#it actually reminded me of how i felt after my accident

[wp100]

why am I not surprised that a streamer (of all people) thinks that his phone recording is more important than his friends well-being after CRASHING his VEHICLE while TEXTING, not to mention speeding in the rain.

I would cut ties if that were my friend.

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hey! Gosh I love your fics, you are so talented! <3 I have a request after your latest fic haha. The sentences 'It's only a matter of time before he accidentally slips and calls you his spouse in front of people.' would be the perfect plot, actually. When and how would the Harbingers calls their s/o 'their wife' in front of others first time? If you don't like it, you don't have to do it! i hope you have an awesome day!

(hehe, yes, accidentally… mmm. Enjoy!)

✦ They accidentally call you their spouse 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone, Tartaglia

It was a complete and utter accident; just a harmless slip of the tongue. One moment, your beloved was politely introducing you to some of his Fatui subordinates, the other he inadvertently referred to you as “my spouse” in front of others. It would've been a sweet moment of shared laughter, were it not spoken in front of so many people of the Fatui. It’s not like your beloved’s subordinates would start correcting him, he's a Harbinger after all… now how would you navigate this awkward situation? 

✧ The ever-cold and calculating Pierro prevents any mistakes from slipping past him. Yet here he is, standing composed next to you as he gently gestures to you and claims:

“From here on out, my spouse shall reside in the Zapolyarny Palace and I expect all obedience to be directed towards them.” 

You went silent. The servants went silent. Even he went silent. You carefully murmured to him:

“... Pierro, dear. We are not married.” 

Somehow the Jester remained blank, as if the error of his brain eluded him. Or perhaps, he realized it was too late to reprimand his mistake, especially in front of the royal servants of the palace. He simply cleared his throat and nodded woefully: “Indeed, we aren't. My apologies.” 

The hushed murmurs of The Director’s “innocent mistake�� spread soundlessly like an inside secret within the Palace's walls. It wasn't news that the Jester adored you, but to witness the typically collected Pierro clear his throat bashfully, while you stood there timidly after correcting his mistake was endearing. 

These rumors, of course, reached the ears of the 3rd of the Fatui Harbingers’ ears, Columbina. Such tales were her delight, a personal pastime, relishing the timid nature of your private relationship with Pierro. She just had to tease you two by reminding him of the incident. Thus, one day, she approached The Jester in his office on an inconspicuous day and asked:

“Oh, cheer up, Director. It's been months since your last mishap. Surely you wouldn't let your composure shatter in front of the one you call beloved so easily?”

“You are correct,” - Pierro replied to the Dove calmly. “It was a mistake. Hence, I amended it and made sure it's no longer an issue.”

That’s when Columbina’s gaze drifted to his hands, where he was not leisurely adjusting his cuffs but subtly displaying an ornament on his ring finger. His engagement ring. If the 3rd Harbinger could open her enigmatic eyes, she would stare absolutely wide-eyed and dumbfounded through her white ribbons. When the hell did he get engaged-?!

“Pierro, dear,” - you suddenly stepped in, that same embarrassed interjection escaping you “Please stop boasting about our engagement. We haven't made it official yet.” 

✧ The poor Fatui soldier under Il Capitano's recruit stood stiffly looking at their Harbinger. Was it dread or the web of discomfort one feels when seeing a couple argue over something entirely beyond their input? Because that's certainly what the current Fatui skirmisher felt when standing between you and Il Capitano. 

“I can't allow this, Capitano,” – you huffed, your head shaking in dismay. “You over-dedicate yourself in battles.” 

“We went over this, my cherished. I have to, it is my duty as the Captain. Not just for the Fatui’s sake, but for your own safety as well!” 

“No, no,” – you clicked your tongue. “Don’t give me that. You know that's not the issue… the issue is that you overwork yourself by beating everyone in a duel and not leaving me anything else to defeat! What am I supposed to do?!”

“But my beloved-!” 

That's how your lover's quarrel underwent, and the Fatui Skirmishers that kept blinking in disbelief, stood helpless as the argument ping-ponged between ‘who gets to defeat more enemies on the battlefield’. Finally, your beloved spoke with an irritated huff at your scolding:

“Well, did you perhaps consider that I do not wish for my spouse to overextend themselves and get recklessly injured over some personal records?”

“Oh, so now you-... What did you just call me?” 

The sudden realization caused a deafening silence between you and Capitano like a blade poised to strike. His pitch-black visage did not help to decipher whether he was grappling with his mistake or masking his shock. You insisted: “Capitano, what did you just call-”

“I did not say anything.” 

“You did, you…Hey-! Don't turn your back on me, come back here!” 

Perhaps The 1st of the Fatui Harbingers does not flee from a challenge like a pathetic coward. However, today was a great chance to use a tactful retreat, to put it softly, all in the hopes of escaping your wrath. How else would he explain his mishaps of calling you his ‘spouse’ so casually? If he confessed that he thought “it sounds so befitting for my one and only” he might as well just reveal every tender plan of a quiet life with you. And he can't have you teasing his affection for a domestic life alongside you. 

For now, fleeing was a wise and honorable choice, especially when you are ready to duel him any moment now.

✧ It was another one of those days in Il Dottore's lab. His fingers tap the surface of the table, chin resting on his palm, while a pen balanced precariously behind his ear. Delegating his final tasks for today, he supervised some final organizational matters in the lab while addressing some lab assistants with his usual air of nonchalant authority.

“Ensure all the surgical sets are properly sanitized and checked in the ultrasonic cleaner. I expect them neatly arranged by day’s end. My spouse prefers the equipment organized this way.”

One of the lab assistants stopped in their tracks, staring at him. 

“And don't inform them how some glassware shattered today. It would be irrelevant for them to worry…”

Mumbling to himself, Dottore only now realized that his lab assistants fell eerily silent, staying motionless as they blinked at him. Humming in confusion, he turned his attention at last, only to realize these unfortunate listeners were not gawing at him, but rather someone behind him.

Lo and behold, you stood there, behind him.

With a hand on your hip, you inquired with deceptive simplicity: “Oh? You have a spouse, dear?”

He pretends he wasn't aware of the conundrum and the absurdity of his slip-up. But even with his eyes covered behind that smooth black mask covering his eyes, you can see the haughty expression on his lips. Thus, he crossed his arms.

“Hm, Perhaps. You could say I do.”

“Then my condolences to your spouse. They must have the patience of a saint.”

The Doctor’s assistant had to repress their little chuckles. The tense atmosphere of the laboratory would always be dismissed with your ease, as you’d knowingly nod to Dottore’s colleagues and allow them to leave you two alone. Not even Dottore’s stern attitude would interfere otherwise, even if he tried to conceal his flustered composure at your mere words: “Well perhaps they are a saint, but also a handful for me to deal with.”

“Well, your hypothetical spouse is telling you it's late already and you should take a break for today.”

Conceding to your playful banter, The harbinger’s shoulders loosened up, a rare smile gracing him as he followed you with a wrapped arm around your shoulder. Your victory is marked by your knowing smile and Dottore would not object or conceal his infatuation by referring to you as his spouse. Even if he denies the marital titles as nothing but superficial formalities, he’d walk with you back to your shared personal quarters mumbling:

“Spouse’s orders it is, then.”

✧ It happened during a busy moment when Pantalone and you were at a tailor shop. After much persuasion that lasted weeks, your beloved succeeded at finally dragging you to a luxurious tailoring workshop, where store attendants welcomed you both and helped take your measurements with utter refinement and class.

You stood still with your arms extended, while the attendants did their swift duty with a measuring tape. In the mirror’s reflection before you, you caught sight of Pantalone standing a few steps away, his hand resting thoughtfully against his chin.

“Perhaps an elegant new blazer, white with golden accents?”

You remained still, looking absent-mindedly at the array of fabrics on display. “Dear, there is no need for every piece of clothing to look like it was made for a soirée. I am perfectly fine with a casual cotton blazer.”

The shop attendant closest to you stepped close with some swatches of fabrics to choose from, offering a polite smile. However, Pantalone had to shake his head and charmingly declare – “Oh, nonsense, my spouse deserves only the highest quality and looks when it comes to tailor-made pieces. Excuse me, may I inspect the catalogs for fabrics?”

With a polite nod, the shop assistant did not question the Harbinger or your baffled expression at the sudden choice of words. She was already moving around: “Most certainly, sir. I am sure you and your partner would love our available options. In fact, we also offer discounts for matching tailored ensembles for betrothed pairs if it's for a wedding or a honeymoon special.”

"Wait, wait… we are not-”

“Ah, wonderful,” Pantalone kept the same polite persona without missing a beat. However, the slight knowing smile did not go unnoticed as he glanced at you. “That will be excellent to keep in mind for the future."

What was promised as a quick visit to the tailor shop turned into Pantalone victoriously dragging you through multiple high-end workshops and analyzing the myriads of ‘honeymoon and wedding’ offers when it came to tailor-made clothes. And you, of course, could only gape at him while he kept that ever-charming grin.

“Pantalone, honey, we are not looking into engagement accessories. We are not married.”

“Oh? We are not?” - He feigned innocence and tilted his head. “Hehe, oops.”

✧ When Tartaglia made his way back with his men to Snezhnaya, the fuzzy white snow provided a stark white contrast to the shedding blood on the ground. Clear ruby red droplets stained the cool white terrain after the Harbinger’s successful expedition. 

“Lord Harbinger Tartaglia,” – a Pyro Agent approached, bowing in recognition. “Our reports are in. The site is clear; all abyssal monstrosities have been eliminated.”

Yet Childe was far from tranquil. The rush of battle was still hot in his blood, his hydro dual blades clutched tightly in his hands. Another mission dispelling any filth at the outskirts of Snezhnaya may be mundane for some Fatui skirmishers, yet for a man like Childe, this was his warm-up. 

“Ha… not bad. We finished much earlier today. And here I suspected this would take a whole day.” 

The Pyro Agent nodded – “Yes, sir, indeed. Judging by estimation, our troop would be back to the city by nightfall.”

“...Hold on, nightfall?” 

Suddenly, Tartaglia froze as if a deep culmination dawned on him. The confirmation from his subordinates did not quell his sudden shock. In mere seconds, all his battle rush and thrill of danger vanished before Tartaglia whipped around and exclaimed loudly to his men: 

“Teucer’s theater performance at school is today! My spouse is gonna kill me!” 

Without further words or thought, the Harbinger literally turned and sprinted as far as the horizon could see, leaving his subordinates baffled. Teucer? Spouse? This young Harbinger was married? 

“What… is he on about? I didn't know our lord Harbinger was married,” - the Pyro Agent mumbled, looking into the distance where the figure of a sprinting young man vanished off comically. An Anemoboxer Vanguard stepped nearby, adjusting his gauntlets. “I am pretty sure he isn't. It could be a family member.”

“Then who is the spouse…?” 

The Fatui colleagues exchanged shrugs before the other remembered – “Ah, could be his partner. Remember, they sometimes come to visit when he's training?”

“Oh, then definitely them.” – the two men stared off in the direction Tartaglia had gone, the bizarre image of their superior, so consumed by his bloodlust moments ago, suddenly halting everything to rush home for some kid’s theater performance. And accidentally calling his sweetheart his spouse would be hard to forget.

“Wanna bet he won't make it in time and his ‘spouse’ would teach him a lesson?” 

[sapphicmsmarvel]

Azriel: Through Feyre's eyes

This absolutely follows my favorite fic plotline where Feyre and Y/N are childhood best friends and when Nesta and Elain are taken, Y/N is taken as well and Cauldron Made. 

This is Feyre, watching her best friend fall for her brother in law 💙

I def recommend reading The Night Court’s Justice and The Beginning of Your Life with Azriel. I’m pulling stuff from both those fics.  

Feyre truly didn’t know how Y/N would react to this world. 

Y/N hated change, she hated socializing unless she had her emotional support extrovert with her (Feyre or Elain), but, at the same time she loved adventure. 

And this was possibly a bigger adventure than even her favorite books were about. 

According to Rhys’ messages while Feyre was at the Spring Court, Y/N was taking a while to warm up to them. Shorter than it took Feyre (which was surprising) to warm up, but Y/N even left her room after a few hours being cooped up. 

She had helped nurse Cassian and Azriel back to health with Madja, quickly finding her footing even though Y/N absolutely hated medical things. 

When Feyre came back from the Spring Court, Y/N nearly took her out with her new strength. 

“Sorry, I'm still getting used to it. I broke a mug this morning.” She said into Feyre’s hair. Then pulled away from her, “Actually I’m not sorry, you left! Again!” She scolded Feyre, and Feyre had never been happier to be scolded. 

Feyre grabbed the necklace she always wore, the one she had matching with Y/N. “I had you with me.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes and grabbed her own necklace out of her shirt. “Bitch.” 

“Loser.” And you two clinked your necklaces together.

And that was that. 

The first dinner that night, Feyre introduced you to Lucien. She saw the blush on your cheeks and knew you thought he was handsome, Feyre herself thought he was. 

Eventually, everyone had sat at the table, you were in between Cassian and Azriel, almost like you had every dinner since she was gone. 

“Your friend is a horrid nurse.” Cassian wrinkled his nose. 

“Okay listen, I’m not used to this shit.” You said, passing the beets to Azriel. Who graciously accepted it, a light blush dusting his cheeks that told Feyre everything she needed to know. 

She glanced at Rhys who widened his eyes slightly and said in her mind “He’s been pining since she told him to ‘sit the fuck down’ when he tried to get up too early.” Rhys had a hearty chuckle, “Meanwhile I decided I wanted her around.” Feyre let out a small smile. 

“You should not gag when seeing a tendon in your patient's wing!” Cassian declared. 

Y/N gagged at the reminder. 

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

Watching her best friend fall in love brought Feyre an incredible amount of joy. She was a natural meddler and nosey in general. 

She watched as Azriel and you became inseparable. Although she had her mate to thank for that, after all you became the Night Court’s Justice and then you and Azriel began a professional partnership. 

It stressed her out, you being away. You were her emotional support person, even before her husband and mate. But you two would have mental conversations every day if you could. Unless you and Az were deep undercover. 

The secret smiles, the inside jokes, the memories that you and Az shared. She loved witnessing them.

Then, your accident happened. 

She hadn’t felt terror like that since Rhys ‘died’. When Rhys had informed her that you were on your deathbed, and that he had instructed a carriage to come and retrieve you and Azriel, she thought she was going to throw up. 

She insisted on being in the carriage, which then prompted Rhys to insist she take Nesta with her as Nesta had all the training of an Illyrian and could, frankly, kill someone with a single swipe of her hand. 

That worked out just fine for her, as Nesta and you were close as well. Her and her sister were repairing their relationship. What’s a 12 hour jaunt through the forest to retrieve their near-dead friend? 

A lot. That’s what it was. 

They argued, they threatened. But it all came from a place of worry as those arguments would end with hugs and comfort that they both needed. 

They didn’t rest either, not until they saw you. About four hours in, Rhys had reached out and alerted Feyre that you had awoken, you were eating and giving Azriel shit. 

She was so relieved she wept, and when she shared the news with Nesta, she swept too. 

When they arrived at the Inn, and alerted the Innkeeper Esther greeted them and let them know you had just woken up and Azriel would bring you out shortly. She made her husband bring out your belongings. 

He brought out a bag and she could smell your blood on the clothes in them. It made her nearly sick. She knew Nesta felt the same way. They wouldn’t ease until they saw you. 

But they didn’t wait long, once they got your bags put away in the carriage, Azriel was coming outside with you in a bridal carry.

And the best part? You were smiling. 

She let out a breath of relief that Nesta echoed. Then the smell hit them. “Their mating bond has snapped.” Feyre whispered to Nesta. 

Nesta gave her a shit-eating, conspiratorial grin. “Oh, the boys will have fun teasing him.” 

And they did when you all got back and they watched him bridal carry you into your room at the townhouse. They then watched him nurse you back to health, like you did for him many moons ago. 

If she could’ve designed the perfect male for her best friend, it would’ve been Azriel. She had never seen him smitten because she had obviously just entered his life, but she’d say he was smitten for you.

You never lifted a finger. He’d get your doors, push in your chairs, he treated you like a princess. And he was your prince because you gave that energy right back to him. 

You had a habit of rambling. In the past, she watched as your partners would ignore you and the light dimmed from your eyes when you realized they weren’t listening. Azriel however, not only clearly listening, he smiled while you talked as if just your voice brought him joy. He would respond with questions and let you go into another rambling as you explained the answer. 

She watched you become a shell of yourself with your old partners. You blossomed with Azriel. 

You two always had some point of contact with each other. Not in the gross PDA way, but like your thighs touching sitting next to each other. Your foot on his leg. A hand hold. Hand in arm. Anything. 

She was happy to see the changes in him as well. Rhysand felt the same way. He was outwardly smiling and laughing. More affectionate with his friends. Hell, he was more confident in his hands, he allowed others to touch them and even wore rings now that he loved. 

Rhysand had told Feyre “He’s always wanted to wear jewelry but was worried his hands would look bad with them. I will forever be grateful to Y/N for making him more confident and comfortable.”

His shadows even buzzed about more. You giggled because they loved your hair. 

The honeymoon phase wasn't a ‘stage’ for you two. It was the whole relationship. Of course, you two had your arguments, every partnership did. And she definitely heard about them. But you always came back together in the end, you always knew you would. It made her so incredibly happy you had that security and safety with him. No matter what argument, you knew in your soul and bones, he would never cheat, never leave. 

She felt content knowing her best friend was taken care of. She also looked forward to a lifetime of double dates.

[yoredoesmore]

can we recieve a fanfic where reader is petty and could take his vice captain job (soshiro hoshina)

if she really tried? So kind of like enemies to lovers trope, and how he realized she actually didn't despise him was he overheard a conversation with okonogi, while Y/N was like simping and head over heels for him

a/n: i took my time writing this because i never wrote enemies to lovers before :’) i hope you enjoy it!

pairing: Petty!Hoshina x Petty!Reader

genre: enemies to lovers trope

[wc: 2,4k ]

Too Sweet | Hoshina Soshiro

“Did I tell you guys about the story of how I almost became Vice Captain?” You yelled into the round, beer glass lifted high up in the air.

“You? Vice Captain? No way!” Kafka laughed, wasted as much as everybody else around you.

The stench of alcohol and meat lingered in the air and the tension was packed and steamy. Two hours ago, the Third Division managed to neutralize a Daikaiju with a Fortitude Level of 8.3. Of course you could not have done it without the Kaiju on your side, Kafka, but it was indeed a group accomplishment. Thus, everybody felt lifted in both spirit and mind– and the alcohol only added to the cheerful atmosphere.

“Oh yes! Captain Ashiro was gonna pick me instead of mushroom head over there but he flashed his little katanas and bat his pretty little lashes to secure the spot for himself. Talk about tactical maneuvers!”

The entire table immediately fell into a fit of laughter, unable to hold themselves back anymore from the jokes that came at their Vice Captain's expenses. Even after another ten minutes, the mockery took no end. You continued to tease and joke about Hoshina, despite him only being a couple tables away from you, as the joy was too sweet. But as the time passed you eventually forgot about his existence, until he spoke up to remind you.

“You talk quite big for someone who can barely hold a gun. Don't think I didn't notice your little accident during the fight against that group of Yoju two hours ago.” Hoshina made sure to pronounce the word Yoju, not just to tease you but simply out of spite. Deep down he knew that the alcohol was speaking out of you, yet that did not stop him from feeling slightly irritated by your remarks.

“Maybe if you hadn't been standing right in front of the Yoju, I would have managed to get a better shot at the thing. Being a close distance fighter while everybody around you needs a clear field of vision to work must be quite tiring, hm? Maybe I would have been better off as the Vice Captain after all.”

Hoshina’s face twisted into a serious grimace upon hearing your words– a nerve had been struck. Even the others knew not to speak up anymore, the drastic change in atmosphere indicated that a fight was about to go down.

“Then how come everybody else managed to do their job just perfectly, huh? Maybe something distracted ya, Vice Captain?” Hoshina's words stung sharp in your chest. Especially him calling you that made the aftertaste of alcohol in your mouth even worse.

The both of you were now standing right across from one another, only a couple inches keeping you apart.

“Are they..about to fight??” Kafka asked Reno, worry lingering in his voice.

“Putting all my money on L/n.” Was all Reno had to say, leaving Kafka shocked.

“That ugly ass bowl cut of yours must have distracted me.”

Silence.

It was a silence that swept over the room that had everybody on high alert. One little slip of their mouth– or even the slightest bit of laughter falling out of their lips, would meant certain death. Your comment about Hoshina's hair came out way too fast, as if you have been waiting to mention it. The annoyance was evident on the Vice Captain's face. Never in his life has he been provoked to punish someone as much as he was now.

The man stepped closer, leaving little to no space between the both of you as he spoke up again.

“Is this funny to you, L/n?” Hoshina slightly tilted his head to the side as he spoke. The tone he had chosen to ask that question forced shivers down everyone's back. Hoshina was a patient man who did not let his emotions get the best of him most of the time but right now it was clear as ice that he was pissed.

“Maybe we should stop the-”

“Fucking hilariousss.” You dragged the s’ to really make it sting.

And from then on all went downhill…

×

“I did What?!” Your screech was so loud, it almost cut Okonogi’s ear off clean.

“Yep. The two of you almost got kicked out of the bar, if it hadn't been for Izumo and Kaguragi going between you– the only rationally thinking adults at yesterday's get together might I add.” The woman fixed her glasses as she made the remark.

Your eyes sat no longer in their sockets but rather on the floor, rolling around like giant marbles.

“Fuck..fuck!” Embarrassment rushed through your body, the images of yesterday's fight slowly returning to your mind. To think that you would act out in such way, simply because of a couple glasses of beer– it made you feel ashamed.

“That fucker knows how to push my buttons, dammit!”

“Oh please.” Okononig finally looked up from her laptop, all attention now on you.

“Even without the alcohol, Hoshina is able to draw out the most aggressive reactions out of you. You two always nag on each others throats, how come?”

Your eyes refused to meet hers as she waited for an answer, your gaze drifting towards anything in the room but her frame. How did you end up like this? It was a good question, unfortunately, you yourself did not know the answer. The tension between you and the Vice Captain has become so palpable that the wall it has created kept the both of you far away from one another. Every interaction, every conversation and even the smallest comment– your encounters would always end up in some kind of fight.

“That idiot..if he wasn't so damn cute I would have fucked him over a long time ago."

“Understa– what now??” Okonogi thought that she misheard you, that she has been listening to so much of your complaining that her ears were playing tricks on her. But one look at the dreamy face you were making was enough for her to know that you were indeed dead serious.

“He always has that stupid smirk on his face, it's driving me crazy!” You allowed your body to slump down onto the couch as you started to reveal your true feelings.

“Ugh, Konomi! He is so annoying. He thinks that just because he has a cute face he can act all cocky with me! I could take his spot as Vice Captain anytime I want, snap, just like that! He should be more careful around me!”

Either the alcohol was still speaking out of you or your mental state was much more fragile than Okonogi had thought. She did know that you had a little crush on the Vice Captain all the way back then when you first started out but to think that your feelings have not changed, despite the lack of chemistry between the both of you. It was truly impressive yet also worrying.

“Then why not just take his spot?” The woman asked a rhetorical question, sarcasm hanging in her voice.

“I like it when he gives me orders.”

“Y/n..”

“I'm just kidding, gosh!” You sighed and allowed your hand to fall over your face.

“But…I do like the way he acts when he's in control of a situation, he's too sweet.” A giggle slipped from between your lips. “Hoshina is the best when he goes all serious, be it in a fight against Kaiju or when arguing with me. The look on his face is somethin’ else I'm telling ya! And when he grabs me by the arm to push me away, gosh! I just want to melt!”

Okonogi found herself unable to come up with an answer to your slightly concerning confession. It was such a cliche, constantly arguing with the person you liked simply to see a specific side of them but at the same time she found it cute. To think that the Platoon Leader knew no other way to interact with her crush than to annoy him, it was childish but sweet. Like a highschool romance maybe?

“Don't ever tell him how much you admire him, it will definitely go to his head.” The woman returned to her workload yet she continued to pay you some of her attention

“Ha! Never, not even in my dreams. Okay, maybe in my dreams.” You giggled “If he held my real tight maybe and..oh Okonogi! This man has me in a chokehold, ugh.”

You went into an endless ramble about what specifically you liked about the man. His voice, his way of thinking in battle oh and not to mention his body– one could have thought you were talking to your diary. But your friend did not mind, as she found listening to a second voice instead just the one in her head while working rather refreshing.

“Oh and one time I caught him mid workout late at night and you wont believe how good he looked in that fucking compression shirt. I was ogling so hard, he caught me and I had to pretend to be mad at him for making so much noise late at night.”

“You gotta tell him how you feel someday, Y/n.” The woman replied but her words fell onto deaf ears. You had built up too much tension to now come out with your true feelings. Especially after yesterday's fight, you now had to avoid the man for an unseeable period of time before interacting with him in any type of way. The only way you could ever end up together was if he, for some reason, made the first move but that thought was a fantasy and nothing more.

“Thank you so much for listening to my bullshit rant, Konomi.” You gave the woman a long hug from behind while she remained seated.

“Always here to listen to you.” She smiled. And with that you left her shared office.

On your way back to your room, you encountered many cadets who greeted you with a smile. You returned their kindness, making sure to smile and wave at any soul you encountered. But once the space you walked through became less lively, less and less cadets now passed you by until you were all alone, so did the change in atmosphere become more suffocating. You felt a presence behind you, poking and scratching at your back.

At first you tried to ignore it, not paying your alarming thoughts any attention, until you were fully convinced to have heard something move behind you.

“Who's there-” Your entire body immediately froze upon locking eyes with Hoshina.

“Oh great, it's the Vice-” Hoshina grabbed you by the wrist, stopping you mid sentence, and pulled you into the closest room. His ambush came so fast and sudden, you barely had time to fight back. The man made sure to close the door behind himself as he had you where he wanted you to be, a dangerous smirk sat on his face.

“What the hell do you think you are doing!” You spat, the entire situation seeming so random to be real.

“I'm going to enjoy this immensely.” There was something playful in the Vice Captain's voice, something that even you feared. Before you could even progress what was about to happen, Hoshina placed himself right in front of you, head slightly tilted to the side and arms crossed over his chest.

“So, ya like it when I give ya orders, huh?”

Everything in your brain came to a temporary halt as you heard those words come from his mouth. Embarrassment wasn't even enough to explain the sheer humiliation you felt in that very second. Every inch of your body was telling you to run and hide into the nearest corner available. Did he..overhear your conversation with Okonogi?!

“Came by to tell Okonogi that I needed some info on somethin’. Didn't get the info I wanted but def left with sum I needed.”

“I have no idea what you're talking abo-” Once again you found yourself being cut off by the man. Hoshina pushed you back against a table, causing you to stumble and plop down onto it. He then positioned himself between your legs and moved his body closer to yours. His actions seemed like something out of a movie, a scenario one would strictly encounter in the world of fiction, yet he was right in front of you, playing with your heart and sanity.

“Here I was wondering why ya always rushed to get on my nerves. Guess our little Platoon Leader has a crush on her Vice Captain, hm?”

Your brain stopped functioning the second you felt Hoshina's hot breath against your lips. Now that you were seated on the desk and he stood right in front of you, you were about the same height. Forced to stare into his eyes, you found yourself choking on your own words.

“Oh p-please. You probably confused my voice for someone else's.” You tried to save yourself but your efforts were in vain. As your gaze started to drift away from his, Hoshina opened his eyes and placed his fingers under your chin, forcing you to look at him again. He was surely enjoying this, especially after the humiliation you put him through yesterday.

“Look at me.” He ordered, a smug grin on his face.

“All this time I was wondering where all this hate for me was comin from. Ya had me feelin real bad after every damn fight, felt like an asshole and everything.” He chuckled.

“Oh you are an asshole.” You rolled your eyes, the fight in you still alive.

“Yeah but you like this asshole, a lot even.”

As the tension grew thicker you realized that there was no going back from this. Your feelings were laid out all over the room with nowhere to hide. But although you felt humiliated and exposed, a part of you felt relieved that you could finally drop the act. You reached out for Hoshina's wrist and held onto it tightly.

“So what if I like you.. If you let your guard down for even a second, I will still take your position as Vice Captain and kick your fucking ass.”

Hoshina's eyes widened for a second, surprised that you were still going at it, but he liked that about you. That is why he tolerated all the mockery and jokes, because he too was desperate to see a certain side of you.

“How cute. Unfortunately, you are in no position to open your mouth that much.” His fingers grazed over your lips ever so lightly, applying the smallest amount of pressure onto them. His touch had you weak, yet you could not allow yourself to let your guard down. If you showed Hoshina even one second of weakness, he would use that to tease you for all eternity.

He of course knew that and therefore tried to get as much out of this situation as possible.

It was an opportunity too sweet to ignore.

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Tony Stark’s child

Tony Stark x child!reader

warnings: alcohol ment,

a/n: so i just really think that the concept of tony having the party kid as opposed to nerdy avenger kid would be a really cool idea to explore teehee. most of this does actually take place pre-avengers tho!!

prompt:

you we’re quite the exhausting kid

“is this really how it felt to raise me?” -tony

many of nights he’d find your bed empty, you’d snuck out to go have your fun as teenagers do

“yeah, boss, i imagine it was” -happy

you always showed back up in one piece (like him) and besides a little slap on the wrist you didn’t get much discipline

actually, it usually went like:

“so, where did you go off to last night?” -tony

“a party” -you

“really? didn’t want to loop me in before you snuck out…again?”

“last time i told you about a party you showed up!”

“uh—yeah, but it’s not like i went all dad on you and dragged you away or anything”

“yeah, you joined the party and offered to buy teenagers more booze”

“hey, they all loved you after that! and they couldn’t get enough of my classic dance moves” -tony, jokingly doing the sprinkler with one arm “but seriously, let me know next time”

“we’ll see about that” -you

^the above conversion went about the same every time

sometimes for entertainment purposes you’d try a little harder, throw a few pillows under the covers to make it look like you were still home to put a smile on tony’s face

“aw, y/n reminds me so much of me” -tony

tony was still partying at this point so you’d flip the script on him from time to time

“you were out late” -you

“what are you, a cop? leave me alone. actually, can you get me some aspirin and water?” -tony

“sure, one or two” -you

“make it three” -tony

he would nurse your occasional hangovers (what a great dad!)

okay, he didn’t always know when you were gone. he was busy a lot of the time with his own business and extracurriculars so you guys did just kinda do your own thing for certain stretches of time

honestly you could be a bit of a klepto in the best of ways

but only to tony and only for fun

“oh, great, where’s my car?” -tony

“which one?” -pepper

“the black one!” -tony

“be more specific” -pepper

“the only one missing from my garage!” -tony

“yeah, i know, just wanted to give you some more time to think about it” -pepper

“i changed the code on the lockbox like, five times this week. did they hotwire it?” -tony

“we are talking about your kid, right? pretty sure they just hacked it” -pepper

“i am…so proud” -tony

you MAY have gotten a few close calls with authorities, but nothing tony couldn’t handle

and up until tony’s accident, the phrase “you’re going to give me a heart attack” was silly and endearing

“you might actually give me a heart attack, y/n, give a guy some warning or just say please for god’s sake” -tony, now comes with an arc reactor in his chest

“sorry” -you

“what—huh—didn’t hear ya, wanna say that a little louder?” -tony, very sarcastically

i tell ya when he got that armor u couldn’t tell if u were gonna flip out at him or invite him to a party

or steal it for…you didn’t even know what

but tony was 3 steps ahead of you when all this came to be

and you weren’t very interested in weapons, still just parties and dumb fun for you

“dad, i dont wanna be a nerd, will you just let me go out?” -you

“come on! just help me in the lab a few hours, what’s it gonna hurt?” -tony

“my social status” -you

“might i remind you you’re a stark? i think you’ll live if you miss one party” -tony

“you’d be surprised” -you

“hey, i almost died! give your old man a break” -tony

once tony got involved with SHIELD and the avengers he got even busier really

and in came the parenting advice from fury, clint, nat, steve

“hey, i don’t see you raising a teenager, back off” -tony

*clint side eye*

steve once tried to give you a good talking to, but you reminded him a great bit of your father with your stubbornness

“you done? i dont think you should be giving out any parenting tips fresh off the ice” -you

tony was kind of proud of you for sticking to your guns

especially around such powerful people

but you had a knack for that and could do it to practically anyone

mostly because you felt like an invincible teenager since you were raised by tony, who also thought himself an invincible teenager at one point

u tried to tone down giving tony grief when he started having panic attacks

since u accidentally caused a few by pushing boundaries and staying out for several nights in a row

cuz as tony gained more enemies, he thought you’d be in more danger

which was true

“happy, you’re y/n’s personal bodyguard” -tony

“no!” -you

“uh, cool? any fun parties planned tonight? i’ll be the designated driver. god knows i’ve been tony’s too many times” -happy

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @evilcr0ne // @v0idl1nq // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 // @deanzboyfriend //

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

OMG SAW UR ASKS WERE OPEN AND I RAN SO FAST HFJDJSBS

Anyways ok so imagine *trips over my own feet* imagine uhm baking cookies *stumbling* baking cookies with Lilia:3

No pressure ofc! I hope u will enjoy writing this if u do! And make sure to drink after and take care of urself!

Flour Belongs In The Cookies; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, fluff, some pining

Word Count; 650+

Author's Note; Cloudy, you do know how bad his cooking is, right? Besides that, I hope you enjoy what I did with this little prompt!

As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

You knew full well going into this that Lilia … wasn’t the best person to leave around food. Well, you didn’t know to the full extent how ‘bad’, ‘revolting’, and ‘utterly cursed’ he was according to his dormmates (and adoptive family? Still trying to wrap your head around that one, to be honest). 

Yet, as you were both adding ingredients to the batch of cookies you were making, he had done nothing to tamper with the recipe or mess up by accident. Perhaps Silver, Sebek and Malleus were just overexaggerating it? Lilia has been completely fine, a great helper even! 

“So,” you cleared your throat, breaking the quiet (which was both comfortable yet awkward). “Why did you want to bake cookies with me? Not that I mind, just curious is all.”

Lilia looked up from the wet and dry ingredients he was combining and offered you a cheeky smile with a wink. “Hmm, do I need a reason to do so,” he breathed with a silent chuckle, sneaking some of the raw dough into his mouth.

You tutted, taking the bowl away from him. “I don’t need you getting sick from eating that now–”

But your attempt at lecturing was silenced by a small puff of flour being slapped gently on your cheek; a white handprint now on it. “RUDE!”

Lilia was having a good old laugh, from either getting flour on you, the shocked expression on your face, or a combination of the two (knowing him, it was bound to be the last one). He was actually getting pink in the face because of it; was he even taking breaks from laughing to breathe???

“Ah, lighten up! Plus,” he paused and covered your hand in flour and gently slapped it on his cheek, “there, we match now.” 

His magenta eyes were twinkling with mischief and you found yourself gently shaking your head and chuckling. Sighing, you picked up some flour with your hands and made it look like you were just going to cover the countertop with it, but you swerved, and slapped it into Lilia’s hair.

Lilia coughed, and rubbed at his eyes, trying to get the flour out of his eyes, but once he opened them again, you were gone. So we’re playing games now? But he just wheezed in delight and gave chase, a cup full of flour on hand so he could repay the favour. After all, since you both had matching handprints on your cheeks, you deserved to be bestowed some flour on your head.

“And here you were saying it was rude of me for that first move,” he called out into the dorm. They couldn’t have gotten far now.

He heard the curtains ruffle, and he floated over, not making a sound.

Peaking oh so carefully behind the curtains, he spotted you, silently giggling to yourself. And that’s when he made his move.

“Found you!~” And he sprinkled the flour over your head; much more gently than you did to him.

You groaned, knowing it would take a bit to get the flour out from everything… but the way Lilia floated overhead made it look like he was sprinkling snow… was he always this pretty? Even with him covered in flour, you still felt your heart flutter.

You mentally slapped your cheeks though, and got yourself up. 

“Guess you did… but that was fun,” you chuckled, dusting yourself off to the best of your ability.

The moment though was ruined by your smoke alarm going off; it was a wonder that those even worked, but hey, at least they worked.

Rushing to the kitchen, you opened up the oven to have a mass of black smoke smelling of burnt food of some sort enveloping the both of you.

“What happened?!” You coughed out, trying to open up the windows and doors to let out the smoke.

Lilia grimaced, “Ah… perhaps I set the oven too high.”

And even though you had fun making the now coal-like cookies, perhaps store-bought would have been better…

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Tags; @afunkyfreshblog @eynnwwyjth @identity-theft-101 @ithseem @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii

[seongwars]

strangers by nature | i

Pairing: heir!Song Mingi x heir!Reader AU: non-idol | arranged marriage | enemies to lovers Genre: angst, humor & fluff in later chapters Summary: After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever. Word Count: 6.8K Warnings: angst no comfort, swearing, suggestive content, puppy!!!!

Fic Masterlist | Taglist Signup

a/n: here's the first part to the revamped mingi drabble series someone tell me to finish my other wips

“Don’t fuck this up for me,” you hissed, slipping on your heels and casting a sharp look in Mingi's direction.

Mingi, lounging by the door with his tie half-done, didn’t even look up. He adjusted his cufflinks instead, his movements slow, deliberate, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You think I’m the one who’s going to mess this up?” he replied, his voice laced with mockery. 

“You’re lucky I’m even bothering to show up at all. God knows I could be elsewhere.”

“Did you forget that you sabotaged last year’s event when you showed up completely shitfaced?” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you hissed, hoping no one would notice. Mingi just laughed, a bitter, mocking sound that rang louder than you’d intended to speak as you pulled him aside.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he slurred, his words coming slow and thick, as if savoring each one. “But look at you, all dressed up like it matters.” 

His gaze raked over you, and for the first time, you felt small—like everything you’d done, everything you cared about, was nothing but a performance in his eyes.

Throughout the evening, he continued, unleashing a trail of subtle digs and outright insults, each one cutting deeper than the last. 

“No, I’m not much into charity—though I guess marrying Ms. Choi counts,” he drawled. You felt the sting of the insult, a wave of humiliation creeping up as he smirked at your expression.

And as he went on, his words got uglier, accusations laced with venomous insinuations about your foundation, about the people you’d invited, about you. 

“You know what’s funny? This is all she has. She begged me to be here, begged me to care. Pathetic, right?”

It was the cruelty of it that made you flinch. He looked at you, pleased with himself, with that twisted smile that told you he had come tonight for one reason only: to break you down.

Mingi didn’t hate you. He didn’t even care enough to despise you. Hatred would have required him to feel something at all, but to Mingi, you were nothing more than an obligation, a piece of his life he had to endure when the occasion called for it. 

You had to exist in the same spaces as him, but only on his terms, only when he wanted to remind you how little you meant to him.

Mingi had taken so much from you already—had eroded every bit of independence and dignity you’d fought to hold onto. But the annual Gold Gala, hosted by your foundation, was different. It was one of the few things left that was still unmistakably yours.

The Cromer Foundation wasn’t quite the classroom you’d once dreamed of teaching in, but it was something. It was your way of keeping that dream of becoming a music teacher alive. It was a way to support arts education, a way to pour hope and passion into the future. 

It was the only part of this new life you’d been forced into that felt like it had real purpose, the only place where you could still feel yourself making an impact, even if it meant facing Mingi’s ire every step of the way.

“I had to work my ass off,” you bit out, voice trembling with the strain of holding back everything you wanted to scream. 

“I had to clean up your mess to convince donors to continue supporting the foundation after you nearly destroyed it last time. This is the one thing I have left that actually matters to me.” 

The words were punctuated by the ache in your throat, your heart pounding as if it might burst from the sheer weight of your frustration.

“I’m not begging you to be there. I never asked for that. But I think we both know that neither of us wants to hear our families complaining about your belligerence, especially since I made concessions to let her be there.”

Your voice caught on the word, but you forced it out. He knew exactly who you meant—her, the woman he’d flaunted just enough to humiliate you but never enough for his family to call him out on it. 

Jeong Ahri. His first love, the girl who knew him before he became what he was now. She was also his best friend’s sister, the one woman who, even in her absence, always held a piece of him. Just the sound of her name was enough for him to lay his arms down. 

Mingi didn’t consider himself religious. He’d never felt the pull toward faith, despite his family’s insistence on portraying themselves as god-fearing, pious people. But the day his father announced that he was considering a merger, weighing options to secure their legacy through an alliance, Mingi prayed for the first time he could remember. 

But his father chose otherwise. Mingi hadn’t heard his father’s reasoning in detail—only the clipped statement that “it was decided” and that it would be you instead of Ahri. It wasn’t that she was lacking in education or accomplishments; her qualifications were impeccable. 

But you were different, his father had said. More refined. More…controlled.

Where Ahri was unpredictable, a free spirit with an uncontainable passion that Mingi had always adored, you were composed, you brought a stability that his father believed Ahri could never offer, and to him, that was paramount. It was a choice made for optics and security, the perfect union on paper, a marriage that would uphold the family’s reputation.

Now here he was, bound not to her, but to you—an arrangement forged by titles and alliances, with love considered an afterthought at best. This marriage wasn’t just a partnership but a meticulously crafted piece of his family’s foundation. 

And you—perhaps unwillingly, perhaps reluctantly—were the chosen piece in this carefully woven tapestry of alliances.

“How could I forget? We’re putting on a show, some picture-perfect life that everyone else could admire.” His gaze was sharp, unyielding. 

“Picture-perfect life?” You let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet of the room. 

“Please. This is far from that. All I wanted was to make something meaningful out of this sham of a marriage, to salvage whatever was left of my life.”

“Meaningful?” he sneered, his eyes narrowing. 

"You think you're the only one making sacrifices?" he snapped, his voice low but venomous. 

"I lost any chance at a real life the moment I agreed to marry some pathetic charity case." The words dripped with contempt, his gaze locked onto yours as though daring you to react.

“Playing the victim as always,” you replied coldly, your gaze steady as you met Mingi’s glare. His jaw clenched, a flicker of something dark passing over his eyes, but you pressed on,  undeterred. 

"Maybe you should have fought harder against your parents instead of just rolling over every time they threw you a command. Including this marriage.”

That struck a nerve. Mingi’s expression twisted, and for the first time, you saw a crack in his armor. He scoffed, but there was no humor in it—just a bitter edge, sharp and unrestrained.

“You think I didn’t try? They didn’t care who I spent my time with as long as they got what they wanted—a merger, a legacy. So I went along with it. It wasn’t worth the battle when I already had Ahri.”

His words stung, sharper than you’d anticipated, cutting right through you. But as you stared at him, searching for any hint of regret, any flicker of hesitation, there was…nothing. Just the same cold, unfeeling expression that had worn down your patience over time.

“And here we are—both miserable because you took the easy way out,” you sighed. 

“All those sacrifices you keep talking about, all those things you supposedly gave up? They mean nothing if you can’t even own up to them. Including marrying the ‘charity case’ you despise so much.”

You saw his eyes harden, his shoulders tense, but you refused to back down, leaning into the truth you both knew but never spoke.

“You wanted a convenient life, and you got it. But don’t you dare try to make me the villain just because you couldn’t stand up to them—or to yourself.”

You held his gaze, a cold, bitter silence stretching between you. Without another word, you turned, steeling yourself for the night ahead, knowing that the only thing left between you was the hollow image of the life you failed to create.

⋆

Your wedding to Mingi was more of a business transaction than a celebration. The ceremony took place in an office that bore more resemblance to a boardroom than a place for vows. 

The only witnesses were your parents, your cousins Jongho and San, and Mingi’s best friend, Yunho. All were seated with neutral expressions, gazes locked on the officiant as if marking the completion of a financial report.

You barely remembered the words exchanged. There was no music, no flowers—just the murmured vows, the scratch of a pen signing your names, and the cold weight of a ring slipped onto your finger by a man who didn’t even meet your eyes. 

When it was over, the officiant closed the book with a finality that made your stomach drop—a reminder that there was no turning back now. Your parents offered restrained congratulations, their smiles polite but empty. 

Only your cousins seemed to look at you with genuine sympathy, understanding the weight of what you’d just committed to. Mingi’s mother, on the other hand, wore a sharp, proud smile, one devoid of joy but full of satisfaction. To her, this wasn’t a marriage; it was a completed transaction.

Following the ceremony, a small reception was held in the upstairs lounge. Glasses were raised, and toasts were made to "a prosperous future," though they felt painfully empty. 

Mingi barely spoke to you, instead engaging in brief, clipped conversations with his father and yours about the two families’ businesses and the outlook for the next quarter.

You sat in silence, barely tasting the champagne in your glass, as you watched the people around you discuss the "success" of this union. You wanted to scream, to tell them this wasn’t a union, just an arrangement—a legal binding that had stripped you of any choice you once had.

The room felt cold, and as you glanced at the man who was now your husband, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the beginning of something lonely.

You had spent years nurturing a different dream—one that had nothing to do with boardrooms or mergers. You had wanted to teach music, to live a quiet, meaningful life, far from the shadows of your family’s empire. 

Drawn to the idea of leaving it all behind, you envisioned moving abroad to pass on your love for music to young, eager minds. The plan was simple: save enough, book a one-way ticket, and disappear into the life you wanted. 

But when you told your family about your plans, their reactions left you stunned. They couldn't see a future for you as a teacher—not when you were the heir to the Choi Group, not when your last name carried so much weight. 

You fought them on it, desperate to hold onto the life you wanted. Shouting matches stretched late into the night, but when arguments proved fruitless, desperation drove you to action. 

Just as you reached the final hurdle, minutes away from your flight, the authorities stopped you. Your heart dropped as you realized just how deep your parents' control ran—how their reach extended even across oceans you hadn't yet crossed.

By the time you both left the reception, it was clear there would be no honeymoon, no illusion of a romantic escape. Mingi went to his own car without a word, and you followed in your own to the penthouse, wondering how a marriage could feel like a prison on the very first day.

Crystal chandeliers cast their glow across the gala hall, the soft hum of conversation mingling with the gentle clink of champagne flutes. This event was one of the few things you could call your own—a charitable foundation you’d helped establish to support arts education. It wasn’t quite the classroom you’d once dreamed of, but it was something—a way to keep that dream alive, even in the world you’d been forced into. 

You moved among the guests, offering a polished smile and gracious words about the foundation’s mission, with Mingi at your side, his arm draped around your waist as you made the rounds together.

To the crowd, you looked like the perfect couple—a united front. But you felt the coldness between you, the way Mingi’s hand barely touched your waist, how his gaze slid away from yours the moment anyone’s attention drifted.

The evening was moving along smoothly until you noticed her—the woman standing near the bar, her eyes fixed on Mingi. Dressed in a red gown, she radiated confidence, her gaze unflinching as she watched him. She was the shadow that trailed him, the one he turned to whenever he could no longer bear the weight of pretending with you.

Beside you, Mingi’s posture tensed almost imperceptibly, his hand lingering at the small of your back. He noticed her too, of course; he’d be a fool not to. Yet his grip on you remained firm, as if bound by an invisible script dictating the image you two were expected to maintain. Nothing amiss, nothing unseemly, as though the weight of her presence hadn’t shaken him at all.

To anyone who looked closely, the story between them was clear: her gaze was steady, defiant even, a silent reminder that she held a part of him you would never touch.

This was meant to be your night—the one place to grieve the shattered pieces of your own dreams, had you succeeded in escaping the clutches of this arrangement. 

But as you held yourself in place, the warmth of Mingi’s hand was nothing but a reminder that even when he stood at your side, his heart was somewhere else entirely.

You returned to the penthouse alone, the buzz of the gala still ringing in your ears, though the evening itself felt hollow and cold now that you were by yourself. The laughter and polite applause, the countless exchanges of small talk and polished smiles—none of it seemed to matter. 

Mingi had left your side almost as soon as the event began winding down, disappearing into the night with the excuse of business matters to attend to. You didn’t need to ask; you already knew where he was headed and with whom.

You weren’t bothered by Mingi’s connection to Ahri. Sure, he brought her to the penthouse on your wedding night, but you understood that their story existed long before you ever came into the picture—a chapter of his life that, despite the complexities, didn’t take away from your own sense of self-worth or purpose in this arrangement.

The memory of that night still lingered. You had walked into the penthouse to find Ahri there, her laughter filling the space as she sat comfortably on the sofa, a glass of wine in hand. 

Mingi was by her side, his arm draped casually around her shoulders, his fingers tracing patterns along her thigh. A soft smile played on his lips—a smile you didn’t know he was capable of, one that felt like a taunt.

And when you retired to your room, the primal sounds from the both of them escaped through the confines of Mingi’s bedroom. 

“Shit, just like that, right there, Mingi!”

“Fuuuuck, takin’ me so well.”

You knew they were both trying to hurt you, flaunting how intimate their relationship was in front of you, as if to remind you of your place. Their calculated cruelty seeped into your consciousness like poison, amplifying your insecurities and sowing seeds of self-doubt. 

Every laugh, every touch between them was a dagger to your heart, a reminder of the love and warmth you were denied. The pain was a constant, gnawing ache, leaving you feeling more alone and unworthy with each passing moment.

You had hoped, at the very least, that Mingi might see you as more than an obligation—perhaps even as an ally. Instead, you were nothing more than a prop in his life, a fixture he resented. If only he’d see you for who you really were—not the enemy in this tangled web, but someone who could make this shared fate a little less lonely.

You kicked off your heels, draped your coat over the back of the sofa, and sank down, staring out at the glittering city lights beyond the penthouse windows. Loneliness settled over you as you replayed the night’s events. 

Your gaze drifted to the piano in the corner. For a moment, you could almost see him there—Hongjoong, with his fingers drifting effortlessly over the keys as he coaxed a melody from the instrument. 

He had been the son of your piano teacher, your best friend, and your first love. You remembered the way he’d listened to your dreams, encouraging you to reach higher, even when you could see the exhaustion creeping into his features, the shadow of his terminal illness never far behind. 

“Would you still believe in me now?” you murmured to the empty room, the silence thickening with the question. You knew what Hongjoong would say. 

“Fuck it, sell your shares and leave. Start over. Eat the rich.”

He had shown you what passion looked like, not only for music but for life itself, even as he faced an uncertain future. He had given you strength and taught you resilience. The long afternoons spent together, his hands guiding yours over the piano keys, had been a sanctuary from the expectations and pressures of your family.

The silence in the room seemed to shift, becoming less oppressive, more contemplative. You could almost hear Hongjoong's voice, softer now, more encouraging. 

"You've got this," he would say. "Just take the first step."

You closed your eyes. Tomorrow would come with its demands and pretenses, but for now, you surrendered to the silence, letting it carry you into a sleep that softened the loneliness—if only for a little while.

Ahri’s laughter filled the confined space of the car, soft and unrestrained as she collapsed against Mingi’s chest, her fingers drawing idle patterns along his jawline. There was a glint of mischief in her eyes, a playful daring that stirred something in him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Your wife looked like she wanted to kill me,” Ahri giggled. She knew exactly what she was to him—a temptation, a release, a break from the predictability of his life.

Mingi only smirked, his large hands cupping the curve of her ass with ease as he let out a low chuckle, brushing his thumb along her skin as if there wasn’t a care in the world.

“I would’ve stopped her,” he murmured, the words casual, devoid of any true weight.

Ahri tilted her head, her eyes searching his face, a smile curling at her lips. She could read the lack of hesitation in his expression, the cold confidence of a man who knew he was untouchable, who knew he had nothing to lose by being here with her. 

“You’d really do that for me?” she asked, her voice soft and playful, but she knew the answer. 

They both did. She didn’t need him to reassure her, didn’t need promises or apologies—she was here because she understood exactly who he was, what he wanted, and how little he cared about the impact it had on anyone else.

“Of course,” he said simply, brushing his lips against her neck with an easy familiarity. His smirk grew as he pulled her closer, rutting up against her with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

The idea of hurting you wasn’t something he dwelled on; it was merely collateral, an afterthought in a life where his own desires came first. 

To him, this wasn’t betrayal—it was freedom. Being with Ahri wasn’t about guilt or regret. It was about the thrill of defiance, the joy of stepping beyond the lines and indulging in the part of himself he’d never fully let go. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Mingi suggested, his voice low, laced with an eagerness that hinted at the thrill of escaping somewhere no one could find them.

The steady hum of the engine filled the silence between them as Mingi guided the car along the winding roads leading out of the city. The quiet hum of the engine settled between them, and Mingi’s grip on the wheel tightened as he let the night swallow them whole.

His gaze flickered to Ahri, watching the way she leaned back, eyes half-closed, utterly carefree. She was always like this with him—at ease, undemanding, dangerous in all the ways that made him forget everything else. With her, he could let go of every responsibility, every burden weighing him down. 

The soft, velvety vocals of jazz singer Kim Taehyung drifted through the radio, wrapping around the pair in a warm embrace. For a fleeting second, Mingi allowed himself to sink into the fantasy. Here, with her beside him, the world outside felt like a distant dream, nothing more than whispers beyond the car windows.

But dreams eventually come to an end. 

Out of nowhere, a pair of blinding headlights burst through the night, a harsh, unforgiving brightness that tore through the calm. Mingi’s eyes widened, but the oncoming vehicle was so close, so sudden, that there was barely a second to react. His hands jerked on the wheel, trying to swerve, but the road was narrow, and there was nowhere to go.

In an instant, everything blurred into chaos. The impact hit them head-on, a deafening crunch of metal against metal, a violent jolt that rattled through the car as it skidded off the road. Mingi’s head slammed back against the seat, his vision blurring as the car spun, skidding to a brutal stop against the guardrail. The world seemed to fall silent in the aftermath, a surreal quiet settling over them.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard the faint wail of sirens approaching, growing louder with every passing second. As the darkness closed in, Mingi felt the weight of it all—the choices he’d made, the life he’d led, and the person waiting for him at home—weighing down on him, filling him with a regret he could no longer ignore.

⋆

It was after midnight when the phone rang, the sudden sound breaking the uneasy stillness of the penthouse. In your sleepy stupor, you hesitated for a moment before reaching for it, your heart pounding in your chest. A vague sense of dread built as you picked up the receiver upon seeing your mother-in-law’s contact photo.

“Y/N! Oh, thank goodness! Mingi—he’s in the hospital! He was in a terrible accident and is in critical condition. Your father-in-law and I are on our way now!”

Mingi. Critical condition. Hospital. The world seemed to tilt on its side, and you felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving you struggling to breathe.

“Wh-what happened?” you stammered, barely able to get the words out as you clutched the phone, your knuckles white. “How… how bad is it?”

“It’s bad. They… they’re not sure if he’ll make it through the night.”

In that instant, any resentment or past grievances faded into the background. You couldn’t deny the strange ache settling in your chest as you thought of Mingi lying in that hospital bed, perhaps alone, facing something he could not fight or push away.

You didn’t remember much of the drive to the hospital. The city lights blurred past you as you sped through the streets, your heart pounding so loudly it drowned out every other thought. All you could focus on was getting to him.

When you finally reached the emergency wing, the harsh, fluorescent lights made you feel even more out of place. You spotted his family first—his mother and father huddled together on the worn hospital chairs. 

Mrs. Song was barely holding it together, face streaked with tears as she leaned against her husband, clutching his hand so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs that she tried to stifle, but each gasp tore through the silence, raw and full of anguish.

It was odd, seeing her show so much emotion for her son when, for so many years, her presence in his life had been so distant. There was no trace of the stoic woman who had always seemed to keep the world at arm's length. Here in the unforgiving lights of the hospital, she looked like any mother, grieving, terrified of losing her son.

Your own parents were there too, solemn and tense as they stood a little to the side, offering whatever silent support they could. 

When your mother noticed you, her gaze softened, and she reached out, wrapping you in a brief, tight hug. Yet even in her embrace, there was a certain restraint, like she wasn’t sure how to give more, wasn’t sure how to bridge the space between you in a way that felt natural. 

But then you turned, and that’s when you saw him.

Through the window of the ICU room, Mingi lay on the hospital bed, looking nothing like the man you knew. He was pale, his face bruised and battered, his body still and weak beneath the sheets. Tubes and wires connected him to a series of machines, each beeping and whirring to keep him alive, monitoring his vitals after hours of surgery to stop the relentless bleeding.

It was a jarring sight, seeing someone usually so full of life, even if that life had often been directed at you in anger. Now he seemed so small, vulnerable, a shadow of the man who had once looked at you with such disdain. 

Despite all the bitterness, you couldn’t deny the weight settling heavily in your chest as you found yourself wishing he would open his eyes, even if it meant another one of his sharp, dismissive looks.

“H-Hey.” 

You whipped around to find Yunho. His shoulders were slouched, exhaustion evident in the dark circles under his eyes, and worry etched into his expression. He offered you a small, tired smile, a weak attempt at reassurance that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hi,” you murmured, tearing your eyes away from Mingi. 

The silence between you and Yunho was thick with unspoken concerns, a tension that felt almost palpable.

“I know things between you two have never been easy,” Yunho murmured, his voice low and hesitant. He avoided your gaze, eyes lingering on Mingi through the glass. His tone was careful, a mix of sympathy and regret. 

“I’m sorry that he’s been awful to you. My sister, too.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. For so long, the hostility from both Mingi and Ahri had been an almost constant presence in your life, a simmering resentment that had shaped almost every single facet of your relationship with your husband.

But hearing Yunho acknowledge it so openly was…strange. Disarming, even. You weren’t used to someone seeing it, let alone speaking about it without any pretense or defensiveness. In his soft, understanding tone, you could sense not just sympathy, but regret.

“How’s Ahri?” you finally asked. 

“She’s pretty banged up,” he replied, rubbing a hand over his face, exhaustion evident. 

“But doctors say she’s expected to leave here in a few days. Nothing too serious, thankfully.” He hesitated, his eyes drifting back to Mingi. 

“But Mingi is still pretty touch-and-go.”

You could hear it in Yunho’s voice—the worry, the fear that his best friend might not make it. It was a stark reminder of just how fragile life was, how quickly things could change in the span of a heartbeat.

“He’s got so much fight in him,” you acknowledged softly, as if you were trying to convince yourself.

“If anyone can pull through this, it’s him. He just… he has to.”

Mingi’s presence, for all the ways it had complicated your life, was something you weren’t ready to lose. The ache in your chest betrayed the truth: you wanted him to fight, to come back, to have the chance to be more than the sum of his anger and bitterness.

“Hey! Can you hear me?” A voice cut through the silence, clear and sharp. 

Mingi’s eyes fluttered open to an otherworldly darkness, pierced only by the eerie glow of dim, floating lanterns. He felt weightless, almost translucent, his last memory fragmented—the screech of tires, the blinding headlights, the sound of metal twisting. He tried to move, but his limbs felt disconnected from him, as if he were less a person and more a shadow drifting in an endless void.

“Where… where am I?” he whispered, his voice echoing through the vast emptiness.

A figure emerged from the darkness, wearing a calm, almost unsettling smile. Dressed in flowing black robes, the man stood before him, his gaze sharp and cat-like.

“My courtroom,” the man replied, his voice smooth but cold. “People know me as The Judge, but you can call me Wooyoung.” 

His eyes gleamed as he looked down at Mingi, as if he could see every mistake, every regret, every flaw carved into his very soul.

“I’m…I’m dead?”

Wooyoung tilted his head, his gaze unwavering, assessing Mingi as if he were little more than a curious object. 

“Not necessarily,” he replied, a slight, detached smile curving his lips. 

“At least, not until you plead your case.”

A chill ran through Mingi, spreading from the base of his spine up to his shoulders. He was no longer in the realm of the living, yet neither was he truly dead. This wasn’t a dream, nor was it a fleeting punishment. 

This was judgment.

“It seems you have unfinished business,” Wooyoung continued, his tone as calm as if they were discussing the weather. 

“Regrets. Mistakes. Wrongdoings that tether you to the life you left behind. And now, you will face them.”

“W-What…” Mingi stammered, struggling to find words, every attempt at forming a coherent thought falling apart under the man’s unrelenting stare. 

“What… unfinished business?”

Wooyoung’s expression twisted, a mix of disbelief and disdain crossing his face as he raised a brow. 

“Really?” he said, his tone heavy with incredulity. He let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking his head as if Mingi’s question had been the most ridiculous thing he’d heard in centuries. 

Wooyoung’s eyes gleamed as he summoned a scroll into his hand, the parchment unfurling with a dramatic flourish and rolling all the way down to the ground. An endless list of Mingi’s transgressions and misdeeds spilled forth, each offense scrawled in elaborate detail, stretching on as if it would never end.

“Selfish. Petulant. You’re the kind of person who only considers what you want, regardless of who gets hurt.” His voice grew sharper, each word landing like a blow. 

“You cheated on your wife without a second thought, treating her like she was nothing more than an inconvenience in your life. And let’s not forget—” he tilted his head, a dark gleam in his eyes, “bullying other kids in middle school.”

Mingi felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut, dredging up memories he had buried long ago, things he’d justified or ignored. He shifted uncomfortably, every accusation pulling him deeper into his own shame.

“That… that was so long ago,” he whispered, barely audible. “I was a kid. I didn’t know any better.”

“Ah, so ignorance is your excuse?” Wooyoung’s tone was icy, unimpressed. 

Mingi swallowed, his mind flashing through a thousand faces, fragments of past encounters that blurred together but still left an unsettling weight in his chest. All the people he’d dismissed, manipulated, pushed aside. The friends he’d neglected, the promises he’d broken, and, above all, the way he had carelessly stomped on the one person who had also been innocent in this situation–you. 

“So how do I fix it? I—I don’t want to die. Please,” he choked, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked up at the man with pleading eyes. 

Wooyoung’s gaze didn’t soften, but there was a pause—a brief, quiet stillness that felt like a moment of reckoning. He tilted his head, studying Mingi as if weighing the depths of his fear, his regret, his desperation.

"Is that it, then? Now that you’re here, now that death is staring you in the face, now you want redemption? Not when you had the power to make different choices, not when the people who cared about you needed you to be better?”

Mingi swallowed hard, feeling the weight of each accusation sink into him. He could barely meet the man’s gaze, shame twisting in his stomach. 

“I made mistakes. I didn’t think…I thought I’d always have time to change, to make things right. But I can’t…I can’t end like this.” His voice broke, and he felt the desperation bubbling up, raw and unfiltered. 

“I’m begging you. Give me a chance. I’ll do anything.”

Wooyoung watched him in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he took a step closer, his dark robes fluttering against the ground.

“Anything?”

“Anything,” Mingi whispered. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

Wooyoung’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “If you want to escape this fate, then you’ll have to complete three tasks within three months.”

Mingi’s heart pounded in his chest, but he nodded, his eyes shining with desperate determination. 

“I’ll do it. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

“Good.” 

With a single snap, Mingi felt his body contort, an overwhelming, suffocating pressure enveloping him. His form began to shrink and his vision blurred. A high-pitched yelp escaped his throat as he realized he was no longer human. 

He was small, helpless, wrapped in fur with tiny paws trembling beneath him. He had been transformed into a puppy, looking up at the man from the ground, his new form shivering in fear and confusion.

“You’re much cuter when you’re not hurling insults at people and lying through your teeth,” Wooyoung cooed, reaching out to poke Mingi’s snout. 

Indignation boiled in Mingi’s tiny chest, but he was powerless to do anything but stand there, his fur puffed out as he tried to look fierce while Wooyoung continued to pet him.

“First,” Wooyoung began, “you’re going to learn what it means to be vulnerable. Focus on letting go of control completely, and start with small acts. ” 

“For your second task,” he continued, “you’re going to help someone who’s hurt or lost. You have to figure out how to comfort them. You’ll need to offer genuine support, not just do what’s easiest for you.”

Mingi whimpered, his tiny body shivering, but Wooyoung didn’t give him a chance to protest.

“And finally,” Wooyoung said, a smirk tugging at his lips, “you’ll help someone find happiness. You’re going to show them kindness and bring them joy, with no expectation of getting anything in return. For someone as self-centered as you, that’ll be your most difficult challenge of all.”

With that, Wooyoung straightened, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“Simple enough for you, little guy?” he chuckled, scratching behind Mingi’s soft, floppy ear. 

“Complete these tasks, and you can have your life back. It’s not so hard, right?”

Mingi looked up, wide-eyed and uncertain in his new, pint-sized form. The world felt so large and overwhelming now, every shadow looming like a mountain, every distant sound magnified. His tiny paws shuffled nervously, a soft whimper escaping him.

“But, hey, if you can’t handle it and end up staying here, at least you’ll be the cutest little thing in the afterlife. You’re so small, I could just carry you around in my pocket!”

Mingi huffed, his tail puffing up in what he hoped was indignation. The thought was absurd! He couldn't decide whether to feel insulted or embarrassed, but Wooyoung’s warm smile and the affectionate scritch behind his ear made it hard to stay mad.

⋆

You sighed and sat down on a bench, the quiet stillness of the early morning hours settling around you. Mingi’s mother hadn’t let you leave, insisting that you stay for any updates on his condition. It was easier to wait outside, where the air felt fresher and the weight of worry wasn’t as suffocating.

Two years. Had it really been two years? You leaned back against the bench, staring up at the faint dawn light peeking through the trees. You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. Mingi’s bitterness had been a slow, creeping poison. He blamed you for the engagement, even though it was hardly your choice, and his resentment seeped into every corner of your life.

Every conversation was strained, every look filled with contempt, and yet here you were, waiting outside a hospital, a dutiful spouse in name alone. 

The weight of your commitment felt heavier now that he was teetering on the edge of life and death. The responsibilities and promises you had made to each other took on a new, almost suffocating significance. It wasn't just about keeping up appearances anymore—it was about being there, truly being there, when it mattered most.

You sighed, the sound mingling with the faint rustling from the bushes nearby, pulling you momentarily from your reverie.

From the corner of your eye, a small white puppy emerged, its fur dirty and matted with leaves. The tiny creature padded forward, nose twitching as it sniffed the air and hesitated as it spotted you. Something about its curiosity struck a chord in you, melting the heaviness in your chest just a little.

“Puppy!” you gasped, crouching down and holding out your hand. 

Mingi’s ears perked up at your voice, and he took a tentative step forward. 

You appeared more exhausted than usual, the shadows under your eyes more pronounced, and a weariness etched into your features that he hadn't noticed previously. There was a fragility about you that tugged at something deep within him, a vulnerability you rarely allowed to show.

But the way you whispered, with that soft, delighted tone and the way your face lit up when you saw him—it was unlike anything he’d ever seen before.

Without thinking, his little tail started wagging, betraying him completely. He could feel his new puppy body responding instinctively, unable to stop the joyful swishing, even though part of him knew how ridiculous he must look.

“Why are you by yourself?” you asked, wiggling your fingers in front of him. 

Mingi watched, trying to resist the urge to play, but then—damn it—he couldn’t help himself. Before he knew it, he’d pounced forward, his tiny paws reaching for your hand, teeth closing softly around your fingers in a playful nibble.

No, stop it, Mingi! He cursed, attempting to restrain himself from giving into his instincts. But he couldn’t. The look on your face, the warmth in your eyes, was worth the humiliation of his tiny, floppy form and the impulse to play like he actually enjoyed it.

He flopped onto his back, revealing his soft, fluffy belly, earning an immediate squeal of joy. The sight of his tiny paws tucked adorably close to his chest and his big puppy eyes was simply too much.

The sheer cuteness of the puppy version of him was undeniable, and you couldn’t help but scratch his belly. His hind leg kicked instinctively, a sign of his enjoyment.

Mingi let out a soft, high-pitched whimper, as you scooped him into your arms. This is…nice? And when your hand ran gently down his back, he melted further, his tiny body going limp as he nuzzled into your chest. His heart thrummed with a fluttering feeling he didn’t recognize. 

Why does this actually feel good? 

You didn’t have that look of quiet disappointment that had seemed to settle on your face since the day you both said, “I do.”

You just looked…happy.

For the first time, Mingi realized how little he’d truly known you. It hurt to realize that a tiny puppy—his current form—could make you feel more affection than he ever had when he was human. He hadn’t given you any reason to smile at him like this; he hadn’t even tried.

“I guess the universe is exchanging my husband for you, huh?” you mumbled, stroking his tiny head with your thumb.

Mingi bristled internally. How rude! He was irreplaceable. You couldn’t simply replace him with a puppy!

You stood up, carefully bundling him against your chest to shield him from the chill of dawn. 

He wondered if he would ever feel this again once he returned to his original self, or if he would only carry the ache of what he could have had—if he’d been a different person, if he’d ever let you in.

ii >>

a/n: I have a taglist signup to keep things organized! feel free to fill it out for any fics that I'm currently working on! also this first chapter will be the longest and future chapters will be shorter

[tetragonia]

A Wave of Feelings

Rafe Cameron x F!Pogue!Reader

Blurb: Rafe and (Y/N) got into an argument for God knows how many times, about literally anything when they breath the same air, ranging from a small accident to a heated one about their cultural beliefs. But something in the air was different this time. Or was it only in the air? Not something in their heart and mind when the two of you finally realize something big that could change your lives?

Note: I have always wanted to write an angst especially for this character and it has occurred to me one day that arguing/miscommunication plot is kind of my fave trope so here we are lol.

Warning: angst, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, argument, bad writing lol English isn't my first language. also, soft!Rafe in the end!

Words: 1490

The sun hung low over the Outer Banks as Rafe Cameron and you found yourself embroiled in yet another heated argument. This was clearly not the first time you both got into an argument. Some of them were heavy like that one time when your best friend asked you to go to the party just to talk to Rafe (which she did) but then he dumped her after the party and she cried for weeks on your shoulder, or some Kook-owned properties that limited your access, or some insulting banter between Rafe and your friends (that got you realized how much he hated JJ).

But most of the time it was just about silly things: when he knocked up your beer accidentally, when you sailed in front of him and accidentally splashed some water (it didn't even make his already oily hair wet), or when you were napping in a near beach and he claimed that it was his territory (he was in the Cut area, for God's sake!). You two always found a way to argue.

This time, your voices clashed like crashing waves, echoing off the walls of the old shipwreck where you had sought refuge.

"You're impossible, Rafe! Always acting like you own this place, roaming around thinking that you're so much better than us Pogues," you exclaimed, your voice tinged with frustration. Pogues always owned this place, not some rich snobby kids like him, you thought.

Rafe's jaw clenched, his temper flaring and pride wounded. He hissed, "Maybe if you Pogues have some ambitions, you wouldn't be stuck in the same place your whole life!"

Oh, this was definitely one of those heavy arguments.

Your fists clenched at your sides as took a step forward. Your voice trembling with emotion. "You have no idea what it's like to struggle, Rafe. You've always had everything handed to you on a silver platter."

For a moment, you needed to convince yourself that you saw Rafe's gaze softened. You wanted to believe that a flicker of remorse crossed his features before he quickly masked it with a defiant glare. "At least I don't have to scrape by just to survive. Maybe if you Pogues worked harder, you'd actually amount to something."

His words struck deep, a painful reminder of the challenges you and your community faced every day. You recoiled as if struck by a lightning, your eyes stinging with unshed tears and your face was red, "You don't know anything about me, Rafe. You don't know what I've been through."

Your argument drew the attention of Sarah who was nearby with John. She was one of your best friends and you felt nothing but pity every time you realized that she shared the same blood with Rafe. With a furrowed brow, she stepped between you two, her hands raised in a gesture of peace trying to calm you down.

"Hey, what's going on here? Can't you two go five minutes without arguing?" Sarah pleaded, her voice filled with concern and annoyance. She must be tired with all these arguments, you thought. But those were all about Rafe's incapability to control his temper! And that might or might not be your issue as well...

Rafe shot you a scorching glare before turning his attention to Sarah. "Stay out of this, Sarah. This doesn't concern you."

Your eyes flashed with defiance as you stepped forward beside Sarah. "You're the one who concerns everyone with your existence!"

"What did you say to her, Rafe?!" Sarah looked at you with a concern. You were one of her strongest friends and she rarely saw you tremble like this. "Come on, talk it out like an adult, will ya!"

Rafe's fists clenched at his sides, his frustration boiling over. "Talk? What's there to talk about? I said, stay out of this, Sarah."

His gaze turned to you, "You think you know everything, (Y/N). Being the weaker one of the community, blaming us for having some money. If you said that I don't know anything about you, then you also don't know anything about me!"

His words cut like a blade across your pain. Your expression softened, a hint of hurt flickering in your eyes and you were not sure whether Rafe realize that or not. "Let's just cut it out. You would never understand what I've been through. What we have been through. Let's go, Sarah. Let's get out of here."

Sarah watched the exchange with growing concern, her heart aching for her brother and her best friend. She knew there was something deeper at play here, something that neither of them wanted to admit.

"Come on, you two. Let's take a step back and calm down, especially you, Rafe," Sarah suggested, her voice gentle yet firm. She glared at his brother. His face was as red as you, his forehead frowned deep.

You and Rafe exchanged a wary glance before reluctantly exhaled a deep breath. As much as you hate him, as much as you didn't want to admit, you really want him to apologize. The tension in the air began to dissipate, replaced by a palpable sense of unease.

Sarah sighed, running a hand through her hair as she tried to find the right words. "Look, I know things have been tense lately, but I really can't bear another sight of you guys bicker over things. If you still want to do that, please not where I can see you. I need you two to be in your best behavior when I'm around. Especially with you, Rafe. I have enough of you already."

Rafe's gaze softened as he looked at his sister, a pang of guilt tugging at his heart. "You're right, Sarah. I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier."

Sarah still held her concern, but she relieved to see them finally finding common ground. "It's okay. Now I'll leave it up to you. I can't mom you around like this, geez."

She walked away from you both. She lived long enough with both you and Rafe and there was no way she did not realized that beneath the surface, there was a different kind of tension simmered—a tension born from unspoken feelings and unacknowledged desires.

You stood still, refused to meet his gaze. The wind blew your hair as the sun began to set. You started to feel the chill and instinctively hug your own body, fixing your shirt together. You accidently drew a sharp breath when a cold wind sent chills down your spine. You sniffed and looked over the horizon. Refusing to take even the tiniest glance at him, you kept looking at the sea while stroking your upper arm.

Despite the heat of your argument, Rafe couldn't ignore the way the cold seemed to seep into your bones, making you appeared small and vulnerable against the vast expanse of the beach. His heart ached at this view.

You didn't see that he wanted to reach out, to wrap his arms around you and shield her from the biting wind; his hesitation to offer you warmth and comfort in the midst of your argument.

But his pride held him back, a barrier he had built long ago to protect himself from vulnerability and pain. Yet now, standing on the windswept beach with you before him, he couldn't ignore the truth any longer.

With a heavy sigh, Rafe took a step forward, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke. "(Y/N), I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. I was out of line."

Your eyes widened in surprise at Rafe's apology, your anger momentarily forgotten as she regarded him with cautious curiosity. You had expected him to be stubborn, to be the usual Rafe: to dig in his heels and refuse to back down. But instead, here he was, standing before you with such humility you'd never seen before.

For a moment, the two of them stood in silence, the only sound the crashing of the waves against the shore. And then, slowly, hesitantly, you took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

"Rafe," you said softly, your voice barely audible above the wind. "Thank you."

And with that, Rafe's resolve crumbled completely. Ignoring the voice of doubt in his mind, he opened his arms and pulled you into a tight embrace, provided you with the warmth of his body against yours. He could feel the softness of your hair against his cheek and he kissed your head softly it almost gave you a heart attack.

So you were not hallucinating all this time. The glances, the gestures, the underlying concern for her.... He felt the same way, too.

In that moment, with the cold wind whipping around them, you knew that he had finally acknowledged his feelings for you. And as you stood together on the windswept beach, you both vowed to never let your pride stand in the way of your connection again.

[luciferlightbringer]

Love in a Hopeless Place

Chapter 7

Chapter 6|Chapter 7|Chapter 8|Updated through Chapter 12

Lucifer x prostitute fem!reader Word Count: 3.9k CW: Slowburn, Prostitution, Hurt/comfort, trauma, fluff, cuddles, depression, anxiety, Sexual fantasizing, insecurity

Lucifer's eyes started to flutter open the next morning, a beam of light streaming in through the living room window. Wow, had he actually gotten a full uninterrupted night's rest again? What a pleasant surprise. He smiled as he looked up at the ceiling if his living room. Wait... his living room? Was he still on the couch? He was used to you bringing him back to his bed after he fell asleep, what hap-

Lucifer's thought process completing froze as he became aware of the weight holding his body down to the couch, specifically, the weight of your beautiful body, that still laid on him, sound asleep. Lucifer felt his cheeks burn a bright red. 'Oh my god, she feel asleep on me last night?! This is amazing, this is also terrible. Will she get mad? Will her boss get mad at her? Should I wake her up?' God he didn't want to have to wake you up. The sight of you curled up on him with your head on his chest was breathtaking. Shit... he really had fallen for you, hadn't he?

Lucifer had no idea what to do, he many ideas of what he wanted to do, but not what he should do. He could run his fingers through your hair, kiss your forehead, rub your back, any of those things could have encouraged you awake. But instead, he just sleepily watched you dreaming on his chest, until you eventually started to wake up.

After a little while, your eyes began to open. You too had experienced an amazing night of sleep that you were not used to. Perhaps all that crying gelling did you some good. But something felt off, where were you? You looked up to see Lucifer's smiling face, "Hehe, uhh... good morning, I guess."

Oh my god, had you cried yourself to sleep in his arms?! Lucifer cocooned you again in his wings before you could panic.

"Shit! Lucifer I'm so-"

"Shhhh shh shhh shh," Lucifer stopped you, "No apologizes, please. Yesterday was... hard, seemed like we both needed sleep, and frankly, I slept great. What about you?"

You blushed, and laid you head back on his chest while still looking up at him, mumbling, "Well, I guess that's the best I've slept... in a long time..." It was the best you had slept since you had arrived in hell.

"Excellent! So, lets just call it a happy accident, that we figured something out from. Also..." God he was trying to be a little bold and it made him nervous, "Would you be willing to try this again... but intentionally next time?"

"Like... have me stay through the night? And... sleep with you in your bed?" You asked.

"Yes..." he asked with a little more hesitance in his voice. You chuckled, look at him go, asking for what he wants, and so nicely too.

You smiled and shrugged, "Works for me, just let the boss know."

"Right..." he said, he was starting to hate the reminders that you weren't just here because you wanted to be. He wasn't upset at you, it just left him with a pang of insecurity, a curiously if you would even put up with him if it weren't for the fact that he hired you to be here.

He cleared his throat, trying to refocus. "You won't... get into any trouble for this, right?"

You waved your hand, "Naw, I'll just tell him I was out late partying. After what happened yesterday, he wouldn't bat an eye."

"Ok, how are you feeling, by the way?" he asked, looking over your face.

"Much better... Thank you... for... well everything..." you smiled nervously. You still felt guilty that Lucifer had to spend his paid time with you dealing with the aftermath of other client sessions, you were normally better than that. He seemed like he wanted to be there for you, but you had no idea why he would even want to. It felt so good, but you still could not tell how real or how deep the care actually ran. If this continued, the guilt and confusion might become overwhelming.

"It was my pleasure," he said, grabbing you hand and kissing it while staring deeply into your eyes.

Ugh, why did this have to be so hard to figure out!

After that, the two of you begrudgingly got up, and got ready for the day. Lucifer teleported you back to your room, bit you farewell, and left. Both of you back in your own spaces, alone, already missing the other.

______________________________________________________________

The next night you two had together, you and Lucifer would change the end of night routine as had been discussed, ending up with you both falling asleep in each others arms, and getting the joy of waking up to seeing each other first thing in the morning. It was beyond bliss. You didn't know it, but you two were in a secret competition to see who could wake up first, and get the privilege of watching the other as they clung onto their last few minutes of sleep before they would wake up.

The mornings that Lucifer woke up before you were both beautiful and painful for him. He loved getting to stare at your beautiful face, sure, but the urges... oh the urges to run his fingers through your hair, the urges to lace his fingers with yours, the urges to kiss your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, your neck, your... everything... the urges to let his hands explore your body, to sneak his hands under your clothing, to find the sensitive places on your skin that would make your breathe hitch, make the fire grow in your eyes, make you want to touch him the same way... the pain of all of these urges pulled at his mind, every morning, every day.

Some of them he could get away with more once you were awake, fingers through your hair, kisses on your hands, but he wanted more. Beyond that, he wanted them to mean something. He knew that he could just ask you for kisses or sex, and you would say yes, but he didn't want that, he wanted it to be real, he wanted passion, he wanted to make love to you. Every day with you made those feelings grow stronger and more unbearable.

Luckily, at least for another couple weeks, Lucifer would still be distracted by the upcoming extermination, and he figured that it was best that he focused on one life altering event at a time. You and Lucifer would spend more of your evenings hanging out with Charlie and the others at the hotel. Alastor had helped Charlie recruit many of the people of Cannibal Town to help, much to Lucifer's chagrin, and Vaggie had also gotten some intel on angels being able to be killed with angelic weapons, and was able to get resources from Carmilla Carmine, another Overlord and the only Angelic Weapon-Arms Dealer in hell.

Lucifer did not like learning that angels could be killed for a number of reasons, but he tried not to focus on that right then. Right now, he cared about being there for Charlie, and enjoying the calm before the storm.

The night before the extermination, most of the hotel crew, honestly, seemed like they were in good spirits. Alastor was even behaving and not doing everything in his power to piss of Lucifer, just some minor loitering on the edge of his conversations around the hotel. Angel and Husk were hanging out at the bar, and Angel's best friend, Cherri Bomb, had also come to hang out to join the fight. You noticed that Angel and Husk had increasingly been giving each other cute looks, and that Sir Pentious was nervous when it came to any interaction involving Cherri.

What you didn't know, was that Angel, Husk, and Cherri had also been watching the way you and Lucifer interacted over the last couple of weeks, the way you too looked at each other, the way his touch would linger, or that any hug would last a littleeee too long for a hug between just friends. Whenever you were not at the hotel, those three would come up with theories on what was going on with you two.

At some point, you ended up in a conversation with those three, chatting it up, and eventually Angel was the one that finally brought it up.

"Alright, babe. So...spill it. What exactly is goin' on between you an' da Boss Man, hmm?" Angel said, leaning his hand on one of his hands with a cocked eyebrow. You were startled by the question. Shit.

"Uhhh... w-what do you mean?" you say sheepishly, messing with your hair.

"I think you know exactly what I'm talkin' about~" Angel replied with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"I-uhhh..." you started.

"Come on, (y/n), cut the crap," Husk chimed in, cleaning a cup. "Ya!" Added Cherri, "We can all tell you two are seriously vibin' with one anotha," she said in her spunky Australian accent.

'Shit, had these three really been that curious about my relationship with Lucifer? Was it that obvious? I have been just trying to follow his lead on things when we visited.'

"I mean... we are just really close, and comfortable with each other... that's all," you say, not trying to look at them directly.

"But how close are you too exactly?" asked Husk. "Yaaaa, like bedroom close~?" Angel pushed in his flirty voice, talking a little louder.

You quickly covered Angel's mouth with your hands, looking around, no one else had seemed to hear him. Lucifer was across the room, chatting with Charlie and Vaggie, and Alastor seemed more focused on listening in on their conversation than yours. You look back to see Husk and Cherri with satisfied looks on their faces, along with a twinkling mischief in Angel's eyes.

You sigh and remove your hands, "Look, guys, I really want to talk about the details around my dynamic with Lucifer, but... I really can't... I'm not allowed. Even saying that might be too much..."

The trios' faces became more concerned. "Wait... he doesn't... own your soul, does he?" Husk asked.

"Oh! No, no, nothing like that. And he has been nothing but kind to me. It's just... not something I can talk about... no matter how much I may want to..." you say, holding yourself and looking down sadly. The other two looked to Husk, Husk looked sadly back at them, he could tell this was not a bluff, you were telling the truth.

Lucifer glanced across the room at you, and was surprised to see your body language had suddenly changed from how it had been during the rest of your conversation with the others at the bar. Your body language looked more sad to him. Lucifer briefly excused himself from his conversation with Charlie and Vaggie, saying he would be right back, and made his way over to you.

Cherri, Lucifer, and Husk saw Lucifer approaching, and he giving off a protective look of 'what did you do?' before putting a hand on your back.

"Darling? Is everything ok?" Lucifer said, his face softening as he looked down at you.

Your head spang up at his sudden contact and sound of his voice, 'Crap, did he hear any of that?'

You looked up at him in surprise. "Oh! Ya... sorry, we were talking about Adam and the battle tomorrow... just made me think about how worried I have been for you all..." you say sadly. The other three relax once they realized you were covering for them, Husk almost didn't like how good you were at pulling out a story like that, but right now he cared more about not pissing off the King.

Lucifer sighed and ran his finger through your hair, before pulling you in for a comforting hug, "I know... we are gonna get through this." He looked over at the other three over your shoulder, smiling, "Together."

The others smiled back at Lucifer and he released you from the hug before asking if you felt like we needed to leave for the evening. You shook your head, telling him you wanted to stay longer. He nodded, and then walked back to his conversation with Charlie and Vaggie.

"Well, one thing is for sure," Husk said looking after Lucifer, "That man cares a lot about you."

You blushed, you hoped so, you hoped and prayed that was true. But because of the structure, no matter what he said or did, you always had some level of doubt hanging in the back of your thoughts. You wish you didn't have to second guess every interaction. You wish you knew how an actually health dynamic looked like so that you had something to compare to. Most of all, you wished you didn't have to be scheduled and paid in order to see him. Would he even want to see you outside of the time he pays for you?

"How do you know?" you asked Husk. Husk gave you a soft smile, "No man spends as much time as he does constantly checking in on you if he does not care."

You cock an eyebrow, "But, he doesn't constantly check on me."

"Maybe from you're perspective," Angel chimed, "That mothafucka is constantly lookin' over at you, why do ya think he was over here so fast as soon as you started pullin' into ya'self. Which, thanks for da save by da way. I am not ready ta get on his bad side."

You looked over your shoulder at here at Lucifer, a moment later, he looked at you, smiled, and waved. You waved back, and looked back to the others.

"See? Man's totally whipped," said Cherri. Doubted that, Lucifer having feeling for someone like you? Ya right. But you could see how they would think that way without knowing the truth behind your relationship, and they made a fair point, he did care to some degree. You couldn't keep the blush from tinting your cheeks. I mean I guess he did send a man to be tortured for all eternity for hurting you, that has to mean something... No matter how small.

Before long, it was time to go. You hugged everyone goodbye that wanted hugs. While hugging Charlie you said, "Kick his ass honey, I'd really hate to lose a good housing option." Charlie beamed and hugged you even tighter, to the point where it almost hurt, "We will! We'll get you set up right after we kill all of the angels or kick their asses back up to Heaven!"

You laughed, said goodbye, and you and Lucifer departed back to his place. Little did you know, that would be your last time inside of that hotel.

______________________________________________________________

Sleep had not come easily for both of you that night, but it did all the same. Your time at Lucifer's did not end the following morning, Lucifer had booked out the rest of your day, he did not want to risk you getting caught if an exterminator if the angels were successful at wiping out everyone at the hotel and started going after the rest of the sinners. He knew the exorcists would not go anywhere near his house, Here, at least, he knew that you would be safe.

You wanted to help, but you knew you weren't a fighter, and giving Lucifer some peace so that he could fight when it came down to it was more important. Lucifer already had his hands tied in this situation. He had been the one to originally allow the exterminations to happen in Hell, mostly because he had no clue what else to do and he had been backed into a corner in that initial discussion with Heaven.

There was one rule however, that if broken, would allow him to fight, that rule being that hellborns were not allowed to be harmed. Funny, that a rule that he originally set in place to protect Charlie was now the rule that he hoped would get broken in order for him for be able to fight, and the only hellborn in this fight was Charlie, well, and Razzle and Dazzle too. Lucifer had created them as guardians to protect Charlie, and creations fell into a weird catagory. But an attack on them normally meant an attempted attack on her. He had to gamble that one of them would get hurt, but not so hurt that Charlie would be erased. It was a very uncomfortable situation, but nothing about this whole situation was anyway.

The two best case scenarios were that they could take out everyone, including Adam, without hurting Charlie, so Lucifer would never be needed, or for Charlie/her guardian's to get lightly hurt, so that Lucifer could jump in. Once he was able to jump in, the battle would basically be over. You didn't know much about how powerful Adam was, you had only seen small bits of Alastor and Lucifer's power, and nothing of Charlie's ability to fight him off. You had no idea how this was going to play out.

Lucifer however, knew how powerful Adam was, as well as his and Charlie's power, and he had a small idea of Alastor's power based on how he had defended the hotel a month ago. Lucifer didn't think that Alastor was going to be able to take out Adam completely, but he thought he would be able to most like put up a good fight, delay him, maybe get a few good hits in. If Charlie was as much of a fighter at Lucifer was, he wouldn't be as worried, but she was a gentle soul and didn't utilize her powers a lot. It was gonna be hard to tell how this was going to go.

Lucifer sat on the couch, tense, holding your hand, wings already out, waiting for the signal, waiting for the energy between him and Charlie to activate that would inform him that Charlie or her guardians had been hit. Before long, the sensation of a sting of shared pain ran through his body. He quickly kissed you on the forehead, said "See you on the other side," and jumped through a portal out to the battlefield.

You were now alone with your own fear.

You went to the window to see if you could see the hotel from his manor, but you barely couldn't. All you could do was pace around the house, waiting for Lucifer to return. You thought about turning on the tv or radio to listen for any news, maybe looking for a livestream on your phone, but no, all of that would have just made it worse. So you paced, until you decided to lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling, trying hard just to breathe.

Until... a portal opened up. You sat up, looking at the portal, through the swirling red magic, you saw a familiar black claw reach out to you. You smiled, as the image continued to clear up, and you could see Lucifer, next to Charlie, and Vaggie, Angel, Husk, Cherri, Niffty... all covering in golden blood, except for Lucifer who looked exactly the same as when he left.

You felt tears well up in your eyes as you jumped through the portal into the arms of your friends. You all hug in a group before Lucifer picked you up and spun you around. After the laughter and smiles you looked around, something was missing, something big. It was quiet.

"Where are Alastor and Pentious? And... oh my god! The hotel!" you said realizing that it was not only some friends that were missing, but that the group was literally standing on the rocky remains of the Hazbin Hotel.

Charlie rubbed her arm, "Pentious... Pentious scarified himself for us... Adam killed him... he's... he's gone. And, umm... we aren't entirely sure what happened to Alastor either... He was fighting Adam, and the next thing we knew, Adam was out fighting the rest of us. We haven't seen him since. And... ya... Adam took out the hotel."

"And I took out the Bad Angel Man!" Niffy said, proudly holding up her little dagger, both her at it covered in bright golden blood.

You and the others laughed at Niffy's excitement, but your heart broke for your friends, you hadn't really gotten to know Sir Pentious very much, but your knew he had meant a lot to the hotel crew. You hoped that Alastor had found a way to slip out or something, he was... a unique individual... but he was also an important piece to the hotel. And the hotel...

Lucifer grabbed your hand, "The hotel, however, we can fix." He said with a smile, "Wanna help us build a hotel?"

You smiled, finally something you were able to do to help.

"Lets do this!"

The rest of the afternoon was spent with the whole crew building up a new Hazbin Hotel, one that was even bigger and better than the previous one. You had no idea that it was possible to set up a new building in an afternoon, but with Lucifer's extraordinary magic and an amazing team, the shining new doors of the hotel were gleaming and open again.

Lucifer could not stop smiling the whole rest of the afternoon, to have a purpose behind his creativity and powers of creation, to have a community again that liked him, to have his daughter back and getting to support her dreams, and to have you, you who made all this happiness fall into place again. Getting to beat the shit out of Adam had also been quite enjoyable.

He looked down at the wedding ring that was still on his left hand, after wearing it for so long, he had forgotten that it wasn't just a part of him, it was his reminder of Lilith. He would still always have love and care for Lilith, but the time of her had come to an end, and you were his new horizon. He wasn't ready to take off the ring just yet, he didn't want to tip anyone off, but god did he just want to toss of the ring, swoop down from the sky, scoop you up, kiss you, and tell you how much he loved you in front of all of hell, but this wasn't the time. This day was about Charlie and her dream. Plus... he was still really fucking nervous and didn't know how to say it to you.

Eventually, Alastor manifested himself back from the shadows and re-joined the group, Lucifer and Husk were... less than thrilled, but everyone else was happy, including you. The group celebrated at their new beautiful hotel together late into the night.

Eventually, you and Lucifer split off for the night to celebrate the rest of the night together snuggling in each other's arms. You fell asleep first that night, and Lucifer spent his last few minutes awake looking at your beautiful face in the darkness or his room, daydreaming about the best way to tell you how he felt.

______________________________________________________________

Don't get too comfortable! I've got one more twist in store for these two :) xoxo, dany As usual, leave a comment if you want added to the taglist so that you can get notifications when future chapters drop!

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[deliciousangelfestival]

The Heart Still Beating - 2 | Lloyd

Character: Lloyd Hansen x Female!Reader

Summary: After the heart transplant, Lloyd, the heartless killer, started to feel something—something unexpected and powerful that was tied to the fiancé of the heart’s donor.

Words Count : 2916

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , End

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Lloyd’s heart suddenly thundered, then clenched painfully. “Urgh!” He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to catch his breath, but as he reached for the wall to steady himself, he slipped. Just before he fell, you caught him, one hand resting firmly against his chest. The pain subsided instantly, like his new heart had quieted under your touch.

He cursed under his breath. Why did the pain vanish when she touched his chest? Was it because of the memories of the heart's previous owner?

It reminded him of a colleague who could only fall asleep after hearing bedtime stories from a woman.

“Damn it,” he muttered, glancing away. “This heart’s making me weak. I can’t even kill anymore.” His voice was bitter, almost disgusted.

This is the first time you hear this kind of problem. Your eyebrows rose, taken aback by his words. "Are you actually saying the heart is stopping you from… killing people?”

Lloyd gave a short, dry laugh, his gaze darkening as he glared at you. “What, you think I asked for this? Your precious fiancé’s heart is in my chest, and it’s ruining me.” He sneered, “Must feel great for you, knowing he’s stuck here, with someone like me.”

Your jaw clenched, pain flashing in your eyes. “How dare you? You don’t deserve his heart. He was—”

Another sharp, pulsing pain hit him, cutting you off as Lloyd’s hand shot to his chest, wincing. “Urgh…” His expression shifted, as if he’d only just realized something. “Fine… fine,” he murmured, almost to himself, forcing his breath steady. “I’ll keep my mouth shut, alright? No more nasty words to her.”

Your eyes narrowed, bewildered. “Are you… talking to yourself?”

Lloyd’s gaze snapped back to you, rolling his eyes. “Think what you want.” Without warning, he took your hand and pressed it over his heart, his gaze unyielding. “Feel that? It’s your fiancé’s heart, beating. For you.”

You froze, your breath catching as you felt the steady thud against your palm. “Justin?” you whispered, tears threatening to spill.

Lloyd’s bitter expression softened as he watched you, something strange and unrecognizable creeping into his eyes. This unwanted melancholy clawed at him, a feeling he’d tried to bury.

You withdrew your hand, blinking back tears as you cleared your throat. “Come in.”

As he walked into your apartment, his eyes fell on the stacks of boxes lining the walls. Fragments of another man’s life, packed away, waiting for their final rest. He picked up a framed photograph: you and a man, both smiling against a backdrop of starlit skies. Justin.

Suddenly, an image flashed in his mind, clear and insistent. He whispered, “Luna.”

Your gaze snapped to him, voice tense. “Why did you say that name?”

He set down the photo, his face unreadable. “I… heard it. In a dream.” His brow furrowed, piecing it together. “It’s what you wanted to name… your baby, isn’t it?”

You glanced down, your hand moving instinctively to your belly as you whispered, “It is. He chose it when we found out she’d be a girl.” Your voice shook as you continued, “If it weren’t for that accident… he’d still be here.”

The mention of the accident sent a dull ache through Lloyd’s chest, something raw yet strangely familiar, though not as sharp as before.

“How did you even find out I was the… patient?” he asked, keeping his tone steady. As a covert agent, he wasn’t easy to track. His life, his work—it all existed in the shadows, far from public records.

Your expression hardened. “I bribed someone at the hospital for the information.” You held his gaze, unflinching.

Lloyd’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise breaking through his hardened demeanor. Maybe you weren’t as innocent as you appeared after all.

After bribing for information, you found yourself following Carmichael, though he didn’t notice right away. When you finally confronted him, the sight of you—especially with your pregnant belly—caught him completely off guard.

Flustered and visibly unsettled, he tried to shake you off, but you raised your voice, not backing down, drawing the attention of several tall, intimidating figures nearby. They were built like Lloyd, all sharp eyes and stone expressions, now watching you with interest.

Finally, one of them approached. “Madam, please come inside.”

He escorted you into the building, leading you through grand halls lined with marble columns and ancient statues, giving the place a regal, castle-like feel. You were taken to a dimly lit room where an elderly man sat, his eyes scanning you from head to toe before shifting to Carmichael with a steely gaze. “Take her to him.”

When you recounted the encounter to Lloyd, he seemed genuinely shocked. “You met the boss?”

You shrugged, a faint smirk at his surprise. “Guess he got sentimental. Something about seeing a single mother… reminded him of his own upbringing.”

Lloyd scoffed, shaking his head. “Old man’s gone soft, I swear.”

Your gaze hardened as you looked at him, “You… you’ve got a second chance here. Don’t waste his heart—it’s not just some toy.”

Lloyd scoffed, shrugging. “What, so I’m supposed to be grateful now?”

Without responding, he turned toward the door, only to pause. His hand froze in mid-reach. You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Shh. It's to quiet.” He raised a finger, then his eyes widened. “Get down!” In one swift move, he yanked you to the floor, shielding you behind a couch, one arm protectively covering your stomach.

A faint breeze brushed past your neck, and with horror, you realized it wasn’t the wind but a bullet—whizzing inches from where you’d been standing.

Lloyd glanced at you, voice urgent. “You’ve got three minutes to hide. Can you get to your room?”

“Y-yeah?” you stammered, caught off guard.

“Good. Move,” he instructed, drawing his gun. You scrambled to your feet, clutching your belly, and darted towards your room.

“Stay put until I say so. Here.” He tossed a phone to you. “Hit number one—they’ll know what it means.”

Heart racing, you fled into the closet, squeezing yourself inside as you dialed the number, hands shaking.

From outside, muffled sounds of movement and sharp, metallic clicks told you the danger was still near. You held your breath as you listened, praying for silence to mean safety.

Meanwhile, Lloyd braced himself, greeting his would-be attackers with a cold, calculating stare. Five men stood before him, poised and armed. “Who sent you?” he demanded.

One of them smirked. “Not your concern.”

They moved in, circling him. Lloyd flexed his grip on his gun, his gaze hard and unyielding. As they lunged, he met them with ruthless efficiency, each blow calculated and relentless. Outnumbered five to one, they clearly underestimated him. He was brutal, merciless, and unrelenting, disarming them one by one.

Yet as they fought, he noticed something strange. They avoided striking his chest, almost like they were purposefully steering clear of it. And none of them seemed eager to land a fatal blow. Why would they hold back?

Lloyd’s frustration ignited into something more—a bloodlust sharper than he’d felt in years. The thought nagged at him: was this intense desire to protect you coming from his own heart? Or Justin’s?

Under his breath, he murmured, “You really did love her, didn’t you?”

In your bedroom, you flinched at every thud and crash, fear twisting your stomach. Silence fell, the air thick with suspense. Had he survived?

Then, the door creaked open, and Lloyd appeared, smirking. “Your savior is here.”

Relief washed over you, and you rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

He extended a hand, helping you to your feet as you steadied yourself, still catching your breath. “Who were they?”

He glanced back at the empty room. The inturders has gone, his gaze dark. “I don’t know. But I know someone who does.”

💘💘💘💘

You and Lloyd now stood face-to-face with Carmichael, the man’s typically composed expression slightly fractured as he glanced between the two of you.

“Are you alright?” Carmichael directed his question to you, his eyes narrowing as if scrutinizing for signs of distress.

You exhaled, steadying yourself. “I’m fine.”

Lloyd scoffed. “Why are you asking her? I’m the one they came after.” He stepped closer, his voice darkening. “Who the hell are they? Some new group making waves?”

Adjusting his glasses, Carmichael replied, “You wouldn’t know them because they operate in an entirely different league.”

“The upper world?” Lloyd’s voice held a dangerous edge.

Carmichael nodded.

“What does that mean?” you asked, casting a nervous glance at Lloyd.

Lloyd didn’t want to tell you, but because of this damn heart he had, he felt compelled to share everything. “To make it simple, my job is in the underworld. I handle deeper, darker things than you could ever imagine. Meanwhile, the upper world is like kindergarten—mafia, gangsters, that kind of people.”

You swallowed, a chill creeping up your spine. “But mafias are still dangerous for people like me.”

Carmichael nodded in agreement. “She’s right. It’s a very real danger for her.” He turned to Lloyd, a strange resignation in his eyes. “They’re Mafia.”

Lloyd’s brow furrowed, a glint of anger flashing across his face. “I’ve got nothing to do with them.”

Carmichael held his silence a beat longer than usual, then said, “What they want is your heart.”

The words hit both you and Lloyd like a bullet. Your eyes widened as you exchanged looks, Lloyd’s jaw going rigid. He scoffed, disbelief giving way to anger. “What makes this heart so special?”

“Their leader needs it,” Carmichael explained, retrieving a file. He opened it, laying down a profile with a photo labeled Mr. Cicadas.

“This group,” he continued, “is an alliance between the Italian and Japanese mafias. And this man—Mr. Cicadas—is the head. The only donor who’s a 100% match is…” He paused, glancing at you with a rare hint of sympathy.

“Justin…” you murmured, your face going pale as the truth clawed its way to the surface. Lloyd saw the shock draining the color from your face and wrapped a steadying arm around you.

Lloyd’s tone was grim. “Let me guess. This heart was meant for him. But you gave it to me. Why?”

Carmichael met his gaze. “Our motto is clear: ‘Kill one person to save millions.’”

Lloyd raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with a half-smirk. “So, you wanted this insect guy dead—that’s why I got the heart instead?”

You never imagined your fiancé’s heart could hold such value. “Was that man really so evil?”

Carmichael nodded. “He doesn’t deserve to live. It’s a long story, but let’s just say that your fiancé was too good a man to lose his life to someone like Mr. Cicadas.”

On that day, three people were dying: Mr. Cicadas, who would do anything to stay alive; Justin, who was succumbing to his injuries from the accident; and Lloyd, who had been shot through the heart, unexpectedly accepting his fate. Three dying individuals connected by the same match of a heart.

But for Justin, there was no hope. In his final moments, he wished to donate his organs to help another, embodying a selfless desire to save a life.

Yet there was only one heart for two desperate souls. A heart is incredibly precious to anyone fighting for survival, and Mr. Cicadas didn’t deserve it. The choice became clear: it had to be Lloyd.

You felt your anger rise, bitter words forming before you could stop yourself. “And yet, how is he,” you gestured at Lloyd, “any better?”

“At least he wasn’t the reason your fiancé died.” Carmichael’s words hung in the air, like an accusation you could barely process.

“What?” Your voice cracked. “What did you just say?”

Carmichael’s jaw tensed. “Mr. Cicadas needed a transplant urgently, and your fiancé was the best match—healthy, young, and alive.” He trailed off as he saw the shock turn your expression hollow. “The car accident was planned.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a dark shroud. Your hands instinctively wrapped around your belly as the realization hit: Justin hadn’t died because of some unavoidable tragedy—he’d been hunted, killed, because of someone greeds. You felt the hot sting of tears, your voice quivering with grief. “He didn’t deserve any of this…”

Lloyd, sensing the pain radiating from you, placed a steady hand on your back, his own gaze shadowed by a strange sorrow that he’d not felt in a long time.

“They want it back now,” Lloyd muttered, a dangerous calm settling in his tone.

Carmichael’s mask slipped, revealing a flicker of rage. “That monster should have died when he failed to receive it. But the bastard’s still alive.”

Lloyd looked over in surprise; he’d never heard Carmichael curse, not with this level of disgust. It was clear Mr. Cicadas was worse than he’d imagined, a man who even the darkest operatives wanted dead.

His voice hardened, a quiet resolve in his words. “I have to stay alive, then.”

Carmichael stepped forward, voice low but firm, eyes blazing with determination. “Our boss left one message for you: ‘Do whatever is necessary to stay alive.’”

You gripped your stomach, thinking of Justin. Memories flashed—his warmth, his laugh. His life had been ripped from him, all to satisfy the greed of a man who, by all rights, should have been six feet under. Tears slipped down your cheeks as the truth sunk in, the ache of his loss twisting your heart in ways that words couldn’t convey.

Author's note: I put an Easter egg in this. Do you know which paragraph? 🤭

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@marvel-wifey-86

@esposadomd

@formulas-bitch

[giveafike]

Hi can you write Elliot euphoria and YN have a camping indoors sleepover that leads to more than just friends. Extra smutty please 🤭

TLDR: Elliot and Y/N planned a "camping trip" during college vacation and well, one thing led to another and...

Word count + info: 2.1k THIS ONE IS LONGGGG! Dialogue (it’s mostly sex talk and them being silly goofy guys). Female college!readerxElliot (no specifications).

Warnings + Content Ahead: NSFW this is 18+ MDNI, 420 mentioned, biting, oral sex, no protection (smh), lotta making out and mouth stuff, thigh riding 🤭 I think that’s it!

Azzie Notes ✚: Chat we are so back! sorry I took so long bro, IRL has been soo fkin messy atm but I just needed to write and get back on here. Why is my inbox ovulating so hard tho 😭  guys lets be demure too (kidding I need dom more than ever before now that Dominic has gone MIA)I hope u enjoy it's been a while! I also mentioned Euphoria like,.. the actual word and geeked out a bit go try n find it and geek out w me

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When It Rains, It Pours - D.F.

“Oh, dude you’ve got to be fuckin' kidding me” He huffs.

There you both were, like two idiots holding hamper baskets with blankets, snacks, rolling papers, and small pillows, staring out the glass door into the backyard as rain poured down heavy, the sound of wind whistling as the drops hit the windowed door hard.

You and Elliot had spent many summers “camping” in his backyard since High School and since college had separated your time together, what better way to reunite than kicking off summer in your hometown by camping? Only this year, you both promised to save up and go somewhere this time, but alas, it was just you, Elliot, his empty house and, the torrential rain outside. You both stood in matching tartan shorts and your graduation grey t-shirts from high school like a bunch of losers.

You sigh as you set down your hamper. “So much for that camping trip, huh?” you smirk, biting a smile down.

He sets his hamper basket down too and rummages through it to find his rolling paper and his little bag of weed. “Can’t believe our fuckin’ luck man” He murmurs angrily as he fumbles his papers up.

You sigh and reach over, grabbing his now crumpled paper, and, plop yourself down on the beanbag by the door before rolling his blunt for him. He sighs and sits on the floor between your legs, placing his chin on your knee before looking up at your face, and tucking some hair behind your ear.

“I missed this- I mean I missed you, ya know? Seeing your Instagram Stories and FaceTiming isn’t the same, you even look different. I really wanted to have something to remind you of me, like old times sake sort of thing, whatever that shit means” he mumbles, before pressing his cheek onto your knee, avoiding eye contact.

Your eyes widen at his confession and you stop in your tracks, your fingers moving away from the paper to his face, bringing his eyes back to look at you. Elliot had a lot messed up but one thing was for sure; he always had your back and was always there whenever you needed him.

You both were messed up together, he was your first kiss accidentally, you accidentally smoked weed together, and you both accidentally spent the night in a jail cell after trying to joyride an old car, only to end up crashing that same car within the span of a few minutes since neither of you could drive. Something about those accidents made your heart flutter and kept you around Elliot closer rather than push you away, even though your parents didn’t exactly take it well. Now, after spending almost 8 months away, you were worried Elliot felt like he was slipping away.

“Elli, you’ll always have me, you know that right? Like, you’ve fucked me up so bad that we have a trauma bond, you can’t expect me to slip away, dude. A-And remember one time it rained like this and we made an indoor fort? How ‘bout we do that then, yeah? We have all the stuff for it, the weed and all.” You smile, hoping to get a small laugh out of him as you hold his head, his eyes boring into yours while your fingers coil around his blonde-tipped hair.

He sighs and closes his eyes softly, before nodding, grunting as he gets up. He looks down at you before you lift your head to meet his gaze. Elliot lowers himself to plant kisses on your forehead with an overwhelming tenderness that sends shivers down your spine. It turns almost possessive as he trails it down to your cheek and peppers it with long kisses. Your breath hitches and you feel like melting under his touch. You had never felt a simple kiss to be so sensual but here you were, shivering with your breath hitching. He brings his mouth to your ear, his breath slow and almost ragged.

“If you left me, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do...” His breath is ragged against your skin as he nips at your earlobe before abruptly standing upright again. He digs into his pockets as he walks over and attends to unpacking the hampers, acting nonchalant despite the raw passion still coursing through him. Elliot has kissed and touched you before, albeit while high, but something felt so different, so desperate at this moment.

You try to shrug it off as you roll a few more blunts before crawling inside the now-built fort Elliot had made. He sits on his knees as he puts up some string lights and fluffs up some pillows before resting on his elbows and leaning back. You sit in front of him, holding a blunt between your lips. He can’t help but smile as he brings his old lighter up to you, setting it alight and bringing his face close. The first hit in your lungs feels like home as you exhale with a giggle, blowing the smoke directly into his face. His eyes narrow playfully as he leans in, not breaking eye contact. Instead of simply taking the blunt, his lips brush against yours—soft, lingering—before catching the blunt between them. The kiss is brief but electric, the blunt slipping from your mouth to his as his lips hover close, teasing. For a moment, his face stays just inches from yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with the haze of smoke.

It’s like you’re in his pocket and he’s in yours, both of you wrapped around each others’ fingers. Your back is almost pressed to his, your face tilted up to look at his while his hands wrap around your waist, under your shirt and the waistband of your shorts feeling your smooth skin. It must’ve been 20 minutes when you decide to put the blunt to the side on a small tray and reach up to his face, this time parting his mouth for a kiss. It’s lazy and relaxed as you shift your body to straddle his thigh, your tongue slipping in. Elliot moans into the kiss, holding your hip with one hand and gripping your hair tight with the other.

You grind and gyrate on his thigh, your hands pulling at his curls; you knew he went crazy for hair tugs. His lips trail your neck, his tongue and teeth trailing and gnawing as he laps the length from your collarbone to your earlobe. You let out a whimper as you continue to buck against his thigh, desperate for more. You pull away, pressing your forehead to his.

“Elli, please… don’t hold back” you murmur, pleading as you heave.

He doesn’t answer, instead, he nods and takes his hand under your t-shirt to lift it up and over your head in one swift motion before connecting his lips back to yours. You gasp as you feel the cold air hit your naked torso, the sensation fresh with the sound of you making out with rain noises in the background and the smell of marijuana burning away. It all feels so right, so real.

His head dips between the valley of your breasts, suckling while holding eye contact, lazily moving his mouth over your breast, gliding the tip of his tongue in painful slow circles before taking your nipple between your teeth. His eyes look into yours with pure innocence and attentiveness, as you moan and hold his head there, roaming his curls as you continue to rock back and forth on his thigh, desperately trying for some friction for your now soaking core. You roll his t-shirt up and take it off his torso, throwing it to the side.

Elliot holds you and places you down on the pillow and the mess of bedsheets covering the wooden floor. He leans down, planting soft kisses from the nape of your neck to the edge of your waistband. He perks up to look at you with those sweet eyes you can never get enough of.

“You’re stunning, you know that, Y/N? You always have been.” He whispers shyly before tugging at your waistband looking for approval.

You nod and lift your hips up as he pulls your shorts and underwear off in one swift motion, discarding them outside of the fort. Elliot almost groans at the sight of you completely naked, his eyes filled with desire and admiration. He grabs the blunt placed on the tray and takes a long drag. Smoke billows from his lips and drifts towards your glistening center, making you shiver with anticipation. You moan at the sensation, feeling a wave of heat rush through your body. His head dips down while he kisses your inner thighs, licking softly. He kisses your core, right on your bud making you gasp. Elliot gently spreads your lips, taking one long lick up, circling over your bud. Something about how easy and purposeful he was being had made this all the more arousing, loud moans and encouragement rolling out from your lips begging him to keep going.

Elliot eats you out as if it's his sole duty, his purpose in life, and takes his sweet time to savour you, to thrust his tongue in and out of you, to drink you up until it brings your next orgasm, and then do it all over again. His hand thumbs your breast, the other holding your hips down as you continuously buck up for each wave of pleasure he gives you that ripples through your body. Elliot reaches down to free his member as he carries you through yet another orgasm, this time jerking himself off in slow, lazy strokes, dedicating himself to you first.

As you come down from your orgasm, you feel like you’re seeing stars, everything is flowing perfectly and harmoniously for the first time in a long time. You prop yourself up on your elbows as you watch him gently guide himself to your wet core. Elliot rubs his head up and down before thrusting in, watching your face for any sign of discomfort or displeasure. You grab his shoulder with one hand and bite your lip, nodding to ask him to keep going. He pushes in further, bottoming out inside of you entirely. Your tight hole twitches around his member, adjusting to his size as he slowly moves out, before pounding back in.

It doesn’t take much for Elliot to lose control and find himself relentlessly thrusting into you, roughly gripping a hand to your breast as he moves at a furious pace. You let out provocative giggles and purrs, further fueling his intense desire as he thrusts in and out of you. The fort feels humid, the sound of rain and skin slapping filling the room. Your body craves this, needing more and more as every thrust sends a wave of pleasure through your entire body. Elliot's red eyes are locked on yours, his face contorted with pure passion, your name spilling out like a prayer. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him to go even deeper. His breath hitches as he pounds into you, his hips bucking wildly. The smell of sweat and sex fills the air as he continues to pound, his name echoing from your lips with every thrust.

As you near the edge, you can feel yourself tightening around him, squeezing each time he slams into you. Elliot grabs your hips, holding you tightly as he thrusts faster and harder, his eyes locked on yours. His face is a mix of passion and desperation, knowing you are about to shatter beneath him. And then it happens. You both reach your peaks, sending a jolt of euphoria through the both of you before collapsing, rocking together in one final attempt to ride out your highs. Your nails dig roughly into his shoulder as Elliot bites down on yours, your arms holding him as he lies on top of you before he pulls out and falls to your side. You both breathe out with your mouths dry and skin slick with sweat as you stare up at the bedsheet lined fort ceiling covered in string lights.

Elliot sits up to lazily grab the blunt from the tray, accidentally brushing past one of the fort supports. He pauses for a moment, before exhaling and lying back, taking a drag before handing it to you, smiling.

“You know, for a second there I thought I fuckin’ ruined the momen-” He’s cut off by the fort caving in, entangling you both in sheets. You can’t even be mad at him, he just accidentally crashed his own fort after making your legs shake. God knows how the rest of the night goes, but at least it’s spent with good, old Elli.

[bones4thecats]

If its not to much to ask, could I request ror character's ( Poseidon, Hades, Thor and Hermes) with a blind reader.

Also have been following along for 2 months now and I have been loving everything you write 💛

Type of Writing: Request Characters: Poseidon, Hades, Thor, and Hermes Name: {Character} Handling Their Blind S/O Requester: Anonymous

A/N: Aw! Thank you for following me for two months, Anon! And thank you for the compliment, I've been writing since I was really young and had my massive 'gacha-faze'. I wrote a small story that I called 'Emotionless', typical gacha-kid shit, I know🤣

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🔱 He was one of the first deities to actually be around you and not get annoyed

🔱 When Poseidon first met you, you were being guided by Proteus to his throne room because you were a new assistant that Hades had gotten to help work with connecting Poseidon to his brothers

🔱 At first the God of the Sea didn't hate you, but he didn't like you either, since you would occasionally bump into things

🔱 But, after a while, Poseidon began to sympathize for you, it wasn't your choice to be blind, after all!

🔱 Whenever you guys would go out, he would either have you grab his trident to make sure you stayed near him, or he'd hold your hand to keep you safe and nearby

🔱 Because you cannot see, sometimes you bump into him from behind, which prompted him to get some guards to be around you whenever he was busy with work

🔱 If you ever wanted to go out with someone, he keeps the same guards around you, it's not that he doesn't believe you can defend yourself, after all, you're in a relationship with the one described as emotionless and tyrannical-filled, but, he does it because he wants you to be completely safe, no matter what

🔱 It would hurt him far to much to know he could've done something to keep you safe

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

💀 He met you on similar lines as Poseidon did

💀 Work was piling up, and he needed to get an assistant, so he had gotten you, who was recommended by Hermes, to help him out with the paper work

💀 You were an amazing helper, and while you helped him with paper work, his heart began to ache for you beyond anything he ever felt before

💀 Hades would smile and chuckle whenever you accidentally ran into something by accident

💀 He loves looking into your smooth and milky white eyes, it reminded him of looking into the sight of the moon at midnight throughout his childhood

💀 This Olympic brother smiles everytime you grab his hand to make sure you didn't run into anyone when attending a meeting or large gathering for either the Greek Pantheon or a combination of all different pantheons

💀 When attending meetings with his brothers or a Gods' Council meeting, he would have you either rest of his lap or sit right next to him, making sure you didn't accidentally move and get lost

💀 It happened once, and that was how you met Shiva's wives, Parvati, Kali, and Durga

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🌩️ Thor was used to being around people with different issues, since his father was half-blind

🌩️ When he met you, he had to protect you from Loki's taunting, since he could tell you were blind and had no idea what was going on

🌩️ And Thor cannot stand people being taunted without any form of defense, he finds it pathetic for the antagonist to prey on someone without any form of backlash ability

🌩️ He does not find you weaker because of your blindness at all, but he does enjoy it when you use your words against Loki

🌩️ Hearing him taunt you and then shut up once you mention how his voice reminds you of a dying cat being thrown against a barrel of rocks? Oh yeah, that is one of your keys in getting the God of Thunder to smile

🌩️ Thor always wants some kind of physical touch to make sure you were safe, since Mjölnir's handle was definitely far to large for your hands to hold tightly

🌩️ Whenever attending a meeting of any kind with him, Thor holds you close, making sure nobody, specifically Loki, took you away from his side

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

📨 You were being talked about non-stop by Aphrodite, due to your condition of being completely blind

📨 Hermes was no doubt interested, since you had survived so long without being completely annihilated by an angered God

📨 He was very much known for his patience, and that was something you both gave off when meeting for the first time

📨 Aphrodite took you to meet the Greek Pantheon during a meeting, and when you spoke to Hermes with a small smile, despite being tormented by not seeing his face, he smiled back with equal joy

📨 You had grown up with this condition, so your way of direction was decent, but when Aphrodite had to speak with the God of the Sun, Apollo, alone, Hermes stuck beside you so you didn't sun into a God that may get the wrong idea

📨 Zeus

📨 He and you definitely practice your sense of direction often, so, whenever he was sent out on a message-spree, he would occasionally take you with, so you got used to Valhalla

📨 But, whenever he couldn't, he'd give you to a fellow God, most likely being Hades, Aphrodite, Heracles, or even Apollo

[kinardsevan]

30 days of fluff challenge: day 11

"crying during a movie"

Tommy doesn’t expect it. 

Evan picks the movie that night. It’s a newer one, from the past decade, and Tommy doesn’t really stay up on anything that isn’t a romantic comedy or an action flick, but Evan had found it in the midst of a twenty-minute search for something to watch while they have dinner, and he turns it on without either of them having much information on the movie. 

They’re not far into the film when Tommy questions whether it was the right choice. It’s heavy—a filim about a girl who loses her entire family in an accident, and then has to decide whether she wants to survive alone, or die to be with them—and before long, he can see the way it’s affecting Evan on a much deeper level than they generally go for. Still, as they watch, Evan seems enamored by the film.

Somehow, Tommy gets sucked into it too, even though he’s concerned about the way his boyfriend is being affected by it. Still, it isn’t until the credits roll, and he glances over to see Evan’s reaction to the end of the film, that he finds him nearly beside himself. 

“Babe?” 

Evan inhales a shaky breath as more tears run down his face. He shakes his head and holds up a hand, intimating that he needs a moment. Tommy watches him wordlessly for a time, gives him the requested time to reign it in. 

Except he doesn’t. Maybe he intended to, but Tommy sees him crumple and the quiet sobs that wrack out of his chest, and at that point, Tommy can’t just watch. 

“Baby,” he interjects, reaching up for Evan’s hand. He pulls it to his mouth and kisses the blonde’s fingers before shifting even closer to him on the couch and pulling him in. “What’s happening right now?” 

Evan forces in several deep breaths, which seem to help, because he’s calmer afterwards. Tommy pulls him in and presses his lips to his birthmark as he runs his fingers up and down Evan’s bicep. 

“I’ve had that moment,” Evan finally admits after five long minutes of silence. 

Tommy settles back, not letting go of him, but enough inches back into his own seat that he can see Evan. 

“What moment,” he asks. 

“After I was struck by lightning,” he explains. “When I was in the coma, I had this dream. A-and it was this life where Daniel was still alive, and Maddie never left Doug, and my parents actually cared.” He pauses, takes another breath, his eyes searching the floor. “Back then, I thought I decided to live because of everyone else. Because in the dream, Bobby didn’t live, and Eddie didn’t have custody of Christopher, and my sister wasn’t safe, but my parents cared and for a minute, all of that was really tempting.” 

Tommy hums in understanding. They’ve had enough discussions about both of their parents at this point for him to understand that what Evan’s referring to isn’t as simple as just making a decision, even if it felt that way at the time. 

“B-but there was this moment. I had this out-of-body experience, and I don’t know how I know it, but when they took me off the ventilator, they were concerned about me being able to breathe on my own. But in my head, I was fighting with…something akin to the devil on my shoulder?” He looks up at Tommy then, his brow furrowed at the recollection. “Like I had to decide to live. And obviously I did. But I could’ve chose not to.” 

Tommy nods as he listens to him. He leans forward and kisses the side of Evan’s head again. 

“But you did live,” Tommy reminds him. 

Evan nods, and there are more tears running down his face again, which Tommy doesn’t love. 

“That’s more upsetting?” He asks warily.

Evan shakes his head and then tilts his head back onto Tommy’s arm, looking up at him. 

“You didn’t exist in that dream,” he rasps. “Because I didn’t know you. And if I hadn’t chosen to live then…” His voice trails off, shaking, but it makes sense to Tommy then. He doesn’t need the end of the sentence to understand why Evan’s upset. 

Tommy takes a deep breath and then drops his head down, curling his fingers under Evan’s chin to tilt him in. This kiss is soft, but also quick and urgent. There’s a line that sets into his forehead as he presses his forehead against Evan’s, dignified by the pain of the mere suggestion of a version of a life that Evan Buckley doesn’t exist in. 

“But you did,” he reminds him again. “I’m so glad you did.” 

“Mmm,” Evan hums, lifting a hand and curling a loose fist around the collar of Tommy’s shirt. He looks back up at him, staring into the depths of Tommy’s ocean blue eyes, sapphire pools of adoration staring back at him. 

“I used to have this checklist,” he adds. “When I would wake up in the morning, to make sure I'm alive, and not still stuck in the dream. Make sure night time came, make sure Bobby was alive, make sure Doug is still dead…” 

Tommy nods again. 

“But you said used to,” he states softly. “So you don’t anymore?” 

Evan inhales a deep breath, the tinest of smiles pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“I do actually,” he replies, flatting his hand out against Tommy’s chest. “It’s only one thing now.” 

Tommy’s brow creases, curious. 

“Can I ask what that is,” he murmurs, adjusting his head on his own shoulder so that there’s only half an inch of space between his nose and Evan’s. 

Evan nods. His eyes trail down briefly, and then back up to Tommy’s. 

“Find this chest,” he rasps. “And make sure the heart inside of it still beating.” 

[ohdeerfully]

Headcanons! Alastor with a plush demon reader :3 like readers sinner form is a plush! Because I love height differences and it sounds real cute

-🃏🐱

hi 🃏🐱!! i wrote this more platonically, so it could be read either way, but i might write a more romantic flavored one too :3! sorry its rather short, i hope you enjoy it anyway!

edit: after rereading the request i realized u asked for headcanons but i wrote a whole oneshot im </3 *knocks on my head and it sounds hollow*

Alastor x Plushie!Reader

PLATONIC fluff TW: none! readers kind of a weirdo by accident

join my discord!

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It was no surprise that you became popular in hell very quickly after manifesting. You were often stopped in the streets by people wanting to squish your soft skin, and some people wanting selfies.

I mean, who wouldn’t fall in love with a living stuffed animal? You were very likely the first of the kind.

There was one demon, however, that seemed immune to the charm. No matter how many times you stood on his lap, your giant squishy paws pressed onto his chest, looking at him with your shiny button eyes… he just would not yield. And it frustrated you to no end.

So, you had made it your life—or, death—goal to get him to squish your plushy skin. Even if you had to force him to.

It started with you merely sitting next to him at every opportunity, swinging your legs against the cushion of the couch. Your legs barely reached over the edge; you were quite short. Sitting next to Alastor felt like sitting next to a skyscraper. 

You would lay down, sit up again, roll onto your back, over and over again, trying to get his attention on you. He wouldn’t ignore you, per say, as he would respond to your conversations politely, albeit a bit condescending in his typical manner; but, his hands never left the comfort of being folded neatly in his lap.

It got to the point where you were practically laying yourself on top of him, getting desperate now. But, every time, he would simply grab you under the arms and easily set you a foot or so away from him. He would give you a quick pat on the head, but you wanted more than that. Every pat on the head felt like a cruel reminder that he wanted nothing to do with you.

Your frustration has even caused you to get upset with Niffty a few times. While on one hand it was awesome to know another demon that was of similar height, on the other hand it pissed you off at how easily she seemed to grab his attention. Though, she was also just overall more insane—it’d be hard for anybody to ignore her.

You had to admit, though, that the lack of his attention only made your intrigue in him grow exponentially. In a Hell where you were stopped on every corner of the road, in every store, Alastor stood out to you. How come, of all the demons out there, even some of the cruelest in the Pride Ring, the one demon you were actually interested in… could care less about you? Sure, the only reason you were interested in him was because of this very fact, but still! Why?

You had gotten fed up. Alastor was in the midst of, again, picking you up off of himself, when he paused holding you midair at the look of fury on your face. You saw his grin widen in a sinister manner, and his eyebrows quirk quizzically. 

“What a huge expression for a face so little,” He laughed shortly. You hated the way his laughter crackled with radio static, and how it practically mocked you.

“You. Are such. A jerk!” You cried, swinging your legs in an attempt to kick his chest. You missed by a longshot, as he held you out as far as his arms could stretch. He only continued to watch you, amused.

“Just pet me!” You cried. You immediately halted after saying that, arms frozen mid-flail. You realized instantly how weird that was to say, especially to Alastor. And he knew, too, evident in the way his eyes narrowed at you and he rushed to place you down on the floor. You struggled to maintain eye contact when he stood back up, his height being the actual physical manifestation of impending doom. His hands brushed down the sides of his coat.

“I believe it makes sense for you to be a stuffed animal,” He said matter-of-factly. “Because of how utterly childish you are.”

You couldn’t help but stomp your foot at his statement; and his grin stretched at being proved right. But, like, come on! Yeah, what you said was kind of weird as fuck, but you weren’t in the wrong or anything! It’s only natural.

His gaze shifted up and ahead of himself, and your shoulders slumped in defeat. Another failed attempt.

That was, until you felt a clawed finger touch against your head and briefly scratch at your velvety skin, right behind your ear. You looked up, shocked, towards Alastor’s unreadable expression. The touch was very brief, and he stood and walked away without another word, leaving you standing there awestruck.

You shook yourself and bounced after him, trying to call his attention again but he ignored you. You opted to just follow him around for a bit, at least until he made it obvious you should leave him alone. He had his hands folded behind his back, a tune humming in his mouth as he walked down the halls. Alastor would never admit it to you, but he did find you rather cute, in a similarly chaotic way to Niffty. You weren’t quite as unhinged, but you had an entertaining amount of spunk and confidence, which he found sort of funny—so much personality squished into one tiny body. You sort of reminded him of a stuffed animal he had when he was a boy.

[wolfiesmoon]

Chocolate-covered strawberries

riddle x gn!reader

have u ever wanted to have a (totally definitely platonic with no romantic feelings involved, wdym? *wink wink*) sleepover w riddle? bcs if so, you might wanna read this

thanks to @chillpanda36 's plant related encouragement i am once again riddleposting (hope u dont mind being tagged ＞︿＜)

I kinda got carried away and wrote waaaaay more than I thought i would

"Wow, your room is so... swanky." you commented upon entering his room for the first time. It was decorated in checkerboard patterns and heart motifs, which was very fitting for the dorm of Heartslabyul.

You never expected him to actually agree when you jokingly suggested a sleepover, but you're definitely not complaining.

"Thank you. It was modeled after the Queen of Hearts' castle and has mostly stayed the same throughout the dorm's history. I only made a few adjustments to have it be better suited to me." he explained. Clearly, he took good care of the place since it looked very clean and organised.

"By the way, you won't collar me if I happen to break any of your weird rules by accident, will you?" you were still somewhat worried you'd have to sleep with that uncomfy collar around your neck.

"I will excuse you from the rules, just this once. But do not call the rules 'weird', as it is quite disrespectful to do so." he crossed his arms.

Well, atleast you're glad about that.

You placed down the little bag of stuff you brought with you just for this occasion. You got so excited you ended up planning out several activities for you and Riddle to do.

But first, you have pyjamas to change into! Riddle graciously offered to let you change in his bathroom. Even in there, everything is super clean and organised, almost to a scary degree. Somehow, you get the feeling that Riddle doesn't really know how to "have fun". In a 'casually messing around with firends' kinda way.

After changing into your pyjamas, you call out to Riddle to make sure he's done changing as well. Once he confirms he has, you exit his bathroom to find Riddle in an oversized, frilly pair of white pjyamas, the kind you'd find people wearing in the medieval times. Oh. My. God.

"Pffft.... You-" you had to pause to hold back from laughing. "You look like a starving victorian child." you couldn't help but point out the silly resemblance. The pjyamas brought the whole look together.

"I haven't the slightest clue what a victorian child is, but I am certainly not starving. Why must you constantly insult me with such strange phrases?" Oh, it makes sense he wouldn't get the comparison. And even if he did, you feel like he wouldn't be very amused.

"They aren't insults. Just little comparisons." You smiled innocently at him. While they are just comparisons in a sense, they are usually meant to rile him up a little bit. You just can't help but banter with anyone and everyone sometimes.

Riddle felt a slight shiver run down his spine since you reminded him of a certain someone who likes comparing people to sea creatures at that moment. Though your lovely smile didn't resemble his creepy grin at all.

Lovely... smile? What is he even thinking about right now?

"Are you... good? You're making a weird face." your voice snapped him out of it and he assured you he was perfectly fine. No cause for concern.

"You might not be starving, but are you in the mood for a little snack?" you tried your best to sound enticing, like you're mass advertising the little surprise you brought along with you.

"The rules state that-"

"I double-checked the dorm rules, don't worry. And I also know you don't like junk food, so I made sure my snack is on the healthier side. Sorry for interrupting you, by the way." you laughed awkwardly at his offended pout. But you weren't going to lie, his angry face wasn't intimidating or scary at all (atleast not right now). It gives off more of an 'angry little kitten' vibe to you. But you already made one silly comparison tonight so you feel like Riddle might appreciate this one even less.

"Well then. I'd like to know what it is." he actually seemed pretty interested in what you came up with. You dug around your bag, pulling out a packet of chocolate-covered strawberries.

"Feast your eyes on these bad boys!" the specific choice of chocolate-covered strawberries was a calculated one on your end. You had asked Trey about Riddle's food preferences before, but it was unrelated to this sleepover. You can only thank your past self (and Trey) for arming you with the valuable knowledge that Riddle likes strawberry tarts (and consequently strawberries, you hope).

"Oh. I suppose these look quite tasty." he was actually really pleasantly surprised about your choice of snack. It's surprisingly fit to his tastes.

How thoughtful of you...

"Here, have one!" you actually made homemade chocolate just for these. Trey gave you a good baking lesson on how to do that. So of course, you want him to be the first one to try!

He hesitates for a moment. Although the food you're giving him doesn't break any of the Queen's rules, it still feels off to be eating so late at night. Scheduled meals are so ingrained into his mind that he feels the sudden urge to reject the offer and go brush his teeth immediately.

But something strange blooms in his heart when he sees the excitement in your gaze and he submits, telling himself he'll do it just this once. For you.

He grabs one of the strawberries from the packet, slowly and hesitantly raising it to his mouth as if it were forbidden to eat. It still felt forbidden, no matter how many times he told himself it was fine to let loose sometimes.

"It's... delicious." he comments upon eating the entire strawberry.

"Oh, goodie! I was worried I messed up the chocolate, somehow." his eyes went slightly wide upon hearing that you made part of them yourself. He felt his chest tighten up slighly. In a good way.

"In that case, I shall have some more. And you eat them too, since you prepared them for this occasion." the two of you sat down on the edge of his bed, placing the strawberries in between you so you could both easily reach for them while talking.

You still made sure you swallowed the food before you talked though. To avoid a scolding about proper manners from Riddle.

"So, for this sleepover I was thinking we could try summoning a demon, playing board games, doing karaoke, watching a movie, playing 'would you rather', making a pillow fort, and-"

"What was that first one?" Riddle had never experienced a sleepover before, so he had no clue what people actually did in them but he always just imagined sleepovers were purely sleeping at eachother's houses, not doing anything BUT that. He could barely keep up with all of the things you were listing off, but the first one ESPECIALLY stumped him.

"Summoning a demon? Everyone tries that in sleepovers. Usually doesn't work." you shrugged casually, reaching for another strawberry.

"How... horrific. And utterly nonsensical. What joy do you get from doing something so horrible? Especially if you know it won't work?" he seemed genuinely stumped by the concept, which made you want to laugh but you held back since you didn't want to choke on a chocolate-covered strawberry. It would certainly be a way to go.

"It's about the thrill, Riddle. What if it actually works this time? You never know...." you whisper teasingly, like a narrarator in a horror movie.

"In that case, we are absolutely not doing that." he hates to admit it, but he's actually kind of worried a silly ritual might workmand is taking precautions right now to not let it happen at all.

"Hahaha, that's fine! We can do all the other stuff, then." you decided to take mercy on him after seeing how hard he's trying not to let it show that he's scared of demon summoning games. He reminds you of your friends on your first sleepover when you tried summoning a demon. All of you were acting tough and unbothered back then, but were deathly afraid and unable to sleep after.

When you reached for another strawberry, you just happened to grab Riddle's hand instead. Seems you were both going for the same one. Actually, that one's the final one!

"Oops... you go ahead and take it. I feel like I've had enough." you smiled awkwardly at him. Gosh, is it suddenly slightly hotter in here or is it just you?

"Thank you." Riddle looked away, turning his head so you wouldn't see his reddening face as he ate the final strawberry. He's kinda mad at himself for getting so flustered over an accidental hand hold. Your hand felt so... nice to hold. It would be so nice if he could hold it more often. Gah, what on earth is he thinking?! None of this is rational...

An awkward silence fills the room.

And you get a cheeky little idea.

You picked up a pillow from his bed and threw it at the back of his head.

"Hey. What do you think you are doing-HHMMF!" you threw another pillow, this time directly at his face as he turned around to scold you.

"PILLOW FIGHT!" you yelled out excitedly, already grabbing another pillow to defend yourself with as you scurried on the other side of his bed. You giggled at the way his entire face flushed red with anger.

"That was no fair! I was not prepared at all!" you totally caught Riddle off guard, but now he was prepared to have his revenge. He never had a pillow fight before, but if little kids are capable of having one, so is he. And he is quite confident that his magical abilities will give him the upper hand against you.

"Even if you were, I'd still win! They called me the pillow fight champion back in my world!" you throw a pillow at him, which he stops with his magic.

"Oh, we'll see about that. You've had quite enough of landing hits on me, I believe." he smirked confidently at you, feeling a childlike excitement running through his veins.

Now that he thinks about it, it has been a long long time since he has felt this excited and relaxed. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to do this over and over and over again.

In moderation.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The true post-cyberpunk hero is a noir forensic accountant

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TOMORROW (Apr 17) in CHICAGO, then Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

I was reared on cyberpunk fiction, I ended up spending 25 years at my EFF day-job working at the weird edge of tech and human rights, even as I wrote sf that tried to fuse my love of cyberpunk with my urgent, lifelong struggle over who computers do things for and who they do them to.

That makes me an official "post-cyberpunk" writer (TM). Don't take my word for it: I'm in the canon:

https://tachyonpublications.com/product/rewired-the-post-cyberpunk-anthology-2/

One of the editors of that "post-cyberpunk" anthology was John Kessel, who is, not coincidentally, the first writer to expose me to the power of literary criticism to change the way I felt about a novel, both as a writer and a reader:

https://locusmag.com/2012/05/cory-doctorow-a-prose-by-any-other-name/

It was Kessel's 2004 Foundation essay, "Creating the Innocent Killer: Ender's Game, Intention, and Morality," that helped me understand litcrit. Kessel expertly surfaces the subtext of Card's Ender's Game and connects it to Card's politics. In so doing, he completely reframed how I felt about a book I'd read several times and had considered a favorite:

https://johnjosephkessel.wixsite.com/kessel-website/creating-the-innocent-killer

This is a head-spinning experience for a reader, but it's even wilder to experience it as a writer. Thankfully, the majority of literary criticism about my work has been positive, but even then, discovering something that's clearly present in one of my novels, but which I didn't consciously include, is a (very pleasant!) mind-fuck.

A recent example: Blair Fix's review of my 2023 novel Red Team Blues which he calls "an anti-finance finance thriller":

https://economicsfromthetopdown.com/2023/05/13/red-team-blues-cory-doctorows-anti-finance-thriller/

Fix – a radical economist – perfectly captures the correspondence between my hero, the forensic accountant Martin Hench, and the heroes of noir detective novels. Namely, that a noir detective is a kind of unlicensed policeman, going to the places the cops can't go, asking the questions the cops can't ask, and thus solving the crimes the cops can't solve. What makes this noir is what happens next: the private dick realizes that these were places the cops didn't want to go, questions the cops didn't want to ask and crimes the cops didn't want to solve ("It's Chinatown, Jake").

Marty Hench – a forensic accountant who finds the money that has been disappeared through the cells in cleverly constructed spreadsheets – is an unlicensed tax inspector. He's finding the money the IRS can't find – only to be reminded, time and again, that this is money the IRS chooses not to find.

This is how the tax authorities work, after all. Anyone who followed the coverage of the big finance leaks knows that the most shocking revelation they contain is how stupid the ruses of the ultra-wealthy are. The IRS could prevent that tax-fraud, they just choose not to. Not for nothing, I call the Martin Hench books "Panama Papers fanfic."

I've read plenty of noir fiction and I'm a long-term finance-leaks obsessive, but until I read Fix's article, it never occurred to me that a forensic accountant was actually squarely within the noir tradition. Hench's perfect noir fit is either a happy accident or the result of a subconscious intuition that I didn't know I had until Fix put his finger on it.

The second Hench novel is The Bezzle. It's been out since February, and I'm still touring with it (Chicago tonight! Then Turin, Marin County, Winnipeg, Calgary, Vancouver, etc). It's paying off – the book's a national bestseller.

Writing in his newsletter, Henry Farrell connects Fix's observation to one of his own, about the nature of "hackers" and their role in cyberpunk (and post-cyberpunk) fiction:

https://www.programmablemutter.com/p/the-accountant-as-cyberpunk-hero

Farrell cites Bruce Schneier's 2023 book, A Hacker’s Mind: How the Powerful Bend Society’s Rules and How to Bend Them Back:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/06/trickster-makes-the-world/

Schneier, a security expert, broadens the category of "hacker" to include anyone who studies systems with an eye to finding and exploiting their defects. Under this definition, the more fearsome hackers are "working for a hedge fund, finding a loophole in financial regulations that lets her siphon extra profits out of the system." Hackers work in corporate offices, or as government lobbyists.

As Henry says, hacking isn't intrinsically countercultural ("Most of the hacking you might care about is done by boring seeming people in boring seeming clothes"). Hacking reinforces – rather than undermining power asymmetries ("The rich have far more resources to figure out how to gimmick the rules"). We are mostly not the hackers – we are the hacked.

For Henry, Marty Hench is a hacker (the rare hacker that works for the good guys), even though "he doesn’t wear mirrorshades or get wasted chatting to bartenders with Soviet military-surplus mechanical arms." He's a gun for hire, that most traditional of cyberpunk heroes, and while he doesn't stand against the system, he's not for it, either.

Henry's pinning down something I've been circling around for nearly 30 years: the idea that though "the street finds its own use for things," Wall Street and Madison Avenue are among the streets that might find those uses:

https://craphound.com/nonfic/street.html

Henry also connects Martin Hench to Marcus Yallow, the hero of my YA Little Brother series. I have tried to make this connection myself, opining that while Marcus is a character who is fighting to save an internet that he loves, Marty is living in the ashes of the internet he lost:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/07/dont-curb-your-enthusiasm/

But Henry's Marty-as-hacker notion surfaces a far more interesting connection between the two characters. Marcus is a vehicle for conveying the excitement and power of hacking to young readers, while Marty is a vessel for older readers who know the stark terror of being hacked, by the sadistic wolves who're coming for all of us:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I44L1pzi4gk

Both Marcus and Marty are explainers, as am I. Some people say that exposition makes for bad narrative. Those people are wrong:

https://maryrobinettekowal.com/journal/my-favorite-bit/my-favorite-bit-cory-doctorow-talks-about-the-bezzle/

"Explaining" makes for great fiction. As Maria Farrell writes in her Crooked Timber review of The Bezzle, the secret sauce of some of the best novels is "information about how things work. Things like locks, rifles, security systems":

https://crookedtimber.org/2024/03/06/the-bezzle/

Where these things are integrated into the story's "reason and urgency," they become "specialist knowledge [that] cuts new paths to move through the world." Hacking, in other words.

This is a theme Paul Di Filippo picked up on in his review of The Bezzle for Locus:

https://locusmag.com/2024/04/paul-di-filippo-reviews-the-bezzle-by-cory-doctorow/

Heinlein was always known—and always came across in his writings—as The Man Who Knew How the World Worked. Doctorow delivers the same sense of putting yourself in the hands of a fellow who has peered behind Oz’s curtain. When he fills you in lucidly about some arcane bit of economics or computer tech or social media scam, you feel, first, that you understand it completely and, second, that you can trust Doctorow’s analysis and insights.

Knowledge is power, and so expository fiction that delivers news you can use is novel that makes you more powerful – powerful enough to resist the hackers who want to hack you.

Henry and I were both friends of Aaron Swartz, and the Little Brother books are closely connected to Aaron, who helped me with Homeland, the second volume, and wrote a great afterword for it (Schneier wrote an afterword for the first book). That book – and Aaron's afterword – has radicalized a gratifying number of principled technologists. I know, because I meet them when I tour, and because they send me emails. I like to think that these hackers are part of Aaron's legacy.

Henry argues that the Hench books are "purpose-designed to inspire a thousand Max Schrems – people who are probably past their teenage years, have some grounding in the relevant professions, and really want to see things change."

(Schrems is the Austrian privacy activist who, as a law student, set in motion the events that led to the passage of the EU's General Data Privacy Regulation:)

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/15/out-here-everything-hurts/#noyb

Henry points out that William Gibson's Neuromancer doesn't mention the word "internet" – rather, Gibson coined the term cyberspace, which, as Henry says, is "more ‘capitalism’ than ‘computerized information'… If you really want to penetrate the system, you need to really grasp what money is and what it does."

Maria also wrote one of my all-time favorite reviews of Red Team Blues, also for Crooked Timber:

https://crookedtimber.org/2023/05/11/when-crypto-meant-cryptography/

In it, she compares Hench to Dickens' Bleak House, but for the modern tech world:

You put the book down feeling it’s not just a fascinating, enjoyable novel, but a document of how Silicon Valley’s very own 1% live and a teeming, energy-emitting snapshot of a critical moment on Earth.

All my life, I've written to find out what's going on in my own head. It's a remarkably effective technique. But it's only recently that I've come to appreciate that reading what other people write about my writing can reveal things that I can't see.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/17/panama-papers-fanfic/#the-1337est-h4x0rs

Image: Frédéric Poirot (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/fredarmitage/1057613629 CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/