#seriously how was the government this dramatic

[alive-gh0st]

❝Hearts Don’t Miss❞

Omni!Mark Grayson x Cupid!Reader➶

•♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡˚₊‧ ꒰ა 💗 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡•

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❤︎ summary: you survive in a silence that doesn’t feel neutral anymore. he’s gone. or avoiding you. maybe both. you try to stay unbothered but absence has a shape and it looks a lot like him. and when he finally shows up, he doesn’t apologize. you argue. quietly. like you always do. and for a moment, he almost stays. almost reaches. almost tells the truth. but the door still closes. and this time, you’re the one who whispers after him.

❤︎ contains: sfw. emotionally repressed war criminal x emotionally repressed divine being. omni!invincible (barely). cupid!reader (tired). slow burn agony. mutual silence as mutual yearning. isolation. exile. ANGST. dinner avoidance. return of the stupid orb. jokes to cope. watching the sky like an idiot. protective body language. quiet returns. the ribbon. proximity tension. hand brushing. voice cracking. flash of vulnerability. him not staying. not yet.

❤︎ warnings: emotional repression. abandonment themes. unresolved trauma. exile (ongoing). past violence (vague). mutual denial. hurt/comfort (but mostly hurt). soft things framed as dangerous. unresolved grief. being wanted by someone who doesn’t think they’re allowed to want. someone who leaves before they’re left. parent issues. childhood disappointment. unhealthy expectations. crushing silence. villain origin foreshadowing.

❤︎ wc: 3959

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: did it seriously take me this long to write anything—just for it to turn out to be heart-crushing angst? hell yeah. also, i’m actually sick. rotting in bed. you’d think that means i had more time to write—wrong. turns out illness doesn’t make you productive, just dramatic. anyway, if i suffer—you suffer. that’s the deal. enjoy the emotional damage 💔

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You notice it in the quiet.

Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind people write songs about or daydream into.

No—this kind is sharp around the edges.

Suspicious.

It hums under your skin like a sound you’re no longer hearing.

There’s no faint gust of wind against your bedroom window tonight—brushing past your cheek like it belonged to someone. No shift in the air. No flicker of motion behind your shoulder.

No faint static buzz to warn you that someone with a God complex and boundary issues has landed nearby again.

You wait anyway. Still. Like muscle memory.

But nothing comes.

Not the red-and-white blur at your window. Not the too-loud sighs echoing from the hallway… neither the hovering silence above your bed that you used to pretend not to hear.

So you breathe.

Roll your eyes at yourself. And mutter something stupid like, “Guess even war machines need days off.”

You tell yourself it’s normal.

That he’s probably just busy.

Invincible things.

World-ending, time-sensitive, bigger-than-you things.

Maybe the government kidnapped him for a diplomatic mission. Maybe he got distracted by a meteor or—

Or maybe—just maybe—he’s doing this on purpose.

The thought comes uninvited.

You don’t like it, but it lands hard anyway. You try to laugh it off. Try to play it cool.

You’re Cupid, after all.

Happy, fearless, emotionally unbothered. That’s the brand, right?

So you crack a joke under your breath as you slam a cupboard shut.

Something biting and dumb, like, “Sorry if emotional vulnerability was too radioactive for you.”

Besides, it’s not like you miss the eye-rolling. The grunting. The barely-there don’t touch that whenever you got too curious around his weird anti-people gadgets.

And then pretend you’re fine again.

You last a full twenty minutes before you’re watching the sky like an idiot.

Head tilted just enough to catch movement if it comes. You lose track of how long you sit like that—waiting for a shadow to ripple through the sky.

It’s pathetic.

You hate it.

Hate how often you’ve been pacing the apartment, checking the time even though you know he doesn’t live by clocks.

How you keep catching yourself listening for wind—like you’d somehow hear him land if he didn’t want you to.

The worst part?

You miss him.

Not just the awkward hovering, or the overbearing “do not touch that” energy, or even the weird way he always acts like you’re two seconds from stealing military secrets.

You miss his presence.

The unshakable, unyielding weight of it.

Like gravity had favorites and his name was first in line.

And now—it’s just empty.

The food still appears. The lights still auto-dim when you yawn too loudly.

But the air feels different. Hollow. There’s no sound. No tension.

No one breathing down your neck like you’re one bad day away from becoming an interdimensional threat.

No him.

You almost call out his name once.

Almost.

You fall asleep curled on your side, curled into the blankets, with the soft, fluffy fabric up to your chin, barely blinking at the ceiling.

The hallway beyond the room glows soft with distant light—the one that still smells like ozone and blood and—him.

The same hallway Invincible always appears from.

Or used to.

Your throat tightens. Just a little. Just enough.

It slips out before you can stop it. So quiet you almost don’t hear it.

“…Where the hell are you?”

And this time, even the silence feels like it’s avoiding you.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Days stretch like bad dreams.

You work, sort of.

Fiddle with the medkit on the counter. Try not to break anything else in Invincible’s Very Important Anti-Everything Home.

You almost knock over some kind of vibrating green orb again.

You don’t even try to guess what it does this time.

You just offer it a stiff little bow and whisper, “Apologies, Supreme Orb of Probably Nuclear Consequences.”

Mature. Dignified.

Cupid-coded.

The food still shows up.

You don’t ask how. You stopped trying to figure it out after the third day when a perfectly toasted croissant and imported guava juice appeared on the kitchen table with no sound, no fanfare—just mocking normalcy.

You’re pretty sure it’s him.

His version of still taking care of you.

As if feeding someone counts when you’re not there to look them in the eye.

You try to leave the apartment once.

Just once.

You reach the front door.

Twist the handle. Push.

Nothing.

You’re locked in again.

Great.

You stand there for a second, staring at the door like it personally betrayed you. Debate flipping it off. Maybe slamming your fist against it.

Maybe calling him a tyrannical tin can with trust issues.

But you don’t.

Cupids don’t flip.

They flourish.

(Still. You do mutter something spicy under your breath in ancient celestial. That counts.)

You try to change the dressing on your back later that day—wings still torn, bones still not bones anymore—but it stings in a way it didn’t used to.

It’s not the pain.

It’s the absence.

His hands always knew how to avoid the worst spots.

Always a little too gentle for someone who calls you a security risk.

You stop halfway through and leave the bandages loose.

Everything feels… off.

Too quiet. Too still.

Like you’re living in a version of the world that got paused while you weren’t looking.

Even the light feels wrong. Too golden. Too soft.

You’ve been counting the ceiling tiles just to stay grounded. 142 of them. One of them’s cracked in the corner. You stared at it for six minutes today.

You sit by the window again that night.

Legs tucked up, forehead resting against the glass. You’re on your 18th sky-watch of the week.

Something moves overhead.

Your heart skips, stutters.

But it’s not him.

Just a bird. Or a plane. Or—whatever.

Not him.

You let out a breath that feels like it was holding something inside it.

And then you laugh. Bitter. Too sharp. Too tired.

“What, did I short-circuit him that bad?”

The words echo around the room. Bounce off the high ceilings. Come back quieter.

You shake your head. Stretch. Stand.

Tomorrow, maybe you’ll try to escape again.

Or maybe you’ll just learn how to break the stupid green orb and hope for the best.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You don’t hear him land.

No sonic boom. No shift in air pressure. No warning.

You just turn—and Invincible’s there.

Standing in the middle of the living room like the past—almost 2 weeks—hadn’t unspooled you at the seams.

Same suit. Red and white, spotless. Same red cape and those black goggles hiding too much.

Same sharp, unreadable posture that always walks the line between calm and coiled.

Your heart stutters.

But your face doesn’t move.

He doesn’t say anything for a second.

Just watches you from across the room—like you’re a mission he forgot he accepted.

Then—

“Have you eaten?”

You blink.

Seriously?

You stare at him. Just… stare.

And he just stands there like a statue with an attitude problem.

Like this is normal.

Like this is how people re-enter each other’s lives after vanishing into the sky for a week with no explanation and locking them in a floating apartment.

“Have I—?” Your voice cuts off. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“No, actually. I’ve been too busy playing twenty questions with your security system and writing apology poems to radioactive looking things.”

A beat.

He tilts his head slightly. “So… no.”

Your eye twitches.

He walks past you toward the kitchen, like nothing’s happened. Like this is any other day.

You don’t follow. You don’t move.

You just stand there.

Stuck in place.

Like your body is waiting for him to say something that sounds like the truth.

He doesn’t.

You hear the fridge open. A drawer slide. The soft clink of utensils.

Normal sounds.

Fake sounds.

You lean against the doorframe and let out a breath through your nose. “Are we gonna talk about it,” you ask, voice flat, “or just skip to pretending again?”

Invincible doesn’t look up.

Doesn’t answer, either.

Just keeps his back to you. Steady. Untouchable.

And it’s almost impressive—how someone that powerful can shrink a room with silence alone.

You cross your arms.

Wait.

The air feels too still again.

You hate it.

But you don’t leave.

Not yet.

Because maybe, just maybe, if he’s here—then this means something.

Even if he won’t say it.

Yet.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

He shouldn’t be here.

Mark knows that the second he steps into the room and hears the way your breath stutters—soft, surprised, hurt.

He doesn’t need super-hearing for that.

You’re sitting on the couch, a fuzzy blanket tangled around your legs, eyes already narrowed like you knew he’d eventually show up and were preparing to hate him for it.

You don’t say anything.

And he doesn’t either.

Because if he opens his mouth, he’s not sure what will come out.

An apology? A reason? A lie?

No.

So he asks if you’ve eaten.

It’s stupid. He knows it.

The second the words leave his mouth, he wants to claw them back. Wants to say something real instead.

Something that sounds like the weeks he spent avoiding your voice.

Your eyes.

Your touch.

But you just blink at him.

Then roll your eyes and say something about radioactive objects and apology poems.

And he almost smiles.

Almost.

Instead, Mark turns away.

Retreats into routine.

Opens the fridge. Pours juice. Makes sure the knife hits the counter at the exact right angle—controlled.

Detached.

The longer you stay quiet behind him, the harder it gets to breathe.

And he doesn’t want to look. Doesn’t want to see the way you’re watching him now.

Because you always look like you see too much.

The second night back, Mark catches himself hovering near your door.

Listening.

Hoping you’ll say something first—anything that would make it easier.

But you don’t.

Not until day two. Not until he’s walking past the living room and you stop him with four words that slam straight through his chest.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

He freezes.

Doesn’t face you. Doesn’t blink.

You keep going. Calm. Cold.

“You disappear. Then act like it never happened. Like I imagined the part where you locked me in a weaponized apartment and didn’t show up for almost two weeks.”

He exhales slowly. Still doesn’t turn around. His fingers curl slightly at his sides.

You wait.

Then—

“Say something, Invincible.”

His alias name sounds strange coming from you now. Like something old and soft being scraped clean.

Mark turns—finally.

And the look in your eyes almost makes him wish he hadn’t.

You’re not mad.

You’re disappointed.

That’s worse.

His voice is too quiet when he speaks. Too raw.

“You touched me like I was human.”

The air shifts.

He watches your expression crack—just for a second.

“Why?” he asks. “I’m not. You don’t know me.”

That’s the part that’s supposed to hurt.

That’s the push. The thing that gets you to stop trying.

But you don’t flinch.

You step closer instead. Just enough to make the space feel too real.

Too fragile.

“Then show me,” you say. “Or don’t. But stop blaming me for seeing more than you want me to.”

It’s too much.

Mark scoffs. Shakes his head.

Tries again, sharper this time.

“You think this is a storybook? I’m not some tragic hero. I’ve torn entire cities off the map. I’ve made this planet kneel.”

You don’t move.

Just blink.

“Cool,” you say. “So did half of my love targets back when I was a Cupid. Try again.”

He almost laughs.

It sounds like a broken thing in his throat.

And then, finally—his voice cracks.

Just for a second. Just enough.

And you catch it.

Of course you do.

You don’t say anything. Don’t press.

But your eyes stay on him. Steady. Soft.

Like you’re waiting for him to stop lying to himself.

Mark looks away.

And for the first time in years—he doesn’t feel invincible at all.

The silence stretches.

This time, it doesn’t feel empty.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The night stretches long after the silence settles. The dinner has been served. But—

Mark doesn’t leave.

He thought he would. Thought he should.

But his feet never move.

You don’t say anything else. You just go still—arms crossed, back straight, watching him like the quiet might shake something loose.

He should go.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, Mark lingers.

At the edge of the room. At the edge of something else he won’t name.

The floor feels too loud under his boots.

And when he finally steps closer—it’s slow.

Careful.

Measured like a threat.

Not close enough to reach you. Not far enough to pretend he doesn’t want to.

Just enough to feel the heat of your presence again—without letting it swallow him whole.

His gaze doesn’t meet yours. It hovers somewhere near your shoulder.

Safer that way.

Less lethal.

You’re still watching him. Quiet. Waiting. Not demanding answers.

Just existing in that unbearable way you do—like you see everything and won’t say a word until he says it first.

He stops when the space between you is thin enough to feel. Not touch. Just feel.

You shift.

Your fingers move. The air does too.

And then—your hand brushes his.

It’s accidental. It has to be.

But it’s real.

Skin to skin. A second. Maybe less.

Mark tenses.

Instinct coils fast in his spine, in his jaw, in the base of his throat.

His body reacts like you hit a nerve.

He jerks—then stops.

Doesn’t move away.

You notice.

Of course you do.

But you don’t look smug. Don’t say anything clever. You just breathe out steady and say—

“You think I don’t see it. But I do.”

His jaw clenches.

His eyes flick to yours. That’s a mistake.

Because you’re looking at him like he’s not made of blood and violence. Like he’s something worth staying for. Even now.

Even still.

“You’re not what you think you are.”

The words settle between you like a secret.

And it’s not a declaration. Not a plea. It’s just truth—quiet and solid.

And that makes it worse.

Mark doesn’t answer.

Just looks at your hand like it’s a flame and he’s not sure if he deserves to burn or not.

His own hand lifts.

A little.

Halfway to yours.

Then—stops. Folds.

Drops.

And the distance stays.

But something else lingers there too.

Something unsaid.

Something unfinished.

Something he doesn’t push fully away this time.

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You don’t chase him.

Not when Invincible steps back.

Not when his hand drops like it never meant to reach for yours in the first place.

You don’t say a word.

You just breathe through it—through the ache in your chest and the way your fingertips still hum from almost touching him.

Because you felt it.

Even if he didn’t say it—you felt it.

That split second of want. Of weakness. Of maybe.

The silence after feels louder than anything he could’ve said.

It presses against your ribs, makes your pulse ring in your ears.

You’re alone again, technically.

But not really.

Because his silence is still here. Sitting beside you like a ghost with perfect posture.

You don’t look back as you leave the room.

Your feet carry you into the hall, down toward the shadows and the softer light and the quiet that doesn’t try to explain itself.

Each step feels heavier than the last. Not because he’s gone.

But because he almost stayed.

Your hand curls tight at your side.

You shouldn’t feel like this. You know better than this.

You’re a Cupid.

But still—your heart pounds.

Loud and uneven. Like it wants to remember the almost instead of the nothing.

You pause in the doorway to your couch.

The table beside it is different.

You notice it immediately.

Something small. Familiar.

A ribbon.

Not just any ribbon. Yours.

One of the ones Invincible stole.

Or borrowed. Or kept. You never figured it out.

You stare at it.

It’s been placed there deliberately—neat, centered, soft in the low light.

Like an apology that can’t speak. Like a note without ink.

Your throat catches.

You reach out, pick it up gently.

It’s light.

Lighter than the silence, at least.

But it folds over your fingers like it knows how tired you are.

You hold it like it might bleed.

And then, too quietly, like a secret just for the walls to hear, you whisper into the night.

“…Why do you always leave me with the soft parts?”

No one answers.

Not that you expected one.

You clutch the ribbon tighter. Like it means something. Like he meant to leave it. Like that matters.

And then—you turn.

Climb onto the sofa. Curl in on yourself without thinking.

The blankets wrap around you easy, familiar.

Like they know how this part goes.

You don’t cry.

You don’t scream.

You just go still again.

Like maybe if you’re still enough, he’ll come back and finish the gesture.

But Invincible doesn’t.

So you pretend it doesn’t matter.

Again.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Mark almost makes it out without waking you.

Almost.

The apartment is quiet. Dim.

Lit only by the lazy gold haze spilling through the windows. The kind of morning that pretends it’s softer than it is.

You’re still curled on the couch where you fell asleep.

Blankets half-kicked off. Cheek pressed against your arm. Breathing steady, unaware.

He stares too long.

Lets himself pretend, for a moment, that you’ll stay asleep—that you’ll never know he was standing there.

That maybe if he leaves without the goodbye… it won’t count.

Won’t hurt.

His fingers hover over the door panel.

Ready. Close.

Mark doesn’t mean to linger.

He meant to be gone before you woke up. Quiet. Clean. A clean cut never bleeds as much.

But you shift before he can actually open the door.

It’s soft—barely a sound. Just the faint rustle of blankets against fabric. But it slices through him anyway.

Your eyes flutter open. Groggy. Unarmored.

That makes it worse.

You sit up slowly, couch creaking beneath you. Hair sticking up in the back. One of your sleeves has slipped down your shoulder.

It shouldn’t make his breath catch.

But it does.

He turns before you can speak—like maybe if he just leaves now, you’ll forget he was ever here at all.

But your voice stops him.

Low. Still half-asleep. But steady.

“…You were really gonna leave without saying anything?”

Mark doesn’t answer at first.

The door in front of him hums softly.

Unlocked. Open. Waiting.

His black goggles gaze at it like it might do the leaving for him.

“I thought it’d be easier,” he says eventually.

His voice is flat—hollow. “If you didn’t see.”

You exhale. Slow. Careful.

“Easier for who?”

Silence.

It stretches again, thin and tight, wrapping around the both of you.

He closes his eyes.

“You always look at me like you’re waiting,” he mutters. “Like I’m gonna be something I’m not.”

Your feet hit the floor.

“You mean something you don’t think you are.”

That makes him turn.

Slowly.

You’re standing now, wrapped in the same blanket you fell asleep under. You don’t look angry.

You just look tired.

And soft.

And a little hurt.

Mark hates how much he wants to stay.

His fists clench by his sides. Then release.

“I’m not what you see,” he says. “And I don’t want to watch your face change when you realize that.”

You don’t argue.

You don’t have to.

Because Mark knows the truth.

You already see him.

Somehow—

You’ve always seen him.

You just won’t say the thing he’s not ready to hear.

So instead—you smile.

It’s faint. Barely there. Almost cruel in how kind it is.

But it doesn’t break.

It doesn’t beg.

Just waits.

Mark exhales once. Sharp.

Then—

He turns back to the door.

Hand reaches for the control panel.

And just before the metal peels open, he says it. Not loud. Not soft either.

“Don’t wait up.”

You don’t answer.

Not at first.

You let the door open.

Let the wind rush in, colder than before.

And just before he disappears into it, your voice finds him—light as thread, soft as knives.

“…I will.”

But he’s already gone.

And the door shuts behind him like it always does.

Too loud. Too final.

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˗ˏˋ 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆 ˎˊ˗

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌A long time ago, before he knew what leaving felt like.

The living room is too quiet.

Too clean.

Not a single cushion is out of place.

The floor gleams. The air smells like whatever the Graysons use to wipe down glass—chemical and lemony, with an undertone of sterilized order.

But Mark’s standing in the middle of it like it’s a battlefield.

Barefoot on the rug. Chest puffed.

A red bedsheet draped around his shoulders—safety pinned in the front like a real cape.

He tugs it tight with both fists. Stands taller.

He even spiked up his hair a little with water so it would fall the same way his dad’s always does after a mission. Sharp. Heroic.

Omni-man.

Mark grins at his reflection in the mirror near the hallway.

It’s a little crooked because of the missing tooth—leaving a gap. It’s also a little too small, but it does the job.

He flexes once. Poses.

Then rushes back to the couch and grabs the sheet of printer paper he left there—crayon scribbles in red and white and blue.

Their family.

Mom. Dad. Him.

Except—this time, he drew himself with the cape.

Not his dad.

Just him.

He hears the door.

The front lock shifts with that signature mechanical click—the one Omni-man’s key always overrides.

Mark freezes, heartbeat picking up.

The good kind. The kind that means he’s home.

A second later, Nolan steps in.

And he’s not alone.

Blood streaks his arms. His cape is torn, ripped at the edges. His face is shadowed—tired in a way Mark doesn’t quite understand yet.

But he’s here.

Mark lights up. Practically launches across the room with the drawing in hand and cape trailing behind him.

“Dad! Dad—look!”

Nolan doesn’t say anything.

Just closes the door behind him. Slowly. Methodically. Drops his keys on the table without looking up.

Mark rushes forward anyway, breathless. Holding the paper up like it’s gold.

“I made this—I made us! But like—if I was a hero too. Like you.”

The little boy spins once, proud.

“I’ve been practicing my landing pose. You know. For when I can fly.”

Finally—finally—Nolan looks.

His eyes scan the cape. The safety pin.

Then the drawing.

He doesn’t blink.

And something changes.

Something behind his tired eyes shift—something Mark won’t understand until he’s older.

“…Where did you get that cape,” Nolan says, voice low.

Mark startles.

“It’s just a sheet,” he says quickly, adjusting it. “Not a real one. I just thought—”

“You don’t get to wear that.”

The words hit too hard.

Too sharp.

Not loud. But not soft.

Mark’s mouth stays open. Drawing still in his hand.

Nolan steps closer.

“Not yet. Not until you’ve earned it.”

Mark’s arms drop.

He doesn’t ask what earning it means.

He just looks down.

“Oh,” he whispers. “Right. Sorry.”

Nolan doesn’t respond. He doesn’t look angry—not really.

Just… detached.

He walks past Mark without another word.

His boots thud once against the hardwood. Then he disappears down the hallway.

Mark’s left standing there.

Cape slipping from his shoulders. Drawing creased in his fingers.

He looks down at both.

Then lets the paper fall.

The cape slides off. Pools on the floor.

He stares at it for a long time.

Doesn’t cry.

Doesn’t move.

Just breathes.

Then—quietly, like it’s a vow—he bends down, picks the cape up, folds it in half.

Presses it to his chest.

And whispers—

“Then I’ll earn it.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ongoing TAGLIST: @f3r4lfr0gg3r @pumpkin-toffee @aloflapse @helloimamistake @brokeaesthetic @mileskisser @lonely-entity @coquette1core @w-starshine @demonsvessel @feminii @marinefreaakk @moleannan @amidrinksti @irlandajacquelinne-blog @beep-boop-baby @flowerwithnomind

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ᯓ❤︎ requested by: @lycheee-jelly

taglist sign up: 𓊆ྀིhere𓊇ྀི

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[gingerswagfreckles]

I think people need to understand that when someone says the situation in Israel/Palestine is complicated they are not necessarily saying that the discussion of who the oppressor vs oppressed is complicated. The Israeli government has been oppressing the Palestinians for a very long time, that is clear, and it is not complicated to understand that at least since the 80s they have had dramatically more financial and military power to keep control of the territory in the way they like.

However, it is reductive and dismissive to insist that there is no complexity in the potential ways to move forward to bring peace to the region. Despite what people on tumblr.edu like to believe, "Israel should never have been created" is not a practical solution to an incredibly heated geopolitical situation in the present day. Israel was created and it does exist. 10 million people live there. 74% of the population is native born and the country has existed for 75 years. Hand waving these fact away with the opinion that "they should move back to where they came from" may make you feel good about being a Radical Leftist, but it does not give anyone a road map for how exactly millions of people without dual citizenship are supposed to just up and evaporate. Nor does it acknowledge the reality that 21% of Israelis are Arabs, the very people you are claiming to want to give the land back to.

Insisting that there's nothing complicated about expecting an entire country's population to willingly dissappear with no consequences is not a productive way to think about this conflict. It ignores the many massive superpowers that have an interest in proping up different states in the region, the power dynamics involved in any land back movements, and the inevitably negative consequences of totally dissolving an established state without a plan. It is also completely and almost comically unrealistic, so much so that it makes it hard to believe that anyone who's opinion starts and ends with this idea really gives a shit about anyone who lives in the area as much as they care about their online leftist clout.

There's nothing complicated in understanding that the Israeli government is and has been maintaining an oppressive apartheid state for decades. It is, however, very complicated to come up with a realistic way to resolve some of the most intricately entangled land disputes on the planet without plunging the region into total chaos. Not everyone has to be deeply educated on every geopolitical situation, but it is very hard to take people seriously when they know nothing about the politics or history of a region and yet insist that there is nothing complicated about it at all.

There's a lot of people on this website who are getting dangerously smug about their own ignorance, and are starting to go down Qanon type anti-intellectual paths in the name of being sufficiently radical. Not knowing the details of a very convoluted land dispute isn't something to brag about online as you call for intentionally reductive solutions. You can support the Palestinian cause and be aware of the oppression they have faced while also holding off on calling people trying to do real analysis and de-escalation work bootlickers. We need to get control of the urge to fit every global issue into a simplistic YA novel narrative structure that appeals to Western revolutionary fantasies.

[tritoch]

the other thing I find very funny about trying to write a canon compliant wol is taking all the wolship hints extremely seriously.

I don't really wolship because I'm just fundamentally not that kind of fan. But I know for those who are, the sheer number of romance hints FFXIV throws at you can be overwhelming to parse in a context where you have a preferred/intended wolship, particularly if you're not attracted to the gender the hints are coming from in the first place (a particular tip of the hat to wlw fans navigating the g'raha of it all). I've seen plenty of people write around them or write them out or be like "no aymeric was for real inviting my wol to a nice platonic zero-subtext dinner," and God bless all of you.

But it's really funny to imagine them all as all-too-real but unreciprocated or perhaps unreciprocatable. The sheer scale of it is comedy. Spoilers for all of FFXIV follow.

Oh God, the Lord Speaker wants to have dinner, just the two of us, at his family estate and not a government building. I hope he doesn't bring up his crush on me. Thal's balls he's about to bring it up—oh thank God there's an emergency. Oh no someone got hurt! Oh no it's the teenage girl with a crush on me.

Your life is a cosmic joke. You watch the Sultana get poisoned and all your friends probably die to save your life and it's kind of all your fault in some ways, I mean at the very least you should've spoken up when they gave the teenager a private army, and then the teenage boy speaks up and is like, "hey, I guess we have at least one ally. What about if we go visit that guy who is really obviously down unbelievably bad for you and wants to lick the sweat off of you." and you have to be like, yeah, Alphinaud. Great idea. Let's do it. I'll call him.

(brief interlude: also haurchefant's DEATH hits so good if you don't reciprocate. It's okay. He gets it. You're going through a lot and even if you had time to sort through your feelings maybe you're just not into him. That would be okay! You can love someone, or the idea of someone, without needing it to be romantically reciprocated. That's chivalric, even. Knightly. So he won't ask you to lie to him and say you love him as he lies dying in your arms. He's not so low as all that. But could you smile for him as you used to? That true hero's smile of yours. And you do, and he dies. And you both know he died for a lie, in a way, or a flight of fancy. And he's okay with that. Are you? Should you be? Should he?)

Then you're into Stormblood and it's like wow, okay. That last part was all high fantasy, of course there were loyal knights and elegant princes. But this is war. Imperialism. Grim business, surely there's no way—oh no BOTH handsome young revolutionary leaders seem to have a special interest in you?! And so does the Crown Prince of the Empire? Come on, man. I should get to do the whole horrors of war thing without having to also deal with this. Gaius sucked and it was weird that he let his foster daughter run around being openly obsessed with him but at least he never made it my problem.

You can't even get away from it across dimensions. Shadowbringers is a horror story about going on a teambuilding camping trip with your work colleagues for some reason except they all suddenly got really hot and they keep touching you affectionately on the shoulder and being like "I care for you and your happiness. Truly." And also you're being stalked for the whole camping trip by two old men who are obsessed with you. The false climax of the story is that the one old man tries to betray you and give a dramatic monologue about how he loves you but the two of you are doomed by the narrative and then the other old man shoots him in the back like "no actually its MY turn to betray them and give a dramatic monologue about how our love is doomed by the narrative." Then the real climax is old man #1 backstabbing old man #2 in the middle of said monologue before old man #2 dies and gives ANOTHER wistful monologue about his doomed love. Then for the patches they're like okay so we have this even CRAZIER old man who's gonna strike when you're weak and give a dramatic monolo—

and that's without even getting into the literal soulmate ghost only you can see

my warrior of light never felt more betrayed than in that scene where Y'shtola is like "haha Alisaie and G'raha have crushes on the warrior of light." Like I thought we were COOL, Y'shtola! I work here! This situation is already in such a delicate balance! Right when I got here I met Alisaie's "friend from work" who was like oh haha so YOU'RE the one she can't stop talking about and we never followed up on that because the woman died horrifically like five minutes later right in front of us! Then when Vauthry got away and we had to do all that shit with the dwarves, G'raha kept pausing every ten minutes to be like oooooh I'm so old I'm gonna die soon...at least I got to spend some time with some people who are really important to me...in fact here's what I'd tell the person who's most important to me...actually u know them really well haha. And I just had to sit there and be like wow, dude, crazy.

even in the face of apocalypse you still gotta go back in time like 12,000 years and there's somewhere there who makes you sit and listen to his story which is that the purpose of his whole godlike immortal life was to be in a throuple with you and old man #2 from the camping trip. and you just gotta sit there the whole time knowing you/your past life is the one who broke up the throuple over politics. He's like come help me harangue the old man into streaking in public, he'll do it if you ask.

then you meet and fight and kill God and you gotta turn to the team and be like hey sorry guys can you give me a sec. I'm gonna call God by her real name because we met one time for like four days and after that the promise of meeting me again was one of the things that sustained her through her millennia of suffering. Not like that but like. Idk. Just gimme a sec!

It's a relief when you finally get to Lahabrea and he's like actually I still don't fuck with your vibe. Like thank GOD.

And my WoL is very obviously dad-shaped so Dawntrail had a very specific energy for me but I understand that for plenty of people your deepening rapport with Wuk Lamat had a romantic subtext (same for Koana depending on how you read a few of his lines). And personally I think it's the height of comedy to be like, noooo, babe, your highness, I know you and your brother the king are in love with me and want me to stick around and support you emotionally through this governmental transition haha. But it's just...the cursed wineglass, babe. I GOTTA go figure out what's up with this cursed wineglass.

It's a running gag in some of the more optional content that people are like "you have an unreasonable number of hobbies and side gigs" to the WoL from time to time. But if every time you tried picking up a new hobby some new elf started baring their soul to you, you too would be like Hey Jessie (or sometimes Krile or Tataru), my good friend who is one of the only people in my life who knows what professional ethics and work-life boundaries are, any chance you need muscle on a gig on the other side of the world? Ideally with only Cid and his ex so all libidinal energy in the room is directed towards machinery or someone who isn't me?

ironically one of the only places you get a break from psychosexual obsession is the nier content

[orbitalpython]

Oh the horror of stabbing clowns

def fic starter

So in a pinch to get a one up on Vlad Danny, Dani and Dan constantly get into shenanigans. Be it the police, the government, the GIW, old miss Sharon from down the street or anyone who will pay any meaningful attention (look they take having chaos as a gender very seriously.) There are constant attempts to ruin Vlad's reputation. He's found the three doing the most random things to get on his nerves. He's found Dani eating furniture, Dan scaring people by telling them when and where their loved ones will or have died ( He has yet to find anything Danny has done only seeing him being scarily normal (what did he do?!?))

But this gala might just take the cake. It was simple, straight forward, Bruce Wayne has dealt with worse. Between child Richard swinging from chandeliers, Jason stealing anything of noteworthy value, Timothy's nonchalant attitude when the gala was in a hostage situation, Cassandra's standoffish quiet nature, Damian's rudeness, Duke's extroverted tendencies and Stephanie being herself. There's nothing Daniel, Danielle and Dan can do to destroy the playboy's sanity than what those brat's did.

He should have just taken that bowling invitation instead (It was really enticing too). The start of the gala was going swimmingly, Little Badger was talking with Timothy, making weird hand gestures, nothing too bad. Danielle and Stephanie were giggling about something looking near the punch bowl where Alexander Luther was, being absolutely annoyed at by Oliver Queen (they likely spiked it going to have to avoid THAT drama). Dan and Damian were squaring up each other with swords (where did they get those this is a public event ('We aren't even at Wayne manor where the Ancients did they get those')). When of course in Gotham 'do as gothamites do' some very kind gas mask wearing folk barge in and spray sleeping gas all over the place, and wake up in some sort of death contraption. It had only been 5 hours. Bowling is seeming very nice right about now.

This was likely the clowns doing if the massive amounts of green and purple spray paint everywhere has anything to say about it.

"Well hello there, All the most rich and powerful people in one Place how unfortun--- ACK." Somehow without warning, without being seen. Daniel was already on top of the Joker with Dan and Danielle off to the side quietly chanting "Stab the clown. Stab the clown. Stab the clown."

Bruce seeing an opportunity to further his case on Vlad Masters takes one look at what's about to happen asks "Your's?"

Sighing dramatically the response is quick and decisive. "No, Mr. Wayne they are... My godchildren, sadly."

A pat on the back with a quiet chuckle. "Well I see, you have your hands full huh?"

Can he have just one day where the 3 love him like a father?

[wherethefigsfall]

“Don’t Call Me That (Unless You’re Mad at Me)”

Pairing: Ellie Williams x fem!reader

AU: College AU, established relationship

Length: ~1.7k

You’re sitting on the couch trying to salvage a half-baked group project presentation that’s due tomorrow, staring at a slide that literally says “Capitalism be wild” in bright pink font when Ellie walks in and drops her keys like she wants an audience.

She kicks her shoes off too aggressively and flops onto the couch next to you with the dramatic sigh of someone who just got dumped and evicted in the same day.

“Don’t ask,” she says, already face-down into the cushions.

You don’t. You just glance at her and go back to the war crime that is your shared Google Slides.

She rolls over. “You’re seriously not gonna ask what happened?”

“No,” you say, deadpan. “I assume it’s mildly inconvenient. Like your favorite pen ran out.”

Ellie sits up and blinks at you. “Okay, rude. But kind of accurate.”

You smirk, still not looking at her. “Shocking.”

There’s a pause. Then—

“Ellie, what happened,” you mutter without looking up.

Another pause. Then a sharp inhale.

“You just called me Ellie.”

Your fingers freeze over your trackpad.

“…Yeah?”

“No baby? No babe? No ‘you absolute freak’?”

You look over at her. “I literally just said your name.”

Ellie squints at you like she’s trying to determine if you’re possessed.

“You never call me that unless you’re annoyed with me.”

You blink. “I’m not.”

“Liar.”

You finally set the laptop aside. “I’ve been staring at Comic Sans for forty minutes. If I sound irritated, that’s why.”

Ellie’s already climbing over you like a cat determined to be in your way. She sits sideways in your lap and rests her chin on your shoulder.

“I just think it’s kinda harsh,” she says casually. “Dropping government names like we’re not in love.”

You snort. “You’re so dramatic.”

She shrugs. “I’m sensitive.”

“No, you’re a menace”.

“Menace with standards,” she mumbles, half-buried in your hoodie. “I still expect to be called baby.”

You glance at her, unamused. “You’re getting nothing until I make it through this slideshow without ripping my hair out.”

Ellie groans. “Wow. So this is how it ends. Cold shoulder over Google Slides.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You watch one psychology TikTok and now you think you’re a licensed therapist.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Okay, Dr. Williams.”

“I like the sound of that,” she says, sitting up straighter. “Say it again.”

“Only if you stop talking.”

She squints. “You’re being so cold to me today. Is this about the last slice of pizza last night? Because I genuinely didn’t know you wanted it.”

“I didn’t. But now I do, retroactively.”

Ellie looks offended. “You can’t just claim food in hindsight.”

“You can if you’re petty.”

Ellie huffs but doesn’t move from your lap. Instead, she hooks her arms around your neck.

“I liked it better when you called me gross pet names in front of your friends.”

“You mean when I said ‘hey loser, come here’ and you acted like I gave you an engagement ring?”

“Exactly.”

You laugh softly and tilt your head forward until your forehead bumps hers. She smiles, eyes closing, her whole body softening against you like it always does when you’re quiet like this.

“You’re so annoying,” you say gently.

“Say it nicer,” she murmurs.

You lean in and kiss her cheek. “You’re my favourite headache.”

She opens one eye. “Still not ‘baby,’ but I’ll allow it.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re really gonna act like this over a nickname?”

“Yes,” she says immediately.

You tilt your head. “What if I started calling you something worse? Like El.”

She physically recoils. “Don’t you dare.”

“El.”

“I swear to god—”

You grin. “E-dawg.”

“Stop.”

You’re laughing now, and she’s pretending to be offended but already smiling, already giving herself away.

You shift slightly, readjusting your laptop and giving her a half-hearted pat on the thigh. “If you get up and make popcorn, I’ll call you baby.”

She considers this like it’s a high-stakes negotiation.

“Movie night?”

“Yeah.”

“Your pick or mine?”

You pretend to think. “Yours. But nothing that’s, like, sad for no reason.”

“Fine,” she says. “But if I see one more Google Slide with neon fonts and drop shadows, I’m unplugging the router.”

“Deal.”

She finally gets off you and heads toward the kitchen, mumbling something about kettle corn.

You reopen your laptop, adjust the disaster of a slide, and call out casually, “Thanks, baby.”

There’s a pause, then—

“I forgive you!” she yells from the kitchen.

Of course she does.

[cheezb6llz]

If you’re willing, I’d love to spoil Movie!Shadow with all the best things. Maybe just a full spa day for him after his crash down to earth. Of course, I’d definitely gaslight him into thinking bath bombs are real explosives to keep things interesting 😈

I hope you’re having a good day/night/time even if you don’t do my request. Thank you

SPA DAY!!!

MOVIE! SHADOW X READER

WHEW THIS IS KINDA LONG.. this was so adorable though i love it!congrats on first non yandere request LMAO written with human reader in mind, def more on the platonic side!!

—————

Shadow had been glaring at you for the past 5 minutes. His arms were crossed, muscles were tense, and that usual scowl was still plastered on his face. The only thing that made it entertaining was the white towel draped over his shoulders, showing his clear reluctant participation in today’s plan.

“I don’t see the point of this.” He muttered while eyeing the steaming hot bath like it was some sort of enemy trap. “This is a waste of time.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a nice swirly purple and white bath bomb you had recently picked up from the store. “Oh please, lighten up! You’ve been through a lot, you deserve a little relaxation.”

Shadow scoffed, but didn’t exactly protest as you held the bath bomb in your hand. You inspected it before a brilliant idea stuck you.

You looked over at him, eyes wide with mocking seriousness.

“Okay, so this thing.. This thing is dangerous.”

That got his attention. His ears twitched as he turned to face you fully. “..Dangerous?”

You nodded, lowering your voice like you were sharing top-secret government documents. “Yeah, you drop this in the water, and BOOM! explosion.” You dramatically gestured an explosion with your hands.

Shadow’s whole body tensed, his eyes darted between the bath bomb and the tub, analyzing the situation like he was preparing for battle. His fingers twitched like he was debating if he should snatch it from your hands and toss it out the window.

But before he could react, you threw the bath bomb straight into the water.

Shadow flinched. His legs bent like he was about to bolt, arms slightly suspended in the air, quills bristling. But instead of some fiery explosion, the bomb fizzed and swirled in the water, releasing a cloud of color and the soothing scent of vanilla and lavender.

You slowly turned to look at him, trying your absolute HARDEST not to laugh. He looked shocked at first, but then his eyes narrowed as he turned to look at you.

“…You tricked me.”

That was it. You lost it. You clutched your stomach as you laughed uncontrollably, leaning forward a bit. “Oh my god, your face! I should’ve recorded that!”

Shadow scowled, crossing his arms again and looking away, murmuring something about ‘idiotic distractions’ or something. But you didn’t miss the way his quills slowly settled and how he hadn’t stormed out yet.. He was actually tolerating this.

After recovering from your laughing fit, you turned back to Shadow, who was staring at the tub as if it had personally offended him. The bath bomb had fully dissolved, leaving the water a soft shade of purple and covering the surface of the water with a layer of foam.

You placed a hand on your hip. “You are getting in.”

“I don’t-“

“Get. In.”

You stared him down, meeting his same level of intensity. Eventually, he sharply exhaled, muttering something under his breath before he stepped towards the bath.

“I loathe this.” He said, slowly sinking himself into the water. He immediately stiffened up.

“Relax, it’s just water.” You stepped closer, grabbing a washcloth.

Shadow shot you a glare, but slooooowly eased into the warmth of the water. His rigid posture loosened as he placed his hands at the bottom of the tub.

You kneeled down at the side of the tub, dipping the washcloth in the water and squirting some body wash onto it. “Alright buddy, lets get you cleaned up.. Wait, should I be using body wash or shampoo for this? Ehh, whatever.”

You said, pressing the washcloth up against his shoulder and gently rubbing it up and down his arm, trying your best to be careful around sore spots. Up close, you could really see how much he’d been through. Scrapes and bruises littered his entire body from the crash.

“..You aren’t used to letting people take care of you, huh?”

You asked, softly running the cloth down his back.

Shadow huffed, barely opening his eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

“Uh-huh.. And yet, here you are..” You dipped the cloth in the water again before reaching for his quills, he flinched. “Hey, quit moving, I’m trying to wash your hair- er- quills- whatever.”

He sighed but allowed it, tilting his head back for you to work. Once you finished, you grabbed a nearby facial mask, one of those cooling gel sheet masks. “Okay, last step, face mask time!”

Shadow snapped out of his relaxed state, eyes sharpening. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh come on-!”

“No.”

“You survived a fall from space, but a face mask is too much for you?”

He watched as you peeled the face mask out of its packaging and carefully went to place it over his face, but the SECOND it touched his skin- nope. He ripped it off his face, tossing it aside.

“That is disgusting.”

You sighed dramatically. “You’re impossible.”

“Hmph.”

Well, that was the closest you were going to get to a “thank you.”

—

Once shadow was washed up and dried off, you guided him over to sit on a low stool in front of you. His fur and quills were still a bit damp, and you could tell he was this close to bolting when he sensed what was coming next.

“You aren’t leaving until I brush you out.” You declared, holding a wide tooth comb in your hand like it was a weapon.

Shadow tensed. “I can handle it myself.”

“Sure you can, but will you? Probably not.” You plopped down behind him before bringing the comb to the thickest parts of his fur. “Just let me do this, okay? You’ll feel better.”

Shadow sighed but didn’t move, and that was good enough for you.

You started slow, brushing through his fur carefully with long and gentle strokes. His shoulders were still tense, but as you worked, you felt him gradually relax. You ran your fingers through his quills, detangling them a bit.

He was softer than you expected. You’d assumed his quills would be coarse and stiff, but once they were damp they had a sleekness to them. His fur, especially around his neck, shoulders and chest was thick but smooth under your fingers.

“Seeeee? Not so bad, huh?” You said as you brushed through the last stubborn knot.

You still couldn’t believe he was actually letting you do this.

You switched to a softer brush and worked through the shorter fur on his arms and back. His breathing evened out as the tension in his muscles fully unwinded. Soon enough, his eyes closed and he slightly tilted his head forward.

You almost gasped. Was he actually enjoying this??

You decided to test it. You ran your fingers along the back of his neck, gently scratching at the base of his quills.

He visibly shivered.

You bit back a grin. “Ohh, so this is the weak spot?”

His eyes immediately snapped open, he turned to glare at you, ears flattening a bit in embarrassment. “Enough-!”

You held up your hands, laughing. “Okay, okay! No more!”

Shadow crossed his arms and looked away.

Still grinning, you pat his shoulder. “See, Shadow? Now you’re all clean, brushed out, and relaxed. Admit it, it was nice.”

Shadow hesitantly answered. “It was.. Tolerable.”

But the flick of his ear and the fact that he didn’t run away completely told you it was way more than that. And that was great.

—

HES SO CUTE AHHHH

[mariasont]

Office Sleepover 2 - A.H

a/n: had sm fun writing this one yall

im so down bad for him ugh

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

part one here! part three here!

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader flashes hotch AGAIN, drinking on government property lmao, drunk reader, suggestive comments

wc: 3.2k

You were restless, to put it simply. Every conceivable activity within the BAU had been exhausted, and you had explored every nock and cranny of the office, leaving no corner untouched. At this point they should start paying you for tour guides because you'd be an expert.

You were bored, frankly, and lonely--the team had been on a case all week and you were stuck here. How Garcia managed was beyond you--the walls seemed to close in on you as stir craziness took hold. You kept busy with work, offering as much help as possible while staying put, but it really wasn't the same.

You missed the team, and a particular member's absence you felt just a tad more, though you wouldn't admit it. Thankfully, they were supposed to be back any second now. While Penelope had a special place in your heart, the thought of sitting through another round of her and Kevin's awkward flirting was almost too much to bear. Without Hotch to keep it in check, it was all the more excruciating.

"Bye, Kevin," you chimed in unison, your voices intertwining just as the door clicked shut behind him.

Once you were sure he wasn't coming back, you shot Pen a knowing glance, arching an eyebrow as you pointed one of her fuzzy pens at her.

"Ease up on the death stare, will ya?" Penelope chided, as she wheeled her chair back to her computers, her finger twirling towards you. "You get so broody when the boss man's gone."

You lobbed the pen in Penelope's direction. "No," you replied with a huff. "I get broody when the whole team leaves me behind."

"Gasp," Penelope declared, placing a hand over her heart. "Can you believe it? They're genuinely concerned for your well-being. The audacity!"

"Okay, but seriously, what's the bigger priority here--my life or my sanity? Because it's a fine line," you said with a shrug, pushing your chair back dramatically.

But, before the chair could gain any momentum, you found yourself abruptly against the wall, your head cushioned by an unexpected softness. Without a moment to comprehend, your chair was spun, your eyes growing impossibly wide as Hotch's belt appeared abruptly in your line of sight. You raised your eyes to meet his.

"Your life, I would wager," he said evenly, "but then again, I might be a little biased."

You sprang to your feet, too quickly, your foot catching, sending you lurching forward. Almost instantly, Hotch's hand was securing around your arm, preventing you from landing straight on your face.

"Oh, Hotch, sir, hi," you said, flustered and slightly disoriented. "I didn't realize you guys were back."

"We just got back," he said, his hand falling away from your arm, and you hated yourself for how you felt a subtle coolness that replaced the comforting heat of his touch. "Do you have those reports I asked for?"

"Oh, absolutely, they're ready at my desk," you assure. "I'll bring them to your office in a sec."

As he nods and exits, your scoop up your belongings from Penelope's desk, raising a finger. "Don't even say it, Pen."

You ignored the way she cackled as you left, moving to your desk to grab the needed papers. You attention was captured by Spencer and Emily standing by her desk. Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around them both, pressing them against you.

"Ugh, I missed you guys so much."

They both laugh, their hands taking you in quickly as you lean against them.

Emily grins, ruffling your hair as she nudges you. "A week away and you're this clingy? We'll have the start weaning you off us, huh?"

"Don't tease," Spencer starts, his hand resting on your shoulder, "But out of curiosity, how many times did you check our desks while we were gone?"

"Too many times to count," you admit begrudgingly, a sheepish grin on your face. As you glance up, your eyes catch Hotch's through the glass pane. "Oops, almost forgot why I came down here."

Approaching Hotch's office, you tap on the door frame and enter. "Here ya go, sir." you offer, extending the documents toward him.

Your fingers lightly touch as he takes the papers, and for a moment, you're rooted to the spot, the brief contact sparking a surge of disarray in your senses. God, it's almost beyond belief that one man could have this kind of effect on you.

Hotch nods his acknowledgement. "Thanks," he murmurs. As you pivot to leave, he adds, "Could you sit down for a moment?"

You cast a teasing look over your shoulder. "I hope I'm not in trouble," you say. His expression doesn't change. "Wait, am I? Because that would definitely be enough to push me over the edge, sir."

"No, you're not in trouble," Hotch assures you. "I've received updates concerning your case."

You lowered yourself into the chair, hands perched in your lap, your eyes wide as you met his gaze. "Please tell me it's good news because I'm starting to forget what my own bed feels like."

"You've been here just over a week," Hotch states, matter-of-fact.

You blow out a breath, arms crossed over your chest. "Hotch, it's scary at night."

He clears his throat, "Anyway, it's good news. We've got a lead on the hitman, though it's not the all-clear you're wanting."

"Well, that's something at least," you concede with a nod. "But I don't get why I can't be involved in this investigation."

As Hotch opens his mouth, you jump in, deepening your voice to copy his. "Because you're too close to it."

He regards you steadily, clearly not amused.

"Yup, okay, I'm done, sorry, I'm leaving now," you relent, getting to your feet quickly and striding towards the door, but a hand beats you to it, closing it abruptly and effectively barricading you in.

With a quick turn, you ended up flush against the door, Hotch's hand resting against the wood just above your ear. You felt like you were short-circuiting, your eyes growing wide as they met his. He says your name, but it doesn't quite register--too engrossed in the heady scent of his cologne, the pressing warmth of his body, the nearness of his chest, so close that an inch's movement could mean a soft kiss to his neck. Not like that would be totally inappropriate or anything.

"What?"

"I said, I'm worried about you."

You wanted to kiss him, man, you really wanted to kiss him. You bit the inside of your cheek to refrain from doing so.

"Why?"

It was barely audible, more air than sound, not daring to disturb the space too much, afraid of him suddenly becoming aware of just how close he was.

"You're very quick to make light of things, to make jokes, but I'm asking you to be real with me here. What are you feeling?"

His hand left the door, settling on your shoulder, his thumb hovering just shy of the hollow of your neck. Unconsciously, you found yourself leaning into the gentle pressure.

"That sounded sarcastic, Hotch," you noted, your tongue briefly sweeping across your lips, which seemed to dry out as you talked. "You're not implying my jokes need work, are you?"

His lack of response and narrowing eyes made you cave.

"Okay, fine, Hotch. You want the truth? I'm scared, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That I have nightmares every night? That I can't sleep?"

Your breaths came faster, teeth meshing tightly as you stared up at your boss. His hand found your cheek, his thumb sketching a path across your skin that ignited a trail of goosebumps over your whole body, making you hyper-aware of your every pore.

"What can I do to help?"

Stay with you, kiss you, fuck you--numerous thoughts ran raced through your thoughts, but none of them seemed wholly appropriate.

"N-Nothing, Hotch, really, I'm okay. It's not something that can be fixed, which is why I didn't say anything. Plus, everyone on this team has been through worse. I can handle it. I'm tougher than I look."

"I know you are, but I—," his words were cut short, a sudden knock at the door silencing him mid-sentence.

His hands fell away from you, but the sensation lingered, the heat of his touch seeming to brand you, marking where he had been. You ran a hand through your hair in an attempt regain some form of composure, just as he opened the door to reveal JJ.

Her eyes darted between the two of you, finally focusing on Hotch. "Sorry, guys, I have that footage from the press conference--is that what you needed?"

"Yes, right." Hotch nodded, pulling the door open further for her, then returning his attention to you, observing your flushed cheeks and uneven breath. "We'll continue this later, okay?"

"Yeah," you exhaled sharply before ducking out of the room.

You need to get a grip, or maybe a Xanax, probably both.

Once the office had emptied, leaving you alone, you sat pitifully on your bed. It was Friday, but there was not much cause for celebration when you were stuck here, surrounded by stale office air. You sprawled out on the mattress, tracing the patterns of the popcorn ceiling overhead. If someone didn't figure out this hitman situation, you were going to take him out yourself.

Not really, that would definitely be a death wish. Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of muffled shuffling outside your door. Sitting up, you slid into your slippers and stepped out into the hallway.

"There she is!"

You snickered as Penelope extended her arms with jazz hands, while JJ and Emily lifted their arms to show off their wine stash. Gratefully grabbing a glass from Emily, you pulled them all into a group hug. "I can't help but feel like we're about to be the subject of a very specific memo from HR after this."

Giggles from JJ accompanied the wine pouring as you stepped back. "Hotch is surprisingly on board we this—encouraged it even. Can you believe it?"

Warmth dusted over your cheeks at the thought. You wanted to kiss him even more, if that was even possible.

"Trust me," Penelope insisted, shaking her head as she paused for a drink. "I wouldn't dare cross HR again. Once was more than enough."

You wanted to say you were a classy gal, confident in your ability to drink responsibly--it was only wine, after all, not Everclear. But as the night went on, your voice rose a decibel too high, your balance a bit unreliable, and your displays of affection way too unrestrained.

You were already a touchy person, ask any of your team members, but with a few drinks, you're giving high school sweethearts a run for their money in the PDA department.

Your arms were flung around JJ's neck, peppering her cheek with kisses as you sang along to whatever music Pen was playing in between smooches. JJ was laughing, tilting backward on her heels, nearly knocking you both over.

"I love you guys. So so much." you said, each word stretched and muddled as you reached out to Penelope, who happily linked her fingers with yours.

"You are so drunk!" Emily accused, her palms squishing your face as she chuckled.

"'M not," you protested, words stifled by compressed cheeks.

She freed your face to grab more wine, Penelope not far behind, as you situated yourself on your desk chair.

"You know who I also love?" you questioned to no one in particular as you slid your phone out of your back pocket. "Morgan, Reid, Dave, and--,"

You paused, your nose crinkling as you bit down hard on your tongue.

"And?" Penelope pressed, brows raised as she looked at you expectedly.

"Hmm?" You hummed innocently, blowing a kiss her way as you shrugged off her question. "I'm gonna call Morgan."

Your eyes darted down to your phone, only to find the room swirling like a carousel. It took a heartbeat to register--someone's voice was already coming from the speaker.

"Hello? Morgan? How'd you know I was going to call you?"

"It's Hotch."

Your eyes grew comically large, a hand flying over your mouth, smothering the laughter that threatened to fall. "Hotch! It is so late! Why are you calling me?"

You shushed the group with a finger to your lips, the girls' curious eyes on you as JJ practically crawled towards you to eavesdrop.

"You called me." He paused. "Are you okay?"

"Hotch," his name was more of a whine than anything as you tossed your head back. "I'm fine, like, the definition of A-Okay. I'm with my friends and we're all kinds of okay."

You shot Emily a thumbs up.

"Good. Okay." Another pause. "Maybe drink some water, yeah? No more wine."

You gasped. "Agent Hotchner, I am a federal agent of the government. I know when I should be cut off."

"Oh, my god, get her off the phone."

You don't know who said it, but it sent you spiraling into another round of giggles, the phone slipping through your fingers while JJ pounced on it.

"Hey!"

She held up a hand, keeping the device just out of reach.

"Yeah, she's pretty drunk." JJ said, then frowned. "Hotch, listen she's more of a lightweight than we realized." You slumped against the chair. "Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir."

JJ ended the call and placed it back into your hands. "I cannot wait until you remember this in the morning," she sang, before casting a glance to the others. "Also, a heads-up--Will's almost here."

"No!" It came out louder than intended, almost a shout, as you stood, sending Spencer's pens tumbling. "Whoopsie." You latched onto Penelope, murmuring, "Stay here, don't leave me."

Penelope's laughter rang out, her hands cradling your head. "Worry not, I've set the security guy straight--if you get even a scratch, I'll make him regret the day he was born."

"See, this is why you're my favorite," you whispered.

"Heard that."

Will eventually texted JJ, letting her know he had arrived. As the they waited by the elevator, the doors slid open to reveal Hotch standing there. A squeal escaped you, matched by his single raised eyebrow surveying your condition.

Your cheeks were painted a rosy tint, hair in a delightful tangle, and your shirt hanging askew off your shoulder--you were an adorable spectacle of disorder, and he found himself suppressing the small smile that threatened to reveal his amusement as the other girls filed into the elevator.

He had made them promise not to leave until he got there, not keen on the idea of you being left alone like this. It might have been an exaggeration, but when you butt dialed him and he heard the sound of your slurred speech it had him envisioning all sorts of worst-case scenarios. Sure, he had seen you drink during team nights out, but nothing like this.

"Hotch!" You shouted, moving to him with a rapidity that might be, well definitely, was ill-advised.

He stood motionless as you looped your arms around his neck. You smelled so nice--a sweet hint of vanilla instead of the anticipated alcohol. After a brief hesitation, his hands slowly found their way to your waist.

"What are you doing here, silly?" You ask, pulling back just enough to see his face. "Wait a second, please don't say we have a case."

A subtle smile played on his face, his hand not budging from your back. "No, there's no case."

"Oh, good," you murmured, your head bobbing lightly in approval. The light touch of your fingers at the base of his neck spread a warmth through him. "You want a drink? I think there's still some wine left."

"No, I'm fine," he said, clearing his throat and taking a step back. "I think you need to get to bed."

Your hands lingered at his neck, softly exploring his hair as you looked up with a smile that made his pulse race unexpectedly.

"Is that an order as my boss or a suggestion as my friend?"

He raised his brow. "Both?"

"Well, okay," you shrugged as you took a step back. "Wanna see my room? I don't think you've seen it yet. Everyone else has."

Without giving him a chance to object, you dashed down the hallway. He trailed behind with reluctance, knowing just how dangerous this could be for him. He was all too aware that he shouldn't be here, let alone in your room in your current, wine-fueled state.

You fumbled for the light, fingers slipping before finding the switch as you stumbled into the cramped room. It was pink. Very pink. The pullout couch was lost beneath a mountain of pillows, excessive by any standard. Your closet was bursting, and a collection of gadgets and gizmos had overtaken the room, but he liked it, a lot.

Your collapse onto the bed sent pillows scattering to the floor, his mind wandered about the unseen details of your bedroom at home, and even more so, the thought of what a shared space between you two might look like.

A sigh escaped him as he stood over you. "How about changing into your pajamas first, hm?"

"No thank you."

"You're going to hate yourself if you wake up in jeans tomorrow."

"Fine." You pouted, propping yourself up on your elbows. "Top right drawer please."

He shot you a look but obliged anyway. There was something about that puckered out bottom lip that made him think he'd do just about anything you asked, like he was putty in your hands. Pulling out the most conservative pair of pajamas from the sparse selection, he made a mental note to ask about that later.

"Thank you," you said with a smile. He really liked your smile. "You know, you're really such a nice person, Hotch. Or—Can I call you Aaron? Just tonight?"

He felt a sudden emptiness in his chest as the air was knocked out. "You can call me Aaron. Just tonight."

A high-pitched squeal escaped you as you began shedding your clothes. He offered a stifled cough, quickly averting his gaze and nudging the door closed with his free hand.

"Well, Aaron," you said plainly, "I really like you."

The effort it took for him not to pivot on his heel was immense, particularly when your voice sweetened like honey at the mention of his name.

"You're a great boss."

"I like you too, Agent."

"No, you don't, well, I mean—you can turn around now," you said. "You like me, but I really like you. It's not the same."

As he turned to face you, he could sense his cock twitching in his pants, a physical reaction to the sight of you fumbling with your shirt, your tits exposed in full view, as if begging to be touched.

"Christ," he hissed, gripping the ends of your shirt and yanking down. He was sure you were going to hate yourself in the morning. "You're not making sense, and I think you need to sleep it off."

"Yeah," you replied, your eyes warmly meeting his as you gave him a lopsided smile. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you in such casual clothes, Aaron. You look very handsome."

He needed to get you to bed before he did something he'd regret. He softly nudged your shoulders backward, offering no verbal response. You surrendered to the motion with complaint, your remaining strength insufficient for anything else.

Softly, he settled to blankets around you, taking a moment to study you, with the intention of memorizing you completely (even the part of you that was far too drunk).

"Goodnight, Aaron."

He summoned all his restraint to keep from crashing his lips into yours. He smoothed back your hair, allowing himself that as he shot you a tired smile. "Goodnight."

He hadn't even touched the doorknob when your plea reached his ears. "Aaron, I—, will you stay with me?"

And who was he to deny you anything?

next part!

taglist: @chronicallybubbly

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

3 AM crisis

character: Nam-Gyu X fem!reader

Summary: After watching a conspiracy theory video, Nam-Gyu wakes you up in the middle of the night to ask if you think pigeons are real.

Warning: namgyus crazy ass theories

You’re fast asleep, comfortably curled up in your blankets, dreaming about something pleasant—probably food, if you had to guess. But then, a sudden weight shifts on the bed, followed by a sharp poke to your arm.

"Hey," a hushed voice whispers. "Hey, babe. Wake up."

You groan, barely cracking an eye open. The room is dark except for the faint glow of Nam-Gyu’s phone screen, casting eerie shadows across his face. His brows are furrowed, his lips pressed into a serious line.

"What?" you mumble, voice thick with sleep.

"Are pigeons real?"

You stare at him. Blink once. Blink twice. "What?"

Nam-Gyu leans in, his expression deadly serious. "Pigeons. Are they real? Think about it. Have you ever seen a baby pigeon? Ever? Anywhere?"

Your brain, still struggling to boot up, short-circuits. "Nam-Gyu. It’s three in the morning."

"I know! But I fell down this rabbit hole, and I think—no, I know—they might be government drones. Or spies. Or something! It makes too much sense!" He shoves his phone into your hands, showing you a video paused on an ominous-looking thumbnail: a pigeon with glowing red eyes. The title reads: "THE PIGEON PARADOX: BIRDS ARE NOT WHAT YOU THINK!"

You sigh, rubbing your temples. "You woke me up for this?"

"Yes! And you need to hear me out!" He sits cross-legged on the bed, full of nervous energy. "Okay, so pigeons are everywhere, right? But we never see them at night. Where do they go? Government charging stations, that’s where."

"Nam-Gyu—"

"And the way they stare at you? Like they're always watching? Because they are!" He gestures wildly. "Have you ever noticed how they don’t seem scared of people? They just strut around like they own the place. You know why? Because they do!"

You groan and flop back down. "I cannot believe this is happening right now."

Nam-Gyu dramatically flops next to you, staring at the ceiling. "I'm just saying, what if we’ve been lied to this whole time?"

You roll onto your side, looking at him through tired eyes. He’s fully in detective mode now, eyes wide, brain running at full speed.

"Do you actually believe this, or did you just watch too many videos again?" you ask.

He hesitates. "…Maybe both.

A deep sigh escapes you. You should be annoyed. You should roll over and ignore him. But he looks so genuinely invested in this nonsense that you can't help but crack a small smile.

"You’re ridiculous,"

you murmur, reaching out to ruffle his already-messy hair.

"Ridiculously woke," he corrects.

"Go to sleep, Nam-Gyu."

"But—"

"Sleep."

He huffs but finally lies down, mumbling under his breath. "You’ll see. One day, the truth will come out."

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his forehead before snuggling back into the blankets.

Just as you start to drift off again, he mutters, "But seriously… where are all the baby pigeons?"

You pretend not to hear him.

🦑🦑🦑

[magnagaruzenmon]

Tomboy is the name of a song right?

Uh oh does Dino have a crush? Does my writing partner have a big crush? In all seriousness this was really cute. Okay Dino you’re kinda on a roll I’ll admit. Give a big thanks to @moonluvrrsworld for the idea

You wouldn’t call your marriage to Sohyun “arranged” per se, but it was definitely “encouraged.” You’d known each other your whole life, growing up as neighbors and later as classmates. Sohyun had always been more of a best friend than anything else, the type of person who’d sit with you on the roof of her house, sharing snacks while talking about the wild ideas of escaping to some far-off place. She kept her hair short, dressed simply, and carried herself with a straightforwardness that made her seem more like an equal than someone you’d ever imagine dating—let alone marrying.

So, when your parents sat you down for “the talk” and floated the idea, you didn’t know how to process it. It felt absurd, even laughable. But somehow, it all happened—her parents agreeing, your families eagerly planning, and then the proposal. You’ll never forget how she answered, her expression calm as ever, a hint of amusement in her eyes:

“Well, if it makes everyone happy, sure.”

It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love, but it wasn’t a rejection either. You still don’t know why she agreed—whether out of obligation, curiosity, or something else entirely. The wedding was a small affair something both of you demanded of the other, making it seem more like an elopement than a grand ceremony and declaring of love for one another to hammer this home both of you wore suits to the affair. It bothered your parents but you wanted Sohyun to be comfortable and happy, and that’s what made her comfortable and happy.

The first year of married life wasn’t what you’d call a whirlwind romance. It was… practical. Strangely, the challenges weren’t about you two as a couple. You didn’t fight over finances or argue over big-ticket issues like religion, politics, or even how to raise hypothetical kids. On the contrary, you two fell into an easy rhythm, dividing chores, coordinating schedules, and sharing meals without much fuss. Your talent for domestic life had you spearheading a lot of the cooking and cleaning while she made up for it in other ways. She lets you enjoy your hobbies and passion rather freely. You guys worked well together and complimented each other surprisingly well, so much so that your friends who saw your life at home were often jealous of how well the two of you clicked in each other’s lives.

No, the real problems came from the outside. Sorting out the paperwork for name changes and passports was a bureaucratic nightmare, the kind of thing no one warns you about. That’s why your honeymoon plans fell through—months after the wedding, you were still stuck in government offices, navigating endless forms and regulations. Then there were the awkward conversations with friends who couldn’t wrap their heads around your marriage, some of them outright questioning if it was even real. “So… are you guys actually in love, or is this like… a thing your families did?” they’d ask, their voices dripping with skepticism.

Through it all, Sohyun stayed steady. She had a way of brushing off the chaos with her bright, easy smile, grounding you whenever things got overwhelming. You’d wake up to that smile every morning, her hair slightly mussed, her voice soft as she greeted you. It was comforting, more than you ever realized you needed.

But lately, you’ve noticed something different about her. Subtle changes in her demeanor, like the way she lingers when you’re talking, her gaze warmer, more searching. She’s started wearing her hair longer, experimenting with little touches of makeup, and choosing outfits that feel just a bit more… deliberate. There’s an unspoken tension, an energy that wasn’t there before, as though she’s navigating unfamiliar territory within herself—and with you.

It’s nothing dramatic, but it’s enough to make you wonder. Was this marriage truly just an arrangement to her, or is she beginning to see you differently too?

When you asked about her hair all she could really say was, “Oh it was time for a change, yadda yadda. Bla bla bla,” you took it in stride but then the next change was a bit more noticeable. Dresses and more feminine patterns in her clothes started cropping up. Baggy t-shirts became billowing blouses with brazen blazers that complimented the figure you knew she had but never really paid mind to. Again when most of your previous conversation revolved around the literary merits of Orwell or Twain you never considered the body beneath the brain, but now you were and she had a marvelous figure.

The next major thing you noticed was when the two of you were discussing honeymoon locales and she suggested Argentina you were surprised.

“Sohyun you hate the heat and it's like 28C there right now,” you say.

Her response was again “I just wanted to change things up a bit. It's been super gloomy and I wanna explore a new place that's not as cold,”

You glance over at Sohyun as the plane levels out, the cabin lights dimming to a soft, ambient glow. She’s flipping through the in-flight magazine, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her hair, now long enough to frame her face, catches the light from the small reading lamp, giving her an almost ethereal glow.

“You know,” you say, stretching your legs under the cramped seat, “this might be the first time I’ve seen you look genuinely excited about a trip.”

Sohyun tilts her head, smirking. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m always excited about trips.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, sure. Like that time we went camping, and you spent three hours arguing with a squirrel over your trail mix?”

“That squirrel started it,” she says, deadpan, but her smile widens. She nudges your arm with her elbow, her tone dropping into something teasing. “Besides, you’re the one who packed gourmet cheese for a hike. Who does that?”

“Someone who has taste,” you counter, leaning slightly closer. “Not that you’d know much about that, considering you still put ketchup on your eggs.”

Her mock gasp is loud enough to turn a few heads. “Excuse me, Mr. High Standards. If you weren't my husband, I’d have you escorted off this plane for such slander.”

“Well, good thing you are,” you shoot back, “because you’d miss me too much otherwise.”

The playful banter hangs in the air for a moment before Sohyun bursts into laughter, a sound that’s rich and unguarded. You’ve heard her laugh a thousand times before—on rooftops, in late-night study sessions, over inside jokes—but now it’s different. The husky warmth of it wraps around you, sinking deep into your chest. It feels like home and adventure all at once, and you find yourself leaning into it without even realizing it.

“You’re so full of yourself,” she says, shaking her head but still smiling.

“Comes with the territory,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant.

But it’s hard to play it cool when her voice follows—low, velvety, teasing. There’s something about it that catches you off guard every time, like the first note of your favorite song. Lately, it’s been happening more often: the way her words linger in your mind long after she’s spoken, the way her laugh stays with you like a melody you can’t shake.

Sohyun folds the magazine and tucks it into the seat pocket, turning fully toward you now. Her gaze is steady but softer than you’re used to, and it catches you off guard. “You know,” she says, her voice quieter but no less playful, “I think this is the first trip we’ve taken where we actually feel like a couple. Not roommates, not friends, but… a couple.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in her tone. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“A good thing,” she says immediately, her smile turning into something warmer, almost shy. “A very good thing.”

The flight attendant interrupts the moment, offering drinks and snacks, and Sohyun orders a glass of white wine. You follow suit, and when the glasses arrive, she holds hers up in a small toast.

“To new places,” she says, clinking her glass against yours.

“And new beginnings,” you add, meeting her gaze.

She takes a sip, then smirks over the rim of her glass. “You’re getting better at this whole romance thing, you know.”

“I learn from the best,” you reply, and for once, you mean it entirely.

She laughs again, that bright, husky sound pulling you in like a tide. It’s something you never thought much about before, but now you can’t get enough of it. The sound, the way her lips curl just slightly at the edges—it’s all starting to feel dangerously enchanting.

As the plane hums steadily toward Argentina, the conversation drifts back to familiar banter, but the undertone of something more lingers. For the first time, you’re not just comfortable—you’re captivated. This feels like the start of something neither of you saw coming, but both of you are ready for.

After a long flight and a quick check-in at the resort, exhaustion overtakes both of you. The room is cozy and bright, with a balcony that offers a sweeping view of the ocean. You barely have time to take it all in before you crash onto the bed, the travel fatigue winning out.

When you wake up, it’s to the sound of waves crashing faintly in the distance and the soft rustle of movement nearby. You blink a few times, the sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, and sit up groggily. That’s when you see her.

Sohyun stands near the sliding doors to the balcony, adjusting the strap of a two-piece bathing suit—a pale lavender color that complements her complexion perfectly. For a moment, you think you’re still dreaming. Your brain struggles to reconcile this image with the Sohyun you’ve always known: the one who usually opted for modest one-piece swimsuits or an oversized T-shirt and trunks when the two of you swam together.

“Holy fuck,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

She turns, startled at first, then breaks into that familiar, warm smile of hers. Her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, and the sunlight streaming in from behind her gives her an almost radiant glow. But it’s her figure that truly has your attention—something you’d always known was there but had never really noticed until now. It’s not just the bathing suit; it’s the confidence she carries, the way she holds herself.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Sohyun asks, her voice calm, like she hasn’t just completely turned your world upside down.

You clear your throat, feeling the heat rise to your face. “It’s just… I’ve never seen you in something so bold.”

Her smile widens, and she steps closer, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. “Do you like it?” she asks, tilting her head slightly, her tone teasing but curious.

You nod, but words fail you for a moment. A thousand thoughts race through your mind, most of them not entirely innocent. You’d never thought of her this way before—not quite like this. She’s always been beautiful, yes, but this is different. It’s as though seeing her like this has unlocked something in you, a wave of emotions you weren’t prepared for.

“I—uh—yeah,” you manage, your voice cracking slightly. “You look amazing.”

She laughs, a low, husky sound that pulls at something deep inside you. “Well, thank you. I figured since we’re on vacation, I’d try something new.”

“It suits you,” you say quickly, your eyes flicking away briefly, but they find their way back to her almost immediately.

Sohyun steps closer again, now standing right in front of you. She places a hand on your shoulder, her touch light but grounding. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen me before,” she teases, her eyes twinkling.

“I feel like I haven’t,” you admit softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

She blinks at you, surprised by your candor, but her expression softens. “Well,” she says, her voice dropping just slightly, “I’m glad I could surprise you.”

There’s a pause, charged with something new and electric. She doesn’t pull away, and neither do you. For the first time, you’re not just looking at Sohyun—you’re seeing her, really seeing her.

Before the moment can stretch too far, she steps back with a playful grin. “Come on, get changed,” she says, her tone light again. “The beach isn’t going to wait forever.”

As she walks away, you watch her go, your mind still swirling with everything you’ve just realized. You’ve always known Sohyun was your best friend, your partner, the person you trusted most in the world. But now, she’s something more, something you’re just beginning to understand.

You take a deep breath, standing to find your swim trunks. Whatever this vacation holds, you have a feeling it’s going to change things—for the better. As you get changed you notice that you have a rock-hard erection and part of you feels shame. Here you are what’s supposed to be a trip with your wife and your body is festering this itch inside of you. Granted it’s been hard for the two of you to get alone time together because of the amount of work that plagued the two of you in the first year of your marriage so you couldn’t really properly release but still this was a lovey-dovey trip no time for impure indecent thoughts. Sohyun was better than that you were better than that… you hoped.

The sun is high by the time you step onto the beach, the golden sand warm beneath your feet. The breeze carries the scent of saltwater and the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Sohyun walks ahead of you, her lavender bathing suit catching the sunlight in a way that makes her seem almost otherworldly.

She turns back, shielding her eyes with one hand. “You’re so slow,” she teases, her voice laced with playful impatience. “I thought you were the athletic one.”

“Just taking it all in,” you reply, though you’re pretty sure you’re not talking about the scenery.

Sohyun rolls her eyes but smiles, her steps light and carefree as she leads you toward a quieter spot near the water. When she sets down her beach bag, she stretches her arms above her head, and you catch yourself staring at the curve of her waist, the way the movement emphasizes her figure.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. This is Sohyun—your best friend, your wife. The person who once dared you to eat an entire raw onion on a bet. The same person who fell asleep on your shoulder during countless movie nights. But now, as she pulls her hair into a loose ponytail and settles onto the towel, she feels like someone entirely new.

She glances up at you, catching you mid-thought. “Why are you just standing there?” she asks, patting the spot beside her.

You sit down, the sand warm beneath you, and she leans back on her elbows, her face turned toward the ocean. There’s something so effortless about her, like she belongs here under the sun, surrounded by beauty.

“Do you remember when we used to talk about running away to the beach when we were kids?” she asks, her voice soft but filled with a certain wistfulness.

“Yeah,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “I think your plan involved us becoming pirates or something equally ridiculous.”

She laughs, the sound low and husky, and it sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. “It wasn’t ridiculous. I’d make an excellent pirate.”

You can’t help but grin. “You’re too nice to be a pirate. You’d probably end up apologizing to everyone you robbed.”

“Maybe,” she says, turning to look at you. Her smile lingers, but her eyes hold a warmth that makes your heart stutter. “But you’d make a good first mate. You’ve always had my back, after all.”

The weight of her words settles between you, and for a moment, you’re both quiet, the sound of the waves filling the space. Then, Sohyun shifts closer, her shoulder brushing against yours.

“Can you put some sunscreen on my back?” she asks, holding out the bottle.

“Uh, sure,” you say, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens.

She turns, pulling her ponytail to the side, and you carefully apply the sunscreen, your hands moving over her skin. It’s nothing you haven’t done before, but it feels different now. You’re hyper-aware of the softness of her skin, the way her muscles move slightly under your touch.

“Thanks,” she says, glancing over her shoulder with a smile that feels just a little too knowing.

When she turns back around, she props herself up on her elbows again, her expression light but teasing. “You’re staring again,” she says, a playful lilt in her voice.

“I’m not staring,” you protest, though you know it’s a lie.

“You are,” she insists, her grin widening. “It’s okay, though. I don’t mind.”

Her boldness catches you off guard, and you’re not sure how to respond. Sohyun has always been confident, but this—this playful, flirtatious side—is new. And it’s doing things to you that you’re not entirely prepared for.

She leans closer, her voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You know, you’re allowed to compliment your wife. It’s kind of expected, actually.”

“You’re beautiful,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Her eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, you think you’ve overstepped. But then her cheeks flush, and she bites her lip, her smile turning shy in a way that’s both endearing and completely captivating.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice softer now.

As the day goes on, she continues to surprise you. The way she walks along the shoreline, letting the waves lap at her feet, her laughter ringing out when she splashes water at you. The way she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, her smile both teasing and tender.

By the time the sun begins to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you realize something has shifted. The image of Sohyun you’ve carried for so long—your best friend, your partner in crime—has started to transform. Now, you see her not just as your wife in name, but as someone who could truly hold your heart.

And the most surprising part? You’re starting to hope she feels the same way.

The two of you get back to your shared room. Sohyun says, “I’m gonna shower first unless you want to join me,” before enticingly wiggling her cute butt in front of you. At that point, the itch becomes overwhelming as you approach her. She smiles knowingly as you take your cock out. Sohyun’s eyes widened

“Oh I knew you had a nice cock but this was perfect for me,”

You look at her in. A lust-fueled haze, and she says, “Are you gonna fuck me because I really need it.”

Barely able to hold it in you plunged your cock inside of Sohyun.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of each other’s sexes you both cum violently as you bottom out

Sohyun screams as she squirts everywhere and her walls milk you rapaciously. Your dick wildly fills her womb with your seed as the two of you revel in orgasmic bliss.

“Fuck why haven’t we done that before?”

Feeling a bit flustered you respond, “Because I only thought we were friends, I didn’t even know you had this,” you spank her tight ass, and Sohyun moans erotically making you hard again, “or these,” you add massaging her voluptuous breasts. You begin ramming into her tight cavern again as she moans.

“Fuck if I knew you'd feel this good I'd have seduced you years ago,” Sohyun says as her eyes roll into the back of her head. She moans as her pussy sucks you in further.

“Fuck please fuck me harder,” she pleads as your rail her. Her walls tighten around your manhood as you watch her supple ass bounce and ripple with each thrust. Sohyun moans your name continuously as she takes you, and you take her.

“Ahh uhh,” she stammers and moans as you fuck her. Both of you are so far gone in lust that words could barely be found in the pleasure young two get from each other. As you pull her up from her bent position by her long hair something in you awakened as your wife came around your cock again.

With your other hand, you grab one of her breasts and massage the soft flesh. Sohyun moans as she's sent into another orgasm. She squirts all over you again.

You give her a bit of time to recover from her high as you remain buried in her cunt. She smiles as she's filled to the brim with you. She turns around and says, “Am I yours,”!you nod and say

“Of course,”

She smirks and says, “Good you're gonna fuck me every night from now on because I can't go back to masturbating alone especially when you have this nice a cock,”

With the image of your wife changed into this sultry vixen you asked what caused her to become this. She smiles lustfully and answers,

“Ive always been this, but you make me feel safe and comfortable being Sohyun the bro but also as Sohyun you're sexy wife. Being married to you has been a dream and I just wanted to show more of who I was to you,”

You smile as you kiss her. She smiles as she leads you to the bed and she gently pushes you down on it.

“I'm gonna ride you now,” she says emphatically. You groan as she hastily grinds on your crotch. You watch as her breasts bounce beautifully and she smiles at you. Instinctively you buck your hips but she stops you, “no no no. I'm in control. I control the tempo. I control the rhythm and I control when you cum.” she says sternly as she rolls and deliciously dances her hips over yours. She is unbearable tight as the pleasure melts your brain to where all you can think about is her.

You barely last a few minutes of this before you cum inside her again. Sohyun moans as you both come down from your shared highs before the two of them pass out on the bed. You hold her tight your grip gentle but possessive as you cling to each other you both drift off into dreams.

The sound of distant laughter and the smell of summer grass fill your senses. You’re back in the neighborhood park, where the sun is warm, and the sky is endlessly blue. A pair of small hands tugs at yours, pulling you toward the swings. It’s Sohyun, her short hair sticking out in every direction, her face flushed with excitement.

“Come on!” she says, her voice high-pitched and full of determination. “I want to swing higher than you this time!”

You let her drag you to the swings, laughing as she clambers onto one with all the grace of a kid who hasn’t yet figured out coordination. “You never win, you know,” you tease, taking the swing next to her.

“Not yet,” she shoots back, pumping her legs furiously.

The two of you race to see who can swing higher, her competitive grunts mixing with your laughter. Eventually, you both slow down, letting the swings sway gently as the golden light of the late afternoon bathes everything in a warm glow.

“Do you think we’ll always be friends?” she asks suddenly, her voice quieter now, almost shy.

“Of course,” you say without hesitation. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

She kicks her legs idly, her swing rocking back and forth. “Sometimes people grow up and stop being friends. That’s what my mom says.”

“Well, we won’t,” you declare firmly. “We’ll always stick together.”

She smiles at that, turning her head to look at you. There’s a seriousness in her eyes that’s unusual for a kid her age. “What if we get married? Then we’d have to stay together forever.”

The suggestion catches you off guard, and you burst out laughing. “Married? You and me?”

“Why not?” she says, crossing her arms. “You’re my best friend. And my mom says you should marry someone who makes you happy.”

You consider this, your legs scuffing lightly against the ground as your swing slows to a stop. “I guess that makes sense. But aren’t you supposed to, like… love the person you marry?”

She scrunches up her nose, clearly unimpressed with your reasoning. “Well, I love you, dummy. Don’t you love me?”

Her words hit you with the blunt honesty only a child can muster, and you feel your cheeks heat up. “Uh… yeah. I guess I do.”

“Then it’s settled,” she says with a decisive nod. “When we grow up, we’ll get married. And you can do all the cooking because you make better sandwiches than me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine. But only if you promise not to boss me around too much.”

“Deal,” she says, holding out her pinky. You loop your pinky with hers, sealing the pact.

As the memory begins to fade, you hear her voice one last time, soft and confident. “See? We’ll be together forever. You’ll see.”

You wake up with a start, the sound of waves crashing outside pulling you back to the present. For a moment, you lie there, the dream still vivid in your mind. The memory feels both distant and impossibly close, like a thread connecting the past to the present.

You glance to the side, where Sohyun is still asleep, her hair spread out across the pillow, her face peaceful in the soft morning light. The promise from that day echoes in your mind, and for the first time, you wonder if she remembers it too. Seeing the smile plastered on her sleeping face as you caress her shoulder tells you all you need to know. You cuddle closer and are surprised when she buries your half-erect cock in her sopping pussy she moans then says

“I want all of you all the time,” you moan as the two of you go back to sleep

You wake up to Sohyun’s lips pressed into yours as you feel something soft wrap around your cock as you cum. Your eyes focus on Sohyun staring at you with a lascivious glare as she feels your cum pour out.

“Good baby you're awake,” she says. Her eyes glazed over with desire.

“I wanted you to breed me. You have more in you right?” she says hungrily

Seeing her all on display for you makes incredibly hard for her. Seeing it as encouragement she mounts you happily. As she bottoms out on you you moan in pleasure. “Oh fuck honey you're so tight,” Sohyun smiles and you explode in her again. Sohyun feeling your release groans as you cum in her. She bends over to you and whispered

“I'm not birth control and today I'm not safe so I'm gonna get pregnant.”

Her words stir inside as the primal need to claim your woman overwhelmed your entire being your lips raise to meet hers finding yourself lost in a desperate messy lustful kiss that leaves the two of you breathless and hungry you two stare at each other as lust and live intertwine you say to

“God I love every part of you,” Sohyun smiles before responding.

“Oh you have then why didn't you make a move?” she asked

“Because we had been friends for so long. I thought you didn't like me, but you drive me wild Soho,” you say.

Your wife smiles as you ram into her. She groans as thrust in and out.

“You close baby?” you ask. Sohyun smiles as she caresses your face.

“Im always close for you baby,” she says before cumming violently all over your cock. You groan as you join her in another orgasm.

Hours later the two of you sit on the balcony of your resort suite exhausted , the warm night air wrapping around you like a blanket. The ocean stretches out endlessly before you, the waves glowing faintly under the moonlight. Sohyun has her feet propped up on the railing, her body relaxed, a glass of something tropical in her hand. She’s wearing a light sundress that flutters gently in the breeze, her hair loosely pinned back.

You sip your drink, watching her out of the corner of your eye. For what feels like the hundredth time on this trip, you’re struck by how different she seems—not just in how she looks, but in how she carries herself. There’s a confidence in her now, something bold and unshakable, and it’s left you feeling a little off-balance.

“Can I ask you something?” you say, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Of course,” she replies, glancing at you with a small smile.

“What’s with all this?” You gesture vaguely at her—her dress, her posture, everything. “I mean… why are you so seductive all of a sudden?”

Her smile widens, and she lets out a low, amused laugh that sends a shiver down your spine. “Seductive, huh?”

“I’m serious,” you say, though your tone is light. “You’ve always been confident, sure, but this… this is different. You’re different. And I don’t mean that in a bad way,” you add quickly. “It’s just… new.”

She sets her glass down, turning her body slightly to face you. For a moment, she studies you, her expression thoughtful. Then, she leans back, stretching her arms out along the back of her chair, her gaze flicking toward the horizon.

“It’s hard to explain,” she begins, her voice soft but steady. “But I guess… being married to you, living with you—it’s done something to me. It’s like it’s awakened this part of me I didn’t even know was there. This… primal femininity, I guess you could call it.”

You blink, surprised by her honesty. “Primal femininity?”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “I know it sounds weird. But it’s true. I’ve always been comfortable with who I am, you know? The short hair, the baggy clothes, the ‘one of the guys’ vibe—it’s always felt right to me. And it still does.” She pauses, glancing down at her hands. “But being with you… it’s like I’ve started to feel this other side of me, this softer, more feminine side. And I don’t mean in a ‘let’s conform to societal norms’ way,” she adds quickly, meeting your eyes. “It’s more personal than that. Like, you bring it out of me.”

Her words hit you harder than you expect, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. “Me?” you manage.

She nods, her expression softening. “Yeah. You make me feel safe. Like I can just… be. And for the first time, I’m realizing that I can be all these things at once. The tomboy who’ll always beat you at Mario Kart and the woman who wants to wear a dress and flirt with her husband. They’re both me. And I like that.”

You stare at her, your heart doing something strange and uneven in your chest. “I had no idea I had that kind of effect on you.”

“Well, you do,” she says simply, her lips quirking into a teasing smile. “You’ve always seen me for who I really am, and that’s… freeing, you know? It makes me want to be even more of myself, if that makes sense.”

“It does,” you say quietly, your voice thick with emotion. “And for the record, I think both sides of you are amazing.”

Her smile softens, and she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “So, does that answer your question?”

“Yeah,” you say, a slow grin spreading across your face. “But I still reserve the right to be a little dazzled. You’ve been catching me off guard a lot lately.”

“Good,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “It’s about time I had the upper hand for once.”

You laugh, and she joins in, the sound light and easy. And as you sit there, talking and teasing each other under the stars, you realize just how much you love every part of her—past, present, and whatever comes next.

[luxaofhesperides]

Dancing in the rain ; requested by @wandixx!

He hadn’t been expecting the Signal to chase after him. It is, after all, well after midnight, and he had seen the vigilante out earlier during the day. 

Maybe the Bats are understaffed tonight, he muses as he leaps over the rooftops, a wild grin on his face. Being on the other side of a chase is a lot of fun, he’s discovering. He can see why Selina enjoys it so much.

Though, it probably has to do more with who’s chasing her than it is the chase itself.

But Danny’s become a bit of an adrenaline junkie after a few years of being a hero, fighting ghosts and governments. He’s not a hero anymore, especially not in Gotham, but being Catwoman’s partner in crime is way more fun than being responsible for everyone’s safety.

It’s like he’s doing anything bad, either. Selina can steal whatever she wants; if they couldn’t protect things against her, then should they really have it? Danny doesn’t focus on jewelry or gems. No, he takes ghost artifacts or items contaminated with ectoplasm back to the realms where they won’t cause problems to any humans. There are enough ecto-contaminated people in this world, solely from Amity Park. Best not to let that number grow.

So here he is, leaping over rain-slicked rooftops and only using a little bit of flying to keep ahead, holding a cursed pocket watch that a ghost had requested he return to them, with the Signal chasing after him, disappearing into shadows and popping up unexpectedly. 

“Stray! Get back here!” Signal yells, and Danny takes a moment to spin on his heel to face the vigilante to stick his tongue out at him, then backflips away.

“I didn’t even steal anything important!” he returns, tossing the pocketwatch in the air ahead, then jumps up to catch it and scales his way up to the roof of the next building. 

“Seriously,” Signal says, suddenly in front of him. “Stop running and we can talk this out.”

“Woah!” Danny tries to get around him, trips over his own feet, and crashes into the Signal’s chest. 

“Careful, there.” He looks up to see the Signal’s smile, and he absolutely can not be blamed for having his half dead heart skip a beat. He’s in the arms of a hero who’s smiling at him so sweetly, what’s a guy to do? “Ready to talk now?”

Danny goes intangible for a moment, smoothly sliding out of the Signa’s grip. “Nope,” he grins, starting up the chase once again.

The rain isn’t very strong, and the drops feel cool against his face as he runs, getting a little more air with each jump as he uses more of his flight to keep ahead. He can hear the Signal chasing after him again, heavy footsteps that start and stop unpredictably as he travels between shadows. 

Just to be safe, Danny stashes the pocket watch inside his chest, leaving his hands free to grab onto the rough brick of the walls and scale them up, aiming to go higher and higher. Maybe if he finds a good building, he can dramatically fall off the edge and fly away invisibly. 

“Got you!” 

The Signal pops up out of the wall and grabs Danny, who yelps and tries to pull his arms away. The Signal is too strong, and his tight grip on Danny’s wrists is warm against the chill of the rain. 

They stand there for a moment, just staring at each other as they try to catch their breath. And then, “Is that any way to treat a guy?” Danny jokes, trying one last time to pull his wrists free.

“It is when it’s you,” the Signal replies. “Man, you sure know how to run.”

“I’ll be sure to put that on my resume for my next heist.”

“Seriously, can we talk?”

Danny eyes him curiously. The other Bats mostly tried to take back whatever it is he’d stolen that night, occasionally trying to get information from him. None of them had outright asked to have a chat with him. The Signal at least has some manners, compared to the rest of him. There’s no harm in sticking around for one conversation.

It helps that the Signal is cute, especially when he had saved Danny a few weeks ago. 

Sue him, he’s a bit soft on the Signal. Wouldn’t anyone be with their favorite hero?

“Alright,” Danny says, relaxing. “Go ahead. Talk.”

“Great! Okay, um.” The Signal bites his lip and Danny should really look away, but his eyes are fixed to his mouth. He doesn’t speak for a solid minute, during which Danny really begins to feel the chill of the rain. “Can I get less comments from the peanut gallery?” he says suddenly.

“What?” Danny laughs, confused.

The Signal sighs. “My comms are on. The others are being annoying. If they wanted to ask you questions, they should have caught you first.”

“Oh, protecting me from the big bad Bats? My hero,” Danny says sweetly, pretending to swoon. Except, the Signal follows his movements, releasing his wrists to catch him by the waist, holding him steady. Danny’s breath hitches, and from how close they are, he has no doubt that the Signal heard it. They freeze for a moment, then the Signal dips him like some fainting Victorian maiden.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind sweeping you up in my arms.” The smirk on his face only lasts a moment before he grimace and says, “I shouldn’t have said that on open comms. Man, they’re annoying. It’s not my fault I know how to flirt.”

Danny…

Well. Danny short circuits for a moment, running the words over his mind again, then blushes so hard he’s sure there’s steam coming off his cheeks. “You’re flirting?” he squeaks. “With me?”

“Flirting,” a new voice confirms, making them both jump, stumbling against each other as Black Bat hops down onto their rooftop. “Both shy and silly. I’m better.”

“You can’t even ask out Spoiler,” the Signal retaliates.

“She can’t even WHAT?” Spoiler yells as she also vaults herself over the alley below to join them. “You want to ask me out?”

Though she doesn’t say anything, Danny can practically feel Black Bat’s glare through her mask. The Signal winces, then says, “Oops.”

“Man, you can keep yourself busy, clearly Sig doesn’t need backup,” Spoiler says. “I need to go on a date with Black Bat. The rest of you suckers are on your own!” And then she grabs Black Bat’s hand and grapples away.

There’s a beat of silence, then Danny and the Signal share a glance and start laughing. 

“Well,” Danny says, “Good for them! Good for them.”

“They’re probably just going to Bat Burger.”

“And are you going to be treating me to a burger any time soon? I should be compensated for this conversation, you know.”

“Please, if I was taking you out on a date, it wouldn’t be to Bat Burger. I’d take you out dancing.”

It sounds like a date his dad would take his mom on. It sounds nice. Danny smiles and leans in closer to the Signal, taking hold of one of his hands. With the other, he puts Signal’s hand on his waist, then brings his own up to the Signal’s shoulder. 

“Why not dance with me now?”

Danny leads them in a few clumsy turns of a waltz, silently thanking Sam for forcing him to take a few ballroom dance lessons with her. The Signal seems a little dazed, following his lead, and when he lightly squeezes Danny’s waist, he shivers. 

Catwoman should be done with Batman soon. They had agreed to meet up at the newly opened Vintage Boutique in Diamond District, and he intends to beat her there. 

Reluctantly, Danny pulls away from the Signal with one final spin, and hops up onto the edge of the roof. “If you can find me during the day,” he says, “Then I’ll dance with you again. See you around, Signal!”

And with that, Danny hops backwards off the roof, free-falling towards the ground before he lets gravity lose hold of him and slips into invisibility, flying up just as the Signal peers over the edge, searching for him.

Unable to help himself, Danny floats closer until he can give the Signal a quick kiss on the cheek, then flies off, grinning wildly. 

He certainly can’t wait to see the Signal again. 

Maybe if he hired a few guys to pretend to rough him up while Signal’s out patrolling…

Well, either way, this cat is already half dead so he can jump straight to satisfaction bringing him back. And, hopefully, back into Signal’s arms again when they won’t be interrupted by other Bats. 

He’s already looking forward to it.

. . .

[send me a ghostlights prompt!]

[rederiswrites]

Look, I know it's important for people to document, painstakingly even, the ways in which the trump/musk regime's actions do not in fact match up with their supposed motivations. I know it's important to say that if they're looking for corruption and waste, they're doing it dramatically stupidly. But at some point people have got to stop pretending that they're stupid because the things they're doing are counter to their stated goals. They're lying. Like. This is so well established at this point. They're not cutting over half of Social Security's funding because they think it's bloat and corruption. Nobody can take that seriously.

I wish we could stop getting angry at the logical inconsistencies, as if they actually ever meant to do what they're saying. Yes, document how their propaganda doesn't match their actions. But stop acting like it's anything but propaganda! Don't waste energy being angry at the illogic, when we need to be angry at the fact that they're deliberately gutting and disabling the government so that they can rob us blind and make serfs of us all.

Had to stop reading my New York Times summary email this morning because I couldn't take them taking Trump's statements at face value any more. Come on, guys, you can at least do as well as the democratic representatives reading Republicans for filth on the House floor. Out here acting like this is still policy disagreements, instead of week 4 of an oligarchic coup.

[solxamber]

Can I get baker boy Trey realizing that his S/O is a super secret spy for another country. Yet, when confronted, said S/O admits that they faked their death to be with him.

Cocoa Conspiracy - Trey Clover x reader

He knew you as his partner, the love of his life, but he didn't realize your real identity: a spy vying for pastry destruction

Trey Clover wasn’t ready for this. He thought he was just dating you—the quirky, adorable, slightly unpredictable person who occasionally knew way too much about the inner workings of a high-tech security system. Sure, sometimes you went missing for a week without warning, but he figured you were probably just... really into nature hikes? Who was he to judge?

But now here he was, standing in the middle of his beloved kitchen, staring at a government-issued spy dossier that read like something out of a James Bond fever dream. The worst part? Your face was plastered all over it, right next to the words “Top Secret Agent: Wafflia.”

Wafflia.

He had to read it three times before it clicked. “Dear...” he began, holding up the papers like they were a particularly burnt batch of cookies. “Why does it say you’re an undercover agent sent by the nation of Wafflia to... sabotage the pastry industry? What is this?”

You, who had just casually walked in, munching on a muffin like it was a normal Wednesday, paused mid-chew. “Oh. Right. That.” You glanced at the folder in his hands like it was an old grocery receipt. “I, uh... meant to tell you about that.”

Trey blinked. “Tell me? You meant to tell me?”

You shrugged, your voice a little too nonchalant for someone who’d just been outed as a literal international spy. “Look, babe, I can explain—”

“Explain? You’ve been sent to ruin all pastries in Twisted Wonderland!” Trey threw up his hands, a little more animated than usual, which was saying something. “Pastries! My life revolves around pastries! Why didn’t you tell me you were some kind of... dessert assassin?!”

You chewed thoughtfully for a moment, as if considering the best way to let him down easy. “Well, first of all, ‘dessert assassin’ makes it sound way cooler than it actually is. I mean, it’s mostly paperwork. And second of all... I didn’t really take the mission seriously. I was distracted.”

“Distracted? By what, the buttercream frosting?” Trey snapped, incredulous.

“No, by you.” You rolled your eyes like it was obvious, casually finishing the muffin. “You know, because we’re dating. Thought that was kind of important.” You flicked a crumb off your shirt, as if this entire conversation wasn’t wildly absurd. “I couldn’t exactly go around destroying pastries when you bake this good. Do you even know how hard it is to sabotage a cake when it tastes like it was baked by an angel? It’s basically sabotage-proof.”

Trey blinked. “Wait. So, you’re telling me the only reason you haven’t followed through with your evil pastry-destroying mission is because... my desserts are too good?”

“Yup!” You gave him two enthusiastic thumbs up. “Honestly, if Wafflia tasted your cupcakes, they’d probably call the whole thing off.”

Trey’s eye twitched. “...Wafflia?”

“Tiny nation. Mostly waffles. A little maple syrup industry on the side. Really not a big deal.”

“You are literally a government agent from a country that declared war on bakeries!”

You sighed dramatically, as if he was the one overreacting here. “Yeah, but that’s not important right now. What’s important is that I faked my death to be with you.”

Trey stared at you like you had just slapped him with a pie. “You what.”

“I faked my death. Big explosion. Very cool. It was like something out of a Michael Bay movie, except with fewer explosions and way more sparkles. It’s kind of the Wafflian signature. Anyway, I’m legally dead now.” You leaned back against the counter, looking incredibly proud of yourself. “Did it all for you.”

Trey was about three seconds away from emotionally combusting. “You... faked... your death... so you could—”

“Ditch the life of a spy and bake tarts with you, obviously.” You grinned like this was all completely reasonable. “It’s called love, Trey.”

Trey had to sit down. He dragged a chair across the kitchen floor, the sound screeching in the sudden silence. He sat down heavily, trying to process the information bomb you had just dropped in his very innocent, pastry-filled kitchen. “So, let me get this straight. You were a secret spy for a country that wants to destroy desserts—the thing I care about most in the world—and you faked your death to... retire?”

“With you,” you corrected, grabbing a tart from the tray and taking a huge bite. “I mean, why else would I fake my death? Have you seen how good you look when you’re rolling out dough? I’m not giving that up.”

Trey blinked at you, his brain malfunctioning at the speed of light. “You—what—I just—how are you—”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Look, babe, relax. All I’m saying is, Wafflia thinks I’m dead, I think you’re hot, and your strawberry tarts are so good that I’ve basically retired from espionage to live out the dream with you. Problem solved.”

Trey opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, resembling a fish out of water. “...I don’t know if I should be flattered or horrified.”

“Why not both?” You waggled your eyebrows, licking the last of the tart crumbs off your fingers. “I’m flexible.”

Trey buried his face in his hands, groaning. “I just wanted to bake some bread. I didn’t sign up for all this—secret spy, faked your death, sabotage the pastry world—what even is this.”

You patted him on the back, still munching. “Hey, look on the bright side. At least I’m not sabotaging your desserts.”

Trey peeked at you from between his fingers. “And... what about other people’s desserts?”

You smirked. “Well... no promises. But I’ll probably keep it to a minimum. For you.”

He groaned louder.

I didn't know if you wanted it serious or silly, but i made it silly. let me know if you wanted it more serious!

Masterlist

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #17 – King Leopold’s Ghost: A Story of Greed, Terror and Heroism in Colonial Africa by Adam Hochschild 

I first read this book back when I was an insufferable teenager – though better to say I skimmed it for the best morbid anecdotes to include in a presentation that, in retrospect, probably mostly served to make my Grade 12 history teacher regret letting us choose our own topics. Despite my lack of attentiveness, it left a real impression at the time, and I’ve been meaning to come back to it a bit more seriously for a while. Happily, my adolescent impression of it being a well-written and affecting book was entirely correct. Which is very nearly the only happy thing about the entire read – the upbeat dramatic subtitle really undersells how this is basically a story of continuous atrocities whose authors and beneficiaries die in mansions and palaces.

King Leopold’s Ghost is the story of the Congo Free State – the political oddity that, for a few decades in the late 19th and early 20th century, saw one man own the heart of a continent inhabited by tens of millions as his own personal property. Chafing harshly against the constraints of constitutional rule in his native Belgium, King Leopold II connived, intrigued and negotiated brilliantly to win approval from the powers of Europe for his ownership of the Congo basin as a ‘philanthropic and humanitarian’ project – and then ruthlessly enforced that ownership over its actual inhabitants with steamships, machine guns, and merciless brutality. The Congo Free State, as it was called, became something like the purest expression of the bloodthirsty interaction between Victorian colonialism and the birth of the global capitalist economy – to fuel the Second Industrial Revolution's demand for rubber, somewhere in the vicinity of ten million Congolese died of violence, famine or disease.

In tandem with the history of brutal exploitation, Hoschschild tells the story of the resistance and opposition to it – which was neither minor nor transitory. In the United Kingdom and America (and continental Europe, to a rather lesser extent), the ‘Congo Reform Movement’ was a moral crusade that drew millions into organizing and activism. It is, as Hoschschilld describes it, the movement through which the moral spark of earlier abolitionist campaigns survived the 19th century and transformed into the whole modern concept of and institutions built around humanitarianism and human rights. The protagonists of the movement lived both genuinely heroic and improbably dramatic lives, and the better part of the book is spent describing their efforts to overcome Leopold and achieve some better state of affairs in the Congo. In the end, the pressure on the British and American governments is enough for the two of them to pressure Leopold and Belgium in turn, and force a near-universally reviled king to give up his pride and joy.

The book’s trying to do a lot of things – not least just tell an engaging and easily understandable dramatic narrative – but it’s most salient and recurring theme basically just boils down to ‘colonialism was really bad!’ Which I’m making sound trite, but it’s a very valuable point to make. Even more when the book came out than today, there’s very little memory or understanding in former imperial powers of just what kind of oppression and atrocities were part of Victorian empires day-to-day operations. Hoschschild repeatedly makes the point that everything that supposedly made the ‘totalitarian’ regimes of the 20th century so uniquely terrible – the death on an industrial scale through a vast bureaucratic edifice, the brutal suppression of resistance or even communication among the subjugated, the sophisticated campaigns of propaganda and misdirection, collective punishment on genocidal scales – was just as present in the Congo Free State a half century before.

When the book was written, the Soviet Union had only just fallen and access to various state archives was making Stalinism newly topical. Hoschschild thus draws natural comparisons between the forced labor regimes of the Free State rubber boom and those of the gulag system – and notes that by best estimates the Leopoldian system almost certainly killed far more. That it is only barely remembered is in large part just simple racism, of course, but beyond that he makes an argument that reminds me of the thesis of The Jakarta Method – that the projects of Stalin and Hitler, in the final analysis, failed and are so easy to draw attention to and focus on the horrors of. Whereas Congo Free State – like the anticommunist pogroms of the Cold War – is part of the foundation of our whole modern world. The monuments and museums paid for by the rubber slave economy are still scattered across Belgium (and beyond), the fortunes and reputations made still proud inheritances of prominent families and institutions, the narratives written by the victors until quite recently still the received wisdom taught in schoolrooms and popular documentaries. This has changed somewhat over the last decade, though frankly still rather less than the ebbs and flows of online discourse make it seem to be. Which is all the more striking, because at least in the case of the Congo the resistance and popular horror of Anglo-European society at the time (myopic and intensely hypocritical as it was) far was far harsher than the official memory.

The story of the Congo Reform Movement makes for compelling drama, to the point where I’m genuinely surprised it wasn’t the basis for at least one lushly produced period piece in the last decade or two (or maybe it has and they were just Belgian?). To begin with, it has genuinely heroic and deeply fascinating protagonists – it was an intercontinental movement founded by a shipping company clerk who realized the only way to square what was arriving on ships from the Congo with what they were filled with on the return trip was a horrifying system of slave labour, who promptly dedicated his entire life to exposing and replacing it! - opposing a larger-than-life villain with an almost impressive lack of a single redeeming quality to his name. There are climactic legal battles, shocking exposes of bribery and corruption at home and heart-stopping atrocities abroad, speeches that leave the audience in tears, and even what seems like a happy ending. The campaign united millions over nearly a decade, and was – in Hoschschild’s arguing, anyway, and in the institutional history of some the organizations which sprang up during it – the beginning of the modern idea of a human rights campaign. It is an inspirational story of truth and virtue persevering in the face of a venal, pathologically malevolent king by rallying mass opinion through activism, public education and the press. The movie really does write itself.

...or, at least, that is very clearly the story Hoschschild wishes he could tell. The degree to which this vast international campaign actually achieved any good is deeply ambiguous. It brought the truth to light and preserved a great deal of information about the Free State that would otherwise have vanished when Leopold began systematically destroying the enterprise’s records, and it can be given some little shred of credit for the whole humanitarian movement that would follow in its wake. But in terms of the Congo itself? The success of the campaign was forcing King Leopold to sell the whole country to the government of Belgium a few years earlier than the state would have inherited it upon his death. Which was done at immense expense, further enriching the already world-shakingly wealthy king at the expense of the new Belgian colony’s future tax burden. The shift from being one man’s personal property to being the colony of a parliamentary monarchy changed little on the ground – often not even the personnel cutting off hands and taking hostages to ensure rubber quotas were met.

The exact argument is only ever implicitly made, but the failings of the Congo Reform Movement all feel like near-exact prototypes for the failings of the humanitarian campaigns that would follow in the 20th (and now 21st) centuries. It fixated on one grand singular villain rather than understanding the problem as systemic and global, its supporters and backers were willfully blind to (or active apologists about) issues they had more direct stakes in. Its support by respectable society and eventually governments was inextricably tied with it becoming a geopolitical tool, its potency only possible because it was so narrowly focused on the unpopular king of a small and poorly armed nation. Most of all, that its success was a matter of fickle and fleeting public attention – and that when the public’s interest started to wane after Leopold’s death, the pressure to declare victory and disband the effort was overwhelming. Hoschschild presents his two protagonists (Casement and Morrel) as truly principled, and growing more consistent and dedicated in their anti-colonialism and political activism over the course of their work with the movement. He also dwells at length on the fact that come the First World War, one’s health was fatally weakened by a 6-month sentence of hard labour for his pacifist organizing, and the other swiftly executed for his attempts to fight for Irish independence.

The book does dwell at length on Leopold’s personal villainy – the fraud and deception, the wasted fortunes, the abusive parenting and the grooming (and just purchasing, really) a teenage mistress when he was in his sixties. This is justified by how his personal foibles really did help the Reform Movement immensely by giving them such a villain to campaign against – though there’s definitely a sort of lurid tabloid appeal to the detail gone into it as well. But the book’s too conscientious to actually blame him in particular for those ten million deaths – he was a particularly grasping and unsympathetic face on the bloodshed, and by sheer luck ended up ruling over the vastest and most lucrative rubber supplies in Africa; but over the border in French and Portuguese colonies with similar large numbers of rubber vines for harvesting, the slavery, starvation and death was nearly as severe. The ultimate cause of the massacres was not Leopold, it was the time delay between Europe’s sudden inexhaustible hunger for rubber and the maturation of purpose-made rubber plantations to supply it. In that space was an opportunity for incredible, empire-raising riches for anyone who could source the rubber the market demanded – the rubber vines of central Africa and the millions living near them were the most convenient sources of both supply and the labour to extract it in the whole world. From there, the logic of newborn global capitalism and the justifying ideologies of Victorian race science combined in similar fashion no matter whose flag it was under.

The book is quite concerned with whose voices and experiences end up being part of what’s recorded as history – or, put another way, the book is very aware of and guilty about the fact that this story about brutal European colonialism in Africa is largely told as a drama between various different white Europeans and Americans (and that the vast majority of the exceptions are African-American missionaries and adventurers, not anyone Congolese). This is more or less unavoidable – there simply aren’t many records of the Congolese perspective on these events, between the lack of writing systems in many of the colonized peoples, the typical Victorian disinterest in asking ‘the natives’’ opinion on anything, and the brutal violence and social dislocation both during the Free State and in the century since that has destroyed the chains of transmission for most oral histories. Still, the book makes a point of grabbing and making full use of contemporary Congolese voices it can get its hands on (testimonies recorded in various fact-finding expeditions and judicial inquiries, mostly).

The book is bookended by pocket histories of what’s now the Democratic Republic of the Congo both before and after the Free State (including an anecdote from the author about traveling through it shortly after independence, and listening to a CIA agent who assumed any American would approve brag about helping arrange the assassination of Lumumba). Which mostly leaves one with the impression that it must be one of the most continuously and relentlessly fucked over regions on Earth - something which, alas, shows only very fitful and uneven signs of changing.

King Leopold’s Ghost is not at all a dry, academic work – and I mean that as both praise and insult. But if you’re looking for a readable history one of the most dramatic moments of the late Victorian era and an excellent case study of just what sort of brutality went into the map-painting colonialism of the era (and the political opposition that arose to it) you could do far, far worse.

[youlikegoodstuff]

Their anniversary (prologue)

All Might x arch nemesis! reader

Gender is neutral here. Reader is a villain called Highland Havoc

Summary: it’s All Might’s and his nemesis’s anniversary, and the fans are done waiting for the villain and hero duo to kiss.

Tw: none. Just a tensions and shipping. Swear words. Stolen stop signs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It Is Fine Now. Why? Because I Am Here!”

As always, All Might made a dramatic and enthusiastic entrance, even after years of duking it out with you.

“Took you long enough. You’re usually very early to our anniversary.” You said with a smirk on your half-masked face.

All Might’s signature smile only widened at this as his hidden eyes took on a slight mischievous look.

“My apologies, my arch nemesis! Allow me to make it up to you by making a special reservation for you in jail!” He said rather lightheartedly.

The bystanders who chose to stay looked on in anticipation, ready for an absolutely glorious battle like the ones before.

“Oh no worries! You don’t gotta make it up to me.” You said with a wicked grin before launching yourself at the man.

If it was anyone else, they wouldn’t last a second in the presence of All Might. Hell, he’d have them in front of a police station by now…

But you weren’t All Might’s arch nemesis for nothing.

Highland Havoc was the name, and causing havoc is your game.

Accurate to your villain name, you created chaos with your strength-based quirk, destroying government buildings, totaling police cars, tearing out parking meters, and stealing stop signs.

One thing that separated you from the rest of the villains wasn’t just your ability to rival All-fucking-Might, but your surprisingly noble morals.

You weren’t destroying small businesses or killing people, in fact, you’ve saved people on several occasions.

You were basically a professional villainess with standards.

You were a bad guy… but not a bad guy…

The worst you did was wreck a couple hero office buildings and steal thousands of stop signs, but you never ever stole candy from a baby.

In other words, you were just a cheeky little cunt.

You were a menace… but you were Musutafu’s favorite menace.

You casually tore out a stop sign that sat on the corner of the street (one that recently replaced the old one after you stole it) and placed it on your shoulders while smirking through your mask.

“So, what’s on the agenda today? You failing for the millionth time to land a good hit on me?” You teased.

All Might chuckled heartily, but he felt the same thrill coursing through his veins that he always felt when he was ready to fight you.

“I do hate to burst your bubble, my dear,” he began, using a nickname to tease you right back. “But I’m not about to go easy on you just because it’s our anniversary.”

“Oh I don’t expect you to hold back, I’ve been waiting for the opposite actually~” You said before lifting the newly acquired stop sign and twirled it expertly in your hand.

All Might’s eyes followed your every movement like a hawk. He never took his eyes off you these days when you were facing each other, and for good reason: you were not to be underestimated. He knew better than that.

“Still got that nasty habit of collecting those silly signs, I see.” He said with that signature smile as he flexed his thick muscles, getting ready for your first attack.

“You call them silly, but the city seems to take stop sign theft very seriously.” You said while getting into your own fighting position.

All Might scoffed as he rolled his shoulders to loosen up his muscles even more.

“And rightly so! Stop signs are important, you know.” He scolded before looking you up and down with a scoff “And that mask of yours is still downright hideous. How can you handle wearing that thing?”

“You and your issues with my mask. Always having a problem with it, lad.” You sighed and rolled your (e/c) eyes.

All Might looked around the city in feigned disbelief, as if searching for a nonexistent culprit.

”And whose fault is that?” He said, glancing at you again with a smirk. “If you just took the damn thing off, I wouldn’t complain all the time. Your face is probably the only nice part of you, but I have yet to confirm that.”

“Oh shush, you just want to be able to identify me so the coppers can hunt me down.” You said with a scoff.

All Might crossed his large arms over his built chest and let out a huff.

“Now that is the last thing I want, my dear.” He retorted, his smile faltering for a moment before a mischievous grin took over. “You’re my favorite villain to wrangle; I’d be devastated if you were taken off the streets.”

The bystanders who stayed to watch were getting restless, excited, or annoyed at the two…

All Might, the #1 hero who has been the world’s symbol of peace for years; and you: #1 super villain in the country and top ranked pain in All Might’s ass, has not once made any moves on each other.

Many years of rivalry… and their OTP still haven’t made a move on eachother…

…And it was driving the tabloids and the media batshit insane.

People were dying to know what was going on with the two, and for those who had that gut feeling, it was absolute torture for the hero/villain duo to not just fuck each other already.

Who would’ve thought the hero and villain would end up in a tango of sexual tension that lasted 15 years?

“Just kiss already!”

One guy in the gathered audience yelled loudly, saying what no one else dared to say.

All Might and you immediately both stopped what you were doing and looked over at the random citizen. You both had that “deer in headlights” look, and even with half of your face covered, the surprise on your face was obvious.

All Might actually went a shade of pink in the face.

The hero finally turned to the civilian. “S-Sir! This is a-ah-a battle! That would… be highly inappropriate in such an important moment!” He said firmly, but he looked so flustered.

“You have very interesting fans, All Might...” You muttered, glancing away from the hero.

“They’re your fans too.” All Might bickered.

Before he could retort against you, the same obnoxious idiot spoke up again.

“Maybe you two should just cut the bullshit and make out already!” He said, and several cheers came from the small crowd of onlookers.

All Might’s face went red again and he began to stammer. He was starting to get flustered by the comments. He tried to gather himself quickly, and he turned to the crowd again.

“T-This is not a performance! We’re not some dance for your e-entertainment! You people should take this seriously!” All Might protested, but the comments were getting to him.

More hollering and cat calling stirred from the audience; some were even chanting a ship name for you two.

You just deadpanned… but you were admittedly a bit amused.

“…you wanna just start the fight? Can’t really hear them over us throwing punches.” You suggested.

All Might looked back at you, a slight look of relief on his face.

“Y-Yes, an excellent idea! We’re wasting time here!” He said, flexing his arms and getting back into his battle stance.

The hero was trying desperately to ignore the chants and the cheers and whistles from the audience, which was only making him more and more flustered.

Even after 15 years, All Might was never bored of battling you. He was expecting your attack and was ready for you when you ran at him. He was also relieved that he didn’t have to listen to those insufferable comments for another second.

To add to that, Even though the crowd really, really wanted you two to finally French kiss, they weren’t disappointed when it came to you both fighting. For now, they didn’t try to push you two… for now.

You immediately launched yourself forward, leaving a small crater behind you. At the last moment, he sidestepped your attack and aimed a punch directly at your ribs.

You placed your free hand in front of your ribs and grabbed his fist as he unintentionally swung you around. Once you jumped away from him, you swung the stop sign at his head.

The man quickly blocked the blow with his massive forearm and pushed the sign away.

He wasn’t just going to accept any injury without at least putting up a fight. He was itching to actually land a solid hit on you, which was a challenge due to your strength and agility.

He took the opportunity whilst your stop sign was pushed away to aim a kick at your side.

All Might cringed inwardly when you were sent through a wall. He really was dreading the paperwork… Technically, you destroyed that building, he’s just doing his duty.

…Also, you had a tendency to let him strike on purpose so he could indirectly damage buildings *cough* *cough*-

As you were recovering from that kick and standing at the edge of the hole you left, the people in the audience were whistling and hollering at you two.

All Might stared up at you with a scoff before marching over to the new hole in the wall.

“Damnit, why didn’t you dodge???” He almost whined.

You chuckled as you placed your stop sign on your shoulder and jumped down, landing in front of him with a deep thud.

“C’mon… you know why~” You said cheekily.

Despite the mask covering your lower face, he could tell you were smiling.

He let out an aggravated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his signature smile up through gritted teeth.

“You’re terrible.” He muttered.

In the background, some of the more overbearing and blunt All Might and Highland Havoc fans in the crowd started shouting again.

“Get a room already!”

“The damn sexual tension is more thick than Midnight!”

All Might was blushing furiously, trying to tilt his face away from anyone’s sight.

‘If I hear one more comment from these people…’ he thought to himself, keeping up that friendly All Might front for his fans and for himself.

Unfortunately, he was interrupted by another loud comment.

“Stop being pussies and kiss already!!” A more blunt and shameless fangirl yelled from the crowd.

All Might looked at his nemesis with a strained smile on his face.

You… You just deadpanned.

“…I’m just going to swing this at your durable head, is that okay?” You asked plainly yet genuinely, holding up your stop sign to show off your weapon of choice.

All Might let go of his restraint and rubbed the bridge of his nose again.

“That is absolutely fine.” He replied in annoyance before pulling his hand away to look at you. “In fact, could you please hit me in the face? I’d rather we got serious.”

Just then, another shrill female voice cried, “Oh come on, a kiss would be soooo much better tho-“

All Might gritted his teeth and interrupted. “Please, random citizen, I’m trying to concentrate!!”

Unfortunately, because All Might lost concentration, you took this chance to slam the sign part of the stop sign into his face.

He took the hit like a champ and stumbled back, but it didn’t knock him down, just caused him to fumble with his massive feet until he got his footing again.

He clutched his now throbbing cheek and winced.

’Note to self: keep your focus from now on.’ All Might thought to himself as he righted himself.

He smirked through the pain and glared over at you again.

“…You’re going to pay for that.” He said.

Instead of trembling in fear, you simply blinked in surprise, amazed that you actually nailed him in the face with the metal sheet so easily, before looking at the stop sign.

Your shock quickly turned into amusement after you did a double take.

“Oh my God!” You laughed from amusement and shock as you stared at the imprint of All Might’s face in the stop sign.

All Might’s glare and smirk dropped for a moment, instead looking at her with a bewildered look before following her gaze to the sign.

When he saw the All Might face-shaped imprint, he actually snorted.

The fans in the background were cheering and hollering at the scene unfolding on the battlefield between their favorite number one hero and number one villain.

You continued laughing while leaning onto the pole of the stop sign for support.

It wasn’t even one of those taunting laughs he always heard from you, it was one of those rare, genuine ones.

The hoarse sound of your laughter was so unbelievably beautiful to his ears…

In all the years he’d known you, he rarely ever heard a genuine laugh, a guffaw or an eruption of amused cackling. He always thought you were a snickering or a scoffing type.

…In all honesty, the sound of your laugh was almost more damaging than a stop sign to his face.

“I actually managed to immortalize that face you made into the sign! Definitely going into my stop sign collection!” You laughed out, wiping a tear from your eye.

Your comment luckily broke him out of his smiling stupor.

“H-Hey, I do not make that kind of face during battle…”

“The sign says otherwise.” You said while getting control of your laughter.

All Might’s face was slightly flushed as he internally pouted at you but still kept his signature smile on.

“Well… that’s obviously not my normal look!” He protested before turning to a more playful tone.

“…Though you must admit, that is a lovely face, even imprinted into a sign like that. I can see why you’d want to keep it, Havoc.” He said with a cheeky lilt to his tone, trying to tease you back.

You smirked and brought the dented part down to your face to study it.

“…actually, you’re right… even caught that beautiful jawline of yours.” You said before lifting your free hand up to tug at your mask.

You pulled the mask down, and for the first time in 15 years, you exposed your lower face to All Might and the crowd.

All Might’s eyes went the size of saucers.

He was finally getting to see your face. He had been yearning to know what you looked like beneath that hideous mask of yours for years.

A little part of him had hoped you would unveil yourself to him in battle for years, yet here you were actually doing it, Freezing the hero from disbelief and awe.

The audience had gone dead silent at the sight of your revealed face, and more than one fan was filming the historic moment.

… and It was about to get more historical… cuz you lifted the All Might face dent and gave it a little kiss before lifting the mask back over your lower face.

It was almost like a scene from a film, except it wasn’t scripted at all.

All Might’s jaw had dropped to the floor the moment you kissed the imprint, but the realization of what had just happened didn’t sink in until your mask was over your face again.

Everyone in the audience was stunned, and for a moment, no one uttered a breath. The silence was so loud, you could hear a pen hit the ground.

Then the crowd roared.

The collective roar and screams of the audience were deafening, and they rang in the ears of both the hero and the villain.

All Might was still staring at you in disbelief, a bright red blush spreading over his face.

As was expected of people who were witnessing such a sight, the fans had their phones out and were taking pictures at record speed. One or two people were actually full on crying with tears of joy.

You stared back at All Might with an amused and mischievous look in your eye as the crowd and potentially the whole world were collectively losing their mind.

All Might tried desperately to find words to say, but he was so stunned that he couldn’t even process his thoughts.

The hero’s brain had short circuited and his jaw was hanging open. All he could do was gape at you while the people in the background were gushing and crying and screaming about a number one ship in history being finally confirmed.

But then, he quickly realized that he was just standing there like a fish out of water, and there are cameras surrounding both of them, filming the whole scene.

He quickly schooled his features and placed his hands on his hips and lifted his head.

“O-OKAY, LET’S BE CALM ABOUT THIS!” he bellowed, but the fans were still making sounds like they just won the lottery.

At this, he groaned in frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose again.

He didn’t know what to do anymore. This was the worst. The fans are going to make this moment in history live on forever.

He finally removed his hand from his face and shot you a look.

“You did that on purpose….” he muttered to you.

“Oh did I?” You asked innocently while holding a dark gloved hand up to your masked face and kicking a foot up behind you.

All Might squinted his eyes at you in annoyance.

“Don’t give me that, you knew exactly what you were doing…” He grumbled.

The audience was still going berserk, cameras were flashing from all sides. The former hero was just so over it at this point.

You snickered like a little vixen while still holding your hand to your masked face. He was slowly getting more and more irritated at how amused you looked.

“…Why did you even do that!?” He demanded with a shaky tone.

The crowd was still hooting and whistling in the background, but All Might didn’t care, his focus was completely on you.

You simply shrugged.

“Sorry, my dear~” you purred out, using the pet name he used for you using your strength-based quirk to jump off to somewhere else, leaving All Might to deal with the damaged building and the crowd of shocked and excited bystanders… and a news helicopter.

All Might was so too caught off guard by his own pet-name being used against him that he forgot to give chase to you.

He eventually came to his senses and whipped around to search for you in the sky, but you were long gone by now.

Groaning and pinching his nose for the 5th… 6th time? 10th? The hero turned back to the aftermath of the confrontation and was immediately bombarded by the fans who were clambering around him.

That night…

Yagi Toshinori *hated* paperwork.

At this point, he was used to doing excessive amounts of paperwork, so he was able to get through it all rather quickly.

But today’s paperwork involved the entire incident that had occurred between you and him. His hands were cramping up from signing forms and writing down details of your little escapade.

He was just scribbling away as the TV played in the background, playing today’s news. And of course, the entire day’s events featured heavily on tonight’s broadcast.

Yagi lifted his head to take a break and watch the replay of the confrontation on the newscast. Once again, he was met with seeing himself standing on the battlefield with his jaw on the floor as cameras captured your little… display.

Immediately, he groaned and put his head down on the desk with a thump, mumbling into the wood.

“I actually can’t believe it, she really just made it known to everyone!” The news reporter said a little too excitedly for someone who’s supposed to be unbiased.

The news reporter had obviously been waiting for this moment her whole career. She was acting like a fangirl, which in a way, was very realistic of her since many people would react the exact same way.

“Who would’ve ever thought that the number one hero or number one villain would actually have some kind of affection for each other? Could it even be love?”

Toshinori was just sitting there, face on the desk, listening to the broadcast as his now deflated, fluffy hair draped over his desk.

The news reporters continued to talk about what had happened, but something said by the man reporter caught his attention.

”It’s been 15 years, today marking the 15th anniversary of All Might’s and Highland Havoc’s rivalry… it’s about damn time.” The older news reporter, a 50 year old man, said.

“Daikaku, you shouldn’t swear, we’re on live tv.” The younger news reporter said with a hint of worry.

But All Might didn’t focus on that…

15 years. 15 years of you being his nemesis…

He hadn’t even realized that it had already been that long. And he hadn’t realized that he had feelings for you for 90% of that time… that was… a really long time.

The news broadcaster interrupted the former heroes thoughts when the subject was changed to an All Might fan.

“Let’s listen now to what the fans have to say about the incident that unfolded in today’s fight.”

All Might groaned when he heard that. He just knew the first fan they were going to show was going to be an overly obsessed and delusional fan. And of course, that is exactly what he got.

“I CALLED IT! I KNEW the two of them have been dating in secret for YEARS!!” The first fan cried out through one of the speakers of the call, clearly a child.

All Might was so over it. He wanted to bang his head on the desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yes. That fan at the end is 100% Midoriya.

This takes place 3 years before All Might meets Midoriya, which means he’s 11 and All Might is 46.

Let me know how well I did and if you’d like more 👍👍👍👍

…or don’t. I’m planning on making a lil series anyways, like it or not.

[inkspiredwriting]

Meet the Hargreeves

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: This was an idea from a nice anonymous person. I have never written a one shot as quickly as this one, I really always had this scene from the Bad Boys 2 movie in my head. And I'm posting today because I won't have time for it on Monday. As always, let me know what you think

Warnings: none

Maddie took a deep breath as she pulled into the driveway of her childhood home. She shot a quick glance at her boyfriend, Daniel, who looked both excited and a little terrified. Understandable. He was about to meet her family—a family that made The Addams Family look like a well-adjusted sitcom.

"You ready?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

Daniel chuckled nervously. "Yeah, totally. I mean… how bad could it be?"

Maddie sighed. "Just remember: My dad is intense, my uncles and aunt are chaotic, and my little brother thinks he's a genius. Don't take anything personally."

"Got it."

She squeezed his hand, then led him toward the front door. Before she could even knock, the door swung open.

"Princess!" Five greeted, pulling her into a tight hug before narrowing his eyes at Daniel. "Who's this?"

Maddie groaned. "Dad, be nice."

"I'm always nice." Five's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "I’m just wondering why some guy is standing on my porch, holding my daughter’s hand like he has a death wish."

Daniel swallowed hard. "Uh, hi, sir. I’m Daniel." He extended a hand, which Five completely ignored.

"Daniel," Five repeated, like it was a foreign concept. "Daniel what? Daniel Serial Killer? Daniel Doesn't-Understand-Boundaries?"

Maddie rolled her eyes. "Dad, please."

Five didn’t budge. "Did you know, Daniel, that I can make people disappear?"

"DAD!"

Daniel let out a nervous laugh. "I'm sure you could, sir."

Five finally took his hand in an iron grip, shaking it way too hard. "Mmmhmm. Sir. I like that. Let's keep it that way."

Just then, the rest of the family appeared in the doorway. Klaus leaned dramatically against the frame, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Diego was cracking his knuckles in the background, looking like he was about to interrogate a suspect. Luther stood there, arms crossed, while Allison and Viktor simply smirked, enjoying the spectacle.

Milo, Maddie’s younger brother, was sitting on the stairs, already typing away on his phone. “I’m running a background check as we speak,” he announced casually.

"Milo!" Maddie snapped.

Milo shrugged. "What? It's not my fault Dad taught me how to access government databases."

Daniel turned even paler. "Government databases?"

Maddie turned to Five. "Really, Dad?"

Five just sipped his coffee. "What? It’s good to have hobbies."

Y/n finally appeared, looking exasperated as she took in the scene. "Seriously? Can we at least let them in before we start terrifying the poor boy?"

Daniel looked relieved. "Thank you, Mrs. Hargreeves."

"Please, call me Y/n." She smiled warmly, shooting a glare at Five. "Unlike some people in this house, I actually want our daughter to have a social life."

Five scoffed. "She already has a social life. With us."

Maddie groaned. "Oh my god, let’s going inside before this gets worse."

She dragged Daniel in, and the family followed.

Dinner started off… well, exactly as Maddie had feared.

First, Klaus decided it was his personal mission to dig up all of Maddie's most embarrassing childhood stories. "Did she tell you about the time she got her head stuck in the banister?"

Daniel chuckled. "No, she left that out."

"Or the time she thought she could fly and jumped off the roof?"

" Uncle Klaus!" Maddie groaned. "I was six! And you were the one who told me I could do it!"

"I was just encouraging you!" Klaus said defensively.

Diego, who had been eerily silent up to this point, finally leaned forward. "So, Daniel," he said in his gruff tone, "what are your intentions with my niece?"

Daniel blinked. "Um… what?"

"I mean, why are you here? What do you want with Maddie?"

Maddie smacked her forehead. "He's my boyfriend, Uncle Diego! This isn't an CIA interrogation!"

Five leaned forward, staring Daniel down. "Actually, it's worse than an CIA interrogation."

Daniel let out a nervous laugh. "Wow, you guys are really protective, huh?"

Luther finally spoke, his massive frame looming over the table. "I mean, wouldn't you be, if she was your brothers daughter?"

"Or your niece," Allison added with a smirk.

"Or your little princess," Klaus chimed in.

"Or your sister," Milo muttered without looking up from his phone.

Daniel swallowed hard, looking around the table as every single Hargreeves member stared him down.

"I, uh…" He took a sip of water. "I think I need to use the restroom."

"Second door on the left," Y/n said helpfully, glaring at the family as soon as Daniel was out of earshot. "Seriously?! Can you all stop acting like a mob family for five seconds?"

Five shrugged. "We just want to make sure he's good enough for Maddie."

Maddie crossed her arms. "No, you want to scare him away. Big difference."

"Same thing," Klaus said with a grin.

Y/n rubbed her temples. "I swear, it's like dealing with children."

Five smirked. "You are part of this family."

Y/n sighed. "Yes the normal part of this family."

By the time dinner ended, Daniel looked like he'd survived a hostage situation. As they stood by the door, ready to leave, he turned to Maddie. "So… uh… that went well?"

Maddie groaned. "I'm so sorry. I knew they'd be like this, but wow."

He chuckled. "Hey, it's okay. They're just… passionate."

Maddie snorted. "That's one way to put it."

Five walked up, putting a hand on Daniel's shoulder. "Alright, listen up, Daniel," he said, voice low and dangerous. "I love my daughter more than anything. If you hurt her, they will never find your body."

Daniel’s eyes went wide. "Got it, sir."

Five smiled. "Good. Drive safe!"

Maddie smacked Five’s arm. "Dad!"

Daniel hurried to the car while Maddie turned to glare at her family. "I hate all of you."

Klaus grinned. "No, you don’t."

She pointed at Milo. "And you! You’re fourteen! You don’t get to threaten my boyfriend!"

Milo didn’t even look up from his phone. "I wasn’t threatening him. I was just letting him know I hacked into his credit score. It’s mediocre, by the way."

Maddie groaned and stormed off toward the car.

Y/n sighed, giving Five a pointed look. "Happy now?"

Five grinned. "Very."

Y/n rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."

"Yeah, but you love me," Five repeated smugly.

Y/n sighed. "yes, sometimes."

[writeyouin]

I dont know if this went through but can I get a valentines day request for tfa sentinel prime falling in love with a g/n human reader?

Sentinel Prime (TFA) X Reader – Making Alliances

Description: After the war between Earth and Cybertron ended, you were recruited to work alongside Sentinel Prime. Yet, he tries to make your job hard, determined to keep on hating humans. Yet, given time, he finds it almost impossible to dislike you, no matter how hard he tries.

A/N – I had such a basic bitch plan for this and instead it turned into one of my longer fics.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

“Guys, really, it’s fine. I’m fine,” You tried to assure the Autobots.

Optimus, Bulkhead and Ratchet looked at you doubtfully. Bumblebee looked more annoyed.

“Fine? How can you be fine with this? This reeks!” He exclaimed, waving his arms around.

You stifled a laugh at his over-dramatics. “Okay, I’ll admit, I never saw myself working with Sentinel, but… It’s not a terrible idea.”

Although you had your doubts, you believed what you said. Now that the war was over, and Megatron had been defeated, Cybertron had officially launched the Earth Alliance Program. Since the Autobots had been posted on Earth during the war, there was no point denying Alien existence, even though many Cybertronians didn’t think much of humans. Having been stationed on Cybertron for a week while you acclimatised, you had heard the hushed comments about how you weren’t advanced enough to be there, and how weak and fragile your frame was.

When the Autobots had come to your planet, they had faced their share of xenophobia, some of which continued to this day. Now that you were on their planet, you were beginning to get the same treatment.

In an attempt to bring your races closer together, Ultra Magnus had decided it would be best for you to be placed with a high-ranking officer, and as such he had made you Sentinel Prime’s assistant. Although he could have just as easily put you to work with Jazz, or left you with Optimus’ team, you understood his reasoning. If Sentinel could get over his prejudices, then anyone could. Besides, you still had one week left before you were to begin your work. In that time, you were expected to report any struggles that you had living on Cybertron.

In your first week, you had reported that the shower in your specially-made apartment was too hot, the cooking facilities were inadequate, and that you needed your own mode of transport so nobody else had to help you get around.

All the issues were addressed relatively quickly and now you had a motor-scooter which ran on autopilot. The vehicle did have a function for you to drive it yourself, but it had been dictated that you could not use that unless it was an emergency, otherwise you would be in breach of the first Cybertronian law written with humans in mind; it seemed that the governing body didn’t trust you to drive, though their fear and prejudice didn’t bother you too much.

“Are you even listening to me?!” Bumblebee waved his arms erratically.

While you had been lost in thought about your new position, he had been ranting about what a scrap heap Sentinel was.

You held up your hands placatingly, feeling a tiny pang of sadness that Prowl wasn’t there. It used to be him that ended Bumblebee’s tirades but… Well, everyone knew that war had its casualties; you just wished that it didn’t have to be someone you knew.

“Yes, I’m, listening. But seriously Bumblebee, you don’t have to worry about me. It’s just a job.”

‘A job I feel massively underqualified for,’ You added in your head, thinking how you had only been chosen because you met the Autobots by chance and they trusted you as their second human liaison.

Sari would also start her life on Cybertron, but seeing how she was techno-organic and only a teenager, she was going to school to learn about her Cybertronian heritage and culture.

Jazz and Bulkhead were going to stay on Earth, and Optimus was going to travel between both planets in an attempt to cement the worlds’ budding relationship. So, for a while, you would be alone, at least in a working capacity. Granted, Ratchet and Bumblebee would be nearby, but this was something you would have to do on your own.

“Alright,” Bumblebee grumbled. “But if he’s a glitch-head, get me and I’ll kick the scrap outta him!”

“You and what army?” Ratchet commented drily.

You chuckled and thanked Bumblebee, touching his arm to soothe him. A blush dusted his cheeks.

“Uh games night?” He said hurriedly, attempting to hide his feelings before racing off to where Sari was waiting for you all.

You ignored his flush red, fully aware of how he felt about you. You knew that was a conversation that the two of you would have to have one day, but you waited for the day he might bring it up. Besides, since this was the last night everyone would be together for a while, you didn’t want anything to jeopardise the fun, especially when faced with something as tough as unrequited love.

“I’m here,” You said breathlessly, shooting through the automatic door just in time for work.

Sentinel glared at you. He had been counting on you being late so that he could complain about you to anyone who would listen afterwards.

“So… What would you like me to do, Sentinel Prime, Sir?” You bowed formally. There was no need to do so, but you hoped that by addressing him with such respect, he might warm to you somewhat. Having met him once or twice before, you knew how arrogant he could be and had decided for an easy life it might be better to stroke his ego somewhat.

Your gambit paid off as Sentinel forgot whatever sharp insult he was about to say. Instead, he blustered, puffed out his chest and managed to order you to stay out of his way while he did his job.

“Sorry Sir, but Ultra Magnus ordered me to help you in whatever way I can.”

“I know that! It doesn’t matter. I don’t need your help. Just stay out of my way and at the end of all this, we can tell Ultra Magnus to have you reassigned.”

“No, sir,” You said adamantly, standing your ground.

“What?” Sentinel spat, his lip curling.

“I’m here to work with you. I won’t be shunted to the side just ‘cos I’m human. Our planets worked together to capture Megatron, now we have to work together to show that our races can do the same.”

Sentinel stared menacingly at you. He didn’t want to be anywhere near you. You were small, organic, filthy. With that in mind, he wished you would just leave. He didn’t want any of your gross germs on him. Yet, it seemed that you were also stubborn in your mission.

“Fine,” He said after a minute, though it was clear he wanted to tell you where to go. “Just don’t do any of that gross human stuff. If you sneeze-” He didn’t finish his sentence, shuddering at the thought.

You gave him a thumbs up, “No sneezing, got it.”

With that, Sentinel finally gave you some work to do, and you began what was sure to be a rocky relationship.

Working with Sentinel was difficult.

Sometimes, he would barely give you any work at all, insisting you use your ‘initiative’ to find tasks that would aid him. On other days, he would pile your workload impossibly high, and if you were struggling to understand the reports that he had ordered you to complete, that was your fault and he wouldn’t help you.

Either way, at the end of the shift, he would get to kick back at the bar and complain that you either didn’t understand the job or couldn’t keep up with the tasks provided to a bunch of equally closed-minded mechs who wanted to see you fail.

Still, you didn’t complain, doing your best to learn all you needed to succeed. To Sentinel it was infuriating, but you knew that if you complained, it would validate everything he thought about you, no matter how unfair it was.

Fortunately, you learned how to better work around him by talking to him with the utmost respect, complimenting him, and generally getting him talking about himself. On days when he indulged you with stories of his glory days, he was a little kinder, occasionally throwing you a bone and helping you out a bit with some of your workload, or sometimes instructing you on things you had been struggling with.

Still, your working relationship wasn’t great and wouldn’t be viable unless something changed.

Such a day finally came when Sentinel had the terrible idea that you should be faster, and very suddenly presented you with his patented human speed shoes… They were rollerblades.

“I can’t use these,” You sighed when he threw them at you, too afraid to hand them to you in case you touched him.

“You can and you will,” Sentinel harrumphed.

“Sentinel, I can’t rollerblade, at least not with all the things I have to carry about, and-”

“Is this you refusing to work, human?”

You rolled your eyes. Not only was he seeking an excuse to stop working with you, but he was also playing his trump card by calling you human instead of using your name; he did that whenever he wanted to instil a feeling of power imbalance upon you.

“Fine,” You sighed, giving in. “I’ll wear the damn rollerblades.”

“Speed-shoes,” Sentinel corrected.

“Speed-shoes,” You conceded, finding him to be extra impossible.

As you had told Sentinel, using the rollerblades for work was impossible, especially when you were carrying a stack of oversized datapads that you couldn’t see over, since Sentinel was also being unreasonable about your workload.

It started as a stumble on one of the higher walkways that had been provided like scaffolding around the office for you to work with. Yet, instead of falling, you dropped the datapads, tripped backwards, and screamed as you fell over the handrail.

While Sentinel was mostly paper-pushing since the war was over, he was still trained for battle. He hurriedly spun around at the sound of your scream and ran to catch you. While he was timely in his rescue, he wasn’t gentle and he blanched at the sound of bone snapping.

He expected you to cry out again, but you were worryingly quiet upon the realisation that your leg had broken.

“(Y/N)!” Sentinel yelled your name. His processor skipped over the necessary sentences as he scrambled to think of what to say next. He was stuck between asking if you were okay, even though you clearly weren’t, ordering you not to tell anyone about the speed shoes that had caused the accident, and demanding you to tell him how to fix you.

“I- I-” Tears streamed from your eyes.

Sentinel was taken aback by how pale you were and how unusual it felt to hold you. He was certain he would drop you if any liquids came out of you, yet here you were crying and all he wanted to do was hold you closer and tell you that everything was going to be okay.

You were soft and warm and… completely unexpected.

“R-Ratchet,” You managed to say between your sniffles and grunts of pain, pulling the rollerblades off, even though it hurt to move.

“Right!” Sentinel exclaimed, snapping out of his silence.

He transformed into vehicle mode, grimacing when it caused you more pain to be jostled about, then he sped to the medical school where Ratchet was spending his twilight years, passing on his knowledge to another generation of bots.

“What in tarnation is going on here?” Ratchet demanded of Sentinel as he held you out to the older bot in the safety of a private med-bay.

“I-(Y/N)-” Sentinel stammered, feeling the pressure of Ratchet’s stern glare.

“I fell,” You said weakly to Ratchet.

“Fell, huh?” Ratchet said doubtfully. “Where are your shoes, kid?”

You shook your head, indicating that it didn’t matter, but Ratchet was an astute old bot, and he shot a scathing to look at Sentinel, even though you hadn’t sold him out.

“Really, Ratchet. It- it was my f-”

“Never mind that, kid. Let’s get you seen to.”

Although Sentinel wanted to leave, he stayed, mostly because he couldn’t fathom why you hadn’t told on him. He regretted that decision when Ratchet asked him to chat privately after treating you. By that point, you were too tired to protect Sentinel further, and the pain medication had made you somewhat woozy. Besides, even if you had been in any shape to argue, you couldn’t keep up with either of them on a bandaged leg, and without assistance you couldn’t get down from the medical berth provided.

Once Ratchet had got Sentinel out of your sight, he began yelling, “I don’t know what you did, but you're darn lucky that kid isn’t selling you out! That’s far more loyalty than you’d ever give to them!”

“Wha-” Sentinel spluttered, offended and slightly intimidated by the older bot.

“Don’t you dare try to explain yourself to me! Young bots are all alike, all arrogance and no spark. Do you know how long it takes for an injury like that to heal in humans?! AND (Y/N) WILL BE TRAPPED HERE FOR A FEW DAYS, BORED AND ALONE SINCE YOU KEEP TELLING EVERY DAMNED BOT WHO’LL LISTEN TO YOU HOW LITTLE YOU THINK OF HUMANS!”

“I-” Sentinel held up a finger to argue, but Ratchet slapped his servo away.

“Don’t you dare try to argue with me,” He said dangerously. “I’ve seen (Y/N) a few times since she started working with you. You’ve overworked that poor kid for no reason at all, and let me tell you something- That kid won’t quit. You can pile on all the work you want, and (Y/N) will do it. They’ll exhaust themself to do anything you ask, all because they’re the bigger person and want to be friends.”

Ratchet barked a mirthless laugh, continuing his tirade, “Friends, HAH! But you won’t let that happen, will you, Mr. Bigshot. No, ‘cos you’re so superior. Well, anything to say for yourself now?”

Sentinel looked somewhat ashamed and contrite after Ratchet’s verbal rebuke, yet he let his anger bubble up and overtake him.

“I am your superior officer,” He spat contemptuously.

Ratchet shook his head, disgustedly. “Then lead by example and do something worthy of the title.”

The older bot was about to walk away, but Sentinel wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction, so he stormed ahead first, rushing back to the room you were stuck in.

“Come on (Y/N), I’m taking you home.”

“I just told you (Y/N) has to stay here,” Ratchet yelled, catching up.

“Not if there’s someone to take care of them.”

“And you’re gonna do that?”

“Yes!”

Sentinel picked you up, more gently than before, and this time, he was extra careful as he transformed so as to spare you any discomfort.

He wasn’t entirely certain whether to take you to your own home or his, but after some thought about organic fuels and how much effort you would have to put into traversing his sizeable house, he opted for taking you to your place, next door to the techno-organic and down the road from that insufferable Bumblebee.

Sentinel especially hated the contentious yellow mini-bot since he always found reasons to bother you at work and it was a massive distraction. It didn’t help that Bumblebee was obviously head over pedes for you and that he had no respect for Sentinel at all; he only ever left at your insistence, and always with an insult for Sentinel about the workload he gave to you.

Hm… your workload. Sentinel couldn’t help thinking about what an aft he’d been of late.

“When you’re fit for work, I think you should take it easy. No more 12 groon days.”

A groon on Cybertron was more or less an hour, and you nodded along sleepily in understanding, grumbling a half-word that didn’t make sense outside of your head.

“Hey, are you listening?”

Your eyes shut heavily and you could barely lift them open to respond.

“Great, I suppose I have to take you to bed now too?” Sentinel complained, covering just how worried he was that you were acting out of the ordinary.

When he got you home, Sentinel struggled to take care of you; he had very little knowledge on humans, except that they had corrosive spit, though most were apparently too civilised to use it. Your house was a hybrid of human-sized equipment and catwalks, and lounge space for several Cybertronians, yet having never been there before, Sentinel didn’t know the layout, nor did he understand what half your appliances did, or what certain rooms were for.

He did manage to find your bed and lift you up to it, but after that, he felt like he should be doing something more to help. You were recharging now, but you would probably need things when you woke up.

Stuck on what to do, Sentinel reluctantly knocked on your neighbour’s door.

“What do you want?” Sari asked obnoxiously, annoyed to have been interrupted in the middle of the day, right after she had returned from class.

“I- I-” Sentinel made an effort to swallow his pride, an act which took a good five minutes. “I need your help.”

It took Sari about 10 minutes to stop laughing, but she got very serious when Sentinel begrudgingly explained that you were injured and that he didn’t know how to help you. After seeing you in bed, sleeping off the pain medication that Ratchet had administered, Sari explained very carefully how long it would take for your leg to heal, and what Sentinel had to do in the few coming days to help you out, such as placing a water bottle by your bed, and making sure your crutches were in reach.

Sentinel listened to everything she said, ignoring the back-handed insults that came his way, then after Sari left, he settled into the bot-sized lounge, waiting for you to wake up. He put the TV on, watching a show from Earth you had left in the player, synching the volume to his audials, but keeping it low all the same in case he needed to hear you wake up.

Having watched several episodes of the comedy show you had, Sentinel had to admit, it was pretty funny… for something humans had made. The idea of Ghosts being so ridiculously stupid did amuse him.

You woke up quietly, sucking in pain through your teeth as the medication you had been given started to wear off. Admittedly, you were surprised to see Sentinel in your house, even though you vaguely remembered him promising that he would be there.

It was amusing to see him actually having fun for once. Usually, he was tense and angry around you; you hadn’t realised he could be happy without putting someone else down.

You tried to get up without disturbing him but the crutch clattered to the floor before you could grab it.

“(Y/N),” Sentinel stood up quickly. “How are you feeling? Do you need Ratchet again?”

“I’m-” You thought about saying you were fine, as was the expected social response. Instead, you decided to answer truthfully. “I’m tired, but my leg was bothering me a bit.”

“It’ll be fine,” You added hurriedly before he could rush off to get help you didn’t need, “It’s just sore.”

Sentinel nodded. “From what I understand, it will be painful for some time,” He didn’t mention that by that he also meant the memory of inadvertently hurting you.

You nodded with a tired smile, “Yeah… Could be worse though. Thank you, for getting me help.”

“Thank… Thank you for your loyalty.”

You nodded again, “Yeah uh… You- You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. I can take care of myself.”

Sentinel would have gladly left if he didn’t feel so responsible for you. “I need to stay for a while if you are comfortable with me being here.”

“Okay,” You agreed, reaching again for your crutches so you could go to the bathroom.

Sentinel hurried to pick them up for you. “Okay,” He agreed solemnly.

Sentinel was surprisingly attentive to you. Although you only needed him for a day or so, he insisted on staying the full week. After that, he brought work to you for a while, afraid that if you returned to the main work base, you’d somehow make your recovery take longer.

Yet, the reports that he brought you were easier than before, confirming your suspicions that he had initially made your job harder than it needed to be; the deadlines were also laxer, and he took the time to explain a few things to you.

He stopped complaining about you to bots at the bar, and now on the odd occasion you sneezed or cleared your throat, he didn’t flinch or make nasty comments. In short, he was getting used to you, and you realised that when he tried, he could be very nice.

The peace was short lived however when Bumblebee came over to visit for the fourth time since you’d been hurt.

“You should quit,” He told you, point-blank, having abandoned the video game the two of you had been playing.

“Excuse me?” You asked, wondering what had prompted his response this time.

“Quit! Go back to working for the correct Prime. Optimus would treat you better and he wouldn’t make you work when you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick. A broken leg is not a sickness.”

“It’s an injury,” Bumblebee said accusingly, raising his voice.

“Bumblebee, this is for our races to work together. This is a good start.”

Bumblebee blushed. The way you spoke so passionately about your races working together made him think that you were talking about more than work… Maybe, you were talking about you and him. Together.

“Besides,” You added, “Working for Sentinel isn’t half-bad, you know. He’s- He’s been kind to me.”

Bumblebee froze at the look on your face. Pink-dusted cheeks, a soft smile that he had imagined would be reserved for him, the way your eyes glazed over almost dreamily when you spoke about Sentinel. No, no! This couldn’t be happening. You could not get feelings for that pompous, arrogant, pile of SLAG!

“How did you get hurt?” Bumblebee asked, dangerously quiet, though you missed the intention behind his tone.

He had asked you before, but you rattled off an excuse about being careless.

“I already told you,” You started, only to be cut off by a Bumblebee who was angrier than you’d ever seen him before.

“HOW DID YOU GET HURT?!”

“Bumblebee-”

“HOW?! IT WAS HIM WASN’T IT!”

“I-”

Bumblebee ran out of your house, transforming as soon as he was on the streets. He was determined to give Sentinel a piece of his mind.

It took a while for Bumblebee to find Sentinel, not knowing the places that the Prime frequented. Yet, he eventually found him leaving a store with a small box that fit under his arm.

Bumblebee rushed at Sentinel, throwing a punch against the larger bot’s jaw. Had he been prepared, Sentinel might have faired better, but as it was, he dropped the box he was carrying and stumbled backwards, against the alley wall.

Bumblebee tried to pin him but Sentinel pushed him back, grappling his arms.

“WHAT THE FRAG ARE YOU DOING?” Sentinel demanded as the two struggled, holding each other’s shoulder plates and trying to get the better of their opponent.

Bumblebee headbutted Sentinel in the chassis to little effect, “IT’S YOUR FAULT (Y/N) GOT HURT! ADMIT IT! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!”

Bumblebee waited for the adamant denial Sentinel was known for. He pushed Sentinel back, readying his stingers, and only stopping when Sentinel answered.

“Yes.”

Bumblebee stopped in his tracks, mouth agape. Sentinel had never once taken responsibility for his actions.

“What?”

“It was my fault,” Sentinel admitted bitterly.

For the first time since finding him that night, Bumblebee really looked at Sentinel. “Why? Why now? After all this time, you finally admit to something…”

“It’s not natural…” Sentinel said more to himself than to Bumblebee. He was thinking about his feelings towards you, certain that it wasn’t right for a Cybertronian to feel anything romantic towards a human. He bent down to pick up the box which had spilled its contents onto the floor.

Bumblebee glanced down finding that it was all things for humans. Imported books from Earth, snacks you had been known to eat, herbal tea that Ratchet often recommended, and some pain medication.

Bumblebee picked up the tea, staring at it morosely before handing it to Sentinel who took it warily.

“(Y/N) doesn’t like that flavour,” He said quietly.

“I’ll… I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bumblebee nodded. He didn’t apologise for his actions, though it was implied in his tone when he addressed Sentinel for the final time that night, “Take better care of them. They’re everything to me.”

Sentinel nodded, watching Bumblebee walk away afterwards. He stayed there a few minutes longer before heading over to your house to gift you the things he had bought.  

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