#while also filled with this dread of finding the right person

[kkuzushi]

hey! could you write genshin kinich + anemo boys when you go through their phone without them knowing because you think they're cheating/just wanted to check if theyre loyal but you end up finding nothing and they catch you? thank u eheheh

Anemo boys + Kinich catching you with their phone.ᐟ

⠀✦ cw : established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, self decapration, phone contents, genderneutral!reader, partially canon compliant – 3.7k words

⠀✦ additional notes : I’m not very familiar with Kinich yet but I did my best to portray him accurately! Reader is also seen as Lumine/Aether. Please don’t mind the timestamps as well. <3

. 𐙚 . ˙ 𖧧 ₊ ˚HEIZOUᝰ.ᐟ

Ah yes, your ever loving, doting boyfriend. Heizou is known for his natural charms and affectionate words—it’s one of the reasons why you fell for him in the first place. While the two of you have set boundaries, you often wonder if his romantic side is only seen by you. Swayed by temptation and curiosity, you decide to snoop through his phone while he’s in his study. Surely that’s enough for you to find something, right?

Which is what you’d hope for—or dread for—however, as you open Heizou’s phone, you’re met with a candid picture he personally took. You told him countless times to delete it yet he never and even made it as his lockscreen wallpaper.

That should’ve been enough proof that this man is loyal, but who knows what else he could be hiding behind that lockscreen? You unlocked his phone, his homescreen wallpaper is still you but a different type of photo. This time, the scenery was also part of the image with your back turned towards the camera.

Going back on track, you start to tweak around his phone, looking to see if there’s anything off or suspicious.

After checking multiple apps—even a bit of his search history—you found absolutely nothing. You sighed in relief, but that relief was short-lived once you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“What do we have here?” Heizou hummed, peeking over your shoulder, causing you to jump and turn to face him. “Seems like I caught a thief red-handed.”

You chuckled nervously, quickly putting his phone down on the bed. “Heizou! How long have you been there?” You asked, attempting to pry away from your predicament.

Heizou grinned, crossing his arms on his chest as he leans closer to you, “Only the detective will ask questions, unless.. you want to do this the hard way?” His eyes glinted with mischief, hands preparing to tickle you before he tackled you down on the bed.

The two of you rolled around in the mattress—you trying to get away while Heizou just keeps pulling you back closer to him. Your laughter dies down to pants eventually once Heizou stops.

“Now, care to explain why you were snooping through my phone?” Heizou asks, his arms wrapped around your waist as your back is pressed against his chest.

“I just.. wanted to see if you’ve been doing things..” You answer vaguely, embarrassment creeping up on you after being caught just like that.

To that, Heizou raises an eyebrow. “Things? I do a lot of things—investigating around Inazuma, doing commissions with people, and most especially loving you.” His response was filled with lighthearted jokes yet you can sense the reassurance he’s hinting at.

You smiled, turning around to face him, you pulled him to an embrace. “I’m sorry. I trust you, Hei. I just let my curiosity get the best of me.”

He reciprocates the hug, your head resting on the crook of his neck, “No, I’m sorry. I don’t want you overthinking because of my actions, sweetheart.” He says softly, his fingers carding through your hair. “Next time, please tell me when something’s troubling you.”

You nod as you leaned to his touch, the warmth of his affections already making you forget what just transpired.

“You’re not off the hook though,” He pulls away slightly to take a look at your face. “I sentence you to a full day cuddle.. and I’ll let you look through my phone more.”

. 𐙚 . ˙ 𖧧 ₊ ˚KAZUHAᝰ.ᐟ

What’s there to doubt about this man? Even if you dissect him, you won’t even find a single flaw. It’s like the archons used their entire blessings to create the perfect being, and your luck must be out of this world to be his significant other.

But maybe that’s why you’re having doubts. He’s too good for you, at least that’s what your mind is telling you. The fear that Kazuha might find someone better.. it’s not an uncommon thought that lingers in your mind. Now that you’re alone, your eyes are glued to Kazuha’s phone. It’s just laying on the nightstand, calling your name.

Just five minutes—that’s all you need, after that, you’ll stop this nonsense and never look through his phone again. You’ve convinced yourself enough and finally took his phone.

The first you notice is the matching wallpapers you two have set—you holding your phone taking a photo of him, and the other point of view would be your lockscreen. Not only that, but his password is your full birthday. That should’ve been enough for you to put the phone down and join your boyfriend outside, yet you didn’t.

To no avail, you found nothing to support your distressful thoughts. Guilt washes your mind after seeing the contents of Kazuha’s phone. But hey, at least you were no longer overthinking—isn’t that a good thing?

Not really, especially not when Kazuha stood by the doorway, catching you in the act before you could put away his phone. The two of you locked eyes for moment until you looked away as he approached you.

“Dearest, what are you doing with my phone?” Kazuha says in a gentle manner as he sat down on the bed beside you. You don’t answer, afraid of what he’ll think once he found out about the truth.

Suddenly, you feel his hand on top of yours. “It’s okay, you can tell me,” He coaxed, voice as gentle as his touch. You sigh, meeting his gaze once more as you prepare to explain yourself.

“I’ve been scared lately,” You prompt, the words feeling much harder to let out than it’s supposed to be. “Scared that you’ll see me the way I see myself—that I’m not enough for you.” Tears start to prick out in the corner of your eyes but you blink it away as a lump forms in your throat.

Kazuha takes your hand, your fingers intertwining together like it was made for each other. “You’ve never been anything less than enough,” he says firmly before pausing, choosing his next words carefully. “You may not see it, but to me, you are the anchor that keeps me steady amidst the tides. I’ve written countless poems trying to capture your beauty, your kindness, your strength—but none of them do you justice.”

His free hand comes up to your cheek, wiping the tears that you didn’t realize began to fall. “Please don’t carry these doubts alone. I’m here, for everything—your fears, your insecurities, and all the things you think makes you unlovable,” He murmured, pulling you closer until your foreheads are pressed against each other.

You nod, closing your eyes to let the tears fall down on its own. “Okay. I’m sorry for doubting you,” You breathed, the heavy feelings in your chest finally wearing off after a long time of carrying them.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Kazuha smiles, his thumb caressing your cheek. “But if you ever feel this way again, talk to me. Trust me to help shoulder these fears next time.”

. 𐙚 . ˙ 𖧧 ₊ ˚KINICHᝰ.ᐟ

Having a romantic relationship with Kinich isn’t what most people would think. It might seem like you’d spend your days chasing after him, waiting endlessly for scraps of attention while he remained cool and aloof. Many would assume he’s the type to keep you at arm’s length, making you endure his detached demeanor and patient silences as though his affection was a prize to be earned.

Well, it’s actually quite the opposite. Kinich values your time as much as he values his own, which is why he makes sure to finish the job quickly and efficiently to spend quality time with you. He’s the one quietly chasing after time itself, ensuring there’s always enough of it for you. Kinich treats you in a way that people would describe as “prince/princess treatment.” You are his top priority and he isn’t afraid to show it, not that other people’s opinion matters to him anyway.

While there’s no actual downside to being in a relationship with Kinich, the only thing that stirs unease is his job—or rather, the people he encounters because of it. As his work often brings contact with others, it’s hard not to let your thoughts wander. Kinich may show unwavering loyalty but you know how people are; they’re unpredictable. You can’t always know their intention thus, allowing your insecurities to take hold of your rationality.

As he excuses himself for the day, your gaze drops to his phone, left forgotten by the counter. Your rationality starts disappearing—one quick look wouldn’t hurt, right? Just to soothe your worries, and it’s not like he’ll find out.

Before you could second guess yourself any longer, you reached for his phone and unlocked it. Kinich’s phone requires a fingerprint to open but he has yours registered as well, so surely there wouldn’t be anything bad in there?

Just as you hoped for, you found nothing to support your earlier worries. However, it seems like you’ve used up all your luck as you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. Kinich had spotted you right before you could put his phone back to its original place and pretend nothing had ever happened. Your eyes widened and scrambled to put the phone away as your boyfriend stepped closer.

“What were you doing with my phone, sol?” Kinich asks, putting one hand on the counter as if to corner you. You looked away, contemplating whether to deny any accusation or just simply tell the truth. His finger taps on the surface rhythmically as if he’s counting each second your silence lasts, you can feel his eyes glued to your face even when you’re looking away.

Mustering up the confidence, you finally turn to him, “Okay. Look, I just wanted to look through your phone because.. I’ve been overthinking lately. When I saw your phone I was really, really tempted to look through it.” Your words hung heavy in the air, Kinich studying your expression after your answer.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No! I mean, no.. I didn’t find anything..”

Kinich pulled you by the waist, the sudden action catching you off guard once the distance decreased between the two of you. “Exactly, there was nothing to find in the first place,” he spoke calmly, his eyes holding steady contact with yours.

“I don’t want to give you any reason to doubt me,” Kinich continues, the reassurance rolling off his tongue like he knows exactly just what to say. “But I’d rather you tell me what’s bothering you than act on it like this.”

The man has a point, if snooping through his stuff becomes a habit, it’ll influence you to never communicate with him properly. You sighed, realizing the flaws of your actions. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Kinich’s gaze softens as he gives you a reassuring smile, “I understand why you felt the need to do it—but please trust me.” He gives a chaste kiss to your forehead before muttering, “And I’ll make sure there’s never a reason for you to question it again.”

. 𐙚 . ˙ 𖧧 ₊ ˚VENTIᝰ.ᐟ

Venti has always been the playful lover throughout your entire relationship, it was never a big deal for you whenever he would go out and mess around with other people. Not even when he’s drinking, you almost found it adorable when he turns to a handful all because of his drunken haze. He made sure he kept that habit in moderation to avoid letting it get away in the relationship.

However, the mind is a stubborn place. As months passed by, you grew afraid of what might transpire when Venti’s not in the right state. You know what they say, drunk words are sober thoughts—maybe you just haven’t heard it because he’s said it to someone else. You fought and fought these thoughts until you found yourself with your lover’s phone in hand, because who knows? Maybe he’s already drunk texted someone while you’re unaware.

The thought is temporarily dispersed once you see yourself in his wallpaper—a picture of you, deep asleep in your shared bed. You smiled, but you can’t let a simple picture like that distract you. As you swipe through his phone, a passcode blocks you. Quickly, you attempted whichever comes to mind—his birthday, your birthday, yet none of it worked. But you know what did? The date of your anniversary.

Maybe this was a bad idea, but the phone’s unlocked now, so might as well carry on.

In all honesty, you felt like you got played in the most unexpected ways. His phone was full of ridiculous information that had no connection to your previous motiv. At least your curiosity was satiated.

“What you got there?” Venti beamed beside you, his voice startling you. Where did he come from?! Actually, how did you not even hear this man come into your room? Nevermind that, you’ve been caught red handed, his phone still clutched to your hand—even harder now that you almost let go of it from the fright.

“Venti! What are you– nevermind, I’m not even gonna ask,” You surrendered just as immediately, giving back his phone. Your face flushed from embarrassment, your boyfriend having the instincts of a cat despite being allergic to them.

Venti chuckled but pushed his phone to you. “You know, if you wanted to look, you could’ve just asked,” He says, wrapping his arms around your neck pulling you close until his head is leaning on your shoulder. “I have nothing to hide from you, windblume,” he whispers.

Your gaze softens from the unasked reassurance—the fact he can play around and set your mind at ease makes you remember why you fell in love with him in the first place. “I know that now. I’m sorry, dear,” you gently pulled him closer until the two of you were flushed against each other.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, but honestly? You almost forgot about it all because of the contact. Still, you know Venti would just bug the hell out of you if you try to brush this off.

“Let’s talk about it later, I just wanna cuddle for now.”

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen.”

. 𐙚 . ˙ 𖧧 ₊ ˚XIAOᝰ.ᐟ

During your anniversary, you gave Xiao a present—a phone, something he deemed useless but accepted either way. You didn’t mind at first, knowing it’ll take time for him to adjust with the advanced cellular device. It almost became a habit for you to daydream about the texts you’d someday receive from him—the constant typos, accidental calls, blurred images. Even if Xiao wasn’t one to talk so much, you know his inexperience with technology would give a good laugh.

Those wishful thoughts only lasted for a while, of course. Every once in a while, you’d see Xiao fumbling with the phone you’ve given him. You thought that maybe this is it, you’ll finally receive a few texts from him—but you never did. Your worries increased when your boyfriend’s attention was almost glued to the device. If he wasn’t using it to text you or maybe even show you what he learned, what else could he be doing?

There’s one thing you’ve noticed though. Xiao never brings his phone whenever he’s doing his duties. It occured to you that this may be an opportunity to sneak a glance and find out what he’s been up to with his phone.

Once you’ve gotten your hands on his cellular device, you went straight ahead with unlocking it—only thing is there’s no lock. You almost forgot Xiao isn’t that well versed with the mechanics of his phone, still, with the amount of time he’s usually focused with it? You’d think he already figured that out. Nonetheless, at least you don’t have to think of whatever passcode he might’ve come up with.

As you’ve opened his phone, you’re met with something shocking. His wallpaper is your picture. Are you actually seeing this correctly? How did he even get a hold of that? But then again, it doesn’t even look like you were aware that you were getting your picture taken that time. Xiao must’ve gotten this himself personally.

You almost went crazy with how little stuff there is to find in Xiao’s phone, except his photos. That was probably the only productive app in his phone, but other than that, absolutely nothing.

As you’re about to end your search for whatever you’re looking for, you noticed a figure standing in front of you just right behind the phone you’re holding. Looking up, you see Xiao.

“Oh my god!” You yelped, leaning back on the seat as Xiao’s appearance startled the hell out of you. “What were you doing just standing there?” You sighed exasperatedly, calming down the fast beating of your heart.

“You seemed engrossed with my device,” he says plainly though his eyes sparked curiousity. “Why do you have it?”

“I was checking something..” You mumbled, giving it back to him reluctantly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken it without your permission.”

Xiao took the phone from you and paused. “Checking what exactly?” He turned off the device and sat beside you. He studied your expression—the way your eyes looked away, how you’d bite your bottom lip from nervousness.

“Were you thinking I’m being disloyal?” His question was so blunt, it felt like a punch. How could you even answer that? You didn’t even need to tell him anything yet he already knew.

“No, no! Not at all!” You quickly scrambled, not wanting him to think of the wrong thing. The wrong thing? Even you don’t know what that is now. “I was just.. conflicted. You never focused too much on your phone, so when I saw that, I felt.. bothered.”

Xiao visibly frowned at that, his eyes softening at your explanation, “You should’ve told me. Share your troubles with me, let me help you ease your mind.”

He gently took your hands in his, intertwining your fingers together. His eyes met yours, a rare warmth softening his typically stoic expression, melting away the worries that had been building in your chest. “And to tell you the truth…” he started, his voice quieter now, almost shy, “I’ve only been focusing on that device because I wanted to learn more about it.”

That much was obvious now, considering his wallpaper was a candid photo of you that you didn’t even know existed. “I’m aware of that now… I’m sorry for invading your privacy, Xiao,” you said softly, guilt evident in your tone.

Xiao shook his head slightly. “I know why you did,” he replied. “But do ask next time.” A gentle smile appeared on his face. “I’ll let you have it anytime you want.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his response, the tension between you both easing. “I don’t think I will,” you teased lightly, “unless it’s to teach you more about it.”

. 𐙚 . ˙ 𖧧 ₊ ˚WANDERERᝰ.ᐟ

It was actually unexpected for you to see Wanderer using his own phone. He’d often say he isn’t interested in it but then see him playing random games you wouldn’t find entertaining—but to each themselves, right?

That’s where the problem starts; the fact that Wanderer is pretty secretive with his own device causes you to rouse up different possibilities. Is he talking to someone else there? Maybe he got photos of other girls? Otherwise, why else would he deny you of taking a peek through his phone?

Since your stubborn resolve wouldn’t back down, you decided to take a quick detour around the few apps he has downloaded. However, Wanderer’s device required a face recognition to unlock. Being the genius that you are, you angled the phone to a picture you have of Wanderer.

It worked, obviously, not like that man changes his appearance everyday. Once the phone opened, a picture of you and Wanderer appeared, just the two of you goofing around. Maybe this is why he didn’t want you seeing his phone.

“Enjoying yourself there?” Wanderer’s voice rang out behind you, his voice laced with amusement. You couldn’t even celebrate after finding nothing, already caught by your boyfriend who’s leaning on the doorway with his arms crossed.

You turned around to meet him, imitating his pose. “You looked through every app, didn’t you?” He grinned, walking right up to you.

“Of course I looked,” you didn’t even deny it, you’re already caught in the act anyway. “You’re so secretive about your phone, it’s like a holy grail or something!” You rolled your eyes.

Wanderer hummed, amused at how you’re being truthful. “Did you find something scandalous then?” He teased, clearly just to get under your skin. “A hidden lover perhaps?”

You bit your lip, caught off guard. “I–well–no, not really,” you stammered, recalling the endless items that pointed to you. “But why hide all of that from me?”

He sighed and plucked the device from your hands. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal?” you echoed, frowning as you crossed your arms. “You’ve been acting so secretive about it, how was I supposed to know it wasn’t something shady? You made it seem like you were hiding a dark secret or something.”

Wanderer tilted his head, his expression equal parts amused and exasperated. “A dark secret? You really thought I’d have the energy to maintain something like that?”

He looks at his phone for a moment then back to you. “I hope you enjoyed yourself, though—digging through my phone, desperately trying to find something worth fussing over,” he drawled, his lips curling into a smirk. “Only to realize it’s just you. Everywhere.”

You scoffed, your eyes narrowing down at his smug expression. “Well, maybe if you didn’t act so suspicious, I wouldn’t have felt the need to check.”

His smirk widened as he leaned back slightly, arms crossing over his chest. “But at least now you know what I’ve been ‘hiding.’ Satisfied?”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “For now. But next time, just let me look, okay?”

“Next time, try trusting me,” he shot back, though there was no bite to his words.

“Trust goes both ways, Wanderer,” you said, raising a brow.

“That’s ironic,” he conceded, shaking his head with a small laugh. “If you pull another stunt like this, I might increase the security of my phone.”

“Like that’d stop me,” you challenged with a grin.

© kkuzushi | Please do not translate, repost, or plagiarize my work. This work is posted in Tumblr only unless stated otherwise by yours truly.

[mixingandmelting]

Flag Check HC Sabbath Ver.

Summary: type of romantic flag when around their crush

Wooin: Red Flag 🚩 (obviously)

Tends to be extra freaky where he’s wanting to keep all your attention to himself and leave others to think that you two are a package (as that is his ultimate goal)

Unapologetically, vocally flirty and unfiltered when he “bumps” into you when you’re out and about, enjoying all the expressions you make because they’re funny and extremely cute. His favorite so far is flushing from embarrassment and the one filled with dread and annoyance when he gets there and act filthy on spot

Always physically attached to you, walking right beside you where shoulders are brushing, arm either around your shoulders, waist, or arm. Surprisingly does not want to hold hands because he wants to do it when he finally gets to go out with you

Certified social media stalker if you have one, so he’s up to date with the things you like and dislike. Uses the info he collects to get you things when he gives you a heads up for once that’s he’s coming over or inviting you to eat out

He’s possessive and does not like it at all when others get too close to you. When it happens he’s being a jerk, getting under the other person’s skin under the context he’s kidding around when he’s subtly dropping signs. Even better when they’re hot heads and ends up picking a fight against him since they won’t have a chance with you and he has an excuse let out the steam he held back

If they don’t get the hint or chooses to still focus on you, he ends up threatening them to screw off behind your back whether it’s the second you step away for a moment or finding them after you leave

Hyuk: Red Flag 🚩(literally are we going to forget what happened in chapters 502, 506-508? When Wooin says once he's interested in someone no one can stop him?)

Seems laid-back and listless but actually the quieter and more scheming version of Wooin where he plans to leave the impression you guys are actually going out

Does the “coincidentally” meeting you thing which he ends up accompanying you throughout the whole as if it’s natural and you don’t notice what had just happened until the end

Purposely pushes your buttons and tease you unexpectedly, enjoying your reactions 

It happen when, if you’re the unpredictable type and challenge him with high stakes, usually having to do with loser having to do something for the winner, he’s really chatty from the excitement, his blood pumping from the thrill of competition

Likes to lean his head on your shoulder whenever he’s next to you, standing or sitting down

Also stalks your socials to get information on your current likes or dislikes so he knows what to send/give you given the moment and your mood

Especially with the fact he’s quick to notice how you’re feeling, the gifts he gets you are ones he knows that’ll cheer you up, celebrative, or appreciative. Essentially, all his gifts he gives are sent that are deemed appropriate on the current situation

Someone getting close to you is equivalent to them having a death wish. He acts as the grim reaper where  the other person trips over air in front of you in the most embarrassing way or they suddenly need to head somewhere else after you left them and Hyuk alone to get something

Joker/Hajun: Green Flag 

He is so soft and in love with you where he just wants to be with you in the normal, non-creepy way (cough Hyuk and Wooin)

Always is getting you something no matter the circumstance, whether it’s winning you a stuffed toy from the claw machine or getting you food from take-out or a bakery

Has a habit of petting your head or ruffling your hair whenever he thinks you’re cute or acting endearing. Time-to-time, he would place an apple or his newly-acquired puppy on your head when you’re feeling down

He’s very protective of you where he acts as bodyguard whenever he’s hanging out with you. Includes walking a step behind yet still close so he could react if something were to ever happen while keeping both your front and back safe

Even when he’s working out, playing with the puppy, or doing anything right beside you, his attention is completely towards you, actively listening to everything you’re saying

Helps you out with any manual tasks, especially with any heavy lifting. When he’s helping you with getting groceries, he’s carrying the bags. You’re moving and needing to carry boxes? He’s carrying them and placing them in the vehicle for you

When someone is too close to you, he’s extremely quiet and doesn’t get in between the two of you. It’s not because he’s shy but from holding back where his fists are clenched in his pockets or at his sides yet doesn’t want to do anything that scares you

If the person had ill intentions, he lets loose and ends up beating the crap out of them behind your back. If not, he’s releasing the pent up frustration on the ring so RIP to his opponent on those days

Vinny: Green Flag 

He’s extremely stiff and quiet because he has no experience with having a crush, so he doesn’t know what to do

Contrary to his personality, he is extremely jumpy from being hyper-aware of everything when he’s around you. Your voice, your hair, your very presence that’s right next to him - he’s trying to absorb everything of you and engrave it in his mind that even the birds that innocently chirp are a distraction

It’s also from that when there’s accidental physical touch he freezes on spot, not expecting the feeling of warmth and softness of your skin grazing against his

He acts nonchalant but tries his best to mentally and emotionally support you where if it seems you’re holding back, he encourages you to vent/rant on him with a short-grunt along the lines of telling you to just say what’s in your mind

The gifts he usually gets you are small and are accessories such as keychains, phone charms or something useful with the theme that the mascot on them are ones that reminds him of you the most

If he finds out anything new about you, he keeps a mental note of it and remembers it where there are times he’s the one reminding you of things you need to do 

Someone getting too close to you? He instantly is on the edge, standing afar and brooding silently from inferiority complex working at its max and the fear that he could possibly hurt you from his current state clashes with the complex

He has no problems lashing out on spot if the person makes you uncomfortable despite being in front of you. If it’s not that, he would wait for the conversation to end and leave with you but he’s extremely off and quiet as he wouldn’t know how to act normal nor what to do in general

[creamyhoneycookie]

Trying to review other chapters when Smoked Cheese exists is a bane and a delight all in one. This might be a little rambly... (Also, look up ancient Egyptian gardens! They're lovely.) Anyways this is shameless loving smut! So! 18+ only!

Content Warnings: AFAB Reader, past character death, past reader death, PTSD, consensual hypnosis, semi-public sex, overstimulation, Smoked Cheese is being sweeter than he normally would, multiple orgasms

Smoked Cheese Cookie is a manipulator and a puppeteer. He's gleefully catty, and both sly and powerful enough to know he can get away with it. And with you? He's all that and the most loyal lover one could ask for.

How long ago was it when you first caught his eye? How you walked in the gardens, shaded by the high walls as the water in the pond shone bright in the sun. You were new to the kingdom, and your healing magic was welcome enough that it catapulted you to nobility over time. You had seemed soft at the time, adorned in white and gold across the glittering pond, and softer yet when Golden Cheese Cookie finally introduced you.

Little did he know what a firecracker you were. It was both your kindness, your acceptance and your wit that called him to you- and he had eventually claimed your heart as his own. (A story for another time, perhaps.)

How long ago was it? Now, the Golden Cheese Kingdom is more brilliant than ever, the Radiant Queen granting every wish and whim, and Smoked Cheese Cookie knows the truth of this realm, and yet...

...

It's been a while since he's gotten to dote on you, too- work has him busy, and more monsters are breaking through into the city... He finds you now in an even grander garden in your personal quarters, tending to the flowers. Your eyes are heavy, even as you take in the flowers, and your smile seems a bit tighter when he embraces you from behind. ... Well, that won't do.

"My love... what troubles you?" He asks, as salt and heat will do nothing for you right now.

You lean into him, hesitating, before you speak. "It's nothing serious. I've just been having strange nightmares lately... Ash in the air, the sky dark- strange monsters I've never seen before."

Smoked Cheese Cookie pales as you speak. He knows what you speak of- what he begged the queen to let you forget, so that you could have your rest and live your life in bliss in this constructed world, never having to lift a finger again.

You're not supposed to remember the truth.

It's bad enough he remembers finding your crumbled body, warm jam cooling- that he still sees red splashed against your chest and face, the dull eyes when he closes his own- you shouldn't be dealing with this.

His grip around your waist tightens as he buries his face into the crook of your neck for a moment, breathing shakily before he recomposes himself, moving to your side to better look at you and offer a smile.

"It sounds dreadful. But, my sweet healer, I have ways of healing your own mind and enticing a dreamless sleep. If you will let me?" As he speaks, he holds up his staff, already starting to smoke lightly.

... It sounds nice, actually. To relinquish control completely. Though he tries to give you the life of luxury, you still have your responsibilities as a healer, even if your services aren't needed as often. And the nightmares have been haunting you. After a moment, you press a kiss to his cheek and smile softly.

"For a while. I trust you'll bring me bliss, my beloved... but let me see you come undone with my own eyes."

He can do that. Smoked Cheese Cookie leans down to kiss you, breathing smoke into your lungs while his staff radiates more, filling the room with a soft haze.

Your mind drifts almost immediately, your eyes glazing over pleasantly as you practically melt into his arms. He chuckles softly, brushing some hair out of your face before taking your hands.

"My love, you are far too adorned. Strip for me, but leave your jewelry on," he commands, and you slowly move to comply, slipping your white dress down and letting it drop to your ankles. Your necklace rests on your chest, and your bracelets- wide golden cuffs with crimson red and brilliant turquoise engravings, shine in the light.

Smoked Cheese takes his time, his touch feather-light as he traces your arm, your hips, your breasts. All the while, you look up at him so sweetly, so lost in the fog of his magic and will. Delicious, truly...

"My sweet, you truly are too trusting. Were I anyone else, I might do far worse than bring your weary mind relief..." He muses, but it's all empty words. After a moment, he leans in to kiss your pliant lips, and you submit readily to him. It's nice for a little bit, but truthfully he prefers to kiss you when you're lucid and responsive, fully alert. He could order you to respond, yes, but it'd be sluggish, slow.

This does not stop him from licking his lips as he pulls away again, smoke softly trailing from both your mouth and his.

"Go lay down on the bench, and keep your legs spread for me. I'll be along shortly." He says, pulling back his hood back and letting it fall beside your dress, his shendyt soon following, staff propped against one of the pillars lining the area.

You wait, laid across the long of the bench as he ordered, legs open on either side. Already you're dripping wet, and Smoked Cheese has to take in the sight before he looms over you, fingers gently swiping up your slit. Already you are so wanting... with the smoke's control, he knows you lose yourself far faster, and he adores it. The way you simply open yourself and your lusts to him without a word, all for him to devour.

Greed is the heart of the Golden Kingdom and you? You, in every sense of the word, are his greed.

Smoked Cheese kneels down, somewhat awkwardly around the bench, and presses a kiss to your inner thigh before he bites over the kiss, hard. You gasp with a soft but long moan, but otherwise do not respond. Cute. He bites again, harder, bruising almost. He knows no other cookie will ever see these marks, but they make him happy all the same. His jewel. His healer. His treasure.

"Let it all out, my love- hold nothing back." He says.

And then he descends upon you, tongue diving in immediately. The taste of you is so sweet, so decadent, it could make him addicted. Maybe he already is, with how eager he is to have you beneath him whenever he gets the chance. You lay there still, but sighing softly before moaning as his tongue delves into you, presses against your clit, and back into the folds.

Slowly he works you with his mouth, fingers stroking the folds of you and gently slipping in whenever he switches his attention to your clit, and slowly your back arches- the rare semblance of your will beneath the haze of the smoke- as you gasp and whimper. It's a symphony unbound by your instinctual embarrassment, a treat for him and him alone, just like your taste. As you grow wetter against him, he drinks it in greedily.

He'd keep you forever if he could.

You come on his tongue with a delighted wail, legs quivering around his head, and he groans at the rush of your sweet cream. Smoked Cheese backs away, rubbing his jaw and looking at the sweat of your body, the small pool on the stone beneath you, the flush of your face and the haze still in your eyes.

Sweet thing that you are, you have no idea how enticing you are.

He could take you now in full, but he'd promised to ease your mind, had he not? Wiping his mouth with his wrist, Smoked Cheese leans down and presses a kiss to your temple, before lowering himself to mouth at your breast, his hand trailing back down to the wet slit he'd just been at. As he sucks your nipple, his fingers slip into you again, drawing more sweet noises from you. With the way your voice wavers, you must be sensitive still...

His fingers pump in and out slowly, stroking against your walls as he sucks and fondles your chest, and your eyes well up with overwhelmed tears. He squeezes your breasts, tongues at the nipples and scrapes his teeth against your skin. Every action, every sensation makes you gasp and writhe slightly, like you want to move but are trying so very hard to stay still without his control.

Every sound you make goes straight to his dick, honestly. Even as he tries to work you into coming again, he aches for you. And he's just a man, ultimately. Smoked Cheese pulls away, withdrawing his fingers and repositioning himself between your legs. Slowly, agonizingly so, he pushes into you and moans- as always, you feel heavenly around him.

Your legs twitch around him as you cry out, still so very sensitive. Quietly, he cups your face, wiping away a pleasured tear with his thumb. Oh, his heart...

He braces one hand beside your head against the stone bench, the other gripping the underside of your leg as he begins to rock into you.

"Think only of me. No monsters, no darkness and ash, just of me and my love for you... And know that I- haah- That I love you... I will protect you this time. I swear it. .... Fuck-"

He swallows thickly. The dazed adoration on your face as your moans raise in pitch- you clench around him, much to his delight, and finally you squeeze your eyes closed as more tears spill. He keeps thrusting into you, making you cry out more. If you could speak in this state, you might beg him to slow down and let you recover.

But you're not. And he won't.

"You're mine. My cherished, my treasured, all mine-" He mutters as he presses against you, brushes his lips against your temple. He can't lose you. Never again.

He thrusts into you sharply just as he releases his control of your mind, and suddenly you come into lucidity with your body ablaze, his hips snapping into yours and a loud cry ripping from your lips. Immediately you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, nails digging into his back.

"S-smoooked Cheese... Ohhhhh- Gods, more-" you whine into his shoulder, and he obliges. Were the bench not made of stone, surely the force of his thrusts would move it. His grip on your leg turns bruising, and each thrust disrupts one moan with a new one.

He can feel that familiar heat in his stomach, and with how sensitive your body must be he's sure you won't last another round. Yet all he wants is to keep going, to stay like this for hours.

"Wrap- wrap your legs around me-" he says, and you do as told, ankles locking together as you pull him into a needy, wet kiss. It does little to stifle the noises you're both making, the heat radiating off of your bodies, the tears in your eyes from how much it all is.

Smoked Cheese's hips stutter into a halt as his hot cum spills into you, hip to hip as he moans into your mouth. But before he can even begin to consider his next move, you shift- and now he is on his back on the floor while you bounce on his cock, hands on his stomach.

(Turnabout is fair play.)

Ovens, he can't feel guilty- the sight of you against the dark sky is incredible and as you milk him dry he can only hold onto your legs and pant loudly before you make him release again.

Only then do you stop, leaning down to kiss him as you cup his face.

"Gods above, you ruin me..." he whispers hoarsely, and you smile.

"And I'll do it again. ... Ah, but- perhaps... once we've had a moment- we should go to our chambers? This is no place to rest like this."

He nods, though the thought of one of your servants finding you like this, still mounted on him bare beneath the false sky, draws a pleased rumble from his chest.

Immediately you put your hands on your hips.

"No. We are not doing that to the servants."

Smoked Cheese laughs. "Fine, fine. ... A proper nap sounds wonderful, anyways. Just- give me a moment. Though if you're not going to move I'd be happy to bend you over the bench anyways..."

He gives you a playful, dead serious smile and you make a show of rolling your eyes before slowly lifting yourself off of him, his seed dripping from your folds as you make sure to twist your hips for good measure- minx that you are.

The two of you sluggishly gather your clothes, but as he redresses himself you can't help but wonder... In the grips of his hypnosis, your memories are never clear. But... what was that he had said about protecting you?

... Hm.

[dragoncopper]

Nutmeg Chapter One

TITLE: Nutmeg

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Reader (dom/sub)

SUMMARY: Due to really bad anxiety, you sign up at an agency that matches you with a dominant partner. 

WARNINGS: 18+ DOM/SUB. No sex in this chapter. Anxiety, meeting each other, rule discussion. (Let me know if I need to add something)

WORD COUNT: 2814

Nutmeg MASTERPOST | Chapter 2

@chey-h

You follow the instructions printed on a red piece of cardboard down halls and up stairs.  The twisting feeling inside your gut makes you feel nauseous and shaky and while your whole brain is telling you, without uncertainty, that this was a stupid idea, you keep walking.

You reach the door with the black number 36 painted on it and take a deep breath, before you take the key you were given and unlock it. 

You place the key on the small table right by the door as per instructions.

Before you step fully into the room, you look around.  The room is surprisingly normal, in fact there was not a single indication of the room’s intent.  It could be mistaken for a boring old hotel room, easily.  You take a few steps while taking stock of your surroundings further.  There was a large bed with white sheets and red accent colours present in the decorative cushions and extra blanket placed at the end of the bed.  The curtains were a deep red and seemed to be made of a heavy, thick material.  The carpet was thick and lush, a cream colour.

You take off your shoes.  It was one of the instructions.  It also would have made you uncomfortable walking on a carpet that colour with shoes on.

There is one door, you walk over to confirm that it is a bathroom.  Also red and white. 

 You shake the cardboard still in your hand in nervousness, then read the instructions further. 

The blanket at the end of the bed had to be thrown open across the carpet in the open space in the room.  After that you remove your jacket and jeans.  The only items of clothing you were allowed were panties, a bra and a plain black vest.  You untie your hair.  You put your clothes in the bag you brought along and leave it near the door.

After that, you had to find a blindfold that was left on one of the white pillows.  A simple mask that covered your eyes and went around your head with an elastic, almost like a sleeping mask. 

You were to sit on the middle of the red blanket on the floor with the blindfold in place.

Once you are seated, it only takes a few minutes for the shakiness to come back.  If you had something to do, you were distracted.  But now you were just sitting.  Alone.  Waiting.

You can feel your heart beating and there was a sense of tightness and dread that was filling your chest.  This was a mistake.  A crazy mistake.  Yet, you did not get up to leave.  You were free to.  But you stayed right where you were.

While you wait, you think of the extensive process you had to go through to get to this point.  An enormous rabbit hole led you to the agency that pairs you up with an ideal ‘partner’. 

First there was a lot of privacy paperwork – no photos, no digging, no posts on the internet – any violation will end the contract you signed immediately, and if it was taken too far could result in legal action.  You were happy with this; you valued your privacy also.

Secondly, all-embracing forms filled in about your personality, preferences, limits, experience.  All of this to the point where just filling in the forms felt too personal.  But you submitted these forms anyway.

Photos were taken of you (strictly for office use).  You had to pass a medical exam.  You had to hand in a shirt you have slept in for three nights. 

After weeks of waiting, you received an envelope via courier.  Inside were two profiles for you to review.  The agency matched you with candidates based on all your information, someone they are sure you would have the most success with.  Out of the matches, candidates then may choose for themselves.  The two profiles you received were of two people who chose you – now you had to pick. 

This was a very attractive feature to you.  Everyone was willing, everyone had a choice, everyone knew what they were walking into.  Everyone had the option to terminate the agreement at any time for any reason.  This was why the first meeting had to take place at the agency itself.  To ensure both parties’ safety, for neutrality and to make termination, should someone choose it, easy and controlled.

You were confident in your choice.  So why were you finding it so difficult to inhale?

You hold your breath when you hear the door open.  You hear nothing but the door, how it clicks closed and then the key in the lock.  The key being placed back on the table.

Soft footsteps coming closer, the rustling of someone’s weight on the bed.  Oh shit.

You felt scared, exposed and nervous.

‘You followed the instructions well.’ 

You let out the breath when you hear the deep voice, the words spoken very softly and calmly.  You decide not to respond. 

‘You are nervous.’  It’s not a question.  ‘I can see your hands shake.’

You fold your hands together, trying to stop the shaking.

‘It’s alright to be nervous,’ he continues.  ‘You don’t have to hide it from me.’

In response you relax your hands, or try to.

‘Hmm, let’s take a moment before we go through the preliminaries.’ 

You hear him move and you think he might be sitting on the floor in front of you, but you are not sure. 

‘I want you to sit up straight,’ he waits until you do so.  ‘Place your hands on your knees, palms up,’ he waits.  ‘And now, you are going to breathe.  Listen carefully.  Breathe in slowly through your nose and hold it a little, then breathe out through your mouth.  As slowly as you can.’

You swallow thickly through the nerves, and then you do as you were told.  As you inhale as deeply as you can, you hear him breathe with you.  He follows your lead and lets you set the pace.  Breath after breath you feel your brain calm down, your muscles relax a little. 

‘Good,’ he comments.  ‘Keep going.  You’re doing well.’

It grounds you, the combination of the extra oxygen and his reassuring voice.  You keep breathing.  Through the inhales and exhales you tell yourself that it’s okay, that you are safe, that you made this decision for a reason.  You’re okay.

‘Alright,’ he breaks the silence.  ‘I’m going to go through the guidelines provided by the agency with you.  If you feel nervous again, you just start the breathing again.  Do you understand?’

You nod.

‘Please answer out loud,’ he instructs quietly.

‘I understand,’ you say and your own voice sounds strange to you.

‘Good,’ he says and then he takes his time before he speaks again.  ‘There aren’t many, but it’s important we discuss them thoroughly.’

You sit in the silence and wonder whether you were supposed to answer or acknowledge, but he does not prompt you, so you keep quiet.

‘Participants are encouraged to keep personal details private until both parties explicitly agree to the sharing of details,’ he reads it slowly and clearly.  ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ you respond.

‘For now, this stays in place for both our safety.  Do you agree?’

‘I do.’

‘We will contact each other through the agency app for now.  However, we need something to call each other.  We do not know names, and I think we keep it like that.’

You nod, and then say, ‘Okay.’

‘Do you have a preference?’ he asks.

You think for a moment, and nothing comes to mind.  ‘No.’

‘Alright, I actually mostly prefer real names, but for now let’s do ‘N’ for me.  Is that fine with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And I’ve thought maybe ‘Peach’ for you?  It’s cute, not too personal and not degrading.  Is that alright?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s important that you tell me if you do not agree,’ his tone of voice stays calm. 

‘I’m fine with everything you’ve said so far,’ you answer.

‘Alright.  Good.’  You hear the scratching of a pen on paper.  ‘Next one.  Participants are encouraged to discuss a safe word before any proceedings.  Further rules about safe words should be agreed upon beforehand.  Clarity on both sides are very important.’  You hear him shift a little bit.  ‘You were instructed to have a safe word ready.  Have you chosen one?’

‘Yes, it’s nutmeg.’

‘Good,’ he says and you hear him writing.  ‘A safe word means a hard stop.  Absolutely everything stops immediately.  Is that fine with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Some people have a lot of other methods, but I like to keep things simple.  With the exception of the safe word, I am happy with you just telling me what you need,’ he says all of this slowly.  ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you repeat it back to me, so I am sure you understand?’ he asks.

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly.  ‘I can tell you what I need, we don’t need a code.  But the safe word is a hard stop.’

‘Good,’ he says.  ‘Do you understand then how important it is that you are honest with me about your needs?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you understand that you will have to speak up to let me know about your needs, even if I don’t ask?’

‘Yes,’ you nod along to try and make sure he knows you understand. 

‘Good.  Are you still doing alright?’  he asks, slight concern there.

‘Yes.’

‘You see, I don’t think you are being honest.  Your hands are beginning to shake again.’

You hear him move again and you have a moment of fear shoot through you.  You do not say anything.

‘Hey,’ he whispers.  ‘It’s alright.  Let’s breathe again.  Come on, deep, slow breaths.’

You do it, but your breath shakes a little. 

‘There you go, you are doing a good job.  Keep going.’

You feel your heart rate slow down again, and it feels like you are back in your body again. 

‘Keep breathing while you listen, please,’ he waits for you to take two more breaths.  ‘You have to answer honestly when I ask you a question.  So, take a moment before you answer.  I can’t take care of you if I don’t know what’s going on.  Do you understand?’

His voice remained so calm.  You nod through the breathing.

‘I know we don’t know each other, but you do not have to be afraid of me.  I will not do something you do not consent to.  Is that clear?’

‘Yes.’ 

‘Alright,’ you hear him take a deep breath with you.  ‘Ready for the next one?’

You nod, and you keep breathing.

‘Participants are encouraged to communicate clearly about all the rules before any acts begin.  This communication should ideally happen before every interaction.’ 

Your breathing starts to slow down as you are less anxious.  You wait for him to continue.

‘This goes for both of us,’ he says.  ‘Anything the other one must know, like if you are not feeling well, or are in any pain, you know, something like that.  Your mental state at the time.  I will tell you about anything you need to know.  We will also discuss any expectations and anything else that is applicable to the moment.  It’s difficult to be very precise with this one, but the gist is clear and honest communication.  Are you fine with this?’

‘I am,’ you answer, and again he writes something down.

‘They have a list of example rules here,’ he says and you hear paper shuffling.  ‘I don’t think we need to go through all of them.  I will give you the list and you can go through it and let me know if there’s anything that appeals to you.  But for now, I don’t want to complicate things.’

 ‘Thank you,’ you say this and then realise how much you meant it. 

You hear him get up and walk across the room to the door.  ‘I am leaving the list here on the table.’  He walks back towards you.  ‘Alright, I think we can start.’

You immediately take a deep breath again and start the exercise.

‘Good girl, do the breathing whenever you need it.  But there’s nothing to be scared of.  The only time I am going to touch you is now, when I offer you a hand to help you up.  I want you to lay on the bed, please.’

You lift a hand, and he takes it and then he steadies you as you stand.  He guides you towards the bed.  ‘You can sit there,’ he waits.  ‘Now climb on the bed and lay down anywhere you feel comfortable.’

It was very disorienting, but you take your time scooting backwards and you eased yourself down.  You keep breathing.

‘You may tell me anything at any time you want.  Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well done,’ you hear a slight smile in his voice.  ‘You’ve indicated on your paperwork that you struggle with anxiety a lot.  Is that so?’

‘Yes,’ you say.  You wonder if he is just standing next to the bed. 

‘It must have been scary coming here today then.  Actually following through?’

‘Very scary,’

‘I’m glad you did,’ he pauses a moment.  ‘We are just going to do some relaxation tonight.  I want you to ask me if there’s anything about this arrangement that is making you anxious.’

‘I will.’

‘Right, please start by relaxing your legs, you are keeping them clenched together.  Keep breathing.’

You let go of the tension in your legs.

‘What made you choose me?’ he asks.  The question caught you by surprise.  ‘There is no reason to worry, I just want to understand.’

You remember your instruction to be honest.  ‘It said you were soft-spoken.’

‘Oh,’ he reacts and you wonder whether that had been as strange thing to say.  ‘Now concentrate on relaxing your shoulders, please.’

You try, you kind of roll your shoulders and just get the muscles to let go.  You also pay attention to your legs that have tensed up again. 

‘Is it difficult?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ you keep trying.

‘Your jaw?  Try to relax that also,’ he adds more to your to do list.   

He waits a little bit, giving you a moment to achieve what he asked for, but you were really having a hard time, like your muscles just wouldn’t listen to your brain.  Once you’ve managed to get your shoulders dropped, your jaw was tense again and it kept cycling like this.

‘You are having trouble, aren’t you?  I think I am going give you some homework.  I want you to do the breathing exercise during this coming week whenever you feel the need, and then I want you to write down where it happened and if you know, why it happened.’

“I can do that,’ you say.

‘If you are in a position where you have to wait before you can do it, you do it as soon as you are able.  I want both of us to understand your anxiety better,’ he sounds like he is thinking deeply about this.  ‘Now, I want you to tell me about at least one thing about this situation that makes you anxious.’

‘Making me anxious right now?’ you ask for clarification.

‘Yeah,’ he replies.

‘The list by the door,’ you answer quite quickly.  ‘I don’t want to look at it.’

He takes a moment before he says.  ‘That’s not a problem, I’ll take it away.  Can you tell me why?’

‘I want you to choose,’ you say quietly.

‘Aaah, I get it,’ he takes a deep breath himself.  ‘I should have known that.  Thank you for being honest.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, don’t apologise.  I need honesty remember?  You did good,’ you hear him get up and you presume he is taking the paper away.  ‘One more thing for homework; I want you to tell me next time one thing you require from me physically.’

You feel yourself blush.

‘We are going to explore a lot.  But I want to make sure I start in the right place,’ he explains.

‘I understand.’

‘I want you to communicate with me on the app if there’s anything urgent I need to know.  However, it is not your job to initiate a conversation or anything like that.  You should not feel any anxiety about it at all.  Am I clear?’

‘You are,’ you answer him.

‘Good, now you are going to try and relax as much as possible, fall asleep if you have to.  There is an alarm that will wake you when the time is up.  I am going to sit here and breathe with you.  I will leave five minutes before the alarm, I’ll be as quiet as I can.’

‘I’ll try,’ you nod.

‘I think we are going to work well together, Peach.’

Chapter 2

[2tcs]

Day 3: reunions after a long time and rain

“Hay Bruce?” Duke asked as he walked out of the locker room. It was the end of his shift, thank god, so everyone was getting ready for the night shift.

“What's going on chum?”

“My cousin is coming to Gotham for a senior field trip thing next week to visit Gotham U and I was wondering if he and his friends can stay at the manor so they don’t have to pay for a hotel.”

“We’ll have to run a background check on them” “Already done!” Duke interrupted Bruce and jumped around him to get to the batcomputer to open up the files.

“Hmm. You really want your cousin to visit huh.” Bruce said as he scanned through the files.

“Ya. I haven’t seen him in ages and even though we text it’s not the same as an in-person visit. And Gotham isn’t safe for tourists so, manor.”

“Mhm, Duke?”

“Yes, Bruce?”

“Why are his and his friends' hometown labeled as unconfirmed?”

“Well, that may be one of the reasons I thought it would be a good idea for everyone to meet them? I know Tucker lives in Amity Park, Illinois. I’ve even visited him there when we were kids. But when I tried to look it up for the background check I couldn’t find it. It’s like it never existed. When I tried to ask him about it he kinda dodged my question and changed the subject. Like he was nervous about someone overhearing.”

“Alright. I’ll inform Tim about their hometown and see if he can find out what’s going on. Make sure you tell Alfried that we are having guests.”

“Thank you so much Bruce! I’ll go tell Alfried right now. Night!” Duke yelled as he ran to the elevator.

👻🦇👻🦇

“Tucker! Over here!” Duke yelled as Tucker and his friends got off the bus.

“Duke! It’s good to see you! How have you been?” Tucker said as he ran up to Duke and gave him a side hug while using his free hand to point. “This is Danny and Sam. Danny, Sam. This is my cousin Duke.”

“It’s nice to meet you guys. Tucker’s told me a lot about you two.” Duke said as he accepted handshakes from Sam then Danny.

“It’s nice to meet you too Duke. Hopefully, Tucker has told you only the worst of things about us.” Sam joked.

“Of course. Hay, did you really switch out all the frogs in your freshman biology class with robot frogs?”

“Don’t remind me. Those things were so creepy. They talked to you as you cut them open.” Danny said with a disgusted face.

“It was more humane than dissecting living animals.” Sam defended herself.

“Wait. The frogs were alive? Tucker! Why was your school using living frogs instead of cadaver frogs?” Duke asked in shock.

“I got no clue man. Anyways, do we need to call a cab to get to your place? Cause I’m not walking in this downpour.” Tucker said while looking around.

“Hold on right there Mr Foley. You all need to sign these forms so we can get ahold of you in case of an emergency.” Mr Lancer said as he walked up to the group with several papers. “And I would also like to speak to your guardian before my students leave so I know they are in safe hands.”

“Ahem. I’m afraid Master Wayne is occupied with work right now but I am his butler, Alfred Pennyworth and I am in charge of taking care of all the needs of the Wayne family and their guests. If need be here is the main phone number for the manor as well as the address. Is there anything else I can do to ensure you of your students’ safety?” Alfred said as he seemingly appeared out of thin air and handed Mr Lancer a business card with the aforementioned information written on the back.

“Thank you for this Mr Pennyworth. My name is Lenard Lancer. As the vice principal of Casper High School, I have a duty to the students of our school. So I will still need these three to fill out these forms before they leave.”

“Of course Mr Lancer. I fully understand. Now if you all would please finish with the paperwork, we can load into the car and get out of this dreadful weather.” Alfred said watching as Danny, Sam, and Tucker traded off on using each other's backs to fill out the forms and hand them back to Mr Lancer.

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Until I Found You [Teaser]

Pairing: prince!Yeosang x princess!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Summary: It had been a while since Lady Park's firm rejection, and the fourth prince was beginning to believe he would never get over her. Though the heartbreak had made him more mature, one thing remained unchanged: his stubborn reluctance to marry. Convinced he would never find someone who could understand his pain as deeply as the general's wife, he was unprepared for the surprise life had in store for him—one that came in the form of a foreign princess.

Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 1

"Look at me, princess. This is not a question, it's an order," your father, the King of Ruhon, commanded, his gaze steely and unyielding despite your tear-filled eyes. You were bewildered; you were merely the daughter of a concubine. It was usually only princesses born from the Queen who had to marry for the nation's sake.

"But Father—" you fell to your knees, prepared to beg for mercy.

He snarled, "No buts! Your sisters are too young for this. Her Majesty and I have deliberated long and hard. You're the only one fit for the task. You'll do well to make your mother proud. I know you're upset about leaving her behind, but you're a princess, and you know what that means. Your sacrifice will save Ruhon…"

Yes, from your reckless decisions.

If only he hadn't rashly launched a sudden attack on Joseon, none of this would have happened. Peace would have prevailed, and you wouldn't have to be offered as a pawn in the war he instigated. You weren't stupid; he was giving you up because this was a deal with the enemy. The Queen's daughters were too precious to be sent away.

"Oh, come now, my daughter. Just be grateful you aren't marrying the dreadful fourth prince of Joseon. I'm sure their ruler still has some conscience. You'll be fine."

Easy for you to say, Father...

Surprise! We're finally here~ the moment you've all been waiting for HAHA I know Yeosang's spinoff is one of the most highly anticipated ones. It's also one of my personal favourites, so I'm super excited to share this story with all of you lovelies!

Like always, I'll try my hardest to get the first part out as soon as I can! And as usual, let me know your thoughts on the concept! <3

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[nyoomfruits]

osctober day five

prompt: teacher pairing: charles/oscar word count: 900

“Seriously, Ames?” Oscar says, when he rounds the corner and finds her sitting on a chair just outside the classroom.

“It was for love, dad!” Amelia exclaims, jumping up when she sees him. “I can’t just not do it if it is for love.”

Oscar has conflicting opinions on that. It is, sweet, of course. He’s glad Amelia still believes in the concept of love at all, seeing as her own father is so completely shit at it. But like. He really wishes she would stop hosting flashmobs. Or serenades. Or that time she and that boy from her Spanish class that was really good at programming tried to make a matchmaking app.

“Right, yeah,” Oscar says, ruffling her hair. She’s too old for that now, and he knows he only gets away with it because she knows she’s in trouble. “Just. Maybe find a more quiet avenue next time, yeah? How about a good old fashioned love note?”

Amelia’s eyes light up in a way that the unexperienced eye would find adorable, but that fills the person who has been raising her for the past fifteen years mostly with dread. “Yes,” she breathes out, and then grabs for her bag, probably to retrieve a notepad.

“Okay, well, I guess while you go plan your next ‘disruption of a calm learning environment’ I will go speak with Mr. Leclerc yeah?” He says, hand on the doorknob. She barely glances at him and he sighs as he pushes open the door.

“Ah, Mr. Piastri,” Mr. Leclerc says, looking up from his desk with a wide smile. “You made it.”

Oscar thinks, generally, that he would have a much better time coming to the school to talk about his daughter’s behavior if her teacher wasn’t so goddamn pretty. With bright, sparkling eyes, and a lazy smile, and the kind of artfully tousled hair Oscar couldn’t even achieve if he tried.

The horribly baggy pants and oversized button up combo don’t even ruin the look. Somehow it makes him look cool. Oscar hasn’t looked cool since, well. Possibly ever.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Oscar says, sitting down in the chair Mr. Leclerc gestures at. “Again. I don’t know who he has it from.”

“Not you, I presume?” Mr. Leclerc says, eyes twinkling. He doesn’t seem mad, so that’s. Good. Amelia’s previous teacher consistently got their panties in a bunch about the well. Singing. And dancing. And everything.

“No, god no,” he hasn’t tried in a while, but he doesn’t think he could dance. Or sing.

“Her mother, perhaps?” Mr. Leclerc asks, flipping through some folders on his desk.

“Maybe,” Oscar says. “She hasn’t been around for a long time, so. Yeah. I think she mostly gets it from Lando? I mean not the singing and the dancing but this. Need to perform? He’s a DJ, so.”

“Ah, your partner?” Charles asks, looking up at Oscar now, curiously.

“Oh Christ no,” Oscar says, trying not to pull a face, remembers he’s talking to his daughter’s teacher, and schools himself into a more neutral expression. “No, uh. Lando’s just a friend. Of the family. He’s not. He has a boyfriend.”

“Ah,” Charles says. “Alright. Well, I mostly summoned you here because-“

“Because my daughter upheaved your class by performing a perfectly choreographed flashmob to Bruno Mars’s ‘Just The Way You Are’? Yeah, I uh. I heard. And I apologize, again. I’ve been trying to talk to her about it, but it’s-“ he pulls a face. “It’s just me and she’s just uh. Very different and sometimes I just. I don’t really know how to get through to her?”

It’s the most honest he’s been in a while. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly blurting all of this out to Mr. Leclerc of all people. He’s blaming the big sparkly eyes. Stupid eyelashes, too.

“Hm, I can imagine. All parents kind of feel like that when they reach this age, though, don’t worry. No, I was actually wondering if you were aware of our after school theatre program? I think she would do wonderfully in there. If it’s more the dancing she’s into, or the singing, there’s also a dance team and a choir.”

Oscar blinks. Process. He’s so used to hearing Amelia’s teacher admonish her behavior he wasn’t really expecting anyone to. Well. Encourage her.

“Oh,” he says.

“They’re free, school funded programs, if that’s a concern,” Mr. Leclerc continues. “But I do think it might be a nice outlet for her.”

“Yeah,” he says. He knew, vaguely, that there were clubs. But Amelia had never expressed an interest, and he’d been too busy juggling his demanding job and raising a teenager to ever properly look into them and. Yeah. He takes the folder Mr. Leclerc hands him.

“Thak you, Mr. Leclerc,” he says. Mr. Leclerc stands, and so does he.

“No problem. That was all, really. I do some of the musical accompaniments for the theatre and choir programs so if you have any questions feel free to ask.” By the door, Mr. Leclerc takes his hand. Oscar shakes it a little dazedly. “And please. Call me Charles.”

“Oscar,” Oscar says. Charles hands are soft, and his smile is gentle, and his eyes are still so incredibly stupidly sparkly and fuck. Fuck.

“How did it go?” Amelia asks, when he steps back out the door.

‘I think I might be in love with your teacher’, he thinks. “We’re enrolling you into the school’s theatre program,” he says.

[bookyeom]

pairing: vernon x reader word count: 3.7k warnings: angst (she did it y’all!!!!), swearing, kissing, wet!vernon

Author’s Note: this fic is part of the Thirteen Valentines event, but can be read as a standalone! also, i would suggest listening to the song listed below to get a feel for the vibe of the fic, but it’s not necessary. Happy Birthday, Bononie!

kissing in swimming pools by holly humberstone

do you think we were made to last in the coldest of weather? maybe i don’t have to leave so soon you look heavenly in this shade of blue

Vernonie [8:48pm]: finally back from dinner

Vernonie [8:49pm]: everyone’s gone btw, so i’ll come get u now?

Y/N [8:51pm]: yeye! Just text when ur outside 

You hear his car before you see it. 

His parents must have kept his old, beat-up car from high school for when he came back for the summer, you muse, and it makes you smile. You’d spent a lot of time in that car, listening to whatever new indie band Vernon had “discovered” that week, or eating take-out in the department store parking lot after hours, or your personal favourite: with the engine shut off at the lookout Vernon had discovered on his way home from work one day, tucked away from most of the world as the two of you reclined in his car seats and looked at the night sky. 

You used to wonder if it was there that you fell in love with him, but the truth is that you loved him long before he showed up at your door at 1am, eyes wide with excitement over his new discovery, and brought you there in your pajamas. 

You still have the hoodie he’d leant you that night in the closet of your childhood bedroom.

Tonight, you shut the door quietly behind you out of habit, twisting the knob so it doesn’t make a sound. You’re long past the days of sneaking out, but your muscle memory won’t quit. 

It’s been eight months since you last saw Vernon. You only came home for two days at Christmas, claiming you couldn’t take that much time off from your part time job, and had managed to avoid him. You had still needed the space from him, then. December had only marked four months since he’d broken your heart, and you weren’t sure at the time if you’d ever be able to look him in the eye again. 

The months after Christmas break had finally begun to heal you. Your new semester had started, and you had decided to dive headfirst into both academic and social endeavors instead of wallowing away in your dorm room. You’d finally made new friends, your grades had improved, and while it still hurt to see his name when it popped up across your social media platforms, it wasn’t all you thought about anymore.

Right now, you kind of can’t wait to see him.

“Hi,” you say, breathless, and when Vernon meets your eyes, you know you’re not breathless because of the jog from your front door to his car. 

He looks good. His hair is a bit longer, curling at the ends and falling softly across his forehead, and you think his shoulders have filled out. His jaw is just as sharp, eyelashes just as long, and you immediately wonder how you’d gone so long without him. 

“Hi, stranger,” he says, and you’re terrified that the sound of his voice might tear you apart — but it doesn’t. You hold firm, despite the sound of your heartbeat roaring loud in your ears. It hurts, but it’s a dull ache instead of the sharp pain you’re used to. Seeing him sends a wave of relief through you instead of the dread you’d been half expecting, and you can feel the tension in your chest ease just the slightest bit. You can do this. Because it’s Vernon, and because life sucks without him. 

You stare at each other for a few moments, and then he raises an eyebrow as if in a challenge, and you can’t help it. You break into a smile, and then you’re surging across the middle console and pulling him in for a hug. He laughs against your neck, and you know he’s just as happy to see you as you are him. The hand that was on the steering wheel finds your back, and your eyes fall shut. 

“I missed you,” you say honestly, and you swear you can feel him exhale.

“Yeah,” he says before squeezing you tight, once. Brief, but enough for you to feel it, to understand, as he adds, “Me too.”

You pull back. Vernon puts the car into drive as you click on your seatbelt, and you fall into an easy, comfortable silence as he begins to make the familiar way back to his place. 

When you texted him a few weeks ago, your hands trembling but determined, you hadn’t been sure what he would say. You hadn’t spoken in months.

For a while, you didn’t think you’d ever get over the rejection of last August, but a year away at university had done you good. It was full of distractions; you’d even had a couple of flings here and there. Vernon had texted you a bit at first, because you’d insisted that you were fine, but it had hurt to see his name show up on your phone. You had responded slowly, using any and all excuses to explain away the days that passed without you answering. You’d texted sparingly throughout the year on birthdays and holidays, and you knew he watched your stories the same as you watched his. You knew he knew the real reason why you were distant, but he never pushed. After all, he’d broken your heart, not the other way around. 

Eventually, you had recognized that the distance was helping, and conversations between the two of you had become even more sparse after that. It had been hard — one of the hardest things you’d ever had to do — but you’d needed the space. So when his response to your text a few weeks ago had come quickly and enthusiastically, a Vernon-esque “bet :)” in response to your ask to hang out when you got home for the summer, you had been so relieved that you’d cried. Though you’d known he would never hate you, deep down a small part of you had still been afraid that you’d pushed him away for good.  

The silence in the car tonight is comfortable, and you’re grateful. Vernon is tapping in tune to the beat on his steering wheel while you hum along in quiet contentment. After a couple of songs that you recognize play in a row, you turn to him in surprise. 

“Is this the playlist I made you for your birthday two years ago?” 

Vernon simply nods, eyes on the road as he makes a turn. “Yeah.” 

“Oh.”

Vernon laughs. “Am I not supposed to listen to it?”

“Just surprised me, that’s all.”

”Okay, weirdo.” 

The conversation moves on, but you don’t forget about it, even as you pull up to Vernon’s childhood home. 

It looks almost exactly the same. You follow Vernon up the steps and to the front door, through the foyer and to the kitchen where you used to help his mom prep for their summer barbecues. He tosses you a bottle of water wordlessly before he’s slipping out the back door without warning, and you trail behind without question. His peculiar mannerisms don’t faze you, even after all this time apart, and that realization brings you a warm sort of comfort.

As soon as you step through the back door and into the warmth of the summer evening air again, you can’t help but smile. This, too, remains unchanged. The heated pool with its blue and white tiled sides; the metal table with its umbrella, a single tip bent out of shape so that it sags just in one small part; the overgrown trees whose leaves spill over the sides of the wooden fence. You’d spent many days and nights here, too. 

You join Vernon, who’s already sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs hung over the sides. 

“Damn, you didn’t waste any time, Sol.” The nickname falls out before you can stop it. It’s been so long since you’ve been around him, since you’ve even let yourself think of him as anything other than Vernon. If he notices your slip up, he doesn’t say.

”It’s hot out,” he points out, simple. “Why wait?” He takes a swig of his own water bottle, and you’re smiling again.

You join him without further comment. 

Quiet settles between the two of you again, which would be fine if you weren't suddenly itching to ask him a million questions. How was his first year of university? How are his parents, his sister? Is his favourite food still carne asada tacos? Does he still only own t-shirts and jeans? Is he… seeing anyone?

Is he happy?

Had he really missed you?

“I’ll be right back.”

You’re surprised when Vernon gets up, barely missing you with the water he sends splashing as he does. But you don’t question him, your legs swinging back and forth in the water. You watch the underwater lights distort in the ripples you make, distracted by the simple movements and your racing thoughts. When you hear him re-emerge, you turn to find him with two towels in hand. Your eyes widen and you frantically shake your head.

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit, Vernon.” And I am not getting into that pool with you in just my underwear.

He pulls something out from under one of the towels, and you recognize it as one of his favourite band tees that he’s had for years. He raises his eyebrows at you, eyes twinkling in a teasing challenge, and you narrow your eyes at him. The smile on his face briefly sends you reeling back — back to before that night last summer when everything changed. Back to when he was just your best friend who liked to tease you for fun, who brought you your favourite ice cream every movie night, who took you to your high school graduation dance even though you knew he would have rathered gouge his eyes out with a spoon. 

Back to when you were in love with him, but he didn’t know yet. 

“Fine,” you say. “I’ll get in.”

He grins, and your chest does a little flip-flop. You forcefully ignore it as you take the shirt from his outstretched hand. He turns around to give you privacy, and you keep your eyes on his turned back as you remove everything except your underwear and his shirt. Though he’s grown up now and wears things that fit him better — you had noticed the bomber jacket in his backseat, and the t-shirt he’s wearing that fits him just right — he used to love things that were three sizes too big. The old, worn shirt just brushes your thighs, but you don’t have time to think anymore about it when he moves to pull his own shirt up and over his head. 

You watch the muscles in his back contract, and you swallow. Don’t go down this road again, you tell yourself. It’s just going to hurt like hell.

If you’re honest with yourself, you’re starting to wonder if you’d ever really strayed from that path in the first place.

Because when he turns back to you with raised eyebrows and a smile, when he pulls you with him by the hand, it hits you with as much force as the cool water you jump into. And when you resurface and your eyes find him already looking back at you, his hair sticking up every which way and water dripping from his lashes down onto his cheeks, it hits you again.

That you don’t know if there will ever be anyone else for you but him.

You turn away from him, running your hands through your hair, trying desperately to keep your cool. You feel like you’re being punched in the stomach, like that sharp pain you’d felt since last August had never left. You thought you were ready to see him again, and you had been so, so wrong. 

You can feel all those months of mending, of trying desperately to get over your feelings for him so you could have him back in your life — you can feel them as they slip away. 

“I’m sorry,” was all he’d said that night, and your heart had shattered into a thousand pieces. You could tell through blurry eyes that he was hurting, too, because he loved you, you knew he did. Just not like that. He hadn’t said anything else, even though it looked like he wanted to, and you just didn’t understand. You thought for sure that he felt the same, because he’d kissed you back, because you knew him just as well as he knew you. 

And it really felt like you’d healed. Just an hour ago, you’d even been excited to see him again.

You will yourself to breathe.

“Hey. I’m sorry I pulled you in with me.”

You don’t respond.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t answer as his voice breaks through your racing thoughts, your back still turned to him. 

“…Y/N?”

He sounds concerned, like he cares. You know he does — know that he always has. And it hurts.

You can feel the water moving behind you when you still don’t respond. You can feel it as he takes a step or two closer, and you can almost imagine the look on his face as he tries to figure out what he did wrong. You feel like you’ve been burned when he reaches for you, when his hand tries to find your arm to turn you back to him. You can hear his inhale when you flinch away, your skin on fire where his fingertips just barely brushed your shoulder.

He tries again, because he loves you. Because he loves you — but not like that. “Talk to me?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you take a deep breath. You know you have to face him in order to get through this, to leave here in one piece even if it’s by pretending. You have to. You don’t want him to know, don’t want him to know that you’re still the reason you can’t be close to him, that you still love him, that you probably never stopped. 

But when you turn to find him right there, find him so close, when you see that his eyes are full of worry, you can’t find a single word. He looks beautiful in the dim blue light of the pool, and it makes your heart ache.

“Y/N.” Your name is nothing but a whispered breath as he says it, his eyes locked so intently on your face that you suddenly feel warm all over despite the slight chill of the water. His gaze pierces through you, and you watch as it travels across your face, down to your lips, where it lingers. 

You’re not sure you’re breathing, not sure what to do, not sure how to possibly move on from what feels impossible. Why isn’t he moving away? Why is he so close? 

“I…” He tries again, eyes still on your mouth. Then he snaps his gaze up again. “I’m… I’m really happy that you’re here.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “You…”

“I missed you.” He looks hesitant before he says it, but he says it anyway, and your breath catches when you hear the tender, soft tone of his voice. It makes your head spin. “I really missed you. So much.” 

You take a steadying breath at the same time as he does. The air between you feels charged — charged with something you won’t let yourself name.

Then he’s stepping even closer, a hand lifting to your face, and you freeze. You can’t move — you don’t even know if you want to. You’re confused, but you don’t move, and all you can manage to say is a single word.

“Sol,” you caution.

He takes a deep breath in, and then he says, “You haven’t thought about it?” 

His hand is gentle on your jaw, thumb tracing lines back and forth across your skin. You feel goosebumps everywhere he touches. Your eyes search his, trying desperately to understand. You hate that you’re finding him extra hard to read right now — now, when you need to know what he’s thinking more than ever. 

“Thought about what?” Your voice is small, and you hate it.

Vernon’s other hand lifts to your face, tilting your chin up towards him. His eyes search yours as he speaks, his voice low. “Last summer.” He pauses. “Us.”

The words hit you like a truck. 

“What the fuck, Vernon?” You finally manage. You can feel the tears begin to well up, and you pull his hands away from your face. “Don’t you dare.”

He takes a step back, eyebrows knit together. “I’m sorry.”

You stare at him incredulously, frustration bubbling to the surface the longer you look at him. “Don’t be an asshole.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and all you can hear is the water gently hitting against the side of the pool. You frustratedly tuck a lock of wet hair behind your ear before crossing your arms.

“Why would you say that to me?” You’re hurt, and he knows it.

“I just…” He searches your face for a moment before he breathes out, “I think about you all the time. I miss you all the time.”

You can feel angry tears pricking at the back of your eyelids. You blink them away rapidly as you spit out, “You were the one who kissed me back and then pretended like nothing happened. You—“

“Would you have gone?”

You blink when he interrupts you, and it takes you a second to try and understand what he means. You wrack your brain, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. “What?”

“Would you have gone to school there if I had told you I loved you last summer? Or would you have chosen somewhere closer?”

You’re absolutely dumbfounded as you process what he’s saying. You’re blinking away furious tears, mouth agape as you try and settle on something to say. “Was that your fucking choice to make?”

“I was trying to make it easier for you. It’s your dream school.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “What the fuck? I was in love with you, Vernon!”

“I was in love with you, too!”

The silence is deafening. You stare at him with wide eyes, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. You wonder if he can hear it. Then you squeeze your eyes shut, your hands lifting to cover your face as you try and regain your composure. 

“I thought I was doing what was best for the both of us.”

His voice is quiet. You know he’s telling the truth. It hurts, but you know he’s being honest. That he thought he was doing the right thing. 

“I thought that maybe the distance would make it a little easier,” he continues, voice carrying softly across the water in the space between you. “But it didn’t. Not for me.”

Moments pass, and you realize you’re shaking. Your hands stay covering your face as you take deep breaths, waiting until you’ve recovered enough to say, voice low, “I have never been more upset with you than I am right now.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he responds. “I know, and I deserve it. I’m sorry that I made that decision for you. I really am. I shouldn’t have done it.”

You nod after a minute, after you force yourself to breathe, letting your hands fall from your face. You can’t look at him, though, eyes instead focusing on your fingers that begin tracing patterns in the water at your sides. “Okay.”

“And I'm…” He trails off, and you wait. He takes so long that you look up to find him looking at you, waiting, and something in his eyes has you stuck there. He searches your face, and then he says, “I’m sorry that I made you think that I don’t love you back. Because of course I do.” 

Your heartbeat has begun to roar in your ears again. “You do, present tense?”

Vernon freezes, eyes wide. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally settles on something. “Shit. Sorry, fuck, I—”

“Is that a yes?”

He inhales sharply. “Yeah — yes. I don’t expect anything from you, though. I promise I’m not —“

“You are such a fucking idiot.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. “I know. I know. I’m—”

“I spent so long figuring out how to put myself back together,” you say softly, and he cuts himself off. You can feel tears pricking at the back of your eyelids again. “Without you.” 

Vernon’s shoulders sag, and he nods, looking down at the water. “Yeah.” 

Your breath catches before you steady yourself and you say, “It’s literally always been you, Sol. Even though you’re a fucking idiot.”

His eyes are wide when they shoot back up to meet yours. You inhale a shaky breath, watching as he waits, unsure. 

“It’s still you,” you add quietly, and you’re certain that you hear his breath catch.

“I’m in love with you,” he breathes out before you can say anything else. “I love you back. I did then, and I do now, and I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I wanted to, I swear. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m…” He trails off, a hand running through his hair as he finishes, “I’m just really fucking sorry.”

“I believe you,” you say softly, because you do. You believe him, and you’re not sure your heart has ever beat this fast. Because he loves you — the same way that you love him. Vernon looks down at the water again, and you think you can see the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks as he thinks. “Sol?”

Your soft voice makes him look up. He still looks uncertain, like he doesn’t know what he’s allowed to do. 

“Come here?”

You’re in his arms so fast you can barely process. He’s hugging you so tight against his chest that you can feel the warmth of him through your wet t-shirt, and it sends shivers down your spine. He doesn’t say anything else as he holds you, and neither do you. Your arms are wound around his neck, and you can feel the way his nose nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder. 

You pull back, your hands finding either side of his face. He blinks, slowly, taking in every part of you in the same way that you’re taking in every part of him. You brush away a stray drop of water that falls from his hair down onto his forehead, and you’re certain you’re dreaming. He’s so beautiful, a perfect juxtaposition of sharp edges and soft lines, so… Vernon. 

And he’s gazing at you like you hung all the stars in the sky — because he loves you, in the same way that you love him. 

For the second time in a year, you kiss him first.

A/N: thank you so much to everyone for all the love on the other fics so far :) Here’s the sixth of our Thirteen Valentines in honour of Bononie’s birthday. Please please please reblog if you can to spread the word, and check out the Thirteen Valentines masterlist! If you want to be added to the taglist, send me a message :) Your kind comments and reblogs don’t go unnoticed, I promise.

Taglist: @waldau @wqnwoos @tae-bebe @gyuminusone@savventeen @eoieopda @minisugakoobies @wheeboo @lvlystars@darkypooo @christinewithluv @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @bella-l (Strikethrough means it wouldn’t let me tag you, sorry!)

[risustravelogue]

Gifts of A Kind

Summary:

His love for you is the gift he's offering.

Featuring:

Zhongli, Alhaitham, Wriothesley

Tags:

Emotional hurt/comfort, love confessions, self-indulgent, reader has mental health issues and huge insecurity about her worthiness of being loved. Fem!Reader (referred to as a woman) who is having her birthday!

Note:

Me: Happy birthday to me! 🥳 Also me: *writes an emotional hurt/comfort piece with my favorites to cry* Haha. Also, I'm resting from the 1-week EBG grind, so have this for now. As always, enjoy~

🔗 AO3 | masterlist 🔗

It’s another busy day at Bubu Pharmacy.

Sorting the medicinal ingredients in one of the back rooms, you were humming to yourself when a familiar baritone voice came from behind you.

“Happy birthday.”

You turn around to find your crush, the handsome consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, walking towards you with a huge bouquet of silk flowers, dotted with the biggest glaze lilies you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Zhongli! You remembered!” you squeal.

When the man you fancy remembers your birthday, you say thanks to Celestia above. Especially when he’s actually Liyue’s beloved archon.

—This is fine. He can never be mine, but I can have my small joys, can’t I?

“I have a gift for you,” he says with a playful lilt to his voice as he hands over the bouquet to you.

“You mean this pretty thing?”

He smiles. “No. It’s a surprise. Close your eyes.”

You obey. Your heart thumps with anticipation. Maybe you’re finally getting that cute hairclip you’ve been eyeing for a while? Or maybe…

Your thoughts dissolve into thin air when you feel a soft warmth pressing against your lips and the scent of his cologne entering your sense of smell. Your eyes flutter open to find your vision filled with him.

But it’s not joy you feel inside your chest—it’s dread.

You struggle in protest, only for him to snake his left arm around you and press his lips harder against yours. He takes the bouquet away from your hands and sets it on the table behind you while nipping at your lower lip, as if asking for permission. You put your hands on his chest and push him away, breathless.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask.

Zhongli blinks, surprised.

“I thought you wanted it. Was I wrong?”

You shake your head and offer him a frown. “Why?”

“Is that not obvious? I love you.”

—What?

“What did you just say?”

He smiles as he repeats, “I love you.”

“... Heh,” you chuckle, and it turns into a full-blown laughter. “You’re lying. You wouldn’t.”

He only stares into your eyes with those golden pupils of his, his soft expression still like the mountains. You shake your head, dispersing the thoughts that maybe, just maybe—

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No one would, especially not you.”

You feel his left hand clench at the small of your back as his expression hardens. “Why not?” he asks.

A bitter smile grows on your lips. “You know why. I’m—you know. I’ll only be a burden for you. For anyone.”

“I can bear it, and you know that.”

“But I’m—I’m defective and you know it!” you shout, pushing him away to no avail. His eyes widen, his heart taken aback at how much you must have hurt. You feel your chest clench as you mutter, “I am not the right person for you.”

Zhongli sighs and caresses your cheek, so gently as if you are the most fragile piece of porcelain he has ever held.

“Listen. No one is perfect. Not even me. And you… you awaken something I have never felt in the thousands of years of my life. And I want—”

His lips quirk to form a painful smile.

“I want to keep you by my side, for as long as I am allowed.”

You chuckle bitterly as you slap his hand away.

“Stop it. I don’t want this. I don’t—you’re mistaken. You don’t love me. You can’t.”

Tears roll down your cheek as your fingers clench on the fabric of his suit.

“Please… you can’t.”

A heavy silence hangs between you. His fingers find their way under your chin, tilting your face up towards him.

“Look at me,” he whispers. You shut your eyes in defiance, and you can feel tears dripping down your chin.

“You are the kindest woman I know, and have a strength beyond what even most gods can comprehend. And please believe me when I say I have never met anyone like you in my life,” he says, his voice gentle like you’ve never heard before. You open your eyes to find his gaze looking softly into yours.

“I love you. I will be yours if you want me to.”

He smiles, and you can feel your heart melt.

“Let me be your strength, your rock, your home. Will my word as the God of Contracts do?”

Expressive is one of the last attributes one would assign to the Scribe of the Akademiya, who also happens to be your longtime crush.

So you were surprised to find a saccharine sweet love letter in a pink envelope containing the words “I,” “love,” and “you”—in that order, next to each other—in his distinctly neat handwriting arriving at your doorstep on your birthday.

It’s not funny anymore, you think, deciding to confront him for playing with your feelings. You stroll to his office and bang at the door harshly, your face hot with anger.

“Come in,” the room’s owner says. You barge in, slamming the letter he sent you onto his desk.

“Out of all of your jokes, I rate this shit minus a hundred out of ten,” you say, voice shaking.

The silver-haired man tilts his head, seemingly confused. “What joke are you talking about?”

“This,” you smack the tip of your index finger onto the pink envelope, the force nearly ripping the paper in two. “This fucking letter, Alhaitham.”

“Oh, that,” he says with a smile. “I assure you, it’s not a joke.”

“Stop playing around!” you shout. “You said you love me, you liar.”

“Careful, I did say that, but my patience still has an end,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. He sighs. “Why would you say I’m lying?”

You scoff. “Because there’s no way, right? You’re perfect, men and women alike want your hand in romance, and you said you love me?”

You laugh derisively as you try to ignore the sharp pain penetrating your chest.

“You can’t love me. You can’t. I’m just a pathetic woman fumbling through life, unlike you. You’re fit as a fiddle while I have to take medication every single night, else my sanity would crumble like dust. I’m a burden to everyone I’ve ever cared about. So please, just stop.”

You feel your lips tremble as you grit your teeth in pain. Alhaitham frowns.

“Yes, I know about all that. I still love you, though.”

“Shut up, Haitham.” You lower your head and turn away, stifling back a sob. “I don’t deserve you. Nobody wants me, and that should include you.”

He slams his fists against his desk as he stands up, making you jump in surprise at his loss of composure. He saunters over around the desk and stops in front of you, his much taller figure looming over your head. His hands find their way to squeeze your shoulders.

“Who hurt you?” he demands, his palms trembling in quiet rage. “I swear I’ll hunt them down and make them suffer for making you think so lowly about yourself.”

“No one,” you lie. The pain in your chest pulses. “I’m just stating the truth.”

“It’s not the truth,” he says, his hands moving to cup your cheeks. “One as strong as you shouldn’t have such a low opinion of themselves.”

He lowers his head to meet you in a slow kiss. A tear rolls down your cheek as you relish the feel of his soft lips against yours.

“There,” he mumbles after pulling back. “Now do you believe me?”

“I don’t want to,” you finally admit, tears now streaming down your face. “I can’t.”

“Then—give me the chance to prove my love for you. Please,” he says while pulling you close. You shut your eyes, taking in his presence like a thirsty deer greedily drinking from the water’s surface. The words he whispers next have a certain promise woven into them.

“I am going to make you the happiest person in the universe.”

The Duke of the Fortress of Meropide looks a bit different than usual today. You are certain of that.

Whenever he catches sight of you, he’ll either hum tunes to himself, smile like an idiot, or walk towards you with a skip in his step that others barely miss.

Too bad you’re only his personal mechanic. Pointing his strange behavior out is way above your pay grade.

… Which is what you’ve been saying to yourself, but your feelings, your amour for him screams and rebels inside your chest, threatening to spill into the flirty sentence of “Wow, someone sure is happy to see me.” You bite on the insides of your cheeks to hold it back. After all, he knows that you’re literally sick in the head, and he wouldn’t want someone like you by his side.

He would never, ever fall in love with you.

But, if that is true… what is that beautiful bouquet of Rainbow Roses doing in his hands, then?

“Happy birthday, wonderful woman,” he greets, a grin plastered across his face. “Please accept this duke’s gratitude.”

“Gratitude?” you ask, folding your hand over your chest where your heart is—the organ working super hard to pump more blood to your already-pink cheeks.

“Yes. Gratitude for all the work you’ve done,” he says in a sing-song voice.

You sigh, trying to rein in the butterflies in your stomach. “Wriothesley, I’m not an idiot. I know what Rainbow Roses mean.”

His smile turns melancholic.

“So what do you say?”

You harden your expression, trying to keep your tone as flat as possible.

“I’m sorry… I can’t.”

An uncomfortable silence goes on for a few seconds.

“Sure you can. Why not? I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

“No, I can’t. Now please stop this nonsense, Boss.”

He takes a step closer, and you take a step back.

“Go away,” you say, turning away from him while stifling back a sob. “I can’t have you.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder. “You can. I want you to have me.”

You shake your head and shrug him off, tears starting to roll down your cheeks as the pain in your chest grows stronger.

“I can’t! I won’t burden you with… with me, of all things!”

“Stop saying that!”

Before you can react, he turns you around and pulls you into him, wrapping you with his strong arms like he’s protecting you from the cold, cruel world.

“Please stop saying that. You’re not a burden. You are never a burden.”

You try to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. His shushes drown your grunts of struggle.

“Let me go. Please, I can’t want this—I can’t want you,” you finally plead, but he only pulls you closer, trapping your hands between your chest and his. You limp, pathetic sobs filling the air as you finally surrender.

“You want to know a secret?” he asks. He does not wait for your answer.

“I think you’re perfect. The way you pursue growth, the way you love. You are the most precious thing I have in my life,” he says, his voice half a whisper. “I am eternally thankful for you. Thank you for coming into my life. I’m at my best when I’m with you, and I don’t only mean because you can fix my gauntlets.”

His embrace tightens around you. You can feel his growing stubble rub against your temple.

“And if I don’t at least try being with you, I’m sure I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

He sighs as he presses his lips to the crown of your head, the warmth sending goosebumps across your skin.

“I want to be your home. I want… no, I need you by my side,” he continues.

Your grip on his vest tightens as you feel him bury his face into your hair.

“I love you. I love you so much, my heart hurts every moment I remember that you’re not mine,” he whispers. He pulls back, only to press his lips against yours in a slow, gentle kiss the next moment.

“Please… be mine. I will never let you down. That’s my vow to you, and I intend to keep it for the rest of my life.”

He looks into your eyes, his gaze as gentle as a beautiful snowflake. You tiptoe a bit to meet him in another kiss. He chuckles as he returns the favor with passion.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

© @risustravelogue 2024 • FEEDING THIS WORK TO GENERATIVE AIs IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. • do not repost. • reblogs are precious. • feel free to send an ask to suggest, chat, etc. 💖

[serafilms]

song 72! you belong with me (taylor swift) + newt requested by @misty-inferno (2023 spotify wrapped event)

dreaming ‘bout the day when you wake up and find that what you’re looking for has been here the whole time

If anyone were to ask where either you or Newt were, the other gladers would say to look for the other. They’d probably end up finding the two of you together.

At least, that was the case before Thomas came into the picture.

Today found you sitting on a bench near the kitchen, where Frypan had kicked you out. Apparently your sour mood was spoiling the food. You glowered when you looked in the distance and saw Newt walking the newbie around.

“Whoa, why are you trying to commit a felony?”

Your eyes flitted up to where Minho was hovering over you. Still scowling, you said, “What felony?”

“Attempted murder. Using your face.”

“Man, fuck you!” you exclaimed, smacking him on the arm.

“Hey! I didn’t mean it like that! I meant like, the whole ‘if looks could kill’ thing,” he defended himself, rubbing his arm.

“Well either way, I’m not trying to murder anyone, you slinthead.”

Minho shrugged. “Tell that to Thomas. He’s been asking since last night why you keep glaring at him.”

“I’m not glaring at him,” you scoffed, “I’m observing. Analysing.”

“Right, right,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “You sure you’re not just pissy he’s hanging out with Newt?”

“Well,” you huffed, “he already got the tour from Chuck, what more does he need to know?”

Minho finally joined you on the bench, and nudged you with his elbow. You massaged the sore spot on your ribs.

“You should tell him how you feel, you know.”

“I’ve tried, Minho.”

He looked very unimpressed. “How? Telepathic signals?”

“I- well, you know,” you spluttered, “I wrote a note that said ‘I love you’ and left it in his hammock? But then it fell out and he didn’t see it.”

“My condolences,” Minho drawled.

You stuck your tongue out at him and he rolled his eyes. Minho was right, to some extent, you thought. But you didn’t want to confess to him, not with everything he’d been through, and with this horrible situation you’d been thrust in.

Newt was the best, most deserving person you’d ever met, and you knew you couldn’t force him into anything. Also, you were a bit of a coward. But that wasn’t the important part. You wanted him to realise by himself that you loved him and decide what he wanted.

And if what he wanted was Thomas, so be it.

“It’s not that simple,” you said to Minho. “Nothing is ever simple in The Glade. If I have to keep pining after him until he realises I love him or decides he loves me, then I will.”

Minho’s lips pursed and his gaze softened. “Okay, fine.”

Then he looked forwards and his eyes zeroed in on something. “Heads up, though, they’re coming this way.”

You looked up instantly and found Newt and Thomas heading your way. Newt raised his hand in a wave and Thomas gave what was probably supposed to be a smile but ended up being more like a grimace. Wow, he really did think you hated him.

“Hey Y/N, Minho,” Newt said, but his gaze was fixed on you. “Could I talk to Y/N for a second?”

“Fine,” scoffed Minho, “get rid of me. Come on, greenie, let’s go raid the kitchen.”

He threw an arm around Thomas and guided him away, and Newt took his spot on the bench while your heartbeat and body temperature rose alarmingly.

“Hi,” you managed to squeak out, “what’s up?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “I found this on top of your things when I tried to look for you this morning.”

He started to rummage around in his pants pocket. “And then Thomas told me he saw the same piece of paper lying on the ground under my hammock last night.”

Dread filled every crevice of your body as Newt pulled out a folded piece of paper and unfolded it to reveal the words ‘I love you.’

“That’s… quite a coincidence,” you muttered.

Newt’s face twisted in a smile. “Yeah, I thought so too.”

Your face was unimaginably red when he started digging around in his other pocket and then turned to look at you.

“But what’s an even bigger coincidence, is this.”

He handed you a second piece of paper, folded only in half. Your heart lurched as you peeled it open. ‘I love you,’ it said, in a perfect imitation of Newt’s handwriting.

“What?”

He laughed at your dumbstruck expression and took the paper from your hands, then took your hands in his, forcing you to look at him. “I was going to give it to you tonight.”

“You love me?” you asked, still dumbstruck.

“I do, yeah.”

Your stomach did flips as you grinned at him. “Can I kiss you?”

Newt turned a little pink, and you flushed with pride at being able to embarrass him, then he nodded.

Nobody was surprised when you both showed up hand in hand to dinner that night, nor when you kissed afterwards. And nobody, not even Thomas, was surprised when Newt climbed his way into your hammock instead of his.

Because that was where he belonged. With you.

the maze runner: apocalypse sassy man apocalypse

based off of the ybwm music video

[takaraphoenix]

June Updating Schedule

June is Pride Month and I am once again participating in the Pride Month Bingo that me and @kimmycup are hosting over at @writersmonth - so all fics in June are going to be prompt fills!

06/02: Smartass Sugar Student (Steter), Prompt: rainbow

Law student Stiles being courted by his rich professor Peter, who is a werewolf and loves to spend money on his hopefully soon-to-be-mate.

06/04: Finding Mieczysław Gajos (Stetopher), Prompt: soulmates

Everyone is born with their soulmate's name on their wrist. But it's the name given to one at birth... and because the sheriff missed Stiles' birth, Claudia's father was feeling vindictive when filling out the birth certificate, so technically, Stiles' last name isn't even Stilinski and Chris and Peter have no clue that Stiles is their soulmate when they first meet.

06/07: Emissary of the Hale Pack (Stetopher), Chapter 2

Dalia Hale decided to keep Stiles, so now Stiles has to figure out what to do with himself. Quite literally so, because his nine year old self is living in that town too and two Stileses were going to be suspicious on the long run.

06/09: The Beautiful Boy in the Biker Bar (Stetopher), Prompt: safe

This one's for @maybehappylittlerobot for being wonderful and feeding me with so many edits and saying GIMME when I mentioned the biker bar AU. So. Have the biker bar AU. Stiles meets a guy at a bar but the guy is giving him very uncomfortable vibes and when he tries to get out of the interaction, a really hot silver fox biker walks up to him, wraps an arm around his waist, calls him sugar and pretends to be his boyfriend, effectively chasing the creep away and frying Stiles' brain in the process. Turns out the hot silver fox and his husband own the bar.

06/11: One Hale of a Problem (Stargent), Prompt: fresh start

To get a fresh start, Chris and his daughter move to Beacon Hills after her mother dies during a hunt. Allison quickly makes friends at school, among them... Stiles Hale, son of the Hale Pack's Left Hand Peter, Right Hand Claudia and the sheriff of the town. The wrongest person for Chris to fall for, really.

06/14: A Spark into a Flame (Stetopher), Chapter 4

Stiles has to tell his dad about everything that had happened in the past months and the fact that he joined a werewolf pack and accidentally made them his flame. He also has to talk to said werewolf pack about that. Which are both excellent ways of avoiding to talk to either Peter or Chris about their attraction to him.

06/16: The Demon Wolf's Gentlemen's Club (Stalion), Prompt: gay club

Deucalion runs a gentlemen's club, where werewolves can meet willing, human partners. Nobody ever caught his attention at his club before though, not until Ethan's boyfriend Danny drags along the most intriguing boy Deucalion ever met.

06/18: Mutual Understanding (Sterek), Prompt: nature/green

The Hale Pack has to face the Darach together and Stiles grows more into his magic, under Peter's mentorship. Also Peter might or might not be flirting with Stiles' dad, which Stiles and Derek find equally disturbing.

06/21: The Alpha Pack's Spark (Stetalion), Chapter 4

Boyd, Erica and Stiles are getting to know the Alpha Pack better, while Deucalion and his pack start their investigation into the situation with the Hale Pack and the Argents.

06/23: Eagerly Eighteen (Stetopher), Prompt: (found) family

Stiles has been in a secret relationship with Chris and Peter for about a year and he's turning eighteen soon. On the one hand, he is eager for it, on the other hand, he's dreading it. What if Chris and Peter didn't actually want to tell anyone? They both had daughters who were Stiles' age. Maybe the only reason their relationship had worked for so long was because it only existed behind closed doors.

06/25: The Stilinski Pack (Steter), Prompt: red/life

No Hale Fire, the Hale Pack lives. But when Stiles is sixteen, a foreign, feral Alpha attacks the town and tears through the school. Stiles, Isaac, Boyd and Erica get turned by the Alpha. Peter, as the Hale Pack's Left Hand, is sent to take out the threat, but Stiles already did all the research, taught himself and beats Peter to it and kills the Alpha who turned him, making Stiles Alpha to his own pack.

06/28: Little Red and the Black Fox (Stetopher), Chapter 7

Stiles, in his vigilante persona as the Black Fox, gets into trouble and runs into Chris and Peter's team, who save him. Maybe Scott, Malia, Kira and Lydia aren't wrong, maybe Stiles does need backup. Maybe a team of vigilantes with a similarly aligned moral compass as his would be the solution...?

06/30: The New Photographer (Stargent), Prompt: flag

My first Neckz 'n Throats Starget fic!! Chris used to work at his family's hunting magazine but after his divorce from Victoria, he wants to spite the Argents... and starts working at a werewolf soft porn magazine. Stiles, the star model, quickly steals his heart.

[frostdayz]

A desperate heart

Aemond x Reader (f! reader)

genre Angst? but also fluff?

warnings: (forced marriage, emotional infidelity, Aegon being a shit husband, Aemond being a great affair, kind of changed things a bit so not canon?!!, FIRST PERSON POV!! also super super rushed will probably change a LOT later.

summary: Y/N's heart has always belonged to her husbands younger brother and his to her.

--------

I stood in the cold, empty chambers, the silence pressing down on me like a heavy shroud. My heart was heavy with the weight of my unfulfilled marriage, a union bound by duty rather than love. The grand tapestries and opulent furnishings did little to mask the emptiness that echoed through the room. Aegon and I had wed for the sake of the realm, not for our happiness, and it showed in every aspect of our relationship. Our marriage was rocky, plagued by his infidelity and palpable disdain. He sought the company of others, cheating on me whenever the opportunity arose, finding comfort in the arms of women from the Street of Silk. Nights were the loneliest, as he never slept in the same chambers, choosing instead to seek comfort elsewhere.

Our conversations were brief and strained, limited to what was necessary, often involving the barest civilities or court obligations. The expectation to produce an heir seemed to be the only reason he tolerated my presence, but even that crucial duty was neglected, leaving me feeling unwanted and invisible. Each day, I was reminded of my role as a pawn in a larger game, and the coldness of our chambers mirrored the chill in my heart.

Despite the hurt and neglect, I found relief in the most unexpected place—Aemond, Aegon's younger brother out of all people. While Aemond treated everyone else with a cold shoulder, his demeanor changed entirely when he was with me. With me, he was kind, gentle, and warm, a stark contrast to his usual stoic and distant nature. His piercing blue eye, which seemed so intimidating to others, softened when it met mine, filled with unspoken understanding and affection. We would slip away during council meetings, finding secluded corners of the castle or hidden alcoves in the godswood where we could be alone. In those stolen moments, we shared whispered secrets and tender touches, our hearts beating in sync. Aemond's presence was a balm to my wounded soul, his touch sending shivers down my spine and his words wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

"I love you" he would say to me with such conviction something I never experienced before. In each other's company, the burdens of our lives seemed to fade away. He would tell me stories of his childhood, dreams, and aspirations long overshadowed by his brother. I, in turn, would share my fears and hopes, feeling truly seen and cherished for the first time since my marriage.

One afternoon, while Aegon and the others were occupied with the council, Aemond and I found ourselves alone hand in hand in the godswood. The ancient trees stood tall around us, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. We walked along a secluded path, the bustling noise outside fading away as we reveled in each other's presence.

Aemond's thumb brushed against my knuckle, the contact being simple but sending a shiver down my spine. We stopped by a small clearing, the soft moss under our feet cushioning our steps. Aemond turned to face me my right hand still in his left, his eye searching mine for reassurance and understanding.

"How much longer?" I whispered, my voice trembling with the fear of discovery. The thought of losing these precious moments with him filled me with dread.

Aemond's expression softened, as he took both of my hands in his, his thumb caressing my knuckles again in a soothing gesture. "As long as it takes," he replied, his voice firm yet tender. "I would do anything to keep you safe and by my side. And I don't think my idiot brother has caught on yet." He chuckles and rolls his eyes at the sky.

I looked up at him, my eyes brimming with tears. "But what if we get caught? Aegon would have us both dead. He would never allow this, as he'd be labeled a cuckold." He laughs once more.

Aemond stepped closer, his presence a comforting warmth against the cool forest air. He cupped my face in his hands, his touch gentle yet reassuring. "Let him be damned," he murmured, his voice low and intense. "I've lived my life in his shadow, always second to his whims and desires. But with you, I feel alive, truly alive. I won't give that up. Not for him, not for anyone."

His words resonated deep within me, a promise and a declaration. I leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hands grounding me. "I love you, Aemond," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. "I just fear a day will come when I will wake up and all of this will be over."

"It won't," he assured me, his eyes burning with determination. "We'll find a way. I'll find a way."

Days later I have not seen much of Aemond or my distant husband as they are both preparing to take hold of Rook's rest which will ensure the upper hand for Aegon in the rest of the war. 

Getting bored of embroidering the same flower on a different colored piece of cloth I decided to get out of my chambers and take a walk through the halls. Using this boredom and walk as an excuse to run into Aemond. The castle corridors were quiet, the only sound being the distant murmur of a conversation coming from a room somewhere ahead. The tension in the castle had been palpable for days, and I knew something significant was brewing.

Curiosity got the best of me. As I approached the heavy wooden door, I heard voices from within more clearly. The door was ajar, and I carefully positioned myself behind a pillar nearby to listen.

"We need to strike swiftly and decisively," Aemond's voice was firm, filled with the cold determination that had become all too familiar. "You should be leading the van, and I should be flying cover on Vhagar.”

Aemond continues."My brother is hostage to my grandsire and mother, and they tell him that a war of dragons can yet be avoided.” He sighs.

“Tis inevitable. They must see that.” Ser Criston Cole replied, his tone equally resolute. I tried to lean more into the pillar to hear what was left to be said but before I could act  I heard footsteps approaching. I take a step back from the pillar and continue my walk around the corridors of the Red Keep, but with each step, I take I think about the comment that was slipped from my lover's mouth. Was the war of dragons truly unavoidable?”

The day of the battle arrived, and the tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. The sky was overcast, dark clouds mirroring the dread that settled in my chest. I stood far from the battlefield, hidden behind a gnarled old tree in the dense woods, my hands gripping the rough bark so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Aemond warned me to stay in King's Landing to keep me away from any harm but I wouldn't let him go alone. He only allowed me to stay at a distance covered by the trees. From my vantage point, I could just make out the figures moving in the distance, clashing violently. The clash of steel rang out sharply, mingling with the horrific cries of the wounded and the dying. Above it all, the deafening roars of dragons filled the air, their massive wings beating rhythmically as they soared through the smoke and chaos.

My heart pounded erratically as I saw Aemond on Vhagar, the great dragon's scales glistening ominously even in the dim light. They soared high above the chaos, Vhagar's fearsome presence dwarfing the other dragons. My breath hitched as I watched them maneuver with deadly grace, Aemond's eyes fixed on the battle below with cold determination. Every fiber of my being was tense, torn between fear for his safety and a desperate hope that he would emerge victorious.

The sight of Aegon struggling against Rhaenys' dragon, Meleys, made my stomach churn. Aegon's dragon, Sunfyre, tried to match Meleys' ferocity, but the battle seemed to favor Rhaenys. Flames and smoke swirled around them, creating a hellish spectacle that left me breathless with anxiety. Despite everything Aegon had put me through, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow at the sight of him in peril.

From my hiding spot, I could see the moment Aemond made his choice. Vhagar ascended higher, away from the fray, leaving Aegon to fend for himself against Rhaenys. My breath caught in my throat, realization dawning with a mix of shock and dread. The internal struggle was visible even this far away the tight set of his jaw and the fierce glint in his eyes as he turned Vhagar away.

[riewritten]

34 DUSK IN THE BRIGHTEST (BONUS)

DUSK IN THE BRIGHTEST | chapter directory

erwin smith/fem!reader, erwin smith/you | slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff & smut, mutual pining, canon AU, college/univ AU, professor erwin smith, commander erwin smith, non-linear narrative, manga spoilers

Plot: It was always the nightmares, really. Entrapped with walls, human-eating giants, fighting through metal strings and swords – utterly violent, dreary, recurrent. But behind the blurry faces was a man with menacing blue eyes and vivid features; eventually appearing before you as your new reputable professor, Erwin Smith. Since then, the disaster had slipped beyond your subconscious. AO3

Author's note: Happy new year! Here's the long-standing bonus chapter of this dear fanfic, events set post-epilogue and based upon the lovely requests my readers had back when this story was still ongoing.

In your little brother’s dream, you and he were still mere kids of convicted serial killers. A military police officer took you both in good faith—at least until the chaos that changed your lives for good.

As you two waddled your little feet amid the dreary daybreak of Mitras, your little brother did his best to hold onto you despite the frostbite lurking on his skin like a plague. You gripped his hand just the same, desperate to feel his skin and not the other that tormented you, to be reminded that despite what had just transpired, you still had something to calm you down from the turmoil of your wrath.

“I’m hungry,” your poor brother whispered; it wasn't until he heard your stomach grumble after his remark that he retracted. “No, never mind.” Then his voice tipped into a tiny, meek apology. “I’m sorry.” Albeit the remorse in his voice was louder than ever. 

“No worries! We’ll find food soon. Don’t worry.”

He explains your assuring smile and buoyant voice as something extremely out of place. In the narration he had given to Erwin, he described it as something immensely worrying—horrifying, even. He also said that a normal person might perceive you as one trying to be strong despite what just happened to you, but your brother could, in fact, see the sheer emptiness in your eyes that day; he could see the wrath that’s been trying to hold itself all thanks to the warmth of his frostbitten hand. 

But then again, with a shaky voice and eyes down the ground, he told Erwin that despite the shivers running down his spine, he opted to hold your hand tighter instead. He had chosen to gulp his lamentations and fury down his throat. This is, after all, the first time in his life that he has felt scared of you.

The soft hiss of the kettle fills his office along with your exasperated sigh. That's when Erwin notices that you’ve finished reading your brother’s narrative, which Erwin helped to write.

“What a strange thing this is,” Erwin muses. “Unlike us two—who only got to have a vivid recollection of the most important events in that world—your brother seems to have been reliving his day-to-day life back there, as if sleeping here means waking up on his bed at Paradis.”

The scent of chamomile then wraps the whole room, his old books, and ink-stained papers included, which almost triggers a nostalgic bliss on your end. After all, a session like this in Erwin’s office brings you back to the days when he helped you deal with your nightmares in this same manner. 

It’s just that you can’t seem to be giddy right now, not when you two are dealing with your brother’s nightmares this time around.

A boy merely the age of seven who can barely go to school because of how dreadful it is to cope with the memories of another world all the while dealing with this new one you had made—nothing but his tiny body and naivety at hand. How poor. This is not the life you had promised him the first time you met each other in this world. 

“Is this approach working?” You inquire in worry. “Aren’t we just putting a strain on him by making him write all this?"

“Too early to judge, if I’d be honest,” Erwin replies. But his voice, resembling the Commander ruminating about his strategies, becomes none when he holds your hand. “Don’t worry too much. We’re doing all that we can for him. And he seems to be responding to the psychologist you referred to just well.” And just like that, he's back to being your fiance, helping you get through the hurdles of the burden you carry in this world, just as he always does and will.

You let out another sigh, but more of relief than exasperation. Just a few minutes ago, the sound of the brewing tea felt out of place; the clock ticked in an offbeat rhythm that irked you so much; and amid the supposed calm of the chamomile is a breath held too long in a paper where your brother's worries have festered.

How calming it is when you finally look up at this man, your beloved Erwin, with his gentle blue eyes staring at you with devotion and reverence? 

Your hands cup his cheeks; his eyes soften further. Your thumb glides on the expanse of his cheeks, soft and familiar to your loving touch.

“What's on your mind?”

“I need to tell you something. But I would like to apologize first. I thought keeping it to myself would be for the better.”

“Then that's on me,” Erwin returns the gesture. He cups your cheeks, squeezes them with his broad hands, and then he adds, “What have I done wrong that you start keeping things from me, huh?” And yet his tone is still light, non-accusatory, almost teaseful even.

It makes you more guilty.

“I told you before that... his school doesn't like his continued absences, right?”

“Hm, and?”

“And, uh, I went to meet the principal personally a few months ago... to personally talk to him and settle stuff..." Oh god, how can you even start this talk?

“Is the principal someone we know from the other world...?" ”

“It's that man.”

Quickly, Erwin's face falters. Still, he tries to recon, “By that man, you mean...”

"M-Murdoch... that damned-in-the-head soldier who took us in back in that world—the same old man you helped me kill.”

Erwin's face darkens. One blink and you'd perceive him as the dreadful Commander again. But when he asks, “How did that make you feel?”With his thumb gliding ever so softly to your cheek, you almost have the urge to cry.

How easy it is for Erwin to just melt your mask away, indeed?

“Oh, oh no,” Erwin's worried face as he starts wiping your tears away has made you crumble even more. “Tell me how you feel, darling.”

“I feel disgusted,” you sob. "I-I'm starting to think that even in worlds beyond, the mark he had imprinted on me and my brother persists just the same. That I'm meant to be tormented by him because I chose to exist, and... And..."

“And that's not true,” Erwin cuts you off, the talk of whether or not you deserve to exist still a non-negotiable matter on his end. “I refuse to have that man define your existence. You know the lengths I have gone in Paradis to ensure that.”

Oh, yes. Yes, you do. 

No need to fret too much; this man will do everything in his power for you, for your loved ones, and for your very existence to persist the way it deserves to be—to not be once again held by the shackles of specific people who had made you feel horrible, in this world and beyond.

“You know it, right?”

You let out your last sniffle before sternly adding, “Don't kill him.”

And there, Erwin's serious face swiftly turns light again. He laughs and shakes his head, suddenly endeared by your command.

“That solely depends on him, if I'd be honest.”

“Erwin.”

“Shh, I won't, I won't.” He kisses your forehead, marking his assurance. “Now, be a dear and tell me everything that had happened the day you two talked.”

Since that confession, the three of you followed a nightmare protocol that takes place every breakfast—a time when dreams are still fresh and you have to debrief otherwise it ruins the day.

The routine is grounding yourselves first thing as soon as you wake up (faster if someone’s already awake to help). Once rational enough, the three of you can have two options: write it all down on your designated notebooks located at the bedside table or talk it out during breakfast—which in this case, the listener would be the one to jot it down on your behalf.

There are key points to be answered during the debriefing: the sensory descriptions of the nightmare, your thoughts, your feelings, and most important of all:

How is it different that dream was from the world you're living in right now?

Because then, once the three of you discern that very aspect, you'd be able to face the day with relief regardless of how bad the nightmare is.

It's not linear, though. Take, for example…

"Eight-meter class… mhm…" you mumble, "...from the east."

"Eight-meter class of what?"

You frown at the questioning Commander. "Y-you piece of—” to ask such a question during a crisis is just— “you should've just killed me… ugh, kill me now."

Then suddenly, a futon pops out of thin air. How comical, even more so when you snuggle into it just quick. You hear Erwin's weak chuckle from behind.

"Are you the Commander she's talking about?" your brother asks from behind—a child version of him, rather. "She's always saying 'Commander' every sleep talk beside me."

"Really? What more does she say?"

"Many things. She sounds like a mother berating a reckless child."

You stand confused at the conversation unfolding before you. Note that there's still an eight-meter class titan running towards you as the three of you speak.

Erwin then asks your brother, "Is it causing you disturbance?"

"Yeah, she's quite noisy and always frowning," the kid sighed. "Sleep is supposed to relax you but it does the opposite to her. Not that I don't understand, though…”

“Yeah, you behave the same and your sister's the one to calm you down, no?” Erwin then dearly ruffles the kid's hair.

Oh, okay.

This is all a dream. The eight-meter class titan soon dissipates and your vision turns black. Slowly but surely, you gather the needed reflex to barely open your eyes. Your boys continue to talk, not noticing you at all.

Erwin interposes, "But then again, if you're that bothered then bring her back to me already. She's been sleeping in your room for a month now."

"Are you jealous?"

"You're just pretending to be afraid of the dark.”

"I am afraid of the dark!”

"Oh? Then the only way to rule fear is by confronting it, don't you think so?”

"You don't say that to my sister regarding utensils!”

"And don't dare tell her that,” Erwin cuts the young boy off as if he just uttered a cuss word. “She's an exception to the rule and yet still doing so well.” 

When Erwin's loving gaze lays upon you again, you quickly close your eyes and feign asleep. You love moments like this, after all. Catching these two talking about you while you're out of it makes you feel adored. Absolutely adored.

"See? You're spoiling her! Why would I give my sister to someone who's spoiling her?"

Erwin, in a small retaliation, flicks the kid's forehead. "You can't give something you don't own," then his broad hands land on the crown of your head. He caresses it out of habit. "She's the one supposed to own things in this world—the one who owns us. She’s the reason we exist in this world."

Much to how genuinely endeared Erwin is in that remark, it does more than draw you in. It doesn't take long for the uninvited memories to kick in and blur your senses. Your eyebrows crease, your breathing deepens as you hear your mother's words.

“But I hate this world. I loathe it. And having to see those conversations, picking up the clues, and realizing you're the reason this happened—just right after I tried to get along with you again."

You try to open your eyes but to no avail, confused why when you were just pretending to be asleep a few minutes ago. The confusion then turns to annoyance. It annoys you, really, because regardless of how random the exchange is, if your brain decides that it reminds you of that day, it really will make you relieve every single thing.

"Is that why my brother never got to be born?” The realization daunted you. You’re the reason he’s gone again. “Is there a way I could change it?"

Your pained expression is what snapped the two from their daily bantering. Apparently, you whispered some of your mother's words weakly. Just as if you’re there again, just as if your mother is holding a knife at you again.

"She hadn't done that in two months," your brother's breath hitches, "and now that I think of it, her sleep talking became more frequent during the past weeks. I wonder if something is stressing her out."

Erwin attempts to rationalize it inside his head. He wouldn’t have known that; you’re always sleeping with your brother. But why? Why would your nightmares about that day recur again?

It is until the lightbulb in Erwin’s head finally lights up. Of course. How could he brush that off?

Amid the struggle with your little brother, the two of you have also been trying to find leads on that tree only to no avail. In hindsight, Erwin has taken that as an opportunity to rest and savor the peaceful time in its wake.

And if he'd be more honest? Despite a very unlikely attitude for someone as earnest as him, his desire to give you every possible peace in this world led him to actually avoid the matter at hand.

He might've done it the wrong way, he realizes just now in guilt.

"Well, this calls for my dibs then. She's staying in my room tonight." Erwin wraps you up with the futon and then carries you in his arms; your brother sighs in defeat.

"Just so you know, I still don't favor you for my sister."

Erwin stays still; his back facing your brother—unreadable for the sulking boy.

“That I know.”

"She's too good for you."

"I know,” his voice is weaker this time around.

Erwin knows—he knows it too well, he fears. Your brother might've been so fond of him way back in Paradis, but unlike you, who thought he was too naive, the Commander had discerned how sharp he actually was. Your brother was smart enough to separate his admiration for him from the want to protect you with all his heart; he was smart enough to recognize that if there's someone who can take care of his sister and vice versa, that would and must never be the ruthless Commander.

"Your sister's happiness happens to be divided into two. Perhaps we could ally instead."

Now riddled with guilt at Erwin's sudden poignancy after his sulking, your brother then stays silent.

"Don't worry," Erwin faces him briefly, "I know how undeserving I am for the role, more than anyone could.”

All set and wrapped, he buries your head in his neck then starts walking to the room without a word.

The heat of the futon and Erwin’s soft scent on the mattress eventually eases the nightmare away.

You are awoken with his fingers gliding over your cheeks, a learned habit and perhaps a gesture for you to be aware that you've been crying and groaning while asleep. Despite the lack of a smile, the solace of his touches dissipated the dread of whatever you've been dreaming about.

"What's up?" you groggily hum, cup his cheeks, and give him a short kiss—or supposed to.

Because Erwin immediately draws you further to deepen the kiss. He glides his lips alongside yours, tongue eventually in, all for fitful sake to tip the intensity and feel you more.

"Sleep with me tonight," he implores as soon as he's out of your mouth.

"But my brother—"

"He agreed," despite the subtlety, you can see that he's desperate for it. "Sleep with me."

His arm lay draped over your waist, a quiet assurance on his end despite the dread.

After a while of staying silent, you whisper to Erwin. “As long as you want, my love.”

Erwin's face stays unchanged, but you can see it. In his half-closed eyes, you can see the dread dissipating just a tiny bit.

And so you try more, "You'll feel better soon enough, though. It's Sunday tomorrow, we can go to the library you talked about yesterday, and we can eat at the restaurant downtown with—"

His chuckles cut you off, “Bold of you to comfort me when it's you who just had a nightmare.”

“Oh, come on. Indulge me!”

“Okay…” He raises his brows, then, not long when he dips in character. "What if I don't feel better even then?"

"Then we try it again the day after. And the day after that,” you kiss his cheeks. “In fact, we just say it again and again until it really does become better.”

“Ah… my pretty soldier, such a smart problem solver,” he teases.

You giggle in return, “Your love has softened me.”

Days pass, and it really does become better. The nightmare protocol persisted until it bore fruits. The fruits of your labor eventually pave the way to preparing your actual wedding.

It's just that Hange and the others want to meet you before indulging in the wedding preparations.

You've met them in Paradis, why are you shuddering at the thought of it? You're lucky Erwin knows you head to toe, your jitters included, hence he stayed with you all throughout the flight. And after ringing Hange's doorbell, he squeezes your hand assuringly and kisses your cheek. 

You thought what would daunt you upon opening the door was the dreary Scout barracks. But when Hange's grin flashes behind the door, you're suddenly stunned to speak. They all look too… normal? Happy? 

Erwin takes your silence as a chance to introduce you to them, “She’s the one I'm talking about.”

Erwin is about to say more but Hange engulfs you in a hug, “So she’s the pretty girl that made Erwin a mawkish smiling bastard? Oh dear!” When they withdraw from the hug, they hold onto your shoulders. “You’re way cuter in person! Levi was such a bad picture taker and we only managed to get stolen shots from you, usually with Erwin smiling creepily beside!”

You then glare at Levi who's already inside the door, "Hey, you take pictures of me without asking permission?"

Instead of answering, Levi pushes Hange away from you and places a cold beer can on their forehead, “You forgot the baseline human decency of introducing yourself first by muttering your name and shaking hands with her.”

“Oh!” Hange sheepishly chuckles. “Sorry, I was just too thrilled seeing you! I’m—“

“Hange, yes. I know.” You then shake their hand. 

“They told you about me?”

No, actually not. Erwin never explicitly mentioned their name to you, at least in this world.

Still, you lie. “Yeah, Levi told me how you annoy him every single time.”

Levi shoots you a glare, Erwin lets out an almost inaudible snort, and Hange believes it just well.

Oh, only if you knew you'd enjoy their company so much to the point of inebriation. Levi's almost horrified, and Erwin never thought you could be more adorable than he already thought you were.

"You better produce a commendable result at your science experiment this time, Hange!" your voice cracks midway, "I'm not sweating blood and tears kissing nobilities' asses only for you to slack off!"

"Thank you, thank you! Gosh, I don't know what to do without you!"

Hange has no idea what you're talking about, but the alcohol helps in believing whatever you're on.

They engulf you in a hug and add, "But oh, you silly goof, asses are dirty. Do you wash your mouth afterward?"

"I don't. The Commander gives me a lot of tasks that I can't even fix my hair anymore," you chug another bottle out of resentment.

"Commander who?"

"Where is he…" you dart your eyes all over the place and when you see the man in question at the kitchen counter—a hand on his forehead and holding a laugh, you beam. "There you go! Having fun at my suffering again, I see!"

Levi, who's standing just beside him, empties his glass then grabs his phone. "I must have another material to plaster on this woman's hall of shame."

"Hey, Commander Erwin!" Hange shouts along with you. "She's too pretty to be treated like this! What an asshole!"

"She is. I apologize."

Your head plops down the floor carpet. After wiggling your head a bit to settle yourself, you tap Hange. "You won't believe me when I say the Commander called me the most beautiful then kissed my forehead—god I can't believe he only went for my forehead—then slept next to me. We didn't do anything, though. Heh." You let out weak giggles before adding, "I got to sleep with the Commander. How's that."

"Okay, that's it," Erwin quickly rescues you from saying more. "I didn't know you were that disappointed with the forehead kiss. Let's put you to bed now."

Hange's inebriated mind has a completely different scene playing in mind, though. "You seem to have lots of fling during college, Erwin. Do you only kiss them on the forehead when sleeping on the same bed?"

Both of your eyes widen—yours with utter shock and his with confusion.

"I don't sleep on the bed with them. And I don't think they're a lot."

"How many?" you press on Hange.

"Uh, lemme count… One, two, uh…" Every finger Hange raises just subjects you to further shock, "I don't know. It's a common college joke that 'if you haven't got a crush on Erwin yet then are you even a student here?' or something."

"He slept with everyone?!”

Hange looks like nodding, really, until Erwin accidentally nudges the bottle beside him and spills it all over the carpet.

Hange screams in despair, "I just got this from the laundry!"

"Sorry, sorry," Erwin finally managed to make you stand. "I'll clean that up later. This lady is having her head drift to another dimension already. Gotta get her back here."

Indeed, it says a lot about how your eyes were fluttering already.

"You're not sorry, Erwin! You nudged on it intentionally! You should've just told me the talk about your flaming romances must be kept confidential!"

Levi settles on the couch before hitting Hange with a pillow. "Look around you. You had everyone waste themselves out in the living room. I'm quite surprised your big head didn't see carpet stains coming."

As Hange continues their loud blabbering with Levi barely keeping up with it, Erwin settles you on the balcony chair.

He crouches down so you'd be on the same level, then he taps your cheeks, "Still here?"

"Commander, you didn't tell me you slept with everyone." Okay, not here yet. "Clarifying that to the girl you claimed to fancy for years should be the baseline human decency before fucking her."

"I barely slept with anyone, love."

"Bullshit," you let your flailing head land on his shoulder before adding, "you look so good to not do that."

You can feel the heave of his chuckle as well as the vibration of his voice; there, you realize that you can sleep with this alone.

"Are you jealous?" You don't answer, which makes it a yes so Erwin laughs again.

He trails his hand to your fingers and taps on the ring you're wearing as if to make a point.

Your breath hitches at the realization.

"Still jealous, hm?" then he clasps your hands together.

"Holy shit.”

Erwin almost thinks you're back with that. Until you add, "When I told you to live with me inside the walls, I didn't know we'd have it this quick." Okay, still not back. "I don't want children yet, okay?"

And so, he just decides to play along. "But you look good carrying Marie's child. How about ours?"

You shoot your eyes open and exclaim, "That was so hot.” That's what will take you back?! "Say that again. I'll say no but still—say it again."

He had already established that you're the only one to decide on that matter, hence he'd never coax you. Also, the predicament of those people tied to both of you by blood due to your power isn't something to take lightly. What surprises Erwin is that you actually have a hidden pleasure in playing around with the matter at hand.

"So you find it hot to have me begging you for a child?"

"Sort of," you cup his face and grinned. "Want me to bear your children, hm?"

He hitches a breath then, albeit you're unsure if it's out of surprise or just a strained cackle, "Don't say that here."

"Here? Then what about other places?" you feigned surprise. "What if as soon as we get home, I—"

For some reason, he's having a hard time holding back the laughs. Maybe because he realized something as well.

"Okay, you can stop that one. Let's pretend on it once we get home."

"Oooh, I see, you find it hot to have me begging you for a child?" you repeat his question with a mock.

"Having too much fun, huh?”

"Yeah, too much." You land a chaste peck on his lips before wrapping your arms around him. You nuzzle your nose to his neck, a deep sigh out as he holds onto your waist. "I'm not afraid of disappearing after this life. Not anymore. I never thought I'd be this happy."

"Well, I'm still as greedy," he raises your head by cupping your cheeks. "See, if you're not drunk, we'll be making love right now."

"I'm not drunk. Let's do it."

"No."

"I'm feeling hot right now." You attempt to remove your clothes and he stops you amusingly.

"We're not doing it in someone's house."

“Yeah, please don’t do it inside anybody else’s home,” Levi interjects blankly.

“Indeed, Levi interrupting a good talk at the balcony, how familiar,” you scorn. If not for the alcohol you'd be a flustered mess right now.

“Are you drunk?”

"Mhm… no I'm not!” You are. “Are you, Levi? That'd be a waste. I was planning to talk to you about something important tonight.”

"No, not yet," he ponders. "But intoxicated enough to believe whatever bullshit you're about to spur right now as long as you two get your asses inside. The night's getting colder. I don't want you both spreading cold during your wedding.”

"Perfect." You laugh and sigh. Not long after, the smile on your face disappears. You intended to tell Levi the possibility as well. 

Levi asks you two to usher those who have passed out to Hange's bedroom. He forces Erwin to clean the carpet he intentionally sullied. And when the living room is back to its original state, Levi finally lets you talk.

The three of you sit beside each other, with your backs on the edge of the sofa and Hange's glass wall paving for moonlight to pass through. Thanks to that, Levi can register the dreadful revelation about your existence while taking in the gloom in your face. After all, this is something you cannot fathom to tell Isabel, Furlan, and Historia. You trust Levi to be the only one who'd take it stoically.

However, much to your surprise, Levi’s grip on the glass tightens while you talk. The faintest crack eventually spiders across its surface. He has to set it down carefully before turning to face you, his gray eyes unreadable.

“Levi…”

“So that’s it?” His voice is quiet, and yet it carries a weight that successfully presses against your chest. “You just… disappear?”

You nod, not trusting your throat to form words. The confession hangs heavily in the air between the three of you. You expect Levi to take it as usual, so when he presses his lips into a thin line and exhales sharply, you almost get the urge to cry like a guilty girl caught redhanded.

“All this time,” he says, almost to himself. “You know how this will end, and you didn’t say a damn thing? To me, no less?” His tone however, lacks disdain. You don't even see this as him scolding you. You can't even put it into words.

But sure enough, is the first time in a while you've seen him speak this way.

“I didn’t want to burden you,” you whisper faintly, a lack of confidence evident in your voice.

“Burden me? Of all people?” he blankly retorts, but the way he ran a hand through his hair says otherwise. Levi is frustrated. “Do you really think any of this would mean a damn thing without you?”

“I know… I've seen a world like this but without me. I know how sad it's gonna end up. That's why I'm grateful, you see! But then…” you bite your lip. “Erwin and I have been trying for ages, but we still can't find leads on the tree. Worse comes to worst, the tree might not even exist in this world anymore.”

And there, the whole room is wrapped into silence.

"Thank you," is what Levi manages to say after a long while. 

Levi rarely says thank you.

You remove the arm atop your eyes and look at him. His eyes are not on you but on the nightscape by the glass wall, and you can see the subtle but sheer lament on his face. "No one could thank you enough for doing that for us."

"Ever since I got conscious enough in this world, I knew I would do everything for you," you chuckle, thankful at the alcohol before having this talk; if not for that, you'd cringe at how sappy the mood is. “I wouldn’t be alive had Kuchel minded her own business and stayed away from my mother’s affairs.”

On Levi's end, had it not been for the alcohol, he wouldn’t realize he actually misses the days when all of you were still young—the childish sleepovers where Isabel would ask Levi to sit on the carpet so both of you could lay your heads on his lap. Isabel would make your nightmares as the reason. And Levi, albeit repulsed at the favor, would end up agreeing. He would caress your and Isabel’s heads until you sleep. Hell, sometimes he even ends up sleeping the night away with you two along the way.

Levi refills his glass, hoping to fill his tongue with the taste of the wine instead of the bittersweet memory.

"I don't mind if I cease to exist. I couldn't wish for anything more," you absentmindedly whisper at the two when you feel like you’re minutes away from drifting to sleep.

"Told you, Levi, she tends to say that."

"You will not disappear on us, though. Not anytime soon. Not in any world."

"Not like you will remember me in another world, Levi. Don't mind it too much."

Levi flicked your forehead, which earned a frustrated ow from you.

The venue was alive with a soft hum of anticipation, the warm light from the stained-glass windows bathing everyone in vibrant hues. On the other side of the room, there goes Isabel crying with a handkerchief that's not hers. Surprisingly, it is Historia’s gentle hand on her shoulder, offering a consolation that the two are yet to get used to.

“I didn’t think you’d cry this much."

“Shut up,” Isabel sniffles, half-laughing through her tears. “I didn’t think you’d… you know, be here.”

That Historia understands way too well. “We’ve been through too much to let things stay as they were. I’m glad we’re here now.” She hesitates before adding, “She... she said you like going outdoors now. Would you join me on a hike next week? It’s been a while since I’ve had company.”

Isabel nods quickly, much to her surprise. The rekindling bond brings a fresh wave of tears to spill. “Only if I can bring cookies.”

Historia laughs. How childish, she thinks. Only if it wasn't too adorable on her end. “Deal. Mind if I bring my girlfriend?”

On the other side of the room, there's you and a crying Furlan, whom all this time had always seemed so composed. He dabs at his eyes with a trembling hand before pulling you into a tight hug.

“You’ve come so far,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so proud of you.”

You giggle lightly, then eyes dart to Levi who lingers in the corner; his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the room. You approach him tentatively, steps hesitant until his eyes meet yours.

Without a word, he reaches out to deftly smoothen a crease in your dress.

“Your hair is all tousled, Levi. Did you not have enough time to fix yourself?”

“Dunno. Maybe I'll behave the same way once Isabel gets married.” He only shrugs then flatly looks at you before adding, “Let me do what I can do and stop asking for more.”

His words, uncharacteristic yet brimming with sincerity, have wrapped around your heart like a protective shield.

It gave you the needed courage to walk down the aisle without crying, especially when you finally see Erwin waiting at you in front with a smile so soft it makes you want to crumble then and there. His hair is parted on the side, cheeks slightly pink but eyes brimming with adoration.

His face no longer resembles a commander who carries thousands of corpses on his back. This day is the brightest he has ever been. Today, he's just the love of your life whom you crossed the world for. The way he's looking at you right now shows how aware he is of it, of how he will do the same for you if given the chance.

You both know a lot of things are still yet to happen after this momentous event in your lives. Once your brother is able to cope with his fair share of nightmares, you will proceed to embark on the mission to have your existence persist in all universes.

More, and more, and more.

You are perhaps way too aware that this will never be a linear happily ever after.

But you will not waver, not when the love of your life who shined like a morning sun amid the dusk is here with you.

previous chapter (explicit ver) OR (clean ver) | afterword

[demonic0angel]

God!Danny and Servant!Damian

Damian stared at the long hallway of various knickknacks and doohickeys. The ever-changing wallpaper was cracked and peeling, sticky with a green substance. Bizarrely shaped and decorated doors would occasionally peek out from the mountains of loot. The tables that lined the hallway were filled with books and books and many random objects. The hallway was illuminated with a combination of different things, candles and chandeliers and crackling TVs and lightbulbs lighting up the way. At the very end of the long hallway was a lone door, unmarked and conspicuous in its simplicity.

Once he walked through that door, he would be able to complete his wish.

Something to his side caught his eye. It was a small picture of a family, one with many unique characters.

It reminded Damian of his own.

It reminded him of his failures, his goals, and his desires.

Wiping away the liquid that welled in his eyes, he turned and glared at the door that seemed more and more like the light in the darkness as well as his own personal demise.

Damian grit his teeth and began to run.

————

It all started simply. It was an average day, a normal afternoon as Damian bickered with his siblings as always. He and Timothy were rubbing on each other's nerves, only instigated further by Jason who would gleefully laugh every now and then whenever he sparked the dying fire.

Dick sighed and said, "C'mon you two. Why can't you just get along?"

"It's  because Damian knows that Tim is better than him at detective work." Jason said.

"Shut up, Todd!" Damian said as Timothy made a strange expression of both smugness and also exasperation. Despite knowing that Jason was deliberately goading them on, they still fell for it and walked right into another heated argument.

Dick only sighed further as his little siblings argued like children. The door to the command room opened with Batman sweeping in, Stephanie following him with a little skip to her step.

"Heya, everyone!" She greeted cheerfully while Batman flew past them to inspect the controls.

All of them were in a spaceship commandeered by the batfamily in a mission to inspect a small alien planet that had recently pinged itself on their radar. It was a dangerous new colony that had an ability to steal the memories of those that they had killed and use it to conquer new planets.

The batclan was currently in a mission to investigate if the rumors were true and to find any weaknesses.

"Father?" Damian asked, as he noticed Batman's tense body language. "What is the matter?"

".... Orphan hasn't come back from her stealth mission."

A ripple of dread went through the room. Timothy immediately sat down on a seat and began to pull up mission records. They updated it regularly as they went, and Cassandra had logged in for her mission a few days ago, but now she was several hours past her expected return. This was a bad sign, especially since it was only a reconnaissance mission, with little to no conflict and even if there was, Cassandra would've contacted them.

Something had gone very, very wrong.

Stephanie whispered, "No... she couldn't have been."

Jason gave a snort, although it was weak and filled with false bravado. "There's no way. She's probably trying to find some new information for us. She's stronger than that."

No one said anything.

His attempt at gathering hope failed.

"... fuck." Jason said quietly, as the worst of what could've happened finally sank its claws into his mind.

Everyone was aware that this current mission was one with high stakes. The alien race they were investigating was a dangerous one, and unknown at that. Although they expected danger, they hadn’t expected one of their own to actually get hurt.

Batman shook his head, a hand reaching out to clasp Jason's shoulder. "We'll find her and then we'll help her." He reassured him softly. It said a lot that Jason didn't shake off his touch.

A stone sank in Damian's stomach.

This was his first mission in outer space and he loathed how vulnerable he felt. In an effort to hide it, Damian scoffed to himself and straightened.

They all lifted their heads in unison, however, when a crash rang through the ship. Their gut instincts had alerted them to the danger a second beforehand, but it was still too late.

The light flickered off, inciting another gasp of panic. They all put on their masks to switch on their night vision.

Batman immediately pulled out several batarangs and said, "Dick, with me! The rest of you, stay here and be careful. We'll investigate."

"Fuck!" Jason screamed, louder. "Why am I not coming?!"

"I need you to protect your siblings!" Batman said before he ran off with Dick in tow.

"Grayson!" Damian couldn't help but yell. "Father, shouldn’t we stick together instead?!”

He couldn’t help the worry that stuck to his voice.

Dick swerved back before he could leave the control room and immediately pulled Damian into a hug. "Little Bat," he said softly. "Stay here and protect Stephanie and Tim, okay? They need it."

Damian wanted to protest at his reassurances, almost indignant at the idea that he possibly needed comfort, but he didn’t say a word as Dick stroked his back. Timothy didn't speak up either, completely silent. Damian knew that he was also feeling some sense of immense dread, their survival instincts giving them a premonition of danger and death.

Damian tried to hold his brother closer, eyes wide before Dick pulled away, pulling on a false smile.

"Be careful!" He screamed and then he left.

"This isn't good, this isn't good." Tim muttered as he furiously tapped on the keyboard to figure out what was going on. Everything was down, even their systems and now they just waited in the darkness for a signal of safety.

Jason cursed under his breath. "I should've been with them!" He muttered.

Damian pushed down his nausea and said, "Then let's go. With the computers down, there is no reason for us to stay here when we could go out and help them."

"Fuck, I'm going." Jason pulled out his guns and immediately began to load them with bullets.

"Dammit." Tim cursed and Stephanie pulled out her own bo staff and looked determinedly at them.

"Let's go." She said, and they all followed her as she left first.

They ran through the halls to get to the sector where the explosion had supposedly started. The air seemed stale and dark, and a distant 'ooh'ing noise like wind going through a hole disturbed them greatly. Damian wished he had his swords, but all he had was a bo staff and a few batarangs to protect himself.

His eyes searched the darkness. Stephanie and Timothy were next to each other, their shoulders almost bumping against each other's for comfort, while Jason trailed a little behind Damian, guns out and ready. Damian reassured himself that his family was safe. Cassandra was surely just fine and so would his father and Richard be. They would be okay.

They would all be okay.

There was another crash right in front of them and Stephanie screamed. Jason immediately shot into the dark, the bright flash of a gunshot illuminating the hall for a moment, showing just who came through the wall.

A grotesque monster with bulging, writhing black tentacles stared at them before the light faded. Jason relentlessly shot his bullets, but they seemed useless.

There was a short scuffle before a disturbing squelching noise.

Timothy gave a long, loud keen before his body blocked Damian's vision.

The last thing that Damian saw before Timothy was pulling him away was Stephanie's fallen body, a deep blackness covering her that would shine crimson red.

They ran.

The moment Damian was able to reconnect with his thoughts and surroundings, he pulled his hand out of Timothy's and said, "Brown! She's still back there!"

"No!" Timothy snapped, his voice sounding wrecked. "We have to run. I saw her. She's not coming back."

Jason cursed violently and they quickly skidded into the next hall, shutting the sealed doors for a moment.

"Fuck. It's them. They found Cassandra and took her memories." Jason said and Damian choked on his fear and shock.

Timothy shuddered visibly and then said, "I think they got Stephanie too."

Damian grimaced, hurt shooting through his chest like a bullet wound before he gasped.

"Father! And Richard! They—They went ahead of us!" It was almost instantaneous how both Jason and Timothy paled.

Jason smacked his hands over his eyes. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!!"

He took out his helmet and quickly put it on. "I'm going out. Maybe I can find them. Bruce is smart, he's probably still alive and I'll find them."

"You're not invincible, Todd." Damian snarled. "Let us come with you. If we die, we'll all die together."

"Like hell we will." Jason said curtly. "You little shits are gonna live because if another Robin dies, I'm...." He paused. He didn't know what to say.

None of them could find the words needed to comfort each other.

Damian's stomach dropped further into his feet, as if he was about to be sick.

Timothy reached out and grabbed onto Jason's sleeve. "Jason. You know it's a suicide mission. You can't go."

Jason reloaded his bullets and didn't say anything.

When he turned, Jason's helmet was still on his face as he stared at both Tim and Damian. Then he reached over to put a gloved hand on their heads and said, his voice crackling softly, "I gotta go, Robins. Protect each other. Be safe. I mean it."

His touch was heavy and warm, even through his glove. Damian stared at his akhi with wide, wet eyes.

Timothy screamed in shock and despair as Jason sealed that exit and then ran off. They heard the distant sounds of gunshots before they faded.

Timothy gasped for breath, tears flowing down his face but he quickly wiped them and then pulled on Damian's arms. "C'mon, Robin. It's up to us now. We have to get to the exit bay and hope that everyone else gets through this alive and back home."

No one voiced the fact that it would be near impossible.

As they ran, Timothy was furiously typing on his communicator. When they reached the ship bay, where extra spacecrafts were stationed and ready to fly, they found it blissfully empty.

Already suspicious, they snuck inside. Damian was almost irritated by the small gasps that left Timothy's throat but he understood, with the grief that seemed to eat through his stomach. After a moment, as they inched towards a spacecraft, Damian reached out to hold Timothy's hand and squeezed gently.

Timothy squeezed back and they both sped up to the spacecraft. They both worked together to open it up and get it ready for space travel when there was a distant roar.

Damian shuddered hard, goosebumps rising over his skin as he worked even faster, flicking on buttons and readying the controls and coordinates.

Timothy cursed and said, "Dammit. I can't message Earth."

Damian bit into his lip.

Nothing was going well. Where were their family?

Timothy handed Damian the communicator. For a moment, Damian just stared at it in confusion before he turned to Timothy with questioning eyes, his heart squeezing in his chest.

What was the meaning of this? Was Timothy possibly handing off their last chance of survival to him? For what reason?

"What is this for?" Damian snapped.

"Just hold it," Timothy said exhaustedly. "I need to go out and see if the exterior of the pod is functional for space travel. You stay here and stay inside while I go check outside."

"No! What if something happens and I am unable to stop it?" Damian said, his foot stomping once on the ground to emphasize his point.

Timothy didn't say anything as he started to walk down the ramp to the ground outside of the ship. Damian rushed forward to grab his hand and pull him back.

"Why must everyone sacrifice their lives?!" Damian shouted. "You don't need to do this! Let's just stick together!"

"Just shut up, Damian!"

"No! Let's leave now! I-I want to leave now!"

Timothy turned to him with a furious expression but whatever was on Damian's face made him pause. Then he pursed his lips together before pulling Damian in close.

They had never hugged before.

The closest they had ever been was whenever Damian lunged forward for a knife to Timothy's gut.

But this... this wasn't so bad. Damian's eyes burned with an urge to cry and he grabbed onto his brother's suit.

"We will be okay, Damian."

And just as he said that, he pushed Damian forward and through the aircraft as the aliens finally revealed themselves as well as the tentacle that now wiggled into Timothy's stomach.

It happened in an instant.

Damian couldn't even react as Timothy was impaled through his torso.

Blood spilled on the floor and through Timothy's mouth. Timothy coughed, more blood dripping down his chin. He inched forward as the tentacles seemed to pull him back. It was a slow thing, as Damian watched in frozen horror as Timothy moved towards him.

"Timothy!" He couldn't help but blurt it out. "You're going to be ripped in half, you imbecile!"

He took out a batarang, already formulating a plan to hopefully cut away the tentacle but then Timothy reached into his side pouch and took the access card out, slotting it into the card reader and smiling reassuringly at Damian as blood dripped from his lips and body.

"You'll be okay." He croaked, before a black blur shot out and impaled his skull, blood splattering over the doors as they quickly shut themselves.

The aircraft began to lift itself from the ground automatically as Damian screamed with rage and grief, his fist smacking into the door as he flew away. The last thing he saw before he sped off into space and back to earth was Timothy's limp body being dragged backwards.

Damian sank to his knees and didn't get up for a long time.

When he arrived back to Earth, it was useless.

Because Gotham was now gone.

————

Damian opened the door.

Inside was a wide, circular room with marble walls and floors. The ceiling was tall, and windows covered it, letting in golden light that lit up the room with an ethereal glow. In the middle of the room was a pool of water surrounding a tall tree on a little island.

Damian couldn't help the gulp of air that he took, rejuvenating him with a refreshing lightness like he was breathing in sunlight.

"Ah." A voice gasped softly. Damian whipped his head upwards and stared at a figure floating within the tree branches. "Hello."

This person wore white and black, their clothes all flowing around them. On their face was a deer skull, its horns stretching behind them as their white hair, strangely similar to Jason's unique white coloring, floated gently.

"Are you the God from the legends?" Damian asked, his voice sounding braver than he felt as the pressure of this being encased him.

"The legends? I suppose so. Do you have a wish, Damian al Ghul-Wayne?"

Damian flinched before his gaze hardened. "Yes. I would like to make a deal with you."

"I see." The god jumped off of the tree branch and floated in front of him. The air felt colder as they drifted closer to Damian. "What is your wish?"

"I want my family to live again."

The being paused. They tilted their head and then said, "Your family?"

"Yes." Damian paused and then clarified, "I want my entire family to be alive again. My father, all of my brothers, my sisters, my grandfather, and my extended family within Gotham."

"... a very big ask." The god murmured.

A chill rose within Damian and he said urgently, worried that his wish wouldn't be granted, "I am willing to do whatever it takes to have my wish granted. I can kill whoever you ask, I can offer my own body...! Anything, as long as my family is alive again."

The god tilted their head the other way. Then they said, "I see. Name your family."

Damian's breath hitched but before he did, he asked, "Will my wish be granted?"

"Yes."

Damian thrilled at that, before he paused. Then he asked carefully, "What is the price?"

The god turned to look at him. Their empty eye sockets, filled with a faint green glow, seemed to bore holes into his soul. "The price of the revival of your family is to sacrifice your life and eternity to me. You will offer your life, your death, and your eternity to me, for me to do whatever I wish."

Damian's breath stuttered. He paused, heart pounding as he debated with himself.

But who was he kidding?

There was no such question in the first place. Damian was not worth even an toe from his family. He wasn't even worth enough to even gaze upon their shoes.

Damian nodded firmly. "I agree to your deal. If I offer everything that I am to you, you will agree to revive my family as they once were?"

"They will be revived and reverted back to a time when they were once alive. They will be well and healthy, I assure you. With this deal, I can promise that they will live to old age."

Damian beamed. "Deal. My family's names are Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, and Timothy Drake."

The god seemed to give off an air of satisfaction. "Then, for the soul, eternity, and life and death of Damian al Ghul-Wayne, the aforementioned people will be revived and brought back to life."

They clapped their hands. "It's been done."

Damian couldn't tell if they were lying or not. Still, Damian was overjoyed at this piece of news. "Then... may I go see them?"

The god floated a bit in front of him. "No. You'll stay here, with me."

Damian paused, his stomach dropping and he wanted to smack himself for hoping. "I see. What will you have me do?"

Would they make Damian kill for them? Be a slave? Use his body? Would he have to sacrifice his body parts for them? Kidnap people? The possibilities were endless and although it made a bitter, sour taste go through his mouth, Damian did not dare complain.

The god seemed to be smiling as a broom appeared into existence in their hands. They handed it to Damian who grabbed it unsurely.

"Clean up."

————

And that was the beginning of how Damian became a servant of a lone God.

[madaqueue]

playlists

broke her daughter's legs in two | "bruno is orange" x hop along

synopsis: geto finds you after the village massacre, but things went differently

pairing: suguru geto x reader

themes/content: semi-canon curse au. angst. language. loss, death, mentions of possible abuse.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: a little angst to get me out of my smut era (jk i have so much more lined up lmao) anyways once again i highly suggest listening to this song while reading :)

“suguru?” you whisper hesitantly to the man standing in your doorway. the moonlight shines through the curtains of your dorm room, illuminating him just enough to make out his figure.

he says nothing, staring blankly ahead.

“what happened?” you ask, rubbing sleep from your eyes. he slowly starts walking towards you, a pit of dread forming in your stomach as he silently approaches your bed.

you shouldn’t be afraid. you know you shouldn’t. he’s your best friend.

but you also know what happened - you had read the report earlier today.

112 villagers died.

not a single person left in the village.

concluded to be that of suguru geto’s curse manipulation.

geto set fire to the village and fled.

subject to execution.

the weight of his body at the end of your bed causes it to sag slightly as he sits next to you. the smell of ash, blood, and death hangs on his clothes.

the cicadas chirp outside your open window, filling the air between you until he takes in a shaky breath, shoulders raising ever so slightly.

“i had to,” he mouths, the words barely audible.

his eyes stare straight ahead, empty.

“had to what?” you prod, gently reaching a hand up to his back. he flinches at your touch.

“i had to save them.”

you wouldn’t understand, he thinks. nobody else will ever understand.

the things he saw in that village, the way they hurt them - the two girls. it wasn’t their fault. and yet, there they were. they put them there. in that fucking cage, like animals.

the young girls begged him, tears in their eyes. “please don’t tell.” “please don’t yell.”

he was good. he knew he was good. he had to save them.

suddenly, the old woman behind him, their captor, spat back at them, “don’t speak. you’re both going to hell.”

he did what a good person should do. he saved them.

the world is not kind to sorcerers - he knew this all too well. especially in places like these, the outskirts of society where sorcery was equated to evil and condemned, they hurt them. they blame them. they punish them. the world is a dangerous place for sorcerers.

as he sits in your bed, he starts to shake. no tears leave his eyes, but his breathing becomes ragged, shoulders heaving as he stares into the distance in front of him, eyes unfocused.

in the quiet of your room, all he hears are the crackles of the flames. he didn’t even hear the screams, the pleas, that fell from their traitorous lips. because he was doing good. he was saving them.

your voice pulls him back to reality slightly, still unable to tune out the ringing of bloodshed from his ears. “suguru,” you murmur, “whatever happened, it’s okay.”

he wants to believe you, he does. he wants to feel your hand stroking his back, but it just feels like everything is a million miles away. he’s watching himself break down in the moonlight of your room. he wants to be good.

“i killed them,” he finally utters.

the words make you flinch, even though you knew they were coming.

“i killed all of them. the entire village.”

“why?” you ask, not wanting but nevertheless needing an answer, an explanation, for what happened.

“i had to save them.”

“save who?”

“the girls.”

a sigh leaves your lips in relief. you knew it, you knew suguru wouldn’t just hurt people. he must have seen them, they must have been hurt, and the only way to help them was to burn the village down. you needed this to be true, to reassure yourself as much as him. you knew he was good.

he was your best friend, after all, and right now he needs you.

you think back to the last time you saw him before this mission, how different things were, the morning he left.

–

the two of you sit on a picnic bench, shaded by one of the trees in the courtyard outside the school. geto holds an orange in his hands, peeling it with a small knife. he was always so careful with things like this, never daring to nick the soft flesh of the fruit, a care he brought with him into every aspect of his life. he was always calculated, a quiet thoughtfulness that came second nature to him.

your eyes trace over his hands before moving up to his face, the dark circles under his eyes a physical manifestation of the exhaustion you had seen growing in him the past few weeks.

“suguru?” you get his attention.

“mhm?” he murmurs, eyes never leaving the orange as he continues working his knife around it.

you sigh, not knowing how he’ll react to the question you’ve been dreading. “are you…are you okay?”

his hands freeze for a moment, body tensing, before he returns to his movement. “mhm,” he affirms.

you want to reach across the table, grab him by the shoulders and yell that you know he’s lying, that he is so clearly and undeniably not okay, that he just needs to talk to you and you’ll do anything you can to help him.

but, of course, you don’t. instead, you tilt your head back as your gaze shifts up to the sky, bright blue through the leaves above you.

“you know,” you start, scanning the branches that shake softly in the wind, “i heard that people used to eat oranges in the morning if they weren’t feeling well, the idea of a fruit-curing fever, something in it warming and soothing. they thought it could heal sickness.”

“mmm,” suguru hums softly. without another word, he splits the orange in two, handing you half. “worth a shot,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

–

remembering him, his kindness and hurt, your body language softens. “that’s okay,” you explain, more at ease now that you know he acted out of compassion. “where are they now, the girls? we can go help them, together.”

geto is silent. his eyes slowly move from the floor up to yours, a new darkness in them.

“suguru…” you start.

he just stares.

“w-what did you do?” you stammer, fear reappearing in the pit of your stomach, your hand freezing in place on his back.

“i saved them.” his voice is low, resigned. “it was too dangerous for them. they couldn’t live in this world, a world built to hate them. i needed to protect them. i needed to help them. and i did,” he pauses to take in a sharp breath between his rambling. “now, they won’t have to live in a world that would hurt them. it was too dangerous. i helped them. i did. i saved them.”

as he talks himself in circles, his grasp on everything becomes undone. he loses himself in his words, the mantra he so desperately clung to, the one he needed to say until he believed it.

he was good. he saved them.

your eyes widen as the realization sets in: the girls are dead. just like everyone else in the village. just like the reports said.

as he babbles out the same explanation, shock takes over your body. you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t move, the only words leaving your mouth are “it’s okay,” over and over again, the sounds mixing with his in your room, chaos swirling in the night air as you both drift away from this reality.

“it’s okay” “i protected them” “it’s okay” “i helped them” “it’s okay” “i saved them” “it’s okay”

suddenly, your body jolts forward as you sit up in bed. the action surprises suguru into silence as he watches you, eyes following your every move as you walk to the small kitchen in your dorm room, taking an orange out of a bowl that sits on the counter.

you shove your thumb under the thick peel, tearing at the flesh of the fruit as you pull it apart in strips. juice leaks down between your fingers and drips onto the counter. holding the fruit in your palm, your bare feet carry you back to suguru. holding out a hand, you both sit in silence and eat the orange.

your voice is raspy and worn as you speak to him.

“you saved them.”

[agentstovring]

Need

Title: Need

Pairing: Ian/Anthony (Smosh)

Rating: E for Explicit

Notes: Thank you Snel for always supporting my small but all-consuming bursts of creative energy

You can also find this on Ao3

When Anthony leaves, it happens in increments. Ian sees it coming like a runaway train, but he doesn’t dodge it; he lays down on the tracks, twirls his own mustache, and closes his eyes, waiting for collision. When Anthony finally says it out loud, Ian has already been processing for months.

They’ve known each other for so long, and even though they stopped being friends somewhere along the way, he could have lost all his senses and still felt the shift in the universe when Anthony decided not to suffer quietly any longer.

When Anthony musters up the courage to tell him, Ian puts on a surprised face; Anthony sees right through it, as former best friends do.

The rest of the company is informed as well, and their reactions run the gamut. The cast and crew are devastated, while Defy reps are concerned about optics. Anthony pretends to be optimistic about the future, and Ian pretends to be a stone.

The last weeks of working together reach levels of torture previously outlawed by the Geneva Convention. They get through it because they don’t have a choice; Defy has their finances so deep in the shitter, that neither Anthony nor Ian can afford to break their contracts, so production must go on. Everyone suffers, and everyone keeps showing up to work.

On Anthony’s last day, he buys everyone lunch and puts on a happy mask that just won’t stick. When he leaves, he hugs Ian; not for show, but out of some deeply buried habit. Without knowing it, they simultaneously come to the same realization: They haven’t touched off camera in over a year.

Ian

Let it be known that Ian Andrew Hecox knows how to suffer. He has mastered the subtle art of wallowing. He agonizes with the best of them. In the wake of Anthony’s departure, he reaches new lows in terms of sleep quality, nutrition, work-life balance, and personal hygiene.

The loss of Anthony consistently takes up so much space within him that any other problems or worries arising have nowhere to sit. When Defy shuts down less than two years later, brutalizing his life’s work in the process, Ian barely flinches.

Anthony finds his footing. After an awkward fledging stage, he discovers a format that plays to his strengths, and an audience grows around it, aware of his Smosh past but largely unconcerned with it. Ian watches him evolve and blossom out of his periphery while fighting for his own life. The conviction comes unbidden: “He doesn’t need me anymore.” And the thought fills him with dread.

Anthony

The Defy shutdown is a bittersweet affair; Anthony watches it from the outside, craving a bucket of popcorn, unable to fight off the satisfaction that his personal evil has been defeated. Unfortunately, it comes at the expense of Smosh; and though he barely recognizes it as the labor of love he built with Ian, the anguish is real.

For a while, the Defy garbage fire is the talk of the digital town, and Anthony hears rumors about the chaotic party that happened in the aftermath. People sneaking out props that rightfully belong to Smosh (vital); cameras being stolen (arguably necessary); furniture being destroyed (questionable); and computers being peed on (a choice).

When Smosh is left without a parent company, it could be the end of the channel, and he shamefully wonders if Ian will reach out. If it’s truly over, even though Anthony dipped out early, maybe Ian would want to lay it to rest together. Somehow, though, Anthony doesn’t feel convinced that this is the end. He may not believe in Smosh anymore, but he believes in Ian.

He watches with a sort of awe as Ian not only secures a new company, Mythical; but starts to rebuild Smosh to it’s former – maybe even greater – glory. New cast members; a bigger crew; content that sometimes flops but feels like it once again comes from a place of passion rather than greed.

Anthony watches every video that Ian appears in, and the truth settles in him. “He doesn’t need me anymore.” And the thought fills him with relief.

Ian

After Rhett and Link pull Smosh from the grave, Ian never allows himself to fully relax. Between Anthony’s departure and Defy’s incompetence-slash-betrayal, every small inconvenience feels like another punch to the face. He takes the punches, absorbs them; after a while, he almost relies on them. He feels like a shark, needing to keep moving in order to stay alive.

The ghost of Anthony haunts him on and off the clock. In meetings, he glances at empty chairs, imagining his former best friend sitting there, holding back a laugh as Ian makes jerkoff motions when someone mentions the algorithm.

When he gets stuck creatively, which seems to happen more and more, he misses their chaotic brainstorming sessions, fueled by caffein and takeout, talking and laughing into the light morning hours. When a video does well, he wonders if Anthony sees it pop up on YouTube; he wonders if Anthony ever watches the stuff they do.

The continuous “ Where’s Anthony”-jokes hurt him, but he decides that it would hurt more if they stopped. At least the jokes mean that Anthony’s spirit still lives at Smosh; everyone who works there, even people who started after he left and have never worked alongside him, still know and reference him.

Anthony

Anthony only properly starts to heal once he decides that Ian no longer needs him. He walks into therapy with a renewed sense of purpose, sits down in the plush chair and tells his therapist that he wants to talk about Ian. The therapist is stunned, because she's been trying to get him to talk about Ian for the past several years. They've talked about Smosh at length, but he's only mentioned Ian in passing and never separately from Smosh.

Now, he lets it all out. He starts from the beginning, fondly remembering their budding friendship; he talks about building Smosh the Website and turning it into a shared thing between them, knowing the risks of mixing business and friendship. He cries quietly, his therapist never once rushing him, as he processes and mourns the loss of their bond. He smiles ruefully as he allows himself to be sentimental for a moment; blushes as he lets himself be proud of their shared body of work.

When his therapist hints at the possibility of a future for him and Ian, a new business venture or a friendship independent of Smosh, he shrinks slightly in his seat. "I told you; he doesn't need me anymore."

His therapist shrugs. "Need isn't the only thing that brings people together, Anthony."

Ian

Women are terrifying. Ian has known this for a long time, but it can still surprise him just how effortlessly calculating they can be. Dianna called him three days ago and invited him out to try a new restaurant; when he'd asked who else would be there - just to be a dick, honestly - she'd casually said, "A few friends," not committing to any names before pressing him for an answer.

He'd said yes, because he likes Dianna, and he likes most of her friends, and he really likes Ethiopian food. Though now, less than an hour before he was supposed to be at the restaurant, he’s rethinking liking Dianna.

She'd called under the guise of giving parking instructions, and then, as he’s half-listening and buttoning up a patterned shirt, she slips in, "Oh, and Anthony's coming."

He freezes with his fingers on the top button. After a beat of silence, he picks his phone off the bed, hoping Dianna will sense his glare through the call.

"What the fuck," he says flatly. "Anthony's coming, you're telling me that now?"

"Maybe I just found out."

"Oh, you just found out that you invited him? Really snuck that past yourself 'til now, huh?"

"I'm sorry, sheesh, I'll call him and tell him not to come."

"Obviously don't do that, Dianna!" He sighs, trying to calm down. "It's fine, I was just surprised; I'm sorry for yelling."

Dianna hums noncommittally, but when she speaks again, she sounds nervous. "Are you still coming? Please still come."

"Of course I'm still coming," he says, looking himself up and down in the mirror. "It'll be nice to see him again."

"Awesome! He's single, by the way."

"Bye, Dianna, see you there!"

Anthony When Dianna texts and asks him to come to dinner, Anthony accepts without hesitation. He loves Ethiopian food, which tends to have a lot of vegan options, and Dianna always has the inside scoop on up-and-coming restaurants. There is an added bonus, too; Dianna is really more Ian's friend than his, and he suspects he's been invited because Ian is gonna be there.

In the hours leading up to the dinner, he is nauseous with anxiety, but as soon as he steps into the restaurant and spots the rest of the party at their table, a strange calm falls over him. Of course, when he spots Ian - who in turn spots him - a flutter of butterflies swirls in his stomach, and he can’t hold back a smile. Ian returns it.

For a second it feels like the surroundings blur and all he can see is Ian. He holds eye contact all the way to the table, only breaking it to greet everyone else and take his seat. He suspects it’s no coincidence that the only empty chair is right across the table from Ian.

"Hi," he says breathlessly, trying to seem casual while fighting for his life.

"Hi," Ian responds. "Good to see you."

"You too."

For all that Anthony wants to catch up with Ian, he’s very aware of the other people at the table; most of whom seem unaware of Dianna’s obvious scheme and therefore do their best to include him and Ian in their conversation. He can’t be too upset about it; it’s less nerve-wracking than speaking to Ian directly; he can’t say everything he wants to with an audience anyway.

Besides, Ian is clearly in a good mood; someone at the table has complained about the number of ads she gets for ad-free mobile games, and questions how they’re making money. This has sent Ian off on an immediate rant.

"It's all data mining," he says for the third time in just as many minutes, a little too loud for a public place. "It's not just shady, it's straight up predatory; they collect everything they can get their hands on and sell it to the highest bidder. This is why we need better legislation-"

If Anthony could see himself from the outside, he’s pretty sure he'd have literal hearts in his eyes.

Ian & Anthony

Eventually dinner wraps up, and the group finds themselves outside, saying goodbye as they head for their respective cars and Ubers. Ian and Anthony hang back, soon finding themselves alone in the parking lot. For a moment, neither of them speaks. The evening air blows an empty plastic bag past them, like the inner-city version of a tumbleweed, and they both sputter with laughter.

As they collect themselves, Ian clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too, man.”

Ian fears that the conversation is over; that he has to drive home with no closure whatsoever; but then Anthony’s eyes sparkle with that familiar warmth, and he says, “Do you maybe wanna come over to my place? Not now, I mean, but.. tomorrow?"

Delight and nervousness battle it out in Ian’s stomach; he thankfully catches himself before it shows on his face, managing a casual expression. “Sure, uh, text me when you're done doing, like, sunrise yoga or whatever."

Instead of dignifying the jab with a response, Anthony pulls Ian in for a warm hug, relishing how he tenses up for only a second before relaxing into the embrace.

"I'll text you as soon as the shaman leaves," Anthony quips. Pulling away, he puts his hands in his pockets, walking backwards towards his car. "I'd invite you over to talk tonight, but I had wine with dinner; might do something impulsive."

Ian scoffs and shakes his head, but there’s no missing the blush rising in his cheeks. 

"Sure," he says about 20 seconds too late, giving Anthony a small wave as he also starts to leave. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Anthony echoes with a smile, and it feels as if no time has passed.

The next day, Ian ends up at Anthony's place just in time for a late breakfast. The number of dishes littering the dining table tells Ian that Anthony has been stress-cooking, and he can’t help the warm feeling in his chest; clearly, this is important to both of them. He’s also touched to find that Anthony has remembered to get gluten-free bread for him; and as he tucks into a surprisingly flavorful tofu scramble, he’s overwhelmed with affection for his former best friend. 

Here they are, the two of them, sharing a meal in Anthony's home as they have done a thousand times before in what felt like another lifetime. Conversation comes easy but stays light. The most recent earthquake in L.A.; the mayoral election; family members they know; friends they share. Smalltalk that should feel shallow but holds so many years of intimate knowledge of one another.

They finish eating but keep talking as they clear the table and load the dishwasher, tiptoeing towards the reason they’re there. Anthony asks about Smosh the way any friend of Ian's would, as if it hasn’t been the source of so much hurt; and Ian answers as if it’s just a place where he works, and not a house haunted by Anthony's absence. 

Once there’s nothing left to clean and tidy, they go to the living room; Ian takes a seat on the couch while Anthony drops into the nearest chair. There’s a beat of silence. For the millionth time, Anthony thinks about the fight that never happened; he left Smosh without the screaming argument he half-expected. Ian just let him go.

He’s often wondered if a loud fight would have given him closure. Still, he hopes they’re not about to have that fight now. He couldn’t bear it. Sitting in his sunlit living room with Ian is the happiest he’s felt in years. As much as he wants this to be a new beginning, wants to keep the peace, there’s something he needs to say.

“I think a part of me wanted you to come after me, a big part even. In the beginning, when I was so angry at you, I wanted you to come knocking just so I could reject you. I know that’s awful, but it’s the truth.”

“I can’t say I don’t get it.”

“It took me a long time to stop being angry, and then I was just sad; I started wanting you to reach out, so I had an excuse to come back.”

“You wouldn’t have come back,” Ian says, shell-shocked and in denial.

“I would have.”

“Being under Defy nearly killed you!”

“Yeah, and coming back would have been stupid, but I would have. I was so scared of starting over without you; I would have come crawling back just to not risk failing. But you never came after me; and when Defy went down, you still didn’t.” Anthony cracks a smile. “You kept fighting. When Mythical bought Smosh, you still kept fighting. You brought our dream back to life with a team of amazing people around you. It hurt that you didn’t need me anymore, but I’m so proud of you.”

“That’s not true; I never stopped needing you.”

“Then why didn’t you come after me? Out of pride?”

“Usually pride would be a safe bet, but not this time. I wanted to chase you down the day you left. I lay in bed that night imagining myself driving over to your place, begging you to come back; but I knew you wouldn’t. And even though I didn’t wanna admit it to myself, I knew you were right to leave. After you left, I don’t know if you saw much of the content-“

“I did,” Anthony says, grimacing.

“Fuck. I was really hoping you didn’t; I was gonna make it sound not so bad, but.. Yeah, it got really bad; and when the shutdown happened, I almost lost hope. Without Smosh, I had nothing to offer you. So, I went looking for a new parent company, and- Look, you know I love Rhett and Link, but I chose Mythical solely because they were the ones willing to give us the most creative control.”

“It was the right choice.”

Ian smiles slightly. “I think so. They’re good Southern boys, and I trust them. Even though some people might say, don’t mix business and friendship- Uh, I guess we’d know about that; and Rhett and Link are childhood best friends anyway-“

“Ian,” Anthony says, stopping Ian’s rambling instantly.

“Mmyes?”

“What do you mean by ‘Without Smosh, I had nothing  to offer you’?”

Ian adjusts his glasses, swallows once, and adjusts his glasses again before saying, “I didn’t wanna live the rest of my life not talking to you. Smosh was wrecked, but I thought, if I fixed it, there was a chance that I could have you back.”

“You worked your ass off to find a new parent company; and hired good people; and created better content; just to get me back? Not because you wanted to see Smosh back on its feet?”

“Come on, man, you think I have integrity like that?”

“I know you do,” Anthony says, and he can’t hold back a smile. “I’m honored, though.”

“You should be! It was stressful, and now I can’t have gluten anymore.”

“You think the gluten intolerance is because of stress? Not your aging body?”

Ian looks away, pouting, “We can’t all look like a piece of paper someone used to test their markers.”

“That’s sloppy, try again.”

“You look like a Halloween costume called Sexy Rorschach Test.”

“You think I’m sexy?” Anthony teases, looking at Ian with a mockery of a smolder.

Ian’s upper lip curls in annoyance. “You know you look good..”

“You look good too.”

Ian scoffs. “When we left dinner the other night, I looked like a Republican senator who’d just picked up a sex worker.”

Anthony bursts out laughing and falls back into the chair, his feet coming off the ground as his knees pull towards his chest. Ian watches him, trying to keep a straight face even as his shoulders shake slightly with held-in laughter. When Anthony gets a hold of himself, wiping a few tears off his face, the look he gives Ian is impossibly fond.

"You know I'd never make you pay for it," he says, a little too earnestly for a joke. Ian blushes, even as he scrunches up his nose. 

"Wow, thanks so much," he says flatly, sending them both into a fit of giggles. When it subsides, Anthony lets out a little sigh. He looks serious again, and the words that follow don’t come easy.

 “I didn't know you were struggling too, not 'til later. At the time, I thought you’d just stopped giving a shit. I couldn’t bear it; Smosh was our baby, and watching you be so casual about losing it was driving me crazy. But on top of that..” he hesitates for a moment, looking down at his hands. “Worse than that, I thought you’d stopped caring about me.”

"I could never. The truth is, at some point, I knew that you were gonna leave, before you said anything," Ian fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt cuff. "I gave up. I thought I'd already lost you; and if I'd admitted to myself how bad things were with Defy, I would have left, too. But that would mean losing Smosh completely, and then I'd have nothing to offer you.

I hung in there because I thought, if I get through this, if I can fix it, maybe he'll come back. Things got worse before they got better, and then you seemed to be doing so well. By the time I felt like Smosh was back on track, you were so successful on your own; I couldn't imagine you wanting to come back."

"Ian, what-" Anthony tries not to let frustration get the best of him. "That’s the second time you’ve said that: Without Smosh you had nothing to offer me? I loved Smosh, still do, but what you and I have has always mattered more."

This is it, Ian knows. This is the moment to be completely honest and vulnerable; speak now or forever hold your peace. Tell Anthony everything and let the chips fall where they may; or keep up the white lie that has fueled the fire leading to Anthony's departure. Here they are, hanging out for the first time in years, and as much as it terrifies Ian to threaten this budding new beginning, he knows he has to be honest.

He takes a deep breath, voice shaking slightly as he struggles to get the words out. "I'm not saying this was in any way reasonable, but.. I thought, if I didn't have Smosh as a buffer, I would ruin everything. I knew I could never have you the way I wanted, but with Smosh, at least there'd be this big thing keeping us together."

When he finally dares to look at Anthony, he finds him staring, stunned. "The way you wanted? We're best friends, did you want.. more?"

This is it. "Yes, I wanted- I want," Ian sighs, closing his eyes. "I never wanted to risk Smosh, and I especially never wanted to risk our friendship, but yes. Anthony, I'm so s-"

"I'm in love with you."

Ian's eyes fly open. "What?!"

Anthony rises to his feet, sits back down, gets back up, and starts pacing nervously. "Fuck, I can't believe I just said that."

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes, obviously!"

Ian gets up as well but stays in place as he watches Anthony do a lap around the living room. “You were in love with me and you never told me?”

“You never told me either!”

“Well, obviously not! What if it had ruined our friendship and the company we built together?”

A laugh sputters out of Anthony, stopping him in his tracks. He comes closer, carefully, as if unsure if he’s allowed. “I guess I can’t really throw stones when.. I’m a house of glass.”

Ian frowns. “What?”

“I don’t know, I can’t think right now, can I just-?” 

Anthony takes another step forward and reaches for Ian, pulling him closer by his shirt. Ian goes willingly. He closes his eyes as he feels Anthony's breath on his chin. When their lips meet, Anthony sighs happily, and neither of them pull away to end the kiss, instead deepening it.

The idea that Anthony has to lean down to kiss him has Ian swooning a little. He's left antiquated ideas of masculinity behind long ago, uninterested in being a man's man; emotional vulnerability is old hat at this point; but being cradled in Anthony's arms still makes him feel safer and more protected than he's ever thought another man could make him.

He flicks his tongue over Anthony's bottom lip and is immediately granted access. Their combined breaths grow heavier, and hands start to explore. Ian sneaks a hand under Anthony's shirt, feeling delirious as abs flex under his touch. Anthony, made shameless by his arousal, doesn’t hesitate to grab a handful of Ian's ass and pull him even closer. Feeling the press of Anthony's hard-on against his stomach, Ian moans into the kiss and pulls back.

"Sorry, sorry," Anthony says, swallowing hard. "That was a lot."

"Don't be sorry; I was gonna suggest we move it to the bedroom."

For all that he's fantasized about it, Ian could never have imagined how having sex with Anthony would really be. In their friendship, they were always equals; in Anthony's bedroom, he takes charge, gently but firmly moving Ian around. He takes his sweet time laying him down on soft sheets, kissing and stroking each new section of skin exposed as they undress each other. When he pulls off Ian's t-shirt and throws it aside, Ian feels a flash of panic, insecurity surging.

They’ve seen each other in various stages of undress countless times; but since it happened last, Anthony discovered the healing powers of yoga and 5-hour tattoo sessions, while Ian put Smosh first and sacrificed all means of self-care. Instinctively, he covers his soft stomach, but Anthony is quick to catch his wrists, pinning them down by Ian's sides.

"Excuse me, I need a tidy workspace," he says, ignoring Ian's noise of discontent.

Releasing Ian's wrists, Anthony runs his hands up to Ian's chest and squeezes appreciatingly, earning himself a glare. "Are you having fun?"

"So much fun."

Ian sighs, accepting his fate; it’s hard to be truly upset when Anthony seems so genuinely into his body, needing to touch and taste everything. It’s not until they are in their underwear that Anthony seems hesitant. He stands next to the bed, paused with his hands on the waistband of his briefs, ready to pull them down, when he seems to have a dip in confidence.

His eyes are dark with lust but all too serious when they seek out Ian's. "Is this crazy?"

Ian pretends to think about it, then nods. "It's pretty crazy. Show me your cock."

Anthony sputters out a laugh, collecting himself as he sits down on the bed next to Ian. He strokes Ian's thigh, giving it an approving squeeze, willing his eyes to stop roaming while he voices his concern.

"I'm serious, Ian, are we being crazy? We've been apart for a while; now we're reconnecting and we're jumping right into bed? I don't wanna ruin this before it begins; this is not gonna be a hook-up and then radio silence, I won't do it."

Ian raises himself up on his elbow, "That's not gonna happen, I promise. I know this is all going so fast,  but at the same time, I've been wanting this for literal years."

"Me too," Anthony says quietly.

"And we've both done anal before."

Anthony blushes, averting his eyes as he can’t fight back a smile. "Yeah, but I haven't been on the receiving end."

"Well, I have, so no worries."

"You've bottomed?!" Anthony whips his head back, staring incredulously. "I didn't know that, when was this? With who?"

Ian chuckles, endeared by Anthony seeming offended that Ian hasn't told him. After all, there was a time when they shared every little detail of their dating and sex lives; and Ian bottoming would definitely have been a big conversation, likely the day after it happened.

He shrugs, trying to sound casual. "An ex-girlfriend I was with for a year or so; you haven't met her, it started and ended while we've been apart. I let her peg me."

Anthony swallows, folding his arms across his chest. He nods slowly. "How was it?"

"I liked it. Only did it twice, though; while it was happening, I couldn't stop thinking about this guy I'm in love with."

Anthony scoffs out a laugh, but a blush rises to his cheeks. He gives Ian a gentle push, making him lie back, leaning down to join their lips for another kiss. It turns intense again almost immediately, and soon they are both panting heavily against each other’s mouths. Anthony backs off, ignoring Ian's protests; he shoves his briefs down and manages to kick them off before reaching for Ian's as well.

Ian consents with a distracted nod as he stares at Anthony's hard cock, his stomach flipping with anticipation at the size of him. He's seen it before, but not fully hard and not when he felt that he was allowed to look. Then, before he can register what is happening, Anthony has straddled him. "If you want me to bottom, you need to rearrange."

"Patience, baby, I just wanna see.."

Ian tries really hard to ignore how being called baby by Anthony is making him feel, instead watching as Anthony pushes down his own erection so it lays flush against Ian's stomach. He groans and his cock twitches. The look Ian shoots him is both amused and judgmental. "Are you measuring?"

"No, this would be measuring," Anthony says, taking both their cocks in his hand. Ian's hips buck slightly at the contact. Anthony chuckles, eyes darkening. "I was just checking how deep in your guts I'm gonna be."

Ian just barely manages to hold back a whimper, instead raising one knee to kick Anthony in the back.

"Go get lube, you freak. You have lube, right?"

Anthony's face blanches momentarily, then he dismounts and flees the room, coming back seconds later with a bright purple tube of lube, brand new with the plastic seal still on. He holds it up for Ian to see, holding his other hand up behind it like a beauty influencer showing off a product. Ian motions for him to get things moving and he grins, taking off the plastic seal. 

"Adam & Eve sponsored some videos; they sent me a bunch of stuff. That drawer is full of condoms," he says with a nod, indicating the nightstand to Ian's left. Ian opens the drawer, which does indeed contain at least a dozen 10-packs of condoms. He opens a full pack and takes one out, turning it between his fingers.

"Full because you don't ever use them," he says teasingly.

 Anthony doesn’t laugh. He throws the plastic seal in the trash and brings the lube over to the bed. He sets it down on the nightstand for a moment, reaching down to carefully take off Ian's glasses, looking into his eyes as he lowers them.

"Yeah, I haven't been interested in anyone else in a long time."

For someone jittery with eagerness, Anthony demonstrates extreme patience as he opens Ian up with slick fingers. Ian is choking back moans, leaking onto his own stomach as he gives Anthony the little guidance he needs. The memory of getting prepped by his ex-girlfriend is distant and growing dimmer by the minute. Anthony is less practiced, but he makes up for it in awed enthusiasm, eyes flickering from Ian's blushing face to his hole clenching around Anthony's fingers.

Soon Ian decides that Anthony has made sufficient room for himself and pulls him closer, kissing him messily as he rolls on a condom. Anthony lines himself up and presses his lips to Ian's neck as he inserts himself, little by little as Ian adjusts. When he finally bottoms out, Ian shudders out a moan, shaking hands finding Anthony's hips.

"Don't move."

"Am I hurting you?"

"No, I just don't wanna come yet."

Anthony snickers, placing a row of slow kisses from Ian's jaw to his shoulder. "I'm flattered."

"So full of yourself."

"I think you're one who's full of me, actually."

Ian rolls his eyes and Anthony laughs, gently brushing hair off Ian's damp forehead. They lock eyes, and for a moment time stands still as the weight of the moment hits them; after years spent missing each other, stumbling through the dull ache of loss, they have found their way back to each other in a way neither of them had dared hope for.

Part of Ian wants this moment to go on forever, savor their closeness for as long as he can before something else can try to break them. The rest of him, however, is very aware of Anthony's cock brushing his prostate.

“Okay,” he says in an outbreath. "Move."

Anthony does. He starts slow, careful and deliberate, rolling his hips in short, measured thrusts while searching Ian's face for signs of discomfort. The stretch is delicious even after his thorough prep, and Ian sighs in pleasure, pulling him in for a messy kiss, urging him to pick up the pace. Their combined sounds mix with birdsong from outside and in the midst of it, even with his face scrunched up in pleasure, Ian can't help but smile at the fact that he's having what may be the best lay of his life in broad daylight with his best friend.

Anthony slows down slightly, returning the smile, puzzled. "Why are you smiling?"

"You're still my best friend."

Anthony's hips jerks forward and a small moan startles out of him. He blushes and hides his face while Ian cackles. "Did that do something for you? You out here getting off on the power of friendship?"

"Shut the fuck up." 

Before Ian can crack another joke, Anthony kisses him and speeds up his thrusts again, harder now, tapping his prostate on every turn. Ian groans against his lips, fingers digging into his sides, and Anthony pulls one of Ian's legs around himself to get deeper. They gasp into each other's mouths, bodies moving in perfect sync with each other as they always did. Anthony nips the sensitive skin under Ian's ear and revels in the whimper he gets in response. 

"I'm close," Ian grits out as his cock twitches between their bodies.

Anthony nods jerkily in agreement, kissing him reassuringly. He gets a hand between them to jerk Ian off with a firm grip. "Me too, I'm- I'll follow you."

Promise? Ian thinks, and then he tumbles over the edge, moaning out a string of fuck-fuck-fuck as cum splatters up his chest. Anthony's rhythm falters at the sight, and as Ian tightens further around him, he surges forward to bring their sweaty foreheads together.

"Oh, oh my-" The sentence bleeds into a deep groan as he comes. 

The rolls of his hips slow to a stop, and he brings their mouths together for another kiss. They lay there for a moment, catching their breath. Anthony's stomach flexes and unflexes a few times as the last traces of his orgasm ebb out, inadvertently rubbing against Ian's oversensitive cock and making him whimper.

Anthony pulls back, giggling. Running soothing fingers up and down Ian's chest, he carefully pulls out, and - slightly wobbly - he gets out of bed to dispose of the condom. He returns just in time to see Ian's eyes slip shut, and huffs out a laugh at the sight.

"Don't fall asleep, we gotta to clean up."

"Okay," Ian whispers but makes no effort to stay awake. Just before he knocks out completely, he's vaguely aware of Anthony wiping down both off their chests using Ian's t-shirt. Bastard.  

Ian traces one line of Anthony’s tattoos across his chest, following its path downwards while Anthony watches his concentrated face with a fond smirk. When the line ends in a swirl by his groin, Ian flattens his hand on Anthony’s hip, thumbing the slightly protruding bone.

“They say that there’s a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.“

Anthony nods slowly. “At the end of the inky swirl it’s a dick instead.”

“I think I like that better.”

“I’m sure you do, gaylord.”

“Excuse me?!” Ian yells, and Anthony lets out a cackling laugh, not stopping even as he takes a pillow to the face. Ian straddles him, poking his fingers into Anthony’s sides. “You just had sex with a guy, I was there, and you’re calling me a gaylord?”

“Mercy!” Anthony yelps, still laughing, as he squirms to avoid Ian’s prodding fingers.

“Mercy? How about ‘sorry’! You don’t get to call me a gaylord, gaylord!”

Anthony catches both of his wrists, wheezing from laughter and tickles. “Sorry, I’m sorry!”

Ian lets his arms go limp and sighs, rolling his eyes. Anthony giggles and shakes his hands a little, making Ian’s arms wiggle. When he releases them, Ian plants his hands flat on Anthony’s chest, forcing a small ‘oomph’ out of him.

“I don’t think you’re sorry.”

Anthony’s eyes widen ever so slightly as a small jolt of anxiety runs through him. “What do you mean?”

“If you were really sorry,” Ian says, scowl softening into a grin. “you wouldn’t be at half-mast right now. Can’t even have a naked man sitting on you without getting a boner.”

“I feel like that’s a normal reaction.”

“You would feel like that, gaylord.”

Barking out a laugh, Anthony grips Ian’s hips and rolls them over. “You’re the gay one,” he says, panting with effort as he tries to pin Ian down, surprised at the amount of strength necessary. He’s suddenly reminded that Ian used to be something of an athlete.

Ian struggles half-heartedly .“Everyone always said you’re the pretty one, and I think we know what that means!”

Anthony snorts, finally trapping Ian’s wrists against the mattress, hips pressed between his legs to hold him in place. He’s fully hard now, and Ian is catching up quick. Anthony leans down and captures his lips in a slow, wet kiss. Ian moans against him and it’s like music to his ears. He pulls back, huffing out a small laugh when Ian tries to follow.

“If I say that I’m the gay one, can I fuck you again?”

Ian pretends to think about it, even as Anthony feels his cock twitch against his abdomen. Ian sighs dramatically. “Fine, but no take-backsies; if I let you put your dick in me again, you’re the gay one forever.”

Anthony sits back on his heels, eyes darkening as he pushes Ian’s thighs towards his torso. “Deal.”

After round two, they both drop into an unplanned nap. When they rouse, the early evening sun casts a soft, peachy pink glow over their tired bodies as they slowly get out of bed. Ian groans in pain and supports himself on the nightstand before taking a few unsteady steps. Anthony winces, shooting him an apologetic look.

“Shit, sorry, did I..?”

Ian waves dismissively. “Not my ass, my back; next time you decide to put me in a mating press, let me limber up first.”

“I know a guy who can teach you some yoga.”

Ian ignores him and they end up in the shower. Anthony insists on washing Ian’s hair and immediately gets shampoo in his eyes, giggling uncontrollably as he helps wash it out. Ian soaps up Anthony’s pecs for several minutes with a look of deep concentration and Anthony gets hard again.

“So definitely just your back hurts, right?” Anthony says, sneaking a hand down to Ian’s ass.

They do rock-paper-scissors to decide who has to leave the hot shower and fetch the lube. Anthony loses and pads barefoot to the bedroom, leaving a trail of water. When he returns, he pulls Ian out of the shower anyway and bends him over the bathroom counter.

Ian hisses as his bare stomach makes contact with cold marble, followed by a second hiss when Anthony pushes inside of him for the third time that day. Maybe he is a little sore, but he doesn’t even consider saying stop, especially when Anthony moans beautifully behind him.

Instead, he says, “I don’t know if I can come again,” and before Anthony can ask, “Don’t stop.”

Anthony grunts in response and fuck into him with small, shallow movements, clearly trying to be careful. It’s very sweet, Ian thinks, but it won’t do. He reaches behind him and grabs one of Anthony’s wrists, pulling him closer.

“We get it, you have a big dick; now stop fucking me from 10 feet away, I’m freezing.”

Anthony chuckles fondly and kisses a few waterdrops off Ian’s back, mesmerized by the goosebumps spreading across his pale skin. Sliding his arms around Ian’s waist, he shuffles closer, plastering his front to Ian’s back and burying his cock as deep as it will go.

Ian moans in pleasure and pain as he clenches around him, and nods with determination. “Alright, gaylord, get it done.”

Anthony huffs out a laugh in response. He barely pulls out, instead rolling his hips in short, sharp thrusts, nailing Ian’s prostate every time. Their combined moans echo off the bathroom tiles as Anthony makes short work of it; they’re both too tired and sore for this. Just this once, though, overstimulation is his friend, and he jerks Ian off in time with his thrusts, all but forcing his third orgasm out of him.

Ian yelps and shakes as few drops of cum drip onto the floor, and his body vice grips around Anthony, pulling his release from him. Ian’s knees wobble and it’s only Anthony’s body on his that keeps him from sliding onto the floor in a boneless heap.

Anthony presses his lips against Ian’s neck and doesn’t move for a good minute, breathing laboriously against his sensitive skin. Finally, having caught his breath, he lifts his head just enough to whisper, “I’m gonna pull out, are you standing?”

Ian nods, not sure if it’s true or not, and Anthony very carefully disconnects them, making soothing noises as Ian grimaces. Despite his protests, Anthony runs him a bath. He dozes off in the hot water, waking up momentarily to see Anthony sitting on the bathmat next to the tub, making sure he doesn’t drown. He’s reading a book about mindfulness, occasionally glancing at Ian, checking on him. Ian smiles softly before slipping back into slumber. The second time he wakes up, the water is tepid, and Anthony is asking for his takeout order.

Once the food arrives, they set up camp in the living room. Ian sits sidesaddle on the couch with a soft pillow under him, wearing Antony’s top sheet like a toga. Anthony is next to him, manspreading in his bathrobe and boxers. They eat in relative silence with Planet Earth playing on the big TV.

After slurping up the last of his pho, Ian sets down the bowl and chopsticks and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Okay, this might sound crazy, but-“

Anthony groans around a mouthful of vegan spring roll. “If you wanna go again, you can sit on it; I’m not getting up.”

Ian snorts, feeling his cheeks flush. “Jesus, that’s not what I meant; besides, my ass needs like, three business days to recover. Maybe let me finish?”

“I had you finishing a lot,” Anthony mumbles. Ian shoots him a look and he chuckles, holding a hand up in defense. Setting down his empty food container, he shifts one leg onto the couch to better face Ian.

“Sorry, finish your sentence, please. This might sound crazy, buuuut..?”

Ian looks into his eyes, and for one brief moment, they’re 16 again, sitting on Anthony’s bed in his childhood bedroom, brainstorming sketch ideas. Their shared history spans two decades, and he wouldn’t do a thing differently out of fear that they would end up anywhere but here. In the present, Anthony’s heart thumps; Ian looks as radiant and unafraid as Anthony always remembers him, and the look he gives Anthony is bright like the sun. “What if we bought back Smosh?”

//