#looking at him like he’s looking at a new car in a catalog

[cod-dump]

Soap @ Ghost: You're kinda broken, aren't you? Mm mm mm... exactly my type!

[dynamic-power]

Steve is walking down the hallway towards his math class when it happens.

Someone bumps into him, a girl he only vaguely recognizes, and she reaches out and grabs his hand to steady herself.

His vision explodes with what he knows must be color. Bright shades assault his eyes, shades he doesn't even have names for. His classmates' clothes, the tiles beneath his feet, the homecoming sign above him. Even the lights have taken on a new hue, washing Steve's entire world in something completely alien.

The girl looks as shocked as steve feels. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth drooped open as she spins in a slow circle. She's pretty, he thinks. Short hair, soft features, an unusual sense of style. She's clutching an instrument case, and he thinks that's why he recognizes her.

"Uh," he says, catching her attention. "Hi."

Her mouth opens, closes, opens once more, and then she dashes away from him, disappearing into the throng of students.

He spends the rest of the day cataloging colors. By the time he's climbing into his car (which is a color he still can't name, but has decided he likes) he's found at least a dozen different shades, and he wonders how they all fit into the seven colors he's been told are in the rainbow.

He tells his mom when he gets home that day. She is ecstatic. When Steve admits he doesn't have anything to tell about the girl herself, his mom turns her attention on naming colors for him.

It becomes quickly apparent that something isn't quite right. He'd been so focused on everything that was new that he hadn't realized what was the same. He still sees a lot of grays. Blues, purples, greens,and violets are all still lost on him.

That doesn't make what he can see any less spectacular, though. Oranges, reds, pinks, yellows. The yellows are his favorite.

He'll meet his other soulmate, his mother assures him, as they sit in the backyard, admiring the rich golds and reds of the trees that he can now see, standing out against the gray of the sky he knows should be blue.

He does, about two years later. He's picking Henderson up from school one afternoon, but instead of Dustin climbing into the front seat like usual, the back door swings open violently and not one but two figures scramble into the back seat.

"Henderson, what the fuck?!?"

"Drive!" Henderson screeches, his head popping up between the seats. "Go, go, go!" A hand, not Dustin's, reaches out as the stranger tries to sit himself up and fingers graze his temple as he's peeling away from the curb.

"Motherfucking assmunch-" Dustin is saying, "thinking he can get away with that shit-"

But Steve isn't paying attention, because the trees are green and the sky is blue and the world is suddenly right.

Steve looks into the rearview mirror and meets the gaze of a shocked-looking Eddie Munson.

[gghostwriter]

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

They are friends, but Spencer is in love with her. Spencer gets in one accident and thinks she is more than a friend. He believes she is his wife. (Happy ending, please)

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem! Reader Trope: Friends to Lovers; Fluff! Just fluff Warning: Medical inaccuracies A/N: Reader is part of the BAU, hope that's alright. I had fun writing this, hope you enjoy anon! Main masterlist

Hallucinate. // Spencer Reid

It was Morgan’s turn—based on Garcia’s glitter paper schedule, to keep watch of Reid lying uncomfortably still on the hospital bed. The team was out for a local case—a series of murders that targeted male divorcees. They’ve profiled the unsub to be male in his late 20s, shy in nature, and comes from a broken household. The profile was correct. The team just didn’t factor in the possibility of another unsub—a subservient willing to do anything to let the dominant evade capture, including intentionally ramming a four door sedan to a government owned vehicle. The same vehicle that Reid and JJ were driving to the unsub’s residence. 

Spencer’s finger twitched, bringing his guardian out of his musings. “Reid. Reid,” the dark skinned agent called out.

A series of whispers escaped the patient’s mouth. “W’fe—” Spencer wetted his lips. “Wife, where—wife?” 

“Kid, what wife?” Morgan’s brows furrowed. As far as he knew, Reid wasn’t married. All he had was a tongue twisting, IQ dropping crush on the newest BAU addition, you. 

Spencer tried once more. “Y/N. Y/N, my wife—where?”

And as if you heard his pleas, you quietly entered the hospital room. Tilting your head to the side, silently questioning why Morgan was standing very close to Spencer. The agent smirked at your presence and waved you to come close. 

“Spence?” You asked, taking his hand into yours. His fingers cold, and for a moment, it reminded you of how still he was when he was pulled out of the driver’s seat. 

His eyes flickered under the lids. “Y/N. Wife—y’safe?” 

“I’m here, Spencer. Safe,” you murmured in a soft tone as you note that his hazel eyes were glassy and unfocused. A physical manifestation from the concussion that the physician had theorized when he was admitted. 

He turned his head to the sound of your voice in comfort before tightening his hold and his pupils blowing wide. “Wife—the baby? Is—baby okay?”

Your eyes widened in return. “What?” 

“Aurora—she, strapped in car seat, I need—need to see her,” his voice getting louder and louder as he unsuccessfully tried to push himself out of bed. 

You gently pushed his shoulders. “She’s—she’s fine, Spence. The team has her,” you coaxed him to relax back. Morgan cleared his throat beside you, clearly trying to not let a chuckle escape. 

“Good—good. Safe.” Spencer was locked in a hallucination where you were married and had a child, a girl—Aurora. You pictured a tiny long haired brunette with his waves, clinging to Spencer’s neck and smiling at you, a set of innocent hazel eyes looking at you with such adoration and trust. 

“Wife—you, love you,” he mumbled before closing his eyes and falling back to unconsciousness. 

Morgan took that as his cue and turned to face you—still clutching Spencer’s hand—with mirth dancing on his face. “Damn. Wife and kid huh, pretty boy sure moves fast.” 

You felt your cheeks grow warm. “It’s the concussion talking.”

“Uh huh, keep telling yourself that. Y’know I heard he said the same thing when Emily was keeping watch,” he paused dramatically to watch your reaction. “But there was no kid—that’s new.” 

“What. I—we’re friends,” you jested. Even to your ears it sounded like a feeble excuse.

Morgan appraised your reddened cheeks, your free hand repeatedly raking your hair, and your lips tucked between your teeth. His well experienced profiler eyes cataloging everything. “As I said, pretty girl, keep telling yourself that.” 

———

A few days later, away from the Morgan and Emily’s constant teasing, it was your turn to keep Spencer who was now alert and awake , company. His eyes darted all around the room, finding everything and anything interesting, except you.

“Spencer? You alright?” You sat on the chair near his bed.

He cleared his throat. “Morgan—Morgan said I called you—” his voice trailing off at the end, too hesitant and mortified to repeat what his fantasy conjured up and what his lips had let escaped in his state of confusion and vulnerability. 

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, you did.” 

“And that we—”

You nodded as you watched his blush travel down from his cheeks to neck.

“I also said that I—”

“That you love me?” You clarified in a whisper.

“You did.” 

He covered his face in chagrin. Spencer wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole or better yet, for all of this to be just a dream—a horrible dream. It was no secret to the team, except for you, that he had feelings for you. Amazed with how your mind noticed patterns in cases, grateful with how you actively listen to his conjectures, and stunned with how beautiful you look even on cases that leak into the late nights—how could he not fall in love with someone as incredible as you. It was impossible, trust him, he tried to deny it to himself and to others. He mumbled something in reply but his hands muffled it too much to understand. 

“What was that?” You asked.

He repeated again but made no move to remove his hands.

You sighed. “Spence, I really can’t understand.”

He steeled his nerves before facing you, without a blockage this time. “According to studies, hallucinations are simply a result of neurons firing incorrectly. But I-I meant it. What I said, I mean.”

Silence ensued. He’s been your ride or die since you entered the BAU. Your partner on cases and your person off cases. Penelope always teased you two together—attached to the hip. Like some magnets that need to move in unison, that need to be within reaching distance. “Oh.” 

His shoulders drooped, taking that as a sign of rejection. He wished he could have kept his mouth shut. He’d rather be your close friend than be an awkward colleague.

“It’s not like that,” you hurriedly explained. “I—it’s just—take me out on a date first,” your cheeks enflamed as the idea of progressing your relationship beyond what it was now excited and set butterflies on your stomach.

He perked up and smiled. “Okay, yeah. I can do that.” 

You watched as his hand slowly crept towards yours, stopping an inch away, as if waiting for your permission. You took the initiative and intertwined yours with his, watching him shudder from the warmth and settled back into bed. 

“Okay,” you breathed out. 

He didn’t let go of your hand even when Morgan entered the room to relieve you from watch duty. The profiler zeroed in and opened his mouth, unable to stop himself from teasing the blushing couple.

“So love birds, since you already named your first kid Aurora. How about naming the next one Derek?” 

My inbox is currently open for any more fluff requests! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[bucksanklescrews]

car shopping- e.b. x fem!reader

Warnings: None, pregnant!reader, fluff

"I'm not driving a minivan," Evan said, his voice stern, but a hint of amusement still shined through.

You ran a hand over your bump. "Jesus, Buck, how many of them do you think are in here?"

Evan chuckled, shaking his head as he looked at you with that familiar mix of affection and playful defiance. "I don’t care if it’s one or five, I’m not trading in the Jeep for a minivan."

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips as you ran a hand over your growing bump. “Come on, Buck, don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic? It’s not like we’re starting a soccer team.”

He grinned, leaning back against the counter, his arms crossing over his chest. “I’m just saying, this Jeep has been with me through a lot. I’m not ready to swap it out for something... practical.”

"I said practical, which means a Jeep that doesn't stutter when it starts-"

"I made an appointment for it next week!"

You placed a hand on your hip. "And what about the appointment last week?"

He sighed, knowing you had a point. Despite all the love and care he had poured into maintaining his Jeep over the years—new tires, a well-kept motor, and a slightly faded paint job that he swore added character—it was clear that the old Jeep was reaching the end of its life. It had racked up miles and had started showing signs of wear, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. Sure, his car had been fine before, but now that you were expecting, the last thing you wanted was to worry about Buck and your little angel stalling at an intersection or, worse, being stranded somewhere.

Evan ran a hand through his hair, the reluctance in his eyes giving way to a resigned sigh. “Alright, I’ll look at new cars... but I’m not making any promises.”

You smiled, knowing it was the best you were going to get from him. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Car shopping turned out to be more of a challenge than either of you anticipated. Every car seemed to have something wrong with it—too worn, too expensive, too small, too impractical. The first dealership was a bust, with Buck dismissing every option the salesman showed him. The second one wasn’t any better, with Buck complaining about the lack of character in the newer models. By the time you reached the sixth dealership, you were starting to lose hope.

Then you spotted it—another Jeep, practically identical to his. It was a little newer, with fewer miles on it, and in good condition. For a moment, you thought this might be the one. Buck approached the Jeep, his eyes lighting up as he inspected it closely. He ran his hand over the hood, checked the tires, and even peeked inside the cabin.

You watched him, hopeful that this could be it. But as the salesman approached to seal the deal, you noticed the look on Buck’s face. The excitement had faded, replaced by something more subdued. He thanked the salesman politely, but instead of heading back inside to discuss numbers, he started walking back to your car.

You followed him, your heart sinking a little. “Evan?”

He glanced back at the Jeep, then at you. “It’s just... it’s not the same, you know? It doesn’t feel right.”

You sighed, understanding where he was coming from. “I get it, Buck. But we need something reliable, something safe. For all of us.”

He nodded, though you could see the reluctance still lingering in his eyes. “I know. It’s just hard to let go.”

You slipped your hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll find something that feels right, I promise. But maybe it doesn’t have to be another Jeep. Maybe it’s time for something new.”

Buck considered your words, his gaze softening as he looked down at your intertwined hands. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

As your due date approached, just over a week away, the anticipation was palpable. You sighed, flipping through yet another car catalog, this one featuring used cars being sold directly by their owners. Your hand absentmindedly rested on your bump as you turned the pages, glancing over sedans and SUVs, none of which seemed to stand out.

But then, you spotted it. Another Jeep, just a few shades darker than his current car. It had low miles and was moderately priced, a rare find that immediately caught your attention. You smiled to yourself, thinking maybe this was it, the compromise between nostalgia and practicality. You turned the catalog towards Buck, who was sitting next to you on the couch, and pointed it out.

“Look at this one,” you said, your voice laced with hope. “It’s just like yours, but with way fewer miles. What do you think?”

Buck’s eyes lit up for a second as he took in the image, the familiar look of excitement flashing across his face. But then, just as quickly, he seemed to hesitate, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“It’s nice,” he admitted, nodding appreciatively. “But... I already found something.”

You quirked an eyebrow in surprise. “Oh? And when were you planning on telling me?”

Buck chuckled, pulling out his phone. “I was going to surprise you, but since we’re on the topic...”

He scrolled through his photos, searching for something specific. You watched him curiously, wondering what he had found. Finally, he stopped on a picture and handed the phone to you.

The image on the screen was of a new Jeep, a different color from his current one but still unmistakably in the same spirit. It was slightly newer, with a sleeker design, but it still had that rugged, adventurous look that Buck loved so much.

“I saw it when we were on a call,” Buck explained, his voice carrying a mix of excitement and nostalgia. “It was parked on the street, and I just couldn’t take my eyes off it. I jotted down the number before we left, and I went back to see it with Eddie before heading home.”

You looked at the photo, then back at Buck, and couldn’t help but smile. There was something endearing about the way he was so attached to his Jeep, and yet willing to find something new that still honored the old.

“You really like it, don’t you?” you asked softly.

Buck nodded, his eyes twinkling with a mix of excitement and a touch of sentimentality. “Yeah, I do. It’s not exactly the same, but it feels right, you know? Like it’s time for something new, but it still reminds me of the old one.”

You leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m glad you found something you love, Buck. And if you’re happy with it, then I am too.”

He smiled, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close, his hand resting protectively over your bump. “Thanks, babe. I know it’s silly, but this Jeep... it means a lot.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth and love between you both. “It’s not silly at all. It’s a big change, and I’m glad you found something that feels right.”

As you sat there together, the car catalog forgotten on the coffee table, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. The Jeep was just a car, but it symbolized so much more—moving forward, making room for new memories, and embracing the future together as a family.

[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.”

[elletheactualmenace]

Was it Worth it?

Pairing: Bruce Wayne(battinson) x fem!reader

Summary: A night out turns disastrous, but somehow it brings you and Bruce closer

Warnings: Bruce being unsure how to behave around you, injuries, explosions, destructed building, worried Bruce, tears, talk about your past relationship with bruce, actress!reader, ambulances and police cars

Word Count: 3.9k

a/n: Sorry this took so long to post. I hope you enjoy this next part! Looking forward to continue writing this.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

“Bruce and Y/n Wayne have arrived at the charity auction in what looks to be one of Mr Wayne’s new cars from the most recent vintage corvette catalog.”

“That car is very pretty, and I think we can say the same about Y/n. She’s looking stunning as always”

“Well of course, with a wonder like that, Bruce Wayne would be in the wrong not to spoil his wife.”

“Haha, I agree. I also heard that he has already sold some of his more expensive model cars for tonight's charity.”

“Oh yes, that's right, he's ahead of the game,” The reporters laugh as you and Bruce begin walking towards the crowd of reporters and paparazzi.

“Mr Wayne!”

“Mrs Wayne, Mr Wayne, over here!”

“On your left Mr and Mrs Wayne!”

“Mrs Wayne! Show us the dress!”

“Stunning!”

The hoard of reporters and paparazzi crowd at the edges of the red velvety rope, separating them from you and your husband.

The paved walkway holds many people of high importance and wealth in the city. The board of public safety, the mayor, and more.

Bruce never has enjoyed big gathering events. Even with you at his side, he loathes the conversations, and the passive aggressiveness of it all.

You and your husband continue walking farther along the carpet, getting closer to the doors of city hall.

“Excuse me Mr Wayne! Do you have any comments on the new rumors of you and Batman's partnership?” You can feel Bruce's body tense and his senses sharpen at the mention of his alter ego. The reporter holds out a microphone and there is a cameraman directly behind the reporter.

Since you came into Bruce’s life his publicity has gone up through the roof. Bruce has been more active in his public life and it his business. You helped him open up. And for that everyone was grateful.

“No comment at the moment.” You can hear Bruce state just loud enough for the microphone to pick up.

“Now is not the right place or time,” You speak with a sweet smile. “This is for the children. Let's leave business talk for business hours.” 

You pull Bruce away from the reporters with a furrowed brow. He can tell you are annoyed at the question. It is the only thing you’ve been getting asked about for the past two weeks.

——

“Come on,” You mumble to Bruce as you walk to the table with your names. A white sheet claiming your spots on the round table. It's a charity auction put on by the new mayor, for children in need. As an orphan himself Bruce didn’t argue about going.

Bruce pulls out your chair and you sit. Once you are settled he sits in his seat. His hand stretches out to grab yours, but he stops himself. He doesn't know if you’re both there yet. Usually at events like these you would always be right there with him, holding his hand or touching him in some way. But he's trying to learn to not expect that attention as much. So, instead he rests his hand on his thigh, it's the closest he can get to your hands which are situated on your lap.

In all honesty you almost reached over too out of habit. But it is easy for memories of her face on flashing screens to cloud your vision. So you leave your hand in your lap, squeezing the other for comfort.

As people find their seats the lights begin to dim. Someone walks on stage to the stand, introduces himself, thanks everyone for coming, and begins the bidding. Too in your thoughts to pay attention, you take a sip of your champagne. 

People begin bidding money for antiques, paintings, expensive wine, rare collectables, and more. You and your husband both agreed to begin your bidding at the end, knowing the goods offered are always more expensive at the end. More money to the children was your conclusion.

“Do I hear a 15,000?” The auctioneer asks the crowd. You lean over to whisper something in Bruce’s ear.

“Bruce,”

He turns his head slightly so you know he's listening but keeps his eyes on the front of the room.

“I'm going to head to the bathroom, won’t be long.” You quietly push your chair out. You pause wondering if you should kiss him goodbye. You always do when leaving, but because of everything, you aren’t sure if you should. But then again there are reporters everywhere. What if someone sees and twists the story? Well, you think, their story might not be so twisted. You don’t give it another thought as you lean down and quickly peck his cheek before heading to the ladies room.

Bruce could sense the hesitation before the kiss, and with all his heart he wished it was real, even if his mind knew it would never be. But, even just a sliver of the past made his heart swell and beat rapidly. A small smile formed on his lip, which he quickly pushed away trying to listen to the auctioneer.

“And sold!” The auctioneer says into the microphone as the painting rolls away. 

The further you get the quieter the halls become. Your heels make a click with every step on the marble floors.

The halls are long, and seem to go on forever. You hate to admit that you're a bit lost. But you think if you just keep walking you might be able to find someone who can help you, or, if you're lucky, the bathroom.

You’re mindful of where you are, making sure you at least will be able to somewhat recognize the halls on your way back. You hate being lost, especially in such a high status place.

Before you and Bruce got together, your parents had been friends. You two never talked much before the accident, but you knew of each other. There was no specific reason for your lack of friendship, other than the fact that he didn’t talk much and you thought boys had cootie.

When his parents died, your parents would force you to hang out with him, which didn’t take a lot of convincing because you felt terrible that he went through what he did. Being forced together all the time helped your relationship grow. Even if only platonic.

At first he didn’t trust you. You didn’t blame him. So you ignored the mess he was. You ignored his sloppiness and rudeness and were kind. Slowly you became friends, you told him about your hopes and dreams and in turn he did the same. 

At fourteen you told him you wanted to become an actress and be on the big screen. And he didn’t tell you that you wouldn’t make it like everyone else had, but he supported you, even if it was in his closed off way. 

When you turned sixteen Bruce attended your birthday party. It was so sweet, and thought full of him, especially due to the fact that you and him were going through a rough patch, which, when you were young, was something that happened a lot in your relationship. He attended with all of your other friends and even your crush at the time, though he hated talking to new people. He even offered to get you a car to make up for his cruel words during the fight, but you had to tell him a multitude of times that it was unnecessary. And that all you wanted was for you both to stop arguing.

You were beyond happy that day, but didn’t understand why he would put himself through that party for you. At the time you were too naïve to see that all he wanted was to see you smile, even if it was with the boy you liked and not him.

When you were seventeen you told him all about how you got into your dream college. He was so happy for you, that was until you told him you would have to go and live far away. But he didn’t let it show. He just smiled and waved you off at the airport with a heavy heart.

When you got your first roll in a movie he heard about it on the news. Not from you. You both had been too busy with your new lives to keep us with your old ones. It made him long for the past.

During the premier of your fourth film you finally saw Bruce again. He was older, so were you. He looked so put-together and grown up. You were impressed by his change from boy to man. When you attempted to talk to him, he shut down the conversation immediately. You learned over the next couple of encounters that it would take a lot of work to get back into his good graces.

it was as if everything you had worked for over the years had fallen. It was like you didn’t recognize him, and he didn’t recognize you. You understood that Bruce was not a trusting person, and that the time away had caused a shift in his view on you, but you were determined to get your childhood friend back. It took a lot of work to get back to where you were, but you didn’t stop, knowing that all the work would be worth it. You were right.

And slowly, he opened up again. Trusted you again. Loved you again. During your efforts, Bruce had convinced himself he didn’t need you, but, boy, was he wrong. He hadn’t realized how much he needed you in his life until you were gone. The more he opened up the more he saw that. And god, did he miss you.

After almost a year and a half of working to get closer to him, he caved and did what 16-year-old him would have pissed his pants to do. He asked you out. And long story short, it worked out in his favor.

You continue walking until you see a door with the image of a cartoon woman on it. You push the door open and step into the ladies room.

There is a large, long mirror against the wall with a lone sink under it to the right. Five faucets evenly laid out along the sink. You turn to the stalls on the left. Making pushing the door open to step in.

Once you finish you walk over to the motion sensor faucet, pumping soap into the palm of your hand.

The door opens and a woman walks in. You recognize her, but don’t feel the need to make conversation in the bathroom. But she has other plans.

“Mrs. Wayne, I’m so happy we can finally talk.” The woman says, and your eyes lift from your soapy hands to meet hers in the mirror.

“Mayor Real,” you smile politely. She had recently become mayor as far as you could tell, she was doing a fantastic job.

“I’m sorry for the inappropriate meeting place, I’ve just been anxious to get to speak to you again.” Mayor Real said, taking something out of her handbag. Makeup to touch up her face.

“No need for the apology, I’m sure if we talked anywhere else someone would bombard us.” You chuckle, and she, along with you.

“What did you want to talk about?” You ask as you rinse off your hands. 

"I wanted to make better acquaintance with you,” she said simply. The first time you had met was at the prior mayor’s funeral, the one the Riddler attacked.

“The first time we met was not the best of circumstances.” Mayor Real added lightly. You nod with a sad smile to her. 

You walk to dry your hands with the paper towel provided.

”From what I’ve seen you're a good person, and it's good to know good people.” Real puts her makeup back into your handbag.

”Mayor Real-”

”Bella, please.” She cuts you off, correcting you.

”Bella,” You correct yourself with a smile, turning to her. “If you’re asking if we can be friends, then just say that.” You chuckle lightly. Bella looks a bit embarrassed but smiles anyway.

”Right. Friends then?” She asks.

”Of course.” You grin back. “Walk back with me?” You offer heading to the door. Bella follows after you happily.

You once again begin your walk down the long echoey hall. Now the sound of heels on marble doubled. You make idle conversation, trying to make her more comfortable with you. You don’t like the fact that some people find you unapproachable, because really your husband is unapproachable, not you. But it’s really not his fault, he’s just not good with people. But you, you know how to talk to people, and you think it’s odd that people are frightened to talk to you.

“Bella?” You ask putting your hand out infront of her, stopping her from going any further. Her brows furrow as she looks at you.

“What is-“

Your body is thrown to the ground. Everything happens as if it's in slow motion. Blinding white light flashes over Bella and you. It is like the bright white of light on freshly clean hospital sheets. It stings your eyes shut.

Next comes the shards of broken marble and concrete. Like needle pricking your skin. A wave of rubble and dusty pieces of brick scatter around you. On instinct your hands reach up to protect your head. Your ears ring and the pounding of your heart is louder than ever. It's like a movie, but everythings so much more confusing. 

You feel the coldness of marble on your hot skin. And you hiss as a headache pricks your eyes. Your head, still turned toward the floor from your fall, rises. You look around, trying to understand what happened. One second you were walking with Bella the next you're on the cold floor with a pounding headache and ringing ears.

Your eyes are still being attacked by the brightness. So you squint and look around. There is what remains of a wall scattered all around you. And about 45 feet ahead of you is a giant hole in the wall.

You don’t register Bellas voice until her hand grasps your arm. You look at her, still a bit dazed.

“Mrs. Wayne! Are you alright? Are you injured?” She asks frantically. And you nod slowly, coming to your senses.

“Yes, sorry,” you wince, “god, my head is killing me.”

Bella helps you up and you lean against a nearby wall. You look down at yourself. You are covered in dust and debris, you dress ripped at the bottom, and cuts scatter your skin.

You look at Bella, she’s in about the same state. But she looks more put together. Being married to Bruce, odd and scary situations like this were not out of the norm, but for some reason, with everything that’s been going on in your personal life, you aren’t as mentally prepared for this. Your heart is pounding and your thoughts race.

You look around frantically, you both need to get out of here somehow. But your head is overcome with a rush of thoughts. Only one keeps repeating. Bruce. You are close to the auction room and you have a creeping suspicion that that explosion wasn’t an accident. 

You run as fast as you can along the rubble in your heels. Not thinking about what Bella might think. You almost fall with every step. You can’t think about anything but him. Even though you are pissed beyond what words can express, you're still worried sick. 

And all the people he was with. You realize, as your breathing becomes quicker. How would they have gotten out? They must have been terrified.

When you finally turn the corner into the auction room you see mass destruction. But no people, just a broken building. Everyone must have gotten out. But there must have been multiple explanations that went off.

You look to where your and Bruce’s table had been. Now all the silverware is scattered and glass broken on the floor.

You stand there in shock, and are brought out of your trance by Bella grabbing your arm again.

”What are you doing?! We have to evacuate,” She huffs out. 

“I'm sorry, I thought there were people still in here.” You breathe out slowly trying to catch your breath better. “I had to make sure-“

”Everyones made it out, I just got a text from commissioner Gordon. Everyone is alright, but we need to go.” She hurries out. And you nod in understanding. But still your heart races. You are worried something might have happened to Bruce, and you can imagine he is feeling the same.

You both walk hurriedly down the halls, trying to find an exit. You hate how little direction the building gives you. You and Bella hold on to each other for support as you walk.

“Bella are you alright?” You finally ask as you continue down the hall.

“Yes. Just a few cuts and bruises. Can’t imagine what would have happened if you didn’t stop us from walking further.” She comments.

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to push away the images of what could have been.

“We were lucky.” She says to you and you nod in agreement.

——

When you eventually spot an exit sign you both physically relax a bit. You push the door open for both of you. The door opens to the side of the building, you can see the lights of police cars from around the corner. And you hear the chatter of all the people.

You and Bella stammer over making sure not to trip in the dark light. As you round the corner you are met with police and paramedics at your side immediately. You brush them off, telling them to tend to the Mayor first. Stubbornly they listen.

You are both taken to an ambulance, and sat at the edge of the open truck. You are given a blanket and moment to gather yourself.

You can see the uninjured crowd of people from the auction across the street, their safe. Your eyes scan over the faces for Bruce.

“Mrs. Wayne.” A voice calls and you turn to face Gordon. You give him your attention and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I’m sorry you and Mayor Real got stuck in the blasts.” Your breath catches in your throat at his words. So you were right. There had been multiple. Gordon seems to understand that you wanted to know more, so he doesn’t stop.

“We got an anonymous call in, and immediately called for an evaluation. We had accounted for people not being in the main auction room, but we had to focus on the larger group,” Gordon explains with a sigh.

“Yes, I understand. Thank you for your help.” You thank, with a sincere smile. Gordon seems stressed and you feel bad that he has to deal with the aftermath of the horrible people of this city. You can see the tension in his shoulders and the tiredness in his eyes.

“Commissioner?” His eyes turn up at his name. “Do you know where my husband might be?” You ask with furrowed brows. Gordon smiles softly, and nods.

“Yeah, I’ll go get him. In the meantime, stop refusing the paramedics help.” He scolds as he begins walking off. You huff out a laugh and ultimately you let one of the EMT’s look you over properly.

Looking down at your body, you finally take note of the cuts on your skin, and you can make out the beginnings of bruises.  Your new dress is ripped and dirty, just like your skin. Only now does your brain begin to register the ache of them.

Your skin stings as the EMT looking after you swipes disinfectant over your scrapes. You wince every once and a while and the EMT gives you apologetic looks.

You hear your name and your head shoots up. You see Bruce rushing through a crowd trying to reach you. He looks frantic, eyes wide and filled with worry. You look him over as he makes his way to you. He isn’t injured, you note, and a wait lifts off your shoulders. 

“Y/n!” He exasperates as he gets to your side. The EMT respectfully steps away, giving you both space. He takes hold of your arms gently, but securely. It's like the feeling of your warm body against him gives him comfort. Bruce looks over you tenderly once, twice, and a third to be safe. You're at a perfect height to meet eyes, due to sitting in the back of the ambulance truck.

“Bruce, I'm alright,” You say, trying to slow down your racing heart. You’re happy to know he too, is mostly unharmed.

“I- I thought you might have-” Your heart cracks with his voice. You see his eyes get misty and you swear you’ll cry if you stay looking at him. His face is burned in your mind. He looks so lost, so frightened. You know exactly how he feels.

Bruce wants to hug you more than anything. He wants to kiss you. To know you're really here. But he also isn’t sure you want that, with everything that has happened, that he has done, he's not sure how to react in situations involving you.

You look down to avoid his heart breaking gaze. You want to hold him, but don’t know if it's wrong to begin to forgive him so soon. It’s been nearly two months, yet still your heart stings every time you picture him with Selina. But looking at him now makes your heart ache to forgive.

“I- Im glad you're okay.” Bruce voices, trying to calm his uneven breathing. He hesitates to let go of your arms, but folds and lets his arms drop to his side.

”Bruce I-“ You stutter over your words. You can’t say what you feel. But god do you want to. “I'm glad you're okay too.”

”I- I'm so sorry. I should have gone with you, or-“ 

“Bruce, hey- baby,” You grab hold of his face with your cold hands and his eyes painfully train on you. He looks so small. “You couldn’t have done anything. Stop beating yourself up. It's pissing me off that you think you could have known, because you couldn’t have,”

He keeps his eyes on you, the tears in his eyes sparkling in the light of the police car sirens.

“Just be happy we are both here. Yeah?” You question softly, not letting him move his face from your hold. He nods as much as he can with your hands on his face. He whispers an apology as he looks down and a silent tear rolls down his cheek. Your thumb rubs over his skin and wipes it away.

”Don’t cry,” You whisper to him. 

“I'm sorry tonight was such a scare,” You hum and you continue soothing his skin with your thumbs. Bruce's eyes fall shut and two more tears slip from his lids.

”Me too.” He mumbles into your hands. Bruce turns his head to kiss your palm and for the first time in a while, you smile genuinely at him.

”Let's go home,” He whispers as he lifts his hands over yours to soothe you like you are soothing him. You hum and shut your eyes, leaning your forehead against his.

[lipglossanon]

December Winds

.・。.・゜❅・.・❅.・。.・゜❅・.・❅.・。.・゜

Priest!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader (one shot)

dedicated to you 💀 anon! 💜 I hope you like it!

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, religious connotations, Leon POV, dirty talk, nipple teasing, oral (m & f receiving), rimming (m receiving 🫣), unprotected sex, creampie, kissing, biting, slight blood

kinda beta read by my friend Rex 💜 (only like 80% so any mistakes are my own 😅 )

title from December Winds by Nox Arcana

.・。.・゜❅・.・❅.・。.・゜❅・.・❅.・。.・゜

After Spain, Leon quits. As he tells the president, “I’ve seen enough.” And he meant it. He packs up everything, quietly bids goodbye to the few coworkers he respects and leaves out from Washington DC, praying he’ll never see the place again. 

He searches for a job that’s a little less stressful and a lot more reclusive. He stumbles across an online ad looking for a live-in priest for a small rundown chapel buried in the middle of the Appalachian mountains. A quick search on google maps yields the exact results he’s hoping for—there’s nothing around for miles and miles. 

It’s a cinch to get ordained online and even easier to order the cassock and Roman collar. He already has plenty of black shirts, pants, and even shoes, meaning it’s no sweat at all for him to look the part by the end of the week. 

When he arrives at the small church, there’s a handful of elderly people gathered to give him a short walk through the place. They leave him with plenty of homemade food as well as their phone numbers for the cracked rotary phone in the office in case he needs any help.

The months roll by and slowly bleeds into a couple of years. He always sees the same handful of people at service, sometimes joined by visiting family members, but always a small congregation which is what he prefers. This year hasn’t been any different, that is until a knock rings out in the empty vestibule drawing him up short as he lays out pamphlets for next week's Christmas service. 

Pulling open the heavy oak doors, he’s surprised to see a new face. You stand there shivering in the cold, jacketed arms clutching your middle. 

“H-hi,” you give him a bright smile despite your chattering teeth, “m-my car’s s-s-stuck in the s-snow and—“

Before you can finish, Leon’s opening the door wider, feeling chill bumps race across his arms as the cold winter air gusts past you and into the church. 

“Please, come in,” he steps back so you’ll follow. 

Once inside, he shuts and bolts the door closed. 

“I’m s-so glad someone’s here,” you laugh.

Leon watches you, expression stoic even though internally he’s cataloging every single thing about you with heavy interest. 

He sees your smile tremble a little, your own gaze roving his face. 

“I’m s-sorry to bother you,” you rub your hands together for warmth, “if I c-could just make a call, I’ll b-be out of your hair in n-no time.”

You pull your cellphone out with a frown, “I h-haven’t had service in miles.”

Leon glances down at your hands before looking back up into your face, nervousness radiating from your body language. 

He turns, talking loud enough for you to hear as you follow behind him, “Phone’s in the office. If you can’t reach anyone, I have a number to a local mechanic who can help tow you out.”

“Thank you so much,” your voice sounds relieved, “I hate bothering you, but I really appreciate the help.”

“Of course, it’s what I’m here for.”

He glances back over his shoulder and sees your gaze wandering around the church, taking in the clean if rough hewn pews and stained glass windows. Your eyes cut to his quickly as if you sensed him watching, giving him a shy smile. 

“You have a beautiful church, Mister?”

“Father Kennedy,” he answers, voice a little rougher than intended as you bite your lip in embarrassment.

“Sorry, not really up on my religion,” you laugh a little bashfully, “it’s nice to meet you, Father Kennedy.”

“Likewise,” Leon turns his attention to opening the office door, gesturing for you to enter first. 

His eyes slide down your body, taking in your curves, and shaking away the urge to sink his teeth into your soft neck. You walk over to the old rotary phone, something Leon never updated as it still works just fine. 

“Oh wow, my grandma had one of these!” you grin at him, “it’s so cute that you kept it for your office.”

That dark urge to bite you flares up in his chest again but he shoves it down. He nods at you instead of saying anything and you turn back to the phone. 

Picking up the handset, you frown and click on the dial a few times before setting it back down on the cradle. 

“Seems like your phone’s out,” you bite your lip again, looking agitated. 

Leon shrugs, “Tends to happen this time of year. No telling when it’ll start working again.”

You nod along and blow out a breath, “Okay, we’ll I’ll head back to the car and see if I can—“

“Stay the night.”

That pulls you up short and he wants to laugh at the wide eyed look you give him. 

“Stay here and we can try the phone again. If it doesn’t work, I can walk you to the nearest neighbor and try their phone.”

A soft smile crosses your face and Leon’s hit with an avalanche of impure want purring in his chest. 

“Are you sure it’s no trouble? I mean I’d really appreciate it, but I don’t wanna put you out.”

“No trouble, besides I’m here to help those in need,” a crooked grin slips out, “and you seem to fit that description.”

Another shy bite of your lip has him shifting his feet, willing himself not to do anything to you. 

“Okay then,” you give him the brightest smile yet, “thank you, Father Kennedy. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

A sudden flash of you thanking him on your knees floods his thoughts and he turns away from you, adjusting his half hard cock through his slacks, never more grateful to wear all black than now. 

“Follow me please,” he calls out to you, listening as you quickly walk to catch up. 

He also listens as you introduce yourself and explain as to why you’re out here in the first place, basically boiling it down to visiting some family for the holidays. Nodding along, he guides you into his living quarters which just happens to be a bedroom big enough to house a bed and a desk with a few bookshelves. 

“It’s so cozy,” you gush, running your hand along some of the handmade quilts and crocheted throws the church parishioners have given him over the years. 

“It’s home,” he states simply, moving to the fireplace and stoking the embers into a flame. 

“I’m kinda impressed,” you say as you hang up your jacket near the door, “it’s really rare to see someone so young as a priest in these kinds of communities.”

When he only gives you a deadpan expression, you begin to flounder. 

“Oh I mean, I grew up near here and so I’m just used to like older— you know what, I just feel like I’m digging a hole for myself,” you drag your palms across your eyes, “it’s just different is all. And either way I'm happy to have met you.”

Leon finally lets his lips quirk up into a half smile, amused at your reactions. 

“I understand, it’s just funny to see you try to explain it,” he moves away from the fireplace and grabs a change of clothes, ignoring how your cute pout is making him feel. 

“There’s a bathroom just through that door,” he points to his right, your left, “I’m sure you don’t want to sleep in jeans. There’s also some spare toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet.”

He watches as you get flustered when taking the simple sweats and cotton t-shirt. 

“Oh yeah, thanks,” you duck your head trying to hide your face and disappear behind the bathroom door to change. 

Leon lets out a long breath, trying to ease the tension building up in his chest. The wanting seems to only be getting worse the more time he’s spending with you. It’s like he’s a teenager seeing a skin magazine for the first time. 

Has he really been out here that long without seeing a pretty little thing like you? He’s in the midst of his thoughts while removing his collar and unbuttoning his cassock when he hears a soft squeak. 

He turns to see your eyes shut tight, hands clenching your bundled up clothes to your chest.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to!”

Leon frowns before looking down to see his bare chest offset by his rosary. Heat washes through him to see you peek again and bite down on your lip hard as you turn away. 

“I honestly was on autopilot,” he murmurs, voice rough making him clear his throat, “apologies, I’ll go change in the bathroom while you get settled.”

You gasp as he brushes past you to enter the bathroom. Grabbing onto the sink, Leon stares at his own blown pupils in the mirror. 

Get it together. It’s just a woman. A sweet woman. A pretty woman who probably has an equally pretty little cunt—

Shaking his head to clear it, he finishes dressing for bed. As he brushes his teeth, his eyes wander and notice the toothbrush you used sitting off to the side. A sudden flash of possessiveness surprises him leading him to quickly finish up and make his way back into the bedroom. 

You startle, standing up from sitting at the edge of the bed. 

Hands wringing together, you smile nervously, “Uh I-I wasn’t sure where to sleep? Like I can take the floor—“

He’s shaking his head already interrupting you, “We’ll share the bed. It gets extremely cold at night and it wouldn’t be safe to sleep on the floor.”

You frown over at the bed and look back at him apprehensively, “I can just use the quilts to make a pallet in front of the fire.”

“Please,” he gestures to the bed, “there’s no central heating and it gets deathly cold some nights. Even with the fire, I’d be afraid you would get frostbite.”

“I’ll sleep against the wall,” he softens his voice, “we’ll put pillows between us if you’d like and you can have the edge.”

He watches you bite on that damn lower lip again, wanting it between his own teeth. 

Nodding, your eyes seek out his again, “Okay. And we’ll try again first thing in the morning?”

“Of course,” he agrees easily, “I tend to wake early so I can check and wake you if need be.”

Your features melt from concern to thankful, “That’s very sweet of you, Father.”

A hot pulse of arousal makes his dick twitch but Leon ignores it in favor of offering you a slight smile. 

“Of course. Shall we?” he nods at the bed. 

You climb in after him, settling down under the layers of blankets and quilts. 

“I definitely never would’ve guessed I’d start my vacation by sharing a bed with a priest,” you giggle to yourself. 

“Unusual to say the least,” he dryly replies, sea dark eyes watching as you turn on your side, back facing him. 

You hum softly, shoulders twitching under the shirt and legs swishing under the covers. 

“Good night, Father Kennedy,” your soft voice has him gripping the blanket tightly. 

“Goodnight.”

It’s driving Leon up the wall with how badly he wants to reach out and touch you. Settling a little more, he listens as your breathing evens out and finds his own eyes slipping shut. 

Later in the night, he wakes up to your tossing and turning, feeling you press your ass back against him. He stifles a groan, eyes adjusting to the low light from the fireplace. You keep fidgeting, accidentally rubbing against his chubbed cock until he’s thickening in his sweats. His heavy hand reaches down and grabs you hip, stilling your movement. 

“Sorry,” your sleepily mumble, “‘m trying to get comfy.”

He dips his head down to ghost his lips across the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver, “Doesn’t seem that way to me.”

He rocks forward, letting his bulge rub against your ass; you whine and press back against him harder. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I promise I didn’t mean to.”

“Sorry, huh?” he dips his tongue into your ear making you whimper, “are you asking for forgiveness?”

His hand grasps your hip and pulls you into a slow rhythm of grinding back against his stiff cock. 

“Oh,” you mewl as he kisses the shell of your ear, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not how you ask,” he chuckles, kissing down your neck, “you know better than that.”

You moan as he bites down on the soft skin that’s been tempting him all this time. 

“Forgive me, Father Kennedy,” you break the rhythm and grind back against him harder, “I’m so sorry I’m being so bad. God, can’t believe I’m dry humping a priest.”

A smack lands on your ass making you jump. 

“We don’t take the Lord's name in vain either,” his low voice slips into your ear, “for that, you get those cute little nipples pinched.”

As you moan, he rolls you over onto your back, slipping an arm around your shoulders so both of his hands can knead and grope at your breasts. 

“Pull your shirt up,” he murmurs in your ear, “be a good girl for me.”

You shove the t-shirt up to pool around your neck, hands settling back down to twist in the sheets. His fingers quickly move to circle and pinch your hard nipples. 

“Oh, ohhh,” your eyes squeeze shut as he teases and rubs your hard buds, “Father, please.”

He bites your neck again making you writhe and press your breasts up into his hands. 

“Please,” you whimper, eyes glimmering at him in the firelight, bottom lip swollen from your own teeth. 

“Who knew such a tempting sinful girl would end up in my church much less my own bed,” he rumbles in your ear, grinding against your hip as he teases your nipples. 

“Father Kennedy,” you swipe a soft, pink tongue against your lips, making his teeth ache, “shouldn’t we stop?”

“Do you want to stop?” he kisses your jaw, fingers tweaking your nipples sharply making you moan high in your throat. 

“No, no, please, it’s so—you’re so hot,” you whine, hips squirming for friction under the blankets, “please, Father, want you so bad.”

“It’s a sin to tempt a priest,” he trails his lips across your neck to suck another mark into your skin, “you’ll have to repent.”

“H-how?” your eyes flutter, trying valiantly to stay open. 

He pulls away with a smirk, “You’ll have to use your body in service to the Lord.”

A keening whimper escapes your lips, hands shakily reaching up to run through his sandy blonde hair. 

“I-I’ll do anything,” you scratch your nails along his scalp making him groan, “just show me how I need to repent, Father Kennedy.”

He pulls his arm out from under you so he can climb on top of you, settling in between your thighs. Your hands pull his hair as he sucks a hard nipple into his hot mouth. He ruts against the mattress as he suckles each hard bud, nipping at the soft skin of your breasts and leaving marks everywhere. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve had a pair of tits in my face,” his voice is low, smoky, and he can feel your legs try to press together only stopped by his bulky body.

He takes his time, kissing the areola before running his tongue over your nipple, letting his teeth softly bite down before sucking it further into his mouth. Your hips buck up against his chest as he lays on top of you. He can feel how wet you’ve gotten already, the soft press of your panties against his skin leaving behind a sticky mess. 

He pulls back to look up into your dazed eyes, ��Let me taste that wet pussy.”

You moan, hands tensing in his hair, “Y-you want to?”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t,” he grins, “besides I wanna clean up that messy cunt with my tongue before you get slick all over my sheets.”

He scoots down, dragging his lips across your tummy and dropping kisses as he goes. 

“We’ll keep the blankets pulled up so you don’t get cold,” he murmurs as he bites your hip bone before soothing it with his tongue. 

You give him a shaky nod, “Okay, Father.”

He bucks his hips at that, feeling his cock leak in his sweats. He feels as you tug the blankets up and when he looks back up he can barely see your face making this seem so illicit and dirty it’s getting him even harder. 

He quickly eases your panties down your legs and tosses them on the outside of the blankets before settling between your legs again. Leon lets his instructive thoughts win and bites bruise after bruise into the dough of your thighs, sucking and worrying the skin until you're squirming against his mouth.  

He bites his way up to the crease of your thigh then lets his tongue trail across your skin until he’s lapping at your swollen clit. He hears as you moan loudly, thighs falling open wider as he hungrily licks into your cunt. 

“You taste like sin,” he groans as he pulls back to spread your pussy open, “so fucking good.”

Pressing his face tightly against your slick coated lips, he flutters his tongue into your soaked hole and grinds his nose against your bundle of nerves. He slips his tongue in and out of your hole before licking back up to your throbbing clit, softly kissing the sensitive bud again and again until sucking it gently into his mouth. 

Sweat beads around his hairline as it grows warmer underneath the layers of covers. Leon mouths at your sloppy cunt until you’re moaning loudly as slick coats his chin and lower jaw. Once your thighs start to tremble, he pulls away and crawls back up your body. The cooler air of the room kissing his sweaty skin as your hands scrabble against his shoulders. 

“‘M so close,” you whimper as you tug him into a messy kiss, “wanna cum, please Father.” 

He clicks his tongue, “You have to work hard for forgiveness,” he presses his thumb down against your chin making your lips part. 

“Maybe we should try filling that mouth up first,” he murmurs, watching as your eyes droop. 

You nod, running your hands down his broad chest, “Please, wanna see you, too.”

Surprise crosses his features, but he schools it into a crooked smile, “Aren’t you sweet? Take your shirt off for me while I get undressed.”

In no time, he’s kneeling between your parted thighs, completely nude save for the rosary around his neck. When he goes to slip it off, your hand snaps around his wrist.

He watches as the embarrassment wars with arousal as you ask him to keep wearing it. His dick throbs and kicks against his thigh and your eyes go lidded as they take in his thick cock.

“Allow me to show you how sorry I am, Father,” you scratch your nails across his chest all the way down his toned stomach to a happy trail that leads to the thatch of hair above his cock. 

Goosebumps travel across his skin when you rub across his hips bones, breath ghosting across the drippy head of his dick. 

Your tongue lathes over the slit, circling his tip and teasing under his foreskin before you pull back. 

That shy look steals over your face, “Can you sit here?”

You pat the gap in the pillows in front of the headboard. Leon’s lips quirk in amusement and shifts to sit with his back to the headboard and legs splayed out across the bed. You move to kneel in between his thighs, eyes greedily taking in his stiff cock. 

He watches as you lean forward, one hand coming up to grip the base of his cock as the other rests on his thigh, and slowly sucks the head of his dick into your mouth. Your eyes shutter with a moan as you take more and more of his cock into your mouth until you choke. 

Pulling off with a gasp, your watery eyes blink open staying on his as you sink back down on his cock. His abdomen tenses and he grabs the back of your neck with his broad palm to guide your head. 

“No need to rush,” his eyes track your tongue as you lick and kiss all along his dripping slit.

“You taste so good,” you moan as you lick your way down to his balls. 

Leon keeps his gaze on you as your wet mouth sucks his balls into your mouth, whining when you can’t fit both at the same time. You smear your face against the spit slick skin of his squishy sac as you nuzzle and suck his taint.  

“Oh, good girl,” he parts his legs wider so your mouth can reach him easier. 

Your glazed eyes slide shut when you slip your tongue down further to ghost across his asshole. Tongue drifting lazily against it, Leon grunts when you finally lick into him. 

“Such an eager girl,” he rasps as you softly eat him out, tongue eagerly rimming his hole. 

You sloppily makeout with his hole as his cock weeps precum everywhere; his own heavy hands keep your face buried between his cheeks. 

When you finally pull back, your chin’s coated with spit. 

“Suck my cock a little more and I’ll fill up that needy cunt,” he pulls your swollen mouth to the weeping head. 

Whining, you easily follow along and let his thick cock sink back into your mouth. He luxuriates in the feeling, the feeling of your hot hungry mouth slurping loudly around his dick. You moan and whine around him, rubbing your thighs together for friction. He smirks to see you acting so needy, so obedient in servicing him. 

“Up,” he murmurs, grabbing your neck and pulling you off of his cock.

Your hands reach out to dig into his pecs, framing the rosary between your hands as you straddle his lap, his cock snugly pressing against your pussy. 

“Oh, Father, please,” you grind down on his wet cock, dragging slick along his throbbing length until your clit’s bumping his tip. 

“Poor little lamb,” his hands grab your hips, letting you rock against him. 

With the grip he has on your hips, he easily manhandles you onto your back, kneeling between your spread legs, cock leaking all over your wet cunt.  

“Oh god,” you mewl, scratching at his chest. 

He spanks your clit with his fat cock. 

“What did I say about taking the Lord’s name in vain?”

Your pupils swallow any color left in your eyes, “‘m sorry, daddy. I don’t mean to be bad.”

“Fuck,” he growls, slapping your cunt with his cock over and over to make your hips jump, “are you misbehaving on purpose?”

Head shaking no, you wrap your legs around his waist, “No, I didn’t mean— it just slipped out. I‘m sorry, Father Kennedy.”

He nudges the tip of his cock into your hole, making you keen and rock down. The pressure around just the head makes him want to be rougher, meaner with you.

He grins smugly down at you, “You just can’t help it, can you? The wetter this pussy gets the dumber you are, right? What a slut.”

You whine, the heels of your bare feet digging into the back of his legs, goading him to slide deeper into your cunt. 

“Yes, I’m your slut, Father,” your hands tug on his rosary making him groan and fuck his dick into your spasming cunt. 

His heavy weight drops over your body, earning another low whine followed by your nails scoring a hot trail across his shoulders. He shudders, enjoying that small bite of pain as your eyes roll back in your head, pussy sucking him in even deeper somehow. 

“Pretty cunt just needed me buried balls deep in her, huh?” he groans as he pulls out just to sink back into your pussy, “so tight.”

“W-wait,” your voice goes high with sudden realization, “I thought p-priests were banned f-from having sex,” you gasp out, stuttering through Leon’s thrusts. 

“Baby,” he coos condescendingly, “you don’t think I was some silly little virgin, did you?”

He boxes you in even more, dropping down on his forearms that rest on each side of your head. 

“But I gotta say, you’ve got the best pussy I’ve ever fucked,” he kisses your mouth, “so wet,” he drops another kiss to your lips, “and tight,” and another kiss ending with a rough bite of your bottom lip, “this kitty’s been purring for my dick all night.”

Your head thrashes against the pillow at his words, “Yes, yes, fuck,” tears drip from your lash line, “it’s so good, Father Kennedy.”

Molten heat rushes through his veins at your wanton face paired with that sweet voice. His teeth sink into that plush bottom lip, suckling on it until you tug your head back with a soft cry. It’s swollen and split from his teeth, a small bead of blood welling up only for him to lick it away with a groan.  

He licks into your mouth, mixing spit and blood until he’s sucking your tongue past his own greedy lips. His cock slowly ruts in and out of your clenching hole as he kisses you breathless. Your fingers tangle in his rosary, tugging him back to your mouth every time he goes to pull away. 

Leon lets himself go; stops trying to control himself and settles into fucking into your warm, wet cunt with harsh skin slapping thrusts. He bites anywhere his mouth can reach, leaving dark bruises or even outright bloody teeth marks behind. His dark eyes keep track of your pleasure as well; if you wince, he makes sure to lathe his tongue across a bite instead of sinking his teeth into you again or fucks his cock shallowly into your pussy instead of knocking against your cervix how he likes. 

You reward him with pretty little cries and pleads against his lips; your doughy thighs clasped tightly around his waist as you beg for him to ruin your cunt. He wrings orgasm after orgasm until your body’s spent and you're babbling incoherently. 

He keeps you underneath him all night, trading blood tinged kisses as his cock stuffs your squelching pussy. Sunlight begins to stream through the snow tinted windows when he finally manhandles your body to straddle over him once again. 

Leon feels like this must truly be what heaven is like. You, seated in his lap as he buries his cock to the hilt in your hot little cunt watching as you grind down against him. Fat dimples between his fingers as he grips your ass tightly, helping you keep rhythm as he bounces you up and down his dick. 

“Oh Father Kennedy,” you whimper, “I can’t, I can’t—“

“Yes, you can,” he murmurs, easing your harsh grind into a slow back and forth, “you can give me one more so I can feel that pussy squeeze me so I can put a nice thick load in her.”

His fingers slowly circle and pinch your pudgy clit, letting you rock against him a little faster. 

“Oh, I’m-I’m g’nna,” you hiccup a sob, tears dripping from your eyes as he works your exhausted body towards another orgasm. 

“Call me, Leon,” he smiles at you, the first genuine one he’s actually offered to anyone in quite a long time, “now cum for me, squeeze me nice and tight.”

“Leon, Leon, I-I’m cumming,” you gasp out, a mewling cry slipping past your swollen lips as your pussy milks Leon’s cock for the upteenth time since this all started. 

“Good girl, so good for me,” he groans, letting your climax coax his own from him, grabbing your hips to hold you snug to him. 

He growls up at you, cock jumping inside your spasming pussy as rope after rope of sticky cum spurts inside your fluttering walls. 

 “Leon, oh, it’s so warm,” you whimper, one hand settling on your belly and the other resting on Leon’s heaving chest. 

“Fuck,” he yanks you down into a messy, spit filled kiss.

You whine and he softens it, titling his mouth up to press softer kisses to your lips until pulling away. Easing down next to him, you snuggle into his side, burying your face in his neck. 

“So am I forgiven now?” you tease, fingers tracing over the beads of his rosary. 

“Might need to spend some time with me in the confessional,” he presses a kiss to your hair, “just to make sure it takes.” 

[attapullman]

Stupid White Car | Neighbor!Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: Pretty trees and cozy fire pit nights are all you expected when Robert mentioned wanting to landscape his backyard. And then the architect in the slutty white Benz shows up.

Word Count: 810

Warnings: none except sorry if your name is Alyssa 😬

A Note From Mo: The world's biggest shoutout to my favourite Bradshaw Baddie @roosterforme for coming up with this delicious idea and beta-ing this sake-written, jealousy-fueled oneshot for the neighbor!Bob anthology. Hope this satisfies everyone's appetite until Part III graces your screens.

The project was supposed to be done a week ago. No more white Mercedes in his driveway, no more lemonade on the back patio, no more mulch deliveries outside business hours. No more her.

When Robert announced he was finally landscaping his boring grass lawn while on leave, you had encouraged him. Dreams of sitting out there with him by a fire pit under some string lights danced before your eyes. But now you’re wishing he had kept his patchy lawn that turned into a mud pit at the slightest chance of rain.

Then she showed up.

You were working in your home office, deep into a spreadsheet, when you heard a female voice in the yard next door. Face pressed into the window, turning just so, a tiny postage stamp of his yard visible from your vantage point. Your sweet boyfriend walking around his desolate lawn, pointing out problems, while the most stunning woman followed him, smiling and nodding and jotting down notes. 

It should be illegal for him to look so good in faded jeans with grass stains. Or for her to pull off work boots so well. 

You missed your three o’clock meeting observing them from your hideout, having moved to the laundry room where you could see his yard better. Watched them sit at the little finicky table he needed to replace and go over pages in her catalog, pointing out the design features he liked and what she recommended. 

You didn’t know words like drip irrigation and concept plan could sound so…intimate.

Now it’s been weeks, and that annoying little car is always in his driveway. When she’s not “supervising” the subcontractor, she’s delivering supplies or needing to go over the plans one last time. The 15th has come and gone, and yet she’s still here. And you’re not sure whether it’s your imagination or not that her blouses suddenly have one less button done.

It’s a beautiful spring day outside, and you wish you were out there instead of holed up trying to make sense of this budget. The window is open to allow a soft breeze, tickling the skin not covered by your thin tshirt. An hour ago you shot Robert a text asking if he wanted to have dinner out tonight, try out that new bistro with the cute patio and enjoy the sunshine and some tiramisu. 

Maybe add in an evening walk along the beach? Ending with a night cap and him wrapped in your overstuffed comforter, enjoying his last night of leave blissfully unaware of the rest of the world.

Checking your quiet phone again, you settle down to your computer. And then you hear a perfect twinkle of a laugh. 

You abandon your computer and race down to the laundry, face pressed against the glass as emerald green jealousy licks along your skin.

No wonder you haven’t heard from Robert, his full attention is on his landscape architect as she has him choose between gravels for the stepping stones they’re finally installing. He’s brought out lemonade. Innocent blue eyes trained on her and laughing good-naturedly as she makes a joke about mortar. A joke a little too sultry for your taste.

You didn’t even hear her car pull in. When you talked to him last night he acted like all decisions had been made, one more full day of work and his backyard would be summer ready. It’s not a surprise she has weaseled herself into another visit.

Their hands accidentally brush as they flip between sample pages. Your entire being is rigid, the world in front of you an ominous red. How dare she touch what’s yours!

Before reasoning can interfere, you’re slipping on sandals and racing to the back fence. Pupils wild, heart racing, the green-eyed monster hot on your heels. 

The latch on his fence, newly installed, nearly pulverized in your jealousy-fueled mission. The gate swings open and there they sit, too close for your liking, her manicured fingers gliding along his forearm as she explains costs. 

Robert stands from his chair, shock and surprise written all over his face. He’s never seen this look in your eyes, this possession written all over your features. The woman raises her eyebrows to you, mildly shocked, mildly irritated you’ve interrupted her meeting with her favorite client.

“Alyssa, this is my, uh, neighbor next door…” he trails off awkwardly, realizing he’s never had to introduce you since that fateful night in your kitchen.

You see her smirk. Her revealing blouse. Her eyes that pity you. And from the corner of your eye, you see that stupid white Mercedes.

Rounding the rickety table, Robert’s eyes are filled with nothing but affection. A gentle reminder that she’s had his time, but you have his heart.

Your shoulders relax, returning her smug smile as you complete his sentence. “Neighbor…and girlfriend.”

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join the taglist for any fic

[opossumprints]

You're Weird--I'm Weirder pt. 3

part 1, part 2, part 3

Robin looks around disturbed, she hates places like this and is very ready to voice her displeasure.

“Steve, what are we doing here?” Robin groans. Steve hums in confusion, looking around before looking back to Robin and arching his brow as if to say 'you know, why are you asking me?'. It should be obvious Steve drove her here, he told her where they were going and it should be pretty obvious from just that alone. 

“I need new sleep pants? You agreed to be my cover for things like this, remember?” he responds. It's true, they have an arrangement. It comes down to the simple fact that–as robin is quick to point out–what Steve politely calls “sleep pants” are definitely not that. 

In reality Steve sleeps in lingerie. 

The soft silks, satins, and laces of babydoll shorts are very appealing to him. It started innocently, really it did. Steve runs hot when he sleeps and he found that silk pj bottoms were the most comfortable. It also just so happens that lingerie was easier to come by…  and he liked it. 

Robin became his go to cover when they got close, claiming he was buying a gift for her so he could shop in peace. They had no secrets between them and it was less of a hassle than carefully timing a catalog order so his parents wouldn’t find out. She didn't always come with but for some reason the clerks and shop attendants were less likely to try to get him to buy bras if she was around (not that Steve didn’t own some). 

Unfortunately Robin wasn’t pleased with his answer.

“Steve, you just bought some!” she snarked “ what happened to those valentines ones you were so happy about?” Robin’s eyes are practically looking at the inside of her brain, she was rolling them so hard. Rude. 

She waltzes around a particular raunchy display to snoop at what Steve was looking at. Steve was vaguely aware that his best friend was still talking but he really started paying attention when she froze mid sentence. 

“Oh” she said awkwardly “that kind”  Steve realizes she thought they were there for the more subtle boxers that he also bought and suddenly he’s blushing head to toe. After a pause Robin pokes him in the shoulder to get his attention and speaks up again. 

“That still doesn't answer my questions Stevo” she prods “last time I slept over you said you were good?” 

Steve takes a deep sigh, the shoulders drooping kinda deep sigh, before turning to meet her eyes. 

“I need to replace my favorite pair.” he answers (only somewhat glumly). He looks down at the pair of shorts he has in his hands. They’re the wrong shade of purple, a bit too short, and don't have any lace, but it's the closest he can find. The shop doesn't have the same pair that he wants to replace apparently. 

He knows the disappointment is radiating off him as he stares down at the best replacement he can find. That's got a word for it in economics he thinks, Robin mentioned something about how she learned about it in her class on the way here. 

“Hey, it’s like that thing you were talking about!” he chirps while bumping Robin with his hip,”the next best alternative thing?” He knows the joking is to deflect from his dismay but he’s hoping Robin hasn't picked up on that yet. 

“Opportunity cost? Why are you–wait hold on” Robin disappears from his side for a second and returns holding the shorts he’s looking for. He’s so happy he could cry and tells her as much. Even though Robin always brushes him off when he thanks her, he's really lucky to have a platonic soulmate like her who understands he likes things a particular way and that if things aren't that way he’ll get hives. 

“Why do you need to replace these anyways?” she hands them over “you love these..also you bitched for an hour when you pulled a thread from your favorite sweater so I feel like I should have heard about this already.” Steve wanders over to the counter while Robin continues musing. He only gets her to shut up when he grumbles that he’ll tell her in the car als long as she shuts her mouth while he tries to pay. 

Steve was hoping that Robin would continue her trend of having a brain like a goldfish and he was done with it but he was poked, prodded, and nagged all the way to his house. When they finally got inside and were safely squirreled away in Steve’s room, he asked if Robin remembered when his washing machine bit the dust. 

“In February?” She tilted her head like a dog “but i thought that was fixed?” 

Steve scrunched his face and made a noise between a hum and a ‘yeah” 

“It was fixed…But it was still down for a week so I went to Sudsy’s.”

 Steve pauses to take a breath while Robin questions if he really does mean he went to a crappy laundromat on the other side of town instead of going to her house (which yes, he did, her parents already think they are dating having his dirty gym shorts mixed with her bras would not help). 

Steve turned to look her directly in the face (as close that the two of them could get to eye contact) 

“Robs I met someone” 

It's quiet. 

It's quiet for a long time. 

“You met someone?” she whispers reverently before her face twists into doubt “ at the laundromat?” 

He nods, heart eyed, and oh boy is he gone on whoever he met. 

“We bumped into each other” he sighs dreamily” was my fault really–clothes went everywhere” 

“Oh man really?” she responds “and they're interested? You’re sure?”  Robin knows where this goes–seen it happen way too many times before–she wont get her hopes up for her platonic soulmate until she knows it’s a sure thing. 

“Yeah, I know it,” Steve says with a dopey grin “I know ‘cus he stole my underwear.” 

.

.

.

.

.

“Steve” 

Steve huffs. “And before you say anything!” he points an accusatory finger “ I know it was on purpose because he never gave any back! And it’s not like we could have openly flirted ‘n a laundromat in Hawkins, Indiana, that's how people get killed, Robbs!” 

Yeah okay, he knows he sounds pretty petulant right now but it's the truth! It’s not like robin can judge , she once tried to flirt with a girl by cracking a joke about a tuba. A tuba! 

“Yeah.. I guess you have a point”. Wait “any? Any as in plural, as in, More Than One!” 

Steve–the poor boy–Isn't sure why she is shouting.

“I also might have snuck him some in his laundry”

.

.

.

.

.“Steve!” 

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

Yay! its done! (andalsonotedited) but it's DONE!

Part 3 wont be a while but I think having a preview worked out well so I'll be doing that again =)

Some people asked to be tagged and I'm willing to do that! I just want to politely ask for a couple rules/boundaries. I will tag you if you ask in the reply's (because that's easiest for me to see) and I'll do this for this fic only (for now), but I won't tag more than a handful of people for now because I'm new to this and I really don't want to mess anything up ʕ•́ ᴥ •̀ʔ

@slv-333 @jaytriesstrangerthings

[justmystyles]

request for some angst where y/n & harry have a disagreement over something small but it turns into something big because of their tempers and there’s silent treatment and angst and jealousy but there’s a good resolution where they come back together at the end even if it’s hard they love each other and they won’t let this be something that breaks them

Misplaced Emotions

read my other work here

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: a couple of curse words, but other than that, it's tame.

summary: as Harry prepares to jump back into the spotlight, he has a hard time re-adjusting to public life, and it manifests in the wrong way.

a/n: this was such a great ask, thank you so much for sending it to me! i don't get super angsty often (life has enough angst, let's have fun here), but i really got into this, and i hope i gave you what you were looking for! 🖤

tags: @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @deannaard @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @lexiecamposv @mrs-anna-styles211994 @n0vaj3an @potterheadandsherlocked @rach2699 @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

“Babe, the car’s here!” You call from down the hallway as you signal to the driver that it will just be a minute. 

Harry comes out of the bedroom, a duffle bag on one shoulder and a suitcase in the other hand. “I’m going to miss you so much, angel.” He drops his bags and wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck. 

“I know, but I’ll fly out to see you in a couple of weeks.” You assure him. Besides, you’ll be so busy that you won’t even notice I’m not around.” 

“I always notice,” he murmurs against your skin. 

You give him a quick squeeze before pulling out of his embrace. “Do you have everything?” 

“I think so,” he looks over to his bags, as if he can see through them and catalog their contents. “Oh actually, do you have that one Pleasing jumper I lent you last time? I was hoping to bring it with me.” 

You look down at your feet, backtracking in your mind to where it may be. “Not here,” you confess apologetically. “It’s at my office.” 

“Seriously, Y/N?” Harry groans. 

“I’m sorry,” your voice lowers, surprised by his harsh tone. “I didn’t know you were going to need it back right this second.” 

“But I’m here, it’s mine. Wouldn’t it make sense that it should be here at the same time I am?” 

“Harry, I’m sorry. It was an accident, I just forgot.” Your tone starts to match his, annoyed that he’s making such a big deal about it. “You’re the owner of the fucking company, I’m sure if you wanted to a brand new one could be waiting for you in your hotel.”

“I don’t want a brand new one,” he complains. “That one is worn perfectly. It’s the most comfortable one I have.” 

“Jeeze, I’m sorry.” You cross your arms over your chest. “It was an honest mistake.” Harry had never spoken to you like this before, you were shocked and pretty hurt that he could get so upset about something so simple. 

He was about to retort, but his driver honked the horn, reminding him that they needed to be on their way. Harry let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine, whatever. Just send it to me when you have it.” He leaned down, kissing you on the cheek. “If you can remember to.” He grabs his bags and walks out the door before you have a chance to respond. 

You stand in the doorway with your arms folded, watching as the car pulls out of the driveway. You can see Harry in the backseat, face buried in his phone. He didn’t even look up to wave goodbye. 

He also didn’t tell you he loved you. 

Because of a sweatshirt. 

Once his car is out of sight, you close the door and your tears immediately begin to fall. The man who just walked out of your house was not the man that had arrived there. You had never met that man before, and you weren’t particularly fond of him. 

As his car rolled through the streets, Harry was engrossed in nonstop emails and texts. Wardrobe approvals, set designs, schedules for the upcoming rehearsals and events. After an extended break, where he spent his time writing, recording, and relaxing he was about to jump right back into his hectic schedule of tour preparations, press events, talk shows, you name it. The machine was picking up again. And while he was excited to get back out on the road, and to see his fans again, he was going to miss his simpler life. His life with you. 

The two of you had practically become inseparable over the last couple of months. He would come spend a few weeks with you, and then you would travel together wherever he was going. It was the most consecutive time you had spent together in your relationship. You had met while he was in the middle of his last tour, so at most, you’d get a week or two here and there. He was dreading going back to that. 

But he shouldn’t have taken it out on you, and deep down he knew that. He was just really hoping to have that shirt with him. You had been wearing it for months, he knew it would smell like you, a small comfort as he adjusted to life without you by his side. The stress of all the work he had ahead of him, on top of the knot in his stomach over leaving you had come out as frustration at you, the person that meant the most to him.

Several hours later, you lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Still reeling about how you left things with Harry, that was now compounded by the fact that you hadn’t heard from him. Anytime he arrives at a destination, he always makes sure to at least send you a text so that you know he got there safely. You picked up your phone and opened your text messages, just in case you had maybe missed the notification. You hadn’t. 

He was clearly still upset with you, but that was no excuse to worry you like this. He could have at least had a little bit of courtesy. Before you could talk yourself out of it, your fingers began typing a message. 

Haven’t heard from you. Did you get there okay? 

You kept your eyes locked on the screen for what felt like forever. And then you saw the little bubble, signifying that he was typing. 

Yeah, got in a bit ago.

You stared at the screen with a furrowed brow. You know tone gets lost when communication through text, but you couldn’t help but feel like he was still upset. You still weren’t sure why he was so upset over something so little, but you wanted to try to fix it. You and Harry barely ever fought, and when you did it was usually resolved before you had to be apart. 

Are we good? You usually let me know when you’ve landed. 

You watch the screen again. This time, the little bubble pops up and then disappears a couple of times before you receive your response. 

Sorry, I guess I forgot. 

It was an honest mistake. 

You feel the prick of tears in your eyes as you read his messages. He’s clearly repeating your apology from earlier in the day, but in a way that was almost mocking you. You switch your phone to silent and drop it on the nightstand as the tears fall freely. You cry yourself into the least peaceful sleep of your life. 

Harry sends back to back messages, throwing your own words back in your face, hoping you can see how much they don’t actually help when the person you are telling them to is upset. He had been working non-stop since he had left your house that morning, he had been so busy that he hadn’t had a chance to truly process what had happened let alone really consider his actions or how you were feeling. 

There was a knock on his door, again pulling him away from his thoughts of you. “H, I’ve got that call set up. You ready?” 

“Yeah, coming.” He locked his phone, putting it in his pocket and getting back to work. 

A few days had passed, you and Harry hadn’t really talked about the fight, it was definitely not resolved. Each of you was waiting for the other to apologize. Your phone calls were few and far between, mostly communicating through text. 

One evening, after a long day of meetings and rehearsals, Harry walked into his hotel room to find a box on the bed. He looked at the return address and smiled. This was the olive branch he had been hoping for. He rushed to open the package, smiling wide when he saw the sweatshirt that had started the fight. He pulled it out of the box and inhaled deeply. 

It did smell like you. It smelt like home. 

That one sniff was all it took to snap Harry out of his funk. Everything suddenly made sense, he realized how awful he had been to you. He was so worried about getting the comfort that he needed that he didn’t think about the fact that you were also going to have to live your life without him. 

He returned to the box in search of his note. Every time you sent him something while he was on the road, you’d always include a note. It would be sweet, funny, suggestive, perfectly you. He dug through the box, nothing. He flipped it upside down, ripped it apart just in case it got lodged between the flaps in transit. 

You hadn’t written him a note. 

He hadn’t realized the gravity of the situation until this very moment. In a single moment, without thinking, he jeopardized your relationship, your future. He had vowed to you since the beginning that he would protect your heart. Instead, he shattered it. 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, immediately dialing your number. He needed to hear your voice, to tell you how sorry he was, how much he loved you. The first ring didn’t even finish before your voicemail had picked up. His stomach dropped, he knew you had rejected his call. 

He opened up the messaging app, quickly typing out a message to you.

Got your care package, thank you. 😘

He sat on the bed, clutching his sweatshirt close with one hand while the other held his phone in front of him, waiting for your reply. 

NP

He stared at the screen, speechless. You hadn’t even spelled out the words. You never abbreviated your text messages. His heart and mind were racing, he’d never known you to be so short with him. He tried to call once more, but again, he was sent straight to voicemail. 

Hey, can you answer? I need to talk to you.

Your next response came almost immediately. 

Can’t, busy.

Harry let out a deep sigh, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his eyelids. Before he could decide on his next words, his phone pinged again. 

I’m not going to be able to come out next week. 

Sorry. 

His heart seemed to stop the second his eyes landed on those words. You were canceling your visit. You always told Harry that nothing could keep you from him, but it looked like you had finally found something, and it was him. 

The day after you canceled your visit with Harry was one of the longest days of your life. You hadn’t slept the night before, too busy crying and worrying about where things stood with Harry. You went to work, but nothing you did could actually be classified at work. You mostly just stared at your computer screen, and took intermittent trips to the bathroom to cry in peace. Harry hadn’t responded to you after you told him you weren’t coming. You couldn’t decide if you were glad, or if it made you more upset. 

As you turned onto your street, you sighed in relief. You had survived the day, and now you were just going to go home, put on your pajamas and get straight into bed. You pulled into your driveway, brow furrowing in confusion when you saw someone sitting on your porch bench. The figure stood as you placed your car in park, and you instantly knew who it was. 

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself. You grabbed your purse and got out of your car, walking straight to your door without looking at him. You weren’t sure you were in the right headspace for this confrontation.  

“Y/N?” His voice was soft, he sounded defeated as you walked past him, unlocking your door. 

“What are you doing here, Harry?” You asked, holding the door for him as you walked into the house. 

He followed you inside, watching as you slid off your shoes and hung your bag up. “You… uh, you canceled your visit.” 

You stood with your back to him, not waiting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you get emotional. “It didn’t seem worth it.” You shrugged. “I’m not going to take time off from work and fly across the country just to have you give me one word answers with some kind of attitude.” 

He heard you sniffle, and he moved on instinct, spinning you to face him. His eyes went wide when he saw your tears falling freely. “Oh princess,” he extended his arms out, but before he could pull you into him, you stepped away. “Y/N please, just talk to me. I’m so sorry baby.” 

“Harry, you were really mean to me about a sweatshirt.” You took a shuttered breath, wiping your tears away before continuing. “And then you didn’t text me when you landed, I reached out to try to fix it, but you were snarky and shitty to me. I just didn’t understand wha…” The lack of sleep, the constant worry and sadness all caught up to you in that moment and a loud sob escaped you as you dropped your head into your hands. 

“Y/N…” Harry stepped up, pulling you against his chest and holding you close. “Shhh… I’m sorry angel, I am so so sorry. You didn’t do anything.” 

“I didn’t forget it on purpose, I didn’t know you were going to want it, I just liked having it because you were gone and it made me feel close to you.” Your breath was hitching and your voice was muffled against his chest. 

“I know, I know. That’s why I wanted it too.” He explained as he walked you over to the couch and sat down with you. You pulled back, looking at him curiously. “You’d had it so long that I knew it would smell like you. We had just spent all of this amazing time together, and I knew I would miss you so much, I just wanted something to remind me of you.” 

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” You asked, your breathing slowly returning to normal. 

“I don’t know. I was just so stressed about everything picking back up, and the car was there ready to take me away from you.” He took your hand in his, kissing it softly. “I had gotten so used to having you with me every day, I hated that I had to be apart from you again.” He lifted his hand to your cheek, wiping your tears. “I was being selfish. Thinking about how busy I was, and how much I was going to miss you that I didn’t even think about how you might be feeling.” 

You nodded silently as you looked up, really taking him in for the first time. His eyes were red rimmed too, he was looking at you with love and a hint of fear, worried that he may have done irreparable damage. “Long distance is hard.”  

“Really hard,” he agreed. “But it’s worth it. You’re worth it. I love you so much baby, I’m so sorry.” 

“I love you too,” you reply. He let out a breath at your words. You hadn’t said those words to him since before he left, he missed hearing them terribly. “And I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, my love. This was all on me, I was being petty and childish.” He cupped your face in his hands, pulling your lips to his in a deep, passionate kiss. 

As soon as you separated for air, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled yourself against his chest. The two of you sat in silence like that for a few moments, your emotions leveling out, both realizing that you were going to be okay. Being apart was hard, but your love was strong enough to get you through it. 

[hikarry]

Crowley probably didn't keep any sort of direct contact with Warlock or the Dowling's after working as a tutor in the house, but I'm sure he still keeps an eye on Warlock from afar just to make sure he is doing alright because he is a sentimental lil snake that can't let go

Aziraphale didn't have that problem because he's not that great with kids anyway and he was just a gardener for most of the time. But Crowley was also the nanny. He raised the boy ever since he was a small kid and most definitely spent more time with him during Warlock's first 11 years than anyone else. Of course the softie would get attached

In the beginning, it had just been a job for the both of them. Another task to try and prevent the Apocalypse and save their way of living, but the line between pretending and being blurred quite fast. Pretending was easy. Hell, he's a demon. Pretending is part of the job to get temptations done. He is a pro with 6000 years of experience under his belt. But suddenly, he started caring. He started smiling when the tiny hands reached out to him. He relaxed when he swayed Warlock on his arms and sang him lullabies until the wee child fell asleep. He laughed when he carefully sat on the floor with his skirts and played with plastic dinosaurs to entertain the boy. He felt warm inside when the small child insisted on sitting on his lap when they were watching some stupid brain rotting cartoons on the telly. He felt slightly more alive when the kid held his hand and pulled him around enthusiastically on their trips to the observatory and Crowley had the chance to share random facts about the stars and the galaxy in general to two very interested ears. Yes, it was about saving the planet and swaying the child between being good and evil, but that wasn't just it, was it? Not when Warlock fell ill and Crowley stayed up all night to tend to him or when the kid had nightmares and he yelled for the nanny and not for his mother.

Crowley knew how to calm him down and how to make him laugh. He had a mental catalog of all his facial expressions and what they meant. He was right there before the child even started crying, picking him up, pulling him to his chest, and singing to him while caressing his hair because he knew that's what he needed. A little bit of attention he barely got from his parents. A little bit of love. Crowley, better than anyone else, knows what it is to have negligent parents, and he wouldn't let Warlock be tainted by that if he had anything to say about it. Alas, he saw a lot of himself in the kid.

Shit thing is, after the birthday party, he has no reason to see him anymore. He could keep visiting him as the Nanny or the Tutor but what when Warlock started questioning why he didn't age? Crowley wouldn't expose his demonic nature like he forcibly did with Adam

Cause yes I believe Adam has his number and they end up growing quite close after Armageddon. Not only cause Adam thinks Aziraphale and Crowley are hella cool but because Crowley delivered the boy, bloody hell! Sure he didn't look after him for 11 years like he did Warlock but he's still a softie! An "I had you in a basket in the back of my car when you were a new born. I delivered you to the nunnery where you would meet your parents" type of softie

He cares about Adam, but he low-key cares more about Warlock and its tragic that's exactly the boy he doesn't have a reason to be close to anymore

Bet every year on Warlock's birthday he goes check on him and sends a quick miracle his way before heading to Adam's birthday party

[httpiastri]

❣️ getting into your dream uni/school and pepe and paul if possible :>

❣️ – send me a prompt and one/a few drivers and i'll tell you how i think they would react!!

pepe marti

pepe will have been talking about & manifesting this for ages. not in a way that makes you feel pressured, but inspires you to work hard to get into it – not because it will make him happy, but because it's your dream. do you get what i mean? he's extremely excited and supportive all the way, and when you tell him that you got in, it's like all the pieces of the puzzle have fallen into place.

pepe is the type to say "hey, let's go check out your soon-to-be uni" at 2am, out of nowhere, during summer break when you're moving in there in just a few months. and when you say "well, i've already been there", he answers "but have you seen it at night?"... and then he's the type to drive the 1.5 hour it takes to get to your dream uni, hold your hand while walking around the campus, flashlight pointed at the buildings and asking you where you'll have your classes and where you'll eat your lunch. and then he points at random benches telling you about the summer afternoons you'll spend sitting on them with your newly made besties, or nodding towards lecture halls and explaining what types of classes you'll have in them ("racing strategy 101" and "twitch streaming with your platonic boyfriend" being two of his favorite ones).

and somehow, he makes you even more excited to start uni than you already were.

(and then, he drives you the 1.5 hour home again in his car, smiling at the sight of you all curled up and asleep in the passenger's seat, the content look on your face making him so happy because you made it!)

paul aron

paul doesn't get overly excited with you too often, but when he does, you bet his smile won't ever fade. when you tell him the news as you're walking home from a date, trying to make it sound like no big deal, he stops in his tracks and just gapes at you. then, he stumbles over his words, before managing to get out a "are you for real?!". and when you nod at him, he wastes no time pulling you up into his arms, a loud cheer erupting from his chest as he squeezes you tight.

paul would be so proud of you that he doesn't even know what to do. he wants to share it on his instagram story, tell everyone he meets on the street, scream it at the top of his lungs from a mountain. he knows he isn't allowed to, unfortunately, so he settles for telling all of his family members. he gets very frustrated when ralf seemingly doesn't care more than just a "that's great, congrats", but he knows he can trust the female members of his family to give you the reactions you deserve. his mom and sister are both over the moon, hugging you and gushing over it all, and paul just watches like "🥰 exactly what you deserve".

i think paul also really wants to help you prepare as much as he can, like helping you read through the course catalog, going furniture shopping (if you're moving away for uni), buying stationery with you... i also think he would definitely buy random stationery in the places he races in, so one day he just goes "oh i got you this notebook in barcelona" or "look at this pizza pen i got in imola, it's going to be your lucky pen in uni"....

[underaverageheight]

paint my love

hwang hyunjin x artist!gn!reader genre: fluff warning(s): none other than hyune being a bit of a crybaby

note: took me a while but i finally got to fully write out my little thought from here because tbh sending in asks to sage gets my brain going lol

word count: 2.1k omg

“Hey Bin! Um... can you do me a favor? Like a big, big favor?” Your best friend nodded eagerly, awaiting your words. "Can you... buy me a studio? Nothing huge. Just a studio?"

Changbin looked at you as if you were speaking gibberish. At this point, real gibberish would have made more sense. "Um. I love you but why? You have a studio and Hyunjin. Ask Hyunjin."

"Well, you see... I want to give him a new studio for our anniversary but I want to keep it a secret. A very secret secret and it’s not like I can drop a grand or two randomly and play it off." You looked at Changbin, reaching for his hand on the table. "I need you, Binnie."

He raised his eyebrow. "You need my money."

"Well... yeah. But I'm a good friend so I'll say I need you. Besides, I'll pay you back," Grinning, you gave him the best puppy eyes you could muster, causing him to groan in defeat.

"Fine." He pulled out his card. "For the love of this world, do NOT go buying a whole bunch of buildings. Okay? Ask Chan for his card if you're gonna do that." Changbin smirked and handed you his card before getting up to pat Hyunjin's shoulder, who looked at you with a puzzled facial expression.

Later that day, you spent your time sketching cherry blossom trees, scraps of your designs littered the floor of your shared room-turned-mini-studio, which was mostly filled with Hyunjin’s finished projects and some half-finished projects. With both of you being artists, many of your projects mixed with Hyunjin's. You tugged at one of his binders and flipped through the paints your boyfriend had bought or created. You found various shades of pink and red, ones you considered using for your project. After all, it had to be the most perfect anniversary gift for him.

"I'm home~" Hyunjin kicked off his shoes and found you scavenging through his binders and some of your folders. He gave you a quick peck on the top of your head. "Artistic rush?" You nodded and he chuckled, sitting down next to you. "What are you looking for?"

"Just some shades. I'm trying to find the nature catalog." Humming softly, you leaned against his shoulder. "I had a little thought." Laughing softly, you traced patterns on your boyfriend's thigh. "How was practice?"

"It was kinda fun today. We goofed off mostly and we were all okay with it. Even Minho was okay with it." Hyunjin tangled his fingers in the locks of your hair before reaching into a mess of binders and pulled a smaller one out. "Here."

"Thanks Hyunnie.” He hummed his acknowledgement, kissing your cheek again.

“I’m gonna shower and work on some things,” He got up and went to get his clothes from your bedroom. You, on the other hand, grabbed a spare bin, put the catalog, some paints you could easily find, and many brushes or various shapes inside. The rest of the day, you looked into multiple art studios, trying to find ones with a nice view and large windows. 

“This is the one.” You found a lovely, spacious yet cozy studio that faced the west, allowing one to see the prettiest sunsets from the room. Booking a viewing appointment for tomorrow, you quickly made another checklist; things to double check and look for to make sure what you were buying had the proper things. Grabbing your tote bag, a birthday gift from your boyfriend who painted delicate roses on the sides, you put the list in, your car keys, and your wallet with Changbin’s card inside. 

“As you can see, this studio has a smaller, more private office area with a lovely view of the city. It’s perfect for smaller businesses or artists or all kinds. Out here,” the realtor led you out of the little office to the outside space, “is the kitchen and a large open area here that can fit your various needs. Should it be a living room, meeting area, art studio based on your pretty bag there.” The woman smiled, gesturing to your tote bag. 

“It’s beautiful. May I check and look around the studio?” 

“Feel free to. I have another client downstairs so take as much time as you need,” The realtor smiled and left, going to the bottom floor to meet the client. Looking around, you checked for any damage, locating wall outlets, checking the space, checking the windows. Satisfied, you went down the many floors to find the realtor, going to make your down payment with Changbin’s card. 

You better love and use that studio to bits and pieces. Pay me back when you can :>

Texting Changbin back that you promise to pay him back, you drove home, catching Hyunjin on his way back to the house from a company dinner. Next week, you’d start the painting and prep. “Hi Jinnie! I finally figured out my artistic rush. So unfortunately I’ll be busy for a long long time.”

You giggled at the silly ferret’s antics. “Oh no! You’re going to disappear off the face of the Earth for a long time. When can I expect your kisses?” “Mmm… a week or two?”Jaw drop.

“Lord. Are you being summoned to paint down in the depths of hell? What are you painting? A skyscraper?” Hyunjin pounced on you, hugging you tightly and peppering kisses all over you. “Come back alive, my love.”

“Dramatic.” Laughing, you hugged him back, with a big grin, “I just wanna perfect this project. Besides, I literally see you everyday, angel.”

“Alright, alright fine.”

For a few days, you spent hours painting the walls, deciding on a green summery background, with faint mountains in the background. Coming home, you set your bags down, sighing, glad to be home. “Babyy!” Hyunjin comes to you, hugging and spinning you around with a wide grin. “You have green paint on your cheek… You’re really using that nature binder, huh?” 

You flushed a light pink, attempting to wipe off the dried paint. “Ah…” Laughing slightly, you rest your face against Hyunjin’s chest. Stilling slightly, Hyunjin brought his hands up to your head and your back, rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

A week later, you set the wet brush down on the paper, admiring your work. In the center of the wall was a grand cherry blossom tree, its branches stretching across the walls and parts of the ceiling. The white and pink blossoms stood out against the greenery, a flurry of floating blossoms seeming to drift in the wind. After hours of research, you found UV paint and glow in the dark paint. You outlined the tree and some blossoms. You added small details in your mural, working a lot later than you normally had, determined to finish this soon.

By the time you finished detailing, you gasped in wonder as the paint glowed brightly, seeming to shine brighter than the night life down below. The next and last day, you took the UV paint, marking up the mural with tiny messages. Satisfied, you sat on the couch, taking in the view of your finished mural. You were proud of the work you produced, stopping to admire it while you were cleaning up the studio. Before you left for the day, you left a little bag on the counter with a note. 

“Can you believe we’ve almost been dating for 4 years?” Hyunjin smiled as he held you close, his arms wrapped around you, blanketing you with his warmth.

“Speaking of which, I planned dinner at the restaurant we went to on our first date tomorrow.”

“Really? Do you think your message is still by that table in the corner?” Hyunjin’s eyes shined, recalling the memory.

On your first date with him, you both went to this small local restaurant. It was cozy yet elegant in its own way. After finishing your meals, you pointed at the wall next to the table, decorated with messages from its many visitors. “For good luck?” Hyunjin shrugged, pretending not to seem overly excited. “Sure.” You found an open area on the wall, scribbling the date. You thought for a moment before writing Y/n & Hyun - our first date ~ Hyunjin tried his best to hide his smile as you got up to use the restroom. Unbeknownst to you, he stood up and wrote a message of his own near the ceiling, convinced you’d never see his wish for luck. 

“Good morning darling. Happy anniversary~” You woke up to a decorated room, the walls of your shared room covered in many sketches and drawings. 

“What is this?” Walking over to the walls, you read off the writing on a smaller sketch. “‘The 73rd thing I love about you. Your sleeping patterns.’” The sketch depicted a person, presumably yourself, curled up like a koala. You laughed and looked at other sketches. “‘The 12th thing I love about you. Your hugs.’ ‘The 5th thing I love about you. Your smile.’ ‘The 1st thing I love about you. You.’ Aw Jinnie… I love it so much. It’s beautiful. I love you so much. Happy anniversary my love.” You hugged your boyfriend tightly, kissing him lovingly. 

“Where is it…” Your finger traced the walls, scanning for your message. “Found it! Right here, look!” You pointed at your faded handwriting, smiling brightly. You drew a heart near your previous message and wrote a new one. Happy 4 years to the one I love. “I don’t remember if you wrote one. I don’t think you did, did you?”

“I did write one. Honestly, I was completely head over heels for you when I first met you…So I wrote one in secret. Didn’t want to scare you away if you knew how much I cared about you.” Hyunjin blushed, looking away from you before searching the writing near the ceiling, pointing at the corner. I know it has to be you, so please let it be you. Underneath was a small cherry blossom, a symbol of when you first met Hyunjin. 

“Speaking of cherry blossoms… It's time for me to show you your gift.” Taking him to the tall building, Hyunjin was confused, unsure of what you could be referring to.

“Oh my god. Did you buy this building?” He paled slightly, making you laugh.

“Why does everyone think I’m gonna buy a building?!” Shaking your head with a smile, you took him up to the studio, placing the key in his hand. “Happy anniversary, darling.” Hyunjin nervously unlocked the studio, gasping at the sight.

“A new studio? For me? This is your gift? Oh my god.” You flipped the lights on. The mural was fully revealed, nearly bringing your boyfriend to tears. “I…” He rushed to feel the wall, tracing the blossoms. “Cherry blossoms. When we first met…” 

“This isn’t even the best part.” You grinned, relishing in how emotionally touched he was.

“There’s more?!” He nearly shrieked, trying to figure out the tricks you hid up your sleeves.

“Close your eyes.” Hyunjin hesitantly closed his eyes, anxious for the rest of your surprise. You turned off the lights, waiting for the paint to glow again. The low glow of the paint illuminated part of the room. “Open.”

Hyunjin stared, mouth agape at the glowing mural. Tearing up, he sniffled, coming to hug you tightly.“It’s beautiful. I love it so much. I… don’t even have the words to express how much I love this. It’s stunning…” 

“Go grab the bag on the counter.” Hyunjin reluctantly peeled himself off you, sniffling as he grabbed the small bag off the counter. “Go ahead, turn it on.” Reaching inside, he revealed a UV light. He turned it on, waving it around. “No you goofball, point it at the wall.”Slowly but surely, the UV messages you spent writing all over the mural revealed themselves. Your boyfriend was full on sobbing, sitting by the wall, tracing your messages with his finger. Looking back at you with tears streaming down his face, he made grabby hands towards you, making you come over to him, hugging him and laughing. 

“Don’t look at meee…” Hyunjin sniffled, wiping his face with his sweater sleeve as he read your messages aloud. “‘I expect my kisses in two weeks' time.’ ‘If you find this, I may or may not have used up all of your green paint.’” Hyunjin laughed, still crying as he buried his face in your shoulder. “I love you. I love you so much. I thought you bought me a whole entire building… Maybe I should do that. Buy you a building so we can paint every room, every wall, everything. I’m gonna paint the world for you.” Giggling, you wiped his tears, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Gonna paint my endless love for you.”

[wicked-jade]

Johnny's Season 6 Fits

Because I'm always interested in Johnny's different band shirts/looks each season, I went back and compiled a bunch of screenshots, cataloging each one. For things like his gi, which gets repeated every episode, I've only included the first appearance.

So, in episode 1, we have four five different looks:

Van Halen 1984 World Tour Shirt, with flaming eagle logo. Later with the white and gray flannel over it:

The Coyote Creek/Little Red Riding Hood Fit: Faded black tee, red hoodie.

White ringer tee and gray hoodie (Very similar to a lot of his S4 looks, which makes sense, since they were teasing yet another fight for control of the dojo. Very reminiscent of what he wore right before his and Daniel's rematch.)

Eagle Fang Gi, RIP:

Miyagi Do Gi. So fresh, so clean:

Episode 2: Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass shirt. Which is an... interesting choice, for hard-rocking Johnny. Maybe a holdover from his country club prep days?

And then we have my personal favorite look, the House Hunters: Valley Edition outfit. No logo on the shirt this time, but thank you, costume department, for putting him in so many dark red/wine shades this year. Also, I really, really need that flannel.

And last, we have the return of the hideous suit. Please dear god let this have been it's swan song. At the very least, please burn that fugly yellow shirt and tie. Sweetie, that is not your color.

Episode three: First up, we've got the all-white baby shower look, complete with Led Zeppelin shirt, featuring their legendary Swan Song Records/Icarus logo. Something-something, Johnny being too confident in his girl dad abilities and flying too close to the sun.

Next up, we've got slumber party Johnny. Green and black hooded flannel and a white tee, with an illustration of a car at the beach on it underneath. It says California down one side. Fits in with a lot of the generic "California" themed shirts and hoodies the kids were wearing this season. Guess they're trying to remind us that this is actually supposed to be CA and not Georgia?

Start of ep. 4, we get LaRusso Auto Pullover #1, charcoal gray with yet another burgundy shirt underneath. There's some kind of logo/writing, but I can't tell what it says.

The 'call me a cream puff one more time' fit. Blue, white and red flannel over a plain gray t-shirt. Thank you for dressing him in blue again, and also for letting him whoop Mike's ass.

The 'brown belt' scene: I guess this is supposed to be Coyote Creek again? Anyway, black jacket, gray hoodie, with a faded red AC/DC shirt underneath. Gotta say, Billy looks very pretty in all these outdoors/woodsy scenes.

Ep. 5, Baby's first kick scene: White Corvette shirt, with a bright yellow Corvette on the back. Yet another car shirt, reflecting his new job.

And later, the dime-store Jerry Maguire scene: Another LaRusso Auto pullover, light gray this time, with another mauve/faded red shirt underneath. Possibly the AC/DC shirt again?

And there you have it, the Johnny Lawrence fashion round-up. What was your favorite look this season?

[merus-mystery]

【My ideas for reverse falls】 Part 4

Part 3

Gideon and Pacifica

I got home way to late today so i couldn't draw better :')

Dont worry there will be better ones in the future.

Gideon is allowed to be a normal child in this one! Hes still like 10 years old tho but a smart one! I personally like the idea that he is a boy-scout always looking through the forest for new things instead of blowing up at his father. Bud, suprisingly, didn't use him to sell more of his used cars so Gideon is a pretty average child, well except for the albinism.

Hes the one that found journal 3 while being in the forests to catalog some trees he hadn't noticed before, stumbling across it accidentally just like Dipper did in the original show.

Gideon also has a small crush on Mabel at the start, but more in a more cutesy kid crush instead of the 'i will kill your brother' way

Pacifica on the other end well shes still the daughter of the wealthiest people in Gravity Falls. But instead of being stuck up shes super kind to everyone and not afraid to give to those who need it. Her parents are also proud of her for using their wealth like that. She is a little skeptical about the supernatural but her opinion changes at the Northwest fest. And yes i think she should still have the chicken! I found that adorable >:(

Tag list

@lemonberyy

[stobinesque]

phryctoria | chapter 1: pyrseia (torch)

Sometimes your gay awakening is just having someone to show you it's possible. Steve comes out to Robin, and the two of them figure out how to weather being two gay teenagers in rural Indiana together.

[1][2][3][4][5][6 & 7] | [Read on AO3]

They’re both sitting in the beamer, engine idling in the Buckley’s driveway, when Steve finally works up the courage to ask the question that’s been burning a hole in the back of his head for weeks. 

“Hey. Robs?” Steve drums his hands against the side of the steering wheel to give all the restless energy a place to go.

“‘Sup, dingus?” Robin shoots back on autopilot—but when she turns to look at him she must see…something on his face, because her tone drops into something more sincere. “What’s up, Steve?”

“I—uh.” He swallows, trying to work the words past the lump in his throat. “How did you, uh, know?” the second they escape he wants to snatch them back out of the air because—really, is that not the stupidest thing he could have said?

Robin frowns. “Know what?”

Steve closes his eyes and pinches at the bridge of his nose, pushing down tears, and nausea induced by what he knows to be unnecessary fear. His face is hot with shame and all he wants is to fold himself up and hide in a corner. But. It’s Robin. It’s just Robin. He can talk to Robin. His head knows it, his stomach and heart are just having a hard time catching up right now. 

“H-how did you know that you…that you like girls?”

Steve knows that she can hear the weight behind the question, because she doesn’t poke fun at him at all—doesn't shoot back the easy 'well how did you' that sits like low hanging fruit—instead she goes quiet in that way she does when carefully considering something.

“Well…I guess I don’t know exactly when I knew, you know?”

Steve shakes his head. If he did know this would all be a lot easier. Instead it feels like he’s been turned inside out and knotted up. Like none of his pieces fit together the way he thought they did. It’s a feeling he thinks he ought to be used to by now, even if he knows he never will be. Each time his entire world is rewritten feels like it ought to be the last. (Sometimes Steve wonders what this must be like for Will. Or El. He’s got some (suspected) traumatic brain injury and a little light torture to cope with, but he was, at the very least, on the other side of puberty for most of it. He can’t wrap his mind around what it must be like to just be a kid who keeps having their life ripped away…) 

Steve is pulled from his thoughts by Robin reaching over him to turn the keys in the ignition, so that the car sits still and silent beneath them.

And then Robin—light of his life, master of his heart—continues talking. “It was all just a…gradual realization, y’know? Like—there were all these bits and pieces falling in my path along the way until one day it all kind of came together. But I guess the first time it went from this sort of, like vague awareness that I thought women were really soft, and–and pretty, and cool, was when I kept thinking about how nice it would be to hold Hailey Carmichael’s hand. Or, uh, kiss her, or…um. Other stuff.” Robin cuts the train of thought off with an awkward huff. “I think that was the first time I really thought about what it would be like if I was with another girl. But after that I thought back to other girls I’d been friends with—how I was always just a bit more cuddly with them than it seemed like I was supposed to be. Or–or how I got jealous if a girl I really liked suddenly had a new friend. And I realized there were also, like, a lot of actresses I had just thought were ‘objectively’ pretty, but actually I think they’re, like, super hot.”

Steve nods slowly and tries to catalog all of the examples Robin just listed against his own memories. He thinks about the way he used to get teased by other boys about his hugs being too soft and girly because he’d lean into them just a little too much, and linger in the embrace for just a little too long. (And, okay, it’s possible that had a little more to do with the fact that he could count on both hands the number of times either of his parents had hugged him in his memory and still have a few fingers left over but he’s going to save that crisis for another day and maybe also a shrink if he can find one that won’t try to lock him up for talking about fucking demodogs and drowned teen girls in his pool, and—right. Having one crisis at a time.) He remembers when Tommy started dating Carol and he was sulky and bitter for weeks, and it had nothing to do with wanting Carol for himself like Tommy had thought at the time. He conjures up images of Harrison Ford and Tom Cruise with no effort at all and realizes he definitely has more than a benign aesthetic appreciation for them. 

Steve’s mouth is dry when he goes to speak again. “A-and how did you know that you...don’t like guys?" Steve is shaking and he seems to lose the connection between his brain and his mouth as he rambles out the totally unnecessary clarification of— "Boys. Men. Whatever.”

At that Robin cocks her head at him, a curious look on her face. “You know it’s possible to like both, right?” She asks the question so gently. Like she’s talking to a spooked animal. Like he really might not know, and like it'd be okay if he didn't. 

(He bitterly thinks for a moment that it'd be better if the problem was just that he didn't know that was an option open to him. Except he knows that in some ways, for him, that might have actually been worse.)

Steve’s knuckles go white as he clutches the steering wheel tightly. “Yeah, I know. Just—answer the question, Rob.” His voice is hoarse and he sounds scared to even his own ears.

Robin’s eyes widen slightly, but she nods. “Y-yeah, okay. Well, uh. I guess I just never really thought I did? Like, I’d tell other girls I had crushes on boys because I knew I was supposed to. But I never really got what other girls meant when they called so-and-so hot or what’s-his-face sexy, y’know. I’d just, like, pick a guy to say I liked so that I didn’t stick out too much.” Robin is silent for a moment, but Steve doesn’t make any attempt to fill it. After a few beats of silence Robin continues on. “But that—Steve, that’s just my story. And, like, I don’t really know other, um, not-straight people, but I’m pretty sure it’s different for some people? Like, some people get married and have kids before realizing that oh, actually, maybe the love they have isn’t actually romantic, or something.”

Steve nods again. That…almost makes sense—after all, that's what happened with his feelings for her, wasn't it?—except… “What about, like, sex, though? How does someone have sex with someone for years without being attracted to them?”

Robin’s brow furrows. “Steve…you know I’m a virgin, right?”

Steve is nodding with embarrassment before she finishes the question. “No, yeah, I do. I’m sorry that was dumb—”

Robin is shaking her head. “Nope! This is a no-dumb-questions type of convo.” Robin takes a deep breath, like she’s bracing herself. “Okay. I can do this," she says to herself. And then she fixes all the intensity of a Robin Buckley Stare on him to say, “Just this once I’m gonna let you talk to me about your—” Robin wrinkles her nose “—sex life. And then never again—understood, Harrington?”

That manages to get a smile out of him and Steve turns to look at Robin fondly. God, he loves her. “Understood, Buckley.” He throws in a mock salute to really sell it. 

 “Okay, so: If, hypothetically, you have had sex with someone you weren’t attracted to, why do you think that would be?”

Steve drums his fingers against the wheel again as he considers the question. “Well, I guess…I mean, I’m supposed to like girls, right?” Steve almost expects Robin to contradict him, but when he steals a glance at her, the expression she’s sending his way just looks sad. It bolsters his resolve to keep going somehow. “Like, Steve Harrington: Golden Boy; Captain of the Swim Team; King of Hawkins High. Everyone just…expects that from me, right? And if—hypothetically—I actually didn’t want that—what I was supposed to, then the best way to make sure no one—” (even me, he thinks, but doesn't say. He thinks Robin will hear it anyway) “—that no one looks at that too closely would be to, like, throw myself at girls, right?”

Robin nods along like everything he’s saying makes sense, rather than being batshit insane. And how would she know? She doesn't have any more of a frame of reference for this than he does, really. And he thinks he has the shape of the rest of it, but it's hanging formless at the periphery of his mind. He really wishes learning things about himself didn't require so much fucking messiness and honesty, but he manages to find the courage to fight through the awkwardness to tack on, “Plus, I mean…sex…feels good? Like, regardless of if I think the person is hot or whatever.”

Robin wrinkles her nose again, but takes it in stride. She bites her lip and looks at him hesitantly—like she’s afraid of how he’ll take whatever it is she’s about to say next. “And…what about Nancy?” The question is almost a whisper. Said softly so as not to break him.

Steve blows out a shaky breath and squeezes his eyes shut. “I…Nancy Wheeler is the girl I could have lived a happy enough life with, even if it wasn’t exactly what I wanted. Or, at least, that's what I thought she was.” Steve leans back in his seat, fighting down tears. “And, Rob—I want kids. I–I’ve always wanted to be a dad, even before I wound up stuck with all the little rugrats I currently cart around.” The car is silent for a few charged beats and into the space he whispers, “How could anyone not love Nancy Wheeler?”

Robin lets out a long breath of her own. “Fuck, dude.”

Steve laughs, and somehow he’s surprised to hear how shaky it comes out. “Yeah.” He reaches up to pinch at the bridge of his nose again, still keeping his eyes shut, taking comfort in the dark. (Something he can only do now, in the safety of daytime, above-ground, where light is only a blink away.)

Silence falls again, and this time it settles like the first real snow of winter.

“So…did that…" Robin's voice carefully breaks through the silence. "Did that help?” 

Steve opens his eyes and turns to look at her, his best girl. Robin looks a little uncertain. A lot out of her depth. He reaches out to take her hand into his own. 

“Yeah, Robbie,” he murmurs. “You always help me.” And maybe that's too much, too soon. A little like saying I love you after the second or third date. But everything between them has been like that. He knows that going through hell with someone is the quickest way to tie people together, if you let it. But for the two of them it feels like more than that. Even with its short existence he knows that nothing ever has or ever will be as strong as what they have. And really, that's what he means. That's what helps. Knowing that for once in his life, he has someone that'll never leave him. 

“Oh.” Robin says, like she's managed to hear all of that (she probably has). She squeezes his hand and the two of them sit in silence for a bit longer.

Robin is the one to break the silence again, and her tone is still careful, but there's a lot more open curiosity to it now. “So…when did, um. When did you—”

“Bathroom.”

“Huh?”

“Th-the…when you…” Steve stops to take a deep breath. For some reason this feels bigger than the rest of it. Bigger than the whole sky. “Robs, you’re the first gay person I’ve ever known. At least that I know of? And, like...my whole life, uh 'queer' people had kind of been made out to be the boogeyman, you know? But I’ve, like, seen actual monsters and you—you’re just a person—the best person. And I just…if Robin Buckley can be gay, I thought…maybe it’s okay if Steve Harrington is too?”

“Oh, Steve.” Robin sounds choked up.

“Don’t you dare cry on me Buckley, or I will too.”

“I don’t know if I can help it,” Robin pulls her hand out of his to wipe not-so-surreptitiously at her eyes. “So. Did you figure it out?”

Steve looks down at his lap, staring into his empty palms. He grits his teeth. “Yeah, Robbie. Yeah, I’m…” he pauses, gathers himself up, and turns to look at his best friend—his soulmate—and prepares to shed away another layer of King Steve (fuck that guy, may he rest in fucking tatters). Robin meets his gaze head on. “I’m gay.” It’s thrilling to say. He feels euphoric.

It’s the scariest thing he’s ever done.

Robin throws her arms around him, and then it’s just two gay teens in Hawkins, Indiana, sitting in a driveway, crying about what it is to be two halves of a whole. What it is to be seen so entirely.