#very broad territory i know sorry

[whim-prone-pirate]

i need some good longfic recs please!!! preferably low/no smut, if you have a really good rec that does have smut just let me know when u link it :3 the fandoms i read for are in the tags🫶

[riizegasm]

Impure Intentions || L. CY (Anton)

❀ pairing: chaebol heir!anton x rival!reader, implied fem!reader

❀ genre: enemies to lovers (but not really), fluff, suggestive

❀ word count: ~6.7k

❀ warnings: explicit language, mentions of dysfunctional families, one heated kiss scene

❀ summary: From the day you were born, all you ever heard was, “don’t fall in love with Anton Lee.” A better heir to a multimillion dollar conglomerate would follow their family’s advice. But you…not so much.

❀ a/n: sheesh, talk about writer’s block. This work has taken me so long and so much effort, but i'm very proud of how it turned out! It may have even helped me out of my slump. Also, please don’t judge me too hard. I know nothing about business and corporate families!!! As always, likes, reblogs, and replies are strongly encouraged. Happy reading!

Your head aches. The lights in the banquet hall are too bright and the clink of gilded silverware is too loud. Polite chatter buzzes around you like a pesky fly evading a swatter. The air is suffocating, overly stuffy with high end perfumes and colognes clouding the space. This is torture; the Lee family banquets always are.

It would be better if you could enjoy the food or engage with the various guests like everyone else does, but this is enemy territory. Your family had made it abundantly clear that this was not an event for fun, but rather for scoping out the competition. Lectures about a corporate acquisition going south and details about poor contracting simply entered in one ear and left via the other. You didn’t care why you had to be there. The knowledge of your forced attendance did enough to damper your mood, especially once you were hit with all of the rules around your presence.

Sit still, look pretty, smile politely, eavesdrop on any corporate plans, and don’t talk to Anton Lee.

You never understood your family’s obsession with keeping you away from him, the prized son and heir of the Lee empire. Everyone made sure to fill your mind with negative opinions and baseless rumors about the young man, as if to deter you from even giving him a chance. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice, however. You’ve never even seen the man, let alone had a conversation with him. Anton Lee was much more of a mythical being than he was a person, in your eyes. He was always whispered about, but never seen.

From what you gathered, he was around your age, tall, broad, and supposedly extremely handsome. He was known for his overly harsh demeanor, rumored to command a room with a simple word. His presence apparently spoke volumes, enough to speak to his blunt nature and bad intentions. It made sense, your parents would always say. After all, he is a Lee.

“Fix your face, honey,” your mother snaps with a forced smile. “You’ll give yourself wrinkles before you turn thirty if you keep scowling like that.”

It takes everything in you to fight an eye roll, biting back the string of expletives waiting on the tip of your tongue. “Sorry. I’m going to run to the powder room.”

You don’t bother to wait for her response before excusing yourself from the cocktail table, getting lost in the crowds of people as you head towards the bathroom. Away from your family, the air feels somewhat lighter, although it still reeks of entitlement. The throb in your head is insistent now, forcing you to escape to find relief.

You find yourself heading towards a set of grandiose double doors, hoping they will lead you anywhere but here. Luckily, your prayers are answered as you step through them onto a stone balcony. The crisp nighttime air does wonders to cool your heated skin, a slight breeze ruffling the loose fabric of your dress.

This is exactly what you needed, space and solace.

“Rough night?”

A soft voice makes you jump out of your skin, whipping your head around to find the source. Its owner leans up against the exterior wall, somewhat bathed in shadow. All you can make out is a glimmer of white teeth, reflecting the moonlight.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the figure apologizes, taking a small step forward into the light.

You feel your breath stutter in your chest as you take in the man. The first thing you notice is his sheer beauty, lips enticingly full and nose broad. His beauty is complemented by his tall stature, the height difference between you two becoming increasingly apparent as he approaches. Like this, bathed in the moonlight, it’s impossible not to notice the broadness of his shoulders and how they taper into a small waist. He fills out his all black suit beautifully, the garments clearly tailored to his every curve.

“Are you alright?” The man asks, stopping only a few feet away.

The concern in his tone is just enough to snap you out of your reverie.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just, um, needed some air.”

The man nods in understanding, leaning over to place his forearms against the balcony’s railing. You struggle not to eye the way his suit jacket stretches across an impossibly wide back. Instead, you mirror his stance, looking out at the beautiful gardens below, bathed in silvery moonlight. Just beyond the seemingly endless maze of hedges, you can make out what looks like a small lake, it’s surface rippling under the nighttime breeze. 

“It can be stuffy in there,” the man says softly. 

You find yourself hanging onto his every word, shocked that such a mild tone could come from such an intimidating man. “Yeah, it really can be.”

The man lets out a small chuckle, no doubt amused by your clear annoyance. “So I take it you’re not in the business.”

“No, I’m–,” you pause for a moment, not sure how much of your identity you should reveal to the stranger. “I’m related.”

He chuckles again, this time turning to look at you. “Hm, I guess I could say the same for me, then.”

A round of applause sounds from somewhere inside, and you curse under your breath, knowing your family will kill you for your absence. The man next to you seems unphased, as if he’s used to the party going on without him.

“I think I should get back.”

The man flashes you a smile, its brightness almost blinding in the dark. “That’s okay. It was nice chatting with you…”

“Y/N. And you are?”

“Anton,” he whispers. “I hope I can see you again, Y/N.”

An icy chill travels up your spine, momentarily freezing you in place. But you force yourself to remain composed, plastering a smile on your face. You silently thank your years of etiquette training and the countless social events you have had to smile for. With a slight nod of your head, you disappear back through the double doors, instantly choking on the scent of Chanel No. 5.

.        .        .

It’s easy to believe that your first encounter with Anton Lee would be your last, especially as the weeks pass without a single sign of him. It makes sense that he wouldn’t start making regular appearances at events after attending just once. He has managed to spend twenty years staying out of the spotlight, and you can’t imagine that changing now. 

But, for some reason, you can’t help but search for him in the crowd of every gala or at the tables of any grandiose banquet.

He would be easy to spot, with his overwhelming height and dazzling smile. Maybe his honey brown hair would be slicked back off his forehead this time, or maybe it would hang in front of his eyes to conceal his bright gaze. You’re sure that he would still talk in that overly soft tone of his, somehow managing to command a room without a change in volume. 

Even his absence begins to feel like a presence in and of itself, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. You tell yourself that it’s simple intrigue and nothing more. The first time you had ever laid eyes on your supposed family nemesis had been on a balcony bathed in the moonlight. Where had he been all these years?

More importantly, why had he disappeared again?

The question runs through your mind as you accept a flute of champagne from a waiter, eyes flitting around the charity dinner in hopes of spotting a specific someone. Somewhere near the front of the banquet hall, the Lee family is seated at a table with a few other wealthy families, but their oldest son is nowhere to be found. 

You crane your neck to get a better look. Just to be sure, you tell yourself. But the contorting you force yourself to do has you leaning right back into a waiter, your elbow knocking into his empty tray. The sudden movement has your champagne flute slipping out of your grasp, icy bubbles splattering across your chest and down the front of your dress. You can practically feel the daggers that your mother is shooting you from across the table, always having scolded you about the embarrassment that comes along with being a klutz. Before she can part her lips to tell you off, you excuse yourself politely, dashing out to find a restroom to freshen up. 

You let your heeled feet carry you through a maze of hallways, side stepping waiters and party guests as you move further and further away from the event space. It’s only when you travel down a flight of stairs that you find yourself a seemingly private restroom, briefly stepping inside to clean yourself up. No matter how much you dab at the stain in the center of your bust, the wine doesn’t seem to budge. You thank the heavens that it was champagne instead of a red, saving you some degree of embarrassment.

After a few minutes in the restroom, you find yourself wandering around, ending up in a much more secluded lounge space, equipped with a couple of couches surrounding a coffee table. You immediately collapse onto one, sighing as the ache in your feet finally lifts. 

It’s only then that you feel your eyes begin to sting, a familiar rush of heat striking your face as a lump begins to form in your throat. The sticky sweet smell of champagne still clings to your body, your dress uncomfortable where the alcohol seeped into it. You’re sure that you look a mess, knowing that tear smudged makeup would be the last thing to complete your disheveled look. 

“Another rough night?”

The soft rasp of a voice instantly has you perking up, breath caught in your throat as you take in the tall figure approaching you. His crisply pressed suit hugs his broad shoulders and cinches at an impossibly small waist. His lips are quirked upwards into a small smirk, clearly teasing. Something about it is enticing, setting off a stampede in your stomach.

“How could you tell?” You mumble, trying not to stare as Anton settles into a lounge chair across from you.

The man’s smirk just deepens. “Wild guess. What happened?”

“I spilled champagne on myself and now I look a mess.”

“You don’t,” Anton states, smirk dropping from his face. “You could never look bad.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “How would you even know that? You’ve only seen me twice.”

Anton chuckles, finally relaxing into the plush of his chair. His legs separate ever so slightly at the action, allowing you to admire his mile-long legs. It’s almost frustrating, how perfect he looks. You imagine that if anyone never looks bad, it’s him.

“I’ve seen you way more than twice, Y/N.”

The simple statement has you turning your eyes away from his figure, meeting his open gaze. He seems so casual, so unbothered, as if that one sentence hasn’t turned your world upside down.

“Wait, what?” You find yourself tripping over your words in the rush to get them out. “Wh-what do you mean you’ve seen me more than twice? I only met you the first time at that contracting dinner a few weeks ago.”

Anton chuckles again, cocking his head in a puppy-like manner. “Yeah, that was the first time we’ve met, but I’ve seen you so many times. You and your family have been at every major event since we were kids. How could I not see you?”

“But, I’ve never–,”

“I know,” Anton interrupts. “I like to stay outside or in whatever lounge areas I can find. These things always make me really anxious.”

Wow, you didn’t expect such an honest admission from a man of Anton’s status. If anything, his candor makes him much more attractive, as if he could get even more perfect.

“You know we’re supposed to hate each other?” He asks, a small smile making his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Apparently you’re my rival in the field, and I’m supposed to hate everything you say and do.”

Unfortunately, you know the feeling, causing you to let out a small giggle. “Oh trust me, I know. Do you, though?”

“Hate you?”

You nod, fighting a smile as Anton pretends to think.

“Nah,” he eventually answers. “My grandfather taught me from a very young age that I should never harbor negative feelings for beautiful women.”

The implication has heat rushing to your face, forcing you to struggle to keep your composure. “Well, my family has always told me that attractive men always have impure intentions.”

Anton chuckles, shaking his head slightly. He takes a beat before standing, letting his eyes rake over your still seated figure as he begins to retreat down the hallway. It’s impossible to decipher where the intensity of his gaze stems from. He eyes you as if he were hungry, trapping you against the couch with his stare alone.

“Then let me show you just how impure my intentions are.”

The man is gone with little more than a wink and a smile, leaving you with warm cheeks and the scent of champagne clouding your nose. 

.        .        .

You’re surprised to see Anton as soon as the next event, only three weeks later. It’s a simple charity ball for some rare disease research, but for some reason, Anton has decided not to hide in the shadows for this event. It’s interesting to watch how despite his supposed anxiety, he is clearly in his element. He greets everyone kindly, shooting various guests a charming smile as he is introduced to them. His father looks proud of him, a hand kept clapped over his shoulder the entire time. 

You wonder if he’s comfortable like this, with a blur of people and faces constantly passing by him. However, you are instantly snapped out of your wondering when a manicured hand grips your shoulder. The feeling of your mothers lips close to your ear sends a shiver down your spine, a perpetually bad omen. 

“Straighten up,” she scolds. “We’re going over to talk to the Lees. Their son is making a public appearance at an event like this for the first time. No funny business.”

You would laugh if not for the uncomfortable way her nails dig into your shoulder. It forces you to instantly fall in line behind your father, taking a deep breath as you get closer to the Lees. What is only a few seconds feels like hours until you finally stand face to face with your supposed rival. 

“Yoon Sang, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” your father greets, shaking the hands of the head of the Lee family. 

He even leans in to place a friendly kiss on Mrs. Lee’s cheek. You find yourself standing frozen in place as the parents exchange greetings, unable to do anything but stare at the man before you. He sports his signature charming smile, mouth full of perfectly white teeth on display. Not for the first time, you feel your face grow warm. 

“We thought it was about time for our Y/N to meet Anton. After all, they will be competitors when they take over the respective businesses, right?”

Your father’s comment snaps you back to attention. However, you are immediately distracted by the feeling of Anton’s large hand engulfing yours, his palm both warm and surprisingly soft to the touch. You have to glance upwards to meet his eyes, but it’s impossible to miss the amused glint in his stare. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I have heard so much about you.”

You force a smile on your face. “The pleasure is all mine.”

It’s easy to tune out the conversation after that, letting the adults blabber on while you reminisce about the feeling of Anton’s hand in yours. The man seems to be similarly distracted, clearly eyeing your figure. The silence between you speaks volumes, and you hope your parents are too deaf to hear it. 

“We would love to have Anton over at our headquarters sometime,” your mother suggests, her piercing voice rising above the noise of the ball. “I’m sure Y/N would be happy to show him around!”

You don’t even have time to process the full body panic that begins to overcome you before Anton’s family is readily agreeing. 

“I agree that it would be great for them to know the ins and outs of the business,” Mr. Lee replies with an overly saccharine smile. “We would love to have Y/N over for lunch at the estate as well. Who knows? Maybe they’ll find themselves to be friends.”

Your dad chuckles, obviously disgusted by the thought. “You’re so right. The two might even do a merger some day!”

As the group erupts into phony laughter, you feel the beginnings of a migraine tingling behind your left eye. Something about the cacophony of laughs and the dull classical music is making you ache, your stomach starting to swim with nausea. You dare a glance upward, fighting the pain that blooms in your head with the motion. 

Anton’s gaze is bright where it meets yours, a soft smile poised on his full lips. His cheeks are dusted with a slight blush, clearly flustered by the implications. There’s a slight fidget in his fingers, twirling expensive rings as a means of soothing himself. 

He’s cute, you realize, not for the first time. 

It’s only after a few more moments that the families say goodbye, the Lees promising to send a lunch invitation soon. Anton shoots you another smile before he follows behind his family, suddenly looking small despite his large stature. You can’t help but smile as you watch his departure, suddenly realizing that your migraine has disappeared. 

.         .         .

The Lee estate is just as gorgeous as you expected it to be, with tall stone gates and artfully placed landscaping. It looks impossibly large from where you’re seated in the car, causing nerves to begin to creep up your spine. You pass off the butterflies that begin to flutter in your core as obvious intimidation that comes with being on the property of your family’s biggest rivals. It surely has nothing to do with an overly soft voice, broad shoulders, and kind eyes. 

“Remember,” your mother had told you before sending you off. “This is business. Reveal nothing and absorb everything. And most importantly, remember that Anton Lee is not your friend.”

You take a step out onto the perfectly paved driveway, surprised to already see someone standing by the door. Anton seems to perk up when you lock eyes, shooting you a polite smile. His wave betrays his excitement, though. You imagine that if he were a puppy, his tail would be wagging. 

“Y/N, hey! I’m glad you actually came.”

“Please,” you shoot him a cheeky smile. “As if I could ever turn down an invitation from the Lee family.”

Anton lets out a slight groan. “Don’t remind me that this is ‘business.’”

“Well then what would you like for me to call it?”

Anton shrugs, turning to hold the front door open for you. It’s only when you pass through the threshold, Anton still standing behind you that he responds. 

“A lunch date.” Before you have the chance to respond, Anton is shutting the door behind you both. “Come this way. Food’s on the patio.”

It takes a few turns down intricate hallways to get to a set of double doors that lead to the patio. As promised, there’s an assortment of sandwiches and salad laid out on a round table, two seats set across from each other. You would be impressed, if not for the even more stunning view that lay before you. 

The patio looks out on sprawling gardens, tall bushes and blooming flowers swaying softly in the breeze. A little beyond the landscaping, a wooden dock leads out to a large pond, its greenish-blue water seemingly sparkling under the midday sun. 

“Wow, this is beautiful,” you breathe out, unable to take your eyes off the sight before you. 

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it? My parents have always had an affinity for water.”

You imagine that all of their properties have pools or lakes, much like this one. Meanwhile, your own family prefers the hustle and bustle of the concrete jungle, never expanding beyond brutalist modern penthouses in the tallest apartment buildings in the city. It must be nice, you imagine, to have a space that feels like a home and not just another office. 

Eventually, the two of you sit, settling into a comfortable silence as you distribute food amongst yourselves. It’s quite amusing to watch Anton as he eats, clearly possessing the hunger of a growing young man while forcing himself to take small bites and practice the etiquette of an heir. You wonder if you look the same, so obviously restrained while you want to let loose, if only for a bit. 

Despite the fact that you haven’t seen another person since you set foot in the Lee estate, you know that people must be somewhere. There are always eyes on you. 

“I’m surprised that your family was so adamant about having me over,” you begin, settling back in your chair. “I thought I was the enemy.”

Anton smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well you know what they say. Keep the enemy close and all that.”

“Is that what you want to do? Keep me close?”

You know you’re treading in dangerous waters. All it would take is one word about the obvious flirting to Anton’s parents for you to become your family’s disgrace. You can practically see the headline now: Conglomerate Heiress Gets Rejected By Rivals’ Son. Your family would disown you. And yet, as color begins to flood Anton’s cheeks, you can’t find it within yourself to care. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice coming out even softer than usual. “I think that is what I want to do.”

You duck your head, clearing your throat in an attempt to settle the flutter in your stomach. “I’d like that.”

A sudden interest in lunch leaves both of you munching away in silence. It’s peaceful, despite blushing cheeks and racing heartbeats. It allows you to realize that being around Anton is unlike being around anyone else in your family’s circle. Here, there’s no pressure to be prim and proper, no pressure to listen out for secret ins and outs of business. 

It’s odd to find comfort in the one person who is supposed to bring you anything but. And yet, with the warmth of the sun on your face and the pleasant fullness in your belly, you’ve never felt more at home. 

“You know,” Anton starts once you have both cleared your plates. “I think we’re supposed to be talking about business.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Can I be honest?”

Anton nods slightly, honey brown hair shifting across his forehead. 

“The business is the last thing I want to talk about.”

Anton smiles. “Trust me, I feel the same way.”

There’s a beat of silence, the two of you content to simply sit as the breeze ruffles the flowers that dot the landscape. When Anton speaks again, you watch his mouth, noting the way that his lips hold the same hue of the red tulips in the nearby flower bed. 

“Can I show you something?”

The simple question has your gaze flickering back upwards, trying to ignore the way your heart races when his eyes meet yours.

“Sure,” you whisper, words instantly carried away by the wind. 

Following behind Anton through the grass proves to be harder than you imagined, his long legs allowing him to move with a grace and speed that is difficult to match. He leads you in between a maze of flower beds, bringing you deeper into the garden until you’re surrounded by tall hedges on either side. From here, it’s impossible to see the house, so you just continue to follow behind Anton. You find yourself eyeing the broadness of his shoulders and the way his shirt shifts across the muscles of his back as he walks. It’s hypnotizing, so much so that you don’t realize that you have arrived at your destination. 

“This is my thinking spot,” Anton says with a little flutter of his arms, clearly trying to present the space to you. 

The hedge maze has opened up to a small central pocket, not housing much except for a small fountain and a stone bench. Anton is quick to take a seat, motioning for you to occupy the space next to him. It’s a bit of a squeeze, putting you and Anton close enough that you can feel the heat of his skin on your own. You dig your nails into the stone of the bench, hoping that it will steel your nerves. 

“I like to come out here when my parents get in my head about the business. It’s pretty peaceful.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, despite knowing that no one is within earshot. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it really is.”

There’s an airiness to Anton’s voice that has you turning to face him. You take in a sharp inhale when you notice that his eyes are already on you, the close proximity leaving your faces mere inches away from each other. The overwhelming rush of blood in your ears forces you to turn away, taking a deep breath to calm your thundering heartbeat. 

“You take all the girls here?” You aim for teasing, but the slight break in your voice makes it err more on the side of desperation. 

Anton shakes his head earnestly. “You’re the first person I’ve brought here who isn’t my family.”

The admission feels like a sucker punch to the gut. Except there’s no pain, just a rush of warmth that climbs up your throat like ivy. Anton is clearly surprised as well, his own words deepening the pretty flush that has taken hold on his cheeks. His bottom lip is trapped by his teeth, its plushness oh so enticing in the afternoon sun. 

“Y-you know,” you stutter out, swallowing thickly before continuing. “When you said you had impure intentions, I thought you were joking.”

“I don’t think I could joke about how bad I want you.”

It should feel like a corny line. It should feel like something he says to all the girls. After all, he’s Anton Lee. He could get anyone he wanted at the drop of a hat. So why does it feel so real when he says it to you? Why does it feel like those words are meant for you, and only you?

Anton’s gravity is pulling you closer, allowing you to lean further into his space. You’re close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your face, coming out in gentle puffs that reveal just how fast his heart is racing. He has released his bottom lip by now, leaving it glossy with saliva. It’s impossible not to anticipate the smooth glide of it against your own. 

A sudden vibration snaps you both out of your bubble, the two of you popping apart as if you were repelling magnets. It takes a few seconds for you to realize that the vibration is coming from your own phone, buzzing incessantly. You shoot Anton an apologetic look before stepping away to take the call. 

“We need you back home,” your mother rushes from the other side of the line, not bothering to waste time greeting you. “Your father wants to hear about your business with the Lees before he heads to his strategy meeting in an hour.”

“But the Lee house is thirty minutes away!”

You can practically hear your mother’s eye roll over the phone. “Then you better get going.”

.         .         .

Business meeting, my house at 4pm?

The text comes as both a surprise and the most expected invitation in the world. In your flurry to leave his house the week before, you had made sure to leave the man with your number. In turn, he smiled wide, promising to invite you over for another “business meeting” soon. 

Before you can inquire about how much business will actually be necessary to discuss, your phone buzzed again. 

My parents just left for a business trip to Milan. 

A flutter rushes through your stomach at the implications. It’s clear what that means, that the two of you will finally have a chance to act on your chemistry without the watchful eyes of competitive families. The two of you will finally get to exist as your own people, and not as rivals and heirs of major global conglomerates. 

The thought alone has you spending extra time on your appearance as you get ready. You make sure your hair sits just right and that your lips are perfectly glossy before pulling on a swimsuit and heading over. You try your best to remain as still as possible during the entire ride there, knowing that nerves in combination with the late summer heat will be enough to set you aflame. 

Your heart is slamming in your chest by the time you finally pull into Anton’s driveway. It’s accompanied by a soft flutter of affection when you spot Anton’s figure, waving at you from the doorway. The wide smile on his face alone is enough to melt you. But the relaxed fit of his muscle tee and the way his swim shorts sit low on his hips has your face flooding with heat. 

He greets you with a tight hug when you cross the threshold into the house. You try not to swoon at the firm pressure of his arms around your torso, ignoring the heat of his bare skin on your own. Anton had never touched you before, not beyond a simple handshake exchanged in front of parents, always respectful to a fault. For the first time, you find yourself grateful for that fact, knowing that now that you’ve had a taste of his touch, you will forever be addicted. 

“I’m so happy to see you,” Anton gushes. “My parents have been really getting on my nerves about business and competition lately.”

“So you decided to invite the competition over to chill?”

Anton smiles, cocking his head in a puppy-like manner. “No, I invited the competition over to swim!”

So that’s why he reminded you to wear a bathing suit mere minutes before you left for his house. It makes sense, from the minimal texts that the two of you exchanged. Anton was always excited about the balanced heat of late summer, citing it as the perfect time for a lakeside swim. You wouldn’t know, of course, never having the luxury of having a lake in your backyard.

“What about your staff?”

“I let everyone have the afternoon off,” Anton responds proudly before letting his smile sink into something softer, more private. “I just wanted us to have some time alone.”

The simple admission rings out loudly in the otherwise quiet house. It’s clear how badly Anton wants this, how bad he wants your company despite the taboo that comes with it. Unsurprisingly, you find yourself wanting it just as bad, if not more. You’ve never craved anyone’s presence the way you have craved Anton’s, despite him being the one person in the world that you supposedly need to keep your distance from.

A small nod on your end is enough for Anton’s smile to grow once again, pearly whites on full display as his eyes wrinkle at the corners. The sight alone has your heart beating a little harder in your chest, the minor flutter in your abdomen growing into a full stampede of emotions. The feeling only intensifies as Anton engulfs your hand in his, lacing your fingers together as he leads you out into the backyard.

The late afternoon sun sparkles against the water, illuminating everything in a blue-yellow glow. It’s the most captivating sight for miles, you’re sure, until Anton begins to take his shirt off. The way his muscles shift under his unblemished skin rivals the beautiful surface of the lake, sparkling in its own way. His shoulder blades dance across his back enticingly as he leans down to remove his socks and shoes.

He shoots you a smile over his shoulder before cannonballing right into the water.

It takes only a few seconds for the man to reemerge, slicking his honey brown hair off of his forehead. His biceps bulge with the movement before waving you into the water. It’s as clear of a signal as any, but you can’t help but hesitate, suddenly shy at the thought of stripping down to your bikini in the presence of such a man. But the delicate reflection of sunlight in his eyes and the easy smile on his face is enough to draw you in.

Before you know it, you’re discarding your clothes, taking a running head start to join Anton in the water.

Your skin is submerged in an icy chill, the water surprisingly cool for so late in the day. But soon the warmth of another body is nearing, making the cold that much more bearable. You resurface with a giggle, giddy from the feeling of swimming so long. Instantly, Anton is joining in, clearly happy seeing you filled with such glee. 

“Fuck, it’s cold!” You exclaim, shrieking when Anton splashes a bit of water your way. 

“It’ll get better,” Anton grins. “You just gotta keep swimming.”

It’s easy to do as told, letting your body relax as you continue to wade in the cool water. Eventually you let yourself fall into your back, feeling the contrast between the warm sun on your face and the cool water surrounding your body. It’s serene, allowing you to let your worries quite literally float away. However, the feeling of a chilled hand grazing your hip is enough to snap you out of your relaxation, scrambling to right yourself in panic. 

“Sorry!” Anton chuckles. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just getting bored without you.”

“It’s okay,” you soothe, finding that the pace of your heart is beginning to quicken for an entirely different reason. 

Anton looks especially beautiful like this, with his damp hair splayed messily across his head and drops of water dripping down his face. The sun has just begun to set, painting Anton’s skin with a beautiful golden hue. His eyes glisten just like the water, sunlight sparkling as it dances across the reflective surfaces. Like this, Anton seems so bright, so luminous, that hating him seems impossible. 

“I’m really glad you came today,” Anton says, his voice dropping to that soft shy tone he always uses in the presence of others. “I’m glad to have someone who gets what it's like.”

You can’t resist the smile that begins to tug on the corners of your mouth. “You’re not just saying this to get my family’s business secrets?”

Anton huffs out a laugh. “No. I’m saying this because I really like you. I like spending time with you, even though I’m supposed to hate it.”

With every word, you find yourself drifting closer to the man, his hand remaining steady on your hip as you tread lightly. Despite the obvious effort to keep your head above water, you feel like you’re drowning. But the slick feeling of Anton’s skin against yours reminds you that you won’t drown. Anton won’t let you. 

“I like you, too.”

The simple admission has Anton’s face flushing, the pretty rose color glistening orange in the light. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. You hate to dull his beauty in this moment, but you have to. 

“But what about our families? It’s not like the two of us can ever be anything.”

Anton sighs, his face dropping with realization. “I know, but…is it crazy to say that I don’t care?”

The hand on your hip tightens, pulling you even closer into Anton’s space. It’s close enough that the two of you end up bumping knees every so often, constantly moving to keep yourselves afloat. Here, in his space, you can see the way that his lashes cast subtle shadows on his cheeks. It’s easy to count the few moles that pepper his face and neck, sitting stark upon unblemished skin. 

When his eyes meet yours, it becomes clear what you wish to do. No, what you need to do. 

“Anton,” you whisper. “What did you mean when you said you had impure intentions?”

The man moves to open his mouth, but before he can get the first syllable out, you cut him off. 

“Don’t tell me,” you coo. “Show me.”

You would be lying if you said you never thought about the feeling of Anton’s plush lips on yours. In reality, you spent too many nights lying awake, thinking about the slick feel of his mouth on yours, of the way his large hands would feel clutching onto your body, of the feel of his soft brown strands underneath your fingertips. 

But dreams never compare to the real thing. 

Nothing could compare to the pure bliss of having Anton’s mouth slide against your own. He moves fervently, letting the kiss carry the twinge of desperation that you both have felt since you’ve met. It’s far from the polite way that you expected Anton Lee to kiss, but that makes it that much better. 

His nose grazes your cheek as he tilts his head, angling himself to kiss you deeper. His tongue is warm as it eases its way into your mouth, the warmth a welcome contrast to the chill of the lake. The hand that was once grasping your hip travels down to your backside and thigh, lifting you up to wrap yourself around his waist. It’s improper, at the very least, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when Anton sighs softly into your mouth. 

It feels like ages before the two of you part, chests heaving where they remain pressed together. You’re so close that you imagine that even water can’t exist between you two. Anton’s abdomen is solid where your core is pressed up against him, supporting your weight so that neither of you are at risk of sinking. 

“That,” Anton whispers, “is what I meant by impure intentions. 

You can’t help but giggle at the boy’s breathless tone, suddenly feeling giddy that you were the one to make him this way. You were the one to fluster the ever-perfect Anton Lee. It was you. It’s always been you. 

“Our parents…” you mutter reflexively, your mind a war zone. 

“Hey,” Anton coos, bringing a hand under your chin. 

With just a gentle tilt, you meet his eyes, instantly getting lost in the way his gaze bores into yours. As if he can’t help himself, Anton leans in to place a quick peck on your lips. When you part, a soft whine escapes your lips, mourning the loss of your lover’s kiss. 

“Y/N, we’ll figure it out. I won’t let this go south because of our parents.”

You nod nervously, trying your hardest to believe in the reassurance that Anton is trying to provide you. As if he could sense the residual nerves, Anton presses his lips against your forehead in a soft kiss. The sensation makes your eyes flutter shut, a content smile beginning to grown on your face. After a brief moment, Anton chuckles. 

“Who knows?” He mutters. “Maybe our parents will get that merger after all.”

.         .         .

[8 years later]

BREAKING NEWS: Lee Enterprises and TOTAL, Inc. have announced a historic merger to form one mega-corporation. This announcement comes one year after CEO and President of Lee Enterprises, Anton Lee, and Chairperson of TOTAL, Inc., Y/N Y/L/N, announced their marriage. The new multinational conglomerate will be known as Lakeside, LLC, and is said to have a current stock value of over five billion dollars.

.FIN.

[aurawrawr]

Cremate me in your arms

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna x afab! brown reader

Too much confidence and simping has led to this second part. And I hope to do it justice. The following fic features an established relationship so to understand the dynamics and origins, find the first part here.

Minors, DNI. Word count: 4k

CW: generalized themes of death, murder and the likes, established relationship, dub-con, sex with Sukuna's true form, breast play, PIV, creampie, oral (m! receiving), mutual orgasms, worship, devotion, insecurity, jealousy, arguments, breeding kink, pregnancy, major character death, mention of sati (the ancient Hindu ritual of the very alive, and likely young, wife walking into the funeral pyre of her dead husband)

it gets really dark and angsty towards the end; i'm sorry

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who is astounded by how well you take his true form. He stuffs you with one of his cocks while the other slides along your puffy lips. He holds your breasts in two hands, toying with your pebbled nipples, while the other two keep your body in place as he rams into you. He loves your fluttery kisses, the way you grab on to his beyond broad shoulders, struggle to keep your head from lolling, back arching. He has a devilish grin on his face and abs as he empties his heavy tight sacks inside you. Again and again.

Now that he has seen your face at the height of your pleasure, he wants it no other way. He doesn't need a surface anymore, he carries you around as he fucks. And you don't complain. You'll take him as he presents himself to you, human form or curse. You're his to have. But is he yours?

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who makes you look at him in front of Uraume-hime, because he knows you're insecure about them. Although, he does get a kick out of when he summons you to his chambers after locking himself in with the Oiran for hours. How needy you become. How territorial. And he pretends he didn't hear your soft pacing outside his doors only moments before, didn't see your shadow pass over the patio. They don't do anything that'd challenge your relationship with your Ryo-sama. In fact, most of the time, he makes Uraume do their books in his chambers just to see your flushed face afterward, your impatient grinding against his bulge, your willingness to take him in your mouth even though you choke every time you try.

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who is luminous with bliss about his playful belle. You are ticklish on your tummy and he makes avid use of that when waking you up in the mornings. His extra mouth licks around, dipping occasionally into your belly button, making you laugh and squirm.

"What is this mouth for, Ryo-sama?" You ask once, feeding it potato fritters you had made that evening.

"It's to eat you out a second time when this mouth is tired." Ryo-sama is goofy now. You're no more scared of him like you used to be.

"Ryo-sama!" You've even been given the liberty to rebuke him every now and then, and you take full advantage of it.

He laughs. "It's my mouth, Paro." He points to his face. "This mouth is my brother's. Everything about me that's remotely human is my brother. The monster is the real me."

"Brother?" You've never heard of one before.

"Yes, my love. The brother I ate in my mother's womb. You see, I was supposed to be one of twins but when they pulled me out, I was covered in blood. My mother's, of course, and that of my brother. He reincarnated when I changed, finally enacting his revenge and locking me in this unsightly form."

You drop the chopsticks from your hand, and lean into his frame to kiss his mouth, the one on his stomach. Then, rise to kiss the un-human part of his face, the skin rough to your lips but it doesn't matter to you. To you, it's an act of reverence. He closes all his eyes and you place pecks on the lids of the ones he calls monstrous. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

Ryo-sama laughs, his whole body shaking. He rests one hand on your shoulder while two others pull you down on him. "That's because, for some inexplicable reason, you're in love with me."

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who whole-heartedly supports your new project. It strokes his ego when you show your excitement about your new religion with him as the God. Cult, to be completely honest. Regardless, you've painted him, the form you most wish to worship. Where you see a benevolent guardian deity, he sees a grotesque monster. Really, beauty must be in the eyes of the lover.

"What do you want from me, Paro?" He asks one day, smoking opium from his pipe, blowing it out of the open window. You are writing an essay in Hiragana for your tutor to go over later. Your handwriting has improved a lot; even Ryo-sama acknowledges so. When you look up at him questioning, he sighs. "You know, if you want to leave, I won't stop you, right? I could never bring myself to harm you."

"Why would I leave, my Lord? I want to be by your side. Do you not want me here?"

"I have used your body for my own pleasure since your first day here, demanded that you learn a language to better my experience in the bedroom. I have been miserable to you for several weeks before suddenly springing a confession and my true form upon you. Putting up with me must be exhausting. And yet, you stay. There must be something you want. Fame, protection, wealth, what is it? Tell me. I promise I won't be disappointed."

You're speechless. For as long as you've been with Sukuna-sama, this is the first time his words have hurt you. "You doubt my devotion, my Lord." Your eyes water as you try very hard to keep looking at him. But you can't, so you concentrate on the wavering shadow on the wall behind him. The tears fall anyway.

"Paro, that's not... Please don't..."

Your writing equipment clatters as you get on your feet, running out of his room. The ink spills, seeps into the silk of your sitting mat.

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who would kill for you, burn the world for you, and he knows better to do it behind your back because you shouldn't have to deal with the guilt. So he crushes the heads of mortals who speak ill of you, choke to death those who plot to maim you, and put your life in danger. Uraume-hime may not be too fond of you but they're loyal to Sukuna-sama and will execute his orders with precision; they keep an eye out for you, sneer at you when you look their way but protect you nonetheless.

When Ryo-sama finds you that night, you've already been in your bath for far too long. Your skin has pruned, your eyes are red-rimmed from all the crying; your newly appointed lady-in-waiting has requested you to come out several times lest you catch a cold but you've paid her no attention. You want to catch a cold, you want to suffer. If Ryo-sama wants you to leave, then you'll go away for good.

"Kiero." He orders the woman before settling himself beside your tub. Resting his arms and chin on the edge, he looks at you but doesn't say anything. You don't either; you only sniffle and wipe your tears and snot away with the back of your hand.

"Can I get a few days' time to find a job elsewhere before I have to leave?"

"No."

Your exhales are shaky. "In the morning then, Sukuna-sama."

"Sukuna-sama? Is that how mad you are at me?" He holds your face in his hand. You want to flinch, turn away, deny him any touch but you crave for his skin too. If you are to leave in the morning, you will never have it again so you might as well let him take you one last time.

"Who am I to be mad at you? I should have known this was going to happen."

"What should you have known?"

"That you'll lose interest in me. I'm not strong, after all. I don't have Uraume-hime's curse techniques. I'm just a puny, filthy—"

He sits up, offering his lips to you but you don't give in. "I don't want you to leave." If he really doesn't have a heart, what is this tightening around his chest? What is this fear?

"But if I do leave, you won't stop me. That's how unimportant I am to you. That's how disposable."

"I lied. I won't know left from right if I lose you. I have a plan for when, and if ever, you try to leave. It's from that story you told me about your Goddess of Destruction." He smiles against your lips. "I will lie down on the ground, in front of you, like her husband did. And you can't step on or over me, so you won't leave."

"I'll turn and walk in a different direction." You know your heart is softening. You're putty in Ryo-sama's hands, under his manipulations.

"I'll stop you, Paro. I'll change positions, get up and lie down in different spots every time you turn. Can I kiss you now?" His lips are so close but you must hold your ground.

"What about when I die?" You've always known he'll outlive you, and that's the dream of every devoted lover, is it not? But there's another dream you have. You don't want to leave him completely alone when you die. You know he's too strong and doesn't really need anybody, but that doesn't mean he has to be lonely.

Sukuna-sama sits back. There's not a day when he doesn't think about this, when he doesn't shudder just from the thought of seeing your lifeless body, your once beautiful face cold and pale from having your breath snatched from your lungs. The only answer that he comes up with is to use his Reverse Jujutsu and revive you but how many times can he do that? He is stuck in an invulnerable form but you will eventually be too old and frail to want to live any longer. "Whatever you want, Paro. I can bring you back, or let you rest."

You pretend to toy with a thought while he stares at your face. You've had an idea for quite some time. Back home, you'd have had to step into the blazing funeral pyre of your dead husband. But what can you do if he's an undying God? "Fire doesn't harm you, my Lord?" You know the answer, but you still ask to confirm. He shakes his head, wondering where you're going with this. "Cremate me in your arms then, Ryo-sama. I don't want a pyre; I want to be in your arms when I die."

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who comforts you, holds your shaking body with all his arms and rocks you when you cry for your mother. Unbeknownst to you, he has sent many of his people — curses and curse users alike — to the brothel in Bengal you had mentioned your mother worked at. But to no avail. He never told you this and doesn't plan to, ever, unless he actually finds your mother. You shouldn't have to know that your fears of never seeing her again might be true.

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who knows no real God would ever listen to him. Still, he whispers a soft "Kami-sama" in your name every morning. He doesn't need a God to protect you but why risk it? Your new project has harbored a lot of attention, and not only the good kind. It makes him worry about your safety. He sends two of his most notorious curse-users with you every time you step out of his palace. He throws a fit every time he notices you're dressing for grocery shopping or to go oversee the building of his shrine. He can always send someone else, why do you need to go?

He impatiently paces the yard when you're on one of your trips until he hears the slow drag of the heavy front door, and your cheerful chattering with the guards. How you maintain your optimism and enthusiasm even while living with the epitome of negativity is beyond him. He needs you for this, to clear the smoke of his desolation, the stillness of his immortality.

"Ryo-sama." You walk up to him. "There was good cow meat in the market. What kind of curry would you like, my Lord?"

"You don't have to cook cow for me, my love. Aren't they your God's pets?"

"Yes, my Lord, but for you—"

"It's decided then. We won't consume cows in this household anymore."

You smile wryly. "After I die then."

You have been speaking of your death every so often, to the point where Sukuna-sama has had to summon the medic that he calls a quack several times over a month to evaluate your physical health. And every time, the charlatan has informed him that you're perfectly healthy. So he's decided that every time you say something about dying, he will medicate you in his own way.

He seizes your wrist and pulls you to his bedchamber. He strips you down to your breast band and loincloth. He transforms because he knows you enjoy having him touch you with so many arms that it feels like he's consuming you. But then you say something that makes him stop in his tracks. "Is there something wrong with me, Ryo-sama?"

"Did somebody say something to you?" His voice goes cold. You shake your head but refuse to meet his eyes. "Tell me the bastard's name and I'll send them a nice present."

"It's nobody, my Lord. Just me."

"What's wrong?" He tilts your face upward. He sounds demanding.

"It's... It's been over a year since... since you've first been with me, my Lord. And yet..." Your voice quivers, tears starting to gather on the cusp of your eyelid. "And yet, every month... on the night of the waxing gibbous, I bleed. Why can't I give you a child? What's wrong with me?"

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who is bothered by nothing. He's squashed many an eyesore under his thumb. Nothing gives him the ick, except for the water pooling in your eyes. This is the second time he's made you cry and he hates himself for it. For, it's not you who's wrong, inadequate, unfit to have a child. It's him. He's been so afraid of harming you with his cursed essence, he's been manipulating it so as to not impregnate you with a cursed womb.

"We're different, my dear." He tries again. "It's not that there's something wrong with you. It's our union that won't bear a healthy child."

Your heart breaks. Even though you try to hide it, Sukuna-sama sees it on your face. "I see, my Lord. I guess I was worrying for nothing." You put a smile on your face but it doesn't stay. With every passing day, you grow sadder. He notices it in your destitute of smiles, your limp enthusiasm in his arms, your shaky silhouette after he puts you to sleep.

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who never, not even during his human life, wanted for a family, but your words have moved him. For a few years of his eternity, he can see himself being a loving father, and a doting husband. So this time, he approaches you.

"Paro." He pulls you to him one night as you two are resting after dinner. You have been fixated on making an army of origami swans but when he seeks your attention, you give it to him easily. You drop your half-folded swan and he springs the question on you. "Will you be my bride?"

You say, yes, because there's no reason to lie.

The ceremony is chaste. You follow rituals of both your cultures. When flakes of his sindoor fall on your nose, you smile. He already loves you; you don't need more proof.

His chambers have been extended to accommodate you and when you get to your bedroom, you notice the flower petals on the sheets, just like you had once told him happens back home. Sukuna-sama takes you by the hand and makes you sit on the bed. He kneels in front of you, like he had the first time he had shown you his reality. By the warmth on his usually hardened face, it's clear he has something to tell you. "Paro," he whispers, "do you still want to have my child?" Again, there's no reason to lie. "It might hurt you, my love."

"I can take it, Ryo-sama." You take his hand. "I... I've seen women in the throes of labor. I can endure that."

"It won't be the labor of a human birth, my love. Or have you forgotten who your Ryo-sama is? It's true that the heart I don't have in me is compensated by the kindness of your spirit but our child will be a monster at its very core."

"You and I will raise them right, my Lord."

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who has never been soft in bed but for you and for the child you wish to bear, he is willing to change his ways. He envelopes you with kisses, keeps your hips lifted with a pillow beneath your rear. He whispers your name and you whisper his. You touch his arms, his strong, protective arms, his chest, the heart behind it that only you've seen, his waist thrusting into you so lovingly. "Harder, Ryo-sama." You're aching for him, for the warmth of his seed. "Harder, please." He increases his pace, buries his face in your neck, groans as he releases inside you. He has done this before, every time, but this feels different, it feels fruitful.

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who expects himself to keep his calm always. But when you tell him you haven't bled in two moons, he is beside himself with joy. He picks you up in his arms and twirls you, wants to run out and tell the whole world what a miracle you are. But he knows nobody would rejoice in the news of him furthering his lineage. Only you. And that's enough for him.

As the months pass and you grow heavier, his happiness only increases. He makes everything perfect for you, caters to your every need and want. He tends to the ache in your back, relieves the soreness in your breasts, even massages your feet. But he notices changes in your mien. You spend longer outside of home. He knows you're in the new temple but what you do behind the closed doors of the shrine, nobody can tell him. Not even the guards he sends with you. When he asks you, you only shrug and tell him that you've been praying. He knows you have an idol of your God situated in the same chambers as the idol of him and there's also a priest you’ve met recently, so he doesn’t question it anymore.

But when you decide to walk out the night you’re supposed to deliver, he panics. “Where are you going?” He calls out as you’re about to step out of your room. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go into the labor room? I’ve arranged for midwives from your home, priests to handle any rituals you want to partake in and yet… It feels as if you have other plans.”

“I’m only going to pray, Ryo-sama.” You drape a robe over your bump.

“Pray here. I’ll send Uraume to get your God.”

“No.” You lose your usual softness. “I’ll only be gone for an hour or so.”

“And what if your liquor breaks in that one hour?”

“The priest will help me.”

“The priest you don’t allow anyone to meet?” He is losing his calm too. 

“I’ve told you the reason, haven’t I? It'll be futile meeting the priest who's supposed to carry out rituals in your name.”

He is exasperated. He shouldn’t have let you have this much power over him. “At least let me come with you. I’ll wait outside.”

“That doesn’t look good for the King of Curses, my Lord.”

“Who’s going to tell me that?”

“I will. The mother of your child. Please, my Lord, I beg of you. I know the labor will be easier if I just spend some time with my God alone.”

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who knew love is worthless. Then why did he ever let himself love you? Why did he give in to your wishes? Why did he not force your hand when you acted against his orders? Why did he let you be the only human who could make him kneel?

When the hour is up and you’ve not returned, he storms out of his palace, trident in hand. If he has to threaten you for you to come back to him, he will. But he doesn’t get the chance to. When he reaches the steps of the shrine, the dread in his chest rises to his ears, ringing like bells of a temple in the storm. The establishment is in ruins, the guards who were with you had been slashed through their necks so brutally, their heads had tossed away from the rest of their bodies. He rushes up the stairs, trips. His weapon falls from his hand when he looks inside. The walls have been painted with blood. He can tell it’s your blood from the scent. A terror-stricken groan rises from his throat. His chest is even more hollow now. 

“Paro.” He finds your mangled body up against the wall furthest from the door and scoops you up in his arms. “Paro. My love. My heart. My miracle.” He cries out. Long gone is the King of Curses; these are the desperate howls of a grieving husband. “Who… who did this?”

There’s some life left in you. And even if there isn’t, he is more than willing to bring you back. Not only because you must live, but also because they who did this to you, must die. And he will do it, he will go to the ends of this world and the next, and find the lowlife who dared to touch his Paro, the love of his immortality, his Queen of Blessings.

He touches your chest to revive you but you seize his wrist. “Ryo-sama.” You gurgle up through the seas of blood in your throat. He leans into you to let you touch his face, rub away his tears like you have removed the darkness from his soul. You manage a smile at the end of your breath. “You were right, Ryo-sama. I birthed a monster. But... he's still... my son.”

“Who did this to you? The brat?”

You slowly shake your head. “I was… so blind, so foolish. The… the priest. He was… after our son. Promise me… Ryo-sama. You will avenge… me. You… will… protect our son… for me.”

“Avenge you, I will. But right now, I’m bringing you back.”

“No.” You cough up, splattering blood across his face. “I’m… your weakness.”

“No, no–” You shush him with a hand over his lips.

“I am… your weakness. I am your disease. Let me go… and become what you must. For Yuji.”

“Yuji?”

“Our… son. Find him… please… and protect him. Make him… a little human. The priest…” You cough again, clutching the robe at your empty womb. “He had… stitches… across his forehead.”

Sukuna-sama knew him, the curse with stitches on his forehead. He will find him and kill him, even if it takes him a thousand years.

“You… promised me… one more thing… Ryo-sama.”

His eyes water at your request, the bloody smile on your lips he knows will haunt him for all of eternity. Love is worthless but you are not. You’ve taught him hope, you’ve shown him kindness, the selfless love that he knew was not for him to have. You’ve proved to him that to love and be loved is to change. “Must I?” He asks and you nod. He loses to you. Once again. 

“I love you. I’ve loved you before I knew you, and I will love you after you’re gone. I will find you if you’re ever reborn but I will pray to any God that listens to me that they don’t send you here again. This world doesn’t deserve you. And I will punish them for it. Sleep well, my love.” He kisses your forehead.

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna, feared by all, respected by some but loved by one. His atrocities are well-known, written and spoken about through ages. Even years later, people remember the villages he burned that night, the blaze crimson red like the petals of spider-lilies, the screams of the people louder than the crackling of the fire. He did that out of mindless rage, everyone says. They are wrong. He did that out of love.

please don't copy my work, or publish it elsewhere without my consent. all banners are from pinterest.

i'm sorry i had so much fun writing this

tagging (because you guys seemed to like the first part): @ghostslillady @iwonmx @kariatenoh @pearlsxandxpeonies

[daydreamgoddess14]

Support System pt. 7

MASTERLIST

CH1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6

Roy Kent x Reader

Little wait for this one, I wanted Chapter 6 to marinade a bit 😂

More spicy spice so enjoy!

Chapter 7

The next day you were again woken shortly before 4am again with a breathtaking kiss.

“Oi, not fair. Did you know I’m statistically less prepared to defend myself from some weirdo attacking me at this stupid time in the morning?” You roll over, mumbling into the pillow. You remember that he doesn't even need to be awake, "also, why the hell are you awake? Go back to sleep. You’ve got a match later." He doesn't respond, so you open one eye, 

"How do you know that?" He asks, pulling you against him. 

"Saw it on Tiktok. Sleep now." You nudge him, wiggling back down. 

"Stop wiggling." He says, his voice low in your ear. You stop, and close your eyes but after a few minutes it's clear that you are, unfortunately, awake. You sigh. "What now?"

"You woke me up." You complain. “If you think I’m going to be woken up at 4am every morning, you are very much mistaken,” he slips a hand over your thigh, pulls your leg up and hooks it back over his own, opening you up to him. His hand comes back around to your centre, “I will just never spend a night with you again and-” you cut off with a gasp as he slips two fingers inside you and pumps so agonisingly slowly,

“You were sayin’?” He kisses the back of your neck and you arch your body towards him.

“I’m not staying again.”

“No?” You feel him rock hard against your back and your willpower is all but gone. “Sure about that?”

“No, ohhh fuck, Roy-”

“No,” he laughs softly, “didn’t think so.” You roll onto your back and pull him over you, pressing your heels into the back of his thighs to guide him into you. It’s still so dark in his room that you can hardly see him so you let your hands lead you. Up his arms, over his broad back, down to squeeze his thigh, back up and into his hair. He matches you with each roll of your hips. It’s slow and lazy and there’s so little space between you both that the friction is to die for. The darkness makes you both quieter, his whispered affirmations, praise and moans are dizzying. He takes you over the edge with him and you’re both asleep again almost instantly.

~~~~~~~~

Roy had suggested that you stay again. He had said that while pressed against the glass of a shared shower with you on your knees for him, though. His hands had tangled in your hair and he'd garbled promises you weren't sure he'd remember in five minutes, let alone five hours so you weren’t actually sure where you were staying that night. You were going to the match at midday with Sara and Phoebe which meant coded conversations over Phoebe’s head.

“Go on then.” She prompts.

“What?”

“No.” She points, “no. I got blank stares from him yesterday until I mentioned your name and he went all doe eyed. What’s going on?”

“If you’ve spoken with him then surely you already know?” You suggest, trying not to smile. She glares at you and you’re suddenly worried that she’s not ok with any of this. “Ok, fine. I popped in to see him the other night after I’d taken Lex to her dads… I may have stayed the night. And last night as well. And possibly tonight - yet to be confirmed.” You had to whisper most of your reply so Phoebe didn’t catch on. “Shit, are you mad?"

"No! Fuck, sorry, it's the Kent genes - resting bitch face. God, I'm not mad! I have like 1000 questions - at least 997 I don't want to know the answer to since,” she dropped to a dramatic whisper, “he's my brother.” She grinned and gestured down to Phoebe, “She’s going to be so happy!” She mouthed. “Are you ok? I mean, I’m assuming the answer is yes, since you stayed more than one night and didn’t leave immediately?” She cackled. You nod, stealing a glance down at the pitch as the halftime whistle sounds. Roy turns to the stands as the teams filter off the pitch to catch your eye.

“Yeah, so far so good. It’s… different.” Sara cocks an eyebrow.

“Now I’m in torn territory - do I want to know or not?” You wave her off,

“No! I mean, yes, that’s very different too - I’m not used to feeling so…” you flap your hands around a bit, trying to find the right words, “wanted?” you whisper. “In all ways. But y’know, it’s very, very early days. I have no idea what’s going to happen, or how it’s going to go. I’m just trying to protect myself, and Lexie.” She smiles at you,

“I think you wouldn’t have gone over there if you were that unsure. You wouldn’t just, y’know, do that with anybody. And neither would he.” She points out.

“Yeah?”

“Remember what we said at the beach? Honestly, that’s not his style.” You know it’s true so you concede and carry on with watching the match. The team wins - they’re so close to winning the whole thing, the whole town feels like it’s on tenterhooks.

“Congratulations.” You smile after the match, you can see in how he clenches and unclenches his fist that he wants to touch you, but Phoebe is bouncing up and down on his other arm chattering on about how she can’t wait to see Jamie. 

“We’re going back to mums, you coming?”

“Only if you want me there?” Phoebe spots Jamie through the crowd and races after him, Sara has to book it after her. His hand finds the small of your back guiding you over to them,

“I want you every fucking where.” He whispers in your ear as you reach the others. You have a fun but fraught afternoon, Jamie comes too and you can see how he keeps engaging Phoebe. You're not sure whether it’s a help or hindrance having him around. He keeps Phoebe and her nan occupied enough that Roy can use any excuse to find little ways to touch you, but he’s also very perceptive and can’t seem to fathom why one of Phoebe’s friend’s mums is there. Sara claims you as her best friend and it appeases him. You’re very nearly caught with Roy’s hand halfway up your top in the far end of the kitchen but just as Jamie is about to turn and see you, Phoebe calls out to him to get his attention. By the time he turns back around, there’s a couple of strategic metres between you both. Your phone buzzes late on with a message. 

Please tell me you’re stopping at mine again. You smirk and fire off a reply,

Is that you asking nicely?

I asked nicely this morning

Surprised you can remember anything you said this morning

I remember everything about this morning

You look up to see him trying to hide a smile behind his beer bottle. You’re barely inside the front door when he’s backing you against the wall and there’s probably some kind of record beaten in just how quickly he makes you come.

~~~~~~~~

The kids are back at school, you haven’t enjoyed a 4am wake up for three days, you’re still jobless, you’re expected at a gala with Roy’s co-workers in two days, and you still haven’t found anything to wear. He’s offered his card (multiple times) for you to ‘buy whatever the fuck you want as long as I can take it off’. Switchover day for Lexie is tomorrow, closely followed by the gala. It’s been a busy few days so despite school runs you haven’t even seen Roy for a good few days. Sara has collected Lexie on your behalf so you swing by on your way home to pick her up. You peek around to say hello to the girls sprawled out on the sofa and then you’re dragged to the far end of the kitchen.

“So the Gala huh?"

"He told you?"

"He said you were stressing over what to wear, suggested I take you to find something while he hangs out with the kids this evening." At that, the front door opened. "I'll let you have a couple of minutes alone since you haven't seen each other for such a long time." She rolled her eyes in jest. 

"You're both sneaky." You point out as Roy's arms wrap around you. 

"Not true," he says into your ear. "Thanks, dickhead." He smiles at his sister. Sara gives him a little salute and grabs some snacks to take to the girls. You turn in his arms, "Fuck, I missed you."

"I missed you. Had to watch that press conference for a fix, and then you made me cry." You laugh. 

"I need to try and keep my hands off you for half a week. Think I’ll manage as long as they're on you as much as possible for the other half a week."

"Deal." You may have been apart for half a week, but you've spoken every day. 'Lexie' days are in his calendar for at least the next few weeks. "I have a big problem." You whisper, he looks down between you both making you snigger. "No, you idiot. My problem is that it's been way too long since you last kissed me."

"Shit, that is a big problem," he agrees.

"It gets worse," you pause for dramatic effect, "If you do it now, I'm not going to want you to stop and we'll get in trouble with your sister and the kids."

"I mean, that sounds like a problem for you more than me. Cos I'm going to fucking kiss you anyway."

"You have to be in charge of stopping then." He's halfway to kissing you when he stops, 

"I think I like the sound of that a bit too much." You smirk and meet him in the middle, snaking your arms around his neck.

“Right, that’s time up.” Sara came back through with her eyes covered. “We’ve got to go and get you something wonderful to wear.” Roy reluctantly lets you go with a final kiss, and then goes to make his presence known with the girls. You’re barely out the door when they’ve put a tiara on his head.

~~~~~~~~

You’re not having much luck with a dress.

“This one?” You step out of the changing room for what feels like the millionth time.

“Nah, too plain.”

“I hate this. Is it too late to just not go?” You go back behind the curtain and take the dress off. There’s two more left to try, one baby pink and one royal blue. Chelsea blue you think, taking the dress from the hanger.

“You can’t not go, he wants you there. Plus, think of the afterparty” She winks before making a fake vomiting sound. “God, it pains me to have to think about my brother in this context.”

“Ha! Sorry. Oh holy fucking shit.” You squeak.

“What? Ugh it’s not the pink one is it? I only picked that one up because the sales assistant suggested it. Is it gross?” She laughs. You step out of the changing room and her jaw drops. “Fucking hell. Hang on, stay there, what’s your shoe size?”

“6, why?” She disappears back into the shop and is back in a matter of seconds,

“I saw these on our way in here. They’re perfect.” She hands you the highest gold glitter heels you’ve ever seen and you step up into them, holding her hands for balance. She steps well back to take in the full effect. “That’s it - that’s the one. And it’s Chelsea blue, he’s going to lose his fucking mind.” You look in the full length mirror,

“The slit?”

“Is perfect, stop worrying.”

“The neckline?”

“He’s seen you naked love, it’s perfect. You are wearing the shit out of it.”

“It costs half my mortgage Sara!” You look at the tag.

“If I recall correctly, I’m under strict instructions to tell you - and this is word for word, obviously, ‘that’s not your fucking problem, buy the dress’. Such an eloquent man, my brother.” You’re torn,

“I’m not a charity case Sara,”

“I know. Look, he does this, it’s not about the money or thinking you're not independent or any of that shit. What it boils down to for him is that he’s taking away something that’s worrying you - he does it for me. Like picking Phoebe up from school for me, or training Jamie at 4am every sodding day. He finds the thing that’s worrying the people he cares about, and he tries to fix it.” Your eyes swim with tears and you hold your hands up in defeat.

“Ok, I get it. Worry eliminated.”

“Atta girl. Now, let’s go home.” 

“I got rejections from the two interviews I had last week.” You tell her suddenly, the words tumbling from you.

“Ohh lovely, come here,” she pulled you into a hug and you cry on her shoulder,

“I just feel like such an idiot, why did I quit with nothing to go to? And I don’t want Roy to think I’m some sort of golddigger.”

“Why would he think that? He might be a total knob sometimes, but he’s not an idiot. I take it you haven’t told him yet?” You shake your head. 

“Come on. Let’s go, a Roy Kent cuddle makes everything better.” You smile at her,

“A Sara one is pretty good too. Thank you.”

Roy has one child snuggled up on either side of him with a bowl of popcorn on his lap and Encanto on when you get back to Sara’s. You manage to take a very quick photo before any of them spots you. 

“Mum!”

“Hiya poppet. Ready to go?”

“I’ll take you.” You flash him a smile,

“Thank you.” You pack Lexie’s stuff up and say goodbye to Sara and Phoebe, and are outside your front door all too soon. For some reason, Lexie is lingering around the front door so you're forced to wave Roy off with a smile.

“Laters Lex.”

“See ya Roy,” she grins at him. He disappears up the path and you start hustling her upstairs to get ready for bed. She’s still jumping on your bed when the door goes again.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back - start getting ready for your bath please.” You nip down the stairs and pull open the door. Roy Kent is back on your doorstep. “Oh my god, are you the Roy Kent? The really fit coach for Richmond?” You ask excitedly.

“Depends, can I have a kiss if I say yes?”

“Depends how long you make me wait for another one.”

“Tomorrow any good for you?” He leans on the doorframe.

“I can do tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“Good.” You tug at the bottom of his t-shirt and he steals an arm around your back to pull you into a deep, crushing kiss.

“Tomorrow?” He asks when he’s finally let you go. You can hear Lexie still jumping on the bed upstairs. You let your fingertips brush against the soft skin of his stomach underneath his t-shirt, making him shiver.

“See you tomorrow.” You give him a final kiss and let him go.

~~~~~~~~

You don't have to look far to see him the next evening, but it's still a surprise - he's parked up at the station and is out of the car, leaning against the door waiting to pick you up.

"Get in the fucking car." He grins, pulling you into a kiss as soon as you are in arms reach. "Ted had to ask me three times today if I was paying attention." You turn in your seat to look at him fully,

"Oh come on, that's bullshit!"

"It's true. Had to threaten to punch dicks - they all said I was too fucking happy and I was being 

weird. I think Jamie’s onto me."

"Uhoh. Is the grumpy persona being destroyed?"

"Only around you." He puts a hand on your thigh while he drives, stopping off at yours. “Get some stuff, I don’t want to have to lose you for an hour every bloody morning.” He grumbles. You collect the things you know you’ll need. When you get to his place, he's already cooked.

"I could get used to this," you tease. "So this gala," you ask over some gorgeous Mediterranean vegetable dish, "your co-workers will all be there?"

"They will." He confirms, waiting for you to continue. 

"And your ex?" you add quietly. 

"Keeley will be there, yes." You nod, pushing your food around your plate. 

"I met her once." He's still watching you, dinner finished with. 

"Yeah?"

"I had to run an event she came to for work. She was really sweet." 

"She is. I think you'll like her." He smiles reassuringly.

“And you're sure you want me to meet these people? Your people?”

“Yes, I am.” He said firmly. “You don’t have to tell any of ‘em about us - tell them whatever you want. They can take the piss out of me as much as they like. I really don't give a shit." He continues to reassure you in a number of exhilarating ways for the rest of the night. He leaves you at 4am yet again with a kiss that has your body clenching on nothing, desperate again for his touch. You’re half awake when he returns at 6 but it’s a horrible day outside already so he lets you know he’s going straight in the shower. You can hear the kettle, so you pull on the t-shirt he’s just taken off so you can go downstairs to make tea for you both. It’s not familiar, it’s an old Richmond home shirt. When he comes down, your leaning over the counter on your elbows  reading from your phone and making notes on a scrap of paper while the tea brews. His arms circle you and to your surprise, you feel him press against you.

“Wow, hi.” You turn to face him with a little laugh.

“You’re wearing m’name,” he manages to say gruffly before kissing you roughly. 

“Sorry, I just grabbed it to come down here, I’ll take it-”

“No.” He stops you, “No.” He says more firmly. He rests his forehead against yours, his hips still against you. Oh. It dawns on you. Oh. You kiss him briefly, nodding your understanding and turn back around for him, resting on your forearms. “Fuck,” you hear him, so quietly, “fuck. You wreck me.” He slips inside you with no real warning, filling you completely. He sets a wickedly punishing pace, the angle has you an incoherent mess and makes you come almost instantly. It’s fast and rough and utterly filthy, your name spills from him like a worshipping chant as he comes, dragging another orgasm from you as he does. When you’re able to stand, you turn back to him. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hands soothing the bruises he’s no doubt left on your hips. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-” he starts to say, you shake your head,

“No. Don’t be sorry, don’t be. I’d tell you if I wasn’t ok with something, ok?” You reassure him with a kiss.

[wynvyuu]

hi there!! just came across your blog; was wondering if i could have first kisses between the reader + sova and chamber?? thanks so much!

Hi there!! Thanks for the request! Happy to oblige~ click the read more below to see your requests! 𓆩♡𓆪

if you like what i do here or would like to request a commission for something more longform, please check out my kofi or fiverr!

there's an implicit sense of trust between you and sova. above all else, beyond even the valorant protocol, between all the friends you've made here, you know sova has your back, and sova knows you have his.

in moments like these, where you're tracing the curve of his jaw with your eyes in between training simulations, with sweat soaking his brow, you can't help but wonder how your situation got to this point. it seems magical how you two grew so close. he was the first to greet you when you were a new agent. he was the first to train with you when you were struggling with a fraction of your toolset. he was the first to save you when you were stranded in the middle of enemy territory, struggling with a cracked rib and a bullet hole in your leg. somehow, the two of you meld together like matching puzzle pieces, as if you knew each other once before meeting in such clandestine circumstances. it's only now, in the deep haze of post-training clarity, that you realize you don't even know that much about him.

what's his favorite color? does he prefer dogs, cats, or another domestic animal? his favorite food? what were his parents like? how did he feel about his hometown?

he restrings his bow in front of you, a tiny smile on his face, and you realize that you desperately need to know the answers to these questions. not as a friend, though. above all these questions, you need to know only one thing: what do his lips feel like?

sitting on the same ledge in the vast training space, you impulsively lurch closer. sova turns to look at you just as you do, opening his mouth to say something, but abruptly pauses when you wordlessly steal the breath from his lips with your own.

it lasts only a moment, your hand over his. it's electric, like lightning through your body, but ends too quickly—you want to keep going, you know you do, but your mind bumps into your heart quite abruptly in the very middle of the whole affair. what are you even doing?

you pull away, scrambling back as if bitten. your eyes are wide, and sova's are too, mouth parted and breathing hard. this cannot be happening, you think to yourself. why did you do that?

"ah," you stammer, mind racing. "fuck. I’m so sorry. that was stupid of me, I should have asked or something, or I shouldn't have even done it! god, you probably don't even like—"

your breath leaves your lungs as sova's hand moves to your cheek, and his lips meet yours for a second time, this time initiated by him. you're tense for only a moment, and then the stiffness evaporates from your body as you melt into the kiss, grabbing onto his broad shoulders to stabilize yourself beneath his passion.

moments later, he slowly parts from you, though your lips hover close together for whole seconds in the aftermath, as if held in place by some threshold of intimacy. your warm breaths mingle with his in a tender waltz. and as you open your eyes and briefly glance into his eye, your forehead pressed close, you can't stifle the question on your tongue. "you... you were okay with it?"

he laughs. you can't help but smile. "more than okay," he returns, eyes warm. "I’ve wanted to do that for too long. I just didn't want to jeopardize our friendship."

it's your turn to laugh. "I was thinking the same thing, actually."

"well," sova murmurs, lurching closer with his fingertips brushing across your cheek, "now that there are no more misunderstandings..."

another kiss comes, then another, and another, and another, all the way up until training returns to both of your minds.

somehow, it’s become a ritual for you. every time chamber is to leave for an important mission, he ensures that he finds you moments before he leaves, and he asks for a good luck kiss. his track record has gone aptly defeated for months now.

it’s only ever playful, of course. your first month in the protocol was spent deftly dodging his attempts to take you out for dinner or drinks. not that you weren’t appreciative of the offers, nor were resolute in your decision to deny his offers. at another time, maybe you would have accepted it, but this is a battlefield, not a place for romantic dinner dates and candlelit flings. you were far too in your head to think of the offers as anything more than nuisances from a man you otherwise found charming and likable, if not quite full of himself.

chamber got the hint too, of course. he’s a gentleman in all regards. when it became clear he wasn’t getting through to you, he ceased his advances almost entirely. they remain only in this strange ritual, a joking reminder of that one time chamber asked you out every other day for an entire month. it’s usually accompanied by your shaking heads and chamber chuckling while snapping his fingers as if cursing his luck. then he leaves without consequence, up and away into the sky.

tonight, though, the protocol is up in arms. there’s something in the air—danger? fear? this mission is the most dangerous in weeks. next to no intel, an unknown amount of enemies, and a dangerous, irradiated environment. the agents going on this mission are only to get in and get out with enough intel to inform further actions, but nearly every member of the protocol is intimately aware of the fact that so many things can go wrong so quickly, and these mistakes could cost lives. standing in a small, darkened alcove nearby the lockers, you’ve watched friends hug each other and bid ‘good luck’ to each other for half an hour now. it’s only on the tail-end of this grim vigil that your favorite frenchman approaches you. this time, instead of a smile, he’s stoic. you know this to be a bad sign. you’re familiar enough with chamber at this point to know that if he’s not without his signature cocky smirk, something is terribly wrong.

“a good luck kiss for the road, mon ami?”

you gaze into his eyes. it occurs to you quite suddenly that this could be the last time you ever see his stupid face if things go wrong.

what is that adage? you miss all the shots you never take? you don’t want to live a life with any regrets. even if he never does come back, at least you could come back from the situation knowing that you cherished every small moment you had with him.

“I think you need every bit of luck you can get, so…”

chamber tilts his head to the side and quirks a brow. this is a break from tradition, a second away from the strict ritual he’s set, a ritual he had hoped would keep him stable in a situation such as this. he’s cocky and ambitious, certainly, but not even he can defend against the curling tendril of doubt that encompasses the entire protocol. however, as you lean forward and press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, featherlight and terribly gentle, he suddenly feels invincible. it shows in how his stoic expression grows into the slightest hint of a smile as you pull away. as you fade from his warmth, he draws your hand into his own, and with the gentlest brush of his lips against the back of your palm, he smiles.

“I will ensure I do not squander it.”

before you can respond, he takes his leave. you’re left staring at his back, recalling how his lips felt against the back of your hand, how gently he held it, how firm stoicism melted away into tenderness as soon as he saw your face. and as he leaves, you’re left only with a terrible fluttering in your stomach.

you might actually be into him, after all these months. if there’s anything good about this mission, it’s that chamber’s time away will give you a few precious moments to sort out your newfound emotions.

[nomsfaultau]

Sorry for the long question ;-;

Would fae!Phil and fault!Phil get along? They technically both have a group of Collected, except fault!Phil had the patience(?) to wait for his Collected to warm up to him while fae!Phil uhhh kidnapped Tommy and stuff

Along with the fact that fae!Phil is from the Winter Court, in contrast to fault!Phil who is the embodiment of fire if I remember correctly

Actually how would the rest of the fault crew react to the fae crew? Knowing that fae!Wilbur and fae!Techno used to be human, but were replaced part by part until they turned unrecognizable...and that uh fae!Tommy is on that track too

Along with the different power dynamics in their universes between non humans and humans, whilst the Fault Universe has an organisation dedicated to containing them and most are generally hunted and constantly on the run, in the Fae universe while they are still ostracized, humans can't really do much about it, heck the Fae have their own realm and territory kdkdjdjsj

SCPhil thinks Faelza is a menace and abhors him for the constant consent violations, trying to force his Collected into being something they don’t want to be, and active child endangerment like holy muffin the child endangerment. Plus I don’t think SCPhilza necessarily goes immediately for instant Collection? Prefers to get to know someone over months/years before making that decision because well it’s a life long commitment. (Tubbo is. A big asterisk on all this for multiple reasons but they’re an exception). Meanwhile Faelza glances at Tomfae and is like yeah I can kidnap that kid. So polar opposites there. Plus Faelza is extremely bound by fae rules (hospitality, counting rice, politeness, children protection magic, not lying, saying his please and thank yous or whatever), whereas SCPhilza adheres exclusively to protect xyz and abide by their boundaries. Plus the winter vs fire alignment as you point out. Honestly diametrically opposed on the Philza sliding scale. Like technically they both choose to spend immortality picking up funky mortals, but SCPhilza isn’t like a full blown cartoon villain so it shakes out pretty different. Also I’m not entirely sure who would win in a fight? Like obviously SCPhilza can go dragon mode and regen like crazy, but also his power set is fairly defined whereas Faelza has an extremely broad and nebulous power set plus can straight up control time?? So like very hard to say. Plus he’s a 2 for one special and Lady Death might have something to say if someone tried to kill him. 

The Blade is not flattered by the ‘woe im becoming a monster’ thing. Or the uncle thing, miss him with that found family crap. Can relate to Fakenoblade (nickname from fae!Tommy) fighting like hell for a kid he barely knows. Likely compare notes on the souls vs the voices, and the souls are probably more useful. Compare cape hammer space vs fluffy mane that’s so big, it’s full of secrets. The Blade wins obviously except if not for the guaranteed win I think Fakenoblade again has a very undefined bs power set where he can just pull out enchanted weapons from nowhere or chuck a grown deer at someone. Honestly power scaling is a nightmare bc Lord what fools these mortals be runs purely on what is funniest/most horrifying in a given second. 

Scpilbur thinks Nilbur (again as per Tommy) is a threat due to his charmspeak. Fairly similar to the void as far as names, bargains, manipulation goes. Nilbur probably immediately tries to learn its name, probably on impulse. Scpilbur maybe convinces Nilbur to chill since humanity isn’t that big a loss? Kinda applauds the ambition even. Will deffo help scheme against Lady Death, they bond over it even if Nilbur acts superior for all his knowledge of the Courts. Scpilbur would win in a fight BUT Nilbur would never let it get to a fight. 

Anomaltommy would clock that Lady Death is manipulating Tomfae. However. He doesn’t care as long as their affection so it would be debatable if he would even properly help stop a baby from being manipulated. Like he might be down to be kidnapped by an overly loving if dangerous couple. Man he’s desperate. Anomaltommy is shown to be awkward around kids but can connect to them. So I think he could position himself as the cool alternative to the freaky monster everyone else. And Tomfae is good at not touching him since whenever he tries his spidey sense kicks in and stops it. Anomaltommy would win but he’s not in the business of beating up children.

Red would work on the King and Queen of the Winter Court. The death toll would be catastrophic. Then they’d be like ‘oh cool to avoid that problem we’ve coated your skin in a pocket dimension so that no one can touch you so now your power isn’t a problem :)) making everyone far far worse which is really on brand. 

Within the Fae court, Fault crew wouldn’t stand out in the slightest. Well aside from being fresh meat. Wilbur, Philza, and Tubbo could do okay to well, but Tommy and The Blade are pretty screwed. As for the human realm, fae stuff is ostracized and is likely to be run out eventually, but also that’s because fae loose power the longer they’re in the mortal realm. Fault crew don’t have that and could get along somewhat well there. Human Fae relationship are tense, but they do also do things like say petition with the Courts or make bargains for power and wealth or what have you, so humans also view the anomalies as having potential for being beneficial in some way. Plus can’t really do anything about it tbh. 

[ididdedurmom]

Fanfiction???

This is the fanfic I wrote for my English class

Its the park scene from Johnny's perspective

(this is ass, I'm so sorry)

(I wrote this before we watched the movie btw)

TW: Blood, violence, weapons

The all too familiar blue Mustang circled us slowly; I could vaguely make out the face of the driver through the dark tinted windows.

I swore under my breath, then Pony muttered something I barely managed make out, “What do they want? This is our territory. What are socs doing this far east?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know. But I bet they’re looking for us. We picked up their girls.”

“Oh, glory,” Ponyboy said with a groan, “this is all I need to top off a perfect night.” He took one last drag off his cigarette and ground the stub under his heel. “Want to run for it?”

“It’s too late now,” I said. “Here they come.” Five Socs got out of the car; I could tell from the way they were swaying that they were higher than a cloud. I shoved my hand into my pocket and gripped my switchblade; I didn't pull it out, but I held on to it tight. I could feel the blood draining from my face and I looked at the Socs like a deer in headlights, or an animal in a trap. Pony and I backed against the fountain. Then the Socs surrounded us, like a pack of wolves. They smelled exactly the same way they did when they jumped me, English leather, and whiskey. I put a tough look on my face, in a desperate attempt to bluff my way to victory. I thought, maybe if I had a weapon and I looked tuff they wouldn’t hurt me or Pony. I wanted to look over at Ponyboy, but I knew I couldn’t let my guard down for a second. I recognized two of the Socs, Bob, and Randy; I couldn’t quite place the names of the other three, but I knew who they were.

I held my breath as I looked down at Bob’s rings, they were practically sparkling in the moonlight. I could almost feel the pain of the scar being made on my left cheek all over again.

“Hey, whatta ya know?” Bob said, his words slurring together, “here’s the little greasers that picked up our girls. Hey greasers.” His words rang in my head. He had said “hey greaser,” when he jumped me almost the same way he said it then.

“You’re out of your territory,” I tried to say in an intimidating voice. “You’d better watch it” Randy swore at us, and they stepped closer. I could feel Bob eyeing me.

"Nup, pal, yer the ones who'd better watch it. Next time you want a broad, pick up yer own kind--- dirt." The way he said “broad” made me shiver, my father said it the same way. “You know what a greaser is?” Bob asked, keeping his usual smug smirk plastered on his face. “White trash with long hair.” I sort of gasped from shock. The comment didn’t particularly bug me, but that was because it was aimed at Pony. He loved his long hair, it made him look tuff; it’d been months since he last cut it, he loved it so much. It wasn’t the comment that made me mad, it was the fact Bob was insulting my very best friend.

“You know what a Soc is?” Ponyboy responded, his voice was shaking in his rage. “White trash with Mustangs and Madras.” Then he spit at them. Gosh he was tuff.

Bob shook his head and smiled slowly. “You could use a bath, greaser. And a good working over. And we’ve got all night to do it.” He looked at Ponyboy. “Give the kid a bath David.”

Pony tried to run but the Soc caught him. David shoved Pony’s head into the fountain, and I could hear him struggle, but I had bigger problems. Bob and the rest of the Socs were getting closer; I ripped the switch blade out of my pocket and held it tightly. One of the Socs stepped back, but Bob and Randy only got closer.

“Aww, the little guys got a switch blade, whatever will we do?” Randy said sarcastically. He laughed to himself, then he swung at me. Nearly knocked me to the ground, but I kept my balance. I managed to cut a gash through his madras ski jacket. Randy turned to Bob and whispered something I couldn't hear, and Bob lunged at me. He knocked me to the ground and got a few good hits on me.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance, you skuzz.” Bob’s voice was unsteady, he sounded angry. One of his hands was on my throat, and the other was punching me. I don’t know what came over me, or if my anger and hatred for him boiled over, but I gripped my switch blade tight and plunged it deep into the left side of his chest. I saw his face as he loomed over me, I couldn’t tell if it was pain, fear or hatred; maybe it was a mixture of all three. He went stone white, clutched his chest, and rolled over onto his back. His buddies yelled words I couldn't make out and they ran back to the mustang. I watched Bob choke on his own blood, and he went still. I felt like I was freezing, even with the warm blood dripping off my hands. Suddenly I remembered Ponyboy was being drowned, and I looked over to the fountain, he was limp on the ground. I ran over to him and checked to see if he was breathing; when I found out he was, I dropped on the ground beside him and stared into the distance. He came to a couple moments later and coughed up the water in his lungs. I didn’t even turn to look at him. When he quieted down and all I could hear was his breathing, I became aware of the world around me again.

"I killed him," I said it real slow, taking in the reality of what I’d done. "I killed that boy."

This sucks, I'm so sorry

[scary-lasagna]

KITTY!!! I humbly request a Zalgo and Slender fic 👀👀 smut if you may 🫣

I've never written smutty m/m but HOO

good golly

contains: sexual tension, a follow-up with nitty gritty in part II bc kitty didn't want it to be so long

also i am posting this now because I haven't posted yesterday nor today so part II will likely be following up this week :]

A Business Meeting [Zalgo/Slender - NSFW]

"I'm not quite sure that I'm following."

Slender sat at a six person table, a long elegant piece of granite. Zalgo sat at the other end, only two chair length's away, his hands clasped in front of him.

The demon had shrunk out of politeness, adapting to Slender's height versus the usual 12-foot stature he carried. Despite the rips and tears littering the webbing of his bat-like wings, they looked well-kept and proper for a demon of his status. Embezzled with jewels, chains, and gold clips for the rare occasion of a meeting with his enemy.

Slender felt wildly underdressed for the occasion, and he knew this was only one of the many mind games Zalgo would play on him. Even so, Slender couldn't help but adjust his 24k gold cufflinks out of a nervous habit.

Zalgo's wings fluttered as he straightened his shoulders ever so slightly, puffing out his broad frame. A sharp jawline, good figure, crooked nose, a dangerous look in his eye, and a bit of charisma were all Zalgo ever needed to get his way about things.

But Slender wouldn't be backing down this time.

Imagine spending one of your few days off, sitting on opposite sides of a table, in enemy territory, staring down this vile creature that refuses to wipe that shitty smirk off his face. Zalgo has Slender right where he wants him, and Slender knows, and Zalgo knows that he knows.

This is why Slender must win this little game of the King.

"Then perhaps I shall elaborate, dearest friend." The demon hummed, placing his elbows onto the black granite of the stretched meeting table. "Allow me to think." He pitched his fingers together in a tent and pressed his fingertips towards each other, grazing his knuckles with his claws. Zalgo closed his eyes briefly, his mind flickering with all the possible outcomes for his next arrangement of words.

Slender continued staring at the supposed king, taking in a sharp breath. This might have been the closest they've been in ages, alone. In fact, if he so wished, Zalgo was just a tendril length away from being choke-slammed across the room. Slender attempted to block the thoughts of what Zalgo would look like being choked. Alas, he failed and must advert his gaze to the webbed granite.

"I beg you to elaborate before I grow too old." Although the mental picture of Zalgo enjoying being choked occupied his mind, Slender must admit that his patience had worn thin since he stepped into Zalgo's territory. Besides listening to the screams of The Pit on his walk to the castle, the king's consistent mind games have been irritating him.

How Slender wished to shut him up with the taste of his-

"I'm terribly sorry to be the one to break the news, but you're already very old and decrepit."

"Considering how many years you have ahead of me, I suggest limiting time spent on your mundane activities such as thinking." Slender straightened his tie in an attempt to loosen the grip it currently had around his neck. Or maybe that was the phantom of the thought of what it would feel like had Zalgo been choking him instead.

Zalgo huffed shortly, irritated by such incompetence, "If you believe two minutes is a lengthy sum of time, I pity whatever poor creature must share the bed with you."

Slender's jaw tensed. This stupid, stupid demon. Sexy, too, but mostly stupid. If Slender ever wished he could express a face, he would have wished to smirk back at Zalgo at this very moment.

"Your Grace, you of all people should remember how that isn't true." Slender's voice lulled, a slow, captivating tone that dripped with condescendence.

Zalgo smoothly yet dangerously looked toward Slender. Had he really heard him correctly?

"I believe we vowed to not speak of it, my dear friend." Zalgo dropped his hands to the table, intertwining his fingers. His own claws scraped his midnight-tainted skin. Getting blood on his suit was the least of his concerns now.

"And I believe you vowed to keep your minions out of my territory unprompted, yet here we are." This was a clever retort. Slender hoped this would make Zalgo uncomfortable enough to drop the subject altogether. It was a pitiful prayer, but something that might just work. The Tall Man leaned back in his seat, flexing his hips to cross his leg comfortably under the table.

Zalgo was uncomfortable, alright. But it had nothing to do with the memory of so many nights ago. No, no. The tent in his pants has become absolutely painful.

He liked it.

"Slender, you are playing a very dangerous game that I am not quite sure you'd like to win."

"I would win."

A quiet yet dangerous silence slithered around them. A challenge.

Zalgo always enjoyed those.

[coyote-nebula]

A silly little ask from a silly little mutual~~☆

The opening scene of Tim in a Bottle is dialogue GOLD to me. Tim & Jason’s voices are on point, and all the little details feel so natural that they make it really come to life. How did you come up with the street names Tim and Jason reference, along with the Tasty Pastry business name and slogan? (Taste You Canoli Imagine™️ 😂)

Was this a ‘write down the first thing that comes to mind’ situation, or do you have a whole brainstorming process…? I guess my question is really about your writing process, and whether you’re a details first writer or a big picture first writer. (:

(I know this question is muddled, please take it as an excuse to ramble about your fic ♡ ♡ ♡)

Thank you! I feel like I'm doing one of those author interviews.

I've been party to so many "what street is this house on" conversations, and that informed their argument. It's like a dramatization of my confusion with respect to Jason's territory (is it really just Crime Alley/Park Row? Is it one road? How does he handle intersecting streets? Who decides the borders? are they submitted in writing somewhere? Is it based on vibes??). I (incorrectly) guessed at what the Bowery is named for (farms, not boughs 😂) and went with an arbor theme connecting both areas and ta-da: streets with tree names.

As for Pastry Tastry, Taste You Cannoli Imagine™, it's simple: I like puns, especially bad ones 😂I brainstormed the company name and slogan at work, where as soon as I thought of it I snuck across the building to giggle about it to a coworker, who took my self cleverness very patiently.

Also, and I'm sorry for explaining the joke, but it was so hilarious to me because the cannolis are not good. You really do have to imagine that taste, because you won't find it in the pastries.

I don't know what my writing process is. Trees are more readily apparent to me than forests, I know that. I had like two things I knew for sure when starting this fic, so I mostly improvised as I went (especially at the beginning, where there's less pressure to actually remember everything, lol. I'm being forced to plan the broad strokes carefully at the end). If there's lots of details, I'd say that's where my mind tends to go first!

[alexanderlightweight]

hello! can you share the name/link of that fanfiction you mentioned where alec is the institute?

omg I am so, so sorry I have not finished writing it yet. i dont even have a name it's Insitute!alec in my drives. It was actually one of the projects I was working on before i had to take a hiatus for health etc and i was just talking about it

but i did not make that clear so here!! my reply took a while cause I finished a few prompts and then i went and finished the first chapter just for you! because i do love this fic and i'm so excited someone is interested in it!

so first chapter of my unnamed Alec is the Institute fic (you're not actually supposed to know that yet so it's written kind of sneaky).

--

Raphael sits in the basement cells of the New York Institute, he shivers despite the fact that he can’t actually feel the cold.  He knew it was a risk to bring Simon’s body here to the Institute. But while he is limited in his power to act directly against Camille, he had felt it his duty to deliver the mundane boy’s body to his friends.  

And if, it eased his mind a bit, that Simon’s nephilim friend Clary would be there to comfort Simon’s mother, then that was a boon for him alone.  To know that at least one mother did not have to mourn in confused pain the disappearance of her son.  

Raphael closes his eyes, stretching out his senses only to hit the chilled wards of angelic magic that hiss against him.  It is strange, to be so cut off from the world, but despite the danger involved it is an almost relaxing sensation.  To be cut off from all his extra senses and just exist for a moment.  True, he would enjoy it more if the fear of angelic torture didn’t linger over his head, but Raphael takes what he can, where he can.

It’s therefore a shock to him, to open his eyes and see a figure watching him.  The cell he is in is brightly lit, but the halls around it are dim with shadows and it takes a moment for him to focus.  

He’s tall, the shadowhunter who watches him.  Tall and broad with dark features that watch him with a relaxed air.

This one is more dangerous, Raphael realizes, than any of the other nephilim he’d met that day.

“Downworlder magic is an interesting thing,” the shadowhunter says, without introduction or warning.  “Nephilim magic is more limited, requiring blessed conduits to be of use.  Warlocks however, their abilities are only limited by their individual knowledge and power.”

Raphael stays silent, wondering exactly where the shadowhunter is going with this.

“The High Warlock of Brooklyn put my wards up himself, a beautiful piece of magic.”  The shadowhunter continues, “New York has one of the most defensible Institutes in the world.  The only fault I’ve ever found with Bane’s work is his tendency to sign it.” The man takes another step forward and Raphael sees the vibrant blue lines of angelic power, active in his eyes.   “Imagine my surprise when I read through the reports only to find that not only do we have a guest, but one who is very clearly under the High Warlock’s protection.”  

Raphael stiffens.  That is... the shadowhunter is not wrong.  But that is a secret.  Nephilim shouldn’t be able to see that, regardless of what runes the man has active.

There is a wry, almost exasperated curl of the shadowhunter’s lip, “sadly, I was less surprised to see that not only were you not processed but that there is absolutely no crime you have committed that warranted you being thrown in here.”

“The mundane—” Raphael starts, before pursing his lips.  He hardly wants to give the man a reason to keep him there.

“You were not the one who killed him. You were the one who brought his body back. It’s a rare thing, even my shadowhunters wouldn’t have risked such a deed on enemy territory.” The shadowhunter pauses and looks him over, “it’s an honorable deed and my people have reacted with dishonor.”

“Your people?” Raphael asks warily as the shadowhunter

“Alec Lightwood, I’m their Commander. I’ll be punishing them all, they had no jurisdiction and no permission.” And Lightwood has a stele out, one that he’s using to unlock Raphael’s cell doors. 

No alarms ring, no wards come on. No shadowhunters popping out to accuse him of escape.  The halls are eerily empty as he’s like deep underground and to a tunnel. Lightwood is fearless, back easily turned and Raphael feels fear at how casual he is. Sometimes it feels as if the walls and the very floors they are walking on are shifting, changing where they’re going.  

And then he’s being led up and up again and a small door opens and Raphael stares. He’s at the boundary line of the Institute, far away from the entrance and closest to the direction of the Hotel Dumort.

It’s a straight shot from here, more than enough for him to get back in time for the sun and without seeing a single of the ungrateful shadowhunters who had locked him up.

Raphael doesn’t say thank you. Lightwood was right, his shadowhunters acted dishonorably and what Raphael did was dangerous for himself. He does stop though and nod, just a quick little flash of a thing and then he’s gone.

—

Alec sighs as he watches the vampire leave.  This is going to cause problems, the least of which will be Isabelle, Jace and their new pet project.  He sighs again, shaking his head as he shuts and bars the door, watching it meld back into stone.  The way will close behind Santiago, as though it never existed.  He doubts the vampire would be so crass as to try and betray Alec by exposing the passage, but there is no need to be careless.

With that in mind he prepares himself, mentally going through the reports — and the lack of reports — from the last few days. 

Clary Fray is a disaster. 

He would be lenient except she has now expressly betrayed everything the Institute stands for, as well as put the lives of his shadowhunters in jeopardy.  Both with the downworld and with the clave. 

Raphael Santaigo had done them a boon.  To shackle him away was a disservice to both his actions and the future.  It is a relief that Alec caught it in time and eased the situation.

Now, to deal with the mundane.

It is worse than he’d thought.

The mundane is buried, a chance at a new life as one of the undead. Alec doesn’t have a problem with this, except for the fact that they’ve effectively chased off the only vampiric mentor they’d had around. Or perhaps the plan was to keep him locked up until they needed him.

It takes him a moment to reign in his anger and then he’s effectively cutting off whatever sentiment he holds for Jace and Isabelle.  He allows himself a certain amount of it, a degree of emotionality that most would consider extreme for someone of his capabilities. 

Now he gathers his power, wields his authority like a gavel and summons them. All of them and he puts them each in an isolation cell, where they will stay long past when Fray’s friend will be reborn.

Fray has no defense against his orders, especially not when Jace and Isabelle bend to his will.  

They don’t like it, but they heed it.  They have no other choice.

It won’t take much longer for Alec to be done with them and they know it. If Alec decides to ship their asses to Idris or even to Wrangle Isle, then it will happen.  It’s something Fray has yet to learn but Alec doesn’t care if it makes him cruel, one more mistake and he’ll beat her down in front of the whole Institute. 

Again and again, until the lesson takes or he sends whats left of her to the clave to deal with.

It takes him longer than he likes to decide what to do next about the body buried and waiting to crawl out, what route to take.  When he finally decides hours later, he finds himself settled against the cold stone of a grave and wonders just how he ended up here.

Decades of life and yet still he finds himself unprepared for surprises such as this.  His duty is to his shadowhunters.  His power is finite beyond the territory of his walls and while he considers it part of his pact to maintain —  at the very least — a good relationship with the downworld, this goes beyond that.

It’s been years since he’s had to put himself in a place of vulnerability, of dealing with outside forces that he doesn’t quite understand.  

He hopes this is worth it.

“Lightwood,” Santiago’s voice comes from the shadows and Alec merely nods his head.  He was aware the moment the vampire crossed the boundary. 

“If he transitions, it may be more violent than you’re used to.”  Is all he says, the vampire steps closer, into the glow of the streetlamp and Alec notes he already looks better.  He’s fed then.  

Good.  

He’s going to need all his strength to deal with a fledgling, especially one in the throes of madness.

“I’ve handled newborns before.” Santiago’s voice is calm but wary, he doesn’t like this. Coming back to this place or seeing Alec again and Alec doesn’t blame him.

“And yet, I doubt you’ve ever had to deal with one like this.  Most people are smart enough not to create a cradle for a fledgling in hallowed ground.  His mind will be open, a raw wound and the consecrated and angelic power of this place won’t help.  You’ll need to be fast and careful.”

Santiago seems to take his words into due consideration before he nods and steps even closer, crouching to run his fingers through the fresh dirt of Simon’s grave.  Alec watches unblinking as the man gathers up a handful of the dirt and seals it into a small box.  He says nothing, Santiago doesn’t either.

Dawn approaches, a danger to the soft glow of warmth that he knows will soon come and Alec steps back as the fledgling crawls from his death-womb and arises into a new life.

His old one is dead.

—

Raphael murmurs prayers and curses alike under his breath as he wrestles with Simon.

The shadowhunter was right.

Simon is unlike any newborn he’s ever helped birth. He’s feral and incandescent in his raw agony. He’s screaming not from hunger but from pain and Raphael pales even further than his corpse pallor when he realizes what Lightwood meant. Simon was buried in blessed ground, on the lines of an angelic core and he is suffering from the agony of being tortured as he was born.

“Help me!” Raphael demands without meaning to. He’s furious at himself for thinking a group of barely adult shadowhunter could properly take care of this.  He can’t believe who he thought was Simon’s friend would do this to him. To put him through this kind of agony.  

Simon is torn away from him, which isn’t what he meant and he feels a rush of fear before he realizes that there is calm.

Simon hangs limp but awake if not aware, terrified and trembling even though his heart doesn’t beat and his blood doesn’t flow. 

He’s not trying to bite Lightwood at all. 

Instead he’s got his mouth clamped shut so tight that not a fang pokes out.

“I suggest feeding him like this.” Lightwood says, calm and collected like he didn’t just subdue a newborn feral fledgeling with what is basically a hug.

Lightwood’s got Simon trapped to his chest, his arms wrapped tight so that Simon can’t use his own arms.

But Simon could kick and thrash or bite, but he’s not doing any of those things. So Raphael approaches slowly and he carefully opens a bottle instead of a pack.  Simon’s eyes light up with hunger but he doesn’t move, not a fang peeks out.

And Raphael realizes with horrified terror that Simon has reverted to nothing but instincts.

And currently, he is more afraid of the man holding him than his instincts can handle. Raphael carefully feeds Simon, barely able to get his mouth open and while he drinks greedily, eagerly and ravenously... he is still. He makes no noises, no growls or hisses, no lunging for the blood. Just trembling as he drinks and when Raphael deems him full enough, Lightwood drops him without warning and takes five steps back.

Simon lunges for Raphael and Raphael readies himself to finally fight, except Simon is already behind him, hands curled into Raphael’s jacket and still trembling.

“What is he?” Simon asks, whisper-soft and from their brief interactions, Raphael hadn’t thought Simon knew how to whisper. 

“A shadowhunter.” Raphael says because Simon has met shadowhunters before, just not while a vampire.

 Simon looks even more terrified. 

“You went up against a group of those guys, willingly?” he babbles, clearly in a panic and still consumed by fear. “Are you insane? I mean, I know Camille is but I didn’t think you were. How can you handle it, the way he feels? He smells so good but I couldn’t even think about it. Like if I tried, I’d be dead again. For good this time.”

Raphael doesn’t know what to say. Because that’s even stranger, that Simon felt such a great fear of Lightwood that he ignored the divine scent of angelic blood. Raphael had thought that maybe being born on the Institute land had made Simon immune to the song of nephilim blood.

Lightwood is watching them and Raphael suddenly feels like prey. 

“You need to leave.” They’re told, but it’s not a threat and Raphael realizes with terror that this is taking longer than he thought and it’s too near dawn. “Go here, there’s nothing much there but it will be dark and secure. My part is done here, he’s your problem now.”

“Wait, where’s Clary?” Simon is asking, “why, how am I a vampire? What’s even going on?”

Lightwood gives them both an unimpressed look and turns to Raphael and just says, “go.”

And Raphael goes, dragging Simon with him as he flees the coming sun and the cold, inhuman look in Lightwood’s eyes.  It’s never been more clear to him than in that moment that nephilim are truly, only half human.

[himbeereule]

Hii, I'm quite curious and would like to know more about Duke Lebedev - if you're alright with it, that is. I find him middly interesting from what little of him is mentioned, yes I still dislike him and agree he's a despicable person - however, I have a specific fascination about villains like Lebedev - a character already in much power, yet clearly vying for more and has a very troubled past/experience with the mc which ties them to him in some way, whilst also traumatising them.

He also is an older brother of A, one of the Ros, if I'm correct, which makes for a very nice siblings to enemies dynamic if the mc choses to romance A, which is a trope I very much like within media.

Here are some questions I'd like to ask, feel free to answer them I'd you'd like, I'd be very thankful.

1. It's mentioned Duke Lebedev is the head of the nobility. Are the nobles mostly untouched by the coup that happened? How are they holding up after the Royal family died and a new government was established? Is the Duke still in power?

2. If an F!mc had 'that' incident with him when they were younger, would the Duke still have some sort of desire/inappropriate feelings towards them? What would be the current Duke's opinion/view towards them as of now if they had that specific experience with the mc? Also, I'm quite confused as to why the Duke thought it'd be a good a idea to do 'that' to an imperial princess in broad daylight within the palace.

3. Assuming that I'm correct about A and the Duke being siblings ( correct me if I'm wrong ), can you describe what they look like? If it's too soon, I just wanna know if they're considered handsome/good-looking. And do they look alike? Sorry, just a little too curious, I'm a sucker for siblings turned enemies, especially if one is evil :3.

Hi! Thanks for your questions, I'll do my best to answer them :3

1. Yes, the nobles were not directly affected by the coup since it was almost exclusively contained to the Capital. They're mostly just enjoying their quasi-independence and "keeping the peace" in their respective territories - although some have run into issues with local rebels, and others have decided to try and use the situation to expand at the cost of others. You'll meet all types while travelling through the country.

Lebedev is still as important a political figure as ever, and is taking on the role of a mediator between the Republican central government and the noble territories.

2. The answer to the first part is "you'll see". Lebedev plays an important role in the later parts of the story, but finding out what that role actually is will take until the very end.

As for why he thought that would be a good idea - because it's a kind of normal thing to do in his circles, and he knew there would be no consequences. If Lavrentiy hadn't acted first, the Emperor would've just ignored that scene and expected Lebedev to owe him a favour in return.

3. (You are correct about them being siblings.) Detailing character appearances is still sitting on the todo list (but constantly being shoved down by higher priority tasks 🫤), so all I have for now is:

- Arseniy/Amaliya is pretty tall (though not quite as tall as Yakov/Liliya), toned and tanned due to having melee combat as their main hobby, and long, smooth black hair. I'm still torn on the eye colour, but it'll probably be hazel.

- Lebedev is about the same height as his sister, has mostly iron-grey, short hair with some black sections remaining, and a thin moustache and goatee. His skin leans more towards waxy, though he doesn't look as pallid as other older nobles since he travels a lot. He's also on the thinner side, especially his face, and he has a very aristocracy-appropriate aquiline nose.

[alternativegirl23]

This is a "soft dom" Lee Bodecker fanfic. Will be mature in nature. Warnings will be posted as needed. Reuploaded 9/18.

Deal With The Devil- Chapter 1

You hear three loud, quick knocks on the front door. Rushing over, you check yourself in the mirror, fixing your hair and practicing a small smile. Opening the door, you see your fathers friend, Lee Bodecker, standing in front of you. Your father told you a few days prior that Lee would be coming over for dinner. You smiled as you held out your hand to greet him. 

     "Hi Lee, its nice to meet you". He flashed a broad grin before saying hello in return. Bending down, he removed his shoes and placed them on the small linoleum square before stepping onto the off white shag carpet. You hadn't seen him out of uniform very often, but it was always a nice surprise. A blue button down that brought out more of the blue in his eyes.

      A pair of black jeans that hugged his legs just so. Lee came in for a hug and you started to give one tentatively. Even though Lee was a familiar face, you hadn't been around him enough. His proximity is a little too close for comfort, so far. He leaned in closer to you to close the gap. 

     You finally wrapping your arms lightly around his broad back, the closest you had been to him now. Only ever exchanging handshakes and smiles since you saw him a few weeks ago. Your head started to grow a little hazy as you breathed in some cologne he wore. It was warm, spicy and comforting.

      Your eyes closed briefly as you really tried to take in the scent he wore. Before you even knew what happened, you let out a little content moan of relaxation. Instantly your eyes flashed open. Shit. He didnt hear that, did he?  

You released yourself from his grasp and he flashed a small smile, his brows knitting in concern. You couldnt tell if it was faux worry or real. 

"You alright sweetheart?", he asked. You nodded quickly, wanting to not let him know so soon. You swore, as soon as you hit thirty….you started to look at older men a little differently. 

     Attractive  men in their early forties didn't seem so bad. And Lee definitely fell into that category. As long as they treated you right and had a younger energy about them, maybe you could make it work. At least that's what you like to think. Both of your arms releasing each other, you and Lee made your way into the dining room.      The clatter of a few utensils as your mom finished up dinner. 

     She came out with a broad smile on her face, looking like the content mom and housewife she was meant to be. Carefully setting down the platters of food, she welcomed Lee and told him to sit down and make himself comfortable. 

"Thank you Ms. You have a beautiful home", he complimented. He pulled out his seat and sat down, your dad and yourself doing the same. Setting down mashed potatoes, a salad, and a fall apart tender chuck roast. 

     Your mouth started salivating. You hadn't realized how hungry you were until now. After saying a quick prayer and digging in, the conversation strayed from pleasantries into more interesting territory. 

     "So Lee, how are you and Jane?", your mother asked. You looked sideways at Lee. 

     He sighed heavily as if he was trying to avoid this question all night. With a shake of his head, he set down his fork before clearing his throat. "Not good. She said wants a divorce", he anwsered.

     Everyone went silent. No one knew what to say. 

     "Im so sorry", you finally piped up. Lee gave a solemn nod in your direction. Saying there wasn't much to be done but he thanked you anyway. Determined to cheer everyone up despite the circumstances, mom announced she made dessert, a coca cola chocolate fudge cake. You smiled while giving a look in Lee’s direction.  He only gave a small sad smile in response, your dad picking up on it.      '"Now come on Lee, I know you got a major sweet tooth. She does too”, he said. 

     Pointing his dinner fork in your direction. Your mom tsked and took away the fork as if it was a weapon, clearing the rest of the dishes with it. “This one loves anything sweet”, your dad mentioned offhandedly. Shaking your head, you gave a half hearted chuckle. Lee had to smile a little at your reaction, turning towards you now. 

     Trying to shake off his sorrow, he spoke up for the first time after dinner had started. “I love sweets too. Ex wife said I ate too much of em”, he said with a tone of disgust. You looked at him in an attempt to forget his current circumstance, saying, “Well you can never have too much of a good thing, right”, you asked. He gave a genuine smile…just the smallest one, but that was enough for you. “I suppose not”, he said with a hint of lightness to his voice. 

     Your mother came back with a crystal cake stand as she carefully set it on the table. “It looks so good mom”, your eyes widening, mouth salivating knowing moments from now you can sink your teeth into it. Lee smiled up at your mother, thanking her as she started passing out plates. She acknowledged his praise with a quick grin and started cutting pieces for everyone, sitting down when she was done. After the cake was consumed, wine and beer was given to you and Lee, your parents having drinks of their own. 

     Everyone sitting down around  the TV to wind down before bed. The white glow surrounding the living room in its cocoon of light. Nothing else seemed to exist when everyone was like this. You spared some glances at Lee, whose eyes looked glazed over, like he wasnt fully paying attention. As time passed, you realized you were two glasses deep into the wine. 

     You should stop. You hardly drank as it is and you were already going to feel like shit tomorrow. But a heavy, roiling feeling in your stomach suddenly made you stop moments after. Only a few sips left of your second glass but your stomach couldnt hold anymore. You stumbled out of your seat, half running to the bathroom and closing the door. 

     Just barely opening the lid and emptying your stomach into the toilet. You knew you had gone too far. You hardly noticed the knocks on the door until you stopped, shutting the lid, flushing and washing your hands. Eyes locking on Lee across from you, you weren't expecting him there. 

     "You alright Darlin'?" he asked. Shaking your head, trying to steady yourself against anything that would keep you upright. Your feet fumbled over themselves and Lee's arm reached out to catch you before you fell.

"I feel like shit", your words slurring. He gave a lighthearted little chuckle.     "Here, lemme look a'tcha", his fingers carefully moving your face to meet his.   Something in his face shifted, noticing how tired you looked.

      A crease furrowing his brow, a look of sadness mixed with concern. 

     He just wanted to help you. He puts his arm underneath one of yours and starts helping you towards the stairs. You hear vague words of concern from your parents. Lee reassured them he'd put you to bed. 

     Slowly and steadily, you put your feet up to try and help yourself up the set of stairs. "Just take it easy sweetheart. I'm in no rush", you hear Lee say softly in your ear. A few minutes later you both get up the stairs, he makes you sit down and slowly takes off your shoes. He leaves you in your clothes to remain decent.    He does his best to make you comfortable. 

     Getting you a trash can just in case, a bottle of water and some aspirin. "Sweetheart, I can check in on ya if ya need me to. I just…I wanna help and protect ya if I can". Lee stands there nervously, secretly hoping you'll say yes. To his surprise, you said that'd be nice as you laid your head down on the pillow. 

     He smiled softly, tucking you in carefully, making sure your feet were covered. You were passed out before you heard his husky voice say "I'll be just across the hall if you need me darlin'". As your door softly clicked close, you didn't even hear him leave.

#lee bodecker #the devil all the time #soft dark lee #sheriff bodecker #smut  

[fe-fictions]

Saizo x Corrin Commission (Corrin goes to the nearby tavern to do some recon...and Saizo is not pleased!)

The army had to gather new intel. The Vallites were ruthless, and everyone was exhausted. But to continue forward, you had to use every method of getting new information. Even if that meant scraping the bottom of the barrel. Which, at this point, meant goin

Saizo immediately objected when you volunteered. But you knew he’d be tagging along even if he hadn’t admitted it outright.

So naturally, within a few minutes of your trek into the village, you felt Saizo’s eyes on you, watching his wife’s every movement and making sure nothing bad could possibly happen to you on the walk there.

“You’re welcome to join me, you know. I’ve gotten very good at sensing when you’re nearby.” You glanced back, meeting the sharp glare hidden in the canopy above. The moment you blinked, a red-haired ninja loomed over you, arms crossed.

“This is a waste of time and you know it, Corrin. Why did you volunteer?”

“Because someone has to, and I knew you’d tag along.” You said, earning a flick to the forehead.

“You abuse my devotion. Wasting our time and resources like this is too much. Maybe I should let you go by yourself while I make myself useful at camp.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? You’d really leave your defenseless, beautiful wife to the whims of strangers in enemy territory?”

“Stop acting foolish.” He flicked your forehead again, “Otherwise I really will abandon you.”

“All right, all right. I’m sorry,” You laughed, before you linked arms and rested your head on his bicep. “Why don’t you be my date tonight? If you’re with me it’ll keep trouble away.”

“Feh. It’ll be a waste of time no matter how we go in, but I’d rather keep an eye on you from a distance. I need to be able to identify as many threats as possible.”

It wasn’t your first foray into the world of greasy food and overflowing mead, but this place was on a whole other level. The place was stuffed with rowdy people clamoring for food and drink, shouting slurred profanities at each other.

It was loud, but at least it was jovial. Nobody would be fazed by a woman with pricked ears in Valla, so your sense for potential danger was low.

“Do you wish for me to stay close?” Saizo murmured in your ear, close enough to hear despite the pub’s intensity. 

“No, I’ll be fine. Go see what you can find- I’ll stay at the bar and do some recon.”

“Be safe.” He squeezed your hand, and faded into the crowd. Reassured that your red shadow wouldn’t be far, you took your place at the counter, placed your order, and got to work.

Within thirty minutes, you were sure it was a failure. After having your shoulders bumped and being startled by boisterous laughter right next to you, it was about time to call it. But as you readied to leave, a large figure entered your peripheral.

“You’re not leaving already, are you?”

Your ears twitched at the unfamiliar voice, finding a man who was definitely too drunk  teetering in front of you. His smile was broad, but his eyes gleamed with mal intent.

“I’m afraid I have some urgent business to attend to, sir.”

“It can’t be that serious if you’re here, of all places- but if you insist, why not leave this shithole and have some fun with me somewhere else?”

“I’m flattered, but I’m not interested.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that! Maybe you just need some more time to loosen up.” The man grinned, gesturing for the bartender. “Bring this pretty little lady another round!”

“Er…well, I suppose, if you insist.” You twisted a lock of hair behind your ear, inviting more intrigue from the heavily inebriated man. He plunked down onto the seat next to you, emboldened by your accepting his invitation.

“Of course! You’ve only just got here, and it’s always exciting to meet new people! Especially a fella as manly as me, buying a drink for a beautiful stranger like yourself.”

“You’re too kind.” You took a swig of the drink, “You’re a local, aren’t you?”

“As local as they come! Want me to show you around?”

“Actually, I don’t suppose you’d know anything about a small town called ‘Lumme’, would you? I was hoping to visit with some family who moved there, but Valla is difficult to navigate.”

“They moved all the way out there? I wouldn’t bother even trying to reach it.” He said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Curiosity piqued, you pressed.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“I heard the royal army’s setting up near there. If they haven’t cleared out the village, they’ve certainly blocked it off. You’re better off staying here rather than going that way.”

“But surely if it’s a Vallite citizen, they can make an exception, right? I mean, it is for family, and I haven’t been able to see them in so-”

“And who is this pretty little thing?” A new voice interrupted, this time a rather elegant woman. “You’re way out of this bastard’s league. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink, instead?”

“Shut up, you crusty old witch.” The man laughed, throwing a heavy arm around your shoulders. You fought the urge to toss him. “You’re just jealous you didn’t spot her first!”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t steal her away…besides, I’m not the only one interested.” 

It wouldn’t take long for it to become a group of three, then four, then five. The man wouldn’t release you from his hold. The noise and the heat was overwhelming.

While some information you pulled from the conversations was worthwhile, it wasn’t enough. You moved to get out from under the brute’s arm, pushing the pint away.

“Thank you for your hospitality, everyone, but I must be going. It’s past-”

“C’mon now!! We’re just starting to have fun!!” The arm you managed to slip from reached out again, this time grabbing your wrist. You took a deep breath, readying your fist to crack the drunkard’s nose. But before you could even turn around, a shadow cut in front of you.

“Let her go.” Saizo’s growl commanded attention, forcing his body between you and the man, and pulling you to his side in a single movement.

“What the hell is this, huh? We were just having a good time with my new lady friend!”

“She isn’t interested. Leave her alone.” He snapped, “I will not repeat myself.”

Saizo did not speak another word to anyone in that tavern. To be fair, he didn’t need to- when they tried to protest, a fierce glare was enough to silence them.

Your husband strode from the town, silently brooding until you were halfway home.

“Saizo, dear- you’re holding me too tight. Can you ease up a bit?”

“Why did you stay so long? It was obvious you weren’t going to get any new information an hour into the night. It was a waste of time, just like I said!”

“Not completely! The village we’re heading to is overrun with Vallites, and there was mention of an alternate route we might be able to take from that suave woman who was talking me up. She didn’t get far into explaining it, but-”

“‘Suave’.” He clicked his tongue, his pace quickening. “Those people were vultures, nothing more. Especially that bastard who wouldn’t keep his hands off you.”

“I mean, we got a lead out of it! And I’m sure you got good surveillance intel, right?”

“I didn’t bother,” He huffed, his gaze forward. “I was watching the crowd for potential threats. It was too dangerous for you to go at all, and to let those varlots close by was-”

“Time out, Saizo.” You tugged your wrist from his grasp, forcing him to stop. “I can handle myself. It’s not like you to intervene.”

“Because you were about to start a fight. I wasn’t going to let you get hurt by acting foolish.”

“Please, I would never lose a fight like that. But now I know why you’re upset.” You hummed, “I can hear your heartbeat is faster, and your body language is more rigid than usual. Your temper flares every time I mention my new friends-”

“-Obnoxious bastards-”

“-Who I was sitting with. You were jealous, weren’t you?”

“Jealous? Of them?!” He was aghast at the thought. “Why would I be jealous of a bunch of drunkards? They simply should not touch a Hoshidan princess with their filthy hands!”

“You didn’t want their filthy hands to touch your wife.” You corrected him, teasing.

“You’re ridiculous.” He grumbled, earning a laugh from his far less serious wife.

“Saizo, c’mon!! I was just kidding!” You hurried after him, closing the distance easily and catching his hand. You threaded your fingers together. “I was teasing, my love, honestly! I know you were looking out for me, like always. You wanted to keep me safe.”

“Of course I do.” He rolled his eyes, trying (and failing) to conceal his reddening cheeks. “I care about you too much to let something bad happen to you. Seeing those insufferable morons get so close was right at my limit.”

“I understand. Thank you for looking out for me. I’m so lucky to have you by my side.” 

You stood on your tippy toes, kissing him over the mask. With a growl, his arms wrapped around your waist, the mask disappeared and you were caught in a searing kiss from your dearest one.

You gasped into the kiss, your hands flush against his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath your fingertips. He all but lifted you off the ground to hold you as close as he possibly could. 

It was dizzying when he finally released you, both of you trying to catch your breath. His hand fell to your waist, steadying you from his aggressive display. You laughed softly, leaning into his chest.

“So you’re definitely not jealous, huh?”

“I cannot be sure until we’ve returned home.”

“That’s fair. You need to be thorough in making sure they didn’t do anything untowards.”

“You will not be leaving our room for at least 12 hours. I hope you’re aware of that.” He said before he turned, resuming his march to camp with much more vigor.

Of course you happily trailed along, giddy at the thought that you had a very jealous husband to assuage. Saizo was always the cutest when he was jealous. It was rare to see him so riled up, but knowing it was because he was enamored with you made it adorable.

It also meant he’d be getting teased more…once he was placated, of course.

[liminalpebble]

Sorry about the travel stranding! Hmmm…for our main boy, Loki, how would he look after an insomniac partner? (Since my body has been refusing to sleep lately)

Hello sweet @queen-paladin.

Thanks for the prompt. Here is a little comfort drabble for you. Hopefully, it will give you sweet dreams. This is new territory for me so I hope it hits the spot of what you'd like. Enjoy. @ladyofthestayingpower, I think this one might also give you some much needed calming fluff considering what you're going through.

Enjoy, my loves.

--

Lovely in the Moonlight

CW: None really, just a bit of kissing and insinuation but let's say minors DNI just to be safe.

Loki x gender neutral reader, fluff/comfort, prompted drabble, Word count: 800

You wrapped the plush velvet of your robe more tightly around yourself as you walked down the hall in a haze. It was another chilly night, and yet another sleepless one. Neither nocturnal wakefulness nor the cold were things he minded, personally, but of course Loki could see it was wearing on you lately. As you entered the parlor you smiled, despite your fatigue, seeing how handsome he always looked reading in front of the fireplace. Just before you approached the threshold he raised his stunning icy eyes, carefully closed his book, and gracefully uncrossed his long legs, rising to meet you. Everything he did was deliberate, anticipated, even these small things.

“I thought you might not hear me wondering around. I was trying to be quiet.”

He grinned in that sweet familiar way that he only ever did for you. It was genuine, reaching the apples of his cheeks and the laugh lines of his eyes. “Darling, you know it's impossible to sneak up on me. Can't sleep again...hmmm?” he purred in his baritone as he kissed the top of your head.

“Yeah. I'm so exhausted. My mind simply doesn't stop.”

“Well,” he mused, as he sat down on the larger sofa, reaching for you with his long arms to gather you into his lap, “that lovely mind has so much to do with why I love you, so I can't be too upset with it. I do, however, wish it would let you sleep.”

You teased, “Ah, Your Highness, so you didn't marry me for my beauty then?”

He scoffed playfully. “Well, of course that has something to do with it,” he replied, slender fingers deftly tucking back a lock of your loose hair. “You do look so lovely in the moonlight like this.”

He considered you perceptively, meticulously, as if gazing at a fine painting as he read your face. He hummed thoughtfully, stroking a finger over his thin lips, then finally offered, “you know I could enchant you to help you with this insomnia.” His velvety voice lowered. “Or, of course, it would be my pleasure to find other very fine ways of distracting you. The god of mischief has a responsibility to be good at distraction, after all.”

He held your gaze captive, luring you into a deep kiss, giving you a generous preview of just how he could distract you with that clever, silver tongue. Loki felt his heart swell when his flirtations made you giggle that way you did now, forgetting your worries. He could hear it a thousand times and the effect would never diminish.

Finally you released his lips to snuggle down into his broad chest. You considered his various offers as you aimlessly toyed with his sleeve where it was rolled up neatly at his elbow. Then you stroked down the alabaster skin of his forearm, finally arranging your fingers to intertwine with his.

“I...I don't think I want to be put under a spell.”

“Why not, darling? You'd be asleep in no time.”

“Because as much as I hate not being able to sleep, I love always finding you like this,” you said quietly, raising up slightly to kiss his widow's peak and cradle his sharp cheeks.

“You're even more handsome in the moonlight. I don't think I'd want to miss these moments...but...but I think I'll just rest a moment,” you explained, lazily curling your fingers into the black silk of his hair, nuzzling into his neck, enjoying how his embrace always relaxed you and the deep rumble of his breath calmed your frayed nerves.

He smirked as he kissed you, knowing that you would be asleep anyway in moments and he would be carrying you to bed. Still, he said in his lowest sweetest voice, “Of course, just rest with me here, love, alright?”

But you were too comfortable and drowsy to even respond beyond a contented purr against him. Loki conjured a blanket around you both and then summoned his book to his hand in a soft green glow. He read to you in that melodic voice, running his broad hand up and down your spine in comforting strokes. In your half-dreaming you couldn't be sure if it was poetry, or if everything just sounded like poetry coming from his mouth. Once he saw your were well and truly deep in dreaming he closed the book, lifted you in utter silence, and carried you to bed. As he sauntered smoothly down the dark hall, he whispered a phrase from The Tempest into your sleeping ear,

“We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with sleep.”

@queen-paladin @littlespaceyelf @goblingirlsarah @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @sweetsigyn @peaches1958 @muddyorbs @gigglingtiggerv2 @peacefulpianist @coldnique @holdmytesseract @infinitystoner @loz-3 @jennyggggrrr @glitchquake @ladyofthestayingpower @marcotheflychair @sarahscribbles @sailorholly @tripleyeeet @acidcasualties @alexakeyloveloki @icytrickster17 @chokeanddagger @joyful-enchantress

[quinloki]

hello, sorry if this is too real of an ask if you're not feeling too well recently, but I've been meaning to ask if you have any advice when it comes to tackling really dark topics in fanfics?? I've been meaning to write a darkfic with the Kid pirates main 4 as slasher movie villains (think Jason Voorhees vibes) with a touch of yandere tendencies, so there's not gonna be a lot of comfort/fluff in this fic. this is naturally gonna be hard to write especially when it comes to wanting to write dark and disturbing scenes without wanting to glorify or romanticise abusive behavior or stockholm syndrome, not to mention not wanting to upset or trigger survivors, especially as one myself, so any advice would be lovely. thank you ^-^

I’m going to start this off with what I think should be your most important takeaway from this:

It’s okay to romanticize abuse in fiction.

It’s okay to romanticize horror, murder, etc. etc. in fiction.

Fiction is where we can do the really uncomfortable stuff. Where we can explore the darks part of existing, because it’s good to be able to go “I connect with this and I should consider why.” Or “this brings me comfort, how can I break that down?” Stuff like that.

Sometimes it helps us realize a view or understanding we had that we thought was good is inherently flawed. (I am reminded of viewers being very angry when they realized the character in The Boys they connected with was *not* a good guy and did not get redeemed.)

What we have to be careful about is not condoning such themes in reality.

Horror movies and books go into deep dark territory all the time, but often hobby writers can be held to odd standards by comparison, which gets a bit frustrating at times.

How to avoid that AND present dark fic properly?

On Ao3 and tumblr just tag your story - character death, gore, stalking, Stockholm syndrome, abuse, toxic relationship, dubcon, noncon as applicable, excessive descriptions of blood and gore, etc.

You don’t have to get specific - you don’t have to say who dies/survives. You can admit to “this has a bad end” if you want - I had a webcomic warn me about that and it was NOT kidding.

Some responsibility is on the writer for dark fic, yes, but honestly that’s just in terms of being sure you label it well. Avoiding and heeding those tags is solely on the reader - as long as you didn’t, say, write about disarticulation in exacting detail without warning “excessive descriptions of blood and gore”.

You can put additional warnings in the summary, or even as a heads up before a particularly intense chapter.

And, you’re not going to be perfect. If someone says “hey can you add [x] tag?” Be open to it - but don’t add any and every tag requested - sometimes people can be demanding in tag requests and you have the right to decide where the line really is.

For example someone might ask that you add a tag involving eye-trauma. It’s a squick of mine, people getting injured on, in, around their eyes, and I wouldn’t be upset with a heads up - but I also think it’s covered under warnings of gore.

Someone might ask that you tag a specific character’s death - personally? I wouldn’t. “Character death” is enough. “Slasher/horror” honestly should really be enough cause even though I don’t watch horror movies I have a keen understanding that you do not get attached to characters in a horror story.

As long as you hit the broad strokes, I think that’s enough. The idea is that no one wants to walk into a slasher when they were expecting fluff.

As for taking care of ourselves as writers while we write dark content, that’s harder to give advice on. I really have to be in a steady frame of mind to write dark stuff, but if I know there’s vindication in there somewhere it’s much easier. (There’s a stalker in A Light Touch that gets his due and as someone who has had more than 6, it was cathartic to write.)

But sometimes there’s catharsis in the bad guy winning too. You’ve got to understand those lines for yourself - I can’t really give you advice cause it’s so different for everyone. But listen to yourself.

If it feels like a slog, leave it.

If it’s not getting out of your mind, write it.

You’re not “weird” if you write your darkest shit when you’re happiest, or vice versa. What you need to do is just keep an eye on yourself - there is no world in which you should suffer in order to write “good dark content”.

For better or worse, that’s the best advice I have - I hope it’s helped ^_^

[f1uckinghell]

Mini Summer VV Event, Part 1 🩵

I have several oneshots for the event prepared, and I will drop them throughout the week I've decided! Remember: the event has been extended until the 22nd of July!

Enjoy!

Maxiel parenting//angst with a happy ending//tw: mentions of violence

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

Max lets out a slow breath when the screen of his phone says “school”. Again.

“Good morning, this is Ms. Bailey.” She doesn't sound urgent, so nobody is hurt. Probably.

“Good morning, Ms. Bailey,” Max says, leaning against the counter, rolling his eyes to the heavens. “Which one is it?”

By now he should be on a first name basis with her, to be honest.

“I'm afraid it's Flynn,” she sighs, and the “again” is implied.

Max narrowly bites back an exasperated “fuck”. “What happened?”

“He got into another fight,” Ms. Bailey says, her voice neutral, “With the same boy from his parallel class again. During homeroom.”

“Anyone seriously hurt?” Max asks. There is a stain on the sink opposite of him that needs cleaning.

“No, no, a teacher pulled them apart, thankfully. Before anyone could get hurt. But you know how it is, I have to inform you-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Max replies. He's a pro at this by now. “We'll talk to him later. My husband is coming to pick the kids up today, if you want to talk to him-”

“It's really not necessary,” Ms Bailey tells him. She sounds as routined at this as he is. With so many mid-puberty alpha students, Max wonders how many of these calls she has to make weekly. “Just make sure you talk to him… you know we have a very tolerant policy around here, but Flynn’s been getting into so many fights lately that I'm concerned he might get suspended at some point.”

“Yeah, of course.” Max pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Ms Bailey echoes.

“Ugh, fuck,” is the first thing Max says after hanging up.

Teenage alphas get into fights, it's normal and somewhat expected. They're full of hormones, they're trying to find their own identity, they're starting to feel territorial and they have a lack of self-control. But lately, at least once a week, Max gets one of these calls.

Isabel was never like this; she did get into her fair share of fights and tussles, but they very rarely ended with calls home from school.

But Flynn…

He's not a violent kid, at least not at home. He's gentle, actually, with all of the animals which he loves so much, with little Jasper, with his siblings and packlings (mostly) and with them; lets Luna braid his hair and lets Jasper use him as a climbing gym. Sometimes he's still just like a little boy and wants cuddles and to sleep with his head in Max's lap or for Daniel to spend time with him and tell him he's proud of him.

But ever since he's turned fourteen a year ago, he’s been coming home with split lips and black eyes and bloody knuckles at least once a week.

At first, Daniel reassured Max that it's normal, that young alphas just need to fight sometimes. But when it became more and more frequent, both of them started getting concerned.

When he told his mother about it, her expression softened. “...like your dad,” she said, regret heavy in her voice.

Max hates that thought. He doesn't want to be like his father, and he especially doesn't want his kids to be like Jos.

But it's undeniable. For as much as Flynn looks like Daniel, his broad frame and his face shape make it undeniable who his grandfather is.

Max takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Then he calls Daniel, and tells him what happened.

-

Flynn looks like a sad puppy, and Max already feels bad for the scolding he's about to receive.

They're sat around the dining room table, Daniel, Flynn and him. The doors are closed; Daniel shooed the other pups away when they tried to eavesdrop.

Daniel has his arms crossed, looking as strict as he can (which is, to be honest, not very strict). It's enough to make Flynn duck his head.

“Tell us what happened,” Daniel tells him.

“This is the third call in two weeks, Flynn,” Max adds softly.

Flynn sniffles and Max's heart almost breaks.

“I'm sorry,” he says, looking up at Max through his curls. “I didn't mean to get into another fight.”

“Then what happened?” Daniel urges, leaning forward. He doesn't sound unfriendly, just… well, like a Dad who needs to make sure his kid is okay. „The same boy again?! What’s your deal with him?“

Flynn sniffs, scrunching up his nose. Like I do, Max thinks.

“...he was being mean,” he eventually says.

“To you?” Max prompts. He wants to reach across the table and grab Flynn’s hand, he looks so miserable.

Flynn shakes his head. “No, to Jakob.”

Daniel and Max exchange a quick glance, heavy with meaning in a way only couples who have been together for a long time can.

“What did he do?” Daniel asks.

“Keeps saying he's weird and stupid,” Flynn grumbles, “And called him the r-word.”

Max looks at Daniel again, clenching his jaw. Daniel lets out a slow, controlled breath, meeting his eyes. They've been dealing with this for fifteen years now; it's just how things are when one of your kids is different. It never gets any less infuriating.

“So you hit him?” Daniel asks.

Flynn is staring at the tabletop, nodding. “I know I shouldn't, but… it just made me so… so mad!” Finally, he looks up, and there's a fire in his eyes. On the table, his fists are clenched. “Jakob isn't stupid or weird! He's the smartest person I know! …well, him and Luna. But the point is, he's not stupid!”

They can tell he's getting heated over this, and Max is so, so proud of him.

“Did you tell anyone what that boy said?” Daniel asks.

Flynn bites his lip and shakes his head. “...no, I didn't… I didn't want to get Jakob involved. He doesn't need to know someone… said that. And I didn’t want to get Evie involved, either.“ Evie, the only person even more protective over Jakob than Flynn.

Daniel and Max exchange a long glance, and then they both exhale simultaneously. Max can feel the tension fall away from his heart.

Flynn looks up at them, eyes darting between them in surprise as Daniel starts laughing and Max hurries around the table, wrapping his arms around him.

“You're so…!” Max holds him close, and Flynn, albeit confused, gives a sweet little pup-like whimper and cuddles close.

“Sorry, Mama,” he mumbles, voice muffled against Max's shoulder.

Daniel gives a friendly little growl, reaches between them and grabs Flynn by the scruff of his neck, in an affectionate way, the way he used to when Flynn was little and got too wild. „You’ll be the death of me at some point, boy.“

„Sorry, Daddy,“ Flynn says, but there’s a smile in his voice.

„It’s okay, champ.“ When Max has stepped away, Daniel ruffles Flynn’s hair. Then, his expression becomes more serious. „But you can’t solve all your problems with violence, yeah?“

Flynn ducks his head again, the sheepish expression back on his face. „Yes, Dad, I know… but sometimes I just get so… so mad when someone is being mean!“

Max is overcome with love for him. „You’ll learn to control it.“

„When?“ Flynn throws up his hands.

„Once you’ve presented,“ Dan tells him with a sorry little smile.

Flynn grumbles. „That could take ages!“

Max runs his fingers through Flynn’s curls. „It won’t, I promise.“

„You’re already so chock-full of hormones, it can’t take that much longer,“ Dan comments, and the noise Flynn makes in reply is peak embarrassed teenager. It makes Max laugh.

They’ll talk to the school, set things right. It’ll be okay. They’ve gotten through worse.

For now, Max can’t believe that he ever thought Flynn’s behavior was caused by aggression, instead of Daniel’s pure, protective, and maybe somewhat impulsive streak.

When he goes to open the door to the kitchen, he hears Daniel say in a sotto voice: „You know, some bullies do need punching, though.“