting everything to get done.

Jane’s younger brother, Anthony, was the only member of the family that knew of Tommy and Jane’s relationship. He was a good kid who was always picking Tommy’s brain, asking quite inquisitive questions. In a way you could say that he looked up to Tommy. Tommy didn’t mind having him around as he was working in the stables or out in the pasture. The boy enjoyed talking about horses and was almost like a sponge, sucking up all of the knowledge on the animal that Tommy had to give.

And then there was Jane. Jane was different from any other woman Tommy had met up to that point. She was kind, smart, caring, and god was she beautiful. She didn’t see Tommy the way her mother did. He was equal to her. She valued his thoughts and genuinely enjoyed being in his company.

It didn’t take either of them long to realize they had feelings for each other. Tommy was enamored by her from the start, but he waited to make that known to her. He knew he couldn’t screw it up, that he couldn’t just admit it like it was another passing sentence. This wasn’t something he intended on taking lightly.

Instead he waited until Jane realized that she was frequenting the stables for reasons other than just to ‘spend time with the horses’, which was what she always told him when she’d come walking in as he was turning out the stalls.

It was hard to part the two when Jane finally realized what her feelings towards Tommy truly were — as well as the fact that they were mutual — and acted upon them.

Many warm, summer days were spent roaming around the Rivelli property. They’d take the horses out to the pond under the guise of giving them their daily ride only to find themselves lying close together on the bank after going into the water to cool off.

Tommy took Jane to meet his family when summer was nearing its end. She would tell her parents that she was going to meet some friends to prepare for school, when in reality she would meet Tommy on the outskirts of the estate’s property so that he could take her to Small Heath by horse. He was surprised by just how well she adjusted to the stark change in scenery. She was eager to explore the streets he called home — with his accompaniment, of course, and was kind to all of the members of his family.

Jane took Tommy to her favorite parts of the property when autumn arrived. He swore he could listen to her go on for hours talking about how she loved being out amongst the trees as their leaves turned, and the two did spend hours together as they sat together under a tall oak; Jane resting against Tommy’s legs with a book in her hands as Tommy relaxed against the tree’s trunk, his hands busying themselves weaving through her hair.

Winter came quickly after the leaves fell, but the snow couldn’t keep Jane and Tommy apart. The two were able to continue seeing each other thanks to Jane’s insistence that Tommy come around to check on the horses weekly. ‘He knows them best’, was the reason she gave her parents. Suspicions never rose on the matter, but it was much more difficult for Jane to get out of the house to see her lover. It was hard for both of them to go from spending hours outside together to sparing a passing glance.

That’s when the midnight meetings in Jane’s quarters began. Tommy would return to the property late and let Jane know he was there by throwing pebbles at her bedroom window. Once she was alerted to his presence, Jane would quietly rush downstairs and be swooped up by Tommy. There were times where the two were hardly able to make it to her room before they got lost in each other.

Spring was just starting to show its face again when Tommy and Jane’s relationship was discovered by Isabella Rivelli.

Tommy still vividly remembered the look of heartbreak that was present on Jane’s face as her mother ordered him off of the property, and out of her daughter’s life forever. He remembered kicking himself, wishing there was something that he would have been able to do to make it so he could continue seeing her. If only they’d been able to make it a few more weeks, they would have been able to be out at the property’s pond once more.

There was no way that Tommy Shelby was going to be able to change Isabella Rivelli’s orders though. Any fight to do so would quickly end up as a lost cause. The last thing Tommy wanted to do was cause Jane any more pain, so he swallowed his pride, gave up without a fight, and rode into the rainy May night…never to see Jane Rivelli again.

Or so he thought.

Tommy must’ve read the letter fifteen times over. Each time that he did another memory bubbled to the surface. He finally set the piece of paper down on the desk after that fifteenth time so that he could stamp what was left of his forgotten cigarette out in the ashtray. A sigh escaped his lips as he ran a hand over his face.

There was only one question on his mind as he tipped his head back to rest it against the chair: will I go meet her?

Jane couldn’t stop herself from picking at her nails as she sat at the table she reserved for two. The Café Royal was busy, and if Jane thought that the constant hum of people conversing around her would help quiet her racing mind; she was dead wrong.

What if he doesn't come? was one of the thoughts that wouldn’t escape her mind. There was a great chance that Tommy would decide not to bother with her after all of this time. Hell, she wasn’t too sure she’d agree to the meeting if she were the one in his position. She knew it would be a longshot reaching out to him after thirteen years of silence, but it was a shot that she had to take.

A quick glance to the clock on the far wall told her that it was 3:50. He should be arriving any moment, she thought to herself, scanning over the room of patrons yet again.

What if the letter didn’t reach him? was the next thought that kept repeating, anxious to put itself at the forefront of Jane’s mind. There was also a chance that this could be true. Sure, she took a trip to the postmaster herself to be certain it was marked and made urgent to get to Tommy in time, but you could never wholeheartedly trust something like the post.

Jane’s knee started bouncing as she glanced at the clock again: 3:52.

What if this meeting doesn’t go as I hope it does? This was yet another thought that had been crossing her mind. It was no secret that the last time Jane and Tommy were together things ended rather terribly. What she was hoping would be an amicable reunion could very easily be an argument riddled with tension that was years in the making. There was a very likely chance that Tommy could come just to say that he wanted nothing to do with her. Yet still she had to try this route. Every other option had already been exhausted.

3:55.

Oh my goodness, what does he even look like?! a completely new thought popped into her mind. This sent her into a whole new realm of panic. She hadn’t even taken this sort of thought into consideration. Of course he wasn’t going to look like the twenty-one year old man whose bright, charming blue eyes she could get lost in for hours. Years had passed since then. Now she was wondering how they would have affected him.

She could no longer focus on a single thought. They were taking over her mind, going back and forth like a championship tennis match. The room’s temperature felt like it was steadily increasing as she applied pressure to the base of her thumb in hopes that it would alleviate some of the anxiety that was bubbling up quicker than ever now. I don’t know if I can do this anymore, she thought to herself, letting her hands go so that she could twist around and check for her purse that was hanging on the back of the chair. Do I go?

She then looked at the clock. 3:57. Maybe I could go. Maybe I still have enough time. She looked to the front of the room, hoping to find a clean path to her exit.

But what she saw instead was the maitre d that escorted her to her table walking in her direction with a man following close behind. The majority of his figure was still obscured, so Jane couldn’t quite see who it was. She had a good guess as to who it could be though. This has to be him. It’s too late to run now.

Jane took a deep breath and mustered up the best smile she could offer despite the nerves that were coursing through her at that moment. Here goes nothing.

CHAPTER 2 (coming soon)

Check out the letter I got the inspiration for Jane’s letter from HERE!

Taglist: @mrsalwayswrite @justrainandcoffee @zablife @superdinosaurnacho @mrsnms

@littlepeakydevil @call-sign-shark @goblinjnr @sindcostan @novashelby

@kittygirl634 @evita-shelby @johnathancanines @wiseyouthinfluencer @kmc1989

@wonderlanddreamer @ithinkimaslutforharry @brummiereader @taorislover94

[animeyanderelover]

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, manipulation, violence, self-harm, every brother is actually a red flag, attempted murder, attempted assassination, death

Older sister will be engaged

Sakamaki Shu

🎵​On the outside he is probably one of the calmest ones. On the inside though? A storm is coming that is going to break out if things should ever proceed. Now, Shu is going to lay low for now and play the slow game but that doesn't mean by far that he is just going to let this slide. It's already hell enough to share his sister with his brothers and the last thing he needs is another man in your life. Especially one who might want to marry you. This seems to be something everyone from the Sakamaki brothers can agree on though everyone has very different methods. Shu is simply the one who is there if a suitor escapes into what he believes to be an empty room, most of the time because another brother of his is chasing after him. Really, it works in Shu's favor in the end as he has an easy time locking away whoever is now stuck with him. After all he simply wants to have a good talk with that guy. That may or may not include subtle death threats and a bruising grip on that idiot's wrist but no outright violence. With the brothers he has that isn't even necessary though if it should ever be needed then Shu has no problem to snap some guy's neck himself. Though he has to be careful. Karlheinz is watching after all.

Sakamaki Reiji

☕​He is all snark and dripping disdain from the moment he finds out but it is only the moment he is back in his chamber that he has some sort of emotional meltdown which he would deny if asked about it. Reiji is a hardcore perfectionist and you as his worshipped older sister are the pinnacle of a woman in his eyes. And now some uneducated fool will stomp into your life and act like he deserves you when no one ever could. Oh no, he can't let your beauty be sullied by some dog. Where others resort to fist or knifes, Reiji arguably takes the most stealthy and effective way. He spends days locked away and creating all kinds of toxin and poison to rid yourself of the burden before you are forced to wear a ring. He puts on the polite facade whenever someone visits though the disgust in his eyes is barely concealed and he is as quick and sharp as ever to insult every little mistake they make from tablemanners to education. Still, when he prepares that tea he is always lenient with the venom he mixes with it. It's always up to you to stop him from poisoning your suitors as you are aware that Karlheinz would either punish him greatly or even kill him if he finds out that Reiji disobeyed.

Sakamaki Ayato

🥇​The triplets all laugh when they hear it the first time though each laugh is different. Ayato genuinely believes that you're making a bad joke when you inform them that you are to choose a suitor and marry him. Only when you don't tell him that it is a joke does he stop laughing. Then the anger takes a hold and he lashes out on you and his father even if that shithole has never once been there in his life. Ayato has always thought himself to be your favorite brother. So why would you need some loser in your life who probably isn't even half as talented as he is in your life? He storms out of the living room after having kicked over the chair and table but he swears that moment that he will have everyone running away who dares to ask for your hand in marriage. And Ayato really ends up acting like the textbook definition of a bully. He mocks every single man, he pushes them and he spills tea and cakes on them and laughs at them afterwards. The moment one of them talks back he gets in their face immediately, a sadistic look in his eyes and his fists already grabbing his collar. Wanna solve this discussion with a good old fight? He has a knife somewhere in his pockets.

Sakamaki Kanato

🧸​When Kanato starts laughing, everyone already looks at him like he is a ticking time bomb. Because the way he starts giggling nervously when you pass the information on is enough to let everyone know that one push is all needed before he lashes out. That's not funny, sis. Apologise to Teddy and him for making such a dreadful joke. When you don't though, Kanato falls eerily silent for a few moments only to start cackling like an unhinged maniac the moment someone moves or even blinks. Oh! He sees how it is! His knife is already in his hand as he jumps up, the chair falling to the ground as he starts screaming at you for betraying him and lying to him and that he will stab anyone who dares to ask for you to marry him before he storms out. He approaches you a few hours later when he is already in the middle of crying to gaslight you and to get you to promise him to not abandon him for some other guy. Kanato is the most trigger-happy though and if he spots any other man in the mansion who isn't one of his other brothers, whom he already views as rivals by the way, he chases after them with knife in his hand already. If he isn't stopped in time, he will stab any suitor to death.

Sakamaki Laito

🎹​Oh, his laughter sounds so delightful at first as if you genuinely just told him a hilarious joke. Only because you know him so well do you notice the glint in his eyes. The one that demands you to take something back before things will turn south. Unfortunately Laito already knows that you are being serious and oh, how he wishes death upon his father all the more after. His sister? Married of to some piece of trash? Now, now now, he can't let that happen. However, he will hide all that bloodlust and hatred behind a pleasant smile for now. Reiji may be educationally the smartest but Laito is terribly cunning and calculating in his own ways. He is the one who always looks the least dangerous to every suitor who visits the mansion as he is the nicest one or appears to be that way. In reality though? It is all nothing but an act to lure the prey closer like moths drawn to the flames that will burn them to ashes. Let the others poison everyone or beat them up, Laito does things his own way and more subtly so to not stir your ire and appear as well-behaved whilst all other brothers get scolded by you. When the time comes he will stab every suitor figuratively and literally in the back.

Sakamaki Subaru

⬜​Subaru handles it with all the subtlety that he possesses... Which is zero. A poor wall is punched as soon as he has actually processed what you just told him. He is the youngest of this entire household and he has spent the first few years of his life being forced to watch you from the distance, too shy and insecure to approach you even though you are his sister. Yet he has still made an oath to protect you no matter what, especially against the man who has ruined his life and is still trying to ruin yours. Hearing that it is Karlheinz's specific order for you to marry someone already feels like a failure and he beats himself up over it the moment he is all alone. Once the first suitors start appearing, he is watching closely. Literally as he sticks close to you and acts like he is your personal bodyguard of some sorts. The moment anyone reaches out for you he snatches their wrist and might shatter a few bones. On purpose or not is yet to be determined. The moment someone looks at you wrongly he is already prepared to dish out fists but you always hold him back. It's best to never leave him unwatched with a suitor of yours or otherwise you might return to find only your youngest brother being still alive.

[ephemeral-reverie]

GORGEOUS DELICIOUS GIMIE 14 OF EM RIGHT NOW 🤩🤩🤩 (talking about your bumblebee fic :3)

✩ 𝙎𝙖𝙛𝙚𝙩𝙮 𝙔𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬

ʙᴀʏᴠᴇʀsᴇ!ʙᴜᴍʙʟᴇʙᴇᴇ/ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You get hurt on accident, and Bumblebee feels more protective of you than any friend should.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.2k

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: fluff; reader sustains bruising by mistake; Bee is less playful in this and more worried because wdym he left you alone for like five minutes and you had to get an x-ray; literal hurt/comfort?; except reader is chill about it; headcanon in style.

ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ASJKFKJHFHKA messages and comments like these keep my will to write alive 😭 thank you so much, and hopefully I can get some better quality stuff out soon. I'm working on a longer knightverse!Bumblebee piece and something Mirage, so we'll see 🤞

A couple days ago, Hound was a bit too rough when he was messing around with you. It was an accident, really. The bulkier Autobot had swept you up by your middle during a mock argument on cannon vs. firepower weaponry, effortlessly knocking the wind out of you with too much force. He hadn’t noticed your reaction until he held you at eye level. Locked his optics on the unforeseen pain on your face. The warrior nearly dropped you from how suddenly his grip loosened. 

A wicked bruise bloomed across your abdomen and ribs in the morning. Reddish undertones faded to concerning blotches of purple and yellow. There was a dark shadow encompassing part of your back. 

Oh, that’s great. 

And seatbelts were hell. 

After reluctantly dragging yourself to a doctor, you’d been told – by a specialist who was actually human – that nothing was fractured or broken. Thank God. 

You definitely made a lame excuse as to why you were so beat up, though. Anyone who’d seen your injuries peered at you with investigatory eyes. Not that you had the expendable focus to care. Everything hurt – even doing nothing didn’t ease the throbbing under an expansive graph of your skin. And “Oh, a Transformer just forgot I was soft!” didn’t seem like an adequate answer. 

You weren’t mad at Hound. It was a risk just being around them and their hulking frames, one you had long-ago decided you were willing to take. Him hurting you had been a mistake. The mech had voiced as such when he put you down, muttering inward swears and apologizing.

Bumblebee, however, was pissed. 

Anything somewhat competent could see that Bee was particularly fond of you, as much as he tried to keep his cool in your presence. Anything; except you, it seemed. 

Despite his broken voice box, he always made an effort to talk to you. However he could show off to you, he did; pushing his speedometer’s limit and adding extra flourishes to his already fluid fighting style. Whenever you needed a lift, he would be there – his paint spotless. Yet you appeared to be none the wiser. 

When the scout had returned from a routine perimeter sweep, Hound told him that you wouldn’t be coming around for the next few days. When prompted, Hound said why – feeling like he owed Bee the explanation.

That may or may not have led to a short scuffle. 

Notably, Bumblebee was winning before Prime broke them up. 

You know, there’s some really colorful ways to tell someone they did something stupid using radio clips. 

Your injuries seemed all surface level, yes, but what if they went deeper than that? If Bumblebee’s experience with humans told him anything, it was that – as determined and capable as they could be – their bodies were fragile. Organic. Much slower to heal. 

While you’re nursing your entire middle, Bumblebee is distracted beyond belief. He was easier to instigate than ever, and he was unable to formulate even two cohesive thoughts before his processors circled back to you. Lingered. 

How bad was it? Were you doing okay? It was just bruising, hopefully, but still. He hated the thought of you in pain – hated that he possessed the ability to inflict that same pain, if he ever forwent the proper precautions. 

A little longer than a week later, you wandered your way back into base. To everyone’s relief, you were in one piece. You’d stopped wincing constantly, at least. They were seriously counting on your reappearance to get Bumblebee to wind the fuck down. 

You, meanwhile, were oblivious to how much your absence had affected your Cybertronian companion. 

Your concentration was further settled on moving tentatively so you didn’t feel like shit, having cut down on the dosages of your OTC painkillers. 

Bumblebee had always been protective of you before. He cared about you, openly and then even more so than he ever let on. But now?

You cracked a wry smile at the black and yellow mech as he approached, slightly amused at how quickly he’d found you. “Hey,” you called, trying not to expend your voice – because of course that fucking hurt too. “Long time, no see. You miss me?"

You'd missed him. Very quickly, embarrasingly, you'd learned how little you liked staying away.

His optics roved over you, as though trying to assess you without seeing the damage. Static; then, "You have no idea."

Silence. The expression in his faceplates was no less dire.

Would've thought you'd needed surgery.

“Don’t look so worried,” you chided lightly, “it’s not a good look for you, Bee.” It was an unusual one, so separate from his playful demeanor, and you didn’t like it. “I’m all good! Promise – got a doctor’s note and everything.”

He looked unconvinced. Bee crouched down, leveling himself with you best he could and pointing at your midsection with a single metallic digit. “Believe it when I see it,” his radio crackled. 

You rolled your eyes, tenderly lifting the hem of your t-shirt to display the skin underneath. The coloring had evened out a little bit, though the impact you’d sustained was still remarkably pronounced. “All the organs are in there,” you rambled, “no broken ribs or fractured vertebrae or…” You wavered as your eyes landed on his face. He was staring at the patch of your body you’d exposed with an intensity you couldn’t place. “...anything like that,” you finished, quieter than how you’d started.

Bumblebee’s spark ached. Inflicted from such a miniscule action, but he could see the tightness in your expression and the occasional clench of your jaw – all the telltale signs that you felt every bit of the discoloration he was seeing. 

It was a crime: your skin harmed instead of revered. 

He was going to beef with Hound for weeks after this. Wonder why. 

Bee jumped through channels, piecing together: “That’s not… gonna happen again– okay?” Reassuring. Earnest. Concerned that it’d even occurred once in the first place. He lifted a servo to – ever so gently – displace the hand that held your shirt up, letting the fabric fall back over your stomach. Like he couldn’t bear looking at it anymore. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Okay,” you whispered. And you found yourself believing him. 

From then on, Bumblebee made it a point to always be somewhere nearby when you were with the others. Just until they got used to you, like he was used to you humans. 

Worry, siphoned into something calculating.

He watched you constantly. Sometimes, you caught him looking. He’d notice your gaze, give the slightest nod of his helm, like, ‘I’m here if you need anything.’ He wouldn’t look away unless you did. 

It made your stomach dip, how attentive he was. How protective. 

Now that you're out and about again, he's resumed his routine of driving you. His cab is kept comfortably warm – though you're always welcome to tamper with his temperature dial – to hopefully ease any tension in your muscles. He avoids the rougher roads, trying to jostle you as little as possible. Bee will even drive sensibly to keep any unnecessary pressure off.

Everyone else didn't have to show you the same treatment. He might even dislike it if he ever saw another Autobot so close to you. But he did want to keep his word to you.

For being so easygoing, mans could be intimidating.

His name was notorious amongst Decepticons for a reason.

So, Bumblebee made it abundantly clear that it’s in everyone’s best interest to keep you healthy. 

If he ever sees you hurt like that again? Hurt worse? Friendlies are going to need a couple parts replaced. ‘Cons are going straight to a scrapyard. 

[wisdomseulogy]

NOT YOUR TYPICAL ALPHA ROMANCE

Omega!Bruce Wayne x Alpha!Clark Kent imagine

TW: implied mpreg, some romance, some angst.

This is PG 13.

Also I took some liberties with the timeline of things. I know Dick is canonically in his teens when his parents die, but I decided to make him around 8 years old

---

It was supposed to be just another normal interview. Bruce can't even remember what it was supposed to be about. Since him and the reporter ended up doing a lot more than just talking.

Bruce put a lot of work into appearing as the most desirable alpha, and his body helped him keep up that visage. But when he presented as omega, he decided that he was going to keep the truth with him to his grave.

He kept up the playboy act really well. An alpha that cant seem to settle down and spends his free time going to charity events and keeping up his image. He never fit the image of an omega anyways, he was strong and tall. But his body had another idea when he was alone in the room with the alpha reporter who just so happened to forget to wear scent blockers.

Clark was running late to the interview. The paper wanted it to be done in Bruce's manor with a few shots of him in his office. The interview was going to be about how he manages to balance his work and home life.

When Clark first arrived in Metropolis he quickly learned about the enigmatic alpha bachelor from Gotham. Its impossible to not look up at the alpha for inspiration, admiration, and maybe a little desire. Bruce had everything Clark liked, a strong dominant flirty personality who seemed to deeply care about others.

The Wayne Foundation was doing more for Gotham than the government or anyone else ever would. And Clark admired that. How someone so strong and revered could still have empathy for others and still try to do good.

Most alphas fall into a pit of constantly having to prove their masculinity and alpha status. But Bruce didn't need to do all of that. He didn't need to be mean and rude to prove that he was an alpha to be reckoned with. Proved that there could still be good role models for young children.

So maybe Clark was a little bit blinded by his devotion to notice that Bruce was an enigma. An omega stuck in an alphas body. If Clark tried hard enough he could probably use super senses to smell Bruce's true presentation, but the illusion and dream was too strong. And Clark would be lying if it didn't give him a thrill every time he thought about being alone in the same room with such a strong alpha.

Bruce had been using his military grade suppressants for far too long and his body was starting to give out. He knew that if he used them for too long without a break then they would lose their effectiveness, but he figured it would just be one interview and then he could go on vacation somewhere remote for a few weeks and come back as the same strong alpha as before.

The whole interaction started innocently enough. Clark was a bit disheveled struggling to carry a camera, tripod, and a lengthy folder of possible questions. Bruce smiled and leaned in, putting on his playboy charm. He grabbed the stack of papers. "Let me help you. I can't have such a lovely reporter as..." Bruce gave Clark his signature long and suggestive look. Biting his lip a little to continue the façade.

The playboy alpha stereotype was a role that Bruce played amazingly well and it also helped to deepen his image. Omegas weren't supposed to be flirty. They weren't supposed to imitate at all, and Bruce made sure to be everything an omega isn't.

"Diligent as yourself." Bruce pondered calling the poor alpha something like 'lovely' or 'caring' but that felt a little too over the top even for him. And this was meant to be a business transaction. The poor alpha was on the job and Bruce didn't want to harass him too much. A little was okay though.

But a little quickly turned into a little more and then eventually the folder of papers was scattered across Bruce's expensive mahogany desk as he tenderly held Clarks head as the two kissed.

Clark, for his part, thought that this was just a part of Bruce's personality. He also knew that this could jeopardize his job and his future at the Daily Planet. But when Bruce leaned in, his eyes half lidded and his breath coming in a bit to ragged to be normal, Clark threw decorum out the window. This was a once in the lifetime chance with his idol, and even he wasn't going to miss it.

Clark was so engrossed in the moment he didn't even notice that Bruce doesn't have alpha specific anatomy. He just wished that moment could last forever. Every breath, a prayer. Bruce could have been saying the most outrageous things at that moment and Clark would still have received it as a divine message.

Meanwhile, Bruce was in his own personal hell. He was at war with his body and his desires. Mentally, Bruce was going through the moral implications of sleeping with a reporter for a newspaper that he owns. If Clark decided to say anything this could blow up in his face and the only way Bruce would be able to save himself would be by revealing the truth.

Bruce was...cordial after. A little bit too much for Clark's liking. Clark wondered if it was naïve of him to think that he actually meant something to the billionaire playboy. He was probably just another name on a long list of trysts.

Luckily, Clark never said anything about the interaction afterwards. Granted he would lose his job is he did, but it at least gave Bruce some hope that the reporter didn't find out about his true presentation. Even an upstanding reporter wouldn't be able to hold back from a tell-all article about how one of the most famous alphas in the world was actually an omega. No doubt it could generate Clark millions of dollars if he went public with the information or sold it to some new agency of information broker.

As decided, Bruce went on a long impromptu trip to Rome. The official statement was that he was scouting the area to possibly put the European head quarters of Wayne Enterprises, but the truth was a lot more dubious. When Bruce cut off the suppressants entirely he expected to go into heat, or maybe something of the sort. But nothing happened.

And after a month Bruce's suspicions were confirmed, he was pregnant.

Alfred had seen many crazy things while working at Bruce's side. He saw the young boy turn into a strong young man and a protector of an entire city. But crazier than all of that was seeing hearing of the pregnancy. Alfred nearly broke an expensive bottle of wine and nearly tipped over a wine cart of crystal glasses.

Bruce is the one that came up with the plan. He was going to have the kid in secret. Pay a family very good hush money to raise the kid as their own and when the time came, Bruce would adopt the kid. Call it a charity. And even if the child looked like him, he would have elaborate falsified documents to prove that its just a coincidence. And no one would be wiser.

Though his plans came crashing down when he went to visit the child at the circus and discuss the next stage of the plan with the parents when, due to the ropes in their circus act getting intentionally cut, the parents fell to their death. And his kid, Dick, watched it all happen.

Bruce wondered then and there if he should tell Dick the truth. That he was his 'real' father but he decided against it. Maybe it was the empathetic part of him, but he didn't want to hurt his son anymore than he already has been. And with the adoptive parents being dead, it was a lot more believable for Bruce to adopt his son.

And everything would have went perfectly...if his son was not obsessed with Superman. Bruce didn't have any particular feelings for the metropolis hero, but Dick didn't even care that Bruce was Batman. When Bruce told him his identity, all the kid asked is if he knew Superman.

This made Bruce's jaw twitch. And that became a common theme. While trying to get over the grief of losing both his parents, Dick consumed himself with Superman. A pillar of hope. A ray of sunshine in a dangerous world. Someone who would not think twice about saving a kid in danger.

Bruce indulges his son, giving him a Superman themed room and all the Superman merch the kid could want. And every night Bruce sat through the same YouTube videos of Superman saving people. It was honestly exhausting, but the guilt of lying to his son was reason enough to continue the indulgence.

Dick took to being Robin like a fish to water. The second Bruce framed it as Dick being just like Superman Dick was already swinging from the banister showing all the cool moves he was going to use against the bad guys.

"And then!" Dick shouts while getting ready to show Bruce his next move. "I do a flip and I kick the bad guy in the face! And I punch him in the arm and I say 'This is to truth, justice, and a better tomorrow!'" Dick said excitedly.

Bruce's smile didn't reach his eyes, staring to wonder if this obsession was unhealthy. "That's Superman's catchphrase, you can't use it kid."

Dick pouts. Then, as if a light bulb turning on in his head, he perked up. "What about, 'Holy moly I'm going to turn you into guacamole'."

Alfred stifled a laugh.

"Let's put a pin in the whole catchphrase thing and we can come back to that later," Bruce offered while trying to gently lead Dick into the Batcave.

"But Superman has such a cool catchphrase and I need a cool catchphrase too."

"You don't need a cool catchphrase. You just need...to make sure the bad guys don't get away. Got it? Now lets get ready-" Bruce was cut off by Dick running down the stairs at a lightning speed that made Bruce pause for a moment.

The first time Bruce brought Dick with him to the Watchtower he knew it was going to be a whole event. He had already emotionally prepared himself for Dick to run off immediately to find Superman even though he told Dick many times to stay by his side and to not bother any of the other heroes.

And without fail, Dick immediately ran off looking Superman. Bruce sighed as Wonder Woman walked up and greeted him.

Bruce had already mentioned his new sidekick at the last meeting and everyone was so interested in meeting the kid. But Bruce warned them that Robin was a bit...special. Maybe a bit obsessive. And at times hard to keep still. He conveniently left out the part where he's obsessed with Superman since Bruce still hold onto a slight hope that Dick would listen and stay by his side.

"I see the little one ran off," Diana said with a smirk.

Bruce sighed. "He can be a bit of a handful at times."

"Don't you think he's a bit...young to be in this line of work?" Diana asked. Bruce never told them how old Dick was, so the others were imagining at least a 13 or 14 year old, not an 8-9 year old.

Bruce did wonder that at first. If Dick wasn't ready to be on patrol. But the kid just had such a...zeal for being a superhero that he's sure Dick would have snuck out and joined him on patrol anyways.

"Do you remember that time you saved that family from the burning building? You were so cool when you came out holding them like whoosh woosh and you landed like boom boom and everyone was clapping and that you said," Dick was talking a mile a minute and Clark was barely understanding his jumbled words. "It's only a part of the job," Dick said in his mock deep voice. "And then you flew up and it was so cool. I watch that every night."

"Oh."

Clark was a little stunned as he walked over to Batman, ready to return Robin to his caregiver. Clark loved kids and was very excited to meet Robin for the first time. But now he understood all the vague things Batman said about the kid. Though, it warmed a piece of his heart that such a broodish and cold alpha like Batman would be so gentle and caring to such a kid.

For all that Clark is worth, he never stopped liking Bruce Wayne. But when he first met Batman, it felt like love at first sight. Tall, handsome, strong, and he had a mysterious cold edge to him that just made Clarks heart flutter and his head fill with every possible scenario of their future life together.

But liking Batman felt like he was cheating on his first real love, Bruce Wayne. Though he knew the billionaire would never love him back, Clark still felt like he was doing something wrong. He hadn't talked to Bruce one on one in practically 9 years and it was finally time for Clark to put aside his impossible crush.

"I hope he didn't bother you too much," Bruce said in his deep Batman voice while reaching for Dick. Dick turned to Bruce and stuck out his tongue.

"Do you remember that time the bad guys blew up the train tracks and you had to grab the trains and stop them from colliding? It was like screeeech." Dick ignored Bruce and turned back to his true hero and inspiration. "Or the time there was that big earthquake and you and Krypto were going through the...the uhh the"

"Robin," Bruce said in a firm voice.

Clark gave him an awkward smile while once again trying to hand the kid off to his guardian. "I think maybe it's your bed time."

"No!" Dick flipped out of Superman's hold and hid behind him.

Clark was impressed at the speed and agility. No wonder a kid like him was able to hold his own against criminals.

"Robin."

"I don't want to go home!" Dick pouted furiously, tears threatening to fall down his face at any moment.

Bruce sighed.

"Sometimes we have to make sacrifices kid," Superman said encouragingly. "Next time you come maybe I can sign something for you."

"Really?!?" Dick's emotions were like the swing of a pendulum, one moment sad and depressed the next happy and excited.

"Yes, but you have to listen to Batman."

"...Ok...I guess we can leave." Dick kicked the ground lightly, defeated.

Superman gave Bruce an encouraging smile. "He's a good kid. Nice of you to -uh- take him in."

Diana gave a knowing smile as she looked between Batman and Superman.

After that first interaction, Bruce made sure Dick could at least contain his obsession slightly and not instantly run to Superman and bother him.

Bruce and Clark were scheduled to be just two boats sailing off, never meant to cross paths again. At least as civilians. And yet somehow Bruce found himself cursing whatever God or power that be there was which caused him to have to be alone in a room with Clark Kent again.

The interview was going to be simple, the public loved the fact that Bruce adopted a child orphaned due to crime and the Daily Planet decided they wanted to full inside scoop. Bruce made sure it wasn't going to be Clark that was interviewing him, but as fate would have it, the original interviewer got sick and that was how Bruce found himself sitting across from the father of his 'adopted' child.

Dick wasn't interested in doing an interview. It took a lot of coaxing on Bruce and Alfred's part to get him to agree to sit still for at least thirty minuets. Bruce had promised him that they could have whatever Dick wanted for desert and that Bruce would try to bring Dick with him to the next Justice League meeting.

"What's it like being a new parent? It's not often we see lone alphas willingly adopt a child."

All of Bruce's responses were prepared in advance. "Well I am not just any alpha."

Clark swallowed hard and tried to keep himself from blushing at that. Man, he felt like a kid experiencing his first crush all over again.

"And what's it like having such a successful man as a role model?" Clark asked Dick.

Dick finally turned and looked the reporter in this face. He paused and knitted his eyebrows together. "Superman?"

Bruce closed his eyes and took in a nice and controlled breath. Not even noticing the way that Clark visibly stiffened. Bruce had went over all the questions with Dick the night before, but one of the first rules of raising a child was to expect the unexpected.

"Sorry, he's a huge fan of Superman these day. Isn't that right?"

Dick didn't answer. He studied the reporter. "Are you Superman?"

"Now Dick- sorry like I said this is a bit of a...special interest of his. How about you answer the nice mans question?" Bruce's eye twitched as he tried to steer the conversation back.

Dick shook his head and pointed at Clark. "You look like Superman. I met him. He looks like you."

Bruce ran a hand down his face. "I am so sorry Mr. Kent. We may have to reschedule the interview for another time."

Clark didn't register a word Bruce said, he was too busy staring the kid down trying to figure out why his enchanted glasses weren't working on the kid. And what was this about Bruce Wayne's charge meeting him? Could it have been before Bruce adopted him? Clark mind spun.

"Oh yes well I can also skip onto the next questions, um" Clark stammered as he tried to blink away his fear of getting found out.

Meanwhile, Bruce is just happy that it doesn't seem like Clark realizes that Dick is his kid. The last thing Bruce needed was for his secret to get found out. He already managed to dodge the bullet of his omega status being known, now he just needed to make sure that no one knew that Dick was his biological child.

Eventually, Clark and Bruce continued the interview as normal. But Dick only wanted to talk about Superman after that. Crossing his arms and staring Clark down like he was trying to size him up.

Fuck, Clark thought, this kid really does know. Why aren't the glasses working?

That night, Clark was consumed by his thoughts and worries. But he couldn't put his finger on how the kid knew his identity. The glasses were obviously working, Bruce thought the kid was just playing games. So why was this child special?

And where did he meet him?

"Ugh," Clark lightly hit his head against his desk. The act was more symbolic than anything else. He was at an impasse.

As if grabbing onto an invisible string, a thought so impossible solidified in Clarks mind. Clark had two obvious crushes, Bruce Wayne and Batman. And both alphas recently look in a young boy. Both boys were obsessed with Superman and he had personally met Robin on multiple occasions.

But the next string of thought felt even more impossible. People like...Clark were immune to some magic enchantments. The glasses probably wouldn't work on someone who was a Kryptonian. Or even half Kryptonian. Though it is possible that Dick was something else entirely that was also immune to the enchantment.

"That would be impossible," Clark groaned. "I might as well be grasping at straws."

In a sea of impossibilities, this...option felt the most likely. If anything, Clark would just ask Bruce about it and they would have a good laugh. Or Clark could lose his job for bringing up their one-night stand.

The waves of curiosity were nipping at him and he decided to take the plunge. At the next Gala, Clark managed to fenagle himself an invite through his work. It took a bit of convincing and maybe a few under handed tactics, but he needed to know if his theory was correct.

Bruce is his usual suave self, making Clarks heart jump as he builds up the confidence to confront him.

Is the kid mine? No... I can't say it like that. So I noticed that your child looks a lot like you. No...Hey I'm Superman and I think you're Batman. No... Clark grabs a random champagne flute and downs it as he notices Bruce step out onto a terrace outside.

The cold air bit into his skin as he opened up the door. Bruce was standing there nursing a cigar, his body tensing when he heard the door open.

"It's occupied," Bruce said.

"Um," Clark started. In all honesty, he still didn't know what to say. The words were stuck in his throat and they were threatening to stay there forever. "I-"

Bruce whips around. Smoke billowing slowly around him. His eyes no longer portraying the calm and collected demeanor that he always had. Bruce had expected it would come to this.

"I didn't know it was customary for entry level reporters to attend these things."

This wasn't the Bruce Wayne he knew. This wasn't the Batman he knew. Clark didn't know who this was but he didn't like any second of it.

"I-someone couldn't make it so..."

"That was the excuse last time too, right? Clark, is it? What we had was a one time thing-"

"Is the kid mine?" Clark blurted out.

The air stilled. No one dared to move. The truth hanging in-between them. An invisible red string of fate tying them together.

"How much do you want? Just say a number. Better yet, I will have Alfred send you a blank check and you can just put whatever amount you want on there."

Silence. "Or would you prefer a promotion? I can pull some strings and-"

"That's...he's...he's my kid?" Clark was stunned. He thought for sure that he was wrong. That it was so impossible that it was laughable. Never in a billion years did he imagine that he had a kid with the alpha playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne....omega playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne.

"What do you want? For your silence." A million emotions ran through Bruce's head. His heart feeling like a jumbled up mess of yarn. This was his worst nightmare. All the other times that he thought he would surely die and shrivel up did not come anywhere close to this. His entire reputation was on the line. His entire livelihood. Everything he fought so hard for. So hard to protect. His city. His family. Everything was slipping through his fingers.

"I-Can I be in his life-does he know?" Clark asked.

Bruce opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out.

"How did you do it? I mean no one suspected a thing. If it wasn't for the fact my glasses don't work on him because he's half Kryptonian then I would have never known."

"Kryptonian?"

"Oh."

Bruce took another drag of the cigar and run a hand through his hair. This was more complicated than he even imagined. Not only was his baby daddy a reporter, he was also Superman. God, Dick is obsessed with Superman.

"I-Can I-I want to be a part of his life. He obviously likes me and-"

"No!" Bruce shouts a bit too loud making Clark flinch. "He likes you because you're his favorite superhero. No. He can't know."

"He looks like us," Clark tried to reason, but he might as well be reasoning with a brick wall.

"And so do his parents. Just-Just tell me what it is you want and I will give it to you. He can't know. He can't. He misses his parents so much. He can't know they weren't his real parents." Bruce didn't realize when exactly his anger turned into pleading. Bargaining. Begging.

Clark nodded slowly. "I understand. I just...I have a lot to think about now."

"Me too," Bruce offered, his cold aloof mask completely cracked.

"Even if he doesn't know that I am his...dad...I still want to...hang out with him sometimes." Now Clark was doing the pleading.

Two broken boats, their rudders knocking them into each other once again.

"I can make that work."

---

Not beta read.

Should I do a part 2?

[ladyloveandjustice]

So I guess the anti-Alfredisms extend to his relationship with Steph for some now, and as someone who carefully catalogued any tiny history Steph had with anyone for my little wiki, it's an excuse to talk about a relationship that doesn't get much screentime or attention, so here I go...

And I'm here to say... they got along fine preboot and liked each other fine.

Steph and Alfred were hilariously pissy to each other when she first met him, there was shittiness on both sides (Alfred was pissy about the betrayal of Tim despite the fact it was not Steph's fault (not being able to yell at Bruce personally was clearly a factor here, poor Steph gets caught in the crossfire again), and Steph did make a pretty dismissive comment that set him off) but they're shown to be definitively caring about each other and getting along by the time she comes back from the dead.

I remembered this because I thought it was cute and eagerly added it to his little character relationship profile on my Steph wiki, It's even by the same person who wrote their first meeting, Chuck Dixon:

They held hands, that's practically a bear hug if you're Alfred. (Robin 174)

I'm guessing the main basis to the idea they don't get along is how he objected to Steph becoming Robin immediately after she applied. Aside from me trying not to judge any character who has the misfortune of being written by Willingham too harshly, the objections basically centered around 1. why are you replacing Tim so quickly? and with his own girlfriend? 2. You said she wasn't suitable for the field why are you changing your mind 3. PLEASE tell me you're not doing this to manipulate Tim into coming back. Which Bruce notably did not respond to. Implying he was indeed doing it to manipulate Tim. Because he was currently also in the throes of the misfortune of being written by Willingham.

It seemed more out of concern for Bruce's sudden attitude shift, concern for Tim, and even concern for the possibility of her being used, than anything against Steph personally, and considering how down on Steph everyone else was all the time too, it doesn't really stick out as unusual.

There were solid signs he cared about Steph before this too that Willingham likely didn't know about, he was pretty kind to her when Bruce fired her the first time. Though his internal reaction with Bruce told him was "ooookaaay one less child to worry about after curfew, I guess probably it'll work out for the best?" he did immediately call Tim and tell him Steph needed comforting, which was nice:

(Gotham Knighs #37)

Then an issue later (38), he talked to Bruce about it further and actually challenged him on his reasoning for firing her, pointing out he was being a huge hypocrite:

Bruce's reasoning here is incredible. "Look Alfred I just decided I can't keep up with everyone's names so one of them had to go, Stephanie's who i chose, get off my ass"

He was also crying post War Games when Dick woke up, and the implication was it was due to Steph's death. He further lamented it in another issue.

So like. idk. It honestly doesn't add much to either of their characters for them to have beef with each other, and there's not much evidence or basis for it in the comics exactly like with Jason, and much more definitive evidence that their relationship evolved into one of mutual respect and care (she also confided in him about her worries about Tim in Nicieza's Robin run, etc) by the time she was back from the dead. Notably, he stuck up for her in Bruce Wayne The Road Home: Batgirl too.

He's obviously always going to be closer to the other Robins and Cass than her, since she isn't a part of the Wayne family, and he spends more time with them. I think there's evidence he might show some favoritism towards Tim in conflicts involving them both for this reason as well, as both times he's not been great about her, concern for Tim's feelings seem to be a motivator. He's VERY attached to Tim.

(Notably this does not mean he doesn't generally support their relationship. See the above where he gave Tim a heads up, I also recall him teasing Tim about her in the early days, he was the first one who called that Tim liked her, actually, before even Tim himself admitted it)

I could see these biases feeding Steph's insecurities in an interesting way, but that's about the extent of it.

In general "this character made exactly one or two mean comments about a character I like so they hate them and I hate this character..." it's not a new attitude, but it's one that has stuck out to me as more prevalent in comics fandom these days my brief return. It seems weird to have that take for comics where there's multiple writers, so you really have to go with patterns of behavior that stick. Alfred being caring towards or sticking up for Steph in some way is significantly more of a pattern than being rude about her. They've had a sweet moment or two!

It's also the difference between "this character can have flaws"--Alfred might show favoritism towards Tim sometimes or have a bad moment--and like. he's bad and cruel and he and Steph have a bad relationship. One is interesting to me and the other isn't.

[pa1strifies]

the alcott: let it happen.

pairing: jack doohan x driver!reader

summary: jack accepts a bet to make you fall. he didn't expect to actually care. you didn't expect to trust him. now neither of you can tell what's real, and what was a part of the bet.

main masterlist ✷ series masterlist ✷ ch.2 ✷ ch.4

warning: some misogynistic stuff, toxic bet, all lowercase, jack's japan crash is mentioned, use of yn

a/n: y'all please comment or use asks to talk abt the alcott or my other story. i want to hear what y'all have to say🫶🫶

your head rested on lance’s shoulder, trying to sleep but all you could about was jack’s crash right in front of you. the fact that he didn’t respond, how he couldn’t stand up without your help. 

it played over and over in your mind. 

you thought of the team meeting, “last warning, yn. you can't be this reckless. you already have 8 penalty points.” you didn’t say anything, just looked at your shoes like a scared little kid getting scolded by their parents. 

“you okay?” lance asked, softly. 

“yeah.” you lied. 

a few seconds later, esteban spoke up “i’ve seen you with jack a lot these days” 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, an eyebrow raised.

“nothing just an observation.” 

you nod, not knowing what to say. 

esteban speaks after a few seconds, “he’s really nice you know?”. 

“yeah he seems nice.” you say, unbothered.

“i think you talk to him.” 

you don't reply, esteban's first statement replaying in your mind.

“he looks up to you, yn.” esteban says. 

“just talk to him please.” you don't say anything. “for me” he adds. 

you roll your eyes “if i say yes, will you stop pestering me?” 

“yes” he says happily. 

“then i will talk to him”

jack was alone during the drivers parade, he didn’t know who to talk to. he pretended to check his phone.

you were in a corner, almost hidden by lance and esteban.

“hey jack” he hears your voice, you sign him to come over.

he joins them as you, esteban and lance rank the coffees in the paddock. 

“no williams’ coffee is one of the best.” you said. “stake was also good” 

“aston is good” lance says.

“no” you say, simply. 

"WHAT" lance says, animated. you just shrug.

“what abt redbull?” jack asked. 

“they should stick to energy drinks.” you say, causing lance and esteban laugh. 

jack smiles, feeling comfortable while the three of you discuss coffee again. 

the conversation was interrupted by natalie pinkman. 

“so yn. pole position, congratulations. how do you feel about the race?” 

“i'm really happy with pole position, of course and i’m looking forward to the race. we have the pace.” 

“that’s a great spirit to have.” 

“and we have to talk about japan. you getting out of your car in fp2 to check on another driver? you don't see that often do you?”

you shrug your shoulders. 

“you know that is against protocols” 

“sure but i'd rather get told off for caring than drive away when someone might need help” 

“a lot of people online are calling you heroic, while some are calling your actions reckless. what do you have to say to that?”

“i don't really care as to what the internet had to say about me. i did what i thought was right”

“well thank you so much, yn” 

you hand her the mic back and turn around to continue your conversation with lance and esteban. jack, sitting a little to the side, listened to the whole interview, noticing the way you didn’t so much as glance at him when you turned around.  

taglist: @the-navistar-carol @landorris@sainz0fthetimes @anunstablefangirl @ceekokocee15 (taglist is on)

[emmasmoke8]

I’ve been thinking about the rules of time travel in Sonic the Hedgehog (specifically gameverse and IDW). I’ve got ideas

We know from 06 and everything Silver has done that the future is malleable. You can go back in time to change the future. Whatever you change will ripple outward, erasing the timeline where you did nothing

Ex. In the future, Rouge and Shadow discover a shutdown Omega. When they return to their present, Rouge gives Omega a Chaos Emerald. Now, he has one going forward in time, allowing him to help Shadow

Now, it’s a bit tricky to say who remembers timelines. It’d be easy if there was someone from the future who didn’t go back to the past, but both Silver and Blaze did so they know about the future they originally came from and the future they helped change. Of course, that timeline was also erased, and presumably Blaze returned to her own time (or this became a timeline where she never needed to abandon her dimension? I’m still not quite sure why she was in 06)

Timelines can be erased, in which case no except time entities remember/interact with them (i.e. Time Eater retrieving Mephiles from a timeline that doesn’t exist). Except, it’s implied Sonic remembers, so… let’s not talk about him. I think Sonic’s an anomaly who doesn’t obey the rules of time (which kinda makes sense if he can go really fast because of the whole relationship between speed and time)

Another question is how does anyone time travel. 06 gave us two answers: a time entity (like Mephiles) does it or two Chaos Emeralds do it. We also know from CD that the Time Stones exist

Silver doesn’t seem like he’s interacting with a time entity when he travels, so… Either he’s found a way to use two chaos emeralds by himself (unlikely), he uses the Time Stones (possibly), or he has some other means SEGA won’t disclose

When I thought about that, I was left wondering why Silver ends up in the ‘times’ that he does. Why did he show up at the end of the Metal Virus arc, was basically my main question. This is the answer I came:

Let me explain:

In Gerald Robotnik’s journal, we get the line, “I don't want to get ahead of myself, but this robot may be the cause of the destruction of the Fourth Great Civilization.”

The Fourth Great Civilization is also referenced in Sonic Battle as the civilization the Gizoid (Emerl) destroyed

This means that the Earth in the Sonic franchise has gone through four “great civilizations” (and we’re likely in the fifth). I can’t confirm this, but the Ancients might have been one of these civilizations

If they are, they were more or less ended by the End (what irony) and evolved into Chao. The Fourth Great Civilization was ended by Emerl. They were civilizations that prospered and then were ended, giving rise to new civilizations

Another quote from Sonic Unleashed: "When the beast is complete, its dark arms shall encompass the planet, ushering in the end of times. The world, in death, will fall into a deep sleep in waiting for the time of rebirth to come." —Gaia Manuscripts, 4:28

Basically, Dark Gaia will destroy the planet and Light Gaia will return it to its natural state. Usually, this involves breaking the Earth’s crust, but sometimes, Dark Gaia just wipes everything clean. Light Gaia has to remake rather than restore

You might be asking what either of these have to do with time travel. The answer is that these prove Sonic’s planet is one of cycles. A lot of us probably knew that, but I just wanted to show proof.

At the largest scale, it is a cycle of destruction and creation on a planet level. A touch smaller than that, it’s civilization. They rise and have a cataclysmic event that makes them fall. Another rises in their place, destined to fall, too

Iblis/Solaris was likely supposed to be the Fifth Great Civilization’s fall, but Silver has prolonged this cycle

But, if we’re working on cycles, maybe Silver doesn’t have control over ‘when’ he appears. Maybe there’s a singular channel that cuts through the cycle. Silver travels along that cycle.

That’s where my illustration came in. Let me put it again to save us all from scolling

Sonic maintime is the “present” or the games. Silver is the “future” or whenever he is. The axis of time travel is the channel I was talking about. Silver rides it from his time to Sonic’s time. He can’t go backward or forward in Sonic’s time

Let me see if I can put this in the correct terms: this is why Silver cannot travel to a point in time that is before his latest visit. Present!Sonic will never meet a version of Silver that doesn’t remember every other visit he has made to the past

Here’s another picture

Slightly different, see?

Now, I think the cycle in question is the one for civilization rather than Gaia’s whole business. I don’t think Silver (or any time traveler except maybe Solaris?) can travel to a “destroyed Earth” or “Earth from a previous cycle”

OR—conversely—Silver is part of the next cycle, and he can only time travel to the corresponding point of the previous cycle. Like so:

This is also a possibility. In this case, maybe there are two Blaze’s. One from the Sol Dimension, and one from Sonic’s Earth’s next cycle. In this way, Blaze is still Sonic’s counterpart/equal (just in the next cycle), and don’t get me started on Silver being Shadow’s counterpart/equal

If you guys didn’t hate this, would you want me to explain my thoughts on Sonic/Blaze and Shadow/Silver parallels?

Anyway, that’s all I have to say. No idea what I was trying to prove. What do you all think? Is Sonic’s world an endlessly repeating cycle? Does time travel in this world hold up to any scrutiny? How does Silver time travel, and how much control does he have over when he ends up?

[gumcatbd]

If I can hop into the chatting, since I love this sorta thing: As someone with chronic pain due to a disability, I would definitely say that Rocket probably has chronic pain just due to the way he's forced to move for certain, and I think it's really interesting to explore what living with that chronic pain is like for him!! I love thinking about ways the guardians might adapt to that pain, and the ways he himself might deal with it. Like what times does he push through it for lack of options, and what times does he just give up on doing something because it's not worth it?

If Rocket's always in pain, it's most likely worst at the joints, as tends to happen, and given the alterations to his body, that seems feasible. However, I also think his spine likely has a ridiculous amount of pain as well, so jumping around and climbing would be the worst on him, might be why we don't see him do it THAT much even though he CAN be incredibly agile. (Some people conflate people with chronic pain as being immobile, but I'm one of the fastest people at my work despite my pain)

I picture things like kitchen cabinets, something so small so daily Fridges, tall and full of important to reach stuff.

When Rocket's having a lot of pain, is it worth hopping up to the counter, or climbing up? Is it worth the pain? The shame of asking for help reaching those things? On days like that, does he just skip whatever he needs up there?

Is that why he was putting everything low, and on the floor in Volume 1? Because he simply didn't wanna have to reach high up for anything? Even if it technically made it more of a problem for the others

and speaking on the metal thing

It's said he has a "Cybernetic Skeletal Structure" in volume 1, does this mean his entire skeleton is made of tech and metal? Does this mean his whole flarkin' skeletal system's been REPLACED????

that would suck like crazy. A whole skeleton that absorbs hot and cold like crazy. He'd feel temperature twice as bad as the others. I had a whole thought process about how he'd need to create a perfectly temperature regulated environment just to exist comfortably

Winter missions would suck

Summer missions would suck

poor flarkin' dude would hate all of these, and before they learned, I can totally imagine the others just thinking he's grouchy and annoying for always getting mad that they gotta do that stuff, because he would do it anyways

-

Now switching to thinking about Rocket's first days out of the lab because you mentioned it

Why does Rocket Steal

This is an important question

Would anyone spare food or money for a tiny 'animal' that could talk? Would anyone even give it a shot to work for some cash? Would anyone extend it kindness or treat it's wounds?

Chances are: No

So what do you do? You need to survive?

You steal, you fight, you try to do anything you can to keep living, because you pushed yourself to run, you already failed to get them out, you can't fail at the thing you got them killed trying to do, is what he'd think

And it's the only real option besides dying, anyways

Eventually you live like that for long enough that you get good at it

And you find out you can make money not-so-legally, and you can hunt 'bounties', and turn in jerks who deserve it, and some who maybe don't. But it's finally something new

So you keep at that, you make a buddy somewhere along the way who's been through stuff like you've been through, and you just try to keep living still

And eventually, you have a plan!

Make enough money, and you two can both go far, far away, somewhere no one's gonna hurt either of you anymore, and you can build a new, peaceful life. No more stealing. No more fighting. Just you two, and the endless green, and the endless sky.

Then you get roped into a whole mess, meet people who will eventually treat you better than you've really had before, except from your buddy who's dead now

You get to raise his kid, too. His kid's never gonna feel what his dad did. Or what you did.

You don't have to steal anymore. Still gotta fight but you aren't fighting alone anymore. You even get a place to sleep every night.

Then you do a job, helping out these guys who were made by the same guy as you were made by, who look down on you so much, which you've dealt with before, but they look down on your buddies too, and that strikes a nerve, always has. And just like when your buddy'd get bullied, you make a mess, you go for a trick to get back at 'em, and you steal some batteries

You steal to survive

Then you steal to fund your dream

Then you steal out of revenge

That's why I think Rocket steals

Honestly I think I lost the plot a little got too into the rant but hope you two don't mind, I love y'all's thoughts and these were what were coming to mind from my brain

Been thinking about Rocket’s cybernetics lately, and how he probably has to make adjustments to his clothes so that nothing abrasive rubs up against the metal in his back. I imagine that all of his jumpsuits probably have extra padding back there. I wonder how they affect him in different temperatures too, like if they ache more in the cold. Or do they ever get hot? Some clothes I have with metal buttons heat up in the sun and it feels hot to the touch. Since the implants are metal would the same thing happen? Also would he avoid lying down on his back because it would put pressure on them? I feel like they probably hurt him pretty often, but it’s something that he’s lived with for so long that he almost pays no mind to it unless he gets a particularly bad flare up. 

I can’t remember now if we see it on the Nova Corps body scan or not, but are the visible implants more surface level or are they actually connected directly to his skeleton/muscles? I’m guessing the back implants are part of how his skeleton was rebuilt to stand upright and how his spine’s shape was changed and his shoulders were broadened. 

I headcanon that he’s had to perform maintenance on his cybernetics, including self-surgery. I was talking about this with someone else on Tumblr a while ago and the one thing we ran into is the issue of the kill switch. If changes were to be made to his cybernetics it would undoubtedly set it off, so what we came up with is that while Rocket was unable to deactivate the switch he was able to temporarily stall it, allowing him to do the work he needed, albeit under a very limited time frame. 

[somnidasha]

can we talk about thiam pjo!au?

i mean for liam camp half-blood is like a dream comes true. finally everything makes sense, all his angry issues, all his super reaction. and of course he knows every myth bc he was obsessed with greek mythology as a kid. and of course when he sees a god, or a hero he just need to ask is this true? is this how it happened? is this guy in the hawaii shirt the god of wine?

and let's be honest not all of the gods and heroes and monsters like to be reminded of their past. some of them gets really irritated. and you don't want to deal with irritated mythical creature. liam knows that, thank you very much. he doesn't need to be reminded of that either. especially not from someone like theo raeken. especially not in his sarcastic i'm-the-smartest-guy-in-the-room-because-athena-turned-out-to-be-my-mum kind of way that makes liam want to punch him in his stupid face. "everyone knows the stories, it's not like you're the special one. take my advice snd try to shut up if you want to survive this camp" was the exact thing theo told him the day liam arrived to the camp. not very warm welcome if you ask liam.

but it's theo raeken. and there's rumours. some people say he killed his family in his way to camp, some say he was kidnaped by mythical creatures no one saw before, some insist his family was abusive sp he ran away from his home in the age of 8 and never came back. people talk about him. and one thing liam never could fight is his curiosity. so the first capturing flag he's almost attached to theo, watching what the guy'll do.

"did stiles ask you to watch me or is this your little hobby stalking on people?"

"is this what stiles told you to do? because both of the flags in other direction" if theo wants to play games, sure, liam can play.

"none of your buisness, kiddo" the smug smirk blossomes on theo's face, covering irritation in his voice.

liam is very aware that theo is trying to get on his nerves. but it's almost an instinct to snap back to him "don't call me kid". please the guy is like a year older and an inch taller. what rights he has?

"or what are you going to do, babe?" the asshole even got nerve to lean closer to liam.

see, the guy has it coming. he was literally asking liam to punch him in this stupid face. you can't really blame liam for that.

that was the speech liam was preparing for chiron on their way back to camp. what a sight they were. both of them are covered in each others blood, swords are forgotten on the field along with their armour. liam pretty sure that next morning he'll have a beautiful black eye. and theo seems to have a broken nose (which is way worse on liam's opinion), but the asshole still manage to look smug about it.

"what are you smiling at asshole?" liam asks when the urge to punch theo in the face again becomes almost unbearable. both of them are laying in the hospital waiting for cory the apollo kid to take a look at their wounds.

"you know we were at the same team, right?"

"wasn't my decision, was it?"

and they turns into silence for a very long minutes while cory where examining their injuries. theo's nose is broken indeed and liam feels sick to his stomach, because he can get out of this place and theo should stay longer for whatever operations cory considers necessary. liam hesitates at the exit. he's really sorry that he hurted theo. he really sorry that his anger got out of his control. again. maybe the camp half-blood can't fix this problem. maybe it's not just demigod thing, maybe there's something really broken in him. and then out of a sudden theo squize his hand for a moment. liam wasn't even aware their hands was close enough for that.

"maybe you can survived this camp after all" theo says suprising liam even more.

"what?" liam tries to ask, when theo's nodded somewhere above liam's head.

the ares mark. he got claimed. claimed by the ares. as if his ied wasn't enough problems for him. of course he got claimed by the fucking god of wars. great. what can possibly go wrong, right?

and as if he can feel that liam's about to freak out theo reaches for his hand giving it a little clap. "welcome to the camp half-blood, kid"

and before liam can punch him, theo's rushing to the exit "say hi to malia for me. and try to not get killed before your first quest"

[charliegyrth]

Fattening the ICE Agents

Using Donuts to Fight Injustice

This story is based on an anonymous reader suggestion. It gets a little political.

***

Business was slow. Again.

I looked at the clock. 10:30. This should be my busiest time. A month ago, I would’ve had a line of people at the counter. Today, nothing. So far, I’d only sold two empanadas dulces and three (no, four) coffees. If things didn’t pick up soon, I don’t think Franz’s Donuts was going to make it. So much for the American dream.

Just as I was wallowing in my own panicked thoughts, the door opened and a strikingly handsome blond guy strode in.

El Milagro was a small border town in southeast Arizona. It was a close-knit community. Less than 5,000 full-time residents, plus a bunch of temporary farm workers in the spring. I felt like I knew pretty much everyone here, but this guy was a total stranger. He approached the counter with an arrogant smile. “Yo. Thank God I found the one normal place here.”

“Thank you?” I had no idea what he meant by “normal.” He was a paying customer, so as long as he was happy, that’s all I cared about.

He spent a while looking at the selection. I had an assortment of standard donuts, but because the area was mostly Mexican-American, I also had churros, conchas, coyotas, and a bunch of other pastries that I had to teach myself to make when I first settled here two years ago. This guy passed over all of those, focusing instead on the maple long johns and apple fritters on the top shelf.

“I’ll take one of those, please.” He nodded toward an apple fritter. “And a coffee, lots of cream.”

“Of course.” I got him his order, but since I had plenty of extras (and I really needed some repeat business), I gave him two more fritters on the house.

He flashed me a conspiratorial look. I couldn’t tell if he interpreted the freebies as my way of flirting with him. Maybe I was. A little. The guy was gorgeous. Square-jawed. Muscular enough for his chest and arms to strain against his tight black shirt. He reminded me of the farmboys back home in Austria.

He paid. Left a pretty big tip, too. “I’ll have to tell my buddies about this place. See ya.”

I tried not to stare at his ass as he strutted out the door. He was already nibbling on his first apple fritter.

***

That night, I brought bags of my unsold donuts to Iglesia del Sagrado Corazón, the small church near my house. I’m not religious (at all), but the people here were so kind to me when I first moved to El Milagro, and most of my friends went here, so I always tried to pay them back when I had a surplus. (And these days, I always had a surplus.)

Manuel greeted me at the backdoor. He was a handsome guy, about a foot shorter than me but with a big, loud personality. You ever meet someone who exudes friendliness from his pores? The kind of person who seems genuinely happy every time he sees you? That’s Manuel. Probably my favorite person.

Tonight, there was a nervous edge to his smile, though. “Franz! You’re always so generous!” he said in Spanish.

I handed him the two bags of goodies. “It’s been a slow week,” I admitted.

“I know,” he said darkly, switching to English. He nodded toward the open door, where I could see that the church was sparsely populated for a Saturday evening. Apparently my shop wasn’t the only place suffering.

“What’s going on?” I followed him inside and helped him arrange the pastries on a table.

He listed off the latest families that had been rounded up by ICE, all people I knew. I was aware of the growing number of raids, but I didn’t realize that things had gotten this bad. Even the Padillas were gone now, and they’d been a part of this community for decades.

As he talked, I felt so guilty for all my business worries. Of course I was struggling. All the local businesses were. Our regular customers were either gone or too afraid to leave their homes. I’d been a naturalized citizen since 2023, but I still worried that they’d come for me, too.

“How can I help?”

He glanced at all the donuts. (People were already snatching them up.) “You are helping, Franz. Thank you.”

“Well, if you need anything else…” I didn’t know what else to say. Normally, I’d hang out for a while. (I loved spending time with Manuel.) But I said my goodbyes, waved to a couple of my friends, and headed home.

***

The next morning, that blond guy came back, and he wasn’t alone. He brought five of his friends with him. They loudly joked with each other as they walked inside. They all looked the same: muscular, handsome, and white.

“This is it!” the blond guy announced to his buddies.

The tallest, skinniest guy in their group let out an exaggerated sigh. “Finally! I feel like I’m still in America.”

I flinched. El Milagro was in America. And just because I was white didn’t make my place more American than any of the other shops in town. I mean, seriously. This was Franz’s Donuts, not fucking Frank’s Donuts.

“What can I get you?”

The blond guy ordered first. He wanted another apple fritter. The others took more time figuring out what they wanted. They stayed away from my more “exotic” pastries, except for the tall guy. He ordered a churro. Then the other guys razzed him about it, so he switched to a jelly donut.

As I was working the register, they started joking around about some farmer that they’d just tackled to the ground. They acted like it was hilarious how the poor guy tripped over a sprinkler and fucked up his leg.

“Serves him right,” the blond guy said. “If he doesn’t even know how to say, ‘My ankle is broken!’ in American, then he shouldn’t expect special treatment, right?”

He looked at me when he said that, assuming that I’d agree with him. “It’ll be $14.50,” I said.

Thankfully, he didn’t notice the icy tone in my voice.

I gave them their donuts and tried to block them out as they sat at a table and continued laughing and bragging about their latest arrests. These were ICE agents, if you couldn’t tell. I hated them with a burning passion. And because they were so fucking loud, I couldn’t drown them out.

Even though the blond guy looked younger than the others, he seemed to be their leader. He was the most obnoxious.

As I stood behind the counter, I started thinking about ways that I could stop them. Maybe I could lace their brownies with laxatives, so that they’d shit themselves while they were tackling innocent people to the ground. No. That’s a bad idea.

But I had to think of something. As one of the only white businessowners in this town, they automatically trusted me. They assumed that I actually liked how they were terrorizing my community and threatening my customers. If they had any sense of empathy, they would’ve noticed the disgusted look on my face. But nope, they didn’t.

And perhaps I could use that to my advantage.

I didn’t have a plan or anything. (That laxative idea was pretty stupid.) But if I played nice, earned their trust, and made sure that they kept coming back, then I’d have time to think of something.

So as they were getting ready to leave, I dropped an assortment of free donuts on their table. “On the house, gentlemen.”

“Nice!” the tall guy said.

A couple of the others thanked me. Then the blond one stood up, gave me a flirtatious smile that he made sure the others couldn’t see, and said, “Glad to know someone in this godforsaken place actually has the right priorities. I’m Tom.”

“Franz.” I shook his hand. He had a surprisingly weak grip for someone so outwardly macho.

He walked past me and added a few more dollars into my tip jar. Then they were gone.

I knew they’d be back. I just hoped I could hide my anger long enough to think of a way to get them out of town.

***

Two weeks later, I was wiping off the counter when Tom and five of his buddies came in for their morning donuts.

I forced a smile. “Morning!”

Tom came in at least once every single day. He always brought at least three other people with him, though they rotated. Over time, I got to know all their names and favorite donuts. I learned that they used El Milagro as their base, but they worked throughout the whole region, mostly targeting farms and factories. They were on a six-month contract with the goal of flushing out “all illegals” by the end of summer. (It was early March.)

“Hey, Franz. The usual, please.” (Three apple fritters, though he only paid for two.) The others ordered long johns and bear claws.

As always, they gave me tips that more than covered all the free stuff I was giving them.

They ate at their usual table, lost in their loud, obnoxious conversation.

I was miserable. Every day, I was surrounded by these people, and I still couldn’t figure out how to stop them. They were scaring off my other customers, too. Franz’s Donuts had gone from a local business into a racist meeting ground. And I was complicit.

The only silver lining was… Well, there were two. First, I was making enough money to stay afloat. By giving them so many “free” donuts, they were overflowing my tip jar. (The government paid them a ton, apparently.) And second, I was starting to notice that these ultra-fit guys were starting to soften up. Every one of them was thickening around the middle, especially Tom. It felt good to know that my pastries were having such a clear and fast effect on their bodies.

I still felt awful, though. And with each passing day, as I overheard more of their horrendous stories, I lost hope that they would ever leave us alone.

***

That evening, I dropped off my leftover pastries at Iglesia del Sagrado Corazón. Because the ICE agents always finished my donuts, I only brought the Mexican desserts that they never touched. I knew that I was no longer selling churros or conchas anymore, but I still made the same amount. Donating to the church was the one way that I could feel good about myself.

“Hi, Franz!” Manuel was sitting in the courtyard with our friends Tony and Gilberto. For the first time in weeks, they looked happy. Tony was even wiping tears from his eyes after laughing too hard.

“What’s going on?”

With a big smile, Manuel jumped up and gave me a hug. That caught me by surprise. (And I loved feeling his strong arms wrap around me.) “Thank you, my friend.” He wasn’t talking about my donation, though. He was thanking me for something else.

“What did I do?”

Manuel turned to Gilberto and asked him to show me a video.

Gilberto held up his phone, and I saw a video of two workers running from an ICE agent in a field of cotton. I didn’t recognize the workers, but I recognized the agent. It was Tom. He ran as fast as he could, but he couldn’t catch up to the men. He stopped for a second to hold his side and catch his breath.

The workers stopped running and walked past him, knowing that he had gotten too out-of-shape to catch them. Tom screamed something racist and started running again. He ended up tripping over his own feet and landing face-first in the cotton. That’s when the video ended.

Tony was cry-laughing again.

“It’s because of you,” Manuel told me in Spanish. “I didn’t understand why you would be so nice to those invaders, but now I understand. You’re fattening them.”

“I guess I am.”

“¡Eres un genio!” Tony shouted. (“You’re a genius.”)

I wasn’t. This was entirely unintentional. But if it works, it works.

“And those workers?” I asked.

“They’re safe,” Manuel said, smiling as he ate one of my churros.

And just like that, I finally had a plan.

***

When I saw Tom the next morning, he came alone. A bit of his confident swagger was gone. He ordered an apple fritter but told me that he only wanted one. “No freebies today, please.” Yesterday’s failed arrest was a wake-up call, apparently.

“Okay,” I said. “But if you’re trying to cut back, you can try one of my sugar-free, low-carb ones instead.”

His eyes widened. “Yeah? You have that?”

I pulled out the tray of apple fritters that I made special for him. “Of course. They’re not popular, because the taste isn’t the same without all the unhealthy stuff. But they’re great for weight loss. I’ll let you try the first one on the house.”

He greedily grabbed one off the tray and rushed back to the table. I watched excitedly as he took the first bite. Then he moaned. He literally moaned!

“You can taste the difference, right?”

“Uh huh,” he said, tearing off another bite.

“Do you actually like it? Most people don’t.”

“This is incredible!”

“That’s, um, surprising. I guess because you’re such a naturally healthy guy, you’re one of the lucky ones who prefers the healthier stuff. Would you like some more?”

He scarfed down the rest of the fritter, then raced back to the counter. I sold him six.

As he ate, I made up a bunch of stuff about how healthy they are. “Guilt-free fritters,” I called them. He had no idea that the real reason he liked the taste was because I packed them with lard and appetite stimulants.

***

A month later, Tom didn’t show up for his morning donuts. Five other agents did, but not Tom. This was his first time missing breakfast.

I asked them where he was.

Jonathan, the guy with probably the smallest belly, said that he was on a diet now.

Such a disappointing thing to hear. The highlight of my day was seeing him waddle in, just a bit bigger every time. His belly was finally dropping over his pants, and his face was rounding out. He was also more bottom-heavy that his other gaining coworkers, so a lot of his new weight was packed onto his thighs.

The other ICE agents were all chubbing out thanks to my lard-soaked donuts, but none were as gloriously overstuffed as Tom. I’d miss seeing him, but I had a feeling he’d be back. The cravings were inside him now.

I listened to the guys talk. They’d become less boisterous in the last few weeks, probably because their arrests were down. It’s hard to chase down targets with pounds of added blubber hanging off their formerly athletic bodies.

Suddenly, my cell rang, so I headed into the kitchen to answer it in private. I didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello? Franz’s Donuts.”

“Hi! It’s Manuel.”

My heart fluttered at the sound of his voice. “Where are you calling from?”

“Rosa’s Diner,” he said, trying to keep his voice down. “Guess who’s here.”

“Tom.” Who else could it be?

Manuel excitedly told me about the fat ICE agent eating a Caesar salad all alone.

“Yeah? And what did Rosa add to it?”

“Extra dressing. Cheese. Lots of bacon.” He stifled a laugh. “And she soaked all the lettuce in melted butter. I just wanted you to know.”

“Thanks. Tell her to add salt to his second plate so that he’ll drink more soda.”

We laughed for a little bit before Manuel ended the call.

I fucking loved this. Every business in town was collaborating on making the agents fat. We had weekly meetings at the church to discuss strategies and brag about our efforts. Manuel and I spearheaded the project. He always kept me posted, especially when it came to Tom. He was our favorite target.

Through the door, I could hear my customers getting ready to leave. I had to rush out there and give them some freebies.

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait,” Manuel said. “Can you come over tonight?” It sounded like he had more ideas to discuss.

“I’d love to.”

***

I stood in front of Manuel’s door and adjusted my hair. I hated how nervous I was. Manuel was my best friend. I saw him every day. I’ve been over to his place plenty of times. But… This felt different. It was already dark outside, and it was just going to be the two of us.

He opened the door before I could knock.

“Come in! Come in!” He excitedly pulled me inside. “Very handsome.”

My heart sped up. “Uh, you too.”

He was dressed all in black. His shirt looked a little tight on him, especially around the stomach. He wasn’t gaining weight as quickly as the ICE agents, but he was definitely gaining. It felt like he wanted me to notice.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his dining room, where he’d already laid out tamales and a plate of boiled beef. It smelled delicious. And oddly familiar.

“Is this… tafelspitz?” I asked. He made me real Austrian food? He remembered when I told him about my favorite childhood meal! I was… I can’t describe how I felt.

“I tried my best.”

We sat across from each other. My nervousness was gone. Now, I was just curious. “What’s the special occasion?”

He shrugged. “Let’s eat.”

I took a tamale and a couple slices of the beef. He’d made a horseradish sauce, but he’d added some Mexican spices. The flavors melted in my mouth. This wasn’t a traditional Austrian dish. It was a perfect fusion of two different cultures.

In a way, the dinner felt like a message. I know this sounds cheesy, but it was like he was using food to remind me about why we were on our mission, why we were fighting for our country. America accepts everyone. It combines flavors and brings together ingredients to make something new, something better. And just because the current government had chosen to purge an entire segment of our community, that didn’t take away from the true ideals of our chosen country.

Yeah, this probably sounds like I was reading way too much into this meal.

“It’s delicious.”

“Thank you.”

We ate in silence for a long time before Manuel finally told me why he invited me. “I like you, Franz.”

I assumed he walk talking in a friendly way. “I like you, too.”

“I know.” His voice sounded more serious.

I looked up. He was staring at me. His dark eyes were steady. “You’ve been interested in me for a while, haven’t you?” he asked, switching over to Spanish, I guess because it’s easier for him to communicate his feelings.

“Yes.” I’d been attracted to him since the first time we met, though he never treated me as anything other than a friend.

“You’re a good person, Franz. And I think…” His voice trailed off.

I waited for him to continue.

He stood up and walked to my side of the table. Then he grabbed my chin and kissed me. I tasted a dozen different spices on his tongue.

***

A few hours later, we were lying in bed together, both trying to catch our breath. In a way, this felt too fast. In another way, this felt like we’d been waiting years. He was incredible. His small, compact body felt so natural against me. He was both gentle and powerful, desperate to take me and hungry for my touch.

His naked body was stretched out next to me, his head resting on his hand and his rounded stomach spilling out onto the mattress. Without his clothes on, his belly was fatter than I’d realized. Not soft, though. Just firm and round.

He smiled at me. I smiled at him.

And I couldn’t help it. I reached over and stroked my fingers against his chubby middle.

“I’m fatter now,” he said, as if that wasn’t obvious.

“You’re hot.”

“I know. I like this.” He placed his hand over mine. We were feeling his belly together. “I saw what was happening to the invaders…” (He always called the ICE agents “invaders.” Invasores.) “And I was curious what it would feel like.”

“So you… chose to…”

“I’ve been eating their special food for weeks. I think that’s why I finally invited you over. I feel confident now.”

That surprised me. Manuel always seemed confident. He was a ball of positive energy wherever he went, always comfortable with himself. But I guess he felt like there was something missing.

It was so strange to compare him to my customers. Their weight gain didn’t turn me on. At all. In fact, I used to think that some of them were kind of attractive, and the softer they got, the more they repulsed me. It was like their inner flaws were manifesting on their bodies. They were getting uglier by the day.

But Manuel was different. He was… beautiful.

“Do you, um, want to get bigger?”

“Of course.”

“Do you want me to help you?”

“Of course.”

***

By the middle of August, the ICE agents stopped coming to my shop. I heard from a couple different people that their superiors had put them all on diets. They weren’t meeting their quotas and they could barely function in the Arizona heat.

I knew this day was coming. I was both happy that our town’s plan had worked and disappointed that they didn’t just get fired and leave town. They still had one more month until their assignment was over.

I saw them on our main streets sometimes, waddling around and acting tough. Each one of them was outright obese now. Tom (who gave up his diet and went back to eating my donuts after a week of staying away) was the biggest and softest by far. His hips flared out and his belly hung low. I wish I knew how much he’d gained in these five months. At least 50 pounds. Maybe closer to 75? I know that sounds like a lot, but... lard has that effect.

People weren’t afraid of them anymore, which was a mistake. They didn’t have the physical strength that they used to, but they still had the government-sanctioned power to separate families and disappear innocent people.

And because this was their last month, they were more forceful and desperate than ever.

I had just closed up for the day and was taking my bags of leftovers to the church. I brought two bags with me, one for donations, and one just for Manuel. I hoped that he was in the mood to let me feed him tonight.

The church was weirdly quiet when I got there. The front doors were closed and there was only one car in the parking lot. Manuel’s.

When I got to the back of the building, I saw a large figure crouched on the ground. It was Tom, struggling with something. His shirt had gotten untucked and his pale belly was flopping out. I rushed closer, and that’s when I saw Manuel squirming under him.

“What are you doing?” I screamed.

“None of your business!” he shouted.

I could hear Manuel whimpering. His eyes were red from pepper spray and his chubby body struggled to escape from Tom’s massive weight. The handcuffs were out, but Tom hadn’t clamped them on yet.

“He’s a citizen!” I shouted. “You know this! You already checked!”

“Just gotta be safe!” Tom shouted back.

Of course that was a lie. He just needed to fill his quota before the end of their assignment. ICE had gotten to the point where it didn’t matter if someone was a citizen or not. They just needed more people to round up.

I had to do something. Once Tom got those cuffs on him, then there was no turning back. He’d get lost in the system. And even though he was innocent and 100% a citizen, who knows how long he’d be locked up or if I’d ever get to see him again.

I could fight Tom. I’d win easily. But then I could get sent away, too.

I got as close as I could without interfering, and I shouted, “I made you fat!”

Tom immediately froze. “What?”

“You’re a fucking monster. You all are. So I made you fat.” I told him everything I did (everything the whole community did) to sabotage his health. I laid it all out.

He stood with a grunt, completely forgetting about Manuel, and ran at me. His hanging gut bobbed in front of him. His face was twisted in anger.

I backed away. I didn’t have to move fast. In fact, I purposely didn’t. I weaved around the parking lot, allowing him to get close multiple times. I was messing with him, showing him how my efforts had made it impossible for him to catch me. He was a helpless, panting blob.

This gave Manuel the opportunity to run back to my place.

Eventually, Tom doubled over, his hands on his knees and his lungs struggling for oxygen. “W-Why?”

I didn’t answer him. If he didn’t understand why we all united against him, then that was his own problem.

***

“Salud!”

Manuel and I clinked glasses. He was drinking a milkshake while I had a margarita. The ocean breeze ruffled his black hair and the sun made his dark skin golden. His was shirtless, and his thick belly (much softer than a month ago) was soaking up the rays.

We were in Puerto Vallarta, spending the rest of summer away from El Milagro. ICE was set to leave our town in a few weeks. Then we’d go back home. It was pretty empty now. Our population had been decimated and a lot of families had chosen to move away. It was going to be tough to get back to our normal lives, but if the community was going to rebound, it needed us. It needed everyone.

And while our time in Mexico was blissful (and great for Manuel’s growth), it wasn’t home. We were Americans.

I crouched onto the sand and rubbed lotion on Manuel’s belly while he slurped up his drink. “How are you feeling?”

“Fat and happy,” he said.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed. Gilberto had just texted him.

He took one look at his phone and burst out laughing.

“What?” I wiped my hands and pulled the phone from his chubby fingers.

There was a news article on screen: “ICE Efforts in Arizona – A Huge Success.”

It was from Fox News, of course, raving about how our region had been saved from rampant crime by the efforts of these noble heroes. (The article didn’t include actual statistics, obviously. Just the usual brand of xenophobia and nonsense.)

And the picture at the top of the screen showed a lineup of all the officers, every one of them grossly fat. Tom stood at the end, looking like a smiling Jabba the Hutt.

(The president gave them all medals.)

“Can you believe this?” Manuel asked.

“Only in America.”

I went back to rubbing his beautiful belly. Those officers looked awful in the picture, destined for desk jobs as they spiraled further and further into obesity. But Manuel, my Manuel, wasn’t like them at all. He was a different kind of fat.

He was beautiful.

And no matter what happened in the future, we’d always love and protect each other. And we’d always stand up for what was right.

The End

Thanks for reading. Support your neighbors.