#i could have written that shit but worse and even more tiring

[garpond]

one day the veil will get thin and ill seriouspost about neilphen itry not to because i dont want to be annoying and im not saying that in a shy demure way im saying that in a you are Not ready for how much of a killjoy and a nuisance i can be way

[problemswithbooks]

BNHA Ch. 429

So, I guess Toga is dead, and people are losing it.

I get why people liked her--she was actually queer, being pan/bisexual. She was representation for them and that's rare in shonen manga. But here's the thing--she was bad representation at best and insulting at worst. Nor do I think she was made queer because Hori really wanted to represent a queer girl. Himiko was always the author's poorly hidden fetish--she just was. She liked girls as much as boys because Hori wanted to draw a girl touching sexually on another girl. You can see this in how he draws her and Ochako in solo pics together.

I mean, people seem to understand this when it comes to Momo and her outfit being overly sexual or that both Himiko and Hagakure's Quirks either leave them naked or they have to be naked to use them. These are excuses to draw girls in a sexual manner. Himiko being into other girls is the same thing and that's the kindest interpretation.

Given how Himiko acts and her Quirk being heavily coded sexual desire, and therefore her use of it against someone unwilling being sexual assault, it could just being playing into harmful stereotypes of predatory gays.

As a queer person myself I just found Toga insulting. She was designed to be overly sexual and give the male author a female character that he could draw being suggestive with his other female characters. When he did flesh out her character, her backstory was eventually the trope/fear of straight people, that gay people will be so overcome with their lust that they end up sexually assaulting them.

In the end Ochako accepts this part of Toga and says she'll giver her blood forever, but as much as a lot of readers took that that as some deep lesbian confession, for me it really fell flat. Hori never really gave any of the main kids time to actually learn about their villain or show how that changed their minds toward them. Shoto only works because Touya is his brother (even though he admits he barely remembers him). But Ochako goes from not thinking of Toga at all pre-first war, to one thought about her during her speech, to suddenly caring about her so much she--given how Toga's quirk is coded, is willing to essentially fulfill Toga's kink for the rest of their lives.

It's weird and it comes out of nowhere. It's made even stranger because Toga doesn't actually change or show remorse for anything she did, which included personally hunting and murdering people before she joined the LOV. None of the death and destruction she is also partially responsible for is brought up either, something that Ochako was rightfully upset about during the first war when less people and property had been destroyed. Ochako just accepts everything about her suddenly and her past serious crimes are forgotten so they can cuddle and cry.

Am I shocked Toga died--a little. I didn't think Hori would have the guts to kill off a young girl character, especially one that he clearly got a lot of joy drawing in sexy poses. But at the same time, once he killed off Shigaraki and ended Touya's story with his slow death, I'm not surprised he went the same route with Toga.

This isn't Naruto--Hori isn't really kind to characters that do something wrong, especially if they don't try and change. Enji, Bakugo, Hawks, and Aoyama all sort of got punished for what they did. Enji is the worst off, being permanently crippled, missing an arm and burned everywhere. Bakugo's hand is damaged, his heart weaker, plus he feels bad that Izuku lost his Quirk so they can't compete the same way he wanted them to. Aoyama, despite doing way less wrong and even helping his class during the forest raid, still leaves school because he doesn't feel he earned being there yet. Hawks lost his Quirk and even though him running the HPSC could be seen as good for him, Hawks always wanted a break, but now he has one of the most time consuming and stressful jobs out there.

So, if this is what characters who actively did good things and even changed and fought to be better get, what would characters who never changed and never did anything positive for anyone but their friends/themselves get?

Before the last Arc started, when so many people said the LoV were 100% going to be redeemed I had doubts and always thought it wouldn't make sense with how the story presented redemption or treated other non-LoV villains in the past. That if the main LoV did get some happy ending where they were bffs with the main cast it would clash with how other characters had been treated.

That doesn't mean that I think how Shigaraki, Toga, and Touya ended up in the manga was well done. I think their endings fit far better then a last minute redemption would have, but at the same time you can feel how rushed everything has been since the end of the first war arc. Hori was done with this story months if not years ago, yet he was contractually obligated to finish it. Because of that I think he left out as much as possible. As much as I think he's written some pretty obsessive stuff, particularly towards women, I can't really fully blame him cutting corners or the story being shit at the end.

We know Manga authors, particularly those that work with Jump are treated like shit. That they suffer incredibly long hours at times not even getting to go home for days. We've gotten messages for Hori saying he's sick quite a few times. On top of that, weekly story telling is not a great way to tell a cohesive narrative. Ideas probably change week to week or at least month to month and you can't go back and change the last chapter no matter how much you need or want to. Then you remember he also gave a lot of ideas to the people who made the movies, which would also change his plans for how he wanted the main story to go.

The story is bad--it has been for a while, but I think a lot of people put their hopes on their favorite characters getting a happy ending, even when there were signs that probably wasn't going to be the case. I know how much it sucks when a character you love gets a shitty ending (Stain was my fav, but he got an absolute dogshit ending) but at least, knowing what I know about the industry I can't really blame Hori the way I see some other people doing. Criticize it, sure, but saying Hori hates his readers or is horrible writer isn't true. BNHA was popular for a reason--he's great with characters and the beginning of the story had some great pacing. We'll never know, but I wouldn't be surprised if BNHA could have been amazing if Hori had been treated better and the story hadn't needed a chapter every week.

If anything BNHA has taught me how much a story suffers when authors/artists are treated like crap and forced to work past burnout.

[moondirti]

blue collar simon x gn! reader. implied cnc.

Simon finds a journal on his lunch break.

It's inconspicuous. A5 black moleskin with an elastic holding it's contents together, bits of paper sticking out like nails on a poorly constructed house frame. He only notices it because his cooler slips off the bench when he blindly places it atop the fat book, sandwiches and packets of crisps now strewn across the dirty pedway.

The day's already been shit. A motley of blows, each made worse by the torrid sun overhead, sweat to cling to his grievances. An uptight site manager. A near loss of life after some tenderfoot got caught in between an excavation truck and the wall. Even his too-long hair, which curls around red ears – having not had a chance to buzz it off since being called in for this job. It's no wonder, then, that the tiny mishap stirs as severe of a reaction as it does; he chucks his hard hat across the road, satisfied only when it finds its fate mid-lane, an obstruction to inevitably fuck the tires on a white collar's new car.

When his rage settles as smouldering ash in his chest, he picks his food off the floor and cracks open the source of his animosity.

With no name or number, the first page holds just a chicken-scratch address. Interesting. Its owner hasn't made this easy on him, crafting it like one would a game. A skewing of traditional acquaintance. Granting nothing of their superficial identity, yet unrestricted access to their innermost thoughts. Thus he's forced to paint his own picture of the figure behind the words.

And what a picture indeed.

The first entry is brief.

13.02 – My therapist expects at least three pages a week. I'm not doing any of that, so don't get your hopes up.

It's evident that you don't stick to your guns. Though the next one is dated several months later, so he see's the attempt had been made. Written in a whole new hand, like you'd picked a dry pen off the floor and practiced your non-dominant grip:

08.05 – I broke my arm playing tennis. The umpire called a match-point in my opponent's favour and I threw the racket at his head.

I am no longer allowed to play tennis. What good is that resolution? My radius has a greenstick fracture. I'm already out of the game.

His laugh is abrasive and sudden, like it'd been pried from his chest by a pair of careless hands. Or as close to that analogy as it can get – your anger is intoxicating and only grows more potent across the pages. Inadvertently amusing. Simon chews through the tough crust of his torpedo roll as he reads, time wearing away under the stiff comb of your words.

There's hardly any variation in your cataloguing –

10.06 – The universe must need more bad people in it, because it tests my limits everyday. Can the fuck next door snore any louder? It's 2 am, goddammit. I wonder if it'd be overkill to ship nasal strips to his mailbox.

26.06 – Dad called today. Didn't pick up.

04.07 – I'm close to killing Kathleen. There's a reason the food in the fridge is labelled as MINE. GET YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OFF OF IT!

13.07 – The world is a shitty, stupid, crappy, icky, lousy, rotten, stinking, stinky, bad place. I hate my coworkers and friends and parents and landlord and etc etc. It's like everyone is out to get me.

– so it's like the honed curl of a hook. Whiplash-inducing, reeling his attention so quick that his neck strains in phantom pain. Simon stops everything, elbows settling onto his knees as he fixates on one entry in particular.

30.07 – I stand by what I said. The world is uniquely horrible. I think that's because I make it that way for myself. Whatever this exercise was meant to do for me, rage relief or introspection or whatever, it's clearly not working. I'm just as angry as I was before. Maybe burning these pages would help. I wish I could play tennis again. I don't know what to do with my hands anymore. I got fired last week. Need groceries. Eggs, spinach. Spinach always goes bad and I never make use of it. I keep buying it though. Dad keeps calling. I've got a migraine and I've run out of advil.

I just need someone to put me in my place.

And it ends there. No more entries after the fact, just a handful of blank pages before the journal wraps to a close.

He flips back over to the address at front. Looking at it a second time, he can tell the ink is still fresh.

Perhaps he misinterprets it. Perhaps it hits a little too close to home. It wouldn’t be the first time he looks for salvation in the empty lines someone leaves behind. Perhaps it’s just been a bad day, and he should go home before he does something he’ll regret. Perhaps it’s nothing at all.

Or–

Perhaps he sees it for what it is.

Here are all my colours. What you choose to do, or think, is no longer my concern.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Heyy,love your headcanon stuff! Especially the Batboys things

Wondering if you could do a few headcanons with the Batboys where the reader gets injured from a sport,work or something like that and they hide it from the Batboys?

It's all good if you can't or already have written something similar to this :)

Dick

Thought everything was okay until he started to notice how you’d carefully and meticulously planned out how you should move your body, which almost made you look robotic in the process.

That was when he knew something was wrong when you refused to let him hold your afflicted side, strict that you weren’t in the mood for it, but it was obvious to dick that wasn’t the case.

He’d even notice your breath hitched in your throat when you moved a certain way too fast, pulling on your injured side in a way that caused you to stop and try to breathe through the pain that was coursing through your body before continuing on with your day as though nothing had happened.

‘Are you okay sweetheart?’ He’d ask softly as you held your side instinctively when you caught it on the edge of the counter, it was a brief bump but it was enough to have you fighting back tears from streaming down your face.

‘No.’ You’d whimper, ‘I’m not. I’m hurt dickie bird.’

With that dick immediately gets you to bed and assess the situation with your side, only to see a particularly nasty looking bruise blossoming across your side in hues of purple, yellow and more. ‘Oh why didn’t you say anything sooner?’ He says as he gingerly held a pack of ice against your bruises, holding your hand with the other as you squeezed it the moment the ice pack made content with your tender side.

‘I didn’t want you to worry about me and my stupid bruises.’ You admitted and dick couldn’t help but kiss your forehead.

‘I’ll always a worry about you sweetheart, no matter what I’ll always worry. So let me take care of you now.’ Dick told you as he then dedicated the rest of his spare time to making sure to ice your bruises while smothering you in kisses and words of affirmation into your skin to take your mind off of the ache in your side.

Damian

He just knows you’re hurt and it’s best not to act like you’re not because it’s not fooling him in the slightest.

Even if you tired to pass it off as something that’ll go away eventually, Damian would see through such an excuse with ease.

‘If that’s the case then why are you still struggling to pick up a kettle when making yourself a drink?’ He would ask and suddenly your mouth became dry and a mind blank of ideas on how to answer that.

Your silence was enough of an answer for Damian to know that you were full of shit and were only making things worse for yourself out of sheer stubbornness to not admit to him that you were hurt.

So Damian took it upon himself to make sure that your hand was properly bandaged, while telling you that you were not allowed to do anything that could cause you more discomfort or make things worse for yourself.

However he would personally over see your healing process himself when he wasn’t on missions, making sure that you were taking your medication, drinking enough fluids and eating enough food while doing the harder tasks for you without a single word uttered past his lips.

Damian was serious about your healing and didn’t want to see you further descend into pain if he could help it while with a look of perpetual annoyance upon his face.

‘If it bothered you so much to look after me then don’t bother-‘

‘No.’

‘No?’ You asked.

‘I don’t trust you to not hurt yourself even more, so let me do it until you can actually lift a kettle again.’ He said and you couldn’t help but smile at his way of saying that he didn’t want you to further hurt yourself out of fear, even if he did possess a unique way of saying it, but you wouldn’t have Damian any other way.

Jason

Had a suspicion that you were injured the moment you didn’t allow yourself to fully utilise your foot without groaning, grabbing on the nearest surface to steady yourself before trying to act like nothing ever happened.

Once Jason had enough of you pretending you were okay, when you clearly weren’t, He doesn’t hesitate to carry you off to your room with little struggle and put you down on your bed.

‘Jason what the-‘

‘You’re hurt and you didn’t think to tell me?’ Jason asked, a little hurt that you didn’t seemly guest him enough to admit to them you were injured, which only made him wonder about all the other times you had been hurt but didn’t say anything to him and instead suffered in silence until you were passed off as fine.

‘I didn’t want to worry you!’ You replied, seeing the hurt in his eyes and immediately feeling bad about your decision because you knew Jason valued honesty and respect in your relationship, and so you could only imagine what was going through his mind upon finding out that you were hiding something from him after having told him everything in your relationship thus far.

‘Of course I’m going to be worried when you’re hurt, you’re hurt and I don’t know how!’ Jason exclaimed but his hands remained gently when elevating your foot on the closest pillow he could find within reach. He then placed a soft, featherlight kiss to your ankle, leaving a pleasant tingle there as he looks at you tiredly. ‘I just want you to come home safe and not in bits, I just want to protect you and keep you happy.’

‘You already do that enough as it is jay birdie!’ You cried as you grabbed his hand and held it close to your chest, thumb rubbing at the pulse point on his wrist soothingly, while kissing each and every one of his fingers. ‘Besides I just tripped up on something when on my daily jog and it sprained my ankle, nothing more, nothing less.’ You explained to him as you pleased with your eyes for him to believe that you were telling the truth.

Jason, being the massive softy that he was towards you, sighed and squeezed your hand. ‘Okay chipmunk but I best not see you walking on your ankle until you’re better.’ He said sternly and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘As long as my jay birdie is the one taking care of me, then I’ll never step a toe out of this bed, it’s too comfy.’ You said and Jason visibly relaxed as he kissed your forehead. ‘That’s a shame, I like the aspect of having to carry you back to bed, I didn’t get my morning kiss before you left for your daily jog after all.’ He whispered against your skin.

You and Jason use your sprained ankle as an excuse just to cuddle and spend time together to make up for lost time between the two of you.

Bruce

Another one who’s sharp eyes immediately knows that your hiding your hurt from him.

The biggest give away was the fact that you didn’t put much weight on your afflicted foot and instead poorly attempted to hide your hobbling and facial expressions of intense discomfort you’re putting yourself through just to leave him unsuspecting.

You failed on all grounds when dating/married to a detective/vigilante.

Bruce knows you’re not okay and he’s not going to allow you to make things worse for yourself either, as soon enough he has Alfred help him set up a comfortable space for you to properly rest for the foreseeable future, making sure you had everything you could possibly need and more to make your healing journey more durable.

Even if you tried to deflect any and all notation that you were hurt. Bruce would look at you unimpressed because you were talking to someone who had once tried to fuck up thugs with a couple broken rips, fractured bones and more, only to be stopped by Alfred who walked him back to the manor like a disappointed and overtired father.

Bruce now understood what Alfred felt when he practically had to carry you to your shared room where you were to remain bed bound, not until Alfred said you were cleared to walk the manor without flaring up your injury.

‘This isn’t fair! It’s just a sprain!’ You cried as Bruce made sure that your pillows were fluffed and that your comforting blankets were even fluffier.

‘A sprain that could’ve worsened with how you treated it.’ Bruce replied as he put aside the ibuprofen gel and paracetamol tablets on the nightstand along with a glass of water before gently but quickly elevating your bandaged foot with a pillow.

‘Still i could’ve handled it myself.’ You muttered under your breath.

‘If by better you mean make it worse and prolonging the healing process, then yes I’d say you had it handled well.’ Bruce said sarcastically that you couldn’t help but notice the irony in the statement.

‘You’re just as worse!’ You pointed out, ‘how many times has Alfred has to stop you from going out at night while severely hurt?’

‘Too many to count.’ Bruce said under his breath but he only smiled at you and kissed your forehead before getting up from the bed and moved to the door of your shared room, but just as he was about to leave he gave you a pointed look. ‘You.stay.here.’ He gestured to the bed before leaving you to look up at the ceiling, knowing that if Bruce was going to be looking after you, there’s was little to no chance that he would let you step even a toe out of bed without looking at you like a overtired husband.

Bonus: baby dick and Jason are your ‘bodyguards.’ Who will tell Bruce if you even tried to leave bed before you were fully healed.

[roosterforme]

Stateside | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley made a mistake last summer when he left for his deployment without ever asking you out, and then he thought about you a lot when he was gone. He was stateside again for less than a day when the other guys coerced him to help with a fundraiser at the Hard Deck. A friendly wager with the squad might not be the only thing he wins by the end of the night.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, drinking, swears

Length: 4500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @thedroneranger Written for Pick Your Poison

Bradley had barely been stateside for twenty four hours when he woke up in his bed at noon to an array of texts arriving all at once. Five months on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with nothing much going for him left him surprisingly exhausted. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his friends, he just needed a full day to himself to readjust. 

He groaned and rolled over after glancing at his phone and seeing the words Hard Deck in a message from Jake. He closed his eyes again after tossing his phone aside, but about ten seconds later, he cracked them open again. If there was one thing he had consistently thought about over the course of those five months, it was you. Your bright smile, your perfect laugh, your navy blue tee shirts that said The Hard Deck across the front.

When he reached for his phone and checked the message from Jake, he sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. Maybe this could be an excuse to see you again sooner rather than later.

Hangman: Hey, we need you to come to the Hard Deck tonight. It's the annual charity event, and Bob can't make it. We're short a bartender. And don't try to bitch out of this, Phoenix told me you're home.

Bradley covered his face with his hand and thought long and hard about this. The real bartenders would be there to help which meant there was a chance you'd be one of them. If he volunteered for this, then maybe he'd find himself in close quarters with you for a few hours instead of the other Naval officers he'd been stuck with for months on end. Just the idea of accidentally bumping into you while pouring a beer had him texting Jake back.

Yeah, I'll be there.

Even though he was still pretty tired later in the afternoon, Bradley took a shower and then spent some extra time on his hair before dressing in his lucky shirt. That five month deployment was the reason he didn't ask you out during the summer, and now he was nervous to see you again. He had good intel from Penny that you'd been single the last time he saw you in August, but what if you had a boyfriend now? Or worse, what if you didn't even acknowledge him when you saw him?

He groaned as he looked in the bathroom mirror. Hours, possibly even days... that's how much time he'd had you on his mind while he was away. And for what? A crush on a girl who was probably too young for him? A cute bartender at the Navy hangout who definitely got asked out nightly? Shit. He was a lost cause. 

And now he was going to be late if he didn't leave right away. He grabbed his keys, and headed out to his Bronco which he had missed dearly. So if nothing else, he'd get to cruise around later after the event. But on the ride to the bar, all he could imagine was how you'd look in the passenger seat, smiling at him at every stoplight and singing along to the radio. 

"Fuck," he grunted as he parked next to Jake's truck before heading inside. He let his heart fill with hope as he strolled in to find Penny, Jake, Javy and Reuben behind the bar with two bartenders. But neither of them were you.

"Rooster!" Reuben cheered, and soon he was being clapped on the back and high fived by the guys he hadn't seen in months. It was nice, but he couldn't help but think that his smile would have been more genuine if you were here.

Jake smirked. "So glad you left your perch and joined us."

Bradley laughed as he gave Penny a hug. "Come on, man, I literally just got home."

Penny smiled up at him. "Thanks for filling in. It'll be great." Bradley really wanted to ask her about you, but then Penny patted him on the cheek before turning to reach under the bar top. "This will be a breeze for you guys," she said, handing matching shirts to the four of them. "Just a basic bar menu tonight. No super fancy cocktails. Just beer, wine, some pre-made sangria, and a few different kinds of shots."

Bradley started to unbutton his lucky shirt before pulling the new one on in its place. He smoothed his hand along the front of the blue shirt that said THE HARD DECK FIGHTS CANCER, and he noticed the two bartenders glancing at him. They were both cute but decidedly not what he had been hoping for tonight. 

"Hey," he asked them with a nod. They smiled in response, so he decided to just go ahead and ask them about you.

"She quit a few weeks ago," the first one told him. "After she graduated from law school."

"She moved, too," said the second one. "Left San Diego."

Shit. He was too late after all, nodding in response to them as he pressed his lips together in a firm line. He'd never been any good at this kind of thing, which was why he always fell into casual relationships. What should he have done? Asked you out, gone on a handful of dates and then tried to persuade you to wait five months for him? Just for him to get deployed over and over again? That wouldn't have been fair to you.

But he didn't feel like it was fair to him either, because right now he was having a hard time even remembering exactly how pretty you were and the precise tone of your laughter. Probably for the best. At least he only needed to do this event for a few hours before he could leave and go for a long drive. He swallowed down his disappointment and turned toward the guys who were in the middle of conversation. 

"How about a side wager?" Javy asked, tossing a bottle of vodka up into the air and catching it over and over again. "You know, for the charity?"

"What did you have in mind?" Bradley asked as Penny went to peek outside. "Because I doubt Penny will let us strip for charity again after last year. The two of you scuffed up the bar top," Bradley added, gesturing at Jake as well.

They both started laughing like idiots before Jake said, "Nah, let's give Penny a break this year and just tally up our tips at the end of the night. Whoever donates the least amount of tip money to the charity is the loser."

"Oh, that's a great idea," Javy said as he ate the orange slices and cherries that were meant to garnish the drinks. "What's the punishment for losing?"

Reuben smirked and said, "Loser has to report to the tarmac on Monday in his underwear. Instant push ups from Mav."

"Deal," Jake said.

"Absolutely," Javy agreed.

Three pairs of eyes settled on Bradley, and he slowly said, "Okay." If he strolled out of the locker room in just his underwear and boots on his first day back from a long deployment when he was supposed to sit down with the admirals and Maverick and have a debrief, he'd probably earn a greater punishment than just a few push ups. But it was for the charity, so he'd do it.

But he soon learned he'd made a mistake after Penny called out, "Let's get started," and propped the doors open. The first person through the door was Reuben's wife, followed by Javy's fiancee and Jake's girlfriend. And all of her sorority sisters. 

"Shit," Bradley grunted. "Did you make me come here just so I would lose?"

Javy was handing out pint glasses that they could use as tip cups as he smirked, and Bradley was wondering if there was any way he could actually stuff his discreetly with cash from his own wallet.

"You'll be just fine," Jake drawled as the jukebox came blaring to life. But even the music was mocking him as Slow Ride started to play, and Bradley had people in front of him expecting him to make them drinks. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jake's girlfriend open her purse and start stuffing Jake's tip cup full. "I feel like that's considered cheating," Bradley told her, and she rolled her eyes and smirked before tucking five dollars into his cup as well.

"Don't tip Bradshaw, Sweets," Jake complained. "We made him come here as a buffer!"

"I knew it was a setup!" Bradley groaned as he listened to someone ask him for some wine and some beer. That was easy enough. He knew how to do that. Or at least he thought he did, but then one of the bartenders who had volunteered for the night told him he poured too much wine into the glass.

Then a woman asked him for a green tea shot, and he stared at her blankly. He leaned closer to Javy and asked, "What the hell is in a green tea shot?" 

"I don't know," he replied as he poured two pints at the same time. "But you better figure it out, because your tip cup is still practically empty."

"Shit." He was scrambling to flag down the young bartenders again when he froze. He only caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye, but he knew it was you simply by the way you moved and the color of your hair. And then you sat down in the only empty stool left at the bar and smiled at him, your voice drawing his eyes up to your perfect face. 

"Rooster. You're back."

The little thoughts and fantasies he'd indulged in while deployed had nothing on the real thing, and he knew he was blushing as you smiled and waited for him to respond. But it had been months since he'd been this close to you, and now he was really beating himself up for not trying to make you his sooner. Because if you were his, he could do all the things he wanted to do right now. Like kiss you.

"Rooster," you repeated with hesitation in your eyes, your voice softer, nearly drowned out by the jukebox. 

"They said you quit," he blurted out as he leaned on the bartop, curious as to why you were here tonight. "And that you moved."

Your eyes went a little wider as you nodded, your smile still soft. "I did. You asked about me?"

"Can you make me a green tea shot or not?"

Bradley begrudgingly switched his focus to the woman next to you and sighed. He was about to tell her he didn't even know what that was, or that maybe she should fuck off so he could talk to you, but then you reached out and ran your fingers along the back of his hand. 

Your touch was brief but intentional, and all of the irritation seemed to ease out of his body as his gaze snapped back to yours. "Yeah," you told the other woman as your finger grazed his knuckle one more time. "He can make you a green tea shot."

"I don't even know what's in it," he told you, with a helpless smile, trying to fight the urge to reach for your hand. 

You kind of shrugged as you said, "I do. I'll talk you through it."

Bradley's smile grew which left you giggling as he said, "I'm kind of helpless back here. Nothing like you."

"Well, you can learn from the best," you told him, reaching out to squeeze his wrist before pointing to the many liquor bottles behind him. "Irish whiskey and peach schnapps," you told him, leaning on the bar now, so close that he just couldn't bring himself to turn away from you. 

"Okay," he said, memorizing the exact color of your eyes. "Thanks for doing this."

You bit your lip and smiled up at him, and when Bradley moved just slightly closer, he thought he heard you whimper. Your eyes were full of emotion that reflected his own as you said, "Focus, Rooster. Irish whiskey and peach schnapps."

He nodded once and then finally moved away from you as he scanned the bottles and grabbed the two you told him. "Good," you said, pointing to the mini fridge and saying, "now get the sweet and sour mix. It's in a pink jug. Yeah, you got it. Now you need a half ounce of each."

Bradley listened to you explain how to use the shaker while he gave you another helpless look. "I'm just a simple beer or bourbon drinker," he said as he strained the drink that his customer had been waiting several minutes for into a shot glass.

You laughed and said, "I know you are, and it's kind of endearing that you don't know what you're doing. Now top it off with a splash of Sprite." 

Bradley grabbed the soda gun, pressed the little green button and then looked up at you again. "This is endearing?" he asked, finally sliding the shot to the annoyed woman who unenthusiastically put a dollar in his tip cup and turned away.

"Very," you promised him. "And now I want you to make me a kamikaze shot."

He gave you a bland look, but his heart was pounding. "Are you joking right now?"

Bradley was hyper focused on your lips as you said, "Not at all. You can handle it. It's vodka, triple sec and lime juice. I prefer Finlandia. Impress me, and I'll leave you a nice big tip for the charity."

Then he groaned. He had forgotten about the wager and the other patrons looking for drinks and just all of it. He raked his fingers through his hair. "Thanks, but I'll probably still end up in my underwear at work on Monday morning." 

When he pushed away from the bar again, your eyes dipped down to his jeans before snapping back up. "Underwear?"

"Yeah," he grunted as he reached for the type of vodka you liked best. You told him how much to use, and he dumped it in a shaker. "The guys coerced me into volunteering tonight. I literally just got home from deployment, but here I am... their scapegoat," he said, arms held out at his sides. "They threw out a side bet based on tip money, and next thing I know, all of their wives and girlfriends show up with a bunch of cash."

While he shook your kamikaze shot, he watched you turn first to your right and then to your left, eyeing up the overflowing tip cups in front of Reuben, Javy and Jake. Your lips parted, and you gaped at Bradley, but your eyes looked a little devious now. "You know, all of this makes a lot of sense since the guys made me come tonight."

Bradley carefully poured out your shot and asked, "What do you mean they made you come?" He realized his voice sounded annoyed, but how did they all have your phone number anyway? He'd been standing here thinking about asking you for it, but they were apparently already texting you. 

You accepted the shot and took a small sip to taste it. "They kept messaging me earlier today, saying I absolutely needed to be here tonight. They said it was important I made it to the charity event." Then you tipped your head back, and Bradley was treated to the soft looking expanse of your neck as you swallowed down the rest of the shot he made. When you were done, you set the glass down and licked your lips as you dug some money out of your pocket. "That was delicious."

While you loaded his cup with all the cash in your pocket, Bradley tried to ask you where you lived now. If the guys were bugging you earlier today, you couldn't be that far. But before he could get a word out, you pushed yourself up so you were kneeling on the bar right in front of him, and he looked up at you as you grinned down at him. 

"Don't worry, Rooster," you said as you ran your fingers through his hair. "I got you." Then Bradley was reaching for your hips. He didn't fucking care if the place was packed, he was ready to haul you off to the back hallway and ask you if he could kiss your pretty lips. You beamed at him as his hands met your body, but you just cupped your fingers around your mouth and shouted over the music, "Come get your drinks from Rooster! He knows how to make everything! But kamikazes are his specialty! And he's hot!"

His eyes went wide as you slipped out of his grasp and back onto your stool while an influx of mostly women queued up in front of him. "What did you do?" he asked, trying to mentally process an order for a cosmopolitan while stumbling over you calling him hot.

"I'm helping you not embarrass yourself at work. Keep the vodka out. Grab the Cointreau and a martini glass. We're about to show the guys what's up."

Bradley struggled through drink after drink as quickly as he could, but you never gave up on him. Occasionally you'd slide things out of his way or point out where he could find something he needed, and at some point you grabbed a second pint glass for his overflowing tip money. And all the while, he stole as many glances at you as he could while he worked. 

When Penny eventually walked behind him, patted him on the shoulder and said there was less than an hour left of the event, she also shared a smile with you. But there was no hope. The other guys were already working on their third tip cups each. "I don't think I can make up the deficit," he groaned, pulling up the hem of his shirt and wiping his brow with it. 

"Oh, that's a great idea," you mused, leaning across the bar and pulling his shirt up higher. "Take it off."

He stared at you as you tugged on the fabric. "Take it off?"

You nodded, the moevent exaggerated as you said, "Absolutely. Take your shirt off." As he looked around awkwardly before pulling his shirt over his head, you cupped your hands around your mouth once again and said, "He has six pack abs!"

Now the guys were glaring at him. "So do I!" Reuben complained.

"Don't you dare take your shirt off!" his wife told him, pointing at him in warning. 

Bradley knew his cheeks were flushed, and all he really wanted to do was talk to you and hopefully kiss you. And he really wanted to do all of that with his shirt on, because he felt a bit like a stripper now as you reached for a third tip cup. The cash was filling it up quickly, and he smirked as he thought about Reuben, Jake or Javy in their underwear instead of him. And it was all for a charity after all. 

"Make him use the shaker!" you urged a woman who looked like she was in her seventies and holding a crisp fifty dollar bill. "Make him flex."

Bradley groaned your name which sent you into a fit of laughter, your second empty shot glass still in front of you. "This isn't right," he complained half heartedly as he shook the older woman's Mai Tai with flexed abs and biceps. 

"It is so right," you told him, and he appreciated that you were scoping out the other guys' tip cups instead of looking at him right now. "Keep going. It's going to be so close." And then that fifty ended up in Bradley's cup when he handed over the cocktail, and you said, "Or maybe not!"

"Last call for the fundraiser!" Penny shouted over the crowd, and Bradley almost sighed in relief when the last few people ordered beers and a glass of wine. And then it was all over, and he had a huge amount of cash in front of him along with you. But he didn't care about the tips as much as he did getting to finally talk to you. The fundraiser was technically over, and you were looking at him the same way he was looking at you.

When he took a breath to suggest you and he go for a walk, he felt a hand on his bare back. It was one of the young bartenders who was helping out, and she said, "I can count up your tips for you," with a smile.

"Nope," you said, reaching for his cups yourself and shooting her a glare. "I'll do his. You go help Coyote." You didn't move again until her hand slipped off of his back and she walked away, and then you looked at Bradley and asked, "What are you going to do for me if you win?"

He watched as you quickly sorted the bills into efficient piles as he pulled his shirt back on and leaned against the bar. It had quieted down significantly, and now Penny was taking a few drink orders while everyone else seemed to move to the tables. He felt like he had a moment of privacy with you as he said, "I guess that depends. Apparently you moved away, Sweetheart."

"I did," you confirmed with a smirk as you counted up his twenties. 

"But you came back tonight."

You rolled your eyes, still smiling as you moved to the pile of tens. "I'm not too far away. I took a full time job and moved to Del Mar. The guys told me I needed to be here tonight for a special surprise. They said something I had been missing was returning. So I came down."

Bradley's fingers flexed on the edge of the bartop. "They did?"

You looked a little vulnerable as you stacked the bills in one pile and said, "Eight hundred and seventy one dollars." 

He nodded once and pushed the money aside without really looking at it. "You'd been missing something, Sweetheart?" he pressed gently, heart pounding in his chest. 

You bit your lip as your eyes drifted closed when he rubbed his thumb across your cheek. "I guess I must have asked the guys one time too many if they knew when you'd be back from your deployment."

"Oh," he rasped as you looked at him again. "You missed me?"

"Yes," you whispered. "I was going to ask you out, but then you were just gone. And they told me you were deployed, and I thought I really missed my chance. And I didn't even know if you were single or not, so I-"

Bradley had heard enough, so he kissed you. Just a soft press of his lips to yours, but you practically crawled onto the bar to get closer to him. And it was better than he spent the last five months imagining it might be. He could taste the vodka and lime on your tongue as it met his. Your fingers gently combed through his hair again, and he moaned, "I missed you too, Sweetheart."

Your laughter was soft and sweet as your nose brushed against his, and then he jerked back a few inches as Reuben shouted. "Yo, Rooster! There's time for that later, man! How much tip money did you make?"

"Eight hundred and seventy one," you replied as your fingers trailed down his scarred cheek to rub his mustache before you pecked him on the lips. The three guys groaned in unison, and Bradley watched your face light up in a beautiful smile. 

"This is not why we told you that you had to come tonight!" Jake whined, pointing at you and pouting. "You were supposed to distract him, not help him win! He was just supposed to turn into a bumbling mess and admit he has feelings for you!"

You turned away from Jake, and you asked Bradley, "So, do you have feelings for me?"

He huffed out a laugh before he hopped up to sit on the bar, swung his long legs over to the other side and hopped down again. You jumped from your stool and into his arms when he said, "I thought about you the whole time I was away, Sweetheart. I wanted to ask you out in the summer, but I didn't think it was right to hope you'd wait almost half a year for me to be stateside. For us to be together again."

"Bradley," you moaned. His hands found your hips just like earlier, and this time he pulled you snug against him while your fingers teased through his hair. "If a guy is worth waiting for, then I'd wait forever."

He kissed you again, tasting and nipping the lips that he'd dreamed about. Inhaling all of your sweetness that his mind didn't do justice to when he'd been away. Feeling your smile against his lips for the first time.

"Let me ask you again," you said, pausing between kisses. "Since I clearly helped you win the bet, what are you going to do for me?"

"Anything you want," he said immediately as you started to push him toward the door with a grin. 

"How about we go for a long drive? And we can talk about how the next time you're deployed, your girlfriend will be waiting patiently for you to return?"

Bradley scooped you up, sending you into a fit of laughter as he carried you directly to his Bronco.

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

Bradley was exhausted on Monday to the point where the travel mug of coffee you sent him with did nothing to keep him from yawning out on the tarmac at 8:00. But every yawn ended with him smiling as he thought about how perfect the weekend had been. In the very early hours of Sunday morning, you'd agreed to be his girlfriend. And now he was waiting for the cherry on top of it all.

He didn't have to wait long as he stood between Reuben and Javy, the three of them looking nearly identical in their matching flight suits and boots, standing at attention in front of Maverick. Then Jake came strolling out, and Bradley instantly started laughing. 

Maverick turned, took one look at Hangman in his boxer shorts and combat boots and said, "I don't even want to know what's going on here, I just want five hundred push ups."

Jake's eyes looked like they were going to bug out of his face as everyone else tried their best to hold in their laughter. Bradley took his phone out as discreetly as he could and snapped a picture of Jake panicking on the tarmac before he dropped down onto the ground and started on his punishment. 

"Everyone else to your jets," Mav barked, and Bradley didn't stick around to hear him say it again. Instead he texted you the photo of Jake along with a short message.

Couldn't have pulled it off without your help, Sweetheart.

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

The way I would die of this man just casually started calling me his Sweetheart. I love that he swept the guys to win the bet! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@wintercap89

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@chaoticassidy

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

@gennyanydots

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

[milkloafy]

STUCK WITH YOU — BLADE

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: in which you get sick and blade is wondering how the hell he got stuck having to take care of you. ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: sickfic, fluff, swearing, gn!reader, stellaron hunter!reader, reader doesn’t like room temp water LMAO only ice cold, blade’s kinda mean but a softie trust me u.u ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.8k+ ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: i haven’t written for blade in ages so i am very rusty but i hope u enjoy <3 this is a self-indulgent fic i wrote while sick and bed-ridden yesterday :c if any of y’all got the summer cold/flu too i hope u feel better !! :> 

You felt like shit and the last thing you needed was someone threatening you to get better. 

It would have been one thing if those threats worked in scaring your illness away. But you were certain that it did the opposite of help— It simply gave you an unwanted headache instead. 

“Can you stop glaring at me whenever I blow my nose?” you demanded with a sniffle, tossing your tissue into the trashcan Blade so graciously placed next to your head.

“Can you stop blowing your nose so loudly?”

You glared at him, responding by grabbing another tissue and blowing your nose even louder. You winced at the force, feeling a slight throb in your head from the overexertion.

With an ever-present scowl on his annoyingly handsome face, Blade shook his head at you. You could practically sense the disappointment and annoyance radiating from him. “Don’t make yourself feel worse.” 

“I’m not trying to,” you said, choosing to lay back down on your bed rather than arguing with him.

Your throat was sore, your nose was both runny and stuffy with no in-between, your muscles were achy, and your body was tired. There wasn’t much fighting spirit left for you to spare in your current state. Hence, the reason the Stellaron Hunters had Blade stay behind on the mission until you recovered enough to join everyone. Why they didn’t leave someone more personable and caring like Sam behind was beyond you. But you supposed you should be grateful Elio let anyone stay behind instead of having you recover alone. 

Coughing, you reached for a glass of water to moisten your throat only to find it already empty. You groaned to yourself, the thought of having to get up from your warm and cozy bed to fill up your water in the cold, cold kitchen made you shiver. 

With a sigh, Blade exited your room while muttering a quick, “Stay put.” 

You blinked blearily, eyes barely able to follow his quick-moving figure out the door. 

In a flash, Blade returned with two separate cups—one filled with clear water, and the other with warm tea. He set them both down on your nightshade, collecting your empty glass to clean in the sink. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, touched that he brought you drinks without you having to ask. You grabbed the glass of water first, letting out a giggle when you saw the single ice cube floating on the top. With a smile, you questioned, “One ice cube?”

Blade shrugged, a nonchalant look on his face that one could easily mistake as uncaring. “You don’t like room temperature water. If I brought warm water to you, you would rather die of dehydration than drink it.” 

A nodded sheepishly, unable to deny what came out of his mouth.

“Still, you need fluids to feel better. I figured one ice cube might be enough to satiate you.” 

Staring at the melting ice cube, you assumed it didn’t do much to help the temperature of the drink, but the thoughtfulness of your fellow Stellaron Hunter was enough to coax you into drinking it regardless. 

“That’s…surprisingly sweet of you,” you said, taking a sip of water. It was, in fact, not cold enough for you, but you still pushed onwards. “Thanks, Bladie.” 

The scowl on his face deepended. “Don’t call me that. And drink the tea. I put honey in it since its anti-inflammatory.” 

“Your frown lines are forming prematurely,” you jested, setting the glass of water aside to pick up the steaming cup of tea. The warm mug felt hot against your skin and you felt a droplet of sweat forming on the side of your head. In the blink of an eye, you threw the blankets off your body and fanned yourself dramatically with one hand. You shared a look with Blade. “It’s too hot for tea.” 

“It’s not too hot, you just have a fever,” he said with annoyance, walking over to the thermostat and turning down the temperature regardless of his words. “But you can wait for it to cool down then—” 

Before he finished his sentence, you had already taken a sip of the drink. Immediately, you felt a burning sensation on the tip of your tongue and jumped. “Ow!” you yelped, placing the mug down and glaring at it. “That’s hot!” 

Blade glared at you. “Tea is typically made from hot water. I just told you to wait for it to cool down.”

“But you said that after you told me to drink it!” you sniffed, nursing your tongue by dipping it into the lukewarm glass of water. “You can’t give a sick person mixed signals like that.”

“You’re sick, not incompetent.” He paused. “Not more than normal, at least.” 

“Hey!” you protested. At the sudden overuse of your voice, you felt your throat growing more irritated. You coughed and coughed, taking in deep breaths of air to stop yourself. 

He folded his arms as he scolded you, “Don’t overexert yourself. Get some rest.” 

With tears forming around your eyes from coughing, you matched his haughty expression. You croaked out, “You’re naggy. Did you know that?”

“Only to those who don’t listen.” 

“You tell me like a million different instructions! How can I listen?” you retorted, your headache coming back as your shoulders tensed in irritation. 

When he noticed your slight wince of pain, Blade sighed and relented. He walked over to the side of your bed and picked up the cup of hot tea. With a blank expression, he blew the surface of the drink, cooling it down until the steam went away. 

“Here,” he said as he held out the cup to you. “Now drink.” 

Your stared open-mouthed at the drink. You felt as if he was giving you whiplash with his crass words and caring actions. You didn’t quite know how to feel, but you knew you were at least a bit grateful. 

Carefully, you sipped the cup of tea Blade gently (and begrudgingly) placed in your hands. This time, you did not feel the scalding heat burn your tongue. 

“Thank you,” you said, chugging as much of the tea as you could. “It wasn’t hot that time.” 

He nodded in response, stepping away from the side of your bed once he confirmed you finished your drink. Blade studied you as you laid back in bed, closing your eyes to try to soothe all your ailments. It didn’t work, but you would certainly keep trying. 

Without the blankets covering you, you felt cold again despite the sweat you felt gathering on your forehead. You heard rustling and the clanging of glasses next to you.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Blade walking away with the dirty cups in hand, muttering something about how he wasn’t your maid. You smiled weakly, knowing he was doing his best to take care of you regardless of his bitching and moaning. 

Blade returned with a slightly damp washcloth in hand, folded perfectly into a compact rectangle. You sniffled through your stuffy nose, watching as he held out the washcloth to you, before taking it back last minute. Confused, you pulled your hand back as well. 

“I’ll just do it. Before you mess up somehow,” he said, leaning down by your side and placing the damp washcloth on your forehead. 

The instant he placed the towel on you, cool relief coursed through your body. You shivered at the sensation, letting out a noise of satisfaction. 

You peeked one eye open, looking at Blade with another sheepish expression. “Thank you. Again…” 

“You don’t need to keep thanking me.”

“I do!” you insisted, staying as still as a board despite the passion in your voice. “I know you would rather be out on a mission right now, following Elio’s script with the others. But instead you got stuck here taking care of me.” 

He folded his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “It’s not your fault. Kafka forcibly volunteered me.” 

You chuckled lightly at that. It certainly seemed like something Kafka would do. Either to annoy Blade, tease you, or irritate the both of you just for fun. 

“You just need to get better soon,” he said as if it were that simple. “Then we can both get back on the field.”

“Is that why you’ve been such a good little nurse, Bladie?” you teased, touching your fingertips to the cool washcloth on your forehead. 

He glared at you, but there was no anger behind the expression. “Call me that one more time and you will see what happens.” 

“Will you bring me more hot tea to burn my tongue on?” you asked in mock horror. Despite his menacing-sounding threats, you knew Blade would never hurt you. 

“I’ll bring you room temperature water with no ice,” he promised blankly. 

Your mouth dropped in surprise and you shook your head fervently, the small towel falling off your face. “No, please! I won’t call you Bladie again.”

Blade rolled his eyes at your dramatics but immediately went to pick up the fallen washcloth. “Stop moving around like that. You’re going to make your headache worse.”

“Sorry, mother.” 

He scowled and plopped the washcloth back on your forehead, less gently this time than the first. You stuck your tongue out at him in response before feeling another fit of coughs come your way. 

Once you managed to soothe your throat and gather your breath, you sighed. “I hate being sick.” 

“Then drink more fluids and go to sleep.” Blade grabbed the glass of water from your nightstand and began to walk out with it. “I’ll get you some more before you try to rest.”

Closing your eyes shut, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself despite your discomfort. He had a rough exterior, but he surprised you with how much effort he put into helping your sick self out. 

His hidden thoughtfulness was enough to stir something in your stomach—butterflies, you hoped, and not an unwanted stomach bug to add to your list of ailments. It was unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome. 

Blade entered your room one last time for the night, bringing you a new glass of water with a single ice cube, and a fresh new washcloth folded to perfection. 

You giggled, noticing his attentiveness to detail. “Thank you, Bladie. I really appreciate all of this.” 

He sighed but didn’t argue when he heard that nickname. Thankfully, he did not take the ice cube out of your water and hand the glass to you lukewarm.

“You are so… You’re welcome,” he relented, replacing the damp towel on your forehead with a fresh and cold one. “Now, hurry up and recover.” 

“I’m trying,” you laughed, no longer annoyed by his impatience. “I’m sure I will, with you doting on me like this.”

“I don’t dote.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bladie,” you sang softly, your eyes finally feeling heavy after drinking more water and relaxing your muscles with the help of the cool washcloth. “I’m finally getting sleepy…”

He nodded. “That’s good.” 

“Mhm,” you murmured, your voice drifting into a sleepy mumble. “‘M tired. Goodnight… Blade.” 

There was a long pause before you heard Blade’s response while you drifted off into a deep slumber. “Get well soon, Y/N.”

[wibben]

Strange Bedfellows

An overnight mission leaves Nanami and Higuruma sharing more than just a professional rivalry.

↳ pairing: hiromi higuruma x kento nanami

↳ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, bottom! higuruma, top! nanami, sexual tension, rivals to lovers, one-bed trope, pining, frottage, (m) mutual masturbation, sexsomnia, wet dreams, dry humping

↳ wc: 11,355

↳ notes: another ao3 cross-post! this was written for day 5 of @higunanaweek, and I think it's one of my favorites of the bunch! nanami art by @/xu_bx7 on twitter, higuruma art by @/amico173 on twitter

“What do you mean there’s only one room?”

Higuruma’s voice cut through the sterile lobby air, sharp and unyielding. He stared down his nose at the nervous young woman behind the desk, shrewd, stern, who seemed to shrink under the weight of it. She wrung her hands, her brows knitting together in a silent plea for forgiveness as she fumbled for the right words. Her eyes flickered nervously between Higuruma and the glowing monitor, her lips parting in a desperate attempt to conjure an explanation.

“I—I… let me check again. I’m so sorry…”

“Please do.”

Higuruma exhaled a longsuffering sigh, the weight of his frustration settling deep in his weary bones. Leaning heavily on the reception counter, he pinched the bridge of his nose as the clatter of keys behind it grated on his nerves. It felt like the universe was conspiring against him today.

First, the car ride—a torturous stretch of road that seemed designed to fray his nerves with every bump and jolt. The mission briefing in his hands blurred in and out of focus, tense, unable to think with the silent, brooding wall beside him.

Poor conversation was made even worse by the fact that his companion’s silence wasn’t even peaceful. It was sharp-edged, judgmental, like he was silently cataloging Higuruma’s every fault and flaw before he’d managed to do anything. As if being cooped up in a car with someone like that for hours wasn’t bad enough, the higher-ups decided that person was to be his babysitter; as if he weren’t a grown man himself and so what if he’s new to jujutsu, he’s good at it—a prodigy even—and he gets jobs done and—

“I’m really sorry, sir, I only have one room for you.”

Well, shit.

Higuruma was a proud man, but even pride had its limits; and when it came to something like this he’d throw it to the wind. His fingers steepled before his face, his stress reaching a peak, tired eyes blew wide with exasperated pleading. “Please, you don’t understand—I need another room. Hell, I’ll sleep in the goddamn lobby. I just can’t be stuck with—”

“... Is there a problem?”

Higuruma stiffened, the roll of suitcase wheels on wooden boards sounding more like the drag of an executioner’s axe.

He turned to face Nanami, who carried their bags with the same unyielding stoicism that seemed a permanent feature of his countenance. The air of unflappable calm that surrounded him only grated further on Higuruma’s thread-bare nerves.

“I assume there’s a problem, for you to be bothering the front desk already.”

Higuruma shot him a look that clearly screamed: ‘of course there’s a fucking problem,’ but before he could put his irritation to words, the receptionist interjected.

She looked to Nanami with desperately friendly eyes, silently pleading that this man—the quieter one—might be less inclined to bite her head off. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. There’s been a mix-up with the bookings and we’re short a bunch of rooms. I only have one left…” She cast a nervous glance back at Higuruma, who looked positively steamed, then back at Nanami as he came to a stop at the desk.

A wave of annoyance and dismay washed over him, a cold tide that mercilessly drowned the small comforts he had carefully planned for the evening. He’d envisioned a quiet, solitary night—a long bath, the crisp pages of a book he’d been eager to start, and the simple pleasure of fresh bread from a bundle he had tucked into his bag. The prospect of sharing a room, and with someone as high-strung as Higuruma, was far from appealing.

“...I see.”

Higuruma’s frustration boiled over, though he kept his tone measured. “Is there really no other option? We’re here on important business and need proper accommodations.”

Nanami’s calm gaze shifted back to the receptionist, who looked as if she might melt into the floor under the weight of Higuruma’s glare. “We’ll take the room,” he spoke suddenly, spurred by pity for another of society's downtrodden, brooking no argument. “We don’t have time to find other lodgings.”

The young woman nodded quickly, relieved to have someone decisive to address. She offered the key to Nanami with a quickness, desperate to get it and them off her overworked and overtired hands.

Nanami accepted the key with a curt nod, passing it to Higuruma, who snatched it like it was the last scrap of his pride, muttering a stiff, “Thank you,” through clenched teeth. He looked for all the world like a deflated balloon, all the air of authority he usually carried now leaking out in a slow, miserable hiss.

Nanami adjusted his grip on their bags, the plastic handles groaning in protest under the weight of his hand. Of course something like this would happen. When it came to Higuruma, nothing ever went smoothly. The man had an uncanny knack for turning the simplest tasks into a tangled mess, stirring up trouble where there should be none.

If Nanami said left, Higuruma would inevitably go right. If he said up, Higuruma would dive down. It was as if the man took perverse pleasure in jamming the square block into the circle hole, and any attempt Nanami made to exert authority was met with the immovable resistance of a brick wall. Higuruma was a force of nature—unpredictable, uncontrollable, and more stubborn than any beast Nanami had ever encountered.

And that’s exactly why Nanami resented him.

He resented the higher-ups for thinking his diligence could somehow fix the unfixable, resented this ridiculous mission, resented this shit job—and most of all, he resented this shit inn, with its one-room nightmare.

Deep down, Nanami knew it wasn’t really Higuruma’s fault. But as they climbed the narrow staircase and navigated the threadbare halls, it was all too easy to shoot a derisive glance at him through the sea-glass green tint of his glasses, certain Higuruma’s mere presence had cursed them both.

Higuruma, for his part, was steeling himself, jaw set in determination. It was just one night, maybe two if the mission dragged on longer than expected. He resolved then and there to make it quick, no matter how much Nanami might chastise, berate, or hinder whatever methods he employed to get it done.

They reached their room,and Higuruma cupped the doorknob, giving it a jiggle before the door finally creaked open. He stepped forward, fully intending to hold the door for Nanami and the bags—because that was the polite thing to do. But all thoughts of courtesy evaporated as his stomach plummeted to and then through the floor.

Nanami, following close behind, nearly collided with Higuruma’s back. “Please keep moving—” he began, but the words stuck in his throat as his gaze locked onto the scene before them.

Their eyes hit the single bed simultaneously—pristine, white sheets meticulously tucked, and—was that champagne? Higuruma’s ears lit up red, heat crawling up his neck as mortification spread like wildfire. Rose petals? Was this some kind of sick joke? Blood pounded in his temples, the absurdity of standing in what was so clearly a honeymoon suite with Nanami making his skin crawl with blistering embarrassment.

“No, absolutely not.”

“…This is highly irregular—”

“—Unprofessional, more like—”

Higuruma shook his head in vehement denial, already turning on his heel and nearly colliding with Nanami’s chest in his haste. “I’ll go back to the lobby… there has to be something else… a coat closet, maybe—”

“Higuruma.” Nanami halted him firmly, blocking his path with the bastion of overnight bags hoisted upon flexed shoulders. He stared down his nose at Higuruma with a sternness that made the ex-attorney feel inexplicably cowed.

“I will not allow you to bother that girl again. We’ll make do.”

Higuruma’s attempts to leave, awkwardly failing to thread the needle around the wall that was Nanami, were halted when the man stepped past him and deeper into the room, taking his belongings hostage.

Nanami was the picture of calm. His movements deliberate, precise, each action executed with the same meticulous care he applied to everything. He entered the room with steady composure, placing his bag on the foot of the bed without a second glance at the rose petals scattered across the duvet or the champagne chilling in a silver bucket. To him, they might as well have been invisible.

He unzipped his bag and began to unpack, methodically unfolding his clothes for tomorrow and hanging them neatly in the closet. His fingers moved with the same practiced efficiency with which he approached all things, smoothing out any wrinkles with a quick, deft touch and brush of his hands over ironed fabric

Higuruma watched with the faintest quiver of his shoulders. The door was still open, and he stood closest to it. He had half a mind—no, closer to two-thirds of a mind—to just march back through it and bolt down the hall. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not when Nanami was practically rubbing his unruffled feathers in his face, appearing so calm that it made him itch to piss him off, just to see if he could make Nanami crack, just to know there was a man beneath the metal.

Higuruma’s blood burned with staggish pride as he closed the door, a declaration if only to himself that he wouldn’t be outdone by a man who exists with a perpetual pole up his ass. He marched over and grabbed his own bag, dropping it on the bed beside Nanami’s and unzipped it with a flourish. Nanami paused his own unpacking, glancing sidelong; he isn’t oblivious to this dick-measuring competition Higuruma issued, even if he chooses not to rise to it.

And he chooses not to rise to it because he’s utterly horrified. A singular room was bad enough, a single bed even worse. But the room is flavored so intensely romantic, such a glaring breach in professionalism that he doesn’t know how he hasn’t fallen to his knees and wept. His outward serenity is tempered by holy rage, already considering how hot the coals would be that he intends to rake Ijichi over for this appalling mix-up.

Somewhere, many hours away back on campus, Ijichi shuddered.

The room misted thick with suffocating silence, disturbed only by the occasional rustle of fabric or the quiet thud of a drawer closing. Nanami took to ironing tomorrow's shirt with a precision just shy of obsessive, each stroke and hiss of the iron a desperate attempt to transfer the heat of his frustration to the steam billowing from the board. 

On the other side of the room, Higuruma pretended not to watch, busying himself with anything that kept his hands moving and his mind occupied. He found himself flipping through the pages of the complimentary Bible he’d pulled from the nightstand, not out of piety but sheer desperation for something, anything, to do. His devotion to distraction could almost be considered religious if one squinted.

The minutes dragged, each one heavier than the last. Nanami, finding himself finished with the shirt far too quickly, awkwardly shuffled a deck of cards he’d discovered in a drawer. The quiet slap of cardboard against cardboard only plucked at both mens nerves all the more.

So awkward was the silence, that even a practiced enjoyer of it such as Nanami finally felt the need to break it. “Are you… enjoying that? I didn’t take you for the type.” Nanami shot a pointed glance at the leather bound book in Higuruma’s hands.

“Riveting.” He grunted, not looking up.

Silence reigned once again.

The unbearable tension finally snapped, like a too-tight wire fraying under pressure. Nanami cleared his throat, and set the deck of cards down with an air of finality, as if conceding defeat to the invisible force between them. “I’ll go shower,” he announced, a shade too quickly, seriously considering drowning himself. He caught the absent hum of acknowledgment from Higuruma, who was still pretending to read the same line for the hundredth time.

Higuruma waited, counting the seconds until the distant sound of running water reached his ears, and then let out a long, shaky breath, his hands dropping the Bible like it burned him. His face fell into his palms, heart hammering against his ribs with the frenzied desperation of a caged animal, desperate to claw its way out. A low, rough groan rumbled in his throat as he scrubbed a weary hand over his face, trying to erase the relentless tension etched into every muscle before Nanami returned.

In the bathroom, Nanami pressed his forehead against the cold tile, water pouring over his bowed head. His hands braced against the wall, blunt nails digging into the slick surface in an effort to ground himself in the midst of this waking nightmare. His heart pounded with a cocktail of stress and humiliation so potent that it twisted his stomach to the point of nausea. He was horrified by the situation, mortified by the implications, and the longer he stood there, the more he questioned how he would ever face Higuruma again without wanting to crawl out of his own skin.

Nanami wasn’t a vain man. His appearance, in his mind, was a reflection of his dedication to the unremarkable—a clean, professional exterior polished just enough to blend into the background, to become one with the sea of suits and silent efficiency. He took a certain pride in this ordinariness, in presenting himself with a uniformity that drew no attention, commanded no second glance.

But there were simple standards he abided by, boundaries that should never be crossed. A colleague should never see him with his hair undone, loose and unkempt. A colleague should never see him outside of work. A colleague should certainly never see him in his sleepwear, prepared for bed, prepared to share a bed—

The thought struck like a blow to the gut, stopping him dead in his tracks, his breath catching so sharply that he inadvertently inhaled a mouthful of water. He choked, the sound quickly muffled into the crook of his muscled forearm as he hunched over, a silent curse slipping from his lips.

Fuck.

When Nanami finally emerged from the bathroom, it was with a gust of steam, a billowing cloud of vaporous heat that curled around his bare feet and clung to the frayed hem of his plaid linen pants. The transition from the damp warmth of the bathroom to the cooler air of the room sent a shiver up his spine, making him feel exposed, more so than even the loose drawstring of his pajama bottoms or his bare chest ever could.

His hair, usually meticulously combed, now hung damp and tousled, a rebellious mess that only added to the sensation of exposure gnawing at him, fraying the edges of his carefully constructed self-assurance. He stepped forward, gaze fixed resolutely ahead, avoiding Higuruma’s eyes as if by sheer will he could erase the fact that this—this woeful breach of boundaries—was happening at all.

But there were no eyes for Nanami to avoid. Higuruma’s back was turned, his shoulders hunched over a thick wooden desk on the opposite wall, swaying idly in the creaky rolling chair. The faint clink of ice in the bucket and the soft hiss of champagne fizzing to life came from his side of the room. Higuruma’s arm shot up in a lazy backwards greeting, bottle neck firmly gripped, the champagne already half-drunk straight from the source. A decidedly unromantic way to enjoy the drink—about the only thing in this entire mess that seemed fittingly appropriate.

“Ah—good. I was starting to think you’d died in there—” Higuruma grunted with weary annoyance, spinning himself further in the chair to cast what would have been a bemused glance toward Nanami—if he weren’t suddenly so focused on keeping the champagne from erupting and scorching his throat and nose, nearly choking on the frothy surge at the sight of him.

Like this, Nanami appeared strikingly younger. His usual air of immaculate professionalism was absent, leaving him looking closer to his actual age—or at least, what Higuruma guessed his age to be, since their exchanges had rarely ventured beyond barbed remarks. 

Without the constriction of his suit and carefully combed hair, his features softened, the severe lines of his face yielded to be almost approachable. His hair was tousled, the wet strands clinging together, a stray towel draped haphazardly over bare and broad shoulders.

“Unfortunately I did not.”

When their eyes met, there was a moment of shared surprise; both men reflexively turned away, Higuruma back to the desk and Nanami towards the bed. Nanami ran a hand through his hair, his bicep flexing with the motion as he grimaced in embarrassment, hidden from view. 

Nanami slipped into the bed, the crisp sheets rustling softly as he maneuvered himself under them. He pulled the covers up to his chin, as though the fabric might offer some shield against the awkwardness that turns the air humid. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning, and the glassy grind of the champagne bottle as Higuruma shuffled it back and forth between uncertain hands.

After a long stretch of silence, Nanami finally broke it, his voice nasally and rough as he reached for his book on the nightstand. “Thank you.”

Higuruma flinched, snapping out of his thoughts. “For?”

Nanami sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of his own reluctant gratitude. He hesitated, debating if it was even worth acknowledging, but eventually gave in. “For cleaning up the… mess,” he added with a rueful grimace. The rose petals that had once littered the mattress and floor were nowhere to be seen.

“It’s much better.”

Higuruma let out a low, dismissive noise, flicking his wrist as if to swat away the words. No, he’d rather not think about the rose petals—or the fact that he’d scrabbled on hands and knees to pick them up, one by one, and buried them at the bottom of the trash bin like some feral teenage secret. 

So he changed the subject with a sledgehammers subtlety, taking a deep breath and stealing a glance at Nanami who seemed effortlessly absorbed in his novel. The bedside lamp cast a warm glow over his damp hair, burning it a darkened gold. And maybe he was drunker than he realized, because the sudden urge to cross the room, crawl onto the mattress, and run his fingers through that hair hits him like a freight train—

“I’m taking the chair,” he blurted out, meeting Nanami’s gaze, both of them equally startled by the sudden declaration. “If you wouldn’t mind just sparing a pillow.”

Nanami frowned, nudging his glasses higher to peer over the top of his book. “Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “You’ll injure your back and be a liability to the mission. You’re sleeping in the bed.”

Higuruma’s lips pressed into a thin line, bristling indignantly. “My back will be just fine, thank you very much.” Though he wasn’t so sure he could say the same tomorrow after carrying the weight of this entire mission. 

“Look, I don’t need you to babysit me,” Higuruma continued on. “I can handle myself just fine.”

Nanami simply shook his head, infuriatingly calm. “You’re being reckless. You always are. That’s why you’re stuck with me in the first place—to keep you from getting yourself killed.” 

Nanami spoke so certainly, so matter of factly, as if it were a guarantee that Higuruma would sooner or later stumble and need a pair of experienced hands to catch him, that it made Higuruma see red. He bristled, nose curled with bitter defiance. “Reckless? Please. You play it too safe all the time, Nanami. That doesn’t make you better equipped, that makes you boring.”

“I’m not here to be exciting. I’m here to do my job without unnecessary risks,” Nanami shot back, his tone icy. “And right now, the only unnecessary risk is you trying to sleep in that chair and harming yourself.”

Higuruma’s jaw clenched, his irritation mounting with every word Nanami spoke. “I don’t need your approval to do my job. Maybe I’d be better off without you hovering over me.”

Nanami’s grip on his book tightened, his patience wearing thin. “You’re a loose canon, Higuruma. And I refuse to let you put me in harm's way just because you think you’re invincible.”

“Maybe I am invincible! Maybe I don’t need you watching over my shoulder every second. I’ve got this handled. I don’t need you or your damn bed—”

“You do need the bed, and you’re going to sleep in it,” Nanami interrupted, his voice firm, cutting through Higuruma’s tirade like the blunt blade he himself wields. “I won’t have your blood on my hands because you decided to be stubborn.”

Higuruma opened his mouth to argue again, but the conviction in Nanami’s tone gave him pause. As much as he hated to admit it, there was a kernel of truth in what Nanami said. He knew he was capable, but the last thing he wanted was to end up injured—or worse, dead—because of something as stupid as a lack of sleep or a slipped disk. He wouldn’t allow Nanami the satisfaction.

He met Nanami’s eyes the entire time as he stood and stalked over to the bed, each step slow and deliberate, like he was daring Nanami to say something. The air was thick with tension, a silent standoff where neither man seemed willing to back down. But Nanami just watched him, calm as ever, that infuriating poker face giving nothing away; an icy counter to Higuruma’s fiery defiance.

Higuruma yanked back the covers with a quick, sharp flick, keeping his gaze locked on Nanami’s. He slipped into bed, making a show of settling as far from Nanami as humanly possible. The mattress dipped under his weight, the distance between them barely a foot, but it felt like mere centimeters with how he’s immediately engulfed in Nanami’s furnace-like body heat beneath the covers.

Nanami didn’t rise to the challenge, but he didn’t bow to it either. He held Higuruma’s gaze with an unflinching steadiness, an unspoken acknowledgment of the battle being fought in silence. Neither blinked, neither wavered, ever the unmovable object to Higuruma’s unstoppable force.

But for now, at least, he was in the bed. And that, Higuruma told himself, was his decision. Not Nanami’s.

He finally turned away, his back to Nanami, but the so-called victory left a sour taste in his mouth. “Sanctimonious prick,” Higuruma grumbled, voice tight as he yanked the sheet up to his shoulders, frustration knotting bitterly in his chest.

Without warning, Nanami snapped his book shut, the sharp clap of it cutting through Higuruma’s grating rant. His patience, thin as it was, finally wore through after the fifth attempt to read the same damn paragraph. He didn’t bother with words, just rolled over and clicked off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

“Insufferable egoist,” he muttered, voice low and rough with irritation.

It was as close to a ‘goodnight’ as either of them was willing to offer.

The room simmered in the thick silence left in the wake of their argument, the air steeped with the remnants of their spat. Neither of them moved, both stubbornly clinging to their respective sides of the bed, the earlier heat cooling into uneasy embers buried beneath ash.

Higuruma’s fists slowly loosened their death grip on the sheets. He could feel the frustration ebbing away, replaced by a dull, persistent slightly-buzzed fatigue that tugged at him, heavy and insistent. His eyelids grew heavier, his breath evening out against his will, and before he could fight it, sleep crept in, stealing him away with the last lingering traces of his irritation.

Across the bed, Nanami lay unmoving, his eyes locked on the ceiling, unblinking as the minutes stretched into what felt like hours. He listened, every slight sound amplified in the stillness—Higuruma’s breaths gradually deepening, the rustle of sheets as he shifted in his sleep, the steady drone of the AC that filled the gaps in the silence.

It wasn’t until he heard Higuruma sigh softly in his sleep, a sound so unguarded and peaceful that it almost startled him, that Nanami finally felt the first threads of his tension begin to unwind. The rigid lines of his shoulders softened, his body easing into the mattress as the room exhaled around them. It wasn’t a competition to see who could outlast the other, but he’d won it anyway.

The darkness shifted, becoming less of a burden and more of a balm, lulling him into a state of reluctant relaxation. Only then, after what felt like an eternity, did Nanami allow his eyes to close, surrendering to the slow, inevitable pull of sleep as it finally claimed him too.

The night wore thick with hurricane's-eye quiet, the sort that made every small sound swell. Every sniff, every slight shift of mattress springs, every rustle and tug on the blanket was a gunshot in the dark, unheard by either of them through the veil of unconsciousness. The tension from before had finally ebbed, leaving the room heavy with uneasy peace that would last until daybreak; until they woke and remembered themselves and, unfortunately, remembered each other.

Higuruma’s sleep was restless, warped by murky and unpredictable dream logic. He was a tired man, worn down and beaten to a vaguely human-shaped pulp by each day's end, and so he didn’t often dream. His brain struggled with the unfamiliarity, twisting in dissonant directions that blurred the lines between reality and nonsense.

It’s just his luck that tonight he dreams, and of course he couldn’t escape Nanami, even there.

“...Guilty!”

Judgeman’s voice rang with authority, echoing off the dreamscape walls of the courtroom. Higuruma stared at Nanami on the stand, whose eyes flickered with something between disbelief and annoyance.

Higuruma could feel a vicious pride swelling in his chest as Judgeman called the verdict. It didn’t matter what Nanami had done—whether he’d swiped a candy bar from a corner store or toppled an empire; it was all irrelevant. The sweet thrill of victory was what he savored. This was his domain, a theater of justice where every misstep Nanami had ever made played on an endless loop for Judgeman to scrutinize.

Nanami sighed, pushing the bridge of his glasses with a practiced flick to nudge them higher up his nose. “That’s hardly fair, Higuruma. This is your dream, after all—”

“Ah, ah,” Higuruma interrupted, eyes narrowing into glittering slits as he held up a hand in triumph, silencing Nanami's protest with a smug grin. No, he would be savoring this victory, even if only in the recesses of his subconscious. Here, his word was law, and Nanami was the subject of his courtroom drama.

Confiscation? Death penalty? Higuruma’s mind raced through the possibilities, savoring each like a connoisseur sampling a fine wine. For as much as Nanami grated on his nerves, he sincerely hoped it wouldn't be the latter—the man doesn’t need to die for being a snobbish, holier-than-thou, mother hen—

“Kiss.”

What?

“What?”

Nanami’s voice mirrored Higuruma’s thoughts perfectly, both snapping to attention, eyes wide as they turned to the shikigami that hovered kite-like and oppressive just behind Higuruma. Judgeman, with its impassive stitched gaze and cryptic presence, remained ever silent, the verdict and the punishment both declared. Its job was done and would not be repeated.

The absurdity of it all tickled at the edges of his consciousness, tugging at a laugh that threatened to spill over. A kiss? In the grand theater of his mind, that was the punishment meted out by his subconscious?

He’s somewhat offended by himself that kissing him would be so bad as to be deemed corporal.

But when he turned back to Nanami, he found the man already watching him with a steady gaze. Prideful as ever, chin held high, Nanami stared Higuruma down with a confidence that skirted dangerously on the edge of intimidating—a quality that was indeed daunting in the waking world, if he were honest with himself. Arms crossed and seemingly unbothered by the verdict, Nanami cocked his head. “So, are you coming to me, or shall I come to you?”

Higuruma stared.

And then he stared a little longer. This was undoubtedly the weirdest dream he’d ever had.

True to life, his hackles raised at Nanami’s challenge, a gauntlet thrown down between them, and Higuruma’s alcohol-thinned blood simmered beneath his skin. Nanami had a way of forcing him to bend the knee, but not this time. Not here.

Higuruma descended from his platform, leather shoes clicking sharply over the polished stone tile as he stalked toward Nanami’s stand. He propped a foot on the bottom rung, hoisting himself up and curled his hands around the mahogany railing that separated them. Braced on strangely sweaty palms, he leaned forward, almost nose-to-nose with Nanami now.

In the dark of the hotel room beneath chilled sheets, Higuruma shifted, rolling to his other side with an outstretched leg to knock socked-toes against Nanami’s ankle.

Nanami's eyes gleamed with a challenge as he reached over the railing, fingers curling into Higuruma's shirt, yanking him forward with surprising strength. Their lips crashed together, a collision of heat that sent a jolt through Higuruma's dream-self.

The intensity of it took him off guard, the force of Nanami’s mouth on his leaving Higuruma reeling. This was meant to be punitive, a slap on the wrist—or lips, rather—but it was hard to remember why when Nanami kissed him like this.

Champagne and mint.

He couldn’t possibly know what Nanami tasted like, so his mind helpfully supplied the sharp concoction from his own tongue. His hands moved before his mind could catch up, tangling in Nanami’s hair and pulling him closer, pressing deeper into the kiss. There was something beneath all that resentment—a spark, a flicker of treacherous attraction Higuruma had never let himself consider. But it was there, buried under a mountain of irritation and petty grievances.

The kiss morphed, a messy thing turned messier and god, Higuruma didn’t ever want it to end. He hadn’t known he wanted this at all and if he won’t remember this when he wakes he’ll make the most of it now. Higuruma’s grip tightened, pulling Nanami in, erasing the line between them until it didn’t matter where one began and the other ended. There’s a vibration in his mouth—a groan, he thinks—but from who he wasn’t sure.

Higuruma was lost in the dream, and his body was quick to betray him in the waking world with shameful ferocity. Unconsciously he inched closer until he was pressed snug against Nanami, his body seeking the flesh-warmth he so reveled in within his dreamt domain. His arm hooked lazily around Nanami’s middle, nose pressed tight into a prickling honey-blonde undercut.

His hips jerked, orbiting in uncoordinated circles. It was sloppy, a messy grind choked by rust and time-lost inexperience, devoid of rhythm but steeped in the urgency of need. The friction, the coarse slide of fabric against fabric, was enough to quicken his breath and set his blood thrumming. Nanami’s thigh was warm enough, firm enough, and it penetrated that purgatorial barrier with enough ease that it didn’t matter to him one bit.

Nanami woke slowly, dragging himself out of sleep with sandy slowness, eyelids heavy and mind sluggish as he blinked against the groggy blur. It wasn’t the usual sounds that roused him—no birds chirping, no insistent alarm beep—but rather the disorienting sensation of near-perfect darkness that left him momentarily unsure if his eyes were even open, and warmth and pressure tugging him further into awareness.

His brow furrowed in confusion as the warmth pressed against him again, incoordinate and inconsistent, paired with the soft, breathy exhale of something that sounded suspiciously like a sleep-garbled attempt at his name, the unmistakable hardness nestled against his hip—

The sluggish cogs in Nanami’s brain started to click into place, oil applied to bleary gears, and when the reality hit him it hit him like a bullet.

Oh. Oh.

His eyes snapped so wide they hurt, panic flooding his system and catching his breath in an iron fist to be yanked forcefully down his tight throat. Higuruma ground against him again, and Nanami should move, should stop him from embarrassing himself.

But worse yet—much worse—was that Nanami didn’t want to stop him. His thickening cock was proof of that, treacherous was the growing tent in his pants that made frenzied sweat bead on his bare chest. Mortification clawed at him, it left him paralyzed.

This couldn’t be happening

“Higuruma,” Nanami croaked, voice thick with sleep and arousal that settled so hot and heavy over his brain that he couldn’t begin to school it out of his tone. He shook him, a bit too roughly in his haste, desperate to stop this before it spiraled any further out of control. “Higuruma, wake up.”

Higuruma grumbled, fingers tightening their burial in wrinkled linen sheets when they failed to find purchase on the smooth skin of Nanami’s arm. His head bowed, tucked low and determined as he rutted against Nanami again, mouth pulled taut with displeasure as the source of the warmth grew firmer and less pliable, more distant, and he’s shaken.

Higuruma’s eyes cracked open, rolling white as he’s gracelessly tugged from his dream. He could cry, he wants to claw it back until it’s marked with the blunt bite of his nails, hoarding it jealously in his mind where none may take it and none may know. So desperate is he to keep the slipping memory alive and in his grasp, to hold possessively to the fabricated flesh memory that his eyes slip closed again—until his name is barked into his ear like a clap of thunder.

He blinked, suddenly much more awake, sleeps fog lifting as if he were hot pavement, and with that heat comes the cold, cruel, crushing weight of reality. The heat was not his own, and his eyes were filled with the dark silhouette of a muscular back and half turned shoulder. The weight against his front, another's leg pinned between his own, the pressure against his fully erect member—though it isn’t rare for Higuruma to suffer from morning wood—it isn’t morning, nor is he alone.

He froze, horrified as the reality of his situation dawned clear, sentenced under the weight of his own dreamt gavel.

Oh no. Oh god, oh fuck, no.

Panic surged through him with the violence of a live-wire. Higuruma practically convulsed with his clawing to escape, scrambling back and almost tumbling off the bed in his rush to put much needed space between them. Sheets tangle in his legs, yanking them free from Nanami who jerks in response, grabbing a pillow and forcing it tightly down over his own lap.

“I—oh my god, I’m so sorry—didn’t mean to… fuck, shit—I wasn’t—” The words tumbled in a frantic stream from Higuruma’s mouth, mortification burning through him like wildfire, setting each nerve ablaze until his whole body grew slick with terror-induced sweat. It left him dizzy and desperate to crawl into a hole and disappear forever, and he knew he should’ve slept in the fucking chair—

Nanami’s silence was deafening, but it wasn’t the steady, composed kind that Higuruma had come to expect. No, this was an awkward, uncertain sort. The kind that made Higuruma’s stomach hurt—he expected Nanami to punch him with every second that ticked by without a word, and god he would deserve it, would relish it even as some sort of penance for this egregious trampling of bounds and he’s sure Nanami feels absolutely sick.

But Nanami would not punch Higuruma, nor would he speak. Nanami is a quiet man, but that has always been by choice. For the first time in his life, he was at a loss for words. Everything he should say flees him, anything he could say slips like water between his fingers, and everything he wants to say simply isn’t an option. He struggles to process the situation, but his body certainly doesn’t, cock hard and insistent against his thin pants and pillow shield.

Higuruma wanted to die. He wanted to sink into the earth and never be seen again. But more than that, he wanted to forget that he’d been grinding on Nanami like some desperate animal in heat, laying bare something he hadn’t known he wanted in the most humiliating way possible.

“I’m so sorry,” Higuruma repeated, voice shaky and impossibly small in the dark. His heart beat erratically, pounding behind his ribs with a concerning force—maybe he’ll have a heart attack, drop dead right then and there and that would be merciful, wouldn’t it? He felt like a fool, an absolute idiot, and the shame was suffocating, and he’s wholly undeserving of Nanami’s forgiveness but he silently pleads for it anyways. Forgiveness, punishment in the way of a broken nose, he would accept it all but this silence eroded his nerves down to the quick and made him nauseous.

Nanami finally spoke, his voice low and uncertain, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “It’s… fine,” said through clenched teeth, though his expression was anything but. His brow furrowed, caught between confusion and the unwelcome heat simmering beneath his skin, emotions tangled and unspooled messily and he couldn’t begin to figure out how to put them back together.

Both stared up at the ceiling, hearts jackhammered against their cages in a way that may have been bonding—this shared feeling of horror—if not for the gulf forcibly carved between them via blank mattress space. Higuruma allowed himself to be lost in the sea of white linen sheets where he hoped to drown, and Nanami clutched to the raft that was the downy pillow locked very conspicuously over his lap.

Both willed their very obvious predicaments to go away, but thinking about them only made it worse. Unsexy thoughts didn’t work, when the only thought either of them had was about the ache between their legs, and Nanami considered how much easier it would’ve been to not have woken Higuruma at all and slipped away to the bathroom, jerking himself to calmness in a harried palm; while Higuruma wonders how thick the glass of the nearby window is, and if he might be able throw himself through it.

He chanced a glance at Nanami, eyes skittering surreptitiously in the dark. Bare chested and devoid of the blanket, one knee bent upward with a forearm flung over his forehead, Higuruma is just as quick to look away because fuck had Nanami always looked so good? Surely not, surely it’s just the dark, and the residuals of a dream he should never have had and would never have had if not for the alcohol in his system, but he looked good and the pillow in his lap makes Higuruma want to move it to see what’s underneath—

His gaze flickered downward, inexorably drawn to the pillow where his heart thumps overtime. Oh fuck.

Higuruma is a man. He’s fully aware of the tricks he might deploy and has deployed in a situation like this. His old desk made for great cover when his body went neglected in favor of late nights pouring over cases, cock thickened and twitching down the seam of his thigh. A well placed file, though more obvious, could serve just as well until he had a chance to adjust himself. A clipboard, his coat slung over his arm, a pillow—

Higuruma’s eyes zeroed in on the pillow perched awkwardly on Nanami’s lap, a wordless understanding crashing over him that leaves him breathless. It was a man’s intuition, the kind that muddled both heads—the one on his shoulders running on empty, while the other swelled with smug satisfaction. Nanami was just as affected, and Higuruma felt his cock give a hopeful jump that maybe not all was lost… what else does he have to lose with his dignity already in shambles?

An idea—stupid and reckless—flashed through Higuruma’s mind, and he couldn’t quite quash it, couldn’t quite suppress the tiny flicker of something that wasn’t quite panic and wasn’t quite desire. Maybe it was madness. Maybe he’d finally lost it.

“Nanami—”

“Excuse me,” Nanami interrupted, palm clasped tight over his mouth and nose, and shuffled to the edge of the mattress with jerky and robotic movements. Feet hit the floor and he bent, shoulders hunched and muscles tense as he prepared to force himself up and away as quickly as possible. But before he could make his escape, Higuruma’s hand shot out, clutching Nanami’s wrist in a desperate grip.

“Wait,” Higuruma gasped, voice barely registering above a whisper, inaudible above the pounding of his own heart. This was stupid, mortifyingly so, but somehow the idea grew legs and ran from his mind and out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Nanami doesn’t turn, but he freezes, paused and straining but not pulling away.

Higuruma’s eyes are wide and pleading, thoughts spiraled to oblivion with not a hope in hell of getting them back. “What if—” he swallowed. “We could—maybe we could…?”

The words slipped out before he could think better of them, and he cursed himself for being so weak, so utterly incapable of keeping his treacherous mouth shut. He wanted to take them back, swallow them down and pretend they’d never existed.

If Nanami could grow stiffer, he did. His shoulders expanded with the slow sucking inhale he pulled between his teeth. So too stiffened the turgid length between his legs, hard enough that he feels he might bore a hole through the pillow in his lap.

He feels like a teenager. Feral, and stupid, and so wildly out of control. Higuruma can’t say that. He can’t say things like that because if he does then Nanami wouldn’t be able to quash the thoughts of agreeing out of his head. And he can’t agree. They’re coworkers, and in some strange sense Higuruma is a mentee. His stubborn, infuriating, good-for-nothing, good looking, hopelessly distracting mentee.

Higuruma stared, Nanami avoided, reaching that familiar impasse but this time was unlike any other. “Wildly inappropriate—” Nanami muttered. “Ridiculous. I can’t believe you would even—absolutely not, no—”

“Fuck, say it again.”

Higuruma froze, his grip on Nanami’s wrist tightening. “Say what?” he ventured.

Nanami didn’t turn, but even in the dark Higuruma could see the muscles in his back twitch. Where Higuruma saw anger, Nanami felt restraint. Horror… temptation. Disgust… desire.

“Tell me what you want.” Nanami elaborated, voice breathless from the oxygen that flees his lungs and head, and with it goes his last chance to flee as well. Nanami is not a spontaneous man, but the act of surrender, of slipping the leash choked so tightly by his own hand, was nothing short of euphoric. This would be enough, even if nothing more—

Higuruma’s breath caught, snagged and lured on every word Nanami spoke, and every insult he didn't. He dared to let his grip slip on Nanami’s wrist, the calloused tips of his fingers brush over the sensitive inner skin beneath his palm, marveling at the veins and tendons that flex under his touch. Nanami didn’t pull away, and Higuruma almost groaned when he felt Nanami’s fingers twitch, moving to loosely tangle with his own. “I…”

Higuruma found himself lost for words. A rarity for him. “I, ah—you.”

Nanami’s blood roared in his ears. Yes, yes, oh fuck yes please—

“Can I… can I touch you…? I’m so sorry—fuck, we can just go to sleep, this is too awkward—”

No, no, no.

Higuruma’s grip slackened on Nanami’s wrist and retracted back into his own space. Nanami wasn’t sure what compelled him, a sudden surge of panic powered his body without his input and he twisted, spun around to face Higuruma who flinched with the surprise of it. He grabbed Higuruma's arm, holding his elbow, his other hand braced atop Higuruma’s knee through the blanket. He hadn’t meant to touch him, but he can’t find it in himself to move his hand either.

“No, please wait.”

They both stared face to face now, the dark doing little to conceal the burning red that stained both of their faces. Nanami felt that same panic slither down his throat—Higuruma stared at him, expectant, and now he had to be the one to push. Nanami silently cursed the way his hands shook as they drifted down Higuruma’s arm, loosely circling his wrist and drawing his hand to his chest.

His heart pounded violently, a dying animal trying to escape his ribcage for somewhere safer than inside him. “...Touch me.”

The air whistled from Higuruma’s nose, shaky palm and splayed fingers pressed against the bared skin he hadn’t known existed before a few short hours ago. His hand doesn’t move, frozen and paralytic as skittish eyes flicked up to meet Nanami’s for approval that he’d already received.

Stone faced as ever, Nanami made every effort to soften his edges. His brows lowered light and gentle, and his lips twitched in a rare up-tick, a hesitant smile and Higuruma had never seen such a thing on the man's face before. “Do you not want to…?” Nanami’s fingers brushed lightly over the fine bones that latticed the back of Higuruma’s hands.

“I…” Higuruma’s tongue was still struck dumb, breathless at the hot feel of skin beneath his palm. How long had it been since he’d touched somebody? Since he’d wanted to touch Nanami?

It crashed upon him, the realization that he’d buried after their first introduction was exchanged months ago, and every exchange since being one of barely restrained dislike at best. Even back then, and every time after, he wished circumstances were different; because truth be told, he thought he could like Nanami. His ideals, his determination, his ethics—they had all the ingredients to make for good friends.

They might have met over coffee or a drink stronger than espresso, they could’ve bickered over bread brands at the grocery store rather than how to best safeguard their lives. If things had been different, maybe they could’ve been different too.

It scared him, this sudden epiphany that he may have been wrong—or worse, a fool.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispered.

“That’s irrelevant and not what I asked,” Nanami insisted firmly. He gave Higuruma’s hand a small push, guiding it against his sternum and sliding slightly lower. He wasn’t sure where his sudden boldness came from—maybe it was the exhaustion, or the fact that the blood in his head had fully migrated south to his cock and that’s the head he was thinking with.

Maybe it’s because he’d dropped the pillow in his haste, and Higuruma’s eyes dropped with it to sweep shamelessly along his erection. There’s a savage pride Nanami harvests from Higuruma’s eyes, black as oil but far more valuable.

“Do you want to?” He repeats, eyes piercing, impeaching.

The look in Nanami’s eyes, the loosening of the harsh lines of his face in favor of an uncertain smile, all things point to this not being the trap Higuruma was half convinced it must be. There was no fist imbued with licking blue flames crashing into his nose or mouth, no vitriol spat for him being some sort of accidental pervert… it was okay. It was actually okay.

“Fuck yes, Nanami. I want to.” Higuruma gasped, and it was as if a spell had broken. For the first time since their meeting, they were finally on the same line of the same page. Higuruma’s hand drifted lower over the firm planes of Nanami’s abs, muscles flexing beneath his touch as Nanami moved to mount Higuruma’s thigh, wedging his own between the other man's legs. In sync, they moved with the same determined purpose.

Nanami’s head dipped, casting a shadow over Higuruma’s face before sealing out that little light entirely with the first tentative brush of their lips. He can feel the shake of Nanami’s muscled shoulders as he hovers, holding his weight high above Higuruma and those tremors reflect in the satin softness of lips he’d only ever seen pulled taut and disapproving.

What Nanami offered as a gentle introduction, a second chance at first impressions, Higuruma took and ran like a wild dog. His hand not currently entrenched within the lines of Nanami’s abs curled into bed-mussed blonde hair and pulled him down, delighting in his surprised grunt.

The kiss Higuruma sought was painted with the same brush as his dream. Angry, aggressive, hungry—but Nanami would have none of that. He wrenched himself away with a breathless bark, lips curled in the widest smile Higuruma had seen yet which almost soothed the sting of having been rejected. “Easy,” he murmured, pressing his nose to the corner of Higuruma’s mouth instead. “There’s no need to rush.”

Higuruma snorted, not the derisive and bitter sound Nanami was used to but the prelude to what would quickly evolve into a gravelly full-belly chuckle. Wonderful, Nanami thought. Higuruma had a wonderful laugh… he would like to hear it more. “Sorry,” he offered. “Must be the champagne.”

“Mmm—” Nanami hummed spiced with mirth, unconvinced as his lips returned to Higuruma’s. “Must be.”

Despite the tentativeness and undeniable awkwardness of fumbling with an unfamiliar body in the dark, they found themselves eventually moving in sync, as if they hadn't spent months just barely tolerating each other.

They fit together easily, Higuruma’s nose brushing and bent against Nanami’s cheek while Nanami savored the lingering taste of champagne on his tongue. There was an unspoken synergy that had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, if only they hadn’t been so stubbornly blind to it.

The world narrowed to a gravity of their own making, a push and pull just as they’d always been but devoid of the friction that left their edges rough and raw. Smooth stones in a riverbed their mouths tumbled, exploratory lips and tongues as they mapped this uncharted territory, thorough and thirsty and uncompromising in this burning consumption of each other.

Higuruma nipped at Nanami’s lip, grinning against his mouth as the subsequent gasp allowed his tongue to slip beside his.

He felt like a teenager again. Higuruma isn’t old but the heart-pounding anticipation in his chest is that of a much younger man. His eyes cracked open to admire Nanami, only for his heart to judder in his chest to find their eyes locked. Lost in the hot whiskey depths of Nanami’s gaze, half-lidded and more relaxed than Higuruma had ever seen him.

He wondered if it had been as long for Nanami as it had for him—if Nanami needed this as desperately as he did. He wondered if Nanami’s eyes stayed open out of concern that he might disappear out from beneath him, just as Higuruma feared he might still be dreaming after all.

Nanami’s hand drifted along his arm, fingers tangled and plaited together and pinned above Nanami’s chest. He gets his answer then in the erratic rhythm beneath his palm, pulse vibrating as desperate as his own. Nanami shares his vulnerability wordlessly—he isn’t as unaffected as he seems.

Nanami guided his hand lower, Higuruma’s fingers twitching and sandwiched between Nanami’s broader hand and the board of muscles beneath. Lower, and lower still, Nanami doesn’t break eye contact as he pressed Higuruma’s hand hard against his straining erection with a low groan, eyes closed with the instant relief of such a small touch.

Higuruma’s eyes leave him in favor of watching his own hand, the experience is almost out of body, his hand operated and guided by a force separate from himself. His anxiety left him then, replaced by a hunger that gnawed with vicious teeth at his belly.

His fingers curled instinctively, catching the fabric of Nanami’s pants with a sharp tug—pulling them down without resistance.

Nanami’s cock sprung upward, smacking against his stomach, bobbing and leveling at Higuruma in accusation. Thick and long and engorged an angry red from inattention, Higuruma decided with humor that Nanami’s dick looks a lot like the man himself. Big, and angry, and something he suddenly and desperately and carnally wants in his mouth.

For as long as Higuruma stared, Nanami looked down at him with the first inklings of trepidation. He’s staring, but he isn’t touching—is he displeased? Inadequate? Nanami’s eyes searched Higuruma’s face, flicking between his eyes and the neutral set of his mouth—should he kiss him again?

Insecurity made for the catalyst that flew his mind back to him. Maybe this was a mistake. Nanami swallowed, throat bobbing as his lips part with apology (for what, he doesn’t know but was resolved to figure it out), he started to withdraw—

At the same moment the wires connect in Higuruma’s brain that this was actually happening and hungry fingers finally reach out, tracing Nanami’s cock from ball to tip and cupping his palm over the sensitive head.

Nanami’s hips buck, lashes fluttering and a surprised groan ripped from his chest as he collapsed down onto his elbow, barely catching himself from crushing Higuruma beneath his full weight. His withdrawal was halted, finding himself shoving forward into Higuruma’s hand instead of away.

With a newfound confidence, Higuruma wrapped his fingers around Nanami’s cock, marveling at the velvety smoothness of the skin stretched taut over rigid flesh. He felt Nanami’s pulse beneath his fingertips, a steady beat that mirrored his own racing heart. Higuruma’s grip tightened slightly, earning him a deep, rumbling moan that made his skin tingle and his own cock throb with need.

“Fuck,” he cursed, forcing his lids back open—he looked between Higuruma’s eyes, beetle-black and flashing like flint in the dark, darting between his hungry stare and the connection between their bodies, the slow slide of Higuruma’s grasp around his cock. He doesn’t know where he’d rather look, or how to unknit his eyebrows, or how to stop the gravitational pull of his mouth back to Higuruma’s with desperate insistence.

His tongue teased the seam of Higuruma’s lips, coaxing his mouth open and Higuruma was quick to oblige. Their tongues tangled, and this time Nanami did nothing to chill the heated fervor with which Higuruma drank him in. His fingers dug into the pillow beside Higuruma’s head, muscles flexed and veins bulged as he fought to keep from losing himself in Higuruma’s hand so soon.

Some things would never change, the hot spirit of prideful competition blazed in Nanami’s blood and his hand drifted, dragging with obvious intent down Higuruma’s body, leaving more than enough time for him to be shoved off, to be stopped, but it never came. He needed Higuruma to cum first. Nanami refused to accept otherwise.

He palmed the bulge through Higuruma’s pants, swallowing the earned gasp down his throat and breaking the kiss just long enough to ask: “S’this okay?”

Higuruma nodded so hard he feared his head might snap off his shoulders.

Nanami hummed his acknowledgment, dipping his head away from Higuruma’s mouth to plant kisses along his jaw, leading back towards his ear to nuzzle against the sensitive hinge, buried against the clinging spice of yesterday's cologne and aftershave, and Nanami’s brain goes a bit fuzzy.

Soft skin and downy hair tickle his nose, nibbling distractingly at Higuruma’s pulse as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of Higuruma’s pants, hooking his cock out into the air, pointed up towards his navel against the fabric of his shirt.

That brief touch alone was enough to have Higuruma seeing stars, a strangled gasp stripping his throat raw and breaking into a drawn out moan when Nanami gripped him fully.

Nanami took a moment to admire Higuruma’s cock, appreciating the weight and heat of it in his hand. It was beautiful in its own way, the smooth curve and the throbbing vein that traced a line beneath the silken skin. Nanami’s thumb swept over the tip, gathering the beads of pre-cum that glistened there and spreading it over the head with a gentle stroke that made Higuruma jerk up into his palm, his own grip on Nanami inadvertently tightening.

"Sensitive," Nanami murmured, eyes gleaming with an intensity that could melt steel, the heat of his gaze stripping Higuruma down to his very bones.

Higuruma flushed, a deep crimson spreading across his cheeks as his nose wrinkled in embarrassment. He turned his head into the pillow, trying to hide the uncontrollable reactions of his body. “It’s been a while,” he admitted, voice barely more than a whisper as he gave Nanami’s cock a tentative pump. The motion drew a low moan from Nanami, his eyelids fluttering, breath stuttering warmly against Higuruma’s cheek.

“No time… no interest,” Higuruma continued, words spilling out between panting breaths. “Not into flings… too impersonal.” Excuses tumbled from his lips, broken by the rhythm of Nanami’s hand stroking him into gasping pants. The wet sucking sounds of pre-cum between Nanami’s fingers only made Higuruma throb harder in Nanami’s fist.

"Me neither," Nanami confessed, his voice muffled as he buried his face into Higuruma’s neck, inhaling the warmth of his skin with a shaky breath. The wet rhythmic plap plap plap’s of his hand grew faster until Higuruma’s back arched off the bed with a frantic whine, a string of curses slipping unbidden from his lips.

Nanami had never imagined Higuruma to be a whimperer, always so composed and sharp-eyed. Then, he never dared allow himself to imagine Higuruma like this at all.

Except for that one time, maybe… or perhaps twice. Maybe he’d lost count after thrice.

He thought those sounds might be irritating, wax annoyingly and decoratively pornographic, but from Higuruma, they were intoxicating. They made him crave more. He wanted to chip away at his composure, to draw out more of those desperate noises, to capture them and keep them close. Because Nanami didn’t do flings, and if that’s what this was, he at least wanted something to remember it by.

It was instinct driven the way he moved next, shifting to straddle Higuruma more completely, head bowed to watch the narrow space between them. It’s clumsy, it’s dark and they’re new to this and Higuruma’s body was as alien to him as anybody else's. His ears burn in time with the heavy thump of his cock thudding into the cleft of Higuruma’s thigh.

With clenched teeth, Nanami pressed forward, his movements deliberate but unsteady. A slow, grinding thrust dragged the underside of his cock against Higuruma’s, exhaling sharply at the fresh sensation.

Higuruma's lips parted in another moan, but the sound was swallowed by Nanami’s mouth before it escaped. It’s an opportunity for authority Nanami relished, a chance he didn’t often get. He didn’t hesitate to explore the warmth of Higuruma’s mouth, snagging the sharp of his canines against soft velvet lips, the slick of his soft palate lashed by Nanami’s seeking tongue.

Nanami’s fingers extended, thumb and palm hooking around his own cock while the remaining four stayed devoted to Higuruma—jerking them in tandem, a shared rhythm that drew out breathy gasps and muted moans.

Higuruma’s mouth was hot against Nanami’s, full of urgency and an unspoken plea and promise. So much potential with that mouth—quick wit, arguments, warm, inviting. There’s a kind of intoxication in the way Higuruma responds, each hitch of breath and stuttered exhale fueling Nanami’s quiet resolve to be good to him. He wanted Higuruma to remember him; a matter of ego.

Nanami does not do flings, and neither does Higuruma, but maybe this is an exception. Maybe it’s more. Maybe they’d wake in the morning and Nanami would find the courage-tempered cowardice to flee the life of a sorcerer for a second time—this time out of embarrassment—or maybe he would treat Higuruma to breakfast. Either felt just as likely at that point.

Higuruma found his hands rendered obsolete, defunct palms still slick and sticky from Nanami but with nothing to occupy them. His heart raced, hips bucking up into Nanami’s fist, grinding his cock against Nanami’s as he murmured muffled encouragement into Higuruma’s neck. Higuruma’s hands moved frantically, grabbing for any part of Nanami he could reach.

Fingers tangled in his hair, raking through the undercut at the nape of his neck, carding through blonde locks as if to stay tethered. His hands roamed over Nanami’s back, tracing the firm muscles that quivered beneath his touch. He scratched constellations into the sun-dappled freckles decorating Nanami’s skin, a galaxy amidst the scars. He’d never considered the life Nanami lived before, never quite cared.

Maybe it was the near-orgasmic rush of dopamine clouding Higuruma’s brain, making him tender and soft, but he found himself leaning into Nanami’s shoulder, planting his mouth there. He kissed and licked, laving his tongue over every mark and blemish, every scar that marred the tanned skin with silver, pink, or fresh purple, each one undeserving of the canvas they existed upon.

Higuruma’s breath quickened, each gasp a desperate plea for more, his body straining towards the edge. Nanami’s hand worked them both at a relentless pace, the wet sounds of their cum-slick skin shlick-shlick-shlicking in the hot air. Higuruma could feel the pressure building, a knot tightening in his belly, ready to snap.

“Nanami,” he gasped into a spit-slick shoulder, voice trembling with urgency, his hips stuttering as he chased the release that felt so close, so inevitable. His grip tightened on Nanami’s hair, anchoring himself as his body tensed. He was a live wire, all nerves and sensation, and Nanami’s quiet, focused attention only made it sweeter.

The briefest moment of consideration crossed wires in Higuruma’s head, shakily tugging his own shirt up and pinching the fabric between his teeth, stomach bared and muscles clenching, unclenching, then clenching again—

“Kento,” Nanami corrected, pleading, impeaching, driving the slick, urgent rhythm of his hand. “Please—” It felt different that way, more intimate. Nanami wanted to erase the last traces of anonymity, eradicate impersonality, to fill the room with the weight of something softer, something real. He didn't know what compelled him, but the mere thought of Higuruma gasping his name, lips parted in desperate need, sent a hot thrill down Nanami’s spine, his balls tightening with a searing want that took his breath away.

The heat between them was unbearable, each stroke of Nanami’s hand pushing Higuruma closer to the edge, unapologetic in his destruction of his restraint. His body bowed, fingers tangling desperately in Nanami’s hair, a silent plea for more, just a little more—

His spine tensed, fingers gripping tightly in Nanami’s hair as he finally gave in, spilling over Nanami’s hand and his own stomach with a shrill bark of his name. Pleasure hit him hard, blurring his vision as sparks of ecstasy sparked behind his eyelids like stardust, every nerve galvanized past capacity. So long since it had been his own hand or some impersonal silicon device, Higuruma had simply forgotten. Forgotten what it was like for it to be someone else.

Nanami watched him, enraptured by the way Higuruma fell apart beneath him, the way his chest heaved and his eyes fluttered shut, the way his skin flushed with orgasmic afterglow. It was enough to tip him over the edge, the sight and sound and fuck even the smell of Higuruma’s orgasm drawing his own from him with a deep, guttural groan. 

He ground their cocks together once more, the slick mess of their combined cum making it all the more intense as he followed Higuruma dope-eyed into oblivion, his own climax spilling hot and wet between their bodies. Higuruma’s stomach hollowed with each gasping breath, a basin in which their combined cum pooled, mixed and hot.

They lay there, breath mingling in the heated space between them, Nanami still bracketing Higuruma’s body with his own. Both panting, skin glistening with sweat and the final ropes of cum stringing between Nanami’s fist and Higuruma’s stomach. Higuruma’s cock twitched with each pulse, oversensitive and alive with lingering sensation.

Nanami nuzzled into the crook of Higuruma’s neck, breathing in the musky warmth of his skin, while Higuruma wrapped an arm around Nanami’s shoulders, fingers splayed possessively, as if to keep him from pulling away—not that Nanami had any intention of moving.

“Stay,” Higuruma murmured, voice still breathless, tinged with the raw edges of satisfaction and something suspiciously softer.

Nanami chuckled, a low rumble against Higuruma’s ear, and pressed a gentle kiss to the curve of his jaw. “Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

Higuruma shifted, a satisfied glint in his eye. “Good. Because I’m not sure I can move,” he admitted, a smile tugging at his lips.

Throughout the night, every inch of Higuruma’s body came to know Nanami’s hands, his lips, his touch, and Higuruma explored Nanami with the same enthusiasm. When the sun rose, it found them not on opposite sides of the bed in a cold war but tangled together, limbs more origami than man, an ouroboros where it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

They prepared for the mission ahead, no longer the awkward and begrudging roommates they had been, not quite friends, not quite lovers, but something decidedly more pleasant than they were just the day before.

As Nanami fixed his hair, Higuruma brushed his teeth with a casual ease. While Higuruma tied his tie, Nanami laced his shoes, relaxed, satisfied. Pleasantries exchanged were more than mere obligation, carried out with a quiet contentment and softened shoulders. The glances they shared were not of sharp edges or bitter abrasion but of thoughtful kindness.

“I shouldn’t think we’ll be here another night,” Nanami commented, donning his jacket from the closet and rolling his shoulders, loosening the threads around muscles that felt more limber than they had in a long time. “Make sure you’ve repacked your bag.”

Nanami’s words were met with an odd sense of regret, cold and dousing was the wave that washed over Higuruma as he hummed his acknowledgment, swallowing his disappointment. “Yeah, already done,” Higuruma assured, raking fingers through his hair in the mirror one last time. He found himself caring a little more than usual today, the lines of his suit sharper and picked of lint, not a hair out of place. There was no good reason for that, of course.

He didn’t want to leave.

Sudden was this change of heart, where before he wanted to blaze through this mission and get away from Nanami, the sooner the better. But now, with them finally on decent—dare he say good —terms, he wasn’t ready to go back. Not to campus, not to the way things were before, marked by prickling anxiety and petty competition.

So lost in his thoughts and buried beneath a tortured brow, he didn’t notice as Nanami approached him. Only when his hand tentatively grazed his waist, jolting Higuruma back to reality did he blink at the other man reflected in the mirror over his shoulder.

“Hiromi…” Nanami began, hesitant and stilted, unused to the taste of anything other than Higuruma or a muttered insult, unsure if the request for familiarity was still in effect.

“When we get back—”

Higuruma is already shaking his head, expression schooled into neutrality. He would have to practice it again, learn how to be unaffected. It would be hard but he would learn, and it would be like nothing ever happened and god that was a tough pill to swallow… because Higuruma Hiromi doesn’t do flings, and he didn’t think Nanami Kento did either.

“I don’t kiss and tell if that’s what you’re worried about,” Higuruma chuckled, placating, strained.

Nanami simply smiled at him in the mirror. Slowly he reached around, snaking an arm to Higuruma’s front, gently adjusting Higuruma’s collar and the knot of his tie.

“Actually… I was thinking about dinner.”

[pastafossa]

"From A Squirt Gun, With Love" (Bucky Barnes x F!Reader, Fic)

Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 5's prompt: water gun fight. It's also been a while since I've written for my favorite super soldier, so today's prompt is for Bucky Barnes! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! Side note, once I've got more these will all be edited a bit more and placed on my AO3, so if you lose one, just keep an eye out over there!

Ship: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: some suggestive dialogue and innuendo

You couldn’t afford another mistake. 

He’d been hunting you for at least an hour now, stalking you determinedly through the corridors of the compound and the manicured gardens outside. He’d already nailed you half a dozen times. And much to your disbelief, one of those times was because he’d somehow managed to find his way up into the air vents where he could track you unseen. You’d done your best to at least make it a challenge for him, relying on a variety of traps you’d managed to set up ahead of time, but it hadn’t done you as much good as you’d hoped, your hit count a measly two against his six. And now? Now you were running low on ammunition, and just as low on workable options. What was worse, he’d cornered you in the garage. You’d been able to tuck yourself beneath an SUV before he could see you, but there was only one exit—one currently being monitored by your annoyingly precise marksman of a boyfriend. 

You held your breath at the quiet scrape of heavy combat boots scuffing against the concrete floor. If you had to guess, he was wandering around about two rows over and off to your left. He could have bent over and just scanned beneath the cars immediately, but he was enjoying this far too much to let it end that easily. He was toying with you, dragging things out now that he had you boxed in. 

“I know you’re in here, doll,” came his low chuckle. “Come on out, and I’ll go easy on you. Besides, you gotta be soaked by now, and not in the fun way. But I can change that for you if you want. All you gotta do is pop that pretty head up for me.”

Not a chance. 

You weren’t going down without a fight. 

You clutched your water gun tighter, checking the glowing tactical display—you hadn’t even known high-tech water guns existed until Bucky had dropped one into your hands with a grin. “If my girl wants a water gun fight, we’re gettin’ a water gun fight.” 

And what you saw wasn’t good. 

Shit. 

You were down to eighteen percent tank capacity. Anywhere else in the compound, you might have had a chance to reload with one of the buckets you’d both scattered around, but you’d forgotten to put one in the garage. If you didn’t get him with your next shot, you were done. 

“The fact that you’re not out here shootin’ at me like before tells me you’re low.” His voice sounded different now: higher up, and a bit more distant. Had he… climbed on top of the cars? “You need more practice. I’ll admit, I was proud of you when you got that ass shot in, but that ain’t happenin’ again. My turn to get your ass now, darlin’. You gonna give me what’s mine?”

You sucked your lower lip for a moment before carefully edging your way forward, water gun held in front of you just in case he decided to pull a horror movie move and drop into view. It wasn’t easy. The goddamn water gun was shaped more like a shotgun than a super soaker, clunky and a bitch to drag around. The upside was it had an automatic reload so you didn’t have to worry about making any noise while pumping the gun. Its range was good for a water gun, around twenty feet, but not good enough that you could shoot Bucky at distance. You’d need to get close.

One of the cars down the row creaked, tires groaning, presumably as your massive super soldier of a boyfriend strolled along the top of the cars like they were paving stones. That he wasn’t bothering to be silent was… unusual.

“Here, kitty kitty,” he purred, his voice growing fainter as he wandered down towards the other end of the garage. “Where’s my pretty girl gone?”

On the one hand, you enjoyed hearing that tone from him, playful and relaxed, warm and content. He’d grown pretty comfortable with you, open and affectionate, over the time you’d known him. That comfort, that openness with you had only blossomed further as your relationship had morphed into something romantic. But even so, it was still unusual for him to let go like this just so he could have fun. It was progress, and that knowledge filled your heart with a sparkling warmth. 

But you also couldn’t help but be the least bit suspicious, because it would be absolutely like him to use his voice and playful tone to distract you from something. 

You froze again when a pair of boots suddenly appeared on the concrete in front of you, landing without a sound—you’d been right; all the sound a minute ago had been to try to lure you out, make you think he was farther away than he really was. You didn’t dare move, not when the slightest sound might give you away. Slowly, the boots shifted on the concrete as he turned one way, and then the other. Waiting for you to make a run for it. 

But he’d taught you better than that. 

There was the softest, quietest little huff of amusement, or maybe pride, instead. But instead of heading off, he began to kneel. 

Shit, shit, shit—

He was going to duck down and look under the car. He knew you were here, he had to. He had to. Could you shift the angle of your water gun before he leaned down and saw you—

Fortunately for you, it became clear a second later that he was only lowering himself into a crouch. You stilled again in the shadows beneath the SUV, your gun still aimed cautiously at his legs.

Speaking of which, you had a really good view of his thighs at this angle. With him crouched the way he was, his thighs looked even thicker than usual, deliciously hard muscle covered in old denim. The round curve of his ass looked just as good where he filled out his jeans, though the dark splotch on the tight fabric made you grin. It was a testament to one of the only two shots you’d managed to hit him with. Sure, he’d shot you twice in the ass in retaliation, but it had been absolutely worth it. 

He settled onto the balls of his feet, rocking a little back and forth. You heard a soft whir, before his metal hand appeared in your view. Your heart skipped a beat, a droplet of maybe-water-maybe-sweat rolling down your temple. Only… his hand didn’t appear to be going for you like you’d expected. Instead, it slipped down to the concrete. One metal fingertip gleaming in the fluorescent lighting, it brushed lightly at the droplets of water drying on the concrete. 

Fresh droplets. 

From you. 

Crap. 

His head appeared beneath the SUV as he leaned over to meet your eye. Then he flashed you a feral grin. “Hi doll,” he said smugly. “Hi Bucky. I love you,” you said fondly, and shot him in the face. 

His head reared back as he spat out a curse, frantically swiping the water away from his face. It gave you just enough time for you to squirm out from under the SUV and take off down row between the cars, your sneakers slapping against the concrete, the wind blowing your hair back. If you could get to the door before he did, you could turn around and lock him in. It wouldn’t keep him here forever, but it might buy you a few minutes to reload. 

Based on the rapidly pounding footsteps behind you, though, you weren’t even going to get close. Not when it sounded like he was charging after you with every last bit of super-soldier-powered speed he had. You needed another plan, or else—

Something slammed hard against one of the cars behind you, startling you enough to make you stumble. In that brief moment of distraction, Bucky had vaulted himself up off the car and over your head. 

His broad form landed smoothly in front of you in one easy motion, dropping into a crouch. He rose slowly, powerful muscle gradually uncoiling inch by inch, until finally he loomed up over you, water gun held ominously in one hand. His pale eyes had gone dark with heat, pupils blown wide as he fixated on you: his prey. He took one prowling step forward, a flash of pink from his tongue as he lazily licked the droplets of water away from his mouth.

“You shot me,” he rumbled hungrily. “I should be mad. But damn, doll. That was hot.” “Hot enough to stop you from shooting me back?” you asked hopefully.

“Not a chance,” he said with a smirk, before firing a blast of cold water directly at your abdomen. You let out another shriek, turning to sprint away from him, a trail of damp footprints left behind. And if your shriek was half laughter, well, his playful growl was just as full of joy as he took off after you. 

[fluff-n-cookies]

Hello :)

Could you please do and platonic Aizawa x daughter reader?

His daughter is in her teen years so she is being like really rebel and all that so they fought a lot, but one day she just breaksdown during one fight and starts crying and apologizing for being a shitty daughter?

I have been avoiding this for so long, and it's all because I have no idea how aizawa would handle something like this. because it goes against everything that Aizawa would try and teach his kid so this may be a little forcefully written, apologies.

TW : unhealthy parenting, mental illness, some suicidal thoughts, probably angsty shit, I dunno, read at your own risk.

We can start this by walking through how this may start in the first place. I think the best place to start is that reader's mom left her and Aizawa when she was very young, and Aizawa, assuming here he didn't understand how to properly tell her why her mother left her, never tells her why.

Now reader is very young so she might blame one of two things.

herself

her father

While both instances would technically work, I think the more favorable option is she blames herself since a young child would probably never blame an adult they look up to and hold dear as the problem.

Up to this point her father has been really kind to her so the only other variable is her, this spirals into social anxiety, low self esteem, and depression. all of which don't help when you have an absent mother and a neglectful father who is both a teacher and a full time hero, which leaves little to no room for children.

(this is also why I think it isn't realistic for Aizawa to keep Eri or a child without another non-hero caretaker. Fight me, I dare you.)

As time goes on, and this child becomes a teenager, she might not know how to properly express her feeling and after being misguided by factors like the internet, other adults, and "friends" she might take out the feeling of being abandoned on her closest caretaker and another source of her problems; Aizawa.

if you purposely yell at him or start arguments it's not going to be very fun because Aizawa has this complex where if his students or other heros represent incompetence or arrogance he expels them or ignores him rather than explaining it to them and helping them improve, this is especially with students.

and since he lacks a true connection with you as his daughter mainly because of his job(s) and past with Oboro which he is still trying to heal from keeping him from bonding with you, he'll treat you as a student like the rest of the teenagers he knows. and even then, you may actually be treated worse than his students because while he interacts with them daily, he interacts with maybe 1 hour every other day.

so from all that he simply ignores you, just stops interacting with you entirely, he's too tired for your bullshit. this action makes the wedge between you two even worse.

if you keep persisting though he will yell back but it's often really short and really loud. something like "SHUT UP" a cold "I don't care." before slamming the door in your face. He knows it's probably not right to do that to your daughter but let's face it. you're just this annoying teenager he legally has to live with if he doesn't want to lose his hero and teaching license.

this is where things actually get very interesting, because let's assume he stops approaching you entirely, you just live in the same house nothing more than that, and while you may act like you hate your father for ruining your family and neglecting you all your life on the outside, remember, you're still that little kid in second grade that blames yourself for your mother leaving and your father not caring for you.

so let's say you realize this and go back to blaming yourself for everything like you did when you where a kid but since your father stopped talking to you entirely explaining your faults to him maybe difficult.

this where my personal experiences come in, I've actually had this happen to me in my own life, and I truely hope that you'll enjoy it. thank you.

---------

why is it that the voices are the loudest in the dead of night?

the moon is gone, the birds are silent, there isn't a single light that shines on your tear streaked face, puffly, swollen, sad, just sad.

years of confusion, neglect, a lack of love in it's purest form.

all because of you.

it's all because of you.

it's sings so prettily, like it's a church choir spreading the word of the lord like it's common knowledge.

it's common knowledge that you are a terrible person!

it cackles.

the urge to strangle yourself to finally feel some relief has never been stronger.

lie awake in the dead of night, in pitch darkness, a proper scenery to match ones broken and cracked soul, be careful, you might hurt yourself, again.

however, one cannot weep in their wallows forever.

the night has to make way for the morning sun.

and a relaxed self pity has to make way to dread.

dread.

dread of him, he who you blame for everything, everything you know is your fault.

it's all your fault.

a click at the door,

the creak of the old wood and the hinges never oiled.

mild thumping footsteps that wander around the apartment that can barely hold your overflowing buckets of tears.

you can mumble out all your pleas.

pleas that this is all a terrible nightmare and your real life is actually one with a kind and loving mother and a supportive and encouraging father.

mumble out the little lies that you made up all these years to make yourself feel worse and other better.

"it's pointless to keep trying."

"I wish I wasn't here."

"why can't I just be happy?"

"it's all my fault,

it's all my fault,

it's all my fault."

the thin walls don't do those in mourning justice though.

for the wind is calm, the branches don't dare to move, the owls, the bats, the sleeping heros in training downstairs don't make a peep.

for the only ones alive, awake, aware, is a man beaten down and broken by society serving as it's protector, ignoring the one in most need of protection all this time. With him is a girl. a girl that's scared, scared of her mirror image that haunts her, a girl who's cried an ocean, screamed a thousand wails of pain, a girl lost in her own heart,

"No wonder no one loves you."

you lie again.

but keen ears trained from years of work with villains hears you, for the first time, he hears you.

not the rebellious teen he's seen yell out strings of pure hatred and fiery insults like he's her own worst enemy.

it's the girl who he saw waiting on the steps to their apartment all those years ago. waiting for her mama to come back home with the promise of cupcakes.

it's the girl who never smiled for the remainder of elementary school.

it's the girl who's heart withered way that autumn evening.

he heard the softest little voice in the dead of night. he heard his daughter cry

"No wonder no one loves you."

.

.

.

"But I love you."

for that whole night, for that whole night.

the peace was disturbed.

for that whole night, it seemed that the moon shone once again.

it may not be the sun. but it'll do for now.

Aizawa walked away shortly after that.

leaving a little girls and her mirror image to ponder.

ponder.

---------

Afterwards I don't think he'd talk about it too much, he's proabably approach you after breakfast the next morning and tell you "you can talk to him about it if you want." but not much more than that

he definitely would change his practices though. like getting you a therapist, taking the weekends off in favor of being around the house more.

he'll let you get used to his presence first like one would with a cat, and one day. maybe years later, or tomorrow, you'll talk to him.

you'll tell him you love him too.

and maybe.

just maybe.

the world will stop,

and everything will be okay.

[lvrsparadise]

'JEALOUS' - M.S

Synopsis - She's always liked him.

Warnings! - Profanity, kissing, reader being jealous, Matt n reader being cute, fluff

A/N - Okay. I want to kms because I had originally written out something so beautiful for this. And then I accidently deleted something, and I forgot that if I press control z it ERASES THE WHOLE DAMN THING! So, this is a re-write. Enjoy!

Work was so tiring. I got cut from the floor at 7 instead of 9, when I was supposed to get off, because I had no tables. I made barely $40 in tips. And not to mention the weird drunk creep who kept asking my co-workers and I, very uncomfortable questions. I sigh as I clock out of the system and grabbing my stuff before saying bye to my co-workers.

I walk out the back to my car. I open the driver door and throw my stuff in the passenger seat. I just sit there and recollect myself before I put the key in the ignition, turning on the car.

Thee drive back to my house was quiet. I didn't have the radio on, I didn't have the windows down. I wasn't even on the phone with anybody. Today was that stressful.

'I'm going to have to ask my maneger for more hours next shift.'

I pull into my driveway and grab my stuff, turning off the car and walking to my front door. I open it and am immediately bombarded by my puppy, Sam, and my cat Mr. Murray.

I set my stuff down on the couch before walking upstairs to my room. I get undressed and hop in the shower. After my very refreshing shower, I throw on some comfier clothes - a pair of pink and black plaid pajama pants, a white tank top, and one of Matt's hoodies he left over.

I flop on my bed with a sigh. I sit up and open my phone, opening my messages app before clicking on Matt's contact. Matt is my brother's best friend. Well, actually, Chris is my brother's best friend, but I learned that they're a package deal. Get one, get all.

1 ring. 2 rings.

"Hey. Everything alright?"

I breathe out a small sigh of relief at the sound of his voice.

"Hey. Yeah, no everything's fine. I've just had a stressful day and I was wondering if we could go for like a drive or something?"

"Yeah, no that's fine. I'll be over in 10."

"Okay. Thank you."

"Always."

That's the last thing I hear before the line goes dead. Knowing he's going to be here in less than 10 minutes, I slip on my converse and head downstairs.

I love on and play with Sam and Mr. Murray for about 5 or 6 minutes before I hear a car pull in my driveway. I instantly recognize it as Matt's car. I grab my wallet, just in case, my keys, and my phone, placing all of them in the pocket of the hoodie. I hear a knock at my door and Sam barks. I yell out his name to get him to stop barking as I open the door.

There he is. Looking perfect as ever. Even in sweats and a hoodie. He's wearing that damn smile. One I return gratefully.

"You ready?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

I close my door behind me as I walk out, locking it as well before I walk over to the passenger side of the car. I get in and so does Matt. He pulls out of my driveway and starts driving around with no destination.

"How was your day? Why was it stressful?" He turns is head towards me as we're at a red light.

"Well, I got cut from the floor early because we were dead, and I had no tables. I made barely $40 in tips. I also had to work with that one girl I told you about. She made the day ten times worse. And this morning, Sam thought it would be nice to wake me up with a surprise next to my bed." I rest my elbow on the center console, resting my chin on my hand as I look out the window.

"Yikes." I hear him say as the light finally turns green and we start driving again.

"What about you? Anything fun happen?"

"Chris almost like, broke the ceiling in the warehouse."

"How in the hell?"

"I have no idea; I wasn't around when it happened. But Nick was and he kept making jokes about it reminding Chris that he did it. It was hilarious." He chuckles quietly.

"I bet."

"Oh shit."

"Hmm?" I turn my head towards him, his gaze switching between the road and the dashboard behind the steering wheel.

"I'm almost out of gas. I think I have enough to get us to that 7-11." He jerks his chin towards a 7-11 that's not too far. It's dark out, not many cars are on the road, the gas station seems empty.

He pulls into the gas station, pulling up to a gas pump. He turns the car off after rolling down the windows a little bit. He gets out and walks over to the pump, which is next to me because for some reason, the gas tank is on the right side of his car instead of the left. So, as he fills the tank up, he's also leaning on my window, talking to me.

"Did anything interesting happen in your day though?"

"Um, let's see. Oh, there was this older gentleman who tipped me $25 for being the best server he's had. He was celebrating his anniversary, but he said that his wife had passed away a few years ago. So, every year on their anniversary, he goes out and gets himself a meal. It was so sweet, it almost made me cry."

"Wow. That does sound swe-"

He's cut off by a girl walking up to him, looking to be around our ages, maybe a year or so older. She's talking with hi and flirting with him. I feel my blood run cold with jealousy at the realization she's flirting. Matt's hand is like holding onto the window, his hand partially in the car. I take advantage of that and I somewhat intwine our fingers, my own mindlessly playing with his.

Either she can't see me through the somewhat tinted windows, or is openly ignoring my presence, she asks him out to dinner. I squeeze his hand and he squeezes mine back. I hear him say 'Oh, I can't sorry. My girl is in the car' and my heart skips a beat. Multiple beats actually.

He finishes filling most of his tank and pays before walking over to the driver's side as quick as he can speed walk without running. He turns the car on at lightning speed. He starts to drive off to my house.

The drive is silent. Other than the really quiet hum f whatever is on the radio, there is not a peep coming from either of us.

About halfway through the drive back to my house, he reaches his right hand over the center console and grabs my left hand, interlocking our hands before resting them on his thigh. My chest is filled with butterflies. My head is empty. I feel my face heat up as I turn to look out the window next to me.

We pull up to my house. As soon as he puts the car in park, I'm out the car and making a b-line for my front door, unlocking it in record time. I didn't realize Matt was hot on my heels until I turn to close the front door, his hand stopping it. I sigh in defeat knowing I won't win. He pushes the door open and then walks in, closing it behind him.

"Were you jealous?"

"What? I have no Idea what you're talking about Matt." I place my wallet and keys on a table I have next to the door for that reason. Of course, I was jealous, but I would never admit it out loud. Especially to the guy I was getting jealous about.

He shakes his head and crosses his arms "Wrong. Were you jealous?"

I roll my eyes slightly "Matt- I don't get why you're asking me this. It would be the same if it were me-"

"No, it wouldn't."

"Wha-"

"A guy touches you? Jealous. A guy flirts with you? Jealous. Takes you on a date? Kisses you? I'm jealous. I'm jealous as hell. How have you not known? I'm not very secretive about it at all. Now I'm going to ask you one last time. Were you jealous?" His voice, despite being stern and angry, it still is soft and kind.

I sigh in defeat, crossing my own arms, mirroring his pose. "Yeah. I was. I was very jealous."

There is nothing said after that. And there doesn't need to be. Next thing I know, I'm being softly pinned against the wall and Matt's hands are on me. One on my cheek and the other on my waist. I try to look at the hand on my waist but the hand on my face makes me look into his eyes. He doesn't say much, but words aren't necessary right now. He leans in and kisses me.

The kiss is soft, tender, sweet, and everything a hopeless romantic like myself could ever want. I entangle my hands in his hair, closing whatever space was between us.

After what felt like hours, but was really 20 seconds, we pull back for air. Both of us are panting.

"I'm taking you out Friday. 6:00. I pick you up, with flowers, take you to dinner, then I take you to a 7:00 movie, then we walk on the beach before I take you back home and kiss you goodnight. How does that sound?"

Although my eyes are still closed, I hear the smile in his voice, and at his words I can't hold back a smile of my own. I open my eyes and look into his beautiful blue ones that look like they're the ocean. I swear I get lost in them for a few seconds before replying.

"That sounds perfect."

I don't have a taglist for the Sturniolos!

If you want to be in it, all you have to do is ask! <3

I love all of y'all!

[tcoaal]

EDIT: i made a few small edits since i posted this

hi i might be beating a dead horse but this rant has been building up since seeing the first comments on reddit. spoilers under the readmore + i didn't want to eat your entire dash

you're all free to like or dislike or love or hate The Coffin of Andrew and Renee mod all you want but something that's been driving me absolutely bonkers in criticism of it is people saying Renee was wholesome or loving in it. i have a lot of mean words about it actually but i want to keep it civil and just say: you are absolutely completely incorrect in every capacity.

the key difference between canon gravecest and Andrew's and Renee's relationship in this mod is Renee's abuse is completely different than Ashley's. the mod is quite arguably a LOT more fucked up than the source material when you pay attention to it!

(and also one of the mcs is a milf yada yada)

this mod at the end of the day is a fanfic. it's an AU fanfic you get to play. it's a really well written fanfic! not the same as the original, and there's definitely parts that are weaker (the first half of the 303 lady scene after the summoning was really weak before it became my favorite part of the mod) but it does a decent job at exploring this story with a major plot of divergence years before the canon start of the game and how that's affecting Andrew.

Andrew is considerably more submissive when things get rough around Renee than he is with Ashley. the thing about gravecest is that it's codependent. Ashley doesn't really force or make Andrew do anything: Andrew desperately wants to blame his problems on Ashley but deep down he's just as, if not even more fucked up than Ashley actually is. this is something we could debate and discuss for hours but: this dynamic is lost with Renee, and for good reasons.

Renee was the one that forced Andrew to be the one who raised his sister. and then Renee forcibly separated them and told him if he ever had problems come to her.

Andrew is dependent on Renee in a way Renee clearly is not in the mod.

Renee's life has kinda gone to shit. getting Ashley locked up didn't magically solve her problems: her life is actually worse than in canon. her doormat husband finally found the balls to leave her, Andrew clearly resents her deep down, she's locked in an apartment and her tie to Andrew is literally the only thing she has left. and boy is Andrew infinitely worse off for that! Renee actively controls every aspect of Andrew's life one way or another, and while I dislike the first half of the Room 302 scene the ending shows that contrast.

Andrew basically mentally shuts down whenever Renee gets serious about weaponizing his dependency. Renee is somebody who forced him to raise his sister, then forcibly ripped that person from her to make herself the one he's dependent on.

this scene was really fucking haunting to watch because she actively weaponizes using what she did. she was the one responsible for letting shit get so messed up when he was a kid. and then he uses it to hurt him: and then continues to weaponize the fact she "saved" him to make him back down.

"And... maybe I said some things that weren't called for myself."

^ the exact line that sold this characterization of Renee to me. this is immediately after her exploiting his trauma, trauma she is very much directly responsible for. this isn't a happy scene. this isn't a wholesome scene. look how tired Andrew looks compared to his mother.

even when she's blatantly, clearly in the wrong she won't admit responsibility. it was Andrew's fault for acting like a child. it's his fault for lashing out when his trauma is exploited by Renee and she has to further manipulate and abuse the trust she forcibly installed into him to make him back down. but maybe she said a few bad things too. she didn't mean it though. Andrew should know better though.

anyone with half a brain can tell this is horrifically fucked up and a very different kind of control and confrontation Ashley uses: Ashley just likes to get in his face and initiate a verbal argument regarding Andrew's hypocrisy more other than not and then said arguments run their natural course. Renee repeatedly uses textbook abuse and gaslighting tactics to force the person dependent on her to back down. Anderw is not naturally "a dutiful son," as the mod describes him, Renee made him become that and regularly abuses that fact.

Renee is a lot more gungho about being a cannibal and is extremely attached to a story about a monster that eats everything that threatens her child because Renee has lost everything else of value in her life and is forcing Andrew to be close to her, constantly picking needless fights at the idea of her own son leaving her side and leaving her alone, and emphasizing that he owes it to her to stay by her side and actively controls him to ensure he doesn't leave.

like, you can feel however you want. i've seen some people hate it. i've actually seen some people who like it more than the actual game itself. i certainly have a few criticisms of it, mostly tied to its format inherently, but i'll defend it unless chapter 2 drops the ball.

but every time i see someone comment "Renee is really wholesome and loving in this mod and that's really OOC for her," or when the criticisms mostly boil down to the art style i think i die inside a bit and i cannot take that person's complaints regarding this mod seriously in any capacity. anyways thanks for listening to my insane rant if you read this far manifesting chapter 3 soon my crops are dying

[dreamwatch]

Looking California, Feeling Indiana

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #28 - Prompt: Back To Indiana | Word Count: 999 | Rating: T | CW: chronic illness | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: pre-Steddie, broken dreams, band break up

(I’m laptop-less tonight so hoping typos etc aren’t too bad - I’ll fix them tomorrow 😆)

The logistics of getting home are left to Jeff. They have a van that might get them from California to Indiana, a station wagon that should get them there, but six years worth of possessions and equipment into a van and station wagon doesn’t go. They sell a load of their shit before heading home. It’s not like they need most of it anyway.

It’s a sombre journey, so different to the one they made to Los Angeles six years ago, so full of hope and excitement, one step closer to their dream. They could have stayed and just built lives there, grounded ones, sensible jobs, sensible hours, sensible lives. But Eddie needed to go back, even if it was just for a few months; he’s twenty seven in a few weeks and he feels like a seventy year old. New aches over old hurts, mystery illnesses slowing him down.

(He knows they’re Upside Down related, knows no one can do anything about them, and knows they’re getting worse. He hates knowing things.)

The Welcome To Hawkins sign looks new; Wayne said it still gets vandalised from time to time, a new one in its place the next morning, reckons they’re buying them in bulk.

Jeff drops Eddie off first because Wayne’s waiting around to see him and get his shit inside before he has to get to work. He’s sixty five now. He shouldn’t be working in that fucking plant anymore. How many times did Eddie say one day Wayne, you’ll see. Useless fucking liar.

They hug, they eat, Wayne looks him over with a sigh; he’s too thin, too pale, leaning on that cane a little too heavily. Eddie knows it comes from love but it’s a lot.

Wayne grabs his keys and his lunch box. “Steve called, by the way. Numbers on the fridge.” There’s a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s good to have you home, Bub.”

Bub. Wayne hasn’t called him that in years, and Eddie smiles to himself, surprised at how much he missed it.

He calls Steve, yeah journey was okay, no roads were fine, yeah all settled in. Steve tells him he’s coming to get him, they’re going for dinner, no arguments and he finds he has in fact no intention of arguing.

Steve looks good. He seems broader, hair is longer which thrills Eddie, and the wire rimmed glasses are like a glacé cherry on the cake that is Steve Harrington.

He gets a whistle stop tour of his friend’s lives, Steve so proud of all their achievements. Tells him Hawkins is different now, friendlier, more welcoming. Happier.

They pick at fries, Steve pushing his pickles to the side of the plate for Eddie. Eddie does his best to hide his smile.

“How are you? You look…”

“‘Tired and too thin’ according to my dear, beloved uncle.”

“I was going to say ‘good’, actually, asshole.”

He grabs a fry from Steve’s plate, drags it through Steve’s milkshake. “Don’t lie to me, Steven.”

“Wayne told me, about your health, the band splitting up. I’m really sorry, man. That fucking blows.”

“Thanks,” he says with a wan smile. “It does indeed blow.”

“You know you probably just need some rest. Give it six months, and you’ll all be back in LA, tearing the place up. You were so close, man.”

He snorts, a humourless laugh. “Yeah, not so much actually.”

Steve leans back in the booth, arm hooked over the back

“Bullshit. You had label guys there just a couple of months ago, and it’s slow, remember you said yourself, it takes time, you don’t just get signed overnight.”

“Steve,” and he says it gently, because Steve means well, and he’s supported them, financially at times, when he was too embarrassed to call Wayne. Steve would send a check or wire him money. And even thinking about that makes this so much harder. 

“There was no label guy. There’s never been a label guy. Or girl, for that matter.”

Steve frowns at him, confused. “I don’t understand.”

And this is it, isn’t it? This is the moment he has to release it into the world.

“I’m going to tell you something nobody else knows. Not even Wayne.”

Steve leans forward, arms crossed on the table. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“We failed, Steve. We failed. The last gig we played was about nine months ago, some frat house party Gareth found for us. It was shit. Because we were shit.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, Steve. We didn’t have a hope in fucking hell. Do you know how many bands there are in LA? How few of those ever get a sniff of a record deal.” He shrugs, casual. The sting from the hurt doesn’t burn quite as much as it used to. “We just weren’t good enough, that’s all.”

Eddie watches as the cogs in Steve’s head turn, trying to lock into place. “But your health…”

“Is not great. I didn’t lie about that. But, I leant into it. It’s easier to blame a bum leg and chest infections than admit you’ll never achieve your dream because you’re not talented enough and you’re fucking delusional.”

“You are talented,”

“We’re not. Or, not enough, anyway.”

“What are you gonna do? What are they gonna do?” 

“Wayne’s trying to find me work at the plant. Jeff is talking about community college. Matt will probably go work for his dad. Gareth’s probably going to go to Indy, find a band there. Good luck to him.”

Steve drives him home, actual home now, not that dirty little apartment in LA, but a place where he’ll always be wanted. Will always be good enough. 

They pull up outside the trailer, and Steve reaches over, grabbing Eddie’s hand. It’s clumsy and awkward, but the intent is clear. Trying to pick things up where they left them.

“It’s good to have you home, man.”

“It’s good to be home.”

He’s surprised to find he means it.

[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. xiv

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | chapter summary: The final chapter pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 9.2k (I love being insane) chapter warnings: SMUT (18+only) - unprotected sex. Insecurity/Jealousy. Angst/arguments. Discussions of death, blood and injuries. Alcohol & Marijuana use. Fluff. Bisexual reader (happy pride ya'll!). As always please dm for more specifics. a/n: This could probs use another round of proofreading but it would've delayed this even longer sooooo.... Here we go! I feel pretty emo right now and I might make a more in-depth post about my thoughts at a later date bc I just finished writing this in a hot daze so I can't put all my thoughts coherently together. But I just wanna say thank you to everyone who supported and gave love to this story. This is by far the most popular fic I've ever written, and I don't really know how? Or what I did to deserve all the love but I just want you to know how much I appreciate it. Thank you for sticking with me through all the angst and delayed updates and everything. I'll never forget you and I'll never forget Joel x Reader!! Thank you so much, I hope the finale lives up to your expectations! ❤️

**I DO NOT HAVE A TAGLIST. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

I’m not the kind of man who tends to socialize I seem to lean on old familiar ways….

-May 16, 2024-

“Are you sure you’re okay if I leave you here alone?” 

Ethan’s voice jolts you out of a daze, and you blink your eyes open, realizing that you’d dozed off while sitting upright in a patio chair, the cheesy romance novel you’d been reading still lying open on your lap. Turning to look over your shoulder, you find him standing with one foot on the deck, and one foot still inside, cut in half by the sliding glass door.

Clearing your throat, you straighten up and nod. “Of course. I’ll be fine.”

Ethan studies you carefully, like he’s not entirely convinced. He’s been hesitant to leave you alone unless it’s absolutely necessary – only stepping away from the house to go on patrol shifts and to bring home meals from the mess hall. Recovery has made you feel like a burden to him – to all your friends in the community, really. Everyone….well, almost everyone, has been supportive, but you’ve never been comfortable being openly vulnerable.

Unfortunately, it’s too hard to deny the pain that you’ve been in since the accident, the trouble you have getting around, the exhaustion that clings no matter how many long naps and twelve-hour nights of sleep you get. According to the doctors, being so tired is just part of recovery – rest is important, but the concoction of pain medication you’ve been prescribed only makes your drowsiness and confusion worse. It had been a big deal that tonight you’d mustered the energy to drag yourself outside to sit in the fresh air. 

“I’m fine,” you assure Ethan, once again. “Have fun on your date.”

“It’s not really a date,” he says, almost a little too quickly. “We’re just hanging out.”

“Right,” you say, matter-of-factly. “Do I know who this person is?”

Ethan looks at his feet. “You remember the day this shit happened?” he asks, gesturing towards you. “Before you left on patrol, the girl that said hi to me? It’s her. Her name is Alex.”

“Oh?” you tilt your head, give him a small smile. “She was cute. How’d you ask her out?”

“Well,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck. “I may have…uh, gotten some advice.”

“You didn’t think to ask me?” you’re able to muster up a small smile.

“I would’ve, I just…..” he shakes his head. “It seemed stupid…with everything you have going on.”

“It’s not stupid,” you say, feeling a wave of guilt. Even though he’s the one looking after you, you haven’t spoken to him much about anything going on in his life. In fact, you haven’t really spoken to anyone in a long time, beyond thank you’s and blanket statements like I’m doing better. You feel disconnected, and more lonely than ever. If you ever get enough energy to leave your house, you expect most of the people in the community to have forgotten you exist. “Who’d you ask?”

“Uhm….” Ethan runs a hand through his long dark hair, shifts his weight. “….I’ve been assigned on patrol with Joel Miller a lot lately….so….”

You almost laugh when he uses Joel’s full name. Joel has been such a huge part of your life – sometimes the hero, sometimes the villain – that you don’t need to hear his last name to know who Ethan’s talking about. You could know a thousand Joel’s, and he’d still be the first person that came to mind. But Joel is still a sore subject, and Ethan knows it, which is why you suspect he’s avoided telling you this in the first place. You feel your eyebrows knit together, only able to let out an unenthused. “Oh.”

“I just, you know….he’s a guy. And it sounds like you even liked him at one point so….he must know something, right?” 

“That was a long time ago,” you say quickly, regardless of the fact that he’s right.

It’s probably not fair to blame Joel for everything that has happened to you. You know this, deep down. But you’ve been so helpless and isolated since you’ve woken up in that hospital bed that you’re desperate to find someone to hold accountable. And Joel hadn’t visited you in the hospital once. By this point, he’s abandoned you so many times that your resentment feels justified, even if your current state is not directly his fault. Because it was you, after all, who had walked into the path of those men, too angry to think clearly, too weak to take them down alone. The only person you can blame is yourself, and you really don’t want to.

“Did he tell you to take her out on patrol, make her cry, and almost get her killed?”

Ethan clicks his tongue, looks down, almost ashamed. “No. He did not.”

“You should be careful with Joel,” you warn.

“I was…” Ethan says. “But I don’t think it’s that simple. I think he’s actually alright.” 

“So you’re friends with him now,” you state, hoping he refutes. But instead, he looks up at you, frowns, and lifts his chin.

“What happened to you was horrible. It shouldn’t have happened. And yeah, maybe you think he’s the reason you almost died…. I don’t know the specifics so you can believe whatever you want. But I know that he’s the reason you’re still alive.” Ethan’s voice breaks, and you feel tears brimming your eyes before he continues. “He brought you back here, he donated his blood, he-”

“What?” you cut him off.

“What do you mean, what?” Ethan asks. “He was the only person there who had your blood type. You would’ve died if he didn’t. They didn’t tell you this?” 

“Whatever it took to make him feel less guilty, sounds like,” you say, dismissively.

Something hot burns in your veins, something that must have always been there since you woke up, but you’re only feeling it now. It’s unsettling, Joel being a part of you that way. Your lives had already seemed intertwined enough already. But now, he’s inescapable.

“Well, he stayed by your side every night while you were asleep. Fuck, I mean, he was probably there just as often as I was. He made sure I ate, and slept and showered and… and he never once asked for anything in return. He cares about you as much as I do, clearly, so I don’t think it’s wrong to think he’s a good guy….”

You must not care about me that much, you want to say, but you stop yourself. Because it’s not true, and you’d only be saying it to hurt him. You have nothing to defend yourself with, no way to convince him otherwise, and so you just stare at him until he shakes his head and slips back inside.

Ethan is stubborn, he always has been. And it’s a special kind of stubbornness, fueled by anger – so common in most of the young people you meet these days. You understand why they’re all like this. When you’re robbed of your childhood – you get stuck there….waiting….. Like someday you’ll have a chance to do it all over again, regardless of how obvious it is that you won’t. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-May 25, 2024-

Things get better, albeit slowly. You begin to wean off the pain medication, which makes you more alert. It’s still difficult to leave your house, but you can move around it more easily, and you don’t spend all your days sleeping. Luckily, you aren’t as stir-crazy as you’d been expecting. 

One afternoon, Ellie Williams shows up on your doorstep with a bag full of groceries. 

“Maria wanted me to bring these to you,” she says when you open the door. “She told me to tell you she’ll be over tomorrow, but she wanted me to give you these to tide you over.”

“That’s very nice. Thank you for bringing them to me,” you try to take the bag from her hands, but she steps back just a little, like she’s unsure if you should be carrying anything. You let your hands drop to your sides. “Would you like to come in?” 

Ellie hesitates for a split second, adjusting the bag in her arms, and then nods. “Sure.” 

Stepping to the side, you allow her into the home. Because of how warm it is outside, you’ve opened all the windows to let the breeze through. 

“Sorry for the mess,” you say, Ellie following you into the living room. There are stacks of books and pill bottles with instructions scattered on your countertop. You haven’t swept the floors in awhile and all the hard surfaces are covered in a thin layer of dust. It’s not really that bad, but you don’t have the energy or strength to be on your feet for long – let alone to clean the house. 

“I don’t mind,” Ellie says. “It’s not even that bad. I don’t know why older people worry about leaving your house messy and shit….no offense.”

“There was a time it used to matter,” you tell her. “And I see where you’re coming from, but my thing is – if you’re going to live somewhere, you should do what you can to make yourself feel comfortable.” 

Ellie purses her lips, as if you’ve made a good point but she doesn’t know how to answer. Instead, you continue. “Can I get you anything? Water?” 

“No, I’m okay,” she puts the bag on your kitchen counter.

“You can sit if you’d like,” you tell her. “I just need a moment to put these away.”

When you walk into your living room a few minutes later, she’s hovering near your record player, looking through the vinyls. The turntable was already in the house when you’d arrived years ago, but it was buried in the closet and broken. Ethan had managed to fix it after a little troubleshooting and scavenging for parts. Now, you both were always looking for records to bring home, and had amassed quite the eclectic collection – jazz, funk, hip-hop, and everything in between. 

“Wow,” Ellie says, running her fingers along the shelved records. “You found all these?”

“Some of them were already here. But yeah. Ethan and I are always on the lookout on patrol. I can play you something. What do you like?”

“Eighties, I think,” she says. “But…I also haven’t heard as much.” 

“Well here,” you thumb through the records, pull out a worn copy of Speaking In Tongues. “How about some Talking Heads?” 

You pass the record over to her, and she stares at you blankly. It’s only then that you realize — she’s never used a record player before. There’s a familiar pang of sadness before you show her how. 

“Are you feeling better?” Ellie eyes you wearily once the music starts, and you settle onto the couch, feeling a little worn out after being on your feet.

“Yes,” you say. “I’m older now, so it seems like healing takes a lot more time.”

Ellie nods, then bobs her head to the music a little. “This is better than most of the stuff Joel likes.” 

“Oh yeah,” you smirk, and instinctually, you recall his enthusiasm for all things old-school country. “I remember that,” you say softly.

With so much time on your hands lately, you’ve found yourself thinking of Joel a lot, reminiscing on the time you’d spent with him and Sarah. What Ethan had told you about him staying by your side was definitely making you reconsider your assessment of him, even if you were still hesitant. It was probably a trap to think you’d ever be able to feel those things with him again, but if remembering them brought you comfort, you weren’t going to resist it. 

“You’re more than welcome to come over to listen anytime,” you offer, and she nods excitedly. 

Ellie stays for longer than you expect. You talk a fair bit. She tells you about what she’s learning in school – but mostly how ‘fucking useless’ it is. She wanders around your living room and pokes through your stuff without asking, but you don’t think to stop her – you just answer her questions and let her be curious.

Eventually, the sun dips below the horizon, and she excuses herself to go home, insisting that Joel will ‘fucking kill her’ if she’s out too late. Even though you’re exhausted after entertaining her for a few hours, you find it feels nice. Being on house arrest, essentially, had left your starved for connection outside Maria and Ethan.

You see her out the door before returning to your refrigerator to look for something to eat. Ethan will be back from patrol any minute, so it may be nice to make him something even if you have almost no energy.

But when there’s another knock on your front door, you’re shocked to see who you find staring on your porch. 

Joel.

You almost forget to speak at the sight of him. It’s been weeks since your accident and he might as well have moved away from Jackson since you hadn’t seen him at all. 

“Hey,” you say, tentatively, taking him in. He seems preoccupied – cheeks flushed, hair rumpled, and out of breath, like he had run all the way to get here.

“Have you seen Ellie?” he asks, not even greeting you in return. “I’ve looked everywhere and I-

“You just missed her,” you cut him off, not because you’re trying to dismiss him, but because he's clearly distressed. “I’m surprised you didn’t see her on your way over.”

Joel sighs, eyes closing in relief. “Thank God.” For a second, you glimpse the frazzled and overworked father you used to know. “She stayed out too late, had me worried sick.” 

“She’s fine,” you say. “Although she did say you might kill her if she didn’t get home soon.” 

Joel gives you an almost imperceptible smile, but seems mostly irritated by Ellie’s suggestion. “I would do no such thing.” He shakes his head and takes two steps backwards. “Thank you. Didn’t mean to be a bother.” 

Your mind floats to a memory of Joel on your front porch, late getting home from work and looking for Sarah, and you can’t help but feel a bit of sadness and longing for a simpler time, a surge of affection. 

Joel is halfway down your front porch steps when you speak again. “You aren’t bothering me.”

He pauses, turns to look over his shoulder. There’s something he wants to say, you can feel it, and you step outside, letting the door fall shut behind you and remaining huddled against the siding, and he turns to face you fully, sighing. “I’ve been meaning to stop by, actually….” 

“Oh…really?” you can’t keep the surprise from your voice, and he notices.

“Yeah,” Joel rubs his fingers together, a nervous habit of his you know all too well. “Yeah. I- well, I wanted to apologize to you.”

You’re so startled by the words you can’t answer right away. But the split second of hesitation causes Joel to continue, looking to fill the empty space. 

“I’ve been waiting to find the right thing to say….but it doesn’t seem like that’ll ever happen. I’m not even sure I know where to start.” 

“Oh,” is all you can manage, still taken aback. The only thing that doesn’t surprise you about his admission is the sincerity. You could say a lot of things about Joel, but he isn’t a liar. He always tells the truth. Maybe it’s why he pulled away from you to begin with. It’s easier than the alternative – spending time with you, which would force him to be honest. For how much you’ve changed, you’d probably do the same. 

But the thing with Joel is that you’re exhausted. You’re tired of the back and forth, of the push and pull, of the constant struggle to hold your care over each other's head, hoping the other will break first. Maybe this is a fresh start. 

You step closer to him, and you see him study the way you move. Of course, you’re trying to look strong, but he can surely sense the weakness. He’d always been good at that, better than any of the others. Your hand comes to rest on the porch railing for support. 

But…..

There’s that voice in the back of your head, the one that tells you this is a mistake. The one that reminds of the pain you’ve often earned through vulnerability. It likes to think it’s served you, protected you, and it has. But it’s not always right.

“I suppose I owe you an apology, too,” you say. “At the very least I should thank you for what you did.”

Joel shakes his head, dismissively, but looks to where your hand rests on the porch railing, looks back up to you as he reaches out. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

His hand clasps over yours, and to anyone else, this might be nothing. It’s so innocent, unassuming. But the effect it has on you is palpable. He squeezes once, and you flip your hand over, squeezing his back, giving him a gentle smile. “I am too.” 

Joel’s eyes fill with a warmth you haven’t seen in twenty years, and your stomach flutters, your heart races. A part of yourself that you’d considered long dead seems to rouse.“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I told Ellie we’d go to the mess hall together,” Joel says. “Otherwise I would.”

You blink once, and Joel sees it, immediately continuing on. “But maybe Ellie and I can come another time, join you and Ethan?”

“Yeah. He’d like that,” you say. “That might be nice.” ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-June 20, 2024-

You think that at the end of a long winter, bears must hate coming out of hibernation. 

It must suck. They spend months sleeping, doing almost nothing, and then suddenly they’re forced to function again – to hunt, to eat, to roam, to survive and socialize. You imagine there has to be a learning curve, a desire to crawl back into their den and never leave again. 

Or maybe you could be wrong, and they love it. And you’re just a wimp who hates feeling uncomfortable.

All you know is that you’re huddled in the back corner of the Tipsy Bison, nursing a whiskey – and it’s the last place you want to be. 

You’re overwhelmed. 

And despite the fact that you regularly used to attend community events, it’s been so long since you've been out in Jackson that you feel like you don’t belong. To some extent, you’ve always felt this – too hardened by the outside world to fully assimilate, especially when the town throws dances. But in the past, you at least attempted to convince yourself otherwise. 

Two weeks back, the doctors had cleared you to go about your daily activities as normal  – within reason, of course – but you hadn’t exactly jumped at the opportunity. Tonight, Ethan had accused you of becoming ‘antisocial’ and ‘reclusive’. You had agreed to attend – but only to beat those allegations. So far, you are definitely not. 

You scan the crowd, taking in the people spinning around the dance floor. Some of the women are wearing dresses. You can’t help but feel a little envious of how easily they’re able to perform femininity, which is something you’d given up on a while ago. It hadn’t exactly served you before arriving in Jackson, and you predict it would be humiliating to start trying now. After all the things you’d experienced, you were left marred with scars and wrinkles, stretch marks and loose skin. Since then, you’ve remained loyal to the combination of men’s denim and tank tops with flannel-button downs overtop. 

It doesn’t always stop the men in the community from descending like vultures. You might be the last pick – there are plenty others who are younger and prettier – but you’re still an option. Bea, your old partner, had always theorized that some men were particularly drawn to sapphic women, that it was ‘the ultimate challenge’. Maybe there is some truth to her theory, but you like men….sometimes. So there is always a part of you that yearns for their validation, for as many times as you tell yourself you don’t want it. But it never feels good to get it after you’ve watched them exhaust all their other options.

It’s pathetic, but it makes you think of Joel. He and Ellie had been over to yours and Ethans last week for a nice dinner, and you had tried to gauge whether there was any romantic connection between you still. Occasionally, you’d caught him looking at you with a wistful smile, but he could have been lost in thought. It’s not like you needed that from him or anything, but it might be useful information. After all this time, Joel is still so handsome, and probably has an impressive selection of potential partners here in Jackson – women of all ages. You hope he’s not here tonight – you can’t see much besides the dance floor at this point – because the thought of him cozied up to anyone here, combined with the acrid taste of the drink in your hand, makes you want to gag. 

You take another look around the room. Eugene, your partner in crime – quite literally – is walking towards you, which helps quell your spiraling mind . If you talk to him, say hello to Tommy and Maria, maybe Ethan will see the effort you’re making and you can sneak out without having to deal with anyone. It’s wishful thinking, but it’s worth a shot. The sooner you can get home tonight, the better.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel can’t stop staring. 

He knows it’s impolite. He knows that he’s not being subtle. He knows that if any other person in this bar followed his eyeline, they’d pick up on what he was doing in an instant. But every minute he doesn’t get called out for it, he becomes more and more emboldened. 

It’s the first dance he’s ever been to in Jackson, and the only reason he’s here is to placate Ellie and Tommy. But even they have abandoned him in favor of better companions – his brother is deep in conversation with Maria, sitting across from him in a booth, and Ellie is out on the dance floor dancing with one of her new friends, Dina.

Joel just can’t help himself. He still feels guilty for what he’s done, but he can’t shake the feeling of a soft hand clasped within his own – the first time he’d felt any semblance of hope since arriving here. Tommy and Maria had already slyly let him know about all the women who were interested, but he couldn’t bring himself to entertain their advances. There’s only one he wants, and she won’t even look in his direction.

When he’d first noticed you, you were whispering with Eugene on the opposite side of the dance floor. According to Tommy, you spend a fair bit of your time with the old man, which Joel initially thought to mean that you had some sort of entanglement. At first, Joel thought that couldn’t be possible. But you were deep in focus as you listened to Eugene’s words, nodding and leaning in closer and closer, and Joel thinks Tommy might be right. He wants to understand what you see in this man – tall and unkempt, covered in tattoos with long, graying hair and a beard to match. But Joel catches himself in his judgment, he’s probably just as unappealing – not just because of how he’s aged, but because of how horrible he’s been to you in general. 

The next time Joel sees you, you’re at the bar, chatting with a man who Maria had introduced him to not long ago, a resident who is new in town. Joel had been too busy focusing on the fact that he’d been in Jackson long enough to not be its newest resident that he couldn’t remember his name. He wishes he had, so he could keep tabs on him. Of course, he can’t blame the man for being drawn to you – Joel knows very well that you’re hard to miss in a crowd. 

Still, Joel bristles when you both step away from the bar, and the man’s hand lands just above your sacrum. He actually finds himself tensing up, resisting the urge to intervene, because it’d likely only make you angry. Plus, maybe you are interested. That question is answered quickly when you reach behind your to clasp the man's hand and place it back at his side. Where it belongs, he thinks.

“Joel!”

He snaps his attention to what’s in front of him – interrupted, and probably for good measure, lest he get himself too worked up. Ethan approaches with a girl his age, her arm linked through his. Joel stands to greet them. 

The terse understanding between himself and Ethan while you were still in the hospital had somehow turned into a friendship, especially after they’d begun getting paired up on patrol. Ethan reaches out for Joel’s hand to dap him up, slinging an arm briefly over his shoulder.

“How’s it going, kid?” 

“Good, good,” Ethan nods, pulling back, and gestures to the girl next to him. “Joel, this is Alex.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says. “Ethan’s told me all about you.” 

“Really?” Joel asks, feeling a little bewildered. 

“Only good things,” Alex says quickly, as if she senses his apprehension. Ethan puts his arm around her waist. Joel recalls a few weeks back when he’d asked for advice on how to ask out a girl. Joel hadn’t pried at the time, but now he seems to understand, and is surprised by the swell of pride he feels. “Ethan says you’re a fucking badass,”she giggles after she swears.

Joel looks over at Ethan. “I don’t know about that.” 

He shrugs, changes the subject. “Since when do you come to these things?” Ethan asks.

“Ellie dragged me out,” Joel answers.

“I did the same with my aunt,” Ethan chuckles. “But now I can’t find her, and I’m pretty sure she’s escaped.”

“Oh, is she here?” Joel plays dumb, like he hasn’t been aware of exactly where you have been all night. “I haven’t seen her.”

“I think she was with Eugene earlier,” Alex has to stand on her toes to speak into Ethan’s ear. Joel watches Ethan’s nose wrinkle. 

“Do you know Eugene at all?” Ethan turns to Joel. “I’m trying to figure out what’s going on there, but she won’t say anything.” 

Joel wishes that he had more information. “Tommy says they seem close.”

“I know that,” Ethan says. “I wish she would just be honest with me. It’s not like I would be mad. Whatever,” he shakes his head. “We can talk about it another time. I just want to find her so I can introduce her to Alex.”

“We should say hi to Tommy and Maria first,” Alex says, and Ethan nods in agreement before saying goodbye to him. Joel claps a hand on Ethan’s shoulder as he moves past him, and Alex gives him a shy smile in acknowledgement. 

Focusing back on the crowd, Joel realizes that you’ve vanished in the short span of his last interaction. Maybe you’d rejected that guy, and then he’d retaliated. Maybe you’d gone home with Eugene. Joel shakes his hand. It’s none of his business. He doesn’t need to get involved. It’s not his job to look after you, regardless of how much better he feels when he does. Old instincts. He can’t help himself.

He settles on watching Ellie and Dina spin each other around on the dance floor. Eventually, Tommy and Maria, then Ethan and Alex all trickle out of the booth to go get another round or head to dance. Joel stands to release the booth to someone who actually needs it – and is left in the corner, nursing a nearly empty beer that’s now flat and warm. He looks towards his family and friends, but for some reason, he still feels alone. 

Joel isn’t sure how long he stands sulking, but he starts when someone approaches from behind.

“Having fun?”

You’re a pace or two back, one thumb hooked through a belt loop, a whiskey in your opposite hand. Joel looks back at the crowd a moment, then at the ground. “No.” 

“Neither am I,” you commiserate, stepping alongside him. 

Joel considers offering that Ethan was looking for you, but selfishly does not want to give you a reason to leave, so he stays quiet. You observe the dance floor like he is, smiling slightly at the sight of Ethan and Alex dancing. The flannel you’re wearing over a gray tank hangs loosely off one shoulder, and Joel wants to reach out and touch the exposed skin. You take your last sip of whiskey, bring a finger to swipe under your bottom lip, and Joel wishes he knew what you might taste like right now. He scolds himself for fantasizing.

You don’t speak either, and you stand in silence for a while, until you eventually pop your hip, shifting closer to him. Maybe you don’t realize it, but you’re already standing so close that your arm gets pressed up against his. Neither of you acknowledge the contact, but Joel is acutely aware of how your skin burns hot against his own. He feels comforted by the affection, even if it’s unintentional.

“Want to leave?” Joel asks, and can hardly believe that the words came out of his mouth, even if he wanted them to. 

You look over at him, not bothering to hide your surprise, but your expression evens out quickly, and you give him a single nod. “Yeah.” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel’s still not convinced this is real. It feels too much like a dream, the weather outside is so pleasantly warm it feels like he’s floating as you walk down the street. He had never expected you to agree to leave with him, and now he doesn’t know what to do, or what to say.

The greater distance you put between yourselves and the bar, the quieter the town is. Most of Jackson’s residents are at the dance, save for the guards at the front gate and the handful of people that had been mingling just outside.

He heads in the general direction of the neighborhood, even though he lives on a different street. 

“What are we supposed to do now?” you wonder out loud, and you sound a little incredulous, like you’re equally as shocked to find yourself beside him. The question carries a bit more weight than it would have coming from anyone else.

Joel contemplates. He’s not sure what he wants from you – there are a lot of things, actually – but he doesn’t know if he really deserves any of them. For now, your companionship is more than enough.

“You’re welcome to come back to mine,” he offers.  “But if you’re looking to keep drinking, all the booze is back at the bar.”

“I’m good.” You shake your head like you’re uninterested, but look over at him with a sparkle in your eye. “I have something better….” 

You reach into the pocket of your flannel and produce a rolled joint between two fingers, looking over your shoulder. “Those dances are usually terrible, so I always come prepared.” 

Joel can’t help the chuckle that escapes him, and the sheepish grin he gets in return makes his cheeks feel warm. “Where’d you even get that?”

“You’ve never been on patrol with Eugene, have you?” you ask. “He has a place just out of town where he grows it. I’ve been helping him since we first got paired up, and in exchange, I get to sample the supply.”  

Of course. Joel would’ve never imagined that was the reason you were so close with Eugene, but it suddenly makes incredible sense. He shakes his head in a combination of relief and amusement. “You really haven’t changed.” 

“Oh, I’m sure I have,” you answer, smiling to yourself and looking at the ground. “But of course I haven’t shaken all my bad habits.”

“That’s not true,” Joel mutters.

“Well, you haven’t changed either, for as much as you’ve tried to convince me,” you nudge him gently, offering him the joint. “What do you think?” 

Joel plucks it from between your fingers and puts it between his lips. “I think I have a lighter at home.”

“Sounds perfect.” 

In the front hallway of his house, you slip out of your tennis shoes, shuffling behind him in your socks, pausing occasionally to study some of the doodles that Ellie had drawn and hung on the walls – it wasn’t exactly a priority to decorate these days, but they certainly livened up the place. He knows how much Ellie likes you, despite the fact that she doesn’t gush, but the odd comment here and there says as much. Joel remembers how difficult it had been to keep Sarah away, and Ellie now is no different. He doesn’t seem to be able to help himself, either. 

You sit next to Joel on his wicker couch, curling your feet up under you as he lights the joint and study him while he takes the first few puffs. He does it without thinking. That’s how soft Jackson has made him. Normally, he’d be too stressed about being out of his wits. But he can’t see how hypervigilance has served him since settling down. He feels safe here, and somehow especially because he’s with you. 

When he passes the joint your way, you look at him wistfully. “Old times,” you say with a grin. 

Joel nods as he exhales, coughing. “Old times.” 

“Oh yeah,” you say, as if you just remembered something. “You can’t tell Ethan about this. He doesn’t know, and he will give me shit about it. I need him to take me seriously.” 

Joel shakes his head. “Well, you know, it sounds like he and Tommy both think you and Eugene are together.”

“What?” your head jerks forward in shock, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, no. Do people think that?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Joel wants to mention how he had seen you whispering to each other at the bar earlier, but then realizes it’d give a bit too much away. “That’s what they think.”

“Well....historically speaking I might’ve liked older men…. but not that old.”

Joel purses his lips. “You’ve lived here awhile, huh?” When you nod, he continues. “Has no one caught your eye?” 

“Uhm….not really. But….” you trail off, looking into Joel’s backyard. “To be completely honest, I  don't think about that much these days. I guess I feel like I have a lot to be grateful for. I don’t want to push it.”

Joel understands, and nods pensively.

“What about you?” you ask. 

“I guess I feel the same.”

That causes you to smile a little bit, look over at him. “I bet you already know this. But the women here would line up down the block for you.”

Joel can’t help but roll his eyes, though he wonders if you would, too. Even if you did like him, that didn’t seem like your style. 

“I’m serious. I’ve heard the things they whisper behind your back. All their fantasies about you are pretty creative...”

“Fantasies?” He grimaces. He imagines none of them know anything about who he really is. You’re the closest thing, and all he’s done is hurt you. “I’m sure you were quick to set them straight.” 

“I don’t say anything,” you say, then continue on, a little quieter, looking at him from under your lashes. “I like to keep you to myself.” 

Joel isn’t sure how to respond to that. You have every right to tell all of them that you were once together, and all the ways he’s hurt you since. Yet for some reason, you’ve chosen to protect him. 

“So….all this time….” you wonder. “You had to have been with other people, right?”

Joel doesn’t think to hold back. “I had a partner for a long time. Tess. First, it was all business, I helped her smuggle things in and out of the Boston QZ…and then, I don’t know….we got along, we trusted each other and…” Joel trails off, hoping you’d put together the rest before he has to go into too much detail. “She was real fuckin’ tough. Scared me a little at first. You would’ve liked her.”

“Well, we already have one thing in common. What happened?”

“She’s the whole reason I ended up out here….with Ellie,” Joel explains. “But I lost her a little over a year ago.”

He hopes you don’t ask how. Maybe someday he’d be willing to go into detail, but talking about it generally is hard enough as it is. But fortunately, you seem to pick up on his hesitance. “I’m sorry, Joel,” you say softly.

He shakes his head. “I was an asshole. To her. I should've....after Sarah died I didn’t want to get attached, so I kept her at arms length and I... I wished I hadn’t in the end. It only made things worse.”

“Yeah,” you nod, look down. “I’ve made that mistake before.”

Joel doesn’t want to linger any longer on the memory. “What about you? Were you with anyone?”

“Uhm, yeah,” you fidget, looking uncomfortable. “I had a partner….for like ten years."

Ten years? He had been with Tess for more, but something about that information feels jarring. He’s shocked Tommy never told him this. Did Tommy even know? Suddenly, it dawns on Joel everything that could’ve happened to you since you’ve been apart. Entire lifetimes. And he’d said such horrible things when you’d fought. He remembers your face when he’d told you that you didn’t know what it was like to lose a child. Maybe you had. He’d been so cruel and inconsiderate just because he was uncomfortable. 

His throat feels tight, almost scared to learn anymore. “What…what was his name?”

“Well, Bea….was her name.” 

Joel is sure he doesn't hide the shock well. “Sorry, I didn’t know…”

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t think I did either. Well, I sort of did, but I was too young I think when I first realized to make any sense of it, but…. I met her and…yeah,” then, you smirk. “I mean, I went to an all-girls school and I had a really bad relationship with my dad so…it definitely makes sense. ” 

Joel considers this, smiles along with you. “But anyways. Her and I met shortly after my brother died and it was kind of the same. We kept each other alive, things developed from there. We ended up getting involved with this group who lived in the middle of nowhere. That’s a whole other story, but…” you wave your hand. “I loved her, and I lost her right before Ethan and I got here.” 

Joel sees all the pain in your eyes, and wishes he could say something to take it all away. He knows he can’t. You look back out into the woods in his backyard, take a deep breath, and reach back towards the joint that you had put out not long before, lighting it again. Joel gets the sense that both of you had done the most amount of sharing possible for the time being. 

“Look at us,” you take another drag before passing it over. “Old times.”

“Old times,” he repeats, a smile working its way onto his face. 

“This used to be my favorite thing to do with you.” 

“It was nice,” Joel agrees….hesitates before continuing. “But I can think of some things I liked better.” He gives you a knowing look, and you roll your eyes, laughing easily at his joke. It feels so good to make you laugh, to see you smile. Why had he spent so much time resisting?

“Touche.” 

What happens next spills out of Joel so quickly he doesn’t think to stop it. “I tried to look for you….after all this happened. I didn’t have Sarah anymore, and I thought maybe….I don’t know. It was the only thing that kept me going for a while.”

“I did too,” you confess. “But…I was with Vincent and Ethan, and I felt like I couldn’t leave them alone for something that might just be…. I always hoped you both made it. And I’m so sorry she’s gone. I really did love her.” 

“I know you did,” Joel reaches out to take your hand. “I know. And I shouldn’t have said those things I did. I’m still not sure why you’ve been so patient with me.”

“Hmm,” you shift so that you’re closer to him. “You waited around for me back then. It’s only fair that I’d wait around for you now. I want you in my life. I don’t care what that looks like. But it’s too hard to forget about a person that you loved.” 

Joel wants as much from you as you’re willing to give, and he can’t tear his gaze away from you. But he wants you to see him, all of him, before he takes it. 

“I’ve let a lot of people down. I’ve done a lot of h-horrible things,” his voice cracks, and tears well in his eyes. 

“I have, too, you know? Those things still live with me. But I think what matters is who we are now,” you reach out, fingertips brushing the scar on his temple, and Joel swears that even if you don’t know the story behind it, you can see right through him. “And I know who you are.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have.” 

“You won’t,” you say. “No more than anyone else has. And if it makes you feel better…when people hurt me, I’ve gotten pretty good at hurting them back.” 

“If I do, I’d hope you would.”

“I will. I promise,” your thumb strokes his cheek, marveling at him. “I would suggest a blood oath or something but….I heard we kind of already did that…”

He’s given you every warning, every barrier, and you’re still here. He can’t believe it, and he doesn’t think he can hold back any longer. “Come here.”

He kisses you. He wishes that he could be slow and tender and gentle like he used to be – and certainly he’s still capable, but he realizes that he’s been depriving himself of something he wanted for so long, and can’t seem to control himself. 

Your hands land on the side of his face, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Maybe you’re somewhat taken aback by his urgency, you hum against his lips, but you don’t resist at all. Joel maneuvers you so you’re straddling his thighs, and he grips your hips, your ass, coasts his hands up your side. Your lips part in a moan, and he slips his tongue into your mouth. 

For a while, he stays there, savors the taste of you, whiskey and smoke still lingering on your lips. His hands cup your jaw, feel your body, grip and squeeze and stroke and you let him, continue to let him. He tries everything, wondering if you’ll tell him to stop, if you’ll decide you’ve had too much, but you don’t. Then again, he should know by now that you’re a woman who knows what she wants. He just finds it’s hard to believe that he’s the thing you want.

You break away from him, just a little, and Joel presses his nose to your neck, kisses your pulse point. 

“Should we go upstairs?” your voice is raspy and breathless. “Will Ellie be home soon?” 

“Probably not for a while. We can be quick.”

“Hopefully not too quick,” you raise your eyebrows. Joel can’t help but laugh a little. He relishes in the way your hands rake up and down his arms, exploring him, touching him. Of course he wants you, but even just this would be enough. He’d be content with less, he hadn’t realized how starved of affection he’d been.

You’re able to pry yourselves off one another to make it up the stairs, and Joel guides you with a hand to the small of your back. When you get to his bedroom, he opens the door, but stops you before you go inside. 

“Hold on,” Joel mutters, winding one arm around your waist, the other behind your knee.

“Joel, what-no, you’ll–” he pulls you into his arms. 

“Do you really think I’m not strong enough?”

“I didn’t say that,” you chuckle as he carries you over the threshold and into the bedroom, breath puffing against him before he lays you down on the bed. 

When he hovers over you, your fingers wind into his hair, nails raking against his scalp. He savors every sweet sigh he’s able to pull from you, hands cupping your breasts and squeezing your hips. You’re so pliant and open beneath his body, it makes it easier to not feel guilty about what he’s doing. He knows he shouldn’t feel guilty, you’ve said as much, but it might take some time before the feeling will die completely. Hopefully, he has enough time with you to see it off completely.

Clothes are removed quickly, intentionally, as you both bare more and more of yourself to each other. And while he wishes he could’ve been there to see the ways in which your body has changed, you’re still as beautiful as ever. 

Joel, however, is hesitant to give himself away completely. When you tug at the hem of his shirt, he hesitates. 

“I don’t know if-” he pauses. “If you want to see all that.”

“Joel,” you stare at him knowingly, kneeling across from him as he stands at the edge of the bed. “I do.” 

So he releases your hand, and lets you pull it over his head. Carefully, you study him, his body littered with scars. He knows he’s not as in shape as you remember. These days, he hardly can look at himself in the mirror after a shower. He expects you to be disgusted, or at least see it flit across your face before you compose yourself, but you don’t. Your fingertips drag through the smattering of hair on his chest and down his torso, tracing several prominent scars – each one with a story – but you linger on the one at his abdomen, frowning. 

He sees the question on your face, but you don’t ask it. Instead, you return to press yourself against him. “I’m so glad you’re still here….”

You kiss him, then, and Joel can only kiss you back. 

Joel isn’t the only one with battle scars. Some of them he feels are his fault, but you seem less self-concious about them, which gives him a surprising amount of confidence. Maybe it’s just a reality of what happens when you make it this long. 

When you’re finally bare beneath him, he admires how you look, stretched out and waiting, chest heaving and shivering with anticipation. He slides his hand between your legs – feels you already wet and warm, sinking two fingers inside. Your walls flutter around the intrusion, back arcing off the bed when you sigh out his name. Joel.

He’d forgotten how nice it felt to hear that. 

Joel is already thinking about what he’d like to do to you next time. He’d be more careful, more patient. He’d bury his face between your thighs to see if you tasted as good as he remembers, he’d let your fingers curl into his hair. But right now you both seem desperate for the same thing. 

He pumps his cock a few times with his hand, he can’t remember the last time he’d been this hard – the last time he’s wanted anyone this badly. Even with Tess, it had always felt like the both of them were hurrying to scratch an itch, her eyes would wander like she was thinking of other people, and maybe he was, too. 

Joel lines himself up with your slick cunt, teases you a little, and you roll your body down to meet him, gasping when his blunt head slides in – just a little. 

He can’t hold back. You practically suck him in, so tight and hot around him he finds it immediately overwhelming, but he doesn’t even think to pull out. Only when he’s fully seated inside you, and given you a chance to adjust, does he start to move. 

It’s euphoric. You’re both older now, more mature, but he still remembers all the things you liked, even if it takes a moment for him to find the spot inside you that makes you cry out, legs wrapping around his hips. 

Unlike before, you don’t bother trying to hide from him. You kiss him, hold him, touch him, look him in the eyes, tell him how good he feels – you don’t hold back. Joel relishes every word you say, clings to the praise and gives it back. Your lashes flutter when he tells you how pretty you look.

He can think of nothing else other than bringing you pleasure, can tell you’re getting close when you begin to rut against him, and he reaches down to let the pads of his fingers slide over your clit.

When you come, you whine his name, lock your lips with his own and he swallows your moans. The feeling of you so impossibly tight and wet and pulsing and squeezing him so tightly has him following closely after. 

His head is still buried in the crook of your neck when you speak again. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

The second Joel pulls out, he starts missing how close he felt to you. But you fix that by rolling over onto your stomach, curling up at his side, head on his chest, and arm across his stomach. 

“Joel. Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

He’s far from it. But he’s starting to think if you say it enough, maybe he’ll start to believe it. He turns his head to kiss you gently, slowly. “So are you.” 

“We can do this again, right?” you ask. 

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, we can.”

“Good,” you settle back against him, and very slowly, he dozes off with you right beside him. He doesn’t want to sleep alone again, and luckily, he doesn’t have to. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-December 4th, 2026-

When you return home from patrol, you find Joel in his living room – boots off and socked feet propped on the arm of the couch. You don’t notice his eyes are closed, that he’s asleep, until you get closer, see the book he’d been reading resting on his chest as he snores lightly. You can’t help but feel for him – he’s probably exhausted from constant patrols, so he must be tired. 

But mostly, you’re just overwhelmed by the love you feel for him, catching him in a quiet moment of vulnerability. Hesitantly, you reach out and squeeze his foot. It’s gentle and tender enough that he blinks his eyes open and looks around, taking in his surroundings, rather than jolting awake like he often does. When he sees you on the opposite end of the couch, he melts back into the pillow he’s propped against. 

“Hey, stud,” you lean against the arm of the couch. 

“Hey,” Joel answers, voice still gruff with sleep. “How long was I out?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I just got in.”

“Hmm,” Joel closes his eyes again, folds his hands across his stomach.

“You’re wearing the glasses I got you,” you point out. They’re simple. Rectangular black frames. You’d found them on patrol, and brought them home after Joel had been complaining that he could barely see when he read before bed. But he’d tried them on and insisted he hated the way they looked, so you’d ended up using them most of the time.

“They do work,” he grumbles, like he’s ashamed to admit it. “But I still think they look stupid.”

“You look like a sexy librarian,” Joel rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s suppressing a grin. There’s always a bit of defiance about him, he can’t fully admit how you get him so flustered even after you’ve spent so much time together. You press your thumb into the arch of his foot and he groans. “That feel good?” you ask. 

“Yes.”

“Whatcha reading?” You gesture towards the book. 

“Some book about the moon landing,” Joel lifts it off of his chest, where it lay face down and open, looks at the back cover. “For Ellie.”

“How sweet.”

“It’s a little dry,” he deadpans. “But she likes this stuff.” 

You shift your massage to his other foot. Joel stretches, his arms lifting above his head, the shirt he’s wearing rides up just so, so you see a sliver of his lower belly before it disappears again, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

“Are you tired?” you ask. 

“Always,” he says through a yawn. 

“Me too,” you yawn along with him, since they’re contagious. He pulls the glasses from their perch on the bridge of his nose and shuts the book, placing them both on the coffee table in front of him. You take your hands off his feet and he sits up a little straighter, holding out his hand. 

“Come ‘ere,” he says, and you do. 

He grunts as you settle into his arms, head nestled against his chest, sprawling out almost on top of him, the only way you both can fit like this on the couch.

“You’re so warm,” you say softly, letting him wrap his arms around you. 

“You’re cold. Your hands are freezing,” he holds them in his own.

“It’s cold out.”

“Don’t know why you left today.”

“Obligations. Patrol.”

“Fuck that.”

You laugh into his chest, pausing for a moment before speaking again. “You know, I think we might be boring.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, we don’t really leave the house. We spend all day reading. And we’re old.”

“We’re not that old.”

“But we’re getting up there.”

“Sure, but…” Joel trails off. 

“Everything’s so quiet, so calm.”

“I think that’s what most people would describe as content.” 

“Are you content?” you ask, lifting your head to look him in the eyes. 

“I’m happy,” he says softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ears. “Are you?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Then don’t worry about the rest.”

“Okay,” you settle back against your husband's chest, feel his lips brush your forehead.

His fingers search absentmindedly for the ring on your finger he’d found while clearing out a pawn shop not too long ago. The one he wore looked nothing like your own. But the marriage had been long overdue, and neither of you cared what the rings actually looked like. 

Nowadays, you split your time between his place with Ellie, and your own with Ethan, but end up in his bed every night. At this point, you don’t think you could sleep without him. 

Years ago, another lifetime, you’d had a conversation underneath a sky full of stars. You’d told him that for you, good things had never lasted. Joel had made a promise. 

This will.

It took time. There was a lot of pain. But in the end, he had told you the truth.

-

-

-

[modanisgf]

5. LOVE 119 (WRITTEN)

a/n— this feels like smth out of a disney show sorry guys.. 😭 not proofread im so tired

yunjin had felt nervous a lot in her life. like when she was in choir in middle school and had to sing in front of the entire school, and especially when she saw your smile for the first time.

it wasn’t even her that you were smiling at but it made her melt inside, she was too busy staring at you that she wasn’t even paying attention to her friends giggling at her.

yunjin was only taken out of her trance when kai hit her arm making her glare at him.

“stop staring at y/n the others are already inside.” kai had said opening the door for the both of them.

the group had decided to eat before they went ice skating which was suggested by sunghoon originally, much to yunjin’s demise. she was horrible at ice skating but that was a problem for later.

the dinner had went smoothly, y/n and yunjin were beginning to get comfortable around each other and the group got a long pretty well.

yunjin felt all her worries disappear as she was talking to you now at the rink, while you guys put your skates on.

“have you ever skated before?” y/n asks yunjin making the latter grimace.

“um, yeah! i’m pretty good at it.” yunjin boasts, lying through her teeth.

unfortunately yunjin was as horrible of a liar as she was at ice skating and that comment was definitely coming back to bite her in the ass later.

y/n could tell the girl wasn’t being truthful but wanted to tease her so she went with it.

“really? you should do a little competition with sunghoon he’s really good also. he used to be a figure skater.” y/n says yunjins heart dropping.

the information wasn’t new to her, various girls at their school fawned over sunghoon for his background on the ice. but y/n saying it to her face just made it all worse, especially when yunjin saw that smile of hers brightening everything in a fifty mile radius.

y/n was going to be the death of huh yunjin, and maybe she wouldn’t be if yunjin wasn’t so deadset on impressing her but when was yunjin not doing something stupid for a girl?

she couldn’t pass up this opportunity to impress her crush of many years and when y/n and yunjin parted, that’s where yunjin found herself talking to a very confused sunghoon.

“you want to challenge me to a competition to impress y/n?” he says furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. why did yunjin go to such extreme rates to impress you?

“sunghoon this is very important to me, i need you to go easy on me..” yunjin says making him shrug.

“okay. and what do i get?” sunghoon asks, yunjin could already feel her wallet hurting when she held out her hand to sunghoon to shake.

“i’ll get you some more soccer equipment, deal?” yunjin says to which sunghoon shakes her hand.

“deal.”

the group spent a bit of time on skating around the ice, and yunjin was doing her best to avoid y/n. she was hiding behind kai, jiwon and rei who were starting to get annoyed.

“what are you doing?” jiwon asks looking at yunjin who was crouching on the ice beside kai.

“i’m hiding from y/n.” yunjin says.

“you’re hiding from the girl you’ve wanted to talk to since forever?” kai says.

“okay you have to hear me out.” yunjin begins making her two friends groan.

yunjin rolls her eyes, “it’s not even that bad you guys are just dramatic.”

“yunjin the last time you said hear me out it was after you threw a ball at some girls head because she was shit talking y/n.” jiwon says, making rei perk up.

“wait yunjin, how long have you liked y/n?” rei asks, the girl remembered that happening during freshman year. y/n wanted to find who the person was but she never ended up finding them.

yunjin shrugs, “it wasn’t that big of a crush until now—“

“since middle school.” kai cuts her off, making yunjin hit him.

“that was before she even had her little fanclub, you’re an og.” rei teases, yunjin pouting.

“anyways, back to what yunjin did.” jiwon says.

“well, i might’ve told y/n that i’m pretty good at ice skating..” yunjin says.

“and—“

“there’s more?” kai deadpans.

“she wants me to do a competition with sunghoon.” yunjin finishes.

“so basically what you’re saying is you’re fully willing to embarrass yourself in front of all these people just for y/n.” jiwon says disappointedly.

“i’m all for it.” kai says, “just make sure to tell me when so i can record it.”

“i hope you fall flat on your ass kai.” yunjin says glaring at him.

“i mean you can’t possibly be that bad?” rei shrugs trying to lighten the mood.

“to be fair, i made a deal with sunghoon earlier to go easy on me.” yunjin says making her friends laugh.

“what are you giving him?” kai asks.

“new soccer equipment?” yunjin says confused.

“so you’re gonna be broke and a loser?”

“you guys are so supportive.”

of all times that yunjin had been nervous before this was by far the worst, the only one who had comforted her was rei who she barely knew.

yunjin’s friends were too busy preparing to record the most embarrassing moment of her life. yunjin’s mood brightened when she saw you walk up to her.

“goodluck yunjin.” you say giving her a smile.

all of a sudden yunjin didn’t feel that nervous anymore.

“thank you.” yunjin says giving you a smile back. she wanted to kiss you so bad in that moment.

in short, while the organizer of the competition explained the directions yunjin was hyping herself up. if she was positive it would be better, right?

yeah that didn’t work at all.

a couple rounds in yunjin found herself flat on her back on the ice, her head was stinging with pain but she definitely heard the laughter of kai and beomgyu.

before sitting up she saw you rush over in panic, “yunjin you are so stupid..” you mumble making her frown.

as she sits up you hold her face checking for any bruises, yunjin’s face turning red. you excused it thinking she was just cold, considering she had just been laying on ice.

you helped her up and made eye contact with her, “promise me you won’t be stupid again?” you say.

“i promise.. maybe?” she responds.

y/n giggles at this, she was happy yunjin came into her life.

“c’mon we’re leaving now, yeonjuns letting us all stay over.” y/n says grabbing yunjin’s hand.

yunjin couldn’t help but smile, she was also glad that y/n was in her life.

she had never been happier.

TAGS 🏷️ (OPEN): @haerinsloverr @jayjj7 @kaypanaq @pandafuriosa60 @flolio @flxexur @1luvkarina @intothewinter @nnewjeansstuff @zuhaazana @luchiet @twicesserafim @newhairnewjeans @everydayiloveyves @kimminjswife @manooffline @linnnsworld @nimxie

masterlist | prev | next

[captainsophiestark]

To The Stars

Rhysand x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Summary: With war on the horizon, Rhys and his mate have been busier than should be possible, with almost no time to even see each other. But sometimes, to stay sane, you have to make time.

Word Count: 1,064

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I squinted at the words on the paper in front of me, trying to get them to stop blurring. My eyes burned, and my head ached, and before I knew it, I was face down on the desk.

Not the first time it had happened to me, and probably not the last. But the Night Court was basically the only court who had our shit together and stood a chance at stopping Hybern, which meant it was on me and the rest of the Inner Circle to organize what we needed to organize to save the world as we knew it. That tended to lead to a lot of exhaustion.

Even worse, it had left me no time to see my mate, Rhysand, as we were both running around like maniacs, often in different directions. His face floated across my subconscious as I fought to stay awake despite my body begging me to rest my eyes and stay down on the desk. I thought I'd finally lost the battle when I heard his voice, calling my name in his smooth, soothing voice that had come to feel like home. Then I felt his hand on my shoulder, and realized this wasn't an exhaustion-induced dream.

I groaned, slowly dragging myself back into a sitting position as I blinked at Rhys through bleary eyes. He hardly looked better than me, with dark bags under his eyes. Still, he pulled a soft smile onto his face when he looked at me.

"You look about as tired as I feel," he said, voice a little more gravelly than usual. I huffed a sigh.

"I'm absolutely exhausted. But we have to do what it takes to have a chance at winning this war."

"We do."

The silence hung between us for a moment, the massive weight we carried together resting heavily on our shoulders. Then Rhys, my wonderful mate, sighed and gave me a tired smile, running his hand along my cheek.

"Come outside with me."

I raised an eyebrow at him, but his face didn't change. I held his stare, but when his calm expression didn't crack with even a hint of what he was up to, I finally gave in with a sigh of my own.

"Fine. But only because I love you so much. If anyone else was asking me to accompany them for mysterious reasons rather than wading through these papers or sleeping, I would tell them to fuck right off."

"I'll make sure to remember how lucky I am to be met with a different response."

I snorted, at myself more than him, and he shot me a small smile as I got to my feet. He held out a hand and led me out of our bedroom and up the stairs to the roof.

"If we had even a single extra second to string together, I would've told you to close your eyes first," Rhys said, a smile in his voice from ahead of me. I raised an eyebrow, more curious than ever as he stepped out onto the roof of the Velaris townhouse and I followed after him.

Rhysand stared at me with a massive grin on his face, holding his arms out slightly on either side in a 'ta-da' gesture. I looked just past him to find a nest of blankets assembled on the roof, with glasses of sparkling wine waiting for us. A small fire roared in a firepit that hadn't been there the last time I'd checked.

"We have to rest at some point, or so I've been told by every other member of our court. And if I have to take a break, I'd much prefer to take it with you."

I smiled, none of the tiredness leaving me but most of the tension draining away. I crossed the short distance between me and my mate, wrapping my arms around him tightly and breathing in his scent. I could hear his heart beating in his chest, the soft thud mixing with the crackling fire, and for just a moment everything was right with the world.

"How did I get so lucky as to find you?" I asked, a soft smile on my face as I at last pulled back to look at Rhys. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he leaned in until his lips were just a breath away from mine.

"I wonder the same thing, how we could be so lucky to find each other, almost every day that I walk this world," he murmured. My heart swelled, and a heartbeat later Rhys closed the distance between us. I lost myself in his embrace and his soft, tender kiss.

We stayed locked together for a few long moments, then finally, reluctantly, I pulled back. Rhys watched me like a hawk, but I just gave him a little smile.

"We'll have time for that after wine and stargazing," I promised. He sighed, playing it up a little, even as he leaned back.

"I suppose it would be a shame to let it all go to waste."

I winked and gave him one last peck on the cheek, then led him over to the pile of blankets. The two of us made ourselves comfortable, snuggling into the warmth together and staring up at the crystal clear night sky. I sighed, the light from the stars shining out through the darkness above.

"This is beautiful," I murmured. Rhys handed me a glass, which I took, my eyes never leaving the night sky above.

"It really is. It helps, to look at this. To look at Velaris. And you. To... remember what we're fighting for."

"Yeah. Yeah, it does."

I finally tore my eyes away from the starlight overhead to look at my mate, meeting his sparkling eyes. I would go to the absolute ends of the world for him, and I knew he would do the same for me. The road ahead would be hard, against Hybern and the other courts, but how could anything hope to stand against us? Especially when we had the rest of our friends behind us, too.

"To the stars who listen," he said, lifting his glass to mine with a half-smile. I returned the gesture, the soft clink of the glasses ringing out in the night.

"And the dreams that are answered."

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

[1toreyouapart]

The Lies We Tell

***FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.

Masterlist

Misunderstandings

“Dinner tonight?”

Quinn read over the message, smiling. Things were semi normal again. Her and Noah hadn’t spent much time just hanging out like they used to, but that would come in time. When she was no longer scared of the dreaded conversation where he would for sure tell her that it meant nothing. That he just hadn’t been with anyone in too long, or some stupid shit. The whole “it’s not you, it’s me” shit men did.

“Quinn! We need you out here! Busy as fuck and we’re down another. Brianna just had to leave. Her kid is sick.”

Fuck. They were already slammed at the pub. Some big sports event. And they were already down three people. This night couldn’t get any worse. Four hours and she was just now getting a break. Slipping her phone back into her pocket she jumped up, ready to face the hell that awaited her.

“On it, Lei! How bad?”

“We’ve got a three top, seven top, and an eight top that all just got sat in her section. Plus five more that just sat at the bar.”

Well, shit. How in the fuck did Leilani expect her to cover those tables and her bar? Something was bound to get fucked up. Call it a gut feeling. Or intuition. Or whatever the fuck. She just knew she was going to fuck something up.

Her phone rang, briefly drawing her attention. Quick glance showed Noah calling. She didn’t have time right now. Work was too crazy. Sending it to voicemail she slipped it back in her pocket. She could call him back when she got an actual break.

Into the hellfire she went.

***

Seven hours. She had been waiting tables and running the bar on the busiest night they had ever had for six hours. Over her time. Should have been home hours ago. Instead now she was sitting out front of the place, exhausted, next to Leilani. She knew she should go home. But God that cigarette she was smoking smelled divine right then. Made her wish she had never quit.

“Thank you for tonight. When I divide up the tips at the end of the night you’re getting extra in your tip box.”

All she could do was nod at her boss. Far too tired to speak. Sighing she pulled out her phone, only then realizing that she had never responded to Noah when the first thing she saw was his unanswered text. Then the missed call and the voicemail. Nervous she clicked the play button on the voicemail, bringing the phone up to her ear.

“Quinn, I swear to fucking God. You are the most infuriating little terror pixie I’ve ever fucking met. You’ve made your goddamn point.”

What the fuck was he on about? What point did he think she was making? She was at work for fucks sake! Just when she thought things were starting to return to normal he goes and accuses her of something she didn’t even fucking do?

Irritated she reached out, snatching the cigarette from Leilani, taking a long drag off of it. Fuck, she had missed this. The way the smoke filled her lungs, the relief as she exhaled the smoke. How the tobacco tasted on her tongue. The ashen woodiness of the flavor erasing the stress of the day.

“What if I called in tomorrow?” She chuckled, passing the cigarette back.

“I would say take the day off and we’ll just have to manage without you. You were an absolute rockstar tonight.”

“Lei, I was joking.”

“I’m not.”

Quinn paused. There was some kind of catch. There had to be. She had been working there for years, doing the same thing too many times to count, without so much as a “Hey, thanks for covering our asses!” What was she up to?

“Listen,” Lei continued, weariness settling into her voice. “I can see it plain as day because I’m currently experiencing it. You have burn out happening. Take tomorrow. Have a mental health day. Seriously.”

Burn out was the last thing she would use to describe what she was feeling right then, but she would take it. It was more akin to a royal pain in her ass that was either currently waiting for her at home or still working himself. God, she hoped he was still working. It was just late enough that everyone else would be asleep when she got home. And being alone with Noah was the last thing that she should be doing.

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @mrscevans @supersquirrel1996